Science is art. To better comprehend my story, this fact must be understood ahead of time. You, the reader, must know this belief is what sparked a chain of events which now defines my life.
Like traditional art, science can be separated into two different categories. “High” science, such as robotics, and “low” science, such as alchemy. As a true practitioner of the art, I study and implement both types of science. This is a problem.
Most robotics manufactured within Equestria are powered by magic, and therefore used almost exclusively by Unicorns.
This is what caused the problem.
Because Unicorns are basically the only ones able to run robotics, a rift was created between the Unicorns and the Pegasi/Earth ponies. The Unicorns, with their magic, quickly rose to the top, causing them to become society’s cream-of-the-crop. They took residence in Canterlot, forcing all unnecessary Earth ponies and Pegasi out.
Disgruntled, the Earth ponies moved to towns away from Canterlot, trying to avoid and escape the oligarchy created by the Unicorns. Most of the Pegasi, however, moved back to Cloudsdale and its surrounding cities. Both of these relocations had a problem, however, whatever the ponies may claim. Most of the manufacturers and well-stocked apothecaries were located in and around Canterlot, making it difficult for ponies outside the city to obtain large quantities or rare ingredients.
I was one of the few who decided to stay within Canterlot’s walls, slowly “studying the enemy”, as I would tell others who questioned my actions. I, of course, was unnecessary personnel, and was thus unwelcome by the citizens of the city. I was forced deep into the Underground, a series of old, dilapidated sewer pipes in which the fugitives and dregs of society were forced to make a living.
I was young when I started my new life, only fifteen years old. Although I was just a colt, I knew my way in the world, and was able to protect myself from the petty criminals dotted around the Underground. As good as I was, however, I still was beaten down multiple times.
One time after a particularly vicious beating and looting, an old Pegasus found me laying in one of the tunnels, bruised and bleeding. This is where our story will begin.
“Get up.”
I looked up at him blearily. “W-who’re you? Come to steal my money? Well, you’re too late because—“
He cut me off. “I said get up.”
I struggled to my hooves. “Why,” I growled menacingly, “should I listen to you?”
He glared at me angrily. “Didn’t your parents teach you to respect your elders?”
He hit me hard, making me fall to my knees again. I grunted painfully and glared back up at him.
“I’m sorry, your highness,” I spat out sarcastically.
He smiled slightly at that and held out a hoof, offering to help me up. I smacked it away angrily, stood up unsteadily, and brushed my mane out of my face. I noticed his wings at his side, both wrapped in bandages. I snorted and pointed at them.
“What are you doing so far from home, Pegasus?”
He stopped smiling and turned away. “None of your damn business. You want help or not?”
I snorted again. “Me? Accept help from a crippled old fool? You must be mad.”
He grunted and started walking away. “I may be crippled, and possibly mad, but at least I have hot food and a warm bed.”
My hunger quickly won over my pride as I trotted to catch up with the old geezer. “Why are you helping me? I’m just another street urchin, just another grain of sand in the desert we call this city. Why me, of all the ponies you could have chosen?”
He turns to look at me and grins lightly. “Because you remind me of me, and that’s all you need to know.”
I shake my head in disbelief, but don’t say another word. All I care about at that time is getting a hot meal in my stomach, at a point where food is fought over in the streets. To give you some perspective, a loaf of bread on our streets would cost twenty bits, compared to the five it had been before the war. Ponies would kill one another just to get a taste of this dry, stale bread, because it could very well save their lives.
As we made our way down the twisting, turning tunnels of the Underground, a few of the other dirt-covered homeless ponies gave us dirty looks as we passed, and a few shouted, “Stupid Pegasus!” and “Where are you taking the poor Earth foal, you colt-cuddling pervert?!”
He ignored them quite well, and as we finally reached a large, makeshift wooden wall built into the brickwork, he let out a long, slow sigh. Then, smiling again, he pushed open a door in the wood and beckoned me inside. Warily, having heard the comments from the other urchins, I followed him inside, not quite sure what to expect. I take in my surroundings slowly, shocked and awed by the variety and expanse of the equipment in this hovel. There were circuit boards, chips, wires, batteries, cables, coils, and so much more. There was an unimaginable amount of stuff, piles and piles of it everywhere, reaching up to the ceiling in some places. Then there was the alchemy equipment, which stunned me even more. There were crucibles, Erlenmeyer flasks, test tubes, beakers, lengths of glass pipe, and chemicals.
Oh, the chemicals! There were so many different varieties I had no chance to read even an eighth of the bottles and test tubes. There was arsenic, sulfuric acid, nitrogen, liquid oxygen, mercury, and so much more. I marveled at his collection, my father’s teachings quickly springing to mind as I begin mix equations in my mind, creating new chemical after new chemical.
But you could tell none of it was ever used. Trash littered the floors and grew in their own mountains, rotting half-eaten food lay on plates and in bowls scattered around the hovel. Flies buzzed around the piles of food and trash like miniature versions of the urchins in the Underground, fighting for food and useful items.
I turn to face the Pegasus and stare in disbelief. “Where did you get all of this?”
He smiles lightly and bows. “Easy. I used to work at the castle as the Royal Scientist. You can call me Storm.”