Twilight Sparkle and the Witch Baby

by Brony_Fife

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Spike, Comedy, Sex, Tragedy, Adventure, Sad, Main 6, Gore, Original Character
Length: 70431

Twilight Sparkle finds herself in a hostile and unfamiliar environment. Can she survive?

Twilight Sparkle wakes up, but from what, she doesn't know.

After a terrifying first encounter with a powerful new enemy with unclear motives, she is thrust into a horrible and unfamiliar world of machines and violence. She has no recollection of her friends, her magic has been broken, and she has no way out

At the same time, her friends are finding troubles all their own: Ponyville in the grip of chaos as a phantom kidnapper causes ponies to vanish, Rainbow Dash lost in an underground maze, Pinkie Pie in the clutches of a serial killer, Fluttershy and Rarity nowhere to be found...

How does all of this tie together? Will they all turn out all right? Does any of this even make sense?

Published 2012-03-08 23:04:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-04-09 20:03:51 UTC

Chapter 1: Waking Up

CHAPTER 1—Waking Up

Cold. Dry. Scratchy. November? July? Twilight Sparkle was unsure of the time. Her head throbbed as if it were a beating heart, every thump and every thud clouding her sight and weakening her legs.

Where was she right now anyway? The sound of crackling dirt and shuffling sand under her hooves told Twilight she was in a very dusty place, possibly some kind of badlands. Made sense. There was no breeze, the cold being still as if dead; and despite the cold, Twilight felt very thirsty, and very filthy. How long had she been wandering here anyway?

Suddenly, she felt herself opening a door. Twilight racked her brain to remember where she was. Badlands. Badlands. Pews. Walking by the pews. Walking past a pulpit. Church? In a church now? Where is home? Where is here? Twilight Sparkle shuffled forward, through another door and into a room where the cold was somehow even more invasive. She sniffled, her nose running. Her sight dimmed again for a second or two.

Her head continued to pound as she felt herself walking up a flight of stairs. Her eyesight and thought processes were still slowly coming back to her, and as they did, her ascent upstairs began to slow. When she was fully whole and awake again, Twilight’s body remembered how tired it was from its long trek, and she fell against the nearby wall, and slid down to her knees and lay in a heap.

Twilight Sparkle. Celestia’s greatest and most faithful student. Lives in Ponyville with her assistant Spike—a baby dragon with a big heart (and bigger mouth). Friends with… Friends with…

As she rested her head against the wall and collected her thoughts, Twilight was suddenly very disturbed. She could not remember her friends! What kind of trick was this? Why was she here? Where WAS here?

Twilight attempted to work herself back up to her feet, and as she did she attempted to connect the pieces: she was currently inside an abandoned church in the middle of nowhere, in the badlands. From the still cold and hardly any light, she guessed the current time was very early morning. Her body was very tired, so she may have been walking all night. She remembered her name, social standing, home, Celestia and Spike, but she couldn’t recall very much after that.

She began to see where this was all headed, and she didn’t care for the answer one bit.

Twilight Sparkle was coming down from a mind-control spell, a very powerful one at that. Only the strongest ones made the victim forget certain things as well as becoming subservient to its caster.

Twilight quickly looked down at her hooves, and was relieved to see no blood. At least she hadn’t been controlled to kill anypony. She was likely here in this church because she was commanded to come here. What was more, mind-control spells are temporary, and take a lot of magic to constantly renew. However, there was always a dismissal option ready. If she had reached her destination, then that very likely meant that either A) this church was where she was commanded to go to accomplish a set task, or B) whoever cast this spell on her in the first place lives, or at least was hiding out, in this church.

Twilight groaned slightly. She was in no shape to fight, obviously—her body and mind demanded sleep. She didn’t have the energy to escape this place, and even if she could, there’d be nowhere to go. She didn’t even know where she was. If she stayed right where she was, whoever else was here would just come get her anyway. She had no choice but to continue up these stairs.

Her stomach lurched. Ooh, another side-effect of mind-control hangover. How lovely.

Twilight fought her way up the rest of the stairs, fighting off the urge both to vomit and to faint. At the top of the stairs, was a door. She attempted to use her magic from her horn (For she was a unicorn, mind you) to open the door, only for her head to split. Well, not literally—if her head split, then she would have died, and we wouldn’t be able to continue the story.

Her magic wasn’t behaving correctly, likely another side-effect of the mind-control spell. Stupid Twilight! she thought. Of COURSE your magic would be on the fritz! The mind-control spell was strong enough to erase some of your memory, for Pete’s sake! Wake up, girl! Get it together!

Twilight moved out her foreleg and swept the door open, as it was already open a crack. She peered inside carefully, fully expecting her adversary to be in this room—I dunno, sitting on a throne of skulls, surrounded by tribal fires, doing his homework. Twilight wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

Instead, in this room were some stacks of chairs in the corner, a fallen tapestry near the wall, some boxes… and a beautiful stain-glass window of many colors, depicting the birth of the world. Or at least, that’s what Twilight thought, looking into it: it showed a pair of hands holding the world, with a ring of clocks set at different times surrounding it. She wasn’t sure this was apart of any religion she was familiar with, but the five-fingered hands suggested it was not practiced by ponies.

As she stared at this window, Twilight hadn’t realized she was walking into the room. When she did, she immediately tensed, remembering that whoever cast that mind-control spell was very likely in the same room. She looked about the room—the chairs, the boxes, the tapestry, all seemed undisturbed since she entered.

Suddenly, she froze—but not of her own choice. She had become the victim of a “Stop” spell. As her every movement stopped, she began to panic. She remembered reading that there were many kinds of Stop spells: her heart was beating, her lungs still drew air, her stomach and intestines hadn’t been stopped or she would have felt them bloat (Which is painful, by the way) … so this was only a minor one. Others were able to stop every organ in the body from functioning—effectively killing the victim within minutes.

Her panic began to rise as she heard hoofsteps, slowly, hard and heavy ones, clomping from her right. These hoofsteps moved behind her. Oh, Celestia’s mane!! she thought. Please, don’t let this be what I think it is…!

The hoofsteps stopped as they worked their way from behind her to her left. She tried moving her eyes to see her foe, but the spell still had a strong hold on her. However, she could tell that the stranger next to her was a pony—stallion, large. At least, much bigger than she was. In fact, Twilight feared this pony was probably the same size as her mentor Celestia.

Suddenly, she felt a hoof trace gently down her spine. It stopped at the point where her back curved to her rump, then traced its way back up to her neck. It was terrifying—but at the same time, comforting, like a lover giving her his seductive attention. Suddenly, she felt hot breath against her neck, and a voice—dark, ominous, deep—speak into her ear, as if sharing a secret.

“Twilight Sparkle,” he began. Twilight was suddenly grateful for the Stop spell—she would very likely have made a mess on the floor from fear alone. “Celestia’s most faithful servant.” Twilight took note of how he referred to her as a servant instead of a student. He said this last part as if he meant it as an insult—and he probably did.

The hoof tracing her spine went away, as did the voice and breath. She heard the hoofsteps continue behind her. When he was behind her again, he chuckled. Twilight’s heart began to race. She had never heard a sound so devoid of any kindness before. “I have waited a very long time for this, Miss Sparkle. For revenge.”

Revenge? What revenge? What did she do? Didn’t matter. Twilight wrote herself off as dead now. This guy, whoever he was, was an insanely powerful sorcerer. He mind-controlled her to come to this abandoned nowhere church, he cast a Stop spell on her so he could make his presence known… he was going to kill her. This thought raced through Twilight Sparkle’s mind, devouring her courage like a starving disease.

“What’s the matter, girl?” came the voice from behind. “Afraid?” The hoofsteps sidled up to her again. This time, the hoof stroked her cheek, gently at first. Then her head was pulled to the side, and she saw him—or rather, the first thing she caught were his eyes.

Oh Celestia’s mane, his eyes. They rested in sunken sockets, sparkling darkly as if they were ghostly purple lights in a cavern tunnel. His irises were a horrifying shade of poisonous red, his pupils tiny pinpricks in an ocean of blood and darkness. Even though they felt far away, they also felt much too close; and they burned with a fiery hatred, and they chilled with an icy cruelty, and they were

looking

right

at

her.

His face was hidden by a mask, which if his eyes were any indication, was a blessing. Twilight probably wouldn’t have been able to take it if his face was as scary as his eyes. This mask however, was rather ornate: black leather, with regal spirals and leaves decorated the mold, and on the forehead, around the horn (for he too was a unicorn) were knives, circling the horn like a bloodletting ritual. The mask itself stopped around his mouth—when she noticed it was there, it curved cruelly.

It seemed every new feature about this guy Twilight was introduced to was intended to make her want his presence less and less. His smile was no exception, for it felt like something unnatural and invisible was pulling his lips apart, showing his hideously sharp, blackened teeth (Which nopony was ever meant to have).

For a few minutes, he stood there, holding her face dominantly. She could only stare helplessly—stare at this paragon of pure hatred and spite. She attempted to formulate a plan, but she was at a complete disadvantage: her sickness from coming down from the mind-control spell still interfered with her magic, and being stopped didn’t exactly leave her many options right now anyway.

Twilight Sparkle could only stare at these jaws, these burning eyes, and await her fate.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I am not going to kill you, my dear,” he said, moving his hoof from her face down to her foreleg. “Although you would deserve it.” He continued to stroke her foreleg. Twilight’s breathing became raspier as she began to have a panic attack. “No, my dear, there are far worse things than a simple crushing of the skull, a breaking of the spine…”

His hoof wove its way back to her neck. He moved his head down, as if to kiss her. As his lips were on her neck, Twilight felt his breath, his horrible sharp teeth, as he whispered, “A snapping of the neck.” She couldn’t hold it anymore. Twilight’s eyes began to fill with tears. She realized, that of all the organs and parts he allowed her to move, the tear ducts were on the “working” list. He had wanted to see her cry, to taste her fear.

And taste it he did. And he relished in it.

However, he moved away from her, and trotted up in front of her, moving her frozen head with his hoof to keep eye contact. She could see now, his size. He was as big as Celestia, though obviously heavier. His coat, his long mane, and his wispy tail were all a ghostly white, making him seem like a specter. His black armor wove around his legs, chest, and back, the same designs as the mask decorating them—on the chest plate was a large grinning skull. The place where his cutie mark should have been instead had an image of a beautiful, six-legged winged horse being torn in half.

“No,” he continued, “I find a greater punishment for your misdeeds is to break you, Miss Sparkle.” He stood between Twilight and the stained-glass window from before, the image bringing to Twilight the idea that she was at the mercy of an unforgiving, contemptuous Judge—a god, mad with power and darkness.

He smiled again. “What awaits you is a world unkind. Cruel, and senselessly so. You will be reminded of your crimes, and you will have no friends to help you. If you can endure the despair and loneliness, survival will be your only goal for the rest of your days—however many you want there to be.” His judgment had been cast.

Twilight began to levitate off the floor, pulled by this Judge’s power. She hovered just in front of the window. “Oh, and Miss Sparkle?” said the Judge, grinning.

“Welcome to the Jungle.”

And from there, she was cast through that beautiful window and out of that church, into an unfamiliar and unkind world. The Judge collected himself, went back down the stairs, walked past the pews, and closed the door behind him—and that was the last time anyone, pony or otherwise, had ever set foot in that church. Over the years, the church would continue to crumble, as if in despair; a perverse reflection of the continuing, unstoppable deterioration of the world its priests had once attempted to enlighten.

* * * * *

The first thing she felt was a pounding headache. The first thing she heard was cheesy elevator music. The first thing she tasted was morning breath. The first thing she smelled was burning oil. The first thing she saw, upon opening her eyes was a radio.

That’s all my senses, Rainbow Dash thought wearily. As she came to, she lifted herself out of her bed. It was a simple bed: mattress, pillow, a light blanket… wait.

Wait a minute. That’s wrong. That’s all wrong!

Rainbow Dash, now more aware, looked about herself. This wasn’t her room, wasn’t her house. Instead of the safety of her clouds, she was surrounded by tubes and pipes, bronze and metal, fumes and steam. The air around her was warm and greasy. The smell? Oily. The lights above cast an eerie yellow shade upon the metal, and nearby furnaces emitted a yellow eerier still. The pipes on the wall crawled across the room like a gigantic maze. Occasionally, they hissed. For an environment that seemed so robotic, it still felt unnervingly alive, as if she had been swallowed up in her sleep by some enormous robo-whale.

Dash looked about, trying to find an exit. When her eyes fell on a door, she got out of her bed and bolted for it. Upon trying the knob, it wouldn’t turn. Rainbow Dash, for a moment, wondered why she had attempted working a doorknob with her hooves in the first place.

She stepped back, then tried bucking the door. The sound of hoof meeting metal reverberated across the room, bouncing and dispersing against the pipe maze. She was locked in. Cursing under her breath, Rainbow Dash went back to investigate the rest of the room.

She looked about her environment again. Besides the bed and the stuff on the nightstand, there didn’t seem to be much of interest. Come on, Dash! she thought. Think! You’ve read all those adventure books, now it’s time to think like an adventurer! What would Daring Do do in this situation? Rainbow Dash wrinkled her nose at her last sentence. What would Daring Do have done if she were in this situation?

Dash surveyed her environment one more time. Reinforced door. Walls looked too thick and were covered in pipes—she had no idea what they did, but she didn’t want to break any, in case they were carrying some dangerous gases in them. She flapped her cyan wings and got into the air for a bit and looked around some more. Her eyes fell on something she thought could be useful.

An air vent! Awesome! The air vent was on the ground, near a corner. Rainbow Dash hovered over it for a bit and did a diving stomp from above. The air vent did not bend. In frustration, she hit the air vent with her hoof. “Stupid air vent! They always broke away easy in the books!”

Not one to give up easily, Rainbow Dash flew up again—this time, higher—then stomped again. She tried at least ten or twenty times, becoming increasingly agitated by the air vent’s sheer refusal to bend. “YOU! STUPID! AIR VENT!” she roared between stomps, “YOU! WILL! BOWWWW!”

But the air vent did not bow, quite possibly because it knew Rainbow Dash was not its master. Tired, her hooves hurting, Rainbow Dash called it quits, but not before sticking her tongue out at the obstinate vent. She went back to the bed to recollect her wits, and her eyes fell to the nightstand, and the objects it held.

There was a little radio playing some lame elevator music, a small mirror, and what looked like a little black plug. Dash looked into the mirror to see if whoever brought her here did anything to her face before he or she left her in this room. Thankfully, she was still one hundred percent awesome: that colorful coat! that multi-colored mane! that fierce face! those energetic eyes! those wonderful wings! Rainbow Dash nodded in self-satisfaction. Everything seemed in order.

Putting down the mirror, Dash turned her attention to the little black plug. It was small and tubelike, but strangely it looked as if it were meant to be worn. It had two little red lights on it, one at the top and one at the bottom. Whatever it was, it was certainly home here in this strange, alien world.

As Rainbow looked over the plug, the lame music suddenly came to a halt with a startling pop. Over the radio’s speaker came a robotic-sounding voice.

“Good Morning, Rainbow Dash.”

Rainbow Dash abruptly bolted upwards in shock, her wings carrying her back onto her bed. “Wh-Who are you?!” Dash thundered. “What do you want?!” She quickly calmed down, feeling silly for yelling at a radio the same way some ponies did when the DJ said something they didn’t like. Suddenly, the radio began speaking again.

“In due time, Rainbow. In due time. For now, please put the earpiece on.”

Rainbow Dash looked at the radio incredulously. Then to the plug. That was an earpiece? Like, something you put in your ear? Gross! She wouldn’t want that thing anywhere near her head, let alone her ear!

“Do it.”

She looked around. Door, locked. No windows. There was an air vent, but it was reinforced steel. No way to tell where she was, or how to get out. She was totally trapped. Rainbow Dash glared at the radio, tempted to smash it in frustration.

“Please.”

After a few seconds of staring, Rainbow Dash reluctantly put the earpiece on. As she fixed it up so it didn’t feel uncomfortable, she heard a small hum. Afterwards, the robotic voice began to speak directly into her ear. Rainbow Dash, again startled, jumped back onto her bed.

Much better. Now I can speak to you directly. We wouldn’t want anyone listening in on our conversations, now would we?

A loud squeal came from behind Rainbow Dash. She turned her head, alarmed. The door that was locked before had been opened. The Exit sign over it lit up in a sickly green.

Please go through this door.

“Now wait just a minute, I—”

GO THROUGH THE DOOR, OR. I. WILL. Shut it.

Rainbow Dash could tell this was going to be a painful day.

She groaned and did as she was told. Now that she had a clearer idea of what the voice sounded like (As in, not clouded by radio static), she felt much more creeped out. It had a flat monotone that still held some emotion (Dash took note of the underlying malice, for starters). It contained a high pitch, and was very soft, but was still identifiably masculine. It spoke with no breath, as if she weren’t talking to a living being. For all she knew, she probably wasn’t.

Rainbow Dash walked through the door and into a hallway. This corridor seemed longer than it really needed to be. There were small green lights on the ceiling, casting a creepy olive radiance all throughout the hallway. Everything seemed to glow because of it. The smell of burning oil was stronger in this hall for some reason. The pipes on the wall hissed as she walked by, as if they knew she was there.

As she walked through the corridor, the Voice began to speak again.

Right now you are probably wondering why you are here. I am afraid I cannot answer that question at this time. However I can give an answer to any other question you may ask.

Rainbow Dash breathed a little and slowed her pace. She had begun to notice that her heart was racing. She wondered if it was a result of the overall tension of this strange, alien place. After carefully thinking over what questions she wanted answers to, she cleared her throat.

“Where am I exactly? And who ARE you anyway?”

You are in an experimental facility once used by the Machina. I am its current operator.

OK, that solved nothing. Rainbow Dash was not much of a reader outside her favorite adventure novels, but she had a feeling she knew somepony who probably knew who the Machina were, and that somepony was… was…

…was…

Who again? What?

“H-How come I can’t remember anything? My friends, I-I…”

That would be a side-effect of a mind-control spell. It was cast on you to make you more easily swayed. However, I have had it removed so that you would be given back your free will. You might remember them in due time, but there is only a 50/50 chance of success.

“A 50/50 chance I could forget my friends completely?”

I have experimented with this mind-control a little myself. I can safely say that, in the early stages of mind-control recovery, there is a large chance that the subject may forget many things about their past before being controlled, and absolutely nothing about the time they spent under the influence of the spell. In the later stages of recovery, the subject has either regained most of their memory on their own or not at all. Only time will tell if you can remember your friends, or if you can remember what you did under the influence of the spell.

“Aren’t mind control spells…”

Illegal? Yes. Celestia had forbidden mind-control spells many years ago. However, her law does not reach where we are.

She shivered. She had been under someone else’s control, for Celestia knows how long, and couldn’t remember anything about it? Anything could have happened.

Anything.

And she couldn’t remember it. For some reason, this knowledge scared her more than anything else in the world ever had. But not knowing what she may have done (Or what may have been done to her) was not even as scary as not being able to remember her friends. Rainbow Dash was able to recall some ponies she’d met, but wasn’t sure if any of them were friends or not. In a sudden, cold sweat, she hoped against the odds that she WOULD remember her friends, but not remember what occurred while she was mind-controlled.

Rainbow Dash was at the door at the end of the hallway. She was surprised a little at first that the door opened by itself: the doors slowly opened from top to bottom, like a giant mouth eagerly expecting a meal. Inside was a chamber for one—an elevator.

Going up?

She gingerly walked into the elevator. The door closed behind her with a loud and hideous clang. A few seconds passed; then Rainbow Dash heard a series of clicks and clanking. After a sudden jolt, the elevator began a slow ascent.

Rainbow Dash gathered her thoughts. Ok, I was mind-controlled, but was broken out of it. Should I ask this guy what I did while I was mind-controlled? I probably should, but it’s not like he’d give me a straight answer. Besides, what I did might not be something I want to remember. I don’t remember my friends, but I do recall being a talented flyer and a weather-pony—not that that’s gonna help me in a place this cramped. There’s gotta be something I can do…

In the middle of her elevator ride, Rainbow Dash decided to ask. “How am I going to get out of here?”

It is simple, Rainbow Dash. Merely survive the challenges I present you. Then I will allow you to leave. Whether you remember anything at the end of these experiments or not is of no concern to me.

It IS a concern to me, thought Rainbow Dash. “What kind of tests we talkin’ about?”

At first she received no reply. Then the elevator stopped and the doors opened.

Proceed.

The hallway was similar to the Green Hallway from before, except the color of the lights was now blue. For some reason, although blue was her favorite color, it gave Rainbow Dash chills: this shade of blue reminded her of pictures she’d seen of the ocean floor. While there were fewer pipes running along the walls, there were glass windows on her right, and fans on the left. Passing by the fans was not a good idea, as a horrendous smell was thrust into her nostrils. (Next time she had to walk by, she'd have to hold her breath.) As she trotted past the windows, she dared to look inside. The room on the other side was pitch dark.

“What happened to the lights?”

Suddenly, the lights turned on. Rainbow Dash quickly regretted asking her question.

Inside the room, was a pony—no, it had a pony shape, definitely, but it was hard to call it a pony. Most of its face was completely gone, and its back legs had been traded for metallic appendages that, to Rainbow Dash, reminded her of giant spider legs. In place of the pony’s face was metal, and teeth, rotted and bent in atrocious ways. The teeth were stained with a hideous shade of red that Rainbow Dash only hoped was rust.

The creature’s single good (That is, still pony-esque) eye lit up as soon as the light turned on, and a sound escaped its mouth. Rainbow Dash couldn’t really describe the sound exactly. It was like a short gasp, but when heard through a pipe. She was certain no living pony could replicate that sound. Suddenly, the creature ran forward, emitting another sound—one that Rainbow Dash placed between a shriek and a dentist drill; it smashed into the wall right in front of Rainbow Dash, scratching at the window with its hooves. She jumped back, her reflexes still good even when she was in a state of shock. She noticed the creature’s right hoof was replaced with what looked like a spike.

The Voice came back.

This is a Freak. It will hurt you.

“R-Really? Naaawww!” Rainbow Dash said sarcastically over the Freak’s high-pitched screaming (attempting to not sound scared, although she was close to screaming herself). Then it hit her. “Oh no… oh no, you want me to…”

In the next room, there will be more. You must avoid them and make it to the exit. Do not confront them.

Rainbow Dash cursed her luck. The Freak began smashing its face on the window; Dash pressed her back against the wall in fear. She stared back at the creature in shock as it tried its hardest to get through the window and to her. After a few minutes of bashing its face and hoofs into the window, Dash noticed its metallic parts beginning to dent and fall off. Another few minutes of thumping and screaming, and it had killed itself by caving in its own head against the apparently (and thankfully) very strong window.

She sat there for several minutes afterward, shivering; listening to a slow gurgle coming from the room behind the glass. Eventually it stopped.

As you can see, Freaks are not very smart. Any intelligent creature would have ceased attacking a wall when they began to feel pain. I took that away from them. They begged me to remove their pain. Now all they feel and think is nothing.

Rainbow Dash felt tears welling up in her eyes. Her forelegs were shivering like crazy, and her wings had frozen up. Although she usually felt unstoppable, for the first time in her life, Rainbow Dash felt reasonably, genuinely afraid.
But hey! She was Rainbow Dash! She was able to clear skies in ten seconds flat! Perform a Sonic Rainboom—the point where light and sound collided into an explosion! Rainbow Dash defined herself by finding the impossible, then destroying it! She could do this, right?

Right?

After a few minutes to calm herself down, Rainbow Dash gathered herself, stood back up, and marched down to the end of the hallway. The door at the end opened up and revealed a different room. Inside, she faintly heard scrapes, and giggles, and scratches, and sobs, and moans.

Her fear began to creep back up her spine, but steeled herself for what came next. She took her first step into the den of lions before her.

All right, Dash, she thought, let’s rock.

Chapter 2: Pinkie Pie's Peculiar Party

CHAPTER 2—Pinkie Pie’s Peculiar Party

Happy Birthday to Youuuu,

Happy Birthday to Youuuu,

Happy Birthday dear Perky Piiiiiiie,

Happy Birthday to youuuu.

Singing. Voice, off-key, squealy, like a child’s. Breath, hot, ugly, go away.

Pinkie Pie suddenly snapped awake as she realized what was going on. Her eyes were as wide as the time she went “GASP!” when she met Twilight Sparkle for the first time and threw her that party where she talked Twilight’s ears off explaining how she got this idea to throw her a party because she thought Twilight was lonely because she was new and—and—and—and

and

here she was, in a chair. Tied to it, in fact. In the middle of a dingy room decorated with confetti and streamers. In front of her was a table, and at this table were other ponies, tied to the same kinds of chairs she was. The ponies all wore masks—one a white rabbit, one a donkey’s, one a dormouse, and the last a cat with an unnerving grin.

In front of her was a white birthday cake with the words “Happy Umpteenth, Porkie Pie” spelled out in loopy letters and pink frosting. Candles stuck out of it in a bizarre fashion—a few of the candles were even stuck in the ice cream next to the cake!

The room outside the birthday trappings was grungy and smelly. The smell reminded Pinkie Pie of the outhouse on the rock farm where she was raised. Nostalgic but gross. The wood and metal used to build this place were exceedingly rotten and rusted—Pinkie wondered if this place was even sanitary—possibly condemned.

Then it hit her. She was tied up onna chair in the middle of a creepy room with other ponies tied up onna chair in the middle of the creepy room, and they were having a birthday party even though it wasn’t her birthday and the cake was all whoopsie-daisy loopy-goofy with the candles!

She was in the middle of the worst birthday party ever!

Oh, and she might have been kidnapped or something.

She tried to start conversations with the other guests, but the white rabbit was a snorty-pants who didn’t wanna talk; the donkey went face-down on the table; the dormouse gurgled like he had a tummy ache; and the smiley-cat screamed and sobbed. Pinkie was not the least deterred by any of this. She just knew these guys needed to know how to party hardy!

Suddenly, the cake began to expand. It grew and grew and grew, like a big white and pink tomato, only tomatoes don’t grow that fast, and then—poof!—the cake exploded into a shower of confetti! Wow! Pinkie Pie wanted to applaud, but she was tied up because somepony kidnapped her. Or something.

Where the cake had been now stood a stallion Earth pony with a round body and crazy-long legs. He wore funny, bright, mismatching colors, and his face was painted white on one side, blue on the other, with bright red around his eyes and lips. His hat was a long, red-and-white-striped cap—like a sleeping cap—and under it was a swirly-whirly bright blue mane! He giggled a high-pitched giggle, and Pinkie couldn’t help but join in. They were having so much fun!

Suddenly, the Clown put his face against Pinkie Pie’s and screamed like Nightmare Moon had grabbed him by the boy-parts Pinkie wasn’t allowed to talk about when she was little. Pinkie Pie was struck silent. The Clown had stopped screaming, but he was still right in front of her face.

His smile was gone.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Pinkie decided she ought to say something. “Um,” she began, “N-Nice party you got here, Mr. Clown.”

The Clown immediately lit up, as if overjoyed that someone was enjoying herself. After all, that’s what clowns were for, right? Their job was to bring smiles and laughter to everypony they met. But for some reason, Pinkie Pie didn’t feel that with this Clown. There was something weird and false about his performance that she couldn’t quite put her hoof on.

He danced on the table, to no particular rhythm, and began to sing. Pinkie winced, since he was totally off-key, but attempted to remain polite.

Hello, Hello, Hello!

And a very happy birthday to you!

May everything today

Always, always go your way

No matter what it is you do!

Pinkie Pie giggled at the goofy verse. “Silly! It’s not MY birthday today! It must be one of your other guests.”

Suddenly, the Clown stopped dancing.

Suddenly the Clown stopped smiling again.

Suddenly the Clown looked very upset. His eyes bulged from their sockets. His legs were bent in such a way that Pinkie thought they were going to break.

“Yes! It! IS!” The Clown insisted. He stomped the table he was standing on angrily.

Pinkie Pie didn’t approve of this behavior. Not one little bit. She frowned at him, the way a mother glowers at a disobedient foal. “No it’s not, and it’s no reason to be so angry.”

“Yes it IS, yes it IS, yes! It! IS! Your birthday,” the Clown shouted. “You’re turning one year old today! A whole year! And you’re gonna like it, by golly!”

“Who’s Golly?” Pinkie Pie asked innocently. She turned to the dormouse. “Are YOU Golly?”

“No he’s not!” said the Clown, still angry.

Pinkie Pie turned to the smiling cat. “Are YOU Golly?”

“He’s not, either!” said the Clown, even angrier.

Pinkie Pie smiled at the Clown. “Well, then, are YOU Golly?”

“My name’s not Golly!” the Clown spat, furious. “Golly isn’t here! Golly is dead! I sat on him and he’s dead!”

Pinkie Pie’s face fell. Poor Golly.

“Anyway! You’re turning fifteen today—”

“I thought I was turning one!”

“Fifteen! You’re fifteen! And you’re gonna get a present—but only ONE!”

Pinkie Pie liked this Clown less and less the more he talked. Clowns were supposed to be cheerful and funny, but this guy was whiny and irritating. And only ONE present on a birthday? What kind of nonsense screwy-patooey was that?

Before she could protest, the Clown jumped off the table. He stamped on the floor. “Presents UP!”

As if on command, each one of the other ponies lifted up wrapped boxes and set them on the table.

“Now, my dear Plinky, you may choose one of these gifts. But only one!”

Pinkie Pie didn’t know what to do. Four presents to choose from, but she could only get one. The other three’s feelings would be so hurt! And Pinkie Pie was not the kind of pony to hurt another pony’s feelings. Not at all. But that was the rule, just one present.

So after carefully looking over each of the gift boxes, she came to a decision. “I don’t want any presents.”

The Clown’s facial expression was made even more hideous by his makeup. “WHY NOT?!?!”

Pinkie Pie looked into his eyes, as if explaining in childlike innocence. “If I choose only one, all the other guests’ feelings would be hurt. And I don’t want anypony to feel like I’m snubbing them.” She added a small smile at the end, then looked around at the other guests. “I’m sorry guys, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

The Clown now seemed more furious than he had ever been. Or at least, since Pinkie met him, which was not very long ago. “You’re SUPPOSED to pick ONE! That’s the rule of the game!”

Pinkie lit up. “OHHH, so it’s a game!” She was more excited now. “OK, I like games! So I’m just supposed to pick one, and not to be mean, but just to choose?”

The Clown had grown exasperated. It was apparent this party was not going as planned. “YES,” he growled. “Just pick one of the boxes. Nopony’s feelings are going to be hurt.”

Pinkie looked over the boxes again. Then she looked at the guests. She was disappointed that she couldn’t see their faces past those dirty masks. They must be very expectant and hopeful that she’ll pick their gift. She looked back at the presents, and bit her lower lip in thought. “Hmmm.”

Silence.

“Hmmm.”

More silence.

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

“OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!”

The Clown had finally lost his patience. He flipped over the table in a rage, knocking over Pinkie Pie, the presents, and the other guests in the process. He began stomping on the overturned table, breaking it. Pinkie Pie, now that the Clown was busy venting his rage, bit at the rope holding her to the chair, pulled it slightly, then slightly again, then to the left, undoing the rope. Because she can. She got up and stretched.

“Yup! MUCH better! Those chairs are SO not-booty-friendly!”

The Clown stopped his rage for a second and saw that his birthday girl had broken out of her bonds. He stared with wide, angry eyes and a deep frown. His makeup made him seem even angrier. Pinkie Pie paid him no mind as she opened up each present.

He glared at her as she opened the first box. Inside was a hammer.

“Ooh! A hammer!” she beamed, “Perfect for building houses! Not that I DO build houses, but it’s the thought that counts!” She set the hammer aside.

As she went for the next gift, the Clown picked up the hammer. He smiled, but it was hard since, as a pony, he had to hold the hammer between his teeth. He raised it over Pinkie Pie, and brought it down, aiming squarely for her neck. She turned her head at the last minute (apparently she was having difficulty with the bow), and the Clown missed, hitting the ground so hard, the head of the hammer broke off.

He growled.

Pinkie Pie opened the next present. Inside was a knife.

“Oh, a knife?” Pinkie Pie looked it over uneasily. “I’m sorry, Mr. Donkey-Head, but I think you’ve been reading too many fanfics! But thanks anyway!”

So Pinkie Pie made her way to the next present. The Clown saw his chance and picked up the knife. This time, he didn’t smile—for he felt that was what messed up his aim the last time. He aimed it squarely at Pinkie Pie’s back and gave it a good throw. She ducked, picking up the present in her teeth to undo the ribbon, and the knife sunk into the wall behind her.

He groaned.

Pinkie Pie opened her next gift. Inside was a noose.

“Oh, my! Some rope!” Pinkie Pie giggled. “You guys are giving me so many practical presents. That’s so sweet of you! I’ll put this to some good use later.”

She put the rope over to one side to collect it later. The Clown saw his chance.

He tip-toed over to Pinkie Pie as she trotted toward her last present. As she looked down at the present, he clasped his teeth around the end of the noose and attempted to put it around Pinkie’s neck. But before he did, he waited until she was already opening the package. No bobbing head, no strategic dodge. He smiled, and threw the rope.

Pinkie Pie laughed, throwing her head back. The Clown’s aim was off, and the noose bounced off her frizzy hair.

He sizzled.

Pinkie Pie opened her last present. It was a time-bomb. As she removed the lid from the box, the pin was pulled from the bomb’s back and the countdown began.

“Ooh! A fancy clock!” Pinkie positively glowed. “I could always use a clock! I’m always losing track of time!”

She put down her last present. The Clown, now seeing the bomb (He had forgotten about it earlier), ran out the door. He ran until he was safely out of the building. Outside was an abandoned slum, the only potential witnesses around were homeless Machina who, predictably, paid a clown running out of an abandoned building no attention at all. He stood on the other side of the street and waited eagerly for the bomb to go off.

Inside the building, Pinkie Pie gathered the guests together and gave them a big group hug. Mr. Smiley-Cat was being a poop-head though, and struggled and screamed as she hugged them. “Thank you, all! You’ll all be sweeties in my book!” As she did, she looked at the time on the bomb. “Oh, my goodness!” she gasped. “Is it that time already?”

She let go of her fellow partiers and looked around for her other presents. After she picked up the noose, she noted that the others were going to be a pain to carry. Temporarily forgetting her innate gift of hammerspace (After all, what happened next was just bound to be uproarious), she decided to leave the other objects here. She WAS told she could only keep one, after all, and the rope was pretty!

And off she bounded, singing her goodbyes, out the door and into an unfamiliar place. She looked about, surprised at first. After a few seconds of looking around and taking everything in, she breathed and tried not to panic. She had already learned about how being xenophobic was wrong in her experiences with Zecora, but this place…

Here, everything was clock-ish steam-ish punk-ish. Even the people: most were bipedal, with two or more arms while others had wheels for feet. All had gears and switches and chains and pipes and were entirely metal. The streets were just meshes of metal beneath her hooves, the buildings like giant grandfather clocks, jukeboxes, and radios long since put into disuse. The sky seemed a rusty red, casting a morbid and uncertain shadow upon this place.

Pinkie Pie geared herself up and smirked. She had looked at that clock before. What time was it?

“ADVENTURE TIME!” Pinkie Pie cheered, and leapt from the door just as the “clock” in the building exploded—sending the entire building ablaze. Pinkie Pie looked behind herself at the wreckage and smiled.

They finally learned how to party.

* * * * *

The Clown gazed upon his burning building. It was merely a stage, like any other place he knew, a stage for his show. For life was a show, all it ever was was a show. Everybody was an actor, him, the pink thing, the Judge, his drones, you, and me. His pupils dilated as he watched the fire dancing into the sky, the bristling crackles sounding in his ears like a witch cackling over her latest stew.

As some of the bums ran to and fro, the Clown took a moment to look at them. Filthy, fallen-apart, old pieces of junk. For that was what they were, literally: they were people of various machinery, whether it were clockwork, steam-powered, or diesel-fueled. (Of course, only those who could afford it were able to use diesel.) These bums had replaced legs that had either fallen off long ago or were stolen (getting one’s leg stolen was actually pretty common—and much more worrisome if the victim was not a Machina, either).

He smiled and jeered as the bums and worthless heaps ran about in a panic. They were a perfect painting of life in a nutshell. They were bums: no place in life or society, no money, no purpose. Yet here they were, running around screaming as if they deserved to be heard. As if they deserved to live. As if they expected society to allow them to live.

Looking about, the Clown spied a manhole cover that was only lazily half-covering a hole. He picked it up and held it between his hooves (He refrained again from using his mouth, mostly because he hated the taste of metal). His eyes scanned the screaming bums, tripping over each other, stealing from each other, beating each other up in the chaos.

His gaze fell on one particular bum whose leg was torn from him by another. This guy was crawling along, likely trying to find someplace to hide, in case anyone got the idea to take the rest of his parts. The Clown got that idea, and twisted it into something more sinister.

Getting up on his hind legs, the Clown lifted the manhole above his head and reared back, getting the attention of his victim. The bum’s eyes, glass bulbs really, lit up in a dim light, as if realizing his time on this earth was over. He used his one good arm to shield his face in one last futile act of self-preservation. He did not scream, which the Clown hadn’t expected; but the Clown smiled anyway, for his victim had figured out, all by himself, that living wasn’t worth it anymore anyway.

With a clang, the bum’s hand was crushed and his head knocked off his body. The Clown watched the dented head with a broken eye bounce along the street, ricocheting off a street light. As it rolled to a stop, the Clown saw another bum making a go for the head.

The Clown took aim and threw the manhole at the sneaky bum, and got him dead-center, knocking him onto his side with a crash. He got back down on all fours and walked over to the severed head. He picked it up and placed it in his sash. He looked at the bum, now cowering, his entire lower half a messy image.

“I-I’m sorry,” he pleaded, “Didn’t—didn’t know it was yers!”

“Oh it isn’t,” replied the Clown.

And with that, the Clown pounced, crushing the bum’s head and arms. He jumped up and down, stomped, and then alternated between the two actions repeatedly until the bum’s parts were all over the street. He laughed as he did it.

As the other Machina ran by, as if not caring, the Clown began to sing. It was a merry tune, although once again followed no real rhythm or structure; and as it reached the burning building, the fire began to dance even more seductively than it had before.

When you’re feeling worn down

When you’re feeling kind of blue

When you know you’re gonna drown

Laugh, Clown, Laugh!!

When your friends no longer make a sound

When their love is no longer true

When you put their bodies in the ground,

Laugh, Clown, Laugh!!

At this stanza, the Clown leapt from his prey and spun around a lamppost. He slid down its side, landing in front of a female Machina, who began to back off in fear. His gaze matched hers.

She was pretty, for a machine. Her gears seemed well-oiled for a homeless girl—in all likeliness she was still quite young. The bronze on her body still had some hue, although much of it was stained and caked with filth like all the other bums. Her face was well-sculpted, set into a round little head with a pigtail made of wire on either side.

The Clown drew closer. His song approached a slowing point, almost somber in tone.

All I want to do is smile

Feel better for a little while

Remember what I was like, as a child

He reached into his sash and pulled out the severed head. The clockwork girl screamed and fell backward. The Clown moved the mouth as if it were a puppet.

WHAT I LOOKED LIKE WHEN I SMILED!!!

The Clown laughed as the clockwork girl scrambled back up to her feet and ran away in terror. He threw the head down, relishing in the sound of the thick smack against the street. He got back into the original mood of his song and began to jig as he pranced down the street.

When your heart is devoured by doubt

When you can’t take it anymore

When your heart bursts and you thrash about

Laugh, Clown, Laugh!!

When the candle’s flame goes out

When death himself is at your door

Well, There’s no need to pout

Just Laugh, Clown! LAUGH!!!

And with that, the Clown’s voice dissolved into the most horrendous, wretched, cruel, twisted, gnarled, vicious, squealy, shrieking laughter that any creature could ever be unfortunate enough to hear. The fire burning brightly behind him began to roar in applause. He kept on with his cackle even as he walked onward into the night in search of another playmate, another shadow returning to the darkness.

By the time the fire fighters had arrived, the shrill sounds of the Clown’s laughter haunted the place like a ghost—with its owner nowhere to be found.

Intermission 1: Judges & Dragons

INTERMISSION 1—Judges and Dragons

So it’s like this.

Three months before all this stuff happened, things were going well. Twilight Sparkle was still studying the magic of friendship, for one thing. Rarity was gorgeous as she ever was; Pinkie Pie as energetic as she ever was. Applejack helped her family with their orchard, Rainbow Dash was going to re-perform that Sonic Rainboom even if it killed her, and Fluttershy raised her animals in quiet semi-seclusion. Ponyville was a quaint town that saw weirdness at least once a month, with its residents grown used to it all. The lazy-eyed mailmare still delivered postage, the clock tower was still maintained by its lord, and the mayor was still in calm, collected control.

Like I said, normal.

That is, until three months ago.

What happened?

Everypony went nuts, that’s what happened. Ponies turned up missing. Foals started disappearing. Investigations were made, accusations flew, paranoia had reached a boiling point… Ponyville was in the grip of chaos.

And that was when Spike found Twilight Sparkle. That was when…

Spike rubbed his arm where the bite still stung. The bandage he applied was falling off, and he was worried he would get dirt in the wound and get an infection. He was not normally a hypochondriac, but he WAS in the badlands, and dirt WAS everywhere. It didn’t help that his “bandage” was really stationery normally used for making out a message.

Speaking of messages, Spike was still waiting for a reply from Celestia. He thought that being given news as to the whereabouts of her faithful student would have sent her right over. But for some reason, his previous two messages were never even answered. He was the direct line to Celestia—his dragon breath was able to teleport objects it burned—so it wasn’t likely she’d accidentally miss the letters.

What’s more, Spike worried that if Celestia was not receiving his letters (out of range, perhaps?), that meant he could not call for help. Not that he thought to in the first place. He cursed his haste. But what was he to do? He had seen Twilight Sparkle almost two weeks after her disappearance, and tried to follow her. Looking back on it, it was a stupid thing to do—he should have alerted Celestia right away instead of…

The purple dragon shook his head, putting his thoughts back in order. Something seriously wrong was at work throughout all this.

Spike’s clawed feet scraped against the dirt and the brush. He coughed as he inhaled some of the dirt in the air, and once again adjusted his makeshift bandage. The sun had risen an hour ago, spilling much-needed light onto this barren landscape between the thick greasy clouds.

And as the sun rose, so did the temperature. The warmer air was welcoming to Spike—dragons are giant lizards, after all. Their cold blood was sensitive to temperature. He felt stronger, more alert in the heat, less disoriented. For now, he forgot how hungry he was and that he didn’t pack anything to eat for his trip.

As he regained his strength, Spike noticed in the distance a small, dilapidated building. He couldn’t make out what it was from this distance, but he sniffed the air and smelled Twilight Sparkle all over this trail. (Dragons also had a good sense of smell.) She had definitely gone toward the building.

Spike sprinted.

Growing closer to the building, Spike noticed it was actually more of a church. He wasn’t as well-read as Twilight Sparkle, so the symbols painted on the outer walls weren’t familiar to him. (Judging from the repetition of certain unprintable four-letter words, not all the symbols drawn on the church were there originally.) The windows were all either smashed or boarded up. It was evident this church had been abandoned and abused for a long time.

Spike sniffed the air again. Twilight’s scent was stronger here. Carefully, he went over what he could do.
He could try going into the church where she likely was. But then again, the last time he had tried to confront her, Twilight had bitten his arm and thrown him about with her telekinesis. Spike had tried reasoning with her, but it was like she was under somepony else’s control—which made Spike worry. In fact, that was what had prompted him to follow her.

Of course, he could have tried to find help first, but then Twilight’s scent would have been long gone.

Speaking of scents, Spike smelled something else here. Something ominous. It gave Spike that feeling you get when something heavy is about to happen. It was a bit different for Spike though—he had no hairs of which to stand on end, but his stomach was doing backflips nonetheless.

Instead of barging right in, Spike hovered around the church, looking at it from different angles, looking for some more discreet way of getting in. All of the windows were boarded. There was another door in the back, but the stench of wickedness lingered strongest there. Spike didn’t trust it one bit.

But Twilight was in there, so he had to…

…wait.

Spike sniffed the air. Twilight’s scent was in the air again. Had she left?

As he moved about, his head held up sniffing the air, he felt a crunch beneath his feet. He looked down and immediately jumped backward. There was colored glass all over the ground. He looked upward and spotted a broken window—likely the original owner of the glass pieces.

Spike put the scene together in his mind: Twilight went to this church. Met some guy, definitely bad. Had a fight? Possible, very possible. Knocked out a window. The scent in the air indicated Twilight had moved from the church straight to…

Spike looked behind him and his eyes widened in surprise. Before him lay a sprawling city: bronze buildings of many sizes and curious shapes reached for the sky above, smoke poured from pipe-chimneys, and as he spied more closely, Spike could see people bustling about. It was like looking at a city made of giant grandfather clocks, rollercoasters, and jukeboxes.

For a moment, Spike wondered how in Equestria he had ever missed this.

He began the long trek from the Cliffside where the church was perched to the city. As he went down the steep side, Spike noticed many abandoned buildings below him, in similar states of neglect as the church. They segued neatly into the sprawling clockwork metropolis ahead.

He slowed down cautiously. Spike doubted an entire part of a city could really be abandoned. It was as if as soon as the people of this city discovered better technology, this settlement was forsaken in favor of the flashy and new. When that happened, Spike remembered Twilight telling him once, it wasn’t uncommon for gangs of thieves to occupy where decent society had left long ago.

Spike sniffed at the air. Outside the dusty stench of the badlands and the very heavy neglect of this part of the town, he smelled… oil? Grease, definitely. The kind of things one would have to use to make machines. Something was living here, definitely, but Spike didn’t care to stick around to know what.

The little dragon sat down. He took out his stationery and pen and wrote down a quick note.

Princss Celestia,

if you get this messe message, pleese respond. I have a good lead on twilight’s whereabouts. she is in a city of mache machines I have never seenbefore, some where in the badlands beyond everfree forest. however, I think she might be hurt. there’s enough evidanevadent proof that she got in a fite with a strongr pony. PLEASE SEND HELP ASSOON AS POSSIBLE.
Spike

Despite his moderate expertise of writing, Spike was weary, hungry, and trying to pay attention to his surroundings while he wrote his note. If Twilight had proofread his work, she would have given him a scolding.

He rolled up his note and inhaled deeply. He felt the oxygen connect with his fire-producing gland and ignite. In a green flash of fire, the note was gone and was carried into the sky. Spike turned his attention back to his careful sneaking through this abandoned part of the city.

*****

He smirked, seeing the dragon from afar. He knew she had attracted unwanted attention while she was on her little mission. Through a Long Sight spell, he watched the dragon circling the church, then his descent off the steep hill, and then observed his writing. Although he couldn’t make out what exactly the dragon was writing, he could tell his spelling and grammar were atrocious—even at this distance.

The Judge shifted his weight. He was lying down, and his joints were beginning to ache. There used to be a time when he didn’t feel so old, but that time had ended long ago. If he was lucky, his Master would grant him another extension of his youth. The Judge hadn’t actually gathered up his courage to ask his Master yet, but he’d have to remember to eventually. Getting old stinks.

The heat of the day had forced him to remove his black leather armor, which now lay in his wagon. His attendants were cleaning it in fine detail, as the Judge had always demanded. They knew better than to fail him, even in this simple task.

(Wait, that came out wrong, let me try again.) They knew better than to fail his orders.

He would have to dock their pay this month if he found even a little dirt on it. And he hated having to do that, but penalties exist for a reason.

The Judge’s attention turned back to the dragon. While he had cast a Disguise Scent spell on himself, his wagon, and his attendants, he knew that the dragon would catch the scent he had left in the church earlier that day. He cursed his forgetfulness—of all the precautions he took, he had forgotten to cast the Disguise Scent spell on himself earlier that morning. Now he knew he was getting too old.

However, upon seeing the dragon write his letter and burn it, he watched as the green embers danced through the air. Like all the other times the dragon had sent any messages, the Judge cast Magic Magnetism—an enchantment spell that drew all magical spells in range to its caster. (In this case, it could also draw the travelling message, since the dragon-fire was an enchantment likely cast on the dragon long ago.) Not always a useful spell, obviously, but if one were crafty and careful enough, it was very effective.

As the green fire turned back into its original paper form, the Judge looked over the note. The writing and spelling were even worse up-close. But the message was all the same: asking Princess Celestia for assistance. However, his eyes fell on the fourth and fifth sentences, and he groaned.

Now that the dragon knew (or rather, had gained hints) of his existence, he would have to do something about it. The Judge loved dragons, and hated having to harm them—especially baby dragons. He felt they were majestic creatures wrongfully treated as brutes or greedy savages, which wasn’t true, most of the time; they needed to eat the gold and jewels they stole just to survive. They only hoarded because that was what they did, it was their nature and they weren’t any less majestic for it.

And now he might be faced with having to kill one.

He turned to one of his attendants, a pretty young Earth pony mare. Shiny bright purple eyes, fur of a soft red hue, long black mane tied into a braid (Even her tail was braided), a cutie mark of a radiant diamond. Her facial features were quite exotic, and were what convinced the Judge decide to have her become his most trusted servant. “Shine Brightest,” he called. She immediately looked up from her work on his armor.

He smiled—this time, a warm and genuine smile—at her innocent face. “Yes, my Judge?”

“No need for that.”

“U-Um, yes, Mr. Star Fall?”

He chuckled heartily. While he insisted his most trusted servants to refer to him by his name than by his title, Shine Brightest—as meek, innocent, and humble as she was—insisted to put “Mr.” or “my lord” before his name.

“My Brightest, it wounds me to know I may have to kill our little dragon spy. What do you suggest we do?”

He rested his face on his hoof and smiled warmly as Shine Brightest thought over the options. Her face lit up as she came to a conclusion she thought was satisfactory. “What if we offered him the chance to join us? A dragon could certainly have his uses.”

The Judge hmmmed a bit while looking into Shine Brightest’s purple (so bright they were nearly pink) eyes. “A good suggestion,” he agreed, “but it seems he has an interest in our enemy, Miss Sparkle. In all likelihood, she probably raised him.”

“If I may interject a thought, my Judge,” came a voice from behind the suit of armor in the open wagon, “we DO know where Miss Sparkle is. Perhaps we could trade that information for his loyalty?”

The Judge smirked as Shine Brightest’s red coat grew redder in embarrassment at her older brother’s interruption. And if it were anypony else, the Judge may have verbally reprimanded him for speaking out of line, but Sunset was an intelligent Pegasus—and the Judge usually took his advice to heart.

Sunset appeared out from behind the suit of armor, his cleaning tools still in his hooves. He made eye contact with the Judge while still cleaning the armor. Sunset’s mane and tail were short, scraggly, but a dark purple like his eyes, and his fur coat was… well, the color of a sunset. His cutie mark was a purple sun, and he shared the same exotic facial features as his younger sister.

“Trading information for his servitude?” the Judge echoed. “Not a bad idea. But he would likely also demand we keep her safe.”

Sunset seemed to think about this for a second. Then he replied, “Well, I say this with all respect, my Judge. I do know that you detest Miss Sparkle’s very existence, but what you are doing to her is allowing the world outside her home destroy her. If we can convince the dragon that we won’t harm her...”

“...which we never planned to do,” the Judge finished, “then we can claim she is safe… from me.” He beamed at the suggestion of his subjects, his sharp black teeth glistening in the late-morning sun. “That’s so sneaky!” He drummed his front hooves on the ground before him and laughed in delight. He was relieved at the idea of not having to harm such a magnificent creature.

The Judge got up. Shine Brightest straightened her posture and Sunset finished cleaning the armor. “Armor,” he commanded.

At once, the two sibling servants began to suit up their Judge. Shine Brightest no longer blushed as she equipped his armor, which was something the Judge missed, but it did indicate that she was getting significantly more experienced. Her facial expression seemed to waver as she prepared to strap on the coat for his flank.

The Judge remembered her saying that she thought his cutie mark was very pretty—and it was: five purple stars, with a sixth larger star, falling down in a shower. She seemed dismayed that his cutie mark was to be covered by a black mask that had such a fearsome image on it.

But she said nothing. She knew better than to question her Judge, and the Judge loved her more for it. Out of all the personal attendants the Judge had gone through, it was always these two who served him unconditionally. He couldn’t ask for better minions.

After commanding them to drive the wagon back to base and telling them he would catch up with them later (and to not use the freeway; it gets crowded around this hour), the Judge leapt from his perch on the cliff and cast a Feather Fall spell on himself mid-jump. He seemed to run across the sky, gliding toward the little dragon in the abandoned part of the city below.

If it were any other unicorn, it would have made an amazing sight. To Spike, he immediately thought Death himself had come to take him. He put up his fists and prepared for a fight.

The Judge landed before the dragon. Seeing the baby dragon ready to go down swinging was an amusing sight to say the least. He smiled, taking care not to show his hideous teeth (An effective scare tactic, but horribly embarrassing when trying to be affable), and trotted toward Spike as if he had just seen an old friend.

“Greetings,” he said. He held out a hoof to the dragon. “I am Judge Star Fall, how do you do?”

Spike looked at the Judge as though he were just approached by an alien from outer space. He retained his fighting stance: the Judge was not emitting any kind of smell at all. Which either meant he really WAS a ghost like his appearance suggested, or he had used a Disguise Scent spell—which also meant he was spying on Spike for Celestia knows how long. Either way, Spike was creeped out.

Lowering his hoof, the Judge noticed the bite on Spike’s arm. “Oh my,” he said in genuine concern, “Here, let me take care of that for you.” Before Spike could protest, the Judge’s horn began to glow, and so did Spike’s arm. After a few seconds, Spike’s arm was like new. Even the aches in his arm muscles were gone.

The Judge stood erect, looking down at Spike like a regal deity. In many ways, Spike was reminded of Celestia. “Where have you come from,” asked the Judge, “that you haven’t been able to stop or rest?”

Spike still didn’t trust him. Before Spike could say anything, his stomach grumbled.

“How rude of me!” the Judge said. “I should have offered some kind of refreshment first!” His horn glowed again, this time making gems appear in front of Spike. The baby dragon, never one to temper his appetite, went straight to work gobbling up the jewels. (He did this mostly because it’s impossible to poison a jewel—and even then, most poisons don’t work on dragons anyway!)

As he ate, the Judge merely watched with a facial expression of fatherly joy. Spike didn’t know what to think of this guy now. He seemed nice enough, but his scary appearance, the fact that he had no scent, and that he appeared so suddenly out of nowhere…

Spike slowed down his eating. He locked eyes with the Judge.

“Judge Star Fall, right?”

“In the flesh.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

The Judge began to walk toward and around Spike, his eyes not on the little dragon at all. Spike assumed he had this quirk in which he had to move about while telling a story.

“Because, my boy, dragons are a disrespected race. For years their majesty has been ignored simply because they were seen as thieves and hoarders. I thought that for once, you might like to be shown kindness from a total stranger.”

On some level, Spike had to agree. It wasn’t easy being a dragon, sure. But the fact remained!

Spike swallowed a sapphire. “Mr. Judge, it’s not that I disagree or anything, but, I’m not sure I can trust you.”

The Judge smiled warmly. Such honesty!

“It is understandable. I descended from nowhere, only to heal your wounds and shower you with food. I must seem such a creep to you. But you should know,” and here he sat down in front of Spike, “I am aware you are searching for somepony important to you. I want to help you—at least, as much as I am able.”

Spike looked him over again. He still did not look trustworthy—the scary armor, black teeth, and creepy purple-and-red eyes was what did it for Spike—but his deep and soothing voice,and his patient and fatherly attitude suggested he may be more three-dimensional than just being creepy.

This did not change the fact that he apparently knew where Twilight Sparkle was, which made him seem even more suspicious.

“Do you know where she is?”

The Judge took one of the uneaten jewels—a beautiful diamond, at that—and cast a Seek Vision spell upon it. Inside the jewel, Spike saw Twilight Sparkle. She looked disheveled and filthy, exasperated. She looked up to the sky, as if seeking a sign. She was…

Alone.

The Judge slowly hoofed the jewel to Spike. “Just speak her name to this diamond, and you shall see her,” he instructed.

Spike looked at the diamond a little more, thoughtfully. A feeling of loneliness and despair began to creep over him, and before he knew it, it was difficult to keep himself from crying. He hadn’t before realized how badly he had missed Twilight—and there she was, suffering. No one there to tell her she was going to be fine, that things would turn out OK. No little assistant to take her messages or give her advice. No friends to offer their support.

Spike placed his hand over Twilight’s face (so hurt, so lost, so afraid) and fought back his tears.

He looked up at the Judge to see his spooky eyes looking down at him. Part of him knew that this guy was responsible. But on the other hoof (HAND. You have HANDS, Spike!), this Judge… he was so powerful, Spike could feel it—it radiated off him like it were his own body heat. There was no way Spike could beat him or force him to let Twilight Sparkle go. The only reason the Judge hadn’t already killed him, Spike thought, was because he was kind to dragons.

“C-Can,” Spike squeaked. He regained his composure, and tried again. “Can you make sure she’ll be safe?”

The Judge smiled. “No harm will come to her by my own hooves. However, I must ask an obligation of you.”

“What is it?”

“That you may live in my house, and eat from my table, and serve in my company.”

Of course. Servitude for safety. Spike looked down at the diamond and weighed his options. He had the distinct feeling that the Judge was not about to let him live if he refused this offer. Secondly, there was no chance of Spike helping Twilight—especially not now. He would have to wait for that opportunity.

That is, if it ever came.

Spike hated this. He came into this whole journey totally unprepared: no back-up, no supplies, and no connection to home. He had screwed up big time, and he knew it. And he was going to pay for it.

He closed his eyes in defeat. “… Deal.”

The Judge, still sitting in front of Spike, motioned for him to mount his back. As Spike got on, he held onto the diamond, looking at Twilight. He felt he should be saying good-bye to his dearest friend… but some stubborn part of him still held onto hope.

The hope that one day, and one day soon, he could seize the opportunity to escape. To rescue Twilight, and find all the other missing ponies.

They lifted off. Spike, with tears in his eyes, hoped that his opportunity would present itself soon enough.

Chapter 3: Ghost Town

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is where things start to really go downhill, guys. Don't blame me if you get nightmares from reading this!

Some suggested listening for the following scenes:

The Situation's Getting Worse>>Ditzy on the Radio: Polymorphia
Walking Through the Lonely Town: Black Rose
Following a Scream: Witch
Reading Twilight's Book: Mephiles' Whisper
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CHAPTER 3: Ghost Town

How could things have gotten this bad? How had Applejack not seen it coming? The sudden disappearances of some of her friends, the strategic kidnappings—they were all signs. Before she knew it, everything her family had helped to build had fallen apart. Was Ponyville’s social structure truly that imbalanced and delicate?

As Applejack lay at the foot of the town library, her mind began to rewind. Back to before all this madness. Before the disappearances. Before the Ponyvillians had arrived at her door, accusing her family—seemingly the only family untouched by these disappearances—of being the ones behind the kidnappings. (Later on, over some drinks, she was told by none other than local millionaire Filthy Rich that his family, also untouched by the recent events, was accused of the same thing.) Before all… this.

She knew something was wrong right away when she stopped seeing Rainbow Dash flying in the sky. It was as if one of her closest friends had just fallen off the map. Applejack attempted to write letters (Spelling was never her forte; she often had to have her brother Big Macintosh double-check any letters she wrote), but never got a reply. When she asked Ditzy Doo the mail-mare why Rainbow Dash wasn’t responding, Ditzy replied that Rainbow Dash’s mailbox was already stuffed with letters and packages that were several days old. They both got the distinct feeling that something was wrong. So they got Cloudsdale authorities involved.

The detective involved with this case was named Hard Boiled. (Apple Bloom loved the way he introduced himself: Name’s Boiled, Hard Boiled. I carry a badge. She would later often repeat this line at Applejack’s irritation and frequent demands for her to stop.) He was a tough-looking Pegasus with green eyes, a black coat and a short black mane he kept underneath a grey fedora. She couldn’t quite tell what his cutie mark was, since he was wearing a grey trench coat as well. He spoke fast, but with a gruff monotone that made Applejack think of those detective programs Granny Smith enjoyed listening to over the radio.

When Applejack was told that, upon entering Rainbow Dash’s house, there were signs of a struggle, she stifled an “I knew it” that tried to escape her lips. She knew her friend was way too wiry and alert to have let herself be taken off-guard, even if she were asleep.

He asked her and her brother some questions. Where did you last see Miss Dash, Do you know anyone who might have had something against her, and so on. Applejack and Big Macintosh gave as honest an answer as was possible (Not hard for Applejack, the “Element of Honesty” to her friends), but she was unsure if their information was of any use.

As Hard Boiled and his team began their investigations, more ponies began to disappear left and right. The Mayor issued out a curfew of no later than 7 PM, and advised all ponies to keep their doors locked tight, and that all foals MUST be supervised at all times.

Applejack had noticed her other friends had gone missing—a few of them even before the Mass Abduction. She hadn’t heard from Rarity in a while, so she decided to pay a visit, only for the Carousel Boutique to be closed. She had tried to get in touch with Pinkie Pie, only for the Cakes to tell her that they reported her missing a few days ago. Wanted to borrow a book for her lazy afternoons, but there was no one attending the library—and from the looks of things, it had been left a while ago. Despite all the times books were knocked off the shelves, Applejack had never seen the place less than squeaky-clean. The day she arrived at the library, she noticed a layer of dust on the floor.

Applejack began to have a horrible feeling about all this. It was almost as if ponies were being picked off one by one…

She tried to pay Fluttershy a visit, only to be met by Fluttershy’s cottage boarded up. After a knock, Fluttershy politely told her to go away, that nopony was home. After some arguing, Applejack managed to coax Fluttershy into at least acknowledging she was home. However, she wasn’t about to let Applejack in—something terrible was going on outside, and she wanted no part in it. They argued a bit more (that they needed to stay together, but what if it can’t get into locked houses, etc.), but in the end, Applejack gave up in frustration and went home.

The next day she came back to try again to convince Fluttershy to stay with her. Her front door was open.

The house was empty.

*****

One day in the middle of this mess, but a few days before the Mass Abduction, Applejack found Ditzy the mail-mare running about in a frightened panic. Her usually loopy-looking eyes were now focused, pupils shrunk to the size of pin-pricks, her usually grey coat now a paler color.

She was shouting for her daughter, Dinky. She demanded she come back right this instant! This is NOT a funny joke to play on Mama, young lady! Applejack attempted to calm her down, but was surprised when Ditzy suddenly shoved her away and collapsed. I-I only had my back turned for a second, she said between sobs, it was just a second. She didn’t even scream, she didn’t make a noise, I turned around and—and she was just gone.

Gone. Just a second. Back turned just a second. Didn’t scream or make noises. Just gone. Applejack never felt so terrified as she did then, seeing somepony as happy-go-lucky as Ditzy be victimized in such a horrible way, reduced to fear-induced shock.

As other ponies gathered to try comforting Ditzy and offer her help in searching for her filly, Applejack raced back home. She checked every floor of her house until she finally found Apple Bloom, coloring a picture she drew with Granny Smith as her audience.

After telling them what happened in town that day, Applejack and Big Macintosh set to work boarding up the windows and setting traps in their orchard. Granny Smith had brought out her husband’s shotgun and found the bullets for it. For the entirety of the next week, the apples on the branches of Sweet Apple Acres began to rot as the Apple family holed themselves up in their house, stocked on supplies as if a great cataclysm were about to befall them.

How right they were. Sweet Celestia’s mane, how right they were.

All of a sudden, in the time span of just one night, the Mass Abduction occurred: several homes seemingly abandoned—many without so much as a sign of entry. It was as if they had all just vanished into thin air in their sleep. The most disturbing aspect of this was that this Mass Abduction reduced the entire population of Ponyville by nearly one half.

And after it had happened, things somehow got even worse. It was as if the spirit of hospitality that Ponyville was closely associated with had been abducted too. The remaining ponies did either one of two things.

The first half decided to just pack their things and leave. Probably the smartest thing to do, considering. They had family elsewhere, they had second homes, they had other places they could be, so this was their best option.

The second half was not as fortunate. They either had no family in other towns, had too much stake in this town, or they were just too scared to think straight.

The remaining ponies who did not leave or were abducted began to revolt against local authorities. Applejack couldn’t blame them: all this time they spent investigating, they came up with nothing. There was no reason for any of this to be happening. The fact that it happened pluck out of nowhere was what scared Applejack the most.

They had learned all this by listening to Granny Smith’s radio. As the days rolled by, they learned that things got worse, and worse, and worse. Finally, after a week or so, they heard one final broadcast.

The news anchor was in the middle of the breaking news that investigators still had no idea how the mass abduction occurred, with no leads, clues, or evidence left behind by whoever was responsible. As he was finishing his sentence, a smash was heard. At first, Applejack (who was upstairs at the time) thought someone had broken through one of their windows and immediately grabbed Granny’s shotgun—only to remember that all their windows were boarded shut.

The sound had come from the radio.

The anchor suddenly broke from his report and began to scream. Granny Smith held tighter onto Apple Bloom as the little filly’s eyes began to shimmer with tears of fright. Then—BANG!—and a thud. Turn it off, Apple Bloom pleaded. As Big Macintosh went to turn off the radio, they heard a familiar voice come over the speaker.

It was Ditzy’s.

Dinky, she said, Mama knows you’re out there! Mama’s gonna find you! You’re gonna be OK! The sound of choking and sobs. You’re gonna be OK!! Suddenly, she broke down into unintelligible moaning as sounds of more crashing occurred. Then sounds of a struggle. WHERE’S MY BABY?! A gun firing.

Then static.

As he switched off the radio, Big Macintosh was visibly shaken. His large frame shivered as he felt cold sweat on his brow. He looked at Applejack as she came back downstairs. She had heard everything.

They embraced, brother and sister, holding each other for much-needed comfort. They reached over and pulled Apple Bloom, now crying hysterically, and their grandmother toward them. And as a family, they stood together, afraid for their lives more now than they had ever been.

*****

Almost another week passed after that incident.

When they tried listening to the radio, all they got was haunting white noise. Over the next few mornings, Applejack tried using the telephone to call every pony residence in Ponyville. Any long-distance calls she made simply refused to go through. Predictably, there was no answer from any of the local numbers.

All but one.

Filthy Rich answered his phone himself, which was unusual, but given the circumstances it was likely that many (if not all) of his servants were missing or were killed in the middle of this insanity. It turned out he had the exact same idea the Apples did: hole themselves up until they thought of something else.

But as they spoke, they both reached the inevitable, horrible conclusion.

Ponyville, the very town in which they raised their livelihood and spent most of their lives, was finally beyond saving. There was nothing left to do now but leave.

To escape.

Applejack told Filthy Rich to gather only the important things and get ready. Neither of them decided which town they should settle in, until Applejack suggested going to Canterlot, since she knew the Princess. They could figure out what else they wanted to do after they got there.

Before they hung up, Applejack asked Filthy Rich how his daughter Diamond Tiara was handling herself. After she had asked, she immediately regretted it. She expected him to tell her the worst: she was kidnapped, she was killed, she was… fine, he said. She was just fine, considering all her schoolmates were gone. Applejack told him Apple Bloom was still here, which delighted him.

Applejack broke the news to the rest of the Apples. Apple Bloom was all for the escape, since Ponyville was no longer safe. Granny Smith attempted to veto the idea: all her memories were here, all their livelihood, too. Big Macintosh reminded her that their livelihood went up in smoke the moment Ponyville did. Reluctantly, she agreed, and they all packed their most important belongings.

Before leaving their house, Granny Smith gathered the family around. She offered them all a prayer. To Celestia, she prayed for their safety and health, and for their friend Filthy Rich and his daughter and remaining servants, whom they chanced to meet in these darkest times. As they finished their prayer, they engaged in one more group hug, tears in their eyes. Afterward, Applejack and Big Macintosh undid the boards in front of the door, opened it, and they all left.

Before they left the porch, Big Macintosh turned around, looked inside the house, taking in everything he was leaving behind. He nodded sadly, closed the door, and never looked back.

*****

The day outside was insultingly sunny, as if the rest of the world hadn’t cared about what happened in Ponyville. For all Applejack knew, they probably didn’t. Celestia hadn’t even shown up, and her prized pupil had lived here.

The apples hung lower on the branches of their orchard. Applejack bucked one tree that had the best-looking ones. They all gathered the fallen apples and put them in their sacks for eating on the trip. Big Macintosh lifted Apple Bloom up and she rode on his back—easily the smart thing to do, Applejack felt. Good old Big Mac, always knew what to do.

Sweet Apple Acres was in horrible shape, and not just from neglect. Several of the traps Applejack and Big Macintosh had set had been set off, the bear-traps stained red at the teeth (apparently, their victims had escaped) and the trick-ropes hanging from the trees cut (these seemed no better at keeping victims). Many of the trees had been stripped bare of apples by thieves.

They were careful to avoid the remaining traps they had set earlier. However, they ended up seeing the end result of one of them. A blue Earth pony stallion had been caught in a trick-rope, and hung by his leg from the top of a tree. His glassy eyes stared at the center of Applejack’s head. She looked to Apple Bloom, don’t look, Apple Bloom! she had said. Don’t look!

There was a knife on the ground near him. It was evident that he was a rioter who had come to break into their home, as Applejack suspected some ponies would. He probably decided to hang out in the orchard (plenty of food after all), and wound up getting snared in their trap. How long had he been there? Probably near the start of the Apples’ holing-up, if he had died of starvation. For a morbid second, Applejack thought he gave up on living, and simply allowed himself to starve than face this horrible reality.

And she had helped him. She tipped her hat low, paying him one last respect before they moved on.

Through the town they went, weaving between the empty, lonely buildings, not saying a word. Many of the windows were broken, trash littered the allies. No sound was made but the rustling of leaves. There was an awful feeling in Applejack’s gut throughout that time. She had the distinct feeling they were being watched, followed. No matter where her eyes darted, she couldn’t detect anything.

The sun still shined above, as if laughing at them. The grass, still green, crunched beneath their hooves. Applejack wondered if Cloudsdale hadn’t been hit with this.

It was the closest town, after all. And some of the kidnapped were pegasi—heck, Rainbow Dash had been abducted in her own home, which she built out of clouds! Applejack looked back at her family and slowed her step so that she was among them as opposed to leading them. The thought that nopony was safe from this phantom-like kidnapper, whether they were magic users, or lived in clouds… Applejack shivered.

As they neared the town square, they heard hoofsteps beside their own. Granny Smith warned them to be on their guard—there was no longer any way to know if anypony was trustworthy. At the water fountain in the middle of town square, they spotted a few ponies. Strangely, they just lumbered about, mumbling, looking at the ground.

Applejack was disturbed by the image of a mare, face-down in the water fountain, unmoving. All the other ponies nearby (All four of them) walked by as if this dead pony was not even there.

Apple Bloom tried to get the attention of one, only for Granny to shush her. However, she did get the attention of one pony—Caramel, a young Earth pony stallion Applejack knew since they were foals. As he lifted his head, Applejack was horrified. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Caramel? she had asked. Wha’s happen’d to ya? Gitcherself together, sugarcube! We’re tryin’ t’ leave, why don’cha come with us?

What for? he asked. His voice held a miserable quiver. Everypony’s gone. Can’t leave.

Applejack asked him what he meant by “can’t leave”, but he began to cry. Afterward, he fell to his knees, proclaiming that there was nothing left, and that they were wasting their time. In time, he sobbed, you’ll be gone, too, Applejack. You, me, everypony. A demented grin suddenly possessed his face, a horrible image that Applejack could never rid her mind of as long as she lived. You’re not safe. You’re not safe out here. Not safe in your own house. Not safe in your own bed. There’s no way to escape. It’ll get you, like it got everypony else!

The Apple family left him behind as they continued their journey. It’ll get you! he shouted after them. MAY THE RATS EAT YOUR EYES!! The Darkness comes… Applejack heard Caramel fall to his knees, his voice becoming a gurgle. It comes…

The sheer emptiness of the town was grating on Applejack’s courage. She looked at Big Mac’s face and saw fear, too. She slowed down her pace and walked closer to Big Macintosh, whispering to him to not be afraid. Granny Smith joined her yung’uns, surprisingly moving the swiftest she had in years.

By the time they reached Filthy Rich’s mansion, it was mid-afternoon. The sun was starting to dip in the sky, and the clouds overhead were beginning to pile up. The mansion stood like a fortress, in defiance of the recent horrors, the trees and walls around it making it look even stronger. Applejack could see why Filthy had decided to stay in his mansion.

She knocked on the large double-door. After a few seconds of waiting, she heard someone ask, Who is it?

’S Applejack, an’ the res’ o’ the Apple fam’ly.

With that, they heard a series of clicks. Applejack wondered how many locks were on the door. It opened, and they were greeted by an earth pony with a white coat and blue, curly mane. He had a small, triangular sandwich on a plate for his cutie mark. He greeted them each politely—even referring to them by name!—and led them inside. He closed the door and redid the locks. Applejack was right: there must have been at least twenty of them.

The door-pony led them through the mansion, which must have been beautiful before all this happened. However, it was apparent that it hadn’t been cleaned in some time (Although Applejack was certain the remaining servants were doing the best they could to keep up with the maintenance), and the windows, like her house’s, had been boarded up.

At last, they met Filthy Rich in his mansion’s library. He had Diamond Tiara with him, as he likely always did these days. Apple Bloom jumped down from Big Macintosh’s back and trotted over to Diamond Tiara. Applejack remembered they weren’t exactly the best of friends, but because of recent events, it seemed it was time to put their past behind them. They nuzzled, the hatchet buried.

They had brought some of their own food, but Filthy Rich had had his cook prepare one more meal before they left Ponyville for good. As the cook, a purple unicorn stallion with a chef hat for a cutie mark, brought it in, Filthy Rich insisted they eat. They ate the dinner right there in the library: potatoes both mashed and baked, cranberry jam, sliced red onions and cabbage with vinaigrette dressings, and of course, apples. All in all, a hearty dinner.

As they ate, they discussed their plan. Applejack still had it in her mind that the Princess would help them if she knew what was going on. Filthy Rich pointed out that Ponyville’s situation was all over the news. There was no way she didn’t know; she just wasn’t doing anything about it. Applejack, instead of arguing, changed her mind: when they got to Canterlot, she would have to ask Celestia why she was doing nothing.

They finished up their meal and got their things together. The only two servants left—the cook and the doorpony—already had their things packed. Diamond Tiara had had a tough time earlier deciding which things she wanted to bring, but ultimately settled on leaving behind all her dolls, save one. She didn’t explain why that one in particular, but hearing her gush about how much she loved it did leave Apple Bloom curious.

It was already evening, so Filthy Rich asked for the Apples to stay the night and they would set out in the morning. Applejack agreed, since most of the kidnappings had occurred during the night. He had his doorpony show them their guest room. They set their saddlebags down at the foot of their beds. Apple Bloom was already sleepy.

Applejack was so scared for Apple Bloom. All her friends had disappeared, except for one who really wasn’t much of a friend before; this whole situation must be terrifying for her. But as little Apple Bloom jumped up onto her guest bed, curled up, and fell right to sleep, Applejack admired her younger sister. Keeping it together, what a kid.

Applejack ran her hoof through Apple Bloom’s bangs, tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips. She kissed her sister on the forehead, wishing her good dreams, even in the midst of all this madness. Applejack was going to go talk to Filthy Rich, and Big Macintosh agreed to stay put and keep an eye on both the youngest and oldest members of the clan.

Downstairs, Applejack found Filthy Rich playing his piano in the ballroom. The music he played was beautiful, but hideously lonely; it was like walking the entirety of the moon. You could walk forever on that beautiful, mysterious, and amazing sight, but you look up and see Equestria, and you realize what it is you’re really missing.

Filthy took her to his bar, also located in the ballroom. There, he prepared some drinks, a cider for her and a brandy for himself. They shot the breeze a while, trying to relax and find a sense of normalcy in spite of what was going on in the world outside. After some conversation, they heard a thump from the second floor, then a scream.

They both shot for the quickest way to the second floor, and followed the noise to Diamond Tiara’s room, where the cook was standing, a knife floating before him in his telekinetic grip. He screamed into the room at something—Get away from her, you BITCH!!— then ran in. Applejack attempted to follow him but the door slammed shut as if by a magical force.

Applejack turned around and bucked at the door. It was a solid door, and did not move for the first couple of kicks. Finally, it gave way and Filthy Rich ran in, yelling at whatever was in the room to leave her alone, to leave his daughter alone!

But as Applejack walked in, she saw, in dismay, that the room was empty, save for Filthy Rich and herself. Filthy began looking under the bed, inside the dresser, anywhere for his baby, increasingly panicked, begging—pleading with whatever godly force existed anymore to give him some sort of sign...

But there was no trace. Both Diamond Tiara and her would-be rescuer were gone.

Applejack ran back to her guest room, which was down the hall. Apple Bloom was up and alert, terrified by the sounds she heard. Big Macintosh looked like he was ready to attack anything that came into the room—and he almost did before he recognized it was his sister.

She told them what happened. They all walked into Diamond Tiara’s room and saw, with horror, Filthy Rich lying across his daughter’s bed. His back and shoulders shook as he wept. I’m sorry, he managed to say, I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.

Daddy’s sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.

*****

The next day, no one really felt like doing much. They still knew it wasn’t safe, even in a locked-down mansion. But to Filthy Rich, what was the point anymore? They took his baby, whatever they were. And Celestia only knew what they would do with her. His eyes were bloated and red from weeping almost nonstop since Diamond Tiara’s disappearance the night before. His door-pony tried to console his master, but nothing seemed to work.

Applejack felt for Filthy Rich, as she knew how she would have felt if it had been Apple Bloom. She felt bad for the door-pony too, since all of his co-workers were gone, his master’s daughter was taken only last night, and he was just as scared as any of them.

It took several long hours to convince Filthy Rich to come with them, but somehow they managed. He picked himself up off Diamond Tiara’s bed and straightened himself back up. The door-pony, faithful to the end, set up Filthy’s saddle bags. His eyes fell on the saddlebags the cook and Diamond Tiara were going to wear, and suddenly, he stopped. Filthy Rich looked behind himself and saw his door-pony weeping uncontrollably like a lost child.

Applejack nuzzled the door-pony, telling him to be brave. He mumbled something about how the cook and he had only recently earned enough money to go back home; that they were brothers who ran away as foals, and he was so, so, so, so, so very sorry for running away from his parents, that this wouldn’t have happened to his brother if they’d just been good. Applejack didn’t know exactly why the door-pony was dumping all this information on her right now, but if pouring his heart out helped calm him down, she just sat there and listened.

After everypony had collected their wits and their courage, they left the mansion behind them and departed for Ponyville’s town limits. As they left, Applejack looked to her little sister, and noticed she had Diamond Tiara’s doll stuffed away in her saddlebag. In all this terror, Applejack had not noticed how Apple Bloom had handled Diamond Tiara’s kidnapping. And they had only just become friends, too.

A cloud of grief and sadness followed the group as they journeyed to the edge of the town. Applejack got that feeling that the cloud wasn’t the only one following them. Once again, her eyes began to dart about. She noticed both Big Mac and the door-pony doing it, too. There was something out there, they knew.

As they continued, they came across several ponies lying in the road. A few of them weren’t breathing. Applejack saw the look of horror on Apple Bloom’s face. She was now holding onto Diamond Tiara’s doll, squeezing it for comfort. The door-pony attempted to speak to some of the ponies who still were breathing, only for them to give him an “I don’t care anymore” speech. Applejack told him not to waste his time. If they wanted to die on the roadside like roadkill, let ‘em.

It was a harsh assessment, but given the circumstances, it wasn’t as if they had enough time to inspire ponies to follow them. It took them long enough to get Filthy Rich to come back around, but they couldn’t expend anymore time on anypony else at the moment.

By the time they reached the edge of town, it was the middle of the afternoon. The weather today was worse than before, the clouds now wholly blocking out the sun. It looked like it was about to rain, which Applejack wouldn’t have minded, really. A little cleansing rain would certainly help raise her spirits.

They saw in the distance, another pony coming toward them. Applejack recognized her—Bon-Bon, an Earth pony whose candy-like mane was now in a mess and her eyes in a depressing shape. Applejack had wanted to stop and say hi, but she knew that Bon-Bon probably wouldn’t hear it.

That was when Bon-Bon’s face perked up a bit upon seeing them. She ran toward them, almost elated by their presence. She slowed and stopped a bit before meeting them. Applejack, Big Mac, Granny Smith, Apple Bloom, Filthy Rich… Bon-Bon looked at the door-pony, tapping the ground with her hoof as if trying to remember his name. Faithful, he told her. She smirked. Her attitude was still there at least.

You guys! she said, you can’t get past there. I know, I’ve tried.

Applejack’s stomach nearly fell out of her when Bon-Bon told them how she tried to escape the town with her friend Lyra in tow. How their escape met with failure when, upon fleeing the town… they ended up back in the middle of Ponyville.

Bon-Bon couldn’t explain it herself, and didn’t try. She was not well-versed in magic, and neither was Lyra (despite that Lyra was a unicorn), but she was certain that it was some kind of spell. That was when Apple Bloom asked her where Lyra was. For a moment, Bon-Bon fell silent and her mouth wavered. Applejack told Bon-Bon it was going to be OK, that they’d find a way out… but before she could finish that sentence, Bon-Bon tackled her.

Calling her names, biting her, thumping her face with her front hooves. Big Macintosh picked up Bon-Bon by her tail, and threw her off. Granny Smith helped her granddaughter to her feet as Filthy Rich demanded Bon-Bon to explain herself. Angrily, Bon-Bon stood right back up and bellowed, You IDIOTS! Haven’t you FIGURED IT OUT?! We CAN’T! ESCAPE!!! Anypony who’s tried ended up right back where they started! Those ponies who tried moving away some weeks ago? Those ponies on the side of the road on the way here? Same thing happened to them! Why do you think Celestia hasn’t sent us any help?!

Applejack connected the dots. We’re cut off fr’m th’ rest of th’ world.

For a while, they all stood there, dumbfounded and defeated by their own bad luck.

*****

Night had fallen. They had all gathered in Twilight’s library, now covered with dust from months of neglect. They were all camping out on the library’s lobby floor, all in the same room to ensure safety. Bon-Bon had joined them, since there’s strength in numbers after all. She wasn’t certain what abilities she could add to their little team of misfits, but it was better than being alone.

Faithful was telling Apple Bloom stories his Grand-Mum told him when he was a foal to keep her occupied. Filthy Rich listened in, as he knew Faithful’s Grand-Mum was an excellent storyteller. Big Mac readied some bedding (which really was just some sheets Twilight Sparkle had stored away), with Bon-Bon finding some candles to light the entire room. Granny Smith found herself a comfortable sitting spot on the rug, and soon fell asleep.

Applejack felt so sorry for forcing her grandmother through all this. She knew her Granny Smith was a tough old bird, but being constantly moved about for hours on end was probably murdering her old joints. Big Macintosh laid a sheet over their grandmother, tucking her in. Applejack gave her a loving nuzzle. Granny smiled in her sleep.

As everyone else slept, Applejack was reading one of Twilight’s books on spells by candlelight. It was the first volume (of many), and a large book at that; and every page was covered in teeny-tiny print that forced her to constantly squint. This encyclopedia had a lot to say on different spells of many natures. One section that caught her interest was mind-control spells.

They were difficult spells to pull off, first of all. Many unicorns well-versed and talented in other forms of magic weren’t able to master this in its entirety—and the ones that were used it sparingly, as mind-control was only temporary and required constant renewal. Which of course, cost more of a unicorn’s magic. (Applejack remembered Twilight Sparkle mentioning that using too much magic in one day tires a unicorn out as if they had run laps around the entire country.) The study of mind-control was put underneath a moral microscope eventually, with Celestia ruling the entire thing unethical—and illegalizing its use and any further study soon after the birth of the country of Equestria. Her ruling declared that those who practiced it could receive a life sentence in a best-case scenario, and capital punishment if the offense was grave enough.

Was grave enough. Three words only vaguely describing a situation that Applejack felt uncomfortable thinking about. What would the controller have his victims do? Anything he wanted.

Her eyes fell on the illustration on the page, of an evil-looking unicorn sorcerer commanding a large earth pony stallion to beat his sister to death. Under it was written Nevermore the Perverse, leading practitioner of mind-control magic, used his powers to assassinate members of royal families as well as take advantage of its female members, amongst other atrocities. He was hanged in the year 1223, for his hundred-plus crimes against ponykind. The actual body count was never revealed to the public. Applejack’s bottom lip quivered as she looked more closely at the earth ponies.

The victim getting beaten to death looked a lot like Applejack.

Suddenly, she heard rustling. Applejack snapped the book shut, turned around and saw that Bon-Bon had stood straight up. What’s wrong? Applejack had asked. I think I just figured something out, Bon-Bon told her.

Celestia would still have come even if there was no news coming from Ponyville, simply for that one reason alone. Having received no letters from her student, and with there being no news developments in Ponyville would also raise suspicion… unless somepony was already broadcasting fake news developments and sending Celestia fake letters.

Applejack asked her how she thought Celestia would be dumb enough to fall for such a thing. Bon-Bon began to pace about the well-lit room. I don’t know, she admitted, Maybe whoever’s responsible is just a very convincing liar. It was a strong possibility, Applejack could not deny.

Or maybe there’s more than one liar at work, Bon-Bon finished. Which also seemed reasonable: if these spells were as powerful as was described in Twilight’s book, it would be too much magic for one unicorn to expend. So the suspects would have to either be unicorns-the-plural or some group of magic-using monsters they aren’t… aware… of…

… ohhhhh, holy horse apples.

Applejack had seen it for just one second, but she was certain she’d seen it: a gnarled, bloated, pony-like figure, standing in front of the window, its visibly pale eyes looking in at them. It vanished just as Applejack had locked eyes on it. She asked if Bon-Bon had seen it, to which Bon-Bon replied, no.

Applejack quickly woke everyone up, telling them to be alert. Something had come in the middle of the night, she told them. They all stayed up longer, the candles relit. Big Macintosh stood guard by the door, while Filthy Rich and Faithful took rounds by the windows, keeping an eye out for anything moving outside. The mares all gathered in the middle of the room, Granny Smith with her husband’s shotgun readied.

They waited another hour, and after no sign of intrusion, they decided to get back to bed. They left the lights on, with Big Macintosh volunteering to keep watch just in case.

Nothing else had happened that night. Not anything Applejack was aware of.

Which made the next morning even more terrifying.

*****

By the next foggy morning, everypony was gone. Applejack had woken up in the middle of an empty library. After a frantic search throughout the entire building, she broke out of the front door screaming the names of her family members. She tried calling for Filthy Rich, for Bon-Bon, for Faithful.

But no one came. No one heard. Applejack looked around. There wasn’t even anypony in any direction at all—not even the dead bodies from before. The entire town had been swallowed by this nightmare, erased.

Applejack had finally had enough. She went down on her knees, right there in front of that library, accepting her failure to protect her family, her friends, her home, her town… After a few minutes, she lay over on her side, crumpling into a heap, her prized hat falling from her head. And in the cruel, cold minutes of that foggy morning, Applejack quietly, patiently waited for death.

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DELETED SCENES:

"Burn It Down!" -- A group of rioters attempt to set fire to Sweet Apple Acres because they think the Apple family is behind the kidnappings. Edited out because it caused the chapter to run on too long and does not advance the main plot.

"Forgive Me, For I Have Committed the Greatest Sin" -- Applejack attempts to take a restroom break, only to come across a mare who has hung herself from the ceiling with this phrase painted over her chest. Cut out for being too disturbing, and for not advancing the story in any way.

Chapter 4: A Few Weeks in Gearlotte

CHAPTER 4: A Few Weeks in Gearlotte

She was having the Dream again.

She would be walking down a hall with Celestia. If she remembered correctly, this hall contained paintings of her old students, all of whom lived on to become great sorcerers and sorceresses, talented warriors, intrepid explorers, and leading political voices. She saw herself as a foal, eyes wide in wonder at the many famous and inspiring unicorns, pegasi, and Earth ponies instructed by the hoof of Celestia herself.

Then suddenly, there she was, now older. She was walking down another hallway, this time with a foal following her. The foal was pure white, through and through: white enough to make snow seem sludgy black in comparison. The hallway was now sinister, chilling—like a machine built in the lap of a devil. She heard the sound of rushing water.

Now they were going up a flight of red stairs that seemed to last a lifetime. The rushing water became a hopeless noise the further she rose. The colt behind her, she noticed, was shackled, the chains in her own teeth. She tried to let go, but

no

this colt deserved to be punished. Punished, punished, punished. He had been naughty. He was wicked. And he deserved what he was going to get.

As they reached the top of the stairs, a new sight came into view, a table. There were leather straps on it, meant as restraints. Up on the ceiling was an ungodly machine, black and sleek as darkness, humming loudly like an expectant, hungry predator.

The colt began to protest. He pulled away from her. She fought back. A thump of the front leg to the colt’s face managed to stop his squealing. She laughed at the colt, now on the ground, and stomped him again.



She heard a voice, like a cloud of fire screaming at the bottom of the ocean for her to stop. She froze, obedient, enraptured by the Voice.



Yes, she agreed with the Voice. Yes, it IS time.

She picked up the colt, sobbing and defeated, and strapped him onto the table.



She obeyed, stepping away from the table. All at once, the machine began to hum louder as several bright greenish-yellow lights began to open. Drills and pickers and other horrible, sharp utensils began to descend. The colt, terrified, began to scream. He locked eyes with his tormentor…

…And suddenly, his tormentor became him.

Now she was strapped to that table, helpless. The purple unicorn mare she was looking at grinned like she was watching her favorite show. She looked back up at the machines

only it wasn’t a machine anymore, it was a monster, a really big monster with lots of big yellow eyes and long teeth and screaming pony heads jutting out like wriggling pimples and long, black slimy tongues with no mouths and powerful tentacles and it’s getting closer and closer make it go away make it go away don’t let it near me leave me alone leave me alone LEAVE ME

Alone.

*****

Twilight Sparkle sat up in a start. It was the Dream again.

She’d had the same dream over and over again for the past few days. It was almost as if her subconscious were trying to tell her something, something she already knew, but had forgotten. Well, of course, she’d forgotten it—memory erasure was a side-effect of being mind-controlled. But could she have…?

Could so many foals have been kidnapped by her hooves? Strapped to those tables? Cut up by those machines? Was she truly responsible?

Such developments were wearing on her conscience. It was true one cannot battle against a complete mind control. But that was her, Twilight Sparkle, kidnapping a foal, beating him, strapping him to that nightmarish contraption! How could she…?

Was it even a memory? Or was it really just a dream, made up of what she worried she could have done? Twilight was too tired and frazzled to care. She was more disturbed by the fact that she still could not remember her friends. It had been a few days since she came down from the spell, and she still remembered nothing. No faces. No names. Nothing.

Disgruntled and groggy, Twilight got out of the trash dumpster she had called her home for the past few nights, and stretched. She looked into a nearby window, which she used as a mirror. Her mane was a horrendous mess by now—it was all frizzly, greasy on one side, and matted all-throughout. Her purple coat of fur had grime and dust caked into it, dulling its natural colors.

Twilight sneered. Good gravy, I look like the walking dead, she thought.

The undead-looking-but-not-quite-there-yet unicorn went out in search of breakfast. The street was busy this morning; the sun gleamed off the metals and buildings and pipes that made up this mangled metropolis. The people, made of clockworks, steam-powered contraptions, and a few who were diesel-fueled (She could tell; the diesel-fuels were the ones in the shiniest, sleekest looking metal bodies) were bustling about. It was rare to see them not heckling each other.

What she had learned in the past few days was that there was a bit of class envy/warfare going on in Gearlotte. Diesel was a fairly recently-discovered source of power for the Machina, and only the richest Machina in town could afford them, along with all the upgrades necessary. So the Diesels (As they were known) looked down upon those who still used steam (known as “Steamers”) to even move.

Things were worse if you were still powered by clockwork: gears that constantly squealed as they moved, joints that occasionally refused to move, primitive thinking power (In comparison to Steamers and Diesels), and the fact that most part shops had upped the prices on whatever clock parts they had left made being a Clockwork pretty tough. They were outdated, outnumbered, and out of luck.

Even though they could be categorized in those three groups, they still had enough variation in their appearances that Twilight Sparkle enjoyed watching them go about their daily business. The one walking by her right now was a Steamer: his round, bronze body was perched atop a pair of steam-powered legs, his head sticking out of the middle instead of resting on top of his torso. A mess of pipes rose from his back, belching a white smoke with each step. As he stopped and conversed with another Steamer, she noticed several arms coming out of hidden compartments all around his body.

Just one example, out of many, really. A Diesel walked by her, taking a second to drink in the uncommon sight of a purple unicorn on the street. He had a thin body, round head on top. His legs and arms were very long, and his shoulders—which were quite broad—apparently housed his engines since Twilight could see a few pipes crawling about the back of them. His chassis was a handsome chrome, a red stripe painted horizontally down his arms and legs. She looked into his eyes a second—they glowed a bright purple.

Twilight attempted to say hello, but thought better of it. Of all the classes in Gearlotte, Diesels were the best-looking and least-noisy—but they were also the least friendly.

Twilight had attempted to make friends with these people once or twice, only to be met with violence or paranoia. It seemed as though this was a town where everyone had a horrible secret everyone else knew about. And the fact that she was a flesh-and-blood pony in the midst of metal-and-oil robots probably didn’t help.

She had nearly escaped a beatdown just yesterday when asking someone for some spare change. Not nearly expecting such a reaction, Twilight had attempted to use her magic (Which was verrrrry sloooowly coming back to her) to teleport—an attempt that failed. The Machina (a Steamer) grabbed her and shook her about, yelling CHANGE?! Ya want CHANGE?! Aw come on, what’ya think I am, a vending machine?! Of course, he had used some choice language that Twilight Sparkle, as an intelligent pony, cared not to hear or use.

She apologized, which only seemed to make him madder. If he weren’t interrupted by a Diesel making a smart remark about how all the Choo-Choo’s (which was a derogatory slur against Steamers) go around acting tough when their opponent is a little defenseless animal, she probably wouldn’t even be alive right now. The fist-fight that ensued was a terrible thing to watch and Twilight had crawled away before she could find out who was the victor.

After the tall, thin Diesel had gone away, Twilight walked over to a convenience store. Inside, she looked about on the shelves. What she noticed right away was that the Machina didn’t have much in the way of food—in fact, what they had didn’t quite count as food at all. No, what she was here for was water. They sold them in large jugs for Steamers to buy—in case their inner coals were causing them to overheat.

The only food Twilight would ever see would be sold in a floral shop, and the flowers and plants there were expensive. She kind of expected it since with an environment like Gearlotte, it was probably difficult to cultivate any sort of flora. In fact, flowers seemed to be a niche interest for hobbyists more than anything else.

Whatever the reason was, water was cheap and tasted greasy, flowers were tasty but expensive. She had bought only one bundle of flowers, and was currently trying to make them last.

She found some cheap water, paid for it with some change she had managed to scrounge up, left the store and headed back to her alley. No alley was ever safe, especially at night. But Twilight had discovered a nice little hiding spot in the dumpster—which, stationed outside a closed-down restaurant, hadn’t seen a whole lot of use. She climbed back inside, water jug in her teeth. She left the door on top open.

Inside her dumpster was a lump of leather thrown away by some Diesel. (Leather gloves and other accessories were considered very becoming fashion statements to Diesels, but apparently, some disagreed.) This, she used as a pillow. A half-empty jug of water with her flowers stuck in it was in one corner. She tried to allow as much sunshine as she could for the flowers, but if she left the dumpster lid open for too long, Twilight feared that her hiding spot would be given away.

Once in her makeshift home, Twilight Sparkle looked over her flowers, picked out juuuust one, pulled it from its fellows, and set it before her. She unscrewed the cap to the water jug.

She closed her eyes and focused. Her telekinesis had been faulty at best since it came back. She tried to lift the jug, could feel its mass, its weight in the grip of her still-shaky mind. It was quite heavy, and shook as if losing balance. Twilight regained composure, trying to focus on bringing the jug to her mouth. She opened her mouth, felt the jug’s lip on the tip of her tongue.

Suddenly, her face was splashed by the water. This sudden sensation caused her to lose focus, dropping the jug and spilling the whole thing on her dumpster floor. She cursed—not a kind of language for a mare of her education—grabbed the jug, and screwed the cap back on with her teeth.

She cursed again. Her home was now wet, which would only cause the smell to get worse than it already was. She picked up the flower she had set aside and bit into it hungrily, angry at her failure to lift a jug—a bucking jug—with her telekinesis. Telekinesis! The simplest form of magic for any unicorn of any age! Foals understood fully how to do it when they turned four months old! Four months!

And here she was, at the bottom of a dumpster—Celestia’s mane, a bucking dumpster!!—failing to lift a jug of water, chewing on a stupid flower, covered head-to-hoof in filth. Twilight Sparkle began to cry. Was this her life from now on? Personal isolation, ostracized by a civilization that was already intolerant of its own classes, forced to beg just to live?

Celestia’s most faithful student, living the life of a bum. What a joke. What a cruel, senseless, stupid, pointless joke.

She sighed, choked back her tears, and swallowed her modest meal. Working the jug with her hooves was a pain in the plot, but she managed, somehow, and drank what remained of the hideous water until her thirst was slaked.

As she finished her miserable breakfast, Twilight heard something going on outside. Shouting, cursing. A thump. She poked her head out of her dumpster momentarily, and saw two Steamers picking on a Clockwork. The Clockwork was much smaller than the other two robots: his appearance was somewhat clownish, with mismatching parts of various sizes, colors, and metals. Twilight wondered how his body never fell apart. She took particular note of one of his eyes—his right one—since it seemed to be a large black mirror of some kind.

“P-Please, guh, guys,” said the Clockwork, “I j-j-I juh-just got you the p-parts you ask-asssked for!” His voice contained the tinny echo Machina always had, but at a higher pitch. The two Steamers moved in closer. The bigger one, a guy with four arms, all big and powerful, grinned (Which was a disturbing thing to see, metal forming a smile).

“Parts?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble. “What parts?”

The other Steamer, a wiry looking punk, held a small, tube-shaped thing in his hand. “You mean THIS part?” He held it before the Clockwork’s nose, only to crush it in front of him with a sickening grin. The Clockwork seemed horrified. “Guys,” he said, “Th-That par-part was f-f-for your b-boss; why—why’d you…?”

The wiry Steamer dropped the part before the Clockwork. He jabbed his long finger into the Clockwork’s left shoulder—which was a large, round, rust-red shoulder in comparison to his thin and modest right shoulder. “You know the rules, Tick-Tock!” (Tick-Tock was a slur against the Clockworks, Twilight remembered.) “You want the best protection, we want the best parts! This is dreck, Tick-Tock! Dreck!!” He leaned in to the Clockwork’s face menacingly close. “Don’t you think we deserve better?”

The Clockwork tried to be defiant despite obviously being intimidated. “Wh-When you start actually pr-protecting me, you’ll-you’ll get the bet-better parts!”

“Oh, so we’re not doing a good job! Is that it, Tick-Tock?”

The Clockwork seemed to think over his answer. Twilight figured that if this protection racket (Which, like all protection rackets, was a scam anyway) goes bust, he’d get killed by this hostile town either way. It was all a matter of when he would get torn apart.

Having had enough of this garbage, Twilight jumped out of her dumpster. The three Machina heard her approach and turned to face her. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing, but she couldn’t just stand by while some innocent got tormented by the people he paid to protect him from his enemies.

“No,” she stated, “in fact, you’re not doing any kind of job at all.”

The rounder Steamer asked her who she thought she was (Using the kind of coarse language Twilight disliked). OK, Twilight, she thought. How are you going to get out of this one? After thinking for a few seconds, she remembered an old mares’ tale regarding how the rest of the non-Pony world saw unicorns. She stood up straight and delivered her introduction like a theatre actor. “I am a unicorn,” she said with a sly grin. “And only virgins can see me.”

The wiry Steamer laughed at his cohort. “So, all those brothels you hit up didn’t help at all, did it, brah?” The rounder Steamer growled. “Yet for some reason, it seems YOU can see her too.” They scowled at each other. Twilight’s plan seemed to be working. (She could always count on testosterone to be confrontational when it came to contesting each other’s sexual conquest!)

“Hey, I could get laid if I wanted!”

“‘Could’ being the key word!”

Insults came to shouts, shouts came to blows, and blows came to knockdowns. By the time the Steamers came to, both unicorn and Clockwork were long gone.

*****

The apartment owned by the Clockwork (Whose name was Bang-Twerp; Twilight noted that Machina seemed to be named after sounds) was a ruin. No doubt about it. The walls were in such a sorry shape that his three room apartment got a second door in the shape of a hole. The kitchen area was so blackened with grime that it took Twilight three tries to guess which corner that was supposed to be. The metals used to make this room were horrendously rusty—Twilight had a hard time trying to breathe through all the dust, fungus, and mold.

Those things were probably seen as minor inconveniences for Machina, but for flesh-and-blood creatures, this was a big deal. It was probably the reason his apartment had a “No Pets” rule. (Raising flesh-and-blood creatures also seemed to be more of a niche interest here in Gearlotte.)

“I’m s-sorry f-for the mess,” Bang-Twerp apologized. “My liv-living s-space isn’t exactly… animal…f-friendly.” Twilight had before believed Bang-Twerp’s stutter to be a side-effect of his terrifying confrontation, but it seemed it was a natural disorder for him. It wasn’t a big surprise, since his mismatching parts seemed to be a constant problem to him: she noted his difficulty in walking as well. His mouth-pieces probably just didn’t match right, or weren’t level.

Twilight coughed. “That’s OK.”

“Where d-d—where do you want me to put your things?”

Bang-Twerp, ever the gentleclock, had offered not only to allow Twilight to live in his apartment, but also to carry her things for her. She hated having to bother him, but it wasn’t as if he couldn’t do it, and it wasn’t as if her telekinesis was up to snuff right now either.

“Just set them down wherever you can, I can take care of them.”

He set them on what appeared to be a coffee table. One of its legs had been replaced with what looked like a megaphone.

“Um, I don’t kn-know where you can s-sleep…”

Twilight coughed again. She was getting a headache—likely from inhaling all of the mold in the air. “Anywhere I can breathe fresh air.” She paused. “I-I didn’t mean to be rude! I’m sorry!”

“Th-That’s OK,” Bang-Twerp said. “Like, like I s-said, not anim-animal f-friendly.”

He opened a window and motioned for Twilight to step outside. She looked outside, taking in the view: a catwalk beneath her hooves, the entire city before her. Tall, metal buildings with smokestacks and rounded dome tops; buildings that seemed to touch the sky; short, round, huge buildings; clouds that were of a dusty color…

“It’s beautiful.”

“I th-thought… you m-might like it,” Bang-Twerp said.

He explained that she should sleep out here, where she could breathe more easily. He went into his closet and brought out a round metal pan (Probably a wash tub… although what a machine wanted with a wash tub wasn’t clear) and set it on his balcony. He didn’t have any blankets, for machines could not feel temperature—even though joints could freeze during the colder months.

Twilight was pleased nonetheless. She nuzzled Bang-Twerp’s hand as a gesture of thanks. “You really didn’t have to do this,” she reminded him.

“I kn-know,” he said. He smiled. Twilight was never sure she could get used to seeing a metal smile, but she could tell the smile Bang-Twerp possessed was warm and genuine. She joined in and smiled herself, for the first time in a while.

*****

The next few weeks kind of flew by. Bang-Twerp had managed to find enough cloth product to line Twilight’s “bed”, and he earned enough money at his job (Which was a floral shop, nonetheless!) to help support the both of them. At the same time, Twilight had managed to bathe and clean herself up. Her magic was becoming stronger, and she could use her telekinesis almost perfectly by the third or fourth day.

Bang-Twerp admitted to not being much of a reader, even though he had a library card. Not wanting to be a bad host, he would go borrow books from the library and allow her to read them. They were mostly works of fiction by authors Twilight had never heard of, but they were at least entertaining reads. She would sit and read for hours each day, and often was done with her current novel by the time Bang-Twerp returned home from work.

She eventually asked Bang-Twerp if there were any books at his library about magic. After he did some searching, he came across a volume of Advanced Magickal Studies. Twilight took note of the “old-timey” spelling of the word “Magic”, and wondered what kind of spells it contained. Upon reading it, she had opened a door into a world of magic she had never before encountered. She began to study this bizarre magic, her mind gobbling up new spells.

These spells weren’t like anything she had studied before in Equestria. Equestrian magic relied only on one’s “inner magic” in order to perform them, but this arcane magick-with-a-k not only relied on one’s inner magic, but called upon a cosmic force as well. These cosmic forces all had names, too: Ulyaoth, Ch’atturga, Mantorok, Xhellotath… there were a slew of others, but those four stuck out to her for some reason. They all seemed to represent an element of the universe, with each spell taking a slightly different effect depending upon which cosmic force was called.

Anyway, basically, the idea was to call upon the cosmic force in question in order to be allowed a favor (In this case a spell). Most of these spells could do things that unicorns could normally do using Equestrian magic, but it seemed these spells were more for non-ponies anyway. Twilight wondered for a moment if Equestrian magic was somehow derived from these arcane spells.

Then she came across a section discussing spells she never thought unicorns could do: inverting one’s own gravitational pull in order to walk on ceilings (which was more like creating a gravity-less field over one’s body), placing objects within a “hammerspace” (Like a cosmic purse, kind of), and…

… mind control. Or rather, advanced mind control. Twilight remembered that such magic had been illegal in Equestria ever since Celestia began ruling the country, so the study for mind control never got that far, but here…

No. Just no. Nope, nope, nope.

Twilight had the urge to just close the book, right then and there. This ancient magick stuff was dangerous. Practicing it was illegal for an Equestrian citizen. And what would Celestia think? Her own pupil getting mixed up in something like mind-control? Something that Celestia actually hanged its practitioners for using?

Just out of lazy curiosity, she flipped ahead in the book, until she came across some kind of magick zoology section, stopping on an entry about “witches.” For some reason, the word stuck on her. She began to read it.

“Witches” are beings afflicted with a mutation of the normal anatomy, twisted into creatures only vaguely resembling what they were originally, and gain possession of great and strange natural magickal ability. They are created when their mothers are bitten by the Twelve-legged Devil Spider and infected with its poison while they are still with-child. Only a few have ever been registered to actually exist, all of them becoming insane killers with natural gifted magickal abilities—and are able to perform some feats not recorded in this book.

Advanced studies indicate that Witches are far more sensitive to the universal force of the cosmos, which explains why magick is as natural to them as eating and sleeping. This quirk is also theorized to explain why they often go mad—by being in such close proximity to the center of the Twelve Cosmic Forces, it causes their grip on reality to gradually shrink.

Physical appearance includes complete whiteness of the flesh and body hair, complete blackness of the subject’s bones and bodily fluids, bodies that are larger than they should be normally, eyes as dark as storm clouds with irises a bright red…

Twilight’s eyes widened. That pony from the church, the Judge… A Witch? If he was, he was a lot more powerful than she previously thought. He could have very easily killed her!

She had the feeling there would come a time in which they would meet again. So Twilight Sparkle decided that now was the time to practice her magic—both the ones she was rusty with, and these new “magicks” she had discovered, just in case she needed them. (She hoped that she would never need to use them, and hoped Celestia would understand if she had to.)

When she attempted to practice them however, her own internal magic acted up (resulting in some unpleasant vomiting). She had forgotten that her magic was still very weak from the mind-control hangover, and decided it was probably better to simply read more about each spell before practicing it.

*****

She became used to Bang-Twerp’s behavior, as it was as socially awkward as her own. The bizarre body language was probably a result of his mismatching parts, although she felt Bang-Twerp himself had something to do with it, too. He would often talk to himself when he thought she wasn’t there (something Twilight Sparkle admitted doing herself when she was studying), pace about his apartment, start moving his furniture around when it wasn’t necessary… he was totally restless sometimes, but completely lethargic other times.

Many evenings, they would go do what Bang-Twerp referred to as “Dumpster-diving”, in which they would go from dumpster to dumpster, trash can to trash can, looking for anything salvageable. Some nights yielded close to nothing, and other nights were a real treasure haul. Because Twilight’s magic was slowly becoming stronger, she was able to mend damaged parts as soon as they found them. The next morning, they would go out together before he went to work and she went for her walk and hit up the parts shop, selling what they’d found.

These were great bonding times for the both of them. By the end of the first week, Twilight knew about Bang-Twerp’s first kiss (Only to feel embarrassed when he asked her how hers had gone, only for him to learn she’d never been kissed). By the end of the second, she’d told him all about her childhood. Strangely, she still couldn’t remember her friends. Bang-Twerp reassured her that if she and her friends were real close, she’d remember them. “Y-You don’t ev-ever f-forget people who are k-kind to you,” he explained. This lifted her hopes.

I think it might have been the third or fourth (but no later than the sixth) night that she learned why he was being harassed by those Steamers. He told her they, like she assumed, were running a protection racket against a rival gang—and since he lived on their turf, he was considered a tenant, and tenants needed to pay up or they’d let the rival gangs pound them. Or pound payment-dodgers themselves.

Twilight asked him if that was why they were dumpster-diving. He told her that was part of the reason, the other being he needed the extra cash himself, especially since he now had a “tenant” of his own. She had wondered why he didn’t sell the best parts they found (and she fixed), and why they hadn’t been harassed by any local gang members, and now she knew why.

Once during a dumpster dive, she heard him swear by “The Great Inventor”, so she asked him who that was. He told her that, before there were Machina, there was man—or rather, A man. The story went that he was the last living man on earth, and in a final act of preservation, he created machines that could reproduce and behave like people. He succeeded, and the machines, which he called Machina, worshipped him as their creator.

She asked him if any Machina still worshipped the Great Inventor. He told her many claimed to. Few really did. She then asked him if he worshipped the Great Inventor. He smiled and said, “I l-like to think we d-didn’t f-find each other b-by acci-accident.”

*****

A few nights she would wake up and find Bang-Twerp still awake, trying to make his parts fit more comfortably. Two of those nights, though, she noticed he was crying. It was an odd sound, hearing metal cry: it was echoey and haunting, kind of like hearing a lost child sob in the windy air of a large valley. She was curious, but didn’t want to impose on him, so she went back to sleep, thinking she could ask him during the day—only to forget by the next morning.

Twilight didn’t exactly want to go outside, especially not after causing two thugs to beat each other up. It helped that she was naturally always an introvert and disliked spending too much time outdoors. But at Bang-Twerp’s insistence that she should exercise, she would go for a walk around the block.

She didn’t seem to draw too much attention (Only virgins could see her, she guessed), and she enjoyed the sights. It was a strange paradox: she was constantly enamored by her mechanical surroundings, and at the same time she was constantly terrified by how cruel many of the people were. She noticed a Diesel street merchant swindling another Diesel out of better parts, a Steamer punching his girlfriend for arguing with him, a Diesel ripping through the street with no attention given to pedestrians… The city was in a sorry state.

One evening, she asked Bang-Twerp how things got so bad. He claimed that most folks seemed to think it was their governor’s doing. Ten years ago, Gearlotte had elected a new governor, and his name was Rip-Roar. He ran the city as if he were an emperor instead of a governor, and his politics ended up causing high unemployment, class warfare, gang activity, and other horrible social conditions.

Twilight asked how an elected official could get away with such behavior. Bang-Twerp told her that, ever since Rip-Roar and his political party took both governance and the senate, it was the Diesels who were making the rules, and it just so happened that the Steamers hated them but did as they were told because of the power and money the Diesels promised them. The Clockworks, once the leading machines, were now seen as obsolete by both parties and moves were made to “out-mode” them, and phase them out of production entirely.

“Even if the Diesels were knocked out of power,” Bang-Twerp finished, “the Steamers would still continue in much the same fashion and Clockworks would still be treated like outcasts and would still be moved to their horrible fate.”

Twilight looked into Bang-Twerp’s face, reading his emotions (And there was a surprising amount of it in a face made of metals). “You know,” she told him, “where I come from, any hostilities between pony classes was abolished long ago.”

“You guys are flesh and blood creatures, though,” he argued. “You guys only live for as long as your bodies can, and it’s a very short time. You understood, eventually, that your lives were too short to waste on pointless hatred. We’re machines. We can live forever if we constantly upgrade our parts. Many of those Steamers and Diesels out there used to be Clockworks at one point. They’ve just forgotten what it was like to be all gears and cogs.”

Twilight nodded. Then she noticed something. “Hey,” she said, “you didn’t stutter at all during your story.” Bang-Twerp seemed surprised. She smiled and giggled. “I guess you’re just very passionate about politics.”

Bang-Twerp laughed nervously, and his stutter began to return. “I s-suppose. I just hope I didn’t, uh… bore you.”

“Oh, not at all! Gearlotte’s scary, but it’s interesting!” Twilight yawned, then rested her head on her pillow of leather scraps. Bang-Twerp, sitting by on the catwalk, looked over to her. “Are you t-tired, Twilight?”

“A little. It IS getting late.”

“Yeah, g-guess so.”

They both sat there on the balcony as the dusty sky became a raspberry haze. Even though it was acidic and ugly, it was also strangely a beautiful sight: the setting sun caused the buildings to go from a bronze-brown to a deep purple, with yellow sunlight bouncing off the other side. Twilight enjoyed sunsets like this one—even the pollution in the air didn’t seem to be enough to ruin it. She looked over to Bang-Twerp and noticed he had outstretched his thin right arm to her.

“Bang? What are you doing?”

“I was, uh…” He withdrew his hand and let it fall in his lap. He looked away shyly. “I’m s-sorry.”

Twilight yawned again. The raspberry colors in the sky slowly blackened as if being burnt. Her eyelids began to grow very heavy. “Hey, Bang?”

“Yes?”

She tried to ask the question she’d wanted to ask all evening. “I saw you crying some nights ago. And the night before. Is something wrong?”

Bang-Twerp looked at her curiously. “Oh. You s-saw th-that?”

She nodded.

“Do you s-see my eye?” he motioned to his big, black, mirror-like eye.

She nodded again.

“It, uh… I-It was… my mother’s,” he explained. “She was a good lady, but, uh… a-an-anyway, b-before she… you kn-you know… sh-she gave me her eye… and sh-she told me th-that her eye c-could see the f-future.”

Twilight sat up suddenly, interested. “You can SEE THE FUTURE?!” she gushed. “Wha—there are all these wizards and sorcerers and unicorns researching a spell to foresee the future, but there are all these variables in the way and stuff, because, you know, the future hasn’t happened or been set in stone yet, not like gazing into events in the past, since the past has already happened, and time-travel is kind of possible but only for a few seconds at a time, and you can only go into the past, but only a few days into the past, and…”

She stopped in her spiel and noticed Bang-Twerp smiling at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, keep going.”

“Anyway, so, a f—a few n-nights ago, I try looking into the f-future. And I see… m-my future.” His smile evaporated. Twilight Sparkle looked into his eyes, her face wearing worry. He continued. “And last night, I tried looking into the f-future again… and, um… I saw…”

He choked. “… I saw… yours too.”

Chapter 5: Rainbow Dash Underground

CHAPTER 5: Rainbow Dash Underground

There was no time here. No life. No faith. It seemed as though Rainbow Dash had been… subtracted from the real world, and was placed in this pipe-ridden purgatory, where demonic metal ponies walked, screamed, hunted.

But mostly, screamed.

Rainbow Dash stared up at the ceiling. She was in bed—a different bed. After running a few mazes, solving a few puzzles, and hiding from the Freaks, the Voice had offered for her to take a break in this bedroom, this "Safe Room"; it was literally not any different from the original bedroom she had woken up in. Same nightstand, same radio, same tacky choice in music… almost right down to the air vent she had tried to break through.

However, she had found on her bed a large platter of all kinds of delicious fruits and vegetables: onions, radishes, carrots, tomatoes, apples, cauliflower, and even some grass lining the bottom of the platter dish to help her digestion. She had sucked it all down, not realizing how hungry she was.

Be sure to eat everything

the Voice had said. Rainbow Dash didn’t need to be told twice.

But after laying in this bed for hours, sleep refused to come, the Sand-Pony apparently on vacation. Rainbow Dash’s mind floated back to earlier…

Run run run run run

Can’t go flying around, that gets their attention—oh crap, I think it saw me

“UbooooooooAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

Hide hide find a place to hide

Found one

Wait for it to leave, wait for it to leave

Scratch, scratch, giggle, scratch, mumble, scratch

Gasping, gasping, gurgling

Another Freak entered the room, oh crap…

Oh… Oh Celestia’s mane… they… they’re tearing each other apart!! I can’t watch

Get the blood off me, get the BLOOD OFF ME FOR CELESTIA’S SAKE

Hide in the shadows

STAY IN THE SHADOWS UNTIL IT GOES AWAY

Stay in the shadows….

*****

Rainbow Dash looked about, listening intently. She heard no sounds of any kinds of Freaks.

Very good, Rainbow Dash. You are adapting to your new environment wonderfully.

Rainbow Dash felt like cussing out the Voice, but was afraid to attract any attention. She slithered about, trying to find her way to the exit. She had the feeling she still had some ways to go. It didn’t help that many doors she found were locked, and the Voice had told her she needed to find keys to open them.

(Seriously? Really? This is starting to sound like a bad video game.)

Quiet you, not in the middle of my narration!

Anyway, after some hunting around and avoiding Freaks, she had come across a room in which there was a compartment that housed a card-shaped object that glowed a bright green. Thinking she had finally found a key or at least something of equal value, Rainbow Dash trotted forth to pick it up—only for the compartment to shut in her face. She let out an exasperated groan.

I hope you did not think I would make this easy, Rainbow Dash.

Want—hurt you—so—BAD

Keep it together, Rainbow Dash told herself. Just keep it together, girl. Just calm down, figure this out.

Rainbow Dash looked around the room. Same as every other room: creepy lighting, hissing pipes, air vents, furnace gates… Her eyes fell to the floor. Same metal flooring. There didn’t seem to be any panels that triggered the compartment door.

Rainbow Dash turned and began to walk back to the door when suddenly, she heard the compartment door open again. She turned around—and it closed. She repeated this process, turning around, then back again. Open, close, open, close… Rainbow Dash had figured it out.

With her back turned to the compartment, and not looking in the direction of the key, she lifted her back right leg into the compartment and knocked the green key out of it. She turned around and picked up the key with her mouth.

Very good, Rainbow Dash, you solved this puzzle faster than I thought you would. You are performing well.

Rainbow Dash puffed her chest in pride.

Your reward is more Freaks wandering the halls. Have fun.

She nearly dropped the key when her jaw hit the floor.

*****

Not only had she figured out that Freaks have poor eyesight, she had figured out they were attracted to loud noises. They were also hostile to each other as well as herself. After putting these facts together, she had concocted a working plan: by making sounds to attract the attention of some of them, she could lead Freaks to each other—and she would leave them to battle it out amongst themselves.

It was in this way that she managed to find her way back to the green door. Whittling down the numbers of Freaks to more manageable numbers was easier than she realized, but coming across the end result would remind her how high the stakes were.

After about an hour, Rainbow Dash came across the locked door from before. She looked about for any key holes, hoping this wouldn’t be another one of the Voice’s puzzles.

Having some trouble, Rainbow Dash? It is a door. You have the key. Open it.

It didn’t help that her “key” looked more like a card—and how the heck a card could open a door was beyond her. Maybe she could slide it through the crack…? No, nothing happened. She looked a little more closely at the walls around the door and noticed a slot in the wall next to it.

It certainly took you long enough to know it was there. Slide the card through the reader.

Rainbow Dash was becoming more irritated. She put down the card and whispered angrily, OK, look. I know you’re some kind of all-seeing, all-knowing robot or whatever. But I should remind you that YOU put me in a place I don’t know, YOU’RE the one setting up all this stuff, and YOU’RE the only one of the two of us who’s familiar with everything here. If you think I’m taking too long to solve your bucking puzzles—while at the same time trying to hide from monsters YOU created—that’s just too, damn, bad. So you can just SHOVE it.

A few seconds of silence. Rainbow Dash regretted saying all that, but the overall stress of that day was weighing on her. It oddly felt good to finally give the Voice a piece of her mind. If she ever found the Voice’s source, she’d hand him the rest of it—along with his head.

I do not like your tone of voice, Rainbow Dash.

His monotone had broken. He sounded… angry. Rainbow Dash began to feel cold just from hearing this new, deeper, more menacing tone.

I should not have to remind you that, YES, I DO control everything in this laboratory. And because you already know this, then you should also know that I can simply lock every door, disable every key, and just release more and more Freaks until there is no place you can hide. Your very life is in my hooves.

Rainbow Dash shrunk a little upon hearing how such a previously serene Voice had emphasized his last sentence. She never thought the Voice could even emote at all, but here he was, expressing more than just anger: disgust, hatred, impatience… She began to realize just how little power she had.

So you are going to be a good little pony, and you are going to perform my tests to the best of your abilities. I am not going to ask you to like any of this, as I do not care to hear what you think. But if you dare to raise your voice to me again, I will simply have to make these tests harder for you. Do you understand?

Rainbow Dash nodded slowly, admitting defeat. (And to Rainbow Dash, admitting defeat was about as tantalizing as eating one’s own foot.)

Very good. Now open. The bucking. Door.

Rainbow Dash did as she was told. She stood there for a little while, taking everything in. Her situation seemed even more hopeless than it did before. The Voice may see this whole thing as a game or an experiment, but for Rainbow Dash, she was but a rat in a maze. She was now unsure of whether she could make it through all these “tests” of his in one piece—or if there was even an end to these tests. There was no guarantee, no promise of cake at the end of the tunnel.

There were only Freaks.

Looking up when she heard the tell-tale shriek, she realized she had walked down the hallway (Still and eerie blue) so deep in her own thoughts, she had not noticed she was still in the maze. She had a distinct feeling she knew somepony who could make that exact mistake. For some reason, the color purple flashed through her mind. Was she remembering a friend?

NO TIME FOR THAT NOW INCOMING FREAK EVASIVE MANEUVERS

Not knowing what else to do, Rainbow Dash flapped her prized wings and turned herself upside-down. With a soft plunk, she had managed to grab onto the ceiling, clinging to the pipes. The Freak—this one had long needles instead of legs, along with a bizarre contraption that seemed to burst from his back—ran by underneath her, as though he were blind. She didn’t get a good look at his face, but realized she probably was better off not seeing it.

After the Freak had left, she dropped down from the ceiling and began to once again quietly sneak about. The hours passed: one minute Rainbow Dash was running from a Freak, the next she was solving a puzzle. What perplexed the Pegasus was that she had no idea what any of this was for.

Don’t all factories and laboratories have a purpose? she thought. Factories and laboratories were meant to produce research results or some kind of necessity. All she saw were half-pony, half-machine monsters. What on earth had gone on here?

Even worse, she began to wonder where all the ponies had come from. The Voice had told her that they were far beyond Celestia’s influence. Were they out of Equestria entirely? Were there ponies outside of Equestria? So many more questions than answers.

Eventually, she found herself stuck upon a puzzle. In order to get the next key (The red one), she needed to move around several boxes. (Or rather, blocks; you at least kept things in boxes.) There were four switches and four blocks. Easy, right?

Not at all. She had a limited time to push each block, first off; and if she didn’t go from one block to the other in the allotted time, the blocks would reset and teleport back to their starting points.

Of course, this IS Rainbow Dash we’re talking about: for her, speed is a way of life. Still, it was a process of picking a block, pushing it, then going to the next block, push that one a little, and so on. She only had a few seconds between pushes, and had to exert enough force to move them (And those blocks were pretty heavy).

After numerous attempts (The first few to figure out what was going on, the next few to figure out how long exactly she had between pushes before the blocks all reset, and the last hundred to actually attempt accomplishing the task), Rainbow Dash collected her key and sat down, exhausted and covered in the uninviting odor of sweat.

Suddenly, her stomach growled. She just remembered: she hadn’t had anything to eat for a while. Rainbow Dash guessed she was too wound up and scared to think about food. Before she said anything, however, the Voice again spoke to her.

Good evening, Rainbow Dash. I apologize for my outburst earlier.

Rainbow Dash did a double-take. It was strange to hear someone as obviously hostile as the Voice apologize for exercising his power.

Although I knew you were described as being fierce and stubborn, I must admit that I was unaware how fierce and stubborn you are. I apologize for my impatience. You must be hungry and tired by now. Please use the key to exit this part of the maze and enter the Safe Room.

The Safe Room? Whatever, she’d take it.

*****

Rainbow Dash thought over the events of today as she tried to sleep. She had no idea how much longer she’d have to be here. It had taken her what must have been days to get to the first Safe Room, with only a few hours of sleep between them. Who knew how long it would take to get any further?

Are you not yet asleep, Rainbow Dash?

The Voice nearly made her jump. She had forgotten she still had the earpiece on. “No,” Rainbow Dash answered, regaining her composure. “And I’m… sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

It is forgivable. You have been placed in a bizarre and stressful situation.

She thought for a few seconds. Now that she had his attention again, she wanted to ask him a question or two.

"Hey,” she began, “those Freaks. Um, they’re like… half-pony. What… what ARE they?”

At first, she didn’t receive an answer. She didn’t think he wasn’t going to answer her; she could tell he was thinking over his answer very carefully.

They were ponies. At one time. But that time is over now. They have been made into Freaks, due to… unforeseen misfortune.

“You did this to them,” she reiterated. Rainbow Dash remembered why she didn’t like this guy. Playing with ponies like they were toys, breaking them and reconstructing them cruelly… She stood up in her bed. “Who do you think you are?”

For reasons I cannot disclose to you, I experimented on them to ensure that a… certain product was operational. I failed many times. These Freaks are a result of my failures. I am merely using them as they are now so they do not go to complete waste.

“Using them?!” Rainbow Dash began to flutter above her bed, more angry than she’d been earlier. “They were ponies! They were LIVING BEINGS! And you…!”

Progress takes sacrifice, Rainbow Dash.

“Don’t you gimme that! How could someone as obviously smart as you have no idea of right and wrong?!”

Is it right to kill them, then? To end a life? All because I miscalculated? Or should I be like you and simply trick them into killing each other, so as to not get my own hooves dirty? Would that be right?

His tone had becoming more agitated. Rainbow Dash couldn’t argue with him; deep down, she knew he made a good point. “I was… I was just trying to survive,” she argued meekly.

Of course you were. You were making the best decision you could, based on what options you had at the time. It was not right, but it was not wrong either. The world, and life, is never that simple that it could easily be divided into right or wrong, Rainbow Dash.

Rainbow Dash disliked being lectured by this creep. What did he know? Sure, she had to kill them—only because he caused this situation to happen. What he did was evil, through and through. No amount of progress could be any good if the process was this twisted. “So how can you explain or excuse what you did?”

I did what I did in order to create a machine for a… third party, who requested it be done. I was merely following my orders to the best of my abilities. I do feel shame that I failed so many times to produce the desired results.

“Yet you don’t feel any shame about kidnapping ponies and performing experiments on them? Experiments you weren’t even sure would work?”

Suddenly, the Voice became angry again; this time not only did his monotone and patience break, but his pitch and volume began to fluctuate.

Listen. I was only doing my job. I am not at liberty to discuss every aspect of the situation that caused these Freaks to be made—especially not with some smarmy, self-righteous would-be athlete. You are here to be tested upon. That is your only purpose here. Be careful that I do not revoke that purpose.

Rainbow Dash suddenly wanted to demand to know why she was being tested. Really, to what end, why was she being made to go through all this? If the Freaks were all failed experiments, the tests obviously aren’t meant to measure their effectiveness as foot soldiers for an army. These tests were for her. But why?

But she said nothing. It sounded as if he was going to make good on his threats, and she cared not to strike out a third time. She curled up on the bed, above the sheets, trying to make herself comfortable again. She groaned, frustrated and sleepless.

The night—however long it went on, as Rainbow Dash had no way of telling time here, outside of when the Voice decided to tell her—rolled on just like that. Never sleeping, but never being fully awake. Before she knew it, she was back in the maze, this time in another elevator, heading up to the next challenge. The Voice was not speaking to her, and she ignored his presence.

In fact, she felt like just pulling out the earpiece and throwing it away. The problem was how the Voice would react if she did. Half of her felt like she couldn’t go on anyway. The other half was way too terrified of the Freaks to consider that option.

As the elevator door opened, as if to spit her out, Rainbow Dash took a step forward—and promptly fell over, exhaustion finally outweighing her frustration and anxiety. The Voice demanded to know what was going on before he realized she had merely fainted on her way out of the elevator.

*****

Watching her on his computer screen, Speeding Bullet groaned. He thought she had gotten plenty of sleep the night before. He settled down, thinking it over. The stress and anxiety of the situation, multiplied by its ambiguity, was probably a little too much for her. These tests were meant to measure her abilities. He needed to know if she could be trusted.

He was told she was the Element of Loyalty, and that she was a firebrand, and that she was a quick thinker. He thought she would be perfect for the role he had set up for her. Speeding Bullet didn’t want to think he could be wrong. If she was the Element of Loyalty, she could do this. She could complete this test.

She had a mission to complete, a destiny to fulfill.

But there she was, passed out, like any other pony would. Maybe he just needed to rethink things. Every program had its bugs. For Rainbow Dash, it was her curiosity. She was asking too many questions he couldn’t answer—and like an idiot, he chose to argue with her instead of just telling her he couldn’t. He resolved to establish what kind of questions he could answer, and which ones he could not. If he couldn’t answer it, she was free to theorize.

He lowered his hatch, and heard the low hum of his legs as they lifted his metal body to walking height. A spurt of steam left one of his exhaust pipes with a loud and sudden hiss as he left his Observation Deck to retrieve his test subject and bring her to a Safe Room.

There would be no testing for today. There would be only rest for the pegasus, and re-strategizing for him.

Intermission 2: A Few Minutes With Jerks

INTERMISSION 2—A Few Minutes With Jerks

The Grand Hall of Gearlotte was like a castle built inside a robot. Spike estimated that the entirety of Celestia’s castle probably could have fit in this one hall. The walls were all a gigantic mosaic painting depicting what Spike guessed to be the history of the Machina: scenes of war, peace, merrymaking, war, famous speeches, past leaders, more war… he had no idea that there was THIS much history in Gearlotte.

His past few days were spent in the mansion of the Judge (Which, by the way, was under the ocean, more on that later). Apparently, he was made one of the Judge’s own personal attendants. While there, he had learned much from the Judge and his subjects and disciples on his current environment: its name, people, current political climate. And now he was on his way to meet its current Governor, Rip-Roar.

He walked alongside the Judge, his feet a timid plip-plip-plip amongst the Judge’s confident clop-clop-clop. They were flanked by Shine Brightest (whom Spike seemed to get along well with) and her brother Sunset (who gave Spike a hard time, like… always). Robot guards, tall and powerfully built, stood alongside the walls, shimmering in their chrome armor. Spike tried to look into their eyes, but they seemed to be perfectly disciplined—not unlike Celestia’s own troops, or the guards in the Judge’s mansion.

It took them all of close-to-twenty minutes to cross the entire hall, beginning to end. (Like I said, the place was HUGE.) When they reached the two story-tall door at the end, two of the robot guards saw the Judge approaching and opened the door for him. He breathed a sigh of relief. “I hate that hallway,” Spike heard Sunset mutter. “It’s like a never-ending linoleum desert.” The Judge politely shushed him.

Unlike the rest of Gearlotte, which was mostly metal and fumes, this chamber felt far more exotic and regal. Purple linen embroidered with the Gearlotte national flag (A Gear surrounded by a Clock, a Pipe, and a Wheel, all connected together to signify a unity that was strangely absent in the hearts of modern Machina) decorated each window, which looked down to Gearlotte below. The chandelier in the ceiling was like a majestic golden god, keeping sentry over his gorgeous kingdom. The pillars on either side of the room were stocky, solid structures, and the red carpet on the floor weaved beautifully throughout the floor. And on his throne, sat Rip-Roar himself.

It was a hideously gaudy chair that looked like random parts put together and painted over in gold. Spike looked a little more closely… those were parts… Clockwork parts. He had already learned enough in the past couple of weeks to know the plight of the Clockworks, and this display both disgusted and angered him. How could the ruler of Gearlotte starve his own people of the parts they needed just to live?

Spike never met anyone who angered him just by looking in his direction before, but just by looking at him, Spike could tell Rip-Roar was not at all a decent Machina. His general shape was large, about as big as the Judge; he was rather top-heavy, with arms almost as long as his body, and covered in chrome like all Diesels. However, his was painted black, with designs of fire tattooed on his arms, and white silhouettes of shapely female Machina on his shoulders. A pair of exhaust pipes shot from his brow, which reminded Spike of those pictures Twilight had shown him once—pictures that depicted a supposedly mythological creature called “Satan.” His five eyes (two on each side of his head, with a large one in the middle) burned with a sickening yellow light. Strangely attractive Machina females draped themselves over him while the guards nearby stood watching.

“Ah, Judge Star Swirl! Mah-main-poh-nayyy,” he greeted, pointing his fingers in the Judge’s direction and making a clicking sound with his mouth. Spike pursed his lips. Rip-Roar spoke and behaved like a teenager.

“That’s Judge Star Fall,” the Judge corrected. Spike noticed that Shine Brightest was almost completely behind the Judge at this point, as if trying not to be noticed. Spike heard a purr come from Rip-Roar’s mouth. “Ooh, hey, who’s that pretty young thaaang?” Rip-Roar reclined a little. “Thoughtful of ya to offer me another concubine, but as you can see—” he stroked the face of the girl on his right—“I’ve already got a few of my own.”

The Judge stepped forward, looking into Rip-Roar’s eyes. Spike had learned that the Judge, despite being scary, powerful, and possibly evil, loved his subordinates, and protected them as if they were his own foals. Evidently, he didn’t appreciate his benefactor hitting on his attendant.

“With all due respect, my Governor, may we keep this meeting professional?”

“Aw, loosen up, Star Bowl! Live a little!”

The Judge did not move, and did not smile.

“OK, fine,” Rip-Roar grumbled. With a point of his finger and a flick of the wrist, he ordered his lady-servants to leave. One particularly energetic member of their troupe cart-wheeled out of the room. Spike was shocked when one of them brushed the Judge’s rump with her hand as she suggestively slinked away. The Judge looked at her the same way a grandmother would look at a loose young mare.

“So,” Rip-Roar continued, lazily lounging in his throne of gold-painted Clockwork parts, “You wanted to talk about the Deal, right?”

“Indeed. It seems your part of the funding of our little project never arrived.”

The Governor feigned ignorance. If Spike could see it, then so could the Judge. “Whudda-Whuuuuuhhhh? No way, I already signed your check, Judge-Pony. It should be in the mail!” From the corner of his eye, Spike noticed Sunset rolling his eyes at such a corny performance.

“Our deal was struck months ago.” Here, the Judge stood right in front of the Governor. The guards drew their guns—the Judge was undeterred. “We have not seen so much as one bit from your pocket. Many of our other benefactors have already paid their dues for the project, but you—”

Rip-Roar’s face became more bored-looking. He began to “snore”. The Judge stopped in the middle of his sentence, and made an exasperated sound. “Dude, details are, like, boring,” Rip-Roar chided. He added an obnoxious little chuckle. “You’ll see your money after I start seeing some results.”

The Judge scowled, but didn’t back down. Spike hadn’t seen the Judge this visibly angry before. “Happiness showed you—the results,” he said sternly.

Rip-Roar, ever the mature one, copycatted the Judge’s sentence in a whiny voice. He ended it with a rude noise from his exhaust-horns (which Spike guessed was a Machina form of passing gas). “Our boy Happy Meal didn’t show me jack-diddly-doo-dah.”

The Judge seemed to think this over. Spike had only met Happiness once before—and let me tell you, this Clown was anything BUT “happiness”, you already saw him in a previous chapter. It seemed Happiness hadn’t shown Rip-Roar the results of the “enchanted arms” project, as the Judge had commanded him to do.

“Oh, really.”

“YEAH, really! You think I like being stood up, Star Pole?” Rip-Roar got off his throne and began to get up in the Judge’s face. Spike had underestimated before Rip-Roar’s size, likely because he was sitting down—he was easily bigger than the Judge. “You think I like getting pulled around? HUH?!” He pushed against the Judge, only managing to force him back a little (And likely only because the Judge was going to take a step back anyway).

“Where’s my money goin’ huh?! You said you could make metal do MAGIC, but I don’t see it! My parts aren’t doin’ any hocus-pocus, J-Money!”

Spike had had enough of Rip-Roar’s childish crap. He got between Rip-Roar and the Judge. “Hey,” he interrupted.

“And just who do you think YOU are?!” Rip-Roar demanded.

The Judge’s attendants quickly grabbed Spike and pulled him back. “What are you doing?!” hissed Sunset. “Please, don’t!” Shine Brightest warned.

“Who is this little creep?! You think you can just DO this to me, Star Ball?!”

“You haven’t even paid for anything yet,” Spike pointed out. “Why are you complaining?”

An awkward silence befell the room as Rip-Roar felt his argument derail.

The Judge’s attendants pulled Spike back more and hid him behind themselves. “Please don’t mind him,” the Judge told Rip-Roar. “He is only a young dragon. But he DOES have a point.” The Judge’s eyes met Rip-Roar’s. “You have paid my group a grand total of absolutely nothing. While all my other benefactors have paid me at least half my fee to produce the desired results, you haven’t paid a cent for what you wanted.”

Rip-Roar stopped his rampaging for a moment.

The Judge began to be more confrontational. “If you really want to see the technology we offered you, you’ll need to show me the money. I have reminded you time and again to pay on your investment, but so far I’m beginning to think that besides the laboratories you provided for us, you don’t really care. If you can’t pay the price, then we cannot do business.”

“Oh, what, my lab isn’t good enough? Star Pool, I’m hurt. Where did our love go?”

The Judge retained his posture throughout Rip-Roar’s theatrics. “Oh no, your laboratories have served us surprisingly well… considering they were already abandoned for many years when you gave them to us to use, and it took my group several weeks of nonstop labor to get the place back up and running—repairs which, by the way, I and a few of my disciples personally ended up having to pay for, ourselves. So we were down some money and several weeks behind schedule.”

After he explained all this, the Judge took a more-reclined position. “And it should please you to know that I will personally punish Happiness for failing to show you the results of our experiments in the first place.”

They stared down each other. After a while, Rip-Roar sat back down in his throne. He snapped his finger and one of the guards came to his side. He whispered something into the “ear” of his guard, and the guard left the room. He turned his attention back to the Judge. “All right,” he conceded, “All right. You’ll get your money.”

“When can I expect it?”

Rip-Roar seemed tired of this whole affair—the same way a child loses interest in a game because he isn’t winning. “You can expect it, like whenever—tomorrow.” He folded his arms behind his head and leaned in his throne. “All I know is, if I don’t see The Tech by this time next week…” He grinned. Spike was never comfortable with the way Machina smiled, but the way Rip-Roar smiled was somehow even worse. “Well, I’ll know where to find you.”

He snapped his fingers again, and this time a little Clockwork boy ran to him. Rip-Roar took a pen from Spike didn’t see where, and motioned for the Clockwork boy to bend over. “All right,” he said, “I’ll put this down as a schedule note.”

He began to scribble on the boy’s back. The boy began to make faces as Rip-Roar pressed down hard enough on his back to create loud and ungodly scraping noises. Spike winced. He felt sorry for that poor kid, and looking at Shine Brightest and Sunset, it seemed he earned their pity too.

Rip-Roar looked up. “Hey, how do you spell ‘irreverent’? Like, three ‘r’s or two?”

“Three 'r’s,” the Judge answered.

Rip-Roar nodded, and scraped harder against the boy’s back, evidently crossing out his mistake. After he had finished, he motioned for the boy to turn around. He handed him the pen, and told him to walk down the Grand Hall and throughout all the castle’s quarters so that everyone would know about the upcoming project results.

The boy nodded, excited at the prospect of being the bearer of good news. As he walked away, Spike breathed a sigh. The Clockwork boy had not noticed that all Rip-Roar did was engrave something horrendously obscene on his back.

“Well, there we go,” Rip-Roar said, apparently wishing to see this case closed. “Come by next week, show me the tech you promised, and I’ll give you all the money you’re owed.”

Tired from all this, the Judge merely nodded, thanking Rip-Roar for his audience and patronage (To which he received a “hey, no prob”). The Judge gathered all his present subjects, and left, back out into the annoyingly long Grand Hall.

Spike harrumphed. After the bizarre and confounding direction this meeting had taken, he had become disconcerted. He looked up at the Judge, and from the look on his face, he knew the Judge was upset with him. Spike quietly said, “I’m sorry, I should have just said nothing.”

The Judge, silent, continued to look at Spike as the dragon continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone that nasty before. I just wasn’t thinking, and…” he looked forward. “And I got you in trouble. That guy has some serious political power, and I should have respected that about him.”

“So, you are fine with going without dinner tonight?”

Spike closed his eyes and sighed. He nodded.

“His Esteemed Governance is a royal sot, no doubt,” the Judge continued, his deep voice in a whisper. “But we must respect his power and his position, if not him directly. I am sorry for not warning you sooner; it is my fault you were unprepared to deal with his childishness.”

Spike smiled at the Judge to reassure him he understood. The Judge grinned back.

Spike noticed he was walking closer to the Judge. That’s when he realized something. He was actually beginning to like having him for a boss. He shuddered, and reminded himself he was going to escape and rescue Twilight when the opportunity presented itself. There was no way he was going to allow her to stay in this town while that psycho was in charge.

*****

That night, while he was in bed, he took out the “sighted” diamond the Judge had given him. He whispered Twilight Sparkle’s name, and inside the diamond, he saw her alongside a bizarre-looking Machina—a Clockwork made of mismatching parts. They seemed to be living together in a shabby apartment. He breathed more easily, seeing her provided for… and by a complete stranger, no less.

Spike smiled, holding the diamond to his chest, wishing he could be with Twilight right now. As he did most nights since being kidnapped, he would speak to this diamond, pretending it was Twilight. And he’d tell her all about his day and his experiences.

Tonight, he ended his session by telling her how badly he missed her and wanted to be by her side again. He yawned, and before long, he had fallen asleep with the diamond still in his hands. Before the image inside faded, anyone who looked into it would have seen a young purple unicorn curled up and asleep in a washtub.

They would have also seen her smile in her sleep.

Chapter 6: Pinkie Pie's Pirate Playtime

CHAPTER 7—Pinkie Pie’s Pirate Playtime

Pinkie Pie grumbled as she mopped the ship’s deck. The weeks she spent in Gearlotte were simply not fun. In fact, if there was a word to describe it, it would be “pooptastic”.

Pinkie Pie had had it up to her frizzy pink mane with the political quagmire of Gearlotte. It was always loud, and smelly, and the people were as pleasant as a hideous rash (Though she wanted to scratch them sometimes, she admitted they never really made her feel itchy). She couldn’t find her way around the city—but when she tried to ask for directions, she would be met with hostile intentions. Absolutely no one in this town seemed to share her idea of friendship or fun.

When she had realized what a hostile and dangerous place this was, Pinkie Pie decided it was time to leave. But oh yeah, she couldn’t tell her way around the place, so how was she going to leave?

That was when, one day, she found herself in the docks. There were many different sailing ships—some that spat smoke from great chimneys, and others that motored forward through fuel; big ones, small ones, fat ones, thin ones, regal ones, simple ones. It was like a big parade of different kinds of boats.

Pinkie Pie got up on her hind legs, resting her forehooves on a railing, taking in the grand sight of this parade. She had never seen so many boats in one place! One ship let out a blast from its horn, as if to greet her as it found a place to drop its anchor. (She greeted it back with a wave.)

In addition to boats there was a salty smell in the air, a salty feel to the ground she walked on, and there were salty sailors everywhere. If she wanted this much salt at once, she’d find a genie and wish for nothing but salt forever. But she didn’t know where one could find a genie, especially since they’re supposed to live in lamps. Maybe she’d ask where she could find one, since that whole salt thing sounded like a neat idea.

Anyway, so she’s by the sea, sailors everywhere. The thing Pinkie Pie had always heard about sailors was that they were all crazy because they spent months at a time in the sea. She didn’t know they could also be perverted and hostile. Pinkie Pie figured this out the hard way.

“Hey there, pretty thing,” said a round, dented old Steamer. His face had long, crooked pipes hanging from it—it reminded Pinkie Pie of her daddy’s beard, only bushier. And pipier. Then he invited her to do something Pinkie Pie didn’t think sounded safe—something about standing upside down and wiggling. She didn’t like the sound of it, so she declined.

That’s when the sailor called up his mates. He explained Pinkie Pie thought she was too good for a Steamer, to which Pinkie Pie retorted that it wasn’t that she didn’t like Steamers, it was that she didn’t like his idea of standing upside down and wiggling. They all laughed. Then they drew their knives. Pinkie didn’t think they liked her explanation, so she tried again, this time in song.

I’m not a fan of wiggling while I’m upside-down
I’m really sorry if what I said caused you to frown
It’s not that I don’t like you, in fact I like your beard
It’s long and pipey and tangley, it’s all kinds of crazy-weird
Did that last comment make you mad?
No, seriously, please PUT DOWN THOSE KNIVES ARGHHH!

Pinkie Pie had been attacked in the middle of her song and began to high-tail it throughout the wharf. Just when she’d thought she’d lost them, there they were. She had to make creative use of some hiding places—inside a trash-can, under a small bridge, behind a lamp-post (they’d never think to look for her there!)—and before long, she’d lost them finally.

“Oh, hello, Pipe-Beard Guy,” she said to the Pipe-Beard Guy. And his friends. With the knives. Who were surrounding her. Because they had found her.

Poopie.

Just before the sailors tried to cut her up, someone whooped and hollered. Suddenly, more whoops and hollers were joined. Pinkie turned her head in the direction of the sound, and saw

ponies? Really? There were other ponies here? Pinkie Pie felt comforted at the sight.

The sailors all began to run, realizing what hell they’d brought. So here came her rescuers: three earth ponies and a Pegasus, all male. They were dressed in shabby clothing that Pinkie imagined Rarity never approving of. Their manes were of dark colors (except for the Pegasus, his was a bright blue—or could have been, had he bathed regularly), and their coats were dark brown, brown, light brown, and not brown (that is, orange), respectively.

“What’s a pony like you doin’ here?” asked one of the brown Earth ponies. His accent was rough and rugged, but held a kinder tone than the previous sailors.

Pinkie Pie tried to explain her situation: her run-in with the Clown, an exploding party house, weeks on end of getting lost and hiding in trashcans, and so on. In the middle of her story, one of them put his hoof over her mouth, telling her he’d heard enough.

They told her that since it was rare to meet fellow ponies in Gearlotte, they’d buy her a drink. Pinkie Pie declined, as she didn’t like the taste of oil (the fact she couldn’t digest it being another reason). The ponies all looked at each other and laughed heartily.

“I like your sense of humor,” said one of the three Earth ponies. “It’s true that Gearlotte be a Machina-centered town, but here in the porting district, the bars all cater to different types.” He swept his hoof over the entire port behind him. “This here be a wonderland of travelers, m’lady.”

Indeed it was. Pinkie hadn’t noticed it before while she was running and hiding, but there were more creatures here than she’d find in a zoo. Machina walking about, ponies, griffons, Satyrs, Imps (The Pegasus warned her to stay away from them, they were nothing but trouble), Skaven, werewolves of multiple origins, all kinds of creatures, really.

So they went to a bar. It was dark and loud and smokey on the inside. On stage was a band of Machina performing for an audience that didn’t seem too terribly interested in their music (A sad song about being lost at sea). Letters were spelled on the walls in bright blue and red lights advertising different drinks and a “Happy Hour.”

One of the Earth ponies looked around and found their other fellows at a table. There were quite a few pony sailors here; Pinkie Pie took note that most of them were Earth ponies, with the remainders being pegasi. When she asked why no unicorns were in their group, one replied no unicorns applied for any sailing positions. They all laughed, Pinkie joining in.

Excusing the joke, the pony replied more honestly that unicorns were rarer in parts of the world: the further away you got from Equestria, the fewer unicorns you’d meet. “In fact,” the pony added, “of all three kinds o’ ponies in the world, unicorns is the most rare.” Pinkie Pie wondered why that was.

So they shared drinks and stories. Grand yarns of supernatural encounters while at sea. She shivered at the story of Captain St. Elmo—a ghost of a pirate captain that wandered the oceans forever in search of his lost ship. Pinkie Pie innocently wondered aloud if anypony knew where his ship was. Then they could tell him where it was and he’d leave everypony else alone. Another round of laughs from the sailor ponies. “Why didn’t WE think o’ that!”

Pinkie listened intently to the epic tale of how one pony (a dark blue Earth pony stallion once known as Weigh Anchor, but now known as “One-Leg”) had lost three of his legs in a fight against a mighty giant (They were looking for treasure, and it just so happened to have been buried in the giant’s back), and if it hadn’t been for their medic, he wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale.

Pinkie Pie thought these grand sailors were wonderful ponies who had great adventures—and after two weeks of putting up with the nonsense of Gearlotte, she was just happy to be around other ponies. As she finished her drink, she noticed a little slip of paper that was taped to the bottom. Reading it, it said, “This drink was drugged. Have a nice nap, deck hand."

Thud.

*****

And now she was here, swabbing the deck and cursing her luck. She was befuddled that her Pinkie Sense didn’t seem to be working: it didn’t warn her of the Steamer sailors who tried to kill her, and it didn’t warn her not to trust the pirate ponies. It also did not warn her to not drink the ginger beer. What was going wrong?

She noticed she felt dizzy and weak after she had woken up at the birthday party. Pinkie wondered if her dizziness was what was interfering with her Pinkie Sense, and hoped it would return. The Pinkie Sense, I mean. (The dizziness wasn’t all that fun.) Without it, it seemed like she was constantly in danger.

Pinkie’s eyes travelled across the ship. She was told its name was the Sleipnir, which was hard for her to pronounce at first. The design for the ship was actually quite fearsome: black wood finish, black flags, black sails—everything about this boat screamed “STAY AWAY!” The sides of the ship were adorned with spikes in case any ship was silly enough to try siding it. The front of the ship was shaped into a screaming unicorn-head, its eyes eerily glowing red (don’t worry, it was really just torches). The back however, was pretty high, with spooky, gothic-styled windows. Pinkie was told that was for the Captain’s cabin.

The cloudy sky was just as intimidating as the Sleipnir: thick and blackening, billowing, and piling up. So many dark clouds, so much howling wind. The ocean waves slapped at the sides of the ship, as if in a contest of who was stronger. If Pinkie were the ship, she’d have handed the waves her crown and call it a day.

One of the pirates (One-Leg, as a matter of fact) broke her from her inner thoughts and barked at her to work faster. He was decidedly a lot less friendly now that she’d been Shang-Hai’d. She noticed his right leg was not so much a peg-leg as it was a weapon: at the foot was a round metal ball perfect for clubbing. Pinkie didn’t think she wanted One-Leg to introduce it to her, so she returned to her swabbing.

One-Leg walked by her (thunk-thunk-thunk-clop, thunk-thunk-thunk-clop) on his way to yell at other sailors doing cleaning jobs. Pinkie noticed several of them didn’t seem like they were sailors, and mused that she was not the only pony to get forced along for the ride.

Later that evening, while they were having their dinner (a modest head of steamed lettuce… to share), she learned from her fellow kidnap-ees some more about their predicament. They were sailing in search of treasure (which was exciting), being led by the famous Captain Keelhaul (also exciting) and his new Pirate Queen (even more exciting), and that they were all probably going to die (Not so exciting).

A few days passed, and Pinkie Pie’s attitude began to brighten. She decided to open up again to her pirate captors. She was always the kind of pony to try to make the best of a bad situation (No matter how bad!) and assumed that if she and her fellow kidnap-ees would get along better with the pirates, they’d be less of a hassle.

She attempted what she knew as “kenning”—a process involving getting a feel for another pony. At this point, Pinkie Pie knew better than to start an idle conversation with them, and instead listened in on things they found interesting. It was the usual thing: beer, women, what they’d do when they got home and got paid. She found it strange that, despite that there were in fact mares aboard the ship (many of them pirates themselves; the remainder were talented cooks), they didn’t at least try hitting on them.

When she asked one of her fellow captives this question, he answered that they weren’t allowed to behave in any way inappropriate with the mares because of the orders by Captain Keelhaul—who would give his name meaning should this rule be breached. So just to be safe, they all just stayed away from the mares completely. He added that it was likely a suggestion given to him by his wife the Pirate Queen. Pinkie Pie thought that was unusually gentlecoltly for a pirate.

After some time spent getting a feel for them, Pinkie Pie decided it was time to start conversations with them. At first, they were reluctant to doing so, as they were afraid of saying something a mare would take the wrong way and getting keelhauled for it. But when they did, Pinkie Pie paid the offensive statements no mind, focusing instead on just making friends with them.

The pirates ended up admiring Pinkie Pie for her tolerance of their pirate-manners (which is to say they didn’t have any manners at all) and her genuine interest in what they had to say. She wasn’t quick to scold them, but would give them advice on how to talk to, and behave around, mares. She taught them that mares had a special, different mindset from stallions, and to understand them, one needed to think from their perspective. To wit: mares don’t like being hit on by every stallion they meet, and if one really wanted to hit on a mare, they’d need to be clever about it; mares enjoy it when a stallion actually listens to them when they talk; and so on. After taking her advice, the pirate stallions were on better terms with the pirate mares.

It wasn’t long then that Pinkie and a few of her fellow captives (who had also taken up her idea) were almost seen as full-blown crew members. Evening would fall, and Pinkie and her compatriots would be invited to drink with them and eat from their table. There, she got a glimpse of their Captain.

*****

She’d never forget the moment he came into that mess hall. It was an unusual event for certain, as the Captain would often eat in his own chamber these days, but she was told he liked being around his pirate company. As he descended the steps into the mess hall, the normally rowdy and loud pirates began to hush.

He was a big fella for an Earth pony (Pinkie Pie placed him around Big Macintosh’s size), his long black beard with stripes of red running through them braided in a complicated pattern. His black beard was accompanied by an equally dark and imposing mane of black hair, which was then accompanied by his black tail (which also had the red stripes). His coat was a handsome kind of darkness. In the poor lighting of the mess hall, he seemed like a giant shadow pretending to be a pirate.

His Captain’s jacket was fancy: a royal blue with gold lace embroidered in a beautiful pattern all along its sides. His tall captain's hat had exotic and colorful feathers dangling from the side. Those red eyes of his were authoritative and steely; his gaze would make mares melt and stallions do whatever he commanded. The Captain’s cutie mark was a skull-n-crossbones holding a cutlass in its teeth. His voice was like a rumble, but elegant as a song, and he never spoke in such a way that would be deemed rude or illiterate. It was evident that while a pirate, he was a learned pony with great tastes.

His company was very welcome in the face of these pirates, who while much more polite around mares now, were still very crude anyway (only now they were crude in a way the mares all found entertaining). This night, in fact, was the first night the mares and stallions actually felt comfortable around each other.

While his presence was at the table, everypony was on their best behavior—and it seemed that this was not done out of fear for the Captain, but for admiration instead. This pony was a pirate amongst pirates, his exploits great and many; and with his experience, knowledge, and regal nature came a great respect and admiration from his crew.

As the dinner commenced and conversation flew, he seemed amused by Pinkie Pie’s enthusiasm for adventure (and for everything else, actually). When he asked her about one of her adventures, she told them the story of her battle against Discord.

The Captain dropped his mug. One of the pirates nearby picked it up and hoofed it back to him. “Discord?!” he said in disbelief, breaking his almost-godly image for the first time. “The God of Chaos, Discord? He was supposed to have been put away for good! Encased in stone!”

Pinkie saw her chance to be a great storyteller. And she pounced on it.

“Oh, he was—by the Princesses of Night and Day themselves, no less!” She got on the table, leaned down and looked across the room sweeping her hoof slowly, pointing at the pirates present. “But there came a day when the hearts of ponies the world over lost their way, inviting him back into the world!” she said dramatically. One particularly tough-looking pirate removed his bandana from his bald head and bit into it, afraid of the story that came next.

“Before the Princesses even knew what was going on, the surreal began to happen!”

“Aye,” the Captain said, “He always started with small things—childish pranks, really.”

“Exactly!” Pinkie agreed. “Puffy clouds of cotton candy, chocolate rain, popcorn plants… but it didn’t take long for things to begin getting worse. And then it came time for me and my friends to do battle with Discord!” While she told them of this story, she made grand sweeping motions with her front hooves, as if she were a theatre actress. The pirates cringed as she told them of what Discord did to each of the six Elements of Harmony, one by one, breaking them. One particularly tough-looking pirate began to sob at Fluttershy’s fate.

“Finally,” her loud voice suddenly becoming soft, “It seemed all was lost. None of the Elements of Harmony were able to function. Their leader, the brave and wise Twilight Sparkle, my best friend, crushed by the weight of the situation. Discord didn’t even have to do anything to destroy her—he let…” She stifled a quiet sob while she delivered her next line. “He let her friends do that.”

The Captain was enraptured by this story, as were his subjects. When he noticed everypony had fallen silent, he made a moving motion with his front hoof. “Well, go on! What happened next?” he urged.

Pinkie saw that her performance was working, and continued. “In our darkest hour, when everything was being swallowed by chaos and destruction, Twilight Sparkle given up, her friends broken parodies of who they once were… Suddenly, there was light.” She stood back up, and held a courageous pose. The pirates looked at her in admiration. “Suddenly, there was hope.

“As she was about to leave the town for good, Twilight found on her bed several letters she had written to her mentor, the Princess Celestia. These letters led her to rediscover what she already knew all along: that her friends were flawed—deeply flawed—but their friendship was always worth fighting for!” From this line, the Captain made a motion, “Hear, hear.”

She continued her tale, again using the grand sweeping motions as she approached the climax of the story. “So Twilight Sparkle, heartbroken no longer, traveled the land in search of her friends, and one by one, she was able to bring them back! She reminded all of us who she was, by reminding us who we were!” One particularly tough-looking pirate held his hoof up and gave a cheer.

“So before we all knew it, there we were, face-to-face once again with none other but Discord himself!” She stomped the table, gazing at each of the pirates with a steely, gravelly gaze that caused some of the pirates to whimper. “There he sat, on a throne of chaos. The land all around us, engulfed in a senseless sea of surrealism: houses upside down and hanging from the whitewashed sky, the grass a checkered marble floor, the ponies babbling and clawing at the air at things nopony else could see.”

The Captain took off his hat. “Aye, the legends WERE true,” he muttered, eyes wide, bewildered and frightened at this account.

“There we stood, defiant against this grand god of chaos. He looked down at us, as if we were all but insects to him.”

“With all due respect,” the Captain interrupted, “if he really were a god, that’s how he’d see anything.”

Pinkie nodded. “He sure did! He treated everything like it was something for him to destroy—” and then she turned back to the pirates—“and his next target was US!”

One particularly tough-looking pirate cringed and squeaked.

“But he was overconfident. He thought we were still bound, weakened by his spell.” She stood up on her hind legs and spread her foreleg apart as if about to make a grand speech. “‘Don’t you ponies ever learn?’ he said.” She went back down on all fours. “But it was HE who needed a lesson—and boy, did we ever GIVE him one!”

She began motioning with her hooves again. “In a flashing explosion of lights and color, Discord was once again sealed away, cast back into stone, and his evil was purged throughout the land. Peace was once again given to the country of Equestria.”

She sat back down on her seat and took another swig of her ginger beer. “My story…” She set it down dramatically. “…is told.”

The other pirates looked at her in admiration. They were all quiet, nopony saying anything for almost a whole minute. Finally, the Captain spoke. “Pinkie,” he began. “No, Miss Pie. Would you be interested in joining my crew?”

Pinkie Pie looked at him as though he had asked her to turn herself inside-out. Not that she couldn’t do it, she just… didn’t know how! Turning herself inside-out, that is.

“You mean I’m not apart of your crew already?” she asked with a sly smile.

The Captain smiled back. He liked this mare’s attitude! “You were a member of this crew the moment you and your friends defeated that devil Discord.” He hoofed her a black bandana, his cutie mark embroidered on its front. “Welcome aboard, matey!”

Pinkie Pie tied the bandana around her head, pirate-style. She demanded another round of ginger beer. All the pirates (plus one) continued reveling late into the night, singing songs and swapping stories.

*****

Pinkie Pie noted that the Pirate Queen was never around at these evening drinks and dinners. A few days after officially becoming a pirate, while she was helping One-Leg decipher a map, she asked him why this was so.

He told her that the Pirate Queen was said to be so amazingly beautiful that if any stallion laid his eyes on her, they’d fall madly in love with her as the Captain had. (His eyes and wistful voice suggested he had seen her once himself, but Pinkie didn’t want to press the issue.)

Pinkie Pie decided that, because she was a mare, it would be safe for her to get a good look at the Queen. One-Leg chuckled and stated that the Captain was not willing to put that suggestion to experimentation, although he personally would like to see the result. He wore a leer as he said this. Pinkie Pie scowled at him until he put it away.

When Pinkie Pie insisted that she should go see the Queen, One-Leg put his one good leg on her shoulder and said that nopony was allowed to see the Queen by order of the Captain. She had only just come into great favor with the Captain and his crew, and it wasn’t worth risking throwing away all that trust.

Pinkie Pie could see this, but also wanted to see the Pirate Queen.

She knew it wouldn’t be right to just up and ask the Captain—her Captain, now. If he was as deeply in love with his Queen as they said he was, he would certainly never willingly let any of his shipmates see her.

But thinking about it more closely, would the Captain seriously just leave his Queen all locked up like she were a prisoner? If he really loved her, then he wouldn’t do that—it just made no sense. Unless it was something she herself wanted, but why would anypony want to be locked up? Well, unless she were scared of pirates, but if she was, then how could she be a PIRATE Queen?

SO many questions!

Another day passed. Pinkie Pie had learned a great deal about sailing from her shipmates over the past weeks: which stars to use when navigating, what to predict when the sky turned certain colors, and even how to fight with a sword, and how to fire and reload a flintlock. As the day settled into night, she was approached by the first mate—the particularly tough-looking pirate from the dinner table.

“The Captain requests your presence in his cabin,” he politely requested. Pinkie was pleased her advice was still being practiced by the crew (She remembered how tough it was to teach a pirate to be polite, and remembered how this one gave her the hardest time). She followed him to the top deck.

The other crewmates who heard began to gossip. Many seemed to agree that Pinkie was going to see the Queen—after all, she was one of the six who had beaten Discord! Of course the Queen would be honored to make her acquaintance!

Having such an honor as seeing the mysterious Pirate Queen was quite heavy for Pinkie Pie. As she was led into the Captain’s Quarters, she gulped, resolved herself, and skipped merrily into the presence of her Captain.

*****

Inside was a very decorated part of the ship. Red carpet on the floor, handsome wood furniture, beautiful works of art decorating the walls, some nice windows giving a good view of the ocean outside. Pinkie was in awe. Her eyes fell on a gorgeous globe, modeled after the whole world. She walked over to it curiously, placed her hoof on it, and spun it gently, watching it as if hypnotized.

“From the way you act, I should think you’ve never seen a globe,” said the Captain, pleasantly. Pinkie gasped and turned to him. He was standing on a dais next to a tall, beautifully sculpted bed with large pink curtains. Within the curtains was a shadow.

Pinkie focused more on the shadow. The Queen, she thought, OhmygoshitsthePirate Queen! Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh! Imactuallygoingtoseeherohmygosh! Her thoughts were probably audible, as the Captain went on to say, “Your excitement pleases me, Miss Pie.”

He descended the three steps from the dais and walked toward Pinkie Pie. She took note of how tall he was, but managed to stand up straight herself, never breaking eye contact. One thing she had known about pirates now was to always look them in the eye—if they looked away, they were scalawags, not to be trusted. If you looked away, they’d probably shank you.

“I am very grateful for your help in teaching my crewmates to behave,” he said. “Pirates are naturally very superstitious, and it took me a lot of work just to convince them seafaring mares weren’t bad luck.” Pinkie Pie nodded. “Your crewmates are all great guys, really,” she said, a big grin on her pink face. “They just needed some advice.”

“I only ever issue out a few rules for them to follow,” continued Captain Keelhaul, pouring himself a glass of wine. “But you helped them greatly. Again, I thank you.” He offered her some wine. Pinkie thought it over, and took a glass just to be polite.

“However, onto bigger business. It seems my wife the Queen has some kind of interest in you.” It took all Pinkie had to not spit out the wine in surprise. Well, maybe not surprise—more like girlish excitement. She gulped it down loudly instead. “Really?”

“Yes,” he answered, taking a sip. “She became more interested in you when I told her your story from the other night.” He smiled and looked toward the shadow behind the curtain. Suddenly, the shadow removed the curtain—and Pinkie Pie beamed in complete, pleased surprise.

“That’s not the way I remember it,” said Fluttershy the Pirate Queen.

ATUHOR'S NOSE:
Another Pinkie Pie chapter! Huzzah!
For the first draft of this story, I had no idea what it was I really wanted to do. At first, Pinkie Pie would be trying to escape Gearlotte... just like Twilight Sparkle... while trying to escape a band of killers... just like Rainbow Dash. I didn't want to reuse ideas, so I putzed about for a bit, wondering what I could do with Pinkie's part of the story.
That's when, out of boredom, I doodled Pinkie Pie dressed like a pirate, opening up a treasure chest.

Eureka.

Chapter 7: Still Unbroken

CHAPTER 7: Still Unbroken

It was bright, very bright; almost couldn’t see. Where was she right now?

Applejack looked up when she heard the sound of royal trumpets. Had Celestia come to aid Ponyville? If she had, she was too late. Everypony was gone. Applejack had failed to save them. Her friends and family and neighbors were all gone, disappeared like magic. Bright light and horns or no, Applejack decided it wasn’t worth it anymore; she rested her head back down on the stoop of the library. She took in what she hoped to be her last breath.

Pick yerself up, Half-Pint. There’s still lots o’ work t’be done.

That voice. Deep, loving, and stern. She knew that voice. Her eyelids fluttered open slightly, as if on command.

“… Pa?”

Applejack looked up and saw her parents—hers, and Big Macintosh’s, and Apple Bloom’s—strong and healthy and young. They were so vibrant, so radiant. Applejack slowly stood up and looked at them more closely, not believing what she was seeing.

Her father, as big and strong as Big Mac, his coat a deep tomato red and his bright eyes and mop of a mane even redder. His face was painted with adorable white freckles, the only part of him besides the whites of his eyes and his cutie mark that was not red. Her mother, always as radiantly beautiful as Applejack remembered (and when she was little, always wished to be), with her bright, golden coat and long orange mane, and a beautiful tail that seemed to arrest one’s attention. On their flanks were their cutie marks: her Pa’s a whole green apple, her Ma’s a trio of Golden Delicious.

Her mother came closer. Applejack looked into her eyes—the deep green she herself had inherited—and whispered, “… Ma? Ma, is that… really you?”

Yes, she answered, I’m here, Applejack. Her honey-sweet voice lacked the accent most Apples possessed, as she was a “city girl” who had married into the family; but outsider or not, she was always an Apple, beginning to end. She nuzzled her daughter. Applejack felt her mother’s warmth and strength.

Tears began to fill Applejack’s eyes. “Ah… Ah’ve missed you… so much…” Her voice had cracked, and her vision blurred.

Her father picked up her hat… his hat. The hat he gave her on his deathbed, telling her to be a strong girl, to take care of her family, and that his love for her and her siblings would long outlive him. He placed the hat back on her head. She dared not look in his reddish eyes as her hot tears began to roll off her cheeks.

Hey, what’s with th’ tears, yung’un?

Applejack choked. She didn’t know what to say, where to begin, how to explain herself. “A-Ah…” She looked up at her father, into those strong, comforting red eyes she always loved. “… Ah failed. Evr’pony’s gawn. They were taken…Ah failed… to save them. Ah failed ‘cuz Ah’m...” Her next words became a quivering squeak as she admitted, “… cuz Ah’m not strong enough. Ah’m not strong ‘nuff t’save what matters most t’me.”

Her father stroked her face. The tears would not subside. She leaned into him, felt him, as though he never died or got sick and feeble. Applejack, he said, you ARE a strong girl. Y’know you are.

“No,” she disagreed. “Ah’m weak. They was taken fr’m me when I wasn’t lookin’…” Only had my back turned a second. Didn’t scream, didn’t make any sound. Just turned around and she was gone. They were gone.

Her mother rested her head, warm and alive, on Applejack’s neck and held her firm. Applejack, she said, you are the strongest pony I’ve ever known. It was because of you that Big Macintosh realized what he needed to fight for, what he needed to protect. It was because of you that Apple Bloom began to smile after we were gone. It was because of you that Granny Smith learned that it was all right to keep living into her old age, with or without her son and daughter-in-law.

Applejack sobbed uncontrollably. Her Ma was saying all this, even though these events occurred long after she’d died. This was so unreal. Her father kissed her forehead.

You did all this, he told her, 'cuz you ARE a strong girl. Applejack, yer family is alive.

She looked into her father’s eyes again as he said this. And she could not detect a lie. Her tears slowly stopped.

And raht now, they need yer strength. They need that strength, the strength you have allus dem’nstrated—that which nopony could poss’bly repr’duce. The strength you get from yer fam’ly’s love fer you—and yer love fer yer own fam’ly. He held her chin up and wiped away her tears.

Applejack, her mother said, you listen to your Pa. You inherited your honesty from him, you know. He speaks nothing but the truth. And in truth, you will find faithfulness, and ultimately a love that, like he says, can never be duplicated or replaced. She stroked her daughter’s mane. Your family needs you now, and so do your friends.

“Th-They’re alahve too?”

Her father smiled. Yer friends draw their strength fr’m your love f’r them, too, Half-Pint. His face became stern; Applejack recognized this face when he was going to state some grave news. But th’r’s a wicked game afoot. Th’r’s a pony—heartbroken, an’ driv’n t’madness—who seeks to bring a great calamity to this worl’. Y’need t’find yer fam’ly, and yer friends. Y’all need t’bring this battle t’ him—the ghostly unicorn wrapped in black—an’ strike ‘im down ‘afore he hurts anypony else.

She listened intently to her father’s instructions. Applejack took him at his word—for from him came her own honesty. She nodded when he finished his statement. Suddenly, they all heard a bell. Her parents’ faces looked pained.

Well Half-Pint, he said, it looks like it’s time f’r us t’go.

Applejack felt her heart nearly shatter. “Can’t y’all stay just a little longer?” she whispered sadly.

Her mother gave her one last good nuzzle. We are sorry, Applejack. But we must go now. Just remember everything we’ve told you, and keep us in your heart, always.

As they turned to leave, Applejack ran towards them, stretched forth her front legs as she leapt for them, trying to reach out, to hold them one more time… but her hooves went through thin air, and touched nothing.

They were gone.

She was… alone.

We love you, Applejack. More than we could ever say, and more than you could ever realize.

She teared up again at the sound of her mother’s voice. She withdrew her hat and looked inside. There, at the top, an inscription:

Property of Half-Pint.

She smiled—the first genuine smile she made in months. She felt her heart beating again (Had it stopped before?), and she put that hat right back where it belonged. It felt a little like being crowned queen. She put her hoof back down. She looked around Ponyville, empty and deserted, but not at all a lost cause. It was her family that tilled this land, it was her family that built this town, and it was gonna be HER family that saved it.

She tilted her hat… her father’s hat forward. It was time to get to work.

Whatever evil force was at work here obviously never tangled with an Apple, and now it was gonna get far more than it bargained for!

*****

It was, at a distance, the perfect scheme. I mean, just perfect. Change the name, the logo, the product, even their cutie marks (not the first time they’d done it either) wait a few months for memories to fade, come back. It was a great scheme—the perfect scheme.

Flim tipped his hat upward. It was a nice burgundy top hat, lined at the brim with a black ribbon. It went well with his new coat and other duds (Also burgundy and black). He looked at his cane—long, sleek, black, with a golden knob at the end—which matched his brother Flam’s. He looked over to his brother. “Ready for this?” he asked.

“Ready when you are!”

It had been several months (almost a year, in fact) since Ponyville was glad to be rid of the Flim Flam brothers and their cider-producing machine. But now, Ponyville seemed more welcoming to the Fleesum Twins’ Miracle Growth Serum!

Flam (Playing the part of Pyramid Fleesum) readjusted his magical attention to pulling along the cart, as it was his turn. They had both dyed their manes and tails black, and their cutie marks were now matching plant-life. (The paint on his flanks was itchy, but he tried not to pay it any mind.) Flam had shaved his moustache—which hurt him to do, as it was his most prized possession—and Flim (Playing the part of Ponzi Fleesum) had grown a goatee of impressive length(which he also dyed black).

Ponyvillians walked to and fro in their business, a few of them the Flim Flams recognized. There was the blonde, twisty-eyed mail-mare Flim had previously insisted Flam get to know better (“She’s a bubbly blonde mare, totally your type!”), delivering letters to the lord of the town’s clock tower. Walking by their cart right now was the milky-coated, candy-haired mare and her light-green unicorn friend. (Of course, Flam always thought they seemed a bit closer than just friends, but that was likely wishful thinking.)

The sky was cloudless and a delicious shade of blue, the sun shining as though actually setting was just an unproven theory. The overall temperature was not too cool, not too warm, with a cooling breeze from the north. Perfect weather for ponies—villagers and swindlers alike!

As they neared the center of town, Flim told Flam to start the music. Up came the pompous horns, and from them came an announcement in the form of music. The Ponyvillians saw them now, riding through the town, proclaiming their name and product, for all to come to the square for a demonstration. Most of the townsponies they passed followed them, evidently interested in what they had.

Flam rubbed his front hooves together deviously. The fools wouldn’t know what hit ‘em.

When they reached the center of town, they rolled out their machine, this time refitted with new parts that, instead of easily mass-producing cider, would help to demonstrate their newest sham--er, product.

Flim got the crowd riled up for their demonstration, warning them of other towns that had been hit with a terrible problem: flower lice! Creatures, insects that would devour all plantlife! Many towns had to be shut down from these infestations! And they could have been saved had they merely invested the time and effort into producing what the Fleesum Twins now had: Miracle Growth!

Flam then stomped on a flower for all the crowd to see. It was a crumpled, ruined mess. Then he turned on the machine, which applied the Miracle Growth serum in the form of a sprinkled shower. Suddenly, the flower shot back up, good as new, as though it were never crushed to begin with. The crowd cheered.

They didn’t seem to notice Flam was merely holding the flower up with his telekinesis. It took him a while to figure out how to hide his telekinetic glow (Visible mostly to unicorns), but it was worth the trouble.

The Ponyvillians began to line up to buy some Miracle Growth of their own. It seemed they had gone over well. Suddenly, each of the ponies began almost throwing their money at the brothers. It was hard for them to contain their excitement. “What did I tell you?” Flam whispered to his brother as a bit bounced off his hat, “it was the perfect scheme.”

*****

Applejack couldn’t believe what she was seeing. There they were, the Flim Flam brothers (now going by the name “Fleesum Twins” which made her feel even more intense loathing for them), piling up pebble after pebble, laughing like a bunch of mad-ponies. “We’re rich!” cried Flim. Flam began taking spray bottles of some sham plant-saving medicine and began “hoofing them out”—which in this case meant floating them a certain distance away, and just letting it drop to the ground.

The strangest thing was, Applejack was standing only a few feet away from them as they did this. And they didn’t seem to know she was there. She cleared her throat in order to get their attention. “Oh, we couldn’t forget you,” Flim said, looking in Applejack’s direction.

“Ah sure hope not,” Applejack replied. “Now, I’m willin’ t’set aside arr diffr’nces if y’all’re willin’ tuh…” her sentence trailed off as Flim hoofed another bottle of Miracle Growth to thin air before her. It fell on the ground, and bounced off Applejack’s foreleg.

Applejack couldn’t understand which was crazier: that she was actually willing to work with her enemies, or that her enemies pretended that the town was still healthy and going. The fog was still thick and the morning cloudiness hadn’t subsided yet. The air was moist and damp, the atmosphere chilling and lonely.

In short, the deserted town looked spooky enough that it’d drive anypony coming in right out. Yet, here were the Flim Flam brothers trying another one of their schemes on an invisible audience. Just what the hay was going on?

“Surely this all looks quite deranged, but of everything I’ve seen today, it’s not THAT strange.”

A familiar deep female voice came from right next to Applejack, causing her to jump at its suddenness. There was Zecora, wearing her dark cloak as she normally did when visiting Ponyville on a shopping trip. She lowered the hood, revealing her Mohawk (just as black and white as the rest of her), and nodded at Applejack.

“Zecora,” Applejack began, “D-Don’t… Don’t scare me lahk that!”

“You must accept my apology,” said Zecora, “I just got here back from Everfree. There is something foul at play here in town, something has creeped in and turned everything upside-down.”

“Tell me about it! Have you b’n able to find anypony else?”

“Unfortunately I have not. But there is one interesting tale that I’ve got.”

Applejack didn’t have time for stories or riddles, but since Zecora was the only other soul here (not counting the delusional Flim Flam brothers), she decided she might learn something, so she stayed quiet.

“It happened a few nights before, when a hideous creature was at my door. Its face was like madness as a mask, from where it came from did I ask. It hobbled away on legs both thin and fat, its body even uglier than that!”

Applejack’s eyes widened as she saw what Zecora was trying to say. “You saw it too, din’ cha?” she asked in a quiet tone.

“So we both have met this thing most foul. Tell me, when it met you, did it growl?”

“No, it din’ make any noise,” Applejack recalled. “Did it have eyes all spooky-like?”

“Eyes gray as clouds with iris white as death. Looking into its eyes robbed me of my breath!” Zecora shivered. Applejack felt uncomfortable. Since when did Zecora, somepony almost as well-versed in occult magic or bizarre animals as Twilight Sparkle or Fluttershy, shiver at the thought of something living in her own forest?

“Didja come here to shop?”

Zecora pointed out her saddlebags. “No, I came to flee. Who knows what that beast might do to you or me!” Looking at her more closely now, Applejack could see that Zecora was just as outright terrified as anypony else had been. However, it seemed she was not aware of the goings-on in Ponyville for the past few months… or was she?

“Zecora,” Applejack asked, “Did you know about—”

“The Mass Abduction? Unfortunately, that is a yes,” Zecora replied. Her face fell. “But where anypony was taken, I cannot guess. That monster we saw may be a clue, but confronting it might be a foolish thing to do.” She began to leave. Zecora put her hood back up. “If you need me, I’ll be in Fillydelphia by this time tomorrow.” She thought for a second, apparently trying to think of something that rhymed with “tomorrow”, but she was too scared to think straight, it seemed.

“‘If you was smart, you’d pack your things an’… follow?’” Applejack offered.

“Thank you.”

Applejack shook her head. “Zecora, Ah’ve already tried runnin’ away. It won’t work, Ah can safely say. You can go ‘bout as far as the town’s limit, but although you trah t’escape Ponyville, yull find yerself back innit.” She blinked. “Aw, look what yer doin’! Now you got ME rhymin’!”

Zecora laughed. At first, a small chortle. Then it erupted into a great laugh as hearty as a good song. Applejack decided to join in, too. It had obviously been a while since either of them had a decent brush with humor. After they had both calmed down, Zecora said, “Well then, if running is something I cannot do, it looks like my only option now is working alongside you.”

“All right. Let’s try to find ‘rselves that monster an’ see if’n we ‘kin make it talk!”

The two mares, one a pony, one a zebra, both desperate, made way back into the Everfree forest. Meanwhile, the Flim-Flam brothers were swimming through a pile of mud, sticks, and leaves, Flim exclaiming how he had never before seen this much money.

*****

Everfree forest was always a dank and foreboding place. Everything about it was unpleasant: the smell, the chilly air (even in summertime, the air was cold and quiet as a morgue), the sounds of large creatures in the distance, the sound of smaller creatures crawling up your legs, everything. How Zecora managed to stay alive in such a vicious jungle was a question for the ages, but anytime anypony asked, Zecora just said she had her ways. (Of course, she’d say it in rhyme.)

They walked for about an hour before they reached Zecora’s house. It seemed she had only taken some of the essentials of her belongings, as everything else was as it was the last time Applejack visited: the tribal masks lined the walls like they were watching the place, guarding it from intruders; the potions and jars full of ingredients lined the walls. A small bed was in the corner, and a large cauldron out on the left side. Next to it was a spice cabinet (Full of more ingredients) and a bookshelf housing several volumes of potion recipes from Zecora’s homeland.

For the next hour, Applejack and Zecora went over a plan. Or rather, they ended up arguing about what to do next. The clues they had were still few: Bon-Bon’s theories, what they might be up against, the monster from before, what their mysterious enemy hoped to accomplish with all this. There were too many possibilities and not enough evidence for any of them.

They didn’t like to admit it, but they were stuck.

Zecora went through her zoology books (asking for Applejack to join her), and they studied for the next hour, trying to find what that monster may have been, or if there were any creatures that could accomplish this kind of gruesome act—any that resembled the beast they saw.

The hour went by. Zecora closed her last book. Still no clue where to begin.

“We’re wastin’ time!” Applejack declared angrily.

Zecora understood her friend’s frustration, but demanded she remain patient, that they’d think of something. They argued some more: waste of time, we don’t even know what we’re up against, what should we do then (just wait?), finally ending with Zecora angrily stomping the ground and yelling, “I—DON’T—KNOW!”

A second of shocked silence. Zecora had never… yelled before.

“I don’t know, all right? I’m no less scared now than I was last night! I went into this because I thought you knew what to do, but it looks instead like I am expected to know more than you! How am I supposed to know what to do next, or where to go?! I’m even less prepared than you, so I would not know!”

Zecora looked at Applejack, sorrow in her eyes. This was so unlike her, but the circumstances were proving to be just as oppressive to her as it was to anypony else. Applejack had always thought of Zecora as wise and mystical… so much so, that she had apparently forgotten that Zecora was a pony too. Applejack nuzzled Zecora, and apologized for being so angry. “Ah didn’t mean t’upset you, Zecora, Ah’m jes’ worried ‘bout m’fam’ly.”

That seemed to calm Zecora down. “I’m sorry for not understanding the extent of your plight. I…” she looked about shyly, then exhaled sadly. “My outburst, it was not right.”

“Mebbe we should jes’ look at this fr’m ‘nuther angle,” Applejack offered. She and Zecora began pacing about the house. “What we know f’r sure is that the sheer number of abductions means that there’s more th’n jes’ one kidnapper.”

They passed by each other.

“They must be magic-users—likely unicorns, true. But if so, they are experts as they did not leave a clue. They would make ponies disappear left and right. They abducted them whether it was day or night.”

They passed by each other again.

“Tha’s true. ’Slike they was invis’bull.” Suddenly, Applejack stopped. Zecora looked in her direction. “They were invis’bull!” It made sense. All those times they felt like they were being watched was because they WERE—but by something they couldn’t see! She pounded a hoof on the ground. “Zecora, don’tcha have a potion what can make ya see things what’s invis’bull?”

Zecora grinned. “It is a simple enough brew to make. I have a few of the ingredients, but the rest we’ll need to find and take.”

She had everything she needed but was missing the teeth of a venus flytrap. Of course, the venus flytraps in Everfree forest had appetites for more than just flies. She remembered hearing horror stories of small animals and even ponies being devoured by those horrible things.

And now she had to knock their teeth out. Applejack merely sighed and decided to go look for one. Zecora gave her a map, a knife, and a compass and began to work on readying the other ingredients and getting the water to a boil.

*****

Money, money, money, oh sweet Celestia’s blessed hide, SO much money!

Their first day back in Ponyville had gone over swimmingly. They had earned more than enough money to pay for any hotel they needed to stay in—which would come in handy when they needed to leave, which would be soon. There was no way these dolts would fall for this sham much longer, especially if some of them had already tried using the “Miracle Growth”. They had found a nice quiet alley to hide in for now, before they got back on the road to hit up the next town.

Flim was counting the money, giggling as he noted their bits just getting higher and higher. Suddenly, he felt his brother Flam poke his shoulder. “Flim?”

“Flam, not while I’m counting our earnings. Four hundred thirty-eight, four hundred thirty-nine…”

“Flim, I…” Flam gulped, and his voice was very grave. “…I think you should see this.”

Flim looked up at his twin and read the worry on his face. He got up, the money forgotten, and Flam led him out of the alley. Outside, they noticed all the ponies drinking the Miracle Growth, bathing in it, throwing it at each other. Even though it was only water they sold as something better, this was not the reaction Flim was prepared for. He chuckled.

“Had me going there, Flam. So the Ponyvillians are stupider than I thought.”

As he turned to go back to counting bits, Flam grabbed him by the shoulders. “No,” he insisted, “them drinking the water wasn’t what I was referring to; look at some of them more closely.”

Flim looked out from the alley again. As Flam pointed to specific ponies, he noticed it right away: some of them looked… bizarre. One was missing an eye—there wasn’t even a second socket. Another’s mouth was on the side of his face, and he was missing a leg on one side, but still moved about as though he still had one. One’s mane disappeared as he turned from one side to another. The strangest part was, everypony was acting as though this kind of thing was normal.

Flim began to feel scared for some reason. It was a little like seeing a ghost—some kind of weird glitch in reality. Why wasn’t anypony else concerned about the red mare whose face distorted when she spoke? Or the blue stallion whose back right leg flickered as though it weren’t there, just an illusion?

An illusion?

An illusion.

Oh, horse apples!

Flam darted for the wagon, his brother in tow. They were in such haste, they forgot the money. They started it and drove as fast as they could… away from… the… say, that’s a pretty light…

I wonder what it’s doing there…

… light…

… oh…

*****

The sun was beginning to dip in the sky, not that it was easy to tell unless Applejack were in a clearing. Most of Everfree was covered in a dangerous shadow, and hiding within it were equally dangerous creatures. Applejack knew enough about this forest to have come prepared—she had borrowed a knife from Zecora (Zecora had called it a “Khukri”), and held it in her teeth currently. Besides some overhanging brush, she hadn’t had to use it on anything else.

She prayed it would stay this way.

Applejack looked at her map. Too dark to see it. She looked around for a clearing, but couldn’t find one. She looked at her compass, and noticed the red needle pointing left. ("Let’s see, red needle allus points north, so…") Applejack began to head northward, eyes peeled for a clearing. Or a light. Any light, really. Just like that one, right over th—

What in tarnation.

Applejack had to do a double-take before processing what she saw. It was a light, all right: it was a sea-green glow being emitted from an object that was long and curled. The object looked like a big glow-in-the-dark fishing hook. The light cast itself on a familiar bloated and horrible face.

Applejack hid behind a tree, peeking out from behind, and trying not to be heard. She saw two ponies following it: Flim and Flam. Their eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, the glow the same color as the light from the horn. So the Creature WAS the kidnapper! (Or at least one of them.) It seemed the creature’s single, curled horn was able to hypnotize ponies.

She did the math in her head. (Math. Yet another thing Applejack was not good at.) It was very likely it was this Creature that had abducted her family, Bon-Bon, Filthy Rich, and Faithful. But what about what happened with Diamond Tiara and the cook? It couldn’t teleport, too, could it?

Applejack decided it might be smarter to just observe the Creature from a distance. She watched as it led the brothers through the wood, and followed discreetly, hiding behind trees and taking care not to trip or step on twigs or do anything that might get their attention.

Before long, they approached the mouth of a cave. Applejack noticed there was light coming from it. As the Creature lured its prey into the cave, Applejack expected to hear a scream, like in those horror movies Rainbow Dash loved to watch. But after waiting a few minutes, she heard nothing—which was probably worse.

She edged closer to the cave’s entrance, taking care to be as quiet as possible. Her ears perked, listening for any sound. She slowly looked into the cave.

Inside, Applejack saw that the cave was lit by torches built on stands. She guessed the Creature was intelligent enough to build them. And intelligent enough to start a fire. And intelligent enough to kidnap ponies, lead them to its lair and eat them.

Applejack’s stomach was fluttering. Did… did she really want to go in there? Was what she would find really be worth looking at? Was what she would find… be pleasant at all?

She shook her head. This was no time for feeling scared. Her Pa had told her her family was alive, dangit. And her Pa never told a lie once in his life. Applejack HAD—TO GO IN—THE CAVE. She patted her hat, as if gaining courage from it, and marched into the monster’s lair, drawing out the Khukri, ready to kill the beast if it meant seeing her family again.

The first thing to greet Applejack, unfortunately, was the cave’s overall stench. An offensive smell, lingering and potent, assaulted her nose, and Applejack recoiled instinctively. In an attempt to save her nose, Applejack decided she should breathe through her mouth.

The cave was strangely long. The entrance led to a descending hallway, again lined with torches. Applejack’s heart began to beat harder as she felt the distance between herself and the exit widen. The further she got, the more noise she heard. It was an echo, bouncing off the walls and into her ears. She heard…?

… Laughter? A child laughing.

Apple Bloom laughing.

Her eyes wide, Applejack whispered her sister’s name in disbelief, and began to pick up the pace and raced down the hall. Suddenly, just as the noises got loudest, they stopped all at once. Applejack stopped the moment the noise did. She waited, for what seemed like an eternity, but the chattering and laughter did not return. And then…

…thump…

…thump…

…thump…

Something was coming up the hall. Applejack could already tell what it was, that horrible, gnarled, bloated Creature, and her teeth clenched on the handle of the blade. Her eyes widened with expectation, her nostrils flared. She pawed at the ground, ready to charge. If that beast really wanted a fight, it was going to get one hell of a battle!

Then she saw it. Saw it for the first time in its entirety as it shambled up the steps on its oddly mismatching legs. Two were bloated and looked more like rhinoceros legs, while the other two were thin and sickly looking—one of the two skinnier legs seemed to have more than one knee, while one of the fat legs didn’t seem to have any knees at all. Its lumpy head was cocked to one side, as if it could not move from how its bloated neck was placed. It did not have a mane so much as it had a few bristles of hair on its head and on its chin. Its horn was a dark green, long and curled, jutting out of its forehead at a weird angle.

Its body was gray, like a dead body, and bloated in some areas while twistedly skinny in others; it secreted a smell that I (with all my knowledge of words) am not even comfortable describing. The mouth was a mess that Applejack was unable to make out from this light. Its left shoulder wriggled about rhythmically, and as the Creature got closer, Applejack realized it was a large heart pumping blood to the rest of the body. Applejack began to question how Celestia could let such a miserable thing exist.

But it was the eyes Applejack remembered well. They were blank, soulless, and without any discernible direction. The whites were grey and dead, as though the Creature itself was a zombie (And it likely was). The center of the eyes, where the irises and pupils would be, were a blank white. Again, it was the eyes of a dead animal—which if Applejack had her way it would become.

When the Creature noticed her, it stopped coming up the hall. They stared at each other for a second, Applejack trying her hardest not to freak out at the sight of this monster. The Creature grunted, as if it recognized her. The way its head was shaped overall implied it was impossible for it to speak, even if it knew how. It groaned, then gurgled. It was more of a death rattle, almost.

Applejack began to lose her nerve as the Creature came closer. “You take so much as ‘nuther step,” she threatened, “an’ Ah swear Ah will CLEAVE— YOU— IN—TWO!”

Her voice echoed powerfully throughout the cave. She was honestly quite surprised that she was able to speak so clearly while holding a knife in her teeth. The Creature took a step back, and seemed intimidated by Applejack’s outburst.

Suddenly, she heard a familiar voice. “Applejack?”

“Apple Bloom! Stay where y’are! Ah’m here t’rescue y’all!”

“But Applejack,” Apple Bloom said as she walked up behind the Creature, “we a’ready was.”

Applejack glared at the Creature. “You get…” she began to sputter in rage. The Creature began to step backward as Applejack came forward slowly but angrily. “You get… Th’ buck… away fr’m… mah SISTER!!!”

“Applejack, you watch yer language!” Granny Smith shouted as she appeared from behind the Creature. “Tha’s no way f’r a young mare to talk, an’ there’s yung’uns present! Ah raised you better’n that!” She stopped by the Creature’s side, looked into its eyes, and back at Applejack. “’Sides, ya durn fool,‘s as Apple Bloom says, we was already rescued by this big feller.”

Applejack set down the Khukri. She walked forward as Big Macintosh joined the rest of the Apple clan. She looked them all over as if expecting them to be… I dunno, clones or copies or something. But she felt, just by looking at them, that they were safe and alive. With tears in her eyes, Applejack gathered them all together for a group hug.

“You guys,” she sobbed, “Ah thought y’all was dead.” She held onto them as she told them of her parents’ visitation. They listened with rapt attention, but Applejack was almost certain they’d all think she’d gone crazy. Apple Bloom was in tears near the end of her recounting, as was Big Mac. Granny Smith held a stoic face, but the story of her son and daughter-in-law had obviously touched her, as her eyes shimmered with tears at the thought of her colt, her beautiful boy.

That’s when Applejack noticed that the Creature was crying, too. Fat tears were rolling down its misshapen cheeks, its dead eyes acquiring a new character from this simple emotion. Applejack walked up to the Creature and threw her forelegs around its neck, hugging it—only to hold her breath as the Creature’s BO smacked her right in the face. “Thank you,” she told it, “Thank you… f’r savin’ mah fam’ly.”

The Creature looked at Applejack lovingly. Its deformed mouth attempted a smile, but failed.

She let go. “Say, whut ‘zactly did this fella save y’all from?”

The other three Apples looked at each other as if the answer might be written on each other’s faces. For a while, nopony said anything. Finally, Big Mac turned back to Applejack and said, “… W’re not sure.”

Applejack looked at Big Mac as though he was wearing a funny hat. “Really? So how’d y’all know you were bein’ rescued?”

Granny Smith told her the specifics: they were woken in the middle of the night by something they were unable to see, but they knew was there—they could all feel its presence. When Applejack asked why she didn’t remember any of this or didn’t wake up, Granny just said she didn’t rightly know. She guessed whatever was in the room was keeping her asleep; after all, it DID claim that it had “special ideas” in mind for her.

Applejack felt sick.

As Granny Smith explained how the Invisible Thing grabbed Bon-Bon and dragged her around until she fell through the floor as if it were water, Applejack felt herself becoming even more scared than when whatever they were up against was still a secret. As they ran to Everfree forest in an attempt to lose them, Filthy Rich and Faithful stayed behind to distract the Invisible Thing (“Well, it was Filthy Rich’s idear, but Faithful wouldn’t go nowhere without ‘is master”) and to their knowledge, were kidnapped too.

But they were led through the Everfree Forest by the Creature, whose horn had charmed them into following it. When Applejack asked them why its horn could do that, Apple Bloom innocently stated that the Creature was so scary-looking and smelly, its horn was probably the only way it could get anypony to get near it. The Creature’s face fell, its feelings hurt. Applejack scowled at her sister and Apple Bloom apologized.

After the story, Applejack remembered that Zecora was still waiting for her to get the teeth of a Venus flytrap. She explained the situation about Zecora and what they had planned. Granny Smith agreed that was probably the best way to go. So they all began to leave the cave. “Wait!” said Apple Bloom.

She ran back, deeper into the cave. Applejack heard a smacking noise, followed by angry yelling. Apple Bloom yelled, “MOVE IT!” in such a demanding way as Applejack had never heard before. Out from behind the corner came the Flim Flams, covered in mud and grass, their burgundy jackets and top hats completely ruined, Flam’s goatee caked with dirt. Granny scowled. “Apple Bloom,” she said, “Ah know yer a bright gal, an’ I won’t question yer decisions too much, but… why we bringin’ those palookas?”

“Better’n leavin’ ‘em t’ their own devices, innit?”

The Apples thought this over and agreed: keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Applejack walked up to them, forcing eye contact. “All right, you two, lissen up! Here’s wha’s goin’ on.” She explained the situation to them. “So, ev’n if y’all planned on skippin’ out, there’s no way to do it.”

The Flim-Flam brothers shared weird glances. This story DID explain why everything they saw was an illusion: like a big trap for unsuspecting travelers. Applejack continued. “So if’n y’all play nice wit’ us, we’re more than willin’ t’let you help us out instead’a lettin’ whatever’s out there getcha. Butcha gotta pull yer own weights, got it?”

The brothers turned away from Applejack and discussed this amongst themselves. Apple Bloom whispered, “We ain’t got all day, fellas! Zecora’s still all by her lonesome!” Applejack hadn’t noticed it herself, but now that Apple Bloom mentioned it, leaving Zecora all alone was one of the dumbest things she’d done today.

Flim and Flam turned back to Applejack. “OK, but underneath the condition that, when this story breaks to the rest of Equestria, you’ll all tell the press that it was us who saved the day.”

Apple Bloom’s eyes narrowed. “WHAT! What kinda hokey demand is that?!”

Flim smiled. “That’s easy: you yokels are much too simple to concoct a working strategy against our mysterious enemy,” and here, Flam finished his brother’s sentence, “so in exchange for you to use our plans, we demand to be known as heroes.”

The Apples all shared glances. The Creature seemed to make a face that agreed with the Apples’ incredulousness. All at once, the Apples and the Creature all turned and began to leave. “Hey!” called Flam. “Where are you going?!”

“What, y’all didn’t plan on bein’ left behind?” Applejack said, looking behind her. “I thought you two were s’posed to be all strategic-like.”

After a few seconds of sputtering, Flim yelled. “Y-You’re not going to get very far!”

This time, it was Big Macintosh who spoke. “We’ve already gotten this far. Have fun tryin’ t’void all the dangers out here in Everfree all by y’rselves.”

After they all left the cave, they stopped and hung out at the entrance. After a few seconds, the Flim Flam brothers ran out of the cave, clearly expecting the Apples to not be there. They calmed down and put on their bravest faces, even though everypony else could tell they were just as false as their business ventures.

So off they all went, following Applejack’s map back to Zecora’s hut. All the while, there it was again, that sickening feeling of being watched. Applejack couldn’t wait until they were able to get that potion made—this paranoia was driving her nuts. The Flim-Flam brothers apparently felt it too, as their eyes darted about even when there wasn’t any noise. In fact, the forest was the quietest now that it had been all day, which scared Applejack.

As they pressed on through the woods, Apple Bloom held onto Diamond Tiara’s doll (Applejack was surprised she still had it) and squeezed it for comfort. Suddenly, Apple Bloom felt her hooves step on something decidedly not-dirt: it was soft and squishy… like a tongue.

Applejack heard a loud snap and a scream. Everypony turned around and to their horror, saw Apple Bloom caught in one of Everfree forest’s flytraps. It was a huge plant: the size of the mouth alone indicated it could handle more than just tiny Apple Bloom. The length of its teeth measured about as long as Applejack’s legs, its skin the color of the earth on the ground to better disguise itself to prey. Suddenly, the mouth rose from the ground to reveal the rest of the head, and large, long roots erupted from the ground and began to flail madly.

“Apple Bloom!” Applejack darted for the flytrap, but was swatted hard by the flailing roots. Suddenly, one of the roots grabbed Flam by his back leg and lifted him up and over the flytrap’s head. It began to open its mouth—inside, he saw Apple Bloom stuck to the side of the mouth (he had heard that it took days for the glue of its mouth to digest prey), screaming and calling for her siblings. Not knowing what else to do, Flam began to scream.

Granny Smith wasted no time. She pulled out her late husband’s shotgun, aimed it at the beast, and fired. She was knocked backward by the tremendous recoil (which she had forgotten about), but the flytrap took a pretty good hit to the head, and it dropped Flam to the ground.

Big Macintosh had managed to get past the whipping roots (which reminded him more of tentacles, actually) and to the head. With an angry yell, he raised one hoof and stomped the flytrap’s head, causing the strong material to dent. It made a sound like a whinny, and suddenly, the attention of all the roots went straight to Big Mac.

Just as all the roots were about to grab Big Macintosh, they froze, covered in a sickly green light. He looked to its source—the Creature. It had grabbed all the roots at once (which was probably easy, since they were now in almost the same spot) and tied them all into one large knot.

The Creature then lifted the flytrap up and out of the ground by its roots. The overall body of the thing was impressive: the “attack” roots all came from the head, with several more roots that must have been there to keep it in the ground if anypony tried to lift it out (in this case, it failed). The roots must have been a good twenty feet long each at least.

The flytrap was lifted up, then the head was smacked against the ground. It let out a yelp, with Apple Bloom screaming bloody murder. “Wait!” Flim yelled to the Creature. “What are you doing?! You might hurt the kid!” Flam finished his brother’s thought. “You’ve already disabled it; just let the big guy and the farm girl force it open!”

At the brothers’ insistence, the Creature stopped trying to smash the thing open and merely held it upside-down at the roots. Big Macintosh then ran up to the flytrap’s head. It growled upon his approach. “Apple Bloom!” he yelled. “Ah’m gonna buck th’ monster’s mouth open! You ready?”

From inside the flytrap came a terrified “Just do it! Do it do it do it!”

Applejack had helped her grandmother up to her hooves, and ran along to join Big Macintosh. Her older brother gave the head a strong kick, knocking it towards Applejack who bucked it back to Big Mac. It took a series of strong kicks in order to get it to break completely (for a plant, its head was harder than wood). Before long, the head had fallen to pieces and Apple Bloom was out of the beast, but covered in a sticky goo and sobbing.

Granny Smith set to work cleaning the goop from her granddaughter’s body, with Big Mac trying to calm her down. Applejack turned to the Flim Flam brothers and the Creature. She looked at them gratefully. “Th… Thank you,” she said. It felt strange to thank an enemy for his help, but the Flim Flams probably had it weirdest: being thanked by an enemy. The Creature merely grunted, as if to say, “Hey, no problem.”

Applejack turned to her little sister. “She okay?”

“Just shaken up,” Big Macintosh replied. It must have been a horrible experience. She was nearly eaten by that thing! Applejack nuzzled her sister. “I’m sorry Apple Bloom,” she said, and repeated her apology over and over again. After all this excitement, Granny Smith breathed a sigh of relief and settled on her haunches. All that running around and shooting wore her out.

After a few minutes, Applejack removed some of the flytrap’s teeth. “We’re gonna need these f’r th’ potion,” she explained. So off they went back to Zecora’s hut, the flytrap’s body behind them.

*****

Zecora’s hut. Mid-afternoon. All was quiet. At this point, Applejack had begun to equate silence with danger. She didn’t want to break off from her family and allies (especially not after what nearly happened to Apple Bloom) but she began to walk faster, closing the distance between herself and the hut.

As she reached the door, a sick chill raked her back. It was like having all your color drained out of you—only Applejack could feel it. She barged through the door, and gasped as she saw him for the first time.

His back was turned, but she could tell it was a pony. He was wearing a dark blue jacket (Not a fancy one, like the burgundy ones the twins were wearing) with its collar turned up, with a black undershirt that covered his upper half down to his front hooves. From the brush being moved around in front of him, painting words on a wall, Applejack could tell he was a unicorn. His fur was a whispy pale blue, with his dark purple hair (topped with a small black top hat with a yellow flower stuck to it) flowing over one side of his head.

Before Applejack could say anything, he turned as if to look at her, then—poof! As if he were never there, and just a figment of Applejack’s imagination.

The other came in through the door, Apple Bloom demanding to know what was wrong. Then they all saw it: written on the wall, a message left behind from Zecora’s kidnapper, painted in black oils:

Ready or Not, Here I Come
Isn’t this fun? :)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: OK, I'll be honest with you guys, this chapter was way too long. The beginning of this chapter was really meant to be the ending to the first Applejack chapter, but I felt having the downer ending helped make the situation seem really hopeless at the time. Putting it here was probably the better idea, but I'll understand if you disagree.
By the way, every line I wrote of Pa Apple's dialogue, I imagined my grandfather's voice. So if you cried during this scene, chances are good I was, too. ^_^

Intermission 3: Monster in the Mirror

INTERMISSION 3—Monster in the Mirror

The Judge’s mansion wasn’t like anything Spike had ever seen. He was still as amazed now, after a month in servitude to His Honor, at the talent and resources that had gone into its construction.

First off, it was built at the bottom of the ocean (Itself an amazing feat), and was parts Western, Eastern, and even some architectural styles Spike couldn’t place. Soldiers decorated in black armor similar to the Judge’s were on guard in every hall, with two by every door. Their presence, along with the architecture, made Spike think he was inside a castle or a fortress instead of a mansion.

Despite being underwater, there were still windows, fashioned in a way that seemed both gothic and futuristic at the same time. The glass was several inches thick (As was necessary to survive water pressure), and when Spike gazed outside, the ocean seemed both beautiful and terrifying—the water was dark, and he could occasionally see fish swimming by, along with ponies wearing diving suits that worked on the mansion’s exterior in order to prevent leaks.

The halls were twisted and bizarre, almost like walking a mile along nothing but a concept, or somepony’s imagination. Spike often got lost, and eventually would only venture forth in the mansion with one of the other servants who at least had a better sense of direction. That pony today was Sunset.

“I can’t believe you’re still unable to find your way around,” Sunset groaned. This was probably the tenth time he’d had to lead Spike like a lost puppy. They walked by a statue display of satyrs playing their instruments while two centaurs, a male and female, danced to an unheard rhythm. The way they were detailed led Spike to believe they might be real. He eyed them suspiciously as he walked by.

“Those aren’t real,” Sunset muttered, seemingly more to himself than to Spike. “Keep close to me, or I’ll leave you behind.”

“What’s the point of having a maze for a mansion?”

“In case anypony gets the idea to break in.”

“How?! We’re on the ocean floor!”

“I don’t know! Why don’t you ask your shiny little diamond?!”

“Why are you always so hostile?”

Sunset stopped and turned, looking Spike straight in the eye. Spike knew him well enough now that Sunset only did this when he was truly angry. “Why shouldn’t I be?! You’ve worked with us for almost a month, been nothing but a pain in the plot, and you’re STILL getting lost! You’re a DRAGON for Pete’s sake; use your sense of SMELL to find your way around!” He turned and began to lead again. “The REST of us have to use our memory.”

Spike grunted. Not about to be left behind in the company of these frighteningly realistic satyrs, Spike followed Sunset further down the hall. If Spike had paid closer attention to them, he would have noticed their eyes following him as he walked by.

They walked side by side for a while. Spike decided to break the silence. “Hey, look, I’m sorry for—”

“Sorry nothing. You have abilities you should be using when you need them, but you’re not.” Sunset didn’t bother looking at Spike. “Instead, you want me to hold you by the hoof—”

“I don’t have hooves.”

“Whatever.” Sunset stopped. Spike stopped too, after taking a few steps more than his guide. The dragon turned to face the orange Pegasus. Sunset wore an expression of docile resignation, topped with consternation. “What?”

Sunset looked at Spike thoughtfully for a second or two. Then he shook his head and said flatly, “I’m not leading you. If you want to find your own way around, you need to use your own senses.” Spike’s face matched Sunset’s in grumpiness. They glared each other down for a few seconds before Spike snorted, “Fine. Just be like that.”

Spike took a deep breath, taking in the smells of this underwater fortress. The smell of cleaning fluids wafted into his nostrils, followed by smells of plants from the garden nearby. He walked around absently, trying to get every smell he could in order to form a map in his mind: he could just make out the kitchen, the ball room, the art museum, the barracks, the armory, and he could smell some of the servants (and from some of the additional smells, Spike concluded that two ponies were up to something in the broom closet they shouldn’t be doing while on the job).

He caught onto one particular smell—Shine Brightest. He could always tell it was her since her scent reminded him of lavender. Spike followed the scent trail until he began to hear singing.

Shine Brightest loved spending her off-time in the mansion’s garden (which was inside a dome; the artificial environment designed to house thriving plant life). Spike knew almost everyone had what he once heard was called a “Laughing Place”, where they could go and think things over, humor themselves, and relax. Twilight had her study, Applejack had her orchard, Rarity had the spa, Pinkie Pie had… everywhere, and Shine Brightest had her master’s garden.

As he entered the garden (His first time there, as a matter of fact), he was surprised by how lush and dense the plants were: it was almost like the Judge had transported half of Everfree forest into his mansion (and was smart enough to leave out the wildlife). Plants that were various healthy shades of green, blue, and yellow topped with blossoming flowers pink, white, red, and yellow. Trees of all kinds reached toward the glass ceiling, gazing up at the ocean above them. From the ceiling hung even more plants and vines. The whole place was an exotic wonderland of a garden.

From inside, Spike began to make out lyrics.

Take a melody, simple as can be
Give it some words and
Sweet Harmony
Raise your voices
Come on now, let us all join in the
Simple melody of love (ah, Love!)

Her voice reminded Spike of Fluttershy’s wonderful singing, although hers possessed the kind of regal ambience of an opera singer. (Now that he thought about it, Spike would have to introduce the two if he could. He imagined they’d become fast friends.) He made his way into the conservatory, where he saw Shine Brightest singing to her flowers as she watered them.

Suddenly, another voice joined in with her song, this one deep and powerful (but also quite young-sounding) in contrast to Brightest’s feminine lilt. Spike looked about, and spotted Sunset descending from over him. Sunset and Shine Brightest shared glances that spoke more than their mouths could: Shine Brightest was surprised, Sunset’s said don’t be afraid, I’m here. They joined together in song, brother and sister, and the garden seemed to come alive, an audience of flowers taking in their song.

Spike began to applaud as they finished. Sunset looked at Spike—and just like that, his warm smile shifted to the default grumpiness Spike was used to. “You guys were awesome! Where’d you learn to harmonize like that?”

Shine Brightest sat on a bench. “We… share what Sunset likes to call a ‘psychic link’,” she said. “Whatever I think of—”

“I think of too,” finished Sunset.

“So, twins?” asked Spike.

Shine giggled. “No, but the way we act, we might as well be.” Sunset’s usual frown intensified the more Spike looked at it. Was this guy EVER happy? “So if that’s true, do you always feel as cranky as your brother?” Spike asked.

Sunset’s frown had grown to the point where it felt like just looking at it was robbing Spike of fun. Shine Brightest had thrown her head back and laughed. “He’s only as negative as he is because he’s so impatient.” Sunset looked sideways at his sister. “It’s a side-effect to being intelligent,” he argued.

Spike felt like arguing, since Twilight Sparkle, also intelligent, was never as “impatient” as Sunset was (even though she was occasionally thoughtless). “Is being constantly agitated a side-effect of being intelligent, too?”

“No, it’s a side-effect to being in the presence of imbeciles,” Sunset retorted.

“Nah, you just need a marefriend.”

“What makes you think I don’t already have one?”

“The fact that you’re a total wound-up sourpuss is a real clue!”

Shine Brightest giggled. “Stop it, you two,” she said.

For a while, they sat in the garden, talking. The topic wasn’t important, and they’d bounce around from subject to subject, just shooting the breeze. Suddenly, Shine Brightest gasped and pointed to the ceiling. Both Sunset and Spike followed her gaze.

Above, just outside the ceiling, a flock of jellyfish were swimming by. It reminded Spike of clouds, clusters of clouds that breathed and bobbed along. They moved silently through the water, like ghosts, their forms all pulsating and pushing their way forward. The spectacle put its onlookers into a silent trance, captured by its mystery and dangerous beauty.

The jellyfish parade was beautiful and the siblings were enjoyable company, but a nagging void still thrived in Spike’s heart. It seemed Shine Brightest could feel it too. She looked at Spike, suddenly breaking the awed silence. “You miss her a lot, don’t you?”

They already knew his relation to Twilight—and he already knew about how the Judge felt about her. After some heavy silence, Spike asked, “… Why does he hate her so much?” He looked into Shine Brightest’s eyes. “The Judge doesn’t…” His eyes started to fill with tears, much to his surprise. “He’s not a bad pony. And neither is Twilight.” His throat contracted as the tears began to flow, almost angrily, down his cheeks. “Why is he doing this to her? I-I don’t understand…”

Shine Brightest looked to her brother. Again, their facial expressions spoke silently: do you want to tell him, or do you want ME to tell him? Sunset let out a heavy sigh, and from Spike didn’t see where, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away Spike’s tears. (Sunset was a jerk, certainly, but he too realized Spike was still a baby.)

As he dried Spike’s tears, Sunset said simply, “There are some things in life that just fall on our backs with no real explanation, good or bad.” He breathed a sigh from his nose. “What happened to the Judge… wasn’t his fault, and he did nothing to deserve it.”

“But what does Twilight have to do with it?”

At this, the siblings fell silent again. They loved their Judge, and they felt bad about this whole situation. Spike was a baby without his mother. They both knew what it was like to be removed from their mother’s side, to be thrust into a scary new life—and what it was like to fall in love with their captor.

Spike looked closer into Sunset’s eyes. Sunset looked away, his bottom lip quivering. “I’m sorry,” he choked, his voice an uncharacteristic quiver. “I’m sorry you had to get mixed up in all this. I’m sorry Miss Sparkle had to get mixed up in all this.” Spike’s eyes widened. “What’s,” Sunset gulped, then tried again, “What’s going on here is bigger than you, or her, or the Judge.”

“What?” Spike asked. “What is it?”

Sunset looked him in the eye—the thing he only did when he was truly angry. But when Spike looked back into those eyes, he saw a different emotion: fear. “I can’t say! I can only ask you to not ask us this question. We’re not allowed to answer that!”

And Sunset bowed his head, and shivered, and wept. Shine Brightest got off the park bench and held her brother, tears rolling down her face. Before Spike could say anything, Shine Brightest drew him into the hug and kissed his cheek, telling him that it’ll all make sense one day, that it wasn’t fair, the world just wasn’t fair.

Across the garden, there was a tall, white unicorn with abnormal eyes and teeth, his fearsome black armor absent. He heard their conversation, and felt their pain. He walked away, his head lowered. He knew this path was not a righteous one, but the Judge was too far in this, and had hurt too many ponies, to back out now.

He’s not a bad pony. Spike’s kind words rang in his ears, but words was all they were. How he wished he could agree! But all of the sins he had committed to this point would all say otherwise. Murderer. Kidnapper. Stealer of souls. The Judge closed his eyes and sighed.

As he left his garden and slowly walked down his hall, unaided by any of his servants, he raised his head. He was the villain. This was his role. He could not refuse it. He could not change it. He could not escape it, no matter how hard he tried—no matter how nice he was to his subjects, no matter how much he loved anypony else.

There was no way he could save himself. Not anymore.

*****

In the Master’s Chamber, the Judge walked up the large few steps to the Black Mirror. On the other side of this mirror was a world the Judge saw every night, in every dream. And in every dream, it was the same thing: torment. Every morning, he would wake up in a cold sweat—to see the scars on his body that weren’t there when he went to sleep fade away with the dream.

In front of this mirror, stood the Judge. This mirror must have been a good twenty-to-twenty-five feet high, round, outlined in darkly colored porcelain beautifully chiseled. On either side were lighted torches—and as the Judge spoke his Master’s name, the normal fires suddenly burned black, casting a ghostly green shadow across the room. The world on the other side of the mirror ceased its infernal noise, and the Judge’s Master appeared.

The Judge bowed, until the Master called for him to rise.

You have called me. For what purpose is this audience summoned?

The Judge fought the urge to cower. His Master’s voice was more like the howling of wind—piercing and hollow, removed of anything that could be deemed good.

“My Master, I fear there is corruption within my ranks. The plan is beginning to unravel.”

His Master’s mouth took an unpleasant sneer. He glared at the Judge.

Is there any reason for this to be news? You know what you must do. Find he who has betrayed you. Kill him.

“My Master, I do not think you fully understand. My closest disciples are beginning to drift away from your teachings.”

My teachings? You mean your teachings. You taught them to be weak, like you. Had you followed my will, and to the letter, you would not be in this situation.

The Judge lowered his head at these words. The thing his Master never seemed to understand was love. He gave up on arguing with him decades ago. But what else could he do? His powers were given to him by his Master—and what the Master gave, the Master could easily take away, along with everything else.

“But I have followed your will thus far, my Master.”

Then tell me why is it my project is so endangered by your ineptitude, that you must speak with me about it? You have failed me in this respect.

“I have my friend Captain Keelhaul on a mission for the One Light, as you asked, my Master. And Speeding Bullet has put tremendous effort into transferring magic into machinery, also as per your request. They are as faithful to your vision as I am.”

Are they truly? You put so much trust in a seafaring thief and one who is no longer flesh and blood. It is this faith that shall destroy the whole plan.

The Judge could feel his anger rising, but tried to control it. He was very protective on behalf of the few friendships he managed to form, despite his unpleasant place in the world. He would not snap at his Master. He could not. After taking some deep breaths, he regained his strength and continued.

“With all due respect, my Master, they were as nothing without me as I was without you when you found me half-dead. They would not betray me; it is Happiness I fear who has.”

At this, the Master stroked his beard. Happiness became a disciple at his Master’s insistence, and the news that one of his own suggestions backfired was… unusual for him.

Please elaborate.

“He has disappeared, and has not reported back for several weeks. Before he did, he was assigned to show one of our benefactors a set example of our ‘enchanted arms’ technology that Speeding Bullet successfully created. He failed to do this, causing unnecessary friction with our benefactor.”

The Master thought this over.

This is disconcerting news. Happiness has enough darkness in his heart to rival yours. Darkness is a volatile substance that only the strong can control.

The Judge had heard all this before—back when he had accepted the Dark Powers as his own. “My Master, what should we do?”

Seek him and kill him. He is unpredictable and cannot be trusted.

“But Master, you’re the one who suggested I make him one of my disciples. Now you are suggesting I kill him?”

At this, the Master leaned down and glared at him. The Judge—no, it was Star Fall this time. He could feel the pulse of the Dark Powers devouring him from the inside out. The kind of pain he felt is something that I cannot describe, for if there were any words to describe it, they are apart of a forgotten language.

Do not question my authority! You have no right! You have failed me in not planning ahead and keeping happiness within your reach! You keep your useless faith in friends who will one day leave you—just as she did! She who had left you half-dead, naked of value, and hopelessly alone! And it was I who found you! I, who raised you back from the void! Shall I send your useless flesh back to her, she who had thrown away your love for her?!

Star Fall had been brought to his knees, his body convulsing helplessly. The purple aura around him was a bad sign—the Dark Powers within him were bubbling, almost ready to burst. He tried to breathe, but the air seemed to avoid him completely. He was in a vacuum, helpless in his Master’s grasp.

Perhaps I should have left you to die in that forest! Perhaps I should have passed you by, in search of a better receiver of my gift! Like that Twilight Sparkle! She seems a fast learner!

Tears began to form in Star Fall’s eyes, but as they left they burned up. He tried to gasp, to beg his Master to please stop, STOP! you’re hurting me! YOU’RE HURTING ME!!!

Anyone but you! You were worthless then! I tried my damndest to make you harder, better, faster—stronger! It seems I have failed! You were worthless then, and you are worthless now.

He felt a powerful surge from the Dark Power within him, shaking him, his black teeth almost being shook right out of his skull. Star Fall was cast to the ground with a loud thump, and all at once, sweet air found its way back into his lungs. He waited until he had his fill of breathing, then crawled back up to his hooves.

What am I?

The Judge knew this question, and knew the answer. He bowed his head, fighting back tears of humiliation. He spoke his next words through a heaving breath.

“You… are the… Scourge… of God.”

Exactly! I am the Scourge of God, appointed to chastise you! For no one knows your inequity but me! You are wicked, but I am more wicked than you—So be silent.

The Judge lay there before the Black Mirror, before his Master, defeated. He lowered his head, this time, resting it on the ground.

And what are you?

Not this. Not this again…

“I am the tool: your sword, your hammer, your lance. I am He Who is Destined to Bring Destruction to the World. I…” Tears formed in his eyes as he spoke. “I am the ‘Witch-Baby’, the Poisonous Child of Spider-Borne.” He still remembered growing up. He still remembered how everypony else jeered at him, feared him for his strange appearance and stranger powers. Witch-Baby! they would cry.

Witch-Baby.

That’s what he was. Witch-Baby. The villain. This was his role. He could not refuse it. He could not change it. He could only accept what he was, and what his great role is in the grand scheme of things.

“I…” he finished. “… I am also yours. To you, my Master, I pledge my body and soul, for you and only you to do with as you see fit.” He looked down at the floor and noticed it was wet and black with his tears.

Arise. Arise and face me.

The Judge did as he was told.

You, tainted equine, O poisonous child of spider-born, are the Judge of all flesh and blood, as I am the Judge of you. You are punisher, tyrant, tormentor—and it is you who shall bring to me the world and all that dwells within.

Now go.

And with that, his Master turned away from the Black Mirror, and into the shadowy dream world. The black fire went out as if a wind had hushed it. The Judge was standing there, in the dark—facing a Mirror that held both his worst nightmares and his own punisher, tyrant, and tormentor.

And these days, he couldn’t draw a distinction between the two!

*****

Judge Star Fall exited the Master Chamber, out into his own bedroom (of which it was hidden behind). He took a moment to dry his tears and then walked out into the hallway, and from there into the Grand Hall, where he was greeted by his attendants Sunset, Shine Brightest, and Spike. They were flanked by some of the Judge’s best soldiers, led by their Captain, Willy Pete.

The Captain was a pony the Judge personally admired. He had offered to make him a Disciple, only for Willy Pete to decline in order to retain his position as Captain of the troops. He never slouched or stuttered in his speech; his eyes were a steely kind of red, his mane a tough crew-cut of even-darker red. His coat was white (Though not as white as Star Fall’s, it was more like “toasted marshmallow”), and on his flanks was a cutie mark of three fireballs forming a circle. As a unicorn, his horn was sharp and his mind sharper.

“Sir!” Shouted the Captain, and he and his troops saluted and stood at attention. His personal attendants and other servants bowed, while all present Disciples stood up straight in his presence.

The Judge looked into this crowd. Ponies from all walks of life. Plucked from their normal routines. Conditioned to accept horror as a way of life. Ready to put down their lives for their Judge. He gazed upon all his power, upon all his Master had given him—ponies who actually cherished him, and each other.

He was the villain. He could not change it. He could not refuse it.

And he wouldn’t. Not for the world.

“At ease,” he said. The troops and disciples relaxed but remained at attention. The servants stayed bowed but looked up at the Judge. Star Fall walked down the steps, regal as a king, as he made his announcement. “I bring you grave news. It seems one of my Disciples, Happiness, has both abandoned and betrayed us.

“He is unpredictable, and what he does next will likely be detrimental to the Master’s Plan. Happiness is now an enemy. Captain, if at any time you or your troops chance across him, it is your duty to see him destroyed.”

“Sir, Understood, Sir!”

“We must try to get the rest of the plan back on track. We will have the One Light in our possession in due time. And Speeding Bullet has successfully created the enchanted arms technology. Our benefactors have given us generous advances—all but one.”

He turned to one pony servant, who was about to cheer. “I’m sorry, but this does not guarantee a company party.” He turned to another who raised his hoof. “Or raises. My apologies.” Some of the ponies’ faces fell.

He retained his previous posture and continued to walk down the rug. “That money is being put more into our research of the mind control spell necessary for the second-largest step in the Master’s Plan.” The Judge had crossed the Grand Hall by now and sat on his throne—a plush chair of red pillows with golden lace, the wall behind it lined in red curtains. Shine Brightest and Sunset draped a black cape across the Judge’s bare back, the fearsome image of the torn white Pegasus glistening in the light. “Are there any questions?”

Willy Pete raised one. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?”

“As always.” The Judge was constantly entertained by Willy Pete’s insistence on behaving strictly at all times, but he could see why: he was a leader, and wanted to set a good example for the other troops.

“Have there been any changes in the Twilight Sparkle situation that we should know about, Sir?”

The Judge noticed Spike to his left, and watched his facial expression carefully. Spike was putting on a brave face, but he could tell the little guy was worried. The Judge straightened his posture and looked into Willy’s eyes.

“I have made a promise to one of you, and I won’t say who, that Twilight Sparkle, while an enemy, is not a target—that is, so long as she manages to stay out of our way. Unless she herself decides to cross horns with us, she is not to be touched, under penalty of death.”

“Sir, Understood, Sir!”

He hated having to issue out such a strict order. But he wanted to make absolutely sure his promises could be kept. His troops seemed to be fine with the guidelines set before them. “Are there any other questions?”

After a few seconds of silence, the Judge nodded. “All right, then. If there are no further questions, I declare this ‘company gathering’ over.”

For the rest of the day, he’d have to speak to his other disciples and discuss further planning. Work, work, work. As he viewed his disciples coming in as his servants and troops all left (except for the Captain and his main guard), he noticed one of his disciples was missing. Well, besides Happiness.

“Has anypony heard from Witching Hour? He’s heading the mind control spell research now, isn’t he?”

Another unicorn, a svelte black female, answered. “He has not contacted you, my Judge?”

“I sent him a letter asking him to attend today’s meeting, and he has not arrived. I have not heard from him for four days.” The Judge suddenly appeared frustrated. His disciples, having known him for long, merely dared not make eye contact with him.

He grunted. “I suppose I should just give him a surprise visit tomorrow.” He turned to Spike. “Spike, please put this down on the calendar.”

Spike, as he usually did, pulled out his quill and stationery—this one a list of things to do the next day. He looked it over. “Tomorrow seems pretty busy. I can probably squeeze in your meeting with him if—”

“Actually, cancel everything else. I’m going to meet him first thing in the morning.”

Spike eyed the Judge curiously. He wanted to ask a question, but at this point he understood when it was best to just not say anything. He shrugged and merely crumpled up the schedule and took out another page of stationery. On it, he wrote:

7:00 AM—Meet with Witching Hour at Everfree Forest Base.

Chapter 8: Darkest Twilight

CHAPTER 8—Darkest Twilight

It was a second that felt more like an eternity, as most tragedies are.

Within that second, Twilight felt so many emotions, all of them negative. She had so many thoughts, all of them conused and angry. Her stomach attempted to jump to her throat, only to get stuck between her heart and lungs. She backed away from Bang-Twerp’s body, the spark of life in his eyes gone.

She came out of her shock, shaking Bang-Twerp, slapping his face with a clang. “Bang! Bang-Twerp, you wake up!” she cried. “Th-This isn’t funny!” But the robot would not wake; he could not.

His body slumped in his chair, where she’d found him this morning. She couldn’t tell how long ago he’d died, perhaps a few hours at most. She was only out for her walk, and came back, and…

… and here he was. She was only out for two hours. She could have been here. She should have been here!

Twilight’s horn shimmered, purple light fixating over Bang’s body, bathing it. She remembered reading a book on Machina anatomy: they all had a Master Spark, a piece that controlled the rest. If she could locate his, she could force it to move again, bringing him back.

She can do this. She can save him.

As she scanned his body, her emotions began to flood her mind, breaking her concentration. Twilight attempted to stifle them, only to fail. She would fluctuate in and out of her focus, fighting tears one second and then jumping back to the task at hoof.

After a half-hour of trying and failing, Twilight began to scream, at a loss for anything else she could do. No matter how hard she tried to find his Master Spark, she could not find it, unable to get a grip on herself.

And how could she? Bang-Twerp, the only decent Machina in the entirety of Gearlotte, was found this morning slumped in his favorite chair, dead. Causes unknown. She scanned his body again, trying to find that damned Master Spark.

She cleared her mind of her emotions, trying to focus—focus—FOCUS on the Master Spark. Searching every part of Bang-Twerp’s body (Their Master Sparks were usually in the head or the torso), yielded nothing. She couldn’t find his Master Spark, because Bang-Twerp did not have one.

This was wrong. All wrong. There was no way this could be a natural death. Someone must be responsible! Someone must have stolen Bang-Twerp’s Master Spark. There was no way a Machina could survive without one.

In the end, powerless to stop Bang-Twerp’s terrible future, she collapsed in his lap and sobbed.

*****

The day of the funeral wasn’t like how it was in movies. In the movies, the funeral usually came with a side-order of rain, but Gearlotte had special mechanisms that prevented rain from falling on the buildings and rusting their non-tin metals. (It didn’t totally prevent the rusting, but hey, they get an A for effort.)

Twilight entered the funeral parlor. Inside were a few Machina (all Steamers of various designs), evidently the ones working here. It was a rather tight room, not exactly the kind of place you would expect a gathering of mourners. There were no decorations or flowers, as besides the coffin on the dais, there were merely bare walls and a naked floor—all metal. Twilight looked around, half-expecting someone else to be there by now, but it seemed she was the only mourner present, the workers all detached from this grim picture.

One of the Steamers spoke up, his voice deep and dumb. “You attending the passing of…” He looked down at his schedule. “…Bang-Twerp?” Twilight looked up and nodded, sadly. She slowly, reluctantly walked toward the coffin—which was more of a metal box with a glass cover—and looked in, still in complete disbelief.

It had been a few days since Bang-Twerp’s sudden passing, but Twilight was not so sure that she could recover. It felt as though when Bang-Twerp died, he took a large piece of her with him.

The authorities all said that the evidence suggested he had been without a Master Spark for a while now, which explained why she could not find one. Twilight did not understand how that was possible, until she was told that most Machina are able to function up to almost a year without a Master Spark, living off their “basic reserves”.

Almost a year. Bang-Twerp had gone for almost a whole year without the most important part of a Machina’s anatomy, and he never told her. Why? They were scrounging up money left and right. Was he saving up for a new one? (She imagined they must have been quite expensive.)

Why didn’t he tell her? She would have gladly forsaken the flowers he gave her to eat for weeks if it meant he could afford a new Master Spark. He told her (more like implied) that he would have a terrible future, and that she would too.

Her mind began to leave this place, this cramped funeral parlor, and go back…

*****

There they were, Twilight Sparkle and Bang-Twerp, again on the catwalk balcony connected to his apartment. She in the washtub bed, he leaning over the guardrail. The sun was down now, the sky hazy and dark. She could even remember the smell of burning oil in the air.

I saw my future, and yours too, he had said.

What? she asked, now alert. What’s wrong, Bang? Does something happen?

Bang-Twerp smiled at her reassuringly. Although his face was hard to read because of the mismatching parts, she could tell there was something he was hiding, something heavy. He apparently thought he had already said too much. Instead, he decided to change the subject.

My m-mother, you kn—y’know how sh-she could see the f—the fu—the future?

Twilight looked deeper into Bang-Twerp’s eyes—more specifically, his “future eye”. She said nothing, allowing Bang-Twerp to continue his story.

Her eye is sp-special. It can, uh, it can d-do magic.

Twilight Sparkle leaned into her forehoof, her face made into a curious expression. A machine that can do magic? she asked. Really?

Yeah, he confirmed. She b-became a te-test s-subject for some, uh, big… science… group… people… He motioned his arms as he said this. The awkwardness of his choice in words was adorable, causing Twilight to smile warmly.

An-Anyway, so she became a t-test subject in order to g-get more money. So sh-she could help me, uh… so she could pr-pr’vide… f-for me. Even though his eyes were more like immovable dots on his face, at the time, Twilight Sparkle thought he was thinking over his next words carefully.

When Twilight thought about it now, she realized he really meant to say, “So she could help me afford a Master Spark.” What was keeping him from telling her about his condition? Did he just not want her to worry? He already caused her worry with his cryptic implication of a bad future. Was he trying to spare her from the grim reality of his impending doom?

Again, Bang-Twerp changed the subject.

Is it true? What th-they say ab-about unicorn horns? he asked. Twilight looked at him curiously.

I dunno, she said playfully, what DO they say about unicorn horns?

Bang-Twerp began to fidget and behave sheepishly, as though expecting her answer to be something akin to “Ah, that’s just superstition.” I’ve, uh… I’ve always heard that unicorn h-horns gr-grant people g-good luck if you t-touch them.

At this, Twilight smiled. Of course! she humored him, The reason why it’s rare to touch a unicorn’s horn is that we’re just too fast for them! Only a few have ever managed to catch a unicorn off-guard.

Th-Then, you, um…

I don’t mind. Twilight, although tired, was delighted that there were some superstitions regarding unicorns that were more cute than insulting. She leaned down her head, offering her horn.

Slowly, Bang-Twerp reached out his hand. The slim fingers of his right hand touched Twilight’s horn, and quietly, they wrapped around it. Twilight closed her eyes and caused her horn to glow a bright purple.

Bang-Twerp gasped, wondering if he should let go of her horn, this warm and radiant spike. After a second or so of his initial surprise, Bang-Twerp slowly removed his hand. The fingers were beginning to glow purple as he took it away.

So what did you wish for? Twilight asked him, settling back into the wash tub. (Even casting a glow effect reminded her how tired she was that day.)

Bang-Twerp looked at his hand until the glow went away. His eyes turned to Twilight as she lay in the wash tub, quietly. With that same hand, he reached down and stroked Twilight’s head. She had fallen asleep before he had given her his answer.

*****

Her eyes watered, and her nose began to run. “Here come the waterworks,” whispered one Steamer to the one next to him. The other Steamer chuckled. A few of them were playing a game of cards to pass the time until they had to take the body.

“So, what ya know about that corpse?” one of the card players asked Twilight Sparkle.

“That he was my best friend,” she whispered, her voice monotone and broken. She rested her front hooves on the casket and placed her forehead on them, her face stained with tears.

“Everybody’s best friends with corpses,” sneered the Steamer. “What I mean is, what, was he rich?”

Twilight Sparkle snapped up suddenly. She turned to the Steamer, her anger bubbling. “Don’t you care?! My friend just died! How can you be so insensitive?!”

The Steamer nonchalantly drew another card from the deck. “Lady—unicorn—whatever the heck you are, ya gotta understand. We been in this business for a long time. We see corpses every day. They come and go. Hate to break it to ya, but those corpses only meant somethin’ when they was still breathin’.”

Twilight’s jaw nearly hit the floor at the Steamer’s disturbing lack of empathy. The Steamer continued.

“When a Machina dies, their body just gets melted down to get made into something else. See those buildings out there?” He pointed outside the parlor. “They were built from materials made from melted-down parts. Those parts had to come from someplace.”

His card playing buddy folded his hand. “Or someone,” he added.

This horrible revelation hit Twilight Sparkle hard enough to leave an emotional bruise. It felt like reality had just turned her around specifically to punch her in the face. “What…” she began to sob. This world… it was more horrible than she realized. A whole group of people being “outmoded” and rushed to their extinction? Only for their bodies to be taken apart and melted into building materials?

“What the hell kind of civilization IS this?”

The card player looked to her again, his three eyes expressing pity this time. He waited a few seconds, then turned back to the card game before quietly delivering an answer. “…The only kind we got.”

She turned back to Bang-Twerp’s coffin and draped herself over it, her hot tears streaking along her face. She buried her head in the glass, looking into the face of her now-dead best friend. She closed her eyes, and thought about the good times he and she had shared.

But Bang-Twerp was with the Great Inventor now. He was in the arms of the man who, in his last act in life, built Machina like Bang-Twerp; and he was getting his parts fixed, traded out. Bang-Twerp was being made just as beautiful on the outside as he was on the inside. He’d lose his stutter, and stop wobbling off-balance when he walked. He was where his mother—she was a great lady—was now, and they were able to see each other again after so long.

Twilight Sparkle, in her despair, for a moment, wished she could go with him, away from a world this insane, to someplace far better. Her moans reverberated off the walls of the parlor, her mourning wails causing the place to feel haunted.

*****

Evidently, the Steamers weren’t very careful workers. Everywhere they carried the coffin, they’d fumble it somehow, jostling the corpse inside. More than once, Twilight had to grab the coffin to prevent it from crashing to the ground, and carried it with them—something she shouldn’t have had to do.

Something she hated having to do.

It was the third or fourth time they dropped it when Twilight Sparkle finally snapped at them. “For crying out loud! You guys work at a funeral parlor! Don’t you know how to handle a corpse?! Where’s the dignity and respect?!”

Her outburst caused the Steamers to roll their eyes. One muttered, “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

As Twilight demanded to know where they learned to carry a coffin, they went to a nearby bar, telling her if she’s SO concerned about her friend’s body, she can carry it to the cemetery herself. Twilight raged.

“WHAT KIND OF…” she sputtered, not quite able to find her words. “… WHAT KIND OF HEARTLESS CREATURES ARE YOU?! Leaving a corpse in the street?! A coffin, wha—why—why would you—and—” She let out a frustrated scream as the last Steamer disappeared inside the bar’s dark interior.

Reluctantly, Twilight Sparkle looked at the coffin. Machina were walking by them on the street, not caring about a small purple unicorn (only virgins could see her!) and a corpse (only decent people could see him!). Using her telekinesis, Twilight delicately picked up the coffin, the oblong box floating into the air surrounded by her purple glow.

The cemetery was only across the road. Just a few steps to bring Bang-Twerp’s body to its final destination. Where he would be melted down. And as a cruel last joke, they’d put his melted metal body into a press and make a bucking toilet out of him. It would be SO fitting, wouldn’t it? And the world would laugh and laugh as the monsters in this town took turns shitting into it, expelling their used oil and used-up coals onto the memory of the only good man this miserable town ever bucking produced!

Suddenly, a Diesel ripped across the road, seemingly from nowhere. He looked like the kind of “skater punk” she would have seen in Equestria. His long arm hit the coffin, knocking it out of Twilight’s telekinetic grip and onto the road with a crash. The Diesel let loose a cruel laugh and a whoop as he sped away, grateful for the chance to cause misfortune and misery to those tragedy had left behind.

For a second, Twilight was unable to process what just happened. It seemed an eternity was passing her by, slowly, as she saw Bang-Twerp’s hand—the one that had touched her horn that night, touched it for good luck—dangling from the broken glass of the coffin’s front. The impact had not only broken the glass, but caused the already-jostled corpse to almost fall out.

It almost looked like Bang-Twerp wanted to rise from the grave. His hand, once alive, did not move. He made no effort to come back to life. To come back to Twilight, and help her to live, survive, in this cruel city.

He didn’t come back, and Twilight felt, in passing, that such an act as remaining dead was just as cruel.

*****

The cemetery really wasn’t a cemetery. Not the kind somepony gets buried in, where their family and friends can at least pay their respects and leave them flowers. (How silly, Twilight now thought; leaving flowers. Wouldn’t the flowers have meant more if they were still alive?)

This place was an intimidating metal yard protected by a chain-link fence. Large smoke-stacks stretched into the sky, like titanic devils, belching their horrid fumes into the sky, corrupting the innocent fresh air. Small industrial buildings lined some of the area, with guards (Mostly Steamers, though there were Diesels, too) keeping watch.

One such guard had stopped Twilight before she reached the main gate. He was a Diesel, shiny, brilliant in this ugly atmosphere. Still, his metal and attractive sleek shape drew nothing more from Twilight Sparkle but disgust—disgust for these creatures. Robots that merely pretended to live.

“Do you have any ID?” he asked her.

She fumbled for words. She figured the funeral workers were the only ones allowed in. But the funeral workers were no longer with her, probably already too drunk to stand by now.

“Listen,” the guard explained, “If you don’t have any ID, I can’t let you in.”

“I-I have a body.”

The guard gave her a once-over. “I see,” he purred. “I bet it has some… interesting uses.”

Twilight wanted to smack him, bend his face and break his eyes. Damn him! Coming onto her when she clearly was trying to see to it that her friend’s corpse was taken care of! But at the same time, she wondered why she even wanted to put this body into that horrible smelting house—why?

So he could be melted down and made into something useless?

She glared at the guard, changing her mind. Saying nothing, she took the coffin with her, and walked down the road, to no place in particular. Just away. Behind her, she heard the guard chuckle, and felt his robot eyes lustfully watching her hips, her hindquarters, clearly enjoying the view.

With a mere thought, she was able to make him scream. It was only for a second, and out of sheer surprise. Hearing him bump into things, calling for his friends, shouting, why can’t I see?! Where did my eyes go?! as she kept on walking, coolly.

And his eyes would still be in his head—and they’d be just as useless as his brain.

She shook her head. No. She was better than these cretins, and better than this town. Her violent fantasy disappearing, she once again felt that guard’s eyes grabbing at her bottom, hungry for but a taste, as she walked away, her dead friend in tow.

Damn him.

*****

He looked so peaceful now. His casket was merely a window, more of a display case. As if to show the world that he was more of a toy—a toy to be tossed around and abused by a tyrannical toddler. Ironically, he was the town’s go-to chew toy.

Twilight Sparkle looked into the coffin, through the broken glass she didn’t bother to repair. They were alone in an alley, her and her friend. This alley… she remembered. Her voice was thoughtless and monotone.

“You remember too, don’t you?”

No response. No quirky facial expression, or thoughtful glance. He had forgotten.

“This is the alley where we met.” She pointed to the dumpster next to her. “I had been living in this dumpster for days when I met you. And you were being bullied by some thugs, and I saved you.” She looked to the body.

A mere shadow. A broken toy in a broken case. Refused by the world in both life and in death. Twilight’s hollow eyes began to water, her throat contracting, clenching as if thirsty. With a slow pound of the hoof, she broke more of that glass, knocking as much of it out as she could.

With her telekinesis, she lifted out the glass and set it aside. Twilight then crawled into the coffin, and curled around Bang-Twerp. She forced her telekinesis onto him

—she hated this—

and drew his right hand onto her horn. She forced the fingers to clench. She made her horn glow, one more time, for Bang-Twerp. For his good luck. For all the good it did him.

—she hated that she couldn’t save him—

Tears began to streak down her face in torrents. She looked into his eyes, those dead and unknowing eyes. The curiosity behind his gaze was gone now, gone forevermore. She looked at his mouth, those metal lips—and for a second, wondered how he would have tasted in life, envying the girl who had shared his first kiss. She put the thought away, embarrassed.

—she hated herself—

She closed her eyes, and let her horn stop glowing. She allowed his hand to stay wrapped around her horn. Before she knew it, she was asleep in his arms, and dreaming of being where he was now. There, she met the Great Inventor—and he was a wonderful man—and Bang-Twerp introduced her to his mother, who really was as great as he’d claimed.

And they were all…

… so… happy…

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
... Well, readers, this is it. This is Twilight's darkest hour. You think some of the other things in this story were depressing or scary? Well, we have just hit rock bottom. At least, we have for me.

When writing this story, I knew I'd have to cause conflict. To have conflict, the villain must first be given the upper hand. To resolve the conflict, the hero must be given the strength to endure.

To be given the strength to endure, they must first be taken over your knee, the author's knee, and be bent and broken.

Good God, it hurts.

Chapter 9: Fluttershy and the Captain

CHAPTER 9—Fluttershy and the Captain

Sunshine began to creep its way back into Pinkie Pie’s life. For the longest time, she was worried that she may never see her friends again (though she did her best not to show this). But here before her, sitting on the bed, dressed half in a pirate-styled dress and the other half in pearls—the Pirate Queen, the Element of Kindness.

Fluttershy.

Pinkie Pie tried to form words, but instead formed tears. Her smile still held, even as her tears flowed. She covered her mouth, struck completely speechless for the first time in a long time.

“… Not the kind of reaction I was expecting,” quipped the Captain. He gave his Queen an aside glance and noticed she was in tears, too. Fluttershy jumped off her bed and ran to her friend, embraced her, told her how much she’d missed her. They held each other for what felt like forever before they parted.

Pinkie still looked into Fluttershy’s green eyes, now shimmering with overjoyed tears. The Captain merely watched, a smile on his lips. He did the right thing. He knew it, deep in his heart. He looked upon his wife, feeling blessed by her radiant smile.

Oh, that smile.

She… never smiled for him. Never smiled at him. The more he thought about it, the more he became disturbed by this realization. His mind floated backwards, as if through a portal, into the past…

*****

It was a stormy day above ground, not that anypony here cared. The work was well under way, this menacing maze being rebuilt in some areas, repaired in others. Here, in this underground laboratory of oil and metal, this suspicious and gruesome factory, gathered many minds, many subjects, many goals.

Captain Keelhaul with his first and second mates with him, and the Judge on the far side of the room, flanked by his personal assistants as well as a few of his personal guard. It was rare for the Judge to have his guards, as he was powerful all by himself, but they were here he was later told in case his other benefactors decided to pursue some kind of mischief.

Warm smiles abounded the two stallions as they walked toward each other. It had been months since their last personal meeting. The Captain hugged the Judge, who bid him welcome.

“My Judge, how long has it been?”

“Far too long, my friend!”

But it was not an idle visit. They both were very busy stallions, and this meeting was of utmost importance. The Judge had a mission for the Captain: to find an object called the One Light.

“The One Light?” Captain Keelhaul echoed. “I’ve read of it. It’s an… object of the arcane persuasion, is it not?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” answered the Judge. As his friend explained what the One Light was exactly, the Captain’s eyes fell on one of the Judge’s personal attendants: a young pegasus mare with long pink hair, eyes as teal as the ocean waves, and a coat buttery gold. She looked back at him demurely, as if unsure whether or not to return his glance.

“… properties of which are… My Captain, does something trouble you?” the Judge asked.

The Captain snapped back to attention. His mates looked at him smirkingly. They had traced his eyesight, and were comforted to know their usually kept-to-himself, introverted Captain was still interested in mares.

Especially cute Pegasus mares. She WAS a hot number, all right. The particularly tough-looking first mate leered in her direction, only for her to shrink behind the Judge.

“No, nothing is wrong, I’m sorry,” mumbled the Captain. He cleared his throat as they all sat at a table. This planning room was bronze, lit only by a lamp overhead. The heat inside was sweltering, and for a moment, the Captain was tempted to remove his fancy coat.

And his hat.

And his other clothes.

And lay that young Pegasus mare sweetly across his—

“Paging Captain Keelhaul! Incoming message from planet Earth!” shouted the Judge, evidently frustrated with the Captain’s absence of mind. Keelhaul came back to attention. “Oh, my goodness! Please excuse my…” he searched for words, but only found that Pegasus mare. He shook his head. “… Cluelessness! My utter cluelessness!”

The Judge raised an eyebrow. “My friend, I try to be patient with you as I am with my closest subjects, but I beg you pay attention. This mission is extremely important.”

“I appreciate your understanding, my Judge. I’m just… distracted, as of recent.”

A look that was a mixture of bafflement, and frustration was chiseled into the Judge’s face. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “We are wasting time. Let us get to the meat of this discussion.” He nodded to one of his assistants—the male Pegasus with the sour face—and the servant laid a map across the planning table.

The Judge pointed to a large continent. “As you know, this is where we currently are, in Gearlotte.”

“I follow.”

He nodded at one of his other assistants—this one a red Earth pony mare, who while beautiful was not as exquisite as the Pegasus mare—hoofed her Judge a red pencil. With his telekinesis, he drew a circle around a spot on the map: a small island.

“Here,” he said, “is where my intelligence tells me the One Light is located. It has taken me and my forces nearly three decades to find this information, and we have pinpointed it location to EXACTLY…” He peered more closely at the map.

“Oh! Silly me,” he said, taking an eraser and removing the red circle. “I circled a bread crumb. It looks like you aren’t the only one distracted today!” He looked back at the Captain to once again see his attention was elsewhere.

The Captain recoiled as a red pencil bounced off his head. His concentration returned to the matter at hand. “Would! You PLEASE! Pay attention!” the Judge said. Captain Keelhaul’s mates glared at the Judge. Keelhaul put his forelegs in front of them, easing them.

“Yes, my Judge,” he seemed to agree, “the One Light is a powerful arcane magick, hidden away in…” he looked at the map. “… a bread crumb?” He raised an eyebrow.

The Judge redrew the circle, this time over a tiny island. “It is located here: on Tomorrow Isle, amidst the frigid lands of the Imps.”

“Aye,” groaned the Captain. “Imps.”

The Judge looked into his friend’s eyes. “Only you can venture safely into this area, my Captain. The Imps have no quarrel with you.”

The Captain breathed heavily, breaking eye contact with the Judge. The Judge’s face fell. “What—did—you—do?” he asked in a voice that boiled with tranquil frustration.

Keelhaul merely fidgeted and looked away. His first mate threw in an opinion. “If I ‘ad an innerjection, yer ‘onner, th’ Cap’n wouldn’t talk ‘bout it. It was a dark day, it was.” The second mate—a younger Earth pony who only had one leg left—nodded. “Gotta admit though, it WAS pre’y funny when th’ li’l dev’l danced abou' with a doubloon between his—”

“IN ANY CASE,” interrupted the Captain, “they have revoked my protection status. If I were to sail their waters now, my ship the Sleipnir would be rendered aflame.”

The Judge seemed to think this over. “Even so, nopony I know knows their way around Imp country as well as you do! If I were to hire anypony else willing enough, I’d be hoofing this job—which is VERY IMPORTANT, mind you—to nothing less than an amateur! I don’t know anypony else fit for this job. Will no amount of money be enough to convince you?”

The Captain set his forehoof on the Judge’s shoulder. “For you, my Judge, I would do my best to throw this island AT the Imps for free should you ask. This trip would not just endanger myself, but my crewmates as well.”

The Judge sighed. He reclined, looking down at his map. “This was a dangerous mission. I… cannot force you, my friend, to do this.”

The Captain still had his hoof on the Judge’s shoulder. He tried to look into the Judge’s eyes. “I understand why this One Light is important to your Master, my Judge. And I never abandon a friend when he is need of my services.” The first and second mate raised eyebrows at this statement. The sour-faced Pegasus stallion smirked, while the Earth pony mare elbowed him with a glare in her eye.

The Captain grinned brightly. “That’s why I am going to do this mission.”

The Judge looked back up into his old friend’s eyes. “You are?” he asked.

“Of course! But under one condition.”

The Judge smiled, overjoyed. His black teeth were always terrifying to the Captain’s crew, but the Captain himself (actually knowing the Judge’s condition) always found it a… unique sight to behold. “Name it! Whatever it is you want, it is yours!”

The Captain looked behind the Judge, where the yellow pegasus mare was still hiding. The Judge’s eyes followed. He took on a face of surprise. The surprise slipped into a smirk, an aside glance of the eyes to the Captain. The Judge looked to Fluttershy, a soft smile on his lips.

“I see. You desire… this little flower?”

The Judge moved out of the way. Fluttershy, still huddled in an adorable pile of anxiety, shyly looked up at the Captain. The silence between them was worth a thousand words—all of them hilarious. The Judge turned to the sour-faced pegasus. “Doctor, can I have a diagnosis?”

“I’d say he’s lovestruck. He’s got it bad.”

Sunset’s assessment was spot-on, as the Captain envisioned Fluttershy as a queen, a mighty monarch of the seven seas; them conquering a castle together, battling wicked hordes of the horrible beasts bound to live there. Then they’d populate that palace with precocious pirate pony foals of their own.

Yes, it was a splendid plan.

“Um… h-hello?” squeaked the beauty.

The Captain snapped out of his daydream. “Yes?” He came back to reality again. Yes, first things first! He removed his hat and bowed low in a sweeping gesture. “Hello, mademoiselle,” he greeted courteously. “I am Captain Long John Pegleg Patch-Eye Blackbeard Bluebeard Redbeard Killyourface Upside-Down Jolly Roger Silver Hook Keelhaul.”

“I-I-I’m Fl-Fluttershy.” Her voice was not above a mouse’s timid whisper, which the Captain found adorable.

So precious was this sweet angel, thought the pirate. So awestruck was she, no doubt, by his cunning presence! By his intoxicating, rosy-red eyes! By his charming mannerisms! By his thick, perfectly maintained beard! BY HIS GREAT, MASCULINE BOOMING VOICE! He offered her his hoof. Gingerly, she moved her own to it. Still looking into her eyes, becoming more absorbed into them, he kissed her hoof—and her entire face turned beet-red.

Nothing captured the old Captain like a woman who was still innocent enough to blush at a gentlecoltly advance! He was wholly hers now—and if he could, she would be his!

“My Judge, if you could do me the favor…?”

The Judge raised an eyebrow. “… What, really? Now? Here?”

The Captain looked up at his old friend pleadingly. “Do you attempt to obstruct the path my heart takes? The heart of your dearest, oldest friend?”

The Judge stifled a heavy sigh. “What happened to all the other mares I married to you?”

The first mate interjected again. “Ya don’ wanna know, m’Judge, sir.”

The second mate followed up, his eyes beginning to water as he removed his hat in respect. “We still ’aven’t go’n wha’s lef’ the firs’ ‘un off th’ rudders.”

Fluttershy’s color escaped her face accompanied by a squealy whisper. And any courage she may have had. Her eyes shrunk in fear and her mouth recoiled in complete terror. She fixed up her face as she looked into the Captain’s eyes. “U-Um, Mr. Captain Jolly-beard…uh, Hooky-roger…?”

“Ye can call me Keelhaul.” The Captain leaned in close and whispered into her ear. “Ye can also call me ‘husband.’”

Fluttershy attempted to protest, her words not coming out at all right—in squeaks and spurts, but never full sentences. The Captain smiled warmly. The girl was speechless! The privilege of marrying a pirate captain (and a king among pirates at that) didn’t come along every day.

Fluttershy looked up pleadingly at the Judge. Then back to the Captain. She didn’t want to marry this guy! He was so scary—and she’d be in the company of scalawags and scoundrels! Pirates who’d grope her and do awful things to her! She looked back to the Judge, leaned into his ear and whispered, “Please don’t make me do this!”

The Judge asked his friend of thirty years to please wait for a moment. He took Fluttershy along with his other two servants out of the room, sat down in front of Fluttershy and looked into her eyes. Despite the darkness in his eyes, he wore a sympathetic look.

“Okay, I understand. This is all very sudden, Fluttershy, and it’s difficult for me as well as you to go through with this. But do you understand what’s at stake here?” Fluttershy tried breaking eye contact, only for the Judge to put his hoof up to her cheek, and held her face to look in her eyes. Although he was not rough with her, she could not help but feel like she was being bullied. She shook her head.

“I-I can’t. I can’t do this.” Her voice became even smaller. “I can’t… get married!”

The Judge gently let go of Fluttershy, and began to pace about as he usually did when he was explaining something. “If Keelhaul does not agree to get the One Light for us, the plan stands a bigger chance of failure. This is the most crucial step in the plan, Fluttershy! You know we can’t afford to screw up now!”

He sat down in front of her again. Fluttershy went over the situation in her mind: she really wasn’t sure what the “plan” was, but she understood that it was of very high importance to her new employer, and that she was being selfish for getting in the way of his goal. But… “I can’t get married! I don’t even know him.”

For one twisted moment, Fluttershy assumed that her argument, while a very good one if this were any other situation, was beside the point. They needed this One Light, and it was the Captain who currently held the upper hand in this bargain: “Gimme the girl, you’ll get your Light”. The Judge looked to his other subordinates to get a third and fourth opinion. “Shine Brightest, Sunset, what do you think?”

Shine Brightest had liked Fluttershy ever since she had met her, but understood better this situation. “Fluttershy,” she told her, “You need to be brave. Things are different outside of Equestria, and you need to learn how to survive with the constant change you're liable to face.” She smiled. “Besides, the Captain is a good stallion. He’ll protect you.”

Sunset snorted. “Like how he protected his first and second wives?”

Shine Brightest hissed at her brother. Sunset shrugged. “I really think it’s a bad idea for her to marry him. But on the other hoof, without his assistance, the difficulty in obtaining the One Light increases exponentially.” He looked at Fluttershy, trying to grab her eyes with his own. He frowned—not condescendingly, but in a way that expressed pity. “I’m sorry, Fluttershy, but… this is the way things are.”

Fluttershy lowered her head. The Judge stroked her mane, trying to comfort her. “It pains me to ask you this, but if you refuse, everything all of us have worked toward stands a strong chance of falling apart, and we can't afford to.” Fluttershy looked into the Judge’s eyes with tears in her own. With a long frown, she nodded slowly. “Okay, then,” she said quietly.

Shine Brightest gave Fluttershy a hug, whispering to her to be brave. The Judge hugged her closely too, stroking her mane, apologizing again for this situation. Sunset sighed and shook his head, resigned to his personal opinion not being worth anything in the presence of logic. He opened the door for everypony else to re-enter the planning room.

Captain Keelhaul was there, standing with perfect, gentlecoltly bravado and posture. He looked at Fluttershy and smiled warmly. The young Pegasus mare walked up to the Captain, and put her hooves in his, closed her eyes and sighed. Let’s just get this over with, she thought.

The Judge rested his front hooves—one on the shoulder of the Captain, and the other on the shoulder of his servant—and said, “By the powers invested in me by the all-consuming Abyss, I, Judge Star Fall, pronounce you husband and wife, stallion and his mare. May the world tremble at your hoofsteps.”

One of them was trembling all right.

Fluttershy looked to her new husband. There was not a drop of malice in him at all, despite his being a pirate. Even though he was not malevolent, Fluttershy had once been told that an ignorant pony causes more damage than a pony who intends to do harm. She got the feeling she was going to experience this firsthand.

The Judge looked to his friend. “My Captain, I ask of you, as this fair one is like family to me, that you keep her safe.”

“… Aye.”

“… From harm.”

“… Aye.”

“… From creatures... that would... harm her.”

“… Aye.”

The Judge noticed the horny expressions on the first and second mates. He scowled at them (exposing once again his terrifying teeth) until those expressions deflated. He looked back the Captain. “… From your crewmates.”

The Captain glared at the Judge. “Why, my Judge! It seems you think I plot to ravage her!” Fluttershy gulped. Keelhaul rested his heavy hooves on her shoulders. “By my beard, she will not be seen or touched by my crew! Consider your One Light found!”

*****

As the Captain’s mind crawled back to the present, he heard Pinkie Pie whispering to his Queen, “Does he do this… often?”

“Only when providing the readers with somewhat-important backstory,” answered Fluttershy. The Captain snapped back to attention. “Well!” he said coming between the two, “It is good that my Queen is blessed with seeing a familiar face.” He smiled tenderly at Fluttershy.

She… didn’t smile. Instead, she looked away, as she always did. His smile disappeared as her gaze turned elsewhere. “… Is something wrong, my Queen?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

Fluttershy met his gaze again. She seemed almost… upset. “Captain? Can we be alone… f-for a moment?”

The Captain was stunned into silence for a moment or two. He merely nodded. “Of course,” he mumbled. He then walked out of his cabin and onto the deck, Pinkie Pie watching him curiously. When the door was closed, Pinkie turned to Fluttershy. “What was all that about?” she whispered.

Fluttershy took in a deep breath and let out an angry, frustrated growl. “GAH! I thought I was going to go CRAZY!”

Pinkie looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted wings. As if she sprouted wings on top of her… regular wings. Except she was looking at Fluttershy’s face and not her wings, which were perfectly normal. Let’s just say Pinkie Pie looked at Fluttershy like she was a weirdo. “Why?” she asked. “You’re the Pirate Queen! That’s so awesome!”

“No!” hissed Fluttershy, walking back toward her bed. “No it isn’t! I never get to do anything, or speak to anypony, or sing to any animals.” She thrust her head, and yelled, into her pillow. “And it’s all because of that horrible Captain, keeping me locked up like a bird in a cage!”

Pinkie rubbed Fluttershy’s back in an attempt to comfort her. She thought over what she could say. “The Captain has his reasons,” she said, unsurely.

Fluttershy looked at Pinkie Pie. Her gentle eyes had somehow developed a deep anger that almost made Pinkie want to find something to hide behind. “I have seen nothing but this cabin for almost a month! I’m so frustrated I could just scream!” And she did just that: she screamed like… well, okay, it was more of a squeak, as Fluttershy was mindful of the other crew members who likely wanted some peace and quiet to go with their sailing.

Before Pinkie Pie could say anything else, Fluttershy continued her rant. “Whatever his reasons are, they aren’t worth being stuck in here like I’m some kind of prized pet!” Tears began to fill her eyes and she returned to her pillow, softly sobbing.

After a while of letting Fluttershy let out her emotions, Pinkie decided to try reason—something she was surprisingly adept at. “Have you tried talking to him?”

“He hardly ever listens to me,” Fluttershy explained. “He only listens when he thinks I want a present.”

“Has he tried…” Pinkie thought over how much tact should be put into her next sentence. “Has he tried doing, um…” She pursed her lips, her eyes darting about curiously. “… that thing... that Mr. and Mrs. Cake did... to get the twins? On you?”

It was Fluttershy’s turn to look at Pinkie strangely. She looked aside, her face flushed. “Um… no.”

“Is it because you won’t let him?”

Fluttershy’s face contorted into disgust. “Please tell me you’re not saying I should.”

Pinkie Pie shook her head. “No, no, no, no, no! Not at all!” She looked about nervously, as though the Captain were able to walk through walls. “It’s just that, your relationship seems… rocky.”

In a moment spent out of her usual character, Fluttershy replied in a flat and sarcastic tone, “Really? Gee, I hope I haven’t made it obvious. I’d hate for the Captain to know.”

Pinkie Pie looked at Fluttershy. “He doesn’t know you don’t love him?”

Fluttershy’s mood began to worsen. Her eyes became dangerously close to giving Pinkie her infamous Stare. “I’ve tried telling him so for the past two months. There is. No. Relationship. We have no chemistry. We have no future together. We have next to nothing in common at all. It’s like he has no idea how real relationships work, and gets all his information from fairy tales and romantic adventure novels.”

Pinkie gave Fluttershy a wry smile. “Sounds like he’d be a better match for Rarity.” She added a nervous chuckle, only for Fluttershy’s expanding scowl to chase it away.

Fluttershy rested her face on her hoof, her angry eyes averting Pinkie, as if trying to spare her from The Stare. She made a sound like an angry balloon deflating. “Yeah, Rarity sure has great taste, doesn’t she?”

She looked back at Pinkie to see her frown as if she had just been betrayed. Fluttershy’s face softened. “Oh, I-I’m sorry,” she apologized. She buried her head in her pillow again. “I don’t wanna be so mean…”

Pinkie began rubbing Fluttershy’s back again, like a mother comforting a daughter whose teen relationship went bust. Or in this case, kablooey. “It’s OK, you’ve just had a really rough time. You’ve been isolated, you’re at sea, you’ve been isolated WHILE at sea, you’re stuck in…” Pinkie WAS going to say Fluttershy was in a quickly stagnating relationship she had no way to get out of short of killing the Captain, but she felt that might make the situation worse. Fluttershy was in a state of distress and desperation as it already was, and she didn’t need to give her any ideas.

“…You’ve been separated from your friends!”

Fluttershy looked up at Pinkie Pie. Her eyes seemed to plead with Pinkie’s, as if begging to not be left behind. Not again. Pinkie hadn’t realized the extent of their situation (Had she merely ignored it?), but now, looking into Fluttershy’s lost, lonely eyes… it hit her, like a splash of cold water in the face.

“We’ve been separated from our friends.” Pinkie’s voice had flattened, along with her mane. She lied down at the foot of Fluttershy’s bed. Her eyes began to leak, her heart about to break. “And I don’t know if we’ll ever see them again.” A quiet sob escaped her throat.

“I… just don’t know!”

A few minutes passed, Pinkie at the foot of the bed, crying, Fluttershy on the bed, not sure what she should do. The gravity of their situation became heavier with every passing second. Despair coiled around the two like a giant snake, its python grip choking the life out of any hope they may have had.

Fluttershy rested her hoof on Pinkie’s mane, no longer fluffy and fun, but straight and sad, as it usually became when Pinkie Pie lost her usual amount of spirit. She bit her bottom lip, thinking over what she should say. Pinkie sniffled, and held Fluttershy’s hoof in such a way that, Fluttershy felt, if she let go, Pinkie might fall.

“Pinkie Pie, I know we’ve been through a lot. But…” Fluttershy felt a contraction in her throat. She swallowed. “Most of that, we went through together.”

Pinkie looked up at her friend, the tears still flowing. Fluttershy continued. “Like Nightmare Moon? And Discord? And what about that time when…” Fluttershy looked away, evidently still embarrassed, even now. “… When I… hurt you, and Rarity?”

The tears began to slow. “We’ve been through so much together, Pinkie. We’ve… hurt others. And we’ve hurt each other. But…” At this, Fluttershy seemed to gather strength. “… for some strange reason, throughout all that hardship and heartache…” Fluttershy swallowed, her voice beginning to crack. “… We stuck together. Our friendship never broke, not even when our hearts did.”

Her tears began to grow fatter, and rolled down from her face. She sniffled. “These past few months,” she squeaked, “have been hard on all of us, Pinkie. But…” Fluttershy moved herself closer to her friend, wrapping her forelegs around her. “But we gotta stick together, OK? We gotta find everypony else.”

Pinkie held onto Fluttershy’s forelegs, and they held each other for dear, sweet strength for what felt like an eternity.

Suddenly, Fluttershy smiled, and opened her eyes wide as if she got a great idea.

*****

Top deck. The wind whistling, wrapping around the Captain, battering the sails. The songs the seagulls sang as they soared overhead. The sound of the ocean crashing its waves into the Sleipnir—a ship he and his first and second mates had designed and drafted. The quest for the One Light, the dangerous journey into Imp territory, the adrenaline of another pirate adventure pumping through the veins of his crew…

There were times when all these things reminded him how much he loved being a pirate.

This was not one of those times.

It was rare for the Captain to feel ashamed of himself for anything—I mean, he was a pirate for crying out loud. But he felt, what he did with Fluttershy, he had taken too far. An innocent crush his ego and imagination had inflated into something it wasn’t? Very likely.

The most fearsome pirate to have ever sailed the seven seas. Killer of giants, robber of wizards, and feared even by old St. Elmo himself. Amassed a fortune in gold and his name was well-known and feared throughout the world. Three-time loser in love. For some reason, that last aspect of his person was enough to bring all his other accomplishments to dust.

His Queen… did not love him.

Looking out at the ocean, he accepted this fact. Mares were a lot like the sea, he thought. Constantly chaotic, of course. But if a sailor knew what he was doing, the sea was the most beautiful and amazing thing they would ever know. The Captain wiped a small tear from his eye, hoping none of his mates saw him as he was now. Comparing his luck with mares to his knowledge of the ocean, he considered it a miracle he hadn’t drowned yet.

Captain Keelhaul looked out into the vast expanse of ocean before him, trying to get his mind off his Queen. He could tell they were closing in on Imp territory: the temperature was dropping fast. His crewmates already bundled up, preparing for the worst (One even complained why the Imps couldn’t have lived in a more tolerable climate). They would have to prepare to weave their way past icebergs, but Keelhaul had a lot of faith in his current pilot, Particularly Tough-Looking (known to his friends as “Tough Guy”).

“Hey,” came a quiet voice next to him.

“Hello, my Queen,” he said. It took a moment for him to realize that his wife was standing next to him. His eyes lit up as he turned to see her directly. “What-What are you doing out of your chambers?!” He immediately looked around to see his crewmates looking at the Queen, many awestruck by her silent beauty.

“I need to talk to you,” Fluttershy said.

The Captain was about to protest, but he looked into her eyes. He realized it now, the extent of her sadness. He realized that she had carried this sadness with her always, ever since he met her and likely long before. And to his great failure—the greatest failure, he felt, a stallion could possibly achieve—he realized his own blindness to what his mare needed. He merely nodded. “Go ahead.”

“I understand how important our mission is,” she said to him. “And I will see it through to its end. But afterwards…” She looked about. Pinkie Pie was there, not far away, and nodded, prodding her to just get it over with.

The Captain’s heart sunk. He knew what she was going to say. She wanted a divorce. She didn’t want to be his wife, and never did. He braced himself for the emotional impact, ready to react as gentlecoltly as possible. He had faced down brigands and beasts of all sizes, risked his life for treasure and pirate glory over and over again. But he never felt so terrified and helpless as he did at that moment.

“… But afterwards, I want for us to go to Equestria. Just you and me.”

The Captain blinked. “… Really?” he asked in a thin, quiet voice.

Fluttershy nodded. “Yes. We need time to think things over, you and I.” She walked over closer to him and sat down by his side. She looked out at the ocean, the wind tussling her long pink mane. The Captain suddenly realized this was his Queen’s first time out of her chambers, enjoying the cool air and the sight of the ocean—things he thoughtlessly, cruelly denied her.

“When we married, it happened so fast, and I was so unprepared. I don’t think you were, either.”

“I… acted on impulse, certainly,” the Captain admitted. “And for that, I—”

“No need to apologize,” she quickly said. She seemed to think over her next words. “I want to get to know you better. The real you. Not the Captain who locked me in a room all by myself. I want to know the stallion who married me.” She looked back up at him. The Captain looked deep in her eyes, and fell in love again. The sadness was gone.

She lifted her forelegs up and held his bearded face. “I know that deep inside, you ARE a good stallion. That’s who I want to love. I want to fall in love with you. I want a reason to fall in love with you. That’s why I want you to take me home…” She smiled, her soft lips curving upward gently. “… Johnny.”

The crewmates had all stopped what they were doing to see this strange sight. They had never seen the Queen before—and she was as beautiful as they were told, all right. She carried with her also a sense of power she didn’t need to physically show in order to project. These pirates… Scoundrels. Scalawags. Thieves. They knew what they were, and celebrated their raunchy ugliness every day. But the Queen? The Queen was too beautiful a creature to be in their midst. No wonder the Captain desired to keep her separate.

Pinkie looked around at the crew, reading their eyes and faces, her eyes taking in their awe. She smiled. Fluttershy’s plan was working.

“My Queen,” the Captain began. He sputtered, as if angry at himself. He turned his face away from Fluttershy, who looked at him curiously. After a second, the Captain removed his hat, his black mane being whipped in the wind like his wife’s. “Fluttershy,” he said, the first time he had ever referred to her by her name. “Do you ask me to put down my sword? To dock my ship? To give up sailing and exploring?”

If there was a battle between the power of eyes, her ocean blues had squelched his fiery reds. He felt grabbed by her presence, swallowed whole. She smiled. “I can’t force you to give that up. But if you love me, you’ll at least understand why I ask you to.”

The pirates all looked at their Captain, expectantly.

The Captain shared Fluttershy’s gaze for a few moments. He breathed a sigh, and put his hat back on his head and closed his eyes. He nodded. It was only fair. She gave up her freedom. Now it was his turn to give up something he loved. Keelhaul turned to address his crew. He stood up straight and proud.

“Crewmates, country-ponies… It has been many years since I first set sail on these waters. I guess you could say that the ocean was my first love.” He breathed, his face beginning to crack. “But she was not my true love. My heart, if a pirate ever possessed one, has been given away, to this gentle soul of a mare you see before you now.”

Pinkie fought back her tears and swallowed. She noticed many pirates did the same. A few of them even withdrew their hats or bandannas in respect.

He looked over his crew. “It has been a great honor, sailing with you. You are all fine stallions and mares, every last one of you. Courageous, strong-willed, pirates among pirates. You are every bit as part of the sea as her own treachery. That is why, with great sadness…”

The pirates all leaned in, many unable to hold their tears.

“That I am announcing my resignation. Not just from being your captain, but from piracy. From being a scoundrel. From being a rogue of the ocean waves. After we return from our journey, my final voyage, I shall hang up my hat and my sword for good.”

A wave of deep and heavy sadness swept over the pirates.

Fluttershy walked up to her husband and stood alongside him. He looked into her eyes once more, and remembered why he was making this decision. He looked back out at his beloved crew. “I do not ask that you understand. I do not ask for any of you to follow me as I leave. I only ask that I may leave in good graces. That I may walk away from this life, and follow my heart and my mare down the path of a new beginning, and that we may both walk this path together.”

Fluttershy rested her head on the Captain’s shoulder, closed her eyes and smiled. The Captain felt the warmth that radiated from her; she looked so happy. Seeing her smile—at him—for the very first time had lifted his spirits greatly. He looked back at his crew, who at this point were in tears. “I couldn’t ask for a finer crew,” he said quietly, his eyes filling up at the sight.

He looked around, breathed a satisfied sigh, and nodded. Suddenly, One-Leg raised his remaining leg and saluted his Captain. A pink hoof found its way to the forehead of one of his recent additions. Then another pirate saluted. And then another, and another. Soon, all the attending sailors were saluting their king and queen.

“Thank you,” Fluttershy said to the crew. “For everything.”

Pinkie Pie nodded as the pirates cheered for their king and queen. She looked away, her face red, as Keelhaul and Fluttershy’s faces met, locking in a passionate kiss.

Fluttershy’s plan worked, for the most part. The Captain proved his love for her (So they didn’t have to kill him and escape, thank Celestia), and the pirates were behind them all the way. Pinkie never knew how well Fluttershy naturally demonstrated charisma.

Pinkie never asked Fluttershy what it was about the Captain that made her change her mind and rethink her situation. She knew everypony settled down to raise foals of their own eventually, but she didn’t think Fluttershy would warm up to the idea so quickly. Especially since she had complained about their lack of chemistry not even an hour before.

I’ve been going about this all wrong, she had said, on her way out to the deck. I’m a Queen! It’s time for me to act like one!

Pinkie asked her what she intended to do. To this, Fluttershy turned and smiled as she opened the cabin door. It’s time for me to play the most complicated game![]/i

And Pinkie still had no idea what Fluttershy meant. But the girl had a plan, and it seemed to have worked well. But WAS that her plan? Falling in love with the Captain?

Pinkie’s eyes widened. Then they drooped. No. Oh, no, no, no.

Fluttershy didn’t love him. She was taking advantage of his love for her. She was—she was pretending! Pinkie couldn’t believe her friend could be this cruel!

… Well, OK, Fluttershy had her moments. But she couldn’t be THAT cruel!

Could she?

*****

Pinkie paced about the top deck all night, the night wind howling about, as if singing a song for the stars above. They had weighed anchor for the night, careful to not drift into any icebergs. All the other pirates had gone to bed, and even though the lights were out in the Captain’s chamber, Pinkie didn’t even want to think about what was going on in there. She scowled.

The Captain was really a nice guy, Pinkie Pie knew. His heart was in the right place, even if his methods were unorthodox (And the topic of unorthodoxy was something Pinkie knew inside and out). He looked out for his crewmates, he protected Fluttershy from harm… Well, considering his messy marriage history (first and second wives both dead, and Pinkie suspected the first to have been a suicide), it wasn’t unreasonable to think that he would become more overprotective of the ponies he loved.

And she was taking advantage of the poor guy, after everything he'd been through! Pinkie Pie had been friends with Fluttershy for what felt like ages. They had been separated for months, and to finally find each other again, only to see Fluttershy sink to the level of—some… gold… digger floozy pretender-lover…meanie pants… not-nice pony flapper?!

Pinkie looked down and realized she had become so angry, her legs had twisted around each other. She groaned and calmly untied herself. She breathed in that cold arctic air, let it fill her lungs and calm her down. Keep it together, Pinkie ol’ gal, she thought. Just back away from this, back away and look at it from another angle. There’s no way Fluttershy would be that cruel.

She closed her eyes, and breathed again. Suddenly, she felt a vibration along her spine. It started out small, but quickly began to grow. It crept up and down her whole body, like a monstrous shiver that threatened to tear her in half. After it left, she was face-down on the deck.

She was suddenly helped to her hooves. Pinkie opened her eyes and was met by the first mate, Tough Guy. “Pinkie, ‘re you all right? Ya look like ya took a right nas’y spill!” Pinkie shushed him and pointed to the east. Pretty Tough looked in the direction of Pinkie’s hoof.

He heard it too. The sounds of screeching that were beginning to eerily mingle with the wind.

“Imps,” Tough murmured in fear. He ran to the bell above the Captain’s chamber and rang it. “UP AN’ ATTUM, MATES!” he yelled. “THE IMPS ARE COMIN’! I REPEAT, THE IMPS ARE HERE!!!”

Chapter 10: Memories

CHAPTER 10—Memories

A ringing in her ears brought Rainbow Dash back from the darkness. The oil and machines of her environment glistened in the dim light, the pipes hissing as if welcoming her back to reality. Back to this little game.

Rainbow Dash slowly stood back up. She felt dizzy and groggy, her tongue thick and her mouth dry; her head heavy and her legs weak. She was thirsty. As she licked the roof of her mouth trying to get rid of the bad taste, she looked about.

She wasn’t in a room, as it was more of a cell. There was only one door—the one right in front of her, which had a wheel for a knob—and the room itself was perhaps only eight feet in all directions.

She had a throbbing, irritating pain in her right ear and scratched at it, only to remember it was that stupid earpiece. Rainbow Dash removed it and looked it over. Still didn’t look like anything she’d want to put in her head. Her right ear felt like it was hissing angrily, and she scratched at it again.

As much as she didn’t want to, Rainbow Dash felt she may still need the earpiece. She placed it into her left ear until it fit comfortably.

Good evening, Rainbow Dash.

“Hey,” Rainbow Dash grunted.

You sound perturbed.

“Kinda hard to stay in a good mood when you’re stuck in a maze full of crazed killers.”

I understand. That is why there is no testing to be done, at least not for now. Why not leave this room? You must be thirsty. There is water in the room across the hall.

He hadn’t lied to her yet, which, thinking about it now actually kind of surprised Rainbow Dash. She surmised it might be due to her “test subject” status. He DID say he wanted to keep her in top shape for his experiments (again, what were these for?).

Rainbow Dash suppressed a tired groan. This was almost like being in an abusive relationship: one is controlling and always watching, the other helpless to escape him even if she wanted. When she complained, he would make threats and exercise the reason he’s stronger than she is. He was only nice to her when he wanted something out of her, taking care of her to continue his abuse.

Celestia’s shining wings, how she wanted to leave. Escape. Go back to her home in the clouds. To her bed. To her life. It felt like it was a hundred years ago she daydreamed of joining the Wonderbolts or had fun, like a thousand years had passed since her time in Ponyville. Every day, her hope of ever going home diminished.

She didn’t like the idea, but it was true. Her will was beginning to break. Rainbow Dash—the Rainbow Dash within her that wasn’t afraid of anything, that loved to have fun and race about the clouds, the pegasus who was very much admired by others—was withering.

*****

Out in the next hall, she was kind of surprised. It looked like she had walked out of the belly of the robo-whale and into a mansion: soft blue carpets lined the wood floor, red wallpaper with light fixtures lining the walls. There were four doors here: two on the wall to her left, one on the other end of the hall, and the one she just exited. She looked to the wall on the right, seeing paintings decorating the place.

Rainbow Dash blinked. Those weren’t paintings. Those were photos.

She walked closer to them, her thirst forgotten momentarily. On the first photograph was a Wonderbolt—a rather sleek specimen, not all that muscular, but perfectly aerodynamic. For a moment, Rainbow Dash wondered how well he’d do in a race.

The second photograph—which was much larger than the first—had the same pegasus, but this time out of costume. His coat was an attractive chestnut color, his mane thick, black and curly. While slender for a stallion, he still looked strong; his deep brown eyes contained a quiet clout unlike anything Rainbow Dash had felt before. He was wearing an awkward smile, apparently not all that confident outside of his Wonderbolt costume. He looked like the kind of stallion Rainbow Dash would have liked to get to know a bit better…

She suddenly felt her wings, outstretched and stiff. She looked at them, her face red, completely betrayed by her own anatomy. Time and place for everything, ladies! she thought.

The other pictures were of the same stallion, doing different things. A treasure trove of memories, lining the wall.

I take it the gallery strikes your interest?

Rainbow Dash put two and two together. “Are these… is this, you?”

Yes. When I was young, I was a Wonderbolt. I thought you would be interested.

She thought this over more carefully. “How do I know this isn’t some other pegasus? Why show me all this? So that I’ll trust you more?”

First, there was silence. It lasted longer than Rainbow Dash was comfortable with.

I do not ask you to trust me, Rainbow Dash. I merely wanted to show you that we both shared the same dream.

Rainbow Dash looked at the photos again. In one frame was a newspaper whose headline was “SPEEDING BULLET SHOOTS TO STARDOM”, and was dated to have been published nearly fifty years ago. Her eyes went wide.

“Speeding Bullet?!” Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. “You were the fastest member of the Wonderbolts, like, EVER! You broke, what, ten different records! Oh, wow! This is, wow!” Rainbow Dash slowed down and sat on the floor, taking in her surprise, absorbing its impact.

There had never been very many photos of Speeding Bullet, she had read, as he considered himself not very photogenic. From his awkward “home” photos where he wasn’t in costume, she could kind of see from his point of view—but it was the cute kind of goofy.

Her face fell as she remembered reading something else. “But…” Her eyes fell on another newspaper piece. Its headline confirmed her memory. “… but you had an accident.”

I caused an accident.

Rainbow Dash blinked. “… Bullet?” she asked quietly.

Read the clip.

She walked over to the newspaper clip to get a better view.

Monday, October 17th, XXXX.

“Today is a day that will live on in infamy,” says Wonderbolts manager Soundbreak. Stretchers carry both the broken and dead to ambulences as onlookers stand by, horrified by the outcome of the tragic accident that occurred earlier this afternoon.

The Wonderbolts put on a show that wowed spectators, the same way they have done for every year since XXXX. Their proud history of military service and entertaining the hearts and minds of young and old alike has put them in a high respect of the ponies of Equestria.

Until today. With 19 confirmed dead and more than a hundred injured, Equestrian citizens are outraged by…

Rainbow Dash stopped reading. Her heart fell. The accident… the Great Fall that caused the injury of many ponies… was caused by Speeding Bullet? How didn’t she know? Did she forget that too?

My years of stardom had been behind me, even at that point. The lineup that year was almost nothing but new talent—fresh, young stars. I was… old. My wings did not carry me as far as they used to.

Rainbow felt tears welling up in her eyes.

I was too slow to react. I crashed. The stadium began to fall apart from the impact.

“How did you survive?” As soon as she asked, Rainbow Dash regretted it.

I did not. Now, I am merely a ghost, haunting a shell. I am more… machine now, than stallion.

Her eyes went back to the pictures hanging on the wall. She saw that his problems started long before the accident: a picture on the wall of Speeding Bullet being married to a beautiful blue unicorn. A picture of Speeding Bullet with his wife and children. A newspaper blurb about their divorce. A picture of Speeding Bullet, alone, waiting by a bus stop. A picture of Speeding Bullet at a pub with friends. Rainbow Dash took note of how many empty bottles of beer there were littering the table around Speeding Bullet.

At first, Rainbow Dash didn’t really know what to say. The accident… the accident that the Wonderbolts as a group tried to forget, to put out of the populace’s mind… She couldn’t imagine how it felt, all that guilt. She knew that if she had been responsible for such a catastrophe, she would probably die from the shame alone.

“Why are you showing me this?” she asked again, slowly, this time really wanting to know.

We shared the same dream, as I said. I have lived it. Died in it. You have yet to even be born into it. We are more alike than we think, you and I.

This again. Rainbow Dash felt like yelling at Bullet, swearing at him. Why was he so adamant about proving how they weren’t all that different? The difference between them was simple and glaringly obvious: she actually had morals. Speeding Bullet was a monster; once a beauty, now a beast. She’d never be like him!

Never!

But…

But he wasn’t always a monster. He was a hero. What happened to him… wasn’t fair. But that doesn’t excuse what he’d done! It didn’t excuse kidnapping ponies and putting them through sick experiments. It didn’t excuse his current torment of…

Wait a minute.

Rainbow Dash’s mind hit a snag. If he was a professional athlete, why was he now a scientist? Well, a mad scientist, but a scientist nonetheless. This accident had been about thirty years ago, hadn’t it? Was the “shell” he was encased in really some kind of eternal capsule that prevented the dead from dying? Did he end up having enough time on his hooves to explore the world of science and machinery? Did being encaged like that drive him insane? Is that what drove him to…

Even with this revelation (and what a revelation it was!), Rainbow Dash was still just as confused as she was when she woke up in the first room. While some of this mystery was coming together, all it formed was an even bigger mystery. And although Rainbow Dash loved the mysteries Daring Do solved in order to discover priceless relics of forgotten history, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to solve this particular puzzle, nor did she want to think about what she might discover as a result.

Instead of saying anything, Rainbow Dash merely remembered she was thirsty. (Past experience with Bullet’s temper told her making him mad with her questions right now was not a good idea.) She walked toward the room across the hall where her promised drink was. She opened the door to find a washroom.

The color white never looked this unassuming, yet at the same time slightly creepy. Everything was immaculate and sterile, yet she could detect a slightly rotten smell in the air. There was a painting of flowers on the right wall, with a towel hanging from a rung just underneath it. Rainbow Dash wondered who was it that kept the place so clean, despite the occupational hazard that was the Freaks. Sniffing at the air, she got a bigger whiff of that awful smell. She walked over to the sink, where a mirror cabinet was.

Rainbow Dash took another good look at herself: she looked worn down. Bags under her eyes, her rainbow hair a mess. She started the water and drank from the faucet, relishing the awful irony aftertaste. Closing her eyes, she gulped and slurped at the rushing water, sucking at it greedily.

When her thirst was at last washed away, she threw her head back up to look at the mirror again, at this bizarre pony who looked kind of like her—only horrendously battered by current circumstances. She stuck her hooves under the rushing water and splashed it in her face, rubbing it into her skin.

Afterward, Rainbow Dash dried off her face with a nearby towel hanging on the wall. Again, she turned to that mirror cabinet. The door behind her was still open, as she had left it. She didn’t trust this at all. Rainbow Dash had seen enough horror movies to know that, as soon as she opened and closed that cabinet, something would appear behind her in the reflection.

But what could investigating the interior of the cabinet hurt?

Rainbow Dash closed the door (out of habit, as she was going to use the toilet anyway), and checked behind the bathtub and the toilet, just to make absolutely sure no slasher villain was hiding there. She looked up at the ceiling—plain white ceiling, air vent about as big as one’s hoof in diameter. There wasn’t anything in here that she could identify as dangerous, although that lingering scent (while fading, as most smells do over time) still bothered her slightly.

She was safe in here.

Reasonably courageous, Rainbow Dash reached over and pulled open the cabinet

she burst out of the washroom, gasping at the sight. She crawled backward, still looking at the decapitated pony head she’d found staring back at her in the mirror cabinet. Its red eyes were probably very lovely in life, but now, they were bloated and yellowed; the coat of fur and the mane had been shaved off. The skin was green with rot and bloated with pus, and there was no jaw—although for some reason, a bluish tongue hung out from underneath it. For some sick reason, Rainbow Dash felt that she had seen this before.

A few seconds ran by—and so did something else. Rainbow Dash snapped up to get a better look at what had just skittered by. She was expecting to see a Freak, but saw nothing. She sat there, back against the wall, for well over ten minutes, expecting whatever creature she saw to just attack her. To end it now. To just take her head and

take her head and

her head

HER HEAD

NO NO NO NO NO NO

NO NO NO NO NO

There was a reason that head carried an odd familiarity.

It was her own.

Rainbow Dash finally let it out, a shriek that rattled her throat and bounced around the hall, filling it with the sound of sheer terror and shock. Her shriek had slowed down, simmering at a gurgle, which finally ended after an eternity. She had her eyes covered with her forehooves, her body drawn completely together, shaking as though it expected to be torn apart.

She had thought she had seen it all: big scary laboratories, foreboding hallways, creepy voices that watched her no matter what she was doing, ponies turned into monsters… But this. Oh, Celestia’s sweet merciful wings, THIS. There were no words for this.

Rainbow Dash lowered her forehooves, regaining some of her courage. Her body was still shaking in terror, threatening to contort and convulse if it sustained much more.

The decapitated head still sat there in the cabinet, looking at Rainbow Dash as if it wanted to replace her “new head”, become part of her again. Well it had—it had become a memory she could never get rid of.

… A memory.

… No.

… NO!

Her mind jumped—

—NO NO DON’T WANNA REMEMBER—

—back to the time when she—

—STOP PLEASE STOP PLEASE PLEASE STOP—

—had kidnapped a pony.

She had been warped into a house in Ponyville, a servant for a unicorn sporting a heinous smile. She reached over, plucking the foal from his bed—

—NO, no, no… please… no…

All at once, Rainbow Dash remembered. The memories not only returned; they flooded her mind all at once, like a raging storm angry that she had forgotten it. The memories battered her, tore at her will, assaulted her courage, savaged her spirit. Rainbow Dash…

… was a killer.

*****

It was an hour or so when she came to. Although she was aware of her surroundings again, she had no desire to continue. Her wings might as well have been plucked from her back. Her legs had become a jelly that had somehow attached itself to her body.

It was an hour or so when she decided to sit back up. Her mind was still barely functional. Rainbow Dash looked toward the washroom, in the direction of the mirror cabinet.

It was slightly ajar, the mirror cracked.

Rainbow Dash slowly, hesitantly stood back up on her hooves. She stood there, looking at the mirror cabinet, at her shattered reflection.

She noticed something about it, something horrible.

She moved closer to it to get a closer look. No. No, no. That’s…

Her hair had lost its color. The entire spectrum, her natural hair colors, had vanished—almost as though the storm of memories had stolen them. There were faded traces of her original colors, but it was as grey as the dead.

Her eyes were in horrible shape: bulging and yellowed, red veins roping across the whites as though they were cracks in an egg filled with blood. The bags under them were a deep purple. The cracks in the mirror were a perfect emotional reflection, showing Rainbow Dash her own fractured spirit as well as her destroyed physical appearance.

She shook her head, not believing her reflection. It was lying! It was a lie! She ran the faucet again, turning it on, scrubbing her face, looking at the broken mirror. The lines in her face remained, the sagging under her eyes could not be washed away. Her eyes became hollower the more she stared into them, and her hair remained gray and lifeless.

She turned off the faucet, and leaned over onto the sink. Tears began to roll down her face. She sniffled, her mind shattered by the memories that had buffeted her not a few hours before.

(“Hit him, would you kindly.”

She obeyed.

“Would you kindly knock some of his teeth out.”

Again, she obeyed.

“Break his legs, would you kindly. All of ‘em!”

Although the colt’s screaming rattled her ears, she tuned him out. As she looked into the colt’s face while she worked his legs into unrecognizable shapes, she strangely felt nothing. Unattached to the world around her. Complete disinterest in what she was doing. The only interest she held currently was pleasing her master.

After the deed had been done, she picked up the colt and held him up by the scruff of his neck with her teeth, showing the results of her work to her master. Did I do a good job? she thought. Have I been a “good girl”?

Her master was like a horrible Clown, smiling, his long and false grin stretching over his white skin as though it were an entity all by itself. His eyes agreed with that smile, those two menacing, red-rimmed coals. He looked over the colt as he sobbed, broken. “I w-want my momma-hah-huh-uhhh!” the colt bawled.

This horrible, pale, thin creature before Rainbow Dash raised a hoof and smacked her across her face so hard, she dropped the colt. “You didn’t do a good enough job!” he yelled. “He’s still able to talk! HE SHOULDN’T BE ABLE TO TALK!!!” )

Rainbow Dash shot right out of her flashback. She could never forget the rest, but cared not to dwell on it. She remained on the sink, her head in its basin and resting against the faucet. Her back shivered, the sobs escaping her in clumps, as if her soul were vomiting. The sink’s basin was soon stained with tears.

For the first time in her life, Rainbow Dash had no idea what she should do. Even if she left, there would be no way for her to just return to her old self. To once again become a paragon of everything awesome. To once again dare against danger, lead a devil-may-care adventurous life. To fly through the clean and breathable air, instead of the oppressive, cramped atmosphere of this maze.

She couldn’t go back to her old life, not after all that she’d done. Her friends—whoever they were—would never accept her back. Not after what she had become.

There, maybe, was a way out of this place. But what did it matter anymore? Where would she go? Who could she turn to? There would be no way to return home, even if she escaped.

For the first time in her life, Rainbow Dash felt totally, completely ripped apart. She was defeated. The broken pegasus slid down from the sink onto the washroom floor. It was time, she felt, to throw in the towel.

Speeding Bullet had won.

“Hey,” she said. The Voice did not respond. “Hey!” she called again. Still no answer. She poked her hoof into her left ear—only to notice that the earpiece was missing.

She got back up and checked the bathroom. Behind the tub, behind the toilet. Not there. She looked back out into the hallway; not there, either, although some of the pictures had been knocked off the wall.

That’s when she noticed it: there was no longer an awful smell.

She sniffed at the air, but all she could smell was the “interior home” scent that came with places like these. Rainbow Dash turned back to the mirror cabinet. Out of curiosity, she opened it, slowly.

Inside was the earpiece.

Rainbow Dash looked it over curiously, and noticed that there were some bite marks on it. She put it back in her ear, and closed the cabinet door.

There was a Freak standing out in the hall behind her, its purple pony face pulled back far enough by the needles in its head to mutate any expression it made into a cross between a grimace and a smile. It stood on its hind legs, which were, bent by its metallic additions, now apelike. Its arms were nothing but long, black, barbed blades stuck to elbow-hooks.

Rainbow Dash quickly looked behind her. However, the Freak was… not… there. As if it was just apart of her imagination. She looked back to the mirror and again saw it coming for her. Not knowing what else to do, she shut the door and locked it, breathing heavily.

Suddenly, the long blade stabbed straight through the door, the tip of the blade not even an inch from Rainbow Dash’s nose. She only knew this because she was looking at the reflection in the mirror; the blade itself, much like its owner, was completely invisible. She squeaked and rolled over to the toilet. The Voice returned.

This was not supposed to happen, Rainbow Dash. One of my Griffin-Freaks got loose.

“Oh, really? Ya don’t say?”

A kick came at the door, shaking it hard. On the other side, Rainbow Dash heard an echoey, high-pitched, rattling laugh that sounded more like marbles and teeth being shaken up in a jar.

I was going to send in a Counter-Freak, but I am curious as to how you will get out of this situation.

“Not letting any of your failures go to complete waste, huh, Bullet?” Rainbow Dash sneered. “Bucking typical.”

More crashing. As the blade was still sticking through the door, Rainbow Dash assumed it was trying to work it loose, and merely kicked at the door in a childish attempt to make it let go. She thought fast. What could she do? Obviously it was stuck—and only a few seconds until it would un-stick itself.

She got up on her hind legs and punched at the blade with her forelegs. Rainbow Dash expected the blade to break, only to bend it (?) instead, causing the creature on the other end to scream. She then ducked, as she counted on the other blade to get put through as well (which it did).

Then she went to work bending the blades in weird directions that guaranteed the Freak wouldn’t be able to easily remove them. His kicks didn’t do more outside rattling the door.

(“Break his legs, would you kindly. ALL of them!”)

The horrible whispers of the past tickled her ear in its playful cruelty. It took a few seconds for Rainbow Dash to snap back to reality.

Rainbow Dash looked about, looking for an exit—but, duh, she was already aware that the only air vent in the bathroom was only big enough for a small animal. (Air vents were quickly becoming a nuisance to Rainbow Dash.) The only way out was the same way in.

She looked again to the bent blades sticking out of the door, which was kicked every few seconds, the rattling marbles filling her ears. She thought about it a few seconds and realized how easy she had made this situation.

Rainbow Dash opened the bathroom door, pushing it open so fast and hard, the Freak stuck to the other side was smashed into the wall with a satisfying thump. She quickly jumped out of the bathroom before the Freak, still desiring to kill her, ran back forward—which only accomplished again closing the bathroom door his blades were stuck in.

Looking behind her, she couldn’t see the Freak—but Celestia’s good graces, she could still hear the thing’s rattling laugh. She could feel its invisible eyes as it likely turned its head to look at her.

She thought over her recent encounter. What had she learned about this kind of Freak? First, knowing Speeding Bullet, there were more like this one—invisible. Their only give-away was that instead of sobbing or screaming, they tended to laugh (Or so she hoped). The only way to see them was by looking into a reflective surface. They probably didn’t all have arm-blades like the specimen she ran into.

Rainbow Dash made mental notes quickly as she decided to explore the other two doors. They both seemed to lead into the same room: a train station.

It was just as robotic as the maze, leaving the false coziness of the mansion behind her. The train car stationed here was shaped more like a bullet on wheels (evidently not steam-powered, like some of the automotives back home), and was probably painted silver at one time, despite its age covering it with rust. The tunnel behind it seemed to stretch on into an eternity of darkness, an oblivion.

Please board the train, Rainbow Dash.

Almost at his command, the doors to the train car opened with a hiss, revealing the inside of the car. It had passenger seats that were of brown leather, but outside that, everything else was metal and rusted.

Gingerly, Rainbow Dash boarded the train. As she stepped in, the door closed behind her. With a hollow scream of what Rainbow Dash assumed was a whistle, the train car lurched, almost throwing her to the floor. Afterward, she felt it actually move forward, slowly, into the darkness that desired to swallow her whole.

*****

Speeding Bullet felt he had made the right choice.

There needed to be a bond of trust between the two if his plan was to succeed. So of course he needed to show her who he was, if not what he was. He could show himself, if not his face, to his enemy, draw her closer to him.

Of course, having her arrive safe and sound to his door—but only after passing his experiments!—was a huge step, the most important step. Of course she might need some advice every now and again; as quick-witted and creative as she apparently was, he could always lend a hoof if need be. He felt she probably wouldn’t need it, at least not now.

He was still amazed by her progress, even now. When he had first put her in this maze, she was a hothead, who acted more on impulse than on planning or thinking. Now, she had become quite a strategist—thanks to his doing. He knew she needed to have a good balance of her own strength and a sense of strategy she didn’t have before, and she was quickly evening out.

In summary, Rainbow Dash was performing excellently, despite the odds growing against her. His boss would be pleased with these results.

Bullet looked again toward the hundreds of screens before him, an ocean of images that his omnipotent, ancient eyes cruised over—taking in every detail of Rainbow Dash’s progress. Several were merely different angles of the same room. Many lacked anything important currently going on. While his subject was in the train car from the North Side, what caught his attention was the camera he had built into the bathroom of his “mansion” area.

It was positioned almost unnoticeably, unless you looked very closely into the air vent. From there, Bullet’s eyes could see the mirror cabinet, the picture of flowers on the wall, and the door. He did not care to look at the tub or toilet, as even he held some actions as sacred.

However, he was rewinding and rewatching what he could not understand. He theorized that his subject Rainbow Dash had a nasty flashback, quite likely during the testing process Witching Hour and Happiness were directing. It began as soon as she opened the cabinet door to reveal…

… nothing.

Watching her from his camera in the Memory Hall made him worry more. He had not anticipated her reaction to be this bad: convulsions and shrieking, her wings flapping as if to carry her away from her night terrors. All it did was make her look like she was crawling on the walls, continuing her shrieking fit. She knocked a few of the pictures off the wall in her fright.

Her attack ended as she pulled out the earpiece, bit on it as if it was the cause of her problems, then threw it into the mirror cabinet and quickly slammed the cabinet door so hard the mirror cracked. She then stopped suddenly, and walked out of the bathroom slowly, until she collapsed out in the hallway again.

It was all so disturbing. Speeding Bullet wondered why Star Fall was seriously considering using such a spell. He was familiar with the mind control spell, but this more-powerful version seemed to have side-effects that were worse than was expected. He shrugged; after all, he was also responsible for doing some rather disturbing things himself.

He’d need to make a report of this finding and run it by Star Fall, not that it would dissuade him from using the final version of the spell. But still, it was protocol. Speeding Bullet drew a keyboard near him—it helped that he had several pointed fingers now—and began typing up his findings, intending to send also the recorded footage for future reference.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bullet caught something rather suspicious. The bathroom and hallway cameras. He removed himself from the keyboard for now, looking into the images.

The door had been broken.

*****

Just as Rainbow Dash managed to find a nice seat, she heard a jarring thump as the train car really began to motor forward. She jumped at the sound, and looked in its direction only to see nothing. The train must have just hit something on the rail.

Her mind floated again back to her misery. What was she going to do now? Evidently, from her encounter with the Griffin-Freak, she must have wanted to continue living. How could she want that? Could some part of her, dormant until then, want to keep going? Was any of this worth it?

She leaned in her seat, the right side of her face looking into the window. It was caked with dust and smeary, but still reflective, somewhat. She looked into her own eye, noticing the redness was beginning to go away. The redness in those other eyes right behind her though were kind of cree—oh—but—ah—

The rattling laugh came from next to her ear, causing her to jump up into the air. Her wings flapped, carrying her away from where she assumed the Freak from before was standing. Rainbow Dash looked around, and clung to the corner of the car’s ceiling. Her four hooves pressed against the steel, keeping her in place.

She heard the laugh again, this time from before her. She could hear the click-clap of its uneven footsteps, feel the already rattling car shake from the Freak’s weight. Come on, think! Rainbow Dash thought. That thing has swords for hands! They’re bent now, but they’re still long! You can’t stay here…

Click, clap, click, clap, click, clap…

Its footsteps sounded like a clock hand ticking away the seconds, informing Rainbow Dash how much time she had left to make her move. Time was running out, and fast!

Thinking quickly, Dash kicked at the nearest window, causing it to crack. The laugh again, closer. She gave the window another kick, breaking it. She crawled out and onto the top of the car.

She crawled along the ceiling, crouched to avoid the overpassing girders above. The speed of the train car was enough to nearly force her off the car completely. Suddenly, the car ceiling before her erupted—a gash in the metal, coming straight up, flowering, and then screaming downward as the invisible blade was pulled back into the car.

Another, then another! Rainbow Dash, not daring to crawl forward, decided to climb over the side instead. Below her was a platform attachment, likely for the car’s maintenance. She dropped to it quickly as she heard the Freak stabbing at the ceiling again and held fast to the floor.

Stay low, stay quiet, stay alive! she thought to herself.

The noise of the car trumbling forth was deafening. She could not depend on her ears to keep tabs on the Freak inside the car, but she could guess it was still stabbing at the ceiling, going along the top from one end to the other. Eventually, it would run out of ceiling and wonder why it hadn’t stabbed anything.

She had to think, and fast. The Freak was only visible in reflective surfaces, and she couldn’t hear it over the noise of the train car. It was never a good idea to attack a Freak head-on, but there weren’t any other Freaks around to draw its attention away from her. This situation had grown so intense and so quickly; Rainbow Dash couldn’t hold it in anymore…

… Wait, that’s it. That’s it!

*****

Noises. Too many. Where is baby, baby mine? Why is baby running? Want baby, want her back.

Can’t hear baby. Where baby?

Not on top. Already checked. Where baby?

Look here, there, no baby.

Bad smell. Bad smell coming out window. Why window open?

Out window? Baby out window?

Out window, only puddle. Puddle smell.

Smelly puddle. Window too small. Break window, baby probably outside.

Outside now. Where baby?

Baby behind me, push me.

Falling off now. Hit rail. Hot, dying.

Why, baby mine?

Why?

*****

Too much had depended on a hunch—the hunch being that Freaks could smell. Still, it seemed her lure had worked. The rest depended on the strength of her kick—which she never doubted for a second could work—and whether or not urine counted as a reflective liquid in the right light.

The smell of her waste wafted into her nose. She wrinkled it in disgust and walked to the front of the train car’s platform, feeling the wind against her greyed mane. Rainbow Dash sat down in front of the train car door, resting her head on the side. She sighed.

You continue to amaze me, Rainbow Dash.

“Hey, where’d you go, Bullet?”

I attempted to issue a call for a Counter-Freak when I noticed the Griffin-Freak had broke free from the door. But it seems you have already taken care of the problem.

She then heard what sounded strangest to her all that day. Speeding Bullet was laughing. It was strange, for certain, but it was not an unwelcome sound. It seemed to ease Rainbow Dash’s mood.

Although I cannot say I had expected you to do it in the way you have.

He laughed some more, harder this time. Rainbow Dash joined in. It felt wonderful, like being cleansed of bad emotions. When was the last time she’d laughed?

Suddenly, her mind flashed pink. A color? Why?

Pink. Pinkie Pie.

Pinkie Pie?

You know me, Dashie! Giggle at the ghostly, remember? Cackle at the creepy!

Memories of playing pranks on various ponies alongside a pink, frizzy-maned mare began to populate Rainbow Dash’s mind. She remembered the squeaky sound of her voice. The strange things she did. “Pinkie Pie, you’re so RANDOM!”

She recalled her more gruesome recent memories, however. What she did… would… would Pinkie Pie ever forgive her for what she’d done? Would her other friends understand? Would she, Rainbow Dash, ever understand?

Of course I’ll forgive you, silly! Rainbow Dash could imagine her friend say. It wasn’t your fault, you were under somepony’s control! You would have never done that to anypony if you were still you!

Wait a minute, why was…? Was Pinkie Pie talking to her right now?

Of course I am, Rainbow Dash! I’ll always be with you. And that’s because we’re friends! I’ll support you, no matter if you’re hurt and crying or filled with laughter! I wish I could hug you right now, but I’m currently in another chapter. I’m on a pirate ship that’s gonna get attacked by Imps and Fluttershy says hi!

Rainbow Dash stared, blankly. That was totally Pinkie Pie.

It was like Pinkie were right here. She wanted Pinkie here, Fluttershy too. She wanted all her friends here, right now. She wanted to hold them, tell them everything that’s happened, lay all her sins out on the table for them to see.

She wanted her friends back.

Rainbow Dash noticed that both she and Speeding Bullet were quiet for what felt like an hour. The laughter they shared had left her containing a glow she hadn’t felt in a long time. Goodness, it felt like forever since she’d last felt it.

The feeling of being loved and cherished, by those she loved and cherished.

For a moment, Rainbow Dash wondered if Speeding Bullet felt the same glow. “Hey,” she said, “Bullet, I’m… I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

She didn’t hear any response, but decided to carry on anyway.

“What happened to you… it wasn’t fair. Your family and addiction, and then the accident… now this…” She closed her eyes. “… I’m sorry you had… to be put through all that.”

She had changed a lot over the past few weeks. She had learned to quickly adapt and think on her feet; she remembered her sins and her friends. She wasn’t sure she could go back to being hard-headed, one-track minded Rainbow Dash.

But it felt good, actually; growing up. Rainbow Dash was no longer innocent, she realized, as that had been stripped of her by the world, by Speeding Bullet, by her other enemies. She was bare and vulnerable—two things she hated—but at the same time, she felt wiser and more complete.

She felt she could empathize with Speeding Bullet, if only a little. Sure, his life sucked, but he was a monster now, and he needed to be stopped.

She was suddenly very tired. Even though the wind whipped through her mane and tussled her tail, Rainbow Dash slept on that platform, more soundly than she had in a while.

*****

Speeding Bullet watched her on the screen, her form sleeping against the train car. She was almost at her destination (one more maze, this one much more carefully constructed), but Bullet decided she should get as much rest as she needed.

He looked more closely at her. Part of him was jealous she was still flesh and blood. The other part of him felt that’s what made her beautiful. Her ability to have actual blood run through her veins, keeping her warm. Her ability to have durable bones and soft flesh. He missed these things greatly, ever since—

Suddenly, a call came in from a nearby computer. He tapped the “Receive” button.

“Ah, Bullet, been a while,” said his boss. The voice was garbled and disguised, but it was certainly his boss; he was the only one with access to this frequency. Speeding Bullet said nothing, merely awaiting his instructions.

“How are the experiments coming along? Do you think she’s ready yet?”

She is performing far more excellently than I thought. She is not ready, but give me a few more days. She will be prepared. I will call you when she is fully prepared for your project.

And with that, the call ended. Bullet had spent all this time, all these weeks, into pushing Rainbow Dash to her limits, throwing her into situation after situation (although this last one demonstrated his clumsiness as well as her cleverness).

As he looked at her now, this mare who had gone through so much in such a short time, Speeding Bullet suddenly felt a nagging doubt. He felt a kind of kinship with her. He knew he wasn’t supposed to become emotionally involved with his subject, as that would jeopardize his assignment. (The constant mind-games of comparing himself to her were meant as tests, but he was surprised that they were working better on him than on her.)

Bullet was supposed to prepare Rainbow Dash for her destiny, and her destiny was coming faster and faster every passing day.

But, it did not change the fact that he did not want her to leave.

Chapter 11: Where the Sun Died

CHAPTER 10—Where the Sun Died

Zecora’s hut had taken a whole new layer of terrifying. It was almost as if the hut had been teleported into a different dimension. The oil paint on the wall, the taunt, had taken away any semblance of sanctuary this hut may have once possessed. Where the brew had been boiling, the cauldron had been tipped over, the fire still going, but the brew all over the floor. This was the only sign of a struggle—or rather, a sign of a shocked reaction.

The masks on the walls were no longer sentinels or protectors. Their demonic eyes glared at Applejack, burning her with a horrendous, spine-tingling fury. The jars lining the shelves were no longer housing mundane ingredients for potions, instead containing alien organs that seemed to wriggle, demanding freedom from their prisons.

Applejack wanted to leave, but her hooves were frozen to the ground in sheer terror. It was as if she were totally unable to escape. Suddenly, the door behind her slammed shut. Applejack turned around, hearing Big Macintosh shouting on the other end. (Weren’t they inside just a moment ago…?) A thump. The door was not giving way.

No way, Big Mac could knock trees over with his kicks. How was that door…?

A light had turned on behind her. A second shadow stood next to hers. She felt a hot breath on her back.

“Why, hello beautiful.”

Applejack bucked out of reflex, her hooves striking at nothing. She turned around, the light coming from a torch near the ceiling. She heard a laugh—an awful little snicker, like a schoolyard bully who just sneaked up on you. Applejack looked more closely at the masks on the wall.

Their expressions had changed. One held a perverted leer, another a hateful grimace. The third’s eyes bulged as if about to explode, its sharp teeth bared.

“I’ve been waiting for you, darling.”

There was that voice again. It was quiet and echoey, as if she were hearing it through a dream. Its accent was slightly inner-city, its pitch masculine but wispy and icy; it was like the lifeless Arctic had been given a voice. Applejack looked back at the door—

Only for the door and windows to have all somehow vanished. Applejack looked back at the masks. She gasped and backed down. The masks had bodies to go with them now, stocky and powerful. Their skin was black and oily, their anatomy resembling gorillas. They were all standing in front of Applejack, their facial expressions somehow made ten times worse than they were before.

“This is our special moment together, Applejack.”

“Wh-Who are you?!” Applejack demanded. “WHAT are you?! How do you know my name?!”

The voice seemed to totally ignore the first two questions.

“I know everything about you, Applejack. I know your past… and your future.”

Applejack could feel fear closing in on her, like a hawk with her talons outstretched. The only light in the room came from the torch above, the demonic things in front of her, leering, grimacing, mock-howling. Applejack dared not look away from them in fear that they might come closer.

“I know that your first word was ‘Pa’. I know how hard you took your parents’ deaths. I know you tried to escape the farm life after they’d died. I know how you felt guilty for leaving your family all alone when they needed your strength the most, and I know how, even when you speak of that time, you always leave out that embarrassing detail.
“And I know what you do when you think nopony’s looking.”

She heard the voice moan eagerly. The sound of this distorted monster reverberated around the hut, as if coming from every direction at once. Applejack was beginning to lose her focus, but managed to hold on by sheer force of will.

“I gotta say, Applejack, you know how to put on a good show. Oh, oh-ho-ho! You just didn’t know you had an… ecstatic audience. Mmm-hm-hm-hm!”

How long had this perverted freak been watching her?! She now felt even more ashamed of herself than when she thought nopony was around. Her eyes began to water, her spine becoming cold.

“I’ve been watching you for a looooooong time, Applejack. Ever since I saw you that day in Manehatten. You remember? You were on your way to your uncle and aunt’s house, but you lost your way and asked me directions. Bang. Love at first sight. I thought of you, and only you, when I was… alone.”

He moaned louder. Applejack’s eyes still focused on the terrifying giants gazing at her as if she were a meal, their eyes burning a hole straight through her. She searched her mind, trying to verify if his story were true. She was, what, eight, nine years old when she went to Manehatten? The guy she asked for directions?

But he was an older teen. He looked so friendly, she remembered. He fit the description of the unicorn she had seen painting the taunt on the wall (white coat, purple mane, smallish by stallion standards). But love at first sight? She shivered as though she were shaking off cold water.

The Invisible Thing began to speak again.

“So when I was asked to take care of Ponyville, I was sooooo excited to get to see you again. You’ve… met some verrrry interesting ponies since our last meeting.”

Her teeth clenched, her fear quickly mutating into rage. “Whut—did—you—do—to—them?!” she growled slowly.

“Oh, I didn’t do anything to them. Well, there was that one mare. Fiiiine-lookin’ unicorn, pure white coat, dark curly mane, gorgeous curves, the works. Not nearly as charming or beautiful as you, of course, Applejack, but she was quite choice.” He snickered. His voice developed even more malice. “Oh, the way she squealed, I tell you—!!”

Her fear fully supplanted by anger, Applejack was no longer afraid of the giants before her and struck the first one—the one with the perverted leer—and crushed its face. “WHA’D YOU DO TO RARITY, YOU SUMBITCH?!” she bellowed. The Invisible Thing didn’t answer.

The other two giants still did not move, as Applejack’s eyesight was still on them.

“Oh, such fire!” She heard him lick his mouth, and shuddered. “Such ferocity. Oh, oh, oh-ho-ho!”

Applejack screamed, her patience at its end. She broke the face of the grimacing giant, then bucked the screaming giant behind her. In a dazed rage, Applejack tore apart the bodies of the giants—breaking them with her hooves, butting them with her head, biting them with her teeth—her eyes bulging, ablaze, angry. As she demolished the giants, she screamed until her throat was hoarse, her spittle foaming as it flew from her throat.

He was hiding, hiding in these shadows, hiding hiding hiding where was he he’s here kill him bend him break him SNAP HIS NECK bend his BONES BREAK him break HIS LEGS KILL HIM KILL THE SON OF A BITCH KILL HIM KILL HIM

She stopped, all at once, her rage leaving her as if it were a candle that was suddenly snuffed out. She looked around. She was outside Zecora’s hut. The sun was beginning to droop in the sky, like a round, burning coffin being lowered into its grave. Applejack fell to her knees, winded. She looked down, and gasped.

Her hooves were covered with blood. She looked about more closely. Her eyes filled with tears as she slowly realized what had happened. Behind her, the Creature stood with its horn glowing its sickly green. From the fading glow, Applejack guessed it had broken whatever spell that creep had cast on her.

Then she saw them, and her heart froze. Big Mac, lying on his side, his broad back facing her, bite marks near his neck. Apple Bloom on the ground, bruises all across her chest, her body breathing rapidly and sporadically, as if terrified that it would run out of air. Granny Smith lay near a tree, a purple bruise blossoming on her head and blood coming from her lip.

She looked to the Creature, whose deformed face seemed even more depressed. “D-Did…” Applejack began before she started shivering. The shivering matured into sobs in a matter of seconds. “D-Did Ah… Did Ah do this?”

The Creature waited for a second, its dead eyes carrying a substantial kind of deep sorrow. It nodded.

Applejack ran over to Apple Bloom, looking her over. “Sweet Celestia…” Applejack whispered. There were so many bruises; most of them deep, broad, and black. One of her back legs was bent in a way that suggested it was broken. Applejack sat down and lifted Apple Bloom, holding her, cradling her wounded body. She closed her eyes as she held her sister’s head close. Tears ran down her face. “’M so sorry,” she mumbled.

Sister’s sorry. Sister’s sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.

Apple Bloom’s eyes suddenly snapped open. She screamed. “LEMME GO!”

“Apple Bloom!” Applejack cried, trying to restrain her little sister as she fought and struggled, “Apple Bloom, it’s ME!” A pause of silence as Apple Bloom looked at Applejack with her one eye (The other had swelled shut). Her little body began to shake as she sobbed. “Whah…?” she asked, the quiver in her voice enough to crush the soul of the strongest-willed pony. “Whah’d you beat me up, Applejack?”

Applejack’s face fell as shame seized her. She had no answer. There were no words for what just happened.

“She was under somepony else’s control,” said Flim. Flam had picked up Granny Smith and carried her towards her young ‘uns. Flim knelt towards Apple Bloom, his horn glowing. Her bruises began to turn from black to purple to green, the swelling went down, and the bleeding stopped. Her leg, however, failed to mend, causing Apple Bloom to whimper as Flim fumbled the spell. He cursed. “Knew I should have put more effort into learning that healing spell!”

Flam had gotten to work healing the senior pony. “Thank Celestia she’s still alive,” he commented quietly.

“Where WERE you two?” Applejack said, angrily standing up and forcing her face into Flim’s. “Hiding?!”

Flim looked at her as though she might still be under the mind-control spell. “YES,” he said (evidently not tolerating her accusatory tone), his eyes wide and nostrils flaring. “What were we supposed to do?! You walked out of that hut, babbling like a maniac, yelling for somepony named Rarity. We tried getting you to come around, only for you to scream like you were possessed and start beating up the big guy!”

Applejack’s breathing slowed and she backed off, but she didn’t break her glare. Flim held his ground as Flam began to heal Big Mac’s wounds to the best of his limited ability. “Staying with your family would have been suicide. We don’t know any attack magic! We didn’t know how to break what you had! We’re lucky that the Creature was here to snap you out of it! We’re lucky you didn’t kill anypony!”

Applejack’s face dissolved from a glare into a frown, from a frown into a crushing blank stare. She fell to her knees again. She couldn’t argue. She had overpowered her own family, nearly killed them. Their battered, broken bodies would have been left in this forest, for some wild animal to come across, and…

Applejack buried her face in her bloodstained hooves and wept quietly, her shoulders shaking.

Flim and Flam looked at each other, their faces grim and apologetic. The Creature knelt down and nuzzled Applejack to the best of its ability. Apple Bloom, standing next to her big sister, thought over what she could say. “Applejack,” she said. Her older sister dared not look her in the eye. “It… it wasn’t yer fault.”

Applejack turned away. “Still, Ah… Ah coulda killed you! All-o’ y’all!”

For a while, the little filly stood there, her discolored bruises, missing teeth, black eye, and broken leg proof of Applejack’s rampage. Apple Bloom couldn’t argue with that either. Instead, she gave her older sister a hug. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, her face in Applejack’s mane. “Yer still an Apple. It was that bad guy we saw.”

“You…?”

Apple Bloom looked into her sister’s eyes. “We saw ‘im, jus’ b’fore you attacked us.”

“Didja see where he went?”

Flam answered her question. “No. He was visible for only a second.” Applejack noted the color drained from his face. Flam shook his head and pursed his lips. His voice took on a tone she never thought she’d hear out of him: haunted. “Guy had the creepiest smile I’ve ever seen. It was like he was… eagerly waiting for it to happen. I’ve never felt that…” His eyes darted away, as if looking for words. “… sickened by anypony before.”

Applejack blinked. A con pony was sickened by this guy? The Flim Flam brothers were unscrupulous, didn’t know how to handle money or run a business, were very good liars, weren’t above putting other ponies out of work or livelihood… but this guy was below even them.

She noticed now her hat had fallen off her head. She looked about, standing back up. Before she could ask for it, she felt it put on her head. Applejack turned and was greeted by the sight of Big Mac, his strong facial features bloated with bruising. His powerful green eyes looked at her apologetically.

“Nut yer fall,” he managed to say through his fat lip. Not your fault. Applejack’s face absorbed a new determination, as if from nowhere. She let out a sigh. “No,” she disagreed, shaking her head. “He controlled me. But he controlled me ‘cuz Ah let ‘em. Ah let ‘im git th’ better o’ me.”

She still remembered the Invisible Thing’s terrifying implication of Rarity’s fate. She still remembered how it caused her to lose her cool. That must be how he cast his mind control spell—by breaking the patience and will of his victims. By appealing to what scares and angers them.

But Rarity…

Applejack needed to track this guy down. He can’t get away. She needed to make him pay for all he did—and he had a lot to answer for.

The problem was they didn’t have any clues. Their elusive and powerful enemy was always one step ahead of them. Zecora was no longer there to produce her “see invisible things” potion, as they had planned. Her family was in no shape to travel. Nowhere was safe anymore.

No clues, no safety, no options, nothing. They were closer to their enemy now, but were no closer to the goal of stopping him. And now that Applejack learned of his disturbing interest in her, she knew that things quickly had become very personal.

“We cain’t rest,” Applejack said. Granny Smith sat down next to her granddaughter, and put one of her forelegs around her. She buried her face in Applejack’s blonde mane. “We cain’t leave,” she continued. Big Mac wrapped his neck around his sister and grandmother. “We cain’t track him,” Applejack said. Apple Bloom sat between Applejack’s forehooves and hugged her tight.

The Flim Flam brothers stood closer to each other now, too. A huge feeling of desperation, fatigue, and hopelessness bubbled up beneath the skin of every pony present. The chill of Everfree’s air was not enough to stop their profuse sweating.

Applejack perked up her ears. She noticed some of the others had, too. The disturbing quiet in the air was gradually broken, with a whisper. It was… singing. As the verses continued, its volume got higher, the tone more snide before blowing into downright maliciousness.

Who’s a silly pony? You’re a silly pony! Who is? You is, Applejack!

Who beat your brother? YOU beat your brother! Who did? YOU did, Applejack!

Who broke your sister? YOU broke your sister! Who did? YOU did, Applejack!

Who bruised your granny? YOU bruised your granny! Who did? YOU did, Applejack!

Who’s a silly pony, Applejack?

Who’s a silly pony?

Then they saw it. A smile—cruel, dominating, eerie—hovering above a tree branch. As it stopped singing, a pair of sinister ice-blue eyes rolled into existence right above it. Their terrifying gaze was fixated on Applejack.

The rest of his body came into view, as if simply fading into existence. He was sitting on the branch of the tree, catlike, his chin resting on his forehoof, his horrible, horrible grin frozen in place, the hate and lust radiating from his eyes. His teeth were long, too long; the smile itself seemed physically impossible with normal pony facial anatomy. It was an unnatural thing to behold—but less from its unsubtle difference from a normal smile, and more from the viciousness it carried.

“Hello again, Applejack,” he said, his cold voice no longer impeded by the sound of a dream. (It was far creepier without it.) His eyes looked over her family members, who while still holding Applejack, were just as interested in the sight of a unicorn perched upon a branch.

“My, my, my, you’ve really done a number on them, haven’t you? What a bad Apple you’ve been!” He chuckled, causing the air around him to shiver.

The ponies were all speechless. Finally, Apple Bloom broke the crushing silence. “You! Whah’d you kidnap everypony?! Whah’d you make mah sister ‘tack her own fam’ly?! Whah…” Her face fluctuated between confusion and anger. “Whah do you have to hurt ponies?! Wha’d we ev’r do t’ you?!”

The Wizard began to slither down the tree, his body boneless and snakelike. As he reached the base, his eyes glared at Apple Bloom, their eyes locking. His icy stare dared Apple Bloom to look away—a dare she gladly took.

Apple Bloom looked to her family and allies, only to see that they… hadn’t moved at all. Their faces were still frozen in fear, their bodies still in the exact same poses they were before. It was as if they were all statues. Their eyes suddenly began to dart around, as if in panic. She could hear them try to speak, to form words, but could not; their entire bodies had been locked.

The Wizard had cast his spell without them knowing. She looked back toward the tree—

—only to be treated to seeing his horrible blue eyes directly in front of her.

“Boo!”

Apple Bloom fell backward with a scream as the Wizard cackled at his prank. The little filly hid behind her family, despite not knowing if they could protect her. Suddenly, his malicious smile subsided, melting into a friendly grin; his sinister eyes becoming wide and childlike.

The Wizard walked slowly behind Apple Bloom’s frozen family members. Apple Bloom tried backing away (hard to do when one leg is broken), and stifled a scared gasp as he ran his hoof over her older sister’s rump. He did not even look in her direction as he did so, his eyes never once breaking contact with Apple Bloom’s.

“I think our game is reaching its climax,” he said quietly. His hoof caressed Applejack’s flank lovingly, going from one side to the other, then up her spine almost to her neck. His foreleg seemed to stretch like a snake as it went up and down her back. His eyes were still on Apple Bloom's. “You know where I am, girl; you’ve been there before.”

Suddenly, Apple Bloom heard noises, familiar ones—noises she had wanted to forget, but never could. Noises that had kept her up late at night for months after it happened. She looked around in this dense forest, and the noises began to increase in number and volume. Suddenly, the red eyes began to appear between the trees. Apple Bloom remembered them, these demons of Everfree; how they had once tried to catch her and make her theirs.

“Yes, you remember,” chided the Wizard. “You remember the town where the sun died.” A horrible wheeze left him, and it mutated into a high-pitched laugh. Apple Bloom looked from the red eyes and to the Wizard. He was leaning into her sister, now: rubbing against her side, breathing into her neck, smelling her mane.

All at once, an intense rage flared inside the little filly. Even though she was merely a foal and not old enough to understand the idea of sexual attractions, she understood that what this creep was doing to Applejack was unacceptable. All this wicked magic, the demons of Everfree, the inappropriate touching—she’d had enough. She leapt forward, without thinking, and bit the Wizard’s tail. He yelped in surprise and bucked Apple Bloom off.

“You little pest!” he shouted. “Who do you think you are?!”

Apple Bloom had gotten up, surprised by her newfound strength. “Jus’ who d’you think YOU are?! Nopony touches MAH SISTER THAT WAY!” She charged him again, only for him to vanish.

The red eyes among the trees disappeared, two by two, gradually until all that was left was the oppressive atmosphere of Everfree. However, a huge pair of blue eyes—the Wizard’s—appeared above the group. His voice echoed through the trees, shaking their leaves.

“The town where the sun died. That’s where you’ll find me, Applejack. Let’s play again… soon.” The eyes faded out of existence. The trees ceased to shake.

Apple Bloom looked behind her to see that everypony was able to move again. Flim and Flam looked about ready to freak out, and were holding onto each other as if letting go would make the monsters get them. The Creature had gone down on its knees (Well, except for the fat leg that had none) and bowed its head.

Applejack was on her knees again, shivering as if cold. Granny Smith held her, scared as well. Big Macintosh wore an expression Apple Bloom never thought she’d see him demonstrate—anger. He shook and breathed hoarsely, his eyes darting about as if looking for something to smash.

“Ah have t’go,” Applejack declared, getting up. “Ah have to go an’ end all this.”

“We’re comin’ too,” Granny Smith said. “Nopony touches mah granddaughter like a pervert!” She looked about the ground and spotted the shotgun she’d dropped.

Before she was able to retrieve it, Applejack said, “No, Ah cain’t let y’all ‘ndanger yerselves like this. Y’all need t’ seek shelter—”

“WHERE?!” argued Granny Smith. “Applejack, we’ve all figgered out there’s nowhere t’hide! Nowhere t’run! We gotta go fight that—that—” Granny Smith’s voice broke as she remembered how he—that awful and soulless brute—touched her granddaughter. She shook with all the holy fury an indignant grandparent could muster. “We gotta fight that rat-bastard!”

Apple Bloom nearly giggled. All those times she’d get onto everypony else for bad language, and there she was, using it herself! But she could understand: the situation got so much worse, and watching somepony that creepy torment your yung-‘uns like that would set anypony’s mind on fire.

Granny Smith’s apple-bronze eyes began to swim with tears. “Ah—Ah cain’t…” Her shriveled lips began to tremble. Her face fell, and her voice became quiet. “… Do y’all know what it’s like, watchin’ yer own babies lowered in the grave?”

All at once, everypony present forgot their own feelings and were struck by Granny Smith’s statement. Applejack remembered how her heart felt like it had shattered into a million irreparable slivers when she saw her Ma’s coffin slowly descend. She recalled how that same heart shattered again as she watched the light fade from her Pa’s eyes. Breathing became more difficult the more she remembered.

“Ah… Ah jes’ don’ wantcha goin’ an’ gittin’ yerself kilt, Applejack…” Granny Smith’s face was overflowed with tears, her voice quivering. “Ah’ve already los’ so many in mah old age.” She looked straight into Applejack’s eyes—those green eyes her Ma had given her. “An’ Ah sure as hell ain’t losin’ YOU!”

There was a deep pause. Big Macintosh cleared his throat. “N-Nut th’t Ah don’t concur witcher feelin’s, Granny Smith, but, uh, this…” The big pony’s courage began to waver a little as all eyes fell on him. It was difficult for him to speak clearly with his fat lip, but he cleared his thoughts and tried again. “Applejack’s th’Element ‘f Honesty. She an’ her friends fought gods—an’ they won. If’n anypony ‘kin take awn this wick’d wizard feller, ’s her. Ah vote that, whether we fight ‘r flee, we should ’llow her t’lead th’charge, an' make the decisions.”

Apple Bloom felt like saying something, but as she stepped forward, her body reminded her about her broken leg, and that it still hadn’t been taken care of. Flam immediately noticed. “Flim,” he said to his twin, quietly, “why didn’t you focus more on learning that mending spell like I told you?”

Flim tried to argue, but found he couldn’t. Flam was always the better healer, and despite Flim’s effort to be as good as his brother, his healing magic lagged behind Flam’s. Flam walked over to Apple Bloom. “Hold still, now,” he told her.

His horn glowed, and Applejack could feel her bones mending back together, the internal bleeding stopping as he took the time to reconnect the punctured flesh. All throughout this, she strangely felt nothing. Flam turned to his twin. “You need to put the victim under an anesthetic enchantment, Flim. THEN, you cast the Inside Eye enchantment on your eyes so you can see what you're doing. Finally, you THEN use your telekinesis to reconnect broken bones and burst blood vessels. Got it?”

Flim nodded, hoping he could remember his brother’s instructions. And the anesthetic spell.

Apple Bloom moved her leg a bit, since the anesthetic spell caused it to become numb. She wobbled a bit before Flam caught her. “It’s still gonna need a splint, the magic might not hold and the bone might break again.” His brother produced some nearby sticks on the ground and some string from his coat pocket. Together, they put the makeshift splint around Apple Bloom’s leg. She walked over toward her older sister, who nuzzled her. Applejack looked up at the con-ponies.

She was… confused. On the one hoof, they had tried to scam them out of their livelihood before, and weren’t particularly heartbroken for doing so. But on the other…

It was probably the situation: things had become rather desperate now, and everypony realized what kind of enemy they were up against. It was them versus him. When this was all over, Applejack expected her old enemies to try something else, any of their old tricks.

But for now, there was only one thing to say.

“Thank you.”

*****

The sun had finally set, the red sky becoming a burnt purple. All the ponies (plus one Creature) had gone into Zecora’s hut, although all were creeped out by the decorations, especially due to recent events.

Applejack took down each of the tribal masks and set them aside, not bearing to look at them. “OK,” Flam started, “What do we do? What’s the plan?”

“We kill ‘em,” Granny Smith said flatly.

“That’s… that’s the goal, not the plan,” Flim said. “We need to go over what we know.”

“Right,” Applejack concurred. “S’far, we know that this Wizard is mostly…” She gulped and gathered her courage. “… is mostly int’rsted in me. So Ah think Ah should go.”

The group nodded.

“Ah know where he is,” Apple Bloom said. “Ah ‘kin lead you there, sis.”

“Absolutely not!” Granny Smith denied. “Not in yer shape! Ah’ll not have you gittin’ lost in th’woods where those red-eyed… things are gunna try ‘n gitcha.”

Apple Bloom tried to argue her case, but all present adult ponies sided with Granny Smith. “But Ah know where he is, Ah don’t think any o’ y’all do!”

They could see her point. Flim offered to draw a map with Apple Bloom’s input, which everypony seemed to support. Applejack hoofed her map of Everfree forest over to Flim, who produced a red pencil and motioned for Apple Bloom to show him where everything was.

Meanwhile, the rest began to debate who should back up Applejack and who should stay behind. While Granny Smith had wanted to march to the wizard’s lair and shove her shotgun where the sun don’t shine and pull the trigger, the rest knew that she would probably tire out before they managed to get there.

Big Mac volunteered, which Applejack considered. She knew her brother was very dependable and strong, but she also knew he was a total crybaby in the dark. She explained to him (taking care not to mention his childhood fear in front of strangers), that his strength would be better off here, protecting those who stayed behind.

Flam began to argue, saying that Big Mac wasn’t able to do anything against the Wizard before, what good would it do? Apple Bloom argued that the Wizard said he’d back at Sunny Town, coupled with his sick obsession with Applejack, meant he’d stay there. But that didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t send any of Sunny Town’s spooky residents to go attack anypony left behind.

There was, as Flim pointed out, also no guarantee he’d be effective against the Nightmares. Applejack considered this. “’Kin they be ‘ffected bah magic ‘f they cain’t be taken down wit’ force?”

Flim explained, “Well, yeah, but it’s not like we have any attack magic, remember?”

She looked to the Creature. “How ‘bowtchu, big fella?”

The Creature tried to shake its cockeyed head, only for its entire upper body to join in.

Applejack groaned. Planning was so hard. She wished Twilight Sparkle were here; this was more her talent than Applejack’s. Suddenly, Flam piped up. “Hey, I have an idea. What if, what if these ghosts… hate light?”

Flim looked at his twin. “Hate light? What do you mean?”

Flam waved his hooves. “HATE. LIGHT. They’re ghosts, right? And none of the ponies who got abducted, were abducted in the daytime, right?”

Applejack rubbed her chin as she remained laid out on the floor. “Well, most of the kidnappin’s took place at night. The ones durin’ the day coulda been his doin’, ‘specially if he had goons of his own t’ help him.”

“Exactly!” Flam crowed. He paced about the group. “If he had those creepy zombies doing most of the kidnapping, then he could only send them out at night! Plus, what did he call the place where he’d meet you?”

Applejack thought for a second before responding. “’Th’ town where th’ sun died.’”

Flam said nothing with his mouth, but spoke with his eyes. They lit up brilliantly as he motioned with his front hooves, as if trying to lead Applejack down a path. It clicked. “Th’ town where th’ Sun died!” she repeated. “Where it’d be completely dark!”

“So if we stay in the light…” Flam began.

“We stay safe from the zombies!” Flim finished.

The group then decided on a definite plan: using Apple Bloom’s map, Applejack would go to Sunny Town (ironic name), accompanied by the Creature, whose horn could produce enough light not just to keep the path lit, but to scare off the Nightmares. Big Macintosh and the Flim-Flams would stay at the “base” in case the Wizard felt cheatsy, and sent some goons.

“Evr’pony else, stay put,” Applejack instructed. “This ‘s a dang’rous mission, an’ Ah aim to keep casualties to th’ bare minimum.” She looked over her family and kinda-enemies one more time, drinking in their presence, their faces.

“In case Ah don’t make it back, Ah want y’all t’know tonight Ah’m goin’ down swingin’.” She walked over to Granny Smith, held her tight, and did the same for her siblings. “An’ Ah love y’all, very much. More than Ah could ev’r say an’ more than y’ull ev’r realize.”

She stopped in front of the Flim-Flam brothers. They shared an awkward silence. “You…” Applejack’s eyes darted away, then came back. She spoke in a quiet and unsure voice. “Y’all take care o’ yerselves, aright? We may not think that highly ’f y’all, but when it comes raht down to it, yer brothers. An’ yer all ya got.” To the surprise of them both, Applejack had gotten up on her hind legs, and held them in a tight hug. “So both-a’ y’all take good care ‘f each other, OK? Ya promise?”

The feeling of being hugged by one of their enemies was a bizarre experience for the Flim-Flam brothers, but they supposed it could be worse. (After all, they’d made a lot of enemies over the years. At least they were getting hugged by one of the cute ones!) “I promise,” Flim said. “Me too,” said Flam.

She let go and went to the door where the Creature was waiting, its horn aglow. Applejack took one last second to look back at her family. She smiled, a tear in her eye, nodded, then left, the Creature following close by.

The two went into the night, that treacherous darkness, and began the journey to the final battle. The Battle for Ponyville.