Carbon Copy

by Jane

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Adventure, Human, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 40907

There are two sides to every coin, and two sides to every story. Welcome to a villain's point of view.

There are elements of darkness in every story, their origins largely ignored. But what about a villain? His story is as crucial to the hero's, creating a rise that the bearers of light must overcome. Yet not every antagonist is pronounced, often working against their foes from behind the scenes, pulling at strings, pushing at levers.

This is the story of Tesla, a young man and villain in the Chess Game of the Gods.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-30 02:01:28 UTC

POW! Right in the Kisser

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."

Stone Cages and Picking Brains

     Artemis clutched his nose for the hundredth, time, wishing the pain would go away. Just like the other ninety nine (really only seven), the pain didn’t leave. In the cave, he’d been tied up, and dragged through the mines in thick vine-like ropes. From there, he they’d decided that putting him in a cart would be smarter, wheeling the short automaton uphill to the surface with the addition of several guards. The city the group emerged into was dense, having multiple story mason buildings as far as the walls surrounding the area. Now, he was sitting on the stone floor of a glorified stone shack that was in the process of being repurposed for his examination.

     Slipping the mask off his face once again, he tried bending the offending piece of metal that was his nose back to fit in the slight groove on the inside of his ‘face.’ Of course, that had required being untied, and put most of the guards on edge. Granted, they’d found their own way of intimidation: eating raw metal while waiting for that blasted orange unicorn to get back with the items that had been taken. Brushes, notebook, measuring devices... nothing intrusive, as he’d been relieved to find out, but not pleasant either.

     From the cave, he hadn’t spoken, instead retreating into his fractured mind, trying to piece how his experience was a dream. What can I test that wouldn’t line up? Nothing. If anything, there’s no way to prove to my mind that this is fake or real because I’d know the answer already and account for it.

     The small room he currently shared with the obsessive unicorn was bare, with the exception of a stool serving as a makeshift desk for Artemis’ quadruped inquisitor, and the two people inside. The unicorn had been smiling all along, something that was starting to frighten Artemis back to sanity, and was now mumbling to herself about ‘magic’ and ‘workforce.’ What had really frightened him though was the use of a seemingly telekinetic force that easily raised his arms and held the instruments in place while simultaneously writing notes and making small diagrams.

     For the time being, he’d been left alone, puzzling about the potential motives and implications of his current state of being: a short bipedal thing waddled rather than walked, with over exaggeratedly large hands, feet, and head. The body was hunched over, supported by more metal constructs that left a cavity in his stomach.  His arms and legs were just as holey, exploiting the inner workings of the devices he now used as arms. Furthermore, there was a slight glow coming from just below his chin, which could not be tilted down, and it was bothering him as much as everything else.

I feel I should know this, but just can’t get my finger on it, he dejectedly thought, trying to push back the mental wall that separated him recent memories.

Let’s see... forearms have no ability to twist, all motion is in the wrist. Same with knees and ankles. Hips are made of two separate joints, can’t bend my spine or twist my neck... I’d kill for a mirror right now, he finished lamely. All the time, he’d been turning over the damaged black mask to look at the front and back in his oversized red hands, trying to find the purpose for the size and lack of digits.

     The rusty unicorn had actually been the one to point it out to him, and helped figure out the detachment mechanism for his mask. Two screws had retracted from his cheeks when she’d flicked a switch on the back of his head, the other times she’d done so were fuzzy, and weren’t really important to the confused teenager – flipping the different switches, that is. Gingerly, he shifted around on the floor. It had only taken one try to turn the old wooden stool into a pile of splinters.

     From what he’d been able to find out about his situation, dreaming was discarded since he’d been feeling a splitting pain on his face from that damn griffin, he had somehow been dropped into a slaving operation. That, and he was a stocky midget robot that couldn’t even reach above his head.

     Soon enough, bored sighs began escaping his mouth, some turning into yawns. Gathering his strength, he moved to the corner, leaned back slightly, and tried to doze off; but, before his mind could shut down any further, the outspoken, eager, annoying, rolled-around-on-the-Martian-surface off red equine walked in, proclaiming to the world how her passion had finally been realized, and eyeing the ‘contraption’ in the corner with a renewed hunger.

     “Come here, little gollum. I’m not going to hurt you. Just need some more measurements,” she cooed, stalking his way from the doorway. Unknowingly though, she set off the glaringly obvious alarms anyone with a lick of common sense should have: too gentle, radically different behavior, desperation. All those things plus the fact of the imminent presence of slave mining told Artemis all he needed to begin breaking down the walls of shock.

     Slowly, ever so slowly he pushed himself into an upright position, feeling slightly refreshed from his earlier state of being.

Maybe I did sleep after all.

     The unicorn crept forward in the same manner a cat approaches a sparrow, leaving little to guess what she might try to do. A slightly bleached ring around the base of her horn revealed itself, clean from the dirt and grime that accentuated the rest of her coat. Then, while he’d been distracted looking at her horn, she lunged at him. His response had been to press himself against the stone wall, letting the unicorn run into his metal frame.

     “OW!” She exclaimed, attracting the attention of the guard outside the door- another armored dog.

     “Is you okay?”

     “Peachy. Now, I need to hold this thing down. Come here and help me,” came her stout order, compelling the thing across the room to enter and lay down his spear in the corner.

     Now, Artemis found himself at a much larger disadvantage than he’d initially thought. One was manageable at his size, but two? He scrapped his plans for giving the female a bear hug and trying to talk to her, instead opting to find a way to wriggle out of having to fight both of them at once. An idea occurred to him, hoping against all hope that the raw skin around her hooves meant what he thought it meant.

     “Well, isn’t that a surprise?” He asked quizzically, swinging their attention from retainment to curiosity. “Here I thought you wouldn’t take order from an ex-slave and instead you proved me wrong. I can’t imagine how your boss feels about you, working with those filthy things. The only other fact is that you’re taking orders from a bitch. I think the guys in the guard house would absolutely eat you up for bowing to a female slave.”

     The flabbergasted dog stopped, as did the psychopathic mare in front of him. He held both their attention before the armored canine plucked his spear from the corner and did a 180 out the door, slamming it as he passed. He may not have been able to reciprocate the message the thing said, but he knew enough that his orders were to stand guard, and keep an eye on both of them, not interfere.

     “WHAT IN TARTARUS WAS THAT?!” wiped the wry smile from the metaphorical muscles of the maskless robot, prompting him to smoothly reengage the lock mechanism and lean against the wall smugly. Granted, it would have been nice if he could cross his legs and arms to add a bit of an arrogant streak to his self-image, but that was impossible with his current anatomy. Really though, how the hell were two fingered hands supposed to do anything? He didn’t even have thumbs for crying out loud.

     “That, my dear, was the most appealing way to get rid of half of the cause of that foul stench in here,” came the quip, hoping to bribe any sources of pride that typically go with a female and her vanity.

     “What? I don’t stink! Furthermore, I’ll have you know-“

     “Look, you stink. I can see the vines in the corner browning.” With that, he waddled over to some dry leaves, letting them crumble between his oversized fingers for emphasis.

     “I. Don’t. STINK!” The orange mare yelled at her discovery. “I’m the one in control here! You!” she stuck a hoof his way, “Are my ticket out of here!”

Called it. “Well, thank you for finally getting to the point. Next time be a bit more honest, nobody enjoys beating around the bush.” Except maybe a lazy garden enthusiast.

     Rustic Rune stood there, annoyed. On one hoof, she’d love to study this thing and how it worked, on the other, she wanted nothing more than to chuck it back down the mine she'd found it in. Eventually, she settled for an annoyed squint at the offender in question who seemed to be more interested in the lantern on the wall.

Now this is a curious thing. No wires, completely see through. The bottom of the light bulb doesn’t twist off like it does in magic shows… Now, has she made up her mind yet? Let’s find out! In all reality, he’d been amazed he hadn’t noticed the bulb before. He’d assumed the light was electric due to the unnatural consistency, but now he found the roughly hewn gem was actually the source. Amazing!

     Something prodding his shoulder brought him out of his reverie, forcing him to take note of the present once again and reminding him of the fact that he still couldn’t turn his neck. “Hmm? Yeah, what?”

     “I’m… sorry for the way I acted earlier. It was unprofessional,” she apologized, giving an apathetic smile while nervously rubbing a hoof on her foreleg.

     “You have that issue a lot, don’t you?” Was his blunt response, infuriating the mare again.

     “GAH! Shut up! I don’t need help!”

If you actually considered it a problem, you’d have started treating it by now. This time he held his tongue, seeing that the aura around her horn had been flaring up, inadvertently making the light flicker.

     “So… what’s the deal with your, um, horn, if I might ask?” The mechanical marvel asked, trying to get away from any trouble he’d been stirring up. After all, it would be a bad idea to get too many enemies before finding an escape route.

     “What, this thing?” Replied the orange mare, tapping a hoof to her forehead, indicating her horn.

     “Yeah. Why does it glow? Almost looks controlled.”

     The unicorn sat down after making sure she wouldn't sit on a splinter on the dirt floor, cocking her head to the side in a note of confusion. “What are you talking about? Magic?” Her voice lowering in caution.

     “Yes, ‘magic,’” Artemis responded with a slight flare, throwing his hands in the air and shaking them in a manner of disbelief.

     “You’ve never seen magic?”

     “We’ve established that. Now, what about the glow?” He said, annoyed that the same material was being covered. Almost every time, yeesh. People are people everywhere, no matter the place. At least that might make them predictable here.

     “My magic?”

     “Ohhh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he sighed, rubbed his palms against the mask on his face. “Yes. Magic. Glow. How does it work?”

     “Well, magic is the embodiment of ambient energy released through ley lines. Every being has a miniature ‘ley line’ system that allows for a controlled use of magic,” she finished.

     “Okay… So, this system… How can I imagine it? Nervous system, circulatory? How about the limits placed on it, how do those work?”

      The rustic mare shifted back uncomfortably, the thing in front of her obviously had intelligence to it, but the automaton should have been designed for a single purpose or to take demands.

     “SIT!” The four limbed machine complied, a look of fear in the eye. The motion of sitting reminded her very much so of a young minotaur – blocky and not very well coordinated.

     Meanwhile, Artemis had plans of his own. Most of the ideas involved playing the part of inconsequential idiot, but that had already been blown, hence the slight widening of the eyes that had been mistaken for fear. If anything, he might as well act like this body forced him to comply with commands. I’ll think of limitations once she’s left; now, back to the ‘magic’ system problem.

     The dark maned organic machine across from him paced back and forth, gaining a slightly different view with each passing moment. I don’t get it, she thought, looking at him. What the buck is something like this doing here?

     “Perhaps I could-“ Artemis started, realizing that his question would have undesirable consequences a moment too late. He feigned a cough, then continued after a second of thought. “Perhaps I could work. What do you think? Can’t really do anything with these clamps, but I think I could manage to help with any errands involving walking around and having access to a machinist.”

A machinist? The mare’s eyes widened slightly, thinking back on history, and where that profession had started. Pneumatics probably, but that gives me a three century range of when it might have been built, she whined to herself, pouting that the origins of the thing in front of her wouldn't prove that easy to pin.

     The machine made a gesture with its right arm, twisting the fingers back and forth before glancing down at the limb and stopping.

     “Oh, right. Can’t snap my fingers to get your attention. Er, you were about to say something?”

     Her startled reaction was different than what he’d expected, but that may have been the cross species facial patterns being foreign to him. “That’s not my call. Well! Look at the time, I’ve got to get going!”

     “Wait!”

     The thoughtful unicorn turned back, spurned by how organic the thing acted. “Is the magic system closer to the nervous or circulatory system?”

     She decided to let a small smile jump on her face for a second, glad that someone else had enough curiosity to still see the world with eager eyes. “It’s a mix of the two, focusing on different aspects of the body dependent on the species. Now, stay here. I’ll be back in the morning.” The orange aura sprang from the base of her horn once more, enveloping the door and letting her leave the confined of the grey stone room.

     Like a child waiting for a parent to leave after bedtime, Artemis pushed himself to his feet after drawing a line on the dirt floor to mark his feet. It was remarkably easy to touch his toes now, and the idea of a different type of bodily system intrigued him, but less than the fact that he’d never been able to test the lower limitations of his body.

     Stretching his arms wide, he softly proclaimed with an anxious grin behind his mask, “Let’s see what this baby can do!”

What the hell happened?

     Artemis' mind was groggy, despite the fact registering that he'd been fine just before he'd fallen asleep. He groaned, feeling his 'body' shift around on a slanted floor. All he was was a metaphorical construct created by the subconscious in order to link the visual, audio, and other sensations to his dreamworld. The suit he'd been wearing was covered in grey, as was everything else.

     A slight groan to his left caught his attention, but didn't startle him. Another duplicate, another being designed only to run and maintain the animated dreams to defragment the day's memories.

     "You okay?" Artemis asked his clone.

     "I'll live. What happened?"

     "Isn't that the popular question? Anyway, let's get this thing back up and running. We can only store a few days worth of short term memories before the details start fading. As it stands now, there is going to be a huge amount of strain placed on us after that... event."

     "Alright, I'll go round up the others. You good?"

     "Yeah. I'll watch the tapes, see if there's anything to use."

     The conversation carried an intense sense of business, both mental constructs moving to their feet in a similar manner, despite the battered positions their bodies were in.

     Artemis left the cracked room with a slight breeze to his back and his counterpart to revive the other bodies strewn around the floor. Down a dust-filled grey stairwell he plodded, occasionally glancing at the blank signs to try orienting himself. It was no use though, the signs were the same color as everything else: a featureless grey coated building. By sheer luck, he happened to remember the floor for short term memory storage, narrowing his target considerably.

     With some careful consideration and hasty backtracking, he eventually found his way to his short term memory banks. Racks of servers lined the single aisle that reached back into the recess of the building, green and red lights providing the first color he'd seen.

     Trailing his hand down the right back, he casually scanned the titles written at the tops of the banks: one week, one day, last hour. With each decline in time, the vividness and details of the memory improved.

     'Let's see... start with-'

     "GAH!" The short automaton yelled. Something had nudged him, and it wasn't his cat. Instead, he awoke to a wide-eyed orange blob that had retreated to the corner. He blinked, then let his eyes refocus.

The unicorn from yesterday? Yeah, definitely not dreaming.

     "How are you feeling?" She asked, levitating a plate from of her back before dropping it. "Whoa. What did you do?"

     "Oh, that?" Artemis asked, indicating the wall behind him. "Tried fleshing out ideas for the system you described. I figure it's more an addition to the nervous system than anything," he finished, his tone lightly tinted with pride.

     On the wall were several side profiles of maneless and tailless unicorns, each with a highly detailed diagram depicting different parts of the body, but most of the information was centered around the horn.

     "This is... just... wow," she gaped, completely in awe of what she was looking at. Here were three different ideas that had been filled to such a degree, despite two of them being completely bogus.

     "My best guess would be the one where there's something similar to an optic nerve connected to the base of the horn,  but I still can't figure out how the body would absorb or manage 'magic,'" he finished with air quotes, which was pretty much all he could do that was rather normal. "You said ley lines, right?"

     "Yes," Rustic Rune replied, rather timidly, curious to see where he was going with it.

     "Alright, that makes sense then. The nerves act like a solar array to collect it, then focus it on the horn when needed. Er, is that right? It sort of makes you sound like you're part plant."

     Rune looked at the diagram on the left, which looked more to be focused around the circulatory system. She was still awestruck that this thing was learning. Even better, it could infer data and create theories. Ancient relics never did this. If they did, it mostly meant-

     "Back! Back demon! Possessed machine that defiles souls! You shall not pass!" While the dark haired mare ranted, she pressed forward, trying to intimidate the scourge before her. When she saw him staring blankly at her, he stopped, turned tail, and ran out the door, leaving Artemis alone and to his thoughts.

Is it that time of the month? Do ponies even have that? Is Lord of the Rings written here?

     Meanwhile, Rustic Rune raced back down the street to a smaller building on a dirty corner. Inside, other unicorns mulled about, charging the various gems that were brought in. There were other recharging stations like it, but this one worked specifically on maintenance. As such, there was some research and development, if only to make the workers lives easier. Rune had been reassigned here, choosing to spend her lunches scarfing own her food before running to the building her discovery was housed in.

     She burst through the front doors, startling the unicorn mercenaries and almost getting herself impaled, but paid them no heed. Instead, she made her way to a work station with a pale yellow unicorn that was sightly taller than herself.

     "Uncle Virgil! I need your help!"

     "What is it Rusty?" The old stallion asked, not bothering to look up from his work on a longer lasting lantern.

     "I need help banishing a demon," she replied, eagerly pleading her case, slightly annoyed that he still used that nickname.

     "From?"

     "A machine. It thinks, creates... I've never seen anything like it! If we found one, there could be hundreds more like it. We need to banish it back to Tartarus before it escapes!"

     "Rusty, stop."

     The mare stopped her frantic prance, instead glaring at her uncle. "Well? What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

     The old stallion stopped inspecting the metal ring around the large quartz lantern, moving a magnifying glass from his right eye. Virgil blew out his snout, sending the fine dust from the rounded edges he'd been working on. "Let's just run through this: you find something possessed, interact with it, then proceed to live normally for several days. Even worse," he set down the piece of polishing paper he'd been using, "You brought it to an easier to escape location, and on top of it, you didn't scan yourself for any curses or hexes potentially placed on you!"

     "Well, er, when you put it like that-" she stammered, trying to find a way to prove her actions, but finding nothing.

     "Exactly! You're losing your touch. Now, go back there, do it right. When you're done, then talk to me after hours. You'll know where to find me," he finished, replacing the magnifying glass and getting his hoof back to working the polishing paper on the rough milky edges.

     Hesitantly, the orange mare left, nodding to the mercenaries on either side of the door, and thinking over her uncle's words. He was right though, she really had let herself go in the months she'd been assigned to the mines. Now would be a good time to rehearse the values she'd learned from her family of archaeologists.

     Nodding down a mental checklist, she gave the armored diamond dog the order to unbar the door on the temporary prison. When the creaking hinges stopped, she slipped in the enclosed space. In front of her, a stout machine extended a single finger to scratch a diagram on a wall, this time etching graph and scribbling something next to it, then drawing a line at a point.

     With a breath to give herself confidence, she again began her spell to scan the piece of metal in front of him, lighting the area with a murky orange glow.

     "Excuse me? Knock it off, would you?" The machine chirped out, a high baritone or low tenor she thought. "I just got the lighting in here right for making the edges apparent, knock it off or acknowledge my existence first. I'm not inanimate, despite what you my think."

     Even so, she continued her scan, noticeably irritating the thing, and causing him to face her with an annoyed glare.

     "If you would be so kind as to turn off that light, I'd be more than happy to answer a few questions," he stated, icicles forming with every syllable.

     By then, her scan was complete. There was no sign of a curse or hex, but the large amount of magic was still there: a spell she couldn't identify, but couldn't deny the familiarity of. Rune closed her eyes, reeling the magic back into herself and ending the spell.

     Once again, she removed her cracked glasses and blew the strand of hair out of her eye. This time, she needed information, especially if she was going to perform an exorcism like she planned.

     "Hi, I think we got off on the wrong hoof. I'm Rustic Rune, and I'll be the one taking care of you," she soothed, trying to give the impression of a motherly instinct.

     The machine turned its entire torso to face her due to the lack of a neck, and gave her the once over with a sweep of its glowing red eyes.

     "Alright, I'll bite. What do you want?" He said, never turning his black mask away from the orange mare, her runic cutie mark simply itching to have something that would let her practice her talents again.

     "Oh, nothing. Your name, species, and what you need to eat. Very simple actually."

     Artemis stood there, forced to start thinking on his feet. With a scrambled mind and the things he learned about himself, he decided to only answer one question so he could buy some time for the others.

     "I'm a Matoran."

     From there, he tried piecing together a beautiful tapestry of lies, but found himself giving more of the truth than anything. Sure, he might have been able to eat meat back home, but that little bit of information could be stored away until he wanted to scare her.

     "I think I can eat most food, but can't be entirely sure. My,er, condition is still in the recovery stage, then I can see what I can eat. Some water and oil would be nice too. Is that it? Are we done?" Artemis finished, hoping to avoid the last piece of information to give as a handout.

     "No," the mare adjusted her cracked circular glasses back up her nose, "I still need your name."

     'I need something that sounds extremely sincere, and that I will easily recognize upon hearing... Crap, she's noticing me not reacting. I need to keep up the ruse of something that's able to be commanded.'

     The thoughts whirled through his head at a mile a minute, spinning off the insides of his skull and ricocheting back into his brain. "I don't feel comfortable giving my name."

That's all I can com up with to buy myself time? I'm pathetic.

     The unicorn's horn lit up menacingly, sending deep shadows cascading from her brow and hiding the better part of her face. "I don't care if you feel uncomfortable. You are a pile of metal. You aren't alive, just a spirit bound by enchantments. Now, before I lose my temper, tell me your name!" She howled, sweaty fur glistening with heaving breaths as she recovered from her rant.

Note to self: don't piss off- Wait, I got it! Screw not pissing off women, I've got work to do!

     "Hi, I'm Tesla. Nice to meet you too."

Grazing the Surface

     Settling into his new life was not easy for 'Tesla,' despite how he had appeared to his inspectors at the gem factory. After all, a new body was one thing to take in, but being the one observed instead of the one observing was slightly unnerving for him. Rustic Rune was still convinced he might be a demon, but he'd been too busy trying to figure out his muscle mechanisms to notice, generally staying in seclusion when he wasn't being toted around the workshop to be used as a mobile shelf. In fact, he'd been so busy adapting, that he hadn't dreamt since he'd gotten to what he'd learned was known as Gem Fido, a territory north of the ponies' native land of Equestria. And yet there was one thing bothering him...

     "I don't get it. How were you able to convince them to let you walk around freely? It doesn't make any sense," he'd had this conversation before, but still found the answer unsatisfactory.

     "I told you, when we were getting you out of the mine I sprained an ankle," replied Rustic Rune, focusing on recharging a lantern. A new ring was hanging around her horn, allowing for non-combat spells to be performed. She found the task of being a 'normal' unicorn exhilarating after being cooped up in the mines for a few months, especially when she hadn't been able to use magic at all; the metaphoric equivalent of learning how to use your feet to write.

     "Not buying it," he deadpanned. "You didn't have a limp when you came into my cell a few days ago, and your joint would be swollen. At least act the part." He shuffled to a different side of the work station they were at, eyeing the unicorn in as obvious manner as possible, forcing some mild fidgeting while she focused on the next lantern.

     Rustic Rune allowed herself a smile, pushing her glassed slightly up her nose with a refocusing of her magic as she pointedly ignored her charge. "I don't know what to say, maybe the dogs were feeling nice for a change."

     "Hmph," was the reply she'd gotten. Despite her trepidation, the thing working next to her was rather amusing in his own way. A barb here, a jab there, him still questioning the basics. Most of the time she felt like she was talking to an intern rather than an artifact, and that made her job all the more relaxing. A way to slip back into the daily grind.

     "INSPECTION!"

     The daily grind, however, did have its downsides. For one, having the first inspection after Tesla started was a problem that hadn't been thought of.

     "Tesla, hide!" She whispered earnestly, glancing to where she'd last seen him. What she found was a distinct lack of responsive metal, a record time to move if his short history working with her was anything to go off of. His normal waddle was barely over a trot for Celestia's sake, how'd he get away?

     "What are you doing? Get back to work!" Shouted the inspector from across the sweatshop. Despite the number of windows, hot air still gathered in the recharging station, turning the stone building into an oversized oven. The air practically thrummed with heat, warping the edges of the windows.

     Rushing back to her work, she found herself panicking. 'Where did he go? How are we going to hide him?'

     "Hey, you look stressed. Everything okay?"

     "AH!"

     "What? I was gone for five seconds getting the next batch of gems. If we get far enough ahead on the orders, we might be able get some decent airflow in here," Tesla said, seemingly oblivious to the lanky diamond dog slowly making their way over to the orange mare's work station. He balanced a tray of refractive crystals on the table, his stubby grey arms barely reaching the surface.

     "Get. Down. Now," growled the mare, taking a chipped hoof and shoving the machine face first below the worn workbench. She swore, as she soon as she was able to, she'd ship him off to the scrap pile if he kept up that sort of attitude.

     "Get back to work already!" Yelled a brusque voice into her ear, nearly deafening her. The smell surprised her though: minty clean, and here she was about to go off onto the gag reflex out of habit. "Now, what was distracting you in the first place miss..."

     "I'm Rustic Rune. And, uh, I was, making sure I had all my tools. Eh, I thought I'd, um, dropped one?" She stammered out, barely able to come up with an excuse.

     "Well then, I suppose we can't have that. Let me have a look," the rather upkept dog offered, setting a clipboard down on the table and straightening the collar on his brown vest.

     "No! Er, I mean, I already found it. Thank you."

     "Nonsense, I'll check if the last worker left anything here," he insisted as he bent down.

     "No, that's-"

     "Hey Rune, who's this guy?" Behind the purple coated diamond dog was the stout automaton carrying another tray of uncharged crystals, somehow having reappeared. Rustic Rune couldn't figure out how she missed him; after all, he clacked and whirred with every step. "Oh, and the back of the desk fell off." She spared a hurried glance at the termite ridden particle board that now lay on the floor, the remnants more tan dust than splinters.

     "Uh, inspector? This is Tesla. He's new here," Rune said exasperatedly, tired of dealing with her stocky charge as she slammed for face into the table in defeat, too tired to do anything besides take a short break.

     Instead of being berated though, a glow of curiosity lit the inspector's eyes, a fascination that reminded her of discovering the can with the others. There was Helena, the griffin, and that blue pegasus. What was his name? Star... Blazer? No, that wasn't right. She'd think of it eventually.

     Laughing suddenly brought her out of her introversion, finding her spaced out and clueless to what was going on. "See? Told you she wasn't paying attention," the black masked Matoran chuckled lowly, getting an even bigger belly laugh from the diamond dog inspector, who was practically howling with laughter.

     "What? What's so funny?" Demanded the unicorn, feeling the slightest twinge of anger starting to grow from the already stressed atmosphere. All gem recharging had stopped, letting pairs of large eyes lead over to the unfolding spectacle. One by one, everypony else started laughing too, despite her vexed glare telling them otherwise. Even her Uncle Virgil had joined in, his face lined with dusty wrinkles that hadn't been used in months. The grey lines contrasted against his cream coat nicely, the leathery skin making it look as if his face had been carved out of a light marble.

     A metal hand settled on her shoulder to get her attention before she burst from a mix of anger and embarrassment. Facing her, Tesla reached above her head, and flicked a strand of hair that was sticking straight up, followed by another, and another. Soon enough, she was chuckling herself, realizing that her mane had somehow been turned into a mohawk when she was thinking about her relapse into the mock  archaeology team that had been disbanded. In fact, her mane felt like it had been combed, not very well of course, but better than the knots that normally filled the dark mat of hair.

     Slowly winding his chuckling down, the purple furred diamond dog eventually regained control over his heaving sides. "I haven't laughed like that in years, thank you... Tesla, was it?" He asked, jotting down some positive notes about the facility.

     Lightly chuckling himself, Tesla confirmed his name, "Although I never got yours, you know it's rude for only one person to introduce themselves."

     The diamond dog smiled again, chuckling softly, "Very good, but you can call me Inspector Strad."

     "Mind if I come with you? It's hot in here, and I need some water before I die of heat exhaustion."

     "I couldn't have said it any better myself," the diamond dog said before turning towards the door and indicating the machine should follow.

     All the while, Rustic Rune sat on her stool with her cracked glasses and fading mohawk, staring blankly at the pair. What am I, chopped liver? She snorted, then turned back to her work, the metal band around her horn feeling slightly heavier than usual. It was no business of hers to try interfering with the equivalent of diamond dog nobles, despite her yearning to continue to study the machine. Still, she had to admit that the atmosphere was more relaxed than she'd seen since she'd been brought up, but the other's practically radiated joy. Perhaps it wasn't going to be so bad after all.

     Inspector Strad stretched his arms wide once he stepped onto the grey dirt and pebble street, eliciting several joints to pop before he cracked his shaggy neck. "Oh, boy has it been a long day," he said, motioning for Tesla to follow to the mason-filled inner city. Quietly, the Matoran put one over-sized black foot in front of the other, his jerking locomotion turning into a stiff-legged jog in order to keep up with the longer stride of the Inspector.

     "Tesla, exactly what are you?" He knew the question would come up sooner or later, and would be asked more often than he was comfortable. Maybe I should make one of the Armageddon signs people hang around their necks to explain my situation.

     "From my best guess? I'm a Matoran. A villager. Something for menial labor, and leaving a few days," he responded, garnering a baffled look from the diamond dog. He couldn't turn his head up, but the brief change in stride told him his last remark had the effect he wanted: come across jokingly despite being completely serious.

     "HAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, you had me going there. Getting out of here? The only ones allowed to leave are the slavers. Good luck getting around the guard on the walls" he said, sounding ever so slightly wistful at the concept of leaving, a detail that Tesla had learned to pick up on at an early age.

     Pausing his newly found form of speed waddling, Tesla stopped and looked at the place around him. Small buildings were built on top of each other, each looking to have been made out of broken wooden crates and shards of metal. From beneath the sheet metal roofs hungry eyes gazed out, reminding him of the guards' intimidation of eating metal and that he would not be at the top of the food chain here. Even with his limited viewpoint, the shambles of houses hiding almost everything behind them, he could make out the distinct line of the city limits: a large cobblestone wall held was together with a light colored mortar. From his viewpoint he could make out a ballista manned by two guards who were currently leaning against the device, chatting the evening away.

Facing each other, giving the guards a blind spot behind the other's head, but otherwise keeping an eye on almost everything.

     Internally frowning at the facts he'd been given, Tesla tried figuring out a way to get out of the place Strad had given some insight to, but came up empty. Instead of a response, he shrugged as best he could and continued following the rather skinny diamond dog in front of him while changing the subject. "So... how'd you learn to speak so well? Every other dog I've come across uses broken speech. It's a relief, sure, but a rarity here from the looks of it."

     A short silence followed as Strad arranged his thoughts when he continued walking toward the center of the city. This sort of thinking was unusual for him. Nobody had tried getting to know him before, forcing new pathways to be forged deep within the skull of the inspector. "Well, I suppose that would be due to my father. He's an ambassador and scout, luring griffins into traps and talking travelers into taking 'scenic,'" he used quotation signs for emphasis, "routes to take them along the raiders. Nobody can argue that an intelligent diamond dog is less likely a slaver than an uncivilized brute."

     Tesla checked the body language of the person next to him. His head was still in thought, maybe remembering an event, but his movement looked forced, and he had started walking at a slightly faster pace. The metallic construct behind him could barely keep up at this new pace, stumbling here and there from overcompensating for a miscalculated step.

Maybe humor could help him...

     "Well, for an uncivilized beast such as yourself, perhaps you could- GAK!" His body was thrown through a nearby shack, almost bringing the roof down on him. Almost before he'd pushed his torso off the ground he was thrown down the street, several small divots formed from where he'd bounced before stopping.

Has this guy heard of attempted humor? What the hell was that for? Maybe diamond dog culture has a different sense of humor than most people in Dayton, he thought as he lay on his back, pausing in an attempt to find the line he'd crossed.

     A moment's hesitation took place before he opened his eyes again, finding an unfamiliar pressure on his chest. Above him stood the Inspector with his brown vest and purple fur, claws extended and eyes hardened. Below his mask Tesla felt an odd prickling sensation near his throat, actually making him start to fidget in nervousness.

     "I won't tell you again. Call me an animal, in any way, shape, or form, and I will kill you," he growled, his body poised to strike if the stocky machine refused, arm cocked and hand balled into a fist.

So that's what it was. Geez buddy, let go of it already. It's unhealthy.

     Until the diamond dog let up, Tesla could only lay there. He couldn't nod, and didn't have thumbs to give him a thumbs up for understanding. After a few moments, the diamond dog let up and started walking down the street. I'm going to have to be very careful around here. I can't imagine what the rest of them are like if it's that easy to set them off.

     Day soon turned to night as the pair walked through the city, each stuck in his own thoughts. The stout machine had noted how much different the living quarters for the slaves and civilians had been, and found a disturbing lack of it. In fact, the slaves almost seemed to be in better living conditions than the rest of the town. They were dry, but the diamond dogs looked like they struggled to get by. The other fact that was slightly disturbing was how the industrial district was maintained better than the rest of what he'd seen, even the streets were smoother there.

Wait. That's where the 'civilized' people are. They might be cleaning it up. While I'm at it, I wonder if I could get that canister I woke up in up here to look at, or me down there.

     Suddenly, the Matoran stopped, turned, and began retreating back to the gem recharging station. He'd had enough of following this mutt around, and didn't feel like wasting the time talking to him, despite how useful of a tool he could turn out to be.

     "Hey, where are you going?" Came the call after him, which he ignored. There was too much to think about, and he needed a relatively familiar place. "HEY! I'm talking to you."

All that idiot is is an overgrown teenager. Too old to pass as a kid and too lazy to get anywhere as an adult.

     Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder, and Tesla could feel the familiar hatred for people bubbling to the surface. If Strad even tried throwing him through another wall, he'd kill or maim him. He kept walking, tired of having wasted his time with this 'Inspector,' shrugging off the paw.

Overly aggressive, easy to piss off, vain for his species from what I've seen, and overall trying too hard. Speaks fluently, and Rustic Rune looked at him like something to avoid. What do slaves avoid? Punishment. Who does that come from? Their masters.

Let's see, every joint restrains nerves from going over the bone, so there are likely several similar nerve structures beneath the armpits and in the elbows and knees. If he attacks, I'm breaking some toes to start with, followed by his teeth.

     No sooner than he'd finished the thought had he felt a sudden lurch before being thrown through the wall, leaving a rough hole in the shape of his flailing form. Shaking his torso back and forth, he tried clearing his head before the next assault came. Again, he was picked up, and thrown into the rotten roof support, bringing a pile of rusted metal on top of him.

I really should have remembered I couldn't reach his toes to stomp on, he thought sullenly as he waited for his dazed body to start responding again. A claw ripped through the metal near his right hand, startling the Matoran and inadvertently making him squirm away, bringing more debris around his trapped body. Wait, rusted sheet metal...

     Carefully moving his left hand, he gripped at anything loose enough to use as a weapon. The claw grasped his right hand and yanked him toward the darkening dirt street outside where he'd undoubtedly be attacked again. A piece of rebar was held firm as he was dragged from his temporary relief. Suddenly a harsh pinching sensation tore through his left shoulder, followed by a loosening of his grip on his weapon.

Like hell I'm going to let this fleabag kick my ass again, he growled internally, making sure to keep this a story where he could say, 'But you should have seen the other guy.'

     His immobile head was swiftly pulled from the wreckage, followed by the rest of his body being suspended at arms length from Inspector Strad. From his vantage point, he could see a small puddle of amber fluid gathering below his left foot, likely caused by the pinching sensation he'd felt earlier. Before his captor had the opportunity to lecture Tesla further about his behavior, he swung the iron rod at the end of the dog's ankle, striking the bony part of the ankle and making the his right leg give out, temporarily crippling the lanky diamond dog in front of him.

     Tesla dropped to the ground, his left side slightly lighter than his right, landing with a crunch on the light spread of gravel. Sprawled before him was a rapidly recovering diamond dog with his hackles standing on end, giving the impression of a small purple lion mane. Knowing he was outmatched and the destructive capability of the set of claws before him, Tesla ran. He might not have known the way back to the charging station Rustic Rune worked in, but he knew he could at least make it back to the industrial side of town.

     Sharp clacking sounds behind him redoubled his pace toward a side street, hoping a dumpster could hide him before his pursuer caught up. Much to his immense relief, he found a large metal container along the side of the alley he ducked into, but could not reach the lid, let alone jump into it. Several wooden crates next to it made a series of large steps that looked reachable though...

     "There you are," the exclamation behind him startled him, making him jump up the first crate accidentally.

Well, how 'bout that?

     Inspector Strad stopped his chase though, seeing what the Matoran was going to do: jump into a trash shoot. The garbage system was simple enough, make a hole, deep, and then make a hole to the surface for the populace to throw into it. If they needed more room, an order would be given to carve a cavern beneath the trash heap, the collapse the roof with explosives, often taking the live of several slaves in the process.

     Grinning, the Inspector let his target get away, only to dash over to the dumpster to hear the faint screaming of an individual falling to their death.

Jailbreaking the Operating System (Part 1)

     Darkness surrounded him, body aching and unresponsive. Static filled his hearing while his sense of touch was non-existent, probably for better than worse. His body was once again stuck to make things worse. He struggled to sit up, groaning the entire time. It felt like he'd stepped in front of a bullet train. Instead he'd inadvertently opened his eyes to cobwebs of blurs running across his vision, practically rendering him blind and incapacitating him for another period of time. Far above, he could barely make out a handful of yellow pinpricks of light, each moving as if all of them were attached by an invisible frame, pulling all the others in the same way the first moved.

I think my eye has a cracked lens.

     From his view that would make perfect sense, and even more annoying, he had avoided looking in a mirror when he had the opportunity. It was unlike him.

I'm forgetting something.

     That realization forced something uncomfortable on the boy laying in the trash heap: he knew it was a significant part of him that was missing. Something big, but also a work of pride, an accomplishment, lifestyle, and overall a reason to feel like he had worth. He didn't feel like he was worth anything right now, made worse by the fact he had to resort to jumping in a dumpster to escape. He'd never have to do that before.

Let's see, shock is in effect, but I'm handling that well enough. Can't move well with the exception of my left arm and neck. Legs aren't shaking from adrenaline rush, likely broken- no. I'm a machine. There's no chemicals coursing through veins, well oil, but biologically speaking I'm a husk. Now, the room I'm in is narrow with no exits except up. I can't feel anything, but it feels like there's a large amount of small wood pieces and decaying organic materials. So... dumpster or compost bin. I'm leaning on dumpster, well, in. Anyway, let' see about getting out of here.

     His thoughts scattered around, turning from self preservation to escape and survival. Over the course of several hours, where he was able to measure thanks to the lengthening beams of light coming down the wall as the sun rose to its zenith, he pulled himself toward the junction of stone and debris. On his stomach he crawled, leaving a trough of dislodged material in his wake.

Today, I got the privilege of realizing how fucked up life's sense of humor is. Mark the calenders people, January 17th, 2013 is the day Artemis 'Tesla' Hemsworth got stuck in a pit and starved to death a few days later, he glumly thought, pulling himself another few inches towards the wall. When I get there, what am I going to do? Climb one handed upside down for a hundred yards? I couldn't even pull my fat ass up the rope in gym with two good arms.

     As he thought this, he completed his short journey in his half fall half drag locomotion he'd been using with his good arm. Getting to the wall was a plan though, and he knew that there was no way to make it to the top only using a single handhold at a time. If he could use ledges and wedge himself against the walls to rest, then maybe he could make it, but the lack of purchase on the wall discouraged him even further. Despondently he flipped himself into a sitting position against the wall to look at his current condition. Oil was everywhere, and several loose hoses hung from his legs and torso, spilling a slippery fluid into the trash heap.

     Furthermore, his plate-style skin was dented in several places, making the limbs nonfunctional even if he reattached the hoses correctly. The black enamel coating on his feet had been scraped off in large streaks, leaving gleaming silver scratches inside the dents. Reaching back, he flipped the switch to release the mask on his face from the back of his head, watching as black shapes spun before his eyes when the disengaging mechanisms unscrewed from his face. As the screws finally retraced, he felt the mask fall off his face and caught it with his arm, inspecting the damage done.

     Two holes around the cheek bones were where the mask attached to the rest of him, but the rest looked rough to say the least. The right side was mostly intact, but the left side looked like the rest of his limbs: mangled and disfigured.

How far did I fall? I took at least one hell of a hit and I still can move.

     Deciding to leave that unanswered, be began fiddling with the hoses. The ends looked complete, and had some sort of quick attach device to prevent oil leaking too much. He starting piecing it together, giddily, like a child fixing a broken toy. Even though he might have to pry off his skin, he could still move around once he got the hoses reconnected to the hydraulics. If those had leaks, well, he could manage until he figured something else out, and maybe even climb out.

     Wedging himself against the wall, he started pulling at the crinkled metal on his left shoulder first...

     Rustic Rune paced back and forth across the barracks in self-imposed silence, fuming at ever letting that machine leave despite her personal opinion of good riddance. Her professional opinion on the other hoof, would never let such a research opportunity slip away despite how annoying the thing was.

     Hooves sore, she flopped into the cot her Uncle Virgil let her have, while he slept peacefully on the floor beside it, twitching intermittently in his sleep, his pale yellow coat gathering dust with each twinge of hoof. Rusty, as her Uncle would call her, lay on her back with her hooves bunched behind her head for a pillow to think.

That inspector was the one who took him, and yet I can't help but feel that something was off about him when he left. Grr, I'll think of it in the morning, she thought, drifting off to the timeless gap between the sleeping and waking hours. Upon her awakening though, she barely remembered the thoughts from last night, instead shuffling downstairs with a yawn to grab some hay and a cup of water for breakfast before starting her day in the recharging station again.

I miss coffee, her sleep deprived brain proclaimed, slowly loosening the cobwebs around her thoughts, the gears slowly coming to speed.

     Levitating the plate onto her back, she plodded over to her work station with her head held low while keeping her thoughts to herself. A stray hoof felt something sharp poke at it as she neared the table before sending a wave of pain up her foreleg. A rusty nail was the culprit of almost making her drop her balanced breakfast, reminding her that the back of her desk was torn apart from that damn machine.

Tesla!

     Acting almost out of instinct, she turned toward the main door that would lead to the street his shack was on. Wait, she'd been ditched by him yesterday, why was she concerned?

Why's this clipboard on my desk?

     Setting own her murky water for the flattened piece of wood, she brought the list closer to her to read before realizing she still needed to put on her glasses. After opening a desk drawer and fishing around inside, she got the pair of cracked spectacles settled onto the bridge of her muzzle. Looking down at the list though, she began waking up faster than what coffee would ever do for her. Shifting her eyes around the room to make sure nopony was looking, she ripped the paper from the top and stuffed in an empty gem leaning container and setting it in lower drawer of her work station. Moving slowly, so as to not attract the relaxed mercenaries' attention, Rune made her way to the back of the room to dispose of the wooden box.

     After getting back to her desk, she distractedly returned to her job. She was going to make sure to get that piece of paper into the right hands as if her life depended on it. Knowing the diamond dogs, this would be more dangerous than mining if they found out.

     Some time later, the stout Matoran began feeling his left arm again and was even able to get some motion out of the elbow and wrist. From what Tesla could feel the mechanism in the shoulder was busted, but the wiring and hydraulics traveling through the joint still worked fine. Moving onto his feet, he found a much simpler devices. A series of springs attached to some pieces of bent metal anchored to two axles rather than the complexities of the arms and, but would take a little tinkering to make the shock absorbing devices hold his weight.

     The thing he was curious about was how his legs were even supposed to be designed. Really, who thought that putting the hip and ankle together would be a good idea, then make the knees bend under tension rather than the hydraulics and motors that controlled every other joint? There was no significant advantages, and his stride was limited to how far he could lift his leg straight before losing his balance.

     Fiddling with a complete set of hands in the dark is hard. Doing it with four fingers between two hands and no opposable thumbs is nearly impossible. Despite his anatomical shortcomings, Tesla was pressed to make it work.

Straighten finger, snag spring, repeat, sung inside his head as he repositioned the springs to accommodate the bent metal from his crash landing. Why haven't I gotten hungry yet and how many hours of sleep am I running off of? Suddenly popped in his head. After all, forgetting to eat for a few days isn't exactly common.

     Leaning against the wall again, he propped himself between the garbage and stone to lever himself into a standing position to test his handiwork. It wasn't anything to look at, but all he really needed was a patch job. Rising to his better foot, he slowly lowered his left leg to the ground to find that it could, in fact, support his weight.

Now, all I need to do it get out of here... There was blackness to his left, and blackness to his right. Right it is.

     Using his right arm and, for lack of a better term, hand, he traced the wall to keep a frame of reference to any possible handholds he might need for the climb up. There were two or three he found, but nothing within arms reach beyond that. After the fourth time he managed to reach a second handhold, but the stone broke before he could get a decent grip, sending him plummeting back into the trash. Staring up at the fading lights above, he lashed out in anger at anything he could get his hands on. Nothing was fair. He had no options, and there was nothing he could do to escape. Pushing away the trash near him, he heard several cracks of glass and wood before settling down enough to lie still.

I'm going to leave. I'm going to find that bastard, and I'm going to make his life hell, he thought, smiling at the thought of revenge. Even if it didn't do any good, he'd still feel better knowing he had the deciding blow. Raising his hand above his chest, he blocked out the light above, only to feel a sudden lurch and the sensation of falling again.

Son of a bitc-

     As with every civilization, there is the underlying problem of the homeless and hungry. Now, one could argue that didn't happen in Equestria, but, as it was, the situation was situated in Gem Fido rather than its southern neighbor. Below the streets of Vorpal were numerous shoots leading to deep pits that solved the trash problem the city would have inevitably faced. Some people's trash are other persons' treasures though, and the same could be said for the old mines that were used to deepen the trash pits when needed. Therefore it wouldn't come as a surprise to those that a small suburb of the city had sprung up beneath the surface, carving out a niche for repurposing the materials thrown away by their 'betters' on the surface.

     Most of the families living beneath Vorpal were those of guards and slave keepers, seeing that the farmers had to have a way to keep check of the sun in order to best work the fields. One family in particular was sifting through the more dangerous section of the tunnel where there had been numerous cave ins from the trash in the pit next to the old mine, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Guard Dog was among those working the beginning of the trash heap, working with his younger daughter who'd insisted on coming along. Some said that living below the surface would make a dog weak, others said differently. The undeniable fact that could be agreed upon was that the guards were among the hardiest and most resourceful dogs in the city, second only to the Alpha.

     "Daddy, do hears that?"

     The senior member of the pair of scavengers paused waist high in the waste, ears flickering back and forth in an attempt to catch the slightest groan from the trash heap. Faintly, he could make out a steady crunching sound that felt like it was coming from above them as well as from within the trash heap, dampened by years of guarding miners. Could someone have burrowed into there? It would only make sense, it would offer better pickings to trade for back in the cave system they called home. His daughter always seemed to have especially sensitive hearing, warning him of three previous cave ins. Knowing the danger, he turned back, deciding to start a project to dig to the surface of the trash in the pit tomorrow.

     A tumbling sound caught his ear as he reached his daughter, Rose. There was only time to react as Guard Dog picked his daughter up by the scruff of her neck and tossed her down the hallway before the rest of the garbage slide could overtake them. As it was, his action was not needed when a shower of debris tumbled down the slope behind him, depositing a large metal thing next to him. He might have shrieked in surprise when the metal starting moving, seemingly unaccustomed to the gem lantern that hung from the low ceiling. Wait, he knew this thing, it was what that lantern griffin uncovered a week ago.

     The thing groaned in annoyance, easing its way into a sitting position. Stepping back and inhaling the stale air, the elder diamond dog moved to protect his daughter from the potential danger. He knew not how it had gotten back to the mines, but was not going to risk a curse being sent his way.

     Tesla recoiled at the sight of the dull light when he opened his eyes, reminded of how much his eyesight had been reduced. The unfamiliar web of cracks reacquainted itself with the introduction of a massive headache. "Ow, good God that hurts. Someone hand me a towel, would you? I can hear you moving around," he said, his outstrected arm pointed at the diamond dog extracting himself from the pile of broken wood and disposed food. Tin cans were galore, seen nearly everywhere and mostly rusted beyond use.

     "Daddy?" Rose called out from her hiding place behind a boulder, poking her perked ears from her hiding place as the rest of her youthful face followed. Unlike most pups her age, her fur was unnaturally light. It wasn't white, but rather a soft tan that she'd gotten from her mother's side of the family along with her large brown eyes. The only thing she seemed to have inherited from her father were her pricked ears, making for a very adorable daughter that often caught the eye of the other pups, sometimes for bullying and other times out of kindness or attraction.

     Even with the loss of the majority of the sight, the otherworldly teen could still make out where the sound had come from. With that, he set forward, trying to pull himself from the trash only to find his lower half was caught. "Uh, little help here? I'm not going to hurt you," he said, turning more towards the guard than the daughter. Not sensing any movement to help him, he started digging around his feet, muttering curses beneath his breath and missing the dexterity of his old body more and more, even if this one had saved his life.

     "If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself. Go figure," stated Tesla annoyingly, a bit miffed that he had to dig his way to freedom once again, but not wanting to reveal the bottled anger that threatened to burst from the depth of his personality. After all, yelling like a crazed man doesn't get you far in life most of the time.

     A quick scampering of claws on the stone floor alerted him to the approach of the child, letting him make out some fuzzy features before returning to his work. The light blob that he could make out was approaching slowly, easily distinguishable from the contrasting grey rock the area seemed to be made out of. A little jiggling was rewarded with the end of the wood showing its splintered face, allowing for a small hop that sent the Matoran tumbling down to the stone floor, prostrated at the paws of the guard's daughter.

     "Get away from her!" bellowed Rose's father, his silence shattered as he saw the ball of metal approach his daughter. His wade through the trash turned into a bound, arriving to protect his daughter from harm.

     Tesla had different plans though. That last tumble had once again forced his foot to stop working, and his left arm wasn't feeling so great either. Static filled his hearing again, and he could barely make out the world around him because of his shattered lenses. Even worse, he felt vulnerable, more vulnerable than he'd been in his entire life. It was one thing to have a broken bone, but a completely different thing to watch as your body betrayed you, senses scrambled and limbs all but broken.

     Something grabbed his left arm, yanking the tubing apart again and spilling oil everywhere. His motion changed from lurching to reeling before Tesla found himself sent back into the garbage pile. The lopsided nature he now felt might have been the first trigger in telling him something was wrong, but Rose's shriek was the thing that sealed the deal. Glancing at the noise, his eyes drifted to the bipedal dog that was returning to face him, his right fist wrapped around Tesla's arm, hanging limply with amber oil dripping from the socket that attached to the shoulder. Looking down, the canine threw the limb back on the ground as if a large spider had landed on his hand unexpectedly, putting more distance between him and the contraption he'd found.

     "Come on! I just fixed that!" Came the garbled reply as the machine extracted itself from the garbage once again, obviously compensating for the lack of the limb. "Do you think- Hey, I think I know you."

     The thing before Guard Dog made his hackles rise. It was unnatural, but spoke like a pony. Ponies were to be enslaved, senses dulled. Work dulled the senses, made them harder to fine tune. The mines were the hardest place to work, and would dull his senses the fastest. Thoughts relating to how to contain the thing before him bounced around the guard's head, giving Tesla the opportunity to finish his thoughts.

     "Yeah, you're the guy form the mines. Something about getting a promotion if I remember right," Tesla finished, inspecting the detached arm, letting a low whistle when he looked at the back of the shoulder through the webbed glass in his eyes, creating multiple facets to see through. The back of the arm had most of the metal caved in, leading Tesla to start speculating. He'd hit at an oblique angle, so far as he could figure from the shape of the dent, sending him into a tumble where he'd gotten most of the other damage. "Damn. I don't think elbow grease is going to fix this," he said, starting to move his hand toward his other shoulder before realizing he couldn't hold the arm and make the repair at the same time. "Uh, little help?"

     Rustic Rune was doing some of her finest work to date, easily letting the stress helping her work habits. Any thoughts besides the paper taped to the bottom of her desk would get shot down, letting her body work tirelessly on the gem lanterns before her. She needed spell books, a commodity declined there for obvious reasons. There were to ways to get into the city, and she couldn't fly out, her months of piecing together details about the city were coming together. If there were gates on the surface, their entrances were small and concealed. The lack of wide roads supported the idea, leaving the underground train station the easiest way to escape.

     Reaching back to the pile of gems, she pulled another one, pushing her magic into the core of the crystal. Her stress finally gave out, sending more magic than needed into the quartz crystal. She hadn't made a mistake like that before, maybe it would- BOOM!

     A pile of dust filled the room before the chaos unfolded. Like when the lights go out in Vegas, the workers jumped the tables in order to get a chance at the closest mercenary, taking everypony by surprise. Mere moments passed before the mercenaries were bound in rope and magic canceling rings placed on their horns. Another moment and her Uncle Virgil had hogtied one mercenary while his neighbor did the same to the one on the other side of the door. There was very little in the way of cacophony when the revolt occurred, a large scraping of chairs before the sound of armored meatbags hitting the floor.

     "Ha! Good job Rusty! I knew you'd do it sooner or later," exclaimed her Uncle Virgil, beaming from his seat on the back of a mercenary, the latter bound and gagged with his horn secured. His niece simply looked onward, completely confused about the entire arrangement. Nopony had told her anything, much less given her detailed plans as for how to ambush the mercenaries. "Now, I know you're confused, but I'll explain on the way down."

Way down?

     Before she could wondering, the workers had pulled the gem bins from under the stairs, revealing an impressive tunnel that looked to have been carved over the course of several years and allowing the workers to start filing out of the workshop. "I know, pretty, isn't it? We're lucky old what's-his-face looked under them for spare gems. We retrofitted it with some support beams stolen from the carts, and widened it for two at a time to fit once they got past the hole, not to mention getting the dirt and stone carted off. Ugh, I'm glad I caught the tail end of that. Why just last week, before you got here mind you, we-"

     "Uncle Virgil," Rune interrupted, "Why were you waiting for me? I didn't even know about the plan."

     "Oh, hohoho. That's easy," he said before signaling her to go ahead of him before he clambered down into the tunnel, "Everypony who works here has done it at east once. It was a matter of time. Now, run up ahead a little ways, I need to grab a few things." With a wave of his horn, the bound mercenaries were dragged toward the hole, each struggling to loosen their bonds. One by one each one fell into the burrow, laying clumsily across each other. At last, the light yellow unicorn tugged on the partially filled gem containers, pulling the back above the hole and camouflaging their escape route.

     Rustic Rune waited patiently for her uncle to catch up, a wide grin on his face. "Make's you feel like Daring Doo, doesn't it?"

     "You read those?" She asked, scoffing at his taste in literature.

     "You don't?" He responded incredulously, "They're based off of true stories you know. For a scavenger like you, that's surprising."

     She paused as he trotted ahead, thinking the subject over. Reading, now what was so important that- "The list!" She shouted, her voice muffled by the packed dirt in this section of the unofficial mine. Turning, she raced back, nearly hitting her head on several occasions, and even nicking her horn on an outcrop of stone that the lanterns hadn't properly lit. Once she was back at the top, the orange mare peered out from the gap between the floor and gm containers. To her dismay there were two sets of diamond dogs scouring the room, all of them shocked to see the complete lack of workers. Near the center of the room, a letter lay in an empty cleaning set in her desk. From her viewpoint, she could make out the corner of it, small cracks adorning the corners of the cedar box. It was about that time her uncle caught up, his rasping breath alerting her to his presence.

     "What are you doing?" He hissed, his generally joyful mood replaced with a deep concern. Instead of responding though, she lit her horn inadvertently sending a wave of muddled orange light shining across the floor. The aura wrapped around the box, letting the young mare retrieve the article she was looking for, but she hadn't been paying attention to the guards.

     "What that?" A stout pug asked, pointing at the light coming from beneath the holding bins. His mouth salivated at the sight of all the food before him, attesting to his weight and love of life's riches. He always stole a gem or two from the delivery dog that picked it up, splitting them with a best friend once he was back in the mines.

     Rustic Rune started, losing control of her magic for a second, making a nearby desk wobble by accident. The other diamond dogs took notice of the activity, their backs turned while the unicorn slid the small box under the crates before letting out a sigh of relief.

     "Hear that?" The pug asked the others before sniffing the air, the dark area around his face fraught with wrinkles. "I smell ponies." Surprisingly, that was the longest complete sentence he'd made that week, a fact that the other dogs paid no attention to, but something the pug took a small amount of pride in. "Pull back gems, need see under crates."

     The creaking sound above meant one thing: if the dogs found the hole the entire escape plan would be ruined. In a fit of panic, Rustic Rune sent a spark of magic into the container above her head. She tried pushing her uncle down the mine, only for him to pull her frantically back down the shaft, practically sending her tumbling down the dirt slope. He followed right behind her as an event similar to a redneck Fourth of July celebration took place behind them, sending the two propelled forward with uncanny speed.

     Meanwhile, at the bottom of the escape route, the other unicorns were gathered around, discussing what to do next.

     "...and that's how we can get out of here with a decent amount of supplies. Any questions?"

     "Yeah, where's Virgil?"

     The group was met with a gust of hot air, followed by two fleshy globules flopping into the cavern.

     "Ah, Virgil. How nice of you to join us. Now we can discuss the plan, again, thanks."

     The yellow unicorn opened his mouth to say something, but found himself interrupted as the scorched armor of a bound mercenary flew into his side. Of course, the mercenary's gag had come undone, letting loose a torrent of swearing that echoed dully around the rocky cavity.

     "Alright, for the last time, here's the plan," continued the unicorn in charge, his shadowy silhouette betrayed by his deep blue eyes as he knocked the hired guard unconscious.

     Tesla trudged behind the two diamond dogs ahead of him, feeling his feet groan in protest with every step. He'd lost a spring in the garbage pile, forcing him to wedge a broken piece of wood between his heel and ankle to allow him to keep walking. Sort of like a splint, can't say I'm mad that I came up with this. Then again, this is still probably a dream, although I don't remember having anything spicy before falling asleep. Come to think of it, I don't even remember going to bed.

     The machinated being was so lost in his thoughts he nearly ran into the back of the guard leading the way back to civilization. That would have ended up a very similar situation to how he'd gotten down the pit, and he didn't want to deal with any more repairs.

     "Nearly there," the gruff voice said, no concealing traits to conserve the anger the dog obviously showed. His walking was rigid, but his body acted as a wall between Tesla and his daughter. "Rose, go back home. I know you can get there from here."

     "Ok daddy," was all she said. Her eyes avoiding looking at her father, somewhat downtrodden at having to leave her father, but tired from her exploration of the mines her father took her to for supplies. On his back was a woven basket carrying broken pieces of lumber needed to repair her bed and some other furniture around the den.

     Further down the tunnel, Guard Dog dragged Tesla down the hall, directing him to the mine he was found. The pair traveled back to the mine, to the boarded up cavern that he'd been discovered in. Tesla's feeble attempts soon stopped, his arms too short to reach the hand clasped around the scruff of his neck. Even if he could reach, his left should would likely give out again. His metallic body was tossed to the side of the entrance like a sag of potatoes, shearing the wooden board in two and leaving him to lurch violently to the side when he landed.

     Two wooded planks were torn from the mouth of the tunnel, splitting around the nails that held them against the walls. The aging guard looked back to find the thing trying to crawl away before he took him up by the scruff of the neck again, walking back to the uncovered safety hazard midst the din of clanging metal tools on rocks.

     "Why?" Was the only question loosed from the dented face of the machine, his eyes nearly blind and limbs loosing strength.

     "You're unnatural. Metal doesn't live, demon."

     In that moment, the machine felt the weight of his situation press back down on him. Always an outcast, no matter the place.

Jailbreaking the Operating System (Part 2)

Once again, the machine found himself in a vaguely familiar setting, his clouded mind settling down from the thoughts bouncing inside his head. Was he awake yet? No, looked like the dream was still in place, including every stab of pain that was becoming reality. With a heave, he flipped himself onto his side before sitting upright, not registering the lopsided balance for several seconds.

Arm's gone again... I should not think of that as normal.

Making sure he wouldn't fall, Tesla felt his torso, his ocular lenses cracked beyond use. His left shoulder was once again missing the arm, leaving a mass of hoses and wires to dangle uselessly from his body. Once again he tried looking around the room to look for something useful. Instead he was met with an inky blackness that seeped into every inch of his vision. Nothing. He couldn't see.

Hyperventilation set in first, followed by shock. He wasn't in control. Desperately, he clung to himself, feeling the world slip just beyond his reach.

I suppose this is where'd I'd snap, pussy. Get it together. Scouts should have taught something to combat this. Get in the game. Widening his arms, the Matoran slowed his breathing, trying to keep his heartbeat from getting out of control.  Breathe in, two, three, four. And out, two, three, four. In... and out. Settle down. Can't think with a head screwed on crooked.

Gradually, Tesla's emotions came back under his control, the feeling of a large amount of perspiration oozing from his pores, chest still heaving. He could see his hands, working at a keyboard, the grey buttons that concocted the designs his mind burned with. The light blue walls of his room were illuminated by a single incandescent bulb on his desk, leaving his silhouette traced along the wall behind him. There he was, hunched before the screen, charcoal blazer hanging neatly on a nearby hanger in his wardrobe. Outside was becoming light again; morning since the light came in his window.

Then everything flashed back to black, his senses dulled, lost within the rocky confines of his tomb. There he lay, useless, on his back. His red torso was covered in grime, blocky red hand balled into a fist.

I'm still alive. He raised his arm above him. I'm going to get out of this hellhole. He slammed it down, the violent sound of clashing metal echoing off the somber stone walls. With pause, he felt about before his hand found the metallic surface again, tapping with a finger here or there, finding a covering of gravel over the surface he'd found. Crawling about led him to believe he was near a sort of metallic container as his hand traveled over the smooth surface until he reached an area his arm wouldn't reach. Once again, he dragged himself forward, heaving himself toward his perceived salvation.

Tesla's progress was slow to say the least, his body dragged over the stone surface before screeching into the metallic cave. His exposed face suddenly revealed the end with a clash and resounding clang.

"What? No, NO! This is a pipe, it has to go somewhere!" By now he was grasping at straws, his voice still upholding his frantic pleas from earlier. His tacked-together confidence was falling apart again, all pretenses of escape abandoning him before he broke down and wept. He had no tears to bear, yet the slow drip of oil from his shoulder was enough to console him. Eventually, he propped himself against the end of the pipe, emotionally exhausted and drained of his last reserves of energy, only to hear a faint clicking sound.

The heck is-

His thoughts were interrupted as an explosive clang of metal shattered his sense of hearing, before something tugged on his arm, then legs,turning him about in the silver canister he'd arrived in. He felt a clamp envelop his face before sleep overcame his exhausted form.

Mist surrounded his body as he regained awareness, still in the same suit and tie he'd worn the last time he'd visited his dreamscape. Things were calming down finally, and he might finally get this done. Slowly, he made his way down the stairs, tracing his fingers on the wall as he did so. His polished black dress shoes clacked noisily up and down the spiral staircase, leaving a rapidly fading trail of echoing leather-clad footsteps.

Before him lay the plain, homogeneous grey steps leading toward his goal; but, for the life of him, he could not recall what he'd forgotten. It was one of the few things that had gotten under his skin, festering at the back of his brain like a maggot in rotting meat. Perhaps he was paranoid, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. His opinion was biased solely on himself, leaving not one iota of guesswork where he might find something useful. Self-diagnosis, especially, is a dangerous activity. Sure, there might be a symptom or two of a mental disease, but the brain focuses on the problems. One thing leads to another, and the focus is so precise it magnified he problem, blowing the image out of proportion to the illness.

I'll push it off until I get there.

The conclusions he wanted to draw were biased though, seen from his eyes, and his eyes alone. It's what might be seen in relations between people; adhesive residue left from where another had come and left something that stuck, but not the idea. An imperfect copy of memorable information with a personal spin on it. Some leave it as it is, and others poke and prod at the ideas that rubbed off on them. They dilute it or cluster it into a heap, toying with what they want to see. It was due to the forced human contact of school that made Artemis what he was. Over time, he gradually came to see the shadows of reflections of himself in others. Especially his faults and shortcomings.

Looking at those close to you is like seeing a shadow of your reflection in a pool of water. Though the outline is visible, it's still recognizable, albeit with a few faults. And, like fixing a crack in a road, the mask covering a persona has its cracks filled in. Granted, the filling is done in a novice fashion, but, over time, the rough caulk that fills the cracks is smoothed over and painted, indistinguishable from the rest. Over time, however, the caulk builds up, slowly leveraging the addition from the original frame. The frame may bend, break, or let go of what was tacked on, undoubtedly changing the person beneath when they realize they can't support the thing they wanted to be seen as.

The same could be said of Artemis, in a way. His mask consisted of a perfectly smooth airtight surface, keeping the world from seeing in. The lies he told became smoother, a purposely placed fault here and there that never really revealed anything, and lastly, making him appear to be a saint. It certainly made some things more attainable, having connections to those it charge, but left a cold husk behind it, untouched by the warmth of a proverbial sun. His lies though, were mostly true. There is no need to make something up for it to be a lie, oftentimes switching pieces of information works best. Numbers, especially dates and times, are very easily switched. The only thing needed to do is to be confident of the bit of misinformation you're giving, have a reputation for being honest, and act sincere should the person confront you.

The best lies are the ones with the most truth.

Every lie has a tell though, often micro-expressions. These last less than a second, and can range from a smile lasting a quarter second longer to having hardened eyes in a relaxed atmosphere. The body is really just a conduit for looking at a person's thoughts, although in a more vague manner. The thing about micro-expressions is that they are very rarely controlled by cognitive thoughts, instead relying on subconscious reactions. It's how to get good at telling one expression from another that a person can be called psychic, even if it is just body language.

Artemis' body language reeked of insecurity, falling to that of near zero confidence. His feet moved quickly but his stance was narrow with the shoulders rounded in, hands placed in pockets with his chin down. If anyone were around, he might come across as anxious. It's why his bronze bounced up and down when he found the door he'd been looking for. It lead to his study, a small area no bigger than a walk-in closet, yet books lined the walls. They were all grey now, the goop covering everything without preference. Even the previously cherry stained wood door was now the same homogeneous grey  that covered the rest of the place.

Silently, he took off his suit jacket, placing it on the hook on the back of the door, his eyes glazed over as he hummed a few notes in no particular order. The hum turned into a low whistle as the man sat down in front of a medium sized television showing black and white feeds from the ruined skyline. A screen or two had gone offline, but most were up and running. On the desk beside him, Artemis adjusted a mirror to reflect the door, part of a slight phobia of having blind spots in his vision. Several keystrokes brought the feeds he wanted, letting him view large tracts of land to find the overall effect first, then he hit the play button.

Before his eyes unfurled the cataclysm again, something he'd only seen a week prior. The grey waves of material swept over the bases of the buildings, flooding the basements before shooting up the walls and into the windows like vines on crack.

"The heck is that?" He pondered, wondering why the screens were showing discrepancies. Each building looked like an outline had been drawn, then shifted north. The outline was only for a second on each building, but the waves had not struck all at once, making the effect large and obtuse to the eye. He played the video again, rewound, and played it in slow motion. After the grey goop had covered the building, a fading image played to the north, drifting into oblivion in a matter of seconds.

A light bounced into his eye before he could finish though, the reflection showing the darkened silhouette of his mirror standing in the doorway. Casually, he swung the chair around, noting that his doppelganger had a red tie, whereas his looked like a red tie out of a black and white television show from the fifties. When both of them finally spoke, it was in sync in both message and concern.

"I think we have a problem."

Rustic Rune poked her head around the corner with a torn piece of cloth tied around her mouth, protecting her lung from the coal dust that ran through the vents. She shuffled along, wary of the creaks and groans of the sheet metal around her. Twice she'd heard someone ahead of her accidentally push a hoof through, but the group hadn't been found out yet. Inside, the metal was quieter now than it had been, presumably signalling the end of a shift or a break. She'd been careful to spread her weight, staying still. Ahead, the group was starting to leave, going back into the bedrock the vents had partially been carved into.

"No," she whispered, trying to get their attention. "Don't go." Even her uncle was leaving, not expectantly looking back for her like she'd expected. Instead he looked tired, his age finally beginning to show through. His walk had a limp to it, a small trail of blood dripping from a where a hoof had punched through the rusted metal. She began pushing her way forward again, seeing the motes of accumulated coal fall off the ceiling ahead of her as she felt them hit her back. Behind her trailed a rucksack tied to her hind leg, where her cracked spectacles resided with the list she'd taken

Slowly, she inched her way forward, wary of any slivers of metal about to embed themselves in her abdomen. Three more leg lengths before she reached the rock, her safe house. This was where they'd been falling through, potentially putting them back into slavery. To her left she glanced at the hallway below, there were no signs of movement. She gently brought her hind legs forward while clenching her abdomen, then stretched her forehooves in front of her before setting them back down. Two and a half lengths left.

Again she pushed forward, reaching another leg's length towards salvation. As she clenched her abdomen again, she felt a terrible lurching motion fling her forward. The vent fell from the stone, rusted red iron collapsing around the equally red mare. Above, she heard nothing. Not a single hoof step to come back and help her. Her back leg felt like it was bleeding, a sensation of fluid running over her skin, through her fur, and continuing after the sack with her glasses. Inside, she erupted, a fiery hell of raw emotion that burnt itself out in a fraction of a second. The void was replaced just as quickly with the fact that she was probably going to be killed for attempted escape.

It was one of the rights of initiation as a new miner: watch as the last group of escapees was beheaded by the alpha. They were examples, nothing more or less to the diamond dogs. The alpha, Fearlock if she remembered correctly, would draw as much blood before the slave nearly slumped from a lack of blood. Then, with delicacy she'd never seen of a diamond dog before, he'd lift their head to look into his eyes. It was ended by a quick thrust of a dagger under the rib cage, cutting the softer muscles in the diaphragm before showing the exposed heart, often still beating.

Her sick groaning from the thought brought the attention of a returning diamond dog armed with a spear and covered in rusty iron and ragged leather armor. His soft panting was a familiar thing, although she'd felt it more down the back of her neck than from in front of her. She saw organic daggers punch through the metal below her hooves, grazing the right side of her heaving stomach. She'd never considered the consequences, but it wasn't like she'd had a choice. The whole operation had hinged on one of her mistakes, and now she'd been left to rot.

A quick peeling from her metallic peel exposed her to the person whose breath had been felt on the nape of her neck for months: Guard Dog. A rapid movement from her right pinned her head to the ground, anchored in place by a row of extending claws that sunk into the rock like butter. She was blinking stars from her eyes by the time he'd finished placing a ring on her horn, a copy of the one she'd been so happy to be rid of, practically sealing off her connection to the magic within. Next she felt a cuff being placed around her left hind hoof, followed by her front right. It would keep her from running, not that she wanted to; her only hope to be saved from the death spectacle was through cooperation.

"You," was all she'd heard when her face was finally exposed to the gem lanterns outside the collapsed vent. All Guard Dog had seen was her silhouette, cast in the shadow of the vent. He rubbed his brow with a paw, trying to disperse the building headache. "Damn machine." If there were any complete sentences he knew, they'd usually involve cursing. This one in particular was more of a tired resigning than anything, his tone tired and body pushed beyond its limits. "Listen," he told the mare, "I no turn you in, you keep work in mines. Deal?" He extended a paw, looking for any signs of confirmation. The old guard was practically dead on his feet, his whitening muzzle twitching. "Well?"

She didn't know how to act, a redemption at freedom was unheard of. Perhaps this was why. "Oh, um, yes. I'll do it." She sat up, holding out a hoof to meet his paw. He returned the gesture, pulling a key to unlock the cuff on her leg. It surprised her that he didn't let go though, "Can you let go, please?"

The diamond dog, if he heard her, did not respond, opting only to yank her out of the metal casket. She felt her shoulder nearly pop out of socket, probably only saved by months of swinging at the bedrock housing the gems the dogs wanted so much. Gingerly, she placed her hoof on the ground, her limb oddly both numb and sore. The guard turned back to the mines with her in tow.

Back to the grind.

The doppelgangers had been discussing, at length, the source of their problem. After discussing possible problems and watching several videos, they came across the room where the copies had been. When the goop came in the room and knocked out the original Artemis, the replicas disappeared. Then, for some reason, Artemis remained while the rest of the dreamscape had shifted. Tesla was his copy.

"Ok, so we have that figured out, now what?" Tesla gave him a blank stare, opting to remain silent when both parties knew the other's thinking process.

"Um, I don't know. You're still in color, how do you see things?"

"In color, naturally. You're the one intruding in my study."

Giving pause, both of them stared at the floor again. Tesla remaining in the office chair, spinning idly, while Artemis rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"You see in color then," began Tesla.

"While you see in black and white. Why are we different if you're a copy of me?"

Tesla grabbed a pencil on his desk on his next spin, drumming it against his leg in thought. Wait... "What if... what if this is like the grey goop apocalypse scenario?"

"Nanobots devour anything organic, replicate from the carbon, and leave everything grey?" Artemis began, his brain catching up in a few instants. "Then, it never happened to me. But it did. You're proof."

The two drifted into silence again, trying to account for how something had happened, and yet it had not.

"This is just like a fork in the road," stated Tesla. "You can't go down both paths at once."

Artemis stopped rubbing his chin, eyes widening. "Say that again."

"Fork in the road?"

"Yeah. Isn't that one of the multiverse theories?"

Tesla looked down at the floor, eyes darting around the grey floor as the cogs in his head spun. "It is, but what you're recommending is impossible. I mean, I've only been a Matoran for a few days when I'm not asleep."

It was Artemis' turn to be surprised, exclaiming, "Bullshit. I've been awake when I wasn't here, and I'm still going to school."

"Has the fallout over the IPod been worth it?"

"Of course. I never had a reason, ergo, not a suspect. You know that."

"I wasn't there to see it though, but I digress. So, I'm a Matoran, and you're still human. Do me a favor, look up cartoon ponies and dogs. I could use any information to get a better grip on this place."

"So we're settled on the multiverse theory?"

"I'd say so, but we still don't know how to get you out of here."

"Leave it. You still need the information, and I want to know where that stuff came from. Imagine applying that to real life, like a sci-fi movie."

Artemis and Tesla shared a small chuckle at that, both feeling invigorated at seeing a hands on problem.

"So, any ideas on how to leave?"

"Knock yourself out."

"Ung, me everthing. Wht? Bleh, uh, ooh, oh, ew. Good God, what was that stuff?" Tesla coughed, his hacking removing a large, flem-like object that landed beside him with a wet splat. He looked up, noticing the intricate patterns of flowing metal forming along the ceiling. The embellished hooks, rigid channels, and multitude of pipes hung loosely above his limp body. A small whirring motion pushed his back forward, changing his lying form from a straight to obtuse angle. Metallic clicks sounded behind his head before an object blocked his view momentarily. The machine saw two narrowed eye slits lowering toward him to feel something connecting on the side of his head, locking the mask in place. When his focus returned back to the ceiling, he noticed that he had no impediments to his peripheral vision, an odd quality for a mask.

Tesla lurched backward unexpectedly, bringing him out of his train of thought. The sudden rush of air over him and the rattle of fallen metal next to his head only encouraged the further derailment of those notions before he was dropped to the floor with a metallic scraping when his body started settling. Instinctively, Tesla waited, making sure nothing else as about to start moving before sitting up to the view of a derelict looking frame that he'd been pushed out of. The circular scaffolding practically falling in on itself from the weight of the dripping hoses draped over the rusted metal.

I feel taller.

It was a simple statement of thought, although it prompted him to hurriedly glance down. Two boxy black legs extended in front of him, ending in two scarlet ankle covers before ending in four-toed lime green feet that were identical to each other, just like the legs. In fact, everything about him looked to be a perfect mirror on each half. From his blocky black fingers to lime green forearms that were identical in everything but color to his shins. His torso was mostly a mystery though, since the armor covering his chest protruded enough to block any views of his stomach.

So this is what it looks like to have huge breasts.

Admittedly, that wasn't his finest thought, but it did carry with it an interesting follow up idea.

Wait, do I even have a sex anymore? No, that's stupid. Machines don't have sex, but my gender is still male.

With that cleared up, the biped shifted to the side to try standing. Once upright, he moved forward in the least graceful manner possible, only catching his fall on his arms. Once again, he stood up, making sure to move slower this time. Carefully, he put one foot forward, cautiously shifting his body weight to the other foot. Electronic buzzing accompanies every movement, sounding more like a pump than that of a motor. A quick inspection of his arm revealed that hydraulic cylinders served as his muscles, expanding and contracting to move. He looked up, feeling the faint vibrations of the pump rattling his frame, and seeing the light that was seeping into his hole.

Right, that bastard threw me down here for no good reason. Superstitious prick.

He looked around, hoping for a ladder or staircase. Instead, he was met with a rocky wall that held more than enough purchases to reach the top. As he put his right hand to the wall, a hint of gladness shot through him with a last thought before his ascension.

I'd rather be missing my pinkies than my thumbs. Thank God I have latter.

Rustic Rune wiped another wave of sweat from her forehead, her work the final defense. Behind her loomed the guard from the other shift. She was young, naturally gifted in terms of strength, yet looked like her mother had screwed a warthog. Patches of fur were missing, and her armor only exaggerated the problem. Any looks that were shot her way were instantly punished by her cat-o-nine tails, the weighted, barbless fishhooks tearing a score of cuts on its victims back with each pass.

Rustic Rune instantly regretted looking at her, from both the mental and physical scarring. The crack of a whip sounded perilously close to her ear, deafening her and sending her work into a fervor. The orange unicorn hammered away, her brow once again gaining a healthy sweat. Her sharpened wedge of iron continued to beat into the rock, the rhythm finally broken by a scream.

Screaming wasn't uncommon in the mines, but this was different. It wasn't out of pain, nor was it a plea for mercy. No, this was fear, a sound only emitted fillies who'd felt the touch of the Boogeymare. It was more the brusqueness of the voice that disturbed her more than anything, followed by the encompassing silence that generally only filled the mines at night. On the floor was the guard, scrambling away as a being stepped out of the pit. The clunky black hand was the first thing she saw, followed by a green arm and head. The machine was build eerily similar to Tesla, but looked much more capable than her assistant. Thinking back, she hadn't seen him for a few days, and hoped he was alright.

By then, the guard had gotten her act together, taking her trusted whip and snapping at the creation that instinctively dodge to the side rather than backwards. A few more cracks of the whip had accomplished only in annoying the machine, deciding that the whip wouldn't do anything, and advanced at a moderate walk. The guard turned tail and ran, leaving behind the slaves shackled to their posts. It looked around, eyes touching on two griffins and a pegasus before finally turning its deep orange eyes on her, seeming to relax a little.

"Didn't expect to see you here Rusty!"

She swore, she could practically feel the mocking smile from behind that thing's mask, recognizing the voice almost instantly. Still, she couldn't be sure.

"Tesla?" was meekly called out before the machine took a sweeping bow.

"The one and only. Now, how 'bout we get the heck out of dodge before Little Miss Piggy comes back?"

Jailbreaking the Operating System (Part 3)

She couldn't believe it. That.. thing, was still down in the hole. She knew it couldn't have been there, she'd checked, yet here it was. The orange eyes were two slits in a green mask, iris diaphragm apertures shifting slightly as they closed to adapt to the brighter lights. The black legs were as long a minotaur's, with the armored body reaching just above the height of Wintercrest on his back legs. But the mask... It looked like it was meant to protect. Two ridges formed above the eyes, creating artificial eyebrows. No signs of a mouth were seen, instead a vertical protrusion gentle sloped back toward the neck from the eyes. The cheeks ran the same course of a plated helmet, covering the head in a metallic wrap, ending behind the jaw. Three point curved upwards from where the crown would be, creating sharp lines running to a point between his slitted eyes.

And yet, Rustic Rune had met this person before. A helpful, questioning spirit that had learned much from her in the past week, yet had mysteriously vanished nearly thirty six hours ago. Now he'd reappeared from the same whole he'd been found in, seemingly fitted with a new body. Still, she couldn't be sure.

"Were you in the fourth or fifth row of the workshop?" Tesla piped up.

Yep, definitely the same person. "Wait, how did you-"

"Magic," he replied, mockingly brushing his fingernails against his chest on an imaginary coat.

"That wasn't magic," she stubbornly refuted, sensing no magic had emanated from him.

"Course it was."

"No, it wasn-"

"I'm starting to chaffe," came an unbearable whine, distracting the bickering pair, both of whom were just beginning to enjoy the argument. As one, both beings turned to the pony in question, a dark brown stallion with a hard look in his eye. Seeing the two looking at him, he made his display again, mimicking the falsetto from earlier. "If the both of ya don't shaddap I'll bite meh leg off."

After a brief pause, Tesla began pulling the magic restricting rings off the unicorns, starting with Rustic Rune, who in turn unlocked the shackles. A minute later and the majority of the slaves were free, their varying bulk ranging from malnourished to body builder, leaving only a few small pockets that were still locked up. As more ponies and griffins were freed, a group of mixed species came to Tesla lead by a cocky young pegasus, a grin spread from ear to ear.

"What can we do to help?" It was a rather unexpected question, although Tesla was looking for people to help get out.

"Uh, let's see... Try rounding up some weapons and get them in capable hands. I have no idea on how to get out of here, find someone with knowledge of the area. Plan a way of escape from there, I'll meet up with you later. I need to make some preparations. Try to leave in fifteen minutes, half hour tops," he recommended, deferring responsibility to the colt before him.

"Alright, the Sky Swords won't let ya down," replied the brown colt, turning to his posse to get the orders out. Now that Tesla looked at them they were all pegasi or griffins of varying age with notable scars on each of them, about ten total.

The biped left though, looking for anything that would be good within immediate vicinity of the mine. A door on the side of the wall had caught his notice, the word 'Cleen' carved into the old wood. With a quick step to the side, he pulled a small gem lantern from the wall, entered the closet, and closed the door behind him. With a widening smile, he liked what he saw: chemicals, lots and lots of chemicals.

Rustic Rune watched as the group of betrayed mercs ordered groups into line, placing the unicorns as the second line of defense. There they'd be able to touch on both offense and offensive defense, grabbing both weapons and shields with telekinetic auras that would leave their captors defenseless. Still, Tesla had gone off somewhere, a bad sign in the past and likely a bad sign now. it was too late to be thinking about that now though, her hooves quivered against the floor in fear. They'd march out in a minute.

"Hey, hold on a minute!" That familiar voice shouted from the entrance, toting two bags on his back. The group warily turned to face him, armed with pieced together shovels and pickaxes brandished as their weapons. Of course, nobody knew what he was up to. Still, a few individuals commented quietly about his impeccable timing.

"What in Tartarus are ya doing? Grab yaself a shovel, we're leaving," commanded the leader of the Sky Swords, a shovel hefted beneath his wing.

Tesla pulled a bag from over his shoulder, easily tearing the meshed material apart. Inside was a fine white powder, looking suspiciously like sand. "Alright everyone, gather around. This is lye. It's a highly reactive chemical, especially when exposed to water. Someone spit on a shovel head and put it in front of me."

Obligingly so the group could start moving, the brown Sky Sword dropped his shovel on the ground, hawking a huge loogie onto the iron tool. Slowly, the kneeling machine sprinkled some lye onto the sliding mucous. Almost the instant it started bubbling, heat was immediately felt by the colt, Tesla just looked onward.

"Aim for their faces, we can grab more on the way out. If you get any in you eyes, you will likely go blind. Unicorns will be the only ones to handle it. If any of it gets on you don't rinse it off with water," he said, making sure to look around to get everyone's attention, "If you do, it will be the worst pain you've ever felt. Wash it off with vinegar, the vinegar will neutralize the reaction. Everyone clear?"

The handful of unicorns in the group nodded in sync, two accepting the bags, keeping them upright in glowing auras to keep the harsh chemical from spilling. Each bag weighed about five pounds, and the powder might have been mistaken for flour at a distance. After getting everyone back in line the group started pushing for the exit; their guide the same brown colt that had been leading the military organization.

"I never caught your name," Tesla said to the colt, keeping his eye out for the janitor's closet.

"Never got yers either."

"Tesla. I'm new here."

"Hmph, couldn't tell ya apart from the rest. Wind Runner. Good to see ya. That the closet yer lookin' for?" He nodded toward the closet after his introduction, earning a quick thanks from the being standing next to him.

A minute's pause at the hole in the wall was rewarded with another twenty pounds of lye, spreading it to six of the seven available unicorns. Instead of heading right towards the surface though, Wind Runner took them to the left, downward, and earned several complaints, even a condemnation for working with the diamond dogs.

"Shaddap ya fillies. We're leaving on the train. Fewer guards."

That quelled the small amounts of bickering, earning a mumbling agreement instead. Otherwise, the group was quiet, all eyes looking for the first guard, but all was still. Things were looking up for the ragtag group.

Guard Dog was woken from his sleep, swiping a set of sharpened claws towards the disturbance, caught by the forearm of his wife.

"What did I say about waking up like that? You going to hurt someone like that," she replied with a sly smile on her muzzle, diffusing his initial bout of anger in an instant. "A guard's here, there's been a breakout," she soothed, handing over the trusted armor that had kept her husband safe for so long. "Stay safe, and here's a gem to hold you over until dinner." With that she revealed a thimble sized sapphire, tucking it into his armored paw. He'd always been fast to slip into that armor, one of the things he said would make the difference between life and death.

"Keep Rose safe for me. See you when I get back."

Guard Dog gave a peck on the cheek to his wife before popping the gem into his mouth on his way out the door, What went wrong now?

Below the ragtag group of soldiers looked out from around the corner, trying to assess how to get to the train. Before them stood several dozen guards overlooking the workers, making sure the minotaurs were staying in line, the crack of a whip prevalent through the din of hoofsteps striking the flagstone floor. Dangling from the walls like vines were industrial elevators designed to carry the materials coming off the trains to the surface. More guards were being brought down, their weathered armor clinking together lightly as the elevators vibrated.

"Alright, here's the plan. We get to the train, and leave," started Wind Runner, cut off by a taller unicorn next to him.

"Does anypony know how to drive a train?" She asked, curious as to how they'd leave.

Tesla leaned back from around the corner, stoically adding more to the conversation. "It looks like a pony is still in the driver's seat. We might need to take a hostage or-"

"That won't work. Those dogs don't care about losses, as long as they get the slaves back," replied Wind Runner, his shovel propped between the stone floor and his wing. "I don't know how we're going to get through."

"That's why I grabbed the lye."

A large group broke from around the bend, shattering the tenseness of waiting for the attack. As one, the dogs raised their shields and braced their lances, preparing for impact. Like a wave, the slaves washed over the first line, avoiding the flailing lances from the guards. They scratched at their eyes, the lye burning away the cornea. Another volley of lye pellets kept the dogs at bay, their distraught forms impeding those trying to herd the ponies and griffins together. The lye only was going to work for so long though, their supplies dwindling with each shot.

Tesla stood at the front of the group, wading among the mass of fur, kicking at the armored dogs that kept getting underfoot. The sound of released steam brought his attention back the the elevators, their descent implying reinforcements.

"Everyone to the train! Follow me!" he bellowed, trailblazing through the sea of moving flesh, the void being filled by angered bodies hellbent on salvation. The pressure eased towards the end, courtesy of minotaurs throwing the filled crates into the crowd of guards, immobilizing several at a time. From the left converged the factory workers, having finally made their way down to the tracks, throwing the nearest guards into the fray.

Th first group boarded the flat cars behind the coal car, two pegasi flapping to the conductor to explain what was going on. On the cars stood the slaves, jabbing with shovels at anyone who tried to come on board that was wearing armor. A large portion of the guards were still writhing on the ground, their eyes and nostrils burning from the burns by the lye. The train started forward, moving slowly with a slight lurch. Behind the battle line cowered the old and young, doing their best to simply stay on the train. The minotaurs climbed on the back cars, using the new source of ammunition to harass the swarm trying to board the train.

Still, an eerie scene blossomed at the back of the battle. Shining metal strode through ranks of the fallen, an unnatural calm in a sea of violence. Among them stood a taller diamond, lean with muscle and armed with a kopesh, stilling those around him through presence alone. Fearlock's coat looked like a winter storm at night, white spots covering a black velvet. His breastplate gleamed silver, adorned with flowing symbols and designs in a bright red. The guards around him had the same armor right down to the rivet, the only difference was that they were armed with spears instead of a weaponized sickle.

"It's Fearlock!"

The train was still moving out of the station, the wheels clicking over each section of rail. Before the group could react, the elite group took the train by storm, the scarlet curtain slowly pushing out from the center of the moving train. The last car had just pulled out of the station, leaving the majority of the guards behind. Instead the escapees now faced a much more potential threat, the diamond dog Alpha leading a charge from the center of the train.

A brown blur shot through the light of a gem lantern, followed by a large exhale of breath and a scream. A guard had fallen off the car, taken out in a kamikaze move by a living bullet. The blur disappeared in the dark again only to return seconds later with a shield clenched in his mouth. Much to his name, Wind Runner was streaking up and down the corridor with great haste, forcing the the invaders to duck any time they heard the shrill whistle of pegasus wings. Others had taken up similar tactics, continuing the barrage from all angles.

He merely looked onward, watching as the carnage unfolded, unsettling his stomach as he stood back from the front lines. Tesla stood like a statue, his cold metallic limbs unmmoving. From behind his mask the deep orange apertures watched, tracking the reflexes of battle. A pegasus would swoop in, but the dog would already be turning to face them, skewering the poor soul or becoming airborn. The alpha was on a completely different level, his wide eyes mostly unmoving, keeping watch over the bigger picture while his ears swiveled behind and to his sides, an active sonar keeping watch over his back, the equivalent of sleepin with one eye open.

One by one the pegasi fell beside the griffins, a lengthened knife being the cause. The unicorns picked up the slack in the meantime, their invisible tendrils pulling at the spears and armor, slipping off, but still harassing the guards while the flying attackers finished the job. Meanwhile Tesla was standing back, not wanting to enter the fight. In his hand hung a small sack of lye, hanging limply as he looked on.

"Hey! Machine, get in their. Yer armored." Idly flapping behind him was that Sky Sword, the one who'd started attacking from above. His breathing looked labored, a large cut along the right side of his ribs, blood slowly oozing from the opening in the skin. When Tesla stood there in shock the pegasus started pushing him toward the battle, which the machine resisted, but couldn't deny the logic. His instinct for self preservation was too strong. "Get in there, or yer responsible fer the deaths today!"

Tesla stopped at that point, looking back at Wind Runner. "Thanks, I needed that." He stole himself before anything could distract him again, gently making his way towards the dwindling battle. Eight guards remained, the oak boards slick with the blood of all species. He gripped the bag in his hand tighter, stepping over the gap between train cars.

Attention immediately turned to him, his glowing orange eyes the only thing visible in his pitch silhouette. That was all that was needed for the attackers to send another three onto speeding ground beneath them. The dogs warily circled together, Fearlock facing Tesla. A wiry griffin with a crazed look in his eye came from behind only to be cut down by a flick of the kopesh. He was dead before his front half hit the deck, the other hitting a moment later. The teen audibly gulped, sending a smile onto the helmetless face of the diamond dog staring him down.

I'm screwed. No experience, not fully familiar with my new body yet, and have no armor. All I have it a bag of lye and no way to get it into his eyes. The whistle of the wind caught his ear, striking inspiration. Slowly, he moved forward, step by cautious step. If he fell, he'd ruin the lye by getting it wet. Still, the results would be best if he could get everyone's attention.

"I'm surprised you made it this far Fearlock. Your fighting prowess is truly formidable." He held up his right hand in a fist, signalling the attacks to stop and were graciously received by the fliers, their breaths coming hard from not using their muscles. "Join me, and you will not have to fear death. Otherwise, I will condemn the rest of your days to a living hell."

The dogs looked on in astonishment for a second before howling with laughter. How was something that cliche supposed to prove him a better leader? The remainder of the guard were so busy laughing that they didn't notice the silhouette spread its arms wide, proclaiming in a thunderous voice, "So be it! You shall be struck blind, every breath like fire, until the end of your days," and burst the bag in a metallic clapping sound, sending the powdered lye to the wind and into the inhaling maws of the elite guard, their laughing turning to cries of pain, the alpha included. Their weapons fell as their arms rose to scratch at their eyes and throats.

"Slow down the train, we'll leave them as an example if anyone should follow." The armored exterior of the standing machine was without a scratch but the personality within writhed in pain. He'd actively sought out and condemned a person to a life of hell, practically blind and virtually given a bad case of asthma if the lye spread into the lungs far enough. He'd never do that on Earth, he'd always strike from the shadows.

He watched as the families grouped together as the train slowed down, easing to a stop after several minutes. There was Rustic Rune and her uncle, both quietly crying into the other's mane, her cracked spectacles sending her river of tears down the side of her face. Wintercrest and Helena were sitting against each other, watching the other groups. Two of the minotaurs had survived, each with nasty cuts that would probably get infected if they didn't recieve aid quickly. Silently, he picked up a shovel and set off for the train engine, knowing there would be at least a few people who were going to bitch about the first aid they needed.

Soon enough the wounded came off their adrenaline highs, feeling their beaten bodies start shutting down. Several had already fainted, and several more were falling. Most of them were the pegasi and griffins that had attacked, although the minotaurs were clearly in pain as well. By the time Tesla reemerged, carrying with him a red hot iron shovel, a group had placed the remaining guards on the tracks. Slowly, he made his rounds, cauterizing the wounds closed, offering a piece of leather for them to bite before administering the healing process.

"Tesla!"

The machine never faltered, keeping the suffering to a minimum when he burnt the cuts closed. He checked the color of the shovel, seeing that it wouldn't work for cauterizing and got up, leaving the scorched metal resting near his feet. "Yeah? I'm busy."

It was Wind Runner and his colleagues, presenting him the lengthened scythe that Fearlock had terrorized them with. Hesitantly, he accepted, bending over and throwing the shovel off the side of the car. Wordlessly he returned to the train engine, coming back with a glowing sword in hand. Once again the attention was brought back to him, but vocalized by the Sky Swords.

"What have you done?" one shouted, followed by another's response clarifying the action. "You've ruined the temper of the blade!" The second was holding his hooves to his head in shock, outraged face appearing murderous in the passing gem lights.

"I know, but this will work better to heal, and I won't be leaving shards of metal in any wounds," he said, walking past the pair, gesturing to a minotaur as his next patient.

"Boss, he ruined it!"

"Let him be," Wind Runner sagely replied. "Medical tools evolved from weapons. He's fixing the wounds with an over sized scalpel. Be thankful ya helped others indirectly, and don't complain just 'cause he's helping others."

Even so, the three looked on, watching him travel from pony to griffin to minotaur, healing without thanks, yet remaining stoic. Through fire, he gave his weary mind peace, yet did not sleep. A way to give back for any grief he'd caused those injured.

Through fire the maimed were initiated into their first steps of freedom, bearing with them the scars of slavery... and the price of liberty.

The Fruits of Labor

The train trundled along the tracks at a steady pace in near darkness, the gem lanterns having long since appearing on the walls. That simulation of night gave the slaves a time to rest and feel the warmed wind rush over their bodies. Ahead the conductor sat in a chair next to the fire, waking up every few minutes to put another piece of coal in the engine. Nothing seemed out of place. And yet the groups that were awake remained uneasy, expecting the phantoms of their captors to bind them in chains of iron once again. These were the guards who stood watch over their sleeping comrades with eyes pealed against the darkness.

Rustic Rune was among them, her muddled coat barely visible against the confining tunnel walls and staring her pale yellow uncle down. He'd left her. Nothing could be argued against it. The empty feeling in her stomach didn't make anything easier, the absence of food on the train drastically limiting the traveling range for the ponies and minotaurs, the griffins already showing that they hadn't been afraid to strip a carcass of meat. Still, Rustic Rune had felt a large shift in her perspective of her uncle. His sleeping form lay just beyond her eyesight, easily found by the raucous snoring coming from the aged set of lungs. The thud of metallic footsteps and gentle hiss of releasing hydraulic oil turner her head, her eyes scouring the polished metal that stood next to her sitting form with its arms crossed.

"Still think I'm a demon?"

The question was simple, yet loaded. On one hoof, if she answered yes, it would confirm trust issues. One the other, it might paint her in a light of an easily controlled personality. The deep orange mare flicked her tail against the wooden floor, annoyed that he'd chosen now to ask. "After that display, you really haven't convinced me otherwise."

The machine chuckled in response, a deep, hollow sound that boomed through his metal frame. "Good to see someone's still on their guard, I'm sure you'll figure something out."

Before she could respond he'd already started walking towards the minotuars, swaying side to side to counter the uneven tracks. Tesla had a point though. She couldn't leave the issue unaddressed, to do so would create an awkwardness that would probably lead to anger and feuding. No, she needed to resolve it soon. But how?

Throaty laughter was heard over the roar of the wind, the bipeds sitting in a circle, letting out deep chortles that resounded off the stone walls. The sound might have been made by ghosts for all she knew, but the soft shimmer of red emitted from the back of the bobbing green serpentine mask Tesla wore gave away the source. Beyond him she could see few details of the minotaurs, their wounds blistered and black. Chasms spanning their chests, engulfing the light that shone upon them. In a strange way, they might have been seen as demons. The way the red light from Tesla's eyes highlighted their bodies in blood red with their closed wounds, which might have still been open had she not known any better, and the faint howls of throaty laughter might have been seen as malignant in a different context.

It looked like a scene from an illustrated legend. Warriors gathered around a fire after a successful hunt, their glimmering bodies reflecting fire in their sweat, giving illusions of cloaks of flame. Meanwhile their wild laughter mocked those that had fallen before them. In her mind's eye she pictured the battle scene with its dampened earth and eerie silence. She shuddered, feeling past ghosts coming back to haunt her. You die alone in battle. Not among friends, or family, but rather impaled or cut enough that you bleed out. The unfortunate die suffocating on their own blood, forced to wait on death's doorstep as he comes from his house to see who's knocking.

Tesla had a point though, even if he'd never said it directly: she needed to get herself together, or at least prepare for when she fell apart. Sighing, Rune laid down, resting her head on her hooves. She needed time, and for the moment, she had all the time she needed.

Tesla finished making his rounds, reassuring others and making light conversation. The people had been surprisingly articulate besides that pegas- no, griffin, Wintercrest. From what he'd gathered from Helena, who did not have the slightest sense of humor, he'd been born into a small family that had resided somewhere along a forest and mountain range. Amazingly, he'd still been capable of speech. Within the confines of the metal shell covering his brains, Tesla pieced together a theory, holding little proof, but making sense. If he was right, then maybe a tribe had been wiped out or separated several generations ago. Over time the language had suffered, changing from structured to broken down. It made sense, but didn't really have proof. It was something to think about later.

Inside, he felt a fear lurking, striking out at the feeble attempts to subdue it. It would be a matter of time before his breakdown made it to the surface, but something fundamental had changed. It was one thing to read Fight Club, watching passively as a character was mutilated, yet here he'd felt sick to his stomach. He'd condemned several to lives of chemical burns on their eyes and in their mouths, the diamond dog warriors crying out in shock as the effects of the lye set in. And to think, all that caused from a janitor's closet. Those were the base chemicals, not even designed weaponry.

He needed air.

A brief struggle to the front of the train let his head and shoulder lean out the side of the engine, the wind whistling to his eye slots. The stress was piling up on him, and he knew it, similar to the single move defining the rest of a chess match: he'd been beat, but now it was a matter of time. He was facing the fact that there was a hole in his memory, rather large at that, along with how easy it had been to inflict harm on others. And finally, what kicked it all off, was how he'd gotten into a new body and into this mythical world.

Soon a slight wobble in his vision entered his vision. It would have been normal, except that its origin was his shaking body. All this time, and he'd gone with the flow. There was no control, losing any sleight of hand he'd had in order to grasp the swirl of events he'd experienced. In the end, it was homicidal behavior that saved them. It wasn't careful planning, nor was it elegant. It was in cold blood, and he'd nearly lost control of his emotions.

Steeling himself away, he returned to the flatcars tugged along behind the wobbly grey train and sat down near the center, not trusting his body enough not to fall off. His reflexes weren't as good as they seemed despite the wake he'd left in battle earlier. He hugged his knees with his face in his arms. No tears sprung forth, nor did a cry of woe escape Tesla's mouth. Yet inside, he felt himself getting torn apart. He was a time bomb that was primed to go off with no way of knowing when the fuse would reach the explosive accelerant.

Against his wishes, and much to his chagrin, he felt a weight lean against him. He'd never been one for body contact. Wearily looking up, he found the smiling face of the brown Sky Sword whose name he couldn't remember.

"Hey, ya lookin' a bit down. What's the matter?" The brown pegasus spread a wing over Tesla's back, covering the black metal in a mass of feathers, and sat down beside him.

Tesla thought back, looking for the source of the boiling emotions, before he settled on something that had haunted him for a long while. "I think... it was exactly what I'd asked for several years ago."

"Oh, and that'd be?"

"The extent my mind will go to exact revenge, and how easily it is to carry out. Thank you, but I'd really rather not talk about it right now," he finished in a low voice, his emotional high ebbing. He smiled when he looked Wind Runner in the eye, glad that someone had talked to him.

"Anytime, Ya welcome," the pegasus patted him on the back twice, getting up and returning to the members of his crew.

Finally, he felt at ease, although the source of his concern displeased him. It had been something from a time long past, yet still reared its ugly head. Settling onto his back with his chin tucked tight against his chest, Tesla drifted off, letting the weight of his problems disappear with the blank void that would soon overcome his conscious self. He was almost asleep when he felt his body sliding across the worn boards towards the front of the train. It was a subtle reminder of inertia, something that seemed to have carried over from one world to another.

I need to set up some tests with magic. See if it follows the same laws as conventional physics. I'd need funding though... Say I'll design city defenses or something. That should establish a few contacts, let me get a network started. That reminds me...

"Hey, Rusty!" A low swear caught his ears as she trotted over, "Alright, I get. You don't like the nickname," he chided. "Look, I just have a few questions. I'm a bit new around here, and want some pointers."

Her silence gave Tesla pause, thinking he'd accidentally overstepped a boundary. He really needed to reestablish fluently reading body language. "I'll give you five questions. Make it fast, the train's slowing down and I want to get the buck out of here."

"The bu-" The machine cut himself off before he could finish the question, deciding to save asking about slang for later. "Erm, *cough.* How much has society adopted electricity?" He decided to gamble the first question, needing to establish a baseline for communications and such, or at least a standard of living.

The dark orange mare squinted at him, sizing up the thing sitting before her before relenting and giving an answer. "That really depends. Some of the music industry uses it, others use magic as a power source. The hospitals generally use magic though, I think they have electrical powered backups, but couldn't really tell you. Other than that, it's a novelty."

Come to think of it, most people would have said three. I wonder why she said five? "Let's see," he rubbed the back of his head with a clunky hand, feeling the train push him forward slightly further, "What are the people like? Are they skittish? Afraid?"  Instantly her face broke into a grin, the teenager across from the smiling mare realizing his mistake. The train station lights coming into view. I should not have elaborated, crossed his sullen mind. He'd lost his edge.

"You're down to one after this, and I really couldn't tell you about them. They could attack, or hide in fear. It depends on where we come up. As for the last two questions: I don't know. I'm not a tour guide," on her face rested a smug grin as the train pulled into the sunlit world for what seemed the first time.

Tesla got up, glad to have kept the sword despite the glares accompanying the pinched noses, and carried it in his left hand firmly, making sure to keep the edge to next to his metallic body. It would do no harm there, despite his instinct to carry the blade outward lest he fall and land on it. As he walked, off the train, he gave himself a smile behind his mask. Rune wasn't too far off yet, letting him catch up in a few strides.

"So, why does 'Rusty' bother you?" It was all he could do avoid the rock she shot at his head, The follow up rock made contact with his helmet, leaving a ringing sound resound throughout the empty train station. Odd thing was, he didn't feel any pain, all he'd felt was the resistance of his neck to the impact of the rock. "Do that again," he commanded, scared of the gnashing pit that was forming in his stomach from potential conclusions about his body. She obliged, glad to had a willing target for her venting anger.

Another ping of ringing metal echoed around the chamber as the conductor disembarked from the train, leaving the large steam engine resting on the tracks, lying in wait for an oncoming train of diamond dogs. It wasn't like he could park it off to the side either. Tesla looked at his arm, where he'd instinctively block the oncoming projectile. He never felt any pain or pressure, only the fact that he'd seen the projectile hit him was what made him aware of the event.

"Again," with the same result when it struck his chest. Blowing air out of his nose, he let the new information overwhelm him. "I can't feel." A small, choking laugh escaping past his lips, growing to a cackle as he slumped to the floor. His breakdown let a large portion of built up emotion to pass to the side. An imaginary tear was wiped from his eye as he looked back to the world around him, taking note of every face that had paused to look at him before he pushed back to his feet. "What?! You were't indirectly responsible for maiming several hundred people! Now git!"

Ponies and griffins alike walked aside him as he rested on the gentle gradient sloping toward a hole where the daylight shone through. Rune rested alongside the machine, shocked at his sudden outburst. She could practically see the manic smile he was wearing, despite his near featureless face. His shaking orange irises belied the stoic green mask he wore though, gazing to the world manically. Overall, she felt his sense of anguish, being in a similar situation before. That complete lack of control, forced to cope in an unfamiliar environment. He'd been dug out of the ground, potentially thousands of years later than when he'd been built.

A choked sob was heard next, the turmoil of emotion coming to pass again.

"I killed them. Scarred the inside of their lungs and burnt their eyes. Why am I even here?"

Rune consoled him, "You set free 42 slaves. That's got to be worth something."

Holding back an outburst, he swallowed his emotions, the definition of apathy sprung from his lips in the form of a question. "If you weren't affected by that, wouldn't you be hesitant to call yourself intelligent?" Afterwards he got up and left, leaving the dark maned unicorn to consider what he'd said. If she'd been in his shoes, would she have felt guilt? Of course not! They were diamond dogs, a lower form of life!

She caught herself, trapped by the logic she'd just used. If they were a lower form of life, then why was she held captive by them? Why couldn't the equines escape? They had magic on their side, a way to stop near anything from happening inside that hollowed volcano short of it becoming active again. She'd thought about escape, sure, but had never put into place any long term plans that would undermine the authority. She'd seen Fearlock though, his gnashing teeth brought together in a wicked smile as he severed heads as a form of demonstration. But, as far as she knew, there was never any form of rebellion.

Her inner debate halted with a tingle down her spine, realizing that most of the victims looked scared, not defiant. A pathetic symbol for a nonexistent cause. Slain for the sake of control, nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps a guard had taken disliking to that slave, tired of whipping it - them, not it - and let their alpha know that a sacrifice was ready, something to fill his blood lust.

A weight dragging his leg caught Tesla's attention, thinking his foot might have been caught under a rope or root. Instead, it was that same bothersome unicorn that had called him a demon.

She was balling, rivers of tears cleaning the dirt from her face. "I SOWWY!" She shrieked, once again turning the majority of looks back to the machine, generally in a condescending matter pondering what it had done. Her wailing continued though, uncontrollable shaking rattling her shoulders and torso. He quickly knelt down and placed a hind on her shoulder, hoping the contact would settle her down. It seemed like he got her attention when his thumb brushed her neck, her eyes growing wide and a hiss of surprise disrupting her breakdown. "You're freezing! Stop touching me!"

Geez, and she thought I was under stress.

Gradually the group emerged into sunlight, signs of recent desertion of the diamond dog camp ran rampant. A charcoal fire had been used recently, but with no way to tell what the weather had been like it could have been anywhere from a day to a week old. A meek dirt path lead away from the encampment, snaking into the woods with scattered paw prints. Directly opposite was a path similar, but leading to a distant town that smoldered in the distance. In the dirt were deep claw marks superseding the paw marks denting the earth. Whoever had been here had left in a hurry, seeming to run from the town.

Wind Runner and his gang were already gathering around, each wincing as their medical burns stretched. There was some debate of whether to go the town or not, but the need for medicine outweighed their desire to shirk the husk of a town. Beyond the city limits was a vast ocean, greatly contrasting the grey scale spot in the distance. Extensive repairs were underway, the carried sound of two man saws carried on a slight breeze as they worked to repair a trench dug through the heart of the town. The group ambled to the smoke in the distance, keeping a steady pace and a weary eye. They'd come too far, and weren't going to stop if they had to walk through hell itself.

Caution was tossed to the breeze when the last bend in the path revealed the town before them, a derelict place that needed a good cleaning to say the least. Thugs stood on corners, glaring at the newcomers. Tesla was still in the forest, feeling faint. He'd been struggling to keep up the last half of the journey, feeling his limbs lose responsiveness while his mind blotted out distractions. Gradually he came around the corner, trudging into the bustling hubbub of commerce that ground to a halt as he walked down Mane Street. A small voice in the back of his head was whispering something too faint to hear.

His vision went dark, then... nothing.

Slaves wandered free in the city of Mustang, going from store to store in search of help. This was a city on the fringe though, not a metropolis. Work was scarce, and most of them needed medical treatment because they were malnourished and cut, fearing infection. Slowly, the silver and green machine they owed their lives to stepped into the city limits, commanding a presence that forced those around him to pause and look onward. His stature was diminished though, his arms hanging limp, and his feet barely lifting off the ground. This wasn't the guardian that had opposed the diamond dogs, but a mere shadow. His masked face was cast downward as he stood in the middle of the street, eyes becoming black before he tilted forward, shins catching on his ankle guards, before flopping chest first onto the dirt street. An eternity of silence passed before the slaves ran from the crooks and shanties they'd been in, rushing to the side of their fallen comrade.

Wind Runner was the first there, his side taped with gauze as he violently shook the fallen biped to no avail. He was a warrior and knew basic medicine, but had no idea about machinery. Rustic Rune was next to arrive on the scene, shoving the mercenary off, disgustedly looking at him over her shoulder for such callous behavior. Slowly, she gathered a glowing aura around her horn, focusing the magical matrix to scan for enchantments, oblivious to the gathering crowd. To her surprise, the previously pulsing enchantments she'd taken while he was... what had he called himself? A Motorn? When he was smaller anyway, now they were creeks compared to great rivers.

Bracing herself again she tapped into her magic as she looked for where the basin of magic was. Staring from the head she worked down, painstakingly forcing herself to go slow, lest she miss something. Once the orange unicorn got to his chest, her violet eyes lit up, sending a shard of magic into a small gem on the front of his chest. She'd remembered it glowing before, but now it was lackluster. Briefly the orange eyes flickered, seeming to glance at the hooves to their side before going dark again. A rough shove interrupted her attempt to bring the machine back online, Rune's hooves twisting as she fell over Telsa's black metal back, growing hot from the prolonged exposure to the sun.

"We'll take it from here ma'am."

Rune couldn't believe it. She'd seen him as a titan, yet he fell to his knees. There was no mistaking it, she'd thought him invincible, yet there he'd been dragged away. The trench from where four work ponies had pulled him into a back alley was clearly visible in the dirt. She'd followed it to the back of a hospital, blocked by the burly workers that stood guard outside the door. After that the unicorn mare decided to call it a day, looking for any signs of a job opening. The desk clerk at the inn had very clearly laid out that customers had to pay up front, no exceptions, not even for freed slaves.

She'd taken to a pile of crates with some other slaves, gathered around a fire in a rusty oil barrel somepony'd found. The fumes were endured for the heat the flames gave off, yet each individual went about minding their own business. Quiet, distant stares into the swirling pseudo-plasma. One of the minotaurs was sitting on a crate, a grim scowl on his face. She suspected hers was much the same.

A voice from her side caught her off guard, more familiar than she'd have liked to imagine. Laced with sarcasm, and potent as always. That brown and white griffiness, Helena. "Freedom tastes great, doesn't it?" Rune sat there for a second, looking at the hybrid next to her. She was the descendant of an ancient race that had never been fully understood in modern times, and had left without a trace. "All the grandeur we couldn't have in the mines! The dirt, the air. Buck, even the trash is the Celestia damned same! Now we're slaves to circumstance rather than those dogs, but a least then I was guaranteed a meal."

Rune looked away, realizing the griffiness was right. The ponies had it easier, at least able to nibble at some grass, otherwise the griffins would be forced back into the trees to track deer or learn how to fish. The mercs would be able to pull some resources, even act as body guards if they needed to in order to have food and medical care. But honestly, if the purple eyed unicorn had anything to say herself, this wasn't the worst case scenario. Sure, they might be sleeping next to a barrel of burning oil and pine crates, but they were't curled up in cells anymore. They had room to move, fresh air to breathe, and the ability to choose their own paths again. That other griffin though, the one who'd struggled to complete a sentence... her body shuddered at what his life must be like right now. He seemed so fragile.

But when it all came down to it, was she any different?

Tesla.

Welcome to the Game

     Bright skies, clear air, and a fresh coating of snow on the ground. Ah, the average day of winter in central Ohio. Not enough snow to be troublesome, but just enough to hide the filth of the city. You know, a fresh start? Well, this is the story of a sharply dressed young man who'd received just that. As it was, he lived in a suburb of Dayton, and was walking home from school. His name is Artemis, and he stood out in a crowd of teenagers. Almost always donned with a dress shirt, pants, shoes, and vest in public, but renowned for his eagerness in learning.

     Many teachers loved him, even if he was the quiet type. Always polite, never unruly, and had an academic record clean as a whistle. Unfortunately, that wasn't his only side. You see, if the teachers ever caught him with what he did best, he'd probably be expelled. And what he did best was manipulate people. A little pressure here, some blackmail there, and the fact that he was guarded by the teachers due to high academic marks really pissed some people off; specifically the local bullies. Why them? Well, that's because he manipulated them the most. They preyed on those they knew they could harm, but could never rip out the thorn in their side: Artemis.

    Artemis on the other hand, greatly enjoyed playing with their minds, and even more so turning some of the rival groups against each other. In fact, just last year he'd played two gangs against each other. Now that was a sight to see. Around twenty kids total (not enough to actually be two rival gangs, but easier to say that than repeat 'groups' all the time) decided that an assembly would be the perfect time to start fighting on the gym floor. This, of course, was provoked via Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr hacks courtesy of the protagonist. You know, an insult via Twitter during a party while they were getting drunk and couldn't account for all of their actions, a Facebook post here or there that insulted the other's beliefs, installing spyware on their phones and sending phantom messages that would be deleted several minutes after being opened, etc.; nothing major, but enough to get on each other’s nerves. That was where Artemis sat back and watched as it unfolded. Tensions increased, a check into the lockers, 'accidentally' knocking books out of the others hand, and generally them trying to out-bully each other. It's all very easy when a phone is always connected to an account with not a single lock on it.

     Its fun to watch Alpha males fight for territory and pride, isn't it?

     Now, while this was enough to generate tension, it wasn't actually enough to make something like a fight occur, but it was enough to get insults thrown around freely during school. A few weeks after lighting the spark of anger between those groups, an assembly was announced to be in three days. Artemis wracked his mind for an idea. The lockers didn't have great locks, and it wouldn't take long to pry open Jeff or John's locker to plant evidence. With the safeguard secured, he moved on to how to actually set off the building stockpiles. Words would only go so far, he needed something that would really piss each other off. Something stolen perhaps... Yeah, that would work. Steal an IPod, photoshop one into a picture, send it to the other, bam. Instant "proof" that the other stole the device. Nah, forget the photoshop.

     But where's the fun just letting the two knock each other around behind the weight room? No, there would need to something more dramatic. Something that would occur at the assembly...

     Three days passed, and the assembly was almost upon the school. Jeff's IPod was decided to be stolen due to him having been in the court system before, and everyone knew that it was only a matter of time before he went to jail, leaving him the suspected instigator. Coincidentally, his birthday was two days prior to the assembly, putting him just over the age of adulthood. Artemis knew that the court systems would tear him apart, and leave him to stew on his actions. John would be the assaulted victim then.

     Then came the day of the assembly, a glorious day indeed. The day before, during Artemis' study hall, he'd broken into Jeff's locker and stole his mp3 player. Next he went back to his studyhall, and continued working on homework. It was a good thing the school hadn't caught up with the times yet, no video cameras meant no chance of getting caught. The rest of the day had passed without incident, and the two were still at it. Artemis strolled down the hall dressing in khakis and a red polo shirt, and discretely slipped the IPod into John's backpack. He'd been careful to watch Jeff on his birthday while he'd messed with his IPod in class. As you may know, the IPod has a four digit code that is really easy to memorize if you're looking over someone's shoulder when they're unlocking the device.

     Timing is everything when it comes to framing someone. It also takes a great deal of patience to find the right type of person to target, and to know who would tell the least convincing truth. That was why John was such an easy target; constantly in trouble and always telling unconvincing lies to try and weasel his way out of the spotlight, the one he'd jump back into not ten minutes after being yelled at. Of course, he never got in too much trouble, but detracted enough time from class to be a nuisance to the teachers, and verbally bullied the few people dumber than him. AKA, the people with mental illnesses, who were slandered against by the rest of the student body already, and was magnified by John's behavior towards them.

     It was also where Artemis' younger sister went to school for borderline autism part of the day, and John bullying her gave Artemis the perfect excuse to rationalize what he was playing between the other two. It was an act of kindness he'd reasoned, a way to scrub the dirt off the floor, a parting gift senior year, and even more-so, a gift to turn the tables on those who had the apparent power.

     The day of the assembly passed without incident until roughly one fifteen in the afternoon. It was about sending the golf team to state again this year, and as such, nobody really paid attention. Really, who like golf besides retirees?

     "Thank you all for coming here!" The vice principal chattered on, oblivious to the silent stares of disinterest being given from the students. "As you are well aware, the swim team has come a long way since the beginning of the season. It is reflected by their hard work, perseverance, and..." At that point, Artemis began looking for John. John as a wider fellow who was on the wrestling team, and had placed ninth in districts last year, was easy to pick out in the crowd. As predicted, he was playing with the unlocked IPod he'd mysteriously acquired. He wasn't privy to a phone, seeing that he generally broke the screen in a few days, but the mp3 player still looked to be in one piece- wait, nevermind.

     Artemis looked down at his rooted Android. He tapped a few icons on the screen to bring up the spyware program, and sent a message to Jeff through John's phone. 'U missin yo ipod' It made the young man cringe that he'd had to type that, he was a bit of a grammar nazi after all, a slight side effect of having a little OCD. It wasn't anything to get worked up about, but he paid attention to stuff more because of it.

     It was one of those things that could be looked down upon, but had somehow twisted itself to working out to better his life than hinder it.

     He sent the message with a quickly subdued twinge of guilt, and looked across the gym. Scanning the crowd for the teen.

     "...on behalf of the high school, I present this award to..." The principal prattled on, none the wiser that some strings were being pulled. Artemis was growing slightly concerned though, he knew he'd seen Jeff earlier, but the man wasn't making an appearance.

     A bark of "Hey!" broke him out of his watch, and shifted his eyes down to the end of the row. There he stood, burly with dark, gelled hair. The muscled man sidestepped down the row in front of John, and stopped in front of the wiry teen. John was skinnier, and held the cracked IPod awkwardly before trying to hide it in his pocket. He knew he'd been had, but habit dies hard when you're predisposed to lying.

     "I don't have your IPod," John stammered out before regaining his composure and looking Jeff in the eye.

     "Then why is it in your pocket?"

     "Nah man, I found dis. Just showed up in my backpack."

    "'Course it did," scoffed Jeff. By now the teachers were staring, and one was making her way over to intervene before things got out of hand. "I want it back."

     "Finder's keepers'," said John matter-of-factly. He acted like that was the only rule that mattered at the moment, and it was taking Artemis all his restraint to keep from grinning maniacally and snickering. He'd noted how Jeff didn't mention getting a text, and how John couldn't conjure a counter argument.

     "That's mine!" Roared Jeff as he lunged for the pocket, accidentally shouldering John's friend, Miguel in the stomach. Miguel was the center on the football team, and towered over everyone else in the school. Jeff was on the wrestling team, and knew how to grapple better. Push came to shove, and a wild elbow caught John in the chin. There was no turning back after that, as John threw the first punch that ricocheted off Jeff's shoulder. Jeff gave him a sidelong glance, and John was scrambling over his classmates to get away from his pursuer. Unfortunately, he didn't think things through, and ran toward the center of the gym floor.

     Jeff's friends had watched Jeff confront John about his IPod, and came to his aid in cornering the ever elusive target. They had been circling around the top of the bleachers when John ran onto the gym floor. Come to think of it, he probably made the best move at the time. He gave himself room to maneuver and distanced himself from his attackers. Jeff didn't give up that easily though. He slipped out of Miguel's reach, and continued the hunt for his stolen music player. His posse on the other hand had caused quite the disruption on the gym floor, and had nearly trapped John. The teachers were pushed away from the fleeing man, and had not made any headway by the time Jeff caught him by the scruff of the neck.

     Miguel made better advances than the teachers through the wall of flesh forming the rough half circle, but still had trouble reaching John. His relationship was one of mutual interest with the beaten victim. He wanted to feel better, and so did John. Both took it out on others to relieve the stresses of home, but neither would ever admit to that. Miguel's younger brother Carlos joined the fray as well, and was able to weave between the thrashing bodies and hurled fists. His course of action finished when he made it to Jeff standing over John's fallen and bloody body, then leaped onto his back and wrapped his arms around his neck. Jeff fell onto John's battered body, and soon across it as he succumbed to the fading dark of unconsciousness.

     The teachers swarmed in soon after, and suspended all those involved. It didn't end well. Miguel, who had been trying protect a friend, was suspended for two weeks. Jeff was expelled, and John was expelled due to having an excessively stained record prior to the event. Nothing could be proven about the IPod, and that only added to John's guilt. All the while, Artemis sat back and watched. He found himself realizing the irony of the situation, that he'd become what he was trying to vanquish, but ended his turmoil with a thought, If I have to stain my hands with wrongdoing to ensure that life is better for the rest, I will do so. If being righteous involves laying down and doing nothing, then that justifies the means to the ends for me. And just like that, the knot in his stomach uncoiled. He knew he'd wronged some more than others, but knew that none of them were entirely innocent either.

One of these days, karma will catch up to me... I'll burn that bridge when I get to it, he thought stoically. Even as the scene on the floor unfolded, he had begun to realize he was at a crossroads in life, and would remember that day.

      Back to the present: a slow winter's walk down memory lane, and back from a trip to Radioshack. Artemis needed a breadboard to redo some soldering on a circuit. It wasn't that complex of a circuit, but he'd kept the soldering iron too close and ruined the silicon on the last one. Thankfully he hadn't wrecked any of the components, that would have just made a bad week worse, not that it could. Seven days ago his car brakes failed, and he had been forced to downshift and swerve over a curb to stop before an intersection. Four days ago he'd practically bee run over by the bus he was forced to take to school, twice, then once again when he went to pick up some groceries, forcing him to leap aside as the wheel ran where he had stood but a moment before. Then today the circuit board had been burnt by a clumsy mistake. It was nothing in comparison to the past week, but it still pissed him off. It was another thing on a list thing that could go wrong, and just reaffirmed that karma was getting even lately.

     Artemis blew out a sigh of frustration. He'd been looking forward to make a small coil gun, just to say that he could. The parts were easy to come by, and the only reason it was taking as long as it was was because he'd been flooded with homework lately. It wasn't bad, but enough to force the schedule between work and school to establish that he didn't have much of a chance to gather the needed breadboard. Furthermore, he'd really needed to stretch his bad leg. It had been acting up lately, and he couldn't figure out why.

     The leg encased in a brace was brought to face without a hint of disgrace, moving forward with the click clack accompanied by the to-and-fro motion of an extended knee yearning to break free from its imprisonment. His was interrupted by a buzzing in his jeans pocket. He didn't normally wear jeans, instead preferring the feeling of his black wool dress pants. Those were ruined in the last near-miss with the bus, which ruined Artemis' attitude more than being hit by the bus (the surprise wears off after the first two times, or so I'm told). The buzzing persisted, making the metallic brace resonate slightly.

     "Hello?" The teen asked in a bored tone, somewhat sad that he was being bothered when he'd lost so much of his free time already.

     "Artemis? Is this thing working? Where are you? Why's the screen black? Can you-"

     "Mom. Mom. MOM! I'm right here. It's working," He interrupted. "Anyway, what are you calling for?"

     "Well," his mom started, "I was watching this show, and they were cooking this recipe-"

     "Mom, I'm broke. I can't go getting food right now. I'll be home in ten minutes." He cut her off once again, this time with no small amount of effort to keep the frustration out of his voice.

     "Now you listen here young man, I want to try out this recipe, and you're going to get the stuff, or you aren't eating tonight." His mom said sternly.

     "Yes Janice, see you in ten minutes," he added to spite her before going home. He couldn't figure it out though, his mom never threatened him by going without food. Something's up. She doesn't threaten me by withholding food, and I told her I was going to Radioshack.

     He continued his limp back home, wondering what was causing the distress. His sister had been acting much more 'normal' than her condition generally allowed with her last medicine change, and his dad had gotten a raise with his job promotion. Artemis couldn't figure it out. If anything, there should have been less tension, so what would have been causing her to act up?

     Deciding to chance a shortcut home, he turned down an alley that would exit near his house. The echoes of a flexing brace bounced off the walls, giving the impression of entering a cave at dusk. The shadows stood in surprisingly stark contrast to the white snow outside he walled street, making the place seem ominous and foreboding. Artemis felt a throb of pain shoot through his left knee, Damn. Overextended myself again, he mused as he removed the circuit from the plastic bag he'd been toting around. A few seconds later he'd tied the bag through his brace, and was filling it with snow as he leaned against a wall. The sound of snickering caught his ear from further down the alley. Unfortunately it was coming from the way home, giving rise to a rise of groaning from the boy. He just couldn't shake this trail of bad luck lately, could he?

     He moved down the alley regardless of the mysterious laughter. There was a reason he avoided this, but he didn't want to admit that there may be a situation he couldn't handle. A small drift of snow had collected in the gravel path and had been littered with one, two... Two pairs of distinguishable shoes prints, Artemis thought to himself. A bit of paranoia crept into the back of his mind, reminding him that he could be attacked at any moment.

     Crunch, clack, crunch, clack went the boy's unique sounding step.

     "Hey, did you hear that?" One of the voices had stopped laughing and quickly interrupted the other's giggling. Artemis continued on, ignoring the fact that there were likely two people looking for him right now. His philosophy was, "If you look like you belong there, they won't bother you." Presently, he crossed the intersection where the laughter had originated, and two adults that looked to be somewhere in their mid-twenties were staring at him. He gave them a sidelong glance, and kept walking on, not bothering to stop and observe the scene. A quiet conversation picked up behind him, reaching his ears only because of the acoustics of the alley. A scuffling could be heard, followed by a cough that was much too close for comfort for Artemis. He turned in time to lower his shoulder before a man tried attacking him, a jarring sensation ran through his legs, and something popped in his left leg. It didn't hurt, but neither did it when he first injured that leg.

     Adrenaline is a crazy thing.

     Panting heavily, and quite away that his leg was likely going to give out, Artemis shifted his weight largely to his right leg as the thug backed off. "Okay," he wheezed, trying to keep a grip on his perception of a wobbling reality, "What doya- Whoa. What do you want?"

     "Give us your wallet," demanded the one on the right. He was a greasy character. No, as in, his skin had a gleam, and his pimples had pimples. Is that what it's like to work over the grill at McDonald's all day? Inquired Artemis to himself as he took out his wallet and gave it to the thugs.

Dammit, he thought with a wince, I hope they don't steal my identity. Wait, did I...? Yeah, left my house key in the wallet pocket.

     The black fold of leather was handed over peacefully, although Artemis' scowl was now mixed between pain and frustration. Something to do with being raised in a society where mistakes are frowned upon, whether they're actions or people. Then again, being a perfectionist by nature will magnify even the smallest flaws.

     Once he was finished handing over the wallet, the two alley-lurkers went back down their nook. The one who'd tried tackling him was rubbing his jaw, but seemed to have shaken off his hit pretty well. Artemis chuckled at a stray thought, Stop hitting yourself. Then he started thinking about what he'd have to do later, Cancel debit card, change the locks, get a new ID...FFFUUUU! You see, that thought reminded him that he'd have to go to the DMV, where the lines are slow and the service is shitty. I mean really, who wants to wait in line two hours just to be told they were standing in the wrong line to begin with?

     The grimace across his face showed that Artemis' condition was worsening though, largely due to the adrenaline fading from his system. A warm sensation ran through his knee, forcing Artemis to practically hop on one leg to go anywhere. An end to his agony was interrupted with a bright light. Artemis blinked in surprise twice; he didn't realize he was at the end of the alley already. A spared glance behind revealed the two thugs weren't there, and a sigh of relief was given. The last thing he needed was to be attacked again.

     Fishing his smart phone out of his pocket, he dialed his home phone number. His thoughts on having a land-line were mixed. On one hand you didn't have everyone knowing your cell phone number, but on the other they could call you in the middle of the night and you could only unplug the phone to ignore them. Regardless, his mom wasn't picking up. Odd, she called ten minutes ago, he thought as he looked at his call history after hanging up. His priority right now was finding a spot to sit down. Something was wrong with his leg if that popping had anything to say.

It may have been scar tissue. Definitely feels like a time after physical therapy. GAH! That hurts! He thought to himself while he busied himself with readjusting his brace. The snow in the plastic bag was emptied out, and fresh powder was put in. The cooling effect of the ice crystals definitely made a difference with the toleration of that damn injury.

     The walk limp home was uneventful, and mercifully close. Only two streets to the cul de sac, then a quarter mile to his house. Artemis felt a cold sweat come to be over his brow, even as his heartbeat was duly noted in his leg. The bag was torn open on his front porch, then placed in a wadded up ball as he tried to go inside. It wouldn't do him any good to drag a puddle into the house, and his mom would spaz out if she caught anything wet on the floor.

     Keyword: tried.

     Again he pressed against the door again to be sure it was locked, it was. His dad didn't believe in hiding a spare key outside the house, and it was at times like this Artemis felt the need to make a spare. (He'd meant to make one earlier, but his car went haywire.) His cellphone was once again pullet out of his pocket. He called his house and heard the ringing of the land line from within. Nobody answered. With that way in taken, he called his mom's cell phone with the same result, and his dad's, and his sister's.

     A resigned sigh greeted the air as it escaped from his lips, turning into mist as the dry air evaporated the water molecules into thin air. Artemis sat on the front porch for some time, well, enough to drain most of the battery in his phone. By that time the sun had begun its travels to the horizon, and his good leg was horribly cramped. He called the phones one last time, and found himself grabbing a rock. He headed around to the side of the garage, and smashed the rock into the lower left hand corner, where the lock was the closest.

     Darkness loomed in every corner of the garage, the only light source illuminating the person in the doorway. Shadows vanished as incandescent light bloomed forth from the flicking of a switch. Artemis made his way around his parents' cars, and entered the house. A call into the abode as the teen crossed the mantle received no responses.

     He made his way to the kitchen, deftly grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer, and put it on his leg as he reclined at the kitchen table. The apple he spied on the table sent a small rumble through his stomach, I don't suppose this would ruin dinner, would it? A smirk played across his face. It wasn't often that he had the chance to simply sit back and watch the world go round, and he felt thankful.

     Now, Artemis was not a religious man by any means, but he was raised Catholic and the teachings of the Church wore off after time. Sure, he said prayers before meals as a kid, but now he hardly gave a second thought about giving thanks.

     "Pater noster qui es in coelis, (Our Father, who art in heaven,

     sanctificetur nomen tuum; hallowed be thy name;

     adveniat regnum tuum, thy kingdom come,

     fiat voluntas tua, thy will be done,

     sicut  in coelo et in terra. on earth as it is in Heaven.

     Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, Give us this day, our daily bread,

     et dimitte nobis debita nostra, and forgive us our trespasses

     sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. as we forgive those who trespass against us.

     et ne nos inducas in tentationem And lead us not into temptation,

     sed libera nos a malo. but deliver us from evil.

     Amen." Amen)

     Knowing some Latin was a skill he was happy to know. If he didn't know a word, but it had Latin structure, he might derive the meaning through context and previous knowledge. Prayer though, it made him feel connected back to the Romans. Back when the world was nearly modern...

*THUNK!*

     As he was about to bite into his apple, a large sound resounded off the second floor. The fruit was placed back into the ceramic bowl, and the chair was pushed back from table. Artemis didn't think anyone was home, no one had answered the calls. In fact, if they were going somewhere, he should have known.

     "Hello?" He called up the stairs. Nobody answered. He didn't expect a response if someone had broken into his house though, that would be ludicrous.

     Silence reigned over the house, unsettling the boy. His mask of calm, calculated odds was metaphorically donned, and he began listening. No TV, radio, footsteps... I could have sworn she wouldn't go to the store, thought Artemis to himself. Was Sonia out of medicine again? He wondered. Her symptoms had practically disappeared with her recent change in meds, leaving only a slight stutter and the occasional repeated word.

     Creaking of floorboards brought Artemis out of his thoughts, and he remained still. The movement had come from his right and up. While keeping his eyes wary of what he might find upstairs, he ascended to the second floor. His door was partially open, a state he'd never have it in unless he needed to enter or exit the area. Realizing that a person was likely in there, he decided to back off, and call the police.

     "OI! YEAH, YOU IN THE HALLWAY!" Artemis spun around, immediately regretted doing so, and slumped against the wall while facing a stranger in the doorway. The stranger looked odd, not just the disheveled hair and crooked grin on his face, but the face that his face looked to have been cut up and resewn back together from four different faces. His left eye was almond shaped, while his right was circular. A swath of black hair was missing on one side, as if he'd been repeatedly pulling against it and eventually tore a patch free, leaving an aggravated bald spot. The stranger's dress was also odd, though eccentric may be a better term. A worn black cape hung from a silver clasp, draped over a green robe. The sleeves covered most of his hands, except the calloused fingertips hanging freely at his sides and chains loosely dangling with the quiet tinkling of metal.

     The stranger moved back, as if suddenly unsure of what to do. The rattling of chain broke the strained silence, forcing Artemis to start the cogs in his mind.

     "How'd you get in? I didn't notice anything broken," he ventured, cautiously straightening up his blazer and plucking at a wrinkle in his jeans. It was all very calculated you see, a way to reassure himself through touch, and to make sure his cell phone was where he'd left it. Hopefully it made him look nervous, instead of being in control.

     "Sonia let me in. Really, such a nice girl," the green clad stranger replied, "and an excellent test subject," he added under his breath. Artemis didn't catch the last part, but he knew something was wrong. Sonia wouldn't let people in the house, and his mom had definitely been home.

     "Where is my mom?"

     "Oh, the older one? Yes, that is what you call them right? Disirregardless, she should be asleep now. I left her body in the sleeping quarters on that rectangular device. What is it, a bed?" The man gave a questioning look to the boy, the threw a hand in the air without a care in the world, and walked to the door bisecting the hall: the entrance to the master bedroom. There lay his mother, resting peacefully, with her arms clasped over her stomach in a placid fashion. In an eerie sort of way, it looked as if she were about to be encased by a coffin, ready for display at a funeral home.

     Artemis turned back to the now smiling stranger. It wasn't so much that he was smiling that bothered the teen, but how his teeth were shaped. Each one had been filed to a point, giving the impression of a predatory creature waiting to strike its prey. He limped out of the room, and went to his bedroom. The place was a mess, as usual. A fine layer of dust covered most surfaces, something that was both helpful and detrimental to him. On one hand, noticing that someone had been messing with his stuff was made easier, but on the other, his dust allergy suffered from it. The only thing that was missing was a green, red, and black Toa he'd made some time ago.

     That particular model held some sentimental value, something he attributed to having paid for almost every LEGO set he owned, but he wouldn't like to admit it. Ever since they'd stopped Bionicle and began Hero Factory, he just stopped collecting the plastic figurines. Before they held a link to his childhood, to a time where he could relax and be spontaneous instead of watching every step he took. They called it being politically correct, he called it useless formalities.

     Tapping on his shoulder sent him into a minor state of shock before he regained his mask of stoicism.

     "Are you looking for this?" In a cloth covered palm rested the figure, standing just as if it were on his bookshelf.

     Gingerly, Artemis took the figure from his hand. A faint smile splayed across his face, giving rise to a pair of wrinkles running diagonally away from each eye. The memories from childhood resurfaced for another few seconds, before the situation was pushed back to the forefront of his mind. It was almost as if the stranger could read his mind thought the boy.

     "How'd you know?"

     Now it was Artemis' turn to act flustered, "Hm, what?"

     "How. Did you know. I could read your mind?" The stranger stressed each part of the sentence differently. One was in a low baritone, the next in a raspy tenor, followed by a suspicious glare and crescendo from a whisper to nearly a shout. Obviously, Artemis was somewhat taken aback. His 'guest,' was becoming stranger by the minute.

     With a hesitant step back, Artemis found himself reentering his room, the man in the hall rapidly eating away at what may have once been considered the comfort zone. The clutter on the floor didn't allow for a hasty retreat, much to Artemis' displeasure, and this was one of the few times he considered picking up his room if he got out of this alive. In a corner was his desk, and leaning against the side of that was his camping gear: backpack, sleeping bag, and all you might need if you needed to get out of town quickly.

     Proceeding forward, the stranger cornered Artemis onto his bed. With a sigh of mixed frustration and relief, the boy sat down. He hadn't won this battle, and now was going to pay for not being ready for it. The man had won, and there was only one thing left to do.

     "What's your name?"

     "Oh, OH! Heh heh, now that's a good question. It's been awhile since anybody asked, but you can call me Karzahni."

Green color scheme, black cape. Not the plant. Unstable, that's the ruler. What are the odds that a being I would know  from the Bionicle story line would show up at my house. That's right, none. Where'd you escape from you psycho?

     "Psycho?! OF ALL THE LOW BALLING THINGS YOU COULD HAVE CALLED ME, YOU CALLED ME PSYCHO?" Karzahni screamed at the the boy. "Let me tell you! You're perfect."

     That last addition sent shivers up his spine, even as Artemis desperately tried to get up, only to be flung back onto the mattress by a stray backhand. The spectacle in front of him was a dancing buffoon, and looked like a ritual dance. Nowhere had he seen something so intricate, yet simple. The movements were fluid, but looked robotic. Before Artemis knew it, his head was bobbing in rhythm, and he felt the urge to clap. The tempo died down soon enough though, and the room quieted.  The boy was lost in a thought as to discerning what he had just seen, and didn't notice the shift of a circular patch of light moving closer to his bed. It was, in a way, not light though, but a subtle shift of hue in color.

     Karzahni was looking at him expectantly, and before he knew it, he was falling backward. The circular spot had been positioned directly behind him, and should not have existed from the provided light sources. His mind reeled, even as his body fell into the black void that filled the ellipse. A startled yelp was the last thing heard from him as he fell into the pit.

     "One last thing," called the dark haired man, "Say 'hi' to your sister for me." Artemis lost consciousness as the last syllable fell from the man's lips, and the portal soon closed.

Just an Average Monday

     The day had been going well for Wintercrest. One of the walls he'd been working on had given way to a small, gem filled cavern. Rubies and emeralds adorned the cramped area, along with other varieties of brightly colored precious stones. A quick signal to the beta guarding him had been enough to have his find verified, and soon a good number in the band of slaves was digging eagerly at the wall. More mineral rich pockets were opened, giving rise to a sound not heard in a very long time: laughter.

     Life as a slave doesn't really have its ups and downs; it's more or less hitting rock bottom and staying there. So, for a group of mining slaves, it was a minor miracle to feel the warmth of happiness flow through their faces and smiles to be worn that day. However, a happy slave in the mines is a slave that doesn't work hard.

     Whips came out, shrieks were heard, and the dull pinging of iron against stone resumed the somber tone of collapsed lifestyles. A beat was gradually drummed out by a filly at the opening of the new cavern, pacing the march into the rock. Groans and grunts echoed off the walls, further depressing those swinging various iron tools.

     "Hey--, ho. Ho- hey--, ho." The slow methodic chanting off the walls died down again though. Nobody wanted to risk the perils of the rock dust cutting up their lungs, and the few who had tried keeping the chant going were coughing vigorously when they weren't spitting out large chunks of mucus.

     "Hey boss!" yelled a scruffy looking blue-grey diamond dog runt who looked healthier than the average guard.

     "What it now?" Came the frustrated reply. The head dog had had a long day. His feet were sore, and the last of the torches had just been set, meaning the projected progress of the mine had been on schedule for the week again.

     "Why bird no sing?" asked the pup with the genuine look of curiosity.

     Guard Dog didn't reply, instead yelling, much to the surprise of the runt, to the slavers at the other end of the passage. The drumming filly took the hint, giving off rapid warning signals to the dazed miners. Work halted, and the shifting of chains accompanied the pickaxes and shovels scraping small grooves into the gravel floor.

     Shrill whistling preceded the procession, signaling that the second bird had also fallen as well. Wintercrest jumped at the whistle and stubbed the nub of his claw, swearing under his breath, as he was unaccustomed to high pitched noises that came from the silver devices the dogs wore. His family had been one on the fringes of the old Dominion territory, and was left mostly to fend for themselves. He'd learned the basics that diamond dogs were bad and fish were good, especially the pink ones the bears normally caught, but his home had been largely isolated.

     Imagine the eye opener that getting pulled into the mines had done to him. There were other sentient beings, some with odd limbs that ended in stumps, some on two legs others on four, and others that had four paws. There were other beings with six appendages, but he was almost twice as big as them. The odd thing though? They spoke the same language. Apparently they called themselves ponies, and had three species: unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies. Well, four technically. There was a type that had the other three rolled into one, and by the heavens, they wouldn't shut up about it. Celestia this, Celestia that. Celestia will save us. Just you wait until she who rules the day saves us.

     The constant droning wore on his nerves. Just once, he'd like to get them to face the reality that they were slaves, and wouldn't be freed. When would they learn? They'd been here for years, and still wouldn't shut up about her majesty coming to rescue them.  Celestia forbid they raise a claw against their overlords.

     *BANG!*

     'What?' Thought the white topped griffin as he instinctively spun his head away from the billowing cloud of dust that filled the passage.. He hadn't heard anything that loud in his life since his first time dealing with explosives. His hearing wasn't as good as it once was though, and this was definitely louder than then.

     Rubbing of the temples followed the initial shock, his mind addled from the percussive sound and ears not quite working properly. The moment of clarity he had was quickly replaced by a growing headache. Clouds of dust stagnantly lay in the gem-lit tunnel, forcing a large number of guards and slaves alike to cough reflexively. Chains rattled as paws and claws swiped at the dust in a desperate attempt to gain a breath free of the dust particles. The waving wings of rearing griffins and pegasi cleared the cloud soon enough, revealing the source of the noise. A large section of the wall had fallen in, nearly blocking the entrance to the mine. The dust settled, and the black maw of the cave loomed eerily over the bystanders. The nearest guard swiped a rough-hewn gem lantern from its holster on the wall, and tossed it into the void.

     Silence reigned for several seconds before a metallic, clanging noise accompanied by the shattering of a crystal was heard. The lead guard looked into the hole, and decided it needed to be explored quickly while the slaves that had been further down the mine were pushed toward the sleeping quarters beneath the city. Calling out to a slaver several dogs down the line, he pointed Wintercrest out.

     "Get griffin, no clip wings," he gruffly said, motioning a unicorn and another lantern as well. His face was stern, and looked to be deep in thought (it doesn't take much to do that to a diamond dog). Wintercrest shifted uncomfortably in his place. So far he'd been lucky to avoid having his wings clipped through good behavior, but that put him up to tasks like setting lanterns on the ceilings or inspecting those sporadic tunnels like the one in front of him, not that he would complain at the chance to stretch the appendages on his back.

     As expected, the white and charcoal griffin was selected to forge ahead into the tunnel. His chains were loosened and he was handed a softly pulsing reddish-yellow lantern. As he approached the mouth of the cave, he thought he felt an ever-so-slight breeze catch a loose feather on his forehead, twisting slightly to the side. When he double checked, nothing else came forth; no wind, no sound, nothing that would suggest anything that occurred. He plucked the offending feather from his forehead, and tossed it into the empty space in-

     "Get on with it!" Yelled the lead guard, shoving the shocked mammalian avian hybrid over the cliff.

     With a squawk and a rapid deployment of wings, the bedraggled griffin hung in the air, muttering to himself about the lack of courtesy of foreigners, and how he'd get even when he got the chance. Not that that was ever going to happen, but he would take the opportunity if it ever presented itself. Another bit of air buffeted him, stronger this time. A faint smile flashed across his beak. Wind meant there was another opening, and if he could get out, he wouldn't have to slave away at a stone wall any more. His flapping increased as the bottom came into view.

     Rubble littered the floor, and the metallic noise that the previous lantern had produced turned out to be a large, silver can. Winter furrowed his brow, and held the gem further away from his body to get a better view of what looked like a metal casket. The odd thing about it was that it looked like a large soup can. The diamond dogs were keen on this sort of food: easy to serve, easy to store, easy to eat. It wouldn't go to waste if they needed to punish someone by holding a meal or two, and the cans were reused in a variety of ways, from strengthening the shafts of shovels to providing small latrines in the mines.

    This one was huge though, its light reflecting like one of the mirrors Winter had once seen a guard using to get someone's attention. He slowly made his way to the large cylinder, cautiously picking his way across the rock-covered floor and feeling his chest tighten with anxiety. As he stepped within a foreleg's reach though, a loud hiss filled the air, originating from the object in question. Immediately he shot back to the opening with a frightened squawk, leaving a trail of feathers in his wake. He scrambled out of the opening, clawing at at the rocks only to stop when he was cowering behind a group of guards. His trembling legs gave out as he lay on the floor eyeing the black pit he'd just come out of. In his haste, he realized he left the red lantern on the floor of the cave.

     Guards laughed as the fear stricken griffin flew from the cave. There was nothing like seeing a scared prisoner, but at least this one hadn't pissed himself; not that the guards would have cleaned it up anyway. As it was, the nearest guard, which happened to be the leader, kicked Wintercrest in the stomach, and demanded to have an explanation of why he didn't stay down there. Wintercrest couldn't respond in time, and felt a second kick just below his ribs, knocking what little air he'd recovered out of his lungs and a great deal of pain to shoot though his abdomen as he coughed at the dust again.

    "Send guard down. See if gems," declared Guard Dog. The group turned back to itself, cast a lot quickly, and the winner was the one who got to go into the pit. A skinny diamond dog was pushed forward with protests, but none of the other dogs were arguing. His disgruntled look appeared to have been caused over being forced into the task, "... every time, bastards...," he muttered under his breath as he walked toward the side. He grabbed a rope and wedged it under a boulder, then began his descent. Calling up a short time later, he got the leader's attention.

     "Big. Shiny. Can," came echoing up. Guard Dog faced a dilemma: continue out of the mines or work the slaves more? After a moment of thought, he decided to leave the find. The end of the tunnel was filling with a choking gas, and he wouldn't sacrifice the slaves needlessly. He decided to wait until the other crews to get a vent system in, then he'd have a group dig up the container. Turning his back on the pit, he barked orders for the slave train to move back toward the main mining complex and residential area for the slaves.

     Rusted vents went back to large billows on the walls. Steams pistons drove the billows, pressing air deep into the earth while providing reasonable breathing conditions for slaves and guards alike. The innovation was more recent than appearances would make it out to be, only fifteen years old. Since then there'd been a few fires from accumulated dust, lending to the wearing of the vents and the draft that was often rumored to be the soul of a lost slave.

     Snakes of rattling chains followed the trains of slaves leaving the caverns for the night. Many of the slaves wore the same thousand yard stare that bore into the dirt, and the few that didn't were quickly beat into following suit. Wintercrest had learned quickly, making sure not to look up after seeing a brown minotaur repeatedly whipped for his first offense. He supposed that was how things worked in the mines: scare others from the example of an individual. Those thoughts never lasted though, seeing that if he drifted off for a moment a guard would yell and crack a whip threateningly.

     Wintercrest turned the corner as he drew near to what he now called home: a barren underground room with a rusted iron door, finally feeling his heart starting to settle from that thing he'd nearly touched. The occupants were of equal number male and female, resulting in many formal greetings and suppressed urges. He never liked it there. The small room made it too easy to commit a faux pas if one were to get too close to another in their sleep, and the tension increased every time someone woke up with a wingboner.

     A sad sigh escaped his beak as he curled up in the corner, the ground caved in from use. The griffiness walked in a minute later, gave him a contemptuous stare, and sat down in the corner behind the door. The navy pegasus walked in soon after, sitting down against the wall, followed by the unicorn. The way it worked out, everyone would get leg room if they stretched during the night.

     Sleep overcame the occupants, and as Wintercrest drifted off, he realized he never even asked their names. 'Maybe I ask morning,' was the last thought that drifted across his mind as darkness pulled his consciousness into oblivion, and brought forth the forests of his dreams. Sleep was hard to find though, the visions in his mind's eye constantly drifted back to the silver container he'd seen yesterday. It wasn't natural, and looked too refined for it to be made by the dogs. The way it gleamed was so pure; it was like he'd seen another griffin down there. His dreams were constantly of the blood-red griffin, wrought with fury and staring back with the wrath of a thousand suns as he relentlessly pursued the teenager. He shuddered violently, then tentatively went back to sleep with tremors wracking his body.

     Breakfast was pushed in through a flap at the bottom of the grey and brown door; compromised of hay and a slab of uncooked pork, waking the inmates inside. The ponies divided the hay between themselves, and the griffins did likewise with the cut of pig. Not a morsel was spared and by the end of the small meal, although strangely high quality today, the griffiness was licking the hammered tin plate. Some fat dribbled from the corner of her beak, but was quickly swept off with a swiping of her foreleg. Wintercrest repeated her actions, receiving an icy glare for doing so, and hung his head low while he waited for the door to be opened.

     'I ask her name today,' thought Wintercrest, slowly stretching out a cramp in his back that had come during one of the more memorable night terrors he'd experienced. He opened his mouth to ask, but the door swung open violently. The fact that it opened inward always confused him too, seeing that the occupants could just bar the door to keep from going to work if they smuggled something in. Then again, the floors were dirt, and the dogs could practically swim through that under the door and into the cell.

     "Git," barked the dog outside, revealing several yellowed and hole-riddled teeth as an attempted act of intimidation, instead performing a mild form of fumigation that would leave a foul odor for hours at a time. The laborers complied, leaving their nighttime home and returning to their respective places of work. Wintercrest went back to looked at his claws, making sure not to turn his head up for anything other than the demands of his captors.

     'Stupid! I should ask her then,' and various vulgar versions of self-berating apprehension continued as he held a leg out to be chained, and was briskly marched back to yesterday's find. The hole still gaped, but now had two gem lanterns guarding either side of it, almost like they were supposed to keep demons at bay. Winter shivered at the thought. Rumors had gone around recently that other dens had dug too deep and hit Tartarus. They had to be lying, didn't they? Tartarus didn't exist, just like Celestia controlled the sun. The idea put a hint of doubt in is chest, and he was knocked out of his reverie, literally.

     A clawed foot kicked his stomach yet again, knocking him over and almost making him vomit. Instead he coughed, and glared at the assailant before catching himself. He didn't want to end up punished; he wanted any comfort he could get.

     "Back to bottom, after lunch" came the muffled order. The dog was gnawing on a bone that smelled like he'd found it in the garbage, and looked to be enjoying it more than the average sentient would have. He almost snickered when he entertained the image of a cartoon skull with a walnut sized brain. He'd seen a newspaper in the time he spent in Vorpal. It wasn't useful since he couldn't read, but the comics (once explained) were humorous to him.

     So continued his normal routine until what was considered lunch, or the mid-shift break. He was fairly lucky he was placed where he was, all things considered. 'I no idea how groups go all day no break, it... Is word for it?' The area above his eyes darkened in confusion. He knew he'd heard the word before, somewhere...

     'Suicide,' he finally thought, 'suicide.'

     It had been a long time since he'd heard that word, and even then the concept was hard to imagine for a hatchling. Who would think to kill themselves?

     'Maybe I do that,' he thought despondently. 'Maybe then I rest...' He shook his head violently, making sure to try and purge his mind from those trains of thought. The remnants of the idea hung to the cobwebs his memories rested on, making each one seem less pleasant, darker even. He was almost... envious. Wintercrest raised a palm toward the ceiling, slowly flexing his claws into a tightening fist. By the time he stopped, blood flowed freely from the self-inflicted gauges. His claws relaxed considerably, letting more liquid flow out.

     Whistles blew, break's over. Back to work.

     Feet crunched loose stone, and unicorn horns lit up the area in search of gems. Wintercrest was just ready to start in on a pocket of gems when he was slammed into the wall. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, thinking that this was his week to be beaten up. He sighed, shook the stars from his vision and looked at the guard who'd rammed him irritably for a second, then recovered his mask of sadness.

     "Boss want you, now," was the short message. Short was not enough to keep his breath from lingering though, and it smelled worse than the makeshift latrine down the hall, even battling that of the guard who regularly woke up.

     The shackle was unlocked from his hind leg, some chaffing has set in. He'd meant to find a scrap of cloth earlier to lessen the aggravation, but pawed his way over to the pit anyway. Other slaves were standing there too... even his cellmate.

     With a blush blooming forth on his cheeks, Wintercrest turned his head down to keep from looking anyone in the eye. An old stallion had told him the eyes were the windows to the soul, an odd thing coming from a pony who loved dirt so much, and as such, he decided that he didn't want to make his emotions known yet.

     "Come on, Loverboy! Hurry up!" Yelled Guard Dog, the leader of the bunch. Winter swore under his breath. He didn't know what he'd done wrong. He looked away, made sure to avoid eye contact, he thought as he trudged the second half of his walk. By the time he'd made it over to the edge of the hole, he'd settled down, regaining his humble mask and hoping the cracks wouldn't show through. Guard Dog took no notice though, instead addressing the group in general and not paying attention to any individual in particular, "I want you to tell me what in can at bottom of pit. When done opening, yell. We come get you. If you come back on own, we'll cut off wings," he ended with a sense of finality, turning towards a pair of shoddily tied ropes. There was a lamp at the bottom already, at least giving the group of four a sense of depth instead of the dreary darkness of yesterday.

     The griffiness took the lead, plucking the dark orange unicorn off the ground, and flapping her wings strongly enough to carry them to the bottom. Wintercrest looked to his right to see a larger fellow standing next to him. His mane was short, and his skin baggy. A slight stench came from him, almost as that of a decaying animal. Winter crest suppressed a gag, and wrapped his arms around the stallion's rib cage before lifting off. His wings burned with the first flap, and writhed with the second.

     "Uh, hey?" Came the causal tone from the unmoved stallion, as the griffin struggled for all his worth to lift him. "I'm a pegasus?" The flapping immediately stopped, and the fuse between cat and bird was found paused comically in mid-flap.

     "Well I'll be a son of a-" *crack* went a whip, cutting off the most complex sentance Wintercrest had managed to pick up from the ponies.

     "Get down there already!"

     The pegasus mumbled, "For a guy who's supposed to have broken Equish...”

     "I heard that!" *crack*, yelled the guard.

     The two slaves yelped and jumped over the side at the same time, realizing too late that they wouldn't be able to fly side by side. Feathers flew, but the fall was prevented by their wedging against each other between the walls.

     "Ow, neck!"

     "Your neck? My wing! I think you dislocated it!"

     "At least wing no hold your fat ass!"

     "You're right, it's holding up yours, ya no good griffin!"

     "Bit-"

     "Hey!" Shouted a female voice, echoing from the bottom of the hole.

     "WHAT!" And as they turned their head toward the voice that broke the chain of insults, so too did it break the bind they found themselves quarreling over. "AHHHH!" *clunk*

     "MY, hehe, MY FUNNY BONE!" Came the sharp cry, interrupted by a chuckle-like gasp.

     Wintercrest rolled over to see a pegasus cradling his elbow, gasping for air while somewhat chuckling with pain.

     "I... my leg's numb," stated the navy mammal, suppressing the urge to let any more accidental laughter escape.

     "Suck up. Hatchling," came the disgruntled, uncaring reply from a somewhat shaken griffin. He wouldn't admit to that though, anything to avoid appearing weak.

     "SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU, BE QUIET!" The griffiness screeched, giving the two males a 'so help me God, if I could kill you right now, I would' stare. "It hasn't been thirty seconds since we got in here, and you two are practically in a fight already! I'd expect it from the whitehead over there, but come on!"

     Wintercrest was taken aback. Did he really do something to piss her off that bad? He nervously preened his wing, thinking the matter over.

     "Alright, let's get this lug of metal out of the way, then we can leave this Tartarus forsaken pit," spoke the unicorn with an even voice. She was unshaken and looked like she was expecting this to have happened. She sighed, resigning herself to having to work with this bunch of idiots, with the exception of the griffiness, after all women were the stronger sex according to her, and would have to adjust accordingly. "Let's just open the can. We can yell at each other when we leave." The others nodded in agreement, and went about gathering the scattered tools that lay around the floor from whoever had set up the lanterns.

     The navy pegasus found a crowbar, as did the griffiness.

     'Well, here goes nothing...' "Soooo, what you name? I Wintercrest," 'That sound worse than thought.'

     The unicorn glanced up from looking at the mostly silver can, "Well, I'm Rustic Rune" she replied as she shifted a pair of cracked glasses on her nose, not bothering to look up from her observation of the object. The only seam she could find was a thin line that held a small amount of black dust, the only indicator a seam was there at all. "Well? What about the rest of you? You have names, right?"

     With a groan and a bit of remorse, the stallion stepped forward with a sharpened crowbar, and fit it into the dark line. "Well, first I want to apologize about earlier. That wasn't either of our faults and we got carried away," he leaned back with all his weight, only to have the crowbar bend and fall out of the junction. A few birds flew over a rolling pair of eyes, and a shake of the heard later they'd disappeared, "I'm Star Hunter." He patted the dirt off himself with a few flaps of his wings, filling the air with dust. A coughing fit later helped clear the airborne debris, and the dust had settled back into the cracks from which it had been disturbed.

     "What that on butt?" Asked Wintercrest, he knew about cutie marks, but didn't understand why Star Hunter's butt was glowing.

     "Oh, you mean my cutie mark?"

     "Yes, why glow?"

     "No idea. It's always been like that," was the nonchalant reply. Star scooped another crowbar under a wing, and set it against the wall so he would stop hitting it with his hoof. "I have seen a few other marks that glowed, but not many. Most of them had to do with the stars, but the one that comes to mind was a flashlight."

     "...Flashlight? What flashlight?" The others looked incredulously to the male griffin. "What?"

     "Did you grow up under a rock?" said Rustic Rune.

     "Why I do that? I hungry if under rock."

     "No. I mean, did you ever go anywhere other than where you were born?"

     Wintercrest slumped onto his hind legs and thought, pinching his beak slightly. It wasn't long that he realized the only places he'd traveled to were the woods outside his home and where the diamond dogs had dragged him.

     "It's not really too uncommon for that to happen. If a family finds a secluded spot that has a lot of game, they really wouldn't want to go anywhere else until a situation forced them to. Survival of the fittest, yah?" Piped up the griffiness, "By the way, I'm Helena."

     The ponies nodded heads in agreement before Rune started explaining, "Imagine a gem lantern that you hold on a stick. It's a good way to see in the dark if you aren't a unicorn."

     With that tidbit of information filed away, Wintercrest got to work digging out the rest of the container. It was embedded in rock, but the going wasn't bad. Just another day in the mines, get used to it.

     "GAH! WHY DOESN'T THIS BUCKING THING OPEN?!" Yelled what had appeared to have been the most reserved group member, exhausting her magic reserves on trying to tear the lid off by brute force. The metal device shook violently, but didn't budge from its dug-up grave. The griffiness had helped pry metal ring off her horn, putting it onto a ledge so they could reattach it later. The off-red coat was covered in sweat, and she gave up with a huff. The group was breathing deeply as they recuperated their strength, having tried every way imaginable to open the damned thing but bearing no fruit for their labor.

     The impromptu break was desperately needed, even if nobody wanted to admit defeat to a big tin can. Nevertheless, that didn't mean tensions weren't strained.

     "Jeez, Rune. Can't even open a big ol' jar," began Star.

     "WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!"

     "Well, you were bragging about being able to open it if you had your magic, and now you do," he continued, oblivious to the death stare that would be staking him to the rock wall behind him if he made eye contact. He propped his head up with his forelimbs, stretching out a kink between his wings.

     "WELL MAYBE IF A CERTAIN PEGASUS WOULD GET OFF HIS FLANK AND HELP, WE COULD HAVE HAD THIS DONE BY NOW!" She finished, spilling over her legs and onto the floor as the energy tax from the spell caught up with her. "Sorry Star. I know you were joking, but it's been a long day."

     "Feeling better now?"

     "Yeah."

     "Good, now what number were we on?"

     "Well," began Wintercrest, "We at," he counted on his fingers quickly, "Ten fives and three."

     "Fifty three. Jeez," yawned the blue pegasus, sprawling out and popping his limbs as he did so. "Maybe if we just said please..."

     "Like that's gonna work, why don't you just say 'Open sesame' and be done with it?" Chucked Rustic Rune, lying down beside him, breathing deeply. The griffins perched themselves on two rocks on either side of the metal curiosity after Run's temper tantrum, Winter on the left and Helena on the right.

     Wintercrest interjected, mistaking the joke for something serious, "Open Sesame!"

     "Wintercrest, you know we were-" the sound of hissing silenced the group. Soon to follow was the sound of shifting parts, metallic clicks and clanks as the group slowly backed away from the can.

     Helena had only one thing to add, "You've gotta be kidding me."