Chapter Three: Fragmented Memories.

"Constants and Variables."
Elizabeth Comstock, Bioshock Infinite.

***

She sighed before asking her next question:

"And who did you kill?"

His answer was simple and to the point:

"I killed my enemies."

She raised an eyebrow at that, and asked:

"It was that simple?"

His eyes were still dead, still filled with that hollow emptiness, as he replied:

"Nothing was simple."

She thought about that for a moment before commenting:

"It sounds simple."

He scowled at her comment, and pointed out testily:

"My enemies were an entire race. Adults, children, the elderly, the infirm."

She spoke with what might have been childlike innocence, but what felt more like scorn or criticism - though either would have sufficed:

"Why isn't that simple?"

He looked right in her eyes as he answered:

"It isn't simple because I remember every face."

***

Outside the hospital building, Sam and Elliot were met by the small white form of Small Mercy. She nodded at her supplies, including Elliot’s guns and daggers, and gave the two salute.

"Everyone ready?" Mercy asked, beaming a smile.

Elliot ignored her and grabbed the bag of supplies, retrieving his weapons with the air of a man who had come to rely on them far too much in his life.

"Miss Mercy, it isn’t necessary for you to accompany us if you prefer not to leave your post," Sam said to her quietly. He threw a glance at David, who was examining his weapons as if expecting them to have been tampered with, his eyes running over them with the critical gaze of someone who was an expert on his weapons. "And he won’t exactly thank you for it, I don’t think."

"With respect," she replied, keeping her smile. "I didn’t become a doctor to get thanks. I’d like to see him safe. Humans don’t often have magic, Clads like yourself excluded, and I've never once encountered this type. I’ll be coming with you."

Sam nodded slowly, accepting her logic, before turning to Elliot.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Everything seems to be here," Elliot replied, throwing a glance at Small Mercy as though he had expected her to cause some sabotage. "Nothing’s been messed with."

"I wouldn’t dream of it," Mercy said with a smile. "From what Walter told me, you are fully capable of handling those weapons."

"I’d like to think so," Elliot said quietly. He turned to his friend. "Are you sure about this?" he asked in an undertone. "I mean… can we trust her?"

If Small Mercy heard him, she had no reaction to his words.

"Yes," Sam replied simply. Elliot sighed. He didn’t trust ponies, but this Sam did. He didn’t want to contradict his friend but… all the same, it felt wrong to him.

Well, you’re clearly not in your right mind, mate, he thought to himself. He sighed.

"You’re gonna need a coat," Sam added, and Elliot looked down at his bare arms. He grinned.

"I had a coat, but I… lost it," he said with a slight smile. "Suppose I didn’t think about the cold."

"Where were you before, Tahiti?" Sam asked with a slight grin.

"Gesundheit," Mercy said.

"It’s a place," Elliot said with a frown, feeling irritated at the comment. This pony didn’t even know the name of places her race had destroyed: how dare she show such a lack of respect…

"Doesn’t matter," Sam said, waving the conversation away and bringing Elliot back from his thought processes. "Point is, you need a coat."

Elliot shrugged. "I’ll manage for now. We’ll find me something while we’re out."

"No, no, no," Mercy pleaded. She jogged off and came back moments later with a battered green military greatcoat. "This should fit you nicely."

Elliot took the coat grudgingly, frowning slightly at the coat as he threw it on. It fitted surprisingly well - a little loose on the shoulders and slightly long in the sleeves, but that was good: the buttons were brass and so were the buckles, so the thing was well made. It wasn’t overly heavy for a wool coat, and he could still move in it. He quickly slung his shotgun over his shoulder and put his dagger-sheaths by his side, as well as his hand-cannon.

"Ok," he said, smiling slightly, happy to be reunited with his weapons. "Now I’m ready."

"Good," Sam said, noting the ease with which his friend - or the man who looked like his friend - readied his various pieces of equipment. "We have a long way to go."

***

The city was no better here than it was anywhere else. Burnt out cars and bodies surrounded him: the rotted and decomposing bodies of human soldiers, Royal Guards, Converted Militia and what must have been these Equestrian Resistance soldiers were lying around, slaughtered by spells and bullets. The buildings were burning skeletons, twisted and melted metal and glass everywhere. The world had gone to hell, and that, at least, felt right.

Sam walked with solemn alertness, his eyes never seeming to rest in more than one direction for a few moments. Elliot raised an eyebrow, somewhat bemused by this. He was alert, but his friend - the man who was very similar to his friend, who he definitely remembered being dead - seemed constantly on edge.

Elliot himself felt a bit on edge too - maybe it was the small pony that was with them, surreptitiously keeping an eye on him even as he surreptitiously kept an eye on her. Maybe it was the feeling that he had forgotten something important (make that several somethings, Dave, he thought wryly to himself), or maybe it was the feeling that Sam knew far more than he was telling him.

"So," he said quietly as they walked. "I hear Redmond died."

"That’s right," Sam replied without looking at him. "First battle of London. That was when the Iron Clads were called in to hold the city."

"‘First’ battle?" Elliot asked, raising an eyebrow. "There have been more?"

"This is the fifth," Sam said quietly. "Five invasions. This is getting worse than Plymouth."

Plymouth. PER - horse-fucking traitors… fighting in the streets, death and…

"Plymouth… that’s where the PER are holed up, right?" he asked, vaguely wondering if his memories were wrong again.

"Yup," Sam said, and Elliot felt relieved. That was something he remembered right, at least. He sighed.

"So what are we gonna do when we get to your command post?" he asked quietly.

"Like I said," Sam said, not looking at him, "my friends will want to speak to you."

"Who are your 'friends'?" Elliot asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I remember you said they were ponies, but that's a big margin of error."

Small Mercy nudged Elliot. "If I may David," she said sweetly. "What do you have a hatred of all ponies?"

Elliot looked down at her, frowning at her, his eyes blazing. "Don't. Touch. Me."

Small Mercy recoiled back. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

"You're damn right," Elliot said sternly. "I've seen death at the hooves of ponies like you wouldn't believe. I don't care if there's a Resistance or not, I don't remember one. I don't remember your kind lifting a damn hoof to help mine. You tell me if you think I'm fucking unreasonable."

She shook her head. "I honestly can't if that's what you remember," she answered somberly. Mercy suddenly smiled. "I guess I'll have to give you new memories." She thought for a moment. "We could start with a better introduction." Mercy bowed her head. "Nice to meet you, I'm Small Mercy. Where did you grow up?"

"David Elliot," Elliot said, smirking despite himself. "And my life story might be a little difficult. At this rate I'm probably gonna get half of it wrong."

"Two thirds," Sam joked dryly, his stern expression not changing. "At any rate - we're gonna be there in a few minutes. Brace yourself: there'll be more than a few ponies running around."

"Lucky me," Elliot said drily.

***

A few minutes later, they arrived at the command post. It wasn't particularly impressive: a few ponies ran from ruined building to ruined building, and a single battered military jeep with a man on the turret that was installed on the back.

"Sir!" one of the soldiers called at Sam. "Echo team will be landing in the next few minutes, should we direct them this way?!"

"Yes," Sam called back. "Did they bring the Dragonborn?"

"Yes sir," the soldier said, smirking. "As well as Irons Twenty through Thirty."

"Thank fuck," Sam said, suddenly looking relieved. "Alright, we'll meet them in the command post too, I've some words for Stein when he shows up."

As he walked past the perimeter, Elliot and Small Mercy behind him, Elliot couldn't help but notice how much everyone and everypony seemed to defer to him.

They did that for you once.

They could do it again.

He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts out of his head. There was something in his mind - a nagging feeling that this was familiar. This city. This battle. Something was wrong...

"Are you okay?" came the concerned voice of Small Mercy, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yeah," he said, not looking at her. "Just... remembering things that never happened."

"Want to talk about it?" she asked kindly.

"Not really," Elliot said with a tired smile. He kept walking behind Sam, who hadn't noticed their conversation.

A moment later, they entered the small building that looked like it used to be, of all thing, an upholstery shop. Elliot sat himself on a battered armchair, slumping slightly.

"Hell," he said quietly. "I hope this memory crap gets sorted soon, I'm starting to get sick of it."

"Hopefully Echo One will be able to explain it," Sam said, smiling slightly.

"Who is this Echo One pony?" Elliot asked with a frown. "You keep talking like he's some sort of bloody expert."

"Well, she's one of our best researchers," Sam said, sitting back slightly. "She invented a lot of our best defences. Even helped refine the Paladin armour I'm wearing."

"Sounds like she's an impressive individual," Elliot commented, smirking. "I'm almost looking forward to meeting her."

"Well," a new voice said tiredly. "I hope I don't disappoint."

Elliot looked to the doorway, and his eyes widened, an expression of shock and anger freezing onto his face.

Stood in the doorway was a purple Unicorn mare, deep purple hair streaked with white and pink. She had a single scar running from the top of her face, down her cheek to her jawline. A slight tired smile graced her lips as she looked at Elliot with cold, analytical eyes.

"Captain Sparkle," Sam said warmly, greeting her. "Good to see you. Are the others here?"

"Rainbow's coming in with Grey Squadron," Sparkle said tiredly, her voice slightly cracked. "Lightning was insistent on coming down when she heard things were escalating and you know Dash won't let those guys go anywhere without her anymore."

"What about Applejack and Rarity?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Organising some landings," Sparkle said with a slightly dismissive shrug, before focusing again on Elliot. "So this is our guy?"

Elliot didn't say anything. His eyes, however, were glaring at her with a burning fire in his eyes, as though he weren't looking at her.

"Sparkle," he murmured, his voice filled with venom.

"You recognise me, then?" Sparkle said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm surprised."

"You shouldn't be," Elliot growled. "I remember your atrocities all too well."

Sparkle frowned, confused by this comment. Elliot's mind, however, drifted slightly.

"Do you understand now?” he said, his voice resonating across the field. "Do you understand the futility of your struggles, the insignificance of your armies, next to the holy, pure wrath of the human race unshackled from their morality, liberated from their fear? Do yourselves a favour: end your struggle. Surrender yourselves to the inevitable. You will spare yourselves toil and uncertainty before the end.”

“Keep fighting!” he heard Commander Sparkle yell desperately, her own voice, magically amplified, nothing compared to the sonorous tones.

"You are brave, little ponies, but your bravery is irrelevant against the power of Albion,” he spoke again.

His head suddenly erupted in pain, and he clutched at it, his head feeling as though it were about to split in two. Voices and sounds went off in his mind, memories conflicting with one another, vying for supremacy.

"David!" Sam yelled, but Elliot couldn't hear anything else - his mind drifted far away, to the sound of battle and war in his mind, and the feeling that he had been at the heart of something at once awe-inspiring and terrifying...

***

Small Mercy’s eyes kept darting from her patient to Sam and Twilight. Her horn began to glow with regal blue light as she focused her gaze on Elliot.

“Well?” Sam asked. “Is he alright?”

Mercy’s light stopped. “Physically, there’s nothing wrong with him,” she said, her eyes still fixed on David. “Mentally however, he’s erratic.” she trailed off into thought before turning to Sam. “He did something like this when we met him, if on a slightly smaller scale.”

“And this is the man you think is the warrior?” Sparkle asked with a raised eyebrow. “I know you don’t think much of magic when guns will do the trick, Commander Lake, but do try to remember that I am somewhat good at what I do.”

“This guy supposedly tore through an entire bunch of Convies and helped fight off another lot,” Sam said, frowning at her in mild irritation. “I think he’s the warrior. Could these mental effects be some side effect of bringing him?”

“Not a side effect I’m familiar with,” Sparkle said, frowning thoughtfully. “Although…”

“Bringing him?” Mercy interrupted. “What are you talking about?”

“Classified,” Sam said shortly. “Sparkle, I swear to you, this is the man.”

“It’s… possible that something could have gone wrong,” Sparkle said tiredly. “Excuse me, Miss… what was your name again?”

“Small Mercy,” Mercy replied with grace. “and with the greatest of respect, if it involves the well being of my patient, I think I should be told. I could help if I knew more about where you brought him from.”

“With the greatest of respect,” Sparkle said irritably, but Sam held up a hand.

“No, she’s right,” he said. “If it helps her treat him, she needs to know.”

“Alright, fine,” Sparkle said quietly. “Firstly though, Small Mercy - is there anything about this man that’s unusual, anything we might need to know?”

Small Mercy nodded. “He has some kind of internal magic source. It flared up when we examining him.”

“Internal magic?” Sparkle said, frowning. “That doesn’t seem possible. Human beings don’t usually - no, no, that’s the point,” she self corrected, almost absent mindedly. “Alright. So he has internal magic. Any idea about the source of it?”

“None,” Small Mercy said quietly. “It just… happened. He was angry at the time, if that helps.”

Sparkle frowned thoughtfully for a moment, studying the unconscious human with a keen eye.

“Ok," she said after a moment, a smile on her face. "Question - how familiar are you with the concept of magic burnout?”

“Magic… burnout?” Small Mercy repeated. “I can’t say I know all that much. I think I’ve heard the phrase thrown around with the Iron Clads, but that's never really been my area. Why, is it something he could be suffering?”

“In theory,” Sparkle said. “Do another diagnostic spell - this time look for deep cell damage.”

As Small Mercy turned to begin her diagnostic, Sparkle turned to Sam.

“The presence of magic might be what makes him the warrior we’re looking for,” she said in an undertone.

“Would this magic burnout be a problem for how useful he’d be?” Sam asked.

“Depends how bad it is,” Sparkle said quietly. A moment later, Small Mercy turned around to give her summary, her eyes sad.

“It’s odd,” she sighed. “His cells are deteriorating due to the overflowing magic in his system. He should be coughing up blood and counting down the seconds 'til the end.” Mercy paused, thinking it over in her mind. “But somehow, his body is healing the cells as they die so he’s stable physically. The magic might be affecting his mind and memories though.”

“Possible?” Sam asked Sparkle with a sideways glance.

“It’s as likely as any of our other theories,” Sparkle sighed, shaking her head thoughtfully. “There’s just so much we don’t know about him and where he came from!”

“Look,” Mercy said, frowning slightly. “I need you to tell me how you got him here. You talk like you were expecting him. Tell me what this is all about, please.”

Sparkle sighed and looked at Sam, who shrugged.

“He is her patient, she should know,” he said simply.

“Alright then,” Sparkle said. “It works a little something like this…”

***

The armoured figure pushed open the doors with his gauntleted hands, stepping over the corpses of Eclipse Guards who had been foolish enough to stand in his way. His sword was girt over his back, ready for him to remove it at a moment’s notice.

Up ahead of him was the throne of Canterlot itself, and sat upon it was the Empress - Astra Solamina Maxima. Almost immediately, her remaining Guards, Royal and Eclipse alike, charged at him, and almost without thinking he drew Excalibur, sweeping the blade across throats and through necks, slicing his enemies apart until he was stood in a room full of corpses, and all the while the Sun Tyrant sat and watched.

“Interesting,” she said quietly, her eyes watching the fight with interest, apparently not at all concerned with the deaths of her servants.

“Sun Tyrant,” he said, ignoring her comment and marching toward her, blade still in hand. “I have come for your head.”

“So,” she said quietly as he approached. “You have slaughtered your way across half of my realm, killed thousands of ponies - including my beloved Twilight - and now…”

“Do not pretend to care for the lives of your subjects,” he snapped. “I know you now. I knew you from the moment I walked the same path you do. You cannot lie to me.”

At that, Solamina's eyes widened in shock for a moment. And then, horribly, she began sniggering, then chuckling, and then laughing out loud.

"Do I amuse you, Tyrant?" he asked tiredly.

"Oh yes," she replied, laughing. "Yes, you do. You think your fury and your passion and your desire to do me harm will be enough to grant you victory. That, I find very amusing."

And she laughed harder still, her voice echoing in the throne room. He scowled at her.

"I will kill you," he said simply.

“Fool,” she said, still chuckling. “I am the sun, resplendent and indomitable. Did you think I had sent the most powerful of my servants to the field?”

As she spoke, he heard the sound of marching feet behind him. He turned, to find himself staring at the tall, stiff, armoured form of a midnight blue Alicorn - the corpse of Princess Luna, her eyes glaring balefully at him, an unnatural light within them. Behind her were a hundred other armoured forms, human and pony alike, all dead, all powered by that same unnatural force.

“What is this?” he asked, scowling beneath his helmet.

“This is your end, little man,” Solamina said with a definite undertone of amusement. “My sister and the Eternal Guard will see that you die. Once I knew you were coming I prepared all possible contingencies.”

Her smirk died when she heard a soft noise coming from beneath his helmet. It took her a minute to realise that he, too, was laughing.

“The living could not stop me, Tyrant,” he said quietly. “What makes you think the dead can?”

“You are nothing without the power you have stolen, little man,” Solamina said. “Now, prepare to die!”

The Guard advanced, and he raised his blade into a guard stance…

And suddenly, the Eternal Guard stopped. Solamina stopped. Everything stopped. The figure lowered his blade from his guard stance, before slowly turning around, the two pinpricks of light visible beneath his helmet now glaring balefully at David Elliot, who was suddenly aware not only of himself and the fact that he was standing and observing these events, but also of the malevolent being staring at him.

“Now,” it said quietly, “what are you doing here?”

He screamed…

***

And shot up, eyes wide, gasping for breath.

“Mr Elliot!” Small Mercy said, sitting up from where she was near him.

“David!” Sam added, unfolding his arms. Next to him, Sparkle was watching Elliot like a hawk, concern on her face.

Elliot found himself lying on a sofa, coat slung over one of the arms as a pillow. He frowned in confusion.

“What…” he said quietly, feeling incredibly shaken from the dream he had been having. “What’s happening to me?”

Sam, Small Mercy and Sparkle exchanged glances.

“Alright,” Sam said. “I’ll tell you what we know.”

***