Fallout Equestria

Chapter 31.

Memory.

All the thoughts we have, all the decisions we make, are rooted in layers upon layers of experiences. To understand ourselves, we must look to our own past. To our memories.

I believe that our pasts and our hearts make us who we are. Our memories define us. But what if we should lose them? Would we become untethered? Adrift? Would we even be the same ponies anymore?

If you could block out your most horrible and hurtful memories, would you do so to spare yourself the pain? And if you did, would you lose an important part of yourself in the process?

And what of higher thought? Reasoning and rationalilty? If I were to forget the discoveries that led to a realization, would I be able to grasp that revelation anymore? Could I piece together the logic of an argument if I could not remember having the argument?

How important are memories to our ability to even think? Or, at least, think clearly?

And what about the reverse? What if you added memories which were not your own? How often could you live parts of other ponies' lives, making their decisions, seeing the events that brought them joy or sorrow, before the boundaries that separated you from them began to blur?

Were memory orbs nothing more evocative than particularly well-written books? I knew from experience that a memory orb only preserved sensations. When inside a memory orb, I saw and heard and felt, tasted and smelled, but I was not privy to the actual thoughts and emotions of the hosts whom I rode. Did the visions into others' lives, no matter how vivid, have any impact beyond knowledge or entertainment?

And what effect might there be on a pony who relived the same memory orb over and over?

And what if you could take it a step further? What if you could hear a pony's thoughts? Read their minds. Perhaps sense their memories?

What if you were the Goddess?

What manner of pony would you have to be just to keep any sense of yourself?

*** *** ***

I stared in horror at the mob of hellhounds pouring into the streets. They came from the alleys and the shattered ruins. They climbed out of windows and emerged from darkened doorways in nearly every building I could see. Every one, that was, except for the one place we intended to go: the hospital.

The first had already reached the Maripony Mining and Administration Building. Some were dashing inside. Others sunk their claws into the brick façade and began to scale the walls.

Calamity turned to the Enclave crates, shoving the claw-torn containers away until he reached the single undamaged one. I could hear him whisper what sounded like a prayer, although I knew no higher being that Calamity would pray to. Then he furiously clopped at the lock's cloud keypad.

The crate opened with a hiss and a wash of cool air. Inside was... a bundle of fluffy white clouds.

I would have facehoofed if the noise Calamity made at the sight hadn't been one of triumph. The pegasus lowered his head and kicked off his helmet, his orange mane bursting free. His wide eyes and self-pleased smile gave me a boost of joy. He'd stayed hidden behind that black, insectoid mask too long, and I had missed him.

"How did you know the combination?" Xenith asked curiously.

"Oh-one-oh-four. Harbinger's birthday." Calamity grinned proudly. Then sheepishly admitted, "'Twas on the terminal."

"A cloud?"

"Ayep! Y'all are in this mess cuz o' me. Ah plan t' get y'all out o' it." He leaned his head into the Enclave crate, grabbing the cloud bundle in his teeth. (He bit the clouds and picked them up! The little pony in my head was having an aneurysm.)