[b]The following contains a scene which I feel I should prewarn you about before reading, depicting household violence which may be a trigger to some, viewer discretion is advised[/b] One never knows how a dream begins - they always find themselves smack in the middle of somewhere. Here for anypony visiting Len’s subconscious, they found themselves in a endless vast library - shelves of tomes spanning into the distance until they blurred out of sight. On the left side, one can see a wall of solid stone and metal. It rose into eternity. But a few meters away, one could see a door opened, chains and locks laying useless on the floor. Scalpel looked about this library of the mind with interest, even in drugged slumber it seemed that Lens’ intellect towered, he thought bemusedly. He felt rather strange, not wholly corporeal, but almost as if he was made of silk floating above the floor on a breeze. It was clear to him however, that the door which was open before him was the means towards his information on her organisation, his first choice would naturally be to observe her most recent memories, perhaps flickering through a month or two unless he found something interesting. He had never truly done this sort of magic very often however, so he was nervous, and he didn’t want to impose undue stress upon the already drugged and he guessed, kind of ‘kidnapped mare’, but at the same time he was curious to learn more about her and these ‘Scholars’. With nothing holding him back Scalpel entered through the unchained door. The endless wall was gone, but the door seemed to remain. Beyond the threshold was an office, looking rather spartan, save for a couch, a desk, and a bookcase. Though the walls were unpainted, the material was high quality marble, polished to a mirror surface. It was the stuff only the rich could afford. Two, three shadowy figures began to emerge. Or where they always there, and now only shown up? One sat at the desk, the others facing the pony. One can make out the face of an aged unicorn, wearing some sort of bifocals with one lens green and the other pink. His hair was a natural grey, time had taken out the color. But the look only enhanced the authority this unicorn had. The others in the office all wore the similar cloaks - blue with stars and other scholarly markings. The older unicorn spoke: “I don’t trust these alicorns.” Scalpel paused, this memory seemed important, perhaps he had better listen in what was going on, especially when it involved the venerable Professor Prancer. He hovered to the side, staying out of the line of the recorded memory as it played out before him, observing and memorising it. The other ponies in the room began to look more solid. “You’re always a bit too paranoid,” said Steel Hammer. “And at your age it’s not good for you.” Standing next to him was the pegasus Lightwing, and a blue shadow. It vaguely resembled the form of Dr. Lens. Both were quiet, though Lightwing had rolled his eyes at Steel’s comment. Observing that interaction, one felt “warmed” by the conversation. To any watchers, they would have felt a sense of friendship or family that came from watching Steel and Prancer. The memories were not merely visual - they also transmitted the emotions of Lens. “In any case, Master Hammer, the alicorns could prove to only hasten Equestria’s demise,” Prancer said. “But this Sliver Sweeper doesn’t seem to be a problem,” Lightwing said. “Well, I certainly agree with you there, Professor Prancer” Scalpel mused out loud, from what he had seen so far, it appeared as if they had similar ideas on the danger of Alicorn kind. He went silent again as the memory continued, listening into the conversations turn to Silver Sweeper, she out of all of them had been the most elusive to follow up on, so knowing more about her could prove useful. “No, from my report as well as the other Directors, she doesn’t appear to be a major problem. Key word being ”appear”. Sweeper looks like the silliest alicorn having no mane, focusing on cleaning up messes, and having Scroll ride her back only adds to the hilarity. But underlying that…” Prancer frowned. “... Considering she is more powerful than any of our order, that is something to be worried about. Especially in the hooves of a alicorn who loves to be random! Unpredictability is the last thing we need.” Hammer nodded. “Well, at least she isn’t some Discord, creating chaos for the sake of chaos. Or that’s what I get from Scroll’s reports.” A voice came from the blue shadow - clearer than the previous voices or sound. “Yes, Sweeper has a logical goal, despite her illogical means,” said Lens. “But it seems that Scroll and Sweeper still get into plenty of trouble,” muttered Prancer. He leaned back into his chair and sighed. “In any case, I want you to continue avoiding any contact with Sweeper or the alicorns.” “What, worried Sweeper is going to give us bad haircuts?,” Steel said in jest. Though Prancer didn’t show it, the feelings of Lens communicated that the older Earth pony and the unicorn were acquaintances of some sort. “A precaution… I don’t know what the alicorns will do if they find out about MRI’s practices-” Instantly, briefly there was an image of a lab with animals being vivisected. “- or who is working there. If they do become a threat, we’ll need some sort of countermeasure...” Another flash, one of diagrams and text - The Marvels of Science. “And here it comes…” Scalpel smiled, a rare thing, but he was getting somewhere and becoming rather invested in this conversation, even though he knew it was just a memory. He barely blinked at the images of vivisected animals, he’d done worse when he was in university, and committed even more foul activities when he left it. The information on Sweeper was top notch, and if these people were right in their understanding of her, he might not have anything to fear in terms of her retribution. Vaguely his mind twitched in the back to an image of Thea, surrounded by burning carnage, kneeling in a picturesque pose just outside of it. He most certainly did not need another of [i]Her[/i]. There was a gasp from Len’s Outline, but it sounded very very distant, like an echo through a canyon. Her eyes were now visible and solid, and staring straight at Scalpel. But then shortly the eyes dulled and faced back to Prancer. Something changed, the memory began to distort and shift. Metal walls, clean and sterile. Ponies in lab coats, going over machinery. Prancer stood over table covered in equations and notes. Len’s Outline waited nearby. It was a much more recent memory, perhaps a few weeks ago. “Sweetie, could you get me another coffee?” Prancer asked. Joy and laughter came to mind, like a child seeing a parent. “You know Director, it’s not very professional to call your peers by their nickname,” Lens said, a bit of humor behind those words. “You’re my granddaughter first, and... or was it great-grandaughter? This job is making me lose my sanity,” he muttered. “So is it true like the rumors said? That the Moon and Star’s vaults were sacked?” “Yes my dear, we received a report from one of my operatives. An alicorn had raided entire collections of not just books, but art and artifacts. Of who I do not know. Scroll’s looking into it.” He looked down at the work. “And how was the investigation going in regards to our Mysterious Doctor?” “Nothing recently, it seems we lost the trail again.” Prancer slammed his hoof on the table. “And only a matter of time until the Scholarship may be targeted by the book-stealing alicorn. The tome could be the key, the key to an ultimate defense.” Those words were referencing the Marvels of Science. “Tell me Sol… how would you protect against a foe who can enter from any direction, where walls are meaningless?” Hit with the sudden blast of familial love, Scalpel had to bite back his own bitterness on his own relationships with his family. A scene came to his mind, his brutish looking father, built like a brick wall, militaristic looking, with cropped hair and a heavy mustache, but also red faced and inebriated from too much wine, roaring at him on a racist tirade about unicorn supremacy. The young Scalpel used to hide in the corner of the room when this happened, hoping he would not attract his fathers ire, attempting to play statue as the stallion frothed and raged. Even now he could still feel the cold terror and dread that young colt had felt upon the appearance of his father, as well as the deep, deep hatred that had spread like black poison through him for the stallion. He shook his head, banishing the scene, this explained why they were searching him out. He knew the Marvels discussed dimensional shifting of certain physical things, perhaps they were trying to seal away their vaults from the prying hooves of the Arcon? He had better watch and find out, still he could not help but feel some level of envy for the mare who had such a good relationship with her grandparent. “Now… I wonder when the Inquisitors managed to meld themselves into this organisation…” Another change, the world blurred, and they found themselves on the deck of an airship. Lightwing was there. “So why are we going to the ass-end of Equestria?” The Scholars sat at a booth, probably the ship’s bar. Not a military craft, a passenger one. The Lens outline did not reply right away. Again her eyes were solid and seemed to follow Scalpel a bit. But soon they went back to the pegasus. “Remember Trottingham?” “Yeah, where we picked up and lost track of Mr. Mysterious pony. And just like the last lead we followed, we found a lot of bodies and very small parts. It’s like the guy is doing this deliberately to mess with us.’ He sighed. “You know, he’d probably clean up his tracks better if he didn’t leave so much of his handiwork. Dead ponies do tell tales, or so that creepy forensics pony tells me.” An image of a wild haired and pale pony, with an off-kilter smile and an aura of nightmares. “That Sweeper Cultist that’s now resting may be able to lead us to the Marvels-” And then back to the lab with Prancer. “-of Science, dear. I said it would take a decade to create a portal to another universe even with the book. But we could bend space and time to create a bubble as it were to protect our vaults...” Then another change, outside the sun was shining on the outskirts of Woodwatch. It was three days ago. In front of the Scholars were several ponies, all bald accept one. The unicorn had short purple hair, bright yellow fur. Longsight played her role well. “Ah, it is good to see the representatives of High Priest Scroll! Welcome, welcome!” Lily greeted them with great joy. “Yes, thank you for sending Mr. Flowerpot to contact the Scholarship,” the Lens outline said. “We should get down to business-” Back to Prancer’s office: “Then what’s the point of following Sweeper’s cultists around if we’re trying to keep our distance?”, Lightwing asked. “Being allied with an alicorn does have some advantages,” replied Prancer. “Namely we could use their followers to help us. Such missionaries can keep their eyes and ears open and they travel wide and far. And they report that to us. After all, any news we can gather is important for the Calculations-” The word seemed to have a great importance, as if he spoke of them like prophesy. “- and the acolytes can help find other potential scholars who are in hiding.” [i]The Scholarship does more than just preserve the past - we look out for our peers [/i]. It was Len’s voice. Despite his undercurrent of ever growing tension due to his treacherous thoughts, Scalpel was beginning to relax a little in relief, all of these memories simply proved that Lens may have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He knew that if it hadn’t been for Scarlet or more decisive higher thought he might have ended her there in a fit of paranoid rage, he was glad he did not. Almost immediately after remembering it, and with the proof being near undeniable, Scalpel lit up in an almost glowing level of shame and self hatred for even considering it. [i]I’ve been going too far…[/i] He picked up on the conversation on Trottingham as he brooded, his ears perking up at the impertinence shown towards him. [i]Well its not as if I had time to cover up my studies before the bloody city exploded into rioting you dratted featherbrain[i] again, a momentary flicker, staring back at his old hospital as it exploded, blasting flaming debris and roasted ponies everywhere as he fled with Honey and Grunge. He twitched again at the picture of the wild looking forensics pony, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever met him, but that one smelt like cultist material, either that or the mortuaries had been hiring necrophiliacs after severely dropping their standards. He watched the rest half interestedly, but came to in shock at the sudden overhead monologue from Lens. [i]Is she... talking to me?[/i] If the voice was directed at Scalpel, it did not reply again. Instead it went to a strange scene, a cell, a pony in a straitjacket, and a rather cool eyed Scholar - a pegasus, but it was not Lightwing. He stood by with medical tools that were modified to inflict pain rather than to heal. Yet despite this, the memory was not totally filled with disgust, though Lens feelings made clear she did not care for torment. It was the pegasus rather, another fraternal feeling. On closer inspection, the victim was wearing motley, and the wide eyes indicated that the victim was a Laughing Cultist. “Well uncle, did you find out anything?” Lens asked, with no emotion in her voice. The pegasus turned to her and nodded. Dr. Maple was from her grandmother’s side of the family, and a peer of Prancer. Once a nice dentist, something had changed him, something that Lens thought was very dark and unthinkable. “Nothing new, or at least to the whereabouts of the Doctor,” Maple said. “The Stromwing troopers already did a number to my patient - I dare not go any further.” Lens approached the “patient”, “We could set you free to join the Party now, just tells us we need to know about the Doctor.” It was a lie, as Lens knew the Stormwing troops were going to execute the cultist after the interrogation. The Cultist babbled, and among the rant was heard “the legless girl-” Back to Woodwatch, under a tent that was the shelter for Sweeper’s mission. Lens was looking at a picture of Honey, though she knew not her name or relation. [i]We got this from a private investigator sent to follow up on a lead. He was photographing the residence, not knowing that the Doctor and his companion was just outside and blending into the crowd. It was only after the film was developed that he noticed that. [/i] Lens’ voice. Was she narrating or was her memories intertwining with her thoughts? [i]The Investigator disappeared after sending us the photos.[/i] “And this is the pony you saw?” Lens asked Lily, pointing to Honey. Lily nodded, “Witnessed her twice coming back from the general store. I recognized the face and followed, so I can direct you to her house.” “And what would a crippled pony be of interest to the Lady Sweeper ?” The question came from Longsight. Her voice was more of a questioning tone, sounding as innocent and curious as possible. If there had been any malice, it was well hidden. “The Lady cares about all ponies,” Len said. It was the truth, for Sweeper did care to heal the scars of the wounded. She could not replace missing limbs or horns, but she could at least care for those broken hearts. “And it is important we contact the foal, in regards to another pony we seek.” “For what purpose?” In retrospect, it was now clear that Lightwing was gathering intel. “To further the goals of the Lady Sweeper, for she has many projects and a need for many specialists to provide aid.” Lens said it to avoid any more questions. Scalpel watched impassively as they had set to the cultist, indeed he was partially reminded of his younger brother, face like a fish and with a mouth which gaped and gabbered to match. Whoever had thought him Inquisitor material had been sorely mistaken, but then Father had paid well enough for his position. When the memories suddenly turned to Honey he could not resist the defensive emotions that surged up in response, and he grew especially irate as that filthy Inquisitor named her a “cripple”. [i]That foal is more intelligent than you, dead filly, now you’re just a slab of meat on a table[/i] he responded angrily. Another image, this time of Honey, this time exerting extraordinary power as he tested her carefully with numerous means and ability tests, she had been scoring almost twice her age at eight, five years ago, and he was sure one day she’d become even more powerful. He held in his annoyance however, and returned to the viewing, that last line Lens had spoken seemed rather interesting but he was wondering whether he wanted to pry further. He already had his proof, would it be better not to invade all of her secrets? Still… he had been sorely tempted by it. Another thing had been nagging him too, her enthusiasm, her joy, the feelings that she’d been stirring within him when he had dealt with her, was it all just a show, a ploy for to buy his cooperation for her grandfather? Or did he dare hope that his feelings might be reciprocated? [i] No… no… I can’t do that… can I?[/i] He began to chew his lip in concern, how could he think of that when he was invading her memories, when he had essentially nearly killed her? No, this would be a dead withered flower which died before blooming… but still, a small, tiny part of him hoped... The Scene was gone, and before Scalpel was another door much like the one he entered to access her memories. Past the threshold, there was darkness save for the strong glow of a spotlight. A operating table, and on it was Dr. Lens wearing a patient’s gown, sleeping, with her dark blue mane neatly combed. A tray of tools lay near the bed. Any medical doctor would recognize them for brain surgery. Scalpel was trembling, physically trembling as he entered the darkness and advanced towards the spotlight. After what seemed like an eternity of marching futilely through the dark he suddenly found himself at the table, standing over Lens, shaking in a cold sweat. She looked so peaceful before him, and her beauty seemed twice as resplendent as he had seen her before. He paused to look at the tools, his face a waxy mask and lifted one into the air, examining it closely, like one might a vile insect squirming on a prong of a fork. The urge called to him, the urge for knowledge, for certainty, for power, the urge began guiding his hoof, the sharp piece of metal edging closer and closer towards her. [i]No.[/i] It came quietly at first, almost silently. Scalpel paused, wide eyed, pale and unblinking. [i]No…[/i] This time it was louder, more noticeable, he pulled back the tool slowly, examining it again. [b]NO![/b] This time it was deafening, a raging torrent at what he had almost done, a flood of incessant grief and self loathing clouding out all of his senses. “NO!” and this time he said it, all the suppressed rage, fear and utter fury boiling up from below where it had remained for decades festering, With a roar of magic he crushed the tool in his grasp and threw the entire surgery set into the darkness where he hoped it was burn and fade with all his other failings. Around him the room swirled, his rage overtaking the boundaries of his consciousness and leaking into Lens’ mind like thick black tar. With a scream of utter hatred he threw himself away from the table and plunged into his own hatred, fleeing into shadow and bitterness once more. Darkness consumed him, and for a moment he thought he might have peace, the peace of the dead and the wasted, necrotic and comforting. But it wasn’t to be so. Like ink being squirted into the sea, it parted before him and he saw a scene he had never wanted to see again. It had clouded his dreams for over two decades and now it was here, now it was replaying before him like a twisted mockery of a play. Before him lay the family chapel, a place he hadn’t visited since this point. A small number of benches surrounded a statue at the far end of the place. A statue of Celestia. And before it a small foal knelt in prayer. If not for that tiny figures voice the entire situation would have been silent, but below the false calm of the imagery a dark brooding terror erupted, sharp and horrible, like breathing in razor blades. The voice was almost inaudible, but anypony could have picked up on the mantra the little creature was desperately whispering. “PleasemakehimgoawayPleasemakehimgoawayPleasemakehimgoawayPleasemakehimgoawayPleasemaakehimgoawayPleasemakehimgoaway…” It was spoken breathelessly, the emotions of true desperate faith beneath them, and beneath that, hope, hope that the sisters would hear his plea. “SCALPEL!” a voice boomed, the very sound of it increasing the dread tenfold in the situation, a voice which spelled out clearly anger and violence, “Get out of the chapel and come and face me you foal!” The foals prayers became harder and faster, the hope giving way to despair. A hoof suddenly smashed on the door, “I’m giving you three seconds to get out her and face your punishment for failing me, now obey me and get out here!” “ONE.” The prayers became louder, more insistent, [i]they had to come, they had to…[/i] “TWO.” The foal was all but whimpering unintelligibly now, coherency bleeding into sobs. “THREE!” The door exploded open. The foal turned to face the figure looming in the doorway, a titanic figure made even bigger by the perspective of a foal. As he stomped towards him, the foal began to take one step back, then another. The thing didn’t have an appearance, it was just black malice and revulsion, boiling off it in tides and crowding out the room with its presence. By this point the foal had risen up just before the statue, dread carved into his face like a gargoyle. “You disobeyed me.” the figure hissed, hatred spilling off like rancid blood “twice…” “Please, no father, please!” “Silence!” the thing roared, flailing out a taloned hoof as it tried to grasp him, but the foal had just barely ducked out of reach. That move however, proved to be fatal. With the sudden jolting nudge of his body, the statue wobbled and toppled to the side, falling in slow motion before hitting the floor with with a deafening crack. With a crunch of stone, the head of the statue broke off and clattered to the floor. There was silence for a moment, a dead awful silence. “You…” the voice was accusatory, the voice was ridden with shock, but soon it turned to utter cold rage, “You!...” “I-I-I-I” replied the foal before a vicious backhoof sent him stumbling, onto the ground. “You are filth” seethed the other, rising high before him “You’re not my son, you’ll never be my son, but this…” Another backhoof, the vision was darkening considerably, soon there would be only sound. “Please, father, I-” this time there was no reply in words, only in a dull meaty sound as a hoof met flesh. And another. And another. Soon all the sound that remained was the dull splatter of flesh and the crunch of bone, and the gurgling of a screaming foal as he tried to escape. The last thing in sight was the head of the statue, Celestia looking on peacefully, as blood flew and splattered her face crimson…. the blood of a child. --- Scalpel wrenched himself out of her mind, and collapsed onto the ground of his Inner Sanctum, shivering and wide eyed. “Him…”