Ideas

by AustralianSenior

Rating: teen
Tags: Crossover, Alternate Universe, Sad, Dark
Length: 4885

Betrayed by Morality, possessed by Protocol, and separated from his domain, the Initiator begins to question the meaning of his failing existence as a prisoner of his own mind.

Betrayed by Morality, possessed by Protocol, and separated from his domain, the Initiator begins to question the meaning of his failing existence as a prisoner of his own mind.

Forced to hurt a father in ways unimaginable lest he bring harm to himself and his daughter, Juliet ponders her role in creating the Nightmare.

One thousand years like a blink of an eye, the Announcer awaits his nearing victory as he considers the cruelty he had subjected his puppet and his nation to.

Asleep beneath the bones of her citadel for centuries, the Queen of Equestria reflects on her past decisions as she sets forth to liberate her kingdom.

Crossover AU with Portal and Portal 2. Set one thousand years prior to the canon timeline, follows the events leading up to the rise and fall of the Nightmare. Celestia and Luna don't exist. No knowledge is needed of the series prior to reading.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-05-21 16:30:02 UTC

Dampened

It was a calm, clear evening, quite at odds with the inner turmoil within Equestria’s eldest Prince.

He was a tall pony, lean and muscular beneath a grey coat carved through with a patchwork of scars. A large pair of wings lay along his back, unfurled and limp against his sides, the left held at an odd angle as if it caused him pain. Blue scales accented his hide and wings, along with a row of hardened plates lining his underside.

A pair of smallish, blue antlers sprung from between his tufted ears, sparking intermittently with cyan magic.

The prince was a kirin, a hybrid between dragon and pony bloodlines. Exceptionally powerful, even if it weren’t for his status, mortal kirin were known to inherit some of their draconic parent’s longevity.

Not that he was mortal. With over a thousand and a half years of life behind him and his siblings, he had no foreseeable end from natural causes.

A proud creature, once, the prince was slumped ungracefully over one of Canterlot Castle’s many balconies, his orange mane overgrown and unkempt. The pegasus stank of a mix of spirits, sweat and tears, the harsh scent heavy even in the dusky breeze.

His name was Wheatley Invictus, the Initiator of Ideas, and the first of the world’s ten demigods; an alicorn that only held the magic and form of one of the pony subtypes, rather than all three, yet still possessed a domain natural to the alicorns.

Wheatley quivered, groaning under his breath as he heard someone knocking the doors to his bedchambers. As with all who sought to disturb him in his grief over the last few days, their calls went completely ignored.

He didn’t want to listen to anything Juliet had to say. Not after what she did.

She lingered for a while, continually knocking, calling his name in her husky little voice, before giving up her attempts to gain his attention for lost.

Glancing back, Wheatley took in the room behind him for the countless time in the last couple of days. Toys still scattered the floor, a pile of plush dolls and blankets that he’d accumulated over the last few months for her. Some were torn to pieces, others stained with tears, while his pillows piled some of her favourites.

Empty liquor bottles covered the bed, each one failing in turn to bring the prince to the state he yearned for the most: unconsciousness. A pile of uneaten plates of food littered Wheatley’s desk, an offering from his siblings during the few hours of sleep he had managed to steal. He didn’t care which one. All of them were to blame for something.

No. Not all. Two. Just two. He had to remind himself of that. It was his eldest sister who maimed him, and a younger for betraying his trust. The rest were innocent.

Innocent enough.

Looking back down at Canterlot and the Equestrian heartlands beyond with bloodshot eyes, he stifled a sob. Of the many tears he’d shed in recent days, Wheatley had no intention of letting the mare behind the doors hear him at his lowest.

Not give her a chance to see, or hear, just how deep her actions cut.

“It’s a shame, really.”

Wheatley’s breath hitched, the kirin staggering back from the balcony.

He was used to the voice enough to not go looking for the source. Not that he would find it, anyway; he knew the owner to be imprisoned beneath Aperture Science, even if his mind was not.

The Announcer never did seem to play by the rules. Not a thousand years ago when he slaughtered thousands, not a decade past when he first sunk his claws into Wheatley’s mind, and not now, when he’d already chipped so much of his sanity away.

Wheatley was well aware that he was almost to tipping point. How long would be until the Announcer managed to break his mind? It could only be a few months at most, and with the recent attack against his psyche, perhaps only days.

It was inevitable, now. The Announcer’s laughs had become louder, and more triumphant, ever since Juliet caught wind of the foal. Over the last few days, since his little girl had been torn away from him by said mare, his unwanted tenant had been conspicuously silent.

The silence was both a welcome change from the constant decadal drone, and something of a sinking pit of dread for what the Announcer was actually up to back there.

“Shut up,” Wheatley croaked, leaning against the entranceway to his chambers, “shut up… leave me alone…”

“Hear me out,” the shade replied, “I am still giving you the offer of everything you have ever wanted, before I take what I want regardless. No one would push you around anymore. No one would ever take out their anger on you ever again. You can be the one in charge! A king. A god!”

“Lying. You’re lying.” Wheatley hissed, tearing the balcony doors clean from their hinges with cyan magic, splinters and broken glass showering him. He tossed the doors aside, allowing the more resilient glass panes to shatter. “I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say!”

The Announcer remained silent, as if contemplating his words.

Wheatley staggered forward, crying out at the sudden surge of pain at the back of his head.

-

Memories. He heard himself screaming, his child crying in his little sister’s hooves – Juliet locking the double doors behind her, reinforcing it with magic. His hooves pounded against the door, again and again and again, trying desperately to get in and save his filly.

-

“Stop! Stop!” he roared, collapsing by the foot of his bed, clutching his head in his hooves, trying in vain to block out the thoughts.

-

Finally managing to beat them open, the magic holding them closed recoiling upon its caster, he tasted the last traces of that vile, hateful curse upon the air. A sobbing, grey blur rushed forwards to drag him into a hug, repeating the same apologies over and over again.

“It’s for the best,” Juliet pleaded tearfully, her glasses digging into both her skin and his, “please, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but it’s for your own good. I'm so sorry.”

Of the filly, there was no sign.

He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to see her hurt, and he didn't get why. The very thought of harming his frail little sister terrified him, but at the same time, it was all he wanted. She tore his filly, his tiny little girl, his star, away, and he didn't understand why. At the back of his mind, the Announcer gave an amused chuckle.

“You don’t understand,” he had whispered, crumpling against the smaller kirin, taking in the reality of his situation, what Juliet had done to his foal. And all the while, a deep sense of fear dug itself into his mind, cutting him off from rationality.  “You don’t understand…”

-

“Shut up!” Wheatley yelled, his own shouts cutting through the painful haze. “SHUT UP!”

“Listen to me, then,” the Announcer responded shortly, as if impatient. “I can see that you want her back. Look at your reaction when I showed you those memories. Look at you, trying to silence them. I can bring her home, Wheatley, don’t you understand?”

He saw a flash of things that didn’t exist, visions reflecting the Announcer’s whispered promises. Projecting offers of power, of ruling above all, with none to stand in his way. The one who would no longer just be the scapegoat. Twisting his desires to take charge of Equestria in the Queen’s absence, to be the King his country deserved.

He promised lies.

Wheatley knew what the Announcer was capable of, ever since he halted the dread king’s march to Canterlot with his army of slaves. They had been less fortunate souls who had fallen for those same yearning emptinesses, those temptations of a better life, and had paid the ultimate price for it.

The Announcer could wait, slowly overcoming the mind, constantly eating away at the edges. Manipulating baseless fears for his own self-preservation, not allowing Wheatley to warn those who had the power to help.

Laughing. Always laughing.

He ignored his reservations and knowledge about the Announcer in light of his newest offer, a desperate chance to undo everything that had ever happened.

“You- you can?” his voice hitched, his wings twitching warily, a desperate edge to his whisper.

“Certainly. I am the most powerful entity to ever walk the world. Worlds, even. Pulling a filly back through time should be a relatively easy feat. At least within a few days of the spell actually being cast, that it.”

“A few days…”

“Better to take the chance before it’s too late, no?”

“I’m- yeah- but…” Wheatley pulled himself to his hooves shakily. Again, he gazed about the room, taking in the scattered, broken dolls that were a result of a grief-driven outburst. If there was any chance that it wasn't in vain...

“Together,” the Announcer continued in a purr, “I can help you get your revenge on her… Together, we can get your little filly back… You and I, we will be unstoppable.

“Just let me do what needs to be done.”

Wheatley shut his eyes, his ears folded down against the back of his head as he considered it. He could just imagine it; him, resplendent with the full power of an alicorn, with his little star by his side as they ruled Equestria together. No more worries. No more pain.

Strong enough to stand up to both Juliet and the Queen.

“You- you’re sure? You’re absolutely sure?” Wheatley asked quietly, searching the back of his mind for the Announcer’s presence. It was colder than ice, its normally impassive temperament alight with excitement.

“Yes.” His reply was perfectly flat, with only the slightest inflection.

“But- but what do you get out of this?”

“The chance to change Equestria for the better,” the Announcer replied simply, “just let me control the decision making. A win for both of us; you’ll be the one who’s respected as a monarch should be, with me working in the backstage to ensure that things will be perfect. Leave it to me.”

They could all just be happy again, just like the good old days before his maiming by the Queen, before her partly successful genocide. No more worries. No more pain. No more anger.

Things could just be like they used to be.

His last whisper for almost twenty years was one of defeat; of a stallion who had nothing to lose anymore, who, deep down, knew exactly what accepting that poisonous offer would bring. He was not accepting the Announcer’s deal for what it was: he was resigning to a death sentence.

“Okay.”

He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, before the world went dark and he knew no more.

The last thing he was aware of was the Announcer’s triumphant laugh.

The Announcer didn't like waiting. He'd been patient, awfully patient, over the last thousand or so years of his imprisonment within Aperture. No more waiting. Not for the little bird, his collateral, who would have to come back to his body sooner or later.

He had to admit, he was rather surprised that the little bird had managed to pull off this stubborn thing for as long as he was. Extended time away from the body was never easy. It'd been almost a week, and the Announcer thought it safe to assume that he was at his limit.

How pathetic that it was that Wheatley had to be dragged back like a kicking, screaming little foal. It was his choice, after all. It was a little disappointing that he let go his dignity in order to keep up such a futile rebellion. The Announcer had always respected how proud his host was, even when he had no hope, even when he was still trying to hold on to himself through his possession.

It was such a shame that it couldn’t last.

The reddish clouds shifted around the Announcer's silvery form, and almost seemed to retreat away from him. Perhaps they were aware of the interloper's lockdown of their realm that resulted in its current cracked, red appearance. Perhaps it was in reaction to their patron's fear. He didn't really care for the reason. What he was doing to Ideas was a necessity.

No more rebellion. No one would rise against his rule. Not again.

He’d learnt from his past mistakes.

Spreading misty, vestigial wings, the Announcer shot into the air, he followed the lingering traces of the little bird's magic, knowing that he had nowhere left to run.

The Announcer didn't understand why Wheatley chose to sequester himself at the very top of the world, at the summit of one of the great mountains holding it to Hyperborea’s shell. Did he believe his little hiding spot would be beyond Protocol's reach?

He found the little bird terrified out of his broken little mind, huddled before the tipping point, clutching the brilliant light of a single, lit idea. The edge of the world – jumping would mean oblivion within the void. He’d invariably die, never to come back, lost forever.

He wouldn’t dare jump. Not now.

“P-please leave me alone,” he begged, his mist-like form contracting as if in an attempt to hide. “Please! I don’t want this- I- I won’t try anything! I just- the nightmares, I couldn’t stand them anymore- I- I swear-!”

His pleas were cut out with a sharp scream as the Announcer struck the realm of ideas. The sky of the Ideascape cracked through, splintering, but not shattering. One of many that had appeared in Wheatley’s domain over the last ten years or do, and not the last.

Wheatley recoiled in clear agony, the attack on his domain being as a strike against the demigod himself. It was a violation to the Initiator – being hurt in a place that should never even be known, by a stranger who had no right trespassing upon his world. A world who only had one living occupant – what the Announcer was doing was unnatural.

Alicorns shouldn’t tamper with other alicorns’ domains. It wasn’t right.

“Please-” he whispered feebly, a quivering, cracked blue mist lying in clouds of red and black, among blown-out lights that were once bright ideas. The one idea he was trying to rekindle was cracked along the axis, leaking yellowish magic. “Please- stop-”

He yelped as the Announcer grabbed him, incorporeal essence to incorporeal essence.

Without uttering a single word, the Announcer dragged his host’s mind back to Canterlot, ignoring his weak protests. There was no room for pity for the little bird; only the overwhelming thoughts, the countless unworkable plans, of finally confronting the slumbering Queen herself.

He needed his host to survive for still a while longer.

The cracked idea, without the support of the Initiator, flickered and died out once more.

Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Can- can anyone hear me?

Course not… no one has before. Why should it start now?

I’m tired.

I’m tired, alone, and scared, and I have no idea what’s going on out there.

It’s been a long time, I think. Not that I’m sure of, though. It’s difficult to think straight, when you’ve got absolutely no framework or- or concept of time to go off. That part of me has been dead for god knows how long, and someone else is pulling the strings.

I have little doubt that the rest of me will be joining it soon. Honestly, with the rate I’m going in here, that sweet nothing can’t come soon enough.

I can’t remember what he calls himself. All I know is that he’s Protocol. He’s Protocol, in the same way that I’m – or, was, I don’t know – Ideas. Or… different? He’s a lot stronger than I am, surely, or I wouldn’t, um, be here…

Every now and then, I catch a little- a little glimpse of the outside. Whether it be intentional on his part, to make me see them hurt, or if he relaxes his control enough that I can get a few moments of something, whether it be sight, sound, or even a smell.

I both love, and hate, those moments. It’s reassuring to know that I actually am still alive back here, but… Every time, every single bloody time, it involves him tormenting them. Morality. All of them.

Never a word, though. He’s always been careful enough to keep me silent.

Well, except once, though, when a mare poisoned him- me- us. The only time I was myself. Retreated to let me deal with the pain… god, was it painful, all those convulsions… I’ve since heard that it was nightshade… the poison, or the mare?

I distinctly remember a black-coated mare. Did she share the name with the poison?

I don’t know.

Chewing away at what little I have left – my mind, my sanity. It’s difficult to think straight, because he’s eating away at the very perception I have of myself. Memories. Twisting my very memories, to make sure I don’t fight back.

I resent to think that it’s working.

I don’t know what’s real anymore. I can’t tell, in those precious moments of clarity, whether it’s the world I’m seeing or just another fabrication of my broken mind…  Is it even my mind anymore? I can feel it, I swear I can, he’s eating away at it. Soon there won’t be anything left of tiny little, um… me, nothing but memories, and the monster wearing my face and using my voice.

How can I fight back against the monsters of my mind, the nightmares he crafts for me, when I can’t even remember my own name anymore?

Initiator. Initiator. It rings a bell. All I can remember is my title. Was I more than that once? I remember remembering, aeons ago, but nothing more. I remember having a name, and I remember a time before being his puppet. But nothing more than that. Nothing but light, and regret.

No, no. He’s offering something, a lifeline. Nightmare Invictus? It sounds right, but- no. No!

I am not the Nightmare. I am not what he calls himself!

I am not the monster in the mirror.

“That isn’t what the world says, my little bird. ‘Nightmare, Nightmare, have mercy on us, please!’ ‘How could our general have ever betrayed us, who could have ever seen it coming?’ It’s quite funny, actually.”

Stop laughing at me! Stop twisting my memories. Haven’t you humiliated me enough?

…

I can feel myself slipping away. Minute by minute, hour by hour, not sure of what’s really going on out there. I can’t tell the difference between nightmares and reality. How can I tell, when I look out of my own two eyes, whether or not it’s just another fabrication of my broken mind?

I don’t know. I don’t want to know.

I’m sick of these nightmares. How many times do I watch you all die, again and again, by my own hooves? It never stops hurting. I’m thinking now, maybe, that he manipulates my very fears, my emotions, to always elicit this reaction out of me.

I’d get used to it, otherwise, I think.

Please stop. Please, just stop.

You’ve done enough. It’s over. Please, let it be over.

…

…

…No?

‘Course, it isn’t as easy as just asking, isn’t it? Can’t blame me for trying for the, uh, countless time. Yeah…

I hate it. I hate him, too. I’ve fought wars once, I think. This is cruel. Unnecessary. Why not just kill me upfront if you’re going to cut me down like this? It isn’t like you need to keep me alive, isn't it?

Please, Morality, I know you’re listening. Don’t let me die here alone. Not like this. Not without saying goodbye, without you or them knowing that this – that whatever he’s doing – isn’t me.

It’s the least you can do, little sister, for doing this to me. This is your fault.

I’m- that’s right!

It’s all your fault! You betrayed me. Mark my words; if I ever see you again, I’ll make sure you find out exactly what you’ve put me through.

Relax, Initiator. Relax. Can’t get too worked up… jumping between feelings like this…

…

I can only imagine what’s actually going on out there, whatever he’s doing as me to Equestria. Believe me when I say that it’s the very same in here. Kept tied down. Gagged, blinded, deafened. I am alone with nothing but my own thoughts.

I hate my thoughts. I want to do something. A nice little flight would be great, right about now.

Sometimes he ¬talks¬, though, to mock me… Laughing, always laughing…  Did you hear that? Is that what you want to hear, Principal?

“If that is what you want to think, then sure.”

There, that is definitely not my thought. Glad to see I’m not imagining things in here.

If- when I go, there will be nothing left. I understand this. My death will mean absolutely nothing at all to anyone. Hell, who’s to say that I’ll even go on?

Elysium. Tartarus. Whatever.

A rich way for the Initiator to go out, his very being subsumed into that of Protocol’s. Nothing left except a few scattered memories – hah, like he doesn’t know everything about me already.

Not even Elysium. Not even a chance to come back. There would be nothing left. Just another part of Protocol. Not going to let me go, even in death. Perfect. Just perfect.

But again, perhaps oblivion is better. I’ve had enough; I don’t want to think about anything else, ever again. However long I’ve lived for, I’ve had enough pain for an eternity. I don’t know. I can’t help but be a little bitter that I didn’t take my freedom when I had the chance.

Wondering, wondering. What did I do to deserve this hell? I’ve poked and prodded, back here, where he won’t notice. Well, maybe, but he won’t care. Not that I’m doing anything awfully progressive, but it’s something. I have learnt absolutely nothing so far, but maybe soon.

Hopefully.

I’ve come to figure out that long words and complex thoughts slow him down, if only slightly. Is it possible to slow down someone who’s already at the finish line?

“Possibly. Perhaps you can try a little harder, though; my campaign has been over for a long time. All you are to me is a little buzz at the back of my mind, growing quieter and quieter by the day.”

My mind, you mean.

“Whatever you say, little bird. I’m not going to argue. After all, to what point is there in confirming what we both know to be a lie?”

…

I don’t know.

I wish I knew, but I don’t. There are a lot of things I wish I knew, that I’m sure I did once, at some point or another.

Eating away at my mind. Losing more and more of myself every single day in this prison. I’m trying.

Morality, I’m trying.

Keep repeating those same repetitions, again and again. Minute by minute. Hour after countless hour. I’m still alive. I’m still me.

I was a Prince of Equestria… King, now, is it? At least my, uh, body is. I am the Alicorn of Ideas. Well, part alicorn, at least. I’m a pegasus. Immortal, the personification of a concept, yes, but… I’m just- I was a really strong pegasus, an alicorn without the earth pony and unicorn parts. Descended from a goddess and a dragon. What was that called again?

Kirin. That’s the word I’m looking for. Half dragon, half pony.

Not a monster. Not gone yet.

What else am I?

‘General’… I remember. I tore down the Empire. Whose? I don’t know. They did terrible things to us, but I’m not sure what anymore. I remember a demon, but that’s about it. Not sure if it was related or not, but I have a feeling they are.

Maybe I still remember it because I wanted to forget. That’s just it, though; the things you try hardest to forget are the easiest to remember.

I’m glad I know that. It’s comforting, to say the least. I was comforted by Ideas once, but, well, that part of me is dead too. That was who I was, that is what I represented in the world.

If I can’t feel my domain, the myriad of little bubbles of ideas that constantly drifted through my mind, than perhaps there aren’t any left. Ideas have long since died. Progress has been asleep for centuries - see, I remembered. Things haven’t changed much.

I escaped a few times, years ago, I reckon. I went back to the Ideascape, the only place where my body isn’t needed, where I could do some real good.

Cracked and broken, just like me. Everything was dark and blown out. I don’t get it. We used to be so bright… I- I tried to rekindle it, put some life back into my ideas… run away, to the very edge of the world.

I should’ve jumped. I knew you’d follow me eventually, Protocol, but I should’ve jumped into the void. Topped myself. With any luck, maybe I could’ve survived. Rise again. Ascend to true alicornhood, rather than… this.

Now I’m stuck here. I can’t move. I can’t see, or hear, or speak.

What have you done to me, Protocol?

You’re always laughing… always laughing… I can’t even think straight; it’s getting a lot harder to hold a conversation with myself. I’m-

I’m scared. I’m really scared. It’s dark, really dark, and I can’t do anything about it.

Why is this so funny to you?

I- I-

I… had a daughter. How could I have forgotten that so easily? That’s why I… Morality… Where is she now?

What could’ve possibly justified taking a foal from her father?

“You didn’t care to remember, I would imagine. How horrible, to have forgotten your little girl so easily.”

That’s right. You said you were going to bring her back. You never did. Never did. Betrayed me like she did. Tore me apart, like she did!

Liar. The one thing I wanted, the one reason I had to comply with you, to get my end of the deal, and all you did was lie.

All everyone ever does is lie to me!

“I did what I had to. My freedom meant more than keeping a promise that could’ve never been fulfilled, and you should’ve known that from the beginning. You didn’t have to accept my offer, little bird. I am not responsible for your mistakes.”

A promise is a promise!

“Then you were a fool for trusting me. Besides, if she were here, what kind of monster would you look like to her now? You look down upon your subjects, your dear siblings, and all I see is fear.

“If you want me to try, though… Something could be arranged. A filly should never go without her father; I mean, whenever she turns up she’ll only have, what, eighty odd years before she’s gone again? I should find her. Perhaps she can keep you company.”

You’re wrong. She’s a goddess. Alicorn. Deity. She has an eternity.

You can’t- you didn’t make her mortal! Idle threats, that’s all it is. You’re bluffing. You’re lying!

“Not me, little bird. You can thank Morality for that. Forcing an alicorn into a mortal coil… Even I wouldn’t fall so far as to do something that barbaric to a foal. We both saw what she did to her, you know. What’s to say that her spell wasn’t permanent?”

I-

“I’d want revenge, little bird, if I were you. Just say the word, and perhaps I can… help.”

I’m-

No. No!

…

…Permanent?

“After what our dear, lovely Queen did, do you honestly think that Morality would stand idly by to let another alicorn foal happen again? Wouldn’t it be better just to wipe out the alicorns entirely? Making her mortal was a compromise, little bird. Sending her away – that’s what she intended from the start.

“You never know with dark magic and their users, little bird. Perhaps she was lying to you. Sent away, or killed? After all, how could you ever tell?”

Well- maybe…

“Think it over for a while. It’s your choice, after all, little bird.”

I- Wait! Don’t- Stop laughing...

Oh no. Oh, no…

Please don’t hurt her, she- she didn’t mean it- She couldn’t have meant it… She had a reason… Must’ve, she must’ve, she’s never done anything wrong before then… She wouldn’t lie to me like that…

Right?

Stop twisting my memories! Give them back! I want to know the truth! No, wait-

Let me go. Please, just let me go. I don’t want to be alone in the dark anymore! I want to see the world again. I want to be happy again. This isn't what I signed up for, Protocol! You promised me that I'd be happy! You-

Let me out!

I am the Initiator of Ideas.

And I want to go home.