Author's Note

Some familiar faces here.

Or maybe not.

Awkward isekai waking-sequence-a-go-go.

The Fountain

Flash Sentry slowly woke like a loose iceberg turning over. Everything was liquid molasses, and the moment he bubbled at the surface of it all—the first thing he became aware of was how comfortable he felt. For one—his nose, throat, and sinuses were not sore from untold hours of obesity-induced snoring. What's more, his usually tiny worn-out lump of a bed mattress had somehow been replaced by a ginormous sea of plush tranquility. Usually at that age—upon waking up—Flash felt like a tired blob of unevenly displaced blubber. His first thoughts were typically “I hate myself” or “I should just jump off a bridge” with the occasional smattering of “I want Hot Pockets.”

But here—here and now—in this foggy world of plush comfort and tranquility... Flash felt tiny. He felt precious. He felt hungry. But not in his belly. Somewhere else... somewhere that extended within and beyond him, so that he instinctually felt that be belonged to something and was simply waiting to be found.

A sniffle escaped his nose. He opened his eyes at the same time that tears beaded at the edges of his lids. He brought a dainty hand up and rubbed his cheeks dry, squinting at the intense brightness filling his room.

Hadn't he bought blackout curtains years ago...?

He rubbed his eyes some more... when he felt the intense need to stretch. He did so—lithe and yearning, like a cat. Somewhere in the middle of this gesture, he must have realized just how... nimble he was. A gasp escaped his lips, and the breath that accompanied it was deliciously high-pitched.

He blinked, glancing down at himself. He saw legs curled up, clad in a black lycra plugsuit—as was the rest of his body. He saw a tenderly sloping tummy, an indiscernible and nearly flat mound at his crotch, and a narrow athletic space lingering just between his upper thighs.

Where the fuck had all his belly fat gone...?

He ran a gloved hand down his supple chest—lycra gliding across lycra—until his fingers phased through where his belly should have been. He felt so paper thin. So fragile. Even in high school, he had more girth to him. This was something else—triggering memories from middle-school, even. His hand traveled further down and—to his shock—he could touch his toes. They too were clad in the lycra suit, but there was no denying the fact that he could easily and without any fuss whatsoever touch every square inch of his feet. There was nothing at the equator of his being fighting the effort—no pain and discomfort in the feat whatsoever.

Fidgeting nervously, he ran his hands back up. They brushed past the part of his suit where his nipples were located—and a sharp jolt of sensitive energy ripped through him. A high-pitched yelp filled the room, like that of a startled woman coming home to a surprise party. He curled up against a headboard, noticing how large the bed looked compared to him. The mattress was plush—a sheer black. A blanket had been partly strewn across his frame upon waking, also black. His confused eyes darted across the room and he saw... more black. Black furniture. Black bookcases. A black chair before a black desk. The only other tone was... slightly less-black shades of gray. The room was remarkably spacious—nearly half the size of his very own apartment—but it was also noticeably spartan in its furnishing. Not a single decoration or hint of color could be seen.

He glanced back at his own figure—at the shiny black gloss of the plugsuit thingy he was wearing. There were occasional rings of metal situated at fixed intervals along his limbs, joints, and torso. But Flash couldn't begin to guess where he'd have to pull or what he'd have to press in order to get the tight, tight, tight uniform off of himself. There was a light tinge of musk to the room, and he got the impression that he had been wearing that suit for a long... long time. The first natural thought that crossed his mind was having to use the bathroom, but he soon discovered that he... simply felt no need. In fact, his abdomen felt clean and pain free—entirely unlike the gallstone-riddled bowels he was used to possessing after years upon years of habitually drinking unhealthy sodas.

Curiosity and yearning drew him off the bed. As he attempted sliding his legs towards the distant floor, he realized just how small he was from the sheer distance that he had to travel. Either that or the bed was bigger. Perhaps both. In any case, he landed on the plush carpet with an unceremonious plop and—

—a sharp pain rippled up his spine. Flash covered his mouth, stifling another high-pitched yelp. Only after more tears budded along the corners of his eyes did he relax and realize that... the “pain” wasn't quite so painful as it was discomforting. More of a sustainable discomfort than anything. He held his breath and flexed his kegel muscles, relatively surprised at how well they tightened and untightened on command. A familiar sensation came to the man—something learned after countless lonely nights of fiddling with his gross nethers.

There was a plug inside him. Flash had played with butt plugs before, but he had always been the one to insert them. This thing—whatever it was—was no doubt smaller than what he had experimented with previously in life. But the fact that he didn't remember putting it in down there—plus how the unremovable lycra suit prevented him from examining things—really put him at unease. And as the unease bubbled higher and higher to the surface, it carried with it fumes of the previous vision: of waking up in a dark machine womb and being crowded tightly by giantess versions of Shadowbolts. Sugarcoat, Sour Sweet, Sunny Flare—all vague haunts from Flash Sentry's high school years at CHS... and they were all sporting giant penises?

Flash knew what this was. This was a “sequel” dream. He hadn't actually woken up, and now his subconscious was carrying the mental narrative from one stage of REM sleep to the other.

That would explain the plugsuit. The butt plug. The lithe and nubile physique.

But the same anxiety that made his previous nightmare such a feverishly awkward cringescape had carried over, which is why Flash wasn't prancing alongside pretty princesses while wearing a pink ballgown.

Yes... that had to have been the only explanation...

...and yet, just why was this dream so plain, colorless, and boring?

Flash pivoted about in the room, squinting towards the source of light. A wide stretch of windows loomed across from the bed, perpendicular to where the desk was located. The curtains were eggshell white, adding contrast to the monochromatic domain. He shuffled towards it, feeling light as a feather. There was an... odd sway to his movement, as if his hips somehow required more say than he was used to—despite his tiny frame.

Nevertheless, when he reached the window he tugged the curtain aside. The brightness of the world beyond was blinding, but by the time everything came into focus... Flash's jaw dropped in disbelief.

There.

Now there's a dreamer's imagination at work...

For starters, the room Flash was in was high... like unimaginably high. It was set in the body of an incredibly tall skyscraper. More like a megastructure. If he had to take a guess, he'd say that he was on the hundredth floor of... something.

From his perspective, it appeared as though the skyscraper he was in was part of one giant coagulated artifice of glass and steel that extended well beyond his peripheral capabilities to see. He gazed down in search for the ground—and he saw multiple levels... elevated roads like highway overpasses but wider, thicker, and buzzling with activity. It was something straight out of Metropolis, only very real and filled with more detail than his brain could sort out.

Small bodies flitted in all directions like flies. Flash's eyes darted after them, and soon he spotted hovering vehicles cruising along invisible freeways that criss-crossed in midair at multiple intersections. Never mind Metropolis, this was like a setpiece straight out of a Star Wars prequel. Only—it got a great deal more complicated than that.

When Flash looked up in search of a sky... he only found more skyscrapers... and more ground. There was another city hanging upside down above him. Only... it mirrored two more cities that made up parallel vertical “horizons” to the left and right of his perspective. It took some time for his brain to comprehend, but he realized that all four cities were one—forming a vastly long and hollow tube of urbanization that carried on farther than his vision could discern. Nestled between this hollow cylinder of high tech life was a sun—only it was not the Sun... but rather a narrow rod of luminescent energy stretched out towards some nebulous vanishing point. Things floated more within this strobing “center,” and the chiefest of which were long floating rectangular platforms that blocked out the light in three places. When Flash looked back at the inner surfaces of the cylindrical city, he spotted long swaths of darkness blotting out the light to countless districts and townships, courtesy of the shadows cast by these floating platforms. In these lengthy patches of “night,” pinpricks of light could be seen twinkling, like Tokyo after sunset. If he focused really hard, he could see—or imagined that he saw—the shadows slowly snaking their way clockwise across the cylindrical surface, so that at some point the shadow would stretch over his building and it would be “night” for him ever so temporarily.

Flash took a step back from the grand immensity of this outer (inner?) world. He ran a hand through his scalp—shocked to feel just how incredibly silky his hair was. It was a softness not unlike down feathers, and gone was the graying stiffness that the thirty-seven year old was used to. There was almost a playfulness to the ends of his hair, something he hadn't felt since countless ages ago when he was allowed to stroke his hand through his ex-girlfriend Sunset's hair.

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Flash turned around and saw—yes—an open door to a smaller compartment just adjacent to the bedroom. The reflective sheen of gray tile confirmed that it had to have been a bathroom. He made a bee-line for it, again sensing an undeniable sway to his hips. When he reached the chamber, he fumbled his hand around for a lightswitch—ultimately grazing a panel that was evidently touch-sensitive. A cold white light filled the room, and he squinted dumbly at the bathroom's contents... and lack thereof.

There was a bathtub and a shower-stall, both luxurious in size (if not in décor). But there was no mirror to look at himself with. What's more—and somewhat distressing—there was no toilet. It was a “bathroom” in a literal sense. Only tools for bathing and washing. The sink had a... curiously large amount of lotions and hair conditioners, but otherwise the lavatory was just as spartan as his bedroom. There was a cabinet beside the sink. On a whim, Flash swung one of its tiny doors open. The interior of the cabinet was chock-full of packages containing what looked like tampons, feminine pads, and pantyliners. Instinctually, the masculine reptile inside Flash flinched and slammed the door shut. He gripped the sink, trembling.

What the fucking hell...?

He gulped, slowly backing away from the bathroom.

Just whose bedroom was this?

Flash wrung his hands nervously together, looking all around like a scared, cornered puppy.

Just whose apartment was this??

He bit his lip. He looked down at his lycra-covered figure.

And why did his crotch feel so damned tight? Was there ever going to be a way out of this suit???

Just then...

...Flash heard voices.

High-pitched voices. Sing-songy. Melodic. Like a Saturday morning cartoon giggling itself awake.

Curious, he turned towards the other door of the room. It was sealed tight, but no doubt it led to the rest of the apartment.

Might as well see how far this dream will take him...

As he proceeded towards the door, he spotted a computer station at the room's desk. It was an elaborate computer station... with multiple monitors and input devices and other geometric doohickeys that Flash couldn't even begin to understand.

Right. Do what you want to, dream.

He came to the door and reached for a knob... only to find that there wasn't one. Fiddling, he felt all around the door... then tried shoving against it. He whimpered and panted with the effort—feeling like a feather trying to push over a mountain. At some point, however, his shoulder must have brushed against a panel because—

Schwissssh!

“Aackies!” Flash exclaimed in the most effeminate tone of his life. He fell across the floor in a lycra heap, wincing all over.

Far across a luxurious apartment flooded with daylight—decorated ornately with floral motifs and delicate fabric patterns—two bodies shifted from where they stood beside what looked like a mini-bar or a kitchenette. There were pretty blinking eyes and pretty heads of hair. Soon—after a combined giggle—two sets of pretty pretty voices trilled in Flash's direction.

“Rise and shine, tangle-foot!” snickered one soul—a pale petite thing with long silk-black hair.

“Heeheehee... about time, Flashie!” The more melodic of the two hummed in delight. Flash saw golden blonde hair and milk-soft skin. His heart skipped a beat, then another as she continued speaking: “Get some nice shuteye? From the look of things, you earned it, sweetie!”

Flash Sentry lingered on the floor, confused and twitching. “Sweetie,” he repeated, and the musicality of his breath matched the word with sugary softness. Flash felt like he was lost in an apartment with three strangers, and he was one of them. He must have been lying on the floor for far too long because—

“You okay over there, Flash?” asked the brunette. She had light purple eyes—a soft flicker of color set against a pale complexion with jet black hair. The girl's lips were somewhat puffy, and an application of shadow hung smokily above her eyes and lashes. The petite specimen's body sat casually in what looked like a glittery blue cocktail dress, with a pair of shapely legs dangling off the stool she was seated on. A loose pair of heels sat empty beneath her, and a glossy gray handbag rested on the counter's edge. A glass of rose-colored liquid rested in her manicured fingers, with a dark lipstic stain on the edge of the container. The woman looked like she had crawled straight out of a fashion magazine and Flash could positively smell her spicy perfume from clear across the living room. “Hello??? GSS Equestria to Flaaaash?” Her luxurious eyes glazed over with abject confusion. “Are you with us, honey?”

Flash pulled himself up, feeling another sting from his posterior. He wobbled as he stood upright. “Equestria...?” he stammered.

“What the Hell did they do to you over at Cinchcorp?” the brunette asked with a wry smirk. “You've been conked on the head a few times by those experiments but nothing like this!”

“I...” Flash rubbed his face with his palm. With one squinting eye, he observed the lengths of the apartment—along with its high tech contraptions, insanely large television set, and comfortable looking sofas and chairs. “Cinchcorp...” He saw a broad window with what looked like an enormous balcony—more like a landing platform directly outside, and beyond which the cylindrical horizon shimmered with urban life. “I didn't...” His lips pursed. “...the other dream...?”

“Other dream?” murmured the blonde—and again Flash's heart skipped a beat at how sweet and melodic she sounded.

The brunette continued: “What, you mean when your co-worker carried you in here? Flashie, that was—like—the day before yesterday.”

A sharp breath escaped his lips. He had to lean against the back of a couch to keep from collapsing again. “I've been... sleeping for two days...?”

“Pfftchyeahhh...” The brunette eyed his glossy uniform. “Although, how the Hell you managed to do it in that thing is beyond me.” She took a dainty sip from her drink and glamorously tossed back her jet black bangs. “You gotta be retaining several gallons of sweat, silly bean.”

“I'm...” Flash sniffed his own lycra-covered arm. All he could smell was an all-permeating fruitiness. Like a vineyard. “...fine?”

“Hey, works for me.” The brunette looked across the counter at her friend. “So anyways, like I was saying, I told her that I had reserved the very end of the year for my next dusting. And she gave me this judgmental look—as if to say 'Sure, whatever, coward.' Pffft... bitch, please” Another sip. “I've already endured my minimum in record time! I just want some extra credits to land myself a slot at Sparkle's Royal Ball!”

“Uhm... I-I'm so sorry, Fannie,” the blonde said, waving her off. “Just hold onto that thought for a minute. I promise you, I'm interested. Just...” She bird-stepped out from behind the counter, slowly approaching Flash with a look of concern. “Flash, sweetie? Is everything alright?” She was an absolute cherub, with pixie short golden hair and ocean blue eyes. Kissably soft ivory skin with a hint of golden tinge. She wore a modest pink blouse with terry cloth bedshorts and a baby pink choker around her neck with white lace trim. “It's... really not like you to come stumbling out of your room like this.”

“Or to sleep in like a valk after a Blossomversary Orgy,” mused the brunette. Flash noticed that she too was wearing a choker—a solid blue specimen. “Just what goes on at his workplace, I wonder.”

“Fannie, please.” The blonde spoke softly and firmly all at once. The concern in her voice outweighed any frustration, and she caressed Flash's vision from a half dozen feet away with a princessy smile. “It was... kinda scary how you came back here the other day. To m-me, anyway.” She gulped, toying her fingers together nervously. “Flash, I know you really don't like us prying into your life and career... but... we really can't help it. We love you, bae. I swear—you're the glue that holds us together.”

“Us?” Flash murmured. He realized that his eyes were slowly traveling up and down her pixie-porcelain thighs, and judging from the abject blink in her expression—he had been caught. He leaned back, wincing. “Erm... I was just... I didn't mean...”

Just then, a musical chime filled the room. A pair of automatic doors beyond the kitchenette hissed open, and a third woman entered. She wore a hellishly skimpy gold miniskirt and matching halter top. A green collar gripped tightly around her neck. The woman walked inside with a victoriously sway of her hips, set to the percussion of clicking high heels. “Heyyyyyyy betchesss!”

The brunette echoed, waving dramatically. “Heyyyyyyy betch!”

“Woo!” The stranger sashayed into the apartment, tossing loose a fountain of long wavy chestnut brown hair. The air filled with a decadent scent—reminiscent of chocolate. “Fuck me with a chainsaw, was that a good sesh!”

The brunette giggled. “Something tells me somebody already did.” She swiveled on the stool and held her arms out. “Come 'ere, girrrrrrrrl.”

The newcomer tossed a golden purse onto a couch and approached her friend. The two leaned in, quickly pecking each other on opposite cheeks, followed by a straight kiss on the lips. “Muah! Muah! Mmmmmmmuah!” Her blue eyes lit up within a golden complexion, beaming. “Take a good long whiff!” Eh tugged down at the front of her top, and Flash couldn't make out any cleavage—but rather a deliciously flat chest bespeckled with a sneeze of cosmetic glitter. “No, seriously! Just breathe it all in!”

The brunette leaned into her friend, her dainty nostrils flaring a few times. “... … ...sweet Goddess!” A proud smile crossed her pale features. “Was there a war I didn't know about?”

The chestnut specimen held two fingers up. “Two alphas. One room. I basically brought an entire club to its knees!”

“All the while on your knees!” the brunette said, and both girls giggled. “How'd you win over two packs at once?”

“It's all in the rhythm, girl! You gotta take dancing classes! I swear!” Ms. Chestnut winked. “Holy butt monkeys, bitch—I had them all over me like cringe on Tik Tok! And they had been feuding in the arena for about a week before I got them both to let loose!”

“Whew...!” The brunette fanned herself. Her upper body flushed red. “Fuck that must have been hot.”

“Could barely see anything from all their hot steamin' milk.” Chestnut hopped onto a stool and poured herself a drink beside the brunette. “Needed to take a friggin' mana-injection just to be able to walk home.”

“Sweet tits! How many valks are we talking about?”

The newcomer filled the glass, slung the bottom to the ceiling, and drank all its contents in ten gargling seconds. She finished with a happy exhale. “Thirteen. Almost six per pack.”

“Woo!” The brunette reached out and slapped the other's ass. “Way to go, Melody! That's a record, isn't it?”

“Gettin' real damn close!” She slapped her glass down and sighed with a milky glaze to her thin eyes. “I'm tellin' ya... when both alphas imprinted at once, I was sure their pythons were gonna crush my skull. You should have seen everyone gawking at me along the walk home...” She rubbed her neck and face just above her choker, looking more and more flushed. “Shitfuck... I'd be surprised if Queen Sparkle herself couldn't smell me from across the Beta District.”

“Wow, that must have been so fucking hot.” The brunette's lips pursed. “Everyone you passed knowing just how badly you've been conquered.”

“The only conqueror is the one standing here! Both alphas are practically drooling before the sesh was halfway over.” The chestnut haired one—“Melody”—looked across the room. “Hey! Cherish! Come over here, princess, and get a whiff too! It'll make you cream your glass slippers!”

“Melody, I'm so very happy for you, but...” The blonde winced delicately, gesturing at Flash. “We're h-having a bit of a situation here.”

“Huh?” Melody narrowed her blue eyes. “The Hell is wrong with him? Why's he still wearing his weird-ass work clothes?”

The brunette sighed. “He's been out like a light since his valk coworker carried him in.”

“No shit?” Melody arched an eyebrow. “Flash? You doin' okay there, dude? I know you're something of a workaholic and all, but it's not every week they bring you home in a fuckin' BDSM cocoon.”

Flash Sentry was squinting this whole time. His vision stayed affixed to this “Melody's” face—her sun-kissed face hanging under an earthy-brown head of hair, long and flowing. Like tilled ground. There was something incredibly familiar about her, and the flatness of her chest triggered an old memory in his mind.

“Wait... I know you...” Flash muttered.

Cherish—the blonde—craned her head aside. “Why wouldn't you?”

Flash's eyes twitched. An epiphany struck him—and he remembered performing a guitar jam over at Applejack's place. She was having a family reunion on the farm and couldn't afford hiring a professional band. So Flash had gone to her place and performed a few country tunes free of charge so that the many people attending—both young and old—could enjoy some relaxing ambiance. It was there that he ran into one of her cousins, a bashful country bumpkin with chestnut brown bangs and blue eyes as bright as a swimming hole.

“Caramel...” Flash's lips hung open. “Caramel Apple...?!”

Every person in the room blinked.

Melody cleared her throat. She sported a smile that was meant to steel her own nerves. “Flash, buddy, just because you stick with your biological name doesn't mean the rest of us like throwing ours around.”

“Yeah, Flash, like—what the Hell?” the brunette made a barfy expression like a valley girl. “Have some manners. She's only trying to be sympathetic and stuff.”

This time, Flash was staring at the brunette at the counter. Now that she was giving him some sass, he found the spunky attitude somewhat recognizable. That tone in her voice reminded him of a conversation he had observed ages ago—in another life. He was at a soccer game to support Rainbow Dash. Among the fans was a middle schooler—Scootaloo was her name—and she sat on the north bleachers with a bunch of other adolescents of the same age. There was a punk kid who didn't want to be there, and he was constantly getting into arguments with Rarity's younger sister. His older brother was supposedly a professional soccer player named Thunderlane and he was rubbing it in all the other kids' faces. The constant back-and-forth badgering got so annoying that someone nearly kicked the boy out. He had a name that ironically overstated his social fortitude. It was something that began with an “R”... Ricochet... Railroad... Rocket...

“Rumble..!” Flash exclaimed, strangely proud of himself. “You're Rumble!” A blink, and he felt himself grimace slightly as he once again observed the specimen's saucy cocktail dress. “You're Rumble???” His gaze bounced once more to Melody. “Why are you both girls?”

The duo's momentary indignance was replaced with abject confusion.

“Uhm... it's Fannie?” the brunette droned, violet eyes narrow. “Fannie Femmestar?”

“The Hell have they done to your brain over at Cinchcorp, ya sad little dork?” Melody asked. The sarcasm in her voice was a thin veil for surmounting concern.

“Flash, maybe you should see a doctor,” Cherish said. “It's just a hop, skip, and a jump to the nearest fae clinic—”

“I...” Flash squinted at Cherish as if peering through a fog. “I don't recognize you.” He was telling the truth. The blonde in front of him looked maybe like a hybrid of Tinkerbell and Miley Cyrus, but a million times snugglier. There was nobody Flash remembered that could have dredged this person up for such a weird dream. “This doesn't make sense...”

Moisture lined the edges of Cherish's eyes. She looked hurt to hear him say that, but it didn't lessen her concern one bit. “It's me, Flash. Cherish? Cherish Lynne?” She reached out with a soft hand and touched his shoulder. “Sweetie, maybe you should sit down.”

“Look...” Flash yanked his hand away and started backing away from her. “...I know exactly what this is...”

“Care to fill us in?” droned Melody. “You're the last person on this galaxy ship to get this theatrical.”

“You're all gorgeous as Hell,” Flash muttered, frowning. Frowning at himself. “Friggin' pizza. If you're gonna give me a wet dream—at least keep it simple.”

“The fuck does he mean by that?” Fannie remarked.

“Flash—” Cherish reached out to him again.

“Just leave me alone!” Flash snapped, turning rapidly around. “It's all so pathetic! I don't need this! I don't—” He froze in place.

A beautiful face was likewise frozen in front of him. Kissable lips. Soft gold skin—completely devoid of blemishes. Eyes like the sea over a tropical beach. Then shiny blue hair, so immaculate and glossy that they reflected starlight beyond the walls and ceiling of that confusing place.

Flash blinked—and the face blinked. He brought a hand to his neck, and he saw the shocked specimen fondling a black choker with lycra-covered fingers.

“Who...?” His voice. A woman's voice. A masterpiece strung between awe and terror. “Jesus Christ...” Never in all his dreams—fantasies, video game avatars, shameless art commissions—had a vision been achieved this pristinely. Something he imagined. Something he longed for. Something he desired yet missed at every blink against the endless malaise of a filthy existence. “Sweet Jesus...” Those gloved hands went up, and he saw the reflection do the same. “...is this... is this...?”

“Since when did you love mirrors, Flashie?” Fannie asked.

A whimper escaped Flash's throat. He stood—trembling—before a random sheet of glass that hung on the wall he happened to be facing at that precise moment. A lithe figure stood before him. Petite. Slender in frame. Slightly narrow at the waist. A flat chest—yet subtly precocious all the same. But everything about what he saw—including the face and its soft features and its gorgeous hair even when tossed and disheveled—was undeniably feminine. Like a teensy-sized supermodel who had just crawled out of bed in some glamorous soap opera. As he ran his fingers through his own hair—marveling at the glittering sheen of those flawless follicles—he squeaked out another sob, smiling at the girlish tonality of what came out.

“I never thought...”

A smile.

“...never thought I could see it...”

Tears. Trembling lips.

“...and it'd somehow be more beautiful than I had ever hoped...”

He felt his knees buckling. Memories of the dark metal chamber he had met the Shadowbolts in came to mind. That was a wild and crazy dream... and so was this.

“...shit...”

So was this.

“...shit...”

Just a fat middle-aged loser farting up a collapsing pizza vision that was doomed from the start.

“...it's not real...”

His fingers swam to his nose and mouth and soon he was smothering himself with trembling palms. He fell to his knees, curling up and weeping.

“I'm so fucking gross. Such a fucking sick perverted freak. Fucking wake up, you fat fuck.”

“Flash...!” an angelic voice hovered closer to him.

But he shook her away, curling into himself even more. “Wake up. Just wake up. This isn't real. This isn't real. It's too good to be real. Fuck. Fuck!”

“Flash—please!” Warm hands grasped his shoulders. “Just calm down, honey!”

“Yeah, chillax.”

“Stop wiggin' out, dude. You're freaking us out!”

Three bodies gathered closely around him. Flash's weeping senses were accosted by sweet scents—vanilla, chocolate, flowers. Soft hands gently raised him to his trembling feet. He couldn't fight them if he tried—as delicate as their touch was, he was infinitely weaker. It occurred to him about halfway through the trek across the apartment that he still wasn't waking up. This was both alarming and sobering, and he composed himself enough to sit down on the sofa—warmed by the light wafting in through the wide windows.

“Shhhhhh... shhhhh...” Cherish smiled as she set him down. She was the closest of the three girls, and Flash felt like someone was spritzing vanilla perfume on his face for each second she absorbed his gaze. “It's okay, Flashie. That's right. Let it all out.”

At first, he didn't know what she meant, until he realized that he... was still sobbing. He couldn't stop himself if he slammed his brain into a semi truck. The crying came from deep within—somewhere beyond his lungs—and each heave sent him inescapably bawling into the next wave. Tears flowed relentlessly, and he felt like crawling into a little ball. So he did—hugging his knees as she smooshed up against the cushioned corner of the sofa.

“I'm sorry...” he whimpered, again in that deliciously beautiful voice that somehow came off as even more precious in its melancholic octaves. “I'm so s-sorry... I... I don't kn-know how to stop...!”

“Who says you have to, sweetie?” Cherish sniffled. It occurred to Flash that she was crying too. From the echo of hiccupy breaths, he realized that Fannie and Melody were likewise in tears. The room had cascaded into a collective well of synchronized emotion. Everyone sat close to one another, with Flash's tender, huddled self in the center. Cherish plopped herself right next to him, sliding a box of tissues over and giving him one to dab his eyes with. “I... I think this has been a long time coming, Flash. Trust me. Don't fight it.”

Flash heaved and heaved and... dabbed at his eyes and heaved some more. A sniffle—navigating several trembles—and he bit his lip as he looked at Cherish. “... … ...you smell wonderful.”

Cherish giggled. She used the back of a dainty wrist to wipe her eyelids dry, smiling sweetly his way. “So I've been told.”

“Flash, we're so sorry,” Fannie said. Black eyeshadow was running, and she used a tissue to bring her gorgeous pale complexion back to bear. “We had no idea what you've been going through.”

“We still friggin' don't,” said Melody, a bit calmer than the rest. She nevertheless shuddered with emotion as she leaned towards him. “Could it be that your nullification devices aren't working?”

“Null... null...” Flash hiccuped and sniffled. “...nullification device?”

“Hell's bells, dude.” Melody pointed. “You're wearing two of them! On your neck and up your pussy!”

“My... what?” Flash shuddered in silence for a few seconds. A trembling hand reached up and fingered the black choker around his neck. “What... why...?”

“Your co-worker said that there might be some residual spatial displacement sickness,” Fannie stated. “Whatever the Hell that means.”

“It means 'sorceress gets dizzy,'” Melody said. Her expression straightened as she looked at Flash. “Cinchcorp financed that shit. Maybe they have a spare for you to wear?”

“I... still don't know what you're talking about,” Flash said, still curled up and trembling. “I'm sorry. I just... I-I'm so confused...” He looked at Melody, then at Fannie, then at Melody again. “You're not Caramel?”

Melody shook her head slowly. “Haven't been for years, dude.”

Flash looked at Fannie. “...and you?”

Fannie dried her face, took a breath, and said: “I left 'Rumble' to ruin when I fully-blossomed. You're the only fae I know who's stuck to your biological name, Flash. But—that's just null lifestyle, I always figured.”

Flash gulped. “Fae...?”

The three roommates stared blankly at him.

So he said it out loud: “What's a fae?”

“Uhm...” Fannie arched an eyebrow. “...we are? You are...?”

“I...” Flash's lips pursed. He felt Cherish's gentle hand squeeze his shoulder, and he instinctually leaned into it. “I don't get it.”

Cherish looked at Melody. “There has to be some way we can contact his co-workers or something. Anybody at Cinchcorp. Someone's got to be clued in to what's happening to him.”

Flash glanced at the blonde. “Why... is everyone referring to me as 'he?'”

Cherish blinked at him. “Because...” There was a flicker of something sad in her ocean blue eyes. “...that's how you've always preferred it, Flashie.”

“Huh?”

“You're null,” Melody explained. “Have been for as long as I've known you. Even back in Canterlot.”

Flash perked up slightly. “There is a Canterlot?”

“Yeah? Back on Earth?”

“We're...” Flash's face twisted. “...not on earth?”

Melody opened her mouth. “... … ...” A plastic smile, and she held a finger up as she slowly stood from the scene. “I'm... … ...going to try phoning in Cinchcorp.”

“Right.” Fannie also stood up. “Gonna check up on the nearest fae clinic.”

“No, guys—gals—you people!” Flash stammered after them, still shivering. “I-I-I'm not sick! I just need some answers—why...” He tugged at his wet face, whimpering. “Why am I so beautiful? Why is everyone so beautiful? Why... why...”

“Ohhhhh Flash...” Cherish squeaked, squeezing his shoulder. “Just try to relax. We're going to take good care of you—”

A wave of fright flittered through Flash's tender frame. His beating heart shot into the nebulous spaces of his beleaguered mind—and he longed for someone strong to hold him. Carry him. Protect him. For whatever reason, the only person who came to mind was Sunset. She always admired her strength, tenacity, and emotional growth. It was no wonder he still randomly thought of her, even after so much pathetic time had gone by. But she wasn't there right then—nothing familiar was there, aside from the vague feminine shapes of distant acquaintances from the past. Regardless, he needed to surrender to something. His will was too weak and fragile to stand it for long, and so he threw himself at the closest source of warm there was.

“Guh—!” Cherish gasped as Flash Sentry threw his arms around her. A calm breath, and she smiled tearfully as she held him back—stroking pink-painted fingernails through his short blue hair. “It's going to be okay. Don't you worry, sweetness. You've done so much for us throughout the years. We're going to make sure you get through this alright.”

“Mmmmm...” Flash whimpered, squeezing his teary eyes shut. “Thank you. I'm so sorry...”

“Why are you sorry, Flashie?”

He gulped. “I don't know. Just...” He shook against her embrace. “...so scared. So shook. Never felt this way before...”

“I believe you. Really, I do.” After a while, Cherish let out a light giggle—like birdsong.

It warmed Flash's heart. Enough for him to tilt his head up and brave a look at her. “What is it?”

“Nothing, sweetie.” She wiped a tear dry from her smiling face and caressed his chin. “Just... you've... n-never been this touchie-feelie before.”

“I haven't?”

“No.” Cherish gulped. “It's... kinda refreshing, really. Knowing that you can actually be so needy... that we can give back to you for a change.”

Flash sniffled. His ears tickled with the sounds of Melody and Fannie speaking in the background. “You're being so very nice to me.”

“Heeheehee...” She squeezed him tenderly in her arms. “...why wouldn't I be?”

“And you really... really smell nice,” Flash found himself blurting, once again adrift in vanilla.

Cherish gnawed on her bottom lip. “You... really don't remember anything, do you?”

Fresh tears flowed as Flash slowly shook his head.

“What... do you remember?” Cherished asked.

Flash shuddered. “I came home from the shop. I ate pizza. I was streaming... Black Mirror or something. Had my phone nearby... browsing 'Delicious Traps' on subreddit...”

Cherish blinked, blue eyes darting back and forth as her face scrunched.

“...must have fallen asleep...” Flash murmured. “...dreamt I woke up in a weird laboratory place thingy... buncha Shadowbolts from Crystal Prep were there... only they were giant and they had—” Flash's teeth clenched as he thought of those massive sheathed pendulums sported by the three women in the lockerroom. “—really big uniforms.” He gulped. “Sunny Flare was to tall that she could carry me—”

“Sunny Flare..!” Cherish exhaled. “That's what your friend's nametag said!”

“Huh?”

“When she brought you here in her hovercraft! I'd seen her face a few times before when you two have carpooled in the past.” Cherish looked off as she stroked Flash's hair. “I couldn't help but notice how worried she looked. She too might be nullified, but a valk like that can't hide her feelings from me. There was more about you that she wasn't letting on about when she dropped you off...”

“Valk... fae... what—?” Flash shook into a sitting position, looking directly at Cherish. “My brain's weird, but not this weird.”

“You still think this is some sort of dream?”

“Just... tell me, Chi Chi.”

“Cherish,” she gently corrected.

“What... are you supposed to be...?” Flash squinted through his teary eyes. A sniffle. “What are all of us supposed to be?”

“Why, we're a Fountain, of course.”

“... … ...”

“A Fountain?” Cherish swallowed delicately, eyes locked with his. “Of fae?” After more silence, she stammered: “Mmmm... the fairer of the new sexes?”

Flash's face twisted. “New sexes?”

Cherish's pretty lips hung open. Somewhere between the beauty and the concern, a straight face of lucid reason carved through. “You're not really you...” A worried, lonesome breath. “Are you, Flashie?”

He gulped. “I'm starting to think I'm not either.”

Cherish squirmed nervously. She looked off at Fannie and Melody in the distance.

Flash followed her gaze. “Last time I saw Rumble—” He winced. “...Fannie. He... she... they were like... twelve—”

“Mmmmm well that would have been before her blossoming.”

“Blossoming...”

“When one transforms from male to fae.”

Flash's mouth hung open. He was hunting for words but coming up empty.

“Of course, that was ages ago. Fannie blossomed around age fifteen or so. Hopped onto the Equestria along with Melody—both grew up on Earth. Not far from you.”

“How old are they now?”

“Well, Fannie is thirty-two—”

“Thirty-two?!?!” Flash exclaimed—loudly enough for the person in question to glance over from where she stood with a phone of some sort.

“Uhm...” Cherish smiled nervously. “Yes?”

“How old am I?” Flash wheezed.

“Thirty-seven, last time I checked—”

“Thirty-seven?!?” Flash gawked. He swam his hand in a circle around his face, like a picture frame. “This... is 'thirty-seven?!'”

Cherish giggled, sweating. “Goddess, Flashie, you're acting as if it's two-hundred-and-thirty-seven!”

“Two hundr—” Flash's voice dropped off the earth. He felt weak, slumping back into the sofa while Cherish held him in place. “Can someone even faint in their own dream.”

“Flash, honey, you're not dreaming,” Cherish said, stroking his bangs. “I promise.” Her fingers lingered. “...gosh, I always knew your hair looked like silk, but now that I actually feel it—”

“Chimney.”

She jerked her hand back, blushing. “Ahem. 'Cherish.'”

“I feel like I'm suffocating...”

Cherish gave him a sympathetic look. “Well, you're still in that... tight black thing. Wouldn't it help you to remove it?”

“I...” Flash bit his lip, flexing his lycra-covered fingers. “...I don't know how.”

“Isn't it the collar?”

“Huh?”

Cherish pointed at his neck. “I figured Cinchcorp manatech is like most plugsuits. It's keyed into the user's collar.”

“Collar...” Flash brought a finger up to the black choker around his neck. “You mean this thing—?”

His fingers squeezed the article in two places, and there was a chiming sound. With a flash of ultraviolet light, the entire lycra suit unraveled in opposite directions—bottom to top—until all that remained was a rubbery belt around Flash's slender waist.

The rest of him was as naked as Greco-Roman statue.

“Fuck—!” Flash yelped girlishly, hopping off the bed. Heads turned as he stumbled over the table and did a bare-ass somersault onto the floor. “Shit—!”

“Flashie, what's wrong?” Cherish asked with remarkable casualness despite the panic of the situation.

“What's gotten into him—?” Melody asked from afar.

“Friggin'—” Flash crawled back towards his bedroom like a fiddler crab. “I'm in the buff, you crazy fruit baskets!” he wheezed, throwing himself through the doorway and fumbling for the door switch.

“Flash!” Cherish got up from the couch and girl-jogged towards the door. “Wait! It's okay—!”

SCHWUNK!

The door shut, and Flash leaned against it with his meager weight pressed through his bear palms. He panted and shivered—feeling colder and weaker in his nude state.

How did that suit vanish completely like that?

Why was he wearing absolutely nothing underneath it?

...and why weren't the other three rushing in after him?

He could hear their worried, panicked voices from the other side of the apartment. But—his gymnastic mental state concluded—they probably couldn't get through the door due to some highly technological authentication thingy. Why the fuck not—his dream was cyberpunk-y enough as it was.

“This can't get any more fucked up,” he muttered, standing up straight. A thought flickered through him—that he could now ascertain the reason for why his groin felt so tight. Flash looked straight down... and that's when he saw a translucent gray “cage” encasing his flimsy excuse for a scrotum. “... … ...huh.”