A story for PK

by Mossy Mare

Rating: everyone
Tags: Human
Length: 2995

A story for PK, the Equestria Daily blogpony intern.

Awhile ago, on a website called Equestria Daily, a blogpony intern named PK hinted that he may be held in the depths of the facility against his will. These comments have continued to appear in the Nightly Roundups at sporadic intervals.
This is the story behind them.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-06-01 23:04:01 UTC

Chapter 1

Equestria Daily Nightly Roundup #275

“I'm pretty sleepy and Seth is forcing me to do this at gunpoint please help they locked me in the laundry room and-”

283

“guys help Seth hasn't fed me for weeks he says that Trixie should be all the sustenance I need and-”

286

“Okay, is this thing on? Are you- oh, good. I managed to escape from the laundry room! Phoe came in to give me my daily Equestria Innovations Industrial Strength Brainwashing Fluid and Baby Formula and I managed to wrest her riding crop away and escape. I won't say where I'm writing this from, but-

Oh, crap, I better get writing, I hear hoofsteps.”

289

“This is what I see when I close my eyes. Every night, the exact same thing. It's day four of my escape and I've yet to find my way out of the basement of Equestria Daily HQ. The place is labyrinthine. And even worse, even though I've been eating better quality shoes and washer fungus than ever, I'm starting to hallucinate now. I'm going to chalk it up to the Draino I've been drinking instead of water, but... out of every shadow, Celestia's... fingers... grope at me, the cloying darkness presses down, the room spins...”

291

“PK is currently busy helping us with some tests at Equestrian Innovations (don't worry, he signed all the forms so we're good) so I'll be filling in tonight! He'll, hopefully, be back to you all safe and sound soon.”

293

“TWILIGHT SPARKLE IS THE PONY THAT I PREFER OVER EVERY OTHER PONY. GREETINGS FELLOW READERS. IT IS I, PK, YOUR LOVEABLE BLOG INTERN FOR LIFE. MY PERSONALITY CHIP REQUIRES ME TO INQUIRE AS TO WHY I DID NOT REALIZE EQUESTRIA DAILY IS THE BEST POSSIBLE WORKPLACE UNTIL I WAS FORCIBLY SUBJECTED TO HUNDREDS OF ILLEGAL EXPERIMENTS BY ONE EQUESTRIAN INNOVATIONS.”

“I MEANWHILE FEEL COMPLETELY CONTENT AND AM VERY HAPPY TO SERVE MY BENEVOLENT AND KIND EQUESTRIA DAILY OVERLORDS”

(.X./)

Dear Princess Celestia,

                While I have continued to learn about the magic of friendship while here in Ponyville, I feel that my studies have ground to a halt. My friends and I have surpassed the turbulent, early stages of friendship, and while our ties remain strong, there are now only sporadic lessons that can be experienced. However, I still do not feel as though I have learned all I can about the magic of friendship. Therefore, I will be taking a short hiatus from my library duties, in order to learn firsthand how other cultures create friendships. I have devised an open-ended spell that shall teleport me to the pony (or even creature!) that needs my friendship the most. While I know that such spells are finicky and prone to unintended effects, I feel that it may only enhance my experience. I shall be departing this afternoon.

Your Faithful Student,

                                                                                                                                                                           Twilight Sparkle

“Send it.”

Spike reluctantly looks at me before releasing a bout of dragon flame. I smile at him reassuringly before turning to my “Double-check the Double-checked” checklist to make sure everything is ready. Glancing over it one final time, I make note of everything that is supposed to be in my saddlebags. Filled with the essentials, light enough for me to carry, (I learned how to do that quickly enough in Canterlot!) and transport-ready, my worn bags settle familiarly on my back.

Taking a deep breath, I wave goodbye to Spike before igniting my horn. The familiar caress of magic works its way out from deep inside me, focusing in my horn and releasing a pale glow. I close my eyes, careful not to lose myself completely to the sensation, and direct the concentrated magic to the spell I have constructed. It’s a rather complex variation of the ordinary teleportation spell I do out of reflex, with sensors and guides (triple-layer!) to keep me from reappearing inside a wall or something, and a dense matrix of spellwork added on to decide exactly who needs my friendship the most, and then direct me towards him or her.

The magic senses my desire and infuses my construct, draining away from me and into the physical creation of the spell. I inhale sharply, forcing myself to stay focused as it pulls the magic from my very being. It’s a rather unpleasant sensation, but my goal is greater than my momentary comfort, and I persevere.

At least, I do until I realize that I may not have enough magic within me to complete this spell. In retrospect, I probably should have done the tracking spell first, to ascertain who/what needs my friendship, and allow myself to recover before teleporting to them. My first instinct is to end the spell, but with long practice I suppress the urge. Small spells may be interrupted harmlessly, but a complex spell such as this could cause havoc if halted unfinished. I grit my teeth and give it everything I have.

(.X./)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!

OHCELESTIAITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSI-

UUURRRRGGGGHHHHHH

My horn feels as though an anvil has repeatedly smashed into it at terminal velocity, and I blearily open my eyes to find myself staring at a floor. I suppose it’s ok, as floors go, since it’s clean, but it’s made of some sort of rock substance. I wonder if it’s a conglomera-OHNONOTAGAINAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

I will not be doing spells for awhile, apparently, even cursory examination ones. I purposefully unclench my teeth and reopen my eyes to the rather uncomfortable conglomerate floor. Actually, on second glance it’s more like a sandstone, but polished, and with little pebbles visible under the… wax? Is that to make it waterproof? Why would anypony need to waterproof a conglomerate sandstone floor?

My eyes widen as I hear very muted hoofsteps. I listen more intently, and I think they’re getting closer, but… it’s very difficult to tell, since the terrible acoustics cause the sounds to echo and blur, but I think there might be… two of them! Only two hooves? And not even hooves, since hooves would be making a much louder (and more headache-inducing) racket! They must be paws, or feet, like Spike’s! I frantically try to think of any creature that has two feet- minotaurs and satyrs have two, but they’re hooves, and sphinxes and manticores have paws, but four of them… maybe it’s a griffin? A griffin walking on back paws?

I know this is rather implausible, but it’s the best I can come up with before I feel a rather strange sensation on my neck. I instinctively try to move my head to see but succumb to the agony before it even rises off the ground. I am vaguely aware of two appendages lifting me before the darkness carries me away from the pain.

TO PREREADERS

I shake my head, wondering what that is, and am abruptly reminded that I have overextended my

magic and stop moving my aching cranium.

TO PREREADERS

TO ART QUEUE

TO PREREADERS

TO PREREADERS

TO NIGHTLY ROUNDUP

TO PREREADERS

Still curious about what a, “prereader,” is, I open my eyes to see a room filled with boxes. Not those cardboard boxes that you ship things in, either, but large, rumbling boxes that seem to be made of metal and… porcelain? That’s the only substance I know of that is that shiny and white, but the black ones have me baffled, until I realize they must be made of volcanic glass. Some of them have round windows in the front, and I wonder why only about half of them do. I promptly forget this when I see the creature in the corner.

TO PREREADERS

This is the… pony? creature? device? that is making those noises. I decide to refer to it as a female until I can ascertain its gender. Hopefully she won’t get too offended if she turns out to be a he. She has short, cropped hair on her head, and no tail that I can see. She is dressed in unostentatious blue clothing that Rarity would faint over, (I can hear her now. “Oh, darling, that is far too drab for your coloring!”) and is sitting on a chair, facing a table that holds only some sort of glowing, square window. She is apparently engrossed in whatever she’s doing, and after each utterance presses some buttons on a black pad connected to the window at a right angle.

I realize that she has no immediate interest in me, and so try to raise my head. The dull pounding increases, but it’s nothing compared to the agony I endured earlier. I manage to look down at what I’m sitting on, and gasp aloud. It is a pile of some sort of bag, or covering, made of skins.

She hears my gasp and turns from whatever she’s doing to look at me. I look back with all the panic I’m feeling in full sight as I come to terms with the fact that I am reclining on a pile of dead animals! I begin screaming as she rushes over to… what? Eat me? Kill me and make me into whatever it is I’m laying on? I am having a full blown panic attack, and it takes me several minutes to realize that she is doing none of these things. In fact, she is hugging me, stroking my mane gently, and softly murmuring,

"TWILIGHT SPARKLE IS THE PONY THAT I PREFER OVER EVERY OTHER PONY. TWILIGHT SPARKLE IS IN A PLACE THAT IS SAFE. I WILL PROTECT TWILIGHT SPARKLE."

She keeps saying this over and over until I have finally calmed down. I look at her in bewilderment, and she looks back at me, expressionless.

I open my mouth and try to speak, but after my screaming session, all that comes out is a dull croak.

Seeing this, she lets go of me and runs out of my field of vision. I wonder where she’s going and try not to think about what I’m laying on. When she comes back, she is holding a white bottle with a large sticker on it that says, “Drāno.” She unscrews the cap and holds the neck of the bottle to my lips. After one whiff of it, though, I know that it is not something I want to put in my mouth. I quickly cough and move my head away from it, and she looks at the bottle disappointedly. I look back at her and shake my head, eliciting another round of head pounding, but effectively getting the point across I will not drink whatever that is under any circumstances.

She sets the bottle down, and as I sigh, relieved, she starts aimlessly wandering around the room, as though trying to figure something out. I watch her for a bit, but once I realize she’s not doing anything particularly interesting or important, I try to reach for one of the canteens of water I have stashed in my saddlebags. Without magic, however, it’s a difficult process, and I fumble a bit before giving up. Thankfully, she sees what I am trying to do, and opens my saddlebag. What she sees inside apparently stuns her, for her eyes open wide and she stands motionless for awhile. I get impatient after the first few minutes of this, and resume my fumbling to get the canteen, but this seems to snap her out of her trance and she hands me the bottle.

Gratefully, I take several slow sips to soothe my throat before attempting to place it back in the bag, which she helps me with. Finally, I am able to ask one of the many burning questions I have kept in the back of my head.

“Hello, my name is Twilight Sparkle. What’s your name?”

She smiles at me, and answers, “THE LETTERS OTHERS CALL ME BY ARE PK.”

I wonder at the name, but am quick to reply with, “What were you doing? What’s a prereader?”

“I VIEW THE MESSAGES SENT TO THE GLORIOUS BLOG OF EQUESTRIA DAILY AND DESIGNATE WHERE THEY GO BEFORE PLACING THEM IN THEIR PROPER CATEGORY. A PREREADER IS ONE SUCH AS ME WHO READS THE STORIES AND DECIDES IF THEY ARE GOOD ENOUGH TO BE INCLUDED ON OUR GLORIOUS WEBPAGE.”

I tilt my head at this. I don’t understand much of what she said, but I think she’s a mailpony. Those questions will have to wait, though, for I have a bigger one in mind.

“PK,” I begin hesitantly, “what… am I laying on? What are they made of?”

PK looks below me before replying, “THOSE ARE THE DISCARDED SHOES PROVIDED FOR MY SUSTENANCE. THEY ARE MADE OF MANY THINGS SUCH AS RUBBER, POLYESTER, AND FAUX LEATHER.”

Faux leather. I breathe another sigh of relief. Strange fashion customs I can deal with, as long as they aren’t really made of the skins of dead animals.

We continue our conversation, and I come to realize that PK is a he, not a she. It’s a good thing I never referred to him as such, or that might have been awkward. He tells me all about his job, Equestria Daily, and even his disgusting diet of shoes, washer fungus, and Drāno. I now understand why he needs me, why the spell brought me here. I must reverse whatever it is that THE OVERLORDS have done to him. I offer PK one of the apples I packed in my saddlebags, and he takes it with some trepidation. Unfortunately, the chip installed in him prevents him from eating anything besides those three aforementioned items, so after his digestive system forcibly expels it, he gnaws on a plate formation (I do not know the exact species; the fungus here is like no fungus I’ve ever seen before.) while I sip some water, slightly nauseated.

He returns to his mail-sorting duties, explaining in his roundabout way that THE OVERLORDS will notice if he leaves his work for too long, and I awkwardly wrap myself in my blanket before falling asleep.

(.X./)

When I awake, it is as though nothing has changed. I am still wrapped in my blanket on top of a shoe pile while PK sorts e-mail in the corner. Feeling more recovered from my ordeal, I try standing up, which warrants PK’s attention. I successfully stand up and grin at him, and he gives an answering grin in return. I wonder if I can do magic yet; I try to levitate out my canteen, which, after a moment of pain, more akin to stretching an overused muscle than anything else, it successfully moves from my saddlebag to in front of my face, where I take a long drink.

After exchanging another grin with PK and replacing the canteen in my saddlebag, I do that examination spell on the floor. I jump in the air happily,

“Yes! I knew it was a conglomerate!”

PK stares at me in confusion, and I realize that I must have said that out loud. Sheepishly looking down at the floor I answer, “Oh, I wondered what kind of rock, the floor was made of, and—”

“CONCRETE.”

Confused, I look back at PK. “What?”

“THE FLOOR SUBSTANCE IS A MIXTURE OF CLINKER, CALCIUM SULFATE, AGGREGATE, AND WATER, COMMONLY CALLED BY OTHERS SUCH AS MYSELF CONCRETE.”

Ok then, an artificial conglomerate. Before allowing myself to become distracted by this new information, I do a revealing spell on PK. After all, if I am to reverse what THE OVERLORDS have done, I must know what I’m dealing with. What I find shocks me.

His brain-I’m amazed it’s even functioning! Drāno flows through his menengeal veins, there is severe scarring in his temporal lobe, the Drāno is eating through his occipital lobe, and is that… silicate? Yes! There’s silicate in his frontal lobe!

“PK…” I say slowly, “You helped me, so now I’m going to help you. I need you to sit down.”

PK looks at me, confused, but does what I tell him.

“Now, PK, I need you to listen to me.” I tell him in my most soothing voice, the one Fluttershy taught me that’s supposed to calm down wounded animals. “You have a scratch on your brain. I’m going to use my magic to fix it. Is that ok with you?”

PK frowns, and a look of fear passes over his face, but eventually he nods.

“Good. Now just relax.”

Quickly, I shoot him with a sleeping spell, then catch his torso with my magic before his head can hit the concrete. I lay him down gently, and do another brain scan just to be extra sure of what I’m doing. I then take a deep breath and begin the healing spell.

I start by removing the Drāno and replacing it with some blood I’ve duplicated from traces in his arteries. His body convulses, but I do not allow it to distract me as I focus on healing the scar tissue and open sores in his occipital and temporal lobes. Finally, I use a very tiny version of my teleportation spell to get rid of the silicate, then heal up the damage it’s caused just as I did with his other lobes.

This causes much more severe convulsions than the removal of the Drāno did, but I use my magic to lift his body into the air so he doesn’t hurt himself. PK is very difficult to hold onto, but there is no way I’m going to waste all the effort I just put into his brain only for him to reinjure himself.

After I have exhausted nearly all of my magic, and PK seems more or less healed, I carefully levitate him onto the pile of shoes that I woke up on about… actually, I don’t know how long ago. I idly wonder if there’s a clock around here somewhere as I retrieve my blanket and curl up on one of the porcelain boxes.

 (.X./)

A small, metal construct shudders, then slowly begins making its way across the floor.