Carbon Copy

He knelt, stroked her skin, and they...

Reality break: cliche. Resume: alternate dream. Engaging...

What the hell am I doing? Came a thought, dredged from the confines of consciousness and particularly annoyed with how the dream was going to turn out.

I'm not some bastard who does a one night stand! Bitches be crazy! Another line, and the dreamworld faded away, wisping into the air, following the currents generated from the influx of electrical signals between neurons.

Alright, what's wong? Ugh, dammit. Worng. Wrong. Wrong. Alright, got it. Now, where the hell am I?

A shadowy bipedal figure took shape in front of his vision, forcing a glanced eye and immediate dismissal of what he'd seen; after all, it was only a reflection. But was the image was reflecting off of was the target of the boy's search: a map.

O.K. Junction 3-!, no. Intersection ^-^?, no. Ah! Maintenance box RAM! BIngo! Realistically, he was looking at a fuse of maps following the guidelines of topography, roads, and both regular trains and subways. The screen projecting the images appeared to be an over-sized smart phone, and only made for slight stinging sensation from where Artemis' 'eyes' were still adjusting to the sudden light.

Now, take a tram to trolley 8, and catch Thomas the Tank Engine to reach the Caddy Shack, he thought, visualizing whatever blueprint he'd left from the night's dreams. The journey would be short, albeit convoluted with childhood memories and vague references. A half step forward, one step back, half step forward, one step back, exit stage left.

Enter stage right. Well, I always did enjoy traveling like that, thought Artemis as he smiled at the golf course around him, envisioning the scene that would unfold when he left this particular memory. Before him though, was a particularly run down shed, windows filled with chemicals and C-4 clay models. With a rusted groan the door swung open, revealing a black emptiness with a strange pulling sensation...

"WHOA!" he yelled, actually speaking out instead of retaining the silent visage of before. "Wow, can't believe I forgot the... secret knock," he said disjointedly, reaching back and slamming the door closed. It did say PULL after all.

TAPtaptaptap - tap. THWACk. CLunk. Drumroll and finish with a 64th note run from the top to bottom of the door, which always ended in a splinter about 4/3 of the way down. After doing so, he pulled a skull and femur from the hidden latch in the wall. There’s nothing quite like having a skeleton key, he thought, prying up a lumber latch on the other side of the door.

Inside, he was greeted with an old log cabin room with furs everywhere. Foxes, tigers, deer, buffalo; you name it, it was there (with the exception of an Oliphant skin). Barely a neuron flickered before the skins turned to dust, leaving a large amount of hair behind. With an annoyed scowl he waded over to a nearby table, and pulled a hickory drawer from the right side.

Every time, without fail, I forget to just think, ‘Vaporize it.’’ In his hand was a small box very akin to one that may have held cards at one time. Wading further, he groped along the darkened wall, just beyond the light of the door. Where is it? Ah-Ha! With the flick of the wrist, the card box was opened, and out popped a blue tipped toothpick. Fumbling fingers soon found the protruding offender, and the scratched it against the felled tree trunk that was the wall. A slight flame came forth, brought from the technology of ‘strike-anywhere’ matches. The flame extended the light by a small amount, but enough to see what Artemis as looking for: a switch on the wall.

"YOU WOULDN'T LIKE IT IF I TURNED YOU ON AND LEFT YOU EITHER," read the paper adornment surrounding the plastic lever, yellowed from… age. Yes, let’s say age. Unirregardlessly, the teen stepped a little to the left, a bit to the right, crisscrossed, and clapped his hands before flicking the lever with the grace of a white kid dancing.

Grr, missed.

Feeling foolish and rather unaccustomed to jumping around, Artemis finally got the lever to the ON position. As expected, the floor opened up, and swallowed him whole. Conversely, his left foot was only half in the square, leading to a graceless exit from the cabin area, and a thrown match onto a floor covered in fur.

Down and down the slide curled, finally ending in a foam pool that served effectively as a brake. A stream of monitors lined the wall, each with a different color on the screen, and overall only used as a decorative service. As he passed the fourth one on the left, or fifth on the right, he felt a tingle go down his spine. He wasn't alone.

“Show yourself!” Commanded the dreamer, widening his stance and moving to the center of the hall. A metallic scraping sound was heard from his left, and before he knew it, the intruder was already upon him.

“I see you’re looking for your conscious memories, do you require assistance?” Boomed the metal monstrosity before him.

“… Goddammit! Would you leave me the fuck alone?!” Screamed the echoes off the walls, growing fainter by each second. With his filled hand, he pocketed the matchbox then lunged forward to catch the thing in a bear hug. The paperclip jumped back, but fell on its back. Without a moment to spare, he grabbed the end without the eyes, and started funneling it toward a screen.

“Are you sure you don’t require assistance?”

“No thanks Alfred!”

A final heave pushed the bent metal through the screen before the power cord was pulled from the server, and a new one installed from a disposal chute to his left.

“How many times do I have to tell myself? ‘I just want Word, not the friggin’ ‘help’ programs,’” he mused, thankful to have gotten that annoyance out of the way. It was the little things in life that got under his skin; for he cared, the world could go and starve itself, and the water mark on his computer was more important. Why? He could control those problems, fix them. Food distribution was an international issue and almost as bad as the water shortages.

He glanced up from his view of the floor, sending a slight wave of dizziness through a rather loosely screwed on head.   With his left hand he reached up and grabbed his scraggly hair, while his right carved out the chocolate pudding that had been occupying the areas between the gears. A glop fell onto his pant leg, and a groan was heard again. Here he was, ready to go see what the hell had happened, and everything was just trying to distract him.

Resolve renewed (although slightly undermined with annoyance) he set off for the futuristic glass doors at the end. The one on the left read pull and the one on the right said push. Without a word, he pulled on the right door, shattering it. Some loose glass hung from the upper part of the frame, which was soon consumed, and dissolved in spit.

Rock candy, my favorite, he thought with a slight smile, bemused at the Hollywood effect.

Inside the broken door was a circular room with a single circular light fixture hanging from the center of the plastered ceiling. The bottom had what looked like a handle attached to it, and, upon being pulled, was revealed to be a periscope. A rubber outcrop bumped his nose as Artemis bent forward, and he looked outside.

From the bubble of his dreams he gazed across his sleeping consciousness: a dormant ocean of fire with the occasional ember traveling in the air above. Once awoken, the dream world would set a spark to the sea of incendiaries, and purge the dream of the mind. Until then, he’d remember everything, but afterwards, would perhaps recall maybe a ten second snippet of the night’s occurrences.

     Beeping alarms broke the stupor that had set in, a large object was heading this way. A deep rumble resounded through his subconscious mind, bringing ominous thoughts and plans of action. The periscope turned 270 degrees to the left before finding the object: a large metal can. Behind the can streamed a trail of bubble, churning the sea above.

With a huff, Artemis stormed out a wooden door on the left, letting the viewing device slide back to its camouflaged state. Herein lay the communications room, where a column of duplicates frantically called out to the intrusion.

     “Breaker, there’s an incoming bogey, over.”

     “Operator? Yes. Can you redirect me to the- no? I pay damn good money for this service. Yes, that would- I’m not paying that! Well fuck you too you pompous prick!”

     “Yes, can you direct me to customer service? I’m sorry, what do you mean there’s no customer service department?”

     “Someone get on Google! There has to be a result for this sort of thing? We don’t have internet? Who the hell runs this place? Arty! Get me the gaddamn treasurer, there’s gonna be hell to pay!”

     Chaos was unfolding, and the Artemis standing in the doorway just stood with mouth slightly agape. There had to be something he could do.

“It’s breaking the barrier!”

     A screen to the left revealed waves of black gushing from a rupture in the hull of the container, materials disintegrated and became misshapen.

     “IT’S NOT STOPPING!” The erected barricades fell to the unrelenting barrage of black shades while the cameras cut to static.

     Suddenly the room lurched down, dropping everything and giving everyone inside bruises. The far corner sheared apart, opening the room to the outside. Dust floated in, filling the room. Eyes swiveled, grabbing anything nearby to steady the rest of their battered bodies.

When the dust finally began to clear, the carnage became apparent. Those closest to the rupture lay clutching their throats, black ooze spreading across their skin like algae across a pond. The rest were trying to keep the ooze from nearing them, but without fail the gak destroyed the obstacles.

     “Get the failsafe!” Roared through the otherwise disorganized room, jarring Artemis from another trance. On a stand in the middle of the room stood a red button in a Plexiglas cube. Three strides and a flip of a cover later, the emergency plan was put into place. All that was needed was a spark, and the consciousness should be able to burn off the infection.

Nothing happened. No fire, no light, nothing. Artemis pressed it again, and again without luck. “Work dammit!” As he smashed the infernal contraption before the muck got to the pedestal. The room lurched again, and he fell into the ooze.

If I’m going to die, I’m dying by my own choice.

     With a burning sensation spreading over his skin, he pushed toward the window. Some fell off, but the ooze relentlessly adhered to him. He felt popping in his ankles, and screamed in pain. His head fell near the crack, and pushed himself further. As his vision faded, he saw a slight flicker spread into a blazing roar. The ocean had caught fire; he knew it would be alright.

     The lid popped open a hairs breadth and the quartet jumped back in surprise. A fine circle of propelled dust created a short-lived halo around the lid, dissolving as fast as it had disappeared. The stainless steel exterior had finally revealed a weakness, one that might finally open the offending task.

     “Well, what are we waiting for? Someone, give me a shovel, we need to dig out the area beneath the front!” Exclaimed Rustic Rune, muddled orange magic flaring excitedly as her glasses hung on a small protrusion from the wall. He eyes were eager, almost... hungry.

     Once again, Wintercrest stood confused, pondering why they’d need to do more digging if the lid was already open.

     “Erm, why?”

     “Because silly! If we don’t dig a hole in front of it, we’ll have to drag the lid instead of just letting it drop. Now, that reminds me, get the tools against the walls. I don’t want to get hit with a crowbar any more than the rest of you,” ended the explanation, still leaving Winter a little confused as to why someone would be happy digging.

       While the others got to work, the white headed charcoal griffin spent his time making a rough sketch of the can. Two rectangles drawn by calloused claws were put in place, one with a ditch in front of it, and the other without. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why they’d want to make a hole. The lid of a soup can was really thin; it would open perfectly fine if it were lying on the side. Well, then the contents would spill out, and dinner would be filled with the all too familiar taste of chipped rock. The eyelids around dull orange eyes fell closed in reminiscence of the taste of dirt, soon shaking from side to side as he said, "Bleh."

     “Hey, ‘Crest, hand me a wedge?” Came the melodic voice of Helena. the hormone driven teenager dreamily gazed off for a second, imagining her singing the lullaby his mother… Without a second thought his face hardened, giving way to a stone cold glare that might only be replicated by statues. His left paw had knocked a piece of sharpened iron from the wall, where his left claw had caught the vibrating end.

     “Here.”

     No other words escaped the beak that had been smiling but a minute ago, crushed by the weight of reality and walled memories. Slowly, he grabbed a shovel, waiting to replace the person that had tired from digging the last cut in the stone.  Star Hunter was the first to conk out, followed by Helena. Rune was still working forward, though her magic was becoming less adept than what it had been when the final stretch was first revealed.

     Shove, clank, repeat. Shove, clank, repeat. That was the general mantra that went through his head, eager to be done with those who had reminded him of his life before and wanting to return to his regular day. No adventure, no side projects, just digging into the hard rock that cooled you off if you leaned against it long enough, not that the guards would let that happen.

     With a final clang the outcrop of rock he’d been working at in the center fell into the ditch below. His thoughts continued though, blocking the movement of silver from his peripheral vision. By the time he noticed the lid falling towards him it was too late to completely dodge. Instinct kicked in, and he jumped as far back as the gravel covered floor permitted. His wings were half extended when the weight of the object smashed into his leg, knocking him to the floor and disorienting the griffin.

     Dimly, he was aware that when the lid follow through the charted course, his lower half would be crushed, sending him to the sick bay if he didn't die from bleeding. His head hit the ground and stars swam before his eyes, resigning him to his fate. He relaxed, lying on the floor, waiting for the inevitable momentum to carry through his battered body and make part of it one with the earth. The feeling of metal on his skin was the last thing he felt before he opened his eyes.

There, hanging above his lower half, was the lid. It was resting lightly on his skin, and glowed in a rustic glory.

     “MOVE YOU FAT LARD!”

     He didn't need to be told twice. A flurry of elbows and knees got him out of the metallic overhang in record time before it finally succumbed to the force of gravity. The dull ring of metal lasted several seconds before the rest of the container was finally stilled by Star Hunter leaning against it. Echoes from Rune’s outburst died down as Wintercrest plopped down near the side of the pit, breathing heavily and in a mild state of shock.

     “I told you! I bucking told you! You’re gonna do something stupid! Now look, you could have died if I couldn’t have caught it! Damn, get your bucking head in the game,” Rune knocked him over the head with a chipped hoof before a faint smile spread across dried lips, “But… I suppose someone needed to get that rock out of there. Just be more careful next time.”

     Helena and Star had left the two by the end of Rune’s initial reprimand, instead looking into the inky blackness that stretched into the mouth of the vat. They could still listen into the berating of the feathered feline behind them, but chose to turn toward the thing that they’d worked so hard to open. The smell of oil reached Helena’s nostrils first, causing her beak to scrunch back into her face slightly. Star Hunter had a similar reaction, but found himself more intent on the reflections of sharp metallic edges glaring back at a gem lantern.

     “Hey Helena?”

     “Hmm?”

     “What do think this is?”

     A hard look through her eyes told her just as much as it had told Star, and she shrugged in response. “Dunno. Those tubes look important… kind of like the vents in the mines.”

     Wintercrest peeked inside before retreating, conveying that he wanted nothing to do with what they’d found, while Rustic Rune had a small fire in her eye. It wasn't often that she’d been able to practice her special talent, and even further since she’d last been on a dig. Instinct took over, and she knew that she was in her element.

     “Come on, move. I know what I’m doing,” she said as she yanked the other two away from the contained with a wave of her horn. “Stand back.”

     Rune’s horn emitted a soft orange aura, sweeping across the components of the opened device slowly and steadily. Various signatures were given to the information seen: magical reactivity, enchantments, and if there might be a ward on anything they were about to move. Sensing nothing major, with the exception of a large magical source and dampening capabilities found on the inside of the mirror-like container, she gave an all-clear.

     Helena looked at her, scoffing, “What was that all about? If we needed to look inside we could have just used a lantern.” To her, all the unicorn had appeared to have been doing was emitting a cone of light onto the materials and into the “Soup Can” as it had unofficially come to be known, courtesy of Wintercrest.

     Huffing, Rustic Rune blew a deep brown lock of hair out of her eye. “I checked for magical traps. If this was malignant, I should have sensed any curses placed. As far as I know right now, there’s only a large magical battery inside, similar to a lantern.”

     At that moment, Star Hunter spoke up. “I take it that was your Cutie Mark is for?”

     “Oh! Erm, yes. I earned that by figuring out the wards around the stove mom had put up. I got a job for a museum crew a few years back and have been looking at this sort of thing for a while. It never gets boring.”

     “That didn't answer my question…”

     “Then clarify.”

     “What exactly is your Cutie Mark supposed to represent?”

     “Oh. Er… I can generally sense enchantments.”

     The dark blue pegasus glanced at her flank to see a ceremonial circle with a white candle in the middle before receiving a knock on his head and sinking to the ground. Rune wasn’t happy at what she considered ‘ogling,’ and Star was too busy cradling his head in his forelegs to notice the look of contempt that was briefly shot his way.

     A last glance at her crumpled companion allowed for the justification of the injury to take place, quelling the nigh imperceptible trace of concern that crossed her face. “Alright, ‘Crest, Hilda-“

     “Helena,” growled the griffiness, making damn sure she’d gotten her point across.

     “Right, Helena. Help me get that thing out of the Can and into the light.”

     Movement… dragging. Both were sensations Artemis woke up to, neither were readily accepted. The sound of screeching metal hurt his ears, but he could move his arms for some reason.

Damn. Must have slept on my stomach again. He really did have terrible luck when waking up recently, constantly finding himself stiff as a board and his arms bound between his torso and mattress, numbing them to the point of immobility. Sighing, he tried rolling himself onto his back before he realized gravity was already pushing down on his chest and his arms spread slightly at his sides.

     Another moment passed as the information took effect, rendering the youthful mind slightly boggled.

Sleep paralysis? No, I generally thrash or sleepwalk. Thoughts jumbled around as he tried making out the dull talk around him. Did something happen? Artemis’ eyes flickered open, unfocused, and only finding a large splotch of something in front of a dark hazy background. Off to his left a splotch of light could be made out, but the lack of detail was almost like looking at the world in an 8-bit display. Groggily, his mind registered how an object was moving towards his face…

     Rustic Rune had not seen anything like it, nor ever expected to find something buried but look near modern day. The closest comparison she had was a demonstration of a golem by a group of unicorns as a proof-of-concept for building some of the temples found by Daring Do. Of course, unicorn magic could have easily worked just as well, but it had been found that golems spread the workload much better, and found the most efficient way to move materials from one place to another. Even then, this was drastically different.

     The only magical signature she could gain from it was an energy source, and that looked temporary. The stubby arms ended in what looked like stumps attached to the ‘wrist’ area. The body was extremely small, and the extremities were oversized. Overall, the device looked to be bipedal, given that the thing had no neck, and the head moved with the torso.

As Rune inspected it, Helena noticed something odd. The distorted shape of metal’s ‘head’ looked… off. Kneeling down next to it, she slipped a claw under the back of the black ‘face.’ With a little jiggling, she felt something flick against her claw. Thinking it was the lock mechanism, she tried wrenching the mask off, much to the displeasure of the brown mare beside her. Helena’s muscles bulged, twisting and turning to and fro, but the damn thing just wouldn’t come off!

     In the background, Wintercrest mumbled something, but it was lost as his female counterpart shrieked back, clutching her left shoulder. The others were retreating from the container, backing away in a mix of fear and curiosity. The metallic thing was sitting up with few feathers stuck to the oiled surfaces that looked to be the end of the arm.

Without thinking, he grabbed a crowbar that was leaning on the wall next to him, propelling himself forward with a flap of his wings and a grimace on his face. Before his brain could stop his actions, the griffin had already smashed in the top of the mask, sprinkling the ground with black fragments.

     Pain. Absolute, unbearably annoying, pain. Every firing neuron sent a fresh shockwave through his body, wracking Artemis’ limbs in unbearable clenching motions, seizing the muscles sporadically. Artemis gasped, the oxygen flowing freely now, loosening his abdominal muscles.

     “Oh, ow. Ow, ow, owowowowow,” he groaned, rolling around on his back. He shifted his legs around, trying to rid himself of the innate sense of numbness pervading his body.

     “What the hell was that for?” he asked nobody in particular, clutching at the top of the head and the source of the immense amount of agitation stemming from the area.  All he did was react. Why the heck would someone bash a brick over his head?

     With a great amount of trepidation, he opened his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his assailant before closing them from agony.

     “What do you think it is?”

     “A better question is, ‘what is it meant to do?’”

     He heard a high baritone and low soprano voice ask the questions respectively, assuming them to be human. Artemis’ eyes cracked open again, squinting at the floor he had curled up on.

     “It look pain,” came a third voice, broken English prevalent.

I’m pretty sure no one where I live speaks like that. Now, how do I save face? the being on the floor thought, rather despising that he still tried to pull off the macho image as a priority in the thought process. Gonna have to change that.

     “Don’t be ridiculous, machines can’t feel pain.”

There’s that girl again. Wait, machine? Mustering his will power, Artemis held his eyes open, raising an arm in front of him. It felt real enough, but looked drawn; never mind the fact that he didn't have a hand.  With a sudden jolt, he flipped over to his stomach, fear pervading any other rational thoughts. A clang of metal striking metal was heard again, this time impacting his arm.

     Whatever body he had now was fundamentally different than before, or he had come out of a hallucinogenic inducing anesthesia, which was a little far-fetched considering the dank atmosphere. Crawling away was the only option, and that was short lived as the wall loomed in sight, the rest of the world a pixelated blur.

     “No, nononononono!” He began, trying to hyperventilate before feeling another blow land on his back just before reaching the wall. Accepting defeat, the young man turned over, sat against the wall versus the hard place, and faced his attackers. A downwards blur caught his eye before he raised a stubby arm to try and deflect it, dodging out of the way as well.

     A crowbar turned out to be his tormentor’s weapon of choice, a fierce scowl smeared across the griffin’s beak. The teen backpedaled away, mind shutting down, relying solely on instinct to keep his sanity intact.

     “Stop!”

Oh, that sweet angelic voice. The one that might not be batshit insane enough to keep hitting me with a bent bar of iron.

     “You’re going to ruin my research opportunity!” shouted the excited female voice from earlier.

Just my luck, I find a whole slew of slap-happy morons.

       Artemis finally gained sight of the other voice when he assured himself the griffin attacker would stop trying to bash his head when he wasn't looking. There was only one problem: there were no humans in the room, only two griffins, a pegasus, and a unicorn. All of which looked animated, none having anatomically correct measurements to an earth equine.

     There was only one thing to say before the teen slipped into shock, “To the person who slipped the hallucinogen into the apple, kudos."