Zenith Part 5: Isolated Pawns No More

Running. Running like your very life depended on it. You were sure it did.

 

You look back, the beasts eyes glint with malice in the dark burnt sky, clawed paws gnashing at the clouds as it draws ever closer. Its shining razor wings blur the air with a deafening roar, cleanly beheading the sparse dead trees that populate these hellish wastes.

 

You run faster still, legs burning as you sprint through the thin grasses that whip at your pumping arms and sweat-soaked face. Your lungs scream with each ragged gasp as they draw in the harsh dust of the cracked earth beneath your feet. The fumes of the place sting your eyes, smelling of the corruption that killed the land. Pain courses though you, insisting that you ease you pace, but you push past it.

 

Your lucky silver medallion, embossed with the profile of a unicorn's head, bounces against your bare chest with each stride, encouraging you with its presence. The tattered remains of your clothes catch on the corrupted flora as you weave between the dead grey husks of the trees that appear from the gloom like specters from their graves.

 

You risk another glance and wish you hadn’t; it was close enough that you could see the hair on its wolfish snout. Its coat was ragged and coarse, and it wore great plates of metal armor, slicked red with the blood of a fresh kill. Your palms are slick with sweat, and the small rectangular object you’re clutching threatens to slip from your grasp with every stride.

 

Suddenly you burst from the tall grass into the open and grind to a abrupt stop. A jagged ravine drops before you, and you see water, black as oil, churning hungrily in its depths. The monstrosity cries out from the brush, ready for its meal.

 

You depress the lever of the magical object in your hand and hold it, now glowing, high above your head. It starts to wail, softly at first, but quickly rising in volume before it releases a brilliant flash of white light with a crash of thunder.

 

The burst of illumination gives you a frozen afterimage of the fiendish beast as it recoils in surprise, and without hesitation you lob the device far over the ravine and watch as it begins drop, wailing once more, to the water far below, leaving a ghostly trail of light in its wake. With a ravenous screech it dives after the light, plunging headfirst towards its new prey.

 

You turn and run, heading out into a wide plain of large stones, ready to put as much distance between it and you as humanly possible.

 

The granite giants have started to crumble like the world itself, their broken forms cast in harsh contrast by the dull sun that sits low in the muddy sky. Remorse mixes with regret as you pound past them, bare feet aching against the hard soil. If only there had been something you could have done to stop it; if only you had known in time...

 

The air is split by a distant hate-filled cry, and you know that your distraction had run its course. You veer towards an area where the the stones were packed more densely, hoping they would provide some cover against airborne attack. Agony lances up your legs, and you stumble to maintain your balance. No, not now; not yet!

 

Frozen ash begins to fall, draping the dead brown scenery in a silent grey cloak. The dreadful cacophony of keenly edged wings grows as you lose speed. Your legs feel stiff and heavy; refusing your commands for more speed. You skirt the walls of the monolithic stones around you for concealment, but you can hear the thing bearing down on you, furious at your deceit.

 

You come around the next great boulder and see a crevice running along its side. With not a moment to spare you throw your pain wracked form into it, feet sliding clumsily through the frigid ash at the rapid change in direction. It screeches past your position, sweeping over the bleak landscape ahead.

 

Again you bolt in a new direction, praying for each second that it would take the malicious predator to notice. The charred earth beneath your feet softens as you leave the boulders behind, blending with the ash in an arctic mire. You can hardly stay upright, your arms and legs convulsing in pain with each movement, and you struggle to make headway over the torn terrain. The talisman around your neck starts to heat, the skin beneath its chain tingling.

 

The roar of the creature announces its approach as the winds begin to howl, sending flurries of ash and soot into the air, stinging your eyes. You limp forward on all fours as cracking sensations crawl up and down your body, tears smearing your face black as they mix with the aerial miasma that chokes you and clouds your vision. With a shriek, the fiend lets loose a narrow cone of light that bathes the nearby landscape in a blinding glow. Its power burns the ash from the sky and exposes the now smoking soil. What pitiful plants still clung to this ruined realm are given peace as the blasts fall all about you, narrowly missing your crippled form. No, it can't end yet! Not like this!

 

The howls of fury above turn to confusion and fear as the building gales of wind buffet the winged beast, and acrid drops fall from the desecrated heavens. The air fills with their fumes and your skin burns under their touch. You look out to the tortured horizon, and see a faint glow through the ash and debris. Was it, could it be? You resist the compulsion to writhe in pain as your bones shatter and reform, and struggle your way to the top of a small mound. Yes, the portal; that has to be it! After all this time, and you’re so close!

 

The defiled monstrosity above swings wildly as its silvery wings are eaten away by the caustic rain, but its screams of lament fall on the ears of a world long since deaf to suffering. Your necklace was radiating heat and now glowed a bright vermilion, yet the skin beneath it did not char. Instead the prickling sensation spread outward from your neck to the rest of your fluctuating body, washing away the pain both within, and without. You close your eyes and welcome the experience with relief.

 

You sense its warmth flowing into you, purging the toxins and hate that this place had used to poison you. Your limbs warp and snap without discomfort, and as the ailing predator crashes to the ground in the throes of its demise, you rise slowly on four shaking legs, covered in a coat of soft white fur. The ash and rain evaporate off your coat as it shines with the amulet’s light, and you can feel its protection in every hair. It urges you to onward; to finish the battle others started.

 

You steady yourself and open your eyes, piercing the windswept flurries with an empowered glare. In the distance you see the portal clear as day, its great arch filled with light gleaming like a new dawn on the horizon. Your first steps are unsure, but that quickly changes as you pick up momentum, grey mane whipping behind you.

 

The ash no longer chokes, the rain no longer burns, and your body propels itself effortlessly with a steadfast rhythm over the broken ground. You feel euphoric, better then you can ever recollect, and perfectly at ease with the cosmos. There was naught to improve save for the state of the planet itself, and you were about to see to that.

 

As you close the distance you become aware of the gate’s energy as it ripples through the putrid air and saturates the ground. Your fur gathers a darkening amber hue, and a faint powder blue runs in rivulets down your mane and tail. The earth was quickly losing its sickly pallor, and the air regaining its springtime smell as you approach the massive arch. Waves of harmonious power crest over you as you leap into the wall of lucent radiance, and your chroma shines as vibrant as the noonday sun.

 

~

 

Very quickly you were submersed in darkness. You have the feeling of floating, but in what you can’t be sure. You notice the signals from your body all around you, but it was distant, removed. You can feel your far-off self snoring gently into soft cloth.

 

You were asleep; lucid in the space between dreams and the waking world... the concept floats by you as you think it. Wait. The dream you just finished, you remember it all. In exacting, excruciating, exhausting, detail.

 

“WHAT IN THE EVER LOVING NAME OF CELESTIA’S RIP-OFF, OVERPOWERED, MARY SUE, EDGY-ASS, FAGGOTY EVIL TWIN KIND OF DREAM WAS THAT?!”

 

~

 

You awake violently, thrust into wakefulness. Your limbs tingle as sensation creeps down them. That had to have been the most drug fueled action movie of a dream you’ve ever had, and your head hurts like a night out at the bar. Post-Apoc P0ny, World Jumper: The Movie? Seriously: dafuq?

 

You sit up and blink a few times for good measure. The gentle pitter pat of a light drizzle against the overhead umbrella greets your ears. You’re on a folded blanket in a grass field, a light rain coming down all around you. Wind lightly sweeps though the grey sky, flicking at your mane.

 

Blue. The word drifts across you mind looking for something to attach too.

 

The wind carries a light misting of rain under the umbrella. It was odd that you didn’t feel colder; must be the fur.

 

Orange. It joins Blue in meandering through your head.

 

You go to massage your aching skull. Hoof meets face. You stare at Hoof for a moment, all orange and fuzzy as it is. Wait... Mane. Fur. Fuzzy Hoof. Wha...?

 

Your horrified wails probably could have raised the dead, but the rain dampens their intensity to a dull “bothers old man Jenkins”.

 

After your nice post-nap scream of terror you feel much better, and your head even hurts less. God you hope waking up a p0ny got less surprising at some point. Or that you wouldn’t have to be a p0ny when you woke up at all; that would be nice too.

 

Sill though, you wonder what it could have been that you did last night to wake up with that headache. You remember reading the letter, Astrid bursting in, the shotgun, jumping for the window... then wrestling with her, then... then... Great Scott, the tranquilizer!

 

What happened? Where are you? You could have sworn you’d wake up in a cage with a send off like that! You thought you’d be fucked more royally then Shining Armor on his honeymoon!

 

You slowly rise to your hooves, a little dizzy at first, and survey the landscape around you. It looks like the area around the cabin, in fact... that looks like it in the distance over there. Its low wooden form is obscured by the drizzle, but you can see the lights in the windows cutting through the mist. A small wooden tray is next to you under the umbrella. It carries two steel bowls, one oats, one water, and a cloth sack held shut with a pull string.

 

Why were you out here? The blanket, food, and umbrella all indicated that you were supposed to be comfortable, but... why? Wasn’t she planning to ship you off to her father or something?

 

“It is good to see you are awake, sir,” a voice said, startling you, “but is it your custom to begin each period of wakefulness like that?”

 

“Aahh! What, who said that? Where are you?” You spin in confusion, the wide field was empty of anything for almost as far as you could see. You cough to clear your throat; the slightly higher pitch to your voice was still odd sounding.

 

“My apologies sir, it was not my intention to startle you,” the voice said in a friendly tone, “My name is Rook, and I am on the tray to your left.”

 

You follow the voice to the tray, and and see a tiny, hitherto unnoticed, grey cube sitting between the bowls. You peer at it closely, and pull back in surprise as it speaks again.

 

“If you do not mind me asking sir, how would you like to be addressed?"

 

Talking inanimate objects? Well why the fuck not!?

 

"Uh, oh sure, my name's... it's..." you trail off as you try to remember.  Rook waits quietly. Memories of your life swim through your head like a school of fish; you recognise most of them, but they keep shifting out of focus. There was the house you grew up in, when you broke your arm, your trip to the ocean... but not your name. You concentrate harder, and a fresh memory pops out of the whirling mass; your name was Zenith! No, wait, that was your p0ny’s name, not yours. Yours was... ‘Zenith!’ insists the memory. No! Bad Brain! You’re like, oh-for-three right now, shut up. Brain seems to take offence at your remark and stubbornly refuses to give up any additional information. Well, fuck. Left with few other options you finally reply to Rook: "You can call me Zenith, I guess..."

 

“Zenith... Intriguing. Accessing. The point on the celestial sphere directly above the observer. The most notable culmination in any given set of events. The highest part of any topographical feature. A most stimulating choice of name sir.”

 

“Uhh, thanks?” You had just picked it cause it reminded you of mountain peaks; that had seemed appropriate enough. Actually using it felt a little like accepting what had happened, which you were -not- ready to do, but it was better than going by Tom, Dick, or Harry.

 

“If you are ready sir, Mistress has instructed me to relay to you a message. I understand it is quite significant to her, personally.”

 

“Hold on, you said your name was Rook, and you’re this little... box... thing...? That talks?” Maybe you were still dreaming. You could try pinching yourself to— Awww... no fingers. Stupid hoof. You punch yourself in the leg instead. Ow. Welp, probably not dreaming. It was worth a shot though.

 

“Yes sir, I am Rook. I am a Personal Assistant and Artificial Intelligence, or P.A.I. for short.”

 

“What happened to the extra A’s?” Oh yes, you should ask about semantics. There definitely aren’t any -more- urgent matters at hand!

 

“It was decided by my creators that P.A.A.A.I. was too unwieldy, so they shortened it to a single ‘A’ with a superscript three when it is written. It is etched on my casing if you would like to see for yourself.”

 

You squint down at the tiny cube before you. It‘s made of a dull grey metal, similar to some of your camping cookware, so... titanium maybe? Each face is only about an inch across, and is marked by three tiny black dots arranged in a triangle. In the middle of the top face the letters PA³I are etched in silver block lettering.

 

“Sure enough...” you mutter under your breath, trying to sound it out, “PA³I... Pe-Ah-Eee? Pah-Eee? Pa-Aiee?... Paiee... Pie!” You realize this must have been what Astrid was talking about. “So you said you’re an AI, does that mean you’re self aware; sentient? And can you by chance take pictures or record video? And aren’t you bothered by the fact that you’re outside and it’s raining?”

 

“To answer your questions in the order they were asked: Yes sir, I am indeed self aware, and not only can I record visual, and aural, data, but play it back as well. In fact, the message I mentioned before is an excellent example of this. As for the level of aerial moisture; no, it does not concern me. I am built to meet very exacting specifications, among which is the need to be completely immune to expected environmental conditions.”

 

Whoa. “Well, that’s good. I’d hate to have you fry on me. A real AI though, far out... Oh, and before I forget, who is this ‘Mistress’ again?” Like you had to ask...

 

“My Mistress is non other then the Lady Astrid sir.” No surprises. That was somewhat comforting actually; you felt like life had dealt out a few too many of those as of late.

 

“Oh yeah, of course...” You look back at the cabin, smoke rising slowly from its chimney. She had seemed so nice at first. Sure, a little bipolar and obsessive perhaps, but nice.

 

“Would you like me to play Mistress's message now?”

 

“Uh...” You hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, but she hadn’t thrown you in a crate bound for who knows where like you had expected, so you suppose you -could- listen to what she had to say. “Sure, hit it.”

 

“Very good sir, beginning playback:” With a small hum the three dots on the cubes top face began to glow; one red, one blue, one green. After a moment a cone of light shoots upward from each of the points of light, and an image coalesces in the air before you.

 

“Whoa, what the...”

 

It’s a life-sized 3D projection of Astrid’s head and neck, hovering right about at face height. You could see the grass through it semi-spectral form. A goddamn hologram too... life sure had gotten interesting.

 

"Hi again, my name’s Astrid, if you didn’t already know," Her voice caught in her throat as she spoke and her moist eyes looked red, "and... I'm really sorry about using the tranquilizer pen on you, but— I just didn't want you see you hurt yourself!" she blurts out in a rush.

 

Hurt -myself-?

 

"The letter you read was a trick to see if you -could- read it, I didn’t mean any of it, I swear! It was mean I know, I just didn’t realize how bad it sounded until afterwards..." She really did look terrible. “I didn't intend to scare you, honest, I just—” she choked on her words again; it looked as though she was holding back tears, "I've never been very good at getting along with others..." her last statement was directed toward the ground in a small voice. “I always find a way to upset them or... Augh, stupid!” She pressed her bandaged palm to her forehead in frustration.

 

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, she -wasn't- trying to scare you? And the note was fake?! Yeah, right, and you were a monkey's uncle! Like she thought you’d fall for these crocodile tears... pitiful as they were...

 

“It was just, you actually spoke! And I got so excited I just had to— and then the chair tipped over, and the gun—” She stopped, a pained look on her face, “And that was my fault too, I never should have even -touched- that thing in the first place... But I tried to tell you I didn’t mean it! I guess you couldn’t hear me though... I couldn’t even hear myself for a few solid -minutes- after that...”

 

This was not at all the same Astrid; gone was her empirical compulsion, her happy encouragement; all that was left was broken sadness. Maybe... this wasn’t an act; you’d never seen someone look so forlorn. It was starting to get you down...

 

She draws in a long breath and sighs, sounding close to tears, “I always wanted to help Papá in his work... He does have a reservation actually... that much was true.” she says with a sniff, “He finds endangered species and helps to repopulate them. All my life I’ve studied so hard, just so I could help him, b-but he always says it’s no place for me... then you, a once in a lifetime opportunity to prove myself, literally knocks on my door, and I— I—” her face contorts with despair, lip trembling as her eyes fill with tears, “I just don’t know what went wro-oo-oooong~!” she howls her lament as she collapses into her arms, weeping miserably. Her shoulders shake with the force of each heart-wrenching gasp before she lets out her next hopeless sob.

 

You sniff sadly as a tear runs down your fur-covered face, then another. Act nothing! That was just... just... just too darn sad to be a lie! Maybe it was just your misery seeking company, but you wanted to believe her; you wanted someone with whom to share the pain of your own loss!

 

After a moment she pulls her head back up out of her arms enough to look at the camera and manages to choke a few more words: “So... I left you some food, a-and water, and that sack has another bag of oats— *sniff* if you want it, so— *sniff* so— go be happy— and free— and— and—” That’s as far as she gets before dissolving into tears once again, and the message cuts off.

 

The hologram fades from existence as you consider what you just witnessed. You desperately wanted to think well of her; your heart calling out: “Comfort her! Perhaps ye shall receive comfort in return!” Logically you know what she did should frighten you, and you should feel nothing but wariness towards her, yet her pain echoes yours too strongly for you to turn a blind eye. You had both felt as though your lives were finally really looking up, only to have your hopes dashed against the cold, rocky, shores of fate. Well, you don’t know how you were going to fix your own situation, but you at least have some control over hers, and that tiny notion of authority feels intoxicating! Confound you, tiny p0ny heart! Why can’t you hold all these feels?!

 

Alright, slow down. Deep breath. Again.

 

Okay, steps to survival, first: don’t panic, check— for now. Second: decide to live, check. Third: plan, that was the doozy. Go down the list of things you need: First aid, shelter, fire... you don’t really need to signal anyone— more the opposite really— so signaling devices can be ignored... plus water, and finally food.

 

Well, Option One was to ignore the magic picture box and get the hay out of Dodge. You’re pretty certain you could make it back off the mountain no problem, but the plan kind of falls apart after that. Where would you go? Could you drive like this? You doubted it, and it was -way- too long of a drive home to consider walking, plus your keys were somewhere at camp, or picked up by search and rescue. And even then, what would that gain you? You’d still need to go out eventually, and the police probably already have a missing persons report out on you, so your house would be under surveillance. Aside from living in the woods and eating plants for the rest of your life “Option One” didn’t seem like much of an option at all. And even that would only last until a mountain lion or something decided that you look tasty. You get a flash from your dream; running in fear from something with big teeth, and shudder. That plan pretty much stumbles right off the block at first aid, shelter, and fire, so no thank you.

 

Okay, Option Two was to go back to the cabin, and take it on good faith that Astrid meant what she said, and that she wouldn’t just pull the same shit twice. Once you assumed that, this option promised medical care, shelter, fire, water, food, everything. The risk of a double cross didn’t even come into it; there just wasn’t much alternative. Still, you’d like to know if it was a trap. At least then you could say “I knew it!” or “It’s a trap!” as you got nabbed.

 

Maybe there was something you missed, something that could tell you if she could be trusted once more...

 

“Rook?”

 

“Yes, Zenith?”

 

It stung you to hear yourself referred by that name so casually, but you plunge ahead with determination. “Would you replay that message for me?”

 

“Of course, sir. Beginning playback:”

 

You watch it all the way through in silence, examining her face for any hint of malice or deceit. You watch it again, and again. Each time her words run you through the heart, conveying only the most sincere emotions. Wait, there!

 

“Rook, can you pause it?”

 

The view immediately freezes with an “Of course sir.”

 

“Thanks. Her hand, there, is it bandaged?”

 

“That is correct, sir. The Mistress was unfortunate enough to suffer second degree burns to the palms of both hands.”

 

Hot iron. The smell of charred carpet. A scream of pain. The memories flash in quick succession before your eyes. You pull your mane into view: its end was burnt almost black.

 

Your gaze then turns towards the blanket, the tray with its contents, and the umbrella. Had she put all this up herself?

 

“Hey, Rook, you can’t lift objects with some sort of of futuristic gravity fields, can you?”

 

“I am sorry, Zenith, but a disclosure of my specifications to that degree would constitute a breach of security.”

 

You blink at him in silence for a moment before responding. “So you can’t tell me?”

 

“I believe I said that. Was I not clear?” he responds in confusion.

 

“No, I— never mind. So, can you tell me if you helped Astrid move all this stuff out here?”

 

“That is within acceptable boundaries, yes.”

 

You wait, staring at the cube. After a moment you sigh. “Rook, did you help Astrid move all this stuff out here?”

 

“Of course not, sir; I have no arms.”

 

“I— buh... you... Pah!” Oh man, this guy right here! “Okay, fine, so Astrid got all this stuff together, brought it out, and set it up all by herself with injured hands, is that it?”

 

“Yes sir, that is correct.”

 

“Dude...” You stare through Astrid’s frozen image as you ponder it. That’s gotta have been painful. Even just getting a blister on one of your fingers used to— Awhhh... again, no fingers, dammit Brain! Well, burns suck no matter what, and carrying all this, let alone driving the umbrella down with blistered palms...

 

“Excuse me sir, but that is not technically accurate. Unless I am mistaken the term ‘Dude’ refers to a male, which Mistress is not. And neither am I, despite my masculine vocal patterns.”

 

“...” This fucking guy. Err, well, AI. “I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

 

He really reminds you of someone... those mannerisms, that conscientious tone, something about it was pointing to some memory or another and waggling its eyebrows suggestively.

 

“Hey, do you have a face? Like, an avatar or something?”

 

“Yes I do. It was part of my initial personality gestalt. Would you like to see it?”

 

“Yeah, I think it might help me figure out who you remind me of. Plus I’d feel better about chatting with you if you weren't just a tiny box. No offence.”

 

“None taken, sir.” The image of Astrid stretches, and in a blink is replaced by a single, large blue, chess piece. A rook, to be exact.

 

You groan and mutter under your breath. “Should have guessed.” Terribly unhelpful, but at least it’s something. Louder, “Thank you, Rook.”

 

Chipper sounding as ever, “You are quite welcome Zenith. Did it help?” A small circle above the rook’s crest moved as he spoke, like a music meter measuring his voice.

 

You cough into a hoof. “Yeeaah... it did, a bit.” It -was- something to talk at, anyway. “And, would you mind me referring to you as a guy anyway? I just feel... off calling something so intelligent an ‘it’.”

 

“If it will make you more comfortable, then please refer to me however you wish.”

 

“Well in that case, thank you very much, Mr. Rook,” you say, placing extra emphasis on the “Mr.”

 

“Think nothing of it, sir,” he responds, your jab apparently going right over his head.

 

“And you know, you don’t have to keep calling me ‘sir’. It’s not like I’m your boss or anything.”

 

“If it is all the same to you, doing so is part of my programming. It creates less interference patterns in my speech processor if I avoid such practices. Sir.”

 

You hazard a guess at his meaning, “...So it makes you feel more comfortable?”

 

His reply is matter of fact, “I do not feel anything, sir. I am an AI.” He would have almost seemed mournful, if not for what he had just said.

 

You sit in silence for a minute, wondering if being incapable of sorrow was, in itself, sad.

 

“Well, at least you’ll never have to worry about having an emotional bias.”

 

“Yes, Mistress has noted that about me on numerous occasions.”

 

Oh that’s right, Astrid...

 

“I don’t suppose you could tell me anything about her, could you?”

 

“I’m afraid not, sir,” he said apologetically. “I was only authorized to relay the message and, as Mistress put it, ‘chat’.”

 

Darn, it would have been nice to know a bit more before potentially jumping in over your head.

 

Well, regardless, your mind is made up about going back. You can’t believe that someone would go through all that pain -and- run the risk of you simply walking away just to... what? Gain your trust? Well you suppose she’s got that again, seeing as how you have decided to go back, but you could have just as easily disappeared into the wilderness! Maybe she knew that you had nowhere to go... No, you know what? It didn’t matter; you were done thinking about it. It was probably going to be dark soon, and this rain was showing no signs of letting up.

 

You stretch and start off towards the cabin through the light drizzle, only tripping a few times before you remember not to try when walking. You get about twenty paces before you remember about Rook. Would he, err, it, be okay out there by himself? Probably, but it still seemed cold to ditch him.

 

You decide to get adventurous and go for a trot on the way back to the umbrella. You find it pleasantly easy— that is until you try to slow down again.

 

“Hey Rook, I was wondering if you— whoa-wahh!” *Thud.* At least it was a soft landing, if somewhat damp.

 

“I am sorry, Zenith, would you mind repeating that?”

 

You pick yourself up from the wet grass and futility try to get the few loose blades of grass out of your mane with your hooves. Stupid long hair! There was a reason you always kept it cut short. Although, it did look pretty nice; shame about that burn... Hey, no! Stop that!

 

Shaking your head, you reply. “I was going to ask if you’d want me to bring you back inside with me.”

 

“But sir, you have no arms either.”

 

Thanks for the reminder there; just what I needed. “No, Rook, what I don’t have is hands, but I’ll think of something.”

 

“That is not necessary. Mistress placed me here so that I could assist you until the situation was resolved entirely.”

 

“Well it’s getting resolved, right now. Come on.”

 

You put your hoof to the surface of the metal cube, and realise you had no real idea what you had planned next. It wasn’t like you could just pick him up. Maybe if you used both hooves...

 

You sit on your haunches and try cradling the miniature cube in your front hooves. You manage to pick it up and hold it fairly securely, holo image waving through the air, but that obviously leaves you with only your hind legs to walk. Not feeling -quite- that dexterous, you set Rook back down and consider your conundrum.

 

This body doesn't really leave you many options for gripping things does it? You lean forward through the holographic projection and gently bite down on the sides of Rook’s tiny metal body, taking care not to slather him with saliva. You’re not really sure that inside a unicorn’s mouth was on his list of “expected environmental conditions”.

 

The translucent blue chess piece is suddenly floating in the air in front of you, bobbing with your head as you progress towards the cabin. His voice vibrates lightly through your jaw as he objects to being carried. “You really need not worry about me, sir. I will be perfectly fine here until Mistress comes to retrieve me.”

 

You take pains to watch your tongue as you answer, “Daff’s ‘shilly! Ah’d feel bad juff’t reaving you out here wike dat. Beesize, itsh not dat ‘uch hurther now!”

 

“Zenith, I seem to be having some trouble understanding you.”

 

“Ah faid, ah’m not juss gonna reave you out here ry yourshelf! Id’d be woo’d!”

 

“Sir, perhaps my acoustical sensors are malfunctioning, but neither of the last two statements you made could be parsed with more than 6% confidence. I believe it would be prudent for me to perform diagnostics on them; one moment.”

 

You just roll your eyes as Rook’s avatar winks out and you hear a series of intermittent beeps from the little AI. The door to the cabin draws near, and you are reminded once again of your stature as it towers over you. Noises can be heard through the door, but even with your admittedly improved hearing they’re too soft to make out. You place Rook on the stone step between yourself and the door and sit down, his only reaction a few more beeps.

 

Guess this is the moment of truth, then. You think back over your options, but the chill of the wind on your now-damp coat reminds you just how limited they are. You set your hoof against the door firmly, and with a final nervous sigh, knock twice.

 

The noises from inside cease immediately, and you wait through a moment of nothing but the sound of rain coming down before you knock again, and quickly hear footsteps towards to door. The latch clicks, and the door is pulled slowly open, its hinges groaning slightly. You lean back a little as you look up at Astrid, her eyes red, and cheeks streaked with tears. A large fuzzy blanket hangs from her shoulders, one cloth-wrapped hand holding it to her chest, while the other and grips the door, trembling.

 

Rain patters against the roof as the two of you stare at each other awkwardly. She looks like she really hadn’t expected to see you again, and to be fair; it wasn’t without much trepidation that you found yourself here. You decide to break the silence before it drags on much further.

 

“Um, hi.”

 

She startles, as if snapping back to reality. “Hi...” Her answer is in a small, almost fragile, voice.

 

“...Uh, may I come in?”

 

"Ah— oh, yes, of course!" She looks a little shell-shocked as she pulls the door further open and steps aside.

 

“Thanks, it’s cold out here.”

 

As you step inside and make your way to the warm stove, you see that the place is an absolute mess. You aren’t sure how much of it was from the incident earlier, but you bet you’d have remembered those two pints of chocolate ice cream that now lay empty next to the couch. Or the fact that it was piled high with what looked like nearly every blanket and pillow the cabin had to offer. The rest of the room hadn’t fared much better; the table had been tipped over, torn scraps of paper littering the floor around it, the shotgun itself was nowhere to be seen (although the damage it had done to the old wooden floor wasn’t hard to spot), a lamp hung broken from the wall, and the kitchen cupboards were flung open haphazardly, their contents scattered over the counters.

 

Guess upset might be an understatement...

 

You sit down on the rug and let the heat of the fire soak into your damp fur. A large black burn next to you matches the end of your mane. Thinking about it, in but a single day this rug has seen you wake up as one very panicked p0ny, get pummeled by a pillow, tackled tenaciously, and then suddenly sedated by someone you had suspected of being a psychopath! Alas; all the alliteration in the world can’t help your unease as Astrid’s stare bores into your back.

 

You turn back to see her still holding the open door, her face unsure.

 

“Hey, why don’t you shut the door and come sit down?” The instant you speak she starts again and immediately averts her eyes, choosing to examine a knot in the floor as she answers instead.

 

“Uh, right, sure...” She softly pushes the door closed with a click and shuffles over, still not making eye contact. She hovers for a moment, looking between the carpet next to you and the couch, rocking from foot to foot, before simply pulling the entire pile onto the floor and sitting down on it.

 

You laugh a little at her makeshift seating, and she stares at you in disbelief. Your mirth dies in your throat and turn back to the fire in silence.

 

“Why?” Her question is barely more than a whisper.

 

You turn back to her. "Sorry, what?"

 

"Why?" she repeats, eyes locked, voice building. "Why did you come back? Why didn't you go back to wherever it is you came from?! Why—" her voice catches, and when she continues, it sounds low and strained once more. "Why aren't you angry?"

 

You hold her searching stare a moment before sighing and directing your attention back to the flames.

 

"Well... I might be a little angry, but there's not much for it. I don't think I'd even make it till morning out there if the weather gives us a repeat of last night," you say, gesturing towards the darkening storm outside.

 

A tiny squeaking whimper from behind you is her only response. You turn to see her eyes brimming with tears, large bundle of blankets clutched to her chest like a stuffed toy.

 

Oh, smooth move, Freud; you just told your emotionally unstable hostess that her company was preferable to a slow death by hypothermia. Real freaking comforting.

 

"Hey, no, look; at first I thought you were gonna ship me off to some lab or zoo or something."

 

Her expression made it clear that you aren't helping things.

 

"But I believe what you said about that, and you just seemed so distraught about the whole thing— and I've been through some rough times lately myself..." Damn, now you’re starting to choke up! "...so I couldn't walk away and leave you like that, could I? Besides, misery loves company, right? Just, uh. No more needles, okay?"

 

Tears run down her face as she nods with an enthusiastic smile, "Yes, I promise; no more needles, no more tricks, nothing!” Ah, there we go. You’re actually cheering her up! “I really never meant to scare you, I didn't think that it would— I really just wasn’t thinking. I always screw it up somehow...” Aaand it’s gone.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, we all make mistakes sometimes, right?” You reach out with a hoof, trying to sound encouraging.

 

“No!” Her sudden outburst causes you to withdraw. “It’s not okay! And it’s not sometimes, it’s every-time! Every single time I think I’ve made a friend I go and screw it up! I’ll say something insulting, or brag about my education, or snap at them, or—” Her eyes go wide as her mouth clamps shut; realizing she had been yelling. She finds another spot on the floor to look at as she continues quietly, absently picking at the burnt section of the carpet. “I’m sorry. See what I mean? It’s always the same... I should leave you alone...” She weeps silently as she rises and shuffles her way out of her blanket pile.

 

“Hey...” You stand and turn, halting her retreat with a hoof against her leg. “Really; it’s okay.” You stand for a moment, looking up at her tangled hair and tear streaked face— if she felt as bad as she looked, then you know she’d need this— then sit at her feet and wrap her leg in a tight, fuzzy, hug.

 

First a sniffle, then a whimper, and soon she’s bawling her eyes out as she stoops to return the embrace. For a long while you both lay in the pile of blankets, commiserating tearfully as you let out the emotions that had been built up. For you, the fear of what you had become, and the pain at having possibly lost your entire future. And for Astrid, the sorrow at years of ruined friendships, and relief from the hope that maybe, just this once, it might turn out alright.

 

~

 

*beep*

 

*boop*

 

*happy-chirp*

 

“I am pleased to report that the sensor calibration was successful, Zenith. Please assist me in a final test by repeating one of your previous statements,” a confident sounding Rook announced to the dark stormy sky and wet grass. The wind blew rain onto him and the front door of the cabin, despite the small overhang of the roof.

 

“... Zenith?”

 

Silence.

 

“… Mistress Astrid?”

 

Only the sound of rain is there to keep him company.

 

“Typical user error.”