Melissa awoke to a great feeling of cold. She groped for her bedroom window to shut it, thinking maybe she’d left it open the previous night, before realizing where she was. Opening one eye, she glared up at the open window to the outside, bars blocking escape. She was stuck in a cell, in a prison. Somewhere.

Wherever she was, it was much chillier than Manehattan.

Instinctively, she looked at her wrist, wondering why her watch wasn’t beeping...before remembering where that was. In the grubby hands--hooves, excuse me-- of some pony scientist, who was probably smashing it to pieces for chirping unexpectedly.
“Bloody primitive screwheads.”

With a groan, she sat up, smacking her lips and shivering, before she unleashed a pair of explosive sneezes into her arm. She let out a hiss of disgust at the amount of junk on her sleeve.

It took her a moment to realize that the shivering wasn’t just from awakening, she was covered in a layer of frost. Fear spiked, and she flexed her fingers, feeling her nose and ears. She pulled off her gloves to examine her fingers further. To her immense relief, nothing was frozen. Her skin was stiff and cold, but still a healthy color. Thank God for 21st century winter clothing. And the thick wool blanket she'd found in the remains of the destroyed bed.
The cell was warmer than she'd expected, so perhaps the snow had just drifted in and hadn't been melted by the prison’s heating. It would explain her lack of frostbite.

It still wasn't anywhere near as warm as it needed to be. Ponies must not require as much heat to survive.

“Fragging dark ages,” she mumbled, sneezing again as she shot to her feet and moved to the opposite side of the cell untouched by snow, ignoring an odd shadow in her peripheral vision, “When will they invent shatterproof glass?”

“It is difficult to tell, given their current technological status,” a voice replied, “Though it doesn’t need to be shatterproof. All it needs to do is allow light in, but not allow an inmate to escape. The cold may not be malicious, or even misunderstood biology, just technological limitations.”

Melissa gave a shrug, “Doesn’t make any difference to the cold.”

She paused, frowning. That voice was familiar.

“Hello?” Melissa asked, hitting the wall she was leaning against, “Who said that?”

“That was me. Over here.” the voice came from the other side of the cell, and when Melissa looked...her eyes bugged out.

The figure was obscured by the shadows, but she immediately knew who it was.

“Is there a problem?” he inquired, seeing Melissa’s odd expression, a mix of shock and excitement.

“No...no problem at all. Except...all of them.”

The figure squinted, “...Excuse me?”

The marine flattened herself against the wall, “Okay, I lied. Several problems. Aside from being hungry, thirsty, suffering from exposure, and massive migraines, I think I’m losing my mind, or someone’s trying to mess with my head. Because you don't exist. You can't exist. Also,” she sneezed explosively again, “I think I’m getting a cold. Do you know how to get snot out of polyester?”

“Why would you think you were losing your mind?” the other asked, and added as an aside, “Don’t worry about your jacket, polyester doesn’t stain.”

With a chuckle, she replied, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I think I'm losing my mind because of the Maximal Fuzor I can see standing in my cell, and the fact that I know that the one who is apparently standing in front of me is fictional, and not real like with the ponies. If he was, we’d have had reports of giant robots since 1984! So, either I am losing my mind, or you’re some sort of imposter. Given the messed up shit I’ve been through lately, it’s hard to tell.”

The figure stood almost a meter taller than her, with a pair of wings jutting out from his already-broad shoulders on mechanical joints. His body was robotic, artificial in nature, built from metal plates and paneling, with his joints artificial and hinge-like, colored by silver and grey with hints of bronze. Thick arms were packed with power, a roundel surrounded by spikes was on his chest, with bright silver plates above and below. Eagle talons of all things made up his feet, and synthetic fur lined his upper arms, legs, and parts of his torso. His head looked like that of a wolf, with a muzzle and points like ears stretching back, only much more compressed into a humanoid size; his expression was pleasant and warm. His body design and color gave the appearance of plate armor. Knight in shining armor indeed.

He was a transformer, a fictional character she’d first seen on a laptop when she was in third grade. Silverbolt, a Maximal aviator straight out of Transformers: Beast Wars, shook his glistening wolf-like head. His whole appearance was strange, even for the transformers franchise, and even for the beast warriors at that. While most of the Beast Wars characters turned into single animals, there was an additional line of characters who were a mash-up of various animals, the Fuzors. Silverbolt was an eagle and a wolf put together, shaped like a griffin in beast mode but with the wolf replacing the lion.

Okay, not CGI, but doesn’t look weird either? The hell? Something else puzzling, instead of some horrid scheme or emptiness, Melissa saw Silverbolt’s orange eyes were filled with everything she’d expect from the character; chivalry, kindness, and a doofy-nature.
“You can't be real.” She repeated, “There are several things that you could be, but none of them involve a Maximal protoform somehow ending up in Equestria. A, You're something my slowly fragmenting brain has come up with for reasons I don't know. Third man syndrome perhaps--”

“I hate to state the obvious, but doesn't ​missing man syndrome require much more loneliness?” Silverbolt pointed out politely.

Melissa opened her mouth to protest, but realized that he was correct, “Huh, why didn't I think of that? Never mind, option B, you're the result of a regular mental breakdown, visual and auditory hallucinations. My subconscious created you because...I don’t know, some random bullshit.”

“The need for a companion?” he guessed.

Melissa shook her head, “Right. Duh. How do you…” she groaned, “this brings us to point number three.”
She gestured toward the door, “You’re with them. You’re a shapeshifter of some kind, or a hallucination brought on by a spell. You want defense data, you want technology, you want strategic information, you want…”

“Melissa, why on Cybertron would any of that be valuable to them?” Silverbolt inquired, “You know their culture. They are not a warring people. Technology may be valuable, yes, but you know as well as I that invasion is the furthest from their thoughts.”

Melissa growled, picked up a fragment of bed, and chucked it at the Maximal. It passed through him and clattered against the wall behind him, proving at least that he wasn’t a shapeshifter.
“You won’t get me this way. Trying to use my own mind against me, huh? You won’t get me!”

She stalked to the cell door, “You hear that, motherfuckers!? I ain’t cracking! You can get rid of this damn apparition now!”

A guard, not one of the two from the previous night, appeared at the door. “Um...ma’am? Is something wrong?”

“First, go fuck yourself, but I bet you were already doing that when I called. Two, you can call off this damned…” she flailed a hand at Silverbolt, “...Thing, because it’s not working. Do you hear me? I won’t crack. Third, go fuck yourself. Or did I mention that already?”

The guard stared at her, trying to decipher her rant. Finally, he gasped in realization, “Ooh, you’re talking about your alienist! Is there a problem with it?”

Melissa blinked, her mouth opening and closing, “‘Alienist’? What is that? I know that…”

“I believe it’s a 19th-century term for psychiatrist,” Silverbolt offered helpfully.

“Can it, Rin-Tin-Tin. You, fuckface. Talk. He’s correct, alienist does mean--” she shook her head, and glared at Silverbolt, “Quit reading my mind!”

“Is there something wrong with it?” The guard asked again, “I could get a doctor…”

“No. Shut up. Then un-shut up and answer my question. What is an alienist?”

The guard stared again. “How do you not know?”

“Buddy, I get that all the time. That is my life. There’s a ton of crap I don’t know that everyone else somehow knows. Pretend I have amnesia, and answer. My fucking question. You imbecile.”

The guard shrank back a bit, “It’s your prison buddy. Y’know, prisoners always get lonely, and sometimes there needs to be a voice of reason. Everyone needs a friend, even criminals. This is very standard stuff, how do you not know?”

“She does not come from this planet,” Silverbolt explained, therefore she could not know. It’s quite frustrating, not just for you, good sir, but for her especially.”

Melissa banged her head against the door, mumbling incoherently.

“She also doesn’t do well without coffee in the morning.” he added, chuckling a little, his voice warming the marine’s heart but alarm bells were still going off in her head.

“Don’t we all?” the guard sympathized.

“Why is he here?” Melissa grunted, “That can’t be it! That can’t be the only reason!”

“The alienists are there just to render aid! That’s it!” the guard whimpered, dodging a bit of saliva, “He’s a friend to you! That’s all! No other reason!”

He quickly scurried away, leaving Melissa and Silverbolt behind.

Melissa rested her head against the door. Her eyelids drooped, and she smacked herself in the face to stay awake.

Stepping away, she moved to a wall, and slid to the bottom. She wrapped herself up in the wool blanket once again.
Silverbolt, clacking with every footstep just like she remembered, moved to sit in front of her, straight back and cross-legged.

For a long time, all she did was look at her boots, trying to understand her situation.

“Sorry about the...throwing thing…” she mumbled, “the thingy I threw.”

He shrugged, “It is alright, you were merely frightened. This is clearly a hard time for you.”

The marine snorted, “Tell me about it.”

She sneezed several times, and cursed, “Agh, I think I’m getting a cold.”

“It looks that way, unfortunately. I suspect this cell is doing you no favors. It may be wise to maintain good behavior, and then explain to them your problem. I am sure they will be accommodating.”

Melissa rolled her eyes, “Fat chance. We’re in a monarchy.”

Silverbolt replied, “A monarchy with a kind heart at its head. It may not be an ideal system of government, but…”

“She threw me in jail for no freaking reason, how’s that for a kind heart?” Melissa snapped.

“It’s not her fault, it’s just a case of mistaken identity. Remember, shapeshifting is completely possible here. Remember when you accidentally stumbled into…” he grimaced, and looked embarrassed, “...Twilight and Andrew while they were alone?”

Melissa shuddered at that, but then tilted her head, “I was just thinking that...are you reading my mind? Every other minute you come up with something that seems like it’s based on my own reasoning. Just what the hell are you? You’re not Silverbolt, I know that much. And I need more than what that idiot gave me.”

Silverbolt replied calmly, “I am Silverbolt, but I am more than that. Internal alienists, as they are called, are generated from a spell cast over prisons. They scan the user’s subconscious, and pick a figure from that individual’s past that will serve as a friend and advisor in their time of need.”

Nodding, Melissa mused, “I guess that might explain why you keep reading my mind. You’re an extension of my subconscious, communicating with me on a more vocal level.”

“Exactly. Though I don’t exactly read your mind. I just offer aid, and sometimes that comes in the form of conclusions you might have come to on your own.”

“So it’s like third man syndrome crossed with Urgo from SG-1, only less annoying.”

Silverbolt nodded, “I suppose so, yes.”

Standing up, Melissa stepped over to the window, looking out at the countryside before her. The prison was built into a mountainside, likely near Canterlot. The landscape far below was covered in a layer of snow.
“I still don’t trust you. There’s no way to verify this.”

“I am telling the truth, I give you my word.”

Shaking her head to stay awake, Melissa turned back, “And how valuable is that, huh? Just above utterly worthless?”

Silverbolt looked disapprovingly at her, hurt, “That was uncalled for. I assumed you knew me better than that.”

Melissa felt a twinge of regret, wrestling with paranoia. “Do I, though? You say you’re more than who you appear to be, how much more? At what point in the canon are you from? Beast Wars, Beast Machines, or that weird 3H Comics phase? Are you the guy I know, or are you that angsty asshole who has Silverbolt’s name stapled on?”

The Maximal looked at her, and for the first time she noted some hint of hostility in his eyes.

“The other Silverbolt? The...peacock? Do not compare us. He and I are not the same. We are not even alike. A dishonorable creature.”

Melissa peered at him, “What?”

“That peacock is a vengeance-driven monster, with a thirst for revenge. He is not me. To be that sort of person…” he shuddered, “I am appalled at the prospect. I never want to become that Maximal. Whoever he is, that is what I am not.
“I know what you know, I know what he went through. Trapped in that wretched form for months, controlled by Megatron once again. I feel horror at these events...but I almost feel more horror at what the peacock became after being freed. To abandon not just one’s honor, but their very code, rejecting who they are. I was a Predacon once, controlled and manipulated by Megatron. But I did not feel enjoyment at firing upon fleeing foes, I felt no urge to sacrifice my beliefs. Even when he attacked me for disobeying orders, I refused to sacrifice my beliefs. The idea that I would feel liberated by being removed from my code of honor…” he shook his head, “You may not trust me, but you must know I am no peacock. I refuse to give in. I don’t know what he is, but that peacock is not Silverbolt.”

Melissa was silent for a moment. “I always wondered what you’d thought about that. You never did give in during the first series.”

She looked thoughtful, “I was wondering why my subconscious chose you. Maybe favoritism, or comfort, but considering how your job seems to be reasoning with me, I think I figured it out. You don’t compromise principles or your honor. Perfect for someone in my position.”

The Maximal smiled sadly, “I know I will still have to earn your trust, Melissa, but I will do my best to do so. On my word as a Maximal, as a soldier, and as an individual.”

Melissa finally smiled in reply, “And I for one feel honored that such a warrior would have a place embedded in my skull. Whether you be here for good or for ill, I’m glad you’re with me.”

XXXXX

Some time later, she couldn’t tell how long, the door was opened. A pair of guards waited, and told her “her majesty” wished to see her.

Melissa’s patience and reasoning abilities were wearing thin, unable to be sustained through the hunger and exhaustion and cold.

It was only thanks to Silverbolt that she didn’t attack the guards and go on a rampage, instead following them dutifully.

She was led through a maze of corridors, some stone and others partly natural. Likely part of the cave system built under Canterlot, built by “greedy unicorns” or whatever.
No access to the surface, perhaps to keep criminals out of public eye, or block escape routes. The path led all the way to the inside of the main castle, and she was led through a series of great halls that she recognized.
Far more realistic than in the show of course, but depicting the same images. Sombra, the Mane Six, Nightmare Moon…
She stopped at some in a particular series.

The first was a depiction of Discord in all his glory, while the second was of him hovering over several marionette sticks, with the three pony races strung below them in great pain.

It hit her once again that she was again in TV land. This mural shouldn’t be here. It was an image made for a fictional little girl show. A show with stupendous writing, but fiction nonetheless. Nothing she’d seen should be here.

Was what she was seeing real? Was any of this real?

The marine looked down at the carpet underneath her, rough and fragile under the touch of her scuffed combat boots. She looked at her hands, scratched and healing from the previous night’s tirade.
Her jacket, small tears and scratches here and there. Running a hand across her cheek, the scar was still there.
Her injuries were real enough.

Discord wasn’t real. He was an entity of fiction, voiced by John De Lancie, and inspired by his role as Q of Star Trek fame, in which he chewed through entire decks of scenery.

But here Discord was. Displayed like Hitler or Stalin. A villain who still gave the locals shudders. His atrocities and crimes taking up two of the windows, and both of his defeats most of the rest.

Melissa stepped up to the image before the guards could stop her, feeling the heat of the sun beating through the window. She reached out, hesitated, and touched the glass. It was cool to the touch, the frozen winter air outside allowing in a slight draft from the corners. Ridges followed the outlines of each of the patterns.
The pain in her temples seemed to dilute, fading to a dull roar for some reason.

Could this all really be a fabrication of her own mind? Had she lost her mind in the car crash? Was it a coma dream? Was it a...she shuddered, pre-brain-death hallucination?
So long ago that crash seemed, now.

Was this all in her mind? The people she’d met, the struggles, the discoveries, the tears, the laughter...was it all simply a fanfiction her subconscious had created? Did she lie in a hospital bed, Garrett by her side, waiting until she woke up?
Or did she shamble around the inside of a mental ward, ignorant of the world around her? Her friends and family slowly drifting away, saddened by the daughter, sister, or friend they’d lost?

Andrew, was he imagined? Some bizarre mix of various sci-fi characters? The ponies, were they only her mental images?

Did it all mean nothing? All her efforts to do good on this world, to be kind and fulfill her duty as a marine, as a human being?
She looked down at the floor, her hands balling into fists.

“Is...something wrong?” Silverbolt inquired, appearing by her side.

Melissa sighed, “I don’t know. I don’t know much of anything anymore. It used to be so simple, it was a world I understood...I used to be some marine corporal from Vermont. Now...I don’t know. I don’t know anything now. Is all this real?”
She gestured around, “You, them, Celestia, Andrew, the Mane Six, everyone. Are any of them real? Are you real? Did I die and go to heaven or purgatory or Valhalla? Am I just crazy? Is everything I’ve done completely worthless? What’s real anymore?”

“Does it seem real?” Silverbolt tilted his head questioningly.

“Well...yeah. Of course.”

“And you still control your own actions, do you not?”

“...I assume so.”

“Then for now, it doesn’t seem to matter. Leave it be, just for a little while. Take things as they come, there is no use in baseless conjecture. And ’perhaps if you know you are insane, then you are not insane.’”

“Philip K Dick.”

Silverbolt smiled, “Who best to quote when questioning reality?”

Melissa felt compelled to smile in reply. “Well, I think ILoveKimPossibleAlot will be pleased to hear about this.” she gestured to the Discord mural, “Maybe he’ll hire her on as his agent.”

“If we make it back to Earth.” Silverbolt commented darkly.

“Oh, nobody ever thought you’d make it back to Cybertron. Who knows what will happen?”

The guards had resigned themselves to the strangeness by this point. She didn’t seem overtly hostile, and decided to simply wait until she was ready to move on. It was a brief surprise when she started walking again, and they quickly fell in step.

At last, they came to the great doors to Celestia’s throne room.

The doors were opened, and Melissa was let inside.

“Primus…” Silverbolt exhaled, looking around at the stain glass windows, the gorgeous construction of the building, “It’s like seeing the Ark…”

“Yeah, but a lot less satisfying.” Melissa snorted back, “And a lot more dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t say so,” he shrugged, “We do not have Megatron stalking our every move.”

“We do have these jerkoffs though,” she gestured to the guards through the closing doors, “I bet if I even sneeze they’ll come and clobber us--me.”
Speak of the devil--she sneezed into her arm again. Grimacing at the sleeve, Melissa tried to ignore Silverbolt’s amusement at calling her bluff.

The Maximal pointed out, “These people don’t appear to be the violent type. I believe this is simply a case of mistaken identity. Otherwise, I imagine things would be much worse.”

“Much worse? How could they be much worse?!”

“Your very spark could have been ripped from your body, and placed in an unholy vessel of suffering and pain, then forced to watch helplessly as you are set against your friends...and the love of your life.”

Melissa stopped, looking at him with an expression of mortification, “Right. I’m sorry…”

He waved it off, smiling a little trying to ease the tension, “‘Tis alright. I suppose it never happened. Not in our…’headcanon’, correct?”
Abruptly clearing his throat, Silverbolt nodded down toward the end of the massive hall, “By the way, I believe marines are supposed to offer a gesture of respect toward heads of state.”

Melissa froze, realizing that Celestia was still in her throne across the large chamber, with a slightly confused expression. And impatient.
“I suggest we approach this from the ‘mistaken identity’ angle,” Silverbolt suggested, “Showing respect will gain us favor.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but, rubbing his temples, Silverbolt cut her off, “You’re not respecting her personally by doing this, you're respecting the office. The people in charge aren’t the same thing as the position. Everyone has to swallow their pride at times. You’ll be surprised at how far good manners can get you.”

“And boyish charm…” Melissa muttered, and took a step forward.

Striding briskly to what looked like the official place to stand, she stopped, stood to attention, and raised her hand to her head in a salute.
“I am Corporal Melissa Foster, United States Marine Corps, of the Armed Forces of the United States of America. I believe I have been wrongfully imprisoned, but I am willing to overlook this in the name of diplomatic relations. Hopefully, we can discuss how to get through this whole thing. I am deeply apologetic for my attempted assault, and while I can offer an explanation, I doubt you would accept it. I am willing to make amends.”

Celestia might have been surprised, but she gave no sign. She simply sighed.

The queen looked the corporal in the eyes, sadness and regret dancing in those magenta eyes of hers, “Sunset, I gave you ample opportunity to return peacefully. Nothing would’ve been held against you. Yet you still insist on conspiring against Equestria.”

Melissa lowered her arm, remaining at attention. Curiously, the name “Sunset Shimmer” caused a tightness in her gut, a tweak of intense and inexplicable anger.
“Your highness, I apologize for attacking you in Manehattan. I was not in control of my actions. However, I am not this Sunset Shimmer, and I never intended to attack your kingdom. Whatever crimes she committed I had no part in.”

The queen stood up from her seat, moving toward Melissa, “Still insistent on maintaining this charade, are we? A shapeshifting spell or potion won’t change what happened, or what you were planning to do.”
She pointed at Melissa’s hair, “You felt no need to correct that? That’s how we were able to spot you. Your mane is still the same color.”

Celestia paused, and tilted her head to look at Silverbolt. He turned around, but saw nothing of interest behind him.
“Yes, I am looking at you,” Celestia confirmed, smiling, “Hello there. I take it you are her alienist.”

“Wait, you can see him?” Melissa asked.

“Why, of course,” Celestia answered, a hint of surprise on her face, “Why wouldn’t I be able to?”

“I thought the guards were the only ones who could. Who else can?”

Celestia frowned, wearing an expression not-unlike a teacher frustrated with a student forgetting a fact, “You know this already, Sunset.”

She turned back to Silverbolt, “Might I ask your name?”

Taking it in stride, the Maximal bowed, “My name is Silverbolt, your highness, Senior Aviator aboard the Maximal Exploration Starship Axalon. Of late, I am her incarceration assistant.”

“Interesting...what are you exactly? Is that armor, or your skin?”

“It is armor, but has the same capabilities as your epidermis. To answer your first question, I am a Cybertronian, a mechanoid lifeform.”

Celestia nodded, yet still puzzled, “Yet you have wings, and...a wolf’s pelt, curious. Integrated with machinery, but nonetheless, much of it is organic. How can you be mechanoid?”

“I doubt you would understand,” Silverbolt replied gently, “But all of it is technological. It is a synthetic sheath, designed to imitate the form of a non-sapient life form on the planet my ship was stranded on. Unfortunately, the vessel intended to give me such a form was damaged, and the sensors malfunctioned, combining two forms into one.”

“A starship, you said?” Now that was odd. Celestia didn’t seem confused by the concept.

She turned back to Melissa, “Interesting friend you have here, Sunset. Have you learned a few things while you were gone?”

Standing at ease, trying hard to contain the rage that bewildered and kind of scared her, Melissa insisted, “I am not Sunset Shimmer. I am--”

“Sunset, enough, there is no need to keep hiding. We know it is you, we know what you were planning to do. Now, we could dismiss the charges against you if you were willing to tell us what’s on the other side of the portal, how you got back without using the portal, and and help us return the stolen equipment. As for your punishment, however--”

As Celestia spoke, she reached out a hoof for whatever reason, only for Melissa to flinch and draw back, “Stay the hell away from me.”

“Melissa? What is it?” Silverbolt exclaimed.

The queen was taken aback as well, looking between her and her hoof, “What’s the matter?”

“I know how monarchs are when they’re pissed. Divorced, beheaded and died, divorced, beheaded, survived!”

Celestia squinted in confusion, “What in Equestria are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I mean! This is gonna be some kangaroo court, then you’re gonna cart me off to the guillotine!”

Celestia was horrified. Silverbolt rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Melissa, you know that’s not what she’s like.”

“Oh, I do? What about what she did to her sister?! Her own fucking sister!?”

“Sunset?! What is wrong with you?” Celestia demanded.

“What’s wrong with me?! What the fuck is wrong with me?!”

Melissa released an ironic laugh, “Once did a pony who shone like the sun look out on her kingdom and sigh. She smiled and said, ‘Surely, there is no pony so lovely and so well beloved as I.’ So great was her reign and so brilliant her glory, that long was the shadow she cast which fell dark upon the young sister she loved; and grew only darker as days and nights passed.”

“Melissa…” Silverbolt said, frustrated, as Celestia’s expression of horror increased.

“Soon did that pony take notice that others did not give her sister her due, and neither had she loved her as she deserved. She watched as her sister's unhappiness grew. But such is the way of the limelight, it sweetly takes hold of the mind of its host, and that foolish pony did nothing to stop. The destruction of one who had needed her most.”

The two stared at her with horror. Melissa felt a twinge of regret, but was too angry to pull back.
“So Bowser, you’ll excuse me if I don’t let this bitch anywhere near me.”

“Melissa, that was extremely unkind. You know how she feels about her sister! That was just about the worst possible thing you could say to her! Primus, are you trying to get us into further trouble?!”

“Cthulhu’s left testicle, Silverbolt...I...I..” as Melissa stuttered, Celestia noted an anomaly. There was...something in her eyes, not an object, just...something that disappeared. As it did, Melissa’s demeanor suddenly shifted, and she covered her hand with her mouth, “...Oh hell.”

“Sunset...what happened to you out there?” Celestia asked quietly, “What did they do to you?”

Silverbolt appeared to notice something was wrong as well, and spoke to Celestia directly, “Your highness, please accept my deepest apologies. Miss Foster here has been through alot lately, she’s suffering from sickness, fatigue, exposure, she’s just not quite mentally fit.”

“Oh…” Celestia still showed no sign of fury or hate. Only deep motherly concern. “Is there anything I can do?”

The Maximal nodded, “She does need better living conditions, and food that’s better for her.”

She dipped her head, “I will see what can be done.”

He turned back to the marine, “See, Melissa, it’s all a misunderstanding.. She’s not the enemy.”

Celestia tried to add, “Sunset, whatever--”

The anger reignited in a flash once again, and there was something in Melissa’s eyes yet again. “Shut up. Shut up and stop calling be that. Is this really a misunderstanding?” she demanded, looking at Silverbolt, “After Inferno attacked you and Quickstrike, was Megatron telling the truth when he said ‘it was all a misunderstanding’?”

The incorporeal Maximal bowed his head, “Of course not, I must shamefully admit that. But this is different--”

“No. No it’s not. The thing is, we have no reason to trust her. I’ve done my best to do it the right way, but she clearly is not interested in treating us as equals. She’s treating us like criminals.”

“Sunset,” Celestia tried to interject, “I--”

Melissa growled, “Stop that. Stop that right now. That is not my name, my name is Melissa Foster. M-E-L-I-S-S-A. Mike, echo, lima, indigo, double-sierra, alpha. Corporal, March 18th, 1995, serial number 504-48-7378. Sunset isn’t here, I don’t care how my hair looks, I don’t care what bullshit you pull right out of that enormous ass of yours, I’m not her.”

Celestia’s face was one of utter horror and sickness, “What did you go through while you were out there? What was on the other side of that portal?”

“It’s Foster, you big white cunt, it’s Melissa Foster. Corporal. March 18th, 1995. Serial number 504-48-7378. That’s my name, that is who I am. I am a combat engineer in the United States Armed Forces, born and raised in Vermont. My dad’s first name is Douglas, my mom’s Elaine. My brother’s name is Garrett. Silverbolt here? He’s not real...no offense, Bowser. He’s from a computer-animated kids show! Trauma can cause a lot of problems, make a bunch of fake details, but nothing like this! The only time I think that happened was with Sam Beckett, and that was in Quantum Leap! Fiction! And his brain had been jumping around various people, so he was getting their memories! You really believe my mind created an entire life, race, and set of values just for the purpose of my hallucination?!”

“Well, there is still a lot about the brain that we don’t know--”

“Oh fuck you! Fuck you and fuck your science! I know more about the brain than your entire planet does!”

Celestia’s eyes narrowed slightly. Not a glare, but something in between. “That’s an interesting opinion.”

“Don’t believe me? I know every single part of the brain!” more or less, she thought, and suddenly broke into song, “Neo-cortex frontal lobe, brainstem, brainstem!"

Ignoring the befuddled expression on the monarch’s face, it was all Melissa could do to think out the tune of Camptown Races and the lyircs of the Parts of the Brain song.

Silverbolt and the queen of Equestria stared at her when she finally finished.

“I don’t know if that was appropriate…” the fuzor muttered.

“Your apparent superior knowledge of the different parts of the brain notwithstanding, Sunset--”

Melissa roared nonsense, made a strangulation motion, then settled for grabbing her own head in frustration, and walking a short distance away. Silverbolt’s supportive hand on her shoulder, though imaginary, was immensely welcome.
“Your highness, that name seems to aggravate her. It seems you may wish to refer to her as what she wants to be called.”

Celestia must have nodded or something, Silverbolt’s hand patted Melissa's shoulder twice.

“Very well. Melissa? Should we postpone this until you feel well again?”

That almost brought the corporal to tears. Celestia was like so many teachers, so many nice people she had known, why did she keep snapping at her? Well, there was good reason, but why couldn’t she give the queen the benefit of the doubt? Silverbolt was in all likelihood correct, it was probably a misunderstanding...so what was the matter with her?

What was wrong with her?

“Just...just give me a second.” Saying thank you felt like a stab in the gut. Why?

“How did you get back--how did you get to Equestria?” Celestia asked, being much more careful this time, “The portal Sunset Shimmer escaped though, is currently inoperable. There hasn’t been enough time between opening periods for you to have come through there…”

Melissa kept her lips sealed, her hostility rushing back. “Melissa Foster. Corporal. Serial number 504-48-7378. March 18th, 1995.”

She looked up at Celestia, who tilted her head in confusion. “Again with that information. A serial number? Some sort of date? What does that string of numbers mean?”

Melissa answered “Code of the United States Fighting Forces. Article five. ‘When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give my name, rank, service number and date of birth. I will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country and its allies or harmful to their cause.’ Name: Melissa Foster. Rank: Corporal. I belong to the United States Marine Corps. My serial number is 504-48-7378. My birthday is March 18th, 1995. And that’s all you’re getting from me. As I said, you wouldn’t like the answers to my questions.”

“Surely there’s some arrangement we could come to!” Silverbolt protested.

“Silverbolt, I’ll be the first to admit I’m being a fucking asshole, but there’s a bunch of stuff here that if I say it it would be paramount to treason!”

“Treasonous to whom?” Celestia inquired, “How would basic information about this other world be as such?”

“‘Because,’” Melissa said as if speaking to a child, trying to recall a quote, “‘When dealing with alien civilizations, “secret” knowledge is almost worthless, but “common” knowledge is extremely dangerous.’ See, your secret info might be important, but it’s nothing compared to what’s in a public library. If they get their grubby mitts on your knowledge, they’ll hit you with something you know but didn’t expect. If they get your common knowledge, they will understand your motivations, your psychological weaknesses, blind-spots, and use that against you. They’ll destroy you with it, and you’ll never see it coming. Maybe that’s true, maybe not, in fact I disagreed with it up until now, but it’s all I got. I don’t know how you could use it against me, so I’m not taking any risks.”

She fixed Celestia with a cold hard stare, “So there. Anything else you wanted?”

Celestia was thoroughly flabbergasted. Completely unable to react for several minutes. “Guards?” she called out finally.

The massive doors opened, and obediently a pair of guards stepped out.

“Take her into custody, but let me speak to your sergeant.”

Their sergeant stepped through the doorway past the guards taking Melissa with them, “Ma’am?”

“Instruct the guards to take her to one of the more spartan rooms in the palace,” Celestia told him.

He blinked, “But--Ma’am--”

“Sergeant, at present, she is far less adept at surviving the cold than we are. It seems our cell blocks leave her quite sick. In addition…” Celestia sighed, “There is a slim chance she might be an actual human, and we don’t want to run the risk of getting in trouble.”

“With what? A bunch of old fairy tales?”

Celestia didn’t answer. “Do as I say, sergeant.”

The sergeant emerged from the throne room, gave his directions to the guards, and they set off.

“So, what do you think?” Melissa asked Silverbolt with some hostility.

“Huh?” one of the guards inquired, looking between her and whatever she seemed to be looking at.

“Not talking to you!” Melissa growled, “‘Bolt?”

The other guard looked at her, then to his fellow, “Who’s she talking to?”

“Not you, cocksucker!”

Realization suddenly dawned, and the marine facepalmed, “Oh...you can’t see him. He really is Urgo. It’s my alienist. Prison buddy. Apparently everyone knows about them?”

The guards both muttered oh, shrugged, and spoke no more.

“So. Silverbolt. Your opinion?”

Silverbolt looked reluctant to speak. He scratched his head, “...I think she will be lenient. She seems like a good soul, you couldn’t have offended her that much…”

“I did that badly, huh? What a SNAFU…”

“What did you expect, doing everything you possibly could have done to offend her? Primus, Melissa, what is the matter with you? You bring up her past mistakes, refer to her with what might be the most offensive word in the english language, and then refuse to speak to her at all!”

It felt like an electric shock had snapped through her head, and Melissa halted, leaning against a pillar and clutching her head.

“Ooh...fuckin’ A, don’t yell. She wasn’t willing to talk, you saw that. She thought I was whoever that little bitch Sunset Shimmer is, and she wanted a way to get to Earth. No way am I even helping with that.”

Silverbolt stroked his chin, “She asked only a few questions. She mistook you for that other pony, asked how you came to this world. Your response was to yell at her for the identity crisis--that was understandable, somewhat--refuse to offer any further information--less understandable--, and insult her with what may arguably be the most offensive word in the english language. Yes, obviously she is the clear and present danger. The kind-hearted ruler of a less advanced society than Victorian England is a threat to the...engineer belonging to the planet of technologically advanced homo sapiens who could wipe out their entire nation in twenty minutes. By the Matrix, Melissa, what is the matter with you?! Why would you do such a thing? Is it your intention to get yourself terminated?”

“Obviously not! But...but I…she...” Melissa groaned, her head hurting worse than ever. She hunched over, applying pressure to her temples in the hopes it would dull the pain.

The guards stopped, looking at one another in confusion.

After a moment, Melissa released her head. She straightened up, looking somewhat dazed.
She shook her head, clearing it, “Silverbolt?”

He was gone.

“Silverbolt--!” she gasped, glancing about in dismay.

“Behind you,” he said, and she turned about with relief. She briefly made as if to hug him, but dropped her arms quickly.
He was looking at his hand, turning it over in puzzlement. “How odd…”

“I think I disappeared for a few seconds…”

Melissa winced in pain again, “Try not to do that again, you scared the piss out of me. Anyway, Celestia--it was her fault, she...”

“You referred to her as a--”

“I did not!” Melissa denied, “I…” she winced again, “No...I did? Shit, shit shit shit. I did. Why did I do that?”

Silverbolt was surprised, “You were angry, yes? You’re hungry, you’re upset--”

“She’s the goddamn queen of the sun! She could kill me in an instant! Oh fuck, oh fuck me, what is the matter with me?”

The Maximal was perplexed, “I don’t know. Perhaps we should discuss this out of range of the guards?”

Melissa glanced down one of the guards, a few dozen centimeters shorter than her. His eyes were locked straight ahead, courtesy of intense guard training much like the Queen’s Guard back home. That didn’t stop certain universal twitches of confusion common among humans and ponies to seep through the cracks.

The guards led her not back to her cell, but instead toward a different part of the palace, one of the taller dormitory towers.
Though with heavy locks mounted on it, the door that she was led to was otherwise normal. Made of thick wood, though.

The room was much more spacious than the cell. Still fairly spartan, but there was a bed, lights, a few books on a shelf, and no draft. The windows were glass, but judging by the drop, it didn’t look like she’d want to try anyway.
The guards began to walk out, but one fell behind the other, stopping to reach into his pocket. He withdrew a small round object, glancing at it before cursing, and muttering, “Right. Forgot.”

Melissa looked back at him, “Something wrong?”

The guard looked up at her. He was a unicorn, possessing round Harry Potter glasses, and a dark-green coat with patterns of red stripes in a form of war paint, or at least personal preference. His muzzle was red, and stripes of red were across the sides of his jaw and his legs. His mane was a slightly-brighter red and a stripe of lime green. Under his armor just barely visible was a cutie mark displaying a chessboard and two question marks. In his hoof he held a pocket watch, connected to the inside of his uniform by a metal chain.
“It’s nothing, really. I forgot my watch broke this morning. Force of habit, you know?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Can it be repaired?”

The guard waved off her concern, “It’s fine. Just gotta find a watchsmith at some point. Hope it’s not too badly damaged this time…”

“This time?” Melissa inquired.

“It’s an old family heirloom, been beaten up a lot over the years. My dad will not be happy if he finds I broke it again.”

Melissa held out her hand, “Mind if I take a look at it? I could spare you some cash.”

The guard clutched it back protectively, “I--I--gotta go.”

Melissa grimaced, “C’mon, dude. I’m an engineer. I solve problems. Some philosophical problems, but mainly practical problems. I may not be a watchsmith, but it could be something really simple. What else am I gonna do with it? I can’t use it for a weapon, it’s a freaking watch. I can’t keep it, you’ll beat the hell out of me to get it back. I can’t smash it, I imagine I’d end up flying out of that window. It’s only in my best interest to help.”

The guard thought on it, and eventually, with great reluctance, he placed the small battered device in her hands.
“I...I tried winding it already, but it still won’t move. It’s a weird watch. Some ancestor’s unique design, it can be wound manually, or just by waving it around. It’s been mind-boggling for anyone who’s tried to remake it.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow at that, “Real high-tech. Huh.”

She turned it over, studying it. It looked like it might have been a wristwatch once, judging by the two loops at either side above and below the face, but whatever had been there had long since worn away. It was a very elegant design. Despite the scrapes it had, it still looked impressive. Shaking it, something inside rattled.

“Careful!”

“Keep your pants on,” she said to the guard’s puzzlement, “I got it.”

She flipped it over, and pried open the back panel. A gear was loose inside, and she pushed it back into place with little difficulty.

“All done.” she declared, closing the back...before her eyes locked in on the letters carved into the steel back. There was a pony family name scratched into the panel, but the machinery-made letters were what drew her attention.
She turned it over, and looked at the front again. Just above the mounting for the hands, there were two individual words printed.

The marine’s hands shook as she passed it back, “Real nice piece. Take good care of it, you hear me?”
The guard looked puzzledly at her, but said, “Thanks. I’m Guardscolt Wild Gambit. Give a yell if you need anything.” With that, he retreated through the door.

Melissa sat down heavily on the bed, listening to the locks being engaged.

“Is something wrong?” Silverbolt asked, materializing nearby.

“You didn’t see it?” she whispered.

“See what?”

“The writing on the watch.”

The words were burned into her mind, “Dos en acier inoxydable, résistant à l'eau.”

On the face was the type, “automatique”, and the manufacturer. “Cartier”.

XXXXX

Perhaps several hundred meters away, the Mane Six, Spike, and Andrew were in a common area close to where guests in palace were accommodated. The group lounged about on a handful of couches and chairs around a fireplace, the only ones in the dark chamber. Night had descended, and the only light came from from a lamp next to Rarity, the roaring fire, and the Samsung tablet Twilight had on an armrest.
Strangely, all the ponies were arrayed away from Andrew. Normally Twilight or Fluttershy would be seated near, but now they sat with each other opposite him. Spike, recently arrived from Ponyville, was with Twilight, providing moral support.
There were circles under Andrew’s reddened eyes, noxious smells emitting from his clothes, and he slouched forward on the tiny chair he sat on. With the only other human on the planet at risk, he wasn't taking care of himself very well.

“Melissa’s charges are wide,” Rarity said, peering at a piece of paper she held in one hoof, “They include but are not limited to, two counts of conspiracy to commit theft of a national treasure, falsifying identity, illegal surgeries, violation of a restraining order, several counts of trespassing, possible treason,and three counts of assault, one of which on military personnel, one on the queen herself, and one on members of the Manehattan Police Department.”
She placed the paper back on the table before her, among the piles of other documents and folders.

“Bullshit.” Andrew spat. “Bullshit.”

The ponies all stared at him, having heard the word very little, and mostly from Melissa.

“Total BS.” Rainbow agreed, “She’d never do that! I mean, the assault maybe, but who wouldn't have those charges?”

“Jus’ about every law-abiding pony?” Applejack inquired with an eye-roll.

“I find it hard to believe myself.” Rarity agreed with the human and pegasus, “This is not the woman we know.”

“Do criminals ever reveal their true selves?” Twilight inquired, staring at the wondrous gift bestowed upon her by the human she no longer understood. The tablet. An artifact so advanced that even the casing was beyond their science. Andrew had known it was real, he recognized it, everything had been right.
Was it a fake? Was it taken from whoever had originally owned it and the vehicle? Or was Melissa really who she said she was?
“She was aggressive in the past, but I never expected her to...to punch Celestia! Do we actually know anything about her?”

“Twilight, don’t say that.” Andrew said angrily, “She’s as human as I am. I know you two didn’t get along, but you can’t be thinking--”

“I’m not!” Twilight barked harshly, another individual breaking from behavior, “I don’t know what I’m thinking right now! I don’t know who that person is, I don’t know if she’s guilty or not, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!”
She put her face in her hooves, anxiety going off the charts, as Spike patted her shoulder comfortingly. He glared at Andrew, months of some strange rivalry reflected in that instant.

“Did you know this Sunset Shimmer character?” Rarity asked gently, “According to her records, she was one of Celestia’s pupils up until about a year before you came to Ponyville.”

Twilight shook her head, “No...I don’t remember much of anyone from my magic school. I remember her mane and coat though. It matched Melissa’s exactly.”

“Oh, like that’s a good excuse!” Andrew threw up his hands, “Say, let’s say I’ve got the same hair color as a serial killer, should I should be thrown into jail? That’s about on the same level as throwing someone into jail for skin color! Is your judicial system made of racists?! And that’s not even her natural hair color, it’s hair dye! Fake!”

Rarity picked up a file, “That’s not the only evidence, unfortunately. The police sergeant, a stallion Ms. Shimmer had known from her youth, positively identified our friend as the former. Several other witnesses confirmed her behavior, appearance, and mannerisms as identical or very similar to Ms. Shimmer.”

“Who cares? I know her, and she is not this...Sunset Shimmy person!” Rainbow said.

“Unfortunately, the justice system cares. There is plenty of evidence here to bring it to court.” Rarity grimaced.

Pinkie Pie, otherwise silent during the conversation, picked up one of the documents at random, “Wow! How’d they get this one? Oh, it was her. Duh.”

“Who?”

“Oh, Agent Sweetie Drops was spying on us when Melissa’s leg was still messed up. Y’know, from the Tartarus security agency that was shut down when the bugbear escaped?”
Pinkie looked at everyone like they were crazy, “C’mon, everyone knows her! She does have a secret identity though, and really doesn’t want other ponies talking about it!”

“How’d you--” Andrew started to ask, but Twilight shook her head, “Don’t even bother.”

“Hey, what was with that treason charge?” Rainbow Dash asked suddenly, “If they don’t think she’s really human…”

“Reportedly, Sunset Shimmer was being escorted to holding by several palace guards, and managed to gain the upper hand against them. She found a way to escape the entire Household Division and Canterlot Police completely undetected, and hasn’t been spotted since. The idea has been put forward that due to our friend’s equipment, she was either willingly or unwillingly employed by the human government, transformed into a human, and equipped to come back and gather information on our defenses. Those who put this idea forward say it is true even if Melissa is who she says she is. While the idea is ridiculous, their evidence will be somewhat persuasive. Using Twilight’s notes, they have pointed out several unusual points in our friend’s story. To start, her automobile.”
Rarity turned to Andrew, “Darling, isn’t it true that most motor vehicles on Earth are powered by...gasoline?”

He nodded, “Yeah, of course.”

Rarity grimaced, “The prosecution seem to find it too much of a coincidence that of all the vehicles that might have been brought here, it is one of those few that doesn’t require gasoline. There was no need to build a refinery, she simply created an adapter and adjusted the power output until she could refuel it.”

“That’s circumstantial evidence though,” Andrew pointed out, “Statistical impossibilities happen all the time.”

“There’s more. They question why of all the people to use the vehicle, it was her, who is not only a soldier, but a combat engineer and a member of your Marine Corps; a unit highly-renowned for its ability to adapt to any environment. Combat engineers are, by her own admission, trained for undermining enemy defenses, and preparing for the rest of the army following. The prosecution wonders why, of all the millions of soldiers on your world, it would be one from your world’s most powerful nation, a member of the (arguably)most adaptable military service, a foot soldier instead of a cook or sailor, one with training in undermining defenses, and one with plans immediately set into motion for how to deal with her circumstances.”

Most of the ponies were gaping at that, as was Andrew.

“That’s...real specific.” Rainbow pointed out.

“Yeah, why do they think Earth wants to invade? We haven’t had any contact with them since we left!” Cried Andrew.

“We don’t know that. We have only yours and her word that you were sent here by accident.” Twilight said quietly.

Andrew looked at her in shock, “...what?”

“We don’t know if you’re telling the truth.” She repeated more clearly.

“Wha...but...Twilight…” he stuttered, “You know me. Would I lie?”

She avoided his gaze.

He looked at the yellow mare beside her, “Fluttershy, help me out here. You don’t think...this is crazy, right? Right?”

Fluttershy looked away as well, squeaking “I...I…”

Andrew slammed a fist on the arm of his chair, “Damn it! What is wrong with everyone?! We’re not lying about anything!”

“C’mon, you two!” Rainbow pleaded, looking at Twilight and Fluttershy, “You three are in a big love triangle, for crying out loud! You know he’s not a liar!”

“And Melissa’s no scheming criminal.” Rarity said, “She might be...unusual, but if she were really preparing to invade, wouldn’t Earth have prepared a much better infiltration plan? Posing as a pony would be much more effective!”

“If she were really a spy, you wouldn’t even notice.” Andrew said, “Spies never try to attract attention, and they certainly don’t get into fistfights with Griffins over spilt drinks.”

The lines were drawn. A pegasus, a dragon, and a unicorn on one side, a human, another pegasus, and another unicorn on the other. Eyes turned toward the earth ponies, daring them to pick a side.

Applejack leaned back in her chair, “I honestly don’t know who’s a liar and who’s telling the truth. I know our friends here certainly believe they have no idea how they got here, but here’s something none of y’all have considered. What if you’re both right? What if you both didn’t know how you got here, but you were sent here deliberately? By some other force?”

The others were silent. “What are you thinking of?” Twilight asked.

“I don’t know. It’s the only answer I can see.”

“Pinkie Pie, darling,” Rarity said, turning to the last member of their party, “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Do you have any thoughts on this matter?”

The pink pony did not reply immediately. When she did, it was soft and quiet, a tone and vocabulary that disturbed all listening. “Something else is going on here. Something big. Something that’s making my stomach churn.”

Though all those present knew she was insane, Pinkie Pie’s word could always be trusted. The darkness of the chamber around them was all the more intimidating. The crackling fire transmitted a menacing score.