Daring Do

Chapters

Daring Do, Part 1
Daring Do, Part 2
Ether Wash
Apple Bloom
Applejack
Sweetie Belle
Heart's Desire, Part 1
Heart's Desire, Part 2
Sea Change, Part 1
Sea Change, Part 2
Morphine, Part 1
Morphine, Part 2
Fluttershy
The End
Foreword

Daring Do, Part 1

The potion spills into my mouth and rushes down my throat. It’s neither sweet nor acrid, but very slightly tangy, like lemon juice in water. After so long next to my body, it’s warm, and it flows smoothly. It takes two good gulps to get it down, and a good shake of the bottle to finish off the last few drops. I shut my eyes and let out a breath as I lower the bottle, the potion’s faint odor filling my nose.

That’s... that’s it then. Time to die.

It starts as a chill—like a breath of icy air passing over me, the hairs of my coat going stiff as my skin goes taut. I can feel it, unnatural alchemy churning in my gut, working its way out into my body. Oh, Celestia, what have I done? What am I doing? I could have left. I could have gone back to the Princess and become an actor and had a real life. I could have...

No. This is... this is better. This is better. Siren Song won’t be around anymore, but Siren wasn’t a very good pony. She’ll be better. I’ll be better. Better.

The muscles in my neck are going tense, my head jerking sharply to one side. Something in my spine pops, the sound echoing up into my ears. A whimper escapes me at that awful noise, that grinding snap. Something is building up inside me, this electric jolt, this tension. In my limbs. Behind my horn. I squeeze my eyes shut, tears running down my face.

I’m so scared, but in a sick way, that’s comforting. Fear. Siren Song is afraid, but she won’t be. Maybe I should have written a letter to her instead? A reminder of what it was... like to be me? Would it even have mattered? Will she be like Green, with twisted and corrupted memories of what Siren was like? Or will she be like Berry, with no ability to comprehend her old self at all? Berry is just staring at me, with that dead, blank mask she has for a face. I don’t... I don’t want...

“Ah! Ahhh...” The faintest gasp escapes me, my chest and barrel so tight I can barely breathe, air coming in shaky starts. My heart is racing, pounding in my ears, my limbs so tense they tremble. It doesn't hurt though. It doesn’t hurt. That’s good. It’s more like a... a tingling. A pressure. Like my body is full of energy that needs some, any release. Even my horn is starting to glow and spark all on its own. It’s overwhelming. Like slamming down ten cups of coffee, casting a spell and flirting with some cute stallion all at once!

It’s actually... it’s actually not so bad.

Sun and stars, am I getting turned on?

I think I am. I mean, a little! It’s... tense. Really tense, but not like I’m having a spasm. It’s like I’ve been sitting still too long and my body’s ready to go. “This...” I stammer, my words slurred. I force myself off the bed, my jerky motions yanking the sheets and sending the bottle flying off the side. It shatters on the floor, in this awesome, dramatic way that feels so right for the moment—a thousand glittering pieces scattering in all directions. I’m still a little twitchy, still sparking, but I can stand, and I stretch out all my legs just to feel them stretch—to feel the joints pop.

“This is...” My eyes roll up into my head involuntarily, and my head jerks back, but it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt, and I know my mane looks gorgeous spilled back like that. “Awesome.”

“You are experiencing euphoric hyperactivity as a result of taking the mantle on an empty stomach,” Berry says as I let the feeling wind down. I regain control of my muscles first, all smooth and graceful. My horn needs a bit more time to spark but I’m happy to give it. I can feel a pressure inside my skull there. Not like a physical pressure but, like this... well of power. Of course, unicorns get spells from their cutie marks; I’ve probably got all kinds of action-hero stuff packed in there now. “It will last between five minutes and half an hour, after which you will experience nausea and disorientation.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, breathless, rolling the word out as the sparks on my horn wind down. They sound like a crackling fireplace, and I twist my head to try and nuzzle up against them before I remember they’re attached to my horn. Right. “That’s ah... that’s like Zephyr, right? She fixed everything in her dad’s shop and then threw up. Does that mean I’m extra super brave until this wears off?” I feel super brave. No, more than that. I feel wound up. Energized! I don’t know if it’s the potion giving me strength, or if I’ve been afraid for so long that the perspective shift... I mean, I feel like I can do anything. Anything. No, more than that. I feel like me again.

“No. That is a common misconception,” Berry says, in that super-boring dry lecturer sort of way, but it’s okay because I’m not actually listening. I really want to take some time and experiment and see what I can do now. With my horn, yes, but not just that! I feel so... full of potential, and it’s not limited to my magic. “The hyperactivity and euphoria are caused by sudden exposure to the analeptic agents used to ensure quick uptake of the mantle. They are unrelated to your new cutie mark.”

“My new cutie mark,” I laugh, my breath coming quickly as my heart pounds. My new cutie mark. Isn’t that just hilarious? I mean, in a cruel irony sort of way, yeah, but, come on. Vision may have a dark sense of humor, but it knows how to crack a good joke. “So, where is it?” I ask, grinning ear to ear as I look around. My back is bare, my sides are bare. “Is it on my neck or something?”

“On your cheek,” Berry answers, and of course I don’t have a mirror. I look around for something shiny, but all the metal in this room is dull and grey, and I can’t see my reflection in any of it. I guess Berry figures out what I’m looking for, because she steps out of the doorway. “Bathroom at the end of the hall.”

I move off at a quick trot, but stop after only a few paces, taking a second to appreciate the essence of it all—the little spring in my step, the bob of my tail, the feeling of splashing through the puddles on the floor. “Berry,” I say. “You don’t know how good it feels not to be paralyzed by fear. Oh.” I let out a breath and laugh again. “This is like a weight coming off my shoulders.” She doesn’t answer, so I head down the hall, pushing open the door and shoving inside. Tiles, fixtures, toilet, sink, mirror, me.

There it is. On my left cheek. A green compass rose with four gold points to mark the cardinal directions. It doesn’t quite fit though. The north point runs up over my eyelid, visible only when I shut the eye, and the south runs under my chin. The east vanishes behind my ear—boring—while the west point runs along my muzzle, split in half by my mouth. It’s actually turned my lips gold, and the flesh on either side of them, terminating on the far side.

I reach up to touch it—feeling the hard ridge on the edge of my hoof brush over the smooth hair. My hoof is wet and salty from running through the puddles, and it leaves a cool feeling in its wake. It’s... a map legend. It’s not the sort of compass rose you see on seals or icons or in an actual compass; it’s the sort they draw in the corner of a map.

“Well, it doesn’t exactly blend with my natural color, does it?” I ask. It’s a negative sort of question, but my tone is upbeat and I make it sound good. I make it look pretty good too. I mean, I’m a freak, but I’m a pretty freak. That’s something, right? I tuck my tail in around my flank suggestively and grin at the mirror, quietly upgrading “pretty” to “hot.” My hooves clink and tap on the bathroom floor, and the sound carries cleanly around me. Good acoustics in here.

I take a breath.

“Stand back everypony, nothing here to see,” I sing, rolling out the notes in my absolutely dazzling mezzo-soprano, the notes so smooth and pure you wanna curl up against them. “Just imminent danger, in the middle of it, me.” It’s absurd of course, but it feels so good to sing again, to hear myself the way I should be. I have to laugh, giggle really, even as I look myself over in the glass, flank to fetlock. Brave, hot, smart, beautiful singing voice—this will do.

“Hey, Berry? What do maps have to do with bravery?” I ask, flicking my tail back to normal and taking a second to clean up. I can see Berry standing in the doorway behind me. I’m filthy and ragged of course, bags under my eyes and such, but that’ll pass. I take a second to straighten my mane while Berry thinks it over.

“It is a reference to the Daring Do series,” she says, in what is probably her least helpful answer to date, despite stiff competition in that field. Oh well, I can be patient. I need a brush.

“So the mantle is named after a series of mantles?” I ask cheerfully, checking myself out in the mirror. Smile. Frown. Pout. Bedroom eyes. Oh yeah, that’s nice. Gold is an exotic color. It’s like I’m wearing makeup. “That’s a little redundant, isn’t it?”

“Daring Do is a series of adventure books. They were very popular in Equestria,” Berry says as I twist my hindquarters around to inspect my lower body more thoroughly. Shoot—no physical changes there. It would have been perfect if I’d gotten that toned, action-hero physique to go along with it. I mean, it works the way it is now, but it could have worked even better. Is that what tonics are for? I think it’s mantles that do cutie marks and tonics that do physical transformations, but I never actually asked. When I turn back up, Berry is staring at me, her head tilted to one side.

“Do they not have Daring Do in Equestria anymore?” she asks, when she finally finishes that thought. “Everypony read it when I was young.”

“Berry, ‘when you were young’ was roughly a million years ago,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Please stop reminding me that you’re like, a seventy-year-old in an eighteen-year-old’s body.”

“I’m forty-seven,” she says, and wow, that is creepy. She’s nearly fifty? I mean, she almost looks younger than I do. I could introduce her as my little sister, and nopony would think it was weird. Actually, yeah! I totally could. We’ve even both got the face cutie marks—her with her little flower and me with the compass rose. That’s neat. “Do they really not have Daring Do anymore?”

“No, Berry,” I say. Okay, that's enough getting distracted, time to focus. Flick tail, shake head, stretch out, deep breath, feel that blood pump.

“Right!” I proclaim, in my best decisive voice. Officer Rallies Troops #6 serves me well here: one leg up, tail slightly above neutral, neck elevated and head level. “There’s no easy way to say this, Berry, so I’m just going to spit it out—I’m not going back to Equestria. Green sacrificed herself to save me, and now I’m going to save her. I’m going to get her out of the Pavilion and buck Rarity right in the teeth!”

I nail it so hard, Berry is actually shocked into silence. I mean, she’s usually silent, but this time, she’s also shocked. Her expression is flat as ever, but those gears are turning. Now she knows I’m serious and that I’ve got what it takes!

“Yes,” she finally says. “That was the implication of our earlier conversation.”

Earlier... oh right, my final letter. I forgot she was there for that. Well, that was a little silly of me, but whatever works! A tragedy to move even her cold, rusted heart. “Good!” I say, moving right along. “Well, let’s go then. We’re too late to catch Echo before he gets to security, but we can still find him wherever he falls asleep after work. He’ll never see it coming.” I trot up to the door to head back to the rail station.

Berry is in my way.

“Uh, Berry?” I ask, moving to the left. She moves with me, leaning over to block my path. “Berry. Berry, you’re in the way,” I say, weaving back and forth, only for her to move with me.

“It is four in the morning,” Berry replies. Is it? Wow. I totally lost track of time. “You are tired, injured, and attempting to treat emotional trauma with drugs. Even if you could locate Echo, confronting him now would be unwise. You should wait until you have slept.”

“No way. I’ve waited enough as it is!” I say firmly, stomping a hoof to emphasize how serious I am. “I’m through sitting around and waiting for other ponies to save me. It’s time I made it all right, and I won’t be talked out of it. If you think I can’t do it on my own, then help me.”

“I am helping you by maximizing your odds of success,” Berry replies, in that stubborn way she has. Can’t she see what I’m trying to do here? She’s so thick at times. “If you rest, you will have possession of your full faculties, and I will speak to Trixie—”

“Oh no you don’t!” I cut her off. I should have known! “I know you have your loyalties to Trixie, Berry, but this isn’t contingent on her approval. I am saving Green, no matter what Trixie has to say about it!”

“There are several obvious reasons that is not practically feasible,” Berry replies, without so much as a blink. “You are experiencing impaired judgment.”

“My judgment is fine—I’m experiencing your fat flank in my way!” I yell, taking a step forward. She scrambles back. That’s right. She doesn’t like to be touched. I take another step, and for all that she puts on airs of blocking my way, she backs down the hallway before I can brush her. “I’m sorry, Berry,” I snap, belting the words out. Oh yeah, that sounded good—very forceful and determined, even if it doesn't make me sound terribly sorry. “I do appreciate how much you’ve helped me, but I’m not letting my fate be decided by Trixie. If you want to help, help, but I’m doing this without you if I must.” I’m so dramatic. It’s great. “I’m going do the right thing! I’m going to save the day!”

Berry looks at me. Just stares. The corridor around us is dead quiet, other than the beating lights, and my stomach growling for some reason. She thinks about it for a while, watching me in that empty place. Then she bows her head and steps aside, letting me through to the train station.

I get about halfway there before I throw up.

“Uuughhh...” The sound passes over my lips like a desert wind. So dry. I can feel all the dust in my mouth—a grainy, rough mass that tastes of vomit. My stomach is so empty it hurts, a yawning pit, while my bladder is full to bursting. I urgently need to drink something, pee, and eat.

The problem being that I also need to keep lying here.

The fog of sleep clears slowly, but that doesn’t help. My head is throbbing, every beat of the lights causing a dull pounding in my temples and a burning behind my eyes. I can feel the light ebb and flow, even with my eyes shut. My limbs feel so heavy, so weak. I want it to all go away so I can just lie here. I feel... sheets? A mattress. A pillow under my head. How did I even get here? I was on the train with Echo, then Neptune’s Bounty, the station, Berry and... oh.

Ponyfeathers.

A feeble groan slips out of me, and try as I might to pull it back, it seems like too much effort. It’s so hard to draw breath, to make my barrel rise and fall.

My ears flick a bit. Scratching? No, scribbling. A pen on paper. Breathing. Ponies.

“Who’s...” I manage, before the strength leaves me. There. Who’s there. I try to say it, but the second word just won’t come. I can’t get the air, can’t make my jaw move right.

More scribbling. A loud thump, and the rattling of metal. A moment’s silence, then paper rustling. “I’ll need you to begin immediately.” Berry’s voice. Close.

“Yes, ma’am.” A male voice, clean and formal. Ma’am? A security officer? I try to tilt my head up, straining my neck and forcing my eyes open. It’s so hard though—my head barely moves, and when I crack one eye open, all I can see is a blur. There’s a vague purple mass, and a splotchy point of black and green. “Do you need any help with her?” the black and green blob asks.

“No. You may go,” Berry says. The blob vanishes, and I hear the heavy thump of a metal door. I think Berry is looking at me now, but I can’t tell, so I shut my eyes. It helps a little.

I guess I fall asleep again, because when I next come to, I feel a bit better. Or a bit worse. It hurts a lot more—I can feel every discomfort, every pain, bruises up and down my side, and a dull throbbing in my temples. The aching in my muscles, stomach, and bladder all seem so much more urgent now, and the dull, dry feeling in my mouth has turned to the sharp sensation of cracked and bleeding lips. It’s far from pleasant, but I think it’s a good thing that I can feel all that now. There are other things too—I can hear dripping water, smell something in the air. A wafting aroma. Bread?

“Berry?” I groan, the words emerging as a sickly rasp. “Berry, are you there?”

“Yes,” she answers, right by my ear, so close I can feel the flow of her breath, smell that sickly sweet odor. She must be leaning over the bed.

“Help me up,” I say, forcing one of my legs to move, to push the blanket back a little. It’s just a twitch, really. “I need to... bathroom. Don’t think I can get out of bed.”

Berry doesn’t answer, of course, except with silence. I wasn’t expecting her to, though. It’s tempting to just drift off while I wait for her—to slip back into that haze of sleep—but I force myself to try and wake up. Even though it feels like more effort than my lungs can handle, I make myself take deep breaths, and twist my legs one at a time to push at the blankets. It’s the faintest of motions, but even that is enough to make my muscles strain.

Eventually, I feel Berry tugging the blanket up. Is she trying to put me back to bed? No. No, I can feel her wrapping her forehooves around me, keeping the blanket between me and her. Oh, right. She’s serious about not being touched.

“On the count of three,” Berry says, tightening her grip around me. “You will count.”

“Alright, Siren. Time to get up,” I croak out, the words slurred by the bloated, dusty tangle my mouth has become. My ankles twitch a little, and I try to stretch my legs into place. “On three. One... two... three.”

I twist at the same time Berry heaves, the motion rolling me off the side of the bed and onto my hooves. My knees buckle under my own weight at once, and I start to fall, but Berry catches me, the blanket and one foreleg shoved around and under me. All the blood rushes out of my head, bright spots of light dancing behind my closed eyes as a loud ringing sings through my ears. Instinctively, I flail out with a leg to catch my fall, but my legs feel bloated, useless. Useless. No. Why can’t I reach the floor? My heart is pounding in my ears, as loud as I’ve ever heard it. Like a drum.

Oh. Berry already caught me.

Right.

I should pass out, I should fall, but somehow, I manage to stay awake, and Berry holds me up. I can feel her trembling with my weight. She’s not that strong. I need to stand. My legs are working a little now, and I push up myself up, letting the spots clear. Berry never lets go, but she steadies herself, and the pressure of her leg under me slowly fades until I’m standing on my own.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.”

Opening my eyes still reveals only a blur, but it’s sharp enough I can make out the shape of things. The bed, the desk, the door. Berry is a fuzzy pony, instead of an indistinct mass of purple. My first step is a little shaky, and Berry tenses to catch me again, but I don’t fall. She opens the door, and soon, I’m making my way down the corridor with her by my side, towards the grey mass at the end I know is the bathroom door.

I suppose dignity is the least of my concerns right now, but I can’t help but be a little embarrassed that Berry walks into the bathroom with me. She wraps the blanket around my shoulders so she can guide me there, and steadies me as I find a seat. It’s a good thing she does—something about relieving myself makes the spots in my vision return in force, and I start to slip forward towards the floor until she catches me. I squeak a little, but neither of us says anything.

The spots clear up after a bit, and I’m able to clean myself up and make it to the sink. My vision is sharper now—still fuzzy at the edges, but that’s the worst of it. I can see the sink and the knobs. There’s no way I can concentrate enough to use magic right now, but my hooves work just fine. I twist the tap on and lean my head down. It’s such a comfort to feel the water rushing down my throat, and I drink until that dusty feeling is gone. Nevermind how undignified it is, or how much water is splashing over my muzzle and face. Right now, that dirty tap is the fountain of life.

Eventually, I’ve had enough. I’m still thirsty, but if I drink until I’m not, I’ll make myself sick. I’m feeling much better anyway—I shut my eyes, take a deep breath, lift my head and stretch out all my muscles, feeling them crack and pop. It hurts, but not badly. I haven’t ripped or torn anything. That’s good.

The mirror is in front of me. I look... wrong. I’m the wrong color. I should be pink. I’m used to that. But now there’s green, and gold, and a little teal, I think? No—greener than that. I can’t quite place the shade. For a while, I stare at it, turning my cheek to the mirror and trying to remember the name of that particular color. But it won’t come.

I guess it doesn't matter now.

The rest of my face is no better. Tired. Drawn. Bruised. My eyes are bloodshot, and the visible lines are across my cheeks are criss-crossed by the paths of droplets of water. Water all over—my muzzle and cheeks are splattered. If I saw a pony like that in a crowd, I’d think they were going to pass out at any moment. Then again, I suppose I nearly did.

Letting out a breath helps. I shake my head. Right.

“Why am I this sick?” I ask Berry, even if I am feeling a bit better now. I’m able to make my way to the door and push it open without help, though Berry shadows me anyway, leaving the blanket over my shoulders and holding station just to my left.

“You are suffering from dehydration, exhaustion, hypotension, and moderate hypoglycemia,” Berry answers as the two of us walk down the hallway. “While the symptoms are collectively significant, self-treatment should still be fully effective.”

We walk the rest of the way in silence as I mull that over. Berry moves to open the door for me, but I push it open before she can and step back into the little room. I can see now that there are things on the desk—pens, paper, a watch, a bottle of water, some pep bars, my belt. There’s even a tray with a covered plate and two thermoses. Definitely the source of the bready smell.

“So,” I summarize, “I’m thirsty, tired, and hungry, but if I eat and drink something, I’ll feel fine?”

Berry shrugs.

“Sometimes, Berry, I think that you’re not really quiet,” I say, shrugging the blanket off and rubbing at my face, trying to work the tension out. “You just save up all your words so you can use them in bursts.” She doesn’t answer, of course, and I don’t wait for her to. “Is the tray for me?”

Berry nods, turning it to the side of the desk, so I can sit in front of it while she’s in front of the papers and things. I still don’t feel totally up to using magic, but I’m able to nose the cover off the plate and shove it off onto the desk.

Pancakes. A cloud of steam wafts out from under the cover and drifts out all around me. Fresh pancakes. Four of them. I smell butter, and syrup, and the thick aroma of the pancakes themselves. Somepony has slathered the syrup on them already, and they’ve been sitting long enough that it’s been absorbed, visible only as glistening lines in the fluffy brown stack.

My stomach growls so hard it’s like my whole body trembles a little. It’s okay though. There’s a knife and fork on one side of the plate. Even if I can’t focus on magic right now, I can still... I mean. I should... a little wisp of steam tickles my nose.

To heck with it.

My head sinks to the tray, and I scarf the pancakes down. Oh stars, that’s wonderful—sweet and buttery and solid. I practically take the whole stack in my teeth for the first bite, tearing off a chunk and chewing as fast as I can. It’s barbaric, crumbs going everywhere and syrup getting all over my face, but I really, really don’t care. It’s not like I have any modesty with Berry anymore.

She doesn’t say a word, and I’m halfway through the stack before I even lift my head. I’m splattered with syrup by that point of course—a sticky feeling all over my muzzle and cheeks—but she makes no sign of having noticed. She just watches me, silently, one ear tilted to the side a little, her gaze even and unblinking.

That makes me freeze for a moment, like a foal caught in the cookie jar. But no. I’m hungry; she’s got no room to judge me. I lean down to take a bite, a little defiantly even, but she has no more reaction to that than she did to all the bites before it. “Fo hut haffened—” I start, pausing a moment to swallow. “So what happened last night?”

While I wait through Berry’s usual silence, I reach out to touch each of the thermoses with a hoof: one of them is warm, the other cool. I pull over the cold one first and pop it open with my teeth. Orange juice. “It’s all really fuzzy,” I say, when her silence grows prolonged. “I remember most of us arguing in the bathroom. And then throwing up in the hallway. And then... something.”

“You became nauseous and delirious, and in your determination to get back to the city, fell down the flight of stairs at the southwest end of the train station,” Berry says, plain and matter-of-fact, as I gulp down the orange juice. “A medic was called to help, and your injuries were determined to be superficial, requiring only bedrest. I have been watching you since then.”

“I suppose I should thank you,” I say. It comes out more accusative than I’d thought. I’m not... I’m not really watching my body language or tone right now—I’m not collected enough for it—but somehow it comes out literal. I suppose I should thank you, but I’m not. “Taking care of me. Fresh pancakes in the morning.” Berry doesn’t even shrug this time; she just gives me that blank, empty stare. So I ignore her and eat another half a pancake, and take a sniff at the hot thermos. Coffee. I hate coffee. Still, I might need something to wake up later, so I slip it into one of my belt loops and cinch the belt back around my waist.

“So are you taking care of me because I’ll need my strength to go find Echo? Or so the Princess will think I’m worth mint-condition price?” I finally ask, breaking the silence. We both knew it was coming. “Because if it’s the second one, you probably should have stopped me last night.”

“A single mantle is not harmful, assuming you do not indulge the addiction,” Berry says, in that plain, academic way. “I think the Princess would still accept you, if you want to go back to Equestria.”

“If I want to go back?” I ask, peering at her more closely. She gives away nothing, but it’s habit, even if I know I won’t find anything in those eyes. “And if I want to save Green?”

“While Trixie does have the means to force you to leave, I believe she can be persuaded to see the value in allowing you to stay,” Berry answers. After a pause, she begins to put the things on the desk into her saddlebags—paper first, then pens, slipping them in one at a time. Giving me time to think, I suppose.

“That’s... very kind of you,” I say, but she ignores me, still going through the rote mechanical motion, moving onto the pep bars now. “I asked you once why it is you worked for Trixie. You never answered.” Still, she doesn't interrupt what she’s doing. The watch gets put away last of all, clasped in her teeth and then slid down into the saddlebags. “Berry, why are you helping me?” I ask, more forcefully.

“None of the others needed a reason,” she answers, shutting her saddlebags and latching them closed.

I... I don’t... I finish my pancakes. And the orange juice. There’s no napkin or anything, but I’m feeling a lot better. Good enough to levitate a little bit of gauze out of all the first aid stuff in my belt, and to clean myself up. That’s good. “The others liked me,” I say, my voice trembling.

Berry says nothing.

“Alright then,” I say, swallowing to keep my voice steady, and tossing the syrup-stained gauze down onto the plate. “Alright then. Keep your secrets. I’m staying. I’m saving Green. Let’s... let’s go.”

“Trixie will not be available for at least an hour,” Berry says. “There are several tasks I must see to in the meantime. You are free to remain here and rest if—”

“I said let’s go,” I snap, a touch of naked hostility working its way into the words, my sides trembling as I draw a shaky breath. “I’ve slept enough.”

Berry doesn’t so much as nod. She only rises, turns to the door, opens it, and leaves, letting me follow her.

It’s not far down the hallway, then down the stairs and back to the train station. It’s a dingy, fetid sort of place, full of decaying wooden platforms nestled amongst a spaghetti pile of twisting train tracks, weaving amongst each other on the stone. The stone itself is so stained with oil it’s almost black, and what little of the station that is not rotting is rusting. Even the grand steel “Welcome to Neptune’s Bounty” sign hangs at a noticeable angle, and jagged patches of red cover its sides. The ceiling is low and dripping, giving it a cramped feel, and the whole thing smells like smoke and pee. It doesn't help that the low ceiling creates a constant din of noise—ponies talking, coughing, shouting, foals crying, clocks binging, lights humming and buzzing.

When I arrived last night, this place was empty, but now, the clock atop the main station reads two, and the terminal is full of ponies as worn as the station is. Ragged herds, with dirty old saddlebags and unwashed manes and too many cutie marks. They cluster in little groups around wiredolls, wait at the edge of the platform like that would somehow make the train come faster, or just keep to themselves in the shadows, piled onto benches or nestled in dirty corners. Berry pays them no mind, and they don’t pay us much mind either. I do... I do take a second to look at them though. I don’t know if they’re like Epiphany, exactly, but...

“What are they all doing here?” I ask as Berry leads us along. We’re not waiting for a train, just headed for a tunnel on the far side of the platform. There are a lot of tunnels here, and a lot of bridges, rail and hoof, headed up and down and in every direction. Obviously a major terminal of some kind.

“Waiting,” Berry answers as we move around one of those statues of Sine Rider. I can’t see the quote at the base—there’s a mare with a crying foal who’s taken shelter under it, her child’s piercing shrieks drawing dirty looks from the ponies around her. She has him wrapped up in a blanket, cradled in her forelegs, trying to shush him without luck. It’s odd. He’s a unicorn—tan, with a wavy little mane of a slightly darker shade, but she’s a pegasus, bright and blue. He must take after his father.

I know it’s rude to stare, but I watch them anyway, turning my head as we go past. She should be pretty—she has the face for it. But she’s thin from malnourishment, her golden mane is ragged, her coat is falling out in patches, and even if I couldn’t see the pony biting its own tail on her side, she doesn’t have young eyes. Tired, and worn, and bloodshot. Pleading for him to be quiet.

Then she catches me staring, and wraps her wings up around him protectively. She acts like I might steal him, and glares at us until we walk away.

“What are they waiting for?” I ask quietly.

“Trains,” Berry answers.

I guess that makes sense.

Soon, we pass into the tunnel Berry selected, and out of sight of the station. It’s a hoof tunnel that quickly turns into a stairwell, taking us steadily upwards. Every once in a while, we run into a landing, or a side door, or a pair of wiredolls guarding the way, but we always pass without incident. Eventually, I can see a bright light in the distance, the top of the stairwell. It’s cleaner here, and dry. I guess... I guess this is the nice part.

“Stop,” I say, and I do, coming to a halt on a landing one level below the top, between two of the unmoving metallic guards there, still on their stands. “S-stop. I mean it. What are they waiting for?”

“Trains,” Berry repeats. “Because it is a train station.”

“I know what a train station is for, Berry!” I snap, tail lashing as I twist my head around to glare at her. “And you know perfectly well what I mean. What are they all doing there? And don’t just shrug!”

She stares at me for a while then, stopped on the landing. I stare right back.

“I don’t know,” she finally says. “That’s a general-access station. They could be going anywhere in the city.”

“Fine,” I say. “Fine. You’re just running errands or whatever, right? You don’t need me?” She doesn't reply, which I take as a yes. “Fine, you go ahead. Come and get me when Trixie’s ready to talk.”

I turn and move back down the stairs without waiting to see if Berry replies. Every step I take produces three dull thumps and one metallic clank—Green’s hoofboot. Is Berry going to stop me? Or follow me? Or just ignore me? My ears twist back as I listen for her, but there’s nothing. I don’t hear anything but the lights, and my breathing, and that steady sound from my hooves. Thump, thump, thump, tink, over and over. Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I stop two landings down, twisting around to look at her.

Nothing. Empty hallway. Did she leave... or...?

I search around more, but there’s not really anywhere to hide in this hall. Smooth stone walls, no obstructions. She’s sneaky, but she’s not invisible. So I guess she left.

Good. I suppose that’s... good. I reach up to slick my mane back. A bit sweaty. Right.

The train station looks funny from the bottom of the stairs—just because it’s at a different angle, the platform buildings hiding and revealing tracks. Still, it’s disorienting. I can’t even pick out the statue of Sine, much less the mare beneath it. Taking my time helps, examining things more clearly.

There are... overhangs, and benches. I guess at some point Trixie gave up on stopping the ceiling from dripping and just put shelters in. It actually makes it look a lot like an Equestrian train platform, other than how run down it is. If I ignore their filthy coats and ragged bags, I can picture the markers clustered under the shelters as Equestrian ponies, just trying to keep out of the rain. Some of the walls are even painted sky-blue. The paint is peeling and I can see the white stone underneath, but it probably looked nice once. That’s nice.

I still can’t see the statue or the mare, so I step in, slowly making my way across the first platform as I try to orient myself. There are no cafes or stores or anything to use as a reference point, just some wiredoll booths that ponies are clustering around. A few of them are booths like I saw in Spitfire Station, but the rest are different. They’re out in the open, on a much more solid stand, and they’re not sexless and plain, but distinctly feminine, dressed up in a blue cape and a star-studded hat. Maybe it’s supposed to be somepony specific?

“Hey! Watch it!” A stallion’s shout snaps me out of my reverie, and I jerk my head forward just in time for my right forehoof to plunge into empty space. I lurch forward with it, the world tilting as the rails rush up towards me—but then my tail goes taut, yanked so hard I feel like it’ll rip the hairs right out of my dock. The rails shoot back as I tumble to the platform, landing on my rear with painful thump.

“Uh...” I stammer, blinking away the lights that have come back to my eyes. “I uh... I...” It’s only after my butt is solidly on the ground that my heart starts to race, like my body was only now realizing I almost fell. When I look around, there’s nopony behind me, but I spot a unicorn stallion nearby. Black coat, lime mane, kind of a weasely, twitchy manner. No extra cutie marks I can see, but he’s wearing pretty big saddlebags, so they might be there.

“Hey,” he repeats, his voice confirming his identity. “You okay? You should watch where you’re going.”

“Yeah...” I say after a moment, feeling suddenly breathless. Surprise? Or am I still sick? “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” I get back up and shake out my tail a bit. My dock is still sore, but I didn’t hurt anything. This time, I stand still when I look around, and I can see the statue now. The mare is still taking shelter under it. I pause for a moment to glance back at the stallion who helped me, but he isn’t watching me anymore. Something else has caught his attention—two colts shouting and fighting with each other over by one of the benches.

Well, that was weird. I watch him for a bit longer, just in case... I don’t know, something happens? But he just stands there and looks around, peering for the train in the distance.

Well. Right. Anyway.

I don’t know why she’s all on her own out there. The statue is nestled between two overhangs, where there are already groups of ponies taking shelter or clustering around those dolls in the hat and cape. I can hear them chatting, but they’re just talking about nothing. Scolding their kids, or complaining about the water, or wondering when the train is going to come. It’s like any other crowd really, but she’s apart from them, out under the statue and in the dripping water.

Her foal has stopped crying at least. That’s good. I think it’s a pretty delicate peace though. She’s huddled in even closer to the statue, its rearing stone legs up above her. She’s lifted her wings above her head and forward, so that they form a little umbrella, and I can see water drops landing on them and running down off to the side.

“Rain, rain, go away, come again another day,” she sings to him, holding him close as she sits on her haunches. It must be hard for her to hold her wings up like that for so long, and I can see that they’re beginning to shake. Her sides are patchy, hair falling out. She’s wearing saddlebags, but even around them, her ribs are visible. “Oh come now, dear pegasi, won’t you come and clear the sky? Make your rainclouds go away, and let the little ponies play.” I can see her original cutie mark now—a lightning bolt and three stars. She has two others as well, the pony biting its own tail on her shoulder, and three knives on her back. He seems to take the little rhyme well, making indistinct cooing sounds.

Then she spots me staring. Her head jerks up sharply to glare at me, her wings pulling around him defensively. I take a quick step back.

And then he starts to cry again.

“No, no. Shhh. Quiet. Shhh. Quiet!” she whispers to him, trying to rock him back and forth. The motions turn quick and jumpy though, and only make him cry louder. “Quiet!” she snaps, her wings shaking more noticeably now, the feathers twitching. Her yelling is drawing attention, and that only makes her look around all the more widely, her head lashing back and forth to take in the crowds around her. I can see she’s breathing faster, eyes getting wider. Panic.

“Hey! Hey,” I call out to her, careful to keep my tone gentle, my body language totally non-threatening. I don’t have a specific pose in mind really—I’m kind of rushed for that—but I think I play it by ear pretty well. She whirls her head on the spot, of course, backing away, just about plastering herself flat against the statue to keep as far from me as possible. “It’s okay, he—”

“You stay away from me!” she bellows, ponies in the crowds on either side of her jumping at the sudden sound. They’re backing away from her now, a widening circle forming, the murmur of conversation changing its tenor. Dropping, lower and quieter. I back away, but it doesn't help—now the crowd is setting her off.

“Call security,” somepony in the crowd says, loud enough to be heard, but they’re wasting their breath. I can already hear the whine of gears and cogs, metal hoofsteps on stone.

“I said stay back!” she screams, rising to three legs, her foal tucked up under her. She’s spreading her wings, like she was going to fly away, but the ceiling is too low for that. There’s nowhere for her to go that the dolls can’t reach her, and they’re already around us—ponies without gender, without faces, with bright steel skin and empty glass eyes. “Stay back, you punks! Ya little clockwork thugs! You think you can bully me with your windup toys!?” The foal under her is crying at the top of his lungs now, wailing for all he’s worth.

“Hey!” I shout, before the dolls can act. “Hey! Hey!” I scream as loud as it takes to get her to look at me, pointing right at her and pulling her gaze down. “Hey, look at me. Look at me.” I order, using my best authoritative voice. It’s... it’s commanding and it’s... it’s firm and it’s good! This is a good tone for this situation. And a good pose! Pointing. “Look at me!” Finally, she looks me in the eye.

I hold that for a second, just getting a read on her. Just letting her get a feel for me. “I’m sorry I startled you. Nopony is going to take your foal away. Okay?” I say, not letting her break eye contact, forcing her to see, and listen, and understand. “You hear me? Everything’s fine.” A step towards one of the wiredolls emphasizes my point, and I put a leg in front of it to stop it, like it wouldn't crush me flat with a single step.

“I’m sorry, Officer,” I say, making sure that she sees me look at the machine. The machine is looking at me, for its part, though its operator hasn’t spoken yet. “She’s having a really bad day... but she’s not crazy. Okay? She’s just having a really, really bad day, and... and that’s all. She’s fine. It’ll all be fine.”

Silence hangs over the crowd. Real quiet. No chatter, no whispers. Without their chatter, you can hear everything: her foal wailing, and the dolls whining, and the lights beating, and my own heart pounding. Then, in the distance, a train whistle.

“You a relative?” the doll nearest me asks with a masculine voice, distorted by the machine’s mechanical drone.

“I’m a friend,” I say, glancing back at her. “And it’s my fault this happened. I upset her. It won’t happen again, Officer.”

In the distance, the train whistle sounds again twice. “It best not. Your friend gets ‘upset’ like that again, the security officer on station may just decide she’s a section eight. You understand?”

“Yes, Officer. Yes, I understand. Sorry.” I look back at her, just to check. She’s still tense, but it’s an immobile tension that leaves her frozen to the spot. Her only movement is to glance down briefly to make sure her foal is okay, and I’m sure she’s not going to start screaming or attacking anypony. “It’s okay. See?” I say, stepping up to her, careful to keep my eyes on hers, and hers on mine. She locks up as I reach for her, but I pause, touching her left wing and gently folding it back down, her right following suit. “There.”

“Good,” the wiredoll says, the others moving away. Back to their stands, I guess. “Show’s over, everypony! Train’s coming in, keep clear of the tracks and board in an orderly fashion!”

I don’t think they really care what the doll guard has to say, but the train is coming in, and that’s enough to snap most of them out of their fascination. They go to crowd the edge of the platform, the ground rumbling as the train draws close. I don’t look for it, keeping my eyes on her, my hoof on her shoulder. “Here,” I say, and I almost ask if I can hold him, but... no. No, that would be pushing it too far. “Can you hold him up?”

She does, bringing a wing around to steady him. I wince every time he wobbles, held with only one leg in the crook of her elbow. But she doesn’t drop him, holding the squealing little bundle up to me, with his tan coat and stubby little horn.

“Sleep now child, and peace attend thee, all through the night,” I sing quietly. At once, his cries quiet, and then vanish altogether, his little wispy mane bobbing as he twists around to look at me. “Midnight slumber, close surround thee, all through the night. Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, all through the night.” It’s a simple little song, but babies are easy—you just have to get the tone right, and the environment of course. No wonder he was crying—there are drops of salt water all over the blanket he’s wrapped in. I wish I were real wizard, so I could just magic it dry, but there’s not much I can do out here.

“I, my loved one’s watch, am keeping,” I sing, pointing her towards one of the overhangs that’s been abandoned, now that the crowd is clustering around the train doors, “all through the night.” It takes a little nudging, but I manage to get her to move, and soon we’re under the overhang, and out of the water. Two of those funny wiredolls in the capes and hats are nearby, but they aren’t moving, so I just ignore them.

“There,” I sigh, smiling down at the little unicorn. He’s not actually going to sleep, but he coos happily at least. “That better?”

“Yeah, thanks,” the mare says, sitting on the stone and reaching up her other leg to steady him. “You’re really good at that.”

“Thanks. Um...” For a second, I don’t know what to say. I’m just staring at her stupidly. “You uh... you want some food? I have some pep bars. And some coffee.” She glances at me when I say that, suspicion in her narrowed eyes. “I uh... I’m sorry. I don’t have anything for him.” That doesn't produce a reaction. Why doesn't it? “I’m sorry,” I repeat, lamely. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s uh... it’s fine. Don’t go have a breakdown on me or anything,” she says, after a second. “I... Yeah, I could uh... I could go for a pep bar. Sure. You um...” I read her cue and gently levitate her foal out of her grasp, cradling him with both forelegs. That leaves my horn free to handle the thermos and the entire box worth of bars from Doctor Stable’s office.

She tries not to fumble with the packaging too much. Tries to keep her dignity. She can’t manage it though, and soon she’s tearing at the wrapping with her teeth like an animal, spitting it out and then wolfing down the energy bar. She does that with two of them, and then gulps down most of the coffee all at once. I don’t interrupt, just rocking the little foal back and forth and glancing around. The platform is nearly empty, the herd reduced to maybe a dozen ponies total as everypony else crowds onto the train.

“Do you need to get that?” I ask, but she shakes her head.

“Fim hehhing ha who hirhy,” she mouths around the first half of another bar, swallowing it with a massive gulp. “The two-thirty,” she clarifies. “I’m a little early.”

“Oh... sure,” I say. It’s not until she devours the third bar that it occurs to me: if she’s that thin, what about him? I tug the blanket a bit to the side, but no. There’s some yearling fat under his coat. Good. “What’s his name?” I ask, to cover for the odd little motion.

“Lucky Break,” she says. She almost adds something else to that. I can see her jaw begin to move, but she clamps down on it fast, thinking better of it. “Uh, hoping it’ll work out for him, you know? You believe in prophetic naming?”

“Yeah,” I nod. I don’t think it works that way though. I’ve met ponies with ironic names too. She’s hiding something, but I can’t tell what. Might be nothing, just paranoia setting in. “Lucky Break is a good name.”

“Yeah,” she agrees blandly, pausing to take a suspicious glance over my shoulder. I don’t follow her gaze; it would only encourage her. Eventually, it passes, and she turns back to me. “So uh... you eat a lot of these things?” she asks, stuffing the half dozen bars left into her pack and finishing off the last of the coffee. She keeps the thermos too.

“No. I was in a doctor’s office once, and I stole them from behind the counter,” I say with a little shake of my head. “Figured I’d need them if I ever got hungry. Should have stolen medical supplies instead. I’ve been roughed up a lot since then.”

“Probably,” she says with a weak chuckle. “They’re handy though. Last forever. I once knew a unicorn who swore these things made his spells more powerful. Always had a few in his bags.”

“Really?” I ask, my ears twitching a little. “There’s nothing in those things is there? Like Poison Joke or magic or—”

“No. No.” She shakes her head. “That was uh... that was just the brain rot setting in,” she says, shrugging. “So you know, we humored him. Arguing just would have made him upset.” That kills the conversation pretty well. I look at the ground, tuck my tail in a bit. She does the same. For a while, neither of us says anything. “Stealing medical supplies probably isn’t a good idea though,” she adds. “If the Pavilion catches you, they’ll break all your legs.”

“Pavilion catches me, I’ll be lucky if they just break my legs,” I say. That causes another lull in the conversation. Which is fair. “I didn’t think they had much sway here though? Trixie.”

“Oh, they don’t. But if you’re stealing from a doctor, you’re doing it out in the city. Nopony steals from Trixie. Nopony.” She reaches back into her saddlebags then, pulling out a dirty glass baby bottle and a worn paper bag that’s leaking some white powder. “Pass me that bottle of water, would you?”

I levitate the bottle of water out of my belt, and also hold the bottle for her as she carefully empties a few spoons’ worth of the powder inside. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I’m new here. Trixie’s that scary?”

“It’s fine. I’m new here too,” she says, putting the powder away and filling the baby bottle with water, the mix producing an ugly white sludge at the bottom. Is that supposed to be milk? “And, I don’t know. Pavilion and security are scarier, I guess. But you can sometimes get away with things with them,” she continues, screwing the cap on with her teeth. I wait until she’s done, and then levitate it away from her, giving it a good shake to mix it up. It turns white, at least, but it still kind of looks like cement. “With Trixie, she always knows. Always. And she’ll get you for it one day.”

“Do I just...” I point at him, and she nods. I levitate the bottle down, and he turns his head away from it, not that I could blame him. It takes a few tries to get him to suckle—I have to keep poking at him with the little nub on the bottle’s end. “Is that first-hoof?”

“Yeah, but, that was years ago. I’ve paid my dues. Trixie’s over it,” she says with a little shrug. “Not that I’m her biggest fan or anything, but I’m here, aren’t I? You can always find a job in Neptune’s Bounty, and well, with him...” She gestures at Lucky Break with her nose.

“Yeah, I understand,” I say. But of course, I don’t. There are always jobs in Neptune’s Bounty? Then why are there so many homeless ponies? Is it not that simple? Or is there some horrible catch, so that they’d all rather starve? “So you’ve got work?”

“Yeah. I’m going to be a bricklayer.” She lifts up her saddlebags, revealing another cutie mark on her right side—a pile of bricks and a spade. “Making fireplaces for the ponies up in New Canterlot Heights. The rich toffs who like the traditional style.”

“Oh, that’s... good,” I say, looking up at the wiredoll next to us, then down at Lucky Break. Anywhere but her. “What’s that pay?”

“Room and board,” she says, with a stiff little shrug. “But that’s for him too. And I’ll get a ration ticket for my medication. So, with a little luck, he’ll be off and grown before I chew my own legs off.” She laughs, but it’s not funny. “So, there’s that. And I get a new cutie mark out of it! That’s nice.”

“Yeah,” I say after a second, swallowing. “Mine’s new too.”

“I know. Daring Do, right?” she asks. “I’ve heard about it. It’s pretty badflank.”

“Oh, um... thanks. I’m not really sure how I feel about it yet,” I say, looking back down at Lucky Break. He’s sucking at the bottle now, pressing his little muzzle up against it. He’s still very young, actually. A few months, or less. But he seems healthy at least.

I glance at her. Her sickly figure.

“You kids are lucky that way,” she says with a little shake of her head. “You’ve grown up around this stuff. It’s normal to you. For me... I don’t think I’ve ever felt lower than after my first mantle. It was giving up. Admitting I didn’t have what it takes.”

“Which...?” I ask, and she taps the three knives on her back.

“Back in Equestria, I wanted to be a Wonderbolt. Was well on my way to.” She makes a vague, circling gesture with a hoof. “You don’t know Wonderbolts, but they were this flying group. Kind of a big deal. I thought that made me hot stuff.” She shrugs. “But being able to give it your all and push your limits isn’t the same as having the killer instinct. During the war, first big fight, I choked. Messed up bad. So they made me take it.”

“You were a security officer?” I ask.

She chuckles—a humorless laugh. “Nah.” She shakes her head. “No, I uh... I wanted to go back to Equestria.”

Lucky Break isn’t really going for the rest of the bottle, but I think that’s because the powder is settling. I shake it up a bit, put it back, but he’s still not going for it.

“I kind of want to go back home too,” I say. I shouldn't... I shouldn't be doing this, but my eyes are starting to burn, tears welling up there. “And... and I know Wonderbolts. I’m sorry I never saw you fly, but you must have been great.”

“Hey, you okay?” she asks. I squeeze my eyes shut and nod, floating Lucky Break back over to her and rising to my hooves.

“Yeah. I’m... I’m fine.” I say, my voice cracking as I try to shove the tears away. “Just... what happened to his parents?” She freezes, but I can’t tell if she’s surprised or offended. I can’t think. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I-I have to ask.”

For a moment, she doesn’t answer, just holding him closer to her chest. “I don’t know,” she says. “They left and didn’t come back. After a few days...” She shrugs. “I waited awhile, but no relatives came for him. You know.”

“I... I know.” I have to force the words out, my sides shaking as my breath comes stiffly. “It’s—it’s good of you and... here.” I rip open the money pouch on my belt, tossing all of the bits to the floor in front of her. Gold and platinum and crystal ding and roll over the stone. “Here. I don’t need it.”

“Woah, that’s like, two hundred bits,” she says, leaning back, turning to look up at me. “Are you—” She stops as Lucky Break starts to cry again. He must have heard me.

“I’m... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I say, turning and leaving. And trotting away. Galloping. Running back into the tunnel, up the stairs, hot tears streaming down my face.

“Berry!” I yell as loud as I can, the sound echoing up the long corridor. A few of the wiredoll guards come to life and look at me, but none of them move to stop me. “Berry! I know you’re there! I know you’re just hiding! Come out! I’ve changed my mind. I want to go home!” I sprint to the next landing, then to the next, up to the top of the stairs, leaping out into the light.

I feel the static hum of the forcefield a moment before impact. It’s like striking solid stone, without a bit of give, my whole body slamming hard against it before it hurls me back onto the steps. I land on my back and roll, tumbling down the flight, limbs twisting under me, stone slamming me with every turn, until I come to a stop on the next landing.

My mouth tastes like blood, and every part of me hurts, but I don’t care! I push myself up, and even as the world spins, I force myself to stumble back up the steps. “Berry!” I scream, pounding on the forcefield with my hooves. I can see a vast space on the other side. Dry streets, and pristine buildings and signs that are bright and shiny. I can see vast skylights that look out into the sea, and behind them, through them, I can see ships. Vessels in the water, docked outside!

The forcefield is nearly invisible, just a faint purple haze that flashes solid whenever my hooves hit it. “Berry!” I scream louder. She’ll hear me. She has to hear me! “Berry! Berry.” All my bruises are hurting now. I’m bleeding. From my nose and my sides and I think I bit my tongue. “Berry...” I say, my throat torn from the yelling. “Berry. I know you’re just hiding. Please just be hiding.”

Nothing.

I slump down to the steps, curl my tail around myself, tuck my head into my forelegs, and sob uncontrollably. It’s not fair! I can’t... the stupid potion didn’t work! I’m supposed to be brave. I’m supposed to be some badflank action hero, and I’m sitting on the steps crying like a foal! I’m not supposed to be afraid. I was supposed to be dead! I was supposed to choke on poison and die because I deserve it and Ms. Daring Do was supposed to go save Green! That was the deal.

Except, of course, I am still around. I’m still around because I’m afraid, and weak, and useless, and because I get fresh pancakes in the morning when a Wonderbolt is starving to death. Even here, even at my lowest, even in this horrible place, I get spoiled because I’m the Princess’s student. Because... because I was the Princess’s student.

I’m not anymore of course.

I couldn't be, even if the Princess accepted me. It wouldn't be right. I’m not even really a pony now. I’m something else—something unclean. A perversion of the natural order. I certainly have no right to... to claim any relation to somepony as fair as her.

No. Who am I trying to kid? Going home. It would be a farce. A cruelty, based on the idea that I’m somepony I’m not. I’m not her student anymore. I’m not Siren Song. I’m not even Daring Do. I’m...

I don’t know.

I look up, squeezing away the last of the tears. One of the security wiredolls is there—a solid, menacing thing on its stand, like the biggest earth pony you ever saw, all in steel. “Hey!” I shout at it, but it doesn't move. “Hey, I want to talk to Trixie!” Still, it ignores me. I give it a sharp jab, but all it does is tilt back and forth on its brace. I check its flank, but there’s already a crystal there—with a frame welded over it, so you can’t take it out.

The steel side is polished, and I can see myself in its metal skin. After a moment, I lean that way, pushing in closer so my face comes into clear view. So I can see my new cutie mark.

It’s green and gold—so ugly on a pink background. I pull my lips back for a second, trying to get a look. They’re gold all the way into my jaw, I think, and when I open my mouth to check, the mark... splits open in the most sickening way, like the flesh itself were ripping paper. It warps and flexes when I move my jaw, and when I purse my lips and puff out my cheeks, it bulges obscenely, like a multicolored boil. I let the air out, and watch it sag back, the flesh going taut when I pull my jaw in. When I shut my left eye and pull my mane back, I can see the complete point just above my eyebrow.

How drugged must I have been last night to think that looked good? Just seeing it now makes me want to puke. I lean away from the doll.

Stars, I’m hideous, aren’t I? The superficialities shouldn't matter, not with everything else that’s happened, but seeing the way it’s deformed my face reminds me of it all. I looked good before! Pink, granted, but that’s not the end of the world. It’s just a little...

My jaw shuts. Opens. Shuts again.

“Pink,” I say, looking down at my ankle—the one without the hoofboot. The flesh there is pale, waxy, free of hair, but the leg above it; that’s covered in a thick, smooth coat. Too bright to be red. I have to pause for a moment to swallow, a lump forming in my throat. “I’m...” I say, and it hurts to croak out the words. “I’m pink.”

I’m pink.

I... should that feel weird? Siren Song wasn’t pink. I mean, she was. I was. But I’d sooner go jump in a lake than admit it. I remember that. I remember stopping in the middle of a life-or-death situation to remind Green I was amaranth, not pink. And... and I remember why. Because pink actors don’t get taken seriously. I mean, I get it.

I just don’t get it.

Is that how it starts then? The little changes? First I stop hating pink, and then... what? Chew my legs off? Probably with some intermediate steps, I guess.

How did Green deal with it? How did she stay sane? Am I just that weak? I didn’t want to do the right thing—I wanted to die and let other Siren do the right thing. Am I being punished? Or is this just Poison Joke’s cruel sense of humor? I wanted to be less afraid, so it made me more afraid than ever. Afraid that I’ll mutate and go mad and end up in a train station somewhere.

I don’t know what to do.

If the Princess were here, she’d give me a hug and tell me it’ll all be okay. If Green were here, she’d tell me to shut up and stop my incessant whining. I...

I... right. Right.

That’s good advice. I mean... I do whine a lot.

I sit up and spit out some of the blood that’s been pooling in my mouth. My muzzle and jaw are really starting to hurt from the impact, but I don’t think I broke my nose. Or if I did, it’s not too bad. It’s clotting on its own anyway. I should... I should see to that. So I check myself over, and put those medical supplies in my belt to good use. I have some antiseptics for the cuts, and apply a bandage or two where I need it. Mostly bruises. That’s good. It’s my throat that hurts the most, really, from all that yelling and useless crying.

“All our debts come due eventually,” I say with Green’s intonations. After that, taking a deep breath and letting it out helps me feel a bit more collected. “Ain’t no sense whining about it.” Saying it just the way she said it helps. Makes it feel right. “I had a good run. Got to live in a palace. That was fun.” That sounds good. I take another breath. “All our debts come due eventually. Ain’t no sense whining about it.” Good.

I wait for Berry at the top of the stairs for a while, but she doesn’t come. Eventually, I head back down to the station. There’s nopony there—not even the mare from earlier. The clock reads quarter to three though, so I guess that’s not surprising. I just take a seat on one of the benches and wait.

Berry shows up around three ten, coming down the steps. I guess there’s a way to open that forcefield at the top. She glances around a bit, then sees me, and she turns to come over my way. “You are injured,” she observes at once.

“I picked a fight with gravity. I’ll be fine,” I say, rising from the bench. “Trixie ready to talk?”

“She will be soon. We should go now,” Berry says, and when she turns, I follow her, marching up the stairs by her side.

“Berry,” I say as we make our way back up the stairs. I have to draw a breath after that to continue, but I don’t let my worry show, keeping my tone even. “I don’t think my mantle is working. I had a bit of a panic attack while you were gone.”

“Did you experience dramatically accelerated heart rate, shortness of breath, disorientation, fainting, chest pains, or irrational bouts of terror?” Berry asks, her usual dull inflections making her sound like a particularly bored medical student reading a list of symptoms.

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “It’s not like I was in physical danger.”

Berry says nothing, her hooves making a steady tap-tap on the steps. My throat gets tight as I watch her, eyes burning again. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to leap across the gap between us and sock her one right between her stupid eyes for ignoring me this way! She’s the one who gave me that potion and she’s acting like she can’t be bothered! I don’t cry though. I make myself not cry. I’ve cried too much already.

“So that’s it, then?” I ask, my voice trembling a little, no matter how much I try to hide it. “Bravery is just... not hyperventilating and throwing up?”

Berry shrugs.

“Oh,” I say. I stare down at my hooves as we walk, just watching one step after the other go by.

“What were you expecting?” she asks.

“To not be afraid,” I say.

We’re still a good two landings from the end when she stops. I go a step past her before I realize she’s not moving, and I have to turn around to see her. She’s reached back into her saddlebags, and with that funny teeth-only bite of hers, she pulls a bottle out of one of them. Gently, she lowers it to the floor, pushing it my way.

It’s a small bottle, and plain, with a dark green liquid sloshing around inside. The label is worn, faded, and tearing at the edges, and I have to levitate the bottle up to my face to see it clearly. Two cups just like on Berry’s flank, one pouring into the other, and beneath them, writing in a flowing script: “Temperance.”

I look from the bottle to her. Her dead eyes, her silent stare, her emotionless face. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” she says, and... there’s nothing to read in her face. I mean, there never is, but just this once, there doesn't need to be. I know what she’s trying to say.

“What’s it like?” I ask, swirling the bottle gently. Must be her dose for the week or something. The liquid beads up inside, jumping around the bottle as we both watch.

“Easier,” she says, never breaking eye contact. Never showing the slightest expression.

“It’s killed you, you know that? As much as if you’d died in the fall,” I say. There’s no hostility in my voice when I say it, just a trembling in my throat, and a dull sort of acceptance. “It’s turned you into a cruel parody of everything you used to be.”

“From your goodbye to Celestia, I thought dying was the idea,” Berry says. I keep forgetting she was there for that. I keep forgetting she heard the whole thing. And she’s right, isn’t she? Wasn’t that the point?

I look down at the bottle.

“No,” I say, shoving it back to her. “No, I... no. Berry. Not like this.”

She leans down, takes the bottle, and puts it back in her bag before resuming her course up the steps. I follow alongside, watching her as we go.

“Berry?” I ask, “Were you actually going to let me drink that, or were you just making a point?”

She doesn't answer me, and eventually we reach the top of the steps. She puts her hoof to the forcefield, its purple light shimmering around the point of contact. “Alicorn Amulet,” she says.

Then the forcefield vanishes, and we walk into Neptune’s Bounty proper.

Daring Do, Part 2

“My name is Trixie Lulamoon. I never married, never started a family, but today, I am here to bury one of my children.” Trixie’s voice seems to come from everywhere. It’s a trick, of course. I actually know that spell, and how magic can twist sound so that it seems omnipresent. Knowing that it’s a trick doesn't quite negate the effect though. It’s like she’s barely three paces in front of me, and when I hear the pain in her tone, it’s hard to dismiss it as a recording. Her delivery is masterful, some of the best voicework I’ve ever heard.

“When I first met Diamond Tiara, she was only a foal. A little filly at a magic show,” Trixie continues. The funeral stuff started playing a few minutes after we walked into Neptune’s Bounty proper, though I don’t see where the sound is coming from. First there was a nice dirge—not one I’ve heard before, but it wasn’t terrible—then the moment of silence, then a procession of ponies paying their respects, and then finally Trixie and the eulogy.

“It’s been so long that many of the faces in the crowd are a blur, but I remember her—the pink and purple earth pony with the little tiara on her head. I never learned her name, but I remembered her, until we met again four years later.” The little tinge of regret when she says it is a nice touch, the sort of thing that distinguishes a master from a novice. Anypony could make that sound sad, but without adding a word, she makes it totally clear that she’s lying, and feels guilty that she’s lying. She makes it work, and leaves the unspoken understanding that she doesn't remember one foal out of a crowd, but she’s convinced herself she does.

I doubt most ponies are even aware of what she just did, but it affects them even if they don’t consciously perceive it. I can see it in their faces, in the motions of their bodies. More than a few ponies in the street look crushed. One mare has even started to cry. She’s probably just the sobby type though.

I don’t really know what I was expecting out of the upper level of Neptune’s Bounty. Disgusting excess maybe, in contrast to the poverty below. Or maybe empty buildings, with just Trixie and her wiredolls. I suppose a fortress would also have made sense—an impenetrable bastion of security dolls and force fields to hold off the Elements of Harmony and the rest of the city.

Instead, I found something strange. It’s a beautiful space—dry and bright, made from pristine white stone. Unlike the rest of Vision, it’s not partitioned into hallways, but is a single massive room, on the floor of which buildings have been set. Instead of a ceiling or exterior walls, there’s a grid of support beams with forcefields between them, letting us see out in all directions. The combined effect is that of being under the open air, like the surface of ocean was the night sky, and the submarines were airships drifting through it. I can’t imagine how much wasted effort went into this, but I can’t deny it’s a welcoming sort of feeling.

“The Blight destroyed so many foals—crushed their innocence and let them see the fear in their parents’ eyes,” Trixie goes on. The floor is a forcefield too in places. Not everywhere, but enough that you can see down into the levels below. It’s a factory below us—rows and rows of assembly lines flanked by rows and rows of ponies. Every time the lights cycle, the lines roll forward one space. Hammers, hooves, screwdivers, and more are raised, used, and lowered. Then the lights pulse again. “Not her though. She never gave into depression or regret. It wasn’t her way. She got mad.”

Parts of the floor on the factory level are forcefields as well, and I can see there’s another story of assembly lines below. And another below that, and another below that, until they make a mockery of perspective, and it all blurs together—suspended chains carrying machine parts, rolling belts holding skeletal wiredolls, banks of saws that cut into metal like it was wood, and steel sheets for them to cut.

“She was mad when we met for the second time,” Trixie says, drawing a deep breath and letting it out. “Mad at the Blight, mad at Celestia, mad at the ponies who didn’t do enough, and mad at herself that she couldn’t do more. On the farm, she swung a hoe and pick like the ground itself was to blame for what happened, and she could punish it until Equestria was right again.”

I see rows of mantle bottles, train tracks, benches, hammers, the outer frame of a Big Brother’s drill, security bars, and boxes of glittering red and blue gems. The constant motion always draws the eye downwards, instinct compelling it to look, always reminding you of where you stand: on top of the world, all its riches laid out before you. It’s no wonder the ponies here look so uncomfortable. So guilty.

“It would never be right again though, and she knew it,” Trixie says, and I watch an old stallion in the crowd take his hat off, holding it to his chest. The ponies here look as ragged as the ones down at the station. All the fine stone and fancy buildings do is make them seem more out of place by contrast.

They feel out of place too. They look down when their hooves leave oily marks on the white stone and scurry guiltily away. They smile awkwardly at the faces in windows and doors and then pick up their pace, avoiding eye contact. They wait in long lines in front of those funny wiredolls with the hat and cape and do not acknowledge each other. And when the funeral started, they all stopped and listened like Trixie was right there, watching them to make sure they paid attention.

Maybe she is watching them, but that's not why they stop. I used to wonder why Trixie’s minions were so loyal to her, when she abused them so badly. But now I know. She’s convinced them they deserve it.

“When I told her about Vision, she accepted without a second thought, abandoning Celestia’s farms for the offices and corridors of the tower that bears her name,” Trixie goes on. The little angry kick on “Celestia’s farms” isn’t as subtle as her previous work, but it lands well with the crowd, hardening the eyes of some of the older earth ponies there. Bad memories.

“It suited her better, and she was even happy for a time. Her tower was her home and its people her family. But she never really got over Equestria.” Trixie sighs. Not what I would have gone with. It’s delivered very well, but that just wasn’t a good choice of scripting—kind of overselling the moment. “She had lost her old home and family, and some part of her always feared and raged that she would lose her new one.”

There are no advertisements here. Funny how at this point, I’m so used to them that their absence is noticeable. There aren’t any though. The walls are plain and white, and the signs, bright as they might be, are always strictly functional: street names, building numbers and the like. The only decoration is the stars on those wiredolls’ clothes, the jewels around their necks, and one very particular building in the distance. A spire of blue, at the far end of the main street, from which banners of blue and silver hang. The highest point in Neptune’s Bounty, where the submarines come to dock.

“She was braver than that though, and stronger than that. When the war came, she kept her new family safe. She didn’t take trouble from anypony—not the rebels, not security, not me.” A tinge of hurt that isn’t grief in that one. Very smooth, particularly given the dubious quality of her lines. “I taught her so much. I mentored her though the early years; but that didn’t mean a thing to her if I couldn't help her today. I never resented her for it though. I loved her like a daughter, and I think she loved me, but I was just one part of her family. There were other ponies to think about.”

Berry doesn't say a word as we walk along, but I doubt it’s because she’s listening to the eulogy. All she’s done is lead me to the main street, turn towards the docks, and then keep walking in a straight line, guiding me past the funny wiredolls, and the lines of dirty ponies, and the pristine buildings around us. I glance into a few of the buildings to see what’s in them, but nothing stands out. No shops, just doors labeled “Supplies,” no restaurants, just arrows pointing to “Cafeteria,” no security officers, just silvery wiredolls on every roof and corner.

“Hundreds of ponies are alive today because of her efforts,” Trixie says, a drawn breath signaling that she’s getting to the end. “She was a hero. She was a pony who suffered, and instead of letting it destroy her, she vowed that no foal under her care would ever go through what she did. Now, her long vigil is over, and she is reunited with those she lost.”

“The inhabitants of Tiara Tower owe her a debt they can never repay, as do we all,” Trixie says, letting the silence hang for a moment before she finishes. “She will be missed.”

The final dirge starts playing. At Peace. An uncreative choice, but not bad. Some of the ponies take that as the end of things and quietly go back to what they were doing. Most stop to listen though, looking off at the dock in the distance.

“How did she die?” I ask Berry as we walk. There’s no more click-clack of hooves. The force fields make no sound when we step on them, though they do humm and buzz in time with the lights. I’m so used to the sound by now that I’ve hardly noticed it lately, but it does stand out here.

“In her sleep,” Berry says, plainly enough. I suppose I should treasure a straight answer out of her.

“Who killed her? Security? Trixie?” I ask, thinking back to the last time I saw her, the fight and Green on her desk.

“She appears to have died of natural causes,” Berry answers as the music continues to play around us.

“Right. But who do you think killed her?” I press, snapping out of my recollection to watch Berry. She walks ahead steadily, towards the distant spire of blue and the submarines there. She doesn't answer, but she doesn't need to.

“I see,” I whisper, when enough time time has passed. We walk for a while that way. I have to step up a little when the floor briefly transitions to stone, and then back to a forcefield again, a little bump in the way. The dock is closer now, the crowds milling about us a bit thinner. The music won’t last much longer. At Peace is pretty short. “Was it over what happened with me?”

Still, Berry says nothing, and around us, the song ends. There’s a moment’s silence as everypony waits to see if there’s more to come, but nothing follows it, and gradually they go back to what they were doing.

Eventually, Berry’s silence becomes an answer all its own. “I see,” I whisper again.

There’s little point in looking at Berry, so I turn to watch the ponies below us.

The line directly underneath us seems to make benches. It alternates between earth ponies and unicorns, each one about three paces apart. At each station, there are three wrought iron supports—the side part of the bench, I guess. First, a unicorn levitates a board out of stack and slides it into place on top of the frames. Second, an earth pony checks to make sure it’s properly aligned, adjusting it with his hooves. Third, a unicorn zaps the metal on one of the frames with a beam from his horn that leaves some sticky goo behind. Fourth, another earth pony grabs the sticky part with his hooves, clearing away the extra and leaving the board neatly stuck in place.

The last step repeats twice more, for each of the three frames, and then the entire process repeats itself once for each of the nine beams on the seat and back of the bench. Seventy-two ponies, all in a row, doing the same thing over and over. Nine unicorns with a levitating dumbbell cutie mark, usually on the back or neck. Nine earth ponies with a pile of planks and wrought iron on their shoulders or barrel. Twenty-seven unicorns with a bottle of glue on their back or rear legs. And, finally, twenty-seven earth ponies, with a set of craftspony’s knives and a brush on their haunches or chests. None of them ever move except to see to their rote tasks. It’s like they’re rooted to the ground at their stations.

“What’s wrong with making benches the old way?” I ask quietly, and it’s not until I speak that I realize how lightheaded I’ve become. All the blood has rushed into my head, and when I lift it, I can feel it rush out as spots appear in my eyes. I must have been staring at the ground and walking blindly forward for a while.

“At capacity, that assembly line can produce eighty-six thousand benches a day,” Berry says. What? I... eighty-six thousand? I look around, like I might suddenly notice that Vision is drowning under piles of park benches, but of course, there’s nothing. Not so much as a street bench to be seen—just more rows of plain white buildings, and the ponies standing in neat lines outside them.

“What does Trixie need that many benches for?” I ask, quietly.

Berry shrugs.

I glance back down at the line. The bench-line is past now, of course, and the new line below us is making... I don’t know. Ovens I think? Perhaps they just don’t run it at full capacity? I suppose they must not, but, is that even the point? All the lines seem to run at the same rate—once every time the lights beat. That means every line down there is eighty-six thousand somethings a day. Hoof weapons. Wiredolls. Bilge pumps. Toasters. No wonder Rarity and Rainbow Dash and the others can’t be rid of her. Neptune’s Bounty must produce... well. Everything in the city. Or if not, a good chunk of it.

Does it work that way though? Can it work that way? If Neptune’s Bounty makes everything, what does Trixie get in return? Mantles? Raw materials? Or is it really nothing? Is that how Trixie is still standing when all the other rulers and Elements of Harmony hate her? Is all this stuff tribute she pays for the right to continue being alive?

I lift my head to the ponies on our level. The ones lining up outside buildings and in front of those wiredolls with wider stands, capes, and hats. The ones who scuttle around like foals—foals who just stole a cookie and are afraid their parents will notice—clutching bags and bundles. All of them with extra cutie marks: saws, gears, bricks, stone, wires, lightning, welding masks, glue. And the mare in the station, who agreed to be a bricklayer, to become a bricklayer, in exchange for room and board.

There’s always work in Neptune’s Bounty.

“Oh, stars...,” I whisper, shaking my head to clear it and turning back to the trail in front of us. I feel like I should be nauseous, like what’s around me should make me want to puke, but for once, my stomach is calm. “Every time I think I understand this city, it gets worse.”

Berry doesn't say anything.

Eventually, the dock grows closer. The lines of ragged-looking ponies grow shorter, and then fade away. The buildings are replaced with small patches of green, even parks, empty save for the occasional earth pony gardener. The road widens, and the entrance comes into sight. It’s a grand thing, all steel and glass and clicking gears—eight gold-framed elevator doors, waiting to whisk us up into the tower above.

The road ends in a half-circle in front of the elevators. It’s currently empty, but as we draw close, I can see that there’s a small waiting area behind a stand of trees. The better part of a dozen air chariots wait, along with a number of traditional carriages, their teams lazing about nearby, chatting or smoking. Guests, I suppose. Berry ignores them though, walking us straight to one of the elevators. The glass doors slide open as we approach, without any buttons or levers or anything. There are no controls inside either. “Penthouse,” Berry says as I move to stand by her side.

Then the doors shut on their own, and we start to ascend.

It quickly gets darker in the lift. There’s no light inside, and as we climb, more and more stone and metal blocks our view. What starts as a panoramic view of the interior of Neptune’s Bounty is partially cut off by one pillar, then another, then another, until finally, the lift is plunged into complete darkness. I can’t even see Berry’s outline, but there must be some light, because I can sense motion outside. Sense the stone rushing past us, feel my weight increase as we pick up speed.

Then we burst out into the open. Now, it’s Vision all around us, all its glittering towers and lights, and drifting among them, submarines. At first, we’re below them—with the grid-pattern of Neptune’s Bounty before us, the ships are just lights in the sky. But soon we rise, and I can see them. I can see ships made from brass and steel, bigger than the biggest vessel in Celestia’s navy, with fins like fish and tails made from cogs and drive screws.

The Wharf was made for those ships. The dock I woke up on was made to berth them. I’m sure of it. They’re grand, and golden and vast. And when I twist my head up, I can see there’s one docked at the top of the tower. Waiting for me. And right here, right now, they’re not just ships. They’re my lifeline. They’re grass and warmth and safety and Canterlot Palace.

And I’m about to walk away from them.

Sun and stars. I want to go home. I want to tell Berry I’ve changed my mind! My throat’s getting tight again, and swallowing doesn't help. If I walk away from that sub, I’ll never see the sun again. Win, lose, get killed, starve, or go mad, I’ll die in the dark. In the city where the sun never shines.

I didn’t even think about what could happen after. After I save Green. Could we go? Could we go back to Equestria? I’m still worth some ransom. Enough to be worth the trip. Green could load up her saddlebags with enough mantles to last the rest of her life, and we could just go.

I start to laugh as the elevator gently drifts up. Ponyfeathers, I’m absurd, aren’t I? Like Green could load her saddlebags, with... what? A thousand doses? More? Like they’d keep. Like we’d ever be welcome in Equestria. We’d be going just to die in sunlight. Maybe I’d be okay with that, but not her. She’ll die cursing Celestia’s name.

No. We can’t go, and I’m not going to abandon her. This city is what I deserve.

I take one last look at the ships, at Neptune’s Bounty, at the glittering towers, and at the Sparkle Enchantments building that dominates them all. I draw a breath, work out the kinks in my neck, and turn to face the door. The lift is slowing down. Time to make it right.

Time to meet Trixie.

Our destination comes into view before the lift stops—one advantage of glass walls. It’s a foyer with a little C-shaped receptionist’s desk and a half-dozen wiredoll guards. They’re all active even before the doors open, though I suppose that makes sense. They don’t move to stop us or anything, only watch us, as the door opens and we step out.

The room itself reminds me of Rarity’s office a bit. It’s not the same designer, or the same style, but it’s a room that’s making a good effort to feel Equestrian: a mid-height ceiling, faux ceiling beams, wooden paneling to hide the white stone, illumination a bit brighter than the average, and plenty of windows. They show show the sea and the city instead of the Pavilion, but the effect is the same—a sense of open space. That makes sense, in light of what the approach was like. I suppose she’s rich enough that she can have whatever architectural tastes she likes.

There are even carpets, dry as a bone. They tickle my hooves a little. Always have.

Berry leads us up to the desk and walks past the guards without stopping. They follow her with their empty glass eyes but say nothing and don’t stop us. They must recognize her or have some other indication that she’s allowed. I can’t imagine anypony just walking in here. Behind the desk is a long, narrow corridor lined with shelves, and at the end, I can see that it opens into a larger space. A living room, maybe.

It’s quiet here. That’s a little silly to observe really—what was I expecting, a one-pony band? But, still, my ears strain to hear something. The sound of my hooves on the carpet starts to stand out in stark relief, along with the hiss of my own breathing, Berry’s heavier footfalls, and the steady cycling of the lights. The hallway is maybe thirty paces from end to end, and we’re more than halfway through it before I hear a single other sound.

A quiet, rapid, ticking sound. The click of metal. A regular thumping. The distinctive swish and ting of a typewriter. She types fast.

We emerge from the end of the hall into a living room, just like I’d thought. It’s small, if well appointed. There’s a closed, sliding door to our immediate left, and a smaller doorway on the far right, left ajar. It is from the far right that the sound of typing comes, but when I look that way, I can’t see anything through the crack. The rest of the room is kind of cozy, really. The entire far wall is a couch with bookshelves up above it, and a little table in front of it holds some picture frames and a vase of flowers. The nearer wall is about the same—lots of hanging picture frames.

“Wait here a moment,” Berry says, striding over to the door at the far right. I’m not about to let her go ahead without me, but outright disobeying would only clam her up. Instead, I step halfway across the room to sniff at the flowers, and tilt my ears her way. That’s close enough for my spell if she tries to shut the door and whisper, but not so close she’ll think I’m listening at the keyhole. She knocks, just like I thought she would—two quick taps.

“Enter,” Trixie calls from the other side of the door, curt and businesslike. I still can’t see her—the angle is wrong, and Berry’s body blocks most of the view when she pushes in anyway—but I can hear clearly enough, particularly now that the typewriter has stopped. Odd that Berry hasn’t shut the door, but I guess if she wanted privacy, she wouldn't have let me come in here at all.

“Oh, Berry. Trixie didn’t see you come in,” Trixie says, the sound of typing picking up. She sounds about how I expected—less bombastic than she was over the wire, but no less arrogant. She throws a little dip onto the “Oh” to make it clear just how thrilled she is to be interrupted, and adds a pretentious little twist at the end to give it punch. Like she didn’t notice Berry because mere mortals are beneath her notice.

I didn’t expect her to use the third person face to face though. I assumed that was just something she did over the wiredoll to get attention. I suppose she’s really devoted to the act—that, or starting to lose her mind. It’s hard to tell. She sounds coherent, but so did Rarity, right up until she didn’t.

It’s a few seconds before the typing stops, and she continues: “How was the funeral?”

Wait, what?

My ears perk up, and I lean in a bit towards the door. There’s nothing to hear right away. Berry never answers quickly. “I was unable to make it. Siren did not wake until late in the day, and I thought it better to let her rest as long as possible.” There’s a pause for a moment, and through the open door, I can see Berry shift her stance a bit. Tilting her head, maybe? “The eulogy seemed to play well with the crowd.”

“Trixie heard,” she replies with a tinge of irritation, a clipping of her words. “The new mare performed... adequately, but The Great and Powerful Trixie was not impressed.” She clips the ends of Great and Powerful to emphasize them, that snotty little turn of phrase. “She isn’t your finest work.” A quiet sigh seals the deal. Small, almost a breath. “Her delivery was acceptable, but that speech didn’t move anypony who wasn’t ready to be moved.”

She had the eulogy given by a voice actor? A voice actor that Berry... what? Created with mantles? Gave her talents? I take a step closer, letting my horn shine just a little bit, until I can hear them both more clearly. “Charisma can be difficult,” Berry says, flat as ever. “Would you like me to try again, when the matter with Siren is resolved?”

“We’ll see how she schmoozes at the wake,” Trixie says with a dismissive little twist to her words. At the wake? She sent a body double to a funeral? That’s... I mean...

I guess it’s not any worse than having her killed in the first place.

“Siren is onboard the Fleur-de-Lis, then?” Trixie asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“She’s in the den,” Berry says, turning to glance back at me. I put out my horn at once, the spell fading just in time, before Berry’s gaze sweeps over me. She only holds it on me for a second, confirming that I’m there before turning back to Trixie. “I thought you might want to see her before she left.”

Before I leave? So she’s not going to tell Trixie I want to stay? In fact, it sounds like she’s going to intentionally mislead her. Is she planning to sneak me out? No, if that was it, she wouldn't have brought me here at all. I peer at Berry, but she might as well be a rock for all it matters. Trixie isn’t saying a word either, silence hanging in the air. Normally, I can tell one silence from another, but of course, Berry is a one-pony smokescreen. I have no idea what she’s getting at here, or why Trixie isn’t answering.

“Trixie has already seen her,” Trixie finally answers. That gives me something at least—hesitance. Trixie is good, classically trained and talented enough I can’t quite tell what she’s hiding or why she’s nervous, but that pause and her slightly-too-fast cadence are telling. She doesn't want to see me. But why? Was this Berry’s plan?

“The Fleur-de-Lis does not have a doll transceiver,” Berry answers, after her usual pause. “This would be your last chance.”

That clarifies things, but it also raises more questions. So, yes, Berry definitely intends to deceive Trixie, but not just to lie. She didn’t say “It will only take a moment” or an excuse. She’s acting like Trixie wants to see me, when I’m pretty sure she doesn't. Am I supposed to... set her off guard somehow? Bother her so she’ll be more open to Berry’s persuasion? That seems a bit manipulative for Berry. She’s usually pretty direct, but she wouldn't be doing this without a plan.

“Very well,” Trixie says, after another pause. “Show her in.”

Berry gestures me in, and I push my way through the door. I notice the hat first—blue with stars. Then the cape, and the jeweled clasp. That’s her? Those wiredolls were all statues of her? It takes me a second to process that, my brain reeling as my eyes take in the details. Blue coat, silver mane that’s curled around her horn. I can’t see her tail. She looks like she’s my age, so I assume that cape is hiding an extra mark or two, but I can't see them.

She looks... absurd, really. Her face is round, very expressive—pretty in a commoner sort of way. Part earth pony maybe. Combined with that ridiculous cape, she really pulls off the petty stage performer look. You just had to look at Rarity to know she was dangerous, but with Trixie, it’s easy to picture her singing and making foals clap. Like a clown in blue. It’d be friendly even, if I didn’t know who she was.

Of course, I do know who she is. She’s the brute who beats her henchponies and enslaves her followers, and the actor who makes them love her for it. She’s the schemer who held back the Elements of Harmony just so she could use them to excuse her own excesses. She’s the most dangerous sort of criminal—the kind with vision. And now, she’s looking at me from across her desk. Just watching.

“Hmph,” is all she says at first. A sound that’s not even a sound really.

I don’t say anything back. Defiance #2 is a bit generic—to say nothing of a bit basic—but it serves me well here, and as tired and disoriented as I am, I’m not sure I can manage a more complicated pose. It gets the point across and gives me a chance to study her while I wait for her to speak.

I’m not getting much from her face that I didn’t have already. There’s a bit of discomfort in her eyes, but her control over her face and body language is good enough that that’s about all I get. She’s not bothering with poses—her hooves flat on the ground—and I can tell that she’s evaluating me carefully. I’m not sure how to play this though. What does Berry expect me to do? Convince Trixie all on my own? Unnerve her so she’ll give into Berry’s request more easily? If it’s the second one, I have no idea how to proceed. She doesn't want me in here for some reason, but without more context, that’s about all I can say. Putting the ball in her court helps, but I’m sure she’s smart enough not to give away anything with how she opens.

“Well... no matter,” she finally speaks, letting out a little breath and shaking her head. Even that little gesture she manages to turn arrogant, her words dismissive. “That will be gone by the time she gets back to Equestria.”

That... oh, the Daring Do mark? I suppose if it takes more than fifteen days to get back to Equestria, it would have faded by then. Not that it matters. I look at Berry to see if this is where she speaks up, but she just looks at me blankly. What is she doing? If there’s a plan here, I don’t see it, but... she obviously expects me to speak on my own behalf. Finally, I turn back to Trixie. “I’m not going back.”

There’s a beat before she answers, one of her eyebrows raising just so. It’s tempting to think I caught her off guard, but no, that’s too smooth a reaction—too perfect a mask of skepticism. “Excuse me?”

“Back in the beginning, at Green’s, you said that if I didn’t want to play your hostage, I was free to walk out the door and see how well I did in the slums.” I say it cleanly, calmly. Firm, but not much emotion. Of course, I’m not naive enough to think she’ll hold herself to that promise, but it’s a good opener. “I’m taking you up on that. I’ve got things I need to do here.”

She snorts, with a dismissive little roll of her eyes, but I think I did actually catch her by surprise that time. Her reaction was a bit too quick. “You think Trixie is going to let you go after all the effort Trixie put into getting you here in the first place? Are you out of your little pony mind?” she asks with a snide twist in her tone and a sneer on her muzzle. “Or did your visit to Rarity happen to feature a lobotomy?”

“Green saved me,” I reply, careful to keep my voice even. Don’t rise to the bait. Don’t show any reaction. That’s what she wants. “She had a clear run to get out of the Pavilion, and she gave it up to come back and get me out. Now Rarity has her.” There’s not much emotion in the lines, but sometimes, it’s the plain invocation that adds the punch. Don’t oversell. “She’s a valuable and loyal agent. She’d serve you well if I got her out of there. And you could still trade me to Celestia after.” I keep the neutral tone but let my voice slow a bit, getting faintly quieter as I add: “I will not leave her there.”

“Trixie somehow feels Celestia wants you intact—a desire that will be difficult to fulfill after Rarity skins you and turns you into a coat,” Trixie says. Wait, what? That’s the exact threat Rarity made when I was in her office. But there was nopony there but us and Quick March. Is that a... thing she’s known for? “Green is replaceable in any case, and worth far less than you.”

“Trading me back to Celestia without Green may cost you more than you expect,” I say, delivering the line firmly. I’ve learned firsthoof just how Trixie takes being threatened, but with any luck, she’ll remember that she needs me alive.

“Trixie fails to see how,” Trixie replied, with a snort.

It starts as a tremble in my legs. That’s a good touch a lot of actors miss—you don’t open with the shaking chest and sides, you begin with the limbs being a little too stiff. Then my sides start to tremble, my breath comes a little too fast, like I was trying to draw even breaths but couldn't quite manage it. It takes a second for my eyes to water up, time I spend staring at the floor. My eyes tilt up and down like I couldn't quite meet Trixie’s gaze.

“A-and then...” I say, my voice shaking, the sound of a poor child trying to be oh so brave. “Trixie... she...” I start to mouth the words, but no sound comes out. I squeeze my eyes shut and let the first tears run down my cheeks. My legs communicate all that I can’t say, one leg trying to cover the burns on the other. “She didn’t... she didn’t believe me, when I said where I was from. A-and I kept telling her. And telling her. But she called me a liar, and...” A twisting of the ankles sells shame, and I fall silent, my voice choking up into an incoherent mess.

“Or you know,” I finish, dropping the tone instantly and looking back up to fix her with a glare. “Something like that. I’ll improvise. Might even say Rarity did it, just timidly enough that she’ll ask some questions. More realistic if you tried to pin it on somepony else and she has to pry the truth out of me.”

I know I nailed it when Trixie’s expression is absolutely blank. It’s a good poker face, but not as good as Berry’s. I take the time to wipe away the tears, patiently cleaning myself up. “I mean, everypony says you’re the one with the subs and ships, so I assume you enjoy at least tolerable relations with the ponies on the surface,” I continue, still with that set, determined tone. “I’m pretty sure torturing the Princess’s student voids that though.”

Silence. Nothing around us but the beat of the lights and the distant tick of a clock somewhere else in the penthouse. Trixie watches me, stone-faced. I watch her. Berry is watching us both, I assume, but she’s behind me and I can’t spare her the glance. I stare Trixie down, waiting the silence out as she considers.

“You’re not what Trixie expected,” she finally says, still holding a neutral expression. Interesting. Kind of a non-statement. Maybe I knocked her off guard harder than I thought?

“I get that a lot,” I reply with a sneer. “Let me go save Green, and you get her, the ransom, and a good word with Celestia. Drag me off to the sub now, and it’ll be your last supply run to Equestria.”

I think that lays it out pretty clearly, but she pauses again, watching me closely. She sits back, stretching out her jaw a bit. I just noticed she doesn't have a chair—she’s sitting on the floor on all fours. Maybe she has a bad back?

“Who taught you to do that?” she finally asks. The arrogant twist is gone, at least for now, which is a very encouraging sign. Direct hit! I guess her relations with the surface really are dependent on Celestia’s good graces. Her tone is flat, but that’s an act, and it’s not as solid as it could be. Under it, there’s... hesitance? No, not that simple. A more complicated emotion.

“What? Crying on command?” I ask, a tad skeptical, throwing her arrogant word twist right back at her.

“No,” she answers, evenly. “Who taught you to do that?”

“I’m naturally gifted,” I shoot right back. “A prodigy, even. Comes in handy. It’s why Rarity kept me alive. And it’s how I know Echo is going to help us get back into the Pavilion,” I continue, keeping up the beat. “He knows a way in. And under all that drunken bitterness, he hates Rarity. He’ll help us save Green just for a chance to stick a wingblade in her.” Noticing his rant against serial killers didn’t exactly take my full powers of perception, but Trixie doesn't know that, and it’s a good line.

“Trixie did wonder why Green was so fond of you,” Trixie says, still even. At this point, that beat is way too long for it to be shock. I think she’s feeling her way around, trying to get me to reveal something while she thinks. Odd. It was a pretty straightforward threat. Maybe she’s trying to evaluate if I’m bluffing? “Normally, she hates everypony.”

“We can talk about how awesome I am another time,” I say, taking control of the conversation and getting it back on track. “For now, am I going to get a chance to save Green or not? I don’t need much. Echo knows the way in, and I can talk him into it. Berry’s help would be welcome, but I’ll do it on my own if I have to.”

“Rarity has more than just guards protecting the Pavilion,” Trixie answers. “Even if you get Echo to assist you, you lack the ability to complete the break in.” What does she mean? Spells? Wiredolls? Traps? No matter.

“That’s what this is for,” I say, tapping my cheek. “Daring Do, right? Heroism, explosions, saving the mare. All that stuff. I’ll improvise the rest.”

Again, for a time, there’s silence. This one is more contemplative, so I take the pause to glance around the office—just in case there’s some helpful information there. It’s a little office. Not cramped, exactly, but smaller than you’d think—just a desk with a typewriter, some cabinets, and a hooffull of pictures on the desk and wall. The back is a big window, but that’s about the only thing that makes it stand out from any other moderately tasteful office. I can’t see the pictures on the desk, but I take a moment to glance at one of the bigger ones on the wall. It shows Trixie and two stallions, tan unicorns with red manes. Twins. They’re on either side of her, kissing her cheeks, while she blushes a brilliant red. It’s kind of cute.

“Why is it that you don’t want to go back to Equestria?” Trixie asks, breaking the silence and calling my gaze back to her impassive face. There’s something there now. The question was a bit tenser than before.

“I just said, when I’m done with Green, you can trade me back and—”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie did not ask that!” she snaps, a rush of hot anger coming out of nowhere. I think it’s even genuine, and in a moment, her forehooves are up on the desk. The whole desk rattles with the impact, a heavy crash as she leans forward. “Answer the question!”

“I want to go back to Equestria, I just—”

“Liar!” she snarls, her voice rising to a rough screech. Then to a roar. “You will answer the question honestly, and if Trixie thinks you are holding anything back, Trixie will have you hanged! You understand Trixie, you pathetic child!?” Her face contorts into a snarl, twisting as the anger comes hotter and hotter. “You understand that Trixie will snap your neck like a twig and let the Little Sisters eat your poisoned heart!?”

I... I don’t say anything. She’s actually shaking with fury. Her eyes are wide, teeth barred, nostrils flared, breath coming quick and fast. My heart is starting to race, but I manage to stand there. I manage to stay perfectly still. It just takes one look to know she’s not acting—she will beat me to death if the next thing I say pushes her. Her hooves hit the desk so hard they dented it. Stars she’s strong. She almost tore a gouge out of the hardwood. What do I do? What do I say? “I...” I start.

Then I see motion in the corner of my vision. Berry steps up beside the desk, puts a hoof on Trixie’s shoulder. Trixie’s head whirls, and she glares daggers at Berry, but Berry shows no reaction. She only stands there and meets Trixie’s gaze for a long while.

After what feels like forever, Trixie settles back down behind the desk.

I guess those two are closer than I’d realized.

“Answer the question,” she snaps at me, still angry, but I don’t think I’m in danger of her reaching out and crushing me with her bare hooves. Berry stays beside her, the hoof on her shoulder moving to rest on her back.

“Because...” How do I want to answer this? I could lie. I’m better than her, I am. I could make something up, and she’d probably never know. But what if she does? Why is this upsetting her so much? That did seem a lot like one of Rarity’s mood swings. Is she just cracking up? If she is, there’s no telling how irrational she’ll act. I catch her eyes and try to weigh my options.

Then I take a breath.

“Because I don’t have anything in Equestria,” I say, swallowing and matching her gaze. “Nothing worth going back to.”

“What about friends?” she replies, with a quick and demanding cadence.

“What about them?” I ask. “I’ve got lots of ponies who adore me. Or haven't you noticed?” I shoot the words out, quick and snide, even as my throat starts to get tight. “I have lunch with somepony and by the end of it, they’ll throw themselves in front of a train for me.”

“The Princess?” she asks.

“The Princess pities me,” I snap, my own voice rising now. I could... keep it check, if I had to. But she wants sincerity, and it comes easy now. “When I was young, she tried to teach me to be a wizard. A wizard! I’ve flunked every magic exam I’ve ever taken. She taught me because Twilight Sparkle was a wizard, and I’m her understudy!” The words come out hotter than I’d meant, and I have to take a second to swallow, rein things back in.

“I don’t know why the Princess picked me to be her student,” I say, “But it wasn’t because of merit. I’m not heroic, I’m not kind, I’m not talented. I just... I don’t know. Something.” I take a breath, shoving my mane back behind an ear. “And I’d rather die trying to do the right thing down here than live up there as her pet.” I take another breath, continuing in a calmer tone. “But you need me to go back for the ransom, so whatever, I’ll cope. Let me save Green and I’ll say you saved me and we’re all hugs and rainbows.”

Trixie doesn't say anything at first: another long silence. I can tell she’s mulling it over, taking her time to calm down and work out a way to—

“Very well,” she says.

Wait, what? “I’m sorry?” I ask, tilting my head to signal she needs to clarify.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie will accede to your request,” she says, lifting her head and reverting back to her pompous little act, a shake of her head making that ridiculous silver mane of hers flick behind an ear. “Much as Trixie was looking forward to the considerable sum Celestia would part with to have you, you’re quite right that you aren’t worth as much as Trixie’s ongoing relations with the surface. Under such circumstances, Trixie’s only reasonable course would be to have you killed on the spot.” She finishes with a sharp glance my way, a look that conjures images of wiredolls and their cables.

“Still.” She softens her look, tilting her head at me. It’s obviously fake, but it’s meant to look fake. “There’s no sense in letting you go to waste. Rarity can kill you for Trixie. And who knows? Maybe you’ll stick a knife in her first.” She snorts. “Though Trixie doubts it.”

Wait... what?

“That’s... it?” I ask, hesitantly. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch is that you have blackmailed Trixie, and a time will come when Trixie makes you regret that,” Trixie answers, with a cold, hard tone. “But for the time being, Trixie will indulge this childish request. Now get out and wait in the elevator. Trixie needs to talk to Berry.”

I glance at Berry, glance at Trixie, but that was the sort of dismissal where I will anger her if I don’t leave immediately. Crossing that would be unwise in the best of circumstances, and with her recent outburst... no. I nod my head, turn, and walk out, headed back to the lift.

It’s a short trip, through the den, down the hall, and past the guards, but my head is swimming the whole time. That should not have worked. I didn’t win—Trixie threw the match. But why? It doesn't make any sense. Even if she took my threat seriously, she should have at least pushed a little harder, tried to see if that was all bravado or if I’d cave. She didn’t haggle or bluff, she just... what? Gave in?

I thread my way back through the dolls and step into the transparent lift. Vision is there, watching me as I watch it. I hate it, but it is beautiful. Think, Siren. What just happened?

I stare at the city for a while, and think it over, but nothing comes to mind. Her questions were odd, starting with the observation about the mantle. She doesn't seem the type to talk to herself that way. And that outburst...

“Ground floor,” I say aloud, and the lift doors shut. Berry will be able to find me, I’m sure.

The lift sinks quickly, my weight briefly diminishing as it plunges. For a time, the city seems to rise up around me, but then the darkness cuts me off, and all I can see is the stone rushing past. Such an odd feature, to have this moment of darkness and no light in the elevator. It must be intentional, though I can’t imagine why. Maybe it’s just a stylistic choice.

Neptune’s Bounty reappears one slice at a time, until the glass lift is hovering over it all—the grid of forcefields, the neat square buildings. It looks okay, but it’s not the same as the city proper. It has a sort of elegance, a mystery, a power in all those assembly lines, but it lacks the grand indifference of the city itself. That high ceiling and open space makes too much of an effort to be friendly. It’s not cruel enough to be beautiful.

“Wow that sounded like something Rarity would say,” I mutter, glancing down at the floor. “Way to channel your inner psychopath there, Siren.”

I spend the rest of the lift ride just looking at my hooves.

It doesn't take long for the lift door to open and let me out. There’s still nopony in the circle, other than the drivers, and I don’t feel like bothering them. Instead, I wander out into the park. From how empty it is, there’s probably some rule against my being here, but I really don’t care. There’s grass, and trees, and a wind blowing. It’s easy to shut my eyes and pretend I’m back home, and for a while, I do. I find a place to sit under an apple tree and just... think.

The grass is nice. It’s soft and lush. The tree is a real tree, and the bark is rough when I lean against it. That... that’s nice. That helps me think.

Clears up a few things.

I crack an eye open when I hear hoofbeats approaching. Purple. I shut my eyes again.

“Hello, Berry,” I say when she gets close. “How did your little chat go?”

“I will be permitted to assist you in rescuing Green,” Berry answers. I can hear that she’s right beside me, probably just standing there and staring.

“I’ll try to feign sounding surprised,” I reply with a weary tone. I am tired, but that’s not the reason why. “What’s really going on here, Berry?”

She doesn't answer, and after a while, I open my eyes and look at her. She’s staring at me, ears up and alert, her face the same blank mask it always is. Just watching. Waiting for me to go on. So I do.

“Eighty-six thousand benches,” I say, gesturing back towards the street and the factory skylights there. “Assuming she charges a bit for each one, that’s... what? About six tons of gold?”

“Closer to two,” Berry answers.

“Whatever,” I snap. What a shock, the wind-up pony is good at math. “A lot. And somehow, I doubt benches are the most valuable thing she makes here. I bought that ransom story because it fit what I knew at the time, but I didn’t know much. And now...” I let out a breath.

“Even if Celestia emptied the royal treasury for me, and she would not, I’m not sure there’s enough money in it for Trixie to care. I keep forgetting that this place isn’t a city—it’s a very compact empire.” Berry shows no reaction other than to tilt her head a little, so I suppose I’ll have to ask. “Berry, why does Trixie actually want me? Why did she just let me go? Why are you helping me?”

“Celestia has things other than money that Trixie—”

“No, horseapples. I’m not buying that,” I snap. I think I actually surprised her a little. Not that she shows it, but she falls quiet at once. “Celestia doesn't consider deals made under duress binding. Any kind of deal or political concession Trixie got out of me would be void the second she handed me over. There are magical artifacts I guess, but Celestia’s not going to give away anything really dangerous for me, and Trixie would know that!” I snarl out the last few words, my tail lashing as I glare at Berry.

“I’m not a child, Berry! And I’m not stupid,” I say, rising from where I’m leaning on the tree and shaking myself out. “Trixie wasn’t surprised to see me with a Daring Do cutie mark. So you told her that. Did you neglect to mention that I wanted to go home? Or did you two set this up?” I demand. “Berry, answer the question!”

Berry doesn't answer for a while. Her tail twitches, once.

“Yes,” she says.

I swear, I’ll destroy you Berry. One day, when you least expect it.

Tempting as it would be to say that out loud, I force myself to take a slow, calming breath. “If you don’t tell me why you and Trixie are helping me, I will do this without you. Even if it means fighting you both.”

“You lack the capacity,” Berry replies.

“The last time I ignored a pony’s ulterior motives because they were helping me was Rarity,” I reply with just the right amount of emphasis on the last word. She knows what I mean. “I’m not joking, Berry. I won’t get another innocent pony killed because I wasn’t willing to take a stand. I won’t.”

By now, I should be used to Berry’s long silences. But it’s still unnerving every time, the way she just stares at me blankly while the cogs in her head turn.

“Trixie has debts,” she finally says.”Debts which she hoped returning you to Equestria would repay. Several things you said made it clear that was no longer a viable option. She acceded simply to get you out of the office and then discussed her next move with me at length. I was able to persuade her that actually letting you try was the best means to attempt to salvage the situation.”

“Convenient that you suddenly take my side once I’m not in the room to confirm it,” I say, with a healthy side of skepticism. Berry shrugs. “So she’s in debt to the Princess then? What, did the Princess do her a favor? And what about you? What’s your angle on all this?”

Berry just shakes her head.

“That’s not good enough, Berry!” I shout, bristling and leaning up to get right into her face. It’s the only thing I can do to get to her, making her step back so that we don’t touch.

“You are becoming emotional,” she replies.

“Yes, Berry! Yes, I’m becoming emotional!” I bellow, not paying any attention to whatever ponies might be watching us. “I’m sick of being everypony’s pawn. I’m sick of being the damsel in distress, and I’m sick of getting ponies killed! I want to make things right again, but I just keep making them worse!”

My breath is coming too fast now, and my eyes are starting to sting. “For all I know, Trixie is just like Rarity and you’re her version of Quick March. What’s she do? Boil ponies in acid? Stomp on kittens? You know, the sort of things you do to relax after a long, hard day enslaving and mutating your subjects!” I’m becoming hysterical at the end, and I know it, but Berry doesn't react. She just stares at me. Watches me as I pant.

As I breathe. Force myself to calm down. Even, calming breaths.

“Sorry,” I say, eventually. My heart’s pounding, my head swimming, but, I’m calmer. Breathing under control. “Sorry.” Still, she says nothing.

“Sorry,” I say again.

“Trixie believes that helping you will repay an old debt,” Berry says. “And I am her servant.”

“If you’re just doing this because she’s your boss, why’d you set me up in the office that way?” I ask. I can’t trust her answers, but she’s not good at lying. There’s more to it than just a poker face.

“I must serve Trixie’s best interests as I understand them,” she answers, with her usual dead intonations. “That is not the same thing as blind obedience.”

“And I’m supposed to believe it’s that simple?” I ask, fixing her with a pointed look. For all the good it will do.

“No,” she says. She doesn't elaborate.

“Well... fine,” I say, shaking my head to clear it. “If that’s all I’m getting... fine. You did technically tell me why you and Trixie want to help me. I’ll take it. Let’s go find Echo.”

I turn, and Berry follows, the two of us trotting through the streets. The trip back is as uneventful as the trip there, just long streets and lines of ponies. Berry doesn't lead us back to the train station though. This time, she’s angling for a hoofbridge that leads back into the city.

“How are we going to find him?” I ask when I’ve had enough time to clear my head and get my voice under control.

“I know a pony who collects wiredoll tokens, particularly from security officers. He owes Trixie a favor,” she says plainly. “If we are lucky, he will have the means for us to contact Echo.”

“And if your friend doesn’t have Echo’s token?” I ask.

“Then we will try something else,” Berry says, and I guess that’s a fair answer. We’re the only ones on the hoofbridge—though from the pair of wiredoll guards on the end, I guess it’s VIPs only. They let Berry through without a second glance, of course. We’re about halfway across when something suddenly occurs to me.

“Hey, Berry,” I say, looking her way. “I just realized—I never asked what happened with security. After Rarity caught you, I mean.” She says nothing, of course, just trotting along. “Won’t there be wanted posters for you and stuff?”

“No,” she says.

“Why?” I ask. “How’d you get away?”

“Cleverly,” she answers.

We walk for a while in silence.

“Fine. Keep your secrets then,” I say. And of course, she does.

Ether Wash

“Was this his cutie mark?” the attendant asks, mumbling a bit around the wiredoll token in his mouth. He’s an earth pony, so he has the crystal wedged firmly between his teeth, leaning his head forward to present the marked end to Berry. She stares at it for several long seconds, her face blank and flat as ever. One. Two. Three.

“No,” she says. “The medal on his cutie mark did not have a ‘2’ on the face. It was an unadorned silver disk.”

“Okay,” the attendant replies, putting the wiredoll token back into the rack, along with hundreds of others like it. His eyes slowly scan over the glittering honeycomb, from crystal to crystal, until he leans his head over, takes another in his teeth, and turns to present it to Berry. “Was this his cutie mark?” he asks, just the way he did before.

One. Two. Three.

“No,” Berry says. “The medal on his cutie mark did not have a band in the middle of the strap. It was plain, with a simpler design.”

“Okay,” the attendant replies, putting the wiredoll token back into the rack.

I let out a quiet breath and turn away, going back to watching the rest of the shop.

They’ve been at it for nearly half an hour now. At first, I assumed that things would go pretty quickly—the attendant had a giant box of honeycombed tokens, but I was sure that describing Echo’s cutie mark would narrow it down. Then I discovered that Berry had wired ahead, and that the box only holds the finalists. A hundred something wiredoll tokens that all depict some variant on “silver medal.”

It’s enough to make a pony feel they aren’t that special.

That thought makes my ears fold back a bit, my tail tucking itself in under my haunches. Unproductive thoughts. I’m sitting on a bench near the door to the shop, presumably put there for just this situation. It gives a good view of things, and I have to admit it’s a well-laid-out shop. A bit damp, a bit dark, but well laid out.

The shop has an unassuming name, Wiredoll Repair and Customization, but the inside is a little museum in its own right. Two dozen dolls, each with a unique design, all posed around each other like ponies frolicking in a field. Unicorns with glittering golden horns, pegasi with upraised steel wings, earth ponies so expressive the dolls can grin, as though laughing at the others’ antics. Stands of different heights make them seem frozen in mid-leap, like they were real ponies turned to stone in an instant.

Yeah. Just like that.

“Was this his cutie mark?” the attendant asks. One. Two. Three.

“No,” Berry says. “The medal on his cutie mark rested at a slight angle, like it would hang while being worn.” Always three seconds with her. Very consistent. I wonder if there’s a reason for that.

It probably doesn’t matter.

“I’m going for a walk,” I say, shoving myself off the bench. My hoofboot hits the floor first with a quiet clank, my other forehoof tapping on the stone a moment later. Berry turns her head my way as the attendant looks for another token. Is she going to stop me from leaving? Tell me not to wander off?

After a moment, she looks back to the counter. “Was this his cutie mark?” the attendant asks.

I guess not.

I push out through the shop’s double doors, a little shiver running over me as I do. It’s colder out in the hall than inside—not much, but noticeably. Probably from all the running seawater. The cold might not be so bad if there was more to distract me, but this whole tower is dull as toast. The doors swing shut behind me, but I linger in the archway for a second, looking over my options.

I’m pretty sure the tower is one of Twilight Sparkle’s original creations. It’s short and ugly from the outside, with a low ceiling, tiny windows, blocky angles, and blockier rooms. Living here would be like living in a cave, an impression not helped by the pools of stagnant water and occasional patches of filth on the floor. The ponies here are trying to make a go of it, putting up brightly colored posters and adding lamps to supplement the wholly insufficient ceiling lights, but I can see why this isn’t exactly high-demand real estate.

The decorations are part of the problem though. Garish posters cling to every exposed section of wall, advertising cheap mantles, cheap food, and cheap weapons. Banners announcing upcoming plays, performances, or events hang three deep, layered over each other as old announcements are covered up and forgotten. There’s even one of those of statues of Sine across the way, the words “I do not want to be a symbol of anything. I just want to be myself” carved on the base of a statue twice the size of a real pony.

That’s kind of funny.

I look around again. There are a few stores nearby, and a cafe, but none of them seem really appealing. I suppose I can get some tea or something.

It takes a moment to spur my legs into motion, my body willing me to just stand there under the archway. My steps feel heavy, joints stiff, but I don’t think I’m injured again. It’s just the cold, and the damp, and probably some exhaustion. Water splashes around my hooves as I make my way across the white stone hall, icy droplets running over my bare skin where the hair is gone. The cafe isn’t far. It’s across the street and a little ways to the left. Not a lot of ponies out and about right now—just a couple pulling a wagon and a few passers-by.

It’s a pretty depressing cafe, really. It’s no more than fifteen good paces deep, and barely a third as wide, but the owners have managed to cram enough tables and booths for fifty ponies into the space. I suspect it used to be an alley before they added a ceiling and door and called it a room. It’s too narrow to be anything else, crowding all the tables together into an ugly, cramped maze. If this place were ever full, it would reek of sweat. As is, it reeks of salt water. That smell means something, in Vision. It’s the smell of poverty. There are puddles on the floor, pictures hung on the walls to hide cracks. The furniture is old and dented, made from metal instead of wood.

The bases of the tables are already starting to rust, and I keep my eyes on them as I carefully pick my way towards the counter in the back. If I’m not careful, I’ll give myself tetanus shoving my way through here. So many tables, and besides me, this place has all of three clients—a mare reading a book at one of the tables, and two pegasus stallions chatting quietly in one of the stalls. They’re all older. Mid-thirties maybe. A few cutie marks each.

Between the tables and the clients, about the only thing here that doesn't look like it’s older than I am is the colt behind the counter. He’s maybe sixteen. Seventeen if he’s a late bloomer, but definitely not older. A lanky, off-yellow earth pony. He’s a good half-head taller than me, but he still hasn’t grown out of that teenage awkwardness—uneven stance, acne and all. He hit puberty and it hit back.

Just one cutie mark. That’s good. Three bees. Perhaps he likes bugs. He was reading a book when I walked in, but it didn’t take him long to look up, and by the time I reach the counter, the book is shut and away.

“Hey there,” he says, with a forced sort of cheer. He’s awkward, and stiff, but I think he’s trying, and he finds a smile for me anyway. “Take a seat. I’m Ether Wash. You want some ice for that bruise?” he asks, gesturing at my cheek as he winces on my behalf.

“You aren’t related to a mare named Swiftwing by any chance, are you?” I ask, but he only gives me a dumb look. That’s fine. It wasn't that funny. “Never mind. No, thank you. Can I just get some tea, please?”

“Oh, uh... sure. What kind?” He glances back at the rows of little tins behind the counter. I try to follow his gaze, but all the labels run together, and I can’t make my mind focus on them. I don’t really care, anyway.

“Strong, please. The sort of tea doesn't matter,” I answer, and he nods. His work is jerky and slow, but I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m in a hurry. I just stare at the wall while I wait, tail flicking this way and that behind me.

“So um... bad day?” he asks, twisting his neck to look at me over his shoulder. It takes me a moment to register what he said, my eyes sliding back to him as my mind returns to the world around me. Is he trying to make conversation? Or just angling for a better tip?

Then I notice how tightly he’s holding his tail, how alert his ears are, that tension in his eyes as they dart from place to place, drifting towards me only to jump away. Right. Teenage colt, pretty mare. History repeats itself.

“Yeah,” I say after a moment. “Bad day.”

“Oh. Um. Sorry,” he answers with a supreme eloquence, going back to fumbling with the tea strainer. That keeps him quiet for a bit at least, as he uses his teeth to carefully load it from the tins, sliding it into some sort of machine pressed against the wall. It has a little spigot with an empty cup under it. Figures. “Do you uh... want to talk about it?” he asks, nosing one of the machine’s buttons once the tea is inside.

Not really, no. I turn away to look at the rest of the cafe. The older mare at the table with her book. The two stallions talking in excited whispers. Planning something. They have paper and lots of empty coffee cups.

“I really went off on somepony earlier,” I say, not looking back at him. “A waitress. She didn’t do anything—she was actually really nice to me. But I was having a bad day and I took it out on her.” I somehow doubt that awkward-waiters-who-dig-me are enough of a coherent social group that apologizing to him counts, but it still feels nice to say. “So I’m feeling like a bit of a waste of space right now.”

“Well, uh... I mean. I’d rather you didn’t do that to me,” he says, a bit uncertain. I’m not looking at him, but I know he’s looking at me. Trying to work out what to say. “But jerk customers are a part of the job. If it helps, I’m sure she’s forgotten about you by now.”

“Nice of you to say,” I reply, just a little tired. I do turn back to look at him though—he’ll like that. Just as I thought, he’s watching me, and when I smile at him, he blushes a little and looks at the floor. He did enjoy that. Just like I thought. I guess that counts for something. Behind him, the machine hums and spits tea out into the worn and faded china. “So what’s your story then? Are you a beekeeper? An entomologist?”

“I’m a waiter,” he answers, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. Like I said something funny. “You’re a little older than you let on, aren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?” I ask, but after a moment, I get it. “Oh. Because I assumed you’re... Right.” Because I assumed that the things that make you unique and special mattered in the slightest. “Very Equestrian, I suppose.”

“Uh... kind of,” he says, sheepishly. “But it’s okay. It’s nice. Are you a singer?”

“Yeah,” I say. By now, the machine is making little sputtering sounds, and there doesn't seem to be any more tea coming. He leans his head down under the counter to fetch a tray—a napkin, spoon, and little silver holder full of honey and cream following it. “But I wanted to be a wizard.”

“Until you discovered your special talent?” he asks, moving the cup over to the tray and then pushing it across the counter towards me. Earth pony waiters must need a lot of manual dexterity. I never noticed before. All the waiters in Canterlot were unicorns.

“Is that how you think Equestria works?” I ask, as he leans down under the counter to get something. “You just discover your special talent and the rest of your life is roses and sunshine?”

He lifts his head back up, and I see there’s a heavy, sapphire-blue bottle in his teeth. A flowing label on the side reads, “Old Times’ Traditional Spirits,” the letters gentle and curving. He bites down hard on the cork, and it comes out with a loud pop.

“Isn’t it?” he mumbles around the cork, lowering the mouth of the bottle to my teacup. “Just say when.”

Oh. Strong tea. Because I’ve had a bad day. I get it.

“Uh...” I mutter, as the liquid inside starts to flow. Clear. So that’s... what? Vodka? Gin? I don’t know alcohol. “When,” I say quickly, before much has changed. He lifts the bottle again, moving to cork it. “And not really. Your special talent is what you’re good at, but you still have to decide what to do with your life.” Somehow, that doesn't feel right to say, and as he puts the bottle back, I add, “It’s better than here though.”

“If you say so,” he answers with an indifferent little shrug. “Why’d you want to be a wizard then?”

I let out a breath, and shake my head gently, one ear tilting back. “Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do...”

“No, it’s okay.” He shakes his head, taking a bashful half-step back. “Sorry. Enjoy your tea.”

“Sure, thanks,” I say, looking down at the tray.

I’ve never had hard liquor before, though I have had a glass of wine a few times. The Princess doesn't have anything against drinking—it was just never a part of life in the palace, aside from the occasional formal event where you drink to be polite. Those are hardly the same thing anyway. Nopony wants to get drunk in front of the Princess and the nobility, so it’s always a milder wine in small glasses. It did have a pretty interesting taste.

This isn’t like that. Levitating the teacup to my muzzle and taking a sniff is just about enough to make my eyes water. It smells like Echo’s breath—nasty and caustic and metallic. Tin, I think. I wonder if it’s the same stuff as in his flask.

I take a small sip. Swish it around a bit. It does burn going down, like they say in books, but I don’t gag or anything. It’s alright.

I bet I could have been a halfway decent wizard if I’d ever actually put in the effort. I’m smart—magic is just boring. I get hyper-focused during acting lessons, but it’s hard to concentrate on all the numbers for magic. Even when I’m really trying, it’s like my brain doesn't want to cooperate. My sound spells came easy, but that’s different. Every unicorn has at least a few spells.

I wonder what spells Daring Do gives you? How would I find out? My sound magic just came naturally to me when I was growing up. Will the new spells just appear that way as well? Or do I have to actively look for them? Berry did say that mantles never bestow knowledge, and spells are kind of knowledge.

I wonder if I could get Twilight Sparkle’s cutie mark somewhere.

“So what is your special talent then?” I ask, not looking up from the tray. I could order a second cup, but I don’t really mind the burn. It’s a bit like Rarity’s tea. I guess I shouldn't enjoy that, but I do. I miss the taste of her tea. I miss the way it burns your throat. It feels comfortable. It feels right.

That’s a bit concerning.

“Beekeeping,” he answers, and I hear a slight swish of motion—him looking up from his book. “My family owns an apiary, and I like hanging out there after work. It’s relaxing.”

“You know, in the tribal era, they believed that bees were the most noble of all animals?” I say, swishing the teacup. “They naturally form a harmonious society ruled over by a female who is larger than all the others. Very equine.”

“Woah, really?” he asks, and when I look up, he’s smiling. I smile back and let my eyes light up a little, act like I’m amused he’s amused. That’ll make his day. “That’s some creepy cultural dissonance right there. Like, it’s weird if you think Celestia made that up to flatter herself? But it’s even weirder if you think that some beekeeper saw that and went, ‘Hey look, that big bee is like our lovable dictator.’”

She’s not a dictator, you degenerate half-wit. She’s your princess. I almost snap at him, bite back against that drivel. Then I remember where I am. “Yeah. I suppose that is pretty weird, when you stop to think about it.” He probably won’t put two and two together, but I should still cover my bases. “I grew up with it though.”

“You said earlier,” he replies, but he doesn't seem to have anything to add to that, pausing uncertainly and glancing at the floor. He mumbles a few things, nothing coherent, and I take the chance to lift the teacup again. I take another sip, but just a small one.

“But doesn't it bother you?” I ask into that pause. “I mean, that you’re a good waiter, when you could be a great beekeeper?”

“I uh... wouldn't say I’m a good waiter,” he says, delivering the joke awkwardly and with an obviously artificial laugh. I chuckle like I didn’t notice and wait for the follow up. It never comes though, just an awkward blush and a glance at the counter. He’s not embarrassed though, at least not about the question. Just pretty-mare nerves.

“You seem pretty good to me,” I reply encouragingly. “But, sure. Does it ever bother you that you’re an okay waiter instead of a great beekeeper?”

“Kinda?” he answers, shrugging uncertainly. “I mean, yeah, I’d love it if I got to be a beekeeper. But I’d also love it if I had a million bits and a changeling marefriend.” Wait, what? Is that a thing down here? “You don’t get everything you want.”

“So wanting to do what you’re good at is selfish?” I ask. It’s a bit harsh, but I moderate my tone, and I don’t think he’s offended. He doesn't look it in any case.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting it,” he says with a shrug. “Just having it. You know. The world is what it is. You do your best, and you don’t get everything you want.”

I think I stare at him for a while, because he pulls back a little, his left ear tilting to one side. “I mean, that’s how it was in Equestria, right?”

“No, actually,” I say after a second. “In Equestria, your special talent isn’t just a thing you happen to be good at. A cutie mark isn’t a... isn’t a magic tattoo.” It’s all so obvious, so unspoken, that it takes me a second to find the words for it. Some artist I am. “The world isn’t just what it is and you have to deal with it. Your special talent is... your destiny. It’s the you-shaped hole in the universe that you were born to fill. Where they’ll miss you when you’re gone.” Celestia will miss me. I think the others will too.

“It’s why mantles are... are just... wrong,” I say, forcing the words out. “Even without the side effects. Even without everything dangerous about them. It’s cheapening what is supposed to be your most private moment. It’s stamping the words ‘I’m Special’ all over your body until there’s only red ink left.” What was that even supposed to mean? Nice analogy there, Siren. “It’s messed up!”

Just like I’m messed up. Right there on my cheek. “I’m special” stamped right there for everypony to see. I’m brave. I’m a hero.

“Here...” I need a second to collect myself, and to calm down, so I trail off for a while and search for the words. How do you even say this? “Here, the ocean is what it is. If you all died today, it would just reclaim the city. In a few years, there wouldn't even be anything left. But up there...” Up there, what? Everything is perfect all the time? Hardly. But no. There’s a way to say this. “Up there, all the light and warmth in the world is put there by somepony who cares about you. About you personally. Who wants you to be happy. And, yeah, it doesn't always work out. But...”

I realize he’s staring. Glancing back at the rest of the room. I look back. The other three patrons are staring too.

Oh, ponyfeathers.

“I, uh,” I stammer. I should go. But I can’t go too fast! If I run out, they’ll definitely know something is wrong. That was stupid, Siren! “I—”

“Hey!” the mare at the table says, raising her voice to be heard clear across the room. A rough, scratchy sort of voice. Too masculine. Too fitting for her boxy earth-pony frame and brown coat. “There’s nothing wrong with saying you miss Equestria sometimes. And that is all she said. Right?”

“That’s all I heard, yeah,” one of the stallions at the booth agrees. The black one with a screwdriver cutie mark on his shoulder. The other—grey, with a starburst on his leg—turns to look at me, and catches my eye for a second. He nods, firmly.

What?

“Might want to lay off the gin though,” the black stallion adds after a second. I glance back at the cup. It’s empty. Did I finish it? No. I mean, yes, I did, but that was at most a fifth of a cup of gin. I start to object.

But when I turn back to the room, they’ve all gone back to what they were doing.

“I...” I manage, looking dumbly between them and the counter. I’m not keeping up a good expression, I know. I shouldn't show my actual feelings, here of all places. I’ve just been so off balance lately. “Can I get another cup of tea?”

Ether Wash hesitates, one ear folding back, tail unsteady. “I’m not allowed to serve more than one hard drink per client. We’re not a bar or—”

“Just tea is fine,” I say. He nods and goes back to his little tins, and his little machine, and the strainer he handles with his teeth. He glances back at me at every chance, slowing his already shoddy work considerably. I look at him, and at the others, but he’s the only one who's curious. Whatever inspired the others has faded, and they’ve gone back to their own worlds—the mare to her book, the stallions to their paper and muttering.

“So, um. What were you saying?” he asks, pulling my attention back to him. He’s just put the strainer in the machine, his head jerking forward stiffly to jam the button with his nose. “About, uh, that thing you were discussing earlier. I mean.”

“I shouldn't—”

“It’s fine,” he insists as the machine starts to splutter. “I mean. If you’re okay with it. I actually kind of want to hear it now.” A look at him is enough to know his motives aren’t entirely pure. A few of those glances are still going to my flanks instead of my face. But, I don’t think they’re entirely impure either. He is listening.

I glance at the room. The other ponies there. They’re all marked up, yeah. But they seem okay. Besides, if they were going to snitch on me, they’d have done it earlier, right?

“The thing about Equestria is that it’s never... over,” I say finally, to break the silence. “Everypony messes up, but if you learn your lesson, go back and make it right again, you can be forgiven. If you work hard and do the right thing, it will all work out in the end.” That sounds kind of lame, and the tilt of his ears shows his confusion, so I add, “Vision isn’t like that.”

“Uh... not really, no,” he agrees. He’s not quite sure what to say, and I can’t really blame him. There’s not much to say. “But hey! It’s not all bad. You can fix the little things. I made up with a friend last week I hadn’t seen for like a year. That was nice. You could go apologize to whoever it is you’re so upset over.”

“I’m not sure she’d want to see me at this point,” I say with a little shake of my head, letting my tail swish a bit. “But I guess you’re right.”

“Yeah. And hey—if there was ever a city to reinvent yourself?” he asks, trying to cheer me up. It’s not really funny, particularly given my circumstances.

But I smile and pretend to laugh. “Yeah. You know, I never thought of it that way. Thanks.”

The conversation lulls for a bit as the machine coughs and hisses with the last of the tea. Ether Wash busies himself getting the cup ready, and I turn back to my tray. Over the dripping water and the rhythmic pulsing of the ceiling lights, I can hear the clatter of his spastic movements. Now he thinks he’s cheered me up. That’ll make him feel good. I mean, he thinks I’m forty, and he’s still checking me out, so that’s kind of weird. But he seems nice enough.

And he’s kind of right, isn’t he? Equestria may have second chances, but Vision is the place for really starting fresh. Yesterday, just the sound of Rarity’s voice had me shrieking in fear and shaking. And now what? I take a second to picture her in my mind, to imagine her voice: my dear this, and darling that, and all her stupid over the top intonations. Rarity, Rarity, Rarity, Rarity.

I feel a little stiff, I guess? Kind of tense. No real feeling of fear. I wait, but nothing else happens.

I suppose that’s good. That was the idea anyway. I can’t fight her if just seeing her makes me break down like a stupid foal. It’s still weird to think of myself as pink instead of amaranth or rose, but I suppose it’s better that way.

I reach a hoof up to my left cheek, but my new cutie mark doesn't feel any different from the rest of my face.

“Here you go,” he says, interrupting my thoughts as he slides the next cup onto my tray. He has to mouth the words around the plate he’s holding the cup on, but he’s still comprehensible, and there’s a little jar balanced on the plate’s edge. “And some extra honey. Are you sure your friend doesn’t want anything?”

“My friend?” I ask, following his eyes and—horseapples! Berry is right there. All my legs go tense, readying to leap back, my ears and tail shooting up. Her muzzle is less than a hoof from mine, and she’s staring right at me.

But after a moment, she leans back. I don’t jump or shout or... or anything. My heart is racing a bit, but it’s starting to slow, and I force my tail back down. Force my limbs to relax. Okay.

“Uh. Watch it there,” Ether Wash says, with a stiff, squeaky laugh. I look back at him and he’s smiling—amused that I started, without so much as a trace of surprise.

“How long were you standing there?” I demand, turning back to Berry. She doesn't answer, just looking at me with that blank mask she has instead of a face, her ears straight ahead and still.

“Oh, uh...” Ether chimes in, a little hesitant now, put off by her non-answer. “She walked in with you.”

“No, she—” What? Didn’t? Obviously she didn’t. Ether is a waiter, she’s a customer. He would have acknowledged her, asked her if she wanted anything. He would have looked at my “friend” when he was worried about me. But there’s no reason for him to lie, and I don’t see anything in his face. “Ah. Right. Funny, Berry. You’re hilarious.”

“We should go,” Berry says, without so much as breaking eye contact to glance at the door. Fine, have it your way then. I down the new cup of tea quickly—less because I want it and more to make a point to Berry—returning it to the tray politely.

“Thanks for the advice, Ether,” I say, reaching back into my belt pouches. “And for the tea, I suppose. How much is...” I manage, before I realize that my money pouch is empty. I gave it all to that mare in the station. I’m not panicked—Berry can pay for me—but it’s still embarrassing after he was so nice. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t—”

“Nah, it’s fine. You uh, you look like you’ve had a bad day,” he says, gesturing me away from the counter with a hoof. I must look confused, because it’s a moment later he adds, “Really. It’s on the house. Try to, you know, cheer up. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I manage after a second. “Yeah, thanks.” I mean, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve gotten something for free. I’m cute and endearing and attractive, so it happens now and again.

“Thank you,” I add for good measure. And I turn to go.

I step outside first, holding the door for Berry as she steps out. She doesn't wait for me, turning to walk back to the wiredoll shop at a steady clip. She isn’t quick, but she has a head start, forcing me to hurry and catch up.

“How did you do that?” I demand as we walk side by side. Her pace is slow, deliberate. It’s perfect for her pint-size frame, but it makes it awkward for me to keep pace and drives me along in a half-step. Of course, she doesn't answer. “Berry, how did you do that? Why didn’t anypony see you?” Still, she ignores me.

Fine, Berry. You don’t want us to talk—have it your way. I wait until we’re just ahead of the door to the wiredoll shop, take one quick step, and put my hoof over the doors where they meet in the middle, blocking Berry’s path and holding them firmly shut. A quick glare at her makes my point, even if she doesn't show a reaction. I know she understood.

“This is your mission,” she says, after a moment. “You are free to delay us as much as you like.”

Sun and stars, I’m sick of having this terrible a bargaining position. “You know why I can’t let you lead me around by the nose, Berry,” I shoot back, careful to keep it indignant. Maybe if she thinks I’m willing to take a stand on this, she’ll fold.

She doesn't answer right away of course, but I can tell she’s thinking it over because her head tilts to one side a little. I don’t know quite what that means, but it’s an expression. My expression stays a glare the whole time, putting on a perfect show of angry defiance—like I really would scuttle the whole thing over this.

“Yes,” she finally says. “But I am not certain I see the relevance of this question to your ethical quandary.”

“Because...” Because I hate you, Berry. She’s got me though, and we both know it. I give it enough of a show I won’t completely lose my dignity, holding her in place with a gradually softening stare. “Because I want to know why you thought you needed to tail me. Can you answer that, at least?”

“I am here to protect you,” she answers plainly. Fairly quickly, at least.

“So, you didn’t want me to wander off on my own?” I ask, but she gives no answer. “Couldn't you have just told me to stay where I was?” She shrugs. “Letting me go and then tailing me seems like a lot of effort just to keep me safe.” My tone isn’t accusative anymore, just firm. I think it’s the right way to get a response. She takes a second.

“This way was more informative,” she finally says.

“You were watching me to see how I act when I think you’re not around?” I ask. What? Why? I should be livid, but after everything else, I’m just more curious. Is that why she leaned in so close when I turned around? To see if I’d jump? “What did you learn?”

“You have a remarkable ability to inspire generosity in others,” she says, flat as ever.

I take my hoof off the door and put it back on the ground. Fold back my ears. Draw a breath. I try to swallow, but all the spit in my mouth has turned to tar. My barrel feels tight, and my throat does too. I make myself do it though. I make my myself breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm down. Focus. Berry doesn't show any reaction of course, just staring at me blankly.

“I suppose that I do,” I finally say. My voice is a bit unsteady, but not too much. I’ve got a good tone for it, even if I mangled the delivery a bit. Not my best, but okay. “And that upsets you, does it?” I ask, though of course, she doesn't answer. “No, wait, let me guess. You’re not capable of getting upset?” I demand an answer, but she doesn't even bother to try. “The way you manage a perfect verbal slap every time I do something you don’t like, that’s not getting upset, that’s you being perfectly logical. Is that it?”

Again, nothing. Not even a breath or a twitch of her ears. “Fine, whatever,” I say, with a sharp shake of my head. She can keep her secrets. “Let’s go already.”

I pull open the door and step inside without waiting for her. She follows.

The attendant is waiting for us inside, his legs crossed over the counter as he leans forward. Heavy eyes make him look bored, even a little sleepy, and he gives us only the barest grunt of acknowledgement when we enter. He’s an earth pony: cyan coat, grey mane, stubby snout, close-cropped mane and tail, a pile of coins on his flank, a doll and a spool of cable on his barrel. There’s already a line of tokens on the counter in front of him. More potentials, I suppose.

“Is this everything?” I ask him, careful to keep any trace of the fight with Berry out of my tone. I’m too off my game to manage “friendly,” but I harden the anger from a childish thing into something quick and authoritative, pairing it with a quick step and direct look. He sits up at once and nods, without a thought to offense as I move to the counter to review his work.

Ten tokens. The first I rule out at a glance—two silver medals side by side. “No. No. No. No,” I say aloud for the first four, knocking them off one by one. The fifth gives me pause. It’s a medal, right shape, right strap, right configuration. There’s something about it though.

“No,” Berry interjects. “The medal depicted in Echo’s cutie mark is thinner than that. That is his,” she says. I hear motion, and when I glance to her, she’s pointing to the ninth in the line. I quickly follow her gaze. Is she right? I don’t see any visual difference between the fifth and the ninth. The crystal only shows outline, not color, and a lot of detail is lost. Either of them could be it.

Well, if we get the wrong one, all we do is wire some random pony, right? Better not to look indecisive in front of Berry. “Very well,” I say, sweeping up the ninth in line and tucking it into my belt at once. Taking it without asking shows authority. It’s a little thing. “Are we using the wiredolls here?”

“Not these in the storeroom,” the shopkeep says slowly, his voice a patient drone. “If you want to make a discreet wire, you’ll want a booth. That way, the pony on the other end can’t tell where you’re wiring from. I have one set up downstairs.”

“Show me,” I order. It’s not as effective as I might have liked—he does hesitate a moment—but he rises and moves from the counter to the front door. He still has to lock up and turn the little sign to “Closed.” The click of the door lock signals that he’s done, and he gestures us towards the doorway in the back of the shop.

I take the lead, and when I push though, there’s a narrow staircase leading downwards, twisting around to the right after only a few paces. I follow it, and soon find myself in a dim, dank basement full of tools, broken wiredolls, and a large wooden booth set up in one corner. The ceiling is low, and bare stone, without any beams to give it the illusion of Equestrian designs. Cables hang from the winches bolted to the stone at regular intervals, large hooks dangling on the end. One is in use, suspending a wiredoll off the ground. I can see legitimate uses for everything here, but it still feels like the killer’s lair in a horror movie more than anything else: the rusty tools, the soundproofing, and the mysterious booth.

Then it occurs to me I’m in a city where that sort of thing actually happens, and I double check my knives. Yup, knives still there if I need them. I turn to face the stairs just to be doubly safe, and see that Berry and the shopkeep aren’t far behind me.

“It should be all set up,” the attendant says, in his gradual way. “Just let me check to make sure I didn’t leave anything in the booth.” He steps over to the booth and pushes the door open, revealing a sliver of the interior as he slips through. Blank walls, a little stand for the doll. Good. I can hear him rummaging around inside and picking things up, but I’m actually glad for the delay—it gives me a second to think about what I’m going to say.

“Alright, Siren. Take a breath and, uh...” I notice that Berry has turned her head to look at me, and I fall silent. Okay, uh... take a breath then. I take a breath. Good. I could go back upstairs. Say I need a second.

In front of me, the booth door swings open again, and the attendant comes out with a few tools in his teeth—spitting the tools back up onto a workbench.

“Is that everything?” I ask him, and he nods. “Good. You can both go now.”

Berry is flat as ever, but in this case, I take her glance and the attendant’s odd look to mean the same thing. “Unless you hovering over my shoulder somehow enables the wiring process, this is a private chat. You two can both wait upstairs.” I can tell he’s hesitating—that was overreaching a bit, too much authority for my station thus far. I’m committed now though, so I follow it up with a pointed look, catching his gaze and holding it with a steady stare of my own. He starts to the stairs, pauses, looks at Berry.

“Well, uh...” he finally says. “Let me know if you need anything.” His hooves clip on the hard stone as he works his way up the steps, back around the bend and out of sight. Berry watches him go, but doesn’t move herself.

“So, what, did Trixie order you to listen in?” I ask, turning to face her, legs spread a bit apart. It’s one of those gestures ponies don’t consciously notice, but that makes a big difference—holding your ground. It’s instinctual.

Berry doesn’t answer. She just tilts her head and stares at me for a few seconds. Then she turns, walks up the stairs, and leaves.

Wow. Okay.

“Wow, okay,” I say, and that helps a bit. Running a hoof back through my mane helps too, and I push it behind my ears. My heart’s racing just a little—didn’t realize that was happening. But it feels good! It feels okay. Okay. Okay.

“Alright, Siren,” I say, and it’s very affirming. “You took a breath, and we’re feeling good, right?” Right! “Right! You’ve been through some stuff, and it messed you up a little, but that’s all in the past now. It’s time to uh... save the day!” Wow, that was not my best delivery. “Well, we’re pretty tired. They can’t all be gems.” I guess that’s fair.

“Okay, so. Assess available resources, assess the situation, define your objectives. First, resources.” I turn to pace, moving back and forth in front of the booth. “Starting off, we have yours truly, with all the charisma, wit, and quick thinking that entails.” To say nothing of your acute propensity for homicide-based artwork. “Uh... to say nothing of a... keen understanding of the motivations of Rarity and her goons, which may prove useful in defeating them!” Sure. That’s a better way to put it. “And bravery now too. Or Daring Do.”

For a little while, I can’t think of anything to add to that, and my steps briefly pause. But no. Gotta keep moving forward. I shake my head and resume pacing, now at a quicker walk. “Right. So. Beyond that, a belt full of tools: food, water, medical supplies, knives. Perhaps most relevantly, I have wiredoll tokens for myself, Trixie, Echo, Quick March, and Green.”

And Green.

I pause for a moment and glance down at my hoofboot, and the tokens it holds. On the far left, musical notes and a star. Then, a magic wand. A silver medal. Hoofprints and a sword. And finally, three green apple slices.

I pull Green’s token out and push open the booth door. The doll is waiting inside, just like always, sexless and gleaming on its stand. It’s as beautiful as when I first saw it, but now that I’ve seen combat dolls move, it also has a certain air of menace to it. I take a second to look it over—to make sure it’s in good shape. Seems to be. Which is good.

Then I slot Green’s crystal in the flank.

The crystal shines, and inside the doll, mechanisms engage, a steady whirring building within its barrel. Its legs stiffen to the resting position, and its head slowly lifts to level.

“Green?” I ask, after a moment, so quiet I’m almost whispering. I try again, raising my voice to be clearly heard. “Green, it’s me. It’s Siren.”

The doll doesn't move.

“Well, uh...” I say, taking a breath and letting it out. My sides feel all stiff for some reason. It’s hard to get air, and my gaze has sunk to the floor, hovering around the base of the doll’s stand. “Well. You um. You probably can’t hear me. But there’s a chance that you can and you just can’t signal to let me know you can. So uh. Hi.” That sounded lame. “It’s me. The Daring Do mark is new, but I’m not crazy yet or anything. I’m um... I’m coming to rescue you, Green. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I glance up at the doll for a moment.

The doll doesn’t move.

“So, uh. If you are aware of your environment, but are just paralyzed, that’s... that’s probably pretty psychologically damaging.” I laugh as the implications of my little speech sink in. I laugh even though it’s not funny. I don’t know why. “Hopefully you’re asleep and can’t hear a word I’m saying. But if you can, don’t worry. It won’t be long now.” That sounds good, even if I am kind of repeating myself. “I was just psyching myself up to wire Echo. Remember him? I didn’t have a super-good read on how you felt about him. He was a sadistic drunkard and you obviously knew it, but there were times when you two... I don’t know.” It was mostly the kiss, but I bet Green faked that. “Anyway, I’m going to try to convince him to help.”

The doll doesn’t move.

“I was just doing this thing,” I say, with a circling gesture of a hoof. “Assess situation, assess available resources, define your objectives. It’s supposed to help you clear your thoughts. I got it out of a book.” A self-help book, but Green doesn’t need to know that. “It’s probably overkill now though. I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to wire Echo, and ask for his help, and he’ll do it because he hates Rarity.” And everything else. “More than that, he hates himself for not standing up to her. He’s not that complicated, really.” Stallions generally aren’t.

“And, yeah,” I finish lamely. “I’m going to go do that now. Sorry to leave you like this, but... well, you know. Just hang on.” There’s nopony around, but I still look over my shoulder to check. When I’m sure I’m alone, I straighten my back and lift my head, leaning forward until my nose touches the dolls. The metal is cold, but there’s give in the springs—the head moves when you press, like a real pony’s would. That’s enough, when I shut my eyes and pretend, and I nuzzle the doll, just a little.

Then it’s over. I lean back. I pull the crystal out. The doll goes limp.

“Right,” I say. Then I take a moment to breathe and... and stuff. Right.

“Nothing wrong with a little... personal indulgence, Siren. But that’s enough of that. Time to... time to get your game face on.” I stiffen my spine and tail, crack out my neck, and take a pose. Resolute Stance #6, with a hint of anger thrown in, and just a dash of impatience. It’s a good starter for the wire with Echo. It reveals nothing, and can easily shift to nearly anything depending on his reaction. He’s not the type to get offended. I levitate Green’s crystal back into the boot, draw Echo’s out, take one last breath, and slot it in.

Just as before, the doll winds up and lifts its head, but something is different now. It’s like how I can tell two silences apart—the doll has no expression, but something new is gleaming behind those glass eyes. It considers me for a time, unmoving.

Then it speaks, a masculine voice rumbling behind that mechanical timbre. “Hello, Ms. Song,” Echo says, rolling the words out, each one carefully enunciated and precise. “This is an unexpected pleasure.” Good. No put-downs, no degradation. I’ve caught him off guard. The doll moves very little, except to turn its head slightly, but I’m sure that’s intentional. He doesn't want to give anything away. Just like when we first met, he’s playing it cool and waiting for me to slip up. I’m wise to his game now.

“Unexpected for us both,” I say, with a hard set to my jaw, shifting carefully from Resolute Stance #6 to something a little higher in the shoulders and a little stiffer. It conveys tension without suggesting weakness, which suits me well here. Echo will respect Trixie pulling a fast one more than me doing the same. “If I had my way, I’d never see you again—but the situation has changed.”

“So I see,” he says, still in that even cadence. The lenses inside the doll’s eyes whirr as they briefly refocus on my cheek, before returning to my face. “I suppose congratulations are in order then—your first bath in our city’s healing waters.” He draws the last two words out, with a chuckle. “Feeling bold, are we?”

“Bold enough,” I answer, not giving him any ground. As long as I show no reaction to his probing, he’ll stay on the defensive, and that lets me guide the conversation. “I’ve got a job for you.”

“Mmm,” he seems to consider the matter, a hoof lifted to his chin as the doll rolls faintly back on its stand. “I’m not sure that would be wise. No disrespect intended. I’ve simply had some difficulty lately with secondary employment. It’s proven to be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“And unless you want all of security finding out about that secondary employment, you’ll hear what I have to say,” I say. The threat comes down quick and fast. No shouting, no bellowing, just a slight rise in my voice and a lean forward to match the doll rolling back.

“You’re starting to sound a bit aggressive, Ms. Song,” he answers, the doll tilting its head down to look at me, with the effect that it seems almost contemplative. “You know, for a marker, it’s never too early to get into the habit of watching your temper. I know you feel normal now, but the symptoms have a way of sneaking up on—”

“You’re stalling,” I bark, shoving the impetus back to him. Horseapples. That reaction was too calm. He’s not taking the threat seriously. Of course, I have no idea if that’s because it’s an empty threat, or because he’s so drunk he thinks he’s invincible. Either way, best not come back to that point.

“I’m merely making an observation,” he replies, with that measured, careful speech. Not a word slurred or hurried, the space between words and sentences smooth and even. “But do go on.”

“I’m rescuing Green from the Pavilion, and I need your help,” I say, fixing him with a gaze. Back straight, words set and even.

“You want me to get you inside, I take it?” he asks, just as steady.

I take a breath. This is it.

“No,” I reply. “If you happen to have the keys to the back door, I’ll take them, but Trixie has other ways into the Pavilion. She’s sneaky like that. I need you for something else.” That faintest motion back shows that wasn’t the reaction he expected, which is just where I want him. I pause for a second, and then, the follow through.

“I need you to kill Rarity.”

Echo doesn't say a word, just watching me as gears click inside the doll—and inside his head, no doubt. Nailed it. Flawless delivery. He won’t agree that easily, but he’s going for the bait. All I have to do now is keep him going and—

I hear a hiss of breath, distorted by the machine’s mechanical drone. The faintest motion of the head. A quiet chuckle.

That’s not how he was supposed to react.

“And here I thought you and Ms. Rarity got along so well,” he says with an airy sort of tone, almost amused. He pauses a moment, and the wiredoll’s head leans down for the pocket where he keeps his cigarettes, before he remembers. “Hmph.”

“Rarity and I understand each other,” I say, not giving any ground. I don’t know why he’s reacting this way, but I can’t show any uncertainty, or I’m sunk. “And I understand how she’ll react when she finds out I stole part of her art collection. She’ll hunt Green and me to the ends of the world for slighting her. She’ll never get over it. She’s forgotten me, but...” I trail off just so, the pause letting me add a resolute little upkick to what comes next. “Green won’t be safe until Rarity is dead.”

“And you think I’m the pony to do the deed?” he asks casually, examining me carefully. Horseapples. I could read him like a book if he was here in person, but that doll is as blank-faced as Berry.

“Certain recent events have led me to believe that you have a real talent for jamming sharp pieces of metal into ponies.” I harden my tone and stance a little, but not enough to show real anger. I’m impatient with his stalling, that’s all. “You took on six of Trixie’s goons at once, when they were all ready and waiting for you. I doubt one aging dressmaker will prove very difficult.”

“Oh, I wasn’t questioning your assessment of my ability,” he replies. His tone is level and steady, even courteous. “Though I think you’re rather drastically underestimating Rarity, I’ll be the first to admit I have a considerable gift for soldiering. It’s just that the same could be said of many ponies in this city, so I’m wondering why me particularly.”

“I know that you don’t mind working under Rarity’s nose,” I reply. I don’t like letting him take the lead like this, but for now, at least, he’s keeping it on a reasonable tack. “I know you have secrets you’d rather be kept, and that helping me will ensure they stay secret. And I know that you have a grudge against artists.”

“Serial killers,” he corrects.

“Whatever,” I snap. “Do you want to banter or get this done? I can go back and forth with you all day, but Green’s waiting. Remember her? The mare you could be classy for?”

Another pause on his end, and this time, I’m sure he felt the blow connect. The doll rolls its neck, like he was working the kinks out, and he takes a breath. “I do indeed remember her, Ms. Song. But I was not the one she was close with. And I was not the one who had to watch her demise. So why am I the one settling her accounts?”

“Because you’re the only one who can,” I say, steadily. Something’s wrong though—he shouldn't be this reluctant. “You’re able and willing. You know her and her tricks well.”

“You have a knife. Two, in fact,” Echo answers steadily. “And she is, as you said, an aging dressmaker. I assure you, Ms. Song, your favored style of homicide may be an art form, but mine is very practical. Sharp end goes through pony.”

“You said you had a plan to take her out from when you were some hotshot in security,” I reply, impatient and hard, but not letting any stress show. I’m good like that. “Was that a lie? Big scary soldier all talk?”

“Not at all. It was a very simple plan, even,” he says. “Walk up to her, say hello, introduce myself, and then stab her though the barrel with my snap blade.” A little gesture from the wiredoll illustrates the motion. “Puffer-fish toxin isn’t hard to come by down here. A single hoof blade can easily hold fifty times the lethal dose, and there’s no known antidote.”

“And when her guards noticed you just attacked their leader?” I demand. “What was your plan then?”

“Die,” he says, flatly.

After a moment of silence, he adds, “After taking a few of them with me, hopefully.”

I don’t know what to say to that. My first impulse is to shout what a pile of horseapples that is and demand he get back on track, but... I think he might be serious. Drunk, yes, obviously. But I don’t think he’s kidding.

“Feel free to use that plan if you like, Ms. Song. I won’t object,” he says, with a magnanimous wave. “And I do wish you the best of luck in all your endeavors. It simply seems that I have nothing to offer you except the comfort of saying you never killed anypony, and that is not a commodity I sell.”

“Security won’t like it when they learn who you’ve been moonlighting for,” I try, but it’s a last-ditch effort, and we both know it.

“I suppose not, Ms. Song,” he agrees. “But I’m afraid that from where I’m sitting, it looks like all you’ve gained since we last spoke is a shiny new attitude, and the birthmark to go with it. You’ve no allies. No resources. No skills. No support. You’ve got nothing, except the expectation that others will do your dirty work for you. I understand that you think that new cutie mark makes you hot stuff, but there are a lot of ponies like you in this city: self-righteous teenagers hopped up on the latest thing to pop out of a vending machine. I do thank you for the offer, but having heard your proposition, well...”

“Echo, no! Trixie will—”

“I remain,” he talks over me, “unimpressed.”

The token slots out, and the doll goes limp.

I look at it. Take a breath. “Okay,” I say. It’s fine. We didn’t really need his help. I’ll just think of another way to rescue Green. “Okay.” It’ll be fine. I’ll save her, save the day. And it’ll be good. I can do this. I can think of something. I take a breath. “Okay.”

Then I scream at the top of my lungs, and buck hard behind me. I feel my hooves catch the door, hear the ring of metal and the crunch of wood, and suddenly, there’s no resistance. My hooves have barely hit the ground when I hear the flying door smash its way through the work room. A loud bang and the clatter of a thousand tools signal that it hit the workbench, knocking all the little wrenches and screwdrivers from their place. I can hear them going everywhere, tumbling off the bench and down to the stone like rain.

I shut my eyes, and take another breath, my chest shaking gently as the air escapes.

“What’s going on down there!?” the attendant shouts, his voice muffled by the distance between us. By the time I turn around and open my eyes, Berry is already standing at the base of the steps, the attendant rushing down behind her, eyes casting back and forth over the wreckage of his workshop. The flying door hit the workbench, just like I thought, knocking one of the damaged dolls to the ground. Scattered tools and doll parts cover the floor, a few gears still slowly rolling in circles.

“A private wire,” I answer him, sharply. “I didn’t say you could come down,”

“You destroyed my—”

“I am here because you owe Trixie a favor!” I bark, raising my voice to a shout at once. “This is her business. You understand that!? Now do yourself a favor and tend to your own affairs until I tell you we’re done!” I don’t wait for his response, turning to glare at Berry instead. “Berry, you can stay. We need to talk.”

Berry shows no reaction, but that’s all I need from her in this case. Silence implies consent, and her failure to rebuke me for shouting is as good an endorsement of my authority as I can get right now. I give the attendant a moment to glance at her before I shout, “Now!” He hurries back up the steps, pausing only once to glance at us before he vanishes around the bend.

Of course, Berry just stares at me, tilting her head to one side. “Oh, spit it out already!” I snarl.

She shrugs.

“Don’t just shrug at me!” I yell, stalking up to her to glare at her muzzle to muzzle. It’s at least a little satisfying to watch her stumble away from being touched, a little crack in that robot facade. “You’re supposed to be here to help me, so help me! Echo won’t help us save Green. What are our other options?”

“Limited,” Berry replies. “While it is possible that Trixie has another way into the Pavilion, she has not shared it with me, and I am not optimistic about the possibility of persuading her to lend you its use.”

“So it’s Echo or bust, is that it?” I demand. That’s ridiculous. We don’t need him! “The lives of me and two of her henchponies on the line, and Trixie won’t so much as budge a hoof to help us?”

“She was only narrowly persuaded to permit the attempt at all,” Berry replies, hooves steady on the ground, eyes straight ahead. “Asking her for any form of assistance is likely to result in a reversal of that decision.”

“And of course, if she tells you to, you’ll knock me out and scrub the whole thing, right?” I practically spit the words out, but she doesn't even blink. “Fine!” I yell, my hooves knocking tools this way and that as I storm across the room, raising up a clatter of metal. “Fine, fine. Whatever! I’ll think of something.”

“You previously seemed quite confident in your ability to persuade him,” Berry says, demonstrating her incredible mastery of the obvious! It’s like she’s psychic, except she can only divine events that have already occurred and that everypony saw.

“That’s because I was quite confident, Berry! That’s because...” My heart is starting to race, and I force myself to pause, staring into the corner of this ugly stone room. “That’s because it’s not hard to push his buttons. He hates Rarity, he was torn up about Green. It should have worked!” I slam my hoof into one of the wiredolls for emphasis, sending it tilting this way and that on its stand. “But he didn’t even notice. Last time, his grudge against her had him screaming himself hoarse. This time, when I mentioned it, he blew it off.”

“Perhaps you misjudged him,” Berry says dully. Like she can’t be bothered to care.

“No, no!” I whirl in place, turning back to glare at her from across the room. “No, this is what I do, okay!? You have your sneaking around, and your booze, and your potions, and Trixie has her tricks and wiredolls and Green has her stupid ‘Would you kindly’ and Siren has this! Getting ponies to feel what I want them to feel is my special talent, and I’m good at it!”

Silence. Just the sound of my breath—too fast, too shallow. Hyperventilating. All my limbs are stiff, tense and wound, tail too high, ears too high. My eyes are wide too, I just know it. I notice Berry is closer. I must have moved across the room when I was screaming. I didn’t even notice. I try to slow my breathing down, but I can’t. My chest and sides keep shaking, no matter how much I try to calm down.

“I’m good at this!” I yell, my voice ragged now. I can’t... I can’t focus. My head feels so heavy, and my gaze sinks to the floor. Berry says nothing. She doesn’t need to. Why would she, when she can just sit there and watch me humiliate myself? “Green is depending on me, Berry. I can’t mess this up. I can’t. I just... I...”

“You are very good at it,” Berry says, and I see her hooves move, stepping up to me. “But in your stressed and disoriented state, you have made a novice mistake. You have assumed that another pony with a very different mindset thought the same way you think.”

“What?” I ask, looking up at her. Down at her. I keep forgetting she’s shorter than me. “You mean Echo?”

“I mean Siren Song, drugged and disoriented, sobbing on a train while a drunken soldier threatens her life,” Berry says.

I... what?

“N-no,” I say, shaking my head. “I know I was pretty out of it, but I’m sure about what I saw.”

“You are sure because you are sure of yourself, and you imagine yourself in her place,” Berry says. “For all the strength of your emotional outburst after the wire, you kept your composure perfectly for its duration. You are afraid of losing Green, but you did not let that fear cloud your mind. The Siren Song on that train with Echo could not have said the same. You should not trust her judgments like they were your own.”

“Aren’t they my own?” I ask. She doesn't answer.

“Right,” I say after a moment. I pick myself up, straighten my back. My breathing has slowed down during Berry’s little speech. That’s good now. We’re good. “Okay, sure. So, I did a good job persuading Echo now, but my assessments of what makes him tick from the train are probably off. I can work with that. I just need to rethink what happened on the train.” I’m about to start that process when a thought occurs to me. “Wait, how the heck do you know I kept my composure during the wire?”

Berry doesn't say anything. Well, fine. Note to self, conversations are not private if there is any conceivable way Berry could be in the room. No matter.

“Whatever,” I turn back to the room and pace around the broken booth. “So, let me think. We got on. He asked me what I was so sorry about. He ranted about serial killers for a while. Asked me about Green. Got all torn about that. Called me a coward and told me to kill myself. Then the fight with you.” Berry doesn’t say anything, but for once, I’m happy with that. I’m really just talking to myself with a pony-shaped concentration aid.

“Alright. I’m sure I remember him saying a bunch of stuff about Rarity he shouldn't have known.” I strain to remember the details, thinking back to yesterday. It’s all so muddled. “He knew she has a knife collection. He knew that her statues are petrified models. He knew I was her student. So he’s got inside information on the Pavilion. That whole kamikaze-run plan was the booze talking.” Booze and emotional damage from how serious he seemed, but whatever. Of all the ponies to have suicidal urges, I think we’d miss him the least.

“So, he actually does have a way in. And I’m sure he was emotionally torn up too.” I turn around and pace back towards Berry, reviewing the wire and train in my head. “I wasn’t completely wrong during the wire. When I mentioned Green, that did upset him just the way I thought. It was mentioning Rarity that had no effect.” So he was really torn up about something. Just not Rarity.

“Okay... to be fair, it is possible that like, his very special somepony dumped him right before he went to get me and I was just too drugged to notice,” I say, taking a breath. It’s okay, Siren, you can deal with this. “But I don’t think so. He seemed to get more upset the more we talked. So, what did we discuss other than Rarity. Suicide?” I glance at Berry. “I’m sorry to ask this, given your um... history. But did Echo try to kill himself at any point?”

Berry pauses for a moment, an ear tilting back. “Not as far as I know.”

“Mmph.” I fold an ear back myself, shaking my head. “Suicide came up at the end, anyway. It wouldn't make sense. Serial killers were the main topic before Green. And it wasn’t just murderers in general, it was a specific rant against artists who turn out to be killers. But Rarity’s the only pony I know who meets that description.” My mouth tugs down into a frown, and I glance back at the booth. Did I forget something? Is there some part of the conversation I’ve lost?

“It could be me,” I say, after a moment. “Depending on what his sources in the Pavilion told him, if he thought I was... like Rarity, it could be that I was what was upsetting him. He was angry that Trixie wanted me alive.” If that’s true, there might be no way to persuade him. It’s difficult to spin hate into a favor. “Nngh. No. That’s not it either. He pushed me out of harm’s way before the fight. Whatever his sources told him was obviously at least a little favorable to me. It really depends who...”

I stop pacing.

“No. Not sources,” I glance down at my boot. Hoofprints and a sword. “Source.”

I am a genius.

“Aaaah, yes!” I hoof-pump the air, whirling to face Berry and hopping across the gap between us. “I got it! Echo doesn’t give a care about Rarity—he’s mad about Quick March!” Berry just gives me a dumb look on her dumb face, but that’s okay! I am all over this one.

“Think about it,” I say, making sure to look extra quick and energetic. Because I am! “Echo is a disgraced security officer, so it’s not like he’s drawing on official contacts. Whatever source he has in the Pavilion is personal, somepony who likes him and knows all of Rarity’s little secrets. That is a very small group, and in that group, there’s one pony who is very formal, yes-sir-no-ma’am, obviously trained to fight, but he insists he was never in security. Echo and Quick March are friends!”

“That is speculation,” Berry replies, because she’s boring and doesn’t understand that I am never wrong.

“Maybe,” I admit. Okay, I’m wrong sometimes. Rarely. Temporarily. “But it all fits. Quick March was the only other pony there when I fought Rarity, but Echo knew about it. Quick March was the one who threw me out, and Echo knew exactly where to look for me.” It’s so obvious! How did I not get this right away?

“Even the little things fit!” I say, after a moment. “Quick March is totally the sort of kiss-tail loser who would talk up his own accomplishments after work. If he’s Echo’s primary source, of course Echo thinks he’s some big player instead of Rarity’s hoofstool.” Another thought comes to mind, and I look between Berry and the wiredoll. “How old is Quick March? I can’t tell with all these aging marks around.”

“Mid-twenties,” Berry says.

“So that means Echo would have been about thirty-five when Quick March first became Rarity’s assistant.” I mull it over for a second, running the numbers in my head. “Somepony trained Quick March to fight, and I bet I know who. Right. Berry, come with for this one. You don’t have to talk, but I want you standing next to me in the booth. It’ll show that I have Trixie’s support.”

Berry follows me in through the shattered door, and once we’re both in place, I put my game face on. Tempting as it is to greet him with a grin and a wink, I need to be stony-faced for this one. Hooves flat, eyes straight ahead, dead expression. There’s a formal name for this, but under the circumstances, it’s really my Berry impression. My horn glows and slots Echo’s gem into the wiredoll, two blank-eyed mares watching as it spins up.

“Oh, hello Ms. Punch,” the doll greets us as its head swings around to consider us. “Come to lend your oratory weight to this discussion, have you? I do hope there are no hard feelings about that scuffle at the train.”

I say nothing, and right on cue, Berry doesn’t say anything either. We just stare him down, dead silent, and it is gratifying to watch the hesitation in the doll’s movements. No wonder Berry does this—it’s really effective. He glances at the smashed-out door but makes no comment on it. “If this is some sort of message, I’m afraid it’s going over my head,” he finally says.

I take a breath, frown just so. Tilt my head down a little. Last time, I was resolute and angry. This time though? Resolute and sad. Worn. Regretful. “I had a talk with Trixie,” I finally say. It draws out the lull in the conversation, which is only to my benefit, and provides a nice excuse for Berry’s presence and the change in tone.

“A useful token to have, Ms. Song, but she might have been able to lend more weight to your efforts had she not recently attempted to kill me,” Echo says, leaning down to shake his head. “I do hope you won’t be offended if I don’t take her promises very seriously right now.”

I glance up. Frowning gently, letting his words wash over me like wind over a rock. It’s not a fighting expression—it’s the expression of a pony who knows they’ve already won and just feels bad about hurting their opponent. Echo realizes it soon enough, pulling back as I draw the pause out. “Ms. Song, if you wired just so you could stare at—”

“So when did you find out your student had a thing for carving up mares?” I ask.

Silence. Stillness. Three full seconds of dead silence from his end, during which the doll doesn’t so much as twitch a hoof.

Nailed it.

“I don’t have to take tha—”

“Disconnect and Zephyr gets a modeling job,” I snap, before he can end the wire. That shuts him up. “Mmm, funny. It seems you do have to take that from me,” I continue, throwing in a little sneer for good measure. “So why don’t you drop the tough-stallion act and start talking about how you’re going to get me into the Pavilion and end Rarity’s life while you’re at it?”

“Blackmailing a security officer is dangerous, Ms. Song,” he says, a slightly higher volume matching his firm tone. “You aren’t Trixie, and if you think—”

“No, I’m not Trixie!” I slam my hoof to the ground, leaning forward to make my point. “Trixie is clever. Trixie has plans and contingencies and a million angles. Me? I’m very straightforward. If you don’t do exactly what I tell you to do, I will destroy everything you care about in front of you! Think you can puzzle that one out!?” I shout, raising my voice and tempo gradually, keeping my pace and tone right for the scene. He’s totally buying it!

“I’m not blackmailing you, Echo. Blackmail is when you threaten to tell things other ponies will care about. And nopony gives a care if a bunch of whores end up on Rarity’s chopping block.” I throw the words out left and right, shifting emphasis and speed rapidly so the cadence never becomes comfortable, keeping him off guard.

“You understand me?” I demand. “You understand me, you drunken, worthless thug? I’m not asking for your help. I’m giving you an order! And I swear to the vast and dark ocean that if you defy me, every mare who has so much as nuzzled you will die in agony and you’ll get to hear Quick March brag about it over drinks.”

He snorts. “Oh please. You’ve never killed anypony, Ms. Song, and you haven’t got—”

“It in me?” I laugh, in a good mirror to his own cruel chuckle. “I haven’t got it in me to grab a pony and stick a knife through them? Watch as they bleed out?” A faint pause sells it. “Nah. Probably not. Rarity might be more into that, but I don’t like to let the whole hooves-on approach overshadow the message. There’s nothing wrong with an artist having assistants. Somepony to keep the dirt off their hooves. I’m a creator, you know.”

The doll’s head tilts a bit to the side, looking at me from an angle. “You’re bluffing,” he manages, but I can hear the strain. His voice wavering. “You wouldn’t kill a pony just to make a point. They haven’t done anything.”

“They haven’t done anything?” I snort. “Oh my stars,” I say, exactly the way Rarity says it. “Darling! I do believe we’ve discovered your conscience under that rotting carcass you have for a soul. They haven't done anything.” A little breath, this time, and a more resolute glare. “Let’s be serious. I’d rather everypony live, of course. But if somepony is going to die, it’s going to be your... what should I call them? Friends?”

“Security will find out about you. You don’t have the guts for that fight,” he shoots back, quick and hot. Too fast a reaction, he’s getting emotional. Good.

“Old Siren didn’t have the guts for that fight, but like I said, Echo, the situation has changed,” I give my mane a little flick. “I’m thinking of changing my look. Something bold.”

“You won’t,” he insists, but I can hear his voice wavering, that perfect cadence disrupted. Now the booze is showing itself more. Mixed speech, spikes of anger, inconsistent tone. “You’re Celestia’s student.”

“I’m Rarity’s student,” I answer smoothly.

“I’ll kill you first!” he roars, signaling that his defeat has turned into a rout. All that’s left to do is run him down.

“No, you won’t,” I say, dropping my tone. “Because you know I’m right. I ran into some talk about Equestria today—how weird it is for all the old ponies who have to live here now. It made me wonder how you could possibly live with yourself, remembering the life you had before. Trixie told me all about it.” I actually have no idea what Echo was like in Equestria, but I’m guessing he wasn’t this bad.

“And then I put it together,” I say, with a little tilt of my head towards him and a gentleness in my voice. The faintest note of pity. “In your sick mind, you’re the knight in shining armor, aren’t you? I mean sure, you’ll pay an underaged whore, blackmail a mare into sleeping with you, take bribes and make a teenage filly cry just to make yourself feel better. But you won’t actually hurt them. That would be taking things too far.”

“Shut up! Shut up, you stupid child!” he snarls. The doll wasn’t made to scream, and its voicebox strains to manage the volume, capping out at a moderate shout as the gears start to screech.

“This is Vision, Echo,” I say, taking Trixie’s mannerisms for the next line—the cruel, superior twist. “All our debts come due eventually. And you’ve got debts. You created something you couldn't control, and no amount of your chivalry to mares like Zephyr will even that out.” A bit overdramatic, but it works for the moment.

“You want to balance the books? Help me.” I say. “Get me into the Pavilion, and it’s all square. We’ll save my friend, kill my mentor, and hang your student.”

For a long time, he says nothing.

“Meet me in the main square of Davenport Tower,” he finally croaks, his voice harsh and rough.

Then the doll ejects its token and finally goes limp.

I smile.

Apple Bloom

“Nuh-uh,” the green, athletic stallion in the aircrew says, leaning over to nuzzle his uh... friend. “I love you more.”

“Mmm. Nope,” the smaller red one says, pulling in until they’re cheek to cheek and wrapping his wings around his um, friend, until their primary feathers are laced together. “I mean, I’m feeling a lot of love here. But you’re still number two.”

“You gonna make me prove it?” the bigger, green one asks, taking advantage of how close they are to whisper in the smaller one’s ear. The red one starts, laughs, and swats the green one with his tail, blushing as he pulls away. I can’t believe they’re doing this in public. It’s indecent. There are foals around here. I wish they’d stop.

Or like, kiss already. It’s been over an hour!

I make myself look away, flicking my tail back and forth. Still no sign of Echo.

It’s not like he specified a time, and we don’t know how far away he was when he made the wire, so I’m not going to panic just yet—but it has been awhile. Berry and I arrived here nearly two hours ago, and that was after Berry took the time to wire Trixie and double-check the plan. Not that Berry did much talking. Blah blah, yes Trixie, no Trixie. I am a windup pony click bing. Since then, there’s been nothing to do but sit on the bench here and listen to the aircrew. There are three of them, all stallions. One is playing solitaire next to their skywagon, and the other two... well. Yes.

I sneak a glance their way. The red one has his muzzle buried in the green one’s ear, and I can’t tell if he’s whispering or um... nibbling. The green one looks pretty ah... amused. Either way. I mean they’re, well, yeah.

I check the clock. About an hour and fifty minutes now. She’s Always a Mare to Me is playing—one of those phonographs set up in public spaces. The record doesn’t have very much content, so this is like the sixth time I’ve heard it since we arrived, but it’s okay. I like that song.

There isn’t much to Davenport Tower, really. The architecture is as grand as I’ve come to expect from Vision—rows of artificial chasms twenty stories tall, their sides dotted with tiny hexagonal doors—but once you get past that, it’s only storage space. It’s a honeycomb of white stone that could dwarf half the buildings in Canterlot, made for bees the size of ponies, but it’s just a honeycomb. Each door has a little number on it, and a little handle, and sometimes you see pegasi going to get their stuff.

For everypony else, there’s what I’m pretty sure is a cargo crane overhead—it’s like a little tram of its own, running along the ceiling on rails with a platform dangling under it. The aircrew seems to serve the same purpose—three pegasi and a skywagon lounging under a sign that says, “Lift Crane: 10 Bits/Half-Hour. Moving Team: 50 Bits/Half-Hour.” That seems like a lot, but nopony has gone up to them since we arrived, so I guess they don’t get much work.

Nothing to do but play solitaire and... yup, that. Not looking that way. Listening to the music.

The music’s about to end though. The record is only twenty minutes long, so I’ve heard the whole thing by now. Advertisement for Dash-brand athletic tonic, cover of She’s Always a Mare to Me, public message from Fluttershy, advertisement for self-storage space, and then some pop-drivel called Better Than I Knew.

“And the most she will do is throw shadows at you, but she’s always a mare to me,” the singer concludes the song—a rather gifted stallion, though the recording doesn’t give his name. Then all that’s left is the humming at the end. Normally, I like humming along to this bit, but it’s not the time. I’m not that bored.

I check on Berry, but she’s sitting on the bench and staring straight ahead. I wonder if she daydreams. There’s certainly nothing around us for her to be looking at. The “square” is really just an empty spot in the middle of the honeycomb, with a little space for the aircrew and the crane overhead. And the phonograph and a big wall clock, I suppose.

The music ends with a quiet pop, exactly like it did last time. There’s silence for a little while, and I briefly pick up on the two stallions giggling, Berry breathing, the swish of my tail moving back and forth. There’s water dripping somewhere nearby. Water? I sniff the air for mold, but there’s nothing—perhaps a faint hint of lemon. A storage unit full of flowers? Cleaning stuff? Incense to cover up mildew smells? The floor is a little damp.

Then the next bit starts. “Um. Hello everypony,” it begins like it did last time. Her voice is soft, feminine, a little sad. “This is Fluttershy, and I’m here to confess something to all of you.” She doesn’t really have a leader’s voice, which is why the recording isn’t trying. She’s going for sweet, innocent, and lovable more than authoritative. To make herself seem approachable, I guess. It’s a pretty obvious trick. “I am hopelessly addicted to Poison Joke. I pour tonic in my cereal every morning, take medication every night, and I will keep doing that every day, for the rest of my life.”

She takes a little breath—you can actually hear it on the recording, so there’s no way that was unintentional. They wanted you to hear the hesitation, the little buildup that sells the shame in her tone when finishes. “I have five cutie marks.”

All of which you can now purchase from any of our convenient locations. That thought makes me smile a bit. Buy the complete Fluttershy package and we’ll even throw in a wig and a bottle of... whatever-color-her-coat-is dye. Free!

“I’m telling you this, because I know there are other ponies out there like me, who can’t admit it—who are ashamed, and afraid. Afraid of who they might become, or-or what they might do.” Inserting actual stammering into a pre-recorded message is about as blunt as it gets for manipulating your audience. She’s either really bad at public speaking, or she thinks her listeners are dumb as bricks. Since she could buy another cutie mark for oratory, I’m guessing it’s the latter.

“We’ve all made mistakes, but I’m here to tell you that your life isn’t over, and you aren’t alone.” Aww, how sweet. Gag. Even the other ponies are tuning her out, though I guess Berry and the aircrew have heard her a million times. “Angel’s Garden and New Apple Acres are always open to ponies in need. We’re all family here—one big Vision family. We care for each other, and when you have nopony else to turn to, we’ll care for you too.”

“Um,” she finishes. “Thank you.”

And pop goes the phonograph. Some sort of recording error there. It sounds like a disk scratch. Maybe it was intentional? Marking the transition between sections.

“Are you sick of leaks ruining everything you own?” The next segment starts—a young stallion’s upbeat voice. “Looking for a place to keep your sofas and/or quills without worrying about water damage?” Not really, but thanks for asking. I tune the recording out and glance over at Berry.

“So uh... those two stallions, yeah?” I try, pointing their way. The conversation has worked its way up to “sweetie bear” and other such nonsense, the two so close they can rest their heads on each other’s shoulders and gently rub their necks together. “They uh... I don’t know. Can you even check ponies out anymore?”

She looks their way, then looks back at me with her long, empty stare. “It’s not... relevant to anything, I guess. I’m just bored and... something to talk about.” Somehow, I suspect that trying to bond with Berry is a waste of time, but it’s better than listening to the recording again. She seems to be paying attention to me in any case, because she turns back to the stallions and considers them for some time.

“Um... so. Anything coming to mind?” I ask, after a while. “Any signals up there?”

“I think the red one is the top,” she finally says. Huh?

“‘Top’?” I ask. “You mean, he’s your favorite?”

She turns back to me and stares for a few seconds. “Yeah,” she finally says. “Sure.” Berry is weird.

“Well, uh. That’s good,” I say, after a moment’s pause to think. Better Than I Knew has started, and it serves as a pretty good excuse not to talk. Not that I need an excuse with Berry, but it makes things less awkward, sort of. I go back to looking at the storage units. Counting the numbers one by one.

I’m up to 122B when Berry taps the bench twice, loud enough to get my attention. My ears swivel first, and my head is quick to follow. There’s a shape at the end of one of the rows—a pony walking towards us. I can’t make out if it’s Echo, but I see white, black, and blue, so the colors are right. Berry seems to think it’s him in any case, and she gets up from the bench. I follow suit and rise as well. Alright! Here we go then. Time to make this happen.

“I will remain between you and Echo at all times. If there is any confrontation between us, you are to run to Neptune’s Bounty immediately,” Berry says, one ear tilting down towards me. “Is that understood?”

“He’s not going to do anything,” I reassure her. “He acts mad, but an act is all it is. I couldn't have talked him into this if it wasn’t something he already wanted to do.”

Berry turns to look at me. After a moment, she leans in closer.

“Um...” I manage. Is she going to say anything? Whisper? She’s just staring at me with that same slack expression. “It’s fine, Berry, I know what I’m doing.” No change. How long is she going to keep doing that? We’re practically muzzle to muzzle, and I know she has issues with being this close. “It’s uh... I mean. We’re in a public place, he, uh...” Very slowly, she blinks, both eyes drifting shut and then open. “Okay,” I manage. “Okay, Berry. Uh... understood. You stand between Echo and me. Got it.”

“Understood,” I repeat, for emphasis. She turns away. Right. Right.

By now, Echo is close enough that I can make him out clearly—blue mane, black uniform, shiny pins and all. His pack is bulkier than I remember, and I think he’s carrying something on his back, which I take as a good sign. Breaking and entering tools, I guess? Or weapons? If Berry was right about him being here to kill me, he wouldn't have brought anything. His pace is good too. Steady. That’s a good sign.

“Hey officer,” the third stallion in the aircrew calls as Echo passes—the blue one playing solitaire. The other two pretty much ignore him, continuing on as they were. “Help you get your things?”

Echo comes to a stop when he hears the question, though he doesn’t answer it at first. He’s so close I think I can actually smell his cigarette, and I can see what he’s carrying a lot more clearly. He’s got an extra set of saddlebags, tossed over over his flanks and full of something that clinks, as well as a large, flat box balanced on his back. The box is all bound up with paper and string. Like a cake or something.

“No,” he says after a moment, taking another draw on the cigarette. As he blows the smoke out in a low breath, he turns to face the two stallions. “You two. No necking in the public spaces.” That’s odd. I guess he wants them to leave so we can talk privately?

“Aww, come on, officer,” the green one says, nuzzling up against his partner, the red one giggling a little. “Who cares about decency laws anymore? Besides, there’s nopony here.”

“I am a security officer. I have given you an order,” Echo replies, still calm and steady. Oh, I get it. He wants to assert himself a little before he speaks to us. Try to get things off on a good start by reminding us he’s an officer. Those two were the best chance he could get with nopony else here.

“Yeah, an order to stop making out.” The green one can’t keep his giggle suppressed, and his tone reflects it. It is kind of absurd. “What are we, teenagers? Who shoved a stick up your rear?” He and his friend seem to be having fun, but the blue one looks strained for some reason. He’s sliding away from his game. What’s up with him?

Echo watches the green one for a moment, then calmly leans his head down into his pack, and withdraws his nightstick.

“Whoa, whoa!” the green one shouts, pushing away from his partner and holding up a hoof to show compliance. It’s not enough though. Echo crosses the space between them in two quick steps, swinging the club with his teeth and neck as smoothly as any unicorn could with magic. I can hear a crunch when it connects with the stallion’s jaw—a sickening sound full of little pops and snaps, like a pony munching on popcorn.

The red one leaps to his hooves at once, swinging at Echo. “Get awa—” he shouts, but before he can finish, one of Echo’s forehooves catches him in the throat. He staggers, losing momentum and stumbling just in time for Echo’s wing to catch him on the back of the head. He goes back down to the floor beside his partner, Echo’s forehoof pinning him by his neck. I can’t see how much weight Echo is putting on him, but it’s... enough.

Enough for... I mean. I’m not sure he can breathe.

“My orders har not suggestions you little punk!” Echo shouts, his voice remarkably clear—barely distorted by the stick in his teeth. Then Echo is done shouting, and the club rises. And falls. A blow to the head. I can’t see clearly from here, but I think he caught the green one on the ear. The poor stallion suddenly spasms, his limbs thrashing for one awful moment.

“Hen a security officer tells you to stop, you stop!” Echo roars. The club rises and falls again. “Hen a security officer tells you to go, you go!” The club rises and falls again. “And you never, ever talk back! Am I understood!?”

It should be silent. There should be a shocked silence. But there isn’t. That stupid phonograph has started playing She’s Always a Mare to Me again. There’s music. And a cracking sound. Choking. The red one is trying to get up, but he’s on his side, and his legs can’t get any traction. They’re flailing now. He can’t turn himself over.

The green one moves, a little. “I did not hear you!” Echo snarls.

“Yes,” I hear his wheezing voice, his words slurred. “Yes. I understand.”

Echo steps back, and the red one gasps for breath. I can hear it clearly all the way over here—desperate spasms for air, hyperventilating and panicked. As Echo moves away, I can see the green one clearly again. His face is a bloody, blackened mass. There’s blood running out of his jaw, his left ear is folded back and won’t move right, and his left eye is clamped shut, hard. He doesn’t even get up like the red one does, just lying there.

I look to the left. The blue stallion—the third one. He never moved. Never even got up. He’s staring at the ground, not making eye contact with Echo. He sees me staring and shies away, his tail tucked up under him.

He’s... it’s disgusting. What sort of pony sits there and watches that?

Echo puts the club away after a moment, and I suppose he’s satisfied. Point made. Point made to them and to Berry and to me. Behind him, I can see the red one crawling over to his friend, trying to help him. He...

Berry blocks the view as she moves to stand between Echo and me. Right. Right. I need to focus on Echo now. He’s walking up to us, and now that he’s closer, I can see more. Or smell more. It’s not just cigarette smoke that hangs around him in a haze, but the pungent smell of sweat and cheap liquor, and something else I can’t identify. Something smokey. Ashes? I don’t think he’s bathed since we last met. And he’s... looking at me.

I need to say something. Anything.

“Nice little performance,” I say, my mouth running off without me. I have no idea what to do, but somehow I make it sound good. Very confident! That’s good. “Very intimidating. I’m practically shaking in my horseshoes. You’ve got a real future in street theatre.”

Was that the right thing to say? I’m not sure. He’s just staring at me. He’s drunk off his hooves, I know it. His walk and gaze are steady, but unless he bathes in gin, that smell is a giveaway. And his eyes. Narrowed a little, a little sharper than they were, jaw pulled back and tight. I guess he has enough... experience with booze to walk steady plastered? Is that even how it works? I don’t know alcohol. It might be though. Like he must have learned to shout clearly with a club in his teeth.

I wonder if that’s why he can talk clearly with a cigarette in his mouth. Practice. He doesn’t have a cigarette now though. He lost it when he went for the club. He’ll... probably pull out another one now. He uses that as a pause to think, and for emphasis. It’s intentional.

Yup. I was right. Spot on there. He even pats himself down for his lighter, before he remembers he threw it away. “So are we going to do this or not?” he asks sharply, his gaze sliding between Berry and me and then back.

“You’re the one who knows where we’re going,” I shoot back. “Feel free to get your flank in motion at any time.” That’s good. I’m answering a question with a put-down. Taking control of the conversation! Right. Okay. I can do this.

He turns, starting down one of the long corridors around us, storage units on either side. Berry is quick to follow—if only to keep herself between Echo and me at all times—but I linger for a moment. Turning my head to watch the aircrew, I can see the little red one supporting his friend’s head in his forehooves. They’re close enough to whisper, and I think they might be talking, but I don’t hear it. I just see how still the green one is, giving only the faintest motions, like he was exhausted. The red one is more animated, but his tail is tucked tight under him, his ears folded back.

The blue one is hovering nearby, but doesn’t dare approach them, looking this way and that.

I... I need to go.

I turn back to Echo and Berry, and briefly break into a trot to pick up the distance between us. I can’t get involved in that. It’s not my fault, and I have a more important mission to see to. Besides, they’ll be fine.

“What’s in the bags?” I ask, by way of reintroducing myself to the conversation. I nod my head to gesture at the heavy set of saddlebags over his flanks, but Echo doesn’t turn around.

“Tools,” he answers, and from my position behind him, I can see the edges of his mouth twisting down into a sneer. “For locked doors.”

“And the box?” I say. It doesn’t seem like tools or supplies—wrapped up with paper and string like that. It’s way too fragile to be anything heavy.

“Gifts,” he answers. This time, a snort escapes him as well—and a chuckle shortly thereafter. “For guarded doors.”

“Your plan relies on us bribing a door guard?” I ask. I want to pick up my pace so I can look him in the eye, but I know Berry will only move to keep between us. It’s hard to see him with her in the way and some distance between us. I can’t get a measure on what he’s feeling or... or what he’s going to do.

“Something like that,” he says without pause, still moving at a quick walk.

“No, Echo,” I snap. Good tone. Authoritative tone. I come to a sharp halt and point at the ground with a hoof, right where Berry is standing. “Berry, stop,” I order. Please stop, Berry. Please back me up here. Yes! She actually stops right where I pointed, coming to a halt.

Echo notices that he’s lost his escort, coming to a halt as well and turning to face us. All right. Good. I take a breath.

“I will accept a certain degree of attitude from you on the basis that you are a drunken idiot who doesn’t know any better,” I say, lashing my tail once for emphasis. Good little touch. “But until this job is over, you work for me, and when I ask you a question about what’s going on, you will answer it. Do you understand me!?” It’s a blunt instrument, but he respects authority and he respects anger. Besides, as inebriated and emotional as he is, I doubt he’d even notice something more subtle.

Echo stares for a second. He tries to take a draw off his cigarette, before he remembers it’s not lit. Then he laughs. He laughs? It’s not a cruel laugh like his so often is. He genuinely finds that funny.

“Apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it, Ms. Song?” he asks. What? What the hoof does that mean? It’s best not to take stabs in the dark and risk looking foolish, so instead, I stare him down. It works, after a bit. “Yes,” he finally relents. “I understand you.”

“Good. Now give me that.” Without waiting, I rip the cigarette out of his mouth with my telekinesis, pulling it over to my horn. The snap of a spark lights it, and I pass it back to him. It’s always good to follow up a put-down with a kindness, however minor. It establishes me in his mind. “Tell me what the plan is then. Details. And walk while you do it.”

I start into motion, and Berry picks up right on cue, moving to stay between Echo and me. She’s only doing it to hold her relative position, but he doesn’t know that. All he knows is that Berry took my orders twice in a row. He’s walking soon too, the three of us moving down the hall at a good clip. Echo has picked up his pace a bit to look at me though. Something in his eyes.

“Once upon a time,” he begins, making an attempt at a light tone that isn’t entirely successful—too much bitterness breaks through. “A whole bunch of ponies who loved Rarity very much decided to throw a party in her honor. And they brought her many gifts—knives, spears, bombs, and a new length of solid rope, just for her.”

“You mean the civil war?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m sorry, which one of us is telling the story? Is it you?” Echo spits the words out, his wings ruffling sharply. I just ignore him, and after a second of giving me a spiteful glare out of the corners of his eyes, he continues.

“In any case, Rarity was so overwhelmed by how many friends she had that she just couldn't face them, and she ended up hiding inside for three whole days.” He makes an expansive gesture with a wing, as though to indicate a large area. “But her friends wanted to celebrate so much, they wouldn't leave. Eventually, Pinkie Pie had to come, and with Rainbow Dash’s help, they threw a party that was so much fun, all of Rarity’s friends celebrated until they fell over.”

“Heartwarming,” I say. “Going to get to the point anytime soon?”

“It was a very memorable experience for everypony involved, but particularly for dear Rarity,” he continues, like he hadn't heard me. “Having to hide from her supporters for so long was very tiring for her. So after the party was done, she had a tunnel dug right from her bedroom out into the city, in case she ever needed to run to her friends for emotional support.” He draws the last two words out, putting a heavy emphasis on the final “t”.

“You could have just said there’s a secret tunnel into the Pavilion,” I reply, dryly. Inside though, I’m relieved. I knew it! I knew there was a way in! This wasn’t all for nothing.

“I suppose I could have,” he agrees, taking another drag. “Though strictly speaking, it’s a secret tunnel out of the Pavilion.”

“Unless the wonders of Vision include the one-way tunnel, I don’t care.” Wait... do they? No. Unless... no. No way. “Where’s the tunnel come up then?”

“If you’d been listening, Ms. Song, you’d have heard me clearly say that the tunnel’s purpose was to allow Rarity to see her friends,” Echo snorts. “It has exits in New Apple Acres, Angel’s Garden, New Cloudsdale, and Hephaestus Station.”

“We are not near any of those locations,” Berry interjects, and I actually jump for a second. It’s really easy to forget she’s there. Even when she’s like... right there.

“My apologies, Ms. Punch. Which of the Elements of Harmony were you planning to persuade to betray their friend? Fluttershy? Pinkie Pie?” Echo asks, and this time, she’s the subject of his spite. She shows no reaction of course, which only makes him frown more, and he pauses the story a moment to take a hit off his flask. “We’ll be using the New Apple Acres entrance, but first we need to make some introductions. A few ponies have access to that door, and not all of them are as ah... faithful, as Applejack is.”

“Hence the bribe?” I ask, and he nods. “Who are we meeting then?”

“A fine young mare by the name of Apple Bloom,” Echo says, with a hiss of breath through his teeth. Something about that he finds irritating? “Applejack’s younger sister.” Her sister? I guess it never occurred to me that the Elements would have siblings.

“How is she doing these days?” Berry asks. That was an odd sort of question for her—and Echo and I both notice, turning to look at her at almost the same moment.

“Ah. How silly of me to forget that you’re an old Ponyville hoof, Ms. Punch. I suppose you knew her back in the day, did you?” he asks, with that cruel grin of his. “Didn’t bother to keep up?”

Berry says nothing, and Echo tsks, shaking his head. “So sad when neighbors fall out of contact. But don’t you worry about her, Ms. Punch. I hear she has some well-connected family members. I’m sure she’ll do fine.” Hmph. He’s wasting his time if he thinks he can get to her.

“I’m a little nervous about a plan that involves asking Applejack’s own sister to betray her,” I say, keeping my voice down in case somepony is nearby. I don’t see any though—the stacks give us a nice view of things, and they’re pretty empty. “That strikes me as the sort of plan that could go wrong very fast.”

“Well...” He shrugs. “Comes to it, we can always kill her, take her keys, and say she sent us to the house to pick some things up for her.” Another grin tugs at his face. He’s all over the board emotionally this conversation. I guess that’s the alcohol. “You prefer that idea, Ms. Song? That more your style? Maybe we’ll tastefully pose her after?”

And there’s his counterattack. Whatever—let him think he got in a solid hit. I ignore him, and that grin quickly turns to a scowl. He picks up his pace, and Berry and I do the same.

I don’t like this plan but... it’s good. It’s good. I did good. I got Echo on our side, and he has a way into the Pavilion. He takes me seriously as a leader, at least for now. I mean, yeah, he’s drunk and violent, but I want him to beat a mare to death, so maybe that’s the state I want him in. This is good. This is everything I needed, and it went off without a hitch.

Well... except those two earlier. But that wasn’t my fault.

I watch the wall for the rest of the way, counting the storage units. Echo and I are done talking.

Eventually, the tenor of the building starts to change. There are still storage spaces above us, but the ground-level doors start to turn into actual doors—with two or three windows beside them where the next few storage compartments should be. It takes me a bit to put it together, but when I see curtains behind one pane of glass, it’s easy enough to figure things out. It’s just like Green’s apartment—multiple storage units fused together into a room. Not high rent, I’m guessing. The floor here is a bit dirtier too, the white stained with black and brown. It’s seen some use.

I keep looking for the side tunnel Echo is going to pull us down, but it never comes. Instead, he starts angling towards the next set of storage units at the end of the row. Another one of those rooms is there—six storage units long—and the space between the windows is covered in posters.

They’re as garish as all the other posters in Vision, but it seems like they’ve been up there for a while, and time and water have taken their toll on the paper. “Poison Joke is POISON” one of them reads, the blood-red text running underneath an illustration of a pony lying on his back with a blue flower clutched to his barrel. A second shows a graphic illustration of a little sister vomiting marker blood into a collection bucket of some kind, with the caption “She Was Somepony’s Filly!” The last few are so muddled as to be almost illegible, but I catch hints of a few illustrations, and “SANITY not ALCHEMY” on one. It’s a little surprising.

Well, I guess being a despot’s little sister doesn’t automatically make you a bad pony. I mean, she’s standing up for what’s right. I’m sure she could live somewhere better than this if she wanted. Echo did imply she’s still on good terms with her sister—good enough to have the key to the fort anyway—so maybe she just doesn't like asking for favors.

Then again, I don’t think security would let a regular pony get away with saying that sort of thing. Epiphany mentioned abstaintists, and she didn’t act like it was something you had to be hush-hush about, but they’re not big on dissent in general here.

My pace slows as we get close, and Berry does the same, but Echo keeps going, trotting right up to the door and giving it a firm knock with a hoof. It’s wooden and cheap, a narrow metal view-slit in the middle currently sealed off by a sliding piece. “Security!” he shouts, rough, sharp, and authoritative. “Open up!” He’s good at shouting, and it carries a lot of weight—a real open-the-door-or-I-break-it-down sort of shout. I’m not sure how that’s supposed to endear us to Apple Bloom, but for now, I let him take the lead.

We’re not long waiting for a response. Just like I thought, the little slit opens first and a set of golden eyes peers out at us, a few strands of red hair barely visible above them.

“Get bent, Echo,” she snaps from behind the door. She sounds mature—not at all unfeminine, but with a deep voice for a mare, a hint of an accent. “Ah already paid my protection this month.” Yeah, definitely with an accent. She sounds a lot like Green during her bad moments, though her accent isn’t nearly as strong.

“Oh, well good for you!” Echo spits out the words, snide and toxic. “Think that gives you a license to violate the law as you see fit? Think I’m too stupid to link you up with that trouble in the heights?” Is he extorting her? Is that it?

“Ah said buzz off,” Apple Bloom grumbles, but I’d have to be deaf not to hear the drop in her tone. “Ah didn’t do nuthin’.”

“Really? Because the way I heard it, you and one of your little pogroms beat a mare for giving her child tonic.” There’s no response from behind the door, Apple Bloom’s eyes lowering. Wow. I mean, I’m not in favor of mob justice, but it’s nice to know there are some ponies in the city who see how crazy this all is. Maybe she really isn’t so bad. “Well, Ms. Bloom? You gonna say something, or am I going to break the door down?”

“Ah didn’t beat her. Ah hit her, once. An’ the others might’ve thrown some things,” Apple Bloom says quietly. To a common pony, that drop in her voice would signal surrender, but I don’t think so. She’s got fight in her yet. “He was six, Echo. Six. That’s just wrong!” Her voice picks up as her eyes rise in the slit. It’s kind of nice. She’s genuinely outraged. “He’ll be dead by twenty the way she was mutilatin’ him. You know that.”

“I do, Ms. Bloom, but the law is the law,” he answers, two sharp raps on the door with his hoof making his point.

“Oh, you’re right, I’m sorry,” she shoots back, with a sudden bitter sarcasm. “Tell ya what—if we hurry, I think there’s still time to beat a confession out of her and say she was a traitor all along. That more your speed, Lieutenant?” Her tempo picks up as she shouts, the door faintly echoing with the sound. “We’ll even make it a two-fer. Her kid’s gonna go insane anyway. We might as well hang him now and save time! That is how the law works these days, right!?”

Echo doesn’t say anything, his ears folding back as he lowers his head. Apple Bloom doesn’t follow up either, watching him through the slit.

I think she actually got to him there. History between them? Or does she know his buttons? Her eyes are tilting down a little. Does she regret saying it?

“Ah’m sorry, Echo. That—”

“Quite alright, Ms. Bloom.” He lifts his head, a stiff and formal tone bringing her apology to an end. “Nonetheless, it was a bit of trouble for me to clear that matter up, so I’d appreciate it if you could do me a favor in return.” He makes a sharp gesture back to Berry and me. “My lovely pink companion needs a discreet entrance to New Apple Acres.”

The point draws Apple Bloom’s attention our way, and her eyes shift from behind the door. “Wow, uh... Berry, right? Is that you?” she asks, evidently surprised. Berry nods. “Ah... Ah always assumed you were still in Equestria. You uh... you don’t look that good.” Apple Bloom is obviously troubled—I guess for the same reason I was when I first saw Berry. Even by marker standards, she is kind of stamped with cutie marks head to hoof. Berry only shrugs though, and eventually, the golden eyes in the window shift to me. “Well. Why do you need that then?”

“It’s...” I let the pause hang. Maybe not ideal, but I need a second to think about how to play this. I don’t really know enough to guess the right play, so go vague. “It’s about a friend. And it’s important. I’m sorry to be here asking this way, but there’s a pony who needs my help. Please.” I go with the soft sell, quiet and gentle, and I’m rewarded with a hesitant glance back and forth.

“Mah keyring ain’t for sale,” she says, but I can read better than that in her tone. “No getting into New Apple Acres unless I’m satisfied why you need it. But... I’ll hear ya out. Come on in. You too, Echo.”

“Much appreciated, Ms. Bloom,” he says. The slit in the door shuts a few moments later, and there’s a clattering of locks from the far side. It’s seems a bit weird to have all those locks when there are glass windows not three paces away, but maybe there are bars or something. With the curtains drawn, I can’t really see inside anyway.

The door swings open, and I can dimly see Apple Bloom on the far side, gesturing us in. Echo goes first, then Berry, and then me last of all. “Cigarette, Echo. Outside,” Apple Bloom says, to my left, and a quick reshuffling of our marching order results. Echo moves to get back to the door and Berry moves to stay between us, forcing the two into a wide arc. I let Berry and Echo do the foxtrot—there’s no rush, and it distracts Apple Bloom for a moment, giving me time to take things in.

She’s kind of a stocky creature, with a classic earth pony build—tall, strong, broad in the shoulders and hips and wide in the hooves. “Solid,” I suppose. Her face sticks to the pattern, rounded and unthreatening. A face more given to smiles than any sort of serious expression. She’d look matronly, if she was older. A sandy coat and pastel-red mane complete the set, each left wild and uncombed. Three golden stars on her flank—the shade matches her eyes.

She hasn’t aged well. I’d put her at thirty, but she could pass for thirty-five or even forty at a glance. It’s the lines under her eyes, the slump in her shoulders as she watches Echo and Berry try to scoot around each other. Tired, I guess.

The room behind her looks tired too, such as a room can. It’s dusty, quiet, dark. Obviously not cared for. Most of the space here seems to be a big meeting hall, with standing room for perhaps two hundred ponies and a podium at the far end, a few tables leaned against the back wall. The floor is dirty and worn though, the podium damaged, and a few of the tables are visibly missing legs. More posters like the ones outside cover the wall opposite the windows, but I don’t bother reading them. There’s a door in that wall as well, which I assume leads to some kind of storage. Or maybe her bedroom, if she lives here.

Echo has finally reached the door by now, and he spits out his cigarette, pulling the door shut afterwards. “There we go then,” he says, turning back to Apple Bloom. “Happy?”

“Ah guess,” she says, but she leans over, sniffing at the air around Echo. “Land sakes. How much you had to drink today?”

“Why, I drink eight glasses of water every day, Ms. Bloom,” he replies, with a snort. “But thank you for your concern.”

“You...” She rolls her eyes a bit, and then shakes her head. “Fine. Drink yourself into an early grave then, see if I care. And get one of the tables set up while you’re at it, would you? I hate standin’ in an empty room.”

There’s only a brief delay before Echo obeys—confusion and alcohol more than disobedience I think—moving towards the table and then grabbing it with a wing and a hoof. I wonder if they’ve slept together. I certainly can’t imagine him interacting with a mare any other way. He shoves the table from its resting place back onto the ground, a sharp kick producing a groan from the wood and sending it sliding into the middle of the room. Apple Bloom takes her place beside it, settling her rear to the floor, and I do the same. Echo and Berry are more distant, hovering around nearby.

“Well?” Apple Bloom says, into the silence. “Out with it then.” I must be distracted, because it takes me a second to realize she’s talking to me.

I glance at Echo, but he’s already hitting on his flask again. Was this his ‘plan’? Just put me in a room with Apple Bloom and expect me to charm her into handing over her keys? Am I supposed to admit to her that we’re planning to kill Rarity? Or was he serious about us killing her for her keys? I don’t know if this is some subtle double-play, or if he’s too drunk to care.

Maybe I shouldn't have let an alcoholic plan the mission. Hindsight.

“I um...” I swallow. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. “My name is Siren Song. A friend of mine is in the Pavilion. She’s in trouble, and I can’t get her out. We need to use the secret passage that runs from your sister’s house into Rarity’s quarters.”

“Yer barkin’ up the wrong tree then. I ain’t got the password for it,” Apple Bloom says, but I see a little hesitance in her eyes. That’s an excuse. Echo doesn’t look worried, in any case.

“I’m pretty sure we can get the door open anyway,” I say, with a nod to Echo’s packs. She follows my gaze and gets it, but after a moment, shakes her head.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” She turns back to me as she speaks, tail flat on the ground. “That’s the sort of favor that sounds awfully easy to trace back to me. I got enough troubles as it is.”

“We could—”

“And”—she cuts me off with a wave of a hoof—“it’s a favor that's worth way, way more’n Echo’s usual bribe. Heck, worth more’n a trip to jail for assault. So I’m thinkin’ no.”

“I’ve got friends,” I try. Echo brought a bribe, and clearly isn’t panicking. Maybe this is her way of negotiating. “Trixie would be very appreciative if you could help me.”

“Oh, you work for Trixie?” Apple Bloom asks, one ear flicking back. “Well in that case, the answer’s still no, and you can tell her to shove her favors right up her own rear.”

You had to say something, Siren, and that was something, but... Oh, forget it.

I uh... I take a second to think. Glance at Berry and Echo again, but they’re no help.

“Yeah, look,” Apple Bloom continues when I don’t pick up the thread. “I’ve got a few friends in the Pavilion. If’n you like, I could ask about—”

“Do you know what goes on in there?” I say. Not snappish exactly, but quick. A lot of tension behind it. Emotion. Good. I can see her react, her ears picking up, her pose straightening. Alright, regaining some ground. “Do you know what happens to the ponies who go into the Pavilion and never come out? Or do you prefer to just cover your eyes and pretend it isn’t happening?”

“Look, Siren...” She takes a moment to think, but shakes her head again. “A lot of ponies get in trouble with mah sister or Rarity. Your not the first friends to come around askin’ for help. I can’t get everypony—”

“I don’t give a care about ‘everypony!’” I slam my hooves on the table right on cue, and Apple Bloom jumps. “I care about my friend, you get that? Do you understand what getting this far to help her has cost me? I’ve been threatened, beaten, burned, and to make my humiliation complete, I’ve got a cutie mark on my face. My face!” A sharp jab at my cheek with a hoof nails it, leaning in close to make my point.

“She was always there for me when I needed her.” I deliver the clincher perfectly, very strong, very passionate, “and now, she needs me. This is happening, you understand? Echo brought a bribe for you, or something. You can take it if you like, but I’m getting those keys if I have to beat them out of you.”

I wrap it all up with a tense, shaky breath, settling down behind the table again. Good. I really sold that. She’s buying it. Her face is tense, thoughtful.

“It’s a gift, not a bribe,” Echo says, into the silence. But his tone is meandering—a bit listless. “And I think you’d rather I gave it to you in private.”

“Ah really don’t care, Echo. You ain’t got any secrets of mine I’m embarrassed about. Show me,” Apple Bloom orders. After a moment’s delay, Echo shrugs the box off his back and onto the table. A quick snap of his teeth severs the twine knot, and he shoves the box her way.

Paper parts before her hooves, a cheap lid revealed beneath. As she pulls it away, I can see that the box is mostly straw—packing material for the fragile items inside. They’re flat, and square, and when Apple Bloom pulls one of them up, I can see what they are. They’re records, still in their cases, a little stack of them preserved in the straw. The one on top is in a white container, elegant black text on the front reading: “Sweetie Belle's Greatest Hits.”

The effect on Apple Bloom is immediate. Her ears fold back, her tail tucks in. Something personal? Who’s Sweetie Belle? “You think you can buy me with—”

“Shut your noise hole, Ms. Bloom,” Echo snarls, a flash of aggression coming out of nowhere. “I didn’t bring them up. They weren’t even for you.” They weren’t? Then who were they for? “You don’t want ‘em, you don’t have to take them! They can go right back into the incinerator with the rest if that’s what you like!”

His facade is cracking now, and I can’t help but notice he’s been hitting that flask of his pretty hard while we’ve been sitting around the table. Apple Bloom seems to notice too, and her eyes focus on him as he finishes shouting. His anger doesn’t last long, and as quickly as it came, he settles back down, muttering dark words under his breath.

“Come on, Echo,” Apple Bloom says, rising to her hooves. “Y’all can use the back room. Clean yourself up, take a nap.”

“I’ll pass,” he snorts.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did it sound like Ah was askin’?” Apple Bloom says, tightening her tone. “Yer stinkin’ up my house and making a fool of yourself with yer shouting. Besides, the soundproofing on the upstairs room isn’t that good, and you know it upsets her.” Upsets who?

There’s definitely something going on between these two I’m not privy to. Did they sleep together once? Did they date? Friends, maybe? I don’t think so, but there’s something. I can see it in the way Echo’s shoulders slump, the way he lets himself be pressured. “Fine,” he says, after a pause. He rises from the table with her, and after she mutters a few words to excuse herself, they vanish through the door into the back.

Oh, wow.I wonder if they had a foal. That might explain a lot. They’re definitely old enough.

“This is going well,” I aside to Berry. I lower my voice when I do it, and just to be extra safe, use a quick sound spell to make sure not so much as a whisper reaches Apple Bloom. “She’s getting sappy—that’ll impair her judgement. Quick, who’s Sweetie Belle?”

“Rarity’s little sister,” Berry says, moving around the table to examine the record.

“Wait, Rarity’s little sister?” She never mentioned having any siblings. That’s a pretty major omission to happen by accident. “As in, little sister or as in... oh.” Then it clicks. “Oh. So she’s... I mean, she’s...”

“Dead,” Berry says. “She died during the war. She and Apple Bloom were very close.”

“Alright... alright. Got it,” I say, nodding. That’s actually a pretty good play on Echo’s part. He must have come up with it during a lucid moment—I bet he’s been saving those records for when he needed a big favor. “Anything else I should know? Echo and Apple Bloom obviously have history. Do you know anything about that? Do you know who the ‘her’ they were referring to is?”

Berry shakes her head, but for once, that’s the succinct answer I need. I can’t think of any other questions, so I move into place and get ready to look wretched when Apple Bloom walks back through the door. She’ll go for that. I was angry over my friend, time to be afraid for her.

Berry seems to be taking her time looking at the records, which suits me just fine. She probably knew Sweetie Belle back in Ponyville. So, Apple Bloom will come back, I’ll talk more about how Green is important to me. I’m going to have to play it by ear a bit, but as long as I keep hitting that I-can’t-stand-the-thought-of-losing-her button and remind her of her own friend, I should be set. Berry staring at the records might even help, a reminder of—

“I am surprised you are so collected,” Berry says out of the blue. It’s not like her to make idle observations, so I turn to her at once, and she’s looking back at me. “Your speech to Apple Bloom seemed very passionate.”

“Berry, I was acting,” I remind her gently. “Remember? That thing I do sometimes?”

“It was my understanding that you actually did have strong feelings regarding Green and your new cutie mark.” She stares at me, with that dead tone and her dead eyes, not so much as a twitch showing on her face. “Is that not true?”

“Yes. No. I mean, of course it’s true,” I say quickly. Berry doesn’t get how acting works. “But that’s not what I was... I mean.” I glance at the door. Still shut, and my sound containment spell is in full effect. “I was spinning a sob story for Apple Bloom. You don’t have to actually feel it.”

“Do you?” she asks. Because naturally, when we’re in the middle of vital negotiations is the best time to bring this up.

“Yes! Just... not at the time!” I insist. “That’s how it works, okay, Berry? You have feelings, but they get in the way sometimes, so you turn them off when you don’t need them. And then you... you feel whatever you’re supposed to feel.”

Berry looks at me.

“Shut up, Berry,” I snap. After a moment, I shake out my mane to clear my head. “Shut your stupid, marked-up face. You’re probably half the reason she’s so upset. She thought you were in Ponyville, and now the real Berry’s corpse is staring at her from across the table. She’s disgusted, and if she knew who you worked for, she’d be ashamed. So shut up and let me do my job!”

That came out a bit hotter than I intended, but whatever. It’s not like I can hurt her feelings. She just goes back to staring at the table, which is fine.

It’s fine.

I take a breath and look around the room. It’s dirty, but the dust on the floor is recently disturbed, and I don’t see any spots where it’s built up. The room sees a lot of traffic then. I guess that means... something.

I’m very observant. That’s important. You need to know your audience.

In the back, I hear a loud thump and the sudden hiss of running water. A shower? If Echo is set up on his own, then Apple Bloom will be back soon. I dispel my enchantment, and then lower my ears and my tail, just... like I should. To seem sad. Soon enough, the door opens, and she returns.

“He’ll be fine,” she says, making her way back to the table. She has something with her—a little bundle of hay balanced on her back. “Too much gin and not enough food or sleep. He just needed somepony to talk him down.” She reaches the table in short order and slides the bale over towards Berry and me. “Thought y’all might need something too.”

It’s not until she offers that it occurs to me we haven’t eaten since this morning, other than that tea I had. I didn’t even notice. “Uh... thanks.” I reach out and take some of the hay in my teeth, chewing quietly. Berry does the same, and takes quite a bit more, so I guess she’s hungry too. It’s not very good, but it’s dry at least.

“So what’s Echo’s interest in all this then?” she asks, returning her rear to the ground as she watches Berry and me eat. “That’s not the most messed-up I’ve ever seen him, but it’s up there.”

“No direct interest. But I um... I persuaded him, you know?” I give a weak little shrug of my shoulders, and take another bite. “What’s with you two anyway? You’ve got history?”

“Kinda. We know each other from way back—whenever there was a big event, he’d show up with Rainbow Dash, and I’d show up with Applejack, so we got to know each other.” It looks like it’s not a fond memory for her, her gaze sliding to the table. “These days, we mostly meet when security sends him to tell me they’re losing their patience.”

“With all this?” I ask, gesturing around us. It’s perfectly obvious, but she nods. “It was uh... surprising to me, actually. I’ve heard of abstaintists, but you’re the first one I’ve met.”

“We’re a rare breed,” she replies coolly. Sore spot. I nod and take another bite, chewing slowly. It’s the sort of answer she expects. Gradually, her gaze drifts around the table, across the wood, to Berry, and then to me. “So why’d you do it?”

“The...?” I gesture at my cheek. She nods. “It’s uh... it’s Daring Do. For bravery. Breaking into the Pavilion is... well.” I’m having some trouble finding the words. Frightening? No. “Dangerous. And I’ll only get one chance. I didn’t think I could do it.”

“Any tonics?” she asks. I shake my head. “So just the one?” I nod. What’s she getting at? “You gonna let it wear off then? Need it for this one thing and that’s it?”

“Yup,” I reply. It’s obviously the answer she’s looking for. “Being brave is neat and all, but so is living to old age. And with Poison Joke, it’s really one or the other, right?”

“So it is,” she observes, her tone still moderate. Casual as she sounds, I know she’s watching me closely. “Sure you won’t need it though? Being brave has gotta have its uses.”

“No. No, I’ll be fine,” I say, with a bit of a laugh, waving her off. “These last few weeks have been... well. Stressful. But it’ll be good to get back to normal.”

“Sure, sure,” Apple Bloom agrees. “So what’s normal for you?”

“Oh, I’m an actor,” I say, casually. “Plays, not movies. I’m still kind of small time, but—”

“Where was the last theater you performed?” she asks quickly. Her eyes fix me to the spot, demanding an immediate answer. Oh crud. How did I never learn the name of any theaters in Vision? She’s noticed me pausing. Siren, say something!

“Uh...” Say something not that! “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

Smooth, Siren. Very smooth.

Apple Bloom pauses a moment, and then sits forward, leaning over the table. “You know, usually, when a mare says that she’s an ‘actor’ and that she works for Trixie, it means she’s a hitmare.” She considers me a moment longer, tapping the table with a hoof. “But I think a hired killer would have a better poker face than that.”

Green has a terrible poker face, actually. Not that I say that.

“You’re not the first pony to get in over her head, start to panic, and think she needs a little ‘outside help.’” Apple Bloom assures me, raising a hoof as though to calm me. “Whatever deal you’ve made with Trixie though, I can help you. You don’t have to destroy yourself to—”

“No, no. It’s not like that,” I insist. She’s not buying it though. I can see it all over her face. Horseapples! “My relationship with Trixie is... is different, okay? I don’t work for her, exactly. And I didn’t take Daring Do because she made me. It was just... something I needed. And yes, of course I’m going to quit later, but... it’s complicated.”

It’s complicated? Siren! Siren!

“Alright.” She shrugs. “So tell me about it.”

Way to go, Siren. Way to be a social butterfly!

“Um...” What do I do? What do I do? I just talked myself into a corner! Worse, I’ve gotten us into a talk about feelings where I’m the one doing the talking! There’s no way to make that go well. Anything I say could convince her I’m not what she’s looking for and blow the whole deal. Maybe there’s still time to back out. She’ll probably insist we talk about it, but she might not! “I’d really rather not.”

“Do ya want my help?” she asks. Horseapples! I nod, but I already know what answer is coming. “Then you really gotta.”

Of course I do.

“I mean it’s... it’s not that complicated, really,” I say. Maybe I can backtrack this. “I certainly don’t intend on taking another dose. And I know that one isn’t addictive. I’m just... that’s thirty days away, you know? Right now, next week might as well be a thousand years from now for how far into the future I’m thinking.”

“It’s alright. I can tell you’re tired,” she says, with a measured tone. Berry takes another bite of the hay because of course she’s no help. “But you know these things sneak up on you, right? You know that it’s not as simple as take-one-and-quit, no matter what the bottle says?” Right.

Right? I mean, of course I know that. This isn’t a complicated question. I don’t... I don’t believe Berry that this can just wear off and I’ll be fine. My spirit and body have been despoiled by dark alchemy, and I hardly think a thirty-day waiting period is going to fix that. But that’s no reason to take another dose. This is an easy question.

“Um.” I swallow. It’s not my fault. Berry knocked me off my game! I can’t think. “Yes. I mean, yes, I know. But I really don’t want these things to ruin my life. I know it’ll be hard, but after this one, I’m done.”

“That’s fair,” Apple Bloom says. “It would even be nice to hear, if you weren’t a terrible liar. Want to try that again?”

Sun and stars! Great, thanks, Berry. You’ve killed Green because you couldn't keep your stupid mouth shut. I was all over this before she piped up!

“Look, it’s... I know you must get a lot of addicts who will say anything. This is different. This is important to me, okay?” I say. “I’m... If I’d stood up for my friend in the first place, she wouldn’t be where she is. She protected me when nopony else would, and I didn’t have the courage to stand up for her when she needed me most.” I keep staring at the table. Hardwood. Oak. Worn. Heavy grain.

“It’s always important, Siren,” Apple Bloom says. “There’s always a reason. One dose may not be chemically addictive—you won’t puke up your guts and die—but thirty days is a long time to get used to something. Like being brave. Particularly when you’ve got nothing in your life but things that make you feel like a coward.” I don’t say anything. “Is that fair to say, Siren?”

“Green will die without me,” I say quickly. To the point. Don’t get drawn into a discussion. “She needs me, and to help her, I need this. I don’t have what it takes on my own.”

“You know, discoverin’ your talents doesn’t end with your cutie mark,” Apple Bloom says. I assume she’s watching me, but I’m looking at the table. “It’s a lifelong process. You might have real courage inside you, Siren, but you’ll never find it as long as you’re using alchemy as a crutch.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I say. I don’t know what else to say. I’m messing this up so badly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I can lead you to water, Siren, but if you don’t wanna drink...” I hear a rustle. Moving. Maybe a shrug, maybe a swish of her tail. Then a crunching. Berry. “Fine then. Tell me about this friend. What’s her name?”

“Her name is...” Green Apple, she’s your cousin. Should I say that? Knowing that Green is family might help, but Green didn’t have any love lost for the Apple family. What if they parted on bad terms? “Green. She’s a small-time messenger who works for Trixie.” It’s sort of true. She just only carries one, very specific sort of message.

“How’d y’all meet?” Apple Bloom asks. Somehow, in this case, I don’t think the truth would be a good idea.

“She was... doing a job, for Trixie. We ran into each other, and she saw I was in a bit of trouble.” This is coming across as so bland. Get a grip, Siren! I make myself tear up a bit. Just a bit, but that’ll help. “A-a lot of trouble, actually. She didn’t have to stop and help, but she did. And more than that, she... she took the time to care, you know? She didn’t just throw what I needed at me and call it a day.”

“She sounds nice,” Apple Bloom says, noncommittally. It’s a bad response. She’s not getting engaged. I should uh... right. I know what to do.

“Not really,” I mutter. “She’s actually kind of selfish, and nasty, and spiteful. But she’s got things she believes in. And she’s got a good side.”

“Marker?” Apple Bloom asks.

“Oh, yes. One of the earliest.” I nod weakly. “She’s marked up even more than Berry is, and she’s... she’s not doing well.” A tear is good here. That’s good. I quickly avert my face though, and rub it away like I was embarrassed. That’s good. “She’s going. You can see the edges of it.”

I sniffle, and lift my gaze to Apple Bloom again—nail her with a look right in the eyes. “But she’s not gone yet. There’s still...” My throat hurts, and I need a second to swallow. I uh... overdid it a bit there. “She’s still my friend.”

“And you don’t think a hospital is the best place for her to be riding that out?” Apple Bloom asks. “Rarity knows more about keeping markers intact than—”

“Rarity’s the one who did this to her in the first place!” I snarl, rising up onto the table with both forehooves. “Rarity thinks she gave Green everything she is in a bottle, but it’s not true! Everything Green has she got in spite of Rarity. Rarity is a useless, pretentious psychopath and-and even if Green dies of withdrawal, she dies on her own terms. Not in the Pavilion. Not there!”

Silence hangs in the room. Apple Bloom stares. The lights hum and buzz. I can hear a deep, fast wheezing. My own breath.

I didn’t... I didn’t realize how loud my voice was getting.

“Alright,” Apple Bloom says, tilting her head as she looks up at me. Not even fazed. I can’t be the first pony to scream at her over a thing like this though. “If that’s how you feel about it. I’m sorry I asked. Sit down, why don’t you.”

I do, settling back behind the table. “N-no. I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I shouldn't have let myself go like that.”

“It’s something you—” Before Apple Bloom can finish, the door to the back opens. Whoever is there doesn’t want to be seen, and the door only opens a crack, but I catch a faint trace of motion.

“Apple Bloom?” the voice asks. A mare, older, but she’s talking oddly. She pronounces every syllable independently. Ap-pull Bluh-oom. Apple Bloom is on her hooves at once, hurrying back to the door. “I heard shouting.” I her-dah shou-tah-ing.

“It’s okay, just somepony getting a little excited. Go back upstairs,” Apple Bloom says, lowering her voice. I can still hear her though. She obviously wants whoever it is gone, quickly, and from how she’s blocking the door with her body, she doesn’t want me seeing them. So this is the mysterious her. Not Apple Bloom’s kid then—the voice is too old. “Everything is fine,” Apple Bloom repeats, slowly.

“Echo is asleep on the couch.” Eh-kho is ah-sleep on the cou-cha. It’s very odd, but easy enough to understand I guess. “Will he be staying over again?”

“Ah don’t think so,” Apple Bloom says, shaking her head. Staying over again? The two of them were actually an item? I really didn’t get that vibe from her. And why is she so nervous? “Go back upstairs now.”

“Okay,” the voice behind the door says. “Did he bring me anything this time?”

“Actually,” I say, levitating the records out of the box and stepping up Apple Bloom’s way. “Yes, he did. He brought you these. They’re Sweetie Belle’s old records.” The wide-eyed glare Apple Bloom shoots me makes it clear my intervention is not welcome, but I’ve played the sympathy card already to little result. It’s time to change tactics. If you want to win somepony’s respect, you have to defy them. “Apple Bloom and I need to talk, but do you want to listen to these first?”

The figure behind the door pulls away a bit, and the door starts to shut with her, but I give her my best smile before Apple Bloom can intervene. “You know, I’m a singer too? It’s my special talent. Do you ever sing along to records?”

That works, and the figure stops retreating behind the door. “Yeah,” she says. Apple Bloom is already caught between us, put on the spot to make a decision. She looks at the door, back at me, and then relents with a sigh.

“Yeah... alright. Fine,” she says, shaking her head. “We’ll get you set up upstairs.” The figure behind the door nods, and then pushes it the rest of the way open.

“Hello,” she says, stepping up to greet me. Heh-loh. She’s standing in an odd way, her head turned sharply to the left. Like she wanted to see me in the corner of her vision.

She’s a pegasus of perhaps Apple Bloom’s age. They’ve aged very differently though. Apple Bloom is kind of round and tired. This mare looks like a million bits—athletic figure, bright smile, sparkling eyes, and large, graceful wings that sweep back very nearly to the base of her tail. A born racer. Orange coat, purple eyes, purple mane and a tail of a darker shade. She’s like a Wonderbolt. She’s gorgeous.

Then, nervously, she turns to look at me head on, and I see the rest of her face. I see the discolored lump on the left side of her head, and the left eye that won’t quite focus.

Oh.

Now I get it.

“I’m Scootaloo,” she says, watching me warily. She’s ready to spring away, like an animal seeing something for the first time, her posture naturally low and shifty. She extends a hoof though, and I... take it with my own. “What’s your name?” Whuh-tis yuh-or nah-ame.

“I’m Siren Song,” I say, without a missing a beat. Smile. Act friendly. Not a moment of hesitation. “I’m a friend of Echo’s. You want to go listen to these?” I lift up the records to show her.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, turning to let me through the door. “My room is upstairs.” The door to the back leads me into a small hallway. There are two doors on the right, both of which are shut, and an open door on the left that seems to lead to a study or a living room or something. I can narrowly see Echo through the doorway, sprawled out on a couch. On my immediate left is a stairwell going up, and I take it without a second thought.

“This way then,” I chirp, all sing-song. She follows me, Apple Bloom stays close, and it’s not a long walk up the stairs. They end in a cheap wooden door that’s been left ajar, light spilling out into the slightly dimmer stairwell. I push it open, and on the other side is... well. A bedroom. I’m not sure what else I was expecting really. It has a bed in the back, and sheets, and posters on the walls, and a little window, and a shelf covered in toys.

Of course, the toys are a little chewed on. I don’t see any sharp objects. And the posters are mostly propaganda for City Central Security. Photos of pegasi in black being led by a mare with a rainbow mane and tail. There’s even a little plushie of her on the shelf. It looks like the only toy that’s undamaged.

Apple Bloom clears her throat, loudly, and I realize I’ve been staring. “Phonograph’s in the box at the foot of the bed.” She points. Right.

I open the trunk, and the phonograph is there, along with a few books that don’t seem like they get much use. Scootaloo is waiting in the corner, watching both of us with her good eye. I quickly levitate the phonograph out and then shut the chest, resting the record-player on top of it. “Okay!” I say, levitating the records up in front of me. “Let’s see what we have here: Hotel Equestria, Smells Like Pony Spirit, Cpt. Armor’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Sweet Filly o’ Mine, All Along the Watchtower—”

“Oh, that one!” Scootaloo points at the record. “I love that song.” Apple Bloom still doesn’t look happy, but she settles down next to... next to her friend, and I take that as confirmation. A few quick cranks wind up the player, and I set the record. It opens with a click.

“There must be some way out of here,” a voice emerges. Smooth, relaxed, feminine, mature. Pure. Even through the scratchy, low-quality recording, you can tell she’s got the sort of voice a pony can lose themselves in. “Said the joker to the thief. There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief.” She’s good—very good—and I settle down next to Scootaloo, opposite Apple Bloom.

“Princesses they drink my wine, earth ponies plow my fields. None will level on the line, no hint of truth revealed.” It’s a good song, and her rendition is amazing, but my attention soon drifts back to Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. They’re both listening at least. Scootaloo is having fun, tapping her hooves along to the beat. Apple Bloom is staring at the floor though. Only the position of her ears lets me know she’s paying attention. One of those little things.

I should be... figuring out how I’m going to play this. Play her, when the song is over. I did a good job getting her this far, but I’m not there yet. I still need to seal the deal.

I don’t, though. I end up staring at the two of them, until the song is over. That was the last one on that particular record, so all we hear after is clicks.

“Another?” Scootaloo asks, but I can already tell Apple Bloom is going to say no. Her glance makes that clear—she indulged me, but this is a private space.

“I think that’s up to Apple Bloom,” I say. “But you want to hear something neat?” My horn shines as I cast one of my little spells. Sweetie Belle’s voice is deeper than mine, and smoother, but that’s nothing I can’t handle. It takes me a second, but soon, I look down at Scootaloo and smile.

“Hush now, quiet now, it’s time to lay your sleepy head,” I sing in a perfect mirror of Sweetie Belle’s voice. I even improvise a little—jazz it up in this really soulful way. Scootaloo goes nuts at once, beaming ear to ear and clapping her hoof on the ground.

“You sound just like her! Say, ‘Oh, come on,’” she asks, and I beam down at her. Alright, sure.

“Oh, come on!” I shout, doing my best to put a frustrated spin on it. I guess I nailed it, because Scootaloo claps again, obviously having a lot of fun. “Why does life have to be so ironic?”

“Oh, wow. She does say that!” Scootaloo beams. Present tense. “Oh oh, say, ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders yay’.”

I take a deep breath to do the full shout. I’m about to start, one hoof in the air, when I catch Apple Bloom’s gaze. It’s sharp, and intense, and the rest of her body has gone stiff as well.

“Oh... I don’t think so,” I say, and the light on my horn goes out as my voice goes back to normal. “I think Apple Bloom wants to finish talking to me downstairs. Apple Bloom, is it okay if I set her up with some records and we leave her with them?”

“Yeah,” Apple Bloom says briefly. “That’ll be fine.” We get her taken care of. Start another record playing. Scootaloo thanks me and says she hopes I visit soon. Then we go back downstairs.

“Sorry about that,” I say, once we’re out of easy hearing and down into the back hall. “I thought she’d like impressions. I didn’t mean to—”

“Y’all got no shame?” Apple Bloom asks, and though her voice doesn’t rise, I hear it tremble. “Showing up with those records and a bag full of Sweetie’s quotes you just happened to know by heart.” What quotes? I didn’t quote anypony—I was riffing on her voice. Maybe she means the one Scootaloo gave me?

“How long did you spend diggin’ those up?” she continues. “Findin’ the things we only ever said to each other. You think I don’t know when I’m being manipulated? You laid it on a bit thick.” She spits the last word out, turning to glare at me head on.

So I look her right in the eye.

“You think you’re the only pony in the world with friends you miss?” I ask, holding my ground. Not missing a beat. A little tremor in my breath sets the tone, and I let the words come out hot without raising my voice a single decibel. “You think I want to be where you are right now? Yeah, Echo was probably sitting on those records until he wanted to ask you for a favor, but you know what? I’m not the one who offered him a space on your couch.” A snort conveys exactly what I think of that, my tempo picking up slightly.

“And me? I want to remind you what you’ll go through for an old friend? I want to remind you that other ponies hurt too? That’s my right.” I shake out my mane, my tail lashing this way and that. “So no, I don’t feel a bit of shame.”

“And who’s gonna take care of her after y’all get me arrested?” Apple Bloom demands. “Bein’ Applejack’s sister only goes so far, and what you’re asking is way past that line.”

“You think I want Rarity hunting us down?” I shoot right back. “We’ll be taking steps to make sure Rarity isn’t in any position to be following us. She won’t know which tunnel we took. It’ll never get back to you.” I can see she’s not persuaded, so I take a quick step forward. “And even if there is a risk, your friend might get in trouble. Mine is in trouble now.”

“That sounds like your problem,” Apple Bloom says, and that’s when I know I’ve got her.

“Horseapples. You’re the sister of one of the Elements of Harmony. You could be living it up if you wanted. You could be rich and powerful, and you decided to spend your life on a cause nopony gives a flying feather about, just because it was the right thing to do.” I pull back away from her and give her a quick glance, head to hoof.

“You actually care,” I finish. It’s an optimistic take on things, but a flattering one. “Sucks to be you, but it’s true. And now you’re going to help me.”

Apple Bloom fixes me with a long stare, trying to pin me to the wall with her eyes. It’s an angry expression, and tense. Her teeth set, her legs go stiff, and one of her hooves drags on the floor—like she was going to charge me. For a long second, that silence hangs between us.

“Yeah,” she finally says, her voice as hard as her expression. “I suppose that I am.”

Applejack

“Next stop, New Apple Acres!” the conductor calls. “New Apple Acres!” I’d put him in his fifties, though it’s kind of hard to tell since he’s aged well—a bit of grey can look good on a stallion. Blue coat, brown mane, only one cutie mark. It’s a set of rail ties and a pair of tickets.

That’s kind of nice.

I glance across the aisle to the next bench, but Apple Bloom and Echo aren’t getting up yet. They’ve taken this route before, so I assume that means we have a while before we actually stop. I can’t imagine they want to stay in their seats. The Rainbow Tram is as uncomfortable as when I rode it with Green, and they aren’t in a good mood to start with. Echo may appear straight-faced, but I know he’s nursing a hangover, and Apple Bloom isn’t even bothering to hide a sour expression.

I don’t think I need to take any action though. They’ll do what I need them to do. Their feelings aren’t important beyond that.

Sipping my tea again helps pass the time. I got it from a little store in the station. It doesn’t taste nearly as good without the gin, but it’s kind of bitter, which is nice, and I need it to wake up. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Apple Bloom couldn't rouse Echo from his stupor, and after a few failed attempts, we decided it would be better to wait until tomorrow. Going during the day also has the advantage that Applejack will be at work, which means a lot less sneaking around. The cot Apple Bloom found for me was itchy and cold and kept waking me up all night, but it didn’t seem like a good time to complain.

Apple Bloom didn’t offer to make anything up for Berry, but it worked out fine. Berry didn’t object—she just put her head down on the floor and was out like a light.

It was a little odd really, seeing them all that way come morning. Berry poured herself a bowl of cereal and milk, and then used a tablespoon from her bag to measure out her medication. Two tablespoons, mixed in with the milk. Echo got up early and tied up the bathroom for the better part of an hour, brushing every knot out of his mane and coat, and polishing every pin and buckle on his uniform until they gleamed. Apple Bloom made a daisy sandwich for herself and Scootaloo, and asked if I wanted one. Scootaloo hovered around Berry, waiting to take her bowl, because Apple Bloom doesn't like to touch the contaminated dishes, so Scootaloo has to clean them.

It was all so domestic. Nothing exploded, nopony fought or cried. Nopony talked much at all really. About the most eventful thing that happened was we had to take the eleven o’clock train instead of the nine o’clock—between Echo taking forever to get ready and Apple Bloom making some pancakes to leave in the fridge for Scootaloo, we didn’t exactly get out the door on time. Scootaloo insisted that she could take care of herself for one afternoon, but Apple Bloom did it anyway. Then we went to the tram station, got tickets, and I got Berry to buy me some tea from a vendor.

The tram is slowing down, and I can see that we’re pulling right up alongside one of the towers, but still nopony rises. It’s a very large tower, hexagonal in shape and part of a complex of similar constructions. Each one is marked with the same three-red-apples design, so I have no idea if this one tower is New Apple Acres, or if the whole complex is Applejack’s. If the latter, New Apple Acres must be nearly as big as Neptune’s Bounty. The designs are very different though. Not enough windows here.

I think I’d like an apartment like Trixie’s. Or Berry’s. They both had big windows. Tasteful, open, old-Equestrian, but with a nice view of the city. I bet it’s really expensive, but I can probably think of something. Assuming Trixie doesn’t ship me back to Equestria, of course. I still don’t know what’s going on with all that.

I don’t think she will, though. Whatever it is she owes Celestia, I doubt sending me back with scars and burns will settle the score. She’ll hang onto me for a bit in case something happens, but she’ll give up eventually.

I wonder how being an assassin pays. Green lives in an awful apartment, but she has all those expensive mantles she has to buy. Plus, she was hiding out from Rarity. I bet it’s steady work. Berry obviously makes a lot more money, but I don’t think I could be an alchemist. I’d feel bad about it.

Heh. That’s kind of funny.

The train abruptly lurches forward, sending my tea splashing inside its cup. Horseapples! I try to correct, but it overflows the rim a bit, and droplets fly out onto my coat. Now I’ll feel all sticky. I search around for a cloth or something, but there’s nothing to be found, so eventually I levitate a tiny patch of gauze out of my belt and use that to wipe my coat clean.

By the time I’m done, the car is settling downwards, and as the tower slides up outside the window, Apple Bloom and Echo finally rise from their seats. Time to go. I down the rest of my tea in one swig and gently slide my hooves to the floor. I don’t see a trash can or anything, so I drop the empty cup between the seats when nopony is looking.

Then I remember that Berry has the aisle seat. Because of Echo. Of course, she has to get up before I can leave. She’s staring at me now.

“Hi,” I say, uncertainly. Apple Bloom and Echo are already walking to the front of the train car along with all the other passengers. What is she waiting for?

“Hi,” she replies, after one of her long, empty pauses. Then she gets up, moving up the aisle so I can slide out.

Well, good.

The aisle is single file, so there’s not much I can do but follow Berry out onto the platform, a few other stragglers in our compartment standing behind me in turn. She’s walking painfully slowly as always, and with her head blocking the way, I can’t see much but the back of her neck and her purple rear. I can hear something though, getting louder as we near the exit. Echoing conversations, and Applejack’s voice.

“Howdy, y’all,” she says, the recording reverberating through the car. I think it’s coming in from outside, and as Berry reaches the end of the car and puts her hooves on the steps, I can feel a wind blow over us from the station. “Welcome to New Apple Acres. I’m sure y’all already know me, so I won’t bother with introductions.” I round the corner after Berry, my hooves hitting the wrought metal steps. The metal is still cold and damp from being out in the seawater, dripping down onto the platform. But I ignore it and step outside.

There’s a tree.

“If you’re lookin’ for work, food, or a safe place to stay the night, go ahead and follow the blue line on the floor. It’ll take you to some ponies who can help you,” There’s a tree in front of me. A real tree. It’s coming out of a hole in the stone, but it’s a tree. There are leaves scattered on the floor under it. It looks a bit like the plant boxes in—

The pony behind me clears their throat. Loudly. Oh, right. I take two quick steps after Berry, clearing the way as we walk into the station.

“If you’re here to enjoy the green and breathe some fresh air, follow the green line. That’ll take you down to the park,” Applejack continues, in a fairly transparent attempt to sound friendly with a heavy dose of down home country flavor. There are lines on the floor, painted all the colors of the rainbow and going every which way. The station is wide and long, with an arched ceiling—like a cylinder cut in half. That leaves space for the train to come in on one side, and the other side is a mass of doors, ticket counters, elevators and the like. It’s a good layout, and the ceiling is impressively high, but what makes it really stand out is all the green. All the living things.

“If you’re here for business, well, that’d be the brown line. For anythin’ else, just ask one of the hired hooves,” Applejack finishes. The whole message is starting over, but I mentally tune it out, my legs switching to automatic as they follow Berry and I take more time to look around. The center of the station is full of trees and neat little boxes of greenery. The walls are covered in vines. I hear birds tweeting, and a moment later see a flock of sparrows landing on the stone to peck at seeds some foals are tossing them.

The foals aren’t the only ones either. There seem to be a few ponies hanging out here—sitting on the edges of the boxes or under the trees. Some of them are reading. Some of them are watching the train. I see one earth pony struggling to pick up a bit he dropped, next to a coin-operated bin full of birdseed. It’s...

Nice, I guess. If you overlook that he has three cutie marks. Lightning, a flowering plant, and the original banjo on his flank.

Then again, I thought the Pavilion was nice at first, didn’t I? This is Vision. The cuter and sweeter it looks at first glance, the worse it is under the surface. It doesn't matter how nice Applejack acts—she’s Rarity’s friend. She probably mulches up ponies for fertilizer or something.

There’s more to look at—from weird vending machines full of apples to one of those wiredolls wearing Trixie’s hat and cape—but I’ve seen enough. Stay focused, Siren. Eyes on the prize. I step off to Berry’s side and pick up my pace a little, looking around to see where Echo and Apple Bloom have gotten off to. They’re not far ahead actually, and not following any of the lines. Apple Bloom is taking the lead, Echo right behind, while Berry and I bring up the rear.

I pick up my pace. If Berry wants to stay between me and Echo, she can walk faster.

“Welcome home, Ms. Bloom,” rumbles a masculine voice, and I’m so used to that being Echo’s speech tic, I actually think it’s him for a second. It’s not though. The door we’re angling for is guarded by two ponies in that same black uniform, pegasi with spiked helmets that make them look a bit like alicorns. “Hello, sir,” the one on the left continues, evidently addressing Echo.

“Hey, Stonewall,” Apple Bloom replies, friendly enough but without particular enthusiasm. Just being polite really. “I’m here to pick up a few of my things from the family house. Could you have them hold a luggage cart here until I get back?”

“Sure thing, Ms. Bloom,” the guard says, rapping the door behind him twice with a hoof. A lock clicks, and the door swings open to let us through. Apple Bloom again takes the lead, followed by Echo, then me, then Berry. The guards seem to accept that I’m with her, but I nod and smile anyway, and get a smile in return. The door shuts behind us, and we’re left in a long, empty hallway, sterile white stone stretching off into the distance without apparent break or bend.

We walk in silence for a time, as we were silent in the station, only the beat of the lights and the sound of our hooves to keep us company. Then, Apple Bloom speaks.

“Oh, get it out of your system already, Echo,” she says, with an impatient little clip. “I’m stressed enough without listening to you grind your teeth there behind me.”

I didn’t notice anything unusual about his body language, but I can see that she’s right from how he responds. He looks at her, lowering his head down and to the left a little so his gaze falls on her face. For two or three steps, he doesn’t say anything, though an angry lash of his tail shows the emotions behind the stare.

“Never put guards outside an innocuous door. It labels it as important,” he begins, his voice quiet, but quick and tense. “Didn’t do a password check, didn’t check for some form of hard identification, didn’t ID your friends, didn’t take a door count, didn’t search ponies with obviously loaded saddlebags, failed to ID two ponies from the wanted list, failed to ask why an on-duty officer was outside his area of operation. Door not secured. Door not fortified. And most, most inexcusable, when their charge showed up with a bunch of ponies they didn’t know, it did not even occur to them that you might be a hostage.” He spits out the last word and sharply shakes his mane. “An assassin could walk in here!”

“I suppose it’s good that you’re not here to kill anypony then,” Apple Bloom says dryly.

Echo and I share a brief look. We say nothing. Berry is silent as well, of course, but that means less.

The tunnel goes on for perhaps a hundred bone-dry paces before we come to a door on our left—one of those fancy sliding airlocks with the jewel in the middle. This one is guarded by a pair of wiredolls, silvery and silent. They turn to watch us as we approach, evidently active, but say nothing, and Apple Bloom does not greet them. Instead, she walks right up to the door and looks at it head on. “Bloomberg,” she says, and with a click, the door slides open.

That takes us into a stairwell. There’s another guard here who greets Apple Bloom as we pass, and then we’re moving up the stairs. Up one flight, then another, and then out another passworded airlock.

Then, into a field.

There’s grass under my hooves. Soil. Apple trees all around us. A grove. The ceiling is domed, and has been painted to look like the sky, blue with tufted clouds. The lights are on a metal track, and have been stained to glow yellow instead of white. A natural color. I know it’s fake, but... it’s a good fake. It feels good. It may be an illusion, but illusion enough to fool my body into thinking I’m outside again. To get me to relax.

The size of the chamber helps. It’s not even a room, it’s a space. It’s about ten acres in total I’d say—the largest room I’ve seen since the Wharf. I’d forgotten the sort of staggering scale this city can conjure when it wants to, and the ceiling is so far above us, my eye loses the imperfections of the paint. I only see clouds and sunlight, and smell the plants in the breeze and—

A sharp whistle snaps me out of my thoughts, and I whirl around to see Echo and Apple Bloom staring at me. “You okay?” Apple Bloom asks, squinting at me. “You zoned out for a second there.”

“Yeah, sorry,” I reply, shaking my head as though to clear it. “I just got a bit of vertigo.” Looking around at ground level now, I see we’re surrounded by apple trees and collection baskets, and that there’s a trail running off between the trunks. The point of a roof is barely visible over the treetops, an apple-shaped weathervane adorning the peak. “Is that... a house? Like, a real—”

“Yeah,” Apple Bloom says, taking a moment to glance around us. Most of the collection baskets have long since overflowed, and the grass is covered in loose apples. Some of them have been there so long they’re covered in dust, but none of them are rotting. They’re not even bruised. “Applejack had the old family house disassembled plank by plank, then shipped it down here. Put the whole thing back together herself too.”

“Wait, this...” I gesture at the dome above us, and the fields around us. “All of this is her house? I thought this was like... a field or something.”

“It is a field,” Apple Bloom replies, but I can hear the disdain in her voice. The suppressed anger. The confirmation.

“I meant like a real field! For growing food. Not her yard.” Now that I look, the signs are obvious. The baskets aren’t collected, the path is more like a nature trail than an industrial road, and of course, the painted ceiling. It’s perfectly obvious, but this can’t all be for one pony. “Even the Princess’s own palace isn’t this big.”

“Oh, yeah. Princess Celestia. I think I’ve heard of her,” Echo says, with a lilting, lazy tone. He leans his head down to pick up one of the apples, taking a bite out of it and chewing as he considers me. “Which Element of Harmony does she wield again? Was it honesty?” He takes another bite, mouthing out the words, “Because I don’t think it was honesty.”

That caught Apple Bloom’s attention. Her ears are alert. She’s turned to us. She knows something is up. That’s not a normal conversation for two residents of Vision to have. Echo knows it too. Knows I can’t rip his head off or scream at him the way he deserves without giving who I am away. “Cute,” I reply, shaking myself out—keeping my tone merely annoyed, careful not to let any genuine anger show. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

I start my legs into motion, and the three of them follow.

That got things going; a little blood pumping. I know he’s only making fun of Princess Celestia to mess with me, but that doesn’t stop it from working. He’s got no right! Princess Celestia told me what she thought I needed to know, and if I’d obeyed her like I should have, I’d still be in Canterlot.

Not to mention that he nearly blew our cover. He can’t even blame it on the booze this time. Whatever! Just... whatever. I shouldn't let this get to me so much.

As we move down the trail, I turn my head off to the side, and let out a snort. A hot breath. I’ve got to calm down. The last thing I need right now is to get knocked off my game. The important part is only minutes away; I can’t be distracted. I take a breath. Let it out gently. Feel my heart slow down. There we go.

I’m sorry, Princess.

By the time I lift my head again, we can see the house through the trees, instead of over the treetops. It’s more like a barn really, with a huge main building and a little side house attached. A hoofful of windows along the side house mark the interior spaces. The windows have flower boxes, and the whole thing is surrounded by a little white fence. Ivy-covered arches adorn the entrances, and our trail runs right under one, moving past a line of hay bales on its way to the front door.

It looks idyllic, and... well. How it looks isn’t relevant. Keep your head in the game, Siren. We’re going to go in, find Applejack’s bedroom, go through the secret passage, save Green, and murder Rarity. I can worry about Applejack’s taste in decor on the way back.

I don’t see any guards, and Apple Bloom obviously wasn’t worried about us being overheard, but she starts to look around as we get near the house, turning her head this way and that and looking over her shoulder. Is something wrong? Are there wiredolls or alarms or guards? Something Echo didn’t know about? Are we—

“Applejack!?” she calls at the top of her lungs. “You here!?” Oh, right. I would have figured that out on my own. “It’s Apple Bloom!” I perk up my ears, and Echo does the same, as all four of us strain to listen.

Not a sound.

“Alright.” Apple Bloom says, letting out a relieved sigh. “She usually leaves for work by six, but I had to check. Let’s go. Her room is this way.” She pulls a ring of keys out of her saddlebags and opens the side door of the house, leading us inside at a brisk walk.

We start in a kitchen—real old-country flavor stuff, from the flour-stained rolling pin on the countertop to the rough-hewn table. There are family pictures on the walls, a little vase of flowers on the table. A tiny model of Vision, carved out of wood. A spice rack full of mantle bottles, and a little set of measuring cups hanging next to them. It’s like if Interior Decorator Monthly had a special dystopian-nightmare issue.

Well, anyway. We don’t linger long in the kitchen. Apple Bloom guides us around the table and down a hallway, then up a short flight of stairs. There’s a hall here, three doors on either side, and Apple Bloom quickly trots for one of them, pulling it open. She heads in first, and Echo steps up to the doorframe behind her, while Berry and I take up the rear.

“Apple Bloom?” a groggy voice asks, floating out into the hallway through the door. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Oh horseapples.

I freeze to the spot. Echo is doing the same ahead of me, rooted to the ground where he stands, not so much as a feather twitching. I can’t see Apple Bloom—she’s already gone inside. If she’s panicking, we might be sunk. No, wait. I don’t see any guards or alarms around here. We might be able to stop Applejack before—

“Oh, sorry Applejack,” Apple Bloom says, her tone level enough. Apologetic. Embarrassed. Good. Good, she’s handling it. “I didn’t know you were in here. I’m just looking for the attic key.”

“Keyring’s on the dresser,” Applejack mutters, her words slurred and her voice quiet. Good. If we take the key and quietly back out, she’ll fall asleep again and we can go. “Whaddya need the attic key for?”

“I was...” She hesitates. Obvious tell. Not good. Maybe Applejack will be too tired to notice. “Going to get the old couch, if you don’t mind. I thought I’d reupholster it.”

“Oh. Alright,” Applejack says. She’s blandly buying it. I think we might be in the clear! “Is that Echo, there? Ah haven’t seen you in years.”

“Just here to lend a hoof, Ms. Applejack,” Echo says. Not a bad delivery, but not how I would have played it. Those two need to disengage fast before she wakes up. “But we’ll visit some other time. Sleep well.” Phew. Alright, now the key is to back away quietly before—

Then I hear a stiff sigh, the creak of bedsprings, and the cracking of joints. A pony stretching. “Nah, it’s alright. It was about time Ah got up anyway.”

Well, before that happens. Okay, think fast, Siren. How do we play this? “Aww, you don’t have to do that,” Apple Bloom says. Too little too late, and I hear hooves hit the floor. Okay, we’re friends of Apple Bloom here to... help her move the couch? Four ponies is a lot for a piece of furniture.

“Don’t be silly. It’s almost noon fer goodness sake. Besides, you hardly ever visit anymore,” Applejack says. Now there’s hoofsteps, and Echo is backing out of the doorframe. Okay, Siren, game face on! If she’s anything like Rarity, you’ll be dealing with a alchemically enhanced supernatural monster, fueled by dark sorcery and a corrupted Element of Harmony. A horror of magic gone wrong, hidden behind a thin veneer of sanity. But I can do this. I’m ready!

She steps out of the bedroom door with one eye squeezed shut as she yawns, her face hidden under a tangled mess of bed-head. She’s a stocky pony with an orange coat and a blonde mane and tail. I see a few extra cutie marks along her side, and my eyes swing down to do a more through check. She has... uh... that is, I notice her belly is a bit swollen. Quite a lot, actually. She, uh. That is to say. Wow. She is super pregnant.

Wait. Markers can get pregnant?

“Hey, Berry. Long time no see,” she says, reaching up to rub the sleep stuff out of her eyes. “And hey there, uh...”

“Siren Song,” I say when she prompts. How does that work? Would the foal have cutie marks? Wouldn’t they be born addicted? Or are they fine? If they’re fine, does that make them immune? Or do they inherit their mother’s abilities?

“Right. Nice ta meetcha,” she says, with a wave of a hoof. “Sorry for being a bit inhospitable, but I gotta pee like a racehorse. Y’all mind if I step off for a second?”

“Go right ahead,” I say, quickly. She moves towards me, and I step out of the way to let her pass as she heads down the stairs. The bathroom must be on the first floor, and she promptly turns when she reaches the base of the stair, heading down the hallway below.

Okay, none of that proves she isn’t an axe murderer. Axe murderers need to pee too. And maybe have freaky, mutant addict-babies. I don’t know. That could be how it works.

“Okay, we’re fine,” Apple Bloom says, letting out a little sigh of relief. “We’ll take the couch and go. I’ll ask her why she was here today, and we’ll work out a time to come back and—”

“No,” I say, with a sharp breath. “Echo, how long do you need to pick the lock on the passage door?”

“Maybe twenty minutes?” he guesses. Good enough, I’ll take it.

“Fine. Get started. Berry, get the keyring and go up to the attic,” I order, quick and to the point. “Tromp around, make some noise. Apple Bloom and I will keep Applejack downstairs. After twenty minutes, I’m coming up. Berry and I will bring the couch down, and when we go back up to ‘clean up’, all three of us go into the passage. Apple Bloom can say we finished up and left.”

“Whoa, whoa, no,” Apple Bloom says with a shake of her head, keeping her voice low. “That’s stupid. There is no reason for us not to just come back another day.”

“Apple Bloom, your sister looks like she’s carrying a full-size alicorn. Guess why she isn’t at work,” I hiss right back. Apple Bloom’s opinion frankly matters less at this point than Echo and Berry’s, and since his expression is mostly neutral, that means I’m playing this one for the crowd. “She looks like she’s expecting any day now, and precisely how often do you think the house will be empty with a baby inside? The mission happens now or it doesn’t happen.” I turn on the spot to fix Echo with a stare. “You waiting for something?”

He stares back at me for a second. A long, long second. I look into his eyes, see the hesitation there. Come on. Come on, Echo. Do it!

“I didn’t come all the way here to get run off by a pregnant mare,” he says, heading back to the bedroom. Berry takes that as her cue as well, grabbing the keyring off the dresser and moving to the end of the hall, and the door there I assume leads to the attic.

Apple Bloom looks left and right, realizing she’s lost control of the situation. “Echo, get back here. Consarnit, stop and think. How are y’all gonna get back out of the passage when yer done if my sister’s here? The plan’s sunk. It’s time for us to go!”

“You’re free to run if you like, Ms. Bloom,” Echo says with a smirk, grabbing the dresser and pulling it away from the wall. “But the way I remember it, there are several exits to that tunnel. I’m sure at least one of them will be unguarded.” Berry soon has her own door open, and she trots upstairs, hooves banging loudly on the wood exactly the way I intended. Apple Bloom hisses after them one more time, but Echo doesn’t heed her, and neither does Berry. The glare Apple Bloom shoots me is absolutely spiteful, but I’m okay with that.

Echo and Berry are only just at work when we hear a door shut downstairs, and Applejack’s hoofsteps again become audible. “Sorry about that,” she calls up to us, rounding the corner. She still has bed-head, but her mane has at least been pushed back and out of the way, and she’s flicked a few knots out of her tail. Her steps are slow and deliberate, but given how much weight she’s carrying, that’s not surprising.“Wasn’t expectin’ any gues—” She puts a hoof on the stairs.

“Oh, no. It’s fine. Stay there, we’ll come down,” I say sweetly, making a quick-trot down the steps. It’s a single-file stair, which nicely blocks the way without making it obvious what I’m doing, and Applejack obligingly steps out of the way to let me down. Apple Bloom is right behind me, which is where I need her, and I stop right away at the base so that she’s stuck on the stair behind me. She makes an excellent discreet roadblock. “We’re the ones who woke you up. We won’t be in your hair long—Echo and Berry are already fetching things upstairs. You need any help? Get you something?”

“Do you fuss all ponies this much, or do y’all just think ‘pregnant’ and ‘crippled’ mean the same thing?” Applejack asks with a touch of prickly pride, narrowing her eyes at me. It’s angry, but... thin. Nothing behind it. Most ponies couldn't tell from her expression, but I’m sure of it. I can see it in her eyes.

“Are you always this defensive, or only when you’re the size of a whale?” I retort, matching her stare for stare. We hold that contest for a moment—a stiff fraction of a second.

Then she laughs. A quiet little chagrined sound. “Pretty much all the time, but this certainly don’t help,” she admits, reaching a hoof back to rest it under her belly. “Ah was going to make breakfast though, and Ah would be much obliged if you’d ask Echo and Berry if they’ll be joinin’ us. Least Ah can do.”

“Sure thing,” I say, dislodging my temporary roadblock as I squeeze past Apple Bloom. Behind me, I can hear the two of them moving, exchanging greetings of their own as they head back into the kitchen, but I’m already hurrying up. Above me, I can hear Berry tromping around, and I quickly round the corner at the top of the steps into Applejack’s bedroom.

It’s more humble than I’d thought, which I suppose fits the rest of the house. Rough wooden walls and beams, a queen bed with an apple motif on the headboard, a little nightstand with a lamp and a book. There’s a peg on the wall holding an old country-style hat and a coil of rope. It’s absolutely picturesque, right down to the dresser covered in well-worn nicknacks and family photos.

Or it would be, if that dresser weren't currently pulled away from the wall to reveal a hidden panel. A tiny metal plate embedded in the wall, with a shiny gem in the middle. A miniature version of those big metal security doors. Echo is already kneeling in front of it, a profusion of odd little tools laid out in front of him.

“How’s it going?” I ask as I step up to the dresser. The door’s a lot smaller than I thought it would be—it’s more like a cubbyhole than a real door. Echo doesn’t seem bothered though. His expression is intent, focused on what’s in front of him, and he doesn’t even glance up at me.

“Fine,” he answers curtly, picking up a tuning fork from his pile of tools and gently striking the gem in the middle. He pauses and lifts an ear, listening to the resultant ring. Funny—only his main pair of saddlebags are open. I thought the extra bags were for his lockpicks? Well, whatever. Maybe he has other tools.

“Good. Applejack’s distracted,” I say, taking a moment to look around as I kill time. My eyes slide to the top of the dresser. Picture of her and little foals, hoof file, makeup kit, hairbrush, nothing special. “Wait.” Something occurs to me. “Why is a secret tunnel on the second floor?”

“Because we’re not on the second floor, Ms. Song, we’re on the fifty-fifth floor,” Echo replies, adding an irritated growl for emphasis. I’m not sure how that helps, but, um... right. “Shouldn't you be downstairs?”

“Fine. Twenty minutes,” I say, turning to go. By the time I get downstairs, Apple Bloom and Applejack have moved into the kitchen. Apple Bloom is sitting at the table, while Applejack seems to be getting something out of the cabinets. Hay? And alfalfa too, I think.

“—Really wouldn't mind seeing their aunt a bit more,” Applejack is saying, and she waves me over to the table when she sees me.

“They say they’re fine, but thank you,” I interject quickly, so as not to break the flow of the conversation.

“Thanks, sugarcube,” Applejack answers me, before she continues on her original thread. “Ah mean, Ah’d be happy to come visit you if yer busy. Goodness knows y’ain’t that far away.”

“I don’t really live in a good neighborhood, Applejack. It’s probably not a place to be bringing your kids,” Apple Bloom says, with a certain weight to her words that wasn’t there before. Looking at the two of them side by side, it’s... well.

I know Applejack is older. She has six cutie marks, including the pony biting their own tail, so it’s perfectly obvious her youth came out of a bottle. That doesn’t change the look of it though. The look of them. Apple Bloom shows her age and more. Her shoulders slump, there are lines under her eyes and in her face, signs of stress and worry. She’s an unattractive, unmarried thirty-something, and you know it just looking at her. Applejack looks like she’s my age. Young and fit and active, to say nothing of dynamic. She must be expecting any day now, and she’s still quick at work at the countertop, as Apple Bloom sits slumped at the table. Of the two, Applejack seems full of life, and Apple Bloom is just, well...

Sad.

“Ah know for a fact I give you enough to cover a nice place,” Applejack says, pausing to glance at Apple Bloom. Apple Bloom doesn't meet her sister’s eyes though, looking away from her to stare at the wall. “But uh...” Applejack backtracks, returning to her work. “Ah guess that’s yours to spend how you like. Posters n’such, Ah imagine.”

“Yeah. Stuff like that,” Apple Bloom replies, blandly. I sit there and try to become invisible, watching the interplay between these two. The strain in Apple Bloom’s words, and the delicacy in Applejack’s. One pony who doesn’t want to be here, and one pony trying to handle her with care.

“Well, you know,” Applejack replies, putting a cheerful tilt into her words as she leans over to grab a stack of bowls, dropping them onto a tray. “Y’all are always free to live here if you like. We’d all love to have you, and stars know Ah could use the help with the foals.”

“Ah’m sure you can afford a foalsitter,” Apple Bloom says, her ears folding back stiffly. Applejack’s words are having the opposite of their intended effect. She should be shouting, but the more she tries to be nice, the more wound up Apple Bloom becomes. I don’t think she’s going to figure that out though.

“Nonsense. ‘Tain’t no foalsitter who can replace their own flesh and blood,” Applejack says, still with that forcefully upbeat tilt. She grabs the tray in her teeth, sliding it onto the main table. A big bowl of hay and greens, and a little serving bowl for each of us. “Aunt Brown Betty was over all the time when you were little. It’s an Apple Family tradition.”

“What about taking drugs when you’re pregnant?” Apple Bloom asks. “Is that an Apple Family tradition too?”

Silence. Dead silence. You could hear a pony’s breath, if all of us hadn’t just reflexively held ours. What did she do? What did she do? Applejack could throw us out over that! She will! She’s got to. Now we’re all dead because Apple Bloom couldn't keep her mouth shut!

Applejack doesn’t shout though. All she does is stare at Apple Bloom, wide-eyed, her mouth opening only to shut without a sound. Apple Bloom looks away, staring at the wall.

“Apple Bloom, I—”

“Forget it,” Apple Bloom snaps, rising from where she sits. She heads to the stairs at once, stalking off before Applejack can object. “Sorry. I’m going to go help Echo. We’ll be outta your way soon.”

“No, Apple Bloom. Wait!” Applejack calls after her, but Apple Bloom ignores her, moving up the stairs and out of sight. Applejack watches the empty stairwell, hoping her sister will turn around. She doesn’t though, and after a moment, Applejack lets out the breath she was holding. Her ears fold back, her shoulders slump, and she stares at the table.

Okay. Strictly speaking, that worked out in our favor. It was a stupid, stupid risk, but in the balance, Apple Bloom lucked out. All we need to do is keep Applejack downstairs for twenty minutes or so, and that made sure that Applejack won’t want to go see Apple Bloom if she can possibly avoid it. It also left her good and distracted so she won’t notice the little inconsistencies in our story. Now all I need to do is make twenty minutes of awkward small talk, and we’re good to go.

She wipes her face with a hoof, tangled strands of her mane still tumbling down around her muzzle. Her eyes shut, as she takes a moment to collect herself. To draw a breath.

“She didn’t mean it,” I blurt the words out. That is not small talk, but... well. I know what I’m doing. “She’s only... Scootaloo had a bad night, and you know how that makes her feel. She’s been in a mood all morning and...” I’m not really sure where I was going with that, but Applejack is looking at me now. “She doesn’t really think that.”

“Ah’m pretty sure she does, sugarcube,” Applejack says. After a moment though, she shakes her head a little and lays out two of the bowls, nudging hay and alfalfa into each one. She serves me first. Because I’m the guest, I suppose. “Ah know very well mah sister hates me. Doesn’t mean Ah gotta hate her back.” She pauses for a moment, as though surprised she was so open with me. “Sorry that you got dragged into this.”

“She doesn't hate you, she just...” Hates everything you are. But that’s not the same thing as hating you, exactly. Somehow though, that doesn’t seem like the right thing to say, so I end up gesturing at her blandly. “Twins?” I finally ask.

“Yup. A colt and a filly. Due any day now.” She finishes serving herself and pulls the bowl into place, but instead of eating, she rises from the table, walking over to the spice rack and taking a number of the mantle bottles there in her teeth. I float the measuring cups over, and she gives me a nod, settling back into her place. One by one, she lets the bottles down onto the table, taking a moment to stretch out her jaw. “We were going to name the colt Rack Burn after his uncle on his father’s side, and the filly is Sea Apple.”

“Are they your first?” I ask as she pours out precise amounts from each bottle. His father’s side. That’s weird to think. I mean, I guess that makes more sense then Applejack... I don’t know, cloning herself or something. But I can’t think of one of the Elements of Harmony as married. How does a pony marry that? I mean, what exactly is it like to hop into bed with a pony who could have you killed for offending her?

Exciting, probably.

“Nah,” Applejack answers when she’s done with her current bottle, putting it back on the table. “First time with twins, which has been an, uh... interestin’ experience.” She chuckles a little. “But dependin’ on what order they care to be born in, these two make five and six. They’re gonna grow up with three beautiful older sisters and one handsome big brother. That’s their picture on the wall there.” She points to one of the hanging frames, and I pretend to look at it for a while. Family photo in front of the house. None of her kids have two heads or anything, I guess. That's good.

“Wow. Six? Really?” I ask, finding a smile for her and leaning in a bit like I was really just so interested in her personal life. She smiles back, even if it is a bit strained, and she nods. “Planning to stop at any point?”

“When my husband stops thinking I’m hot.” She grins. It’s clearly an invitation to blush and laugh, and I do, acting suitably scandalized. That makes her smile more, and her eyes aren’t quite so heavy when she pours the rest of her mantles into the bowl.

“You know, most mares quit by their forties,” I say, munching on some of my bowl to be polite. I can’t get a good look at her cutie marks with her behind the table that way, but I can see the bottle labels: a pony biting their own tail, a calculator, a crown and a sword, four iron horseshoes, a one-ton weight. Not sure what those mean.

“I’m thirty-eight, you little punk,” she answers, that grin widening. “Besides, what’s the point of being eighteen forever if you don’t use it for anything? As long as Ah got my wits about me and can give ’em a good home, can’t say Ah ever plan on stoppin’.” Her eyes are bright for a moment, but it doesn’t last. The lightness there falters, and she leans down to take a bite of her hay. The strands glisten with the residue left behind. Like an oil slick.

“Ain’t enough kids in the city these days anyway,” she adds. Like an afterthought. “We need more young ponies lookin’ to better their community. All we got is a bunch of old farts with piles o’regret.”

“Does that mean I can expect a new public announcement track soon?” She clearly wants to be cheered up, and I’m nothing if not accommodating. Smile, Siren. Perk your ears. Tail up a hair. Lean forward just so. “Something about remembering to braid my tail and smile at colts?”

“Oooh, because yer totally the first pony to make that joke,” she replies, but I can tell I accomplished my mission. I think I might even be charming her a little. I mean, I’m not going to make assumptions because I still think she’s going to turn out to be the world’s nicest... I don’t know, kitten-grinder. But the plan is working at least!

“Nah,” she continues. “Ah actually try to stay out of civic policy as much as Ah can. I’ll do those announcement things from time to time, but feedin’ the city is hard enough without spendin’ all my time worryin’ about what ponies think.” Wait, what?

“You, uh... wow,” I say, trying to piece it all together. I could wave that off and move on, but this could actually be relevant information. Time to pry as gently as I can. “I thought you and the other Elements... you know. Ran the show.”

“Yeah, but Ah got no patience for it. Rarity and Rainbow Dash took to it like fish to water, but Ah’m not a politician at heart.” She shrugs, taking another large bite of her hay and chewing slowly as she talks. “Besides, running the farm is a full-time job, and I can’t be workin’ fourteen-hour days like they do. Ah ain’t gonna be one of those mares who neglects their family for their job. Made it real clear to everypony that unless the city is on fire, Ah ain’t to be disturbed with work in this house.”

What? What? She’s one of five mares who rule an enchanted city beneath the waves and all she can talk about is clocking out at five because that’s family time? What the heck is wrong with her? “Well, it is a very nice house,” I say, blandly, struggling for some better reply.

“Thanks. Havin’ it down here was a little weird at first, but Ah’m happy Ah did it. When we first got settled in, Twilight set me up with this whole apartment thing. Canterlot style. Ah tried to make it work, but...” She feigns a shudder. “Besides, Ah think it’s good for the children. Foals need a natural, normal environment to grow up in, you know?”

A natural environment. A solid gold house would have cost less than this. “Yeah,” I say, after a moment. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. Gives them a traditional Equestrian upbringing.”

“That was my thought. You know, they keep that whole garden out there?” She gestures to the window. “No hired hooves. Partly so we can spend some time together, but Ah also think it’s good fer ’em to grow up doing real chores. Too many foals these days think you can get whatever you want in life with money, gadgets, and an alchemist. No respect for hard work.”

I manage a dumb nod, but that’s about it. I’m still struggling to decide what to say to that when Applejack looks at the stairs, and I remember this isn’t a chat for our own personal enjoyment.

“So, how’d y’all know Apple Bloom anyway?” Applejack asks, turning back from the stairs to me. “you don’t seem like one of her normal crowd.”

“Oh, we’re uh... friends,” I say quickly. That wasn’t so bad. Her attention is still on me. I think that delivery was okay. “We met at one of her uh... events. I mean, I’m not as fanatical as she is, but Poison Joke isn’t a toy. Ponies need to respect that it’s dangerous if misused. I think we can all get behind that.”

Applejack nods. “Ah suppose so,” she agrees, seeming to mull something over in her mind as she watches me. I take the chance to bite at my own haybowl. “If you two are sleepin’ together, you can just say so.”

I cough, hacking as hay goes down the wrong pipe. Ah. Choking! Choking! I double over as I try to clear my throat, wheezing around the blockage, trying to get it either down or up. My hooves hit the table as I try to draw breath, spots appearing in my eyes. I can’t breathe!

Then, a hoof hits the back of my neck, so hard the world spins around me. I gag, hiccup involuntarily, my throat bobbing as I swallow. Breathing sends fire racing up and down my neck, but I can breathe! I can breathe. As I gasp for air, my vision still full of dancing light, I gradually become aware of Applejack’s hoof tapping the back of my neck, working its way down towards my shoulders. “Easy there, sugarcube!” I hear her say over the ringing in my ears. “Hold on.” The patting of her hoof stops, and a moment later, a pitcher of water drops onto the table in front of me. “Here. Drink this.”

I do, grabbing the pitcher and taking down big gulps of water until my throat feels clear. When I finally put it down, I have to gasp, sucking in a deep breath. But, I can take a deep breath, and the spots are clearing. “Easy there. Take it slow. Don’t go dyin’ on my table now,” Applejack says, unable to conceal the hint of amusement in her voice.

I think my arch-nemesis’s best friend just saved my life. “Uh...” I say. Brilliant, Siren. Very eloquent.

“It’s alright. Take a second,” Applejack says, backing off to let me recover my wits. I can see her now. Smiling at me. The horseshoes are on her shoulder, the one ton weight on her leg. The calculator is right above her dock, the pony biting their own tail is on her back, and the crown-and-sword is on her belly, distorted by her pregnancy. I can see her flank too. Three apples.

“Uh... thanks,” I say, after a second. Staring at her dumbly. “Thanks,” I repeat.

“Don’t sweat it,” Applejack says, making her way back to her side of the table. “Didn’t mean to shock you there.”

I guess she didn’t.

“Oh, um... it’s fine,” I say, managing to recover something like my wits. “You surprised me is all. No. Apple Bloom and I aren’t a thing. I didn’t even know she was... that way. With mares.”

“Ah don’t know if she is or not. She jus’ never brought home a stallion, so...” Applejack shrugs, looking down at the table. Her bowl is mostly empty by now. “Ah just don’t want her to be lonely. This is her time to be enjoyin’ life, you know?”

“She’s dedicated her life to destroying something... evil,” I say after a pause, and it’s only when Applejack gives me a narrow stare that I amend, “Something she perceives as evil, anyway. Isn’t that a noble thing? Shouldn't you be supporting her?”

“Ah pay her rent. Ah listen when she talks. Ah’m always there if she needs me. Ah do support her.” Applejack shakes her head. “But she ain’t fightin’ some noble cause. She’s hurt, and grievin’, and lashin’ out. Needs somepony and somethin’ to blame.”

“For her friends?” I ask, and Applejack gently nods, lifting her eyes my way.

“Yeah. And the city. And the war.” She swirls her bowl, looking at the dregs of medication inside. After a moment, she lifts the bowl with her teeth, downing the rest before returning it to the table. “She ever talk about that? I know a lot of ponies don’t.”

“No. I didn’t even know she fought,” I say, trying to picture Apple Bloom in one of those black uniforms. Nothing. “It’s hard to imagine her as a security officer. Is that where she and Echo met?”

“Well, the war is where she met Echo, but she weren't in security,” Applejack says, with a little sigh. “He was the one who noticed who she was right about when she was gettin’ fitted for a noose. He pulled her out of the line, and I got her pardoned. She spent the rest of the war in Tiara Tower. Trixie owed me a favor, you understand.” Twice, she taps her hoof on the table. “She wanted to make a martyr of herself—spittin’ fire and curses at Echo and me for saving her. I thought she’d never forgive us for that.”

After a moment, she adds, “But I guess she got forgiveness in her heart for him.”

“Not completely, I don’t think,” I say, struggling to think of what to add. “They’ve got... well. Other issues.”

“Ain’t that always the way,” Applejack says, sniffling a bit. “Land sakes, this got personal outta nowhere. Here I barely know you, and I’m practically tellin’ you my life story.”

“It’s okay. I’m always happy to listen,” I say, reassuring her with a little wave. “But... Applejack. You know Apple Bloom’s got a few things to be upset about, right? The city’s not in great shape. I mean... is there anything wrong with wanting to go back to Equestria?”

Applejack lifts her head, and fixes me head-on. Looks me right in the eye. I can feel my limbs going stiff, but I don’t falter. I don’t panic. I don’t show any guilt or shame that would set off a suspicious reaction. I just... I hold her with my eyes, and I ask.

“You old enough to remember Equestria?” Applejack finally speaks, her voice calm and collected. “What with everypony looking so young these days, Ah can’t hardly tell.”

“Yeah,” I say, after a moment. I shouldn't, but I do. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Did you fight?” she asks, still in that steady tone.

“No,” I mutter, quietly. “I was afraid. I’m not a very brave pony. It’s uh... it’s why I got this.” I tap my cheek. Applejack nods.

“What do you imagine you’d do then, if you went back to Equestria?” Applejack asks, looking me right in the eye. “Sing? Compose? I noticed the musical cutie mark there.”

“I’m an actor,” I say, but my voice is quiet. “Plays. Not movies.”

“Sure.” Applejack’s tone is level, almost comforting, but rock solid under it all. “So y’all’d go back, find a troupe. Cut up some fabric to make costumes. Put on something nice for the crowd. Maybe have a spat backstage and then learn a valuable friendship lesson. Laugh it off, go to sleep, do it all the next day.” One ear tilts back. “Ah mean, if that all sounds good to you, Ah can go write you a ticket right now.”

“I, uh...” Of course, now that I actually have something to do down here, sub tickets are practically coming out of the woodwork! “I’ve got some important things to see to. Ponies who need me. I can’t walk away.”

“Oh, there’s no rush,” Applejack shrugs. “Ah can post-date it if you like. How long do you think it’ll take you to wrap up your affairs? A few days? A few weeks? Heck, I could write you a ticket for next year if you’d like.”

Well, I mean. That’s good, right? This stuff with Green will be done soon, and then I can... leave her with Trixie and... and come back here. Get a ride home. Perfect.

I look at the table.

“It’s alright,” Applejack says, reaching a leg across the table to rest her hoof over mine. “Equestria’s a candy-colored playground Celestia made for us to frolic in. And yeah, we all want to go back to that, but you’re older now. You’ve lived through a war. You’ve known real fear. Seen ponies die. You really think you’re gonna be able to relate to somepony whose biggest worry in life was if they got Gala tickets or not?”

I lift my head, and her eyes are there, right in front of mine. “You may have been an adult when you came here, but Vision is where you grew up. This is your home now. You belong here.” She pulls her hoof away, settling back on her side of the table. “There ain’t no place for you there anymore, Siren. Deep down, you know it’s true.”

I...

“Yeah,” I say. I need to look... away. Anywhere but her face. At the family portraits on the wall. Off into the corner. “I know.”

“Aww, don’t be so sad now.” Applejack says, leaning over to try to catch my eye. She’s smiling. “Life down here ain’t so bad. You should give things another shot. Settle down. Meet a nice stallion. Take up some hobbies. Make the city a better place.” She lowers her head over to the far side of the table to nudge a box of tissues my way. Why? Why is she doing that? Oh. Because my nose is runny.

“Thank you,” I murmur, taking one and blowing hard. I must look so undignified, but if she notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“It’s okay,” Applejack says. “Jus’ don’t spend all your time mopin’ around and thinkin’ about what you lost. Way too many ponies in this city got a case of the coulda, shoulda, woulda.” She makes little gestures with her forehooves, knocking the points off as she talks. “Coulda stayed in Equestria, shoulda stayed off the mantles, woulda done this, woulda done that.” She nudges me and keeps smiling. Like it was something to be laughed off.

“Why, Ah bet that if they used half the energy they spend on regret and blame actually tryin’ t’improve their lives, we’d be back in the golden days before y’know it.” By now her tone is light. Not mocking, or joking, but encouraging, and she reaches out to tilt my head back towards her. “Don’tcha think so?”

“Positive thinking helps, I suppose...” I say, for want of anything else to say. “But... Applejack. You do know some of them are starving, right? There are ponies in this city who are starving to death.” I try to say it as gently as I can. I mean, I don’t want to offend her. I don’t! But...

“Hooey. That’s jus’ gossip,” Applejack says, with a dismissive little wave. “We give a full bag of apples and hay to anypony who shows up askin’ for it. And that’s not even countin’ all the ponies who sneak into the park to graze.”

“Applejack, I’ve seen starving ponies,” I say, trying to make my point as best I can. I look into her eyes, try to make her understand. “Ponies in the tram stations living out of boxes and scavenging for food out of the trash.”

“There’s food for the takin’. Ain’t my fault if they won’t even make the effort to reach for it.” Applejack says with that hint of pride, the faintest up-turn in her tone. Then she pauses, leaning in a little as she looks at me more closely. “But, hey,” she continues, in a more moderate voice. “Why don’t Ah give you somethin’ right now? Next time you see a pony in need, you can feed ’em yourself and then help ’em find their way down here.”

“Oh, no. You don’t have to...” I protest, but she’s already in motion. She heads across the room and opens one of the cabinets, lowering her head to grab what’s inside. The effort makes her grunt, but she pulls out a beautiful oilcloth saddlebag, stuffed to the brim with apples. A silver clasp in the shape of Applejack’s original cutie mark holds it shut, and a set of straps wait to secure it about my barrel. It hits the table with a thud, and Applejack takes a moment to catch her breath.

“Ah, ain’t nuthin’ to me,” she insists. “‘Sides, it’s the least I can do. You show up here to help a friend move their couch, and here I make you play therapist around my kitchen table.”

“Oh... it’s okay,” I say, looking between her and the saddlebags. That’s a lot of apples. I wonder if she harvested them all herself? “And... I’m happy to. And you’d be surprised how often ponies open up to me. I’ve got that kind of face, I guess.”

“It’s somethin’ about you,” Applejack says, with a vague wave in my direction. “It’s actually kinda weird. Ah haven’t known you for half an hour and y’already feel like an old friend. It’s like Ah can trust you, y’know?”

“Yeah, I, uh...” I swallow. “I have that effect on ponies.”

Then, we don’t say anything for a bit.

“Well,” Applejack finally breaks the silence. “Why don’t Ah help you shimmy on into that, and then we can go upstairs and check on the others? They’ve been awhile.”

I don’t even think about it—the lie is instinctive, out in a moment. “I’m... pretty sure they’ve been awhile because Apple Bloom is talking about you to the other two. We might not want to interrupt.” I say it with an embarrassed little smile. A bit of a glance at the floor. “But I’d love to help you clean up down here.”

And so I levitate the bag over my back, and Applejack tightens up the straps. It fits in well, right below my belt, even if it does feel a little lopsided. Then I collect the bowls, and bring them to the sink, and wash them while Applejack talks about her family. What the older ones are doing, how she met her husband back in Equestria, and how she was thinking of adding a nursery to the house but hates to change it from how it was. I smile, and nod, and ask questions, and laugh when I’m supposed to. We talk about how silly foals are these days, and I pretend to be old. She compliments me on my look. I put my hoof on her belly and feel for the little kick.

Then, Apple Bloom is standing on the stairs, and it’s time for me to go.

“Echo says they’re just about done up there,” she says, speaking only at me—staring straight ahead like Applejack wasn’t there. “Berry needs your help to get the couch down the back stair, and then you can all show yourselves out.”

“Apple Bloom!” Applejack snaps. “That’s no way to talk to—”

“It’s fine,” I assure her, quickly moving to the stair. Best I go now. “It’s fine. I feel like I’m intruding anyway. You two should talk. Apple Bloom, you...” I look at her, then back to Applejack. “You take your time, okay? Talk to your sister a bit?” Apple Bloom may be a bit of a rube, but that’s no call for us to hurt her relationship with her sister. If we can avoid it, I mean. “We’ll leave the couch on the loading dock behind your apartment. Take all the time you need.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” Apple Bloom says with a curt tone. She doesn’t even bother looking at her sister.

“Yeah,” I say. After a moment, I turn my head back to Applejack. “Well, I should be going.”

“I suppose it is that time. Y’all keep safe, now,” she says, giving me a little wave.

“I’ll try,” I reply, adding after a moment: “It was nice meeting you.”

Then I go up the stairs.

The secret door in Applejack’s room is open, and Berry and Echo are both there waiting for me. It swings into the wall, and there’s not much behind it—only a thin, vertical passage with barely enough room for one pony. A ladder, not a stair. I don’t know how we’re going to get Green back up there, but I’ll deal with that problem later. They’re clearly ready to go. Berry is staring while Echo packs up his tools, and I can hear Apple Bloom and Applejack saying something. Can’t make out the words, but that should keep Applejack busy.

“Did you get rid of the couch?” I ask into that silence, disturbed only by the occasional clink of Echo’s tools. I doubt Applejack can hear us, but I keep my voice low, just to be safe.

“I moved it under a section of tarp that has not been disturbed for several years,” Berry answers in her droning way. “I believe it will evade detection.”

“That’ll have to do then. Echo?” I ask, right in time for him to sling his saddlebags back over his shoulders.

“I didn’t touch anything else in the room. We’ll be fine.” He takes a swig from his flask, and then tucks it down into his uniform pocket. “Just don’t make any noise on the way down—the tunnel goes right through the kitchen wall.” He’s barely finished saying it when he swings his rear legs through the open tunnel door, carefully finding the first rung with his hooves.

“Hey, Berry.” I turn to her as Echo’s head vanishes through the door. “You knew Applejack back in the day. Was she always... you know?” I ask, but Berry doesn’t answer. She only stares. “Nevermind. Not the time. Go.”

“Remember to pull the dresser back against the wall behind us,” Berry says before she swings after Echo, the faint tap-tap of her horseshoes on the rungs clearly audible. I glance back over my shoulder, but there’s still no sign of trouble, Only... a bedroom. The sheets on the bed are still rumpled and messy.

Ladders always give me the willies. The way I have to hook my hooves over the rungs makes me feel like I’m about to fall. But, once Berry has had enough time to get out of the way, I slide my hind legs through the opening carefully, fumbling around until I find the rung and hook my hooves around it. My new saddlebag gets caught for a second, but I give it a yank, and it comes free. I still feel lopsided, but I’m on the ladder. There’s a dark passage all around me, faint grunts audible below.

I reach out with my horn and pull the dresser back up against the wall, then duck my head so I can shut the passage door. It seals with a metallic clink, and we’re plunged into true pitch black. I’m pretty sure I can light my horn, but Applejack is an earth pony, so there must be some way to navigate this in the dark. Just to be safe, I keep the light out, reaching down for the next rung with a rear hoof, and working my way down one step at a time.

There are muffled sounds behind me, getting louder as I work my way down. It’s hard to tell exactly how far I’ve descended, but the sounds are pony voices, so I assume I’m about on the first floor. I’ve no idea how much further down the tunnel goes though—I can hear Echo and Berry below me, but the sounds seem to sink away forever into the depths.

Then, something smashes into the wall—a crash, a clatter that sends me scrabbling for purchase. What happened!? Did the ladder break? Did Echo or Berry slip?

“Well fine then! It’s all about you, ain’t it!?” Applejack’s voice comes through the wall, muffled by the space between us. “It’s all about what you need and what you want and your big important cause! Who gives a flying feather about all the ponies you’re hurting along the way.” Apple Bloom’s response is too quiet for me to make it out. I hear muffled sounds, but...

Right. Right. The crash was only something getting knocked against the kitchen wall. Probably sounded louder than it was because of the acoustics in here. I take a breath. Listen for one more second.

Then I reach down for the next rung, and continue on.

Sweetie Belle

Green’s knife glitters, no, gleams in the darkness. With the entire knife enveloped in the pink glow of my telekinesis, the blade itself is barely visible, a shadow outlined by a bright corona. That’s bright enough though, and every once in a while, the polished metal catches the light off the tip of my horn, and I see a brief flash in the darkness. A sparkle in light red.

My instinct is to support the whole knife at once, but with a little conscious effort, I force myself to grip only the handle. The pink glow recedes from the blade, enveloping the handle alone and casting the rest of the weapon into a dim illumination. It gives me much finer control over the blade, enabling me to twist it this way and that quickly, but it feels weak. I can’t apply nearly as much force, and my telekinesis wasn’t that strong to begin with. I consider shifting back, but no. That’s what the handle is there for. This is the proper way to do it.

The tip of the knife breaks the skin so easily that I don’t even realize I’ve made contact until the blade starts to drip onto the floor. My lack of raw strength doesn’t matter at all—the metal cuts without resistance, gracefully sliding forward as its delicate curves so gently split the flesh. It’s beautiful. I’d initially planned to just... well, jam it in, but that seems brutish now. This is more interesting.

I lean in close, brightening my horn a bit so I can see it all. I didn’t realize how much give the blade has. It’s hard, yes, but also flexible, bending very faintly under pressure. Supple, I’d call it, with smooth curves that slice open flesh and hard edges that crush it. Strong but feminine. It’s nice to just twist the knife and watch the flesh crumple and distort. The blade is soaked by now, and the handle is getting wet, but that hardly matters. There wouldn’t be much point if it didn’t produce.

I notice there’s teeth on the back of the blade—a serrated edge. I wonder if that—

“Will you stop that?” Echo snaps, slamming his hoof on the ground for emphasis. I jump back as my head jerks up, and my telekinesis winks out, sending the knife and apple both tumbling to the floor. The apple lands next to my hooves with a thud, while the knife clatters and slides away. With a shock like that, it’s a small mercy I don’t lose my light spell as well and plunge us all into darkness for the trouble.

“I’m just eating an apple,” I snap defensively, snatching it back up off the ground. That’s exactly the wrong tone for this situation and I know it, but he caught me off guard. I don’t like the way he’s twisted around and glaring at me.

“Ms. Song, I can actually hear that apple screaming for mercy and it’s mildly unnerving.” Echo growls the words out as he sharply flicks his tail. The motion disturbs a few of his tools, and they make a faint jingle against the stone. Dark metal. No shine there. “It’s also distracting and this lock is complicated. So if you don’t mind?”

It takes me a second more to find the knife, off where it skittered into the shadows. I levitate it back and pull some gauze out of my belt, using it to wipe the apple juice away. I don’t want it getting sticky in its sheath, and besides, I need to get back on the right hoof with Echo. Ignoring him while I clean the blade makes my point, and it’s several full seconds before I acknowledge he spoke. “I’ve never used a knife before. I want to get a feel for it before we meet Rarity.”

“Isn’t that what I’m here for?” Echo asks. He pretends to be gruff, but I can tell he’s actually upset—the folded back ears and the tightness in his wings are a dead giveaway. Not that it matters.

“In theory. Then again, it would hardly be the first time you disappointed a mare,” I shoot back, borrowing a bit from Rarity’s cadence. Not all the way so it sounds like I’m mimicking her, but just a bit. The smooth intonations. “You either do the job or you don’t, you know? So shut up and pick the lock.”

I can see it worked, as his expression darkens. Boom, nailed it! He glowers at me for a moment, exactly like I anticipated, but then turns back ahead, picking up his tools again. Hah, I totally got him.

Yeah.

After a second, I put the knife away.

Echo is right, really. Not about the apple thing—that’s just normal curiosity—but about him being the one to kill Rarity. It’s why he’s here, and if he really needs help, Berry is there. I’d only get in the way. I’m mostly just bored, and fiddling helps me keep my mind off things.

After a moment more of listening to the gentle sounds of Echo’s tools, I pull up the apple and take a bite. My forward teeth slide in through the gap the knife made and tear out a chunk, leaving most of its side missing. It’s sweet, and juicy, without so much as a bruise to show for the impact, and the skin and flesh make a pleasant crunching as I chew. Good apple.

We’ve been in the tunnel for hours now, though without a watch, I’ve no idea exactly how long. The entire thing is rigged with traps and alarms to prevent a pony from doing exactly what we’re doing, and Echo has to disarm each one in turn. It’s never anything obvious—to me, the corridor looks empty—but Echo can see them. And so we’ve spent the last few hours walking a few dozen paces, then stopping so Echo can poke at the floor for a while, then doing it all again. Sometimes, a pressure plate or an enchanted crystal will pop out of a previously invisible panel, but usually, the only sign that it’s safe is that Echo says it is.

Which makes it a little worrying just how heavily he’s been drinking for the last while, but the one time I tried to take his flask away, his expression turned so hostile I had to back away for fear of getting stabbed. He didn’t threaten, but I saw it in his eyes, and I didn’t try again. Still, no alarms yet.

Berry was no help, of course. I glance over at her, but all she’s doing is blankly staring at Echo, still keeping herself between me and him. We haven’t really talked about what’s going to happen when we get to the end. It’s nice to think that Rarity will be asleep in her bed and we can just... do it. But I know that’s wishful thinking. We’ll probably walk into an empty bedroom and wing it from there. Save Green first, I guess, then go looking for Rarity.

We also haven’t talked much about what’s going to happen when we find Green, but I don’t want to talk about that. Or even think about it. I don’t have the faintest idea how we’re going to unpetrify her. Trixie must know ponies who can help with that, so I suppose we’ll take her back to Neptune’s Bounty. And then... I don’t know. But I really don’t want her to go back to that horrible apartment. She deserves better.

I take another bite of the apple.

It’s good. It really is. Crunchy and sweet with just a little tang to it, and a skin that makes that distinctive snap when you bite through it. I have no idea how old it is. Produce from New Apple Acres never goes bad, so for all I know, it’s been sitting in Applejack’s cabinet for years. I don’t even see any indentations on the side where it hit the ground. It’s weird to think that it didn’t even bruise, but it’s nice. I guess unnatural isn’t always bad. Or at least it comes with benefits.

This really isn’t the sort of thing I should be thinking about. I should be planning, or thinking about what I’m going to say to Green, or... or just being worried. Feeling something, I guess? I’m going to kill a pony and save another. I’m going to make it all right again. I should be giddy, or nervous, or guilty, or nauseous. But all I feel is a little tense.

Maybe that’s the Daring Do kicking in.

“Hey, Berry?” I ask her. “I’m feeling a little... I don’t know. How do I tell if the Daring Do is working?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even look at me. But I’m pretty sure it’s working.

I’ve about finished off the apple by the time Echo says, “Done,” and a little click sounds from inside the wall panel he’s been poking at. As the sound carries, a section of it no larger than my hoof slides out and falls to the floor, a mess of metal gears and tiny gemstones embedded in the back. I’ve no idea what it does, but Echo is already putting his tools away, so it evidently doesn’t matter.

“Great. How many are left?” I ask as he sweeps up his tools. He emptied his flask awhile ago, but he just so happened to have a spare bottle of gin in his saddlebags, so he doesn’t have to go without. It’s Old Times, that same caustic rot they had in the cafe, and he takes a swig from it as he finishes up. I think it might be best if Berry and I teamed up to take that bottle away from him. At this rate, he won't be able to see straight soon.

“None,” he says, sneering at me, his eyes hidden under the shadow created by my horn. So much for that plan. Probably for the best. “The next one is Rarity’s door. That’ll go fast. It’s an old Sparkle-28. Wind-up trash.”

“Good.” I nod, tossing the apple core off into the hall. For a second, I worry about leaving evidence behind—but then I realize all these disarmed traps probably make that redundant. “Alright. How do we do this?” The two knives come cleanly out of their sheaths, hovering beside me in the faint pink light.

“If Rarity isn’t home, we do it quietly,” he answers, putting the last of his tools away. “Sneak around, find your friend, and then leave Rarity a parting gift under her mattress. We’ll be on the other side of the city before she dies.”

“And if she is home?” I ask, watching as Berry pulls something out of her own saddlebags. It looks like a fancy baton of some kind, made of shiny steel. It doesn’t seem very dangerous, but then again, not drawing attention is kind of her thing.

“Then I stab you in the knees and run while she’s busy skinning you alive,” Echo answers, taking another long draw off the gin. He’s not serious, I know, but I don’t like the way he’s hitting on that bottle. A drunk is a drunk, but I know a downward spiral when I see it.

He slides the bottle under the crook of his wing when he’s done and pauses to activate the blades on each of his hoof weapons, making the knife flick out with a little click. “Don’t you worry though. She won’t be home. Let’s go.”

The corridor is narrow, with room enough for two ponies to stand side by side, but only if their shoulders touch. None of us feel that cozy, which leaves us in a rough single file: Echo in front on the right, Berry between us on the left, and me on the rear in the right. My horn is our only light source, which leaves everything in strange shadows. Echo’s turned pink with a black mane, while Berry seems dark all over. We don’t speak during the last leg of the journey. Echo looks ahead. I look at him. Berry doesn't look at anything at all—that glassy, empty stare of hers.

There’s no ladder this time, just a door, full-size, embedded into the wall ahead of us. One of those shiny metal security doors with the crystal in the middle. There’s no fiddling with funny-shaped tools this time. Echo just motions for silence, then reaches into his pack and pulls out some kind of steel shell—a half dome just larger than the door crystal. He slots it into place over the activation gem, and the switch on the now out-facing half of the dome leaves little doubt as to its function. This is it.

Echo turns his head back to us. Catches my eyes. Mouths the words “Mute. The. Door,” and points at his forehead. I nod, and throw a quick silence spell over all of us—an invisible bubble that reflects sound back towards us. Nopony outside can hear a thing, but still, we don’t speak. It only takes me a second to extend the bubble to include the door, and I nod. Echo nods back.

He lifts a hoof. Throws the switch.

And with a hiss, the door slides open.

Wood. A solid, wooden barrier. Lacquered hardwood. I don’t understand, so I turn my head to check Berry and Echo. She’s flatfaced, but he still looks alert, creeping forward. The barrier reflects sound inward, and so his every movement takes on an unnaturally loud, reverberating quality. I can hear his tight breathing, the faint clink of his hoof weapons on the stone. He taps the wooden barrier, ever so gently, and I hear the tap three times.

It’s only when my lungs start to burn that I realize I’m holding my breath. Right. Both of my knives are glowing, all the way up the blade. I shift my grip down. Just the handle. Okay. If she’s there, I’m going to rush her. No waiting. Just rush her and—and plunge it in. Even if it is brutish. This is about getting a job done, not savoring the moment.

Echo slides his rear to the ground, digging both forehooves into the wooden barrier. I hear the bottle clank as it shifts under his wing, hitting one of his shiny pins or something. He strains, and slowly, the wall slides away. Rollers. He doesn’t open it more than a hoof’s width before he stops to peer through. A shaft of brilliant light shines around him, and I have to squint into it, reducing him to a shadowy outline. I can’t see over him. What is it? Is Rarity there?

No. No. He’s too relaxed for that. Already, he’s nudging the barrier the rest of the way open, getting a hoof into the crack and using the leverage to push. It slides away, and the Pavilion’s too-bright light shines in. For a moment, I’m blinded. I’d forgotten how white it was, how bright, how everything shines and gleams. It only lasts a moment though, before my eyes start to clear.

A couch. A table with old magazines scattered around it. A metal floor. To the right, a set of double doors, and when I creep forward and look left, a domed ceiling. A pony made of glass. The reflecting room!

“Well, this used to be Rarity’s—” Echo starts, but I don’t wait. I shove past him and Berry, round the corner to the left, and rush into the room!

But Epiphany isn’t there. The room is back to its default state. Nothing in the middle but the reflecting chamber. And ponies made of glass.

“Watch it!” Echo hisses, coming up behind me at a quick step. I hear Berry move up as well. “No running. A guard could hear.”

“I moved the silence spell with us. No guards will hear us,” I say, tersely. I’ve no mood for his snapping at me. Not now! “Lucky too, because the nearest guard is just on the other side of that door.” I point back at the main exit. “If it weren't for me, you’d already be caught.”

“If it weren’t for you, I’d be safe at home,” he retorts, though he does look at the door. “Fine then. Are we near Rarity’s quarters?”

“I’m... not sure,” I admit. “She never invited me to her bedroom. I know where her office is, but it’s four floors down from us and most of the way around the concourse. There’s like a million guards along the way.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to do this the hard way,” Echo says, turning to face the door we just came through. He’s pulling another tool out of his main pack. A telescoping pole that lets him reach up into the door mechanism when it’s retracted into the ceiling. I don’t understand.

“What are you doing?” I ask bluntly. It’s not that I don’t trust him. It’s that I don’t trust him and he’s a violent drunk.

“Disabling the emergency lock,” he says, mouthing the words around the pole handle. It doesn’t take very long—just a quick twist of the pole and he’s done. After that, he spits it out, and for a moment, the bottle of gin takes its place.

“All the doors in Vision have a secondary locking mechanism,” he says, wiping his mouth with a hoof. A sharp shove with his hind legs restores the sliding shelf and hides the door, after which he puts the bottle back under his wing. “To shut them in case of an emergency. I don’t want this one shutting behind us.” He says it gruffly, but that seems reasonable enough. “If I can handle Rarity, you think you can get Green on your own without being caught?”

Now that I think about it, I don’t know... exactly where Green is. I guess I assumed she’d be on display here with Epiphany, but this is just the glass works. I’ve been in Rarity’s galleries before, but they were just dresses and paintings and such. I’ve never seen where she keeps her real art.

But if I tell Echo that, he’ll blow his stack. “Yeah, no problem,” I say.

“Good.” He folds the pole up and puts it back into his saddlebag, then he twists around, reaching his muzzle back into those mysterious extra bags he’s been wearing this whole time. With the clinking sounds they’ve been making, and the fact that all his tools came out of his main set, I guess I assumed they were full of booze. When he noses into them though, all he pulls out is a pair of garish pink watches with a mess of wires jutting out of the back.

“‘Pinkie Pie Novelty Watch’?” I ask as he spits them out onto the floor. They’re ugly, cheap things, an appearance not helped by the fact that Echo has torn the backs off and connected a bunch of wiry bits to the exposed mechanisms. They still seem to keep good time though—they each say 4:22, which feels right.

“One for each of us. I’m setting the alarm to five o’clock,” he says, picking one of them up and gently using his teeth to twist the knob. I pick up the other one with my magic and do the same, just to speed things up. “You should be back down that passage with Green by then, you understand? Five is when I assume you three are out of here, and things get loud.”

“Half an hour, got it,” I say. The wires sticking out the back make it easy for me to tie the watch around my foreleg, which is probably what they’re there for. I didn’t see a strap or anything.

“Good.” He takes a breath, glancing back at the door and licking his lips. “Now, Ms. Song, if you would be so kind as to exclude me from your spell?”

I contract the perimeter, so only Berry and I are are enclosed in the bubble around us. I’m about to ask Echo what his plan is when I remember that now he can’t hear us. He doesn't look inclined to wait either. Three good exits to the reflecting room, and he trots straight to the one I just said was guarded. I ready my knives, tense for a fight.

But Echo isn’t tense. He retracts his hoof-knives, puts the bottle of gin away, and pulls out that long pole he used to disable the emergency lock. A moment later, he reaches into his bags and pulls out a set of safety goggles, then a clipboard of all things. The goggles go under his helmet visor, and he tucks the clipboard up against his chest, the pole held under a wing. What could he possibly—

“Excuse me,” he says, opening the door and sticking his head out. “How do I get to tower central control from here?”

“Oh hello, officer. Just down the hall and on your left to get onto the main passage, and then it’s all the way at the end,” a stallion’s voice says, muffled by the door. Echo thanks him and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

I can’t believe that worked.

For a little while, I can hear Echo’s hoofbeats through the door, growing steadily more quiet as he moves away. Soon though, he’s gone, and we are again enveloped in silence. I strain my ears for... I don’t know. Something. But all I hear is Vision’s lights, humming and throbbing, and the quiet hiss of its vents. Its heartbeat, and breath.

“Are we waiting for something?” Berry asks around the baton, like she has any room to complain about a pony taking their time. Fine, whatever. I glance down at the watch. Thirty-seven minutes, fifteen seconds to go.

“No. I was just... thinking. Trying to figure out exactly where Green is,” I say, looking back at her. I could use some advice right now, but all I get is her usual glassy stare. “This isn’t where I thought the tunnel would come out.”

Berry tilts one ear at me, very faintly. Still not sure what that means—if it means anything. “Did you just agree to complete a vital mission on a short time limit with no idea—”

“Shut up, Berry. When I want your opinion I’ll ask Trixie,” I snap. Technically, as long as I keep the spell up, I could shout without being heard—but I still reflexively mute my voice, hissing the words at her. “Besides I... we’re close. This is Rarity’s display room.” I gesture at the metal chamber, and its many panels and cables. “I’ve seen her pull pieces of art—her real art—up here. They pop out of those floor panels. I bet we’re right on top of her gallery.” Yeah, that sounds good. I know what I’m doing.

“Then we should find stairs,” Berry says, but I’m already shaking my head. It’s all coming together now.

“No. I don’t remember there being any stairs around here, and besides, the front door to Rarity’s secret gallery is sure to be guarded. We should find a way to activate the lift mechanism here.” I turn my head up to the ceiling and stare at the mass of cables, glass plates, filters, mirrors, cameras and more. Like the star-speckled dome of a planetarium. “She always did it with unicorn magic. I don’t think it was a spell—just telekinesis. So there’s probably a lever or something.” I don’t see any levers though.

I put my knives away, freeing up my magic. The room is brightly lit, so I can see all the cables clearly, but none of them look like a control. I’m not stupid—I’ve been backstage once or twice, and I know a counterweight control mechanism when I see it—but the setup is just so different from what I’m used to. There are no sandbags, no overloop supports. Still, if the principle is the same, it should barely take any force at all for me to operate the mechanism.

I pick a promising candidate at random and give it a gentle tug. It’s a rose-tinted plate of glass, and when I pull, it gently slides down to cover one of the lights. Across the way, a seemingly unrelated mechanism pops to life—a spinning disk positioned in front of an inactive spotlight. Okay. Okay, that wasn’t so bad. I’m getting this. Now I just need to keep trying until I find the right control.

The next cable I try dims the lights. The one after that raises the rear wall on the reflecting chamber. The one after that tints the lights red. The next one blue, the next one green. Then there are the cables that rotate the models, or pull them backwards and forwards. I’m hitting all the wrong notes, but it’s okay. There can’t be more than a hundred cables in total. I can hit those all quick enough. It doesn’t even take five minutes for me to get to the halfway point and start pulling my way around the far side of the dome. It’s irritating that I apparently picked the worst possible starting point, but it’s fine, I’ll get this. Only another fifty or so to go.

Only another forty now. Twenty five. Ten. Five. One. I pull the last cable.

The rear-left camera flashes, snapping a picture of the empty reflecting chamber.

I don’t... I give a tug of the first cable. The rose-tinted plate of glass that activated the spinner last time. This time, the spinner stays right where it is, and the reflecting chamber rotates forty-five degrees around.

The controls do different things depending on what all the others are set to? My eyes go wide as they scan over the ceiling again and I quickly do the math. There are nearly a hundred cables up there! Even if each one only has two positions, that’s got to be a million million possible combinations! It would take a thousand years to guess the combination, and I don’t even have an hour! I glance at the watch. Twenty-nine minutes, twenty seconds to go. I turn to Berry, but she just looks at me. I don’t even know why I brought her. Earth ponies are always useless and of course everything in Rarity’s private chambers is going to be activated by magic!

Okay, okay. Don’t panic, Siren. It’s fine! Just... set all the controls to exactly the way they were when Rarity summoned the muffin, and then try all of them one at a time. That’ll work. Okay, okay, so... the lights were on their default white. And the chamber was forward. And the spots were... off, I think? Or were they on? Epiphany was there. They were probably on. But which ones? The one with the tinted wheel because she was having her color test? I still don’t know what that is!

Oh, who am I kidding? I have no idea what all these controls were set to last time! And even if I did, Rarity probably has some kind of lock or secret switch guarding her artwork. She’d never let anypony steal it! There’s no way I’m getting this open. We could go around and try and find the main entrance, but there’ll be guards and I just sent away the one pony who can fight! Way to go, Siren. Way to go! You’ve always been stupid, but this is a new low even for you you worthless little stain!

I let out a shaky breath. I... no. Green is counting on me. I can’t...

I reach up and touch my cheek. My left cheek. I can’t see the compass rose, but I know it’s there. Did you hyperventilate, Siren? Did you throw up, did you faint? Were you expecting it to all be better, you stupid brat?

The deep breath comes smoothly, this time. No shaking in my chest. I just... needed a second.

“Berry, help me move the couch. We need to take cover behind it.” I move back towards the door, dragging the silence spell with me as I go. My horn is starting to burn by now—a fuzzy, painful itching. Controlling sound always came easy for me, but that usually meant little tricks, like redirecting it or changing my voice. Actually silencing an area is about the most powerful spell I know, and I’ve never kept it up this long before. I’ll need it for a bit more though.

I don’t want to push things by using my telekinesis too, but the couch isn’t that heavy, and Berry and I manage to push it around just fine. Turn it so it’s facing the room. For once, Berry doesn’t question me. She just does as I say, hunkering down behind the couch along with me. I scan the room and the ceiling, looking for the biggest, heaviest thing there. It’s a plate of glass—maybe three paces across and four high, thick, with a crystallized pattern inside. Including its metal frame, it must easily weigh five hundred pounds or more, and it’s suspended above the floor by two steel cables and two steel pins.

The first pin doesn’t come out easily. I have to yank with all my magical might—what little might I have, anyway—heaving and tugging until it snaps out of its brace. The left cable immediately goes slack, and the giant crystal plate swings to the right, now suspended only by one corner. I don’t have very long. Its swinging course takes it directly over the spot where the muffin appeared, so I need to detach it at just the right moment. It was hard enough detaching the first pin. Now all the weight is on the second. And my horn will be... otherwise occupied.

I’ve never silenced an area this big before. I altered the acoustics of an entire theater once, but that was just to add a little reverb. Tweaking sound and blocking it are two very different things. Just the thought of it is making my horn throb, that burning feeling increasing, pounding waves of hot and cold into my skull. But it’ll hurt worse if the guards hear us.

I shut my eyes and focus, my horn shining brighter and brighter as a faint whine carries. The silence spell swells outwards, its borders growing to encompass the entire room. The throbbing in my head grows to a stabbing pain, a ragged feeling, like I was trying to lift a thousand-pound weight and could feel every muscle in my legs tearing with the effort. The silence spell is already wavering at the edges, traces of noise escaping, but no, no, no! I need to do this! I grab the pin. I grab the pin and I pull as hard as I can. But all that happens is the glass plate starts swinging. The pin’s not coming out!

“Come on, come on, come on!” I yell, yanking as hard as I can. It’s not working though, the plate is just swinging more. My vision is starting to go blurry, I can’t keep this up! I need to think of something! I need to—

It’s like getting kicked by a horse. The pin comes free, and all the energy I was channeling into it suddenly has nowhere to go. Pain rushes through me, my vision blurs, my ears ring. I want to let go but I can’t! My horn is my entire world, each whisper and note of magic written in fire through my skull, screaming in my ears. I don’t even notice when it hits the floor. I’m on the floor. I’m on the floor and I’m holding my forehead and it hurts so much!

I think I pass out for a second.

When I next… collect myself, the room is dark. No, not dark. I just can’t see. My eyes are open, but my vision is full of shadows. Full of dancing spots of light. I can vaguely see the legs of the couch. The stone. Bits of pillows. The couch has a blue pattern. It’s nice. There’s a ringing in my ears. Did I already notice that? I don’t remember noticing that, but it feels like that’s been there for a while. And there’s a thumping. A crash.

Berry is there. And a stallion in a white uniform. I wonder if he’s her friend. They seem to be hugging. Hugging really close too. Maybe he’s her very special somepony. I can’t believe they’re doing that in public but it’s okay. True love is sweet and I can just shut my eyes again.

So I do. Like I was going to take a little nap.

I don't have time for that though. It’s not all going dark like it should. My senses are getting sharper, not fading out. I can feel my head pounding, hear muffled thumps and the sound of glass crunching. There’s a whine, like a pony trying to shout, and then the thumping stops. My head really hurts. I don’t think I did any permanent damage though. The stabbing pain is gone, now that I’m not using any magic. It’s just really, really sore.

When I open my eyes again, Berry is standing over me. Watching me.

“M’okay,” I mutter, pushing myself up. My vision swims when I try, the room teetering this way and that. I have to stop, lower my head and shut my eyes, but it only lasts a second. I take a few deep breaths, and my sense of balance starts to level out. “I just had a stress faint. Just need a second.”

Berry doesn't answer, which I take to mean we aren’t in imminent danger. My head is killing me, but the more my senses clear, the more certain I am I’m not seriously harmed. All that strain probably just dropped my blood pressure or something. I hate having to use my hooves—like a barbarian—but I’m not even going to try levitating something right now. Instead, I just reach back and fumble at my belt until I find the water bottle, nudging it out and twisting my head around to take it in my teeth. It’s not big, so a few quick gulps drains it, but I feel better. Better.

A few moments later, I open my eyes and gently push myself back to my hooves. The floor is covered in sparkling shards of glass, most of them no larger than a pony’s tooth. The couch blocked them from hitting us, at least, and when I look to the room, I can see one of Rarity’s orderlies sprawled out on the floor. A unicorn. Brown, black mane. Strong build. I think he’s still breathing, but he’s passed out on top of all the glass shards, and there’s a slowly growing pool of blood under him. Red staining his white uniform. Berry’s fancy metal baton is on the ground next to him. I guess she dropped it.

“Are there more guards coming?” I ask, turning my head to check the door. It’s shut, which seems good.

“I don’t think so,” Berry answers. “He was not alarmed or alert when he opened the door. I believe your sound spell successfully muffled the noise, and he was investigating the vibration he felt in the floor. Further, it has been some time and no alarms have sounded.”

“Some time?” I ask, urgently checking the watch. “How long was I out?” I don’t wait for her to answer. Twenty-seven minutes, forty seconds remaining. I was out for nearly a full minute? Right, okay, time to go.

Looking past the guard, I can see that the glass pane landed right on target, smashing into the floor where the muffin appeared. Right in the center of the room. There’s nothing left of the reflecting chamber but a few loose cables and broken bits of metal. And there’s more than that! Under the twisted remains of the chamber’s frame, and past the pile of broken glass, the metal flooring has buckled downwards with the force of the impact, revealing a space beneath.

Oh, thank the stars.

“Okay, uh...” Right. We need to clear the glass and that frame away. This would be quick if I had my magic, but it’ll be at least a few minutes before I can so much as make my horn glow. A full day to recover. “Berry, take the guard’s uniform and use the fabric to brush the glass away. We need to clear that hole. And be quiet—there’s no magic muffling us anymore.”

She steps away without a word, her teeth and tongue opening the buttons on his uniform one at a time as she starts to strip it away. A few seconds into her work, it occurs to me that I can help. I grab one of the couch cushions in my teeth and lower my head to the floor, pushing the broken shards away to form a path to the center.

It doesn’t take Berry long to strip the guard and start helping me, pausing only to retrieve her baton and put it back in her bag. We make slow progress, but we’re making progress. We’re about halfway there before I take a moment to look back at the guard. He’s not... injured, that I can see. A lot of cuts from the glass, yeah, but no indication of where Berry took him down. No stab wounds or anything. Maybe she thumped him in the head with the baton? It’s kind of an odd club if that’s what it’s for.

No matter.

I keep checking the watch as we go. Twenty seven minutes. Twenty six. Twenty five. Then we’re in the center of the room, clearing a path around the metal frame so we can grab it without stepping on the glass. Twenty four. Twenty three. Twenty two. The frame comes out, sending a shower of glass down into the level below. I don’t worry about it—if there were any guards down there, they would already have sounded an alarm. Twenty minutes, the last of the glass cleared.

The hole isn’t very big. The sliding plate under the reflecting chamber resisted the impact better than I thought, and it’s only deformed, not knocked fully out of place. Berry and I will probably be able to squeeze through it, but only barely. Green couldn’t fit her hips through that if she was awake and active—there’s no way we’ll be able to get her through as a statue. No matter then. We’ll find another way back up here. I lower my head and stick it through.

Right.

My angle is a little weird, coming out of the ceiling, but I can tell at a glance my guess was spot on. Below me, I can see display pedestals: the muffin, a crossbow made of crystal, a plaster statue of four ponies holding photographs, a ceremonial dagger. The floor is only four or five paces below us, and when I twist my head around, I can catch the edge of a larger room. A gallery. Perfect.

“Okay, we got it,” I say, pulling my head out and turning around, slowly lowering my hind legs down through the hole. My tail brushes the floor behind me and I have to clamp it down and shimmy. Tight fit. “The gallery is directly below us. It’s a short drop, but be careful. It’s far enough to break an ankle on a bad landing. Got it?”

Berry nods, and I slide the rest of the way down. I grip as hard as I can with my hooves, until I’m dangling by my forelegs, making the fall as short as possible. Finally, there’s nothing to do but let go, and I tumble down.

It’s a hard impact—I land on my rear left hoof, and the leg crumples under me, sending me crashing down to my side. It stings enough to make me wince, but I’m ready for it so I keep calm. With a clear head, I can tell I’ve got nothing to worry about—the pain is in my ribs, not my ankles. And it’s not that bad. It only takes me a second to recover my wits and scramble back to my hooves. And there she is. There they are.

There they all are.

I see Epiphany first. She’s at the far end of the room, in the center, frozen there in all her glory. Just the way I remember her, with her resolute expression, and her torn dress and the little bottle of water I know is under it. All the photographic plates have been moved down here as well, arranged around her exactly as they were in the chamber above. All that’s been added is a little nameplate in front of her. A little brass thing. “Heroism,” it reads, in a flowing, cursive script.

My eyes slide to the left next. Two ponies wrapped around each other. A stallion the color of the sea, his crystal wings outstretched and sparkling in the light. Held in his arms is a unicorn mare, so fair and clear she’s like a diamond, almost invisible. They’re kissing. A deep, passionate embrace. I don’t know how I can tell from so far away that they’re crying. I don’t know how but I can. I can and they are. And there’s a little name plate in front of them.

“Love,” it reads.

Next to them is a unicorn in mid-leap. He’s gorgeous, strong, and handsome, with a coat the color of blood, and eyes that shine in the lights all about him. He’s poised to attack the viewer, suspended from little wires that hold him in the air. He’s more than just angry. I can see it in his face. Everything he is is going into that punch. That single act of aggression. “Defiance,” his nameplate reads.

A pegasus spreading her wings for the sheer love of flight, the light patterns her crystal makes on the floor showing the sun and clouds. Joy. An earth pony crumpled into a ball, the light that shines through him shimmering, just like he was shaking when she took him. Fear. A grey stallion, his face frozen in an expression of ecstasy, starbursts exploding in the reflections off his coat. Lust. A mare, her hooves wrapped about her, seeming to rock back and forth as she squeezes her eyes shut. Denial.

Pride. Rage. Relief. Sorrow. Strength. Conviction. Compassion. Humiliation. Yearning. Depression. Hate. Cheer. Understanding. Betrayal.

And in the back, on the right. A green mare. A unicorn. Eyes shut, head lowered, the light that shines through her flickering and dim. Regret.

I... I should... I mean. I... it’s getting hard to breathe. My throat is tight. I don’t... I don’t want to...

I look at the floor. I look at the floor and I wait for Berry.

She slides through easily. Quickly enough, I guess. I... I don’t hear her fall, so she must have had a more graceful landing than me.

“We, um...” I say, when I hear her hoofsteps. “We should...” I turn to her for some form of support, but there’s nothing there. Nothing. “And what are you staring at?” I snap, as loudly as I dare. “Make yourself useful and check the exit for guards. We’re sure as heck not getting Green through that hole.”

She nods and trots away, heading backwards—behind me. When I turn to follow her, I can see that we’re in a secondary display area, full of relatively minor works like the muffin and ending in a huge set of ornate double doors. The doors are made of light wood and stained glass, and each depicts a purple-coated alicorn, her eyes serenely shut and her wings upraised. I’m not really sure who that’s supposed to be, but it’s elegant.

Berry cracks open the door, peers through it, and then shuts it again. “A large staircase leading upwards and four wiredoll guards. Inactive,” she says plainly, trotting back to me. “The guards are probably activated by the alarm.”

“Then let’s avoid setting anything off.” I keep my tone curt. I don’t want her taking an attitude with me—like she even could. Turning back to the main room, I can... I can take it all in a bit better. The roof in the secondary area is low, but once it gets past the edge of the reflecting room, it quickly rises. The double doors behind us are the only entrance, ushering new arrivals into the grand chamber that ends in an enormous window.

Epiphany rests under a dazzling view of the city, little alcoves to her left and right holding other ponies. The room is three stories tall, but only the first level of alcoves has been filled, making plenty of room for new arrivals. It ends in an elegant network of faux ceiling beams. Very Equestrian.

The... the architecture is... yeah. I’m good at analyzing architecture. “Are we waiting for something?” Berry asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. “We are running low on ti—”

“Shut up, Berry.” I shake myself out—starting with my mane and working down to a flick of my tail. I check the watch. Nineteen minutes, ten seconds. “Just shut up and do as I tell you.”

She doesn’t answer that, and so I start off without her and head straight for Green. She’s... she’s there. She’s right there. I come to a stop in front of her. Looking at her in the light. “...H-hi,” I say to her, voice trembling.

But she doesn’t respond.

There’s more I need to say. There’s so much more. But we don’t have time, and I can feel Berry watching me. I don’t want her seeing this. It’s not for her. It’s... private. “Alright. Let’s go,” I say, twisting around to point at Epiphany with my muzzle. “I’ll get Green. You get Epiphany.” This will be tricky without magic. Green is a pretty big pony, and while she may be in good shape, muscle weighs just as much as fat. I’ll have to carry her over my back. I lower my head, slipping in under her and—

“No,” Berry says.

What? I turn back to her. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” I demand.

“No,” Berry repeats.

“Berry, pick up Epiphany, now.” No, none of this! Not now! I deliver the word as a sharp invocation. An order!

“I cannot sneak or fight while carrying a full-grown pony on my back,” Berry replies, like it was just that simple. “Our chances of success will be drastically reduced if we try to carry two ponies at once.”

“But we’ll be saving two ponies!” I reply. How can she not get this!?

“We will save nopony if we are caught,” Berry replies, blunt and to the point. “We have inflicted obvious damage to the reflecting room. Echo’s time limit aside, every second we linger increases our chances of being detected.”

“I know that, Berry!” I hiss at her, as loud as I dare. “I know that. But Epiphany is my friend, you understand? She was there for me. She supported me when I didn’t deserve it. I can’t leave her here!”

“So save her,” Berry replies.

“I can’t carry her and Green at the same time, Berry,” I growl. “And don’t say I have to choose between them!” I give her a command, and she obeys it to the letter.

She doesn’t say anything at all.

“Do you remember friends, Berry? Do you remember what that’s like?” I ask, fixing her to the spot. Trying to get her to listen to me! “Do you remember what it’s like to have a pony you care about? That you’d do anything for? Do you remember what it feels like to care about somepony, or did Trixie actually replace your soul with clockwork?” She just stares at me. “Berry! I need this. I need to save both of them.” Still, not a word.

“Berry!” I demand. “If there is anything like a pony left inside you, you’ll help me. Please!”

We stare at each other for a long time. I don’t... I don’t know how long it is. Probably just a few seconds. But it feels like forever.

Berry doesn’t say a word.

“F-fine,” I snap. “Fine!” My voice rises, ragged and angry. “Fine, I’ll carry them both myself!” I turn back to Green, lowering my head and bending a knee to get my shoulder underneath her.

“You lack the capacity,” Berry replies. Wretched wind-up ghoul. I wish Green had killed her.

“Watch me!” I snarl, heaving with all my might. Green comes up and off her resting place, sliding onto my back.

Then, underneath her alcove, something clicks.

“No no no no no no no NO!” I shout, but it’s too late. An alarm klaxon is wailing all around us—a deep, pounding sound, overlayed by the high-ringing of a naval bell. What do I do? What do I do? The guards outside will have come to life! I can’t—

“Siren, when the guards focus on me, run” Berry says, reaching back into her bags to grab her baton. “Run for the exit and don’t stop for anything.”

“I can’t—” There’s no time for me to finish. The double doors explode inwards in a shower of shattered wood and glass, the wiredolls barreling through them without even slowing down. Berry breaks into a gallop towards them, turning to the left. She can’t possibly get around them though. There are too many and they’re too fast! One of them leaps at her, steel hooves outstretched. It’s going to hit her!

Only it doesn’t. She dives, twists, and somehow she’s under it—hooves thrusting up. She catches it in its side, and the whole thing flies through the air, crashing to the ground beside her. She rolls, twisting her hips and spine like a gymnast and coming back to her hooves on top of it. It all takes less than a second, and then she drives the baton down against its neck. I see a flash, a spark, a crackle of lightning! And the doll goes still.

“Siren,” Berry says, raising her voice, even if it’s not really a shout. What? I don’t understand. The other three guards are circling her now—keeping their distance, closing in with their superior numbers. “Siren.” Now I see why Berry split to the left. She’s drawn them all away from the door, giving me a clear path down the right to the exit. “Siren, run.”

I... I turn to the right. And I run.

I have to go. Keep to the right. Green is shaking on my back—she’s not steady. Her rear is heavier than her front, and every step makes her slide off to the side. I have to stop and push her back up before—

Metal. An impact. Green goes flying off my back as I crash to the floor, pain flooding through my ribs as the wiredoll comes down on top of me. “Get off, GET OFF!” I scream, driving my hind legs into its gut again and again. Its lifeless glass eyes are staring down at me, staring into me.

I finally manage to kick it off, and it limply rolls to the floor. It’s already sparking, twitching, little arcs of lightning crackling between its visible cogs. I don’t...

Berry’s baton is lying on the ground next to it. Less than a pace from me. Green is knocked over nearby, wobbling faintly on her side, her crystal tail making a faint clink every time it hits the ground. Another two paces away, I see Berry struggling with both remaining dolls. One is knocked onto its side, trying to right itself, and she has the other in some kind of fancy martial arts joint lock. She’s got it pinned, but it’s just so strong, pushing her back. “Sire—” she tries to say.

Then the doll on the ground rears up. Headbutts her. A metallic thud. A meaty crunch.

I grab Green and run. One leg locked around her neck, the other three to carry me. I move as fast as I can, stumbling, dragging her through the shattered doors, dragging her up the staircase on the other side. The alarm klaxon is still screaming around us, but it’s okay! The stairs go up a level. That puts me on the right floor. I can still make it!

There are two ponies there. Ponies in white. With clubs.

“Get away!” I snarl, swinging Green around to use her as a shield. She’s invulnerable, just the way Epiphany is, and I suddenly find she’s light in my hooves. So light I can hold her with a single leg! I try and advance, pushing them back, and when they finally get close, I just—I throw her! I hurl Green like a missile, and they dodge to the left and right as she smashes into the stairs, hitting so hard she sends chips of stone flying! The stairs don’t leave a scratch on her, but I don’t wait. I’m already running—charging the one on the left.

“Get away!” I scream, lowering my head just before impact. The shock travels all the way down my neck and into my shoulders, and something hits me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me and sending me tumbling down the stairs. I roll, crash to a halt, and I hear Green tumbling alongside me. Crystal makes the clearest chime when it hits stone, rolling from step to step.

Then the other guard is there. A unicorn. Club raised beside him.

“Get aw—” I try to scream, but he drives his forehoof into my gut, and then the club comes down on my face. Something crunches, pain blossoming through me. My vision swims, but I can’t go down. I can’t! He kicks me again, fire flashing through my ribs. He’s wearing horseshoes. Cold and steel.

The club hits me in the head, and the world spins, but no. No! I reach out, grab his leg as he kicks for me. Pull him down. My horn burns like nothing else as I grab my knife, yanking it from its sheath and driving it up into him. Into his undercarriage. He tries to pull away but I don’t let go! I yank it out and drive it in again, and again! I drive it in until the pain feels like my horn is going to split in half, and then I twist around and shove him down the steps!

He falls, crashing to the ground. That pristine-white uniform is all red now. He’s shaking, whimpering, clutching his hooves to his gut to try to stop the bleeding. I hit him all over the place. There are gashes in his leg, his midsection, his groin. He’s trying to stop the bleeding but there’s so much red. I turn to look up the stairs. The other guard is holding his neck the same way. Where my horn hit him. The stairs are slick now.

I... I grab Green. I grab her under one leg and I run. Up the stairs. “Come on, Green. We gotta go. We gotta go!” There’s another set of double doors at the top of the stairs. Just like the set below. There’s a hallway on the other side! There has to be!

Then the door at the top opens. Ponies. White uniforms. Clubs. “Get out of my way!” I scream, but none of them move. They’re advancing on me, another two of them. “I said get away! You want to die like your friends? I’ll snap those clubs in half and jam them down your throats!” I can’t draw my second knife yet. Where’s the first one? I left it in the stallion. I need to—

I hear the whine of gears a second before the wiredoll’s leg wraps around my neck, yanking me back. Its steel skin is cold as ice, its grip so strong it doesn’t even waver as I scream and struggle. Green tumbles out of my grasp, and I hear her crashing down the steps! “Let go of me!” I shout, but the guards are already rushing forward.

The first club hits me in the shoulder, so hard my entire body jerks to the side. Something tears. Something breaks! The next guard uses his hooves, just hitting me again and again in the gut! I can’t breathe. He keeps knocking the wind out of me! There’s a mechanical whine in my ears. My vision’s going dark. I’m kicking and flailing but I can’t hit them! A club jerks forward, smashing into my inner thigh. It hurts. Oh Celestia, it hurts! Tore something. Bleeding.

I feel the wiredoll slide slightly. Jerk back. Can’t keep its footing. Slick steps. I kick out with my hinds, not aiming for the guards, but the wall beside me. I catch it with the edge of a hoof. The wiredoll slips backwards, tumbling down the steps. I go flying out of its grasp, and my head hits the stone. Blood. Blood in my mouth. I’m rolling. Tumbling.

Green is there. She’s lying next to me. On her side. Her hair is turned to crystal, so she can’t rest evenly. She keeps bouncing back and forth faintly. Making a little chime every time she hits the ground.

I need to... I need to get up. I force myself to my hooves, but the world won’t stay still. It’s weaving, back and forth. I can’t... something rises in my throat. No. No. Gotta... do something. Wiredoll will be getting back up. I can’t win this. Think, Siren! Berry’s baton! The shock... thing! I can use that. I go as fast as I can. Back through the doors. I can’t run, my legs hurt too much. I think I broke something. But I can walk fast! I make it back in. Berry is there, pinned to the ground by the doll. But there’s only one doll left here! And there. On the floor. Her baton! I lean my head down.

The baton glows blue. Slides away. And my teeth snap around the empty air. One of the guards. “Give it back!” I say, turning to face him. “I’ll—”

Rarity.

Rarity is there. With the wiredolls, and Quick March, and the baton floating beside her, wrapped in an aura of blue.

“Why, yes, Siren. It’s good to see you again too,” she says with those sweet, cultured intonations. She casually hands the baton off to a guard, a pegasus who takes it in his teeth. “Oh, I know it’s terribly rude of me, but would you mind waiting just a moment? I really should see to these poor stallions bleeding sooner rather than later. Is that alright?” She pauses a moment, like I was going to answer. Then she smiles. “Excellent. Oh, and would somepony turn off that alarm, please?”

There’s nowhere to go. Quick March is there, along with the wiredoll that held me, and another half dozen guards. The exit is completely blocked. Green is under them, still frozen there with her eyes shut, and when I look at Berry, the second doll has her completely pinned from behind. I...

All I can do is watch as Rarity walks up to the two guards I stabbed. As the alarm fades, she approaches each one in turn and her horn shines, bright blue beams restoring shredded flesh and halting the bleeding. Six more guards come while she’s working, and she directs them to fetch a pair of stretchers. To take the wounded away.

There’s nothing I can do. The adrenaline is fading now. My shoulders are getting so heavy. My jaw feels puffy, and wrong, something cracks in my ears when I try to move it. There’s blood in my mouth. My foreleg is stiff. And it doesn’t hurt at all. That’s not good. Too stiff, no pain, something wrong. I wish my rear legs didn’t hurt. Didn’t... all I can do is tuck my tail in and try to grit my teeth through the pain. I squeeze my eyes shut, staring at the ground as the tears start to come.

It’s not fair. It’s not... I’m sorry, Green. I’m so sorry.

“I suppose this came very naturally to you, did it?” Rarity asks, in her song-song way. I crack my eyes open, and she’s looking at me. She’s taken a step closer while her guards keep a watchful eye. Surrounding me. “Emotional abuse, deception, theft, betrayal. Murder must have seemed the reasonable next step. I don’t suppose it ever occured to you that those stallions might have families? Ponies they go home to at night?”

I stare, and she tsks. “Evidently not,” she says, turning up her nose. “Well, no matter. The fire has gone out, Siren. I met you, loved you, gave you my heart, and when you broke it, I raged and I grieved. But now I’m done grieving, Siren. I’m over you.” She turns a critical eye on me, letting out a disdainful little sigh. “Perhaps it’s for the best things didn’t work out between us. I cannot believe I very nearly entrusted the Element of Generosity to... well. This.”

“You should... take me,” I say. The words come out a bit slurred. It hurts to say them. “For Green. Trade. I came here to save her. I’m more than she was. I’m-I’m better for—”

Rarity laughs. Titters. A light, high sound. I fall silent. “Oh, darling, don’t let me interrupt; I was just enjoying your daring little display there. I do so enjoy seeing my work in use.” She reaches out with her magic, brushing back the hairs on my cheek. Stroking my new cutie mark. I don’t pull away. I don’t move at all. “So tell me, how does it feel? Less forceful than you were expecting, I assume? Light. Like you don’t even know it’s there.”

“Yes,” I say after a moment. After I put it together. I should have realized. “I... I wasn’t sure if it was working.”

“Well, that was the idea,” she says, airily. “It was an early predecessor to Epiphany, actually. Not a serious attempt, you understand,” she clarifies quickly as she brushes back her mane. “I was just feeling around the concept a bit. I wanted something powerful! But not overwhelming. Subtle! But persistent. Simple on the face of it, but with a certain... je ne sais quoi.” She flicks a hoof into the air.

“The bottle says it’s for bravery but... it’s more than that. You see that now, of course.” She nods at me, a little nudge of a muzzle. “It takes more than bravery to break into my gallery and risk life and limb all for the sake of a mare you hardly know. It takes a...” She slowly draws a hoof down her chest, over the razor folds of her uniform. “Spark.” Her eyes flick back up to me. “Are you enjoying it, Siren? Can you feel it inside you?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“That’s good, dear.” She smiles warmly, continuing in that same smooth, friendly tone. “But, in any case. You see why I found your comments amusing. I’ve already taken you. I own your soul, Siren, and everything in it that’s worthwhile is mine. You are a useless, disgusting, pathetic creature, and it is only through my wondrous generosity that you have—” she laughs “—any redeeming qualities.”

“Really, at this point, the only interesting thing about you is the curious matter of how you came to be here.” She looks left, and right, holding her glance on Berry for a moment. “I was informed by a very reliable source,” she says, walking towards Berry, “that you were dead. That one of our old friends in security rid us of you. And yet, here you are—uninvited in one of the most secure buildings in the city.”

“I do apologize, Ms. Rarity,” Quick March says, deferent, his head nodded down. “I was sure that—”

“Oh, think nothing of it, Quick March. These mistakes happen.” Rarity dismisses him, reaching a hoof down to stroke Berry’s cheek and tilt her face up. Berry is stony-faced as always, not showing the slightest reaction to Rarity or the wiredoll pinning her to the floor. “So tell me, Berry, precisely how was it that Trixie has learned to restore the dead? And of all the tombs in the city, why did Trixie choose mine as the place for Siren’s revivification?” Of course, Berry says nothing.

“Oh, really now, Berry?” Rarity sighs, giving a little shake of her head. “I let you go once. I’m not going to make that mistake again. You’re nothing if not a rational creature. Temperance may shield you from mundane interrogation, but you know I have the power to make you talk. Make it easier on yourself.” Berry only looks at her. “Nothing to say?”

Berry stares for a second, but then she nods. Rarity smiles. “Oh, wonderful. Out with it then.”

Berry tilts her ear down. “Cunt.”

Rarity goes stock still, frozen in place. Her guards likewise lock up. One of them drops his club, as all the rest stare open-mouthed. A little one, young, backs away up the staircase. Like he didn’t want to be caught in the radius of what’s about to happen.

Then Rarity laughs.

“Oh, Berry, you loveable scamp,” she says in fond tones as she pinches Berry’s cheeks with her magic. “Why, if a pony ever said that to me, I would skin them alive. But—” She tsks and smiles, shaking her head. “I don’t mind it so much when you do it. After all, you’re not really a pony, are you?”

Her horn shines, and the reflecting room floor—our ceiling—slides open like an iris, revealing the chamber above. Shattered glass falls down all around us, and I have to duck and cover my head, but Rarity pays no mind. The glass just never seems to touch her. She doesn’t even react when the shattered remains of the metal framework fall to the floor with a crash. She just smiles at Berry, tugging down the cables that once held the frame I dropped. Enveloped in her magic’s blue aura, the cables unravel themselves, splitting up into the individual threads.

The individual wires.

Berry doesn’t struggle when the wires lower towards her. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t make a face. She doesn’t scream when Rarity drives them down into her flesh, her bones, her joints, her spine, the back of her skull. She never makes a sound. I can hear bone cracking, but she never...

Then Rarity seals the incisions back up, grabs the bundle of wire with her magic, and tugs. The doll lets Berry go, so she can gently lift off the floor, suspended by her spine and at every joint.

“You know, I did it because I was mad, but now that I see it... I think I like it!” Rarity says, upbeat. “Look, Siren, I made a wiredoll. Get it?” she says, floating Berry up to me. Dangling her in front of me by the little steel wires.

Berry stares at me.

“Rarity, s-stop...” I plead as Berry advances on me, tugged along above the ground by the cables.

“Can she do tricks?” Quick March asks, grinning as he steps up next to Rarity’s side.

“Why, I don’t know! I’ve never done a puppet show before. Let’s see,” Rarity says, excited. “Berry, run!” She yanks the wires running to Berry’s knees, and she seems to trot in the air in front of me. “Berry... play the violin.” The wires on her rear legs go slack as the ones in her spine and forelegs build tension. She swings down, like she was standing on her hind legs, her forelegs pulling up to mimic violin motions in the air. Rarity’s grinning. “Oh, I think I’m rather good at this.”

“Rarity, please...” I whimper, looking up. Berry’s bleeding. The tension in the cables is too much for regular flesh and skin. The cuts Rarity healed are re-opening every time she moves. She’s bleeding from her back, her joints. I... I need to do something. “You know, Trixie loved puppet shows? Back in her traveling showmare days. I think she still does.”

Rarity frowns, and after a moment, lets out a snort. “Well, that certainly took the fun out of it.” The glow around the wires fades, and Berry drops to the ground like a sack of flour. She doesn’t move her legs to catch herself. She just falls and lies there, still and unmoving. She’s breathing but...

“Berry?” I say. “Berry. Get up.” I poke her in the shoulder. Nothing. Poke her in the eye. She doesn’t blink. “Berry get up.”

Berry doesn’t move.

“That’s odd. I was careful not to do too much damage to her neck.” Rarity purses her lips for a moment. “Well, no matter. I’ll put her back together again before we take her apart.”

“Indeed, Ms. Rarity.” Quick March nods his head in deference, almost a bow. “It might have to wait though. I hate to interrupt you when you’re having fun, but you have a five-thirty with Fluttershy, and it’s five now. We really should get going.”

“Oh, right.” Rarity glances up at the ceiling, lost in thought for a moment. “Oh well. I suppose I was about done anyway. Let’s wrap this up. Any suggestions for what we do with Siren?”

I look at them.

“I could take her off your hooves,” Quick March suggests, flexing his wings and sneering at me from across the room. “She betrayed your trust. She doesn’t deserve your attention.”

“All valid points,” Rarity agrees, though her tone is hesitant. “And I do love seeing you work. You may lack the artistic gift, but you’re a superb craftspony.” Her tone is fond, but again she hesitates, drawing her head head back and tilting it to the side. “But... mmm. I don’t know. Call it an echo of lost love, but I’m feeling like something more than just cutting her up.”

I look at them, and it suddenly occurs to me. This is it. This is where it ends. There’s no out for me.

“Not crystal?” he asks. Offended? Yes. Offended. He even turns to give her an incredulous glance.

She snorts. “Oh, heavens no,” she assures him quickly. “But maybe...” She extends an uncertain hoof my way. “Glass? It’s missing something.”

The guards don’t think I’m much of a threat. Quick March is relaxed. If I charge Rarity, right now, swing my knife, I might be able to stab her before anypony reacts. She’s only a few paces away.

“Glass and we pose her with Green,” he suggests. “So Green’s sacrifice really never meant anything. Give it a new context.”

“Oh, perfect!” Rarity claps. “Yes, I think that will do nicely. Any last words, Siren?”

This is it. One last chance to do one good thing. I nod, take a breath, lower my horn, and charge. “Aaaagh!” I scream and I break into a gallop, leaping through the air, straight for her. My knife leaves its sheath—

And then a blue beam lances out from Rarity’s horn, striking me and freezing me in the air in mid-pose. Holding me there, perfectly frozen mid-strike. “Oh please,” Rarity snorts. “Like you’re the first pony to try that.”

“No, no!” My hooves go numb. I can’t turn my head, but when I glance to my side, I can see my left forehoof has turned clear. The transformation is spreading down my limbs, towards my torso. I scream, summoning all the power I have left. My dinky little magic bolt spell couldn't kill a bunny, but I throw everything I have at her. I ignore the stabbing in my horn every time I cast it and try to hit her with something, anything!

But she swats every spell out of the air with ease—every bolt deflected, every thrown projectile caught. My knees and elbows are numb now, trending up towards my shoulder. Please, please no! Not like this.

I look at her. I look Rarity in the eye. My shoulders and hips are numb, traveling up my torso, towards my body, my neck. I look at her and I... I...

My horn feels like it’ll split open, but I summon one last bit of magic. It’s a simple spell, a gentle spell, and one that comes to me easily, even when I’m this weak. A sound spell, adjusting my voice. Making it lower, smoother. Another pony’s voice. My barrel is turning to glass, but I manage to take one last breath.

“Rarity, stop, you’re hurting me!” screams Sweetie Belle, wailing at the top of her lungs.

Instantly, the light around me winks out, and I tumble to the floor. It only takes me a fraction of a second to realize I didn’t shatter on impact. Feeling has come back to all my limbs. Rarity is staring at me, wide-eyed and shocked, stammering and incoherent. “I... but... no... I... I didn’t...”

The watch on my leg lets out a loud ding. The sound of clicking mechanisms. A high-pitched mare’s voice. “Hey! You know what this calls for?” I sweep up my knife, leap. “A party!”

I stab Rarity right in the eye, and bury the dagger up to the hilt.

She shrieks. She screams. A wonderful agonized sound. Then the floor lurches under us. The whole building shakes, a roar building up from the depths. I see her stumble, fall, still screaming, her legs flailing under her. I hear muffled booms, crashes above and below. Water spraying on my face. There’s another alarm going off. Not the intruder alarm—something deeper. Louder.

“Die!” I’m screaming. I don’t even mean to say it, it just comes out. And then I’m on top of her! Beating her. Showing her what a good set of hooves can do. Breaking every bone in her witch body! “Die! Die! Die!” I’m screaming and screaming and there’s water and the guards are yelling and—

The knife. What am I thinking? Using my hooves! The knife comes out, and a spray of blood comes with it. Oh that made her scream. It made her scream so high her voice cracked. It’s this awful wailing sound and damned if it isn’t beautiful music! Her neck this time. Yeah, her neck. I like that. I lift the knife.

Something hits me in the side! Slams into me and sends me off my hooves. A pony! I wrap my legs around him before I fall, and we go down together. Blue coat, wings, white uniform. Quick March! “You little stain!” I snarl, driving my rear leg up into his gut. That knocks the wind out of him! “Stay down! Stay down!” I finally shove him away, rolling back to my hooves. He’s doing the same! But I can take him, I can! I just need my knife.

I... I dropped it. I lost my grip in the tousle. But that’s fine. This is where he dies and he knows it! “Get Rarity out of here!” he shouts. At the guards. Right. There are other guards. I’m... I’m not letting them do that! I’m not letting her get away. I rush to Rarity, hurry to deliver the killing blow!

But my legs aren’t working for some reason. I’m stumbling. I can’t find my footing. Is the floor tilted? I look down to check where I’m walking.

One of Quick March’s feathers is sticking out of me. Right out of my ribcage. Over my heart. Feathers like knives. Long and blue. There’s a lot of red as well. On the feather. In my coat.

It hurts less than I thought it would.

“Go, go now!” Quick March is shouting, as two of the guards drag Rarity into a stretcher. A stretcher? No. No! I try again to take her. To rush! But my legs all tangle up and... I think I fall. I don’t remember it but I’m on the floor now. There’s a cold feeling spreading through me. Around the pain in my barrel. That would be all the blood running out of me, I guess. I’m pretty sure I’m in shock.

Quick March is there. He puts a hoof on my chest and raises a wing. Feathers out.

Purple legs wrap around his neck. Berry. She’s beside him, pulling him back. They’re fighting. I get it. She was just playing dead. That’s how she got away from Rarity the first time. That shelf falling on her didn’t knock her out at all. I... yeah. Fooled Rarity the same way twice.

That’s good.

I can hear things now. Splashing. A crackle of lightning. Guards screaming. A mechanical mare’s voice, yelling that there’s something wrong with her doll. Fire. A male voice. “Blast him!” A guard runs past me with a crossbow bolt sticking out of his eye. He’s screaming, galloping, running in random directions until he passes out of sight. The water is rising now. I feel it falling from the ceiling. Landing on my upper side.

I see Quick March again. He’s on the floor. Both of his wings are broken. Snapped cleanly at the base so they hang at an unnatural angle. His feathers are twisted all around, the knives bent and warped. Echo is dragging him with a rope. Around his neck.

“That’s your problem, Quick March! No respect for our traditions!” Echo roars. That’s a funny rope he has. I don’t know how he carries it. Or ties knots with his teeth. But suddenly it’s up there, wrapped around a ceiling beam, and Echo is flying beside it with Quick March in his hooves. “If it was up to you, we’d just stab everypony we execute. We’re going to kill them anyway. Why go through all the effort?”

My vision is starting to blur. “Echo...” I try to call out. We can’t waste... time with this. We have to save Green. We have to! “Berry... anypony.”

“We do it because there are rules, Quick March! Rules!” I hear him shout. His voice is slurred. Wandering. “Rules are what separate us from animals. Rules are how you kill another pony—how you take a thinking being’s life—without it being personal. There’s something very... good about a length of rope. Something civilized. Civilization is why I’m a professional and you’re a serial killer!” I hear a crack. A wispy sound. Coiling rope. “Do you understand that, Quick March? Is it sinking in? No? No, it’s not?”

Snap. “Oh well.”

It’s quiet then. No more shouting. The alarms have gone out. Even the lights are flickering. The water is at the edge of my mouth now. It’s all starting to go dark.

“Get Siren first.” Berry’s voice. I see Echo picking her up. She’s limp in his legs. Two of Quick March’s feathers are sticking out of her back, a third out of her leg. Did he stab her when they were fighting? Echo flies her up, through the open ceiling and out of sight. Then he’s back down, standing over me, picking me up.

“Green,” I whisper as he lifts me up. Something tears in my leg. My chest. There’s so much blood. “Get Green.”

He ignores me, his flapping wings lifting us up. The reflecting room is full of water. The doors to the hall are open, and a torrent is rushing in. Lights going out. The false bookshelf is pushed away, and water is rushing into the secret tunnel. Berry is there, sprawled out. The wires are still sticking out of her at odd angles. Echo must have cut them. Echo lays me down next to her. Then he leaves.

I don’t... I...

Something clinks. Something shines next to me. Glitters in the darkness. Green crystal. I hear the bookcase move again, the sounds of water becoming muted. The door hisses shut. I can’t summon a light spell, so we’re plunged into darkness.

But it’s okay. It’s okay. This is good.

I am good.

I reach out and hold Green’s head against me.

Heart's Desire, Part 1

I’ve got to get back out there, got to show them that they’re wrong. For this story has but one hero, and it is Siren Song. Won’t let Rarity beat me, won't let her something something, la la la la la, the cutest and smartest pony around!

Um... lyrics lyrics lyrics, I am keeping up the tune. Something something something, hope I think of more words soon. I’m just kind of going with it, trying to keep the beat, because I am Siren, and... uh. I’m really neat?

Aww. I lost it.

I slump back against the pillow, letting my head slide into the fabric. It’s funny because the pillow is so soft my head sinks all the way down into it and it presses my ears up against my head which is neat because it muffles sound. I never opened my eyes, but if I had, I’d be shutting them again right now. Every part of me feels heavy. Weak. I’m so tired.

I could sleep if I had music. I’m used to music for sleeping, but there’s no phonograph or anything. I asked one of the ponies in white for one, but they didn’t bring it, which is okay I guess because I can sing to myself but I’m not feeling it for some reason. I keep losing the tune.

I guess I should, like, wonder where I am? Or be concerned or something? The last thing I remember is Echo dragging me down the tunnel when I had a knife sticking out of my undercarriage, and that doesn’t seem like a situation that could end well. Even if the knife was also a feather, sort of. I mean, putting aside the whole bleeding thing, I don’t remember there being any exits to that tunnel that aren’t ruled by super evil doom ponies. Or Applejack.

Gosh, I could really go for some apples right now. One of the tart, green kind that’s always really crisp. That would be delicious. Mmm.

Wait, I lost my train of thought. What was I thinking about? Something about... knives? That doesn’t sound right.

It is a legitimate topic of discussion though. I mean, I have been getting super cozy with those knives Green gave me. And not just them! Rarity’s scalpels, Swiftwing’s razors. I don’t think that makes me a serial killer on its own, but it is kind of concerning. Like, I wouldn't cut a pony with them, but hypothetically, if a pony was cut, and I happened to be the one doing it, that would be really exciting. Particularly if they were cute.

So, yeah. Concerning. Still, I bet they have drugs in this city that fix that. They have drugs to fix everything. Excuse me, doctor, I seem to have come down with a slight case of evil. Ah yes, take two pills and call me if you have the urge to drink the tears of your fellow equine. Thank you very much, have a good day.

Yeah, that seems right.

It bothers me less than it used to. How that all works. It might be super-selfish to say that I started thinking markers were okay right after I became one, but there’s nothing wrong with getting a little help when you need it. Nopony is an island—they’re little horses with problems, and they need to fix those problems. Like me. I was a worthless, cowardly little stain, but then I got some help, and saved Green and fought an evil sorceress. And now I feel kind of good about myself.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

Take sleeping for example. I could totally use some help sleeping. Like music. Or drugs. Or a bonk on the head. But hopefully music.

“Hey,” I call out. My voice is weak. Raspy. It’s hard to draw anything but the shallowest of breaths, and when I try, I feel a sudden, stabbing pain in my undercarriage. Where I was stabbed. Which would make sense. “Heeey.”

I don’t know how long I keep doing that, until somepony answers. “Are you in pain?” asks a mare, somewhere near the bedside. She’s annoyed, and her words are clipped, which seems rude. She hardly got stabbed at all. At least, as far as I remember.

“Oh... yeah. In my barrel.” I try to nudge a hoof towards where it hurts, but I can’t move my legs for some reason. There’s resistance against them. Like they’re held in place. “Terrible pain. Can I have something that’ll put me to sleep?”

She doesn’t answer at first, but I can tell she’s thinking it over. It’s neat that I can hear how one silence is different from another. My eyes are shut, but I know she has one ear up, the other down, and a skeptical expression. I’m special like that. I hope she says yes.

“Alright. I can give you a little more,” she says, and I hear glassware clinking. Oh, good. It takes a lot of effort, but I manage to crack an eye open. She’s right there—a lime-green unicorn with a sparkly yellow mane. She’s pouring something out into a glass. It’s red, like blood, but it flows faster than water. Too fast. She makes a little cup of it, and walks over to me, floating it up to my lips. “Drink this.”

I part my lips a little, and she tilts the glass in turn. I recognize the taste as soon as it hits my tongue. It looks different, but this is Rarity’s tea! It’s so bitter and caustic and wonderfully foul, and it parches a thirst I didn’t know I had. I wish there was more, but I drink everything she gives me, and then let my head sink down into the pillow’s muffling embrace. I love the way it pushes my ears against my head. It cuts me off from the world.

What was it Rarity said every time we drank that? Seek understanding. Seek the truth. Look for the truth. “To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed,” I mutter, exactly the way she said it.

“What was that?” the blue unicorn asks. But I ignore her.

“Show me...” I say. Show me what? Canterlot? Celestia? Fond foalhood memories? Better times? Or just a good nap? “Music. Show me music.”

“I already told you,” the blue unicorn says, shaking her head. “The doctor said you can’t have a phonograph yet. Lie back and try to rest.”

I keep ignoring her, and she eventually goes away. I wonder what I’ll get to see. One of the musical numbers I had with Cirrus Cloud? The orphanage’s Hearth’s Warming Eve song? Celestia and I at the Royal Canterlot Symphony?

Acoustic guitar?

At first I think I’m imagining it, because Rarity’s tea causes visions and I am way too sleepy and dizzy and in a hospital bed to be having a vision. Unless I’m having a vision to that other time I was sleepy and dizzy and in a hospital bed. But there wasn’t guitar then. It’s there now though. Gentle notes coaxed out of guitar strings float through the air, forming a simple tune. It’s nice, but I don’t recognize it. Not until the singing starts.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” sings a stallion. I don’t recognize him, but he’s got a very good singing voice. Deep, yes—masculine for sure—but smooth and gentle and sweet. And sad. “You make me happy, when skies are grey.”

It’s a perfect song for falling asleep to, particularly with how slowly and gently he’s playing it, but I’m kind of curious now. I can sleep later. I want to find out who’s playing that. Somehow. Yeah.

So I get out of bed.

“You’ll never know dear, how much I love you,” the stallion sings on, plucking out each note. I feel weird. Really weird. The room is... blurry. And spinny. And there are colors. I recognize one of Doc Stable’s examination rooms—the white stone, elegant pillars, a doctor’s office like a palace. The only thing that’s different is that the metal examination table has been replaced by a hospital bed. And such a strange bed it is too. It’s surrounded by monitors and IV-drips, and metal bars that run over the top and sides. It takes me a moment to realize that the bars are restraints, designed to hold my legs and neck in place while I heal.

Something about that strikes me as weird, but I’m not sure what. My head is so cloudy. I’m about to stop to puzzle it out, when the smooth “please don’t take my sunshine away” reminds me why I got up.

Right.

“The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you by my side.” The elegantly drawn notes and sweet words drift through the air as I push out into the hallway, stepping through the door and into palatial white corridors. He’s a baritone. Not very practiced but... earnest. Such a sweet sound. He’s not far, and I weave among guards and nurses in white as I drift down the hall, following his voice. “When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken.”

“And I hung my head, and cried.” It’s Echo?

No way. The pony in front of me looks like Echo, sure, but Echo wouldn't sing even if he could. And Echo’s voice does not sound like that. His voice is scratchy and rough and angry, and this stallion sounds sounds... I don’t know. Different.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” he slides into the chorus again, oblivious to my presence. I guess he didn’t notice me. We’re in a little alcove off the main corridor, a circular chamber with a big floor-to-ceiling window on one side, and a few examination rooms scattered around the edge. Echo has abandoned his weapons, his armor, his gear, even his flask. They’re all scattered in the floor. It’s strange to see him without his gear. All that metal was a part of him, and without it, he seems vulnerable—sitting in front of the big window and cradling a guitar in his hooves.

I listen to him play for a while. It’s hard for pegasi to play the guitar. They have to use their hooves, so it usually doesn’t sound great. Echo is good at it though. He plucks out every chord clear and strong, making a wonderfully pure sound. I somehow doubt he’s a changeling, so I guess it has to be Echo, but I can’t imagine him ever sounding so... soulful? Or maybe I’m just a sucker for a stallion with a guitar.

“You told me once, dear, you owned the whole sky, with a grin so brash, so bold,” he sings on. I doubt he’d appreciate being interrupted, and I’m already starting to feel tired again, so I turn to head back to my hospital bed. But before I can, I catch a flash from inside one of the examination rooms near Echo. A sparkle of green. “But you’ve washed away that smile, and the sky is dark, and cold.”

I step into the examination room, trying to ignore the weird sense of disorientation I keep getting. Like I was turned around, even though I know very well where I am. It’s a double room—two beds, side by side, rows of monitoring machines between them. The bed on the left holds Berry, strapped down where she lies. The one on the right holds Green, her sparkling form laid out in bed and surrounded by flowers.

Berry is the worse off of the two. They’ve got her stretched out in some sort of mechanical brace that holds all her joints perfectly still, freezing her in the walking position. Over a dozen IV-drips hang from the ceiling above her, one little cord running down to each of her joints. To her back. She’s even on a ventilator—a breath mask covering her entire face. Covering her mouth, her nose, her eyes, until there’s nothing but a blank, baggy sheet. For a second, I think I can hear sounds, coming from under that fabric.

But when I lean close, they stop.

“You told me once, dear, you really loved me, and that nothing could come between,” Echo continues. I listen to Berry a bit more, but she doesn't move, so I guess she’s asleep. She’s not the one I’m really interested in anyway. “But you have left me, and loved another, and you have shattered all my dreams.”

They laid Green out in a hospital bed. I guess that makes more sense than propping her up in the corner, but I don’t really see the point. She’s not sick. She’s turned to crystal. What are they going to do—take her blood pressure? They didn’t even bother hooking her up to the machines around her. They just laid her out, with laurels of red and blue flowers on her head, and a bed of flowers under her. Like it was her funeral. She’s still frozen in that same pose. Head down, eyes shut. So sad.

My throat hurts.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Echo sings, as I crawl up into the bed. There’s not much room, but I manage to wiggle in, scooting up against her side. “You make me happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

I’m starting to get really tired again, so I snuggle up against Green and shut my eyes. The song is over, but Echo is still plucking the strings, producing mindless, pleasant notes. That’s enough for me, and I tuck my head into Green’s shoulder, letting myself drift away.

“Dear Mom and Dad,” I start, silently mouthin’ the words ’round the pen as I write. There’s probably no call for me to be so paranoid. I can hear ’em out back. They’re still in the second verse o’ “Raise this Barn” with the rest of the family, which means I’ve got a while. Even if there was somepony right outside the door, they probably wouldn' be able to hear me over the singin’, not to mention the banging, hammers and saws ’n’such. But, I still don’t make a sound. I can’t be takin’ any chances.

“By now you have noticed that I am missing...” I continue, but after a moment, I scratch that out. And the openin’. That’s all wrong. Just Mom and Dad? What about Norland? What about Topaz Apple? They’re my own brother and sister, and I’m leavin’ them too. What about the rest of the family? And the line after that? Practically, “Hey, y’all probably noticed I’m gone. Cya, suckers.” Why don’t I grind salt in the wound while I’m at it?

“Dear Everypony.” That’s terrible. I scratch it out too. “Dear Mom, Dad, Norland, and Topaz.” That’s too long. Scratch. “My dearest family.”

I stare at the paper for a second, and then crumple it up with my hooves, smashin’ it down into a little ball and kickin’ it into the wastebin.

My room is in one of the corners of the house. Two windows. If I stuck my head out the west window, I’d see the barn. And Mom, and Dad, and Norland and Topaz, and the farm and all our neighbors, singin’ as they work. Half the folk in town are over today. I told them I wasn’t feeling well and faked havin’ the chills. I can’t see none of that from here though. My reading table is up against the west wall, so my view goes out the north window, lookin’ out over town. Rambling Ridge ain’t that big, so I can see most everything from here. The post office. The general store. The salt-lick.

Rarity’s carriage, waitin’ for me by the road out of town. I’m late, but she said she’d wait as long as it took to say my goodbyes.

I’m such a coward.

I don’t know how she... found out. About me. She said ’er special talent was findin’ gems in the dirt, which was real poetic, I guess, but I still don’t understand. I assume it got somethin’ to do with her unicorn magic, but it still seems like she came a long way just for me.

My ears slump, and I stare down at the floor. How would I even explain? Half our neighbors probably think I fancy her and I know Mom and Dad do. They made that clear with their little innocent comments about how we’re a very modern family and Quartz Shine up the way is datin’ a unicorn mare, and well gosh if they ain’t a happy couple. Because there’s nothin’ wrong with that and oh, by the way Green, will your friend be comin’ over? Rambling Ridge is a small town, and there weren’t no hidin’ that I was sendin’ letters back and forth to somepony I was bein’ all cagey about. So, when a beautiful Canterlot mare swept into town to smile at quiet little Green, well... ponies put it together right fast.

Sun and stars. If only I was datin’ her.

I’m not stupid. I know very well what that lump in m’throat means. Mom always said that feelin’ is the way nature tells you that maybe you should reconsider what you’re doing. It’s gettin’ hard to breathe, but I make myself swallow. Draw a deep breath.

There’s still time to back out of the whole thing. Tell Rarity I changed my mind. She’s the sort of mare who knows how to keep a secret. I can just tell everypony we met and she was sweeter in letters than in person. I can say that it didn’t work out, and nopony will ever be the wiser. I can... Things can go back to being like they were.

Yeah.

I twist my head around, towards the rest of the room. It’s kinda crowded, but that’s mostly my fault. I love photos. And newspaper clipping’s. And scrap-bookin’. It’s reached the point that most every surface in my room is covered in black and white recordin’s of my life—pictures and events and little notes. There’s Mom and Dad and my friends from school, and me holdin’ Topaz right after she was born. There’s one of the whole town gathered together in the barn durin’ the Day of Darkness, ’fore we knew about Luna’s return. I’m in the background of that shot, and I also framed the newspaper article that went along with it. It was a scary night, but Mom kept us all together.

I don’t have any pictures of the Blight. I don’t want to remember that. But, I did keep pictures of the happy moments. Topaz’s eighth birthday party, even if she had a bread roll instead o’ cake. Pictures of my parents, holdin’ us all together. Holdin’ the whole town together.

That lump in my throat comes back, and I turn my gaze away. Back to the desk. When we all went to the carpenter, I said I wanted a desk exactly like Dad’s. Dad thought it was because I looked up to him—made him real happy. And I do look up to him. I do. But that ain’t why I asked for that. I asked, because Dad’s desk has a drawer with a lock, and that was the most discreet way I could think of to ask for the same thing.

I take the key in my teeth, twist my head, and the lock clicks. Jack Rafter knows his trade, and the drawer slides open silently on well-oiled mounts. I know Dad keeps money in his, and a few things that’re important to him and Mom. My desk drawer has magazines.

But to me, those magazine are more precious than bits. Every one was stolen. Usually out of Mayor Carpet Bag’s mailbox, though I did nick a few from carriages passin’ through town. Stealin’ is wrong, but there are some things you simply can’t buy in town without ponies startin’ to talk. I’ve read ’em all a thousand times, and I know every one by heart.

The covers are long since faded, the corners deformed by spit from where I’ve turned the pages with my teeth. They’re all good, but my favorite is always on top. Blessing, it’s called, in elegant golden letters, the silver writin’ underneath adding, A Group of Unicorns. The mare on the cover is crinkled, but I can still see her clearly. She’s gorgeous—bright blue coat, sparklin’ sapphire mane, lithe figure. Her horn is long and gently spiraled, but more elegant than sharp. Like a Princess. They photographed her in mid-trot, and she was in this silver dress that flows behind her and...

And...

I lift a hoof to my face, shuttin’ my eyes and leanin’ down on it. What am I doing? I’m about to give up my family for this? For glamor? I’m going to betray everypony who ever cared about me for a... a feminine figure and a pretty dress?

The barn song is still going on outside. They’ve gotten to the bit about recyclin’ wood. That’s a fun part. It’s a fun song. My eyes are starting to burn, and swallowin’ isn’t making the lump go away. I should go. I should throw these away, pretend I never had ’em, and just... just go out there and join them. Raise a barn. I love raising barns. I love singin’. I should go out there.

But I won’t.

I open my eyes, and through the blur of tears, I can see my own leg. An ugly, splotchy orange color, endin’ in a rough hoof, cracked by farmwork. I should go out there, but I won’t. I’m going to go to Rarity. I’m going to get in her carriage and leave and never see them again. Because I’m disgustin’.

I still remember it all so clearly. The day I met Sine. The first and only time a stallion ever touched me. It was less than a mile from here. On the road passin’ by town. I was pullin’ a cart one way, he was pullin’ his the other. I’d never seen him before and he was movin’ like he was busy, so I didn’t say nothin’. But then he stopped and looked at me. I thought he needed something, so I asked him what was wrong. And then he stared me right in the eye, reached out. He held my cheek like no stallion ever had.

You’d be beautiful if you didn’t look so unhappy. That’s what he said. And then he walked off. Without even waitin’ for me to answer.

I didn’t even know what to say. What could I say? I stood there like an idiot and let him walk off. What was I supposed to say? Never mind the electric tingle in my cheek, or the feelings between my legs, or how short of breath I suddenly was. That was the only time in my life a stallion called me beautiful—even if he didn’t, really. And it was the first time anypony had called me unhappy. I walked home. Tried to forget about it. It didn’t matter. He was wrong. I’d never be beautiful. And I wasn’t unhappy.

And now I’m here.

Tears roll down my muzzle and fall to the desk. I don’t want them to find these. I don’t want them to ever know why I left. I already carefully packed my saddlebags, but now, I stuff the magazines down into them, along with all my correspondence with Rarity and everythin’ else I’ve hidden from them! Cheap paper crumples as I stuff it in, and soon, the left saddlebag is completely full, the right one almost there.

There’s a little room left in the right, enough for a single picture. I already packed a lot of pictures of the family, the farm—a whole scrapbook’s worth—but I take just one more. One of me alone, standing in the fields. I don’t know why I grab that one when it’s my family I’ll be leavin’... I guess I want to remember where I came from, but I don’t know. I don’t know.

I latch the bags shut.

There’s more paper on the desk. And the pen, where I left it. I pick it back up with my teeth, and pull over a new page. I’m still crying, and water is stainin’ the paper, but at least I know what to write.

My Dearest Family,

I’m so sorry for all the pain I’m causing you. I’m sorry I can’t tell you where I’m running away to. I’m sorry I was too much of a coward to say goodbye to your faces. I’m sorry I have to go, but I need to find what will make me happy in life, and I can’t find it here. It hurts so much to write this, but it would hurt more to stay.

It may be a long time before we see eachother again, but I promise I’ll come back one day. I love you. I love you all and I always will.

-Green

I look at what I wrote. I look at what I wrote, and my eyes burn so hard I can’t see, tears blurrin’ my vision until the words all run together. I get up, take my saddlebags, and I run.

Behind me, the music is gone. They must have finished the song, but I never heard.

I wrap my tail around Green’s. She can’t wrap hers back, but that’s okay. It’s not her fault. I’m starting to feel strange, but in a good way. Like a pleasant haze. It makes Green easy to listen to.

“I had wondered,” I whisper to her with my head tucked in against her side. I’m careful to keep my voice low so nopony will overhear. This is her secret. We should be okay—I’m very quiet, and Echo is still playing the guitar. “It always seemed strange, the way you said your family hated you. I wondered if it was true, or if Poison Joke had clouded your mind.”

She doesn’t answer, but that’s fine. I know she can hear me. “It’s not either of those though, is it? They never hated you, and mantles didn’t make you hate them. You made you hate them.” I snuggle up against her until my horn catches the laurel on her head, snagging on the thorny flowers. “Because you betrayed them. Because you never went back.”

I draw a breath. Listen for the way the sound reverberates through the crystal. Feel the way the pulsing lights shimmers inside her. Like her heartbeat. Faster, now. Nervous. Nervous somepony knows her secret.

“Shh. Shhh,” I brush a hoof down her side. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Green. It’s me, Siren. You know me, remember?” The lights slow down, but only a little. They’re still coming about once a second. Poor thing. I shift my position a little bit, reaching a hoof up to cup her cheek. To hold her. To stroke her there.

“You warned me about Rarity,” I coo to her. “That she shall know things about you you have never told anypony. And I am her student. But I’m not her, Green.” I lean up, and nuzzle Green’s cold, hard cheek. “I’m not. I took her eye and spilled her blood for you. I’m your friend.” I lower my voice, until even I can barely hear it. “And I’ll always keep your secrets.”

I hold her there, cooing to her, until the lights slow down. Until she calms. Welcomes me. “Will you trust me, Green?” I ask, coaxing her forward. “Will you let me in?”

I see the light inside her, and I smile. “Will you show me when you were beautiful?”

“—Is you, and don’t ever let anypony tell you otherwise,” I say, the quill beside me faithfully recording the words, wrapped up in a scarlet glow. I’m not paying it much attention, but that’s fine. As long as I’m gripping the paper and the quill with my magic at the same time, I know where they are in relation to each other, and that means I can write pretty well without watching the paper. Which is important when I need my eyes elsewhere. Like I do right now.

I lower my head and lean in close to the mirror, shutting one eye as I turn my head this way and that. I’m doing a lot of things at once—brushing, makeup, writing the letter, and listening to one of Rarity’s classical records on the phonograph—but I was always good at multitasking. Makeup looks good so far. I grab my eye-shadow and tail brush, levitating one towards my rear, and the other towards my face. The right way around, luckily. That thought makes me smile. “And even if you do end up with a stormworker’s cutie mark like the rest of your family, that’s okay. Your cutie mark isn’t a writ from on high telling you what you have to do with your life.”

I start brushing my tail, smoothing out all the little imperfections, and at the same time, I squeeze my left eye shut. My coat is already pretty dark, so I have to use a lot of eye-shadow for it to be visible, but I can’t appear to be using a lot because that’s tacky. Rarity taught me the little subtleties of it, and I think I’ve about got it down by now. The key is gentle strokes. “It’s just something about you that makes you feel good about yourself. Something that makes you special, even if it isn’t what you end up doing for a living. I got my cutie mark for applebucking remember, and look where I ended up.”

That sounds nice. A positive message. There’s no resistance at all to the brush in my tail, so I’m pretty sure I’ve already brushed it straight. It feels good though, so I keep working as I apply the eye-shadow, pausing to steal a quick glance down at the pocket watch on the desk. Four thirty-seven. I’m not late, but I will be soon! Time to hurry. I finish up with one eye and start on the other.

“I included the signed picture you wanted and I hope you enjoy it, but remember, Lightning Glass, it’s not about me, or your family, or even your cutie mark.” Yeah, that sounds good. Very positive. The right eye is looking good too. “It’s all about you and what makes you happy. You live in the one city without destiny, where ponies can be whoever they like. Work hard, and you can be whatever you want to be—model, singer, stormworker, or something else.”

Right eye is about done, so I blink it a few times to make sure all the shadow settled in right. Yup, good. Okay, now I just need to double-check my mane and I’m done. I grab the vanity mirror off the countertop, levitating it around so I can see the back of my head in the wall mirror, inspecting the fine details there. Darnit. Tangle. Where’s my brush? “You’ll do great, Lightning Glass. I believe in you. Your friend, Green Apple.” I sign it with a flourish, which is good because she’ll like that, but shoot. Where is that brush?

I inspect the countertop, folding up Lightning Glass’s letter as I do. Makeup kit, hoof file, horn file, good luck charm, clippers, perfume, other perfume, spare jewelry, hoof oil, wiredoll token set, that cute little mini-doll with the wings... shoot. Did I lose it? I look back up.

There’s a mare right there in front of me! This green unicorn with a halo of red around her. I shriek—jump back!

The red glow goes out at once, and gravity reasserts itself. The vanity mirror hits the floor before I can react, shattering into a thousand pieces. The crash makes me jump again—makes me scramble away from the broken glass before any of it can get into my hooves. My heart is racing, and I hear something that sounds sharp crunch under me. I freeze! But no. No pain. Oh thank goodness. It must have been directly under my horseshoe. I take one more careful step, getting out of the worst of the glass. I... I’m fine. I...

I look at the wall mirror again. My reflection looks back.

I got startled by my own reflection.

I stare into the glass and see her there, like it was for the first time. I see her emerald coat, and shiny mane and sparkling eyes, and that wonderful silver dress. I smell roses and perfume. “Hello,” I greet her, and I hear her crisp Canterlot accent. I hear classical music. I see her feminine features and elegant horn and... and I smile. She smiles. Then we laugh. I laugh. I don’t know why that’s so funny, but it is!

I sweep up all the broken glass with my magic—magic—laughing all the while. Sweeping up all the things I dropped. Picking up the brush that I was using on my tail and then forgot about! It’s all so... I don’t know! I flick my tail for the joy of feeling it flick, brush a hoof down my side to smooth out the dress. I’m laughing so hard I’m starting to cry, and I don’t know why I can’t stop.

“Oh, shoot!” I’m crying and I just put on eye-shadow! It’s all running down my face and spoiling my makeup. I grab a cloth from the counter, levitating it up to my face to wipe the tears away, but I still can’t stop laughing. It’s all... I feel so...

“Green?” calls Rarity from the other side of the door. She knocks twice, but then opens the door anyway. I see her in the wall mirror, stepping through from the hallway. She’s wearing a shawl today—bright and blue. “Oh my goodness! Green, are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” I insist, even though the tears are still coming. My makeup is hopeless at this point but... that’s okay! It’s okay. I’ll only be a little late. And nopony will care because pretty, famous mares are allowed to be late!

“Did something happen?” Rarity asks, quickly crossing the distance between us. She puts a hoof on my side, turning me towards her. There’s a frown on her face, under those attentive, concerned eyes. “Green, why are you crying?”

She’s blurry through the tears, but I look up at her, and then I hug her! I jump forward and I wrap her up in my forelegs and I squeeze until I’ve knocked the air right out of her. “I’m just so happy,” I say, sniffling into her shoulder, giggling fits still escaping me now and again. I’ve got a big, stupid smile on my face and I know it.

She’s hugging me back. Hesitantly, but who could blame her for that? I am acting a little crazy. “I just...” I make myself let go. Try and force myself to stop crying. Force the tears away. “I got startled by my reflection in the glass. Because it wasn’t me. It was this beautiful, elegant, magical mare. It was this wonderful creature that ponies admire. Famous and important and... and then I realized it was me and...” The tears won’t stop, so forget it! I hug her again. Not quite so tight this time. She needs to breathe.

“Thank you, Rarity,” I say to her, and this time, she hugs me back in earnest. “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much you’ve given me. Beauty. Joy. A life I actually want to live! I owe you so much. You...”

She shushes me with a gentle squeeze. “Oh, Green,” she says, once I’ve quieted down. She pulls back, enough to meet my eyes again, brushing my cheek with a hoof and smiling. I blush. The tears and giggling fits are finally stopping, but it’s so embarrassing to be caught crying like this. I must look so childish. “You don’t owe me anything. You were always beautiful inside. I only helped it express itself,” she says, with an elegant little wiggle of a hoof. She makes it seem so natural.

“That’s not true, Rarity, I...” I swallow, trying to find the words.

Rarity speaks before I can though. “Green?” she cuts me off gently. A little nod of her head makes her horn brush mine—brings our foreheads together. An intimate gesture between unicorns, I’ve learned. I never saw such a thing on the farm. “Working on you was a labor of love. You’re like the daughter I never had, and seeing you happy is the only repayment I will ever need.”

I’m tearing up all over again, but I make myself swallow down those emotions. I make myself look... mature! Regal. Classy. The way I should be. The way I am. “Thank you, Rarity,” I whisper. I don’t know what to say now, so I turn my head back to the countertop. “Sorry I... ruined my makeup. I guess we’ll be a bit late for the party.”

“Green, dear, we are the party,” Rarity assures, with a little titter. I giggle as well. “Now!” she says crisply. Back on topic. “Stand still so I can fix this.”

I do as I’m told, and she wipes off my face and starts quickly applying the makeup. She works so fast. Faster than I ever could. It took me half an hour to do all my makeup the first time, and we’ll be out of here in a few minutes at her rate. “You mind if I ask quick question, dear?” she asks as she works, with an idle, conversational tone. “Do you always cry when you’re happy? I’ve never seen you do that before.”

“No, sorry,” I say, drooping my ears back a little. I try not to change my expression though—it would mess up Rarity’s work. “I’ve been having these weird mood swings lately.”

“Mmm.” She frowns, dusting my face with the makeup kit brush. “We might have to adjust your medication a bit. There’s a new paper out that says long-term mantle use might cause emotional instability.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?” I ask. I’m not really worried. Rarity always overthinks these things. “A little Poison Joke never hurt anypony.”

“Not that bad, but there’s no reason to subject you to avoidable side effects,” Rarity says airily. “Shut your eyes.” I do, and she gets back to work, three brushes all playing over my face together. She’s such a master of her craft.

“There were a few other things I wanted to discuss with you before the party, Green,” Rarity says, tilting my head this and and that as she works. “Two quick favors I needed to ask for. Some ponies at the party I’d like it if you could have a word with.”

“Oh, of course. Anything,” I say at once. “Who do you want me to talk to?”

“Well, first off, there’s Golden Disk,” she says sweetly. “That wiry stallion from the record company you got along with so well last month? They rejected Sweetie Belle’s new album, and the poor thing is so upset. Do you think you could...”

“Flirt a little?” I ask, and Rarity laughs. I smile too, even if I’m not supposed to move when she’s working. “Yes, of course. I can’t believe they rejected Celestia’s Raven. It was beautiful.”

“It was,” Rarity agrees. “But it wasn’t pop. And pop is what’s in this season.” She says it with a hefty dose of irritation, and a hiss of breath to go alongside. “Ugh.”

“Wait. Did you just criticize another pony for being too trend-conscious?” I ask, peeking an eye open to see her face. She’s scowling at me, but not really, and I giggle as she menaces me with the makeup brush like it was a club.

“This has a pointy end, you know!” she threatens, and I shut my eye before she pokes me with it. “And I did not criticize another pony for being, as you said, ‘trend-conscious.’ I criticized them for abandoning their good artistic taste to be a part of the in crowd.”

“That sounds completely different from what you do,” I agree, and this time, she actually does thump me on the head with my tail-brush. “Ow!” I laugh, rubbing at the spot. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m only joking anyway. Raven was good and everypony who heard it knew it.” That’s enough for Rarity, and she gets back to work as I hold still. “What was the other thing you needed?”

“Flim and Flam are going to be there as well, and I happen to know for a fact that they are devout fans of your work,” Rarity says with the most flowing sort of language. Devout fans. Makes it sound romantic. And I guess they are pretty cute. “I was hoping you could have a word with them about the transit ban, and how much you hope they support it.”

My tail goes still. So do my ears. What? “Uh...” I pause, taking a second to think. “Um... why me? That’s a political issue. You’re the councilmare.”

“A councilmare I may be,” she says as she works. Almost done now, I can feel it. “But so is Trixie”—Rarity lets out a little scoff, not quite able to hide the contempt in her voice—“and Trixie has told them in no uncertain terms that I am the vile offspring of Discord and Chrysalis. All I get when I talk to them is a polite smile and nod—they don't listen to a word I say.” She’s finishing up now. Only one brush is still working and I can hear her putting the others away. “Besides, a fresh face never hurts. It’s not a problem, is it?”

“Well, uh... it’s only...” I twitch my tail, cracking one eye open to look at Rarity. I suppose I should be honest with her. “I don’t support the transit ban. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I respect the law. Until you and the others say it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere. And I want to live in Vision—I do. My life is here. You’re here. But that doesn’t mean I never want to visit Equestria again.”

“I’m surprised to hear such a thing from you, Green,” Rarity says, though her tone doesn’t change much. “You hate Celestia more than anypony.”

“Of course I do. She’s a tyrant and a murderer,” I reassure Rarity, “but the transit ban punishes more ponies than just her. I mean... there’s nothing wrong with ponies wanting to see their old home, is there?”

Rarity stares at me for a moment. Just a moment. “No, of course not,” she sweetly reassures me, breaking that brief silence. “I’m sorry—it was rude of me to even ask. I wouldn't want to make you break your promise to your family.”

What?

“How did you...” I start to ask. Then I remember. Smile, quickly. “I... I guess you always know these things. No keeping secrets from you.” She gives a polite smile back and nods, putting the last of the makeup away. Straightening out the countertop. “But it’s not like that.”

“Green, I said it was okay,” she repeats herself, this time adding a gentle chuckle. “There’s no need to feel guilty. I would appreciate your help, but they’re your real family, and you made a promise to them. I’m sure the city will do fine without you.”

Do fine without me? What? She can’t possibly... I don’t... oh! She means do fine without my help persuading Flim and Flam. Fine without my doing her a favor. Of course.

Of course that’s what she meant.

“No, no, Rarity.” I reach over to take her shoulder. On second thought, this is important to her. “You’re my family. You... I... I mean.” I swallow. Well, she’s right, isn’t she? It’s not like one thing I say at a party will make the difference either way. “Of course I’ll help you.”

“Green, really!” Rarity pushes my hooves down, laughing again. “I told you. You don’t owe me a thing. If your earth pony family is more important to you than I am, I understand that, and—”

“Nopony is more important to me than you, Rarity,” I say at once. It’s hard but... I swallow, and I make myself say it. “Even them. They loved me and supported me, but never like you did. You saw the real me. You gave me everything. Of course, if speaking to that stallion is what you need me to do, or-or anything. I’ll do it.”

I’m starting to get all emotional again, choking up, but I make myself press on. “You’re my real family.”

“Oh, Green.” Rarity beams. So soft, so proud. “You don’t know how much it means to hear you say that. Thank you. I do need your help, and... well. I’m glad to know I’ll always have it.” I blush, fold my ears back. Force that lump away. “Ready to go then?”

“Almost.” I grab the brush, smooth away that last knot in my mane, and step out into the hall with her. I leave my dressing room as it is. I’ll clean it up properly later—we need to go now. I consider turning the phonograph off, but the record is almost over so I decide to let it play out. The notes drift after us into the hallway, not entirely muted by the door.

It’s not far to the exit, but there’s somepony waiting for us at the end of the hall. A unicorn mare, in a sparkly yellow dress. It’s very pale, which suits her colors well—eggshell coat, soft grey mane. She’s small, and she looks fragile, but in a dainty way. Delicate. She nods her head respectfully when we reach her.

“Rarity,” she greets us politely. She has a Canterlot accent too. “And you must be Green. A pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” I nod. “You’re the new assistant?” I wrack my head for the name. “Quick... March?”

Rarity giggles. “Not quite, dear,” she says “but I can see how you would make that mistake. They are so similar. Other than their coloration. And gender. And race.” I blush a bit. Maybe I should have listened more closely when Rarity was talking about this earlier. But she doesn’t seem offended. “No, this is Song Bird. She’ll be joining us at the party.”

“I’m sorry,” I take her hoof and shake it gently. “Are you one of the new doctors then?”

“Oh, no.” She gives a polite little shake her head. “I’m Rarity’s new project.”

I blink.

“What do you mean... ‘new project’?” I ask.

Behind us, the record finally plays out, and with a hiss, the music stops.

I’m drooling. Is that normal? I don’t think it’s normal. I feel so strange. So... relaxed. So light. Like my body was made of smoke and I could flow through the room at will. I feel hot. Dizzy. Tired. Aroused. But above all the others, I feel hungry. That watering in my mouth. That pit deep inside me. There’s something I need.

I lean my head down to Green’s legs and find the flowers all around her. The sea of red and blue. I find the vines the flowers grow from, clinging to her body, twisting around her torso. They’re covered in spikes, but my proud herbivore ancestors weren't thwarted by a few thorns, and I won’t be either. I take the vines in my teeth, and I pull. I rip them from her and devour them. I crush the thorns and hear them crunch between my molars. Feel the snap as they break. I rend the flowers down into paste and trap the nectar with my tongue, the spare drops rolling down my chin. They taste incredible. Like ashes.

“You don’t mind, Green?” I ask as I graze my way up her side, tearing the thorny vines from her. “You don’t mind if I take these?” The light inside her shimmers, and I know she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. She’s given me so much—why should she stop now? I give her a little nuzzle. To show I appreciate it.

The taste of the flowers is terribly distracting, but I do find time to think about what I just saw. Such a sad thing. Sadder than her leaving her family. I asked her to show me her joy, and it all ended with a sour note. A hint of fear. Does Green not know how to be happy? Does she not know what that word means? Or was that it? Were those few minutes the only time in Green’s entire life she was happy? I don’t know. I don’t know how much control she has over what I see. How much control I have. I don’t know what this is.

But I feel what this is. So close. So right. Just getting to know a pony. Holding her up to the light and letting her shine.

I eat as I think. I crunch the flowers, and the thorns. I feel Green’s heart beat beside me, flashing lights in crystal. I listen to Echo’s sad song. I hear the hiss of Berry’s respirator. I feel so aware. So fluid! Like there was nothing in the world outside my grasp. But what do I want to see?

“Show me...” I whisper to Green as I tear the vines from her skin, a faint thread of nectar-laden drool running from my chin to her shoulder. “Show me...” For a second, my teeth hesitate.

“Show me how it all went wrong.”

The security alarm is going off again. That keening wail. It’s designed to be unpleasant. A whining, clamorous, high-pitched shriek. The security system jumping out and shouting boo! Run little criminal. Guards are coming. Security is coming. Wiredolls are coming. Run while you still can!

There are no guards though. There are no wiredolls. That alarm’s been going off for near twenty minutes now, and it’s not a wail anymore. Not to me. To me, that alarm is sweet music.

I take another pull off the bottle of hard apple cider and start across the street. I love apples. I love them. I’m an Apple. It’s in my blood. They’re sweet and delicious, and when you need a little courage, they make a fine hard cider. Warms you up even on the coldest night.

It’s cold enough tonight too. There’s a river flowing through the street. Ice water all around my hooves. Tugging at my dress where it brushes the ground. I snarl and yank it up so it won’t get wet. You’d think maintenance could bother once in a while. Half the lights are out too, casting the whole street into shadows. It’s shameful. The Mercury Suites back entrance is right across the way. A nice little security door in the wall, next to the furniture shop.

Trixie’s pet thugs aren’t having any more luck with the bars than they were when they started twenty minutes ago. Three earth ponies, a unicorn, and a pegasus, all trying to smash their way into Flitch Saw’s Furniture. They barely managed to nudge the bars without setting off the alarm, and then spent more time fighting over their only prybar than actually doing anything. Parasites.

They notice me of course, and the big earth pony is quick to step up to me. I get the impression she’s in charge here, if only by virtue of being the biggest and ugliest of the lot. They’re typical Lulamoon street trash. Young, dirty, all marked up, either butt-ugly or with the sort of unnatural beauty that comes out of a bottle. Too perfect, too symmetric. Beautiful ponies with no idea how to use it. It’s repulsive.

“Well hello there, ma’am!” she calls, blocking my path. She is big. Three extra marks, all combat related. Those have gotta be expensive, so I doubt she paid for them. Probably some champion of the herd. All her nasty little friends move around me, snickering and elbowing each other. “Aren’t we looking lovely tonight?”

I take another draw off the cider bottle. A long drink. It’s good stuff. Family made. Applejack never lost her touch. I let out a heavy breath when the swig’s done. “I am. Dunno ’bout you.”

That wasn’t the answer she expected, and she scowls as her little cronies laugh to each other like a pack of hyenas. “Oh, sure ya are. Clever too,” she says, even the illusion of humor gone. “Now how about you hand over those saddlebags?”

How about I break every bone in your miserable body, you little punk. It’s what I want to say. I bet I could take her, too. She’s got all those combat marks, and she’s big, but she also can’t be that old. I doubt she’s ever fought. I’ll take a few years of farmyard brawling over her cheap potions any day. I could take her.

I should take her. I’m no parasite. I earn what I have. I’m better than her. Better than them! I am. I’m better.

But not tonight. Tonight, I’m not better. Tonight’s a special night. Tonight, we’re all just markers in the street. And anyway, it’s not like I could take her four friends at the same time.

I unhook my saddlebags and let them drop the ground. I didn’t bring anything valuable. Nothing unique. Nothing I can’t afford to throw away after. I kick the bags over, and the pegasus snatches them up—rummaging through them with the little silver earth pony. Like vermin going through the trashbins.

“And the bottle,” the big mare orders, gesturing at my cider. I take another drink. It’s smooth stuff. You don’t really taste the kick, but the kick’s there. It’s there.

“How about I do ya one better?” I ask, gesturing at the security door. “Stop horsing around with that security gate. Let me keep the cider and I’ll page you into Mercury Suites. There’s good loot in there. Fancy stuff.”

“Go mount yourself,” the unicorn snaps. A stallion, blue. Wearing some dark jacket with studs. Like his foul mouth is supposed to shock me. “Security has all the doors locked down tonight. The regular codes don't work anymore.”

“Wow, yeah. Yer right. T’get one of security’s special codes, y’all would hafta be somepony rich or influential,” I sneer at him, and let his cheeks burn. “You wouldn’t know anypony like that.”

“Nice accent,” the pegasus says, adding a hefty dose of contempt. Malevolent little wretch. I only glare at him. The others are listening though, I’m pretty sure.

“What’s in it for you?” the big mare asks, with her beady, suspicious little eyes. She’s such a cliche. It’s mares like her who give honest earth ponies a bad name.

“Great and powerful, right?” I ask, lifting a hoof the way they do in those stupid greetings. “Or maybe I hate everypony who lives there.” The cider is almost gone now, but I take another swig. “What’s it to you? Get in there and rattle a few doors.”

They glance at each other for a second, uncertain. “Fine,” the big mare finally says, clearly suspicious. “Show me.” I don’t wait, turning and walking right up to the big door. They all follow along behind me, keeping their distance. Like a squadron of wiredolls was waiting behind the door to ambush them.

“Sonic Rainboom,” I say, testing the old code. Nothing happens, of course. I hear the unicorn snicker behind me, and sneer, my ears folding back. Parasites all of them. Parasites and scavengers. Whatever. I take a breath. “Emergency Security Override A7832, Red, Black, Red.”

The lock mechanisms twist, pulling out the four bolts, and the door slides open with a loud hiss. It opens onto the rear loading dock, a space of empty empty platforms and unhitched carts, but the door inside is there. They’re quick forward, the pegasus scrambling past me and up onto the dock, pushing open the inner door. I don’t look over his shoulder, but I know that door leads to one of the common rooms, so he’s probably totaling up the value of all the gold and hardwood in there.

“We good, Aftershock?” the big mare calls. To the pegasus, I guess, because he turns and nods.

“Yeah, we good.” He pushes the door open as his comrades crowd around him, taking in all the fine furniture, the crystal lamps, the art on the walls. “More stuff here than we can carry.”

“Forget carrying it,” the little silver one says. “We’ve got two carts here. We’re getting all industrial about this looting. Let’s take it all.”

“Don’t waste your time down here.” I shrug and lift the bottle, taking a moment to shake it. The crimson glow of my magic makes the glass dark, so it’s hard to see inside, but I can tell there’s not much cider left. Oh well, I’ve had enough. “The first floor stuff is all shiny, but it’s mostly junk. The really good stuff is on the third floor. That’s where the really rich ponies live. Give a little knock on the door.”

They look back at me, like they only now remembered that I’m here. “Thanks,” the big mare finally says. Then, weirdly, “You gonna be okay?” Gosh, such friendly folk you meet in this city. They’ll rob you, sure, but they’ll walk you home after. Not like it’s personal.

“Save it. We’re not friends,” I answer. I take one more drink off the cider bottle until it’s gone, and then toss it away into the corner. It shatters, but I don’t much care. I head straight for the stairs, leaving the big mare and her gang behind. Let them cause all the trouble they like. I’m moving up in the world! Up about two stories to be specific. To the third floor. Out the door! Down the shiny hall with its fancy carpets and its pretty little paintings on the walls. It’s normally so quiet, but tonight! Tonight, you can hear the alarms everywhere.

Tonight's a good night. I feel good.

Room 344 is right where I thought it would be. Right at the end of the line. That mare and her thugs won’t be far behind me, I bet. Which is good. I knock loudly. Three times.

“Song?” I call. I know she’s in. Her lights were on. “Song Bird? Are you in?” I should introduce myself. Say my name. But I don’t want any of the neighbors to hear.

I hear her hooves on the carpet, and a second later, the door opens a crack. It’s a fancy door. Hardwood, all lacquered up. Pretty. She’s pretty too, staring out at me with those soft grey eyes that match her mane. “Oh, Green!” she says, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“The way back to the Pavilion is cut off. Security’s locked down all the bridges,” I say, keeping my tone steady. Watching her. “I’m sorry to intrude, but there are ponies in the street, and Rarity mentioned you lived here. I—”

“Oh, no! It’s fine. Come in. Come in, quickly,” she urges, opening the door to let me through. I step on inside. She’s got a nice apartment. Studio, with an open kitchen on the left by the door, a marble countertop, and this big living room with all her furniture and her window. It smells like peaches. Real tasteful. Very authentic Canterlot.

She shuts the door behind us. “Are you okay?” she asks. She sounds concerned. That’s sweet of her. “How bad is it out there? Security told us not to leave the building under any circumstances, and I heard there’s rioting in Apollo Square.”

“Yeah, it’s bad tonight,” I say, examining the room more carefully. Like... I don’t know. I’d see something important? Something to talk me out of this? Like, the pictures of all the adorable orphans and sniffling stray kittens she takes care of. But it’s just the usual stuff. “Bunch of trash from Hephaestus and Artemis out in the streets. Breaking in and looting. I don’t know about Apollo, but I saw two full squadrons of wiredolls headed that way, along with a ton of guards.” Yeah, I do see something that matters. She cooks. She has a stove. And a bunch of cooking oil. And a knife block on the countertop. “So I’m guessing it’s not good news.”

“Do you have any idea what happened?” she asks. She’s done up all her door locks, like that would matter, and stepped into the room after me.

I shouldn't talk to her. But, oddly, I find I kind of want to. I kind of want to. Maybe I haven’t had enough cider. Or maybe I’ve had too much. “Well, if I had to guess,” I say, stepping into her living room. Looking around at all the little bits she has here. The modern art wood sculpts, the glasswork she made herself. So tasteful. “I’d say a bunch of ponies found out that the mantles they’ve been popping like candy are actually poison and got a wee bit upset.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Nervous maybe? “Yeah,” she says after that delay, her tone more subdued. Guilty even. That’s new for her. “I’m sorry, Green. I can’t imagine what that must have been like. How are you holding up?”

“Oh, fine,” I say, and then a funny thought occurs to me, and I glance back at her. “Wait. Can’t imagine? I assumed...” I gesture in her direction with a hoof. At her lily-white coat, unbesmirched by a single extra mark. Nothing but that bird on her flanks. “I thought you just painted over.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Rarity had me on two tonics, but they’re both pretty low impact. I quit as soon as I got the news, and the doctors say I’ll probably be fine.”

She’ll probably be fine.

“Well.” I smile at her. “Good for you then.”

Her face goes all stiff. Like she’s finally put something together. “Green... have you been drinking?” she asks, but before I can answer, there’s a crash from down the hall. Splintering wood, and a shout. “What was that!?”

“Looters,” I say with a shrug. “Got into the building. Somehow. We’ll be fine though. They’re all talk.”

She’s nervous now, flicking her gaze back and forth between me and the door. “Green, you’re starting to scare me.”

“Am I? Am I starting to scare you, Song?” I ask, taking a step forward and watching her back away. That felt kind of good, actually. Got my heart racing. “Does something about me intimidate you? I’m a marker, you know. That means I could just...” I wave a hoof. “Snap at any time. Not that there’s anything wrong with those poor ponies.” I sneer at her and flutter my voice the way she does. “But I’d be nervous.”

“Green, I’m sorry, I—”

“Are you sorry? Are you really?” I take another step, watching as she cringes away. “Because you seemed to be enjoying it during the interview. You seemed to have fun calling me an axe murderer in front of thousands of ponies.”

“I wasn’t talking about you, Green,” she insists. Another crash out in the hall. This one’s enough to hold her attention on the door for almost a full second, before she turns back to me. “Green, we can argue later. I think those sounds are getting—”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. She’s got a nice bottle of wine on the counter. A fruit wine, with some mare’s cutie mark on the label. It’s not cider, but it’s a close second, and I levitate it over, popping the cork. “You were never talking about me, were you? Not during that interview. Not during all the others. You’d never say my name. I’d always be ‘some singers’ or ‘markers in general.’ Because you’d never slander a rival.”

“Okay, Green, that’s enough!” she says as I take a drink. Good wine. “If... okay, I obviously hurt you, and I’m sorry. I really wasn’t talking about you during those interviews, but if you need to get something off your back, I can listen. Right now though, I let you into my home out of the kindness of my heart, and there are looters outside! We’ll argue later. Here and now, we’re in trouble and we need to keep safe.”

“You’re in trouble,” I correct her. Swishing the wine a bit. “Us addicts, we stick together, you know?” I lift a hoof the way they do. “Great and Powerful.”

And now, she realizes exactly how much trouble she’s in. I can see it on her face. That dawning revelation. Where that nervousness turns to real fear. “Green—”

“Envy,” I correct her. “It’s what everypony calls me these days, isn’t it? Envy this, Envy that.” I make a wide gesture with the bottle. “I kind of liked it at first, you know? I thought, you’re a better singer than me, sure, and maybe prettier, and maybe a better actor, but I’ve got my bit. Maybe that bit’s not as fancy as yours, but it’s my bit and I like it. So what if I only fill seats because of my looks? The crowd has fun. I have fun. I don’t do anything unwholesome. I’m a good role model about it. And it’s a good name, Envy. Feels feminine.” I take another drink. “Do I look feminine to you?”

“Okay, okay. Green? I know you’re upset.” She says it quickly, and pulls back into the kitchen as she does. She wants to flee for the door, but she can still hear the crashes outside. Somepony screaming. “You’ve gotten some very bad news and you’re... you’re trying to find a way to deal with it. That’s okay. I deserve that probably. Let’s just sit down and—”

“What did I ever do to you, Song?” I ask. My breaths are coming faster now. My heart’s pounding in my chest. This energy inside me. A tense, twitchy sort of feeling! Like too much coffee. “It wasn’t enough that you beat me in every field I ever competed in? That you were better than me at everything I ever tried to do? You had to humiliate me for the bargain?”

“I didn’t start that rumor, Green!” she insists, backed up against the counter now. “I don’t even think it’s true!”

“But it is true, Song. My little secret’s out.” I strip off my dress, and let it pile in silver folds on the floor. No dress, no saddlebags. Just me. Naked in all my glory. I turn my flank to her so she can take it all in, while I take another drink. “So how do I look, Song? Am I pretty? Am I sexy? Am I feminine? Magic? Do I look real to you?”

“Yes, Green, you’re very real,” she says. As if! I can see her eyes darting back and forth. “You’re real in every way and I’m sorry I—”

“Liar!” I scream, hurling the wine bottle at her. It explodes against the countertop, and she shrieks, flinching away from the impact as droplets of wine and bits of glass go flying in all directions. “That’s not what you said before! I remember every word. Maybe audiences can tell the real thing from a fake. Authenticity is in, you know. Maybe the reason some performers are so popular with certain demographics”—I sneer out the words out one at a time—“is that they have an inside perspective.”

“I’m sorry, Green! I’m sorry, I—” She breaks for the door, but I grab her before she can. She’s weak. Slight frame, no muscle mass, barely enough telekinesis to lift a teacup. Blood red light appears around her ankles as I freeze her in place, magically yanking her back into the kitchen. “Help!” she screams. “Somepony hel—!”

Then the red glow extends around her throat, and her words die with a gasp.

“Do you think I did this to myself for fun?” I ask. She’s struggling, squirming in my grasp, but it’s no use. “Do you think I nearly died on the operating table for kicks? Do you think I swam in a lake of drugs because gosh I just love mantles so much?” Her horn glows as she grabs another bottle off the counter to swing at me. I yank it out of the air with hardly any effort, and then bring it down hard against her face. The glass shatters, cutting deep gashes down her cheek, and even with my grip on her throat, I can hear her muffled little scream.

“Do you know what I went through to be here!?” I bellow at her, watching her tremble as the blood pours down her cheek. “What it was like to be me? Always having to hide from my family’s judgment. Always sneaking around. Always with secrets to keep! And then I come here, to the one place in the world I can finally be free, and you ruin it!” My voice cracks with the force of the yell, and she tries to pull away. I can see her eyes watering. That glisten.

“Everything I ever wanted in life you were born with,” I say, levitating the knife block over and picking out a promising candidate. A nice sharp vegetable knife. She sees it, and her eyes go wide, and that little kick of energy comes again! My own eyes are burning, but I like that feeling when I see her afraid. That good feeling. “I didn’t want to be the best. I never cared that you were number one. I just wanted to be one of you. To be a part of your world.” I shake my head at her, lowering my voice. “You couldn't even give me that.”

“Please.” There’s hardly any sound, but I can see her mouthing the words, struggling to get air. Her eyes are wide and full of tears, the droplets rolling down her face and washing through her cuts. Her coat is so white, the blood stains it instantly, turning her whole chest a shade of scarlet and pink. “I’m sorry. Please.” I can see her barrel heaving, attempting to sob. “Green, you’re not a murderer. You don’t want to be one!”

“No, I don’t!” I shout, swinging the knife through the air, watching her flinch away from it. “No, I don’t, Song! So why are you turning me into one, huh? You think this is what I left home to become!?” That burning in my eyes has turned to tears, but I press on anyway. “I only wanted a place in the world! I earned that!”

“Yes, Green—”

“Shut up!” I scream, jamming the knife down into her shoulder, watching her squeal in pain and pull away. “Shut up! I worked hard for what I am. Everything you were given I slaved away to earn! I’ve given, Song! I gave to Equestria, I gave to this city, I gave to Rarity and the Pavilion! I gave to you!” I reach up the wipe away the tears, squeezing them away, forcing my eyes to dry.

“And all you did was take. Take. Take. Take. You filthy parasite. You took my career, my joy, my life, my pride. My ability to show my face in public!” My voice cracks again as I scream, but who cares? Walls here are thick, and that alarm is still wailing. “You took everything, just because it offended you that I had it.”

“No, Green, please.” She gags around my grip on her throat. “Please, I’m sorry I’ve wronged you. But don’t do this. You don’t have to do this. You’re not some drugged-up psychotic street thug. You’re a good pony at heart. You’re not a murderer!” I tighten my hold, until she can’t get any air at all. Her eyes go wide, as she mouths the last word. “Please.”

I look at her. I look at her. See her chest heave as she tries desperately to get air. See her body shake. See her skin shift every time her heart beats. The little motions of the veins. I see her cry, sob, beg for life.

And when I’m done watching, I grab her mane to hold her head back, and plunge the knife into her neck.

My chest and barrel go tight. Just watching. There’s so much blood, pouring out of her every time her heart beats. The knife drags through her flesh like it was cutting through a bundle of hay—lots of little things that snap on the way through. At first, she thrashes like she was having a seizure, lashing out with a strength I didn’t know she had. I almost lose her, for a second. But, she’s not that strong, and soon her whole chest is a bright red, covered in crimson rivers that draw all the way down to her forelegs. Her thrashing gets weaker, and weaker.

Then it stops.

I guess she was wrong about me.

That feeling in my chest is back. In my heart. That energy. That electric drive. It’s powerful. Affirming. Like I was getting a pat on the back, and a nod that I did the right thing. I wonder if that feeling is madness. If that’s what it’s going to feel like all the time when I finally go insane. If I haven’t already.

I should run, but I spend a while staring at the body. It’s so... visceral. She’s hanging there by her mane, legs limp and tangled under her, throat slit open, head tilted back to show all the bits in her neck. Her eyes are wide and glassy, and her entire front—chest and forelegs—is covered in blood, running from that gash. I guess I expected a corpse to be... something else. Something different. But it’s just a mare who won’t ever move again.

I never thought I could kill another pony, so this is a big moment for me, but I don’t... I don’t feel joy that she’s dead. Watching her body hang there in mid-air as her blood drips to the floor doesn’t make me... I don’t know. Complete. I’m not getting some sick thrill out of it. She deserved it—she deserved it and more—but I can’t make myself happy that she’s gone. All I feel is a sort of smouldering anger, and that tense electricity. There’s not much the other way either. I know that I’m a murderer now, but there’s no guilt. It’s...

Easy. It was easy. She was bad, and I punished her for what she did. She wronged me, and I made it right. I made her a statistic. Murdered by looters during a day of rioting, because security couldn't get there fast enough.

I’ve crossed a line. I know I have. But it doesn’t hurt like it should. Maybe I have gone mad. Maybe I’ll regret this in the morning. But tonight, it wasn't even difficult.

The glow fades from my horn, and she hits the floor with a wet smack.

I pick my dress back up off the floor and slide it up over my shoulders. It feels right, that the dress was here for this. It’s a special dress, and it was here for me in a special time.

I open the door, and walk out into the hall. Already, a few doors are broken in, valuables tossed out into the hall. I leave Song Bird’s apartment open behind me and immediately turn to take the other stairwell. I walk down and out into the street. I walk out into the night, with its flickering lights, and seawater, and the security alarm still blaring. And I keep walking, until I can’t hear the alarm behind me.

You are my sunshine. Raise this barn. Piano Sonata #5 in C Minor. The security alarm. All together. All pounding around me at once. A shuddering breath escapes from between my lips. I love music so much.

The flowers are almost gone now. I’ve eaten all of them about her hooves, and legs, and barrel, and neck. All that’s left is the laurels on her head, and my stomach is still snarling. Hissing. I weave my way up her side, curled about her, settling my teeth on the last blooms. “Was that supposed to scare me?” I ask her, whispering into her ear as I tug at the vines there. I pull them free and crush them. “Was that supposed to drive me away? Are you so afraid I might actually like you?”

She doesn’t answer, which makes me laugh. It’s so adorable, to see her nervous. Her of all ponies. “Oh, Green,” I whisper, giving her neck a squeeze. “I always knew. I always knew you were vain, and petty, and a killer. I saw that madness in your eyes. I saw you cut off a mare’s face.” That makes me giggle, and I pluck another vine, enjoying the crunch.

“I’m not Rarity, Green. She wanted to fix you, but I never cared that you were a monster. I just wanted you to be my monster.” Only one bloom left. “My murderous protector.”

I reach out and slide my teeth around the last bloom ever so gently. I tear it and its roots from her forehead, savoring the taste as I grind it up. There are none left now, but I still feel like I’m starving. Like I could devour the whole world.

“That’s how it works, isn’t it? Kill the wizard, loot their tower. Slay the dragon, get the hoard.” The drool is coming again. That deep, gnawing feeling. “But I don’t want Rarity’s gold and jewels, Green. I want her really valuable possessions. You know.” I laugh, “like your soul.”

“Would you like that, Green?” I ask, pulling her close, sliding my teeth in around her ear. So hungry. “Would you like to be mine?” Mine forever.

She doesn’t say anything, which I take as a yes. My teeth close around her, and I feel bone meet crystal. Feel it crack, feel it snap, feel it chip, and shatter, and break. I bite until there’s no more crystal. Until there’s flesh. Until I draw blood.

Until Green shrieks at the top of her lungs.

Heart's Desire, Part 2

Ice water feels different on bare skin. A coat may not be real fur, but it still offers some protection. The hair holds the water back—keeps it away. With a coat, a drop of ice water is dulled. Only a chill. Without that shield, it’s sharp. Precise. A single dot of frost, rolling its way down my neck, leaving the ghost of sensation in its wake. Like the edge of a knife. It works its way down my throat, until it catches right above my chest. It hangs there a moment, and finally tumbles away. The cold is gone, and only the scar is left in its wake.

I let things stay like that for a bit—wimping out I guess—but I finally press the washcloth into my face. It’s freezing, and I can feel all the skin in my face tighten up on contact. It’s a biting chill, a nasty cold that works its way down into my flesh. The droplets running down my bare neck make it even worse, but it’s okay. I needed that. I needed it to wake up.

I’m awake.

Mostly awake, anyway. The alertness the cold brought is already slipping away, drifting off into the haze around me. I try to hold onto it as best I can, dipping the washcloth back into the bowl and starting to scrub my face, rubbing the fabric up and down. I still have hair there, which is nice. I mean, it’s not a huge deal, but... yeah. It’s nice that I’m not completely bald. That would be bad.

I think I stare off into space for a little while, because I suddenly come to, and I realize I can’t remember what I was doing. It’s so tempting to put my head down and rest more, but I can’t. I bring the washcloth back up to my face once again and scrub hard, letting the icy water and harsh abrasion shock me back into sensibility. I’m sure the effect is only temporary, but I can feel it working. My skin tightens, and my thoughts clear. That’s good. I need to be awake. This isn’t a city that rewards complacency. So I press on with the cloth, moving down past my shoulders and starting on my barrel. No hair there either. I’m bare pretty much all over.

There’s no mirror, which is probably a good thing. I’m sure I look terrible—glassy-eyed, and sunken, and all those other things. My skin is freakishly pale, a fact that’s clearly visible since nearly every part of my body is shaved. The only color left is a bit of pink on my face, back, and flanks, but all that does it make it clear how pasty the rest of me is.

Of course, there’s not much doubt as to why I’m so pale. The scars on my barrel and ankles have gained some new friends. I’ve got little silver lines all up and down my shoulders, and one big surgical scar that runs all the way down my torso. Right along my undercarriage.

That scar is still red and angry, but it doesn’t hurt, and the nurse said it isn’t infected. All my other scars healed over into these little silver lines; maybe this one will too. It’s not that big a deal though. They’re not burn scars like my ankles, so the hair will grow back. And even if they don’t clean up, it’s only my appearance. I shouldn’t make a bigger deal out of this than... well. Than it is.

Right.

It’s not that my looks aren’t important to me. They are. They still are, I mean. That didn’t change. I can just put it in perspective. Yeah, I’m gorgeous, and it’s a shame that that’s probably ruined, but I’m alive. And when the last thing you remember is getting stabbed in the heart, being alive is... I don’t know. It’s a thing.

I probably shouldn't be so calm about that. Must be the exhaustion talking. I’ll freak out later or something. Or I won’t.

It’s like an irony, I guess? They shaved everything but my face and flanks, so for now, I’m Siren Song and Daring Do and nothing else. I know that the hair will grow back, but it still feels meaningful somehow. Or something. That counts, I think.

I spend a little while trying to puzzle that out, before I realize I’ve zoned out again. Dangit. Shaking my head makes the room spin a bit, but at least it snaps me out of it, and I raise a leg to start cleaning under my shoulders. All that philosophizing is a waste of time anyway.

Washing up will help me wake up, and besides, I need a good scrubbing. I had the most disturbing dreams when I was recovering from surgery. They weren’t ordinary nightmares, but these dark, sinister, perverse things, where sometimes I was me, and sometimes I was Green. I dreamed that a nurse gave me Rarity’s tea, and that Echo was playing the guitar, and that I licked Green’s ear and then bit it till it bled. The dreams weren't scary exactly—at the time, they were actually really sort of fun—but they left me feeling sickened and dirty. More to the point, they left me soaked with sweat, and now I’m disgusting. I had no idea sweat clings to bare skin. I’m actually sticky.

The water has warmed up a bit by now, but it’s still refreshingly cold, and the washcloth works well to scrub the sweat away. Nurse Tenderheart talked me through a lot of stuff for recovering from surgery. Part of that is not getting the scar wet until it’s fully healed, which means no baths or showers for at least a few weeks. There’s also a bunch of stuff about not exerting myself, talking walks every day, a high-iron diet to replace all the lost blood, that sort of thing. It’s all in this bundle of paper she gave me. I tucked it into my saddlebag. The one with all the apples.

My belt and that saddlebag are comforting. Even more comforting than my surroundings. Waking up in Doctor Stable’s office seems like a good thing, but it doesn’t make any sense. There was no way out of those tunnels that didn’t end with one of the Elements of Harmony. How did Echo get us out of there? The most obvious explanation is that he betrayed us, and that Doctor Stable is a double-agent, but... no. After what happened to me the last time I was here, I might believe that Stable is a traitor, but prisoners don’t get to keep their weapons. Not falling for that one twice.

It still doesn’t add up though. Like, how exactly did those knives end up back in my belt? I remember leaving one in a guard and the other on the floor. And it’s only weirder for how cagey the nurse was when I talked to her. She said my three friends were fine, but refused to give any details. She also said the doctor would be in soon to discharge me, so hopefully I’ll find out the truth soon.

Of course, she did reveal a little bit, if only incidentally. She said my three friends were fine, so Echo evidently got all of us out. She might have been hiding something about Berry or Trixie or Rarity or... something. But Green is here. Green is okay. She’s still a statue, but now I’ve got time to figure out how to fix that. I’ve got time to see if Rarity survived, and to make a plan for how to hide out if she did. There are still things left to do, but... I did good. I did good.

Right.

It’ll be good to see Green again, when we’re not pressed for time. Even if she is a statue. I’ll get a chance to hold her—to feel that she’s safe and out of Rarity’s grasp. I have so much to tell her. I’m not sure she can hear me when she’s petrified, but even if she can’t, it’ll be good to practice. To say those things to her now, so I know what to say when she wakes up again. I need to tell her that I made it all right again. That I saved her. That I know everything she’s done for me, and that I want to repay it all. I need to tell her that she doesn’t have to be alone in the world anymore.

She’ll like that.

Trixie has plans for us, no doubt. She needs me to pay off her debts to Celestia, and Green was always useful. I don’t mind that so much though. I’ll work something out. Trixie’s lead rival just got stabbed in the eye, so she’s probably busy taking advantage. I can spin something that keeps Green and me together. Trixie’s not the type to be grateful, but I’ve proven my worth to her. That’ll be enough.

Besides, it’s not like I’m asking her for much. All I really need is a job. Something to pay for an okay place. I could be a singer, or an assassin or something, or take a job in Neptune’s Bounty. If Rarity is dead, Green and I could move up to the nice part of town. Like, neighbors or splitting a flat or something. If she’s alive... I don’t know. That gets trickier. But I bet there’s something we can work out.

I never did get a really good map of the city in my head. We’ve been using the tram to get around so much, I don’t know where Artemis Suites is in relation to everything else. But it can’t be the only part of the city out of Rarity’s reach. And even if it is, it could be fixed up a little. Plug some of those leaks, clean out the dead plants. Get some salt-water resistant trees instead or something. Those might grow.

Green would probably be good at that. Growing plants. That’s farm stuff, sort of. I saw a bit of that, in my dream? Like, this messed up version of her life on the farm. I don’t think I’m going to mention that to her—telling another pony you were dreaming about them seems weird—but it did make me curious about what her life was actually like. Was she a real farmpony? Pulling plows and stuff? Or did they have her stay inside and tend the house? She mentioned something about apple bucking once, so it’s probably the first one. She is pretty big.

Not like muscle-bound earth pony big though. More tall and elegant. Lithe. Unicorns can be athletic too.

I roll over a little, so I can scrub my underside. I know that my thoughts are wandering, and that my time would be better spent planning, but it’s hard to make myself focus. My mind is too sluggish, my head is too heavy, and besides, even if Doctor Stable is a traitor, what am I going to do? Fight my way out? The only thing I can hope to do now is talk to Trixie, and that’ll all depend on how she opens the conversation. That ball is in her court now.

I’m still mulling that over when the door latch clicks. I’ve got barely enough time to sit up before it swings open and Doctor Stable steps inside. He hasn’t changed much: greying mane, professional shirt and tie, little glasses on the end of his nose. “Hello there, Siren,” he says, all friendly. Even his professional attitude is the same. I mean, I’m good enough to catch the little glint of hesitation in his eyes before he says it, but most ponies wouldn't have. It’s subtle. “How are we feeling?”

“Grateful to be alive,” I say, putting the washcloth away and turning off the tap. We’re in a patient recovery room, which is pretty much exactly like an exam room, except there’s a bed instead of a table and it has a small sink. I’m sitting lengthwise on the bed, facing the door, which gives me clear access to my knives if it comes to that. It won’t though. I can see that much. My focus should be on winning his favor, not on a physical confrontation. “I assume I have you to thank for that?”

“Well, I performed your surgery, but I can’t take all the credit,” he says, gesturing for me to roll over. I do, onto my side, so that he can get at the scar. He’s all business, leaning over to examine me. His tone is casual though. A bit too much. He’s using it to hide something. Stress, I think. “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think you were going to make it. You’ve got an incredible will to live.”

“Was I that bad off?” I ask. It’s already perfectly obvious, but it’ll make him feel better to tell me. And stuff. I don’t know what specifically I need to win his approval for, but it might be important, and it doesn’t cost me much to get.

“Young mare,” he says, taking a moment to adjust his glasses as he shifts into his doctor-lectures-patient voice. It’s a hair condescending, but that’s okay. It’ll make him feel important, which is what I wanted to accomplish. “When you arrived here, you’d been stabbed clear through the heart with a serrated knife and then dragged around the city, untreated, for the better part of an hour. You’d lost so much blood I had trouble finding your pulse. I’d like to say that my surgical skills brought you back, but frankly, the fact that we’re having this conversation is nothing short of a miracle.”

Oh. I didn’t realize... well. It’s no matter. “I still think some thanks are in order, Doctor,” I say a little quietly. Like I was shocked. Which I’m not. I felt Quick March stab me, so it shouldn't be any surprise.

“Well, I’ll make a note that you’re lucid enough to remember your courtesy, but really, Siren, it’s not necessary,” he assures me with a little waggle of his hoof. “Now,” he continues, back in that businesslike tone, ”tell me how you’re feeling. Are you in any pain?”

“No pain,” I say, holding a hoof over my chest to be sure. The scar is still red, but it’s not sensitive like it was infected, and there’s no burning or anything. “But I feel physically weak, my heart is pounding, and I keep zoning out mentally. Losing my train of thought.”

“Given what you’ve been through, that’s all perfectly normal,” Doctor Stable says, though he still takes the stethoscope out of his pocket and listens to my heart for a few seconds. “You’re out of danger, but your body has still been through a shock. You should allow another six to eight weeks for a full recovery.” He shifts the stethoscope to my side, and I take a deep breath like he expects. “Did Nurse Tenderheart explain what you’ll need to do during your convalescence?”

“Keep the scar dry,” I repeat her instructions. “Light walks, starting at ten minutes every day and working up as I can handle more. Stick to the diet described in the little packet. Come into the office immediately if the scar turns purple or starts to ooze.”

“Very good,” he says. And then he falls quiet. I glance down at him as he works, and I catch a frown. The stress showing. He looks back at me, sees me watching, but doesn’t know what to say. It’s an awkward moment, even if it doesn’t last a quarter of a second, and his eyes flick back to my scar at once. Stress, yes. But he’s not angry with me. It’s something else.

“Well, this seems to be healing fine,” he says, rising. I take that as my cue to sit up. “You have a long recovery ahead, but I think you’ll pull through.” Another pause. This is when he’s supposed to say he’s discharging me, but he’s hesitating. Why? What does he not want to say?

I jump in, before he can overcome that barrier. “Yes, I think so,” I say, glancing down at the floor and flicking my tail a bit. “Doctor? There was something else I needed to um... to tell you.”

“Yes?” he asks, adjusting his glasses as he refocuses his attention. I wait, staring at the floor and drawing it out long enough for him to add, “What is it?”

“Last time I was here...” I hesitate, and when he leans in closer, I shrink away. A slight widening of my eyes sells the uncertainty. Biting my lip is overdoing it a bit, but he’s not that perceptive, so it’s important I make sure he gets it. “Um.” I swallow, speaking more quickly now. “Well. I overheard you and Berry and... and I appreciate you sticking up for me. Even after I was rude to you. And I realize I... probably put you in a bad position. Doing what I did.” I’m watching him as I go, and the softening in his face signals that I’m on the right track. Sympathy—that’s why he hesitated. That’s why he’s stressed. Sympathy he can’t act on.

“So I’m, ah...” I turn my head down to the bed. “I’m sorry. Doctor.”

He pauses before he answers, using the time to pat my shoulder with a hoof. I think it’s the stiffest, most awkward pat I’ve ever received—not the physically affectionate type, Doc Stable. “It’s... quite alright, young mare. Siren.” He amends my name quickly. “It’s not the first time Trixie has yelled at me.”

He pauses again, and when he continues, he’s injected a little artificial cheer into his voice. “And you know, Daring Do’s addiction factor is very low. If you don’t take anything else, it should wear off on its own in about two weeks now.” Two weeks? That soon? I guess the bottle did say fifteen to forty days. “There’s a support group I could—”

“Thank you, Doctor, but it’s alright. You don’t have anything to be guilty about.” I shake my head. “I don’t know if she told you, but... Berry took your advice, in the end.” I highly doubt that Berry’s decision was actually motivated by any such thing, but that hardly matters now. “She didn’t... make me take it. She gave it to me, and explained that it would help keep me safe, and said it was my choice. And it was my choice.”

Right.

Anyway. That about melts his heart, so, yeah. Brownie points won. Mission accomplished and all that.

“Well, that’s ah... that’s good,” he says as he struggles to recover his wits—speaking just to have something to fill the silence. “I can still direct you to that support group, if you want.”

“Does that imply I’ll be in a position to attend such a support group?” I ask, as pointedly as I can without breaking this sad little character I’ve put together. He freezes. Tense body, tense tail, tense eyes. Now we’re getting to the heart of the matter.

“I think that’s up to Trixie,” he finally says.

“Then can you tell me what’s happened with Trixie?” I ask. A little tilt of the ears shows attention, puts him on the spot. He won’t consciously notice it though. “And what’s going to happen to me?”

“I can’t really say what Trixie is planning, of course,” Doctor Stable says. Opening with a qualifier—not good news then. “But she’s asked me to prepare a round of tonics that you’ll be able to take in your weakened state. To ah.” He takes off his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt. “Substantively alter your appearance.”

“What?” I ask, sitting up straighter. “Why? Why would she do that?”

“Well, it’s an irony, really,” he says, shaking his head and putting his glasses back. “When you first came into my office, Trixie was concerned you might be a criminal who changed her face to beat the rap. And now it seems the prophecy is fulfilled. You’re Vision’s Most Wanted, Siren. There’s half a million bits for whoever brings Rarity your head.”

So Rarity survived then. I let out a breath and slump my shoulders. I should have known. The knife was too level. It went through her face, not through her brain. Heck, other than her eye, the damage was probably only cosmetic. Now Green and I will have to... well. Go undercover. I guess I should be glad Trixie is about to help with that.

It is strange though. That Trixie would want to keep me. She’s playing some kind of game, and I don’t think I even know the rules, much less what this move means. But whatever. She can stuff her plans-within-plans. I don’t really care what she’s up to.

“What about Green?” I ask, shaking my head to clear it. I need to focus on what’s important. “Is there a price on her head too?”

“Ah, no. That is the one spot of good news in all this,” Doctor Stable says quickly, eager to be back on a positive note. “The first round of wanted posters did mention you stole a precious statue out of the Pavilion and that there was a reward for its return, but since then, there’s been no update listing Green as an active fugitive. It seems that Rarity is genuinely unaware that her assassination attempt failed.”

Her what? “Her what?” I ask, as quick as I can. What assassination attempt!?

“The nurse didn’t tell you?” Doctor Stable asks, because he is the dumbest pony to ever live! No, she told me and I’m asking for fun.

“No, she didn’t. Doctor, what happened to Green?” I demand, all my attention focused on him. I stare into his eyes and order him to tell me. Forget the act! He freezes again. “Doctor!”

“She ah...” he manages. He’s watching me closely, worried how I’ll take it. “Two days ago, she abruptly turned from stone back into living tissue, and immediately went into massive withdrawal. We didn’t know what was happening at the time, but Trixie later confirmed that Rarity had somehow negated her initial enchantment from a distance, evidently in an assassination attempt. It seems that whatever spell restored Green also purged all of the poison joke from her bloodstream, and well... she nearly died, Siren.”

What!? I scramble off the bed, coughing as my breath catches in my lungs. “Where is she?” I demand. “Is she okay?” He said she nearly died. As in didn’t. But then why is his expression so worried!? “Is there any permanent damage?” I ask, raising my voice so he’ll get the hint and answer me!

“Some, yes. But it was light under the circumstances,” he says, but he’s not leading me to the door. He’s not moving to let me see her. He’s prevaricating and his body is tense and he’s cleaning his glasses again to try to buy time! Oh no. “She experienced mutation of the epidermis, intestine, and liver, but in all three cases it seems to be benign. She further experienced mutation of the heart, which required immediate surgery, but I believe she will recover.” He rattles the symptoms off one at a time, trying to calm me with that stupid doctor voice!

“She also suffered an extreme deformation of the middle phalanx bone in her rear left hoof which necessitated amputation,” he continues, like that made any sense! He amputated her hoof and he calls it light damage!? “But that seems to be the extent of it.”

“What about mental damage?” I say quickly. “Is she okay? I want to see her. Now.”

“Mental damage is difficult to assess—”

“I said now, Doctor!” The strain of shouting makes me wheeze and cough, and the effort of standing up is already making my limbs feel weak. My body is so heavy, but I can walk. I can walk far enough anyway.

“Siren, I understand how you feel, but getting worked up will only...” I look into his eyes. I don’t... I don’t glare. Getting angry would only make him tell me to calm down and I don’t want to calm down! I want him to take me to Green, and I... I make him feel that. That’s what I do. That’s my thing. I look at him, and I use body language and stuff, and... and he gets it. I make him get it.

He pauses and adjusts his glasses again. “I just don’t want you getting your hopes up.”

“I understand that, Doctor, but I want to see her.” I levitate my belt and saddlebag from across the room, dropping them over my back. It feels like they’re full of lead bars, and I’m struggling to stand wearing them, but I don’t let it show. “Please.”

He hesitates, but only a moment. Then he nods, opens the door, and we go together. We go out into the hall, into the white corridors with the fancy columns and the gold fittings. We go down the way and around the bend, past a big window overlooking the city, and up to another door. Another recovery room. Doctor Stable’s horn glows as he pulls the door open.

And there she is.

She’s lying in bed, on her back, legs held in place by metal bars so she can’t roll over. She’s surrounded by IVs and equipment—bottles full of water and drugs, tubes up her nose to give her oxygen. She’s shaved for surgery, exactly like I am. That beautiful emerald is gone except for bits of her face and flanks, and her skin is... waxy. Waxy like the markers in the wharf. There’s a shine to her, a glistening—sweat. She’s dripping sweat, even though the room is cold. The stink of poison joke is so strong. That disgusting, sweet odor. Her eyes are shut, so I glance at her back legs. There’s a stump and bandages where her left ankle should be.

Then I sense motion. She turns her head to look at me! Opens her eyes.

“Sweetheart?” she whispers.

“Green!” I shout, dashing across the space. Even those few steps make my legs cry out, and my scar starts to burn, but I don’t care! I try to leap up onto the bed beside her, but I can’t get off the ground. She’s reaching for me! My horn glows, and I toss off that stupid belt and saddlebags. Without the weight, I can get my forehooves up on the bedside, and lean in around all the tubes and wires and the bars. I can get my legs around her neck.

“Oh, Green,” I whisper to her. My vision is all blurry by now, but it’s okay. It’s okay. I know she doesn't like it when I cry, but just this once, she’ll forgive me. I know she will. She can’t hug me back with her legs bound up, but that doesn’t matter. I can feel her heartbeat, feel her nod her head to nuzzle against the top of mine. I can feel it all, and that’s enough. “You’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Sweetheart,” she whispers, and I can hear the strain in her voice. How tired she is. “It’ll take more’n that to kill me.” She sounds like herself! With her little smile and her reassurances and that stupid, stupid inconsistent accent. I never thought I’d love hearing it so much.

“I’ll give you two a little while,” Doctor Stable says. I don’t look back at him. “I’ll be up the hall. Call a nurse when you need me.” I hear the door click. Then we’re alone.

I expect her to say something, but she doesn’t. I don’t know if it’s because she’s tired or if she’s being patient, but she lets me cry myself out, and when the crying is done, I listen. With my ear against her neck, I can hear her heart, hear her breathe, feel her barrel rise and fall. Her heartbeats have fallen into time with the lights. Thump-thump, humm-buzz, about once a second. It makes it feel like the room is a part of her. Like I’m closer to her. She’s oily and she stinks, but I couldn’t care less.

“Yer legs are startin’ to shake there, Sweetheart,” she murmurs, briefly going full power on her accent. She’s right though. My back legs are shaking. Even without my saddlebags, I feel like I’m carrying a ton of weight. “You want to pull up a chair maybe?”

Heh. Yeah. That would make more sense, wouldn’t it? I pull my head back and smile at her, and she smiles at me and I blush a little at how stupid and emotional I’m being. It takes a bit of work for me to get my hooves back on the floor, and when I’m done, my heart is pounding. At least there’s a little mini-couch in the room, and my magic is strong enough to drag it up to the bedside.

“I heard you’re the one that saved me,” Green says, turning her head to the side to watch me. She’s weak, I can tell, but her eyes are alert. Focused. She’s not delirious or... or worse. “Didn’t believe it at first.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” I say, grinning a little as I sit down across from her. It’s hard not to, seeing her like that. Seeing us safe together. I’m downright giddy. “I got Echo, and Berry, and-and Trixie onboard as well, and we snuck in through this secret passage.” My voice gets faster the more I talk. I have so much to tell her! “And I think Echo had bombs because things started exploding and we blew up like half the Pavilion and when everything was flooding I jumped up and-and I stabbed Rarity right in the eye!”

I make a sharp little stabbing gesture to show what I mean, and Green nods. She knows I’m a hero! That little grin on my face is ear to ear now, and I keep right on going. “With the knife you gave me, even. You should have heard Rarity scream. It was brilliant! And it gets better, because Echo actually hanged Quick March. Right there from the rafters!” I bet she’s loving this. I know she is. “I took Rarity’s eye for you. I spilled her blood and hanged her dog and burned her house down! All because she wouldn’t let you go.”

Green wants to say something, but I cut her off before she can, reaching up to hold her hoof with mine. “And it’s better, Green. It’s better than that because Rarity thinks you’re dead. I’m so sorry about what happened to you. About your hoof.” I glance at the stump, but I press on. “But she thinks you’re dead, Green! She’ll never search for you again. You’re free! We’re free. I...” My horn glows, brushing the hair out of her face. “I fixed it, Green. I fixed it.”

“You sure did,” she says, pausing to take a breath. With her mane pulled away, I can see her face in full. It’s so easy to tune the rest of her out—to ignore the shaved patches and sweat. To just stare at her face, and watch her emerald eyes, and see how happy she is. She’s tired, but she’s happy. “...Sweetheart,” she finishes the sentence, once she’s recovered. “Earned your... happy ending.” Her words are broken up by slow breaths, so carefully drawn.

“I...” I start to tear up again, but no! No. Once is quite enough, and I force them away. “It’s okay, Green. You don’t have to talk. You’re tired. Rest now.” There’s so much I need to tell her, but she’s struggling to keep her eyes open. She doesn’t have a big conversation in her. I’m excited, but for her, I can wait. We’ll have all the time in the world to talk later.

She shuts her eyes and rolls her head back onto the pillow. I’m pretty tired as well, so I do the same thing—lower my head to the couch, shut my eyes. It’s nice to lie there. I haven’t felt this way...

I haven’t felt this way since Canterlot. There’s nothing wrong, there’s nothing amiss. I’m not hiding from the world under the covers or shoving away some existential dread. I’m just relaxing with a pony I care about. A pony who taught me so much. Sure, we’re both shaved and beaten and scarred, but when you get past all that, it’s... it’s like a lazy weekend with the Princess. Curled up under a blanket. Nothing I need to get up for.

Yeah. It’s exactly like that. I even levitate a spare blanket out from the shelf near Green’s bed. I’m not cold, but it feels fluffy. Like I’m all wrapped up.

“It’s good, Sweetheart,” Green suddenly says, though her voice is quiet, and her eyes remain closed. “It’s good things are gonna”—she takes a breath—“work out for you.” Her speech is slow and lazy, with long pauses between words. “When we first met, I thought you were like a younger me. Not real younger me, but the life I wished I’d had.” Her ear twitches, and she rolls her head my way, through her eyes stay closed. “A proper unicorn mare. Pretty, and classy, and magic. I always wanted to live in Canterlot.”

“I know, Green,” I say. She’s sweating like she was in an oven, and I can see an oily stain on the pillow from where she turned her head. I reach across the room with my horn and find a washcloth, levitating it over. I don’t want to wake her, so I’m gentle when I dab at her forehead. Wiping the sweat away. “That’s the first thing I ever said to you, isn’t it? That you should be a Canterlot model? That you’re the prettiest pony I’ve ever seen?”

“Yeah, but...” She chuckles faintly. “You were pretty high at the time.”

“Drugged or not, I have excellent taste.” A little superior twist sells it, and I up-play my Canterlot intonations a bit. “You’d have awed them all, Green. Grace, beauty, class, magic. Conviction. They’d have fawned over you.” I work the cloth back over her forehead, sliding it around her horn so I can push back her sweat-soaked mane. “I’m sorry you never got the chance, but you got me. I’ll be your biggest fan.”

“Makes it all worth it, Sweetheart,” she says. And I hear that she means it. That she’s really... warm inside. “But no creepy fan mail, okay?” We share a little laugh, then a moment later, she goes on.

“It’ll be rough for you, Siren. Goin’ back to that life,” she says. There’s a bit of her accent again. I wonder if that inconsistency is from mantles or if her elocution is odd for some other reason. I kind of like it. “You’ll feel like you’ve seen too much for it to mean anything. Like everypony around you is so petty. Like you need to fight. Need to yell. Need to keep secrets. Need your next fix.”

Her muzzle scrunches up, and she frowns. “But, you’re strong, Siren. You’ll get through it. And don’t be afraid to ask for help. I hate Celestia, but... that’s no reason for you to suffer. I won’t be offended.”

“It’s okay, Green,” I assure her, using that washcloth to hold her cheek. She’s so sweet to be concerned. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.”

She pauses—frowns deeper. “What do you mean?”

“I’m staying, Green.” I lighten my tone a little to show that it’s good news. “I’m not going back to Equestria. I’ve been through so much with you. I can’t just... leave!” I take her forehoof with both of mine, letting the blanket slide off my shoulders as I rise up. “You’re my friend, Green. You’re my first real friend. And more than that, you taught me to be strong. You keep thinking I’m this amazing pony deep down when I’m not. When I wasn’t.” When I never was.

She’s opened her eyes now, and I smile at her. “But then I needed to be there for you.” I nod my head firmly, so she’ll know it’s alright! That we’re going to be together now. “I needed to be there for you like you were there for me. You were there for me when I never deserved it, Green. And now I can repay you! You don’t have to be all alone anymore.” I’m beaming when I say it.

But she isn’t smiling back.

“What are you talking about?” she asks. “Trixie’s going to ransom you home. That’s not up to you.”

“I was able to ah... persuade Trixie to reconsider,” I say, playing up my pride and adding a little flick of my mane for emphasis. It was pretty clever of me. Green will appreciate that. “I’m more valuable to her here.”

“Siren, that doesn’t work. You can’t live in Vision,” she says, her voice rising to normal speaking volume. It matches her new tone—insistent. She must be confused, or I didn’t explain it right or something. “You stabbed Rarity. Every security officer in the city will know your face.”

“Trixie took care of that,” I say, trying to keep her calm. She’s so nervous, though it is pretty neat that she figured that out so quickly—particularly since she’s exhausted. “She had Doctor Stable put together some tonics for me.”

“That’s not a solution!” Green insists, her brow furrowing as she glares. What’s wrong? Why is she getting this upset? “Siren, for that to work, you’d have to keep taking those tonics every month for your entire life. It would force you into becoming an addict.”

“I know, Green. I don’t want that either.” I actually hadn’t thought of that. I blame exhaustion. Still, it’s not a big deal. “But right now, we need time to think of a better solution and find a new place to hide. Trixie will—”

“Siren, you are already on a mantle,” Green says, but instead of calming down, she’s getting more agitated. More alert. I can see her eyes opening wide, tail flicking under her restraints. “You cannot have anything Poison-Joke-based until that wears off.”

“Well...” I pause, brush my cheek with a hoof. “Maybe I don’t want it to wear off. I mean... it let me save you. It let me be a... be a good pony. Would keeping it really be so bad?”

She’s staring at me. “I know addiction is a problem, but you’re in that boat,” I explain. “And I like you the way you—”

“Nurse!” Green bellows. She doesn’t have the strength to scream, and it comes out more like a wheeze. The door opens a second later—a nurse checking to see what’s wrong. Red. Overweight. Earth pony. She doesn’t even have a chance to speak before Green fixes her with a stare. “Would you kindly go fetch a wiredoll? And a wiredoll token for Trixie. Doctor Stable should have one in his office.”

She’s mesmerized at once and rushes off to the task, but... I don’t understand. “Green, no!” I try to reassure her. “It’s okay. I’m not being pressured by Trixie or anything. This was my idea. I want to stay.”

“No, Sweetheart. No you don’t,” Green says. I can see how agitated she is under the blankets—how she’s twisting and turning. Oh no. I’ve upset her. She can barely talk—she’s too weak to get into an argument now. What if she tries to shout at me and hurts herself? “You really don’t.”

“It’s okay, Green. I’m not going to take anything today,” I say, doing my best to soothe her worry. Yeah, a nice soft tone is the right approach here. “You’re sick. It’s no time to be getting into an argument. You know how Trixie yells at you when—”

“To heck with Trixie!” Green snaps. She’s actually yelling now. It’s so much effort it’s making her hack and wheeze. Making her breathing scratchy and rough. “And to heck with her for thinkin’ she can do this to you. You’ve got a shot at a real life, Siren. She’s got no right to take that away.”

“Green, she’s not taking anything from me.” I keep my tone steady and even. I need to calm her down, not escalate things. “She’s—”

“Pushin’ a pile of addictive drugs in front of you and tellin’ you to help yourself?” Green asks, letting out a loud snort and rolling her eyes. “Yeah, that sounds like somepony who's got your best interests at heart.”

“I’m... Green.” I take a steady breath, shaking my head. It’s okay. No matter how stubborn she’s being, it’s only because she cares about me, and that makes her worry. “I’m not saying Trixie is my friend, but this was my choice, not hers. I needed this to save you.” I touch my cheek to emphasize the point. “She’s not making me stay, I persuaded her to—”

“You didn’t persuade her of anything,” Green scoffs. “You can’t play Trixie, Siren. You can’t play her any more than you can play her wiredolls. It’s clockwork all the way down, y’hear me?” she demands, breathless. “If she’s giving you tonics and mantles, it’s because she wants you to be an addict. It’s because she’s playing a long game that ends with you so desperate for a fix you’ll do anything.”

“Fine.” I draw a breath and shake my head. “Fine. She’s pure evil and every favor from her comes with a price. I know that. But that’s a deal I’m willing to accept, Green.” I reach out with the washcloth again, leaning in close to her face as I wipe the sweat away. “Green, I want to stay here. You’re my friend. You’re my only friend and I want to be near you!” I don’t raise my voice, exactly, but I’m close to her now, and I throw a little emphasis in. She needs to understand.

“I know, it’s a costly deal I’m making. All our debts come due eventually. You told me that, remember?” I perk my ears up. Gaze into her eyes. There’s not much in her expression, but I can see how much she cares about me. I can see it in how intently she’s staring. “But you took that deal too. Because there was something you needed so much it was worth it.”

“No, Siren, it wasn’t. I made a mistake,” Green says. Her voice is curt. Quick. Why? I don’t understand. She shuts her eyes, squeezing them tight. “And we aren’t friends.”

What?

“Before the Pavilion, Siren, I’d known you for all of two weeks,” Green says, giving a little shake of her head. “And you spent most of that unconscious. I don’t think we’ve spent three full days together, and all the time I did spend with you, I was getting paid to take care of you. I’m not your friend, Siren.”

“What...?” It’s so absurd, but I get it. She’s trying to drive me away. She cares about me so much she’s willing to lie about our relationship to try to help me. “Horseapples, Green! Of course we’re friends. You think you can play the mercenary with me?” I actually have to smile a little bit. “Green, you sacrificed yourself to give me a chance at freedom. Remember that?”

“I didn’t do it because we’re friends, Siren,” Green insists, folding back her ears. Her voice is tight. Hurt. “I did it because I wanted to die.” What? What? “What did I give Rarity? A few years at most? I’ve already beaten the odds by staying together this long. And what sort of years would they be? Hiding in the slums? Killing ponies just to eat?” Her voice cracks as she goes on, scratchy and rough.

“My life is over, Sweetheart,” she whispers, shaking her head. “Not ending. Over. All my good years are behind me. I’ve got nothing left but slowly going mad, and eyeing that bottle of strychnine in my cabinet. I... traded Rarity, something worthless and broken, for something young and full of promise. You can have a real life, Siren. You can go home. You can be happy.”

“Yeah, keep talking about how you want me to have a good life,” I snap. I shouldn't take a tone but she’s getting to me! My throat is tight. “That’s really convincing me you don’t care about me.”

“So seeing a scared little filly who doesn’t know any better get stuffed full of drugs bothers me!” Her breaths are coming harder now, tail lashing back and forth. “That means I’ve got a soul, Siren. It ain’t a wedding announcement.”

She’s wheezing badly now, and she has to stop to draw a few deep breaths. The machines around her clink and beep, that tube in her nose blowing oxygen into her lungs from a tank. “And a scared little filly is what you are, Siren. You don’t really like me. You don’t want to stay. You’re just so frightened you’re latching on to the first pony who was nice to you and refusing to leave their side.”

“I’m not a filly, Green! I saved you!” I say. My ears are up, and my tail is alert. It’s not her fault! She’s getting to me, but I make myself remember it’s not her fault. She’s hurt and worried and lashing out. I know how she really feels.

“Siren, you don’t know what you saved.” She coughs. Takes a second to gather her breath. “You think I’m some hero. Siren, I kill ponies for a living. I’m a murderer, you understand that? Not self defense like that mugger.” She draws a weak breath. “You want to know how I came into Trixie’s service? I teamed up with a bunch of her thugs so they could cover me while I stabbed a mare to death. I cut a pony open, Siren. Just to watch.”

I blink. Stare. “That uh...” I swallow. That sounds a lot like what I saw in my dream. “That was your first kill?” I ask, dumbly. She nods. “What was her name?”

“Song Bird,” Green says.

Song Bird. That uh... that’s quite the coincidence. I must have heard it somewhere before. Somepony mentioned her or something. That’s gotta be it. Because yeah, I’ve had visions before, but that was in the Pavilion, not here. And besides! There were lots of other parts of that dream that clearly aren’t true! Like, I saw Green and Berry sharing a room, but this is a single. So that didn’t happen! And then there’s the bit with the flowers and... and her ear! Her ear is fine. Not a mark on it. Not a mark!

That’s... definitive. I’m looking at her ear really closely, and I don’t see anything wrong with it. It was her left ear, and that’s fine. Whole and unbroken. Not a bit of damage. Not even a scratch! That’s all the proof I need. But, for a second, I... well. It’s silly, and there’s no reason to, but I... I touch my tongue to my teeth. Run it over the points of my canines.

Green’s left ear folds back, and she twitches sharply. Winces on one side.

I don’t... I don’t. No. No, forget it. No. No! No no no no no no no. “No!” I shout, ignoring the burning in my chest. “I’m not getting... sidetracked by this! I can’t deal with this right now. And it doesn't matter! I’m a grown mare, Green! I can make my own decisions.”

“So this is your decision then?” Green demands, cracking her eyes open again. “Look at me, Siren. Really look.” She pauses, drawing a breath and squirming in her restraints. She’s leaving a stain on the sheets. A greasy mark. She’s waxy and... and the smell. Like a corpse wrapped up in flowers. “This is your future if you stay. This is what you’re gonna look like at thirty for the sake of some hitmare you knew for a week.” Her face is all twisted up. Glaring at me.

“That’s what I’m going to look like at thirty for the sake of a friend!” I snap. I shouldn’t yell and I’m tearing up again but she keeps not getting it! “A friend who sacrificed their life to save me. A friend who wants to kill themselves because they’ve got nopony to talk to. Of course your life seems empty, Green! You were tortured for weeks on end. You were tortured for weeks on end and I didn’t lift a hoof to help you! I stood by and let you suffer an-and betrayed you to Rarity, and after all that, you still stepped up and you saved me, Green!”

My vision is blurring now, but I force the tears away. Crying is for foals and whiners. Crying is what I did when I was waiting to be saved, but now I’m saving her. So I force them away and go on. “And even when you were free, you were alone in that awful apartment. I’d want to kill myself too, if I had nopony to talk to for years. I’m not letting you go back to that, which means I’m staying!”

“Oh, right.” She sneers. “You think that because—”

The door opens before she can finish her thought. We both fall silent and turn that way, right on time for the gleaming face of a wiredoll to roll through. It’s on a rolling stand, and the nurse is pushing it with her forehead, a waxcloth bundle of shiny tokens in her teeth. Green and I stare at her for a second, then back at each other. We both rush to speak, but I’m faster. “I’m staying, Green. You can talk to Trixie if you like, but I made her see my point of view before. You can’t force me to leave.”

“Shut up, Sweetheart,” Green says, growling the words out. The nurse kicks a little lever on the bottom of the stand, and the wheels move aside so the doll stand rests solidly on the floor. “Hey! Over here.” A whistle from Green gets the nurse’s attention, and she turns, making eye contact. “Would you kindly slot Trixie’s token in the doll and then get out? Shut the door behind you. And don’t let anypony else in.”

“I mean it, Green!” I’m yelling, but she’s not getting it, and it doesn’t help that the nurse is doing what she says. I’d get up and physically stop her if I was in any shape to do so. “Green, talk to me. Don’t act like I’m some foal who—”

The nurse slots the token into the doll’s flank. I hear that distinctive click, and the sound of gears spinning up. She scuttles out, and as the door shuts, the doll rises to the active resting position. It turns its head left, and then right, the room visible in the reflection of its glass eyes.

“Trixie!” Green says, as loud as she can, trying to sound strong and resolute even if the wheeze in her voice is more obvious now. “We need to talk. You’ve got no right to do this to Siren. You told me that she was going back to Equestria!”

“And I told you I’m staying!” I shout right over her. “Trixie, I want a favor. I already know you’re planning to keep me in Vision. Whatever you want me for, I’m yours, but in return I want an apartment near Green and—”

“Not now, Siren!” Green coughs, all the tubes around her shaking with the motion. “This is wrong, Trixie. Rarity has been a thorn in your side for years, and Siren took her down. You owe her better than this! She did you a service.”

“Yes, I did her a service!” I shout right back. The doll still hasn’t moved. “And now I’m asking for something in return. Stop trying to get in my way, Green!”

“I’m trying to save you, Siren!” she insists, glaring at me from her hospital bed. “I’m trying to stop you from throwing your life away. I’m trying to stop you from making the same mistake I made.”

“Well maybe I can make my own choices, did you think of that?” I yell. Why can’t she see that I’m trying to help her? “Maybe I care about you enough I can’t abandon you here and move on!”

“You don’t even know who I am, Siren!” Green shakes her head. In the corner of my eye, I see the doll lift its leg. “I’ve done things that you couldn’t forgive. That...” Green finally notices that the doll is moving. It’s reaching up with a hoof. To that hissing air tank that fuels the tube running up Green’s nose. Its hoof moves so smoothly, pushing down the release lever.

And the hissing of air stops.

“Trixie, what are you doing?” Green asks, but I can already hear that her wheeze is getting worse! She can talk, she’s breathing, but she’s acting like she’s not getting enough air. I shoot to my hooves. I’ve got to do something! I can see her drawing deeper and deeper breaths every time, but the doll doesn’t move. “Trixie,” she repeats, starting to cough. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Trixie!”

“Stop it!” I shout, my horn glowing. I grab the lever and try to push it back up, but the doll’s hoof is still on it, and it’s so much stronger than me. Fine! No problem. It’s not a combat doll. It’s on a stand. I can push it over! “I said let her go!” I yell, rushing the doll as fast as I can!

The doll’s leg lashes out like a striking snake, impossibly fast. All I see is a blur of motion, and then there’s a dull metal edge jamming into my eye. I think I scream, stumble back as I go blind on one side! Then the doll’s other hoof catches me in the throat.

Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe! I’m completely blind on my left side. I stumble backwards, and my rear legs hit the edge of the couch. I fall to a seated position, hacking and wheezing. Pain is exploding in my chest. The doll didn’t hit me that hard, but it didn’t need to. That was a perfect one-two strike, leaving me gasping for breath as I squeeze my eyes shut. My surgical scar is burning, but I gotta help Green! I try to force myself back up.

Then I hear a hiss. The air tank. I turn my head so my right side faces that way. The doll has turned the lever back up. Green is hacking uncontrollably, but she’s breathing again. I don’t... I don’t know what’s going on. But Green is out of danger and... oh stars, my chest hurts. I crawl back onto the couch, taking slow, deep breaths. My left eye is starting to clear, but it’s still all splotchy. She poked me so hard.

I don’t think... I don’t think she did any permanent damage. I’m in pain and my head is really... light. But nothing that feels serious. I take another deep breath. Wait for the wheezing to pass.

Eventually, over the sound of two ponies coughing and wheezing, I hear a metal clink. My good eye turns up, and I see the doll tapping its chest for our attention. Then its mechanical voicebox springs to life. Trixie’s voice.

“If the children are done arguing,” she says with her superior little twist, that verbal sneer, “mother is talking now.”

“You...” I try to speak, but the sound emerges as a raspy croak. You could have killed us, you crazy witch! “You...”

“Ah ah!” Trixie chides, waggling a hoof my way. “Children who talk back get sent to their rooms without oxygen. And you’re a good foal, aren’t you Siren?” I bet I could take that doll now. Now that I know what to expect. But I don’t know what she’ll do if I try again and fail, so I bite my tongue and glare at her. “Good foals say, ‘Yes, Trixie.’”

“Yes, Trixie,” I grumble.

“That’s good, Siren! Trixie is very proud of you!” she continues with that saccharine mockery. “Now sit down, and the nice doctor will be in soon to take care of you.”

I still need time to recover, and so does Green, so for now I do as Trixie says. At least Green seems okay. Her eyes are shut and she’s rasping a bit, but it’s getting less noticeable with every breath. I’m not even done clearing my throat by the time the door flies open. Doctor Stable is there, along with Nurse Tenderheart, and from how quickly he hurries in, he knew something was wrong before he saw us. He doesn’t even look at the active doll, moving up to me with a quick step.

“Young mare!” he belts out the words, drawing in a stiff breath. His jaw is clenched, and this time, his frustration and anger is directed at me. Right at me. “I leave you alone for half an hour and you—”

“Doctor,” Trixie says, but something’s wrong. Her voice is calm. Even-hooved. Mature. Even a little compassionate. She...

Oh that manipulative harpy.

I know what she’s about to say before she even finishes the first word. “It’s okay. The Great and Powerful Trixie knows this wasn’t your fault,” she says, practically giving him a verbal pat on the shoulder for all it matters! “But we’ll discuss this later,” she continues, elegantly shifting from a reassurance to an order. Asserting authority. “For now, make sure she didn’t injure herself.”

Stars! I used that trick on the matron when Rock and I beat up the other foals. How did I get outsmarted by a schoolyard bully? Trixie just destroyed all the bridge building I did with him earlier and then some, and there’s nothing I can say without—

“Roll over,” the doctor orders, his eyes narrowed at me as he reaches for his stethoscope. “I need to inspect your scar. Again.”

Without making it worse. So I roll over. In every sense of the phrase.

The physical is at least mercifully short. I pretend to listen to Doctor Stable’s condescending lecture on taking care of myself and let him jab and prod me until he’s convinced I haven't ripped anything open. I’m only a little winded, and with two more bruises to show for my trouble. He inspects Green as well, and she’s also okay. I mostly watch Green and Trixie while this all happens. Trixie is playing the doll—keeping still so she doesn’t show the slightest hint of emotion. Green is easier to read. Her jaw is set like mine, her eyes shut. A grim acceptance. She knows we’ve been had.

It’s been a busy few days. I’d forgotten precisely how much reason I have to hate Trixie. Vile witch with her little wind-up toys.

“Good,” Trixie says, speaking up once the doctor pronounces us both fit. “If you would hold on for a moment, Doctor, this won’t take long.” It’s not really a request, and the doll turns back to us without waiting for the doctor’s confirmation.

“It’s good to see you again, Envy,” Trixie says, with a little twist on the nickname. Enough that Green will hear it but the doctor won’t. “Trixie would have been more pleased had you not endangered Siren’s life and your own with a pointless argument, but nopony is perfect.” Green doesn’t say a word. She just lies there and takes it.

“Trixie will, of course, pay for your full medical treatment,” the doll goes on, “and once you’re back on your hooves, you are always welcome at your old job.” It’s such a magnanimous tone she strikes, and so it’s little surprise that she wraps the ultimatum up with, “Trixie thinks that’s very fair, under the circumstances. Don’t you?”

“Yes, Trixie,” Green says. Her voice is flat. Not broken, but... flat.

“Very good.” Trixie makes a little wave with a hoof. “So there’s no need to fight anymore, is there?”

“No, Trixie,” Green says.

“Wonderful,” Trixie says. She says it too quickly though, making it perfectly clear it’s a dismissal. Then the doll turns to me, holding my gaze until I can see my reflection in its glass eyes. “Now, Siren.” The doll gestures at me. “The Great and Powerful Trixie has a question for you.” A question? What? “Do you wish to return to Equestria?”

What? She’s... asking me? Why? I glance at the Doctor, but his expression isn’t surprised. So he knew? She’s not asking for his benefit then. I don’t think it’s rhetorical though. She’s actually waiting for the answer. “No, Trixie,” I say. Green winces. A little motion in her face.

“Do you understand that staying will mean taking tonics to change your appearance?” she asks. “That consuming these tonics will involve substance health risks, possibly even permanent addiction or death?”

“Yes, Trixie,” I say. It’s odd, this way she’s asking. It’s so formal. Like she wanted to make it clear to a crowd that I’m not being forced into this. Except everypony here knows that that’s not true. I guess the Doctor might not be in on all the details, but I doubt he cares that much. Not enough, anyway.

Whatever. Trixie can plot all she likes. It’s no business of mine.

“Then, in gratitude for your service to Trixie, Trixie will furnish you with quarters in Neptune’s Bounty, where you may live for as long as you wish,” she says. Ah, now I get it. I refused to play a good hostage, so she’s going to keep me there until my willpower breaks. She’s not playing at some mysterious hidden agenda, she’s just patient. Keep me isolated in a metal box long enough, and I’ll eventually want to go home. “Trixie hopes that suits you?”

“No, Trixie,” I say. Trixie and the doctor both noticed that, and I don’t think either of them are in the mood for an argument, so I need to play my hand fast. I put on my game face, steady and firm, and stare right back at the doll. “While I appreciate your gratitude, I don’t find Neptune’s Bounty agreeable. Furthermore, accepting the hospitality of civic leaders in Vision has proven to be a costly mistake in the past.” Of course, that’s all a pile of nonsense. She doesn’t care. I have to keep a civil tone though—it’s my only hope of getting Doctor Stable back on my side.

“I’ve done you a great service, Trixie,” I say, taking a breath. Fixing her with an even stare. Making the lines come out right. Right. “And, if you’ll have me, I will continue to serve you in the future. All I ask in return is a small measure of your thanks. Give me that, and I am at your disposal.”

It’s not what she or the Doctor was expecting, and even Green has cracked an eye. Good, that means I did it properly. Curiosity might be the only thing stopping Trixie from shutting me down. “What is this measure?” she asks after a pause.

“I want a nice apartment in the city and a small stipend to live on. Or a salary, if you want to call serving you a job,” I make a little wave of a hoof, so I’ll seem more reasonable. Flexible. “I want the same thing for Green. You hide Berry from security easily enough; I’m sure you can do the same for her, and I’m sick of her living in that rotten hole. In fact, go ahead and make us flatmates. I’m sure you can arrange that.”

The doll pulls back its head, giving me an askew glance. “Anything else?” Trixie asks skeptically.

“Yeah. Uh...” I speak instinctively, blurting out the words without thinking. “Stop calling Green ‘Envy.’ It’s mean, and she doesn't like it.”

That catches Green’s attention at once, and she turns to face me head on, both eyes open. She’s surprised—pupils a little wide. I can’t catch Trixie’s expression through the doll, but I’m betting it’s much the same. “And yeah, that’s uh... that’s everything.”

Trixie doesn’t answer at first, tapping her hoof to her chest. She and Doctor Stable share a glance. He shrugs. She shrugs.

“Very well,” Trixie says. “Done.”

Done. Simple as that. Just like in her office. I stare Trixie down, and she folds like a wet sponge. Gives in for no reason at all. Just like that, I win.

Right.

“Env... Green,” Trixie corrects herself. That had to be intentional. “Still needs some time to recover. For the sake of security though, Trixie wants to get you in disguise and out of Doctor Stable’s practice as quickly as possible. The price on your head is entirely too high to trust anypony with the knowledge of your identity for long.” She sounds almost reasonable, talking that way.

“In order to ensure nopony can link you with your disguise,” she continues, “you’ll be transported out of the practice by sealed freight car. Doctor Stable will give you your medication immediately before you leave, so no one but you and him will know what you look like.” She says it calmly, like it was a set of instructions, but I know very well that she’s not really talking to me. She’s giving the doctor a much simpler message: if I get ratted out, he hangs.

“Sounds good.” I nod. “Anything else?”

“Get a new belt, and don’t use your real name,” Trixie says with a little snort. “Doctor, you can see to her from here? Trixie is late for a City Council meeting.”

“Yes. Thank you, Trixie.” He nods to her, and her token pops out of the wiredoll’s flank. I wait until it goes completely limp, and only then heave a sigh of relief.

“Well, let’s go then,” Doctor Stable says, gesturing me to the door. He’s still not happy with me, but that lecture from Trixie has given him other things to focus on. Suits me fine.

“A moment, Doctor.” My legs are still sore. I’m so weak I can’t even hop up onto the edge of Green’s bed. But I walk up to it at least. She’s shut her eyes again, not looking at me any longer.

“I’ll see you soon, Green,” I say. She doesn’t answer, but I see her squeeze her eyes shut tighter. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see,” I speak quietly, but still she doesn't answer. “You saved my life twice, Green. I’ve only saved yours once. I still owe you, you understand? I owe you. Are you going to make a welcher out of me? Are you?”

It was the right thing to say. I see her ears fold back, the comment landing. “Thank you, Sweetheart,” she whispers, though her voice is still pained.

“It’ll be okay, Green. You’ll see,” I repeat as I turn back to the door. “I’m going to make it all right again. All the way it should be. Just you and me.” Her eyes are still shut, but I give her a little smile, and then finally turn to go. She’ll be okay.

My bags are too heavy to carry in my weakened state, but Doctor Stable catches the hint and levitates them alongside him. We make good time through the halls, moving past exam rooms, past those golden decorations and fancy columns. We move to a stairwell, then down, out of the beautiful halls and into a loading dock of some kind.

It’s like a miniature Rainbow Tram station, except that there’s only one car, and it’s an empty metal box about the size of a carriage, accessible via an open sliding door. The machinery is clearly operated by a small lever in the corner, and there’s nopony else here. Doctor Stable gently places my bag and belt inside the container, and then reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a series of little vials.

“There are five you’ll need to take,” he says, levitating them up to me. His expression is drawn. Flat. He didn’t want to do this. “This first one is a tonic dye. I picked your colors at random to be safe, and you ended up with a soft-green coat and teal hair.” Yeah, because that’s not a decision I would want to be consulted on or anything. Thanks, Doctor.

He lifts the second one, oblivious. “The second one is a tonic called Clay Pony. It’ll change your facial structure in a way I can configure with magic. I’ve already set it up, so all you have to do now is drink it. It’s not as good as real plastic surgery, but you can’t have that in your current state.” I had wondered. Fine. “The third one is a mix of a number of regenerative medications. It will restore your shaved coat and heal your scars, particularly the ones on your ankles. They’re too recognizable.” Fine. “The fourth one is a tonic called Bright Eyes. Changes your eye color. Picked at random. Grey.” Fine.

“The last one is a mantle called Changeling,” he says, lifting the fifth and final bottle. “It changes the expression of your original cutie mark.”

“Wait, what?” Instinctively, I take a step back, like the bottle was going to come to life and attack me. “You mean it changes my special talent?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “But it changes what symbol represents that talent. So a pony whose special talent is making pocket watches might have a set of gears as their new cutie mark, instead of their original watch face.”

“You can’t do that,” I insist. My tail curls up around my flanks, covering that last bit of hair there. “You’re changing everything else. My old cutie mark is all I have left!”

“Well... that may be, Siren,” Doctor Stable says. He’s hesitating again, and he clears his throat to buy time. “But your wanted poster has an unfortunately accurate drawing of your original cutie mark. Changing your coat color and face won’t do much on their own. We could find somepony to touch it up with dye, I suppose, but...” He shrugs.

He shrugs. And I stand there.

“I do think Trixie will let you change your mind, if that’s what you want,” he finally says. After I’ve made him wait long enough. “She cares about you more than you realize, Siren. She just... doesn’t know how to show it.” His expression is sad. Compassionate. It would be heartwarming if it weren't so pathetic. Yeah, I’m sure she cares, Doctor. I can really feel her love. That or you’re a weak-minded fool she’s made dance like a puppet.

“Siren. You’re clearly uncomfortable with this,” Doctor Stable says, gesturing back to the stairs. “Why don’t we—”

“Shut up and give me the vials,” I mutter. The glow around them changes from blue to pink as I pull them away, holding them in the air beside me. The doctor looks affronted, but only for a second. Then he lowers his head, and softens his eyes, and he seems sad again. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “The air in the container will probably get a little musty, but don’t worry—your ride is short. You’ll be fine.” Fine.

Fine.

I step into the cargo container, feeling it rock under me. I suppose he gets the hint that I’m going to take these on the way, because after a moment, he steps up to the door and takes the handle.

“Wait,” I say, before he can shut the door. His head turns up quickly. He thinks I’m about to change my mind. “When I was out, I asked the nurse for pain medication, and she gave me something. I don’t know what it was, but I recognized the taste. Rarity dosed me with the same thing when I was in the Pavilion. Can you get me a list of all the medication I was given when I was here?” I’d delay if I could, but it’s better not to. “Tell Trixie it’s important for my recovery or something so she’ll forward it along.”

“Oh, uh... of course.” A flick of his eyes checks with me one more time to make sure there’s nothing else, and when I nod, he takes the door handle with his hoof. “Good luck,” he says before sliding the door shut. It closes with a hiss and seals with a loud thud. Then I’m in shadow, where the only light is a faint pink glow coming from five vials beside me.

The cargo container rocks around me. I can hear the doctor pulling the lever and the mechanisms above me springing to life. I ignore them. My attention is entirely on the vials to my left. I don’t remember which is which, now. They all look the same.

“So that’s it for Siren Song then.” It helps to say it aloud. To hear the sound echo around me. There’s water splashing outside the container—I’m moving. “I mean. Daring Do was supposed finish her off, and that was kind of a flop. So I’ve done this before, I guess. Sitting in the dark, holding a bottle of something that will kill me.” I laugh a little. It’s not a happy laugh, but it still makes me feel better. “It’s a little less dramatic the second time around.”

I swish the bottle a bit. “It did help though. Daring Do. I...” I swallow, and force the words out. “I don’t regret taking it, you know?” I know. “It didn’t kill me, but it did make me less Siren Song and more... something else.” Something new. “And that’s good. Siren Song wasn’t all that great, to be honest. She was selfish and mean and... had weird dreams. About ears.” Not now. “But. Step in the right direction! Moving... on up.” I swallow. “Right.”

I’ll need to take a new name. What should I call myself? Daring Do seems like the best choice, but I can’t pick that. It’s too widely known—an obvious pseudonym. It should be something meaningful though. Something deep. Pony names aren’t just names. They’re part of our destiny. The name I pick could change the course of my entire life. I could call myself Fresh Start, I guess. Or Clean Slate. Neither of those really resonate though.

I think about what I’ll look like. Gentle green coat, teal hair, grey eyes. Those are all kind of nautical colors. Like seawater, or ocean foam. Something to do with that. Tide Shift? Deep Current?

No. Sea Change.

“Sea Change.” I roll the name over through my mouth. It sounds good. It fits me. I’d go by ‘Change’ for short. I bet Green will like it.

Yeah, of course she will.

Well... here we go then.

I lift the vials, and one by one, I drink them all.

Sea Change, Part 1

Sheets. A pillow. Blankets. I love heavy blankets. Sometimes I’ll open the window and let the cold air come in, just so I can pile blankets up on the bed. I always start with the blue fleece blanket, then work my way up to the down comforter, then the big quilt. It’s nice to snuggle in until I’m a little head sticking out of a big pile of warm fluff. It’s so relaxing. So soft. I can just drift away.

Of course, I have more than the blankets to feel good about. The Princess is here with me, and that always makes me smile. I’m back in Canterlot, with all its colors and decorations and banners hanging from every wall and tower. Princess Celestia is walking alongside me and smiling back. I’m showing her... something. Something I made. I can’t see it, but that’s okay. She likes it. She wraps a wing around me, and I nuzzle up into my pillow. Into her shoulder.

Then we move into the throne room, with all the sunlight shining down around us, and I notice there are bars on the windows. These elegant, golden bars. Like a bird cage. That feels wrong. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. I try to ask Princess Celestia about it, but when I open my mouth, all I end up doing is singing the first few bars of some song. “Da da da da daaa.” Celestia laughs and squeezes me against her side, and I laugh too, but it’s not funny. Why am I laughing when it isn’t funny?

Something clicks. A mechanical sound. I look ahead, and where the throne should be, there’s a door set into the wall, watched over by two royal guards. It’s one of those big metal security doors with the gem in the middle, but that’s not right. They don’t have those in Canterlot. I try to ask Celestia what’s going on, but all I do is sing again. “Da da da da daaa.” Again, she laughs, and again the door clicks, its mechanisms twitching. Like it’s responding to my voice but I didn’t give the right password. We’re getting close to it now, but I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to but my legs won’t stop and I just keep singing.

My breath is coming faster. I can feel it. Why can’t I stop? I curl up tighter in bed and try to dig my hooves into the floor, but I keep walking forward. I keep singing, and Celestia keeps smiling and urging me on and every time I let out a note the door mechanism clicks. Click click click! The gears are trying to engage, trying to open the door, and they get louder with every step closer. The windows don’t have bars anymore—they have purple forcefields that pulse like a ticking clock. No. No!

We’re at the door now. It’s straining to open. Click click click! Princess Celestia leans down to kiss the top of my head, and then pushes me forward with a wing but I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go, Princess! Please don’t make me go, please! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean it! Don’t make me go. Please! I scream and I beg, except now it’s not the Princess at all. It’s Rarity, holding a pot of her tea, tut-tutting at me as she pours it out all over the floor. It’s boiling, and the water level is rising around me, hissing and snapping and full of steam!

I cry out. I scream. I curl up so tight my scars start to burn, my body shaking in protest. The pillow that started under my head is tangled up with my hooves now, hugged flat against my undercarriage. It... I...

Click click click.

That wasn’t a dream—that was real! I shout in earnest now and leap up in bed, trying to jump out and get to my hooves. All the heavy blankets come with me, and they twist around me as I move, tripping me up and sending me tumbling off the edge of the bed. The thick covers partially absorb my impact, but not enough to stop the stabbing pain—the shattering feeling as my shoulder hits the ground and the rest of my body follows it. Oh Celestia, I think I broke something! Click click click! I fumble around with my magic, horn shining as I reach for something, anything! Where is all this light coming from!? Knives. There they are! I roll up to my hooves, flipping over and shoving myself up.

Click click click. My ears twitch, and I swing the knives around, pointing them at the door and whatever’s on the other side. Click click click. My vision is blurred, full of splotchy shapes and weird colors. There are dots of white light floating in front of me, and this strange blue glow. Where’s my magic? Why is it so dark? Click click click. I have to... I have to clear my eyes. Just for a second, I dare to take my eyes off the source of the sound, rubbing at them with the back of an ankle. An ankle that’s... that’s covered in hair.

I blink. Once. Twice. My eyes refocus. There’s a window next to the bed. A window with a beautiful view of the city, showing me all its sparkling white lights. And below that window, on an end table, there’s a phonograph. A phonograph whose record has long since run out, slowly turning as its springs run down.

Click click click goes the phonograph as its needle catches the edge of the slightly irregular record. Three clicks per rotation. Next to it, all wrapped up in a blue aura, I can see my weapons of choice: one knife that’s floating with its point towards me, and one ink pen. On the end table, next to the phonograph, the other knife sits untouched.

Right. I... right.

Right.

I stand there dumbly for a little while. How long I couldn't say, but eventually my shoulder starts to really hurt. I put the knife and the pen back down on the end table, and slide down to the bedside. My shoulder feels like it’s full of splinters, and the scar down my chest and undercarriage is burning, but I don’t think I’m that badly hurt. It might just be the adrenaline wearing off, but I feel really numb. Still, better... better give it a second. So I wait for the fog to clear out of my head, and I watch the city through the window.

It’s calming, sitting there. I could watch the city all day. Seeing the trains come and go, the little equine shapes in the windows. I’m too fuzzy-headed and blurry-eyed to make out any details, but I can still see the motions. I can sense the shape of things, and the scale. Now that I know the city a bit better, I can even make out some landmarks. The enormous tower in the center of it all is Sparkle Enchantments. The blocky building with all the forcefields is Neptune’s Bounty. The giant grid of identical hexagonal towers barely visible at the edge of the city is New Apple Acres. I know what Tiara Tower and the Pavilion look like too, but I can’t see them from here.

Eventually, the fog begins to clear, and my surgical scar feels better. My shoulder still hurts, but it’s a dull pain instead of a stabbing pain, and stretching it a bit makes it hurt less. I think I’m fine.

“Good morning,” I say, and the little figurine on the opposite nightstand rises. Just like in the Pavilion, there’s a little statuette that controls the lights—giving me a graceful bow as they come on. This one is a miniature wiredoll instead of a Big Brother, and it has a fancy stand with a built-in clock, but the concept is obviously the same. I squint in anticipation of the glare, and soon, my windows add two more white points to that beautiful starfield outside. All the blankets are wadded up on the floor where I knocked them down, so I levitate them back up onto the bed in a big ball. It’s tempting to roll back onto them and go to sleep, but no. No.

I’ve got stuff I should do today.

The blood rushes out of my head when I rise, and the joints in my legs snap and pop in protest, but the disorientation doesn’t last long. It’s actually really nice to stretch, and soon I’m stumbling into the bathroom. The care packet—for lack of a better term—that Trixie’s helpers gave me is still on the counter where I left it. I glance at the mirror, but only for a moment. Then I sweep the soap up out of its bag, move to the shower, and turn on the hot water. I keep it just shy of scalding. That always makes me feel better.

Well, it usually makes me feel better. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference today. It’s still nice though, I guess.

It’s some time later that I step back out, feeling physically cleaner and more alert, if not quite as refreshed as I had hoped. There were no towels in the packet and none in the apartment when I arrived, so I shake myself off. I do it when I’m still in the shower, of course—I’m not some country hick. Then it’s time to step back up to the counter and brush my teeth. The toothbrush is made of cheap resin, but it gets the job done, and I fall into a rhythm quickly enough.

I’m really bony now. Like, of everything wrong with me, that shouldn't even make the top twenty, but it keeps bothering me every time I look in the mirror. I’m... lanky. Not thinner exactly—I didn’t lose any mass, so I’ve still got a bit more padding than is quite ideal—it’s just distributed differently. My legs are longer, and the resting point of my shoulders is higher. The net effect is to make me seem kind of gaunt. It makes my joints stand out a bit.

Only a bit, I mean. I’m not deformed or anything. I wouldn't think twice about it if I saw this pony on the street, but seeing it in the mirror is another matter. It makes me want to roll my shoulders to try to get them back to normal, but I restrain the urge. That way lies madness. It’s like my scars—how they’re all gone, but I can still feel them under my coat. My body has changed, and if I start noticing everything that’s different, that’s all I’ll ever notice. I need to take it as it comes. Like my magic. It’s greyish blue now, instead of pink, and yeah that’s weird, but if I get all self-conscious about it I’ll go crazy. I need to accept it and get used to it.

Right, so, I’m bony. And a little tall. And grey. Well, green, technically. I’d call it a dark sea-foam green if I was being strict, but it really comes across as grey. That’s at least in part due to my eyes, which actually are grey. It’s a dull color, but the effect works, particularly when you combine it with my mane and tail. Those hairs are teal, with a few strays that carry some different shades of blue, and atop my almost-grey coat, you can really tell how Sea Change fits. I couldn't manage the look better if I was covered in ocean foam.

My face is different too. My muzzle is more drawn out and aristocratic—a bit like Princess Cadence. My cheekbones are more noticeable, and it makes the Daring Do mark on my face stand out more clearly than it used to. The green blends with my coat a lot better, but the gold stands out even more sharply by contrast. It doesn’t look good.

It’s not terrible though.

My tail is short. That wasn’t the doctor’s doing. Trixie had a bunch of helpers waiting for me when I got off the crate. They cut my hair and got me some survival supplies and threw out my belt. I got to keep the saddlebag Applejack gave me because it’s generic—apparently New Apples Acres sells them. They also asked what name the apartment was going to be under, so I told them Sea Change, and they spent a while filling out forms. So that I’ll legally exist, the way their leader put it. It got pretty boring after that. They gave me some maps and a little bag of bits and the key to the apartment and stuff, made sure I knew where I was going, and told me to expect a wire sometime the next day.

And that was it. I was free.

I lean down to the sink and turn on the tap. There’s no cup or anything, so I have to stick my muzzle under the spigot, sucking up a little water and swishing it around my mouth. The toothpaste leaves a minty aftertaste when I spit, and so swish my mouth out a few more times until it’s gone. I gargle too, for good measure.

There’s no hairbrush in the care packet, but there is a little comb, so I finish up by giving my mane a good combing. If it’s going to be short, it can at least look nice. I turn my body a little as I comb. A quarter-rotation, so my side faces the mirror.

A heart and a pair of shackles. That’s what’s on my flank now. Doctor Stable said that the tonic doesn't change my special talent—only the symbol that reflects it. So, I guess that was always there. And I guess I always knew. Bindings of the heart. Making ponies feel what I want them to feel. Making them do what I tell them to do. Making them like me when they shouldn’t. A star and musical notes may be a gentler way of showing it, but that’s only because sailors who get drowned by sirens never come back to tell stories.

I did like art though. I really did. It was fun, and it was challenging, and... and I was good at it. I bet that’s why Celestia always encouraged me so much, even though she knew that wasn’t the kind of pony I was. She thought it was a healthy outlet for me. And she was right of course. She was always right.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” I say to the mirror. I can see my own expression. Flat. Dull. Like my tone. “I know you’d never hurt me.” After a second, I add. “I love you.”

Then I... I’m done. I put the comb down and leave the bathroom.

My bedroom is small, but not cramped. The bed is in the middle with windows and a little end-table on either side, and a chest at the end of the bed. The end tables hold the little figurine that controls the lights, the phonograph that was here when I arrived, my knives, a pad, and a pen. Applejack’s saddlebag is resting against the side of the trunk, still stuffed full of apples. All my other possessions are resting on top of the chest, inside a cheap little paper bag Trixie’s helpers gave me. There was a divan too, but it’s right where I left it—propped up under the door handle, wedging the door shut.

I levitate an apple out of the first bag, polishing it on my coat and then taking a bite. It’s delicious—all crisp and juicy. Applejack knows her trade. I really wish I had something more substantive, but the apartment was empty, so if I want anything weighty I’ll have to go out. That was on the agenda anyway.

I spent some time last night thinking about my next move. In the long run, things are still pretty sketchy. I have to find a way to hide myself and Green from Rarity, and to make some kind of life in Vision. I also need to get ready for when Trixie betrays us—because I sometimes make bad decisions, but I’m not that dumb. Things are a little simpler in the short run. I need to recover from my surgery as quickly as possible, to get the lay of the land, to find out what was up with those vision-inducing-drugs I had in the doctor’s office, and most importantly, to find a way to help Green get her life back together. That’s five big tasks to get done in the few days I have left before Green gets out of the hospital, which means I have some errands to do today. Food. Medication. Exploring a bit. The doc did say that I should be going for walks.

I rip my shopping list off the pad on the end table and read over it as I finish off the apple. Budgeting will be a problem. I have no idea when Trixie is planning to start paying me, and knowing her, she’ll make me suffer and bleed for every bit. For now, the care packet did have fifty bits in it, but I don’t know how far that goes in Vision. In the Pavilion, fifty bits would get you lunch if you didn’t get anything fancy, but I heard enough ponies complaining to know the prices there were super inflated. If I’m lucky, I’ll have enough for a new belt, some food, and a sample of the medication the nurse gave me. According to the sheet Doctor Stable sent ahead, the stuff that tasted like Rarity’s tea was thirty milligrams of something called “Vultiphine.” Hopefully I can find a pharmacy that carries it.

I need to find it quickly too. My legs are already burning a little from standing up this long, and the instructions Nurse Tenderheart gave me were clear that I shouldn’t try to walk for more than ten minutes at a stretch for at least the next week. Not like I have much choice if I want real food though, so I’ll just have to be careful. The apple is about gone by now, so I scarf down the rest, and then eat the core. In Canterlot, most ponies didn’t bother eating the apple core, so I didn’t either, but I know that’s a rich pony thing. With food budget problems, I shouldn't be throwing anything away. Besides, the core isn’t bad, particularly with New Apple Acres apples. They’re seedless. I don’t know how that works but it’s nice.

Well, anyway. I finish off the apple and then pick up my knives. Into the paper bag they go, and then I grab the bag itself, rolling up the top so no pickpockets will be inclined to snatch items from inside.

The divan is wedged into the doorframe pretty tight, and it takes some wiggling to get it out. That was the point, of course. The bolt on my door is still locked, and there’s no sign that anypony tried to force it, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to skip merrily out with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. In this city, you never know what’s behind a locked door. The bolt turns with a click, and I edge the door open, peering out into the main room. My ears are up and alert, straining for sound as my eyes search for intruders, but there’s nothing. I don’t hear a sound but the beat of the lights, and there’s not a pony to be seen. The living room is just the way I remember it.

It’s a nice little apartment. Cozy is the way I’d put it—not very big but well appointed and tastefully furnished. The front door opens right into the living room, with a little kitchen off to the left, separated from the main space by an open marble counter. There are some couches scattered around the common space, surrounding a table made of glass. It even has a fireplace with a proper mantelpiece, though since the fireplace is fake, I assume that’s for holding decorations. A door in the back leads to my bedroom, and a spiral stair leads up to Green’s. I gave her the second floor because the attached bathroom has a huge mirror with cabinets for makeup and stuff.

She’ll like that.

With no sign there’s anything to worry about in the main room, I do a quick check of the upstairs, and then it’s time to go. The hallway is deserted when I step outside, and I lock the apartment door behind me. There’s not much to this place—it’s tasteful and the air is dry, so I assume it’s expensive, but the hallways are basically white stone walls with grey carpet between them. It’s not like Tiara Tower, where each apartment door opened directly onto the street. It’s closer to a traditional Manehatten apartment block, with interior hallways and a main entrance. I don’t think we’re actually in a separate building though. It’s just made to look that way.

I’ve got a short walk to the end of the hall and the elevator there. It’s like the elevators in Serpent’s Wharf—a cage of elegant brass, left open to the world so you can see the glittering mechanisms that drive it. There are stairs as well, but I pass them up. Thanks to the oddities of Vision, we’re on the sixtieth floor, but the main street is actually on the sixty-fourth. If standing up can leave me winded, I don’t think I’m up to climbing four flights of steps.

There’s no call button, but I can see the lift descending towards me as soon as I approach the grate. Another of Vision’s wondrous arcane mechanisms, I suppose. I’m still waiting when I hear a buzzing sound behind me, and turn to see another pony coming up the hall. He’s a colt—a charcoal unicorn with an electric blue mane, perched on top of a scooter. He can’t be more than nine, but his horn is already shining bright, with a pale eggshell aura. I can’t see what he’s lifting at first, but when he gets closer, I can see that he’s not pushing the scooter with his hooves. It’s got some kind of gearbox by the knobby rear wheel, his magic driving the clicking mechanisms forward. That’s the source of the buzzing sound.

He pulls up to a stop alongside me, waiting for the lift. I keep watching him, and he glances back, but he’s clearly not paying me much mind. He keeps adjusting all the little knobs and dials on the scooter’s handles, and the gearbox behind him clicks when he does. The scooter looks new, shiny. Ah, that would explain it. New toy.

It seems odd though, to make a foal’s toy that needs developed unicorn magic to function. I give him a quick check over for any cutie marks, but he seems to be a genuine blank flank. Which is good! Good, I mean. Giving that sort of thing to a foal would be... well. That happens, actually. Echo and Apple Bloom mentioned it, but—

“Somethin’ I can help you with, lady?” he asks, and it snaps me out of my reverie. He’s giving me a narrow stare, like he was annoyed. But there’s more to it than that. His whole body is tense, and he’s shying away from me very slightly. I don’t think it’s conscious, but it’s definitely there. He saw me staring and... what? Didn’t like that?

“Oh, uh... no. Sorry.” I look away from him to be polite, and take a second to check on the lift. It’s stopped on a higher floor. There must be somepony else getting on or off. I watch it for a bit to stall for time, but when I turn back, he hasn’t moved. He’s still watching me way too intently, and if anything, he’s pulled a bit further back. “Uh...” I’m left at a bit of a loss. “I’m sorry for staring. I’ve never seen a scooter like that before.”

“Yeah,” he says. A bit abrasively, actually. At first I think he’s just a brat, but then he pushes his scooter forward towards the door, staring straight ahead. He’s trying not to make eye contact with me, but as I watch, his forehooves twist uncomfortably on the handlebars, and his head keeps inching my way—straining to look at me against his conscious impulse to keep away. When the lift comes, he’s lightning-fast inside it, letting out a rapid “Sixty-four!” to the air. Too rapid. He doesn’t want me to get in the lift.

Is he afraid of me?

I step into the lift with him, and he backs away. Then the lift doors shut. I hate elevators. They’re so awkward.

Four floors up from where we started, the lift doors open with a quiet chime, and the colt immediately races out. A sharp shove from his legs starts the scooter forward, and then his horn takes over, the little vehicle gaining speed as it races out into the lobby. I hear its gearbox buzzing, and ahead of us, some poor soul is pushing in through the lobby double doors—a mare loaded down with heavy paper bundles. The colt lets out a shrill “Beep beep!” and she has just enough time to rear up before he shoves past her and weaves out into the street. She totters back and forth on her hind legs for a while, struggling for balance, but in the end, she manages to keep her bundles and get back on all four legs.

I mean, I don’t have to go help her or anything. She’s got it. She yells after him and then fumes for a bit, turning to head towards the lift. I step out of her way.

Then it’s time to uh... well. Right. The exit is right there. Double doors. Smoked glass. Locked, normally—I got a key that opens them. Of course. they’re only locked from the outside.

I...

I push them open. Only a crack, at first. It’s bright outside. No dark carpets to absorb the light, so it’s all reflective white stone. There’s a glare coming through that little crack, and more than that. There’s the sound of galloping hooves. The smell of brine. A feeling of humidity in the air. Ponies shouting. A traincar’s whistle. Phonographs advertising the latest mantles. The rattle of wheels on tracks. The clang of metal on metal. The smell of roasting chestnuts. There’s a mare, cursing that she missed her train. There’s a stallion, telling a beggar that he doesn’t have any change. There’s...

My... my chest hurts. Over the scar, it...

No. No. What are you so afraid of, Siren? Daring Do. Sea Change. Whatever you want to call yourself. What are you so afraid of, huh!? My breath is coming faster now, and I reach up to drag my hoof over my left cheek. Over the Daring Do mark there. Forget this! I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of anything. So I push open the door. And then I step out.

The humidity hits me first. Like a solid wall. The air inside the apartment complex is dry, but out here—out here you can feel the seawater around you. Next I see the crowds, hear the noise, smell the collective stench and musk of one massive herd. It’s a busy street I live on, filled by a thousand ponies and pounded by four times as many hooves. I can feel the spray from the burst pipe above us and the downbeats from the pegasus maintenance crew that hovers around it. I can sense the city’s heartbeat in the throb of the forcefields and lights, and it’s... yeah.

There are guards across the street. Two security officers in the same black uniform Echo wore. They’re only buying fruit from a vendor, not even looking my way, but I still better move on before they finish. Better safe than sorry. The thick crowd between us will offer me some cover at least. The street has four lanes: two in the middle for carts and railcars, two at the edge for ponies. The apartment block has a little overhang that gives me some breathing room, but I won’t be able to take two steps before I’m in the thick of it. So I pull out my map, double check the route I set out last night, and then lower my head to shove through the crowd.

It’s like being swept into a river. Hooves all around me, tails ahead of me, lowered heads behind me, the vast motions of a herd sweeping me forward. Ponies jostle for position, moving in and out of the flow as they angle in for the fast pockets or out for their destination. It’s all I can do to keep my space, and it’s impossible to keep my distance. I have to grip my bag tight in my teeth as a guard against pickpockets, and my horn glows as I feel for my knives inside it. If one of Rarity’s agents is in this crowd, I won’t have long to react. I need to keep moving. Get to my destination, get the goods, and get home.

Both sides of the street are dotted with stores, but I’m angling for somewhere specific. According to my map, there’s a little market just up the block. That’ll give me a chance to shop around and to get a better feel for the area, without having to risk getting stranded too far from home if my strength abruptly gives out.

It’s not far, so I don’t let myself get sucked into the deep currents. I stay at the edge of the river, weaving behind construction scaffolds and around storefronts. My legs are starting to really burn now, to ache in earnest, but it takes less than a hundred paces before my destination is in sight. There, at the end of the street! A calm pool, apart from the rapids. An area of bright banners and lonely tables, watched over by one of those giant Sine Rider statues.

I pick up the pace, ignoring the tightness in my chest and the lightness in my head as I accelerate from a walk to a trot. Almost there. Almost there. There’s a stallion ahead of me. Tan. Wide frame. Strong. Three cutie marks. A sword and helmet on his flank. Security officer out of uniform. I wait until he looks right, and then put on a burst of speed to his left, ducking behind a mare trying to corral her three foals. He’s behind me. Did he see me? I don’t dare look. Checking to see where the guards are is the best way to get them to notice you. Need to keep going. There’s a mare ahead. A unicorn. Incinerate mark on her shoulder. A red cross and a blue flower on her leg. Pavilion employee. Knows pyromancy. Probably an enforcer. Horseapples! I pick up from a trot to a canter. Then a gallop. There are too many ponies here. I need to get out of this crowd!

Then, suddenly, the wall to my right is curving away, and I realize I’ve reached the market. I dive to the right and peel out of the crowd, rushing into the marketplace. The feeling of ponies pressing around me fades, and the air is cooler. I stop and check behind me. But neither of the ponies I saw is following me. They both moved on. That’s good.

That’s good and... oh. Phew. Stars I’m out of breath. My heart is pounding like a drum, and my scar really hurts. I guess short walks rules out... horseapples. Ow. Ow. I reach a hoof down to press up on my undercarriage, focusing on slow, deep breaths. The scar may be “healed” by Poison Joke, but I can still feel it even if there’s no visual sign, and it feels like it’s about to split open! Oh, Celestia. Tell me this isn’t how I die. I can’t beat Rarity only to keel over from a heart attack caused by jogging!

No. It hurts. It hurts a lot. But it’s getting better. Every beat of my heart sends a burning heat through my barrel and scars, but it’s lessening as I make myself calm down. I think I’ll be okay. “Hey,” calls a voice behind me. A stallion’s voice—concerned. Worried even. “Are you alright? Do you need any help?”

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” I say. Deep breaths, Siren. Slow, deep breaths. “I just need a second to—” I turn to glance up at my well-wisher. He’s a stallion. A pegasus. Tan. Dirty brown mane. Two crossed palm fronds on his flank. “To...”

“Yeah?” Golden Palm asks.

I shriek. I scream. And then there’s pain. A shooting pain all up and down my undercarriage. Spots appear in my vision, small white dots, then big black patches, and the world twists around me. The floor rises up, so fast—shooting out of the ground and smacking me in the side. Floors shouldn't do that. Floors should stay on the ground where floors go.

There are ponies shouting. Hooves reaching under me to haul me up. Lights. Lights in the ceiling that go woosh and humm and pulse on and off. I wonder if parties in Vision need special lights, or if everypony tries to dance in time with the regular ceiling lights. I should try dancing sometime. I bet I’d be super good at it. But that’s because I’m super good at most things. I’m like a prodigy.

Heh. Ow. A prodigy with a weird tingling in her chest. That’s getting worse. Ow. Ow! My breath is coming fast, too fast. Why does my barrel hurt so much? What’s happening? There are hooves on me. I try to sit up but they’re holding me down!

“Woah! Easy, easy!” A mare’s voice. But I thought Golden Palm was a stallion. I open my eyes, and my vision is still full of these big, floating black patches, but I can make a little out. I see a pegasus. A pegasus with atrophied, crippled wings, not a day over sixteen. Still practically a kid. But she’s not tan, or golden. She’s light green, with a dark brown mane. And... and a uniform. An ugly, bleach-white orderly’s uniform, somewhere between a jumpsuit and a smock, with the little pavillion pin on each collar and the belt of medical tools around her barrel. And a club.

I reach for my bag, but I can’t find it. My knives. I lost my knives.

“Easy there,” she says again, using a hoof and a spare wing to awkwardly maneuver a stethoscope onto her ears. She presses the... disky bit, onto my undercarriage, and I realize I’m lying on my back. On the stone. “Take slow breaths. Slow breaths. When you feel ready, try and drink some water. Right here.”

She gestures up to the side, and I see that Golden Palm is there. He’s hovering around with a cup of water balanced in his teeth, and a worried expression. Not literally hovering, of course. Not with those wings. But that doesn’t make any sense. He’s dead. Echo hanged him because I wouldn't smile. I killed him—he can’t be standing around! “Did I have a heart attack?” I ask. Whisper, really.

“Don’t try to talk,” the mare says, shaking her head. “And no, you didn’t. You just had some heart arrhythmia. I’m pretty sure it was caused by a mix of stress and hypotension, but...” She shrugs. “Anyway, it’s not life-threatening on its own, but you need to see a real doctor pronto. Your blood pressure is way lower than it should be.”

I’m pretty sure that’s because there’s way less blood in my body than there should be, but I don’t say that. If I mention I had heart surgery, somepony in the Pavilion might notice they don’t have any record of that, and suddenly I’m on the books for seeing an illegal doctor. My head hurts, and I can’t think, so I nod and let the spots clear. For a bit, I think that maybe I dreamed up the whole thing, but then I make eye contact with Golden Palm. He’s still there, and he immediately leans down to give me the water, twitching his little wings. He’s so worried about me.

I take a sip, and it helps. The water is cool and soothing, but... no. I don’t believe it. I don’t believe the water and I don’t believe him. Stars, I wish it were true, but I don’t believe it for a second!

“Yeah, okay, she’s leveling out,” the mare says, once the spots in my vision are mostly gone. Her expression is resigned, and a frown briefly crosses her features as she puts her tools away. “Listen, I gotta get back to work. Can you watch over her? Make sure she doesn’t strain herself and get her back home.”

“Um, yeah,” Golden Palm says, nodding. Both his ears are up. He doesn't want the mare to leave. Of course he doesn’t. “Will she be okay?”

“Like I said, she needs to see a real doctor,” the mare repeats, more firmly this time, as she rises back to her hooves. What’s her angle? Who is she? “But if you’re asking if she’s going to drop dead on the way home, no. Get some food and water in her and make sure she stays in bed for the rest of the day.”

“Thanks, GD,” Golden Palm says. GD? Oh. A nickname. “I owe you one.”

“Just don’t tell anypony, okay?” she asks. She lowers her head, and when she lifts it back up, there’s a shopping bag in her teeth. Is that why she was here? Shopping? “You’ll get us both in trouble,” she mouths around the bag. Oh, now I get it. Nice way to drop that into conversation. Look at me; I’m the Pavilion’s one nice employee. I break the rules to treat ponies for free. This club is only for gesturing. As if!

“I won’t,” he promises. “See you later?” She nods and heads off, and then it’s the two of us. Me on the ground, and Golden Palm standing over me.

Or what looks like him, anyway. I’m not stupid! Even if Golden Palm managed to... what? Kung-fu fight his way out of Echo’s noose? There’s no reason for him to be here. Spitfire Station is across the city, and that’s where he lives and works! And even if there was some reason for him to be here, the odds of us randomly bumping into each other like this? Zero. Zero! This is... some trick of Rarity’s. Or Trixie! Both of them knew I ran into him. Both of them have the mantles and the doctors to make a pony out of whole cloth. I’ll bet that’s what he is. My own personal changeling invasion. Here to... to catch me off guard!

“Here,” he says, offering something down to me. It’s a little slice of a pear, delicately balanced on the end of a wing. I crane my neck up to take it with my teeth, and then let my head settle back down. It’s tasty. Still a little crisp. “Sorry for uh... scaring you there,” he says as I chew. Of course you are. I stare into his eyes, waiting for that twitch. The tell, the hesitation that marks the act. No poker face is perfect. “I’m Golden Palm, by the way. What’s your name?”

No, you’re not. Golden Palm was a nice stallion and he’s dead. You’re a monster wearing his face. “I’m Sea Change,” I say, careful not to let anything show. Flat expression, soft voice, calm demeanor. I’m not gonna get played. This could be Trixie’s work, or it could be Rarity’s, but I’m betting on Trixie. Rarity doesn’t want to mess with me—she wants me dead. This sort of unnecessarily labyrinthine bit seems right up Trixie’s alley though. The setup, the twist, the reminder. She would bring a dead pony back to life to mock me. I can see her cruel little sneer all over this!

“Alright, Sea Change,” he says, trying to be reassuring. “Just uh... just lie back. And relax. I’m gonna walk you home once you’re ready to go, okay?”

I keep staring at him, probing his face, looking into his eyes. But I don’t see anything other than what’s supposed to be there. His mannerisms are perfect. The way his wings twitch because he can’t quite flutter them. The way the joints stick. The greasy hue in his mane and coat. The worry in his eyes. If he’s an actor, he’s...

Whatever. I’ve been wrong about ponies before. I thought I had a read on Rarity, and boy was I ever wrong. It doesn’t matter how good his act is. With everything I’ve seen down here, I’ll believe necromancy is on Berry’s list of skills before I’ll believe this. “Okay,” I say, so he won’t be suspicious. The pavilion pony was odd. Maybe a feint from Trixie, to throw me off the trail? “Who was your friend?”

“Oh. Her name is Green Dragon. She’s a medical student,” he says. “We were here getting lunch. Lucky thing too.” That settles it. Definitely Trixie’s plan. Rarity wouldn't be so obvious as to have her spy dating one of her little minions. “You uh... you really freaked out there.”

He hesitates for a moment. Only for a moment. I can see the social awkwardness spread through him in that faint pause. First in the legs, then in the chest, then in the ears. Then in the eyes. “Did I do something?” he asks.

You know perfectly well what you did! But of course, I can’t say that. I can’t reach up and strangle that little monster. So instead I have to play along—make up some excuse why seeing him startled me so much.

“You probably don’t remember me,” I begin, “but we met before. At the Spitfire Station cafe. You were my table’s waiter.” I pause for a second, and then add, “I uh... smiled a bit?” with that sad, hopeful twist. Like I actually expect him to remember me out of the tens of thousands of faces he saw. Of course, playing the spy, he will. He’ll eat up that story and then suddenly remember me and—

“Oh,” he says, frowning. He’s not buying it. I can see it in tail and ears—the faint spike in tension there, letting them ride higher. He’d remember if a cute mare smiled at him. But there’s more there too. Worry? Yes, worry. Worried he actually forgot me. “Is that what spooked you?”

“No,” I give a little shake of my head. Slow breaths. My vision is clear by now. Keep your head in the game, Siren! “I ah... I went back once and asked after you. But my server said you’d been taken away by security. I guess I assumed you’d been... you know.” I give him a meaningful glance. “Snap?”

“Yeah, snap,” he agrees, eyes casting downwards. “But uh, no. No, I’m sorry. I did get arrested, but it was only for a few days. They let me go after.”

Yeah, right. Sure they did. Because if there’s one thing the law in this city is known for, it’s lenient punishments. Fine! I can play along with his game. “Oh,” I say. “What happened?” Like I was honestly curious. At once, his head lowers, and his ears fold back. Shame. I don’t know what over, but just asking was enough. Ooh, Mr. Spy doesn’t want to talk about it, does he?

“Nothing. You know. They thought I did something and I didn’t,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground by my side, only occasionally glancing up at my face. As though to seek my approval. He swallows. “That’s all.” His body is tense. Face stiff. He really doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Please?” I ask, flicking my tail to the side so it brushes his flank. It’s a blunt instrument, but that suits me fine here. Golden Palm would have crumbled like a castle made of sand if I did that. If this pony stands up to it, I’ll known which way the wind is blowing. “I’m sorry,” I deliver the line perfectly. “I was so sure, and with the way ponies vanish in this city...” I catch his eyes and leave mine slightly wide. Unsteady. Needy.

It plays him like a harp.

“I uh...” He swallows again. “I helped somepony out. A mare who got injured in the station. Took her to a doctor and got her taken care of.” His tail is completely still now. Even limp. “And it uh... it turned out she was a very, very bad pony.”

Yeah, she was.

“So,” he continues, “security took me in for aiding and abetting. I spent a day in a cell and a few more with an interrogator. But they decided I really didn’t know who she was. So they uh...” I catch that pause. I catch that motion in his eyes. He’s hiding something! I knew it! “So they let me go.”

Maybe I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. I’ve been limiting my suspicion to players I already know, but what about Rainbow Dash? Security has got to have an interest in all this, don’t they? And they’ve got the perfect way to make the swap. Arrest a pony, question them for a few days, and then “let them go,” with nopony the wiser that their friend is now a plant. You could even use the interrogation time to correct any mistakes in the imposter. “You feeling ready to sit up?” he asks.

“Huh?” I snap back to attention. “Oh, I think so. Yeah. Slowly though, please.”

Hooves and a wing slide under my back and gently tilt me over as I roll onto my side, then onto my belly. The world spins, but I’m soon sitting up, no worse for wear other than a few spots in my vision and a faint ringing in my ears, both of which are already fading. We’re sitting at one of the wrought iron tables near where I fell, the remains of somepony’s lunch left on the metalwork. His lunch, I think. Mostly fruit. “Here,” he says quickly. “Why don’t I get you more water?”

“Yeah,” I agree, blandly. I could use the water, and I could use the time to think. To plan my next move. “Thanks.” A nod sends him off into the marketplace, towards one of the little stalls there, and away from me.

I watch him go for a little while, but mostly I take the chance to look around. There have got to be other agents in the crowd. Other ponies watching us. I scan for them, but I don’t see them. Maybe that mare over there, with the unblinking eye on her shoulder? A cutie mark for spying? No. She wouldn't let that show. Or maybe somepony in the pegasus repair crew, up near the ceiling? Or a wiredoll, left running, but slack on its stand so it seems dead. There are so many possibilities, but none of them stand out!

My heart rate is picking up again. No. No, Siren. You need to calm down, or Rarity won’t even have to kill you. I look around, forcing myself to take deep breaths as I do. The market is a bit like Serpent’s Wharf must have been before the war. Tables and ponies and little garden boxes with trees. It’s so cheerful and nice, but it all has that lurking undertone, and it all exists under the imposing gaze of that Sine Rider statue. He’s staring down at us, grim and judgmental, with a determined set to his jaw. The quote at the bottom is long, with engraved golden lettering. “Friendship is strongest,” it says, “when it is selfish. I give to my friends because I desire to see them well, and for no other cause. There is no emotion more toxic to friendship than obligation.”

I bet Celestia just loved him.

It’s a good reminder of where I am, in any case. A good reminder of what this city stands for. And why you can’t trust anypony here.

Okay. Golden Palm is on his way back now, with another cup of water in his teeth. What do I do? How am I playing this? That’s definitely not Golden Palm. If it is, he’s probably brainwashed. If he’s not brainwashed, this is almost certainly a trap. And even if it’s not a trap, I have nothing to gain by chatting with a crippled waiter. So, I should excuse myself and get back home as soon as I can. Wire Trixie, in case this is one of Rarity or Rainbow Dash’s tricks. She’ll want to know. And if it’s her trick, maybe she’ll reveal something when we talk.

Right. I should get out of here.

Of course, if I go, I’ll probably never know who's behind this. What they were up to. What possible purpose could be served by puppeting the corpse of a kind stallion around in front of me. I’ll never know what really happened to him.

“Hey,” he says, gently placing the cup on the table and then nosing it over to me. “Here you go. You feeling better?”

I levitate the cup up and take a long drink of water. “Yeah,” I say when I’m done. And it’s true. As long as I move at a slow walk, I think I can make it home on my own fine. “Listen, I’m sorry, but if it’s not too much of an imposition, I was actually here to pick up my medication. I really shouldn't go home without it. Do you think you could help me out?”

“Oh. Of course,” he says, without hesitation. Rookie mistake. Even Golden Palm would show a little hesitation at going so far out of his way for a total stranger. But of course, a plant would do anything to stay by my side. “What do you need?” he asks, moving around to my side of the table. Sitting beside me like an obedient puppy.

It’s not even subtle.

“Oh, just some things from the pharmacy,” I demur, gently. “And food. My doctor put me on a special diet. To help with that blood pressure thing. But it’s no rush,” I assure him. “Go ahead and finish your lunch.”

I watch him as he scarfs down the last of his fruit, trying to finish quickly so I won’t have to wait. Watching me with every other bite to make sure I’m okay. He even blushes when I smile at him. It’s overplaying the part. Oversimplification is a common mistake of novices. Take one established fact—that he helped a mare in need—and exaggerate it until his only defining personality trait is being a spineless loser with a knight in shining armor fetish. I can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier.

Earlier right now, I mean. I can’t believe I didn’t see the flaws in his act. Not before in Spitfire Station. Golden Palm didn’t act like that.

“So,” I say as he takes a pear in his teeth, quickly consuming it. “What brings you over here? We’re not exactly near Spitfire.”

“Therapy,” he says, ears twitching slightly. “Angel’s Garden is up the road, and security gave me this writ for seeing a professional.” Angel’s Garden? That’s Fluttershy’s lair, isn’t it? Is she behind this? And since when does security in Vision give ponies anything, much less concern for their emotional health?

“It’s okay, I guess,” he goes on. “I was really dubious going in. Hoof-holders, you know? I had the lot of them figured for parasites, so I was going to go for my one session and then say I felt better. But it was actually kind of nice. I think I’m going to stick with it.”

Hah! Can’t keep our story straight, can we? Golden Palm couldn’t afford to look at a doctor, much less see one every week! “I’m surprised you can afford it,” I say. “I thought that was really expensive.”

“Oh, no,” he says, trying to sound upbeat. He doesn’t want to depress me. “The writ covers as much as I want. Or as much as the doctors think I need. It’s cool, you know? Angel’s Garden is nice. Not Pavilion-Golden-Ticket nice, but nice.”

Sure, nice. Except that that story doesn’t add up! If he gets as much attention as he wants for free—yeah right—then what did he mean by his one session? Little slips like that are what mark a fake from the real thing.

Unless he meant his one mandatory session. Because the only reason I can think of that the police would send someone to a mental health specialist is if they were a danger to themselves and others.

“Cool,” I say. “I knew a pony who won a golden ticket once. She uh... got a mantle that let her hear really well.” For a moment, the conversation lulls. “And got her teeth fixed.”

I watch the floor until he’s done. My little paper bag is resting against the table leg. He must have dropped it there. No doubt after inspecting the contents. I’ll have to check it when I get home.

I’m not sure how much time passes before he pokes me with his wing. Looks at me with those worried eyes. I smile. “Great!” I say, “Let’s go.” He moves to support me with a shoulder, and I let him, even if I don’t really need it. The pickings here are slimmer than I thought. There are a lot of restaurants, but that’s not what I need, and while there are plenty of fruit stands, they’re all kind of upscale. Meaning expensive. I need something a little more in my price range.

Eventually, I spot a little store tucked into the corner, Penny Candy’s General Store and Pharmacy, and decide that’s my best shot. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to find another store, and with how exhausted I am, that probably means trying again tomorrow. I guess I can survive off apples if I must.

I’m not sure what I’ll do about my escort, in that case.

The thing wearing Golden Palm’s face is watching me as we make our way across the market, but I don’t watch him. There’s no call to. I keep my eyes ahead, focused on our destination. It’s a little store, with two big windows full of posters. One of them I’ve specifically seen before, “P.C.S.D. Affects Over 45% of Pegasi.” One of them is familiar to me in passing, depicting the pony biting its own tail with the caption “Fountain of Youth: Accept No Substitutes.” One is completely unknown to me, depicting a posing stallion with a lightning bolt and a boxing glove on his flank and the caption “Give ’em the old one-two!”

One, positioned right by the door where everypony can see it, shows my cutie mark. My new cutie mark. The compass rose takes up almost the entire poster, with only the tiniest caption at the bottom. “Courage has a name,” it reads in blocky letters. Then, in flowing script: “Daring Do.”

“Ugh!” I snap, glaring at the posters and shoving the door open. A little bell rings when I do, suspended over the door frame.“Don’t you hate these things? You know P.C.S.D. isn’t even a real disease.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, trying to keep up with me. He still sounds worried. If anything, his tone has gotten more concerned. “It’s ridiculous.”

Well it is!

This store seems like a good pick, at least. The decorations are tacky, the aisles are narrow, and there’s too much merchandise on the shelves. It screams cheap, and a quick price check on a few items confirms it. I even think this place has everything I need—miscellaneous items in the front, food in the middle, and a big sign for the pharmacy in the back.

I grab a belt first. It’s a flimsy cloth thing, but it has two built-in holders for weapons, a few pockets, and space to hook up a saddlebag. Good enough. Five bits. I pick up a big bundle of hay next, some oats, alfalfa, and the vitamin pills I’m supposed to take. Twenty bits total. Golden Palm insists on carrying them, and I let him, but only so I won’t have to put up with his stupid puppy eyes the whole way. That leaves twenty-five bits for medication, which may not be enough, but I figure it’s better this way. Finding out why my pain medication gave me visions is important, but it’s not urgent, and I can delay it if I must. Going hungry when I’m trying to recover from surgery might have more permanent consequences.

The back of the store is split in half. On the left is a pharmacy counter, where an obviously bored mare noses her way through a magazine in front of shelves of little glass bottles. On the right is some big, fancy vending machine: The Gatherer’s Garden. It’s been all dressed up, with a statue of a little sister in front, and three bounding stallions behind her. One unicorn, one earth pony, and one pegasus. The space between the counter and the machine is taken up with more posters. It’s prime real-estate for ads but that’s not what they’re using it for. They’ve only got one kind of poster there now.

It’s my wanted poster.

“WANTED,” the writing at the top reads. “Siren Song.” The majority of the page is taken up by a detailed sketch of my face, side profile, and original cutie mark. Then there’s the text at the bottom: “Wanted for treason, murder, and conspiracy in connection with the bombing of the Carousel Medical Pavilion and attempted assassination of Councilmare Rarity. Suspect should be considered armed and extremely dangerous. Known Mantles: Daring Do. Known Abilities: Enhanced Stealth, Sound Manipulation, Supernatural Toughness, Supernatural Strength. A reward of 500,000 bits has been posted for information leading to her capture.”

That tension is coming back again. In my throat, this time. It’s okay. It’s okay. That’s actually a good thing. I don’t look anything like that now, and there’s no mention of Berry, Echo, or Green. They got the Daring Do mark right, but lots of ponies have that mark, so it’s not definitive. And it’s obvious the poster is mostly conjecture. I mean, Enhanced Stealth? That’s not a power—that’s an application of my sound spells. I bet Rarity just put that there because she still hasn’t figured out how we got into the Pavilion. And I have no idea where she got super strength from. I can’t even do a dozen push-ups, much less leap tall buildings in a single bound.

I need to play it cool. Laugh it off. Not show any sign I’m worried. “Sucks, doesn’t it? I just got this thing, and less than a week later, some serial killer copies my style.” I put on a hint of selfish irritation. Mares in Vision are so petty. “Still, it’s kind of funny, right? New flagship mantle comes out, and the first big user is a criminal mastermind. Bet that’ll hurt sales.”

I turn to Golden Palm. Grin to show I’m not afraid. But he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at the floor.

I stop smiling.

“Uh...” His ears are folded tight against his head. His tail is limp. “Um... I. Um...” Shut up, Siren! That pose comes out of a textbook. I’ve practiced that pose. I’ve done that pose! I’m not falling for this stupid act! “I’m sorry. That wasn’t funny. I shouldn't joke about... about ponies getting hurt. I’m sorry, Golden Palm.” He doesn't lift his head. “Please don’t look that way.”

Oh sun and stars. What if he figures it out? The Daring Do mark on my cheek isn’t enough on its own, but if that sets him off, and he starts noticing my mannerisms, that could be enough. Knowing him? The scream? It’s all so obvious. He’d have to be brain damaged not to figure it out! Horseapples! I should have used a fake accent or something. I’m an actor and it didn’t even occur to me that I was playing a part!

Then he turns his head up. He forces himself to smile. He forces himself to wear a smile he doesn’t feel, because a pretty mare is upset and he wants to make her feel better.

“No, you’re uh... you’re right,” he says, though his voice is weak. “It is kind of funny, in a cosmic way. Probably some Pavilion executive who’s ripping his mane out right now. Trying to figure out some way to spin ‘deranged bomber’ into a sales motto.”

“They would try to capitalize on this, wouldn't they?” I ask. “Bunch of heartless bean counters.” That cheers him up a bit. Or, well, not really. But he acts like it does. And it doesn’t matter because everything he says is an act in the first place.

Next to us, the vending machine fires up of its own accord. I don’t know what we did to set it off, but a few bars of some catchy jingle play, and I hear a phonograph needle engage. “My brother is stronger than Applejack,” sings out a little filly’s voice. “My brother is smarter than Twilight. My brother can conjure lightning with a flick of his wings. Are you like my brothers?” Both of us are looking at anything but each other now. Letting the stupid, stupid thing play out. “Not if you don’t visit the Gatherer’s Garden you aren’t! Don’t get taken in by shady alchemists! Get first-rate mantles at rock bottom prices, only at the Garden.”

Then it’s quiet.

I clear my throat. “Well, we should—”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, and we walk to the counter.

There’s not much to that part of things. I tell the mare behind the counter I need vultiphine and she asks how much. I tell her thirty milligrams a dose. She says they sell it in one hundred and fifty milligram bottles for six bits each, or four bottles for sixteen bits, so I tell her to give me four. That’s way more than I’ll need for experimental purposes, but it means I don’t have to worry about wasting it, and I can always add the extra to my little belt first aid kit. Then I pay for my things and leave.

The crowd isn’t so bad, with somepony to buffer me. Golden Palm grew up in Vision, so he knows how to rear and kick and elbow and butt heads in a herd, and he keeps the worst of the traffic away from me. We make the trip at a slow walk and don’t say anything during, other than little practical observances. Of course, he doesn’t know where we’re going, so I have to navigate. But it isn’t far.

Then we’re outside my building, and I stop.

“I can make it from here, thanks,” I say, levitating my things back from him. He seems worried, glancing at my weak frame and shivering knees. My legs are really, really sore.

“Are you sure?” he asks, like I was really going to let such an obvious fake into my home. “I could—”

“I’m sure,” I say. “But hey, thank you for all your help. You were a real gentlepony today. A lifesaver.” Literally. “And, um.” He’s staring at me. “Hey, I’m not usually this forward, but...” I reach down into my little hoofboot, and pull out one of my spare wiredoll tokens. The shape on the end has changed. One of the goons who prepped me cast some spell on them and the symbol shifted to a heart and shackles. It’s that symbol that I gently pass to Golden Palm. I balance it on his wing. “If you’re going to be around, you know. Maybe we could grab lunch sometime? I did kind of interrupt yours.”

“Oh!” He doesn’t know how to react. The little token wobbles on top of his wing, and he has to dive to catch it in his teeth. “Furre! Ah heen”—he shifts it around his teeth—“Sure! I’d like that. I’ll uh... I’ll be in touch. Stay safe, okay?”

“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.” And I’m sorry.

I use my building key to get in, and then walk into the lobby. It’s empty. The lift is waiting for me. “Sixty!” I say to the air, clear and sharp, and the door closes around me. Great! So now I... I have an agent of Trixie or Rarity or Rainbow Dash or Fluttershy or somepony on my tail. They’re disguised as somepony I knew, so whoever it is is obviously onto me, and they have excellent agents who are really good at disguise. I can’t ask Trixie for help, because it might be her, and I can’t ask Green, because Green will only see it as more reason for me to go back to Equestria!

I don’t know what to do. The lift doors open, and I walk down the hall to my apartment. Fumble with the key. The living room is empty, and I lock the front door behind me. Levitate my knives out and float them alongside. I don’t know what to do. He’s obviously a fake, and even if he wasn’t, it wouldn't matter!

I go back into my room. The blankets are still balled up where I left them, the bed still a mess. I lock that door behind me as well. The knives go back to the nightstand, and my bags on top of the chest. I grab the divan and wedge it up under the handle. No. It would be worse if he was real. Because if he was real, that would mean that he’s the one pony who can actually figure out my new disguise. He’s the one pony who knows me well enough that he could figure it out just by hanging around me. It would mean that I spilled a paper thin cover story, riddled with holes, to somepony who has all the pieces to put it together. It would mean that he could be putting it together right now. It would mean that the next knock on that door is going to be security officers, because he ratted me out because he thinks I’m a serial killer.

My eyes are starting to burn. My vision is blurring. It’s all I can do to make my way to the bed. To not think about what it would mean because it would mean that I’m going to die tonight because I was nice to some stallion who saved my life twice. Who saved my life for no reason other than because he’s a really kind and sweet pony deep down. It would mean that after everything I’ve gone through it’s all going to end because I was a stupid, stupid pony. It would mean that I know today is my last day in the world and I can’t go to anypony for help.

Because the only ponies I have in the world are Trixie and Green, and if I tell either of them there’s a stallion out there who knows too much, they’ll kill him. They’ll hunt him down and they’ll cut his throat. Because of me.

Because it’s all my fault.

I pull the blankets up around myself and over my head, and curl up into a little ball and hide from the world like a stupid foal. Like the stupid foal I am.

Then I start to cry.

Sea Change, Part 2

Humm. Buzz. Tick. Tock. The lights of Vision cycle, and all the clocks of the city tick with them. The lights in my room are off, but I can still feel the beat, and even the dim illumination is enough to see the second hand on my bedside clock swing forward one slot. Thirty seconds.

Humm. Buzz. Tick. Tock. The long, narrow hand advances again, leaving only twenty-nine seconds left. I did a mental tally of how long I’ve been in Vision, plus the voyage at sea to get here and, including all the days I’ve been unconscious, I’m pretty sure this is the thirty-seventh day of spring. That means the sun is going to rise at exactly six fifty-one in the morning, assuming that Vision hasn’t dulled my memory and that Princess Celestia keeps her schedule. She always keeps her schedule though, and my memory is pretty good. When I’m interested. Twenty seconds.

Nineteen. Eighteen. I tense up a little, even if I know it’s stupid. Look at the door. Like fate was going to snatch me up at the last moment, just to give me some false hope. I listen for the pounding of horseshoes on stone, and the ring of metal, and the crash of a ram taking down the door. I imagine a shout of “Security! Freeze!” and I imagine it in Echo’s voice. That actually fits, though. I know way too much about him. If there was a raid on my apartment, he’d find a way to make sure he led it. So I could die resisting arrest. I can’t be too upset about that though. He’s only doing his bit. I look back at the clock. Five seconds.

Four. Three. Two. One. The minute hand turns over. Six fifty-one. I tense up a little more at the moment it changes, but nothing happens.

That’s it then—start of day three. That’s sixty-something hours since I gave Golden Palm everything he needed to figure out that Siren Song and Sea Change were the same person. Three days since I paraded my laughably thin cover identity in front of him and told him to take a good long look. Three days since I should, by all rights, have died of a severe case of stupid. But there’s nothing. No officers breaking down my door. Nopony trying to sneak in. No alarms. So, I guess he didn’t figure it out.

Of course, he hasn’t wired me either, so I don’t really know. Maybe he did figure it out and he’s fretting over if he should turn me in. Maybe Trixie saw us talk and had him killed. Maybe I... drove him off. Heart-attack mare isn’t exactly a great first impression.

I don’t know.

I spend a while thinking about that. And staring at the clock. Watching as the seconds tick past and the minute hand slowly advances. I also think about pulling up the blankets, but I don’t. They’ve gotten kind of sweaty, and besides, it’s not like blankets really serve any purpose in a city with no weather. They’re just there for ponies who remember Equestria. I bet Golden Palm doesn’t bother with them.

Wait. No. I glance back at the clock, and the hands are still slowly turning, but I just remembered. I remembered that the clocks aren’t right. Because they go off the lights and the lights are irregular. I figured that out after the Pavilion. So I don’t know if it’s six fifty-five or not. I don’t know if the sun is rising. I guess it doesn’t matter, but it bothers me. I could go to the window to check—look up at the sky for some distant glimmer of sunlight. But I don’t. No point. Instead, I roll over and stare at something else.

The city is the only source of illumination here—its pale white lights shining in through the windows. If I punched those forcefields, I’d get to see a nice purple flash, but as it is, all I see is white. Rippling white dots and lines that curl up and down the wall and floor and ceiling, revealing the mess around me only to conceal it a moment later. Like a shadow play.

I don’t need the light though. My eyes are sufficiently adjusted to see the outlines, and that’s seeing enough. My things are scattered all over the floor—tools and medical supplies and bits of hay. The bathroom door is ajar, and the way the light plays off the tiles inside reveals that the floor is still damp. The trash bin is overflowing with apple cores. That’s what three days of sitting in the dark and gorging yourself on apples will do to a room. Lucky for me that Applejack gave me so many. The hay ran out a while ago.

I could get more, if I wanted. Could have gotten more. I have another little bag of bits now, to replace the one I spent. Trixie wired me on the first day after I got back from my supply run. I got to see the world through a wiredoll’s eyes, which was neat, and then she sent some medical goons to check on me and make sure I had food and stuff. I think they were surprised I’d gone out on my own already. Apparently the doctor told them I’d be too weak to get out of bed for a while. But that’s me. Tough as nails. My wanted poster says so.

Anyway. I just smiled and told them what they wanted to hear and flirted with the old one until they went away. I’m sure they told Trixie I’m fine. Staying in bed and eating fresh food is what ponies are supposed to do when they’re sick, right?

Right.

It’s the smell that’s the worst part. Three days of lying in bed like a stupid foal and feeling sorry for myself should produce a distinctive odor. Throw in the fact that heavy blankets make me feel good and I’ve been sweating like a pig, and I should stink so bad they could smell me in Cloudsdale. But I don’t. I smell like flowers. I smell like sugar. I smell like I did the backstroke in a lake of perfume.

“So no, Epiphany,” I say to the apple cores. “Since you’re so insistent I answer your stupid question—no, I don’t think you stink. I think you smell fantastic. I think this is the best you’ve ever smelled in your life!” The apple core doesn’t answer. Which really shouldn't come as a surprise. It’s an apple core—what was it going to say exactly!? I sweep up one of my knives, but the light from my own stupid horn blinds me, and the throw goes wild. I hear the knife hit the stone, clattering down to the floor, and... and...

“Ponyfeathers!” I shout, lashing out with my rear hooves and slamming my head back into the headboard. The kick takes what’s left of the blankets clear off the bed, sending them flying into the darkness. Of course I can’t see where they go since I blinded myself! “Stupid!” I shout, pounding the back of my head against the board. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

My eyes are starting to mist up, but I don’t want to cry again. I’ve done that too much already, and all my wailing and screaming is doing is giving me a nice bruise on the back of my head! “Shut up!” I snap, slamming on the headboard with a hoof. It hits the wall behind the bed hard, electing a little thunderclap of impact, but I also hear something under that. Splintering wood.

Splintering wood. The headboard didn’t smack against the wall the other times I hit it. I think I broke the strut that connects it to the bed. My crying slows for a moment, and I give it a little nudge to be sure. It tilts back, leaning freely against the wall.

Great. I destroyed my bed. That’s something that reasonable, adult mares do. Yeah right! “You’re starting to sound a bit aggressive, Ms. Song,” I growl, in my best impression of Echo’s rolling, mocking cadence. “You know, for a marker, it’s never too early to get into the habit of watching your temper. I know you feel normal now, but the symptoms have a way of sneaking up on you.” I’m crying again, and squeezing my eyes shut doesn’t help! “Thanks, Echo. That’s some great advice right there. I’ll be sure to remember that you heartless, drunken monster!” I pound the mattress. I scream. And I lash out—bucking with my rear hooves.

This time, I feel my hooves connect with something more substantive than blankets. There’s a sense of motion, something flying across the room. I see its outline hit the wall, and then hear glass shatter, the individual pieces audible as they tumble down all over the floor.

My crying stops. I sniffle, and look up. What did I hit? There’s nothing made of glass in this room. I can’t think of anything in my stuff I could have hit. It felt solid. I don’t know.

It guess it doesn’t matter, though. I’ve just about destroyed everything else in this room. What does it matter? I slump back down to the sheets.

Maybe Green will finally get out of the hospital today. Or Trixie will wire. That would be nice. I like talking to Trixie. She’s so easy to hate. Every other pony can make me feel bad. Even Berry. Even Echo. But Trixie? Trixie is such a miserable ball of caustic malevolence that I don’t feel bad when I lie to her. She makes me feel like the good guy, and when we argue, I always get what I want. I guess I should be worried that she’s letting me win.

But... whatever. I lie there. Stare at the lights for a while. Think about things. I still have Trixie’s token. I could wire her. To say hello. Ask her how she’s been. That’d be funny—just to mess with her.

I wish I had Berry’s token. She wasn’t one of my handlers, so I assume Trixie has assigned her to some other job. I don’t even know if I’ll ever see her again. She was nice. Or at least she wasn’t bad. I mean, sure, she was annoying and sneaky but I could trust her. About the little things. I could trust that she wouldn't hurt me or poison my tea. I could sleep and trust she’d watch over me. And she never meant any harm. She tried to help the ponies around her, even if she wasn’t exactly a pony herself. Getting to hear her voice again would be nice. I do have Echo’s token. And Green’s. But no. Wiring Echo would give away my cover.

And I don’t want Green to see me this way.

I spend a while like that—staring at the ceiling. Then I hear a quiet tinkle from across the room. A little shard of glass falling over. What did I hit? One of the water bottles in my belt, maybe? They’re the right size. But I left my belt on the floor.

It takes a few minutes for me to work up the nerve. I keep lifting my head, only to let it fall back to the sheets, unable to conjure the effort of caring. Eventually though, I push myself up and slowly light my horn, careful to give my eyes time to adjust. My room is an absolute mess, with broken glass, spilled water, and abandoned items scattered over the floor in equal measure. There’s my blanket, wadded up against the far wall. And beside it, a crumpled bag.

I try to levitate the bag over, but the bottom gives out, and the contents spill out all over the floor. Shards of glass, bits of paper. And a few little round bottles that roll out in all directions.

Oh. Right. Of course. I’d forgotten. I levitate one of the bottles over. It’s a little cylindrical thing, with a clear label around the outside. “Vultiphine Solution,” it reads, in plain blocky letters. “Diluted 1:9 By Volume. Total Active Contents: 150mg.” I turn it around to look at the back, and there’s more information there. A bunch of numbers, some seals and stamps. Medical data I don’t understand. And an ingredients list. “By Volume: Distilled Water (90%), Morphine (9%), Extract of Heart’s Desire (1%).”

Oh. I get it. Vultis is Latin for ‘desires of the heart.’ Princess Celestia taught me that. Vultis-Morphine. Vultiphine.

I slump back against the bed, pulling the levitated bottle with me. So, the drug that tasted like Rarity’s tea—that gave me visions and... and other things I don’t want to think about. It was only painkillers and Heart's Desire. I somehow doubt morphine gave me visions. If nothing else, I’ve been on it at least three times in my life already—twice with Green, and once when I was a foal. I didn’t have any visions then.

That leaves Heart's Desire as the secret ingredient in Rarity’s tea, though that also raises more questions. Like, don’t mantles contain Heart's Desire? Why didn’t drinking Daring Do give me visions? And why me? If it’s such a common drug, shouldn’t ponies be tripping out all over the city?

Thinking about it for a while doesn’t get me any closer to an answer. Maybe this is the wrong drug—a different drug gave me visions, and it was coincidence I saw them after I took my painkillers. Maybe Rarity did something and the drugs aren’t responsible at all. Maybe it’s me, or the quantity, or the amount or... something. I don’t know.

“Drink your tea, Siren,” I mumble as I stare up at the ceiling. Do I even want to seek the truth? Do I want to know why I had visions in the Pavilion and again in Doctor Stable’s? “To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed.” A whimper escapes me when I say it. It’s not fair. The Pavilion can’t follow me here. Rarity can’t! I’m past all that now. I’m free. I’m not even supposed to be Siren Song anymore. I’m Sea Change! “Drink it and wish to know who you truly are. Shut up!”

The headboard makes another thunderous clap when it hits the wall, my head slamming back into it. “Just shut up,” I say again, resting my head against the board and shutting my eyes. The back of my head is throbbing now. I’m going to have a nasty mark there.

“Fine. Fine! You want me to know so bad?” I pull up the bottle. I don’t have an eye-dropper or anything, but that’s fine. The dose is thirty milligrams, the container in total has a hundred and fifty. I just eyeball it, twisting off the cap and downing what I judge to be about a fifth of the container. I think I got it right, and I snap the cap back on, tossing the bottle onto the end table. It does taste like Rarity’s tea—foul and caustic with this really bitter aftertaste.

“Fine,” I say again. I steel myself. Get ready. “To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed. Show me why I’m such a terrible pony.” I brace.

But nothing happens.

I give it a bit. I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid. Maybe it doesn’t take effect right away. Maybe I have to say the phrase again. Maybe I have to be more specific. I try other things. Show me Equestria. Show me Green. Show me music. Show me Trixie. Show me how to hide from Rarity. Nothing.

I don’t even have the energy to shout anymore. Or cry. All that’s left to do is fall to the sheets, go back to watching the clock, and wait. Wait for security, for Trixie, for Green, for Golden Palm, or for anypony in the world to even remember I exist.

Eventually, I get tired of it all, and I shut my eyes.

Then I open them again.

Something is different. That’s the first thing I’m aware of—a vague but really strong sense that something has changed between when I shut my eyes and when I opened them. It’s disorienting for a moment, but then I notice that the sheets are more tangled than they were a second ago, and that the clock says nine-thirty. That makes sense. I fell asleep.

Well, good. I’m still a bit foggy, so it takes me a little while to sort things out, but sleeping seems like a positive thing. I was in kind of a state there. I suppose I’m due a chance to vent some stress, but that was really unhealthy. A nap to clear my head was probably for the best. And it did really help. I don’t feel good exactly, because my circumstances still aren’t good, and that can be really upsetting sometimes, but I definitely feel better. It’s kind of a hard feeling to describe, but I think I would say I’m calm. It’s a different sort of calm than I’ve felt before, but I like it. I’m really mellow. Relaxed.

It’s nice. Not great, but... nice. Makes it easy to curl up and enjoy the little things. Like a soft bed, and the pretty city lights on the ceiling.

I’m not in any rush to get up, so I lie there for a while and take some time to not think about things—to not think about all the things in my life that are going wrong. But eventually, they start to filter though. Like how I’m soaked with sweat. It’s not uncomfortable exactly, because this bed—this bed right here—this bed is super comfy, and my sweat makes me smell awesome now, but I’m sticky and it’s kind of gross. I should shower.

Yeah, that'd be perfect. It would feel good and help me wake up and get clean when I’m dirty, and I love showers. Just love ’em. They’re like getting a hug made of warm.

“Lights on,” I say, squinting in anticipation of the glare. The cute little mini wiredoll thing by the bed springs to life at my command, and the lights flicker on, pulsing with the rest of the city. I roll over—there’s no pain, which is nice, because I’ve had a lot of pain lately—and mind the spots in my vision. I give them a second to clear, then take in the room around me.

Wow. I really let this place fall apart. There’s trash and broken glass everywhere and water on the floor, and the blankets are kicked over into the corner. I’ve only been here three days, and the room already looks like it’s been given over to vandals for weeks.

“Wow,” I say. “I really let this place fall apart.” Saying it out loud makes it better. “Guess I went kind of crazy there.”

I spend a second more taking it in, then shrug. “Well, it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do today but clean. Not sure I can do anything about the headboard, but... eh.” I bet some glue will fix it right up. And if not, it’s not the end of the world. It’s important to keep these things in perspective.

So I get up, mindful not to step on any broken glass, and I stretch. That feels good—twisting my spine around until it pops, and cracking out all my knees and ankles. Of course, it doesn’t feel nearly as good as the shower. The showers in Vision are fantastic. I can feel the heat radiating out of the pipes, and even after the water comes on, I’m practically nuzzling up against them to try and get it out. So I’m not in any rush to finish. I can take my time. Sing a bit. My voice is different now, but it’s still beautiful, and I’m a great singer. Also I can use my sound spells to provide my own chorus, so there’s that too.

“At the gala, at the gala, with the Princess, with the Princess, is where I’m going to be, where I’ll be,” I’m singing as I hop out. There are no towels to dry off with, but a good shake fixes that problem! “Standing proudly by her side, for all of Canterlot to see, wealth and class. Everypony will see I’m special, and they’ll make time just for—”

Thump.

I snap my jaw shut at once, and my ears perk up. That sound. Did that come from the next apartment up? I don’t know. I can’t hear anything. My horn is already aglow, so I throw a quick amplification spell over my ears, focusing the magic so I won’t constantly be hearing my own magnified breath. Yes! There it was again. A thump, and a metallic sound, and they’re definitely not from the next apartment over.

They’re in the living room.

Okay, Siren. Keep it together. I should... I should ah... check the door! Right. I lean out of the bathroom, and no, the door to my room is still closed and braced with the divan. Okay. Next, get knives. One on the nightstand, one on the floor where I threw it. Undamaged. My ears are tracking the living room as my body turns, and I keep hearing things. Scraping. Glass and metal objects clinking together. Like Echo’s tool set? I strain, but I can’t make out anything more. For all I know, it could be one thug or an entire security team. Horseapples! Okay, Siren. Think. There must be some way I can see what’s on the other side. Maybe I can peek through the keyhole and—

I twist my ankle as hard as I can and shove it down, trying to grind it into the brace and scratch that infernal itch. Of course, it doesn’t come to nothing. For all of my snorting and shoving and grinding my teeth, the binding cords keep twisting around my leg, making sure that wretched false hoof can’t get comfortable. Push down hard enough to actually scratch anything, and the cords get so tight they cut off my circulation, and all I’ve done is traded an itch for pins and needles. Add to that that this thing somehow manages to be too tight and keep falling off at the same time, probably because whoever made it didn’t think I’d be covered in grease!

I hike up my rear leg and give it a good slam into the back of the elevator, listening to the clang and feeling that prosthetic beat against my stump. It doesn’t help anything, but it feels good anyway. The blight take this stupid thing and the doctors who came up with it!

No. I have to calm down. Take a breath. I ain’t always the most self-aware of ponies, but I can tell that my temper’s been a lot worse these past few days. Part of that is due to circumstances. Doc Stable... well, he ain’t a parasite, but getting shown up by a rube doesn’t sting any less. And another part is due to perfectly understandable stress. I may have known before that I was falling apart, but having one of my pieces actually fall off was a reminder I didn’t need!

Consarnit. Slow breath. Slow breaths. It feels like all I can think about right now is my missing hoof and my empty stomach and that dirty, greasy feeling in my coat that won’t ever go away. I am falling apart and I know it. But during the blight, when we were starving and we all knew it, Mom and Dad would distract us by making us all play jacks. The whole family. I lost my set awhile ago, but the rhyme still does wonders for me. One-jack two-jack three-jack four. Five-jack six-jack seven-jack more.

I repeat that a few times, and by the end I feel better. Better enough to calm down and admit that while one part and another may be owed to stress, that ain’t all of it. Not all.

The lift door’s opened by now, but it’s not my floor, and there’s nopony there. Somepony must have called the lift and had a change of heart.

I take another long breath and wait for the doors to shut. I make myself ignore the itch in my hoof. No twisting, no scratching, no grinding it against things like some animal with stitches. No thinking about the sweat collecting down in the brace and how soaked the cords must be by now. No thinking about how I must smell and how that’s only going to get worse. No. No! One-jack two-jack three-jack four. Five-jack six-jack seven-jack more.

I do that a few more times in my head, and the lift doors close.

It wouldn't be so bad if it was just the discomfort. Pain I can stand, hunger I can stand. I’ll even learn to stand having one less hoof. Uncertainty though, that’s worse. And this situation is another thing entirely.

It doesn’t make any sense is the problem. Trixie could have Siren stuffed into a cell any time it suited her, and if there was some reason she needed Siren up and about, she owns a hundred cheap apartment buildings where nopony would notice a new face. So why the fancy digs? She’s spending more bits and more time for an option that puts us in more danger, and all so... what? The foal can have a nice place? No. That ain’t in Trixie’s character.

No. No, that ain’t it at all. Puppeting Siren into fighting Rarity may have been strange, and long on the odds, but it at least had a sort of reason to it. Rarity crossed Trixie, so Trixie had a knife stuck in her eye. It’s a story as old as Neptune’s Bounty. This though? This doesn’t make any sense at all. Trixie’s playing us both like cheap fiddles, and it’s obvious she’s playing us, but there’s nothing we can do about it! I can’t do anything because Trixie’s got me by the heart, and Siren can’t do anything because Celestia emotionally crippled her to the point she’ll ruin her life just for a hug!

Some mechanism clicks, and the lift doors open again. My floor. I levitate my bags and step out into the hall. Enough already. As long as I’m this tired and hungry, I’m going to keep getting upset by little things. I need to eat and sleep, and shower most of all. That’ll... that’ll help.

According to the key, Siren and I are in apartment four-eleven. The lift opens by four hundred, and the numbers seem to be going up, so that’s easy enough. I find the apartment door in short order, and give a quick knock to be polite. There’s no answer, but the key does its job fine.

“Sweetheart?” I call out as I push inside. What was that new alias Trixie gave her? “Sea Change?” I check around for any sign of her, but there’s nothing to see. It’s a really nice place, but it looks like it’s never been occupied. There’s nothing on the counters, nothing on the tables. What’s going on here? Is this a trap? Why would Trixie send me to an empty—

“At the gala!” carries through one of the walls. The walls here are thick, and muffle it well, but whoever’s singing is really belting it out—getting into it like it was a proper Equestrian musical. “With the Princess! Is where I’m going to be!”

Oh. That brings a little smile to my face. So that’s what she sounds like now. It’s good. More mature. Her old voice was kind of squeaky. “Standing proudly by her side for all of Canterlot to see!” I’ll have to have a word about her choice of songs. The walls here are thick and muffle sound well, so I don’t think anypony can hear her, but it’s a habit she needs to grow out of. Both her song choice and being Celestia’s kicked puppy. It’s sweet that she means so well, but...

Well, sweetness don’t count for much. Particularly when the only reason she’s so sweet on me is that wretched mule trained her to crave approval. The smile fades from my face, and the angry itching in my ankle comes to the fore again. I reach a hoof up to scratch at my shoulders, where the greasy feeling is seeping in and spreading the itch all up and down my side. No matter, I’ll be able to shower soon. I toss my bags to the floor, and they land with a thump. I’ve got stuff to unpack, but I can wait for a bit. Maybe there’s food in some of these cabinets.

—get a better look?

What?

All I can do is stand there dumbfounded. What just happened? My head is still so foggy it’s hard to think. Okay, I had a vision. That’s what happened. But why? I was just standing here. I didn’t say the words or anything. I was standing here and suddenly I was Green and... Green!

The floor is still covered in glass, but I sweep it away with my horn and dash for the door. My head is still foggy, my motions sluggish, and when I grab the divan to yank it out of the way, it slams back into my legs and nearly knocks me to the floor! But no, I’m good. I’m good. Stay alert, Siren. Green is out there! I throw the deadbolt, and the door swings open. There she is! Out in the kitchen, looking through the empty cabinets, a pile of duffel bags tossed onto the living room floor beside her. She looks terrible—gaunt and oily and unsteady—and where her back-left hoof should be, there’s a brass prosthetic, strapped to her leg by a web of strong little cords.

“Oh, hey Sweetheart. Is that you?” she asks, turning to face me. “Hope I didn’t startle—”

I dash across the room in two big bounds, plowing into Green and throwing both forehooves around her. It’s not, like, my brightest move, and with how weak we both are, the impact leaves us staggering and nearly sends us crashing to the floor. But I recover it in time! I recover it, and we get back to our hooves, and we stand back up and I’m suddenly hugging her! I squeeze her tight and bury my head in her mane and never let go. Hugging her feels like hugging an oil slick, but she smells like wildflowers, so that’s all I think about. I think about how nice she smells and I hold her.

I don’t know how long I stay like that. She feels so good I can forget myself and I think I lose track of time. But I suddenly realize she’s laughing. And then I’m laughing. Not for the same reason though, I think. “It’s good to see you too, Sweetheart,” she says, her amused little chuckle running through the words. My laugh is different. That vision may have snapped me out of time, but my blood is still full of adrenaline. It’s trying to wake me up, to cut through that persistent calm, but all they’re doing is mixing together and producing this sort of passive tension. It’s a feeling I need to let out. And letting it out feels good.

“Yeah, Green,” I say, pulling back when I sense her starting to stiffen up. I’m loving this hug, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome. She’s watching me, taking in my new appearance, and I need to make a good impression. So I step back, and look her in the eye without fear or doubt, and I smile a gentle little smile. She has such pretty eyes. “Yeah, it’s good to see you too.”

It’s nice to watch her. To stare and breathe her in. It’s not just her eyes. All of her is pretty, even through the sweat and her injuries. I could admire her for hours, but I don’t want her thinking of me that way. She already thinks I’m... passive. No. No, I need to take action. I’m a big pony now! A hero even! “Sorry if I gave you a scare there,” I say with a little waggle of a hoof. I’m careful to blush when I say it. I don’t want to risk coming on too strong, and a little bashfulness moderates that. “I know I don’t really look like myself.”

“It’s alright, Sweetheart. I somehow managed to figure out who you were,” Green says, smiling to show I didn’t offend her. That’s really nice of her. “It’s a good look for you, actually—pretty in a working-class sort of way. A little tomboyish, a little practical, but still feminine. I like it.”

“Eh.” I brush off the compliment with a little shrug, to show that I don’t need her approval. Which I don’t! I mean, I knew I was pretty. I don’t need her to tell me that. I’m just happy she noticed I’m pretty. In a working-class sort of way. Is that good? I think it’s good. She means I look determined and honest. “I... don’t think it’s that flattering. But I’ll get used to it.” I smile and then, because Green loves it when I look up to her, add, “I was actually going to ask you for a few tips, if you don’t mind. I’ve never really done anything special with my mane or fashion before, and I’d hoped...”

Exactly what I’d hoped is left to Green’s imagination, but I can tell from how her expression warms that she’s filled in the blanks wonderfully. I add a little paw at the ground for effect, and it’s like all spotlights are on her. I don’t even wait for her to reply before I mumble, “Thanks, Green...” And she likes it. She loves it.

“Well, uh... anyway.” I wrap things up and press on yet again. Big pony Siren, forward! “Come on then. You must be exhausted.” I nod to the stair leading up to her room and levitate as many of her bags as I can lift at once. “Why don’t we get you settled in? You can take a shower to get that grease out of your coat, and I’ll make up some food. It’s just apples and hay for now, but I bet you’re starving. We can get something proper later.”

“Uh...” she blinks at me. She doesn’t quite know how to deal with that, because I am so super competent she can’t handle it! It’s okay though—it’s super okay. She may intellectually know I have the Daring Do mark now, but emotionally, she still thinks of me as the pony she found hiding in her bathroom. She needs time to learn, but that’s okay. I’m willing to wait. In fact, I don’t even mind those mean things she thought about Celestia, because I know she doesn’t mean them. “Thanks, Sweetheart. That actually sounds nice.” She needs a second to collect her wits, blinking twice to clear her thoughts. “First though, about your singing—”

“A song about Celestia, I know,” I assure her, keeping a quick, light tone. “I realized how stupid I was being as you walked in. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

“Well, good,” she says. After a moment, she picks up her bags—including the ones I’d already taken. Her magic easily overpowers mine, and the aura around them shifts from blue to red. “I can carry my own things though.”

“Alright, if you’re sure,” I say, letting her trudge up the stairs. Maybe she’ll want help unpacking. We could talk about her dresses and mane and stuff. I haven’t had any mare talk since Epiphany! I start after her—

“I’m sure,” she says as she gives me a gentle shove back. “There are some things we should talk about later. Practical stuff, that is. But I need to eat and rest first.”

She nods, and then heads up the steps, carefully managing her missing hoof and floating her bags up behind her. I watch her in case she slips or something, but she’s fine. Then she’s upstairs, and away.

And then I start grinning. Grinning like an idiot.

I did it. I did it! I got Green to stay with me, to like me. I made her feel good. I made me feel good. I got her living in a real place again. I kept it together. And I learned something. I learned that Heart's Desire is the secret ingredient in Rarity’s tea, and that it can cause visions in some ponies.

More than that, I learned how those visions work. That’s why I didn’t see anything earlier. “To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed,” isn’t some mantra that makes the visions happen—it’s an explanation of how the magic works. Visions come to those who genuinely want to know. When I was ranting and raving in bed, I was saying the words, but I didn’t really want to see anything. But trying to peer into the living room? I really, really wanted to know what was out there. So I did.

That’s cool. It doesn’t explain why I saw myself biting Green’s ear in the hospital or all that other disturbing stuff, but I was on a lot of other drugs at the time. Maybe that was a genuine hallucination, or maybe I was hallucinating while having a vision. Can that happen? It makes me curious precisely how useful this is. Is this how Rarity sometimes seems to be all-knowing? If so, there must be some limitations on it. After all, she hasn’t used it to find Siren or find Trixie’s weaknesses, and Green did say that Rarity’s omniscience is a lot weaker outside the Pavilion.

I want to experiment with this more, but first, food for Green. She needs to eat, and I need to clean up my room before Green sees it and starts to worry. Still! Feeling good. Score one, two, three for Siren! I head off into my room, grab all the little bits of hay that are left and a bunch of apples, and float them out into the kitchen. I’ll need to find a bowl for this first, then get as much cleaning done as I can before Green is done upstairs.

I’m finishing up with the hay when my hoofboot starts to glow—flashing an intermittent blue. Incoming wire. I glance at the stairs to check if Green needs me, but she’s not there, and whatever spells powers these things doesn’t wait long before it decides you’re busy. So I light up my horn and grip the boot, letting my magic flow into it. My body goes numb, and the apartment dissolves around me. In its place grows a world in sepia-tone, distorted by lenses and scratched glass. A tiny universe, consisting of nothing more than booth, a doll, and a single pony. Looking up at me.

“Hello, Sea Change,” he says. It’s an odd custom, that the one who initiated the wire is the first one to speak. But it’s the way things are done in Vision. “I hope this is a good time?”

The doll can’t smile or move its eyes, so I’m careful to emote more with my body. Like Trixie! Only not evil and also a witch. I show approval with a nod, and familiarity by lowering my head down to his level—extending a leg so I’ll tilt on the stand. “Of course, Golden Palm,” I say sweetly. “I was starting to get worried you’d forgotten me.”

“Oh, I couldn’t forget you.” He blushes and smiles. “In fact, I was wondering—”

“It’s not that I don’t like her,” I say, trying to find a comfortable spot on this couch. It’s too hard and too uneven, and the fabric ruffles my coat every time I move. I don’t want to complain, because I already asked for help finding a cup of water after the fountain broke, and I don’t want to sound like the pony who's always asking for things, but I thought the point of these couches was to help you relax. “It’s that I don’t know her. Literally all I know about this mare is that she’s blue with a lighter mane, that she takes Daring Do, and that she has some kind of blood pressure condition she takes medication for. It doesn’t seem like something to start seeing somepony over.”

The hoof-holder—I can’t think of him as a doctor—nods, picking up the pen in his teeth and making a note on his little pad. “I see,” he says. He’s a mint green stallion. Earth pony. He introduced himself when I came in, but I’ve already forgotten. Sky Lake or Far Lake or something. “But I thought she was the one who asked you out?”

“She gave me her wiredoll token and said we should catch lunch sometime right after I saved her life. That’s not exactly a declaration of love,” I say, a bit bitterly. I don’t add that there’s not a lot of other reasons a mare would ask me out. That’s perfectly obvious even to this twit. “She’s probably just trying to be nice.”

“And do you think that’s enough of a reason to start seeing somepony?” the hoof-holder asks, jotting something down again.

“Well, I’m talking to you about it, so obviously I don’t,” I grumble as I shift in place again. Now the hairs on my back are all messed up, and it feels weird. “I mean, if I do something nice for a mare, and she wants to ask me out because she wants to date the sort of stallion who does nice things, that’s fine. But if I do something nice for her and she asks me out because she feels she has to repay me? That’s messed up! It’s a gift. You don’t repay it.”

“And you think this sense of obligation is why she gave you her wiredoll token?” the hoof-holder asks. Whatever. I nod. “And how does that make you feel?”

“It makes me feel like that’s the fourth time you’ve asked that stupid question since we started this session. When’s the point that you actually contribute to this process?” I don’t yell or anything, but I’m getting pretty ticked off and he knows it. I snort—a quick blast of air. “I’m sorry, but I was told I could have the same therapist I had last time? No offense, but she was a lot better at this than you are.”

I can see him grimace like he swallowed a rock. Serves him right. He keeps his cool though—doesn’t yell back or anything. “As I said earlier, I’m sorry. We had a flood in one of our offices, and everypony’s schedules are really flipped around this week while we look for additional space. We’ll have everypony back to their regular therapists next week, and I’ll be passing along my notes. So please.” He pushes his little glasses up. “Let’s try and be constructive?”

I sigh, and shut my eyes. Whatever. We’re most of the way through the hour anyway, I can endure this for another fifteen minutes. “Sure,” I say. “Where does that leave us?”

“Well, as I recall, the reason you brought this up in the first place is you were trying to decide if you wanted to ask this mare out,” he says, picking up his pen again.

“—if that offer for lunch still stands?” Golden Palm finishes. It takes me a second to place myself, but only a second. From the strange clarity of the vision, gears and lenses and sepia tone all reassert themselves, gently sliding back into my awareness like the clockwork they are.

“Well, I’ve got some stuff to finish with my roommate first,” I say, thinking things over. Green is more important of course, but I know for a fact she’ll want to nap soon. “How about, say... an hour?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but he doesn’t need to.

“It’s weird—thinking that there’s some alternate version of me living in Equestria?” I keep up a fast cadence and make broad gestures as I talk, gesticulating a lot with a horn and one forehoof. It’s memorable, and friendly, and something that Siren Song didn’t do that won’t seem like a blatant change from the last time we met. Besides, it’s also fun. “I have no idea what she’s like, but I always imagined her as this overly saccharine version of me? Cheerful and bubbly and full of unconditional love for all the fuzzy little creatures. You get what I mean?”

“I don’t know,” Golden Palm says. He’s smiling too, if not as broadly as me. He doesn’t know quite how to be playful, but he understands the concept, and he’s trying—keeping things light. It’s awkward, but in this really cute way so I don’t mind. Besides, I can tell he’s interested because I know he’s hungry but he hasn’t looked at the table once since I started talking. “You’re kind of cheerful and bubbly yourself, when you’re not recovering from a heart attack.”

“I am not,” I insist, with a degree of petulance. Even if I do feel pretty good! “And I didn’t have a heart attack. I had... the other thing. That isn’t that.” I’ve already thanked him enough that he asked me to stop, but that’s even better, because it means I can smile and look embarrassed and he knows what I want to say but I’m respecting his wishes not to say it. We both let the moment live itself out and pause to nibble a bit. I really should be using a fork, but he can’t, so instead I lower my head to the plate like he does. It shows sympathy, and it’s nice! And it helps that I love Saddle Arabian food. Just love it. It’s tasty stuff—all spicy and sour and sharp.

“Anyway,” I say, as I tilt my head back up, taking a moment to lick a bit of sauce off my nose. “I’ll probably never see her, but it keeps me awake at night sometimes. I sort of feel like it’s a no-win situation. Because if she’s exactly like me, then I feel like my life was predetermined and that’s super depressing. But if she’s nothing like me, then... well. There but for the grace of the sea go I.”

“It is kind of neat,” he admits. Not quite sure what to say. That’s fine—as long as he’s enjoying himself. “Though I think that might have less to do with having a twin and more to do with how you feel about reality in general.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I didn’t even think of that. Maybe I do have a negative outlook. “Putting myself in a no-win scenario like that. I do think that having a twin helps though.” I say it with more moderation than my previous exuberance. A little relaxation of the tone. Shoot—maybe I do have a negative outlook. “Didn’t you say you had a sister?”

He takes a second to answer, using a bite of bread to stall for time. He is adorably bad at this, but I give him his time anyway. I’ve done most of the talking so far, and I probably will for the rest of lunch. He wants to get to know who Sea Change really is, and so I’m providing that information, liberally sprinkled with interesting details. I’m twenty-four. My father brought me to Vision after my parents broke up. I have an identical twin sister who stayed in Equestria with my mother, but I don’t really remember her. I take Daring Do because I’m aquaphobic, which is difficult when you live underwater. I’m a little ignorant of the city, partially because I used to live in Neptune’s Bounty, and partially because I’ve spent most of my life moving from aquaphobic panic attack to panic attack. Now that I’m over my fear, I’ve finally gotten my own place. Trixie’s voice annoys me, but I love the way she styles her mane. I have a major weakness for fresh-squeezed orange juice, but it’s too expensive for me to have regularly.

Okay, I may have put that last detail in just because it’s on the menu and he’s paying, but he felt good about it. It gave him a chance to insist, and for me to look embarrassed and accept. It’s a good backstory for this character too. It paints her as somepony kind, but friendless, finally emerging out into the world and looking for friends to share it with. It makes it more believable that I’d actually want to spend time with him, and gives me a good excuse to blab about myself nonstop without it seeming like I’m in love with the sound of my own voice. A voice which, I might add, I’m kind of coming around to. Green was right—it does sound more mature.

He swallows. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Younger. Her name is Ash Can. She’s a cook right now, but she’s studying to join the fire brigade.” Warning, warning! More talented younger sibling detected. All hooves to battle stations. Reports indicate career accomplishments significantly in excess of her brother, and she’s still working to do better. Prepare to intercept inferiority complex! “She’s really the hard worker in the family.”

“Eh.” I shrug. “Hard work is for assembly line drones and wiredolls.” I sit up a little sharply, like I suddenly realized how offensive that could have sounded, quickly backtracking. “Don’t get me wrong, if that’s what makes her happy in life, all the power to her.” I add a little verbal stumble. Yeah, that’s good. I nailed that. “But, living in Neptune’s Bounty, you learn real quick that hard work isn’t inherently virtuous. It’s all about what you get out of it at the end, you know? What cool stories you have to tell.”

“Oh, I love stories.” He laughs a little, and it’s a relieved sound. Boom! Target destroyed. All stations stand down, intercept complete. “I don’t think I mentioned yet, but that’s actually my special talent. I collect pegasus folklore and traditional faerie tales?”

“Ooh. That must be hard to come by down here.” I draw the sentence out, making a long and slow gesture as I lean across the table. “Do we have friends maybe? Who are good at getting things off submarines?”

“No.” He laughs, and this time it’s a sound of real amusement. “It’s all down here in the public libraries, it’s just not that well organized. Do I really look like a smuggler?”

“No,” I reply, glancing down at the table a bit so I’ll seem embarrassed. That feels good. This is a good lunch. “I was being silly because I couldn't think of what to say. I don’t really know anything about folklore, and the first thing that came to mind was, ‘Do you have a favorite?’ But that’s a pretty silly question.” I reach up to rub the back of my head. Partially so I’ll seem embarrassed, but it is actually starting to feel a little sore again.

“It’s not silly,” he insists. “I don’t think I have a single favorite, but there are definitely some I like more than others.” He’s starting to get into it, sitting up and making a few animated gestures of his own. “Like, there’s an entire genre of pegasus folklore called the ‘shapeshifter morality play.’ The basic premise is that a stranger arrives in town, some things happen, and at the end it’s revealed that the stranger was somepony else. Usually Princess Luna or a wicked changeling. It’s a morality play because it’s all about how you treat strangers, and it’s kind of similar to a series of earth pony fables about hospitality that also use Princess Luna as a guest, but there are some really interesting differences—”

And suddenly, the dam is broken, and it all comes spilling out: stories and history and literary discussion and context of themes and aesops. It wasn’t what I intended to happen, but I think I like it. All I have to do is relax, and nod, and listen, and he happily talks, without a trace of that dumpy bitterness he had the first time we met. Maybe he’s not such a loser after all. Maybe he just never had a chance to really express himself. I can see how that would stunt a pony, figuratively and literally. It’s even kind of enjoyable. Storytelling has never really been my focus, but once I start seeing it as art and culture, it’s... kind of like being back in Canterlot.

I think we even hit it off a little. Like, genuinely! I was not expecting to have this much fun. Not that I’m actually interested in him, of course. Knowing why he’s a dumpy cripple may make him more sympathetic, but it doesn’t change the facts. Still, we can date. I’ll have fun; it’ll make him feel special. It’ll be great! I think I’m actually looking forward to doing this again.

Eventually though, I have to start glancing at the clock. Twelve-thirty. Wow, have we really been here over an hour? After I fed Green—I swear that mare can eat her weight in apples—she needed a chance to unpack and lie down, and I still needed to discreetly clean my room, so that suited me fine. We ended up resolving to get together later this afternoon, after I got back from lunch. Green seemed really surprised that I’d met somepony so quickly. Of course, I didn’t mention it was Golden Palm. She had some more practical worries as well, but other than checking to make sure I knew how to find my way, she didn’t make any comment on them. That’s good, I’m pretty sure.

I thought about staying behind to help take care of her, but she’ll be fine. That little glimpse I had into her head let me know that she’s not feeling too depressed or upset just yet. She’s frustrated, yes, but that’s nothing I can’t fix, and she’ll be better once she’s slept. There’s still a lot I can do to help her, but I don’t need to smother her or anything. We’ll have a long time together to work on that stuff.

Eesh, the back of my head is really starting to hurt. My limbs too. “Hey, Golden Palm?” I say, and he falls quiet at once. “I’m sorry to interrupt—I’m really enjoying this—but I’m still not supposed to be out for too long. I’m starting to feel really tired. And weren’t you supposed to be back at work at twelve?”

“Why? What time is it—oh, horsefeathers!” A few other patrons look out way at the outburst, and Golden Palm scrunches up into a little ball of embarrassment. I can actually see his wings cling even tighter to his side. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I really do have to go.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say as I rise from the table. He’s fishing around for his coinpurse. “I had a lot of fun. Do you want to... I don’t know. Do this again sometime? Maybe the next time you’re on this side of town?”

“Oh, um... sure!” he says, nodding quickly as he tosses bits onto the table. “I’m over here for therapy Tuesdays and Thursdays. So... Tuesday then? Eleven?”

“I’d like that,” I say, giving him an encouraging little nod. I’m about to let him go, when he noses down into his bag one more time and pulls something out with his teeth. A wiredoll token. He puts it down on the table and nudges it over my way before he says a word. “Um... in case we need to get in touch.”

He’s so tense, so wound up and eager it’s like that wiredoll token was his self-esteem given physical form. That’s a funny thought, and it only gets funnier when I pick up the token with my teeth. I could totally just... bite down and snap this thing clear in half. Crush his little ego. But of course, I don’t want to. It’s equally satisfying to levitate it out of my grip and watch him quiver in anticipation as I examine the end—two crossed palm fronds. Then I smile and tuck it away into my bag. “Thank you,” I say. He blushes, and we mumble some things, and then go our separate ways.

I leave the restaurant and start the walk back, though it isn’t far. That was good. It felt good. I got confirmation that Golden Palm has no idea who I am, I got to reward him for saving my life twice, and I even had a little bit of fun with it. It was refreshingly normal. Like being back in Equestria again. Yeah.

I am starting to feel kind of bad though. That pain in the back of my head has gotten steadily worse, and all my joints are starting to ache as well. I guess I have been out for a while, but I was feeling fine for most of it. I don’t know how I’d overexert myself sitting at the table and making conversation, unless... shoot. Of course. The morphine kicked in about five hours ago now. It must be wearing off. I wore myself out on the walk there and just didn’t feel it until now. I guess that’s better, but I don’t want a repeat of three days ago, so I’m careful not to strain my heart getting home. A slow walk back to the apartment building seems safest, and I take the elevator down just to avoid any exertion from the stairs. By the time I get to the apartment door, the pain is... well, not excruciating, but getting significant. I need to get off my hooves.

Green is already up when I get back in. She has all the pots and pans that came with the apartment piled up in the sink, and she’s washing them, with more set out to dry over the counter. I knew she was a homemaker. She’s turning sharply when I walk in, and I see the red glow of her magic surround a heavy cutting knife, but then she realizes it’s me and releases it without lifting. “Hey, Sweetheart. How was lunch?”

“Good. I think I made a friend,” I say, making a beeline for the couch and lying out on my side. Oof! That helped. And it got the strain off my heart, which is probably more important. The pain isn’t going away though, particularly the throbbing in my head. “He seems really nice, for a guy who thinks hangings are public entertainment.” And it just occured to me where he might end up taking me next time. Better nip that in the bud—suggest a movie or something. Anyway. Time to focus on Green.

“So...” I start, easing into the topic. “Do you like the new apartment? I gave you the upstairs because it has the big vanity setup. I’ve never really used makeup, so—”

“It’s fine, Sir—Sea Change,” she catches herself. I look up, and it seems almost making that mistake put her on edge. She’s set her jaw a bit and flicked out her tail. It’s not a good expression, and I don’t know what to make of it. “It’s good, even. That’s the first bed I’ve slept in for a long time that didn’t have a bit of damp at the edges.”

“I’m glad,” I say, but I can see her expression hasn’t changed. “Is something wrong with it though? You don’t look very happy.” Maybe she’s still stressed from earlier? I really thought a nap and food would help.

“You do realize that I’ve been living in a bathroom for two years, and now I’m in an upscale apartment in Palomino Tower?” she says, and suddenly, her voice is hostile. Clipped. My ears perk up. What did I do? “Sweetheart, if this was mine, I’d be so overcome with joy I’d do a flipping maypole dance in the middle of New Canterlot Square. But it’s not mine. It’s Trixie’s. And our staying here? That’s not a gift. That’s a loan. With interest.”

“And all our debts come due eventually, I know,” I say, careful to moderate my tone to show I’m listening. “But look. We need Trixie right now. We need her support to keep us hidden from security and from Rarity, and we need her money for mantles and food. Now, we can do something about—”

“No, no.” I try to talk over her, ignoring her interruption. “No, Siren!” She finally slams her hoof down. I look left, look right. What? Did anypony hear that? How thick are the walls between us and our neighbors?

“Ya heard me,” Green insists, moving close and lowering her head to couch level so she can glare at me. “Ya ain’t Sea Change, Siren. You aren’t one of Trixie’s elite agents, and you’re not some storybook hero who is going to save me from this terrible life. You’re not even a marker! Markers are addicts. You have taken Daring Do exactly once. Maybe your tonics have added a little to that, but not much. You are still wholly capable of quitting.” She lowers her voice, leaning in close to hiss, “because you are Siren freaking Song, personal protege of Princess Celestia, and an Equestrian. You do not belong here. Get it? Everything you just said is why I need Trixie. You are free to walk out the door at any time.”

This again. I thought I’d settled this in Doctor Stable’s office. I mean, no. Of course I didn’t. She cares about me a lot. Of course this is going to keep coming up. “Green, keep your voice down, or we’ll both hang,” I say. That gets her attention, and she stands up a little straighter. Actually, now that I think about it, it’s not like her to make that sort of mistake. And she corrected me earlier when I was singing about Princess Celestia, so it’s not like she isn’t worried about security. She must be really upset to be overlooking things like that. “Green, are you feeling okay? Like, emotionally? How have you been doing since Doctor Stable’s?”

“Don’t change the subject!” she snaps. But that’s all the confirmation I need. The way she gets defensive, the lash in her tail. Wait. She looks all sweaty again. Oh no.

“Green?” I ask, gesturing at her. “You’re all... greasy again. Didn’t you shower an hour ago?” She doesn’t answer. “I saw you sweating like that in the hospital, but I assumed it was because of the drugs you were on, or your injuries or something. Did Doctor Stable say how long that’s going to—”

“Forever. It is going to keep happenin’ forever,” she says brusquely. She’s stopped shouting though. “Whatever part of my body decides what temperature my skin is has mutated and is convinced that I’m on fire. As a result, I will be sweating nonstop, every hour of every day, for the rest of my life.” She isn’t shouting, but her voice is up, and her cadence is quick and forceful. “This is very frustrating. Much like other frustrations I have suffered recently. Like the fact that the reason I inhaled those apples is because they’re the first thing I’ve been able to keep down, because my gut doesn’t work right anymore, and I keep pukin’ up everything I eat!”

“Green, you’re getting upset—”

“Yes, Sweetheart!” Her volume picks up, getting louder, and faster as her eyes go wide. “Yes I’m gettin’ upset! Did you just notice that now? Did y’all just realize that maybe this is a slightly emotional moment for me!?” Her voice rises to a screech, and her horn shines a bright red. Her magic violently shoves the table out of the way so she can stalk around to scream at me head on. “Well!?”

I’m in danger. I know I’m in danger, but I can’t freak out now. My heart is pounding and my head is throbbing, but she’s too unstable for me to play this anything less than perfectly. “I’m sorry, you’re right,” I say patiently. “I should have thought about how distressing it would be for you. That was senseless of me.” A pause would sell this, but I don’t dare stop talking in case she jumps into the silence. I do the best I can without it, letting my tension show so I won’t seem patronizing, but keeping my tone clear and respectful. “I wish there was more I could to help you. When I’m upset, I try playing games in my head to calm down. Like tic-tac-toe or six degrees. Do you have anything like that?”

“Yes, Siren!” she bellows, throwing a sneer in to signify that my attempt not to sound patronizing failed. “Yes, in fact, I do! And you know what!?” Her tone is rising as her pace increases, and she’s all set to launch into a screaming rant, but suddenly, her voice stumbles. She catches herself. “I don’t... it doesn’t help that way!” she insists, still loud, but much quieter, and calming down as I watch. “It... I mean. I play jacks. Sometimes.”

I say nothing. All I have to do is wait, and listen to the gears turn inside her head. One-jack two-jack three-jack four. Five-jack six-jack seven-jack more. And then, she’s calm.

“That’s good,” I say, keeping my voice soothing. “Green, I’m worried about you. You’re not just physically sick. You’re getting emotional more easily. Your accent is getting less consistent. A little while ago, you used ain’t, aren’t, and are not all in a row, and I don’t think you realized you were doing it.” Delivering the words smoothly and evenly seems to be working, and she’s listening. “Those are all signs of mental degradation. I know you don’t like that I’m incurring debts to Trixie, but they’re my debts to have, and right now I am going to take out whatever loan she thinks is fair to get you another visit to Doc Stable. I’m sure there’s something he can do for you.”

“There’s no cure for withdrawal,” she insists, shaking her head. She’s not shouting anymore though. “Even if Doc Stable could buy me time, I’m still dying.”

“We’re all dying the moment we’re born,” I shoot back. That actually surprises her a bit—she pulls her head back and looks up. I guess it wasn’t a very Equestrian sentiment. “That’s all we have, Green. We take on debt to buy time, and I want time with you. Green, Rarity thinks you’re dead. You’re free! You can have your life back.” I’m pleading with her. Trying to make her see reason. “I won’t let you throw that all away.”

“That ain’t your choice to make, Sweetheart.” Green lets out a breath, and then shakes her head. “I’m not going to indulge this. And I’m not going to let you dig yourself deeper in with Trixie on account of me.”

“You’re not going to indulge this?” I ask—at a bit of a loss, frankly! I don’t even know how to respond to that and... horsefeathers, my head hurts. “Green, I’m trying to help you. Maybe I don’t want you to have to live in a slum!”

Green looks at me for a long time. Probably only a few seconds but a long time in conversation. Her face is flat, still. “I had an argument with Trixie after you left Doc Stable’s,” she says. “Told her I wasn’t going along with her game. That she can smother me to death if she likes, I’m not sure I much care.” She pauses a moment. Shakes her head. “Do you know what Trixie said to that?”

“She obviously found a way to persuade you—”

“She said that if I took that tone with her again, she’d drag you back in and force you to watch as she cut off my horn, broke every single bone in my legs one at a time, and then left me on the floor helpless so the Little Sisters could eat my heart.” Green enunciates every word clearly, delivering the threat cleanly, and slowly. Watching me. “That’s what your favors are getting me.”

“Well... that...” What am I supposed to say to that? What is she expecting me to say? “Come on, Green. That’s ridiculous. You know Trixie. She delivers over-the-top threats all the time. She said she was going to have Diamond Tiara drawn and quartered, remember? It’s only hot air.”

“But it’s hot air that distracted Diamond Tiara.” Green gives a little shake of her head. “Distracted her long enough she didn’t notice the alchemist in the room about to give her the touch of death.” What? Berry? Berry killed Diamond Tiara? But that encounter was weeks before she died.

“Trixie doesn’t tell ponies what she’s going to do to them, Sweetheart,” Green continues, still in that steady tone. But I can hear a wavering under it—a tension. “If she did that, they’d be able to prepare, or at least have the comfort of knowin’ how they’re going to die. She likes to keep us all guessing. The threats are a reminder that no matter how little you think you’ve got to lose, she can find something. She always finds something.”

“Well what do you expect me to do, Green? Huh?” I demand, and now it’s my voice that’s getting emotional. “Leave you to die in a slum? Go enjoy life knowing that you’re down here slowly falling apart!?” I’m tearing up. I’m tearing up and that throbbing is getting worse and every part of me hurts!

“Yes!” Now Green is shouting. “Ponies die, Sir-Sweetheart!” she catches herself again, and actually snarls in frustration. “Ponies die. Friends die. It hurts but you move on! You move on and you live your life because that’s what a real dying friend would want for you.”

“Well that’s not what I want for me!” I scream, jumping up to my hooves. “I don’t want to go back, Green! I want to undo all the damage I did. I want to make it all right again. Just you and me. That’s what I promised, and that’s what I’m going to do!”

My hoof slams on the floor for emphasis, and my reward is a shooting pain all up and down my leg. I cry out in surprise as my knee buckles, and I have to scramble to catch myself on the edge of the couch. I’m stumbling, but suddenly, I’m wrapped up in a red aura, and the weight from my legs is gone. “What’s wrong?” Green asks, up and alert. She looks so worried.

“Nothing!” I insist, shaking my head. “Nothing. I... my painkillers wore off over lunch. That’s all.” After a moment, I add, “Put me back down. Please.”

Green moves me back to the couch and slowly puts me down, making sure I’m okay before she lets me hold any weight. “Well... okay. You should take those then,” she says, and I know she’s about to back out. Because she can’t admit she’s wrong! “I’m... going to go wire Trixie. We just did a lot of shouting that involved your name and that you’re from Equestria. I’m sure Trixie knows who lives in the apartments all around us, but we should make sure. You... go lie down. Try and recover.”

“The Green I remember would never slink out of an argument when she knows she’s losing,” I insist, trying to draw her back in. “Whatever happened to taking your lumps? Whatever happened to your pride, and your dignity, and honesty? Huh!?”

“I heard you, Sweetheart,” she says, but it’s soft, and she shakes her head. “And I do appreciate it. Everything you’ve gone through for me. But some things you can’t fix. And...” She pauses, looks away. “I’m going to go wire Trixie.”

She heads upstairs. Private wire, something she doesn’t want me to hear. Fine. Fine.

I manage to stumble back into my room and tumble into bed. The sheets are still soaked, so the whole room smells like poison joke, but that’ll do for now. I’m not planning to nod off yet. Instead, I reach out to the end table and pick up the little bottle. Vultiphine, one hundred and fifty miligrams. Well, one-twenty now. Give or take.

“You’re wrong, Green. I can fix it. I did fix it! I made it all right once, and I’ll do it again.” I yank the top out of the bottle and slosh the contents in front of me. “This city has what it takes to fix anypony. It fixed you when you were ugly. And it fixed me when I was cowardly and cruel. And it...” I sniffle a bit. Shake my head. No tears! Not now. “And it is my choice, Green. I’m going to fix you if you want it or not.”

I tilt the bottle back and eyeball it a second time, downing about another fifth of the container. I don’t actually need the morphine, but I don’t know where I’m going to get another Heart's Desire source in the right concentration, and besides, I’m in a bit of pain. I get it about right, and when I’m done, I twist the cap back onto the bottle and toss it onto the dresser.

To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed. And I want to know the truth. I want to see. Show me... Show me how to make Green better.

Show me how to make it all better.

Morphine, Part 1

Author's Note: Hello everyone! In case you don't read my blog (crazy, I know), there's some bad news. It looks like I'm not going to finish this story. But all is not lost. I wouldn't want to leave you guys hanging as you wait for your ending, so in leu of the full story, please enjoy a collection of pre-written scenes below, along with the authors notes and world-building info. I'll be finishing the series this way over the next few weeks, so Siren gets her happy ending after all.

This chapter continued the theme of Siren attempting to repay her debts to Green by making her happy, and by making friends. Siren is repeatedly thwarted by Green’s refusal to play along, her insistence that she and Siren aren’t friends, and her mistrust of anything given to them by Trixie. In part 1 of Morphine, Siren becomes more determined in this goal, using her new Vultiphine-granted visions to peek into Green’s mind and gain an unfair advantage. At first, she’s largely unsuccessful, but her refusal to give up and strong social skills eventually began to prevail.

The chapter opened with Siren having a vision about Green’s past, when early in her career as one of Trixie’s hitmares, she was ordered to make a point to a reluctant ally by drowning their kitten in front of them. Siren sees that Green feels guilty about it, and has had a soft spot for kittens ever since. Scene 2 picks up when she awakes, in her bedroom.

Daring Do, Chapter 10, Scene 2: “Siren Experiments with Vultiphine.”

My eyes open.

I spend a while staring at the ceiling like that, trying to process everything I just saw. I had no idea that... but, right. Checks first. I lift a hoof in front of my face. Grey-green. So I’m back in my body again. I glance at the clock. Just after five in the afternoon. When I was Green, I remember it being three-something, and I was wearing the same bags Green left with today, so that vision was probably about two hours ago. She’ll be home soon.

Right. Right.

My head is swimming from everything that just happened, but I make myself get up. The headboard is still broken, so I swing my hind legs out over the edge of the mattress, and awkwardly roll over and turn until they hit the floor. It’s less sitting up and more oozing out of bed, and the motion twists my necklace up around my neck until it’s choking me a little. But I squirm, and loosen it a bit, and manage to stand up even if I do stumble a bit. I don’t know if it’s the vultiphine or the vision or my low blood pressure, but the room seems twisty and... off.

No matter. I shake my head to clear it, and then sharply apply a hoof to my right cheek. Literally slapping some sense into yourself is probably not the best way to deal with disorientation, but it clears my head for now. I’ll take a nap later or something. I spend a moment more to push back my bed mane and straighten out the necklace cord, and then it’s off to the chest at the foot of the bed to get my vision journal.

It’s not really a journal so much as a few loose scraps of paper. I couldn’t afford a proper book, and besides, the loose paper is easier to hide from Green—or to quickly destroy if it comes to that. Right now, it’s just three pages: one for visions in general, one for Green, and one for Golden Palm. I pick up the general page first, and the pen, and review what I have.

Visions in General:

Vultiphine is the special ingrediant. (Just Morphine+Heart’s Desire? Why don’t painkillers or mantles trigger visions? Is the combination important? What about markers on painkillers? Does it only work for me + Rarity? If so, why?)

To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed. (Has to be something I actually want to know. Implies that openness to learning unpleasant truths very important to make it useful. Need to work on this.)

Vultiphine visions seem “rawer” than Rarity’s tea. Can’t always make it happen. Sometimes happens on its own. Less clear when the vision starts and ends. Sometimes disoriented or confused about who/where/when I am. (Tea is refined formula?)

Need to be in the same area as a pony to look into their heads. Harder to look into strangers minds than Green/GP.

Can read minds when looking at somepony through a wiredoll, but can’t read their minds when they’re in a wiredoll talking to me. (Means I can’t read Trixie’s mind. Is that why she only appears via doll?)

When I’m done reading, I levitate my necklace off, and place it on the desk next to the paper. It’s made from a length of cheap twine and a tiny metal clasp I found in the kitchen, currently gripping a lock of Green’s tail hair. I got them when we went to the barber yesterday. Not for creepy reasons though. I noticed that my visions of Green seemed a lot clearer when I was around her stuff, so it was a reasonable theory to test.

I suppose I could have used shower drain hair instead, but that seems gross. Her tail hair is so much brighter. And it’s soft like a brush.

Can read minds at a distance with hair sample, I add to the page. I pause a moment, tap the back end of the pen twice on the desk, and continue: (Might work with other bits? Why didn’t Rarity take a hair sample from me? Obvs cannot spy on me now. Does it only work with Green/Gold? Do I count as a ‘stranger’ to Rarity?)

I’m certainly not a stranger to Rarity, but this is a bizarre sort of magic, and I don’t know if ‘stranger’ is even the right term. For all I know, this power only works on ponies who really like you, which is why I can only read Green and Golden’s thoughts. Or maybe it’s simpler than that; something like ponies you’re around on a regular basis.

I mull that over for a while longer, chewing on the pen cap a bit, but I don’t get much further than I did this morning. I learned something new about the how of these visions, but the why is still throwing me, and I don’t think I have the information to figure it out now. So I put that paper aside, and pull Green’s over.

Green Apple:

Honest and loyal friend. (Super in denial about this.)

Kind of proud and vain. (But not in a bad way)

Acts tough but actually really insecure. (Inferiority complex? Important to remember she’s been jumping from crisis to crisis her whole life. Farm, then Rarity, then Trixie. Never had a chance to feel good about herself.)

Regrets taking mantles. (Angry she won’t get the chance at a long life? Or angry at herself?)

Convinced she’s a monster. (Rarity’s fault, but I’m sure Trixie made it worse on purpose to make her easier to push around.)

Afraid of going insane/mutating. (Not afraid of death. Doesn’t want to lose who she is.)

It’s a pretty sparse list, now that I look it over. I’ve seen characters in high school plays with more detailed descriptions. But, that’s why I’m doing my research. I can’t make her feel better—really feel better—until I understand her. So I pick up the pen, and write:

Empathetic but burnt out. (Felt bad for Shooting Star during job but suppressed it pretty well.)

Feels wistful around foals.

That’s a good start, but I’m sure I must have gotten more out of the vision than just that. I think that over for a while more, rolling the pen cap between my teeth. Then I add: (Good with foals? Regrets not having children herself? Older mare. Still pining over lost love.) I also underline “burnt out” and “Feel good about herself.” That seems like the right emphasis.

So uh... other things then. Doesn't like how much she sweats. But I think that’s just because it reminds her of the mutation thing. I remember smelling coffee and thinking it smelled nice—which feels odd to think, the stuff is wretched—so I guess she likes bitter drinks. Her stump itched a lot. She was hungry. I think she’s still having trouble keeping food down.

And... what else?

I don’t realize I’ve drifted off until I catch myself making a little doodle of Green’s family farm in the margins of the page. It had a really oddly shaped barn, and that weathervane on top where Feather Fall got stuck when they were little, and... and whatever. I scratch it out with two quick marks. Green is going to be home in an hour or two, and I don’t see how any of this helps make her better! All I’ve done today is laze around the apartment, get high, and eat food I didn’t do anything to earn. Green doesn’t think I’m a parasite. I’ve been in her head. I know that. But it’s only because she likes me so much.

She wouldn't like me if I was somepony else.

That’s ah... well, it’s kind of a silly thought. Wouldn't like me if I was somepony else. I might as well say that bad food might taste good if it was other food. So I focus back on what I have. The potential is there, I’m sure of it. This information does help me help Green, somehow, if only I can think of how. I just... need to do something!

Needs to feel good about herself. Regrets. Vain. Empathetic. Probably wishes she’d had foals when she was younger. I can do something with this. I can. I just need to think.

“You got us a cat?” Green asks, her lips pulling back and eyes narrowing as she looks at the box. Okay, not a great first reaction, but I can still salvage this. Inside, Mr. Scruffles puts his paws up on the cardboard, letting out a high-pitched mew as he tries to climb out. He’s orange and striped, still small enough his tail is a little stub and his claws scrape on the cardboard. It’s totally adorable, which should help.

“Not a cat—a kitten!” I say, with all the bright cheer in the world. I can’t show a hint of uncertainty or she’ll pounce. I need to remember I’m not Siren Song anymore. Siren was a weak-kneed little foal who had to go hide behind Green’s dress at the first side of danger. I’m Sea Change now! Green can frown all she likes. I can stand up for myself. “I went down to the Fluttershy’s Home for Wayward Animals up the street. They were going to have to put him down soon anyway, so they said I could take him, and gave me a little bag of catfood, a litterbox, and stuff.”

I look into Green’s eyes, but when I recite the little mantra and try to read her mind, nothing happens. It’s no matter though—I can still read her expression the old fashioned way. She’s skeptical, of course, but then I expected her to be skeptical at this stage. I just need her to accept the premise, and then bit by bit, this cute little guy will work his way into her heart. It’s a small thing, but I know it’ll make her feel better. Feel adored. Cats can be aloof but this guy is really friendly.

“I uh... I loved cats back in Canterlot.” It’s a lie of course, but she’ll never know it without well I’m selling it. Slight drop in the tone, a faint nod of the head, a tension in the tail but not an outright change in angle. It all hints that I’m revealing something deeply personal—opening my heart to her and trusting her. “But the Princess can’t stand them. She says they’re disobedient.” And Lie #2. But the awful tyrant calling a creature disobedient should instantly endear it to Green. “I thought that now that I’m here, and on my own, it was time to break away from her.”

I pause, but Green doesn’t say anything into the silence. I can tell she’s mulling it over. Her grimace has drawn back into a neutral expression—a poker face made up of level eyes and a mouth drawn into a line. She’ll never admit that she likes the idea, but she’s not a good enough liar to keep up a grimace she isn’t feeling. That’s proof plenty. “Um...” Finally, I speak again. “Would you like to help me take care of him?”

Green still doesn’t answer for a moment, but then she nods. “Yes, Sea Change,” she says, “I would like to help you take care of that kitten. May I see her for a moment?”

“Sure!” I say, floating the box over. Green ignores it, levitating Mr. Scruffles out directly. He struggles in mid air, confused by the magic, his little claws stretched out every which way looking for ground. “It’s not a her though, it’s a him. I was going to name him... Green?” She steps across the kitchen. Pulls open the trash chute. “Green what are you...”

“...doing,” I finish, lamely, after the trash chute door snaps shut.

Then Green turns around, lifts a hoof, and slaps me hard across the face. She’s wearing horseshoes, so I know it’ll bruise, but I don’t make a sound. I don’t flinch.

Author's Note: The chapter built up, as Siren tried and failed repeatedly, but each time learned from her mistakes and tries again. Eventually, with some advice from Golden Palm, she starts to achieve success, and Scene 11 ends the chapter as Siren takes Green out for lunch.

Daring Do, Chapter 10, Scene 11: “Siren Possesses Green’s Heart”

I catch Green’s eye from across the table, and smile at her. Not a big smile, not a grin, nothing that would look fake—just a little smile. Something to inject a bit of cheer into the air and let her know that I’m ready to talk whenever she wants too. Breaking the silence would be too forward, but I can be here for her when she’s ready. She doesn’t smile back, but I know she saw it. That cheered her up a bit. She’ll talk when she’s ready.

So I take another bite of my hayburger, and I wait.

The restaurant is nothing to speak of—average is the way I’d put it. A little cafe that serves reasonable food at reasonable prices reasonably quickly. It’s not dingy, but the owner hasn’t made a real effort to keep up the inside. The neighborhood isn’t great, but I’m not afraid we’ll get mugged. More practically, it’s as nice as I dared shoot for. I wanted Green to have a nice time, but too nice and I know she’ll freak out. This is probably the first meal she’s eaten in years that wasn’t a pile of oats, scarfed down in that horrible apartment.

That’s probably why she looks so tense. Eating in silence, always looking over her shoulder at the other diners or checking her bags. Being happy is a skill. You learn it by doing, and you can forget if you don’t do it for too long. That’s what Green did. I don’t think she seriously expects us to be attacked or mugged or whatever, but she’s so used to being afraid she doesn’t know how to relax.

But that’s okay. She’ll learn. That’s why I picked this place. Green loved this sort of cheap faire when she first arrived in Vision, and I know she associates the taste with happier times. Easing her into it. So I tilt my ears at her to show amusement, and then turn my head, looking out onto the street to watch ponies go by.

I think that I’ve finally gotten the feel of Vision. Gotten my sea legs for it, as it were. And I don’t just mean the practical things like using “Rider’s ghost,” in conversation or being able to navigate through a crowd. I mean its spirit. Its expectations. It’s cruel, yes, but it isn’t arbitrary. A pony can do well here, if they swallow their dignity and work hard and make good choices. That’s what I didn’t get when I arrived here. I was so selfish and petty and, well, Green was right to call me a spoiled brat. But I’m learning. It’s about focusing on the goal. Doing whatever it takes to achieve your objectives.

It’s like Green. Like this. Going out to a bland cafe and eating food that tastes like paper isn’t really my idea of a good time, but it’s what Green needs right now. And if my goal is to make her happy, then this is what I need right now. And once I accept that, it wasn’t so bad. That thought makes me smile again, and I glance back at her. Yeah, she’s loosening up a bit. I nudge the rest of my fries her way, and the mumbles her thanks.

This is better. Better for me, better for Green. And I’m better. Better than I was. Better than Luna thought I could be. And better than Rarity. I was always better than Rarity. The great artist of Vision, with all her power and all her skill, and here I am, doing what she could never do. And all it took was a few kind words and a sandwich.

That’s what Rarity never understood. If you want ponies to adore you, you don’t have to build a shining Pavilion under the sea. You just have to make them think they’re worth a wooden bit.

It’s kind of like friendship, actually. You don’t really do anything but ponies love you because it’s magic. Yeah. It is like that.

I bet Princess Celestia would be proud of me.

“Excuse me.” I jump as a voice cuts into my reverie, and my head quickly whirls to the source. It’s the mare from earlier—a lime-green pegasus with a slight frame and a close cropped mane and a big puffy tail that looks all wrong for her size. She’s clutching the record case with one leg, nervously looking between us. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, fixing Green with one of the stiffest smiles I’ve ever seen. “But are you uh... Envy?”

Green has a better poker face than the mare, and she smile she offers looks almost genuine. “Who wants to know?” Her horn glows as she pretends to take a hold of her burger, but I can see another red aura under the table. I know she carries a heavy chopping blade in that bag. Already, her ears are turning back. Not folding back, turning. It’s an instinct, one I doubt she’s fully conscious of. She’s trying to hear if she’s surrounded. Little things like that are important for reading ponies.

Still, I’m pretty sure Green won’t kill this mare.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the mare stammers. “I know you’re busy and... well, it’s been forever, but uh... well. If it’s not too much trouble.” She sharply thrusts the record case forward, and the sudden motion almost costs her her life. I can see Green yank on the knife, and its edge leaves her bag, but she hasn’t finished drawing it before she sees the top of the case. “Would you sign this?” the mare blurts the words out, all in one big blob.

Green freezes, locked in place with a stupid expression on her face. The top of the record case is faded and cracked, but she’s still clearly recognizable. It shows her mid-strut, a gleeful grin on her face as she trots through a dingy stone corridor. Unlike the posters and advertisements around us, this one plays up how many cutie marks she has, subtly brightening her relative to the background so they’ll stand out along with her smile. Elegant green text along the bottom reads, Delusional. The title of the album, one must presume.

“Dark Sky, Bright Sea is my favorite,” the mare continues, still at that too-fast pace. “Like, I know you stopped singing after the war, and I mean, who could blame you? It wasn’t really a happy time and a ton of artists stopped then too so I get it I really do. And I totally understand if you want me to just go away and let you eat. But it’s such an upbeat album and it’s great to listen too when you’re sad so...” Finally, she realizes she’s running out of air, and takes a deep breath. “Could you?”

“Uh...” Green finally manages. She looks at me for direction, and I’m careful to look just as shocked and uncertain—taking a hold of my table knife the same way she did. But after a moment, I nudge my head towards the mare, and Green snaps out of it. “Right. Sure. Uh... who should I make it out too?”

“Great Chain,” she says, handing the record over and then fumbling for a pen that she also jerkily offers Green’s way.

Green takes the pen, and I can see her mouthing out the words as the writes. “For Great Chain. Keep on smiling.” She pauses a moment, and then signs it, “Envy.”

Watching Green hand the record back is like watching a professional just freestyling body language on stage. First she’s confused, then she’s happy, then she’s worried, then she’s self-conscious. She stares, smiles, frowns, and then bites her lip and looks at how sweaty she is, all in the few seconds it takes for the mare to collect the record and offer her gleeful thanks.

“Really,” the mare continues. “You don’t know how much this means to me. I’ll stop interrupting you now, but, thank you!” She offers one more bright smile, and then nervously hurries off, leaving Green and I alone again.

Still Green needs time to process that, so I put a hesitant smile on my face, holding a moment before I speak. “Wow,” I say. “That was weird. You don’t... think she’s a...” I lower my voice and mouth the words: “Spy? Are we in danger?”

“No, Sweetheart,” Green replies, lifting a hoof to try to rub the sweat out off. It’s a futile effort though. There’s too much of it, and her coat looks waxy even when she’s just stepped out of the shower. “She clearly knew who I was before she walked up. A spy wouldn’ have... I mean.” Her voice is getting tight, and her motions to rub the sweat away are speeding up. She looks so uncomfortable, like her own body was an ill-fitting dress. “She wouldn't just walk up and... uh. Sorry. Sweetheart. Sea Change. I’ll be right back.”

Abruptly, she rises from the table grabbing her makeup kit and darting off to the bathroom. I watch with my best concerned frown, but she doesn’t look back to see it, shutting the door tight behind her.

I think that went well. I’ll have to read her mind when she gets back to the table just to check, but my instincts are telling me this had to happen. It’s a rough transition she has to make, and there will be times I’ll have to push her into it. It’s like, she’s hurting, but she’s not hurt. It’s a good pain. Like—

“Hey, excuse me?” the mare interrupts my thoughts for the second time today. Again, I jerk my head up, and again, she’s standing next to the table. This time, her expression is terser. Impatient. Is she getting irritable with me? “Yeah, so, she’s gone. Could you ah...?” She indicates her saddlebags with a wing.

Quickly, I check on the bathroom door. Still closed, but Green could step out at any second. Right. Need to hurry. I throw a sound barrier between us and the door, and then turn to glare back at the idiot next to me. “I said wait until she leaves. As in leaves the cafe! Not until she goes to take a piss. She could step back out any second!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t really feel like waiting around an hour for you two to wrap up, so—” I don’t bother letting her finish. I just grab her saddlebags, yank her over, and stuff the money down into them. Fifty bits, mostly in ones, so it makes a nice jingling sound. Her shocked expression at being pulled is briefly satisfying, but it doesn’t me what I need or her flanks in motion!

“There’s your money. You did fine. Now go!” I point to emphasize the action, but still she doesn’t move. Instead, she pulls out the stupid record of all things.

“You want this back?” she asks, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at her.

“Rider’s ghost. No, I don’t want it back!” I check the door again. Still closed. Back to the mare. “It’s insipid pop music. Keep it if you want, throw it away if you don’t. And throw it away in the dumpster around the corner.” I gesture with a sharp point and turn her that way with another yank on her saddlebags. “Not in the trash here where she’ll see it. Got that?”

“I got it, I got it,” the mare snaps, pulling herself away and adjusting her bags to rest comfortably again. “Who peed in your cereal this morning? Jerk.” She’s taking a tone with me, but she got the hint as well, and she trots off before I need to say anything in reply. I alternate between watching her and the bathroom door until she’s gone, and don’t relax until she’s out of sight. Phew. Good. That was close.

My heart’s racing a bit from the stress. That’ll sting like heck when the morphine wears off in an hour, but I brought a little extra with me, so I’ll be okay. And for now... yeah. Close call, but that went well.

Green steps out a few minutes later. She doesn’t look very different, but I do notice that her coat is wet in places, and her makeup is a slightly different shade. I think she washed it all off in there, tried to clean herself up.

“Sorry about that,” she says, as she slides back to the table. I dismiss her worries with a wave of a hoof, careful to look all worried about her as I do it.

“It’s fine, Green,” I say. Shoot, she’s looking at the table. “But hey, look at me for a second, would you? Are you okay?” Reflexively, she looks up, and I catch her gaze. I stare into her eyes, and just like that: to those who seek the truth are all truths revealed.

“Sorry about that,” I say as I settle back down to the table, shifting my legs until the prosthetic gets comfortable. Siren offers me this gentle, worried little smile in return and waves it off. Like nothing happened. The whole thing makes me feel a bit tense.

“It’s fine, Green,” she says, automatically. “But, hey, look at me for a second, would you?” I look up, and she’s making her doe-eyes at me. “Are you okay?”

I put my makeup kit away to stall for time as I think about what I’m going to say to her. It’s cute really, watching her sit there with that innocent expression, leaning forward as she waits to hear me say I’m fine. It’s sweet of her, just like it was sweet of her to drag me out here, but that poor mare is in over her head.

I mean, when you get right down to it, she just doesn’t understand what she’s dealing with.

Morphine, Part 2

Author’s Note: Morphine Part 2 is where it all falls apart, and where Siren learns the hard way that you can’t force someone to be happy. No matter how hard Siren tries, Green keeps being angry and discontented, and they aren’t True Friends like Celestia taught her they should be. Eventually, after many weeks, Siren starts to get frustrated and angry with Green. Her growing relationship with Golden Palm is some comfort, but not enough.

This was really a buildup chapter, with a few early, fluffy scenes with Golden Palm serving to set the pacing for the final explosion.

Daring Do, Chapter 11, Scene 5: “Siren Contemplates the Loss of Her Virginity”

“Do you wanna like... do something?” Golden Palm asks quietly, his voice distant and distracted. I can feel his wings gently pressing against me as they hang limp by his sides. He doesn’t open his eyes when he talks, and his words are largely muffled by the pillow under his head. I understand him anyway though.

A pause for awhile. There’s no rush to answer. “I dunno,” I say. “Is sitting here and making out doing something?”

He too takes his time before he answers. “Yeah.” Then he adds. “Okay.”

So I kiss the top of his head, and lie down next to him on the couch.

Of course, he doesn’t actually want to make out. He doesn’t really want to do anything but sleep. He had three shifts yesterday and then had to close and do cleanup, then another two shifts today, including opening. I doubt he’s slept six hours in the last two days, and if he’d had any sense, he would have said he couldn't make this week and gone home to crash. So naturally, he showed up up at my door, determined to give me a good time when he could barely keep his eyes open.

It’s okay. I’m not dating him for his brains. And it was kind of cute, in a dopey way. So I let him in and told him I was tired and gosh can’t we just stay in instead? And that worked fine. Plus, we did kiss a little before he passed out, and that was fun.

I’m not as tired as he is, but I don’t mind the rest, so I go ahead and snuggle up against him as we lie there, and lift an ear to listen to his breathing. It’s nice, lying next to somepony and feeling them breathe. Feeling their heart beat. It’s relaxing, and it makes me feel close to him, and it gives me some time to think.

I try to get into his head, but his thoughts aren’t well formed enough right now to bring on a full vision. All I get is this vague feeling of contentment and lethargy, an animal warmth that saps his conscious mind. It’s actually quite pleasant, so I go ahead and listen in as we snuggle. I’ll check in on how his therapy went in a bit, but for now, this is nice. I feel comfortable. And I feel safe.

I double-check that last bit real quick, shutting my eyes and extending my senses outwards. I still don’t know the why or the how of what Heart’s Desire does to me, but the what is pretty straightforward. I can look into somepony’s heart when they’re right in front of me—when I’m touching them or when I look into their eyes—and I can sense everything that’s going on in or around the apartment as long as I’m inside. It’s strange, but it explains a lot about how Rarity works. Now I understand why Trixie can run rings around her in the city, but she’s omniscient in her little kingdom. And this apartment? This is my kingdom.

It doesn’t take me long to sort through all the ponies in the building. I’m not interested in reading their petty, irritating thoughts, so I just do a cursory check for hostile intentions. Nopony is plotting me harm or worrying I’ll detect them, and that’s all the reassurance I need. It’s a relief to contract my awareness inwards, to tune out the irritating babble outside and focus on this little space. My space. Golden Palm hasn’t moved, and Green is pacing around upstairs, thinking about—

So I just sit there, and stare at the woodcuts, like I expect them to solve my problems for me. I don’t even know why I have them. Ain’t no sense in getting attached to this place. I’m probably not going to be here long, and besides, the more I get settled the more Trixie has to hang over my head next time she wants something. I should have just left these to the rot, or tossed them, but Siren was just so... I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea when she said it.

I pick up one of the cuts and consider it. It’s one of the ones I made, back when I was on Hard Wood. It’s a cut of the family farm, with Rambling Ridge off in the distance. I turn it over for a bit, looking over the cuts. They’re pretty amateurish.

I guess hanging up a few things won't do no harm.

—the woodcuts. Good. She’ll have a lot of fun hanging those up. That’ll keep her busy for awhile, so I draw in even further, until it’s just me and Golden Palm.

That feels nice.

I think he’s dreaming about me. Not a full on dream—his thoughts are still too primitive for that—but I sense some excitement under the lethargy. A tinge of warmth, and energy, and maybe a little arousal. It’s distant, but he fell asleep next to his very special somepony, so it would make sense. I lift my head and nuzzle up against him, kissing the side of his head and letting my breath run over his face. That tinge inside him sharpens, and he kicks a little in his sleep. That makes me giggle.

Definitely dreaming about me.

I haven't really decided what I’m going to do about that. When the time comes, that is. Making out with him is fun. He’s not really attractive, and he’s not a great kisser, but he’s easy and it isn’t complicated. He knows I’m the best he’s ever going to get. Which is probably why he has a bit more than kissing on his mind. He’s not forward or anything—he’s actually a perfect gentlestallion externally—but I know what he’s thinking, and, well... I know very well I can’t turn around for two seconds without him checking me out. I’ve even been in his head when he was fantasizing about me, and that was a little unsettling.

Not bad though. Once I got used to it.

And it’s not like I’ve decided the answer is no. Romance isn’t really my biggest worry right now, but I can’t stay a virgin forever. I’m a little nervous, yeah, but that’s normal isn’t it? And I kind of want to know what it’s like.

That doesn’t mean the answer is yes either though. I mean, sure, Golden Palm makes me feel good, but I could totally do better. And he’s very Vision. Do I really want my first time to be with a stallion who thinks hangings are public entertainment? Or that it’s okay for police to beat ponies for looking at them funny? And then there’s the... biting thing.

I know it’s not just him. I’ve seen mares with teeth marks on their ears. Echo bit Zephyr’s ear when they were together. Golden Palm isn’t the only stallion in Vision who’s into it. But he is into it. It features in quite a few of those fantasies of me. Scenes where he has my head yanked back and I’m so overwhelmed by it all. I guess it’s not... bad. He doesn’t mean it in a degrading way like Echo did with Zephyr. It’s not arousing because it causes me pain, so that’s good, but... it doesn't seem very fun.

For me, I mean. I’m pretty sure it’s fun for the stallion. Wish fulfillment and all that. And then there was that dream I had with Green and that felt pretty cool. But that was different.

I could say yes-but-none-of-that if I wanted, but I don’t think I will. Then I’d have to put up with feeling that restrained urge the whole time he was on top of me. It would be like a sour note in the performance. Half of what makes him so special is that he’s uncomplicated. I make him happy, and he adores me, and that’s it. He’s perfect at being what he is. And that’s all I really want.

Maybe I’ll say yes. All those other mares put up with it after all.

A quiet chiming echoes through the apartment, a set of bells ringing nine times. Nine o’clock already? And it’s Sunday, so that means time for Green’s medication—and mine as well. I carefully extract myself from the couch, moving slowly so as not to wake Golden Palm. Green is coming down the steps as well. It’s been awhile since she’s showered, so she’s leaving these greasy hoofprints everywhere. But, she’s not conscious of it, so I don’t do anything to point it out.

“Shh,” I raise a hoof to my lips and point at Golden Palm. Green nods, and pads over to the kitchen with me. We open the cabinets, and all the bottles are laid out there. She has quite the collection: Fashion Diva, Changeling, QuikFix, Stare and more, not to mention all her tonics. My collection is relatively small: Daring Do, vultiphine, and the five tonics Doctor Stable gave me. It’s the same ritual for both of us though, getting a glass and measuring out the precise amounts.

“So, he’s cute,” Green says, and before I can shush her, Golden Palm stirs.

“Yes, Sea Change,” he mumbles, twisting against the pillow and flexing his stunted wings. “You’re very cute. All over...”

I play-glower at Green as he nods off again, and I’m rewarded with a little smile. Very good! She’s actually playing along. That’s a lot of progress for her. Of course, it’s not as solid as it seems. There’s a tension there, and I can feel the retort building up inside her. Three, two...

“And he’s not a marker too,” she says, without breaking stride. “That’s nice. Y’know, in case you end up serious. Y’don’t want a husband who will go insane and vomit up his own guts.” She fixes me with a stare. “I mean, that could get real awkward.”

Author’s Note: You can see where this is going. I mean really, Siren, you’re so nice! I can’t imagine why Rarity thought you were her heir.

It’s when Siren catches Green contemplating her bottle of strychnine that it all finally goes off the rails.

Daring Do, Chapter 11, Scene 8: Siren Uses Her Voice

“Yes, Green!” I shout, striking the table with a hoof. She’s leaning in, trying to get in my personal space and knock me off guard, but I just lean in right back. We’re a little past the point she could physically intimidate me, and a good glare shows her exactly how stupid she’s being! “Yes,” I lower my voice, but keep a good angry hiss in it. “You’re dying. We’re all dying. We’re all dying the moment we’re born. But we don’t sit there and contemplate how we’re going to end it!”

“No, Sweetheart. You don’t.” She lets out a sharp snort. “Because you’re young, and because you’re stupid, and you think it’ll never happen. You think…” Her next breath comes hard, and I can hear a wheeze inside her throat. “Ya’ll think you can take whatever you want and it’ll never come back to you. But me. I’m at the point that this is a substantive concern!”

“Oh you’re in a little pain. Boo-hoo,” I sneer down at her. It’s what she respects. I know her, and I know her mind, and I can read her thoughts and I know she’s asking me to slap some sense into her. I just don’t know why it’s taking so long. “Life is pain. You taught me that. And you know what else you taught me? To shut up and stop whining so much! There are ponies who need you, Green! Need you. Ponies you’ll be leaving behind if you take the coward’s way out.”

“I ain’t afraid of being in pain, Sea Change. I’m afraid of turning into one of those things in the wharf.” Her tone and volume drop as she speaks, and when she tries to breathe in, another wheeze comes. She holds her hoof to her chest and turns away from me, taking a moment to catch her breath. A half-step puts some distance between us, pulling us out of our nose-to-nose stance. “And I ain’t sure there are ponies who need me.”

“I need you,” I step up beside her, and see that she’s rubbing her hoof off on the table leg. Trying to get the sweat off. She’s so sweaty she almost glistens in the light, and it’s perfectly obvious she thinks it's disgusting. She’s waiting for me to pull away, to be disgusted that she’s dirtying my pretty grey coat with her marker sweat. All this so she can feel all justified that she’s something dirty. I swear, what’s it take for that mare to be happy? But no. I’m not giving her the satisfaction. So I step forward, and I give her a hug. I give her a hug and breathe in that smell and let the oil soak into my coat.

She freezes. Surprise. Good. I squeeze her tighter, and take a deep breath near her ear so I know she’ll hear it. Then I let the breath out, and lower my voice. “I need you, Green. You’re my friend. You’re the first friend I ever had. You saved me from Rarity. And you protected me when nopony else could.” I nuzzle against her, and her slick sweat coats my cheek and muzzle. “And now I want to repay you, Green. I want you to be happy again.”

“I…” She pauses. Finally. “I know that, Sweetheart. Sea Change. And this time here with you… well.” Her tail lowers, and her voice lowers with it. It becomes something soft. Something warm. “I didn’t want it to work. But heck if you haven’t made it work. I haven’t felt so good in a long time. Not since the old days before it all went wrong. It’s like things are magical again.” Good. Good.

But then she pushes me away, and reaches up to rub her sweat off my face. “But you just gotta accept… there’s only so much you can do for me. No matter how nice things get. Even if things were as nice as the old days. At this point I’m just running out the clock. All you’re really doing is making me comfortable before I go.” She takes a breath, shuts her eyes and lets it out through her nose. “And I ain’t the type to be overly concerned with my own comfort. Not saying I’m going today but…”

She swallows, and nods to me. “If it’s all the same, I’d much rather see you go and live a long and happy life up top then stay down here to take care of me. It’s been good…” She lowers her voice. “It’s been good, Siren. But I think maybe you should go.”

I stare at her. I just stare. What can I say? What can I possibly say to that?

That unbelievably selfish witch.

“I’m sorry, what?” I tilt my head to one side, taking a half-step after her as I narrow my eyes. “I’m sorry. I think I might have misheard you. You wanna say that again?”

“You tried hard to make it work, but it—”

“Oh no,” I lift a hoof, pointing for her attention. “No no. I didn’t try hard.” I keep my voice low, but hard and sharp, my muzzle pulled back so far she can see my teeth. “I stood there and smiled as you used a punch to the jaw as a way to say hello. I hiked across half the city to find a kitten, so the adoption shelter wouldn’t realize you murdered the first one. I took a job carrying parcels for rich earth ponies who think it’s funny to make a unicorn carry their things. I gave up a life in a palace and indebted myself to a terrifying crime lord! And I did it all,” my voice wavers up and down, despite my best efforts, “just to make you happy. Just because I wanted to be your friend, Green.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that!” She glowers, stumbling slightly as she takes a half-step back onto her prosthetic leg. “In fact I told you not to.”

“Of course you told me not to. That’s the point!” I honestly don’t see how she can get this. I know she’s not that thick. If she were thick she’d be easy to control! “You were in pain!” I reach out to her, pressing a hoof to her chest. Right over her heart. “You told me to leave because you were were miserable and didn’t think your life had value. So I gave it value.”

Green grimaces. Like she ate something sour. Slowly, but firmly, she pushes my hoof away. “You can’t give ponies value, Sweetheart. And even if you could, I didn’t ask you to do what you did. I ain’t in your debt and I don’t owe you a thing.”

“All I want in return is for you to give it a chance, Green,” I lift my hoof to my own chest, gesturing for emphasis. “That’s not a lot to ask.”

“If it’s a gift,” Green answers, “there ain’t no ‘in return.’ That’s what makes it a gift. You’re doing it just to be nice. Ain’t that the point?”

“Why is this so hard for you, Green?” I take a breath to try to calm down, and look at the floor. I know I shoudln’t let her get under my skin. Morphine is wearing off and that always puts me in a mood. But wow, I am not in the mood for this right now. “Heh. You’d be beautiful if you weren't so unhappy. You remember that? Sine told you that. Rider’s Ghost himself! You remember that?”

“Yeah…” Green says slowly. “I remember that.”

“Is there some reason you don’t want to be beautiful, Green?” I take another breath. Calming down not going so well. “Because you know, Sine was right. I can see what he saw in you. I can see it in your heart! This faithful, strong, beautiful mare.”

My pace picks up, and I lift my head. I point at her as I talk, enunciating every word clearly. “The mare he saw on that apple farm. The mare who knew there was something terribly wrong with her body, but never let it destroy her. The mare who had the strength to come to this city. The mare who protected me!” My voice is shaking, and I point again as I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s what I see when I look at you, Green. And all I want is for everypony else to see you the way I do! I don’t think that’s so unreasonable!”

“Siren…” Green takes a larger step back. Her breathing is coming faster. “Sweetheart. How do you know about that?”

“It wasn’t exactly secret, was it?” I let out a snort. “Or, I’m sorry, were you offended that I actually tried? That I bothered to drag you every painful step of the way? Because with every step, you fight me. Every step! You bellow at me, beat me, insult me, but I never give up on you. I drag you. And I drag you!” My voice rises to a shout, but I go ahead and let it. She deserves to know. My hoof is shaking, and I have to put it on the table to make it sit still. “And just when you are about to cross the line and finally be right! Suddenly, that’s not what you want. Because you don’t owe me anything.”

Green has, for some stupid reason, backed herself into the corner of the kitchen. Because apparently a dignified discussion is too much to ask. Whatever. I snort, and give a small shake of my head. “I just wanted to make you beautiful, Green. You could have had it all. And you decide you rather be an ingrate.”

No, wait.

Green’s eyes shrink to pinpricks, and she shrieks in terror. “No, Green! Not that way!” I shout, but she’s already running. She leaps over the kitchen island towards the door. “Green, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it! Not that—”

She pulls out her knife, and swings. Something hits the side of my head. “Not again!” she screams. “Not again!” She bucks. Her hoof hits me.

I’m lying on the floor. I’m lying on the floor and the apartment door is open. There’s a pool in the corner of my vision. Blood, I think. And my face is sticky. It burns, but not bad. Not like a real burn. “Green?” I call out. Nopony answers. I try to extend my senses out to the building, but I can’t feel her. She’s not there.

“Green?” I call again. “Green I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” My eye hurts. “Green please come back.”

I’m still lying there when I see tan in my vision. Saddlebags. Two cross fronds. “Sea Change!” Golden Palm shouts. Real fear in his voice. “Sea Change! What happened? No, don’t worry. Lie still. I’m going to bring you to a doctor.”

“No,” I say. He’s really afraid I’m going to die. He is. Just like the first time. Just like the first time I did this to him. “No, don’t. Golden. Don’t!” He ignores me, hefting me up onto his back. “Golden, don’t. I don’t deserve it. I’m evil and I just sent Green to die.” She didn’t bring any of her mantles with her. She’ll be alone in the slum again.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he coos. “Now be careful. We’ll-”

“I’m not even who you think I am!” I manage to shout. “I’m not Sea Change! I’m Siren Song. That’s how I knew you so well. I just ran into you and I missed you. I’m a terrible pony, Golden! I’m a terrible pony!” My vision is going blurry. “Please don’t save me this time.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Then he starts moving again. I pass out a few times along the way. There’s an elevator, the street, a cart. The smell of antiseptic. I remember a nurse giving me a shot.

Eventually, my eyes flutter open. I’m so tired. But I can tell where I am. There’s a hospital bed, but it’s got a weird shape. There’s metal bars that run over it, and my legs are locked in. Like the ones Green had, only I don’t think these are for my health. They’re restraints. holding me in place. I look around, and right beside me, there’s a pony. A yellow pegasus. I think she’s a doctor.

“Hello?” I ask. My voice is rough.

“Hello, Siren,” the yellow mare says. Her voice is so gentle. “How are you feeling?”

I ignore her question. “Who are you? What am I doing here?”

“You’re here,” she says, “Because a patient of mine, Golden Palm, brought you in. He was concerned you were suicidal. I’ve temporarily restrained you, for your own safety. As for me, I’m Fluttershy. I’ll be your doctor from now on. You see, Siren,” she explains, “you’re sick. You have an illness of the mind that compels you to hurt others. But we can help you.”

I lean up to look at her, and she gives an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt a bit.”

Fluttershy

Author’s Note: Enter the good doctor! Fluttershy is such an adorable little Lamb after all. The next chapter picks up three months later, with Siren thoroughly brainwashed. Locked inside Angel’s Garden, Siren is made to cleanse herself of all her wicked impulses and negative desires. After all, there’s no such thing as bad ponies! Just ponies who are sick and need help.

Green, Echo, and Berry are there as well. Siren sold all of them out under hypnosis, and fingered them (hoofed them?) for their parts in the attack on the Pavilion.

Despite being a part of the government in Vision, Fluttershy does not entertain the notion of arresting them. After all? Why punish them when she has the option to go on and make sure they lead useful and healthy lives?

Daring Do, Chapter 12, Scene 3: Group Therapy

“And sometimes, I just feel really sad?” I say, tucking my legs in up around me. The grass feels so nice. I think it makes the therapy better -- when we can all go out and sit in the garden. It’s natural for ponies to be surrounded by grass. “Like… there’s all these things I could have done? And instead I was just this petty and jealous creature. And I know I’m in a better place now! And that’s good. But I feel I wasted so much time.”

“Mmm,” Fluttershy nods, looking around at the circle. “And what do we say to that, everypony?”

“Uh…” Green is the first to guess, though she does look at Echo and Berry for support. “That… regret is a negative mental framework that only drains emotional energy from the present?” Fluttershy nods slowly, and gestures Green on with a hoof. “And that… accepting our circumstances and finding peace with them is the first step to improvement?”

“That’s right,” Fluttershy gives a gentle nod, turning back to me. We’re all sitting under the big willow tree, and the strands tickle at her ears. “How does that sound to you, Siren?”

“Good…” I mumble. She’s right, of course. Fluttershy is always right. “But I still feel kind of bad. Can I have some time with Angel Kitty?”

“Of course.” Fluttershy smiles so warmly. She’s just wonderful. “Oh, Angel!” she sings. From nearby, Angel Kitty unfolds himself. He’s a tiger, and a big one at that, but right now, he’s sleeping harmlessly against one of Fluttershy’s pet deer. That’s a neat trick. Teaching a tiger to only eat tofu. Fluttershy really is an inspiration.

Without needing to be told, Angel walks right up to me. “Aww, hello kitty.” I nuzzle up against him. “How are you feeling -- aaah!” He licked my face! “Cat tongue!”

Fluttershy giggles gently, and lets me have my fun for a few minutes. It does make me feel better, and soon, Angel Kitty curls up against my side. “Now,” she says, turning to Berry. “Berry. Last week, we talked a little bit about your past, and your relationship with Trixie. You promised you’d try to be more conscientious about your interpersonal relationships, and try to think more about what feelings really move you towards that positive frame. Do you want to talk a little bit about that?”

Berry doesn’t answer. She never does the first time. She just stares at the grass.

“Berry?” Fluttershy presses. “Do you want to tell us how you’re feeling?”

Again, she says nothing. Now, see, I can’t read Berry at all. But Fluttershy is totally better at this than me. That’s why she reaches out towards Berry, just close enough that Berry pulls back. She hates being touched, so it’s a great way to knock her off her cool and silent act just a little. “Berry I’d like it if you would talk to me.”

“You don’t care about me at all,” Berry replies, in her usual dead monotone. “You only want to convince me that Trixie is evil.”

“Do I say that Trixie is evil?” Fluttershy asks, gently. Oh, she’s clever! And of course she doesn’t say that.

“You said she was abusive,” Berry replies, keeping her eyes fixed on the grass.

“No, Berry. I asked if Trixie ever hit you when she was mad,” Fluttershy coos quietly. “You’re the one who said abusive.” Another long silence. “Do you think others view your relationship with Trixie as abusive, Berry?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Berry says, abruptly. “Trixie needs me. I’m all she has left. And I don’t want to talk about this.” Her ears twitch, once. “You said when we started group therapy that I didn’t have to talk about anything I wasn’t comfortable with.”

Fluttershy pauses, but then, she nods. “Yes, I did. And you’re right. We can talk about this next week.”

Next, Fluttershy turns to Echo. “So, Echo. How is your collection of toy soldiers coming?”

“Well…” he replies slowly, eyes still on Berry. Fluttershy coughs, and he looks to her. “I build one whenever I feel like drinking. So, I have a small army by now. But I’m four weeks sober! So… good?”

Author’s Note: Ain’t that sweet. And Echo even gets a visitor!

Daring Do, Chapter 12, Scene 7: The Lovers Reunited

I peek over the garden bushes, watching the two of them from a distance. It’s weird. Rainbow looks so commanding, with her form-fitting jet black armor, and all those guards around her. Echo looks like some stallion whose mane has started to go a bit grey in places. But there’s something about the way they face each other. It’s the silence, and the stony look on her face. And there’s something about him that’s off too.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asks out of the blue. Her shoulder? I glance that way, but there’s nothing to see under the armor.

“I just had it fixed again,” she replies. Her voice is surprisingly rough. Almost scratchy. It makes her sound young, even a little childlike. “Hopefully it sticks this time.”

“Hopefully,” he agrees. Another long silence hangs between them. Echo shifts his hooves. Stamps once. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so… tense? That’s not quite it. “Did you come all the way here just to see me?”

“Fluttershy insisted,” Rainbow replies. “I told her she was wasting her time.”

“Well… therapy has been good for me,” Echo says, fluffing his wings. “For instance. I recognize that I wronged you during our last meeting.”

“You said I was a demon that murdered the real Rainbow Dash and was wearing her corpse like a hat,” Rainbow snaps. Echo’s ears fold back, and he stares at his hooves. “You said that you hoped the withdrawl killed me so at least you’d have closure that the mare you loved was dead.”

“I was drunk,” he replies.

“You were drunk a lot.” Rainbow’s voice is hard, and unsympathetic.

The End

As she journeys through the city with her friends, one by one, Siren faces the Elements of Harmony. Fluttershy is the corruption of Kindness, in the form of smothering control and materialism. Applejack is the corruption of Honesty, in the form of denial. Rainbow Dash is the corruption of loyalty in the form of fascism and blind obedience to leaders who don’t deserve it. Pinkie Pie is the corruption of laughter, and we’ve already seen why. Zephyr was one of Pinkie Pie’s followers, the teenage prostitute who always keeps a smile on her face even as she’s crying inside. Never stop smiling.

Soon, of course, Siren starts to suspect that Twilight isn’t dead. She can see where this is going. Because, in this big laugh Poison Joke is having at the city’s expense, it’s obvious what role Twilight plays. She’s the corruption of magic, because she did bring everypony else together in this strange and magnificent way that’s impossible to describe. But she didn’t make them happy. By her actions, their suffering brought them together.

Siren has her own worries as well however. As the powers Heart’s Desire grants her increasingly start to resemble Rarity’s, Green suspects that maybe Siren is still Rarity’s heir, and their once close friendly rapidly cools despite Siren’s best efforts. She still doesn’t know why Trixie is so determined to help her, or what plans of her own Berry has. It all comes to a head when she finally gets her hooves on the report Doctor Stable made, all the way back in the start of the story, when he was testing for her identity.

Siren’s blood, compared to a hair sample provided by Trixie. 99% chance of a maternal relationship. Echo knew all along (since he got the report from Rarity’s goons) and has been giggling all the while as Siren plays up her theatrics. Half a showmare indeed.

As the situation in the city rapidly degrades, with the Elements of Harmony united against Trixie and Siren, it increasingly seems that even Neptune’s Bounty may no longer be safe. Realizing this might be her last chance to set things right, Siren returns to Trixie’s lair.

Passing the young mare in the office -- who is revealed to be a wiredoll under an illusion spell -- Siren finds the real Trixie behind a sliding panel in the back. Half dead, crippled by years of mantle abuse, she’s confined to her bed, unable to breathe without a respirator and constantly overseen by doctors. Her nervous system is so degraded she’s half-paralyzed, and finds it hard to speak without the doll transceiver. Still though, looking at this wretched creature, Siren compassion in her heart. She steps up to Trixie’s side, kneels beside the bed, and forgives Trixie for abandoning her in the orphanage so long ago.

To which Trixie responds, with a contemptuous sneer and a roll of her eyes, that she’s not Siren’s mother. Really she thought it was obvious. The collectors call her “Cousin Pinkpony.” And what is a cousin but the daughter of my mother’s sister? The hair sample came from Twilight. Siren is Twilight’s daughter, Sine is her father, and the “old friend” Trixie was repaying a debt to by saving Siren was Twilight before she was corrupted by mantles. Trixie was trying to do what “the real Twilight,” would have wanted. Fair repayment for saving Trixie from the Alicorn Amulet.

Left in shock, Siren is assaulted by visions from Rarity’s tea, where she finally beholds what happened. Sine was indeed real, a stallion who moved to Ponyville before the Blight, and who was rather sweet on Twilight. Despite his odd ideas about selfishness and generosity, Princess Celestia liked him at first. Everyone liked him, really. No matter what he said, he has this charismatic, almost hypnotic air about him. You felt you could trust him. That he could look into your eyes and just understand you.

Like Siren always seems to have a bizarre understanding of ponies. How she always knows what they’re thinking. How she can tell one silence from another.

But soon, even as Twilight and Sine became a romantic item, Celestia grew suspicious. The Blight had begun, and while there was nothing connecting Sine to it, ruin always seemed to follow in his wake. He visited a town, and a week later, riots broke out. He sold produce to a city, Blight spread throughout its crops. Celestia could prove nothing, but the amount of circumstantial evidence piled higher and higher. Sine had a Suspiciously Unconfirmable Backstory, with nopony who could say they knew him before he arrived in Ponyville. And there he always was, stirring up sentiment against the Princess.

Finally, Celestia had him arrested. In the confrontation that would become legend, Sine burned his farm before letting Celestia touch it. Though she had no intention of seizing his crops, she found it impossible to convince his furious disciples otherwise. She dragged him to Canterlot Palace, and Twilight with him, demanding Twilight and her friends use the Elements of Harmony upon him. He he really was what he seemed to be, he had nothing to fear, but Celestia highly doubted that was the case. Whatever he was, he wasn’t a pony, she knew.

Twilight and her friends hesitated however, and in the face of their hesitance, Sine gave an eloquent speech about the importance of individual freedom, and that the Elements of Harmony were not a weapon to be used against Celestia’s political enemies. He offered to go to jail -- for burning down his farm, since he was admittedly guilty of arson -- but dismissed her other concerns as simple paranoia. He wanted what was best, and besides, he couldn’t really mean Celestia any harm. She was Twilight’s mentor, and harming her would make Twilight sad. He could never hurt his true love that way.

Celestia looked at Twilight, and looked at Sine, and understood that Twilight would not raise a hoof against him. And so she called all her power into her horn, and launched a brilliant, burning ray directly at his heart, to burn him to ashes.

It bounced off. Then in a blur of motion and shadow, Sine hit her hard enough the stone beneath her cracked. It was a brawl between creatures that were not quite mortal. Celestia had wings, a horn, countless spells and her mighty strength, while Sine seemed to be an unstoppable juggernaut, with skin like iron and blows that shattered stone. Back and forth they went, until Sine broke one of Celestia’s wings with a thrown chunk of marble, and she fell to the ground. He pounced atop her, lifting a hoof to smash her skull into paste.

Then, Twilight blasted him with her horn -- through the ears, instead of across the skin. He staggered, still alive with an otherworldly vigor despite half the contents of his skull being reduced to ash. But Celestia took advantage, and in his stunned state, she slew him.

With Sine dead, the Blight began to fade almost immediately, and the riots calmed. They never found out who or what he really was. Twilight found out she was pregnant two weeks later. When Siren was born, she had fangs. Surgery removed them, but everypony knew.

Perhaps it was the lingering effects of Sine’s dark magic on her mind, or perhaps her grief was genuine, but she never forgave Celestia for the fact that her child would grow up without a father, and she denied all claims that Sine was responsible for what befell Equestria. After Siren’s birth, she locked herself in her library, and descended into a negative spiral of grief, rage, and denial. Concerned for her student’s mental health, Celestia forcefully intervened, and when she found that Siren was not being fed or properly cared for, took her to Canterlot.

To Twilight’s warped mind, Celestia had just stolen her daughter from her, and that was all it took to push her over the edge. Her grief turned to a focused madness, a narrative of Celestia’s wickedness, and in time, she left Equestria.

Her visions over, Siren awakes to find Neptune’s Bounty is under attack. Trixie’s empire is crumbling, and with it gone, the last vestige of resistance to the regime will crumble. She and her friends, Berry, Echo, and Green, go out to make their last stand, facing down the Elements of Harmony, including Twilight.

Knowing there’s no way out of this, Siren tries for a hail mary play, giving a speach where she insists that her friends are the true Elements of Harmony. Trixie is Magic because she brought everyone together, and Berry is Loyalty because her her caring for Trixie. And Echo is, uh… honesty? Maybe. That’s about as far as she gets before ponies start giggling. They aren’t the Elements of Harmony, Twilight points out. In fact, they’re all awful, awful people.

With death now inevitable, Siren gives one last speech, defending her and her friends to Twilight. Because Twilight is right, they are deeply flawed people, but that doesn’t mean they’re irredeemable. Echo is a drunken facist womanizer, but he has lines he won’t cross and things he stands for, and his choice to defend Siren was genuine. Green is a murderer driven by jealous rage, but she’s also a compassionate and caring friend. Trixie is a schemer and a thug, but she always held Twilight’s kindness in her heart, and paid it forward to Berry when she was suffering from crippling depression. And Berry, for all she pretends to be an emotionless robot, truly loves Trixie as a friend, and was always there for Siren even when Siren didn’t deserve it.

None of them, Siren admits, are heroes. But they’re not pure evil either. Even if they don’t always show it, they have good in them, and it’s those little moments of compassion that are the reason Siren is still alive and standing there. Because goodness isn’t a force that can be wielded as a weapon, and friendship isn’t six magic stones. It’s a power that is present in all ponies, however faintly, that makes their lives better and gets them through the day. And no matter how much Twilight and her friends posion these ponies souls with mantles, they can never extinguish that light completely.

Then, Siren realizes she’s glowing. Purple -- like the Element of Magic. But she’s not the only one. Trixie is glowing that shade too, so is Thunderlane, officers and rebel leaders. Echo is red like the Element of Loyalty, but so is Berry, so are the rebels who stuck by eachother. Green is Kindness, but so is Zephyr and all the ponies who did so many little things along the way. Golden Palm is Generosity. And so on and so forth. All the ponies in the city, glowing, just a little, and Twilight and the other corrupted Elements can’t stop it.

Twilight and the others shriek as Elements of Harmony come to life against their will, wrapping them up in a brilliant rainbow that soon spreads outwards, consuming the city. Markers panic and flee in all directions as the city starts to crumble, tumbling down around their ears. Siren is left alone to ponder as all her friends scatter, realizing that Sine was afraid of the touch of the Elements of Harmony. She is his daughter, with the same powers and the same evil that dwells in her heart, and she remembers the stories of King Sombra getting blown into pieces by that same power. She wonders if the touch is going to kill her, and after a little while, decides that would be okay. She sits there and shuts her eyes, waiting for the end to come.

The rainbow expands outwards, enveloping Siren and the others. The city rises and shakes. And when Siren next opens her eyes, they’re on the surface. Vision has been transformed, from an underwater city into an artificial island above the sea floor. The force fields are gone, and the windows are open to the air, and let the sunlight stream in. The extra cutie marks are gone. The bottles of mantles have transformed into bottles of seawater. And the fields of Poison Joke have blown away like dust in the wind.

Green is a real unicorn mare, and will never need magic to look that way again. Her impossibly perfect looks are gone -- in fact, she looks like a farm mare who just happens to have a horn -- but she doesn’t care. That’s all she ever really wanted.

Berry’s depression is cured, along with her crushing addiction. For the first and only time in the story, we see her display emotion as she cries with joy and sweeps Siren up in a hug.

Trixie is no longer crippled or addicted. Golden Palm’s wings are fixed. Applejack’s children are cured. Ponies all across the city find the no longer need magic to transform themselves. They are exactly what they always wanted to be. And that’s enough.

Siren has a moment with her own cynical thoughts, sneering at what a saccharine-sweet ending this is, when she hears a shriek and turns to see Echo and Rarity struggling. Rarity’s extra cutie marks are gone as well, along with her malevolent air. While the other Elements of Harmony watch in horror, he’s holding her to the ground, trying to stop her from killing herself as she screams that she doesn’t want to live with the memory of what she’s done. The horrible things. It was all her fault.

Some part of Siren enjoys seeing that -- knowing that the perfect ending isn’t quite so perfect. Then she chastises herself for the thought, realizing that the Elements of Harmony did not, in fact, cure her of Sine’s evil. She doesn’t get that easy an out. After a moment of consideration, she wanders over to the Elements of Harmony, which has been transformed into a civic monument depicting the new layout of the city beneath the sun. Sitting beneath them, she finds some paper in her belt-pockets, and begins composing the Letter to Celestia we saw all the way back in the opening chapter.

Dear Princess Celestia,

It has been some time since I wrote you. I imagine you did not expect to ever hear from me again.

Much has changed since the last time we spoke. I have changed. I wonder—will you recognize me, next we meet? Will you recoil? Perhaps, yourself eternal, you are used to others changing around you.

You lied to me, Celestia. You called me your faithful student. You told me you would always be there for me. I’m not sure I can forgive you for that, but I understand why you did it. I know what you were trying to protect me from.

I’m rambling now. I suppose I owe you some explanation of where I have been all this time.

When I was a foal and asked you why you took me as a student, you told me that I was going to change the world, that I was destined to do great things.

You were right.

Foreword

Dear Princess Celestia,

It has been some time since I wrote you. I imagine you did not expect to ever hear from me again.

I’m rambling now. I suppose I owe you some explanation of where I have been all this time.

When I was a foal and asked you why you took me as a student, you told me that I was going to change the world, that I was destined to do great things.

You were right.

This story is a sequel. Book 1 can be found here.

Acknowledgements

This story would never have been possible without the support of the brony community and, of course, the Elements of Harmony!

Pascoite, whose perceptive criticism and editing have helped me grow as a writer, represents the Element of Honesty!

Warmblood, whose cheerful editing and encouragement helped me get through my most frustrating writers block, represents the Element of Kindness!

Pav Feira, who support and friendship made writing fun again and inspired me through the worst of my self-doubt, represents the Element of Laughter!

PeasentB, who freely gave of his fantastic artwork to bring this story to life, represents the Element of Generosity!

A Dragon Dreaming, who figured out all my plot twists on day one but still kept editing for 300,000 words and counting, represents the Element of Loyalty!

And I'm Magic. Because you all are great, but let's be honest, I'm rocking these wings.