It was fucked.

It didn't know what that meant exactly, but Splicers seemed to think being fucked was when it broke one of their limbs or killed them. Sometimes being fucked was simply it walking around a corner by itself and bumping into a somewhat intelligent gang of Splicers who'd quickly choose another route.

It was fucked because it currently had enough lead in it to make a decently sized pipe, a cracked porthole and the two bars that were supposed to prevent that from happening were dented from a Brute knocking it around. A large, gaping hole in its side was from an explosion and a spear in its right knee that penetrated the sliding plate armour for the kneecap rendered it immobile after the fighting ended.

It decided that having its knee cracked open, as well as all of the running and fighting afterward, was the second most painful thing it had even been through; first being when its muscular system was ripped to shreds over the course of hours, days possibly, due to the extensive amount of BruteMore Plasmid needed to give it inhuman strength.

Strange, it thought, it seems like focusing at the moment, with complete systems failure being imminent, is almost impossible.

It was a Big Daddy, a nigh invulnerable protector and guardian of Rapture. A Lancer model, one of the last to come out of the labs before the civil war tore Rapture beyond repair. Sadly, to none but itself, it was dying as it leaned against a glass wall, moaning its whalesong mockery that no one could understand, not even the creatures who'd invented the sound it parodied.

Life… it didn't have one, yet it was dying. Strange how its last moments will be spent becoming philosophic, pondering how something that lived and died once could do so again. Or at least one out of two.

Perhaps it was a glitch, its programming didn't cover what to do during this; that was an enormous blank spot the scientists didn't bother addressing.

It was an it and no one needed to tell it this. It referred to itself as an it because it wasn't alive. Programming was its instincts. Killing was its nature. Guarding was its purpose. Life wasn't programmed. Nature had natural predators or abnormal sick fucks, another word it knew but didn't thanks to Splicers, who enjoyed killing. People didn't know their purpose at birth or young age.

Yet, she had a purpose… It didn't like that. She was a she, but everyone treated her like an it. She treated it like a him, it treated her as a her, although that could've been because of a minor glitch in its programming. It was her friend and she trusted it, if she was having similar thoughts, she'd tell it. She was always so talkative… Even at the scheduled checkups.

It didn't like to think about how the scientists would poke her belly and tell her she was almost ready to pop as if she was a bottle full of something valuable and they couldn't wait to discard the glass. Eager to throw away the container in favor of the contained. The people of Rapture insult and degrade it, but it always had a daughter nearby to explain its desire for distance.

The truth was it, like many of its kind, was an introvert. Even among its own kind, it and the others would rather stay apart than form a pack. Only the young ones were ever able to make it want to do something. The scientists who gave it an order and hit it with a Hypnotize Plasmid were escorted, but the act left a bad taste in its mouth that wasn't from the overly sweet pheromones from the Plasmid.

Vision failing, sense of hearing filled with ringing and blood pooling beneath and in its dive suit, the light of its porthole was fading with its existence, a much more suitable word than life.

Yeah, totally fucked.

But… through the ringing, it could just make out… footsteps?

[???]

She couldn't help but step in the rapidly spreading pool of blood. The porthole she was looking into was nearly a perfect mirror, with only the slightest bit of yellow light behind it. Frowning, she kneeled and placed her horn against it, and channeled her magic into a spell that would leave her exhausted…

Considering she had already cast the spell once, she could only wait and see what happens when, or if, it woke up…

The world slipped away like ash in the wind, leaving only her and it. She smiled as she stepped back, watching the light slowly return as well as the damage it suffered disappearing. With a large gasp, it jerked awake and panted. The light stayed yellow, so far…

It picked itself up, standing on unsteady legs and testing itself for any remaining injuries; none. With a drawn out groan which somehow echoed in the abyss she and it were in, it could've said anything from “Nice,” to “Bloodlust must be sated!” and she wouldn't know. If she could only… Ah, of course. Silly her.

She stepped forward and it immediately locked its vision onto her. It remained in neutral, but was obviously uneasy as it adjusted its grip on the Ion Laser, taking two short steps back and groaning again, even louder than the last. A clear warning. She paused and let it observe her, it was obvious it had never seen a pony before.

It stepped forward, groaning softer with lower pitch. She had to time it just right, if it got even a hint of what she planned, it would likely attack first and question nothing. She had seen these things in action and knew better than to underestimate its brute strength and simplistic approach to problem solving. If there was an obstacle in their path, they removed it; whether it was a collapsed building or mob of deformed humans didn't matter, these things didn't consider a second option to be an option.

It stopped just in front of her, a yard away, and she had to look up into its porthole. Counting her horn, she was just a few inches shorter than it. Being that close to a being strong enough to bend I-beams with its hands was just a bit intimidating. The fact that it did so without earth pony magic, however, scared her. But, at the same time, it didn't ask to be this way, and in that she could relate.

“Greetings,” she said with a nod. It shifted back a step before coming closer again. It raised a hand and, contrary to her expectations, waved at her.

At least I didn't get punched for saying hello, she thought. These creations were infamous for their hair trigger temper, the slightest reason to fight was always good enough.

Which brought a little bit of nervousness to her when she thought of the next step of her plan. Not to mention the ones that would follow. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she stepped forward and brought her horn’s tip to its helmet, right over it's throat, and cast a spell she hoped would work.

The creation stepped back, porthole shining red and weapon aimed right at her face.

"Protocol Three in effect!” it roared. The voice was deep and harsh, like the ocean itself was speaking. “Engage threat to self and terminate!”

And now it's angry, she thought, ducking the beam of its weapon. She jumped over the next one and unfurled her wings. The weapon spat a constant stream of power that cut through the emptiness without connecting, and she wasn't sure if it was strong enough to overpower a shield. She dodged another attack and shouted at it.

"I can bring her back!”

The attack ceased immediately, yet its porthole remained red. It stared with its weapon trained on her, as if debating her claim. She brought herself to its level slowly, lest she antagonize it, and settled her hooves back on the non-existent ground some ten feet away.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” she asked. “I can give you another chance, if you'd let me.”

It didn't move an inch, but it's porthole dimmed to a lighter shade of red. She took that as a sign it was listening.

“You and her, together. Safe,” it groaned and took a step forward.

"Give her back,” it ordered. She shook her head and sighed, dreading her next words.

“I can't do that, not here,” she held up a hoof as it roared and aimed at her again, the red light deepening. “But I can take you to her! No more surviving the Tartarus that is Rapture.”

It stomped forward and, in two strides, closed the distance between them, weapon dropping to aim downward as its empty hand clenched. She held her ground, it wouldn't respect any sign of weakness.

"Give, her, back!” it demanded again.

“I can't, she already accepted my offer.” It stopped. “She's already gone, waiting for you.”

It didn't move, the light didn't fade or darken and she wasn’t sure which was worse; an angry response or a lack of one. It could've been seconds, it could've been minutes, but she had no way of knowing how long it remained silent.

“Where?” it eventually asked.

“Somewhere that has rarely seen bloodshed and war,” she replied. “One of the safest places you and her could ever be.”

“Her… safe?” she nodded. “Why?”

“I'm sorry?”

“Why would you do this? Why would you want us? Why are you asking it now, and not before it failed…” it asked. She admitted, these were fair questions to ask.

“Because there are many things out there that can't always be befriended, and it never hurts to be prepared,” she admitted, stepping towards the Protector. “Because of all the choices I had, you would always act in the defense of your daughter; regardless of the danger. Because you wouldn't have listened if I approached you before, if you would even let me approach.”

It groaned again, a sad and mournful noise that sent a wave of pity through her. She was right and it knew it, it would've attacked her immediately if it had a Gatherer with it, and would've only been slightly more tolerant by itself. The best approach was, sadly, when it was at Death's door.

“It failed…”

“But against what odds?” she countered. “I saw you, outnumbered and ambushed by those things, fighting against that Brute, only for an Alpha to come along and join in.”

She loathed to call them people, humans or even creatures. They were creations themselves, only they were made by their own hands and greed, unlike the Lancer before her.

“Listen. I have chosen you, I chose your daughter. You could decline, right now, and she'd never notice when I bring another Protector. You know it, I know it and she doesn't,” she took a step back as it roared it's objection to the harsh truth. She expected it to charge at her, which was why she was ready to take flight when it did. She continued before it could shoot at her again. “Or, you could accept my offer, and be reunited with her. Together again as father and daughter!”

It stopped cold, fidgeting with the Ion Laser it carried. She stared into the red porthole and waited, lazily flapping to maintain a steady altitude.

She pushed it into a conversational corner and both of them knew it. If it accepted, it would have to agree to her terms. If it denied, it lost everything. She was surprised when, instead of becoming more hostile, the light shifted to yellow and the Ion Laser was unloaded. She landed as it pocketed the cell into a small sack on its waist and watched as it kneeled before her.

If she wasn't a god, she might've blushed.

“What must it do?” it asked.

Now for the difficult part, she thought. Another spell created a mirror beside the Lancer and, when it turned to it, she braced herself for the objection.

“Okay.”

Wait… What? That easy? she thought, her head tilted in curiosity. “I thought you would… I don't know… maybe-”

It cut her off. “The form doesn't matter, so long as it can function.”

Most creatures are more… attached to their species, she thought. “Oh, um… okay.”

Then again, it's a creation, like a golem but more… passionate.

“I'll also have to, twerk your programming and protocols.” The light remained yellow, but she could almost feel the glare it must've been giving her. “I'm only going to change some parameters for your reactions towards perceived threats to more… non-lethal means, and re-word your protocols to protect non-combatants.”

It remained motionless for several seconds before conceding. “Very well.” Before she could continue, it asked her a question.

“What about her?”

Her, or course it would suspect her to modified the Little Sister as well as it. She was going to be just as difficult if not harder to fix.

“She will see a new world through new eyes,” she replied.

“So, you will take away her eyes?” It asked, body language revoked of any emotions.

For a moment, she thought it meant literally taking the Little Sister’s eyes away, but she soon realized it meant the luminescent nature of her eyes and clarified that she had no intention to fix what was not broken. “Besides,” she added. “I assume you like that about her?”

It nodded as best as it could with a giant armoured neck brace, which was quite stiffly and more reminiscent of a rapid bow. Thankfully, the new dive suit and matching body wouldn't be so constrained.

She walked over and stood next to it, observing the reflection of the Lancer. Instead of a seven foot tall biped with a Ion Laser in its hands, it was nearly six and a half feet tall counting the golden horn protruding from the helmet. The helmet was still a solid piece of bronze and glass, glass which she knew to be as strong as steel, and the main body of the helmet retained it's original art deco design, with the addition of a muzzle, for the upper half of the neck and above, but after that point and all the way to the bottom of its barrel was interlocking plates also made of bronze.

The air tanks on its back were almost as high as the helmet was, with a wing nut on the top, or possibly front, of the tank designed like the key of a clock or toy. The dive suit that covered the rest of its body and limbs was pristine and free of the accumulated grime and barnacles with a grey tail flowing beneath the cape that hung from its dock and flanks.

And it's hooves… Bronze boots that covered all the way to the forelock with horseshoes that were as large as a cantaloupe with small studs and waterproof leather all protected the soft frogs and keratin. Even if she took away the Ion Laser it would be able to simply stomp on whatever was the threat and make it into paste.

All in all, it was a pretty intimidating sight.

“Is there anything else?”

"Just one,” she replied. “Your personality. Or more accurately, your lack of one.”

"Personality?” it replied.

"Well, I can't say many ponies would like to be friends with someone with only three settings,” she replied before tapping her chin. “I'll also have to add some basic knowledge so you don't need to learn everything from scratch.”

"It doesn't need personality,” it growled. She continued as if she didn't hear it.

“I'll also need to fix the whole I am an it thing, too.”

Author's Note

I do not regret binge watching MLP, reading Bioshock: Rapture and drinking in excess. No sirree Bob, not one bit.