Octavia was not sure what made her hesitate. Perhaps it was the terror in his eyes, or simply how pitiable he looked. Did the blue dye in his hair remind her of Vinyl? Was she losing her edge, too worried about her own identity to do her duty? For a moment, these questions and more fluttered through her mind, and then all were washed away by some heavenly scent that tickled her nose. All memory of that icky incense was chased out as she took a calming breath. Her mouth began to water, but only a little and she quickly swallowed the extra saliva. A mare of refinement did not drool like a feral canine. She recognized the unicorn as that cook from earlier, and since his moment to scream had passed, she decided to be sociable. A calm smile, reassuring but still dominating. Control the moment. "Hello again."

His eyes remained upon the muzzle of the gun she held close enough to ram into his mouth if he opened it. His heart was pounding, and he felt as though he might black out. To his great good fortune, he had visited the restrooms just before taking the elevator. Hot Trot felt himself stepping back, dragging the trolley along with a fetlock that fear had frozen around the pull-bar, but the grey mare was still the same distance away. She marched him backwards like a manticore playing with its prey. To the terrified chef, the mare was a monster.

No, worse than a monster. She looked as normal as anypony else. You would never remember her if you saw her out of the corner of your eye, and yet you could never forget her if you witnessed her in a moment like this. When a portion of his senses returned, he was in a storage room, his back pressed against a wall. She was still tearing into his soul with those terrible eyes, seeing every wrong thing he had ever done, and whispering that there was no escape. How she managed to whisper with her eyes, he did not know. Perhaps it was merely his overactive imagination, but that thought gave him no comfort. He heard the whispers just as clearly as he heard his hedgehog hero's voice when he read the comics.

She lightly tapped his horn with the barrel of her gun, and his aura flickered off. The chocolate bar, still partly in its wrapper, dropped onto the hard concrete floor. He had carried it along just like the trolley, by accident rather than any rational thought. Then she stepped back, shut the door, and pulled the chain on the single lightbulb. Dull yellow brightened the room, and she slipped the gun into a holster on her uniform. After a moment, during which the earth pony seemed to be evaluating him rather like a potato she was considering for supper, he could stand the silence no longer. "You... you're a... robot. I was right."

To his surprise, the corner of her mouth twisted up in amusement. "A robot? What makes you say that?"

"Y-you didn't eat anything, and you're here to... to kill all of us." Hot Trot swallowed hard, his rump still pressed against the wall. "You're from The Machine." The uniform was a dead giveaway. He had never seen one like it before, but he was sure that all the bad guys wore uniforms just like hers.

The grey mare chuckled with a hoof over her mouth and a sly twinkle in her mulberry eyes. "And what is this... Machine? What do they do there?"

"Y'know, evil stuff." He wracked his brain, which was filled with comic books and wild conspiracy theories. "It's all ruled over by this one Big Bad, who's horrible to work for but everypony does it anyway because they're promised good stuff, and if you don't do what the Big Bad says you get a whuppin'." The stallion rubbed his front hooves together, and felt a shiver run down his spine. "But the Big Bad is always most untriumphant, because the hero manages to outsmart 'em at the last minute and save the day." A faint glimmer of hope flickered over his face. "So... like, even if you totally ice me, I know my friends are gonna get you, because we're the good guys!"

Octavia leaned her head to the side. "No, no." She sighed. He is almost like talking to Vinyl... oh, how she would enjoy this... "You see, you are the one with the secret base and the plan to bring about the end of the world as we know it. I am the one sneaking into your base with the intent to stop you from activating the doomsday device." The cellist flicked her tail and smiled. "This makes me the good girl, and you a part of The Machine."

"Nuh-uh!" retorted the cook. "The Daughter doesn't wanna end the world, she just wants things to be awesome like they used to be a long time ago!" He reached up and adjusted his hat, then straightened his back. "Where everybody has plenty, and the dragons look after everyone with love and grace, an' cool stuff like that!"

"Oh?" the grey mare raised an eyebrow. Hmm... what to say next... She was no stranger to debating with warped minds. Trouncing Vinyl on the battlefield of words was her only means of keeping the vampire in check, and when fighting the Organization's enemies she sometimes found that a soft word was more useful than a soft-tip bullet. Besides, what was the advantage to merely killing the body? The Lady Bon Hadescream spoke often of the value of a mind turned from evil to good. If she could shatter this one's perceptions, perhaps save him from his own folly, it would let her sleep a little better at night. If not, she could always kill him.

"Yeah! And you'll never stop us, because we're right." He seemed firm in that conviction for a moment, then his face fell as doubt began to creep in. "But... you're just a bunch of wires and technomagic. You don't understand right or wrong." The stallion scratched his dyed-blue mane, then his curiosity finally got the better of him. "Are... do you have a bird inside you, or a rabbit?"

She glanced down, then picked up his candy bar. The stallion gasped as she took a bite of it. "I am flesh and blood, just like you." Her eyes chanced upon the wrapper as she chewed slowly. "And as for right or wrong, your leader wants to raise up a monster to carry out her vengeance against the world. You gladly go along with her."

"It's not just for her, it's for all of us!" He stood up proudly. "And I'm her chef, I cook her the best food, just the way she likes it."

It certainly smells far more edible than what he slopped in front of me earlier, thought Octavia. She knew that smell was what had truly saved his life, even if she did not want to admit it. Hunger was such a powerful persuader. It had whispered how something that smelled so good could not have been made by somepony who was all that bad, could it?

"I'm a member of the Fellowship, and we're going to stop you." He pointed at the grey mare. "Robot or not! We won't let The Machine get away with keeping ponies oppressed and dumb, or sacrificing them for some quick bits!" Hot Trot raised a front hoof, and said in as loud a voice as he thought he could use without her shooting him, "you can take our lives, but not our freedom!"

"No, you gave that up already." The sniper shook her head and put on a pitying expression. "You are doing whatever they tell you to, carrying out their orders in the hope that it is all for some greater good, and telling yourself that it is okay to summon a Carpathian Dragon to destroy a city because the ends justify the means."

"Wait, how do you know that?" he scratched his head. "Like, you're new and stuff. They didn't tell me what those bones were for until last week when I asked if I could put one in the soup." It was very unorthodox, but he had found a great book on traditional gryphon cooking. There were several chapters that were too scary to read, particularly the one he had not dared to even glance at titled To Serve Pony, but the idea of using a soup bone to add nutritional value seemed tame enough... and the bones had just been sitting around... he winced again. Asking had earned him a flogging, but also a ranted explanation.

The earth pony took a step toward him. "I know about the ancient creature you want to summon because your friend Grip Steel and your Great Leader wanted to sacrifice me to expedite its arrival. They left a hungry, frightened mare alone in a room with two guards, whose only orders were to use her as a reward for their diligence, before preparing her for sacrifice." She smiled. Hot Trot felt his heart stop and his blood begin to freeze, until the assassin broke whatever arcane spell she had cast by asking, "does that sound like the decision of somepony who embodies your values?"

"Y-you're lyin'." Hot Trot swallowed hard, and blinked back angry tears. They refused to cooperate. He grabbed a hunk of his white cooking coat and wiped his face, in the process exposing a rather nasty black and blue mark on his back.

Octavia pounced. Verbally, of course. "Did you fall down some stairs?"

"No," he said quickly, realizing his mistake and falling back on the stock phrase they had taught him. "I fell down some... stairs." The grey mare laughed, a soft sound like fine china clinking together. Hot Trot swallowed hard. "I mean... uh... I backed into a shelf, and a big pot fell off, and it hit me-"

She glared at him, and his tongue froze. Those eyes seemed to hurt worse than all the floggings in the world ever could.

"I... mess up. And I get punished." He bit his tongue, then tried to defend the way he had been treated. "That's the way things work! If we're gonna save the world, we have to... to maintain discipline."

The cellist continued to glare for a moment longer, then glanced away. "Yes, you are right." Count of four...

He sighed in relief, once more justified within his own mind, which was of course exactly what the sniper wanted.

"That is the way things must be. After all," she put on her most innocent smile. "If you do not do what the Big Bad says, you get a whipping."

"That's not... fair!" he protested quickly. "The Daughter is just-"

"Keeping you oppressed and dumb, while sacrificing others to speed her own goals?" She brushed a stray lock of her mane back into position. "I am not the robot in the room, you are. You sacrificed your mind, your free will, for their promises. You gave up your pursuit of happiness for safety, for comfort, and you have received neither." Octavia bit her lower lip. Good words... but not the right words. Those are the Lady Bon Hadescream's words. Not the words that will reach him.

A chilling thought danced through her mind. I... I have to speak in a language he can understand. She swallowed hard. What would Vinyl say? To her horror, the answer came quickly, as though the vampiric lunatic was in her head and more than willing to comment on the conversation.

"Some of those that preach kindness, are the same that burn cities." The cellist said, carefully redacting the DJ's more explicit language. She had personal scruples. "And you have been doing just what they told you, justifying it in the name of your chosen leader."

His eyes lit up as neurons sparked. "I... I've been... woah..." the stallion's jaw fell open. Hot Trot began to realize all the little things that kept adding up, and felt all the anger he had pressed down bubbling toward the surface. He had forced himself to shrug off everything they were doing to him because he was afraid to lose what little they offered. Afraid to be back out on the streets again with nowhere to go. The cook shut his eyes and whimpered softly. It really was like that old song, the tears you cry are justified, by bearing the mark of the chosen lights! "I've been cooking in the name of!"

Octavia pressed a hoof to her face and groaned. "Yes... yes, that is what I was alluding to..." She took a breath and rolled her shoulders. "Furthermore," the mare waved a hoof toward the door to the rest of the hotel. "Welcome to The Machine. You have been in their pipeline, filling up bellies while They told you what to dream." She glared down at him, pistol still at the ready in its holster. "So, welcome, my little pony, to The Machine." The fact that she could speak this way told the cellist that she was letting Vinyl play her music far too often and too loudly. Still, it seemed to work.

"I... I just wanted..." he stopped, then wiped his eyes once more. "I just wanted everything to be cool again, y'know? The Daughter promised that this was the right thing to do, and it was all sly an' secret like one of the comics..." The unicorn sniffled. "Y-you're right. This... this place is..." his eyes widened in terror at a sudden realization, "this place is the Roboticizer!" He wanted to run out and punch The Daughter in her fat face... but who was he kidding. He would chicken out halfway there. "They were really gonna kill you?"

"Among other things, yes." The grey mare flicked a speck of dust off her uniform.

He hung his head. "I'm the robot." The unicorn sniffled softly. "I... I'm sorry."

"As heartwarming as that is to see, you are still a traitor to your country and a party to a conspiracy to summon a monstrosity." She stepped toward him. "For which there is a price to be paid." The grey mare let him sweat for a moment, then gestured toward the trolley. "By the way, what is that wonderful smell?"

"Grilled portobello mushrooms," the unicorn replied, his voice firming up as he spoke. If there was nothing he could say to save himself, maybe the last meal he had cooked would not go to waste. That was really all he had ever wanted to do. Make ponies happy with good food. "Stuffed with sauteed leeks and spinach."

She raised an eyebrow. "An interesting dish... what else did you put in it?"

"Nothin'." He leaned back against the wall. "The Daughter doesn't like anything special in hers, just simple food that tastes good. Nothin' wild, no little additions." Experimenting on her meals was grounds for a double flogging. "I just used the special one-up mushrooms, we grow them here. She likes those. Everypony does."

Octavia's stomach grumbled, and she sidestepped over to the dining cart. On it was a set of cutlery, along with a napkin and a large covered dish. She tied the square cloth around her neck, and lifted the metal dome of the first plate. That tantalizing smell intensified tenfold, and it was all she could do to resist plunging her face into its source. With a great exercise of willpower, the grey mare picked up a fork and knife, then neatly cut one of the stuffed mushrooms into quarters. She lifted a chunk to her mouth and greedily popped it in. "Mmmm..." her eyes lit up as it melted on her tongue. The cellist chewed thrice, then swallowed. "Positively delicious!"

He nodded slowly. "T-thanks..."

"Which makes me regret what I must now do all the more." Octavia flashed an apologetic smile at him. The cook slid toward a corner and covered his eyes. It seemed this was the end of his life's recipe book.

"P-please don't-"

"I am sorry, but my friends need me. I simply do not have time. This is the only option." She raised her left front leg, then whacked the plate, launching the mess of food on it into the air. The grey mare leaned back her head, opened wide, and caught every last morsel in her mouth. She chewed ferociously, with but a single tear running down her cheek at the indignity of it all. Such a meal was meant to be savored, not gobbled, and so it was with the heaviest of hearts that she cleared her mouth with a mighty swallow. Then she lifted the metal dome over the next dish, finding to her barely-contained delight more of the finely-prepared mushrooms.

The chef, his eyes still covered, bit his lip and waited for the end. He heard the sounds of her devouring what he had labored so hard to create, and knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. At least she was eating his creation, and not throwing it out. While he was not entirely resigned to his fate, he knew that running for the door would only quicken it. She could probably drop him without even looking up from her meal.

Octavia bowed her head and, with cheeks as pink as her bow-tie, licked up the last crumbs of the meal. She would need every bit of strength for the mission ahead. When the deed was done, she sat back and loosened the napkin from around her neck, then daubed the corners of her mouth with it. "If it is any consolation, I have not had a meal so fine in well over a month."

He dared to lower one fetlock and look at her. "R-really?" She was pretty and well-mannered, like a princess. Hearing a kind word about his cooking from somepony like that did not make up for his impending death, but it did make him feel a little better inside.

She nodded. The chefs at the Bon Hadescream Estate were excellent, most of all a certain Sergeant Allyson. "I have sampled both the highs and lows of fine cuisine. You have great talent."

Hot Trot felt a blush of pride cross his cheeks, along with a goofy grin. "Cooking's totally my cutie mark, but I still worked a ton to be good at it. I... uh, I'm glad you thought it was most excellent."

"I too worked very hard to become excellent with my cello," she empathized, then drew her autopistol. "But, then I died. That was a terrible waste, just as killing you would be."

"B-but you're still going to do it?" he asked nervously. "Like... because if you don't want to, I am totally cool with that."

The grey mare glanced down at her gun, pointed it at him, and reached out to the weapon through its will-rune. It was a Vladof, and it hungered for revolution. Not the petty lies of power mongers who usurped one another in the name of platitudes, nor the angst-ridden rebellion of those who felt slighted by the nature of the world. True revolution was the clamor of the many for the rights long denied to them by those who sharpened their swords and smiled through their teeth at their subjects. Thus its trigger felt a little stiffer than it should, as though reminding her that there were many more worthy targets for its wrath, and that her supply of bullets was limited. She agreed.

"Hrmm." Octavia holstered the sidearm and shivered happily, rejoicing in the warm feeling that was flowing out from her belly. She passed him his chocolate bar with a smile. "My orders are to kill anypony not bearing the Bon Hadscream logo."

Hot Trot looked down at his treat, still clad in its tin wrapper. On it was the crest of the Bon Hadescream Corporation. "W-wait... you work for a candy company?"

"Ah-ah." She sat down across from him and adjusted her bow-tie. "That is not how this works." The grey mare leaned forward and fixed him with a penetrating gaze. "I am going to ask you a bunch of questions, and I want to have them answered immediately."

The stallion nodded stiffly, then took a nibble of chocolate. "A-and... after?"

Octavia smiled. "If you do not already, it would be wise to start collecting those wrappers."

It had been a long shift, and the guard was tired. He had heard the rumor that two of his buddies had earned a little reward, and decided it was time to call in that favor they owed him. However, upon trotting up to The Daughter's throne room and pushing open the door, he found a very puzzling sight: his two friends, dead on the floor. It almost looked like they had killed each other, since both had spear wounds.

The stallion stepped inside, leaving the door open behind himself, and trotted to the closest body. Incense pushed out any other smell, a sticky-sweet scent that clogged the mind the more you inhaled. Blood had soaked into the plush carpet, and the pony's corpse was only slightly cool to the touch. A spear had been thrust into his head, and the guard wondered if they truly had turned on each other.

Perhaps they had been fighting over the prize, unwilling to share? No, that was unlike them. Here in the Fellowship, all were equal, but some were more equal than others. The Daughter spoke of the perfect system, where the workers and pleasure-seekers were bronze-caste, the warriors were silver, and those wise philosopher-queens like herself took their rightful place in the gold-caste. Equality, fraternity, and joy blessed those who embraced this way of life. He scratched his chin and moved to the other body. Yes, this one had a spear through his neck... it was entirely possible that he had killed his friend, then succumbed to his wounds. A sad thing, and their sacrifice had escaped too. Most unfortunate, but she would not get far.

Wait. He reached down and touched the face of the unicorn with the spear through his neck. The skull is broken. That would have killed him, or at least slowed him down. But the other guard would not have been able to deliver that fatal kick with a spear through his spine... so the only logical conclusion was that somepony else had done this. And the only other pony in the room would have been the mare that bronze-caste worker had brought in as a sacrifice.

The guard stroked his chin, made certain of his findings, and checked that his spear was holstered on his back for a quick draw. Perhaps she had caught these two unaware, but now he knew that the little lamb was a wolf, and would not be such easy prey. There was no escape for her, and a smile flickered across his face as he realized that he might receive his dead friends' reward if he pleased The Daughter by finding the sacrifice himself.

The stallion straightened up, and turned back toward the door with a grin. Bad luck for you, friends, but I suppose the Great Glow just did not keen your senses well enough. He was sure that his inner spark had revealed these truths to him so that he might inherit their prize since they had proven themselves unworthy.

Something stepped into the doorway before he could reach it. He opened his mouth to say hello, thinking it another guard, then reached for his spear as he saw the silhouette. It raised a front leg, leveled something at him, and ejected his clever deductions out the back of his head. Two small bullets, spat quicker than most guns could fire one, ripped through his skull and reduced him to just another corpse on the carpet. A splatter of blood landed across The Daughter's throne, and the grey shape pulled the door shut once more.

Author's Notes:

Mercy. Mer-cy, a noun. Merriam-Webster defines it as:

"Kind or forgiving treatment of someone who could be treated harshly."

I felt it was within Octavia's character to give a bit of mercy to somepony, even though it was a risk to herself. However, she cannot save everypony with words. She actually reflects on this a little in the next chapter! That is part of the reason why this has been delayed so long, I am trying to make sure that this story is fun to read not just once to see what happens, but several times because it has been assembled well.

"Kangourous" is of course the French term for Kangaroos, and it is a piece just for the pianos. It's grand for a dance of words like the one Octavia engaged in above. I wanted to end this chapter with a touch of action so it would better lead into the next, and the music suits that very well too!

Next chapter will break the pattern of following the exact order of the Carnival of the Animals. In part that is because I have something special planned for Aquarium although the story has not reached that point yet, but if anyone asks it's also because this is where the plan starts to break down. So, this was all intentional, got it? The author didn't botch the pacing, right?

Good. Glad we're all on the same page. And yes, I did mix a Rage Against The Machine reference with a nod to Pink Floyd.