Time is something you don’t pay all that much attention to until you are forced to, Spliced Genome thought to herself for the nth time as she laid about on the upper deck of the observation hub.

This was her second hundredth year up on the moon and she had begun to suspect this was one of the reasons they made her immortal. To try and make her reflect on her actions.

As far as she was concerned, Spliced Genome had done nothing wrong. She had been hired to create cures for the chemical weaponry the Pures were using and then create similar weapons for the Thirds. If anything, her only crime was being overly enthusiastic about her work with Spliced missing only two points of matter: to provide the cures to her employers and continuing her work after the war was over.

But really, a much simplified version of it was her working overtime without realizing it and this was her punishment? The Thirds had been executed for their crimes, why was she special, because she was a Pure pony or the fact she happened to kill more than the Thirds?

“Completely ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, splaying her wings out around her before tilting her head at the camera pointed at her. “Am I right?” she asked it, with the camera remaining silent as always.

Spliced snorted as she rolled onto her stomach, flicking her eyes at the poisoned fields of Agbogbloshie and smiled to herself. That that little bout of genius was still functioning after all this time warmed her heart.

She then started to chuckle as she recalled how badly they’d panicked when she’d first told them she remembered everything. They had killed her rapidly back then in a vain hope it would take away her memories again, but all of their efforts had failed. Whatever the other mare had done, it had ensured that Spliced would never forget her true self again.

Then she began to laugh louder, remembering how she had messed with them; pressing her face against the camera after a flare, spending an entire day moving backwards, and even staying completely still for five days straight after taking a step before she finally broke down. She couldn’t help but wonder what they thought of that little prank.

Tilting her head as she let out a sigh, Spliced knew she had to find something to do.

It had been two hundred fifty years since Spliced had recalled her true self and she had spent half her time working out scientific formulas to prevent herself from suffering cutie mark failure insanity syndrome again and testing out the full extent of her immortality.

Spliced also learned that her body, despite being restored to full health before her first death, did actually adapt to whatever killed her. She could, after so many times being outside the space station, function in incredibly low oxygen and they needed to use almost enough electricity to short out the electronics to kill her now.

She had been working on her theoretical astronautic engineering work, double checking her calculations with her feather dipping into the small pot of her blood when she paused.

Putting her feather turned quill into the inkpot she made from a moon rock, she looked at the cameras that had been watching her and realized something important.

“You guys haven’t killed me in a long time,” she said aloud, tilting her head at the camera. “I wonder why…” she mused, tapping her chin. There had to be some logical reasoning for it; they had been killing her due to her… eccentric behaviour as well as singing what she was planning to do on her return. Spliced understood her singing voice was bad as she had admitted she not going to use those plans as she didn’t want to be predictable.

Perhaps they were thinking that she was reforming and rewarding her for good behaviour by not killing her?

It was an interesting idea…

“Almost done,” Spliced said aloud, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hoof. It had been almost thirty years since her work on theoretical astronautic engineering began, almost four hundred years since she had been placed on the moon. During her time up here, she had ventured into a wide number of different fields of science, almost all theoretical due to the lack of access to the material. Spliced had used logical reasoning to get as far as she had for each of them before abandoning them when she had hit her limitations.

She had been very surprised to find herself to enjoy botany of all things and that if she had applied herself, she was somewhat decent despite killing all of the previous plants she had ever owned. It was a struggle to actually make progress using the moon’s soil in a way that could grow produce as well as provide a viable habitat for her little farm but as always, time was on her side.

She flashed a smile at the cameras who had been watching her all this time and took a step backwards to show them her produces. It wasn’t much, but these crops of potatoes and carrots was hers.

Maybe, she thought to herself as she peered down at her work with a happy sigh, after all this time, I have been wro-

Her ears perked up as she heard the doors to the air hatch open up. Before she could react, everything in the main hub had been thrown outside the station, with her neck hitting the wall and killing her.

Spliced Genome threw herself out of her bed and raced to the major hub where her farm was and let out a furious scream. All of her hard work was destroyed!

Those bastards! She had been good for all these years and now that she was about to harvest the fruits of her labour, they decided to kill her again‽

No, she was done. It was time to leave the moon.