Hitmare

by phelpysan

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Fluttershy, Tragedy, Big Macintosh, Princess Celestia, Sad, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other
Length: 3254

For a pony who kills for money, love can be a problem. For this mare, it's about to get hard.

When your talent in life is is taking others', it can be difficult. Love is not something you can simply enjoy, or even show; and for Zule Kalasha, when it gets in the way of a contract, it's going to make things nearly impossible.

First fic to submit, tell me what you think. Any and all feedback is welcome.

EDIT: added cover image- thanks to blizzardstar33 for letting me use it. You can find it here: http://blizzardstar33.deviantart.com/art/Fluttermac-FTW-284602481

Published 2012-03-27 23:54:03 UTC
Last updated 2012-04-07 18:57:13 UTC

Prologue

The world isn't perfect, all sunshine and rainbows. That's why I exist. That's why there are ponies like me.

<--->

One day, when I was a young filly, just 7 years old, I was sitting on the roof my cloud-top home. The air was crisp and cool, the sun shining down through the bright, clear, blue sky. I looked down and saw a beetle crawling past me. I watched it, thinking about the insignificance of its life. I raised my hoof, held it in the air for a few moments, considering, before squashing it. I lifted my hoof again, wiping the innards that had bled from its broken carapace onto my fur off on the cloud. The beetle twitched, hanging painfully on to the last remnants of its life.

I had no idea what exactly possessed me to do it, to take a completely innocent creature's life. It hadn't bitten me, stung me or even touched me. It was completely unnecessary and I was totally in the wrong, yet I felt no remorse or regret. I had killed it, but I didn't care.

That was the day my bloodlust began. I bid my time after that, getting my 'fill' with woodland animals, then moving up to making a few pets disappear every now and then. I knew that what I was doing was weird and unnatural, but that didn't bother me, because I also knew that it felt good. Like their life-force sustained mine.

9 years after that fateful day, I was ready. I had got my equipment, I knew where I was going. I had read every book on anatomy in Cloudsdale's library- I could take a pony apart and put them back together from memory if I wanted to.

I pulled on the clothes I had made- a pure black cape, long and wide enough to cover me completely, but not enough to hinder my movement, and a small bag containing everything I could possibly need. The clock read 1:00 precisely. Enlarging the hole in the wall of my bedroom that was my window, I extended my wings and took off.

I flapped only when needed, trying to glide as much as possible to reduce noise. I surveyed the town, my shadowed eyes sweeping through the puffy, pale-white streets. Not that I needed to of course. I knew precisely where the house was. I had left nothing to chance.

Waiting until I was directly above the house, I closed my wings against my body and dropped like a stone. Nearing its cotton ball-like roof I snapped open my wingspan as fully as possible, catching myself at the last second. I hit the building silently, perfectly. I looked at the house as I flew off the roof and down to the back of it. As I expected,there were no candles to signify that anypony was awake in the residence.

Pulling two wires out of my bag, one straight, one ending with a hook, I inserted them into the lock of the back door. After a combination of raking back and forth and jiggling, I heard a click and pushed the door open. I was pleased the lock picks had worked for the second time; they were self-made and I had used them before to steal a knife from the cutlery shop; I knew that purchasing a knife in the days before somepony died would look a little suspicious.

I stepped into the house, shutting the door behind me, and padded through the kitchen, into the hall and up the stairs. Peering round an ajar door, I saw Long Feathers sleeping soundly, the covers rising and falling rhythmically. I frowned, remembering his and his friends' constant bullying for being a blank flank. Not for long. I could feel it.

I was just glad that I had made my own cutie mark before then. I mean to be known as the pony who's special talent in life was ending others'? I would never be accepted. What I had instead was the perfect cover up- quite literally. Nopony would ever suspect me of being who I really was. So I had essentially created the exact opposite to be my persona during the day. At night, I could be my true self. In my element.

Creeping along to the next room, whose door was also slightly open, I saw two ponies sleeping in the same bed. Shuffling round to the opposite side of the room, I stood over the sleeping mare, studying her features. In the dim light of the moon, I could see her that her light green mane lay over her dull crimson face, covering it. I pulled a filled, hoof-made sheath out of my bag, removing the knife smoothly from its holder and replacing the latter.

Twirling the sharp piece of metal in my hoof, I watched as the faint reflection spun rhythmically around the room. I strengthened my grip on it, took a deep breath, reared onto my back legs and lunged forward with both front hooves. My left, containing the knife, connected with her throat, slicing straight through her windpipe and into her spine. My right simultaneously covered her mouth. Her eyes barely flickered open before juddering closed, like she was sorry to have opened them. Like she was sorry she had ever been alive.

Undisturbed, her husband didn't even move. I left the house the same way I entered it, jumped into the air and flew back home.

I hung up the cloak and bag in my closet before pulling out the knife. Strolling into the bathroom I ran it under the tap, the blood having not even dried yet. I dried it and replaced it in the sheath in the bag. The deed was done. I looked over at the clock. 1:05. I smiled and climbed into bed, a warm feeling spreading around my flank. I lifted the cover and saw an off-white skull on my upper leg, contrasting somewhat with the light yellow of my fur. I fell asleep, contented.

<--->

My mother always said "Make you natural tendencies pay." She used to, anyway. She, and the rest of my family, no longer want anything to do with me, knowing what I do now. I don't know what she says now. Maybe it's something like "Make your natural tendencies pay, unless they're horrific and sickening."

I am a biologist, alchemist, chemist, inventor, master of stealth, agility and armed and unarmed combat. I'm very good at what I do. I know 5 ways to kill someone with a spoon. 2 are quick and painless, the others aren't.

I'm a hitmare. My name is Zule Kalasha. But you might know me as Fluttershy.

Chapter 2

The air was cold, and my thin, black cloak didn't help much. I shivered as I looked down the scope of of the crossbow, the crosshair dancing around all over the window. The picture grew as I flicked up a lever on the scope, but the cold still made me quiver far too much for a good shot. I sighed exasperatedly and pulled a small box out of the pouch underneath me and opened it, taking out a diazepam and popping it in my mouth.

Waiting sullenly for the drug to take effect, I surveyed the scene. The tree I was under didn't provide much shadow, as most of leaves had already fallen from its boughs, but it was better than nothing. The window to Big Mac's room was closed- no surprise given the autumnal weather- but it meant that I'd only have one shot; the crossbow was pretty much silent, especially from this distance, but the sound of the window breaking would surely wake everyone up.

I raised the scope to my eye again. I could see him more clearly now, the drug taking its course. His head was almost black and white in the moonlight, the slightest hints of colour bleeding onto the jagged hair thrown over the dark crimson face. His mouth was hanging open, the covers moving with his breathing.

The diazepam had done its job now, and I no longer shook. I steadied the black, metal barrel with my left hoof, shifting it for better comfort. Aiming directly for the head, I tried to steady my ragged breathing, and pulled the trigger.

There was a click and unusually loud snapping sound, but not the familiar zing of the bolt moving down the barrel. Is it broken? I thought. I brought the weapon down again. It looked normal; everything seemed as should have been after firing. Suddenly I realised what had gone wrong- I hadn't put a bolt in in the first place. My subconscious trying to tell me something, I thought, chuckling a little, which quickly turned to a sad frown. I pulled back the slider and hesitantly placed a bolt in the receiver. Putting the scope to my face again, I steadied myself.

It wouldn't hurt him, I reassured myself. He wouldn't even feel it. He- he wouldn't even see it coming. I was shaking again, but this time it had nothing to do with the cold. Whispering a barely audible "Goodbye, Big Macintosh." I pulled the trigger.

The familiar click, snap, zing. The smash. About 8 seconds passed and a candle was lit. The familiar scream- Applejack. 2 seconds, another scream- higher pitched. Applebloom.

I solemnly disassembled the crossbow, unscrewing the barrel, removing the arms and sliding the pieces into the case on my back. Spreading my wings, I flew away, tears falling from my face.

Chapter 4

Angel was long asleep as I sat down at the old, oak table with pencil and paper. I picked up the writing implement in my mouth and put in the top-left corner: "No. 2712"

I thought about the job. It would have been a relatively easy kill were it not for Zecora's final stipulation- that the target should know when it's about to happen, and everyone around her should be helpless as she is murdered.

I picked up a pencil and sketched out the area. A wall here, a window there... Mmm. The window.

That would cause difficulties. Needless to say they would be magically protected, and breaking that magic would require a unicorn's fine touch.

No, there was no way around it. As much as I hated to admit it, I needed help. And for that, there was only one stallion for the job.

"Hello. Agent 47? Yes. I've got a job and I need your help..."

<--->

I stood on the hill, the cool moonlight washing the ground in a pale gray aurora. Checking my bag one last time, i could feel the smooth metal orbs and magically sharpened blade.

"47? Ready?" I said, speaking into my wristcomm.

"Firing." He replied solemnly. A beam of pale white energy passed overhead and struck the window, melting away the window's sheen and protective enchantments.

The beam stopped and I raised my hoof again. "Thanks 47. You've done your bit."

I got no response, but I wasn't worried about him. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the knife. I was ready. With a deep breath, I took to the air and flew towards the window, accelerating with each wing-beat, before reaching it and breaking through with an almighty smash.

Chapter 5

Shattered glass flew everywhere. I hadn't realised just how fast I had been flying before I almost slammed into the opposite wall of the room. I glanced around, taking in the slashed bed-curtains, banners and other orange-yellow paraphernalia. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out two magic grenades and tossed them to the floor, where they exploded, spewing out a glimmering, pink-tinted cloud that swirled around to fill the room.

Pulling out my knife, I swooped down to the bed, throwing the bed-curtains to the side. Grabbing the groggy unicorn by the horn, I pressed the knife to her throat.

"Zule." She said icily. It was ironic, given how many times she had employed my services, that I should be the one to kill her.

"Celestia." I replied smoothly.

"I wondered when this day would come. A pity, really."

There was a crash as the doors were blasted off their hinges. "Princess!" One of the guards cried. He and his compatriot immediately fired off a spell to try to stop me, but each blast of energy simply fizzled out in the air. I grinned as Celestia panicked. She too tried to set off a spell, but like the efforts of her guards, it was futile. The mare just lay there, terrified as I began to push the piece of metal harder into her neck.

Blood started to seep out of the cut I was making before she spoke. "Please don't kill me." She croaked pathetically. I flinched. Was... Was this who I was now? Reducing the ruler of the whole country, a demigoddess, to tears of fear? Not now! I reminded myself.

I looked up at Celestia again- and saw not her face but that of Big Macintosh. The pressure on Celestia's neck decreased as I faltered. I suddenly felt so sick of myself. The very thought that Fluttershy, a personality I had completely invented merely as a cover for my true self, being a better pony than me was now horrifying.

I threw the knife at the wall with all my might. There was a clang as it hit the marble surface, but I barely even heard it as the guards threw me off the princess and dragged me away.

Big Macintosh was dead, and I had killed him because I was too proud and stupid to just go back to the contact and say no. I wouldn't have been good enough for him anyway. It didn't matter. The cell door clanked shut and I just lay crying.

Epilogue

I shuffled out into the light, squinting against the brightness as I left the darkness of the inside of the castle. The metal shackles clanked and chafed on my hooves as I moved out onto the wooden platform. Quite a crowd had gathered for the spectacle; but them again, a public hanging wasn't a common occurrence.

I glanced up to see Celestia watching the scene. Her eyes narrowed as she caught mine. I kept my face expressionless.

"How could ya!" A drawling voice shouted from the crowd. I looked down quickly to see m- no. Fluttershy's friends. I still kept my face expressionless as my gaze wandered over them. They all wore different faces: shock, rage, sadness, confusion, and worst of all, simple disappointment.

"Here is Zule Kalasha, who stands before you for the attempted murder of our ruler, princess Celestia, and the stallion Big Macintosh." A guard read out with a hint of contempt. There was a chorus of boos and one of the guards prodded me forward towards the gallows. I kept my eyes trained on the crowd and spotted a familiar face- cold, bald, and, naturally, the only one who would be wearing a suit.

I saw agent 47's horn light up faintly as the noose was slipped around my neck, and I shook my head ever so slightly, mouthing a 'no'.

I didn't want to escape.

His face didn't change as the rope above my head fell away, slashed violently in half by the stallion's spell. He mouthed back to me, 'go.'

I didn't move. I didn't run. I barely even gasped as the guard sank his sword into the side of my chest.

I stayed standing for as long as I could, but after seconds that felt like years, my legs gave out from underneath me and I toppled over. I saw the horror on my friends' faces and 47 turning away before a shaggy, red hoof came into my view. I took it in a now-unbound hoof and Big Mac lifted me to my feet. Embracing me with both front legs, he whispered to me, in such a wonderful voice, those sweet, sweet words;

"It's ok. Ah got ya." I could feel his tears on my shoulders. "Ah got ya now."

Fin

Chapter 3

The funeral came two days later. I did my bit, of course- I wore black, I cried, gave my condolences, all the usual stuff. The only difference was that these tears weren't just Fluttershy's. They were Zule's as well. Because that was the thing- I'd never before felt remorseful about a kill.

<--->

I found myself in the bar again. It really was a proper dump, now that I considered it. Nevertheless, it was where the jobs were, so naturally I had to follow.

"Another 3. Have you any absinthe?" I said, a weak attempt at some kind of humour. The barkeeper wordlessly placed the full glass of vodka on the table, which I immediately sipped. I always remained silent at the bar save for ordering, so he did the same. It used to be awkward. Now it's just devoid of any kind of emotion whatsoever.

I felt a cold breeze on my back hooves as the door opened. The clopping of hooves on the wooden floor grew steadily louder as the pony approached me.

"Who?" I said simply. I could tell from the steady, brisk rhythm of their hoofsteps that they knew what they were doing.

A photo was put on the bar and I made sure to look at it this time. I spluttered in astonishment. "If you seriously want this done, I'm taking at least 100k."

"Well then more money I'll have to get, but this mare will still die yet."

Chapter 1

The Cresent, which had stood in Ponyville for decades, once filled with a calm, friendly air, now existed as a place for those low on their luck to come and drink their sorrows away. Nopony civilised visited anymore as it was quickly turning into a haven for drunken morons looking for a fight.

"Hey, hey, hey!" The barkeeper shouted at a pair of drunken ponies who were trying to sit on a bar stool on their heads, and had subsequently broken one. "Get out of here!" The two glanced at each other momentarily before bursting into fits of giggles, the one who wasn't already on the floor falling over as well. "You're barred!" The barkeeper continued, jabbing angrily at the door. The two ponies stopped laughing and got up, mumbling irritably.

As the pair left the bar out into the cold night, the door was caught and another pony entered. I sipped my Bloody Mary as the figure sat down at the bar. Body language told me they were nervous as buck.

"You're-"

"Yes." I said simply, predicting their question.

"Oh." Their voice said that they had been waiting for this, but were now terrified. There was a quiet, papery sound that accompanied a photo sliding across the surface of the bar. "Umm... H-him, I guess. He's been a bit-"

"Don't need to know." I said sullenly, still looking into my glass. "25000."

The pony dumped a large, jingling bag onto the bar and left me with the picture and the money. I finished my cocktail, looked over at the photo and did a double take as my heart skipped a beat.

The crimson fur, the short cut, blond mane, the half-lidded eyes, white freckles, wheat stalk and yoke; there was no mistaking the work-pony.

It was Big Macintosh. And in that one transaction, that one moment, I'd made a binding agreement to take him out.