Ivory spires that put to shame the mountain they're grafted to. Thousands of lives perched on a...
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The Sixth Age [Ponies | Shadowrun-influenced]
- Thread starter TacticalRainboom
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Ivory spires that put to shame the mountain they're grafted to. Thousands of lives perched on a slab of iron bolted to the side of a cliff, with an artificial sun doin' its best to warm the shadows underneath. Then there's the aug-tech changin' the face of ponykind, runnin' right up against magic the likes of which the world ain't seen for centuries.
This is New Canterlot. A magical place, in the dangerous way. It's everythin' you ever dreamed of, and everythin' you ever feared. For what it's worth, good luck out there. I think you're gonna need it.
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[0: Prologue]
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When the only thing you fear is something you'll never see coming, you can live without fearing anything at all. The paranoid hackers and dealers of the world are just experts at fooling themselves; no alibi or fake ID, no matter how "solid," is going to stop a Lancer Industries .308 Explosive to the face.
That attitude was one of two reasons why Chaser made so much money. It might have also been partially to blame for all the live gunfire she was having to deal with on this otherwise lovely evening. The stars would be out tonight, Chaser was sure of it. She’d have to take extra care to live long enough to see them.
She winced as what must have been a huge bullet struck the wall near her head, kicking plaster into her face that narrowly missed her left eye. This was one hell of a security response—somepony was mad about the team’s little visit. Whatever the sealed package bumping around in Chaser’s pack was, these rutters really wanted it back.
“Wassup wit’chu?” she shouted over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the trouble coming her way in the process. Four fully armed stallions thundered down the hallway after her, their back-mounted guns flashing in the artificial light. At least none of 'em were dickheads; that was why she was just dodging bullets and not fireballs. “This my meal ticket! You rutters gonna get paid anyway!”
She was answered with another gunshot, this one striking the floor between her hind legs. She thought she could feel the shockwave tickle her underbelly. Right, then! Time to make an exit. The microphone taped to her trachea automatically activated as she muttered a quick message: [Come fo’ get me da top floor, sout' side! Make 'um quick!]
The second reason Chaser made so much money happened to be one of the main reasons she was still alive. A pair of trim pegasus wings unfurled from her back and flapped hard, propelling Chaser towards the far wall and its panoramic window with terrifying speed. She lifted off, and the hallway around her turned into a blur of acceleration. Hopefully she would be able to smash through with her hooves instead of her face, but either way this was going to hurt.
A bullet dug into her left flank. Blinded by pain, she raised her forelegs to protect her head a split-second before slamming bodily into the solid pane. Chaser’s yell of pain was drowned out by the crack of the window shattering around her as she dove from the air conditioned office into the polluted haze of the New Canterlot undercity.
Disoriented by the impact and blinded by pain, Chaser fell helplessly for two gut-wrenching seconds before finally stabilizing into a glide. There was no way her pursuers would be willing to shoot at her now considering what they’d hit if they missed her; now they had a choice between getting fired for letting their target escape or getting thrown in jail for shooting at neighboring buildings that were owned by rival corporations.
Unfortunately, Chaser was still in trouble. Blood from where she’d been hit streamed down her leg and disappeared into the murky distance below in bright red droplets. She drifted helplessly for a full minute that felt like an hour. The stolen goods in her pack seemed to double in weight every five seconds as she dropped lower and lower, trying to save her energy. She felt like a diver with an empty tank of oxygen, forced to float there and hope for rescue before time ran out.
Stars, Chaser thought wistfully as she looked up at the underside of the Upper City. A vast network of dingy girders and pipes, studded with powerful UV lamps, glared down at her where the sky should have been. Those little bulbs were supposed to make the ponies who lived in the plate's shadow feel less like they were entombed under the weight of an entire city. The airspace was a maze of platescrapers of different shapes and sizes, massive columns of glass and steel named for the way they stretched all the way from the street far below to the steel sky above. Chaser’s getaway vehicle was supposed to be coming around from behind one of them soon...
[C'mon, ya limp-wing flankwanks,] Chaser complained over the mic. [I stay carryin', remember? I get pancaked, you jackasses goin' hafta explain-]
She was cut off by someone snapping back at her over the same channel. [I’m coming around the corner now. Shut up and get in the cart.]
Sure enough, the getaway came into view from behind one of the monoliths rising from the industrial haze. Covered flatbed, closed cab, turbine-driven, utterly unassuming, just like she’d been promised. With a burst of strength, Chaser banked and dipped into the hauler's covered bed, whereupon she collapsed onto the dirty metal floor, blood already pooling underneath her leg. The parts of her body that she'd used as a battering ram against the window screamed, but Chaser didn't allow herself more than a sullen groan.
“How you doing back there?” a husky stallion’s voice called back from the vehicle's cabin.
“Got 'um right 'ere,” she replied groggily. “Jus' bleedin’ to death, thas’ all.”
“Oh, well, if that’s all, then we can make the drop before stopping to help you, right?”
“Fuck you.” Those words, at least, were the same in Chaser’s dialect.
As her associates shuffled around fetching bandages and disinfectant, Chaser shrugged her pack onto the floor, where it landed with a loud thump. Eight thousand for a quick smash-and-grab. Eight thousand. Strange, though—the employer had gone through all the trouble of planting an insider and hiring a team of the best so that they could steal one item from a vault full of Sisters-knew-what. One plastic crate marked only with a large engraved 12, no larger than a mare’s head, about ten pounds in weight, and most of that must have been the airtight crate.
Whatever. Eight K for an easy job was worth taking a bullet to the flank.
In retrospect, it looks a little silly to have the huge friggin' image right next to my profile pic, doesn't it?
I don't call this a 'crossover' because even though it borrows from the setting, it doesn't use any Shadowrun-canon except for the Awakening. This is being actively written, and I would love feedback and criticism. If you feel the need to read more of my bullshit for some reason, check my FimFiction profile.
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[1: Daybreak]
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When love and harmony faded from the hearts of the ponies, so too did the magic at the heart of the world falter and die. Did the Sisters abandon the realm because magic was failing in their subjects’ hearts, or was it the reverse? In the latter case, then Celestia and Luna must be held at least partially responsible for the terrible bloodshed that followed.Brothers against sisters and mothers against daughters--it was as if every heart in Equestria had been seized by the spirit of hate. The terrible weapons used in the fighting were the last magic that the world would see for centuries. From that day forward, the ponies’ lives would be driven not by the powers that were their birthright, but by the machines they would build to help them dominate this new, colder world.
On the 24th of Deepfrost, 1011, the world remembered what it once had been. Around the world, ponies suddenly found themselves in possession of the magic that their ancestors had discarded centuries ago. The world was entering a new age, but the Fire of Friendship would not return so easily to a world covered with citadels attesting to the power of circuitry and steel.
Now awaken, my faithful student.
======================================================
Daybreak jerked upright, eyes wide open. The world was an incomprehensible blur of color; floating lights danced around her room as she tried without success to take stock of her surroundings. “Wha... who’s there? Arrrgh!” She accidentally slammed her foreleg painfully against the edge of the bedside table, then rolled onto her back, eyes squeezed shut in frustration. After a few deep breaths, she gingerly pried the goggles off her face with a gentle application of unicorn telekinesis. When they came free, she could feel where their frames had left dents on the skin around her eyes.
As Daybreak rolled out of bed, she once again gave serious thought to the idea of buying a computer monitor for her room. Inefficient, sure, but at least with a monitor she would wake up with a desk in her face instead of with an out-of-focus AR display swimming around her head. As always, such thoughts faded as she started to search through her dresser for an appropriate set of clothes.
Getting dressed took only a few moments with the use of magic, and she hardly needed a mirror to do it after so many times, but standing and greeting herself in the mirror the morning before a dressed event was a long-standing habit that she’d never had reason to break.
Daybreak was a slight mare with a lustrous pink coat, all the more prominent where it peeked out from under the collar of her charcoal grey vest. Her bangs, perfectly combed, traced up her forehead to meet an orange and purple mane that evoked her namesake time of day. Daybreak decided that she looked very ready. Good. Putting on the appearance of a well-read professional was as important as actually being one when it came to the kinds of ponies who would be attending today’s special lecture.
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New Canterlot was a city built on the side of a mountain, and when the mountainside proved too small, they dug terraces into it. When the terraces proved too small, they extended the terraces out into the air. Today, tens of thousands lived atop a shelf bolted to the side of Mount Harmony and supported by massive stilts. While trotting the rubberized walking paths of the Upper City, the manicured grass and well tended trees made it easy to forget that the entire district rested on an artificial platform thousands of feet above the ground.
The walk to the university was pleasant and not too long, but Daybreak took it at a brisk canter—best to arrive early. The high-altitude wind whistled between glassy high-rises that reflected the morning sun painfully into pedestrians’ eyes, and far in the distance Daybreak could hear the low thrum of vehicles on the Up-City highway. After a few blocks, the rows of buildings made way for the path leading to Harmony Tower, an ivory spire built where shelf met mountainside.
The massive tower’s windowed surface was made to look opaque from the outside, like stone or marble. It evoked, at least to Daybreak, paintings of the castles that supposedly had stood here centuries ago. Others said that it looked like a huge unicorn horn on the face of the city. Others still likened it to something rather less classy.
Whatever it looked like, it was the second most iconic thing about New Canterlot, after the plate itself. Daybreak’s destination this morning was one of its neighbors, a building that was a fifth as tall but more modern in appearance: Shine University, the most famous place of learning in the city.
======================================================
The audience watched in silence as Professor Daybreak crossed the stage, hooves rapping loudly against the wooden surface. “Good afternoon,” she said when she reached the podium. Her amplified voice projected easily past rows of colorfully maned pony heads to echo off the exits. “My name is Dr. Daybreak, alumna of this very institution. Thank you all for attending today. It’s good to see so many interested in such a unique subject as ancient history.”
She allowed a short silence while she affixed her goggles to her face, the better to read from her notes. Seeing this, some of the audience did the same, which was quite pleasing. Taking notes on her speech! Maybe some of them would cite this lecture for their midterms.
Right on cue, her first slide appeared on the wall behind her, to a chorus of low laughter. Daybreak’s face on the screen, hugely magnified, was beaming out at the audience as if for a driver's license. Large block letters crossing beneath her portrait's chin read: Daybreak, Doctor of Magical Studies, Shine University. With an embarrassed little noise somewhere between a giggle and a squeak, Daybreak kicked a button at the base of the podium. The projector advanced to the next slide, which quieted the audience.
“This,” she said dramatically, “is an early Diarchic era piece of religious art—a mural called the Trottingham Tablet. It depicts several 'mythological' events, starting with the birth of the Sisters and ending with the redemption of Luna. As you may know, the Awakening introduced many scholars to the possibility that the Sisters were indeed real individuals; the same Luna from birth, to exile, to redemption, rather than just a title given to a ruler. The idea would have seemed ridiculous to historians, of course... if those same historians hadn't woken up one morning with wings and horns that grew overnight." There was a murmur of obligatory laughter.
Again Daybreak kicked the podium’s button to move the presentation forward, but her flow faltered as her goggles blinked a notification in her face, obscuring her view and upsetting her focus. It was marked High Priority, but it wasn't higher than the ponies attending this lecture. Daybreak cleared her throat lightly as she chased the notification away to make way for her lecture notes again.
"For those not aware, this large figure was once thought to be Celestia, and the non-pony body parts like the fleshy tail and one griffonlike claw were supposed to make her appear monstrous. The Tablet was thus considered evidence for the ‘War of the Sisters’ theory concerning the Cataclysm. However... Excuse me.”
Daybreak broke off as she was suddenly assaulted by a cheerful tune playing loudly in one ear. Whoever had sent that email earlier was being damned persistent. She refused the call with a flick of her hoof.
“...These assumptions are from before the true age of the Tablet was determined. A new theory is that this image depicts a story that takes place some time in the distant past from the artist’s point of view. Some have suggested-” Again Daybreak had to mute her ringer. This time, she properly instructed her interface not to bother her with phone calls or email notifications until further notice.
======================================================
“... As such, the event we call the Awakening was likely the third such event recorded by ponykind, meaning we live in the sixth phase of the cycle. We could all gain to learn quite a lot from studying the old world, even if we have to go all the way back to myths and legends. Who’s to say that, nine hundred years in the future, we won’t have another Cataclysm, followed by another Awakening even further on after that?" This provoked a low rumble from the audience. "Can we prevent such a Cataclysm, or is it an inevitable consequence of the ebb and flow of magic across the cycles?”
Without leaving too much time for the attendees to dwell on this grim revelation, she concluded: “These are questions left for thinkers like you and me to pursue, and we should be excited to rise to the challenge. I see my time is up, so if you would like to hear more about anything I’ve presented on today, please don’t hesitate to send me a message on Hoofbeat. I always love hearing from inquiring minds.”
Light applause rumbled against the floor as Daybreak removed her goggles, bowed her head politely, and headed for the exit. She put her goggles back on as soon as she was out of the audience’s view. What she saw annoyed her, but didn’t surprise her terribly. Four missed calls. Two unread messages. Of course. The newer message was entitled Please Call Back. The older...
“Case Study on Extraordinary Individuals,” she read out loud as she nudged the backstage door open with her shoulder and stepped out into the midday sun. Quite a few phrases from the message jumped out at her, actually. Highly unusual magic phenomena... compensation for time and expenses... two million bit donation to the university’s magical history department. Daybreak’s knees quivered even as she walked. Her precious department’s future was uncertain thanks to a few short-sighted members of the board. If a donation this large came in with Daybreak's name on it...
But there were more than a few things about this request that just seemed wrong. The employer had contacted Daybreak directly rather than going through the proper channels with the university. The letter took care to mention that the employer would not be disclosing their corporate or political affiliation. And, most worrisome of all, they didn’t want her to know what this research was being used for. Because they were afraid she might not approve, maybe? Or because they were up to no good?
Daybreak broke off her thoughts as she closed the message, archived it, and ran a search for plate-to-ground taxi rates. Might as well get started immediately. Meanwhile, she would write a reply asking for some kind of assurance that the employer would pay the two million bits upon submission of the report’s initial draft. Right or wrong, this was an opportunity to save her department, and she wouldn’t disappoint. Besides, maybe there really would be something to these “extraordinary individuals” for her to report on.
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Subj: Case Study on Extraordinary Individuals
Dear Professor Daybreak,
Your professional assistance is requested with an ongoing study concerning highly unusual magic phenomena that my partner and I have observed in the course of our own work. We now believe that all of these phenomena were related to the personal magics of the individuals listed in the attached document. We ask that you meet each of these subjects and interview them concerning their lifestyles and their magic abilities. It is our hope that your unique perspective and academic background will shed new light on any possible similarities or connections between these individuals. Complete details are attached.
[Attachment: Summary and Conditions]
[Attachment: Ironwood]
[Attachment: Spectra]
[Attachment: Victoria]
[Attachment: Shimmer]
[Attachment: Fuchsia]
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[Subject 1: Ironwood]
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Subject: Ironwood
Earth pony female. Displays evidence of magic abilities despite being confirmed Mundane.
For the fourth time, Daybreak checked the street address under Ironwood's file, and of course she saw, again, that she was in the right place. Still, though—was this supposed to be a farm? This was a warehouse. An enormous and ugly warehouse, utterly featureless, except for a few windows high above ground level and a metal sign reading "FIRST SEED" in large letters.
Except for the fact that it was facing the street, this seemed more like a service entrance than a front door. Solid steel from the looks of it, and as bland and functional as the rest of the building. There was no doorbell, but Daybreak had called ahead and left a message, and Ironwood was supposed to be expecting her in around two and a half minutes.
Daybreak found herself subconsciously glancing at every dark alleyway and boarded-up window. She wasn't quite in the shadow of the plate, but still, she wasn’t too happy about being made to wait outside in an area like this. She raised a hoof and banged it against the door, tentatively. The sound she made was so soft she could barely hear it herself, so she started pounding in earnest. This time, she thought she heard muffled shouting in response. "Hello?" she yelled back.
A faint whirring of machinery sounded from the other side. The top half of the door suddenly swung inwards, revealing the unsmiling face of a mare with a patchy white and tan coat. Her mane, tied back except for a single stray lock, was a the color of mossy tree bark after a downpour. "Afternoon,” she said with a little nod. “Need somethin'?"
"Hello!” Daybreak smiled and straightened her neck in an exaggerated show of politeness. “I’m Doctor Daybreak. I called ahead about an interview?"
"Sorry, I'm not lookin' for help just now." Ironwood's expression did not change. "Try comin' back when the busy season hits. Starts ‘round the beginning of fall..."
"Oh... I'm not looking for a job. I left you a voice message? It was—"
"I don't wear a headset while I work,” Ironwood interrupted. Except for her mouth, her face remained motionless. “So, you a journalist?"
"No, actually,” Daybreak said, licking her lips. “I'm, um, a professor at Shine—"
"Oh," Ironwood cut in again. "I got a call last week about that."
The top door suddenly closed in Daybreak's face. She heard a whirr of machinery again, a moment before the entire door swung inwards. The room beyond was awash with steely fluorescent light. "C'mon in," said Ironwood from behind the heavy door, her voice echoing in the cavernous space.
When Daybreak entered, she immediately understood how this building qualified as a farm. The place was lined with rows upon rows of identical planters, and multiple layers of catwalks crisscrossed the open air above their heads.
"Want the tour?" Ironwood asked, as Daybreak stood and took in the sights. The same whining of machinery sounded again, more distinctly this time, as Ironwood shut the door behind them.
"No, that's all right," Daybreak replied, turning to face her hostess. "I just need to—" she cut herself off with a poorly stifled gasp when she saw what she hadn't been able to through the top half of the door.
"I get that a lot," Ironwood replied irritably. "Is starin' at me part of why yer’ here? Can ya do that while I work?" There was a whirring sound as she crossed one foreleg in front of the other and leaned against the building's front wall. The tarnished chrome where two of Ironwood's limbs had once been glinted harshly in the warehouse's cold light. Worse, each leg ended in a three-pronged claw, flattened against the sufrace of its leg’s “hoof.” Daybreak had seen artificial limbs, but everypony in the Upper City wore delicate designs made for fashion as much as function. Ironwood's metal limbs looked like weapons—heavy machines grafted to her torso.
"Staring? No! I... Well... Yes? I think." Daybreak's natural pink desaturated a bit as she tried to defuse her own rudeness.
"You think?" Ironwood grunted.
"Um... well..." Daybreak withered under Ironwood's narrowed stare. "The study you’re part of is about extraordinary magic in individuals, so I just didn’t expect...” She spoke quickly, as if trying to get it all out before she lost her nerve. “It’s just, augmentation really destroys your aura, even though you might not notice it yourself being a Mundane and all. To a unicorn, it’s like you’re not... like you’re not completely alive." As soon as the last few words left her mouth, Daybreak regretted them.
"Yer callin’ me a freak," Ironwood sighed.
"I would never accuse... Well, but... No, it’s not quite like that," Daybreak said with a sigh. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to insult your decision. Of course it's your choice to do what you want with your body, but I’ve always believed that your natural body is something beautiful, to be cherished, so I just... I’m sorry." She hung her head.
Ironwood held her cross-legged stance as she watched Daybreak talk herself out again. "You got me all wrong." With another sigh that might’ve been either annoyed or just resigned, Ironwood nudged herself away from the wall. “Follow me,” she said, walking off towards the lift. “I can work and talk. Hear me out for a bit, an' you can ask me whatever you want afterwards.” Ironwood’s natural gait was interrupted by the sharp clack of her front “hooves” against the concrete floor. With Daybreak in tow, she made her way towards a lift in the corner of the main room.
======================================================
Ironwood’s process in tending her crops was as methodical as might be expected from her setup. Laid along the catwalks were pathways of flattened cardboard boxes that served as carpeting between hoof and metal. Each planter was equipped with a tiny display and a set of dials and nozzles, which Ironwood manipulated with her artificial appendage. Daybreak noted that whenever Ironwood had to prune a plant or touch it in any way, she always used her nose and teeth, never her clawed forelegs.
As the two walked, Ironwood laid out her life story unflinchingly, perhaps trying to get it over with. When Ironwood was a filly, she worked with her parents on land that had belonged to her ancestors since the Old World. By the time she was an adolescent, the family had been forced to sell the business. Her father died of a stroke after a few years working in a factory, and her mother was various sorts of unemployable, so Ironwood found a construction job and moved to the city. The work was hard, but it paid very well, and Ironwood was able to save up while still sending a little home to her mother.
“Tha’s the year I lost my left foreleg,” she tossed over her shoulder to Daybreak, who was still following behind.
“Is that why you—”
“No,” Ironwood said firmly. “Forklift accident. Ended up amputated below the joint. One o’ those hook-legs worked fine. Even if I’d wanted a piece of chrome, it wasn’t worth the money to me.”
Daybreak didn’t reply, so Ironwood kept talking as she moved on down the row. They were high above the ground level now, and nearing a full lap back around to the lift. “Soon after that, I went ‘n busted that hook-leg. Got it caught in a lift that time. Stupid.”
“And then you—”
“No,” Ironwood sighed, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “What I did was get laid off. Insurance wouldn’t cover a replacement, workers’ comp wouldn’t give me leave, and the boss wouldn’t let me work on a leg held together by spit ‘n happy thoughts. I tried findin’ another job, but there ain't much of a job market for a three-legged workhorse. I thought I was screwed, an' then dear ol' Uncle Whitetail went and kicked it. He left me this place.”
“Most o’ this was done for me. UV lamps, walkways, sprinklers.” Ironwood tapped a hoof against one of the planters. “Was a great idea, I’da never thought of it, but the old man din’t know spit about plants. Myself...” She broke off talking as her head disappeared into an alcove. She came away with a mouthful of white flowers, which she promptly swallowed. “I know what I’m doin’ in here.”
She shrugged. “Guy was already gonna cut ‘n run, move on to somethin’ else. Luckiest break I ever saw in my life. He had clients too, people willin’ to pay out the flanks for organic, off-season, local, you know. His problem was, he put out a quarter the yield I do with the same setup.”
“So what about...” Daybreak’s eyes drifted down to Ironwood’s front legs again.
“I got ‘em so I could work this place by myself. Was either this or hobblin’ around on a peg-leg and havin’ to hire full time help.” For the first time since Daybreak had come in, Ironwood was smiling. “Loans’re almost paid now, and the place is runnin' better'n ever.”
“There ya have it then,” Ironwood said as she led Daybreak onto the lift and closed the gate. "Now what kinda questions—Oh for Mother's sake. I'm comin'!"
Daybreak stared in confusion for a moment, until she heard distant clanging—the sound of someone beating on the front door.
"Sorry,” Ironwood grumbled. “I’ll try to make this quick. I heard ya, goddammit!"
Ironwood took the lift down, then galloped for the door as soon as the gate opened and opened the top latch like she had for Daybreak. Whoever had been knocking, couldn’t be seen from Daybreak’s angle, and the warehouse's acoustics distorted the conversation, but when Ironwood raised her voice, her anger was unmistakable.
Daybreak trotted closer, and caught a glimpse of a midnight-colored pony wearing a cocky smirk. Their eye contact was brief, but the impression was made. Cybernetic spheres, cold and appraising, twinkled at Daybreak from underneath a disheveled black mane. Then Ironwood slammed the top door, and this time it wasn’t so she could let the visitor in.
“Who was that?” Daybreak asked innocently.
“Jus' some gutterpunk lookin’ for handouts.” Ironwood’s clenched jaw gave away her unease, even though her tone was dismissive.
Before Daybreak could say anything else, Ironwood suddenly turned to face her. “Anyway. Had enough of my life story yet or didja still need to ask questions?”
“Um, right!” Daybreak levitated her goggles out of her pack and affixed them to her face. She thought she saw Ironwood rolling her eyes as a long set of notes blurred to life.
“Have you ever been told that you have magical abilities by a professional?”
“Nope.”
Well, that eliminated half the list. “Has a professional ever told you that your aura is unusual?”
“Listen, the last one to look at my aura was a pediatrician who happened to have a horn on his head. But the answer’s no, I guess.”
Daybreak bit back a comment about that—no point in lecturing Ironwood about the fact that only a quarter of all unicorns were able to read auras. Besides, it was becoming clear that Ironwood didn’t have useful answers to any of the prepared questionnaire. “I suppose I’ll just see for myself,” Daybreak said tactfully. “Give me a moment.”
With a toss of her mane, Daybreak delicately lifted her goggles from her face, then tucked them into her pack. With a deep, cleansing breath, she locked eyes with Ironwood...
The world dissolved into mist as Daybreak forced her senses to reject the physical world and show her only the world of thrumming, living energy. Ironwood’s natural magic, even despite her grotesque forelegs, burned against the cold silence of the building and the weak glow of the plants. There was a fire to Ironwood that sang beautifully to Daybreak's inner eye. Yes, she would classify Ironwood as an “extraordinary” individual. How could such power live in the heart of a Mundane, and an augmented one besides? Daybreak would've expected anypony with an aura like this to—
Daybreak's musings were interrupted by a deafening sound, like a balloon the size of a small room being popped. The shock jarred her from her trancelike state, and she reeled from the sensation of being forced back into the mortal world. The first thing Daybreak noticed was the fact that Ironwood looked angry and was trying to tell her something. Had there been an accident?
Ironwood leaned forward to snap a command directly into Daybreak’s face. “You need to move, pony girl!”
More distinctly this time, Daybreak heard a rapid, high-pitched popping sound from outside the building. Then came a sharp bang as something struck the metal door. Fireworks, Daybreak thought sleepily. It sounded like the strings of firecrackers she used to light with her father on Hearthwarming Night.
“I’ll follow you,” Daybreak said drowsily, trotting up to Ironwood now that she was nearly able to see straight. They took off at a run, with Ironwood occasionally looking over her shoulder to yell things. Daybreak couldn’t understand a word, mostly because of the distracting racket coming from outside.
At some point they reached a side room, which looked like it had been set up as an office. Ironwood roughly ushered Daybreak in, reared, and wound up to slam the door.
“Wait!” a nearby voice cried over the noise. “Let me in there too!”
Ironwood’s expression was enough to put modern cutting lasers to shame. “You,” she snarled back as she saw who was making the request.
Daybreak’s eyes widened as she made eye contact with Ironwood’s visitor for the second time. The dark blue-green pony had a pair of coldly glimmering cybereyes, a pure black mane that sported an iridescent beetle-shell stripe, and a pair of wings that glistened with chromed implants. This time, though, the visitor’s expression was a sheepish grin instead of a mocking smirk. “Please?”
Ironwood opened her mouth to answer, then shut her mouth and snapped her head towards the entrance side of the warehouse at the sound of a horrible crash and a burst of gunfire that sounded distinctly less muffled than before.
“Crap, they’re inside!” The visitor licked her lips, then grit her teeth as she turned her back to Daybreak and Ironwood. “Stay here, I’ll take care of this!”
======================================================
The Old World did not disappear; it slept. Those born in the so-called Fifth Age lived in a time without pegasus wings or unicorn horns, true, but not one without magic. A form of magic older than ponykind itself still hummed under the surface of the world. It seeped like a gas through cracks in the pavement blanketing the earth; it shone like a bright light through gaps in the ponies' daily facades.
Ponies today fail to recognize this truth about magic. The fact is, there is precious little difference between an Awakened pony's magic and that of a so-called Mundane. Of this, Ironwood is a living example.
Of all my little ones, I always suspected that she would stay closest to her origins when the time came for her to awaken. I am not saddened by the choices she has made concerning her wholeness of body. Her life has not been easy, but she bears her burdens with dignity and even a kind of pride, just as she always has.
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[Subject 2: “Spectra”]
=================
Actual name unknown. Pegasus female. Extraordinary resistance to CADS.
“No you don’t!” Ironwood snapped at her unwanted guest and would-be protector. “You are gonna stay in here while I call Warhorse!”
Spectra’s weapons swiveled noiselessly in their sockets as she turned to face Ironwood again. AR highlights tracking vital zones on her new ‘target’ turned from red to green as her implants took aim. Temple. Trachea. Carotid. Heart. Knee. Of course she would never actually blaze Ironwood, not even with the spitballs she had chambered, but it wouldn’t do to deactivate the combat progs at a time like this.
“Buck that!” Spectra spat back. “This is my mess, and those Warhorse donkeys will just...” she silenced herself, ears perking up at the sound of distant shouting. Ironwood and her unicorn guest couldn’t hear it, but Spectra’s audio monitor picked up every word and transcribed it in an AR window. The news wasn’t good. These punks weren’t going to wing off without doing a proper job of sweeping the building. She was going to need to swoop this storm, by herself, right now. “Listen, you can’t call in corp-sec. They’d clip me just as fast!”
“An’ I’m supposed to think that’s a bad thing?”
“One minute!” Spectra pleaded, turning her back and locking her wings horizontally again. “Sixty seconds flat and I’ll have this whole storm cleared or my name isn’t Spectra!”
“That’s ‘cause it’s not!” Ironwood yelled, as Spectra launched herself airborne.
==============================================
“Um, do you know her?” Daybreak asked, though she had a feeling she knew the answer.
Ironwood just replied with a sullen grunt.
“... Are you going to call Warhorse?”
Ironwood didn’t speak; she couldn’t over a sudden burst of gunfire from very, very close by. It was followed by a crash, the sound of something very large and heavy falling over. Daybreak saw Ironwood wince. “Better not have been the plumeria,” she grumbled. “No, I’m not gonna call in. C’mon! We gotta get you outta here.”
Ironwood took off at a gallop, and Daybreak scrambled to keep up. The winding path Ironwood led them on skirted the edge of the warehouse and always kept to dense racks of planters, concealing them from the action. Twice, Daybreak tripped over exposed extension cords laid out across the ground. Each time, Ironwood doubled back for her, dragging her to her hooves by her mane and then taking off again.
Then Ironwood skidded to a halt, and Daybreak bounced clumsily off of her flanks. As she got to her feet, without help this time, she saw why they’d come to such a sudden stop. The loading dock was just ahead, but between them and escape were two unfamiliar faces, both of their eyes concealed by dark AR shades. One, a lanky zebra, took a three pointed stance as he extended one front leg and pointed it at Daybreak. The barrel of the gun strapped to his hoof glinted in the artificial light. “I definitely do want to do this,” he said, sounding rather tentative. “Just... just stay with us. Loudly.” The zebra’s compatriot, an ebony pegasus with a clashing green and blue mane, said nothing, but took up a similar stance with her own weapon.
Ironwood bared her teeth as she positioned herself between her guest and the invaders in her workplace. “You don’t wanna do this,” she snarled, staring down the guns in her face with a glare that could probably stop a low caliber bullet or three. “Jus’ put ‘em down.”
“You’re right, I do want this, so-”
“Sit down, stripy bitch!” A dark bolt of retribution screamed down from a nearby catwalk, pounding the monochrome thug against the concrete floor before he could even cry out in alarm. Then, just as abruptly, Daybreak and Ironwood’s savior vaulted powerfully towards the ceiling. The neon maned pegasus who had been threatening Ironwood didn’t hesitate to pivot and fire, successfully destroying a skylight with her snap reaction.
The gunshot sent Daybreak into a cowering stance, but Ironwood took it as an opening. The hapless gangpony spent a few crucial moments trying to follow Spectra’s escape with her aim, which was more than enough time for Ironwood to charge and bodyslam her. The black pegasus didn’t stop tumbling on the ground until she bumped into the far wall.
“Now let’s go!” Ironwood dragged Daybreak out of her defensive curl and towards the door.
==============================================
Spectra glanced over her shoulder as she rose, hoping to provoke the pegasus into following her. What she saw happen instead was just as good. The two bystanders in this were safe, but the day’s troubles were far from over.
Now came the game of seek-and-geek. There was a decent herd of the rutters inside Ironwood’s warehouse, and they weren’t just bucking around. Spectra's resolve was now tinged with something like excitement. Catwalks offering landing zones while creating a treacherous airspace, concealing walls of planters, confusing acoustics... Before Spectra even reached the apex of her jump, she had already marked out a half-dozen heat signatures, mapped the paths her enemies were likely to take, and planned her next two leaps.
The first ones to take care of would be the group circling back around to check on the two suckers she’d just dropped. Spectra’s hooves pounded into the thick dust on top of a wall of planters, and she sent herself into a wheeling spiral over another corridor. She sailed confidently as if in zero gravity over the heads of two ponies: a blue on blue uni and a red on black peg. Spectra's spread wings sparkled in the UV lights as they roared with gunfire.
Not a single round struck the concrete floor beneath her targets. Bright splashes of green appeared on the two thugs' bodies where they were hit, the knockout poison in Spectra's gel rounds spreading and quickly evaporating as it did its insidious work.
Before her targets even hit the ground, Spectra was on her hooves again on top of a different planter. Her implanted guns clicked rhythmically as their actions automatically flipped open, but Spectra wasn't going to stop for the few seconds it would take to chamber another set of spitballs.
She dropped again, aiming for a precise path just inches clear of the top level catwalk. There was a loud clang as she struck the railing with her rear hooves, sending her shooting like a torpedo between two catwalks on an angled collision course with the ground. Her fur bristled as metal girders whistled dangerously close to her head. She opened her wings an instant before she hit concrete, softening her landing and then propelling herself into another leap.
Tarnished steel blurred past as she sent herself up through a gap in the walkways. Her wings beat once, hooves met metal with another clang, and Spectra was sailing over a gap again, right on top of her targets.
They were standing back to back, glancing around in confusion as the sounds of Spectra’s approach echoed chaotically throughout the warehouse. One of them, an Earther, spotted Spectra just in time to let out a gasp before taking a dive-kick to the chin. The other tried to raise a weapon, but only managed to flail as Spectra bit down hard on his mane. With a gritted-teeth shout, Spectra twisted for leverage and rolled the punk over her own body, slamming him hard onto the concrete floor. The impact knocked the wind out of his lungs, so he couldn’t cry out when Spectra added injury to injury by pulling back a forehoof and dealing him a vicious shot to the temple.
Spectra spread her wings, and they were almost perforated by a burst of automatic fire from the corridor behind her. Shit! Powered by adrenaline from the near miss, she leapt again. Twice, she thought she felt the wind from a bullet whistling past her neck. She landed with none of the grace of her previous jumps on another dust-carpeted planter, pivoting so as not to turn her back to her enemies... Both of whom had followed her up, saddle-mounted guns protruding from over their wings.
Spectra backpedaled and threw herself backwards off of the wall, wings outstretched. She tried to slow herself in the air, but she knew it wasn't going to be good enough—not all of her maneuvers were the same as they had been before her augs. This time, when she hit concrete, it wasn’t a graceful landing. It was all she could do to land on all fours instead of on her side. Her grunt of pain was punctuated by heavy-caliber gunshots. Bright green “spitballs” exploded all around her. “No,” she groaned miserably, feeling the sting of capsules breaking against her back. “Just slag me instead...”
JumperPrime
Interdimensional Observer
Question: What does CADS stand for?
Cybernetic Aura Distortion Syndrome.
There's still a little more of this that I haven't posted yet. The next bit explains it.
Introduction, The Unsolved Mystery of Cybernetic Aura Distortion Syndrome
Shine University Examiner, issue 132
Daybreak, D.M.S.
February 1056
Even before the term Aura Distortion Syndrome was coined, nearly all unicorns and pegasi had an aversion to cybernetic enhancement. At first, many Mundanes considered the fear of augmentation to be either squeamishness or superstition, but the fears of magically active individuals would turn out to be well founded. As cybernetic enhancements and medical devices became more commonplace, hospitals began to notice consistent decreases in patients’ magical abilities.
A study conducted in the fall of 1041 by Dr. Lamplight finally provided scientific evidence for the relationship between cybernetics and reduced magical power. He conducted a survey showing that unicorn amputees who chose ordinary instead of cybernetic limb replacements had, on average, significantly stronger telekinesis than individuals with identical injuries who chose cybernetic surgery. Lamplight named this phenomenon Cybernetic Aura Distortion Syndrome, or CADS, after the "damaged" appearance of an augmented individual's aura.
The following year, Dr. Lamplight conducted a case study on a pegasus named Gale who had lost use of her wings and hind legs after a midair collision with a VTOL cargo vehicle. None of the hospital’s unicorn staff reported any unusual changes to Gale’s aura while she was in intensive care, nor during the hospital’s minimally effective attempts at magic restorative therapy.
Disappointed by the failure of magic restoration, Gale agreed to undergo nerve replacement surgery. At the time, nerve replacement was a relatively new procedure that used materials and instruments that have fallen out of favor today. Of particular relevance is the use of microchips and conductive “nanowires” to reattach the functional parts of Gale’s brain and spinal column to her paralyzed areas.
The procedure was successful, and after mere weeks of physical therapy, Gale had regained nearly full function in her legs and hindquarters. However, even though her wings quickly regained their full range of motion, they were never able to lift her off the ground or direct her movement in safe-fall tests.
So, what does any of this have to do with myths, legends, and ancient history?
Recently, a close friend of mine suffered a stroke, and chose cybernetic heart surgery as a preventive measure against further incidents. She trembled as she signed the waiver, fearing the consequences for her magical abilities, and sure enough, the artificial ventricle that the doctors installed in her chest was enough to almost completely extinguish her aura.
Experiments have so far failed to find any single criterion to determine exactly what type of body modification is destructive to magical auras. As far as anypony can tell, magic somehow “decided” that it didn’t like cybernetics. As with so many things in our Awakened world, this mystery refuses to be boxed in by observation on the material level.
I believe that answers regarding the finicky nature of auras can be found somewhere amid the sweeping implications that were thrust upon the scientific community by the Awakening. In the winter of 1011, almost all of ponykind’s accumulated knowledge from the last five centuries was utterly destroyed. Myths became history, superstition became science, fantasy became reality. In the years following the Awakening, scholars searched for meaning in every single story of the Old World, from great epics to quaint nursery rhymes. Our current theories regarding the Cataclysm, the Cycle of Ages, the War of the Sisters, and the Six Heralds come at least partially from this period of wild guesswork.
Thus, in a very real sense, my Doctorate of Magical Studies designates me as an expert on fairy tales and bedtime stories, and it was to fairy tales that I turned in my search for answers. With my research, I discovered several possible explanations for the mysterious relationship between cybertechnology and magic.
Shine University Examiner, issue 132
Daybreak, D.M.S.
February 1056
Even before the term Aura Distortion Syndrome was coined, nearly all unicorns and pegasi had an aversion to cybernetic enhancement. At first, many Mundanes considered the fear of augmentation to be either squeamishness or superstition, but the fears of magically active individuals would turn out to be well founded. As cybernetic enhancements and medical devices became more commonplace, hospitals began to notice consistent decreases in patients’ magical abilities.
A study conducted in the fall of 1041 by Dr. Lamplight finally provided scientific evidence for the relationship between cybernetics and reduced magical power. He conducted a survey showing that unicorn amputees who chose ordinary instead of cybernetic limb replacements had, on average, significantly stronger telekinesis than individuals with identical injuries who chose cybernetic surgery. Lamplight named this phenomenon Cybernetic Aura Distortion Syndrome, or CADS, after the "damaged" appearance of an augmented individual's aura.
The following year, Dr. Lamplight conducted a case study on a pegasus named Gale who had lost use of her wings and hind legs after a midair collision with a VTOL cargo vehicle. None of the hospital’s unicorn staff reported any unusual changes to Gale’s aura while she was in intensive care, nor during the hospital’s minimally effective attempts at magic restorative therapy.
Disappointed by the failure of magic restoration, Gale agreed to undergo nerve replacement surgery. At the time, nerve replacement was a relatively new procedure that used materials and instruments that have fallen out of favor today. Of particular relevance is the use of microchips and conductive “nanowires” to reattach the functional parts of Gale’s brain and spinal column to her paralyzed areas.
The procedure was successful, and after mere weeks of physical therapy, Gale had regained nearly full function in her legs and hindquarters. However, even though her wings quickly regained their full range of motion, they were never able to lift her off the ground or direct her movement in safe-fall tests.
So, what does any of this have to do with myths, legends, and ancient history?
Recently, a close friend of mine suffered a stroke, and chose cybernetic heart surgery as a preventive measure against further incidents. She trembled as she signed the waiver, fearing the consequences for her magical abilities, and sure enough, the artificial ventricle that the doctors installed in her chest was enough to almost completely extinguish her aura.
Experiments have so far failed to find any single criterion to determine exactly what type of body modification is destructive to magical auras. As far as anypony can tell, magic somehow “decided” that it didn’t like cybernetics. As with so many things in our Awakened world, this mystery refuses to be boxed in by observation on the material level.
I believe that answers regarding the finicky nature of auras can be found somewhere amid the sweeping implications that were thrust upon the scientific community by the Awakening. In the winter of 1011, almost all of ponykind’s accumulated knowledge from the last five centuries was utterly destroyed. Myths became history, superstition became science, fantasy became reality. In the years following the Awakening, scholars searched for meaning in every single story of the Old World, from great epics to quaint nursery rhymes. Our current theories regarding the Cataclysm, the Cycle of Ages, the War of the Sisters, and the Six Heralds come at least partially from this period of wild guesswork.
Thus, in a very real sense, my Doctorate of Magical Studies designates me as an expert on fairy tales and bedtime stories, and it was to fairy tales that I turned in my search for answers. With my research, I discovered several possible explanations for the mysterious relationship between cybertechnology and magic.
===To read the full text, access Dr. Daybreak’s journal===
Haha. I considered making it the bright green of a hyperlink on this site, but I changed my mind.
I always wondered what would become of this one when her time came. In some ways, she was the one best suited to the new world... but this world also presented great danger for one with her fiery spirit.
We had faith that her strength of heart would guide her through the darkness enveloping the world. Even so, as this one's story of awakening unfolded, we worried for her, just as mothers worry for their growing foals.
She believes herself a heroine. Spectra, as she calls herself, revels in the life of self-sacrificing righteousness and glory that she has chosen. She does not realize that, while her beliefs and her pride are inspired by the heroic tales of her youth, her spirit and her destiny belong to another age.
A thousand years of rule by violence gave rise to the notion of the victorious heroine, she who prevails against evil using courage, dedication, and justice. But this heroic ideal did not exist in our time. Which would be worse, I wonder: for Spectra to fail in her noble goals... or for her to inadvertently discover the older, simpler meaning of “heroine” as a synonym for “martyr?”
[Transcribed: Video Analysis Session, 8/2/1059, 65th & West Cherry St.]
[Captain “R”> Specialist [redacted]?
[Specialist “Z”> Sir.
[Cpt. R> All right, let’s get started. I’ll call up the window. Is it showing up for you?
[Spec. Z> I got it. So that’s her, in the bottom left?
[Cpt. R> That’s her. Questions before we start?
[Spec. Z> Yeah. Any theories on her motives?
[Cpt. R> Several. The leading one is that she’s running with a gang called the Red Street Thunderbolts. Most of the reported incidents are related to street fights and gang wars—that’s twelve of her nineteen reported casualties, and all three of the deaths.
[Spec. Z> Damn. I’m impressed.
[Cpt. R> You’ll see for yourself in a minute. The other theory is that she’s a professional. Along with a few incidents that had nothing to do with the Thunderbolts, there’s also the fact that she’s been identified in two corporate sabotage attacks, and is a suspect in two more.
[Spec. Z> Considering the fact that she’s loaded with enough chrome to buy a small house...
[Cpt. R> We suspect she’s sponsored by some individual or entity.
[Spec. Z> With all due respect, that seems pretty obvious. Anyway, that’s all of my questions.
[Cpt. R> Here we go, then. The unicorn on the other side of the table is here to buy stolen goods from the Thunderbolts. That’s a bodyguard, behind him. We tracked the bodyguard here thinking we could snag his boss and a few of the Thunderbolts at the same time. You can see one of our agents approaching from the narrow hallway in the upper left. Nopony knows he’s there yet.
[Spec. Z> No backup?
[Cpt. R> Yes and no. The rest of his team was spread out throughout the building, waiting on his mark to breach other rooms simultaneously. The idea was to hit as many rooms as possible at the same time.
[Spec. Z> Is that a Poseidon MMP on his saddle?
[Cpt. R> Yes, loaded with TV-44 tranquilizer venom. Anyway, he positions the gun, breaches the door with his rear hooves, and fires, letting the automatic targeting program aim while his back is
still turned.
[Spec. Z> ...And he misses. That’s impossible.
[Cpt. R> What do you mean?
[Spec. Z> The agent himself might not have realized it, but his breach was beyond perfect. Our subject’s right forehoof was on the table, she was presenting a side-on target, and she had no idea the agent was coming. Any targeting program would’ve bullseyed her easily.
[Cpt. R> A hacker, then. Wait. We swept the building thoroughly, and-
[Spec. Z> And you didn’t find anypony who would’ve been in range to hack him directly, did you? Exactly.
[Cpt. R> Do you think it’s possible that...
[Spec. Z> Can’t be her. She wouldn’t have risked making herself such a vulnerable target if she knew your guy was incoming.
[Cpt. R> Hm. All right, may as well move on. What happens next is...
[Spec. Z> Whoa!
[Cpt. R> That’s what we said too. I’ll replay it at one-third speed.
[Spec. Z> Pneumatic leg braces. Probably cybereyes and a bionic targeting program instead of automated. And... wait, what was that?
[Cpt. R> Yes, you're seeing it right. Guns in her wings.
[Spec. Z> That’s not what’s confusing me. Play that part again and tell me what you see.
[Cpt. R> Okay... our guy breaches and fires. As soon as she hears the crash, she crosses the room with one jump, roundhouse kicks the unicorn, then jumps again, tackles the bodyguard. She pins him, lands four spitballs on our guy’s flanks before he even turns around, and puts one more in the bodyguard’s face. Takes her less than three seconds to make our division look like a bunch of derps.
[Spec. Z> Okay, let me show you what I see. She dives straight towards the one guy, right? Now watch. She doesn’t land the whole time. She spins three hundred sixty degrees in the air as she
hits this guy with her rear hooves, then banks slightly to the left to hit the bodyguard.
[Cpt. R> She’s a pegasus.
[Spec. Z> A pegasus who’s packing twice as much cyberware as your average military contractor.
[Cpt. R> I’m not familiar with-
[Spec. Z> Well then, take it from me. I have a friend who can barely hover, because he decided to get a manipulator claw for his work. This pegasus here? She should have been functionally mundane two surgeries ago.
[Cpt. R> Duly noted. Just a few more seconds left in the video... she loots all three downed guys for ammo, guns, and pocket change, then leaves with the money and the goods. We don’t know where she went after this, because she didn’t use an escape vehicle.
[Spec. Z> Don’t tell me...
[Cpt. R> Witnesses say she flew.
[Spec. Z> Right. Who’s the kid?
[Cpt. R> What kid?
[Spec. Z> Left side, in the doorframe. Looks like she's talking to him on the way out.
[Cpt. R> I’ll be damned.
[Spec. Z> Any idea who that is?
[Cpt. R> There are quite a few juveniles in the Thunderbolts. Maybe if we go forward a few frames-
[Spec. Z> You gotta be kidding.
[Cpt. R> Maybe it’s just a problem with the-
[Spec. Z> Don’t give me that! That “juvenile” is a foal! A fucking blank flank!
[LOG ENDS]
We had faith that her strength of heart would guide her through the darkness enveloping the world. Even so, as this one's story of awakening unfolded, we worried for her, just as mothers worry for their growing foals.
She believes herself a heroine. Spectra, as she calls herself, revels in the life of self-sacrificing righteousness and glory that she has chosen. She does not realize that, while her beliefs and her pride are inspired by the heroic tales of her youth, her spirit and her destiny belong to another age.
A thousand years of rule by violence gave rise to the notion of the victorious heroine, she who prevails against evil using courage, dedication, and justice. But this heroic ideal did not exist in our time. Which would be worse, I wonder: for Spectra to fail in her noble goals... or for her to inadvertently discover the older, simpler meaning of “heroine” as a synonym for “martyr?”
=============================================
[Transcribed: Video Analysis Session, 8/2/1059, 65th & West Cherry St.]
[Captain “R”> Specialist [redacted]?
[Specialist “Z”> Sir.
[Cpt. R> All right, let’s get started. I’ll call up the window. Is it showing up for you?
[Spec. Z> I got it. So that’s her, in the bottom left?
[Cpt. R> That’s her. Questions before we start?
[Spec. Z> Yeah. Any theories on her motives?
[Cpt. R> Several. The leading one is that she’s running with a gang called the Red Street Thunderbolts. Most of the reported incidents are related to street fights and gang wars—that’s twelve of her nineteen reported casualties, and all three of the deaths.
[Spec. Z> Damn. I’m impressed.
[Cpt. R> You’ll see for yourself in a minute. The other theory is that she’s a professional. Along with a few incidents that had nothing to do with the Thunderbolts, there’s also the fact that she’s been identified in two corporate sabotage attacks, and is a suspect in two more.
[Spec. Z> Considering the fact that she’s loaded with enough chrome to buy a small house...
[Cpt. R> We suspect she’s sponsored by some individual or entity.
[Spec. Z> With all due respect, that seems pretty obvious. Anyway, that’s all of my questions.
[Cpt. R> Here we go, then. The unicorn on the other side of the table is here to buy stolen goods from the Thunderbolts. That’s a bodyguard, behind him. We tracked the bodyguard here thinking we could snag his boss and a few of the Thunderbolts at the same time. You can see one of our agents approaching from the narrow hallway in the upper left. Nopony knows he’s there yet.
[Spec. Z> No backup?
[Cpt. R> Yes and no. The rest of his team was spread out throughout the building, waiting on his mark to breach other rooms simultaneously. The idea was to hit as many rooms as possible at the same time.
[Spec. Z> Is that a Poseidon MMP on his saddle?
[Cpt. R> Yes, loaded with TV-44 tranquilizer venom. Anyway, he positions the gun, breaches the door with his rear hooves, and fires, letting the automatic targeting program aim while his back is
still turned.
[Spec. Z> ...And he misses. That’s impossible.
[Cpt. R> What do you mean?
[Spec. Z> The agent himself might not have realized it, but his breach was beyond perfect. Our subject’s right forehoof was on the table, she was presenting a side-on target, and she had no idea the agent was coming. Any targeting program would’ve bullseyed her easily.
[Cpt. R> A hacker, then. Wait. We swept the building thoroughly, and-
[Spec. Z> And you didn’t find anypony who would’ve been in range to hack him directly, did you? Exactly.
[Cpt. R> Do you think it’s possible that...
[Spec. Z> Can’t be her. She wouldn’t have risked making herself such a vulnerable target if she knew your guy was incoming.
[Cpt. R> Hm. All right, may as well move on. What happens next is...
[Spec. Z> Whoa!
[Cpt. R> That’s what we said too. I’ll replay it at one-third speed.
[Spec. Z> Pneumatic leg braces. Probably cybereyes and a bionic targeting program instead of automated. And... wait, what was that?
[Cpt. R> Yes, you're seeing it right. Guns in her wings.
[Spec. Z> That’s not what’s confusing me. Play that part again and tell me what you see.
[Cpt. R> Okay... our guy breaches and fires. As soon as she hears the crash, she crosses the room with one jump, roundhouse kicks the unicorn, then jumps again, tackles the bodyguard. She pins him, lands four spitballs on our guy’s flanks before he even turns around, and puts one more in the bodyguard’s face. Takes her less than three seconds to make our division look like a bunch of derps.
[Spec. Z> Okay, let me show you what I see. She dives straight towards the one guy, right? Now watch. She doesn’t land the whole time. She spins three hundred sixty degrees in the air as she
hits this guy with her rear hooves, then banks slightly to the left to hit the bodyguard.
[Cpt. R> She’s a pegasus.
[Spec. Z> A pegasus who’s packing twice as much cyberware as your average military contractor.
[Cpt. R> I’m not familiar with-
[Spec. Z> Well then, take it from me. I have a friend who can barely hover, because he decided to get a manipulator claw for his work. This pegasus here? She should have been functionally mundane two surgeries ago.
[Cpt. R> Duly noted. Just a few more seconds left in the video... she loots all three downed guys for ammo, guns, and pocket change, then leaves with the money and the goods. We don’t know where she went after this, because she didn’t use an escape vehicle.
[Spec. Z> Don’t tell me...
[Cpt. R> Witnesses say she flew.
[Spec. Z> Right. Who’s the kid?
[Cpt. R> What kid?
[Spec. Z> Left side, in the doorframe. Looks like she's talking to him on the way out.
[Cpt. R> I’ll be damned.
[Spec. Z> Any idea who that is?
[Cpt. R> There are quite a few juveniles in the Thunderbolts. Maybe if we go forward a few frames-
[Spec. Z> You gotta be kidding.
[Cpt. R> Maybe it’s just a problem with the-
[Spec. Z> Don’t give me that! That “juvenile” is a foal! A fucking blank flank!
[LOG ENDS]
Itsune
Ship's Cat, part time Gunner,and back-up Pilot.
How about changing it to
Nah. It's not censored in-universe or anything.
Now, because I'm not likely to get to this for a while longer, here's one of Daybreak's findings.
In her readings, she notes that evil stuff like Sombra's power and Discord's power is not referred to as "Magic." That term is reserved for pony magic, because Friendship is Magic and all. The Elements of Harmony themselves, the most powerful magic that there is supposedly, are inherently about happy ponies living in happy pony-canon. This might be a clue as to why pony magic decides that it "doesn't like" certain things. Daybreak will probably realize that cybernetics were created in the age without magic and thus were meant to "replace" it in a way. They are also strongly linked to weapons of war. This is the main reason why cybernetics inhibit magic.
What Daybreak doesn't realize is that they inhibit earth pony magic just as much, but this effect has gone unobserved.
Itsune
Ship's Cat, part time Gunner,and back-up Pilot.
Didn't mean to imply Censorship or any thing. Content Unavailable means the content is unavailable. Whether this is by Corporate cover up, hacking or sloppy Admining the reason is unexplained. Happens all the time in the "Shadowrun" world. usually as shorthand meaning the "Meta-Author" (that's you btw) hasn't created the Doc yet.
Which is a BEEP shame, Because The term Magic should be independent of the power-source, as it's use is more of a discipline, or talent, to be trained, than a Dogmatic Witchunting tag.
==================
[Subject 3: Victoria]
==================
[Subject 3: Victoria]
==================
Unicorn female. Singer. Repeatedly corroborated reports of NCMM.
The term meatspace had always struck Victoria as rather crass. This particular space, full of low-glowing lights and the gentle sheen of her own magic, had no cause to be associated with a word like “meat.” More offensive still was the fact that “meat” was supposed to refer to her natural body, as if that were an insult. Victoria was everything that those who used the term did not know how to appreciate: A living, breathing mare free from even the slightest hint of aura distortion; beauty both carnal and mystical, the likes of which no lifeless contrivance of alloy and plastic could hope to imitate.
A rapid stream of notifications flicked across her designer AR glasses. Messages from her fans, newsfeeds echoing her announcements, and the room’s systems reporting as they came online. A number hovering slightly below eye level counted frantically, its last three digits an illegible blur. Two thousand... six thousand... fifteen...
In all fairness, Victoria didn’t want to be unduly judgmental towards the hard-sim users and other technophiles among those waiting for the show to start. After all, wasn’t it the Net that enabled her to perform from the comfort of her own home... wasn’t it virtual reality that gave birth to the shared culture that she lived and breathed?
Regardless, the incomparable Victoria was the main attraction tonight; virtual reality was merely the medium for her art. Here, in this tiny cylindrical room no more than thirty feet in diameter, a show was about to begin for an audience of... Victoria glanced at the counter one more time before telekinetically lifting her shades away from her face. An audience of ninety-one thousand.
Right on schedule, the room’s lights faded out, plunging the room into darkness. Are you ready? Victoria mentally whispered to the room. The room heard. Microphones awakened and cameras swiveled to acknowledge their mistress.
There was no indicator light; no musical lead-in or audio cue—Victoria was in control. She breathed total silence and total darkness for a few moments, allowing herself to feel the pulsing energy of the room and the gaze of ninety-one thousand ponies behind one hundred forty-four cameras.
A tingle of energy sparked through her body as she exhaled a sharp, silent command: Now!
Twelve speakers, six subwoofers, and the four hundred thirty-two lights on the walls, floor, and ceiling roared to life just in time to illuminate Victoria in fiery crimson as she reared, throwing her head back with eyes closed and mouth open as if in a soft gasp. Those zoomed in close enough would see Victoria smile as she opened her eyes—eyes redder than the blaze of lights all around her.
The bass pounded, heavy and dirty with an electric buzz and a driving, passionate melody. Victoria matched its passion with effortless ferocity. The floor’s lights threw splashes of yellow over her thrashing, twisting body. She was a candle-flame, flickering and surging to the blare of the music, mane flying in wild strands as she shook and stomped to the rhythm.
… Two, three, and... Victoria froze with her legs braced in a wide stance, and the music collapsed to only a steady thump. The walls turned blue, the floor turned dark red, and Victoria’s fire instantly turned icy. In a low, rich voice, she sang:
Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons
Turn and look me in the eye
The walls pulsed red four times as Victoria thrashed her flanks and tail to four pounding electronic beats. This time, her head bobbed lightly when the walls colored her in blue and the music made way for her voice again.
Just come with me and I’ll show you the sun
You and me, we’ll touch the sky!
Don’t be afraid
Stop holding back
Everyone’s invited now
Victoria turned a slow circle, making eye contact with the ponies watching through the hidden cameras in the walls. Her voice was dark, sultry. She narrowed her eyes just so, and allowed herself a tiny smile.
If music’s in your heart then so am I
Step on up, I’ll show you how...
Victoria's subtle smile split into a dangerously perfect glow of joy as the music soared and the room’s lights flew into chaos. Then, just as the music grew to a climax, it cut to silence.
In the tense eighth-note of pitch-darkness, Victoria tried to feel the room’s energy surge through her legs and into her chest, building in intensity, ready to be released in a burst...
Out of the darkness came a single pale light, cast not by the room but by Victoria herself.The gentle glow of her horn was just enough to allow a glimpse of her pristine white mane and coat and her seductive blood-red eyes.
Let’s dance.
At those whispered words, the room exploded with music. The lights surged blindingly to the beat, rhythmically flashing from darkness to vibrant color. Victoria’s face was inches from the wall—and then she backed on three legs away towards the center of the room, extending a forehoof to her ninety-one thousand dancing partners. She turned her head to the side as she sang a jubilant chorus, but she kept one eye facing straight forward, into the eyes of the one she was leading.
Just close your eyes and you’ll see
How sweet the music can be
Just pick your hooves up, come along and dance with me
Victoria reared and spun on her rear hooves, spreading her forelegs wide and twirling under the adoring eyes of the cameras, never stopping her song. Without any pause, she planted her hooves on the ground again and pranced a circuit around the edge of the room. Every strobe flash captured another moment of perfection as she ran.
Our bodies moving this way
All through the night and the day
Don’t be afraid now, darlin’, come and dance with me!
From there, there were no more words—just the thundering of the bass, the soaring electric melody, and the sensuous breath of a mare whose coat and mane shone with the colors projected onto her by the walls and floor, her twirling and gyrating body locked in a dance of passion with her many unseen partners.
===============================================
Racks of fluorescent light fizzed to life automatically as Victoria stepped out of the performance room and into the hallway with her shades already on. She was breathing deeply from exertion and her mane was a disaster, but that was to be expected after a show—no need to attend to her appearance just yet.
The walls were papered with AR notes—already her Hoofbeat account was buzzing with hundreds of messages praising the show. With a sharp tilt of her head, she dismissed the stream of comments. A network of another kind required her attention, first.
The narrow hallway gave way to a room that was bare except for the curved panoramic window covering most of the far wall. Victoria walked up to the window with determined strides, closing the door behind her with a soft pulse of magic. If you please, she thought to the room, and the lights dimmed.
Far below, the entire Upper City was laid out before her. The city on stilts, straight out of a postcard: The trimmed trees, the glistening office buildings, the luxurious two-story houses with their perfectly manicured lawns. A quaint rectangular town, Victoria thought, hiding a vast city beneath. The glass darkened as Victoria’s shades painted the view of New Canterlot with AR.
Victoria raised her forehooves high, then fell backwards into a chair as it unfolded from the carpeted floor. With the show successfully concluded, it was time to move on to the day’s second order of business. The chair slowly rose towards the ceiling, then stopped once it was elevated enough to give its owner a bird’s eye view of the entire plate.
Victoria raised a hoof and waved it slowly across the city, magnifying the individual tags marking locations of interest. She gave a single nod of approval as she finished the first sweep—mostly good news from the upper assets, with only one reporting that he’d been identified on the job and needed assistance. With a quick shake of her head, Victoria swept away the Upper City memos. The failure was regrettable, but she’d never liked that fellow anyway. What was his name again? Well, never mind—as of right now, his name was “unviable asset.”
“Reminder,” she said, holding up a hoof. A box with the header reminder appeared where she was pointing. “Seek replacement for compromised SpireTech agent.” She nodded, and lowered her hoof again, leaving the note hanging where she’d left it.
Now came the interesting part. Victoria raised both forelegs, then split them as if swimming forward into the cityscape. Seeing this, the window blacked out entirely, letting the shades give Victoria an X-ray view of the real New Canterlot. From platescraper suites to soot-stained slums, the map of Victoria’s assets in the shadows made the one for the upper city look like a postage stamp.
Victoria tilted her head as she moved her hoof over a rapidly moving blip that was blinking bright red. A window opened, showing the view through the eyes of somepony tearing through the city—somepony who had pneumatic pistons for legs, judging by how high they could jump. Victoria clicked her tongue when she saw a two-inch crater suddenly appear in a concrete wall. Ah. Well, this asset was somepony who wouldn’t be so easily replaced.
Victoria gave her orders in a stern monotone: “Ground assets. Proximity to target. Search.” Two blips only a few streets away flickered green. Perfect. Victoria raised a hoof and jabbed at the words Voice Message, and then Urgent Priority.
“This is Redeye,” Victoria said evenly. Tiny words appeared near the bottom of the panorama: Voice Distortion active. “An urgent matter requires your immediate attention. Once you confirm that you have received this message, the exact location of an individual whom I have been tracking will be made available to you. You are to subdue her and bring her to location R. Four thousand bits will be transferred to your account once I receive confirmation that she has been detained, preferably unharmed. Please reply immediately.”
Victoria stared at the pony’s-eye-view window intently while she waited for the assets to respond. Always the little daredevil, this one, but at least she was fortunate enough to be fleeing towards a location controlled by her unseen benefactor.
Remember that the setting's Earthdawn equivalent is FiM where Rainbow Dash and Twilight Sparkle are prancing around. This fic is trying very hard to avoid the trap of just being Shadowrun with ponies in it because I like ponies.
Magic prefers to be used by happy ponies from pony-canon who like to pony around with the power of friendship.
GBscientist
Imperial Ghost Bear
He/Him
Sounds like Magic is going to have to grow up and learn to play nicely with Technology, or it's going to get bent over Science's knee and spanked.
As I said on FiMfic, I quite like this premise and look forward to more.
As I said on FiMfic, I quite like this premise and look forward to more.
ISTM that it is happening. AFAICT Victoria's talent is a kind of magical 'computer telepathy'. Jacking into the net with just her mind and magic.
From what I can tell from what's been posted so far is not necessarily that magic and technology don't get along, it's that magic doesn't cooperate well with the dystopic attitudes of the Shadowrun ponies. It takes a certain personality to want to enhance yourself with technology, and that attitude does not match well with FiM.
A lot of Victoria's actions here are just how the technology works. Voice commands and motion sensors and such--though I do want to imply that she feels like she's "in tune with" the tech, yes.
Something like what you're describing does, of course, exist in Shadowrun. In old-school shadowrun an evil AI forcibly gave some humans the ability to jack into the Net with their magical brains. In new Shadowrun, there are very rare people around who one day gained the power just like some people gained Adept powers.
I contradicted this a little bit with the implication that artificial ventricles and nerve replacements are just as problematic. See, whether it's enhancement or life-saving, these things replace part of you. This sounds a little bleak--magic is unhappy with you even if all you wanted was use of your hind legs again--but, as Daybreak theorizes, even medical technology like this owes a lot to the advancements made by weapons research.
It's not a great answer, but it's a better one than Shadowrun-canon gives us. I think that when 3rd edition Shadowrun came out, the idea of plugging a fiber-optic cable into your brain was so weird that people could just accept the idea of cybernetics eating your soul.
No, I'm not satisfied with the idea of happy pony magic being unhappy with lifesaving medical technology, but neither are the characters in the setting. I think it's also okay to have a little bit of bleakness like that--if I'm going to use this gritty sci-fi world, I should let things get a little grimy.
As for the power to jack into the net with your magical pony brain, think of it as earth pony magic--not necessarily something new under the sun, just a magical way to interact with the world around you. Like if you had a cutie mark for programming or something.
I haven't updated this because I've been editing instead of writing the next bit.
But I thought I'd share the extended lyrics to the song, because they're silly. Also because I want to see if anyone can tell what song I blatantly ripped off.
But I thought I'd share the extended lyrics to the song, because they're silly. Also because I want to see if anyone can tell what song I blatantly ripped off.
Nomar
Just here for the ponies.
Or you might do it this way:
What Pony magic wants to create (or what those who made it what it is wanted it to create) is what it believes (or they believed) to be the perfect state of Pony society, with Harmony and Happiness and Pretty Prancing Ponies everywhere. The Pony version of the Hollywood Brand Rural Paradise™. And about as real.
Because, after all, entropy brakes for no one, nothing can ever be perfect, et cetera. But neither accident nor malice nor entropy nor a lot of other things fit into the ideological construct of utopia, so magic does the classic time-honored thing and pretends those simply don't exist. So “magic is unhappy with you even if all you wanted was use of your hind legs again” because magic is unable to deal with the fact of you being unable to use your hind legs in the first place -- unless you deserved it, that is (the Just World Fallacy).
Here at SB we usually don't take these kinds of utopia seriously, because many of us are the kind of people who like to take ideas apart, look at the pieces, and contemplate the actual consequences, and the utopias tend to fall apart (and reassemble themselves into something horrifying) under that kind of scrutiny. Harmonious Pony Magic of Friendship appears to be no exception.
PS: Given the above… what do you think would have happened to Granny Smith had she ever gotten that hip replacement?