Aftersound: Side storiesby OneimareChaptersBroken PromiseThey bleedFacelessBroken PromiseAftersound: Side stories ================================= Written by: Flutterfinar & Geka Proofread and edited by: mikemeiers, IAmApe, Jay Tarrant Cover art and chapter art done by: Geka Broken Promise ==================== I slammed the glass on the counter with a loud bang, nearly breaking it and making everypony around jump. What a load of crap… Passing through Canterlot, I had swung by a local bar to get a taste of some decent cider for once. Except it seemed the booze they served here was the same donkey piss in moldy barrels we received at the front. And I thought Canterlot was all about being fancy and having the best. Since Flim and Flam had been allowed to take over the production of all food and drinks, nothing tasted the same. The stuff was still being made at Sweet Apple Acres, but their cider didn’t have the taste, aroma or tanginess of the Apple family’s. It tasted like somepony mixed together water, pure alcohol and apple juice with emphasis on the first one. Maybe even vomited a little in it. The only thing it was good for was wiping the scenes of the battlefield from your memory. Never helped me, though. The lifeless faces would become blurry, but never go away for long… Gah! I came here for a familiar taste, not to get wasted. I couldn’t anyway – Twilight would kill me if I came to the trial with a hangover. At least the so-called drinks were on the house, since the bartender recognized me. Not like I would have paid for that dishwater anyway. Sadly, there was little difference between the stuffy underground bar and the streets of outer Canterlot. Even being so distant, the ongoing war had changed the city. Canterlot had become a hub for the army, supplies… scrap it, seemingly everything and everypony. Anything that went to the front had to come through the city perched on the mountain. The stream of recruits, civilians, trade goods and the recently appeared zebras made Canterlot lose its shine. It was now dirty and worn out, like a soldier’s horseshoe. Despite the day being nearly over, the streets bustled with ponies. Meanwhile the sky above was obstructed with ropes hanging between the buildings, not to mention swarms of couriers all but bumping into each other. Flying was out of the question, so I swiftly moved forward, falling into a familiar marching tempo. The passersby immediately made way for me – the uniform of the Special Air Force had such an effect. It was simple yet easily recognizable, even by civilians. A deep blue jacket with a fleece neckpiece sporting a pair or silver bars on each shoulder. Warm, practical and nothing extra, just what the frozen battlefield needed. Maybe it was this way because it wasn’t designed by Rarity. I mean, she made the best dresses, but we were at war, and war had no place for beauty. Still, she somehow managed to get her hooves on most of the uniforms of the higher ranking officers. When did she even find the time… Finally, my hooves brought me to the edge of the city. Before plunging into the sky from the railing, I stopped for a moment to look into vast emptiness starting beyond it. The sun was setting. Fluttershy or Rarity would have said something sappy about it. Maybe even Twilight, if things were very different – the sunlight made her fall silent and somber nowadays. For me, it painted the faraway spires of the Crystal Empire in blood. I couldn’t set eyes on them, not from here, but in my imagination they gleamed with their cold malice, watching over the massacre beneath with glee. If I closed my eyes I would see the stubborn fires peppered across the dark permafrost – the Equestrian army preparing for the night. I should be there right now... When was the last time I slept? The train had to be patrolled in case of another attack, and before that a lot of things had to be wrapped up with my subordinate officers. It would be a good idea to have forty winks if I didn’t want to fall asleep during the trial tomorrow. My visit to Canterlot wasn’t official; it was classified in fact. That meant that I had nowhere to stay due to nopony knowing about my arrival. However, there was one place I could easily crash at – the barracks. They were half empty these days, anyway. With that destination in mind, I climbed the marble banister and plummeted down. *** I woke up with a jolt; anyone who had spent time on the front knew it all too well. After countless nights spent sleeping inside cold tents on bloodstained rugs, I had forgotten what the other ways even were. Sitting straight on the army cot, I looked around. As expected, the barracks were empty, the same as when I arrived. The Royal Guard left Canterlot years ago, somepony had to be the first soldiers. Those few who now patrolled Canterlot were almost entirely rookies, falling from exhaustion at their twenty-hour shifts. My gaze fell on the clock: it was still hours before the trial. No wonder there was nopony here – it was too early even for the changing of the guard. However, my body had had enough rest. It didn’t need a whole night anymore, another habit earned while surviving on the battlefield. Letting my head fall back onto the greasy cloth taut on a rusting frame, I sighed, filling the deserted hall with a somber echo. The war sucked. But what sucked even more was that we were losing it. I was so tired from still hearing everywhere, despite the fact that it had been years, “Hey, Rainbow Dash, we have the advantage in numbers. We will overpower them,” or something like, “We have earth ponies, pegasi and unicorn magic, even an alicorn at our side. We are bound to win.” To be fair, I once thought it would all be easy peasy lemon squeezy, myself. Only civilians who had no idea what was going on were saying that stupid shit. Though, maybe it was for the better. Rarity and her hoity-toity nobles were pulling the wool over everypony’s eyes for a reason – ponies would lose their minds if they knew. When Sombra and the Crystal Empire were banished, or whatever happened to them, they were frozen in the state they were in one thousand years ago – at war with the Princesses. When they re-emerged they had their ponies ready for war, they had their economy attuned for war and, most importantly: they had experience. Hell, they were whooping demigoddesses' asses so hard they had to be sent to another dimension. Equestria? We boasted millennia of peace, and that was only the beginning of our problems. What was the use of numbers if half of the army didn’t know how to hold a blade or hadn’t even heard of guns? The most elite parts were only experienced in guarding vases in the castle halls. Magic? When was the last time anypony saw a unicorn using their magic for fighting? Just as I thought. Even the pegasi were pathetic most of the time. The weather teams were little use in war. There was only one forecast: heavy casualties. This war was a fucking nightmare from the very start. It was hard to admit, but Sombra was a brilliant general; he always knew where and when to strike to hit the hardest. He also had a very nasty habit of appearing on the battlefield himself. Shining Armor joined us in a battle more times than I could count, but… he was a defensive unit. Nothing could pierce through his magic shields, and that was awesome. But when Sombra decided to take action, shit hit the fan and one shield, no matter how good, wasn’t going to help. I was there when he did it for the first time. We were in the middle of the fight, even kinda winning it for once. Then I heard the screams. That bastard teleported to the black crystals behind our lines and began to destroy our ass-end like a stallion would do a mare in heat. No fanfare, no bright flashes, no maniacal laughter. He just materialized from thin air and started to slaughter us. We lost a lot of good ponies that day. If only things would have ended there. The next time he appeared it was pretty much the same. Screams from behind, lots of black magic smoke, lots of dead ponies. Figures, he could teleport to any crystals, not only the black ones. Twilight got all the smart unicorns for her playground, and ours weren’t able to think a single step ahead. A mare, some snob from Rarity’s clique, who I was telling that story during one of my visits to Canterlot years ago, asked me, “Rainbow, why were you fighting on the ground, anyway? Aren’t you one of the best fliers and all?” Because fuck you. And fuck me. Sombra didn't have many mages, but any sorcerer he had was worth a hundred of our dull hornheads. Their spells weren’t a fart on the wind, that’s for sure. Our pegasi had been awesome at the start of the war, but that all changed pretty quick. Fucking invisible flames. Pockets of air so hot it burned feathers away in the blink of an eye. And that was the fate of the fortunate. I witnessed a pegasus become a cloud of ash; he was going too fast. That’s why I spent weeks on the ground, fighting alongside the infantry and pegasi who didn’t have their heads turned into cinders. When it wasn’t Sombra, it was his Coven. Different asshole, same shit. Except the shit wasn’t always the same – something new every fucking time. It was kinda simple with Sombra: you see black smoke, you run. You see the treacherous ‘Demon Mare’, run and pray that our unicorns could negate at least half of her spells so you didn’t have half of your body roasted. See that fucking zebra witch, just pray, because fuck knows what she came up with this time. How were we supposed to deal with freaky zebra witchery and alchemy? Even Twilight’s smart hornheads didn’t know, and that was their only job. Advantage in numbers? Bullshit. When ponies died, they died. We buried them if there was something left to bury. When crystal ponies died, they were raised again to fight because they were basically made from rock and it apparently wasn’t a big deal to make a crystal golem from their corpses. When those zombies died, whatever was left of them was whomped up and sent to battle again. Then again. And again. I swear there was a pony I killed, like, five or six times in one day. The alicorn on our side? You know, a lot of ponies said that it was Twilight who got hit the hardest when Celestia died. She was very depressed, no shit. Hard to blame her. But Luna had completely gone nuts. She helped us only once and it was a disaster. It all started fine, she was a helluva mage, mind you. But then we noticed that she kinda didn’t know what friendly fire was. Then we just ran. It was the first and the last time I ran from the battlefield. Needless to say, it was a huge hit for the army’s morale. Speaking of which. All that crap was bad, alright, but not the worst. The deserters and defectors. The scum. After the first week ponies began to leave at night. A quarter of the army was gone in three fucking weeks. And half of those who didn’t leave at night tried to do it on the battlefield. Pathetic cowards. It got even worse soon – we began to notice our former soldiers fighting for Sombra. The traitors thought he was some kind of a new god or something. Not sure if they were false-hearted or just brain-dead. This was why we were losing the war. Every battle, even the smallest one, had to be planned extra carefully. We had to spend more time scouting than fighting. We couldn’t fight with crystals on the battlefield, it was like inviting Sombra to fuck us up. We had to know which shithead from the Coven was going to join the battle, or we got fucked up in no time. We couldn’t fight with a sky full of magic traps, we couldn't fight on minefields, we couldn't fight near the walls because of the prism cannons. We couldn't fight most of the time, or we lost by default. And when we could it was ‘hard hard lemon hard’. Right now the army was barely one third of the size it was on the first day. There was no more advantage in numbers. And Sombra knew it, he wasn’t a stupid fuck like half of our command. He began to push back a few months ago, and we couldn't do shit to stop him. Honestly, I didn’t know why he even waited in the first place. The whole siege was a one big joke from the start. Why did we even start it? Oh yeah, Sombra captured Cadence, Shining was super upset with it, that’s totally understandable. But we weren’t ready. Come on guys, we couldn’t just declare a war because we felt like it. Our concern wasn’t how to win it anymore, but rather how not to get completely fucked up. Those damn Elements. I know that Twilight wanted to take all the blame, but she was not the only one who screwed up. Sure, her Element didn’t work, but to be honest, I didn’t remember Fluttershy’s working either. Or Pinkie’s for that matter. We were all still devastated from what happened at the wedding. If we had listened to Twilight back then, all this shit wouldn’t have happened. If anything, it’s all our fault, not hers. Which is extra stupid because it was the second time we didn’t listen to her when we most definitely should have. But the milk was spilled already. That ‘cybersuit’ was the only hope, really. We needed it like nothing else. At this rate it was a question of not months but days before Sombra would break the siege. If Twilight was right, that armor was going to give us what we needed to deal with all that magic bullshit and more. It was gonna make our half-baked army faster, stronger… better. I volunteered as soon as I heard the news. If this suit could handle me, it could handle anypony. It would be faster this way, no time wasted picking testers and less paperwork. Props to Twilight and Moondancer, it took them mere months to get from sketches to a fully functional prototype. Guess I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get much sleep lately. There was still enough time before the trial. Would anypony mind if I turned up early? Though, it was too early for ‘early’... or I could just go out and fly like before, without doing it to escape death. That sounded better than warming up a cot for some greenhorn or wallowing in whatever I was wallowing in – that was Rare’s job. *** A nice place they got for themselves, huh. Even set the weather right, perfect for a flight. Looks like not all the good pegasi were getting fried in the skies above the Crystal Empire. It was a good idea to arrive earlier than I was supposed to. Twilight’s team had already started the preparations, and she herself was going to be there any minute now. The Crystal Empire was beyond my sight, but my eyes were still drawn to the North. I caught myself holding a breath, as if I was expecting something to happen. Maybe a huge cloud of thick trademark black smoke would rise and destroy the last hope we had; his spies were everywhere after all. Or maybe a glorious sunray would wipe that fucking Empire from existence – that would be nice. But Celestia was dead, Luna went batshit crazy and we had yet to save Cadence. Steps behind me. I almost flicked my ear – still couldn’t get rid of that reflex. It was so strange to hear ponies not trying to conceal themselves – it had to be Twilight. Mustering as much positivity as I could, so I wouldn’t sound and look like my bed owed me a decade of naps, I greeted her: "Hi, Twilight." I turned to my egghead friend only to see her smiling at me. "Hi, Rainbow." It had been a while since I had last seen her, or anypony, smile. And, goddesses, she looked terrible, maybe even worse than me. I guess you didn't have to be at the front to feel the war. I leaned in to give her a hug. A few years ago I would have cringed away instead. But after hugging a rifle for twenty hours straight in a mud and blood filled trench, I began to look differently at such things – I started to look forward to them. “Pinkie says hi,” I whispered to Twilight. I swear, every time I saw Pinkie Pie she asked me to do it, and I knew that she would somehow learn if I didn’t. Parting from the embrace, she sat by my side. The inevitable happened – her eyes became drawn to the north, trying to see the horrors of war in the distance. When her tired gaze found nothing but the blur of snow and sky, she began to ask questions. I obliged her with answers, relishing in the bittersweet feeling of finally talking with somepony about it without hiding the ugly truth. *** For fuck’s sake. Why did I even agree to test this crap? The damn final version was huge and bulky, like the plate armor of those Stalliongrad weirdos. We tested two prototypes before and they were sleek, lightweight and badass. I doubted this hulk of steel was even capable of taking off. But it wasn’t as bad as Twilight, who sounded like she was going to read me a full-length lecture on magic. Did she want my brains to melt? I thought that was the Coven’s job. "Uhhh," I hastily interrupted her before it was too late, "in case you forgot, I'm not a unicorn, Twi." "Argh! Fine!" Twilight barked at me. "You just need to start talking and we will hear you at the stand." “Alright." Sheesh, why couldn’t she tell me that in the first place… Anyway, I had some real questions. "What do I need this mask for?" As we talked, the technical personnel were putting the final pieces of the plating and other weird stuff on the exoskeleton base. I did know some egghead words, and yes, I also knew what it meant. Speaking of which, the exoskeleton chaffed in every place possible, and it was as uncomfortable as it could get. I wouldn’t want to be stuck inside it for long. "It's an oxygen mask.” Please, not another lecture! “You will need it to breathe in the suit. It's tightly sealed, remember?" Thank the Goddesses, I was spared a half-hour long lecture about the enchantment used to filter air or whatever this thing does. Twilight was obviously proud of each and every enchantment they invented at the RCRC, and she had every right to be – without them the war would be lost already. But sometimes I had the feeling that she was forgetting why they had to be created. "Okaaay," I replied, concerned if the mask had been field tested. However, nopony cared about my doubts and it was put on my muzzle, the tubes unpleasantly rubbing against my nostrils. Not the most comfortable thing, but better than the gas masks – they always smelled like something had died inside them… or somepony. "I'm going to the stand to check out the recording machinery and the communication crystals," Twilight said as she departed to the edge of the flight strip. Before that she gave me an awkward hoof-bump (they were always like that with her) and wished me luck. What I needed was something to distract my mind as I seemed to be doomed to resemble a statue and die of sheer boredom while she decided to have a nice long chat with Moondancer. I had nothing against her, though, Moondancer was a cool mare – she preferred flashy demonstrations to boring lectures, despite looking even more nerdy than Twilight. As they were waffling on, the technicians put on the last pieces of the plating. It was time for the helmet now, the only part of the cybersuit that actually looked awesome – like a dragon’s head. I was standing fully concealed in the cybersuit, and it felt like I was crammed inside a tin can. It was stuffy and too close-bodied – way too uncomfortable for me. The worst part was that I couldn’t move, not until the gems fired up. With the trademark crackle of magic the armor came to life. Numerous glowing indicators appeared in the glass visor – I couldn’t remember what half of them meant. Altitude, airspeed, vertical speed... compass… attitude indicator? Those were the most important, the rest was arcane mumbo-jumbo with which I had no business – I was a pilot and a soldier, not a mechanic. Goddesses forbid I ever let some of that stuff clog my brain. Suddenly, I heard Twilight’s voice in the headphones: "Rainbow, can you hear me?" I would never get used to those things; it was like the sound was coming from inside my head, not from the outside. Her voice was loud and slightly crackly, like a brewing thunder cloud. Or was that the gems of the armor? "Yeah, a little bit too loud and there is a strange crackle." I wasn’t really bothered by it – I didn’t expect the armor to be silent, but Twilight had asked me to report anything unusual to her. The problem was that I had no idea what was supposed to be usual, so I was going to tell her anything that caught my attention. Instead of replying to me, she began to shout something to Moondancer… Really? Was I going to fly today? "Rainbow, Moondancer says that it will become less loud after you take off, and the crackle could be overlapping magic fields." The only laps I cared about were around a track during a race, so her words made no sense. "I don't think this will affect the cyber suit.” Yeah, I didn’t think so either – not my job. “Its enchantments are protected by arcanium runes after all." Deciding to not voice the remark about those enchantments also very effectively protecting Twi’s virginity, I asked with hope, "So if everything is fine, can I take off then?" Five more minutes and I was going to die. "I'm tired of standing in one place already!" "Yes, on the count of ten." Yeah, sure, count my ass to ten. Even through the noise dampening protection of the suit I heard a loud message: “Everypony must immediately leave the flight strip, we are starting the test on the count of ten! I repeat, everypony leave the flight strip!" Finally. Now I had to remember how to fly this thing. If it was even going to take off, of course. "Ten," Twi began to count. “Nine…” The turbine was controlled by the special buttons for my hooves just like during the previous test; it was nice to know that they hadn’t changed anything fundamental – I accidentally forgot to read the instructions this time. And the direction of the metal wings was controlled by… my wings. Easy peasy – now it was time to squeeze some lemons. I pressed the buttons and with a deafening roar rocketed to the sky – it actually took off! And it also was fast; not as fast as me, but it would do for now. "Fi..." Twilight’s countdown echoed in my headphones. She was gonna kill me when I landed, but it would be worth it. "Sorry boss," I chuckled, "couldn't hold on any longer." "Ugh. Is everything all right at least?" Twilight asked me. Moving my wings I took a sharp turn, intently listening to the armor, expecting the metal to violently protest against the wind. It remained absolutely silent, not a single creak of insubordination. Though… yeah, the crackling was still there. Probably the turbine or something else – the thing was made too quickly to be perfect. "Yeah, all's fine, your voice is not so loud anymore, but, uh, the crackling is a bit louder now," I reported back to Twilight. She didn’t answer, so I decided that meant a green light. I had come up with a flying routine for the cybersuit. It needed to be tested out for basic aerial maneuvers and moves we used on a daily basis, plus some advanced stuff to challenge its toughness. I had to admit, I was impressed; Twilight and Moonie had done a superb job, though I expected nothing less from them – they were the best we had. The controls were smooth and responded without any delay whatsoever. For its size and weight the cybersuit was quite fast and very maneuverable, almost comparable to that of a pegasus. It was exactly what we needed on the battlefield – simple to ride, it was perfect for our featherbrained soldiers. However, as I was pirouetting through the skies I noticed the crackling was becoming louder and louder to the point it started to concern me; call it an achievement. "Hey, Twi,” I called to her, realizing that she had been strangely silent all that time. “The crackling has gotten louder, I think it's coming from the turbine." "What!? Are you sure?" Twilight gasped as if I had startled her from daydreaming. I wouldn’t blame her, though – all the fun was up here; she also looked like the last time she slept was before the war. If I were her, I would have relaxed and continued to enjoy the show – it wouldn’t be a prototype if everything worked as intended. I strained my ears – it wasn’t in my headphones. The sound was coming through the helmet from the outside. “Yes, it's sure becoming louder, and it's not from the ‘com’. It's coming from somewhere behind my helmet," I told her. It had to be the turbine – figures, I was too fast and badass for this suit. One more test might be in order. ""No, no, no, no, no, no!" Twilight began to panic. Though she was prone to that even without a good reason, I couldn’t help but tense up. It was then that the controls refused to obey me and half of the indicators on my visor started to blink with an unhealthy red. Unfortunately, not all of them were about arcane parameters – the drop in altitude was nothing to joke about, especially when I weighed like twenty pegasi and the wings I had could be used only for steering, not hovering. “Rainbow, listen to me!" Twilight continued to yell, but I barely heard her – the alarms and the crackling were almost deafening. Nor did I have time to listen to her. I was trying to figure out how not to die as Rainbow Crash. "Rainbow, something is wrong. You need to land right now!” No shit Sherclop. In addition to having my hearing assaulted, I started to choke on smoke. Judging by the searing heat at my withers, it wasn’t hard to guess where it was coming from. Any moment I expected to smell burning fur – the heat inside the suit was becoming unbearable. “Can you hear me?” Barely – the turbine was whining at a high pitch, making my teeth answer with agony. “You need to..." But I didn’t get to know what I needed to do – something exploded behind my head and I was blinded by unimaginable pain. My last thought was of the somber talk I had with Pinkie Pie at one of the campfires under the Crystal Empire’s walls, the night before the very first battle. If I died, but not on the battlefield, would I break the Pinkie Promise? They bleedAftersound: Side Stories ================================= Written by: Flutterfinar & Geka Preread and edited by: IAmApe, Jay Tarrant Cover art done by: Geka ================================= They bleed ==================== The air roared. Metal rang against metal as it was beaten into submission without any mercy. Dross and gas exploded in the distant furnaces, evidence of the sloppy job done by the Junkyard. Smoke and fire were vomited towards the heavens, filling them with ash and poison. Machinery shrieked and groaned as it slaved under the calloused or artificial hooves of its masters, who were nothing but slaves themselves. Guttural shouts cut through the burning night—it was the song of labour, it was the wheezing breath of manufacturing. The entire sector of the Heavy Industry wailed in a ceaseless orgy of machine and flesh, giving birth to the products demanded by the city of Canterlot, who never knew the true price paid for its hunger and greed. But soon it would. Despite the almost unbearable noise borderline with pain, Spark was straining his hearing as hard as he could. His ragged ears swirled as he tried to make out where exactly the remote explosions took place and if it was any different from where they were supposed to happen. However, he was aware that it was rather pointless. One of the detonations would be just a precursor to the signal, not the signal itself. Then the very loud bang of a pneumatic hammer violently striking a steel girder sounded sonorously and ominously above all the cacophony. It was very close and very sudden, making Spark jerk instinctively. The pony on his side didn't even flinch, but the glimpses in the depth of her protective goggles shifted. Spark recovered quickly, as anypony living at the Edge should. Tired of the waiting, eager to meet his destiny, he sprung to his hooves, ready to bolt forward to the next cover. But a metal hoof struck his chest, crossing his path and making him halt. Unaffected by the sharp metal edges all but cutting into his young and yet to harden skin, even through his so-called clothing, Spark glanced at his companion—an elderly, by the standards of the Edge, mare. Slug’s expression was a mask of the perpetual defiant bitterness of somepony who had been spitting into Death's face for far too long, something very common for those few who lived to her age. The blazing salvo of the nearest smelter painted her face a fiery orange, making her still sharp eyes flare like embers amongst dead ashes. Her muzzle was like a tarpaulin of scar tissue on the stretching frame of her bones. Without any change in her look, she nodded forward with a huff, which came out of her permanently seared nostrils as a sharp rasp. Spark followed the direction she was pointing at and saw the reason for their hesitation. Circles of light, the angry gazes cast by the never-sleeping eyes of the searchlights, hungrily hunting for victims to fill with hot lead, danced across the ravine leading to the guard post, where fate and death patiently waited for Spark and Slug. Spark looked at Slug again, waiting for her to say something, but the mare remained silent and still, like a statue, intently studying the indentation in the poisoned earth. The young colt liked her, for he knew that under the burned and lacerated skin a kind heart still resided. She was a veteran born to this never-ending war with industry, fighting its metal onslaught for forty years—Spark didn’t know another pony who was that old. She was so ancient that it wasn’t even her foals who would inherit that long-wearing skin of a survivor, but her grandfoals. That thought made Spark feel the familiar pang of acute jealousy and anguish. He was born in the Heavy Industry sector just like Slug and yet he was, and always would be, hideless. His mother fell into the kiln and his father he never knew, thus Spark would never wear the last parting gift each parent gave to their offspring—their skin which helped them survive long enough to leave somepony else in their stead. But that was the curse and blessing of those who worked in the metallurgical industry—they rarely needed graves. And without clothing made of the best gift a parent could give their foal, besides priceless knowledge, Spark was just like an orphan from the city—considered weak and useless, food for the flames. He hated it. But today… today it might change forever. The colt adjusted the greasy rags on his lanky limbs, so he wouldn’t trip over them, and grinned. Yes, after today they would treat him as what he was—a Child of the Industry. An almost incomprehensible raspy voice escaped Slug’s cracked lips, her lungs tormented by the decades of molten metal’s fury incapable of producing any other sounds but the scrape of sandpaper against the rust of her decaying organs. “Now.” Despite the heavy contraption strapped across her back, Slug moved frighteningly fast. That might have been due to her hooves, none of them of flesh, but steel, thundering against the charred earth, turning dross into a fine dust. Spark dashed after her, his own hooves, still to be claimed by the fire, barely touching the ground. They moved rapidly from one cover to another, galloping between mounds of broken machinery, hills of slag and debris of cracked and soot-covered bricks. All that time Spark couldn’t stop himself from marvelling at the metal device swaying against the ancient hide coat. He did not have a single idea how it worked, only that it was a weapon much stronger than any before. He knew that this one was but a replica of the original brought from the Tunnels by the Prophet. “The stolen tech”, the adults called it. And, apparently, it had something to do with rails. Anyhow, it was magnificent: even though made to fire one single time, the gun was pristine, polished and gleaming, reflecting the blazing sky above. Its mere presence was overwhelming Spark with awe. Their stop was abrupt, right under the shadow of a twisted and rusty girder, poking out of the ground at an almost vertical angle, as if it was an accusing claw pointing at the firmament. Spark dared not to peek over the pile of dross, which kindly hid them from searchlights lazily crawling over the hollow, seeking game in the shadows, but he knew he would see the guardpost in the distance if he did. It would jeopardize this whole endeavour, and he wasn’t stupid—it was his only chance to reclaim the life stolen from him. Spark glanced at Slug once again. Their eyes met and she gave a brief nod. Now they waited. The young colt began to count his heartbeats and when he reached one hundred, he heard them. Gurgling rasps of rotten lungs whistled through the arid air as two figures shuffled from the dark, keeping low to the ground, almost slithering. Emissaries of the Light Industry they were, the fabled chemdrinkers. In any other circumstance, they would be attacked on sight, they wouldn’t even make it this far into the Heavy Industry. But not tonight—this night they were allies, partners in crime and justice. Spark watched with wide eyes as they emerged from the red dusk. He had seen a gryphon once, a Pink Butterfly terrorist, but even that filthy creature was more equine in the appearance and mind than the chemdrinkers. The chemdrinkers were as feared as they were revered. Even by the standards of the Deep Tunnels, they were horrifying abominations, born from the venom of the Light Industry chemical plants. But nothing survived like them, for what was dead couldn’t die again. And although they were infamous for their lethality, the drugs they produced were considered the most hardcore and effective in all Canterlot. Like all of the chemdrinkers, those emissaries were unicorns, their horns always aglow and ears moving to compensate for the eyes burned away by the toxic fumes, despite the gas masks. Said protection, along with the remains of the full body suits, was forever fused with their gangrenous flesh. Those patches of their skin which were absolved of the conjoining with the discoloured rubber stood out furless and covered in sickly, never healing chemical burns. Their legs ended in bone spikes—ever-growing tumours and petrified flesh caused by wading in the toxic waste were chiselled and sharpened to serve as tools... and weapons. Spark gulped and suppressed a shudder. Underneath the hanging tubes of the gas masks he could see the gleam of teeth too sharp and dripping with saliva and blood. Casual cannibalism was one of the many reasons why there was a wide alienation zone around the production plants where chemdrinkers led their wretched existence. Slug was either undaunted by their appearance or incapable of expressing fear with the mask that her face had become. She unstrapped the weapon from her back and nodded towards the chemdrinkers, but as they showed no reaction save for the never-ceasing wet wheeze, she realized her mistake. “We are ready.” For a few moments, the silence was her answer, then a sharp crepitation of liquids moving all the way through their airways came from one on the emissaries, the bigger one, it was impossible to tell if it was a mare or a stallion. It was quite likely that for the chemdrinkers such a difference ceased to exist—they weren’t born after all. Where they lived, things could only die, and it was a popular opinion that they weren’t dying fast enough. “Go… On… We… Follow…“ Each word was coughed out along with the spray of blood and small chunks of lungs. Despite his best efforts, Spark cringed away, even Slug seemed to lean back, but even if it did happen indeed, she was quick to turn to her weapon and check it again. “Are you ready?” She asked Spark staring with hardness and judgement through the glass of her goggles. Spark nodded. He knew his part. He wasn’t here to help, he wasn’t worthy of touching the weapon, he wasn’t even strong enough to haul it. But he was fast, very fast. So his task was simple—witness, and bring back the news as quickly as possible. If they failed, every second would count—the wrath of their slavers would rain down on them very soon. If they won… he actually didn’t know what would happen then, besides him no longer being counted as hideless. But that was more than enough. Ever so slowly and carefully Slug peered above the slab of cement she was hiding behind. For some time she watched the darkness and the rays of artificial suns banishing it away until she saw an opening in their cadence and turned to the chemdrinkers. “Fast!” She waved her hoof for them to come, another effort wasted on the sightless living corpses. They passed Spark and he choked—the acrid smell of chemicals and dead flesh almost made him vomit, though it wouldn’t be much of a loss—their rations had been cut again and it was to be at least another day until he got something to eat. When they were a few steps away from him, he followed on three hooves, using the fourth to cover his muzzle. And finally, he saw it—the guard post. An elegant spire of once polished bright steel, now blackened with soot accumulated on it over many years, towered above the tormented landscape. And from behind the bullet-proof glass on its top, the ponies clad in their gleaming pristine armour sneered at the continuous agony of the land and the ponies dragged there either from the city by the violence of the corrupt police or from the wombs of mothers by the unjust nature of the world. Spark could see them moving. Drinking. Laughing. For him and many others they were tormentors and… angels. The Heavy Industry could produce so many things and almost all of them were important for the city like nothing else; it was this sector which unknowingly dragged Canterlot to the future on its whip-ravaged back. But it could not produce one thing—food. So, every time the TCE appeared to visit that or another production complex, the workers prayed. They prayed that it wouldn’t be retribution for the failure in meeting demands, but a bite of synthetic bread or a gulp of stale water. Though, it always remained a mystery as to what their infallible angels would bring them—pain or bliss. And this is why Spark hated them more than anything else in his charred world of acrid smoke. They were so clean, so perfect and yet so avaricious, so rotten. Perched up in the sky, yet fallen. He hated how he wanted them to come with those tasteless rations and dirty water. He hated how he craved to see them and marvel at their beauty. But today would be different, the Prophet promised that. The TCE would finally learn the essence of the land they created. As Spark was seething at the sight of a feast in a time of famine, Slug finished preparing and aiming her weapon—two rods of metal pointed straight at the shining top of the guard tower. It was only now he noticed that the smaller chemdrinker had a package with… it. That bundle included a heavily corroded metal tube and some sort of small canisters made of metal as well, but strangely without any signs of rust. The tube was pointed in the same direction as the “stolen tech” gun, but more to the sky, high above the target, and one of the capsules was gently put inside of it. Slug nodded to the chemdrinkers and Spark instantly knew it was that moment. He pressed his ears to his skull expecting a thunderous explosion, but it never came, at least not from where he expected. The gun flashed with a shower of sparks where the slug scraped the metal of the rods and with an ardent whistle it began its journey. The explosion came from the guardpost. Another shower, a brilliant torrent of glass shards rained on the ground below. With vile animalistic snarls the chemdrinkers fired their own weapon. Just as its colleague in delivering death and destruction, it worked silently, betraying itself only by the sound of air forced along with the missile. There was a longer amount of time before it brought its message to the destination, but the effect was much more noticeable. A cloud of dark pinkish gas erupted from under the so beautifully carved steeple, blooming like a rose on the stem of blackened silver. Soon, the screams followed, as blood-curdling as if something rent the flesh of the ponies inside the guard post and gnawed on their very bones. The chemdrinkers who were frozen, resembling grotesque flesh statues, until the very moment the song of agony started, came to life, dewing the ashes and dross with saliva as they cackled and gurgled, poisoned blood boiling in their failing lungs. Slug began to celebrate the success just as well, but in a less gruesome manner. She grinned and quietly chuckled. And it was in that very moment when the beams of light converged on the four ponies and a second later a machine gun on the tower came to life. The whip of the masters began to rattle, cutting above all the sounds of the sector’s audible strain, for it sang requiem, the most final of prayers. The heavy-calibre bullets whistled their dirges all around those who dared to siege the gates of their gods’ throne, plummeting into the dead soil, scattering the long-forgotten ashes on the acrid wind. The chemdrinkers went into a frenzy, their launcher spewing shell after shell, making the tower disappear in the thick plumes of deadly vapour. The bigger one was the first to fall, its filth-filled chest exploding, covering everything behind it with its putrid contents. Spark had no chance to learn the fate of the second abomination as his face received a sudden heavy and painful, yet constrained slap, breaking him out of his reverie. “Run, kiddo, go tell…” Slug began to bark at him, but she didn’t finish—her face decided to join the tower and the chemdrinker’s chest in their metamorphosis and lose its structural integrity, with the eager help of the machine gun. The mare fell on Spark, showering him with blood and shattered bone. He almost fell under her weight, but after a moment managed to recover and stop both of them from hitting the ground. Huffing, he began to drag the almost lifeless body behind the nearest cover—Slug still rasped, crimson bubbling on her trembling lips. However, halfway to those debris a metal hoof swatted him away. “Run, colt…” Slug rasped as Spark lowered her to the ground—he had no strength to carry her further, it was one of the moments when having half a body made of steel wasn’t a good thing. The mare began to writhe, huffing and rasping, leaving Spark to watch her helplessly. It lasted only for a few moments and then, suddenly, the old hide coat was shoved into his hooves. His eyes began to widen, but before they reached their desired size, another metal hoof shot towards the rags on his neck, and his upper body was brought close to the mare’s face. Unwillingly Spark was able to assess the damage done the by the shot that struck down Slug. It wasn’t fatal, not yet, but it certainly spared Slug from having two eyes, leaving an empty bleeding eye socket in the place of one of them. The bullet went through her skull as close to her brain as it was possible, leaving broken bone behind and a wound that would cost her life if not treated very soon. However, Slug didn’t seem to be in any pain, no. She was cackling maniacally, her remaining eye shining in mad triumph. The mare tugged at Spark’s apparel until his ear was close to her lips and began whispering, rasping, gurgling, spitting saliva and blood on the colt’s face. “Tell the boss… Tell, tell him… The Prophet was right… Tell him...” Slug gasped for air, choking on her own life trickling out of her. “They bleed.” Author's Note I appreciate any feedback, and if you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know. I hope you enjoyed reading this story so far. Stay awesome. FacelessAftersound: Side Stories ================================= Written by: Flutterfinar & Geka Preread and edited by: IAmApe, Jay Tarrant Cover art done by: Geka ================================= Faceless ==================== Two pools of absolute darkness reflected the shaky glow of a neon advert. It was acid pink, not matching the softer color of the thin circles surrounding the expanded pupils. The shining sign read ‘Silken Flute’, written in flamboyant cursive. The light coming from it wavered, pulsing erratically and unhealthily. Before long the brothel’s advertisement died out, raining sparks on the busy street below. The eyelids covered in smudged mascara closed phlegmatically, blinking away the stale tears, though they weren’t shed for the tiny extinguished sun. The neon wasn’t gone from Clandestine Delight’s eyes when they opened again to blankly stare at nothingness. That tube was just one of many, an acceptable loss in the city of artificial stars, still successfully fighting away the night, though it mattered not. That victory would be hollow for Canterlot, like almost everything there. A hovercraft flew low, its projectors’ beams unceremoniously peeking into the windows and shadows of the thoroughfare. It also graced the sleepless pegasus’ face, spilling its painful brilliance into the dilated pupils. Delight hissed and her wing instinctively shot up, covering her head and sending dirty sheets flying across the room. She turned away, rubbing her violated eyes, wiping away from her cheeks the wetness she hadn’t known was there. When sight returned to her, she was met with the thing she probably hated the most about her job. A dark spot left by sweat on the bed. Once blazing hot, now growing cold. It didn’t belong to Delight but to the nameless pony who paid for the night with her. She couldn’t even remember if it was a mare or a stallion – it didn’t really matter in the end. They were gone without a word after they were done, like everypony else. They might return one day, but she wouldn’t recognize them and they might not even recognize her. There would be a paycheck at the end of the month. A dozen ration tickets for a top grade meal, though it was barely different from the common garbage. Some clothes, nothing fancy, but at least they would be clean. Being a pegasus she didn’t need them anyway – her plumage protected her from the cold… to some extent. Something to sell, then. But there would never be any thanks given to her. Though the food and clothing were coming from the Crown, not to mention their protection, the Moths would never be acknowledged by the government. No one would tell her their name or remember hers for more than a night. With a heavy sigh Delight hopped from the creaky mattress. Her shift hadn’t started that long ago and she wasn’t the least popular mare in that establishment; she had to make herself look presentable for the next client. The rooms, both silent and echoing with moans, passed her as she made her way to the showers. The air coming from them was hot and humid – the water never stopped running that night. It wasn’t payday, but some factories were already beginning to give out salaries. Grabbing a piece of soap and a towel, Delight headed to the furthest stall, hoping that she wouldn’t have to wait for the only wing drier to be free. Being a pegasus also had its downsides. Delight almost slipped on something when she stepped into the stall, cursing as she barely regained her balance. On a closer look it appeared to be a clump of hair insidiously hiding under the foam. Delight scrunched her nose and used the tip of her hoof to move it aside, rolling her eyes as she saw the color – bright pink. At this pace Candy would be left with no mane or tail – whatever she was buying in the Tunnels was doing her no favors, probably the Chemdrinkers’ stuff. Not bothering to suppress a deep sigh, Delight turned the tap. She and Candy were both pegasi, the minority of Moths at the ‘Silken Flute’, which meant more work for Delight if her addict colleague was finally hounded out. The searing water ran down her body, seeping under her ruffled fur, cleaning the scents of fake passion and shame out of it. She closed her eyes and let the torrent batter her face, washing away salt and her makeup mask. Unlike Candy, Delight didn’t hate her job. It was safer than risking her life at a Spire or a factory, even more rewarding in some aspects. The reason she compared those occupations to mimicking love in bed was quite simple. She hated ponies, also zebras and whoever else came to her for pleasure. It wasn’t some kind of burning loathing, just dull aversion, tainting every aspect of her life. Being used wasn’t the problem, she knew of worse things ponies had done to their bodies for money. In fact, some of her clients actually weren’t bad at it, at least when she started working. She didn’t despise Canterlot’s citizens for what they did outside the brothel either – the nightmare they had made of the city – the Royal Guard made sure she would be untouched by it. It was all about what they didn’t do. Delight existed for her clients only as long as their time with her remained. When the timer set up as they entered the room lamented the end of their sweet minutes, she was thrown away like a toy that was no longer fun. Left alone and forgotten until next time, if that ever happened – the city fucked her clients in quite a different way. She was so desired, so cherished, worshipped even, during those moments full of hot breath and writhing bodies. But one sound, a sonorous beeping would always return her to her true self. Non-existent. After the shift was over, nothing would change. The Moth mark on her cheek would glow with imbued enchanted crystal dust, reminding everyone what she was – a pretty face to be delighted in for an affordable price, one of hundreds to be found in the countless brothels. All she wanted was to be recognized as a mare, not as a mare for a night. To be distinguished and valued, but not in the way she already was. To be given actual emotion. Those thoughts reeked of familiarity; if they were a record it wouldn’t just be grooved but torn, so many times they had played out in her head. Right now she didn’t want them to echo again, she just wanted to feel nothing but the flow of almost boiling hot water cleansing her body in those rare moments at work when it belonged to her. Yet Delight turned off the tap with another deep sigh – the night was still young and she had better be at her room when the next client arrived. Wrapping her hanging mane in a towel, she exited the stall only to nearly bump nose to nose into a unicorn mare – Kick Start. The new addition to the growing choice of the mares in ‘Silken Flute’ recognized her former instructor immediately and was quick to read Delight’s expression like an open book – she had learned the Moths’ ways quickly. “Why the long face, Del? Another virgin who doesn’t know from which side to approach a mare, eh?” she asked with a guffaw, nudging Delight’s shoulder with her elbow. “Ha-ha, Kicky,” Del drily commented, rolling her eyes – her former student cracked jokes non-stop as a way to deal with the downsides of her job. Unfortunately, her sense of humor left a lot of room for improvement. But the thing was… she picked up that habit from none other than Delight. “Everypony knows that unicorns are the best for the first time.” Del accompanied her next words with putting her hoof to her forehead and wiggling it. ”Easiest to handle.” “Sheesh,” Kick winced away. However, only a moment passed and her eyes lit up from inspiration. “The shift just started and you’re already a sour puss… y.” Delight gave her colleague a very long unamused stare, until a chilly draft got under her soaked feathers, making her shiver. She hurried to the wing drier, toweling off her head as she went. It came to her as no surprise when instead of taking her place in the stall, Kick followed her out of the shower area. It was hard to say if that mare was just clingy or if she really looked up to Delight. Either way, Del didn’t really want to have any company at the moment. “I’ll murder you one day, you know,” she threw over her shoulder, returning to the issue of the worst pun ever. “Pay some junkie to choke you with his filthy cock.” “Not if you die from my insufferable puns first!” Kick easily shrugged off the not-so-harmless jab and caught up with the older pegasus. “Chin up, Del, things are not as bad as they seem.” Delight didn’t even bother to answer, just shot Kick a tired glare. “Oh, I know!” Kick continued. “You do remember it’s Soosa’s birthday today, don’t you?” Susurration… something. Delight couldn’t even recall her full name; she was a fresh Moth, who had barely started working in ‘Silken Flute’. A pale blue unicorn with a metal shoulder and very soft voice. They were all quiet at first. “Let's say.” Delight made a turn into a very small room mostly used for first aid, where a special device was shoved into a corner for lack of any other place in the already cramped brothel. Thankfully, it was unoccupied at the moment. Kick, due to her small size, managed to snake before Del, her widely beaming face appearing in the doorway. “She brought a cake!” Pushing Kick out of her way, Del headed straight to the drier, flicked its switch and put her wing between the rapidly heating fans. Using her other wing she continued to wipe her mane, but was stopped by Kick. The unicorn concentrated and used her magic to dry Del’s head – not instantly, but it was still faster than rubbing it with the wet towel. Having nothing better to do, she let her eyes stop on the mare in front of her. Kicky was delicate and thin, like many unicorns, though it was apparent that she ate much better at the brothel than before she became a Moth. In fact, she was beginning to develop a set of nice curves – she might become very popular in time, despite her back legs starting from the gaskins being bluish metal, matching her coat. The scars on her muzzle from some unfortunate fight could stand in the way of that too, but they were nothing a good portion of make-up couldn’t fix. In the end there would be no difference – another pretty face to smother with loveless kisses. The magic aura released Del’s mane, leaving it tangled but no longer damp. “Thanks,” Delight nodded and then, ignoring her thoughts and remembering Kick’s words, added, “I know at least a dozen places where I can buy a cake. What’s the big deal?” “You don’t get it.” Kick’s feignedly smiling face filled Del’s view again. “Her cake is the real thing!” Delight’s brow slowly migrated up her forehead. She walked around the drier and put her other wing into it. “You’re pulling my leg.” “I’m telling you, go have a piece.” Kick enthusiastically pointed in the direction of the staff room. “Er, just don’t eat the cream on top. I don’t know where she got the milk for it and I’m too afraid to ask, but it tastes really funny.” Real cake… Del had eaten her share of sweets; she often indulged in that sin, thanks to her pegasus metabolism – she would have to try real hard to become fat. But it was all either synthetic stuff or the stripes’ weird herbal candies. She had never eaten a bona fide pastry. The thought didn’t sting very much, however. In the city where everything was fake, it made little difference. “Must be from some goat’s tits.” “Don’t joke like that.” Kick shuddered in disgust. “Now I feel like I'm gonna throw up.” Delight critically studied her wings – they weren’t completely dry, but it would do. She looked around, visually sorting through the contents of the room until she found what she needed. Walking to the mirror, she chuckled, “You should work that gag reflex away if you want to be a good Moth.” Scoffing, Kick threw back at her, “Alright, Del, leave the bad jokes to me and go take a break or I’ll vomit on you.” The hairbrush on the edge of the sink turned out to belong to Candy, or was just used by her, judging by the clumps of pink hair stuck in it. Delight screwed up her face – it seemed that her damn mane was falling out everywhere. She wouldn’t be surprised if she found some under her tail. “Fine,” Del snapped. Though she hated to walk around with her mane resembling a rat’s nest, she had better use her own hairbrush. Checking out the fabled cake didn’t sound so bad either. Maybe she would meet Candy there and tell her to die from drug overdose already and stop leaving parts of her body all around the brothel. Oblivious to Delight’s mood becoming even more sour, Kick Start bid her farewell. “Good luck. Don’t have too much fun!” Not waiting for a reply, she cantered out of the room. Del wordlessly shook her head – Kick was a sweet mare, but she should know when to get out of ponies hair… Damn pink hair! There was another strand of it, but stuck to her right wing. Soosa’s cake became an optional goal. Her primary task for this shift was to cross paths with Candy and give that junkie an earful. Del nearly stormed out of the little infirmary, vigorously shaking her wings. The staff room’s location was standard for most of the brothels – in the basement, the stairs leading to it being on the opposite end of the hall to the shower room. Delight hated being underground; that was one of the few downsides of being a pegasus, at least in her mind. The janitor constantly nagging her about the loose feathers all around her room didn’t appear to her as an issue. As Del headed to the stairwell, she kept her ears perked up – listening for a familiar voice in the ‘working’ rooms. Though she doubted she would hear Candy in any of them – like all pegasi, she preferred the higher floors. The basement corridor met her with a familiar scent of dampness and mold. The generator room, or whatever it was, hummed, the powerful crystal behind the thick armor-plated door at work. Del never understood why every brothel needed their own source of electricity or why it was locked up like a treasure, but it was none of her business, so she didn’t care. Another door, made from flimsy dirty plastic, revealed a poorly lit room behind it, reeking of perfume and cheap food overheated in the microwave. There were a few mares inside merrily chatting at one of the tables and a stallion in the opposite corner slouching over a ration, angrily poking it with a broken wooden spoon. Delight pitied that poor sod. Kizazi was a half-zebra, which made him the perfect fit for a brothel as his father was from the Jangwa tribe, meaning he was bigger than almost any earth pony in every aspect, including the one that mattered most for those who came here. However, having a glyph instead of a cutie mark made Kizazi unable to have citizenship, thus denying him salary and practically chaining him to his place, as there was no other alternative save being an outcast in the Tunnels. The rations provided by the Crown were the only food he knew and basically the only thing he got for his work. Del didn’t know anypony who hated their job more. The balding pink pegasus was nowhere to be seen, but one of the tables had a half-eaten huge cake. It was better than nothing. Before taking a piece of it, Delight approached the coffee machine to make herself a cup. As the device wheezed, squeezing the dark liquid out of it with abominable sounds, Kizazi stood up, pushing the table away from himself, and stomped out of the room. Del shook her head. Though it was the end of his shift, he would have to return – not only did he leave his food barely touched, a bulky bag was resting under his chair. Whatever. It was time to see if that cake was as good as Kick painted it to be. Del sat near it and pulled a piece to herself. Using a plastic fork she put a bite of cake in her mouth and froze. No synthetic pastry she ever had could come close to the richness of taste she was experiencing. She swallowed the morsel, barely chewing and not heeding the warning given to her about the swirls of yellowish-pink cream sitting on top of her piece. It was an explosion of sensations. For a moment she was blinded, the world lurching around her as she became weightless. She even lost her hearing for a moment as it was filled with a deafening roar. When Delight tried to move again, she found herself lying on her side. Strangely, the floor was poky and crunchy as she moved. Speaking of movement, she had trouble with it, her body refused to comply with her orders, as if it was submerged underwater. Water… she could feel wetness – something sticky and warm ran across her forehead, while droplets of cold moisture rained on her from above. Ever so slowly she began to realize that something wasn’t right. Her vision was blurry, but even taking that into account it was very different from what she expected to see – it was filled with bright colorful spots, as if she was looking out of the window again through tears. She couldn’t hear anything clearly either, save for an incessant deafening ringing, not the same as that of the alarm in her room, but having some shared quality to it; everything else was muffled, but she thought it was screams and not of passion. Once again, Del tried to get up, and after a couple of failed attempts she managed to raise the upper half of her body from the ground. Yes, ground. It was no longer the basement floor, she was sure of it. If anything, it felt like she had ended up outside, though she couldn’t remember walking out. What did Soosa put in that cream? Candy’s drugs? Delight’s senses gradually started to return to her, though only partially – she couldn’t see anything on her left but darkness. The blobs of light gained crispness and turned into neon adverts and… fire. The screams became defined and readily replaced the loud ringing, filling Del’s hearing with cries of pain. She nearly fell back to the ground as she felt pain herself – the left side of her head throbbed with burning agony, and, in addition, she felt like a sack of bricks had fallen on her. Whipping her head around was a mistake, as she almost fell again. More carefully she began to take in her surroundings and even recognize them… It was the same street Del was working at, but where she was supposed to be, at the ‘Silken Flute’, were smoldering ruins. The adjacent buildings looked like the Souleater had ripped half of them away, leaving jagged holes and deep tears in the half-fallen walls. Ever so slowly the thoughts started to click together in Del’s mind. Destruction, like something had exploded. Explosions came from bombs. Brothels all around the city were being blown up recently. ‘Silken Flute’ had been targeted. She almost died. Delight choked, her breath becoming irregular and then she began to hyperventilate. The initial confusion faded away, replaced by dull shock and sharp clarity at the same time. Ponies’ screams came from all sides, shrill yells of terror and bloodcurdling wails of agony. Neon and fire weren’t the only colors amidst broken concrete and twisted rebar – crimson red painted the soot-covered stone, scarlet viscera hung from blackened metal. Not far from her, a bluish body with warped metal legs lay broken and motionless on a tilted wall, like a sacrifice for some mythic goat god. A torn pipe was spaying the scene of mayhem with muddy water, the colorful signs turning it into a rainbow fountain. Suddenly, a loud noise, an angry growl cut above all noises, and from the sky they descended. Despite the searing pain growing stronger with every second, Delight looked up in awe. She had seen the Royal Guard only once in her life and that was a terrifying experience. She respected the city’s most powerful force as much as she disliked the mysterious armor-clad soldiers. Even now, terror and hope fought each one as one of the figures landed near her. A strange conical helmet turned directly to Delight; even being featureless it still appeared sinister. She knew that the pony inside was looking at her. Delight continued to stare at the smooth plate, concealing the face studying her, and tried to guess the intent behind it. Was the Guard here to save her or finish her off? Both options seemed equally possible. Something exploded nearby in a shower of sparks – another star died out. For a moment that flash turned the Guard’s visor semi-transparent. Behind it were eyes, the strangest eyes Delight had ever seen. They didn’t belong to a pony, she was sure. Though, right now she wasn’t sure of anything – her left eye still couldn’t see a thing, and the pain she felt was so strong that her remaining vision was darkening. Del always thought of the ponies behind those armors being heartless beasts, but it didn’t appear to be true. In that short moment of surreal revelation Delight saw something in that inequine face she hadn’t seen in ponies’ expressions for a long time, if ever. A genuine emotion: compassion. The pain in Del’s left side grew unbearable and she passed out, falling on the rubble. The pool of blood gathering under her defaced form reflected the shaky glow of the neon adverts. Amidst the light was a dark figure, its expressionless helmet gazing at the fallen prostitute. Then the Guard silently moved away. There was nothing the Royal Guard could do for her – they were there to investigate and to eliminate. She might see the dawn, she might not. The ominous helmet shook almost imperceptibly; either way, she would never learn how much they had in common. Author's Note I wrote that story quite a few months ago, right after I returned from a particulary insufferable day at work, a twelve-hour shift full of harassment coming from my superiors. Full of frustration and strangely the desire to create, I gave birth to this little bitter slice of Delight's life. Aftersound Project Discord server - it's a little community dedicated to discussion of the story and whatnot. Everyone is welcome to join. If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know. I hope you enjoyed reading this story so far. Stay awesome.
Broken PromiseAftersound: Side stories ================================= Written by: Flutterfinar & Geka Proofread and edited by: mikemeiers, IAmApe, Jay Tarrant Cover art and chapter art done by: Geka Broken Promise ==================== I slammed the glass on the counter with a loud bang, nearly breaking it and making everypony around jump. What a load of crap… Passing through Canterlot, I had swung by a local bar to get a taste of some decent cider for once. Except it seemed the booze they served here was the same donkey piss in moldy barrels we received at the front. And I thought Canterlot was all about being fancy and having the best. Since Flim and Flam had been allowed to take over the production of all food and drinks, nothing tasted the same. The stuff was still being made at Sweet Apple Acres, but their cider didn’t have the taste, aroma or tanginess of the Apple family’s. It tasted like somepony mixed together water, pure alcohol and apple juice with emphasis on the first one. Maybe even vomited a little in it. The only thing it was good for was wiping the scenes of the battlefield from your memory. Never helped me, though. The lifeless faces would become blurry, but never go away for long… Gah! I came here for a familiar taste, not to get wasted. I couldn’t anyway – Twilight would kill me if I came to the trial with a hangover. At least the so-called drinks were on the house, since the bartender recognized me. Not like I would have paid for that dishwater anyway. Sadly, there was little difference between the stuffy underground bar and the streets of outer Canterlot. Even being so distant, the ongoing war had changed the city. Canterlot had become a hub for the army, supplies… scrap it, seemingly everything and everypony. Anything that went to the front had to come through the city perched on the mountain. The stream of recruits, civilians, trade goods and the recently appeared zebras made Canterlot lose its shine. It was now dirty and worn out, like a soldier’s horseshoe. Despite the day being nearly over, the streets bustled with ponies. Meanwhile the sky above was obstructed with ropes hanging between the buildings, not to mention swarms of couriers all but bumping into each other. Flying was out of the question, so I swiftly moved forward, falling into a familiar marching tempo. The passersby immediately made way for me – the uniform of the Special Air Force had such an effect. It was simple yet easily recognizable, even by civilians. A deep blue jacket with a fleece neckpiece sporting a pair or silver bars on each shoulder. Warm, practical and nothing extra, just what the frozen battlefield needed. Maybe it was this way because it wasn’t designed by Rarity. I mean, she made the best dresses, but we were at war, and war had no place for beauty. Still, she somehow managed to get her hooves on most of the uniforms of the higher ranking officers. When did she even find the time… Finally, my hooves brought me to the edge of the city. Before plunging into the sky from the railing, I stopped for a moment to look into vast emptiness starting beyond it. The sun was setting. Fluttershy or Rarity would have said something sappy about it. Maybe even Twilight, if things were very different – the sunlight made her fall silent and somber nowadays. For me, it painted the faraway spires of the Crystal Empire in blood. I couldn’t set eyes on them, not from here, but in my imagination they gleamed with their cold malice, watching over the massacre beneath with glee. If I closed my eyes I would see the stubborn fires peppered across the dark permafrost – the Equestrian army preparing for the night. I should be there right now... When was the last time I slept? The train had to be patrolled in case of another attack, and before that a lot of things had to be wrapped up with my subordinate officers. It would be a good idea to have forty winks if I didn’t want to fall asleep during the trial tomorrow. My visit to Canterlot wasn’t official; it was classified in fact. That meant that I had nowhere to stay due to nopony knowing about my arrival. However, there was one place I could easily crash at – the barracks. They were half empty these days, anyway. With that destination in mind, I climbed the marble banister and plummeted down. *** I woke up with a jolt; anyone who had spent time on the front knew it all too well. After countless nights spent sleeping inside cold tents on bloodstained rugs, I had forgotten what the other ways even were. Sitting straight on the army cot, I looked around. As expected, the barracks were empty, the same as when I arrived. The Royal Guard left Canterlot years ago, somepony had to be the first soldiers. Those few who now patrolled Canterlot were almost entirely rookies, falling from exhaustion at their twenty-hour shifts. My gaze fell on the clock: it was still hours before the trial. No wonder there was nopony here – it was too early even for the changing of the guard. However, my body had had enough rest. It didn’t need a whole night anymore, another habit earned while surviving on the battlefield. Letting my head fall back onto the greasy cloth taut on a rusting frame, I sighed, filling the deserted hall with a somber echo. The war sucked. But what sucked even more was that we were losing it. I was so tired from still hearing everywhere, despite the fact that it had been years, “Hey, Rainbow Dash, we have the advantage in numbers. We will overpower them,” or something like, “We have earth ponies, pegasi and unicorn magic, even an alicorn at our side. We are bound to win.” To be fair, I once thought it would all be easy peasy lemon squeezy, myself. Only civilians who had no idea what was going on were saying that stupid shit. Though, maybe it was for the better. Rarity and her hoity-toity nobles were pulling the wool over everypony’s eyes for a reason – ponies would lose their minds if they knew. When Sombra and the Crystal Empire were banished, or whatever happened to them, they were frozen in the state they were in one thousand years ago – at war with the Princesses. When they re-emerged they had their ponies ready for war, they had their economy attuned for war and, most importantly: they had experience. Hell, they were whooping demigoddesses' asses so hard they had to be sent to another dimension. Equestria? We boasted millennia of peace, and that was only the beginning of our problems. What was the use of numbers if half of the army didn’t know how to hold a blade or hadn’t even heard of guns? The most elite parts were only experienced in guarding vases in the castle halls. Magic? When was the last time anypony saw a unicorn using their magic for fighting? Just as I thought. Even the pegasi were pathetic most of the time. The weather teams were little use in war. There was only one forecast: heavy casualties. This war was a fucking nightmare from the very start. It was hard to admit, but Sombra was a brilliant general; he always knew where and when to strike to hit the hardest. He also had a very nasty habit of appearing on the battlefield himself. Shining Armor joined us in a battle more times than I could count, but… he was a defensive unit. Nothing could pierce through his magic shields, and that was awesome. But when Sombra decided to take action, shit hit the fan and one shield, no matter how good, wasn’t going to help. I was there when he did it for the first time. We were in the middle of the fight, even kinda winning it for once. Then I heard the screams. That bastard teleported to the black crystals behind our lines and began to destroy our ass-end like a stallion would do a mare in heat. No fanfare, no bright flashes, no maniacal laughter. He just materialized from thin air and started to slaughter us. We lost a lot of good ponies that day. If only things would have ended there. The next time he appeared it was pretty much the same. Screams from behind, lots of black magic smoke, lots of dead ponies. Figures, he could teleport to any crystals, not only the black ones. Twilight got all the smart unicorns for her playground, and ours weren’t able to think a single step ahead. A mare, some snob from Rarity’s clique, who I was telling that story during one of my visits to Canterlot years ago, asked me, “Rainbow, why were you fighting on the ground, anyway? Aren’t you one of the best fliers and all?” Because fuck you. And fuck me. Sombra didn't have many mages, but any sorcerer he had was worth a hundred of our dull hornheads. Their spells weren’t a fart on the wind, that’s for sure. Our pegasi had been awesome at the start of the war, but that all changed pretty quick. Fucking invisible flames. Pockets of air so hot it burned feathers away in the blink of an eye. And that was the fate of the fortunate. I witnessed a pegasus become a cloud of ash; he was going too fast. That’s why I spent weeks on the ground, fighting alongside the infantry and pegasi who didn’t have their heads turned into cinders. When it wasn’t Sombra, it was his Coven. Different asshole, same shit. Except the shit wasn’t always the same – something new every fucking time. It was kinda simple with Sombra: you see black smoke, you run. You see the treacherous ‘Demon Mare’, run and pray that our unicorns could negate at least half of her spells so you didn’t have half of your body roasted. See that fucking zebra witch, just pray, because fuck knows what she came up with this time. How were we supposed to deal with freaky zebra witchery and alchemy? Even Twilight’s smart hornheads didn’t know, and that was their only job. Advantage in numbers? Bullshit. When ponies died, they died. We buried them if there was something left to bury. When crystal ponies died, they were raised again to fight because they were basically made from rock and it apparently wasn’t a big deal to make a crystal golem from their corpses. When those zombies died, whatever was left of them was whomped up and sent to battle again. Then again. And again. I swear there was a pony I killed, like, five or six times in one day. The alicorn on our side? You know, a lot of ponies said that it was Twilight who got hit the hardest when Celestia died. She was very depressed, no shit. Hard to blame her. But Luna had completely gone nuts. She helped us only once and it was a disaster. It all started fine, she was a helluva mage, mind you. But then we noticed that she kinda didn’t know what friendly fire was. Then we just ran. It was the first and the last time I ran from the battlefield. Needless to say, it was a huge hit for the army’s morale. Speaking of which. All that crap was bad, alright, but not the worst. The deserters and defectors. The scum. After the first week ponies began to leave at night. A quarter of the army was gone in three fucking weeks. And half of those who didn’t leave at night tried to do it on the battlefield. Pathetic cowards. It got even worse soon – we began to notice our former soldiers fighting for Sombra. The traitors thought he was some kind of a new god or something. Not sure if they were false-hearted or just brain-dead. This was why we were losing the war. Every battle, even the smallest one, had to be planned extra carefully. We had to spend more time scouting than fighting. We couldn’t fight with crystals on the battlefield, it was like inviting Sombra to fuck us up. We had to know which shithead from the Coven was going to join the battle, or we got fucked up in no time. We couldn’t fight with a sky full of magic traps, we couldn't fight on minefields, we couldn't fight near the walls because of the prism cannons. We couldn't fight most of the time, or we lost by default. And when we could it was ‘hard hard lemon hard’. Right now the army was barely one third of the size it was on the first day. There was no more advantage in numbers. And Sombra knew it, he wasn’t a stupid fuck like half of our command. He began to push back a few months ago, and we couldn't do shit to stop him. Honestly, I didn’t know why he even waited in the first place. The whole siege was a one big joke from the start. Why did we even start it? Oh yeah, Sombra captured Cadence, Shining was super upset with it, that’s totally understandable. But we weren’t ready. Come on guys, we couldn’t just declare a war because we felt like it. Our concern wasn’t how to win it anymore, but rather how not to get completely fucked up. Those damn Elements. I know that Twilight wanted to take all the blame, but she was not the only one who screwed up. Sure, her Element didn’t work, but to be honest, I didn’t remember Fluttershy’s working either. Or Pinkie’s for that matter. We were all still devastated from what happened at the wedding. If we had listened to Twilight back then, all this shit wouldn’t have happened. If anything, it’s all our fault, not hers. Which is extra stupid because it was the second time we didn’t listen to her when we most definitely should have. But the milk was spilled already. That ‘cybersuit’ was the only hope, really. We needed it like nothing else. At this rate it was a question of not months but days before Sombra would break the siege. If Twilight was right, that armor was going to give us what we needed to deal with all that magic bullshit and more. It was gonna make our half-baked army faster, stronger… better. I volunteered as soon as I heard the news. If this suit could handle me, it could handle anypony. It would be faster this way, no time wasted picking testers and less paperwork. Props to Twilight and Moondancer, it took them mere months to get from sketches to a fully functional prototype. Guess I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get much sleep lately. There was still enough time before the trial. Would anypony mind if I turned up early? Though, it was too early for ‘early’... or I could just go out and fly like before, without doing it to escape death. That sounded better than warming up a cot for some greenhorn or wallowing in whatever I was wallowing in – that was Rare’s job. *** A nice place they got for themselves, huh. Even set the weather right, perfect for a flight. Looks like not all the good pegasi were getting fried in the skies above the Crystal Empire. It was a good idea to arrive earlier than I was supposed to. Twilight’s team had already started the preparations, and she herself was going to be there any minute now. The Crystal Empire was beyond my sight, but my eyes were still drawn to the North. I caught myself holding a breath, as if I was expecting something to happen. Maybe a huge cloud of thick trademark black smoke would rise and destroy the last hope we had; his spies were everywhere after all. Or maybe a glorious sunray would wipe that fucking Empire from existence – that would be nice. But Celestia was dead, Luna went batshit crazy and we had yet to save Cadence. Steps behind me. I almost flicked my ear – still couldn’t get rid of that reflex. It was so strange to hear ponies not trying to conceal themselves – it had to be Twilight. Mustering as much positivity as I could, so I wouldn’t sound and look like my bed owed me a decade of naps, I greeted her: "Hi, Twilight." I turned to my egghead friend only to see her smiling at me. "Hi, Rainbow." It had been a while since I had last seen her, or anypony, smile. And, goddesses, she looked terrible, maybe even worse than me. I guess you didn't have to be at the front to feel the war. I leaned in to give her a hug. A few years ago I would have cringed away instead. But after hugging a rifle for twenty hours straight in a mud and blood filled trench, I began to look differently at such things – I started to look forward to them. “Pinkie says hi,” I whispered to Twilight. I swear, every time I saw Pinkie Pie she asked me to do it, and I knew that she would somehow learn if I didn’t. Parting from the embrace, she sat by my side. The inevitable happened – her eyes became drawn to the north, trying to see the horrors of war in the distance. When her tired gaze found nothing but the blur of snow and sky, she began to ask questions. I obliged her with answers, relishing in the bittersweet feeling of finally talking with somepony about it without hiding the ugly truth. *** For fuck’s sake. Why did I even agree to test this crap? The damn final version was huge and bulky, like the plate armor of those Stalliongrad weirdos. We tested two prototypes before and they were sleek, lightweight and badass. I doubted this hulk of steel was even capable of taking off. But it wasn’t as bad as Twilight, who sounded like she was going to read me a full-length lecture on magic. Did she want my brains to melt? I thought that was the Coven’s job. "Uhhh," I hastily interrupted her before it was too late, "in case you forgot, I'm not a unicorn, Twi." "Argh! Fine!" Twilight barked at me. "You just need to start talking and we will hear you at the stand." “Alright." Sheesh, why couldn’t she tell me that in the first place… Anyway, I had some real questions. "What do I need this mask for?" As we talked, the technical personnel were putting the final pieces of the plating and other weird stuff on the exoskeleton base. I did know some egghead words, and yes, I also knew what it meant. Speaking of which, the exoskeleton chaffed in every place possible, and it was as uncomfortable as it could get. I wouldn’t want to be stuck inside it for long. "It's an oxygen mask.” Please, not another lecture! “You will need it to breathe in the suit. It's tightly sealed, remember?" Thank the Goddesses, I was spared a half-hour long lecture about the enchantment used to filter air or whatever this thing does. Twilight was obviously proud of each and every enchantment they invented at the RCRC, and she had every right to be – without them the war would be lost already. But sometimes I had the feeling that she was forgetting why they had to be created. "Okaaay," I replied, concerned if the mask had been field tested. However, nopony cared about my doubts and it was put on my muzzle, the tubes unpleasantly rubbing against my nostrils. Not the most comfortable thing, but better than the gas masks – they always smelled like something had died inside them… or somepony. "I'm going to the stand to check out the recording machinery and the communication crystals," Twilight said as she departed to the edge of the flight strip. Before that she gave me an awkward hoof-bump (they were always like that with her) and wished me luck. What I needed was something to distract my mind as I seemed to be doomed to resemble a statue and die of sheer boredom while she decided to have a nice long chat with Moondancer. I had nothing against her, though, Moondancer was a cool mare – she preferred flashy demonstrations to boring lectures, despite looking even more nerdy than Twilight. As they were waffling on, the technicians put on the last pieces of the plating. It was time for the helmet now, the only part of the cybersuit that actually looked awesome – like a dragon’s head. I was standing fully concealed in the cybersuit, and it felt like I was crammed inside a tin can. It was stuffy and too close-bodied – way too uncomfortable for me. The worst part was that I couldn’t move, not until the gems fired up. With the trademark crackle of magic the armor came to life. Numerous glowing indicators appeared in the glass visor – I couldn’t remember what half of them meant. Altitude, airspeed, vertical speed... compass… attitude indicator? Those were the most important, the rest was arcane mumbo-jumbo with which I had no business – I was a pilot and a soldier, not a mechanic. Goddesses forbid I ever let some of that stuff clog my brain. Suddenly, I heard Twilight’s voice in the headphones: "Rainbow, can you hear me?" I would never get used to those things; it was like the sound was coming from inside my head, not from the outside. Her voice was loud and slightly crackly, like a brewing thunder cloud. Or was that the gems of the armor? "Yeah, a little bit too loud and there is a strange crackle." I wasn’t really bothered by it – I didn’t expect the armor to be silent, but Twilight had asked me to report anything unusual to her. The problem was that I had no idea what was supposed to be usual, so I was going to tell her anything that caught my attention. Instead of replying to me, she began to shout something to Moondancer… Really? Was I going to fly today? "Rainbow, Moondancer says that it will become less loud after you take off, and the crackle could be overlapping magic fields." The only laps I cared about were around a track during a race, so her words made no sense. "I don't think this will affect the cyber suit.” Yeah, I didn’t think so either – not my job. “Its enchantments are protected by arcanium runes after all." Deciding to not voice the remark about those enchantments also very effectively protecting Twi’s virginity, I asked with hope, "So if everything is fine, can I take off then?" Five more minutes and I was going to die. "I'm tired of standing in one place already!" "Yes, on the count of ten." Yeah, sure, count my ass to ten. Even through the noise dampening protection of the suit I heard a loud message: “Everypony must immediately leave the flight strip, we are starting the test on the count of ten! I repeat, everypony leave the flight strip!" Finally. Now I had to remember how to fly this thing. If it was even going to take off, of course. "Ten," Twi began to count. “Nine…” The turbine was controlled by the special buttons for my hooves just like during the previous test; it was nice to know that they hadn’t changed anything fundamental – I accidentally forgot to read the instructions this time. And the direction of the metal wings was controlled by… my wings. Easy peasy – now it was time to squeeze some lemons. I pressed the buttons and with a deafening roar rocketed to the sky – it actually took off! And it also was fast; not as fast as me, but it would do for now. "Fi..." Twilight’s countdown echoed in my headphones. She was gonna kill me when I landed, but it would be worth it. "Sorry boss," I chuckled, "couldn't hold on any longer." "Ugh. Is everything all right at least?" Twilight asked me. Moving my wings I took a sharp turn, intently listening to the armor, expecting the metal to violently protest against the wind. It remained absolutely silent, not a single creak of insubordination. Though… yeah, the crackling was still there. Probably the turbine or something else – the thing was made too quickly to be perfect. "Yeah, all's fine, your voice is not so loud anymore, but, uh, the crackling is a bit louder now," I reported back to Twilight. She didn’t answer, so I decided that meant a green light. I had come up with a flying routine for the cybersuit. It needed to be tested out for basic aerial maneuvers and moves we used on a daily basis, plus some advanced stuff to challenge its toughness. I had to admit, I was impressed; Twilight and Moonie had done a superb job, though I expected nothing less from them – they were the best we had. The controls were smooth and responded without any delay whatsoever. For its size and weight the cybersuit was quite fast and very maneuverable, almost comparable to that of a pegasus. It was exactly what we needed on the battlefield – simple to ride, it was perfect for our featherbrained soldiers. However, as I was pirouetting through the skies I noticed the crackling was becoming louder and louder to the point it started to concern me; call it an achievement. "Hey, Twi,” I called to her, realizing that she had been strangely silent all that time. “The crackling has gotten louder, I think it's coming from the turbine." "What!? Are you sure?" Twilight gasped as if I had startled her from daydreaming. I wouldn’t blame her, though – all the fun was up here; she also looked like the last time she slept was before the war. If I were her, I would have relaxed and continued to enjoy the show – it wouldn’t be a prototype if everything worked as intended. I strained my ears – it wasn’t in my headphones. The sound was coming through the helmet from the outside. “Yes, it's sure becoming louder, and it's not from the ‘com’. It's coming from somewhere behind my helmet," I told her. It had to be the turbine – figures, I was too fast and badass for this suit. One more test might be in order. ""No, no, no, no, no, no!" Twilight began to panic. Though she was prone to that even without a good reason, I couldn’t help but tense up. It was then that the controls refused to obey me and half of the indicators on my visor started to blink with an unhealthy red. Unfortunately, not all of them were about arcane parameters – the drop in altitude was nothing to joke about, especially when I weighed like twenty pegasi and the wings I had could be used only for steering, not hovering. “Rainbow, listen to me!" Twilight continued to yell, but I barely heard her – the alarms and the crackling were almost deafening. Nor did I have time to listen to her. I was trying to figure out how not to die as Rainbow Crash. "Rainbow, something is wrong. You need to land right now!” No shit Sherclop. In addition to having my hearing assaulted, I started to choke on smoke. Judging by the searing heat at my withers, it wasn’t hard to guess where it was coming from. Any moment I expected to smell burning fur – the heat inside the suit was becoming unbearable. “Can you hear me?” Barely – the turbine was whining at a high pitch, making my teeth answer with agony. “You need to..." But I didn’t get to know what I needed to do – something exploded behind my head and I was blinded by unimaginable pain. My last thought was of the somber talk I had with Pinkie Pie at one of the campfires under the Crystal Empire’s walls, the night before the very first battle. If I died, but not on the battlefield, would I break the Pinkie Promise?
They bleedAftersound: Side Stories ================================= Written by: Flutterfinar & Geka Preread and edited by: IAmApe, Jay Tarrant Cover art done by: Geka ================================= They bleed ==================== The air roared. Metal rang against metal as it was beaten into submission without any mercy. Dross and gas exploded in the distant furnaces, evidence of the sloppy job done by the Junkyard. Smoke and fire were vomited towards the heavens, filling them with ash and poison. Machinery shrieked and groaned as it slaved under the calloused or artificial hooves of its masters, who were nothing but slaves themselves. Guttural shouts cut through the burning night—it was the song of labour, it was the wheezing breath of manufacturing. The entire sector of the Heavy Industry wailed in a ceaseless orgy of machine and flesh, giving birth to the products demanded by the city of Canterlot, who never knew the true price paid for its hunger and greed. But soon it would. Despite the almost unbearable noise borderline with pain, Spark was straining his hearing as hard as he could. His ragged ears swirled as he tried to make out where exactly the remote explosions took place and if it was any different from where they were supposed to happen. However, he was aware that it was rather pointless. One of the detonations would be just a precursor to the signal, not the signal itself. Then the very loud bang of a pneumatic hammer violently striking a steel girder sounded sonorously and ominously above all the cacophony. It was very close and very sudden, making Spark jerk instinctively. The pony on his side didn't even flinch, but the glimpses in the depth of her protective goggles shifted. Spark recovered quickly, as anypony living at the Edge should. Tired of the waiting, eager to meet his destiny, he sprung to his hooves, ready to bolt forward to the next cover. But a metal hoof struck his chest, crossing his path and making him halt. Unaffected by the sharp metal edges all but cutting into his young and yet to harden skin, even through his so-called clothing, Spark glanced at his companion—an elderly, by the standards of the Edge, mare. Slug’s expression was a mask of the perpetual defiant bitterness of somepony who had been spitting into Death's face for far too long, something very common for those few who lived to her age. The blazing salvo of the nearest smelter painted her face a fiery orange, making her still sharp eyes flare like embers amongst dead ashes. Her muzzle was like a tarpaulin of scar tissue on the stretching frame of her bones. Without any change in her look, she nodded forward with a huff, which came out of her permanently seared nostrils as a sharp rasp. Spark followed the direction she was pointing at and saw the reason for their hesitation. Circles of light, the angry gazes cast by the never-sleeping eyes of the searchlights, hungrily hunting for victims to fill with hot lead, danced across the ravine leading to the guard post, where fate and death patiently waited for Spark and Slug. Spark looked at Slug again, waiting for her to say something, but the mare remained silent and still, like a statue, intently studying the indentation in the poisoned earth. The young colt liked her, for he knew that under the burned and lacerated skin a kind heart still resided. She was a veteran born to this never-ending war with industry, fighting its metal onslaught for forty years—Spark didn’t know another pony who was that old. She was so ancient that it wasn’t even her foals who would inherit that long-wearing skin of a survivor, but her grandfoals. That thought made Spark feel the familiar pang of acute jealousy and anguish. He was born in the Heavy Industry sector just like Slug and yet he was, and always would be, hideless. His mother fell into the kiln and his father he never knew, thus Spark would never wear the last parting gift each parent gave to their offspring—their skin which helped them survive long enough to leave somepony else in their stead. But that was the curse and blessing of those who worked in the metallurgical industry—they rarely needed graves. And without clothing made of the best gift a parent could give their foal, besides priceless knowledge, Spark was just like an orphan from the city—considered weak and useless, food for the flames. He hated it. But today… today it might change forever. The colt adjusted the greasy rags on his lanky limbs, so he wouldn’t trip over them, and grinned. Yes, after today they would treat him as what he was—a Child of the Industry. An almost incomprehensible raspy voice escaped Slug’s cracked lips, her lungs tormented by the decades of molten metal’s fury incapable of producing any other sounds but the scrape of sandpaper against the rust of her decaying organs. “Now.” Despite the heavy contraption strapped across her back, Slug moved frighteningly fast. That might have been due to her hooves, none of them of flesh, but steel, thundering against the charred earth, turning dross into a fine dust. Spark dashed after her, his own hooves, still to be claimed by the fire, barely touching the ground. They moved rapidly from one cover to another, galloping between mounds of broken machinery, hills of slag and debris of cracked and soot-covered bricks. All that time Spark couldn’t stop himself from marvelling at the metal device swaying against the ancient hide coat. He did not have a single idea how it worked, only that it was a weapon much stronger than any before. He knew that this one was but a replica of the original brought from the Tunnels by the Prophet. “The stolen tech”, the adults called it. And, apparently, it had something to do with rails. Anyhow, it was magnificent: even though made to fire one single time, the gun was pristine, polished and gleaming, reflecting the blazing sky above. Its mere presence was overwhelming Spark with awe. Their stop was abrupt, right under the shadow of a twisted and rusty girder, poking out of the ground at an almost vertical angle, as if it was an accusing claw pointing at the firmament. Spark dared not to peek over the pile of dross, which kindly hid them from searchlights lazily crawling over the hollow, seeking game in the shadows, but he knew he would see the guardpost in the distance if he did. It would jeopardize this whole endeavour, and he wasn’t stupid—it was his only chance to reclaim the life stolen from him. Spark glanced at Slug once again. Their eyes met and she gave a brief nod. Now they waited. The young colt began to count his heartbeats and when he reached one hundred, he heard them. Gurgling rasps of rotten lungs whistled through the arid air as two figures shuffled from the dark, keeping low to the ground, almost slithering. Emissaries of the Light Industry they were, the fabled chemdrinkers. In any other circumstance, they would be attacked on sight, they wouldn’t even make it this far into the Heavy Industry. But not tonight—this night they were allies, partners in crime and justice. Spark watched with wide eyes as they emerged from the red dusk. He had seen a gryphon once, a Pink Butterfly terrorist, but even that filthy creature was more equine in the appearance and mind than the chemdrinkers. The chemdrinkers were as feared as they were revered. Even by the standards of the Deep Tunnels, they were horrifying abominations, born from the venom of the Light Industry chemical plants. But nothing survived like them, for what was dead couldn’t die again. And although they were infamous for their lethality, the drugs they produced were considered the most hardcore and effective in all Canterlot. Like all of the chemdrinkers, those emissaries were unicorns, their horns always aglow and ears moving to compensate for the eyes burned away by the toxic fumes, despite the gas masks. Said protection, along with the remains of the full body suits, was forever fused with their gangrenous flesh. Those patches of their skin which were absolved of the conjoining with the discoloured rubber stood out furless and covered in sickly, never healing chemical burns. Their legs ended in bone spikes—ever-growing tumours and petrified flesh caused by wading in the toxic waste were chiselled and sharpened to serve as tools... and weapons. Spark gulped and suppressed a shudder. Underneath the hanging tubes of the gas masks he could see the gleam of teeth too sharp and dripping with saliva and blood. Casual cannibalism was one of the many reasons why there was a wide alienation zone around the production plants where chemdrinkers led their wretched existence. Slug was either undaunted by their appearance or incapable of expressing fear with the mask that her face had become. She unstrapped the weapon from her back and nodded towards the chemdrinkers, but as they showed no reaction save for the never-ceasing wet wheeze, she realized her mistake. “We are ready.” For a few moments, the silence was her answer, then a sharp crepitation of liquids moving all the way through their airways came from one on the emissaries, the bigger one, it was impossible to tell if it was a mare or a stallion. It was quite likely that for the chemdrinkers such a difference ceased to exist—they weren’t born after all. Where they lived, things could only die, and it was a popular opinion that they weren’t dying fast enough. “Go… On… We… Follow…“ Each word was coughed out along with the spray of blood and small chunks of lungs. Despite his best efforts, Spark cringed away, even Slug seemed to lean back, but even if it did happen indeed, she was quick to turn to her weapon and check it again. “Are you ready?” She asked Spark staring with hardness and judgement through the glass of her goggles. Spark nodded. He knew his part. He wasn’t here to help, he wasn’t worthy of touching the weapon, he wasn’t even strong enough to haul it. But he was fast, very fast. So his task was simple—witness, and bring back the news as quickly as possible. If they failed, every second would count—the wrath of their slavers would rain down on them very soon. If they won… he actually didn’t know what would happen then, besides him no longer being counted as hideless. But that was more than enough. Ever so slowly and carefully Slug peered above the slab of cement she was hiding behind. For some time she watched the darkness and the rays of artificial suns banishing it away until she saw an opening in their cadence and turned to the chemdrinkers. “Fast!” She waved her hoof for them to come, another effort wasted on the sightless living corpses. They passed Spark and he choked—the acrid smell of chemicals and dead flesh almost made him vomit, though it wouldn’t be much of a loss—their rations had been cut again and it was to be at least another day until he got something to eat. When they were a few steps away from him, he followed on three hooves, using the fourth to cover his muzzle. And finally, he saw it—the guard post. An elegant spire of once polished bright steel, now blackened with soot accumulated on it over many years, towered above the tormented landscape. And from behind the bullet-proof glass on its top, the ponies clad in their gleaming pristine armour sneered at the continuous agony of the land and the ponies dragged there either from the city by the violence of the corrupt police or from the wombs of mothers by the unjust nature of the world. Spark could see them moving. Drinking. Laughing. For him and many others they were tormentors and… angels. The Heavy Industry could produce so many things and almost all of them were important for the city like nothing else; it was this sector which unknowingly dragged Canterlot to the future on its whip-ravaged back. But it could not produce one thing—food. So, every time the TCE appeared to visit that or another production complex, the workers prayed. They prayed that it wouldn’t be retribution for the failure in meeting demands, but a bite of synthetic bread or a gulp of stale water. Though, it always remained a mystery as to what their infallible angels would bring them—pain or bliss. And this is why Spark hated them more than anything else in his charred world of acrid smoke. They were so clean, so perfect and yet so avaricious, so rotten. Perched up in the sky, yet fallen. He hated how he wanted them to come with those tasteless rations and dirty water. He hated how he craved to see them and marvel at their beauty. But today would be different, the Prophet promised that. The TCE would finally learn the essence of the land they created. As Spark was seething at the sight of a feast in a time of famine, Slug finished preparing and aiming her weapon—two rods of metal pointed straight at the shining top of the guard tower. It was only now he noticed that the smaller chemdrinker had a package with… it. That bundle included a heavily corroded metal tube and some sort of small canisters made of metal as well, but strangely without any signs of rust. The tube was pointed in the same direction as the “stolen tech” gun, but more to the sky, high above the target, and one of the capsules was gently put inside of it. Slug nodded to the chemdrinkers and Spark instantly knew it was that moment. He pressed his ears to his skull expecting a thunderous explosion, but it never came, at least not from where he expected. The gun flashed with a shower of sparks where the slug scraped the metal of the rods and with an ardent whistle it began its journey. The explosion came from the guardpost. Another shower, a brilliant torrent of glass shards rained on the ground below. With vile animalistic snarls the chemdrinkers fired their own weapon. Just as its colleague in delivering death and destruction, it worked silently, betraying itself only by the sound of air forced along with the missile. There was a longer amount of time before it brought its message to the destination, but the effect was much more noticeable. A cloud of dark pinkish gas erupted from under the so beautifully carved steeple, blooming like a rose on the stem of blackened silver. Soon, the screams followed, as blood-curdling as if something rent the flesh of the ponies inside the guard post and gnawed on their very bones. The chemdrinkers who were frozen, resembling grotesque flesh statues, until the very moment the song of agony started, came to life, dewing the ashes and dross with saliva as they cackled and gurgled, poisoned blood boiling in their failing lungs. Slug began to celebrate the success just as well, but in a less gruesome manner. She grinned and quietly chuckled. And it was in that very moment when the beams of light converged on the four ponies and a second later a machine gun on the tower came to life. The whip of the masters began to rattle, cutting above all the sounds of the sector’s audible strain, for it sang requiem, the most final of prayers. The heavy-calibre bullets whistled their dirges all around those who dared to siege the gates of their gods’ throne, plummeting into the dead soil, scattering the long-forgotten ashes on the acrid wind. The chemdrinkers went into a frenzy, their launcher spewing shell after shell, making the tower disappear in the thick plumes of deadly vapour. The bigger one was the first to fall, its filth-filled chest exploding, covering everything behind it with its putrid contents. Spark had no chance to learn the fate of the second abomination as his face received a sudden heavy and painful, yet constrained slap, breaking him out of his reverie. “Run, kiddo, go tell…” Slug began to bark at him, but she didn’t finish—her face decided to join the tower and the chemdrinker’s chest in their metamorphosis and lose its structural integrity, with the eager help of the machine gun. The mare fell on Spark, showering him with blood and shattered bone. He almost fell under her weight, but after a moment managed to recover and stop both of them from hitting the ground. Huffing, he began to drag the almost lifeless body behind the nearest cover—Slug still rasped, crimson bubbling on her trembling lips. However, halfway to those debris a metal hoof swatted him away. “Run, colt…” Slug rasped as Spark lowered her to the ground—he had no strength to carry her further, it was one of the moments when having half a body made of steel wasn’t a good thing. The mare began to writhe, huffing and rasping, leaving Spark to watch her helplessly. It lasted only for a few moments and then, suddenly, the old hide coat was shoved into his hooves. His eyes began to widen, but before they reached their desired size, another metal hoof shot towards the rags on his neck, and his upper body was brought close to the mare’s face. Unwillingly Spark was able to assess the damage done the by the shot that struck down Slug. It wasn’t fatal, not yet, but it certainly spared Slug from having two eyes, leaving an empty bleeding eye socket in the place of one of them. The bullet went through her skull as close to her brain as it was possible, leaving broken bone behind and a wound that would cost her life if not treated very soon. However, Slug didn’t seem to be in any pain, no. She was cackling maniacally, her remaining eye shining in mad triumph. The mare tugged at Spark’s apparel until his ear was close to her lips and began whispering, rasping, gurgling, spitting saliva and blood on the colt’s face. “Tell the boss… Tell, tell him… The Prophet was right… Tell him...” Slug gasped for air, choking on her own life trickling out of her. “They bleed.” Author's Note I appreciate any feedback, and if you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know. I hope you enjoyed reading this story so far. Stay awesome.
FacelessAftersound: Side Stories ================================= Written by: Flutterfinar & Geka Preread and edited by: IAmApe, Jay Tarrant Cover art done by: Geka ================================= Faceless ==================== Two pools of absolute darkness reflected the shaky glow of a neon advert. It was acid pink, not matching the softer color of the thin circles surrounding the expanded pupils. The shining sign read ‘Silken Flute’, written in flamboyant cursive. The light coming from it wavered, pulsing erratically and unhealthily. Before long the brothel’s advertisement died out, raining sparks on the busy street below. The eyelids covered in smudged mascara closed phlegmatically, blinking away the stale tears, though they weren’t shed for the tiny extinguished sun. The neon wasn’t gone from Clandestine Delight’s eyes when they opened again to blankly stare at nothingness. That tube was just one of many, an acceptable loss in the city of artificial stars, still successfully fighting away the night, though it mattered not. That victory would be hollow for Canterlot, like almost everything there. A hovercraft flew low, its projectors’ beams unceremoniously peeking into the windows and shadows of the thoroughfare. It also graced the sleepless pegasus’ face, spilling its painful brilliance into the dilated pupils. Delight hissed and her wing instinctively shot up, covering her head and sending dirty sheets flying across the room. She turned away, rubbing her violated eyes, wiping away from her cheeks the wetness she hadn’t known was there. When sight returned to her, she was met with the thing she probably hated the most about her job. A dark spot left by sweat on the bed. Once blazing hot, now growing cold. It didn’t belong to Delight but to the nameless pony who paid for the night with her. She couldn’t even remember if it was a mare or a stallion – it didn’t really matter in the end. They were gone without a word after they were done, like everypony else. They might return one day, but she wouldn’t recognize them and they might not even recognize her. There would be a paycheck at the end of the month. A dozen ration tickets for a top grade meal, though it was barely different from the common garbage. Some clothes, nothing fancy, but at least they would be clean. Being a pegasus she didn’t need them anyway – her plumage protected her from the cold… to some extent. Something to sell, then. But there would never be any thanks given to her. Though the food and clothing were coming from the Crown, not to mention their protection, the Moths would never be acknowledged by the government. No one would tell her their name or remember hers for more than a night. With a heavy sigh Delight hopped from the creaky mattress. Her shift hadn’t started that long ago and she wasn’t the least popular mare in that establishment; she had to make herself look presentable for the next client. The rooms, both silent and echoing with moans, passed her as she made her way to the showers. The air coming from them was hot and humid – the water never stopped running that night. It wasn’t payday, but some factories were already beginning to give out salaries. Grabbing a piece of soap and a towel, Delight headed to the furthest stall, hoping that she wouldn’t have to wait for the only wing drier to be free. Being a pegasus also had its downsides. Delight almost slipped on something when she stepped into the stall, cursing as she barely regained her balance. On a closer look it appeared to be a clump of hair insidiously hiding under the foam. Delight scrunched her nose and used the tip of her hoof to move it aside, rolling her eyes as she saw the color – bright pink. At this pace Candy would be left with no mane or tail – whatever she was buying in the Tunnels was doing her no favors, probably the Chemdrinkers’ stuff. Not bothering to suppress a deep sigh, Delight turned the tap. She and Candy were both pegasi, the minority of Moths at the ‘Silken Flute’, which meant more work for Delight if her addict colleague was finally hounded out. The searing water ran down her body, seeping under her ruffled fur, cleaning the scents of fake passion and shame out of it. She closed her eyes and let the torrent batter her face, washing away salt and her makeup mask. Unlike Candy, Delight didn’t hate her job. It was safer than risking her life at a Spire or a factory, even more rewarding in some aspects. The reason she compared those occupations to mimicking love in bed was quite simple. She hated ponies, also zebras and whoever else came to her for pleasure. It wasn’t some kind of burning loathing, just dull aversion, tainting every aspect of her life. Being used wasn’t the problem, she knew of worse things ponies had done to their bodies for money. In fact, some of her clients actually weren’t bad at it, at least when she started working. She didn’t despise Canterlot’s citizens for what they did outside the brothel either – the nightmare they had made of the city – the Royal Guard made sure she would be untouched by it. It was all about what they didn’t do. Delight existed for her clients only as long as their time with her remained. When the timer set up as they entered the room lamented the end of their sweet minutes, she was thrown away like a toy that was no longer fun. Left alone and forgotten until next time, if that ever happened – the city fucked her clients in quite a different way. She was so desired, so cherished, worshipped even, during those moments full of hot breath and writhing bodies. But one sound, a sonorous beeping would always return her to her true self. Non-existent. After the shift was over, nothing would change. The Moth mark on her cheek would glow with imbued enchanted crystal dust, reminding everyone what she was – a pretty face to be delighted in for an affordable price, one of hundreds to be found in the countless brothels. All she wanted was to be recognized as a mare, not as a mare for a night. To be distinguished and valued, but not in the way she already was. To be given actual emotion. Those thoughts reeked of familiarity; if they were a record it wouldn’t just be grooved but torn, so many times they had played out in her head. Right now she didn’t want them to echo again, she just wanted to feel nothing but the flow of almost boiling hot water cleansing her body in those rare moments at work when it belonged to her. Yet Delight turned off the tap with another deep sigh – the night was still young and she had better be at her room when the next client arrived. Wrapping her hanging mane in a towel, she exited the stall only to nearly bump nose to nose into a unicorn mare – Kick Start. The new addition to the growing choice of the mares in ‘Silken Flute’ recognized her former instructor immediately and was quick to read Delight’s expression like an open book – she had learned the Moths’ ways quickly. “Why the long face, Del? Another virgin who doesn’t know from which side to approach a mare, eh?” she asked with a guffaw, nudging Delight’s shoulder with her elbow. “Ha-ha, Kicky,” Del drily commented, rolling her eyes – her former student cracked jokes non-stop as a way to deal with the downsides of her job. Unfortunately, her sense of humor left a lot of room for improvement. But the thing was… she picked up that habit from none other than Delight. “Everypony knows that unicorns are the best for the first time.” Del accompanied her next words with putting her hoof to her forehead and wiggling it. ”Easiest to handle.” “Sheesh,” Kick winced away. However, only a moment passed and her eyes lit up from inspiration. “The shift just started and you’re already a sour puss… y.” Delight gave her colleague a very long unamused stare, until a chilly draft got under her soaked feathers, making her shiver. She hurried to the wing drier, toweling off her head as she went. It came to her as no surprise when instead of taking her place in the stall, Kick followed her out of the shower area. It was hard to say if that mare was just clingy or if she really looked up to Delight. Either way, Del didn’t really want to have any company at the moment. “I’ll murder you one day, you know,” she threw over her shoulder, returning to the issue of the worst pun ever. “Pay some junkie to choke you with his filthy cock.” “Not if you die from my insufferable puns first!” Kick easily shrugged off the not-so-harmless jab and caught up with the older pegasus. “Chin up, Del, things are not as bad as they seem.” Delight didn’t even bother to answer, just shot Kick a tired glare. “Oh, I know!” Kick continued. “You do remember it’s Soosa’s birthday today, don’t you?” Susurration… something. Delight couldn’t even recall her full name; she was a fresh Moth, who had barely started working in ‘Silken Flute’. A pale blue unicorn with a metal shoulder and very soft voice. They were all quiet at first. “Let's say.” Delight made a turn into a very small room mostly used for first aid, where a special device was shoved into a corner for lack of any other place in the already cramped brothel. Thankfully, it was unoccupied at the moment. Kick, due to her small size, managed to snake before Del, her widely beaming face appearing in the doorway. “She brought a cake!” Pushing Kick out of her way, Del headed straight to the drier, flicked its switch and put her wing between the rapidly heating fans. Using her other wing she continued to wipe her mane, but was stopped by Kick. The unicorn concentrated and used her magic to dry Del’s head – not instantly, but it was still faster than rubbing it with the wet towel. Having nothing better to do, she let her eyes stop on the mare in front of her. Kicky was delicate and thin, like many unicorns, though it was apparent that she ate much better at the brothel than before she became a Moth. In fact, she was beginning to develop a set of nice curves – she might become very popular in time, despite her back legs starting from the gaskins being bluish metal, matching her coat. The scars on her muzzle from some unfortunate fight could stand in the way of that too, but they were nothing a good portion of make-up couldn’t fix. In the end there would be no difference – another pretty face to smother with loveless kisses. The magic aura released Del’s mane, leaving it tangled but no longer damp. “Thanks,” Delight nodded and then, ignoring her thoughts and remembering Kick’s words, added, “I know at least a dozen places where I can buy a cake. What’s the big deal?” “You don’t get it.” Kick’s feignedly smiling face filled Del’s view again. “Her cake is the real thing!” Delight’s brow slowly migrated up her forehead. She walked around the drier and put her other wing into it. “You’re pulling my leg.” “I’m telling you, go have a piece.” Kick enthusiastically pointed in the direction of the staff room. “Er, just don’t eat the cream on top. I don’t know where she got the milk for it and I’m too afraid to ask, but it tastes really funny.” Real cake… Del had eaten her share of sweets; she often indulged in that sin, thanks to her pegasus metabolism – she would have to try real hard to become fat. But it was all either synthetic stuff or the stripes’ weird herbal candies. She had never eaten a bona fide pastry. The thought didn’t sting very much, however. In the city where everything was fake, it made little difference. “Must be from some goat’s tits.” “Don’t joke like that.” Kick shuddered in disgust. “Now I feel like I'm gonna throw up.” Delight critically studied her wings – they weren’t completely dry, but it would do. She looked around, visually sorting through the contents of the room until she found what she needed. Walking to the mirror, she chuckled, “You should work that gag reflex away if you want to be a good Moth.” Scoffing, Kick threw back at her, “Alright, Del, leave the bad jokes to me and go take a break or I’ll vomit on you.” The hairbrush on the edge of the sink turned out to belong to Candy, or was just used by her, judging by the clumps of pink hair stuck in it. Delight screwed up her face – it seemed that her damn mane was falling out everywhere. She wouldn’t be surprised if she found some under her tail. “Fine,” Del snapped. Though she hated to walk around with her mane resembling a rat’s nest, she had better use her own hairbrush. Checking out the fabled cake didn’t sound so bad either. Maybe she would meet Candy there and tell her to die from drug overdose already and stop leaving parts of her body all around the brothel. Oblivious to Delight’s mood becoming even more sour, Kick Start bid her farewell. “Good luck. Don’t have too much fun!” Not waiting for a reply, she cantered out of the room. Del wordlessly shook her head – Kick was a sweet mare, but she should know when to get out of ponies hair… Damn pink hair! There was another strand of it, but stuck to her right wing. Soosa’s cake became an optional goal. Her primary task for this shift was to cross paths with Candy and give that junkie an earful. Del nearly stormed out of the little infirmary, vigorously shaking her wings. The staff room’s location was standard for most of the brothels – in the basement, the stairs leading to it being on the opposite end of the hall to the shower room. Delight hated being underground; that was one of the few downsides of being a pegasus, at least in her mind. The janitor constantly nagging her about the loose feathers all around her room didn’t appear to her as an issue. As Del headed to the stairwell, she kept her ears perked up – listening for a familiar voice in the ‘working’ rooms. Though she doubted she would hear Candy in any of them – like all pegasi, she preferred the higher floors. The basement corridor met her with a familiar scent of dampness and mold. The generator room, or whatever it was, hummed, the powerful crystal behind the thick armor-plated door at work. Del never understood why every brothel needed their own source of electricity or why it was locked up like a treasure, but it was none of her business, so she didn’t care. Another door, made from flimsy dirty plastic, revealed a poorly lit room behind it, reeking of perfume and cheap food overheated in the microwave. There were a few mares inside merrily chatting at one of the tables and a stallion in the opposite corner slouching over a ration, angrily poking it with a broken wooden spoon. Delight pitied that poor sod. Kizazi was a half-zebra, which made him the perfect fit for a brothel as his father was from the Jangwa tribe, meaning he was bigger than almost any earth pony in every aspect, including the one that mattered most for those who came here. However, having a glyph instead of a cutie mark made Kizazi unable to have citizenship, thus denying him salary and practically chaining him to his place, as there was no other alternative save being an outcast in the Tunnels. The rations provided by the Crown were the only food he knew and basically the only thing he got for his work. Del didn’t know anypony who hated their job more. The balding pink pegasus was nowhere to be seen, but one of the tables had a half-eaten huge cake. It was better than nothing. Before taking a piece of it, Delight approached the coffee machine to make herself a cup. As the device wheezed, squeezing the dark liquid out of it with abominable sounds, Kizazi stood up, pushing the table away from himself, and stomped out of the room. Del shook her head. Though it was the end of his shift, he would have to return – not only did he leave his food barely touched, a bulky bag was resting under his chair. Whatever. It was time to see if that cake was as good as Kick painted it to be. Del sat near it and pulled a piece to herself. Using a plastic fork she put a bite of cake in her mouth and froze. No synthetic pastry she ever had could come close to the richness of taste she was experiencing. She swallowed the morsel, barely chewing and not heeding the warning given to her about the swirls of yellowish-pink cream sitting on top of her piece. It was an explosion of sensations. For a moment she was blinded, the world lurching around her as she became weightless. She even lost her hearing for a moment as it was filled with a deafening roar. When Delight tried to move again, she found herself lying on her side. Strangely, the floor was poky and crunchy as she moved. Speaking of movement, she had trouble with it, her body refused to comply with her orders, as if it was submerged underwater. Water… she could feel wetness – something sticky and warm ran across her forehead, while droplets of cold moisture rained on her from above. Ever so slowly she began to realize that something wasn’t right. Her vision was blurry, but even taking that into account it was very different from what she expected to see – it was filled with bright colorful spots, as if she was looking out of the window again through tears. She couldn’t hear anything clearly either, save for an incessant deafening ringing, not the same as that of the alarm in her room, but having some shared quality to it; everything else was muffled, but she thought it was screams and not of passion. Once again, Del tried to get up, and after a couple of failed attempts she managed to raise the upper half of her body from the ground. Yes, ground. It was no longer the basement floor, she was sure of it. If anything, it felt like she had ended up outside, though she couldn’t remember walking out. What did Soosa put in that cream? Candy’s drugs? Delight’s senses gradually started to return to her, though only partially – she couldn’t see anything on her left but darkness. The blobs of light gained crispness and turned into neon adverts and… fire. The screams became defined and readily replaced the loud ringing, filling Del’s hearing with cries of pain. She nearly fell back to the ground as she felt pain herself – the left side of her head throbbed with burning agony, and, in addition, she felt like a sack of bricks had fallen on her. Whipping her head around was a mistake, as she almost fell again. More carefully she began to take in her surroundings and even recognize them… It was the same street Del was working at, but where she was supposed to be, at the ‘Silken Flute’, were smoldering ruins. The adjacent buildings looked like the Souleater had ripped half of them away, leaving jagged holes and deep tears in the half-fallen walls. Ever so slowly the thoughts started to click together in Del’s mind. Destruction, like something had exploded. Explosions came from bombs. Brothels all around the city were being blown up recently. ‘Silken Flute’ had been targeted. She almost died. Delight choked, her breath becoming irregular and then she began to hyperventilate. The initial confusion faded away, replaced by dull shock and sharp clarity at the same time. Ponies’ screams came from all sides, shrill yells of terror and bloodcurdling wails of agony. Neon and fire weren’t the only colors amidst broken concrete and twisted rebar – crimson red painted the soot-covered stone, scarlet viscera hung from blackened metal. Not far from her, a bluish body with warped metal legs lay broken and motionless on a tilted wall, like a sacrifice for some mythic goat god. A torn pipe was spaying the scene of mayhem with muddy water, the colorful signs turning it into a rainbow fountain. Suddenly, a loud noise, an angry growl cut above all noises, and from the sky they descended. Despite the searing pain growing stronger with every second, Delight looked up in awe. She had seen the Royal Guard only once in her life and that was a terrifying experience. She respected the city’s most powerful force as much as she disliked the mysterious armor-clad soldiers. Even now, terror and hope fought each one as one of the figures landed near her. A strange conical helmet turned directly to Delight; even being featureless it still appeared sinister. She knew that the pony inside was looking at her. Delight continued to stare at the smooth plate, concealing the face studying her, and tried to guess the intent behind it. Was the Guard here to save her or finish her off? Both options seemed equally possible. Something exploded nearby in a shower of sparks – another star died out. For a moment that flash turned the Guard’s visor semi-transparent. Behind it were eyes, the strangest eyes Delight had ever seen. They didn’t belong to a pony, she was sure. Though, right now she wasn’t sure of anything – her left eye still couldn’t see a thing, and the pain she felt was so strong that her remaining vision was darkening. Del always thought of the ponies behind those armors being heartless beasts, but it didn’t appear to be true. In that short moment of surreal revelation Delight saw something in that inequine face she hadn’t seen in ponies’ expressions for a long time, if ever. A genuine emotion: compassion. The pain in Del’s left side grew unbearable and she passed out, falling on the rubble. The pool of blood gathering under her defaced form reflected the shaky glow of the neon adverts. Amidst the light was a dark figure, its expressionless helmet gazing at the fallen prostitute. Then the Guard silently moved away. There was nothing the Royal Guard could do for her – they were there to investigate and to eliminate. She might see the dawn, she might not. The ominous helmet shook almost imperceptibly; either way, she would never learn how much they had in common. Author's Note I wrote that story quite a few months ago, right after I returned from a particulary insufferable day at work, a twelve-hour shift full of harassment coming from my superiors. Full of frustration and strangely the desire to create, I gave birth to this little bitter slice of Delight's life. Aftersound Project Discord server - it's a little community dedicated to discussion of the story and whatnot. Everyone is welcome to join. If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know. I hope you enjoyed reading this story so far. Stay awesome.
