One Questing Soul Can Perform Actions Not Generally Considered 'Moral'
"And I'm here, tied up in your basement, surrounded by machinery, because...?"
Thunder crackled somewhere outside and above, making Rumble wince from his spot on the floor. He squinted in the bright fluorescent light, watching a certain purple alicorn rummage through stacks of papers on a table to his left.
"We'll get to that later, don't worry." Twilight Sparkle waved her hoof, then tapped her chin. "That is... if you survive." Rumble blinked, raised a brow, then sighed. He fiddled with his bindings, more out of boredom than in attempts to escape.
"So," the colt began again, dragging the syllable out. "Assuming I do survive," this said with immense sarcasm, "what's to stop me from, say, reporting all of... well... this, to the authorities? Unless you plan to keep me here forever?" The alicorn muttered something under her breath, only half-listening, but did deign to look back at him in her own due time.
"Oh, don't be silly!" She waved her hoof again. "If you do say anything about what will happen tonight, it's your word against mine! And which of us is the alicorn princess again? Hmmm?" Twilight trotted away from the table and Rumble's gaze followed. They stared at each other curiously as the colt questioned every single decision he'd made in life up to that moment.
Alas, thought he, Should've organized more schoolyard riots while I had the chance. Terrorizing Cheerilee had been one of his favorite pastimes; who better to bully than underpaid teachers?
While Twilight brought over a mesh of electronic nodes, wires, and a dumb-looking metal bowl, Rumble sat patiently on the floor, hooves neatly tucked. Resistance wasn't going to get him anywhere, not against an all-powerful alicorn princess of magic. Better to pretend to cooperate, earn trust, then make his move.
That's how it'd worked in Arabia, at least.
A door opened across the room and in walked Spike the dragon, Twilight's loyal assistant. Rumble's brow raised again as the biped picked his way through various machinery, health hazards, and OSHA code violations to stand next to his master.
"Why's he here?" Rumble's tone was almost petulant. Twilight blinked, but didn't pause in attaching the nodes to different sections of his fur.
"That's my assistant," she mumbled around a wire in her mouth as the assistant in question saluted improperly. "Why wouldn't he be?" But Rumble rolled his eyes.
"This basement is practically a minefield! It's no place for children." It was Spike's turn to blink and he did so with gusto.
"But--"
"No, I don't count," interrupted Rumble. "I'm here against my will. Besides," he rolled his eyes again, "I know my way around a minefield." Spike's scaly purple forehead crinkled and Rumble almost didn't roll his eyes again. 'A' for effort, as they say, and by 'they' he meant Cheerilee, since that was the grade he always got after she gave up hope. "Don't ask."
Silence as Twilight finished attaching the nodes and placed the glorified bucket on Rumble's head. She lifted him, still bound, and flopped his body into an oversized chair placed under a giant, ceiling-mounted disk. Why she didn't use levitation was anypony's guess.
"I need to be here to make sure she doesn't do anything crazy." Spike cheerfully explained, passing a remote of some sort to the princess. "Besides foalnapping you off the street, that is." Rumble screwed up his face in thought while Twilight gleefully pressed several buttons with a manic grin.
"She said I might not survive," he deadpanned. Spike shrugged as clamps secured the colt's legs. Most would think it overkill, considering he was already tied up with rope, but Rumble found the caution flattering.
"Worst case scenario, you die horribly and get brought back with a resurrection spell. You probably won't even remember it! You could say there are no..." Spike paused dramatically, "grave consequences! Eh? Eh?"
Rumble's deadpan shifted in disapproval. Spike clicked his tongue. "Jeez, tough crowd."
Twilight cleared her throat from a terminal some feet away and they both turned to glance her direction. Well, Spike turned. Rumble made an effort, but considering all his bindings, only so much could be done. At least the metal bucket felt better than his old M1 helmet. Count your blessings and all that.
"Testing begins now!"
And indeed, the giant metal disk above them began to glow and spin as Rumble braced himself. Spike pulled out a notebook from somewhere, coughed once, and began interrogating him.
"A trolley is running late to one of its stations. You can pull the lever to increase its speed so it arrives on time, but that will cause it to expend more fuel and future passengers will have to wait longer. Who do you inconvenience?"
Rumble's jaw dropped.
"What... the hay kind of trolley problem is that?" Spike's lips pursed. "Trolleys don't even carry their own fuel! They're powered by cables!"
A wry grin overtook the drake's mouth.
"I guess you could say they're... well-grounded! Eh? Eh?"
This time, both ponies deadpanned and shared a look while Spike glanced between them, searching for validation that could not be less present.
"Watt are you even trying to do here?" Rumble sighed, thankfully ignorant of his own sin. Twilight reluctantly powered off the disk and stepped down, defeated.
"It's a morality test. I'm trying to quantify what makes certain decisions 'morally superior'." She released the clamps holding Rumble's legs and levitated him off the chair, setting to work on the knots.
"I get that, but there are better test subjects to use than an ex-child soldier who tortures schoolteachers for fun." Twilight sighed again, her defeat present.
"I know, I saw your readings. You're probably the last pony I should be testing."
"I guess you could say--" But Spike's mouth was forced shut by the same rope that'd held Rumble hostage before he could get anything else out. In that moment, both ponies looked at each other and nodded in solidarity.
They both knew the moral thing to do.
Author's Note
This is... not my best work. I this it's the first story I've written that I actively dislike. Who knew comedy could be so hard?
