The Network

by TwilightCircle

Rating: teen
Tags: Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Original Character, Adventure, Derpy Hooves, Human
Length: 6132

It only takes one spark for an empire to fall.

Murdered, then kidnapped. Resurrected, then hunted. Befriended, then betrayed.

This place is treacherous. Trust no one. Believe nothing. Rid yourself of all morals and kill anyone who stands in your way. Do whatever it takes to survive. After all... a children's computer game is no place for mercy.

A big thanks to the stupendous, incomparable and otherwise masterful Arby Works for the artwork, and to the wondrous, fantastical and irreplaceable Sabre for his editing assistance.

Published 2012-08-07 05:14:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-08-18 17:22:10 UTC

"Free of Disabilities"

“Come on, Deborah; put down the books!”

The impact of the rubber sphere shook her from her study-induced stupor. Shaking her blonde hair from her eyes, Deborah looked up from the stack of textbooks and glared at her companions. “Excuse mefor being a little nervous, Grace,” she growled, hurling the soccer ball away from the patio table. The normally kind contours of her narrow face were frozen in a perpetual frown.

“Give me a break. We’ve all been through it!” Grace said. She took hold of the ball, her dark, curly locks drifting in the direction of the afternoon breeze. “If it wasn’t hard for us, it’ll be a cakewalk for you.”

The third in the party nodded. She drifted around the perfect square of Deborah’s back yard, grazing hedges with her hand. “It couldn’t be easier. You just go in, bubble in a few multiple-choice questions, and boom! You’re done.”

“You’d be wise to heed Laura’s words, young student,” Grace said, bowing her head piously as she tossed the ball away. “Her duties are the most complex of any Asset.”

“You try spending a month cleaning up puke at a middle school,” Laura said, rolling her eyes as she walked to the center of the yard. Groaning, she stroked the worry-lines cut into her forehead. “It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

Grace chuckled. “I’m sure mopping floors eight hours a day is the toughest job in the world,” she shot back.

“Would you knock it off?” Deborah begged. “You guys may have time to screw around, but I’ve got way too much to catch up on.”

Grace strode across the freshly mown lawn and looked over Deborah’s shoulder. “Quantum physics and their applications in modern society,” she read the title at the top of the multitude of books. “Are you being serious?”

"No wonder you're so scrawny," Laura called from beyond the patio's awning. "I bet the only thing you haven't studied is boys."

Grace seized Deborah's right bicep. "About the consistency of a wet noodle," she noted, her hand managing to wrap all the way around the muscle.

“Who knows what they’re going to have on the exam?” Deborah asked, shaking her arm from Grace's grip and snatching the textbook away. “You know they’re all different.”

“Yeah, different in the sense that they don’t give the same 200 questions to everyone who takes them,” Laura said as she stepped to Grace’s side. “You realize it’s all basic math and reading, right? Specialized training comes once you’re assigned.”

“You never know,” Deborah shrugged. “The last thing I want to do is flunk and end up as a janitor for the rest of my life. Er… no offense, Laura,” she said with a sheepish smile.

Laura sighed. “Don’t sweat it. I’m with Grace on this one. The best thing you can do at this point is rest up and hope the information sticks.”

“It’s not really the studying that I’m concerned about,” Deborah admitted, biting her nails as her one of her pupils drifted to the far left. “It’s these damn eyes.”

She clenched an eyelid shut and attempted to refocus her sight. Slowly but surely, the two images of her notebook and pencil reunited. “It doesn’t seem like it’s getting any better,” she said, rubbing her temples as an all too familiar headache returned. “What if I get rejected?”

“They usually have something for small stuff like that,” Grace said. “Worst case scenario, you get temporarily relocated while they treat you.”

“Come on, Deb,” Laura encouraged her. “I don’t think studying is going to help lazy-eye.”

Deborah cast a sidelong glance at the pile of untouched books. “Maybe you guys are right,” she said, slamming her notebook shut.

“Atta girl,” Grace said, clapping her on the back as she rose from her seat. “Besides, you’re going to need enough energy to plan the party.”

Deborah groaned. “The party! I knew I forgot something.”

“Better pop that notebook back open,” Laura said, drawing a patio chair from the nearby doorway. “We’ll need a guest list.”

“Guest list?” Deborah narrowed her eyes. “I thought we were going to keep it small.”

“Leave it to Deb to want a small party on her eighteenth birthday,” Grace snickered. “Come on, you’ve had small parties since you were a kid. Live a little, would you?”

“Fine,” Deborah huffed. “Jake?”

“That’s a big yes,” Laura said, snatching the notebook and jotting the name down. “Assuming Grace didn’t swallow him last time they went out for dinner.”

“Give it a rest, guys,” Deborah groaned as Grace opened her mouth to retort. “Bickering isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Whatever,” Grace shrugged. “How about Andrew?”

Grace grimaced. “The guy who hit on me last week? Pass.”

“Well, he’s cute.”

“He’s also fourteen.”

“Oh, is Lauren still around?” Deborah cut in.

“Lauren Griswold?” Grace looked down at the flowing grass, scratching her chin. “She went to take her Exams a couple of days ago, and I haven’t seen her since. I think she might have been reloc—“

Grace coughed loudly as she noticed Deborah’s expression. “No, I don’t think she’s around,” she said meekly.

Deborah took a deep breath. “Well—”

Grace whipped a tiny, metallic rectangle from her pocket as a shrill ringing pierced the air. As she held it flat in her palm, a holographic projection of a clock burst from its surface.

“Shoot, we’re late for dinner,” Grace said. “Come on sis.” She gestured to Laura. “We’d better get home before mom throws a fit.”

Laura nodded and strode toward the door, tossing the notebook back on the outdoor table. “We’ll finish planning the party tomorrow morning, okay Deb?”

Deborah gave a nod of assent and stood from the table. “I guess I’ll see you guys later.”

“Don’t worry about the Exams, kid,” Grace winked. “If anything happens to you, I’ll swap jobs with Laura.”

“Deal,” Deborah grinned.

Grace and Laura turned to face the sliding glass door. A tiny sphere above the door blinked, shining a beam of light directly into their eyes. The sphere beeped, and the door slid back.

“Good luck, Deb!” Laura called as she and her sister strode through the house. “You’ll do great!”

“Thanks!” Deborah called after them.

The moment she heard her front door slam, Deborah groaned and threw her head against the outside of the house.

Miracles can happen, she assured herself. With a heavy sigh, she turned to the door and stepped in front of the sphere.

A beam of bright light descended over her hazel eyes, throwing her vision out of focus for the second time. Moaning, she shielded her eyes from the onslaught and crumpled to the floor with a whimper.

“Resident status confirmed,” a synthesized voice noted as the glass slid back for the second time. “Individual is qualified for superior access.

“Big comfort,” Deborah muttered, stumbling to her feet. “One day, Steve, I swear to God…”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” the AI replied.

Deborah shook her head and stepped through the open door. As she stepped onto the pure-white carpet, lights blinked on throughout the house and the sound of central heating permeated the air.

“Welcome back, resident Deborah,” the AI voice called.

“Thanks, Steve,” Deborah said wearily.

“You’re welcome. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yeah,” Deborah said, striding past the fireplace and recliners of her family’s living room and toward a nearby staircase. “Send a dry martini up to my room.”

“Deborah, your parents have requested—“

“Just do what I said, Steve,” she said weakly. “I don’t give a damn what my parents requested.”

“Acknowledged,” Steve said. “Your parents are scheduled to return from their date in approximately three hours. Will you require any dinner?”

Deborah clenched her stomach, wrapping her hands around the banister as the letters a, b, c, d and e swirled through her mind. “Not hungry,” she muttered, dragging herself up the steps.

“Acknowledged,” Steve stated, his synthetic voice following her through the loudspeakers strewn about the staircase. “Please note that you have received a package. I placed it on your bed for easy access.”

Deborah took a left turn at the top of the staircase, nodding as she strode to the end of the hallway. A familiar beam of blinding light descended on her eyes as she gripped the doorknob. Water streaming from tear ducts, she fought to keep her balance as the door finally popped open.

She immediately turned to her left as she entered the bedroom, whipping a martini glass from her desk. “At least you still know how to make a drink, Steve,” she said, taking a sip.

“Thank you, Deborah.”

She strode to the queen-sized bed at the far end of the room, straining to keep her eyes focused onon the book sized package lying on top. “This is it?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged, setting the glass on her nightstand and taking the package in hand. Tearing the tape back, she turned the box upside down and allowed a clear piece of plastic to slide out.

“Oh…”

She laid the plastic flat on her bedspread, stepping back as an image began to rise out of the plastic’s translucent surface.

“Identity confirmed,” a monotonous voice told her. “Deborah Clark Walters, born September 27, 2072.

“Greetings, new Asset!” the holographic figure of a stout bald man greeted her. “As we’re sure you are aware, tomorrow is your eighteenth birthday.”

“You don’t say.” Deborah rolled her eyes and removed her martini from the end table.

“As per Work Force Stability Protocol Four, Section Six, you are required to report to a local government testing facility for career testing and assignment.

“Current data indicates that you are a resident of New Anchorage, Carolina. The closest Labor Assignment Center in your area is approximately six kilometers away. You will report to the LAC at precisely eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Do you require transport?”

“No, thank you,” Deborah said, draining her martini.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the hologram said. “The Collective looks forward to having a new, productive member of Society, provided you are free of disabilities. Best of luck!”

The holographic display blinked and faded back into its source on the bed. Deborah stood a few feet from the bed, staring unblinkingly at the plastic rectangle, her mouth ever-so-slightly ajar.

“Ma’am?” Steve said after a moment of silence.

“Set an alarm for 6:30 tomorrow, Steve,” Deborah said, passing a hand over her eyes.

“Are you alri—“

“I’ll be fine,” she said as she collapsed onto the bed. “Just set the alarm.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Deborah threw her head back onto her pillow, staring up at the ceiling as her eyes crossed.

“Help me,” she whispered as her blurred vision swirled before her. “Please help me.”

"Relocation"

“…Well kids, that concludes the story of Hagrin, the hungry octopus! Is there anything else you’d like to hear?”

“Tell the story of the Collective!”

The voices of a dozen children exploded from the radio, rebounding off the walls and through the ears of each passenger on the bullet-train.

Deborah gritted her teeth, fiddling with the buttons of her short-sleeved blouse as the noise drifted through the car. She turned her gaze from the window on her left and looked across the aisle, glaring at the suited man across from her.

“Do you mind turning that down?” Deborah asked the radio’s bald owner as she turned in her seat, cupping her hands over her ears.

The man sat motionless, his finger's tapping the aged electronic device set on the seat next to him. “Deal with it, sweetheart,” he said, not turning from his own window. “I’m taking this thing to the redemption center this afternoon, and I’m gonna get my use out of it before that.”

“How is that thing even working? I thought we stopped—”

Deborah clamped her mouth. Sliding to the aisle seat, she smoothed her skirt and leaned toward the radio's speakers. “Who is that?”

“The guy talking?” the man asked, rubbing a hand across his five o'clock shadow. “Brian Slaven, some kind of government appointed entertainer. Tells stories to kids and stuff.”

“Here’s a story for all you faithful listeners out there,” the voice on the radio said. “Long ago, the world was in a state of panic. Overpopulation and perpetual famine swept through the planet pushing humankind to the point of extinction!”

The children’s voices burst through the speakers again, drowning the noise of the train in a multitude of gasps.

“But all was not lost!” Slaven assured them. “A single, brave man stood amidst the pain and woe. He refused to let humanity go down without a fight.”

“What was his name?” one of the children asked.

“Malcolm Grayson,” Slaven replied. “He knew that such a massive population couldn’t survive without being carefully guarded and nurtured. So he went from country to country as an ambassador, petitioning each of them to see the light. In the end, he convinced the world that we needed to work together to accomplish our goals.

“And the countries agreed. A worldwide alliance was formed to produce enough food to feed the growing population. In a matter of only five years, each and every citizen had enough food to feed his family ten times over, and it was all thanks to Malcolm Grayson.

“It was here that the Collective was formed. After seeing the way they impacted change through teamwork, countries worldwide sustained their partnerships. To show their gratitude for his initiative, the Collective appointed Grayson at its head, and Earth has lived in a state of peace and prosperity for decades.”

“He’s an amazing man,” Deborah said in awe as the man pressed the radio’s power button.

“Who, Grayson?” he asked.

Deborah nodded. “His sense of duty and commitment to survival. I really admire him.”

The man spun to face Deborah and leaned forward, chuckling. “And you think that’s all there is to the story?”

Deborah frowned. Despite the man's muscular jaw and confident demeanor, no amount of laughter could disguise the sunken, haunted look that plagued his gaze. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“That’s just a fairytale,” he explained. “Truncated and modified so it’s appropriate for kids. Do you really think that every world leader suddenly decided to make an alliance, all because some guy asked them to?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying they’re a lot more to the story.”

Deborah stood from her seat, stepping forward and gripping the handrail above him. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Jarvis,” he said, extending a massive hand.

Deborah eyed the hand without moving. “No, I mean, who are you? What do you know?”

“Let’s just say I was there when the Collective was formed,” Jarvis said, running a hand over his precious radio.

Deborah swung her backpack over her shoulder and leaned against the handrail. “You don’t trust them,” she said, folding her arms.

Jarvis raised his eyebrows. “Do you?”

“They’ve never steered me wrong before.”

“Oh yeah?” Jarvis gripped the radio’s handhold, rising to full height. Standing at over six feet, he towered over the minuscule teenager, his massive shoulders sloping into a defined V-shape at his waist. “How do you think the world has stayed ‘stable’ this long? How do you think the Collective fought overpopulation? How do you think the workforce is so perfect, when you know full well that we’re not all perfect?”

Deborah lowered her eyebrows in piercing scrutiny. “What do you know?”

Jarvis sighed; he looked down at the radio and fiddled with its nobs. “Why are you on this train route anyway?”

“I’m headed to the LAC for my career exam.”

Jarvis grimaced, turning back to her. Locking his eyes on hers, he watched as they drifted slowly to the edge of her eye-sockets.

“New Anchorage Labor Assignment Center,” a voice called over the intercom.

Jarvis took a deep breath. “God help you.”

* * *

“Confirming eligibility for labor assignment. Please wait.”

Deborah inhaled sharply as the familiar wave of light passed over her eyes. She glanced in awe at the towering, oval-shaped building stretching into the clouds above.

“Eligibility confirmed. Name: Deborah Walters. Age: eighteen. IQ: 149.”

Two tinted-glass doors opened into the building, exposing the circular antechamber within.

“Best of luck!” the entrance AI told her.

“Right.” Deborah took a deep breath and strode across the threshold.

The ends of Deborah’s high-heels struck the dark marble floor of the Center, the resulting sound echoing through the room and off the vaulted ceiling above. She felt her heart beat faster as she passed endless rows of empty armchairs facing the back of the room.

“First one of the day, eh?” a voice asked.

Deborah started as she found herself only a foot from the expansive desk at the back of the antechamber. Her eyes fell upon the middle-aged man seated behind the black wood, a coffee cup pressed against his lips. “Sorry, I guess I went on auto-pilot there for a second.”

The receptionist took a draught from his mug, readjusting his glasses with his free hand. “No sweat, sweetheart. I don’t think any of us have business being up at this hour. Couldn't even bring myself to do laundry." He laughed, plucking at the atrocious Hawaiian-patterned shirt adorning his chest.

“Is it usually this empty?” Deborah asked uneasily, looking around the deserted room.

“October is a slow month this year,” he explained. “I barely see twenty a day.”

“So how does this all work?”

The receptionist set his mug down and gestured to Deborah’s left. “See that door over there?”

Deborah followed his hand to the large door beyond the left side of the desk. Its golden knob glinted in the low light of the room.

“As soon as we finish checking you in, you’ll go inside. A proctor will show you to one of the testing chambers. Once you’re finished, you turn in your exam paper and go home. We’ll contact you in about a week to tell you your results.”

Deborah’s face brightened considerably. “That’s it?”

The receptionist folded his arms, smiling as he leaned back in his chair. “That’s it.”

Deborah’s eyes drifted to the right side of the reception desk, her smile fading as she noticed a second door. “What’s that for?”

“Oh, the other door?” the receptionist asked absently, his hands racing across the keyboard on the desk’s surface. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for… others.”

Silence descended between the two, interrupted only by the rhythmic tapping of the receptionist’s keyboard.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Your identity was already confirmed at the first door, so I only need a fingerprint and signature from you now.”

He reached into a drawer and retrieved two electronic pads and a stylus, setting them on the desk before Deborah. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Deborah nodded and took the stylus in hand. She scribbled on it briefly before placing her left thumb on the second pad. After a moment, both devices chimed, the lights adorning them turning green.

“And there you have it!” the receptionist said, clapping his hands together. “Now, you can just go on through—“

Deborah flinched as a tiny “ding” emitted from the receptionist’s monitor.

“Hang on a minute,” he said, narrowing his eyes. He looked back up to Deborah, scratching his chin with a free hand. “Don’t worry about this. I just need to ask you a couple of questions before you begin.”

“Alright,” Deborah said, unable to calm the shaking in her voice.

“Now, have you ever had any mental or physical disabilities?”

Deborah gulped audibly, laying a hand on the desk to steady herself. “Well…”

A splitting ache shot through her head as her eyes drifted in opposite directions.

“I see.” The receptionist nodded as he went back to typing. “Strabismus, right? Would have been hereditary.”

Deborah nodded.

“Well, that one is usually easy enough to fix. Have you ever attempted treatment?” the receptionist asked without looking up.”

“Yes, when I was nine,” Deborah replied. “As you can see, it—”

“Didn’t work,” he finished. “Right then, I’m just going to need you to step through the door to my right, and we’ll get that cleared up right away.”

“But I thought you said—”

“I know what I said,” the receptionist assured her. “Just go through the door. A specialist will meet you for your treatment, and we’ll have that cleared up before you know it.”

He looked up at her with a smile, gesturing broadly to the door with his left hand.

Deborah nodded slowly as she turned to the door, her footfalls creating that familiar hollow sound.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” the receptionist called after her.

She laid a shaking hand on the knob of the door. “I’ll try to remember that.”

* * *

The antechamber spilled into a pure-white hallway that extended beyond Deborah’s line of sight. The walls and floor shone brightly in the lamplight streaming from the ceiling, giving Deborah the distinct feeling of being in a hospital.

Along each wall, dozens of thick metal doors lay perfectly spaced from one another, each with a dark tinted window to its immediate left.

Way to ease the terror...

Her footsteps carried the familiar echo of the previous room as she passed each door.

“Hello?” she called after walking a short distance. “Is anyone here?”

For the briefest moment, silence permeated the area. Deborah huffed loudly and made to turn back to the entrance. “Honestly—”

“Damn it, Matthews, stop playing with the intercom. These rooms are soundproofed for a reason.”

Deborah stopped dead and turned to the door on her left. She approached it and laid a hand on the tiny speaker box occupying the space between the door and window. Beyond the glass, four dark silhouettes milled around an individual who face up on a seat in the room’s center. Deborah pressed her ear against the intercom, holding her breath.

“Sorry, boss,” one of the room’s occupants said.

“Alright then, are we recording?”

“I’ve got you loud and clear,” Matthews told him.

“Great. This is Dr. Raleigh, recording from operation room nineteen on October 27, 2072. Assisting me are doctors Smith, Matthews and Johnson.

“With us this morning is Lauren Griswold. She came to the LAC on October 25. Ms. Griswold has struggled with alalia syllabaris, more commonly known as a stutter, since she was a small child.”

“H-hi, e-everyone,” Lauren said quietly.

Deborah stepped back from the intercom, laying a hand on her head. She’s still here?

She pressed her ear back to the speaker as Raleigh continued. “Ms. Griswold attempted treatment between 2062 and 2065, and has failed to correct the issue.”

“But y-you’re going to h-help me, right?” Lauren asked.

Deborah heard Raleigh give a tiny chuckle.

“We certainly are. Dr. Smith, if you’d be so kind?”

A second female voice flowed through the speaker. “Of course.”

Deborah watched through the glass as one of the silhouettes approached Lauren in her seat. The figure grabbed Lauren’s arm, and a tiny grunt of pain wafted through the air.

“W-what’s the IV for?” Lauren asked as her breathing quickened.

“Ignore her,” Raleigh advised. “Start the drip.”

“I d-don’t understand,” Lauren said desperately. Even through the speakers, Deborah could tell that she had begun to hyperventilate. “I t-t-though you were going to treat me.”

Deborah could just make out Smith running a hand through Lauren’s hair.

“We are, sweetheart.”

“B-but I… I f-feel s-sleepy,” Lauren said in a weak voice.

Deborah watched in horror as she thrashed at the doctors, scrambling to rise from the chair.

“Restraints,” Raleigh yelled.

The doctors each grabbed one of Lauren’s limbs, securing them to the chair with leather straps. Deborah’s hands shook uncontrollably as she looked on.

Lauren’s voice became nothing more than a whisper as she succumbed to the intravenous drip, laying back in resignation. “Are y-you trying t-to k… k-kill—”

Deborah fought an urge to vomit as she heard a single, massive exhalation, morbidly transfixed as Lauren’s body fell limp. Absolute silence claimed the operating room, and the silhouettes of the doctors stood still as statues.

“And that’s a wrap,” Raleigh whispered finally. “Johnson, report a relocation and inform her parents. Let’s get this body down to the incinerator.”

Deborah gasped, taking a step back from the door.

Everyone in the darkened operating room froze.

“Did you hear that?” Matthews whispered.

“The intercom,” Raleigh whispered. “Call security!”

Deborah looked rapidly to each end of the hallway before bolting from the window. She raced toward the door as she heard the metal door behind her open.

“Stop her!” Raleigh shrieked.

Deborah felt a sharp pain pierce the back of her leg, and a drowsy sensation gripped her only seconds later. Her strength deserting her, she collapsed only ten feet from the hallway’s exit.

The footsteps of the approaching doctors became distant and indistinct as the room swam before her.

“Please… please don’t…” Deborah said, mustering the last of her willpower as two men clad in white armor raced down the hallway.

“Don’t worry,” Raleigh said, stooping down and gripping her right shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

"Only Following Orders"

“Restraints.”

The pressure of the leather straps barely registered in Deborah’s mind as she was bound to the chair. She flinched as one of the doctors gripped her left arm roughly, turning it over and exposing a bulging vein.

Deborah forced her eyes open, but found herself unable to identify any of the room’s occupants through her plaguing mental fog.

“Will her parents ask questions?”

“Unlikely. Her file says they’ve been largely absent throughout her life. An accident child, that same old sob-story.”

“Good, report a relocation. Let’s get this over with.

One of the silhouettes took a slender metal tube in hand, at the end of which was a long, transparent tube. “How many CCs?” she asked.

A second silhouette wheel to face Deborah. “Make it 500, Smith. I don’t want to take any chances with her.”

Smith nodded. She opened a metal locker at the end of the room and withdrew a bag of clear liquid.

Deborah jolted back to consciousness as Smith hung the bag from a pole to her right. Screaming and thrashing against the straps with all her might.

“The torso, too.” Raleigh pointed to Deborah’s chest.

Raleigh’s associates moved toward Deborah, drawing the last and largest of the bindings over Deborah’s midsection. Unable to budge, Deborah threw herself back against the seat.

“I don’t understand,” she managed to whisper as her lips quavered.

Raleigh sighed as he approached her and cupped his hand over hers. “We don’t either, sweetheart. We’re just following orders.”

“But—”

Deborah let out a tiny cry as Smith pierced the vein on her left arm with a needle. She watched in horror as the female physician hung the transparent bag from a stand to her left.

“I thought you were going to treat me,” Deborah whispered desperately, her entire body shaking as tears streamed down her face.

“Please don’t make this any harder than it already is,” Raleigh begged, gripping her hand tighter still. “Start the recording,” he told the two unoccupied doctors.

“Got it,” one of them replied, depressing a button on a computer station behind Deborah. “You’re on.”

“This is Dr. Stephen Raleigh, recording from operation room nineteen on October 27, 2072. We have with us subject 2072-10-27B, Deborah Walters, who has been plagued with strabismus, or lazy eye, since she was born.”

Deborah sobbed as Smith placed her hand on the IV clip above her head. “Please, don’t do this.”

“It is the decision of the Collective that the more merciful action is to—”

“Raleigh,” one of the doctors seated behind Deborah broke in. “We’ve got a security breach.”

Raleigh grunted and rose from Deborah’s side. “What the hell is it this time?”

Deborah strained to turn her head as Raleigh stepped over to the monitors.

“Them again?” Raleigh groaned.

“Security said they busted through the emergency exit. They’re heavily armed.”

“Fatalities?”

“None so far. They’re only using stun weaponry.”

“Fine.” Raleigh stepped swiftly back to Deborah and motioned to Smith. “Seal the fire doors and start the drip; I don’t want to have a witness running around.”

Deborah screamed with all her might as Smith removed the clip from the bag. Instantly, a drowsy and uncaring feeling coursed through her body.

“Please, just tell me why,” Deborah said weakly.

Raleigh looked down on her for the briefest second, a pained expression flashing across his face. “Look…”

The macabre calm of the air was disrupted by the sound of shattering glass. Fragments of the tinted window sprayed the interior of the room.

“Disruption wave!” a deep male voice bellowed.

Raleigh ducked beneath the wave of electricity passing over the room. Deborah could just make out the sound of three bodies slumping to the floor through her ever-fading hearing.

“Buzz him!”

Through drooping eyes, Deborah watched as Raleigh twisted and thrashed on the ground, a visible wave of electricity passing over his body.

“Clear!” a second voice shouted.

“Everyone inside, now!”

Deborah fought to keep her drooping eyes open as the four piled through the broken window.

One of the new faces glanced at the draining IV bag. “They’ve already started her.”

“Then get the damn antidote! James, Ali, watch the door.”

Deborah’s head jolted involuntarily at the sound of the second voice.

I know you.

She felt the flowing from the IV stop abruptly as one of her saviors attached a new substance to the drip. Only a lack of strength kept her from gasping as one of the men stooped over her. A tall, balding man…

Holding an ancient radio.

“Jarvis?” she said groggily as her eyes slid shut.

“Deborah?”Jarvis shouted. “Come on, Deborah, stay with me! What’s her status, Matt?”

“Heart rate… forty beats per minute and dropping,” Matt replied, clipping a heart monitor onto Deborah’s finger. “Fast,” he amended with a grimace, glancing at the electronic device in his hand.

“Brain activity?”

“Minimal. Core functions only.”

“Why the hell isn’t the antidote working?”

“She was already too far gone by the time we got in here!”

Jarvis pounded Deborah’s seat with a fist, running a hand down his face. “What are our options?”

Matt looked back at him with a blank expression, marred by the tiniest bit of regret.

“What are our options, Matt?” Jarvis repeated angrily.

Matt simply shook his head, looking down on Deborah with a sigh.

“No,” Jarvis whispered dangerously. “Not like this. There’s another way.”

He reached into the bag slung over his shoulder and withdrew three small suction cups; at the end of each, a USB port hung.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Matt demanded.

“Upload her.”

Matt stared at Jarvis incredulously, not moving a muscle. “What did you say?”

“Did I stutter?” Jarvis shrieked, attaching the suction cups to Deborah’s forehead. He held each of the wires out to Matt without looking up. “Plug her in.”

“Jarvis, we can’t afford to take a risk like this!”

“A risk like what?” Jarvis asked, rising to full height. “What we can’t afford is another loss.”

“They’ll be able to trace any connection we make. If we try to upload her, how long will it be before they uncover the network entirely? Our existence depends on secrecy.”

“You’re not the one giving orders here,” Jarvis said dangerously.

“If you do this, you’re risking everything we’ve worked for. And for what? One witness? We’ve got hundreds.”

Both men froze as the device in Matt’s hand let out a shrill whine. On the display, a solid line slid across the screen.

“Start the upload,” Jarvis growled through gritted teeth, “or killing her will be the last thing you ever do.”

Matt glared, extracting a laptop from his own backpack and attaching the wires to its ports. He depressed a key and looked back up to Jarvis. “Who do we replace with her?”

Jarvis looked at Deborah’s motionless body with narrowed eyes. “She’s too smart… she might accidentally tip someone off. Give her an unremarkable position, something unlikely to attract attention.”

“You want to give her memories, as well?”

“Absolutely,” Jarvis nodded, “and give her a temporary mind-wipe. The new life will keep her occupied long enough for us to figure out a long-term solution.”

“We’ve got activity!” Ali shouted from beside the window, brandishing his stun-rifle. “They’re trying to cut through the door!”

“On it,” Matt said as his computer let out a tiny beep. “That’s a wrap.” He slammed the lid of the laptop shut and stowed it in his supply bag.

Matt marched to the broken window, jumping out of the room with his companions. “Get the hell out of there, Jarvis! We have to move!”

Ali and James raised their weapons as the sound of dozens of voices grew louder outside the distant exit.

Jarvis waved him away, laying two fingers across Deborah’s limp wrist. He gritted his teeth as he felt her lack of a pulse.

He turned to the shattered window and jumped to join his companions. “I just hope to God it worked.”

* * *
“Mom? Mom, wake up!”

Ditzy Doo groaned, shifting under her bedcovers and pulling a pillow over her head. “Dinky, it’s Sunday,” she grumbled. “It’s my only day off.”

Dinky burst through her mother’s door and leapt onto the bed. “Mom’s don’t get days off; didn’t you know?”

“Just five more minutes, okay sweetheart?”

“Not a chance.” Dinky giggled, nuzzling the back of her mother’s head.

“Alright, alright!” Ditzy joined her daughter in laughter. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Dinky smiled and launched herself from the bed, sauntering out of the room.

That little filly… Ditzy smiled internally.

Stretching her neck from side to side, Ditzy rolled out of the bed and found herself painfully reunited with the concept of a “floor.”

“Sparkler?” she called down the stairs, taking a comb from her nightstand and running it through her hair. “Get the coffee started, would you?”

Ditzy looked into the bedroom mirror at her sunken eyes and drooping mouth and groaned. “And remind me to get an appointment scheduled at the salon.”

Throwing her hooves up in frustration, Ditzy opened her door and started down the stairs to the kitchen. Stumbling along the steps, she soon found herself in trudging across linoleum and to her dining table.

“Late night?” Sparkler asked, sliding a coffee mug across the table as she sat beside her mother.

“Not really,” Ditzy said, repressing a yawn. “I just kept having these weird nightmares. It was set in the future; that was all I could really tell. And I was some kind of weird, alien thing.”

“Alien thing?” Sparkler tilted her head.

“I had claws, like a dragon, except they weren’t pointy or scaly. They were kind of… fleshy.” Ditzy held her hooves out, turning them over and over and inspecting each closely.

“If you use one more word that ends in ‘y,’ I think you’re legally obligated to start writing children’s books,” Sparkler teased.

“Poke all the fun you want,” Ditzy said, turning her nose up and fighting the urge to smile. “I think the dream was fascinating.”

“Didn’t you just say it was a nightmare?”

“Everypony’s a critic,” Ditzy shrugged. “Did anything happen lately that I should know about?”

Sparkler turned her head up thoughtfully as she rose from her chair and trotted to the sink. “Let’s see… the roof fell in again, Dinky got detention for using magic to throw a bully into the river… just the normal disasters.”

“Come on, Sparkler, impress me!” Ditzy said with a grin.

“Oh, a letter came for you this morning!”

Ditzy’s grin fell slightly. “Somepony’s out for my job, eh?”

“Yeah, if anypony wants a job as the clumsiest mail-mare in Equestria,” Sparkler snickered, tossing an envelope to her mother.

“Still, a letter on Sunday? That’s a little strange. Did you see who delivered it?”

Sparkler shook her head. “As best I can tell, somepony dropped it in the mail slot before sunrise.

“Who in the world would want to contact me so badly?” Ditzy wondered as she tore the letter open. Her heart beating slightly faster, she withdrew a piece of parchment from the envelope. As she unfurled it, she found the message contained only three sentences.

“Don't be so trusting of first glances. They'll be watching. Keep your guard up,” Ditzy mouthed, lowering her eyebrows.

“Something the matter, mom?” Sparkler asked, approaching the table.

“Keep your guard up,” Ditzy whispered reverently. She dropped the letter and raised her left hoof to eye level.

Her eyes began to drift apart as she stared, but the sensations coursing through her limb were unmistakable. The sensation of five digits extending past her hoof, and…

…the sensation of a needle, piercing her foreleg.