Synthetic Solution

There’s something to be said about cryogenics. Simply put, it’s manipulating an organisms genetics so that they can be frozen to sub zero temperatures without causing them to die a slow death inside a claustrophobic glass tube. That is what the science was based on at the time, and at that time it looked like a pretty good idea.

However, this was not the case. The first prototypes in the Equestrian mainland were doomed to fail as the scientists working on it were, for starters, extreme comic book fans. They owned all that they could even possibly achieve to own, and even have entire meetings in the labeled “science meeting room for science” to discuss the science of comics. “Sword Mares” was one of their favorites, and discussion of it would range from the plot itself to how pretty the main character was (which usually stems to a much longer conversation about their longing to get in bed with said character).

Due to their extreme ineptitude thanks to their obsession over comics of scantily clad mares fighting giant monsters, the technology never reached a point where such a thing could be available widely and mass produced. The bombs made sure of that. In turn, they never reached the island off the mainland, just east of the continent of Equestria.

And so, thanks to a rather obscure comic, cryogenics never reached its full potential. This island, however, has never been one to back off and forget about what could have been. It has decided to take matters into its own hooves and take on the challenge of cryogenics from scratch.

This too, however, was stopped from the bombs. It never left the prototyping phase. This didn’t stop a certain stallion, however.

Somewhere on an island far from the coast of Equestria...

Inside the steel plated room a small glass pod clicks open. Its exposed wiring are sparking from excessive damage over the years, and sections of rubber tubing are violently thrashing about with a cold mist spewing through the holes it is now filled with. A bright light at the top of the device flashes from orange to red, and a light brown colored hoof pushes through the crack in the door of the pod. It slowly pushes the door open with what looks like extreme amounts of effort.

The door shoots open after it opens halfway, and the hoofs owner flops out of the door and onto the floor. The stallion now on the floor coughs violently, dry heaving painfully towards the floor. His head is smoking a little, black clouds swirling around him and dispersing quickly as it gets further away. After he calms his lungs and the mist finally disappears, the stallion sits up on his haunches to get a look around the room.

What he sees is surprising. All around him are layers upon layers of green dominating the aesthetics of the room. Large plants hang off the ceiling and grow to considerable heights from the floor. Flowers, vines, moss, all covering as much of the room as possible. Only small patches of what the room used to look like peek out from breaks in the foliage. Cracks in the ceiling reveal shafts of light from the surface with dust particles dancing around in them.

Deep within him panic begins to rise. He attempts to get a grip on his breathing as he attempts to get up and walk, however nausea takes ahold of him and he ends up tripping over his own hooves.

Nursing his now bruised head with a hoof, the stallion looks up ahead of him. On a desk right in front of him lies a small glass container, shaped like a cylinder, covered in wires and sigils that the stallion does not recognize. They appear magical in nature, however the sigils seem to be inactive.

He gets up and moves towards the container to get a better look. Through the smudged and cracked glass, the stallion notices a small bright yellow orb, about the size of a baseball. Carefully, the stallion calls upon mystical forces to will the glass container to lift upward, replacing the glass shield preventing the stallion from reaching it. Almost in a hypnotic trance, the stallion reaches out with his own magic to lift the orb from its stand on the desk.

The moment his magic makes contact with the orb, covering the orb in a golden light, the stallion’s vision flashes gold briefly. He gasps in shock, the entire room before him seeming to melt away in a faint tint of gold. The plants fall apart into nothingness, the damage to the room reversing itself, even the glass container he lifted seems to put itself back. It’s like he hit a universal rewind as he touched the orb, yet the room he was in seems to be just barely visible through the golden tint. The room’s spontaneous repair is just a ghostly simulation. But of what?

Golden light floats and swishes about the room as they rapidly form the vague shape of ponies. The stallion jumps in terror from the sight, but his terror transforms into horrified curiosity as one of the ponies appear to look exactly like him. Unicorn, slicked back mane (albeit more clean and straighter than what he currently looks), those black triangles about his eyes. That bowtie. The stallion reaches a hoof to his neck where the accessory still sits, and briefly feels relief from its presence. Suddenly, his apparition speaks with a ghostly whisper right at him.

“I don’t care if it’s a prototype, White Collar, I care if it works.” says the ghostly copy of the stallion. Another pony, bathed in a golden light similar to the other appears from thin air right in front of the real pony. “Onyx, I insist. The potential danger of running a complete storage without testing is much worse than dying to a balefire blast! You could freeze to death!” the apparition says. The stallion contemplates what the pony “White Collar” said. Onyx. Is that his name?

The sudden realization hit him. He doesn’t remember a bloody thing. He thinks about where he lives. Nothing. He thinks about where he works. Nothing. He thinks about a family. Nope. He even thinks about his favorite color. Still nothing. The only thing he can recall is his own appearance and this strange comfort he gets from the bow tie he wears.

He sits down to listen to the ghosts speak.

“It’s a simple question, White Collar. Will. It. Work?” Onyx’s ghost says, a bit of menace in his tone. White Collar sighs, and momentarily looks at the dilapidated pod. “I… have no idea. Again, we never tested it, though if you want a personal opinion…” he goes on. Onyx nods quickly. “Yes?”

“I’d say that it would work just fine. I built it, after all, with my team.” He looks at the ground for the moment, seemingly saddened by the thought of his science team. Onyx wonders what could have happened that made the topic to him so touchy. He’s slightly disappointed when his ghost doesn’t press him for answers. “That’s all I need to know.” the ghost says, and immediately heads straight for the pod. White Collar’s eyes flash in panic, and he jumps out in front of him in an effort to stop Onyx’s ghost from proceeding. His ghost appears to be quite miffed about it.

“You can’t go in now! It’s not ready!” White Collar protests. Onyx’s ghost golden light flashes red for a moment, disturbing the real Onyx quite badly. “I don’t have time for this! Those bombs- they are only ten goddess damned minutes away from hitting the City, and I am not going to be stopped!” Onyx’s ghost shoves the scientist out of the way, who yells out in surprise from the sudden violence. The real Onyx puts a hoof up to his muzzle. That… was not very nice.

White Collar bumps into the desk which the orb Onyx picked up was placed. The container almost was knocked over from the force of the impact, but safely corrects itself on the surface of the desk. White Collar, his determination lost, gets up sadly and looks over at Onyx’s ghost as he climbs into the pod. “Turn it on.” he says, monotone.

The scientist nods slowly, a flash of something sparkling in his eye. The real Onyx watches White Collar curiously as he makes his way over to the console next to the pod. He uses magic to swiftly enter commands onto the console, which cause the door on the pod to close. Soon, the entire chamber inside it is flooded with a cold white mist (tinted gold from the projection) and Onyx’s eyes inside it close.

White Collar grins mischievously. After a few quick strokes on the console, a number pops up on a monitor directly above it. He deftly presses a few keys, and that number increases up to 150, looking like this:

150:00:00:00:01

Y   M   W   D   H

“Enjoy your trip, asshole.” White Collar grumbles, and the entire projection ceases almost instantly, leaving the real Onyx confused, scared, and alone. The orb he was carrying is still held within his magic, symbols and sigils inscribed on it ceasing to glow its dim hue of gold.

As Onyx begins to wonder about his ghosts’ extreme rudeness, a loud banging hits the steel door of the room. Groaning and screaming emits through the crack of the slightly ajar door. Something is trying to get inside.