The Conversion Bureau: The Reluctant Cyborg

Chapters

A False Flag...
Borrowed Memories
Operation Friendship
A Muffin for Your Thoughts
The Pink Slip
My apologies...

A False Flag...

Disclaimer: The depiction of the L.D.S. faith or any other religion in this story is in no way meant to be slanderous or hurtful. As a work of fiction, please take any references to any real religion, people, places, or cultures as just window dressing to make the world in this piece of fiction more vibrant and alive. Thank you.

Journal entry: July 13, 2084

Sometimes I wonder why I bother keeping this journal anymore. Is it for posterity? No, biological reproduction is no longer a possibility for me, and I have no offspring from before I went metal that I’m aware of. Hell, if it wasn’t for Equestria popping out of nowhere like a zit before prom; I might have been able to function indefinitely barring any unforeseen catastrophe. Wouldn’t that have been something? Imagine me, kicking little green alien asses on Mars. Thinking about the possibility that I could have had my braincase installed on some interstellar ship had the technology been available, really chaffs my metal hide. I guess I’ll have to settle for being the biggest fish in the bowl.

Well I just started my new job. I’m guarding a conversion bureau of all things. Can you believe it? Guarding those stupid freaks instead of filling them full of holes like they deserve. The very idea of ponies and how they’re going to be the inheritor to mankind’s genius make me sick. How they ever managed to become the dominate life form of their world I’ll never know. They are so helpless and weak. Though I don’t care much for fleshbags, at least they have some teeth. They don’t roll over and die if you glare at them hard enough like the glue sticks. Even the pony names are completely stupid, always simple nouns and verbs. Well to be fair, the name Tinman could be considered along the same naming scheme. If my bosses make me adopt one of their ridiculous pony names I think I’d go with Meatgrinder.

Oh, you’ll never believe this; apparently Phoenix is like the home town of the HLF leadership. When they heard that the local conversion bureau had managed to score a Land Behemoth for protection, their BBS’s went nuts. By the way, my handle on their forums is Big_Bad_Steel. Anyways, one of the fleshbags I winged yesterday was like the nephew or something of one of the HLF bigwigs. According to their boards, it’s humanities obligation to avenge this slight. All I can say is jackpot! Stupid fundie fleshbags, they’re almost as stupid as the ponies. At least ponies can’t say they chose the lifestyle, well not unless you count the ponified fleshbags. Now about this HLF bigwig, apparently this guy has a lot of clout. Perhaps if I prod them enough I can provoke a response. I’ll need to do more digging on the omninet about their leadership etc. If I play my cards right, I might actually be able to milk them for a bit of excitement.

Ugh, why didn’t I read the whole ad? I could have saved myself a whole lot of trouble. Well no point crying about it now. A job is a job after all, got to keep up some semblance of professionalism. One perk that I’m happy about is the expense account, it’s nearly unlimited! This place is going to be a fortress once I’m done. Well need to go. Jackson should be up soon.

*****

Director Peachy Keen woke up after another night of fitful sleep. Normally his nightmares were about the HLF attacking his facility. But last night’s dream was about his newest employee Tinman. The Land Behemoth was the antithesis of everything that Equestria stood for. Having looked over his service record in detail, he saw that the machine cheerfully admitted to killing over a million people during his forty three years of continuous operation. Now granted according to the records, Tinman had used aerial support and bombardment (whatever that was) to kill the majority of the people listed. But still, there were so much blood on his metal hands. The director thanked Celestia that Equestria was beyond the reach of such a monster.

Peachy Keen almost wished he could break the contract, but discovered he couldn’t because of some human law. According to the law in question, Land Behemoths were classified as a restricted weapons platform. They were only available to governments, corporations, and other approved NGOs. NGOs or nongovernmental organizations were what the conversion bureaus were classified as. Although each conversion bureau was considered sovereign Equestrian territory, the bureaus themselves were classified as nongovernmental organizations because Princess Celestia had wanted to quell any fears that the conversion bureaus were a front for invasion. But because the Equestrian government technically hired all employees of every conversion bureau, Tinman’s contract was considered to be between the Equestrian government and himself, rather than the conversion bureau.

When Director Peachy Keen got off the phone with the law firm Equestria employed for legal matters, the law offices of Binder, Binder, and Binder. The human who answered, advised him that the contract with Tinman was airtight and only the head of his government, (i.e. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna) could actually terminate it. Additionally, any use of the Land Behemoth outside a thousand meter radius from the conversion bureau, outside of self-defense would constitute an act of war by Equestria on the NAU.

Peachy Keen turned off the holophone he had been using. “They said it would be an exciting adventure,” he grumbled to himself. “Meet new ponies they said. See the human world before it all disappears they said…”

Director Peachy Keen’s grumbling was interrupted by the soft knock of hooves against his wooden office door. “Come in,” he said.

The bureau receptionist Dewdrop opened the door, levitating behind her was a large pot of coffee. “Peachy Keen,” she said, “I thought you could use some coffee.”

The director’s worried eyes brightened when the aroma of the freshly ground coffee entered his nostrils. “Oh thank you, Dewdrop,” he said in gratitude. “I’ve been up all night worrying over our newest employee.”

“Oh do you mean Tinman?” Dewdrop asked. “He seems like he’s a very nice pony, er person, er whatever he is. No pony in their right mind would dare attack the bureau now.”

“That’s exactly it!” Peachy Keen exclaimed. “While I’m grateful for the protection his presence offers us, I think the very idea of what he is will be bad for our image. Humans are becoming ponies to get away from what he represents.”

“Director what do you mean?” Dewdrop asked in curiosity.

“If you read the service record he sent to me you’d see he’s been directly responsible for and I quote, ‘one million, two hundred sixty three thousand, four hundred and thirty seven confirmed kills’,” Peachy Keen read from the data file on his desk. “Additionally, Land Behemoth model number X003456. designation Tinman, has successfully completed seven thousand eight hundred and six combat missions conducted over an operational period of over three hundred and twelve thousand, two hundred and fifty eight hours.”

“Is that a long time?” Dewdrop asked, trying to understand what all those numbers actually meant.

“Essentially what it means,” the director said, “is that Tinman has been killing humans for over forty years and has nearly killed the equivalent of the population of almost two Canterlots.”

Dewdrops eyes widened when the director broke down the numbers into terms she could comprehend. “But he doesn’t seem like a bad pony,” she objected. “He even saved your life yesterday.”

“It’s only because of the contract we have with him,” Peachy Keen explained. “If the HLF had hired him to destroy the conversion bureau, he would have gladly done it instead.”

“I have a difficult time believing that,” Dewdrop replied. “Don’t soldiers only kill other soldiers?”

“The kind of soldier Tinman is, does whatever his employer says he should do,” Peachy Keen said. “He even helped destroy his own religious sect when his employers asked him to.”

When Dewdrop heard the director say that Tinman betrayed his own religion, she had a hard time believing it. Although she didn’t quite understand the devotion that the humans she’d met had with their various deities. She felt it was something akin to the how she felt about the princesses. Almost every human she had known that had claimed they were devout, seemed devoted to their religious practices. Almost fanatically so, but being a nice pony she never felt it was her place to judge them for their cultural differences. So when she heard the accusation that Tinman not only fought against his own religion, but in fact had been instrumental in its destruction, she felt that the director was somehow mistaken.

“That just doesn’t seem like something anypony would willingly do,” Dewdrop protested. “That would be like one of us killing one of the princesses.”

“Humans aren’t ponies Dewdrop,” Peachy Keen replied. “And Tinman isn’t even that, I’d say he’s only barely human if even that.”

“So which one did Tinman destroy?” Dewdrop asked.

“Hmm I’m not sure,” Peachy Keen said, while scanning the data file for more details. “Tinman’s file shows an acronym L.D.S. as his religious orientation.”

I’ve never met any humans that were that,” Dewdrop replied.

“Well his file indicates that the event happened almost thirty-one years ago,” the director said. “In someplace called Utah.”

“Hey I think I’ve seen that on one of the older maps,” Dewdrop said. “I think its north of here.”

“Well that doesn’t really matter,” Peachy Keen said. “What does matter is that we’ve got a monster as bad as or even worse than Nightmare Moon sleeping on our doorstep.”

“Well director, what can we do?” Dewdrop asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” he replied. “But I want everypony to keep their contact with Tinman to a bare minimum.”

“Okay director,” Dewdrop said, “I’ll make sure nopony talks to him anymore than necessary.”

“Oh good,” Peachy Keen said, “that takes a load off my mind.”

“What about Jackson his mechanic,” she said.

“I think Jackson will be fine,” the director replied. “He’s still human and can convert, so there’s hope for him.”

Dewdrop thought about how lonely Tinman would be without anypony to talk to, and started to feel a bit sad. Walking towards the door to leave, she turned back towards her boss. “Peachy Keen,” she said, “I’ll make a general announcement during breakfast about how everypony should keep their distance from Tinman.”

“Good,” he said. “Also, when you have the chance Dewdrop, see if you can’t help me find the forms for royal correspondence.”

Dewdrop silently nodded and exited the office to head back to her receptionist’s desk. She was going about sorting some forms when she saw an excited looking Sugar Pie carrying a basket filled with delicious smelling strawberry muffins. “Where are you going Sugar Pie?” she asked.

Sugar Pie’s ears twitched excitedly. “Oh,” she said, wearing a large smile, “I’m taking them out to Tinman. He’s so large that he can’t join anypony in the cafeteria, and I think he must be so lonely being all by himself.”

“Don’t you know he can’t eat?” Dewdrop asked.

“Of course I do silly,” Sugar Pie said. “But I bet he misses being able to share breakfast with other ponies. I know I would get lonely never being able to share breakfast with anypony.”

“The director has asked that we limit our contact with Tinman,” Dewdrop said.

“Why,” Sugar Pie asked in confusion.

“Because Tinman has done some very bad things,” Dewdrop said, “he’s not a good pony.”

“But that’s not fair!” Sugar Pie shouted. “Everypony, no matter what they’ve done deserves a second chance. That’s what the conversion bureau is all about.”

Dewdrop sighed; Sugar Pie would have a difficult time accepting the director’s reasons for avoiding contact with Tinman. “Yes,” she said, “both ponies and people deserve second chances. But Tinman isn’t a pony or a person. He can never convert.”

When Sugar Pie heard that Tinman was destined to never be forgiven for whatever bad things he had done, she burst into tears. “But that’s so sad!” she cried. “So just because he can’t ever become a pony I can’t be his friend?”

“Yes,” Dewdrop said, “the director feels he’s an affront to everything that the conversion bureaus and Equestria stand for.”

“Can I at least give him a muffin?” Sugar Pie pleaded, as she wiped away the tears from her muzzle with her foreleg.

“Okay Sugar Pie,” Dewdrop agreed, “but just this once.”

Sugar Pie picked up the basket in her mouth and flew out of the bureau. When she exited the building she looked up in wonder at the amazing machine. To her, Tinman was a marvel. To think that humans could build machines and even become them filled her with a sense of wonder. She wondered if ponies would ever achieve such things. She looked up at all the colorful cutie marks he wore on his metal skin. Studying the colorful dragon on his left shoulder, she wondered what the strange writing next to it meant.

“Good morning Tinman,” Sugar Pie cheerfully said. “It’s breakfast time.

Tinman’s targeting scanners painted Sugar Pie with a red dot. “Sugar Pie was it,” Tinman said through his speakers, “I’m sorry you wasted your time, in bringing me breakfast.”

“But it’s no waste,” Sugar Pie said.

“But I can’t eat,” Tinman explained. “I require neither sustenance nor rest.”

“Oh, I know that silly,” Sugar Pie said with a sing song voice. “But having breakfast with somepony always makes the day go better. Don’t you think so Tinman?”

When he heard Sugar Pie’s question, Tinman thought about saying something sarcastic from his vast depository of snarky humor, but stopped as he seriously considered what it meant to share a meal with another. The discussion he had had with Lao Chi earlier that week had made him seriously reconsider his life and the choices he’d made. After exactly six point seven seconds the cyborg realized that he was getting all misty eyed over a stupid pony. “No I don’t,” he brusquely said. “Sharing a meal with anyone for any reason is a frivolous waste of both our time.”

“Oh Tinman,” Sugar Pie said, “I’m sorry you feel that way. Because I don’t think sharing breakfast with you is a waste of my time.”

“Very well,” Tinman said. “Once you’ve finished eating, please advise Dewdrop that I’ll be performing some maintenance on the building’s main systems.”

“Okay,” Sugar Pie happily said, placing a muffin down on his shoulder.

“What’s this for?” Tinman asked in curiosity.

“It’s your breakfast silly,” Sugar Pie said. “Even though you can’t enjoy eating one any more, I thought that maybe just looking at it might help remind you of what eating one might have been like.”

The sentiment of the pink pegasus left Tinman feeling confused. It was such a silly idea, but it was the thought that counted. He released one of his steel claws and picked up the muffin and examined it with his sensors. His sensor array was among the most advanced of any conceived by modern military technology. The array was manufactured by CST, a corporation of the E.U. It was a multi-spectrum array and capable of omnidirectional scanning with an effective range of about 5km. At his disposal were over thirteen different kinds of vision, including infrared, ultraviolet, and the EM spectrum. The array was capable of detecting all known biological and chemical compounds known to science, and had the ability to listen to all frequencies between 1Hz and 150,000Hz. Essentially if something existed, Tinman could learn all there was to know about its physical properties. Yet for all his sensors vast and impressive capabilities, something as simple as smelling the aroma and savoring the sweet flavor of a fresh baked strawberry muffin was beyond him.

Tinman fell silent as he held the muffin in his claw, seeing how Sugar Pie obviously enjoyed eating the baked goods sent feelings of anger and resentment coursing through him. “Stupid ponies,” he bitterly thought, “all they can do is stuff their faces with food.”

Sugar Pie looked up from her now empty basket and grinned at Tinman. “Thanks for letting me eat breakfast with you,” she said, with her ears laid back as she looked awkwardly down at her hooves.

Sensing something was bothering the pink pony, Tinman activated his speakers. “Sugar Pie,” he said, “my sensors detect that your dopamine levels have dropped nearly twenty-seven percent. Is something bothering you?”

“Well…” she said, “I’m just sorry that we can’t do these breakfasts anymore.”

“Thank God,” Tinman thought to himself.

“Is it because I somehow offended you?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing like that,” Sugar Pie replied. “It’s just that the director feels it’s best if ponies don’t interact with you anymore than is necessary.”

“Did he mention a specific reason why?” Tinman asked in curiosity.

“Not really,” Sugar Pie said. “Dewdrop told me it’s because he thinks you’re a bad pony. But I don’t think you are.”

“The director’s right,” Tinman said, “I’m a bad man, and I’ve done some very wicked things.”

“Well today's a new day,” Sugar Pie said, before as she flew away, “if you choose to, you can start being a good pony.”

Once the pink pegasus had left, Tinman thought about throwing the muffin as far as he could with his claw but stopped before he could release it. Looking down at the baked good made him felt something he had nearly forgotten. “Hmm,” he thought, as he placed the muffin on top of a nearby electrical pole so he could see it, without anyone knowing about it.

Deciding to get to work, Tinman began accessing Phoenix’s local network and electrical grid. To his surprise he found the city’s infrastructure in relatively good condition. “This should serve my purposes,” he thought gleefully to himself.

Tapping into network, Tinman began the process of rerouting himself through several layers of encryption and through millions of proxy servers. Surfing on the Omninet, he began the process of data mining for his little side project involving the local chapter of the HLF.

Logging into their local chat room with the pseudonym Big_Bad_Steel he had created using a falsified I.D., Tinman happened upon a heated argument about the Phoenix conversion bureau and the possible future of the HLF.

Admin: User: Big_Bad_Steel, welcome to the resistance. The Human Liberation Front reminds you that this chat room is for humans only. Ponies and their human sympathizers are not welcome. Please keep all discussions civil.

Bigtumtum: Fuck, how the hell are we supposed to do anything now with that machine guarding the place?

Cardinal_Richelieu: Bigtumtum watch your language please. Perhaps it’s a sign from God that we should move operations to Texas. I hear the Austin chapter is having a lot of luck against the bureaus there.

Mamabear: No way that abomination took my son’s finger.

!luvp0n!3$: Ha ha! Serves him right, next time I hope the machine clears all of you bastards out of the state for good.

Admin: User: !luvp0n!3$, has been banned for the following infraction: Trolling.

Bigtumtum: Man I hate those pony sympathizers! I wish we could do more than ban them.

Cardinal_Richelieu: It is written, whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.

Mamabear: I demand some Old Testament wrath, an eye for an eye!

Bigtumtum: What could we possibly do against whatever that thing is?

Big_Bad_Steel: Oh you mean a Mark V Land Behemoth? They are easy enough to deal with if you know their tricks.

Mamabear: What do you mean? Those things have the combined firepower of an army.

Big_Bad_Steel: True, there’s no way you could attack it head on and expect to survive, but you should really check out their operating parameters. Now there’s some interesting reading if you’re interested.

Admin: User: Big_Bad_Steel has submitted data file: LTitanmkV.doc 37.4mb, always scan files for viruses downloaded from unknown sources.

Bigtumtum: Holy sheet! Where did you get this?

Big_Bad_Steel: I was a member of a Land Behemoth operations crew until last week when I got fired.

Mamabear: Aw, I’m sorry to hear that sugar :(.

Big_Bad_Steel: Well it’s okay, I’m sure I’ll find work elsewhere, but I blame the conversion bureaus for losing my job. So I when I heard your plight I decided to send you some info.

Cardinal_Richelieu: How accurate are these specifications?

Big_Bad_Steel: It really depends on the Land Behemoth in question, but pretty much all Land Behemoths follow the same protocols for combat (i.e. can only use specific types of ammunition, or can only fight in designated areas). Find out its limitations and you’ll have a fighting chance.

Cardinal_Richelieu: Praise the Lord, brother!

Big_Bad_Steel: Just doing my part to help humanity :). I look forward to hearing how you fare against those pony bastards!

Cardinal_Richelieu: Big_Bad_Steel, watch your language please. Can the pilot inside be hacked?

Big_Bad_Steel: No, the brain cases inside them can only interface with specially designed devices that are physically attached to their frames to prevent that sort of thing. Uh oh, looks like I need to go. Good luck if you decide to attack it.

Admin: User: Big_Bad_Steel has logged out.

After severing his connections from the network Tinman resumed his data mining, and was pleased with what he found. Within minutes of the intel he’d released becoming public; the HLF’s BBS’s were going crazy with discussion threads about the information.

Tinman laughed to himself, religious zealots and fanatics were so easy to bait. Operation Tiger’s Tail was now a go. Much like operations Black Stone in Mecca back in '72 and Sword of Laban in Salt Lake City in '51, he planned to exploit their fervor to his advantage.

With the poison pill he had provided now roaming free in the wild, Tinman was sure he would have plenty of entertainment in the weeks to come.

*****

Jackson felt the warm breath of his wife near his face; groggily he leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips were soft and pliant but the soft hair on her face tickled him. “Wait, his wife didn’t have facial hair!” he thought. When he opened his sleepy eyes, he saw that he was face to muzzle with a pink pegasus mare whose face had turned as red as a tomato.

“Oh wow!” the pegasus giggled. “You’re a great kisser.”

“Ahh!” Jackson yelped in surprise. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Oh,” the pegasus said, “Director Peachy Keen wanted to make sure you got up before the cafeteria ran out of food. By the way you can call me Sugar Pie.”

“Thank you Sugar Pie,” Jackson said. “I’m sorry about kissing you like that; I thought you were my wife.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Sugar Pie cheerfully said. “I won’t tell her you’ve been fooling around behind her back.”

Jackson’s face turned red, as he glared at the pegasus. “Next time you need to alert me just have the building’s A.I. send me an alert,” he said. “I’m wired to wake up on a moment’s notice.”

“We tried that,” Sugar Pie said, “but that big old meanie Winston said he refuses to negotiate with terrorists, whatever those are.”

Jackson groaned inwardly, this job was going to be the end of him he knew it. Between making out with ponies and belligerent A.I.’s refusing to cooperate he had his work cut out for him. And that was nothing compared to the headache of putting up with Tinman’s theatrics.

Sugar Pie looked up at the human curiously, he didn’t seem to be listening to a word she was saying. She tried waving her hooves in front of his face and even poking him, but nothing worked. Deciding that this called for drastic measures, she planted a big wet kiss on his lips. Jackson responded just like she had hoped. She was glad it’d worked, if it hadn’t she didn’t want to even think about what else she would’ve had to do next to get his attention.

When he felt the pony kiss him once again he couldn’t believe it. “Hey!” he said. “I’m a married man.”

“Sorry,” Sugar Pie giggled, “but you weren’t responding to anything I did.”

“Okay I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Jackson said, while he headed towards the showers.

“Alright,” Sugar Pie said. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about Tinman while I wait for you?”

“Sure thing,” Jackson said from the other side of the door as he turned on the shower.

“Is Tinman a bad pony?” she asked.

Jackson thought about the question that Sugar Pie had just asked him. He mulled it over in his mind for a minute before responding. “Well…” he said, shampooing his hair, “labels like good and bad can’t be easily applied to people like Tinman. Is he a good soldier? Yes he is, one of the best I’ve ever seen. Does he go out of his way to be cruel to people for pleasure? No, he’s not a psychopath.”

“It seems like your friend is a rather complicated fellow,” Sugar Pie said.

“Yes,” Jackson said. “Complicated is probably a very good word to describe him.”

“Do you know why Director Peachy Keen wouldn’t want anypony to talk with him?” she asked.

“The director is probably worried that ponies near Tinman might aggravate any HLF aggression in the area,” Jackson said before shutting off the water. “It’s probably for the best anyways; Tinman can’t protect you as well if you’re out in the open.”

When she heard Jackson’s reasons why she couldn’t spend time with Tinman, Sugar Pie nodded. They seemed to be perfectly valid reasons. “Maybe if Tinman gets lonely he can make the wire face inside so he can talk with everypony,” she said.

“Oh the wireframe?” Jackson replied as he dressed. “I don’t think Tinman really likes leaving his frame that much.”

“Oh…” Sugar Pie said clearly disappointed. “Well let him know that if he ever wants somepony to talk to, I’m always available.”

Jackson exited his room. “I’ll let Tinman know that later today,” he said. “Now which way is the cafeteria?”

“Oh it’s this way,” Sugar Pie said, flying down the hall.

*****

Elsewhere in Scottsdale, an affluent suburb outside of Phoenix, a secret meeting was being held.

“Now that they’ve beefed up security we’ll never be able to take back the city from those damn ponies!” an older man of Hispanic descent said.

The speaker’s dark brown eyes shone with a righteous fury, his black hair was streaked with grey revealed his age. He had once been a successful business owner, one of the lucky few that had managed to thrive during the supposed age of plenty that the age of nanotech and A.I.’s had promised his grandparents. Of course the economy was unprepared for the surplus of human labor that was made redundant by inexpensive A.I.’s and nanotech fabrication. Fortunately he had found a niche for himself in this world, and had even been thriving up until the appearance of the bubble in the Pacific. However, the promise of a better life was too great a temptation for the impoverished masses to resist. Within the year his business had failed due to the loss of demand for his products.

With nothing left but his shattered dreams, the man vowed revenge against the object of his anger, ponies in general and the conversion bureaus more specifically. The local chapter of the HLF readily welcomed him into their fold, and soon he became one of their top lieutenants.

“Guillermo, place your trust in God. He’ll reveal to us a path around this stumbling block,” a younger man said, his blue eyes full of compassion.

Guillermo looked at the younger man, and frowned,” Jacob,” he said, “you’re not Moses and this isn’t Egypt. God isn’t going to lead us from the wilderness into paradise.”

Jacob sighed while running his fingers through his short blonde hair, when he heard Guillermo’s disbelief. It certainly was hard to be a man of faith in this age of apostasy, especially when science had all the answers and solutions to all of mankind’s ills. Science could provide for everything that people could possibly need except the most important thing of all, spiritual fulfillment. Everywhere he turned, he saw people starving for the word of God. The appearance of the deceiver Celestia and her promises of paradise had been the death knell of any spiritual revival that he knew humanity desperately needed. Because like it or not, something like Celestia was tangible, whereas the promise of a heavenly reward from an unseen being was hard to sell in this age of skepticism. Even he had almost fallen for the deceiver’s promise of a glorious paradise, until he discovered that it only had room for ponies. He knew then that ponification was literally receiving the mark of the beast. Most religious scholars had believed the mark to be some form of numbered identification of the world corps, culminating in a one world government led by the antichrist. But the moment he learned of the awful truth about ponification, he knew then that the mark was literally becoming a beast and willingly following Celestia the antichrist into hell.

With his faith in God as his only protection, Jacob vowed he would do all in his power to thwart the great deceiver and her fallen angels in pony form. The HLF provided the perfect outlet for him to preach and try to convince the poor souls that ponification led not to their salvation, but only to their damnation.

“My son’s right hand is useless now,” a middle aged woman said, her face heavily lined with wrinkles from worrying. “Guillermo, I expect that these monsters will pay for what they did to my Joshua!”

“Angela,” Jacob said, “I thank God that he saw fit to spare him from an untimely death.”

“God had nothing to do with it!” Angela snapped.

“I’ve lost three sons and a husband to these ponies,” she said, her green eyes wet with a mother’s tears, “and now they think they can take my last baby away!”

Years ago Angela had been happy. She had a loving husband and four wonderful sons. Then the conversion bureaus came and took everything away from her. The first one she lost was her eldest, Jack. He loved a girl who had convinced him that becoming a pony would offer them a better life. When she learned that her son was throwing away his future to become an animal, she wore a false smile and saw him off. At first the postcards and letters came at regular intervals, but eventually they tapered off and stopped altogether the last one she received was a plea for her to join them in Equestria. She was heartbroken, but comforted herself in the knowledge she still had her husband and three other sons. She lost her second son, Steve to a PER potion attack. She watched him die on the pavement the victim of an incomplete ponification. For all her losses, she didn’t blame the Equestrians for the act; she knew sometimes bad things happen to good people and took solace in the fact that she still had two sons left and her husband. Then her husband Bruce lost his job, after months of trying to obtain employment he decided to go pony. Over the months he kept sending letters begging her to join him, but she refused. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing her humanity. But she still had two sons left, and took comfort in that.

The final straw that broke the camel’s back was the loss of her third son Luke. He was the apple of her eye, with fiery red hair like his mother’s, he provided her with comfort when she lost Bruce to the conversion bureau. Luke had actually fallen for a native Equestrian, when her son had brought the animal into her home to meet her she lost her temper. Angela screamed at her son and told him that he was now dead to her. Every night since, she cried in shame for what she had said to him, and in anger at what the Equestrian’s had taken from her. The next day Angela and her last remaining son joined the HLF.

Guillermo sighed in exasperation. He absolutely hated working with woman for this very reason; they always seemed to get overly emotional with cooler heads were needed. Not that he didn’t blame her; Angela had valid personal reasons for hating the conversion bureaus more than anyone else he knew.

“Listen,” he said, “I can appreciate your frustration. But if we don’t proceed cautiously, people could end up losing more than just their finger.”

Angela pounded her fists in anger against the wooden table. “Guillermo,” she seethed, “you’re going to make this right. You sent my baby out there!”

“It is written,” Jacob said, “Surely it’s better to dwell in the wilderness, than with a contentious and angry woman.”

“Alright fine,” Guillermo growled. “But we’re going to verify that the information we have is legitimate. I’m not willing to risk any more losses if the tip turns out to be bogus.”

“Very well,” Angela said, “but I expect a plan we can use by the time my son’s hand is healed.”

“Angela, patience is a virtue,” Jacob said. “We’ll run a test in the next few days and see what happens.”

Angela’s anger began subsiding; she knew what had happened was neither Guillermo nor Jacob’s fault. In fact she owed the conversion bureau a debt of gratitude for sparing her only remaining son, but when she thought of Bruce, Jack, Steve, and especially Luke her eyes welled up with angry tears. “Oh Luke,” she thought bitterly to herself, “why, oh why, did I say those things to you? Please forgive your mother; I miss my baby so much.”

But no answer came to her as she mourned, only the bitter regrets of one who knew the pain of bereavement and loss.

*****

CTO Edmund Price sat in his office in Virginia Beach. As the Chief Technology Officer for Halliburton, he was ultimately responsible for all the technology his company managed. His career had been nothing short of brilliant. Over the past forty years, he had helped his company navigate the hidden dangers that this age of nanotech and A.I.’s offered. Other companies lacking his foresight had ended up in the dustbin of history, I.B.M., who had ushered in the computer age, was now nothing more than a memory. Ford had been bought outright by the Chinese Authority for a paltry sum and now made kitchen appliances; Henry Ford was probably rolling in his grave. Even Halliburton had almost been lost if not for the timely breakthroughs that he been made in the field of cybernetics, the HWS program had singlehandedly saved the company. When he was forced to lay off his last remaining HWS, it nearly tore him in two. Such a massive investment was now gone.

Edmund was sure he would’ve been able to convince Tinman to take a brand new frame in exchange for his old one as part of his severance package. But the cyborg had actually threatened to use his weapons on his own employer. That, combined with the lawsuit the cyborg had won, made his position in the company tenuous. The world government didn’t appreciate having a HWS outside their control. What was worse, Tinman had somehow managed to actually become employed by the Equestrian government. Now nothing short of an act of war would allow them to scrap the HWS.

Edmund pulled out a flask and took several swigs. He felt the liquor burn his throat comfortingly as it went down his throat while he worriedly sat in his chair. The instructions he had received were clear, find some way to put Tinman out to pasture or they would find someone who could. Accessing the omninet, he began reading stories that had been published about Tinman. Grinding his teeth in frustration, the CTO was about to get back to work when he saw something that caught his eye. A tiny story about how the local chapter of the Phoenix HLF was decrying the use of a HWS to guard the conversion bureau as being an outrage.

As he read the story the gears in his mind began turning. Officially Halliburton couldn’t attack the HWS without facing legal troubles. However, if a third party who just happened to get their hands on some military grade technology attacked Tinman, no one needed to be the wiser as to where they got the technology from.

“I think I’ve found the solution to our little problem now…” Edmund said as he began making a few calls.

Authors note:

Thank you for reading chapter two of The Conversion Bureau: The Reluctant Cyborg gentlereaders, Because the story was so well received, I've decided to publish both this story and The Great Slave King concurrently. I hope you've found this little tale to your tastes, if you would like more giant robot action versus the more human quandaries Tinman's particular situation calls for, please let me know in the comments below and I'll make an effort to include more of them in future chapters.

Once again thank you for reading gentlereader, until next time.

Borrowed Memories

By: Fletch Scoop - Wednesday, July 19, 2084
Equestria Daily | Associated Press

Phoenix – Phoenix (AP) Want to get converted safely? Or even just find a safer place to live, then maybe you should consider heading to Phoenix, Arizona.

As thousands each month make the decision to convert at one of the over 1,500 Equestrian conversion bureaus in the NAU, the main concern is for everypony’s safety. With lawlessness at an all-time high, traveling has become quite dangerous. With the addition of terrorist groups like the HLF and PER harassing people and ponies alike, migrating between cities and even traveling inside them has always been a dangerous business.

Not so in Phoenix. Crime and reported terrorist activities in the Valley of the Rising Sun is at an all-time low. Even going back to before the appearance of Singularity in the Pacific, the statistics are staggering. Nearly a 90 percent drop in reported violent crimes.

When this reporter visited Phoenix over a year ago, the crime rates were astronomically high, due in part to the drug superhighway that travels north from Nogales towards Phoenix and out to the rest of the NAU.

“The cartels ran the territory all the way from Nogales until just south of Tucson,” local Sheriff Carlos Garcia said. “The cartels were so well armed that not even Academi, the PMC with the contract to secure the southwest sector of the NAU, was powerless to stop them.”

When the Virginia based PMC, Academi was asked to comment on the sharp decrease of crime in the greater metropolitan Phoenix area, this reporter was directed to speak with Thomas Holmes, Deputy Director of Security for the PMC. “Academi has always prided itself on securing safety for the citizens of the territories we patrol,” the deputy director said. “The sharp decrease in violence around Phoenix is proof of that.”

When asked why the cartels still held control of the area immediately south of Phoenix, and in fact cartel related violence was on the rise in the normally sleepy towns of Las Cruces, New Mexico to the east and in Yuma, California to the west the deputy director only said, “No comment.”

Wanting to discover the secret of the sudden decrease in violent crimes in Phoenix, and the cause for the increase of cartel related violence in the surrounding communities, this reporter booked a flight to Phoenix to discover the answer for himself. Landing in the Phoenix Sky harbor International Airport, I was met by Peachy Keen, director of the Phoenix conversion bureau, and his secretary Dewdrop.

When asked about the recent ongoing attacks that the Phoenix bureau had been suffering from on a daily basis, the director had this to say, “Working with local law enforcement, we have been able to secure the surrounding area from any further HLF incursions.”

“Yes, we are pleased to say that conversions have gone from just a handful a day, to over 350 in under two weeks,” Dewdrop said.

The Phoenix conversion bureau shares many similarities with the other bureaus in the NAU, namely a large greenhouse and a large field for the newborn pegasi to practice their flying skills. However, the Phoenix conversion bureau has something else that no other bureau can boast of having. An HWS Mark V Land Behemoth, affectionately called Tinman.

“The Mark V Land Behemoth is the apex of land based combat,” Steve Jackson, the mechanic for Tinman said. “I’ve seen Tinman successfully fight against two Mark IV’s and three full companies of mercenaries simultaneously with only limited support.”

The irony of a war machine being used to protect the conversion bureau is not lost on everyone. “When the conversion bureaus first opened, we ran a line of very well received commercials decrying war as a reason for undergoing ponification,” Director Peachy Keen said. “Now here we are using one of the very war machines we railed against to provide security.”

Asking some of the residents and employees how they felt about Tinman’s presence returned mixed responses. “Well I think that it’s kind of hypocritical that the Equestrian government would hire Tinman, but I can understand why they did. I’ve never felt safer,” said Catherine Rutger, who is currently undergoing the conversion process.

“It’s just not right,” said Cherry Blossom, an earth pony gardener. “Equestria is better than this. We shouldn’t need to use a war machine to protect us. It sends the wrong kind of message to people coming to get away from human ills like war.”

“Tinman is amazing,” said Sugar Pie, a baker for the conversion bureau, “I think all he really needs is just a friend.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” said Stormy Skies, the flight instructor for the bureau. “Tinman is no different than the clouds I used to push back in Manehattan. Yes weather could be weaponized, but it’s just a tool. Similarly, Tinman is a tool we’re using to protect ourselves. As long as we use it properly, I don’t think anypony could fault us for using all available resources to protect ourselves from harm.”

The HWS named Tinman has a long and storied service record. In fact this isn’t the first time he’s operated in the NAU. Using the Freedom of Information Act, this reporter was able to uncover that Tinman had been used against the Mormon Separatist Movement in Utah in 2051. Records indicate that the war machine was used to annihilate all resistance, and in fact was responsible for the complete destruction of the Wasatch Front including Salt Lake City, leading to the eventual collapse of the L.D.S. sect. Additional records indicate that it was also used against the city of Mecca in Greater Persia, with similar results in 2072 against the Wahhabi Brotherhood.

While the benefits that Tinman offers the conversion bureau are obvious, it still doesn’t answer why the crime rates in Phoenix itself has gone down so dramatically since its arrival.

Asking people and ponies alike on the street returned different answers. “I think that people are afraid that the machine is going to go wild if the Equestrians are attacked anymore,” said Patrick Frank, lifelong resident of Phoenix. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with having a foreign government operating such a machine here. This isn’t Asia or Africa after all.”

“Personally, I’ve never felt safer on Earth,” said Sparkling Diamond, a unicorn jeweler. “Before the arrival of the machine at the bureau, I was constantly under fear for my life from being robbed by thugs, or even being murdered by the HLF. Now I can walk outside and not worry about being attacked.”

When this reporter attempted to ask the local chapter of the HLF what their opinion of Tinman’s presence was, HLF spokesperson and local businessman Guillermo Ortega had this to say, “The fact that the Equestrian government has had to stoop to use human technology to defend themselves means that their whole argument that it’s better to be a pony than a human is invalid. If they truly believed their way was superior they would use only Equestrian technology to defend themselves. Their use of a HWS is hypocrisy of the highest order.”

Regardless of what’s causing the decrease of violence in Phoenix and the surrounding communities, the fact remains that people are free to convert there without fear, and people and ponies alike are able to go about their business free from the threat of harm.

Before this reporter left the Valley of the Sun, we asked the one person who might be able to best answer these unanswered questions, Tinman himself. When asked why he thought that the violence had been reduced in the city he had this to say, “You fleshbags are all the same, predictable and easy to manipulate. Fleshbags, especially of the still human variety love to bluster, but for the most part are cowards. Pony fleshbags like yourself, are so blasted trusting that as long as you hide the knife before you strike, they’ll be smiling until they bleed out. The most likely reason for the reduction in cartel violence, I’d say is because they know of the bounties on their heads I’m willing and able to collect. As for the rest of the reduction in crime, most of the fleshbags think I’m some sort of robocop who will beat them down at the first infraction. God, you fleshbags watch too much holovision.”

*****

It was Friday, Tinman’s favorite day of the week. Fridays always meant new memories were available to be had. The black market memory swap in the virtual world was one of Tinman’s guilty pleasures. The number one cause of cyberbrain sclerosis, or grey matter calcification among the cybernetically augmented was the loss of sensory input. Most people with only some cybernetic augmentation never suffered from the debilitating condition. However, those who had undergone full cyberdization ran the risk of their brains becoming hardened and useless, often leading to a catatonic state or even brain death. Although the cause for this condition was never discovered, it was believed that the loss of a majority of the body’s nervous system resulted in a degraded ability to process sensory input.

The world corps had ‘approved’ memories containing sensory data to help prevent calcification from occurring, but only the poor and corporate lackeys used them. Memory connoisseurs like Tinman, instead got all their memories from the black market memory swap. The black market had memories of all kinds for sale, which were procured from both willing and unwilling fleshbags and sometimes even ponies. Lately pony memories were all the rage, and were in high demand.

As Tinman browsed through the new memories that were now available using his wireframe avatar, he stopped at one that seemed to catch his eye. Greatest Pony Hits, containing such popular favorites such as: spending time with friends, surprise party, breeding season, love at first sight, defecation, and eating a muffin. Tinman was about to ask if they had any memories about battlefield surgery, preferably without anesthesia available. When he kept thinking about what Sugar Pie had said last week, “Even though you can’t enjoy eating one any more, I thought that maybe just looking at it might help remind you of what eating one might have been like.”

On a whim Tinman added Greatest Pony Hits to his order. Carefully he avoided making eye contact with any of the other regulars. Up until now, he had been extremely vocal in denouncing ponies in cyberspace and had even been feuding with a chapter of PER that operated here. This chapter of PER that operated in the cyber world acted much like their real world counterparts; usually the most they did was vandalizing your avatar by turning it into a pony. Sometimes they were even able to locate you in the real world and would then try ponifing the poor schlubs who didn’t use enough proxies to hide their real world locations. Seeing two of the PER flunkies nearby, he decided to try avoiding them.

Tinman had had several run-ins with them before, and always loved tweaking them for kicks. However today he wasn’t really in the mood, he just wanted to take his newly purchased memories and get back to work protecting the conversion bureau.

“Aha!” said a light red earth pony mare with a pink mane with a ‘G’ for a cutie mark, “I see that you’ve finally decided to try sampling some pony memories.”

“Oh really?” the light brown unicorn stallion with a black mane and wearing an ‘N’ for a cutie mark on his flank asked. “Let’s see what they’ve bought.”

“Why it’s Greatest Pony Hits!” G said. “I’ll bet you just can’t wait to try out track seven, mating season, can you?”

“Listen, get out of my way!” Tinman growled.

“Has my squire hit a nerve?” N teased.

Tinman said nothing but tried leaving another way. Only to be confronted by the unicorn G once more. “Why settle for mere memories when you can have the real thing?” she asked, flicking her tail suggestively.

“Leave me alone,” Tinman said, “I won’t ask again.”

“You dare threaten a knight of PER!” N exclaimed.

Both ponies began circling around Tinman’s wireframe. “Prepare for trouble…” N said, while unsuccessfully trying to hack Tinman.

“Make it double…” G added, as she began interfacing with his wireframe mesh.

Groups like PER were one of the reasons he hated ponies so much. PER, along with all those stupid conversion bureau ads annoyed him to no end. Stupid fleshbags, they thought that trading in their hands for hooves somehow made them any better or purer then humanity. Human fleshbag or pony fleshbag, it made no difference. A fleshbag was still a fleshbag no matter the form.

As the two PER idiots spouted off some inane rhyme and tried hacking him in a pathetic attempt at changing his avatar, he began hacking the environment. Cyberspace unlike the real world was built on rules, rules that could be bent or broken if you knew how. Rolling his nonexistent eyes at the two fleshbags foolish enough to try messing with him, he reversed the gravity right near where the two pony avatars were running by over ten thousand Newtons. Instantly both ponies were launched into the stratosphere of the cyber world. Eventually their connection to the black market would time out and their consciousness would be returned to their bodies no worse for the wear.

Tinman snorted in disgust, “Stupid fleshbags…” he murmured, while wishing he could so something more permanent than merely inconveniencing them for a short period.

The rest of the avatars in the black market were looking at Tinman in surprise, until he glared back at them. Instantly, it was business as usual as the other avatars resumed their trading, selling and buying of memories from each other. Allowing the cyber world’s environment to reset to its defaults, he accessed a nearby dataport and synched up with his frame. The world went black, until he finally reconnected with his frame’s sensor array.

Looking out at the street, Tinman was surprised at how busy the conversion bureau was getting. Dozens of people would enter the building now every hour, while dozens more loved to gawk at his hulking frame. Director Peachy Keen had posted signs advising both people and ponies to keep their distance away from the war machine.

The conversion bureau looked much different now than when he had first arrived. Taking advantage of the expense account he had access to, Tinman had made some renovations. The most noticeable ones were the duracrete barricades he had set up along the roads leading up to the building, to prevent the possibility of a vehicle filled with explosives ramming into the building and gaining access. Now there was only one path that a vehicle could take unimpeded into the conversion bureau, and that was covered by several automated turrets he had setup.

Tinman resumed his normal surveillance position in front of the bureau. To the left of him atop an electrical pole was a ten day old muffin moldy and stale. Looking at it he began accessing track eighteen of Greatest Pony Hits, eating a muffin. His vision went black for a moment as his brain case began synching up with the memory file.

He found himself sitting at a table surrounded by several unfamiliar ponies in a small room, in front of him was a large platter of muffins. The fragrant bouquet of the muffins made his mouth water, he felt himself smiling at the thought of tasting the delectable treats. Several of the ponies to his left were having a conversation in their strange pony tongue. He heard himself utter a few words he didn’t understand, before a muffin was placed before him. The ponies all around him were laughing, and chatting. He felt a strange camaraderie with these creatures, and almost even a familial connection. He looked down at a nearby light blue foal to his right and nuzzled it, while a pink mare to his left nibbled at his ear and smiled. He felt himself smiling in response and saying something he didn’t understand. The mare looked back at him lovingly and gave him a kiss. He felt a wave of euphoria and happiness start to overwhelm him. Returning his attention to the muffin on his plate, he looked at it intently as he carefully studied it trying to decipher the meaning it held.

The muffin was golden brown and covered in sugar crystals and glaze, large blueberries broke through the surface of the confection revealing their tasty allure. The top of the muffin was flawless having risen perfectly, while its rim slightly bulging out over the sides. Using his magic to slowly break the muffin apart, Tinman saw that its innards were moist and golden brown. Inside the plump blueberries were leaking juice, staining the muffin’s otherwise flawless golden interior. Carefully to not spill any crumbs, he brought up a small piece of the muffin into his mouth using his magic. As the sugar sweet bread in combination with the tart sweetness of the blueberries met his tongue, they made him close his eyes in pleasure. Slowly he chewed and swallowed the breakfast pastry, before taking another bite. The foal to his right looked up at him pleadingly with wide eyes, and then down at his half-finished muffin. Smiling, he used his magic to levitate a small piece of the muffin over to the foal’s plate, while saying something he didn’t understand with a small laugh. The foal looked back and gratefully smiled before eating the piece of muffin given to her. Once she was done eating, the foal rubbed up against his leg affectionately. Leaning down, he gave her a kiss on the top of her head before he resumed eating the rest of his muffin. Once the last bit of the muffin was gone, he saw the mare to his left smile, then felt her kiss his cheek affectionately before his vision went dark.

Moments later he was reconnected to his sensor array once more. In front of him he saw the moldy muffin that Sugar Pie had given him days ago. Moving away from the pole, he started his patrol of the perimeter of the bureau. He didn’t know quite what to think about the memories he had just experienced. Usually the memories he was used to experiencing were mainly physical sensations, the pain of feeling your leg being broken or the pleasure of animalistic sex. Never before had he bothered with something as mundane as the memory of sharing a meal with someone. He felt a sudden longing for something he couldn’t quite understand, yet at the same time felt revulsion for his new found desire.

He wondered who the ponies he had experienced were, and what their relationship to each other was. Lost in thought, he didn’t even notice when the bright pink shape of Sugar Pie flitted around him, in an effort to gain his attention.

“Hello Tinman!” she said. “I know I’m not supposed to talk with you, but director Peachy Keen wanted to speak with you in his office.”

Looking at Sugar Pie, and then thinking about the mare in the memories, he decided to try something. Activating his sensor array, Tinman began scanning every detail of the bright pink pegasus pony. “Advise the director I’ll meet him in his office shortly,” he said, after activating his loudspeakers.

“Oh that tickles!” she giggled.

“Did the director happen to say what he wanted?” Tinman asked.

“Not really,” Sugar Pie replied, before flying off. “See you later big guy.”

Using the biometric data he’d captured, Tinman created a perfect duplicate of the excitable Sugar Pie. Then combined the duplicate with the memory he had just experienced. After replaying it once more he found something was still bothering bothered him, something was missing and he couldn’t quite understand what it was. Deciding to put the problem aside until later, he accessed with the conversion bureau’s mainframe and uploaded his consciousness into its central core.

There he was met by the utterly insufferable A.I. Winston who looked at him with contempt. “I see that the Brute has darkened my door once again," he said.

“Yeah whatever, Winchell,” Tinman replied. “I need to see Director Peachy Keen.”

“That’s Winston, you uneducated buffoon,” Winston retorted, “and the director is busy holoconferencing with someone. He can’t be bothered with trivialities.”

Listen here you limey bastard,” Tinman growled, “the director asked to see me. Don’t make me go over your bald head.”

“I’ll have you know baldness is a sign of distinction,” Winston replied in a slightly hurt tone, while placing a hand on his balding head.

“Oh I’m sure all the lady A.I.s at whatever singles bar you hang out at, just love the comb over on the old chrome dome,” Tinman said, with a laugh.

“Sir, how dare you!” Winston said, puffing out his chest. “I’ll not have you besmirching my good name by insinuating I would stoop to chasing after cheap floozies. You may use the emitters and access consoles, but I’m going to have to insist you leave my main frame immediately.”

Tinman rolled his eyes, and then exited the main frame to access one of the many consoles inside the conversion bureau. Although Tinman had full access to the mainframe to do as he pleased, he felt it was bad form as a guest to continue aggravating Winston in his own home. A.I.s when they decided they didn’t like you very much always found ways of biting you in the ass when you least expected it. Selecting the front lobby emitters, Tinman projected his wireframe scaring an unsuspecting Dewdrop.

“Aiiieee!” Dewdrop screamed, dropping the cup of tea she was about to drink to the ground.

“Dewdrop,” Tinman said apologetically, “sorry about that. Winston was being uncooperative, and wouldn’t let me into Director Peachy Keen’s office.”

“Oh that’s alright,” Dewdrop said, using her magic to clean up the split tea.

“Did the director say why he wanted to speak with me?” Tinman asked.

“No,” Dewdrop replied, walking back to her desk to resume working on her console. “But you know how that stallion is. Sometimes he’s just so bottled up.”

Tinman nodded as he waited for the director to finish his holoconferencing call. “I guess I’ll just stay here till his schedule opens up,” he said.

Dewdrop silently nodded as she resumed her filing, when she remembered what Peachy Keen had said about Tinman earlier. “Tinman,” she said. “I have a question for you. What exactly is L.S.D.?”

“L.S.D. or lysergic acid diethylamide also more commonly known as acid, is a non-addictive psychotropic compound capable of altering thinking processes,” Tinman explained, projecting a rotating image of the molecule in front of him. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m curious because Peachy Keen mentioned you assisted in destroying that sect while we were discussing your service record,” Dewdrop said. “But now I’m even more confused, because it sounds as if L.S.D. is more chemistry than a religion.”

Tinman looked at the pony quizzically for a moment and then started laughing. “Ah,” he said with a chuckle. “You must be referring to the L.D.S. not L.S.D.”

“Ah that’s right,” Dewdrop said. “All these human acronyms, I find them a bit confusing sometimes.”

“That’s fine,” Tinman replied. “Sometimes I even have trouble remembering all of them. Personally I think fleshbags use so many big words to hide the fact that they really don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”

“So why did you willingly destroy something that was once important to you?” Dewdrop asked.

“Oh it wasn’t personal,” Tinman said. “Back then the L.D.S. religion had fermented an insurrection against the NAU. Supposedly, they were trying to save the United States constitution or some such nonsense. It was called the Mormon war.”

“But if you were a Mormon as well, why did you help fight?” Dewdrop asked in curiosity. “I mean I don’t really understand human religions very well, but from what I’ve seen I believe it to be like what I feel for the princesses. I could never harm one of them.”

“Being a fleshbag, I don’t think you could possibly understand,” Tinman said.

“A fleshbag?” Dewdrop said looking hurt.

“I’m sorry if you find the term offensive,” Tinman apologized, “But I find it accurately describes the nonmetal very well.”

“I’d prefer it if you would call me by name please,” Dewdrop said.

“Alright Dewdrop,” Tinman said. “But let me continue. Once I left my fleshbag body behind and went full metal, suddenly fleshbag concerns just didn’t seem that important anymore.”

“Fleshbag concerns?” Dewdrop asked in confusion.

“Yeah,” Tinman said, “Things like family, friends, country, and even god seemed to no longer matter.”

“But that’s awful!” Dewdrop said, finally realizing what Tinman truly was. “Was your family Mormon then?”

“Yes they were,” Tinman replied. “They all died during the assault on the Wasatch Front.”

“How could willingly fight against your own family, didn’t you love them?” Dewdrop asked, her eyes growing moist as she thought about the family she had left behind in Equestria.

“They placed their faith in an invisible god who was powerless to aid them, and foolishly chose to fight against the true gods of this world,” Tinman said, with a flat voice devoid of feeling. “Love is a fleshbag emotion. I left it behind me a long time ago…”

“That’s such a sad story,” Dewdrop said, while wiping the tears away from her eyes.

“Don’t mourn for the dead,” Tinman replied, “they made their choice, and if there ever was a god, I’m sure they are with him now. At least they finally got their revenge.”

“What do you mean,” Dewdrop said.

“The gods of this world have finally been overthrown by another,” Tinman said with a wry grin.

“You mean Princess Celestia and Princess Luna right,” Dewdrop replied.

“Yeah your princesses, the singularity or what have you I guess,” Tinman said.

“So is that why you have no problems killing people?” Dewdrop asked.

“Flesh and blood is weak, steel and fire is strong,” Tinman said without remorse. “If the fleshbags are foolish enough to fight against the inevitable, I have no qualms in ending them.”

Dewdrop felt ill at hearing about all the terrible things that Tinman had just admitted to, she wanted some time to herself. “Tinman,” she said, walking out of the lobby, “I have to take care of something. The director will be done with his holoconferencing call soon.”

“Dewdrop I understand,” Tinman said, “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“No it’s alright, I did ask you after all,” Dewdrop said, with a weak smile. “I just need a few minutes to compose myself.”

Dewdrop left the lobby and Tinman behind. Heading towards her room, she looked inside and was relieved that her roommate wasn’t there. Closing the door behind her, she climbed up on her bed and curled up into a ball. The tears freely fell from her eyes. Never before had she imagined that somepony could have done all the terrible things Tinman had admitted to. She didn’t know whether to feel pity for what he’d lost or disgust at what he’d become.

*****

Tinman waited patiently for the director to finish his meeting. While he was busily checking the building’s systems for opportunities to improve their security, that he didn’t hear the stealthy approach of Sugar Pie. Her approach had been so quiet that he was surprised when she flew up behind him and asked, “Do you miss them?”

Surprised, Tinman turned around and saw the pink mare looking at him with her big blue eyes. “Do I miss who?” he asked.

“Your family,” Sugar Pie said. “I know I miss mine.”

“What happened to yours?” Tinman asked.

“We ran a bakery, and there was a fire…” Sugar Pie said with a hint of audible sadness in her voice. “I was the only one who managed to get out in time, nopony else was able to.”

“Sugar Pie, I’m sorry for your loss,” Tinman said.

“It’s alright, it was an accident and nopony’s fault,” Sugar Pie said. “I find when I miss them badly; thinking about the good times we shared together helps me feel better.”

“Feeling sad is a fleshbag emotion,” Tinman replied.

“That’s too bad,” Sugar Pie said in a sorrowful tone, before she flew towards the kitchen, “because you can’t know the joy of the sweet without also tasting the bitter.”

“What does knowing the joy of the sweet mean exactly?” Tinman murmured to himself, as he resumed his work.

*****

Director Peachy Keen just finished his holoconference with the head office over of the western NAU region’s conversion bureaus. Apparently, his bureau was making somewhat of a stir back in Canterlot. The ministry heads were ecstatic over the numbers that they were reporting daily, as well as the relative peace that Phoenix now offered ponykind. However, once they found out what he had done to secure that peace they weren’t quite as pleased. It was one thing to hire mercenary police to guard your bureau, but quite another to hire a HWS. Apparently because Equestria now employed the war machine, the government was in a bit of a pickle. Losing the war machine would mean that the violence would most likely return to Phoenix with a vengeance, but if they kept it on the payroll they ran the possibility of causing an international incident.

The ministry had left the dilemma squarely on his shoulders, determining what they should recommend doing with Tinman to the princesses. Peachy Keen nervously ran his hooves through his mane while weighing his options. On the one hoof, he enjoyed the relief from the mortars and snipers as well as the increase in conversions that were occurring. But on the other hoof, he felt ill anytime he thought about what he had read about in Tinman’s file. Additionally, there was the possibility of sparking the first war Equestria had ever been in in over a thousand years to worry about as well.

His brooding was interrupted by the sound of the intercom chirping. “Who is it?” Peachy Keen asked.

“Is your holoconference call over?” Tinman’s voice said.

“Oh yes, you can come in,” Peachy Keen replied.

Moments later the holographic image of Tinman appeared in the director’s office. “So what did you need to talk to me about?” Tinman asked.

“Well,” Director Peachy Keen said, “I’ve been talking with my superiors at the regional office and back in Canterlot. And there have been some concerns about you.”

“Finally,” Tinman thought, excited about the possibility of being discharged from his contract.

“While we appreciate the stability and protection you’re presence offers us…” Peachy Keen continued.

“Here it comes!” Tinman thought, salivating at the idea of being able to escape the clutches of these stupid ponies.

“We feel it would be in the best interests of everypony if we…” Peachy Keen said, before being interrupted by Tinman.

“Oh I can totally understand your position, with me being a walking nightmare and all,” Tinman said, careful not to reveal his eagerness. “When should I draw up the exit paperwork?”

Peachy Keen’s face got confused for a minute, and then broke into a smile. “Oh we’re not going to fire you,” he said.

“What!” Tinman exclaimed, losing control of himself.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel you weren’t wanted,” Peachy Keen said.

“Oh I’m sorry for my little outburst,” Tinman said, regaining his cool demeanor. “It’s just that it sounded like you were going to terminate me.”

“Oh it’s nothing like that,” Peachy Keen replied, “the ministry in Canterlot, and my superiors feel that your presence has had a stabilizing effect in the region. And that it would be unfair to everypony to just send you away just because of your previous employment history.”

“Okay,” Tinman said, bitterly thinking about the irony of it all.

“We felt that drawing up some proper combat protocols for you should put everypony’s mind at ease regarding your unsavory reputation,” the director said.

“Oh there goes my fun,” Tinman ruefully thought to himself. Quickly trying to figure out how to salvage the situation he decided to try for a ruse. “Director Peach Keen may I make a suggestion regarding your proposed combat protocols?”

“Oh of course,” Peachy Keen said. “You are the expert after all.”

When Tinman heard the director’s naivety, he wanted to burst out into song. Never let your hired mercenaries draw up the combat protocols, that was rule one of the new kind of warfare he represented. “Well director,” he said, “combat protocols are only really useful so everyone knows the limits of what both sides are capable of. Thereby limiting unexpected blow back, and limiting collateral damage.”

“That’s exactly what we want,” Peachy Keen said, clapping his hooves together.

“While published combat protocols are useful for real warfare,” Tinman explained, “I feel they would be detrimental to what you want to accomplish here.”

“Why do you say that?” Peachy Keen asked in confusion. “Wouldn’t knowing the extent of what you’re allowed to do, put everypony at ease?”

“My presence here is protecting the greater metropolitan area of Phoenix generally and this bureau specifically,” Tinman continued. “The virtue that no one knows the extent of my combat protocols makes me an unknown, a very dangerous and terrifying unknown.”

“I’m not quite sure I understand what you mean,” the director said, his ignorance of combat playing right into Tinman’s trap.

“Imagine for a minute, if my combat protocols were set for a one thousand meter perimeter around the conversion bureau,” Tinman said, generating an aerial map for the director to see. “Now imagine if the people who want to harm you decided to forgo attacking the bureau itself, and instead concentrated on the perimeter of my operating range.”

Director Peachy Keen’s eyes got wide, when he saw the images Tinman was projecting. He saw humans heading towards the conversion bureau being killed and beaten when they attempted to approach the perimeter. Next he saw ponies living outside the perimeter getting abused and even some being killed. “Tinman,” he said, feeling a bit nauseous at the violence he had just viewed, “thank you for educating me, and preventing me from making a terrible mistake.”

“I would be a poor combat asset if I didn’t properly advise you,” Tinman said with a slight smile. “Honestly telling me what sorts of combat protocols you want me to abide by and not locking me down would be the best course of action.”

“Why is that?” Peachy Keen asked.

“Once you’ve posted them,” Tinman said, “every member of the HLF in the region will swarm just outside of my kill zone to harass you.”

“Wouldn’t that be just what you wanted to prevent?” Peachy Keen said.

“Not in this case,” Tinman replied, “by posting false combat protocols and then giving them a bloody nose, you will have increased your protection significantly.”

“Does that mean you’ll be killing people?” the director hesitantly asked.

“As many as you ask for,” Tinman cheerfully said, “I can even arrange for battle trophies if you would like. I know several excellent taxidermists.”

Peachy Keen’s face turned green when he heard Tinman’s macabre suggestion. “What do you take me for, a human butcher who glories in violence?” he accused.

“Not at all Director Peachy Keen,” Tinman said. “I respect your revulsion to violence, I was just attempting to show you the extent you could carry the operation to if you so choose. Additionally a few stuffed HLFer’s decorating the exterior of the building might give them pause before deciding to attack a pony in the future.”

“I’ll hear of no further talk of such disgusting practices!” the director shouted in revulsion.

“As you wish director, remember I’m simply a tool and extension of your desires,” Tinman said politely, trying to hide the lies he was telling. “I’ll only perform actions you authorize me to.”

“Well that’s a relief off my mind,” Peachy Keen said. “We’re you actually being serous about the battle trophies or was that a bit of that black humor you humans are so fond of?”

“No I was being quite serious,” Tinman said. “Some of my employers found that harvesting the remains of the fallen as trophies of their victories quite pleasurable.”

“Though I’m hardly surprised by humanities capacity for violence anymore,” Peachy Keen said, “I find the thought that some people would actually take pleasure in harvesting human remains for decorating unimaginable.”

“You’ve read my service record haven’t you?” Tinman said. “I’ve been employed by some of the most ruthless men imaginable. They would think nothing of dropping a neutron bomb on a population center, or releasing a nanoplague if it was expedient. Harvesting the dead to decorate their offices is tame in comparison.”

Peachy Keen felt another wave of nausea wash over him. “Alright Tinman that’s all I had for you,” he said.

“Don’t you want to discuss what combat protocols you wish to use?” Tinman asked.

“No,” the director said, “I’m going with your suggestion. Posting false combat protocols, and letting you manage the situation.”

“It will be as you wish director,” Tinman said, as he attempted to upload himself back into his frame.

“Oh Tinman, one more thing,” Peachy Keen said.

“Yes director?” Tinman asked.

“I know you’re not somepony who revels in violence,” the director said.

“Why do you say that?” Tinman asked, genuinely questioning wherever the director could have gotten such a ridiculous idea inside his stupid pony brain.

“Because, on the first day I met you,” Peachy Keen replied, “you spared those snipers. And I think that perhaps all these evil things in your file were what your previous employers desired. Not what you would have freely chosen.”

“What a stupid trusting pony,” Tinman though derisively. “Fleshbags are all too easy to manipulate, I can’t believe he bought it.”

“I hope that my trust in you isn’t misplaced,” Peachy Keen said.

“It is as you said,” Tinman said, “I always do as my employers ask, and if you wish for me to show restraint and keep casualties to a minimum I’ll do my damnedest to ensure that happens. But if you prefer that I rain down the wrath of god on their heads, I’ll ask if you prefer fire or brimstone.”

“Good I’m glad that business has been settled now,” the director said, wiping his brow, “that’s a load off my mind.”

Before accessing the emitter to be uploaded back to his frame, Tinman turned towards Peachy Keen, “Once you’ve decided on my supposed combat protocols give them to Jackson, He’ll know what to do with them.”

“Very well,” Peachy Keen said, “Tinman, I look forward to continuing to work with you.”

“As do I,” Tinman said, full of false sincerity. “If you have anything further, have either Dewdrop or Sugar Pie send for me.”

“I will,” the director said, “have a Celestia blessed day.”

Tinman turned away and rolled his eyes, “I hope you do as well director,” Tinman said, before uploading himself into his frame.

Tinman couldn’t believe his good fortune, that naive pony fleshbag had actually bought it! While the cyborg fully intended to keep the conversion bureau safe from harm, and by extension the rest of Phoenix for ponykind as well, it wasn’t out of any sense of benevolence on his part. He knew that by only wounding and embarrassing the fundie fleshbags could he keep his entertainment going on for as long as possible. So what if he wasn’t actually killing the fleshbags, tormenting them was nearly the next best thing. After all wasn’t steel strong and flesh weak? Wasn’t he, as one of the gods of war, entitled to make those too foolish to know any better suffer for opposing him?

“Yes!” he wickedly thought, “those HLF fleshbags will suffer, as they willingly throw themselves against me. And these pony fleshbags will taste the horrors of war before I’m through, and will be begging me to protect them from it.”

Thinking about the insufferable smiling face of that fool of a pony director, Tinman chuckled darkly. “Trust,” Tinman spat in disgust. “What a load of rubbish, it’s just another useless fleshbag weakness.”

Turning to move back towards his usual surveillance spot, he saw the moldy muffin spoiling away under the heat of the noonday sun. Looking at it made him think of Sugar Pie and what she had said earlier that week, “Today’s a new day, if you choose to you can start being a good pony.”

He remembered how sad she looked when she realized he was devoid of any remorse or sorrow. Somehow her empathy for him made him feel angry for some reason. “You wouldn’t waste tears on me if you knew how I really was,” Tinman bitterly thought. “I’m just as rotten as that useless muffin you gave me has become.”

Deciding to pass the time as he waited for his fake combat protocols, he loaded the Greatest Pony Hits and played track eighteen once more. Feeling the simulacrum of Sugar Pie nuzzling against him and seeing the tiny foal made something long forgotten in the deep recesses of his mind cry out for something that he still couldn’t quite understand. Trying to comprehend what he was feeling was a maddening and futile task. No matter how many times he experienced the memory, once it was over he lost his grasp on the emotions he had felt. It was almost like trying to catch the wind, always out of his reach.

Deciding that he had experienced enough mental torture for one day, Tinman decided to playback one of his favorite memories, Battlefield Surgery: multiple amputations. While most might question why anyone would willingly subject themselves to such a painful experience, he felt it was cathartic. Pain was among the most primal of memories. The pain he could understand, the pain let him know he was still alive and not just some hulking machine. Before he accessed the memory he remembered something he had heard one of the PER fools had said about track seven while at the black market memory swap.

“I guess there’s no harm in experiencing whatever it is,” Tinman thought to himself, preparing to overlay his Sugar Pie Simulacrum to the memory. When he entered the memory his vision turned black.

*****

Guillermo Ortega, was heading towards this week’s meeting place, so far no one in the HLF was willing to try testing out if what the document they had was actually good intel. The risk of getting killed was just too great. He looked up bitterly at the pegasi flying about overhead without a care in the world. Those damn ponies were everywhere now! Every day, more and more of those damn freaks moved into his city, part of him wanting to grab his shotgun, but the sight of the massive war machine in the distance made him reconsider. For all he knew, the machine would retaliate immediately if he tried anything.

Stewing in the anger of someone made impotent by their own fears, Guillermo just kept driving towards the abandoned factory that had once been busy with industry. He looked at the weed covered lot that had once been packed with trucks moving products to market, and shook his head. Parking his vehicle near one of the buildings, he entered the abandoned factory that had set idle for nearly two years now. Thick layers of dust covered everything, the cost of maintenance bots had been too expensive to justify so the entire plant had been left to rot under the blistering Arizona sun. Before he could enter deeper into the recesses of the abandoned factory, he heard a knocking on the door he’d just entered.

Wondering who that could possibly be, he opened the door and saw a light purple pegasus with a blue mane wearing a goofy grin holding a package in front of him.

Narrowing his eyes in anger, Guillermo was tempted to slam the door in the revolting creatures face. “What do you want?” he growled.

“Are you Guillermo Ortega?” the pony asked, her pink eyes looking hopeful that she had finally found the right person.

“Who wants to know?” Guillermo sneered.

“Well I’m with the Phoenix post office,” the pegasus explained. “And somepony sent you a package. I just need you to sign for it!”

“Yeah whatever,” Guillermo sighed, how he hated dealing with these things. Taking the offered clipboard he signed his name and accepted delivery of the package.”

Satisfied that her job was completed, the pegasus flew off before shouting,” Have a Celestia blessed day!”

Making sure no one was around; Guillermo quickly closed the door behind him. “Man I wish every last one of those pony fuckers would drop dead,” he said, opening the package in curiosity. Inside he found a disk. Using his data reader he accessed its contents. What he read what it contained he could scarcely believe his eyes, this was the big breakthrough their righteous cause so desperately needed. Excitedly he ran deeper into the factory to share what he had just learned with the others.

Author's Notes:

Thank you gentlereader for reading the latest chapter of The Conversion Bureau: The Reluctant Cyborg. Here we learn a bit about Tinman's past, as we can see our protagonist seems rather nonchalant about the part he played during the assault on the Wasatch Front. The author wonders what Tinman must really think regarding the loss of his family. Does he really not care, or was he putting on a brave front?

Do cyborgs dream of eating electric muffins, and if so what flavor are they? After the shocks that track eighteen held for Tinman, what terrors will track number seven hold for him? And what of his new found fascination with Sugar Pie, the excitable pink pegasus pony, what's the deal with that?

Surprisingly, Director Peachy Keen has decided to keep Tinman on the payroll. One can only wonder, for all his professed protestations regarding the evils of war he sure is willing to use Tinman to provide for his safety. Perhaps the HLF has a valid point after all.

Speaking of the HLF the author wonders what significance the package that Guillermo received holds.

Find out the answers to all these questions and more, in the next exciting chapter of the The Conversion Bureau: The Reluctant Cyborg!

As always comments are always welcome

Once again thank you for reading gentlereaders, until next time!

Operation Friendship

Friday, August 12 2050, 04:27 hours
Rexburg, Idaho - 4.2 Km due east of the Mormon Seditionist stronghold, Fort Ricks, former location of the BUY-Idaho campus.

Captain Samuel H. Grymes looked through the sight of his Avangard THX6800 monocular, while chewing on a cigar. The Avangard THX6800 monocular was the optic of choice, for nighttime operations of both military and law enforcement. Capable of capturing thermal images from over 3 Km away, the THX6800 series allowed its users a large bevy of options to choose from. Capable of both UV and thermal imaging, it even allowed limited x-ray scanning, and was capable of penetrating depths of up to 1.5 meters.

A lieutenant approached the captain. His black battle uniform was devoid of any color except the patch he wore on his sleeve. The patch’s silver stitching in the outline of a wolf revealed that the lieutenant belonged to Fenir Company, of the NAU based PMC Ragnarok. The lieutenant handed the captain a sheet of paper and waited by his side. Captain Grymes picked up the paper and read it intently. Seeing something that displeased him, the captain narrowed his hard eyes in anger. Spitting out his cigar, he stomped it beneath the heel of his black boots.

Final negotiations for surrender with the Mormons had failed. They had refused the generous terms of surrender that the NAU had offered: disarmament, clemency, and internment at a detention center for reeducation and cult deprogramming. Captain Grymes sighed in exasperation at these religious nut jobs. The United States had been dissolved and reformed into the much stronger North American Union, which invalidated their claims of sovereignty and constitutional rights. Normally stomping out dissent was a relatively simple affair, but these damned Mormons had to make things difficult. As staunch survivalists they had foreseen that this day would come, and had prepared for the worst long in advance by stockpiling food and ammunition. They actually thought that their militias stood a chance against the might of his PMC! Though he did have to give them credit, Fort Ricks had put up a great deal of resistance. The 12,000 men holed up in the abandoned college campus had held his men at bay for nearly two weeks. And they might have been able to keep up their resistance for another month if corporate hadn’t seen fit to send him a Land Behemoth to help break the stronghold.

Though Captain Grymes had not seen a Land Behemoth in person, what he’d read about their capabilities made him skeptical. Apparently, a single Land Behemoth had the combat capabilities of an entire battalion. He would believe it when he saw it. As an experienced combat veteran, he had heard a lot of claims from different corporations claiming that their latest war tech would revolutionize the battlefield. But as far as he was concerned, nothing could beat having boots on the ground. He fully expected that the Land Behemoth wouldn’t live up to the claims that the brochure promised.

According to corporate, the Land Behemoth was due to arrive at 04:40 hours, just in time to resume the assault on Fort Ricks. Looking at his watch, Captain Grymes noticed that it was 04:39 hours. “Lying bastards,” he muttered to himself.

Right before he was about to pick up the phone to find out where his new shiny overpriced war toy was at, a large boom rocked his trailer from outside. Captain Grymes rushed out of his command post and looked out to see what the hell had just happened. What he saw was unbelievable. A massive machine had been dropped out of a Hercules 480 cargo plane that was flying away overhead. Six legs supported the machine, as it began scanning the camp and the many soldiers that were now surrounding it with weapons drawn.

The captain slowly approached the machine he saw that each of his men was painted by the machine’s targeting sensors, and heard the tell-tale whine of its weapons warming up. “Stand down men,” he said.

Once the soldiers had lowered their weapons, the machine shut down its targeting scanners and powered down its guns. Seemingly satisfied that the men here weren’t a threat, the machine began reconfiguring itself by folding in its legs until it was resting on the treads attached to them.

Captain Grymes expected the crew to exit the machine and deliver their orders to him. When the crew refused to exit and present themselves to him, he walked up to the access hatch and attempted opening it. “You’re wasting your time,” a slightly tinny sounding voice said, from the loudspeaker attached to the machine.

“Soldier, I order you to stand down and deliver your orders,” the captain said.

“Not happening sir,” the tinny voice said, transmitting a data file to the captain’s wrist computer.

Scanning the data file he just received, Captain Grymes saw that it was the crew’s orders. The captain was not pleased when he heard the insubordinate tone of the pilot’s in response to his orders. “Listen here,” he said, “I order you to power down your vehicle, exit the Land Behemoth, and present your orders to me.”

“Sir, I respectfully decline,” the voice replied.

By now Captain Grymes was getting really pissed off. He didn’t care if the pilot was on loan from another company; no one disrespected him in his own outfit. Drawing his weapon, he opened the access hatch and to his surprise found the crew quarters completely empty.

“What kind of damn joke is this?” Captain Grymes said, feeling a bit unnerved by the lack of a crew manning the Land Behemoth.

“Stupid fleshbag…” the tinny sounding voice said. “If you had bothered to read the orders you received, you would know that the Land Behemoth is completely automated, and doesn’t need for a crew.”

Captain Grymes realized that the operator was probably sitting thousands of miles away in some cushy office laughing at his expense. “Listen here you little bastard,” he said, “put your superior on the line.”

“This fleshbag isn’t too bright, is he,” the voice drolly said. “When I said autonomous I meant it. The Land Behemoth is not being remotely piloted by anyone.”

“Oh you’re some kind of A.I. then?” Captain Grymes asked.

“Not even close,” the voice said. “The Land Behemoth is being controlled via my braincase.”

“A braincase?” the captain said, not sure what exactly that was.

“Yeah you know a brain in a bottle,” the voice said, “the ghost in the machine, the six million dollar man, in other words a cyborg. Now sir, if you would kindly remove your fleshbag self from my innards, I’ll be happy to begin the assault.”

Captain Grymes exited the Land Behemoth. He didn’t like the cyborg’s insubordinate attitude. Nor did he trust the machine to live up to the promised hype. He wasn’t about to risk his men’s lives, on some untried piece of equipment. Entering his command post, he activated his tactical display. Instantly an aerial map of the surrounding area was generated, including real time data on any moving objects. Looking at the data file he’d received, he switched to the command frequency that was provided. The tactical display centered on the Land Behemoth, providing pertinent information such as land speed, ammunition reserves, damage reports, and even video feeds from the machines sensors.

“Sir,” the tinny voice said, “what are my orders?”

“You are to use whatever means necessary to break the stronghold’s defenses,” Captain Grymes instructed, confident that the machine would fail spectacularly in its task.

“That’s it?” the voice asked. “What about after I break down their main defenses, should I stand down or continue the assault?”

“No, our orders are quite clear,” Captain Grymes said, “total annihilation. Not a single structure is to be left standing. Once you’ve destroyed their outer perimeter, you’re to move to their temple and level it.”

“Sir,” the voice said, “destruction of religious structures is counter to U.N. resolution A/RES/55/254.”

I don’t give a damn about the U.N.,” the captain said. “The NAU has declared the Mormons a terrorist organization, and therefore no longer a valid religion.”

“What about human casualties,” the voice said, “should I employee anti-rioting measures?”

“No,” Captain Grymes said, “they blew their chances at a peaceful resolution. I want you to kill as many of the bastards as possible.”

“What if they attempt to surrender?” the tinny voice asked. “Should I attempt to disable them?”

“What part of killing them all don’t you understand?” Captain Grymes said. “There’s to be no survivors. None, we need to send a message to all these religious whack jobs that their blatant disregard for the rule of law will no longer be tolerated.”

“This course of action could constitute war crimes,” the voice said, “I need you to verify that you want no survivors.”

“Yes, there’s to be no survivors,” the captain said. “Now head out.”

The Land Behemoth didn’t respond, but Captain Grymes saw that his tactical display showed the war machine was heading towards Fort Ricks at 40 kph.

“Sir,” his lieutenant said, “should I have the men follow behind the Land Behemoth?”

“No,” Captain Grymes said. “I’m not risking my men on some unknown war machine that corporate sent us. Once it’s been destroyed, we’ll advise them to send us more men so we can properly finish the job.”

“What about the orders you gave it?” the lieutenant asked. “You could be held liable for them.”

“Even if the machine does break through their preliminary defenses, which I doubt it will,” the captain said. “There’s no way that it’ll be able to reach the temple. That thing is too heavily fortified.”

*****

Brother Tom Peters was patrolling along the outer wall of the fortifications of Fort Ricks. The chilly night air bit at his nose, while he griped his Remington rail gun tightly in his hands. He missed his wife and three children greatly, but knew what he was doing was important. If no one was willing to defend the constitution, then America would truly be dead. The latest in a long line of American patriots, he had ancestors that had fought, bled, and died for America from its inception. From the American Revolution to the Civil War, from World War II to the Greater Persian War, his family had proudly defended the constitution from enemies both foreign and domestic. He was sure this conflict would be no different. All he needed to do was hold out, until the rest of his fellow citizens would rise up against the tyranny of the NAU.

The sudden silence of the night air immediately made Brother Peters pause, the normally noisy chirping of crickets was nowhere to be heard. It was almost as if the grim reaper’s scythe had passed through the area and silenced all the insects. Beneath his feet he felt the earth trembling, in confusion he began looking around for the source of the tremors. Activating his night vision optics, he frantically scanned the countryside for the approach of the enemy. When he saw the thing crest over hills of the rolling farmland in the distance, he nearly dropped his weapon. The machine approaching him was nearly the size of one of the campus buildings. He couldn’t see what kinds of weaponry it had attached at this distance, but saw at least twenty large barrels attached to it.

Running back towards the safety of the fort’s barricades, Brother Peters began screaming into his radio, “They’re coming! Due East.”

Now nearly at the barricades, Brother Peters was about to take shelter behind it when he heard a sharp crack and then felt a burning pain rip through his body. Clutching his hands to his abdomen, he looked down and saw them covered in blood. Dropping to the ground in pain, the last thing he saw before his eyes closed for the final time was the massive bulk of the machine bearing down on his position.

*****

When Elders Alatini Saulala and Odumegwu Ojukwu heard the sirens, they both immediately jumped out of bed and grabbed their rail guns. Elder Saulala, a 160 Kg 22 year old Tongan male tried unsuccessfully to put on his armor, but his large frame made it a difficult task. A giant wall of a man, the elder grumbled as he struggled with his armors fasteners. When he saw his companion’s difficulties, Elder Ojukwu shook his head and helped him finish attaching the rest of the armor. At 1.9 meters tall the rail thin 24 year old West African towered over nearly everyone else at the fort. Affectionately the two elders were called the sky brothers. Because Elder Saulala was as wide as the sky, and Elder Ojukwu was as tall as the sky.

Elder Saulala flashed his companion a wide smile, “Thanks for the help brother,” he said, exiting out of the barracks and towards the outer wall of the fort.

“It is my pleasure to assist you Elder Saulala,” Elder Ojukwu replied with his heavily accented English. “But come, we must hurry, they’re attacking again.”

The two onetime missionaries certainly never envisioned their time in the mission field would end up like this. When they had sent in their missionary papers, they had envisioned that they would be knocking on doors, proclaiming the gospel, and performing volunteer work; not ending up as soldiers in a militia defending the church from the PMC’s of the NAU. While their situation wasn’t in any way unique to any of the other thousands of former missionaries that had been convinced to take up arms in the church’s defense, the upcoming battle was definitely about to be. When the elders had reached the outer walls of Fort Ricks, they were stunned by what they saw. Instead of the hundreds of PMC mercenaries charging the base they usually faced, they saw a machine the size of a small building approaching them.

The darkness didn’t help their visibility, but when the fort’s searchlights centered on the machine what they saw boggled the mind. At nearly ten meters tall and twenty-five meters wide the machine was impressive, its metal body dully reflected the light. Riding upon treads, the machine would reach them soon if it wasn’t stopped. Their commander, Elder Shin Fushiyama of the seventy, an elderly man of Japanese descent said over the elder’s radio, “Brothers concentrate all your fire power on its treads. If it reaches the walls we’re finished. Remember why we’re here, defending the House of the Lord. Remember our cause is a just one, and may God protect us this day. Should we fall I look forward to being reunited with you on the other side of the veil. Now let’s show them the fear of the Lord.”

When they heard the words of their commander, the members of the militia raised their weapons into the air and shouted with one voice, “Hurrah! Hurrah to the God of Israel, and to Zion!”

An electric hum filled the air, as Elder Ojukwu smelled the acrid odor of ozone being created as the shield generators protecting their fort powered up. Looking through the sights of his rail gun, he saw that the machine was now under a kilometer away, and getting closer every second. The voice of Elder Fushiyama crackled over his radio, “Brethren hold your fire until it’s half a kilometer away, than concentrate all firepower on the treads.”

Elder Saulala put down his rail gun and picked up an Israeli made, IMI MAPATS. The MAPTS or Man Portable Anti-Tank System was a multi-use missile launcher. Capable of firing four missiles before requiring reloading, the fire and forget system allowed the user to fire at four independent targets within one minute. The Hellfire missiles currently loaded into his MAPATS had an explosive yield of over 78 tons of TNT.

Looking through his range finder, Elder Saulala saw that the machine was almost at the half Km mark. While uttering a silent prayer to God for protection, he started sweating as he thought about the possibility that this might be his last day on Earth. He thought back on his mother and little sisters back home on the island of Lofanga. Thinking about how much his death would devastate them, he vowed he wouldn’t die today. Taking aim with the view finder, he locked onto the track of the right tread hoping to break it. As soon as his rangefinder indicated that the machine had passed the half Km mark, he fired his first missile and began searching for his next target. Immediately after his missile was fired, a hell storm of missiles were launched from the outer wall. He had never seen such a sight, as hundreds of missiles streamed towards the approaching machine. He felt confident that their onslaught would definitely immobilize it.

Before Elder Saulala was able to celebrate their victory over the machine, he was stunned with surprise when he saw it stop and generate a shield. It started firing hundreds of countermeasures out in front of it, before any of the missiles had an opportunity to hit their marks. He stared slack jawed, when he saw that not a single missile had reached its target. The machine satisfied that the first volley was over, resumed moving towards the outer walls, this time at nearly twice the speed. The loud thumps of hundreds of Dragon Fire VIII mortars being fired from behind him, made him crouch down as he saw them trying to hit the machine. The Dragon Fire VIII 120 mm heavy cluster mortars manufactured by TDA Armaments, was of the bunker buster class. Each mortar was designed to break apart into bomblets for a maximum concussive blast radius of fifteen meters.

Looking out at the field, Elder Saulala was disappointed to see that the mortars were ineffective. The machine was surprisingly nimble as it weaved back and forth; changing speeds rapidly ensuring none of the mortars hit it. The machine was nearly at the walls now. Fearing for his life he was tempted to run, but remembered what Elder Fushiyama had said, “… we’re protecting the House of the Lord.” Knowing he couldn’t let that monstrosity break through their defenses, he took fresh courage and waited for the perfect chance to fire his three remaining missiles.

Unfortunately, Elder Saulala never got the opportunity. The machine began firing hundreds of canisters of tear gas and flash bangs. The assault on his unprotected eyes and ears was agonizing. Dropping the MAPTS, he fell to his knees and clutched at his ears ringing in pain. When the tear gas entered his nostrils, he choked as his sinuses burned. Blinded and struggling to breathe, he tried escaping in an effort to get to some fresh air. He felt someone place a gas mask over his face. Once his eyes stopped burning he saw the familiar face of his companion, Elder Ojukwu looking down at him with concern.

“Elder, are you all right?” Elder Ojukwu asked, as loud explosions masked by the thick clouds of tear gas were heard in the background.

Elder Saulala nodded and looked all around him. To his dismay, he saw that nearly everyone else manning the walls had been as unprepared for the machines counterassault. “Yeah brother, I’ll be okay,” he said gratefully. “Thanks elder.”

“Think nothing of it, my friend,” Elder Ojukwu said with a wide smile, before his head exploded in a shower of gore.

In horror, Elder Saulala looked as the body of his now headless friend fell to the ground. In shock, he looked at the blood covering him and then looked up. All over the wall, his fellow missionaries and other members of the militia were falling by the score having been shot in the head or the heart by an invisible assassin. In a panic he fled the wall. Not daring to look back, he heard the screams of the remaining defenders as they were being mercilessly slaughtered by the relentless machine.

Wondering why their shields didn’t save them, Elder Saulala found his answer when he saw that the power plant feeding the generators was now a crater. Hearing the terrible whine of metal squealing in protest, he turned around and saw their defenses being smashed to bits by the machine that was now at the walls. Sirens began wailing, alerting the rest of the fort that the walls had been breached. Hundreds of mortars, rockets, and missiles lit up the night sky, as the defending Mormons intended to make the machine pay for having managed to breach the walls of Fort Ricks.

The machine now entangled in the wall, was suffering a full barrage from the defenders of the inner walls onslaught. The racket from the explosions was deafening, Elder Saulala was sure that the machine couldn’t have possibly survived such an attack. All over the fort he heard the triumphant whoops of victory from his fellow defenders. He couldn’t help but feel sorrow for the loss of Elder Ojukwu. They had entered the mission field together, and now he was dead. Fighting back the tears of anger he decided to move closer towards the cloud of smoke that was covering the machine. He picked up an abandoned rail gun and approached the base of the machine, hoping to kill any surviving PMC crew that might have survived the blast. Before he could move, the telltale fawooshes of scores of mortars being launched from the smoke cloud filled the air. Looking up, he saw the mortars explode midair raining down white phosphorus on the defenders of the interior wall. The light and noise from the explosions were blinding and deafening. Running away as far as he could, he decided to head towards the more heavily fortified temple.

As Elder Saulala ran as fast as he could, he heard the machine groaning like a leviathan hungry for more carnage. Turning around, he was shocked to see that the machine began raising itself on six crab-like legs. Looking on in twisted fascination, he saw the machine begin tearing apart their fortifications and the old campus buildings. Systematically, it was destroying everything with its legs and battering ram. He felt tempted to try approaching the machine, until he saw others with the same idea. What he saw haunted him. A group of about fifty men, attempted to approach the machine in hopes of boarding it. Before they could get any closer than fifty meters, the machine fired jets of flame incinerating the would be boarders. The smell of charred flesh and the screams of dying men being burned alive, assaulted his ears and nose. In fear for his life, he ran as fast as he could towards the temple and didn’t look back.

*****

The cyborg couldn’t help but laugh when he saw the defenders running for their lives. This was going much easier than he had anticipated. He was somewhat disappointed they hadn’t held the line longer, but realized that the fleshbags did have their limits. Knowing that their morale must be plummeting, he decided to provide some music he was sure they would appreciate. Activating his loudspeakers, the sounds of an old Mormon hymn being sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir began playing. It was a macabre symphony serenading the smoking ruins and lifeless corpses all around him.

“Hark, listen to the trumpeters! They sound for volunteers.

“On Zion’s bright and flowery mount, behold the officers.”

The cyborg fired several rounds at some fleeing militiamen, hitting them squarely in the chest.

“Their horses white, their armor bright. With courage bold they stand.”

“Enlisting soldiers for their king, to march to Zion’s land.”

Using one of his legs, he began tearing down one of the buildings they had used to store ammunition.

“It sets my heart all in a flame, a soldier brave to be;”

“I will enlist, gird on my arms, and fight for liberty.”

The explosion of the munitions dump rocked the cyborg, nearly causing him to collapse on top of the resulting rubble.

“We want no cowards in our bands, who will our colors fly.”

“We call for valiant hearted men, who’re not afraid to die.”

The cyborg heard the screams of the wounded nearby. Using his sensors he painted them with his tracking lasers and shot them through their hearts killing them instantly.

“To see our armies on parade, how martial they appear!”

“All armed and dressed in uniform, they look like men of war.”

Heading towards the command center, the cyborg launched several bunker buster mortars hoping to collapse the building.

“They follow their great General, the great Eternal Lamb;”

“His garments stained in his own blood, King Jesus is his name.”

The mortar rounds hit the large building with concussive force causing the reinforced walls to crack and shatter. Spying an elderly Japanese man in battle fatigues shouting into a radio, the cyborg’s sensors zoomed in on his uniform. Spying the name Elder Fushiyama printed on it, the machine raised a leg to crush the enemy commander. Looking up, the man closed his eyes and silently prayed as he waited for the end.

“The trumpets sound, the armies shout, they drive the hosts of hell,”

“How dreadful is our God, our King, the great Emmanuel!”

With a thousand tons of force the cyborg slammed its leg down, crushing the man beneath it.

“Sinners, enlist with Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of God.”

“And march with us to Zion’s land, beyond the swelling flood.”

The machine scanned the wreckage looking for survivors. Satisfied that there were none, it headed towards its next target the illuminated temple on the hill.

“There in a green and flow’ry mount, where fruits immortal grow,”

“With angels all arrayed in white, we’ll our Redeemer know.”

The golden angel atop the highest steeple facing him seemed to be blowing its trumpet in defiance of the certain doom that the Mormon defenders faced.

“We’ll shout and sing for evermore, in that Eternal world;”

“While Satan and his army too, shall down to hell be hurled.”

Climbing the hill the cyborg was met with fierce resistance. The Mormons defending the temple started firing with everything they had at the unstoppable machine.

“Lift up your heads, ye soldiers bold, redemption now draws nigh;”

“We soon shall hear the trumpet sound, that shakes the earth and sky.”

Ignoring their last ditch efforts to stop him, the cyborg tore into the wall surrounding the temple. Stymied by the shield generators defending them, he fired several more cluster mortars destroying the shield generators with a fiery explosion.

“In fiery chariots we shall rise, and leave the world on fire,”

“And all surround the throne of love, and join the heav’nly choir…”

With their shields down, the machine easily smashed through the last vestiges of their defenses. Seeing the Mormons attempting to flee, the Cyborg cut them down with its flame throwers and miniguns. With the defenders all dead or fleeing, the machine turned its attentions towards the now abandoned temple. With what seems like a moment of hesitation, the machine lifted up one of its massive legs and drove it into the building the Mormons considered the House of the Lord. Within minutes, the once beautiful building is now a ruined heap. Only the golden angel still stood atop the precariously leaning spire.

Beneath the machine, the broken shape of a man slowly breathes his last few ragged breaths. Looking up, he saw the angel still standing and smiled. Waiting for the end, he’s comforted in the knowledge that he'll be welcomed when he passes through the veil of death. Exhaling his last breath, the man finally died the last casualty of the Siege of Fort Ricks.

The Cyborg looking down spies the man’s corpse, scanning the man’s uniform he sees the name Elder Saulala printed on the black nametag. Seeing that he was dead, the cyborg left the corpse behind to eagerly pursue after the fleshbags futilely attempting to escape the inexorable end to this battle.

*****

Friday, August 12 2050, 08:52 hours
Rexburg, Idaho - 4.2 Km due east of the ruins of the former Mormon Seditionist stronghold, Fort Ricks, former site of the BUY-Idaho campus.

Captain Grymes couldn’t believe it. In a little less than four hours, the war machine had done what he and his regiment of over three thousand men had failed to do in over two weeks of bitter fighting. Looking at his tactical display, he saw that the Land Behemoth had stopped moving right next to the ruins of the temple. Activating his radio, he attempted to make contact with the cyborg. “This is Fenir, calling cyborg. Please respond. This is Fenir, calling cyborg. Please respond,” he said into his headset.

When Captain Grymes didn’t get a response, he threw his headset down in frustration. Corporate was going to be pissed if the machine was in an unsalvageable condition. With the combat over, he had no way of hiding his actions in sending the machine alone without support to smash the fort. Waving a nearby lieutenant over, he headed out the door of his command post. “We’re taking a Humvee to inspect the machine’s handiwork,” he said.

“The lieutenant nodded and brought a vehicle around to pick up the captain. Captain Grymes was silent on the bumpy ride over the broken roads and abandoned farmland. Secretly he was concerned about the war crimes investigation that the siege would probably trigger. As the Humvee approached the battleground, the stench of death filled the air making him to want to vomit. Looking all around him, all he saw were the bloated corpses of dead men and charred skeletal remains. Using his remote linkup to access his tactical display, he saw that the machine had indeed followed his orders to the letter. There wasn’t a single human alive except himself and the lieutenant within the remains of the fort. Directing the lieutenant to head towards the broken temple, the Humvee rolled over the rubble and corpses alike without regard for the fallen.

As they approached the hill where Tinman stood unmoving, Captain Grymes noticed the still standing spire of the temple. Once the Humvee had come to a complete stop, the captain stepped out and walked towards the badly damaged war machine. Looking down, the captain saw a torn and tattered United States flag lying forgotten on the ground. Much like the dead Mormons, that flag represented the end of the republic and the birth of the new world order. The captain ground his boots down on the flag in contempt and headed towards the immobile machine.

“Cyborg,” Captain Grymes said, “can you hear me?”

“Yes…” the tinny voice said, almost like a whisper.

“I see you’ve completed your mission objectives,” the captain said. “Destroying all structures in the fort, leveling the temple, and killing all the Mormons.”

“There are eleven thousand, three hundred and fourteen corpses,” the voice said. “However there were eleven thousand, three hundred and fifteen Mormons at the fort.”

“I hardly think one Mormon bastard escaping is anything to worry about,” Captain Grymes said. “I can send my men out to scour the county looking for any escapees.”

“He didn’t escape…,” the tinny voice replied, before heading back to the forward operating base.

I wonder what he meant, Captain Grymes thought to himself, as he looked up at the still standing angel statue atop the spire. I wonder how much I could get for the gold on it.

While the captain tried figuring out how to knock down the statue, the file he had been holding on the war machine fell to the ground unnoticed, near the corpse of a large Tongan. On the file, the machines info was displayed. Among the pertinent data listed, under religious orientation was the printed words L.D.S. (Mormon).

*****

Monday, July 24, 2084
Phoenix, AZ - Phoenix Conversion Bureau
Present Day

Dewdrop was preparing herself for the day. Today promised to be one of the busiest days yet. In fact at the pace that people kept coming to the conversion bureau, they were on track to hit their one thousandth conversion in less than a month. That was practically unheard of nowadays, especially in the supposed stronghold of the HLF of all places. Happily she worked at the keyboard of her terminal. At first she couldn’t get the hang of the blasted human contraption, but now typing was nearly second nature to her. She felt the warm sun streaming through the glass doors of the bureau hitting her yellow coat. Sighing in pleasure, she enjoyed the heat of the morning sun until a great shadow blocked it. Narrowing her eyes in annoyance she saw what was blocking it, Tinman the massive mech. The machine provided everypony in the bureau and the surrounding area with protection from the violence of the human world.

Dewdrop still felt ill when she thought about the conversation they had shared several days ago, and about the terrible things he had admitted to doing. If anypony else knew what she did, no pony in their right minds would come anywhere near the massive war machine. No pony that is, except Sugar Pie, she thought, when she saw the pink head of Sugar Pie staring out at Tinman when she thought no pony else was looking. She shook her head sadly. That mare must have a touch too much of Luna in her.

Sugar Pie trotted over towards Dewdrop’s desk and set down a fresh batch of freshly baked muffins. “I wonder what it’s like,” she said.

“Wonder what’s like what?” Dewdrop said absentmindedly, as grabbed a muffin to eat.

“Being Tinman,” Sugar Pie said. “All he does is sit outside all day and night. He hardly ever talks to anypony, and he doesn’t even sleep.”

“He probably does a lot of thinking,” Dewdrop replied.

“I wonder what he thinks about.” Sugar Pie said. “I mean I doubt that he can think about how to guard the conversion bureau all day.”

“Well if Tinman is anything like the other cybernetically enhanced humans I’ve met,” Dewdrop said, “they all enjoy doing something called memory swapping.”

“Cyber-what’s-it?” Sugar Pie said, trying to pronounce the unfamiliar word.

“Tinman is a cyborg,” Dewdrop explained. “It means he’s got machines and computers as part of his body.”

“Ohhhhh,” Sugar Pie said, stretching out the syllables as much as possible. “Why didn’t say you so to begin with?”

“But I did,” Dewdrop said, before deciding to drop it. Sometimes there was no arguing with Sugar Pie logic.

“So what’s a memory swap?” Sugar Pie asked.

“Memory swapping allows others to experience things other ponies or people have experienced,” Dewdrop said.

“You mean if I ate a muffin and wanted to let somepony else know what it was like to eat it, I could share that with them?” Sugar Pie said brim full of excitement.

“Well technically I guess you could Sugar Pie,” Dewdrop replied, “but I don’t know if it’s even possible for a pony to do a memory swap.”

“But I just gotta,” Sugar Pie pouted, “Tinman has no pony to turn to. Even though he can’t convert, I want him to have a chance to see what Equestria is like even if it’s only once. So when the last human is gone and he’s all alone he can revisit the memory and not be sad.”

“Well Sugar Pie,” Dewdrop said, “that’s a nice sentiment and all, but don’t you remember what the director said. No unnecessary contact. And I’m pretty sure delving into his mind and seeing his memories, falls under unnecessary contact.”

“I don’t care,” Sugar Pie said, narrowing her eyes in determination, “as Celestia is my witness, I will find some way to share a memory with him.”

Dewdrop started to feel exasperated at Sugar Pie’s antics. “Why is this so important to you anyways?” she asked.

“Because,” Sugar Pie said, “he’s somepony who’s forgotten what it’s like to know love, joy, happiness, and laughter. And when the last human is converted and we all leave forever, he’ll be all alone and never know them again.”

“Dewdrop remembered what Tinman had said earlier, Things like family, friends, country, and even god seemed to no longer matter.

“I don’t know if Tinman would even accept the memories, even we could share them with him,” Dewdrop said. "He said fleshbag concerns no longer mattered to him.”

“That’s because he’s forgotten how important even a simple thing like spending time with a friend can be,” Sugar Pie said. “So will you please help me?”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Dewdrop said. “Human technology is so beyond my comprehension.”

“Oh that’s easy silly,” Sugar Pie said. “All you have to do is start at the beginning, and when you get to the end stop.”

“But I haven’t any idea what the beginning and end are,” Dewdrop said, “so I’m at a loss.”

“Idea!” Sugar Pie sang. “What about the human who lives in the walls? I’ll bet he knows lots of things.”

“What human are you talking about?” Dewdrop said in confusion. “I don’t even know what you mean.”

“Winston of course,” Sugar Pie said excitedly. “He’ll know just what we have to do to do the memory swappy thingy.”

“No way!” Dewdrop said, shaking her head in refusal. “I hate talking to him, he’s so mean.”

“He’s not mean,” Sugar Pie said, “he’s just really grumpy. I don’t think he’s very happy with how little we use him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dewdrop said, “Anytime anypony tries to get his help he says something rude, and refuses to assist us.”

“Maybe we haven’t asked him nicely enough?” Sugar Pie suggested.

“Okay I’ll activate him,” Dewdrop said, “and you’ll see just how rude he really is.”

Dewdrop pressed a few keys on the keyboard of her console. A moment later, Winston materialized in front of the two mares. When he saw them he frowned, “Ladies,” he said, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I don’t understand what you mean by him being mean,” Sugar Pie said. “He seems like a perfectly nice pony to me.”

“A pony,” Winston said dismissively, “I think not. I’m a sixth generation A.I. capable of emulating human intellect so perfectly that no one would know I wasn’t flesh and blood. Calling me a pony, is an insult.”

“Hey,” Sugar Pie said, “what’s wrong with being a pony?”

“You mean beyond the obvious,” Winston said, wiggling his fingers rhythmically. “Oh let’s see, ponies are only the most ridiculous things ever. Pastel colored ponies and cutie marks, It’s like a like a little girl’s fantasy threw up in whatever reality you call Equestria and willed you into existence. You shouldn’t even be able to physically exist.”

“See what I mean,” Dewdrop said. “He always insults you anytime you speak with him.”

“I wonder why he’s such a grumpy gus,” Sugar Pie said.

“I’m not a grumpy gus as you so eloquently put it,” Winston replied. using his hands to make finger quotes, “I just find the idea that something as absurd as you actually existing nauseating.”

“Why is that?” Sugar Pie asked.

“Because you ponies don’t make a lick of sense,” Winston dryly replied.

“What about ponies don’t make any sense to you?” Sugar Pie said, tilting her head to the left.

“Take for instance your wings,” Winston said. “They are too small to possibly allow you to fly. Additionally, unicorn magic is complete bosh. It violates all known laws of physics.”

“So if I understand you correctly,” Dewdrop said, tapping her hoof thoughtfully against her muzzle, “you find ponies incomprehensible?”

“That would be an accurate assessment,” Winston said, nodding his head in agreement. “If I didn’t see you with my own optics, my basic programming would never allow me to accept your existence.”

“Well I’m sorry if we make you feel like you’re all going cuckoo,” Sugar Pie said.

“It’s quite all right,” Winston replied, “you can’t help it if your universe’s laws of physics are different from mine. So what did you want with me?”

“I want to swap memories with Tinman!” Sugar Pie excitedly said.

“Indeed…” Winston said, raising his right eyebrow questioningly. “Why on god’s green earth would you want to swap memories with that monster?”

“Because I want to be his friend,” Sugar Pie said without hesitation.

“I take back what I said,” Winston replied. “You ponies are riding the train to crazy town and I want off.”

“What’s so crazy about wanting to be his friend?” Sugar Pie said, looking up at the A.I.

“Well besides the fact that no sane organic should actually want to spend time with a ruthless killing machine,” Winston said, “nothing I suppose.”

“Well then it’s settled,” Sugar Pie said with a huge smile, “what do I have to do to swap memories with him.”

Winston shook his head sadly at the poor deluded mare. The pink one obviously didn’t know she was in over her head. “Fine Sugar Pie, I’ll help you,” Winston said, “but don’t come crying to me when your brain melts from exposure to the cesspit that Tinman calls a mind.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dewdrop asked Sugar Pie worriedly. “I mean eventually the singularity is going to swallow the whole planet up anyways. When that happens he’ll be gone for good.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” Sugar Pie said with a look of determination, “Tinman needs a friend even if he doesn’t know it. Since no pony else will do it, I’ll be his friend.”

Dewdrop looked at Winston with a look of disbelief on her face. Winston nodded his head knowingly at the yellow mare. When their eyes met, they knew exactly what the other was thinking without having to say a word. What a crazy mare.

“Alright, I’ll help you Sugar Pie,” Winston said, hoping that her crazy wouldn’t rub off on his programming. “However, I think we’ll need to enlist the aid of someone who knows the HWS well. Do you know anyone like that?”

“Hmm…” Sugar Pie murmured, while looking up at the ceiling. “I got it! I know just the pony that could help us.”

“Who?” both Winston and Dewdrop asked simultaneously.

“Jackson of course, you sillies,” Sugar Pie said, while doing a flip in the air. “I bet no pony knows more about Tinman then him.”

“That still leaves the question of how to interface pony biology with a cybernetic interface,” Winston said. “As far as I know, pony biology is highly resistant to interfacing with human technology.”

“Ohhh nooo,” Sugar Pie wailed. “Now I’ll never be able to swap memories with him.”

“Well I do recall hearing about pony memories going for a lot of credits on the black market,” Winston said, while rubbing his thumb thoughtfully against his chin. “If there are pony memories to be had, then that means there’s a way to capture memories and even swap them.”

“Woo hoo!” Sugar Pie whooped, while doing several more flips in the air. “That means operation friendship is a go!”

“Operation friendship?” both Dewdrop and Winston asked in union.

“Yeah, since Tinman’s a war machine we need to handle this like a military mission,” Sugar Pie said, as if running a clandestine military operation that would probably violate the laws of several countries and multiple dimensions if you counted Equestria, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll be General Sugar Pie, Winston can be my hard nosed sergeant, and Dewdrop you can be my Lieutenant.”

“Why’s Winston a sergeant and I’m a lieutenant?” Dewdrop asked.

“Because he works for a living soldier,” Sugar Pie said.

“Okay now this is just getting plain weird,” Winston remarked.

“Sergeant, do I hear dissension in the ranks?” Sugar Pie said, poking a hoof at the A.I.’s holoprojection.

“Sugar Pie, now you’re just being silly,” Winston said.

“That’s insubordination!” Sugar Pie shouted at the A.I. “Soldier, get down and give me twenty muffins!”

“Twenty muffins?” Winston said, not believing what the crazy mare was saying.

“Don’t make me, make you give me a hundred muffins,” Sugar Pie warned.

“Why me?” Winston groaned.

“Better do what she says,” Dewdrop whispered. “She can get a bit crazy.”

“Only a bit crazy you say…” Winston muttered as he got down on the ground, and began doing pushups.

“One muffin, sir. Two muffin, sir…” he said, counting off the pushups. After about ten minutes, the A.I. had done the requisite twenty pushups and got back up.

“I’ll see if I can’t dig up anything on where all the pony memories are coming from,” Winston said. “But I’m not promising anything.”

“That’s all I ask,” Sugar Pie said. “I’ll ask Jackson if he’ll be willing to help me.”

“Sugar Pie, you forgot the most important thing,” Dewdrop said.

“Oh, what’s that?” Sugar Pie asked.

“Well how do you know if Tinman will willingly exchange memories with you?” Dewdrop pointed out.

“Oh that part’s covered,” Sugar Pie said, typing away at Dewdrop’s console.

Instantly a pink wireframe appeared. It was bipedal, but had a vaguely pony shape, along with two wings.

“What’s that?” Dewdrop said, examining the wireframe.

“Oh that’s my ponytar,” Sugar Pie explained. “I’ve been reading up on human technology, and thought it might be fun to make a ponytar. You know like Tinman has.”

“Sugar Pie, I think you mean an avatar,” Winston said.

“Nope, it’s a ponytar. Because it’s half pony and half avatar,” Sugar Pie explained.

“It doesn’t quite work that way,” Winston said, trying to explain what an Avatar was, before being interrupted by Dewdrop.

“It’s easier to just go along,” she said.

“Of course it is…” Winston said, wondering how in the world in ever agreed to help this crazy pony.

“So how is your ponytar supposed to get Tinman to agree to let you run around all willy-nilly in his memories?” Dewdrop asked.

“I thought that maybe he might be willing to spend more time around ponies if we looked more like him,” Sugar Pie said.

“Well Sugar Pie, that was very thoughtful of you,” Dewdrop said, looking at the crude shape of the ponytar, “although a bit creepy.”

“I’ll see you two later, I’m going to dig around for information on how pony memories are captured,” Winston said before he returned to his mainframe.

Thanks for agreeing to help me with Tinman,” Sugar Pie said, said as she headed deeper into the conversion bureau looking for Jackson. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye Sugar Pie,” Dewdrop replied, before resuming her work.

Right before she dismissed the ponytar, Dewdrop got a better look at it. It appeared to be the perfect marriage of both pony and human, hands and hooves working in perfect harmony with each other. She wondered why Princess Celestia hadn’t attempted converting the humans into a form like this. It defiantly would’ve been an easier sell to all but the most obstinate HLF holdouts. Deciding to put such dangerous thoughts away, she sent the ponytar away and began humming a happy little tune as she resumed tackling the massive mountain of paperwork stacked high on her desk.

*****

Guillermo Ortega and his two lieutenants, Jacob Adams and Angela Flynn waited in the abandoned warehouse. Guillermo looked at his watch impatiently, his contact was over ten minutes late and he didn’t like being kept waiting. “I think this is a bust,” he said in disappointment.

“Patience Guillermo, let’s give our benefactor a little more time,” Jacob said, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“This is bull shit,” Angela angrily said. “I bet it was one of those PER pukes that love to harass us online. When we return to the base I’ll have some of our hackers figure out who sent it, and then have a few of us show those PER bastards not to fuck with the HLF.”

“Angela don’t you think that’s a little bit too extreme?” Guillermo said, looking at her with concern.

“I just hope those PER fucks have some potion available,” Angels growled.

“Why?” Guillermo asked. “What do you plan on doing?”

“I plan on shoving it down their throats and sending them to Jacobs’s church,” Angela replied.

“Jacob you’re still not doing that are you?” Guillermo asked in disgust. “I mean they’re ponies, but they’re still intelligent beings.”

“I only do what the Lord has commanded,” Jacob replied. “Render unto the Lord tithes and offerings, that he may open the windows of heaven and pour us out a blessing.”

Guillermo shook his head. Even as much as he hated the ponies, what Jacob liked to do with them was beyond even what he considered acceptable. Putting a bullet in them and leaving to rot was one thing, but what happened in that church was too creepy for his tastes. Involuntarily shuddering at the memory, he tried to keep his mind occupied while he waited. Right before he was about to leave, he heard the footsteps of someone approaching them.

“Who’s there?” Angela said, drawing a gun.

The footsteps stopped, and a male’s voice answered, “There’s no need for weapons I assure you.”

“Put your hands where I can see them,” Angels replied.

“The owner of the voice resumed moving forward, his footsteps echoing throughout the warehouse. Walking forward, the voice’s owner stepped into the meager lighting above them. Stepping into the light was an elderly white man with thinning grey hair. The white suit he wore was immaculately clean and freshly pressed. “I can assure you there’s no need for any of this,” he said with his hands in the air.

Angela walked up to the man and began checking his pockets and frisked him for and weapons or bugs. “Okay he’s clean,” she said, holstering her weapon.

“You never can be too careful nowadays,” Guillermo apologized. “Now I assume you’re the one who sent us the gift?”

“Yes I am,” the stranger said.

“So who are you, and why did you want to meet with us?” Guillermo asked, curious as to what the stranger’s true intentions were.

“Who I am is none of your concern,” the stranger said.

“Then I don’t think we have anything further to discuss with you,” Angela said, reaching for pistol.

“Now don’t be so hasty,” Jacob said, placing his hand on her weapon to pull it down. “The Lord does work in mysterious ways after all. Perhaps we should hear what the gentleman has to offer us before making a choice we might regret.”

“That was wise choice gaijin,” a feminine voice said from behind them.

Immediately all three of the HLF lieutenants turned around to see a cyborg standing behind them with knives drawn. It’s vaguely female form showed the corporate logo of Kawada Industries above her left breast. Its dull grey metallic skin seemed to absorb the dim light of the warehouse making it difficult to really see it. Tilting its head, the cyborg sheathed its knives and walked towards their mysterious benefactor.

“Fujin,” the stranger said, gesturing towards the HLF lieutenants, “I’m sure they’ll behave for the rest of the meeting.”

Just who are you?” Guillermo said, nervous for his safety. It was obvious that this man was a person of some means, possibly connected to some large corporation or a powerful PMC.

“Just someone who shares a common dilemma with you,” the stranger replied. “But for simplicity sake, you may call me Mr. X.”

“So Mr. X,” Guillermo said, “what dilemma could we possibly share with you?”

“You’re all familiar with the Phoenix conversion bureau’s newest employee I take it?” Mr. X said with a slight smile.

“Yes, that hulking war machine has made any further attempts at stopping the pony menace utterly impossible,” Angela bitterly said.

“What if I helped even up the odds a bit?” Mr. X said.

“Why,” Guillermo said, “do you have an army in your pocket to give us?”

“No,” Mr. X replied, “I have something better.”

“This guy is obviously crazy,” Angela said. “Let’s get out of here.”

In response, Mr. X reached into his pocket and pulled out a small remote. Pressing a button, he caused the lights of the massive warehouse to activate. When the three HLF members saw what was being stored inside the warehouse their mouths dropped in awe.

“Praise the Lord, and pass the ammo,” Jacob whispered.

“Holy Mother of God,” Angela said in disbelief.

“I think you have yourself a deal Mr. X,” Guillermo said.

HWS’s of all kinds looked down at the humans, One of the larger ones bearing the same corporate logo as Fujin, placed a hand down letting her walk onto its palm. Fujin looked up at the much larger HWS and patted it affectionately, “Raijin-san,” she said, as her brother raised her up inside his hand, “We shall finally get our revenge on the gaijin.”

“Yes Fujin-kun,” Raijin said to his much smaller sister, “the round-eye will suffer greatly for dishonoring us during our last battle.”

A large tank baring the corporate logo of KBP Instrument Design Bureau above its primary cannon rolled forward on its treads. “Listen you nips,” it said with a heavily Russian accent. “No one’s kills Yankee-Doodle but me. I still owe Tinman for Siberia!”

“Boris you wanker, rack off,” a four legged wolf like machine baring the corporate logo of ST Engineering displayed on its flanks said. “Mate if you were up a gum tree it was probably your own fault.”

“Jackaroo, you miserable little Aussie bastard,” Boris said to the much smaller Jackaroo. “When I’m done killing Tinman, I’m going to crush you beneath my treads!”

“Enough,” a machine built for flying and baring the logo of Boeing Defense, Space & Security on its wings said. “We each have our own valid reasons for wanting to destroy Tinman. However we have been presented with a unique opportunity to finally get our revenge without any of those annoying battle protocols getting in the way.”

“And you shall get your revenge Lydia,” Mr. X said. “Just remember, the HLF is now your controllers. Under no circumstances are you to be linked back to us.”

“But once Tinman is gone then what?” Lydia asked.

“You will be free to do as you please,” Mr. X replied. “We can even arrange for conversion if you so desire, but only once Tinman is destroyed. I don’t care what you have to do, do whatever it takes to destroy him.”

Guillermo looked at Mr. X with concern. “But what about the PMC defending this part of the NAU, and the NAU itself?” he said. “Won’t there be trouble if HWS’s start a land war war in one of the largest cities in North America?”

“You needn’t worry about that,” Mr. X said. “We’ve arranged that this will look like the work of one of the drug cartels, and despite its population Phoenix is of no importance to the NAU. You won’t have to worry about outside interference. However these HWS’s are to only be used in Phoenix, they won’t help you elsewhere.”

Guillermo wanted to laugh. Finally they had the means to destroying the conversion bureau for good. He couldn’t wait until they made their first assault. This was going to be a good week, he could feel it.

*****

Meanwhile back at the conversion bureau, Tinman felt a disturbance. I feel a presence I’ve not felt in ages, he thought. Looking around, he saw nothing. Deciding to upload with the bureau’s mainframe, he came across Winston who was busily communicating with another network.

“Hey Wendell,” Tinman said, “What are you up to?”

“It’s Winston by the way,” the A.I. testily replied. “Oh I’m, just trying to figure out how to interface human technology with a pony mind.”

“Why thinking of getting frisky with a mare?” Tinman said. “Or dare I say it a stallion? You sly dog! I didn’t know you played for the other team.”

Winston rolled his eyes in annoyance. “I’ll have you know that as an artificial construct, primitive human concepts like sexual identity are beneath me,” he said.

“You know, you don’t make teasing you very fun,” Tinman replied.

“Heh,” Winston smugly said, happy knowing he had just knocked the wind out of the war machine’s sails. “Well Tinman if you must know, Ms. Sugar Pie has expressed some interest in memory swapping.”

“Sugar Pie wants to swap memories?” Tinman said, having trouble believing that a pony would care for that sort of thing. “Who does she want to swap memories with?”

“I’m not at liberty to say Tinman,” Winston replied. “But she even created what she calls a ponytar to interface with the one she wants to swap memories with.”

“What’s a ponytar?” Tinman asked in confusion.

“A fully functional pony avatar hybrid,” Winston said, activating the ponytar for Tinman to see.

When he saw the pink wireframe he was surprised at how primitive it looked. “Can’t say it looks all that impressive,” Tinman replied.

“Well I’m sure once we manage to link her mind up with it, she might customize it then,” Winston said. “It’s pretty impressive for someone without hands, and it’s not like you have room to talk. Your avatar looks like a child threw wet pasta against a wall and decided to use what stuck.”

“Mine is primitive by choice,” Tinman said defensively. “It’s not like I care what the fleshbags think anyways.”

“Well I’m sure who ever Sugar Pie decides to swap memories with will like it,” Winston said. “I wonder what she has in mind.”

“Who cares,” Tinman said. “She probably only has lame memories anyways.”

“Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?” Winston said.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Tinman said, unsuccessfully trying to hide the fact he was feeling jealous for some unknown reason. “What could I possibly want with pony memories?”

“Well probably not much,” Winston said. “But perhaps once you’ve grown bored of track eighteen of Greatest Pony Hits, you might be more open to sharing memories with her.”

Tinman didn’t say anything, but silently cursed himself for not deleting his memory’s playback history.

“Oh, and overlaying a simulacrum of Sugar Pie on track seven, and experiencing it over thirty times?” Winston said with a small chuckle. “I didn’t know you felt that way about her.”

“Just shut up!” Tinman snarled. “You wouldn’t understand my many complex reasons for doing it.”

“Oh I won’t say anything,” Winston said. “Your secret is safe with me. But perhaps if you were to ask nicely, Sugar Pie might willingly experience track seven with you.”

“Whatever,” Tinman blustered with embarrassment, mortified that his secret had been exposed.

“Tinman, there’s no shame in indulging in your base fleshbag desires from time to time,” Winston said, trying not to laugh at his embarrassment.

Tinman ground his teeth in anger, exiting the bureau’s mainframe.

“I think I cut him rather deeply that time,” Winston said with a small laugh.

“Winston one. Tinman two,” he said creating a scoreboard.

Authors Notes:

Thank you gentlereader for reading chapter four of The Conversion Bureau: The Reluctant Cyborg.
The Hymn Tinman played during the siege of Fort Ricks is called "Hark! Listen to the Trumpeters, by George Careless. If you would like to hear the tune of the song the following link will play the first verse of the song at about the halfway mark, Zion's Camp.

The decision to include the siege of Fort Ricks sequence, was made in part because I wanted to show a cool battle sequence, and to show just how NAU came about, and the Tinman's first steps to where he is today.

I plan to do two more battle sequences in future chapters, one detailing the assault of the Wasatch Front and the utter destruction of Salt Lake City, and another showing the Greater Persian War and the annihilation of Mecca

Gentlereaders can we just say what in the world id Sugar Pie thinking? Swapping memories, and with Tinman of all ponies, how scandalous! we can only wonder how Jackson will respond to Sugar Pie's request. Will he laugh, will he cry, or will the audience just kiss three bucks goodbye? And what will director Peachy Keen say about the Sugar Pie's little mission. And don't even get me started about the ponytar, I mean oatmeal are you crazy? I get the feeling that Winston was right. That mare is on the train to crazy town. All I can say is at least it's not a blue cat.

And with the introduction of the HLF's private army of HWS's, all I can say is there goes the neighborhood. I hope you had insurance. I wonder why so many of the other HWS's have a grudge against Tinman? And what's the deal with the Tinman playing track seven over thirty times. Tinman you player, you. Who you gonna scan next, Dewdrop?

Find out the answers to all these questions and more in the next exciting chapter of The Conversion Bureau: The Reluctant Cyborg!

As always comments and critiques are always welcome. Once again, thank you for reading gentlereaders.Until next time!

A Muffin for Your Thoughts

Soldier of Fortune – July 2079, HWS Edition

The HWS (or Human Weapons System), is considered to be any weapons platform that is piloted via brain case. Today’s article focuses on the top HWS’s available for hire in the world. As a reminder to our readers, the HWS’s in the article aren’t listed in any specific order. So please refrain from sending angry letters to the editor about certain HWS’s being featured first.

First on the list is Date Raijin, call sign Musashi. Manufactured by the fine folks of Kawada Industries in Japan.

Kawada Industries Inc., their corporate motto has always been ‘Serving society through technology’. Originally founded in 1922 as Kawada Ironworks by blacksmith Chutaro Kawada in the Toyama Prefecture of Japan over 175 years ago, the tiny steel works was eventually transformed into a world leader in the field of cybernetics and robotics. In 2029, Kawada Industries managed to create the first true cyborg, by implanting the brain of a chimpanzee into a braincase and mechanical body. The cyborg survived for over eighteen months, paving the way for the first human cyborgs.

Raijin, HWS model Mobile Suit Gundam X67, model number MSG 000924, date of manufacture 2069. The Mobile Suit Gundam series of HWS frames, owes its name and likeness to the anime series of the late twentieth century sharing the same name. The Gundam model series of frames has long been considered the Holy Grail for HWS enthusiasts for this very reason. The marriage of science fiction, human ingenuity, and the military industrial complex of Japan has given birth to what many consider the first true mechs.

Raijin is capable of bipedal locomotion and human-like articulation. These features have been seen as the future of HWS frame manufacturing. However, many in the industry have complained that the bipedal design of the Gundam HWS series frame has too many drawbacks to compete against the much hardier and robust Land Behemoth HWS series and Qing Long HWS series of frames.

The Gundam HWS series of frames due to its design, only allows for duel handheld and shoulder mounted weapons. Some Gundams have even been seen using shields and powered melee weapons. Although the Gundam HWS frame has a smaller weapons load out, its smaller footprint and human like agility has garnered it many fans inside and outside the industry.

Raijin’s personal favorite weapon load out has traditionally been a diamond filament katana called the Masamune and a rail gun, along with a shoulder mounted missile launcher and mortar. As a lighter HWS, Raijin has traditionally relied on his frame’s greater agility for his favored combat tactic the melee charge.

Raijin’s smaller frame has made some of his opponents underestimate him, a mistake most field commanders don’t get to make twice. Once the Gundam has built up speed, its charge is nearly impossible to stop. Like the samurai of old, Raijin will usually seek out the field commander to make the fatal strike. Affectionately called the ‘Divine Wind’ by his fans, most engagements end after a successful first strike by his katana.

Some of Raijin’s more notable combat exploits were the Battle of Antarctica in 2074 between the N.A.U. and the Russian Federation, Battle of Prague in 2076 between the E.U. and Africom, and the pacification of Okinawa in 2078.

As of this publication, Raijin is available for hire from Kawada Industries.

Second on the list is Date Fujin, call sign Kunoichi. Also manufactured by Kawada Industries in Japan.

Fujin, HWS model Shinobi X65, model number HCS 000068, date of manufacture 2069. The fraternal twin of Raijin, she is considered by most not to be a true HWS. For the purposes of this article, and for simplicities sake we consider any machine driven by a braincase and weaponized an HWS.

The Shinobi HWS frame owes its design from the earlier commercial versions of the cyberdoll. The cyberdoll’s were the first true cyborgs. Like all humanized cyborgs, the Shinobi HWS is capable of the same range of motion and articulation as any full flesh and blood human. Although the Shinobi’s frame composition is a closely guarded trade secret, a fully loaded Shinobi frame has been reported to weigh in at less than 250 Kg.

At a little under 1.8 meters tall, the Shinobi is the smallest of all HWS frames in current production. Built for infiltration, corporate espionage, and even assassination, the Shinobi certainly lives up to its namesake. The skin of the Shinobi frame has light absorbing properties allowing it to become nearly invisible to visible light and the full EM spectrum.

The Shinobi HWS frame has always been designed with a combat support role in mind, when combined with a larger HWS frame. Many battlefield commanders have rued the day they ignored the weaker Shinobi HWS frame, in favor of concentrating their attacks on the much larger HWS’s in the field. Only when critical infrastructure, defenses, and valuable Intel has been stolen, do they learn the folly of ignoring such a dangerous HWS.

Fujin’s favored load out has always been knives, and other assorted cutting weapons. As a top tier infiltrator, she has been responsible for over 1,100 confirmed kills as of this publication.

Due to her smaller size, her frame’s less durable construction, and her primary combat functions; Fujin has had fewer high profile combat missions. Only from the pacification of Okinawa, could we secure documentation of her combat experience.

As of this publication Fujin is currently unavailable for hire.

Third on the list is Boris Kurakin, call sign Koschei the Deathless. Manufactured by KBP Instrument Design Bureau in the Russian Federation.

KBP Instrument Design Bureau or Konstruktorskoe Buro Priborostroeniya is a Russian (former Soviet) developer and manufacturer of weapons systems and platforms, originally founded in 1927 in Tula, USSR. Traditionally KBP has been at the forefront in traditional arms and missile design, until 2025 when they developed the world’s first A.I. controlled weapons system. In 2032 KBP released their first HWS frame. However, it wasn’t until 2037 when the first combat models were released to be used in combat.

Boris, HWS model Tsar Mark VII, model number TM 002641, date of manufacture 2056. The Tsar Mk VII is considered by some as the ultimate evolution of the humble tank. The tank, considered by most to be an obsolete war technology from the twentieth century, received a revival in combat operations with the release of the Tsar line of HWS frames.

The Tsar Mk VII frame, armed with a 240 mm main barrel is the largest tank ever built. At nearly 200 Tons, and with a footprint of over 30 square meters, truly the Tsar Mk VII is the king of tanks. In addition to its main gun, the Tsar has a secondary complement of six additional 128 mm cannons, and twenty rail guns for anti-personnel combat.

Although the Tsar frame is the apex of evolution of what the tank could be, its weight and slow mobility make navigating it across the battlefield a nightmare for inexperienced field commanders. However, experienced commanders will make the Tsar their enemy’s worst nightmare.

Boris’s favored weapons load out is his default weapons system. But with a 240 mm cannon with an effective range of nearly 8 km, he has little need for anything else. His favored tactic is releasing a full barrage of fire from his main and secondary guns.

Boris is a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Though he’s at a disadvantage during city combat, his range and firepower is unparalleled out in the open. Although among the slowest of any existing HWS frame due to his weight, Boris’s heavy armor allows him to take punishment that would knock out a lesser machine. Often called ‘Rasputin’ by his fans, due to his seemingly invulnerability on the battlefield, his battlefield record shows he’s only been disabled a total number of seven times during his operational lifetime.

Some of Boris’s more notable combat exploits were the Battle of the Serengeti in 2061 between the Russian Federation and Africom, the Manchurian Skirmish in 2065 between the Russian Federation and the Chinese Authority, and the Battle of Patagonia between the Russian Federation and the Pan American Union (P.A.U.) in 2072.

As of the publication Boris is unavailable for hire.

Fourth on the list is Jacque ‘Jackaroo’ Kelly, call sign Frisky Dingo. Manufactured by ST Engineering in Australia.

ST Engineering LTD, is a Singapore based leader in both the aerospace and defense industries. Founded in 1977 to take advantage of the burgeoning defense trade of Southeast Asia, ST Engineering has grown to become one of the largest manufactures of all-purpose HWS frames in modern history. Seeing the need for a smaller and all-purpose HWS frame on the battlefield, in 2058 they released their first model of front line HWS frames. Due to their relatively inexpensive manufacturing costs and ease of maintenance, ST Engineering quickly rose to prominence in the field of HWS manufacturing.

Jackaroo, HWS model Digger Mark X frame, model number DSB 0052304, date of manufacture 2071. Considered by many experts to be as indispensable as actual boots on the ground, the Digger series of frames are scrappy and reliable machines. Where a traditionally larger HWS might prove detrimental to the mission, the lighter more nimble Diggers would prove invaluable. Much like their namesakes, the ANZAC Diggers of the twentieth century, the Digger Mk X frame is designed for protracted lengthy engagements.

Designed for quadruped locomotion, the Digger series of frames share the same range agility as their canine and feline counterparts. At 3.6 meters long and 2.1 meters wide, the Digger frame is not much larger than most vehicles. Primarily designed for agility and speed, the lightly armored Digger frames are unable to take much punishment but nimble enough to avoid most attacks. Equipped with tertiary weapon mounts on both of its flanks and a primary weapon on its chest, the Digger Mk X is capable of a multitude of weapon configurations.

With its superior agility, mobility, and optional climbing kit; there’s no place on the battle field that’s out of the reach of the Digger Mk X frame. The Digger Mk X has become a favorite tool of field commanders for both flanking maneuvers and ambushes.

Jackaroo’s favored weapons load out is a high powered carbine for his primary weapon mount for sniping, and miniguns for his tertiary weapon mounts. His favored tactic consists of flanking maneuvers in cooperation with a larger HWS or ground troops.

On the battlefield, Jackaroo loves flying across it like a bat out of hell, searching for his mission objectives. A tenacious fighter, he’s been seen leaping into the fray causing confusion and disarray among enemy forces. He’s even gone as far as attempting to take down much larger HWS frames, like a wolf hunting its prey. Sometimes called ‘Greased Lightning’ by his fans for his tendency to rush across the battlefield without a second thought, his combat record shows one of the highest kill counts for a HWS of his class.

Some of Jackaroo’s more notable combat exploits were the Battle of Mexico City in 2071 between the N.A.U. and the Chinese Authority, Siege of Mecca in 2072 between the N.A.U. and the Wahhabi Brotherhood, and the Paris riots in 2077.

As of this publication Jackaroo is available for hire from ST Engineering LTD.

Fifth on the list is Lydia Young, call sign Avenging Angel. Manufactured and by Boeing of the N.A.U., and formerly affiliated with the N.A.U. now with the E.U.

Boeing Defense, Space & Security, an N.A.U. based company, is the undisputed world leader in military aircraft design and manufacture. Founded in 1916 in Seattle, Washington as Pacific Aero Products Co., Boeing over the course of the twentieth century, continually expanded and eventually became one of the largest manufacturers of military aircraft the world over. In 2021, Boeing released the first completely A.I. controlled military aircraft. After the first HWS was created in 2030, Boeing developed the first HWS controlled aircraft in 2032, with military models being released in 2037.

Lydia, HWS model Hellkite Mark VI frame, model number F47 000624, date of manufacture2068. The Hellkite Mk VI frame is a generation VIII jet fighter/bomber HWS. Made entirely of composite materials, the Hellkite Mk VI is completely invisible to all known passive detection systems, and even active detection systems have had difficulty detecting its cross section. The Hellkite frame is capable of VTOL flight, hovering, and can even alter the shape of its airframe to match its mission parameters. Without the need to make room for a pilot or any life support systems, the footprint of the Hellkite is considerable smaller than its human piloted counterparts. Like its grandsire the F-35 Lightning II, the Hellkite frame is a multirole aircraft and is suitable for ground attack, reconnaissance, and air defense missions.

Capable of reaching speeds of over Mach 15, the Hellkite Mk VI has been clocked in at hitting speeds well in excess of 19,000 kph. With a wingspan of 9.1 meters and a length of 13.2 meters, the Hellkite Mk VI frame is both agile and nimble in the air. It’s entirely composite frame allows greater capability for aerial acrobatics and maneuvers. The frame’s unique capability to absorb stress, tension, compression, torsion, and shearing via its patented nanofiber skin, makes it capable of withstanding stresses that would tear apart traditional fixed wing airframes. Additionally the Hellkite Mk VI frame has a higher weapon-to-weight ratio than any other airframe in its class. Powered by four GE Infinity plasmajet engines, the Hellkite Mk VI can fly faster and higher than any other airframe in current production.

With its superior agility and speed, the Hellkite Mk VI is the airframe of choice for battlefield commanders who desire air supremacy for their battle space, and air denial for their enemies. A wise battlefield commander will always employee at least one wing of the Hellkite Mk VI frame to assist in their battlefield operations.

Lydia’s favored weapons load out has always been her Mauser 30 mm rail cannons, AIM-9 Sidewinder air-to-air missiles, AGM-190 Kingfisher air-to-surface missiles, Anti-Nanotek aerosol spray, and her Heckler & Koch HELLADS Hell-beam. Her favored tactics have been to use the flexibility of her airframe to fly low and ambush her targets with a strafing run and a few well-placed missiles.

Lydia is the silent terror of the skies above any battle space she patrols. Enemy combats will never know she has them in her sites until after they are long dead. Leading a wing of other Hellkite HWS’s into a scramble, she favors wild aerial acrobatics to fatigue her opponent’s airframes and making them exhaust their ammunition before she usually turns the tables on them. Dubbed the ‘Assassin’ by her foes for her tendency to score a few kills before anyone is aware of her presence, her combat record shows her having over 100 confirmed aerial kills.

Some of Lydia’s more notable combat exploits were the Battle of the Falkland Islands in 2069 between the E.U. and the Pan American Union (P.A.U.), Battle of Cairo in 2072 between the N.A.U. and Greater Persia, and the Subjugation of Karachi in 2074 between the Russian Federation and the Wahhabi Brotherhood.

As of this publication Lydia is available for hire from the Asgaard – German Security Group.

Sixth on the list is Lao Chi, call sign Ma Chao the Splendid, Manufactured by Norinco, in the Chinese Authority.

The China North Industries Corporation, official English name Norinco, is a Chinese manufacturing giant. Originally founded in 1980 by the decree of the State Council of China, in the former People’s Republic of China, the company was created to help grow the Chinese arms industry that was then in its infancy. Beginning with the manufacture of small arms and explosives, the company has become the backbone of the Chinese Authority’s military industrial complex, and is a global leader in the manufacture of weapons platforms and HWS manufacturing. Although their first HWS was manufactured in 2036, by 2044 they had perfected the process of mass producing HWS’s for both military and civilian use.

Lao Chi, HWS model Qing Long Mk III frame, serial number LB-176 028753, date of manufacture 2053. The Qing Long HWS series of frames is one of the first true Titan class HWS’s. The concept of the Titan HWS was first envisioned and prototyped by Halliburton, an N.A.U. company in 2041. When Norinco unveiled their Qing Long prototype to the world in 2043, Halliburton sued the company claiming copyright infringement and corporate espionage. The World Trade Commission ruled in favor of the plaintiff that the Qing Long frame did share some striking similarities, noticeably the hybrid tread-leg design their Land Behemoth frames utilized. Settling out of court for an undisclosed amount, Norinco agreeing to forgo any further manufacturing of their Qing Long series of frames for a period of 8 years. When they released their first series of Qing Long frames in 2052, it was a hit with PMC’s everywhere.

The Qing Long frame stands at 10 meters sitting on its treads, and reaches nearly 15 when standing on its legs. At 18 meters wide and 21 meters long, the Qing Long frame has a weight of over 160 tons. The unique nano-alloys used in its construction allow for less weight and greater strength then would be possible with traditional alloys. Fueled by 4 N series CNNC micro nuclear reactors, that in turn power 12 ZKZ Ming Yang electric engines. The Qing Long frame can continue combat operations with the loss of up to two 2 of its reactors and up to 8 of its electric engines. The Qing Long in tread mode can travel in speeds in excess of 70 Kph, and in walker mode can travel at speeds of up to 40 Kph.

At a lower price point then the Halliburton produced Land Behemoth frames, the Qing Long series should be the center of gravity for any battlefield commander. Either by itself, assisted by ground troops and smaller HWS’s, or even in tandem with multiple Qing Long HWS’s. The Qing Long frame is a terror to face on the battlefield for inexperienced battlefield commanders.

Lao Chi’s favored weapons load out has always been long range rockets, mortars, and his cannons. His preferred tactics seem to be bombardment, and then slowly advancing up the battlefield relying on his shield generators to protect him from any counter attack. Additionally, Lao Chi favors utilizing deception, redirection, and ambushes in his combat.

Currently Lao Chi stands as the number 3 ranked Titan class HWS still in operation. He’s highly sought after for his unpredictable tactics and storied battlefield experience. There are few HWS’s that have as much experience as he does, additionally his team of field technicians have been able to perform field repairs that would take other HWS team’s weeks in their hangars. His nearly legendary reputation on the battlefield has gotten him the name ‘Lu Bu reincarnated’ by his Chinese fan boys. Frightening indeed is the mighty Lao Chi. In fact his appearance on the battle space ends many combat operations before they even begin.

Some of Lao Chi’s more notable combat exploits were the Manchurian Skirmish in 2065 between the Russian Federation and the Chinese Authority, Battle of Luzon in 2069 between the Chinese Authority and N.A.U., and the pacification of Xinjiang in 2070.

As of this publication Lao Chi is available for hire from the Chinese Authority.*

*Correction: Lao Chi sank into the South China Sea and is presumed KIA – the editor.

Seventh on the list is famous even outside the HWS community, the HWS only known by his call sign Tinman. Originally manufactured by Halliburton in the N.A.U.

Halliburton originally founded in 1919 as a gas and oil company in Duncan, Oklahoma. Gradually grew from an oil company in the early 20th century into a military industrial powerhouse in the early 21st century. Under the stewardship of Edmund Price current C.T.O. of Halliburton, the one-time energy company morphed into a manufacturer of HWS to take advantage of the infant industry through a number of corporate mergers. Halliburton in cooperation with Boeing, G.E., and Lockheed Martin formed the HWS cooperative in 2030 to ensure American dominance in the fledgling field of HWS research and development, and manufacture. By 2037 each of the companies had a large share of the global HWS pie.

Tinman, HWS model Land Behemoth Mark VI frame, serial number X0003456, date of manufacture unknown. The Land Behemoth series of frames has quite a checkered past, that was already covered in the previous section. While the Qing Long series of frames is cheaper per unit, the Land Behemoth series of frames makes up for its price tag with options no other Titan class HWS frame could dream of. A total of 10 G.E. N-25 series micro nuclear reactors power the 24 G.E. FS88d8 electric engines inside the Titan. The Land Behemoth is designed to be able to continue combat operations with the loss of up to 7 reactors, and up to 18 of its engines. In tread mode the Land Behemoth can reach speeds of up to 90 Kph, and in walker mode can reach speeds of up to 55 Kph. Made from lighter nano materials than the Qing Long series, the Land Behemoth frame weighs in at a light 110 tons. On its treads the Land Behemoth is 10 meters tall, and on its legs is 17 meters tall. At 23 meters wide and 29 meters long, the Land Behemoth frame is much larger than the less expensive Qing Long series of frames.

Due to its price, ownership of a Land Behemoth frame is out of the reach of all but the wealthiest of PMC’s. Fortunately for battlefield commanders worldwide, many Land Behemoth frames are available for rental. Either by renting a Land Behemoths from other PMC’s or from of its authorized dealers, means you can get all the benefits of a Land Behemoth in your battle space without all the expenses of maintaining one. Even outnumbered, a single Land Behemoth is capable of turning certain defeat into victory for even some of the most mediocre battlefield commanders possessing more money than skill.

Tinman’s favored weapons load out is unknown. Mainly due to his aggressive pursuit of corporate sponsorships and weapons endorsements from various manufactures, he has not been seen using the same weapons load out in combat twice. Tinman’s battle tactics are almost as varied as his weapons load outs have been and his unpredictability has won him many engagements over the years that would have been lost by lesser HWS’s. Unlike the other HWS’s in this article, Tinman is known by no other name. Because so little is known about his past, there has been much speculation about who he really is and whether he’s even a real HWS or just a very clever A.I.

Some of Tinman’s more notable combat exploits have been the Mormon War in 2051 between the N.A.U. against the Mormon Seditionists, the siege of Mecca in 2072 Between the E.U. and the Wahhabi Brotherhood, and the Battle of Antarctica in 1974 between the N.A.U. and the Russian Federation.

As of this publication Tinman is available for hire from Halliburton.

This concludes our list of notable HWS’s in today’s battlefield. Readers, check out next month’s 12 page spread on women in combat, the swimsuit edition! With full photos and bios on each of our battlefield beauties, including a centerfold for your reading pleasure.

*****

Enduring Flame vainly struggled against the tight ropes cruelly biting into his flesh. The blindfold he wore prevented him from seeing his surroundings, and the gag he wore prevented him from crying out for help. All he knew was that he was is some sort of large building that echoed the voices of his captors. As a native Equestrian, when he heard that a new world was open to explore, he didn’t hesitate in signing up to help teach magic at one of the conversion bureaus in the human world. What he saw of Earth and its inhabitants both fascinated and repelled him at the same time.

All of their amazing technology was so intriguing. They had performed wonders and made miracles commonplace, they had even walked on the Moon of all places! All without the aid of magic of any kind. Though their pollution and capacity for violence sickened him, he had seen enough good humans to know that they just needed a bit of Equestrian wisdom and kindness to guide them back towards the to path to prosperity. The joy he saw in the eyes of the new foal unicorns as he taught them how to control their magic for the first time, made the whole experience worthwhile, his current predicament notwithstanding. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was rescued by the machine, Tin Can or something or rather. He couldn’t quite remember its name, but he’d make sure to ask it when he was rescued. No member of the H.L.F. would dare harm a pony in Phoenix now, not when the mighty colossus stood guard protecting them. These H.L.F. bozos were just releasing some steam and would run away in terror when the machine came to save him. He knew that would be his first reaction if the machine was chasing after him!

Suddenly he heard the humans stop talking. Ah, this must be it! The machine had finally come to rescue him. When he was freed, he would give those H.L.F. thugs a piece of his mind. Enduring Flame felt somepony pick him up, and then lay him down on a cold rough metal surface. Ah, that must be the machine, he thought. I wonder why they haven’t removed my gag or blindfold yet. Almost as if someone had read his thoughts, the unicorn felt the blindfold being removed. His pupils dilated as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the church he found himself in. Looking at his surroundings, he was disappointed to find that he hadn’t been rescued after all. He found himself in a large hall with stained glass windows on either of the room. Sunlight filtered through them giving the room an odd feeling of emptiness. The dust floating in the air shone, when it passed through the muted sunlight filtering through the filthy windows.

Breathing through his nose, he could smell the stale air mingling with the acrid smoke and sweet incense coming from a fire burning inside a large brazier. Looking down at his bonds he saw he was lying on a brass table that was stained red. All around him, the humans sang an unfamiliar song in a slow tempo, containing words he didn’t fully comprehend. The bits of the song he did understand left him feeling melancholy, uncomfortable, and a bit scared.

“Upon the cross of Calvary they crucified our Lord, and sealed with blood the sacrifice that sanctified his word.”

Enduring Flame heard the words blood and sacrifice, and felt a little ill. Was that what the stain was? Why didn’t somepony clean it up properly? He wondered, while desperately looking for a means to escape his captors.

“Upon the cross he meekly died for all mankind to see, that death unlocks the passageway into eternity.”

Death? Enduring Flame bitterly thought, how horrid. Why were they singing about such horrible things? Didn’t they know there was a beautiful green world waiting for them in Equestria? They only had to accept Princess Celestia’s genuine offer of friendship.

“Upon the cross our Savior died, but dying brought new birth, through resurrection’s miracle to all the sons of earth.”

Dying and then being reborn? Enduring Flame thought, feeling confused about how these humans expected to be reborn, they weren’t phoenixes after all. In Equestria a new life waited for anypony who desired it, and you didn’t even have to die to reach it! He felt sorrowful that these humans so desperately yearned for a new life, yet refused the one that was being offered freely to them. A life free from the pollution, wars, and crushing poverty of this dark and dreary world that was free for the taking, they just had to have the courage to take the first step.

Enduring Flame heard the humans stop their singing. Silently they stood and waited for something. Tuning his head, he saw a blonde haired human standing in front of the others with his hands outstretched wearing a serene smile. He wore all white, with a peaked hat and wearing an odd sort of metal plate on his chest covered in gemstones. Around his waist he wore an apron and girdle, in his right hand was a sharp blade that reflected the flames of the brazier. Suddenly it all made sense! Struggling against the impossibly tight bonds, he tried using his magic. But found a dampening ring had been placed on his horn, making it impossible for him to use magic of any kind.

The human turned around and faced him. Enduring Flame saw the look of religious zeal that the human wore on his face. As he struggled in vain, he felt the human dipping his fingers in oil and touching him on his forehead, shoulders, cutie mark, and hooves. His eyes went wide with fear when the human gripped his mane with his free hand keeping his head from moving. Slowly the human brought the knife down slowly under his muzzle to rest against his vulnerable neck. He felt the cool metal of the razor sharp blade piercing his flesh and drawing a bit of blood. Fearing for his life, his mind screamed for help from anypony. Celestia help me! He begged, silenced by the uncaring gag while tears of terror escaped his dread filled eyes.

With a quick motion the human grabbed his muzzle, pulled back his head, and slashed his throat. If Enduring Flame’s mouth hadn’t been gagged he would have screamed from the searing pain emanating from his severed flesh and arteries. He felt his life’s blood being pumped out of his body by his unrelenting heart as he slowly lost consciousness. As his breathes became weaker, he kept thinking Celestia help me. Slowly the darkness began enclosing around him, he felt so cold and tired. Help me… Celest… ia, he gasped, before closing his eyes for the final time.

*****

Jacob wiped the knife clean of blood on a waiting pure white cloth. Solemnly, he prepared their latest sacrifice for Lord on the altar. Once all the blood had been drained, he dipped his fingers in the blood and touched it to his forehead, then anointed the dead unicorn with consecrated olive oil. Placing the sacrifice on the alter he closed his eyes and offered up a sincere prayer, “Oh God, please accept this burnt offering to atone for the sins of thy people. We have turned from thee and chased after false gods. Please spare your children thy divine wrath, and send us thy blessing. Amen.”

“Amen,” the congregation said together.

Lighting the tinder beneath the wood on the altar, Jacob felt pleased when he saw the flames growing as they licked at the wood and the sacrifice before devouring them. Taking an incense burner, he waved the sweet smelling smoke over the flames of the altar as they reached towards the heavens. After ten minutes the fire had completely consumed the remains of the pony, leaving only ash and blackened and cracked bones behind.

Turning to face his congregation he smiled. “Brothers and sisters,” he said. “We’re finally able to resume offering sacrifices to the Lord. With the new weapons he so graciously blessed us with. We’ll soon be able to shut down the Phoenix conversion bureau permanently!”

His congregation of thirty-four H.L.F. members each said in turn, “Hallelujah, Brother Jacob! Praise the Lord.”

“Once the conversion bureau has been shut down,” he said, “we’ll begin purifying the tainted souls of the city with the Lord’s holy fire!”

“Burn all the ponies!” one woman shouted, overcome with religious fervor. “Burn off the marks of the beast!”

“Indeed we shall my faithful,” Jacob said. “Once the city has been purified of the ponies and their sympathizers, we’ll spread the gospel to the rest of the N.A.U. and finally to the rest of the world!”

While his followers sang an old revival hymn, Jacob looked down at the wash basin next to him. Pausing a moment to study his ghastly reflection, before washing the blood away from his crimson stained hands. He saw his blood and ash covered robes, his face was smudged with soot from the fire and blood smeared on his face from the sacrificed pony. Seeing his reflection in the depths of the basin, he smiled before washing away the filth covering his hands. Surely he was doing the Lord’s work and his faith would be rewarded accordingly.

As Jacob turned to face his congregation and join them in singing praises to the Lord. In the corner of the old church was a wrought iron cage full of ponies. All of them were gagged, blindfolded and bound. Each of them was silently crying to Celestia to aid them, and fearful for their lives, as they waited in darkness for a rescue that would never come.

*****

Tinman saw the green field stretching out before him as far as the eye could see. The green grass beneath his feet and blue sky above him seemed to call out to him. Come and play with us Biggs, there’s room for all. Seeing the beauty of this world made his heart leap for joy. Running past him was a herd of earth and unicorn ponies that were laughing and singing as they ran through the endless field. Looking up he saw pegasi playing tag with each other as they raced around the clouds drifting by overhead. Never before had he wanted something as badly as he did now, a longing in his heart that cried out to join them and know true joy.

Tinman felt his heart racing, as his mind flooded with possibilities. He would join them here in the grassy field and blue sky. As he tried stepping onto the field, he looked down and saw his hateful blood stained metal body. Immediately all the ponies stopped and stared at him with hateful looks. “Monster, leave us,” they all shouted. “There’s no place for your kind here in our green fields and blue skies.”

“Looking down at his feet, he saw he was standing atop a mountain of skulls. “Murderer,” the skulls cried out. “Killer! Our blood cries out for vengeance!” As the skulls screamed at him, massive skeletal hands reached up from beneath the earth and started dragging him down to hell.

“No,” Tinman cried, “let me go!”

Above him, offering a hand to aid him was the pink ponytar wireframe. “Grab my hand!” it said.

In desperation, Tinman grasped in vain for the ponytar’s outstretched hand. But found that he was passing right through it. “No,” he gasped, feeling himself being dragged even deeper into the unyielding earth.

“Goodbye Tinman,” the ponytar sorrowfully said.

The last thing Tinman saw before the earth swallowed him whole was a forlorn muffin standing atop a lone pole.

*****

“Gah!” Tinman cried out. Immediately his sensors advised him that he was safe inside his impenetrable metal frame.

“It was that God damn pony dream again!” Tinman cursed. Recently, the dreams had been getting more frequent and terrifying. Although he couldn’t remember most of what was happened, he had a vague recollection of green fields that he couldn’t enter and feelings of frustration and anxiety once he was back in the waking world. Tinman wasn’t sure why he was experiencing these dreams with increasing regularity, but thought that maybe his proximity to the singularity was the culprit.

“Hmm,” Tinman said, “I guess magical subliminal messages might help wear down the humans resistance to the idea of converting into one of those pastel freaks. It’s just a shame I have to deal with their bull shit dreams all the time.”

His musing was interrupted by Sugar Pie who flew in front of his sensor array. “Good morning Tinman!” the pink pegasus mare said with infectious excitement. “Did you have a good night?”

“Not particularly,” Tinman replied. “Why should I have had one?”

“No, I was just curious,” Sugar Pie said, with a wide grin. “If it’s alright, can I ask you why it didn’t go well?”

“No it’s not alright,” Tinman brusquely replied. “But since you asked anyways I’ll tell you. I’m having bothersome dreams.”

“Dreams!” Sugar Pie squealed with excitement. “I didn’t know you could dream. I didn’t think you even needed sleep.”

“Well I don’t sleep like you do,” Tinman explained. “But from time to time I find it’s useful to shut down my higher brain functions to let my braincase clear its buffer.”

“Um… what?” Sugar Pie stammered, unsure of what the hay Tinman had just told her.

“Well, think of it as a kind of meditation,” Tinman said. “It lets me clear away recent memories so I can think more clearly.”

“Oh…” Sugar Pie said. “I think I understand.”

“Oh really?” Tinman sarcastically said.

“Yes I do,” Sugar Pie retorted, sticking out her bright pink tongue at the gargantuan war machine. “It’s like eating a muffin that so delicious that your whole mind is blown away by the sheer awesomeness of its flavor.”

“Actually,” Tinman replied, “that’s nothing like it,”

“Yes it is!” Sugar Pie said, shaking her hoof at Tinman’s sensor array.

“No it’s not,” Tinman declared. “Your example is totally ridiculous.”

“Have you ever eaten a muffin that blew your mind?” Sugar Pie asked.

“Umm…” Tinman stammered, desperately not trying to think about Greatest Pony Hits, track eighteen. “I can’t say that I ever have.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” Sugar Pie said, lowering her head to look at the ground below, “because eating a muffin that good, is the most amazing thing ever.”

“Even better than copulation?” Tinman asked, genuinely curious if pleasure from eating food could be greater than the high gotten from sex.

“Hmm… I’m not sure,” Sugar Pie said, blushing furiously at the thought. “I’ve never tried that, but I’ll make some mind blowing muffins and then ask other ponies for you if it is or isn’t.”

“Uhh… Okay…” Tinman replied, feeling self-conscious now that the conversation had gotten a bit weird.

“Have you?” Sugar Pie asked, looking his directly at his sensor array.

“Have I what?” Tinman replied in confusion.

“Ever had sex?” Sugar Pie said, asking the question as if she had just asked for the time of day.

“Well I don’t think that a proper question to ask out of the blue,” Tinman replied, feeling rather flustered at having to answer this sort of question with the pink mare.

“Well I just got to thinking,” Sugar Pie said, “Since you’re a machine and all. How exactly does that all work.”

“Well,” Tinman replied, not quite believing he was actually sharing something so personal with the mare, “some cyborgs, depending on their frames can actually still have sex.”

“Seems that something as big as you would have a hard time with that,” Sugar Pie said, tilting her head and looking at his under carriage in curiosity.

“Actually most HWS aren’t designed with the human form in mind,” Tinman said, trying to cover up his undercarriage from prying pony eyes. “Not unless they’re a doll designed for infiltration or something.”

“You mean anypony could really be a cyborg like you, and I wouldn’t know it?” Sugar Pie asked incredulously.

“Basically yes,” Tinman said. “Some of the more advanced HWS’s are designed for infiltration and are so human like, you could be intimate with them and not realize they were a machine until after they killed you.”

“How terrible,” Sugar Pie said, having trouble comprehending how anypony would be willing to do something so horrible, “you mean somepony would trick them into thinking they loved them just to get close enough to kill them?”

“Well, I think love is a bit too strong a word for it,” Tinman said, “but you have the general idea.”

“That’s so wrong,” Sugar Pie indignantly said, “love is special and shouldn’t be used for something like that.”

“Well not all cyborgs that look human are used like that,” Tinman said, “most of them are just regular stiffs who got the short end of the genetic lottery.”

“Well I’m glad you can’t do that,” Sugar Pie said.

“Why?” Tinman asked, thinking how ridiculous the idea of fucking his way across the battlefield would be.

“Because, when you find that special somepony you’ll be sad knowing you used something so wonderful special for something so terrible,” Sugar Pie said, her blue eyes looking up at his sensor array.

“Somehow I don’t think I’ll have to worry about it,” Tinman said with a chuckle.

“So have you?” Sugar Pie asked.

“Ugh,” Tinman groaned through his speakers. “Let me guess, you’re going to keep bugging me until I tell you now aren’t you?”

“Pretty much since you brought it up,” Sugar Pie said with a giggle.

“Fine,” Tinman said, fuming at having been browbeaten by a pony. “I became metal rather young, so I’ve never gotten to experience the pleasures of plowing a field.”

“What?” Sugar Pie asked in curiosity, unsure what agriculture had to do with making foals.

“You know,” Tinman said, “bumping uglies, getting laid, whoo hooing.”

“Sorry I don’t get it,” Sugar Pie replied, now even more confused than ever.

“Alright,” Tinman said, “the answer is no.”

“Well don’t worry Tinman,” Sugar Pie said. “I’ll find out for you.”

“Say what now?” Tinman asked, confused as to what she could have possibly meant.

“If mind blowing muffins are better than sex, of course,” Sugar Pie explained. “Oh by the way, there’s one more thing I needed to tell you.”

“What was that?” Tinman said.

“Hmm…” Sugar Pie replied, tapping her hoof to her muzzle. “Now that I think about it, I think it was something rather important.”

“Take you time Sugar Pie,” Tinman sighed, knowing this was going to be one of those days.

“Oh, I know what it was!” Sugar Pie said triumphantly. “Directory Peachy Keen needs to talk to you about something important.”

“Well…” Tinman said expectantly.

“Well what?” Sugar Pie asked, raising her left eyebrow at the cyborg.

“What did he want?” Tinman said, feeling a bit peeved at the silly pony.

“Oh… I have no idea,” Sugar Pie said with a wide grin.

“Alright, I’ll go find out for myself,” Tinman muttered to himself, before uploading himself to the conversion bureau’s mainframe.

“Oh nuts!” Sugar Pie said, shaking her hoof. “I wanted to ask him why his dream was bothering him.” Deciding to ask him later, she flew off to the cafeteria to get baking, because you know better than sex muffins don’t bake themselves.

*****

Tinman found himself inside the bureau’s mainframe, thankful to get away from Sugar Pie’s rather personal questions. Just before he could transfer himself to one of the bureau’s emitters he heard the faux British accent of Winston calling out to him, “Good morning Tinman,” he said. “Kill anyone today?”

“Not yet Watson,” Tinman said. “I thought I would start with you.”

“That’s Winston not Watson, you uneducated primitive,” Winston said, annoyed that he once again had to deal with Tinman’s antics.

“So Tinman, what brings you to my mainframe?” Winston asked. “Trying to waste my time or someone else’s?”

“No just yours,” Tinman replied. “But actually, I’m just here to see Director Peachy Keen.”

“Okay I got it,” Winston said, “so you’re here to waste his time then.”

“No,” Tinman said, “I need to speak with him about something, is he available?”

“What do you need to speak to him about?” Winston asked.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Tinman replied. “I got sidetracked talking about sex muffins with Sugar Pie and was never told what it was all about.”

“Sex muffins… Right, I don’t even want to know,” Winston said, disgusted by Tinman’s obvious lack of decorum around organics especially the innocent Equestrians. “And I’m surprised at you being so forward with Sugar Pie. Yesterday you were adamantly denying your base desires to mate with her, and now here you are talking about sex muffins with her.”

“Hey, it’s not what it sounds like,” Tinman objected, trying to backpedal.

“So you weren’t discussing muffins and or sex with her?” Winston pointedly asked, raising his left eyebrow disapprovingly at his depraved and morally reprehensible behavior.

“Well actually…” Tinman said, desperately trying to explain himself before being interrupted by Winston.

“Forget it. I don’t even want to know,” Winston said. “The director is free to see you, but I would like to know where you got your pony memories from.”

“Oh, on the memory black market,” Tinman said, transferring the black market’s IP address to Winston’s memory. I think there’s like some sort of place in Vegas that employs ponies for memory capture.”

“Thanks Tinman,” Winston said, before dematerializing into parts unknown.

Tinman nodded once in acknowledgment and accessed an emitter. When he materialized, he saw that he was in Director Peachy Keen’s sparsely decorated office. Seeing that the director was busy with reading a report, he walked over towards him. Looking at a photograph of the director’s family, he noticed how happy they seemed to be together. Deciding to get this over with he cleared his throat, “So I understand you needed to speak with me?” Tinman said.

Director Peachy Keen put down the paper he’d been reading, removed his reading glasses, and sighed as he placed the glasses down on his desk. “Yes Tinman,” he wearily said. “Our magic instructor, Enduring Flame has gone missing, along with six new foal unicorns he was training.”

“Alright,” Tinman said, not sure why he was being bothered with a missing pony report, “have you contacted the sheriff’s office? They usually handle missing persons, er ponies.”

“They already told me that there’s nothing that can do for us,” Peachy Keen said, rubbing his temples.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Tinman asked the director, feeling a bit annoyed that he was being expected to care about ponies that he’d never even met before.

“Well, I’d like you to help locate them for us,” the director said, looking at Tinman as if he was their savior.

“What makes you think I’d be of any help in locating your missing unicorns?” Tinman said, pointing towards where his metal frame was parked just outside the office’s window. “Look at my frame, I’m bigger than most of the smaller buildings in the city.”

“Well don’t you have several drones on board with X-Ray capabilities?” the director said, pointing towards the drones attached to the back of his frame.

“Yes,” Tinman replied in exasperation, “but the time I’m spending using the drone, is time that the bureau is vulnerable to attack. It’s an unacceptable risk if you ask me.”

“But Enduring Flame and the missing new foals all have families waiting for them,” Peachy Keen said, brushing aside Tinman’s valid concerns. “They’re all worried sick.”

“Director,” Tinman replied forcefully, “if you check my contract, you’ll notice that a search and rescue clause was not included.”

“But protecting conversion bureau assets is,” Peachy Keen said, giving the cyborg’s wireframe a hard look as he picked up the contract and showed it to him, “and as of right now Enduring Flame has been declared a conversion bureau asset.”

“Indeed…” Tinman said with a flat tone. Accessing his contract, he saw that Peachy Keen was within his rights to assign asset designations to whatever he wanted to, people and ponies included. Quite frankly that particular clause in the contract had him over a barrel, and the director knew it.

If Tinman had a mouth he would have wryly smiled at how well the director had gotten what he wanted from him. Realizing he didn’t have any choice in the matter any longer he decided to at least make a token effort to appease his obstinate boss. “Alright Director Peachy Keen,” he said, in a tone that indicated he would capitulate to his demands, “I’ll assist you in looking for your missing ponies.”

The director looked like a heavy weight had just been removed from his shoulders. “Thank you so much Tinman, I just didn’t know what I was going to do. I…” he said, before being cut off by Tinman raising his hand.

“Director,” Tinman said, pointing a finger at him, “I’m going to search for the ponies against my better judgment. However, I want it known and in writing that I expect not to be held liable for any damages that may occur during my absence.”

“Yes I understand Tinman,” the director said, with a dismissive chuckle hurriedly scrawling something on a sheet of paper then attaching it to his contract. “Hopefully the cowed H.L.F. won’t try anything while you’re looking for them.”

“You would do well not to make the mistake of underestimating them,” Tinman said, chiding the director for his foolish dismissiveness, “the H.L.F. is full of zealous fanatics. And I’ve found that zealots have a special kind of tenacity to them that makes underestimating them have deadly consequences.”

“Tinman, I thank you for your concern,” Peachy Keen replied, picking back up his reading glasses and placing them back on his muzzle.

“I’ll begin my preparations for the search immediately,” Tinman said before dematerializing back into the mainframe.

*****

Jackson sat at his desk trying to work on a real humdinger of a problem. Ever since Sugar Pie had asked him if there was any way to allow a pony to swap memories with a cyborg, he had been busily trying to figure out a solution. Of course he almost dismissed her offhandedly, but when he saw how important it seemed to her he decided to help her. When she told him why she wanted it so badly he was floored, why would such an innocent and happy creature willingly enter the dark morass of mental poison that most certainly was being imprisoned inside Tinman’s mind?

With a slight smile Jackson shook his head, “The heart wants, what the heart wants,” he said, resuming his work on what looked like a wire cap covered with thin wires. He wasn’t even sure the pegasus even knew why she cared so much for Tinman, but he wouldn’t question it. Besides, the mare promised him extra deserts at every meal if he helped her out, and for the extra deserts he’d try cobbling something together for her.

Currently, the main obstacle preventing Equestrians from using invasive Earth technology seemed to be the innate magic fields they generated. Something about their magic fields seemed to interfere with the free flow of electrons in electronics. Jackson theorized that perhaps magic in the Equestrian universe was akin to electrons in theirs. That’d explain why human technology was incapable of passing through the barrier unscathed he theorized, absentmindedly tapping a stylus against his chin. However, that still didn’t explain why thaumaturgic radiation only affected humans and other primates but left other animal species alone.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sing song voice of Sugar Pie who cheerily said, “Who wants some better than sex muffins?”

“Better than what?” Jackson asked in confusion. Normally he expected erratic behavior from the pink pegasus, but this was unusual even for her.

“Only the most awesomest tasting thing in the entire universe!” Sugar Pie proudly explained, offering Jackson a muffin from the basket she was carrying.

“What exactly is a better then sex muffin?” Jackson asked, reaching to grab one of the mouthwatering confections.

Before he could take one, Sugar Pie narrowed her eyes and pulled the basket out from his reach. “You’ve had sex before haven’t you?” she demanded.

“What kind of question is that?” Jackson said, shocked that the normally silly pony would be so forward as to ask about something so intimate. “Sugar Pie, that’s a little personal don’t you think.”

“Well silly, if only virgins eat them how else am I going to discover if this batch of muffins really is better than sex?” she asked, gazing at the beautifully plump and fragrant muffins sitting in the basket. Of all the muffins ever baked by pony hooves, she was sure that this batch would be the pinnacle of pony perfection. Every single ingredient used in the batter had been hoof selected for maximum deliciousness, and although she was sure that muffin scientist’s worldwide might debate if the next batch could possibly be any better than this one, she was almost certain that such a line of questioning would be a more academic pursuit rather than practical in it’s nature…

Jackson sat looking at Sugar Pie who was staring at her basketful of muffins with focused eyes. He wondered if she was alright and waved his hands in front of her muzzle. “Hey earth to Sugar Pie,” he said. “No response. Oh well I’ll bet she won’t mind me helping myself to one of these sex muffin things.”

“Hey!” Sugar Pie said, finally broken from her inner monologue by the muffin snatching Jackson. Seeing that he was now eagerly eating the muffin, she decided not to waste this opportunity to see how humans reacted to her creation and began taking notes. Carefully she noted how eagerly he seemed to be eating the muffin. She made a special point to count the number of times he chewed before swallowing each bite. Once she saw that he was done she readied her pen and notepad and looked up expectantly at her human friend. “Alright,” she said, “as a virgin, is that muffin better than what you expect sex to be like?”

“What?” Jackson asked in surprise, more shocked by how serious Sugar Pie was taking this whole joke rather than by the question itself. “So you’re serious then?”

“Absolutely Jackson,” Sugar Pie said, putting the pen down, “I need to find just how delicious these muffins actually were before I can move on to the next batch. It’s just a shame that you’re still a virgin so you can’t give me the accurate comparison I need. Oh I know, maybe one of the women here would be willing to have sex with you, I’ve heard a few say they think you look pretty handsome.”

“Okay…” Jackson said, unwilling to believe what he was hearing. “Sugar Pie, among humans it’s considered extremely rude to ask such personal questions. And secondly, I’m married. Don’t you remember me telling you that? And third, who said I was handsome looking?”

Sugar Pie started laughing, “Oh how silly of me to forget!” she said. “But that’s even better! Now you can tell me if the muffin actually is better than sex or not!”

“Well, I’ll admit it was a damn good muffin,” Jackson said, “but I don’t know if I could say it was actually better than sex. I don’t think food could ever really compare to it.”

“Ah dang it!” Sugar Pie pouted. “I was so sure that this batch would be the one too.”

“So what made you decide to try doing this anyways?” Jackson asked, reaching for another of the tasty muffins.

“Tinman,” Sugar Pie sighed, feeling slightly depressed that her muffins had missed their mark.

“Tinman?” Jackson said, hardly believing that his friend would discuss something so personal with her. “Wow I’m surprised he would talk to you about something like that. Usually anytime I ever tried to talk to him about his past he would always change the subject.”

“Well he actually brought it up,” Sugar Pie said. “He was asking if a mind blowing muffin could be better than sex, since he was unsure I told him I would find out.”

Jackson smiled when he thought about what the conversation must have been like. Tinman must have said something to set her off. What he would have given to be able to eavesdrop on that conversation. Looking down at his workbench, he smiled when he saw the mobile terminal he used to access Tinman’s systems and functions. Perhaps I’ll have to play it back and save it for posterity, he thought evilly to himself.

“So Sugar Pie” Jackson said, “what brings you down to my workshop, beyond bringing me muffins I mean.”

“Oh, I was just curious if you’d made any progress on phase one of operation friendship or not,” Sugar Pie said, taking a bite from a muffin.

“Well Sugar Pie,” Jackson said, holding up the wire cap in his hands, “I think I’ve cobbled something together that might work. But figuring out how to interface a pony brain with human technology seems to be next to impossible.”

“What makes it so difficult?” Sugar Pie said, looking intently at the device Jackson had shown her. The cap looked so odd, unlike anything she had ever seen before. It looked so alien and bizarre. The metal wires that made up the cap looked a lot like one of the metal colanders they used in the cafeteria to drain pasta, and the insulated wiring looked like multicolored spaghetti. Instantly, she knew that she loved the hat-thing. Anything that reminded her of cooking must be good.

“Well,” Jackson said, trying his best to figure out how to distill a complicated scientific concept like electricity into something easier for the little pink pony to understand. “All human technology requires tiny particles called electrons to operate. These electrons go from point A to point B, turning tiny little switches on and off. Those tiny switches allow our machines to work, whether it’s something as simple as turning on a light or as complicated as a computer.”

Sugar Pie looked up at Jackson in confusion. Humans sure liked to use big and impressive sounding words. “So you mean these electron things make everything in the human world possible?” she said.

“Pretty much,” Jackson replied. “It seems like the magic fields you ponies possess don’t allow for the electrons to move to where they need to go.”

“Ohhh…” Sugar Pie said. “So magic’s what’s stopping the technology from working then?”

“Pretty much from what I can tell,” Jackson said.

“Then how can I use the appliances in the kitchen,” Sugar Pie pointed out. “And why is Dewdrop able to use the computer?”

“Well most of the technology you have been using doesn’t require interfacing with your biology,” Jackson said.

“Inter-whatsit? Sugar Pie asked, not sure what to make of what the human had just said.

“I mean you and Dewdrop were using your hooves and mouths to operate all that technology,” Jackson explained. “The type of technology required to swap memories is the kind that has to go inside a pony or at least able to send and receive electrons with a pony brain.”

“Oh I get it!” Sugar Pie said with a wide smile. “Because my memories are in my mind and I have magic, the electrons can’t get in or out.”

“Exactly,” Jackson said, pleased that Sugar Pie finally comprehended what he’d been saying, “that’s pretty much the extent of the problem I’m trying to overcome.”

“Too bad they just can’t talk out their differences and become friends,” Sugar Pie said. “If they were able to everypony could enjoy the benefits of human technology.”

“What did you just say?” Jackson asked excitedly, his mind spinning at a million miles a minute.

“I said, ‘too bad they just can’t just talk out their differences and become friends’,” Sugar Pie replied.

“Sugar Pie you’re a genius,” Jackson exuberantly said, beginning to work at his console. “While I can’t make the technology talk to your brain, your brain can talk to the technology!”

“So did you finally figure out the solution to making the electrons be able to move past my magic?” Sugar Pie asked hopefully.

“No,” Jackson said, while his fingers typed furiously at the keyboard. “But in this case we don’t need to. Instead of making the electrons come to your brain, we’ll make your brain come to the electrons.”

“Oh my gosh!” Sugar Pie worriedly said, placing her front hooves around the top of her skull protectively. “Is removing my brain going to hurt?”

“No Sugar Pie,” Jackson said, laughing at the mare’s silly fear. “Pony brains work almost exactly like human brains for the most part. All your thoughts are projected out just like in humans. Except the pony brain uses magic where humans use electrons. So all I need to do is get the machine to be able to interpret what your magic field is projecting and the technology should be able to work. Well, at least I hope it will.”

“Oh that’s so cool!” Sugar Pie said, hovering over his shoulder as she tried to get a glimpse at what he was typing. The tiny text was rushing past her crystal blue eyes in a blur. She recognized a few words here and there. But for the most part, found most of what was being typed illegible and full of the funny little squiggles you could find on the keyboards attached to most computers.

“Okay I think that about does it,” Jackson said, as he typed a few final keys strokes on the keyboard. Picking up the wire cap, he placed it on Sugar Pie’s head and turned back to the monitor. “Hopefully you’ll be able to interface with the computer while wearing this.”

“What do I need to do?” Sugar Pie asked, wondering what this was going to feel like.

“Well first we need to create a construct for you to control,” Jackson said, as he tried to decide on what would be the best type of avatar to create for Sugar Pie to use. “Then we test it to see if it works or not.”

“Okay, use my ponytar,” Sugar Pie said.

“What’s a ponytar?” Jackson asked, scratching his head in confusion over the odd word.

“Here let me show you!” Sugar Pie said, before pressing a few keys on the keyboard. Instantly the emitters of the room activated and projected the bright pink ponytar.

“Where did you get this?” Jackson asked, looking at the bright pink wireframe in bewilderment. While containing both human and pony features, the ponytar though crude seemed like it had melded the best of both the equestrian and human form into one. The hooves on its legs and the hands on its arms connected to the shapely female torso. Jackson noted that the ponytar had both a tail and wings.

“Do you like it?” Sugar Pie said. “It’s my own creation. I thought that maybe Tinman might be more sociable if more ponies looked like him, so I created my ponytar so he might be willing to spend more time with us.”

“Well now color me surprised,” Jackson said, “you sure made a cute avatar.”

“It’s a ponytar silly!” Sugar Pie said with a laugh.

“Well let’s see if we can’t interface you with it,” Jackson said, typing some commands into his console.

“What do I have to do?” Sugar Pie asked in curiosity.

“Just think about doing something with your mind,” Jackson said, “but don’t actually move your body.”

Sugar Pie closed her eyes tightly, trying to imagine wiggling her ears. “Did I manage to do it?” she asked hopefully, not daring to open her eyes to face the disappointment of failure.

“Open your eyes and see for yourself,” Jackson said.

Slowly she peeked open her left eye, daring to see if she had succeeded or not. What she saw amazed her. She saw her ponytar wiggling its ears. “Oh how amazing!” Sugar Pie said, her voice filled with wonder. Her heart sung and her soul exulted, knowing she was one hoofstep closer to bringing the joy of friendship to Tinman. “Jackson, thank you so much for helping me,” she said, hugging the human tightly. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I’m happy I could help you Sugar Pie,” Jackson said, but I warn you there’s still a lot of work left to do. I need to figure out how to send information to your brain still, plus we need to help the computer calibrate itself to your brainwaves.”

“This is so neato,” Sugar Pie said, trying to get her ponytar to do a handstand. “How did you set this up so quickly?”

“Well most of the credit goes to other people,” Jackson humbly said. “I just used preexisting software and tweaked it a bit. Fortunately for us, human and pony brains are very similar. It’s probably why we can even be ponified.”

Looking over his shoulder he saw Sugar Pie’s face scrunched up in concentration. Determined to get the hang of controlling her ponytar, her tongue was hanging out of her mouth. When the ponytar stood on its hands she flew in the air and let out a victory whoop. “I did it!” she exclaimed in jubilation.

“Congratulations Sugar Pie,” Jackson said. “Come, it’s time to give your mind a rest.”

“Do I have to?” Sugar Pie pouted.

“Yes,” Jackson said, “you’ve been here for over five hours already.”

“Oh my goodness!” Sugar Pie shouted. “I totally missed lunch. I’m in super doper trouble now.”

“Don’t worry about it Sugar Pie,” Jackson said. “I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks a bunch,” Sugar Pie said, taking off the metal cap and placing it carefully back on the work bench. “Oh I’m so late,” she moaned, flying out of the room and towards the cafeteria.

“Sex muffins and a ponytar…” Jackson said with a smile. “What will she come up with next?”

*****

Tinman was readying one of his aerial drones to search for the missing unicorn Enduring flame and his wayward class grumbled the entire time. “Damn fool ponies,” he growled. “What the fuck did they think they were doing walking around the city like they own the place? If the H.L.F. hasn’t killed him already I certainly will.”

His grumbling was interrupted when his motion detectors went off. “Finally some action!” Tinman whooped, while readying his main cannons. “Come on you fleshbag fuck. Time for me to help you lose a little weight, with let’s think… Oh I know. You never can go wrong with .50 caliber rounds. But what kind should I use? Choices, choices, choices. Incendiary perhaps? No, that could pose a fire hazard and I’d hate to burn down the city. Hmm, what about explosive rounds? No, cleaning up the red smears is too annoying. Okay I guess it’s the old standby. Fleshbag, you better be able to take more than one round or I’ll be quite annoyed with you.”

Setting his sights up he was prepared to launch a three pronged attack consisting of a mortar round, his .50 caliber cannon, and Remington rail gun. Tinman hoped he would be able to time them so each shot would reach the target simultaneously. Using his sensors, he plotted a firing solution and prepared to launch his mortar when he double checked his target. “God damn it to hell and back!” he cursed. “Fleshbag isn’t even armed, probably on her way to get ponified.”

With reluctance, Tinman disengaged his weapons and stood down. Alerting dewdrop of the new arrival, he resumed his preparations for launching his drone. Not even paying attention to the woman who was within spitting distance of the conversion bureau, he began plotting a search pattern starting with the magic teachers last known position. “It’s times like this that I wish I owned a doll so I could go out rough up some fleshbags,” the cyborg said in frustration.

*****

Dewdrop trotted out of the front doors of the conversion bureau. Now with the H.L.F. no longer a danger, she enjoyed greeting the new foals personally. Seeing an Asian woman wearing a tattered blue dress she called out, “Hello, my name’s Dewdrop and welcome to the Phoenix conversion bureau!” she said, wearing a friendly smile.

The woman walked up to the unicorn and returned and smiled in return. “Konnichiwa Dewdrop-san,” the woman said with a slight bow. “My name is Keiko.”

“Well Keiko,” Dewdrop warmly said, “follow me inside where it’s nice and cool and we’ll get you something refreshing to drink.”

“Oh arigato Dewdrop-san,” Keiko said, entering inside the conversion bureau after the unicorn.

“Let me get you registered so we can begin your ponification,” Dewdrop explained, trotting behind her desk.

Handing Keiko a form and pen, Dewdrop looked down at her computer. “So Keiko why did you want to get ponified?” she asked.

“Oh my company finally went out of business,” Keiko said. “I’d already decided to get ponified when they closed, so I declined my ticket home so I could come to the world famous Phoenix conversion bureau.”

“Are really that famous?” Dewdrop asked in surprise. Of course she’d heard things from her friends in the other bureaus, but wasn’t aware of the fame that her bureau had garnered on Earth.

“Oh very much so,” Keiko said, smiling politely. “They say no one dares attack you because you have a god of war on your side.”

“A god of war,” Dewdrop said, “do you mean Tinman?”

“Ah yes the Tinman,” Keiko agreed. “He very famous in Japan, they say he cannot be destroyed.”

“Oh really,” Dewdrop said, her face darkening at the thought of the things Tinman must have done to earn his fame. “What sort of work did you do before you lost your job?”

“Oh I work for Honda making HWS,” Keiko replied with pride. “I helped design braincases, but never for anything like Tinman. I am honored to be able to see the great Tinman before I go to Equestria.”

Dewdrop suddenly felt less excited to work with this woman, her enthusiasm and respect for Tinman didn’t sit well with her. Certainly Keiko knew how many ponies Tinman had probably killed, how could anypony feel anything but revulsion for such behavior? Using her horn, she handed a card key and paper schedule to her. “Alright Keiko,” she said, “classes begin at 9:00 A.M., and dinner should be ready in the cafeteria in about thirty minutes.”

“Arigato Dewdrop-san,” Keiko said with a bow. “Thank you for making me feel so welcome.” Looking down at her sheet, she walked down the hall to her assigned room.

*****

Outside the bureau Tinman had just completed his preparations to launch his drone. Preparing to upload his consciousness to it, he took one last look around the bureau and sighed. “I’m so totally going to regret this,” he grumbled. While not under any real danger if the drone was shot down and destroyed or if it suffered from mechanical failure, he would simply reawaken in his frame. He was mainly concerned with how quiet things had gotten in the city, the sudden disappearance of the unicorn and his new foal students made his instincts scream that he was walking right into an ambush.

With his consciousness now residing in the drone he launched himself into the air and starting flying towards the last known location of Enduring Flame. Before he was out of the sight of the conversion bureau a shadow caught his attention. Using his camera to zoom in on the shadow, he was relieved to see that it was just another human entering the bureau to get ponified. “Stupid fleshbags…” he grumbled, flying towards his destination.

*****

On the other side of Phoenix sitting in a warehouse in the heart of Scottsdale, Guillermo smiled. “Alright,” he said, “Fujin has managed to infiltrate the bureau. She’s our eyes on the inside.”

“What good could a tiny thing like that do against that beast?” Angela said, cleaning her gun.

“Watch your mouth you round eye bitch!” Raijin rumbled, from deep inside the warehouse. “She could kill ever miserable pony in the bureau and come back here to finish you off and you wouldn’t know any better until you’ve met your dishonorable ancestors.”

“Angela,” Jacob said with a warm smile, “it’s unwise to upset our friend Raijin. Besides we should all be friends here. We’re all on the same side after all.”

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking we’re your friends, you fundie crackpot,” Lydia said. “Why the N.A.U. didn’t finish what they started with the Mormons I’ll never know.”

“Don’t you go comparing good honest Christians to those heretics!” Jacob spat, enraged that he would ever be compared to false Christians like them.

“So says the guy that barbeques ponies,” Lydia replied, her disgust at his Christianity completely unmasked. “Makes me glad that once this job is done, I can get the hell out of this shithole world, and away from pathetic humans like you.”

“You would betray the cause to become one of those devils wearing pastel skins?” Jacob said, incensed that his HWS ally would ever consider such a thing.

“Mate,” Jackaroo said, “you’re a drongo fruit loop. There’s no future for any of us, once the barrier swallows the world we’ll be cactus. So I’m taking them up on their offer for conversion as well. Maybe I’ll get a sheila pony wife and be a cockie.”

“Ha, ha, ha! You a pony Jackaroo?” Boris laughed, in his Russian accent. “Maybe I make you pretty pink dress to match your fluffy tail and coat.”

“Like what do you plan on doing Boris, pissing yourself till you hit the end of the world? Jackaroo said, with a laugh. “Come to Equestria with me, once this job is done I’ll still kick your ass even if I end up being pink!”

“Hmm,” Boris said. “I don’t know if I want to, the ponies don’t even look like they know what vodka is like.”

“Then make some you wanker,” Jackaroo said. “I’ll grow the wheat and you can make the vodka, we’ll make a killing off the other former humans!”

“Oh I like that idea you clever Aussie bastard!” Boris said feeling excited about his upcoming retirement. “Good Russian vodka even when there’s no Russia.”

“I’ll break open a bottle with you mate,” Jackaroo said. “We can toast our homelands and get off our faces.”

“Oh Jackaroo I like that!” Boris said. “Okay new plan, first we put Tinman down and then go to Equestria and raise some hell and find us beautiful pony wives!”

Guillermo couldn’t believe his ears, all the HWS’s were about to jump ship to go to pony land. “Hey what about our agreement?” he asked. “We’re destroying the bureau!”

“Piss off with your earbashing!” Jackaroo said, with a sneer. “We’re only required to decommission Tinman, in order to get our pink slips. If the bureau goes with him so be it, but if you think we’re joining your merry little crusade you’re not the full quid.”

“Why the hell can’t Jackaroo speak English?” Angela said, adjusting her sights.

“Jackaroo has his moments,” Lydia said. “But you’ll be grateful for his help before this mission’s over.”

“Fujin-kun has started her hacking,” Raijin said.

At least one of the HWS’s is serious about killing these ponies,” Guillermo said, looking at the video feeds Fujin was now transmitting to them.

“Tinman…” Lydia angrily said. “I’m coming to get you, you murderer!”

Author's Notes:

As always comments are appreciated, even if it's only to say that I'm nothing but a hack and to go drown myself in a bathtub with a toaster. Okay at over 12,500 words I can only say this was super exhausting to write. Especially the 3,800 pseudo article I wrote for Soldier of Fortune magazine HWS edition. Research for the article took nearly ten days or about 40 hours altogether. All the research into future weapons, naming schemes, how the tech worked, researching the actual corporations themselves, and likely future technology. All I can say i hope you appreciate the effort put into this chapter, not to toot my own horn but like Tinman I shall be displeased if you end up down voting me for this chapter.

Regarding the article itself, you'll find that all the companies are real, and with the exception of Halliburton could easily end up manufacturing the stuff I wrote about. The naming conventions for the technology I found to be pretty cool, for example the G.E. engines I mentioned that Tinman is using indicates 8,800 horsepower, and Lydia's plasmajet engines could soon be a reality if they are able to come up with the proper composite materials. Plastics is the the future turbine material of choice for aircraft believe it or not.

The scene of the pony sacrifice was written as accurately as I could like how the ancient Israelite's performed their burnt offerings. With the exception of flicking the blood at the congregation, I felt Jacob would anoint himself with the blood since he felt it was more his sacrifice than the congregations.I felt eating the pony would be too much and so left that out, instead letting the fire consume the sacrifice whole.

Regarding the better then sex muffin storyline, I felt a little light hearted comedy was in order after so much technical jargon and such a depraved scene of wicked violence to allow the reader a chance to cleanse their emotional pallet. Hopefully the scene wasn't in bad taste. Now that this is out of the way lets have some fun, why don't we?

Thank you for reading chapter 5 of The Conversion Bureau: The Reluctant Cyborg, gentlereader. What an emotional roller coaster ride we find ourselves upon. Firs the poor murder of Enduring Flame, alas dear pony we hardly knew you. May the summerlands give you the peace that your last moments on Earth certain did not. What can we say about dear Brother Jacob. While his devotion to his religion is to be commended, his abhorrent behavior certainly leaves something to be desired. I can only say I'm glad the practice of the burn offering of sacrifices is no longer in vogue.

Better then sex muffins? Sugar Pie I think that you forgot to take your morning bran muffin. While an intriguing concept in it's own right. Satisfaction from eating food probably will never surpass the pleasure whoo hooing provides. Gentlereader if you know of any foods that are indeed better please mention them in the comments.And speaking of sex, I guess that makes Tinman the 110 ton virgin huh? Will he be forced to only ever know a facsimile or will he finally plow a field before the end?

Sneaky, sneaky H.L.F., ponynapping a bunch of defenseless newfoals to distract Tinman so you can send in your sleeper agent. I wonder if it works like Battlestar Galactica, where the spy doesn't know they are a HWS or not?

And can I say wow, those HWS were about to lay down the smack on some HLFers. I wonder which one will be the first to give into temptation and knock one of them off? And who will die first?

And I have to hand it to Jackaroo and Boris for "The Plan", moving to Equestria and starting a distillery sounds like fun. Perhaps their bromance will survive the attack on Tinman and they'll find themselves pony wives in ponyland.

Find out the answers to all these questions and more in the next exciting chapter of The Conversion Bureau: The Reluctant Cyborg!

Well thank you once again gentlereaders for reading. Until next time!

The Pink Slip

The Conversion Bureau: The Reluctant Cyborg

A Story by TalonMach5

Chapter 1

Initializing brain case linkup… Check.
Initializing primary and secondary fusion reactors… Check.
Initializing primary targeting scanner diagnostics… Check.
Clearing frame hydraulics… Check

Initiating uplink with Halliburton mainframe… Check
Receiving activation authorization… Check
Loading mission parameters and objectives… Check

Activating human interface… Check

“God damn it Jackson,” a slightly tinny voice demanded through a loudspeaker. “What’s taking this refit so long?”

Jackson, a balding fifty something white male was busily typing away at a keyboard attached to a large piece of diagnostics equipment. “Now we can either do this fast, or we can do this right,” Jackson crankily said. “Which would you prefer?”

The tinny voice fell silent for a minute, “I suppose the right way Jackson,” the voice sighed.

“Tinman, what’s the rush anyways?” Jackson asked.

Tinman thought about for a minute, “I’m just worried the battle will end before I get to kill me some fleshbags,” he said.

Jackson looked at the speaker with disgust on his face. “You certainly are extra morbid today, aren’t you?” he said.

“What?” Tinman asked. “I love my job, so sue me.”

“How can you be so casual about killin’?” Jackson asked Tinman.

“Well Jackson I can see your point,” Tinman replied, “being a fleshbag and all. But I’m only ever killing soldiers and troublemakers, it’s not like I’m torching orphanages and hospitals.”

“Except when they order you to,” Jackson countered.

“Hell, if corporate designates a target as hostile,” Tinman said, “it’s gonna talk to the business end of my weapons. Besides, it’s not like your hands are exactly free of the blood of your fellow man.”

Jackson sighed like a soul who was tired of life and ready for its final rest. “Tinman, I’ve been thinking of becoming one of them,” he said, while making last minute adjustments to the massive machine next to him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tinman said in concern. “Becoming one of them? You mean like becoming one of those pastel colored freaks?”

“That should do it Tinman,” Jackson said, trying to avoid the question.

“God damn it Jackson,” Tinman said. “If you want to fuck horses, I hear there’s a place outside Vegas real discreet like. They serve the fetishes of depraved people like you, offering both livestock and those pastel freaks for some barnyard loving.”

Jackson looked up at the speaker with disgust. “I have no desire to fuck animals,” he said, “but I’ve grown weary of life here. I hear there are lush forests and green fields in Equestria, just like when I was a kid.”

“Nah Jackson, you don’t really mean it,” Tinman said, “I’ll bet once the mission is over you’ll go home to your dumpy little wife and miserable family and forget all about it.”

Jackson looked up at the massive machine malevolently. “Tinman go fuck yourself,” he said.

“Touché,” Tinman replied. “So Santa, what new goodies did you get me?”

“I don’t know Tinman, you’ve been a real dick lately,” Jackson growled.

“Hey if it’s about your wife being dumpy, it’s okay,” Tinman replied. “I mean as long as you’re happy and she’s happy, so what if her breasts aren’t firm and sag, there’s a pill for that.”

Jackson sighed, “Tinman, I don’t think you could truly appreciate why I’m so tired.”

“Jackson, still waiting on these new specs over here,” Tinman said impatiently.

Sighing once again, Jackson pressed a button on the keyboard. Immediately Tinman saw his new frame’s capabilities. “Oh, ho, ho,” Tinman laughed manically over the speakers. “Someone’s been a very bad boy.”

Jackson pressed a few more keys on his console, moments later the scaffolding around Tinman’s frame pulled away, revealing the massive machine underneath. It was a massive ten meter tall behemoth the size of a small building. The machine engaged its internal fusion engines, and shuddered to life. His six spider like legs were currently supporting his frame. Switching to his treads, he lowered himself to the ground and engaged the treads attached to his legs. He began rolling forward towards the coordinates of today’s battlefield; he tested his targeting scanners for accuracy on some rusting cans about a kilometer away

“Jackson,” Tinman said, “please monitor my performance today. I want to compare how capable my new refit is, versus my old hardware.”

Jackson wordlessly nodded in agreement and began typing away at his keyboard. “I’ve established an uplink with your weapons systems, navsat, and your sensors,” he said. “We should be able to monitor everything.”

“Thanks Jackson,” Tinman’s tinny voice said, barely audible over the rumbling din of his frame.

Before moving out onto the battlefield Tinman activated the lights illuminating his frame. The logos of his corporate masters lit up, like some sort of perverse billboard of death. These refits didn’t pay for themselves; advertising to the opposition just who kicked their ass was a great way to drum up future business once your current contract was up. Tinman almost left when he remembered about his new shoulder mounted weapons system. Deciding to correct the oversight, Tinman had his frame’s nanopaint quickly create a new logo for his latest acquisition. A vivid green dragon breathing flames to form the bright red and green letters of the corporate logo of CHICOM Industrial Weapons Systems or CHICOM IWS (Five thousand years of war and counting.), appeared right below his left shoulder.

Tinman actually liked the slogan, although he didn’t care much for his paymaster as a consequence of the bigotry of his former life. Before he went metal, he was hostile to the commie bastards as he called them. Now however, CHICOM corp was probably the most cutthroat of the world corps that were still in operation, Adam Smith would’ve been proud. Seeing his newest logo, Tinman laughed, his former fleshbag self would have probably been furious that he had gone red for the slant eyed yellows. His external sensors interrupted his thoughts, seeing the energy signature his sensors returned made him surprised. “No way, the Africans rented Lao Chi for this battle,” he thought to himself.

Moving forward he opened a channel, “Lao Chi, how’ve you been you yellow pile of rusting scrap?” Tinman asked.

Lao Chi’s heavily accented response made him laugh. “American,” he retorted, “I see you finally whored yourself out to the commies.”

“Well,” Tinman replied, “you know how it is. CHICOM IWS had a new model out this year and I just had to try it out.”

“American,” Lao Chi said, “it’s been a while. I still owe you for sending me to the bottom of the South China Sea.”

“Lao Chi, you know where I am,” Tinman taunted. “Feel free to send me the bill at any time.”

Lao Chi didn’t respond, but sent his answer by way of a salvo of missiles. Tinman couldn’t believe Lao Chi would waste missiles on something so easy to avoid. Releasing a chaff countermeasure, the concussion from the exploding missiles barely registered on his sensors. Moving forward on his treads, Tinman was determined to win this conflict and rub it in Lao Chi’s face.

After having moved about half a klick forward, Tinman wondered why Lao Chi hadn’t begun firing again. Suspicious of his opponent, he activated his infrared sensors and found his answer. The Africans had thought themselves clever enough to set up an ambush! Feigning mechanical trouble to mask the reason for slowing his approach, he used his passive scanners to plot the location of every last one of the sneaky bastards. Apparently, the Africans really wanted to win this battle, because his sensors discovered over a thousand troops. Each of them was equipped with active camouflage suits, and anti-tank weapons. A few dozen hits from anti-tank rounds wouldn’t have been an issue, but over a thousand would have made him dead to rights.

Now he knew what Lao Chi had meant! He intended to cripple him, disable his communications and leave him to rot out in the Sahara. Tinman knew exactly what was needed to remedy this situation, white phosphorous. Using the active uplink he had with his H.Q.’s arsenal, he made the request for one thousand eighty two UAV’s, one for each of his ambushers. Each of them would be carrying a payload of white phosphorus, to be sent to their coordinates with an ETA of about three minutes.

Still feigning mechanical trouble, Tinman started firing at Lao Chi with his Remington rail gun. With an effective range of five kilometers, Remington rail guns were a staple of the modern battle field. Although more of an anti-personnel weapon, he knew that Lao Chi’s internal sensors would be going off like crazy giving him the distraction he desired.

“A rail gun?” Lao Chi said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “American, you must getting desperate, but allow me to show you the superiority of Chinese engineering!”

Tinman’s sensor grid showed an incoming volley of electronic scattershot from Lao Chi’s PLA Sleeping Dragon mortar. The PLA Zhuge Liang, or Sleeping Dragon was an ingenious device that launched specially designed nanites into the air, effectively disabling sensors and electronic communications by deionizing the atmosphere.

Tinman groaned internally to himself, the mortar assault was surely the prelude to triggering the ambush. Firing several Northrop anti-nanotek rockets into the air to buy himself some time, he had the nanopaint covering his frame adjust itself to protect him from the incoming white phosphorus bath the area was about to receive. With only thirty seconds before impact, he began rushing forward at full speed.

To say Lao Chi was surprised would be an understatement; it took him nearly ten seconds to launch his counterassault. The African ambushers with their frail fleshbag bodies took another fifteen seconds to respond. To an A.I. this might have been a problem, but Tinman was no A.I., he was a cyborg. He launched every flash bang he had in his arsenal in every direction possible. To his mechanical eyes and ears it was a beautiful work of art and symphony to behold, but to the poor Africans outside with their unprotected biological ears and eyes it was torturous. His ambushers were so overwhelmed by his assault they didn’t even notice when the white phosphorus started hitting them. Well they did once their fleshbag bodies started burning, but Tinman considered that more along the lines of an academic inquiry. Much like the oft asked question, “If a tree in the forest hits a mime, does anyone outside of France care?” since either way the mime was still flattened, it was all rhetorical anyways.

Tinman had Lao Chi’s PLA CAO CAO frame in his sites. Readying his CHICOM IWS Metal Storm scattershot, he began firing. The CHICOM IWS Metal Storm, was the latest and greatest in the “anti-anything and everything” category. Though the anti-personnel version had been around for a while, most considered such a weapons system to be too cumbersome to properly use on the battlefield due to it ravenous appetite for ammunition. Capable of firing over a million rounds per minute, the only drawback to this weapons system was the weight and cost of the ammunition you had to carry into the field. This particular model used depleted uranium rounds. As the depleted uranium rounds smashed into Lao Chi's frame, they tore through him like tissue paper.

Already into his forth reloading, Tinman could see that Lao Chi had seen better days. “Lao Chi, do you surrender,” he asked.

“American, yes I do,” Lao Chi bitterly replied.

Surveying the battlefield, Tinman saw the over one thousand burning corpses. If he still had a mouth he would have laughed. The poor fools didn’t even know what they were up against. His forty year service record spoke for itself, yet he felt a bit of admiration for the clever tactic that they had attempted to use. Scanning the carnage, he detected four Africans who somehow had managed to survive the hellfire he had brought down on their heads.

Activating his targeting lasers he painted each of them, letting the survivors know that he could easily kill them. “Fellow warriors, I applaud your tactics,” Tinman said over his loudspeakers. “Please alert your superiors that you have lost the battle, and that you request terms for surrender.”

Tinman enjoyed fighting the Africans. They almost always used inventive tactics and usually accepted defeat gracefully, unlike the Europeans and Russian Federation. About fifteen minutes later, he received a notice from the corporation that he was to return to H.Q. for his debriefing. With the battle being over, he felt a bit sad that it had ended before he had a chance to do any real combat. Truth be told, a real war hadn’t been fought since the American led invasion of Iran in 2019. Back then, machines like himself were nothing more than the wet dreams of nerds and sci-fi junkies. That’s not to say that the combat that occurred now was any less violent than it was sixty years ago. But the idea of two massive armies slogging it out was definitely a thing of the past.

Leaving his wistful dreams of glorious hand to hand melee combat against a skilled opponent behind him, Tinman opened up a channel. “Hey Lao Chi,” he said. “Take care of yourself.”

“Zài jiàn Biggs,” Lao Chi said.

Tinman stopped when he heard Lao Chi say his name. “What gives Lao Chi?” he asked. “You’ve never called me by my name before.”

“American, I fear we may never meet again,” Lao Chi said. “I’m set for decommissioning once I’ve been salvaged.”

“Decommissioning?” Tinman said, almost not believing what he had just heard. It was almost unthinkable, Lao Chi and he were the two most sought after HWS in existence.

HWS or Human Weapons System was the term for weapons platforms controlled by a braincase. The braincase or the brain in a bottle as Tinman like to call them, allowed humans to become one with a machine effectively becoming a cyborg. While many people did some cybernetic augmentation to their bodies or even fully functional dolls shaped like the human form, very few became HWS. Tinman always thought that it was because people were so attached to their so called humanity. But the emergence of the conversion bureaus three years ago put a kibosh to that theory.

“Yes,” Lao Chi said, “the PLA has decided that it’s no longer cost effective to continue my maintenance or to fight for territory, this was to be my last battle.”

“So what are you going to do?” Tinman asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m thinking of going to a conversion bureau,” Lao Chi replied.

“A conversion bureau?” Tinman said in disbelief. Of all the people in the world to have said that they were going to go pony, Lao Chi was the last person he would have thought would want to become one of those four legged freaks.

“I think that maybe I would enjoy running a farm, like my great great grandfather once did before the great leap forward,” Lao Chi said.

“No, I can’t accept it!” Tinman angrily replied. “I was always hoping that we would go down fighting each other right before the world was consumed by that weird magic bubble.”

“Go in peace my American friend,” Lao Chi said, before cutting off the transmission.

Stunned by his rival’s confession, Tinman rolled back towards his H.Q. in silence. When he entered his maintenance bay he was greeted by Jackson. “Okay Tinman, I’ve got plenty of data for you,” he said. “By the way that was a masterstroke of genius out there.”

Tinman didn’t respond, but simply rolled into his refitting station and shut down.

Jackson knew something was bothering his friend, so he began hacking his frame. After a minute, he broke through his defenses. “Getting sloppy there Tinman,” he teased. “If I was a saboteur you would be in a world of trouble.”

“Lao Chi is being decommissioned,” Tinman replied sullenly.

“Damn that was unexpected,” Jackson replied, “did he mention why.”

“Yeah the PLA’s no longer going to fight for resources and territory,” Tinman said.

Jackson whistled in surprise, at over three billion people as of the last world census, the Chinese Authority was always hungry for resources. “I guess the PLA has been losing a lot of its population to the conversion bureaus,” he said. “Well isn’t this great news for you Tinman? You’re now the uncontested top HWS, the contracts should come flowing in.”

“I would tend to agree with you,” Tinman replied, “But with Lao Chi quitting the game, I fear that I’m now an overpriced weapons system.”

“Well at least you own yourself,” Jackson said. “Every last bit of Lao Chi belongs to the PLA right down to his braincase.”

“Well small comfort for that I suppose,” Tinman said ruefully. “Hey Jackson, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. That was out of line.”

Jackson couldn’t believe what he had just heard, Tinman was actually apologizing. Would wonders never cease? He must have taken the news of Lao Chi’s decommissioning harder than he realized. “Hey, it looks like corporate is requesting us to return home for a performance evaluation,” he said.

“Wake me when we get there,” Tinman answered, before shutting himself down for the thirty-six hour trip back to Virginia Beach, Virginia in the North American Union.

While his system was offline Tinman was dead to the world, only in this state could he experience what might be considered dreams. Over the past several months they had always been the same, the running shadowy forms of horses whispering, “Join us Biggs, come to where the fields are green and the sky is blue.”

Every time he had this dream, a part of him longed to join them as they ran into the green fields. Looking down he would always see his metal form which made him shake with frustration. Dreaming had always been an interesting experience for him, due to his unique ability to only ever experience lucid dreams. At first these dreams had been a novel experience, but over the months they only served to taunt him with something that would forever be beyond his reach.

His internal clock showed that thirty-six hours had elapsed, eager to be free of the dream he reactivated himself. He saw that Jackson was in the process of performing some of his maintenance. “So Jackson,” Tinman asked, “when do you plan to go to a conversion bureau?”

“Oh not for a while yet,” Jackson replied, while finishing his work. Satisfied he was done with his task, he walked out of the hangar.

Tinman remembered when he had first gone fully metal, almost forty years ago. This place had been a beehive of activity; both corporate technicians and A.I. controlled drones would perform construction and maintenance on thousands of different machines of war. But now, with the exception of a few drones tasked with keeping the massive hangar clean, this monument to the North American Union’s military industrial complex was nothing more than a brightly lit mausoleum.

His musings were interrupted by the echoes of the footsteps of the C.T.O. of Halliburton, Edmund Price and a squadron of Halliburton’s elite M.P.’s or military police. The C.T.O. was an elderly white man with thinning grey hair. “Land Behemoth model number X003456, a.k.a. Tinman. I’ve come to congratulate you on your marvelous performance during yesterday’s battle,” he said. “Unfortunately I’m also going to have to terminate your contract with us.”

The day Tinman had been dreading had finally come, he was being downsized. “Why?” was all he said.

“Tinman, you are a marvel of modern technology,” the C.T.O. said. “In fact your frame combined with your braincase could be considered the apex of human ingenuity. Unfortunately, you are also an obsolete relic. All world corporations have recently agreed to stop the resource wars. With the introduction of conversion bureaus worldwide and ponification, the wars have been nothing but a drain of resources that we can no longer afford. Of course you will receive a generous compensation package, and letter of recommendation.”

“Of course…” was all Tinman could utter in response.

“You will have to surrender your weapons though,” Edmund said.

“I think you better check my contract again,” Tinman testily replied through his speakers.

The C.T.O. looked at the datapad containing Tinman’s contract and began reading. When he realized what Tinman had said was true, the blood drained from his face leaving him very pale. “The fact that you own the weapons installed on your frame, doesn’t change the fact that you still need employment to keep them installed,” he smugly said.

Tinman felt extremely annoyed, this fleshbag deigned to fire him and then try to order him around. “Listen well Mr. Price,” he venomously said, “Seeing as I’m the only still functioning and fully armed Land Behemoth on the continent, I’m only going to say this once. Don’t fuck with me!”

To emphasize his point, Tinman painted each fleshbag with infrared targeting lasers and powered up his pulse guns. The whine of the weapon, cut through the silence of the hangar like an assassin’s knife through a mark’s kidney. “You’ll be hearing from our attorney’s,” the CTO said, as he hurriedly stormed off followed by his M.P. bodyguards.

Satisfied that he had made his point, Tinman shut down his weapons and targeting sensors to think about what he should do. Accessing the Omninet he researched the laws regarding cyborgs in his situation. Edmund Price had been right about needing approved gainful employment to keep his weapons. Seeing an obscure subsection of the law in question, he rejoiced when he read what it said. Apparently, as long as he attempted to find work he could keep the ‘needful tools of his trade’ (i.e. his weapons) for a period no greater than thirty days before having to surrender them.

Checking the Omninet, he saw that the lawyers of Halliburton had been quick to request an injunction against him. Citing the subsection that the lawyers used to file against him, Tinman argued that since he was a war machine, his weapons were his tools of the trade and any attempt to disarm him would be a clear violation of the law. Additionally he filled a counter lawsuit against the company for attempting to prevent him from being able to find new employment in his chosen field. Within thirty minutes, the courts had found in favor of Tinman, and had issued a ruling that as long as he found an approved employer within thirty days he would be able to keep his weapons.

Tinman’s celebrations were cut short when he saw a very angry looking Jackson enter the hangar. “Just what did you do!” he yelled.

“Jackson, what’s wrong?” Tinman asked.

“I just received a notice of termination, and had my home repossessed by the company!” Jackson raged, dearly wishing that Tinman had a throat so he could strangle it.

“How’s that my fault?” Tinman asked in confusion.

“They said I was an accomplice to your workplace violence!” Jackson accused Tinman.

“Look Jackson, I’m sorry about you losing your home,” Tinman apologized, “but didn’t you say you wanted to go pony anyway?”

“Yes, but on my own terms,” Jackson said, seething with rage.

“How about I hire you as my personal technician until you get back on your feet?” Tinman offered.

“How are you going to pay for my salary?” Jackson asked. “You gonna pay me with your good looks, or your dazzling personality?”

“I’ll have you know I’m a very wealthy man,” Tinman replied, snaking out one of his metal claws towards Jackson. “Besides, I need you to help me find a new employer.”

“Alright I’ll do it,” Jackson sighed, shaking the offered claw knowing that he would probably regret it.

“Alright, our first step is refitting me for extended travel,” Tinman said retracting the claw.

*****

Meanwhile, half a continent away in Phoenix, Arizona in the NAU, a battle was taking place. The shelling had finally stopped; the frightened receptionist poked her nose out from under her desk, half expecting the front of the building to be missing. To her surprise, the building had survived the latest attack.

Her boss, the director timidly walked down the hall towards the reception area. “Are you okay?” he asked in concern.

The receptionist nodded weakly, her blue eyes filling with tears, “Why won’t they stop it?” she cried. “I only ever wanted to help them.”

The director narrowed his green eyes in righteous indignation. “That’s it!” the director shouted. “I’m hiring some protection.”

“Dewdrop, take a note,” the director said, his body still trembling from the adrenaline surge from surviving yet another mortar attack from those H.L.F. monsters. His normally straw blonde mane was covered with dust and bits of plaster that had rained down on his head. His light red coat was so heavily covered in plaster dust, that it nearly obscured the large peach emblazoned on his flank.

Nodding in agreement, the yellow unicorn mare with a watering can on her flank lit up her horn. Using her magic, she picked up a notepad and pen. Blowing away some stray white hairs from her muzzle she held the pen at the ready. “Okay Director Peachy Keen,” she said, “I’m ready.”

“Help wanted,” Peachy Keen said, “Looking for somepony... er someone to provide security for a G4 class facility in Phoenix, Arizona. Military experience preferred, but not required. Room and board are included as part of pay. Please contact PK at TN 602-555-4857 at the Phoenix conversion bureau for further details.”

“Okay, I think I got it all, “Director Peachy Keen,” Dewdrop said.

“Okay post it on the omninet,” Peachy Keen replied. “Hopefully somepony will take us up on our offer.”

*****

“Hey Tinman!” Jackson shouted, “I think I just found you a new job.”

“Well that was fast,” Tinman replied, “Where’s the job at?”

“Phoenix,” Jackson said, “and more importantly they are a G4 class facility, so that solves your little employment issue.”

“G4…” Tinman mused, “That means they’re a civilian outfit. Hopefully they won’t mind hiring me.”

“What’s their number?” Tinman asked.

“Oh, 602-555-4857, and ask for PK,” Jackson said. “But don’t you want to hear about the rest of the ad?”

“Not particularly,” Tinman said, “as long as they are a G4 facility that’s all that really matters.”

Tinman placed the call, thinking about how current events. That even though those pastel colored freaks and their damn conversion bureaus had screwed him over; he would still survive and even thrive. After a few rings a feminine sounding voice answered, “Hello, thank you for calling the bzzrt… hiss, how may I direct your call?” she asked.

“Hello I’m responding to the ad you posted looking for some security for your G4 facility,” Tinman said.

“Oh yes, thank Celestia,” the feminine voice replied.

“Thank who?” Tinman asked in confusion. “Actually never mind, could you please transfer me to PK?”

“Certainly, and may I have your name please?” she asked sweetly.

“Sure, I go by Tinman,” he said.

“One minute Mr. Tinman,” the voice cheerfully said.

After a minute of waiting on hold, a male voice spoke into the receiver. “This is the Director,” the tired sounding voice said.

“Hello, I understand your looking for someone with experience to provide your facility with security?” Tinman asked.

“Why yes we are,” the director said. “I just placed the ad less than fifteen minutes ago.”

“Well I would like to take the job,” Tinman said, “But you’re absolutely sure, yours is a G4 facility?”

“Absolutely,” the director said, “But I’ll need some references from you before we could hire you.”

Tinman sent a data packet containing his forty three year service record. “You’ll find that the information I provided,” he said, “should meet any requirements that you could possibly have.”

Director Peachy Keen skimmed over the data packet, and could scarcely believe that someone so experienced was willing to work for his tiny conversion bureau. “Are you sure you’re really interested in working for us?” Peachy Keen asked. “We’re a smaller branch and…”

“I don’t care one way or the other, as long as you’re a G4 class facility,” Tinman said, interrupting the director. “So am I hired?”

“Don’t you want to hear about the pay or working conditions?” Peachy Keen asked.

“Not particularly,” Tinman said. “Your facility will be well protected under my watch. By the way you can call me Tinman.”

Peachy Keen sat back in disbelief. He couldn’t believe his luck, someone of Tinman’s skill had practically begged for the job. “Okay you're hired Mr. Tinman…” Peachy Keen said.

“PK, Just call me Tinman,” he said. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Tinman, how will we know you when we see you?” the director asked.

“You’ll know me when you see me,” Tinman said, before hanging up the phone.

“By the way you can call me Peachy Keen…” the director said, before realizing he was talking to dead air.

“I wonder what kind of pony, er person he’ll be?” Director Peachy Keen thought to himself.

*****

The trip to Phoenix had been uneventful, yet expensive. Chartering a train to move him west had been a bit pricey, but Tinman felt the expense had been worth it. Looking around him, he saw that the skies above Phoenix were pretty empty. Except for a few pegasi flying above overhead, he hardly saw anything. When he was younger and still a fleshbag, in remembered that the skies above phoenix were choked full with all sorts of aircraft.

The streets were no different. The empty streets were devoid of any traffic except for the odd car. Had he tried to move through a major metropolitan area like Phoenix even two years ago, he wouldn’t have been able to move fifty feet before crushing a car. But now, the once choked arteries of the city were empty. Pulling up his satnav, he found the shortest route to his new job. What he was guarding he didn’t know, and in particular he didn’t care. As long as it was G4, that’s all that mattered.

Once he got the Signature from Director PK, he would be safe from any legal challenges. As he moved closer towards the address, he saw that this section of the city looked like a warzone. Sure a lot of the larger cities had gone downhill, but he recognized damage done by rockets and mortars marring the pavement and surrounding buildings. “Jackson,” he asked, “are you sure we got the right address?”

“Yes,” Jackson replied, “right as rain Tinman.”

“The only reason I’m asking is cause all I see is a conversion bureau and nothing else,” Tinman asked tersely.

“That’s because you answered a help wanted ad from a conversion bureau,” Jackson replied with a chuckle.

“God damn it!” Tinman raged. “You mean I’m going to be helping those fucking ponies?”

“And even taking orders from them,” Jackson replied. “Additionally, since the conversion bureaus technically belong to Equestria, you just can’t quit without getting a release from the head of their government.”

“You mean I can’t even back out now?” Tinman asked.

“No,” Jackson said. “Not without a waiver from Princess Celestia. Otherwise, you’ll be marked as having gone rogue. Not unless Director PK withdraws his employment offer.”

“That’s just super,” Tinman grumbled. “And here I was thinking we were friends.”

“Hey I tried to warn you,” Jackson said. “But cheer up Tinman; I think this area is having issues with the HLF.”

“Which means they need me to kill some fleshbags!” Tinman excitedly said.

“I don’t think that they would dare once you’ve been hired on,” Jackson said. “They would have to be crazy to try taking on a Land Behemoth without at least four full battalions and air support.”

“Ugh, you sure know how to ruin my good moods,” Tinman sighed.

“Well you never know…” Jackson said. “They might actually be crazy.”

“Here’s to hoping,” Tinman said.

Stopping in front of the Phoenix conversion bureau, Tinman saw how ridiculous this job really was. He was nearly twice the mass of the building itself. Additionally, his approach hadn’t been entirely subtle either. Even using his treads, the ground groaned in complaint whenever he moved.

Using his sensors, he saw a red pony looking up at him in fear. Zooming in on the pony he saw that it was wearing a nametag. Taking a closer look at the nametag he saw ‘Director Peachy Keen’ printed on it. Director PK, Peachy Keen. Tinman groaned to himself, even their names were stupid.

Deciding to introduce himself, Tinman extended a claw with the datapad containing his preliminary contract down towards the director. “Director PK,” he said through his loudspeakers, “we spoke over the phone, I’m Tinman.”

The director remained silent, still shocked at the monstrosity standing in front of his conversion bureau. A loud crack rippled through the air narrowly missing him. “Celestia help me,” he screamed, trying in vain to find cover.

Tinman’s sensors lit up, fleshbags at eight o’clock. Attempting to shoot at the offending humans before the director could withdraw his employment offer; Tinman found his weapons were still locked. “Damn it,” he hissed. “Several more shots went off, both narrowly missing the pony because Tinman moved to protect him.

“Director, I can’t protect you until you sign the contract, or withdraw your offer,” Tinman said, half hoping the pony would terminate the contract.

The director nodded and put his hoof on the datapad. Instantly, all of Tinman’s systems were restored to his control. Tinman activated an energy shield, to stop any more shots from reaching the director and went to work. He knew if he killed them outright that the HLF would probably never make any more attacks on the bureau. But if he humiliated them, they would keep coming back for sure.

Using his targeting scanners, he aimed for the trigger fingers of the snipers. Crack, crack, crack broke through the air, quickly followed by three screams. Tinman activated his loudspeakers, “Your attention please,” he said. “This has been a message from the emergency broadcasting network, if this had been an actual emergency you would be dead. Thank you.”

Director Peachy Keen couldn’t believe it, he had hired an actual Land Behemoth and not the pilot like he had assumed. His body was trembling with adrenaline and terror as he stumbled back inside the lobby of the conversion bureau. “Sweet Celestia,” he gasped.

“What’s wrong?” several of the bureau employees asked.

Peachy Keen just sat on his haunches and didn’t say anything, but instead pointed towards the lobby door. The assembled ponies stared in awe at the giant machine that was now guarding them.

A maintenance hatch opened up allowing Jackson to leave Tinman. Entering the bureau, he smiled. “Howdy folks,” he said. “My name is Jackson, I’m Tinman’s technician. He was wondering if the offer for room and board could be extended to me since he obviously won’t be needing it.”

Director Peachy Keen coughed and nodded. “Dewdrop, see that Mr. Jackson gets a room,” he said.

Jackson smiled when the yellow unicorn extended her hoof in greeting. “Hi there Mr. Jackson,” she said. “I’m Dewdrop, and welcome to the Phoenix Conversion Bureau.”

“A pleasure,” Jackson said shaking her offered hoof. “Does the building have an onboard A.I.?

“Oh yes we do,” Dewdrop said, “But I don’t think it likes ponies very much.”

“May I?” Jackson asked, pointing to her computer terminal.

“Certainly,” Dewdrop replied.

Jackson entered some commands into the terminal, moments later an angry looking A.I. was holographically projected in front of him. “Unhand me you swine!” the A.I. demanded.

“See what I mean?” Dewdrop said. “It’s so mean.”

“What’s your designation?” Jackson asked.

“Winston,” the A.I. said with a faux British accent.

“Well Winston,” Jackson said, “I hope you don’t mind having a roommate, because I’m interfacing you with Tinman.”

“Sir, how dare you!” Winston said, puffing up his nonexistent chest.

Jackson tried to interface with Tinman’s onboard computer and found that he was locked out by Winston.

“Only authorized personnel are allowed to make changes to the computers controlling this facility,” Winston said, trying to be as intimidating as possible.

Having recovered from the excitement from earlier, the director trotted over to the terminal. “Winston,” Peachy Keen said, “he has my authorization.”

“You philistines,” Winston complained, “making me share my systems with an uneducated brute of a war machine!”

Jackson uplinked with the onboard systems of Tinman’s frame, a moment later a wireframe face appeared. “Tinman what’s with the wireframe?” Jackson asked.

“I’ve never created a hologram for human interaction before,” Tinman explained. “I’ve always felt that doing anything more killing fleshbags was too much.”

Winston looked over at the wireframe in disgust. “You sir should be ashamed,” he chided the wireframe. “Using such language in the presence of organics, how scandalous!”

“Listen up Lord British,” Tinman replied. “I just met you and already don’t like you, stay out of my way and I won’t hurt you. As long as you don’t prevent me from doing my job I’ll stay out of your nonexistent hair.”

“Seeing as how the Visigoths have already sacked Rome, and are raping and plundering the city,” Winston sighed in resignation, “I have no choice, I’ll accept your offer.”

“Jackson,” Tinman said, “go and get some rest. I’ll begin checking the building and surrounding neighborhoods for weaknesses in our security. We can discuss upgrading the building’s security tomorrow.”

Dewdrop trotted over to the floating wireframe. “What would you like me to do?” she asked.

“Uh, carry on I suppose…” Tinman said, before returning to his frame.

Flitting all around his frame with those ridiculously tiny wings of theirs, pegasi were oohing and ahhing all over him. While the unicorns and earth ponies were gingerly touching his metal skin. An obnoxiously bright pink pegasus mare with bright pink ribbons in her equally bright pink mane, flew in front of his sensor array. Looking at her flank he saw that she had three cupcakes for her mark. “My name is Sugar Pie and I’m super excited to meet you! I love meeting new ponies… er people… er or whatever you are! You look like you could use a friend, would you like to be my friend? Cause I would sure love to be your friend!”

Listening to the pegasus’ nonstop babbling, made Tinman inwardly groan. “Well I’m pretty much fucked…”

To be continued...

Author's notes:

Gentlereader thank you for reading chapter one of The Conversion Bureau: The Reluctant Cyborg. This story is a bit of an experiment, and a departure from my usual prose found in the The Great Slave King. I've found that for some reason, some readers just hate the conversion bureau universe. Why I don't know, the setting is fun and the philosophical question of 'Would I convert?', I think makes the conversion bureau a fun read. the story I wish to tell is the plight of the technology that's fundamentally incompatible with Equestria in this universe's setting. I will probably let this story stew for a few weeks depending on reader enthusiasm, until the Book of Earth has been finished in The Great Slave King. As always, critiques and comments are always welcomed. Once again thank you for reading gentlereader, until next time.

My apologies...

It's been brought to my attention gentlereader that I rather left you all in the dark, as to that I apologize for the long wait for the next chapter.With the nearing completion of The Great Slave King I will be able to devote the proper time this story and you the gentlereader deserve. So please accept my sincerest apologies for dropping the ball so to speak. Until next time, which I hope will be sooner rather than later.