The Executor Squad: Trouble in Paradise

by New Canterlot

Rating: mature
Tags: Profanity, Violence, Narcotics, Anthro, Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Romance, Porn, Sex, Science Fiction, Sunset Shimmer
Length: 20422

The Manehatten Times calls it a dark and brooding murder mystery boiling over with fetishized cosmic body horror. The Los Pegasus Confidential labels it a strange dance along a fine line between porn-with-plot and desperate soap opera.

It takes those who break the rules to make new ones. For the ailing Canterlot PD, overwhelmed by the growing gang violence and corporate influence flowing through every gutter and airway, a new investigative unit would be born. The damned souls of CPD's Executor Squad are not here to break the rules, they're here to fix them.

By any means necessary.

This is a cyberpunk/erotica romance mystery novel for those fans of cyberpunk storytelling and the magic that is My Little Pony. Dark elements of a dystopian world abound in this sexual thriller. As my love song to the franchise and the fandom, I invite you to join me for a sci-fi epic not short on pages or thrills.

This work is dedicated to a very dear friend Saviors Sun who taught me to love writing again. Thank you, darling. You're truly a gift that I could never do without.

Published 2023-05-15 06:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2023-08-16 00:26:24 UTC

1. The Neokitsch Beauty and The Entropistic Beast

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.

The Mad Scientist’s Crash Test Dummies

Nothing. Utter Nothingness. No light, no sound, no smell, no chill or heat. The empty void of consciousness stuck in a vacuum; complete and absolute nothing.

A door. A wooden door coated in cheap reflective lacquer suddenly became visible from a distance along the now almost imperceptibly foggy dark ground around it. The door seemed ominously tangible yet as unimaginative and lifeless as dead plants caught in the thrush of the inhabitable desert Ajax loathed with a seething hatred.

Ajax suddenly became aware of the weight of her body pressing down on her shoulders then gradually building down to her ankles. Her brain began flipping switches on all at once in a frantic race to catch up with her state of conscious awareness. Her legs nearly buckled as the usual chronic pain in her knees switched on, and for several seconds, she watched indecipherable green blocky text slowly fill her vision. It would’ve been both jarring and unnerving had the glitching text not been accompanied by an immense rush of relief as if all her aching joints and stiff scarred muscle groups suddenly stopped talking to her. The neurological noise she constantly had to mentally filter out just vanished in an instant.

I reckoned death carried a damn scythe er rode a black steed. Never woulda thought it’d be a damn door. Ajax was certain she had died someone. It hadn’t been the first time. Something about the surrealism of the moment felt familiar. The weightlessness and broken time of the moment seemed uncomfortably similar to a drug induced coma.

Her hand, she realized, was already on the door knob, and her wrist had rotated a good half turn. The door was now open by a slight crack, although Ajax had no memory of even touching the door. Guessin I’m dead then...how’d I die? Why can’t I...remember? Does it matter? Reckon this time I’ll get lucky ‘n it'll be my last.

Houndstooth tweed in tan and grey covered every piece of upholstery in the waiting room. Paper magazines littered a coffee table in front of the chairs. A few of them had some modern flashy group of half naked co-ed music personalities covered in glowsticks while another magazine proudly displayed a line of old kitsch-wear during the outer side-boob sweaters era. The drab simplicity of the décor was even too much for Ajax. She had no idea where the fuck she just came from, and a doormat to wipe her cracked leather boots off at the very least could give the place some life. She’d never stepped foot in a place like this before.

The chair she sat in was about as uncomfortable as it looked, but Ajax wasn’t too absent to notice that her knees didn’t creak as she sat down. In fact, the movement felt both fluid and natural with no pain, but the magazine she was holding distracted her immediately. It had to be almost as old as her considering the ancient boy band on the front cover. Once again, she did not remember making certain movements. She found herself sitting and holding the magazine like several seconds of time had been skipped.

Time to get my damn bearings. She put the magazine down, stood up, looked around, and realized that the door she entered was gone. The walls had been painted a depressing grey over rough drywall, and on the opposite side of the room that she came in from was another door. See now...that just ain’t right.

Ajax began pushing her toes to power walk the several steps to the door, but her normal exertion nearly made her break out into a run as if the effort to move on her feet had diminished greatly all the sudden. Her whole body felt electrified and energetic now that her chronic pain had been replaced by a youthful spry.

Elements of her ancient optic’s HUD blended together with a much faster and crisper font that seemed to excitedly display more incomprehensible text at the same time she accidentally leapt forward. The door couldn’t be the same door. Although geometrically and visually identical, there was one major difference; a reflective metal strip about three inches tall and six inches long engraved in black letters “Dr. Sparkle MD, ENG. D, PHD”

For a long moment, Ajax stared at the name plate. The name ‘Sparkle’ rang a bell. The compulsory employment contract she had signed with Royaltech had mentioned someone by that name.

This ain’t no fuckin’ dream... There came a slight creak of a spring loaded lever in the door now swung open, and before Ajax now stood an incredibly short five foot tall slightly bucktoothed girl with purple bangs neatly trimmed in a meticulously symmetrical line above her eyebrows. She was sickly skinny and small, with the face of an easily intimidated nerdy child, but the smile on that geekish face was surprisingly inviting if not a bit comical. The stranger held a modern looking clear tablet peripheral device of some kind Ajax didn’t recognize.

“Hello. Ajax, right? You’re a bit late, so we’ll need to make this quick. Must’ve had trouble finding the place. Come in and have a seat please.” The small woman said with an impressive amount of control in the tone of her matter-of-fact voice, almost like she was expecting Ajax’s arrival. She wore a white lab coat with the official seal of the CPD embroidered in blue onto the breast pocket containing two pens, pen light, and two small screwdrivers. The other side of the white coat had a name in the same thread color as the seal; ‘Lt. Sparkle.” Her simple navy blue collared blouse and black dress pants fit a bit loosely on her emaciated frame, but Ajax immediately had more respect for the puny girl after glancing at the polished slide of a standard issue Lexington service pistol neatly secured to the hip of her dress pants beneath her lab coat. Her eyes clued up on the tracking module fitted to the sidearm.

“Uhhhhhh…just where ‘n the...” Ajax violently cleared her throat. It felt like a handful of gelatin had to be cleared from her lungs. As a new rush of confusion awaken, the expecting gaze of her new acquaintance’s face suggested that she had almost seen it coming. Strange that the intense irritation of so much phlegm hadn’t registered until now. “…where ‘n the holy hay am I?”

“It’s not where you are, it’s what you are that matters. You are late.” The drab and boring décor matched the waiting room. Even the simple glass desk and vacant office chair behind it was nearly barren and empty save for a laptop data-term. “Please have a seat.” With a bored and flat affect, the stranger gestured towards a simple grey chaise lounge before taking a seat in wooden chair opposite the couch. “We have a lot to cover.”

“If’n ya don’t mind, best be askin’ who ya are ‘n where I am. Ya want me poppin’ a squat ‘n that there chair, ya best start talkin’.” Ajax tried to sound as intimidating, but a shakiness to her voice betrayed her fear.

A long, exasperated sigh was the stranger’s response before she began tapping on the clear tablet. Each touch of her finger produced a slight flash at each point of contact. “This is going to take even longer if you don’t sit down and just talk to me, Sergeant. I have questions I need to ask you both as your physician and your new boss. I know you’re probably feeling hazy and a little off right now, but I can help with that. We can start wherever you like, but I need you to relax.”

On pure instinct, Ajax straightened her back and closed her mouth. She held her head completely straight before clasping her hands behind her lower back. Years of overzealous dedication to her duty as a soldier hadn’t been completely scrubbed from her brain yet, and upon being address by her dead rank, she did as she was told. “Yes, ma’am. My apologies.” She slowly sat, keeping her back straight with her hands resting on her knees. What ‘n the... Ajax rubbed her knees with both hands, now coming to a grand realization. No longer did she feel the jagged slopes of her old replacement metal knees. Instead, real kneecaps on responsive skin that relayed back the touch of her fingers.

“How do they feel?” The woman asked as she lowered the tablet to look directly at her patient. “Your new knees, I mean. It’s been quite a few years since you’ve even been in for maintenance.”

“…I…” Ajax extended each leg out, one after another, noting the stability and smooth motion of each movement. “Am I…”

“Dead? No, no not at all. You’re very much alive, but more in a deep trance. Do you...not remember our conversation earlier this evening?” The tapping of her fingers on the tablet briefly ceased before resuming the very same pace. “It’s alright, Sergeant. It’s just maintenance. I’m trying to wake you up slowly.”

“Maintenance…” Ajax muttered softly as her eyes narrowed while slowly scanning the bare room. Words like that had double meanings. ‘Maintenance’ often meant ‘Involuntarily Upgrades’. She had undergone plenty of maintenance during her time in the service, and a few times without at least a signature of consent on some obsolete form.

The next several seconds contained so much motion in such a short amount of time that the abrupt ending to such an equally abrupt change in the energy of the room was enough to make the mad scientist’s eyes to widen as she sucked in a sharp breath.

Ajax stood so suddenly and with such force from her huge frame that the couch was knocked over and rolled several times. Her head darted left and right, looking for the bland wooden door she came through. A tightening suffocating panic erupted as she kept looking back and forth, mouth open and panting deep breaths as her fingers balled into fists over and over.

Several yellow and red blinks flashed from the surface of the tablet fallen to the floor. The small woman had instinctively leapt back with surprising reflexes, although she dropped the device once glued to her hands. “Darkness!” Dr. Sparkle shouted as she lay half on top of her chair now fallen on its back. Her hand was extended out, her fingers tracing formations in front of her palm.

The room fizzled as pixel density degraded almost instantly to base colors, then colors were replaced by blue outlines of each three dimensional wall. The sparse furniture also faded into transparent outlines before the room went dark. Applejack realized she had been holding her breath as she tried to scream, but she made no noise. She tried to inhale, but couldn’t feel her throat…or anything else for that matter. No air, no sound, no light, nothing once again.

“Control!” The doctor’s voice cracked as she shrilly screamed again.

The remaining elements of Ajax’s HUD clinging to life flickered away in a frenzy of glitches within a split second before a single two word phrase took up Applejack’s entire vision.
[CYBERWARE MALFUNCTION]

As Ajax slipped back into unconsciousness, Twilight had no choice but to ride the digital frenzy of a quick retreat back into her own body.

“AAAGH!” A loud high pitched scream died instantly in the sound proof laboratory of one Lieutenant Twilight Sparkle. A couple sparks of light flashed from her optics as the sensory overload of the shared braindance session shot her out and spit her back into her body almost instantly. There was no time to slow down and decompress out of the shared liminal space, and she had her ram booster cranked way past acceptable levels that triggered her neural-core’s temperature failsafe. Her hands shot up to her face before throwing her goggles across the room. It bounced on a workbench littered with half charred bundles of split open cyberware full of wires and nodes drenched in several colorful fluids.

“Didn’t work?” Asked a second voice in the laboratory from the other side of the room.

“No, it did not.” Twilight made a slight cough after trying to convey her annoyance to such a clearly rhetorical question, but she still felt weak in the moment as her whole body went limp. “H-Help me, p-please…” sounded a quiet and hoarse plea. A massive wave of vertigo set in after having sat up from laying on her back for so many hours.

Sunset was on her feet and running before Twilight began tipping to the side in her overused netrunning chair. Her duty belt and boots noisily rattled as she ran. The chair was large, it reclined, and it was crammed with enough medical monitoring equipment to do basic life support. The warning lights on this monstrosity were flashing incessantly by the time she caught Twilight long before the courageously stupid little woman was going to tip over. She had watched for nearly six hours as Twilight squirmed and muttered anxiously in her state of lucid unconsciousness during the session.

A braindance is nothing but a highly evolved iteration of the world’s most ancient form of media consumption. It only demands one thing from the consumer; -look at me-. A vivid and carefully crafted hallucination can be produced by modulating the amplitude of different light frequencies through pulsations from light emitters positioned in front of the eyes. When sequenced properly, the mind can experience a whole new reality. Despite the obvious yet still terrifyingly high health risks of such a device specially designed to induce controlled seizures, most braindances were viewed through fashionable fun techie looking sets of goggles. Any kid with the pocket change for a used pair of specs could fry their brain watching a spiked pornographic and/or violent XBD they downloaded off the net for free after sitting through several advertisements in a foreign language, yet the sheer popularity of this device swept Equestria and most other developed countries like a firestorm of reawakened consumerism after the war. Having all five physical senses the body relies on to experience the world get high-jacked through vivid and lucid hallucinations came with some serious health risks, but it was the ultimate form of escapism from a desolated and war torn country barely hanging onto its superpower status. Twilight Sparkle brilliantly thought to use this technology to create a fake psychiatrist’s office from an old memory as a child that she found boring yet calming. It had been so quiet in that office. Even the waiting room and hallways had been insulated from sound. To her, it was a quiet escape of simplicity. To her experiments, it had varying responses.

“I’ve never...met someone...that detached from their own emotions. ” Twilight focused on her breathing while clutching to Sunset’s shoulders. “I couldn’t...map any real feedback...hormone regulation...nnngh...nothing.” The warmth of her lover’s neck against her cold but sweaty forehead was far more calming and spiritually restorative to her pounding headache than the best of her concoctions she had in her subzero freezer where she stored her subordinate's tailored combat stims. A sudden de-synchronization of a simulation through a controlled seizure had her brain buzzing and the slots in her neck glowing. “Damn-it...you smell good.”

“And you smell like burnt wires and sweat. You need a shower and some food.” Sunset smiled as she slowly picked Twilight up off the chair and carried her to a metal desk in the corner of the room. Standing next to that netrunning chair felt like standing next to an oven. She knelt down in front of the desk so they were eye level.

Twilight blew out a long sigh, her words trailing off into whisper. “I hadn’t realized you’d be stopping by...” Her shoulders relaxed a bit as the cold metal of the desk provided a much needed cooling sensation to her behind that her overloaded netrunning chair failed to do. “How long have you been here?”

“Not sure. I passed out a while back in that chair. What happened in there?” Sunset asked, her hands grasping Twilight’s small clammy hands. She wore utility pants that hugged her hips and thighs. Her right thigh sported a custom iron magnetically secured in place. In just a black tank top undershirt, her bare toned arms flexed as she squeezes Twi’s small fingers. “You started tossing and turning at the end there. Like, a lot.”

“I’m not sure. I knew Applejack would have stronger than usual acute amnesia after a frontal lobe reconfig. She doesn’t...have the aptitude or elasticity for some of her new implants.” Twilight had poured through her new experiment’s personal records, some having been declassified at one point. That usually meant there had to be more official legal filings, medical records, or after action reports still classified under some agency branch she had no rapport with. “I...wanted to ease her into her new body; use a simple space to...introduce new concepts. I’ve had to replace more of her body than I’ve had to fix. She was a mess, both physically and mentally.” Twilight sighed again, remembering to take a breath. “Those army rippers did a number on her.”

“You said something about amnesia? Just how bad?”

“Bad enough she didn’t remember who I am or the briefing I gave her before putting her under. That was only a few hours ago.”

Sunset brought a hand up to Twilight’s cheek and squinted slightly at her with her head tilt. Her disheveled curls moved to reveal a bare shoulder. Her experiences soldiering, although not nearly as extensive as the freckled and genetically altered ex-super soldier floating around in the green vat opposite of the lab, Sunset wasn’t without her own experiences. “You made her whole, practically fixed her body head to toe. That’s a big change to get right with all the sudden, babe. If it was me, I prolly woulda thought I was dead and trapped in some data hell too.”

“You have a far better grasp of these people than I do.” Twilight rubbed her eyes, realizing that Sunset must’ve been watching the monitor of her data-term for quite some time. There had once been a time when Sunset had been the one in the green vat after her C-Swat team had encountered a chromed out cyberpsycho. If anyone knew what it was like in there, it was her. “I just don’t get it. If you can psycho-analyze these...these criminals all day, then why do you pick them?”

“Hmm.” Sunset tilted her head up and stared intently at the ceiling. “Well, none of her crimes were out of malice or premeditation. Even facing a murder charge and two felony assaults, she turned herself in. That kind of honesty you can’t train into someone. She might be what you’re always looking for - a good person.” Sunset gestured to the large green vat where Applejack’s naked and dissected body was suspended inside, bobbing around in several pieces.

An air and water tight mask connected to several ribbed tubes was attached to the nearly seven foot tall woman’s face. Several small robotic arms were in the process of replacing Applejack’s old optical implants left over from her army days for a brand new pair courtesy of poorly distributed CPD funds with all the bells and whistles; night vision, thermal, and even visual sonar. Several of Applejack’s vital organs, having been replaced decades ago, had to be updated to better efficiently sync to an entirely new synaptic/signal accelerated neural network. A pain editor was implanted to disrupt pain signals while her new metabolic editor began processing the toxins produced from her old and failing implants still left in her bloodstream. Each node and strand of her old neural-ware were gutted, leaving a messy and tangled mound covered in blood and soft-tissue in a waste bin by the door to the lab. Most of her remaining major joints were replaced by titanium articulators with built in micro-rotors. Getting her hormones and blood sugar properly regulated with a metabolic editor along with muscle graphs and power assisted joints were all necessary just for her body to hold up to the new Royaltech Berserk mk.3 now protruding from the patient’s back like an exo-spine. Under the right operating conditions, Applejack would be able to break down every reinforced door in Canterlot’s underbelly or kick a car across the street and into the lobby of a hotel. Her new cyberware loadout would be able to maintain this state of peak physical devastation for up to an entire minute before her failsafe software would then force-run heat dissipation strategies. Armored and powered fists modularly hidden within realistic hands, subdermal armor, and a new suite of bio-ware to replace a great deal of her circulatory and respiratory systems rounded out her transformation.

“Almost full fuckin borg...poor girl.” Sunset said absently as she stared at the half machine monster bobbing around in the massive bubbling glass cylinder.

Twilight blankly stared at Sunset wistfully during the long pause in their conversation. As her face slowly became red, Twilight reached out and circled her tiny arms around Sunset’s neck to kiss her softly. “Synthetic, organic, cybernetic...it’s all I can do for them...for you.”

“I know.” Sunset offered a reassuring smile back. “And you’re the best.” Sunset leaned forward to give the cute little nerdy neurotic genius a slight gnash of her lower lip. “I brought you some lunch with a progress report on the case. Bad news, lunch is not burritos.”

I don’t deserve you, Sunset…. Twilight could feel a hand rest on her hip. “If I can have you for dinner, even better.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, babe~ Especially while you’re hungry and dehydrated.” Sunset places her hands on Twilight’s tiny waist, her hands squeezing soft yet bony flesh near Twillight’s ribs while her thumbs traced the smaller woman’s inner thighs.

“Oh, did…” with a soft gasp, Twilight reluctantly pulled her head back. “…did you say you have a progress report? So I take it they retrieved the car?”

“Technically, yeah.” Sunset did not bother to stop her wandering hands from moving during or after her answer.

The sudden shift in tone from playful to domineering was immediately, but it had the precise reaction Twilight was looking for. She grabbed the quick-release buckle of the belt around Sunset’s waist and tugged hard. “What do you mean, technically?”

As Sunset clenched her jaw, she heard the loud rustling and hard clunk of her pants and belt hitting the floor around her boots. Her excitement was building in a way that made her death wish heart smile. “I did say ‘bad news’. Must’ve forgot to include that with the ‘no burritos’ thing, babe.”

Everything about you is perfect… Twilight felt a twinge of envy towards Sunset, a woman she found in every aspect the perfect ideal self; strong, smart, well made, and exciting. A large orange glowing cock bounced up into her nervously energetic hands as she stared up at her lover’s confidently sly smile, and the harder she squeezed, the more she could feel her cold clammy hands warming up.

“Admiring your handiwork again?”

“It fits you perfectly…” Twilight leaned forward and laid her head against Sunset’s toned stomach as she slowly danced her twitching fingers up and down the length of Sunset’s personally modified implant.

“Ah...y-yeah it fits in a couple places perfectly. In your hands is definitely one of those places.” She wrapped her arms around Twi’s shoulders and head to give her a much needed tight embrace. She closed her eyes with a contented smile as she inhaled the sweaty shame and burnt electrical smell clinging to her lover’s hair. “Let me help you.”

Twilight made a loud gasp as she was pushed down onto her back on the cold metal desk. Her loosely fitting stain resisting pants were yanked off her slender hips and down to her ankles before getting tossed across the laboratory. The cold air hitting her clammy legs made her flinch, but Sunset was already on top of her, holding her wrists against the desk. She could feel Sunset’s very warm length gliding up and down her wet slit as Twilight wrapped her legs around Sunset’s waist. “Please don’t make me wait...”

“You really lack patience, babe~” Sunset gave her sweet little wife a tender kiss on the cheek before unceremoniously shoving her entire output jack deep into Twi’s input slot. “Mnngh~ You’re so tense, I love it~”

With eyes growing wider Twilight gasped loudly before her eyes closed tightly. She winced and tried to fold herself forward at the waist, but she had little strength to resist with against Sunset’s control. It wasn’t pain she felt but deep longing. The love and affection she received from her wife now pumping her hips back and forth she found impossible to take for granted. No other person in the world would willingly subject themselves to so many modifications by her hand. The trade-off was total submission on the operating table for total submission to the whims of her greatest creation.

I really don’t deserve you, Sunset...

[-o0o-]

It was their lucky day.

A violent cacophony of nausea inducing bass separated by glass shattering shrieks of old computers booting up blasted from far too expensive speakers in a far too cheap car. It was the most favorited, liked, and reshared digital radio station in the city not approved by the Equestrian Department of Media, and it shook the inside of the stubby sedan like a submarine under excessive pressure riding a violent current.

The car was over-sprayed with store bought metallic matte and plastered with the stickers of underground music groups and the street gangs from all over Little Shanghay. The rims were gaudy and badly scraped up from several chunks of unmaintained city sidewalk curbs, and the natural amber headlights had been swapped out with banned High Intensity Discharge ballasts that required a boosted alternator. The extra batteries under each seat were just for the amplifier.

Modeled after the timeless Hella lineup of cheap and always on-point ugly-as-fuck sedans with enough reliability to bankrupt the manufacturer from lack of future sales, say hello to the Hella-C1020. These cars could be crushed, rolled, and even survive getting caught in a building demolition. The net, as always, had to test a theory. As long as there was enough room left in the cabin to get behind the wheel, it would start and drive.

This particular car was shortened, removing the back seat and rear doors for a more compact size marketed for big cities with lots of cramped spaces. With it’s ancient eighties front end and nineties trunk and taillights, the car looked like a grown man with no midsection.

Pinks had picked this car for one reason and one reason only; the full sized engine bay. Stuffing a Villeforte eight banger in there and a set of stolen coil-over struts had made this shit-box a dangerous and risky sleeper. A working knowledge of Shanghay’s claustrophobic streets and the boosted reflexes of a high speed solo were needed to pilot this deathtrap. Even though her partner sitting next to her was faster, only Pinks had the reaction time necessary to grind the guard rail around a steep and tight bend through an intersection as wide as the car itself.

Krash, on the other hand, routinely totaled her vehicles. It became such a regular hit to her credit that her ride back home was just an old Cicada trail bike tuned for ninety proof or higher. Not to say her reflexes were bad. She had been a fucking Wonderbolt back in the day before she had gotten shot down with a rough landing just south of the Crystal Mountains twenty years ago.

Their job had been way too simple. Some drunk corpo gonk gets decomished by a couple low level Viper Fangs, so Pinks and Krash set off to snatch up the zeroed loser’s ride. ‘Recovery Agents’ had been their job titles for the day, but that ended right about when the small time fish looked at the car of the guy they killed and realized how awesome it would look with a fucking spoiler on it, choom! Although, the driving skills of the suspects they were chasing suggested they were more than just some criminally affiliated gonks. The chase was too fast and had no end in sight.

Krash pulled herself out of the passenger window while the car plowed through a scop-dog stand, sending the small see-through umbrella attached to it toppling over the roof. She had an idea, but there wasn’t any time for a discussion. Her scarlet red eyes glowed and flashed as her optics rapidly mapped distances of all the rapidly moving objects around her as everything moved in slow motion. The chaos of the cramped and overcrowded narrow street being torn through by a luxury limo sedan chased by a tiny shitbox powered by the exact same engine passed her by like a holovid at quarter speed. She had climbed out of the window to stand on the roof before the scop-dog cart had even hit the ground.

The street was more a narrow alley populated on the sides by miniature store fronts, bootleg stands, and food carts, mostly noodles. Above the street, suspended the in the air by rows and rows of drooping power lines were many articles of clothing left out to dry and paper lanterns used as streetlights for this poor district of Canterlot City. Krash had an idea, but it would require every single piece of her chrome overclocked to the fucking max to pull off.

Her knees bent, her body tensed up, and she folded her wings against her back as tightly as possible before releasing her magno-tread boots from the top of the car, leaping into the air at just the right millisecond, twisting and contorting herself to dodge and weave through so many buzzing power lines. As soon as she cleared the tops of the buildings, her wings sprang out, metal feather-like hinges of her left wing reflecting the vibrant culturally rich nightlife of the street. The time dilating effect to her perception evaporated when the timer to her sandevistan expired. Even without the ability to move at four times normal, she was still an incredibly fast flyer, reaching a nearly two hundred mile per hour velocity from the sudden launch.

A flash of blue filled Krash’s vision as her Royaltech Sandevistan mk.4 reactivated. Like most high load operating systems, her sandevistan protruded from her spine and out of her back. However, unlike most sandevistan equipped mercs or cyberninjas, hers had enough added heat sinks to make her spine grotesquely visible going all the way down the small of her back. It was this juiced up and highly risky to operate overclocked sandy that allowed her such a short cool down duration. Now back at four times speed, she instantly changed vector direction to a negative angle, zeroing in on the car still in pursuit of.

Krash entered the web of power lines once more, her decent even faster than her ascent. Using a vast series of nanorelays, reflex tuners, synaptic accelerators, and micro-rotors, Krash dodged and weaved through each buzzing and rapidly approaching cable until slamming into trunk of the short limo in a predominantly blue blur that hit the vehicle like a missile. The impact was so devastating and so rapid that the suspect’s car went airborne through an intersection.

Pinks slammed on the brakes as she watched the suspect’s vehicle nose upwards from the tremendous impact, tumbling backwards in midair until dropping onto the roof. Skidding sideways down concrete and asphalt, the car suddenly wrapped itself around a steel cored concrete cylinder protruding from the sidewalk meant to protect pedestrians waiting to cross a very busy intersection. The deafening thunderous creaking explosion of plastic, glass, and metal showered the middle of the interception and half the adjoining sidewalk. People screamed and began running away from the violent wreck. Pinks’ car was sideways and her tires screeching before coming to a halt right in the middle of the intersection, blocking all traffic. Her grotesque butchery of a car flashing cherries and berries must’ve made for a strange sight, but even moreso did the person who climbed out of the driver’s window.

“DASH!! DASH!!!! YOU GOOD??” Her voice was so energetic and high pitched, emanating from a somewhat crackly esophageal speaker in her throat that, at high volume, made it difficult to understand her. She wore the tightest fitting pair of pink and black trimmed cargo pants with just enough pant-leg diameter to fit her boots. A sky blue tank top, torn from so many years of being stretched to its limit, wrapped around her perky yet huge tits with matching arm warmer fingerless gloves exposing her crude metal fingers. Like nearly all other earth genus types, Pinks had the weight and curves to match. On her back was slung a spray panted pink Satara tech shotgun. Although deemed far too heavy and cumbersome for most, her exceptional strength and agility made handling the multi-railgun blaster no sweat.

Screams and confusions raged behind her from the recent trail of chaos left behind. The noise of the excited public around her became one collective buzzing that wigged something out in her head as her brain zapped random shit on and off. Her HUD and eyeball twitched and her head jerked to the side before she smacked herself in the face to refocus. “DAA-AASH!!!” Her voice broke hard as she ran forward towards the wrecked car. Her spring loaded legs gave her the ease to acrobatically leap into the air and flip over the fire before landing on the other side of the car, her head darting side to side so fast as to create a blur. This made her nappy ponytail create a pink sweeping arc.

Her normal round of personally curated combat stims usually kept her mania below the surface, but the sheer amount of fear and concern exploding from her chest and out to the rest of her body combined with the amp stick she had snorted an hour earlier made it impossible to calm down. She felt like screaming as she kicked in the back door of the flipped over car before yanking it out once it was small enough to fit through the B and C pillars. A plume of dust hit her in the face. It smelled like glitter, uncut and pure. Besides that, nothing back there. The front windows were obscured by the driver and passenger’s mangled bodies.

Through the heavy metal and banned plastics bellowing toxic smoke around the car, Pinks saw sudden writhing in the front seat. The smoke and the impact should’ve flatlined the two suspects, but these particular gangoons enjoyed the perks of the city’s criminally affiliated and often unlicensed rippers. The way the suspects were squirming around in the flaming car, Pinks knew immediately they were equipped with at least basic neural-ware and bio-mons regulating blood pressure and hormones. A furious deep seeded anger furrowed her brows, narrowing her completely black eyes, each with glowing pixelated blue centers. Her unnaturally sheen and reflective furless skin created a waltzing reflection of light reflecting off her body.

“Ma-marubo yokai…” coughed an older and weathered faced looking man crawling out of a blown out window of the car, no clear signs left of his hairline or anything left of a tail. The flaming car had claimed most of his skin, her he was standing on two feet clutching a sword. The tattered remains of his smoldering racing pants and colorful logo covered jacket were hanging off of his body. In his left hand, the metal in his knuckles were exposed through ripped skin bleeding from grasping so tightly a black tachi. “Tōsenbō!!! Watashi no jama o shinaide kudasai!! KUSOOO!!!” His silhouette against the fiery backdrop, shreds of clothing hanging off his lean and extremely toned body with one hand brandishing a very sharp blade made for an intimidating sight.

Pinks had watched in utter disbelief at the man. He had pulled himself from the burning vehicle with a weapon in hand, polyester and nylon melted to his remaining skin, yet he seemed undeterred by any of his ailments. “If you’re gonna call me every name on the net…” She began rolling her arm warmers off. “At least save a couple for your choom.” Judging by his sour expression, Pinks guessed he also had some universal translator software installed. What he probably didn’t have was an threat detection scanner micro-spliced to his optics. Pinks could already see the other passenger moving around as the crooked outline of the other suspect became highlighted in her vision. She gestured to the car a second before a womanly scream of pure suffering escaped the smoky wreck. The passenger was burning alive. “Whoa, talk about a hot date!”

“TSUMI!!!” The man turned his head for a split second as he heard a second scream. A gasp came from the small gathering crowd watching the chaos.

Ah shit not fucking good. Whenever there was a crowd, someone was filming, and most of the time live. CPD scouting probes across the net would pick up on this and relay the ongoing incident to the analyst nerds on the third floor. She didn’t have much time before she’d be on the wrong end of a C-Swat intervention. As soon as she realized she had momentarily lost focus, her perception of time slowed to a near stop. She turned her head forward to see the man already with his unsheathed sword in hand and running towards her.

The soot from the smoke and the shape of the flames almost froze in place. The waves of heat became one sweltering air pocket as Pinks dropped her gloves on the ground, clenching her fists. Each square shaped segment between every knuckle locked together into solid and rigid brick sized squares. Visible exposed pistons inside her exo-skeletal forearms pumped rhythmically to maintain adequate hydraulic pressure. She brought her arms up and kicked her right leg back into a slightly crouched fighting stance. To the crowd around her, she moved like a near instantaneous total blur, Yet, the Viper Fang fucker charging at her with a reverse grip on his sword was already halfway from closing the distance. Whatever chrome he had, although not as fast as her own, had to be similar in design. Fuuuuuck.

Her feet had become too planted, and Pinks barely leaned into a dodge to her right fast enough to parry his slicing blade with her hand. Sparks scraped off her forearm in a sweeping arc that hovered in the air. She entered a sidestep, pivoted on her hips, then shot her fist forward. The impossible speed and force of the blow sent a small shockwave through the air she could actually see slowly moving away before tearing apart into a scattered wisp over the car.

Fuck!! Another wrong move. Hard hits on a fast moving target were possible, but even for someone as hyper-clocked as her, she couldn’t connect against someone with similar chrome. Her right arm came up just in time to block another expertly angled swipe of such an elegantly sharp blade.

The man seemed to bounce right off his toes and into the air, keeping his head an equal distance away from her as she watched his flip over her head. Pinks ducted her head to avoid a swipe of the blade with inches to spare before leaping sideways into a roll before springing back up into a flip of her own, now standing a healthy distance away.

Waves of heat and smoke creating dancing shadows resumed their normal speed as Pinks panted loudly. Her Sandevistan shut down abruptly due to excessive temperature, no doubt from the heat coming off the car. She stared at the man in front of her, also panting as he too was now in an active cool-down state. These fuckers aren’t just some snot-nosed shatei. Pinks unclenched her fists, allowing her opponent a moment to rescue his comrade from the burning car. The woman who emerged could barely stand. Her skin, although not completely scorched, was definitely red and puffy. Her jet black hair and tail were both singed, and she coughed violently as she was carried away from the smoke. Although the woman stumbled a couple times, she refused to take a knee or sit on the ground until a safe distance away on the sidewalk. Her flashing eyes focused intently on Pinks with a great deal of apprehension on her face.

These weren’t the average booster gang menaces to society. They carried themselves like corporate samurai; partnered up and keeping each other safe. The visible external red and black portions of their high end implants covering their necks, throats and who knew where else up and down their bodies suggested they were far more than a pair of kleptopunks running glitter who found a cool car to steal. There was something special about the upside-down car now half engulfed in flames that someone felt it necessary to send some real operatives to retrieve.

“Kuruma wa watashi no monodesu.” The man said after laying his partner down on the ground. He turned back to Pinks and drew his sword again, sidestepping slowly into the street, circling her.

Pinks shook out her arms before clenching her fists into the same deadly dense metal blocks. “I don’t think either of us are up to sharing, choom. I’m not leaving with out that car either.”

“Baka wa shinanakya naoranai.” The man twirled his blade with the expert ease of a comfortably trained warrior. “Yu…can not fixu…tsupid-es.”

Pinks growled angrily as her eyebrows narrowed. “No...you can’t.” If he intended to strike a nerve, it worked. It was time to show how badly he fucked up. A wave of blue enveloped her vision and the sudden dilation of time followed the reactivation of her operating system. She launched herself forward, leaping into the air, right fist drawn back.

A sidestep and the pirouette of a graceful dancer allowed the man to easily dodge her strike. He had reactivated his chrome too. The world around both fighters seemed to slow to a stop as they exchanged blows. Thousands of suspended sparks filled their air around them as his reverse gripped sword deflected every precise combination Pinks threw at him. His distribution of weight onto his back leg while using his elbows and shoulders to strike Pinks in the face between blows was testament to his sheer skill. Pinks was chipped with kickboxing software that overrode her own instincts. She could see his counters coming but had to eat his strikes if she valued the rhythm of her assault. She had the artificial skill, but he was naturally better.

He’s faster than I am. He’s toying with me. She thought as she swung her left leg back and twisted her hips to the right to thrust her right fist forward into a lightning fast power punch that inevitably struck nothing but smoke filled air. This allowed her to lean back at the right instant to avoid a downward slash of his blade. His tech was no where near as efficient or fast as hers, but he was innately faster and quicker both mentally and physically. Why doesn’t he just fucking kill me? An infuriated and desperate rage fueled her sweeping kick which he dodged effortlessly as if floating on his toes. If she didn’t take him out soon, who fucking knew what would happen to Dash. Where the fuck is she???
[ENEMY HACK IN PROGRESS…]

In a desperate move, Pinks opened her left hand to catch his blade. The sheer clamping force of her hydraulic fingers squeezed the incredibly sharp steel, locking the weapon in her clutches. The electromechanical whirring of the strained actuators in her fingers whined at her before giving out as the blade sliced into her palm. Greyish yellow fluid under extreme pressure began to diffuse into the air like a mist while fluid drooled all over her forearm. She rammed her forehead into the man’s face, causing him to stagger backwards, yet he did not release his grip on his sword.
[ENEMY HACK IN PROGRESS...]

The warning message on her HUD flickered out to be replaced by another. When the same message flickered out again, another replaced it. Her Self-ICE made for excellent defense against what she realized was a deckhead her opponent rescued from the car now sitting on the sidewalk, but the progress bar for each new enemy quickhack progressively kept getting faster and faster. Her passive intrusion countermeasures wouldn’t keep up at this rate. Against just the cyberninja, she was outmatched. Against both him and his netrunner choom, she knew she was fucked.

Her entire hand and forearm suddenly detached from her elbow, now permanently affixed to the tachi blade, compression welded together. The man threw the blade down in frustration after receiving an electrostatic shock from her disembodied arm. Both combatants leapt away from each other just as the momentum of time returned to normal. He knelt on the ground, clutching his broken faceplate, no doubt seeing glitches.

Pinks bought herself a moment to take a breath, but the hacking assault on her system was relentless. If she didn’t break line of sight soon, who the fuck knew what crazy deamon was going to fry her circuits. After so much physical exertion with all her implants activated for too long, she knew her Self-ICE wouldn’t hold up much longer to the onslaught. “DASHIE!!!” She screamed in desperation at the top of her lungs right before her eyes quite literally exploded.

“AAHHHH!!” Pinks let out a shrill scream. Colored pixels danced across her vision for a split second before she went completely blind. The sparks that shot out of her eye sockets were testament to power of the netrunner’s EMPOverloadProgram, causing a devastating short circuit of her peripheral systems. The kind of pain from neurological overload caused by such a powerful combat quickhack was not mitigatable by her pain editor. I don’t wanna fucking die IDONTWANNAFUCKINGDIE!! She felt every bit of the zapping heat and crossed circuits in her head and down her back which caused her to collapse onto the ground. “FUUUUCKK!!! Dashie!!! DASHIEEE!!!” She squirmed and writhed on hot asphalt, her remaining right hand over her eyes, uselessly clutching the charred skin around her face. She could hear a lack of proper modulation in her voice making the pitch of her voice box implant dip low and shoot high as unregulated voltage spikes wrecked havoc on her circuits.

A loud gasp entered Krash’s open mouth before she began coughing up small pieces of glass and metal. Her impact into the back of the moving car, using her left metal wing as a hemispherical shield, had sent her sprawling across the street and into the storefront of a laundromat. It would be later reported that the civilian bystanders now live streaming the incident had emerged from there. Laying on top of several crushed driers, Krash pushed off whatever flat surfaces she could to clamber up onto her shaking legs. Her right wing felt broken and her left had a jerking response to her peripheral nerve impulses. Most of her vision was taken up by pop-up windows displaying rebooting sequences for most of her implants. Her brain was buzzing, and she stumbled forward onto her knees after tripping over the remnants of several plastic hampers. As her bioware reactivated, she felt her pain simmer to a low boil as her body became more responsive. The reinforced spring loaded tendons in her legs became taunt again, and she spat out blood, glass, and neo-fibrous slivers of her syn-lungs.

She wore tight fitting armored riding pants sporting the colors of the rainbow. Her equally colorful armored high collar crystalock jacket was split and torn from pieces of the building structure and shrapnel from the impact and crash landing. Like the rest of her body, both her short colorful hair and tail were bloody and sooty, but at least she could still feel her iron strapped to the right thigh of her neon blue exo-jacks. She was average height yet very slim and lean. Had she weighed more, she might not have stopped at just four rows of driers before losing consciousness.

As her vision sharpened, so did her recognition of her surroundings. Her ears stopped ringing once she was back on her feet, and although her wings were broken, she could still flap them hard enough to feel herself lifting off the ground. Her pain editor intercepted and canceled out the pain signals trying to reach her brain. Ghostly remnants of those physical sensations reminded her that she was badly injured, as did several warning messages displayed near the bottom of her vision that she ignored.

Krash stumbled forward, using her broken flapping wings to keep her upright as she approached the front of the laundromat. Her eyes scanned the intersection, and she recognized Pinks’ car directly in the center. The fiery ball of smoldering metal and rubber next to it had to be the car they had been sent to retrieve. Fuck...that was a shitty idea. Her eyes became bright white as she thermal scanned the scene of the wreck. Fuuuuck... Retrieving the car intact had been a huge operational priority. Her superiors were going to be pissed.

“RAINBOOOOOOWWW!!!”

Pinkie? Krash leapt out of the building and onto the sidewalk, tripping over her still shaky legs before tumbling to the ground. A sense of panic set in as she realized that scream was all over the place in volume and pitch. The cracking static and changing pitch of the scream meant Pinks was in bad shape. Maybe even worse than her.

In the distance, she could make out through the smoke the glowing outlined silhouette of a man standing over a body. Beyond them registered the outline of a woman sitting on the ground, holding out a hand as if trying to push something. HOLY FUCKING SHIT!! Pinks was in deep fucking trouble. She too realized that these weren’t some street dwelling misfits at the bottom of the Viper Fang’s hierarchy. Both individuals did not return any ID info of any kind when scanned, yet they both had the colorful glowing tattoos normally associated with Canterlot’s biggest and most feared gang.

An adrenalin pump linking her two kidneys began dumping massive amounts of norepinephrine into her bloodstream. Her eyes returned to their normal scarlet color before she crouched and leapt into the air. Her wings beat the air without proper sync, but she’d fucked herself up enough over the years to know how to instinctually compensate. Even at only a fraction of her normal speed, she could move fast. With her sandy now back online, she was a total blur. Like an erratic missile, she plowed into the side of the man bringing a scraped up tanto bladed knife down in slow motion towards her greatest friend. She pitched her shoulders back, taking her flight path straight up into the air before throwing him down towards the ground. The impact of his body smacking hard asphalt was macabre as green, blue, and red fluid exploded from his half borg body.

[ENEMY HACK IN PROGRESS…]
Krash sideways summersaulted across the intersection towards the deckhead before sliding to a stop on her knees. She knelt directly above the half prone woman, her outstretched hand now shaking. Krash could see a volley of tiny text scrolling up the woman’s eyes. “THOUGHT I FORGOT ABOUT YOU, BITCH??!!” Krash grabbed the woman's arm and slammed the elbow down on her knee. The sound of bones shattering was extremely satisfying to her enraged bloodthirst, and she responded to the cry of pain from her defeated foe by grabbing her face with one hand and slamming the back of her head into the ground until there was no more noise or movement from the woman whose eyes and ears now bled. The final progress bar fizzled out as the netrunner lost consciousness.

Everything around her began moving at normal speed again, and Krash realized she was panting heavily. Her lungs were not functioning well, and she felt like she was winded for the first time since getting upgraded. Her sandy was now in cooldown, her bloody hands now shaking even harder from the adrenalin. Her wheezing became so labored that she clutched at her chest.

“R-Rain…b-bow…” came a whimpering and broken voice filled with static.

“P-Pinkie!” With what remaining energy Krash had left, she limped over to Pinks on the ground before collapsing next to her. Tunnel vision set in as her hands and feet grew tingly and numb. She was sucking in air as fast as she could, but her lungs wouldn’t inflate properly. She reached out, grabbing her only friend on the thigh. She could feel hot metal fingers twitch spasmodically around her own before both women lay unconscious on the wet concrete. The lull in the perpetual rain of the city had ended.

It had been their lucky day.

[-o0o-]

Beep...beep...beep...

The City of Canterlot, despite its unsustainable expansion and imported population growth, was forced to close down its last public hospital just the year prior. The insanely high cost of medical treatment combined with the overt complexity of medicine as a field of practice in a world full of cybernetic augmentation had forced most citizens to seek medical help from private practice ripperdocs throughout the city, most of which were unlicensed and unregistered. Most operating rooms in the city were neither clean or well equipped. It came down to the skill and personal touch of the city’s different hack-n-slashers to keep the city’s inhabitants barely functional. Only the elite few of the city had access to real healthcare with only one major medical provider offering private services in the city.

Beep...beep...beep...

Originally a Seaddle based independent paramedic service, Trauma Team Incorporated had purchased the old Canterlot City hospital to then refurbish and repurpose the massive complex. The Equestrian capital’s last remaining hospital serving the city's many citizens abruptly closed its doors. Any remaining social health services paid for through lackluster fundraisers ran by the few remaining resident philanthropists all disappeared overnight in the perpetually dark and wet hell that Canterlot became.

Endless and resource draining street skirmishes between lifesavers just trying to do their job and the various scavenger cells and organized criminal syndicates they had to contend with required that each Trauma Response Team be trained, equipped, and organized.

Beep...beep...beep...

Within minutes, Trauma Team had secured the scene, provided basic life support, and had both Executors in route to the private hospital, all paid for through their health insurance plans funded by the CPD.

No beep?

Krash raised her head off Pinkie’s stomach with very tired eyes, yet she was already scanning her surroundings as she jerked her head side to side. What little of her brain that was still functional after hours of fighting against her own wounds luring her into a blood loss slumber urged her to wake up. No beeps...not good. She knew that much at least about medical care.

She scrambled with her hands running laterally across Pinks’ burned and broken body, hunting for the small plastic electrode that had been taped to the inside of Pinks’ thigh. Without any original fingers or toes, using a traditional pulse-oximeter required finding a surface point above an artery, and Krash had just knocked the damn thing off by using Pinks’ thigh as a pillow. The plastic node on a wire leash had detached and stuck to her own hand, a hand that also lacked the same natural capabilities.

“Hello, darling.” said the soothing voice of a woman Krash barely knew but immediately recognized.

“H-Huh? W-Wah?” Krash quickly affixed the electrode to Pinkie’s thigh and turned around to look at her new co-worker with confused shock. “Rarity?”

Viola offered a sympathetic smile as she walked forward, taking cautious steps before placing a hand on Krash’s shoulder. “You should be in bed resting too, Rainbow.” She placed a hand on Krash’s right shoulder, avoiding the left side that was bandaged and wired together.

“Trauma patched me up. I’m fine...” This was partially true. Much of her injuries were easily repaired with a steady hand by an expensive surgeon who had spent several hours stitching her up inside and out, but most of her cyberware was disabled to avoid worsening her healing wounds. “...I-I’m...fine.” Krash wanted to grumble. She wanted to indignantly argue. She wanted to shoot herself in the fucking face until her magazine was spent and her iron was smoking from the barrel. Her seething self-hatred erupted from the gentle touch caused her to nearly jump up to her feet out of her chair.

That had been a mistake.

As her legs gave out, Krash collapsed to the floor. The intensity of her broken bones and the weight of her temporarily deactivated chrome sank her to the floor like a tall, lean, slender bag of rocks. She landed on her ass with her knees bent and feet behind her. “A-Ah f-fuck fuck f-fu...f-fu...f-fu...” Tears welled up in her eyes, although her optics could not feel them. Hot and wet trails of anger flowed down her face as she began to cry. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed into Viola’s shoulder. The little strength she had in her right arm now draped over the petite woman’s shoulder clung as tightly as possible to the embrace as two slender arms circled around her.

I was not at all expecting that reaction. “I know, darling...” Viola brought Krash’s face to her neck. Her hand rested between Krash’s shoulder blades. She had tried to catch Krash but only ended up falling to her knees with her. “I heard what happened...”

“Y-You didn’t h-hear s-shit...” Krash’s raspy and crackly whispering voice would come back eventually, but that too would take some time. “I-I...fucked u-up...I fucked the fuck up! Fuck!”

Viola rolled her eyes just a bit, allowing herself that much. “Darling...you saved her life and managed to stay alive.”

“I-I left her a-all alone o-out there...by herself!” Krash had no voice left. Crying hurt her broken ribs and talking felt like she was gargling battery acid. “I...only cared...a-about the f-fucking car.”

“And you managed it, my dear.” Viola gently pushed Krash’s head back and smiled softly at her. “...I can tell you care about her... Once she’s stable and transferred to Twilight’s lab, she’ll be even better than new.” She wasn’t wrong. Lieutenant Sparkle could make any hunk of scrap work with any pound of flesh. Only a very select few within CPD’s top brass knew just what the Executor Program actually was and at what grotesque lengths would be used to achieve the impossible.

Krash sighed and wiped her face as she composed herself. “...You don’t get it...I blasted that fucking car and ended up buried under a bunch of old driers and missing socks just cause I wanted to punch that fucking car like a fucking rocket.”

“For Celestia’s sake, darling... You need more painkillers.”

“They’re fucking stingy here, choom...”

Viola sighed softly and rolled her eyes again. Her irises flickered for a moment as she quick-scanned Pinks’ silhouette. “How’s she doing?”

“U-Um...” Krash turned her head back to glance over at Pinks’ face, a massive tube stuffed into her mouth and down her esophagus to force air into her lungs. “The doc said...she’s cut up pretty bad all over, especially the arms...a lotta broken bones in her face with severe burns around her head...but the worst of it, she got fried by a runner. Half her neural network was overloaded. Blew her fucking eyes and ears out like cherry bombs. Something like she’s got a lot of nerves that need remapping, whatever the fuck that means.”

Viola could see it all. All the physiological injuries were easily fixable, but the devastation to Pink’s now blown out optical and auditory implants combined with extreme heat had created massive damage in her neural network now experiencing kernel panic. She was going to be in the tank for a good long soak.

While slowly rubbed a hand along Krash’s back and shoulders, Viola offered Krash an encouraging smile. “She’s repairable, especially given who built us, Rainbow.”

“I know...I know that, I just...I just...”

Viola stood up, tugging on Krash’s arm to pull her up off the ground. “Enough lamenting on the floor, darling. Let’s have a smoke, shall we? You can tell me everything then.”

“Got anything else on you, choom?” Krash asked almost too quickly. The usual fiery burn of inflammation was dulled by her pain editor, but the shock to her endocrine system left her in a nervous, trembling and emotional mess that she struggled to mask.

“It isn’t your thing, darling.” She had several days worth of replenished combat stims, but they were experimental formulas specific to her unique altered physiology.

“Just half a hit, sister.”

“Oh, we’re sister’s now, hm? I went from choom to sister quite rapidly once you realized I’m carrying a hypo or two in my coat.” She put on airs with a slightly haughty reply that her playful smile betrayed. "Appealing to my generosity, darling?"

“You give a shit...about me, about Pinks, about...anything. I didn’t know that yet.” Dash stared at the delicate woman with an understanding look she reserved for those whom she felt she could be truly loyal to. “Pinkie and I...we’ve been friends from before the war. You though...I didn’t know I could trust you yet.”

She trusts me. I'm glad. “Yes, well...I suppose...if so, then I must. Shall we please get some air?” The horror of Pinks before her on the bed was beginning to knot her small stomach, and she knew Krash could use a change of scenery for a while too. She didn’t feel like being a shoulder to cry on without a decent smoke first.

With no energy to argue, Krash nodded her head and began following her out of the recovery room. She limped behind her new choom towards a couple vending machines, taking a moment to lean against one of them as Viola purchased a couple cans. They then approached a service elevator that Viola waved her hand over before the door opened. Krash didn’t have a clue how netrunners did their thing, but even the simple shit seemed like old school magic to her. The elevator doors opened to a roof getting sprinkled with rain. A captivating display of lights and sounds from the cityscape before them filled the horizon and the sky as Krash deeply inhaled the musky city air. Her patched up lungs were not yet as elastic as they should be, but she hardly felt the tearing pain.

Viola kept herself under the outcropping of the roof access to avoid getting her fedora wet again from the rain, keeping Krash’s arm around her neck to steady the wounded woman. She retrieved a small metal case from inside her trench coat before holding out a black wrapped Coffin Nail for Krash. Once her wounded coworker took her first inhale, she then lit her own. For several minutes, they stared blankly at the flashing horizon in front of them, the diffusing lights of the city bathing their faces. A momentary fog of exhaled smoke provided a much needed soft haze to the visual noise every few seconds. It was a timed dance of polite silence known well by many who ran on the edge.

Viola stomped out her first butt before retrieving another cigarette. “I was told you followed up on a tip?” She asked after a few minutes of ambient silence.

Krash flicked her cigarette an impressive distance over the edge of the rooftop. “Yeah. The tip came from this kid I know who can’t stop racking up speeding tickets.”

Author's Note

Executor 2nd Class Rainbow Krash Case Notes Excerpt 2.16.2051 3:03am

I shit the bed on this one hard, but retrieval was a success. Pinkie is gonna be innop for a couple days. Guess that means I'm Rarity's first actual partner on a case. She's got a lead following up on the glitter found in the siezed vehicle. Apparently, this car gets around into some tight places.