Catalyst 2.0: Homewrecker

>A large, circular, flat courtyard made of polished metal.  Encircling it is a set of inch-wide ramps, which ascend to curving, thin walls that grow thinner as they taper off into a point.  On the concave surface, holograms of Twilight Firmware's products ripple over the walls.  Stairs lead to the glass doors of the lobby, while you stand at the opposing staircase that leads to the street.
>You'd gone down a bit too early.  Rarity had already been away on one of her many errands; today, you had opted to stay home while she returned with Sweet Heart.   She'd said going out on your own accord was... “unwise.”
>It was sunny.  Warm.  The wind was clean and happy, rolling over your figure while you stood with a patient smile.
>Days like these you appreciated, for the time being.  Languid, sleepy, and slow, it was the sort of time you were unaccustomed to.  So much of your energy had been spent in so many other, less amiable ways.
>You looked to the sky.  Barely clouded, even the weather ponies were enjoying a supple day.
>Insignificance.
>The perfect way to live.
>Why, then, did you feel so improper embracing it?
>Perhaps it was the sun, or staring up at it like a moron, that made your head start to hurt.  You were starting to get a migraine. Did ponies have migraine medicine?
>While you were contemplating the first world-shattering potential epiphany about the miracle of pony aspirin, Rarity arrived right on queue.  The transport pod cracked open, and your giggling girls stepped outside.  Rarity's dainty, elegant trot was offset by Sweet Hearts happy, placating bounce.
>If there was anything she picked up from Pinkie's extended stay, that would have to be it.  You were thankful that, so far, it had been the ONLY thing she'd picked up.

>Rarity quickened her pace when she spotted you, sitting there, a proud smile on her face.  You stood up straighter as she approached, always ready for her playful criticism.  You always appreciated it- you couldn't recall a time, ever, that you'd wanted to improve your appearance for any reason.  Aside from when she demanded it.
>You knew the concept of “pussy whipped.”  Her critiques, though, were always so professional. You always felt cleaner, and perhaps just a little better than whom you'd been before, when she was done.
>She paused before you.  She gave you a proper, judgemental pout.
>Then, she leaned in, and nuzzled nose to nose with you.  Sweet Heart stuck her tongue out and gave a faux gag, before Rarity curled up next to you and cuddled.  Sweet Heart lifted a brow, and tilted her head.
>You shot her the same look.  Shaddup, kid.  You'll be at that point, someday.  Not before you had a say in it, of course.
>You hear a whistle from the doors.  You turn to see Pinkie, calling out hello's in varying forms at a million miles an hour.  She was waving frantically, and Sweet Heart made a mad dash for “Aunt Pinkie.”
>God, your head was hurting.  Was it Pinkie's voice? It hadn't caused this before.  Maybe it was finally getting to you.
>You winced.  Rarity took notice, but smiled back at Pinkie. “Be a dear and take Sweet Heart to the penthouse won't you?” she called out.  Pinkie saluted like a fuzzy neon soldier, and the two bounced inside.
>”How was today?” she asked.
“The same as it has been.”
>You put a hoof to your head.  The outer shell of your head feels quite numb, the twinge coming from deep in the center of your brain.  It felt like something sharp was rotating inside, always on the opposite spin of the direction you were rubbing.

“Boring as hell.  Games, history, the like.”
>”Well, it always did fascinate you, didn't it?  Aren't you happy to finally be kicking back and enjoying it?”
“Of course I am, it's all new to me and there is a lot of it. It's just- ow.  I think I need to get some exercise or something.”
>Your ears started to ring.  They poured a dizzying pain into your jaw, making your very teeth sore as they rubbed up against your cheek.
>”Are you alright, Darling?”
“I think it's just cabin fever.  I know that sounds stupid, but I really think I should get out there. You know, explore a little.”
>Pop.  Your eardrums send a jolt through your body.  Standing upright becomes priority.  You can almost taste Rarity's proximity, the feeling deep in your chest and causing a sickly roll to your stomach.
“What in the FUCK-”
>”Language, dear! What's the matter?”
>The back of your neck starts to viciously burn.  You smell ozone.  A crackling, indecipherable jumble of blue text characters cycles into incomprehensible words on your AR vision.
>The AR vision that was supposed be completely disabled.
“The collar.”
>You choke back vomit from the vertigo.
>Rarity moves to touch it, at first.  She sees something, and jumps back a little. “Guards!” she cries out.  Another window comes up.  You recognize it as an alert ping; you only know because of the bloody red border.  The rest is numbers, letters, and boxes of white noise.
>You can feel the clothing around the collar starting to crisp.  You put both hooves to it, sitting on your haunches.  You can only manage a weak push against it, without leverage, from below. Your hooves slip several times each before you can manage a decent push.
>Rarity, with that prosthetic muscle suit, fares far better.

>A Twilight Firmware guard to either side of you, they watch as she yanks.  The vulcanized bits of rubber covering her front hooves start to melt.  You feel your flesh burning, and start to scream.
>With crackling pop, it comes free. Rarity, having to tug with such force, tumbles away with it.  The “safety” bindings, the ones adhered comfortably to your neck with the reactive suction tips, fly away with bits of your skin.
>Just like that, the pain in your head is gone.  The wet itch at where the clamps had been, the burn on the back of your neck.  They remain.  With the sudden jolt of otherwise painless adrenaline, they are miniscule.
>Systems rebooting. Please wait...
>You can stand again.  Your legs recover their dexterity, and your head fills with actual, painless thought.
>Your AR fuzzes over, and locks.  When it clearly returns, the warning text is gone.  Only the blue text recovers, printing quickly, and accurately this time.
>Command unit detected.  Re-establishing combat unity...
>Pings of violet color light up. One over each guard, one over Rarity.  You look around, and see a hive of pings rustling about in the Tower lobby.
>There is another ping, though.  Lingering on the vertical edge of your vision, a small triangle points upward like an arrow.
>It is blue.
>You turn quickly, Rarity rising to her feet. She dashes over, putting a hoof to your chest.  She pats down the area around the tingling burn at the back of your neck, muttering coos of attempted, if confused comfort.
>You look up, gritting your teeth as your burnt skin crumples like cracked plastic.  You zone in on the blue ping.  Your distance check labels it as at least fifty floors up.
>The height of the penthouse.

>Two more pings close in upon it.  One pink, the other white.  You squint, using the zoom and clarify function on the HD portion of your AR.  A small screen opens up.  A single form, feathered and wearing leather, is clawing it's way up the beams intersecting the tower glass, hopping from one beam to the next as it climbs.
“There!”
>You point upward.  Rarity and the guards eye you a moment.
“There goddamnit!”
>They look up.  From the corner of your eyes, you see holographic lights glow within the ocular visors on the guards helmets.
>”Breach.” One says.  He puts a hoof to his helmet, while the other runs inside. “Aerial breach- what the hell are you punks doing up there? Wake up!”  He points to you.  “Stay here.”
>You look back to him, and tilt your head.
“No.”
>You start to move to the doors. He puts a foreleg in front of you, blocking your entry.
>”We have strict orders to keep you contained during a situation without the collar.  Please, don't make this hard.” He makes a quick jerk with his head, motioning for Rarity to step away.
>You look at his ping.
“Go fuck yourself.”
>You institute a maintenance lock.  His armor freezes, the powered assault suit losing it's connection to it's cells.  Stuck in place, you start to hear him struggle inside the unexpected prison.
>Combat Unity failed.  No accessable port for coherent connection.
>Please report this malfunction to Operative in person so they may rectify the situation.
>You look back up, just in time to see the coated figure scramble onto the penthouse balcony.  You dart around the systems-locked guard, yelling to Rarity.

“Move goddamnit! They're going to get inside the house!”
>The blue, pink, and white pings meet.  They are only meters apart.
>Rarity is taken aback. One foreleg lifted, fearfully confused at the guard cursing in his armor, she gives him one last look as she follows you. “Who?”
“Does it matter?”
>You graze past the automatic glass doors, and leap over the front desk.  Against your better judgement, you isolate the first decrypted file Twilight had cleansed.  You isolate a single sensation, plucking it from the recall like a pill from a bottle.  You load the moment into your uplink, letting the feeling trickle into your flesh through digital memory.
>40 cc's administered... Resetting...
>Your heart beats stronger, but calmer.  Your body cools.  You turn in the elevator and stand, the agility or your actions refined to the perfection of a machine.  The world slowed, you override the elevator, barely giving Rarity's tail the time it needed to avoid being severed as she entered.  You had timed it to tenths of a second.
>The hell of the past was coming to greet you, lash out at your friends and family?  Fine.  You'd treat it just how you'd been forced to experience it.
>Ruthlessly, and without remorse.
–

>One, two, THREE.
>Pain flashed in Gilda's chest. Rather than going numb, her body felt alive after each brutal, deep burst.  She welcomed the following, natural tensing of the muscles, each time her claws met with a new beam.
>How long had she been doing it? Two, three minutes?  Her feline half had her clearing a floor with each jump.  She'd had to time it properly, making sure her body was flush against the solid decks, and not exposed at a window.
>The easiest part, of course, had been getting his address.  Of course it would have been in an opposing company tower.
>Did they even know the copyrights they'd violated? The contractual obligations?
>Then again, did she herself even care?
>She laughed a little at herself at the idea.  One, two, THREE.
>She could have just gone to the front desk, sure.  She could have asked nicely, that would've been fine.  The doctors had said, though, that she'd needed the blood flow for the uplink to boot faster.
>She couldn't think of a better way than physical activity.  Oh, and the sheer, unbridled thrill at causing a potential intercorporate incident.  Sure and fine was well and good, but what she was doing she'd be able to write home about.
>If only her chest still hadn't been hurting, she could have just used her wings and gotten it started so much faster.
>One, two, THREE.
>She barely made the grab on the balcony.  Hanging by her front talons, she peered downward.  She hadn't ever really been scared of heights. she grinned as the thought of plummeting, the wound in her chest snapping her wings to her torso out of instinct, caused her head to pound.
>Cheating death, making news, and greeting an old friend. That was before she got inside, and the guards managed to identify her. Today was going to be a good fucking day.

>She dug her talons into the balcony, leaving deep pock marks within the metal.  She dragged herself atop, her back paw lifting to let her roll fully onto it.  She steadied her breathing, holding a fierce breath of air that made her scar singe.
>She stood and exhaled.  Through the glass, she could already see she was in unfamiliar ground.  Ritzy, expensive crap all over the place.  The TV was larger than her entire body, and she wasn't exactly small.
>She could see the lock on the glass.  It went unused- safety always seemed guaranteed, at least in their own minds, for the rich folk.  She'd learned that on old kill missions.
>This, though.  This was different.
>She slid the door open, and strolled inside.  Against those bare back paws, even the floor was soft.  She started to look around.
>So this is what you left behind? She thought. No wonder you wanted to get back so badly.  That doesn't mean it wasn't precisely the wrong thing to do, though, Freakshow.
>She didn't feel like she had the right to judge, though.  This kind of room was always the kind she'd wanted, though perhaps made of cloud and with some black here and there.
>Whatever.

>She made her way to the opposite side of the room.  A small hall, adorned with paintings on either side, led to an ornate wooden door.  Wood- now there was something she hadn't seen used in a long time.
>Voices came from beyond. Female voices.  She was already halfway down the hall, and didn't have time to scurry back into the living room.
>As the wooden door split open, an old, familiar pink face looked up from a filly down below.  She looked at Gilda, as the griffon's heart lifted gleefully.
>”Well,” she said to the pony with a grin.  She ignored the kid's quirk of brow, hunching over with a trembling growl.  “This day is just getting better.”
–

>The elevator doors glide open. Without more than a millimeter on either side, your body lurches forward into a sprint.  The air does not blur.  Everything feels so slow- even you.
>There was only one way it could possibly benefit you, you knew.  That was when you finally got to where you needed to be.
>Rarity stumbled, falling behind.  You could not fault her on it.  You found your turns had become perfect, ninety-degree changes of direction, no speed actually lost. The combat code had partially booted in the elevator; it was calculating your steps for you.
>The blue ping ahead of you was flush over the pink one.  The white one was several meters away, and from what you could tell, was already inside the house.
>Were you too late?
>From ahead, there is a slam.  You recognize it as armor impacting metal, quick, consecutive impacts dictating that the joints of a body, and perhaps the back of a helmeted head, were slamming into a wall.
>A loud, rough, female laugh came. The pang of bullets sounded off, and you were brought to a dead stop as tracers flew past your face.  You stood still, watching an armored Twilight Firmware's guard slide to a stop.
>You accessed the ping bio-monitors.  They were not dead; merely unconscious.  The white one, Sweet Heart, had a quickened heartbeat.  The speed was nothing in comparison to the pink ping, though.
>Both of which, though, were moving. And moving quickly toward you.
>you time it.
>You miss.

>Your body slams into the wall.  You use the force to bounce off of it, spinning where you stand to turn around.  She was gripping the scruff of Pinkie's clothing like a mother cat, and had jumped to clear the unconscious guard.  She turns to face you, while Pinkie tries to get to her feet beneath the larger creature.  Still mostly lifted, she can only touch her dangling back hooves to the floor.
>Gilda scowls at you, and out of all the things she could then do, smiles.  She hugs Pinkie close to her coat, an arm below Pinkies forelegs to keep her aloft, wiggling and squealing.  “Well, well.  How ya been, buddy?”
“Put her down. NOW.”
>Gilda grins.  Extends her arm in one quick swipe, sending Pinkie into a dizzying aerial spin while she flies away.  Rarity turns the corner just in time to watch Pinkie land on her back and slide, nearly tripping the white unicorn.  She looks down at Pinkie, lifting a foreleg, before crouching down over her. “I'm okay!” she exclaims, from the floor.
>Rarity stands tall, hurdling her and taking a place by your side.
>The combat code assesses Gilda's armaments.  Or, rather, it would have, if she had anything beyond that which was natural.  The most it acknowledges is that thick leather coat, and the potential of the thermal underweave to lightly deflect cryogenic assault.
>Gilda looks to Rarity, then to you. “This ain't cuttin it. We need privacy.”  She looks to the window across the hall.  Giving you a one-finger salute, she starts to run afterwards.
“Get Sweet Heart.”
>Rarity gives you one glance out of the corner of her eye, before she's gone.
>The glass shatters, and before it's barely lifted into the air, you are already in a full gallop.  Rarity looks back as, without a sliver of hesitation, you leap after the griffon.

>She's sliding on the glass, her talons scraping as if on a chalkboard.  Downy, brown feathers lift past you as you push your weight back, the barely-there angle and rubberized hoof covers slow your fall.  Past the grinning griffon, you see the ground.
>Your distance check subroutine instantly labels it as fatal.
>She grips a horizontal beam, one of many that is bumping past your flank as you slide.  She reaches back, talons splayed, and jams it into the glass.  You finally reach her, but not before she gives another strike, her weight trailing a sheet airborne, broken glass.
>Your combat code calculates the jump.  You free fall for at least three meters, pushing yourself from the glass and into the air.  You fall neatly through the whole she's made into the lower level, crunching onto crumbs of safety glass.  You finally blink; the entire slide, your initial arrival.
>It had taken seven point two six seconds.
>The workers are backing away from her.  Every eye is upon her, and you, as you take a single half step forward, lowering your head. You feel the twinge of rage thin your eyes, and tighten your jaw.
>Gilda rolls her head on her shoulders, cracking her neck. “Not a soul to care about is around.  All sorts of glossy shit to ruin.  This is just you and me all over again, huh?”  She extends on talon, giving a come hither motion.
>”Now that we have a rapport again, Freakshow-  I only got one thing left to say.  Lets see if you can understand it.”
–

>The air around her opened.  She could FEEL it expanding, as all those lab-coated ponies started to inch away.  Air whistled through her beak, as she felt the heat building in her scalp.  It let her ignore the pain inside her chest- fight rage, her squad had called it.
>Then he stood, starting to walk toward her.  His posture... The hate.  The anger, latched entirely upon HER.  She could practically see it.  It was so focused, and was absolutely beautiful.
>That's it, she thought. Show it to mommy.  Show me what you brought home. Show me what you thought you could get rid of.
>She nipped some kind of white wafer from the nearest table.  Blue lines of barely noticed circuitry glinted in the light- she slung it toward him with every ounce of strength, and it moved like a gunshot.
>Gilda saw his pupils dilate for an instant, the glow of integrated AR flashing across his eyes. It appeared, likely to everyp0ny else, that he hadn't moved.  She, however, knew better.
>She saw the miniscule movement in his step.  All four hooves on the ground, he had pushed ever so lightly to the side.  His AR had calculated the speed, curve, angle.  He'd processed it in less than the instant it had taken to leave her claw, and dodged it with even less of a step.
>It zipped out of the broken window, and disappeared from sight.  His pupils shrunk to pinpoints.  His body had not missed a step, and his slow, relentless, unforgiving approach had not been swayed.
>That's what she adored about him.
>He was not fast.  He was not strong.  He was not even large.  He was not, by any means, visibly dangerous.
>Tightly compressed, mathematical calculations bordering on monomolecular perfection.  Situational awareness, programmed into his skull, that left him appearing omniscient.  No fear.

>When he was pissed off, with a purpose, he had been the most gorgeously efficient thing she had ever seen.
>That claim to fame nearly brought tears of joy back into her eyes.
>And she had missed out on witnessing it the first time, when it had been turned upon her.
>Oh no, she thought.  You are not forgetting that, Freakshow.  Every single living thing around you deserves to see it.  Especially me.
>She giggled.
–

>The wafer slices the air past your cheek.  Titanium alloy, three dimensional vertical circuitry.  A supercomputer chip, gliding past you as if it had been nothing more than a weighted, sharpened child's toy.  Speed monitors ripped into your eyes.
>It would have lodged at least halfway inside your skull, had you not moved.  It had been so easy...
“Don't fuck with me, Gilda.  What are you doing here?”
>Another flew past, the tender, near microscopic manpulation of your body's muscles causing it again to miss.  You had already closed half the gap, enraged, but hungry for a legitimate answer.
>”I'm a monster.” she said.  “A bitch of combat so stubborn that tearing out an implant connected to one of my hearts couldn't even kill me.”  She hopped backwards, widening the distance between you and her by several meters. Her front flush with the floor, her tail writhing in the air, she laughed.  “You and me shared something oh so close- And you have the balls to ask WHY I'm saying hello, and not HOW?”
>She is in the center of the room.  A wide circle that leads to the rest of the tables, the dustless room had plenty of other things she could weaponize.  She was not, however, near any of them.
>You lower your head and charge.
>She leaps vertically.  Clutching into the circular depression holding the ceiling light, her claws embedded into the glass, it starts to flicker.   She pulls herself upward to stand upon it, looking at you from above.
>You reach a dead stop beneath her, your eyes never having left her.
>”I'm your goddamn war sister.  What exactly did you think you could leave behind, if I survived?”

>You crouch.  Overriding the limits on your synthetic musculature, you jump straight up, the force behind it causing every fiber in your legs to burn with pain.  It fades almost instantly, as the sound of the world tunes to that of deep, drowning quality water.
>Your weight slams into her.  The impact of it fractures the plastic covering of the light, and as you both start to fall, she tries to cling to it.  It falls from it's base, and your responses are fast enough that you land on all four legs.  You shoulder the weight of the light fixture, your head down, and roll it off your body as you stand.  Gilda spins in the air, sucking in air through her beak as she manages to land near you.
>You lift your right back leg, the hoof over her head.  Another override, and it slams to the floor with the equivalent force of a piston. Gilda pushes back with her front legs, sending her weight away from where you are aiming.  You leave a broken dent in the floor, the time between the apex and impact point of your hoof barely above the millisecond mark.  A red monitor appears on your AR, indicating a sprain.
>There is no pain.
>Her feline legs lift her in a leap. Her claws open, one grips the side of your neck, the other drawn back to plunge forward into your ribs.  You allow the first impact, your perception letting you turn the instant you feel her grip on your throat.

>It pulls her, sending your flank into her shoulder.  Her own momentum slings her in a wide circle, your neck the fulcrum.  She does something you do not expect.  She legs go.
>It sends her flying, her back legs lifted. She springs them down to bring herself to a sliding stop atop one of the tables, lab equipment slinging in every direction.
>In the time it's taken it all to unfold so far, none of the lab ponies have even made it halfway to the panic rooms.
>You allow them the duration they need, intersecting your gaze with hers.  The two of you freeze, watching one another, waiting for the next move. Against your expectations again, Gilda gives a slow stand. She's letting them leave, you thought.  Careless cruelty in pure form, and she was showing them offhand mercy?
>Why?
>”You don't have any idea how bad you screwed up, do you?” she asks.  “Luna owns you, Freakshow.  Soul, but not body.  But then again, did you ever have a body to call your own?”
“I. Renounce. Her.”
>She cackles. “That's what I'm talking about!  That's how you fucked up!”  She unzips the underweave on her coat.  A glistening gash, still seeming fresh, is held together by a stretchy, clear gel.  You can see her sternum through it.
>”I said the same damn thing, AFTER she installed the chip.” She jumps to the side, and your head follows her. She has a view on your side, a gamble on your part.  You wanted to tempt her into taking that same, vital attack on your exposure.
>She does not take it.

>”And then,” she holds out an upturned claw. “I had to work for her sorry ass anyway.  So many kill routines, right in a little piece of plastic. But, you came along.” She shook her head and laughed.  She was at the exit door to the lab, a wide, tall rectangle.  The detox room beyond, the automatic door hissed open.
>You access the ping of the far door.  You make no motion to reveal that you opened it for her.  Old tricks were the best... It was merely a matter of timing them to crash down on a spine.
>Though, as you were now, would it really be that difficult?
>She grabs a microscope upon the floor. “Even with that black bitch inside the chip,” she said.  “Even with every hatred in my soul about you and Rainbow coming out all at once- you fucking beat me.” She tossed the microscope back, and it skidded to a stop a the corner of the far door.
>You try to lock her inside, instead of shearing her in half.  The doors automatic protocols, the very ones you hadn't thought to even try and penetrate, slam atop the microscope.  The force with which the door shuts is not enough to crush it.
>”and all that shit I had, all those restraints- you tore them right out of me!  You set me free!”
>She ran into the detox chamber.  The far door still not having reset, the first slid shut as the routine activated.  The chemicals pour over her, beading on her feathers like water on sealed wood.  The liquid drips off her in orbs, and she continues to smile at you through the observation window.
>The far door opens, the cycle completing.  The first door remains sealed, your AR pinging back a command fault due to still-functioning internal process.  You are locked out, her body shielded from yours by three solid inches of reinforced glass and metal.

>”My new weave hasn't booted yet.” she told you. “that's why I'm here.  Luna can't see me yet.  Not like I am. Thing is, she can't see what I'm saying to you yet either.”
>She taps a talon on the glass, twice. “Thank you, for letting me remember what free thought meant.  That's where we BOTH fucked up- letting each other think we could, with HER around. I wonder, though.  Where you are now, what you're settling in to do.”
>You slam on the side of the door. You had accessed the diagnostics, and found supposed weak points in it's internal structure.  You pummel one with your hoof, trying to weaken it.  No matter how you damage yourself in doing so, it does not give.
>”Was it your choice? Does that mean you're free?”  She backs away, lingering to watch you.  Before long, she is already starting to sprint, and you see the blue ping tearing away.
>The imprisonment by Vinyl.  Your awakening in the new body.  Surrounded by comfort and able to break ties to your past.
>Was that freedom?
>Caring little for now, you enter the detox chamber.  The processes hard wired into physical, unlinked nodes, you are forced to wait.  You tug the microscope, with some effort, out of the gap it creates in the door so the routines may complete however many slivers of a second faster it could when uninterrupted.
>A message pinged onto your AR.  General alert, from the CEO, wanting an update.  You see a flurry of return messages, flowing through the heirarchy.  Workers and secretaries, to guards, to captains.  They languish between rank as they are filtered and compiled.
>Moniker: I'm almost back, Rarity.
>You look around. Both doors sealed, cold fluid hisses over your combat-heated form.  If you were receiving messages, you still had a solid signal.
>If so, this would do just fine.

>Anonymous3: Twilight. Give me access to the Agents.
>It takes seconds for her to respond.
>Moniker: What the hell are you doing out of the collar?
>Anonymous3: The guards can't stop her.  Access codes. NOW.  Do it or she gets away.
>Time passes.  An agonizing wait, your thoughts blur into rising revilement for the witholding.
>Then, they dissipate when a file arrives.
>When next you open your eyes, all the ignored pain, heat, and sweat is gone.  You feel bulky.  You peer down to a long, flowing violet coat, emblazoned with the Twilight Firmware icon.
>You crack your neck.  The magnetic seals on the weapons unleash, thin bars sliding from the coat and hovering a miniaturized railgun slug in the chamber.
>You turn to your right.  Lined up are three more, each dressed, armed, and tall.  Your vision splits.
>Four screens appear, enlarged by the upgraded AR within each.  Viewing through four pairs of engineered eyes, you bypass the speed locks on the processors.
>Time slows.  The combat code maintains it's hold on basic motor functions, diverting to your 18ghz thought speed for more complicated thought.  You all leave the pads in unison.
>Lets see you deal with four of me at once, you fucking cunt.

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41ngnsC8w4E&list=FL-YahwQGNZ9zgLrbsnfczFA&index=8&feature=plpp_video)
–

>Gilda bounced over the edge of the stairs.  She didn't bother actually using them, and had managed a tidy rhythm of jumps from one level to the next.  It was still a long way down, but no guards were in sight.
>She paused, paying attention to her breath. In, out.  In, out.  She'd have to retain the pace, but to do it, she'd need precious oxygen.
>Finally, a single, distant ant appeared at the bottom.  Cloaked arrogantly in purple, it strolled leisurely from the bottom floor. Clear from even thirty floors up, it was obvious the dweeb had spotted her.  Out of his own perceived ability, he did not radio for help.
>Idiot.
>She resumed the rhythm.  How to take him down, she thought.  A head pounce? Use his weight to crack his jaw on the floor?  Wait until she was near enough, then drag him off over the railing?
>She didn't want to get too violent, even if he did.  She'd said her piece, and wanted to leave with as little damage done as possible.
>She still respected what Freakshow was trying to do, after all.
>At the twenty fifth floor, she looked in mid jump to see where he was.
>Nowhere.  He was gone.
>Where in the actual fuck? How could a stallion like that just-
>The metal stairs clanged.  With it, they lifted from below.  Another hit arrived, and they bent vertically, knocking her off balance.
>She saw a pair of hooves between the gap.  One went to the underside of the flat metal stair, and then both forelegs started to push it apart.  Like a child ripping off the flaps of a cardboard box, the stair flew upwards when it's bolts failed.

>He looked at her.  His pupils formed of interlocking hexagons, he watched her without a glint of worry.  He'd cleared 25 flights of stairs, likely just as she had, in the time it had taken her to “fall” over five.
>This, she thought. This was some shit.
>As he pulled himself up onto the stairs to stand, the weakened structure whining under his weight, she scrambled to the closest door.  She looked to the sign greeting her.
>Astrology.
>The ornamented swinging door hadn't shut, before the blast door did.  Locked inside, she looked about for anything she could use.  That monster arrived on the other side of the reinforced glass, began to pace, and watched her.  Something had set that door off- and without klaxons or audio warnings lighting up the tower, she knew it wasn't security.
>Holographic globes flickered to life.  Stars lit up the room as it darkened, floating through the air in a gentle sway. A narration arrived, talking about Celestian astrology and it's roots.
>It didn't take Gilda long to find the speaker.  Using her beak, she ripped into the projector, tearing out the sound module. Annoying goddamn piece of-
>WHAM.
>She turned to the blast door.
>He was bucking it.  Each push tried to disperse the impact.  The swinging doors slammed open, even though the attack was coming from the opposite side of a door made to absorb gel based explosive concussion.
>WHAM.
>The cosmetic doors left their hinges, and the blast door cracked.  The metal seals had warped already, and the entire thing had started to buckle.  She ran from the door, unable to fully see, and met the wall with a thump.
>What kind of grass was this bastard eating?

>WHAM.
>Another came from her right.  Nothing in sight, her eyes still adjusting, she watched through the holographic moon.  The next hit, she was able to feel through her entire body.
>WHAM.
>A ragged hole appeared in the wall.  Maintenance lights spilled a sickly red glow into the room.  Dust curled over the figure as a chunk of destroyed, broken rebar concrete flew past and crashed into the constellations behind her.  His silhouette was that of the same stallion outside, brandishing the long, heavy looking coat.
>His eyes.  They were glowing.  Like a tiny honeycomb of LED's, bright violet light bloomed from them and spilled along his cheek and brow.
>She pushed off the wall.  The distinct feel of glass was at her talons.  A window?
>Bullets ruptured the ceiling.  Round after round, she turned to see the heated metal leaving sizzling streaks and soccer-ball sized holes.  The portion of the ceiling caved, and down fell another stallion.  When he met the floor, the entire room shook, and his weight left a cracked crater between the holes of his munitions.
>His searing eyes turned their violet gaze to her.
>Controls.  Where were the controls for the skylight? She started to run her talons over the beam, flattening to the wall, as if it could allow her to get further away.
>WHAM.
>Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me, she thought.
>WHAM.
>A section of floor crumbled upward.  One last figure flew through it in a single jump, halfway to the 60-meter high ceiling in a leap.  He landed in a stomp, flattening the holographic projector in the center of the room.  One more set of shimmering, violet eyes, while every light meant for the room had been doused.
>WHAM.

>She tossed herself to the ground.  Though she could not see it, she knew what that sound had meant.  The blast door met the metal sheath covering the glass from the outside; the window had been between. The glass met with oblivion, while a half ton of broken steel and reinforced plastic slid to an uncerimonious stop.  Gilda pulled herself to stand.
>The room had light from so many sources.  The hole in the ceiling, the hole in the floor.  The maintenance hall that had been on the other side of the wall, the stairwell across the room.
>The brightest, the most focused, were those glowering violet eyes.
>They did not move.  Each one covered each exit they had made; they were not stupid.
>Which meant she, was currently screwing the pooch.
>There was a mechanical whirr.  The metal cover over what had once been a glass skylight separated at it's center, a vertical crescent of light opening to a wedge.
>The blast door initial sealing.  The opening window.  Somebody likes me, she thought.  She dove, putting most of her leather to the floor.  The moment she was in the light, she pushed up, leaping over the railing and into the open sky.
>One thing she saw they did not have, were wings.  It would hurt like hell, but they would NOT be catching her.
>She swiveled in the air, flaring out her wings.  She screamed, the shrill, avian cry rippling out of her lungs as the  pain tried to push the feathered appendages back down.
>Whud.  Her entire body went numb at the shock.
>The feel of a gliding fall was replaced with a backwards jerk.  All around her, she felt pressure, a single grip around her torso.  Against what was bare, she felt sandpaper texture holding her tight.

>Back inside the room, there was a resounding crash as something landed with her.  She dangled in the air, pounding and clawing at the thing on her.  It didn't even register on whatever it was made of, her talons actually scraping along top of it harmlessly.
>Scales?
>Fingers?
>Her eyes slid up one massive, purple-green arm.  Held tightly in it's hand, it overturned, her perspective twisting as whatever it was turned her to face it.
>A pair of beady, green eyes held vertically slit pupils.  When she heard the dragon breath, green flames spiraled from the gaps between it's teeth, and from it's nostrils.
>On it's back, a purple-clad pony pushed up out of some kind of riding saddle.  Amorphously cushioned to her body, it was strapped to the dragon like a tiny backpack, leaving her prone.  She'd been laying along the creature's back, a violet body suit clashing against the white of the saddle.
>The helmet unfolded, the sections sliding around the hole made for her horn.  She looked down at the griffon.  Twilight Sparkle, Gilda recognized, was not happy with how her tower had been treated.
>”With everything that's happened, all the garbage that's been going on with all of my friends, and with all the things that COULD happen- I was really eager to find you before it came to anything like this.” She  shook her head.  “You realize, you could have just... I don't know. Asked nicely?”
>As the light poured over her, Gilda laughed breathlessly as she brought both front legs to bear.  “That,” she began.  She closed her claws into fists, and extended her middle talons upward. “Is against everything I stand for.”
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