Mass Core 3: Thebe Paridigm

“Sit.” Eloth pointed across the room with one gloved finger toward the inclined metal bed that she had only woken up on just hours before.

Scootaloo steeled herself, and then climbed with some difficultly onto the high table. As she did, she was startled to see a pair of blue eyes staring back her from next to the door. In her state of concentration and mental preparation, she had not noticed Bob sitting in a chair against the wall, her long and dirty hair over her chest and her hands in her skirt waistband as though it were pockets.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Scootaloo.

Bob removed her left hand from her waistband and removed the cigarette she had been smoking from her mouth. “What does it look like I’m here for? I’m going to watch. See, I even brought popcorn.” She lifted a small bag of small yellow-tan kernels.

“It isn’t popped.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m going to pop it on your forehead when your brain starts to boil out your ears.”

“It does not actually do that,” said Eloth, attaching several straps to Scootaloo’s limbs. “It is rather difficult for a boiling brain to exit by any orifice, especially the ears.”

“What are the straps for?” asked Scootaloo, pulling one of her hooves away before Eloth could finish securing her. “I don’t want to be strapped down.”

Eloth stared at her for a moment. “This process can have…violent reactions.” He took off one of his gloves, and Scootaloo saw the blackened skeletal hand beneath. She had known that Eloth was a machine, but seeing direct evidence of it immediately gave her second thoughts about her decision. “The last woman I tried this on did this to me.”

Bob stood up. As she did, she slipped off her skirt and kicked it to the side. Scootaloo was not sure why, but this made her extremely nervous.

“Please,” said Eloth. “Can you PLEASE keep your clothes on?”

“What?” said Bob, “you don’t like the view?”

“I am ambivalent to the view. You aren’t very attractive.”

“And yet you still do me.”

“Only because you programmed me to.”

“Eh.” Bob shrugged and took a deep drag on her cigarette. “I figure if she can go around naked, so can I. I mean, if ponies can do it, so can humans, right?” She walked over to Scootaloo and stood beside her, staring down with a strange disingenuous smile on her face. “You do realize this is going to kill you, right?”

“I’m not going to die.”

“Oh! Confidence! How goddamn quaint!” Bob leaned in close, and Scootaloo could smell her. She had the odor of decaying meat. “You’re not a Justicar. You’re not a wizard or somesuch. Do you even know what your chances are?”

“I will. Not. DIE.”

This time, Bob smiled sincerely. She then pulled the cigarette out of her mouth and extinguished it on the side of Scootaloo’s neck.

Scootaloo winced and released a hiss of pain, but she did not allow herself to cry out even with how much it hurt.

“Is that really necessary?” said Eloth.

Bob ignored him. “That’s what you get,” she said to Scootaloo, “for making promises you don’t intend to keep to my daughter. I hope your right. Don’t break her heart. Not like this.”

With that, Bob stood up and shoved the still smoldering cigarette into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed it, and then began to return to her seat.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” said Eloth, moving behind Scootaloo to where she could not see him.

“The cancer hasn’t killed me yet, and I don’t think it ever will. Besides, they’re not even tobacco. I’m not a moron.” She produced another one. Scootaloo did not ask from where. “They’re filled with little pieces of paper soaked in PCP.”

Scootaloo tried to lift her line of sight to Eloth, but with her incline it was impossible to see him. “How much is this going to hurt?”

“I do not know,” said Eloth. “I would assume a lot.”

“Great.” Scootaloo looked across the room at Bob, who was eating another of her cigarettes. “Does it?”

She shrugged. “How the heck should I know? He never does it to me? Not that he hasn’t tried.”

“Her brain is infested by the light of the Wretched Ones. Unfortunately, there is not enough left to attempt to indoctrinate.”

“Are you ready?” asked Bob.

“I’m always ready,” said Eloth.

“Scoots?”

“This is what I want,” she said, trying to convince herself of that fact. “Do it.”

Bob leaned back and looked up, presumably at Eloth. “Light her up!”

Scootaloo felt a pair of cold, mechanical hands on the side of her head. Before she had a chance to react to how disgusting they felt, she realized that she was screaming. The world around her seemed to swim, and then depart at high speed away from her, as if she were falling down a vast hole at a speed much quicker than anything that gravity could produce.

After what felt like hours- -and what felt like less than a second- -she felt her body slam into something hard. It hurt substantially, but despite the length of the fall nothing was broken. Slowly, Scootaloo stood up to see herself surrounded by a seemingly infinite plane constructed of perfectly flat tiles outlined with dim red light. The sky above was black, but it seemed to be emitting a sound of some sort. A low humming that Scootaloo felt reaching inside her, changing the way she perceived everything around her. Instead of pain, the sound of the hum made her feel strangely calm.

“Hello, Scootaloo,” said a voice beside her. Scootaloo turned sharply to see a human-height pile of abstract, red lines and geometric shapes standing beside her. The shapes turned toward her, and Scootaloo could see that they bore a pair of enormous, glowing red eyes.

“Eloth?”

“You are correct,” he said.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?”

“I am Eloth.”

“That’s not what I mean. Are you trying to be my spirit animal or something?”

Eloth reached out with an appendage made of light and pointed to a space two meters from Scootaloo. There was a flash of red light that took a wireframe shape and then developed into a physical object. In a flash, there was a living chicken standing in front of her. It stared at Scootaloo and squawked loudly.

“Okay,” said Scootaloo, “I’m seriously getting tired of that joke.”

“Joke?” Eloth seemed confused. “It was supposed to be a duck.” He stared at it. “That has never happened before. Strange.”

Scootaloo looked at Eloth’s abstract representation. “Something’s wrong,” she said.

“Yes. Your neural architecture is under over nine hundred percent the normal safe level of stress.”

“No, I expected that. Why do I feel like I really…I don’t know, it’s like I’m actually starting to like you.”

“Ah. That’s the indoctrination. Don’t worry, it’s normal. Probably. It does mean we need to hurry, though.”

The world began to shift, the tiles of the floor rising and shifting, their color changing as they split apart and reconfigured. Scootaloo felt as though she were moving extremely quickly, and she instinctively closed her eyes as the protean world washed over her, the tons of material rushing past her with tremendous force.

She was not sure how long she been pressing her eyes closed when she opened them and saw herself. For a moment, she was confused, but then remembered that she had been looking in a mirror. There she stood, dressed in a formal Priestess uniform, her long rainbow-dyed hair tied into a neat bun.

“Damn it,” swore Scootaloo as she tried to tug her white uniform into better alignment. As she did, she picked up a silver-colored wing guard in her teeth and attempted to attach it to one of her wings. The piece of jewelry was already difficult to handle; it had been made especially for Scootaloo’s small and flightless wings, and as such was tiny. Compounding the difficulty was the fact that Scootaloo was almost entirly unable to reach her own wings. She struggled and stretched, but then slipped. The silver piece clattered to the floor.

Scootaloo stared at it, and it made her unduly at her own inadequacy. It was not a complicated piece of jewelry, something that any Pegasus could wear if she wanted to- -but to Scootaloo, it was another reminder that she could not fly and never would be able to.

A different face appeared in the mirror, and Scootaloo turned to see a blue unicorn with long, white hair beside her. She was dressed in her own uniform, which was equivalent to Scootaloo’s except for the fact that it was open in the back to accommodate the extensive metal implants and ports that emerged from its wearer’s spine. Trixie had compensated for that with a cape, and likewise had arranged her hair to cover the pieces of metal imbedded in her left temple.

“Here,” she said, picking up the pieces of jewelry in her magic and pulling back Scootaloo’s wings. There was a click as she affixed them. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” said Scootaloo, still somewhat ashamed that she was not able to put on her own jewelry. She turned her body in the mirror. “Do you think silver looks good? It doesn’t make them look too small, does it?”

“I don’t know why you’re obsessed with your wing size. Is that a Pegasus thing? I think they look cute. They make me feel big and powerful.” She bent her neck and licked the tip of Scootaloo’s right wing, and Scootaloo shivered. “I don’t know why you insist on wearing the guards, though. Or wearing your hair like that. I mean, your hair is not as amazing as Trixie’s,” she patted part of her own long, perfect mane that draped down across the top of her horn, “but it is pretty down.”

“It’s a formal event,” said Scootaloo. “The Princess wants us to meet with a critical diplomat. I have to dress appropriately, don’t I?”

Trixie suppressed a giggle. “You’re not in the navy anymore, Scootaloo.”

“No, but I am a Priestess.”

“High Priestess,” corrected Trixie.

“Either way, I still have an image to uphold. We’re representing Equestria.”

“By wearing armor.”

“FORMAL armor. And besides.” Scootaloo lifted one of her wings. “Don’t you recognize them? You got them for me on our last anniversary. It always makes me feel a little better, like you’re there with me even when you’re not.”

“Aww,” said Trixie. She lowered her head and kissed Scootaloo, then extended her magic behind her to bring down a tall, pointed hat. “Well, the Great and Powerful Trixie is going to wear a hat.”

“A hat? Seriously?”

“I have to keep my horn covered. I would hate to make Twilight jealous.”

They both laughed, and the memory shifted again, reconstructing itself quickly. Scootaloo found herself standing in a different part of the Temple; instead of the dwelling that she and Trixie shared, she had moved to the Central Hall. It was an enormous room that had only recently been completed, and although it was built of comparatively simple materials the design that Twilight had chosen always impressed Scootaloo greatly, even if she would never be able to navigate the upper sections on her own power.

What had always been strange about the room, though, was the fact that it never really contained guards. Scootaloo had brought the lack of defense up in several meetings, but Twilight always seemed to dismiss it. She instead chose to staff the Temple strictly with Priestesses- -of whom there were now about ten- -and with several high-grade breeders. Scootaloo assumed this was a kind of holdover from the years Twilight had spent as a Core, trapped in the center of the Harmony with a crew that more often than not consisted only of Rainbow Dash and a horde of robotic drones.

As they walked across the room, Trixie and Scootaloo were joined by several other Priestesses. Among them was young Pegasus mare named Dusty Plume who bounded to Scootaloo’s side.

“High Priestess!” she said, almost in awe and clearly excited by her first time playing the role of a diplomat. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Just ‘Scootaloo’ is fine,” said Scootaloo.

“I, however,” said Trixie, “shall be addressed as ‘the Great and Powerful Trixie’. Ideally with a rolled ‘r’. Like Trrrrrixie.”

“Oh,” said Dusty Plume, her eyes wide. “I didn’t realize, Priestess Tr- -I mean the Great and Powerful Trix…Trrrrrix…Trrrrrrrrrrererereix- -”

“She’s joking,” said Scootaloo. “You know that, right?”

“What? Oh, well, I…I know now.” She started jumping as she walked.

“Stop that,” said Scootaloo. “You look like a clingon.”

“I’m just so excited!” squeaked the young Pegasus. “This is the first time I’ve done this! Look how pretty my uniform is! And I get to be here with you!”

“Are you hitting on my wife?” said Trixie, glaring at Dusty Plume. “Because I believe that warrants a paddling.”

“No, not a paddling! I didn’t- -I wasn’t- -I didn’t mean- -”

“She’s joking,” said Scootaloo.

“Yeah. I am,” said Trixie. “I mean, she’s the sister of the avatar of the Element of Loyalty. If there’s any pony I can trust to be faithful, it’s her.”

“Aww! You two are so cute! I feel so inspired!”

“Inspired? By what?”

“By what? By you! Both of you! Before Twilight took command of Equestria, open homosexuality was a capital offense! But now look at you two! Two of the most powerful ponies in Equestria!”

Trixie seemed greatly pleased by being reffered to as powerful. Scootaloo felt more pleased that she had been some help, even if she had never intended to be in that way. She had not married Trixie to make some kind of political statement. It had been because she loved her. In a way, she supposed, it fell into the old cliché of a captain falling in love with a Core- -except instead of a cautionary tale where one or both partners ends up dead, this story had a happy ending.

“So do you to that way?” asked Scootaloo, feeling her eyes falling onto Dusty Plume’s young but strong wings.

“I do,” she said. She leaned close to Scootaloo. “I was actually thinking about asking Priestess Starlight on a date when she gets back.”

“Um, no,” said Scootaloo. “Starlight doesn’t go that way.”

“I don’t think she goes any way at all,” said Trixie. “Except maybe with Twilight.”

“Eew. No way.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you can’t feel it. I’d bet all the bits in my left pocket they’re rubbing horns in their spare time.”

“You don’t have pockets,” said Dusty Plume, clearly not getting the joke.

“Just try to stay calm,” said Scootaloo, seeing that they were quickly approaching Twilight. “Remember: you’re a Priestess. Be dignified, be courteous, be strong.”

“Dignified. Courteous. Strong. Got it.”

Dusty Plume managed to contain herself just as the group reached Twilight. She looked as impressive as ever, with her violet and pink hair combed neatly over her long alicorn horn and running back against her resplendent wings. She looked at Scootaloo and Trixie and smiled, not showing her teeth. That was an anomaly that Scootaloo had noticed; Twilight never, ever showed her teeth.

“Princess,” said Scootaloo, bowing.

“You don’t have to do that, High Priestess,” said Twilight, sounding embarrassed.

“She is a stickler for formality,” sighed Trixie.

Scootaloo stood and took another look at Twilight. A distant memory surfaced in her mind, and she tried to push it away. The first few years with Twilight had been somewhat awkward, largely in that when Scootaloo looked at her she was reminded of an orgy she had had in her youth with several of Twilight’s clones.

Instead, she turned her attention to the pony that Twilight was standing with. She was a somewhat tall white earth-pony mare with blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Scootaloo assumed her to be the diplomat.

“Rainbow hair,” she said. “An interesting choice.”

“Hopefully not to garish, ma’am.”

“No, no. I like it.”

Scootaloo smiled, and was about to thank her for the compliment when she heard a distant commotion from the far side of the room. Scootaloo turned, only to be knocked back as an explosion tore through the door to the hall. The world seemed to slow, and Scootaloo’s military training rushed back to her.

Through the smoke, she could hear the sound of automatic weapons. Several of the nearest Priestesses fell, their bodies torn apart by the gunfire, and a horde of armored ponies pushed through the crowd. The surviving Priestesses who were unicorns charged their magic in defense of their Princess, but there were too few of them to hold back the oncoming group of soldiers.

“There she is!” cried on, pointing to Twilight. “DEATH TO THE TYRANT!”

Several of the forward soldiers opened fire in Twilight’s direction. Scootaloo drove to the side, pushing Trixie to the ground. Several bullets pinged off her armor, and although it felt like getting struck by a hammer, they did not manage to penetrate. Dusty Plume was not so lucky; like every Priestess save for Scootaloo and Starlight, her clothing was simple cloth. Scootaloo had not been able to save her, and she screamed as the bullets passed through her small body easily.

Scootaloo hit the ground hard, gasping from the pain of nonlethal but still potent bullet impacts.

“Watch out!” cried Trixie. Scootaloo looked up to see one of the revolutionaries charge them, swinging his bayonet toward Scootaloo’s head. Before he could reach her, though, he was knocked back by a surge of blue light from Trixie’s horn. Instead of being thrown or injured, though, his armor reacted, absorbing the magic and dissipating it.

“What?” said Trixie, confused as to why her power was barely working against him.

The soldier shook off Trixie’s attack and charged again. Trixie raised her horn to fire, but Scootaloo pushed her out of the way before soldier could reach her- -and in doing so, she put herself in his path.

Then in an instant the atmosphere of the room seemed to ignite. The soldier was picked up off the ground, impaled through the chest by a construct of pink-violet energy. He gasped and screamed in agony as the magic began to seep through his body, tearing him apart internally on a molecular level, burning him from within.

Scootaloo turned to see that the entire room was flooded with the same light. The floor and walls were saturated in it as it poured throughout the hall like flame, hardening into vicious spikes wherever it met opposition. Whoever they were, their armor had been meant to deflect magic- -and it had been completely overwhelmed.

Twilight stepped forward, her body ablaze with the same light, twisting her magic in the bellies of those who had been attempting to kill her. She seemed to be relishing the chorus of their screams, and to Scootaloo’s horror, she saw that Twilight was smiling. Scootaloo had known Twilight for years. They had been friends even before Twilight had been freed from her life as a Core. Twilight had officiated her and Trixie’s wedding; Scootaloo knew her to be a kind and just ruler, a bit aloof or technical at times but truly concerned with her subjects and their wellbeing.

In that instant, though, Scootaloo saw the cold of her eyes and her long, sharp teeth. As if the death and pain she had created in an instant meant nothing to her apart from a source of amusement. Scootaloo had never witnessed the power of a god before, but when she Twilight’s expression, she knew that what she had become was not her friend at all.

One of Twilight’s cold, empty eyes drifted toward Scootaloo, staring at her for a moment, as if she knew what Scootaloo was thinking. Scootaloo froze, and for a moment she seriously through that she was going to die. That Twilight would strike her down without hesitation or remorse- -but without anger or hatred. Simply to see her die.

Inexplicably, though, Twilight turned back to her path. She walked over the bodies of her Priestesses without so much as noticing and approached one of the soldiers who she had not stabbed but ensnared in her magic. When she was close enough, she tilted her head slightly. Her magic shifted, tearing the armor free of her captive, who turned out to be a smallish white unicorn mare.

The magic shifted again, lowering the entrapped mare to eye level with Twilight. Even at a distance, Scootaloo could see the fear on the mare’s face, the horror and disbelief that all of her forces had been defeated instantly as she was forced to listen to the sound of their bodies being reaved apart.

“Now,” said Twilight, her voice perfectly calm and measured in such a way that gave Scootaloo chills. “Is there something you wanted to speak with me about?”

“We…we won’t give up,” said the mare, now starting to cry. She closed her eyes. “You…you monster!”

“Monster?” said Twilight, once again smiling far enough to reveal her teeth. She pulled the mare closer to her, and when the mare saw Twilight’s face up close she promptly urinated. Scootaloo did not blame her; if she had been forced to be so close to Twilight in this state, she would have too. “I’m not the one who came into a place of worship and slew a group of unarmed young mares.”

“Worsh- -worship of a false god!” said the mare, clearly recalling what she had been coached to believe. “Only Celestia and Luna are true goddesses! You are a- -a despot! A dictator! And we will not rest until democracy is restored to Equest- -”

Twilight’s magic slashed to the side, instantly disemboweling the mare and spreading her innards in a long streak across the room. The mare gaped and the screamed the most horrible scream that Scootaloo had ever heard.

Then, as quickly as she had produced it, Twilight retracted her magic. The bodies of the soldiers fell, their charred remains still smoldering within their burnt-out armor and filling the hall with the scent of cooking meat. The one surviving mare collapsed into sobbing, desperately trying to pull her intestines back into her body.

“Democracy?” said Twilight in a tone of absolute contempt, putting her metal-clad hoof on the mare’s head, pushing her against the ground. “The Parliament? Rule your precious nobility? White unicorns like you, perhaps?” She kicked the unicorn in the head, knocking her across the floor. The mare cried out, but she had lost too much blood to be able to resist much. “No. We’ve tried democracy. And it failed us.” She leaned close to the mare. “I am your goddess now. I am you ruler. Now, and for all eternity. And any pony who stands in opposition to me, whether they be reactionary or revolutionary?” She laughed. “I will crush them. As I did you, and as I will do to all of those who think like you.”

She turned around and helped up one of the less injured surviving Priestesses. “Orangeseed,” she said, addressing her by name, “go. Get the servants, the ones with medical training. Call for help.”

Orangeseed nodded and galloped off past the bodies and the now limp disemboweled mare. Not that it would do much good, though. Some of the Priestesses had survived, but not many. Those that had died had died hard.

Behind her, Scootaloo saw Trixie futilely trying to stop Dusty Plume’s bleeding. Twilight, though, seemed hardly to notice as she returned to the diplomat she had been standing beside earlier.

“My apologies,” she said. “I certainly did not intend for you to witness such a disgraceful display.”

“No,” said the blue-eyed mare, completely unfazed by her surroundings. “I take no offense in it. In fact, it has been quite…informative.”

The world faded and changed again. It felt different this time, though. Scootaloo became conscious of the humming growing louder, and the shifting of the memory was physically painful.

She found herself in bed, staring up at the ceiling as the early-morning sun shone through one of the high windows in the Temple. Scootaloo lay beneath the soft sheets, naked, staring at the intricate design installed into the ceiling. It was an abstract pattern, but for some reason Scootaloo could not help but feel like the two large circles in the center resembled a pair of eyes. As she contemplated this, she felt a hoof slide across her chest and a soft pony body against her left side.

“Scootaloo? Is something the matter?”

Scootaloo turned her head to the side and stared into the deep scarlet eyes staring back at her.

“No, Wintry,” she said, putting her foreleg between Wintrygust’s neck and the bed, pulling her closer. “I just feel a little off.”

“It’s the incident, isn’t it?”

Scootaloo sighed. “Yeah.”

“Scootaloo…I’m so sorry. What you must have gone through…”

“They say Dusty Plume isn’t going to walk again. Trixie won’t stop crying. And…” She paused. “The diplomatic relations went off without a hitch.”

Wintrygust inhaled sharply and held Scootaloo tightly. “I’m so sorry about Trixie. She’s such a nice pony. I’ll have flowers sent to her. Perhaps I will visit in person to help cheer her up.”

“I think she would like that,” said Scootaloo, making a mental note not to be there when Wintry and Trixie were in the same room. They got along well, but them being in the same place always made Scootaloo feel ashamed of herself. Old habits died hard, though. “It’s not just that, though.” She paused. “Wintry, I think something’s wrong with Twilight.”

“Wrong? After what she witnessed, I would not be surprised.”

“No. Not that.”

“Not that? Then is she ill?”

“No. I just…I don’t know. A suspicion, I guess.”

Wintrygust leaned over Scootaloo, her perfect white wings spreading out behind her like those of an angel. She began kissing Scootaloo, and Scootaloo felt the same skip in her heart as the first time they had lain together. She kissed back.

“Don’t worry about that now,” she said. “I was so afraid when I heard what happened. I’m just so glad you’re alive. Twilight is a good ruler. She has already done so much for my people. She will be fine.”

Scootaloo put her right hoof on the side of Wintry’s perfect face and stroked her soft white fur. It felt strange, though. As if her right front hoof were only barely there, like it was not supposed to be for some reason.

Wintry smiled. “I love you, Scootaloo.”

“I love you too, Wintry.”

Wintry lowered herself and began kissing Scootaloo’s neck, moving down across her body and pushing back the sheets from her final destination. Scootaloo spread her legs in anticipation, hoping that Witnry would be able to make her forget the hauntingly empty way that Twilight had stared at her that day, and the way she had been able to kill so easily without any hesitation or remorse whatsoever.

Another change. This time Scootaloo was walking through one of the Temple halls. Ahead of her, she saw a unicorn in a black uniform emerge from a side hallway. Scootaloo immediately picked up pace, brushing past an orange mare with violet hair that was passing in the opposite direction. Scootaloo almost paused as a strange sensation passed over her, as though something was wrong, but she ignored it and caught up with the unicorn.

“Starlight,” she said, falling into step with her friend. “You’re back.”

“Yes,” said Starlight. “The rebellion in the Pupper system has been contained. I also stopped in the Crystal Empire for the Ascendance festival to give Twilight’s regards to her sister-in-law. I have several long reports for Twilight. You know how much she loves to read them.”

“I’m sure you heard what happened while you were gone.”

“I did.”

“You don’t sound very concerned.”

Starlight shrugged. “Why should I be?”

“Seven Priestesses were killed. One was crippled.”

“Which is a tragedy in its own right. But we’re soldiers. They knew the risk.”

“No. You and me WERE soldiers. They’re just a bunch of fillies who didn’t expect machine-gun wielding revolutionaries to burst in on them during a diplomatic meeting!”

“And I will head the investigation myself into where the heretics managed to acquire mass-effect weaponry. I will also grieve for our fallen sisters, as should you. But when Twilight is involved, I am not concerned. I have faith in her.”

“As a goddess.”

“No,” said Starlight, stopping. “As a friend. She is more powerful than you could imagine, Scootaloo. She can take care of herself.” Starlight extended one of her hooves, and her omnitool appeared around it. She inspected it. “I see,” she sighed, closing it. “Scootaloo, I need to go.”

“Starlight,” said Scootaloo as Starlight moved to leave. “Before you go…”

“What is it, Scootaloo?”

“Have you noticed anything different about Twilight?”

“Different?” Starlight seemed confused, but she considered the question for a long moment before answering. “No. She is the same as she has been since I have known her.” Her expression became more serious. “Why, Scootaloo? Do you think something is wrong with her? Is she sick? I told her working this hard would catch up to her! She may be an alicorn, but- -”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” Scootaloo paused, and then looked into Starlight’s gray cybernetic eyes. “What she did there…to the revolutionaries…”

“She eliminated the opposition,” said Starlight, dismissivly. “Don’t fall for their lies, Scootaloo. They may claim to be for ‘democracy’, but they’re really just puppets for the old nobility. The last time we had ‘democracy’, I wasn’t even considered to be alive. Half of them are seriously pushing to lift the moratorium on Core production. The nobles claim that Equestria will fall if we can’t build more Core-based ships.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Scootaloo. “But the way she did it…she killed them. She killed them all.”

“So?”

“You weren’t there, Starlight…the look on her face…like she…it was like she didn’t even care…”

“Because she didn’t.” Scootaloo looked up at Starlight in shock, and Starlight sighed. “I don’t mean to be callous, but it’s true. Twilight is a Core. She controlled the Harmony. She was forced to destroy entire planets. Millions of lives, including so many innocent ones, all in the name of our previous government. What are a few more that are definitely NOT innocent?”

“Starlight. You’re not listening. Something is wrong. Very wrong. I’m not sure…I’m not sure if it’s even the same Twilight anymore…”

Starlight stared at her, and then started walking toward her destination. “You’re overreacting, Scootaloo. Go home. Take a break. Comfort your wife. Spend time with her. You know how much she loves you.”

The scene dissolved. The sound of the world pulling apart was deafening, and Scootaloo momentarily panicked at the sound of the hum. She did not understand what was happening. She had been talking to Starlight, but now she was fading, torn from the world she knew to be true. In the void, she saw a pair of red eyes staring back at her. She focused on them, though, and saw that there were not just two. There were three. And one of them was white.

This time, the darkness only partially faded. Scootaloo found herself walking through a largely unlit hallway. She knew where she was. The Temple was constructed on the remnants of an ancient castle, one destroyed a thousand years prior in the Nightmare War. It had been the location Twilight had chosen for the seat of her power, although she had never given much attention to the castle portion itself. Twilight preferred to push upward. Scootaloo had seen the plans: a design that would take nearly fifty years of construction but would end with a tower greater than any ever constructed in all of Equestria. The underground remnants of the stone castle below were more of an afterthought, and were not used for anything except for occasional storage.

There had been some thought of turning them into a museum, advocated for by Trixie. She was in charge of the planning committee, and although some progress had been made the basement continued to be abandoned. Scootaloo actually preferred it this way, though. It was dark, cool, and old. Although it was mostly unlit, it did not frighten her; if anything, the architecture calmed her, reminding her of an age long ago when things had been so different. She came down here sometimes to go on long walks through the circuitous and winding hallways. It gave her time to think.

On this particular day, Scootaloo had a lot to think about. It was not just what she had seen with Twilight. In fact, she was trying to push that to the back of her mind. There were so many more important things to concern herself with than a vague and unfounded doubt in one of her closest friends. Rainbow Dash had relapsed again and nearly died in the process, but not before badly beating one of her breeders. With the new laws, charges were actually going to be brought against her. On the same day that had happened, Wintrygust had informed Scootaloo that she had been offered a chance to take a much more prestigious role on her homeworld overseeing the creation of new and more independent breeders. That was not the problem, of course; Scootaloo was happy for her. What bothered her is that Wintry had suggested that she would reject the promotion in favor of staying close to Scootaloo. Doing so would sacrifice her future, all in the name of pursuing a married mare. Third, it seemed that Eloth’s efforts had already irreparably damaged her brain.

Scootaloo paused, confused. She tried to enumerate the trains of thought she had just been thinking about. Twilight, Rainbow Dash, Wintry. They all made sense, but she felt like there had been something else. A fourth line of thought that did not make sense.

Her confusion was interrupted from a sound that echoed from deep in the silence of the lower castle. Scootaloo turned her head sharply, her ears pricking to the noise. It had been distant and almost silent, but Scootaloo knew hoofsteps when she heard them. Nobody was supposed to be down here- -and yet someone was.

It was most likely a Priestess who had come to the basement for the same reason as Scootaloo, or perhaps a worker or visitor who had gotten lost. Scootaloo knew this, but for some reason she still ducked into the dimly lit shadows of the ancient halls, hoping that whoever it was would not spy her white uniform in the darkness.

She moved forward quickly and as silently as she could. It was not easy to do so with hooves on a stone floor, and she once again desperately wished that she had the ability to fly. Without it, though, she had to make do, and as she turned a corner she saw the swish of a pony’s tail. In the dark, though, it was too hard to tell who it was.

Scootaloo felt her pulse increase, wondering if perhaps she had seen a ghost. That was impossible, though. It had definitely been a solid pony. Somehow that was worse. Carefully, Scootaloo pursued her deep into the facility, far down into the unlit and unrecovered portions that she had never dared to go.

Several minutes had passed by when the hoofsteps stopped. Scootaloo stopped as well, hoping that she had not been seen. She waited for what felt like hours, listening to the dripping of water in the darkness, trying to hear hoofsteps as they came toward her instead of away. Instead, she heard a heavy metal mechanism turning, followed by a few steps and a quiet thud and clank as a door closed.

After several seconds, Scootaloo approached where she had heard the noise. The hall was almost completely dark, but she could tell that there was a large and ancient wooden door that the pony she had been following had gone through. Scootaloo ran her hoof over the wood, trying to find a handle. She found none, though; instead, she found the opening of a unicorn-lock. The door could only be opened or sealed by magic, and then only by somepony who knew the internal structure of the lock.

“Damn,” whispered Scootaloo. She looked around the hall, her eyes straining against the darkness but eventually falling on a nearby vent, a remnant of the castle’s ancient air-handling system. It had been built large enough to funnel away large quantities of air in the event of a poison gas attack, but it was too small for a normal pony to fit through. For once, then, Scootaloo’s unusually small size became an asset instead of a detriment. She pushed away the corroded baffle and entered.

It took her nearly a minute to crawl through the vent, and eventually managed to push her way through to the rafters of the room that the ancient door had led to. The room below was lit by a number of strange violet candles, and the contrast in light cast the ceiling in almost perfect darkness, obscuring Scootaloo completely from sight as she made her way silently across the steel beams.

When Scootaloo finally had a good view of the room below, she stopped, surprised to see Twilight standing in the center of the room, standing perfectly still and staring at apparently nothing. Her eyes were alert but distant in a way that Scootaloo had never seen before but that made her shiver.

“I know,” she said, suddenly, almost causing Scootaloo to fall out of the rafters from the surprise of hearing a pony’s voice against the silence of the forgotten room. “I know.”

Twilight charged her horn, and there was a small explosion in front of her as a second pony was teleported into the room. Scootaloo watched in confusion as Dusty Plume emerged from the void, dropping onto the floor in a heap.

“Ow,” she said, weakly. She looked up, her eyes becoming wide with fear at the sight of the dark and candle-lit room around her only to become calm at the sight Twilight. “My…my Princess,” she said, pulling herself toward Twilight, her paralyzed rear legs dragging across the dirty floor behind her. “Princess…I’m here. Please, can you help me? Please?”

Twilight looked down at the injured pony, and Scootaloo had a sudden urge to scream and warn her. It was too late, though. Twilight’s head shot forward, her mouth opening and then clamping around Dusty Plume’s neck.

The Pegasus screamed, not understanding what was happening, but her cry was cut silent by a sickening crunch as Twilight snapped her neck. Then, as Scootaloo watched, Twilight tore into the pony, tearing out her neck and chest with her sharp teeth, greedily devouring Dusty Plume’s body. Scootaloo was forced to cover her mouth to keep herself from vomiting. She wanted to run, but found herself transfixed, unable to look away. She just kept staring, and Dusty Plume’s glazed, empty eyes stared back up at her accusingly.

After several minutes, there was not much left of the young pony. Twilight was covered with blood, and she suddenly lifted her head as if she heard something. Scootaloo felt herself freeze in terror, thinking Twilight had heard her, but instead Twilight’s head flicked toward a dark part of the room.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “I will have the others frozen. No. She never would have recovered. She was weak. She could not have survived.” She smiled. “And the flavor…there is no flavor like that of a live virgin.”

Her head suddenly shifted to the other side of the room. Scootaloo strained her eyes against the darkness, but she could not see anyone. She had no idea who Twilight thought she was talking to.

“No!” said Twilight, standing and suddenly becoming distressed. “I had to!” She turned back to the first. “Of course it worked. Scootaloo survived. As did Trixie. The others were expendable. It made the impression I needed, as planned.”

“That isn’t true,” she said to the second side of the room. “I’m not betraying them…I’m not. The government is weak. I can already see it slipping. Isn’t it obvious?” she turned to the other. “She take control. I’m not like you. I won’t die so easily. I will see this through.”

She began licking blood off of one of her hooves. “I’m not an idiot,” she said after a moment. “Of course I know she’s watching.”

Her blood-spattered head suddenly tilted, and she looked up. Her cold, empty eyes met Scootaloo’s. “Hello, Scootaloo,” she said, grinning more widely than any pony should have been able to. “Do you want to come down from there and share a virgin with me? I don’t mind. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

The next thing Scootaloo became conscious of was the fact that she was running. She did not dare look behind her or listen for hoofsteps, or even bother to see where she was going. Instead she simply sprinted as fast as she could, galopping through the abandoned castle, desperately trying to escape what she had left behind down there. The body of a pony she had considered a friend, Twilight’s murderous gaze, and the truth that she could neither hide nor escape from any longer.

It was raining, and the sun was obscured completely behind the gloom of the clouds overhead as Scootaloo made her way through the streets of Old Canterlot. The rain was not a coincidence; like on all of Equestria Prime, the weather over Canterlot was controlled artificially. The decision to make it rain had actually been Scootaloo’s, and she had pulled several strings in the weather factories to ensure that an especially dreary day.

Others knew that she had done this, but her true motive remained obscure. To them, the weather had been altered from its normally scheduled program as a sign of mourning for the events just over a week prior. The news had spread quickly: seven unarmed Priestesses of the Cult of Harmony had been brutally slaughtered by heretical revolutionaries who had moved to make an attempt on the Princess’s life. All of Equestria had rallied to the Cult in outrage that so such an atrocity could occur, and support of Twilight’s rule had never been greater. She had already vowed to seek justice for the innocents lost, and with Starlight leading her forces was beginning a process to seek out other pro-democracy forces for elimination.

All of it made a tragic story- -and Scootaloo knew that none of it was true. Of all of it, though, the worst was the official line on Dusty Plume: that the youngest of the Priestesses had sustained mortal injuries in the battle and passed peacefully in her sleep barely a fortnight later. In accordance with Pegasus tradition, her body had been cremated and would be returned to her homeworld. Twilight herself would lead the funeral and scatter her ashes into the oceans of that world.

The thought of it made Scootaloo sick. That thing, whatever it was, was not Twilight. It probably never had been. There was no way to prove it, though. All the records indicated that the official story was correct, and there was no body left to examine. Further investigation had revealed nothing. Shortly after the incident, Scootaloo had asked Wintrygust and a team of independent contractors to inspect the lower rooms below the Temple. She had not told them why.

What they had found was nothing. Just old rooms. Even after exhaustive searching, all they turned up were a few pony bones, all of which turned out to be remnants left behind by the soldiers of the Nightmare War one thousand years earlier.

Without evidence, Scootaloo had been forced to move carefully. As disgusted and terrified as she was, she knew that her circumstances had come down to a slow and deliberate game of cat and mouse. She still saw Twilight from time to time, and every single time Twilight would smile at her knowingly, taunting her. She never acknowlaged what Scootaloo had seen. It was as though she were waiting for it blow over- -or for Scootaloo to make her own move.

Scootaloo had considered trying to seek help. The more she considered it, though, the more she realized that doing so was at best futile and at worst dangerous. She knew few ponies that could help her. Rainbow Dash was a drunk figurehead in the navy, Sweetie Belle was on yet another diplomatic mission to the Milk Path galaxy, and Applebloom was preparing for a wedding to her brother. Trixie and Wintrygust were both trustworthy, but neither were warriors, and Scootaloo did not dare put them in harm’s way when this inevitably became violent.

The only viable option was Starlight. Telling her posed its own problems, though. Of all the Priestesses, Starlight was the closest to Twilight due to their shared kinship as Cores- -and when it came to Cores, she was almost a zealot. Her entire purpose in the Cult seemed to be dedicated to freeing the Cores and bringing them back into society, and knowing her past, Scootaloo was not sure if Starlight would actually turn against Twilight, even if she knew what Twilight really was. Even then, though, Scootaloo did not want to put her friend in a position to choose. This was something she could- -and would- -deal with it herself.

Which is why she found herself wandering the mostly empty streets of one of the more ancient and more distant sections of Equestria’s capital. Here, the city had not aged as well as the modern, shining examples of a modern spacefaring society in the more central areas of the expanding metropolis. Here, the buildings were old, some stemming back to the Nightmare War, and some built on foundations far older. Many were crumbling or dilapidated, having become abandoned as newer and more modern homes became available and ponies were no longer forced to live in the ruins of countless devastating wars.

There were still ponies, but not many, especially on a day this dark and rainy. A few gaunt mares roamed the street, some muttering to themselves and others winking at Scootaloo as she passed, lifting their dresses slightly in an attempt to be seductive only to show that their bodies had been ravaged by infectious anemia.
Likewise, many of the denizens of this area were not ponies at all. In several locations Scootaloo could see the various sentient creatures of equestrian, many of whom had until Twilight’s rule been considered of inferior breeding. She saw a small group of sheep pass her, and a bovid smoking a cigarette near the entrance to a bar. In the sky, the shadows of several griffons passed, either on patrol or on their way to destinations unknown.

Scootaloo largely ignored them. With her heavy cloak on, she was not highly recognizable. Not that any people of this area would recognize her, but she was not taking any chances. That was the real reason she had called for rain: for cover of her activities.

Careful not to draw attention to herself, Scootaloo passed down a narrow side alley past a pair of gruff-looking griffons flanking a dying filly dressed only in stockings and shivering despite the mild temperature.

The alley was even darker than the main street, and the dark, ancient buildings on either side seemed to close in over it, making it more of a tunnel than anything else. The sound of the rain echoed off the cobblestones and the walls, and it was nearly deafening.

On the far end, Scootaloo saw her target: a stooped diamond dog in a heavy coat. He was facing away from her, speaking to a pony with curiously large red, luminescent eyes. Scootaloo got the strangest feeling that the red-eyed pony was watching her, and she turned to him only to see that he had cool green eyes instead of red. Scootaloo shook her head, not sure why she had thought his eyes were such a strange shade of red.

As Scootaloo approached the diamond dog, the pony noticed her and stepped back, retreating down an even more narrow side street that was really more of a crack between the buildings.

“Max,” said Scootaloo, poking at one of the diamond dog’s legs.

Max jumped up with a yelp. “No!” he said, turning around suddenly. “Max already told you! It was not Max! Max did not supply! Those weapons came from elsewhere, not Max! Max did not kill the girl-ponies! Max is good boy!”

“Max,” said Scootaloo, pushing back her hood.

Max blinked, his large yellow eyes taking a moment to recognize who he was looking at. “You are not who Max thought you were,” he said, seeming highly embarrassed by his reaction.

“Who did you think I was?”

“The bad pony. The one with the horn, and the…the thing…” He pointed at his left arm. “The light, the light that makes Max have the pain.”

Scootaloo stared at him, not understanding at first but then quickly realizing that he was miming an omnitool. And only one pony had one of those.

“Starlight?” she said, immediately concerned. “What did she say?”

“Max does not- -should not- -”

“What did she say, Max?!” shouted Scootaloo, taking a step forward and causing Max to yelp again and jump back in fright, covering his head.

“She wanted to know if Max sell dakka-dakka guns to group that make girl-ponies have the worsest pain! But it was not Max! Max has not sold dakka-dakka guns, not in long time! Supply too hard to get, demand too low, no profit!”

“Sure,” said Scootaloo, not believing a word of it. “Because if you did sell those guns, do you know what she’d do to you?”

“Y…yes,” squeaked Max.

“Good. Because I lost some good friends there, Max. And I would do much, much worse.”

“Worse than the bad-pony?” Max shook his head. “You too small, Scootaloo. Max is still afraid, but not as afraid.” He leaned forward. “Because Max does not need to worry. Scootaloo is Max friend!”

Scootaloo allowed herself to smile slightly. “Yes, that’s right Max. I’m your friend. As long as you’re a good boy.”

“Max is good boy!” His tail began to wag. “Max has the best weapons for the best ponies! Bringing the great much of death to whoever is needing it!” His happiness suddenly faded, although a wry smile crossed his face. “Although you, you made Max work very hard. Order was not easy. No. Was impossible. But Max is VERY good boy.”

“So you have it?”

“I do.” He reached into his coat and produced a relatively nondescript metal case. It looked completely ordinary, save for a very small insignia on the metal clasp consisting of eight radial arrows. He dexterously flicked the clasp aside and opened the case, showing Scootaloo the contents.

Scootaloo leaned forward. The contents of the case probably would not have looked like anything special to an ordinary pony. In fact, the gun inside was somewhat small and, though strangely shaped, relatively ordinary looking. It consisted of a large-caliber assembly with an attached pistol grip painted with an odd pattern of strange colors and carved at various points with lettering that was not words. Next to it, imbedded in foam, was a single enormous bullet.

As ordinary as it looked, though, Scootaloo knew better than most ponies what that weapon was and what it was capable of, if only from the stories.

“Chaos weapon,” said Max, almost in awe of it himself. “Recovered from last Chaos War, from Chaos Wizard. This is very bad weapon.”

“You mean it works poorly?”

“No!” said Max, shaking his head. “Max mean it is CURSED weapon. Or so others say. Few willing to touch it. Max had to bribe many to acquire it for the High Priestess.”

Scootaloo picked up the firearm in her hooves, inspecting it. It was surprisingly heavy, and when she looked at it closely she realized that its ordinary nature was more or less an illusion. It was hardly a gun at all, and more like an assortment of random parts that should not have been capable of meshing but had somehow come into perfect unison despite their disparity.

“There’s only one bullet,” she said.

“Yes. Only one.”

“So you couldn’t find ammunition.”

Max looked confused. “No. Max could not find, because there is not. Only one bullet still exists. And that is it.”

“Just one?” That thought was concerning, and Scootaloo looked back down at the singular projectile.

“They say it contain a fragment of the Discord Synaxarium,” said Max in awe. “It will make the anything die, regardless. It creates possibilities, and impossibilities. It ignores the rules.”

“It kills anything?”

“Anything!” said Max, nodding vehemently. He suddenly stopped. “Even an alicorn.”

Scootaloo glared up at him, causing him to recoil slightly. “What are you implying by that?”

“Nothing! Max implies nothing! Does not know how! Max just sells weapons! And this is very much good weapon! Please take, though.” He shivered. “Max feels it. It stares at Max. Max does not like.” His eye suddenly shifted to Scootaloo and he leaned close to her again. “That is, if you are having the payment?”

Without speaking, Scootaloo reached into her cloak and removed a rather large piece of fabulously pure Crystal Empire crystal, an uncut version of the perfect type that the crystal ponies used to create computers.

Max stared at the gem in amazement, and Scootaloo saw that he was weeping at its beuty.

“With that crystal, you could by an entire star system,” said Scootaloo.

Max snorted, shakily reaching down and taking the stone. “Do not insult Max! Such a thing as this…this will never be sold. It cannot be. Max would sooner sell Max than sell this.” He managed to pull his eyes away from a moment. “And the rest?”

“A ship is waiting for you in the old Docking District. A cargo freighter headed for Omega. Not that I have any idea what you’ll do there.”

“Max know that! Max find ‘Delilah’, she help Max get away.”

“Away? Max, are you retiring?”

Max nodded. “Yes. Max is getting old. Has many dog years. Besides, this final transaction is greatest of Max’s life. Is crowning achievement.” He closed the case, but did not hold it out to Scootaloo quite yet. “And…third part?”

Scootaloo sighed, and Max bent down in front of her, nearly bowing. She extended her hoof and patted him on the head. “Who’s a good boy?”

“Max is! Max is!”

“Yes,” said Scootaloo, taking the case with the Chaos gun in it from him. “Yes you are.”

Scootaloo walked through the halls of the Temple. Though she moved at a normal speed, the world had seemed to slow. It took on a surreal aspect, as though her surroundings were somehow distant, and as though every pony that passed her knew of the weapon hidden under her cloak and linked to one of her wings.

There was no way they could have known, of course- -but they would. There was still time to turn back, but Scootaloo had made up her mind. There was only one option, and she would face it and its consequences alone. If she failed, she would fail alone, and if she succeeded then the blame would fall squarely and solely on her. No others would have to suffer for her choice.

It seemed to take hours and yet mere seconds for her to reach a large door, one separate from any area where ponies were. Scootaloo paused, and for the first time felt the slightest hint of an urge of preemptive regret. It manifested as a desire to flee- -and as an inability to kill.

Scootaloo ignored it, though, as she had been trained to long ago. Instead of turning away, she opened the door.

Inside, she saw a pair of violet eyes suddenly shift toward her, and their owner smile knowingly. Twilight was standing across the room, dressed in an improved armored version of her royal regalia. Scootaloo began to raise her wing, but as she did, she immediately realized that Twilight was not alone. She was joined by two other ponies: a blue Core mare and an all-white Pegasus.

“You bitch,” whispered Scootaloo.

“Scootaloo!” said Wintrygust, turning toward her and smiling, oblivious to what Scootaloo had come to do. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Why are you here?” demanded Scootaloo. Wintrygust was perceptive enough to hear the tone in Scootaloo’s voice and realize that something was not quite right. Trixie, though, did not seem to notice. Twilight already knew.

“We’ve been concerned about you,” said Trixie. “The last two weeks, you haven’t been acting like yourself..”

“Yes,” said Wintrygust, “we’re concerned that the event may have affected you more than you let on. And we want to help you. We are your friends, after all.”

“Yes,” said Twilight. “Which is why I wanted to have a meeting with you. And seeing as Wintrygust and Priestess Trixie are both ponies you care VERY deeply about, I thought that together we would be able to discuss what is troubling you.”

“Nothing is troubling me,” lied Scootaloo. She looked to Trixie. “Thank you, Trixie. And Wintry. And…it did affect me. A lot. But right now, I need to talk to Twilight. Alone. Can you please leave?”

“Leave?” said Trixie, annoyed . Wintrygust actually did start moving toward the door, but Trixie was far more stubborn. “No, Scootaloo. You’re not getting out of this that easily. You’re not going to put this off. I know you. You’ll never deal with it if you’re left on your own. You need friends.” By this time, she was nearly pleading.

“And all we want to do is help,” said Twilight, still smiling with that strange, vicious smile. Scootaloo did not know how the others could not see how sadistic it looked, how Twilight could barely contain the tips of so many teeth. “I know it must be hard for you. The barrage of bullets that took down poor Dusty Plume was also meant for you and Trixie. If you hadn’t been so quick, Trixie would likely have joined her.”

That was too much. With the smile on her face and the way she said that, Scootaloo knew what she was intending to do. Scootaloo threw back the upper part of her cloak and leveled her wing-mounted weapon at Twilight. Both Wintrygust and Trixie seemed to realized what was going on, and Wintrygust moved quickly, trying to do something- -anything- -while Trixie just stared dumfounded, not knowing how the mare she loved could be about to assassinate the Princess.

Twilight, though, just smiled. Her horn glowed, and there was a sound of electrical arcing. There was a small fluctuation of light, but barely an explosion, and she was gone. Scootaloo looked around the room, panicking, and saw Twilight now standing close to Trixie, her hoof on the mare’s back.

“Now, Scootaloo, think about what you’re doing,” she said with infuriating, mocking calmness. “You don’t need to do this. I’m not a threat. I’m your friend, remember?”

“I’m not your friend!” Scootaloo twisted, trying to aim the shot. She had no idea how accurate the weapon was, but it fired anything like a normal weapon she would easily be able to hit Twilight without hitting Trixie. She hesitated, though, when she saw the look on Trixie’s face. Not one of fear, but of betrayal and confusion.

“Scootaloo, stop!” pleaded Wintry. She leapt for Scootaloo, but Scootaloo dodged the larger pony easily. There was another electrical arcing sound, though, and Twilight appeared inches from Scootaloo, her teeth bared in a hideous smile.

“Don’t,” she said. “Put it down, before somepony- -”

Scootaloo punched her in the face. The blow was hard enough to cut Scootaloo’s foreleg badly on Twilight’s teeth, but it also stumbled Twilight, giving Scootaloo a chance to change her angle and point the Chaos weapon at her chest.

Twilight did not seem to notice the weapon anymore, though. With a chilling shriek, she leapt toward Scootaloo. For a moment, Scootaloo saw the look in her eyes, and knew that if she did not act, she would be killed. As Twilight struck her, she pulled the trigger on the Chaos gun.

It went off, and as soon as Scootaloo heard the explosion she knew that she had made a mistake. Her body was so light that Twilight had pushed her easily, changing her angle. The bullet had not gone into Twilight but instead to her left.

Scootaloo saw Trixie take a step back. Her body froze as she traced the path of the bullet, desperately hoping that it had not gone in the direction that she already knew it had. When she saw the wound on Trixie’s chest, though, she knew what she had done.

Trixie looked down at her chest, and then at Scootaloo.

“Scootaloo,” she said, weakly. “I- -”

She never finished her sentence. Her flesh suddenly bubbled and twisted, cracking and bursting open as she exploded from within. For one brief moment Scootaloo saw the expression of agony on her face as it was torn free of her skull- -an image that she prayed she would someday be able to forget.

Trixie exploded with considerable force into a steaming plume of blood and rent flesh. Her bloody skeleton seemed to stand for a moment, but then tilted, weighted down by the charred metal still imbedded into her spine. Then it collapsed into the pool of organs and blue fur.

Twilight turned and saw what had happened. Her expression changed too as she released Scootaloo and stared at the wreckage in shock. For a moment, the pair of them simply stopped fighting, staring at the remains of their friend. Scootaloo felt the world drifting, although she could distantly hear screaming.

There was a sound of galloping hoofsteps, and the door burst open. Scootaloo turned so slowly, wondering if this was a dream, knowing that it could not possibly be real. She saw Starlight standing in the door. Starlight looked at what was left of Trixie, then at the weapon on Scootloo’s body, and then finally at Scootaloo with absolute disgust and hatred. If Scootaloo’s heart had not already been broken, that look on the face of one of her last friends would have shattered it.

She tried to run. Not to anywhere in particular. Just to get away from what she had done. There was a flash of orange light as Starlight raised her hoof, though, and her body erupted with agony as every nerve ending in her body overloaded. It was the most painful thing she had ever experienced, but the part of her mind that remained conscious during it knew that it was not one one thousandth of the pain she deserved for what she had done. She had killed Trixie, her wife, the pony she had loved.

There had been no trial. There were still some courts remaining in Equestria, but they were not equipped to deal with this crime. Twilight was a Princess: a ruler, and a goddess. In the eyes of Equestria, Scootaloo had not only committed high treason but blasphemy as well.

She knew of the stories, though. Her life had been put into thorough review by the press, and she had heard the rumors. That she was a secret member of a pro-democracy faction, or had acted on behalf of an attempted military takeover of the government, perhaps to take the throne for herself. Others claimed that it had never really been an assassination attempt, and that Scootaloo had slain her wife to be with her mistress.

The third rumor was the most painful. After all, Scootaloo had gone into that room knowing that she was committing treason and heresy, or at least would appear to be doing so. It was the murder charge that was crushing. She had failed to kill the false Twilight, but that hardly mattered anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. Trixie was gone. Scootaloo had killed her.

Others had moved around her, though. Rainbow Dash had apparently managed to divert from her downward spiral long enough to advocate for Scootaloo, but most of her efforts had been negated by Starlight’s pressure against her. Starlight had once been Scootaloo’s friend, but Scootaloo understood her actions. She knew that Starlight was right to want a swift execution.

The execution had been by no means swift, but the day had finally arrived. Scootaloo now lay strapped to a cold, metal table. Her hooves were bound, although she was not trying to resist. She was not entirely sure where she was, but she knew that there was a great deal of equipment around her including an ominous looking chamber that seemed to be perpetually releasing small amounts of icy fog.

A pair of doctors were working steadily around her, preparing the machines. Far to one side, an impromptu gallery had formed. The only one who had showed up was Wintrygust. She was dressed in black and had clearly been crying. She was surrounded on both sides by two recent initiates, their bodies clad completely in armor, harbingers of a new and military Cult of Harmony.

“Twilight” stepped forward toward Scootaloo, looking back at the gallery. “Well,” she said, “it looks like Rainbow Dash will not be coming. I believe we have waited for her long enough.”

She approached the table and looked down at Scootaloo. Scootaloo had been staring at the bright lights above, and continued to do so, ignoring the violet alicorn at her side.

“So,” she said. “I feel I would be remiss if I did not ask you for a final statement.”

Scootaloo’s eyes finally did move to Twilight, and for a moment they met. “I can see why your sisters hate you,” she said.

Twilight just shrugged, and started walking back to Wintrygust. “And I can see that your sister cares deeply for you. Aside from not bothering to show up for your execution. I do pity her, though. That’s why I let her choose the method of execution. As you freeze to death, remember that this was Rainbow Dash’s idea.” Twilight nodded to the head doctor, and he nodded back.

“Initialize the systems,” he said to the other.

The machinery hummed to life. A mechanical arm moved forward, and Scootaloo saw an enormous needle be brought to a point over her chest. Once it was in place, the second doctor moved to her legs and sharply inserted a long needle into Scootaloo’s thigh. It hurt, and was followed by a trickling sound as the blood from Scootaloo’s femoral artery into a bucket below her.

The first doctor leaned in close. “You are going to want to stay very, very still, dear.”

“Or what?”

“Or what?” He giggled. “Or this might kill you!” He laughed at his own joke, then took his position at the machine. “Beginning perfusion.”

The needle slammed downward, crushing through Scootaloo’s ribs and penetrating her heart. It happened so fast that Scootaloo barely had time to react, although she felt herself tense and inhale sharply. She had promised herself that she would not make a sound, but this pain was different than anything she had experienced before. It was not more painful, exactly, but more vital. It was as if her body knew that she had just suffered a mortal injury.

The sound that came out of her was not quite a scream or a shout, but rather a low wail. In the gallery, Wintrygust burst into tears, and Twilight put her foreleg around her.

Then came the cold. That was the part Scootaloo had not been prepared for. The pain of having a needle in her heart began to fade as her chest started to become numb, and she could feel herself being frozen from the inside as her still-beating heart pumped the cryogenic antifreeze through her body. It was the coldest she had ever felt, and she began to shake violently and uncontrollably.

When the chemicals hit her lungs, she began to gasp in panic as her oxygen levels decreased suddenly. The world seemed to fade around the edges of her vision, and the sound of the machines and the trickling of her blood being displaced from her body began to become more distant. Despite Scootaloo’s attempts to breath, no blood was reaching her brain. Instead, it was just cold f luid.

She was dying, and she now realized that. As her brain shut down, she closed her eyes. The shivering had stopped, and now she was just waiting for the pain and cold to be over. When it was, she wondered if she would be able to be with Trixie again, and if Trixie would even allow her to apologize.

The pain suddenly stopped. Scootaloo’s eyes opened wide. She looked around and saw that although she seemed to be in the same location as her execution, it had changed. There were no longer walls, and the lights had been removed, casting the entire area in a strange oblique light. Every pony surrounding her had become perfectly still and statue-like, and all of them had the same luminescent red eyes.

“Eloth,” said Scootaloo.

“Scootaloo,” he said in return. Something was wrong. His voice sounded distorted and distant.

“What happened?”

“I’m afraid I’ve failed. Or am in the process of failing.” His voice came from every pony at once, and picked up suddenly as if he was being pursued by something. “You brain…the damage…this was not anticipated. The reaction is- -”

The entirety of Scootaloo’s surroundings suddenly flickered. She found herself standing on the ground, and she suddenly felt extremely ill.

“What was that?” she said, trying to hide her fear.

“The signal…cannot compensate…I’m being forced out. Scootaloo, I have to pull you out, I have to- -”

Scootaloo suddenly felt herself being wrenched away. This time she really did scream as she was swallowed by the blackness around her, pulled by something on the far side of it.

Scootaloo blinked. She found herself standing near a large window. Outside was the blackness of space, and a planet that she did not recognize, one surrounded by structures and satellites more advanced than any that existed in Equestria or the Milk Path galaxy. It’s cold blue surface was dotted with immense towers that formed an artificial structure that emerged from its surface at least two planetary widths on either side, forming an immense framework above it on an unparalleled scale.

It did not stay blue for long, though. Scootaloo was watching the grand creation being torn apart by orbital bombardment. Streaks of matter passed through space, igniting in its atmosphere and tearing into the blue surface with continent-wide atomic bursts, cutting the blue atmosphere into one of sickly red around explosions of blinding light.

“This…this isn’t my memory,” she said.

“No,” said her voice beside her. “It isn’t.”

Scootaloo did not need to turn to see who was standing beside her, but she did anyway. Xyuka stood next to her, staring down at the dying world. She was wearing her armor, but had removed her mask. Her face was identical to Scootaloo’s, and although she superficially appeared only a few years older than Scootaloo her face bore the weight of a far longer life.

“You,” hissed Scootaloo, stepping back. She looked down at the planet, and then at the alternate version of herself. “This is your memory?”

Xyuka continued to look through the window, watching as the bombardment continued. “Perhaps,” she said at last. “I will leave that to you to decide.”

“Why are you here?” demanded Scootaloo.

This time, Xyuka slowly turned to her. Her expression was totally blank. “That’s an interesting question,” she said, “because I’m not. And yet I can’t not be.”

“The nannites,” said Scootaloo. “That’s how you’re doing this? You- -you planned this! That’s why you infected me with them!”

“Infected you? Scootaloo, I didn’t infect you. The nanites are my own creation, modified from…well, where I got them does not matter. They exist to repair my body when it is damaged. It’s part of what allowed me to live so many goddamn millions of years.”

“So you were trying to make me immortal? Why?”

Xyuka sighed. It was a ragged mechanical sound. “If you are infected, it was not intentional. My body sheds them. Ponies near me are exposed to them. Usually, they just shut down.” She smiled, weakly. “After all, they are tuned only to respond to my genetic code, and mine alone.”

“You bitch!” Scootaloo leapt at her. She never made contact, though, and fell to the ground. She looked up to see Xyuka standing farther down the window.

“There is probably some psychological significance to this,” she said, darkly. She slowly turned back to Scootaloo. “After all, I’m not really here.”

“No. You’re projecting yourself into- -”

“You know that is not true. You remember. I succeeded. At least, probably. This isn’t a communication, or a message. This is as representation. I’m not Xyuka. I’m a representation of your own mind, Scootaloo.”

“You’re lying!”

Xyuka shrugged. “I could be. I don’t think it really matters, though.”

Scootaloo stood and faced the alternate version of herself. “I’m not going to,” she said.

“Going to what?”

“I’m not you. I won’t be you. Not now, not ever. No matter how hard you try to make me.”

Xyuka’s eyes narrowed, and she turned and took several slow steps toward Scootaloo. “Do you think that is what I want?” she demanded. “Do you think that is what I MEANT? Are you that foolish? I mean, you have already suffered cataclysmic brain damage, but that is no excuse. I don’t even have a brain.”

“It’s what you told me. That I will become you.”

“Because you will.” Xyuka sighed, and then shook her head. Her tone changed, becoming much more defeated. “Do you think that is what I wanted? Do you think that is the outcome I’d like to see?”

“Please. You don’t hate yourself that much.”

“No,” said Xyuka, looking up suddenly, her eyes dark and cold. Scootaloo realized that she had seen that look before. Xyuka’s eyes looked the same way Twilight’s had that day so long ago. “That’s the POINT. How many countless trillions of lives have fallen to me? I don’t even know. I can’t remember. Nor can I bring myself to care. But you were supposed to be different. You were supposed to succeed.”

“I am different.”

Xyuka shook her head. “You are a rare anomaly. The vast majority of Scootaloo’s retain their intrinsic goodness, their innocence. Some simply snap under the pressure, ruined. But one in one hundred million…that small fraction of Scootaloos has the capacity to become me.”

“I’m not that pony.”

Xyuka stared back at Scootaloo with her own eyes. “Yes, Scootaloo. Yes you are. I’m sorry.”

The two looked at each other for a moment longer, and the room began to darken. The structure on the blue planet outside finally succumbed to the orbital bombardment and began to burst open and collapse inward, pulled toward the planet by its own gravity. As it fell, Xyuka took a step back into the growing shadows, her tears glimmering as they fell.

Scootaloo suddenly felt afraid, and she stepped forward, trying to reach out toward her alternate self- -but something grasped her from the darkness behind. A cold hand wrapped itself around Scootaloo, and Scootaloo looked down to see in horror that it was the skeletal, four-fingered hand of a corpse, lit from within by a ghastly blue light. Scootaloo turned around and saw the corpse, now merging its body around hers. Its body was rotting and pallid, its skin gray and torn but ignited in the perverse blue fire of the light.

Scootaloo screamed and she tried to escape the light, to return to the darkness. The frozen dead hands held her closer, pulling her down.

“No, please!” cried Scootaloo. “Just let me go! Let me stay!”

The corpse just laughed through its waterlogged lungs, and Scootaloo felt her feet lifting off the ground as she was pulled away. The last thing she saw was the single white eye of Xyuka’s mask, luminescent and staring from the now complete darkness, watching but refusing to interfere.

Scootaloo sat up. Her eyes immediately refocused to the light surrounding her, and she saw four pairs of concerned eyes staring back at her from her bedside. For a moment, she was confused, and her mind reasoned that the memory had come full circle: she had died with a clone of Twilight at her side, and now had reawakened with four of them surrounding her.

“Oh fuck!” said Bob, releasing Scootaloo’s head. She took several shaky steps back, her now rapidly shifting metal artifact following her suspended in a small blue sphere. Scootaloo looked back at her, and saw that she was leaking a dark tarry fluid from her eyes and nose. “I didn’t even know it could do that…” She pivoted awkwardly, and then grasped the artifact floating near her. It shifted into a knife, and she swung it at Eloth, plunging it into his chest. “Don’t EVER make me do that again you goddamn idiot! I don’t think…I don’t…”

Bob pulled the knife out, and Eloth watched it leave him apparently uninterested. Bob then vomited a surprising amount of black fluid and something fleshy.

She moaned in shock. “My…lung,” she said. “But I was using that!” She squatted down over the pieces of her that she had vomited and promptly began eating them.

“Scootaloo,” said another voice. Scootaloo turned, only to take a hoof to the face with substantial force. She was knocked back, and when the flashes of light in her vision stopped she saw Six standing over her. It was apparent that she had been crying.

“Ow, Six- -”

Six climbed on top of Scootaloo and wrapped her in a hug. She started weeping again. “Don’t- -don’t ever do that to me again!” she wailed. “I- -I thought I had lost you!”

“You actually did,” said Eloth.

“How long was I out?” said Scootaloo, turning her head toward him as Six sobbed into her chest.

“Out? You were not out. You were braindead. For several hours.”

“She looks pretty good for being braindead,” said Nine. She had not been crying, but looked greatly released. “Damn. I’m jealous.”

“Something happened,” said Eloth, suddenly sounding interested. “I was trying to pull you out, but something overwrote my signal.”

“I noticed,” said Scootaloo.

“Mom was preparing to eat you,” said Eight. “She was even getting out the barbecue sauce.”

“Although it looks like you basted yourself,” said Nine, pointing at Scootaloo’s crotch. Scootaloo looked down to see that she had either wet herself or had an extremely damp orgasm. She was not sure she wanted to know which.

“I’m not designed to do that,” muttered Bob, who had now collapsed on the floor. “Not designed…not designed…”

“You pulled me out,” said Scootaloo.

“I pulled something out. Not sure if it was you.” She held up her hand, quieting the morphing artifact and converting back into a small gem. “Damn…fuck me. Literally, I need to be fucked. And then to snort my weight in cocaine. Then I need to get drunk and sleep. Forever.” She put her head between her knees. She was shaking, but pointed toward Scootaloo. “You owe me, Scoots. You owe me big.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

Bob’s hand turned over to present her equivalent of a middle finger. Since she only had four, it was actually one of the central pair.

“I did not anticipate this to be a success,” said Eloth. “I assumed you were going to die.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“No. And the memories were recovered.”

Scootaloo patted Six’s head. She was beginning to quiet.

“What did you see?” said Eight.

Scootaloo paused, and then addressed the alicorns as a group. “I remember. I remember..."