Catalyst Ch 6: Succubi

>Even with every ounce of technology the ponies had made, the trip to the moon was a long one.
>Twilight had chartered a “flight,” a cruise ship of sorts that felt more akin to a plane than anything you'd expected.
“Why didn't you just create teleports?”
>”It's a magical technique, not something that can be put into a piece of technology.” Twilight said.  “Magic powers devices, but it still can't be fully replaced.”
>A twinge of curiosity, a questioning spark.
>Why then, had they been able to store you?
>It didn't make much sense at the time, but then again, they did say they almost lost you.
>And you were mostly biological, if engineered.
>You filled in your own blanks on the trip, and the gravity of what you actually were started to set in.
>Rarity had busied herself with designs, a line of personal, cosmetic alterations to her muscle suit. It didn't stop her from pausing to nudge you comfortably now and then.
>Twilight busied herself in some kind of research. From your distance, you could see she was reviewing the holofootage from the convention massacre, over and and over.
>Your security detail, though, had busied themselves in blueprints of some kind. A pair of ponies, silently discussing through AR vision and audio means.
>Fully clad in white and gold patterning, armored so heavily and completely they'd had cutie-mark patches in order to cover every possible chink in the suit.
>They were a pair of Celestia's elite guard, personally assigned through no small means of personal inquiry and pressure on Twilight's part.

>Shining Armor, the colt that had pulled you free of Rarity's half-broken body weeks ago.
>The other was a pony you came to know as Mjolna, a plain looking mare with no real capacity you could work out.  Regardless, Shining Armor had selected her personally, so she had to have had something going for her.
>That didn't stop the trip from being both boring, and undeniably tense.
>You were, according to everyone else, the most important “thing” here.
>Yet you still had no real idea as to why, besides what you'd already figured out.
>And none of it you could even be really sure of.
>You started to list questions in your mind.  Tried to put them to memory, burn them into your brain as you cycled your imagination to asking Luna herself.
>First, though. This trip.
>Trying to dodge the thoughts of Rainbow's memorial were probably the hardest along the way, as they were the easiest to come by.
>When you piled out, it was only the halfway mark.  Some kind of spaceport, a huge club that travelers had to pass through.
>It served, or so you had researched, as both a checkpoint and hotel.
>Out of all the big corporations, you realized, LunaCorp. Had the best security.
>How the hell do you attack and infiltrate a location where you normally can't even breathe for most of the trip?
>The Eclipse, they called it.
>And judging from the pictures, you were going to have one hell of a chance to get the garbage off your mind.
–

>The place was unlike anything you could remember.
>A massive club, a flurry of oddly (and poorly) dressed ponies in clusters and cliques.
>The only light came from beneath tables, under steps, or from tiny dots lining the floors. Holographic screens hung from the ceiling, projecting fractured visions of dancing ponies.
>The kind of fog only dry ice could manage crept over the floor through vents, the patterned, color-shifting lightwork sending streams vertically to meed the ceiling and mingle with haphazardly aimed lasers.
>One side of the entire club, sealed off by glass, was a zero-g dance floor. Filled with floating ponies, there was dancework you never dreamed of, against a backdrop of stars.
>It was a donut, layered in three floors, wrapped around a cylindrical central stage.
>And the music. It was slow, but thumped in your chest, as if replacing your heartbeat.
>LunaCorp. Guards at every entrance.
>Rarity was hesitant to step away. “Darling, are you positive?”
“I'm just going to sit and listen a bit.”
>Yeah. No. Fuck the actual interaction part, you'd have no idea where to even start.
“You want to stay? We have the VIP pass, we won't get bothered.”
>She sticks her nose up.
>”Heavens no. This music never ceases to give me a horn-ache.”
>She smiles. “Do try to avoid getting back too late, alright?  Shining Armor and that other mare will be at the doors, if you need them.”
>With a soft nuzzle, she leaves, swaying that flank behind her.
>With that behind her, did she really think you'd do anything stupid enough to lose it?
>Whatever. Time to fuck up your brain a little.

>You take a seat in the less populated corner, overlooking the stage from the side. You order the most moderate drink you can find, and some pretty little mare delivers it a minute or so later.
>Wait. The fuck?
>Why the hell are you wearing skin tight pink you little colt bastard?
>You squint at his smirk toward you, and apparently manage enough hate in your vision to get the flirty little thing nervous enough to apologize before leaving.
>You hadn't known what to expect here, but it sure as hell wasn't that.
>You're about through your third copy of the same drink by the time you feel it.
>Nothing, really.
>Not drunk.  Not even a buzz.
>You look at your hoof, blinking.  Were there filters for toxins in your body, or was it just that damn efficient?
>Gee, thanks Twilight. That's just what I wanted in an effective design.

>The music halts. Ponies start to gather as who you can only assume is the mistress trots on stage.
>No.  Mistresses?
>One is a pure white pony, brandishing the most frizzy electric blue manecut you've ever seen. Large, sleek, reflective lenses.
>The other is gray, looking like she should be in some kind of business suit. Long, dark hair, her nose stuck up.  It's like Rarity had a stuffy looking business sister.
>The DJ's on stage shuffle off, and the crowd finishes collecting.
>The white pony stands at the DJ booth, and a single moment of bass thumps.
>Your AR vision distorts at the noise, your skull flooding with pressure momentarily.
>Whoa. Maybe the drinks settled in a little slow.
>An image flows up onto your AR vision.  At first you think it text, but it blossoms into a full fledged advertisement, a flashy display of the white pony.
>Vinyl Scratch.  What the hell, vinyl is still around in this world?
>Another above the head of the gray mare, much more organic, the design reminded you of something victorian.
>Octavia.

>Neither speak. Instead, there is silence save for the humbled rustling of the crowd.
>Text flows onto your screen.
>Vinyl: Everyone ready for your [spoiler]Daily Dose?[/spoiler]
>Huh? A mute DJ? You snicker to yourself at the thought.
>Cheers erupt, and you can see ponies in the zero-g room thumping the glass.
>Uninterested at the arrogance of the whole thing, you simply return to your drink and wait for the music.
>It's the fifth drink before it starts.  A slow, pounding beat, something you swear you can outright feel on your skin.
>Despite not wanting to see it, Vinyl's “voice” scrolls into your vision every so often.
>She's typing out orders in text, some sort of dance routine organized on the fly.
>You open your eyes after a time, finding the boredom having helped to transform things into the urge to sleep.
>You realized that maybe, just maybe, avoiding social interaction in a club was not your best idea.
>Oh well. You could chalk it up to the alcohol.
>Oh no, you can't, it doesn't seem to work on bio-construct ponies.
>whatever. You'll lie about it if anyone asks.
>As you leave the booth, you look back toward it.
>The entire section is completely empty.
>You look to the zero-g room. Same population.
>The tables are empty, the LunaCorp. Guards are shuffled in with the crowd.
>Even the bar and it's tender are somewhere in the sea of ponies.
>Which just so happen to be blocking your path to the exit.

>It's then the other mare starts to play, some sort of instrument you never bothered learning the name to.
>Electronically filtered, it's a fluttering mix that the other DJ seems to be modifying on the fly.
>The song seems to resonate inside your head, and despite your attempts, your AR hearing continues to stuff it into your brain.
>Every flowing note causes you to visibly shiver.  You start to get light headed, and your vision darkens more and more with the tip of each note.
>Your entire body pulsates and tingles with each thump Vinyl adds, locking you in place.  Your body recognizes it as some ludicrous level of pleasure, but despite it, your mind perceives it as being very, very unnatural.
>Your entire body rippling, you see the dancing ponies.
>They're “suffering” from the same effects. But the lot of them are smiling dumbly, and what glimpses you do get of their drunken faces, their eyelids are fluttering.
>It's quite apparent, to you, that you're the only one that hasn't completely checked out by now.
>You try to hobble, the notes causing you to stumble.
>It feels so incredible.
>So good that it's weakened you completely.
>You have to ride it out, you realize. In trying to make your way through the wall of ponies, you found you didn't even have the strength to push through their dumbfounded looks.

>Vinyl: So, who here works for our beautiful, shimmering lady?
>Distorted flashes of Luna appear in your AR vision. The whole room erupts in cheers for her, the collection of voices making your ears ring.
>Vinyl: that's what I like to hear! But you know, that's what she likes to hear too!
>Vinyl: Boys and girls, I wanna hear you scream so loud, she'll hear us from here!
>Octavia drags out one long, luscious note, and wails of terrifying bliss reach your ears.  The noise makes you collapse.
>As you raise to your feet, you look back at the stage.
>What kind of sick, twisted bitches-
>Octavia has her eyes locked on you. She continues to play without missing a note, several members of the audience wobbling on weakened legs.
>She whispers something to Vinyl.  Behind her glasses, she takes notice.
>As you look to her, she lowers her glasses.
>Behind them, you see a magnificent set of eyes. They shift in color, pale violet to red, as she moves them. Some kind of reflective distortion...
>Your gaze is locked to hers on the first pulse.

>A thump of bass makes your vision blur for an instant. When your vision returns, the world around you, at first shifting in light and color, is a dull gray.
>Except for those eyes.
>The words print on your vision.
>Vinyl: Pay attention.
>Another pulse. Her eyes flare a neon violet, so sharp it should've blinded you. Every bit of that world around you seems to darken completely, pointless silhouettes that are mere clutter.
>The feeling envelops your entire body, and you tremble in place for several seconds at the sensation it brings.
>Vinyl: Join us on stage.
>Dear body:
>What the fuck do you think you're doing?
>You're there. You're thinking. But that bio-construction you're inside is moving of it's own accord, gently making it's way toward the pair of mares on stage.
>You're just there for the ride.
>Vinyl: Stand between us.
>Your body takes it's place, your thoughts feverishly working for some way out of this new situation.
>You're on display in front of this entire drooling, idiotic group of ponies.
>Panic starts to set in, but it's purely mental.  Nothing you tell your body to do is actually happening.
>Vinyl: You're ours now, colt.
>Vinyl: Don't you worry, though. We'll treat you all kinds of right.
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