Intoxicating Innocence

by Celly Da Pancake

Rating: teen
Tags: Prototype, Crossover, Princess Luna, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 3723

Today, I found something to eat and something that could stave off the boredom. That makes today a good day.

My name is Alex Mercer. I’m a scientist. When they asked me as a kid what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said, “Scientist, please!” I dreamed scientist, I worked scientist, I studied scientist. I got lucky; When a strange virus was discovered in Manhattan, a national team of scientists was put together to go and study it and I made the cut.

I got even luckier. When disaster struck, our team was slaughtered by things. Bad things. I fell asleep, and now I'm somewhere else with those terrible things and I'm not sure I'm even human anymore.

Now I’m lost, and alone, and scared. And the voices, can't forget about the voices. I can't eat anything in here without the voices chiming in.

Lucky me.

Features a Mercer who woke up not in the morgue, but within the moon.

Published 2020-10-15 01:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2021-06-23 02:59:47 UTC

Apology Accepted

I found something today, and get this: It gave me food. Unwillingly, of course, but that’s just how it is.

I don’t know what it is or where it came from. Like me, it had been wandering the hallways of this crypt for who knows how long—and how long has it been, anyone? No response? Alright, be silent. No day and night, no sun and moon, and I have nothing with me to help me tell the time—not that it is truly consequential, but I would like to know how much time has passed, if only to give myself more reassurance that I am still human. I don’t need to sleep much, not like I used to. In fact, I would hazard that I don’t need sleep at all, but I’d like to at least do something in an effort to preserve normality. Maybe, I need to sleep some other way—a way I haven’t yet discovered. For now though, anxiety and paranoia are the norms.

But the thing I found, that made today better than all the other ones was something different. I had seen the other creatures—bound to two legs like a human, but wrapped in thick cords of red muscle that looked as though they could tear a car in twain. Scary-looking motherfuckers, but they pay me no mind. Most of the time, at least. Every once and awhile (or it could be every other minute, I don’t really know) one of them will become overly-aggressive and try to turn me into a meal. The first few times, they nearly did, but a few punches put them in their place—and rearranged a few jaws, who knew humans were so strong? Now though, I make them my meals.

This thing was something else though. Twice as long as me, twice as short, with a coat matted in dust, but distinctly blue. Quadrupedal, with wings, and a horn. An equine—a pegasus? A unicorn? A pegacorn?

Alicorn.

An Alicorn, yes. Forgive me.

It must have been sleeping when I found it, for it—she didn’t give any fight. She—

Us.

You, my bad.

—didn’t fight back. But what you did do was give me a source of light. That horn of yours, it’s magical. That word tastes terrible in my mouth, but it’s the only one that fits. Appalling for a scientist to use such diction, but nothing makes sense anymore, now does it? At least I’m not hungry anymore. Thank you, sincerely.

Your flesh tasted tender—much better than those other things. They taste terrible; the best description would be rotten fish mixed with sawdust. My microbiome, it’s different though, so my body doesn’t complain when I eat them, only my ersatz taste buds—can’t be a human without those, after all. And my head, I can’t forget that. Voices; broken voices in my head, all the time. Like memories, I think. But all jumbled, swirling around in a riot of motion, loving, running, screaming, fucking, dying. They always end in dying. But not yours.

Not mine?

No, not yours. Yours ended in sadness. Banishment of some kind. A bigger sister? I had a little sister, so I suppose I can relate.

Had?

Had. As in the past tense. She’s probably dead right now, along with the rest of the human race, at the hands of those things. But they don’t bother me. They can’t bother me, even if I wanted them to. Not anymore.

...What—she like?

I don’t know—at least, not anymore. She was a tough little tike when we were growing up, always trying to impress me and prove to our parents that she was a rebel, and she wasn’t going to be told what to do. We went our separate ways come college, and I hadn’t spoken to her before being sent here. Probably should have, just to say goodbye, or something. She deserved that, at least.

Sent?

Damn right, sent! You think I want to be here? Fuck. This. Place. There was an explosion and gunshots and a vial—fuck, I can’t remember! You ask too many questions!

Sorry.

...No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be exploding on people like that. Guess being here for long enough wears you out, huh? Anyways, what were we talking about? My diet? Yeah, it’s something else, that’s for sure. I was always an omnivore, but now? I’m what you see when you look up the word ‘omnivore’. My arms are omnivorous, my legs are, my lungs are.

I’m pretty sure the air here doesn’t contain oxygen, though I have no way of checking. Even if there is, I’m not sure I even need it. I didn’t ever think carbon dioxide would be part of the à la carte menu for staying alive, but I’m not complaining. It makes it so I don’t have to eat as much.

Carnivore?

What? I’ve been telling you this whole time I’m an omnivore… Look, if you find me a salad around here, I’ll eat it and prove it to you! Cut me some slack.

I used to be lactose intolerant, you know that? I used to shit out a brick every time I ate a slice of white bread. But my diet must be religious now, because it’s all embracing—anything goes.

...I tried to justify killing you. I told myself that you were just like all the other things in this terrible place, even though I knew it wasn’t true. I mean, I grew to like it here. It was just me and those things and the voices and the fear—anyways, what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry. I could have left you alive, and then you wouldn’t have to be there.

There?

There; in my head. That’s where you are right? My head? You’re just like all the other voices, accept yours is tangible. I can hear it, because I ate you. That’s how it works. Those other voices; they can’t talk. Not like you.

Why?

Why? Why what? Why did I eat you? Because I was hungry and you were different. It seemed like a good enough excuse at the time. Why can you talk? I don’t know.

But enough of that. I’ve been talking to you this whole time and I don’t even know your name. I—

Luna.

...That’s a beautiful name.

I’m making you blush? Save your blushing for someone else—I’m not attracted to the remnant memories of magical horses I’ve murdered. I’m not being rude, I’m being honest! You’re just a memory, and even if you weren’t, I still wouldn’t have been attracted to you. ...In your dreams, Luna, in your dreams.

Yours?

My… my name? My name. It’s… Alex. Alex Mercer. It’s a pleasure to meet you? Sorry for the bad first impression? Fuck, I’m not good at this meeting and greeting shit, never was. Yeah, laugh it up, why don’t you? Glad my social anxiety is the unwilling butt of your humor.

Apology accepted.

...Thanks, I guess? I was being sincere, I genuinely regret my actions.

Author's Note

Please comment if you notice any errors.

This is an experimental project, expect mistakes.

Not Scared

The next day—meaning, when I wake up again, I move on, leaving the spot of your consumption.

You walked these passageways, just like me. I can garner that much. Lost. Lost in every sense of the word. Just like me. You had no breathing apparatus—not that one is needed; I don’t need one either, after all. But, I don’t think I’m the best comparison for anything right now. I don’t do things the human way anymore. I do things the ‘me’ way. That means, whatever it takes to survive, and as time goes on, I’m seeing how vague and all-encompassing that statement is.

Breathe carbon-dioxide? Eh, I’m a connoisseur in the matters of chemical dining. Eat raw flesh from the bodies of writhing monsters? Yum, I’m a chef without fire. Turn my hands into claws? Always knew I was special.

Scared?

No, of course not! Why would I ever be scared? I—

Scared.

…

Not—jumbled. Coherent. Speak. You. Now. Speak—I.

Luna—pony. Lunas? No. Lunasworld—Equus. Equestria.

Home.

Human.

Earth—home?

...Yes. I am from Earth. You are from… Equestria. A pony. An alicorn. A… princess.

Sister sent you. Who sent me?

Sister.

What? No, that couldn't be. I had the vial, and I—I don’t know. I was running. They were shooting—the soldiers, obviously. I’m just a scientist, and my job is to run with vials. And away from the things. The bad things, that aren’t so bad anymore, because they can’t hurt me.

Us.

Right… The bad things that can’t hurt us.

Author's Note

I've decided I'm going to just write some of this everyday, and publish what I write. Sometimes, there might be more than one update per day.

Light, Maybe. Find the Source.

I found something again, but I’m sure you already knew that. You know a lot of things, don’t you? Like, how to silence the other voices; the jumbled ones. That is you, right? It has to be, because I haven’t heard them since I started hearing you.

I did away with them, because I felt that you didn’t need their distractions. I know all too well what it is like to have a voice of detriment within my head.

Do you now? How intriguing.

…

Why don’t you tell me about what you found?

Yes! I am profoundly grateful for the lifeline. You know, I think I used to talk to you because you kept me sane, but we’ve moved quite a bit further than that in our relationship, don’t you think?
In fac—

Squirrel.

What? Oh… Yes, I suppose I am getting off track aren’t I?

Anyways, I found light! Starlight, I believe. I will follow it until I find its source, because that’s important.

Do you think we have found a way out of the crypts?

Possibly. Possibly, we have found our way out of the crypts, but we should not hold our breath now should we?

A moment of confusion after a long time walking towards the light in the place with all the things.

It was dead for a long time. The air in this place is crisp, just like the air in Canterlot. From dry, to cold, to crisp. How funny! But, the thing, it is dead. Surely, I have not gone full circle? No… I surely haven’t. Regardless, the thing is dead.

The light—because thing and light are akin to interchangeable parts in this place, as are many other things, when it comes to the word thing. Bad things, good things, dead things, it is all much easier if I assign all of them to a singular word, such as thing, because all the other words have no meaning outside my skull, and I would surely go mad otherwise—Anyways, in regards to the thing which is dead, it has thoroughly crushed any thoughts that I might have possibly harboured that I might leave this place. After a long time of walking, I came upon it, and it was not the outside, it was still the inside—inside the crypts where all the things are. Where I am.

Where we are.

It was ever so shiny. Spread along the ground, it was—majesty. One big thing with tons of little things surrounding it, in a circle. If I search hard enough within my head, I might possibly come upon the old word for the things, but searching is hard, so as soon as I find it, I drop it like a hot rock and go back to calling them things. They are called letters, but it is easier to call them things. Yes… Yes. Where was I?

Yes, the dead thing! It is familiar, yet unfamiliar to us—me at the same time. Me? You? Us? It is all confusing. But it is familiar. Prison? Why does that word resurface? I do not know. Knowledge says broken. Broken Prison? But where is the Prison? Is the Prison here? The Prison. We used to call them the crypts, and before that, the moon, but now we call it the place—

The Place With All The Things.

Anyways, I am lucky that it is dead. Dead things are better than bad things. I haven’t seen a bad thing in a long time. Did they all leave? I am not so hungry as to have eaten all of them. I haven’t seen a good thing yet, but something tells me that they exist, only, not here. Not in this place. They exist… they exist at home.

…

They exist in Equestria.

Someplace new

Breath.

In and out, in and out.

It felt natural. A feeling that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Something had changed. What was it? She didn’t know.

She opened her eyes and grey met it, happily. Why was it happily? Grey wasn’t the last color she remembered seeing, and that was a good thing, somehow. The other colors weren’t as good. They weren’t nice. They promised bad things.

The grey belonged to stone, and the stone belonged to a wall. The wall was everywhere, like a box. A relatively large box, but much smaller than the last place she had been. That place was like a box too, but also unlike a box in every conceivable fashion. It was so unlike a box that she wondered why she made the comparison in the first place, but then she remembered: boxes held things. The last place held her too, and she couldn’t get out of it. But somehow, she did, for she wasn’t there now. Somehow, she got out of that box, and if she could get out of that box, she could get out of this one.

Standing up, she surveyed her box. She wasn’t the only thing in it. Light shone through the shattered ceiling, illuminating all. There were tables scattered around and banners, yellow and blue, sun and moon, that hung above the exits. Hallways branched out, leading into the unknown, some collapsed by stone, others, engulfed by darkness. She had a sneaking feeling that they led to more boxes.

She took a step. It was her first step in this new place—her first step in a long time, apparently. A voice within her yelled that this was monumental. In an effort to determine whether the voice was telling the truth, she unlocked a memory. It wasn’t recent, for it wasn’t in the last place, which she had been in for a long time.

No, it was in this place. This… castle. In fact, it was in the very box she was in right now. Purple eyes, a white coat, a flowing mane. A pony. Finally, she had something concrete to base something off of. She was a pony, and the white one was a pony like her.

There was a yellow beam. “Luna!” something screamed—the white one, most likely. When it reached her, it burned. It burned terribly, and then, there was only darkness.

Luna. The white pony had called her Luna. Was that her name? Was that the name of the yellow beam? Perhaps an abstractive profanity, loosed from frightened lips at the pure brightness of the beam?

What did it all mean?

Luna frowned. She would try to find out, as soon as she found her way out of this castle.

She searched her memories once more, hopeful to find something of use, and find something she did. The memories of the time before the last place were surprisingly forthcoming, but when she tried to think of what was in the last place she had been, or what she had been doing there, or even how she got there in the first place, she came up blank. Not because the memories weren’t there, but because there was a wall in front of them. There was a box. It held the memories, and stopped her from seeing them.

Fuck boxes.

“...Fuck boxes?” Luna said aloud, flinching at the sound of her own voice, as it bounced heavily off the walls. That wasn’t her thought. But, if it wasn’t her thought, who’s thought was it? She wasn’t sure but she found herself nodding in agreement.

“FUCK BOXES!” She said again proudly, because boxes seemed for all intents and purposes to be the bane of her existence. It was loud though, as though her voice had listened to her emotions and flipped into a vocal range more befitting of it. Curious.

Shaking her head, she foraged onward, navigating her way through the castle using the old memories to determine her way. Every box she went through, unlocked more and more memories, to the point where she learned that the boxes were actually not called boxes, but instead, rooms. Such a silly little detail, but she shelved it, along with many others in her exponentially growing collection of memories.

She was Luna. Luna was a princess, and so was the white pony. Luna’s job was to raise the moon and stars every night, and then, when the night ended, she would lower the moon, and her sister, Celestia, would raise her sun.

It was nearing night time. Luna knew because the sky was getting darker.

“Where is the ceiling?” she asked curiously, but nobody responded, not even the owner of the foreign thought from before. It must have gone away. The walls had gone away too.

She turned around, and the gaping wound of an entrance into the castle met her. Apparently, she was in the outside now. How had she not noticed?

Fuck boxes, the thought went again, but this time, Luna didn’t respond.

The outside was filled with noises. Chirping, howling, growling, and everything in between, they assaulted her ears in cacophony.

Luna frowned again. Why was everything so loud? It wasn’t supposed to be this loud and the memories agreed with her. Shaking her head, she turned her gaze back to the sky. Dusk, another memory said. It was dusk.

Raise the moon, several memories said at once. Right. Luna was supposed to raise the moon every night, and because she was Luna, that meant it was her duty to raise the moon.

Instinctually, her horn lit up and energy channeled through it. She looked for the connection. There should’ve been one, if the memories were correct.

She found it quickly, but there was something else as well. Another presence that had latched itself onto the connection.

Her anger was profound. Who was messing with her moon? With ease, she batted the other presence away.

Fuck boxes, the thought said again, and this time, she told it to shut up. Now was not the time.

Her memories did the rest of the work. Her horn began to become so bright, that she had to shut her eyes, as it was surely as bright as the stars she was raising, and for the first time in over a thousand years, the moon and stars rose into the Equestrian sky, guided by the magic of the Princess of the Night.

Author's Note

Sequel to be expected. This is just the beginning.

Different

I take a deep breath. Hmm… Oxygen. This place is different. Well, it’s the same—we never left the crypts or the ‘moon’, right?

Right.

But, it’s different. The air is different. The bad things are different; bigger, more like, and I haven’t yet decided whether that’s a good different, or a bad different. What it does mean, is that I get to eat more, so that’s good.

I don’t know about you, Luna, but I don’t think this place is contiguous. Not like anywhere you’ve gone. Much more suited for those Timberwolves; All they need is magic, right? That’s what you said, anyways, and I’m sure there is plenty of magic here. I can feel it.

How?

Your horn. I put it on my head, and it stayed. Imagine that? First successful human augmentation test is a man with a horn sticking out of his head. And the funniest part? It works! It lights my way, it lets me pick up things without picking them up, it lets me feel the magic in the air. The old place didn’t have magic. This one does.

That’s how it’s different.

Coherence

I’ve done it all. I’ve turned my hands into all manner of sharp implements, I’ve met alien alicorns, I’ve been to the moon; I am still on the moon. A moon, not my moon. Not the moon which I looked at in the sky as a child. This is a different moon; one which has bad things, and crypts, and mythical beings.

I’ve breathed the O2 depleted air of the crypts, I’ve fought the bad things and won. I’m probably the most travelled human being in the entire history of humans travelling, if that category is still the one into which I fall. I am having severe doubts on that one. But in all of this… adventure, I never thought there would be so much getting lost, walking around, and eating corpses. They never told me that at scientist school. They never told five-year-old Alex Mercer how he might end up stranded on some alien celestial body, drifting about the endless crypts of nothingness filled with monsters, all the while talking to voices within his head. If they had told him that, he would have chosen a different profession. Something less… stressful. A cashier, perhaps. That sounded easy enough.

Maybe a princess. A pampered, pretty little princess. Eh, Luna? Do I have what it takes to be a princess?

Perhaps, with due diligence and a bit of training.

Heh. That’s good enough for me. I mean, I have a horn. That has to score somewhere on the princess prerequisite list, no? It’s not my horn, but it’s a horn. I wonder if I could have a pair of wings? If I can turn my hands into claws, and knives, and what have you, I don’t see why I couldn’t have a pair of wings. This new place has oxygen to propel me, and the bigger bad things would get an even bigger surprise.

I suppose. You are a strange creature, Alex.

Says the voice in my head.

Says the voice in your head, indeed.