The Shadows of the Moon

“Time's up chummer. Get your ass back in that cell,” the guard laughed as he kicked his charge, a lanky Ork with an almost elven strut, in the back of the leg. He always hated these stupid guard duties. He was a trained Guardsman for Lofwyr's sake. He worshiped a fucking dragon, and got rewarded for it by doing shit jobs like this. He was more than enough to handle one strung-out loser. Especially one who picked an ostentatious name like Discord. Those sorts were generally the kind to get smeared out early, using the big name to try and get power fast, but not having enough power to back the name. He laughed again when the Ork stumbled, before shoving him through the gate into his cell. The door latched securely, and he turned to walk away, to leave the criminal in the cell for the night, when he heard a sound, a clicking of metal. He spun around and glared at the prisoner, who was morosely sitting on the bunk, seemingly focused on the wall across from him.

“What was that noise?” he barked at the prisoner, who just raised his hands and shrugged. He had yet to speak a word during his imprisonment, despite torture. Overseen by the medical technicians of Canterlot Central Asylum, the prisoner had been tortured physically and mentally, all in an effort to draw out what he knew about the rest of his team of shadow-runners. The scum of the street, the Guard had called them. He was just about to turn away when the boy stood and walked up to the bars, “Ready to talk now, scumbag?”

The Ork's snaggletooth looked like it was moving, unnerving him a little, and the guard stepped back. He knew that sometimes prisoners would try to swipe the keys off a guard's belt, and was proud to say that none of his prisoners had ever done so successfully, “Aht, not today. You're going to stay right there and get tortured until you give us the information we want.” He scoffed and turned around, nearly slamming his nose into a bare brown chest covered in scars and tattoos. Familiar ones, like the ones on the prisoner. He turned his head part-way around to look in the cell, and saw the Ork, looking smugly at him. Back around, the one he had almost plowed into. Same person. Same tattoos, same scars, same face. A quick flick of his eyelid opened the AR overlay in his cybereye, and he scanned both. Identical SIN, identical status. He stepped back and spun to the one outside the cell, who had started transforming.

Before the unnerved guard, the Ork prisoner tranformed into a hideous monster that looked like the spare parts bin at the 'Body Shoppe', with grotesque limbs sticking out at painful to look at angles. The creature stepped forward, pushing the guard back against the bars, where he realized he had made a mistake.

“Fuckin' stim-head. You should know ostentatious means we burn out quickly, or,” that hiss was definitely not natural, “We get Good. I got Good. That's why I'm here. I'm here to gather something for my dear Fluttershy.” Daniel was far and above whatever tier this guard was at, and he knew it. His teeth ground against each-other as the patterns on his wrists started heating up and glowing. One glowing hand reached through the bars and grabbed the guard's arm, the heat shimmering in the air without burning, “Now, listen to my voice.”

“No. I'm trained to resist mind control, and I have augments that protect my mind from incursion.”

“Ooh, a big word guard. Very well, mister 'Trained-to-resist', here. Have a little push,” the guard stumbled forward, almost collapsing on the floor as his arm slipped from Discord's grasp, “Now, let's try that again. Listen to my voice.”

“Yes sir. What is it you require? Food, water, a softer pillow?”

“I would like you to go to the evidence locker. You will go inside, gather the artifacts labeled Fiona Hawke. You will bring them to me. Then you will go down town and shoot yourself in the head.”

“I am sorry, this unit is restricted from committing those criminal actions. Please hold while you are incarcerated for attempting to...” the voice cut off as Discord grabbed the guard's throat and crushed it in his hand, tossing him aside like a sack of feed.

“I fucking hate when they do that. Hey, Trixie, I know you're watching. Talk to me.”

The guard made a gargling noise like his crushed throat was attempting to work, and Discord frowned at it, “I crushed the larynx. You can't use that meat-puppet anymore,” a small rolling drone scooted into the room and stopped very far outside his reach, “Ah, there you are. That toy's a little small for you isn't it, Beatrix?”

The drone made a coughing sound, “You bastard. Do you know how much it costs to train security guards? Now I have more work to do, and I can't even send in Sentry to watch you because you're too high priority for him to risk. Fucker...”

“Oh, so you're still getting rutted by Orange Lightning then? Tell me, has he gotten past the three second mark yet?”

“What the hell does that matter?”

“Cause and effect, dear Beatrix. You perform the horizontal tango with a wage-zombie, you become a data-slave. A corporate whore,” he leaned casually against the wall of his cell, “Tell me then, if you're so satisfied with him, why do you watch me every time I step into the 'fresher?”

A sputtering sound emanated from the drone, and it spun to wheel away, “Hey, Trixie, before you leave, could I get a favor from you?” It stopped, almost like the drone was debating listening to his question, “Could you go tell your little orange toy that Discord's coming for him? That I'm going to cut off his dangly little fiddly-bits and shove them down his throat with a fork?”

“Why would you do that to Flash?”

“Because he hurt Fluttershy. Because I think it's only fair to get equal vengeance for my maiden,” anyone watching Discord on the astral plane would have noticed that his aura was glowing like a beacon, blindingly bright and focused. Trixie didn't see any of that.