“Would you like a cup of tea?” the purple Unicorn mare asks you, pouring herself one. She is familiar – you feel like you should know her name, but it escapes you. “I’m sorry we don’t have anything stronger, I’m sure it’s just an oversight to be corrected presently.”

You don’t know what she means. You don’t particularly know where you are. It gives the impression of being… somewhere? You suppose that’s a good place to start.

It’s a waiting room, some part of you thinks. Yes, that does seem plausible. After all, there is a table, chairs, and there is something that even looks like a magazine rack, though all the magazines have are pictures of a redheaded woman with a variety of people.

Me, you realise. Pictures of me.

Strange, isn’t it, how you only remembered that now?

“Of course,” the Unicorn says, “there’s a question about how you came to be here. It’s not every day that we have something quite like you through here.”

“Like me?” you ask.

The Unicorn smiles. “How about we start from the beginning.”

HLS Columbia, Secure Location. March 8th, 2022.

The HLS Columbia: a great grey edifice sitting in the middle of the port, surrounded by dozens of soldiers in black bodysuits, all of them armed with sleek assault rifles. One of the already-famed Thunderchild-class, and the home of Ex Astris Victoria, the little-known R&D wing of the HLF, commanded by one of the more contentious individuals floating about in the middle of this war.

No pun intended, thought Commander Lucky Strike as she looked at her watch. The Columbia was due a visit from one of the PHL’s own R&D specialists. Captain Romero had asked Lucky Strike to escort their guest upon her arrival.

Wonder what this research team is going to be like, Strike thought idly.

They hadn’t even told her how the team was going to get here, only that they would be using their own method of transportation. Privately, Strike wondered how they expected to be able to get to this location, which was far enough off the beaten track that coming here would be difficult for anyone not using an off-roader.

Even as she thought it, however, there was a sudden wheezing, groaning sound. Strike paused, blinking, as the sound trumpeted across the deck

“Ma’am?” one of her security guards said

“Keep on your toes,” Strike said, holding up a hoof. Even as she said it, however, her eyes widened as… something began slowly coming into being.

It was tall - something like nine feet tall, in fact, with a lamp on top that was flashing as it faded into existence. Strike had seen a lot of pretty odd magic over the years, but something about this felt alien even to her. After a moment, the thing resolved into the shape of a blue box, with the words ‘Police Public Call Box’ written atop it in big, easy-to-read letters.

“What the actual…” one of her marines whispered.

“Stop it,” she said, frowning. “This… isn’t it -”

As she spoke, the front door of the box popped open. Strike stepped back and she heard clicks as her marines aimed their weapons at the door… and then a man stepped out. He wore a green tweed coat covered in a checkered pattern, save for the suede contrast collar. Brown eyes blinked under a streak of slightly spiked, messy red hair.

“Oh,” he said, raising his hands and stepping out. “Sorry, should I have called ahead?”

“Let me guess,” a female voice asked from inside. “Aiming guns are your big ginger head?”

“Well… yes,” he said, smiling without looking back into his box. “Sorry. I’m the Doctor - Doctor Richard Bowman, if you need the name. I’m expected?”

Lucky Strike narrowed her eyes, before holding up a wing. “You’re the R&D man?”

“We’re the R&D team,” the female voice said.

A moment passed, and then a Unicorn mare stepped out of the box: she was grey. That was the overriding impression Strike could glean from her.

“This is Chalcedony,” Bowman said, motioning to her and slowly lowering his hands. “We were sent by Colonel Munro. I think someone else was tapped for this job -”

“But we were around, so this works out better for most involved,” Chalcedony finished dully. She looked around. “So this is the famous Columbia, huh? Nice.”

Strike blinked, before waving off her troops.

“Right,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Lucky Strike, Chief Of Security. Captain Romero wants to speak with you both before you proceed with your… uh, appointment.”

“Oh, does he?” Bowman said, smiling. “Nice. It’ll be interesting to meet the man they call ‘the HLF’s R&D’. Maybe we can swap notes.”

Chalcedony was less enthused. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Strike said. “Matter of principle, you understand. The, uh… subject… used to be a member of his crew, after all.” She snorted. “Still is, sort of.”

“Be polite, Chalcedony,” Bowman said softly. “After all, we’re guests on their ship. Besides, spirit of cooperation, eh?”

“If you say so, Doctor,” Chalcedony sighed. She smiled tiredly at Lucky Strike. “I guess we’re yours, Commander.”

Strike nodded. “Well, if you’ll follow me. The Captain’s waiting.”

The ship’s interior was threadbare, with a few examples of the Ex Astris Scientia symbol painted slightly haphazardly here and there, along with the occasional graffiti tag – some of which had been left alone, but a couple of which had crewmen scrubbing at them.

“We don’t generally like people tagging the walls,” Strike said to the Doctor’s look.

“I suppose that would mess with the vibe the place is going for,” he replied. “Surprising to see it, truth be told. I’ve never known the HLF to go for the veneer of professionalism.”

“It isn’t a veneer on Captain Romero’s ship, sir,” Strike said with a slight preen. “We signed up to fight a war. That means we do it properly.”

“Do what properly?” Chalcedony asked.

“Everything,” Strike replied.

Chalcedony looked dubious, but said nothing more, and Strike didn’t much feel like pressing the issue.

It was a few minutes before they reached the office of Captain Romero. His name was printed on the door in smart letters, and the corridors within sight of his door were studiously cleaned. Strike knocked once.

“Come in,” a voice called out.

Strike opened the door, and entered, her guests behind her.

Captain Romero was, as ever, dressed in his two-piece blue uniform, and he stood to greet them as they entered, a small smile on his handsome face. His dark hair was perhaps a tad more ruffled than it usually was: it must have been a rough morning.

“Ah, excellent,” he said, looking at the two of them. “You’re the PHL researchers, yes?”

“Yep,” Bowman said, his mouth popping slightly as he said the ‘p’. “Doctor Bowman, and this is Chalcedony. She’s my - not assistant, but…” He looked at Chalcedony. “Would ‘colleague’ work?”

“Too vague,” Chalcedony said.

“Companion?”

“Unfortunate implications.”

“Even more during the Victorian era, I promise you. Compadre?”

“… no.”

“Amigo? Freunde? Mon ami?”

“No!”

“Oh. Well -”

“Friend works.”

The Doctor blinked. “Okay then, friend it is.”

“Yes, well,” Romero said easily. “I’m sure whatever term you’re wantin’ to use, you’re the right people for the job.”

Strike briefly pondered if he meant that, or if he was just being nice. It was always difficult to tell. Especially when he was dealing with people like… this.

“Please, have a seat, both of you,” Romero said quietly. “I’d like to ask a couple of questions before we go down to Sharon’s quarters.”

“Questions?” Chalcedony repeated. “This is supposed to be a visit for us to examine a Newfoal patient. I wasn’t made aware of anything that special.”

Romero sat, too, and placed his hands on his desk, clasped firmly. “Alright. What did they tell you?”

“That you’re keeping a Newfoal,” Chalcedony said simply, scowling. “And that we should prepare for her to be anomalous.”

“I assume she’s in your infirmary?” Bowman asked.

Romero shook his head. “In her quarters. She’s… been remarkably accommodating.”

“Accommodating?” Chalcedony repeated, eyes widening. “How… why…” She paused, taking a breath. “Newfoals are not accommodating.”

“What’s the background?” Bowman asked quietly. He had his hands in his coat pockets, but he looked more serious now, his earlier flippancy almost entirely gone.

“She was ponified onboard three weeks ago,” Lucky Strike put in. “Since then, she’s been mainly confined to quarters, with… some test excursions.”

“And there’s been no attempt on her part to pointy or injure anyone?” Chalcedony asked. “No… violence?”

“None,” Strike said quietly.

Romero sniffed. “I… had probably best tell you of the particular circumstances. It’s almost certainly relevant to Sharon’s… temperament.”

“Particular circumstances?” Chalcedony repeated. “What do you mean?”

Strike let out a derisive snort. “How do you like your blackcurrant juice, ma’am?”

Chalcedony blinked at the non-sequitur. “Excuse me?”

“The batch of potion used on Sharon wasn’t potion,” Romero said quietly. “It was blackcurrant juice. Watered down, with some added purple dye. Didn’t even have the potion’s viscosity.”

Bowman’s eyes widened in shock. “That… I’m not going to lie, that’s all-but unheard of. Actually, it might just be plain old unheard of.”

“I was the intended target,” Romero said flatly. “We were testing the aggressiveness of the Geas, giving fake potion to a prisoner to see if it triggered a response. He nearly broke his collar grabbing it and throwing it. He missed me.” Romero’s voice actually strained slightly. “Got Sharon, instead. She was just a technician. In the room, fixing one of the lights.”

“Could it have been spiked?” Chalcedony asked.

“I vetted it myself,” Lucky Strike put in. “If that was potion, the Captain has a D-cup.”

“Strike,” Romero admonished.

“Sorry, sir,” Strike said.

“You don’t mind if I check that?” Chalcedony asked.

“Do we still have some?” Romero asked Strike.

“We’ve got the bottle of dye in the lab for testing, and the blackcurrant juice too,” Strike replied. “I can get them sent to PHL R&D, but…”

“But?” Chalcedony asked.

“We’ve been trying to keep this under wraps,” Romero admitted. “I’m happy to share, but you have to understand… if this were to get back to the Solar Empire…”

“I understand,” Bowman said, holding up a hand. He was frowning. “Alright. We’d best speak with her, then. Try to get a measure of her compared to the Newfoal baseline.”

“She’s in her quarters,” Strike said.

“You can go see her now,” Romero said quietly. “When she… when she relapses, try to be patient. She’ll be worried.”

“Relapses?” Chalcedony repeated, but Bowman held up a hand to forestall further conversation.

“We understand,” he said quietly.

Romero nodded. “Alright.” He looked at Strike. “Take them to Sharon.”

The quarters were neat, tidy, almost too organised. There were a few pictures of a human woman with short, spiky red hair and a wide, cheeky grin standing with a variety of people dotted about. There was even a picture of that woman with Captain Romero in what looked like a selfie, her with a cheeky wink and him with a tired smile.

But there was no woman here. There was, instead, a mare. Shaven headed, Unicorn, pale.

“Oh, hello,” she said brightly as Strike, Bowman and Chalcedony entered the quarters. “How nice to have visitors.”

Bowman smiled. “Hello. I’m the Doctor, this is Chalcedony. We’re here to help.”

“Oh, isn’t that lovely,” the Newfoal said, grinning. “Hello to the both of you. I’m Sunbeam. It’s so lovely to meet you.”

“That’s a nice name,” Bowman said, his smile not slipping.

“I suppose it is,” ‘Sunbeam’ said. “But we can’t really choose what we’re born with, now, can we? I just consider myself lucky.”

“I’ll wait just here,” Strike said quietly from the doorway. “We don’t know if she might… y’know.”

“I understand,” Bowman said, nodding, before looking back at ‘Sunbeam’. “Chalcedony, do you…”

“Of course,” Chalcedony said, stepping forward. “Sunbeam, was it? Is it alright if I ask you a few questions?”

“Oh. Of course not,” Sunbeam said. “I’ll answer as best I can.”

“Good,” Chalcedony said, before flipping out a notebook.

She looked down at it, frowning slightly, and took out a pen. She clicked it once, before looking up at Sunbeam again.

“Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?” she asked.

“Oh, there’s nothing much to tell, I don’t think,” Sunbeam said. “I… I…” She paused. “Why, I think I’ve always been on this ship, isn’t that nice? This is a very friendly ship. Or at least, so I’m given to understanding.”

“Indeed,” Chalcedony said. “And… do you remember much about the crew?”

“Oh yes,” Sunbeam said. “The Captain has always been very welcoming. Why, I think this room used to belong to a friend of his.” She motioned to some of the pictures. “I think so, anyway. I don’t think I’ve seen anypony – Excuse me, it’s the word ‘anyone’, isn’t it? – else take a… what are they called?”

“Selfies,” Strike put in, her voice hollow.

“That’s it, selfies,” Sunbeam said, smiling brightly. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else take a selfie with him.” She sighed. “Oh, it’ll be such a shame if he never takes the potion.”

“I see,” Chalcedony said, glancing up at Bowman.

He looked back at her with a shrug, before looking back at Sunbeam.

“What do you know about… about the person who used to be in this room?” he asked.

“They keep calling me ‘Sharon’,” Sunbeam replied, “so… maybe it was her room? It seems very odd that they would mistake me for her, we look so very different…”

“Quite,” Chalcedony said hollowly. “But what about her? What do you know about her?”

Sunbeam blinked. “About… about who? I…” She blinked again, her smile faltering for a moment, before she smiled again. “I’m sorry, I must have spaced out for a moment there. What were we talking about?”

“Sharon,” Chalcedony pressed.

“Steady, Chalcedony,” Bowman whispered.

“What do you know about Sharon?” Chalcedony continued, almost unheeding

“Oh, well I…” Sunbeam began, her smile faltering again. “I’m sure I must have… I…”

Her smile faded completely, and her eyes widened. Her pupils shrank ever so slightly, and her breathing quickened.

“I… where…” She looked at Strike. “Lucky. What happened. Where am I? Why do I feel weird?”

Lucky Strike closed her eyes for a moment, before taking a breath and opening them.

“Sharon,” she said calmly, “do you remember last time?”

“Last time?” Sunbeam – Sharon – said, her eyes still wide with horror. “I… I… yes, you were… and the Captain was… and I…”

“Wait…” Chalcedony said. “Sharon?”

Sharon looked at Chalcedony, her eyes still wider. “Who are you? Why am I here? What’s happened?!”

“Calm down, Sharon,” Strike said quietly. “You’ll be alright. I’ll get the Captain to come down and see you.”

“The Captain… is he…” Sharon took a breath. “I had to… there was… will someone tell me what’s going on?!”

Strike brought a radio up to her mouth. “Get Captain Romero down here, please. Relapse.”

“Wilco,” a voice on the radio replied, and Strike felt herself relax.

“It’s alright,” Bowman said, holding out both hands gently. “We’re just here to speak with you. That’s all.”

“S-speak with… with me?” Sharon said, her eyes darting from Strike to Chalcedony. “I… why? What’s wrong? What happened to me? How did I get here?!”

“Try to stay calm,” Bowman said.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Chalcedony asked.

“Being…” Sharon swallowed, apparently trying to calm down. “I was with the Captain and Strike, we were testing a prisoner, they had me there to fix the lights.” She blinked, her eyes widened. “He… he grabbed that vial of blackcurrant juice they brought, then…”

She trailed off, her eyes widening.

“… then I was in here,” she whispered. “And the Captain was here, and Strike. They were… they were confused? Then… then now.”

“Alright, you need to stay calm,” Bowman said quietly. “You -”

“But I don’t understand!” Sharon yelled, raising a hoof as if to gesticulate. Her eyes caught the appendage, and she blinked, her next words dying on her lips.

“No,” Sharon whispered. “No, that’s… no. No. No!”

“Sharon,” Strike said.

“This isn’t possible, it’s not… I am not a f-f- I am not a f… f…” She was struggling to say a word. She looked at Bowman, Chalcedony and Strike with an expression of terror. “No. Please. No. I’m not, I can’t be… I… I…”

The hoof dropped to the floor, and then after a moment, Sharon smiled.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her tone back to where it had been when it had been ‘Sunbeam’ talking. “What were we saying?”

There was a horrified silence as what just happened settled over the room. Chalcedony’s eyes were wide, and she had dropped her pen. Bowman had his eyes closed, one hand over his forehead, rubbing gently.

It was at that moment, predictably, that Captain Romero entered, his eyes wide.

“Sha-” he cut himself off almost immediately at the sight of the Newfoal and her smile. “Ah. Sunbeam.”

“Captain,” Sunbeam said, still smiling. “How wonderful to see you. Oh, but you’re still human.” Her expression became an almost exaggerated sad one. “You know, it’s going to be no fun for you having to acclimate to Equestria without some time to get yourself steady on your hooves.”

“Don’t worry, Sunbeam,” Romero said tightly. “Everything’ll be fine.”

“What I don’t understand,” Bowman said afterwards, “is just what it is that catalysed the transformation.”

“That’d require us knowing what catalyses it in a regular potion,” Chalcedony said dully. “I’ve read all the research - no one really knows. Potion’s… weird.”

“Hate,” Romero said. Whether he was guessing or just saying it to be dramatic, Strike couldn’t tell, but judging by the dull, tired expression on his face, he was being quite serious.

“Poetry aside, Captain,” Chalcedony said, “I… don’t think you’re too far off there. Or at least, there’s some metaphysical element that defines standard scientific and magical theory.”

Romero nodded slowly. “We’ve seen just about all the research. But with this…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Our best bet is that the potion has some part of it, some integral catalyst, that isn’t physical, but… but some kind of conceptual catalyst. Hatred. The desire to inflict pain. Maybe linked to the Geas. Linked to the magic Queen Celestia uses.”

“Well, it’s a start,” Bowman said quietly. “That might mean that there’s a chance to find a way to reverse it. It might be a first step.”

“Finally,” Chalcedony added. “We’ve had enough false starts in this field.

“A chance is better than none,” Romero said quietly. “I’m happy to take it.” He took a deep breath. “And now you know why she’s still alive.”

“We’ll speak with some other experts,” Chalcedony said quietly.

Romero nodded slowly. “Tell them to keep it on the down low. No need to advertise to the world that blackcurrant juice can ponify people, right?”

“Quite,” Bowman said. He smiled. “It was good to meet you, Captain. Here’s hoping we can work together in future.”

“Good to meet you,” Romero replied, holding out his hand. “Best of luck out there.”

“To you as well,” Bowman said, shaking the man’s hand firmly. He looked back at Chalcedony. “Shall we?”

“Of course,” Chalcedony said. She looked up at Romero. “Keep an eye on her. Anything changes, let us know.”

“Of course,” Romero said, nodding once.

“So,” Lucky Strike said as the box disappeared with the same trumpeting, wheezing, groaning sound that had heralded its arrival. “D’you think they’ll figure something out?”

“Here’s hoping,” Romero said. “Them, or us, or someone.” He sighed, turning away from the edge of the ship. “I want us ready to depart in a few hours. Tell Renner and the others.”

“Aye, sir,” Strike said. “And, uh, sir?”

Romero turned to look at her.

“I’m sorry you missed Sharon,” she said quietly. “She… it might have been better that you missed her, she wasn’t…”

Romero said nothing, instead turning and heading back inside the Columbia.

Well, shit, Strike thought, suppressing a sigh.

Welcome to one of those stories that just won’t leave me alone, in which we decide to see just how effed up the world of the Reduxverse can get.

Update 10/04/2020: this prologue was rewritten to accompany the rebranding of the Reduxverse. 🙂