Prologue Part 1:Steampunk
Disclaimer: I don't own MLP or TCID. Let it be said here that all copyrighted material will be the legal property of the holder of said copyright.
A soft chattering, clattering noise fills the air. Such is the norm for this polluted, clanking, overheated slum of a city. Not that you'd get the inhabitants to admit it. They practically worshiped the city (and surrounding colonial lands) that had been dubbed Steampunk. The name had been give 28 years earlier as a slur, an insult to a group of ponies that dreamed of a place like this: Steampunks, those who saw a future of steam and engines, gears and pistons, magic and science living together in a variety of devices. Now the city was the technological envy of the Equestrian Empire with its airships of unrivaled speed and automatons of unmatchable power. They were proud of their precious steam engines and grinding gears and clockwork cogs.
Speaking of Cogs…
They called me Deadcog. Mr. Hamilton Deadcog. My real name is Dr. Alexander Hamilton Copperplate the second C.E.D. But I would prefer it if you'd call me by my chosen business name, Mr. Hamilton. You see, my father was a bit of a jealous sort and decided to go take out a man who was a vastly superior coppersmith to him. The ensuing fight ended … badly. For him, I mean. If your name is Wilbur Redpot, then it's the greatest victory to ever occur in the history of the world. Regrettably, Dad died, but he and the fight of Verdigris Patina became a legend. They call it “The Copper War”, a tale of a town fighting off a superior enemy and uniting to help their fellow neighbor. And as time passed, the facts, and thus the legend, became more and more twisted until the coppersmith Wilbur Redpot becomes a saintly hardworking soul, instead of a business tycoon who was driving every other coppersmith out of work in order to make a successful monopoly, and my father goes from a failing coppersmith who had too much to drink and not enough money to spend, to a baby eating monster who wanted to burn the town down, piss on its ashes, and go kick some puppies and kittens afterward.
Which as you might expect, is bad for his son's business, reputation, and physical well-being.
So I use by my middle name, Hamilton in all things. Business, pleasure, private and public. It simplifies things. Plus it gives me an air of mystery, what with no one knowing my last or full name. They all think Hamilton is just a fake name I have procured for my own use. It also sticks it to those who disapprove of how steampunk is using more and more griffin names instead of pony ones. The one thing I agree with the average steampuninite on is that pony names are absolute rubbish.
Now, I am not a medical doctor. No, my doctorate is in engineering. To be specific, circuitry engineering. To be even MORE specific, electrical circuitry, though I can work with the steam and magical kinds just as well. But I prefer to work with the underused and under-appreciated electrical brand of scientific research . Which brings me to my nickname. It stems from my greatest creation, my magnum opus. It is an invention that no pony has ever seen before or even so much as dreamed of before:
The electric clock.
It doesn't move with gears or cogs, but with electrical currents, pulsing through quartz at constant intervals to keep the time. The clock face is a screen of glass that has the numbers set on it in block letter font .It can be switched between armed time and normal time, something no other clock can claim. All other clock come in standard time, and ONLY standard time, and thus are a pain to armed forces. My creation fixes this allowing me to see to desires of both groups. It is a truly incredible mechanism indeed.
The inhabitants of Steampunk have taken my invention poorly. It's to be expected of course. This wonderful creation renders them all obsolete. The electric current proves that electric circuits are superior to steam ones. They will be the wave of the future and shut this city down. They know it. I know it. And so does the government. I'm already getting orders from nobility, including the palace itself! Princess Celestia herself knows that I will change the world, and is responding accordingly. The city fumes with anger and more than a little fear and desperation. They have taken to sling out slurs and giving me death threats. Occasionally, some (other than an old ‘friend’ of mine I mean) try to keep true to their word.
The key word there is 'try'
They call me Hamilton Deadcog, the one who has killed the keepers of time. They say I want to smelt the whole city into a molten slag, reforge it into a giant metal shlong, and have the starving and overworked slave labor force be composed entirely of puppies and kittens.
Like father, like son.
As I quietly slip through town, trying to avoid undue attention, a few slightly uncommon, though by no means rare, things appear, replacing the constant aftereffects of the grind of steam engines. The sound of the creaking of ropes and loading of boxes, and the spiel of a speech about the usual “bravery and patriotism” bully explorers like to drone on about vibrate in its place. The smell of grease and fires are replaced with the peculiar pungent odor of the extremely light but not flammable Clothium gas. And the taste of the air goes from smoky and metallic to foul and sour, the taste one gets around a mass of the great unwashed. The source of it all was both unbelievable and imbecilic.
A time traveling airship.
You see, a good “friend” of mine, one Captain John Sprocket has taken the idea of no more cogs and gears and such rather badly. So, with the help of his rich and influential friend Sir Christofer Wolfe, he announced a genuine plan, that entailed him going to the future and finding out if I really killed steam. I have to admit, this little plan caught me way off guard. It came completely out of the left field. No, you know what, that doesn’t describe the shock enough. It’s like the pitcher of a World Series game spontaneously decided to throw a screwball at the first baseman, knocks him out cold, and then runs around the bases with his pants off. Not even Wolfe would normally try to do something THIS insane. Makes me wonder what they smoking when they came up with it, and were they were got it from, because I WANT some. They got a well-known mechanic named Tony Seville to help them with the daunting, but publicly thought futile, task. Then they managed to actually build it, defying Sprocket's reputation as a bit of a lazy sort, Seville's lifestyle as a no good robosexual ,Wolfe’s history as crown prince of the fruitca- I mean, an eccentric gentle-colt, and everyone's expectations including my own (obviously). Then they managed to convince a mapmaker named Joel, a clockwork automation made in the form of a mare named Golden Heart, and an explorer named Aimee von Hershal to help with the kinks of their absolutely moronic monstrosity and foolhardy plan.
So now the lot of them are standing by the tethered air ship Clockwork, giving valiant speeches about courage and the way of the steam. I'm approaching it from behind the stage and blimp carrying a special something of my own brilliant design for the newly dubbed “clockwork crew”. I'm trying to be sneaky though, because if the crowd saw me, they'd probably tie me up and throw me into the river. And trust me; you do NOT want to know what lives in the river.
I slip behind the stage, and pull a special device of mine out of my coat pocket. These people are not known for being brilliant and, as much as I dislike Sprocket and his friends, and they dislike me, I don't want them to die. Or punch a hole in the fabric of space-time. Or succeed. He might go to the future and find out he's actually right (for once)! And if he isn't, he'll go through out time and try to change it so that he is! Either way, my future as Equestria’s most ingenious inventor will never happen! Which is the most horrible thing that could happen (After all, gentlecolt must have his Priorities)! So, using my knowledge of magical circuitry, my workshop, a lot of books on time travel thermo, and a replica of the plans of the time device that I “acquired”, I built this little beauty. My invention will (theoretically) explode in such a manner that it will create a magical and electrical pulse that will cancel out the time mechanisms attempts to break into the time stream. It will appear that the time mechanism won't have worked in the slightest, and the crew will be left wallowing in utter shame and failure. The thing is small, and will destroy itself without a trace, leaving no discriminable evidence to be found. I place the thing on the bottom of the compartment and step back to admire it. All I have to do now is get away before liftoff starts and establish an alibi for when the blame game begins and I'll b-
“Oy! You there! Stop!”
….fuckshitcockcuntcocksuckingmotherfuckeringalicorntitsfromgoddamnedbloodyHELL!
Well, there goes that plan. The guards are more observant than I thought. Either that or I am really bad at sneaking about. Or both. Now I need to fall back on plan C. This was, believe it or not, my backup plan. Plan A involved, among other things: the Equestrian Federal Reserve, a monkey wrench, the fact I am no longer allowed to wear watches anymore due to a royal decree, and an exceptionally long Lingcolt log. It was a beautiful plan. Too bad the monkey wound up getting shoved in the cage too early, and my friend Alfred von Moloch is now being charged with arson. Ah well.
The guard is closing in fast. Its times like this that I wish I learned more than 2 spells in my life. Teleport would have been lovely right about now. If I get out of here, I'll learn it as soon as possible. Thankfully, one of those 2 spells is now going to come in handy. I levitate a rather heavy looking box over the guard and dropped it. The blow should knock him out cold.
THUMP
…and it's full of packing peanuts. What else could it be full of? Certainly nothing useful like Wolfe's legendary collection of rocks, that's for sure! Because that would be helpful.
So now I must fall upon the classic maneuver of ages past, a technique of strategy unparalleled, the most brilliant of all possible moves one can be capable of doing in a situation such as this: running like Hell's bastard child is nipping at my heels. Because if I am found near this blimp, near this crowd, on this day, I. Am. Dead. So I run as fast as I can, faster than I have ever run before. The guard is giving pursuit, chasing me with all his migh- wait a minute, he’s not even winded! Here I am, puffing like the Friendship Express, and this meathead is running like he does it every single day. Which he probably does, the insane health freak. Oh, look, the meathead has friends. Joy.
The guards are capable of keeping up with me easily, even the fat female, who looks as if she has never even heard of the word “diet”, the slob. One of them runs in front of me, so I turn right. His friend comes in front of me and I turn left. The aforementioned slob gallops front of me, so I backtrack. After about ten or so seconds of this, I realize what's happening. The meatheads are boxing me in, trying to catch me with strategy! Why do I get the smart meatheads! Why can't they be ordinary hired muscle, the kind who've never so much as read a newspaper in their life? I look around franticly. There has to be somewhere they won't follow, somewhere I can catch my breath! But where?
Then I see it. The ramp into the blimp. The guards won't follow me there. They'll assume sprocket will deal with me inside. So if I get in and sneak out fast, I'm free!
I run up the ramp, and look behind me. Just as I thought! They won't dare to follow me up here! In fact, they’re turning around. They're heading back to their posts by the stage stairs. Wait, why are they climbing the stairs? And now why are they're moving towards …
Oh.
Oh dear.
“HAAAMIIIILTOOOOOOON!”
Well. Then. There goes that plan…
Disclaimer: I don't own ether sides of this crossover. I wish I did though….
Note to self: THINK THINGS OUT, DUMBASS.
Running up the ramp in plain sight of a crowd FULL of people who do not like me?
Simply stupid.
Doing it on a ramp connected to a blimp owned by a stallion who has outright stated he hates me to my face?
Dumber than a sack of hammers.
Doing it and expecting to get out free as a bird?
Hey, if you look in the dictionary under retarded, want to know what you’ll find?
A picture of me?
NO. The definition of the word retarded, which that fucking is!
In my defense, I was in the heat of the moment and not thinking clearly…
Then get out and exercise some more, you titanic twat!
Sigh. The only thing sadder than HAVING an argument with yourself, is LOSING said argument.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
“Deadcog! Come out and I promise, all I will do is turn you over to the police for vandalism. I won’t even press charges for breaking and entering!” Sprocket says on the other side of the closet door.
“Liar! You’ll tie me up; me beat bloody, and throw me in the Stillbrass!”
“The river?” he replied, aghast
No, the zebracan brothel on forty-fifth street that I someti-I MEAN OPENLY CONDEM!
“What sort a monster do you take me for deadcog?”
“The sort that wants me dead, and has said so to my face, captain.”
“We both know the river won’t kill you, and I don’t want that to happen to even you.”
“Your concern is both incredible and touching, Sprocket”
“So just come on out, and everything will be fine.” The captain says soothingly.
WHRRRTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPCRRRLANTKKKKKAAA
“… What was that?” I ask suspiciously.
“Nothing!” Sprocket says a little too quickly.
“Weeee’re already in the air, aren’t we?
“No.”
“…”
“Maybe”
“So you've spent 15 minutes trying to get me to come out of this closet, saying I’ll be fine, and the blimp has already taken flight? You were planning to throw me off, weren’t you?”
“No.” he scoffed.
Then you were going to beat me up, weren’t you?
“…Why do you ask?”
This is like that time I tried to get a straight answer out of a soothsayer. ‘Don’t get in a blimp on a Thursday or bad things will happen. ‘What bad stuff. ‘Bad things.’ ‘Ok, what bad things.’ ‘Very bad things.’ ‘…What Thursday?’ ‘A Thursday.’ ‘…What blimp? ‘A blimp.’ ‘…..Can I get my money back,please?’
She stared at me for a full ten seconds before collapsing on the ground, trying to fake a seizure. She was a convincing actor, too. Screaming and everything.
Speaking of which…
“Hey Sprocket, what day is today?”
“Week or date?”
“Week.”
“Thursday, why?”
Figures. “No reason.”
“OK… “
“Now about the latest attempt of murder you had planned...”
“What about it?”
“I want to know how you claim to be a hero and plan to commit murder at the same time.”
Just for future reference, Sprocket is not the only one who has tried to commit murder here. It’s almost a game really. One tries to kill the other, retaliation occurs , retaliation for the retaliation occurs, we both get arrested by the police for a trumped up charge since they can't actually prove its us, we get our lawyers, get set free, declare peace, then a week later he insults me or I insult him…
Wash, rinse, and repeat, for over 7 years straight.
“Why? You stole my designs, that’s why!” another voice chimed in.
“Shut it Tony, I’m not talking to you. This ninny has planned to beat me to death, again, and then throw my corpse off of a blimp, again, so-“
“Blimp? Blimp! This is not a blimp, this is an airship. This is the compartment to the airship, not a basket. And he is not a ninny, he is a genius! You broke on to a ship I have made with my own hooves, insult it, insult me, and insult my friend and superior. NO, I say NO. I will not tolerate you presence on this wonderful vessel anymore! You will come out now, or I will personally feed to the gears of the engine. Do you hear me? DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU DIRT EATING PIECE OF SLIME?” he roared.
“Yes I do hear you, you gelatinous robosexual.”I reply.
I WILL FORCE FEED YOU TO A GROUP OF STARVING, 3 LEGGED, STRAY BASTERD ALLYWAY DOGS, YOU SON OF A THOUSAND FATHERLESS WHORES! He shouted.
“Well as long as it’s for a good cause. And how can dogs be bastards? They have no concept of marriage, or commitment. They just mate with the nearest dog of the opposite sex.”
“COMMITMENT? YOU WOULDN’T KNOW COMMITMENT IF IT WALLOPED YOU UPSIDE THE HEAD, YOU IMBICILIC PILE OF TERRIBLE IDEAS!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
“Tony, be quiet. Deadcog, come out now and I promise, your death will be painless and quick.
“Oh, go kiss a moving piston, sprocket!”
Heh. Piston. Pissssston. Heh.
Sorry. Lost my train of thought there for a second.
Tony starts to give me yet another brilliant threat or insult. But then, the intercom crackles to life.
“Captain sprocket? Tony? We are ready to deploy the time device.”
“Excellent, my dear mare. Wait for us for just a few moments would you?”
“Yes sir. Oh, and sir?”
“Yes?”
“You do know that the door he is hiding behind can be opened from up here, right?”
OH, in the name of the piss filled bottles of Sir Delaware Malakai…
WRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRCLICK
CREEEEEEEEEEEEEECK
The door opens to reveal to me a smiling black earth pony and a smirking Pegasus colored bright orange. The former is wearing nothing but a cap, and the latter wears a pristine white uniform and a captain’s hat.
“Now gentle colts, let’s not be too hasty here, eh?” I say
They nothing and simply approach me with a rope and multiple hammers.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
A few minutes later …
“Why am I still alive?” I said, confused.
“Yes, why is he still alive captain?” tony agrees.
“Well Tony” Sprocket replies “originally I was going to beat him to death-“
“I knew it!”
“-but then I came up with a brilliant plan!”
“What’s that captain?” Tony asks
“Take him with us!”
“….WHAT” the two of us chime together.
“Oh yes. You see, if we are right, then we will go to the future and find out that the brilliant Mr. Hamilton didn’t change a thing! And if we are wrong then we will take him with us as we travel through time, making it so that he doesn’t change anything. And once we’re done, we’ll kill him, sending him to his grave knowing he won’t be remembered as a brilliant innovator, but as yet another crackpot who thought they would change the world and wound up being horribly, horribly WRONG.”
“Brilliant captain! I love it! It seems like the perfect punishment for this contemptible fiend.” Tony says, smiling viscously.
“Thank you, Tony.”
I am forced into a room at the front of the basket. We enter and find ourselves in a rustic looking room. There are 6 seats. One seat is by the wheel of the ship. The rest of the crew- a gleaming automaton, a unicorn wearing a white bowler hat, an earth pony gentlecolt wearing a waistcoat, and a Pegasus mare wearing a nice looking sailors hat. They all turn to look at us. They say nothing as the captain steers me towards the largest lever in the room. “Well Hamilton? Would you do the honors?” He says smugly.
Great. So not only am I going to get blamed for the failure, get beaten bloody, and then be handed over to the masses, but a tradition I openly condemned as ridiculous and mere superstition turns out to be right after all. Wonderful. My one consolation is that before I die, I get to see Sprocket fail in front of an entire crowd of hope filled ponies. It will ruin his public image and self-esteem for the rest of his life.
Well that, and the last words I ever said to my parents were “I love you”. And the last words they said to me where “I love you too”. At the very least, that should let them get some sleep at night.
Whelp, might as well face my grave with a bit of dignity.
I smile back and say “Of course.”
I take a deep breath and pull the lever.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The lever completes a magical circuit, sending a charge towards a bulky looking device. The device starts to glow.
On the bottom of the airships compartment, a small square explodes harmlessly sending an invisible wave of magic and electricity towards the device.
The charge hits the device just as the glow starts to spread down a series of wires that lead all over the ship
The ensuing glow turns bright red and flows across the entire airship. It pulses once, twice, and then disappears.
To the average citizen of equestrian citizen, this is all that happens. But to some it has deeper effects.
Princess Celestia collapses midspeech in the middle of her day court, withering silently in agony.
Princess Luna silently slumps over, landing with a thump her beloved moon that she is ironically imprisoned on.
Discord’s statue cracks ever so slightly, allowing him to feed off of the chaos energy of Equestria and he slowly gains his powers back, a bit at a time.
The Changeling hive mind blinks out of existence briefly, causing trauma to the entire hive. This drives several individuals insane, including young royal Princess Chrysalis.
King Sombra’s curse weakens, allowing him to think again, and the spell that was used to permanently put the crystal empire out of Equestria is dramatically short circuited. It still stands, but only just and any major magical event would be enough to further dissolve it to the point of being able to end.
Sages, mages, soothsayers and natural empaths all break down, feeling the dangerous ripples of the incident. And not just in the Equestrian province. Across space and time, beings get hit with similar, though lesser, effects. The farther from the small dimension of Equestria the ripples get, the weaker they become. But its effects are still felt by someone or something in every where, and every when. And there is one consistent effect of the ripple, one that is felt by all creatures who are affected by it: a feeling of unique and indiscernible dread in every fiber of their being.
Only a select few, the incredibly powerful, the truly ancient, the extremely knowledgeable, know what has caused it and only they know why they are afraid.
It is because, for the first time since the dawn of existence itself, a new group of Timeless has been born.