Amnesia: A Machine for Puppets

by NazoPureChaos

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Alternate Universe, Tragedy, Crossover
Length: 16703

My name is Summer Sky. I woke up in a storeroom closet, and I have no memory of who, or where I am. That, however, is the least of my concerns. Everypony here is dead, and whatever killed them is in here with me.

My name is Summer Sky. I woke up in a storeroom closet, and I have no memory of who, or where I am. I retain an innate urge to escape this place, but unfortunately locked doors and power outages are the least of my concerns. Something horrible happened here, some bloody massacre. And whatever killed them is in here with me.

A crossover with the PC game Amnesia: The Dark Descent.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-04-17 04:01:32 UTC

Malum Ferus - Awoken

Part I - Malum Ferus

Awoken

...I stumble down the hallway. I can still hear the pounding of hooves a few corridors back. They may no longer be able to see me, but that didn’t mean they had ceased chasing me. I have to get out of here, I must. If they find me- I can’t think about that. Not now. If I entertain the idea of failing, then I have already failed. Why ha...

Thump thump... Thump thump

...working? Damn it, they’re getting closer. I can hear them. Their hoofbeats were the drums at my funeral. They will be unless I find somewhere to hide. AH! Damn, now it’s working. I can feel it eating...

Thump thump... Thump thump

...ings mustn’t be forgotten. Remember: I must escape. At all costs, I must escape. They are chasing me... who is? Damn it! Just run. Run and hide. Wait, here. I can hide here. I push open the metal door before me, and it opens into another room. Boxes of supplies line metal shelves. The thin smoke that filled the corridors is absent in here. Good. But if they come in here, there is nowhere to hide. I shove boxes of canned vegetables aside as I try to hastily make a sufficient hiding spot. It is useless, none of the boxes are tall enough, and they won’t balance right. Damn it! No, there! Another door. This one is wooden, and it opens into a small closet. Even with the door open I can’t see through the darkness inside. Good. I’ll hide here. AH! Damn it...

Thump thump... Thump thump

...doing a number on me. I must remember, I need to run away, I need to escape. My name is Summer Sky. I’m twenty-six years old. I have a green coat that people say looks like fresh grass. My name is Summer Sky. Damn it, they’re right outside.

“We need to get that power back on!” one yells.

“He shut down the main reactor, and the sub-cores! It’ll take all day to get the generators running again!” a...

Thump thump

...eed to run away.

“Exactly, send...

Thump thump

...we can get to work on the power.”

“Alright, did you get that?”

“Yes,” buzzes one of their walkie talkies. My name is Summer Sky. My vision is blurring. Damn it I must stay awake, I must. My name is Summer Sky. My name is Summer Sky.

My name is...

Thump thump

My name...

Thump...

My...

Thump...

...

*** ***

When I awoke, all I could see was black. My movements were sluggish, and it took great effort to push myself off the cold metal ground. Where was I? Why was it so dark? Everywhere I looked, nothing but that yawning black. I tried to think back to what happened. Was I at the bar? Is that it, I had too many drinks? I tried so hard to remember, but I couldn’t. I began to panic. I slammed my hooves against the walls. They were not made of cloud, which was the usual building material used by pegasi. Instead, it was made from metal. I also became aware that the floor was made of the same metal, which was equally unusual. Where the hay was I? Not many buildings could afford to utilize metal. I slowly banged my head against it. My head made a dull thunking sound that echoed slightly. I heard a sound come from outside the room. Was somepony there? Yes! They might be able to get me out of here!

“Hello! I’m in here!” I yelled to the noise outside. “Help me, I’m trapped!”

Wait, was that a door? Yes it was! There was a wooden door right next to me, how did I miss that? I rapped on it, trying to get the attention of the pony outside. I also tried to pull it open, but the wood must have been warped. There was a sharp squeak of the door outside opening. I pressed my ear against the wood, maybe I could hear them coming to rescue me. His or her hoofsteps were slow and rhythmic. I heard them walk for a short time, and they stopped. Damn it, couldn’t they see the door? I opened my mouth to cry out, but the pony outside did instead.

It was a moan, one long, low note drawn out. It was inequine, and it sent an icy chill down my spine. Whatever the hell was out there was not a pony. And I had just told it my location. Oh, fuck me Celestia. I heard another one shuffle in, or maybe it was the same one moving around. It snarled and my skin crawled. I sat there in absolute silence. After a moment that felt like forever, the two (or one) creatures left. When I was certain that they were not coming back, I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding.

I debated whether or not to stay in here, and came to the conclusion that out there I could run. Why did I have that urge, to run? Run and escape... escape what? I shoved my whole weight against the door, and it collapsed open. I tumbled into a room filled with shelves and boxes. It too, was made of metal. Was this whole place made of it? On the opposite end of the room was an open door. What were those things? Did I imagine them? Was I going insane? Was I... wait a second, who was I? I couldn’t remember! Something about a sky... was that it? Was my name Sky? It had to be. Nopony forgets their own name.

I inched myself slowly through the maze of boxes to the door. It led into a good sized hallway, with grated metal floor and pipes running through the ceiling. At least the walls here were lined with cloud. I peered out, checking to make sure whatever-it-was was gone. The hallway was empty. When I stepped out into it, I gave into a coughing fit from smoke inhalation. There wasn’t much, because I could see pretty clearly, but there was enough to irritate my throat. I searched some of the boxes from the storeroom, and came up with a can of carrots that I munched on. At least it was something.

Nothing prepared me for the out-of-body experience when I stepped back out into the hallway. I could hear disembodied voices, could they be parts of my memory?

“We need to get that power back on!” a male’s voice yelled.

“...Down the main reactor, and the sub-cores!” said a mare’s. Then the silence returned. So the power was off, and it ran off a reactor and sub-cores. That was good to know, I’ll need to see if I can get it running again.

The hallway I was in gave me no sign as to where to go, so I chose a direction at random and began walking. I explored some of the rooms adjacent to the hallway, and one of them yielded to me a flashlight. It was also in one of these rooms I noticed an odd trail of pinkish-purplish drops of dried liquid. It couldn’t have been blood, it was definitely the wrong color. Absolutely no idea what else I was going to do, I chose to follow it. the trail was sparse, and it led me down corridors that must have been near maintenance shafts because of the gaseous hiss that I couldn’t find the source of. Although everywhere else, (that I had been up to that point), was brighter than the closet I woke up in, that didn’t mean it was actually bright inside. So far I had managed to traverse by using silhouettes as guides, but with the flashlight I was actually able to see.

A pounding in my head alerted me to the headache forming. Just what I needed. Oh crap, what was that? The screech of metal on metal. But from where? Then the shrill scream of a mare. Oh shit! What the hell’s going on? I pressed myself against the soft cloud of the wall. My breathing was rapid and my hooves shook. The disembodied scream died away, but I continued to stand there, trembling. I picked the flashlight off the ground and shone it straight in front of me. Slightly rusted pipes, grated crosswalk and the slow swaying of the walls -- not unlike the rhythmic breath of a creature. Nothing else. Something stirred behind me. I could just make it out in my peripheral. I closed my eyes and swallowed. I whipped the flashlight around to reveal... a wisp of cloud wall coming loose. I sighed, and resigned myself to explore the room next to me.

It was a locker room. Several of them lined the walls, most closed but a few were left open. On the wooden benches were odds-and-ins: empty soda cans, an empty cake box, some plates and forks. The last people in here must have been throwing a party. For who, I wondered. There was a banner hung in the center of the room the began with, “HAPPY BIRTHDA-” but the rest was cut off. It was yellow, with blue lettering.

I walked over to the lockers, and tried a few that were closed. Only one had been left unlocked, and the name tag read “Snowy Knight”. In it were some personal belongings: a couple trinkets, a picture of his family, and some cards. Hanging on a coat hanger underneath was a white trench coat. I checked the few that were open, and they shared the same item. A white trench coat, accompanied by goggles. Focusing the light on one of the coats informed me that these were lab coats. And this one has some sort of stain on it... something dark brown. No, it had a sort of reddish tinge to it, like-- I recoiled and dropped the flashlight again. Like blood. That coat was stained with blood. A quick look at the others confirmed it -- they were all stained with blood. I kicked the locker closed.

There was nothing useful in here, except there was a birthday card laid out on a bench. A picture showed a doctor holding his glasses and leaning forward saying, “Studies show that sex gets better and more exciting as you get older, which goes to show you one thing--”. I opened it and read the inside; “You old people will believe anything! LoL, just kidding. Love ya Sky, and Happy Birthday! - Sand Whisper”. Wait, was... was this party for me? No, probably not. Sky is a popular nickname. Besides, I had no memory of this place. I tossed the card on the ground, and walked out.

I picked up the trail of liquid again, once more self-conscious about where I was. Why did those lab coats have blood on them? Why did I want to know? Where am I?! I stretched my wings to help relieve the tension in them. I followed down a flight of stairs and around bends. Whoever or whatever this came from was running from something. After seeing that blood, I was convinced that this was a somepony, not a something. But what was this liquid? It was nothing like I’d seen before. The drops became more concentrated. I was getting closer. Why was this so important?

Finally, it ended in a personal office. Like everywhere else, it was dark. The lights refused to work. The office was bare, no pictures on the wall. The desk in the corner held no pictures either, and there wasn’t a  nameplate. What was on the desk was an empty bottle with the remnant of a pink, viscous liquid. That was it? A bottle? A fucking bottle? Why was I so disappointed? Why did I care? Why?! Why damn it why?! I yanked out one of the drawers and threw it against the wall. And another. And another. Wait, hold on. A piece of paper fell out of the third drawer, and it was addressed to Summer Sky. Abandoning my rage, I picked it up and read it.

To Summer Sky,

This is yourself writing this. I have no idea how much I will remember, but if what I wish is true, then you don’t remember anything. It is better that way. You need to understand, I took the potion to forget what is best left unsaid. Do not go digging. I don’t want to remember. Here is what you need to know: They are chasing you. It doesn’t matter who -- just call them “Them”. You cannot fight Them. Don’t try. Just get out of here, as fast as you can.

Hopefully the name Glaze invokes bitter anger in you, else this is going to sound terrible. As you escape, if you run into her, kill her. Do not go looking for her, but if she finds you, do not hesitate. She won’t.

I reread the note. What. The. Fuck. I didn’t even know how to respond to that. I reread it again. What the fuck have I been drinking? Well, apparently a hallucination-inducing potion. Explains the creatures when I woke up: they didn’t exist, they were only side effects. I ripped the piece of paper. More than likely this was a prank by one of my buddies. Get me drunk off my ass, stick me in a “haunted” house, and watch the drama unfold. I ripped the pieces of paper again. Might as well find a way out of here.

Next to the office was another hallway, this one ending with a barred door. I took a step forward, and I began to trip balls. My entire vision seemed to implode, and in the matter of a few seconds everything was back to normal. What in this Celestia-forsaken place was that? I took another step forward, and there was a resounding bang. The door moved. I froze. Oh shit. Another bang, and the door moved even more. My blood ran cold. Oh shit. A third bang, and part of the door dented. Oh fuck! I scrambled into the office and squeezed myself into the hole and pulled the chair in to try to hide me. One last bang and the door collapsed with a resistant screech. Oh, fucking horseapples. I could hear it walking this way with its slow gait. Please don’t come this way, please don’t come in here.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

It paused. Then it continued walking, now going down the hall that led to the room I was in.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

I could hear it outside the room, in the doorway. Its breath was raspy, and wet. It began to walk inside. I swallowed reflexively, and took a chance to glance at it. I caught the glimpse of a pale, white hide and quickly withdrew back into my hiding spot. It snarled and a chill went down my spine. The thing took another step toward me. Help me Celestia, I began to cry. This was not a prank; nopony could mock something this fucking horrid. Tears ran down my face and I hastily rubbed them off with my shoulder. I needed to stop crying, it could hear me. Wait, could it?

Thump.

Another step toward my death. Yes, it could. Damn it, stallion. Pull yourself together. It seemed to sniff the air, and with one more bone-chilling snarl the creature wandered off.

I sat there for a total of fifteen minutes. I could tell because there was a still-working clock on the wall adjacent to where I was. I pushed the chair so as to make no noise, and I crawled slowly out. I pressed myself against the doorpost, and extended my head just far enough to see. Once more, the hallway was silent. Figuratively speaking; there was still an ominous hiss coming from the pipes.

I slowly shuffled down the hall, keeping my back on the comforting, soft cloud. It was extremely hard to walk on just the back legs; a lot of balance was needed. But my sanity was worth it. At one end of the perpendicular corridor lay the dented door; at the other end was yet another door. Once I made my way down there, I was disappointed to find it was locked. By the look of it, I needed a key card to pass. Damn. I trotted on all fours back, confident They were gone. What were They? It was obvious those things were not equine, even if they were equinoid in appearance.

I searched some of the rooms I had passed, and turned up with nothing. So I searched them again, this time a little more vigorously. I ripped gaudy paintings from the walls, flipped rugs worn by time, and overturned chairs and tables. Nothing. There was no key. But there had to be! I returned to the T intersection, and regarded the rooms, making sure I didn't miss any. I hadn’t. So where was the key? And I saw it in the corner of my eye. I didn’t want to believe it, but some unseen force pushed me to agree there was no other way. The door It came out of, wherever that led to, that’s where the key card was.

I would have to face that monstrosity to escape.

Malum Ferus - Hide and Seek

Malum Ferus

Hide and Seek

I slowly cried inside. I didn’t even know what thing was, or what it wanted, but it frightened me. It’s lethargic stride, that horrific growl. The innate urge to succumb to fear. I was about to jaunt on into a room with it, and play hide-and-seek. Damn my life.

The once-intact door led to a much larger and roomier corridor, with five doors organized on either side, and ended in a sharp right. The pipes were absent from the ceiling here, where the impermeable cloud was clearly visible in the light of my flashlight. According to a metal sign next to the doorway, I had just left “Storage Area 1” and entered into “Living Quarters Floor 2B”. Fully aware the monster was in here with me, I shut off my flashlight and stealthily arrived at the first door on the left, labeled “2B 10C”.

The living quarters were nicely sized, with a loveseat, vinyl recliner, glass coffee table, and tile and wood dining table surrounded by three matching chairs. The kitchen was small, reserved to a corner and consisted of a conventional oven, a refrigerator, and cabinets for herbs and dishes. A sink and drain stood next to it. There were two separate rooms; one for a bathroom, and the other was a bedroom. I shut the door behind me, just in case It got the idea to waltz inside. I emptied every drawer, flipped every cushion, tore off every pillow, and discarded the sheets. No cigar for me; my key was in another room. On this pony’s bed I did find a written note, and it looked to be part of a journal.

Possibly my last entry,

How could they turn against us? Why would they? We have control over them! It’s all that piece of shit’s fault, he turned off the power. That motherfucker doomed us all. Fuck me, they’re right outside. I don’t know what they’ll do to us. Whoever reads this, get out. And if you see them, hide. Hide like your life depends on it. It does. And if they see you

The ‘u’ trailed off -- the pony who wrote this never got a chance to finish. They had found him. Was this the same “They” I warned myself about? I laid the note down on the bed.

The sound of something tearing into flesh, and the sound of a pony’s screams as he was dragged out across the floor echoed across the room. I curled up on the floor, pressing my spine against the bed as I shivered. Make it stop, dear Celestia make it stop. A squishing sound, then a sickening rip and the noises stopped. In the span of a few seconds I wanted them back. I heard distinctly the sound of somepony being hauled on the metal boardwalk outside. What scared me even more was the familiar snarl that led it. Whether this was a hallucination or not I couldn’t tell for sure; it sounded so real. As quietly as I could, I crawled to the door, pressing my ear to the cold metal. There it was, the fleshy thud thud thud as the body slid down the hallway. Very slowly, so as not to make noise, I pulled the door open -- just a enough to see outside. Nothing was there, the hallway was empty.

What the hell was going on? Why was I hear all these fucked-up things? Nothing was there, damn it! So why did I hear it? The pain in my head worsened. The hell, were the walls moving?! I shut my eyes forcefully and shook my head. When I open them, the world returned to normal. What the fuck was happening, the walls looked like they were made of worms! Damn it stallion, pull yourself together! You need to get out of here!

Bracing myself in case the monster was still out there, I yanked the door open and sprinted to the next. I winced as the door slammed. The room I cantered to was locked, so I chose the next one -- 2B 7C. It was an exact copy of the previous one, right down to the color of the sheets. The only difference was this room was very unkempt. Again, my search yielded me nothing. In the bathroom however, written in blood on the mirror was the message, “HELP US”. I was just glad nothing supernatural happened.

The next room I couldn’t get out of fast enough. The occupant of 2B 5C had been scattered across the living room, leaving no doubt in my mind that those creatures were going to brutally murder me. I couldn’t guess what They did to him. The monsters (if that was a strong enough word) had effectively taken everything but his barrel and chest and turned them into paint, and decorated the walls with him. That didn’t even begin to describe the smell of death and decaying flesh that permeated the room. I fought the urge to upend the contents of my stomach and failed.

So far the only consolation I had was the absence of that particular horror. Apart from that psychedelic lapse where I thought I heard it dragging somepony, I’ve haven’t seen or heard heads or tails of it. Where did it disappear to? Why was I asking questions I didn’t want the answer to? Right now I had one and only one goal: Escape. No idea why I’m here, no idea where this was, no idea what it was. After what I’ve seen, I don’t want the answers to those questions. Right?

Right. Whatever horrific massacre took place here did not involve me. Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. There was a flaw in my logic: I drank that potion to forget something abhorrent I did. Did I witness this? Was I a lone survivor of what happened, and now They were hunting me to finish the job? That had to be, nothing else made sense. What didn’t help at all was the contents of a second letter I found in room 2B 3C. In actuality there were several papers, but this was the only one intact.

Snowy Knight - Journal entry 179

Huh. Sigh. Whatever you please. Today was a horrible turnout. Only three processed today. It was not my fault! I swear! But, as Operations Manager I get blamed for all the shit that goes wrong. Why the fuck is Glaze not to blame? She is the fucking CEO! This should be her pile of shit to shovel. I swear, working in this factory can be a pain in my ass sometimes.

On a brighter note, it seems Featherdance fancies P.D. Pie. Saw her checking out his ass during her shift today. You should have seen her face blush when I confronted her. That was a bad idea though, she has been using me as a relay for all of her fantasies. Shudder. As if she had a chance.

-SK

This place was a factory? I could believe that, what with the walkways and pipes, but why would a factory need living quarters for it’s employees? What kind of factory was this place? Ugh, too many damn questions. I don’t care!

...

Then why did I?

I dusted off the loveseat of 2B 1C and curled up on it. I licked my lips and found them to be dry. Not certain, but I believe the last thing I had to drink was the preservative liquid that the carrots were in. Reluctantly I crawled back off the couch and to the miniature refrigerator. Opening it, I was overjoyed to find it still stocked. I chugged down a still chilled bottle of beer, then some water to wash away dehydration.

What I was doing wasn’t working. What was I doing? I was looking for a key card. I was trying to escape. But how? I had no idea where that door led. It could be a way out of here, or it could lead me further into this factory. The truth was I had no inclination as to where to begin to escape. I needed a new plan. Something achievable and plausible, and more importantly possible. Something that could ultimately end in leaving this place. I looked at the useless light hanging in the center of the room. The power, I needed to turn the power on. From there I could formulate something else, but for now that would be my goal.

I also addressed to myself that despite my deniance otherwise, I was curious as to the events that took place here. It was a sinful curiosity, as I did tell myself not to dig, but I couldn’t help it. Something happened that resulted in a mass murder, and that something caused me to make myself forget. What could have been so horrible? The area around my eyes grew numb and my eyelids felt heavy. So did my head. NO! I can’t fall asleep, not here, not while that thing is patrolling the halls. Still maybe with some sleep... a clearer head may be all I need to get out... no. No... no sleep... sleep bad...

The tortured wail from deeper inside the factory made me fully alert. In fact, I fell off the couch and kicked the empty beer bottle onto the floor, where it shattered. No more thoughts of sleep wormed into my head after that. What the hell made that? It sounded too real to exist...

I forced myself out of the room and into the corridor. I pushed all of those questions behind me, focusing on turning the power back on. Then my flashlight flickered and died. I ran back into the room, and ransacked it for batteries. Every drawer was yank out, flipped over and tossed. Every cabinet had it’s contents discarded, as well as the wardrobe. I even checked the fridge, wasting perfectly good beer in the process. None. No traces of batteries anywhere. I would have to travel in darkness.

I cautiously walked through the hallways with trepidation; the walls began to close in on me, and I yearned to be in the presence of light once more. Even with dead batteries, I carried the flashlight loyally in my mouth. I cleared my throat once more of the thin smoke. The billowing wind that seeped in through the clouds became the breath of some unknown creature. At points it would whisper at my ear, and others it be content to follow me.The hollow footsteps haunted adjacent corridors, taunting me. There were three hallways branching off the one I found myself in, each following the same organization as the one I came from.

Without the flashlight everything was harder to examine, and I was constantly squinting my eyes. This made it hard to read the letter I found in room 2B 3A:

Dear diary,

Today was an exceptional day, at least. fourteen processed. Perhaps not as exciting as it sounds, however. fourteen processed means fourteen gone. We are starting to have too many cells and not enough ponies. Still, when looking at the bigger picture...

At least Glaze seemed happy about it. I can not actually remember the last time I saw her so joyful. In fact, I do not think I have ever seen her joyful. On occasion she will act happy, but it is merely a pretense, at best. Most of the others can not tell, but I can. She has the right smile to make the other feel proud, but I can see it in her eyes. She looks tired. I believe the stress of the job is getting to her. It is nice to see something beyond that reflected in her eyes now. I wonder what caused it? Maybe she has found somepony to spend her off hours with... if you are to catch my drift. That is, if she even has off hours. The poor mare works herself too hard, I say. Perhaps one day this week we can give here the break she deserves...

One change that is taking place these coming weeks is the introduction of new guards. No idea what is wrong with the pegasi we have now... but apparently these new ones are going to be more efficient. They will not be taking up the quarters that our guards do now, but how they will expected to live confined to a limited number of rooms I have no idea. During Glaze’s speech she mentioned something about these guards “recycling”, or something to that effect. I have no inclination as to what that means, but I find I do not want to. Either way, it is late and my shift starts early tomorrow.

Until next time,

Cloudsoft

The note mentioned this factory containing cells... did that mean this was a prison factory? That would make sense. If this was a prison factory, then the guards would need to live here, especially if it was considered a classified prison. And not to mention the actual factory managers to boot. Although apparently their guards were not the best, and were getting replaced. Perhaps if I could search the barracks I could learn more about what took place here. I may have discovered the basics of where I was, but the memory-removing potion and the bloody massacre still had yet to fit in. It’s possible the prisoners rebelled... but what then were those hideous things that I glimpsed?

It was as I made to trot out that my vision decided to go off-the-fucking-chart loopy again. Everything seemingly imploded at the same time, then retracted back to normal in a subitaneous manner. During this sudden mindfuck, I tripped over a table leg and my head plunged through the glass. luckily my eyes managed to avoid being sliced, but the skin next to my ear didn’t, and let me tell you it burned. I could feel slightly warm liquid flowing under my head, and knew I needed to care for that gash. And I would have too, If it wasn’t for the bone-curdling growl from outside. It was lovely that I had a perfect view of the door as I just lay there, so I could watch in awe as it spread my guts all over the walls. Its familiar hoofsteps drummed through the hall and room. I realized that it had heard the glass break, and was coming to investigate.

As it walked painfully slowly, the hoofsteps began to eerily sound like the drums they played at medieval executions. Except much slower and without the drumroll. The pounding in my head returned, adding itself to the pressure on my wound. The sound stopped, and for a second a dared  to hope it would leave. That hope dissipated as it grew closer to my location. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Where had this thing even come from? Had it hidden all this time in one of the rooms? Thump. Thump. Thump. It paused in front of the door, and I got my first complete view of it.

Its hide was pale, like I had glimpsed before, but I now noticed that it was leathery, like a white elephant. Both of its cannons had bandages wrapped around them, spiraling down to the ankles. The creature also had them wrapped lazily around its fetlocks. The mane was equally pale, and draped over its maddening face. The jaw seemed to have been twisted and broken, now hanging carelessly off the skull. The eyes had lost their connection to the muscle underneath, and rolled in opposite directions. Two more bandages hung from its crest around its throat, looking more like a necklace then anything else. Apart from the monster’s distorted features, the part that captured my attention was that this was clearly an earth pony. So who’s twisted idea was it to graft metal wings onto it? In actuality, the pseudo-wings looked unable of flight, but the blades that replaced the feathers certainly gave them another use. One that was further justified by the dried blood on them.

Whatever-the-hell this thing was, it did not come inside the room. It was content to stay out there, at least for the meantime. Its cross-eyed gazed swept the room, searching for the disturbance. I closed my eyes and held my breath in anticipation. I waited for the bladed wing to slice into me, and end my life. I even imagined what it would feel like. Would it be instantaneous? Or would it be slow, the creature taking its time mutilating my body? Or would it just stand there, torturing me by dangling hope in front of me? I apprehensively opened one eye -- It was gone. disappeared. I didn’t even hear it walk away -- although that wasn’t surprising given how fast my heart was beating in my chest. I let out a relieved breath, and subsequently fainted.

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

When I awoke, I entertained the idea that this was nothing more than a nightmare. Perhaps I had gotten drunk, and ate something funny before I fell asleep. The dizziness in my head gave credit to this idea. Maybe I need to sleep drunk more often; it may have been one hell of a trip, but it would make for a great story. Assuming I ever got into writing. The obnoxious smell of smoke entered my nostrils, and I deduced that this might have been caused by the burning of food from my kitchen. But who was cooking? My marefriend, I guessed, she was never the best cook. It was very sweet of her to try, but sometimes things just shouldn’t happen. Then there was the matter of the monsters, and the bloody mess the left behind. I would probably need to talk to a psychiatrist about that. I’ll need to look one up before I leave for work. I wanted to get out of bed, but I was so tired. In fact, every part of my body ached, and there was a pulsating pain next to my ear. Argh, what did I do? Knock myself out with a direct hit to the head? The area around my head felt sticky and itched. I stirred and felt the glass shift under my head.

I came back to terms with my reality. I was not in a room, and most certainly not laying on a bed. My headache was an aftereffect of fainting, and the pain was the deep gash running from above my eyebrow to my ear. With forceful determination I pushed myself back onto my hooves. I looked at the dried blood stain on the floor. Was that why the thing left? Laying collapsed on the floor like that, I must have appeared dead to it. I got off extremely lucky.

I limped over to the makeshift kitchen sink and searched the drawers for medical supplies. I found a bottle of 80% alcohol, a roll of gauze, and some painkillers. I dampened a rag that I placed in my mouth. I shut my eyes in anticipation and poured the alcohol over my wound. Every part of me screamed to voice my pain, but I bit down on the damp rag instead, knowing that voicing my pain would end in my death. I used another rag to wipe off as much liquid as I could, and wrapped the gauze around my head several times. My eyes began to water, and I popped some pain pills in my mouth, and swallowed.

Celestia be praised. Every other room in the hall labeled ‘A’ was locked -- every single one except for 2B 4A. In 4A was several things considered useful by somepony who was lost. Sitting right there on the table in front of the couch, encased in a wooden frame was a simple map. A freaking map. Of course, it had its downsides. The map was not labeled, and parts were missing -- most of the glass it was encased in had shattered, and places were smeared where somepony had rubbed it off. Why the hell did somepony do that? Gah!

The bedroom however was not so beautiful. Dried blood stained the cloud that made up the four walls, and some of it still dripped. Was this… recent? On the bed was a huge puddle of the substance, but I could not find a body. I didn’t know whether to be relieved, or more worried. Opening every dresser drawer, I found the owners ragged saddlebags. Not thinking about what I was doing, I slipped them on. These became very convenient for holding my dead flashlight, and the two bottles of beer I swiped from the fridge.

Then, as I lazily searched the kitchen drawers for supplies, (medical supplies, such as more gauze and anesthetic wipes), I found them. Their small cylindrical bodies were absolutely sexy to me. Batteries -- fucking beautiful, sexy, AA batteries. I hastily unscrewed the top off, and popped them in it. With the flick of a switch, light was restored. Now to restore light to the rest of the factory.

The moment I stepped in the doorway, my head split open and voices poured from my mind. Hoofsteps, two pairs of them echoed in my head. And then a soothing female voice spoke,

“And here are the living quarters. Yours will be 2B 7B -- we’ve recently had a vacancy.”

“Living quarters?” questioned... hang on, that was my voice!

“Yes... living quarters. They did tell you that you will be living here for the rest of your life? It’s not the kind of place you just leave, this is a very secret place, and I run a tight operation here,” she said in a tone that left no doubt that she did indeed run a tight operation.

“Oh, yes I know. It must have just slipped my mind. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this place,” I replied in wonder, or astonishment.

“If it helps, just remember: they are criminals. The worst of the worst.”

“Thank you Glaze, it does.”

With that, the memory ended. What the hell was that? It didn’t hurt that much last time! I took a swig from one of the beer bottles, letting it help dim the pain. Glaze... she was the one I wrote about. The one I should kill if I see her. She was also the CEO, according to Snowy Knight. Why did I want her dead? She seemed nice enough. Did she somehow invoke the riot? Or did she do something worse? Was it something to do with the new guard regime? Too many damned questions!

And not enough answers.

I pulled out the map, and studied it. It revealed a door previously hidden by the dark, one which led graciously to the Guard’s Living Quarters 1B. Before I went there however, I check all the other rooms for supplies. They were all locked. All but one. 2B 7B. My room.

As it was with every other residence in here, my room was no different. The first thing I did when I walked in was raid my fridge. I opened the door and recovered a lovely total of seven bottles of beer. There was also a couple of possibly-flat soda cans as well, and I tossed those in the saddlebag too. Except for one. I brought it to my lightly dusty couch, and guzzled it down. Some of the carbon dioxide had effused, but there was enough to add some kick to the lemon-lime flavor.

I collapsed in my apparent bed. Unlike the others, this one felt soft and cozy. It felt familiar. There was a letter on my nightstand, not in my hoofwriting but undoubtedly addressed to me nonetheless.

Summer Sky,

Really? HER? Come on stallion, you know the problems this will cause. I won’t disagree with you, she is a looker. But think about your position. Think about hers. You don’t think there will be a conflict of interest? Knowing you, you ain’t gonna listen to me. I’m glad you told me though; that’s what friends are for, right? Listen brony, I love ya to death. I do. And if you decide to go through with this, then I’ll back you up. Help anyway I can. Nopony else can know though, if other find out, they’ll think she’s playing favorites. Like fuck she would, but ponies talk. Believe me, I know.

-SK

Lying next to it was another note, this one by me. It was a reply, one that I had never given to him. Touching it filled me with aimless regret.

To Snowy Knight,

I understand that this isn’t the best idea. Already people are becoming suspicious. But... I think I love her. I don’t know, maybe it’s out of desperation, but still. I have feelings for her. Succumbing to the ideals of the workers isn’t going to help anypony. I really hate having to keep writing letters, why couldn’t we just have the same break shifts? That gives me an idea...

I didn’t sign the letter, and the paper it was written on had been crumpled and unfurled several times. I looked around my room in dismay. There was nothing left for me here. Not anymore.

Malum Ferus - The Cost

Malum Ferus

The Cost

The Guards' Quarters were very similar to the normal Living Quarters, or at least from the outside. From where I stood though, the hallway only branched off twice. I contemplated searching the rooms for information, or just moving on -- assuming I could. According to the map, at the end of this hall was the entrance to what I guessed, (based on the pipe schematic rendered in), was the Machine Room. I assumed that was where I could restore power.

As fate would have it, the door leading into the Machine Room (which it was actually called) was locked. Because you know fetching keys is pretty fun. My record so far is that I’ve found zero for one. I stared at the two corridors with disgust. This was going to be fun.

The guards' living quarters were, for lack of a better word, different from the other residences. For one, they were smaller. These rooms had no separate bedroom, or more accurately, they had no living room. The bed was simpler: a cotton mattress on an iron stand. The iron had rusted over time, and the stains on the mattress were covered by gaudy sheets. Covering that was a thick layer of one-hundred percent dust. Another tortured scream floated in and my head snapped to the open door. With apprehension I walked over and closed it. The door made a hideous bang when it shut, and I was sure that the sound would attract that monster. Some nonexistent wind blew wisps of cloud from the wall.

The kitchen took up only half of a wall, and shared it with the toilet. The sink was rusted, the counter had mold and the toilet was cracked along the rim. The only thing that appeared to have improved was the guards had a bigger refrigerator. There was of course, nothing left in it. Nothing but rotten food, at least. There was nothing here that was useful, just the ghosts of memories.

Each room appeared exactly the same, which came as no surprise to me. There was however, one thing that sent a chill down my back. Not only was every room the same, but -- with the exception of mold and dust -- every room was spotless. It looked as if somepony had cleaned it up, just before they left. Left to where?

“Nopony escapes...” the wind freaking whispered to me. Great, just fucking beautiful. Now the wind was talking to me. I grit my teeth and shook my head. Nothing is talking to you. The wind certainly can’t, it’s not sentient. Pull yourself together Sky, before you have another episode. Too late. My breath began to labor, and my heart beat like a dying rabbit’s. I collapsed on the floor; something was ringing in my ears. Celestia, make it stop! I bathed myself in the light from my flashlight. Damn it, what the hell was wrong with me? My headache doubled and my hooves shook vigorously. One of my hooves found its way to my temple, and brushed against the gash there. The sudden pain snapped me out of my nightmare. What the hell keeps happening to me? I was sick of this shit.

I did find the Machine Room Key, as it was labeled, in the penultimate room. At first I was uneasy -- it sat on a table ominously, without anything guarding it. Who leaves a key out in the open like that? There was however a note lying next to, a rather disturbing note at that.

To whoever was unlucky enough to find this,

These are probably my last words. I say that because whatever they plan to do with us will not be good. I implore you to read this and understand. Two years ago, my stallions and I were hired as special operations guards for this establishment. We were wary of what they did here, but we were paid money, and I despise to say that was enough to earn our silence.

At first our job was to the book. We guarded the separate facilities, and made sure that nopony wandered in here unaware. We made friends with the employees, and enjoyed their company. But then we were confronted with another offer. She asked us to seek out more, and bring them back here. She also had a list of names -- the worst of the worst she called them. We were to be paid extra to break them out of jail, and bring them back here. I would like to say that we had to think about it, but we agreed on the spot. So, once a week we would go and bring back those she named, and nopony was ever the wiser.

Except one night, Iron Hoof was sloppy, and alerted the prison we were raiding. It sparked an investigation, one that was just barely able to be headed off by her. Needles to say, she was furious. Then she told us it was okay, she had a plan. I thought we had gotten off lucky, but two months later I realized what she meant.

It was during a board meeting for which I was present. After a presentation that was so boring I cannot even recall what it was about, she dropped the bomb. She has come up with a replacement for us, although that’s not how she put it. Her story was that these ponies would be more efficient, and would cost us less financially. Not that anypony would have argued with her, they were afraid of her. She also said that they would help with recycling, but I did not understand her at the time.

In less than a minute after her speech, I knew we had just lost our jobs. The motto that hangs in the prison cells reads: Nopony escapes the Factory! I can hardly argue with that. What I did not know, was that applied to more than just the prisoners. You see, all of us, workers, guards and criminals alike are all prisoners to this factory. None of us will leave. So, what to do with us now that we served no purpose?

That was where the note ended. If there was more, I couldn’t find it. There was a sinking feeling in my gut, like somepony dropped a five-k pound weight in it. Something happened in this factory, that part I got right. But now I was pretty sure that it wasn’t a cliche prison riot. Something worse had been going on, and the guards had been thrown into it. I heard a knock at the door. I backed away from it, afraid that the monster had found me. Knock knock knock. I turned off the flashlight, just in case, but then the ghost of a stallion’s voice answered.

“Come on in, I’ve been expecting you,” he said in a resigned tone. The door creaked open, and three pairs of hoofsteps walked in.

“My colts start disappearing, and you expect me to not figure it out?” he continued gruffly.

“Does that mean that you’ll come quietly?” a second voice said sadistically. The first nickered,

and there was the tink of a glass being set down.

“Now, why in Tartarus would I do that?” There was a scuffle, the sound of ponies beating the life out of eachother. The fight only lasted for a few seconds. Then the second voice chuckled darkly.

“Put him with the others. Then, let’s head up to the Food bay. I’m starving.”

If that note wasn’t enough to convince me, than that memory was. Something worse had happened here, and I was certain that the creature hunting me was involved. But... what kind of factory was this? It was secret, stole ponies from prisons, and no longer needed guards. Was this some sort of sick laboratory? Were they experimenting on ponies? Then came the million-dollar question.

How was I involved with this?

After I asked that question, it began to dawn on me why I might have taken an amnesia potion. Why I told myself not to dig.

Then came another startling realization. That memory wasn’t mine... was it? It couldn’t be... but it had to be. And that realization made me collapse on the floor. I-I just stood there... didn’t even say a word... No. I was a part of this, what fucked-up twisted mess ‘this’ is. I gave myself a second chance, and I was going to take it. I would get out of here, and I would fulfill my request. I would forget about it. But first, the power. I had the key. As I traced my steps back to the Machine Room, my trepidation was now accompanied by a fleeting sense of guilt for something I couldn’t remember.

My flashlight reflected something bronze. It was a gate... no, it was an entrance. From what I could tell, it opened into an elevator. That was good, it provided me an escape route. The extra benefit was that it was only a few feet from where I was going.

Inside the Machine Room, the first thing any visitor had to do was traverse a long, narrow hallway. Pipes poured into this hallway like tentacles, criss-crossing and weaving around eachother. It was also very dank, and smelled of old oil. The hallway led to the main room, which looked at least two stories high. Against the parallel wall was an enormous cylindrical machine, from which dozens of pipes intertwined into. The machine was crafted from numerous metal alloy plates, all bolted together into a secure container. The bottom slanted inward, forming a sort of funnel. The top had the same effect done to it, with the addition of a large pipe that protruded into the cloud ceiling. There was also a circular window that was obscured by the darkness inside.

On either side of the main reactor were two more devices, although neither cylindrical. One was very boxy, and was surrounded in a systems of tubes and air pressure gauges. a few of these fed into the reactor. A panel on the side opened to reveal a firebox that I assumed fed into a boiler. That must mean this was the steam sub-core.

How a system of Main Reactor and sub-cores worked was as simple as it was complicated. The main reactor itself was an apparatus that heavily relied on magic to work. It was layered: the outmost layer which was visible from that window was filled with a coolant. The coolant was circulated by a series of fans and turbines in the back, and served the purpose of keeping the other layers from overheating. The second consisted of a series of water-filled pipes that wrapped around the third layer, soaking up heat and at the climax turning into vapor, which traveled up the pipe visible on top. There were also multiple wires that ran through here, connected to the third layer as well and carrying a separate form of energy away. The third layer was where all the magic happened; literally. Contained behind a three-inch wall of iron was pure, undaunted magical energy. I was sketchy on the specifics, (either I didn’t know or that part of the information had been erased as well), but that magic was excited, causing it to heat up exponentially. This is what heated the pipes in the second layer, and excess energy was syphoned off into the wires. The steam rose up to a generator on top of this room, I assumed, and was transferred into usable energy there.

Now for the sub-cores. It was extremely rare to hear of a system with only one sub-core, as the second was used in case of a failure. In the third layer was the main core, which controlled the energy. However, that kind of power desired a lot, too much for one core to handle. To combat this, sub-cores were devised to help carry the load. Depending on how large the main reactor was, there could be two to four sub-cores, and most were usually unique in what kind of power they provided, in order to ensure maximum efficiency. The most common were steam and oil, as these were simple to care for. The nicest part was that these systems were easy to manage.

It was a simple matter of pulling labeled levers in the correct order. Well, actually no, it wasn’t. The steam sub-core was empty of coal, and I’ll have to check the oil, but I assumed likewise. Unsurprisingly, there was a small, walk-in storeroom filled with coal set off to the side. I dug out some generous-sized balls of it with a shovel that lay discarded off to the side, and dumped it in the fire box. I pulled a lever and the fire underneath ignited. Slowly but surely, the sound of rushing air and squeaking pistons filled the room. One down.

The oil sub-core was slightly more complicated. I could already see a flaw in how this one was built; one of the major pipes ran directly against the oil tank. While that was not much of a problem while oil was constantly recycling through, if the valve was shut… that oil would build up pressure and heat, both of which are not good in the same place, were even worse surrounded by combustible oil. I pushed the wheel that controlled the valve, and my fears were realized: it had rusted. I would have to start the machine, and then hope the oil flowing through was enough to lubricate it. Hmmm… damn it. There was no other choice. I grabbed a couple cans of oil from the shelf nearby, and poured them into the tank. I pulled the lever, and waited. There was a delay, and then the cogwheels and pistons began to move.

I braced myself against the floor, wrapped my forehooves around the wheel, and pulled down as hard as I could. It still wasn’t budging. The pipe vibrated faintly; there was the oil. I tugged on the wheel again, but nothing. Come on, I’m on borrowed time here… damn it move! I felt heat rising from the pipe. This wasn’t good, actually, “wasn’t good” would be great right now. Celestia’s sexy plot, this thing was in there tight! There vibrating grew, and more heat radiated off the pipe. Damn it, come on! Move for Luna’s sake! I glanced at the lever. If this became too much… no, I wouldn’t have enough time to turn this off. The lever was too far away. This was a make-it or break-it deal. I threw my whole body weight onto the wheel, but not even gravity was able to help. Celestia’s fucking feathers, come on!

And then with a shriek of metal, it moved.

I collapsed with a heavy sigh of relief. The heat began to die down, and I wiped sweat from my brow. The job wasn’t over yet. Both sub-cores were active, and now for the main reactor. As I worked the levers, a familiar, excessively upbeat tune popped into my head, and I had no choice but to whistle it. The pulling of one lever turned on the observation lights inside the reactor. Now my hoof was tapping to the extremely catchy tune. Where in Equestria did that come from? Not that I was complaining, the music made me forget about the horrors that I had experienced, replacing the thoughts with... happiness? Nah, too cliche. Joy? Hmmm... nostalgia? One of those for sure. Another lever started up the main core, adding a harmonious hum to the mix of sounds. Now I was remembering lyrics, and my mind pressed me to sing them, with gusto!

“I’m not a fan of puppeteers, but I’ve a nagging fear someone else is pulling at the strings! Something terrible is going down, through the entire town, wreaking anarchy and all it brings!” Okay, so I’m not the best singer in the world, sue me! Whatever popped into my head seemed to fill every part of me with its exuberation. Without thinking, (and I knew nopony was watching), I began to dance, at points making wild gestures and others pretending to conduct the music flowing in my head.

“I can’t sit idly, no, I can’t move at all. I curse the name; the one behind it al~l!” I brought my hooves up in almost glorious ecstasy, as light returned to the Machine Room. I found that I couldn’t remember the next word, (which I assumed was a name), but that did not stop me. I replaced it with a rather crude, derelict interpretation via pathetic murmurs.

“------, I’m howling at the moon, and sleeping in the middle of a summer afternoon. ------, whatever did we do, to make you take our world aw~ay!”

In the midst of a rather pathetic twirl, a dark chuckle echoed throughout the room. It was sultry and seductive, yet belligerent and malignant. The lights flickered and I fell to the floor in alarm. What in fucking Tartarus was that? A pink bulge of something appeared out of thin air, encasing the hull of the main reactor. It didn’t stop there. It reached out, spreading and growing and extending its grasp across the whole of the room. Tendrils connected the pulsating pink masses. I didn’t pause to think, I just galloped as hard as possible.

Outside, in every adjacent corridor the substance had congealed en masse; there was no escape. It moved as if personified, reaching hungrily for me. I looked every which-way; there was no way out. Then every light in the hallway blew simultaneously. Oh, Celestia fuck me with your horn. You know what? Fuck them with your horn. I could hear it screaming in my ears, blinding all other sound.

Pushing through the haze that had become by mind was a single thought: The elevator. Of course! How had I forgotten? I raced the pink disease as it devoured more of the halls in its effort to engulf me. I pried open the bronze gates; the pink mass was only several feet away, and gaining. The gate door made an awful reverberating bang as I swung them shut. I repeatedly shoved the “UP” button, pouring my discomfort and agony into the motion.

And then the unholy moan from when I awoke was added to the deafening mix. My blood ran like ice, and I upgraded the shoving to pounding. Pink tendrils wrapped themselves around the twin gates, and the depraved moan grew louder and closer. Damn it, fucking go up! The tendrils transformed into bulging masses, and I closed my eyes in preparation. Why in the darkest layer of Tartarus did it have to moan? I would beg it to make some other sound! The screaming in my head was accompanied by a stressful ringing, increasing in intensity.

Every other sound was drowned out by a mechanical rattle, and the resistant whine as the lift began to move. I uncovered my ears, and collapsed, crying. What did I do to deserve this?

...Nopony escapes...

Lamentabilis Identidem - Ramifications

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.

Lamentabilis Identidem - Silence

Lamentabilis Identidem

Silence

I carefully walked to the doorway with increasing trepidation bordering on an anxiety attack. This can’t be happening, this can’t fucking be happening! I... I went through all the shit on the above floor... I had to hide, I--I was chased and scared shitless... I made it to the elevator! I turned on the power! That was suppose to be my escape -- I had escaped from that thing, the Puppet! I was almost mutilated by pink organic masses! I... here... this place... I came down here -- it was supposed to be safe! A fucking sanctuary!

This was a load of Celestia’s grade A horseapples!

I didn’t deserve this crap! But don’t you? No, of course not! Why would I? I’m trying to get out of here, wherever the fuck ‘here’ is! Why would I deserve this? How could I deserve this? How could I even think something like that!? I haven’t done anything--

I worked here. Wasn’t that enough? I willingly worked in a prison factory, where ponies were foalnapped and imprisoned. Then, they were killed, and turned into horrible monsters. I aided these ponies in doing that. I helped them commit genocide. I heard what I saw: myself sitting there as two of my coworkers beat a guard into submission! I saw it. I watched it! I didn’t care then. Wasn’t that enough? Why don’t I deserve this? I should deserve more than this!

Flashes and sparks of light erupted in the Production Room, and I knew that the machine was wielding the blades wings onto the reanimated corpse of another poor soul, whose life was being blasphemed as he became another megear abomination. It was sick. It was twisted. I felt my gut writhe and freeze over as I mused about it. I was now, or never. I had to make a run for it, get out of this area of the floor, or suffer a very painful and brutal death. I made for the door, but my hooves were frozen into place. Come on damn it! Move! But I couldn’t. Should I, though? Should I escape? I... I...

Son of a fuck! This isn’t the time to be debating psychology with yourself!

The high-pitched sound of the wielder stopped, and the room grew dark once more, all but for the light of my flashlight, which I grabbed in my mouth and bit down on to keep it from falling. I continued biting down on it, until I was afraid my teeth would crack from the pressure. I wasn’t letting go of this flashlight. Nothing was making me let go of this flashlight! I took a deep breath in through my nose, held it for a second, then let it out slowly. Everything was quiet. Nothing moved, and the pain in my wing reminded me of my injury. I held back a grunt of pain. I breathed again. In. Hold. Out.

Then I broke into a gallop.

My hooves beat against the floor with tremendous force, and I knew that every single creature on this whole floor could hear me.

Bang-slam-bang-slam!

That Puppet was going to be on me in no time, and so I booked it. Past the bins of dead bodies, past the beds with dried blood on them. Past the Puppet. Through the corridor. I ran until I was back in the central area, where all the signs were displayed. I pressed myself against a perpendicular wall and tried to force my breathing back to normal. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes as I began to choke on sobs. I waited.

I waited for it to make some sort of sound. The rhythmic thumping of its hooves foretelling death. The ghastly snarl as it tried to communicate to me my certain doom. That growl as it prepared for the hunt. Anything. It was still in there, with all of the bleached bodies and futuristic machines. Questions rose to my mind, questions that never occurred to me before, and raised even more questions with them. Why is every one of those bodies an earth pony? Why are their bodies so pale? Why are they all broken and beaten? And yet the one important question never occurred to me: How? How was every one of those bodies earth ponies? How are their bodies so pale? How were they all broken and beaten? But my musing was cut short.

The Puppet finally made a sound.

It came from the entranceway to the Production room, and it wasn’t a snarl. It wasn’t a growl, or any guttural utterance of any kind. It wasn’t the thumping of its hooves against the ground, as the Puppets movements were fluid and silent. The sound it made cause my mind to go numb as the darkness clawed its way into me again. The single light above flickered, then died. Almost instantaneously did the shadows begin to crawl to me, and the walls writhed and squirmed and tried to pry themselves away in their efforts to smother me. The pained echoes of mares and stallions became a choir of wails and screams, and I did the first thought that enter my head: I ran. I ran for the opposite end of the room, across from the Puppet Production Room, and the monster inside.

The sound the Puppet made, was one low, horrifying note.

The Puppet fucking moaned.

When I halted near the rusted gate barring entrance to the rest of the hall, I found that at first, I was relieved. It was only a Puppet. Up top, whatever made that noise was the same as the one that snarled and growled. It was all one creature. That was all it was, just a pale, dead, revived earth pony with metal wings. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t all that good, but it was better than the alternative.

I swallowed as I waited for it. Shadows had overtaken the hall I was just in, stealing with it any hope of visibility or vision of the haunting creature--not until it was biting into my flesh would I know of its proximity. Something was off. I knew there was something wrong, but I couldn’t place it. Something was wrong with this picture. I slowed my breathing down to the bare minimum in an effort to hear any signs of the monster’s existence. To my utter surprise, I found I could not hear any noise, none at all. Everything was silent. The pipes that undoubtedly ran from or to Sewage made no sound. The whisper of wind was absent. It was like even sound itself feared the Puppet, the same one that was somewhere in this place, veiled by the darkness.

I finally pinpointed what was missing. The first thing, one that sent a shiver down my spine, was the absence of the Puppet’s ragged breathing. That wasn’t what made me sweat, however. On the top floor, I always knew where the Puppet was because of the thumping sound its hooves made against the grated floor. In the utter silence, the sound of hoofsteps was gone. The fall of this Puppet’s hooves was silent as ever. I had no hope to know of its location, which meant one thing:

I was blind.

Literally everywhere held the possibility of concealing the Puppet. Around the corner, across the hall, it could even be directly in front of me, and I would have had no warning. My only consolation was belief that perhaps if I couldn’t see it, or even hear it, then maybe, just maybe, it couldn’t see me either. But even I knew how ludicrous that sediment was.

My skin crawled with dozens of beetles, and very slowly and very quietly I grabbed the rusted key. I had difficulty placing it in the lock, because my hooves were shaking. After the third try however I got lucky and the key slid in with the most obnoxious sound. It reverberated off the walls and inside my head, sounding very much deafening in the unholy silence. The sound didn’t seem to end, and continued to grow in intensity and maddeningly sounded like an alarm ringing in my ears. I knew that the Puppet heard the key turn, and I knew that it knew my exact location. I had just painted the fucker a target, and it was now coming for me. I didn’t know what the monstrosity planned to do with me, or even if it had a plan, maybe it was just going to brutally kill me and mutilate my remains like its kin had done with my co-workers just because it was a savage creation that blasphemed the very idea of the sanctity of life!

With these thoughts pouring through my head, through the barrier of sound blocking everything else, I wrenched open the gate and slammed it shut behind me, cantering careless of any noise I made when--

BAM!

Something collided hard with the gate I just closed, and a new fear unlike anything else I had felt so far overtook me, and I abandoned all thought as I just continued my cadenced gallop away from from the entrance to the prison block and the savage Puppet that a mere few seconds ago had just crashed into said gate! I turned a corner and my blood became ice as the screech of the barred door was slowly pulled open.

Nothing.

Then, tink, thunk. The door was closed. Followed by a soft yet undeniable clink.

The door was locked. The Puppet was locked in the prison. Along with me.

A thin, white fog seeped along the grated metal floor, and I assumed that it was merely excess from the cloud flooring underneath rising. It swirled to and fro in the air, conjuring hypnotistic symbols in the darkness. The silence was unbearable. I could hear the soft thumping of my blood being pumped throughout my body reverberating in the inside of my ear. I could also hear my breath, loud as could be, and a surefire target in the quiet to anything with supernatural hearing (which in my paranoia I had subconsciously convinced myself the Puppets had) or possibly anything that had normal hearing capabilities.

The sound of blood pumping in my ears began to quicken as I started my journey deeper into the heart of the prison block I was in. Trepidation and fear guided my every move, as I knew that right on my ass was the monstrosity. There was only one way to go in or out, and It had shut and locked that exit. I also based every move on the assumption that the monster was in here with me. Where else could it be? While I had not given the Puppets any benefit of the doubt when it came to brains or tactical planning, another thought struck me that the Puppet was guarding the exit, waiting.

There was only one way in or out. And I couldn’t stay in here forever. And that left only one direction to go.

Forward.

I put one hoof forward tentatively, then cringed when my wing reminded me it was still broken. Only the fear still clawing its icy fingers into my guts was enough to restrain me from crying out loud. Instead I bit down on one of my hooves, hard. I hobbled forward, trying to put some distance between me and the entrance. An entrance that was being guarded by a pale, monstrous, disfigured and mutilated pony with metal, weaponized wing grafts and an extreme blood-lust.

So yeah, nothing to worry about.

Although my hoof was starting to hurt like hell.

After relinquishing my grip on my forehoof, I once again began my trek deeper into the dark abyss of the prisons. I traveled as slow as I possibly could, keeping my head low to the ground and my ears perked for any sound. Any sound.

Have I mentioned how disturbing absolute silence was?

Silence, normal silence, was usually just nopony talking or making noises. But even then, silence wasn’t absolute. There was always something to fill the void, some sort of noise to fill the awkward gap. The low, wispy sound of breath, or the soft falls of hoofsteps. Even silence had its own sound: the silent ringing when all else was absent.

This was... none of those. There was nothing.

I was trotting on a metal floor, albeit as softly as I could, but there was nothing.

Pipes lined the cloud ceiling, dipping in and out of the cloud wall, dispersing and congealing in numerous groups. There was no ominous hiss present, neither the sound of rushing liquids nor the steam that inevitably ran through them.

There was nothing.

Not even the whispers of my paranoia were able to claw their way through the wall of silence to tear at my mind.

Nor could the beating of my heart of the rush of pumping blood make its way through my ears.

There was nothing.

The silence was absolute.

A quiescence of noise.

It was pure, unadulterated, sheer utter silence.

And it was unnerving me to no end.

The narrow hallway I was cautiously tiphoofing through opened up into a not-much-larger corridor, lined on all sides with small, narrow, claustrophobia-inducing rooms (prisons, I reminded myself). They were barred with iron that had rusted to the point where a simple gust of wind was all that was needed to blow them down. Although I imagined that any prisoners kept in these cells were also kept in no shape to match the power of a gust of wind themselves. It only occured to me now that the rust on the bars might not actually be rust...

And I think I’m going to be sick.

No! No throwing up. That... thing was still here, somewhere. I only had a hunch that the Puppet was guarding the entrance. What if I was wrong? Regardless of what I believed, the one fact I had was that I heard the gate open and then close. Which meant that it was in here. Where? I had no inclination. Perhaps I had been giving it too much credit in the metal aspect of the creature, I mean, it’s called a Puppet for a reason. Perhaps that’s all it is, just a...

Hold on...

No...

Fuck no!

If it really was a puppet, (if the Puppet was a puppet, my mind couldn’t help adding, in a shallow attempt at humor that caused me to wince inwardly), then that meant it was attached to strings. All puppets have puppet-masters. Which begged the question: if it truly was a puppet, then who the hell was pulling the strings? And if somepony else, or Luna-forbid something else, was the puppeteer pulling on the Puppets’ strings like they were marionettes, then it wasn’t the Puppets ability to think I should be worried about. It wasn’t their intellect I was up against. It was the Puppeteer’s. And that just made this whole game of cat-and-mouse substantially more horrifying.

And that was not something I needed.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and flashbacks of the Puppet roaming the Living Quarters slipped their way into my brain, warning me of the danger and certain death that was coming for me, cantering towards me on hooves of death and mutilation! I reflexively ran and coward myself in the shadows, foolishly allowing myself to fall under the impression that it couldn’t spot me.

But I needn’t have worried.

Alright, I admit. That was a very poor choice of words. Very poor choice, given where I was and my proximity to at least one known blood-hungry monster. I had every reason to worry, and to believe any movement not sanctioned by myself was the result of something trying to kill me. But after waiting, shivering in a corner for a couple of minutes, nothing revealed itself. Given my choice of hiding spot, should anything have come it surely would have taken notice of me, regardless of its stupidity. Or the intelligence of the puppeteer.

As I opened my eyes, the door to one of the previously locked cells caught my eye. When I first cantered into the prison block, I noted that every cell within my limited eyesight was closed. Locked, I presumed. But now, as I cowered in the corner, I saw that one of the barred doors was open. I forced myself to stand up, wincing horribly at the fire in my wing, and slowly made my way over to the cell. In the Silence, the door made no absolute sound. I pushed it back and forth experimentally a few times, then stopped abruptly when the thought struck me that just because I was deaf, didn’t mean the Puppet was. A cold chill washed through the underside of my skin, and I shivered involuntarily. I would give anything to out of this place. I felt like I had all the color drained out of me.

The cell was small, smaller than the Guard Quarters. There was one cot, stained with liquids and fluids that I had no wish to discover, and a bucket for the prisoners to shit in. Or piss, whichever was necessary. I cringed at the living conditions, but I assured myself by remembering what Glaze said, “The worst of the worst”. The worst of the worst. Like that made it right, said a small part of my head. The worst of the worst.

My body tensed and froze, sending a fresh wave of fire burning through my side and I collapsed. As soon as I stepped in the cell, somepony began to scream! So did I, then I shoved a hoof into my mouth and bit down hard enough to draw the taste of copper over my tongue. Tears rolled down my cheek.

“No! Noooo! Pease, No! Take me, take me instead! Please! PLEASE! Ahhh! No, PLEASE!” It was a... mare. She was screaming herself hoarse, crying to deaf ears to take her, no! Please, take me instead! Take me! She continued to cry, and scream, until her throat was too ripped to even make a whimper. But even then, she still cried. Take me... instead... please...

I could only stare at the emptiness of the cell. What could cause a mare to scream like that? It was... she was so tortured. But nopony was torturing her, no she instead was begging to be tortured instead! But who was being hurt? Who was it that caused a mare to act in such a way? What happened? What the fuck was going on?! And how the fuck do I fit in!

This deathtrap was a fucking prisoner factory that worked in secret, stealing criminals and dragging them here in the dark of the night... to what? Experiment on them? Was that what the Puppets were? Experiments? And, what about the previous guards! How did they figure into this equation? What happened to them! Why was this factory experimenting with bringing ponies back from the dead? Who the fuck sanctioned this horseshit! And... what happened here? What caused the Puppets to kill everypony? Everypony... but me...

Creak.

With a start, I whipped my head back and forth as I was certain I heard the grafted, metallic blades of the Puppets wings. I quick check told me that there was no Puppet in sight. But I did find the source of the noise. In the middle of the prison block, hanging from steel chains was a large sign. The words painted on it in a dull white explained to me why everypony was dead, why I was left.

I whispered the words to myself, horrified, "Nopony escapes the factory..."

It was because I wasn’t left.

I was last.