Chapters
Mare-Do-Well blearily opened her eyes. The roof above her was grimy, and a dull beeping constantly throbbed in the background. She closed her eyes again.
After another unknown period of time, she was shaken awake. Opening her eyes, she was met with the sight of a grim-looking Nurse Redheart in a battered uniform. Her icy-blue eyes stared into Mare-Do-Well's own. A bright smile flared up on her lips.
The place outside was definitely Canterlot. But not a Canterot the likes of which anyone had known before Mare-Do-Well's coma. The once-quaint little alleys and streets had become littered with trash and all manner of junk. The buildings towered overhead, some obviously having been added to in the past few years. There now appeared to be a monorail or metro system of some kind overhead, with iron structures spanning the gaps between the buildings overhead and snaking around the city. There was a light flurry of snow which softly drifted down to the floor to accompany the biting cold wind all around, and any citizens which could be seen were heavily covered in clothing, or standing by metallic barrels which blazed with makeshift fire. As she turned around to examine the streets, she was struck with a surprising sight.
There, on the wall of a boarded-up cafe, was a poster depicting her. Mare-Do-Well.
The image of the iconic hero had been re-done in bright reds and gold trim, retaining the glowing blue eyes, but it was unmistakably the same costume design. All apart from the brooch holding the cape around the neck. Instead of the well-known, circularly-shaped M, the letter had been tipped on its side to become a stylised E. The title of the poster read, 'EVERFREE', with the subtitle at the bottom of the poster, 'For the people, Celestia's no longer'. Mare-Do-Well stepped back, returning to the door of the clinic.
As Mare-Do-Well sped along, she booted up the scanner within her suit. The equipment she posessed was now only running at around half its usual efficiency - most likely due to a combination of damage from the building collapse, and the effect of the years of disuse during her coma. Ducking into an alleyway and crawling behind a set of dumpsters, she pulled the flying device from her back, slipping it off and stashing it behind the bags of trash. Luckily, her flying aid had been the only thing to be damaged beyond use, and it would appear that her wings had grown a little during her time out of conciousness. She could now fly more efficiently, though her wings were still naturally weak. The hero stayed grounded as she left the alley, carrying on toward the city centre.
As she passed under a large stone archway and entered the central courtyard, she heard a sudden sound. The popping of distant gunfire. Pressing herself into the shadows of a boarded-up doorway, she looked on at the scene which unfolded. A young mare hobbled into view, her right hind leg bleeding profusely. A messy bullet collision had punched a hole in it. She whimpered as she fell to the floor, curling into a foetal ball as the sound of loud engines roared from down a backstreet. Two of the Street Mares sped around the corner on motorbikes of some kind, headlights blazing. Their blood-red capes flapped noisily as the bikes slowed to a halt, the wounded mare illuminated in the electric lighting. They dismounted, their heavy metal boots thudding on the stone paving slabs as they stepped closer. One spoke out in a static-muffled voice,
Chapter Two: An Icy Introduction
Mare-Do-Well quietly padded through the snow around the alley to the side of the Silverhoof Club, looking for an entrance. After finding none, she fitted a grappling claw into the hoof cannon. The old device blasted the claw upward to the roof, but the tool fell short and dropped back down to the ground. The hero sighed, flipping a switch on her belt to reel the claw back into the cannon. The motor whined and gave out quiet squeaks as the mechanical parts moved for the first time in years. The claw slid back into the barrel of the cannon, and Mare-Do-Well stepped further into the alley, cape swirling gently in the wind. A cracked mirror lay, propped up against a large pile of trash by the wall of the club. It had most likely been disposed from a dressing room inside, and now it had been discarded with the rest of the junk. Mare-Do-Well sat on her haunches before the mirror, and stared at her warped reflection. The beraggled, anonymous face of the old hero stared back with unblinking, glowing blue eyes. After a pause, she raised her hooves to her face and grasped the hat. She tugged it off, and slipped the mask off too. The mare that stared back at her was both familiar and unfamiliar. The same orange-gold coat, the same purple mane. The same piercing eyes. But her mane was long and scraggly, falling over her face. She was much larger in size, and the tight suit visibly outlined her adult frame. As Scootaloo looked on at herself, a little blush formed on her cheeks. She had to admit, she looked a lot more attractive than she had as a plucky little kid. Now she was a graceful, strong mare, and she felt pride swell in her breast. Rainbow would have been so proud, she thought. A little icy pain thawed the warm in her heart at the rememberance of her hero's passing.. But those memories were old wounds, and she was healing with age. More resilient to the emotional stabs she had felt so strongly before. She took a deep breath, and let it out, taking up the mask in a hoof. Now was not the time for sentiment. There would be time to reflect soon. She pulled the mask down over her head and pushed the hat onto her head, tugging the brim down over her eyes. Scootaloo disappeared, and Mare-Do-Well resurfaced.
After a hard punch to the hoof-mounted weapon, the hero fired upward again. The grappling claw hit a section of piping on the roof, snapping shut. Tugging on the cable to test the stability, she snapped the switch and reeled herself upward, swinging to a vertical angle so that she could slowly climb up the wall on her hooves. Clambering onto the flat concrete rooftop, she reeled in the grappling claw and pressed herself down onto the surface, keeping low to avoid any watching adversaries on the street below. She glanced quickly across the roof, taking note of an entrance grate to the club's ventilation system. She hurried over to the concrete structure, using brute strength to wrench the grate off its bolted frame with her hooves and laying it gently, quietly to the floor. She slipped inside the metal duct, moving slowly and as quietly as she could, considering the echoing metallic surfaces and the boots covering her hooves. Navigating the unknown system of small, suffocating tunnels was not easy, but she eventually found a grate in the floor of one duct, opening out just above a huge room. Tables were laid out all over, smartly-dressed ponies sat comfortably and sipping at drinks, smoking or talking to one another. A lavish stage took up one wall of the room, lights shining from somewhere unseen and illuminating the dark red silk curtains, the sheen of the wooden stage, the dark colouration of the stage's backdrop.
"Sweetie Belle." A dry, crackling, electronic voice sounded from the pony. "I am here for Sweetie Belle. Where is she?" Sweetie stepped forward, calling out to the cold new intruder.
Chapter Three: Breaking the Hero
Mare-Do-Well awoke to the uncomfortable sensation of a needle injection. The cold metal point of the instrument punctured into her abdomen, and a burning sensation began to spread as she felt the chemical compound entered her bloodstream and was carried by her rhythmic, panicked heartbeat. She couldn't move her legs, and the dark room around her was oppresively dark. The feeling of being trapped and alone in this suffocating blackness was unbearable. She tried again to work herself free of her bonds, but it was no use. Something was restricting her movements, her legs bound to some kind of vertically angled table made of cold metal. A surgical table. She was trapped.
Standing there, on a now-visible circle of concrete floor, was the source of the voice. A unicorn stallion with a pale grey coat, and shocking amber eyes. He stared into her, the eyes almost hypnotic. It was around then that Mare-Do-Well began to suspect something to do with the injection, as she felt herself losing control. The stallion stepped closer, and she noticed that he appeared to be wearing some kind of white trenchcoat, a lab coat which had been extended to reach near the floor. An ID card hung from it, but she couldn't tell in this light what name it bore. She now noted that he wore a surgical mask over his mouth.
The scalpel danced.
An hour later, Septimal turned on his hooves, and left for the night.
A day went by with no progress from the interrogations. The rage-filled glares, the stabbing, the beating, the chemicals. She had come close to breaking an few times, but had managed to keep her sanity. The blood stained the table she was strapped to, and bruises marred her body. She was severely malnourished, only fed bread and water by an orderly every few hours, when Septimal left for a break. His eyes were burned into her memory. She would no longer talk to Septimal, only to the orderly. Scootaloo would speak two words to him whenever he left.
After a week of the ordeal, Septimal released her. Bringing two guards into the room, he had them unlock her restraints and haul her into the labyrinth of corridors beyond, and followed behind the group silently. Soon, they stopped at a large metallic bulkhead of some kind. It slid slowly to the side, now open, and she was tossed to the floor of the empty concrete antechamber beyond. The place was bare besides the bulkhead door she had been thrown in through, and an identical one on the opposite side of the room.
Scootaloo hobbled along the quiet streets, the cold wind biting at her now-uncovered body as the morning sun rose slowly, casting golden rays down on the snow-covered ground. A few times, she had to shuffle quickly into the shadows to avoid a Street Mare patrolling on a motorcycle. Still, she continued onward, lost in the labyrinth that Canterlot had become. All at once, the realisation that she was lost, alone, beaten to the point of near-death and stripped of her suit hit her, and she broke down. Throwing herself onto the ground in a dim, mist-laden alley, she sobbed and sobbed. For about an hour, Scootaloo cried out in utter anguish, letting her fears and anxieties and problems well up in her eyes.
A popping of gunfire from down the street stopped the group in its tracks, and the leader of the group could do nothing as his skull was punctured by a large-calibre bullet. Blood flecked across the pavement in front of him and he crumpled forward to the ground silently. The rest of the group scattered, and Scootaloo followed suit.
Author's Note
It would probably be prudent to note at this point that the name 'Street Mare' is given regardless of sex. The name simply applies to any Everfree law officer who dons the Mare-Do-Well uniform when on patrol.
Chapter Five: Enemies of the State
Scootaloo slept peacefully in a corner of the apartment for the night, guarded by the stallion. She had discovered his name to be Ironwork, a name which betrayed his family's hereditary involvement with mechanics. Not that this mattered much, but talking to somepony else at length without being tortured for answers was a refreshing change. Sometime in the night, the gunner from the other apartment had crossed the street to offer some help, and when Scootaloo awoke, the Unicorn mare she had caught a glimpse of the day before was cooking breakfast on a stove. It smelled divine.
When the appointed time came, the trio snuck out onto the street. The bodies of the Street Mares, which Ironwork had hidden away under some junk in one of the nearby yards, had thankfully not drawn attention yet. The group dashed along the all-but-empty streets, passing a few citizens who appeared to be in various states of mind. While some seemed quite sane but constantly alert and stressed, others were not so lucky. One or two sat huddled behind dumpsters and around the corners of buildings, shuddering silently. One mare, who seemed to have broken a foreleg, stumbled back and forth in an alleyway, calling for somepony who was presumably her foal. She was distraught, and Scootaloo had to tear her eyes away as the group moved further and further into the decaying Royal City.
"I don't know what you think you're playin' at, kid. We got a war to fight out there on the streets, and you lost the shipment of ammo? Dammit, those were sixteen cases of ammo! You get that shit back, or you're out on the street again, pal." A grim stallion roared at a stony-faced colt. Entering the main hall, the two resistance members and Scootaloo were just in time to stop the colt from getting himself shot for talking back, failure to deliver, or both.
The wind whistled and howled across the rooftops of Everfree as pale moonlight shone down on every tile and carven curve. Now, in the dead of night, Scootaloo moved closer to the Vault. Dressed in a dark raincloak and combat vest similar to Ironwork's attire and armed with a silenced, long-barrelled rifle, she leapt across the rooftops toward her target. Spreading her wings from beneath the cloak, she soared down and across the spaces between streets, swooping gracefully back up to the opposite rooftop and continuing onward. Eventually, the dull grey concrete of the city wall rose up before her, and looking down, she saw it. Nestled away, set into the border wall between two other buildings, was the Processing Vault. A huge corrugated iron door barred entrance from the front, and a pair of guards stood to its sides. On the roof, a concrete tower holding a roving floodlight and its operator, another armed guard. As if this wasn't enough, security cameras dotted the street around the front entrance. Observing all this through a night vision scope she had packed, Scootaloo planned her attack accordingly.
Shrouded in the shadowy, rough cloak around her, with the hood pulled low over her face, Scootaloo darted to the edge of the rooftop she stood upon. Swinging the silenced rifle onto the lip of the roof, she took careful aim. In keeping with tradition, the ammunition she had brought was non-lethal; darts filled with a powerful tranquiliser fluid. Loading the weapon with a clip of ammunition, she aimed down the thermal scope. She fired, a quiet pop of gunfire emitting from the gun's barrel as the dart sailed to meet its mark. The shot lined up perfectly, hitting the guard in the roof tower and knocking him quickly into unconsciousness. Now to bypass the door guards and sneak inside. Feeling around in her combat vest, she pulled out another set of ammo clips. These had been specially issued for the mission, at her request. A different kind of dart, similar to one of her hoof-mounted weapons; darts which would emit a huge electric shock, electrocuting an enemy or scrambling electronic machinery. Loading the rifle, she began firing. A mere few minutes later, the security cameras in the street had been electrocuted into malfunction.
Chapter Seven: Back in Business
After swinging open the side-door and stepping into the vault, Scootaloo stopped dead.
"I've been sent for the shipment of ammunition we recovered yesterday. They want it delivered to the Mares. I'm also ordered to transport the equipment confiscated from a Miss Scootaloo, after her interrogation a few days ago. It's needed for reverse engineering." Scootaloo said, trying to sound as official as possible. Luckily, the helmet of the suit muffled and distorted her voice a little as she stood before one of the guards, lying through her teeth nervously.
As the truck drove on ever closer to Sector Three, wherever that was, Scootaloo kept her eyes peeled for the alley which entered into the Resistance HQ. Upon spotting it while rolling through an empty street, she stopped the guard who had been driving the truck. He dropped into a ready stance behind the wheel.
'MARE-DO-WELL'.
It was even gift wrapped.
Crawling out of the tunnel and into the moonlight a mere hour later, Scootaloo set down the crate. She prised the wooden lid off, and gazed down at the prize she had managed to reclaim. There it was.. Still beaten and dishevelled, full of tears and stretched in places. But the suit she had missed was now back in her hooves. Staring down at the mask with its lifeless blue eye covers felt almost like staring into the face of a dear friend, and for the first time in a long time, Scootaloo smiled a genuine smile of joy. The mask pulled down over her face, the hat over it. The bodysuit slid on, and the boots were tightened around her hooves. Finally, Scootaloo swung the cape over her back, attaching it with the brooch bearing her familiar Mare-Do-Well insignia. She breathed in the cold air through the mask, and her head cleared.
Soaring over the rooftops, gliding from one to the next while firing out a grappling claw to swing gaps every so often, the dark form of Mare-Do-Well thundered across Everfree City. She was tracking thermal signatures via her suit's external scanners, and heading toward the coldest area of the city. The suit had pinpointed the coldest place in Everfree to be in the Canterlot Metro tunnels beneath-ground; a rail system that had been constructed long before the rise of Everfree City, during Scootaloo's younger years. Diving off a rooftop and gliding down, she spotted the entrance to Metro Central, the nexus at which all metro tunnels met, and also the coldest point in the city. Folding her wings inward, Mare-Do-Well dropped silently in through the stairwell entrance, rolling forward and stopping in a crouch at the bottom. She now stood in the lobby area of the Central complex. But something wasn't right. She could evidently feel the cold, but there was no-one around at all. She slowly and surely continued on inside the station, noting the frosty mist and thin layer of ice coating much of the surfaces in the place. Sneaking down the next flight of steps, she dropped down onto the central platform of the station, where all trains would meet to take on or drop off passengers. Icicles hung from the vaulted roof like daggers, and frost adorned the railway tracks that had not seen use since the hostile takeover of Canterlot and its subsequent rechristening. Beautiful, delicate snowflakes fluttered down through cracks in the roof, presumably from the clouds hanging above the city outside. Bitterly cold wind cut into Mare-Do-Well's skin beneath her suit, despite the resistant properties of the material. Looking around, she noted that the place looked deserted. All too late, she spotted the machine hanging from the roof on a chain. A device which emitted searing cold, characterised by a harsh, icy-white glow radiating from transparent pipes along its surface. Some kind of environment-altering device, one which had led her straight into a trap.
The doorway she had entered the platform through, and all other doors around, slid shut with a grinding of metal-on-metal.
She was nowhere to be found.
"Mare-Do-Well. Mare-Do-Well, show yourself now, or face the consequences." She ordered, voice echoing around and reverberating across the central station's vaulted ceilings. No reply. Hyperborea gave what might have been an annoyed grunt, but sounded in her voice more like a malfunctioning machine. Her blind, pale eyes surveyed the cavernous room, aided by the ocular equipment on her helmet and the scanning computer built into her suit. With another grunt, she turned her attentions back to the violently shuddering, wide-eyed form of the Baron, still frozen in place.
Mare-Do-Well dropped silently from the shadows of the vaulted ceiling, spreading open her wings and cape as she glided to the floor. Hyperborea's cold heart thawed with burning rage.
Chapter Nine: The Mask She Wears
Tarn glared across the room at the Baron, who belched smoke from his cigar, looking around curiously.Baron . I dunno what you're playin' at, but I have a business to run here. We're fighting a war, so you're gonna follow orders, or I'll have you shoved onto the street and shot between the eyes.. Right?" He spat.
Hours later, Mare-Do-Well soared out over Everfree City once again. Sticking low and swooping in and out of the shadows to avoid Street Mare patrols, she neared her mark. The navigational equipment inside her suit periodically fizzled and glitched out, causing her to have to smack at her mask with a hoof. Soon, however, this wouldn't be a problem. She dropped down to the floor in a dark, grime-encrusted culvert to the side of a road, and padded quietly down into the open sewer pipe. The place stank of rancid sewage and built-up gas, and now Mare-Do-Well thanked Celestia that her mask managed to block out some of the smell. Proceeding onward down the dark pipe, she began navigating the labyrinth of tunnels to search out the runoff pipe which dropped into the waterfall basin outside the city - and the pipe which would lead her back to the Lair. Booting up the night vision setting in her suit, her eyes lit a bright electric blue as she began her search into the sewer. The search took her at least an hour, if not more. After twisting and turning and feeling panic set in, she finally came across a heart-warming sight. Before her, the pipe opened out into a huge channel, where rushing sewer water continued on through a huge tunnel and finally drained out through the waterfall which masked the entrance to the Lair. Diving out into the foul stream, Mare-Do-Well allowed the current to carry her along to the mouth of the tunnel. As she reached the lip of the abyss, she leapt forth into the air, spreading her wings and gliding out of the tunnel. She turned downward then, plummeting toward the basin at the foot of the waterfall and pulling up again just in time to glide into the hidden entrance. She dropped forward into a roll, and stood up. The lamps in the Lair were only half working, some flickering and others broken completely. Galloping inside the main cavern, Mare-Do-Well was relieved to find that the main computer had remained intact throughout its years of disuse, and the screen had flared into life as she had entered. Pressing a booted hoof to the control panel, it welcomed her back to the sprawling hidden hideaway.
After a visit to the equipment vault, Mare-Do-Well emerged in a clean, functional suit. She had retrieved a new hoof-mounted cannon, and tested its capability; Functioning perfectly. Logging onto the computer again, she searched for some well-deserved and clearly-given answers about the origins of Everfree City.
Chapter Ten: Nothing's Fair in Love and War
Mare-Do-Well sat with Tarn, Heather and the Baron around a long table. The crime lord unfurled a huge map over the tabletop, and cleared his throat, inspecting the map closely with a cold and calculating gaze.
That night, five Street Mare compounds, including the Vault from which Mare-Do-Well had recovered the confiscated ammunition and her suit, were demolished by the resistance movement. Keeping radio contact in the HQ's makeshift war room, Tarn ordered the bombings to go ahead. Each target was eliminated, one after the other. The replies came back across the radio, and Mare-Do-Well, listening from a shadowy corner of the room, felt emotions churning in her stomach. She retreated to one of the adjoining rooms, locking herself in a small, blank bathroom to the side of a storage area. Slipping off her mask, she stared into the eyes of her reflection as she tried to make sense of the sudden rush of feeling. She should be happy, shouldn't she? The Street Mares had been dealt a huge blow, and this act of violence would be better in the long run.. Wouldn't it? She sat on the toilet seat, feeling sick in her stomach. What if this killing wasn't the right thing to do? She turned over the scenario in her mind. Hundreds of Street Mares must have been killed without any mercy tonight. Blown right out of existence, or disabled beyond anything that could rightly be called 'life' by horrendous explosive blasts. This was the war at its worst; unthinking, uncompassionate murder. In Tarn's eyes, the boundaries of the war were black and white. No middle grounds, and no mercy for the enemy. A bloody-minded, unrelenting need to exterminate a rival had poisoned his mind. But in a war so harsh, what could Mare-Do-Well fight for? Could a hero who had spread peace across Equestria become an agent of murder? Even to save the oppressed?
"The Baron sent a message while you were sleepin'." Tarn called as Scootaloo slipped out of the bunkhouse and into the war room, slipping on her mask and hat. Scootaloo was disoriented due to having woken up so early, but managed to stay attentive. "He's got Sweetie Belle, apparently. But now we have bigger problems to worry about." Scootaloo, now encased in the mask, assumed the cold tone of Mare-Do-Well.
'PRINCESS CELESTIA AND PRINCESS LUNA TO BE EXECUTED PUBLICLY, BOARD OF DIRECTORS SAY.'
"They're gonna butcher the Princesses tomorrow, in a public ceremony. Probably in the Palace courtyard. That'll scare the ponies of this city for good, and with Celestia and Luna gone, the Board will rule Equestria." Tarn grumbled, head lowered as he seethed with rage. "They win. We lose." Mare-Do-Well turned tail and dashed out of the resistance HQ. She called out as she left, voice passionate and louder than usual.
As the sun began rising over the rooftops of Everfree City, Mare-Do-Well swooped down and landed in a crouch outside the front entrance to a battered old food warehouse. Having verified with Tarn via radio on the way here, she had confirmed this as the place the Baron had requested they meet. The dry old doors hung open as if to invite her inside, and the hero stepped in quietly. The inside of the warehouse stunk of rot and cigar smoke, and the central area was lined with piles upon piles of crates full of now-mouldy food. Staring around, Mare-Do-Well searched for the Baron.not a good day to mess with me, Baron." She called, a hint of anger in her voice. "Where is Sweetie Belle?"
There was a loud, echoing bang.
Two minutes later, the Baron left the warehouse. Lying on the floor inside, in a pool of blood, were a body, a stubbed-out cigar, and a warm, smoking pistol. It was Sweetie Belle who found the body, and Ironwork turned up soon after to check on the hero after hearing word from Tarn that she had gone after the Baron. Ironwork found a weeping Sweetie Belle hunched over Mare-Do-Well's still-warm corpse. The body, along with Sweetie Belle, was brought back to the Resistance HQ. There was a memorial service of sorts held, and that night, the Resistance was almost broken down by the news of their icon's death. Had it not been for Heather's idea in the saddest of circumstances, then the war would have been lost already. As it was, the death of Mare-Do-Well did not mark the end of the war. The Board had not won, not by a long shot. Because on the next morning, in the unlikeliest of circumstances, the Resistance movement managed to raise an army of its own.. With Mare-Do-Well as its leader.
The sun rose on the next day, burning high into the sky slowly but surely. It reflected across the grime and darkness of Everfree City, shimmering across rooftops and peering down into the dankest alleyway, spreading a warm glow. As the day wore on, a crowd gathered at the gates of the Royal Palace, herded from their homes by squad upon squad of Street Mares. Soon, the Princesses' execution would break the last remnants of rebellion, crushing the spirits of the resistance and spelling defeat for the enemies of the new order. The crowds were piled toward the courtyard at gunpoint, some moving hopelessly with grim acceptance of events, others weeping and wondering why such a terrible event could ever have befallen Equestria. No matter what the people were thinking, they were here, being forced to bear witness to their Princesses' final moments. Scaffolds were set up in the wide-open space of the Palace courtyard, the Street Mares' bikes having been moved for such an occasion. At midday, when the sun was at its highest, it began.
There was one other crackle from the speakers, and they then began working again. But not for Trixie.
As the oppressed citizens looked on in astonishment, A dark shape dove down out of the sky. Mare-Do-Well. The resistance had used information given to them by Mare-Do-Well previously to access the Lair, and had used its arsenal well. The lifeless body of the caped hero was strapped into the same model of jet-propulsion technology she had used so many years ago, blue fire blazing from beneath her cape as she tore down through the clouds toward the Palace. Strapped securely to the suit with a harness were packages of impact explosives, making the lifeless hero into a final, defiant weapon against injustice. As Mare-Do-Well neared the Palace, Heather and Ironwork, who had concealed themselves on rooftops nearby, let off shots from their sniper rifles. The ropes connecting the nooses to the scaffold were severed, and the Princesses collapsed, able to breathe again. They began to recover just as the final blow was dealt to Trixie and the Board of Directors. The explosives-packed body of Mare-Do-Well slammed head-first into the balcony on which Trixie stood, and it was engulfed in a boiling, earth-shattering fireball which rocked the very earth for miles around. If the inferno had not killed Trixie, then the collapse of the Royal Palace certainly ended her. Castle walls, shattered panes of stained glass, and ornately carven bricks of the finest stone fell backward and away as the foundations of the palace cracked wide open and split apart. The burning mess which had once been Canterlot's Royal Palace collapsed in on itself, falling back off the cliff's edge and toppling down into the waterfall basin below. Mare-Do-Well's final, posthumous act of valour had sealed off the entrance to the Lair forever, now buried under the broken remains of the Royal Palace.
The air had changed. While the mood of the people had been full of sorrow and helplessness before, a spark of hope had now become a raging fire in everypony's heart. When the first, triumphant shouts of 'Revolution!' sounded across the city, carried on the hazy, heated air, the Street Mares already knew they had lost. While some fought, and a good few managed to kill innocents, most accepted defeat. In the end, guns were tossed aside and trampled underhoof. Ammunition was poured into boxes and disposed of. Many Street Mares simply looked down with shame, but some rejoiced that, perhaps now, a free Equestria could become a better place for them too. In the end, the valour of the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well prevailed over uneven odds. It was shown that courage, loyalty and strength of spirit could overcome the worst of obstacles. It took a month to break down the walls which had been built around Canterlot, and years to reconstruct the Royal Palace. When the Palace's final brick was laid, however, a special memorial was unveiled in the courtyard. A huge, triumphant stone sculpture of Mare-Do-Well, reared up and ready to do battle. The plaque below the monument bore the inscription,
'For incredible feats of bravery, and loyalty to justice in the darkest of times, this statue is commemorated to Mare-Do-Well, saviour of Equestria '.
A new police force was set up soon after the incident by the Princesses. Working with Tarn and the members of the Resistance group who had gained access to the Lair in order to set up the final attack against Trixie, the new police force were outfitted with the weapons and technology of Mare-Do-Well. They wore the original, unmarred purple regalia of the masked hero. The new troop of Street Mares began patrols across Equestria, righting wrongs and serving unconditional justice with respectfulness - and non-lethal, non-vicious methods.
And so the story ended, with the nightmare over and justice restored to the people. The dark figure of a stallion snarled as he read this final line in a front-page article of the Manehattan Bugle. He set the newspaper down on his desk, taking a drag on his cigar and puffing out clouds of smoke. There was a knock on the door.
