When one visits the city of Manehattan, they may find it to be rather unwelcoming. Such a large city, full of so many ponies, all in a rush, all stressed out. All rather easily irritated. The big city is no playground. Things as simple as daily life become a struggle for survival. When a new pony joins the city, any friendliness is quickly whittled away, the remainder only used in the company of those said pony believes deserves it.
Another thing one may learn in a city such as Manehattan is that there is a market for everything. Stress is no exception. Sports, pool halls, parks. Plenty of business savvy ponies have made a pretty bit by investing in ways to relieve stress. But stress is like an incurable disease. You can't kill it, you can only treat the symptoms. And some symptoms require a rather...unorthodox treatment plan.
So it came to pass that establishments of...questionable morals sprung up in the back alleys that too often went unnoticed. Fine mares and substances that took the edge off life were traded there. In addition to stress relief, they also granted those ponies who had fallen to the bottom a way to support themselves. It wasn't the greatest job, nor one to write home about, but it kept them fed and sheltered.
However, with every market, there are competitors. Ponies who feel that they can run the market better, or that they deserve to run it more than the next pony. And though the size of Manehattan is nothing to scoff at, soon these competing businesses started cramping in upon one another.
Turf wars broke out.
Yet another market was created. One for weapons, and guards. The back alley market became a little bigger.
Eventually, a few of these entrepreneurs realized that Manehattan wasn't the only city out there. The back alley market spread like a wildfire. Every major city soon had their own markets, all trading between each other, and between other cities, in a massive organization that ponies soon began calling the Underworld.
We begin our story with one Salty Sam. He began his operation selling salt, and was one of the more prominent dealers in Manehattan. He worked for a group that operated out of a nightclub called the Carousel. He wasn't sure how it got its name, but he assumed it had something to do with ponies and poles.
But that was a question for another time. Right now he had a problem. A BIG problem. Somepony had taken a rather large chunk of his clientele with a cheaper, higher quality salt. How anypony could afford to sell such high end salt at such low prices was beyond him, but the boss needed to hear about it. The bouncers at the door to the club waved him in. He was enough of a VIP to be recognized on sight. The next set, however, made him wait while they took the sack of the competitors salt he was delivering to the boss. Eventually, he was waved into the bosses office.
Salty barely had time to sit down before the boss began drilling him for information.
"Salty, have you tasted this salt?" The bosses voice was gruff, gravely. It fit the boss perfectly.
"Yessir. Damn potent stuff." Normally, such callous language was a bad idea in the presence of the boss, but Salty was just that much of a VIP.
"And a damn big problem. How cheap did your source say it was?"
"That entire sack was only 400 bits." The sack in question was large enough to hold three cantaloupes. For a sack that size full of their own salt, they'd charge nearly double that.
The boss, who refused to tell anyone his real name, out of fear for his family, flinched.
"I had to have heard you wrong. Could you repeat that?"
Salty solemnly quoted the price back. The bosses head lowered slowly until his muzzle was nearly on the desk. He was visibly shaking. Whether it was in anger or fear, he was not sure.
"The only reason someone would sell that low is to undermine my business and shut me down." The boss spoke slowly, then lifted his head to stare at Salty. "When it comes to salt sales and transfers, you are my best pony. Find the one selling this, and bring them to me. Take however many stallions you need."
"Yessir! We'll find the bastard, sir."
"See that you do...Now go..."
Salty quickly vacated the room.
On his way out, he glanced over the club.
Most of the ponies present now were either the mares who worked here, or the stallions that protected the place. There was a large percentage of Earth ponies, with a few pegasai scattered about. Unicorns in this world were worth their weight in bits, but most were too noble to even look down an alley, let alone join the world down one.
The boss kept his mares loyal by using the same method other groups used. Get them addicted to salt, then pay half their wages in it. It insured they never went elsewhere for salt, since they couldn't afford it, and kept them hooked on their own brand. But someone selling good salt so cheap would destroy that system for the entire city. Which made it all the more important that he find this guy.
He waved a few stallions over, ran them through the happenings, then took them with him on his investigation.
Six hours later...
Salty had not yet found the seller, but he had found a large stash of the salt in question, hidden in one of the bosses own warehouses, no less. Salty was on his way to report this. As he rounded a corner, however, he found himself frozen in place. There, being taken away in manacles, surrounded by the city guard, was the boss. His head was hung low, the very image of a broken stallion.
"Excuse me, Mr. Guard?" Salty spoke, approaching one of the escorts. "What is this pony being arrested for?"
The guard replied, barely making eye contact with Salty. "We received an anonymous tip about several stashes of illegal grade salt in warehouses along the wharf. Mr. Orange here is the sole owner of every single one of them. When we placed him under arrest, we found a sack full of the very same salt in his office. That's enough for any judge to convict him."
After finishing his explanation, the guard continued along with the escort. Salty, however, was shocked by the implications. Not only was somepony selling this high quality salt, but they were willing to sacrifice large amounts of it to throw other ponies out of the running. After considering all of that, it might even be possible that the pony waited until the boss had a sample of the salt before alerting the authorities.
As much as he hate the other gangs in the area, they needed to be alerted. If the pony responsible were caught, the boss could be absolved of any connection. Salty decided to stop by the club to collect whatever money was left after the guard raid, then use it to gain an audience with the other gang leaders. With a new plan in mind, he galloped back to the club. Just in time to see a new sign light up above it. The new sign glowed in the light of the setting sun, proclaiming to all that passed by that the establishment was now called Jack's Shack.
At this, the stallions that had been following him decided it was time to jump ship and look for new employment. Salty, however, was loyal. The boss had always treated him right, even if other were not so favored. Salty stormed into the club and headed right for the office. He almost made it too, until two stallions slammed him backwards. He stumbled, then made to attack, but a third stallion pushed him to the ground. As he struggled, a fourth, smaller stallion walk in front of him. Craning his neck was hard in the position, but Salty managed, just enough to see his source looking back down on him.
"Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Sam. Did you not hear? My employer recently purchased this club. You are no longer welcome here."
"Oh? And whose your employer, huh? Who's the pony that thinks he can overthrow one of the strongest bosses in the city and not take a knife to the back for it?" Salty spat through teeth that were being forced closed.
A new voice spoke up from the dark hallway behind Salty's ex-source. "That would be me."
What appeared at first to be a minotaur slowly separated itself from the shadow. Its legs were covered in a strange blue fabric, and its torso was covered in a white fabric, with a thin strip rising over each shoulder to hold the cloth in place. It was fur-less, except for the top of its head and a circle around its mouth. Its eyes were tiny, yet stared with an intensity that shook Salty to the core. Poking out from its mouth was a large cigar, which the creature puffed on has he approached the group.
Salty was silent was his ex-source turned to face the biped. "What should we do with him?"
The creature smiled, revealing sharp canines. Fear suddenly awoke in Salty. That smile...It was unnatural.
"How about we send a message?" The creature spoke, before laughing. Nightmare Moon herself would flinch at his laugh.
Salty began struggling even harder, as the stallion on his back pushed down on his neck, cutting off his air. The last thing Salty saw before his vision faded to darkness was the light at the end of the demon creatures cigar.
The Next Morning...
Mr. Waltz woke up to the sun streaming into his bedroom. As his mind came out of slumber, he smiled. One of his greatest competitors had been recently taken into custody. Today was going to be a good day. He stirred under his silken sheets, until his hoof touched something wet. Turning over, he lifted the sheets to see what had joined him. He then fell put of bed screaming as the head of a well know salt dealer smiled back at him.
Author's Note
This chapter was told in third person. From here the story will mostly be first person, with a few second person instances. I will, essentially, be attempting to write this as if Jack were telling a story
Any suggestions? Critique? Spelling errors? Beat me over the head with em. Please. Can't get better without knowing what I'm doing wrong.
