We pack demolition
We can't pack emotion
Dynamite, we just might
So blow us a kiss, blow us a kiss
Blow us a kiss and we'll blow you to pieces… - Killing Strangers, Marilyn Manson
Riptalon hummed to himself as he stepped into the darkened room, metal claws scraping the perfectly polished floors as a cool blue hue covered his body. On all sides, servers hummed, the room filled with an unnatural warmth. Magic had faded away from the world, high technology gripping it instead. And there was no greater evidence for this than what surrounded him.
It sickened him to his core. Once, the world thrived and it hummed and it crackled with the energy of life itself. Now the world around him, it was darker and it was duller and you didn’t feel as connected to it.
You uplinked to computers and to a global network of a different sort. It was a far cry from what Starswirl had probably envisioned when he wanted to found a land where everyone was welcome. What he envisioned when he wanted to save the world.
Someone else did that for him.
His metallic wings rustled nervously, connected to his body not via flesh and bone but wires and metal; operating not via natural means but falsified life. His claws clinked against the floor, tapping nervously. A pistol lay inside one of his arms, metal ready to retract and reveal the instrument of destruction at a moment’s notice.
Half of his body was pure cybernetic, the remnants of a demolition explosion gone wrong. Some would have called him a miracle. Riptalon didn’t think so. His reconstruction went against the natural order.
Went against what the creators intended. So now he lay a lone rebel against the system, ready to shatter some perfectly crafted cogs in the machine at a moment’s notice. He was poised to pounce, like a perfect predator. Ready to strike from the shadows.
Fuck, he was getting poetic in his middle age!
His name was said to be disturbance, he’d shout and scream all he wanted at the men who refused to listen to his pleas. He was a street fightin’ man. Anarchy in black.
He did his work quickly as he could, knowing he had about fifteen minutes at max before the next patrol came around. Already the clock was ticking. Silently, he continued his dirty work. One of his claws retracted, replaced with a USB stick before he injected it into one of the servers.
Letting out a groan as the release left him, he smiled. That should buy him a bit more time. The doors outside would suddenly find themselves without power. With any luck, they’d chock it up to a system failure. Oh there would be a failure alright. Just not the kind they were anticipating.
He had 9 minutes left on the clock now.
Not enough time to do as much damage as he’d hoped. So he’d have to cut his losses and run for it. Do what he could, and get the hell out of there.
Laying another pulse charge on a server, he smiled as the timer primed itself. They’d barely know what hit them.
Then, that’s when he heard it. The sounds of shouting and hoofsteps just outside his location. Crap! The scenario had changed!
Looks like he was going to have to fight his way out of this mess. Readying himself, Riptalon braced for what was coming.
Ponies with guns filed into the room, and then the lights shattered one by one as they went out. Another little surprise prepared by yours truly. Panic whispers filled the room before one of the SecTech guards found himself slammed up against a server, sparks flying as he hit the high electronics.
Then, he found himself thrown against another server before being pulled upwards on a cord around his neck. He slammed into the rafters, choking. The lights flickered again as a mine slid towards two more fearful guards.
The room rippled with concentrated magic, before the very air crackled as the two guards were covered in electricity, held in place by lightning. The lights flickered again, exposing a harbinger. A truly massive ursagryph, and from out of one of his forelegs erupted a pistol. It flew into his claws, shells hitting the floor as down went the guards via shots to the head.
Like a spectre, Riptalon swept out of the room and into the floor, smashing through to the lower level. He needed to find a way out of here, and fast. All the stairways were blocked, probably cordoned off by more of SecTech’s goons.
So it was time to get creative. Thankfully his arm held more than just death in small packages. Racing alongside a window, with guards in hot pursuit, Riptalon grinned. Boy, were they in for a surprise.
They drew their weapons, MG5s to be exact. He only had a second to react, and out slid another mine from his arsenal. The guards crackled and writhed before Riptalon was onto them like a phantom, ripping their guns from their grip.
The first guard was on him, trying to tackle him into a wall. That’s why Riptalon loved a good hallway fight, lots of hard surfaces. He wreathed out of the buck’s way, and grabbed him by the head. Slamming him face first into a wall, he heard the crack of bone. Drawing his pistol, the ursagryph shot the other guard dead, his body smashing through the window and falling fifty stories.
Rain ripped into his fur, the cold waters drenching him to the bone. Sucking in a breath, Riptalon leaped out the window, firing a cable from his cybernetic arm. Using one of the G5s, he slid from the cable with the gun as a makeshift pulley. The dark-feathered griffon hung precariously over one very deadly drop, the lights and sounds of the city below.
Gunfire rang out behind him, bullets whizzing over his head as he hit concrete. He barely spared a look back as the charges blew, and fire erupted from the building. Mission accomplished. Now he just had to hide, and hope nobody had seen his face…
Great. He was probably dead already. It was raining as always, it hadn’t shown in years. Nobody had really cared anymore, Riptalon didn’t think anyone had cared for Celestia’s sun in years. Nobody really cared for anything important.
“Hey, you there,” said a voice from behind him and when Riptalon turned several stallions seemed to materialize out of the shadows like fuckin’ ninjas. “...we need to talk.”
“...so who are you, pasta boys or paint boys,” Riptalon drawed, readying himself for a fight. Down here in the Drop, bodies tended to show up daily in the river. Such as it was in this life. “Or are you a Liz?”
“It’s a dangerous night for a griffon,” said one of the stallions. Riptalon actually laughed.
“...oh man, I’m sorry, but you’re not even trying to be subtle are you?” he said. “Most liz I know at least try to hide their intent before they pop a cap in you. So you’re just Hosho Kaisha then. Rent-a-cops. Alright, what have you got on me? Grave robbing?”
They didn’t say, and instead surged forwards. One of the stallions pinned him to a wall with a clatter, handcuffing him. The other slammed a baton into his gut, Riptalon nearly doubling over before the baton was held to his neck.
“...hey uh, I hate to break it to you pigs, but I’m not interested in being any of y’all’s outputs. Mind, I can recommend some joy colts, just up the road. They’re exotics, but that shouldn’t put you off,”
“We have you doing a ghost, gryph, at the SmileCorp Buildings,” said one. “Now, if you’ll just come with us we can maybe discuss your options.”
“...sorry, I doubt you’ll provide me with any mouthpieces,” Riptalon said, ripping free of the cuffs and shanking one of the officers. “...so apologies, but I’m not going quietly. Gotta ask though, who fingered me? Because I really must pay them a vi-HURK!”
One of the cops threw something, pinning him by the neck to the wall. And then they set about with batons, beginning to beat him. But then… BANG!
A shot rang out, and a body hit the dirt, blood pooling into an already muddy puddle. The other two cops tried to draw, but their life left them in only a matter of seconds.
“Oh come on, I was going to have to get some information out of them,” Riptalon grumbled as another stallion, dressed all in black but wearing a mask arrived. He quickly pocketed his gun, and pulled Riptalon into the shadows.
“...you’re playing a dangerous game, Ronin,” said the newcomer, his mask pure blank white. It was like something out of a Neighneise opera, actually. His voice was distorted, garbled. Ripped apart beyond any form of recognition. But undeniable was the fury in his tone. “Nobody survives on their own for long, certainly not someone as stupid as you!”
“Excus…” Riptalon started before the stallion shoved a foreleg to his throat to shut him up.
“Be silent, and listen. You think what you did was some act of heroism?” asked the stallion.(?) It could have been a stallion, it was impossible to be certain. “You’ve brought every pig in the city down on your species. They’re looking for you, you dumbass. They’re killing for you.”
“They kill every day,” Riptalon wheezed out. “Watch me not care. I just want to stick it to some execs, that’s all!”
“There’s a war going on,” went on the mysterious stranger. “Like it or not, you’re a part of it now. Soon as you made a move against SmileCorp, you attracted some very dangerous attention, ursagryph.”
He said his species name in noticeable disgust, like it was a slur.
“Who are you?” wheezed Riptalon.
“Just a mystery, a curiosity. But if you really want an introduction…” said the newcomer. “Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held not in vain but against the vermin of this city. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me put it simply. You may call me V.”
V, a letter. V, a numeral. Which was which here?
“...so let me guess, your favorite superheroine was always the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well?” Riptalon drawled, finally regaining his voice. “Also, if you want any rebel in the city, why me? There are plenty of ponies vying to be a belcher, plenty of cowponies high on combat drugs who would happily do damage for some ‘greater cause’.”
“Call me someone who cares,” said V. “Someone who doesn’t want to see somecreature with so much potential throw his life away! Most creatures are cybered up, too connected and about to go over the edge. I want some actual flesh and bone, not wires and steel. I’ve looked into you, Riptalon. Brother killed by bad medicine, sister arrested for cashing some bad checks. You’ve got a grudge, and guess what… so do I. What's to say we form a partnership eh?”
“Plenty of creatures who want a gang, you could gather as many as you need just from this section alone. You could have your own private army.”
“Armies are for creatures who think they’re right, armies require food to feed. Drugs to keep them happy. Drinks to keep them from drying out. No, best to have a single partner. Less of a waste of resources that way.”
“..and only one to know you exist,” Riptalon realized. “Don’t pretend you’re doing this as a caring soul, out of the goodness of your heart. You’re not a good samaritan. You yourself admitted it, you just want blood. You want some whippersnapper with a watertight whimsicalness who woefully wags his claw at worship. A willfulness. And a wagonload of blood to spill!”
“Oh, so you do know the Ponish language. Guess I’ve got a codename already for you… W.”
Riptalon groaned. It was official, this night sucked.
He knew he should have forgotten about V, or shot him dead in the streets. He shouldn’t be getting involved.
None of this crap about him being a guy named W. (Seriously, what was with that obsession with letters?)
But somehow, he knew shouting and screaming against his new reality would do him no good. Canterlot had gone bad. The whole world had gone bad. Situation normal, all fucked up. He wanted to see Equestria as it was originally meant to be, a world of magic and of life. Not one of high technology, and of wires, and of steel, where the rich got richer and the poor died in the gutter.
His family had told him stories of the Princesses, and of friendship and of equality. Where no one creature was above another.
The unicorns controlled the world now. Everyone else… They were just sharing the world with them. Something to be barely thought of, like gnats underneath your hoof. They were the gnats underneath the unicorns’ hoof.
“...so why are we doing this again?” he asked, his voice wavering slightly in admitted terror. Every time he snuck, crept into someone’s establishment there was that rush. That thrill of being caught. Perhaps he would be shot. Perhaps his body would be left out somewhere in a gutter. Perhaps he would meet the man who owned this building. Perhaps the man would shoot him. “...can’t you just, y’know, hack in?”
“Are all griffons this loud, or is it just you?” asked V. “You, perhaps, are trying to get caught. But explanations are owed. I, myself, am not a fan of augmenting your body with electronics. It goes against the natural order.”
“...well, we’re in agreement there.” said Riptalon gruffly, his dark feathers now a bleached white. Like that of a classic fairy tale knight. Except hardly as heroic.
“So, alas, I cannot stride into a building. I need an agent to do my work. I could show my face, yes, but then it would be logged. I could use a disguise such as your own, true. I could do this myself. But I don’t want to.”
“So this is a test then,” Riptalon realized. “You want to see what I can do.”
“Yes, I want to see if you can do anything besides blow up a building. To see if you can be more than a blunt instrument. Now, all you have to do is make it to the broadcast room. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”
“...I really hate you, you know. If you’re styling yourself a world class badass, as I know you are, sneaking around should be a peace of cake,” Riptalon grumbled. “But instead you want to test me, and stay hidden away in whatever craphole you call home. Like a coward.”
“No, like a commander,” returned V. “You need to learn that you can’t just go running around blowing up things to prove a point. Time you grew up a little, like a good little lad.”
“...and another thing,” Riptalon whispered, fussing with his new attire. “I really hate this new suit.”
“I think it makes you look resplendent,” said his partner, security cameras watching with a careful eye. “Suits are now often vilified, a sign of the vox populi forgotten. Vicariously, I seek to redeem the suit and tie, show that it can be a sign of both villain and victim.”
“You sure do love your Vs,” said Riptalon, in a drawl. “But anyways, time for me to whack a weed, woefully and with a bit of wow.”
“...you criticize me for loving Vs, and yet you love your Ws,” drawled V back. “We are two of a kind. Now go, viciously deliver the next part of my vendetta!”
“I wager these wackos,” said Riptalon looking around him at the all too clean lobby in disgust, a sign of the wage gap. It was a very bright white, elegant and eloquent. Not like the dirty blacks and grays of the exterior. If the price was right, anyone could live anywhere. You just had to be silent about what you witnessed. “...could just wave a wand and woe is woefully forgotten. Woohoo.”
“See, more usage of the letter W,” V chipped in unhelpfully. “But yes, it is quite disgusting isn’t it. They have all the power and the money in the world, and they use it only to help themselves. Never mind those who die forgotten every day, when the tragedy of their deaths could be avoided. That is my verdict, that is my vendetta. Vengeance is the only solution here. Let them see things our way.”
It occurred to him, not for the first time, that V was probably insane.
Riptalon concerned himself with his task, not the questionable sanity of his partner. He gazed around more at his surroundings, pale blue lights giving an arctic glow to the otherwise white office. In the middle of the room was a ghastly sculpture, a piece of modern art. All odd angles, sharp edges rising from frozen water and glowing with that blue light.
Leaning on the window, he looked behind him with a woeful eye to the city that reached up from below. The honk of horns, the choking smog that rose up from the undercity. The bright lights of lower levels. They were like fireflies in the dark, each a little amber lamp in the bleak blackness that was New Manehatten.
It was a reflection of what life was really like. It looked dark and disgusting at a glance, with a hint of gold shining through. But life in the high rises was clean, technological. Nothing happened, at least to the public eye. Any blood spilled was quickly washed away, and any witnesses were silenced. By the barrel of the gun or by the stink of fresh money.
“...Celestia, I’m so glad we don’t live down there,” said a stallion, a unicorn of course. His gold horn crackled with a pale green light as he raised a glass of water to his lips. “It’s sick, that entire undercity. Like a virus. All we can only hope to do is contain it, bury over it and hope nobody notices our sin.”
They called it a sin, like it was something terrible. It was terrible, yes, but they had no one but themselves to blame.
“Yes, it is disgusting, isn’t it?” said Riptalon, slipping into his new identity easily. All he had to do was show scorn and disgust for his fellow creature. Pretend money was his only real desire. That he was as white as the rest of this building. “...I spent some time down there, you know?”
“Is it as horrible as they say?” asked the unicorn. “Festering with disease, and drugs bought on every street corner?”
“Oh no,” said Riptalon, and as the stallion looked at him he fought to suppress a grin. “It’s worse.”
Without another word, he slipped into the elevator. It rose higher and higher, the city becoming larger the higher he went. It seemed to stretch out for eternity, a purgatory and a monument to all of ponykind’s sins.
Until, finally, he was back inside and reminded of a job to do. The lights were now a pale pink, news bulletins on all sides. All stories, made to suit the narrative. Well, it was time to create a new story.
Slipping into the broadcast room, he injected his little present to the masses. And just like that, the whole world would hopefully be changed.
On screens all across the city, a new tale was beginning to be told. The one Uncle V had to say to his nieces and nephews all across New Manehatten. It was a dark story, true, but one to awake creatures from their compliance.
“Evening, New Manehatten, and evening to every creature. Evening to every pony, to every changeling, to every griffon, to every zebra and to every cyborg and evening to everything in between. Allow me first to apologize for this interruption, it’s incredibly rude of me, I know.
“I’m like you all, I enjoy the tranquility that is repetition. The comforts of an everyday routine. The security of the familiar. But today will not be a familiar one I’m afraid, I’m a disruption to the ordinary. Something not in anyone’s routine.
“But let us have a little fireside chat anyways! There are of course those who do not want us to speak, I know even now orders are being shouted into phones. Stallions with guns rushing to find me, and they’ll certainly try. But they will not. I am the spectre in the shadows. But why, you ask? Why are they rushing to stop me? I just want to talk right? Why, you ask?
“Because words will always retain their power, and despite the ability of a gun to attempt to silence them… you will always have the ability to speak. From speaking about your daily life, to speaking of who you love, or who you favor in politics. Or, in this case, me speaking about how there is something deeply wrong with the world. The enunciation of truth! And the truth is… well, I suspect you know what the truth is. You’ve always been afraid to speak it. Well, be afraid no longer because I, the voice of the vox populi, shall speak it for you!
“Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. That is your new reality. The rich get richer, and the poor are cast aside. Beaten, and left to die in a gutter! You pretend not to notice, so shame on you! Shame on all of you for standing aside, and allowing this new reality of yours. If you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.
“I pose a question to you now. Do you think you’ve seen nothing? Do you think the crimes of this government remain unknown to you? BUT! But, if you know that you’ve seen something, but if you know that the crimes of this government don’t remain unknown to you… well. If you feel as I feel, if you seek as I seek… I have another question. Will you stand with me?”
And then it hit Riptalon. This wasn’t someone seeking to be a lone crusader, a Batmare with a Robin. He wanted to lead a revolution.
It wouldn’t take the Blues long to find him, they could easily track where the signal originated. So once again, it was time for a fight.
Ditching his disguise, it being now useless anyways, he watched the guards file out of a second elevator. Out came his Maxim 9, and before that a flashbang. The room became even whiter, and Riptalon took advantage of the distraction, slipping into another hallway.
He whirled around at the sound of hoofsteps, firing off a shot. The gun bucked in his hand, the shot nearly silent as the grave. He whirled around again, smashing the weapon into a Blue’s skull. It cracked in ugly fashion, blood spattering the weapon.
One guard tackled him into a conference room, smashing him into the table. The hologram flickered, dying as Riptalon landed inside it, punched repeatedly in the face. He raised his metallic arm, and a blade erupted from under false feathers and skin, plunging into the guard’s hide. Crimson splashed the floor as he tossed the body aside.
Retrieving his weapon, he saw another Blue heading right for him. A shot ripped out of the barrel, flooring the rent a cop before he even got close. Reloading, Riptalon then set about prying an elevator open. The longer he was in here, the more likely he was to get swarmed. He had to escape. Diving into the tunnel, Riptalon saw a car coming up and smashed right into the roof plunging inside the little room. Shooting out the two guards inside, he smashed into the next hallway his once nice suits matted with blood.
“...man, they really hate you,” said V. “You’re like a one griff wrecking crew.”
“Former demolitions specialist, remember. I know a thing or two about breaking shit,” said Riptalon in reply. “Please tell me you’ve got a way out of here, or are you just going to abandon me for your next revolutionary?”
“Relax, I protect my friends,” said V.
“I didn’t realize we were friends.”
“Well, now you know,” said V. “There’s a car waiting for you in the lobby. An Orochi. Fast, and bites with a venom. Least that’s what the bumpf said. All you have to do is get to it. I’ll try to keep the guards off you, but it’ll be tricky so I make no promises.”
“Good thing I like a challenge.” Riptalon answered, as he slowly plodded through the corridor, dripping blood. A lucky shot had nicked him in the leg, another tearing through one of his wings. He was grounded, and moving slow as sludge. This was not going to be easy.
He could hear the voices echo above him. Right, he had to get to the lobby, and hope it was crowded just enough so that nobody would risk firing into it. And all odds were against him making it there.
For an operative like him, his greatest enemy was always panic. The spike of adrenaline, the increased blood pressure, the loss of a sense of time? All of these made it next to impossible to think clearly in a dangerous situation. It took a great amount of willpower to pull yourself back from the edge.
And honestly, it was taking all of his willpower not to panic as all alarms went red. He was going as fast as he could, keeping a relatively hurried pace despite the bloodloss.
And then that hurried pace stopped as soon as he saw a lone security guard with a gun. Now, there were two types of lone gunmen. Ones who were cocky, overconfident. And the one who had an ace up their sleeve.
Such as, say their gun splitting apart into miniature ones. Riptalon dived around a corner, dodging laser fire. His opponent’s pistol had split into several, each on some sort of extendable arm, the arms pulling themselves out of some sort of pocket dimension. And each arm could peer around corners.
Riptalon dived as he saw the barrel heating up, one shot ripping through his other wing. Metal shards scattered the floor. As he slid, he rolled onto his belly, and fired three times. Each shot hit its mark, and suddenly the gun wasn’t quite so dangerous anymore.
Of course, this all meant squat when your opponent was just there to buy time. Like, buy enough time for the rest of security to show up. Riptalon swore as he saw several heavily armed guards file in, and to make matters worse he was still dripping blood. The nice white floor had a ugly streak of dark red on it now.
Riptalon swore again when he realized he was out of paralysis mines. No electro discharge to help him this time.
“ON THE GROUND, NOW!” one of the guards echoed. Riptalon almost listened. Almost. Like a champion footballer, he thundered through the group as their shots went wild. Tearing around a corner, he clutched his new DP-12 in hand. Mhmmm, pump action. Nice.
Readying it, he blasted his way into the next room. Whirling around, he leaped off a ledge, still blasting as he crashed into someone’s office via a window. Tearing out the room, he saw two more guards heading his way. And the lead, a unicorn, had a plan. His horn glowed, and suddenly Riptalon’s gun and arm were useless. Tossing the shotgun to the side, the ursagryph ripped his now useless arm away tossing it at the unicorn.
His muscles ached, and his body was screaming for mercy. But he managed to drag himself to an elevator, patching up his wounds however he could.
Finally, sweet release beckoned as he staggered out into the lobby attracting shouts and screams. From an upper level, he could see beavers in badges all with MG5 rifles. Mhmm, so they were racist bigots but equal opportunity for both sexes? Huh!
“I really wouldn’t,” said he to the mares. “Unless you’re confident in your ability to not hit a civilian. You pigs are many things, but I don’t think you’re that interested in collateral damage.”
He was betting big, Riptalon knew it. And thankfully, his opposition wasn’t ready to bet bigger. The ursagryph watched with a smirk as they lowered their guns, and he staggered out to the waiting car.
230 horsepower. All at his claw tips. Speeding off into the night, Riptalon finally allowed himself to relax as the car did the driving. He could just focus on healing from the night’s events.
“Did you get away clean?” asked his proprietor.
“As clean as a cock in a convent!” Riptalon returned.
“Mhmmm, poetic, but a bit of a lie. You left quite a few bodies in your wake, not to mention you were willing to risk collateral,” argued V. “You let me get my message through, yeah, but that’s about the only part of my little test you passed.”
“Hey, I’m still learning right? Roam wasn’t built in a day!” Riptalon drawled, wondering what that odd beeping sound was. Then it hit him as V chuckled.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t have someone this deranged in my employ. You left too many bodies, and you’re already bleeding out. And in such nice seats as well! I apologize, but… you’re just not to my satisfaction. Your contract has been terminated,” said V. “I suppose it’s time to see how the letter X sounds to some creature hmm?”
“Bastard.” Riptalon said before his whole world was consumed by fire.
Riptalon groaned, looking his husband in the eye as he was ejected from the braindance. “A serial killing mastermind, really?” he drawled. “With a fixation on letters even. ...one hell of an anniversary present!”
“Admit it,” said Nimbus leaning in for a kiss, the other members of the NCR looking on. “It gave you quite a thrill!”
“Jerk.” Riptalon muttered, obliging him.
Author's Note
Okay, so a bit outside the box for me. Cyberpunk isn't really something I've dipped my toes into before. But a fun little experiment none the less really! Like, I seriously loved doing this.
Huge thanks to Seriff Pilcrow for suggesting guns that aren't action hero cliches, and to Applezombi and Aurora Dawn for tips on the ending fight scene. Love y'all. And massive thank you to Cara for the proofing, huge love to them.
Oddly, I'm not sure on the ending. Originally came to me on a walk just to clear my head, but I'm still not sure. Is it too trippy, or even worse, offensive? For the record, if Riptalon had played the game as Nimbus intended, he would have survived a lot longer. Perhaps even killing V.
It was intended to be read as Nimbus just writing the script for V's actions, not actually playing him per see. Though if you want, you can read it that way.
