Surrogate

by Raugos

Rating: teen
Tags: Science Fiction, Suicide / Self Harm, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 14588

For a fee, you can rent a pony. You can be a pony. But you can never stay a pony.

For a fee, you can rent a pony.

You can be a pony.

But you can never stay a pony.

An entry for the Science Fiction Contest III organised by Bicyclette.

Published 2024-05-14 19:20:02 UTC
Last updated 2024-05-14 19:20:02 UTC

Chapter 1

Cliff Breeze yawned and stirred, burrowing under the blanket for warmth.

Something wasn’t quite right, though.

The sheets and blanket were awfully smooth, and carried the floral scent of cheap detergent. The mattress was a lot softer than he remembered. The pervasive, whining rumble of the neighbour’s makeshift generator was gone.

Soft giggles and whispers. Firm but gentle touches. Ear nibbles…

Groaning, he flipped the edge of the blanket off his chest and blinked the crustiness out of his eyes.

“Good morning, Frosty,” a sweet voice crooned.

Cliff froze and stared at the earth mare in bed with him, caressed by the morning sun’s rays trickling in from the room’s little window. Teal eyes. Pale amber coat. A mane positively blazing with all the radiant shades of a maple tree in autumn. It took his post-uplink brain a while to recognise her from the murky depths of his memories, but her name eventually came up: Pixel Rust.

Passionate moans. Legs, wings and tails entwined. Lips pressed against one another. Rhythmic rocking like gentle waves on the ocean, bathed in warm darkness…

He took a quick sniff, and his stomach churned when he realised exactly what his body had been up to last night.

“Everything okay?” She snuggled closer until their muzzles almost touched. “You look a little under the weather.”

Slowly, Cliff retreated from her until his back found the edge of the bed. His wings briefly fluttered in the sudden absence of warm fabric, after which he gingerly sat up on his haunches and mumbled, “I’m sorry. I’m not, uh… Frosty.”

She giggled. “Silly goober. Who else would you be?”

“My name is Cliff Breeze.” It sounded alien on his tongue, and he couldn’t meet her eyes, but he forced the rest of the words out. “I’m a surrogate. Sorry.”

After a moment of silence, she snorted, and said with a distinctly frigid voice, “Hoar Frost, if this is a prank, it’s very much in the not funny category. What the hay is going on? If you’re having second thoughts about us, just spit it out. Don’t give me this surrogate nonsense. I’m not stupid; I know you don’t have a slug. Your neck’s clean.”

Her smile could’ve lit the room up like the sun and lifted him higher than any updraft. He would do anything for her, never let her down.

Cliff winced. Her disappointment wasn’t meant for him and therefore shouldn’t have twisted a knife into his heart, but it did all the same.

“My slug isn’t in the usual spot,” he mumbled.

“Yeah? Where, then? Your balls?”

“It’s higher up.” He twisted to present his neck to her, then brushed aside his mane near the base of his skull. “Go ahead. Feel it.”

Despite his averted gaze, he could feel her scowl boring into him as she reached out and tentatively prodded at the indicated spot. Her breath hitched when her frog brushed against the scar tissue of the incision hidden in his thick mane, and she began pressing her hoof against his neck in earnest, feeling the lumpy implant underneath the musculature above the axis and atlas vertebrae. He winced and fought to keep still as the sudden and uneven pressure sent tingling jolts through his nerves to his extremities.

“Oh, bucking hayseed,” she muttered as she withdrew her hoof. “But—but last night you… we… Damn it, you lied to me! I’m such an idiot…”

“I’m sorr—”

She threw off the blanket with such force that she practically whipped him in the muzzle, and then stomped out of the bedroom without another word.

Cliff sat in the bed for a moment, rubbing his muzzle and wondering if he should make a break for it before she called the cops. He technically wasn’t liable for trespassing if he was unlinked outside of a surrogate centre, but she might embellish the details of their encounter a bit, and everypony knew that the cops were less than fond of humans, and by extension, surrogates. On the other hoof, if he caused her any distress or property damage in his attempt to leave, that would give the cops the perfect excuse to teach him a lesson or two…

Pixel Rust was still tromping around somewhere in the house, and Cliff decided that the last thing he wanted was for her to return and find him still in her bed. It wasn’t unheard of for a surrogate to get bludgeoned, stabbed or even shot by their client’s date once the jig was up.

A series of muffled chimes rang from a saddlebag next to the bed, and Cliff almost reached for it on reflex. He had to stop and remind himself that it wasn’t his phone, despite the hauntingly familiar tune. Instead, he made a brisk attempt at tidying up the bed and eyed the shower for a moment before thinking better of it.

This was neither the place nor time for personal grooming. The sooner he was off private property, the better.

It was a small apartment, with just enough space for a couple of rooms, a kitchenette and a crammed living room, so he had no trouble locating the exit. His hooves sounded like thunder on the floor tiles as he sidled out, feeling like a thief trapped in a maze filled with roaming police.

He just needed to sneak past the kitchenette and—

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Cliff froze mid-step and winced when he saw Pixel glaring at him from the dining table. Her mane and tail remained dishevelled, and her un-brushed coat had retained all the crusty, swirly patterns created by tossing and turning in bed—and other activities. Between the reddened, teary eyes and the shadows created by the glowing smartphone screen directly beneath her muzzle, she looked almost like the ghost of a jilted lover, risen from the grave to punish the unfaithful.

“I was just leaving,” he said.

She kicked an empty chair toward him. “Sit.”

“But—”

“You’re not leaving until you’ve had breakfast,” she growled.

They grinned as they belted out the raunchy lyrics of their favourite band’s hit together, whilst their half-eaten dinner lay forgotten on the table.

“Well…” He glanced at the door, then at the second bowl of what looked like cereal on the table. His stomach then settled the matter with a rumble. “I… Okay, thanks.”

Easy. Just take it easy. Don’t set her off.

Cliff took a seat on the opposite side of the table from her. There was less distance between them than he would’ve liked, but for now, she seemed content to sip her coffee in broody silence whilst she tapped away at her phone.

He cautiously picked at his cereal at first, but then ate in earnest when his shrivelled stomach found the milky, sugary puffs very agreeable. In between ravenous bites, he did his best to avert his eyes from her phone and ignore the way her creased brow got more severe with each passing minute.

Her apartment was much nicer than his. Nothing fancy, but she clearly had enough bits to afford a place with wallpaper instead of exposed concrete and metal everywhere. It reminded him of his parents’ home, of a time when he wasn’t such a massive scre—

“So, what’s his name?”

Cliff nearly choked on the last lump of cereal when Pixel’s voice dragged him back to the present.

“He’s not answering my calls,” she continued, and this time there was a hint of steel in her voice when she locked eyes with him. “I want to know Hoar Frost’s real name. His human name. And I want to know what he looks like.”

“Well…” Cliff gulped and gestured vaguely with a wing. “I, uh… I’m not sure how much you know about surrogate policy, but we’re not given access to any client’s personal information. And even if we knew anything, it’s strictly against the rules.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So what I’m hearing is that you won’t help me.”

“I can’t help you. I’m not allowed,” he said with a helpless shrug. “At any rate, he’s probably on Earth, and you know how they are with portal crossings these days. The visa requirements are absolutely overkill.”

“Don’t lie to me!” she snapped. “I’ve been to your—his apartment in Dasher Row. I’m going over there right now and—”

Cliff threw up his hooves. “Whoa, I’m not lying! Clients don’t bring dates to their actual homes—that’s the first thing they’re told not to do. And you’re only going to get into trouble if you go there and accuse every human of being your coltfriend!”

Silence reigned for a moment.

He could practically see the cogs working in her head, and his wings twitched whenever her muscles tensed like steel cables underneath her coat. He was no toothpick, but the fleeting memories of the previous night—heaving, pushing, panting, as futile as trying to move a warm, fuzzy, giggling steam engine—made it absolutely clear how he would fare against her earth pony strength if she really decided to have a go at him.

Eventually, Pixel closed the app on her phone with a swipe hard enough to crack the glass. Then, she jabbed a hoof at him and growled, “You…”

Her hoof shook as her voice trailed off, and she blinked profusely as tears welled up in her eyes. “This—this is just… I look at your face and I… fuck!”

She slammed her hoof on the table. “They were right about you freaks. Go. Just go.”

Cliff swallowed and hopped off the chair, heading straight for the exit. But, just as he went through the kitchenette’s doorway and rounded the corner, his brain dutifully reminded him that he was still somewhat responsible for his client’s belongings until he got to a surrogate centre. He grimaced as he skidded to a halt and gingerly poked his head back into the kitchenette.

Pixel scowled. “What?”

“Umm… My, uh, client left his stuff here last night…” He slowly raised a hoof and gestured towards the bedroom.

“Yes. His. Not yours,” she spat, lashing her tail. “If he wants them back, he can bloody well come and collect them himself. Either in his own skin or yours—I don’t care. But you are not laying a hoof on his stuff.”

“I… you’re right. Sorry for asking.” Cliff sighed and took a step back. “Look, for what it’s worth, you might still be able to reach him. Calling won’t work because the numbers you know are on this side of the portal, but aethermails should get through.”

He didn’t wait for her response. His wings twitched as he plodded to the front door, which whirred, clicked and slid open upon receiving Pixel’s remote command. A blast of cold air struck him as he stepped outside into the apartment complex, and the door to Pixel’s unit slid shut, almost pinching the end of his tail.

Cliff glanced back at the security camera embedded in the door.

She giggled as he held her steady. He snuck in a couple of kisses. She licked him back. The scent of booze wafted on their mixed breaths. It must’ve taken them a whole five minutes to just line up properly for the retinal scanner to open the door…

Grimacing, he turned away and focused on his surroundings.

The centre of the concrete superblock had a fairly spacious air well that opened up directly to the sky. Good. He needed a quick exit. After flexing his wings and confirming that they were fit for use, he leaped over the railings in front of Pixel’s unit. A few residents watched him with mild disinterest as he spiralled upwards until he disappeared over the rim of the air well and into the sky.

It took him a while to get his bearings and cross reference it with his hazy memory of Pixel’s address, but he eventually recognised some skyscrapers in the distance and briskly flew in their direction, following the rail line leading out of the residential hub.

He could probably reach the surrogate centre within a couple of hours of nonstop flight, provided he could keep up the pace. Winter was setting in, and despite the morning sun and the exhaust from numerous industrial sites below, the chill was biting right through his coat.

The tears started welling up as soon as he set off.

After just half an hour of flying, Cliff’s tears were frozen to his cheeks, and he already had ice forming on his feathers and wanted out.

Nope, nope. Too cold. Too far.

He did take a quick cloud bath before descending to the nearest train station, though. Not as good as an actual shower, but better than nothing. The last thing he needed was everypony getting a whiff of just how much fun he’d had with Pixel last night.

Luckily for him, it most of the weekend’s morning rush was already over, so he actually managed to snag a seat for himself.

Cliff sighed as he sank into the padding and closed his eyes. The hypnotic rumbling and rocking of the old train didn’t take long to set his mind adrift…

Pixel’s back arched like a cat’s, and she moaned when he—

His eyes snapped back open.

Scratch that. This was not the place to surf memories.

Instead, he forced himself to observe his surroundings. The screen at the end of the cabin cycled through the week’s headlines, occasionally switching to flashy ads and PSAs. A few ponies eyed him warily from their respective seats; maybe his cloud bath hadn’t spruced him up as much as he’d hoped. A griffon and a human chatted quietly in the corner, smoking cigarettes. At the next stop, a stallion and mare entered the cabin, and several of the other passengers made faces when the couple started making out in their seats.

Cliff winced.

Did they really have to be like that?

It would’ve been nice if they’d at least worn something to cover up the unsightly humps between their shoulder blades. Most slugs were implanted with carapace casings and were impossible to hide without clothes. In just the four or five years since the tech had entered the market, surrogates had already acquired a distinctly seedy reputation, and those two weren’t helping. Worse still, not everypony bothered to distinguish between surrogates and the clients who used them; he was lucky that Pixel hadn’t taken out her frustrations on him.

Thankfully, they didn’t escalate their displays of affection, and the rest of the journey passed without incident. The mixture of trees, conduits and industrial sites in the countryside eventually gave way to an ever-scrolling wall of concrete and neon lights as the train entered the outermost district of Kinship City. Not much sun reached the ground – too many densely-packed skyscrapers and superblocks in the way. A few more stops, and he was up and out onto the streets of Dust Alley, followed by a short trot to the surrogate centre.

It stood out amongst the rows of bars, shops and adult entertainment facilities, having just a plain door and no windows whatsoever. Ponies, changelings, griffons and even the odd human or diamond dog milled about in front of other establishments, basking in the flashy lights as they conducted business and enjoyed each other’s company. Professional escorts of various species gave him sultry smiles as he trotted past them.

He sputtered and coughed as the liquor burned its way down his throat. Pixel cackled and downed her shot with ease. “Pfft, I told you to work your way up slowly. See what happens when you don’t listen to me?” she said as she playfully patted him on the back…

Cliff shook his head and presented his eye to the retinal scanner. It beeped softly, followed by a heavy mechanical clank as the door unlocked and slid open with a pneumatic hiss.

The interior looked like an old, underfunded clinic, devoid of patients. It was, however, quite cosy, and Cliff was happy to get away from the chill outside. A lone changeling sat at the receptionist’s counter, sporting a getup consisting of a yellow sweater and leg warmers that made him look like a bumblebee when combined with his black chitin.

“Hi, Sternum,” said Cliff as he trotted up to his fixer.

“Mister Breeze?” The changeling looked up from the computer screen and frowned. “Again? What happened this time?”

“I, uh… woke up in his marefriend’s house.”

Those piercing blue eyes narrowed. “After making the eight-legged horse, I presume?”

He bit his lip. “Yes.”

“Any collateral?”

“Nothing aside from leaving his stuff at her house. She was upset, but she didn’t hurt me.”

“Uh huh. That’s the third strike, and he went out with a bang, too.” Sternum buzzed his wings and chirped an expletive. “That grub’s getting blacklisted.”

Cliff reared up and thumped both front hooves on the counter. “Wait! Please, can’t you just let this one slide? I mean, can you blame him? He got laid!”

“You know, there’s a reason clients are discouraged from using their surrogate to form deep relationships,” Sternum deadpanned with half-lidded eyes. “I’m aware you’re fond of this one—he’s admittedly a very regular and consistent customer the past couple years—but the rules exist for a reason. I’ve warned him multiple times already, and yet here you are. It could’ve turned out so much worse for you. We found Lily Jade in a ditch two days ago, severely dehydrated and exhausted—she’ll make it, don’t worry—but I think you’ll agree that everypony in your profession would want her client permanently off the market.”

“Yeah, but my client’s nothing like tha—”

“For now,” Sternum said more forcefully. He then jabbed a hoof at him and growled, “Humans have a habit of pushing boundaries. First it was you waking up a couple of times in your client’s flat, and then this morning, you’re in bed with his marefriend. Next time, it might be in mid-air, on your way to painting the ground with your guts because he wanted to take a nice flight around the neighbourhood and forgot about the deadline. You might not worry that much about your safety, but I do.”

“Because you’re such an altruist?” Cliff rolled his eyes.

Sternum grinned and gestured vaguely with a hoof. “Well, yes, but mostly because the boss’ll split my chitin for not doing everything in my power to protect an expensive asset. Slugs aren’t cheap, and we’d much rather you continue working with us for a long time instead of… you know, getting crippled or potentially dying on the job.”

“But you’re just assuming that it’s going to get worse, and…” Cliff sucked in a deep breath and sighed. He then pressed his hooves together on the counter and pleaded, “Look, just this once, let it slide. Give him a real nasty warning and a penalty or whatever, but don’t blacklist him. He doesn’t do anything freaky with my body, and that’s super-rare.”

“What clients do with your body isn’t any of your business. Besides, how would you even know that?” Sternum’s eyes narrowed. “Are the memory blockers failing?”

Cliff’s heart rate spiked, and he shook his head a little harder than was probably necessary. “No! I mean, as far as I can tell, there’s just no lasting damage or anything when I get my body back.”

“Which brings us right back to the point that he’s eventually going to if you keep rolling the dice on him.”

“I’d be rolling the dice anyway with new clients. Besides, my point is that he’s just made a few bad calls in the heat of the moment instead of literally treating my body like a condom. I mean, look at this!” He flared out his wings and wiggled his feathers. “I’m pretty sure he actually knows how to preen. How many humans bother to learn? Or at the very least, he’s paying somepony to do it for him. Like he actually cares about my body. That puts him way ahead of most clients and you know it!”

Sternum was silent for a moment.

“Come on. You’ve spoken to him, right? He’s not a bad pon—person. Just give him one more chance. Please?”

After looking at him for another moment, Sternum buzzed his wings and shook his head. “I’m probably going to regret this, but… okay. Fine. He gets one more chance.”

Cliff released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Sternum as he waved a hoof dismissively. “Seriously, don’t, or it’s my job on the line. Let’s just get you cleaned up.”

He nodded and walked past him to the decontamination room like clockwork. Before going in, he stopped at the blood sampler to get his frog pricked; the analysis would be ready after he was done getting cleaned up. The harsh water jets left him feeling like a tossed piece of raw salad, but he always appreciated the way it felt like it was also somehow getting rid of grime on his soul. Something to occupy his senses and stop him from thinking. At least for a while.

Brushing himself down after getting his hair and feathers all frizzed up by the blow-dryer also felt extra nice this time.

“Mmm, lower…” said Pixel as he ran the brush through her smooth coat…

Grooming himself took a little longer than usual. When Cliff stepped into the med bay for his pre-release check-up, he found Sternum frowning as he peered at the tablet in his magical grip.

After taking a moment to school his expression, Cliff approached him and asked, “Something wrong?”

“Maybe.” Sternum placed the tablet on a table, sat on his haunches and spread his forelegs wide. “Hit me.”

Cliff matched his posture and hugged him. He then kept still as Sternum closed his forelegs around him and thrummed softly. A deep breath and a hiss, followed by that distinct tugging and nipping somewhere between his heart and mind as Sternum sampled his emotions. It was always mildly unpleasant, as he’d never gotten the hang of ‘giving it freely’ as some claimed, but maybe that was because those ponies actually had a thing for bugs.

At any rate, the procedure didn’t take long and Sternum eventually released him.

“You’re a little off baseline,” he said, clicking his tongue as he tapped away on his tablet. “Anything you want to tell me? Problems I should be aware of?”

He shook his head.

Sternum locked eyes with him and frowned. “Mister Breeze, this is serious. I’d been thinking about what you said earlier, so I have to ask: are the memory blockers failing? Have you been surfing?”

His throat felt dry, but he resisted the urge to swallow. “No.”

“You’re lying. Don’t do that. Not to me.” Sternum’s frown deepened. “When did this start? How many cycles have you gone with memory leaks?”

“Umm, maybe two or three? It’s… gotten worse.”

Sternum grimaced and shook his head. “More lying.”

“I’m telling the truth!”

“About the timing, sure. But you sure taste like you consider this development a net positive.”

Cliff opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. He’d already said enough; any more might be overplaying his hoof. Instead, he simply flattened his ears and looked away, squirming under Sternum’s gaze like a foal caught with his hoof in the cookie jar.

Thankfully, Sternum didn’t press the matter. He just sighed and rapidly tapped some notes onto his tablet.

“Well, nothing we can do about it right now. But next time, I’m upping your dose of blockers,” said Sternum as he flared his curved horn and floated a syringe into view. He then made a twirling motion with his hoof. “Come on. The bloodwork found traces of narcotics and dreamweed; your client’s been experimenting.”

Cliff kept his head low and turned around. A second later, he winced as Sternum injected a small dose of thaumoxone to neutralise whatever nasties they’d detected in his blood.

“Look, I get it. Everyone’s a little curious, and sometimes you glimpse clients doing some exciting stuff with your body,” Sternum continued as he wiped the injection site with a cotton swab and gave him a firm pat on the back. “But we are selling private experiences. You know how bad it’ll be if we lose a client’s trust and get a lawsuit on our hooves. Sooner or later, you’re going to see something you’ll regret. This is for your own sanity as much as everyone else’s. Promise you’ll let me know if this happens again.”

His ears drooped. “I… okay. I promise.”

Sternum smiled and patted him again. “Good. Now, let’s finish up here.”

After a quick once-over, Cliff got a clean bill of health and was sent on his way.

Flying was less than pleasant in this part of town—too many wires and conduits going between buildings—so he went on hoof. Like an ant in its nest, he navigated the familiar route through the streets and catwalks, past countless ponies going about their business. Most were eagerly looking forward to the weekend, trotting towards the usual entertainment centres and parks. Cliff Breeze just wanted to go home.

It was almost noon by the time he got back to his flat in the residential blocks, and he was trembling by then.

Sternum’s promise to increase his dosage hung heavy on his mind.

Surrogates formed memories differently while being controlled through their slugs. They were still stored in the brain, but forming them required a roundabout neural pathway through the slug, which meant that they could be blocked by a drug which suppressed that part of the implant. Ideally, surrogates shouldn’t be able to remember anything that their bodies did while uplinked, but have perfectly normal memories when they were themselves again. But if the dosage was off, then some uplinked memories would leak through, and once they were formed, they couldn’t be removed without invasive mind magic or causing general memory loss.

At least, that was how Cliff understood it.

He practically charged into his room and rummaged through his stash under the bed.

Got it!

The bottle of clear fluid still had about nine, maybe ten millilitres left—possibly just enough for the next uplink even if Sternum upped the dosage of blockers.

Cliff sighed as he put the bottle back in place and flopped onto the bed to wait for his nerves to settle. He knew that Sternum meant well, but his gut had been viscerally churning with dread at the prospect of missing out.

It wasn’t easy getting his hooves on the counteragent. At least, not one that the surrogate companies were already familiar with. A big chunk of his pay went into acquiring his supply from the black market. Sternum would’ve freaked out if he knew just how frequently and how much Cliff used. He’d have to get more soon, hopefully in time for the session after next.

Once he’d relaxed, Cliff gulped down a cold cup of tea and lay in bed, sifting through the latest memories rising up from the fog in his brain. Much of it still involved his date with Pixel Rust, but the more time his brain had to recover, the more it was able to recall memories from earlier in the week. There was one of him simply putting together a model of a griffish airship, marvelling at the exquisite detail of the talon-carved woodwork…

Would Pixel forgive hi—Hoar Frost? Would his client blame him for not doing a better job of smoothing things over once he was found out? Cliff knew it wasn’t his business, but at the same time, they had a good thing going, and he hated the thought that he might have played a part, however small, in breaking them up.

“Pluck me,” he growled.

Cliff shook his head and focused on the memories.

He hoped he had enough to last him the weekend.

Soaring over the clouds. Shrieks of delight as he swooped down and nearly brushed against a treetop. Pixel Rust was all snug in the carrier harness under his barrel, spreading her legs out and laughing, whooping, shouting for him to go higher and higher!

Landing on a snowy mountaintop far from civilisation. Panting and heaving to recover his breath, he unfastened the harness. Snuggling, giggling, kissing, tossing, tumbling. Pressed foreheads together, combing his feathers through her mane, whispering sweet nothings into her ear…

Belly-down in the snow, biting his lip and trying not to giggle as she nibbled his feathers. “Stop laughing. Preening is hard!” she said. Yelped when she accidentally plucked a loose feather. “Oops!” Rolled over and gasped and guffawed helplessly when she gave up and resorted to pure tickling, cackling like an evil, evil sweet mare…

Brought his guitar. Played her a silly song. Raised their voices together until the squirrels pelted them with nuts. Nuts were tasty. Went well with turnip sandwiches.

There were many memories.

But not enough, never enough.

Cliff surfed them, devoured them. Clung to them like driftwood in the ocean. A vast, empty ocean wide and deep enough to drown a million souls.

Chapter 2

Cliff Breeze lifted his muzzle from the sink and stared into the mirror.

He remembered having a sky-blue coat and feathers, but it all just looked kind of grey and washed out in the dim light of his bathroom.

Rivulets of water ran from his sodden mane, down his cheeks and dripped from his chin, almost like tears from his bloodshot eyes. The bags under his eyes were so dark that he almost expected the water to draw out streaks of mascara from them.

How’d he even manage to look like a ghoul so quickly after his client had kept him healthy and presentable for the better part of a week?

He smiled.

It looked wrong.

Fake.

Undeserved.

Nopony was supposed to make that expression. At least, nopony that was him.

He glanced down at his dripping hooves, at the scarred tissue around his fetlocks where the hair refused to grow back completely. He angled himself to look at his side and lifted his wing—a similar scar ran from the wing pit to about a third of the length of his humerus.

No. Not today.

Cliff folded his wing and turned off the water.

One day.

Just one more day, and he could let someone else take the reins again. Someone with a little more appreciation for… whatever they saw there. Leaving him free to sleep and be not.

After briskly towelling himself off, Cliff almost balked at the prospect of finding something to fill the rest of the day in his ratty hovel of an apartment. It was getting too cold to go outside, and he didn’t want to deal with people right then.

He’d already surfed through most of Hoar Frost’s memories for the week in a single day. He could go for repeats, but only the first recall was almost as good as living them, and the diminishing returns was steep.

His tablet got him about a couple hours’ worth of engagement. He’d already exhausted his library of websites and social media updates. There wouldn’t be anything worth checking for the next few hours. Movies and shows weren’t worth the subscription these days.

He listened to news reports and podcasts he wouldn’t remember whilst he sorted out his finances. His paycheque had arrived on time, so he was set for a while. He just needed to place orders for his meals, supplements and the next batch of anti-blockers. Pay his rent. Taxes.

One particular news blurb briefly caught his attention:

“—yesterday evening, Miss Alice Jensen was acquitted of homicidal negligence in a Canadian court of Earth for the death of Mister Log Rhythm, part-time surrogate, whose body was injured by a manticore whilst uplinked to her control. The prosecution failed to prove beyond reasonable doubt that his suicide was due to his horn disfigurement, as he was found to have been displaying signs of severe dysphoria and compulsive memory surfing even before the accide—”

Cliff switched channels.

He glanced around and saw food packs overflowing from the waste bin and crumbs peppering the concrete floor. Taking out the trash was doable, but sweeping the floor and wiping down his table and chair didn’t seem worth the effort. It wasn’t as if he was living here most of the time, anyway.

Maybe he should’ve just stayed asleep.

His lunch of Kirin noodles was the highlight of the day. The burning taste of spice in his mouth was almost enough to bring a little colour back. He used to like going to the arcade. When Mum and Dad were still around…

Lunch had given him enough of a kick to pick up his guitar.

It had been years since he’d logged into his old Harmony Tunes account. He didn’t dare. There would probably be hundreds of comments from his fans asking what had happened to him. He had no idea how anypony could’ve been a fan of his music in the first place.

He plucked a couple of strings. Forced his throat to hum.

Wrong!

He strummed. Whistled.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!

He clenched his teeth and just barely managed to resist throwing his guitar at the wall.

Pathetic.

After taking a nap that felt far too short, Cliff forced himself to finish dinner, which consisted of an awful hayburger and fries. Princess Burger’s quality had dropped beneath even his abysmal standards; he really should’ve splurged for more Kirinese soup and noodles. Would’ve helped to wash down the bitter supplements for keeping his slug healthy.

He then spent some time unpacking the parcel of sculpting supplies he’d ordered. Once he’d gotten everything in place, though, everything just… refused to proceed. No matter how much he kneaded and moulded the lump of clay, it never resulted in anything better than what a foal might produce in kindergarten arts and crafts. Cliff knew deep down that it was ridiculous to expect any level of skill on his part when it had been Hoar Frost who’d made decent sculptures of Princess Twilight and the Canterlot Express, but couldn’t he at least have felt a fraction of the simple joy that permeated those memories?

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

He’d seen snowmares with more accurate body proportions than this.

Wrong!

Cliff wiped his eyes and smashed the clay figure back into a misshapen lump.

It was already bedtime.

If he never woke up again, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Somehow, going back to the surrogate centre had a way of lifting his mood. Maybe it was the anticipation of acquiring more experiences to leech on later, like an addict perking up at the thought of taking another hit. Or maybe it just coincided with the amount of time needed for his brain to get over his funk.

Whatever it was, it helped Cliff to pass for a functional pony before each uplink.

Sternum gave him the usual check-up and blood test to ensure that he was fit for service, and Cliff soon found himself comfortably strapped into the uplink unit, which was pretty much a dental chair with extra technological bells and whistles. His slug and feathers tingled as the adjacent thaum emitters powered up in preparation for neural linkage across universes.

“Let’s hope your client’s a little more punctual this time, eh?” said Sternum as he stuck a clear IV tube into Cliff’s foreleg.

Normally, he’d never show any nerves during this part of the procedure, but this time, Cliff couldn’t help feeling a little jittery as the regulator beeped in response to receiving the results of his bloodwork. Then, as it pumped the necessary dose of stims, catalysts and thaumoxone for unwanted substances in his body, he imagined the memory blockers as a black jet of inky poison mixing with everything else as the cocktail flowed into him.

Apparently sensing his apprehension, Sternum shook his head and said, “Let it go, Mister Breeze. Those experiences are off-limits, for all our sakes.”

Cliff hoped he couldn’t taste his relief about the mistaken conclusion.

As usual, the blood test had failed to detect the dose of anti-blockers he’d taken shortly before coming in, because it was still in the digestible baggie he’d swallowed. By the time it dissolved enough to leak out its contents, it would be long after he’d been released into his client’s control.

He just hoped he’d taken enough to completely neutralise the upped dosage of blockers that Sternum had administered. Sternum hadn’t specified by how much, and asking about it would only raise further suspicion. At least the only consequence of an overestimation would be an expensive waste of his supply rather than any toxic side effects.

“All right, our client’s on the other end.” Sternum flipped a switch and buzzed his wings as he monitored the readings on his tablet. “Initiating neural hoof bump.”

Cliff gasped as a sharp jolt pulsed from his slug and rippled through his nerves to his extremities.

“Leyline is stable. Binding.”

Cliff glanced down and saw his forelegs strapped to his side. His deep chest rose with each breath.

He was one.

Cliff blinked and saw a pair of forearms overlaid on his forelegs. An image of a flat, clothed chest intersecting his own. A small, claustrophobic room appeared within the walls of the med bay. His nerves and bones positively vibrated with magic and electricity.

He was two.

“Uplink established. See you in a bit.”

Sternum tapped on his tablet to execute the lock-in sequence, and Cliff’s eyes rolled up into his head. His hearing became muffled and his mind sank beneath the waves.

He was none.

Cliff stared at the implant suspended in a little vat of clear fluid as it was wheeled to the operating table by a griffon dressed in scrubs. Up close, it looked like a fluke worm crossed with a neuron cell, dull-green in colour with sickly pink and yellow veins branching out all over its surface.

“So that’s the mind control implant?” asked Cliff.

“Mind control? Hardly,” the griffon surgeon scoffed. He then flashed a toothy grin and traced a talon across the surface of the vat. “This is a Synchronous Leyline Uplink Ganglia module. It connects your nervous system to the will of a client whilst keeping you blissfully unconscious—nothing quite so barbaric as the caged awareness you would experience under traditional mind control. Its enchantments are attuned to universal leylines, so it is not subject to latency or signal disruptions even across dimensions. No, this is a true marvel of biothaumic engineering, courtesy of our human and changeling friends!”

“I… I see,” Cliff said as he watched it pulsate gently. “It’s smaller than I thought.”

“Our latest model has been downsized to fit nicely between the axis and atlas vertebrae—much more comfortable for you. Just be careful; the lack of a carapace casing means that it is vulnerable to blunt force trauma, even when covered by your muscle tissue.”

“I didn’t know I was getting an experimental version.”

The surgeon’s smile didn’t waver. “It is not. It has already been deployed in a few of our employees, with great success, I might add. No one has damaged their slug so far.”

Cliff frowned. “But if it does get damaged, it’ll heal on its own, right?”

“Alas, slug regeneration is extremely limited, so my advice is to treat it as if it was your last functioning kidney. Your contract does not cover for replacements, and a single one of these will put a significant dent in your finances.”

“Then why ditch the casing?”

The huff was a little indignant. “Why, discretion, of course! Clients appreciate not being immediately identifiable as such. And in all likelihood, so will you, once you have to live with it. This gives us an advantage over our more… financially ample competitors.”

The surgeon then rubbed his palms together like a mad scientist and practically purred, “So, are you ready to open up a whole new world of experiences for our friends from Earth?”

Cliff opened his mouth to answer, but his stomach beat him to it with a loud grumble.

The surgeon raised an eyebrow. “You were instructed to have a modest meal before coming in for this procedure.”

“Yeah, well… I’m a little short on bits.”

After a bit of staring, the surgeon sighed and stalked out of the room, saying, “I suppose that is a fairly common impetus for getting into this profession…”

When he returned, he tossed a ration bar into Cliff’s hooves. “Eat.”

“Are you sure?”

As if on cue, his stomach growled again.

“Yes. Your gastric resentment is inconvenient. I will wait.”

The next couple of minutes passed in relative silence as Cliff munched away. Once he’d appeased his stomach, he laid belly-down on the operating table and kept still as his wings and legs were restrained with thick straps.

As the surgeon pressed the gas mask to Cliff’s muzzle, he smiled gravely and whispered, “Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing.”

I already don’t.

Chapter 3

With a great yawn, Cliff Breeze stirred and glanced around.

The med bay looked exactly the same, as if Sternum had been prepping him for uplink just moments ago. That was good. His client had returned him on time and in decent shape this round.

He hopped out of the chair and winced as pain shot through every muscle in his legs and wings.

Lungs huffing and puffing like bellows. Wings straining against the freezing wind. High above the clouds, he threw his head back and whooped as he dove towards the icy valley below…

Cliff blinked.

Scratch that. He would be in great shape once the soreness faded away. Looks like someone had been giving his body a serious workout!

He briefly wondered if it had involved a certain other kind of exercise, and immediately regretted it when a pit opened up in his stomach. He shook his head. Bad idea to be thinking that kind of thoughts with a changeling nearby, and in all likelihood, Pixel Rust had probably dumped him—his client after that incident…

Something rustled in between his feathers.

When Cliff shook his left wing, a little piece of paper fell out, which he then unfolded and realised was a note meant for him.

It read: Sorry about last time, and thanks for sticking up for me. It will never happen again.

Great, that only made him guiltier about his marefriend.

At least getting cleaned up gave him time to tamp down his emotions and hopefully not think about surfing all the new memories in his brain, at least until he was safely at home. He also swallowed the note—best not to dump it anywhere in the centre where Sternum might find it.

Thankfully, he got through the pre-release check-up without rousing any suspicion. Sternum must’ve been having an off day; winter had truly set in, and the poor bug was shivering the entire time despite being so well bundled-up that he looked like a bee plushie.

With Hearth’s Warming around the corner, the city had put up a whole lot of extra festive lights. Ads and music were on full blast, and despite the cold, more ponies were up and about, even partying on the streets. Cliff ignored the crowds like a bug tunnelling through dirt, laser-focused on just getting home.

Once back in the privacy of his unit, Cliff did the bare minimum of checking his mail for parcels and dusting off his chair before diving right into the surfacing memories.

Elysium Heights, near the top of the city skyline. Fancy diner. Unpronounceable names of dishes. Juicy, tender, griffon-style poached salmon that melted in his mouth and rich, tangy crystal berry wine. Expensive as Tartarus. Too many zeroes.

Rumbling train out to Diamond Valley. A whole day of losing himself in the joy of flying. Huffing, puffing, straining, pushing himself to the limit. Resting on a cloud as it drifted aimlessly, watching the world go by…

In Cloudsdale Stadium, at a Rainbow Bullet concert. Stomping his hooves to the beat with thousands of ponies, singing and chanting their hearts out. Screaming and cheering when the Wonderbolts zoomed across the sky, trailing bolts of lightning.

It was one fancy or hardcore thing after another, with breaks in between just long enough to rest and recover before the next thrill ride. Even as a passenger to the memories, Cliff found himself needing to take breaks just to space things out a bit.

Seriously, his client was going on a major binge.

Which… wasn’t surprising.

With each hour that passed, Cliff was more and more certain that Pixel Rust had dumped him. She never appeared in any of the memories, and there was no apparent effort to make contact in either direction. Whatever had transpired between them, it had probably been done and dusted before initiating uplink, and anything after that was just him burying the pieces with as many distractions as he could.

Cliff went to bed feeling oddly full. And it wasn’t because he’d eaten a relatively hefty portion of oats and hay for dinner. He was just… sated. Maybe this was what changelings felt like after they’d properly stuffed themselves on love.

The next day was more of the same. Another motherlode of intense memories to surf.

That wouldn’t last much longer, though. He’d already glimpsed memories of things that’d happened on the same day as initiating uplink, and his gut squirmed at the thought of running out.

He forced himself to slow down, just a bit.

Around noon, he stumbled across something different.

His heart thumped as he sliced open the parcel. Gazed at the little glass bottle containing coarse, bluish-purple granules. Popped the cap off. Looked like coloured sea salt, smelled like ozone. He carefully sealed it back up and hid it in his safe with the combination lock.

Cliff got upright in bed and sat on his haunches, frowning.

Moondust.

One of his previous clients used to mix it with apple or pear juice for consumption. Word on the net was that it produced a mild but long-lasting high. Cliff was only familiar with the jitters and nausea of a Moondust crash. It tended to interfere with the slug’s normal functions, so memories of the high were rather numb and indistinct.

His present client had acquired more than a week’s worth of it. And yet, he’d never taken any at all during the uplink. Otherwise by now Cliff would’ve encountered faulty memories of the high or experienced the nasty crash. The post-uplink bloodwork also hadn’t detected anything in his system.

Could he have bought it for somepony else?

Or maybe his actual self? It did work for humans…

Wait.

There was one other way to use Moondust. The high was normally mild, but taking a very concentrated dose all at once would leave you in absolutely mind-blowing euphoria for hours, right up to the moment it burned out your nerves and stopped your heart. And that was it; you were out like a light, permanently. Cliff had once considered it an option, but back then he hadn’t been able to afford enough Moondust to go that way…

Cliff’s blood ran cold.

His client had been using his body like it was his last day in Equestria.

‘It will never happen again.’

“Oh. Oh, horse apples.”

Was he overreacting? Surfing memories didn’t allow him to read his client’s actual thoughts at the time of experience, only his mood. And it certainly didn’t give him access to the human brain of his client, aside from some phantom double vision when initiating uplink.

Maybe he was just saving it for the next round as Hoar Frost. Maybe he actually planned to use it responsibly, whether pony or human. Or maybe tomorrow the news would be talking about a dead human found somewhere in town, having overdosed on Moondust because somepony didn’t say anything…

He leapt out of bed and paced around, wings twitching. “Crud. Buck. Shit!”

A day and a half had passed since terminating the uplink. Definitely enough time to overdose and check out after one last thrill ride. But if he hadn’t started immediately, there was still time to stop him.

Cliff grabbed his saddlebag and phone. After stuffing his Bugtooth headset into his ear, he burst out of his apartment and launched into the air, surging through the narrow airspaces between buildings, narrowly dodging conduits, clotheslines and festive lights on his way to the surrogate centre.

Sternum answered his call. “Hello, Mister Breeze. What’s the—”

“Get a thaumoxone auto-syringe ready. I’m on my way!” he cried.

“Wha—for whom? Did the bloodwork miss something? Are you all right?”

“It’s… it’s my client. I think he’s planning to OD on Moondust.”

A long pause. Then, “And how exactly do you know this?”

Cliff ground his teeth and snorted. “Look, there’s no time to explai—”

“I’m not doing anything until you give me the skinny,” Sternum snapped. “Right now.”

“Just—aargh, fine! I’ve been surfing, okay?”

“What? Again? How did—”

“I bypassed the blockers. Been doing it for over a year now. Now shut up and listen!”

Cliff rattled on about the various clues he’d pieced together as best he could in between laboured breaths. The bucket-list activities, the breakup, even the secret note. If the Moondust was for his client, then he was almost certainly in Equestria, because if he was on Earth, there would be easier ways to end it that didn’t involve smuggling addictive substances through the portal.

By the time he was done with his summary, he’d just landed at the front door and let himself in with the retinal scanner, just in time to hear Sternum’s response both in person and through the ear bud.

“When this is over, you and I are going to have a long talk about honesty and risk-management,” Sternum muttered as he hung up. “I’ve got your thaumoxone. Now, how do you plan to find your client?”

Cliff swiped the auto-syringe and stuffed it into his saddlebag, then forestalled any protest with a raised feather whilst he huffed and puffed away. His wings burned with exertion, and he might’ve even pulled a muscle.

Eventually, he got his breath back and said, “I’m going to his place in Dasher Row. If the drugs are still there, I dunno, I guess I could—”

“Steal them?” Sternum deadpanned.

“—hide them until I talk him out of it,” Cliff snapped, rolling his eyes. “That’s if he’s coming to pick them up himself. If they’re already gone… that’s where you come in—you call emergency services.”

“And what? Ask them to search the entire city? He might not even be in Kinship! He could be in Vanhoover or Canterlot for all you know!”

“You’ve got access to his payment details, right? There’s got to be an address or visa status in there somewhere.”

Sternum blinked. “That data is held by the payment processor. I can’t ask Payfriend for those without a warrant!”

“Then call the cops and get them to do it!” Cliff threw his hooves up and snorted. “Tell them we know a human’s about to off themselves and cause an interdimensional incident—I don’t know, do something!”

“You do know that they won’t believe me without evidence, which means I must tell them about your voyeurism, right? And on top of that, deliberately bypassing the blockers and surfing memories is a crime.”

Cliff stomped a hoof. “If you won’t do it, then I will.”

“Really? After me being nice to you, this is how you act? If you tell them, it’s potential jail time for both of us! Are you stupid?”

“Stern, I’ve been ready to check out for a while already, so I don’t care.”

Sternum recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “What? Wait, are you experiencing dysphoria? How long have you been like this?”

“Why do you think I got into the business?”

“You—but the psych evaluations!”

“Missed it. It comes and goes.”

Sternum shook his head. “No way. You’re bluffing!”

“Go on,” he snapped, walking right up to him. “Tell me I’m lying!”

Sternum stared at him for a moment, and then deflated. “Oh, grubbing heck.”

“Look, we’ll figure this out, okay? I can—wait, what about the uplink equipment for the human side? There must’ve been an address for the delivery or setup, right? Can you find that in the system?” Cliff then gestured at him with a hoof. “You’re an old-world changeling. I’m sure you’ve got ways of getting that information from logistics.”

“That’s… a decent trail to follow.” Sternum squinted at him and slowly moved to tap on his tablet without breaking eye contact. “Also, that was pretty grubbing racist, but I’ll ignore it this once because you’re my favourite patient and I can see you’re in distress. I’ll call in a few favours and see what I can do—oof!”

In a split second, Cliff had closed the distance and wrapped him in a hug. He was kind of hard and bony even with all those woolly layers on, and he almost seemed to be absorbing heat at an alarming rate instead of giving off any—like a refrigerated can wrapped in socks. He squeezed tightly, meaning every second of it, and felt some of the tension melt away.

“Oh, well… grub, that’s kinda nice…” Sternum murmured. “What were we talking about again?”

“Find his real address. I’m going to Dasher Row. We’ll play it by ear from there.”

Despite his best efforts, Cliff Breeze couldn’t fly to Dasher Row with the same frantic speed as before. It was more than twice the distance of the centre from his house, so he forced himself to maintain a slower, steadier pace to avoid spraining his wings.

Whilst in flight, he managed to surf a few more memories, but found nothing relevant to the stash of Moondust.

It was late afternoon by the time he got to Dasher Row, and the winter sun was already getting low in the sky, leaving bright orange highlights on the tops of buildings and skyscrapers.

His phone rang.

“Yeah?” he answered, his breath fogging in the air.

“So, it turns out that our friend lives in 318, Block G, Dasher Row,” said Sternum. “That’s quite the bit of luck. Provided he hadn’t spoofed it.”

He blinked. That was the exact address for Hoar Frost’s home. But he’d never seen any human in his memories of being in that flat. Maybe his client had always kept his human body somewhere else during uplink, or in some hidden room that Cliff didn’t know of.

Either way, it drastically improved his chances of finding him alive.

“Thanks. Let me know if you find anything else.”

“Well, there is that one thing… please don’t be mad.”

“What?” he asked as he landed at the front door and presented his eye to the retinal scanner.

“Actually, never mind. It’s nothing. I’ll call you back if there’s anything. Good luck.”

The retinal scanner beeped pleasantly the same time as Sternum hung up. Good, his client hadn’t yet revoked his body’s access. That tracked; it wasn’t as if Cliff was supposed to know he lived here.

Cliff noticed movement in his peripheral vision and turned to find a minotaur cow smiling and waving at him from several units away. He only vaguely remembered her. Hoar Frost didn’t spend much time with the neighbours. He gave her a sheepish smile and waved a bit before hurrying in and shutting the door.

“Hello?” he called out.

The flat looked pretty much the same as he remembered: smooth concrete flooring and walls like his own apartment, but with nicer rugs and proper wooden furniture—none of that cheap plastic or metal stuff. There was even a decent couch. Clay sculptures, both unfired and glazed stood on most available surfaces. His well-used guitar sat on its stand in the corner. A plate of half-eaten cookies lay forgotten on the coffee table. The portable electric heater was on—that was a good sign.

“Hello? Anyone home?” he called again.

Stupid. Even if his client was here, he wasn’t going to answer an intruder, was he?

Cliff shut the front door, gritted his teeth and marched into the bedroom.

“Oh, hayseed.”

A human male lay on the bedcovers, dressed in shorts and a singlet. Black-haired and pale-skinned, moderate but somewhat gaunt physique, probably in his thirties, if Cliff’s estimation of humans was anything to go by. He was shivering as he stared at the ceiling with glassy eyes, giggling and mumbling to himself as he traced something only he could see in the air with a finger. The nearby dressing table had a mug on top, next to the empty bottle of Moondust and a jug half-filled with brownish liquid. The scent of oxidised apple juice and ozone wafted in the air.

That had to be him.

“Hey, hey!” Cliff cried as he leapt to the bedside and patted his cheek with a hoof. “Can you hear me? How long have you been here?”

The human’s eyes rolled slowly to look at him, and then he grinned and slurred, “Hey, it’s me. Fuck, I’m a handsome pony…”

Cliff snorted in spite of the situation.

Right. There was no telling when his client had ingested the Moondust solution, whether minutes or hours ago, but the longer he remained in this state, the closer he got to permanent nerve damage. Not to mention hypothermia.

Cliff retrieved the auto-injector from his saddlebag and jabbed it straight into the man’s thigh. He barely noticed. That took care of whatever was in his bloodstream.

Next, he had to deal with the remainder in the stomach.

He grabbed a nearby bin, hauled the man up into a sitting position as best he could with the bin in between his legs, and muttered, “I am so sorry,” before tilting his limp head back and stuffing his largest primary feather down his throat.

A bit of wiggling triggered the man’s gag reflex, and then he doubled over, throwing up a whole lot of chunky puke into the bin. The air quickly stank of sour apples. Cliff repeated the process until the only result was dry heaving, at which point he set the bin aside and did his best to clean his mouth and face with the blanket, and then leaned him to rest his back against the headboard.

Whilst searching for water, Cliff took a brisk trot around the flat and found a little store room at the back of the kitchen, which had been repurposed to hide his human body during uplink. There was a lounge chair crammed in there, along with the neural interface headset, packs of diapers and basic life support machinery for the minimal upkeep of a comatose body.

Well, one mystery solved. His client must’ve been careful not to open it during uplink, especially whenever Pixel Rust visited, so Cliff never got to see it.

He hurried back to the room with some water and stayed by the man’s side, realising that he really should’ve made sure he hadn’t aspirated any puke in the first place. Thankfully, that was just heavy breathing. With each passing minute, those glassy eyes got a little more focused, a little more purposeful in the way they roved around. The smile gradually faded, replaced with bewilderment. His head stopped wobbling and bobbing around and finally turned to face Cliff.

Thaumoxone sure acted fast.

Cliff hadn’t planned this far ahead, so he blabbed the first thing that came to mind. “Hey, are you okay? I’m Cliff Breeze.”

“Philip,” the man said automatically. He licked his lips, made a face and sputtered. “How the hell did you find me? How’d you get in? Oh crap! Are the cops here—”

“Easy, easy!” Cliff pressed him back into bed. “No cops! It’s just me. You recognise me, right?”

Philip stared at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I stopped you from doing something you can’t undo,” he said, gesturing at the empty bottle of Moondust. “Here, have some water—”

Philip slapped the glass aside, spilling its contents all over the bed. “The hell are you saying? Those bastards told me everything was private! How much did you—are you telling me you can remember everything we—I did?”

He winced. “I might’ve, uh, broken the rules a bit…”

Cliff then gasped and snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late. As Philip’s look of terror twisted into a mask of rage, he realised that he shouldn’t have let that slip. For all he knew, Philip might’ve simply been jumping to conclusions and would’ve believed any semi-plausible lie that didn’t involve violating his memories.

“You… you bastard!” Hands clenched into fists.

“Hey, easy!” Cliff threw up his hooves in surrender. “I made a mistake, okay? It was just luck I saw what you were planning and came here to save your life!”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t want to be saved, you stupid horse!” Philip stumbled out of bed and advanced, towering over him. “You know how much I paid for that shit? I had everything planned out, and now you’ve ruined it!”

Cliff scooted backwards on his haunches, keeping his wings up in a placating gesture. “Look, I know you’re going through some awful stuff right now, but it’s going to be okay. You don’t have to do this. Things will get bett—why are you looking at me like that?”

Philip had stopped and was staring at him as if he’d uttered an unthinkable racial slur against his mother. Slowly, he raised a hand and pointed a shaky finger at him. “You… you fucking hypocrite.”

In spite of himself, Cliff felt his hackles rising and his feathers puffing up. “Excuse me?”

Philip gestured at his hooves.

When Cliff turned his gaze downwards, he realised that he was pointing at his fetlocks, at his wings. At the scars. His ears drooped.

“Yeah, I know what those are. Tartarus, after what you tried, you have the balls to lecture me about wanting to do the same? Bitch, you’re a fucking pony. You can fly! You live in Equestria. Magic is real here! What the fuck have you got to complain about?”

“You don’t know me!” Cliff snapped, flaring his wings as he stood up to his full height. “It isn’t always sunshine and rainbows over here. At least you’re able to enjoy the things you do! You can play music and do pottery and stuff without feeling like it’s dead and pointless! Hayseed, you even had a marefriend who liked you! You’re not dead inside! You’re just, what, chickening out? Are you seriously going to throw all that away just because you’re in a rough spot right now? Horse apples, if this is what you’re like, maybe I’m the one who got it from you through the uplink!”

For a moment, Philip glared at him in total silence. Then… “You know what? Fuck you.”

Philip lunged and drove a full-weight punch right into his muzzle.

Cliff stumbled back and fell onto his side, then grunted when he received a heavy kick in the ribs that sent him sprawling into the living room. With a groan, he got back onto all fours and beat a hasty retreat, putting the coffee table between himself and the rabid human.

“Stop! I don’t want to hurt you,” he growled.

“Eat shit.”

He dodged as a clay sculpture flew past his head and shattered against the wall. He ducked again and again as Philip lobbed a volley of ornaments from the shelves at him. A teapot cracked against his skull and made his vision swim with stars.

A sharp ringtone temporarily drew their eyes away from each other, to the phone half-sticking out of Cliff’s saddlebag by the door. He must’ve dropped it in his mad scramble to safety. Philip unceremoniously smashed it to pieces with a figurine of Princess Twilight.

Cliff threw up his hooves. “Oh, come on!”

With a frenzied cry, Philip charged and tackled him to the floor. They rolled around, bumping and crashing into chairs, walls and tables, knocking over dozens of knickknacks as they flapped, batted and punched at one another. Cliff managed to get in a couple of good hits with a backhoof to Philip’s face and a kick to his belly, whilst he received a few slashes to his legs with a broken shard of pottery.

At some point, Cliff managed to pin Philip down, but the human was surprisingly nimble and managed to get both his legs under his belly and launched him backwards into the air with a powerful buck that would’ve made an earth pony proud. Cliff squawked, flailing as he sailed in an arc, and then crashed onto something that crunched on impact.

Sharp pain blazed in his neck, followed by a horrible throbbing sensation that smothered him like a storm cloud. Cliff twitched and moaned as he rolled away from the broken coffee table, from the corner that had smashed into his slug. Jolts pulsed through his nerves at random, throwing his limbs in every direction. The world was spinning. Dark spots and bright flashes danced in his vision. Sounds blared and muffled intermittently, like somepony playing with the volume of his hearing. He curled up into a ball and scrunched his eyes shut, silently begging his stomach to stop churning and clenching, but it eventually overwhelmed him and puke came spurting out of his mouth. All the while, his brain throbbed with horrid, unrelenting agony.

“G-guh, help me…” he whimpered. “Make it stop…”

And then the world ended.

Chapter 4

Cliff Breeze cracked open an eyelid and squinted against the harsh, orange-yellow light. His mouth tasted sour and coppery at the same time, and the insides of his nostrils felt dry and crusty. His muzzle and ribs ached, and a dull throb persisted at the back of his neck.

He glanced around blearily and realised that he was lying on the couch in Philip’s living room. Most of the broken sculptures and pottery had been removed, and the remaining shards swept up into a corner. The curtain was pulled over the window, blocking out the city’s neon lights. It was cold enough for his breath to fog, but thanks to his thick socks and hoodie—the one with wing slits that he usually wore as Hoar Frost—the chill didn’t get to him. His coat felt brushed and carried the faint scent of soap.

Had… had Philip somehow managed to clean and dress him up? How long had he been out for?

The clock on the wall displayed 11.17 PM.

He winced at the thought of the man lugging him around and tending to him like some comatose geriatric. But he had to admit that he’d done an uncannily good job of making him comfortable. He’d been arranged to lie on his back without cutting off circulation to his wings, and a quick check revealed that barely any feathers were out of alignment. He’d even shaved around the lacerations on his legs so that his coat wouldn’t stick to the gauze tape.

Though, that shouldn’t have been surprising. Philip technically had the experience; he was a part-time pony, after all.

Cliff groaned and dragged himself out of the couch. His head spun a little when he stood up, but the dizziness went away after a few seconds. Gingerly, he touched the back of his neck with a feather and hissed when the swollen spot throbbed and ached. At least there was no more nausea or nervous spasms.

Slowly, he trudged to the kitchen and found Philip hunched over at the dining table, nursing a steaming mug. He was shivering, despite wearing a thick jacket and woolly trousers. Parts of his hands and fingers were wrapped in gauze. His lower lip was bloody and swollen, and his black eye was more like a massive horseshoe stamp on the left side of his face.

When he got closer, he saw the spent auto-syringe also lying on the table, next to the empty bottle of Moondust.

“Hey,” said Philip. “Cliff, right? How are you feeling?”

“Like a bucked cloud.” He pulled up a chair and gingerly lowered his rump onto it. “You?”

A shrug. “Same.”

“Why is it so cold?”

“This unit’s central heating doesn’t work, and we broke the portable one.”

Cliff winced. “Oh. That’s not good.”

“Whatever.” Philip got up and opened the pantry. “Can you eat?”

He thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

Philip came back with a chocolate-and-oats bar, a little pack of dried apple rings, and a cup of hot water. His stomach rumbled appreciatively as he chewed.

When he was almost finished, he noticed Philip staring at him from the other side of the table.

“Whahf?” he asked with a half-full cheek.

Philip at least had the grace to look a little abashed. “Sorry. It’s just… it’s like looking in a mirror. I know you’re a pony in your own right, but I keep thinking… that’s me. Why am I over there? Why am I still stuck in this two-legged body?”

He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I think I get it. When I… when I look through those memories, I wonder why I’m never that good at anything. Being me isn’t good enough. I haven’t played any music in years. I want to be you—Hoar Frost. Being me will never be good enough. I thought I might as well let someone else make the most out of my… self, since I’m awful at it. I’m just a useless pony and—horse apples, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping this on you.”

“Fuck, you might as well,” Philip said with a roll of his eyes. “One last thing I could be good for.”

Cliff glanced at the empty bottle. “You’re not going to try again, are you?”

“Hell if I know. There’s no money left to go out on a high note, and I don’t have the guts to jump off a building.”

Cliff bit his lip and flattened his ears. “Thanks for patching me up. I’m sorry about what I said. About you. And I’m sorry about Pixel. You… you were good for each other.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. I’m only human. I never should’ve tricked her in the first place,” said Philip. He then turned his eyes skyward and sighed heavily. “Sorry for shitting on you, too. And dragging you into this whole mess. The… is your slug damaged? The company isn’t going to force you to pay for a replacement, is it?”

“No, I’ve already worked off the initial debt. Hopefully it’ll heal on its own.” He winced as he touched the lump with a feather. “I’m sorry. About the memories. I shouldn’t have spied on you and Pixel. It was wrong and I was… just wrong.”

“And if you hadn’t, I’d be dead, so I guess that evens it out.”

They ate and drank in silence for a while.

Cliff wanted to call Sternum to let him know that the crisis was somewhat resolved for now, but since his phone was smashed, Philip’s was apparently still at Pixel’s place, and the flat didn’t have any landline or desktop, there really wasn’t much they could do but wait until tomorrow when the public library opened. He was too much of a nervous wreck to fly back to the centre, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to leave Philip alone for the night.

Eventually, they finished up and put everything into the sink.

Despite regaining consciousness barely an hour ago, Cliff felt quite ready to sleep like a log, so he hummed in agreement when Philip announced that he was going to bed.

“Hey, umm, Cliff?” Philip paused at his door and shifted uneasily. “I need a favour.”

He looked up to him and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“It’s pretty fucking cold.”

“I know.”

Philip had been shivering on and off the entire time at the dining table, and that was with the lights on, a hot kettle on the stove and a second warm body nearby. His room was positively frigid, and the blanket wasn’t quite thick enough to keep a non-pegasus comfortable without powered heating. Then, Cliff noticed Philip’s gaze going back and forth between him and the bed.

Oh.

There was technically nothing wrong with the idea. It was practical, even. But with all the newfound baggage between them, it just felt weird.

The silence stretched.

Eventually, Cliff swallowed and trotted right in before things could get any more awkward. “Sure, why not?”

“Just to be clear, this is only because the heater’s broken and I’m freezing my ass off,” said Philip as they crawled into the single bed together.

Cliff grinned sheepishly. “Understood.”

They curled up back to back underneath the blanket. No cuddling or snuggling was involved.

Not consciously, at any rate.

Cliff and Philip did not say a word throughout breakfast.

The peace didn’t last, though.

After he’d finished filling his belly with oats, some leftover salad and coffee, the realisation that his slug was out of commission, possibly forever, came crashing down on him. If he couldn’t be a surrogate, he couldn’t surf memories—and Sternum was now aware of his habit, so that was doubly impossible. He had no chance of fooling him another time. And if he couldn’t be somepony else, even for a while, then he was stuck being himself. All the time. Foreve—

“Cliff!” Philip had come around to his side of the table and shaken him. “Slow down and breathe!”

“I… thanks.” He took a shuddering breath. “Ugh. This sucks. So much.”

“What?”

“Me. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.”

“Heh. Join the club. I’ve spent just about everything I have.” Philip went back to his seat and rubbed his temples. “I’m getting evicted next month.”

Cliff took a moment to run the numbers in his head, before he tentatively said, “You could, uh, crash at my place? I’m a little more stable with bits. Enough for us to figure something out in the meantime.”

Philip blinked. “You actually trust me enough to live with you?”

“We’re practically half the same person.” Cliff gave him a rueful grin. “Can’t be any worse than what we did yesterday, right?”

The doorbell rang.

“Shit, you just had to say that, didn’t you?” Philip muttered. “You’re native. You know that Equestria is Murphy’s Law on steroids!”

Opening the door revealed a very miffed earth mare wearing a parka and saddlebag, with a phone held in her hoof.

“Pixel?” they cried in unison.

The mare in question observed them with half-lidded eyes for a moment, tail lashing.

“Cliff Breeze and… Hoar Frost,” she said, glancing at each of them in turn. Her eyes narrowed when she focused on Philip. “You’ve been ghosting me.”

Cliff did a double take and whipped his head to face Philip. “Wait, what? I thought she’d dumped you!”

Before Philip could respond, a voice chirped from the phone in Pixel’s hoof. It had an active video call showing Sternum’s face on the screen. “Oh, thank hive you’re okay! Your slug’s tracking went haywire. What happened?”

Cliff flattened his ears as the others raised their voices at the same time, talking over one another with accusations, excuses, demands and verbal dismissals. The neighbours were coming out and staring, and if they got any noisier, someone was bound to call the cops.

Politely clearing his throat didn’t work. Neither did waving his wing. He eventually got them to stop by yelling, “We slept together, okay?”

When all eyes turned to him in shock, Cliff grinned nervously and continued, “So, maybe we should go inside and sort things out. Somewhere not in public?”

Nods all around.

After going inside and taking their seats around the dining table, they worked on bringing everyone up to speed on everything.

Cliff summarised the sequence of events from learning about the Moondust parcel up to his fight with Philip, including admitting to his chronic habit of surfing memories. Philip then spoke of how he’d taken care of Cliff after he’d passed out due to a damaged slug—they heard Sternum making worried chittering noises from the phone at that—and everything after. Reassuring Pixel Rust that their previous night in bed had been purely utilitarian took a bit of work, but she eventually dropped that scandalised glare and just responded with a huff.

Philip also admitted that he’d been ghosting Pixel ever since Cliff had woken up in her bed. No mails of any kind, no calls, no texts. He hadn’t dared to go back. So, his phone had just languished in her possession. He was sorry, very, very sorry, for leaving her in the dark like that, but just the thought of her reaction had terrified him. He couldn’t see any way back. Pixel’s scowl darkened at that remark.

Sternum took over from there. Whilst Cliff was on the way to Dasher Row, he’d tried calling Philip’s phone, which Pixel answered, since it was still at her place. Once he figured out that she was his marefriend, he pretended to be a telemarketer and hung up. That trail was a bust. When there was no update from Cliff about the situation, he tried calling, but it was suspiciously cut off—courtesy of Philip smashing Cliff’s phone. He then spent hours worrying before he decided to get Pixel involved. But by the time he’d called again and gotten her up to speed on everything, it was already too late for her to catch a train to Kinship City, let alone Dasher Row.

“And that’s why I’m here, first thing in the morning!” Pixel said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She flicked her gaze from the phone on the table to Philip and Cliff in turn. “So, you boys have been cooking up a whole trainload of horse apple drama for ages behind my back, to the point where not one, but two of you are bucking depressed and/or suicidal, and then you guys nearly killed each other and then slept together, and now we’re all here to pick up the pieces like we’re in some stupid soap opera. Is that the gist of it?”

Cliff felt his ears flatten. If human ears could, he was sure that Philip’s would’ve as well. Neither of them could meet her eyes.

“If I may, I think it’s important to acknowledge that at least the situation is no longer in crisis,” Sternum piped up. “We can—”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t sue your ass into the ground,” Pixel snarled at the phone. “Everything we’re going through is because of your Tartarus-damned surrogate scheme!”

Silence for a beat.

Then, Sternum chirped nervously and said, “Well… Mister Breeze did save your coltfriend, and he in turn saved the owner of the body loaned to him. I understand if you want nothing to do with the surrogate programme ever again, but at least the option of emulating the previous state of your relationship still exists—if you want him to be, you know, a stallion again. A lawsuit would end any chance of that, and probably risk jail time for Mister Breeze as well, since it won’t be possible to hide his very illegal surfing habit in a trial. It would be a shame if he had to pay that price for doing the right thing…”

Pixel’s frown deepened. Her tail lashed. “Thank you, Mister Sternum, I think we’re done here. Kindly bugger off.”

“But I… yes, duly noted.” Sternum flattened his ears and nodded. “Buggering off, now.”

And he hung up.

“Fucking corpo,” Pixel muttered.

Cliff felt inclined to protest on Sternum’s behalf; he wasn’t that bad, but now probably wasn’t the best time.

After a moment, Pixel unfastened her saddlebag and pushed it across the table to Philip. “Here, you left these at my place.”

Philip slowly pulled the bag closer and peeped under the cover. He then mumbled, “Thanks.”

More silence.

Then, Pixel scrunched her eyes shut and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. When she exhaled, her eyes were glistening with tears.

“This is messed up. One day I’m having the time of my life, and the next, I find out my coltfriend has split into two different people. How am I supposed to deal with that?” She sniffled and looked at Cliff, up and down as if he was wracked with some terrible disease. Then, she turned to Philip and choked out, “I thought you were toying with me. You’re n-not even a pony anymore! How? How c-could you do this to me?”

“Babe… babe! I’m sorry!” Philip knelt down by her side and gingerly reached out to touch her hoof. She recoiled at first, but slowly leaned into him as he whispered and cooed to her. He gently combed his fingers through her mane, pressing his forehead to hers, hushing her as his own tears started trickling out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wasn’t thinking. Everything was moving so fast and I wasn’t thinking and I couldn’t plan ahead and I was stupid and I’m sorry. Babe, I’m so sorry. I loved you but I was broke and didn’t know what to do. Please, I didn’t mean to—”

Cliff got out of his seat and sidled into the living room as quietly as he could. Despite his best efforts, his ears still picked up sobbing and distinct murmurs, so he forced himself to inspect whatever undamaged sculptures remained, mentally cataloguing them one by one in great detail.

Then, his eyes fell upon Hoar Frost’s—Philip’s guitar.

He swallowed dryly.

Could he?

Slowly, he lifted it from its stand and carried it over to the couch.

He sat and plucked a couple of strings.

Something stirred inside him.

He swallowed again.

Played a note. Then another. And another.

I believed what we had would last forever,
After all the moments we spent together,
Were they meaningless in the end?

It started slowly. Glacially. But each word came more easily than the last.

If friendship is supposed to be magic,
Why has ours become so tragic?
I'm no longer proud to call you my friend…

Each note strengthened the tune in his mind, until he found himself humming along.

Feels like after all this time,
You should have known we'd be here tonight,
Wondering where the past has gone,
All the memories we lost when we moved on,
Honestly,
It hurts thinking,
About the way,
We were, just you and me,
This isn't what friendship is supposed to be…

It felt like his heart was bleeding. It hurt, but he couldn’t stop. The words came spilling out of his mouth as he sang under his breath:

“Giving up always seemed so easy,
“But it's hard when it's you and me,
“And I don't want to say goodbye,
“We've hurt each other time and time again,
“I guess all good things come to an end,
“But I don't want to lose you tonight…”

He closed his eyes and stopped fighting back the tears. It had been so long since he was last in the grip of a heartsong…

“Don't say goodbye,
“I promise everything will be alright,
“Don't leave me,
“I'm sorry,
“I'll fix this if it costs me my life,
“I'm going to make this right…”

As the last resonating note faded to silence, Cliff carefully set aside the guitar and wiped his eyes. He was shaking, but not from the cold. He also felt oddly warm, but it wasn’t because of his hoodie. There was an almost euphoric lightness to him, as if somepony had cut him and drained a lake of poison from his veins. He could finally feel.

When he heard a couple of sniffles, he whirled around and found Pixel and Philip standing behind him. Both had half-dried streaks of tears running down their cheeks.

Cliff cringed and lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. I had no right to violate those memories. Of both of you. I… I’m so sorry.”

“I should hate you for all the times you were perving on us. I look at you, and I feel like there’s a monster wearing the face of my friend,” Pixel said as she closed in on him, until they were muzzle to muzzle. She lifted up his chin and gazed into his eyes like she was trying to fathom the depths of his soul. Then, she sighed and pulled him into a fierce hug. “But you also saved my Frosty—Philip, so I’ll do my best to get over it. I forgive you.”

Cliff stiffened at first, then sighed and returned the hug. Shortly after, he felt Philip joining in and winced when his slug got a little jostled. Still, it was… nice.

They eventually broke up the hug, and Cliff scooted aside so that they could all sit together on the couch and share their warmth in companionable silence. Philip was in the middle, and Cliff noticed that his hand was clasping Pixel’s hoof.

“Are you two… still together?" he asked.

Their eyes met for a moment before they turned back to him and said, “Yes.”

“For now, at least,” Pixel added with a sigh. “We’ll need some time to figure this out—there’s the finances, his visa status, therapy for both of us… Right now I’m just too much of a mess to know if I even should be mad about anything or just happy that he’s still… here. And if Phil is lucky, I’ll turn out to be a filthy xenophile. Just like him.”

Philip chuckled. “You know, I’ve always wanted to do this.”

Cliff watched as he slid his hand up Pixel’s back, through her mane, and then began fondling and scratching her ear with his fingers. She practically purred and leaned into him, sighing deeply.

“Oh, hayseed, yes,” she murmured. “If for some reason we don’t work out, I’m still gonna bucking pay you to do this…”

Cliff almost considered asking Philip for a turn. Almost.

“What about you?” Pixel asked. “Please say you’ll at least get professional help. And get out while you can. We lose enough ponies to that awful surrogate shit.”

“Yeah, we heard you playing. You’re too good to be wasted on us humans. Get help and live for yourself.” Philip chuckled and thumped him on the shoulder. “Shit. Look at me, now I’m the one giving a lecture. Hell, I guess we could even go to counselling together. We’re practically half the same person.”

“That would be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it?” Cliff glanced down at the guitar and traced his hoof over its surface. Touched his neck and winced when his slug throbbed painfully. “I haven’t been able to play for ages… something was different this time. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

He had no guarantee that the awful deadness wouldn’t fill him again, but for now, with Philip and Pixel around, he was okay. He could take another step.

And another after that.

And another.

And maybe that was enough for him.

Author's Note

The song is Friendship by Aviators, an old guard of the fandom.