Clicking away on the keyboard in a dark office, sitting at a desk with seven monitors, Shade works on a new project idea. Instead of the war machines she likes to develop, today she is working on perfecting hearing aids, war machines are next week. The modern ones while efficient are expensive. She is working on a way to make them cheaper, better, and permanent. She has plans to make herself as machine as possible.

Machines are perfect. Machines do not worry about emotions. Machines are superior to humans. Yes, turning herself into a machine is the perfect choice. Did the others know? No. She suspects Tech Smith is onto her though. Perhaps he wishes to see if her project works out? An army of cybernetically enhanced individuals will tip the balance of any war. Her machinations falter when a human face enters her view.

“Hey, you busy?”

Impassive yellow eyes bore holes through the man’s face as fingers continue to type away.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’. Here,” a blue ticket hangs in front of her eyes, “concert in town. We’re going.”

Shade quickly shakes her head.

Tech Smith frowns. “We need to do stuff together if I want to keep you around, my LG (little genius). The government gets suspicious.” Shade continues to tap away on the keyboard while reading the ticket. “I got the President breathing down my neck about sending you to school.”

Shade’s fingers stop. She narrows her eyes. Always expect a human to change their terms.

Before she can speak, Tech Smith says, “She says a bachelor’s degree is a minimal requirement for the ‘special assignment’ job.” A soft growl emanates from behind the white, full-face mask wearing teen. “As an incentive and apology,” Tech reaches behind his back, “drumroll please!” Silence. “Dun-da-da-duuuun! Driver’s license!” He holds out a plastic card in front of him. To her surprise the picture on the rectangle is of her current mask wearing self.

She reaches up to grab the license, instead, she finds a blue ticket in her grasp.

“Only after the concert!” Tech sings as he walks away, waving the license above his black mop of hair.

Shade stares at the ticket. A frown forms on her face. These were her favorite bands. Before more memories of Sunset flood her mind she stuffs the ticket into a pocket on her pants. A few clicks of her mouse and she is at the email screen. One click later pulls up the latest report from Walker concerning Autumn Spice. More of the same: nothing. With a huff she logs out of her computer and leaves her workstation.

Gunshots echo inside the firing range. Shade empties seventeen rounds down the range before quickly loading in a fresh magazine. The seventeen rounds fly down range within seconds. A deep inhale of the gunsmoke calms Shade’s nerves. She sets the Wulfa X-17 pistol down. Military trials for a new handgun are a little more than two years away but it never hurts to have a model or two prepared.

The target slowly reels in. There is nothing left of the head. Four strips of tape mark the corners of a photograph that had previously covered the head region of the human silhouette target. Shade takes down the paper and puts up a new target with a picture of Autumn Spice taped over the head. She sends the target down the range. She inspects the pistol and when nothing of interest catches her eye she loads in a thirty-four round magazine and switches the select fire on the pistol to automatic. The pistol spits out thirty-four rounds in two point oh-five seconds. Shade frowns at the gun; it could be faster. Tapping on her shoulder gets her attention.

She sets the gun down and removes her earmuffs before turning around.

Tech Smith shoots a finger gun at her. “Hardly working I see.” Shade looks back at the gun and reaches for it. Tech Smith laughs. “Just came to tell you we’ll need to head out in an hour.”

Shade nods.

“Looking forward to it?”

Shade blinks.

“Me too!” Tech Smith awkwardly pats her shoulder before leaving. “C’mon, I’ll take you home so you can clean up and get changed.”

Shade watches the man leave. She heaves a sigh. Cut the man some slack. He is trying. She takes the gun away and waves to Brass Knuckle as she leaves through the other door that leads to a lab. The chauffeur drives Shade and Tech Smith to the Smith Estate in Upper Canterlot.

Talking to Cobalt helps Shade with her thinking process and understanding of the humans and world she now lives in. Cobalt makes suggestions about Shade’s curse that Shade had never thought about. The whole “never to lie” bit means she can not make statements, however, she can ask questions. Cobalt proves this train of thought with Shade during a Q&A session.

Cobalt sits in the limo next to Shade as the three of them travel to the concert. Shade notes the increase in Cobalt’s temperature and her fidgeting. Tech Smith taps away at his laptop across from the two. Shade remains silent as she returns to working on her laptop.

“You ever think about joining social media?” Tech questions out loud.

Shade gives a noncommittal grunt and shrug.

“Yeah, we talked about it and decided not to give Autumn Spice an easier way to track Shade.” Cobalt says.

“Not like tracking Shade is hard. Mansion. Lab. Gun range. Mansion. Track. Lab. Cafeteria.” Tech lists off.

“You can set a watch by how punctual you are!” Cobalt jabs at Shade.

Tech laughs. “It’s a good way to start networking. You never know who might help you with your next project.”

Shade rolls her eyes.

She minimizes the windows she has up to open up a new one for the social media website everyone uses these days. Input email. Confirm email. Name. Date of birth. Sex. Picture. A picture of Datura innoxia (taken from her greenhouse on the estate) shall suffice. Add friends from the “People You May Know” screen which gives a list of people near her location and her age. She wants to skip at first but decides to scroll down the list to memorize names and faces.

As she scrolls down, one name and face stops her scrolling. A name and face she recognizes. A name and face that is dead.

Sunset Shimmer.