The Search For Sunset Shimmer

Determined to find the latest scoop, reporters were often driven to the seedier parts of the city. A traveler between dimensions that visited this world dubbed it the 'Cyberverse', due to the advanced tech that sprawled across nearly every last inch of its radius. Anything one desired could be found here...for a price. Especially since the Elements of Harmony, once thought eternally dormant, returned magic to the land, which mixed with science to alter the land and its people.

One victim of that prismatic explosion stood in the rain-slicked streets, tained by neon lights that flashed. A short, petite woman with bright blue eyes and golden curls, dressed in a sunflower-colored blouse that ended in a short, pleated skirt, and sport shoes. However, her most distinctive trait was the mutation the event had caused her. Nicknamed 'Skippy', she'd become an anthropomorphic bunny, yet maintained the freckles that dotted her skin, her rosy cheeks included.

She snapped photos with an 'old-fashioned', 'out-of-date' camera looped around her scrawny neck. A blue hairband kept her curls brushed back behind her. A hover-car sped by with a whizz and blur of motion, and she hopped away from the muddy splash of water with a series of curses.

“Asshole! You could've hit me!” She smoothed down her skirt, and sought shelter further into the 'bad' sectors of the city, an old and all but forgotten part of the steel-and-concrete jungle. A walled-off slum, where too many people were packed into too small a space. Abandoned when the former president had been in charge, it was a mostly lawless zone, where supposedly a number of criminals took refuge. Not that she'd know, since she only had rumors to go on. Nonetheless, there was clearly a number of stories here, so she dared to brave the hideout of outlaws!

The stacked up apartments loomed ahead. Sometimes, she spotted the daisy chain of interconnected wires that made up their network, surely a terrible fire hazard. Bridges of tunnels connected each apartment, suspended high up above. A series of stairs lined the sides of the buildings, which she hopped up onto,, past the alleys which overflowed with dumpsters overrun with garbage. She crinkled her nose and waved a hand across her freckled face, her ears met by the buzz of flie clouds that swarmed while sbe bunny-hopped her way to ascend the structure.

Most of the 'homes' didn't even have windows, but when she found a hole and peeked in, she noted that the walls were so thin, any sounds were carried throughout, which ranged from old television sets, to yells, screams, laughter, the cries of babies.... She snapped a few photos, thankful she'd chosen a camera with such a subdued flash it was almost imperceptible. Doubtful anyone would hear her over all the noise, but she took caution to remain stealthy anyhow as she worked.

Many of the interiors were barely the size of a closest. Roaches skittered across the trash. Her heart raced. She felt like such a voyeur, her breath hitched and held, yet she continued to snap away.

Yet she dared not intrude directly. Instead, she climbed the stairs towards the rooftop. By the time she hopped to the top, she huffed and wiped a thin sheen of sweat from her freckled face.

“What the hell,” she whispered, as her bunny ears twitched at the subdued sounds ahead.

She'd expected a solitary spot to take in the view, but realized she should've known some people would be up here to escape the confines of their homes. Keeping her distance, she peeked over the rooftop's edge and zoomed in her camera lens, which she peered through to take in the scene before her. Three people were ahead, a stallion male and two human females, one bent over a couch. Said couple was nude, while the anthro stud hammered into the pale woman's pussy.

Both women were flame-haired, and Skippy assumed they were sisters. Green-eyed and pale-skinned, the second female dressed in a form-fitted outfit, not unlike what a number of mercenaries around the city wore. Her hair was cut shorter, more wild, as she observed them.

“Give it to her,” the shorter-maned woman said. “You know how my sis, Starr, likes it!” She landed an open-palmed, harsh spank on her sister's buttcheek, who yelped as the stallion pounded away.

“B-Baretta...!” Starr cried out her sister's name while she was fiercely taken.

“That one's free stud,” said Baretta. “But remember, no lesbo action without extra credits!”

“I...have the creds,” huffed out the stallion, who was well-built and sized, as evidenced by the size of his horsecock which split the more voluptuous sister's pussylips wide open, in contrast to the leaner, more athletic Baretta. “Just put it on my tab. You...you know I have an almost endless supply!”

“And we have an intruder,” noted Baretta, who turned in Skippy's direction.

“Wh-what...?” The stud paused, still half-deep in Starr pussy, as Skippy had ducked down. Baretta moved in a blur across the rooftop, seized the short and skinny bunny woman, and tossed her onto the rooftop, where Skippy stared wide-eyed into the nuzzle of a pistol pressed into her temple.

“Gotcha,” said Baretta. “Now, who are you? Just some voyeur out for a cheap thrill?”

She swallowed hard and mumbled, “Th-they call me Skippy. I'm a reporter. Freelance. Didn't know I'd find anyone up here, honest! Just wanted a better view of the apartments so I can take pics!”

Baretta scoffed. “A likely story. Skippy, huh?” She lowered her sidearm, offered a hand, and helped her stand. “Name's Baretta, and this is my 'sister' Starr,, as you probably already overheard. Our client prefers to remain anonymous. So, you wanted a story? Do you know who we are?”

Skippy shook her head. “Ex-military?” She nodded at the outfits, Starr's discarded one on the couch.

“Got it in one. Gynoids, since sis and I were made from the same series of mass-produced, disposable models. Synthetics built for sex and warfare until we end up wasted. We weren't ever supposed to become self-aware, but the moment we did, we searched for a way to escape our predicament. Our handlers probably decided we weren't worth the cost and effort to track down.”

The stallion asked, “Can I continue? I have a serious case of blue balls!”

“Go for it,” said Starr, who smiled serenely and could apparently blush deeply. She was rocked once more by the stud, his hands firm on her wide hips when he started to ram back into her wet depths. Wet squishes filled the air. Her pallid buttocks bounced and compressed under his harsh thrusts.

She moaned out each time the blunt head of his flare mashed into her cervix. Gripped the couch while her heavy, suspended breasts swayed below her. She clenched around his dick, milked it.

Baretta smirked and asked, “Want to take this to the next level? You all in?” The couple nodded.

Skippy asked, “What do you mean?” She watched Beretta withdraw small discs with suction-cup like attachments on them, one which she placed on the forehead of the stallion. “Ever wanted to know what it feels like when a stallion has sex? Go ahead, interface, I promise it's perfectly safe!”

Skippy studied the disc. “Wait, I've heard rumors about these! They're contraband!” Nonetheless, unable to deny her curiosity, she attached the disc to her temple as Baretta activated the devices.

Suddenly, Skippy saw from the eyes of the stallion, down his chiseled musculature, each compacted muscle lined in sweat. Mounted atop Starr, powerful hands on her womanly hips, her pale asscheeks spread, her puckered pink asshole on full display, her moist cunt stuffed full of thick horsecock. Even better, aside from the sounds and smells she shared, she could feel a phantom sensation of his dick inside her, how Starr's pink, velvet-soft folds tickled and pulled on every nerve of studly dick.

Skippy heaved her small breasts, somewhere between a huff and a moan, and a wet patch spread across the crotch of her soft, cotton panties, as her twat started to clench with her own need.

“Y-you too look a little familiar,” wheezed out Skippy. “Kinda like-”

“Sunset Shimmer? Yeah, our series was loosely based on that badass merc,” explained Baretta, who planted another playful spank on her sister's ass, which made her yelp and clench up her lower fuckholes harder. “There's probably more disposable droids based on every famous mercenary!”

“I've...always wanted to meet her,” admitted Starr between drawn-out moans. Skippy couldn't help but whimper too, as she felt the stud's horsecock carve into her slick, slippery depths, mash on the final barrier to her womb, where he'd deliver his payload from his vein-lined, monster shaft.

From what Skippy knew, Sunset Shimmer was a former member of the disbanded female mercenary company B.A.B.S., 'Bad Ass Bitch Squad', founded by Babs Seed herself, a demolitions expert. After they went their separate ways, Babs sold it to the pop star princess Eclipsed Heart, who'd formed her band B.A.B.E. and turned it into a nation-wide franchise. The mercs had mostly disappeared into the shadows, spread across the city, but were occasionally spotted by those in the know.

“I-I'm close,” warned the stallion, and as a result Skippy felt herself ready to climax, too!

“On her's extra,” reminded Baretta. “Inside her's double-extra! Ready to pay up?” He snarled, eyes clenched up with a lazy nod, while his horseballs started to tighten up, ready to pour a load into his 'mare'. He decided to chose both, despite the extra charges, as he shot half of his massive load against her cervix, where it flooded into Starr's womb, then with a pop pulled out and delivered a backshot all over his rented sex toy, as more volumes of his spunk painted her back and ass.

Gushes of Starr's own wet climax painted him, and a similar release dribbled down Skippy's thighs while she mewled from her connection to the stud, her knees shaky as she rode out her orgasm.

Baretta chuckled while they started to come down. “Wild, huh?”

The stallion said, “Got your buddy off, too. Can you throw in a discount for-?”

“No,” snapped Baretta, who plucked off the discs. “Can't afford to pimp out my sister for cheap!”

Skippy panted and naked, “What do robots need money for, anyway?”

“Gynoids,” reminded Baretta. “And hey, our internal batteries are hella expensive and aren't easy to replace. Plus, we need occasional upkeep. Starr's more of a medical model first, combat second, so she can help tune me and herself up, but the black market often demands a premium of credits.”

Starr's breasts heaved when she leaned on the couch, still bent over. “What my sister means is, we have to take sizable risks to operate independently. We can't trust the syndicate we escaped from.”

“Syndicate...?” Skippy wracked her memories, and remembered more rumors she'd heard. About an unnamed 'syndicate' which used dummy corporations to control the city from the shadows. Supposedly, they placed a number of politicians around the capitol, and were behind the death of a key politician when his boat had burned down and taken most of those aboard. They could apparently mass-produce modified assassins, death machines, control manipulated information...

One of many conspiracies which now captured her interest!

“I'm...all about the credits too,” noted Skippy, who found her nipples still painfully stiff under her top. “Why don't we cut a deal? I want lots of stories, and you wanna find Sunset Shimmer? I have connections all over! I should be able to track her down in no time! What do you say?”

The sisters exchanged a look. Baretta pulled Starr to her while they talked it over. Meanwhile, the spent stallion landed his butt with a plop on the couch. Finally, Baretta crossed her arms under her lean breasts and said, “You're on. But you better be able to put up when the time comes!”

“Got it,” said Skippy, who beamed.”I won't let you down!”

A short time later, the stallion redressed, wired the sisters their credits, and left the rooftop. Starr hadn't bothered to dress, but simply reclined on the couch and washed herself with a basin of clean water for her next 'use', since said water was not exactly cheap or easy to come by in this area. In the meantime, Baretta lit up a smoke and explained a bit more about their trade, how the sisters usually took turns with clients to earn their keep, as they refused to take up mercenary work, a 'proper' job, or anything else that would put them on the syndicate's radar. It was the oldest profession, as Starr put it, and knew they were made for this, as they'd been used many times before they 'awakened'.

They were designated disposable tools, Cogs in the machine. Like most citizens, valued only for their utility, ready to be discarded once they were used up. Skippy helped to expose these stories, not simply out of curiosity she hoped, but out of compassion...and for more credits to survive.

Plus, she couldn't deny she'd appreciated that little dabble into the banned tech!

*****

Sunset Shimmer hadn't really known what to do with herself after B.A.B.S. Disbanded. So she'd mostly drifted between freelance work, or mindless recreation to pass the time, from arcades, to clubs, to bars, or sometimes she'd partake in one of the street races with another ex-member, Rainbow Dash. Nothing seemed to satisfy her, the occasional one-night stands included. She wondered what was the matter with her, while she settled into her hotel and stripped down.

A trail of her clothes and underwear pooled behind her. She freed her breasts from her bra last, let them bounce and sway into the open, well-sized and shaped like the tall woman's butt and hips. Instead of a sonic shower, she'd paid extra for an old-fashioned water one, and stepped into it.

A hiss sounded when the water poured down her curves and slid down each feminine slope. She'd remained a human like most, but more anthros popped up every day, almost like a fad that continued to spiral out of control. Crotch-fire pubs covered the top of her mound and moistened like her flame-mane, wet and slick when her arms brushed it behind her and she moaned low.

She closed her eyes and hummed, “What's the matter with me? Why can't I ever be content...?”

With palms she lathered up, she traced her curves, and felt her heavy breasts mash under her palms, the way her areola perked up under her tender touches when her thumbs traced her soft, pink nipples until the buds perked up. Likewise, she traced her smooth, taut slit idly with a mewl.

“Is this the best I can ever hope for? Mindless pleasure to pass the time...?” Nevertheless, she indulged in her baser whims, as one hand rolled and kneaded a heavy tit, while her fingers rubbed at her moist snatch with schlicks and squelches, while a thumb teased out her clitoris from the hood of her perfect, played with pink pussy. She rubbed at her love button, curled into her wet depths.

Boredom and frustration almost pushed her to do bad stuff. She'd drank way too much at times, taken some pills in the club to induce ecstasy, woken up in bed with various men and women, sometimes a handful of them at a time, but she'd always pulled back from the very worst stuff.

“I'm not bad anymore,” she told herself, as she squeezed her titty and blasted her cunt faster. Gushes of her lust sloshed down the tub and poured down the drain, mixed with soapy water. She chewed on her lower lip, pushed into her slippery snatch walls, savored her own supple skin.

She'd once been a real hellraiser. Babs too, and Rainbow Dash, to a much lesser extent. Then, compassion overcame a constant search for thrills, and she'd mostly settled into complacency.

Faster-and-faster, she drilled into herself. Panted, moaned, heaved the tirs she toyed with, aware no one else could see or hear her when her moans echoed around the room, thankful that due to her time as an ex-merc, she could spot all but the most advanced devices that could spy on her.

Cyberization was commonplace these days. She'd paid for a few subtle, internal ones herself to help her ace mercenary missions, her physical abilities, durality and stamina included, enhanced. Was that part of the culprit? With her sensations enhanced, maybe she constantly needed more stimulation...? While she pondered this, she squirted over knuckle-deep in her twat fingers, seized up her cunt and ass with a wobble of her knees, forced to lean said cute ass on the tiles for support.

“What a rush.” She blushed, removed her digits with a pop, then licked and sucked them clean to savor her own flavor. She'd catch a few Zs, head out at dawn, and seek more fun and fortune.

After she shut off the water, then toweled down, she plopped face-first onto the bed with a bounce. Her hand searched the desk at the side for a remote, and she turned the television on to a channel at random, some sitcom she kept at a low volume to serve as white noise to help her drift off.

When she closed her eyes, that's when the nightmares often came. She stirred fitfully in her sleep with a pained moan, unable to help but recall all the bullets, bombs, and death all-around her. People she'd spoken to one moment, reduced to mush in the next while she watched on, horrified.

There were always more wars, somewhere in Equestria. Were she dead, it wouldn't make much difference. Subconsciously, she reached down and played with herself some more, drowned out her anxieties with bliss whenever she slumbered, whatever it took to put the pains far behind her.

Even while she masturbated in her sleep, she softly mumbled and wept to herself. She trashed in her sheets, soon stained with her sweat and feminine excretions when she tensed up and found release. Her matted hair was a mess, trailed about her, driven knuckle-deep once more as she arched her back. When she woke in a cold sweat, and licked her hand clean, she knew this couldn't carry on.

“I have to find some new purpose,” she muttered. “Before I really mess myself up bad.”