To explain the state of the lands once known as Equestria, one need not examine the splintered highways and neglected railways, all dotted with abandoned pump stations and condemned train depots. Buildings can be leveled. Cities can even be stacked on top of each other if that’s what it takes. History can be rewritten one steel girder and one microprocessor after another. For one lonesome girl in the rain, the daunting cityscapes separated by barren or overgrown no-fly zones had been easier to describe than the magical idealism that seemed at this point to be a near forgotten dream.

It had been a different life before the war. She even had a different name then.

Raised well, prim and proper, Viola had always exuded a charisma and grace quite out of place for someone standing beside an old Hella-POS with oversized Kevlar lined run-flats and an armored body that made the already notoriously cheap production sedan even more bulky and cumbersome in traffic. The force inducted engine could barely keep itself together when the pedal was smashed down, and the subpar ballistic plating in the doors and old gen reactive glass could hold up to most small arms fire, but one fully charged blast from a tech shotgun had been enough to blow several holes through the lid of the truck. The superheated hexagon of molten spikes that somehow all missed the driveshaft hadn’t spared the suspension. The car sat tilted forward and to the right, much like how Vila wore her dripping lid. On the fifth floor, she was the new kid, and her ride proved it.

Executor Third Class Viola Komurasaki flicked her cigarette across the abandoned road running between several equally abandoned warehouses. The rain poured down onto her faded dark brown leather wide-brimmed hat, and during her last smokey exhale with her head tilted downward, cold water dribbled off the brim down her blurry vision. A black felt sash was tied around the crown with a lacy ribbon that was secretly stitched on. Her waterproof dark grey plastic trench coat, perpetually covered in droplets of water, was secured around her very slender waist with a brown leather belt and a simple black chrome buckle creating a thin diamond bordering a blue jewel. The coat fell to her ankles, hiding everything except the bottoms of her black leather ankle high heel boots with huge thick magno-tread soles and steel toes that required heated socks in the cold elevation of her once teaming city. The socks made her feet sweat, but she was more than happy accepting this minor discomfort with the relief the heat brought to her ankles full of rods, pin, screws, and a fuck ton of servos and encoder motors. The pins and needles sensation of sore and cold feet caused uncomfortable zapping sensations up her legs that her new pain editor was slowly starting to recognize and compensate for.

The rain, unable to soak through her years of experience blending fashion sense into functional outerwear, bounced off both her and her unmarked cruiser in a torrent of heavy droplets, but once she finished her cigarette, she bent down to slide back behind the wheel of her coffin.

Her vision was still blurry, not from the rain but due to an ever-increasing visual static that, on a good day, meant she was just due for a shot of paint thinner and a smoke to chase it down, and that had been the last smoke in her pack. Her faintly glowing eyes both flickered and pulsed as exhaustion overcame adrenalin. The brightness of the information running down and across her field of view caused erratic and rapid pupil dilation that pulsed with an erratic flicker. She did warn me that might happen. Viola thought with a defeated sigh while gripping the steering wheel hard with both hands.

As she reached over and closed the door, the gauge cluster immediately lit up before several different boxy and static filled displays flickered to life. One showed the status of the vehicle’s combat systems while another displayed a live feed of all the comm traffic between every unit in her district like an incomprehensible live chat feed filled with abandoned bots pre-Krash. Viola always imagined them to be like bees in a hive buried in an earthquake forever spamming dead links to each other.

There was one system check on display in a small vacuum florescent screen within her center console that she chose to ignore, most of the time at least. It had been flashing at her every day for several days, and although protocol dictated this issue be addressed every twelve hours, this was an issue she knew the force didn’t give a fuck about unless field performance was affected. Sanity meant nothing against a group of psycho freaks with matching haircuts carrying the bloody spines of rich kids ambushed in their limos. It hadn’t been a hard case to solve, so having a day off was a gift horse Viola knew damn well not to look in the mouth. Such a shame her current case wasn’t so cut and dry.

With no partner and on a case by herself, Viola had forgotten to both eat and sleep. This was a common habit for an overworked investigator functioning on several doses of her specially tailored cocktail of combat stims, but Viola had pushed herself closer and closer to a dead lead, determined to experience that intense elation from closing out a case which had become an addicting yet losing battle. After days of scouting and several crime scenes later, she had hit the very familiar wall that Canterlot's many dark alleys and flashing colorful streets were infamous for.

This case has no pulse left, and this city is becoming an ice box. The perpetual acidic rain blanketing the city helped drown out the colorful spectacle of screams, but most forensic evidence would be long washed away and spoiled. The most she had to work with were two reloaded shell casings and part of someone’s faceplate that showed exactly which side of the nose those two rounds hit. Whatever blood that clung to the faceplate had washed off after days of getting pummeled by unrelenting rain, revealing no serial number. So far, her case report sounded a lot like a screamsheet filler piece.

The flickering digital readout in the center console of her coffin went from flashing a dull yellow to an unsettling red, and Viola realized her fists were clenched tight. The broken whirring and winding noises coming from her left hand abruptly stopped as she exhaled slowly. Her eyes closed, and she placed her dripping hat on the passenger seat as she inhaled sharply before exhaling as slowly as she could through her nose. The weary Executor could feel her anger melt into a pool of despondent acceptance as the stiff and sore fingers of her right hand began to shake while her electromechanical left hand laid limply against the door. A crushed empty pack of Coffin Nail Blacks Viola had been gripping fell to the wet floormats.

“Quite the terrible tell, darling,” she said through a very frustrated sigh to herself before smacking the flashing display, “Lost your nerve, have you?” The red light stopped flashing as a small panel opened up under the glove compartment. She cleared her throat to break up the dry mucus caused by her cheap and strong cigarette. Since getting installed with bionic lungs, she had taken up the habit to such a frequency that only the most cost effective brand could keep her lips and fingers busy all day.

All the light static and radio calls punctuated by small beeps and chirps of hardware feedback coming from inside the overstuffed coffin of a car were all put on pause as a very familiar and comforting hissing filled the cabin of the vehicle.

“Ohhhhhhhh...heavens... thank you.” Viola’s tired cyberoptics brightened up and began to glow for a few seconds as the specially tailored combat stim she just jabbed into her one remaining organic arm took immediate effect. A carefully proportioned combination of selected boosters, Viola’s whole body began to feel immensely lighter. Her shaking right hand settled while her dead left hand came back to life with a soft electrical whirring noise. Her last hypo-stim seemed to balance out her head enough to get her temperamental cybernetic hand to do more than randomly twitch while her fingers began extending one at a time slowly in a smooth wave.

Her face turned blank, and whatever real essence of life in her artificial eyes vanished as the steady nerve of euphoria and calm eased her tired mind. The Prime and Surge rushing through her body focused her mind by eliminating strenuous emotion while radiating a burst of warming artificial endorphins that eliminated the weight of her heavy eyelids and the aching pain in her far too empty stomach.

Prime alone would be enough to do the job, but the citizens of Canterlot had complained heavily over the cold and rational demeanor of so many police officers who callously ignored any need for emotional support during extremely traumatic events. For explosive experts during the war however, this drug had proven to be literal lifesaving pills. Nothing like total detachment from all emotion to keep a steady hand without losing one’s mind to the existential threat of total vaporization from just the slightest mistake in uploaded sequence. Surge alone would do the job, but artificial endorphins providing a rush of energy while ignoring the need for sleep and food created highly psychopathic unpredictability in soldiers equipped often with smart weapons, cyberdecks, and enough mass-produced standard issue chrome for an army that priorities munitions over food. The drug was perfect for the fodder of hopeful heroes eagerly lining the sidewalks outside recruiting offices during the first several years of the Great Crystal War.

It took many years later and many forgotten tragedies for pharmaceutical companies to recognize the incredible versatility of what someone high on both drugs could be capable of. Zero fear with all the focus. Zero exhaustion with euphoric energy and without the shakes. Good thing then the force paid for it. It had been since her days in the army that she had health coverage of any kind.

Because that had been her last dose, Viola had little choice but to return to her precinct empty-handed and half dead. Her lack of worry and amused demeanor from the drug cocktail made her whole bleak and lackluster world around her appear far more vibrant. Suddenly, the rain had a glistening sparkle and the massive puddles outlining the huge potholes on the ground around her car seemed to reflect more of the blanketed cloudy dark grey sky through the rippling of each droplet.

Much like her very welcomed drug induced moment, her city had been beautiful once...

Before the towering skyscrapers overlapping each other like trees fighting for sunlight had blanketed the streets with perpetual darkness, Canterlot had once been the center of science and social stability dressed up in white marble halls with flowing tapestries in every tall window. These days though, Canterlot seemed to be just one more oversized factory away from tumbling off the cliff. Viola’s glowing blue eyes followed a holographic advertisement slowly scrolling upwards into the sky off in the distance that disappeared into the roofline of her windshield. Having gone so long without anything to keep her mind and body going other than combat stims for food and painfully cheap and abrasive whiskey she always kept at least half full in her flash, Viola pressed a button beside the steering wheel.

If I must... she thought to herself as a low rumble filled the cheap rattling interior of car, and Viola turned the heat on full blast. The headlights and floodlights came on with a slow burn before she peeled out. The car’s tires spit fountains of rain water away from her glowing red taillights as the engine’s six weak cylinders cried out in agony as forced induction and highly volatile fuel pushed the tensile limits of the engine block. The amount of steam and blue smoke coughing out of the tailpipe was left behind as her Hella-POS launched forward. She had maybe a couple hours of already waning euphoria and sociopathic focus to make it back to the station before her body would give out before her doped up brain could. Between crashing into a noodle cart within the center of town or crashing out on one of the little bunks at the station, Viola knew she would be crashing somehow soon. Three days and six doses in, she was out of juice.

This case be damned, darling. You need your beauty sleep. Besides, what’s one more flatlined corpse. That was her hunch, at least. Most dead corpos found on the streets were important enough to be executed but not important enough to disappear, and CPD only had so many resources to give a shit. “Must’ve been a hell of an early retirement party.” She said aloud as the windshield wipers jerked side to side against the force of the rain. Her prime suspect had been an intern who she thought was looking for his cutthroat climb up on the corporate ladder, but after an intense search and an ever more intense line of questioning, all she had left was a decomposing mid-level meat-bag filled with designer cyberware and a whiny junior associate sweating and in tears. Each day on the case, Viola had felt overdressed every second while on the clock.

The closer she got to the base of the mountain holding up the impossibly huge City of Canterlot, the more and more a sense of foreboding threatened to enter a crack in her drug induced psychological armor. She flashed her hidden blue and red LED lights on as she entered the tunnel leading up to a highway running alongside the train tracks circling the mountain. Her steel toed leather heels were about to break the gas pedal had there been any power left to put to the rear wheels. Her car swung wide with intense body roll as she whipped out of the tunnel and out onto a very well maintained highway between the tunnel entrance near the base of the cliff leading to the impossible city on the mountain.

Her speed varied yet never slowed as she swerved between several other cars traveling upwards through the cavernous road. She approached the bright exit of the tunnel to be greeted by the disorienting array of rain soaked neon and concrete reflecting every color imaginable. Projections and holograms of nude women or company mascots with attitude danced across the sides of huge business complexes while scores of people trudged along the wet and eroded sidewalks.

Canterlot, home to hundreds of thousands hanging off the side of an enormous cliff spotted with skyscrapers, warehouses, and one abandoned opera house that hadn’t quite given up its ghostly spirit. It was where she had grown up, yet the city felt foreign to her. The city on the hill.

[o0o]

The term Executor has an intriguingly vague yet precise definition. To someone like Ajax whose experience in life hinged on the urgent defining of orders that required decisive decision making in fucked up situations, her new job title made zero sense to her.

Executor(n): a person who produces something or puts something into effect.

Where Ajax came from, a word like this sound like yet another corpo-talk piece of bullshit. “What ‘n the flyin’ fuck’s a...Execka-what-now?” She had asked aloud at the small breakfast table inside her old family homestead back when she still owned the land under her feet. It wasn’t so much a question directed at anyone in particular, and since the only person in the room at the time had been her little sister, Ajax hadn’t expected an answer as she read a new email message dancing across her field of view.

The answer she received from her sister did take her by surprise through the uncomfortable reflective honesty that children’s words sometimes can hold up to our noses. “This war’s makin’ ya old, sis. Ain’t never heard ya swear so early ‘n the mornin’.” Ajax was nearly a generation older than her little sister which spoke to the hearty physical constitution of her family they had been known for. Maybe then she would’ve held fast for a few more years to the moral traditions of her family and not be swearing every five fucking seconds. If only she still had her old granny around to be the sour grumpy apple she needed.

“You...shut yer whinin’ there, missy! ‘Er I’ll roll my saggy saddle down these steps ‘n put the fear of Celestia in ya!”

Such a vivid threat had been unsettling. She’d been home for less than a couple weeks, and Ajax was already oozing the same job and fear related stress as she always carried with her while still enlisted. The constant looming dread of attack by so many subjugated automatons that looked almost exactly like her had changed her that fateful day as a young private on her first patrol. She thought she knew horror that day until she’d ripped one of those helmets off the head of a very frightened and confused young man who’d spent who knew how long having his mind overwritten. The terror in his eyes as the pulsating ocular helmet flashed at her while she stared back into the man’s building dread had stuck with Ajax for nearly twenty long years. She still remembered his face. But fuck if I know what ma used tah look like...

It had been easier with her brothers and sisters in uniform when life had been simpler, and victory was morally assured. Now much older, her once adorable freckles now disrupted by a large scar and several clear wrinkles around her eyes, she had to take all that same bullshit on by herself these days.

A little girl, had to have been in her early teens, had given her the hideous scar down her right eye that required a replacement. As a junior detective eager to make a difference in her small-town community that had taken her in during quite a low point, she had tracked down a stolen train car reported missing by the Kiso Corporation. She knew who owned it, who stole it, and where to find it. The only thing she never could figure out was what the cargo might be. It’s value could be partially judged by the measures of secrecy involved in its transport, so with no armed escort and the low cost freight option, Ajax knew it couldn’t be much. What she found cowering in the corner of the hot and stuffy train car had enough energy for one last defiant act of misguided self defense that claimed her right eye.

The face of the young man under mind control she was forced to put down and the face of the small girl chained to a metal loop bolted into the train car floor had both been the same. Their hair color, eye color, and twenty years apart, nothing about their appearances stuck with her. It was their expressions of utter terrified confusion that permanently soured her own.

Executor Third Class A. Jax fanned herself with her sweat stained brick-top cowboy hat barely holding its shape as the dry-rotting cracks of the leather made it appear almost scaly. It took several tries to conjure the spit necessary to rinse her mouth of the lingering dust coating her teeth. Sweat poured from her face as she put everything she had into the wrench she was holding. A loud metallic clank followed by a hard but dull thud into sand signaled to Ajax her victory.

“Well hot fuckin’ damn!” Ajax pushed herself off the hot radiator of her Hella-POS caked in dust all the way up to the side mirrors. The heat of the engine and the heat of the sun combined to make her ears ring with dull pounding while her tongue hung from her mouth. She wiped her drenched face with the back of her bare left forearm, and always her left forearm. The surface temperature of her entire right arm could be scalding if not covered properly, but gen-one cyberware was more form over function back then. Sure, she could get a new model that could be grafted with Realskin to look and feel real instead of visible metal actuators and rotational joints separated by painted steel, but Appaloosa wasn’t renowned for their local hack-n-slash. The one guy in town willing to work on old tech like Ajax’s nearly twenty year old Royaltech arm had been a service technician for combat drones back in the day when the war was the only topic of conversation at the disappearing dinner tables of Equestria’s remaining civilians. Interchangeable designs between combat drones and the more organic personnel missing a limb or two from whatever easily forgotten skirmish had introduced mass produced cyberware to the average consumer that was exceptionally reliable yet bland. Knowledge of these old platforms had begun fading into history as cybernetic advancements reached far beyond what Ajax could have dreamed of as a young soldier already disillusioned to the struggle between uncertain good and ambiguous evil.

Well ain’t that...somethin’! She could hear herself shout as a twenty something gonk in uniform completely oblivious to the numbing psychological affects of her new chrome. Ajax placed her hat back on before inspecting the dirty and janky moving metal fingers of her right hand. The heat and dust made her already outdated chrome even more finicky than most models of cybernetic limb replacements. She opened and closed her hand several times to loosen her stiff digits. Twenty years of soldiering, manual labor, and police work had made the creaking joints of her arm and fingers audible over the hum of the heat coming off the road, but despite zero maintenance and software updates, the damn thing still worked. Barely sometimes, but still.

In a grumbling and annoyed low growl, she said, “Now stop pukin’ yer coolant ‘n let’s get a fuckin’ move on, ya old mule.” Ajax unrolled her flannel she had been using as an oven mitt to keep from burning her very toned and defined abdominals against the overheating radiator. After wiping her face and arms thoroughly, she tossed the shirt into the open driver’s window.

Much like her outdated tech, Ajax dressed the part. Instead of the typical leather or tact-weave pants that most desert nomad Appaloosians preferred after the war, Ajax wore the form fitting faded blue jeans and flannels her grandmother had stashed away before she passed. With the sleeves rolled up, the strange patterned shirts provided a breathable yet warm layer against the dusty heat of the day and eerie quiet cold of the night out in the desert just north of the badlands..

She wore two belts; one a faded tan leather strap that needlessly secured her jeans to her firm yet slender waist. The second belt, made of thick and wide faded olive green webbing, held many riveted loops around her ample hips and behind, most of which had a cartridge visibly inserted. On the right side of the belt, hanging from a holster, was her pride and joy; a forty-two magnum Overture. The rubberized grip had disintegrated and rotted off, but the heat treated blue body and cylinder of the great weapon she kept in pristine condition reflected the sunlight at every angle. If not for her six plus feet height and well proportioned yet toned physique, the twelve inch barrel pointing down to the ground from out of her holster would’ve looked comical. Years ago, her granny had dubbed the weapon ‘Peacemaker’. That had been one of the few things they ever agreed on.

Ajax knelt down and reached under the car to snag the thermal dampener before throwing it into the endless sea of hot sand and withering weeds. Limiting the air in the engine should mean excessive fuel which should bring combustion temperature down, which THEN should hopefully stop the overheating issue. She'd spent enough time patching up her pack mule to know how to keep her going, but as she pulled up to an old fuel station south of Old Ponyville, she was glad to give her old steed a final dismount. Now that she had traveled far enough north to utilize the fringes of public transportation, she could catch the bus into town from here, then a train into Canterlot.

“Looks like the end of the road for the two of us, old girl. Time we be goin’ our separate ways,” Ajax shut the key off and let the knocking engine retire. She punched a code into the monitor display to retrieve a small black metal box with her stims from the center console before plugging her LAN cable from the inside of her left wrist into the steering wheel. “Can’t never say ya didn’t give it yer best, sugah.”

[uploading encryption...]
[...network paralysis/success]
[purging...purge/success]

Ajax watched green text scroll across her field of view followed by a loading bar. As the bar filled, the digital overlay message flickered before vanishing. She yanked the cable out and let it wind back up into her wrist before stepping out onto badly cracked and sunbaked concrete, not bothering to close the door. She had followed procedure when abandoning an issued vehicle, but since this transfer was final, she had little reason in making an effort to return her car to Appaloosa's dwindling Sheriff’s Department. What decency she had left went into locking all subsystems on the vehicle so no scavs could pilfer its data.

“You fergettin’ somethin’ there, gunslinger?” asked an old man in a jumpsuit standing next to a wrecked truck inside a single bay garage, “Ain’t never seen no badge leave their ride ‘n a heapin’ pile with the door open ‘fore.” He appeared to be curious, but abandoned cars were not a new occurrence here, and Ajax knew this guy chopped more cars that he fixed.

“Ain’t stolen, if that’s what yer askin’,” Ajax replied as she placed her ancient faded bricktop on her head and smacked her dry lips. Her ample behind made keeping her badge in her back pocket impossible, so she kept it around her neck. Technically, she wasn’t a sworn Appaloosa County Sherrif's deputy anymore, but her custom Overture on her hip and old military bionic right arm backed up the authority of a defunct badge she hadn’t bothered to turn in. “When's the next bus into town, partner?”

With a great gargled clearing of his guttural throat, the man replied, “Won’t be fer...oh I’m guessin’ some couple hours now.” He scratched his greasy black and grey speckled beard with his gnarled fingers before expelling a ball of mucus onto the ground that grotesquely retained it’s shape. “Might wanna grab some choo-choo ‘n hide from that there sun inside while ya wait. Ya done with that there ride a yers?”

“Have a peck ‘fore the buzzards start circlin’, pops. She ain’t got none left ‘n her ‘n ain’t no one gonna come lookin’ fer her.” Ajax reached into the breast pocket of her flannel shirt for a cigarette. She lit the nail using an old metal lighter embossed with her first unit’s insignia nearly faded away from twenty years of use. The smoke dried out her mouth even more than she could already tolerate, but it had been that kind of day, and she had little desire to continue this conversation.

“Much obliged, stranger.” Said the old man dismissively as he turned his attention back to the broken rig in his bay.

Ajax flicked her half finished cigarette in the opposite direction of the door to the gas station before stepping inside. She tipped her hat at the man before feeling her whole body tense up slightly from the cold air conditioning inside. Excitable chirping music she didn’t recognize played on stereo in one corner of the small store while the other corner was occupied by a young girl behind a counter vacantly watching the TV. Ajax was reminded of her little sister for the second time that day before looking up to see a news report regarding an exploded car near some night club in a new urban development within the new Ponyville district of Canterlot’s expanding city limits.

For a long moment, as she too stared at the TV, she forgot all about her thirst and began to wonder why she was being transferred north when nothing about this news report looked familiar to her. Must be mighty hard knowin’ which one’s yer house ‘n the middle of the night ‘n a neighborhood like that. She considered the idea of living in a typical burb-clave almost radically impossible for her. Suburban track homes in a gated community outside the city apparently wasn’t safe to live in either according to the gang attack being reported right before her eyes.

Ajax again began to wonder about the mystery of her transfer. With each passing day since receiving the notice, she had grown ever increasingly mistrustful of Royaltech reactivating her service number. Some ex-soldier turned wild west lawman, almost becoming unemployed after the collapse of her home town, was given retroactive pay and a strange job title before being told she was moving several hundred miles north. The war was over, but without any warning, she was back under Royaltech’s employment again, and this time, she had no idea what the fuck for.

The girl behind the counter, couldn’t be no older than twelve, stopped staring at the TV to lazily gaze at whoever just walked in now that the exciting part of the report seemed to be over. “Hey, deputy. Do ya think all them houses all look the same cause they got them self drivin’ cars there ‘n the city?”

The girl’s voice was raspy from hot dusty air, but it was her illiterate orphan lack of education that made Ajax take pause in a bit of surprise with a smile before finally replying. “That’re it was cheaper that way. Big corps buy ‘n bulk, kid. Pack a Coffin Nail Blacks, if ya would.”

[o0o]

The basement garage Viola pulled into brought relief from the noise of the rain pounding against the subpar armor plating of her vehicle. The higher the elevation in this wretched city, the bigger and colder the rain droplets.

In a sea of cars spanning several models all painted nearly the exact same, Viola stepped out and removed her trench coat in a practiced efficient flurry. With no intention of stepping outside again for as long as possible, there’d be no need for the acidic rain beaten plastic. The coat was tossed onto the backseat before she closed the door to make her way to the parking garage elevators. The clacking of her heeled boots against the concrete and the soft metallic clattering of her two snub-nose thirty-eights strapped to her nearly bare cream white thighs were saved from any chaffing by thin silky smooth black pantyhose. Her professional yet in no way modest black skirt and frilly white blouse with a navy blue bow-tie had the subtle chique and playful promiscuity of a high class corpo doll. Simple, yet effective; a perfect blend of fashion and function that expertly accentuated her figure while retaining full use of her implants and weapons. With her badge secured to her skirt waistline choking her incredibly thin 19.5 inch waist, Viola embodied the nightshade she kept as a houseplant.

The lines and sharp angles across her skin from head to toe hinted at the exorbitant amount of chrome and resources used to create her. Synaptic accelerators and reflex boosters allowed her to perfect the art of the slow runway stride while reloading both of her M-76e compact tech pistol at the same time, and her newfound strength and agility via her reinforced tendons, muscle fibers, and artificial joints made every accentuated sway of her hips perfectly rhythmic with each step. She was dialed in.

The only compromise of her outfit was the excessive skin that revealed her thighs and cleavage she took great pride in. Her beauty was natural yet nearly lost to the ravages of time and war, but a generous healthcare plan with biolsculpting coverage had thoroughly resurrected her stunning presence. As she rode the elevator up from the lower levels of the parking garage to the sixth floor, she used the opaque brushed metal walls of the elevator to check herself for an out of place strand of hair. Her tail, cascading and looping down into a violet curl that nearly reached her ankles, exited the back of her skirt right below the small of her back. Each half step and half turn she took bounced her tail and behind side to side as she examined herself before fixing her eyes on the door.

“Fifth Floor, Investigations.” The elevator announced her arrival before the doors opened into complete chaos.

Several uniformed personal walked down one side of the hallway she now found herself in, right passed her, then into a small conference room door. The group of five were nearly shouting over each other before the conference room door slammed shut. Ancient and broken metal blinds folded over each other as soon as everyone was seated. An older man with graying hair and a box full of bagged and tagged vacuum sealed plastic evidence files nearly knocked her over as he powerwalked down the hallway in the opposite direction. The noise of people frantically talking, discussing, shouting, and even laughing could be heard from every direction as Viola took a left down the hall passed two offices that always had the blinds closed.

The general sense of chaotic confusion to the hustle and bustle of the poorly laid out floor plan was compounded by dimly lit warm lighting that bathed everything in a brownish grey that turned the constant weight of the cigarette smoke in the air into a light fog. The investigations floor of CPD’s headquarters now called home by several squads of what the old heads used to call ‘Detectives’ served as both operational and logistical command for all investigative services within Canterlot. Before the rampant increase in complexity of cases and the need for specialized capabilities within the department, the investigations floor had been home to just a handful of detectives that easily covered the small population of Equestria’s once crown gem. Now, with an expanded cliff five miles wide and city limits expanding both upwards and downwards, the investigations floor was now packed with several various squads all with their own specialties, some tangible in realspace, some far more cyberphysical.

Some classes of investigators, like the squad Viola had been assigned to, are far more experimental than others.

Offices were turned into bunk rooms as all kinds of personal found sleep whenever they could, and the hallways were lined with vending machines selling everything from soda cans to corndogs to cigarettes. Hungry, thirsty, hungover, or horny, cigarettes and synthsnacks to coffee and prophylactics, vending machines in this city had it all. The CPD's regulations against unprotected sex during off duty hours within police department facilities had made sure there’d always be an ample yet limited variety of condoms available.

Viola mused to herself with a listless smile as she reminisced on the several years she spent on this floor as a netrunner for Major Crimes. There’d been a time or two when she’d acted on the whim of a crush in one of the bunk rooms over the years. She’d seen every discolored floor tile get polished by the rattling floor buffers used by the custodians in the early morning hours. She'd seen every single bulb getting replaced more times than she could count after groggily pacing the hallway after rolling out of one of the bunks. The rolling brown-outs in the city would send voltage spikes through the old building’s dilapidated electrical system, and the old incandescent bulbs never could handle the unregulated spikes. They were just that cheap to replace.

Well, hello there~ My my my, that’s new. Viola watched curiously while slowing her steps as she approached the most out of place person she’d ever seen.

Standing nearly a foot taller than her and easily double her size, Viola eyed the strange figure up and down. It had been almost a lifetime ago since she’d seen anyone wear old tattered blue jeans and flannel shirts. The tattered cowboy hat and boots she wore appeared to be made of real faded leather, and Viola respected that immensely. The stranger’s right arm was gone completely, replaced by a model she hadn’t seen since her time as a logistics specialist in a uniform factory during the war. She had loathed her time there surrounded by the dingy assembly lines and half broken soldiers who’d been reclassed after suffering too severe injuries to be sent back to their old units. They resented her for outranking them, and she resented them for their jaded inattention. She remembered their cybernetic legs or arms had even been recycled from old combat drones, and the bitterness in their simple hollow replacement optical sensors filling their damaged skulls had given her nightmares a long time ago.

It had been a few years since Viola had her eyes replaced by a much higher quality set that made her late afternoon neon blue irises glow, and since then, she’s never had to worry about a tear smearing her eyeliner. The tear duct design of her Op-Tech mk.3 replacement cyberoptics had been completely retooled from the previous model.

Quite the striking figure you have, you exquisite giant. Her vision, aided by her optics, zoomed in on the silhouette created by the outline of the stranger’s superb curvature accentuated by her sheer size and toned physique. Voluptuous yet vicious, busty yet brutish. It was obvious she was a nomad or spent some time in the desert. Her skin had that darker touch of the sun so rarely ever seen in the city, and like most desert nomads, she kept her tail shaved. Although Viola took great pride in her own tail, she had no issue with such an unobstructed view of such a uniquely beautiful individual’s powerful behind.

The figure reminded Viola of a fling during her army days that felt so distant in her past that she didn’t trust her memory. Was it her? Now? Of all places? If it really was her, then maybe she could start trusting her memory more. Such inspiration was few and far between these days, and Viola brought a hand to her mouth to feel a smile forming. It felt good to smile like that. She felt a sense of raw excitement and desire she almost confused with hunger.

She slowly approached a vending machine a few feet away and waved her hand over the display on the right side. Payment was received instantly in that short moment as her blue eyes flickered for the split second it took for the touch-less transaction to take place.

[《B5_7.50》 transfer_success]

She selected the darkest and blackest coffee flavored can available. The cold liquid, bitter yet refreshing, gave a soft push upwards to the fading high of her combat stims now nearly gone from her system. She had initially planned on crashing out either at her desk or one of the bunk rooms, but the poorly concealed frustration in the tall woman’s face made Viola want to bite that lower lip of hers if this dusty marble statue kept pouting like that.

“Having trouble there, darling?” she asked with a carefully poured mixture of flirtatious sarcasm she had learned over many years dealing with sometimes extremely guarded suspects desperate for the slightest reassurance. She waved her hand over the right side of the machine next to her as the stranger stopped tapping on the display to turn and look down at her. “You picked the oldest vending machine in the entire building. It can be a bit temperamental.”

“Much obliged, lil’ lady. Damn thing’s got me twisted like a pretzel dipped ‘n salt, ‘n I ain’t got nothin’ tah wash it down with.” The stranger seemed just as exhausted as Viola felt, and the adorably descriptive complaining that amused her even seemed to tax the tall woman’s remaining mental strength.

As soon as the long awaited can of soda clunked into the bottom tray, the ruggedly gorgeous giant nearly ripped the tab clean off before chugging it as fast as possible. Her throat flexed several times as massive gulps were sucked down before the can was crushed in her fingers. “Whew-wee...feels like I can talk now without a cat clawin’ outta my neck. My thanks to ya, miss.” She followed this off with a loud cough into her elbow.

Viola felt both disappointment and sympathy as her gaze moved away from the weathered allure of her new acquaintance’s face to her full metal right arm. It reminded her of a few try-hard commercials during the later years of the war meant to inspire the remaining youth into imagining themselves as hard-core cybersoldiers. It had also been one of the last models she saw on a regular basis attached to those broken soldiers stuck in that horrid army clothing factory.

Viola's lustful curiosity dissipated as her gaze tracked the length of the stranger’s arm. Her lips parted slightly as she smiled. Maybe it is you...but you obviously don’t remember little old me. Time has not been kind to you...but you’ve still aged gracefully. “You’re very welcome, Miss...?” She drew out the one word question as she held out her right hand, and when the stranger squeezed her warm hand with those cold mechanical fingers, all doubt in her mind was gone.

“Ajax. Mighty pleased to meet ya. Here I thought I'd be the only one lookin’ outta place.” Ajax could see something in the porcelain white figure that reminded her of a very fun alcohol fueled evening less than a year after returning to her old family home in Old Ponyville right before the war’s end. “That’s quite the get-up ya got on there, uh...”

“Executor Third Class Viola Komurasaki. The pleasure is all mine,” the porcelain doll retracted her hand before taking a long sip of her cold can of coffee. “If you’re referring to my choice in wardrobe, then I suppose I do have a tad bit more wardrobe choice than most of my colleagues.”

A charming smile broke out across Ajax’s sun spotted freckled face. She felt relaxed enough to lean against the vending machine that had fought her for nearly five minutes earlier. “Well ain’t we just two shells ‘n a shotgun. I’m also uh... Executor Third Class myself. Makin’ my transfer now soon as I figure out who tah talk to ‘n have me a smoke. Speakin’ a which. Ya’ll don’t happen tah-”

Viola pulled out her pack of smokes out from behind the lace ribbon of her fedora. She removed one for herself while holding the pack up for her new co-worker. This little visual distraction worked well at eliciting a reaction in the interrogation room, and Viola had a strong suspicion she had just met her new partner. Let’s not show our hand just yet. “If you’re worried about smoking indoors, I assure you that this isn’t the army. Do as you please, darling. Need a light?”

“Shucks. Don’t mind if I do.” Ajax bent down and inhaled to light the cigarette before taking a long slow drag. The nicotine and caffeine infused papers sizzled before she exhaled towards the ceiling. “Seems like any problem I got ya’ll got an answer somewhere there on yer person, sugah. Mighty glad someone knows her way ‘round this mad house.” She watched the small lacy clothed woman giggle softly back at her. A moment of déjà vu flashed by as Ajax intently observed the confident and radiantly beautiful woman light her own cigarette on the end of a slender black tube. The subdued flirtatiousness and commanding confidence captivating of her new acquaintance definitely pulled Ajax out of the general chaos and confusion of the rundown police station and into warm giddy curiosity as she could see the reflection of her own glowing green eyes across the glossy surface of Viola’s full lips.

“I wouldn’t go that far, my dear. Perhaps you’re a mindless drone who’s needs can be easily met with what I keep tucked away within reach.” Viola’s words dripped with flirtatious sarcasm as she stepped just a tad bit closer so that each word she spoke exhaled smoke across her own face. “You may not need much, but I certainly do~”

“Says the gal no bigger than a ration bar.” Ajax retorted with a slow chuckle as she placed an arm against the vending machine to step closer to Viola’s increasingly red face. “Yer the one who looks hungry, sugah~”

[o0o]

The torrential rain beat down on the top of the old brownstone building home to Canterlot PD. Several different precincts had been erected within a couple surrounding districts lit up by holography and neon lighting wrapping around boring metal structures manipulated into overused abstract shapes, but only one building felt home to the badges who worked those surrounding rain drenched streets. All personal who punched the clock there day after day, night after night, felt immense pride in their workplace community, and as the city expanded, the old place had become headquarters to an overstretched and outmatched police force trying desperately to keep up with every foreign smart-gun software hack each time their C-Swat units were deployed.

The first two floors tucked underground within massive basements were the size of gymnasiums designed to house a motorpool and impound lot all on one floor with a massive evidence lockup and cold storage on the floor below. It’s the third basement level that Ajax and Viola found themselves riding the elevator down to after they had made a quick detour. Ajax had diligently helped Viola find her missing sunglasses somehow lost in her car, an important necessity in the perpetual rain of nuclear fallout. Although they never did find the glasses, they did get reacquainted with each other.

They had been in their mid twenties the last they had seen each other so many years ago in a Ponyville not yet under the growing shadow of Canterlot's city limits nor divided into the ‘Old’ versus the ‘New’ districts. Rarity had been part of a design team working on a new aramid weave blend bodysuit for use by non-conventional assets of which Applejack had been selected for after earning exceptionally high physical and psychological scores during special warfare preparatory school. Their brief few weeks together had lingered in each of their memories even after the world changed so dramatically that it nearly erased their pasts.

Even their names had been forgotten to even themselves until Viola felt such huge pounding warmth fill the lonely depressing void she hid underneath all her tailored clothing. Applejack remembered to moan the right name this time as the familiar tight reassurance of affection wrapped around her impressive token of appreciation. They remembered each other exactly for who they used to be in that very moment, and for a few minutes of bliss, they found each other again.

“Ya’ll got a bit heavier, sugarcube~” Applejack said in almost low growling whisper as she laid her petite little doll down on the hard plastic backseat of Viola’s squad car, “Lemme guess. There’s more to yer arm than just that there metal hand.”

“Most of my limbs, actually. A woman’s weight means nothing against her measurements, Applejack darling~” Viola said with a soft smirk as she trailed both hands slowly along Ajax’s collar and shoulders. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been romanced, even if the attempt was lacking in all the appropriate necessities like chocolates and fake roses. Dating had all but practically dried up by the time the war was on every news outlet.

“R-Rarity...” Applejack stared down at Rarity’s gorgeous blue eyes. The rendered resolution of her royal blue pupils and soft glow that brought them to life mirrored almost perfectly the captivating affect she had experienced nearly twenty years ago in an empty utility closet as she gazed into the organic bloodshot eyes of her first real crush. The factory had been closed for several days due to a fire, and both women had seized the opportunity for some privacy during the night away from their respective barracks. “Ya’ll...haven’t changed a bit, sugarcube. I...I missed you.”

“Please don’t say that...so soon, at least. I’d prefer to enjoy the moment before you spoil the excitement with that typical sentimentality you soldier types can’t get enough of.” Rarity spoke a bit callously, yet her fingers traces Applejack’s cheeks and ears before she gently pulled AJ’s head down. She pressed her warmly grossly lips to Applejack’s somewhat cracked and dehydrated lips, smiling as she tossed her lover’s large stetson off to entangle her delicate fingers into the long and thick blonde waves now cascading around her face. “You smell so warm, darling...” Rarity knew her statement made no sense, but the hepatic feedback from her fingers didn’t either. Her excitement and arousal had not been accounted for in the debugging of her chrome.

As soon as their lips met, Applejack could feel her face begin to tingle and burn. The familiar taste of cheap whiskey and flavored lip-gloss she had almost forgotten made her crawl forward on the backseat. She balanced herself above her familiar fling as her left hand grabbed Rarity’s hip under her skirt. The tantalizing feel of high thread count spandex concealing lacy panties send a wave of heat down between her thighs in a carnal wave. A sharp swelling put immense pressure within her already tight fitting jeans. The kiss finally broke, and Applejack panted nervously for a moment through her dry nose, making her voice sound a bit gruff. “Rarity, I...”

“You what, darling? You thought you’d never see me again? You’re sorry you never called me after we last saw each other when we were young? You regret never reaching out to me and now feel guilty for it? You haven’t changed one single bit, love~ I missed you too~” She began unfastening the holster around Applejack's generous hips and thighs, and she couldn’t help but giggle very softly as she used the tip of her boots to pull closed the squad car door. The droning hum of the parking garage lights disappeared as they now were hidden away in the back seat. Her right palm held Applejack’s cheek for a long moment. She could see and feel several deep wrinkles on her sun beaten face that had been through many years of terrible climates and immeasurable stress, but it was the engraved, sharp angled lines of the plating making up Applejack's face that she admired. She wondered what kind of cyberware Applejack had been stuffed over the years as the war progressed in directions no one ever thought possible. Yet, she was still just as strikingly beautiful as the day they met. Rarity always admired the sweet sincerity and honest desire of Applejack's face and speech, and it was that kind of face she hadn’t seen in so long while even surrounded by thousands of citizens all crammed and stacked on top of each other within Canterlot City.

It had been many years since Applejack had cheeks that could blush. A couple reconstructive surgeries co-opted by shady R&D back in the day had made that impossible. Her entire integumentary organ system had been painstakingly removed and put on ice as she was pieced together by Royaltech’s scientists during her special warfare indoc regimine. Early gen-1 cyberware had been both complicated and extremely invasive in order to achieve modern day results, flaws included. If she still had the sensation of tears, she might have brought a finger to her eye. “Shucks...I-I...”

“And you don’t use modern asinine syntax like ‘choom’ or ‘nova’ or,” with a slightly over exaggerated shudder, Rarity said, “’preem’. I don’t feel old being underneath you on this very cold and hard plastic seat, my darling~ It’s almost like being a teenager again~” Rarity happily slid her soft little nose along Applejack's neck as she unbuckled her belt and used the toes of her boots to push Applejack’s worn blue jeans down her thighs. What happened next defied all probability. Rarity’s suped up cyberdeck daemon deep/dive_@dam.exe could scan back into someone’s past as far as their initial inscription, but apparently her doxing virus she uploaded to her old flame the moment she laid eyes on her on the fifth floor didn’t include unauthorized installations from unlicensed ripperdocs.

Mr.Stallion, a company whose sole line of cyberware products captured the hearts of a demographic in such a defining way never before accomplished in the history of written civilization, had one model in particular notorious for its low price point. All function, no frills. The shape was about the only thing they got right at this budget range. It made the impressive size almost foreboding to look at with the visible pulses it emitted through a slightly transparent sheen. Some girls were into it, though, with its otherworldly appearance that many desensitized braindance addicts craved. Fortunately, the cock now throbbing against Rarity’s thigh was that very model, and she was that very brain dance addict who used explicit media as an escape from the stress of her nightmarish life instead of the glitter now sweeping the streets and dumping gonks into morgues or gutters.

Applejack stared down at Rarity’s wide eyes and gaping mouth now drooling onto her own chin. The lack of eye contact as Rarity stared intently at her throbbing length confused and worried her. It had been a different world then when she had gotten her Mr.Stallion mk0.5.1. She’d been convinced that the daemon of death was waiting for her each day she spent at war, and getting free experimental implants had been half her job in special operations. This one seemed like a no-brainer for a young soldier confused about her sexuality and high on government issue amphetamines who never could say no to a signing bonus. “I-I...I’m mighty sorry, Rares...I fergot ya’ll ain’t never seen me with this here, uh...”

Hands of blurry lightning shot up to cover Applejack’s mouth. “Shh. Please stop talking. As clumsy and sweet as I find you right now, I’d rather we skip that bit for the moment while you make a mess of me with that nightstick of yours, officer~” Rarity raised her hips off the plastic bench seat to press her warm hot slit against the warm throbbing oddity she always wanted to experience. Her legs wrapped around Applejack’s waist with an eagerness replacing all social grace. “I'm turning myself in~”

“F-Fuckin’ Celestia...” Applejack’s voice was hoarse and almost angry as she tore away at Rarity’s undergarments surrounding her warm wet slit. She buried her face into Rarity’s delicate shoulder as she found her target with her artificially sensitive tip. Both women gasped and trembled as overpowering sensations of excitement and euphoria cascaded over them. The endocrine regulators inside their bodies heightened the physiological reaction they experienced together from just half of Applejack’s length buried inside Rarity’s tunnel of hypersensitivity. It left the curvaceous mountain of a woman incredibly tense as her toned body flexed. So many years of practiced breathing to conserve energy and stamina kicked in as she began thrusting purposefully with force.

Rarity’s ankles interlocked behind Applejack waist as she shut her eyes while holding onto her conqueror’s shoulders as tightly as possible. It had been a very lonely life since they last saw each other, that strangely soulless cock now inside her, throbbing and pounding at her like using the explosion of a grenade to put out a fire. The sudden explosion she felt as her arms wrapped like monowire around Applejack’s neck reeled her body into a frenzy of jolts and trembles as she hoarsely screamed in a high pitched voice. Her vision was blinded by a series of flashing glitches and error symbols within her glowing HUD even with her eyes tightly closed.

To her credit, Applejack had lasted a couple pumps longer than she had expected, a confusing mishmash of impulses designed to mimic the relaying of pleasure across many different artificial nerve endings amplified very suddenly as Rarity’s orgasmic twitching around her cock sent her over the edge almost immediately. A sudden release of pressure through her artificial urethra excited internal nerve endings designed only to be activated upon orgasm. It left her a heavy and panting mess barely able to keep her body up off the plastic bench seat just enough not to crush the truly gorgeous heaving little gem underneath her.

Applejack deep down knew Rarity was right. She never had returned a single message or phone call, assuming that death would soon claim her somewhere between the Crystal Mountains and the Empire’s capital. She never had the courage to reach out each time she returned from a mission, and she hoped after tonight, she’d have the chance to fix that.

Author's Note

Executor 3rd Class Viola Komurasaki: Case Notes Excerpt 2.14.2051 1:47am
I have no other leads, and what I know so far isn't much.
Closet Bi-sexual middle manager found dead in Canterlot's infamous Neon District

Working theories:
1. Has hell hath no fury like a soon to be ex-wife scorned?
2. When dolls short circ; a dark tale of bad software and one very busy street corner.

Will hopefully know more once the stiff's car is moved from impound to evidence.