Overture

Chapters

Chapter 2: Incitement
Chapter 3: The Special Agent
Chapter 5: First Impressions
Chapter 6: Above Reproach
Chapter 7: Manehattan Noir
Chapter 8: Breaking and Entering
Chapter 9: The Brick Wall
Chapter 10: Baiting the Shark
Chapter 11: Honesty and Deception
Chapter 12: Plan B
Chapter 13: Connections
Chapter 14: Blowback
Chapter 1: Prelude
Chapter 4: Investigate the Investigation

Chapter 2: Incitement

Shining Armor watched as the line of unicorn soldiers stood before their partners, their horns aglow as they channeled their magic. They stood at attention, ready and waiting for their next command. Their officer paced slowly behind them, mentally counting down until he reached zero.

“Stun,” he called out. “Release!”

A bolt of electricity arced through the air from one line of ponies into the next. The ponies struck by the spells instantly tensed up as the electric surge shocked their muscles. Some fought while most toppled to the ground, giving short spasms and groans. In mere seconds, they were incapacitated.

“Good! Very good work.” Shining Armor stepped in between the two lines of soldiers. “It’s important to remember that incapacitation spells are an especially effective way of taking enemies down unharmed for later interrogation, and the best offensive magic we have.”

He stepped out of the crossfire and off to the sidelines again. “All right, now we’ll practice our defensive magic. Ready?”

The stallions took their positions again, some still shaking the aftershocks of the incapacitation spell. Shining nodded.

“All right, team two, you’re on offense—team one, defense. Begin!”

The one line of unicorns ignited their horns, and another volley of lightning bolts shot across the gap towards their opponents. The other line in turn raised purple shields of magical energy in front of themselves. The electricity made contact and dissipated immediately on contact, leaving the ponies unscathed.

“Well done! Keep in mind though, these shields work both ways. The enemy cannot hurt you, but your allies and their attacks cannot pass through it either,” Shining said with pride, noting the strain on his soldiers’ faces and the sweat dripping from their brows. “Remember, these spells are mentally taxing. As our new regiment of combat mages, you’ll need to be sure to conserve your energy and focus for when your spells will be most effective. We’ll keep training so you can build your stamina to—”

The sound of shattering glass caught the attention of the Captain of the Guard and the soldiers. Shining Armor’s head snapped upward to where the sound came from. Glass sprayed down around the ponies from above. They covered their heads as Shining watched a crimson form hit the ground and roll to a stop before the soldiers.

Shining Armor recognized the culprit immediately. “Fleet! What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, just getting some exercise and training the newbies,” Fleethoof said coolly, picking himself up and dusting himself off.

“Exerc— You broke one of the castle windows!”

“We actually broke about five, maybe more. All for a good cause.”

“What cause is that?” Shining bellowed.

No sooner had the captain finished speaking, a volley of shots struck the ground near Fleethoof and Shining. Fleethoof rolled out of the way while Shining looked up at the broken window. Midnight Dasher and Echo stood in the frame, popping shots down at them with paintball guns.

“Mages, shields!” Fleethoof called out, and in an instant, a vivid shield of magic covered the ponies from the incoming fire. “It looks like your training is paying off, Shiny.”

“You’ll be paying for that window, Fleet.”

Fleethoof laughed. “When did you become such an opponent of hooves-on training?”

“When it started damaging castle property.”

“Hey! No fair!” Midnight shouted out from her lofty perch. “That’s cheating!”

A grin spread across Fleethoof’s lips. “Yeah? So is this. Mages, take her down!”

Two battle mages at the end of the shield dropped their defenses and released bolts of electricity arcing through the air, both bolts striking Midnight in the torso. The mare yelped and twitched as she collapsed to the floor. Fleethoof laughed while Echo ducked behind cover.

“Excellent work! Keep it up!” said Fleethoof as he took off across the courtyard, rushing back into the castle.

“Don’t break anything else, or the princesses will have my head!” Shining shouted after his friend, knowing it was a lost cause. That stallion was incorrigible. He heaved a sigh, then turned back to his waiting soldiers. “Okay, let’s pick it up from the top, colts!”

Fleethoof dashed down the winding corridors of the castle, hugging the walls and checking every corner he rounded. If Midnight and Echo were hot on his tail, there was no telling where the others were. Poking his head around the corner to check for enemies, he worked his way through the labyrinth of corridors and doorways while gripping tight to his rifle for protection.

He bounded up a nearby flight of stairs to the next level. If the bats were still here, he was walking right out of the frying pan of his own accord. Fleethoof sucked in a deep breath and leapt out into the hallway, all but throwing himself into a paint-splattered Sharp Shot.

“Sharp! What happened?”

Sharp Shot rolled his eyes with a scowl. “The newbies jumped me, that’s what. I’m out.”

“Where are they?”

“Last I saw, they were headed back towards the foyer.”

Fleethoof nodded. “Don’t worry, Sharp. I’ll avenge your death.”

“Whoop-de-fucking-do. Now I get to try to get this stuff out of my fur. If you need me, I’ll be back at HQ, booby trapping their desks to get even.”

Fleethoof watched Sharp Shot trudge off before setting off after his assassins with a smirk. He bolted down the lavish corridors, dodging and weaving past groups of tourists and castle guards.

The idea of running close-quarter combat practice against one another had been a stroke of genius from Midnight. It would pit everypony against targets that would actually shoot back, and provide a realistic environment to operate within. It had been Fleethoof’s twist of not informing the Royal Guard so as to keep their patrol patterns the same and to allow citizens in the area of operations. If anything, it would make the trigger happy Midnight Dasher rethink taking her shots too recklessly.

He sprinted down a vacant corridor stretching the width of the castle, and then took a sharp turn down another connecting passageway. One more turn and he emerged in the grand foyer, ponies from all over Canterlot traipsing around in the open. He could also make out the forms of two bat ponies dressed in matching black uniforms prowling around near the bottom of the staircase, just out of sight, staring right at an unwitting Valiant.

Fleethoof leaned over the balustrade at the landing of the grand staircase, drawing a bead just as the bats fired. The paintballs made soft pops as they made contact with Valiant’s back, the pony doubling over from the force of impact. Fleethoof squeezed off shots of his own, painting Echo’s torso red.

“Midnight! Eight o’clock, high!”

Echo’s cry caught Midnight’s attention just as Fleethoof turned his aim on her. She dove back out of sight as he fired, the paintballs splattering harmlessly against the floor. The startled ponies in the foyer immediately began scrambling to get out of the way, unaware of what was going on.

“It’s okay! It’s okay! It’s a training exercise!” Valiant called out to the panicked masses.

Well, this could’ve been handled with a little more finesse… Fleethoof thought, keeping his eyes trained on where Midnight had disappeared.

“No! Valiant was to be being my kill!”

Fleethoof looked up in surprise as Cupcake’s heavily accented voice boomed from one of the corridors on the lower level. He saw the large pony come into view, firing shots down the opposite hallway where Midnight had run. Sorry, pal, he thought as he turned his rifle on him, putting three shots on the stallion’s chest. Cupcake looked around in shock, spotting the captain on the upper level and giving a hearty guffaw.

“Captain Fleethoof is being clever pony, hiding way up there! Is good move, Captain!”

A smile crossed Fleethoof’s face at the good-humored nature the pony possessed. That smile faded in an instant when he heard the paintballs whiz past his head. Midnight had obviously figured out where he was from Cupcake’s clues. Gritting his teeth, he ducked down behind the balustrade, crawling to a better vantage point to take on his opponent.

Paintballs hit the balustrade on the opposite side of where the stallion crouched. He shot up, putting a couple paintballs of his own down the hall where he had just caught a glimpse of Midnight ducking back down. He grit his teeth, determined to get that mare somehow.

A door burst open a short distance down the hallway he had come from. Fleethoof looked up at Blue Shield as the unicorn came rushing into view. He turned, and caught four shots from the captain all in the chest. Blue Shield groaned and stomped at the floor.

“Sorry, doc,” Fleethoof apologized with a smirk.

“Fleethoof, what’s going on here?”

Fleethoof’s heart all but stopped when he heard Cadence’s voice behind him. He fell back on his flank, spinning rapidly and staring wide-eyed up at the princess, who was now eyeing him curiously.

“C-Cadence!”

“Why are ponies running screaming down the halls that there’s a gunfight in the castle? Is that why half the castle is torn up?” she asked completely calmly, completely unaware of the battlefield she was standing in the middle of.

Blue Shield snickered behind him. Fleethoof’s face went hot. “Cadence, I can explain everything, but I really can’t talk about it right now.”

“You can’t talk about it? Fleet, there are broken windows and tipped over tables all over the castle! There’s paint splattered everywhere! What’s going on?”

Fleethoof opened his mouth to repeat his previous statement when he caught a glimpse of black out of his peripheral vision. Down below, he could see Midnight peeking out from behind her cover. He caught a quick look at the wicked grin she had on her face.

“Shooting civilians is an automatic loss, Midnight!” Fleethoof shouted out.

Down below, Midnight groaned and swore audibly. Fleethoof took the opportunity to position himself between the columns of the balustrade, pushing his rifle through the spaces and coating Midnight’s chest in red paint. The bat pony let loose a slew of profanity while Fleethoof collected himself and stood up again.

“What is going on? My aunts are going to have a fit when they see the castle!”

Fleethoof slung his rifle over his chest and turned to Cadence. “Training exercise, Cadence. Nothing to worry about. Nopony was harmed.”

“That is indeed a positive, Captain,” came the voice of Luna as the monarch joined the party at the top of the stairs. “However, seven windows have been shattered, the table in the garden sunroom is missing two legs, not to mention your intriguing manner of repainting the castle halls.”

Fleethoof could feel his face burn as his ears flattened against his head. A sheepish smile spread across his face. “My apologies, your highness. My team and I were running some scenario drills and needed to utilize the castle grounds.”

“And you could not have alerted the Guard to clear a segment of the castle for you?” asked Luna skeptically.

“It would have defeated the purpose of the training. We needed obstacles and non-combatants to make it as real as possible.”

“And the windows and other damages?”

“Collateral damage…?” Fleethoof said, sounding much less confident in his response than he would have liked.

Luna rolled her eyes and approached the captain. “While I would much rather have had you notify me on your escapades, I am grateful that nothing of value was harmed. That said, I ask that you please do not repeat this exercise in the future.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Fleethoof said with an apologetic bow of his head.

“Do not worry about the damages. There is much that can be repaired with magic. Such a useful tool, would you not agree?” She smirked knowingly at him.

“But of course, Princess.”

Luna glanced down at the two bat ponies on the lower level of the foyer, a smile forming on her face. “How are my Nightwatch soldiers faring under your guidance, my captain?”

Fleethoof followed her gaze down to the recruits. His eyes met Midnight’s for a moment, seeing the pride and enthusiasm burning in her honey-toned irises.

“Between you and me?” Luna nodded, and he smiled softly. “They are two of the most dedicated soldiers I have ever seen.”

“Have they completed their training?” she asked, looking to the captain. “Are they officially members of Skyfall Team?”

“Almost. They’re almost done.”

“Got any threes?”

“Go fish…” Dawn muttered, not even bothering to look at her hand. She had her eyes fixated on the front of the manor, watching the silhouettes of ponies walking around inside.

Keen Eye rolled his head with a groan. “You didn’t even look at your cards yet.”

“Maybe that’s because I’m actually trying to do my work,” remarked Dawn Glimmer sharply. “One of us has to be responsible.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘paranoid’.”

“How about ‘fired’?”

“I thought we were playing Go Fish, not Scrabble.” Keen idly shuffled the deck of cards with his magic. “C’mon, Dawn, we’ve been out here every day for Celestia knows how long now. We’ve got nothing solid. If there was any sort of shady dealing going on out here, I think we would’ve noticed it by now.”

Dawn sighed and dropped the binoculars from her eyes. “Look, we’re out here until we get orders otherwise. Might as well make good use of the time we have.”

Keen Eye made whiny, gibberish noises, making fun of Dawn as he continued to mix up the cards. A swift kick to his shoulder courtesy of his partner shut him up. He chuckled, and then groaned as a second kick caught him between the ribs.

“Ow! Hey! What the hell was that for?”

“We’ve got movement up at the manor,” said Dawn excitedly, shifting the binoculars’ focus.

Keen shook his head. “Uh, yeah? Maybe because ponies still live there?”

“Not just ponies—griffons.”

“What?”

“Ponies, griffons, I think I see a zebra and a couple Re'emians too,” she said.

Keen Eye crawled up to the crest of the hill they were lying prone across. He snatched the binoculars away from Dawn, bringing them up to his eyes and seeking out the front door. She was telling the truth. A motley crew of races from around the globe had gathered at the door, all being greeted by an earthly-brown Earth pony.

“Well I’ll be damned, it’s like a world summit up there,” he noted with a touch of humor. “Wonder what they’re all doing here…”

“Whatever it is, it can’t be good,” said Dawn Glimmer, taking her binoculars back and spying on the creatures as they entered the manor. “That zebra is Githinji, the right-hoof stallion of the Zavros warlord Unathi. He’s been waging genocide over in the zebra lands for the past generation. And those Re'emians don’t look like the kind we like to associate with.”

Keen gave a soft chuckle. “So I guess it’s safe to say the griffons down there are no fans of ours either?”

Dawn didn’t respond right away. She adjusted her binoculars again, keeping them held steady on the Earth pony as he embraced Githinji, and then ushered him inside with a warm smile. The pony lifted his head and looked straight at her, as if he could see the ponies from across the distance all the way past Thatchholm.

“Shit! I think he’s looking right at us!” Dawn hissed under her breath.

“What?” Keen was extremely confused. “Who?”

“The pony, Dandridge. He’s looking right at where we are!”

“That’s impossible. We’ve gotta be at least a mile away.”

“I know!” Dawn remarked, still not convinced. “But he is, I swear.”

She thought she saw a grin cross Dandridge’s face before he disappeared inside, the large doors shutting behind him. Dawn waited a minute longer, scanning the outside of the manor for anything else of interest.

“Did you get down the newcomers?” she asked.

Keen nodded, lifting up his notepad with his magic. “Yep. We should get this to RIS immediately. There’s gonna wanna know—”

The ground shook with a pair of heavy thuds as something fell from the sky, landing just behind the startled ponies. Dawn saw two dark shadows loom over them, and tried to turn around, only to have her face shoved into the moist dirt with incredible force. Beside her, she could hear Keen Eye cry out as sounds of a struggle started.

When the pressure was removed from the back of her head, she looked up, coughing out a mouthful of earth and turning in time to see a griffon bring a club down across Keen’s head, knocking the pony unconscious in one hit. She ignited her magic, pulling her pistol out of her blazer to fight back. That was when she felt something strike the side of her head, and Dawn saw stars.

Dawn’s vision went black, then returned to a foggy haze of colors a split second later. She was lying on the grass, her gun lying just within reach. The griffon was picking up Keen Eye’s limp body, tearing their notes to shreds with his free talon. She gave a soft grunt as she reached for her weapon, managing to wrap her hoof around the grip and turn halfway to see the griffon looming over her, bringing his club back around for a second swing. If she could just get a shot off…

Dawn Glimmer felt the club make contact with her temple. A single gunshot went off, and then it was lights out.

It was the throbbing pain pounding like a drum inside her skull that brought Dawn Glimmer back to consciousness again. Her entire body felt limp and heavy, like it was made of lead. She couldn’t move a single muscle. Check that, she couldn’t move at all.

Dawn scrunched her forehead, trying her hardest to make her limbs respond, but they wouldn’t budge. Her vision was still too fuzzy to make out any details, and her ears were ringing, and it sounded like she was hearing everything through water.

She blinked her eyes a few times, trying to refocus them. Bit by bit, her world came into view. She was staring down at a hardwood floor, definitely no longer outside anymore. Her orientation was off, like she was standing on her hind legs. But that couldn’t be right—why did she feel so weightless then?

Again, Dawn tried to move her limbs, and felt something keeping them frozen. She looked up at her hooves, gasping when she saw the iron shackles pinning her to the wall. Grunting and groaning, the mare struggled futilely against her bonds, and her magic fizzled out when she tried to use it.

“Well, well… look who decided to join the party!”

The voice laden with a Braytish accent caught Dawn’s attention. She looked up, glaring daggers at the brown pony known as Dandridge. He just grinned at her, a wild look in his smoky amethyst eyes while he trotted leisurely back and forth in front of her. He tossed something across a nearby table, the object clattering loudly as it came to a stop. Dawn recognized her RIS badge, along with a second matching one from her partner and their crystal communicators. In his hooves, he held her ID.

“Special Agent Dawn Glimmer, Royal Investigative Service, Division Six, top secret clearance… Tell me, what is it that makes you RIS types feel so entitled to fuck with the way I make my living?” he asked, his voice suave and alluring, despite the cutting edge it held. “Do you know who I am, Miss Glimmer?”

Dawn said nothing. She gnashed her teeth together, straining against the shackles while simultaneously trying to grasp anything with her magic to defend herself. Dandridge just laughed darkly.

“Oh, don’t tire yourself out, my dear. Those shackles are made of arcanate. Wicked stuff, I must say. Renders magic utterly useless! Ha! Brilliant!”

“What do you want?” snapped Dawn angrily, still struggling with all her might. “Where’s Keen Eye? What did you do with him?”

“Oh, you mean your darling partner?” Dandridge smiled, stepping over to the far side of the room. Keen Eye sat strapped to a chair, blood dripping from multiple wounds and lacerations across his face and torso. “He’s right here. No need to worry. We’ve been taking quite good care of him in your absence.”

Keen Eye lifted his head weakly, looking up at Dawn. “Dawn… This pony’s insane… Don’t say a word…”

“What do you want from us?!” Dawn demanded to know.

“Who, me?” Dandridge pointed at himself, a look of coy innocence painting his face. “Why, nothing, my lovely guest. I just want to continue my work in peace. My associates, however…”—he waved behind him at the group of known criminals watching with glee—“…they want you to bleed…”

“You’ll never get away with this!” threatened Dawn, hoping her courage wasn’t betrayed by the cracking of her voice. “The RIS will know we’ve gone missing. They’ll come looking for us.”

Dandridge nodded his head slowly, as if grieved by the validity of her threat. “Yes, you’re probably right, my dear. But I know you RIS and Royal Guards have a strict set of rules and protocols you cannot break, especially when it comes to delicate matters such as this. I estimate it’ll take your precious RIS days, if not weeks, to get a warrant to search my house, and by then, I dare say your bodies and my friends will be long gone.”

“So you see, my dear,” he whispered, his grin widening as he leaned closer to the imprisoned mare. “You’re never going to be saved.”

A low, menacing chuckle rumbled in the stallion’s throat. Dawn felt a shiver run down her spine while her heart raced. Her mind was still working in overdrive, trying to desperately find a way out of this situation.

“You think… you can… intimidate us…?” Keen Eye muttered with a scoff and a smirk. “You’re nothing but a small time arms dealer… making a quick bit selling his allegiance to the highest bidder… The RIS will shut you down in a matter of days…”

Dawn saw something shift in Dandridge’s eyes. The stallion turned sharply on his hooves, glaring at the bound pony in the chair and advanced on him slowly, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Oh no, lad, I consider myself much more than that…” said their captor, his overtly calm demeanor scaring Dawn more than anything else. “I consider myself a businesspony and a major benefactor to my associates. You see, this is how things work in the real world… They come to me when they want something, and I deliver it. Quite simple, no?

“So when they want something smuggled in or out of Equestria, I get it done for them. When they want a particular weapon, I find it for them. When they need money or a safe house, I provide it for them.” Dandridge stopped circling Keen Eye, leaning on his side as he waved a hoof to the group watching his display. “And when they want somepony to die, I expunge them. Do you want him to die, lads?”

“Just do it so we can get back to business, Clydesdale,” one of the griffons from the other side of the room piped up impatiently.

“Ah, you’re no fun at all,” Dandridge muttered, then drew the pistol on his hip and pressed it to Keen Eye’s head. “But you are right. This is a matter of business—and business comes before pleasure.”

“No, wait—!”

A single gunshot went off, cutting off Keen’s plea before he had uttered it. Dawn Glimmer cried out as she watched her partner slump over in the chair, his body hanging limp against his bonds.

“No! Keen! You bastard! The RIS will have your head for this!”

Dandridge stowed his weapon again and gave Dawn a pleasant smile. “Oh will they? Tell me, Miss Glimmer, who will they send? Another agent? On what grounds? There is no evidence for a warrant, no motive, no inkling of a trace to lead back to me, and if you honestly believe a judge is going to blindly allow your friends to invade one of the most prominent families in Equestria—well, I’d honestly be a little offended by such a blatant level of stupidity, my dear.”

The stallion gave Dawn a look that sent shivers down her spine. “I’ll be back to deal with you soon enough, lovely—after I finish entertaining my friends. In the meantime, why don’t you just… hang around for a spell?”

The last thing Dawn heard was Dandridge’s manic laughter, and then the doors slammed shut, sealing her in the silence with the gripping fear and her deceased partner.

Chapter 3: The Special Agent

Midnight Dasher chewed on her bottom lip as she steadied her swaying hooves. The paper figures standing still dead in front of her terrified her more than any of the other tests her grueling training had forced her through. She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, holding it to try and steady herself as she aimed down the narrow sights of her handgun.

“Take it easy, Midnight,” Fleethoof instructed her, standing just behind the bat pony. “Remember, it’s not about speed in this test. It’s about making every shot count.”

“I know…” Midnight grumbled, taking another deep breath.

On the other side of the table, two paper targets of standing ponies had been set up, one almost entirely obscured by the other in front of it. One had a hoof wrapped around the other’s neck, pointing a crudely drawn weapon back downrange at her. Midnight could barely see the head of the target peeking out from around the ‘civilians’.

Midnight lowered her aim, looking back at Fleethoof with pleading eyes. “Is this really necessary?”

“More than you know,” said Fleethoof with a terse nod. “In our line of work, you need to be prepared for any situation. What if that was one of the princesses, and they were about to be executed? What would you do then?”

Turning back to her target, Midnight took a third deep breath and lifted her gun again. She took a few more seconds to line up the sights, putting every ounce of faith she had into a silent prayer as her hoof tightened around the trigger.

Bang!

The gun went off, one round sailing downrange. Midnight set her gun down on the table while Fleethoof made a gesture to a nearby unicorn. With a burst of magic, the target began whizzing down the rail it hung on, inching closer and closer. Midnight strained her eyes, searching for the telltale mark that indicated a clean kill. It was only once the target reached the bench did she finally spot it. A single hole ran neatly through both silhouettes’ necks.

Fleethoof cocked his head to the side slightly. “Apparently, you would do the terrorist’s work for them.”

“Fuck it all,” she muttered, tearing her targets down while Fleethoof replaced them. “I still don’t see the point in making this so hard.”

“Tell that to the grieving family of the hostage you just killed,” he replied coolly, poking his hoof at the hole tearing through the target’s aorta. “We make it this hard so that if this situation comes up, you’re ready for it, regardless of the difficulty.”

Midnight grumbled as she crumpled her targets into a large paper wad and returned behind the firing line with Fleethoof.

“Well, why don’t you demonstrate then?” Midnight challenged.

“Ooooooh,” Sharp Shot crooned from the sidelines, an amused grin plastered to his face. “She’s calling you out, boss.”

Fleethoof cast a look at Midnight. The mare simply responded with a daring smirk and a flick of her head toward the two targets. For a moment, neither side spoke. Then Fleethoof drew his pistol and approached the bench.

Taking his stance, Fleethoof trained the sights downrange at the two targets. The forms almost blended into one big mass, making distinguishing where to aim more difficult. His hooves flexed over his weapon, letting his patience run its course. He knew one wrong twitch could mean the difference between life and death.

Midnight approached the bench beside him, a cocksure smirk on her lips. “So, got any sage advice for the rest of us, or are you just gonna take a shot in the dark?”

Fleethoof licked his lips and exhaled slowly, keeping his hooves held steady. He trained the sights over the barely visible head of his paper enemy. Everything had to be just right.

“Pretend it’s somepony you care about. Then you’ll force yourself to make the shot.”

He sucked in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. Fleethoof’s eyes closed and he released the breath. When his eyes snapped open again, he pictured his hostage, and squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

The single shot rang out, and Midnight eagerly watched as the target was returned to them. Fleethoof set his gun down and waited much more patiently. The closer it got, the more he could see Midnight’s self-satisfied grin, and soon saw why. One lone bullet hole had torn through the side of the hostage’s face and ran through the enemy’s eye.

“Dammit… I really thought that one was clean…” muttered Fleethoof, swapping out the targets with a frown.

“Not quite so easy, is it, Captain?” said Midnight, nudging the pegasus with her shoulder.

Fleethoof shot an affronted look at the bat pony smiling with coy amusement at him. He glance over at the range officer and gave a nod of his head. The unicorn nodded back and made a few adjustments on a console. The target flipped to the side, completely obscuring the silhouettes. A few seconds later, it flipped back for a fraction of a second before turning away again.

Midnight gaped at the impossibly moving target. “Oh, come on, Fleet!”

“If we dealt in easy, Midnight, we wouldn’t be very exclusive. Try again.”

“If we dealt in easy, we wouldn’t be exclusive,” Midnight repeated in a deep, gruff voice, punctuated with a giggle. “That’s what you sound like.”

Fleethoof sighed and rubbed his forehead with a hoof. “Just shoot the target, Corporal…”

“When can we start doing real jobs?”

“When you’re ready.” Fleethoof pointed to the two targets downrange. “But right now, you need to save your hostage.”

Midnight puffed out her chest and gave a disappointed huff. It had been almost a year since she and Echo had been recruited, and so far, all they had seen was Skyfall’s top secret labs and training courses. No real action or task had demanded their attention, and whenever something minor popped up, Fleethoof always sent one of the other stallions, claiming the two fillies hadn’t completed their required training yet.

She snatched her gun up and pointed it at her targets. She squinted her eyes a little, focusing on which target she was supposed to shoot. Think about somepony you care about… she thought. She placed a face over the blank hostage—and Midnight froze. She could feel her heart pounding slow and strong in her chest, and all of a sudden she didn’t want to risk taking the shot, lest she miss.

Fleethoof saw the hesitation cross Midnight. “Remember, you probably won’t have this much time in a real situation.” Still, Midnight held steady. “Midnight, take the shot before he kills the hostage, or you.”

Midnight bit her lower lip, rolling it between her teeth gently as her hoof tightened around her gun. Her body tingled with a foreign numbness. She felt like she was being taken out of her body, out of the situation. She didn’t notice the other pony approaching from behind her.

Bang!

The gunshot beside her made Midnight jump out of her skin, pulling her roughly back into reality. She spun on her hooves, nearly smacking the stallion next to her with her wings in the process.

A tall and slender Earth pony stood beside her, an inscrutable look glazed over in his eyes. He had a coat as white and pristine as freshly fallen snow. His platinum blonde mane was combed and styled with the neatness and intricacy Midnight expected a king to carry. But what struck her most about the stranger were his eyes: one a pale, clear gray and the other a vivid yellow, slitted in the fashion of her kind.

He stared back down at her with a cool, calculating look, as if he was trying to read her mind, while he slid a sleek, black pistol inside a finely pressed black suit jacket. Midnight was speechless, too taken aback by the pony’s sudden appearance out of nowhere and by his unusual eye. He, however, seemed to have her summed up in a matter of seconds before averting his gaze to the rest of Skyfall Team.

“Bentgrass, what a pleasant surprise,” Fleethoof greeted the pony, approaching with a smile. “Trying to show my recruits up?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Bentgrass replied coolly, a southern twang accented his lyrical tone while glancing downrange at the swaying targets. “I was merely rescuing your… hostage.”

Sharp Shot let out a loud whistle as he inspected the target. “He got him, boss. Clean shot, right across the side of the bad guy’s head.”

“I… But— Guh…” Midnight sputtered incoherently, casting a bewildered look at Bentgrass. “How did you do that?!”

“Years of experience.”

“Lucky shot,” Fleethoof teased.

“I would not be very proficient in my career if I relied solely on luck, Captain.”

Fleethoof tipped his head, conceding the point. “This is true. Fillies and gentlecolts, I’d like you to meet Special Agent Bentgrass, a friend from the Royal Investigative Service.”

“Division Six,” added Bentgrass.

“Ha! Yeah right…” Sharp Shot cackled. “Aren’t you ponies all spook agents, hunting ghosts and other things that don’t exist?”

Fleethoof closed his eyes against the mounting frustration. “Sharp—“

“Oooooh, do you all sit up on the roofs with antennas trying to talk to aliens? Oh no, wait, you’re the guys that do Slender Mane’s taxes, right?”

“The RIS is where we receive our intel from,” Fleethoof said in explanation, cutting off any further banter from the loudmouthed sniper. “Division Six is at the top of the pyramid, so to speak. Everything crucial we’ve ever learned has come from our friends in those offices.”

“So you were the ponies that uncovered the whole terrorist threat here in Canterlot a few years back?” Blue Shield asked.

Bentgrass gave a terse nod, barely casting his gaze at the sniper for more than a second before continuing to look around his surroundings. “That is correct. I cannot personally take credit for that discovery, but that was Division Six.”

“Well, you really helped us out with those lunatics. Thanks, pal.”

“Think nothing of it.” Bentgrass turned his attention back to Fleethoof again. “Captain, may I have a moment of your time?”

Fleethoof nodded. “Of course. It’s not very often we get RIS agents visiting us. Usually you just send over files and pictures.”

“Yes, but this is a matter of… personal interest.”

“Whatever it is, boss, I swear I didn’t do it!” Sharp Shot called from across the room.

Fleethoof rolled his eyes and motioned with a hoof to the range. “Everypony set up your targets and save your hostages. I want clean kills. No killing, maiming, or wounding the hostage—not even a scratch.”

In a heartbeat, Skyfall Team was rushing to get set up. Fleethoof watched his team work efficiently for a few seconds before motioning with his head to Bentgrass. He took the pony aside, away from the gunfire and into privacy.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Agrostis,” Fleethoof spoke in a murmur. “It’s been… what, a year now?”

“I could say the same for you, Captain Fleethoof.”

“I’ve been kept busy.”

Bentgrass made a soft sound of acknowledgement. “Such is the way of the world.”

“I take it you didn’t come down here to compare cryptic asides with me.”

A long pause passed between the ponies. Fleethoof glanced sideways, staring at the stallion at his side. Bentgrass was watching the ponies of Skyfall at the shooting range, his eyes distant. Fleethoof could see the trouble behind them.

“Two Division Six agents have gone missing,” he said after the moment had passed. “They were working a field investigation and have failed to report in three days. They aren’t answering their communicators either. The Director fears the worst, and wants me to check in on their status.”

Fleethoof mulled over the information for a moment, listening idly to the pops of nearby gunfire. “Missing field agents is definitely something to raise a red flag… What were they investigating?”

“A potential threat to Equestrian security. Several weeks ago, we received an anonymous tip regarding some very sensitive material. It insinuated a high-profile family was involved in organized crime of the violent variety, as well as weapons trafficking to our enemies amongst other crimes. We sent two agents out to investigate the lead, but they’ve just disappeared.”

“Definitely a red flag.” He looked back at Bentgrass again. “Do you think they met with some trouble?”

“I don’t know.” Bentgrass’ answer was quick, short, and simple. Fleethoof didn’t buy it.

“What do your instincts tell you?”

That made the agent hesitate a moment. “I feel as if they met some ill fate. It definitely doesn’t feel right, but I have no evidence of the contrary that would suggest they were in any danger.”

“Well, go find out then,” said Fleethoof with a calm shrug. “If anypony can find an answer, it’d be you.”

“That’s why I’m here. I want you to come with me.”

“Say what now?”

“I need you to come with me.”

Fleethoof was very confused. “Why? I thought you agent types liked to work alone, you especially. When’s the last time you had a partner?”

“I do, but my shield only gets me so far, and if these rumors of weapons dealing and violent crime are true, I would like to have somepony who doesn’t mind… bending the rules. I’ve found teamwork does have its benefits.” Bentgrass looked over at Fleethoof finally. “I know your ponies don’t mind breaking a few laws or ethics. The RIS… we don’t have all the luxuries you do.”

“Tenebris a lucem…” murmured the captain. “Who’s the target?”

“The suspect”—Bentgrass put special emphasis on the word—“is Dandridge Clydesdale.”

A hard laugh left Fleethoof. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Dandridge Clydesdale IV? The sole surviving member of the Clydesdale noble family? The representative of Thatchholm county in the Canterlot Senate? You’re trying to investigate him? He’s virtually bulletproof. His ancestors helped found Equestria. Not to mention nopony can get near the residence or him to even get an interview.”

“Now you see the dilemma,” Bentgrass muttered darkly.

“Now I know why you need my help. Nopony would permit you to invade his residence and privacy for a witch hunt.”

“If it is imperative to locating clues and revealing the truth, then it is a risk I am more than willing to take.”

Fleethoof dipped his head, staring down at the floor. He understood the sentiment. If any of his ponies were in danger, he would move heaven and earth to rescue them. He had bent and broken rules in the pursuit of justice and preservation before. Leniency of the law opened so many doors.

“Do you really feel that Clydesdale is somehow behind your agents’ disappearance?” he asked in a husky tone.

“They disappeared when they began investigating him as a lead. I don’t believe in coincidences. If he’s behind it, I’m going to find out and get him… but I may need help getting enough evidence to pin him to the wall.”

Another slow nod from the pegasus. He had made up his mind. Lifting his head again, he looked back to Bentgrass with a crooked smile on his face and a glint in his eyes.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

In the darkness, all Dawn Glimmer could see was an endless black void. It crushed her soul and made her chest tighten, the claustrophobia almost too much to deal with. Even though her vision had been impaired, she kept her head bowed, staring at where she knew the floor was. She couldn’t bear to lift her head knowing the body of her partner was decaying somewhere else in the room with her.

Dawn grimaced as bright light spilled directly into her weary eyes with the opening of a door. Hooves clopped across the wood floor, approaching her with a leisurely gait. She didn’t need her vision to know who it was.

The sickening smiling face of Dandridge appeared before her face when her eyes had finally adjusted to the new light. He made a soft sound that sounded like a chuckle crossed with a purr and softly patted her cheek. Dawn flinched away from his touch.

“Ah, good, you’re still with us, Miss Glimmer,” he said, stepping away to grab a glass of water and lift it to her lips. “I do apologize for not visiting you sooner. I had to make sure you wouldn’t try to fight against me anymore. Thirsty?”

Dawn was positively parched. Having had nothing to eat or drink in days, she felt fatigued and spent. Despite her needy thirst, she refused to give in and take any inch from the madpony. Dandridge was patient, however, and simply shook the enticing glass of cool liquid in front of her face.

“Equestria to Miss Glimmer… Come in. Aren’t you thirsty?”

With a flick of her head, Dawn defiantly knocked the glass out of his hoof, hearing it shatter with a satisfying crunch of glass. Dandridge simply tipped his head and lowered his now empty hoof again.

“Very well, then… That seemed a little extreme. You could have simply declined.”

“You killed my partner and left me chained to a wall for Celestia knows how long,” snapped Dawn aggressively, a rebellious fire burning in her eyes. “And you’re calling me extreme?”

“For your knowledge, it’s been three days, Miss Glimmer—and this can all end if you’ll cooperate with me.” Dandridge unstrapped Keen Eye’s corpse from the chair and pushed it carelessly to the floor. Dawn’s teeth gnashed together and she gave an instinctive jerk against the shackles, her body jerking in place. He then dragged the chair across the floor, letting the wood scrape noisily together as he took a seat calmly in front of his prisoner. “I want you to answer a few questions for me.”

Dawn scoffed, trying to put up a tough front when she could barely even keep her head held up. “What the fuck makes you think I’ll ever cooperate with you…?”

“Incentive,” he said, tapping his hooves against the floor. “If you do well and answer truthfully, I’ll let you live. If you don’t, or if you refuse, I’m going to have to punish you.”

“Fuck you, you psychopath.”

Dandridge sighed sadly, then stood up from his seat and made his way across the room. A panel of switches lined the wall. He glanced back at Dawn as he pulled one. Dawn’s body jumped as sharp electric bolts ran through her from head to toe. She tried to cry out in agony, but no sound left her lungs. Every muscle in her body seized up, locking in place and giving short spasms as the excruciating pain ripped through her.

Stars exploded before her eyes. Dandridge left her writhing about for a few moments before turning the switch off again. He calmly made his way back to his seat, watching the mare hang limply against her restraints, gasping for breath.

“Now you know I’m not playing around. I take my business very seriously, Miss Glimmer. So when somepony like you comes around threatening it, I won’t spare any expense to protect it.” He paused, letting his words sink into the shock-addled pony’s brain. “I want to know how long you’ve been investigating me. How much do you know? How deep does your case go?”

Dawn glowered up at Dandridge, slowing her breathing down enough to speak. “Go fuck yourself…”

“Oh, please, Miss Glimmer, don’t make this harder than it has to be. Just tell me.”

A scoff left the battered mare’s lips, glaring daggers at the stallion smiling so passively mare inches from her face. “Hard…? Oh, you don’t know hard, not until you’ve met my colleagues. They’re gonna find you, and when they do, they’re gonna bend you over backwards and drag you through the mud.”

Dandridge rolled his eyes as he walked back over to the switches.

“You want me to tell you something? You’re nothing more than a sociopathic degenerate whose sole purpose in life is to end up in a ditch at the side of the road! Your mane cut looks like something out of a high school yearbook and you look like your mother never dressed you a day in your life— AAAAAAHHH!”

With another flick, Dawn was thrashing against her restraints. Every muscle in her body squirmed against her will, fighting to get away from the pain. She could deftly hear the machinery in the wall whirring away, operating at maximum capacity to send streaks of blinding agony jolting into her brain. The lights became more and more distant, blackness creeping over the edges of her vision.

Dandridge left the torture device on longer this time, only speaking once he had shut it off. “Tell me what you know. Who else knows about this case? How high does it go?”

Dawn swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. The RIS had required all agents go through a basic form of torture resistance training, but nothing in all her life could have ever prepared her for a situation like this. She forced the hopelessness out of her mind. She had to keep fighting for herself, and for her partner.

Don’t tell him anything… she repeated like a mantra in her head. Don’t tell him anything…

The electricity was turned on again. This time, Dawn was able to scream as she flailed and fought against an invisible force. The electricity was shut off just as her vision began to black out.

“How high does it go?” Dandridge repeated, the lethal anger in his voice becoming much more evident. “The Director of RIS? The Royal Guard? The princesses?!”

“It goes nowhere… just like you…” Dawn muttered, barely able to give strength to her voice.

Dandridge growled as he slammed the switch back on. The acrid smell of something burning hit her nostrils. It took Dawn a few moments to realize the smell was her own flesh.

“One last time, Miss Glimmer… Who knows?”

He heard Dawn murmur something, her words barely audible. With a frustrated groan, he trotted back up to her, bringing his face right up to hers. In the stallion’s citrine eyes, Dawn saw the euphoric gleam of a demented madpony. The look in his eyes reminded her of a junkie chasing after a high. He was deeply enjoying inflicting pain on her.

“What did you say?”

Dawn lifted her head, looked Dandridge in the eye, and spat in his face. Dandridge recoiled in surprise, wiping the spittle from his cheek. A deathly dark look clouded his bright eyes. Dawn gave a weak laugh as she watched him head back for his switchboard, and then crumpled into cries of anguish when the torture resumed. The pain had become numbing to her agonized body. It felt like a tingling burn was radiating throughout her, tearing her apart from the inside out.

When Dandridge finally calmed down enough to switch off the machine, Dawn was barely conscious. He slowly sauntered back over to her, looking the limp mare over with grim satisfaction.

“I am very disappointed in your behavior today, my dear…” he said, his words cold. He chuckled and kissed her cheek gently. “We’ll have to try again tomorrow…”

Dawn gave a quiet whimper as she heard him walk out, and then the darkness consumed her again.

Chapter 5: First Impressions

Agent Bentgrass knocked with a heavy hoof against the solid front doors of Clydesdale Manor for the third time. Nopony had come to answer the door yet and their demands for entrance had been wholly ignored, much to the special agent’s frustration. Fleethoof was peering in through one of the large windows at the side of the door. The frosted glass did little to help, but even through it he could see there was nopony in sight.

“Think nopony’s home?” he asked.

“The Clydesdale family is one of the oldest noble families in Equestria’s elite. They have the power and the money to buy and sell ponies at a whim,” said Bentgrass, agitation touching his voice while he pounded on the doors again. “They could certainly afford to hire staff to mind the door.”

“If they’re so high and mighty, then why do you think they’re involved in something like black market deals and organized crime? Doesn’t that seem a step down from sipping tea and talking politics?”

Bentgrass’ eyes darkened a touch. “That kind of power can corrupt ponies.”

Another series of loud staccato knocks shook the door. This time Fleethoof could see a mirage of vivid colors heading towards them.

“Well, we got somepony’s attention this time.” He grinned at Bentgrass. “So how’re we playing this? Good cop, bad cop?”

Bentgrass cast a disparaging look at Fleethoof. “I hate to imagine you in either role. Let me handle the talking this time, Captain. We don’t want to rattle the cage too much yet.”

“‘Yet’… I like how you added that.” Fleethoof laughed. Then his expression dropped. “Wait, I don’t scare ponies!”

The sound of locks opening was heard on the other side. Both ponies stood tall and at attention, a habit indoctrinated from years of military service. Bentgrass counted three heavy bolt locks releasing and then the latches clicked. One of the doors opened a fraction. A small, delicate-looking mare dressed in a maid’s uniform poked her head timidly out, looking both suited ponies up and down cautiously.

“Y-Yes? May I help you?”

The agent pulled out his badge, flashing it to the mare. “Good afternoon, miss. My name is Special Agent Bentgrass, RIS Division Six. This is my partner, Fleethoof. We’re looking for Dandridge Clydesdale.”

“Master Clydesdale is not here.”

Both stallions traded dubious looks. Neither were convinced by the mare’s well-rehearsed lie. Bentgrass’ cool gaze settled over her again. Fleethoof saw her hair stand on end.

“Where is he then?”

“Not here,” the mare said again, stonewalling the ponies once more.

“Miss, we really need to speak to him,” Fleethoof said, his voice a touch softer than Bentgrass’.

She looked over Fleethoof again, slinking slowly back into the house. She was slipping away. “I’m sorry, but as I said, Master Clydesdale isn’t here.”

Bentgrass was unrelenting. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“No. Nopony is home. Please come back at another time.”

Just as the mare went to shut the door again, the sound of laughter echoed down the halls. Fleethoof’s ears pricked up and he brought his hoof against the closing door hard, forcing it open, much to the surprise of the meek housekeeper.

“Nopony’s home, huh?” Fleethoof asked, focusing his hearing again. “I count at least four different voices inside.”

Bentgrass nodded assent. He locked his steely gaze on the mare, making her flinch backward. “Miss, I am losing patience. Please go fetch your employer now. Tell him the RIS is here to speak with him.”

The mare hesitated by the door for a while longer before nodding her head with little more than a twitch, avoiding making eye contact with either of them. “Please wait here.”

The door closed once more. Fleethoof ducked his head to the window, watching and making sure she had walked down one of the hallways. He chuckled and stood up straight again once she was out of sight, shooting a curiously raised brow at Bentgrass.

“She seemed scared of something.”

“Like I said, you scare ponies. You give off an air of danger. I think it’s those soulless blue eyes.”

“Aren’t you a charmer? I’m suddenly remembering why you don’t have many friends,” Fleethoof remarked with a smirk. “So what type of pony tells his staff to turn away everypony at the door, including the authorities?”

Bentgrass had tuned in to Fleethoof’s suspicions as well. He tugged at his jacket, straightening the slim fit to his lithe body. Something definitely felt off.

“The type that has something to hide.”

“You know, I could just slip inside and check things out.” Fleethoof nudged Bentgrass with his shoulder to make sure the distant agent was paying attention. He motioned to the house with a flick of his head. “What was it you said? I can open doors you can’t?”

“I didn’t mean that as literally as you’re taking it,” Bentgrass replied with a tone of sarcasm in his low voice. He gave Fleethoof a passive look, a humored gleam in his contrasting eyes. “If we are wrong about him, invasion of privacy with somepony of his caliber would bring the axe down on both of our departments so hard, Celestia herself wouldn’t be able to save our flanks.”

Fleethoof sighed. He knew he was right. “…Do you think we’re wrong?”

Bentgrass didn’t respond. Fleethoof dipped his head a bit, shuffling his hooves on the wooden porch as they waited. A few slow minutes passed, and then the latches clicked again and both doors opened wide this time. Fleethoof looked up, his eyes meeting some of the most fiendish he had seen in his entire life. Dandridge Clydesdale was taller than he had expected him to be, standing a full head higher than he was. The look in his eyes was that of a chess player: cool, calculating, and conniving. The smile he wore was one Fleethoof imagined all politicians wore; that egotistic grin that showed too many teeth and not enough honesty. Everything about the pony oozed deceitfulness and immorality.

“Good afternoon, gentlecolts!” he greeted with a voice like honey and an accent Fleethoof thought mares would swoon over. He was the perfect predator. “Can I assist you two with something?”

“Dandridge Clydesdale?” asked Bentgrass. The stallion at the door gave a sharp nod of his head. “I’m Special Agent Bentgrass, RIS. This is Fleethoof, Royal Guard liaison. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

Dandridge was the picture of cool. His smile, if anything, widened and he nodded his head. “But of course, Special Agent! What sort of questions?”

“Two RIS agents have disappeared from the area recently. Do you know anything about their disappearance?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” replied Dandridge, his brow furrowing in convincing concern. “I wasn’t even aware that there were federal agents in Thatchholm county. What were they investigating?”

Bentgrass disregarded Dandridge’s question with cool indifference. His eyes mirrored his suspect’s, the same look of a cunning mentalist blazon in his gaze. “Have you been home all week, Mister Clydesdale?”

“Why yes, I have. I’ve been entertaining some friends from out of town.” He motioned with his head inside his house. “Now, what did you say they were investigating again?”

“I didn’t. Did you hear any gunshots within the last few days?”

Again, Dandridge shook his head. “No, I didn’t. There was a gunfight too?”

“For a lord of a country, you’re not very observant about what goes on outside your front door, are you, Mister Clydesdale?” asked Bentgrass, his question obviously rhetorical by the smile he put on at the end.

That struck a nerve. Dandridge’s eyes flashed with a trace of agitation. “I tend to keep to myself.”

“Would you mind if we interviewed your friends?” Bentgrass persisted. “Just as a formality to make sure they didn’t hear or notice anything either. Strictly protocol, and whatnot.”

Dandridge tensed up on the spot. Fleethoof noted the way his shoulders squared up defensively on his frame. “I’m afraid they might not be much help to you, Special Agent. They only arrived yesterday. It would be a waste of your very valuable time. When did your agents disappear again?”

“Ah, that is very convenient…”

“What are you insinuating, Special Agent?” Dandridge questioned, his eyes tapering into points.

Bentgrass simply shook his head, tousling his platinum blonde mane lightly. “Nothing that another investigation couldn’t reveal. Thank you for your help, Mister Clydesdale.”

With a nod of his head to Fleethoof, both ponies turned and began trotting down off the porch. Dandridge stepped out after them suddenly.

“Special Agent, perhaps if you told me what they were investigating, I could be more of a help,” Dandridge offered with a wolfish smile. “I have degrees in law and criminal justice. Perhaps I can offer some insight into what may have occurred. A glimpse into the criminal mind, so to speak.”

Bentgrass stopped and glanced over his shoulder at the pony lingering on the porch. “Your support is appreciated, but for a pony that hardly knows what is happening just beyond his doorstep, I have my doubts. If you think of anything that may help us, don’t hesitate to contact us, Mister Clydesdale. Good day.”

He turned again, whispering under his breath to Fleethoof, “Keep walking…”

“Well, that was about as useful as a wingless pegasi,” Fleethoof remarked once they were far enough away. “We’ve got about as much as we did before.”

“He’s our pony.”

Fleethoof turned his dubious gaze on Bentgrass. “You sound certain. What changed your mind?”

“He kept glancing down and to the left when he spoke. It’s the classic tell of a liar. His left eyelid twitches when he does it too. He’d be a terrible poker player. He knows what happened, I’d stake my badge on it. Now we need to find out what he’s hiding and just how much he knows.”

“What happened to finding hard evidence and not trusting intuition?”

“The evidence is what puts him behind bars and in an interrogation room,” Bentgrass said, a knowing look on his face. “Intuition helps us identify the bad guys, and Dandridge is as crafty as they come.”

Dandridge hung out on the porch for several moments longer, watching the two stallions as they took the path back down into Thatchholm. He dropped his smile once they were a safe distance away, scowling and gnashing his teeth together. The RIS was already here and looking for their agents. He could feel the noose tightening around his neck. But so long as he kept a step ahead and in control that trapdoor would never open beneath his hooves.

Sucking in a deep breath, he returned to his home, cantering eagerly back to his study. He couldn’t wait to tell his guest that her friends had come looking for her.

Dawn grunted when her body made contact with the hardwood floor. Every muscle in her from head to flank ached and cried for mercy. But she couldn’t give in, not when there was a ray of hope shining for her at last.

Gritting her teeth, Dawn crawled across the floor. Each motion sent a wave of nerve-racking agony through her weak body. The strain of just shifting and moving took all of her remaining strength. Fighting her way out of the manor was out of the question. But putting up a fight against Dandridge was another matter entirely.

Much to her relief, her luck had held up. Whatever had distracted Dandridge had obviously been much more important than the RIS hostage chained to his wall. She tried her best not to take insult at that notion. He hadn’t returned yet, and once she had managed to pry herself free, she felt like her fortunes were beginning to change.

Leaving behind spotted trails of blood across the floor from the lacerations on her hooves, Dawn managed to make her way to the table. Her hooves scrabbled at the edge, grunting as she hoisted herself up, using the table for balance until she had gotten on her hooves again. Her badge, gun, and communicator were still there. In all his wisdom, it seemed Dandridge hadn’t counted on her getting loose.

She ran through her plan of action over and over in her mind. She first grabbed her communicator and tapped the crystal twice. The gem made a soft hum before falling silent. Dawn tossed the crystal across the room, watching it land safely in a shadowy corner of the room. That was done. Her second task fell to her weapon. She grabbed the gun and grimly noted how light it was. The magazine was missing. A gun without bullets did her no good. Settling for one of Dandridge’s knives, she grabbed her RIS badge and ID. Dandridge still hadn’t returned.

Dawn heaved a sigh and dropped to her hooves. She wobbled to and fro, then waited until her equilibrium had returned and was sure she could stand without collapsing. Then she slowly shuffled her hooves, limping towards the door. The trek seemed to span miles for her fatigued body. Yet even as she fought on, each inch felt like a breath of fresh air in her lungs. Each step meant a step closer to freedom.

Tears stung at Dawn’s eyes. She would escape, she would return with the RIS, and she would get Dandridge for what he had done. Hopefully she could even recover Keen Eye’s body before he was dumped in a shallow grave and give her partner and his family some peace too.

She approached the door, her horn igniting with a very faint aura as she tugged at the door. It took a few attempts, but when they finally flew open, Dawn’s soul soared—and then her heart sank. Dandridge was standing on the other side. Both ponies looked just as shocked to see the other, so much so that neither moved for a good while.

Dawn was the first to move, spitting the knife out into her hooves and tensing up, prepared for a fight. “Dandridge Clydesdale… You’re under arrest for assaulting a federal agent… kidnapping… and murder…”

The stallion stood as still as a statue. And then he broke out into a quivering grin. A wheezing laugh left Dandridge as he sniggered at the determined agent, his smile so wide it hurt his cheeks. He gripped his sides and almost doubled over while gasping for breath.

“Oh, that’s rich! Bravo, my dear! You got free and made my day with that joke!” he laughed, clopping his hooves together. “Wow, you RIS ponies truly are a devoted bunch, aren’t you? Incredible… Simply incredible! Your indomitable spirit is definitely one for the ages.”

“Don’t move, or I’ll stick this knife so far in your throat, you’ll be spitting out the other end…” she threatened with a low growl in her voice. “It’s over, Dandridge… You’re finished…”

Dandridge gave a soft titter followed by a heavy sigh as he calmed down and regained his breath. A single amused tear rolled down his cheek and was briskly wiped away. “Ah, my dear Glimmer… You’re right, it is over. It’s been such fun, but you’ve clearly proven that I cannot rely on keeping you confined any longer. Can’t have any loose ends coming back to hang me, after all. It’s time this ended.”

He reached into his blazer, pulling his pistol out and firing a single shot point-blank into Dawn Glimmer’s torso. Dawn gave a choking gasp as the sheer energy knocked the air out of her lungs. The knife slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor with a shrill noise of metal scraping wood while she doubled over, clutching at her side. She could feel the wetness of her blood pouring out past her hoof at an alarming rate. Her strength seeped away with each anxious beat of her heart.

Dawn stumbled backwards a step and her equilibrium died. She hit the ground hard, still desperately holding the wound in her side. A glance down her body afforded her the terrifying view of the dark blood spilling from her and pooling beneath her body. The ringing in her ears returned, muffling the sound of gentle hoofsteps approaching her. Her head turned to stare with frightened eyes up at the calmly smiling Dandridge.

“Oh, Dawn Glimmer, my lovely pet… I wish it hadn’t ended this way. But I can’t have you running around telling anypony about our fun, and I’m certainly not about to fight you. Besides, I don’t need you any more,” he purred, slipping his gun back inside his coat. He sat down beside the wide-eyed, dying pony and gingerly ran a hoof through her messy mane as she convulsed on the floor, grasping hopelessly at the wound draining the life away from her. “Don’t you worry, though. You’ll be gone in a few minutes. You can relax now.”

Dawn gave a choking gasp as she tried to speak. The pain constricted her lungs, keeping her from drawing breath and silencing her. Her body slowly slipped into shock, numbness settling over her like a blanket as her senses failed one by one. Tears blurred her vision and fell freely down her muzzle to the cold floor. Those happy thoughts of her loved ones danced like a cruel taunt in front of her eyes before fading into eternal blackness. Dandridge hummed a soft tune under his breath, stroking her head all the while.

“Oh, by the way…” He grinned that predatory smile down at the unicorn, watching the light dim in her pleading eyes. “Those were your RIS friends at the door. They’re looking for you. I think I’m going to have all kinds of fun with them.”

A tremor ran through Dawn Glimmer’s body. She could hear her heartbeat in her head, slow and strong as it ran out of blood to pump through her body. Dandridge leaned down and gave her forehead a soft kiss before pushing her back into the torture room a little more and leisurely swung the door shut, taking thorough enjoyment from the scared look in her tear-filled eyes. He flashed a cold grin and winked.

“Goodbye, Miss Glimmer. Doux rêves, mon cheri.”

The darkness closed in on her just as her heart gave its final beat.

Quiet made its residence in the cozy room of the bed and breakfast. The soft ticking of the clock on the wall created a steady rhythm of white noise in the background. Fleethoof sat in one of the chairs around the table, reclined slightly with his hooves up, cleaning his disassembled gun. Bentgrass had taken sentinel beside the window. His form pressed against the edge of the opening, resting his cheek on the cold glass while staring out into the early morning.

His eyes remained fixated on the dark manor up on the hill, slumbering in the distance. He scarcely blinked, his focus so intense that the rest of the world was lost to him. His mind refused to let matters lie. He was constantly analyzing and reevaluating every scrap of evidence and every word spoken, trying to find a hidden angle or lead that he might have missed.

“Take a step back, Agrostis,” Fleethoof finally spoke up, breaking the tense stillness between them. “You can stare at it all you like, but you’re not going to find anything.”

Bentgrass didn’t so much as budge a muscle. “I can’t.”

“Because you want to nail this pony or because you’re really worried about the other agents?”

“Would you be any different if it was one of your soldiers, Captain?”

Fleethoof ran his tongue over his lips as he finished wiping down the barrel of his weapon. He set it down, turning to the slide and giving it the same treatment.

“That’s what I expected,” murmured Bentgrass.

“If you want to get him so badly, just let me go in,” Fleethoof offered with a devilish smirk. “I’ll find out what he’s hiding.”

“I would very much like to not kill him. And we’re not making a move without a reason.”

“So if we get some sort of clue that he’s involved…?”

Bentgrass’ hoof unconsciously began to press harder against the frame of the window. “Then I’ll do everything within my power to bring him to justice.”

“Including letting me off my very short leash?”

“We’re already breaking rules just by having you involved. You’re not an agent, so this technically constitutes a conflict of interest,” Bentgrass replied, making Fleethoof chuckle beneath his breath. “Not to mention Clydesdale isn’t the kind of pony you can just shoot and nopony will notice. If you’re going to violate any further laws, I want them to be justified at the very least. The last thing I want is to have to throw you in a cell with Clydesdale.”

Fleethoof sighed and rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Fair enough… But why did you bring me along as your skeleton key if you aren’t going to use me?”

“I will in time.”

The conversation ebbed away into comfortable silence once more. Fleethoof had known Bentgrass from the times Division Six had worked with the Royal Guard and his team. He was a stallion of few words and sharp perception, something Fleethoof admired him for. They had spent meetings in the past in almost utter silence, simply exchanging information and personal ideologies. Then there were times they would covertly meet to exchange intel and discuss everything ranging from the philosophy of geopolitics to the best year for a vintage wine and the latest Wonderbolt derby. The cooperation and body language spoke volumes for the two of them. It was always mutually admiring and trusting.

“You think I’m being overzealous” Bentgrass spoke up after many long minutes had ticked away, looking away from the rising sun to his partner and continuing, “don’t you?”

Fleethoof drew in a deep breath through his nose. He took his time deciding on how to respond. He slowly slipped the loose bullets from his gun back into their magazines one by one, the idle work keeping his hooves busy and mind active.

“No,” he said after a moment, looking up to meet the dissimilar eyes of the agent with an empathetic gaze. “I think you’re looking out for your own.”

As if he had received some notion of much-awaited affirmation, Bentgrass finally stepped away from the window and came to sit opposite of Fleethoof at the table. He folded his hooves neatly in front of him and stared down at the finish on the wood with glazed, distant eyes. Fleethoof didn’t need to pry into his mind to know what he was thinking. He was trying to piece the puzzle together and build the tapestry from the loose threads they had gathered.

“There has to be more evidence we’re missing…”

Fleethoof pursed his lips, smacking them together with a soft pop as he finished loading the magazines. He gave them a soft tap on the table to settle the bullets into place before twirling one around on the table with idle thought. “Okay, let’s say we are. Where would you start looking?”

“Clydesdale’s house,” Bentgrass said without missing a beat and with absolute certitude. “Clydesdale has this entire county under his hoof. The family has owned it for generations. There’s no way he knew nothing about what transpired here. He’s lying to cover something—or cover for somepony. But he knows more than he’s letting on.”

“And you think he’s concealing evidence in his house?” asked Fleethoof while putting his gun back together piece by piece.

“It’s the only logical explanation I can come to.” Bentgrass shook his head gloomily with a gruff sigh. “But even that’s circumstantial and speculative. There’s nothing solid other than a hunch.”

“Sometimes your instincts are trying to tell you the truth.”

“Instincts don’t hold up in court, nor when you’re trying to search somepony’s house.”

“Touché,” Fleethoof conceded with a tip of his head. “Then we just need one good lead that points to Clydesdale having a hoof in this and we’ve got him.”

Bentgrass leaned back in his chair again, rubbing his tired eyes with his hooves. Neither pony had slept that night. “Clydesdale’s a clever pony. He’s covering his tracks well if he is involved. This wouldn’t be his first bout with Equestrian law.”

“So we just need him to slip up once—or we need a gift from an angel.”

A muffled sound interrupted their conversation suddenly. Both ponies dropped their gazes from one another down to Bentgrass’ jacket. The agent slipped a hoof into his pocket, producing a glowing emerald. The soft sound resonated from the crystal with every pulse of energy. Bentgrass glanced up at Fleethoof, the apprehensive and wary look in his eyes saying enough.

“I know about you RIS and your top-secret communicators,” he remarked with a dismissive wave of his hoof to put Bentgrass at ease. “Hey, don’t worry about Clydesdale too much. Even the best professionals slip up sooner or later.”

Fleethoof didn’t receive a response. He hadn’t expected one. Bentgrass had already set the emerald down on the table and tapped it with his hoof. Runes began to glow around it and a thin veil of magical energy emitted like a screen from the crystal, projecting a two-dimensional image of a pony Fleethoof didn’t recognize.

“Agent Bentgrass, I’m glad you’re awake,” the pony said, his tone calm and clear. “I have some information that might assist your investigation in Thatchholm.”

Bentgrass waved his hoof to encourage the pony on the other end to continue.

“I did some digging into the background of your suspect, Dandridge Clydesdale IV, and I found some… interesting things.”

“Go on…” Bentgrass said coolly.

“The Clydesdale family, as we all know, is one of the more prominent of the Earth pony noble families. The whole family has been dealing in mining companies for years internationally, making their wealth off the land. However, Dandridge seems to have found a taste for a different line of work.”

Bentgrass’ brow furrowed, squinting his eyes a little. His head tipped to the side. “What sort of work?”

“Organized crime, it seems. Nothing direct, but he has a lot of connections to mob families here in Manehattan and Fillydelphia, as well as freedom fighters in Zavros, usually by little more than tenuous friendships. But it turns out he has deals funding a lot of their activities: laundering, trafficking, smuggling… All under the table and strictly off the books, nothing one-on-one. Always through a bank account connected to another bank account connected to an offshore fund, and so on. But they all have one thing in common…”

Bentgrass’ eyes darted back and forth as he added it up in his head. “All the money is coming from Clydesdale.”

“In origin, yes and no. They’re coming from his father’s old accounts, but his father has been dead for years, and dead ponies don’t make withdrawals. It’s all circumstantial without a paper trail, but it’s very suspicious. Beyond that, he’s clean. Studied law and graduated with honors at Canterlot University, spent a lot of time internationally, but anything he does outside of Equestria we can’t get access to, including those accounts, so we can’t directly link anything to him that way yet.”

Fleethoof saw the frustration burning like a growing wildfire in Bentgrass’ eyes. He was right; Dandridge Clydesdale had taken every precaution imaginable to make himself untouchable.

“So all this is still useless to us…” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with irritation.

“Yes, but we are getting warrants and sanctions for access to those international accounts. It’ll only be a matter of time. I do have something else that might make your day,” the pony continued. “Yesterday evening, we received a low frequency emergency signal from an RIS communicator in Thatchholm. At first, I thought it was a fluke with yours, but when the signal persisted through the night I got a fix on it.”

Though he remained calm and composed, Fleethoof saw a spark flash across Bentgrass’ eyes at the prospect of good news. He lifted his head up, ears perked atop his head. “One of the missing agents?”

The pony in the hologram nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s coming from the Clydesdale Manor. And it’s still active.”

A gradual grin parted Fleethoof’s lips. He pulled the slide back onto his gun, reconstructing it with a snap. “That’s gotta be enough to search his house now.”

“It is. A signal from a missing agent constitutes an Agent-in-Distress search and rescue and permits us to follow it wherever it goes, including private residences” Bentgrass said, nodding to the holographic pony. “Send over any information and paperwork you have on Clydesdale to Thatchholm. I’ll take a look at it. I’ll report in after I investigate the manor.”

Tapping the emerald again, the hologram disappeared in a burst of magic and the stone settled back to a regular crystal. He stashed it in his jacket and made for the door while Fleethoof shoved a magazine into his gun and slipped it back into his blazer.

“So what’s the plan this time, boss?” Fleethoof asked. “Good cop, bad cop now? Or do you want to do all the interrogating again?”

Bentgrass was already halfway down the hall by the time Fleethoof caught up with him. “There won’t be any interrogating. If one of my agents is in trouble, we tear that house down brick by brick until we find them.”

Author's Note

Doux rêves, mon cheri: Sweet dreams, my darling

Chapter 6: Above Reproach

Dandridge listened to the soft ticking of the clock on the mantle above his fireplace as he scrawled elegant lines of text across his ledgers. The gentle clicks of white noise soothed his brain and put him in an odd state of relaxation. He glanced up at the newspaper propped up on a stack of books on his desk, skimming through the headlines to see what events had graced the front page today.

The large bold font across the top told a story of a crime family in Manehattan city. The Royal Guard had busted a large group of them during a weapons deal at Manehattan Harbor. Dandridge scowled, taking a sip from his cup of coffee, the hot, bitter liquid washing over his tongue and taking the edge off the angst.

Those had better not be my investments in the hooves of the Guard… he thought while he glanced back down at his work.

He tapped the end of his quill against the page, clutching the feathered end tightly between his teeth. His eyes stared down at the long, flowing lines of words. Each one faded into an indiscernible black squiggle as his eyes shifted in and out of focus. His mind was miles away in Manehattan. The authorities had made a move on his compatriots. The RIS was snooping around his doorstep. He didn’t like it, not one bit.

With a sigh, Dandridge dropped the quill again and rubbed his aching temples with his hooves in a dire attempt to alleviate the pressure pounding at the front of his skull. He had nothing to worry about. All the appropriate measures had been taken to ensure his safety.

Rule one of good business: always make sure you walk away with the profit…

To come out on top he would have to stay one step ahead of his friends and three steps ahead of his enemies. He couldn’t afford any slip-ups with those snoops poking around his personal affairs.

Breathe, Dan… Breathe… He paused to close his eyes, taking in a slow breath. You have nothing to worry about. You’re better than they are. They know nothing.

The doors to his office flew open abruptly, making the stallion jump in his chair and sending his heart into a flurry. His housekeeper came rushing in, blubbering incoherently aghast at something Dandridge could not discern.

“What did I tell you about interrupting my work?” he snapped, growling like a wild animal. His reaction had been so volatile and furious it made the mare skid to an unsteady halt and backpedal a few steps. “No. Don’t you walk away now. What is it?”

“I-It’s the ponies from yesterday, Master Clydesdale. They’re back. I think they’re trying to break down the door.”

Dandridge’s forehead scrunched up. Concern painted his visage. He rose to his hooves with haste and cantered down the halls, his housekeeper running just to keep pace with him. As he rounded the corner to the main hallway, he could hear the loud banging from the other side of the house. The closer they drew to the foyer, the louder the banging was heard. It sounded like they actually were trying to break in after all.

Slowing down to give himself enough time to smooth out his hair and straighten his blazer, Dandridge unlocked the doors and pulled them wide open, a benevolent smile on his face.

“Good morning, gentlecolts! Back to— Hey!”

He was sharply cut off as both Fleethoof and Bentgrass pushed their way past the stallion, forcing their way inside the house. Bentgrass pulled out his emerald from his jacket, listening to the slow, soft pinging sound it made.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” asked Dandridge in a rage. “You can’t just come barging in here! That’s illegal!”

“Actually, we can,” Fleethoof retorted, his eyes hard as he turned on the sybarite stallion. “The RIS received a distress signal from your property, Mister Clydesdale, and we’re going to search your house until we find where the signal is coming from.”

Bentgrass looked up and put the gem away again. “It’s coming from this direction.”

The two stallions set off down the large hallway without another word. Dandridge, still in a state of shock, followed closely behind with his housekeeper close in tow. As they progressed further into the house, Bentgrass would pause and listen to the signal from the gem in his jacket, gauging how close they were by the frequency of the sounds.

“What gives you the right to just barge in here like some sort of secret police? Do you know who I am?” Dandridge continued to berate the ponies as they moved on.

“Yes, I know who you are, sir,” Bentgrass said, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes burned with a dark threat, urging the pony to challenge him a little more. “I’ve dealt with your type before. The ones who think they’re above the law and think they can get away with anything because their social status protects them. Let me tell you, sir, you are just as vulnerable to justice as anypony else. Now you can help us and tell us what we need to know or you can stay out of our way while we work. Understood?”

Bentgrass stared off with Dandridge for a moment. Neither pony backed down, glaring hard into each other’s eyes, unwavering and undeterred. The steely tension hung heavy over the two stallions and a palpable electricity ran between them. Finally, Dandridge snorted and lowered his head a touch. That was all Bentgrass needed.

The group slowly wandered down the long corridors of Clydesdale Manor, following Bentgrass’ emerald each step of the way. The closer they got, the louder the gem—and Dandridge’s protests—became. As they passed by a set of double mahogany doors, the gem went crazy. Sharp series of pings resounded from it every second as if it were about to explode. Fleethoof and Bentgrass exchanged a look and then pushed the doors open.

The doors opened up to an expansive office, with a grand mahogany desk situated just in front of a wall of glass that overlooked the lush countryside of Thatchholm county. Bookcases towered up to the ceiling on both adjacent walls, every bound tome neatly tucked away in pristine formation. It was apparent that great care had been painstakingly made to keep such order in check. A long rectangular table was covered with maps of the world, covered with lines for well-known trade routes between nations. Everything about the room exuded power and control.

Bentgrass meandered slowly across the floor, his hoofsteps echoing quietly around him as he inspected the office. The gem was all but vibrating it was going off so wildly. Fleethoof followed him in a moment later, studying the room in all its detail. Dandridge lingered back by the door, his hoof surreptitiously slipping down to unbutton his blazer. A glint of his shiny metal pistol flickered beneath the heavy gray fabric.

“The signal is coming from in here,” said Bentgrass, walking alongside one of the bookcases with the gem, listening as the pings refused to grow any more or less frequent. “It should be in this room.”

Fleethoof furrowed his brow. He walked alongside the table. He peeked beneath it, looking for a similar emerald to Bentgrass’. “Are you sure?”

Bentgrass shook his head with absolute certainty. “It has to be here.”

While Bentgrass continued to check the bookshelves and the corners of the room, Fleethoof made his way around to the desk. None of the books and assorted artifacts on the desk was the communicator they were looking for, but they certainly did look expensive. Dandridge clearly enjoyed his lavish lifestyle and inherited wealth. His eyes trailed slowly over the few photographs he had: one of him with a female griffon, one with a pony in a fine suit at what looked like the Manehattan boardwalk, and another of him with a group of assorted creatures. Fleethoof lingered on the pictures for a while longer and then glanced over at the newspaper.

The same pony from the boardwalk photo was on the front cover being cuffed by the Royal Guard. Another photo showed stocks of weapons and drugs being confiscated. He glanced down at the open ledger, skimming quickly over the elegant script. It contained banking records, with several large payments made out to somepony in Manehattan for ‘goods and services’.

“Bit of bad luck with your friend, Mister Clydesdale,” Fleethoof stated, catching a confused look from him. He held up the newspaper and the photograph. “You know what they say about the company you keep…”

Dandridge scowled at the pegasus from across the room, his eyes turning threateningly dark. “We all make poor judgment calls from time to time. It’s precisely why I’m trying not to hold any animosity against the two of you right now.”

Fleethoof chuckled under his breath, pulling open a drawer and shifting through the contents. “Think we’re making a bad decision, huh?”

“Yes, I do. And searching for a distress signal does not grant you the right to go through my belongings. Open one more drawer and I’ll have you both arrested for trespassing and harassment.”

As much as he detested the thought of admitting victory to the smug bastard, Fleethoof knew he was right. He reluctantly slid the drawer shut and waltzed across the room with a smooth gait towards where Bentgrass was. He had moved back to the center of the office, the gem still pinging like its entire existence depended on it.

“I don’t understand…” muttered Bentgrass with a shake of his head. “The other communicator should be going off as well. It says it’s here, but why can’t we hear it?”

“Oh, that’s a bit of hard luck, gentlecolts,” Dandridge said, the sympathy so fake in his voice it made Fleethoof’s teeth grind together until it hurt. The pony smiled, traipsing closer to them with graceful, gliding strides. “But as you can see, I have nothing to hide, nor anything that you seek. Now if you don’t mind, I have a great deal of work I must be attending to. Could you wrap this up quite quickly?”

Fleethoof’s eyes narrowed to slits as he stepped up until he was face to face with Dandridge. “I can smell the despicableness on you. It’s so thick, it reeks. How can you stand to look yourself in the mirror?”

Dandridge’s smile, if anything, widened on his lips. “With great pride.”

“I’d just love to shove that pride down your throat…”

“Be careful what you say, Mister Fleethoof. I might mistake that for a threat.”

“Hmm, you’d be that clever, wouldn’t you?”

Dandridge’s grin slowly widened, flashing each and every pearly-white tooth in his mouth to the captain. “I’m clever enough to get by.”

“Get by with what exactly?” Fleethoof persisted.

“With my business.”

“And what business is that?”

Dandridge cocked his head to the side, a glimmer of amusement sparkling in his eyes. “None of yours, I can assure you.”

Fleethoof and Dandridge stared each other down, standing so close that only a narrow strip of space separated their glares. “You know, Clydesdale, I’d be careful if I were you too. You never know when you might have a noose around your neck. One slip could hang you.”

Dandridge gave a cold, hard laugh, his eyes sparkling with demented delight. “That would imply I did something wrong to have a noose around my throat in the first place.”

“Like harming two government agents?” asked Fleethoof tersely.

“Who said they were harmed? Last I recall, you both said they were just missing,” he asked with a shrug of his shoulders. The cocky stallion gave a soft chuckle. “I told you before, I don’t know a thing about it. I’ve never even met any federal agents before the two of you.”

“I’m more likely to believe a snarling dog won’t bite me than I am to believe your story.”

“Oh, such aggression with nowhere to direct it. Does it infuriate you, Guardspony? Sting a little, perhaps?”

Fleethoof’s eyes were smoldering now. A blazing anger flared up within his heart while staring into the remorseless, calculating eyes of his adversary. He had seen that gaze only twice before in his lifetime. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Before what? You try to arrest some other poor innocent pony? You two are so desperate to pin this on somepony, you’ll be investigating the princesses before long.”

“Innocent—ha! You’re as guilty as a cat in a canary cage.”

“You have nothing to prove otherwise, or else you wouldn’t be barging in here on false pretenses,” Dandridge snapped.

“You should be ashamed of what you’ve done to your family’s name,” Fleethoof growled. “What would your father think if he knew what you were up to right now?”

Dandridge’s eyes darkened a touch. His smile faded and his lips curled back in a silent snarl, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth clicked together. “Don’t you dare mention my father.”

“Why? Afraid to admit you’re using daddy’s money to fund your little criminal friends?”

“You just spouting nonsense. You can’t prove a damn thing.”

“Or are you just too cowardly to admit that you’re nothing more than a go-between for the real important ponies of the world? Just another pawn for them to use at their whim.”

“You can’t prove that either.”

“And when you add in abducting government agents too, oh boy… Canterlot Prison is just dying to have you as a guest…”

“Enough! You have nothing against me. It’s written all over your faces! You don’t know where your agents are and neither do I!” Dandridge shouted angrily, tossing his head wildly to and fro between Fleethoof and Bentgrass. “And when you two incompetent morons do finally find her alive and well with no connection to me whatsoever, oh, won’t you both feel like idiots then! I think I’ll be sure to have you both knocked back down to pushing papers for the rest of your miserable lives.”

Fleethoof stood still as a statue, his wings bristling slightly on his back. He was biting his tongue so hard that he tasted the metallic tang of blood. He forced himself to keep from saying or doing anything rash. Dandridge gave a smug chuckle, a wide smile across his pompous face.

“How did you know she was a mare?”

Dandridge turned a tad, glancing over his shoulder at Bentgrass. His face drained of color, a slight pallidness replacing the flush of anger in his cheeks. “…What?”

“The missing agent,” Bentgrass repeated, eyeing Dandridge with his bat-like eye with icy suspicion. “You said ‘when we find her’. We never told you we were looking for a mare.”

If Dandridge had given a reaction, Fleethoof hadn’t seen it. The pony had one hell of a poker face; straight as an arrow. He blinked a few times and just rolled his shoulders in a cool, collected shrug. Bentgrass slowly closed the distance between the two of them, his eyes prying at Dandridge’s for answers with unyielding determination.

“What did you do to her?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Dandridge, glancing away. His impassive demeanor gave away nothing. “But I know you didn’t find what you were looking for, so I want you both out of my house now. Go, before I get the Guard on you.”

Bentgrass leered at the Earth pony for a moment longer, and then nodded his head once to Fleethoof. The two stallions slowly made their way out of the office, headed for the front door. Dandridge escorted them the entire way, seeing them off to the porch with a harsh scowl.

“You may not want to flash your gun all over the place, Mister Clydesdale, lest anypony assume you’re threatening them,” Bentgrass said dryly as they stepped off the porch. “I believe we’ll be in touch.”

Dandridge’s face flushed again while he hurried to button up his blazer again, concealing his weapon. “Don’t come back to my house again,” Dandridge threatened and stepped back inside, slamming the doors shut behind them.

Fleethoof listened as each of the deadbolt locks snapped into place. He glanced at Bentgrass as they set off back towards Thatchholm through the mist. “We’ve got him on the ropes.”

“Maybe…” mused Bentgrass. “He tipped his hand. He knows something. But we still can’t prove he was connected without anything concrete to link to him. Even that slip with Dawn’s gender is circumstantial. Any half-witted lawyer will argue that it was a fifty-fifty guess.”

“Perhaps I can help with that. Dandridge was friends with some Manehattan capo that was busted last night. I have a friend who works in the Manehattan Guard. Maybe they can squeeze some information from him.”

Bentgrass nodded his head slowly. “That might get him on the racketeering and smuggling charges, but it doesn’t get us anything on him for what he did to the agents. I wish I had more time to check that room. I’m certain he was hiding something.”

“Leave that to me,” Fleethoof said with a confident grin. “If there’s one thing I’m a professional at, it’s infiltration and stealth. If there’s anything in that room, I’ll find it.”

“You know anything you find would be inadmissible in court,” Bentgrass muttered. “You aren’t acting as a government agent, and anything you acquired would be by illegal search and seizure.”

“True, but if I did find anything and then we got him on the Manehattan charges, that would be enough for a search warrant, wouldn’t it?” Fleethoof’s hopes lifted a little as he saw that familiar look in Bentgrass’ eyes when he put two and two together. “Then I could just so happen to lead you right to the evidence, and bam! We got the bastard.”

“That… might actually work.” Bentgrass turned his head, staring intensely at Fleethoof with his bat-like eye. “The entire plan is dependent on you finding anything worth a conviction though.”

Fleethoof nodded his head once sharply. “Don’t worry. Just leave it to me. I’ll take a look around tonight.”

Bentgrass nodded and popped open a pocket watch. “Then in the meantime, I shall head over to Manehattan and make sure your friend brings us sufficient evidence to garner a warrant—and to put a little pressure on Clydesdale.”

“You don’t think we’ve got him squirming enough yet?” Fleethoof chuckled under his breath.

“Have you ever heard the folk tale of King Ariegeois, Fleethoof?” When Fleethoof shook his head, Bentgrass gave a curt nod of his head, just barely dipping his chin. “Ariegeois was a diamond dog with an insatiable lust for gems, more so than the average mutt. His pride and desire drove him to claim many packs’ territories and mines as his own. One day, a smaller pack defied him and refused to relinquish their horde to the tyrant king. The pack was much too weak to face the wrath of Ariegeois, but they had a plan.

“The pack unified with several other smaller groups and began to cut off Ariegeois from his allies. One by one, Ariegeois’ support fell and the arrogant king, assured that he was untouchable, did nothing to aid them. They were merely tools to him. He finally realized what a costly mistake he had made when the packs had him completely isolated and his doom closed in. In a rage, Ariegeois attacked with what little strength and pride he had left. He was slain in combat and was forever slandered for his presumptuous and egotistic ways.”

A light illuminated behind Fleethoof’s eyes as the captain picked up on the meaning behind the story. “You want to cut off Clydesdale’s friends in Manehattan to leave him defenseless. Then he’ll be ripe for picking and breaking.”

“That is precisely my intention. All it takes is the right leverage on his out-of-town associates.”

“Be careful out there, Agrostis,” Fleethoof murmured, watching the soft cloud his breath made in the fog dissipate before his eyes, just like their grasp on Dandridge. “Everypony knows the stories of those ponies. The Manehattan syndicate aren’t to be messed with.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Captain. I’ve stirred up the hornets’ nest enough times to learn how to avoid being stung.” A wry smile crept across Bentgrass’ face. “And Fleethoof, please don’t shoot Clydesdale. We need him alive to make the arrest.”

It was Fleethoof’s turn to smirk with dry humor. “I make no promises.”

Being back in Canterlot had a certain sort of charm to Fleethoof as he trudged through the light rainfall dampening the city. Even though he had only been gone a day, it was almost disorienting going from the vastness of Thatchholm’s countryside back to the sleepless metropolis he had come to know and love. The weather certainly didn’t fair any better.

Fleethoof walked with practiced steps down the busy streets of the city, making his way around the labyrinth of blocks and roads until he came to a familiar Guard precinct. The white stone structure stood out against the older buildings surrounding it in Canterlot’s Legislative District, the windows aglow with warm yellow light from within. Stepping carelessly through puddle after puddle, he pushed his way through the heavy wooden doors and into the warmth of the building’s interior.

The precinct was expectedly quiet. Crime in Canterlot was at an all-time low in recent years. The Guard was finally able to enjoy a peaceful spell. Following a path that had been burned into his mind, Fleethoof cantered up a flight of stairs in the foyer and wandered down the only hall on the second floor to Skyfall headquarters. With Sharp Shot in charge, he expected the place to be barren. That pony probably had everyone taking a mini vacation in his absence.

He pushed open the doors and stopped in the doorway. He had been right, the room was empty—save for a single bat pony ducking down beside his desk. He could hear the rattle of metal against metal. She was trying to break into his drawers. When she heard the door open, Midnight’s head shot up, her golden eyes as wide as Fleethoof’s felt.

“Fleety!” she cheered with a huge smile on her face. She flew across the room, wrapping her hooves around him in a tight embrace. “You’re back!”

Fleethoof decided it was best to avoid one headache and let her be. With a roll of his eyes, he made his way across the floor. “Sorry Midnight, it’s not for long.”

Midnight sprung after the captain over to the equipment vault as he dialed in the combination. “Ah… just stopping home for a quick pick-me-up?”

“You could say that, I suppose.” Fleethoof turned the latch and swung the large metal door open wide. The lights inside the vault flickered to life, casting the gunmetal shelves in white fluorescent light. Both ponies stepped inside. “I need some more equipment than I originally planned.”

“How about one of these?” Midnight asked, lifting a hefty-looking rocket launcher off the wall with a grin that showed off her glistening fangs.

Fleethoof smirked and shook his head. “Bentgrass would adore you… No, I’m thinking something a little more subtle.”

“Liiike…?” Midnight prompted.

“Where is everypony?” he asked. He gathered up his vest and a few tools from various shelves and jammed them into a bag. “Sharp Shot didn’t disband the unit, did he?”

Midnight snickered under her breath as she went through each of the guns in the vault, lifting them up and checking them out. “No, not yet. He’s out with Echo, taking her on her final examination.”

That surprised Fleethoof more than if he had disbanded Skyfall. So Sharp is actually taking charge in my absence… he thought with a smile. “Good. You two finish all your other tests then?”

“Uh-huh,” said Midnight, walking slowly up behind her leader. “I’m just waiting for you to give me my final test.”

Fleethoof didn’t respond to that. Protocol required all new members of Skyfall Team to complete a field test with a designated mentor. He had drawn the short straw with Midnight.

“Soooo… when am I gonna get my test, Fleety?”

“First, it’s ‘Fleet’ or ‘Fleethoof’. No more ‘Fleety’.” He paused and turned to look at her, slinging the bag across his body. The excitement in her honey irises reminded him of a foal waiting for their birthday gifts. “Second, I promise I’ll give you your test as soon as I get back, provided Sharp gives me a good report for you. But I’m in the middle of something that requires my full attention right now, okay?”

A light lit up behind Midnight’s eyes. “Can I help you with whatever it is you’re doing?”

Fleethoof stood perfectly still. His mouth hung open a touch, the words frozen on his tongue. Midnight’s enthusiasm and commitment impressed him to no end. For a moment, he considered taking her along. Thoughts of Dandridge flashed before his eyes then. He could see that cold grin and murderous stare. He knew in his gut that whatever had happened to those agents couldn’t have been pleasant. He couldn’t imagine subjecting Midnight to anything like that quite yet.

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” he declined, giving her a small smile and patting her shoulder. He could see the dejection on her face. “Don’t worry, Mid. You’ll get your chance to prove yourself soon enough. Just have a little patience with me, please.”

Midnight grumbled something under her breath as she followed Fleethoof back out of the vault. “So if you’re still busy doing whatever it is you’re doing, what brought you back here? Shouldn’t you be out wherever you were?”

“That’s where I’m going back to right now.”

“What happened to that creepy pale guy you left with? Is he your coltfriend in another agency or something?”

Fleethoof stopped halfway to the door. Why does everypony think me and Bentgrass are in a relationship?

“We split up. He’s investigating another lead right now.”

Midnight wasn’t satisfied with the cryptic answers. “So where is he?”

“Manehattan.”

“Is that where you’re going?”

“No.”

“Come on, Fleet! Give me something to hold on to,” Midnight groaned, following in his hoofsteps all the way to the door. “I get worried when you go off on your own.”

Fleethoof stopped halfway out the door. He turned to look at her with a wry smile and motioned with his head back to his desk. “I’ll be careful and I’ll back very soon. There’s something I have to take care of first. Oh, and stay out of my desk, Midnight. That’s something you can hold on to.”

Fleethoof reveled in the frustrated look on Midnight’s face as he left the bat behind in the office, wearing that same grin all the way back to Thatchholm.

Dandridge listened to the sound of the whirring gears and machinery working in his office. He watched as the bookshelf before his eyes slid back into the wall and then out of sight, revealing the dark-stained double doors hidden behind it. He stepped up to the familiar doors and pushed them inward with a sharp click of the latch. The stench of death and bodily fluids sucker punched him right in the nose. It made him grimace away for all of a second, and then braced himself as he stepped through the portal.

The lights came on, the dim illumination doing little more than providing outlines of the table, the chair, and the two bodies lying slumped across the floor like garbage.

“Hello, Miss Glimmer,” he chirped as he stepped past the crumpled mass of pony nearest to the door. He smiled down at the corpse and crouched down beside her to run a hoof through her mane. “That was quite a clever trick you pulled. Now, where did you put that annoying little beacon to your friends, hmm?”

Dandridge’s eyes scoured every inch of the torture chamber’s shadowy nooks and crevices. His citrine eyes moved like a hawk’s hunting its prey from the heavens above. And then there: a glint of something shiny in the far corner of the room. A predatory smirk crossed his face.

“Clever girl…” Dandridge strode over to the corner of the room, his eyes tracing the finely cut edges of the emerald. He lifted the gemstone up, tossing it in the air and catching it again. A triumphant grin replaced his smile and he laughed a deep, dark chuckle that rumbled in the pit of his chest. That had been far too close of a call. The RIS were getting smarter. He had to keep several steps ahead if he planned to win this chess game.

He snickered once more and dropped the gem to the floor. He listened to the clinking sound it made as it contacted the hard floor and rolled to a stop at his hooves. Lifting a hoof, he brought it down hard on the crystal, listening to it crack beneath the violent force. A second strike sent deep splinters breaking through to the core of the communicator. A third shattered it into a dozen pieces.

Dandridge hummed to himself, pleased with his handiwork. He shuffled the pieces of the broken communicator around on the floor with a content sigh. Now he had to warn his partners about the coming incursion. “Your move, Special Agent.”

Chapter 7: Manehattan Noir

The city of Manehattan remained the same as he remembered it. The massive labyrinth of gray concrete sprawled along the northeastern coast of Equestria like an urban fortress. Millions of lights shattered the night, keeping the darkness at bay whilst simultaneously casting long shadows across the alleys and streets. Pegasi flew haphazardly through the air. Carriages and carts bustled through the busy streets amongst throngs of boisterous ponies. The city was as much a living thing as every individual creature that called it home.

Bentgrass stepped out of the train, his hooves clopping against the station platform as he avoided getting swept away in the surging crowds of the metropolis rushing to and fro right before his eyes. He stepped to the side, his height permitting him to survey the crowd with relative ease. The atmosphere of the city closed in around him already, making him feel as isolated as a lone island in a monsoon of chaos.

“Special Agent Bentgrass?”

At the call of his name, Bentgrass turned to eye a shorter stallion standing beside him. The lithe Earth pony wore a simple brown coat, and had either been so fast or so subtle that he hadn’t noticed his approach.

He nodded his head and replied, “That’s me.”

“Detective Lightning Flash, Manehattan Police, Special Investigations,” the pony introduced himself with a brief salute. “Captain Fleethoof called ahead and let us know you were heading our way.”

“You’re running the investigations on the Manehattan syndicates?” asked Bentgrass.

Lightning Flash flinched, then motioned with a flick of his head and walked down the platform with Bentgrass. “You don’t want to be saying that too loud around the city. The uptown areas of Manehattan aren’t as connected to the Mob as the lower districts are, and we try to keep it that way. We’re trying our best to keep a lid on it all, but you never know who’s listening…”

“But…?” Bentgrass urged on.

“…But with the recent bust of one of their capos and their warehouse, the syndicate’s been riled into a frenzy. We’ve been getting reports of violent assaults and gunfire in the streets in the southern districts all day. I think they’re trying to run us into the ground. Their way at getting back at us, I suppose.”

Bentgrass stared straight ahead, his face expressionless as ever as he took in the situation around Manehattan. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to pick fights with ponies bigger than you?”

“Har har,” Lightning deadpanned with a roll of his eyes. “The Mob has been getting too powerful in the past few years. Somepony has to do it. It might as well be me.”

The two ponies stepped out onto the street. A police carriage sat in wait on the curb. Two ponies in black uniforms were harnessed in at the front, their muscles flexing against the taut straps as they waited to take off. Lightning Flash and Bentgrass climbed inside and the carriage pulled away from the curb, rolling down the wide city streets. Bright orange light from the street lamps filtered down around them, casting the entire cityscape in a warm glow.

“Captain Fleethoof said you were following up some sort of investigation in Thatchholm.” Lightning Flash glanced over across the seat at Bentgrass. The agent was staring idly out the window at every pony they passed. “You think the syndicate here has some sort of ties to whatever’s going on out there?”

“I think it’s the exact same syndicate.”

“Come again?”

Bentgrass cast a sideways glance at his police liaison. “If the crime families out here are linked with our suspect in Thatchholm, I’ll have all the probable cause I need to search his residence and find what I’m looking for.”

“You sound confident that this pony is your guy.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Lightning Flash nodded his head. “Let me bring you up to speed then…”

“Where are we going?” Bentgrass asked as soon as the pony had drifted off.

“That’s what I meant by ‘bring you up to speed’.” Lightning Flash chuckled, then let the laugh die when Bentgrass remained stolid as stone. “We’re going to the precinct that serves the southernmost district and inner harbor areas. It’s our HQ for the war against organized crime here, and also where the Special Investigation Unit is based. Everything you’ll need is there.

“The family running the crime syndicate in Manehattan is the Sarcidano family. They’re ruthless, cunning, and professionals at what they do. Trafficking, fraud, blackmail, murder… You name the crime and they’ve made it an art. Hell, by now they’ve either executed or muscled the other crime families out of the city. They are loyal to one another to a fault. Believe me when I say they’d rather get gunned down in the streets than flip on one of their own. These are the creatures we’re dealing with.”

“Sounds like my type of crowd,” murmured Bentgrass. Something ran through his mind. His brow knitted together as he turned back to Lightning Flash. “You said ‘creatures’ and not ‘ponies’.”

“That’s because the Sarcidano syndicate doesn’t discriminate. They’re sort of like the criminal version of equal opportunity employers.” Lightning Flash opened a bulky folder on the seat and began tossing out photographs of a motley crew of creatures, each one looking meaner than the last. “Ponies, horses, zebras, griffons, diamond dogs… If you name it, they’ve got ’em.”

Bentgrass flipped through a few of the photographs, memorizing each distinctive face. “They’re a regular UN of felons.”

“It’s part of what makes them so dangerous. You never know who’s on their side until you’ve got the barrel of a gun pressed to your head.”

With a heavy exhale, Bentgrass gathered up the photos and placed them neatly back inside the file. “They won’t be a problem. What else are we dealing with?”

“The Sarcidano family is run by three key players: Adamo, the Earth pony book-keeper behind their money deals, Angelo, the pegasus that runs with the ‘soldiers’ in their more violent crimes, and Incanto, the unicorn who used to handle all their smuggling and trafficking until we busted him. You’ve probably seen him in the papers.” Lightning Flash pulled out three photographs as he rattled off the names, passing them over to Bentgrass to study. The agent’s eyes traced over every minute detail of the three ponies’ physiology, noting the distinctive scar on the pegasus’ cheek and the Earth pony’s cutie mark. “Adamo and Angelo are our two big contenders still at large. Adamo is probably the pony you’re looking for though. If there were any dealings with anypony, he would know about it. Maybe even have records of it too.”

“Physical evidence for his own insurance,” noted Bentgrass, a spark igniting in his eyes while he added, “and our benefit.”

“So how do you know Captain Fleethoof again?”

“We’ve worked together in the past,” he explained, continuing to flip through the three photographs again and again. “Division Six provides his team with intel and he provides us with physical support. You seem quite familiar with him yourself.”

“I used to be part of his team,” Lightning Flash explained, staring out the window as the memories played before his eyes with the passing lights.

“Why did you quit?” Lightning Flash hesitated, prompting Bentgrass to ask again. “What made you leave Skyfall to become a detective?”

“Difference in ideology… I stayed on with the Guard for a year after I left Skyfall, but when my enlistment ran up, I opted out of continuing my service. The MPD lets me work with the community a lot more hooves-on than the Guard did. I feel like I’m making more of a difference fighting organized crime with them than I did as a desk sergeant.”

Bentgrass dipped his head a little, his eyes glazing over as he lost himself to distant thoughts. “Understandable.”

“How about you? You serve?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You have that air of a soldier about you,” Flash noted. “A kind of sense of scumbag entitlement.”

He nodded. “I was for a time.”

“Is that where you got the eye? Lost your normal one? Transplant, maybe?”

“Something like that…”

Lightning Flash turned away from the window, looking over at the agent and asked, “What made you jump ship?”

He didn’t answer, instead remaining silent for a time with his lips shut tight. The carriage swerved to the right and slowed to a stop. Bentgrass glanced out the window, eyeballing the large gray stone structure they had parked outside of. The emblem of the Manehattan Police Department sat ostentatiously above a set of glass doors with a big metal sign designating the building as a precinct.

Bentgrass was already opening the door and climbing out of the carriage before Lightning Flash even announced they had arrived. The southern district of the city was a far cry from uptown. The acrid smell of smoke, rust, and ripe garbage clung tight to the air like a cheap air freshener from hell. The buildings were all in various states of decay, stained with moss and crumbling around the foundation. Glancing down the street, Bentgrass counted four boarded up windows. To say the southern district of Manehattan was suffering from the effects of crime would have been a gross understatement. He scowled as he observed his surroundings. Only a hoofful of ponies walked the streets as opposed to the hundreds scurrying by back up town, not to his surprise. He would have thought the Sarcidanos would have kept their part of the city in better conditions. It looked more like they were trying to ward off any unwanted visitors instead.

“Quite a sight, huh?” Lightning Flash said, walking up past the stony agent. “Come on in. I’ll show you to the team, we’ll get you set up, and we’ll hit the streets ASAP.”

“Good.” Bentgrass gave a curt nod and trotted up the cracking stone steps of the precinct. “The faster we catch these malefactors, the sooner I can find the answers I need.”

Bentgrass stepped into the blinding light of the precinct’s lobby and was greeted by the sight of dozens of uniformed ponies rushing about, all talking in loud voices amongst themselves. Papers and files were traded and pinned to cork boards covering the walls. Maps had been laid out with marker lines running all over them. Photographs were hung on the wall, several covered by big red Xs. Over to the side, a group of ponies were throwing on kits of armor, suiting up for battle. Justice in progress… The sight brought a trace of a smile to Bentgrass’ lips.

“Right this way, Special Agent.”

At his beck, Bentgrass followed Lightning Flash through the chaotic lobby into one of the side offices. The letters plastered to the frosted glass door labeled the room as the Special Investigations Unit. The room was crafted of plain gray drywall with white tiled floors. A trio of cheap-looking metal desks sat in an unorganized fashion around the office, two of them occupied with other ponies. They glanced up when Lightning and Bentgrass walked in, then returned to the paperwork smothering their desks without so much as a word in greeting.

“The others are gearing up for the raid tonight. We’re hitting another of their warehouses we’ve been staking out,” he explained, leading Bentgrass over to a pair of whiteboards propped up against the back wall. Photographs of locations were taped to the smooth surface with notes and times written around each of them. “This is where we could use your help. You want to get to the Sarcidano roster and we want to get the ponies that keep it. Consider it a quid pro quo partnership.”

Bentgrass made a soft sound of acknowledgement, his contrasting eyes reading over the scribblings on the boards with haste. “What is it you need me to do precisely?”

“The Sarcidanos have a hidden club down by the harbor. We believe they’re using it to run all of their high-end deals out of it, along with an underground gambling ring.”

“You believe?” Bentgrass eyed Lightning Flash warily. “You don’t have any proof?”

“We know they’ve got something there, but the illegal dealings is all speculation. We’ve never been able to get a pony inside. Over the past few months, we’ve busted every other building they’ve owned, but came up empty-hoofed. This is the last place they could have moved it to.”

“So why do you need me?” asked Bentgrass.

Lightning Flash paused, licking his dry lips before saying, “Months of failed attempts to catch them have exposed us to the Sarcidanos. They know what our key players look like and can sniff out one of our cops in a heartbeat. You’re a brand new face in a cheap suit. You could pass for anypony.”

Bentgrass gave an indignant snort. “This suit cost more than your precinct’s renovations did. I trust you have a plan?”

“You slip in, convince the Sarcidanos with whatever lie you like best, then see if they lead you to anything useful,” Lightning Flash said, motioning with his head back towards the squad room. “The SWAT team will be standing by to begin the raid as soon as you confirm anything legit and get out. It’s a win-win.”

“And if they see through my cover…?” he asked, raising a brow curiously.

“Then I hope you can run fast. But try to be better than that.”

“I am. I was curious if you had a contingency plan that didn’t involve me getting shot in the head.”

Lightning Flash chuckled under his breath. “Just do your thing, Special Agent. Get whatever you need and get out of there. Pull whatever tricks you have to, just make sure you nail them and then leave the rest to us.”

“Fair enough. Do make sure your team is ready when I am.” Bentgrass gave a sideways glance to the detective. “Now, where am I going?”

A foghorn bellowed in the darkness that swallowed up the harbor, the melancholy sound rumbling through the air. The gentle lapping of the ocean’s waves against the old wooden docks that ran the length of the Manehattan Bay, the water invisible in the inky blackness of the starless night. Specks of light seemed to float in the air in the middle of nowhere; lanterns hung from the wayward ships to mark their presence in the water. The musty smell of mildew and salt mixed with the scents of smoke from the city. It stung the inside of Bentgrass’ nostrils as he trotted along the wharves at his own gait. The Sarcidanos had picked the perfect spot for hiding away from unwanted attention. Nopony would voluntarily come this way.

It was difficult for Bentgrass to navigate the labyrinth of winding, gloomy streets with only the sparse streetlights to illuminate the way. Every road seemed to blend into an identical street, stretching on endlessly in a hazy, yellow-tinted world like some sort of nightmare world. Shadows crept around every red brick wall, crawling like pitch-black creatures from every alley and crevice. A dog barked in the night somewhere off in the distance, breaking the uneasy silence around the harbor. It was the epitome of a bad noir movie and he was the star of the show.

Lightning Flash’s directions had been very specific. The last thing the detective had wanted was to lose his undercover in the backstreets of Manehattan’s underbelly. The building itself sat just off the main thoroughfare of the harbor and looked exactly like every other run-down warehouse and tenement house in the area. A flickering light swung from a cable over a single steel door marked simply with the numbered address. Bentgrass looked over the dilapidated building a couple times, making sure he was, in fact, at the right place. Much to his personal chagrin, he was.

He stepped up the short concrete steps and rapped against the metal door seven times, following the code Lightning Flash had instructed him to do to the letter. He waited, and waited. Nothing happened for the longest moment. Bentgrass double-checked the number on the door again and surveyed the surrounding area. All of the buildings were blacked out. Nopony had lived here in some time. The broken and boarded up windows didn’t bode well either.

Just as he was about to knock again, he heard a latch release on the other side of the door. The slot in the door opened, revealing nothing but darkness inside. Even still, Bentgrass could feel the electric tension run through him that came with the sixth sense of knowing somepony was watching him.

“Whadda ya want?” a gruff voice asked from the other side of the door.

“I think you know what I want,” Bentgrass’ cool voice purred calmly.

There was a moment of hesitation from the other side. “Sailors shouldn’t go digging for buried treasure…”

Bentgrass rolled his eyes. “Then pirates shouldn’t mark their maps.”

He recited the password like he had been meant to know it. It was so corny it made the agent flinch inward. Everything stayed still for a few long seconds. Then the latch slid shut and Bentgrass heard a series of heavy locks release. It was apparent the Sarcidanos did not go wanting for security. The door crept open, permitting him access into the dark building. Bentgrass eyed the emptiness with caution, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck as he took that first slow step inside.

No sooner was he past the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him with an ear-splitting bang. He heard the locks snap back into place, and then a bright light blinded him. Somepony had turned the lights on, illuminating the ramshackle interior. The pallid walls of concrete and cinder block were cracking and crumbling, and the wood floor beneath his feet was stained and popping up against the nails holding them in place. The lingering smell of cigarette smoke clung to the rancid air.

“Who are you?” Bentgrass turned around, coming face to face with a hefty-looking griffon easily twice his size. The griffon looked the pony over twice, sizing him up.

“My name is Sure Bet. I’m a stockbroker,” Bentgrass lied, saying his words with practiced conviction and a phony accent that put too much emphasis on all the wrong syllables. He had played this part before. His role was the only thing keeping him from painful discovery. But this was far from his first walk in this park. “Word on the street is this is the place I can find a little… after hours investing.”

The griffon’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his talons, his bulky muscles flexing beneath the downy feathers. “I ain’t never seen youse around these parts before.”

“I’m from Fillydelphia, in case my accent didn’t give that away to a brilliant fellow like yourself.”

He saw a glimmer of recognition in the griffon’s eyes as he placed his southern accent with a location. One of the key rules with deception: always include some truth in the details, Bentgrass recited in his head. The griffon nodded and motioned with his head over to the closet. He stepped over to it, Bentgrass following shortly behind. The griffon pulled the doors open to reveal a hidden elevator platform. The rusty metal didn’t encourage any trust in the mechanism, but he was too far in to back out now.

“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Wall Street,” the griffon spoke with a snide inflection, a phony smile on his face as he pulled the lever.

Bentgrass felt the elevator shudder and heard a generator hum to life. Ever so slowly, the platform began to descend down into the floor until he was enveloped in the dark shaft.

So that’s why the place looked abandoned… Very clever, Sarcidanos… Very clever…

It was only a short trip down to the bottom of the shaft. Warm light poured into his eyes and music flooded his ears when the platform reached its destination, a metal gate barring him from exiting. A pony scurried to open the gate and ushered Bentgrass out, letting the agent get a good look around. It looked as if he had stepped out into an entire underground cabaret club. Chandeliers hung overhead, lighting every corner of the expansive room. Plush red carpet covered the floor and the concrete walls above had been replaced by fine wood paneling. It reminded him of the Clydesdale Manor’s charm. Card tables were set up as far as the eye could see. Creatures of all kinds milled about between them, gambling and laughing as they downed drink after drink. A stage was set up against the far wall and was exhibiting a variety of mares dressed in alluring saddles and other attire dancing across it for the entertainment of the patrons.

“Name?”

Bentgrass looked over at the pony that had let him out of the elevator. He was levitating a clipboard and quill, giving him an impatient stare.

“Sure Bet.”

“Occupation?”

“Stock broker.”

“Got an ID, Mr. Bet?”

Bentgrass gave the pony his best deadpan expression. “What kind of idiot would take his identification to an establishment such as this?”

The pony pursed his lips, tapping his quill against the clipboard. “Fair enough, I s’pose. Weapon?”

“What makes you think I have one?”

The pony gave a scoff. “Everypony down ‘ere brings a gun.” He motioned to Bentgrass’ jacket with his quill. “Go on, open it up. I gotta check ya.”

Turning his eyes away from the bouncer, Bentgrass unbuttoned his jacket and opened it up. The pony eyed the gleaming black pistol in a holster beneath his shoulder and whistled.

“That a custom?” Bentgrass nodded his head in response, and the pony whistled again. “She’s a beaut. Bet she cost ya a pretty bit.”

“I’m good at what I do,” remarked Bentgrass. His impassive demeanor seemed to put the bouncer off.

“It’s almost a cryin’ shame I’m gonna have ta confiscate it from ya.”

In a flash, Bentgrass had his eyes back on the pony’s, locking gazes with him. The bouncer froze, his hoof held in midair as he reached for the gun. Bentgrass saw the shock run through the pony’s eyes, taken aback by the intensity in his stare and by his striking bat-like eye. He smirked, letting the thrill of terror run through the pony a moment before looking away again and removing his gun, placing it with delicate care in the bouncer’s hoof. As much as he perished the thought of relinquishing his firearm, he was in no position to jeopardize his cover. He had to play by their rules now.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll take good care o’ her, don’tcha worry.”

“If I find one smudge, I’ll be speaking to Mister Sarcidano personally.”

Though his threat held no real weight, the rough edge to Bentgrass’ voice was enough to drain the color from the pony’s face. He gave a meek smile, carrying the weapon with his magic into another room like it was a fine piece of jewelry. Left to his own devices, Bentgrass wandered down into the crowd, surveying every face he passed and taking in every detail around him. Most of the clientele were too engrossed in their betting or the mares on stage to pay any attention to anything other than their own vices. He liked that. It permitted him to slip by most without any notice.

Working his way over to the octagonal bar in the center of the room, Bentgrass slid into one of the plush seats at the counter beside a pair of well-dressed stallions and a group of raucous diamond dogs going through their winnings like greedy foals over new toys. He flagged the bartender over with a tip of his head.

“A port, if you’d be so kind.” The bartender levitated a bottle and glass over to Bentgrass, pouring a generous helping of the liquor into it. Bentgrass lifted the glass with a practiced swirl, inhaling the aroma of the amber liquid, then set it down again. “Now try pouring me a glass of the Coltheita port instead of this tap water. Third shelf, eighth bottle from the left. I do have taste buds, after all.”

The bartender gave Bentgrass a venomous look as he exchanged the drinks out. “Let me know if I can getcha anythin’ else.”

“Adamo Sarcidano would be nice.”

The bartender froze with his back turned to Bentgrass. He watched the pony’s shoulders visibly tense up as he set to work at cleaning glasses behind the bar.

“What makes you think I can help you out with that?”

“You? I don’t,” said Bentgrass with a shake of his head and another swallow of his drink. He let out a contented sigh as he felt the familiar burn wash down his throat. “But the two goons sitting beside me eavesdropping can.”

Sure enough, the two suited ponies were glancing over their shoulders, eyeing Bentgrass with heavy suspicion. One of them rose to his hooves and moved to the other side of him. Bentgrass became acutely aware of the pony’s presence looming behind him as he sipped down his drink, even before the pony clopped a hoof down hard on his shoulder.

“Talk like that can getcha hurt ‘round these parts, mistah,” the pony muttered, his words drowning under a thick Manehattan accent that butchered the Equestrian language alive. Bentgrass didn’t respond. “What sorta business you got with Mistah Sarcidano anyways?”

“That’s between me and him.”

Bentgrass lifted his drink, only to have the pony’s hoof catch his and subsequently slam the glass back down to the bar. He took a deep breath to maintain his calm composure. As much as he relished the idea, he couldn’t break this fine gentlecolt’s hoof.

“It’s between you and me now, buddy,” the pony growled. “Gimme a reason to not slam your teeth into the bar and haul your sorry ass outta here right now.”

“Go find Mister Sarcidano please.” He turned his steely gaze up to the ponies on either side of him. He watched as they flinched away from his eyes. “Tell him a friend of Mister Clydesdale is here to see him on urgent business.”

The two ponies exchanged glances with one another. The air jolted with electricity around him while Bentgrass waited for somepony to make a move. His hoof hidden beneath the bar tensed up as he planned out how he would have to fight his way out of the club if it came down to it. After some moments of silent communication between the two, the pony patted Bentgrass’ shoulder with a hoof before trotting off into the crowd.

“Don’t get too comfortable, pretty boy…” the pony seated next to him said.

Bentgrass maintained his silent demeanor as he waited. He glanced at the pony beside him out of the corner of his eye. The pony was watching him like a hawk, his eyes never straying and scarcely blinking. Everypony connected to the Sarcidano family looked jumpy and on edge, obviously shaken up by the pressure the police were putting on them.

After some time had passed, the other pony returned, a sour grimace on his face. He leaned down and whispered something in his partner’s ear. Bentgrass tipped his head to the side, catching the glimmer of acknowledgement in the stallion’s eyes.

“Our apologies, mistah,” the pony apologized, brushing off the shoulder of Bentgrass’ jacket. “Mistah Sarcidano would be happy to meet ya.”

Bentgrass followed the two ponies across the crowded floor to the far side of the room with an artificial smile. A towering hulk of a diamond dog in a fine-pressed suit blocked the way, stepping aside only once they approached. He pushed on a segment of the wall. Bentgrass watched with admiration as the wall swung inward; a hidden door disguised as the wall revealing a hallway. The guard held the door open, and Bentgrass followed his escorts into the narrow hall. Small lights sat recessed into the ceiling, casting thin cones of yellowish light down the corridor.

A single door was the only other way out of the hall, sitting at the other end. A gilded letter ’S’ sat mounted on the wood. Bentgrass needed no context to figure out what it stood for. One of the ponies gave a couple hard knocks against the door and waited until it swung inward, allowing them entrance. With his senses alert and guard up, Bentgrass stepped through the portal.

The room was an office, adorned in the same fashion as the rest of the club had been with dark wood furnishings and dim lights. It was uncomfortably warm, a combination from the lack of ventilation and the half dozen ponies occupying the space, and the air held traces of tobacco. Bentgrass took the opportunity to observe his surroundings. Including the two ponies he had walked in with, there were six ponies in suits standing guard around the perimeter of the room, each with a stoic, dour expression. Seated behind a polished desk was an Earth pony. He recognized Adamo Sarcidano from the grainy photographs in Lightning Flash’s case files.

Adamo glanced up from whatever he was reading and eyeballed Bentgrass for a moment before waving a hoof to a leather chair opposite him. He didn’t say a word and looked as disinterested as Bentgrass tried to play.

Keeping to his alternate persona, Bentgrass obliged in as mild-mannered a way as he could manage. Adamo closed the cover on the book he had been reading, the soft thump it made seeming like a rumble of thunder in the otherwise silent room. A noisy clock ticked somewhere in the room, almost matching his pulse. The cliché noir aspect persisted in great humor.

“Do you know why I let you in here?” Adamo asked, his voice thick with a rough Manehattan accent.

Bentgrass rolled his shoulders in a shrug, keeping his eyes turned downward, pretending to be the innocuous liaison he was supposed to be. “Because I said please?”

Adamo smirked and shook his head. “Funny guy. Nah, that ain’t why. I let you in here ‘cause my colts tell me you’re in town on business for a good friend o’ mine. That true?”

“Yes, Mister Sarcidano. I’m here on behalf of Mister Clydesdale.”

“Yeah, I heard… You know, Danny and I go back a ways. I know him like he’s my own brother.” Adamo leaned across the desk, his body creeping forward until it met the edge. He folded his hooves in front of his face. The smirk he wore melted into a suspicions scowl. “That’s why I know it’s strange for Danny to be sendin’ somepony else to be doin’ his business for him.”

Bentgrass’ expression didn’t flinch in the least. Adamo scrutinized the pallid pony’s stony countenance. He made no attempt to hide his distrust of him. He was not off to a good start.

“Tell me again why you’re here.”

“My name is Sure Bet, Mister Sarcidano. I work for Mister Clydesdale’s estate, as his investment agent.” Bentgrass’ lies spilled from his skillful tongue like honey. “…But you know that’s not true. What is true is that Mister Clydesdale asked me to seek you out for a personal matter.”

Adamo lifted a brow and cocked his head to the side. “Personal matter, huh?”

“Yes. Mister Clydesdale would like all records of any business he’s had with your… organization.”

Adamo tensed up in his chair. Bentgrass heard two ponies behind him shift their stances, more than likely reaching for their weapons at their employer’s distress. He didn’t dare turn around to check; ignorance was bliss. His gaze remained locked with Adamo’s, unwavering and unyielding.

“Is that so?” asked Adamo, leaning back in the plush chair. He tapped his hooves together as he thought on the matter, pouting his lips out and making a wet smacking sound with them. “That’s a very strange favor. What would he be needin’ those for?”

“Mister Clydesdale told me not to discuss that matter with anypony.”

“I ain’t anypony, pal,” Adamo said, a dark edge adding a gruff tone to his voice and emphasizing his impatience. “If there’s one pony in this world you’d better spill your guts to, it’s me, or else the next time anypony sees that smug face o’ yours, they’ll be fishin’ it out the harbor. Now talk.”

Bentgrass hesitated, his mouth hung open as if caught between an obligation and his own personal safety. He was conflicted and concerned. He sold the part like a pro. “…Mister Clydesdale has recently come under scrutiny by the RIS. He’s afraid that your little war with the Manehattan Police Department will reveal something in one of their investigations that will link back to him. He doesn’t want any loose ends to strengthen a case against you or himself.”

A tense quiet settled over the room. Adamo’s eyes flickered downward, glassy and distant as his mind raced back and forth. Bentgrass hid the self-satisfied smirk at his own performance. He knew that he had caused enough reasonable doubt in Sarcidano’s mind to make him re-evaluate his position. His brain would be busy putting two and two together on its own and giving him an answer that didn’t exist. Adamo would fill in the rest himself.

Adamo looked up after a moment. “That’s why you’re here and not Danny, huh?”

“Correct,” said Bentgrass with a curt nod. He was nibbling at the bait on the hook. “He believes the RIS has his house under constant surveillance. That’s why he sent an investment agent in his place. It doesn’t look suspicious for a wealthy bureaucrat to be scouting stocks and businesses in Manehattan. If he came himself, you’d both have the RIS and the MPD on your backs.”

“And we definitely don’t need no feds on our flanks…” Adamo grumbled under his breath, giving short nods of his head in agreement. “That sure sounds like Danny. Always thinkin’ three steps ahead… But how do I know you’re not havin’ me on?”

He knew this was coming. All professional criminals always ran on gestures of good faith. “The Manehattan Police are preparing for a raid right now. They’re going to hit one of your warehouses tonight. I know this because Mister Clydesdale knows this. He wanted me to relay this to you, but a delay in my train schedule got me here later than anticipated. They’re narrowing down your hideaways, Mister Sarcidano. Mister Clydesdale can’t have that.”

Adamo looked over and motioned to one of his bodyguards. He whispered something in the stallion’s ear, and then the pony took off running out of the room. Adamo settled his gaze back on Bentgrass.

“That’s certainly good o’ Danny to be lookin’ out for us," he said, pausing for a moment to think before adding, “but how do I know you ain’t workin’ for the cops and just tellin’ me what I wanna hear?”

Bentgrass heard the subdued click of a pistol cocking somewhere behind him. He wasn’t just skating anymore. He was dancing on thin ice. “You don’t. But would I still be sitting here if I wasn’t speaking some truth, or would I be floating face down in the bay by now?”

Adamo’s eyes narrowed as he stared down the pony seated opposite of him. He puckered his lips tight together into a fine line, his eyes darting back and forth across the assorted knick-knacks situated around his desk as he mulled over the situation. “…All right. What does he need exactly?”

“Any and all physical records that have his name, his address, his bank accounts, or any sort of connection back to him or his estate. He’ll hold them in his care until things settle down here on the home front and then return them to you at his discretion.”

“Is it really a good idea to be movin’ this sorta stuff into his house if he’s under fed investigation too?” Adamo questioned, a subtle nervousness in his voice.

“Mister Clydesdale is convinced the RIS has no evidence against him,” Bentgrass reassured the mob leader, feeding on his emotional tells. “You, however, have an entire city’s law enforcement hammering down on you. He merely wishes to cover his back and yours. You of all ponies should know Mister Clydesdale leaves nothing to chance.”

Adamo gave a hard laugh. “Ain’t that the truth… Okay, Sure Bet. Gimme a day. I’ll getcha everythin’ you need.”

Bentgrass furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t have them here? The records must have been stored at another location. “You keep your records off-site?” he asked. “Is that safe?”

Adamo gave a hearty guffaw. “Don’tcha worry one bit. We’ve got a special place for things like that. Now where are ya stayin’ so I know where to send my colts to pick you up tomorrow?”

“I’m staying at the Mareaton Hotel. Have your associates call for me from the front desk. I’ll be ready whenever you are.”

Both stallions stood up, Adamo offering his hoof across the desk. Bentgrass shook it with his own and tipped his head with a smile.

“We’ll be seeing you tomorrow then, Mister Bet.”

“Have a good evening, Mister Sarcidano.”

And with that, Adamo’s bodyguards escorted Bentgrass back out into the club proper and out to the elevator. He retrieved his weapon from the nervous bouncer again and headed back up to the dank streets of Manehattan. The air outside was much cooler than the stuffy atmosphere of the cabaret club. But none of that mattered. Lightning Flash’s information had been right. Adamo’s hideout was exactly where they thought it would be, the seeds of fear and doubt had been planted, and he was well on his way to getting cold, hard evidence against Dandridge—evidence he could nail him to the wall. He could only hope his partner was having as productive a night as he was.

Unable to keep from smiling to himself, Bentgrass whistled an airy tune as he made his way along the harbor back the way he came. He had to hurry though. It would only be right to let Lightning Flash his little band of heroes would be encountering some heavier firepower.

Chapter 8: Breaking and Entering

Night in the quiet county of Thatchholm was bathed in silvery moonlight. Not a single creature stirred in the sleepy hamlet nestled between the lush rolling hills. The entire scene was tranquil and picturesque. It made Fleethoof regret not having a camera as he stood atop the roof of Clydesdale Manor. Surrounded by shadows and pale light, the pegasus was all but invisible amidst the sloped rooftop. It gave him ample opportunity to observe the surrounding countryside and watch the activity down below. He had to admit, Dandridge owned a beautiful portion of land.

Fleethoof sucked in a slow breath and held it in his lungs. The fresh air rejuvenated him, reminding him of times he had thrown himself out of helicopters and hurdled through windows. A warm breeze struck him in the face, and for a moment he was transported back to Saddle Arabia. He was seated on a balcony overlooking the capital, enjoying the late summer air with Cadence at his side. His heart ached, longing for that time back. But deep down he knew he had a task at hoof. That time was long gone.

Taking one more breath, Fleethoof stood from his crouched position beside a chimney and maneuvered his way with care across the roof until his hooves met the edge. He glanced down the three-story drop, eyeing not the fall to a certain death, but the windows. Each one was blacked out, indicating a distinct lack of activity.

Perfect… he thought with a confident smirk. Closing his eyes, Fleethoof leaned forward and threw himself over the edge. He savored the feeling of the wind rushing past his face as he plummeted, enjoying the sensation of air rippling over his wings. His eyes snapped open as he passed the second story, popping his wings out and veering up into a smooth glide. He skimmed over the ground before coming back around towards the manor. He picked one of the dark windows on the second floor and flew straight at it. He came closer—closer still—and swiftly changed the direction of his beating wings, slowing himself down until his hooves pressed lightly against the glass with a soft tink.

Hovering in midair, he released the switchblade from his armguard and deployed the blade, shoving it in between the frames of the large windows until he felt the lock snap. A gentle push on the glass yielded him entry, and with a flutter of his wings, Fleethoof had infiltrated the manor.

The room he landed in looked like a miniature museum of sorts. Glass cabinets and display cases sat about the dark room beneath a high vaulted ceiling. He eased the window closed with a soft click to mask his intrusion, then sauntered down the rows of cases. Expensive and ancient-looking artifacts sat on velvet cushions beneath their protective encasement. Curved blades bearing runes he didn’t recognize lay in perfect size arrangement across a map of Zavros. He could only assume the knives were zebra in origin. There didn’t seem to be anything of particular use to him in here, aside from an ostentatious display of the Clydesdale fortune.

He walked at his own pace past a case filled with archaic tomes and maps and made his way over to the doors at the other end of the room. Noting the light peeking in from beneath it, Fleethoof cautiously opened the door a crack. Bright light spilled into the darkness, blinding the pegasus momentarily. When his vision had settled, a well-lit hallway was waiting for him on the other side. He determined it must have been empty from the lack of any movement or sound.

Fleethoof slunk through the doors and shut them as quietly as he could. In the exposed light of the corridor, he felt very vulnerable, a feeling that sent chills down his spine. He checked to make sure his pistol was loaded and the safety was off before trotting fast down the hall. The luxurious carpet masked his hoofsteps with every trot. He had no idea where to even begin looking. The Clydesdale Manor was immense, almost as much so as the Everfree Mansion. The thought made him shiver while dark vision danced about in his head. It might have been a more appealing environment, but the danger felt as real as ever.

He moved down the hall to the next door, pausing to open it with care. It was little more than a dark bedroom. Frowning in disappointment, he proceeded down the expansive hallway to the next door. Again, it was another bedroom. I guess every room on this floor is a damn bedroom, he thought when he stumbled across his third vacant bedchamber. So the stuff I’m looking for is probably below me. Now where are the stairs…?

The sound of a door closing nearby made Fleethoof all but jump out of his skin. With his heart racing, he dipped into the dark bedroom he had found, leaving the door ajar to keep a watchful eye out. The sound of heavy hooves clopped down the hall, getting louder and louder with every step. Fleethoof bit his lip, subconsciously holding his breath as his hoof drifted to the pistol holstered on his tactical vest.

A shadow slid across the opposite wall in the corridor. A pony passed right by the door a moment later. Fleethoof recoiled into the darkness a tad more. The slight bulge of a pistol jutted out from beneath the pony’s suit at the hip. Dandridge’s security was, as expected, armed. Despite his worry, the pony just continued on down the hall until Fleethoof heard nothing. Wasting no time, he peeked out left, then right, and rushed back out into the hall and ran back the way he had seen the pony come from.

The hallway rounded and, much to Fleethoof’s delight, opened up to a winding stairwell. He poked his head over the edge and peered down to the lower level. He had to be absolutely certain nopony was close enough to catch him. If he was busted now, it was game over. Bentgrass couldn’t be his shield this time. Breaking and entering would land him in prison until Princess Luna could get past the bureaucratic nightmare of paperwork to turn him loose. That was all assuming Dandridge didn’t let his body end up in some landfill somewhere in the far corners of Equestria.

Fleethoof proceeded down the stairs to the first floor corridors, wary of every corner and shadow while deftly dodging another patrolling guard around a corner. He was familiar with where he was now; he had walked down this hall earlier, and the guards were walking routes Fleethoof could have predicted in his sleep. Retracing his steps from memory was an easy feat. But as he passed room after dark room, he began to take notice of the suspicious lack of activity. Where was Dandridge? Where were his friends, his guests he claimed to be hosting? The manor was far too still for his comfort.

He only permitted himself to breathe easy when he ended up outside Dandridge’s office. A glance at the space beneath the double doors revealed nothing but silence and darkness. This was the one room in the entire house he was glad to have found empty. Fleethoof grasped the gilded doorknob firmly and pushed—except the door refused to give way. He rattled the knob with a scowl, testing the lock.

Damn… Can’t break this one. Much too obvious… Okay, we’re doing this the old-fashioned way then…

Reaching into a pouch on his vest, Fleethoof produced a small set of lock picks. He glanced down at his watch and then began. Taking one part between his teeth and keeping the torsion wrench held in place with a delicate hoof, he began to maneuver the pick with his teeth against the tumblers. It was an arduous task, and a slow one at that. He paused every few minutes just to listen to the silence in the house, making sure he didn’t detect anypony coming before returning to his task.

One by one the tumblers gave way until he felt the mechanism turn and click. He permitted himself a smile at his accomplishments and checked his watch. Four minutes and thirty-six seconds. He scowled. Midnight still has me beat by two minutes… he thought with envy. Taking a deep breath, Fleethoof slipped inside the office, making sure to lock the door behind him.

In the dark, Dandridge’s office gave him the creeps. The large wall of glass at the other end cast light like silver ghosts around the furniture and floor. Shadows crept across the walls and ceiling like long arms reaching out for him. The night, which had so often been his ally, suddenly felt very much like his foe.

Get a grip, Fleet. You’ve got a job to do. So do it.

Walking with gradual strides across the parquet floor to the desk, Fleethoof kept his ears turned up and on high alert. This was where Bentgrass had received the distress signal from. Other than his hoofsteps, which sounded like small explosions in the quiet, he heard nothing. Much to his dismay, Dandridge’s desk remained the same as before, with only a couple noticeable differences. The same books and papers lay out in plain sight. The newspaper from earlier had been turned upside-down and the photograph of Clydesdale with Sarcidano was gone. He had obviously struck a cord with the aristocrat when he had questioned him about it. The thought made Fleethoof smirk with pride.

Well, perhaps this means Benty’s having some luck out in Manehattan…

Fleethoof took the moment to take a brief flip through the books on Dandridge’s desk. Many were bank records on his own accounts. Interestingly, none of his withdrawals or transfers had reasons or names attached to them, leaving nothing to pin him to. He felt the disappointment closing in around him again. Clydesdale was one slippery son of a bitch.

He set the book back down on the desk, glancing around at the towering oak bookcases around him. Everything seemed superimposed and powerful; he, in contrast, felt small and meek. Fleethoof furrowed his brow, trying to reason why Dandridge would opt to have his office feel like it was dwarfing him when all he exuded was confidence and control. His eyes turned downward to the desk again, studying the photographs and mementos across its wide surface.

That was when he noticed a glaring detail. There wasn’t a single photograph of Dandridge’s family in sight.

“That’s peculiar…” he mumbled to himself, shuffling through the drawers in the desk to see if they had been hidden away. One was locked, the rest containing inconsequential items and tools. He couldn’t recall seeing a single family portrait or painting of them in the hallways either.

A sharp click caught Fleethoof’s immediate attention. His head snapped up to the door across the room, hearing a key turning in the lock. He could see a shadow standing on the opposite side from the gap beneath the door. The doorknob turned and light flooded into the dark office. Fleethoof’s heart missed a beat.

Dandridge pushed open the door to his office, reaching to the wall and flipping on the light switch. The chandelier overhead poured light down around the empty office like a waterfall as he led the zebra following him across the floor to his desk.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about the Rangers, Githinji,” Dandridge said, his voice booming with self-confidence. “You can tell Unathi that he and his forces have much more support than the Equestrians do in this matter. This is primarily your war, after all. Celestia would never be able to rally enough support for any kind of militaristic intervention.”

Githinji raised a brow, staring at him with intrigue. “You are certain of this, Clydesdale? You know this is not a game we play.”

“Believe me, I know this is no game. I don’t play games.” Dandridge leaned down and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a dark brown book. “You and Unathi have the full support of me and my friends. If Celestia attempts anything, I have it within my power to martyr her politically. I know at least a few of my fellow congressponies would be supportive of your plight. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

For the longest time, Githinji fell silent. His eyes turned downward to the floor, and then lifted to meet his again. “Very well, Clydesdale. We will do business with you once more.”

A wide smile took residence on Dandridge’s face. “A clever decision, my friend. Now, for twenty-thousand bits, I can guarantee a steady supply to your forces in the capital. I can’t make any offers anyplace else for security reasons. Twenty-thousand covers the cost of the weapons themselves, the shipping and forged customs, and security detail to ensure they make it there. For thirty-five thousand, I can double the supply with the same shipping and security costs.”

“Master Unathi gave me permission to purchase as much as I see fit,” said Githinji, leaning across the table as Dandridge dipped his quill in an inkwell. “Thirty-five thousand bits it is. Master Unathi wants to make sure his soldiers are the finest in the land when we seize control.”

“A wise choice,” he agreed, making the notes in his ledger. “Thirty-five thousand bits from Mister Unathi to this account in Re'em. I’ll handle the rest from there. I’ll get in touch with my suppliers tomorrow and see how quick we can have your shipment out, provided we get the money posthaste.”

Dandridge slid a slip of paper with the account number over the desk to Githinji.

“Master Unathi will have the funds to you by tomorrow. I guarantee it.”

“I know he will. Unathi has been a very reliable client in the past. And I believe that concludes our business for tonight. We can discuss this in finer detail tomorrow.” Dandridge shut the book with a loud slam and stowed it back in the safety of its locked drawer. “Now, come. The others must be wondering where we are.”

The two stallions went to leave when Dandridge paused halfway around his desk. He turned on his heels, glancing down underneath his chair. His eyes narrowed and he ducked down, grabbing a single red feather from off the floor. He brought it up to his eyes and turned it over and over in his hoof.

“What is it?”

Dandridge stood up, showing the feather to Githinji. “It’s a pegasus down.”

“Do we have an intruder?” asked the suddenly nervous zebra.

“Oh, no no no!” Dandridge laughed, setting the feather down on his desk with great care as if it were made of glass. “I had a pegasus in here earlier. Nothing to be startled over.”

“Who said I was startled? I was being cautious.”

“Says the zebra who just about jumped out of his stripes.” Dandridge laughed again, waving towards the door. “Come, we’re missing the entertainment in the parlor.”

Fleethoof waited until Dandridge had shut the lights off and he heard the door lock again before he dared to let himself breathe. Letting out a deep exhale that swept relief through his burning lungs, he flapped his wings and descended from the ceiling. His hooves ached from holding himself still in midair in the corner of the ceiling. He was at Dandridge’s desk the moment his hooves touched down, tugging at the locked drawer. It refused to budge, despite all his strength. The lock must have been reinforced.

Whatever’s in there, Dandridge really doesn’t want anypony seeing… he thought. He sighed and ran a hoof through his messy golden mane, taking a breather to formulate a plan. He couldn’t break this lock without tipping off Dandridge, and if it was reinforced, he doubted he had the skills to pick it. He was at an impasse. Fleethoof growled under his breath, finding himself wishing Skyfall’s resident cat burglar was here. Midnight could probably have this lock open in no time flat.

Fleethoof pursed his lips, mulling over his options for the moment. With no way to open the drawer, he had no choice but to leave it behind for now. If Bentgrass could get them probable cause to search again, then they could find out what it was. Without a reason, though, it was fruit from the poisonous tree, and utterly useless to them.

Okay, Plan B: find other evidence…

Slinking back out of the office, Fleethoof took off as quietly as his hooves would allow him to. Dandridge had to keep more incriminating evidence elsewhere in his house. He found it difficult to believe that a pony of such magnitude would have such little dirt on him that it could all be contained in one tiny drawer. It was just a matter of finding it.

A shrill cry from a nearby room down the hall caught Fleethoof’s attention. He trotted up to it, leering at the double doors the closer he got. The sound of something or someone hitting the floor inside made him linger. He pressed an ear to the wood in an attempt to figure out what was going on. The sound of a blow hitting flesh rang out, followed by another thud of something falling. Narrowing his eyes, Fleethoof dared to slide a door open a crack and peered inside.

The room on the other side looked like a parlor of sorts. Expensive furniture and cabinets filled with fine art sculptures and china sat distributed almost evenly around the room. An assortment of creatures from around the world and congregated in the sitting room, lounging out on the armchairs and couches while Dandridge stood in between them all, running a hoof through his mussed-up mane.

At first, Fleethoof didn’t know what was going on. He caught on quick when Dandridge kicked something on the ground and a battered pony rolled out into view, blood dripping from her mouth and nose. He gasped beneath his breath and watched as Dandridge pushed a hoof down on the young filly’s back, pinning her to the red rug beneath them. Dandridge’s expression twisted in a dark way, and the pony under him cried out in pain as more pressure was applied to the base of her spine.

“Did you really think you could try to sell us out and we’d never know?” sneered Dandridge, spitting down on the back of the pony’s head. “After all I’ve done for you… I brought you into our organization off the streets, and this is how you repay me? By cozying up to the federal agents?!”

“I-I’m sorry, Mister Clydesdale!” the young pony whimpered. She shielded her head with her hooves, tears streaming down her muzzle and mixing with the blood on her face. “They… They knew things! They threatened me! I didn’t wanna go to prison!”

Dandridge snorted with anger and drew his pistol from within his jacket, pulling the slide back with a sharp snap of metal and chambering a fresh round. The pony yelped and whimpered again, her eyes shut tight. Dandridge leaned down, grabbing the pony’s mane and yanking her head up hard until she cried out again.

“P-Please, don’t…!”

“You would’ve been safer in prison…” he hissed. He let the pony flop back to the floor before climbing off of her again, slinking about like a predator stalking a wounded animal. “Go. I’ll give you a ten-second head start to get out of my house before I hunt you down like the sniveling coward you are.”

Fleethoof held his breath as Dandridge tossed his gun back and forth between his hooves. “One…”

The pony let out a cry crossed between a whine and a shout and scrambled to her hooves, her beaten body straining against the pain to run for her life.

“Two…”

Fleethoof tensed up, ready to dive away from the door, lest he get caught. The pony was up now, sprinting towards him. She was halfway across the room already. He slid the doors closed again and backed away.

“Ten!”

A loud gunshot made Fleethoof flinch away from the door. He heard something heavy impact with the wood, and then everything was still again. Loud bouts of laughter rang out within the parlor, followed by inane chatter, as if nothing had ever occurred. Fleethoof’s breathing came in fast and shallow. A cold sweat beaded his forehead. He couldn’t grasp what he had just witnessed. His foolhardy bravery beating his common sense, he slid the door open a crack. He had to see it for himself. The crumpled mass of the pony lay collapsed against the doors right in front of his eyes. She wasn’t moving, nor was she breathing.

Sweet Celestia and Luna… Oh shit…

Fleethoof winced and clenched his jaw while taking off back down the hallway. Dandridge had just murdered one of his own personnel in cold blood. He had seen it all. He had the bastard. That’s gotta be enough to put him away now! he thought, excited nervousness energizing him as he made his way back upstairs to his exfiltration point. If that won’t put him away, nothing will!

Pushing open the door to the dark room, Fleethoof slid inside and kicked the door shut, and realized he wasn’t in the right room. He had stumbled into a large bedroom, one that he assumed was the master bedroom by its size and décor. An alicorn-sized canopy bed lay against a wall just below a very expensive looking painting. Silver moonlight wisped in from several large windows, casting the soft-looking spread into a sea of sparkling cotton. Several framed law degrees hung from the wall from various institutions, all bearing Dandridge’s name.

Much to his surprise, there was a shocking lack of personal family mementos here as well. If there was one place in the entire house Fleethoof had expected to find at least one family photograph, it would have been here. The bedroom was noticeably ordinary and plain. It was a stark contrast from the rest of the house. Only the bare essentials made up Dandridge’s personal quarters: a bed, a dresser, and a vanity. The rest of the room was empty space, making the entire place feel much larger and more daunting.

Trotting at his own leisure around the edges of the room, Fleethoof studied the pony’s personal space. A triptych of photos sat in connected frames on the vanity. They were the only thing he could see that bore any personal connection to Dandridge. Upon a closer inspection, each photo consisted of the bloodthirsty pony with a companion. The first was a female zebra standing in front of his alma mater. The second was an Arabian mare, her long, dark mane covering part of her face, giving her a mysterious and exotic flair. The third was the female griffon he had also seen in his office, neither of them looking too pleased to be together at the time.

Fleethoof considered the pattern for a moment, then moved on. An escape was an escape as far as he was concerned, and his chances of finding the same room he had come into in this mammoth house were slim to none. Unlocking the latch to one of the windows, Fleethoof flew out with a delicate flap of his wings, making sure to close the shutter behind him. He cast one last glance into the house before he disappeared into the night with a flap of his wings, vanishing without a trace.

He came to rest just outside the bed and breakfast, slipping back into the sleepy inn as surreptitiously as possible. Nopony was awake, and the lounge was empty, the dying embers in the hearth throwing harsh shadows around the room. Fleethoof sighed and trudged up the creaky old staircase back into the room. He pushed the door open into the dark room, noting from the lack of life that Bentgrass still hadn’t returned.

I hope Agrostis is having better luck than I am, he thought and locked the door behind himself.

No sooner had he snapped the lock into place, he heard something shift in a corner of the room.

Fleethoof tensed up, a hoof still lingering on the lock. An ear flicked backwards, swiveling like a radar dish to capture any residual sound. The fur on the back of his neck stood on end as his sixth sense went crazy. He wasn’t alone.

In the dark, Fleethoof dropped a hoof to his side, brushing it against the grip of his pistol. His pulse raced strong in his veins, pumping adrenaline to every fiber of his being. Time seemed to slow down as he spun on his hooves, quick on the draw. His gun was up and pointed at the shadowy corner, just barely able to make out the outline of a pony in an armchair cloaked in darkness.

“Don’t you move,” he growled beneath his breath, a hoof fumbling around behind him until he found the light switch.

Blinding light flooded the room in the blink of an eye. He winced against the sudden stinging in his eyes, but the other occupant seemed even more perturbed by the light than he was. She shrieked and covered her face—and that was when Fleethoof got his first good look at the intruder.

“Midnight?!” He was shocked, even when he knew he shouldn’t have been. “What th— What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I followed you to the train station,” she cried out, her eyes squinting as she tried to adjust to the unnatural light. “You were acting all secretive and I wanted to know what you were up to.”

Fleethoof dropped the hammer and tossed his gun onto the table with a heaving sigh. “Are you insane? I almost shot you!”

“I know. In retrospect, hiding in a dark room with you being so jumpy was probably a bad idea. My bad. But I’m here! Sooo what can I do to help?”

“You can start by going home.” Fleethoof opened the door and glared at her, giving her a look that spelled finality. There was no option for discussion. “Now.”

“Aww, but I came all this way to lend you a hoof,” she pouted, crossing her hooves across her chest and sticking her lip out like a little filly. “You’re just gonna throw me out in the cold?”

“It’s sixty-seven degrees out. Midnight, trust me. You really don’t want to be here.”

“Uh, yeah, I do.”

“Would you just listen to me for once and go back to Canterlot?”

“Not until you let me help you, then we both go back together. Deal?”

Fleethoof snorted and shook his head. “No deal. Midnight, I’m ordering you to go home now.”

“And I said no.” Midnight pushed her weight further down into the armchair, sinking deeper into the cushion. Her eyes narrowed as she stared down her captain, making her point clear.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Fleethoof said through gnashed teeth. He rubbed his aching temples with his fore hooves, taking slow breaths and counting to ten. It didn’t help.

“Look, Fleety, I’m already here. Just let me do something to help. Please. I was going mad back there waiting for you. Please just let me do something—anything.”

Fleethoof swallowed as much air into his lungs as he could. He held onto the breath, counting the seconds until his lungs begged for release, and then exhaled. When he looked up again, Midnight was still there, but her expression had softened. The pleading look in her eyes pulled his defenses down brick by brick. He hated when she did that. It meant he was about to lose the fight.

“At least let me stay and learn. Please?”

He groaned and rolled his head on his stiff neck. “…Fine.”

Midnight squealed and clapped her hooves together happily. Fleethoof, for all his strength, was exhausted. He collapsed across the bed, groaning the second his body made contact with the mattress. The soft pillows blocked out his vision, leaving him obscured in comfortable darkness. A few moments later, he felt another mass shift the bed beside him. He didn’t need to look up to know Midnight would be there.

“Can I help you?” His question was ironic, muffled by the pillows his face was buried in.

“Nope. Just getting comfy. You like the right side of the bed, huh?”

Fleethoof gave a muted grumble. “We aren’t sharing the bed.”

“Aww, but then where—“

“You’re taking the bed. I’m sleeping in the chair. Unless you’d prefer to hang from the ceiling, bat.”

Midnight scoffed and giggled. “Hardy har. Come on, pegasus. What, can’t share a foxhole with a filly?”

“Since you’ve never been within a hundred yards of an actual foxhole, I don’t think you’re allowed to make that analogy.” He shifted his head just enough to peek up over the uneven surface of the pillow at the bat pony lying prone beside him. “And I’m trying to be courteous.”

“Psh, courtesy shmurtesy. Stop being silly and go to sleep.”

“This goes against every ethics code in the Guard. You know that, right?” Fleethoof paused to examine the devious look in her eyes. “What am I saying? Of course you do. You just don’t care.”

Midnight shook her head proudly. “Nope!”

“And you’re really not put off by the thought of sharing a bed with your commanding officer? And you’re really not going to let me go?”

“Nope again! If you go sleep in the chair, then I’ll just sit on your lap to bother you.”

With a weighty sigh, he ducked his head beneath the pillow, hiding away from the world.

“So what’s the plan, Cap’n?” she asked, whispering to him from the other side of the bed.

“We wait for Bentgrass to get back with his leads,” Fleethoof mumbled from under the pillows. He was too tired to care about lifting his head up to speak anymore. “Then we get the bad guy.”

“Good plan. I like it. But what do we do tonight then?”

“You go to sleep,” he said, rolling over onto his back so he could breathe again. “And I’ll be doing my best to pretend you’re not here.”

Midnight simpered and began wrapping herself up in the blankets like a cocoon. “Love you too, Fleety.”

“Just keep your hooves to your side of the bed and don’t snore.” Fleethoof leaned up and turned out the light, letting the calming darkness of the night overtake the room again. “…And it’s ‘Fleethoof’.”

Chapter 9: The Brick Wall

Bentgrass peered out the window of his hotel room at the sprawling mass of concrete, stone, and steel that made up the urban empire of Manehattan. His eyes traced the rows of flat rooftops from his lofty position. From a bird’s-eye view, the city didn’t seem different from any of the number of others in Equestria. Ponies scurried around on the streets below like busy ants. It was impossible to detect the lingering scent of danger and corruption hanging in the air.

The weather from Thatchholm must have followed him this far east. Monotonous gray clouds sat overhead, veiling the sun while simultaneously dropping a gentle rainfall across the city. The sound of water hitting the window reminded him of the bed and breakfast, and in turn reminded him of Dandridge. That smug grin on the face of that horse’s ass sent a twinge of anger through his tense muscles. He scowled and sipped at the glass of strong alcohol in his hoof, the lingering burn in his throat soothing his agitated nerves. Thank Celestia the rooms have minibars… he thought as he swallowed the smooth liquid.

Today was the day. Despite his enthusiasm, he remained cautiously optimistic on that point. Adamo Sarcidano would come for him today. Whatever background check he would have had his lackeys perform would turn up nothing on his persona. Not a single scrap of evidence, benign or otherwise. He would literally not exist. This would be his ace in the hole. If Sarcidano was anything like the Manehattan police made him out to be, no evidence would be the way Dandridge kept his company. He would blend in with the crowd of vagabonds well.

His mind drifted away from the gray city. Thoughts of his missing agents took to the forefront of his brain. He prayed to the sun and the moon for their safety while visions of every possible scenario they could be in played in his head. He would find them. He swore it.

A heavy-hoofed knock at the door interrupted that grim train of thought and reeled him back into the here and now. His eyes turned to the plain wooden door and lingered there. There was only one pony he was expecting. Setting his drink down and grabbing his gun, Bentgrass trotted over and pressed his eye to the peephole. Two gruff-looking ponies stood on the other side in cheap suits, glancing back and forth down the hall. Their image reeked of hired thug.

Bentgrass slipped his weapon inside his jacket and opened the door. The two ponies turned to look at him in perfect synchronization. “You Sure Bet?”

“I’m guessing you gentlecolts aren’t with the hotel,” Bentgrass quipped, looking the two ponies over. Detachment glazed over their humorless eyes. Something gave him the distinct impression that these stallions weren’t Oxford graduates. “Who’s asking?”

“Mister Sarcidano is ready for you.”

Finally.

“Excellent. Shall we?”

Bentgrass set off with the two stallions down the hall and down a short ride in the cramped elevator. He did his best to drown out the idyllic music playing on loop while keeping his two escorts in check out the corner of his eyes. The hotel was quiet this time of day, but the streets were another story. Stepping out into the cool rain, Bentgrass had to push his way past a crowd gathered out front under the hotel awnings. An elongated black carriage sat on the curb, shined to a flawless shimmer. The horses pulling the carriage were Saddle Arabians, standing tall and powerful in the weak light. This had to be his ride. Lightning Flash had been right; the Sarcidanos employed any creature looking to turn a profit.

“Well, let’s get goin’. We ain’t got all day.”

The ponies opened the door to the carriage for him. Bentgrass climbed into the back of the limousine and realized he was not the only one in there.

“Good afternoon, Mister Bet,” Adamo Sarcidano greeted with a nod of his head. “Good to see you again.”

Bentgrass was speechless at first. He had not anticipated to be picked up by Sarcidano himself. One by one, Adamo’s security detail climbed in behind them, securing them within the coach as it rocked and shifted away from the sidewalk. There was no going back now.

“Where are we going?” he asked while the carriage pulled away from the curb.

Adamo smiled at the agent in a manner that put Bentgrass on edge. “To the safe house, o’ course!”

Nothing could have prepared Bentgrass for the Sarcidano safe house. The trip down the labyrinthian city streets took almost an hour as they weaved through traffic and the different districts of Manehattan. Block by block, the everyday stores and businesses faded away into elegant brownstones and high-end neighborhoods. The limousine pulled up to one brownstone in particular and parked along the curb. Sarcidano’s bodyguards jumped out, allowing Adamo and Bentgrass slide out onto the sidewalk after.

Adamo walked up the steps to the front door and slipped a key out of his suit jacket to open the door with a firm push. He stepped in, followed closely by Bentgrass and his security detail. Bentgrass peered around the airy foyer, studying the fine pottery adorning the end tables by the door. The parquet floor was varnished to a mirror-like sheen and the crystal chandelier overhead threw welcoming white light around the entryway. The lavishness did not fail to impress Bentgrass. Between him and Clydesdale, organized crime certainly had a way of cleaning up nicely. It twisted his stomach with disgust and contempt.

“Your home?” he asked. Adamo smiled from ear-to-ear and gave a curt nod of his head. “You certainly spared no expense.”

“As Danny can attest to, this business is all about keepin’ up appearances.” He started for the stairs, waving back at Bentgrass to follow him. “We keep everythin’ important upstairs. C’mon.”

Bentgrass glanced back at the ponies closing in around him, forcing him to move up the stairs. He took each step in slow stride, tapping the gem hidden away in his pocket to activate the tracking beacon for the police. He stayed wary and alert at all times. Being surrounded by career criminals was not a situation he could say he reveled in. Still, he played his part and took Adamo’s lead up the staircase to the second level, and up another to the third. The stairs led straight to a door. Adamo paused to unlock it and then ushered Bentgrass in with a wave of his hoof.

Stepping through the doorway, Bentgrass admired the amount of detail the Sarcidanos had put into making their safe house resemble a typical home. The third floor consisted of two connected rooms: a lounge and an office. Plush furniture and elegant rugs that looked like they belonged in Canterlot Castle adorned the lounge. Large windows from Prance lined the walls and towered to the high ceiling of the room, providing an elevated view across the rows of brownstone homes in what Bentgrass assumed was part of the upper districts of Manehattan. The office resembled the one he had been in at the cabaret club, made up of dark wood and glass. Two Prench doors opened up to a balcony overlooking the street, facing towards the Manehattan Harbor. From its position, the Sarcidano house felt like a castle overlooking its kingdom.

“Have a seat, Mister Bet. It’ll take some time to gather the files you need.”

Bentgrass sat himself down in one of the armchairs with a polite smile. A variety of famous artworks hung from the walls. He assumed some must have been originals from the way they were framed and cared for. He observed the movements of Sarcidano’s security detail while he waited, ever vigilant of his environment. Two ponies stood beside the only exit while two took laps around the lounge, and another pair accompanying Adamo in his study. Bentgrass could hear an abundance of drawers and cabinets opening and closing, along with the shuffling of papers and the slamming of hardbound books.

A clock ticked in the stillness like a maddening metronome. Bentgrass’ eyes followed the pendulum for a few moments, counting each second that slipped by. One second, then two, three, and four… Each one was one more than he cared to be playing this charade. Each one meant one more second they had to sniff out his identity and blow his cover. Each one meant another moment his agents remained lost. Every nerve and muscle in Bentgrass’ body was wound tight, ready to spring if the situation demanded it, like a cat waiting to pounce.

Adamo reemerged after several minutes, a book clutched tightly in his teeth. He set it down on the coffee table in front of Bentgrass. “Is this what Danny was hopin’ for?”

Bentgrass stared at the unassuming book. The aged leather binding bore no name or markings on the cover and looked little more than a personal journal. Yet, peering at the modest book, he could feel his pulse pound slow and steady in his veins. All the information he needed to hang Dandridge Clydesdale lay within those pages.

He slid forward, his flank barely resting on the chair as he grasped the book and flipped the cover open. Inside was a collection of grainy black-and-white photographs of a family out in the countryside. The pictures took Bentgrass aback. The agent stared at each for a long while before turning the page, and then flipping past more and more photos. The book was nothing but a family photo album. It wasn’t meant to help him. It was to distract him.

“I don’t understand,” he spoke, trying to maintain his cover and hide his awareness amidst confusion. “I’m looking for the records Mister Clydesdale left with you. He assured me you had them. What is this?”

Another piece of paper fell to the table from over his shoulder. Bentgrass glanced up at it and felt his heart stop. His photograph was attached to the paper. A quick skim of the paper revealed it to be a letter to Adamo, warning him of government agents snooping about. It was signed from Dandridge Clydesdale.

It was then Bentgrass realized he had no hopes of salvaging his cover. He had been made. His head remained tipped down, but his eyes darted across the floor, locating every pair of hooves he could see. The Sarcidano thugs had tightened in a ring around him. He heard the sound of something slipping out of a pouch. Surrounded and outgunned, there was no way he could fight his way out of this situation.

The meeting was a setup.

Click!

Every muscle in Bentgrass’ body tensed up. The distinctive sound of a gun hammer locking into place behind his ear put his nerves on high alert.

His eyes darted up from the book, glowering at Adamo as he felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of his head. A dark scowl had formed on the mobster’s face.

“Did you really think I’d just give up Danny like that? You must be denser than I thought, ‘specially if you believed a word I’ve been tellin’ you all this time… Not fun gettin’ played, is it?” Adamo spoke gravely. He loomed over the seated pony, taking the book from his grasp with slow grace. “Who are you really? And don’t tell me none o’ this investor for Danny bull crap, because I just got that letter from him this mornin’. Who do you really work for? The MPD? The feds?”

His tongue ran slowly over his dry lips as every synapse in his cerebrum fired. Bentgrass racked his brain for a plausible excuse. His life depended on it. Muscle couldn’t help him now. He had to rely on his wit and charisma if he hoped to live past the next few minutes.

“Listen fuck stick, you got about ten seconds before your brains recolor my carpet. Now talk.”

Bentgrass cleared his throat and dropped his faux accent. “Mister Sarcidano, I know you have your doubts—”

“Five seconds.”

“But there’s something you need to know about me.” Bentgrass lifted his hooves in surrender. “My name is Special Agent Bentgrass. I’m a member of the RIS, Division Six.”

Adamo huffed an indignant snort. “What the hell does that mean? You’re one o’ them spooks that chases paranormal crap? What does that have to do with Danny and me?”

“It means I’m a federal agent. It also means you have a large problem on your hooves.”

“Uh, boss, we got company…”

At the call of one of his ponies, Adamo trotted brusquely over to a window. Several police carriages had pulled up in front of the brownstone on the street below. Armed ponies leapt from within, charging for the front door. Adamo sneered and turned on Bentgrass.

“You led them here?”

“I’m not after you. I’m after Dandridge Clydesdale,” Bentgrass said, keeping his hooves held aloft. “It’s not too late, Mister Sarcidano. Cut a deal with me. Give me the records I can use against Dandridge and we all walk out of here unharmed. I know you have to have something for your own insurance. Nopony has to get hurt.”

Adamo scoffed and shook his head. A furious gleam burned in his eyes. “Oh no, buddy. It’s far too late for that. Get him up. Take his gun too.”

The pony holding a gun on Bentgrass slipped a hoof into his jacket, removing his pistol and tossing it onto the coffee table. Bentgrass flinched as he was pulled violently to his hooves and pushed across the room. A smashing from down below signaled the infiltration of the police, and the cacophony of hooves on stairs marked their approach. The mobsters turned to face the only way in, pistols drawn and ready to fight.

Bentgrass was ushered over to the windows by his captor. He perished to begin thinking what his intended fate was as he glanced out the glass at the pavement down below. The gun was jammed into his back again, pressing him closer to the thin sheets of glass keeping him from a three-story drop.

“Don’t worry about the cops, Mister Secret Agent. We’ll take good care o’ your friends.” Adamo drew his gun from within his jacket and racked the first round into the chamber, a murderous sneer on his face. “As for you… Let’s see if you’re an Earth pony that can fly.”

There was a heavy pounding on the door. “Manehattan Police! Open the door and keep your hooves up!”

It was just the distraction Bentgrass needed. He turned on his heels, grasping the hoof of the pony behind him and twisting it around. The stallion cried out and loosened his grip on his weapon. Adamo lifted his gun and fired twice at Bentgrass. Both bullets struck his own bodyguard square in the chest, killing him instantly. The other mobsters turned in response to the gunshots within the room. As soon as the shots were fired, Bentgrass dropped to the floor with the body just as the door was kicked in.

Gunfire started in force. The police shot at the startled gangsters while the criminals returned desperate fire from whatever cover they could find. The lounge was torn to shreds beneath the hailstorm of bullets. Bentgrass took cover while the gunfight ensued in ferocity and lethality. The seasoned police rushed the room, taking the last disoriented mobsters down fast and hard with practiced tactics.

Bentgrass stood up once the fight had ended and flashed his badge to the cops now drawing weapons on him. He grabbed his pistol from the table and observed the destroyed room. Adamo Sarcidano was nowhere in sight, nor did he lay among the bodies on the floor. Bentgrass kept his weapon at the ready as he moved into the adjoined office. There was nowhere else the mob boss could have gone to. But he couldn't see Adamo anywhere. Then he saw the doors to the balcony swung wide open.

Approaching the curtains swaying in the warm breeze, Bentgrass peered out the open doors. Adamo Sarcidano stood at the edge of the balcony, his gun pressed taut to his right temple. Bentgrass felt his heart fall into his stomach and lowered his weapon. Adamo leered at the pony, his hoof trembling while he kept the pistol held to his head.

“Put the gun down, Adamo,” Bentgrass ordered. His voice was calm and entreating, yet authoritative. “It’s over. It’s done. Now be clever and walk away from this with your life.”

Adamo gave a forlorn shake of his head. “There’s nothin’ left for me if I do. I’m finished. Danny’s gonna gut me like a fish when he finds out. And if his guardian angel finds out…”

“Guardian angel…? We can protect you from Dandridge and whoever else if you give them up. My deal still stands. Give me Dandridge and the justice system will take that into account at your trial. You’ll be put into protective services. Just help me catch him.”

“There ain’t gonna be a trial, fed, and nopony can protect me from them,” spat Adamo bitterly. “You ain’t gonna make me flip. I’m no snitch, not on Danny, and ‘specially not on his friends. I’m Adamo Sarcidano, and if I’m goin’ out, I’m goin’ out on my terms: with a bang.”

Bentgrass reacted on pure reflex alone. He dove for the gun. “Don’t!”

Adamo was faster. He squeezed the trigger. Bentgrass recoiled as he watched the pony’s head snap back with the gunshot. Something wet splattered against his face. The mob boss’s limp body slumped backwards over the railing of the balcony, tumbling to the ground below. Bentgrass rushed to the edge, staring down at the broken remains of the stallion splattered across the sidewalk in a mess of gore. Were he a weaker stallion, it would have turned his stomach. All Bentgrass felt instead was frustration reaching the breaking point as yet another lead on Dandridge faded away into nothingness.

Bentgrass stowed his weapon and slammed a hoof against the railing hard enough to rattle the wrought-iron. He turned on his heels and pushed past the police running to the balcony to investigate the gunshot. He looked around the office—at the stacks of books and papers. It would take him days, if not weeks, to find anything incriminating, and by then Dandridge would be long gone. He didn’t even know if any evidence existed here at all. It was a fool’s hope.

“Are you all right, Special Agent?” a familiar voice asked him. “Did you get anything useful?”

Lightning Flash stepped over to the crestfallen agent, frowning when he noted the sour grimace on his face. Bentgrass didn’t say a word. From the radio on Lightning Flash’s jacket, Adamo’s confirmation of death came through in a burst of static. It didn’t surprise Bentgrass. Nopony could have survived that.

“I guess he took his secrets to the grave…” Lightning Flash exhaled hard and shrugged his shoulders. “This pony you’re after must be one tough son of a bitch if he can make the head of a notorious crime family eat his own gun. Hot damn…”

“It doesn’t matter now. Sarcidano is dead. He won’t be a problem to you anymore,” Bentgrass said with a cold edge to his voice. “Send all information regarding black market transactions to the RIS headquarters in Canterlot. I’m finished here.”

He stormed out of the office and marched down the stairs for the front door. His one solid lead had slipped through his grasp again. He had failed, and just like that Dandridge had become that much more untouchable. Now everything rested on Fleethoof.

Chapter 10: Baiting the Shark

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Fleethoof shouted in the otherwise silent room, storming back and forth across the floor.

Bentgrass shook his head and reclined back in his chair while rifling through Dawn Glimmer’s research. “No, I’m not.”

“He murders somepony! The guy fucking murders somepony and we’re gonna let him get away with it?!” The pegasus was seething. “If that isn’t enough to arrest him, then you’ve gotta be out of your fucking mind!”

“We can’t use it in court, Fleethoof. We don’t have the body to tie to the crime. It would be your word against his. Besides, you witnessed that while trespassing after breaking and entering. You’d go to prison as well for that conviction,” Bentgrass explained, leaning forward until all four legs of his chair hit the floor again with a dull thunk. “And I cannot get a warrant to search for whatever records he had because it’s all hearsay. Sarcidano was the only pony besides Clydesdale that could confirm any records existed, and he’s dead. No judge will sign off on a warrant for a fishing expedition.”

Fleethoof rolled his eyes. “Then I’m doing this my way.” He marched across the floor, already pulling his pistol out and chambering the first round.

“Put it away, Captain, before you make me arrest you.” Bentgrass sighed and took a long sip of the mug of hot coffee in front of him. The bitter drink invigorated his every neuron. Midnight sat quietly in the corner armchair, ignoring the two bickering stallions and immersing herself in a cheesy paperback romance novel she had found in the lounge’s limited repertoire of books.

“It’s the only way we’re going to get rid of him, Agrostis! He’s already proven he’s invulnerable! Bullets are the only thing he can’t fucking avoid! What more do you want? Do you want to wait until he burns down an orphanage? Or how about we just let him chop us up and feed us to a pack of wild animals? How’s that sound?”

“I will admit this is frustrating. But we cannot give in and sidestep boundaries,” Bentgrass said, his voice stern yet empathetic. “There is always another way. A legal way. One that doesn’t turn you into as detestable a monster as he is.”

Fleethoof gave a growl of annoyance and slammed his hoof into the wall, leaving a sizable dent in its wake. He rested his forehead against the wood, breathing hard to let his aggravation subside. He jammed his pistol back into its holster with force and gnashed his teeth together.

“So what do we do then, Bent? What’s the ‘legal way’?”

Bentgrass tapped his hooves together on the table, staring ahead into empty space. “You definitely saw Clydesdale recording this deal with the zebra? This book definitely exists?”

“I saw it with my own eyes. He was writing the details down in it and then he locked it up again,” Fleethoof said, still speaking into the wall. “What good will that do if we can’t get to it though?”

“We can’t…” Bentgrass agreed, a wily smirk gracing his face. His slitted eye turned past Fleethoof’s shoulder just slightly, to Midnight, as he continued, “but that doesn’t mean somepony else can’t.”

Fleethoof lifted his head and moved to face Bentgrass. He raised a brow, his head cocked to the side in curiosity. “Are you suggesting—?”

“We need somepony to go undercover,” he interjected, filling in the blanks. “Somepony affiliated with the Guard and not involved in controversial black ops like you. We feed them the information we know and what we’re looking for. Then they do the legwork.”

“That’s very dangerous, Agrostis… We’d be throwing that pony to the wolves.”

Bentgrass rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s our best bet.”

“We’d need somepony Dandridge is going to trust inexplicably,” Fleethoof continued. His pacing resumed, trotting back and forth around the edges of the room at a slow gait. “Their cover would have to be immaculate. They need to be a damn good actor or he’s going to sniff them out right away.”

“Then we appeal to Clydesdale’s… baser instincts. We’ll force him to act against his own volition by blinding him to the danger, like a camouflage of sorts,” Bentgrass suggested.

Fleethoof chuckled under his breath with a shake of his head. “That’s going to be a little difficult to do. I’ve seen photos of the company Dan likes to keep. Suffice to say, his favorite flavor isn’t vanilla.”

Bentgrass glanced up, then over to the corner of the room. His eyes lit up while devious thoughts passed through his mind. “So we need somepony different from the ordinary pony. An exotic mare that will appeal to his tastes.”

“She’s going to have to be strong-willed and sarcastic to a fault like him in order to give him a challenge he’s going to be interested in pursuing, and voluptuous enough to entice him and get him off his guard,” Fleethoof added in. “Deception is a must. The more experience, the better. Knowing how to lie and how the darker side of Equestria works is mandatory.”

“Preferably a decent military background too…?” Bentgrass urged.

“Yeah, that’d be good, in case she needed to defend herself if things got sour, and—“

Fleethoof paused mid-sentence. His mind put two and two together, even before he turned back to face Bentgrass. The Earth pony was smirking at him, a knowing look in his eyes when he knew Fleethoof had figured it out. The stallion’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide as dinner plates.

“No…” Fleethoof shook his head as Bentgrass began to nod his. He looked over his shoulder at Midnight, and turned on his friend. “No. No, Agrostis. No! I know what you’re thinking, and don’t you even suggest it!”

“Suggest? I didn’t realize I was suggesting anything,” Bentgrass replied, his voice reticent and innocent to Fleethoof’s accusations, even as the crafty smile continued to sit upon his lips. “But what are you thinking, my friend? I would be very eager to hear your idea.”

“I said no! We are not getting her involved in this! Not with him!” Fleethoof stomped a hoof down, standing as resolute as a stubborn mule. His stance was adamant. “Not a chance. No! That is final!”

“What’s final?” Midnight asked form her chair, catching on to the raised voices with intrigue.

Bentgrass gave Fleethoof a roguish smile. “Miss Dasher, you are not officially a member of Captain Fleethoof’s team yet, are you?”

Midnight sighed, and replied with a simple, dejected, “No.”

“How would you like to assist us in our investigation?”

“Really?!” Midnight’s eyes went as large as her smile. “That’s great! What can I do?”

“First, I think we need to go see if that tailor is open.”

Dandridge heaved a soft sigh and reclined back in his chair, his hooves resting up on the top of his desk. He wiped a soft cloth along the shiny silver surface of his pistol, polishing it to a bright sheen. Through the open door of his office, he watched the cleaning crew walk by with their third round of buckets. The parlor must have been more difficult to clean up than he imagined. A dark smirk contorted his mouth and a low chuckle rumbled in his throat. He was quite proud of his handiwork. He had the feeling that today was going to be a good day.

A timid knock on his door made him peek up over his hooves again, eyeing his housekeeper as she made her way toward him with great caution. He managed an eye roll and began slipping bullets into the empty magazine one by one. Her meekness was a quality he both admired in a servant and found insufferable. Had he not been so damn pleased with the way she managed his home, he would have had her replaced as well. Replaced… His macabre grin widened while he slid another bullet into the magazine.

“Your mail, Master Clydesdale,” she said, her voice scarcely breaking above a whisper.

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied and took the letters. He began the slow process of sorting through them. “Have my guests had their breakfast yet?”

“The cooks are preparing it now, sir.”

“Very good. Let them know I’ll join them in a moment. I do want to see them off properly. We wouldn’t want to be rude hosts now, would we?”

She didn’t dare shake her head nor look up from the shiny floors. “No, sir, we wouldn’t.”

Dandridge tossed each inane letter across the desk and froze when he saw the last envelope in the stack. It was addressed from Angelo Sarcidano. His eyes flicked up to the housekeeper, watching her shrink away in fright. “…Better tell them it might be a little longer than a short while.”

The mare bowed her head obediently and rushed out of the office. Dandridge waited until she had disappeared from his sight before grabbing a letter opener between his teeth. He jabbed the thin blade into the paper and tore it open, shaking the contents out into his hooves. A single sheet of paper fell out, tri-folded and sealed with a waxy emblem of the Sarcidano family. Dandridge wasted no time in breaking the seal and unfolding the letter, reading quickly over the single sentence scrawled across the otherwise pristine white sheet.

Feds killed Adamo.

— Angelo

Dandridge’s jaw tightened and a shudder ran down his back. He read and reread that one line over and over again until even the flow of the ink had been seared into his memory. His eyes narrowed and red obscured his vision. Now he knew why those agents had left him alone the past couple days. The RIS were starting to get under his skin. He was down to his last nerve with them. That smug face of the pallid agent made him sneer as he tore the letter to pieces.

“Master Clydesdale—“

“What?!” he shouted, his booming voice resonating around the office and making the housekeeper drop to her belly in fright. He reeled himself in, sucking in deep lungfuls of air to settle himself. The red began to fade into the colors of reality once more. “What is it, my dear?”

“There’s somepony at the door looking for you… and breakfast is ready…”

Dandridge clicked his teeth together. There was only one pony he could think of who would come to his door to harass him at a time like this. His mind flashed back to the well-dressed federal agent. He could just picture him standing on his doorstep, waiting to take another shot at him after murdering his longtime business partner. The unbridled fires of rage flared up in his heart. With a nod, he slid the magazine into his pistol and pulled the slide back.

“Let me handle it…”

Dandridge hurried to the front doors, marching down the long corridors of his family’s manor like a soldier. The weight of his pistol tucked just beneath his blazer gave him a sense of power and security. He was going to end this little game with the special agent today. He had it all planned out. Let him back in, all smiles and charm, let him lead himself around the house, and once they were alone…

Dandridge swung the doors open wide, already leering at the pony on the other side. Shockingly, the pony standing on his porch wasn’t the obnoxious Earth pony from before.

His eyes were instead graced by the sight of a mare, her form slender and smooth. Her dusky gray coat contrasted perfectly with the dark indigo dress she wore, the fabric hugging her sides and clinging to the curves of her hips perfectly. The dress fell aside at just the right part of her flank, revealing her silvery crescent moon cutie mark. A beautiful emerald necklace hung around her neck, encased in gold and shimmering in the morning sunlight. Her messy grayish-indigo mane hung down her forehead, partially obscuring her face. She could have been a pegasus, save for the powerful-looking leathery wings on her sleek form instead of feathered appendages. She was staring off out at the countryside of Thatchholm county, but when she heard the door open, she looked at him with dazzling honey-gold eyes.

“Ah, somepony dressed as nicely as you must be Dandridge Clydesdale,” she spoke, her purring voice mellifluous and inviting. She cast a wide grin at him, flashing her sharp fangs and pearly-white teeth.

“…Yes.” Dandridge glanced past the mare, half expecting Bentgrass to be hiding somewhere. He felt like he was about to be pranked at any moment. His eyes returned to the enticing filly, eyeing her with curiosity and skepticism. “May I help you?”

“My name is Aurora.” She lifted a hoof, taking a very befuddled Dandridge’s and shaking it with vigor. “I’m here to do business with you.”

Dandridge scrutinized the bat pony, keeping a careful watch on her as she sauntered around his antiques room. He didn’t know what to make of her or her sudden appearance, given the circumstances. His network of strategically placed business partners was crumbling down around him and his safety net felt like it had a dozen holes in it. He had to be wary of who he let walk through his door.

But despite his doubtful nature, he couldn’t keep his eyes from roaming down the curve of her spine, dipping past her wings to her taut flank. She looked as if she kept herself in good shape, something he admired and his eyes greatly appreciated. Beyond her looks, she carried herself with confidence and a certain air of a renegade. A smirk graced his face as he poured two glasses of bourbon out. He didn’t care if it was still the morning. He never made a business deal without some form of good liquor.

“I must say, your arrival was very unexpected… Miss Aurora, was it?” he spoke after a moment, watching her from the corner of his eye while she examined some of the rare and exotic artifacts his family had accrued over the generations.

She laughed, a light, musical sound that made his heart stop. “Am I intruding on something, Mister Clydesdale? Don’t you want my custom?”

“Oh no, don’t get me wrong. I always enjoy the company of a lovely mare, and a Thestral at that.” His grin widened, his imperious personality shining through in all shades. “You’ve simply chosen a… ah, an unusual time to seek me out. Bourbon?”

“Ooooohh, it’s been some time since somepony called me a Thestral. That’s usually unicorn slang for us bats. Where did you pick it up?” She smiled at him and graciously took the glass, downing it in one fluid swallow. Dandridge stared in amazement, impressed. The mare was comfortable around strong alcohol.

“I do work in Canterlot. I have met many a unicorn in my life,” he noted with a chuckle. His eyes shimmered with amusement. “This is usually the part where I have my guests frisked. Do I get that pleasure, or are you going to hand over your weapon of your own accord?”

“I’m afraid you don’t get that pleasure today, Mister Clydesdale,” she responded, shifting her dress past her right rear leg to expose a small silver pistol tucked into a garter on her leg. “And I’m afraid I’m also too smart for that. Touch my gun, and I’ll break your leg.”

Dandridge’s wanton grin widened. “Don’t tempt me, my dear… But I do respect your keen sense of self-preservation. Now, what brought you my way?”

“Well, after I heard about the recent turn of events in Manehattan, I lost my main supplier for my business. I realized I didn’t have a lot of time left if I wanted to get in with you,” she explained, making her way back around the various display cases. “In my line of work, I’ve learned that speed and efficiency are the top priority.”

“And the other priorities…?”

Her eyes met his with a devious smirk. “Discretion.”

Dandridge chuckled and cooed, “And what business is that, precisely?”

“My own, and none of yours,” she remarked, her tone simple and professional. It surprised and eased Dandridge. She knew what she was doing. He chuckled again. “You wouldn’t want me asking about your second job, would you, Congresspony?”

His uncertainty deepened the creases in his forehead as he scrutinized her secrecy. “You’re not giving me much reason to trust you.”

“That’s fine. I don’t expect you to.”

Dandridge finished his drink and set the glass down. He slowly made his way across the room after her, mirroring her steps just behind her. “And how did you come to know of my line of work anyhow? I know all of my clients before they show up at my door. I’ve never heard of you before.”

“Oh, believe me, Mister Clydesdale, in my world, you’ve developed something of a reputation beyond the playboy politician Canterlot knows you as,” she laughed, trotting over and tapping her hoof against his chest in a playful manner. “Your organization is a tour de force. Whenever somepony needs something, you’re the name brought up.”

His eyes flashed with pride while a conceited smile replaced his salacious grin, his doubts dispelled for a split second. “Well, I have worked hard to maintain my career. Tell me, where are you from, Miss Aurora, that such a reputation of myself exists?”

“My business operates out of the Shades. Strictly bats, and strictly clandestine operations, if you catch my drift.” Her words purred out of her throat like a cat. She slunk past him, her shoulder brushing against his side. It sent a chill up his spine. “But the Nightwatch has been cracking down on my suppliers and I need a new source of tools. That’s when I heard of you.”

“I see,” Dandridge said with an understanding nod. He glanced down for a moment, then peered up at her through his lashes with a smirk. “So tell me, have I passed your test? Do you trust me enough yet to divulge the truth as to why you’re here, or are we going to be beating around this bush all day?”

She smirked back at him and cast a glance his way from over her shoulder. “That depends. Do you trust me enough to tell me if you can help me?”

“One step at a time, my dear.” He dared to take a few steps closer to her, closing the gap between them. “No more foreplay. What are you here for?”

The mare stared at him so intensely he could swear he felt the electricity between them. His blood ran hot in his veins the closer he stood to her. Her scent of jasmine with vanilla undertones filled his nostrils, intoxicating him with her smell and making every synapse in his brain fire at once. He was still attempting to get over the disbelief that this mare was real and not some pleasant figment of his imagination.

“Guns.” Her answer came so sharp and sudden it caught him off guard. “Pistols, specifically. Low caliber so they’ll be easier to suppress. I’ll need about a dozen. Unlicensed, unregistered, and untraceable. Think you can manage that?”

Dandridge blinked a few times, letting his mind try to absorb her request. He stared at her with wide eyes and a fascinated smirk. “What do you do for a living again?”

She rolled her eyes and huffed beneath her breath. “If you must know, I run a small ring of private contractors that focus on the apprehension of certain individuals for monetary profit.”

“Bounty hunters…” Dandridge lifted his drink to his lips and raised a brow. “Bounty hunting isn’t illegal, my dear.”

“Not all the contracts we accept are, strictly speaking, legal.”

“And I don’t suppose you do your work for the Guard either?”

Her eyes twinkled with devilish flair. “Would any sucker?”

Dandridge nodded his head once. He chuckled, and then he laughed. “I like your manner, Aurora.”

“And I like your jacket,” she replied with a tip of her head to him. Dandridge felt his face go hot as he tugged at the hem of his blazer. “So can you help me out or am I skulking around the wrong cave?”

For a moment, Dandridge was quiet. He mulled the prospect over in his head, pursing his lip while he thought. It also gave him an excuse to just stare and take in the radiant mare’s beauty all the longer. His eyes traced the neckline of her dress down her chest. She didn’t seem to mind. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

“Well?” she asked again.

“Patience, mon cheri. I can help you,” he assured her, leading her back out into the corridor. “I just have to get in contact with a couple of my ponies first. If there is something I could do for you, I’ll know in a day or two. In the meantime, I’d like to invite you to stay with me here, in my manor.”

She looked speechless, utterly taken aback. “No, I couldn’t. That’s far too generous of you, and my friends need me back home—“

“Oh, but I insist! You took the time to make the trip all the way out here from the Hollow Shades. It’s the least I could do!”

“That’s very kind of you, Mister Clydesdale—“

“Call me Dandridge,” he interrupted with a wolfish grin.

“…Dandridge. But I really can’t tonight. My team needs me for a job. I can’t leave them hanging.” She gave him a shy and apologetic smile and gently rested a hoof on his shoulder. “Perhaps next time, when I’m more available to you.”

It took all his self control to keep from just pouncing on the mare then and there. He didn’t like waiting. When he wanted something—truly wanted something—he got it when he demanded. She was forcing him to be patient the same way he was doing to her. It riled him up in a way he vowed to use on her later.

“Very well. I understand you have commitments. Business before pleasure, and all that.” He snickered and gave her a sly wink. “Won’t you at least stay for breakfast and enjoy the company of Equestrian nobility for a little longer?”

She opened her mouth, about to decline right away, and hesitated. It looked like she was greatly considering whatever it was she had been about to say. After a moment of thought, Dandridge watched her shoulders relax and she sighed, smiling sweetly up at him.

“Breakfast sounds great right about now.”

“Excellent! Come, follow me. I wouldn’t want you getting lost and stuck here. That would be a tragedy, haha!”

She gave a soft laugh along with him, hiding the retch in her throat by turning away at the last second. Whatever Fleety and Bright Eyes were going to do to make this up to her, it had better be damn good…

Dandridge’s laugh echoed hollowly through the small room of the bed and breakfast. Bentgrass sat still as a stone at the table, his emerald communicator placed in the center. A holographic screen was projected from the gemstone and was playing out the scene between the two as they headed down a hall, bound for breakfast. Bentgrass made a soft sound of approval and rested his head on his folded hooves, watching the screen like a foal would their favorite movie.

“I must admit,” he said after a moment, “your soldier really knows how to put on a façade. She’s quite the little actress.”

Fleethoof, however, was busy pacing against the far wall as he had been all morning. Anxious didn’t even begin to describe how jittery he was feeling. His eyes stayed focused on the ground in front of his hooves the whole time, only glancing up at the screen from time to time. He listened for the most part, paying close attention to the conversations the two ponies were having. The sooner they incriminated Dandridge, the sooner he could pull her out of there.

“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have sent Midnight in there.”

Bentgrass’ eyes never left the holographic screen. “Why? What happened to that unwavering trust in your team?”

“It’s not a matter of trust. It’s a matter of her safety,” he spat out with anger. “She’s only just finished her training and I’m throwing her to the wolves without any support. If Dandridge is as dangerous as we think he is, her life could be in very real danger right now!”

“And it wouldn’t be if she was, oh, say, fighting drug cartels or foreign legions with you?” Bentgrass peered through the translucent screen at Fleethoof, that ever impassible expression on his visage. “She’s doing fine.”

“I know she is! It’s not that, it’s—“

“Because you’re not there with her,” Bentgrass summed up in one concise swoop. “Because if something happens, you can’t step in and prevent it, or take the blame for it.”

Fleethoof didn’t respond to that. He continued his nervous pacing back and forth, back and forth. Bentgrass heaved a sigh.

“You’re going to wear a rut in that floor if you keep it up.” Fleethoof remained quiet. “Trust her, Fleethoof. You trained her yourself. Have faith in her abilities.”

“I know… I do… But it feels wrong to be the leader of a team sitting on the sidelines while I send my newest member into the fray alone.”

“Being a good leader means knowing when to stand by your teammates and knowing when to let them take the reins on their own,” remarked Bentgrass, finally able to stop the pegasus’s pacing. “Watch, Fleethoof. Watch your little filly earn her place on your team.”

Fleethoof took a deep breath and forced himself to look up at the screen. Midnight Dasher was sitting down to breakfast with Dandridge and the others he had seen in the parlor the night before. He knew every single one of them was trouble. They were the criminals, the thieves, the liars, and the murderers. They were everything that was wrong with the world and everything he despised. He was watching Midnight make idle chitchat with them, mingling with them, earning their trust slowly and methodically.

Please let her training be good enough… he prayed to whatever holy being might be listening. Please, Midnight, be smart…

“Well, it was wonderful to meet you and your friends, Mister Clydesdale,” Midnight said as the two made their way back to the front of the house. She ran her tongue over her lips and teeth, the last traces of the meal providing the perfect opportunity to further rile Dandridge. “I look forward to working with you in the future, provided you like what your ponies find in my background.”

Dandridge watched Midnight’s enticing display and laughed. “Who said I was looking into your background, my Thestral beauty?”

“Please! How new do you think I am at this game?” With an exaggerated eye roll, she flashed him a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, big guy. I’m clean. I’ll just let you figure that out yourself though.”

“Not too clean, I hope. I like my mares a little dirty.” Midnight did her best to keep from retching again. Dandridge just stared at her, a disappointed frown upon his face. “Must you depart so soon? I was hoping that I could perhaps get to know you better in the meantime, what, with us soon-to-be business partners and all…”

Midnight stopped Dandridge with a hoof to his chest as he leaned in closer to her. Despite the urge to gag on the suffocating personality he was exuding, she did her best to give him a flattering smile and bat her eyelashes a few times for good effect. “I’m sorry, but I have to insist, Mister Clydesdale—“

“Dandridge,” he reminded her.

“…Dandridge. My mother always told me to be brief with stallions. Give them a bit of a thrill in the chase, if you catch my drift…”

Dandridge’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “Oh, I believe I do, my dear.”

“Excellent,” she said, diving beneath his advance as he leaned his face in closer to hers. She giggled softly and flicked her silken tail up at his nose. She trotted to the door, her leisurely gait permitting her to add a little sway to her hips while she stepped past the threshold. “I’ll be in touch with you very soon, Danny.”

“I shall await with bated breath. Safe travels, my dear.”

Midnight Dasher winked back at the stallion from over her shoulder before continuing down the road that led away from the Clydesdale Manor. When she was sure she was finally a safe distance away, she dropped to a crouch and gagged, choking on air in sheer disgust. A shiver ran down her spine. Her hairs stood on end and she felt the overwhelming need to take a long bath. Everything about that stallion made her feel physically ill. If it wasn’t for Fleethoof’s promise, she doubted she would have accepted the task in the first place…

She made her way into Thatchholm and back to the bed and breakfast. When she stepped through the door, Fleethoof was waiting there, standing at tense attention until he saw her. He crumbled like a house of cards in an instant.

“Thank Celestia, you’re okay,” he sighed, his shoulders slumping, able to relax again at last.

“Ugh, that pony gives me the creeps…” muttered Midnight, walking over to one of the chairs in the communal lounge and collapsing into it. “There’s something definitely not right with him. I got little red flags going up in my head the whole time I was there. I mean, it was so easy, but he’s just so… so… ugh!”

“‘Ugh’ is an understatement,” Fleethoof remarked with a chuckle.

The sound of hoofsteps on the stairs was soon followed by the appearance of Bentgrass, carrying a folder in his mouth. He set it down on a table and nodded his head in Midnight’s direction. “I wouldn’t take ease as a good sign. He’s sizing you up, Miss Dasher. Now we wait to see if he’ll catch on or not.” He took a seat opposite Fleethoof. “Excellent work in there, by the way. The crystal functioned as a one-way camera flawlessly. You’ll be our eyes and ears inside the Clydesdale Manor. And now that Dandridge has caught your scent, I don’t expect it will be long before he makes his move to lure you back.”

“Speaking of that, you did make sure her cover was planted, right?” asked Fleethoof.

“Of course, Captain. Another agent handled it last night. When his mole inside the Canterlot Archives goes to look up Aurora, he’ll find a wayward pony who’s had a few run-ins with the law. Nothing majorly marring or threatening. A couple breaking and entering charges, trespassing, all the occupational hazards of a contract killer. I threw in a charge of public display of lewdness as well for taste.”

“That’ll drive him wild.” Midnight groaned at Fleethoof’s remark. “It works in your benefit, Mid. Do you think you can come up with a believable lie to explain that one? He’s probably gonna bring it up to you.”

“Knowing him? Yeah, he will,” she agreed and nodded assent. “I think I can cook up a story to go along with that. It’ll be cake.”

“I must say, you are exceptionally skilled at this, Miss Dasher,” Bentgrass observed casually, casting her a sideways glance. “Have you had experience doing this before?”

“Are you talking about the lying, the flirting, or the doing whatever to get what I want? The answer is yes.”

Bentgrass snickered under his breath. “Remind me to never trust anypony from the Shades.”

“So now what do we do?” Fleethoof’s voice had an anxious edge to it. “Is there anything more we can do from here, or is it all just waiting?”

“Patience is crucial, my friend,” said Bentgrass, setting a bunch of papers detailing their plan down in front of Midnight. “We’ve chummed the waters. Now we wait for the shark to take the bait.”

Chapter 11: Honesty and Deception

Midnight Dasher paced back and forth along the far wall of the parlor, listening to the old cuckoo clock ticking away from its perch on the wall. The fire roaring in the hearth cast the sitting room in luminous warmth and the heady scent of burning wood. Fleethoof took a deep breath, inhaling the smell while staring down the flickering flames. Across the room, Bentgrass sat in an armchair, sipping at a glass of some liquor much too weak for his liking. His eyes were focused intensely on the carpet beneath his hooves. Fleethoof could see the cogwheels in the stallion’s brain churning behind his gaze.

The clock ticked on. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Midnight stopped at the bay window. Her golden eyes stared out into the pale blue night, her nocturnal vision easily spying everything in the darkness and pallid moonlight. The rain outside had stopped, but the chill still clung to the air, making her hair stand on end. Her breath fogged up the glass with each exhale before vanishing into thin droplets of condensation.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

“Is this really all we can do?” she asked after a while.

“We have to wait for Dandridge to finish his check on your alias,” Bentgrass explained without looking up at her, pausing to sip at his drink. “It’s been two days now. He’ll have done his homework by now, so we’ll put you back into the lion’s den tomorrow.”

“Can we please not call it that?” grumbled Fleethoof and covered his face with his hooves.

Midnight rolled her eyes and resumed her pacing. “I don’t wanna wait anymore. I wanna get this guy! I wanna do something!”

Bentgrass uttered a low chuckle beneath his breath and set his drink down. “I admire your spirit, Miss Dasher.” He leaned up in his seat, tapping his hooves together on his lap. “But we must be patient. This pony is crafty. We can’t afford even the slightest mistake this time.”

Midnight groaned and collapsed across the couch next to where Fleethoof was sitting. She rolled over onto her belly and crawled over across the armrest, her body slinking like a feline closer to the pegasus till she was leaning across it, eyeing him like a cat ready to pounce. Fleethoof stared at the dancing shadows on the ground until he felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. He could feel that unconscious sensation of somepony’s eyes on him. It took him a moment before he turned to Midnight, hesitating to make eye contact. His brow narrowed and forehead creased.

“…What?”

Midnight shrugged her shoulders. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking by watching me…?”

“I’m trying to figure out why you haven’t just shot the bastard yet.”

Fleethoof gave Bentgrass a smirk and a tip of his head. “That is a very good question.”

“Your personalities match beautifully.” Bentgrass chuckled to himself.

“So what about you, Mister Secret Agent?” Midnight asked, flopping over to dangle her front half off the couch in a lazy fashion and turn the focus of her interest on him. “What’s your story? How’d you get an eye like mine? Are you part bat? A weird science experiment gone wrong?”

“Midnight—“

“It’s okay, Fleethoof. Sooner or later, it always comes back to the eye,” interjected the special agent as he leaned forward on the edge of his seat. “One of my earlier cases when I joined the RIS was observing and reporting on purported hotbeds of illicit activity. I would go undercover and watch the behavior of the locals to assess if any threats from the areas were substantiated. One such place was the Hollow Shades.”

A look crossed between shock and flattery crossed Midnight’s face. “You were spying on us?”

“I prefer the term ‘studying’, but yes. I was spying on the Lunar Guard under the new commander’s lead. We had to ensure that no further incidents like the Solar-Lunar Civil War would ever occur.”

“Oh gee, thanks for the trust… But how could you spy on us without getting caught? You’re an Earth pony,” Midnight pressed on.

“Very observant, Miss Dasher. Back when the task fell to me, they were investigating ways to enhance the cover of covert agents in dangerous territory. They had an experimental process that transformed the physical anatomy of ponies to that of other creatures, including Thestrals. I volunteered for it.”

Midnight just stared wide-eyed at Bentgrass from across the room. She had fallen silent, her mouth opened in a silent ‘O’ as she listened with genuine intrigue and fascination. “So what happened to your eye?”

Bentgrass licked his dry lips and downed the rest of his alcohol in one swallow. “When my time in the Shades was up, there was a… complication removing the enchantment on my body.”

“And your eye stayed that way.”

“Precisely.”

“Wow…” Midnight murmured.

“What about you, Miss Dasher?” Bentgrass inquired, a curious inflection to his tone. He tipped his head to the side and locked gazes with her. “Why the Lunar Guard?”

Midnight averted his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact as she gave a simple shrug. “Lack of enthusiasm to do anything else with my life, I guess.”

Bentgrass snickered and cocked a crooked smirk. “Sounds like the anthem of the military brat.”

“No. Growing up without a parent will do that to you.”

Fleethoof’s head lifted a fraction of an inch at the revelation. His ear flicked in Midnight’s direction, but he gave no reaction beyond that.

“Ah. I’m sorry,” Bentgrass said, his flat tone almost sounding insincere.

“Not your fault.” Midnight sighed, crossing her hooves over her belly in her upside-down state.

“Who?”

“My dad… He walked out on our family when I was a baby. It’s all right, I suppose. I never really knew him, so I can’t regret what I never had, right?”

“That is a very bleak, albeit logical way of looking at it,” Bentgrass murmured.

“Plus growing up in the Shades as a mare means one of two things: you either join the Guard or work the streets,” explained Midnight with solemn severity. Her expression was completely invasive, her emotion blank and unmoved. She had long-since taught herself to feel nothing when it came to her home. “Bat pony society is very patriarchal. Mares aren’t exactly lower class citizens, but stallions are held in higher regard. The stallions join the military, run the businesses, and so on, and so on. Mares are supposed to be good for breeding and being homemakers and that’s it. Beyond that, everything else is sort of supposed to be a hobby to us.”

Bentgrass brought his hooves up beneath his chin, lost deep in pensive thought. “Fascinating… I have heard rumors that many bat ponies are infertile. This is true?”

Midnight smirked, but her eyes seemed to shrink away a little. “I’m surprised you didn’t find this out on your own when you were spying on us.”

“Learning the reproductive processes of Thestrals wasn’t in my mission statement.”

“Fair enough, I guess,” Midnight answered with a pop of her lips. “Eeyup, it’s true.”

“How did that come to pass?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure. Something to do with the way we evolved or something like that. I never cared to learn the how or why of it.” Her eyes stayed on the floor above her head now, following the fabric of the carpet with indifferent callousness. But despite how cold she tried to appear, Fleethoof could see the worry behind her eyes. “It’s sad but true. One out of every three bat fillies can’t have foals. It’s a heartbreaking fact to deal with, knowing that you’ll never one day hold your own flesh and blood in your hooves… It feels like somepony has physically reached into your soul and taken a part of you away before you could even get to know it…”

“Sounds like you know the feeling all too well…” Fleethoof spoke softly under his breath. Midnight didn’t respond right away. The quiet struck Fleethoof. It was very uncharacteristic of the extroversive bat. “Sometimes I forget you’re a regular filly as well as a half-decent soldier, Midnight.”

“That’s okay. Sometimes I forget you’re a normal stallion too as well as an okay leader, Fleety.”

“Fleethoof. My name is Fleethoof.”

Midnight snickered. “That never gets old. But for real, do you ever do normal pony stuff? Do you go grocery shopping and pay bills and flirt with mares? Do you even like mares? Have you ever been out on a date?”

“That,” Fleethoof cast a hard gaze at Midnight, the irked glint in his eyes making her titter again, “is none of your business, Middy.”

“Hey, wait! You can’t call me Middy if I can’t call you Fleety!”

“I outrank you. I can call you whatever I like.”

“No fair!”

“The fair’s not in town today. Just me.”

“You two make a cute couple,” Bentgrass remarked while filling his glass from a bottle of light amber liquid again. “I’ve never seen anypony tweak the captain quite like this before.”

Fleethoof rolled his eyes. He caught a glimpse of a smug Midnight blowing him a raspberry from her lopsided position on the couch. If professionalism had a picture next to the definition, it certainly wasn’t of Midnight.

“This undercover stuff counts as my final test, right, Fleety?” Midnight asked after a couple minutes had passed.

Fleethoof grumbled but gave a gruff, “Yes.”

Midnight nodded, pleased. “Good! Totally worth dealing with that scumbag then.”

“Midnight, if that scumbag tries anything, don’t hesitate to take him down.” Fleethoof’s expression was deathly serious.

“But let’s wait until we have enough to charge him first,” Bentgrass interrupted swiftly.

“I won’t risk the life of somepony else for a conviction, Agrostis.”

“And I promise you that she won’t be in any danger so long as we keep an eye on her. Once we get confirmation of Dandridge’s record book, I’ll bring my agents in, pull Midnight out, and make the arrest. It’s a textbook walk in the park for us in law enforcement.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Fleety. I’ll be all right,” Midnight said to try and reassure her commanding officer. The sour grimace on Fleethoof’s face looked like he had just bitten his tongue. She sat up then, leaning across the arm of the couch to rest a foreleg across his. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. Trust me.”

Fleethoof glanced down at the mare’s hoof over his and made the mistake of looking up. She was giving him the best puppy-dog face he had ever seen, even better than Cadance’s. Her honey-gold eyes were just the right size of big to melt his hardened heart. She even added the batting eyelashes and a slight quiver to her lip to sell the point. He bought it.

“I know you can,” he muttered with a heavy sigh. “Celestia dammit all…”

Fleethoof kicked himself away from the chair then, his hooves stomping on the floor as he marched out of the parlor. He couldn’t stand the waiting. Waiting felt wrong. Waiting felt useless. By turn, he felt useless. Minutes seemed to dredge by like sand running slowly through an hourglass, each grain pulling another short sliver of time away. The sun couldn’t rise fast enough for his liking.

“Hey.” Fleethoof turned around as Midnight called to him. She was standing in the doorway of the parlor, looking at him through worried eyes. “You okay?”

Fleethoof decided not to lie this time. “I’ll be fine when this is all over.”

“Is it that bad?”

“If Dandridge is guilty of the crimes we’re accusing him of, then he’s already got a half dozen bodies to his name at the least. I don’t want to think of how many more have died in his little web that we can’t account for.”

Fleethoof huffed and stomped his hooves to release the pent up agitation. Midnight took a couple steps closer, dipping her head to gaze into his eyes, even as he tried to look away. “…You’re still worrying about me.” It wasn’t a question, and she wasn’t wrong. “Why? I can handle myself.”

“It’s nothing—“

“Don’t lie to me. You haven’t been the same since I joined the team. I see it in your face every day. Why? Why are you so upset that I’m getting involved?”

“Let it go, Midnight.”

“Did you not want me on your team?”

“Midnight—“

“Tell me!”

“Because this is all my fault!”

He finally met her gaze, and for the first time since she had met him years ago, Midnight saw heartfelt vulnerability in the captain’s blue eyes. Not just the sympathy or understanding he passed when talking about his life, or passing life values to her and Echo. It was a complete bearing of his fear. The defensive façade was gone. It took her aback, paralyzing her in place. He sucked in a couple deep breaths in an attempt to calm his frantic mind before daring to speak.

“I’ve seen so much darkness in this world, Midnight—more than you can possibly understand. I’ve seen war and unspeakable horrors. I know there are monsters lurking in the shadows and I know there is danger everywhere in this life. But it always seems to come back to ponies I care about. I’ve lost friends, loved ones… ponies that matter to me. I was reluctant to bring you into this world because I knew what that meant exposing you to. But I had no choice. After what happened in the Everfree, I knew that this darkness had ruined your life. But if I couldn’t prevent it from taking away what meant the most to you, I was at least going to keep you under my wing and look after you. But now… now I’m putting you in the hooves of a deranged psychopath and walking away like I’m just dropping a foal off at daycare. I know very well what could happen at a moment’s notice, but I still do it.”

Midnight had been unprepared for his confession. Each word was profound and fervent. She could see the effort it took on the cool, level headed pony to admit. He cared, even if he put on a brave face and acted calm, cool, and collected every second of the day. Every pony mattered to him. The thought of losing one of his own was something the captain feared more than anything.

“Tell me why I do it…” he growled through clenched teeth, more upset at himself than anything. His teeth ground hard together until it hurt, the dry enamel clicking in the quiet darkness. “Tell me why.”

Midnight swallowed back the frog in her throat and closed the distance between them. She maneuvered her head beneath his, pressing against his chest and nuzzling him with such tender care. The contact must have been unexpected, as she felt Fleethoof’s muscles tense up all of a sudden. She looked up at him with that same wide-eyed look and halfcocked smile.

“Because you make us the best we can be, and deep down you know we’re good enough to stand up against the bad guys with you.”

Fleethoof stared down at her, his mind trying to wrap itself around her response. She giggled at his adorable look of bewilderment and nuzzled his chest again.

“I’m gonna go get some sleep. Big day tomorrow and all. See you in the morning, Fleety.” Midnight turned for the stairs, making it about halfway up before casting a wry grin backwards at him. “And if it’s any consolation, you’re the best leader I’ve had.”

For the longest time after she had left him, Fleethoof stood at the bottom of the stairs. He stared up at the empty space she had occupied just moments before while her words rang in his ears like bells. A thick lump had formed in the base of his throat, making it difficult to swallow. The stuffy air in the room felt that much more constricting around him. It felt like the air itself was trying to smother him. He saw Bentgrass emerge in the doorway, but didn’t register his presence until the agent cleared his throat.

“She’s right. You train some of the finest warriors in Equestria, Fleethoof. And like a good leader, you concern yourself with their well-being,” he said once he had his friend’s attention. “Trust her. Let her show you how effective your guidance is outside of the obstacle courses and battlefields.”

Fleethoof nodded his head once. He was right. But there was also nothing he could do to stop Midnight from going back to that house tomorrow. They had no other option, and all he had was a sinking feeling.

“I do trust her,” he muttered. “It’s that prick on the hill I don’t trust…”

Dandridge hurried down the long hallways of his family home, his hoofsteps echoing around the otherwise silent corridors with heavy thuds. His housekeeper had come barging into his bedchambers before he had even woken, rambling about an incident that required his immediate attention. The stallion grumbled, still shaking free from the grip of groggy sleep. He was dragging his rear leg, still tingly and numb, and his mouth had the dry taste of sleep in it. He made a mental note to reprimand her for disturbing his slumber. And he had been having such good dreams about a certain filly…

Rushing to the front doors, Dandridge grasped the cold metal of the handles and flung the doors open wide. The cool air of the dewy morning hit him in the face like a slap and the gray light of the sun filtering through low clouds stung his eyes. But what instantly made the morning all the better was the mare from his dreams standing there on his porch, seeming to sparkle in the misty air.

“I told you to leave me alone!” she shouted backwards at somepony.

“Miss, please, if I could just have a word with you—” It was that white pony, the RIS agent, Bentgrass. He was standing just past the base of his porch, imploring to her.

“For the last time, I said piss off before I break your leg, creep!”

“Excuse me,” Dandridge stepped in, walking past her to place himself between her and the agent. “What do you think you’re doing, Special Agent? Harassing my guests again?”

Bentgrass leered at the stallion and braced his stance on the damp earth. “I was interviewing a potential lead, Mister Clydesdale. I would appreciate it if you stopped shoving your muzzle into police business and impeding an investigation.”

“And I would appreciate it if you stayed away from my friends,” he snapped with a harsh bite in his voice. His eyes narrowed to glower across the space at Bentgrass. “I told you to stay off my property. Now remove yourself before I contact the RIS and have your badge mounted above my fireplace.”

Bentgrass snorted and turned tail, beginning to trudge back toward town, giving him a look of ‘this isn’t over’. Dandridge watched him storm off down the path until he was out of sight behind the hills. He snorted to release his mounting frustration in a cloud of humid breath and turned to Midnight. Her scent of jasmine and vanilla greeted him along with her inviting smile.

“Please disregard that. I’ve been meaning to deal with him…” he grumbled as he ushered her into his manor.

Midnight followed him in and down the halls. “A friend of yours?”

Dandridge gave a deep guffaw. “A pest is more his type. Bloody RIS cockroaches…”

“RIS agents hounding ponies at your door… Should I be concerned?” Midnight raised a brow and smirked at him. “That can’t be good for your image.”

“No, it isn’t. And no, you needn’t worry. He’s a minor inconvenience at the worst—nothing more.” The two ponies rounded a corner, Dandridge leading her back to his office. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Aurora. How was your midnight escapade the other night?”

“Productive,” she replied with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Our money was well earned.”

“That is good. I like to hear good news, especially in times such as these.”

The two ponies trotted through the open doorway into his waiting office. Dandridge glided with practiced grace across the floor to sit at his desk. Midnight took to her usual habit of wandering around the edges of the room, looking over every random item and messing around with them, unable to keep her hooves to herself. Dandridge pulled a folder out of the locked drawer in his desk and opened it with a flick of a hoof across his desk.

“I must say, your background was quite an enjoyable read, my dear,” Dandridge cooed while flipping through her background report again.

Midnight giggled and gave him her best bedroom eyes, topped off with a convincing bat of her long eyelashes. “Like what you see, Danny?”

“Oh, you’d best believe it…” he murmured in a hushed whisper. Taking a moment to skim over her rap sheet again, he continued. “It seems like you’ve had your fair share of run-ins with the authorities yourself. Breaking and entering, stalking, trespassing… You’re quite the naughty little filly, aren’t you?”

“Occupational hazards,” she replied with a rehearsed tone. She sniffed indignantly at the allegations. “The Guard just doesn’t understand how legitimate my business is.”

Dandridge chuckled. “I can sympathize… And the public display of lewdness was an occupational hazard as well, hmm?”

“Oh no, that one was strictly my pleasure,” Midnight purred and began to slink her way over to Dandridge’s desk. She grinned, flashing every perfect white tooth in her mouth at him. She could see the way he eyed her fangs. He wasn’t the first stallion to do that. By now, she had manipulating her prey down to an art. A few double entendres, a seductive smile coupled with a shy look, and they were putty in her hooves.

“Lucky stallion,” he mused with a lecherous smirk.

Midnight’s grin widened and she leaned her svelte body across his desk, inclining her head in towards him. “Who said it was a stallion?”

Dandridge could feel his breath catch in his windpipe while alluring visions played in the theater of his mind. The voluptuous mare was so close to him now, just asking for it. It took all of his self control to remain in his seat and not pounce on her like a tiger. He had a persona to maintain. Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy their little game of cat and mouse. But still, she was fast becoming impossible to resist! Her natural flowery scent, those alluring gold eyes that beckoned him in, her curvaceous body… His eyes had wandered down to her collar before he was able to catch himself.

“Should I be apprehensive about how many times you and the law have crossed paths…?”

Midnight shrugged her shoulders coolly. “Not unless you wanna be. You’re a smart pony, Danny. If you really thought I was a rat, nothing I could say would change your mind.”

“You are something else, mon cheri…” Dandridge laughed again and reclined in his chair with a subdued squeak, the soft leather straining against the pressure. He folded his hooves across his chest and locked gazes with her. “Then I do believe we are in business, Aurora.”

Midnight’s smile was so wide it hurt her cheeks. Relying on past lessons of lying and acting, she drew on the one rule she lived by: treat every lie as if it were life and death. “Great! So how are we gonna do this, Danny?”

“With professionalism and mutuality, my dear,” said Dandridge. His lustful eyes lifted to her face for a second and her supple flank for a while. “You wanted several low caliber firearms, correct?”

“Twelve .22s with threaded barrels and suppressors, factory condition, all serial numbers removed and off the records,” Midnight recited from memory, bobbing her head from side-to-side with each syllable. “Think that’ll be possible, handsome?”

Dandridge laughed. “It’d be more difficult getting rid of that bothersome mule on my front lawn. A dozen small weapons is a cakewalk.”

“Great. And you know, I could take care of that little problem on your hooves… for the right price, of course.”

“I think I can handle him on my own. No need to implicate yourself in something so messy.”

“Oh, Danny baby, messy is how I like to live.”

Dandridge smiled and leaned down to unlock the bottom drawer in his desk. He withdrew the ledger from within, tossing it on his desk with a loud thud. Midnight eyed the book with curiosity while he flipped through page after page of detailed accounts and previous transactions until he found where he had left off.

“Twelve custom firearms will be ten thousand bits each, plus an extra grand for each silencer.” Dandridge looked up with a smirk at Midnight’s shocked and soured expression. “Sorry, my dear. These have to be specially made and shipped all the way from overseas. They will come with a hefty fee.”

Midnight tossed her mane back with a shake of her head. “It’s cool. Do whatever you have to do and I’ll have the money.”

He nodded, and then grabbed a quill between his teeth and took down the order. He tallied up the quantity, the price… Once he had finished, he set the quill down and pushed the book and pen towards her. “Sign here, mon cheri. It’s simply accepting the arrangement we’ve discussed in a more physical form. A terms and conditions, if you will.”

Midnight couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she took the quill between her teeth. With a quick scribble, she scrawled her signature down beside the transaction, finalizing their deal. Satisfied, Dandridge closed the book and secured it away from the world once more.

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Aurora,” said Dandridge, all smiles and charm. He stood up and shook Midnight’s hoof vigorously. “It will take me some time to acquire what you need, and I must be off to Canterlot this evening to meet with my fellow congressponies and a few other clients as well. I anticipate a week, two tops. Have the money for me by the time I get your product in.”

“Not a problem, Danny boy.”

Dandridge paused, mulling an idea over in his head. “Why don’t you accompany me tonight, my darling mare? I would love having somepony with such color and character on my hoof. I could introduce you to the finest things life has to offer. What say you?”

“Thank you, but I’m not one for the hoity-toity life of a politician,” Midnight confessed with a look of disdain. “There’s never enough room for me and their egos.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Aurora. Truly, you are… Then how can I go about reaching you, my ravishing associate?”

“Send somepony to the Shades. Go to the club The Forbidden Fruit, ask for Moon Drop. She’ll get in touch with me.”

Dandridge pursed his lips together, seeming to think over her instructions, or to memorize them. “Not one for direct contact, are you, my dear?”

“I’ve learned the only sure-fire safety measure in life is to cover your own flank,” Midnight said with a laugh, batting her eyelashes at him again. “Not that I don’t trust you, Danny. I’ve just had a gun pressed to my backside a few too many times.”

“Amongst other things, I’m sure,” Dandridge rasped beneath his breath, then continued, “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again, my dear.”

“Likewise, Danny.” Midnight sauntered up next to the stallion, watching the vein in his neck pulse as his heart rate accelerated. She stopped only once they were a hair away, lifted her muzzle to his neck, and left him with a delicate kiss to his tender throat. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s an art collector in Baltimare I need to talk turkey with.”

Dandridge shuddered and watched as Midnight winked and walked back out the door, taking the opportunity to watch her supple hips sway with each gliding step. He loathed and loved when she walked away from him. But before she could leave him, she had to pass the test. The same test he put every one of his clients through. He had to know if he could trust her.

“Why do you do what you do, Aurora?” he called out to her from across his office. His words stopped her, froze her in place like a sudden blast of arctic air. She lingered by the door, her hoof already pulling it open to take her leave. He saw her tail swish and flick in the air—a sign of anxiousness. She let her hoof fall from the door and turned to face him.

“If I said to make a quick bit, would you believe me?” Her question was rhetorical, but he shook his head all the same. She giggled at that. “I didn’t think so. I’ll keep it vanilla then. I was a lost child. Never good at anything, but I was headstrong with an unwavering drive to make something of myself.” Midnight shrugged and gestured to all of herself. “Here I am. I dunno, maybe I wasn’t hugged enough as a foal or something.”

Dandridge pondered her response for a moment. “I find it difficult to believe that you chose a life of crime for the infamy. That sounds more foolhardy than headstrong.”

“I’m a rough and tumble kinda filly. My options were either criminal or cop. You’ve seen my record, so you know there was no way in Tartarus or Elysium I was gonna be in the Guard.”

Another laugh came from the stallion. “Daddy never taught you to play nice with others, hmm?”

“Daddy was gone before I could walk.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

Dandridge nodded his head in slow dips. He had gotten his answers and was satisfied for the time.

“What about you?” Midnight abruptly asked, taking a few strides back towards him. “Why does the rich politician run a secret crime ring as a side business? For the money? For the thrill? Do you just get off on breaking laws in between voting on them?”

A sound crossed between a laugh and an amused hum left Dandridge. The stallion averted his gaze down to the floor and held it there for a long time. His sudden introversion took Midnight by surprise.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was a matter of principles?”

“You have principles?”

Dandridge smirked in silent amusement. “I half expected something like that. Everypony has principles, my dear.”

“I don’t,” said Midnight, shaking her head with absolute certainty.

“Oh do you not? Tell me, do you ever take hits out on mares or the invalid?”

“If the pay is good enough, sure.”

“How about foals? What of collateral damage? Would you kill an innocent to complete a job?”

Midnight’s face soured into a revolted grimace. “Never!”

“Then you have principles.” Set in his diagnosis, Dandridge leaned back in his chair and stared up at the chandelier overhead with glazed and distant eyes. “My principle is a simple one: get back at any pony that has wronged you.”

“Who’s wronged you?” asked Midnight.

“The entire government of Equestria, for starters. Did you know my family is the only Earth pony family to have a seat in congress in the last century? Oh, it was humiliating. We were always the pity party, the outcasts. My father spent his entire life currying favor with those muckrakers only to die a miserable death and leave the once-proud name of my family tarnished.” Dandridge paused long enough to scoff, scorn heavy in his rich voice. Midnight watched his eyes narrow to a vicious glower. “The entire political scene is one big joke, my dear. The alicorns have all the real power, and even they have become feeble over time. Congress is merely for show, and the courts obey their masters like whipped dogs. Equestria is a weak nation. We’re all under the impression we live in this glorious system where we have a say as a birthright, when in actuality, our social status determines what rights we have. So I decided to break that mold and make my own way, separate from the flank kissing my father did, and his father did before him.”

“So you went into organized crime because…?” Midnight prompted.

“I went into organized crime because criminals are some of the most honest individuals you will ever meet. How many ponies do you know will judge you solely by your ability to get a job done? No questions asked, no prejudices assumed or stereotypes attached? Plus it allows me to become a part of a great revolution and take cracks at the crumbling foundation of Equestria’s house of cards.”

To say Midnight was thoroughly confused would have been a gross understatement. “Wait… You want to destroy Equestria’s government?” Dandridge nodded his head. “Why? Aren’t you a part of them?”

“Only in so much as I use my power to better the lives of my Manehattan and out of country friends, yes,” Dandridge said, sitting upright again. “But pretty soon, it won’t matter. The old Equestria doesn’t have much sand left in its hourglass if everything goes according to plan. But don’t you worry, my dear. There will be no impact on you or any normal pony. Just the faux bureaucrats that pretend they still matter up in Canterlot. It will be a good change for the nation. And my family’s name will finally carry some weight again.”

“If you say so, Danny,” Midnight replied with an indifferent shrug. Politics had always bored her to tears.

Dandridge slid up to his hooves with a glide, moving like a figure skater across a frozen lake as he made his way around the front of the desk towards her. Midnight eyed him the entire way, keeping her guard up the closer he came. He looked her over with those conniving eyes. He reminded Midnight of a Timberwolf stalking its prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. His hoof came up, catching her chin with lightning-fast reflexes. She gasped beneath her breath, turning her dilated pupils to stare straight back into those cold eyes.

A smile touched Dandridge’s lips, but where a settling calmness should have been, Midnight only saw hunger and anger in that grin. “Such a beautiful creature, you are… You are far too graceful for this world, my dear.”

Midnight couldn’t think of anything else to say other than a murmured, “Thank you.”

She went to move away, but felt Dandridge’s hoof hold her firmly in place. He jerked her head to the side until she was staring back at him again. That smile had vanished, transformed into a scowl of suspicion.

“You know, I’ve let you into my world without so much as a trace of doubt,” he spoke in a dark husk. “Tell me why I should trust you as much as I am and why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

Midnight swallowed back the clump of fear knotting in her windpipe. Though the inner worry clawed at her insides, her eyes reflected nothing but calmness. She acted on pure instinct alone, going right for the kill shot. Midnight pushed Dandridge’s hoof away from her and caught his face with her own, pulling him in close until her lips pressed flush to his in a heated kiss. Though the gesture had no effect on her, she felt Dandridge tense beneath her mouth, too shocked to reciprocate her enthusiasm until she had pulled away a moment later. A fiery gleam burned behind her eyes, a wry smirk on her muzzle.

“That’s not my call. You don’t need me to tell you a reason. I’ll keep giving you as many as you need,” she purred, slinking away while rubbing the side of her lithe body against his. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Danny.”

Not waiting for the macabre mastermind to snap out of his stupor, Midnight hurried out of Dandridge’s office and cantered with memorized steps down the winding halls. As she neared the foyer, she spat in disgust in a vain attempt to rid her mouth of the taste of lowlife. The worst part was that she had sprung to the idea of her own volition, right in front of her own commanding officer.

“Sorry you had to see that, boys…” she whispered into her necklace. Bursting out into the damp air of Thatchholm again, Midnight set a course back to the bed and breakfast. The trap was set. It was time to prepare their next move.

Bentgrass couldn’t fight the swell of accomplishment when he tapped the emerald on the table, turning off the recording and the live feed. It was over. Dandridge had made his bed.

“We’ve got the bastard.”

“About damn time too,” Fleethoof said, his voice husky as he spoke. He wasn’t watching the recording anymore. He hadn’t been focused on it for some time, not since Dandridge had revealed his motives to Midnight. It was wrong. Something felt very wrong.

Bentgrass didn’t hide the faint smile that turned his lips. “Now we put the final nail in his proverbial coffin. There’s no way he could worm his way out of this.”

“Maybe not so proverbial if we can get him for murder…”

“We still haven’t found Agents Glimmer and Eye yet, and murder charges need bodies,” Bentgrass reminded him, a sour note in his tone. He flinched as if he had just tasted something foul. “They may still be alive.”

Fleethoof didn’t respond to that. He was staring down into space, his mind far away. Not a single muscle in his body so much as twitched. Dandridge’s words just kept playing in his head over and over again. Conspiracies against the crown… A destruction and rebirth of Equestria… The last time he had heard all of that, it all linked back to…

“Are you okay, Captain?” Fleethoof was subconsciously aware of Bentgrass’ hoof on his shoulder. Still, he did not move. “We’ve got him! I expected some celebration from you, of all ponies. By this time tomorrow, Dandridge will be pacing his cell like a wild animal, awaiting his trial.”

“Agrostis, I don’t think—”

The door slammed shut all of a sudden as Midnight walked in, tossing her mane behind her ear with a flick of her head. “Oh, would you two just fuck and get it out of your systems already? Jeez, I could choke on the sexual tension in here.”

“Captain, kindly control your soldier,” Bentgrass murmured in between jotting down notes. “I need to make a call to headquarters befor the arrest.”

Smiling from ear to ear, Midnight bounced up beside Fleethoof like a giddy foal, her leathery wings flapping behind her. “Yay, I’m helping! Now, if you boys will excuse me, I need to go see if the bathroom has any mouthwash I can drown myself in. You know, he might taste like a cheap cigar, but he’s actually not that bad a kisser.”

“Thank you for that pleasant image, Miss Dasher,” Bentgrass quipped with a deadpan roll of his eyes. “While you’re busy washing away the past thirty minutes, I’ll get started on the warrant. We’ll have Clydesdale within the hour.”

“Agrostis, wait…”

Bentgrass looked up at Fleethoof with a start, confusion coloring his narrowed eyes. “Wait? What do you mean ‘wait’?”

“I think we should hold off on arresting Dandridge,” Fleethoof said.

The look on Bentgrass’ face shifted from bewilderment to shocked disbelief. “Fleethoof, I can have Clydesdale sitting in a prison cell by the end of the day! Why in the wide world of Equestria would you want to put that off?!”

“Bent, you heard what he said to Midnight. There’s something bigger than just being a bookkeeper for the Mob. We need to wait so Midnight can press him for more intel.”

“Captain, what you’re saying is insane!” Bentgrass remarked with a curt laugh. “The next time Miss Dasher will be in that house is next week. You want to give Clydesdale even more breathing room? Need I remind you that we still have two missing agents that may be inside that house?”

Fleethoof’s eyes darkened, but he refused to budge. “I know that—”

“Oh, you do know! Good, because I was beginning to think you’d lost sight of what we’ve been doing out here.” Bentgrass closed the distance between himself and Fleethoof, standing a foot apart. “Dandridge has offered his flank to us on a silver platter and you want to let him go while my agents remain in peril?!”

“I’m not saying we let him go. But there is something else there that we need to know, and once he’s in custody, he isn’t going to be saying anything. Please, Agrostis. We need to be smart about this.”

“Being smart is exactly what I’m doing,” Bentgrass interjected abruptly, stomping back towards the door. “I will not sit by while that monster sits in his lap of luxury and does Celestia knows what to them. I’m sorry, Captain, but I am in charge of this investigation. We’re arresting Clydesdale.”

“No, you’re not.”

Fleethoof’s sharp refutal stopped Bentgrass dead in his tracks halfway to the door. The agent’s hackles raised with agitation the likes Fleethoof had never seen run through the stalwart pony before. But where he expected some sharp retort, Bentgrass was dead silent.

He continued, “If Dandridge’s threat is real, then Equestria is in very real danger. That makes it my jurisdiction, and my decision.”

“Jurisdiction?!” Bentgrass shouted and stormed back across the floor, stopping once he was close enough to Fleethoof to feel his breath on his face. “We have everything we need to stop him! My agents are dying and you want me to wait based on the ravings of a mentally deficient psychopath?!”

“This is beyond your understanding, Special Agent,” snapped Fleethoof. He stood his ground before the pallid pony looming over him, his blue eyes steeled and focused. “You don’t know the kind of danger this conspiracy could mean. If this is what I think it is, this could lead to a plot centuries in the making.”

“And if you’re wrong, Agents Glimmer and Eye will have suffered for nothing because you held off on a hunch!”

“You don’t even know if they’re still alive! For all you know, your agents are gone!”

Bentgrass snorted and set his jaw tight, tearing his glare from Fleethoof with an abrupt snap of his head. “Don’t you ever say that again…”

“This is the last time I’m saying this. Back down, Special Agent. I don’t want to pull rank, but if I have to have you benched, I will.”

Fleethoof’s threat struck a nerve within the agent. “You wouldn’t dare…”

“Try me,” the captain growled under his husky breath.

“Don’t make the mistake thinking you can impede my investigation that, as far as the bureaucrats are concerned, you aren’t even a part of! Perhaps I should make a call to Her Majesty, Princess Celestia and let her know that you’ve been gallivanting around like a vigilante and have you desked.” A cold rage passed across Bentgrass’ face for a fleeting moment. “Or maybe such a threat would hold more weight in the mind of Her Majesty, Princess Cadance…”

Fleethoof could feel the blood drain from his face. He had kept every trace of any darkness since the Everfree Incident under wraps to protect her from it. He could only imagine the verbal lashing and looks of disappointment he would receive from her if she ever found out. He blinked, stunned momentarily by the ferocity of the threat.

“What—?”

“Eyes forward, soldier. Focus on your mission.”

A series of staccato hoofsteps on the floor by the door brought both stallions out of their private feud. From the doorway, Midnight groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Sheesh, I leave you two alone for five minutes and you’re already moving to making out? I didn’t literally mean for you two to screw, but hey, whatever makes you happy,” she teased. “For Luna’s sakes, you two are acting like foals. I could hear you shouting from all the way downstairs.”

Bentgrass dipped his head, breaking eye contact with Fleethoof, but didn’t move a muscle otherwise. Fleethoof felt the warmth of his dying frustration flush across his cheeks.

“Midnight, listen—”

“No, now it’s your turn to listen, Fleet. You too, Special Agent Creepy. You’re both on the same side. If you’re gonna go after somepony’s throat, go for Danny’s.” Silence took the room after Midnight had finished speaking. She turned to Bentgrass first, stepping up beside him with gentle eyes and a calmer demeanor. “I get it, Special Agent. Your ponies are in trouble. I get nervous whenever my friends get deployed anywhere too. But they knew what they were signing up for. They were trained to handle situations like this. You told Fleet to trust me, now you have to trust them. How would they feel if there was some big evil plan or something going on and we let it go?”

Bentgrass said nothing. His impassive eyes hardened while staring down through the floor and into an empty void. He finally turned, trotting away to face the far wall without a word. Midnight then turned on Fleethoof with the same approach.

“You need to take a chill pill, sir. You don’t make rational decisions when you’re panicking. And I know that look in your eye anywhere. What’s up, Fleet? What are you not telling us?”

Fleethoof tightened his lips into a fine line and turned his head away. “It’s probably nothing… But I need to be sure.”

“Then tell me what you need me to do, Cap’n.”

Chapter 12: Plan B

“I thought we were going for a surreptitious approach, Agrostis.”

“We are,” Bentgrass said, casting a puzzled look at the pegasus beside him. “Why do you say that?”

“Bent, my whole life is based on sneaky. Ten armed agents in a bed and breakfast is not sneaky.”

Bentgrass followed Fleethoof’s disparaging gaze around the tiny bedroom. He had to admit, it was cramped with a dozen ponies in it at once. Not that they had much of a choice. When Bentgrass had sent the call out for additional agents for the arrest of Dandridge and his associates, he hadn’t expected Director Top Notch to be quite so generous. When it came to high-profile cases, it seemed no chances would be taken.

“You were the one who wanted to wait. Dandridge has had a full week to bolster his security if he’s on to us.” He remained unmoved by Fleethoof’s negativity. “More agents means less of a risk when we apprehend the suspects.”

“Uh-huh…” Fleethoof glanced out the open door as the elderly proprietor shuffled past, muttering something under her breath about the ‘government takeover’. “So what’s your grand plan this time? A blitz maneuver?”

“Oh, nothing so brash, Captain. That I can assure you,” he remarked with a lilting laugh. “Midnight is going to finish the deal and get out with the weapons. Then, once she’s back in our care and we have our holographic recording of the deal, my agents will make the arrest. Dandridge is in custody within ten minutes, you have whatever information you want, and we all go home to a nice glass of port by supper.”

“Okay… So what’s Plan B?”

Bentgrass looked up at Fleethoof from over his shoulder, brows knitted together. “Why do you think we need a Plan B?”

“Because I’ve been around long enough to know the first casualty of any operation is the plan,” muttered Fleethoof. “What’s Plan B?”

“I can promise you, Fleethoof, that this plan will go off without a hitch.”

“That’s a terrible lie, Special Agent…”

“Credit for trying?” Bentgrass chuckled at Fleethoof’s humorless expression. “Very well. Plan B is we ambush Clydesdale. One team enters through the front while a second sets up perimeter around the rear. Put Dandridge between a rock and a hard place.”

Fleethoof cocked a brow. “Is that really your backup strategy?”

“Do you have a better one?”

“I’d like to bust down every door and kill everypony inside.”

Bentgrass made an exaggerated move of rolling his eyes. “Then that can be your Plan B, you monolith of marshall law.”

“Fine by me. But I’m holding you to that.”

Bentgrass tapped the emerald laying on the table, bringing up the holographic screen and beginning the recording. “We’re all set. Miss Dasher, are you ready?”

Midnight strode into the room with an elegant gait and a soft clop of hooves against wood. Fleethoof looked up from Bentgrass’ set up and did a double take. Midnight was wearing her form-fitting dress again, her mane swept back behind her upright ears. She smiled at Fleethoof as she slipped past him, her body brushing against his as she made her way to the dresser. She applied a single spritz of her perfume to her neck. The room lit up with the delicate fragrance of blooming jasmine flowers, sending a couple of the stallions into a tizzy. With a casual glimpse to her backside, Fleethoof caught a peek of her shiny silver pistol tucked in the garter around her thigh. He smirked. He had taught her well.

“Easy there, Mid,” Fleethoof quipped with a smirk. “You’re setting the guy up, not taking him on a date.”

“Maybe this is my definition of a date, Fleety,” Midnight remarked, slinking past her captain again with a flick of her tail beneath his chin for good measure. Fleethoof lifted his head away and shied away from her touch. “I’m ready whenever you are, boys. You did remember to pay the nice arms dealer, right?”

“Indeed. We transferred the money to Dandridge from an RIS burn account. My agents will be ready to move in when you finish the deal.” Bentgrass looked up from his seat with serious eyes directed at the mare. “Remember, you need to complete the deal before we can arrest him. Make sure Dandridge remains oblivious the entire time. Do not take any risks that may compromise your cover. We are too close to lose everything now.”

Midnight just waved off his concern like he was discussing the weather or sports scores. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Just let me do my thing. Don’t you worry your pretty little head off, Benty.”

“Do you give everypony a nickname?”

“Only my friends.”

“Welcome to my hell,” Fleethoof muttered while a playful grin snuck onto his face.

“He loves it, really,” Midnight told Bentgrass, glancing to Fleethoof. “All right then. Let’s not keep Danny-boy waiting. Wish me luck!”

Midnight didn’t make it two steps down the hall before Fleethoof was rushing after her. “Midnight, wait.” She stopped, and he circled around to her front. The deep creases around his frowning mouth alluded to his worry, even if he refused to say it. “I need you to know I trust you. You’re a very capable soldier, and a pony of immense talent and skill. If anypony can get him to reveal his plan or find anything useful, it’s you.”

Midnight smiled a wide, toothy grin. “Aww, thanks, Fleet. And here I thought you didn’t have a heart.”

“But I need you to promise me you’ll be on guard,” he continued, his voice pained and hushed. His eyes darkened in the dim light of the corridor. Midnight could see the shadows of doubt crawling in those pools of ice blue. “I want Dandridge’s little scheme stopped, but I want you back safely more. Promise me you won’t do anything reckless to try and prove yourself.”

It took a moment for Midnight to realize that he was being serious. Fleethoof was sincerely worried about her well-being. She could see the pleading look on his face, begging her for that peace of mind. She nodded her head once. “I promise.”

Fleethoof’s shoulders drooped as the weight was taken from them. He placed a hoof on Midnight’s shoulder and nodded in return. A smile softened his features. “You look very nice, Mid.”

Midnight smiled back and slipped past him, trotting down the stairs as fast as she could to avoid letting him notice the color spreading across her cheeks. Fleethoof listened, counting each step she took until he heard the front door close. He drew in a deep breath through clenched teeth and hurried back into the room. Bentgrass was still seated where he had been all day, staring at the flickering green screen before his eyes. He could see from Midnight’s perspective as she flew across the grassy hills toward the manor from the emerald around her neck.

“You saw all that, didn’t you?” asked Fleethoof. Bentgrass didn’t say a word. “If you tell anypony about that, I will burn every port shipper to the ground.”

“Create a port drought? Underhanded, Captain. I’ll simply have to dig into my private reserve.”

“You mean the very flammable barrels in your basement back in New Horseleans?” Fleethoof grinned at the expression Bentgrass gave him.

“What ever would I say anyway? That Captain Fleethoof loves his ponies more than any officer I’ve ever seen? That he concerns himself with their safety and their lives with such passion, it should inspire generations to come?” Bentgrass met gazes with his friend, the ghost of amusement and admiration flickering through his contrasting eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Captain. After all, your actions speak louder than my words ever could.”

Fleethoof held Bentgrass’ gaze for a long while before he turned back to the screen. Midnight had just landed on the porch. It was time. All around the room, the other agents were busy preparing their equipment. The assortment of all kinds of ponies felt like a small army ready to take down one villain. Fleethoof liked those odds. But looking back and knowing Midnight was on her own on the front lines, his courage wavered.

“Let’s get this prick.”

Midnight walked down the mammoth hallways of Clydesdale Manor with its proprietor close by her side. Dandridge had, of course, greeted her with his trademark smile that showed too many teeth and a tight hug. She did notice when his hoof started to drift much too low for her liking, but for the sake of her part, she held her tongue. Now she was doing her best to avoid the lustful glances he kept stealing at her as they walked. She didn’t need to be a telepath to know what was on his mind.

“I think you’ll be very pleased with what I was able to get for you, darling,” Dandridge hummed when they neared his office. “I inspected each one myself. After I received your payment, I made sure to emphasize to my supplier to find the crème de la crème of Germaneic weaponry.”

“Aww, spared no expense on my behalf, Danny? I’m touched,” Midnight spoke with an airy giggle.

“But of course, my dear. Come, step into my office and we’ll talk shop.”

“Speaking of talking shop,” Midnight began, “what you said last time got me thinking. If I wanted to get in on this ‘reform Equestria’ scheme, who would I see about that?”

To her side, Dandridge uttered an ominous chuckle. “Where is this coming from, hmm?”

“What you said about making something of yourself again last time made me wonder where I want to go in life.” Midnight cast a sideways glance over at her companion, the corner of her mouth curling up in a sly smirk. “Maybe I want a piece of that pie for myself too.”

“My darling Aurora, I wouldn’t dream of involving you in anything so dangerous and devious,” he replied with a barking laugh. “Fear not, my lovely. Allow me to handle my own affairs with my collaborators. Should you wish to obtain a more prestigious position, seek me out after the fact in Canterlot and I’m certain we could come to a mutual arrangement.”

Midnight shed off the shudder of disgust that rippled down her spine. She put on her best pout and turned the full force of her sad eyes against him. “But how will I know when that is?”

“Oh, don’t fret. You won’t be able to miss it.” Dandridge laughed again, a sound that unsettled the collected Midnight.

The two ponies veered out of the hall and once more into Dandridge’s spacious study. He led her over to one of the long tables near the wall. A black pistol lay across a map, its metal surface polished to a pristine shimmer. To her surprise, the name of her alias was engaged in elegant script along the slide, a personal touch Dandridge had taken the liberty to add, it seemed. A suppressor was already attached to the end of the barrel, ready for action. Dandridge picked it up and ejected the magazine to show it was empty before handing it to Midnight.

Midnight picked up the weapon and checked every inch of it, inspecting the gun in earnest. “Nice weight. Good sights. Fits in the hoof like a horseshoe.” She snapped the slide back and dry fired the weapon, listening to the sharp snap of the hammer against the firing pin.

“I knew you would like them. These are the same types of guns the Mossad uses, after all.”

“Really? And how did you manage to get your hooves on these?”

Dandridge paused, running his tongue over his teeth as he chose his words. “Let’s call him a friend with benefits.”

“My favorite kind of friend.” Midnight laughed and set the pistol down again. “It’s perfect. You have the others here too?”

He nodded. “But of course. Let me go get the crate and a few strong ponies to assist you, my dear.”

She followed his movements with wary eyes until Dandridge left, and then rushed over to the door. She left it ajar to make sure he had disappeared down the hall before rushing back to the table and picked up the gun, holding it level with the emerald around her neck.

“Get a good look, boys,” she spoke to the agents far away. Her hooves turned the gun over slowly, making sure they got all the details of it before setting it back down. It was a shame she couldn’t keep it. It was a beautiful work of craftsmanship.

Placing the weapon back down again, Midnight turned her gaze across the cluttered table and expansive office. Okay… she thought with trepidation at the daunting task before her. Time to find something useful for Fleety…

She eyed a map of Equestria it had been laying on, the lower-left corner torn off and missing. A variety of topographical maps and shipping manifests littered the table, all bearing little interest to her. Left to herself, Midnight sauntered over to Dandridge’s desk and circled it, eyeing the contents left out in plain sight. She looked over each photograph, snickering at each failed relationship Dandridge had gone through. She had no sympathy for the predatory bastard. She picked up every item on his desk and inspected it like a fascinated child, from his perfectly arranged quills to a small, sharp letter opener shaped like a sword. Nothing looked like any dastardly plans to overthrow the nation.

Dandridge was taking longer than she liked. Was something wrong? Was he on to her? Then again, she didn’t know how long it would take to move a crate of smuggled weapons. Giving in to her state of boredom, Midnight moved on to peruse his bookshelves. Her eyes followed the endless sea of spines. All of the titles seemed to pertain to some field of study that would have put her to sleep. Economics, philosophy, and law made up the bulk of them. Boooring… she thought and stifled a yawn.

She continued down the shelves until she came to one with more abstract and interesting titles. She looked over a couple on the psychology of serial killers, pulling them out and skimming through the contents before setting them back home, and then stopped on one titled The Art of Secrets. She smirked to herself.

Now that sounds like my kind of book.

Midnight grasped the book and pulled the book out. Except the book refused to move more than halfway out of the shelf. Midnight felt some sort of resistance give, and the sound of machinery and gears grinding together came from the bookcase. The startled bat pony stumbled backwards, watching in awe as a section of the bookcase slid away, revealing a hidden set of doors. Her eyes widened with shock and awe. It was like something out of a bad spy novel.

Oh, this place is so cool! she thought and stepped up to the doors, pulling one open with wary curiosity.

The stench of dried blood and decaying flesh smacked her nose like a sucker punch. It was almost enough to make her flinch away, the smell turning her stomach over. She fought past the wave of nausea threatening to cripple her and pulled the door open even further, letting the light spill into the boundless darkness.

Lights flickered on automatically inside the room. Midnight wished they hadn’t.

The room inside was the most macabre scene she had ever witnessed. Shackles were bolted to the far wall with singed wiring running from them to a switch. Tables were covered with bloody knives and an assortment of other instruments of torture. The floors, which Midnight guessed were once brown wood, were horridly stained in spots with what she could only assume was blood. But most grotesquely of all were the two bodies lying on the floor.

Midnight gasped, and then coughed as she tried to choke out the noxious air she inhaled. The very taste of death reeked in the stagnant air. Horrific images of a dark mansion in the Everfree Forest flashed before her eyes. She could feel the bile rising in her throat, burning as she swallowed it back and brought a hoof to her mouth, afraid that she’d wind up vomiting if she didn’t.

“Oh, dear Luna, Princess of the Night…” she gasped out under her breath. Terror clutched at her heart.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

Midnight gasped and spun sharply on her hooves. Dandridge was leaning in the doorway, a proud grin across his visage. It sickened and terrified Midnight.

“W-What is all this?” she asked with great trepidation, unable to hide the tremor in her voice when she spoke.

“It’s my finest work,” said Dandridge. He closed the gap between them at a paced saunter. “A sort of testament to the failing government, if you will. Oh, how this will drive that bastard on my doorstep mad when he finds out how I tortured the mare and murdered both of them for the fun of it. Have you ever smelled burning flesh before? It’s a damned foul thing, but so satisfying to know that you’re inflicting more pain than could ever be bearable to the victim.”

She choked back another retch threatening to empty the contents of her stomach all over the floor.

“Have you ever killed any government agents, my dear?”

Midnight looked away from the stallion, preferring the grim sight of the torture chamber to his grinning face. “I… I don’t know…”

“I wouldn’t expect so… seeing as you are one. And a little fashion advice: RIS emeralds don’t go very well with indigo, I’m afraid.”

And then she heard a gun cock.

“Step away from the door, if you please, my dear…”

The smooth voice of Dandridge came out cold and deadly. Her breath caught in her throat and her body felt like dead weight under her paralyzed nerves, yet she managed to take a few uneven steps back away from the door. She lifted her hooves up in slow surrender. He had her within his power.

There was a sound of a switch being thrown, followed by the rattle of loose metal. Midnight glanced to the right and saw metal shutters barring the wall of glass, blocking any escape. Dandridge’s hoofsteps came closer and closer until Midnight saw his shadow emerge on her peripheral vision. The silver pistol clutched in his grasp gleamed in the bright light as if to threaten her into submission while he pulled the door closed once more, hiding away the grim truth he kept locked away. Midnight made the mistake of looking up. The wanton look of invitation was dead in those citrine eyes while they glared at her, empty and soulless, like a shark.

Midnight swallowed hard, her mind racing, desperate to grasp onto any plausible excuse. “Danny, I was just—“

“Save your breath,” he snapped and trained the gun on her head. “It all makes sense… I know who you are. I know who you work for. I dared not believe it before, but now I know for sure.” He gestured with his gun to the emerald necklace. “You think I’ve never seen an RIS communicator before?”

His words left her speechless. Midnight had no excuse to get out of that one. If Dandridge already knew what it was, no lie in the world could save her skin. She could feel her mouth hanging open, but couldn’t bring her tongue to utter any words. Staring down the barrel of a gun immobilized her like a deer in headlights.

“How long have you been spying on me, hmm?” Midnight didn’t respond. “How much does the RIS know? Did that pale bastard put you up to this?”

Her brain still couldn’t break through the paralyzing fog enough to speak. She felt like she was trapped inside her own body. Dandridge snorted and circled back behind her with slow steps. She shut her eyes and beat herself up inside. She had messed up. If she hadn’t given into her curiosity and just stuck to the plan… Midnight’s breath caught in her throat, held there as she waited for him to say something or just shoot her.

What she hadn’t been prepared for was the feeling of his hoof on her flank. She gasped and jumped, then froze again when she felt what she assumed to be his gun jam into her lower back. Behind her, Dandridge murred and ran a hoof down her hind leg. Midnight felt her dress slide away from her leg, and then the weight of the gun in her garter disappear.

“Don’t want anypony getting hurt now, do we?” he purred. Midnight heard the gun clatter against the floor somewhere behind her. “Now, about the RIS…”

“Dandridge, I’m not with the RIS—“

“Oh, shut up, my dear. I’m not stupid. Now tell me how much you know!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Midnight cried out. Dandridge snorted, his humid breath rustling through her mane at close proximity.

“I must admit, you played your part very well. I didn’t catch on for quite some time… But in the end, I always win,” he growled out and pushed Midnight to the ground on her belly. “Very clever, Special Agent. Trying to blind me with my favorite kind of bait. I’m impressed. Too bad you’re about to witness it backfire.”

Dandridge chuckled darkly and dropped all of his weight down on Midnight, making the bat pony wheeze as the air was knocked out of her lungs. In one brutal move, Dandridge tore the necklace off of her neck, choking her for a fraction of a second before the band broke. He held the emerald up, grinning at it like he had won a game.

“You might think you have me, but I’m going to make you suffer before you take me. Now you get to watch me kill another one of your agents… But first, I think I’ll take what you’ve so generously given me…”

Tossing the emerald aside, Dandridge laughed and tugged Midnight’s dress up over her flank. Midnight’s eyes shot wide open and her body snapped back to life in a flash. She struggled and fought against Dandridge’s hold on her with all her might. Her hoof swung out, narrowly missing hitting him in the jaw. Dandridge growled like an animal and pressed a hoof down in between her shoulder blades, pinning her to the ground. He brought a hoof to the back of her head, slamming it down into the floor. Midnight heard bells ring in her ears, her hooves and wings thrashing, beating with wild abandon. Still struggling against his power, Midnight yelped and cried out as he ran another hoof up her side.

“No! Get off me, you bastard!” She squeaked when he pulled her closer to his body. In the chaos of the struggle, she screamed for the only pony she could think of. “Fleet! Help!”

Fleethoof clapped his hooves together with great joy as Midnight lifted the gun to the emerald’s view, capturing it all. ‘Atta girl, Middy, he thought with swelling pride. A smirk split his lips, and beside him, he could see Bentgrass nodding his approval as well.

“That’s it,” he said. Conviction and triumph held his voice strong. “We’ve got the bastard. How about you, Captain? Satisfied that this pony isn’t anything to you?”

“He’s not giving anything away… But maybe I’m just trying to force connections that aren’t there,” Fleethoof sighed. “Unless Midnight find anything, there’s nothing but empty threats and we can’t stall any longer. Let’s just get her out of there.”

“Patience, Fleethoof. Let her finish what she started and leave on her own accord. She’ll be in less danger if Dandridge suspects nothing the whole way through. Though I am curious why you wanted to delay this.”

Fleethoof shook his head and groaned while burying his face in his hooves. “It’s nothing. I’ve been following this… I don’t even know what to call it. A conspiracy? A myth? If it’s true, I think Equestria might be in a lot of danger. But the pony in charge of it always seems to be three steps ahead. I just thought that maybe if Dandridge was somehow involved, I could close that gap.”

Bentgrass raised a perturbed brow. “A conspiracy that could threaten all of Equestria? That is a grave notion. And who is this pony supposedly heading it?”

“I don’t even know their real name. I thought I had found it out, but that pony lived almost a thousand years ago.”

“A thousand years? And you think this pony is still around threatening Equestria?”

Fleethoof became aware of just how insane that sounded. He scowled and slumped further down into his chair, his mind blazing through any and all other possibilities of Dandridge’s cryptic plot. Every creature he had met involved with whatever Silence was had been all too eager to share their involvement, like treason was a proud endeavor they endeared. Dandridge had remained enigmatic and closed off.

His eyes followed the projection. Every intricate thing Midnight did, he watched. He watched as she went through every single object on Dandridge’s desk in an attempt to find anything incriminating. He watched as she ran her hoof along the rows of books in his collection.

“Clydesdale was right about one thing… You are something special, all right, Midnight…” he muttered to himself, shaking his head with a halfhearted smile. He wasn’t at all surprised the ADHD-apparent filly hadn’t gone on to become Equestria’s first bat pony genius.

Bentgrass had begun gathering up the rest of the intelligence left behind by the other agents to wrap up their investigation. For all intents and purposes, Dandridge was theirs. There was no way he was weaseling his way out of this one.

Fleethoof watched Midnight take a book out of the shelf—and then blinked when the bookcase disappeared. His forehead creased and he sat up straight again, leaning his hooves forward on the table to get a closer look at the screen. Two doors lay hidden behind the false bookcase.

“Bent.”

Bentgrass looked up when Fleethoof called his name. He watched with the same astonishment as his partner while Midnight pushed open the doors. At first, nothing but darkness came through. And then the lights turned on.

Fleethoof’s jaw fell. Bentgrass shot up in his chair. His eyes were frozen, glued to the screen like his life would end were he to look away. Fleethoof stared in awe at the fright that was the torture chamber. Dandridge had gone to great lengths to hide it, and for all the horror Fleethoof had seen in his life, very little came close to the dread it instilled in his heart. Shivers ran down his back and his wings bristled. It was a nightmare manifested into flesh.

Bentgrass, however, was too fixated on the two crumpled bodies. He recognized those coats, those manes, the faint glimpses of the cutie marks in the light: Keen Eye and Dawn Glimmer. His missing agents.

“That’s why we couldn’t find the beacon,” Fleethoof muttered, his gaze and voice grave and disturbed. “They were right there the whole time…”

Bentgrass was silent. Fleethoof had come to expect succinctness from the agent, but he knew this kind of silence too well. He cast his gaze to his friend and saw the turmoil, the grief, and the anger in his eyes. The faintest of tremors shook Bentgrass’ steady hooves.

For all his strength, Bentgrass couldn’t quell the monsoon stirring within his heart. The beaten, burned, and battered bodies of his compatriots tossed carelessly across the floor like piles of trash offended him on a profound level the likes of which he had never felt before. And it was all because of that silver-tongued devil on the hill.

“Agrostis—”

“The signal wasn’t wrong… We were less than a meter away all along…”

“Step away from the door, if you please, my dear…”

For the longest, most gut-wrenching minute, nothing happened. The ponies watched with halted breaths as Midnight stood utterly still. Then Dandridge appeared from the corner of the screen, his gun pointed at her while he shut the door. Fleethoof’s heart stopped beating.

“Danny, I was just—“

“Save your breath. I know who you are. I know who you work for.”

Fleethoof dared not look away from the screen. “We’ve got to get her out of there.”

Bentgrass turned to Fleethoof next with a hardened look. “Captain, you stay with us. We apprehend Clydesdale together.”

“I’m not waiting around anymore. I’m doing this my way,” Fleethoof shouted and snatched his pistol up from the table, jamming it in it holster as he made for the door. “I’m going with Plan B!”

“Fleethoof!” It was much too late. Fleethoof was bursting out of the bed and breakfast by the time Bentgrass spoke. “Dammit all! Agents, let’s move! There’s a pony in distress!”

Fleethoof tore through the air like a bat out of hell, bound straight for the manor house. He silently cursed himself for putting Midnight into this sort of danger, and for not putting a bullet in Dandridge’s head when he had the chance. I knew he was dangerous… he chided himself in his head. I fucking knew it and I still let him live!

He darted around the mansion, spotting the large wall of glass that marked Dandridge’s office with metal shutters sealing it off. He shouted every curse he knew and made a beeline for the front door. His hooves hit the porch at breakneck speed, just about sending the pegasus tumbling into the doors. He slammed his hoof against the doors in deep, pounding knocks that rattled the hinges. A second had barely passed before he was pounding on the doors again so hard it hurt his hoof. He peered through the windows beside the doors. Nopony was in sight.

With a snarl, Fleethoof threw away the RIS’s courtesy and slammed his body against the doors, his shoulder aching with each attempt he made at entrance. The doors shook, but refused to give way. The wood was too dense to bust down, and definitely too much so to shoot through. He didn’t have time for this. Every second he wasted put Midnight in more harm.

“Captain!” He looked over his shoulder to see Bentgrass running towards him. “The others are on their way.”

Fleethoof scowled and shook his head. “They’ll be too late. We have to get in now!”

“Captain.”

Fleethoof looked up to see Bentgrass pointing towards the windows. He threw his body against the frosted glass window, shattering it on contact and sending himself crashing into the foyer. The glass stung at his skin, leaving small lacerations in his coat that he couldn’t care less about. Fleethoof shook off the shock of impact while Bentgrass climbed through the destroyed window.

“We have to move quickly!” he said as they rushed down the hall. “I remember the way. Follow me!”

“And why didn’t you just do that in the first place?” asked Bentgrass with a questioning glance.

“…Because I was in a panic and didn’t think about it until now.” He growled and kicked himself. He shouldn’t be letting himself get this out of sorts.

Up ahead, two of Dandridge’s personal guards ran out into the hallway, drawn by the sound of the smashing glass. Fleethoof had his gun up on them in an instant, Bentgrass a moment later.

“Federal agents! Stay where you are!” Bentgrass barked in order.

The guards exchanged a look, and then drew their pistols from within their jackets. The two stallions cut them down with two lightning-fast shots.

“So much for quiet. They know we’re here. We have to hurry!”

The ponies picked up the pace from a canter to a full tilt sprint down the long corridor. Another guard popped out from a side room, a gun clutched in his hooves. Fleethoof and Bentgrass drew down on him. The stallion froze and tossed his gun to the floor before they could demand his surrender, raising his hooves high in the air.

“Get down on the ground!” the agent commanded, moving closer to make the arrest. “I said, get—“

As he neared the guard, a second pony shot out from the room and landed a vicious right hook across the agent’s jaw, sending him spiraling to the ground. The first pony dove for his gun again while the other brandished his. Fleethoof put two rounds in the guard’s chest. Bentgrass grabbed his fallen weapon and kept his aim on the one on the ground, glaring daggers at the stunned criminal.

“Leave it,” he snarled.

Bentgrass clambered back to his hooves and began cuffing the living guard. Fleethoof waited for him, then continued down the hall, nearing the end after what seemed like an eternity of running. His chest felt so tight it almost hurt to breathe. Midnight’s cries for help echoed in his mind, haunting him and driving him forward. He had to reach her if it cost him his life. There was no alternative.

Just as the ponies neared the end of the hall, a group of guards ran out to engage them. Fleethoof moved first, gunning down one as they came into view while Bentgrass took another. The remaining two dove back around the corners, using the walls as cover while they popped shot after shot at the exposed ponies. Fleethoof grit his teeth and hugged the wall as bullets snapped past his head. He brought his pistol up and returned fire at the hidden ponies, keeping them suppressed long enough for Bentgrass to work his way up to a better position as well.

In a moment, the quiet manor had turned into a violent standoff. Neither side could gain an advantage over the other. When the guards would peek out to shoot, Bentgrass and Fleethoof would take their shots, praying to score a lucky hit, both sides exchanging gunfire back and forth. Then the sound of stomping hooves echoed down the hall behind them. Fleethoof risked a glance back and muttered every profanity in the Equestrian language. More guards were coming up behind them, sandwiching the ponies between two fronts of enemies.

“Hug the walls!” Fleethoof shouted across to Bentgrass, even though he knew there was no getting out of this trap. They were pinned. Bentgrass flinched as a bullet nipped past his head, dropping to a crouch to reload his weapon and shout something into a radio clipped to his lapel, his words lost in the explosive gunfire.

But as the guards came closer, a cacophony of gunfire drowned out the heavy hoofsteps. Fleethoof blinked, and then the guards were all down on the ground. The rest of the RIS task force was filing into the house, detaining or eliminating the rest of Dandridge’s security, fighting their way forward from the foyer room by room. They had bought them some time.

Focusing all of his attention back on his targets, Fleethoof took a deep breath and waited. His hoof flexed on his gun, grasping the cool metal as tight as he could. His sights were trained right where a pony’s head had popped out before. All he needed was the right moment…

The pony leaned out, his pistol pointed toward another agent. Fleethoof squeezed the trigger, heard the boom, and saw the pony’s head snap back with a blast of red mist. He dropped to the ground with a twitch and fell still. The last guard cried out and made to bolt across the hall again. Fleethoof remembered the layout of the manor well enough to know where he was running to.

Dandridge’s office.

The guard made it about halfway across the hall before a storm of gunfire from both stallions sent him cartwheeling across the now-bloodied floor.

“Move up!” Fleethoof sprinted for the end of the hall and took the corner sharply, skidding across the slick wood. He led Bentgrass by memory down the hall, counting the doors he passed as he went. It was ten doors from the corner to his office. Ten doors to Midnight. They had just passed five.

The door to their right opened up suddenly, and two more guards ran out to meet them. Fleethoof skidded and collided into one of the bodyguards. The two tumbled and sprawled over one another for a time across the polished wood floor. Bentgrass used his momentum and slid into the hooves of the other pony, taking him down with a smooth gliding kick. He reared back and brought his elbow down into his foe’s muzzle, feeling the bone and cartilage snap. The pony shrieked in pain. He was silenced by a following kick to the side of his head.

Fleethoof felt the weight of the other guard land on top of him and hooves wrap around his neck. He grunted and pushed up against his attacker, unable to draw breath with the pressure on his windpipe. His hoof swung up, catching the guard’s legs in the crooks of his elbows and breaking his grip. As he fell, Fleethoof shot up, smacking his head against the bridge of the pony’s nose. His hoof shot out and grabbed his gun, pressing it between them and firing three rounds into the pony’s chest point-blank. He pushed the limp body to the side and put another into his skull for good measure. These ponies worked for the monster threatening his teammate. They deserved no more mercy than he did.

Fleethoof motioned to the doors a short ways down as they came up to them. He and the agent each took to one side, breathing slow and steady while he pressed an ear to the wood, listening inside. He could just make out the sound of somepony struggling against something.

“When we go in, don’t wait for the arrest,” Bentgrass told the pegasus at his side. His voice was rough and dangerous, his eyes smoldering as he reloaded his gun. “Arresting him is secondary to Miss Dasher’s life. If you can get a safe shot, take it.”

“Don’t kill him, Bent. I know you’re angry, but I still need him alive.”

“Then don’t shoot him in the head. On three. One… Two… Three!”

Their hooves connected with the doors, breaking them inward in a hail of obliterated wood.

Dandridge growled like a wild animal as he wrestled Midnight back to the floor, pressing all of his weight down on her back to keep the mare pinned. She wasn’t making it easy for him. Her wings beat and flailed in the air, very nearly catching him in the face. Her hoof slipped free from beneath him, coming back again and smacking the end of his nose with enough force to make him stumble back. Midnight fought, pushing up against him to squirm free. She made it a few inches before Dandridge brought the butt of his gun into the back of her head so hard her ears smacked together.

Every muscle in Midnight’s body turned to rubber. She collapsed, stunned and limp. A sharp pain split her skull and her ears had a small pony ringing a bell inside of them without end. Then she felt something cold and hard meet the back of her head, and she became motionless.

“You’re one hell of a fighter,” Dandridge husked, his breath rough and hot against her ear. She could almost feel the sadistic grin in his voice. “That’s good. I like my mares a little feisty.”

She whimpered and felt his hoof wander lower, lower… She bucked out, her hind leg catching one of his by sheer luck. Dandridge toppled on top of her. His balance gone, Midnight scrambled to pry herself free again. Her desperate attempt at freedom was cut short when she felt the gun press to her head again.

“Very nice! You’re a lot more fun than Glimmer was! Oh, I’m going to have fun with you!”

Two pops like firecrackers broke through the otherwise quiet residence, making both ponies stop dead. Midnight’s ears swiveled to the side, trying direly to locate the sound again. She risked a glance up at Dandridge. The stallion was looking towards the door, back to the front of his house.

Two more snaps were heard somewhere else in the manor. And then all hell broke loose, the sounds getting closer and much more frequent. Midnight’s mind broke through the pained haze long enough to realize she knew those sounds by heart. Gunshots.

“Bloody RIS prats…” Dandridge gnashed his teeth together and climbed off of Midnight, grabbing her mane in his teeth and yanking her with a rough start to her hooves. She yelped and stood, albeit wobbly and uneven on her own legs. Her head was still spinning like a merry-go-round. “Get up! We’re leaving, my dear. Try anything brave again and I won’t give you a third chance. Now go!”

Midnight stumbled forward, shuffling her hooves toward the door at his insistent urging. She wanted to fight back, to try and do something to hinder him, but the fear of death paralyzed her beyond action. All she could do was lumber forward, out of control of her own movements.

No sooner had they reached the doors, the gunfire came from just down the hall. Dandridge grabbed her around the neck from behind, yanking her backwards into the sanctuary of the office again. She gasped, choking against the tight restraint his hoof put around her throat. She could hear the furious edge to his rough breathing and the firmness of his gun pressed into her spine.

“Not a word, my dear.” His order was clear and concise. “Utter a single sound and you die.”

Standing just away from the door, Dandridge waited, listening to the hoofsteps run up to the doors. They were on the other side. A moment passed, then another. He could see the shadows creeping around through the gap beneath the doors. Using Midnight as his shield, Dandridge lifted his hoof and leveled his pistol with the doors.

“Come on in, gentlecolts… Don’t be shy…” he sang out to the hesitating agents on the other side, his voice mad and wicked.

And then the doors exploded inward, shards and splinters of the polished wood flying across the floor. Dandridge took aim at the first pony he saw and fired.

Bang!

Fleethoof recoiled from the gunshot. Beside him, Bentgrass cried out and crumpled to the floor. A fresh hole tore through the shoulder of his suit, red staining the white fabric of his undershirt at an alarming rate. Fleethoof’s mind worked on autopilot. He grabbed Bentgrass’ collar in his teeth and dragged him away from the door as a second shot nipped past his leg and a third splintered the doorframe near his head. Breathing slow to calm his racing heart, Fleethoof looked down at the fallen agent. He was pressing a hoof to his bleeding shoulder, groaning in agony.

“Son of a… Argh! Get him, Fleethoof!”

“Dandridge Clydesdale!” Fleethoof shouted from around the corner, leaning as close as he safely could to the open doorway. “Throw your weapon down and surrender! There’s no way out!”

“Then I’m afraid there’s no way out for your lovely spy either!”

Fleethoof took the risk and peered around the corner. As the office slowly came into view, he spotted Dandridge in the open, holding Midnight close to his body. His pistol was pressed to the side of her head, his hoof quivering on the trigger. Fleethoof pulled back behind cover, licking his rough lips while his mind sped through every possible option. He couldn’t do anything to risk her life. But he was her captain. It was his responsibility to protect his ponies, and she was relying on him to do something.

He poked around the corner again, his gun raised and aimed at Dandridge from behind cover. “Put it down, Clydesdale. You’re done.”

Dandridge scoffed and sneered at the soldier. “No, you’re done, pegasus! I will walk out of this house alive and well, while you get carted out in a body bag!”

Dandridge turned the gun on him. Fleethoof was a split second faster, disappearing as another bullet chipped away at the edge of the doorway. He could feel the coarse fragments of wood scrape across his face, reminding him of the dangerous game of chicken he was playing. He came back around, training his sights on the thin strip of Dandridge’s face he could see.

“Dandridge, let her go,” he commanded, calm and authoritative. He had to regain control of the situation if he had any hope of freeing Midnight. “Let her go and we’ll disappear. You can run from the RIS all you want. She and I will be out of your life.”

“Ah, so this one is yours, Guardspony,” Dandridge surmised. Even with his face obscured, Fleethoof could see that stomach-churning grin on his face as he ran the pistol over Midnight’s cheek and collar. He took a deep inhale into her mane. “I must say, you have a ravishing mare on your team. I’ve been having all sorts of fun with her.”

Fleethoof saw the way Midnight was trembling. He could see the terrified look in her eyes. But despite it all, she remained cool, not a single tear falling from her apologetic eyes. He bit his tongue, doing all he could to tune out Dandridge’s chiding.

“You know, when we get out of here, I think I’ll show her the time of her life…”

“Kill him, Fleet,” Midnight cried out. “Shoot him. Kill the son of a bi—“

Her heated shouts were cut off abruptly as Dandridge tightened his hoof around her neck, blocking off her oxygen intake. Fleethoof’s muscles flexed in anger when Midnight gasped and choked. The enraged warrior was helpless to do anything but watch with murderous ire.

“Be silent, my dear. The important ponies are talking.” He turned back to Fleethoof. “Put your gun on the floor and walk away, pegasus. Do the smart thing.”

Fleethoof bared his teeth and fought the rage burning in his blood. The smart thing was to kill him. He wanted to take the shot—he needed to take it. By all reason, he shouldn’t have been hesitating. Midnight wasn’t a factor. She had signed up to give herself for Princess and country. She had traded her life for duty to the good of the nation. And right now, the good of the nation demanded Dandridge Clydesdale be stopped by any means necessary.

He had the shot on Dandridge. It wasn’t a clear one, but he had it. He had run through this exercise with his team time and time again; the overlapping targets of hostile and hostage. He knew his scores by heart. He could successfully kill the bad guy six out of ten times from this distance. That meant taking the shot left Midnight a good sixty percent chance of survival. It also meant she had a forty percent chance to perish with him. Fleethoof weighed that notion. Dandridge would be dead and Midnight could be too. She would fade from existence into little more than a uniform alabaster grave and a folded flag above somepony’s mantle. She would be another wrinkled photograph on the wall of the Copper Cannon—just another smiling face in a sea of lost brothers and sisters. She was expendable. Their duty was not.

He had to take the shot.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t put her life in jeopardy, even if his beliefs demanded different. She was his teammate and his friend. She was loyal and dedicated to him to a fault. They had trained together, grown together, shared personal details of their lives in confidence. She had gone to extreme lengths to save his life in the past. How could he ever consider ending hers in turn?

“I said, put your gun down, Guard!”

“I’m not doing anything you say, Clydesdale,” snapped Fleethoof and shook his head. His mind was made up. But if he couldn’t kill Dandridge, he could put him off his game. “I guess you can relate to that. Bet your family never thought you’d be the one to destroy their legacy. Guess that’s the one useful thing you’ve done in your life.”

Dandridge’s eye twitched. Fleethoof felt a twinge of triumph knowing he had struck a nerve. “…What did you say?”

“I bet your father’s real proud of you. Daddy’s little boy Dandridge getting into all sorts of trouble with the ponies he worked so hard to get in with.” Fleethoof was racking his mind, rushing to pull up every weakness and sore spot he had watched Dandridge reveal to Midnight.

“Shut your mouth! You don’t know what sort of insignificant rabble my family was trying to woo,” Dandridge seethed.

“What’s the matter, Danny? Doing some good for Equestria got too old school for you? Or do you like spending your blood money to treat ponies like pawns?”

“I swear to the Great Alicorn, if you say one more word—“

Fleethoof didn’t stop. He went for the jugular. “Or do you just like making ponies feel as inferior as your family made you feel?”

“Stop talking about my family!” Dandridge yelled, turning the gun on Fleethoof again. His plan worked, a little too well as he dodged another much-too-close bullet. “You insipid little cretin! This is above anything your tiny brain could hope to comprehend. Do you know how ineffective Equestria’s government is? How feeble and frail the alicorns have become in a millennium of peace? And the Earth ponies… My lineage has been degraded by haughty politicians to serfs that do little more than work fields and mines! We were all great once! My proud family name has been disgraced by a corrupt government!”

“You disgraced your family’s name yourself!” Fleethoof shouted back, going to turn the corner again when another bullet ripped through the air in front of his muzzle. He flinched away, heart pumping adrenaline through his veins as fast as it could.

“Me?! Compared to my ancestors, I’m the most successful Clydesdale since the founding of Equestria!” Dandridge laughed a haunting, disturbed laugh and fired another shot blindly at where Fleethoof was hiding. “I have been helping to usher in a revolution of Equestrian security and law. Never before has law enforcement worked so feverishly on disrupting organized crime. I will go down in history as a keystone in bringing Equestria back to its former glory.”

“You will go down in history as a psychopath and a murderer.”

“Only by this society’s book! Soon, that perspective will be so obsolete, nopony will even waste the time mourning it. I will have secured myself in history forever, and all will recognize the authority of Dandridge Clydesdale!”

Fleethoof squared his jaw and peeked around the corner. “So that’s what this is all about? Money and power? You’re nothing more than a garden-variety crooked politician looking for a better payday.”

“Money and power are the only universal currencies in this world, Guard! Control both, and you control all of the world!” Dandridge caught a glimpse of crimson and blonde and put another round into the wall to keep him at bay. “You stay where you are! I am not a villain! I am the devil’s advocate—a wise stallion amongst thieves! You are not in control here! I am in control! I am in charge!”

Not if I can help it… Fleethoof thought and swung around the corner again, bringing his pistol to bear on the cocky, anxious criminal, assured that his level head would best Dandridge’s temper. A loud gunshot rang out and Fleethoof felt a force tear his weapon out of his hooves. His wrist snapped inward with a pop. He cried out and blinked, stumbling back and falling to his flank. His weapon bounced across the floor with a clatter, sliding down the hall a short ways. Dandridge had managed to shoot his gun out of his grasp.

Dandridge laughed in victory; he had the pony on the defensive. He lifted his gun, creeping forward in advance now that he had disarmed the soldier. He could escape!

And then he noticed the slide of his pistol locked back. The chamber and magazine lay empty. He had used up all of his ammunition in his blind fury.

Dandridge gaped at the empty gun like it was a snake in his hoof, ready to strike against him. Midnight also took notice of the gun and made her move. She threw her head backward, smacking the back of her head against the bridge of Dandridge’s muzzle as hard as she could. She felt her skull make contact with his nose and he cried out in pain, his grip around her loosening. She kept up the momentum from her training, bringing her hoof backward and delivering a powerful strike of her elbow into his jaw. Dandridge staggered back, clutching at his bleeding nose as the pain and shock disoriented him.

Midnight ducked beneath her stunned captor and dove for his desk. She could see her gun lying on the floor just behind it. Dandridge recovered much quicker than she hoped, however, and with a roar, the stallion hurled himself at the agile bat. But he was an Earth pony—faster and stronger than she was. He caught her as she flew over his desk, grabbing her round the middle again. Midnight lunged forward, taking them both soaring over the desk before crashing to the floor with all of his supplies and records.

Fleethoof heard the commotion within the room and peered inside. Dandridge and Midnight were gone. The papers fluttering in the air like autumn leaves told him what had happened and where they were. He hurried and dove for his weapon. Midnight was fighting back and she needed his help. Time was of the essence.

Midnight grunted and fought against Dandridge as he wrestled to pin her down again while her hooves scrabbled at the floor to try and crawl away. She could see her gun lying a short distance away from her, just out of reach. Dandridge drew up over her, pressing a hoof into her face and shoving her head to the floor. Midnight’s hooves brushed through the debris, looking for anything to help her. Something thin and sharp poked her hoof. She grasped it and pull the letter opener out from beneath a pile of papers, wasting no time in bringing the sharp tool straight towards her attacker.

Dandridge yelled out in agony as Midnight drove the dagger-like point through the muscle in his shoulder. He reeled backward, feeling the instrument still lodged in his shoulder as blood trickled down his leg. Midnight lashed out with her hind legs, catching him square in the chest and bucking him onto his back. She rolled to her hooves again and scurried across the floor, diving for her gun just as Dandridge ripped the letter opener from his skin, bringing it around on the mare with a shout.

Midnight’s hooves wrapped around the pistol. She was on her back in a blur. Dandridge was right on top of her.

Bang!

The gun went off, silencing the room. Dandridge recoiled under the pressure of the point-blank round smacking wetly into his upper chest. His hooves flailed as he fell back again, crying out in sheer anguish, clutching at the bleeding wound with his good leg.

Fleethoof rushed the room just as the gunshot went off. His heart felt like it was clutched in a vise. He galloped across the room; the closer he drew to the desk, the more clear the carnage became. He saw Dandridge lying bleeding on the floor. Midnight sat a short distance away, her shaking hooves clutching the pistol like her life depended on it.

“Midnight,” he spoke softly, abandoning the injured pony on the ground for his teammate. “Midnight, are you all right?”

She didn’t respond. Her eyes were glassy with glazed fear and shock. He stepped around the desk and lowered his weapon, reaching a hoof out to her. Midnight’s whole body was tensed up, akin to a spring ready to burst, but her hooves wouldn’t stop shaking. Fleethoof crouched down beside her and looked over the gash on the back of her head. It wasn’t bleeding too badly, but the risk of a concussion concerned the captain.

“Midnight…” he called out to her. She didn’t so much as blink. He shuffled a little closer, resting a hoof on her shoulder. Her head swung to the side, gazing at him with frightened eyes. “Can you hear me? I need you to put the gun down.” Midnight held his gaze, but still didn’t move. He leaned forward and took the gun by the slide, ushering it down. “Let go of the gun, Middy… It’s okay now…”

Her hooves gradually relinquished their hold on the firearm enough for Fleethoof to lift it away and set it on the floor.

Click!

Fleethoof’s head shot to the side. Bentgrass was looming over Dandridge, his hoof pressed down on the pony’s chest to keep him pinned to the floor. Bentgrass had his gun trained on his head, but the entire mood felt wrong. There was no intention to detain or arrest Dandridge. Bentgrass’ tidy mane was tousled and messy, the sleeve of his jacket damp with his own blood. The calm look in the stallion’s eyes was gone, replaced by an inflamed hatred.

“Agrostis, put your weapon down.”

Bentgrass’ hoof tightened on the gun. Fleethoof didn’t dare to take his eyes off him, watching the injured pony like a hawk. A trapped animal was always the most dangerous.

“Agrostis—”

“And what then, Captain?” he asked. “He goes and stands trial before his friends and colleagues? Buys out the courts with fancy lawyers? Makes it a news spectacle then walks free?”

“No. He isn’t walking away from this. He’s going to prison for the rest of his life. You said this yourself.”

“That’s not good enough,” Bentgrass snapped with anger in his heart and revenge in his eyes. “After what he did… He doesn’t deserve a trial. He doesn’t deserve to keep breathing.”

“That is why we have our justice system. Regardless of what you think, he will get what is justly coming to him. Keep your hooves clean, Special Agent. Murder isn’t your character.”

Bentgrass’ strength faltered. A slight quiver shook his hooves. That was all it took to put a crack in his resolve. Fleethoof’s fight was over. Now he had to get Bentgrass to end his.

“I need him alive, Bent. I need to know about his plan.” He rested a hoof on the trembling pegasus’s shoulder and leaned in closer. “Don’t stoop to his level. You’re better than him, Agrostis Bentgrass.”

Many hoofsteps clopped loudly into the office behind him. More RIS agents rushed in and surrounded Dandridge, starting to tend to his wound while the others cleared the rest of the manor. Bentgrass’ opportunity to kill Dandridge had passed. He was safe.

Fleethoof released a tense sigh, feeling his taut muscles fall into a state of numbness. The world moved by in a slow blur as the agents detained the laughing Clydesdale and began carrying him out in cuffs. Against his instinctive desire, Fleethoof slid his pistol back into its holster and trotted around the desk to tend to Midnight.

He whistled to one of the agents and motioned him over. “Take her out of here,” he said, helping lift the shaking Midnight back to her hooves. “Get her back to the inn and wait for me. I’ll help wrap up here.”

The agent nodded and whisked the delirious Midnight out of the office. Fleethoof watched her disappear out the doorway, and then he stepped around the office and toward the bookcases. The doors to the hidden room were pushed open, and Bentgrass was nowhere in sight. Fleethoof knew where he would find him.

Stepping into the dark torture room, Fleethoof got his first glimpse into the real mind of Dandridge Clydesdale. The acrid smell of burned and rotting flesh put him in a constant battle with his gag reflexes as he fought his way through to the statuesque special agent standing over one of the bodies on the floor. Bentgrass was gazing with hardened eyes down at the corpse of a mare. Even in the dim light, Fleethoof could see the color had been drained from her coat, and that the floor was stained a heavy discoloration beneath her. She had bled out. It couldn’t have been a quick death.

“I’m sorry, Agrostis.” It was cliché. He couldn’t think of anything else to say though.

Bentgrass dropped to a crouch beside the body. He reached out with a delicate hoof and brushed the mane out of Dawn Glimmer’s motionless face. She wore an expression of absolute serenity, as if nothing in the world had ever hurt her and she had just fallen asleep. His throat felt tight. He had been so close to them all along. So close, and he had failed them.

“Did you know Equestria hasn’t carried out a capital punishment sentence in over five hundred years?” Bentgrass asked, the slightest trace of a quiver in his rock-steady voice taking Fleethoof aback. All he could do was shake his head dumbfounded. Bentgrass looked up at him with a fire flickering behind his eyes. “Dandridge was correct about one thing: I think it’s time we broke from that peaceful tradition.”

Chapter 13: Connections

A weary sigh slipped its way past Fleethoof’s lips as he stepped out onto the porch of Clydesdale Manor. The orange sun had just begun to slink its way toward the horizon, signaling the coming evening. It was almost ironic; the one time he saw the sun shine over Thatchholm was once Dandridge was gone.

It had been a long day of processing everything in the manor. Dandridge and his staff were taken into custody; a total of twenty-eight arrests for the RIS. Within an hour of Dandridge’s apprehension, the entire manor had been locked down, and by another, dozens of RIS agents were swarming the building like parasprites. The bodies were documented and cleared from the property. Everything was confiscated and taken in for evidence—every scrap of paper, every painting, every last book on the massive shelves. The RIS left no stone unturned and no clue left behind.

Once the scene had been processed, the first thing he and Bentgrass had done was break into Dandridge’s desk and secure the record book. On an initial look through, he estimated a total of at least a hundred black market transactions had been recorded, all with names, dates, and numbered accounts. The agent was then escorted off the premises to receive medical attention, struggling against the unrelenting medics the entire way.

The rest of the day was spent searching the rest of the manor for anything else that could be claimed as useful. Now here Fleethoof stood, the high of action long since gone; the adrenaline had run its course through his system and he was coming back down to earth. The humid air tasted wet on his tongue with each steady breath while he leaned against the weathered, mossy balustrade on the porch, looking out across the lush fields of Thatchholm County for what could have been the last time.

The last of the agents made their way out of the manor past him. Fleethoof watched them go with their plunder, standing in awe of the tenacity the federal agents had. He had a newfound respect for Bentgrass’ unit, not that he had ever doubted them in the first place. They worked thoroughly and cohesively in a way that reminded him of his team. Fleethoof’s thoughts turned back to his ponies—to Midnight in particular. Though he fulfilled his commitment to Bentgrass, he didn’t stop thinking about her for a moment. Now that they were done, his first order of business was to go check on her.

Fleethoof stepped down off the porch behind the last of the agents, following them back into the town at a slow trot. His mind felt blank and foggy, like he had just woken up. Everything seemed so surreal. He walked up to the bed and breakfast as the remaining agents had begun to collect the last of the intel on Dandridge. Ponies in fine-pressed suits all walked out with saddlebags filled to the brim with notebooks, photographs, and plans. Fleethoof slipped past a couple as they exited and glanced around the empty lounge. He paused in the vacant space, his brow knitting together. He cantered upstairs to the bedroom. Empty as well, save for one last agent collecting the last of the photos from the wall.

“Midnight?” Fleethoof called out into the air. Of course, silence answered him back. “Excuse me, agent. Where was the bat pony that was here?”

The pony blinked in surprise. “Oh, she left a while ago, sir.”

“What?”

“She just kept pacing around, and then she started saying something about going back to Canterlot. She was so restless, I let her go with the first team and the detainees.”

Fleethoof turned tail and ran out of the bed and breakfast as fast as he could. He dove off the porch, backflipping into the air and gliding to the train idling at the station. The whistle blew right when he dove through the doors, a dozen questions and worries buzzing in his head like a swarm of angry hornets. He had to find Midnight.

Midnight Dasher’s apartment was more or less what Fleethoof had been expecting. From the outside, it looked like every other building in Canterlot. The structure sat tall and majestic, situated between the upper districts of the city. Midnight lived on the top floor, also not to Fleethoof’s surprise. That filly always did love being on top of things.

He stood outside the plain door marked by nothing more than her apartment number. He rapped on the wood, mumbling a silent praise that she had been prudent enough to update her local address when she had transferred to Skyfall. He wouldn’t have put it past her to blow off her paperwork entirely. As it turned out, Midnight just kept surprising him again and again.

He waited, glancing up and down the narrow beige hallways. The bitter air smelled like they had recently painted the walls. Warm yellow lights lit the corridor, making it seem as if the hall was illuminated by candlelight. It was an interesting effect, one Fleethoof couldn’t decide if he liked or not. The synthetic Gothic feel felt odd to his tastes. He briefly wondered if that was something Midnight was used to back home in the Hollow Shades.

He waited some more. Midnight didn’t show up. He knocked again, louder and more deliberate this time. Midnight still didn’t come. There’s no way she didn’t hear me that time… Fleethoof thought and pressed an ear to the door. It was dead silent inside, no buzz of a radio or whirring of a fan or anything.

“Midnight?” he called out through the door, knocking again. “Midnight, it’s Fleethoof. Can you hear me?”

Several minutes passed with nopony coming to acknowledge him. Fleethoof scowled and tried the handle.

“Midnight? Let me i—”

The handle turned with ease and the latch clicked open. The door swung inward. Midnight hadn’t bothered to lock it, it seemed. Confused, Fleethoof pushed the door open the rest of the way—and froze in the entryway.

Midnight’s apartment was a wreck. An orchid plant lay knocked over at his hooves by the door, damp spots of soil and water soaking into the cream carpets. A mirror just beside the entrance was shattered, leaving shards of reflective glass littering the ground with sparkles as far as he could see. He stepped further inside, closing the door quietly behind himself. It looked like somepony had tossed her apartment looking for something. He took a tentative peek into the kitchen as he walked into the lounge. A broken glass lay on the counter, letting a deep red liquid spill down the surface. He paused and gave it a hesitant taste. The bitter flavor of alcohol greeted his tongue; wine.

“Midnight…?” he called out with much more apprehension than before, his hoof sliding for his gun while he worked his way through her lounge. Photo frames were all pushed down onto their faces, hiding the memories contained within. The blinds weren’t drawn over the windows, showcasing the darkness of night within the window frame. From the top floor, the streetlights of the city seemed so far away. There was only one other door he could go through and it was shut. Fleethoof swallowed his nerves back and pushed it open, dreading what could be on the other side if the apartment’s common space was in such disarray.

Midnight’s bedroom lay on the other side. The room was in as much of a state as the rest of her apartment. The bedsheets were tossed about in a messy pile of dark blue and cream fabric. Dozens of photographs covered the floor beside an old vanity dresser. Only one still clung to its home in the frame of the mirror. He stepped over and pried it out. The glossy image was of him when they were searching the Everfree, sunlight pouring through the canopy and glistening through his flaxen mane. His sapphire eyes stood out the most, focused and intense with a lingering fire blazing behind them. He remembered that moment. As much as he hated to admit it, she had taken a really good photo of him.

The sound of water running was the next thing he focused his attention on. Another door spanned off from the side of the bedroom. Light spilled out from beneath it, along with the sound of flowing water. Just out in front of it was Midnight’s indigo dress, stained with her blood and frayed from the struggle with Dandridge. Fleethoof stepped carefully past the strewn photos and picked it up, running the silky material through his hooves several times before setting it down on the bed as if it were made of woven gold. Then he turned to the last door.

Fleethoof opened the door with great care, keeping one hoof on his gun out of habit more than anything. The light spilled into his eyes, temporarily blinding him as he leaned in. His eyes adjusted, and a bright white bathroom greeted his sight. Unlike the rest of the apartment, the bathroom was in immaculate condition. It was hot and humid inside, like someone had tried to turn it into a makeshift sauna. Steam had already fogged up the mirror beyond any hope of a reflection, and it was difficult to breathe right.

He turned to the shower next. A wall of frosted glass made up the shower, but he could still see the blurred mass of gray on the other side. Fleethoof let his hoof drop from his weapon and walked over to open the shower door. Midnight sat curled up on herself beneath a constant stream of water from the shower head, staring at the floor and off into space. She didn’t move an inch and she scarcely blinked. Fleethoof couldn’t even see her chest move as she breathed.

She looked up at him after a moment, her eyes bloodshot and broken. Her lips were parted, but just a slight break, like she was on the verge of saying something, yet no words left her mouth. Her mane hung down the side of her face and neck, soaked and dripping over herself, and her drenched tail lay scattered in a careless mess behind her in a puddle of water by the drain.

Fleethoof’s heart broke in an instant. Pursing his lips together in a fine line, he unfastened his vest buckle by buckle and slipped out of it, letting his gear fall to the floor with a clatter until he was bare. He stepped into the shower and over to Midnight. The second the water hit his chest, he gasped and shivered. It was freezing cold. Midnight had apparently burned through all the hot water. How long had she been in there?

He sat down beside her, noticing how she shivered every now and then under the icy spray from above. His mane melted into a river of gold and plastered itself in an unflattering fashion down his neck and face, mimicking hers. She looked up from the void to him again, meeting his eyes up close. He didn’t smile at her. He didn’t offer her any advice or ask her any questions. He didn’t behave like the captain she knew him for.

Instead, Fleethoof reached a hoof around and pulled Midnight close to his side, holding onto her as tight as he could. He had seen that look in her eyes before. It was one he had worn once upon a time. Midnight resisted at first, not even acknowledging he was trying to comfort her. She sat like a rock, unmoved and emotionless. But after many long moments, she untangled herself and wrapped her hooves around his chest and back, burying her face into his shoulder. Fleethoof felt Midnight tremble and choke back a sob. Wet warmth touched his skin through his fur.

“Shh, it’s okay, Midnight… You’re safe…”

“I-I’m s-sorry…” she choked out an apology. “I let you down… I messed up… I’m sorry…”

Fleethoof shook his head with vigor and held her all the tighter, his hoof rubbing her back to soothe her. “No, no… You didn’t do anything like that, Mid. You made me so proud of you…”

Midnight sniffled and swallowed thickly. “I just keep reliving it… I can still f-feel him all over me… I couldn’t do anything…”

“I let you down, Midnight… I should have been faster…” Fleethoof clenched his eyes shut and mentally chastised himself. He had let this happen. “I knew something was wrong, but I still let you go in… It’s my fault, and I’m sorry…”

Midnight broke down again. Her shoulders shook each time her chest heaved with inaudible sobs. Fleethoof hated seeing her like this. The lively, spirited bat pony that had turned his world around now lay curled up in his hooves, broken down to a state he didn’t think he would ever see her in. It was everything he feared when he enlisted her. He continued to calm her with gentle shushes and an unrelenting embrace. Fleethoof lost track of how long they stayed there like that. He was willing to wait in the shower with her all night if he had to.

To his relief, she did come to a gradual stop after some time had passed. Once Midnight had cried herself out to the point of exhaustion, her breathing settled back down to a normal rate and she slumped against his side. Fleethoof reached up to shut off the water and got up, ushering Midnight to her hooves with him. She took her time, her body tired and sore. She leaned on Fleethoof’s shoulder for support all the way out. Fleethoof rummaged through her cabinets until he found where she kept the towels, wrapping one around her and running it through her coat until he had whisked away every drop of water.

Both ponies were silent as they made their way back into Midnight’s bedroom once they were dry. Fleethoof helped her into her bed and set about clearing up the scattered photographs and setting them in a neat pile on her dresser. She watched him all the while from beneath the covers.

“Why are you here?” she asked while she watched him work. He paused for only the briefest of moments before he was back at it again, tossing her ruined dress out of sight.

“Because I was worried about you.” His answer was blunt, yet honest. “I look out for my ponies. That includes you.”

“You broke into my apartment to make sure I was okay?”

“Technically, you left your door unlocked. But yes, that is the long way of saying yes.” He laughed and looked up at her with a ghost of a smile. “Consider it payback for the times you broke into my room.”

The most faint of twitches lifted the corners of Midnight’s mouth, but just barely. Her hooves tangled in the blankets, winding and unwinding them anxiously while she debated asking him her next question. “…Can I ask you for a favor then?”

Fleethoof set the last of the pictures down, his gaze settling on her. “Of course.”

“Could you… stay for the night?” Fleethoof’s forehead creased and Midnight looked away shyly. “I mean, I get it. You’re my commanding officer, it’d be weird and stuff, but… I’d feel a lot better if you stayed.”

Fleethoof asked the question before he even gave himself a moment to consider it. “Why?”

“I dunno,” she spoke with a timid shrug. “You make me feel safe…”

Fleethoof waited to see if Midnight would make eye contact with him again after admitting something like that. She didn’t, instead just twisting the bed sheets in between her hooves again and again. Her vulnerability put him off and made him realize just how shaken up she was.

“This goes against every code and protocol in the book… but okay.”

Midnight didn’t look up at him, but smiled all the same. The tiny grin was just noticeable as Fleethoof trotted over and sat on the edge of the bed beside her. Midnight’s eyes were glassy and red, and she looked like she was fighting to keep from falling apart again. Fleethoof admired her for her tenacious strength of character. But he had learned from a wise pony that keeping your emotions and trauma bottled up inside your mind led to self destruction.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked after a long period of silence passed. He kept his gaze tethered to hers.

Midnight looked uncertain, the doubt clouding her watery eyes. “Will it do me any good to…?”

“Yes, it will.” Fleethoof shifted on the bed to face her better. “A very good friend once told me that the first step to recovery is letting go of what’s hurting you. She helped me. Now I can help you the same way.”

Midnight dropped her gaze from Fleethoof, staring down at the blankets bunched up in her lap. Her body reclined into the pillows with a sigh. Fleethoof saw a tremor run through her body, her wings tensed at a memory he didn’t dare try to imagine.

“You know, I wasn’t afraid of dying, or what he was going to do to me…” She paused and tipped her head to the side with a wince. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I was afraid, but I was more scared that I had failed, and…”

She drifted off. Her eyes seemed fixated on the patterns woven into the sheets swaddling her body. Fleethoof knew better though. He had seen that distant look glazed over in many eyes in his lifetime—his own included. The thousand-yard stare was impossible to mistake.

“And what, Mid…?” he asked. He lingered, apprehensive about asking the next part. “Did he…?”

“No, no he didn’t… But I was scared you wouldn’t come in time before he did…”

Fleethoof felt like a steel knife had been thrust into his windpipe. Breathing became a chore as the emotion choked his lungs and punched him in the gut. He blinked in rapid succession, taken aback. Midnight shook her head after a while and chuckled to herself, her voice beyond weak.

“I don’t know why I thought you wouldn’t… You’ve never given me a reason to not trust you. All I could think was ‘Fleet will come. He’s coming right now.’ But… I was cocky. I thought I could handle it all on my own. I guess I thought it would be justified or something… Like I deserved it for being reckless and not listening to you… I thought maybe I’d just be left there…”

Fleethoof didn’t say a word. He got to his hooves again and moved around to Midnight, climbing on top of the bed beside her. She looked at him with surprised eyes as he settled down next to her and wrapped his hooves around her shoulders to pull her into another comforting embrace.

“I would never abandon you, Midnight…” he whispered with such indubitable vindication, his husky voice sending pleasant shivers through her.

Midnight exhaled slowly and let herself sink against his side with her head resting on his broad chest. She wrapped her hooves around his side and closed her eyes, enjoying being surrounded by the warmth and security of his presence while she listened to his heart beat. Fleethoof rested his chin above her forehead, his hoof stroking her back to soothe and calm her nerves.

“You are a part of my family now, Midnight. Family means the world to me,” he said, emphasizing each word with slow pronunciation to make his point all the more powerful. “We don’t have many rules, but one that never gets broken is ‘we don’t leave our family behind’. No exceptions, ever. I will come for you when you’re in trouble. I promise.”

That was all it took to unravel Midnight’s resilience. The filly fell into soft sobs and whimpers against his chest, her tears dripping down her muzzle to soak into his coat. Fleethoof shushed her and rubbed her back while she let all the emotional buildup pour out. He didn’t know how long it took Midnight to cry herself to exhaustion, but when she finally did stop shaking, she lay still across him, her chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm with her breaths. He glanced down to see if she was still with him or if she had slipped away. Her eyes had drifted closed, and though she had gone limp and heavy against his side, her hooves clung to his body like a life preserver in a turbulent sea.

Fleethoof gave Midnight a tender smile and brushed a lock of her indigo mane behind her pricked ear. She mumbled once, then lay still. With the mare asleep on top of him, he was left immobilized. His eyes strafed to and fro around her bedroom, noting a distinct difference in the furnishings to her personality. It seemed like none of Midnight’s flamboyant demeanor had been translated over. The walls were a stark gray with only a few candid photographs of friends and fellow bats pinned to them. Her furniture was plain and simple: functional without any exuberance. In the year that Midnight had lived here, it seemed like she had purposefully gone out of the way to keep it feeling like a temporary stay as opposed to a home.

His eyes dipped down to the nightstand beside the bed, making note of the sole object sitting on the small surface. A tiny silver box decorated with fine Gothic etchings sat alone and isolated off-center on the stand. It was a curious thing to imagine Midnight leaving just one personal item so exposed. Fleethoof reached over with a slow hoof, careful not to disturb the sleeping pony on top of him while he picked it up and examined the intricate metalwork up close. It looked like a small jewelry box of sorts. A lot of care had gone into each deliberate fold and etching.

Fleethoof flipped the lid open with one hoof to find out what it contained inside. A soft melody began to fill the room, making the stallion jump in surprise and shut the lid as fast as he could. The music died as quickly as it had begun. He risked a glance down at Midnight to make sure he hadn’t disturbed her, and then leaned over to set the box back down.

“Don’t stop it,” Midnight spoke in a soft, pleading voice. Her eyes remained closed, but the way she tightened her hooves around him let Fleethoof know that she was, in fact, still awake. Her tired voice begged to question how long that would remain. “Can you put it back on? Please, Fleety?”

He didn’t bother to correct her this time. “Sure thing, Mid.” He opened the lid. The dulcet song flowed through the compact bedroom again. “What is it?”

“A music box my mom gave me when I joined the Nightwatch,” she murmured into his skin and snuggled herself closer to the pegasus’s warm body. “It’s my lullaby she used to sing when I was a little filly…”

For the duration of the song, Fleethoof sat in quiet contemplation and absorbed the little piece of Midnight’s history. He knew so little about her, yet just listening to the song from her past spoke volumes to him. The light and playful melody was somehow refined and perfect in its own way, yet still a little sobering. It was a flawless fit to her personality and reflected more about its owner than her entire apartment did put together. Fleethoof listened to the song with a trace of a smile until it faded into silence.

“Again…?” Midnight asked.

Fleethoof closed the music box and opened it again. Once more, he listened to the entire melody, memorizing each note and nuance in the piece. When it ended, Midnight mumbled incoherent words into his side. He took that for a repeat request and played the melody again, and again, and again until he was humming along with it. Midnight didn’t speak another word after that. Fleethoof smiled down at his sleeping friend and let the music box play one last time. This time, he relaxed into the fluffy pillows with Midnight and let the lullaby fill his head with soothing serenity.

He didn’t even notice his eyes close when he fell into a calm sleep, clinging on to the tiny silver box and the peaceful filly at his side.

In the solitude of his cell, Dandridge listened to the quiet contained within the stone walls of Canterlot prison. The once powerful aristocrat and congresspony sat alone in the corner of his cell. His body lay slumped against the cold walls with his head pressed to the rough stone, eyes narrowed to vicious points as he fumed. He had gotten himself into this mess. But he had done it with pride and tenacity.

So where the hell was his backup?

Where were the ponies he had sworn to protect if they protected him? Where was the cavalry coming to rescue him from the hangman’s noose? Where was his saving grace? Even his bloodsucking lawyer had yet to show up. Dandridge Clydesdale, the bulletproof powerhouse of Thatchholm county, was all alone.

Dandridge weighed his options on his own while he waited out the clock for his trial and his inevitable execution. There was only one way he could see out of it: cut a deal. But could he spurn them to save his own skin? If giving the authorities the information they wanted to hang his ‘friends’ instead of him, why not give them up? Why should he have to die for their crimes, too?

As much as it pained him to even think of doing so, he entertained the idea of spilling his guts to that agent in the suit. He could just see the stallion’s smug grin as he came clean and surrendered. But what did he care? Rule one of good business, he recited to himself in the solitude of his cell. Always make sure you walk away with the profit…

The more he thought about it, the more Dandridge had begun to revel in his loneliness. When he was being processed, several of his fellow politicians had come with their phony sympathies and pledges of fealty. He spat in their faces and cursed their names. Then came the journalists; the carrion birds circling for a scrap of a story to slake their lusts and make him a laughingstock the second he had been escorted off the train. He was certain they were still hanging around outside the prison trying to find their way inside.

“Dandridge Clydesdale… How the mighty have fallen.”

Dandridge’s ear flicked up when he heard that voice—that smooth, polished voice. He spun around. The amber-coated stallion standing by the door gave him a sad, sagacious smile as he ran a hoof through his slick charcoal mane. Dandridge met his eyes with shock.

“How did you get in here?”

The stallion shrugged. “When you invent the anti-teleportation spells in the prisons, you tend to know how to get around them.”

“I can see that, but what about the guards?” he hissed, turning fully to face his guest. “You can’t let them see you in here!”

“Never fear. I’m holding a projection spell in place. The guards will only see you sleeping in your cot and hear nothing. We are free to talk.”

A relieved grin appeared on his lips and trotted over to the unicorn pony. The stallion was smaller than he was, standing on the short side for a fully grown pony, with slender legs and a slim build.

“Oh, you have no idea how glad I am to see you, my friend,” Dandridge sighed. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

The stallion laughed and gave Dandridge an inviting smile as he straightened his sleek black blazer to his chest. “Silent teleportation. One of Star Swirl’s many lost spells. I am sorry, friend. You know how it is, climbing the political ladder and all that good stuff.”

“Oh, believe me, I do. So how have you been?”

“Quite well. I’ve secured everything according to plan. Everypony is in place and everything is going smoothly. Yourself?”

Dandridge motioned around the dingy prison cell with a look that oozed sarcasm. “Comme ci, comme ça.”

The stallion laughed again and wandered over to Dandridge’s cot to inspect the tattered and stained bedspread with mild-mannered indifference. “I’m sorry to hear that. Have they been treating you well?”

“They’ve certainly made me realize how much I miss my housekeeper.” Both ponies laughed this time. “That mare was a saint compared to these ruffians…”

“Anypony who works with you and walks away alive is a saint, Dandridge.”

“Okay, enough foreplay. You’ve come to bail me out, right?”

The pony looked back at Dandridge with those piercing arctic-blue eyes that seemed to stare straight through his soul. The stallion’s expression was warm, but the look in his eyes was cold as could be. “I’m afraid not this time, Dandridge.”

“What do you mean?” Dandridge asked with great trepidation. Then calming realization settled on his features. “Oh, I see. You mean for me to go through the motions of a trial and you’ll pull some strings for an acquittal.”

“Wrong again. I mean you’re in much too deep. I cannot get you out of this one. You’ve played your part. Besides, your sacrifice was all part of my plan.”

“Part of the—?! We had a deal, remember? We had a deal!”

“Yes we did, Dandridge. And the deal has expired.”

Dandridge snorted and stomped his hooves on the ground hard enough to kick up a cloud of dust around himself. He glared across the way at the stallion, anger flaring up in his chest. “What, I’m not useful to you anymore so you get rid of me?! I was plenty useful when I was following all your instructions with the Sarcidanos and that griffon psychopath you seemed so fond of.”

“No, it’s not that…” His visitor never broke eye contact with him, surprising Dandridge by putting him on edge. Nopony had done that to him before. “It’s that I can’t have any loose ends coming back to hang me. And you’ve become a very dangerous loose end, Dandridge.”

“How the hell am I a loose end?!”

“Because you’re thinking about going to talk to the RIS and the Royal Guard about me and my compatriots.” He tsked and shook his head. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, Dandridge. I know you well enough. Hell, I taught you everything about this world. That’s just being insulting now. And that also makes you a liability to me.”

“I’m no liability, I-I swear I would never tell a soul!”

The pony’s smile faltered a tad as he nodded his head. Dandridge could see his cunning mind working behind his unyielding eyes. “I want to believe you, Dandridge. You’ve been a friend for years, and proven yourself very reliable so far… Can I continue to trust you?”

“Yes!” Dandridge was shaking his head so fast it was making him dizzy. The prospect of freedom and escape to a faraway country was too great to pass up. “Yes, of course you can! Hell, I’ll even make myself disappear to keep you anonymous. You know I’d never betray you of all ponies.”

He seemed to consider his proposition for a moment. His lips pursed together into a tight line, and then popped together as he thought. Finally, he looked up at Dandridge with a grin that split his face.

“All right, Dandridge. It’s a deal.”

He trotted across the way and offered his hoof out to Dandridge. The relief was overwhelming to the anxious Earth pony as he graciously took his guest’s hoof in his own and shook it. Dandridge opened his mouth to speak, to thank him for this second chance, when he felt something wrap around his throat and squeeze.

Dandridge gave an inaudible gasp. He felt the ground disappear from his hooves, and then he was hanging in the air. The pressure around his neck constricted further, cutting off any oxygen from reaching his lungs. His hooves scrabbled at his neck, yet nothing was there. He couldn’t breathe. The stallion beneath him just smirked up at him, cold indifference in his eyes. The unicorn’s horn was glowing with his magic, the same magic now suffocating him in midair.

“Sorry it had to be this way, old friend, but I can’t leave anything to chance this late in the game. You understand, of course. It’s such a shame, but don’t you worry. You can pass on knowing you helped benefit my cause. And the best part? Nopony will care about your death, what with you being an untrustworthy snake in the grass… It will look like you took your own life to avoid the public humiliation and disgrace.”

He walked past Dandridge without so much as a glance, humming to himself while Dandridge kicked and flailed in the air above his head. Dandridge was taken aback by the cold and callous nature of the pony he believed to be his ally. He wanted to do something. He wanted to scream and lash out at him, but no sound could escape him. The pony’s vision blurred and darkened, his lungs burning as they cried for life-giving air. It only took a few moments more before Dandridge’s muscles went limp and his mind shut down.

“Goodbye, Dandridge. Thank you for all your help.”

The pony grinned, and then vanished in a burst of scarlet magic.

Fleethoof and Midnight walked down the precinct hallway to the Skyfall lobby together. Neither pony spoke as their hooves echoed each heavy clop across the tile and mosaic floor. The heavy mahogany doors sat sealed and imposing before the two as they approached, eyes focused forward and steeled for the day. Coming back to reality from the almost-fantastical haze of a mission was a sobering feeling, one Fleethoof knew too well. Midnight was getting her first taste of that sensation at last.

He turned to her as they reached the doors, an uneasy gleam in his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t need some time to recover?”

“No,” Midnight said with a firm shake of her head and put on a brave smile. “I’d be better off here than sitting in my apartment alone.”

He had to concede that to her. He knew the sentiment well. With a nod of his head, Fleethoof pushed open the doors to the squad room. The rest of Skyfall Unit were all in various stages of activity. Echo was busy reorganizing the items on her desk by feel, the hallmark bandana still wrapped tight around her eyes. The mare wore a new badge bearing Skyfall’s insignia pinned to the lapel of her uniform. Fleethoof grinned. She had passed her entry test.

Sharp Shot was, much to his surprise, working on paperwork. He never thought he would see the day he didn’t have to shove the unicorn’s nose into a stack of pages before he got to work. Responsibility is making him more mature, he noted in his head with a proud nod. He turned to Valiant and Cupcake next. Both ponies were locked in what appeared to be a very intense game of chess. Judging by the expression on Cupcake’s face, the larger pony was getting crushed by his smaller opponent.

Blue Shield had been buried in one of his medical textbooks until the doors opened. He glanced up and beamed at the two ponies. “The captain’s back! Midnight, too!”

Everypony looked up at them and welcomed them back as they returned to their respective desks next to one another. Midnight slouched into her chair and spun around once, staring up at the ceiling as she twirled. Fleethoof grabbed one of the mission report files and set it down on her desk for her to fill out while he grabbed her personnel file from beneath a stack of papers.

“Where’d you two go, boss?” Sharp Shot asked with his permanent lopsided grin plastered to his face. “Oh, I got Echo all inducted in while you were gone.”

“We were working with the RIS on a case. And I can see that. Congratulations, Echo. Welcome to the team.”

Echo gave him a shy smile and bowed her head. “Thank you, sir.”

Fleethoof lifted a quill in his teeth and dipped it into an inkwell, beginning to fill out Midnight’s evaluation form for her entry test. No detail was spared. Her incredible dedication and effort to infiltrate Dandridge’s syndicate, her ability to convince him of her cover, and her hand in defeating and detaining him all went into the report. He gave Midnight a glowing review and closed it with his flourished signature and seal of approval. Midnight Dasher was in.

He unlocked a drawer in his desk and pulled out the Skyfall patch and insignia pin and placed them in front of Midnight on her desk. “Congratulations to you too, Midnight. You’re both official members of Skyfall now.”

Midnight looked up at him with proud and appreciative eyes. She dipped her head in a courteous nod, but the smile on her face said it all. “Thanks so much for all this, Fleet.”

“You two earned it. Thank yourselves for the year of hard work and dedication.”

Midnight grinned from ear-to-ear and bounded over to Echo, the two whispering excitedly amongst themselves. Fleethoof smirked and rolled his eyes, and then returned to his desk. He still had a lot of forms to finish with the new recruits, and then more on the way with the RIS.

I know what I’m gonna be doing for the next month or three…

“Yo, boss! That creepy albino pony is back.”

“I am not an albino.”

Fleethoof’s head snapped up at Sharp’s unusual message. Bentgrass limped through the open doors, the signature impassive look on his face replaced for a stern frown. It put Fleethoof on edge. He had only seen Bentgrass like this a couple times before. It never spelled good news.

“Agrostis,” he greeted when the pony marched up to his desk. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in the hospital recovering?”

“There’s never any rest for the weary, Captain. I have grave news you need to know.”

His humor was clearly put aside. Fleethoof’s demeanor switched on a dime, his smile dropping to an austere neutrality. “What is it?”

“I returned to RIS headquarters last night to follow up with the investigation. My fellow agents and I immediately began to dig through Dandridge’s records,” he explained, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes.

“You look like you’ve been up all night, my friend.”

“That’s because I was. It was a good thing I was too.” He dropped a folder down in front of Fleethoof’s nose. “I started my search through Dandridge’s transaction ledger. It led me to a goldmine of illicit activity that will bury him without any doubt. There were dozens of names of international criminals and terrorist organizations. However, there was one name that raised a red flag in my head the moment I saw it. I knew you would want to see for yourself.”

Furrowing his brow, Fleethoof turned with narrow eyes down to the folder and opened it. Inside were photographic copies of pages from Dandridge’s ledger. A name was circled in red ink for his eyes to find with speed. But even though he saw it and read it, and re-read it, his mind refused to register what was on the page. His jaw fell slack. Cold terror slowed his heart in his chest until his hooves went numb.

His anxious gaze shot up to Bentgrass. “This can’t be right.”

“That’s what I wanted to think,” he continued, turning the photos away for Fleethoof to see the next set of records. “So I followed the dates on the transactions with detailed records he kept of his sales. It is no lie, Captain. Dandridge provided these assets to him.”

Fleethoof read over each transaction receipt with nothing short of pure dread. Each one accounted for a load of weapons from around the world, both foreign and domestic. It totaled up to the armaments for a small army, and all of them were made out to the same buyer.

Alaric Dawnbreaker.

“It can’t be…” he muttered to himself. His hooves grasped the edge of the desk to stabilize his spinning vision. “It can’t be possible…”

“It appears exile hasn’t made him any less dangerous,” Bentgrass mused. “It’s a pity you didn’t have the chance to kill him.”

“So Dandridge must know how to get to him.” Fleethoof’s hopes began to soar as he sought out the silver lining to the storm cloud. “We can use him to locate Alaric and stop him before he tries anything.”

Bentgrass hesitated in his response. Fleethoof winced inwardly; he hated when Bentgrass did that. It also meant good news wouldn’t follow.

“…What?”

Bentgrass lingered for a moment longer, and then said, “Yes, I agree, Captain. But he gave Alaric more than just weapons.”

“What else did he give him?” he asked.

“Being a politician, Dandridge had access to all of the princesses’ itineraries and public appointments. It appears he sold that information to Alaric as well.”

“What’s that? Alaric’s alive?!” Sharp Shot chimed in from across the room.

“What?”

“Huh? Alaric is return?” Cupcake all but fell out of his chair.

All at once, the entire squad room had tuned in on their conversation. All heads and eyes were turned in their direction.

Midnight cocked her head to the side. “Uh… I’m confused.You mean the griffon Alaric? The crazy one that disappeared during the war?”

“Disappeared doesn’t mean dead,” Sharp Shot remarked, then glanced with dark eyes over at Fleethoof. “He’s one mean son of a bitch. And the captain’s nemesis.”

Fleethoof and Bentgrass remained oblivious to Skyfall’s gawking and passive comments. Both stallions held each other’s gaze tense and attentive. “He’s targeting the princesses,” Fleethoof surmised with dark revelation. “You think he’s going to go after the ones he thinks are responsible for bringing him down?”

“That is precisely my line of thinking, Captain.”

“Then we need to go on the defensive. Prepare for his initial attack while we work Dandridge for his location.”

“My department can handle that. The princesses’ security falls into your realm, however,” Bentgrass said.

Fleethoof gave a brusque nod of his head. “Then we’ll handle that. If Alaric is coming to us on our turf, we’ll be ready for him.”

“Another agent has already been sent to the princesses to inform them of our discovery as well.” Bentgrass smirked a touch beneath his grim expression. “I expect you’ll be getting a summons any minute now.”

No sooner had the pony finished speaking, two armor-clad stallions came sprinting into the squad room, panting and out of breath. “Captain Fleethoof! Princess Celestia requires your team’s presence at the castle right away!”

Fleethoof’s eyes flashed a hint of humor at Bentgrass, even while his face remained expressionless. “Let’s move, team!”

“I should have expected Alaric would attempt something this drastic…” Celestia sighed and sipped at a steaming cup of tea. The hot liquid did little to soothe her agitated nerves. “I did pray that he would find reconciliation in his exile. This was not what I wanted…”

“Nopony wanted any of this, dear sister,” Luna said and placed a comforting hoof on Celestia’s. “But Alaric is too far gone to save now. There was nothing you could have done to redeem his soul.”

Fleethoof stepped closer to the two princesses seated out on a balcony overlooking Canterlot. Beside him, Shining Armor did the same. To their rear, the six ponies of Skyfall stood attentive and alert. “With all due respect, your majesties, now is not the time for personal blame.”

“Fleethoof is right,” agreed Shining Armor with a fast nod. “What matters is the present. Right now we need to focus on your security. If Alaric is going to make a move, he’ll be targeting you at one of the public events on your schedules.”

“We have many engagements throughout the year,” Celestia said, her voice calm, yet her eyes reflected the same concern Fleethoof felt in his heart. “It would be impossible to predict when such a strike could come.”

“Then we bolster your security until it does.” Fleethoof’s suggestion sounded more like an order than an idea. “Divide up the available special forces to add to your personal security until we find Alaric or until he comes to us. But we cannot leave you exposed to him.”

“I have plenty of Marines still hanging around waiting for a task,” Shining said. “We can put our attention in protecting Princess Celestia.”

“And I can divide my team and reinforce both Princess Luna and Princess Cadance’s security detail,” remarked Fleethoof.

“We still do not know when such an incident could occur,” Luna pointed out tersely. “This increase in security could last the remainder of the year.”

“Yes, your majesty, it could.” A smirk crossed Fleethoof’s lips. “But my team’s not doing anything more important.”

Shining Armor stood at attention. “Neither are my soldiers.”

Celestia and Luna exchanged looks for a long while. Fleethoof observed the silent conversation going on behind their eyes. He was envious of siblings that could communicate through a pseudo-telepathy via gazes alone. Finally, the regal alicorns looked back to the captains, and Celestia nodded.

“Very well, officers. Divide and conquer. Captain Armor, I expect your Marines to be on their best behavior.”

Shining Armor saluted. “Of course, your highness.”

“And Fleethoof,” Luna said, turning to her officer. “Which members of your team shall be joining my Nightwatch?”

Fleethoof looked back at the six ponies standing in wait, carefully considering and weighing the options. “Sharp Shot, Echo, Blue Shield, and Cupcake, your majesty.”

The ponies stepped forward as he named each one and saluted the princess. Luna looked over each soldier with a nod of approval. “Very well. And you shall be escorting Princess Cadance?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why am I not surprised?” he heard Sharp Shot murmur behind his back.

“Do be careful with our niece, Captain,” Celestia warned him with a wry smile. “Cadance can be a bit of a free spirit.”

“I am aware, your majesty. Don’t you worry, ma’am. She’ll be safe with me,” Fleethoof said and saluted. He turned to Shining and nodded his head. “But first, I think we need to go have a chat with Mister Clydesdale.”

“This pony killed two government agents?” Shining Armor asked while walking the wide gray hallways of Canterlot Prison beside Fleethoof. “And wounded another?”

“Those are only the crimes we know of. I think he’s killed more that we don’t know about,” said Fleethoof as they rounded a corner, following close behind the jailer leading them through the labyrinth of cells.

Shining Armor snorted and tousled his messy mane. “I call dibs on stringing this son of a bitch up myself.”

“Be my guest.”

“He’s just up here,” the jailer said, motioning to a cell with his head. “I gotta say, he’s the best prisoner I’ve seen in a long time. Been super quiet all night. Just keepin’ to himself.”

The ponies stepped up to the cell. Fleethoof and Shining peered inside at the lump of pony beneath the stained sheets of the cot. The jailer lifted a club off his belt and rattled it against the bars of the cell. The clanging of metal broke the otherwise quiet morning.

“‘Ey! Pretty boy! You gots visitors!”

Dandridge didn’t stir beneath the blanket. Fleethoof exchanged a look with Shining Armor. He could see the question mirrored in his friend’s eyes.

“Open the cell,” Shining ordered.

“You sure about that, sir? I mean, he’s a dangerous criminal and—”

“I said, open the cell.”

The jailer gave a conceding look and unlocked the door for them. The stallions trotted into the cell—and froze dead in their tracks. As soon as he stepped past the gate, Fleethoof felt electricity in the air that made his hair stand on end. He wrinkled his nose and tried to shake it off, but the residual static remained palpable in the atmosphere.

“You feel that?” Shining Armor asked.

Fleethoof nodded. “Yeah. What is it?”

“It’s magic. Residual magic. It’s like a leftover energy field from some kind of spell, or one that’s still in effect.”

“I’ve never felt anything like that before, and I hang around with you screw-heads all the time. What sort of spell leaves residual magic?”

“The powerful kind. Hang on, lemme see if I can...” Shining muttered and ignited his horn.

The cell in front of them began to distort and shift before vanishing in an explosion of sparkles. Fleethoof and Shining froze when they saw Dandridge Clydesdale. The pony was dangling from the end of his bedsheets, tethered to a makeshift noose where he hung from his upright cot. Shining immediately leapt into action, tearing the fabric from the stallion’s neck and checking his pulse. Fleethoof clenched his jaw tight, staring with a mix of rage and resentment at the deceased criminal. He knew there would be no hope of saving him.

“You didn’t make sure there was no way he could kill himself?” Fleethoof shouted at the jailer. “He was quiet through the night, huh? Did you even bother to check on him?!”

“I… I… But he was… You just saw...”

Shining Armor shook his head and muttered, “He’s gone.”

“And so are our hopes of finding Alaric…” Fleethoof snorted twice and paced with heavy steps in a tight circle. “Whoever left this energy field probably convinced Dandridge to kill himself.”

“It doesn’t make sense...” Shining said. “The entire prison is covered by an anti-teleportation field. No unicorn can get in or out with magic, and nopony was allowed in to see him. Whoever he’s protecting, they must be a hell of a lot scarier than you are.”

Fleethoof growled and stomped a hoof against the hard stone floor. “So what do we do now? We have no intel and nopony to interrogate.”

“We’re just gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way. We guard the princesses and be ready for anything.”

He sighed and glanced over at Shining Armor, still scowling, but his eyes held that familiar look of purpose. “Just like being a recruit again?”

Shining nodded. “Yeah, like walking those patrol routes and pretending to be a statue. You still remember how to do all that, right?”

“I’m not the one who’s been stuck behind a desk,” Fleethoof quipped, making for the door. “Hey, if we’re lucky, maybe Alaric will hear about Dandridge and back off.”

Shining Armor rolled his eyes. “When have we ever been that lucky? And where are you going?”

“To get my team,” Fleethoof shouted back, already heading down the hall. Shining took off after him.

“Don’t you want to at least alert the RIS?”

Fleethoof shook his head. “They can’t do anything from here. They’ll find out soon enough.”

“Well, we should at least tell the princesses, the Minister of Defense, the Secretary of National Security, the heads of the local Guard and police...”

Fleethoof’s face sneered like he’d tasted something sour. “I hate bureaucracy…”

“It’s what keeps our chain of command running, Fleet,” Shining remarked. “Politicians aren’t that bad, bud. Some of them can be your best friends if you cozy up to them, especially with your sneaky sorta stuff.”

“Nope, and I intend to keep it that way. Bureaucrats and I don’t mix.” Fleethoof cast a look at his friend. “And since when did you become one yourself?”

“Har har. It comes with the job,” he said amidst a motion of sarcasm. “Okay, I’ll deal with the politics then. But you owe me for covering your flank.”

“When don’t I owe you?” Fleethoof laughed, then looked at Shining with a serious expression. “Look after Celestia, my friend. We know what Alaric’s like. If he’s really coming back, be prepared for anything.”

“I promise if you do the same,” Shining bartered with a confident grin. “Plus we’ve gotten stronger over the years. I think we could take him down now.”

Fleethoof’s dark eyes smoldered a touch. “Believe me, Shine. I intend to.”

Chapter 14: Blowback

RIS Headquarters was as quiet as a tomb. The sterile whitewashed walls of the complex were so silent, the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead sounded like the roar of an ocean. Many of the offices were dark, their occupants home and in bed. Bentgrass, however, was not. He occupied one of the only lit rooms in the building, slumped over the piles of evidence procured from Clydesdale Manor.

He scowled down at each piece of evidence when they refused to reveal their secrets to him. He had spent more time with this case than any other he could recall. But when it was a matter of national security, no force in Equestria could tear his attention away. He knew that if he stared long and hard enough at the photographs and the pages and books that he would find the hidden answers locked away within them.

A strong gust of wind rattled the windowpane behind his head. He turned to peer out into the dark winter night, watching as the snowstorm raged outside in a flurry of white on black. His frown deepened. Soldiers were out there right now with the princesses as they visited the cities of Equestria for the holidays. They were risking their lives to protect the rulers of this great nation, all while waiting on him to tell them when and where the ambush would be coming from, just as they had been for months now.

But until then, he sat at the desk smothered with evidence, sipping at an exceptionally bad cup of coffee and throwing himself into his work. He rubbed his aching shoulder where the scar of a gunshot wound remained. It reminded him of what he was working to prevent. There had to be something he was missing… Some small, seemingly insignificant detail that would hint towards Alaric’s intentions. This whole ordeal had been a mess since that first day back in May.

The wind shook the glass again, and the power flickered overhead. Bentgrass didn’t so much as glance up at the lights. He was far too busy re-reading everything again. He had stared at these pages so many times, it had gotten to the point that he had memorized the lines, reciting them in his head before his eyes even touched the ink.

The record is to show that on this date, the buyer, Alaric Dawnbreaker, did purchase the classified itineraries of Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza for the price of 100,000 bits. Hereby, the buyer does admit to possession of classified and stolen documents.

Bentgrass shook his head. There was nothing specific in there. Nothing he could use to pin Alaric to a certain timeframe, at least. Most of the year had gone by in an uneventful blur. That only left a few engagements in the year, but that was still several moments his allies would be on their toes, unsure if today would be the day they were attacked. They needed to be a step ahead. They needed to know.

The pallid agent took another deep swallow of the bitter coffee and grimaced at the acidic taste. He turned the page to the next transaction with Alaric. He had purchased more weapons and a map of Equestria. It meant nothing. Bentgrass sighed and set the page aside on another. He grabbed the map in question, turning it over and over in his hooves. The lights flickered on and off again. The folded up paper didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary. But then why did Dandridge feel the need to order it along with a purchase of weapons?

After setting the paper down, he tapped his cheek with an idle hoof. His eyes traced the creases in the map while he tried to work out some train of thought in his mind. His hooves worked to unfold the map, following the lines of the counties in the nation as they revealed themselves with each fold undone. When it was all spread out across the desk, Bentgrass studied the whole thing in its entirety with great care and precision. There didn’t seem to be any special notes or codes or clues hidden anywhere on the map—no logos or symbols on any towns, no marks on any roads, nothing. All that was in front of him was a ruined map.

Wait…

A ruined map. A small section of the map had been cut out. His mind began to race. Dandridge’s office, his house, hell, his entire life was immaculate and pristine. There wasn’t a mar nor slight anywhere in his pursuit of perfection. So why would he keep a damaged map?

…Because he damaged it himself and didn’t get rid of the rest. It was so insignificant that he ignored it, and so did we.

Bentgrass looked over the missing segment of Equestria’s south-western counties. It was a relatively small clipping, only containing a portion of Whitetail Woods and a couple of towns. It was also small enough to fit in a hoof, or a pocket, a vast improvement over the entire large map. Realization dawned on him as the power flickered yet again.

Dandridge didn’t sell the map… He sold a portion of the map… The portion Alaric wanted.

He dove across the table, his hooves scrabbling for the copy of the princesses’ schedules. Only one princess had engagements scheduled in the holidays around that region. Only one group was in any danger.

The wind whipped up a curtain of light, fluffy snow in front of Fleethoof’s face as he stepped out into the cold night. A small town in the middle of Whitetail Woods was not where he had expected Cadance to have a pressing Hearth’s Warming appearance. He didn’t even know the name of the village they were in right now. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping Cadance safe at all costs.

He stared out at the white wonderland of snow as the storm blew across Equestria, covering the land in the fine crystalline powder of winter. His teeth clenched together and he pulled his blazer tighter to his body to ward off the chill. A full moon shone through breaks in the clouds, sending bursts of silvery light across the freshly fallen snow and making the world sparkle. It was a magical sight to behold. If only it wasn’t marred by the constant threat of a sneak attack.

“Fuck this cold weather…” the pony standing beside him muttered, shivering in his gold armor. “I hate getting perimeter duty…”

“I hear you,” Fleethoof agreed. He glanced over at the pony as he swayed to and fro to keep from quivering. “Buck up, soldier. You’re a Royal Guard. Show some professionalism.”

The pony grumbled, but straightened up regardless. “Yes, sir…”

Fleethoof patrolled along the porch they were stationed on, glancing around into the quiet night. The door behind him opened up then, making both him and the Guard turn. Valiant stepped outside with another soldier beside him.

“Your turn inside, Captain,” he said, trading places with Fleethoof. “Anything happening tonight?”

“Not a soul in sight, Sergeant. I’m pretty sure the whole town is inside.”

“Yeah, no foolin’… Well, have fun. They just ended the intermission.”

Fleethoof nodded and slipped inside with the other Guard. The warm air hit his coat like a blow dryer, chasing the cold from his bones. It was a wonderful sensation stepping over the hearth. The inside of the school was dark, save for a few spotlights cast on a makeshift stage. Rows of chairs had been set up, each occupied by a pony, while foals pranced about on the stage, dressed in costumes from times long gone. Fleethoof recognized the annual Hearth’s Warming pageant with fond memories.

He slunk through the darkness around one side of the schoolhouse while his partner took the other side. Even from the back corner, he could see Cadance sitting up in the front row, her long multicolored mane a beacon in the dark.

“No, we shall call it Dirtville, cuz I’m getting all dirty!” a foal portraying Chancellor Puddinghead recited with complete conviction.

Her shoulders rose and fell as she giggled with the rest of the audience while the foals put on what had to be the most adorable rendition of the play Fleethoof had ever seen. It even made him smirk and shake with silent laughter. He spotted Cadance’s other bodyguard to her right and Midnight to her left. It was good to see she was still being well protected, even in this, the least likely of situations for anything to happen. Fleethoof, however, knew that was when trouble liked to strike the most.

Even though the room was dark, Fleethoof did his best to observe his surroundings. Drawings and other work done by the students hung in disarray on the wall. The blackboard behind the stage still had remnants of early age mathematics scribbled on it. It was a quaint one-room schoolhouse, just perfect for the little village. But what struck Fleethoof the most was the framed portrait of Cadance hanging on the wall beside the teacher’s desk. He cocked his head in curiosity, eyeing it for a good while before losing interest in trying to solve the mystery in his head.

The play continued on for half an hour more before coming to its happy conclusion. The ponies in the audience applauded, including Cadance and Midnight, not to any surprise. Fleethoof smirked and resisted the urge to roll his eyes when the lights came back on. The ponies broke from the audience, conversing amongst themselves while families collected their foals from the stage, singing praises and love. The close-knit community made Fleethoof smile from where he stood, a mere observer in the corner.

“That was so much fun!” Midnight squealed as she skipped up beside Fleethoof, all smiles and giggles. “I’ve never seen such an adorable play!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the princess?”

Midnight rolled her eyes and pointed at the alicorn talking to a group of families. “She’s right over there. Sheesh, Fleet, take a chill pill.”

“I’ll relax when we get back to Canterlot,” he remarked. His eyes stayed fixated on Cadance, watching her like a hawk from across the room. If anypony dared to try anything, he’d be on them in a heartbeat.

“Thanks for taking me along with you, by the way,” Midnight said. “I really thought you would’ve left me and Echo with Luna, with us being bats and all.”

Fleethoof rolled his shoulders in an idle shrug. “You’re a very skilled soldier, Midnight. I wanted you on my team.” He paused for a moment. “Plus you said you felt safe around me.”

“I do. Thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Cadance shook hooves with everypony in the school, talking to them each individually until the families began to disperse back home. One by one, the crowd subsided until only Cadance and a couple ponies remained.

“Thank you so much for having me, Miss Marigold,” she said while giving the teacher a tight hug.

“Oh, thank you for coming, my dear Cadance!” the mare replied with happiness glowing off her expression. “I know how difficult it can be to make time to see us small town ponies.”

Cadance giggled and waved her off. “Nonsense! I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

“You are still the same sweetheart as I remember, Cadance. Now you take care out there. It’s a cold one tonight.”

“I will, thank you.” Cadance hugged the pony again and turned to Fleethoof, still standing across the room. “What do you say, Mister Head of Security? Is it time to be off?”

Fleethoof smirked and tipped his head in the semblance of a nod. “If you want to be back in Canterlot for tonight, your majesty.”

Cadance nodded and bid goodbye to the remaining ponies, and then followed her security detail outside. Cadance’s three carriage convoy had pulled up in front of the school, the guards standing beside open doors, waiting to load their occupants. Valiant and a Guard took to the front one while Midnight and the second went to the rear. Fleethoof led Cadance to the center carriage, holding the door open as she climbed in and followed in behind her. The Guard slid in on the opposite bench they were seated on and shut the cold outside.

Fleethoof felt the carriage rumble over the snow-covered roads as they rolled away from the town and into the still darkness of Whitetail Woods. From the window of the carriage, he glanced out into the black canvas of darkness, peering around for any traces of a threat. All he could see was snow—snow falling from the sky, snow kicked up into the air by the gales, and snow smothering the ground like a thick blanket of pristine whiteness. The world appeared to be a blank slate; undisturbed purity covering the land as far as the eye could see. Not a single creature stirred in the woods, and not a sound broke the silence other than the wind. Fleethoof felt bad for the ponies pulling the carriages and admired their perseverance.

“So how did you like the play, Captain?” Cadance asked him in passive politeness as she stared out the other window.

“It was an experience, your majesty.”

Cadance laughed and looked at him with an expression of disbelief. “‘Your majesty’? Really, Fleet?”

“Hey, if you’re using ‘Head of Security’ and ‘Captain’, then I’m using that on you,” he remarked with a teasing grin.

“Okay, okay, no more formalities,” she agreed with a smile. “So how did you like the play, Fleethoof?”

“It was adorable. I might have diabetes now. But why choose such an out-of-the-way town? You just saw the performance last night in Los Pegasus, and we could have been back in Canterlot by now.”

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Fleethoof.” She leaned across the cushioned bench, a secretive smirk on her lips. “That was my hometown.”

Fleethoof stared at her with incredulity. He sniggered. “You’re lying to me.”

“No! I swear! I was raised there!”

“You were raised there?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“In that town?”

“That’s what ‘yes’ means.”

“And you went to that school?”

“That’s how I knew the teacher, yes.”

“Huh.” Fleethoof waited for his mind to process that information. “That makes sense why she would have a picture of you then.”

Cadance laughed and said, “Yes, she was great. The whole town thinks I’m special though, because I became an alicorn.”

“That’s right… you became an alicorn…” Fleethoof tossed that around in his head for a while. “How does that even happen anyway?”

“It’s a long story, but the short version is I used the power of love to defeat an evil witch in the woods and freed the village when I was very little. Then I became an alicorn and Aunt Celestia adopted me and took me to Canterlot.”

“Interesting…”

Cadance rolled her eyes. “You sound so very interested indeed…”

“No, really, I am!” Fleethoof jumped on the defensive as fast as he could, raising his hooves in surrender. He had learned better than to try to win an argument with the fairer sex. “I had no idea. So that was sort of like a homecoming for you.”

“Of sorts. It’s always nice to go back to where you came from.” She fixed her purple eyes on his. “Have you been home lately, Fleet?”

Fleethoof shied away from her gaze like an ashamed foal. “…No, I haven’t…”

She tilted her head in curiosity. “Why not?”

“I’ve been preoccupied with my work.”

“Fleet,” Cadance started with a soft laugh and a hoof on his shoulder. “You’re always preoccupied with your work. It’s like you’re married to your duty.”

“For all intents and purposes, I pretty much am,” he replied.

“Really? Why’s that?”

“Because if I don’t, nopony else will.”

Cadance snickered and patted his shoulder. “Come on. There will always be ponies to protect the world. You don’t have to be a superhero. You should still go see him, Fleethoof. At the end of the day, you still have ponies that care about you. You should give some of your time to the ones you love.”

The corner of Fleethoof’s mouth twitched in the hint of a crooked smile. His sapphire-blue eyes met hers again with more mirth to them. “You’re really annoying when you try to get in my head like that.”

“But you love me anyway,” she hummed happily.

“Yeah, yeah…”

The ride continued in silence for a while longer. Fleethoof continued to stare out at the falling snow. His mind had drifted away from the winter and the holidays and family. Alaric occupied the forefront of his thoughts. His enemy was out there, lurking somewhere in the shadows. He didn’t know where, and that bothered him more than anything.

“I love watching the snow fall,” Cadance spoke up to break the silence.

“Mmm…”

She turned her gaze from the window to the stallion seated beside her. “Do you have any regrets, Fleethoof?”

That got his attention. He cock a brow at her and rested his cheek on his hoof. “You jumped to that from ‘I like snow’?”

Cadence giggled at that. “You’re right, I did. Shiny always did say I was a bit scatterbrained.”

“So how come he’s Shiny and I’m Fleethoof?” he teased.

“Would you like me to call you ‘Fleety’?”

Fleethoof cringed at the name. Memories of Midnight’s tormenting came flooding back in droves. “I think I’m good.”

“All right then. So I’m scatterbrained and you’re deflecting,” she accused him with a mirthful smirk.

“I am not deflecting! I’m just…”—he paused—“thinking…”

Cadance folded her hooves across her lap and stared at him, waiting patiently. Her intense gaze made him feel like a teacher had just called on him in school and he didn’t know the answer. He opened his mouth a couple of times to speak before his brain even knew what words to say.

“I suppose I regret not spending much time with my family… my friends… you…”

“Aww, Fleet…”

“…And I regret not killing Alaric when I could… Then none of this would be happening.”

“Aaand there goes the moment.” Cadance rolled her eyes and let slip a soft sigh. “Do you ever stop thinking about your duty?”

“Do you ever stop thinking about yours?” he challenged.

“Yes, I do. I know when to separate being a princess and being a pony,” Cadance remarked. Her words were gentle, but her tone was firm, assured of her point. “You don’t seem to be able to do that.”

Fleethoof ground his teeth together behind pursed lips. “I can’t. I know too much about the world to ever just stop being a warrior.”

“Haven’t you ever just wanted a peaceful life? No more fighting, no more killing… Just harmony and friends, maybe a wife and foals?”

His eyes dropped from hers to the space in between them. A normal life… The idea sounded so foreign in his head. He had lived a normal life once, long before he took the uniform and the oath. But even that seemed a lifetime ago.

“Maybe… I never thought anything of myself beyond this, but… yeah, I think I’d probably do all right. I don’t know if I could do it though. Maybe I’m just wired wrong, or maybe I was meant to do this.”

“And are you happy living this life forever?”

Again, he found himself without an answer. Cadance was getting much too good at rendering him speechless. She asked the questions that went straight for his heart. He didn’t know if he could exist beyond the military. He didn’t know if he could live what others called a ‘normal life’.

“Celestia dammit, Cadance. It’s like your special talent is throwing me off my game,” he said in jest, chuckling under his breath.

“Well, that’s what happens when you get to spend extended periods of time with me,” she laughed. “I learn things.”

“Yeah, yeah… Happy Hearth’s Warming to me, huh?”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Cadance reached under the seats with her magic, levitating a small wood box with a scarlet bow tied around it out with her magic. Fleethoof eyed the box with curiosity, and then her with suspicion.

“What is it?”

“It’s for you, silly! Happy Hearth’s Warming!”

Fleethoof chuckled and took the box. “Am I allowed to open it now?”

“Go right ahead,” she said with an encouraging wave of her hoof. “I want you to have it now.”

Fleethoof smiled and unwrapped the present with careful hooves and teeth. The lovely bow fell away with ease and the box opened up with a gentle nudge. The inside was lined with black velvet, and a shimmer of silver made his eyes widen. An intricate silver chain lay out across the length of the box, the fine woven metalwork shown off in all its splendor. At the end of the chain hung a small heart carved out of a pale blue crystal. Fleethoof risked a surreptitious glance to confirm that the heart matched Cadance’s cutie mark to the letter.

He lifted the pendant out with great care, watching the way it spun and shimmered in the dimmed light of the carriage. It seemed to reflect every color of the rainbow when struck the right way, but the blue glow remained predominant. Fleethoof was speechless, blown away by the gift.

“I take it by your slack jaw and big eyes that you like it?” Cadance joked.

“Cadance, it’s amazing,” he said, still staring at it in wonder. “I’ve never seen metalwork like this before. Where did you get it?”

“A friend of mine in Oxford makes old Equestrian style jewelry. I asked him to make this one special for you. I hope it isn’t too girly or anything.”

“No, no! It looks cool. Like something out of Medieval times.”

The blue aura surrounded the pendant again, taking it from his grasp delicately. Fleethoof watched as she unfastened the clasp and then put it around his neck. The heart fell perfectly over where his beat. Of all the medals he had ever worn on his chest, none had felt as great or as important as the simple token felt on him now.

“You know,” he started with a breathy laugh. “You’re making me feel like a real selfish bastard for not having a gift for you right now.”

Cadance laughed as well and brushed him off with a dismissive wave. “You don’t have to give me anything in return, Fleethoof. This was something I wanted to do for you.”

“Even still, I want to return the gesture…” He paused, turning the empty box around in his hooves a few times while he thought. One thing stood out in his mind, something he had dreamed about for a long time. “Have you ever been to Trottingham?”

“Yes, on several occasions. Why?”

“I’ve never been there before, but I hear it’s gorgeous,” he remarked, looking up at Cadance with a hopeful grin. “Would you like to take a trip there for a few days with me when the weather warms up? Just the two of us?”

Her eyes lit up with understanding, a coy smile gracing her face as she pretended to mull the thought over. Fleethoof groaned and made a dramatic motion of his heart breaking. “I’d love to.”

“Great… great! Wonderful!” He gave a nervous laugh, and then stared down at his pendant once more with his crooked smile. “Thank you, Cadance. This is… wow…”

“I’m glad you like it, Fleet. You’ve earned it.”

Fleethoof looked up at her. He stared in wonder of her warm eyes, her inviting smile, the friendliness and love that seemed to radiate off of her. Just being around Cadance made him feel like an entirely different pony. “I’ve earned it for doing what?” he asked.

Cadance’s smile widened a touch. “For being one of the best ponies I have ever had the pleasure to know.”

“That’s only because you make me the better pony I am,” he remarked, both surprised and proud of himself for how well he delivered that line. Cadance giggled and rolled her eyes.

“Smooth. One liners were never your strong suit.”

“No, my actions speak louder than my words.”

“Then let them speak for you,” she cooed with a simper to him.

Fleethoof’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pumped flames through his blood, igniting him like a bonfire. Cadance was staring at him, challenging him, waiting for him to take her up on that claim. He shifted closer across the seat towards her, and then paused.

“Look away, soldier,” he ordered the pony seated across from them. The pony was already staring out into the night, ignoring them to the best of her abilities. He smirked; he liked this soldier.

Left to himself and to Cadance, Fleethoof turned back. She was only a breath away now, so close that it terrified and excited him. He leaned closer until he could feel her breath against the end of his muzzle. Her eyes drifted closed as she leaned in as well, moving closer across the seat. Their noses met first, that first contact sending electricity coursing through Fleethoof that made his nerves want to leap out of his skin. Every synapse fired in his brain. He reached up with a gentle hoof, cupping her cheek to guide her mouth to his. So close…

“Fleethoof…” she whispered under her breath. He felt every syllable against his lips.

“Cadance…” he whispered back, moving in for the kiss.

There was a sudden blink of light outside the window. Fleethoof’s eyes turned from Cadance to the window in a split second. Bright lights came barreling towards them from the side, charging straight at them faster than he had time to process what was happening.

“Get down!” Fleethoof shouted.

He was able to grab Cadance’s head and cover her with his body before the impact slammed into the side of the carriage, sending them tumbling backward into the wall and shards of glass slicing across his face. Gravity shifted and reversed, and the ponies were thrown around the inside of the carriage like rag dolls. Cadance gripped tight to his body as they tumbled about. Fleethoof felt himself falling for all of two seconds, fighting to keep Cadance covered and protected at all times. A jarring shift of gravity threw them backwards, and then his head hit something solid, and everything went black.

A muffled ringing pounded at Fleethoof’s eardrums as consciousness seeped back into his brain. The first sensation to return was touch. He felt his body thrown haphazardly across something hard. Cold stung at every inch of his being. There was a painful drumming in the back of his head and his insides felt twisted up and in all the wrong places. The next sense to come back was his hearing. The ringing began to fade out to the point where he could just make out somepony calling his name. It sounded like he was underwater though, and the voice was so very far away.

His eyes opened. The world that greeted him was a dizzying blur of spinning colors. He saw lots of dark shades mix with white and pink. His name was called out again. He groaned and struggled to move. Every muscle in his body felt like dead weight. His sense of gravity told him he was lying on his back. Why was he on his back? Sitting up was a battle against his weak and shocked muscles. When he tried to right himself, he heard his name. It still sounded muggy and distant, but it was definitely his name.

“Fleethoof!”

He looked up again, his dancing vision settling into hazy shapes and figures. He saw the pink settle into a hazy Cadance. She was in the air above him, reaching down with a desperate hoof to try and grab him. His brow furrowed. How was she above him? He winced and tried to sit up a little more. A bolt of fiery pain shot up his rear leg, breaking through the fog he was in and making him cry out. The pulsing in his head continued to assault the back of his tender skull. He lifted a tentative hoof, gently prodding the back of his sore head. He winced as a sharp pain stabbed through his skull. Damp warmth met his touch, and wet stains of dark red were smeared across his hoof.

“Fleethoof!”

His gaze turned to Cadance just in time to see a pair of talons grab the screaming princess around her midsection and hoist her out of the opening above him. Fleethoof’s system kicked into overdrive as adrenaline rushed through his body. Fueled by the invigorating chemical, he looked around to get his bearings. He was inside the carriage, but the carriage was different. He was looking at the floor in front of him and was lying on a door. There was an opening above his head revealing the dark, snowy sky. His mind put two and two together. The carriage was knocked over on its side.

He glanced around, trying to find the other soldier. He found her in a heap at his side, her body twisted in unnatural positions and her head hanging limp off her shoulder. He didn’t need to be a doctor to know she had broken her neck in the wreck. And then Fleethoof heard the last thing he wanted to hear then and there.

A scream and then gunfire.

Fleethoof grunted as he pulled his pistol from the holster within his blazer and peered up at the door above his head. He could hear something scraping along the top of the carriage. He waited, and waited. A griffon poked its head into view, a pistol in its talon. Fleethoof put two rounds in the griffon’s head and moved aside as the body collapsed into the carriage. His wings too sore from the wreck to fly, Fleethoof hoisted his bruised and cut body out of the wreckage and into the cold air.

On top of the destroyed vehicle, Fleethoof saw the chaos for what it was. The carriage had been blindsided by another that had come straight out of the woods. It was an ambush. The other two in the convoy had stopped and the ponies were taking shelter behind the vehicles, popping shots off at griffons as they emerged from the dark nighttime woods. Across the makeshift battlefield, Fleethoof could see two griffons wrestling Cadance off into the darkness.

“Cadance!” he cried out, his voice hoarse.

He slid forward and jumped off the carriage, collapsing to the snow as soon as his hooves made contact with the ground. Pain seared through his leg, making him grit his teeth and tears well up in his eyes. He fought through the agony with blind determination, limping through the dense snow after her. A griffon ran at him from the side, a rifle clutched in his talons. Fleethoof reacted on pure instinct and lifted his gun. His arm felt like dead weight, and his aim was shaky at best. He dropped his enemy with several bullets to the chest. He hobbled forward, firing by feel from the hip and dropping another two griffons while they ran out of the woods. His eyes shifted in and out of focus periodically, making it impossible to rely on his unsteady aim.

Cadance was no longer in sight. All he could see were a dozen griffons opening fire on the convoy. The ponies that had been pulling the carriages were all dead, gunned down at the onset of the fight before they could get out of their harnesses. Fleethoof slumped forward through the heavy snow without cover, ignoring the thumping of his heartbeat in his head, the agonizing fire in his leg, and the ringing in his ears. He had to rescue Cadance. He had no alternative.

“Captain!” Valiant’s voice caught him by surprise. He must have seen him fighting through the open. “Cover the captain!”

The gunfire changed direction as Valiant’s soldiers laid down covering fire against the griffons. To his left, Midnight let hell loose in the form of calculated shots. Every time she pulled the trigger, another griffon hit the snow and didn’t get up. Then Fleethoof’s legs hit a patch of deep snow as he trudged on and gravity took over. He fell forward into the snow bank, stumbling to get up amongst the gunfight.

Valiant broke from cover, rushing over to pull Fleethoof back up. A bullet snapped past Fleethoof’s head, catching Valiant in the leg. The pony yelped and fell back to the snow, clutching his wounded leg while continuing to shoot at anything he could see. Fleethoof rose up, putting rounds into each griffon that tried to stop him. The number of enemies slowly dwindled down with each exchange.

Fleethoof followed the tracks in the snow to the edge of the forest, panting hard for breath as he dragged his injured leg behind him now. As he reached the edge of the forest, he heard a twig snap beside him and the raspy breath of a living creature.

“Fleet! Watch out!”

Midnight’s words were punctuated by a multitude of rapid gunshots. She was ruthless in her assault as she killed the griffon going for him. Nothing stirred along the road in the woods anymore. The griffons lay dead in the snow, the blizzard already working to bury their bloodied bodies. Fleethoof fought the weather, pushing into the darkness of the woods. Cadance; he had to find Cadance.

“Cadance!” he called out to her in the dark.

The footprints were his only trail now. He couldn’t hear her cries for him any longer. The wind drowned out every sound beyond the whistling in his ears. He grasped at the pendant still hanging around his neck, struggling on with all his remaining strength.

“Cadance!”

The footprints ended abruptly about twenty meters from the road, just beyond the line of sight from the carriages. Fleethoof looked around with desperate, horrified eyes, convinced he had missed the path somewhere. He must have. He hadn’t. The tracks led to where he stood and just ended, but the ring of disturbed snow told the story he didn’t want to know. The griffons had taken to the air with the captive princess. There was no way to track them now.

“Cadance!” he shouted into the empty darkness, praying with all his might that she could hear him wherever she was. The wind howled with ferocity, whipping up a blinding sheet of snow around him. He couldn’t give up hope. He couldn’t give up on her.

Silence answered him back. Silence was all he was left with. Cadance was gone.

“Cadance!”

Chapter 1: Prelude

Overture

By: Dusk Quill

“Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“Begin.”

Fleethoof pressed a button on the shiny silver stopwatch, starting the timer. In a flash, Midnight Dasher bolted off the starting platform and all but threw herself into the obstacle course, the rest of Skyfall watching from a raised platform. She tore down the narrow pathway, surrounded by plywood on all sides to simulate a close-quarters experience. Her honey-toned eyes darted left and right, constantly on the lookout for threats.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her hooves thundering against the hard stone floor. Though she had run the obstacle course before, she never failed to be surprised when she rounded the corner and the first target popped up in front of her. Midnight skidded to a stop, bringing her rifle up and peppering the target with a trio of shots. There wasn’t time to check where she had hit the target. She had to keep moving to maintain the timeline.

Midnight rushed past the target and rounded another corner. Another target swung out in front of her, and met a similar fate as its predecessor. She finished rounding the corner and rushed up a flight of cheap-looking stairs to the next level of the course. As she neared the top, she saw a dummy of a pony made out of bags of flour swing out to block her path. She knew the target well—it had tripped her up several times in the past.

This time, she knew what to do. With a battle cry, Midnight threw herself at the target, knocking it off its stand and pinning it to the floor. In the next second, she had her pistol out and put it to the dummy’s head, blowing its white, powdery brains out across the floor. Now thoroughly covered in flour, she ran down the short corridor on the second level. Two targets sprung out from either side at the end, and she opened fire on them as easily as she had handled the others.

The obstacle course had become something of a routine to her now. Several weeks into their training with Skyfall, and Fleethoof still had her and Echo running the course, always trying to improve on their accuracy and time. If she had thought training with the Marines had been difficult, Skyfall was an entirely different game. Fleethoof had them all up from dawn till dusk working on refining their skills into the finest instruments of tactical warfare possible.

By the end of the first week, it had become abundantly clear to Midnight Dasher why Fleethoof seemed like an entirely different kind of soldier. The short answer: he was.

Midnight hugged the corner sharply and ran down the last corridor on the second level. Just as she charged through the last doorway, another dummy target sprung up in front of her. She recoiled slightly, taking off guard. That one was new. She reacted purely on instinct, grabbing the dummy by what would be its hoof. She flipped it off its stand, tossing it over her shoulder and onto the ground before putting two rounds through its face. Another explosion of white powder covered her.

Wasting no time, Midnight ran for the open window at the end of the room she had just run into and dove through it, her hooves winding around the rope she knew from past experience was waiting for her and slid down to the plush mattresses below. She remembered her first run through the course, she had dove out the window, not realizing the rope was there, and ended up facedown in the mattresses. Embarrassed didn’t even cover half of how she had felt then.

The second her hooves hit the bottom she sprinted for the finish line. She all but threw herself into the end, tumbling across the ground and coming to rest in a crouched position. Her breathing was hard and labored, her lungs burning with the effort of her run. Fleethoof clicked the stopwatch again and checked the time.

“One minute, six seconds,” he said with a slow nod. “Not bad. You beat your previous time. We’ll check your accuracy after Echo goes.”

Midnight afforded herself a triumphant grin, feeling the relief of victory wash over her.

“Okay, colts. Swap out the targets. Echo, you’re up.”

Echo took her position up at the entrance of the obstacle course. She sucked in a slow breath and released it in a heavy exhale.

“Ready?” Fleethoof asked.

Echo gave a couple snaps of her tongue, mapping out the path before her she had all but memorized now. “Ready.”

“Begin.”

The second Echo heard the distinctive click of the stopwatch, she tore down the narrow hall of plywood like the building was on fire. She counted the steps in her head. Ten… twenty… At thirty paces, the target would pop up. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine… She heard the spring mechanism trigger and had her pistol up before the target had even finished making its turn, putting three rounds clean through the silhouette’s chest.

Echo moved fast and nimbly, like an ice skater dancing across a frozen lake. Fleethoof watched her methods with approval. She swerved around the tight corner and heard the second target make its appearance. Another three rounds ended its life, and then she was hurdling up the stairs two at a time.

The third target sprung out as she reached the top. Echo ducked underneath it, spinning like a dancer underneath its reach and spinning back around with her knife in hoof, driving the blade viciously through the back of the dummy’s head, ripping the sack open and spilling flour across the floor. The stallions of Skyfall all made soft sounds of shock as they cringed at the sight.

“That’s your partner, Sharp,” Valiant noted with a chuckle. “Better not ever piss her off.”

Echo let out a sharp whistle, reorienting herself before charging down the hall on the second floor. The two targets at the end popped up simultaneously. They were dealt with by two shots to each before Echo pushed past them and rounded the last corner, sprinting for the final room.

The last flour dummy sprang out to surprise Echo. The bat pony slid across the floor, diving beneath its legs and leaping up behind it. In one fluid motion, she stabbed her knife into the dummy’s lower torso and pressed her pistol to the back of its head. A squeeze of the trigger sent powdery white spraying across the walls and floor.

Her final enemy defeated, Echo ran and dove out of the window. She had learned from numerous tumbles to the mattresses below that there was, in fact, a rope there. It was a narrow cable though, and her echolocation had missed it on her initial run. Now her hooves wrapped expertly around it and she swung gracefully down to earth before making the final dash across the finish line.

She heard Fleethoof click the stopwatch again as she skidded to a halt, trying to catch her breath.

“Fifty-eight seconds. That’s remarkable, Echo.”

“That’s gotta be a course record!” Sharp said.

Valiant shook his head. “Nah. Fleet’s still got fifty-five, and Lightning Flash still holds the record at forty-nine.”

“Little Echo is brutal warrior,” said Cupcake with a proud grin. “Nopony will be challenging her and winning! She should be new pointpony of team.”

“Hey, don’t replace me so soon. I’m not that out of date yet,” Fleethoof said with a chuckle. “Besides, Sharp needed a spotter. His position has been compromised on missions in the past, and he could use the backup.”

Sharp Shot grumbled, “I don’t need a foalsitter, boss. I can handle myself.”

“It’s handling the enemies I’m worried about, Sharp. Really, are you telling me you don’t want Echo helping you after what you just saw?”

Sharp looked to the bashfully smiling Echo as she readjusted the black bandana around her eyes. She shot a happy smile his way. He merely rolled his head and groaned in defeat.

“Fine, okay… I’ll take her with me…”

“Jeez, fight a little more, Sharp,” teased Valiant sarcastically with a smirk. “The captain really had to twist your hoof there.”

“I know where you live, Val.”

Fleethoof retrieved the targets from one of Quarter Master’s assistants as they cleared the course. He looked over the paper silhouettes with a nod and laid them out on a nearby table.

“Very nice work, fillies. Clean kills, nice grouping, no misses…” He flipped between the two operators’ targets. “You both handled the dummies well too—although some with more finesse. Echo, you did that run with just your pistol, didn’t you?”

Echo gave her officer a nod. “Yes, sir. I did.”

“Very interesting tactic. Explain your method.”

“I knew the course was close-quarters, and I put more trust in my draw with my sidearm than my rifle,” she answered with a shrug. “Plus I sorta wanted to show off to Sergeant Sharp Shot a bit, just to show him I was worth dragging around.”

Fleethoof grinned and heard the others snicker behind his back. He turned to look at the sniper, who was busy trying to ignore the blood rushing to his face while Cupcake playfully jostled him. Fleethoof chuckled as well.

“Very good work, fillies. You’ve improved tremendously this week,” the captain noted with a pleased smile. “Now the rest of you get to run it. Don’t want anypony getting rusty, do we? Cupcake, you’re up first.”

The monstrous pony gave a loud bellow and charged the course like a tank, barely giving Fleethoof enough time to start the timer before he was gone, guns blazing.

The rain in Thatchholm fell cold against the little village in northern Equestria. Nestled comfortable into the range of mountains separating the land from the Frozen North, the town made its presence as unassuming as possible. It was a peaceful, humble hamlet to all who resided in it—which made the presence of the stallion dressed in a fine suit all the more ostentatious.

He cantered briskly through the cold rain, pushing through the muddy street that ran the length of the village, ducking from cover to cover while thunder rumbled threateningly overhead. He stared up at the dark storm clouds with a scowl, muttering a curse under his breath as he ran under a nearby awning. Back and forth he weaved down the street until he came to a familiar porch.

Wasting no time, he rushed up the steps and stepped into the warmth of the building. He shook his wet mane out, glancing around the quiet lounge while removing his hat with his magic, revealing the horn concealed beneath. Keeping to himself, he maneuvered his way past tables and chairs to the only flight of stairs in the establishment and made his way to his room with practiced steps.

Approaching the door marked with a ‘3’, he gave a short series of four rhythmic knocks before slipping the key into the lock and granting himself entrance. The first thing he noticed was that the room had been tidied up a bit. The piles of disorderly paperwork he had come to know and love had been sorted into appropriate files and tucked neatly away. He frowned, bidding his organized chaos goodbye in his mind.

He looked across the room at his partner, another unicorn, this one a mare, who was busy reading something. She hadn’t even glanced up when he entered. He set his hat on the doorknob and slipped out of his waterlogged blazer, tossing that across the back of a nearby chair.

“Reading up on the aerial sweeps of the manor?” he asked, grabbing a bottle of liquor with his magic and pouring a glass for himself.

The mare shook her head, still not breaking eye contact with the papers. “No, the activity log over the past week.”

“Got anything interesting?” The stallion paused, taking a long draft from the glass. “Anything new, I mean.”

“No, nothing. We’ve got nada, zip, zilch,” the mare said with a sigh and dropped the papers to the table in disdain. “We’ve been at this for… what, three weeks now? A month? If there was anything going on, I think we would’ve found it by now.”

“Well, you never know, Dawn. Sometimes things just happen. Maybe it’s a matter of timing.”

“I wish we could just storm up there and snoop around,” said Dawn, moving over to the only window in the room. She cast her gaze out past the town, to the tall manor house sitting on a hilltop a short ways away. “I just know if we could get a pair of eyes in there, we’d find everything we were looking for…”

“Yeah, but that’s the kind of thing that needs a warrant, and no judge is going to let us violate somepony’s privacy based off hunches. We need some sort of evidence of suspicious activity before we can act.”

Dawn sighed and rubbed her aching temples with her hooves. “I’m gonna be stuck as a field agent forever.”

“Hey, you can’t get upset if there’s nothing going on.” The stallion downed the rest of his drink in one go. “If nothing else, it gets us out from behind our desks for a while. You’ll have another shot at becoming a lead agent. Maybe you’ll even get your own team to boss around.”

“Oh yeah, because when I joined the RIS, I was actually trying to score a free vacation out to sunny Thatchholm.” A flash of lightning and clap of thunder made her irony all the more perfect.

“I joined for the guns and the mares.”

“You did not.”

The stallion chuckled and grinned. “Well, I was promised guns and mares. So far, I’ve only gotten one of the two.”

Dawn groaned and gave her partner an exasperated look. “Keen Eye, if you weren’t such a damn good detective, I would’ve asked for a new partner a long time ago.”

“You know nopony else would put up with you, Dawn Glimmer,” Keen replied teasingly.

With a roll of her eyes, Dawn turned back to the manor on the hill. If there was anything going on up there, she was going to find it. She wasn’t a part of the Royal Investigative Service for nothing.

“So do you really think there’s something sketchy going on up there?” Keen Eye asked, passively looking over the notes they had gathered so far. “Do you really think there’s some sort of sinister plot going on up there?”

Dawn just shook her head. “I don’t know… but if there is, we’re gonna stop it.”

Chapter 4: Investigate the Investigation

It was raining when Fleethoof and Bentgrass arrived in Thatchholm. Fleethoof didn’t see it as an omen—merely an unavoidable circumstance. It always rained in Thatchholm as far as he had heard. The lush green countryside stood testament to that rumor.

The small village barely appeared on the map, and though Fleethoof had a good idea of what to expect going in, the little hamlet still amazed him with its thatched roof buildings and miniscule population. It was one of those towns where everypony knew everypony for generations. The lack of size made it the picture-perfect definition of quaint, and the homely feel was marred only by its lack of privacy.

Thatchholm did not have a train station—no surprise to Fleethoof—and clearly did not get many visitors from the city. It was impossible to ignore the stares from the residents when he and Bentgrass arrived via taxi carriage and stepped out in almost identical black suits and white shirts. He had opted out of bringing his uniform and all his gear, Celestia forbid he stand out more than he did now. Bentgrass had made it explicitly clear that the investigation was to remain as low key as possible, lest they risk putting the missing agents in any further danger.

Bentgrass took a deep breath of the musty air, his head slowly swiveling as he took in the town. He had been to rural places before, but Thatchholm had to take the cake. It looked like the entire town had converged around the one major road that ran through it, and all eyes were beset on them.

“Looks like we’ve drawn quite a crowd,” said Fleethoof in passive observation as the two stallions took note of their surroundings. Fleethoof eyed the ponies more while Bentgrass studied every finer detail of the environment, walking off down the road with the faintest trace of a smile lingering on his lips.

“Indeed… It’s more of a welcome than I anticipated…”

“You were expecting a greeting?”

“Well, it’s not the fanfare and parade I usually like, but it’s more than I was expecting.”

Fleethoof chuckled, unable to ignore the humor from his partner’s heavy sarcasm, and the two set off down the road. “Where do we even start?”

“Special Agents Glimmer and Eye were using the local bed and breakfast as their base,” Bentgrass said, taking the lead down the road. “Since we have no other leads, it seems like the only logical place to begin.”

“I’m amazed this place gets enough tourists to even need lodging.” Fleethoof smirked at his own comment, glancing up and down the road. “There’s literally nothing here.”

“That is precisely what makes it the ideal location for covert criminal dealings. You get the idyllic countryside view with a gift basket of illegal weapons.” Bentgrass flicked his head to a building across the street. The sign out front designated it as the bed and breakfast they were looking for. “If you build it, they will come.”

Bentgrass and Fleethoof cantered quickly up the porch and made their way inside. The bed and breakfast was about as small as Fleethoof expected it to be, the nearly claustrophobic lounge lending little in the way of movement. Bentgrass weaved his way past antique-looking furniture to a desk nestled in the far corner. Nopony was in sight, something that ordinarily would’ve put Fleethoof off. He chalked it up to the small town once more.

With a quick tap to the small bell on the desk, Bentgrass summoned an elderly looking mare from an adjacent room. The mare scurried across the room and took her place behind the desk, readjusting her large glasses bridging the end of her nose.

“Good afternoon, gentlecolts,” she said, looking between the two suited stallions. “Are you two here on a lover’s retreat?”

Bentgrass exchanged a look with Fleethoof. The captain mirrored the agent’s own confusion and merely shrugged.

“Don’t look at me, Agrostis. You’re the one she’s talking to.”

“Sorry, but you’re not my type, Fleethoof,” Bentgrass said, the corners of his lips turned upwards in the permanent remnants of a smirk. “We’re here looking for a couple friends of ours. They were staying here. Have you seen them lately?”

The mare frowned and readjusted her glasses once again. “What happened to your eye, deary?”

“Eye?” Bentgrass asked, furrowing his brow in a most convincing act of confusion Fleethoof had ever seen. “What eye?”

She lifted a shaky hoof, pointing to the right side of his face. “Your eye—“

“Ma’am, the ponies, if you please.”

“Oh, you’re going to have to be more specific than that, sonny. We get a lot of ponies come through these parts.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” remarked Bentgrass, looking around at the photographs hanging on the wall. “We’re looking for a mare and a stallion—both unicorns. They would have been here very recently. Dawn Glimmer and Keen Eye.”

“Oh, yes! The lovely couple here on holiday,” the mare spoke with a warm smile, and then shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen them in a few days.”

Bentgrass nodded his head. He had expected as much. He glanced passively at the mare behind the counter, who was simply smiling obliviously back at him. He waved his hoof, hoping it would remind her of the conversation they seemed to be having.

“Could you tell me where they were staying?” he asked, flashing his badge to the mare.

The mare blinked in surprise. “Oh, of course! Lemme just check the ledger… Let’s see, here—ah! They were up in Room 3.”

Bentgrass nodded his head curtly and dropped down from the counter. “Thank you.”

“You know, I don’t think I can really let you in somepony else’s room,” the mare objected, pursuing after the two stallions headed up the stairs. “I don’t think this is legal.”

Fleethoof followed the hell-bent Bentgrass as he walked down the narrow hallway on the second floor, all but gliding silently across the hardwood. His graceful gait came to a stop before a door marked by a plain number ‘3’ carved into the wood. The incessant querying of the landlady behind them fell on deaf ears. Bentgrass was already turning the knob, even when the mare demanded to see his ID again.

Bentgrass scowled at the locked door, and turned quickly on the owner. “Do you have keys to the rooms?”

“Of course I do.” The mare looked more put off by his question than by his persisting presence.

“Then open the door.”

The old mare refused to budge. “Let me see your ID again, mister.”

“We don’t have time for this,” muttered Fleethoof, pushing past Bentgrass as the agent moved to confront the stubborn owner.

“Miss, two ponies may be in danger. We need those keys.”

“No we don’t.”

Bentgrass looked over his shoulder as Fleethoof delivered a hard kick to the door, knocking it inward. He knew the pony’s disregard for conventional methods would open a few doors, but he didn’t expect it to be quite so literal, quite so soon. The pegasus was already in the room as the others stepped inside.

“That’s frowned upon in normal society, you know,” Bentgrass remarked as he followed Fleethoof through the threshold.

Fleethoof didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Since when have I played by society’s rules? Besides, I had probable cause. You agents love that technical stuff, right?”

“And what cause was that?”

“I’m working on it.”

The special agent muttered a soft chuckle and began his examination. The room was in pristine condition with no signs of a struggle or foul play. All of the research the two agents had acquired over time lay neatly stacked on the tables and dresser. Photographs of the Clydesdale Manor and one stallion in particular were pinned to the far wall.

As he had expected, Agents Glimmer and Eye were nowhere to be seen.

“Well, if your friends were abducted, it certainly didn’t happen here,” Fleethoof said, moving around to the side of the table and examining the reports. “This place would have been torn apart to hide any evidence.”

“What is the meaning of all this?! I’m getting the police!” the mare threatened.

“We are the police, ma’am,” replied Bentgrass, already rifling through the reports on the table. The touch of a southern accent in his rich voice added an air of authority to his words. “But while you’re offering to get things, some coffee and quiet would be much appreciated.”

The mare lingered in the doorway for a while, unsure whether or not he was joking. Bentgrass glanced up at her, shooing her off with a nonchalant wave of a hoof. Huffing, the mare stormed off back down the stairs, making the agent utter a half-suppressed laugh again.

“Bentgrass, take a look at this.”

Fleethoof motioned with a flick of his head to the photographs hung on the wall. Bentgrass slowly walked down the line of photos, taking each one in with careful consideration. Many of them were outside shots of the manor, along with several of a brown Earth pony around the grounds.

“It’s Clydesdale. He’s been the sole focus on their investigation since the beginning,” he spoke tersely, glancing back at the reports he had been reading. “It seems like they weren’t making much headway in the case.”

Fleethoof went back to the table of papers, skimming over the top few swiftly. He shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t look like they had anything solid. A lot of circumstantial events and intuitive hunches, but no hard evidence.”

Bentgrass’ frown deepened. “They must have found something that isn’t here then.”

“You’re thinking somepony took only one thing from this room and left it this immaculate?”

“If it was the proverbial nail in the coffin, it would explain a lot.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then we’re up the river without a paddle,” Fleethoof muttered dismally. He lifted a tiny notepad and flipped leisurely through the pages. “Your agents could be anywhere by now, and we don’t have the slightest clue where to begin looking.”

Bentgrass dipped his head, tracing the grain of the wood in the floor beneath his hooves. The gears in his head that never stopped turning began rotating in overdrive. To the untrained pony, it would appear as if both agents had vanished off the face of Equestria. He knew better. He had been in the RIS long enough to know that nothing was ever as it seemed.

“What do you want to do, Special Agent? It’s your call.”

He nodded his head, and replied, “We’ll start here and work our way forwards. If we can find any leads in the reports that they might have followed, we’ll try to mimic their most likely course of action.”

“It looks like they were just staking out the manor constantly.” Fleethoof looked from the photos on the wall down to the notepad in his hooves. “Special Agent Glimmer kept meticulous records on where they scoped the place out from. They might have gone to one of those places.”

It was a long shot, but Bentgrass couldn’t think of a better alternative—unless they had missed something groundbreaking in the research. He turned back to the stunned and very confused landlady, still standing idly in the doorway. “The two ponies that were here, where were they going when you last saw them? What were they doing?”

The mare looked positively speechless for the longest time. “I… I don’t know. They came and went at all hours of the day, always carrying cameras and notebooks around with them. I thought they were just tourists though.”

Cameras and notebooks. The wheels in Bentgrass’ head began to turn faster. “Were they taking cameras with them when they left a few days ago?”

“…I think so. Is that important…?”

“Captain Fleethoof—”

“Already on it,” Fleethoof said as he stuffed the small notepad in his jacket. “All right, let’s go investigate the investigation.”

Dandridge slowly dragged a chair across the room, the wood scraping over the hardwood like nails on a chalkboard. Dawn Glimmer tensed up where she hung, wincing as she tried to block out the sound. Her eyes watched the shadows glide across the shiny floors, creeping closer towards her like serpents.

A twitch rippled through Dawn’s weakened body as she fought to avert her eyes from the monster looming before her. Dandridge took a seat calmly in front of her, looking over the mare’s lithe form with a grin, admiring the cuts and bruises that covered her torso and legs. He dipped his head slightly, trying to see Dawn’s eyes. He desperately wanted to see the hope and light leave her.

“How are you feeling, Miss Glimmer?” he asked, his voice as smooth as silk and cold as a glacier.

Dawn refused to answer. She simply stared down at the floor, counting the speckles of her own blood staining and seeping into the wood. The metallic taste of the fluid still lingered in her mouth. Her heartbeat pounded around in her skull, just behind her eyes.

Dandridge ducked his head a little more, looking into her glassy, distant eyes. “Feel like having a little chit-chat, my dear?”

Her lips quivered gently, fighting against the urge to yell and the urge to surrender. So many angry, vicious words buzzed around her mind. She was dying to scream and fight—to do anything against her captor. She was trained for situations like this, she had spent months preparing for this exact moment. Now, she was pinned to a wall like an insect in somepony’s collection.

“Now, why don’t you tell me about your little investigation, hmm?” Dawn Glimmer refused to even lift her head, let alone speak. “Who knows about your field trips out here?”

“What are you going to do to me…?”

“Now now, no need to fret, Miss Glimmer,” said Dandridge, leaning casually back in his chair. “Now, let’s talk about your investigation.”

“Go to hell, you bastard…”

Dandridge sighed with disappointment and stood up, twisting his neck to stretch the muscles within. His hooves clopped softly as he took long, slow strides across the room, back over to the switches on the wall.

“I had the power increased in these, just for you, Miss Glimmer.” Dawn tried to smother the twinge of fear that passed through her. Dandridge tapped his hoof idly against the switch, staring with a smile at the mare across the room. “Now, about your investigation…”

“You’ll never get away, you monster… The RIS will come and when they do, they’ll bring the entire Guard and then they’re going to chop you up into little pieces while you’re still breathing. You’re going down, and nothing you can do to me can ever break me. Equestria’s finest will break through your front door and—”

With a roll of his eyes, Dandridge flipped the switch. Dawn’s tirade ended in a bloodcurdling scream of agony.

“This is the final spot on Agent Glimmer’s map,” Fleethoof said as he and Bentgrass trudged up the muddy hill. “If it’s anything like the others, though, I don’t think we’re going to find anything.”

Bentgrass pursed his lips, creases forming in his brow as the two stallions reached the crest of the hill, the sun beginning to dip lower in the afternoon sky. Each spot the agents had chosen had been methodical and had a perfect vantage point over the front of the manor house. What had been most frustrating was the rain. If there had been any trace evidence left, it had long-since been washed away.

If only we’d had another agent check on them sooner… Bentgrass thought bitterly, the sting of failure biting at his soul.

The hilltop looked exactly the same as the many others surrounding Thatchholm county, and completely identical to the other three they had searched. Bentgrass’ eyes swept meticulously over every blade of grass, hunting for any abnormality with the area or for any object left behind. Hell, anything that would clue them into a lead would be a godsend. Desperation was not something Bentgrass enjoyed being subjected to.

“Do you see anything?”

“No,” said Bentgrass, shaking his head. The frustration was rapidly mounting on his features. “The rain must have cleaned the scene if they were abducted from here.”

Fleethoof circled around the top of the hill slowly, tipping over small rocks with his hoof, hoping to uncover something. “So we’re still stuck at square one…”

Bentgrass merely shook his head, his eyes scouring the ground like a hawk. “Not exactly. We know they were staking out the manor when they were abducted.”

“Doesn’t mean they were abducted,” Fleethoof pointed out. “They could have been double agents.”

“I have a tad more faith in my colleagues than that, Captain. Foul play seems much more likely, and if there’s any trace evidence here, we’ll find it.”

Scoffing, he turned back to the agent meticulously searching through the lush tufts of grass. “You like to deal in the logical and possible, Bent. We can’t rule out that they didn’t jump ship—”

“No.”

The response had come so swiftly and with such vindication that it caught Fleethoof off guard. “No? Just… no? No reasoning? No debating? No nothing? That’s awfully closed-minded of you, Agrostis.”

“I trust the agents I work with, Captain. I have as much faith in them as you have in your team.”

“It’s a different case,” Fleethoof said. “My soldiers risk their lives doing things nopony else would dare do. They’re the finest, most patriotic bunch in Equestria. They make sacrifices greater than anypony should have to bear.”

Bentgrass’ head snapped up in the blink of an eye, his gaze locking with Fleethoof’s. In his contrasting eyes, he could see nothing but limitless dedication and unwavering faith. Bentgrass’ stare was intense, more so than Fleethoof had seen come from the stallion.

“Dawn Glimmer’s mother died in hospital while she was buried deep undercover with a gang in Baltimare, diffusing a robbery and hostage situation. She never got to say goodbye to her,” he stated, his voice so hard it made Fleethoof cringe inwardly. “Keen Eye missed his own brother’s graduation from the Guard Academy because he was working a case on the other side of the country. Then he missed seeing him off when he was deployed to the war for the same reason.”

Fleethoof was stunned silent. He dipped his head apologetically, feeling his insides knot up. “I’m sorry, Agrostis. I didn’t know… I shouldn’t have assumed—“

“Not everypony needs to be a superhero to make sacrifices, Fleethoof. My agents may not be perfect, but I would never doubt their loyalty.” Bentgrass swiveled his head to the left, and caught a glint of something shiny partially hidden by the grass. He paused and leaned in for a closer look, pushing the blades of grass aside with a hoof to inspect the object. “Hello there…”

Fleethoof looked up at his partner. “Find something?”

Bentgrass carefully extracted the shimmering object from the mud it was half buried in. After wiping it clean, he held it up in the light. It was a brass cartridge, discarded without care in the grass. Fleethoof came closer, examining the bullet casing up close.

“Yes, a spent cartridge.” He slowly turned the cool metal cartridge around in his hoof. “It’s the same caliber as the firearms RIS agents carry.”

“Save for you,” remarked Fleethoof with a touch of a smirk. “You and your custom tools.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I always seem to be. May I?” Fleethoof gingerly took the evidence from Bentgrass’ hoof while the agent began to diligently check the immediate area more closely. Fleethoof inspected the cartridge from all sides. He took a curious sniff of the inside. “It’s been lying here a while. The rain’s washed all gunpowder residue out of it already.”

Bentgrass nodded his head slowly, processing the information in his mind. “Approximately three days, would you estimate?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s possible. Definitely no less than twenty-four hours. You’re the investigator, you’d know forensics better than I would.”

The stallion nodded his head slowly once again. One clue did not leave them much to work with, but he could hypothesize what had occurred. His eyes scanned over the hill once again, taking a step back towards the slope a little more. Faint silhouettes of two bodies were just barely visible, outlined by partially flattened grass. They must have been staking out the manor for some time. His eyes returned to where the bullet casing had been found. It was right beside one of the outlines.

“They were lying here… both of them…” Bentgrass said, pointing to the two nearly invisible shapes in the grass. Fleethoof stepped back and looked over the whole scene along with him. “It would take a few hours to leave that sort of indentation in the grass this long…”

Fleethoof gave a nod assent, following the shape of the outlines to the Clydesdale Manor. “They were watching the manor.”

Bentgrass lifted his head, staring across the way at the distant manor house. The front porch was perfectly visible from this vantage point. The agents would easily pick up everypony coming and going.

“They weren’t watching the manor… they were watching somepony in front of the manor. This spot is the only one where you can clearly see down the road. Anypony approaching the house would be seen, as well as the house itself. Something must have been happening out front and they chose this spot so they could see it all.”

“This spot is awfully visible to anypony watching from the manor too, though,” Fleethoof said, noting the lack of cover around. “Do you think your agents got ambushed and abducted, one tried to fight back, got a shot off, and then got overwhelmed and taken?”

Bentgrass pressed his lips tightly together, glancing over at Thatchholm. The town was a short distance away. “Perhaps. It would explain the lack of blood. I don’t think there was much of a fight. We are far enough away that a gunshot of such a small caliber may have gone unnoticed or mistaken for something else, but multiple shots fired and being ignored is a stretch.”

“So we’re pretty much where your agents left off, with nothing but speculations and circumstantial clues…” Fleethoof heaved a sigh as he glanced from Thatchholm to Clydesdale Manor, and then back to Bentgrass. The agent was staring off at the large house, his eyes fixated and narrowed like a hunter. “What are you thinking?”

“I think it’s time we go pay Mister Clydesdale a visit,” said Bentgrass, a ghost of a smile on his face as he stashed the casing in his jacket and set off for the manor.

Fleethoof gave a hard chuckle. “That’s your grand plan? Go knock on the door politely and ask if he did it?”

“If only my job were so easy… But when all else fails, try the front door.”

“I hope you’re prepared to have it slammed in your face…”

“He won’t do that,” Bentgrass spoke confidently. “Dandridge Clydesdale is notorious for his ego and superiority complex. If he’s behind something, he’s going to enjoy toying with us while we conduct our investigation.”

“He’s also known for his short temper,” Fleethoof said in reminder. “Let’s not try to push him too far that he shuts down and has us benched.”

A slow smirk worked its way across Bentgrass’ ever-impassive face. “Just leave the small talk to me.”

Dandridge watched with fascinated pleasure at the way Dawn Glimmer’s body contracted and thrashed against her bonds as electricity ran through her. The mare’s eyes rolled up into the back of her head and her mouth hung open limply. She had long-since given up on screaming, her vocal cords torn asunder now only giving short, guttural groans and choking sounds.

A smile spread across the wide-eyed stallion’s face as he admired his work. It was always such a delight to see results firsthand before his very eyes. Each spasm and twitch Dawn made only further enticed him to do more. Dark flashbacks of the past flittered past his eyes. Her pain was like his drug, and he was getting dangerously close to overdosing on it.

He popped open a pocket watch concealed within an inner pocket of his blazer. He had been at this a lot longer than he had thought. I guess it is true, time flies when you’re having fun, he thought with a hummed laugh. Snapping the watch closed again, he threw the switch off, shutting down the electric circuit and freeing Dawn of her anguish.

For the longest time, Dawn just hung there, her weak body unable to ever lift her head anymore. It simply hung, leaning against her shoulder for support. Her breathing was ragged and labored. A thin trail of drool had begun to spill down the side of her gaping maw.

“It’s been a little over two hours, Miss Glimmer,” Dandridge said, standing up again and trotting slowly alongside the far wall opposite of her. His hooves clopped rhythmically against the floor, each echoing sound sending chills down Dawn’s spine. “Won’t you spare yourself any further torture and just tell me what I want to know?”

Dawn spat out a mouthful of bile and tried to put on her bravest face as she glared at Dandridge, still unable to lift her head much. All of her muscles felt like they’d been turn to gelatinous lead. Her head was swimming, and a ringing had filled her ears.

“Whoever you’re protecting is certainly not worth this level of dedication, my dear.” The cold-hearted stallion stopped beside the table, eyeing the sharp instruments lain out neatly across the surface.

“Equestria… is worth protecting… from scum like you…” Dawn muttered, her voice hoarse and raspy with the strain it took just to draw breath from her lungs.

With a slow nod of his head, Dandridge slid a sharp knife across the table towards him. “You adhere to your morals, Miss Glimmer. That’s very admirable—but very unwise.”

Taking the blade between his teeth, Dandridge closed the distance between him and his captive. Dawn’s pupils shrank as she watched the light reflect of the sheen of the knife. Even from where she was, she could see how dangerously sharp it was. She squirmed, trying to worm her way away from whatever the sadistic pony had in mind.

Dandridge gave a low chuckle that sounded more like a hungry animal’s growl and made his move. He placed his hooved on either side of Dawn’s restrained body, bringing the knife up and pressing the flat side against her cheek. The feeling of the icy metal against her skin made Dawn whimper quietly. Slowly, he brought the knife down, parting her fur with the edge with careful gentleness, like a lover caressing her body. As he reached her shoulder, he began to apply pressure. Dawn felt the metal bite into her tender skin gradually, ripping past the skin and drawing a drop of rich red blood.

The sounds of two doors opening with a bang made both ponies tense up and freeze. Dawn Glimmer glanced at the knife digging into her skin, and then at Dandridge. The pony had a distant, unreadable expression on his face as he remained statuesque, the knife still clenched tightly between his jaws. For a while it was silent, and then a pony’s voice broke the tension.

“Master Dandridge, sir? Are you here?”

Dandridge recognized the voice of his housekeeper. With a vicious growl, he dropped back down and returned the knife to its former resting place on the table. Storming with quick, heavy paces across the room, he threw the doors open and pulled them shut behind him, sealing Dawn away from the world once more.

He turned and strode into his spacious office. Standing amidst the fine furniture and ceiling-high bookshelves, a petite pony waited nervously, looking very awkwardly out of place. She turned around with wide, startled eyes when she heard the doors open and shrunk away timidly when she saw the bitterness on Dandridge’s face.

“What is it?” he snapped impatiently. “You know never to disturb me when I’m in my study. What could be so bloody important that you broke the most consequential rule in this house?”

The housekeeper shrunk back further, all but folding in on herself. Her eyes diverted downward, not daring to look him in the eye. Her ears folded back, her tail tucked tightly between her legs.

“W-Well, sir… There’s—”

“Oh, out with it! I’m busy, you dense filly! What, is Equestria burning? Has the sky fallen? What?!”

The mare swallowed hard, lifting herself a little to give herself the courage to even speak. “There are two ponies at the door asking for you, sir.”

Dandridge groaned and rolled his eyes, starting back for the doors he had come through. “You know what to do with them. Turn them away. Dear Celestia, do I have to tell you how to do every job—”

“They’re RIS agents, sir.”

Dandridge stopped dead in his tracks. He felt his body go rigid, hackles rising slightly. His housekeeper watched as the ripple ran through his muscles. He turned, his irate expression gone, wiped clean by a look of curiosity and interest, cold and calculating like a predator.

“RIS, you say…?” The housekeeper nodded sheepishly. Dandridge glanced upward in thought, then gave a short nod of his head. “How intriguing… Well, let’s not keep our guests waiting.”

Putting on a faux smile, Dandridge headed down the long corridors of the manor, bound for the front door.

Locked away back in his hidden torture chamber, Dawn Glimmer had begun to writhe and fighting against her bonds, straining and abrading her skin in a desperate attempt at freedom. She winced as she felt the unyielding metal scrape at her flesh, the pain stinging through the haze of numbness her muscles had grown accustomed to. Her body felt weak and powerless, but the prospect of waiting around for Dandridge’s next round of amusement.

Tendons strained and skin tore beneath the grasping metal. The more she struggled, the more her legs were rubbed raw, smearing blood against the shackles. It took several forced tries, but with enough lubrication and a cry of pain she managed to tear her hoof free. Her wrist was rubbed raw and blood dripped down her leg, but she was free—partially free. The sight of her hoof dangling limply at her side brought renewed hope and vigor to the trapped pony, and with her eyes narrowed, she began to yank with dire desperation at her other hoof.