Boom Bang

Eight years after the Grand Return of His Grace of the Infinite, Bringer of Progress, and True King of Equestria

Trottingham, Equestria

Rain splattered against the window of the brick and mortar building, crafting intricate patterns of screaming faces on the weathered glass.  Outside the air is thick with a smog like substance that floats just above the streets like some sort of ethereal sentinel.  The streets are empty at this hour, something that would seem odd almost a decade ago is the new norm.  What ponies do mill about all bear the standard of his Grace of the Infinite, his hand that reaches across this land coats their hearts.  None dare go out until the Hand of the Infinite are gone, so they do not leave till it is time for the populace to wake.  Their sharp pointed ears shift back and forth as seemingly blind eyes stare ahead of them,  Milky white pupils filled with twisting forms of grey, like parasites of the eye.  Their once thick manes are covered by plated armor, tubes inserted at intervals pump multi colored fluid into and out of their bodies.  Coats that may have once been normal seem more like scaly latticework now, impervious to magic.  Their hooves are hidden beneath great metallic shoes that reach to just below their knees, where they merge with the false skin.  These are His Hands, His eyes, and they ensure that this kingdom of Equestria stays under his control.

Many of these Hands were once those known by the locals, residents of this town that is now a small city.  Once known for it's fine armor and playwrights, Trottingham is now a city of factories.  Most of Equestria's power comes from this now filthy polluted area.  And many who once chose to live here wish for nothing more than to leave.   Old families hide what remains of their kin from the Hands as best they can, and whisper tales of the time before in hushed words under the streets.  Vendors are no longer on the streets selling their wares, but stuffed into buildings where they are allotted a specific time to sell and create.  That is if they were lucky enough to be allowed to continue to craft, many of the residents now work in the factories.  The great monsters that belch this forsaken substance that coats everything in a veneer of grime and muck, turning even young foals coats a muddy dark hue.

The great power factories purify energy brought to Trottingham from all over, and distill it for use before it is transported along the great metal pipes that cross the land.  Shuddering and sparking, the substance within cannot be called magic or natural by any sane mind.  Those who work the pipe lines seem to age at double speed, their bodies poisoned by it's presence.  Some say they hear whispers from the purification tanks, and rumors of spread of what happens to workers who can't make their quota.  However rumors are just rumors, and to the public's knowledge no worker has ever been tossed into the processing vats.

Then again, there is very little information that is untouched by his Hands so rumors could be more than they seem.  The dull coats of the factory workers have turned varying shades of grey, with hints of their once lustrous colors barely peeking through.  Foals born after His Return mostly have coats that are naturally oily and slick, hairs that look more like latticework scales are not uncommon.  It is seen as a sign of His blessing, and for those whose who give birth to such gifts they are taken from the factories and Trottingham itself.  Though that is if they are lucky enough to bear foals at all.  Many in Trottingham speak of other things being borne in place of foals.  Monstrous freaks that are cast out or hidden away, such things did not happen before.  But then again, there is no reason to dwell on the past.

The grimy cobblestone of Trottingham is his domain, as is the rest of Equestria.  There is Manehatten, where great advances are made as grand devices are crafted in his name.  All fashion is designed to please His eyes, and the once vibrant lifeblood of the city has dimmed to a quiet pulse.  It is rumored that old ways have resurfaced, and that fiends in pony form walk that city that never rests.  But rumors are merely rumors, what he says is truth and he speaks these rumors not.

Hoofington is supposed to have been wiped out three years ago after an attempted rebellion, the inhabitants refused to bow to his law.  Where the township once stood great trees now grace it's land, none can enter that wood for the cursed ones still walk within.  Other towns met similar fates, though the reason why his forces cannot combat the trees is not known.  It could simply be that he cares not to destroy these trees, as he did the rest.  Every king needs a forest to hunt in after all.

Canterlot is His home, little is known of it outside the grand dome and lights that can be seen from afar.  Most of the power generated in Trottingham is routed there, though to power what few know.  According to the news Canterlot is the most advanced of all the cities.  A paradise where all residents are given whatever they need to live, and ponies don't need to scrounge for food.  It is said that the old squabbles of nobles were crushed by the King, and a new system of nobility exists in it's stead.  However in Canterlot all have a chance at a good life, and so many plead to gain entrance.  However those who enter the King's City never may leave, for their own protection of course.  Then again if the news about it is true, why would anyone want to leave?

Outside the cities and towns most of Equestria is now a barren land, with factories and factory farms dotting the landscape.  Dead grass cracks under hoof, and lines of criminals clear and construct new areas for His Grace the Infinite.  The griffin lands have barred travel to Equestria, and none have heard from the outside in a very long time.  The Crystal Empire has not spoken or responded to calls for aid, and is presumed lost.  It is possible the words the King spoke are true and he is the only reason Equestria still stands.  No news or information is printed or broadcast without his say, his Hands see all.  The radios spread his voice and more to the lands, as all live in tune to the new rules he set.

Obey and move towards the future,

Do not question the King or His hands.

The False Diarchs are gone, Order has returned.

Work for Order, strive towards Order.

The Monstrous and Wild shall be Purged or Altered.

Every time of the day, do as the schedule bids, do not deviate.

Bring forth the new world of progress, the infinite kingdom, the future of Equestria.

Do not rebel, for loyalty to his Hands shall bring prosperity to all.

All shall bow to The Infinite King of Equestria, true heir to the throne.

This is the world ponies know now, and some are too young to recall what it was like before.

In a simple hovel on the far edge of Hoofington woods, eyes stare out of greyed windows with one way panes.  Time has passed strangely for her, each year while other move forwards she remains the same.  The world has changed much when she left the Sanctuary of Everfree to see what lay beyond.  That was four years ago today, and to her knowledge the plan has gone smoothly.  Her hoof turns an old dial upon a great machine, it's existence is the key to changing things.  The False King has taken control over everything, information is all altered to suit his plans.  It has taken years to crack the code on the radio signals, but finally she has done it.

Sitting down upon an aged studio chair, she pulls out a series of CD's and inserts them into a banned device.  Her favored instrument, a gift from her mentor in the sanctuary.  A pink and purple mane is styled in a way her sister would find appalling, falling over her back in great waves and braids on one side.  It contrasts with her off white pearl coat, that though well maintained is slightly shaggy in some places.  Her hooves are covered by a pair of DJ gloves, and her eyes hidden by a pair of black designer glasses.  Indeed she is far from chic, then again fashion hasn't existed for almost a decade.

Adjusting the dial once more, she flicks a switch.  Static fills the air as lights blink to life, finally the screen flickers before her.  An icon indicating success finally shines through.  With a flourish she brings forth a microphone from the tables edge, turning it on she clears her throat.

In a smooth dulcet voice with an edge she does her best to mimic her mentor, DJ-P0N3.

"Hello Equestria, this is the Radio Rebel coming to you live from Revolution HQ.  It's been a dark near decade, with the False King on his throne and monsters in the streets.  Today it might change, or perhaps tomorrow.  But either way here are some sweet, illicit, tones and tunes to light a fire in your heart.  Music will always set you free my friends, so here is a sweet dose of freedom just for you!"

Her hoof flicks a switch as a great sound echoes through the nearby town.  Radios are turning on by themselves and broadcasting her message and melodies.  The Radio Rebel thinks she has prepared a wonderful lineup for today.  Starting out with the classic Dancing in the Sun, it will quickly loop to music designed to excite and instigate.  One of her own personal songs, Sweet Revolution, is in the queue today.  It's based off of an old family song, she hopes her audience likes it.  Not like she will ever know if they do.

Her eyes glance to a series of pictures on the walls, one in particular makes her give a sad sigh.  In it is a younger version of herself, standing next to a gorgeous unicorn mare with a white coat and purple mane.  The mare's cutie mark is three diamonds, and her eyes are smiling at the camera.  It is one of the few things she took with her from the sanctuary.  She glances out the one way window and whispers to no one.

"I'll find you sister, if it takes five or ten more years I'll find you.  Just hold on till I get there, wherever you are.  Tell the others to hang on too.  We are trying our best out here, Equestria isn't lost yet.  Deep down I know you are still out there, so don't give up.  Help is on the way."

The Radio Rebel turns back to her music system and continues her musical rebellion, the hope of a nation thought lost renewed as she continues her work.  This is her part of the plan, it is up to the others to do the rest.