Midnight

For the first time today, I'm feeling somewhat healthy.

But I am never eating chicken bacon ranch pizza again. It's permanently ruined for me. Even if it was too old – doesn't really matter at this point.

After sleeping the whole day away aside from rushing to the sink to upchuck twice and getting up to use the bathroom downstairs a few times, I decide I now feel well enough to try to put some sort of food in me.

Toast is on the menu. Whoopee.

I haven't seen Midnight since taking a shower earlier. At some point during the day – possibly while emptying my stomach – I recall hearing Midnight on the phone.

Apparently, she decided to adopt a new name for the occasion. Maddie will certainly enjoy me reminding her of that.

Or perhaps Middie... Midnight, Middie... Oh man, that works too well. That's probably how she came up with it!

The only other time I headed downstairs was well into the afternoon. Midnight was nowhere to be seen, and the computer was off.

More than likely, the slow day never got better, and she went out back to strip parts early. Though not knowing for certain was a bit unsettling.

But she's resourceful – I've seen it firsthand. I shouldn't be that worried. Nevertheless, I still have that uneasy feeling in my gut.

Aside from nausea.

As the clock approaches six in the early evening, I would expect her to pop in soon. Then again, with as stubborn and as driven as she is, I'm well aware Midnight could try to hero her way through the whole list of orders in one shot.

I glimpsed outside the shop earlier - the Trailduster wasn't in its usual spot. Midnight has moved it a few times so it doesn't come as a surprise she would have enough comfort and confidence to take it.

Ha, comfort. Probably not the best term for it, considering she bitched about how unergonomic the seating position was for her.

Yeah, she didn't think that comment through before it left her lips. I made sure to give her shit for it.

I got it right back, of course. A wonderful circle of love.

With the volume of the TV turned down low and awaiting the toaster in the kitchen to pop, I can finally hear the sound of the old shop truck rolling up to the building. It allows me to relax before I'm forced to jump in surprise.

Fucking toaster. Waiting for it this whole time, and the bastard still caught me off-guard when it popped.

Now feeling mild shame and embarrassment for being caught out once again by the cursed appliance, I begrudgingly fetch my toast from it and toss the slices onto a paper plate, shuffling back to the couch.

As much as I'm relieved Midnight is back, I know it would be best to give her space. She was clearly taking a lot of pride in flying solo today, and I intend to let her revel in it.

Yet it may still be a bit of time until she's trudging up the stairs if offloading parts from the back of the SUV remains in the cards.

On that note, I stretch out on the couch, using the whole length that would otherwise be shared with us occupying either end – buffer space in between.

Pleasantly, some reruns of the Dukes of Hazzard are playing right now.

...brings a tear to my eye as much as I enjoy the car scenes. They went through a lot of Dodge Chargers and Plymouth Fury cop cars. Not to mention Daisy's Plymouth Roadrunner before she got the Jeep.

Still, the end result was entertaining.

Much to my surprise, I hear the door in the kitchen click open as I take a nibble of food. I turn my head in time to see the door swing open and Midnight trot in.

...and I can't help myself. I'm probably going to die.

"Hi Middie!"

While not surprised by my voice, the name certainly gets her attention. Her initial wide-eyed response narrows into one of mild annoyance, exhaling rather sharply through her flared nostrils.

"You fucking ass."

She kicks the door shut with plenty of force to spare.

"Hey, easy on the hardware now. That comes out of your pay if you break it," I jokingly scold.

"Good thing you don't pay me. How long have you been up?" she inquires while working her way toward me.

"Not long. Not even an hour, I don't think," I reply, shrugging my shoulders. "How long were you out in the yard?"

"Few hours. I called it quits around two or three in the afternoon - at least when it came to standing at the counter looking pretty."

"You do pretty a lot better than me."

"I didn't take you as one of those creepy freaks that sexes up pony companions, that's new," she muses with a snide tone. "Maybe you aren't a pickle smoocher like I expected."

I instantly regret my smart comment as my face grows hot.

"Oh, seemed to have touched a nerve. You interested in ponies, or do you like playing the skin flute?"

"Shut up."

"That's what you get for the name."

She motions for me to scoot over with a hoof, eyeing her normal spot on the furniture.

"Nuh-uh, I just got comfortable," I half-heartedly argue before obliging her request. But rather than sit up, I bend my knees and scoot back toward my usual cushion, taking up some of the typical buffer space.

I really was beginning to get comfortable. She can deal with my legs and feet invading no man's land.

Midnight plops down in her usual spot, though facing me rather than draping her forehooves off of the front of the couch. While she looks at the pitiful dinner in my hands, it's with passing curiosity.

She looks tired.

To be fair, I would expect it; this is probably the most she's ever done in one day, aside from overexerting herself on the first couple of days moving that pile of engines. But somehow, I can tell that the drained look in her eyes goes deeper than mere physical fatigue.

"Today go okay?" I ask. I try to mask any concern from seeping into my voice while shifting my gaze back to the TV. A casual approach will get me farther, playing it off as idle conversation.

"It was quiet. Got quite a bit done – as much as I could while inside and manning the phones and counter."

"Great. Sounds like you're more productive than I am."

"Doesn't that go without saying?" she jests.

"Man, you're cutting deep on a sick man. That's cold," I jab back, shooting a leer at her.

"Truth hurts sometimes." The exchange at least puts a little bit of light in her eyes, but she just feels... off. More specifically, distracted.

I can't bring myself to just ignore that.

"You didn't deal with any rude assholes today or crappy situations, did you?"

"That's sort of an odd question to ask, isn't it?" Midnight suggests.

"Maybe. But you didn't instantly reply with no, either."

Her muzzle scrunches up a bit as she comes to realize I have caught her out. But, she doesn't tense up or turn away – a good indication she's not going to just shut down.

"There wasn't anything 'bad,' I suppose," she admits with some reluctance.

"Okay. But something that wasn't particularly comfortable?"

Whether she likes it or not, my attention is completely devoted to her. She's acting too strange.

Her eyes shift back and forth as she ponders a response, as if visually picking out her words.

"Do you... it's been a couple of weeks, but do you remember that guy who came in for parts for a Cutlass? Older man, the same day you started asking... questions about me."

"You mean the day you chipped a good chunk out of my brick wall by chucking a piston at it? Yeah, I remember," I chide

"You called me a guard dog, dickhead," she adds sourly.

"Apologized for it, too – but anyway, yes, I remember," I answer in an attempt to get this train back on the rails.

"He came back today."

"Isn't... that a good thing? Repeat customers?" I suggest, utterly perplexed by the significance.

Midnight's wings ruffle in tune with her discomfort as she stares down at the couch cushion she lays upon. "He did come in for more parts, at least initially."

The way she says that makes me sit up in an instant. "Did he do something to you?"

"What? No. I can handle myself, John," Midnight quickly snaps back as her gaze momentarily flips to me.

I relax a bit but still feel more concerned than I was just seconds ago.

"Then what happened, Midnight?"

"He... he says he knows what I am. He knew I wasn't a custom model, he knows I'm not verified, and he said he knows more that are like me, because he's been around his fair share of bots, and he knows I'm not one. He could tell just by looking at me, listening to me - said I was more advanced than any other he's seen, and said he could... 'help'."

Midnight's words come out in a frenzied cascade of pent-up anxiety, up to a speed that I need a moment for my brain to sort it out.

Someone else knowing she doesn't have an RFID chip on her chassis is troubling. But I'm lost on the rest. I would expect there to be experimental models and shit, and that's what Midnight is.

Right?

"Midnight, what do you mean by he knows what you are? I don't follow – I get that the missing RFID is a big deal, but I don't see the significance of... all that."

She shakes her head fervently. "I don't want to talk about it. That's all I can say."

"It's obviously bothering the hell out of you and I don't think you need to be carrying that baggage."

Midnight continues to try staring a hole into the couch.

Quite frankly, I have had enough of it. Leaning forward, I reach out with a hand and gently place it under her chin, physically coaxing her to look at me.

The gesture makes Midnight jump, though the surprise of it makes her momentarily yield to the coercion quite easily.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" she shouts defiantly upon regaining her wits, pulling away from me.

"Midnight, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on – talk to me."

"I can't!"

"Do you trust me?"

The question freezes her instantly. Those faintly glowing eyes remain locked upon me. Like a window to her mind, I feel like I can see the trouble and turmoil within she's fighting to keep wrested away from me.

"Midnight, I know you're strong, I know you think you need to deal with whatever shit you got going on alone."

"I ca—"

"Don't tell me you can't. You delved into my personal bullshit, got me sorted out; I'm doing the same for you. Do you trust me?"

"I'm a freak!" she roars, her voice suddenly ragged. "I'm not a pony companion bot, I'm a genetic science project sideshow!"

"I... what?"

Between Midnight's abrupt shift in demeanor and the words she spouts, it's all I can respond with right now.

"I don't have an RFID because I don't have a chassis – I'm not a robot... not completely."

"Well... what's wrong with that?" I speak up, too dumbfounded by the moment to offer anything but an attempt at comfort.

Midnight's eyes begin to glow as her body trembles, the volcano inside ready to explode. "Do you know what it's like to be an off-the-books bioengineering project? Do you know how humiliating it is to find out your perverted birth was in a giant test tube? How that experiment in itself is not only prohibited by law, but they managed to fuck up the coloring in their attempts to create a living, breathing Luna, sans wings?"

Midnight chokes back tears as best she can as I inch closer to her.

"Already a fuck up compared to the bio-pony experiments ongoing in secret – those are dumb as mud, but the colors don't factor in on their success. Why not go further with this one? Jam some wires and chips from a couple of discarded Twilight and Luna bots, try to put some intelligence and a bit more unique personality in the damn thing! It might not live more than a day or two, but maybe we can learn something! Let's see what science can do!"

The torrent of pained words she viciously spouts is slowly beginning to be matched not only by the luminescence of her eyes but the tears streaming down her face.

"That's all I am – a test subject! Guinea pig! Crudely dyed wings grafted on from the unpopular Princess Twilight bot because they couldn't genetically engineer proper wings – let's see if we can get em to work! Hey, we have this little prototype electromagnet gizmo that we could probably cram into her, see if she can make levitation a real thing! Testing this new generation of prosthetic eyes even those hers work fine – it's for the betterment of mankind, right?! Why not complete the package, go for a look! Tweak the eyes and give her some sharp teeth! And I'm just supposed to be okay with all of that?! Being a mishmash of rejects, junk, and bastardized biology all rolled into one?!"

Midnight's volume increases during her tirade, with the eventual outcome leaving her practically screaming. She finally stops her rant, quivering after the stress of the outburst.

"You're... you are actually real. Like living and breathing – all that."

In the back of my head, I know I'm not offering any sort of help with that. But the wealth of information I've been buried under in just a few seconds is overwhelming.

"And that's good," she states bitterly, a cryptic comment that is neither question nor statement.

"You obviously felt it was good - otherwise, you wouldn't have escaped, right? You felt your life was worth something."

She doesn't say anything as her breath hitches repeatedly.

With as downtrodden and utterly defeated as she looks right now, I decide to take my chances. Seeing the facade of this tough-as-nails mare crumble to dust is just too much.

I slide up next to her and take her into my arms.

"Leave me the fuck alone." She demands it, yet doesn't resist me.

I stroke the fine fur of her neck, feeling the pain deeply seated in those lean muscles that she continues to fight to keep inside...

I can see in those misty blue eyes, beyond the light they emit, she sees herself with shame.

Midnight hates what she is. For some inexplicable reason, she expects I will, too.

Even as she crowed about how great she was - it was to convince herself that's how she felt. To forget the past.

By the sounds of it, she wasn't even expected to live – merely a vessel to test some ideas and see how they worked and what complications could ensue.

Yet here she is. Somehow.

"Midnight, what you are— what your make-up is or whatever you want to call it – I don't care," I console her. "You got out, you survived, and I'm grateful for that."

"Did I make it out? Because it feels like I'm still trapped. Like my past is still pursuing me," she spits out in a half sob.

"Then anyone out for you is gonna have to go through both of us. This guy, if he's bad news, he's got a fight on his hands if he tries something. I promise you that," I reassure her. "You're here now, unfucking the mess that I've made. You're making this your home, and you're going to fight for it with the same grit and determination you've been displaying to me since I met you."

I can't help but brush away some tears that have continued to gather under her eyes.

With a slight nod, her resolve begins to harden, honing in on my words and my promise to her.

"You're not a mess of discarded parts and gene manipulation or whatever – you're better than that. I don't see that. I see Midnight in front of me, and that's all you should worry about."

Midnight emits a sharp exhale of amusement amidst the occasional sniffle as she wrangles herself under control.

"That was really fucking corny. You know that, right?" she mumbles.

"I'm a simple man. I cut to the chase, even if it isn't very elegant or original. But I'm not saying anything I don't mean."

Much to my own surprise, she leans into my petting a bit as I keep up the physical reassurance that what she is composed of doesn't matter to me.

If anything, it's even more amazing. And horrifying, with how ruthless these people apparently were while doing "modifications" for the sake of science.

She certainly doesn't make it sound very kind.

Fucking hell, this world can be evil.

...and I still don't fully comprehend the situation. Must be illegal to— well, create a new species?

Those are concerns for another time.

"We'll get the parts this guy needs tomorrow, try to nip this whole situation as quickly as possible if we can contact him to pick up. I'll be there with you, alright? I know you can handle this but..."

"Moral support," she suggests.

"I'm moral support. You said he mentioned 'helping,' any idea what that meant?"

I only get a shake of the head in a negative response.

"Got a name?"

"Theodore - 'Teddy' is supposedly what everyone calls him."

"No last name?"

"I... forgot. I was kinda distracted by everything he was saying."

It's a long shot, but maybe I can find something online about this guy with just a first name. I feel my own uneasiness welling up inside, but I am not going to let that stop me from protecting Midnight with every last ounce of strength if need be.

...via 'moral support,' of course.

That's fine. Midnight is strong – far stronger than I gave her credit for.

Well, is it really that surprising to find nothing?

Since I had slept virtually the whole day away, tonight was already not going to see much shuteye. As a result, much of the overnight hours have been spent slaving over Midnight's laptop, trying to find some clues as to this mysterious man named Theodore.

With my plans set in stone, I had Midnight sleep in my room tonight. I would rather be out in the living room with the TV on for background noise while piddling with the laptop in my search.

Admittedly, that was also equally an excuse to feed Midnight. In reality, I wanted her to get some truly restful sleep after unleashing that monumental burden.

Obviously, I didn't tell Midnight that, but her reluctance to take up my offer made it clear she viewed it as pity. But I insisted on the room swap, and she relented.

It was only after she calmed down and eventually retired to bed for the night I could start to absorb what had been unraveled tonight.

I feel sick – and not because of the battle with food poisoning today.

How in the hell can anyone justify hacking up a living being for their own gain or the pursuit of "science?" No wonder Midnight is so maladjusted. How she's even functional is...

Amazing.

The mental image of her eyes being literally scooped out to be replaced with prosthetics that weren't guaranteed to work...

Man, it's probably good I emptied my stomach earlier today.

How long did she have to endure that misery? Going through that, I doubt she wanted to keep track of time even if she could. I'm certainly not going to ask her. What Midnight already shared was too much.

Now, having escaped that and given an opportunity to live a vaguely normal life...

I can't help but feel a lump form in my throat. It takes a moment for that to pass without letting it go any further, aside from a bit of dust irritating my eyes.

But she's not out of the woods yet with this fellow poking his nose where it doesn't belong. Even if he coincidentally could just tell from looking at her she wasn't a bot, I wouldn't expect anyone to just casually bring it up as Midnight described.

There's more to it than that. That's a certainty.

My first instincts tell me this guy works for EquisCo, assuming that is indeed from where Midnight escaped. By the sounds of it, they don't just do fun little pony robots despite the name. They've got ideas down other avenues as well. Could they still want her back for more fun with their macabre science project?

Over my dead fucking body. They probably want to erase her from existence, to avoid getting caught doing illegal genetic experiments.

Keeping up on the news isn't something I bother to do, so a quick detour through "bioengineering" topics for a better understanding was next. It seems a few years ago, creating new critters for pets became a viable undertaking and with that topic came enough pushback to get the practice banned before it supposedly took off.

It's pedantic at this point - but has Midnight been suffering since before that ban, or did she come afterward? Neither option is satisfying, so I let that thought die.

Midnight also mentioned this guy wanted to help... there is always the chance he legitimately wants to assist Midnight with her predicament. Assuming he does somehow have a connection with... real ponies.

Man, that is an odd thought.

But this guy says he knows of others like her. What he means by "others like her" is left up to the imagination for now.

First and foremost, he is a legitimate customer - he put in an order, and I will fulfill it. What comes after that comes down to true intentions...

"Are you seriously still up?"

I practically jump about a foot in the air off of the couch with the sudden quip from Midnight. I turn around, jumping once again as I find her snout mere inches from my face.

Her bemused grin only grows wider with my second near heart attack.

"Damn, are you trying to kill me?!" I shout in exasperation.

"More or less curious if I still have my sneaking skills properly honed. I'd say so, judging by those reactions I got," she explains calmly.

"I'll put a bell on you if you keep pulling that shit," I taunt her.

"I'd like to see you try," she dares.

Midnight casually walks around the sofa, taking her normal seat.

That doesn't last too long, as intrigue over the laptop I'm holding draws her to scoot closer to me. "I thought you were trying to take pity on me, and you've really been up pounding the keyboard, haven't you?" she asks, trying to make out what I have in the search bar.

I delete it quickly, just to fuck with her - and give her a smarmy grin when she looks up at me with disappointment.

"I can handle whatever you're trying to find," she mutters.

"I'm sure you can, but I've come up empty on our mystery man, anyway," I admit. "And of course I'm still up, I slept all damn day; I might sleep for a couple of hours before work, but I don't need any more than that. Why the hell are you up?"

"Not needing sleep was a lie, but I don't need much of it," she replies. "A few hours here or there is about all I do. Tonight though, that was probably the longest I've slept in... " She trails off, looking up at the clock while pondering her answer.

It's almost three in the morning now - and she retired to your room at a quarter till ten.

Five hours, at most. Damn.

"Habit from keeping an eye open for danger?" I suggest.

It garners a nod from Midnight. "Old habits die hard. But it goes a bit beyond that time frame - I just have a hard time... shutting my brain off, I guess. Relaxing."

"Do... you think it's because of..."

I stop myself from going further into explanation, as I don't know how sensitive the subject is for Midnight. Instead, I settle for tapping the side of my head with a finger.

Midnight sighs as she stares at me.

No, more like staring beyond me.

"Probably. My memory isn't that great with anything before then – very fuzzy," she explains quietly, keeping that same far-off gaze. "I do know Twilight bots are known to be quite high-strung, always looking to learn something new."

"And that's one of the chips, I'm assuming?"

"Mmhmm."

"I probably shouldn't be asking this shit, sorry," I apologize, suddenly feeling quite guilty about opening up this wound again.

"It's funny, normally I would berate you for digging," she muses, cocking her head as her eyes focus on you once again.

"Why aren't you?"

"Feel like a weight got pulled off of my shoulders earlier tonight. Don't get me wrong, I will flay you if you turn into a soft little bitch, and don't expect me to be an emotional cuddlebug—"

"But it felt good to tell your plight to someone else," I finish for her.

"Yes."

"At least let me say I'm sorry you had to go through all that. Can't imagine it."

"Don't make this all mushy," she warns. "What's your plan going forward in regards to this 'Teddy?'"

I have to just shrug instinctively, which causes Midnight to frown.

"That's not reassuring," she says in a flat tone.

"Well, I'm not going to just lie to you – there is literally nothing I can find of anyone named Theodore or Teddy who's a renowned scientist or mad genius. It would probably be easier if I had a last name, but even then, no guarantees. For all intents and purposes, this is just your average guy that may or may not have been involved with the line of work that dabbles in making bots or..."

"Making things like me."

"Beings like you. Not things. Have a little more respect for yourself - remember how you pushed yourself as this image of a superior being before," I encourage her.

"Well, I am better than you, but that goes without saying," she jabs.

"Now hold on there, that wasn't what I meant," I snap, playing up the image of being offended.

"Perhaps not, but the point still stands. I'm turning around your business, aren't I?"

"I suppose," I pout. "But anyway, you and I are gonna get the parts for that order tomorrow, and I'll give him a call to notify him – maybe see if I can't get him to talk about what this is all about."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Wait for him to pick up the parts - he said when he did, he'd talk to you, right?"

"Yeah." Midnight's lack of enthusiasm makes it clear she doesn't like what I'm laying out.

But I can't just crucify the guy for knowing something. There aren't really any other options here.

I know Midnight understands. But it certainly throws her back into an uncomfortable situation, and for good reason.

"Don't stress about it – I mean it when I say I got your back. Remember that," I reassure her, going to pat her on the side. Midnight is keenly aware of my movement and eyes me with disapproval.

"Sorry," I apologize while pulling my hand back. "So you're really done sleeping?"

"Yep. And I'm not going to listen to your alarm go off two or three times before you get your ass up in the morning, so call it a night," she instructs.

"Fine. What are you gonna do?"

Midnight merely points a hoof to the laptop that rests upon my legs.

"Gee, what a surprise," I respond, setting it down in front of her.

"Oh shut up and get to bed already. And you better not be sick tomorrow when you get up."

"Man, I hope not. I'm not even going to joke about that," I reply, rising up to my feet and stretching. "You want the lights on, or nah?"

"I'll get them at some point," she says dismissively, already beginning to delve into information on the screen in front of her.

"Alright then. G'night," I tell her before shuffling off to my room.

"Hey, John?"

"Hm?" I turn around.

Midnight sits upright on the couch facing me, her forelegs draped over the back of the furniture. "Thank you for listening to my bullshit," she says solemnly.

I wave my hand, reminded back to when I said the same thing to her. "I figure it comes with the territory of having someone to help me out with this place. Don't worry about it."

The response surprises Midnight at first before the realization hits her.

She grins, just wide enough to show her canines.

"G'night, doofus."

That's about the nicest thing she's ever called me.

How cute.