With a deep, hesitant breath, Tesla Wave sat down in the empty studio and gently placed the headphones over her ears. The single light bulb hanging overhead threw her shadow across the barren room. 'Do you really think they will save you?' a voice mockingly asked.
"These don't have to save me," Tesla muttered. She flipped a few switches on the soundboard. With the whole station abandoned, there was no need for the headgear. The rest of the crew was gone, and with them the familiar, giddy, nervous buzz that hummed during their broadcasts. The long pane of glass covering the back wall looked out on a deserted hallway. Just like Tesla herself, they were a delaying tactic.
The voice laughed. Tesla flinched at the sound. 'I don't mean the headphones, dear. I'm talking about those friends of yours.'
"No one has to save me," the teenager said as calmly as she could manage. "All I have to do is buy a little more time for the others to get away. Just keep them off our airwaves for a few more minutes."
'Now, it's rude to talk about people as if they aren't in the room.'
"You aren't real!" Tesla snapped. "You're just a weird voice in my head. You can't hurt me, and you can't stop me!" She spun her chair around to the plain card table in the room's center. A single microphone rested on it. Tesla was suddenly struck by just how strange of a device it was, how powerful. With it, a generator, and the rusted tower outside, they could make their voices heard in every corner of Equestria. But all that was about to change.
The events of the whole day played out again, tolling like funeral bells: running the morning broadcast as usual, trying to sound casual as she tapped out a few quick messages on air, handing over the mic to Vinyl, and then the call from Flash. "They f-found you," he stuttered through the static. He never got the best reception underground, but spies never do. "T-tonight after . . . concert . . . whole army . . . run." The Canterlot Crew always knew they had to be ready to evacuate at any second, but it wasn't until reality finally loomed overhead that they realized how unprepared they were. Sure, the escape route was planned, a safe house was chosen, and roles were assigned, but leaving wasn't so easy. This was their home, the only place they felt secure, even if that feeling was only an illusion. Anywhere a smile could blossom or a laugh could ring without raising suspicion was a luxury. Rolling up the sleeping bags that covered every patch of tile floor, they believed those were all they could take. It seemed as if the memories they made and all the dreams they had over the past two years were bolted down with the rest of the equipment they had to leave behind.
Tesla glanced up at the the wall clock. The cracked hands read 6:59 p.m. She sighed.
'Oh don't worry,' the voice whispered one final time. 'I'll be able to do all that and much more soon enough.' Tesla wanted to scream, to deny, to fight back, but she couldn't fight a voice. Especially not . . . that one.
With what felt like a pound of pressure from her index finger, she clicked the button on the side of the microphone. Crimson light matching the corrupted skies brought the buzzing sign to life: "Live On Air."
"Good evening, Equestria," she said with a shakier voice than usual. "This is the Voice of Canterlot." Tesla paused a few seconds before forcing herself to continue. "Or at least, that's what we've been calling ourselves for the last few years. My real name is Tesla Wave." She pushed a mess of sweat-plastered blonde curls from her forehead.
"And this is the last broadcast I or anyone else will ever make from this location. With our station hidden just on the outskirts of what some harpies demand we call 'Sirenopolis,' we knew this was inevitable. We had a plan. The rest of the Canterlot Crew is getting farther and farther from the city by the moment. I stayed behind to keep . . . you know who off the airwaves." For a moment, Tesla's voice took on its usual flippant tone. "Just stick with me for a little while and you won't hear a single note from their concert. Of course, if it's a choice between listening to my voice and getting brainwashed, I understand if you chose to tune me out instead."
She looked back at the clock- 7:05 p.m., a lot more time to fill. "I'd just shut up and play some songs like we usually do when we're jamming the airwaves," she continued. "But the records were the first thing we saved." They needed to hear that. Too many people had seen the music they loved tossed on the bonfire.
"They will never get their claws on those records," she stated proudly, but then a twinge of doubt crept into her voice. "But, they've gotten them on a lot more, haven't they." Tesla had no idea where she was going with this, but her gut told her find out.
"Since powerful stations would attract too much attention," she explained, "we have to rely on networks. What one local station broadcasts, another amplifies. It's patchy and disorganized, but, over the years, we've made Siren-Free Radio work. That system probably is how you regular listeners hear me. For most of you, this is your first time hearing me. You have the Sirens and their easy to hijack concerts for that. Tonight, their signal barely put up a fight before we took over. If it wasn't for that, I don't think anyone would be tuning in tonight. Local ratings aren't exactly stellar these days. After all, I'm the last free-minded person in Canterlot by now." Her green lips broke into a grin at the thought of Flash. Whether he would feel more annoyed or relieved by her remark was anyone's guess. No matter what happened, Tesla would make sure SFR only lost one person tonight.
"Like I said before," she added with the smile slowly vanishing. "That won't be the case for long." Her nervous gulp carried across the airwaves. "I'm sorry if I keep coming back to that. Trust me, I'm not blaming anyone. I chose to stay behind; I chose to join SFR." Tesla sighed. "The moment I did that, a countdown started. For the last two years, it's been ticking down: week by week, day by day, hour by hour." The soft ticks of the wall clock suddenly bellowed like gunshots. 7:09 p.m. "Everyone listening to this broadcast has their own countdown. Whether you're lucky and have a year or two, or, like me, are on your last few seconds, eventually it will hit zero. Until then, you have to deal with the voices. Because even if they don't control you outright, their spell still seeps into your brain, still pressures you to give in. We've all seen it happen to a friend, a parent, a sibling." Tesla's voice cracked on the last word, but she forced herself to continue. "So far, all we've been able to do is give you a little more time."
Tesla wanted to mention the messages, say something a little more hopeful, but she was unaware of how much the Sirens knew and didn't want to give them anything extra. No doubt a "supporter" had been taking notes on her broadcasts since they were discovered. The idea of a rebel simply existing in their capital was galling enough; a rebel playing music for the Underground and hijacking their own broadcasts under their noses was an embarrassment. The Voice of Canterlot had hell to pay.
"Sometimes it's enough to make you ask what difference it really makes. Why should we keep struggling if all our efforts amount to nothing in the end?" Tesla ran out of words. Why should she keep fighting? Why should anyone? Her own futility seemed massive in the face of the inevitable. Before she could abandon the listeners, three little words rushed into her panicked mind and washed away her fear. "Because of them," she whispered.
Bang! 'The door," Tesla thought. She checked the clock again. 'But the concert won't be over until . . .' Understanding hit her like a ton of bricks. She clenched her jaw.
"It sounds like they sent the welcoming committee to the station a bit early, guys. I guess they didn't want me blocking the concert." Another bang, louder this time. "Listen, I know I got a bit melancholy back there, but I meant what I said just now. There is a reason we're fighting back." With every thud, Tesla could imagine the front door splintering. "The Sirens are terrified," she said, her voice growing to drown out the yelling from the front door. "They aren't afraid of me, and they aren't afraid of you. We annoy them, sure, but in the long term, that's all we do."
Tesla heard a dull crack, muffled by the studio walls. "But there are people who can do more than avoid the spell, who can do more hide. They are immune to the Sirens' voices. They can reverse the spell. They can save people that death-trance. I know because . . ." Her voice took on a soft reverence. "Because they saved me."
The once empty hallway was a swarm of angry faces. Some banged their bare fists on the cracking glass, and others brandished splintered bats and clubs. Some slammed against the old, wooden studio door, and others jockeyed for position up front. Tesla didn't have to look up to know that. Her pathetic barricade wouldn't hold them off for much longer.
"And if any of you are listening," she said with the tear in her eye bleeding into her voice, "I just wanted to thank you. No matter what happens to me now, two years of freedom was more than worth it. For the rest of you, I have one thing to say: keep fighting. As long as the Six are on our side, as long as there's still one person willing to help them, and as long as one person refuses to give up, the Sirens will fall."
The shouting outside was getting stronger. "Local stations, be ready to cut in as soon as I'm gone. We can't let those harpies broadcast a single note." Tesla placed her steady hand on the microphone. "Until next time, Equestria," she said calmly. "This is the Voice of Canterlot, Tesla Wave, signing-off."
Just as the bright, buzzing sign began to fade, the dam burst. Broken glass hit the floor with a chorus of harsh, icy ringing. The door fell from its hinges with a crushing thud. Before she could even take off her headphones, they had her on the ground. Tesla kicked and thrashed, but the mob was overwhelming. The blows to her face and stomach just kept coming. She couldn't hear the words they were shouting; she could only feel the hate. The pure aura of single-minded animosity cut her in a thousand different places. It stung far worse than the blows. Tesla curled up defensively and waited for the end. Silence came instead.
Suddenly, all the angry cries died in the mob's throat. Someone pulled on the hood of Tesla's sweatshirt, nearly strangling her as she was dragged up. Two pairs of hands twisted her arms back, another group forced her to kneel. The glass shards dusting the floor bit into her knees as the mob pushed down on her shoulders. A few streams of blood stained her ripped jeans as they dripped to the floor. Tesla's head hung lifelessly.
For a few moments, the mob was frozen. A pair of clicking heels echoed through the hallway. She carelessly strode over the broken glass and stopped just as her shadow fell over Tesla. With all the defiance she could muster, Tesla lifted her head. Adagio's jeweled, purple outfit sparkled in the glow from her pendant. Her cruel eyes burned with delight. Tesla struggled to keep her expression neutral. A thousand thoughts raced through her head. As a grin slowly appeared on her face, Adagio reached down and gently plucked off her headphones.
"Did you really think that these would help you?" she crooned mockingly. "Well, it doesn't matter now, does it, Tesla Wave? You fell for that fake concert hook, line, and sinker. I wish a few more roaches had stayed behind, but you'll be more than enough for now." A single, claw-like finger traced down Tesla's forehead. "On to business. I only allowed this little story to be leaked to a select few . . . suspicious characters. Tell me, which of them passed the information to you?"
Tesla said nothing.
Adagio laughed. "The silent act, eh? As if I haven't seen that one before! Don't worry." She leaned closer. "You'll be all too willing to tell me all about your trouble-making friends soon enough." For a deadly moment, she paused. A grimace settled on her face. The facade vanished. She looked every inch the monster she was. When she finally spoke, every syllable dripped with malice. "Starting with Sunset Shimmer."
Author's Note
This is my first story on the site. I wanted to do a one-shot as part of a larger world I'm thinking of writing about. I hope you enjoy it. Please feel free to post any comments, corrections, or criticisms. In fact, feel encouraged to do so! Tell me if you want to see more. Thank you so much for reading my story.
