The 200-Story Mare

The vid-phone was going off at approximately way-too-fucking-early, blaring the new sound of whatever it was that the popular filly of the week screeched into her microphone. I could have changed it, but the Rainbow Dash was just too awesome to waste her time pecking around the settings of her vid-phone all day. And way too proud to admit she didn't know how to change it, yet.

"Shut up." I called, face stuffed in my pillow.

The vid-phone, little cunt that it was, ignored me. It just kept on ringing.

"Shut uuuup." I groaned again, "Call back later!"

Funny thing about vid-phones? You had to pick them up for the caller to hear you. It rang on. I grabbed my spare pillow and threw it as hard as I could manage at the Faust-forsaken machine on the desk. It clicked. Unerring accuracy struck again: face buried in one pillow, half asleep, and with my off-hand while using a pillow - I had managed to hit the "answer" button.

"H-Hey, RD!" Scoots voice called from the machine.

And just like that, I wasn't tired anymore.

Somewhere between my bed and the desk, I managed to snag a sports bra, and I faltered in rushing to the phone just long enough to pull it on. And when I came in front of the screen, there was Scootaloo. She looked - tired. Not just from a lack of sleep or something like that, but seriously tired. Her mane was more of a mess than usual and there were bags under her eyes. And the way she was smiling at the camera seemed kind of - hollow.

"Its me, Scoots!" Her smile grew little when she used the nickname I gave her, "How are you doing?"

I smiled back at her, "I'm doing fi -"

She grimaced, waving her hand in front of the camera, "N-never mind. Its stupid. I - you can't really talk to me. So I - I guess I hope you're doing okay."

What?

"This isn't really me, RD. I - this is a Dead Mare's Switch."

No, I thought, only Runners need DM switches, kid. You said you weren't up for Running anymore.

But that didn't change anything, "I know, I know I said I wasn't cut out for this, RD. I told you that. You remember? After that bad deal in Canterlot on my first job?"

Yeah, I remembered. AJ and I had decided to go out drinking to burn some of the stress off. We'd taken Scoots along, too. I might have drank a bit more than I should have, maybe made a vulgar pass or two at her, and later on the cab-ride back to the motel rooms we'd rented for the night she'd told me how she had realized the Runner game wasn't for her.

The news, ton of bricks that it was, didn't hit me until I'd sobered up in the morning.

"So, I tried to stay out of it, but college doesn't pay for itself," she laughed nervously. "Anyways. I, uh, I took a job. And I can't really say what all is going on, but RD," and then her eyes grew wide and she looked to the camera, "I got on with some other ponies and - and I think we've hit something big. If you're hearing this, then I must have, anyways."

"Please no, kid. Please don't ask me. Don't ask what I think you're about to ask." I muttered with a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the desk, "Please, please don't ask."

"I know you said you don't like going to Canterlot, but you have to believe me, RD. Whatever it is that's going on, its huge. You can trace this signal, find - wherever my body is. And from there? All I really want is for you to f-find whoever - whoever killed me."

My shoulders sank.

"If that's n-not enough, then - then - there's this."

The camera view swiveled and I saw a stallion sitting there. He was a white-coated stallion with a blue mane and mustache, and a monocle. His suit was fine-pressed and everything about him seemed socially refined. The Canterlot socialite, through-and-through by the looks of him. He cleared his throat and adjusted his monocle before looking at the camera.

"I am Sir Fancy Pants. Its a pleasure, Ms. Dash. Allow me to cut to the point. My client has invested a sum of 100,000 bits into an account with my firm, to be given to you upon completion of her request. Once you've completed the task you can contact us via vid-phone terminal at this number with the case number and evidence of completion." He smiled, "Best wishes, Ms. Dash."

The camera came back to Scoots, looking a hell of a lot worse for wear in that short time, rubbing at her eyes, "S-so I h-hope that's enough. And that you can find whoever did t-t- - this to me, RD."

She bit her lip over the video. I bit mine as the screen went black. It showed three numbers. One labeled as the case number, another for "FP&F Investment Opportunities", and - the tracking chip that was put in Scootaloo's head. Reading the last one made a little bit of bile rise in my throat. I saved the conversation to the hard-drive and after a few moments scrounging around the drawers of the desk I found an old data-stick. It was a quick copy of the video and I left it on the desk.

"I guess you didn't know me as well as you thought you did, Scoots."

I sighed and went looking for some clean pants that had to be laying around somewhere.

I would have bet hard bits that Scoots' tracker would take me to Canterlot. To one district in particular.

Why did I make that a rule if I was going to keep breaking it?