Chapter 6: The Heart of the Mechanism, Part 2

“Calm down, I’m not-”

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” I ducked back behind the desk, stifling a yelp of terror as yet another ray of fiery green death sailed over my head, igniting the papers scattered all over the piece of furniture.

Just my luck. This was the first pony I’d seen here who hadn’t been murdered by the crazy robots… and said robots’ psychological warfare tactics had her so thoroughly freaked out that she was shooting everything that moved. Good for her chances of survival, but not so good for mine. Fortunately, the means by which she was shooting a weapon when she didn’t even have hands to hold it with gave me an idea…

Squeezing my eyes shut, I threw together a rough mental map of my surroundings, before mentally reaching out for the rough location of the pistol she was using. I was rewarded with a yellow glow from in front of the desk, a panicked shriek of “SHIT!!!”, and the sound of the silvery Necron-esque pistol she was using clattering onto the floor next to me, torn free of her own telekinesis.

The emerald green glow of her own telekinesis warned me that she was reaching for another weapon. Thinking quickly, I darted out from cover, my horn flashing as I used my telekinesis to grab hold of her shotgun. And her sniper rifle. And her auto gun. And her Needle pistol. And her knife. And her shovel. Seriously, how the frak does a pony that small manage to haul around so much ordinance?1

“NO! NO NO NO-” The mare wailed, her hooves scraping against the metal floor as she struggled to free herself from the various scraps and holsters securing her collection of guns and close quarters combat wargear to her sides and back. “You can’t do this to me! I’m-!”

“It’s okay.” I cut her off, speaking firmly yet gently as I plastered Frown #6 on my face (slightly perturbed without looking disapproving or upset, good for leaving people with the impression that you care about their well-being, particularly when you actually don’t).2 “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The mare froze, blinking once, then twice, as if only just now realizing that I wasn’t some slathering mutated horror seeking to jam its betentacled tongues in her you-know-what.3 An embarrassed blush blossomed into existence on her face as she realized that she’d been trying to incinerate the one creature loose in this building that didn’t want to murder her. “…sorry.” She said sheepishly.

“Happens to the best of us,” I responded, releasing my hold on her downright ridiculous assortment of guns. At least this time, the ‘friendly fire’ coming my way was purely accidental.4 “You okay?”

The mare nodded. “As okay as I can be, considering the past few weeks I’ve been having…”

"Yeah, same here.” Well, I’d only been on this Emperor-forsaken planet for two days, but I could still relate.

The green-eyed pony chuckled a little at that… and was that a slight blush on her face? “I’m-”

She was cut off by the CHOOM of the power turning back on, followed almost immediately by the baleful-green lights. “Y’know what? Let’s save the introductions for another time, okay?” I offered quickly, glancing at the auspex readout. Couldn’t see any red bars… but then again, auspexes, xeno-made or not, are nothing if not finicky and unreliable.

“Right.” The mare nodded, her expression hardening. “Sometime when we aren’t running for our lives from a buncha homicidal robots.”

*** *** ***

The scenery didn’t improve as the two of us ventured deeper into the facility, trotting past more charming platitudes such as ‘It will set us free’, splashes of blood and other, less pleasant substances, and the occasional nightmarish diorama made from posed corpses. I numbly noted that every single body we passed had a gaping hole in the back of its head and lacked both eyes and a brain; I had hit the ‘too much blood n' guts, stopped caring’ threshold at least an hour ago, but my self-preservation kept my eyes up and focused on my surroundings. With that accursed music still serenading us, I was reliant on senses other than sound, the pipbuck’s auspex-equivalent, and the waxing and waning of the tingling sensation in my hooves; I couldn't afford to let my eyes drop to the floor.

“You want to live? Don’t make me laugh!”

“This isn’t life, it’s hell on Equis!”

“But not to fear, we’re most humane…”

“You’ll never feel a thing again…”

“Got it.” The music’s volume was abruptly halved. I glanced over at my short-statured companion, noticing the rapidly-dissipating green glow that had enveloped her own Pipbuck moments before.

“How did you…”

“Finally managed to isolate and block the radio channel that was broadcasting that stupid tune.” The mare declared, with a smidge of pride. “Damn thing was a pain in the flank to pin down…”

“Can you do the same for my pipbuck?” I asked, extending the foreleg said pipbuck was clamped onto toward her.

“Sure.” Her bright-green telekinetic aura enveloped the piece of xenotech, and I clamped down hard on the urge to jerk away.5 In a matter of moments, the music fell completely silent; after who-the-frak how many hours of that creepy tune, the sudden silence was honestly a little jarring. “My Cutie Mark is a pipbuck, after all.”

Cutie Mark?6 I opened my mouth to inquire further… and my inquiries were promptly relegated to the back of my mind as a high-pitched, feminine scream reached our ears. I tensed, scanning my surroundings, but couldn’t find the source; whatever had prompted that outcry was far away from my general vicinity, and if I had any say in the matter it would stay that way.

Unfortunately, the grey-furred mare had a say as well. In the time it took for my gaze to return to her, she had taken off down a side corridor, toward the sound of yet more screaming.

…frak. “Wait!” I said out loud, breaking into a gallop as I trailed after the mare, chasing her through the facility’s twisted halls, toward the continuing screams of abject agony that were rapidly getting louder…

The yellow bar on the compass that presumably represented my newfound companion was suddenly joined by several red ones, and I hesitated, my stride faltering. I was only there for a few doses of this ‘Med-X’ stuff so that the only ally I had left didn’t kick the bucket. Was it really necessary to throw myself into virtually-assured death for a mare I barely know-

The screaming reached a fever pitch, accompanied by a yell of “VELVET!!!” from said mare I barely knew. Frak… I hissed silently to myself, some unknown compulsion urging me to follow in the mare’s hoofsteps.

In all honesty, even if I’d known what was awaiting me in the chamber up ahead, I’m not sure whether I would’ve done anything different.

I rounded another corner, and the source of the screaming promptly became horrifyingly apparent. The screamer was another unicorn, black with a yellow, red, and white mane, and the source of her distress was quite obviously the fact that she was in a surgical operating theatre turned into a slaughterhouse, having a morbidly familiar-looking hole drilled in her skull by a spider-like mass of arms holding scalpels, bonesaws and torturous-looking medical tools in a dozen gleaming articulated limbs. Said mass was suspended above a surgical table so drenched in blood it looked like it had been dyed a visceral shade of maroon, right in the center of the room.

As I watched, riveted to the ground by equal parts horror and fear, there was a final slice, a disgusting splurch… and then the black-furred mare went silent and limp, her brain now suspended inside the glass casing of one of the very same jars I’d seen atop the mechanical monstrosity that had tried to reduce me and Blackjack to a fine red mist earlier. The grey-furred mare in front of me wailed as if her soul had been ripped from her body, tears streaming from her eyes as she flung herself forward… and was promptly smacked out of the air by the aforementioned mechanical monstrosity, smashing against a wall and then crumpling to the floor, unconscious. With that done, the massive machine turned toward two smaller, pony-sized robots standing behind it… and, for the first time, I noticed Blackjack, slumped on the back of one of those robots. I didn’t need to be told why these things had decided to spare her.

And all of a sudden, I found that I just couldn’t stand still and watch anymore. In a flash, my chainsword and laspistol had all but leaped into my telekinetic grip, my hooves had thrown my body forward, and my mouth had opened wide as I started to sing.

“Crazy robot number one: smashed to a pulp by his own gun!” Yep, you read that right. As my telekinesis wrenched the gatling boltgun arm right out of its socket and violently slammed it into the casing of its mechanical bearer, instantly reducing it to oh-so-much scrap metal, I was belting out a far more uplifting spin on the same nightmarish tune that whoever or whatever was in charge of this place had been broadcasting to my pipbuck. Don’t ask me why I thought here and now would be a good time to demonstrate my abruptly not-so-nonexistent musical talent; I honestly have no frakking clue.7

“Robot number two: laid low by a humble laspistol!” The clear glass ‘head’ of one of the smaller, pony-like robots shattered beneath the force of a lasbolt from said pistol, the brain within splattered across the already-bloodsoaked walls as said robot crumpled to the floor.

“Robot number three: sawed in half by a chainsword’s teeth!” The other pony-like robot threw Blackjack off her back and launched itself at me, the tips of its steel hooves sparking with electricity… and slammed straight into the whirring teeth of my chainsword, the plaster teeth tearing through its body like a power sword through tissue paper.

“Robot number four: was dead before he even hit the floor!” An attempt to fire my Laspistol revealed that it was empty; in a move that only made sense in the sort of corny holodramas where combatants engaged in musical numbers in the middle of a no-holds-barred battlefield, I flung the weapon at an oncoming spherical robot with six spider-like limbs dangling from its hovering chassis, whipped out the xenotech pistol, drew a bead, and fired. Surprisingly, the ray of fiery orange energy that was issued from the weapon proved far more destructive than the detonation of the laspistol’s depleted power pack.

More robots were flooding into the operating theatre, but I couldn’t care less. The same was true of the golden glow at the lower corners of my vision, which I’d later learn were coming from my flanks. Like a servitor on autopilot, I’d fallen into the rhythm of battle, the assailants and their blows blurring together as I dodged and swung and shot like the Emperor himself had hopped into my hooves and was guiding my steps, all my attention and focus devoted to staying alive and taking my swarming opponents out. And that was probably for the best; to quote one of my favorite teachers, one Commander Sturkley, “Once you have entered close quarters combat, it is far too late to waste time and mental capacity wondering whether doing so was a good idea.”8

And somehow, despite the fact that there were much, much better things I could’ve been using my limited lung capacity for, I was still singing.

“You say you’re humane? Don’t make me laugh!”

“This isn’t humane, it’s a living death!”

“So let me show you what mercy truly means,”

“It’s time for this nightmare to come to an end!”

And with that, the last robot fell, and the lights abruptly cut off with another CHOOM. As I fell silent, I tensed, bracing for more attackers to leap at me from the dark… and then the red emergency lights clicked on, bathing my surroundings in dim red light, and revealing that the one new robot that had rolled into the chamber when the lights turned off was now slumped and silent, somehow deactivated.

Thank the Emperor… I whispered to myself, slumping into the steely grip of the set of power armor I was still wearing. I’d probably have collapsed right then and there if not for it.

Behind me, I heard the patter of hooves—organic ones—on the metal floor, and turned. “Woke up against the wall. I was going to go help you… but then I spotted this thing hooked into the device on the ceiling.” The grey-furred mare explained, lifting a glowing-green crystal about the length and width of her horn with her telekinesis as she spoke. “The lights turned out when I…” She trailed off into silence as she got a good look at the state I was in.

“...was I singing?” I asked. Yeah, hardly the most dignified response I’ve ever come up with, but then again I was half loopy, and from a whole lot more than just exhaustion and the adrenaline leaving my system.

“There’s a sword.” The pony said, her eyes wide with alarm. When I just gave her an uncomprehending look, she clarified further. “In your chest.”

I glanced down, only then noticing the blood gushing from the edges of the aforementioned blade and spreading across the floor, painted black by the sanguine lights. And all the alerts and warnings my Pipbuck’s HUD was flashing in my face. And the way my world was starting to black out along the edges of my vision.

Case. In. Point.

“Oh.” I deadpanned, my voice slurring even more than it already had. “That looks… fatal…”

Something in my power armor broke, and all of a sudden, I was pitching to the side. I didn’t remain conscious long enough to feel myself hit the ground.

*** *** ***

When I came to, I felt good. Alarmingly so, considering that last time I checked there’d been a sword jammed in my ribcage. Oh, and my power armor was gone.

“Good, you’re up.” Blackjack said from the side of the table I’d been laid out on as I sat up with a jolt, feeling for the spot that the robot-held blade had pierced my flesh. Both the blade and the wound it had created had inexplicably vanished.

“H-how-”

“Stimpaks.” The grey mare added, waving a cross-shaped syringe with some kind of gauge attached to the opposite end in my face. I took note of a glassy, fluid-filled canister strapped to her back, and the brain suspended within it.9 “Auto-injectors loaded with some really powerful healing reagents. Won’t fix broken bones or bullets in your body, but they can fix anything short of those. Oh, and my name’s Littlepip.”

“Good to know…” I said slowly, wisely deciding against commenting on the fact that some kind of xenotech drug had been given to me without my consent. Not that I was in a position to complain; without it, I’d probably be dead. “Anyway, we got the Med-X we came here for, right?” I asked, turning to Blackjack.

“...there’s something else we need to deal with first.” ‘Littlepip’ interjected again, cringing a little as she turned toward a door. One right next to one leading into the operating room, labeled “extracted brain storage”.

Sure enough, when Littlepip reached the door and opened it, it opened onto a room lined with rows upon rows upon rows of brains, loaded into jars identical to the one Littlepip was hauling around. Hundreds of the cylindrical canisters lined the shelves and walls, each one hooked into a tiny monitor displaying zigzagging lines, the brainwaves of a pony who’d been lured into this hellhole by the promise of medical aid it offered, just like we had. And near the back of the chamber, set into a steel pillar, was a terminal.

STABLE-TEC Standardized Operating System Ver. 2.075

Cerebral Preservation System Online.

Warning: Main Facility Power Offline. Emergency Power Active. Power Levels: 99.999%

Warning: Cerebral Preservation Canister Intercom System Offline

Deactivate Cerebral Preservation System? Y/N

…oh. Oh, frak me!

“No no no… fuck no!” Blackjack suddenly screamed, having apparently just reached the same conclusion I did. “We are not killing a thousand ponies who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time!”

“I… I was hoping we could take them with us…” Littlepip proposed, but I shook my head.

“Those jars look like they run on built-in powepacks of some kind. That means they need power to function.” I pointed out. “And if those powerpacks aren’t hooked into a steady source of energy, they’re going to need regular recharging. We could probably get away with bringing along one, but hundreds?”

“Then we can go out for help! Come back later for ponies who know how to fix this! Right?!” When Littlepip didn’t answer, Blackjack turned to me, her face split between desperation and despair. “Right?” She asked again, her voice softer.

“We’d have to find these ponies. And you remember how we got here, right? There’s no guarantee we’ll be able to find this place again.” I pointed out.

“And you want us to kill them instead?!”

“It’s either that or leave them here." Littlepip countered, before turning to me. "Are you willing to do that, on the vague hope that somepony who’s able and willing to save them will come along before the facility runs out of power?”

I blinked. “And why is that question directed at me?”

“You’re the tiebreaker.” Littlepip told me, bluntly. “I don’t want to leave them, she doesn’t want to kill them.” And you’re the alicorn in the room, her eyes seemed to say, that addendum left completely unspoken yet looming over the conversation none-the-less.

Frak… I whimpered silently to myself as I pressed one hoof to my face, struggling to decide what to do. Why is it that every time something like this comes up, everybody turns to me like I’m the designated hard call maker?! It’s not like I’m the only person in the room capable of deciding whether someone lives or dies, right-

“KILL ME!” The words I’d heard from that xenotech terminal I’d stumbled across earlier echoed through my head, my spiraling thoughts having reminded me of what I heard. And all of a sudden, I knew exactly what I was going to do.

I trotted up to the terminal, casting one final, sweeping glance at the jars lining the walls as I did so. If I’d wound up in here, I’d want whoever came across this place to keep the power on. I’d want to cling to the slim chance of something coming along and finding a way to restore me to at least some vague semblance of life, even if that meant sitting blind, deaf, and bodyless on one of those shelves for 10 millennia straight.

But I wasn’t them. And they’d made what choice they would prefer all too clear.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice barely higher than a whisper as my hoof rose toward the terminal’s keyboard. ‘Y’ and ‘enter’.

The lights running down the length of the room turned off, one after another, the zigzagging readouts beginning to subside as I bestowed whatever passed for the Emperor’s Peace among these xenos upon hundreds of innocent souls.

“These poor ponies, all they knew… was how it feels to be alone…” Littlepup began to sing softly; I recognized the tune; it was the same song that this accursed place had been tormenting us with, the same song I’d turned on its head mere minutes before. Yet there was no malice or triumph in her voice; just sorrow. “Beyond help, left to rot… caged by glass, collecting dust…”

“Hundreds of lives, lost to madness incarnate…” Blackjack joined in as the last lights clicked off, leaving the room dark save for the jagged readouts on each pod, slowly but surely flattening out. “Dreams turned to nightmares, by a twist of fate…”

“You call this mercy? Don’t make me laugh…” I raised my voice, right in time to join in on the chorus. “This isn’t mercy, it’s a living death…”

“But not to fear, this ends tonight…” And then, one by one, the flat readings began to wink out, one after another. “It’s high time this sick charade came to a stop.”10

LEVEL UP! (3x)

Strength Attribute Increased By One

Endurance Attribute Increased By One

Agility Attribute Increased By One

New Perk Added (Quest): Omnissiah’s Own Disseminator — Your talent at social interaction is such that you can charm your way into the good graces of damn near anything… including things that by all rights should not be charmable! Mechanical opponents inflict 10% less damage on you in combat, and may be persuaded or intimidated just like an organic foe. Also grants unique dialogue options with machines capable of verbal communication.

New Perk Added (Spell): Celestia-Tier Telekinetics — Congratulations! You just found out that you have enough magical energy at your disposal to throw stuff around with telekinesis that would normally be way too heavy to even lift! Forget lifting an Ursa Minor; you could probably levitate twenty of them! At once!

Level 9, +14 to base Special

SPECIAL Stats
Strength: 5
Perception: 5
Endurance: 4
Charisma: 8
Intelligence: 4
Agility: 6
Luck: 10

1: A very good question, and one that still remains something of a mystery. My best guess is that her exceptional talent with telekinesis allows her to subconsciously reduce the weight of all that ordinance somehow.

2: Or so you claim…

3: Which, considering a certain… altercation with a certain creature Littlepip had been through prior to meeting Cain, and the fact that he had wings, a horn, and happened to be wearing a suit of power armor, is admittedly a very reasonable assumption.

4: Contrary to the implications of this line, I’m reasonably certain that Cain has never been on the receiving end of the ‘intentional’ variety of friendly fire, despite his status as a Commissar. Largely by virtue of him going to great lengths to ingratiate himself with the members of any regiment he serves with, but still.

5: Evidently he was still a little rattled from his… encounter with Tentacles.

6: For those of you who are as confused as Ciaphas was, Cutie Marks are a pair of identical pictures found on almost every pony’s rear thighs, which usually represent a pony’s special talent(s) through some kind of image. Usually the connection is obvious (Littlepip has a pipbuck for a Cutie Mark, representing her skill at hacking and technical aptitude), but sometimes it’s symbolic (Blackjack has an Ace and a Queen of Spades, which is a non-literal representation of her luck somehow being both exceptional and horrendous).

7: Probably unconscious self-preservation. Apparently, a pony’s combat effectiveness increases by as much as 250% when they’re doing a musical number.

8: This ‘Sturkley’ fellow is notable for having written a whole book full of similar maxims, entitled ‘Sturkley’s Guide to Serving the Emperor in a Sane and Reasonable Fashion’. It is a remarkably clever and insightful piece, and his unique brand of witty sarcasm is on full display throughout. In other words, go read it.

9: This was the brain of Velvet Remedy, the black-furred pony for whom Cain had the dubious honor of bearing witness to the vivisection thereof.

10: ...no, those stains on the pages aren't tears. It was raining, and there was a leak.

Author's Note

Finally, this chapter's done! Fair warning; probably going to be a bit before the next one drops.

In case you were wondering, "Sturkley" and his "Guide to Serving the Emperor in a Sane and Reasonable Fashion" is a reference to Murphy's Laws of Combat; the guy's named after the author.