The RED Cataclysm

Chapter Four: Got a Light?

As you’ve probably figured out by now, the Engineer’s a pretty nice guy. In fact, he’s a really nice guy. He was raised on Southern hospitality, the teachings of his grandfather, and the kind of love and tolerance you really wouldn’t expect to find in early twentieth-century Texas. There are even some guys who say he’s the nicest mercenary on the RED Team. And he’s second-in-command, too—whenever the Soldier can’t take the helm and lead his team, the Engineer does it. Not that those two facts are in any way related, of course. But the point is, the Engineer’s usually really nice, both to civilians and to members of his own team.

Usually. But put yourself in his situation here. I think you’d be a little upset, too. I’m sure you can work out what happened in that room on your own, but I’m gonna tell you anyway. The Medic cut Lyra open, the Medic put Lyra back together, the Medic… heh, did a thing. So the Engineer ended up dragging the Medic out of the room by his ear, the Pyro trailing behind them, leaving a very confused, disheartened, and ashamed Lyra in the bedroom they’d found her in. At least, I think she was ashamed. I didn’t have a psychic link with her, so I don’t know for sure. But really, can you blame me for thinking that?

“Mrr rrysh…” the Pyro murmured, not taking its rubber-clad hands off the eye-holes in its mask. “Thrr mrrshk drrsh nrrthrrng…”

“Whadda ya hafta say for yourself, Doc?!” the Engineer demanded, dragging the Medic off the staircase and yanking him into the foyer. The Medic stumbled forward, almost tripping over the white pony from earlier. Her leg twitched and she groaned softly as the human stumbled over her, but she didn’t move beyond that.

“I said I vas sorry!” the Medic said defensively.

“That’s what’cha said last time!” the Engineer snapped. “An’ the time before that, an’ the time before that, an’ the time before that! Now, first things first, check her vitals!” He jabbed a finger down at the almost-unconscious Bon Bon. Because that’s who that was. You picked up on that, right? Okay.

The Medic rolled his eyes, scoffed and knelt down. “Can you hear me?” he asked, placing two fingers on his victim’s neck.

“…Can’t… move…” Bon Bon managed to moan.

The Pyro took its hands off its face and looked down at the pony. “…Rrr, nrrw…” it mumbled, numbly stepping forward and kneeling down to look her in the eyes.

“Eh, ve’ve got a pulse,” the Medic said. “…Sort of…”

“What’dja put in those syringes, Doc?” the Engineer demanded, tapping his foot and glaring angrily at the Medic.

“Nozzink out of ze ordinary,” the Medic replied, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Anticoagulant, VLT fluid, zose random chemicals I just put in for laughs… you know, ze usual. It vould seem zis combination causes a delayed paralytic effect on ponies. Zat’s interestink.”

“Save it, Doc,” the Engineer growled.

“H-Hrry, shprrkrrng rrff drrgsh…” the Pyro said shakily, gently placing its gloved hand on the shivering pony’s side. “Thrr Mrrdrrk… nrrdsh trr trrk hrrsh… hrrsh mrrdsh. Shrrw… thrrsh drrshrrnt hrrprrn rrgrrn.”

“Oh, yeah,” the Engineer said, snapping his fingers. “Yeah, ya do need to take your meds, Doc. But first, save it.”

“Save her,” the Medic corrected.

The Engineer’s eye twitched. “Well, you would know, wouldn’cha!” he snapped.

“So… cold…” Bon Bon moaned slowly.

The Pyro whimpered softly.

“Heal, goddammit!” the Engineer barked, pointing at the injured earth pony.

The Medic scoffed. “I vill, I vill!” he spat, rolling his eyes. “Just…” He smirked and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “…hold your horses.” He then pulled out his Medigun and aimed it at the injured pony, chuckling at his own joke. He flicked a switch, switching the device up to the high setting, and pushed the lever forward. A red gas flowed out of the end of the Medigun and engulfed the pony, bathing her in its essence. Ethereal red crosses faded in and out of existence along the beam of energy. As the gas washed over the pony, she began to slowly move faster and less… in the way a paralyzed pony would move. That makes sense, right?

Not particularly.

Heheh, bite me. Anyway, as the gas flowed over the pony’s body, the syringes popped out of her and fell to the floor like so much garbage. The bloodstains on her coat slowly diminished until they vanished altogether, as though the blood was being sucked back into her. Eventually, she found that she was able to stand up. By this time, her injuries were completely healed. The gas began to pool around her body, and several red crosses began to fade in and out of existence around her body.

And then the Medic released the lever. The beam of red energy stopped flowing from the Medigun. The pony took a long, deep, shuddering breath.

“Hrrw drr yrr frrl?” the Pyro asked nervously.

The pony gave the Pyro a strange look. “…What did you say?” she asked.

“He said, how do ya feel?” the Engineer repeated impatiently.

Bon Bon started. She looked at the Engineer, then the Pyro, then the Engineer again, then the Medic. “…I feel… pretty good, actually,” she answered, sounding more than a little surprised. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

The Pyro took a deep, shuddering breath, and put its hand on its chest. “Thrrnk Grrd…”

“Good,” the Medic replied, putting the Medigun away. “Zat’s vat vas supposed to happen. Not zat I vas expectink anyzing different, mind you, but zere vas alvays ze possibility ze Medigun vould react differently to unicorns zan it did to…” The Medic furrowed his brow and crossed his arms. “…Zan it did to… hm.”

Lucky for him, I still had a psychic link with his mind. “Earth ponies,” I said helpfully. Of course, I said it in an impression of the Medic’s voice. It was such a good impression, the Medic didn’t even realize he didn’t think that.

“Earth ponies!” the Medic said, snapping his fingers and smiling in satisfaction. “Earth ponies, right. Anyvay, you’re good to go. Get rid of zose syringes, try not to move too fast for a vile, don’t eat anyzink for an hour, and try to forget zis ever happened. Oh, and talk to Lyra. I’m not entirely sure, but she might need a shoulder to cry on.”

Now, normally, the Engineer isn’t one for bitter sarcasm. Because, you know, he’s just such a nice guy. A mass murderer, sure, but a polite one. But I’m not very normal, am I? “Oh. Lyra, huh? Ya got ‘er name this time?” he snapped. “Congratulations, Doc, you’re improvin’.”

“Hey!” the Medic said defensively, throwing out his hands. “Ven I vent into zis, all I vanted to do vas a vivisection!”

“That’s ‘ow ‘e explained Earth-UBSM2-Prime,” I pointed out in a flawless impression of the Engineer’s voice.

“That’s whatcha said back in the Archipelago a’ the Breath!” the Engineer snapped, more due to his reflexes than to an intent to insult the Medic.

The Medic’s eye twitched anyway. “How do you know?! You veren’t even zere!” he spat.

“I read the report, just like everyone else!” the Engineer snapped. “And all a’ that coulda been avoided if ya’d just kept it in your goddamn pants for once! At the very least, ya shoulda’ gotten ‘is name first!”

“I said I vas sorry!” the Medic shouted.

“Y’know what? I don’t really believe ya, Red Medic the Unfadin’!” the Engineer spat back.

“Grrysh, thrrt wrrsh rrlmrrsht twrrlff yrrsh rrgrrw,” the Pyro pointed out, raising a finger hesitantly.

“I don’t care how long ago it was, Pyro! He’s basically the Devil!” the Engineer countered. “Y’know, I don’t like havin’ to explain why the team doctor’s the chief representation a’ evil t’ some nomads in an alternate universe! It’s embarrassin’ an’ it’s bad PR!”

“Uh…” the pony interjected, staring at the humans confusedly.

Suddenly, the Medic balled his hands into fists. “Vell, zat hardly seems fair,” he snarled, jabbing a finger right back at the Engineer, “comink from you, Herr Horzine Consultant!”

A cold silence fell over the room. No one moved. No one spoke. No one even wanted to breathe. After what felt like a small lifetime, the Engineer slowly looked down and met the gaze of the pony who had almost died a few minutes ago.

“Leave,” he snarled, his voice quivering with rage. “Now.”

The pony gulped, recognizing that the Engineer was completely pissed, and slunk up the stairs to lock herself in her sister’s bedroom. Of course, that didn’t work, since the lock was shot out, but she didn’t know that at the time.

The instant the Engineer heard the door close, he lost it. “Don’t you DARE mention Horzine in front a’ me!” he bellowed, throwing an enraged finger at the Medic.

“Yrr, Hrrshrrn wrrshrrnt hrrsh frrlt!” the Pyro blurted out, curling its hands into fists. “Hrr rrffrrn hrrlpd crryntrrn thrr rrtbrrrk!”

“It doesn’t matter zat he helped contain ze outbreak!” the Medic snapped. “The outbreak vouldn’t haff even happened if he hadn’t decided to tamper vis God’s domain!”

“I didn’t tamper with God’s domain! I just upgraded some machinery!” the Engineer shouted. “I had no idea it’d get that outta hand! It wasn’t my fault!”

“It vas completely your fault!” the Medic shot back. “I might be a figure analogous to ze Devil, but you destroyed London! Sooner or later, you’re goink to have to accept zat!”

“SHUT UP!” the Engineer screamed.

“No, YOU shut up!” the Medic countered.

…Okay, that last part may not have actually happened. But the point is, the Engineer and the Medic descended into a long and impassioned bickering spree. Fingers were pointed, accusations were thrown, exploits in alternate universes were brought up. And as usual, the Pyro wanted to break things up, but couldn’t get a word in edgewise. I have to say, it’s fun to watch two grown humans screaming at each other like that. And it was even more fun to go through their memories and figure out whose fault it really was in all the cases they brought up.

But anyway, after a few solid minutes of shouting—about ten, actually—I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I planted an idea in the Engineer’s head. Now, in these kinds of arguments, there isn’t normally a lot of room between the brain and the mouth, so he seized on the idea without bothering to think about where it came from.

“Oh yeah? Then how d’ya explain Draaksice?!” he bellowed. By this point, his hard hat was practically pressed against the Medic’s forehead.

“Oh, don’t you start about Draaksice again!” the Medic screeched.

“I mean, I understand your scientific curiosity. Fine! I get it!” the Engineer spat. “But this ‘as gotten us in so much trouble before! How many times’ve we come across gods from ancient, lost civilizations in our multiversal travels? Too many times, Doc!”

“Now vait just a minute!” the Medic shouted, raising a finger.

“Grrysh…” the Pyro moaned, its hand still planted firmly on its face.

“An’ then,” the Engineer continued, planting his hand on the Medic’s shoulder, “one finally shows up in our neck a’ the woods, an’ it goes on a rampage! Fine! I get it! That’s just whatcha do—” He shoved the Medic away. “—in that situation!”

“Now, hold on! Draaksice vasn’t a lost god!” the Medic interjected, stomping back up to the Engineer. “He vas an alien who came to Earth impersonatink a lost god so zat he could conquer ze planet! Zen ze rest of his race vould come down and ‘save’ humanity, thus earnink anozzer species to enslave, genetically modify, and eventually absorb into zeir empire!”

“Grrysh…” the Pyro sighed, shaking its head.

“Close enough!” the Engineer shouted. “The point is, for all intents an’ purposes, there was basically a lost god from within our universe—from the same damn planet as us—attackin’ Earth!”

“Vell, it vas entertainink, at least!” the Medic spat.

“Yeah, Doc! Halloween ‘82 was a helluva lotta fun!” the Engineer shouted. “An’ apparently, you thought so, too! Remind me, what’d we do t’ celebrate Australian Christmas that year?”

“You—” the Medic started.

“As I recall,” the Engineer bellowed, “we hung our stockin’s, sang some songs, went to the Shifturians’ forward base in New Atlantis an’ beat ‘em back to Alpha Centauri… but I don’t remember you bein’ there!” He jabbed yet another indignant finger at the Medic, actually making contact with his chest this time. “Where were ya on the night a’ December 17th, 1982, Doc?”

“Grrrsh, plrrysh shtrrp rrt,” the Pyro groaned, taking its hand off its face.

“I vas—” the Medic started.

“Oh, that’s right!” the Engineer screamed. “Ya spent Australian Christmas breakin’ into a top-secret, high-security vault under Washington, D.C. and freein’ Draaksicefrom the statue we trapped him in! Ya musta really had fun on Halloween, huh?!”

“I still zink zat vas a good idea!” the Medic screeched.

“Why?!” the Engineer bellowed. “Why was it a good idea to resurrect an alien impersonatin’ the Atlantean god of chaos, with advanced alien technology that let ‘im perfectly imitate that god’s reality warpin’ powers? Please, explain it to me because I do not understand!”

“Grrysh, plrrsh! Rrt drrshrrnt mrrtrrr!” the Pyro snapped.

“Zink of ze potential!” the Medic replied. “Imagine vat ve could do if ve could figure out how to subvert natural law! Perpetual-motion machines, free energy, alchemy zat actually vorks! If ve didn’t haff zose pesky laws of reality to vorry about, ve could do all zat and more! All I had to do vas reverse-engineer his arsenal!”

“An’ how’d that turn out for ya?!” the Engineer screamed. “All ya ended up doin’ was freein’ ‘im! He didn’t cooperate with ya! He rampaged across Earth again! We fought off an alien invasion, an’ we were set to fight off another two months later! Did ya really wanna start third?! It wasn’t even original! It was just an encore a’ the first one!”

The Medic scoffed. “Every experiment involves some amount of risk, Engineer! If you really zought zat vas goink to stop me, zen—”

All of a sudden, there was a faint tinkling and the sound a deflating trombone makes. The two mercenaries jumped at the unexpected and unfamiliar sound. But they jumped even more at the next one.

The Pyro screamed, and two white-hot jets of flame shot up out of thin air in front of its eyeholes. It darted forward, grabbed the back of the two bickering mercenaries’ heads in each of its hands, yanked them backwards, and slammed them into each other as hard as it could.

“UNF!” the Medic shouted.

Of course, the Engineer was wearing a hard hat, so the Pyro’s attack had a much lesser effect on him. “Pyro, what’n the—” he started.

Before he could finish his sentence, the Pyro grabbed the Engineer’s helmet, hurled it across the room, yanked its teammates’ heads back and slammed them together again. “SHRRT RRRRRRRRP!” it screamed.

There was a long, awkward silence after this. The Engineer and the Medic didn’t say anything, just staring at the Pyro in shock. I’m just gonna come out and say it. About half the color had drained out of its body. I was proud of myself that evening, let me tell you.

The Pyro panted heavily, not letting go of its teammates’ heads, as the plumes of fire in front of its face slowly dwindled down to dull embers and died out. And even after the fire died, there was an awkward silence for a few solid seconds. I really wish the smoke detector had gone off. That would’ve been hilarious.

“Mein Gott,” the Medic murmured. In a single fluid motion, he tapped his forehead, his stomach, and each of his shoulders with one hand. Funny, he’s not a very religious man. Earth-UBSM2-Prime is proof enough of that.

“Wh-Who are you?! What’d ya do to our Pyro?” the Engineer snapped. His voice wavered and cracked in quite an amusing manner.

Instead of responding, the Pyro did something that it really was not supposed to do. It lifted its hand to its gas mask and flipped down the filter. It took a long, deep breath, during which time it grabbed the Medic’s head again, and then it broke what was literally the first rule set before it in its contact with RED. …Well… maybe. I mean, if you want to get technical, it didn’t really break the rule. I’m pretty sure what it did was supposed to be against the rules, but it must’ve slipped through the cracks somehow. Anyway, the point is…

“Good God, I can’ breathe in this thing,” it rasped. Its voice was lower and more gravelly than anything its teammates had ever heard it say before. You could only get that voice two ways. Either damage your lungs through years and years of constant smoke inhalation and exposure to asbestos… or disguise your voice. And since the Pyro’s constantly respawning with new sets of lungs, it was pretty clearly the latter. The Engineer and the Medic instantly realized the Pyro’s voice wasn’t genuine. As for its Irish accent… well, they weren’t so sure about that.

And then it sunk in that holy shit, the Pyro just said something without its filter on. The two mercenaries gasped in horror and tried to rear backwards in shock, but couldn’t because the Pyro still had their heads. As they struggled, its iron grip only got tighter. It twisted its teammates’ heads around so that they were forced to look into those empty, soulless portholes that it called its eyes. And then it kept speaking.

“Shu’ up. Both o’ ye, jus’ shu’ up. None o’ tha’ bullshi’ ye were jus’ spewin’ even mat’ers. The only people ‘oo care abou’ any o’ those incidents are ‘istorians, na’ives, an’ apparently you two! The only time they mat’er is when we get back ‘ome and get the ‘ats commemoratin’ first contact, bu’ ‘onestly, ‘oo—” The Pyro ripped its Handyman’s Handle off its head. “—the ‘ell—” It threw the hat down on the floor. “—CARES ABOU’ ‘ATS?!” It stomped on the toilet plunger with every word, and on the third stomp, the handle snapped in half. The Engineer and the Medic winced.

“There’re only two universes tha’ mat’er righ’ now,” the Pyro continued, grabbing the Medic’s head again, “an’ those universes are HOA1-Prime an’ VC8-Prime! An’ speakin’ o’ things tha’ mat’er, ‘ere’s sum’n tha’ mat’ers one ‘elluva lo’ more’n anythin’ ye’ve said in the past few minutes!” Suddenly, the Pyro let go of its teammates’ heads and shoved them in the chest, sending them both stumbling backwards. It then reached behind its back and pulled out a black stone battle axe with molten lava where the blade should’ve been. “If the two o’ ye don’ shu’ up in the nex’ five seconds, I swear t’ God, by the time I’m done wiff ye, there’ll be nuttin’ left but two charred black skele’ons!”

And then the color flowed back into the Pyro’s body. There was no tinkling, no re-inflating trumpet, no noise of any kind. The color just flowed back up from its feet to the top of its suddenly bare head. It didn’t move for a while. It just stared at its two teammates. Eventually, it tilted its head to the side. “Hwat?” it asked. That time, it definitely violated its contract. Its voice was now much higher-pitched, and it had a completely different accent, familiar but unplaceable. The Engineer and the Medic weren’t the only ones who realized that. Gasping in horror, the Pyro dropped its axe, flipped the filter back up, and clapped its hands over it.

“Wrrt thrr flrryrrng frrk jrrsht hrrprrnd?” it asked. It was a perfectly legitimate question.

The Engineer and the Medic slowly turned to look at each other, then back at the Pyro. “Pyro,” the Medic murmured, “I don’t vant to panic you, but I zink ve might haff invoked Dra—”

The Engineer clapped his hand over the Medic’s mouth without taking a step toward him. “—the alien impersonatin’ the Atlantean god of chaos,” he finished. “I think we accidentally invoked ‘im, an’ ‘e possessed ya somehow.”

“…Brrt, thrry prrt hrrm brrk rrn thrr rrshrrn…” the Pyro pointed out, lifting its finger. “Rrnd wrrr rrn rrnrrthrr yrrnrrvrrsh. Hrrw crrd Drrrkshrrsh…”

“I don’t know, but those’re the facts,” the Engineer countered. I’m not the biggest fan of people who just accept things when they’re impossible, to be honest. People like the RED Team are really hard to surprise.

“Wrrt… Wrrt drrd hrr drr trr mrr?” the Pyro asked.

The Medic forced the Engineer’s hand off his face. “You turned grey,” he answered, “you attacked us, you put ze filter down and zen…”

“Then ya started talkin’ like ex-President Roosevelt, ‘cept with an Irish accent,” the Engineer finished.

“Wrrt?” the Pyro asked, tilting its head to the side. “Wrrch Rrrshrrffrrlt?”

“Theodore,” the Engineer replied. “Y’know, number twenty-six? Assumed power after McKinley was defeated? Chose t’ accept no Presidential Endowments, instead relyin’ on ‘is quick wit, skill in hand-t’-hand combat and vast arsenal a’ gadgets to enforce truth, justice, an’ the American way?”

“Thrr ‘Shprrk shrrftlrry rrnd crrrry rr brrg shtrrk’ grry?” the Pyro asked.

“Yep, that’s the one,” the Engineer replied. Lemme tell you, when the Engineer and the Soldier start discussing who the best President is, turn and run as fast as you can.

“…Rrw, yrr…” the Pyro said softly. It looked down and sighed. Then it gasped in horror. It fell to its knees frantically and snatched up the two broken pieces of its hat. “Wrr-Wrrt hrrprrnd?!” it blurted out.

“You stomped it in two,” the Medic said, concern briefly gracing his voice. “Do you remember any of zis?”

“Rrr… Rrr drrnt…” the Pyro answered softly, sounding genuinely scared. It let out a soft, almost imperceptible noise that the Engineer and Medic recognized as a faint sob.

The Engineer and the Medic exchanged a nervous look. “Engineer, damage control,” the Medic hissed.

“On it,” the Engineer hissed back. He stepped forward, knelt down and lifted the Pyro’s chin, forcing it to look into his eyes. “Okay, look,” he said, trying to sound calm. “Please calm down, Pyro. I-It’s gonna be okay.”

“…B-Brrt yrr brrrt thrrsh hrrt frr mrry…” the Pyro whimpered.

“I know I did,” the Engineer replied. “We’ll… We’ll get it fixed somewhere! This looks like an intelligent universe. There must be a tailor ‘round ‘ere somewhere. Or a woodworker, or at the very least, some duct tape.”

“Brrt… w-wrrt rrbrrt mrr ffrrsh?” the Pyro asked.

“Oh, that!” the Engineer replied, chuckling nervously. “Heh. Shoulda dealt with that first, huh?”

“Yrr hrrd mrry ffrrsh wrrthrrt thrr frrltrr,” the Pyro whimpered. “Rrr… ffrryrrlrrtrrd mrr crrntrrct…”

The Engineer paused. “Well, uh… uhhh… w-well, you… uh… ah, shucks…” He cringed and broke eye contact with the Pyro. The Pyro was right, and he knew that. And he didn’t have any response to the situation. No, really, he didn’t have any way to get out of this. I honestly cannot believe that I had to throw him a bone, but… there you go.

“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

A few seconds of stunned silence followed.

“H-Haff you gone mad?!” the Medic blurted out. Oh, the irony.

“I… I-I think I must have,” the Engineer replied, removing his hard hat.

But, the idea wouldn’t go back once it had been spoken. It hung there like a corpse from the gallows, swinging back and forth as the audience’s polite applause faded into nothing, waiting for somepony to acknowledge it and… wait, this metaphor doesn’t work. Um… Well, whatever. It just hung there.

And no one said anything about it for… what, two minutes? What have you done to these mercenaries to instill such obedience, Helen? Don’t answer that. I already know. And I know you’re expecting me to say I’m very disappointed in you, but actually, I think it’s kind of funny for reasons that it’d take too long to explain. Something to do with an urban legend. But anyway, after about two minutes, I just got fed up and started looking for the switches labeled “reluctantly agree.” I didn’t find them until a minute later.

The Pyro eventually took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded. “Rrkrry, Rrnjrrnrrr,” it said. “Rrr… Rrr trrrsht yrr.”

“Engineer, zis is emphatically not a good idea,” the Medic pointed out, rubbing his chin and tapping his foot over and over again. “If she ever finds out about zis, ve’re dead hundreds of times over! Zousands, millions! I-I don’t vant to commit autocannibalism again!”

The Engineer gave his teammate a reassuring nod. “Then she won’t find out,” he said simply. He extended his hand to the Pyro. It took his hand, and they stood up. “Let’s go,” he said simply.

The three of them walked out of the house without another word. None of them said anything. They all had to go away for a while and think about what they’d done. But they had something else on their minds, too, and it was keeping them from effectively doing that: the Pyro’s sudden and inexplicable possession. Let me put this in perspective for you. It took the Soldier a week to try and attack his teammates. It took the Medic a month. It took the Heavy, the minigun guy, six months. Even the Engineer, nice as he was, only took ten months to snap. There are nine RED mercenaries, and by the first year of their employment, eight of them had tried to assault, brutalize, or flat-out kill one of their teammates… with varying levels of success.

The only one who didn’t was the Pyro. The Pyro never lost its cool. It—pffft! Ha! I didn’t even mean to say that! Anyway, it never attacked anyone off the battlefield, least of all its own teammates. It was always the calm, collected one. Even when it was in a bad mood after taking its medication, it just sulked. Now don’t get me wrong, it got mad sometimes, but it never ever ever got mad enough to attempt murder. It was normally happy when it attempted murder. Threatening to kill someone out of rage… well, that was just crazy.

In fact, that was just about the opposite of what the Pyro would do.

Ha ha ha… Ha ha ha ha… Ha ha ha ha ha ha…! Hahahahahaha! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!

…Hahhh… Ohhh, Lord. Sometimes you just have to laugh.

You’re either lying, an idiot, or both.

I sigh. “I told you not to interrupt me,” I say, casually fiddling with three switches on the dashboard in front of me and watching the monitors turn on and off.

“Discord,” Helen says calmly, “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

I snort. “No, you really weren’t!” I cry out. I reach up and yank my horns off my head with two surprisingly loud pops, and hit the switchboard with them three times. It sounds like a rimshot. “Thank you and goodnight!”

To my left, Helen rolls her eyes. “You were maintaining at least three psychic links at the time you claim to have cast this spell,” she points out. “I assume that while you were imprisoned, you could only cast spells to affect the minds of those you had psychic connections with?”

“Sharp as always, aren’t we, Helen?” I say smugly, screwing my horns back on one at a time.

“I can accept planting an idea in the Engineer’s head,” Helen says. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her wriggling around in her bonds. “I can even accept you doing so twice. As unlikely as it is, it’s possible. But a full-fledged personality reversal?”

“That’s kinda my thing,” I reply casually.

“The spell you’ve described is not even remotely possible, according to the consensus of the world’s most skilled Neuromancers,” Helen says flatly.

“Impossi—” I burst out laughing. I can’t help it. The thought occurs to me as I’m laughing that it might be kind of rude to laugh at her. I manage to reign it in slightly. “Helen, Helen! Dear, sweet, innocent Helen!” I snap my talons. There’s a bright flash of light, and soon enough, the office-style chair I used to be sitting on has transformed into a vaguely demonic-looking obsidian throne.

“Do you really think I’m not going to be able to do something just because it’s impossible?” I ask. “I’m the god of chaos and disharmony! Doing the impossible is my job!” I snap my talons again, and a bright red rose appears in my paw. “Which reminds me,” I say, stretching my arm out and tucking the flower into Helen’s gray-streaked mane, “have I mentioned I love you?” I grin what I hope is a charming grin at her.

“All right, fine,” Helen scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you can cast the spell.”

“Well, fine. I like a mare who plays hard to get,” I croon. I shoot Helen a coy grin and click my tongue.

“You did have access to the Pyro’s mind,” Helen says flatly, “so it’s feasible that you could have cast it on—” Uh oh. I reflexively snap my fingers. A loud, tonal beep suddenly cuts through the room, drowning out Helen’s next word.

“Ah ah ah, Helen,” I say, waggling a finger at her. “You’re not supposed to know what the Pyro is yet. I’m saving that for the big dramatic reveal at the end.”

“I already know that the Pyro is a—” I snap my fingers again, and Helen’s next few words are drowned out again.

“Zip your lip with a padlock, woman,” I chuckle. I snap my fingers. A jukebox appears to my right, and a bottle of whiskey materializes in my hand.

Helen rolls her eyes. “Very well,” she says. “However, based on what you said earlier, I got the impression that it would take a lot of this ‘chaos energy’ of yours to use your powers while imprisoned.”

“Yes,” I say, reclining in my throne. I throw the bottle back, shutting my eyes as I chug its contents. “Normally,” I say while drinking, “it’d take a month for me to establish a psychic link with somepony, talk to them for an hour, give them a mood swing, or hide somepony’s carriage keys. What’s your point?” I open my eyes again. The bottle is gone, but the whiskey is still there. I groan in frustration and hurl the whiskey over my shoulder. “Every time!” I growl as the whiskey explodes against the wall.

“A full-fledged personality reversal is not minor,” Helen says, completely ignoring what I’ve just done. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her glaring at me. “It must have cost an incredible amount of energy to do that, even for the relatively short time you did it. If you could just do that whenever you wanted, after all, what would be the point of imprisoning you?”

Now that’s logic for you. “Uh huh,” I say, pretending to be distracted by the screens in front of me.

“So if you had that much energy to spare,” Helen concludes, her glare shifting to a satisfied smirk, “why didn’t you simply use it to break the seal and escape from your stone prison?”

“Oh, Helen,” I sigh, turning back to her and grinning again. “I can see how you came to that conclusion, but that’s not how the seal that imprisoned me works. If I could have just amassed the proper amount of energy to escape, even I would’ve learned to be patient eons ago.”

“Well, how does the seal work, then?” Helen asks.

I swivel my throne around to face her. “Well, you see, it—”

Suddenly, the sound of knocking cut through the room, interrupting me. “Administrator? Are you all right?” asks a hesitant female voice. I raise my eyebrows in mild concern. “Um, I heard maniacal laughter, and it didn’t sound like you. Is everything okay in there?”

“Miss Pauling, initiate protocol 7R32-G,” Helen says calmly and matter-of-factly. “This is not a drill.”

My eyebrows go up again. “Oh, you’re Miss Pauling!” I say. “Lovely to meet you! Say, while you’re activating the protocol, do you think you could get me some coffee? I haven’t had a good cup of coffee in centuries.”

“Wh— I-I’m asking the questions here!” Miss Pauling replies, sounding uncharacteristically panicked. “Who are you?!”

“Discord’s the name!” I answer cheerfully, beaming with pride. “God of chaos and disharmony, hailing from HOA1-Prime! And I guess I’m the new Administrator now, too!”

“What have you done to the Administrator?!” Miss Pauling asks, unable to hide her panic.

“Oh, nothing yet,” I reply, examining my talons.

“Yet?” Miss Pauling repeated.

“I might turn her into a pony at some point,” I sneer. “I haven’t decided.”

“Would that be an Earth pony, or one of the ponies from your dimension?” Helen interjects, rolling her eyes again.

I blink. “Earth ponies are from my dimension,” I point out, tilting my head to the side and stroking my beard.

“An Earth-VC8-Prime pony,” Helen scoffs.

Oh! Well, now I feel dumb. “Oh! No, I’m gonna turn you into an Equus-HOA1-Prime pony,” I clarify, nodding in understanding. “In fact, I’m gonna do that right now!” I point my claw at the Administrator in the classic finger gun position. “Kiss your opposable thumbs goodbye, sweetheart!” I cackled.

I imagine that Miss Pauling must be shouting from behind the door for the Administrator not to panic, that help would be arriving shortly. But over the sounds of electricity sparking the tip of my claw, magic shifting the shape of Helen’s elderly body, her agonized screams, and my own maniacal laughter, Miss Pauling’s assumed words of encouragement fall on deaf ears. Blinding white light streams through the room and under the crack in the door ten feet away. I’m forced to pull a pair of red-rimmed sunglasses out from behind my back and put them on so that I can still look at the spell I’m casting.

Two minutes of agonizing transformation later, the blinding white light and the sound of magic cuts out as abruptly as if someone flipped a switch.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” I say smugly.

After all the effort she’d spent trying to escape her bonds, Helen simply stands up to find them lying on the ground at her feet.

Or her hooves, rather. Her long, thin, almost spindly legs wobble like those of a newborn deer. She blinks her bloodshot grey eyes, adjusting to the semi-darkness of the room. She has dark purple fur all over her body, much like that suit she used to wear, that glistens softly in the cold, pale light of the monitors. On each of her shapely flanks is a yellow circle with the purple silhouette of a microphone on it. Her long, dark grey mane has a single bone-white streak running through it, and her long, flowing tail is the same colors. They both blow endlessly in a non-existent breeze. She spreads her large, powerful wings in an attempt to keep her balance. I don’t think she’s noticed the long, sharp horn sprouting from her forehead yet.

I’ve outdone myself. She’s beautiful. For a few moments, I can’t think of anything to say.

“What have you done to me?” Helen-the-pony asks. Despite her new form, her voice is exactly the same as it ever was.

“Here you go,” I say. I snap my fingers, and a mirror as tall as me appears out of thin air in front of Helen. I immediately start kicking myself. Here you go? I can do better than that. I know I can do better than that. I try to play it off with a charming grin. “Now let’s be honest. You look better than you’ve looked in years!”

Helen examines her new form not with horror as I’d expected, but with awe, curiosity, and intrigue. Her eyes take in every detail. She raises her head slightly and gives her wings a test flap. “Well, this is… interesting,” she remarks. Interesting? That’s it? Come on, I’m way better than just interesting. Work with me, here.

“Interesting would be one word for it, sure,” I grumble, crossing my arms. “I especially liked your cutie mark. That was a nice touch.”

Helen turns to the side, taking small, unsteady steps. She gives me a slightly annoyed, but mostly intrigued look. “Cutie mark?” she repeats.

“That mark on your flanks! You know, the one that tells you what your special talent is!” I say eagerly, pointing to Helen’s hindquarters. Without turning away from me, Helen looks back at the mirror. Now she sees it. She forms her mouth into a line and, almost imperceptibly, nods.

Yes! Approval!

“Very well,” she says, turning back to me. “But why this form? First of all, I appear to be about the same height that I was, but you said earlier ponies were the heights of small dogs. Secondly, I was under the impression that ponies could have either wings, horns, or neither, while I have both.” Is she complaining about that? “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” Oh, good.

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re an alicorn, my dear!” I say, clapping his hands. “The rarest and most powerful kind of pony there is! Their special talents are things that bind the world together, and they’re immortal unless you somehow kill them! In fact, back on Equus, Equestria is ruled over by two alicorns who control the sun and moon, and the royal line recently produced an alicorn who can spread love at her whimsy!”

“You haven’t mentioned the existence of physical gods in your story yet,” Helen pointed out. “Besides yourself, that is.”

“Oh, yeah, I haven’t, have I?” I chuckle, turning back to my monitors and switchboard. “Guess I should get back to that now!”

I can’t take my eyes off Helen, so I see her smirk. “If you insist,” she says. “If only because I’m mildly curious now.”

Author's Note

I didn't learn until after I published this chapter that the inclusion of adult humor in your story is grounds for giving it the Mature tag. I am, of course, a stickler for the rules. I'd like to thank my audience retroactively for not reporting this story until that was corrected. And in completely unrelated information, "Adminiscord" is my current Steam handle. At any rate, thank you for reading this thing I'm improbably calling a story. If you have feedback of any kind to give me, feel free to drop it off in the comments below.