The Caretaker

The Caretaker

The wind blew gently, picking up the sand and producing tiny clouds of dust every now and then. The scorching sun glowed with intensity, heating up the desert to almost unbearable levels. Up to the horizon, there was nothing but dunes, stretching up and up. A single tumbleweed bounced about with no real direction, carried by the wind.

Suddenly, a small speck could be seen far into the desert, growing bigger as it sped through the sand, cutting through the dunes at a high speed.

Mac kept a steady hand on the steering wheel of the late Arthur’s vehicle, leaving behind a cloud of sand as it dashed through the desert. With his free hand, he continued to brush burnt nanite cells off of his body, revealing the newly regenerated synthetic muscle and allowing the dead nanites to be carried away by the wind.

He looked at the GPS on the car’s dashboard, noticing an error sign. The compass, though, was working fine. Regardless, he stepped on the pedal and kept going south.

He knew he would find a way, eventually.

A small window opened up on his vision; an incoming transmission.

“Mac?” A mare’s voice sounded off inside Mac’s head. “Oh gods, you’re back! I was… I was about to lose hope.”

“Sharpy,” Mac replied. “It is good to hear from you.”

“I lost contact with you months ago,” she stated. “Where have you been!?”

“Tracking Arthur.”

“Did you get him?” Sharpy asked, excitement in her voice. “Did you find Celestia?”

“Arthur is dead,” Mac stated. “And I have a lead on Celestia.” He checked the GPS. “I am heading to Zebrica. Why is my GPS malfunctioning?”

“Zebrica?” Sharpy said quizzically. “We don’t have accurate mapping of Zebrica… They chose to divide themselves from the other continents after the humans arrived, and surprisingly enough, they’ve been kept that way.”

“Any ideas?” he asked.

“Just… keep going south, I guess,” Sharpy sighed.

Mac remained in silence for a few seconds. “How is the state of affairs back in Canterlot?”

“It’s getting chaotic,” Sharpy replied. “Rumors are spreading that something’s wrong with the sisters… Luna’s very tired. Angry, and such. I’ve been the one in charge of her medication. She hates that stuff! I mean, how did you manage giving that thing to her for more than ten years?”

“She needs it,” Mac replied. “That was enough for me.”

Sharpy sighed. “So… what happened to you?” she asked. “Something interesting must’ve happened during those two and a half months.”

“Arthur happened to manage a sort of fight pit,” he said. “I got… caught in it.”

“Darn…” Sharpy trailed off. “Two months of fighting? Alone? What did you fight, even?”

“I had… help.” Mac looked down. “They pit us against convicts, for the most part.”

“Right.” She sighed. “So, what’s your plan now?”

“I dug through Arthur’s personal computer,” Mac said. “I did not find much aside from a conversation where he mentioned Zebrica. A factory of some sort.”

“Why would they take Celestia to a factory?” Sharpy asked.

“I hope to find out soon.”

“Me too…” Sharpy muttered.

Mac looked up into the horizon, tilting his head as he zoomed in, noticing several palm trees rising amidst the dunes. His hands wrapped around the steering wheel and his foot stepped on the gas, speeding up.

“Did you find something?” Sharpy asked.

“I hope so,” Mac replied.

Soon amidst the palm trees, Mac could make out a few structures, brown buildings that looked as if they were going to collapse all on their own. He slowed down, halting to a stop on the outskirts of the town. His feet dug into the sand as he stepped out of the vehicle, leaving it there.

As he approached the small town, he could already make out the figures of a few of the inhabitants rushing about, entering their houses and leaving the doors locked behind them. Soon, he found himself walking through the town, alone with only the tumbleweeds to join him. Mac looked to the side, watching as a window was closed. Nevertheless, he kept on.

A small, wooden sign on top of a large building swung about with help of the wind; Mac stared at it, unable to make out the writing, yet he could hear movement inside. He slowly approached the structure, gently placing his hand on the door and pushing it open before leaning down and walking into it.

All the chatter stopped abruptly. Mac found himself being stared at by a multitude of zebras. They all remained like that for a few seconds, before one of them stood up and used his mouth to grab a knife off of a nearby table.

“Stop!”

Mac stared back at the one with the knife. An even burlier zebra—one with a sizeable nose ring—stood next to him, breathing on his neck. They both exchanged glances, and a few words were muttered. The knife was slammed into the table, and the offending equine sat back down.

The zebra with the nose ring sighed, then looked up at Mac. “I trust our… ‘visitor’, isn’t here to cause problems?”

“I come in peace,” Mac replied.

“Good,” the burly zebra replied, waving the android over as he walked behind a rather rustic bar. Mac sat on the floor, still a head or two above the zebra. “Do you drink?” he asked. Mac shook his head.

The zebra sighed. “I am Zabbini, local barkeep,” he said with a heavy accent. “I thought the treaty forbids soldiers from entering Zebrica?”

“I am not a soldier,” Mac replied.

“You look like a soldier,” Zabbini continued. “Metal armor, heavy weight, weapon on the hip. What do they call those? ‘Pistole’?”

“I am simply looking for someone,” Mac stated.

“Who?” Zabbini inquired. “I will not rat out fellow zebra, let alone a fellow villager of our town Zecos. Do not cross me, for I am perhaps the only one who is willing to talk to you in the entire village.”

“Do you have a factory nearby? Anywhere?” Mac asked.

“Factory?” Zabbini tilted his head. “Let me ask a question first.” The zebra leaned in. “What in the world are you?”

The chatter within the bar died out once more. Mac looked behind him, then back at Zabbini.

“Your cold eyes,” the zebra began. “Metallic body, exposed muscle, skull head, height to rival a giraffe… You say you are not a soldier but we know, we know that you are at least a warrior, for whom we do not know, but a warrior nonetheless. You have scars to prove it… Yet…” Zabbini leaned back. “A warrior has a soul, but your eyes are empty and your voice is fake.”

“What are you?”

“I am…” Mac begun. “I am a machine.”

“A machine, you say?” Zabbini asked. “Machines make motions, they work and repeat, they do not choose what to do.Your body moves stiff, but at the same time unlike a machine, yet you are. You are and you are not. A warrior with no soul, yet… a warrior still. You are trapped in a void between life and death, between existing, and actually being.” The zebra smiled.

Mac stood silent for a moment as the rest of the zebras went back to their business. Zabbini grabbed a hold of a glass and began cleaning it. “Years ago, before the treaty that meant the divide between Zebrica and the world, one of those ‘factories’ was cemented not far from here. What it was meant for, nobody knows, but what we all know is that the spirits of its former occupants still roam its halls after they mysteriously died, still working hour after hour, producing product that will never be, like machines without supervisor.” The zebra reached behind the bar, producing an old parchment. He then set it on the bar before Mac and blew the dust off of it. “The factory is here,” he said, pointing with his hoof. “East of town.”

Mac leaned closer, his eyes casting light onto the map, quickly scanning it. Zabbini watched as the machine stood up, turning towards the door.

“Good luck, warrior,” Zabbini mentioned as Mac walked out.

He pushed past the doors to the bar, finding himself once more amidst the town of Zecos, somewhere in the Zebrican desert.

“That was… weird,” Sharpy muttered.

Mac turned the steering wheel to the left, drifting through the dunes of Zebrica at a high speed. Aside from the roar of the engines and the wind, it was almost completely silent, the sun still high in the sky. Somewhere between the sand, a large structure revealed itself to the android. It definitively looked old, the windows were broken, sand piled on near the entrances and every piece of metal was long rusted.

The vehicle slowed down to a halt near the structure. He stepped out of it, feet digging into the sand as he looked up at the old, towering chimneys.

Mac carefully walked closer to the main entrance, stopping right before a old set of metallic doors. He gently pushed on them, yet the force was enough for them to fall into the factory by themselves, raising a small cloud of dust and producing a sound that echoed around the building. Mac carefully crouched in, something snapping under the weight of his foot. He looked down, the broken skull of a gryphon under him.

A long, echoing, metallic groan made him look back up. He disregarded the skeleton and continued through the hall, lifting up clouds of dust with every step he took. It wasn’t long before he crouched through another doorway, finally entering the core of the factory. Unused, rusty machinery surrounded a main line of assembly, beginning with a large container made to handle molten metal. Mac stopped in his tracks as a slice of sheet metal flew past him, carried by the wind.

As Mac walked through, he stepped onto another bone hidden by the dust, the resulting snap echoing through the factory. Suddenly, he heard something ruffling behind a table amidst what seemed to be the dining hall. He froze in place and reached for his gun, only to see a vulture fly from behind said table, maneuvering through the factory and exiting through a hole in the roof. Mac relaxed, letting his arms hang down normally.

It seemed to be as Zabbini said, save for the ghosts. Mac made his way through the factory, only managing to find dusty bones, rather than actual people. Eventually, he took to a flight of stairs, the metallic steps groaning in response to his weight. He stopped midway, looking down at the factory floor, a hook swinging about with help of the wind amongst and the machinery.

Once he met another door, he carefully wrapped his hand around the handle, pushing it open. He then found himself in what seemed to be an office of sorts. A few filing cabinets lined the walls, along with a desk and an old terminal. Most notable, however, were the skeletons spread about on the floor, all arranged in a circle and consisting mostly of ponies.

Mac walked into the old office, careful not to step on the bones this time. He looked down at them, pondering what may have caused their demise. Mac walked over to the desk, looking down at the skeleton of a gryphon still sitting in the desk’s respective chair. He carefully pushed it off, letting the bones fall to the floor and rattle about before he sat down, taking its place.

With his hand, the android brushed the dust off of the terminal’s screen, then reached behind, pulling the power cord away from the wall. He shook some of the dust covering the plug, then inserted it in a small slot in his left forearm. Then, the screen lit again for the first time in ages.

It seemed to be a rather simple terminal, displaying nothing more than a few messages back from when the factory was still operational. Seeing as there was not much else to do, Mac began to read.

1- Factory Manager: Teller Claw…

“The raw material from Alpha site is being processed at nominal rates. Never thought I’d find myself administering a metallurgy plant. There’s one problem, though: rations haven’t been delivered in a couple of days. It must be a problem with the delivery system. They’ll work it out, I bet.

2- Factory Manager: Teller Claw…

“We’ve run out of metal to process, and the rations still haven’t arrived. Everyone’s just… sitting around. We’ve resorted to managing what’s left of the food and water. Things are still going easy, relatively speaking…”

3- Factory Manager: Teller Claw…

“They’ve forgotten us… No more food, and almost no more water. The nearest settlement is miles away, and it’s the middle of the summer… If we had gone out before, we might’ve made it, but now…”

4- Factory Manager: Teller Claw…

“Minnie and two other of the changeling workers just ran off… And we discovered Trent dead by the entrance. I… I drained his blood, drank it. Tasted horrible but… I’m not as thirsty anymore. Hope the others don’t find out.”

5- Factory Manager: Teller Claw…

“I…. I had to. Bitty caught me… eating Berry. I killed her, too. I must be stronger than her... She was too weak. I’ll feast on the rest, too.”

6- Factory Manager: Teller Claw…

“And now I sit here… I arranged the corpses in a circle. Maybe then they’ll find peace for what I did… And now I sit here, dying, writing shit on this fucking terminal. If anyone ever finds this… Go to the south, find the GoldenTalon mining complex and kill them, all of them! They left us here to die and....”

Mac stood up, unplugging himself from the terminal.

“Grim…” Sharpy muttered. “Never heard from any factories or mining complexes on Zebrica, and now… I wish I hadn’t.”

Mac stepped past the skeletons, over to the door.

“So, GoldenTalon mining it is, right?”

“Indeed,” Mac stated.