The Broken Toy

The three synthets descended into the sewers not far from Martha's house through a technological hatch.

The stinking dungeons went deeper and deeper down. And admittedly, Lyra was creeped out by the damp walls, the splashing muddy water, and the dim light that picked out shadows from the darkness. It felt like someone was watching them, but the unicorn looked around every minute to convince herself that it was just paranoia.

As they moved away from the central part of Gigapolis, Lyra sometimes felt as if they were falling into a supernatural darkness. There were fewer and fewer working lamps in the tunnel, and the lamps themselves had changed. Instead of light panels, there were ancient LED lights that worked one at a time. After another tunnel junction, the polymer tubes disappeared, revealing concrete walls with thick mold growths.

The deepening darkness was overwhelming. The tunnels grew older, the tubes dirtier and rustier. How long they had been walking like this, Lyra couldn't say. But that it had been hours was certain.

Several times the synthets used the moving belts of the automatic transporters. They carried containers of unknown cargo, which were lowered and raised on elevators that were apparently part of the supply system of Gigapolis.

Then the sewers began again, this time more like old caves filled with stinking sewage. There were no more comfortable elevations at the edges, and at low points they waded knee-deep in muddy sludge.

And the farther they went, the darker and quieter it became. Lyra soon created a magical light with her horn, and the pale green glow made the outlines of the ancient dungeons emerge from the shadows.

“I'm not coming down here with a lantern again," Jerry remarked as the magical light revealed a skull. “I never thought there would be so much nasty stuff in the old tunnels.”

Scootaloo didn't answer. For some reason, she wanted to cuddle up to Lyra and sleep, sleep, sleep — until someone stern and determined woke her up. Like Jerry, for instance.

“These tunnels remind me of the Everfree Forest," Lyra said, "just as dark, scary, and confusing. Why did they even build all this? Did they really need such a maze as a... cesspool?”

“Not only that," said Jerry. “Did you see that old train on wheels? And the cables? Transportation, wires, warehouses, shelters — humans hid it all underground. Even two centuries ago, old cities went down many stories. In anticipation of wars or just for convenience. And then, as humans tend to do, many things were abandoned, forgotten...”

“I can't even believe that the majestic buildings of the Spires and this are the same city. But it's true, isn't it?”

“I never asked myself that question. Was too busy... surviving.”

“And I can't believe we've come this far," Scootaloo said, her legs beginning to ache with fatigue, "and why didn't we stay home?”

Lyra could feel the pegasus's tension, but with a hoof on her heart, she felt a little uneasy herself. This tunnel was just depressing.

“At home, if you remember, we have a simple problem: there's almost nothing to eat. And if we could get by without going to the city, I'd be the first to vote for it. As for the outskirts, synthets better not go there at all. Dangerous, especially for little ones like us.”

“Why?” Lyra asked, but suddenly realized that she didn't want to know the answer.

“We can... get hurt," Jerry said, catching the unicorn's frightened look. “And yes, whatever you’ve imagined, it could very well be true. So we have to use the communications to get to more or less decent districts, where a few synthets at least won't attract too much attention.”

Lyra's ears pressed back. She didn't know why her mane was suddenly ruffled with a sense of animal fear. The scent was unfamiliar to her, a creature of the good world, but her instincts were unmistakable: this smell meant danger.

Blood.

Fresh.

“Damn it," Jerry said in a cold voice. “Get back, all of you.”

“W-wait," the unicorn's voice trembled noticeably. “What if someone's in trouble out there?”

“Right," the mouse nodded, "and unless we want to share that someone's fate, we'd better get the hell out of here.”

Scootaloo, instinctively clinging to Lyra's side, shot a pleading look at the adult pony. That movement seemed to give the unicorn some confidence.

“Wait here. I'll just see if I can help. I'll be right back, I promise.”

“I guess there's no use talking you out of it, is there?” Jerry asked grumpily, his hands at his sides. “You know we're not going to save you.”

But that didn't stop Lyra. Soon all that could be seen in the darkness was the faint light at the tip of her horn, disappearing around the corner.

“This is just punishment," Jerry sighed.

“That's what you said about me," Scootaloo said, wagging her tail.

“You two are punishment for a sane mouse like me!”

The discussion was interrupted by the unicorn's long scream from the darkness.

Before Jerry could say anything, Scootaloo dashed off into the black, her head tilted with determination. The mouse could only curse and clutch the purple strands, praying that Lyra had just seen a rat or something.

The truth turned out to be more prosaic and far more terrifying.

Scootaloo, rounding the corner, braked sharply with an inarticulate squeal, and Jerry had a chance to see what had startled the pony.

Lyra, sitting on her haunches against the wall and bent over, was spewing her stomach contents uncontrollably onto the floor. Scootaloo, her eyes bulging, just stood still, frozen with horror.

On the wall hung a pony. Right above the pool of blood and whatever else they didn't want to look at, crucified with crude nails on a hastily made wooden cross, his head hanging lifelessly. The black and white skin was covered here and there with wounds and burns. The long black mane was piled up in dirty icicles, covering his muzzle. Jerry thought he didn't want to look into the face of the dead.

The pony had no clothes; they were lying beside him in a pool of blood. Jerry caught a glimpse of the letters "L" and "D" embroidered on the torn jacket. His eyes involuntarily slid down the body to the huge gash in the lower abdomen. In the next moment, the mouse himself could barely hold back a vomit.

How such a thing could be done to a living creature, and most importantly, why, the mouse had no idea. Even the inscription on the wall, made with a glowing marker, which said, "A creature that is God-damned, lustful", did not explain anything.

Many in the human world hated synthets for their own poverty, for others' happiness, or simply because synthets looked different. And the ponies, who had gained popularity during the show's revival, were often the victims of this hatred.

“Let's get out of here," Jerry said, tugging on the pegasus's ear to get her away from the heartbreaking spectacle, "before another one of those 'god chosen' zealots decides to come back and check out the screaming in the tech tunnels.”

But it was as if Lyra hadn't heard. She sat with her front legs wrapped around her, rocking back and forth and staring off into space.

Scootaloo, her ears pricked back, looked away. She had seen blood and death in her life, and she had become familiar with pain. But she was still a filly from a fairy tale world, and the unpleasant reality still frightened and shocked her.

“Lyra!” the mouse called loudly.

Two tear-filled eyes looked up at him.

“Why, why...” whispered the unicorn, shuddering with sobs. “Why did they do it...? Humans... Why humans... whom I had idolized for half my life... Why like this?!”

It was the first time she had seen death. Especially such a brutal one. Sure, ponies died in Equestria. But usually it was a quiet passing, surrounded by loving hearts, always ready to support and comfort. Accidents were rare in Equestria, and even rarer when they were fatal.

But reality seemed to be deliberately throwing new trials at Lyra, as if having fun with a new, still so naive and inexperienced toy, testing her strength time after time.

Scootaloo came over and hugged the unicorn, rubbing her nose against Lyra's shoulder.

“Fanatics don't spare anyone," Jerry said grimly, "but fortunately these groups aren't very popular. And they're only on the outskirts, where there are plenty of runaway or abandoned synthets that no one will miss.”

Lyra looked into Jerry's eyes again.

“Yeah, like us," the mouse nodded, but immediately regretted it, for the tears came with renewed force.

For a while, the only sounds in the tunnel were dripping water and spasmodic sobs. Jerry felt Scootaloo shudder beneath them.

“C’mon, girls," the mouse said. “Don't cry. We can't help him, and his agony is over.”

“We should... get him down," Lyra said through her sobs.

“No," said Jerry. “There's no place to bury him, nothing to burn, and the rats on the floor will get to him in no time.”

And you won't have to do the dirty, bloody work, little ponies, he added mentally.

“But we can't leave him like this...”

Jerry sighed.

Hand on heart, he didn't like the idea of leaving a tortured pony hanging crucified as well.

But they had nowhere to put the body: the tunnel was in good condition, with solid walls, and there was really nothing to burn. And the dampness of the place wouldn't allow for a proper fire. Even the idea of throwing the body into the stream was abandoned: it was already a long way to the main sewers, and was it better to drown in the filth than hang on the wall?

However, Jerry persuaded the ponies to go. At his urging, they moved away from the horrible place.

The mouse knew he should say something, but the words didn't come. Judging by the ponies' pinned ears, they felt bad too.

“Lyra, could you make a light again?” Scootaloo asked as another area of darkness appeared before them.

“And reveal another nightmare hidden beneath the city?” the unicorn asked with a sob, but the tip of her horn gave off a pale spark that dispelled the darkness.

“We're almost there," Jerry said.

The voices sounded tense. Everyone realized that their thoughts were with the brutally murdered pony, who surely did not deserve such a death.

Soon a rather large grate was revealed, blocking access to a wide tunnel. One of the bars had again been carefully cut by someone and lay nearby. The resulting hole was wide enough for either one of the ponies.

Jerry frowned, remembering how he and Scootaloo had relaxed after arriving in White City and had a quiet breakfast at the summer café. Then a pebble had hit the back of the mouse's head, and Jerry had turned to see the hunters approaching.

They had escaped at the last moment — ten seconds more and the people would have been too close. It was the scooter they'd stolen from the school parking lot that had saved them. Scootaloo couldn't run from an adult human in the open, and her short wings couldn't lift her into the air. In theory, pegasi synthets were able to fly at that age, but why the orange filly's antigravs weren't working, the mouse didn't know. And neither did Scoot.

By all accounts, it looked like someone was unexpectedly helping them. But who? Life had cruelly taught the little synthet that nothing ever came for free. On the other hand, once you'd entered the mousetrap and heard the click of the cage slamming shut, no one could stop you from eating the cheese.

“Jerry, admit it, you're drawn to places like this,” spoke up the ginger pony.

“Don't talk silly. It's shorter and not many people would dare follow us.”

“Huh. You said something like that before we ran into an alligator.”

Lyra almost stumbled when she heard that. “Are there alligators here?!”

Jerry, pleased even at this change of subject, tried to make his voice sound reassuring.

“No, there aren't. The last time we saw one, it was stuck in the bars, so there's nothing to worry about.”

As if in response, a low growl came from some side passage. Three pairs of eyes stared into the darkness, but of course they could see nothing.

“On the other hand," Jerry continued nonchalantly, "we'd better hurry. Anything could be hanging around here in the dark. Personally, I'll feel a lot better when we're safely back home.

The quickened hoofbeats soon faded in the maze of communication tunnels. If anyone could now observe what was happening, they would have seen that an alligator had indeed emerged from a side tunnel. Quietly treading on his crooked paws, shod in rubber boots, clutching a crumpled saxophone in its front paws. And dressed in rags, adorned for some reason with a bow tie.

Coughing, the lizard looked up.

“Am I imagining I’ve heard some voices?” he recited aloud. “Oh, no, it can't be here in the dark night... No, bad, bad. Poor verses. But what a night it is here, underground...” The words were interrupted by a scale played not too successfully on an old saxophone. “Alone, I'm all alone. Just music is with me...”

The alligator thought he heard someone sigh. He turned his head, but except for the shadows dancing in the dim light of the rare lamps, he saw nothing. Only a hundred-credit bill, rolled up in a tube, fell out of nowhere. A real fortune for someone who spent half his life eating garbage and can't even go outside with an expired registration chip.

And now you can make a down payment on your taxes, clean yourself up — and who knows, maybe even get a job as a musician somewhere? Or even as a security guard, because with his strength and teeth, an alligator might have a lot of prospects in a certain place. Anything to escape the loneliness of the underground.

The requirements are simple: you need a "green" chip status.

Which has now become available for that short period of time in which you can change your life.

The synthet alligator smiled and muttered, “I don't know who you are, kind soul, but thanks a lot, whoever you're in life...”

* * *

A sky-blue synthet pony sits in a chair at the table. It's not a very comfortable position for a quadruped, but she doesn't complain. Suddenly, she accepts the ritual offer of a cigarette, ignoring the joke about a drop of nicotine and a horse.[1]

The pegasus relaxes her wings and takes a delightful puff on the cigarette. A trickle of blue smoke floats up to the ceiling.

“How was I to know he'd overdosed?” she answers the investigator's question. “Am I a doctor or what? Besides, I couldn't help him if I wanted to, for I was just strapped upside down on the couch. I couldn't even see what he was wheezing and gurgling 'cause of the blinders, and the bridles wouldn't let me call for help. That's the position they found me in, half-dead from thirst. If you've read the police report, you know this. And pardon me if I don't choke back tears of sorrow. If you look closely at me, you can easily guess why.”

The investigator glances at the horse named Rainbow Dash. Brought in for questioning about her master's sudden death, she is a suspect because she was in the same room with him at the time. But the synthet has an ironclad alibi. Her master pumped himself with a lethal dose of slax while the pegasus was already securely fixed in a pose that prevented any interference for some time.

The synthet sits at the table and smokes, inexplicably managing to keep the thin stick of cigarette in her hoof. Her appearance is a bit of a mess. Short rainbow mohawk, eye shadow, ear piercings. Wide leather bracelets with spikes and rings on all four legs. Apparently her master had forced them on her before to make it easier to strap her in, and then she got used to them. Light horseshoes on her hind legs that clanked like heels when she was brought to the station. The fur around her neck is a little frayed — a sign of frequent collar wear. A sleeveless leather jacket and similarly styled shorts with a seven-colored ponytail sticking out. Just a neo-punk girl, not a cartoon horse.

But most of all, her body is all scarred from the arena and her master's whips. She's had a rough time, for sure.

“The master was a psychotic pervert," someone says through the ajar door, "but at least he was playing with his horse, not living people.”

The investigator doesn't turn around and addresses the synthet, who clenches her teeth and presses her ears together.

“The deceased's relatives haven't asked for you to be euthanized, but they don't want to take you in either. Do you know what that means? You have to support yourself, or you'll be sent to—”

“I can do without human care," the pony interrupts, stubbing out her cigarette on the metal of the table next to the ashtray. "I'm fed up with it. I officially work at the Pony Play's arena. And I play in a band there. I'll just rent a room there, no big deal.”

“Then you're free to go," the investigator says, and a wicked smile spreads across the horse's face. “Don't leave the district until the investigation is over, and renew your registration.”

“Whatever you say... sir.”

The investigator opens the door for the pony, and she drops down on all four legs and heads for the exit. For some reason, the human expects her to walk on two, but when he looks after the pony, he realizes that it was the clothes and the posture of the pony sitting at the office desk that confused him.

“Don't you dare stare at my crotch!” Rainbow Dash says without turning around.

She steps outside and spreads her wings. She stands there, squinting at the rising sun, and suddenly soars upward, uttering the Comanche battle cry.

A few seconds later, the investigator hears a hoarse yell of joy, “FRE-E-E-EDO-O-OM!!!”

As if echoing the blue pegasus, the sky cracks with the thunder of an approaching storm...

Thunder...

The thunder that invaded her mind was probably the sound of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The image from the recent past was dispelled. Rainbow Dash felt herself lying with her cheek on something hard, apparently in a sitting posture. Her tongue was somewhere outside her mouth, which felt like a branch of the Sahara, stuck to the surface where her head lay.

Her eyelids seemed to be nailed shut, but she had to lift them with a herculean effort to at least look into the face of death that was approaching with such a terrible rumble.

The bar was turned on its side and a faceted glass rolled along it, making that apocalyptic sound. The glass was caught by a man's hand. Rainbow felt a deep sense of gratitude for the owner of those chubby fingers, who was none other than Sam the bartender.

“Geez, you guys are perverts!” Dash heard a young girl's voice.

“I'll talk to the bartender," someone, apparently a young man, answered her, "and you—”

“And I'll wait outside!”

Rainbow's tongue flicked off the bar with a nasty sound. The pegasus tried to lift her head, but the world spun around in an instant, pain shot through her neck and her stomach tried to come out of her mouth to tell its owner everything it thought about the amount of alcohol she had drunk.

“Oh..." the pony groaned hoarsely. “Sam, what was I doin’ last night?”

“Drinking," the man said shortly.

“Dammit... did I do anything?”

“Got drunk!”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah. That's it. Just like always.”

Rainbow relaxed as much as she could in a sitting position, resting her head on the bar. How the pegasus managed not to collapse to the floor in her sleep was a mystery.

Could've moved me to the couch, motherfuckers, Rainbow thought angrily, wincing at the shooting pain in her neck and closing her eyes again.

She felt bad. She always felt bad in the morning now, because every night was the same for Dash. First singing with the band (Where the hell did they go, sons of bitches?!), then fighting in the arena, and afterwards drinking heavily. To the point of blackout.

Horse doses of whiskey, Dash thought with a self-ironic grin.

Thoughts flowed lazily. She didn't want to get up. Instead she wanted to lie down. And the whole damn world to stop spinning.

Nearby, Sam was talking to someone. Rainbow listened, and through the noise in her ears she could make out some words.

“Rainbow Dash was talking to her," the bartender said, then added after a pause, "uh... the one with her face on the bar.”

Drop dead, Sam! Rainbow wished him mentally and raised her eyelids again. Someone had sandpapered them from the inside out.

Sam continued, as if deliberately mocking her, "Just make it brief, because she's... well, you see, anyway. She didn't reach the lethal dose by half a glass last night.”

Rainbow couldn't take it anymore.

“Sam! D-dammit, shut up already...!” She struggled to raise her head and stared at the brown-haired guy waiting patiently behind the counter. “What d'ya want?”

The pony noticed that this man did not look at all like the ones she had seen before. Even the jeans and shirt were different. Everything clean, smooth — just unnatural. The communicator bracelet on his arm was kind of ephemeral, too.

And in general, the guy was all cleaned up.

From his neat haircut to the toes of his shiny shoes. And he was wearing a tie, like a dandy. A glittering one.

At the mere sight of the changing colors, the pegasus felt sick again. She looked away hastily.

“Rainbow Dash," the man called cautiously, "may I ask you a question?”

The voice, soft and pleasant in other circumstances, sank into her head like a drill.

“O-o-o-oh..." Dash moaned, clutching at her temples with her hooves, "bitch... If you say... anything to me about banging right now... I swear to heaven, I'll kill you right here.”

The man seemed embarrassed. His friendly smile faded and a slight blush appeared on his cheeks.

“Uh, actually, I'm looking for a pony..." he muttered, but was interrupted when Rainbow laughed. Actually, she started to, but grabbed her head again with a groan.

“Damn you, bitch..." she said in anguish. “Just look around. There are ponies everywhere!”

“But I'm looking for a special pony...”

The pegasus, anger boiling in her chest, tried unsuccessfully to get her butt off the chair.

“Alright!” Dash growled. “Another one. Now I'm gonna get up, and you'll lie down...”

The man threw up his hands. “No, you don't understand. She's a friend of mine!”

“What?!”

Rainbow tried to get up again, but her legs gave out and she hit her jaw on the counter and landed on the floor.

“Are you okay?” the man asked, and Rainbow felt an attempt to grab her front leg.

She yanked her limb away and growled, “Don't touch me! Don't even think about it, got it? From now on, I ain't gonna let nobody grope me...”

The man withdrew his hand and turned away, apparently deciding he wouldn't have any luck with Rainbow. Dash wouldn't know it, but Victor Stewart had never seen such a brutal hangover.

“So who are you looking for, huh, ‘friend’?” Dash asked, rising to her hooves. The world was shaky, but bearable.

“A pale green pony and a...”

“Think I'm a fool, don't ya?” the pegasus interrupted and moved her wings. They obeyed, but not well. And the flight feathers were in need of care.

When was the last time I showered? Not this week, for sure.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ya need Lyra Hear... Heartstrings? Yesterday, yeah. Get me a drink, then I'll get on.”

After a few minutes, Dash had drunk at least a quart of water and half a glass of something strong Vic had ordered, and was able to communicate clearly. Vic's heart clenched at the thought of the vulnerable, sensitive Lyra finding herself in this place at night.

What the Pony Play regulars had shown her, he could only guess.

Now, in the morning, the place looked like an ordinary bar. Except that there were ponies here with the humans. And that was only the company that had stayed, the others had long since left. Victor glimpsed a sleeping man leaning back on a couch in one of the alcoves. Pinkie Pie, dressed in a sports jumpsuit, was lying with her head in his lap, also dozing.

“So you're the idiot who didn't even tell your toy what she is?” Rainbow asked, crunching on the croutons from the bowl Sam had set out.

She was thirsty again, but the croutons were the only snacks left in the bar after the rough night. So she had to wash them down with the warm mineral water she'd grown tired of.

“Firstly, Lyra is not a toy," Victor objected, "and secondly, what have you told her?”

“You gotta watch your synthet," the pegasus mumbled, then added, "Nothing she wouldn't learn sooner or later.”

Victor, who had already drawn a rough picture of what had happened yesterday, realized that he couldn't get much out of Rainbow, who was gradually turning into a shadow of her former self. However, he made another attempt.

“Do you know where Lyra went?”

“No idea... I didn't keep track. But apparently to jump off the bridge.”

Vic shuddered as he imagined the mint unicorn driven to suicide by cruel words and the monstrous sight of the Pony Play.

“Rainbow, how could you?” he asked. “Why? What did she do to you?”

Dash, already feeling lousy, turned away and rested her head back on the bar.

“I don't give a hoot," she muttered softly, "I don't give a hoot about anyone now... Damn it, leave me alone, all of you...”

Vic sighed and got up from his chair. He looked at Seraphima who was obviously tired of waiting outside.

“Did you find out what you wanted?” the girl asked.

“Lyra was here,” Victor replied, “but she left long ago. So distraught that she might have... done something to herself.”

Seraphima wrapped her arms around her shoulders and spoke, “I can understand her. I'm not comfortable with these horses staring at me.”

“They just have big eyes.”

His eyes fell on the chubby guy with Rainbow Dash sitting on the couch opposite him. The blue pegasus was clearly prone to obesity and was now busy gobbling up refined sugar straight from the sugar bowl. Vic wondered if this pony could fly even with antigravs.

It was probably just a case of Rainbow Dash having a "custom" behavioral program in her head.

“When I walk by, they look like I'm gonna hit them!” Seraphima said.

“It's common here, ma'am," the chubby bartender spoke up.

“Don't you feel sorry for them, Sam?” Victor asked.

The bartender shrugged. “I just work here. Nobody asks my opinion.”

Rainbow, who was doing her best to pretend that what was going on didn't concern her, was annoyed by the chatter. That guy who'd fallen from the moon or White City, that girl. Heck, everything was annoying right now!

Fortunately, the two unusual guests left rather quickly. Could it be that they were really looking for a certain pony and not just bitching?

She must have stolen something from them, Rainbow Dash thought. Ah, screw it... Oh, my head...

“Sa-a-am," the pegasus stretched out loud, "Splash for the suffering pony...”

But instead of the cheerful gurgle of alcohol, the bartender's voice came in reply, “Dash, you've got to sing on stage tonight.”

“Drink?”

“Sing! Will you stop drinking?”

Dash lifted her head and stared at Sam in surprise.

“W-wait, what? Sam, honey, are you worried about my bloody health?”

“I'm worried that if you die of alcohol poisoning, Mr. M will take a loss, and so will I. And you've got a band, Dashie. And a new life of your own.”

Rainbow closed her eyes, fighting another bout of dizziness.

“To hell with Mr. M," she muttered, "to hell with the band... to hell with this life...”

Sam didn't argue any further. Another glass of booze rolled over to Rainbow Dash. The pegasus smiled and gulped down the scalding liquid, but her stomach had its own opinion about the new doses of ethanol...[2]

[1] The image: https://th05.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/f/2014/066/9/3/rainbow_dash_vendar_by_darkknightthestral-d799nsx.jpg
[2] The image: https://24.media.tumblr.com/66b559a0aa97e735c39e95e0908d5db3/tumblr_n211n8D19V1rtc7q9o1_1280.jpg