Aftersound

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Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, mikemeiers

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Beauty and the beast

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After expressing my gratitude to Brass Litany once more and receiving in return another insistent instruction to seek out her brethren, I departed rather abruptly. The zebras guiding me to Canterlot weren’t wasting time.

Having no knowledge of Equestrian, they hadn’t spoken to me, not that I seemed deserving of their attention to begin with. Nor did they chat among themselves, instead they solemnly and hastily traversed the unwelcoming terrain, forcing me to canter to match their long-legged gait.

My ‘entourage’ consisted of four mares and five stallions from the Jangwa Tribe. Offensive though it might sound, the striped equines shared the blank uniformity of monochrome coats, barely having anything to tell them apart from each other. Though they lacked any prosthetics, their limbs weren’t devoid of technology—bracelets of wires and gems snuggled to their hooves; some sort of devices. And of course, those were neighboured by more traditional jewellery; their placement and number were the only way to differentiate the zebras.

Whilst the scenery remained just as dreadfully drab, I was occasionally hit by instances of déjà vu. It took me a while to figure out that we seemed to be following a path once belonging to a railroad to Fillydelphia. Twilight’s recollections suggested frequent travels taking place during the war when she and her friends had tried to run the government. Those cliffs, desolate even back then, had etched themselves into her memory during one such trip.

However, there was not a single trace of the rails. With Canterlot standing alone in the fallen kingdom, all roads must have withered away. The steel was stripped to be recycled and the wood rotted into nought.

The landscape also lacked the lush vegetation that used to accompany the gleaming tracks cutting through the mountains’ roots. Only barren stone and mine dumps stood sentinels to the long-abandoned supply route. Actually, there was flora—represented by sparse gnarled leafless sprouts protruding from the cracks in the grey rock, almost indistinguishable from it.

If not for the sunlight held captive in the gold of the zebras’ bijouterie, I would have thought my eyes had malfunctioned, for there were no colours but black, white and everything in betwixt. And though the picture evoked no positive response, I was unsure if I’d prefer the decomposing world of rust occasionally intruding on my vision from the left.

The oppressing monotony made me think days passed before we finally came to a halt.

We faced a low platform with a large metal trapdoor embedded into chipped concrete. Two zebras swung open the massive gates into the underground world and the rest dived into the darkness, just as wordlessly as before.

I was the last to approach the entrance, a single zebra holding one rusty leaf open for me.

The subterranean passageways had brought nothing but grief into my life, so I hesitated. Glancing at the striped stallion, hoping to find any support, I was met with an indifferent expression and he motioned with his head to the hungry blackness. The fear of being left behind with the prospect of an arduous trek back to either Brass Litany or Adamant Smash gave me enough motivation to hurriedly follow the suggestion.

The darkness promptly faded, as only the trampled steps housed shadows. They opened into a cramped tunnel dimly lit by the embers of orange filament lamps clinging to eroded walls.

The trapdoor shut with a loud bang and strong rush of air, and as soon as the stallion took his place in the lead, the group resumed the journey, leaving me to catch up; the zebras trotted faster now.

A corroded grating creaked under my heavy steps that made omnipresent rust and dust rise from below the mesh. In some places dirt even topped the lattice, and I scattered it across the trelliswork in my half-blind wake.

Straight and narrow, the tunnel remained that way for a while, however, soon it began to branch with smaller passages yawning at us with their lightless void. Some of those collapsed, vomiting rubble into the main duct, but in others silhouettes shifted anxiously.

Dancing shadows in the adjacent passages weren’t the only signs of life.

Empty tin cans, colourful wrappings and other recent litter betrayed the underground either being inhabited or at least frequently visited; large rats rummaged through the bigger piles of trash in corners.

And then the smell hit me.

Before, dampness and mould permeated the stagnant air; something I had almost gotten used to. But now…

Vermin-infested trash stank of rotting food. Something hidden from my sight emanated a sweet putrescence. Other stenches I couldn’t recognize assaulted my sensors. And dominating above all was the ammoniacal reek of urine. A fetidity from puddles left under the grating by rodents and equines mixed in a stomach-turning miasma. I wasn’t puking my guts out only because I had none.

Eventually, I either got used to that as well or it was just the outskirts of the underground plagued by foetor—we came to the first crossroad in our path giving us a choice betwixt the bigger passages and along with it the taste of fresher air.

The zebras didn’t change course and without missing a beat trotted ahead.

There was no sign on the dirty walls and the striped equines didn’t drop a word, but somehow I knew we had entered the Tunnels.

The passage offered not only more space for the Jangwa giants, but was also decently lit. The blinking cyan tubes dispelled overwhelming twilight, driving it into corners. And with no darkness to hide in, equines emerged.

Our first encounters clenched my proverbial heart with pity—lonely figures huddled to the shadows of broken lamps; dirty forms with their ribs poking through their almost furless coats. Those poor ponies shivered and wheezed on the cold floor amongst dust and filth, hugging themselves with cracked hooves. Their vacant half-lidded eyes sometimes followed us, twitching in synchrony with the uneven heartbeat of the pale light.

Some of them had emptied inhalers or syringes dropped from their lifeless limbs.

Some lay disturbingly still.

My attention eagerly went to the other denizens—my ‘kin’.

The equinoids never idled, traversing the tunnels with purpose, leaving behind the echo of their swift metal hooves. My knowledge suggested the equinoids’ mass-produced nature would render them even more uniform than my present company, but my assumption was proved to be utterly wrong.

Giants clad in a thick plating of rusty metal shambled through corridors unrelentingly, everypony cringing from their towering bulks. Sleek, rustling with plastic, equinoids skulked in the shadows like cats stalking prey. Wiry skeletons little different from Adamant Smash limped through paths lit by their large, ghastly eyes.

And those were who I could safely call equinoids.

Massive hind legs once rapidly carried an artificial creature past us, its… their front ones tucked under their chest. Another zipped across the tunnel, their engine roaring as it powered a series of wheels wrapped in rattling tracks. An adjacent duct, submerged in inky darkness, offered me a sinister sight of one who I could only describe as Headless Horse.

Where zebras fell behind the prismatic variety of three pony races, equinoids left in the dust any other species from my knowledge.

However, the metal ponies had been a rather rare sight, so in betwixt marvelling at their unbridled creativity I satiated my curiosity with gawking at… everypony else.

It quickly caught my eye that, be they from iron or flesh, almost all travellers wore clothes. That tendency rarely had anything to do with fashion—filthy tattered rags and only occasionally utilitarian leather served as a means to avoid piercing draughts.

Nor did it escape me that disturbingly often the torn fabric covered the gleam of hardware.

Steel hooves and rusty jaws, resin tubes and colourful wires, a lustre of plating and the glow of crystal eyes. Even artificial wings—a sight that would have sent a shiver down my spine if I still had one.

Apparently deliberately broken lamps created islands of light and dark at even intervals. Whilst the illuminated patches had only rats living their squalid lives to the full, the shadows served as a sanctuary for ponies huddled together in close groups.

Some were engaged in trading, haggling over goods laid out on rags or makeshift tables. Shiny gems and mysterious technical components constituted the bulk of the wares, though, inhalers, ampules or pills often joined the wide assortment. One vendor seemed to sell a different kind of merchandise.

The mere sight made me physically recoil—organs encased in glass tubes floated in murky liquids, pulsing. Strange and off-colour, sporting occasional incrustations of metal, they were synthetic replicas, but it hardly made the display any less disturbing.

Another common sight was ponies hunched over magical projections cast by small devices—it took me by surprise. I… Twilight had been capable of creating such arcane illusions, but it was quite an advanced and rare spell. Enchanting crystals to replicate it was an even more challenging task.

Just another impossibility turned into a commodity.

Other dwellers were absorbed in more mundane activities, their quiet chatter saturating shadows with a faint rustle. Cigarette smoke added to the chorus of unpleasant odours. Drinks or meagre meals were shared. Albeit somewhat miserable, that place seemed tranquil.

That didn’t apply to the branching out tunnels, however.

A group of ponies had a stallion pressed to the wall, viciously beating the semi-unconscious unicorn. Two equines hurriedly exchanged tightly wrapped bundles to instantly disappear as a deal was struck. The spotlight of my curiosity caught a mare and stallion, the giggling couple smooching, lost in the passion of the moment.

And everywhere my gaze fell, the faintly lit stained concrete was vandalized by crude paintings.

The stylized images often even overlapped one another, drawn in garish colours. Largely represented by a mess of jagged lines, supposedly words—a barely recognizable gibberish, they were nothing but an offence to art. Arrows pointed to adjacent passages. Arcane runes and occult symbols scrawled with ignorance and a lack of diligence. Even a made-up mockery—a circle with arrows coming out of it.

One image stood out.

An equine silhouette with glowing eyes and a crystal-shaped heart. A slogan underneath it read, “Fuck tin heads”. Crossed with what I hoped was just red paint the caricature had two words written over it, “Fuck meat”.

The zebras’ vigorous pace prevented me from lingering on any sight for too long—we had been outrunning anypony. But those passersby gradually become vastly outnumbered by equines travelling in the direction opposite to ours, surprisingly with even more urgency to their gaits.

At first, it was fillies and colts, appearing for the first time in the motley underground crowd. Saddlebags brimming with papers betrayed them as either messengers or couriers.

Although more equines kept joining the galloping youth, the equinoids made up the majority of sudden traffic. Meanwhile, the resting ponies become almost extinct.

Our group halted in its tracks.

Absorbed by observations, I rammed the rump of the zebra in front of me with enough force to lift her hind hooves off the floor, eliciting an unexpectedly high-pitched squeak from the colossal mare. She only had the time to glare at me before her head followed her swivelling ears.

The leader of the group was engaged in a heated conversation with another zebra—she wasn’t one of ‘ours’.

Clad in a surprisingly pristine grey cape, she wore golden jewellery of a noticeably different design and her head was crowned by dreadlocks in a tight bun. The main difference, however, was her size—about the same height as me, she belonged to either the Mabonde or Mlima Tribe.

The exchange in hushed zebrican lasted only for a few more words before the mare briskly trotted to where we had come from. As she passed, I was spared a quick curious glance.

Did… did her eyes have slit pupils or was it just a trick of the light?

When I turned to double-check, the strange zebra was already gone, even though there was only a wide empty tunnel behind me.

Our procession didn’t resume journeying, instead, the stallion motioned to the nearest broken lamp. Though it likely didn’t apply to me, I awkwardly joined their tight circle.

He spoke with clear concern.

“Joka ni juu ya pembe. Tunapaswa kwenda juu.”

“Unda.” One of the mares scowled in frustration, then barked irritably, “Kwa kifungu cha Mashariki?”

To my shame, whilst the war had given me plenty of reason, it never allowed me the time to learn Zebrican. Still, I was able to recognize one word—Mashariki, ‘East’. And I could swear I had heard Joka before.

“Ndiyo,” the stallion replied with a nod.

The other zebras joined the silent agreement and left the shadow, but before they resumed their march, the mare who I headbutted approached me. I expected the worst, but her expression bore only concern.

“Joka hunts. Chuma pony stays, chuma pony meets end. We enda kwa surface.”

The inclusion of Zebrican and her horrible accent turned the finer details into a riddle, but the general meaning was crystal clear.

I nodded to the towering mare and she curtly mirrored the gesture. Wasting no time, the zebra joined her comrades who had already been cantering away so fast I was forced to a full gallop.

Joka.

So familiar, yet whatever inklings I had didn’t fit with the current context.

The few ponies who were still in the tunnel, zoomed past us, glancing back, sheer terror on their muzzles. The ominous silence of the underground pressed on my mind with deafening emptiness, making me sharply aware of my hooves booming against the dirty floor.

Like the crack of a whip, a shrill scream split the thick air of the desolate passage.

Even the echoes turning a single sound into a pandemonium couldn’t hide a horrifying reality—it wasn’t too far away.

The zebras took it as some kind of a signal, as suddenly they took a sharp turn into a branching duct—a short corridor ending in a rusted spiral staircase.

Another ear-piercing shriek followed us from the main tunnel, but this time it was joined by a deep reverberating roar. The shrill yells gained a panicked edge to them before turning into a gurgling wail of agony accompanied by bloodcurdling sounds of carnage.

The zebras had been already climbing the steps ahead of me, their tails swishing in rhythm with panting breaths. I was but one step behind, driven by primal fear.

Carelessly, I hopped up steps without a pause, a crucial feat possible only due to my metal nature. The zebras were gone, yet I wasn’t alone in that terrifying short tunnel.

I almost cried out when my body all but shot out of the rattling darkness.

The world exploded.

Flares of every colour imaginable assaulted me from every direction and I was rendered simply blinded. The chromatic chaos didn’t stay still—the luminescence danced an impetuous tango, a rainbow kaleidoscope that my vision had become.

Before my eyes could even start to adjust, a loud noise made me jump; the cold terror reasserting its grip. I expected to face the horror from the depths, my body whipping around.

The access door slammed shut like a casket lid, the valve topping it turned violently.

Surrounded by heavily panting zebras, I stood petrified, expecting to hear the ominous thing trying to force its way out, but the gate to the dark domain remained innocently silent, betraying not even a single sign of the monstrosity prowling beneath.

An alcove created by the windowless walls of the two towering buildings housed nought but us and the seal to the realm of nightmares. I had a creeping suspicion about the flicking lights filtering into the dead-end alley—they were cast by no dreams.

Yet, little different from a moth, I couldn’t resist the inviting blaze of the street.

At first, I thought it was indeed on fire—countless neon signs clung to façades. Mostly simple adverts, the burning words hid the surface beneath, whilst flooding the road with radiance. With a surprise I found myself unable to read them—it was Hanzi of neighponese. Those who let me know their secrets offered a wide range of vaguely technical services, such as repairs or crystal maintenance.

Something touched my shoulder—the zebra mare met my eyes.

“Good luck,” she said and left before I could come up with a reply.

The striped equine joined her group and they momentarily dissolved into the dance of shadow and light that was Canterlot.

I was in Canterlot.

My only clue was the Southeast Thunderspire in which neighbourhood the stallion making fake IDs resided. Fortunately, the mysterious obelisks would be easy to locate—not only tall enough to be clearly visible from any point in the city, they also seemed to be a place of great importance. With any further luck, the Flower and Wire would come there.

My first step into the streets of Canterlot promised to be an adventure of its own—the city swarmed.

The crowds scurrying about the sidewalk were omnifarious beyond my imagination.

Garish coats shone in neon lights along with grimy pelts. Multicoloured mohawks mimicked the traditional zebrican manedo; dreadlocks swung, sometimes with cords and wires woven into them; wholly or partially shaved craniums reflected the artificial glow.

If it wasn’t dirty rags and icteritious bandages concealing sordid bodies, it was garments absurd enough to give Rarity a heart attack. Ponies whose attires consisted of kitchen sink contents; with militaristic outfits complemented by warpaint; clad in glossy fabric encrusted by metal insets. Several mares whisked amongst the masses in what I would describe as elaborate lingerie—a bewildering sight. Ironically, those who wore no raiments appeared strangely naked.

The familiar coruscation of artificial limbs mirrored the just as lifeless and cold light of the avenue. Plastic and steel aimed to replace missing organs or limbs were omnipresent; few ponies could boast of having their body untainted by the blessings of the future. I wondered—how many of those ponies replaced something actually lost?

Ponies… though not a minority, they were given a run for their money.

Three races of ponykind milled around, and so did three tribes of zebras; both kinds of equines giving wide berths to rough and tall gryphons. Sharp horns of goats and minotaurs swayed about the sea of heads. Mares followed puffy-maned Kirin with eyes squinted in envy. For each straight horn of a unicorn, there was a wicked curve of neighponese’s. And, like stray dogs, steelborn equinoids skulked in shadows, surrounded by an air of animosity.

Whilst Canterlot denizens generously contributed to cramping the street, the city itself fulfilled its quota.

Slack thick wires and heavy beam supports infested the already flooded by neon space betwixt the buildings; as if that wasn’t enough, like barnacles, even more signs hung from them. The radiance was so powerful, it effortlessly made up for the absence of any street lamps.

Any attempts to peer through the entwinement of cables and girders proved futile and taking a glance at colourful adverts I found no pointers—the neon swallowed the plate with building number and street name.

One of those signs—an animated red outline of a beaming mare, with a hoof full of noodles moving to her mouth and back to a bowl—had a tiny fast-food joint beneath it. Open to the walkway, the eatery’s counter wasn’t even trying to hide the sight of a cramped kitchen starting a step deeper.

Inside, a mare and a stallion unicorns cantered around sizzling pans, boiling pots, and each other in a seemingly chaotic, yet mesmerizing cadence of unceasing food preparation. A young unicorn filly worked at the counter as a cashier and waitress, taking payments from customers and exchanging dirty plates with full ones.

All three ponies shared a strong resemblance and not only in natural appearance. The young father’s metal hooves all but flailed with astounding dexterity and prowess. His wife’s back glowed with a silver gem-encrusted stripe where her spine should be; a hive of utensils, bottles and ingredients buzzed above her head, juggled in her telekinetic hold. As their daughter joyfully interacted with customers, a wide visor showed cute animated eyes formed of glowing squares dutifully following her facial expressions. Sometimes numbers would appear on the display—checks or a menu.

The establishment’s size wasn’t detrimental to its popularity—not a single bar stool stood untaken and ponies swarmed the counter in betwixt. Many visitors didn’t even bother waiting for a free spot as they simply trotted away with their meals, eating them on hoof from cardboard boxes.

The snippets of the filly coquettishly chatting with her clients carried over the bustling road suggesting it was worth a shot asking her for directions.

The seemingly endless stream of bodies was so dense, I had spent minutes waiting for an opening. When the crowd momentarily parted, I all but lunged forward, succeeding in making three steps when somepony, or maybe some equinoid rammed into me.

Knocked aside by a huge equine, who didn’t even acknowledge the collision, I got less than an eye-blink before I was mercilessly pushed aside by another passerby. Then my body was sent skidding by a hard shove accompanied by a colourful swear. Disoriented and simply not expecting to be ragdolled around, I failed to dodge one more jostle. Fortunately, that spin finally kicked me out of the teeming mass. Even more fortunately the eating joint was right before me.

Two sensations immediately assaulted me—the heat of the kitchen and the aroma of food.

Even with help from Brass Litany, my body still had left me partially numb—the chill, for an example, was neither unpleasant nor invigorating, though I knew it was there. Yet, the warmth radiated by red-hot stoves still made me feel good. The pleasant smell was more of a double-edged sword—the psychological desire to dig into a bowl of steaming food clashed with my complete lack of digestive system, resulting in acute disappointment.

Suddenly it occurred to me that an equinoid had no business at an eatery. Thankfully, the filly-barmaid-cashier-waitress approached me first.

“Hi there, Miss Hooves-o’-Iron,” the filly chirped, levitating a steaming box to a customer. “Sorry, our sockets are taken.”

The little unicorn pointed to the end of the counter. From its shadow, two equinoids warily eyed passersby, thick cords linking their crouched bodies to the wall.

“Erm... Thank you, but that’s not what I needed.”

I very much hoped it was true.

She never stopped serving food, even as she talked.

“Then you better make up your mind pronto—the night shift ends soon and we’re already behind schedule. Not that you seem to care.”

“I just wanted to ask for directions.”

“Oh, it’s simple, really: right, left, up, down, forwards and backwards.” The filly poked the air with her hooves respectively. She beamed innocently at me, letters ‘L’, ‘O’ and ‘L’ appearing on her visor. “I hope I didn’t forget anything.”

I wished my eyes could roll.

“That’s obviously not what I meant,” I deadpanned.

“Yikes, you must be a lot of fun at parties.” To my envy, the sassy filly’s visor played an animation of eyes rolled. “Anyway, what are you looking for?”

“The closest Thunderspire.”

“Huh? Since when did feathers-for-brains begin to hire stones-for-brains? Sounds like the start of a great joke...”

I groaned in exasperation, but it came out from my rattling throat as a growl, attracting glances from the nearest patrons, albeit lazy and… understanding. I didn’t mind it sounding that way either.

“Whoa, chill your gems there, miss!” The filly raised her hooves, recoiling. “It’s fifteen blocks to the Sky Palace. Sheesh!”

My departure was abrupt and lacking gratitude.

Only when I took a few stomping steps away, a realisation struck me—I didn’t know where the Sky Palace was. Presumably, it was that incredibly tall tower built atop the Diamond Point mountain, but that was purely a guess. And, if it was true, then just like the Thunderspires themselves it was denied to me as an orienting point.

Having no option other than to rely on the kindness of locals, I cast my gaze around, hoping the next stranger would be devoid of any sense of humour.

Patrons of the eatery certainly were out of the question—I absolutely refused to return there. Passersby were moving too fast, ready to shove me away. A pair of hooves poked from the other side of a garbage container near the eatery.

Jumping as a rat scurried betwixt my hooves, I came to the sight of an utmost filthy and ruffled stallion resting atop a garbage bag, belly up, like it was a cushioned chair. Even before my gaze focused on him, a stench of trash, sweat and alcohol hit my sensors.

More than anything, I wanted to turn away, but that would leave my inquiries unanswered and time wasted. The drunkard seemed to be unaware of my presence; smiling goofily, he was content with himself.

“Excuse me, sir.”

The stallion turned his head slightly—a purely horizontal motion with his muzzle tilted downwards, supported by his chest.

I took it as a sign to continue.

“Do you know in which direction the Sky Palace is?”

The drunkard didn’t have a joke ready on the tip of his tongue. He had something else ready for me—a whole load of vomit.

As the stallion erupted like a volcano, I was about to leave, but then he pointed his hoof to the furthest end of the street.

When the stream of technicolour mass ceased, he rolled on his side and immediately began snoring, right in the puddle of his stomach’s rejected contents.

“Thanks. I guess.”

Fifteen city blocks… a considerable distance to cover.

Instead of joining the rushing stream of ponies and whatnot, I skittered through the shadows on the thoroughfare’s very edge. I had yet to meet any members of law enforcement, but testing my luck didn’t seem like a wise idea.

The labyrinthian network of back alleys constantly tempted me with its concealing twilight, but the roguish figures occupying it virtually screamed ‘danger’. Still, I had to quell my fear of them more than once, forced to take a few steps into that murk to evaluate the situation from its veil.

As I took shelter in one of the dark passages, my eyes scanned the crowd for any signs of the police, hoping that through the centuries constabularies hadn’t forgone their trademark navy-blue uniforms. The looming intersection appeared safe, free of any signs of trouble, like a fight—I had to wait out one already.

Before I returned to the neon lights of Canterlot, my gaze fell on the opposite wall.

Drawings similar to ones in the Tunnels and all sorts of stickers or posters covered the concrete, like any other wall in such little alleys. However, one of them caught my attention.

Unlike the crude writings and obscene street murals, the image stood out with its meticulous detail and quality—a seemingly random combination of black squares arranged in a square grid on a white background.

As I stared at the strange painting, four green L-shaped frames appeared in my eyesight, adjusting themselves until they locked on the corners of the grid. They blinked a few times and suddenly a pony materialized from the thin air.

The semi-transparent figure moved as if it was suspended in the air betwixt me and the wall. Startled by this unheralded vision, I took a step back.

“Hello, honey,” a sultry whisper permeated my hearing and the illusory mare warmly glanced over her shoulder with half-lidded eyes.

She wore heavy make-up and undergarments which were not only doing a terrible job at covering her private parts but actually seemed to aim for the opposite.

“Are you lonely?”

Tilting her head the mare approached me, swaying her hips like a metronome. Shaking my head did nothing to dispel the stubbornly persistent mirage and another step back brought my back to the wall, trapping me betwixt the indecent apparition and the concrete bulwark.

“You shouldn’t be.” Leaning to my ear, brushing against my cheek, the too realistic illusion throatily breathed out, ”Everypony deserves some love. And you will find plenty of love and passion at our house of joy.” Finally getting out of my personal space she announced with a swish of her tail and a wink, “We welcome you to our grand reopening of ‘Silken Flute’!”

To my horror, a ghostly looking stallion appeared beside her in just as immodest attire.

“Mares and stallions of any size and taste await you, darling.”

Thankfully, his presence was brief. Sadly, the mare remained.

I seriously contemplated smashing my face into the wall.

“To celebrate this wonderful occasion, for the next week we grant all our patrons a discount and prolonged sessions. Please, do hurry up, sweetheart.”

With that, she threw me a kiss and dissolved in the blackness of the dirty alley.

Waiting for a few moments to be sure she was gone for good, I slid down the wall, slumping onto the rubbish littering the backstreet.

Never in my life had I felt so violated.

There were many things I wasn’t prepared to see in the world of the future. A pornographic advertisement for a brothel projected right into my brain definitely was one of them.

What would be next, adverts invading ponies’ dreams?

Hastily leaving the alley, I made a mental note to not look at any adverts for more than half a second, unless I wanted to be molested by a virtual prostitute again.

The distance I had to cover was supposed to take me no more than fifteen minutes at an unhurried trot. However, even not taking the ‘accident’ into account, the discrete nature of my journey carried me barely halfway to the Thunderspire at best.

Diving into yet another shadow to assess the section of the street ahead, I took a glance around, taking care to not let my gaze linger on the walls. However, I had to do a double-take, belatedly realizing that my haste had made me overlook something.

I wasn’t the only one who found shelter in the shade of the backstreet.

It appeared to be an earth pony stallion absorbed in studying an illusion projected from a device on his hoof. Despite having some five o’clock shadow, his stature better fit that of a colt. A greasy grey beanie hat miserably failed to hide his overgrown mane whilst the rest of his attire consisted of a tattered dirty duster. He constantly used his other hoof to swipe on the edge of the illusion, sometimes exhaling noisily without opening his mouth.

When I realized that I had just shot myself in the hoof, it was too late.

Those mere moments spent staring at the scrawny stallion were enough for him to notice me, his face dissolving into a predatory grin. Before I knew it, he moved to my side so deftly, I thought he’d just teleported.

“Ohayō, my friend!”

With that he spread the flap of his duster, forcing me to recoil from him. However, the worst never came—dozens of sparkly gems and small metal parts hung inside his coat. Motioning with his hoof the stallion smiled wickedly and croaked, “May I interest you in any of my wares?

“Erm...Thank you, sir. But, I really have to go!” I blurted, backing away.

Not waiting for the answer, I hastily left the alley. The stallion didn’t take the hint and scampered after me in a hurry.

“Hey, wait! You don’t know what you’re missing!”

Quickening my pace produced no result as the sketchy trader not only easily matched it but also managed to keep showing me his dubious wares as he trotted by my side.

“Toots, just take a proper look, I sure have something you need. You just don’t know it yet!”

“Thanks, sir, but I am really not interested at the moment, sorry.”

“‘Sir’? How quaint; can’t remember the last time I was called that.” The stallion chuckled. “Anyway, I’m sure I do have something to interest you, my metal amigo.”

“I don’t even have any money with me…”

“It’s no issue, pal, I take payment in crystals, spares, grazing tickets, chems… anything of value. Chems are especially welcome.” He licked his chapped lips. “Do you have some Crimson Vapor by chance?”

It was time for a new tactic—ignoring him.

The stallion proceeded to ignore me ignoring him as he pulled out a gem from the depths of his coat and connected it to the device on his wrist. “So, I’ve got some nifty software for yer metal kind.”

The gadget projected columns of numbers, then an image—stylized T, C and E. It unsteady blinked and unhealthily distorted.

“See? It’s the original TCE stuff, not some fake code.”

He practically shoved his foreleg into my muzzle. A shining crack on the crystal was clearly visible; one just like the converter core had.

“You won’t get it anywhere else, I tell you. A great bang for your buck.”

I silently pressed forward, trying not to even look in his direction, not sure if I was supposed to pray for that device to not explode, or the opposite—it might help me to get rid of the clingy dealer.

“Come on, mate, I know you have a heart of gold, and I have a family to feed,” pleaded the stallion, “two cute little foals. You won’t let them starve, will you?”

Once again I wished for the ability to roll my eyes.

“Listen, I can give you a discount, but I’m already cutting myself without a knife!”

The trader nimbly hopped to my other side, as if that would change anything. When it didn’t, he began to walk backwards right in front of me, trying to catch my eyes. Not that the short-legged stallion could possibly achieve that unless he was jumping.

“Hey, hey, hey! You know what? I can throw in a couple of spares as a bonus.” A few ‘components’ emerged from his pockets—some useless junk from the looks of it. “Just think of it, original code, a discount and even a bonus! You won’t get a better deal anywhere else!”

The obnoxious trader quickly glanced in the direction we were moving and turned back, his jaws already unhinging to spew another promise of the best deal in the city—not a single word left the trader’s mouth. As his eyes went wide, he did a double-take.

“Oh, shit! Gotta go! Find me later, buddy!”

With that the stallion evaporated in all but name, disappearing into the closest shadow, startling me to the point of a complete halt.

I would have expected him to rise from the dead to sell me his garbage if it came to that, yet something had made him change his mind.

Ahead of me were the same blinking lights, ponies rushing somewhere—nothing out of ordinary.

Maybe it was a certain pony he wanted to avoid? Blessed they might be.

Still, as I took a few steps forward, I couldn’t shake off the feeling something was wrong.

The nearest garbage container served me as a cover as I peered from behind its beaten and rusted corner.

Neon signs, dirt, equines and whatnot hurrying by… And there it was. Identical to the Tunnels, they practically tore with frantic urgency and mostly in one direction—opposite to mine. Useless it might be, I tried to strain my ‘ears’ expecting the telltale sounds of mysterious monstrosity echoing—they never came, leaving me relieved, yet puzzled.

The street blurred together into a mix of shadows, silhouettes and blinding lights. It was the latter that gave me a hint—instead of erratically fluctuating rainbow colours, the radiance twinkled mostly with red and blue. If only I could take a better look without getting closer… I tapped my chin as my unblinking gaze bore into the cracked pavement. My head snapped up—there was a way!

With a soft rustle my eyes shut only to open again, presenting me a disorienting view of one half of my vision zoomed in. Then I covered my right eye with a hoof—genius was simplicity.

The small smile that crept onto my metal lips fell when I took a look at the end of the street.

A full police platoon was combing it.

They wore the trademark blue colour, but that was all that matched my memory.

Light reflected from heavy metal armour and plastic riot gear, golden epaulettes and badges glimmered like flecks of sunlight amidst the navy sea. A massive ironclad vehicle hovered above the ground occupying almost the whole street, carelessly tearing away the adverts with its heavy shielding. On top of it, a pair of gunners swivelled long barrels of tripod-mounted high-calibre machine guns, scanning the street with obvious thirst. Behind them a mare in a greatcoat and service cap observed the chaos, her calm face bathed alternatively in crimson and azure of the strobing blinker.

The police advanced at a measured pace, but anypony—anyone they reached was apprehended. Mostly drunkards and drug addicts, they tried to resist arrest with bravery insidiously offered by the substances clouding their minds only for the pain to quickly dispel that overconfidence.

Batons crackled with electricity, bones cracked from the strikes of armoured hooves. Thumps of teargas and rubber munitions fired at those who tried to escape echoed with yelps. Stun spells send limp bodies rattled against the walls, tasers left victims writhing and frothing.

Anyone who wasn’t smart or fast enough to flee was automatically deemed uncooperative; it applied not only for the main thoroughfare. Armoured figures dove into backstreets to drag beaten ponies back or even broke through doors to throw thrashing ponies outside.

The unconscious bodies were cuffed and hauled to the procession of smaller vehicles following the merciless police force—literal cages on wheels. Some were left in growing pools of blood.

I would be hyperventilating if my body allowed me such a luxury, yet at the moment the lack of hormones to back the swirl of my emotions did me a favour for once. Instantly coming to the only sensible option—running away as fast as possible, I, after blinking to reset my eyesight, joined the crowd hurrying away from the impending assault of the law.

Virtually shadowing a large stallion, who either hadn’t noticed me or simply didn’t care, I weaved betwixt the clamouring ponies. He was suddenly shoved aside by a terrified mare, rushing past us.

The stallion muttered a curse and instead of resuming the retreat, he squinted, staring above our heads. Then he swore again, “Fuck! It’s a vice raid.”

With that, he ploughed his way through the crowd to the nearest building to desperately knock on a heavy metal door. His vacant place yet to be filled with the flurry of panic gave me a clear view of the street ahead—winking with a red-blue glow and ringing with the cries of ponies being beaten.

Ponies, dashed in both directions, scattering to back alleys or nearby buildings. Somepony was even digging their way into a trash container. I rushed to the closest door and tugged—it refused to budge; pushing or knocking changed nothing.

Rounding the corner of the same building I entered an alley—a dead end. Turning away to try my luck with another passage, I heard a whisper.

“Hey! Here!”

Glowing eyes peered at me from the darkness of the ajar sewage hatch, identical to the one that led me into the city.

The gap widened and a metal hoof motioned to me

“Come over here!”

I didn’t need to be asked twice.

The metal pony who had likely just saved my life didn’t say a single word. She or he—I had real trouble telling the difference this time—headed deeper without sparing me a glance.

The Tunnels seemed to share the same architecture everywhere in the city. A stairway spiralled from the hatch into a narrow passage that led into a wider tunnel bathed in familiar cyan light. And it was the way I left it—disturbingly quiet.

Only the grace of my cold metal heart allowed me to keep my wits together, for I was ready to truly despair. However, the equinoid moving ahead without panicked urgency gave me hope that I hadn’t bartered death at the hooves of ruthless police for demise at… whatever the mysterious monstrosity prowling these shadows was.

Yanked from darkness for me to see that metal pony was… run-of-the-mill. Unlike any equinoid I had seen, they seemed to reject the strive for originality. A ponnequin without a tail or mane brought to life, featureless and uniform—a standard model.

They also didn’t look like they were going to pay me any attention.

“Thank you for saving me,” I called.

They stopped and the smooth mask unable to express any emotion but a blank stare turned to me. It didn’t even have moving jaws, only a speaker glistening with black mesh behind their lips.

“Had to. It was an unscheduled raid.” Their voice was neutral, then the equinoid tsked—a sharp, unpleasant sound. “The Edge meat fucked up again.”

Confused by their response, I tilted my head.

“What does the Edge has to do with it?”

“Every time something happens at the Edge, the blue armours raid the city for fresh meat.”

The equinoid didn’t wait for me to connect the dots and made clear they weren’t going to indulge my curiosity any further as they dissolved into the darkness of the nearest portal.

Left alone to the pregnant with menace silence, I could only hope that Joka was gone already and I wasn’t about to meet it at the next corner. The equinoid would have warned me if it was still around, right?

I had better hurry.

Approaching the entrance to the small maintenance tunnel into which the equinoid had just disappeared, I was greeted with a chilly draft and whispers of something scuttling in the darkness. Its walls bristled with humming cables and gurgling pipes—the only rightful occupants of the underground, the intestines and blood vessels of the city.

Returning to the main passage, I looked to the side—intersections cut the tunnels at even intervals. When I cautiously reached the one closest to me, there was the same sight up ahead; with no crowds obscuring the view, the seemingly labyrinthian nature became an orderly structure.

It was safe to assume the tunnels roughly mirrored the streets as a sort of sewage or drainage system misused as roads and sanctuary by fringe elements. If I was correct, that tunnel led to the Thunderspire all the same.

The only problem was to know when to exit it.

That, and finding the exit before Joka found me.

Whilst desolation daunted me with its ringing silence, it also absolved me of keeping to the shadows. Still, my trot was careful, giving a wide berth to the piles of trash crawling with rats—mounds of such size could easily hide a pony within.

My thoughts kept returning to the police rounding up ponies to shackle them into the chains of the Edge. The display of utmost violence created by injustice was disturbing, and I was concerned about how widespread the raid was even more. Could the girls have been caught up in it? If they made it to the city in the first place, of course.

The first signs of life—sounds of a scuffle averted me from my worries when I neared another intersection. My trot slowed down as I passed a small tunnel squealing with a struggle—at least two dire reasons compelled me to pass by the little tragedy unfolding inside.

Peeking into the dark portal I witnessed much worse than just a brawl.

Under the dim lights of dying lamps, a group of three stallions tried to subdue a desperately resisting mare, their intent clear and sickening in its depravity.

Given their numbers, there wasn’t much I could do, but I would rather risk everything than turn away from such an atrocity. Not after the Junkyard, not after everything I had seen.

Sending small whirls of sparks each time my hooves hit the grated floor, I blindly charged as fast as my metal limbs would allow.

An inequine scream—a screech of twisting metal disturbing to even myself, escaped my speaker when I barrelled into one of the stallions. The inertia of my heavy body turned the jagged tips of my hooves into spears that effortlessly dug into his flesh, punched through his ribcage.

But I only intended to knock that pony away...

My hooves slipped, almost sending me back on the floor, as I, reeling, untangled myself from the howling stallion. Even though my attack took the assaulters by surprise, the moment I was upright a powerful buck connected with my chest, smashing me into the wall. The confining nature of the tunnel rendered the shove disrupting rather than damaging.

In the near darkness I could barely see the attacker or his accomplice. Behind the thugs, the poor mare huddled in the dead-end, whimpering. With me and the haemorrhaging stallion blocking the only exit, she was just trying to get as far away as possible from the action.

I didn’t get to take a better look as the moment I recovered from the strike, a thick rusty chain dully swished through the stagnant air to rattle across my muzzle, slamming my head back into the wall. With a crisp tinkle, my left eye burst out in an explosion of gleaming shards and bright sparks.

Yet the pain was only of loss—it was my best eye, the one Flower had installed.

Before the heavy chain snaked back for another devastating blow, I cannoned into the stallion holding it, hammering his body against the concrete so hard, plaster rained on us and blood splattered across my face, painting my vision red. The mare scampered away, shrieking.

The dazed stallion slumped with a pained grunt, his weapon coiling on the grating beside him.

The undefeated last assaulter had been helping his bleeding fellow to rise. When my crimson glare regarded them, they both hastened their effort to flee. The stallion I flattened against the wall slipped past me, rasping, hobbling on three legs to catch up with his comrades.

Only when their steps and curses had faded into nothing, did I turn to the mare.

She half-sat, half-laid pressing herself into the corner. From underneath a long mane, an eye round from horror stared at me. As I took a single step towards her, she tried to scuttle away, whimpering.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

I almost cringed as the sounds of blood dripping from my frame violated the tensed silence.

The mare kept her terrified gaze locked on me for a few very long seconds, then visibly relaxed; the wariness didn’t leave her eye, though. Moving slowly, I offered my hoof to help her up from the cold and dirty floor. She almost didn’t flinch, but still refused my outstretched limb.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” She shook her head and bit her lip. “Thank you for… for not killing me.”

Taken aback, I stammered, “I-I was just trying to save you.”

She gave me a confused look and began to dust herself off with a heavy sigh.

“Then I should also thank you for that. Wouldn’t be the worst I’ve had, but it’s still not how I planned to spend the rest of the night.”

“The worst?” I weakly echoed.

“Yeah, one time four local factories had a payday and we were the only brothel open around.” Cringing with the corner of her mouth, she added, “Couldn’t sit for a week after that.”

I gaped at the annoyed prostitute, unsure of what I had expected or how to feel about her. She was just an ordinary mare with nothing in common with the illusory advert; nothing gave away her occupation, except...

On her cheek, right under the eye, a pink heart glowed softly. Strangely, uneven black lines crossed the stylized little image—recent wounds.

“Aren’t you supposed to be protected by the Crown?”

“Well, I’d be,” the mare practically snarled, “if they hadn’t decided I was a throwaway.”

She flicked her mane back.

Previously hidden behind the curtain of her hair a milky eye joined the other to glare at me from a badly-healed burn disfeaturing half of her muzzle.

“I… I’m so sorry.”

The spite left her expression, leaving behind tired bitterness.

“It’s alright.” The mare waved her hoof in dismissal but then a scowl returned to her face. “Actually, it’s not. If I was still a Moth, I wouldn’t have to hide from the blue armours and wouldn’t end up here doing the job I’m not paid for anymore.”

She let out another deep sigh and tried to muster a smile.

“Well, at least I met an equinoid who helps ponies. Not something you see every day.”

I just stared at her blankly, having no clue how to comment. She met my gaze with amusement sparkling in her eye… s. Eye.

“The raid should be over by now.” Rubbing the back of her head the mare continued, abashed, “But the thing is, I don’t visit the Tunnels often. May I ask for your help...” She faltered. “Sorry, I forgot to ask your name. If you have one, of course.”

If.

My mouth didn’t have the ability to bite my lip—something that I wanted to do right now as the question knocked me over with a feather.

Either graciously ignoring my silence or simply taking it as something ordinary, the mare introduced herself, “Clandestine Delight.”

She extended a hoof for a shake; when I raised mine, dark blood dripped from it. Delight’s eyes widened and I winced. Chuckling, she awkwardly retracted hers.

“Yup. Nice to meet you.”

She was the first to escape the reeking of copper maintenance passage with me trying to shake the gore off before I followed her.

Once more my lifeless body helped me to remain my composure, though it was hard to find sympathy for those delinquents. Regardless, whilst I direly hoped it would never come to that again, careful consideration of my strength was in order.

Delight warily looked around, as if expecting the stallions to be waiting for us and I couldn’t help but satiate my curiosity of her appearance.

First of all, the cyan light revealed her to be a pegasus. Built relatively tall for her race, she sported the healthy body of a young, not-malnourished mare—a rarity in modern Canterlot, likely brought by merit of government protection. Another uncommon trait she possessed was the complete lack of any metal embedded in her body. However, her neck and chest also bore the scars of a vicious burn. A long, wavy, gorgeous mane cascaded over them; the lush periwinkle hair perfectly harmonized with the slightly violet pink of her healthy eye. An almost white coat, with a barely noticeable bluish tint, complemented Delight’s mellow and soothing look.

Delight glanced at me and visibly paled—an impressive feat for a pony of her complexion.

What, did I look that bad?

Then I realised her petrified gaze was fixed on something behind my shoulder.

I followed the pegasus’ eyes and just like her froze in horror.

From the shadows of a smaller tunnel, a silhouette emerged into an island of darkness cast by a broken lamp, too big to belong to a pony or even to a zebra. It crept soundlessly and smoothly as if gliding above the concrete, its gleaming in the dark inequine eyes locked on us.

The long muzzle clad in charred steel was the first to shrug off the veil of darkness. Where nostrils should be, two vents smoked with thin wisps in a rhythm with invisible bellows. Before the rest of the snout appeared from the blackness, a large paw almost inaudibly clinked against the floor, the grating bending under a massive weight.

Covered in metal it ended in long sharp claws of black glass. They glistened with fresh blood; shreds of skin and mane were stuck in betwixt the razor-sharp blades.

Then the rest of the beast slipped from the shadows, just mere hooves from me.

Its glowing eyes gazed upon me—two pools of vibrant jade fire crossed by vertical pupils and framed in a cage of steel. Betwixt the cold metal and green eyes, a small patch of bloodied skin shimmered.

With purple scales.

My mouth silently moved, trying to expel one word stuck in my speaker.

“Spike?”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.