Amnesia: A Machine for Puppets

Part II - Lamentabilis Identidem

Ramifications

Gears whired as the lift carried me to the next floor. I couldn’t begin to fathom what horrors awaited me there, but I was away from that hungry pink mass, and that heinous moan. Wherever this led to, whatever happened, at least that was over.

I continued to lay there, reassuring myself. There was no light present in the elevator, and I was conserving my batteries, so I was left to muse in the dark. The map I possessed was now useless, as it only depicted the level I had just left. This left me in the dark figuratively. I suppressed a chuckle at my little joke, left in the dark.

The ride up was slow, and my lack of sleep returned to me. How long had I been wandering Level 2? I couldn’t have been that long. possibly a couple of hours, but not much more. So what was the cause of my exhaustion? Ugh, why was I thinking, I need to rest. I laid my head down and relaxed myself, allowing sleep to roll over me. But what if that thing returns? No, shut up. It won’t. Sleep. The cadenced tone of the lift was calming, so I focused on it.

Da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk

As my mind went numb, I absorbed myself in escaping reality. This place wasn’t real. I repeat that; this place wasn’t real. I so desperately wanted to believe it. A part of me knew that wasn’t true, and I shoved it into a mental room and locked the door. Then I dug a hole, buried the key, filled the hole, built a house on top of the hole, and moved into the house. It seemed a little excessive, but I needed to be away from reality, to regain my sanity, to live in a world where I was not haunted by my past. Reality, however, does not like to be forgotten.

Da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk, da-tunk, da-krrrrreeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiit, pum.

The elevator screeched to a halt. Have I arrived? No, the entrance was still blockaded by a wall of cloud. So what was--

My train of thought was cut abruptly as the shriek of metal and echoing snap! told me this was not going to be the trip I believed it to be. The noise of the gears was replaced by the adrenaline-producing sound of rushing air as the elevator began its freefall. As the lift picked up speed, I steadily rose from the ground, and I panicked.

Then I hit the bottom of the shaft, and the impact knocked me out cold.

0.O.o.0.o.O.0

I woke up encased in rubble, and an excruciating, blinding pain... somewhere. I screamed reflexively. A recollection of the past shut me up, and tears ran from my eyes. Celestia, damn it! What was causing that pain?! It fucking hurt! I tried to focus. There was something... a long... something on top... fuck, I can’t think! It was a... there was a metal girder... pinning me down.

That’s what it was. I just need to... move it. AHH! Fucking hell, Tartarus, Celestia, Luna’s moon -- all manners of curses and blasphemies paraded around in my head as I tried twisting my body. I had to... get that girder off... damn it! I need... to fucking concentrate! I tried rolling onto my back again, attempting to ignore the... (Celestia’s fucking moon!)... agony pounding everywhere. I made it onto my back, and the pain tripled, overcoming most of my senses. I stopped resisting the urge to scream, and bellowed as shoved the piece of metal off me. The pain intensified. Damn it, why couldn’t I be a fucking unicorn?

Finally, with one great heave, the girder clanged next to me. I rolled over onto my stomach, and the pain instantly dulled.

I blinked tears from my eyes as I pushed myself up. I took it slowly, as my muscles were sore from the impact. Now able to focus, the cause of the pain appeared to be my wing. When the lift crashed, I had landed on my wing, and if my assumption was correct, several joints were crushed and some of the auxiliaries were fractured. And quite possibly a rib, to boot. To sum it up: I was grounded.

Not that I could fly anywhere in here, there was not enough room. Where was here? It was musky and dank, and the air was thick and heavy. I was standing, (or at least trying to), at the end of a compact hallway, next to the remains of a once-working elevator, that was now a twisted mess of metal and wire. The hall continued on for a stretch, and ended in from what I could make out was a door. Close to my proximity, a second corridor cut a perpendicular path through the first, creating a crossroads of sorts.

I risked taking a step forward, and my head became dizzy as my vision swam. I stumbled as I attempted to focus, and ended up leaning against the wall for support. I took a deep breath. In. Pause. Out. In. Pause. Out. I repeated this until my view steadied itself. I took another experimental step forward, and while I wasn’t steady, I could at least make sense of my surroundings.

I found my saddlebags several feet from where I landed, sitting in a small puddle. Upon further examination, I found that the source of the puddle was the bottles of beer and cans of soda. When they landed, the containers had either shattered or burst, leaving me stranded with no sustenance. I sighed, and emptied out the compartments. After I was satisfied, I slid them back on, trying not to focus on the fact the bags were still damp.

It became very clear that my initial diagnosis of not having room to fly was wrong. This made me extremely agitated that I had lost the use of my wings. The intersection of the four corridors was a widely-spaced, circular room that rose a good three-to-four stories high. Running along the perimeter was a winding staircase. This would have provided a rather convenient escape from where elevator from Tartarus landed me, had not the impact rattled the already weak supports and caused a good section of the bottom to collapse. This would not have been a hindrance if I still retained the ability to fly. But I did not, and so I was left to the only other option: explore.

There was a sign that hung over the entrance to each hall. The one across from the elevator read “Waste and Sewage”. Yeah, okay. Next. The sign to the left of me said “Prison”. A sense of foreboding washed over after reading that. And the hall to my right  was the “Puppet Production”. Odd choice of words... for a factory. Out the three options I had been supplied, this one seemed the least dangerous.

I limped over to the impressive metal door at the end, each step costing a sharp pain in my left wing. Having judged by looks alone, I was surprised to find it unlocked. I winced as it opened, and remembered there was nothing down here to fear. The lights in Puppet Production had blown, leaving me in abject darkness. I dug out my flashlight, which had suffered minimal damage, and utilized it in navigation. Puppet Production was rather roomy, yet very crowded. The room itself was split into three sections, Each looking much like a factory line, but for what I had no idea. I trotted over to one of the corners and studied it. A metal table laid in the center, covered in... more blood. Great way to ramp up the creepy factor.

I shined the light above, where a multi-limbed machine conjured with technology beyond what I thought possible hung from the ceiling. A few of the limbs were wielding torches, menacing and unnerving. Amongst the rest were varying sizes of circular saws, pruning shears, (and I came to realize later these were actually rib cutters), grips, and pneumatic drills. This was... this technology doesn’t exist-- shouldn’t exist. It was something alien, a profound breakthrough in the school of science. Just looking it made me feel woozy, like oxygen was being deprived from my brain. My vision started swimming again, and as I tried to focus on something else, I found I could not look away. Something about the impossible machine had paralyzed me. I lost my balance however, and the fall snapped me out of my trance.

My gaze fell onto an adjacent bin. It was crafted from plastic, and colored a dull grey. It was too high for me to tell its contents, but it carried with it the same foreboding as the machine. Mercifully, however, I was able to look away without consequence. But that feeling never left.

It didn’t take long for me to realize what that meant -- the depravity of where I was. It was worse than any of the other places in this Celestia-forsaken factory. The mutilated body in the Living Area, that guard’s last words, the mysterious pink substance; all of it forgotten as I took in the second third of the room. Like the previous one, there was a blood stained table, like the previous one, there was an impossible machine hovering overhead. Next to it was a similar bin, but its contents were piled high enough to see: bodies. Broken, bruised, beaten, battered, bleached bodies. Pale, like all the color was drained out of them.

All of them were earth ponies.

I staggered back in horror, and caught sight of a set of racks. If the sight of the bodies weren’t enough, than the objects lying there in front of me were. Wings, metallic wings, with feathers made of blades. The name “Puppet Production Room” began to make too much sense. That monster, the one with that haunting snarl, it was a Puppet. And this was where it was created.

I freaked out, and made for the exit. I did not want any part of this. However, the door I crashed through was not the same door I came in through. Had I read the sign posted on it, I would have realized that this was the, “Morgue Failure Room”. The walls were made from white-washed tile grouted with a thick, viscous cloud mixture. It was fairly small, and smelled of death and decay on an extreme level. This was probably due to the pileup of dead bodies in the corner. I wrinkled my nose and gagged.

My head started pounding again, and somepony’s shrill wail didn’t help the matter. I sat down on my haunch, and massaged my temples, closing my eyes to take the strain off of my brain. I breathed slowly and tried to relax. Nothing helped, however, the headache continued to beat at my skull. I groaned.

Near the bodies, on a wall, was a hatch. At first it looked like a door to a furnace, where I assumed they would cremate them (Nopony escapes the Factory!), but upon further inspection I was wrong. The inside gave me the impression it used to be a furnace, but some time ago it had been renovated into a tunnel. Where it led to? No idea...

What was interesting was that the hatch wasn’t empty. It didn’t have a body in it, but it did have a key. Curious. It wasn’t a key card, like was the usual for pegasi tech, but a traditional key, like the kind earth ponies and some unicorns still use, and it was covered in rust. Curious indeed... not only the type of key, but where I found it. Who hides a key in the morgue? And what did it open? Once more I found myself with one too many questions.

There was... also a note... who puts these things in a morgue?! I heard something hit the ground outside softly, and was reminded of the hoofsteps the Puppet made in its hunt for me. With anxiety similar to that of a mouse being hunted by a cat, I stepped out into the Production Room. Everything was dark and quiet. Nothing moved. I continued to listen, just to be sure, but there was nothing. I walked back in and read the ominous note.

Sand Whisper,

The generator powering Puppet Production has been on the fritz lately. Every now and then the whole thing just shuts off! Think you can get Snowy down here to check it? I’d rather not use the reserve generator if I don’t have to.

Oh, and I found the old prison key. You know, the one you lost? Guess where I found it? In one of the prisoners’ stomachs! Yeah, we had a failure, and they tossed it into my morgue. So, I started the normal procedure, autopsy and all that, and I opened his gut and found a still rusted key in there. Guess not even stomach acid could get that off, looks like I owe Sky some money.

-Obituary

Well, that was extremely unhelpful. Although, why did I expect it to be? The note did however awake some underlying aggravation toward Sand Whisper. What the hell was he thinking, letting a prisoner get hold of the key? Why in Tartarus was I giving a shit? Who knows how long ago that happened?! Was I remembering feelings from my past as well?

Why? I’m tired of reliving my past! My past self already told me not to pry, and that’s what I did. Look where that got me! What did I know about myself now? This was a factory where they foalnapped prisoners to experiment on them, and I worked here. What would have driven me to do something so horrid? And here was a chamber where they created monsters! What was the purpose for that? No, I’m doing it again. This is how it started last time. Stop asking questions, I needed to stop asking questions! I had to focus on the goal that I started in the beginning. I must escape this place. Puppets, or no Puppets.

Besides, Puppets weren’t the only thing hunting me, were they? There was that organic, pink shit that was going to do Celestia-knows-what to me. Just being near it... I could hear ponies crying, their fear and pain had become more than just noise, and forced me to empathize with them.

But for the Puppets and the pink organism, at least I had seen it. I knew what they were, to a point, and I could recognize them as corporeal beasts set on a raw, trivial instinct to consume. How they consumed was left to them, but their existence was substantial to me because I had witnessed them. Seeing is believing, and by knowing their appearance I have taken away one of the greatest weapons of fear from them: the fear of the unknown.

But that moan... that heinous, unholy moan. That turned my blood to ice, and paralyzed me with fear. It was primeval, and tortured. It was angry, hateful towards everything else, and loathed its very being. It was determined, and knew its prey was near. It was sad, tired of the turmoil. It was lost, and unable to find its way. It was depraved, and longed with bloodlust. The ability to encompass so many conflicting emotions into one note was astoundingly unpleasant.

There was another creak from the adjacent room, and I groaned in agitation. All of these noises were fucking getting to me! There was nothing else in her with me, I’m all alone. The Puppet and others were stuck up above, and there was no way for them to come down; the stairs were broken.

creak!

This place must be really, really old. I wondered when the last time it had maintenance was. Or even an inspection.

creak!

Was it just me, or was... whatever that sound was getting closer? Well of course it was just me. Nothing was hunting me.

creak!

Lalalalalalalalalala! I don’t hear it! Nothing’s there! Perhaps if I repeat that enough I might actually believe it...

creak!

Argh! Damn it, you want proof there’s nothing in here? Look, see, nothing is in--

I turned myself to the entrance, completely with the intention of showing the part of my mind that believed there to be something stalking me wrong. I instead came face-to-face with a lazy-eyed, pale Puppet.

The screech of metal on metal rang through the room as it flexed its grafted wings. A silent ringing filled my ears that blocked all other noise but for the guttural snarl that it made.

Then it charged at me.

The beast of nightmares was galloping for me, wings outstretched and ready to steal my life. As it grew closer, and pressed myself against the wall in terror and did the only thing my mind could process: I screamed.

In a matter of a few seconds the monster closed the gap between us, and reared up, extending its wings like a claw ready to charade as a guillotine. The Puppet snarled in triumph, and its breath overpowered even the stench of the morgue. I brought my hooves up to cover my face, both in a futile attempt to block whatever attack was coming, and a futile attempt to ward off the horrible smell that made me gag.

I heard the thin blades cut through the air, and felt them slice into my skin. Two deep gashes blossomed on my front legs, but the blades didn’t go much deeper. I howled in pain as my flesh was exposed to rust and air and dried blood.

My death never came, however. I put my focus back on the creature, but there was no creature. Where did it go? Why did it leave? The pain left, and I was taken aback by how short-lived it was. I must have one hell of a pain tolerance-- the gashes in my legs were gone. Gone, as in never were. The monster didn’t exist after all, it was... it was merely an apparition.

The relief at this was as short-lived as the pain. I felt something against my back, and I turned in fear that my suspicions were correct. They were.

What I had fallen back against was a dull red button. Above it was a notice that read: Reserve generator for Puppet Production. DO NOT USE UNLESS AUTHORIZED BY OPERATIONS MANAGER!

As I finished reading, I heard the unmistakable sound of gears and machinery awaking in the room beyond. I began to shake involuntarily.

Oh shit.