Crossfireby BaroqueNexusChaptersReturn to NormalcyBlackened Roses, Part 1Blackened Roses, Part 2Back in ActionReturn to NormalcyReturn to Normalcy President Titus Freemane adjusted his tie and ran a hoof through his midnight-black mane. The speech would begin in a few minutes. Half a million ponies, dragons, and other creatures had turned up in Turnbull Square, the heart of Manehattan, to hear his address. For the President, it was nothing new. He had given dozens, perhaps hundreds of speeches in his time as President of Equestria. The only speech he had had any difficulty with was the “Sermon of the Oust,” the speech that officially depowered Princesses Celestia and Luna. Oh, what a fun little talk that had been. The listeners had rioted beneath his hooves, and while critics had a heyday with him for his apparent lack of concern for the rioters, his supporters praised him for keeping calm in such a situation. This was different. This was merely an address to the people of Manehattan, a sort of pick-me-up for the coming election. His primary rival in the candidacy was none other than Rook Bishop, the son of Shining Armor and Princess Cadence, both of whom were living in their estate outside Equestria City, which had become known as “New Canterlot.” In contrast to the refined prince and princess, Bishop was snobbish, useless, and feeble. His supporters consisted of cockeyed farm-ponies and misinformed unicorns that used, above all things, magic to spread Bishop’s incomprehensible aims for the presidency. President Freemane did not worry much about his chances at reelection, but it never hurt to appeal to the people every now and then. A pegasus with a baseball cap and headset flew in and indicated that it was time for the President to take the stage. Straightening his tie again, Freemane blinked twice and walked forward, only stopping when a firm but gentle hand clutched his shoulder. “Mr. President, please come with us.” \*\*\*\ It was bright and sunny out, unusual for this time of year, and Jack Hoover and I sat at an outdoor table at Hayburger, a popular fast food joint in this part of Manehattan. He had bought me hay fries and a chocolate swirled milkshake, but I wasn’t hungry. Every part of me rejected the food. I couldn’t eat anything. Jack stared across the table at me, his gray eyes brimming with anticipation, a dash of ketchup still on his lips. He coughed and neighed softly, trying to dislodge a bad onion ring from his throat. When he managed to hock the chunk of food out, he looked up at me and smiled. “So, what do you say, Scooter?” The paperwork was in front of me, a dozen sheets of words, words, words. I didn’t read any of them. He had already told me what he wanted, and my answer was still… “I dunno,” I said, sipping my milkshake. “I…I can’t be certain. Are you certain?” “You seemed certain back on I-10.” “I wasn’t in my right buckin’ mind on I-10, Jack. For Pete’s sake, I had just murdered somepony. You think I’d be thinkin’ straight after that?” “Still, you sounded certain.” “Yeah, well, I’m not certain anymore. I’m not certain of anything.” Jack frowned. “You’re a heck of a shot, Scooter. Heck of a shot. If I may ask, when did you get your cutie mark?” “The day after the Brigadiers came out of Appleloosa,” I mumbled uncomfortably. “A doped-up mare was trying to take my shug. She had a blade, I had a gun. I…I…” I said nothing more, but I think he got the picture. The memory of that night haunted me like the memory of Mr. Carrot Cake’s dead body, a perfect hole between his eyes… “Scoots.” “Why do you keep calling me that?” I snapped, upsetting a little foal and her mother a few tables down. “Scoots, Scooter, Scooty…damn it, I’m not your daughter, or some figure you can call like a pet!” Jack put his hooves up. “Easy, Scootaloo, easy. I didn’t mean anything by it.” “Then what do you mean by this?” I growled, slamming my hoof on the paperwork, knocking the mustard bottle off the table. Jack sighed. “We need ponies like you, Scootaloo. I’ve seen where you live, in what conditions you survive. I can’t say I know how you feel, but I know how to make it better. I can give you a home, Scootaloo. I’ve got a spare bedroom in my apartment, from when…” He seemed to falter, as if he had just reached an uncomfortable subject, and continued. “The setup’s not bad. As for this…” He rapped the paperwork. “I can’t let you say no.” “You’re gonna force me?” I said incredulously. “Force me to be a cop?! I’d like to see you try! What, just because I murdered a guy, means I…” “That wasn’t murder, Scootaloo. What he did was murder. What you did…that was self-defense. We’ve already been through that.” He was right, at least on that point. It’d been about a month since the Cake shooting, and I still wasn’t myself. Not that I hadn’t shot anyone before. The mare who tried to take my shug, heck yeah I shot her, but she didn’t die. She limped off back to her own marehouse, licking her wounds while some sick stallion licked her body. That was three months before a unicorn managed to separate me from my gun. And several weeks later I wound up here, outside Hayburger, trying to decide whether or not I wanted to be Jack Hoover’s junior detective-in-training. “Jack, I’ve got no background in law enforcement,” I finally said. “Heck, the MHPD probably has a file on me somewhere. I’ve done stuff, man. Loads of stuff.” “But you exemplified the characteristics of a good officer that day, Scootaloo,” he answered. “I’ve talked it over with the chief, even got a say from Governor Goldhoof. You’ll be cleared of all charges, and, though you won’t necessarily have the same privileges and powers as I do, but you’ll be part of the Manehattan Investigative Agency. You’ll be with me, and I won’t let anything happen to you.” He leaned closer. “I’m sorry for what I put you through on the highway. I’m sorry I had to put you in that situation. I really am. Had I known that Cake would blow up like that, I would have never invited you along. I made a mistake. Ponies make mistakes all the time.” “You’re just brushin’ it off, then?” “No, no,” he cut in, putting his hooves up in defense. “I’m just saying I’m sorry. Look,” he suddenly shifted, and his eyes became laden with grave remembrance. “I lost my partner a few years ago. Pegasus by the name of Piper. He was a good cop, a good detective. A shug dealer shot him in a sting operation in Turnbull Square. I was devastated, Scootaloo. Devastated. I didn’t want anypony else. I didn’t want another partner. But you…you remind me of him.” “I remind you of a male pegasus?” “For Celestia’s sake, stop twisting my words!” he shouted, startling a few restaurant-goers around us. “I need you, Scootaloo. The ponies of Manehattan need you. Surely you don’t want to be living on the streets for the rest of your life?” I tugged at the zipper on my jacket, avoiding his eyes. He was right. I hated living on the streets. I didn’t want to go back to the marehouse, even with Snorty gone. “Okay, tell you what,” he said. “You don’t have to make the decision now. Heck, you don’t even have to work for the police. But at least accept a room in my apartment. Please, Scootaloo, it really hurts me to see such a pegasus like you all alone on the str…” BOOOOOOOM! The ground shook beneath us, and I felt a blast of hot air against my face. We both fell from our chairs as a shockwave tore down the street, knocking ponies off their hooves and sending cars into tailspins. I looked up, trying to get my bearings. The first thing I saw was a giant cloud of black smoke, birthed from the roiling red fire that had erupted down the street, visible above the rooftops, just outside of… Turnbull Square. Jack recovered from the explosion and got to his hooves. Shaking his mane free of dust, he looked in the direction that I was staring in, and his jaw dropped. Sirens were wailing. Ponies were screaming. “Jack,” I said, not believing what I was seeing. “That’s Turnbull Square. Isn’t that where…” “Oh, no,” he murmured, his eyes wide with panicky fear. “The President.” /*/*/*/ On the best of days, Agent Bronco Bryant of the Equestrian Bureau of Investigation only had to put up with the occasional drunken opponent or rabid supporter to the President. Such was the tedious task of security to the President during his campaign speeches. Nothing usually happened to Agent Bryant, and normally he didn’t start his shift off with a faceful of shrapnel. Spitting, trying to wipe his face, Agent Bryant, a handsome, blonde-maned stallion, struggled to his hooves. His black suit was covered in ash and blood, and his long mane was singed from the explosion that was still ringing in his ears. “All units, report in!” Bryant screamed into his throat-mike, picking his way through the rubble. “This is Bryant! Does anypony copy?” “Copy, Bryant, this is Trailblazer,” a voice crackled over the radio. Agent Bryant sighed with relief. Trailblazer, his partner, was alive. “Blaze…you okay?” “Took some shrapnel to the face, but otherwise alright.” “Yeah, same. What the buck was that?” “I don’t know, Bronco, but we’re rerouting to the edge of the square. There may be more than one bomb.” “So it was a bomb?” “That’s what it looks like.” A horrible thought came over Agent Bryant. “Blaze…the others…?” The static-filled silence told Bryant that the rest of the security ponies hadn’t made it. “What about…” he tripped over a broken pipe, swore, and continued. “…Objective One? Do we have an update on Objective One?” “Bronco…that explosion came from right underneath his platform. There’s no way he could’ve made it.” Bryant threw back his head and yelled, making his stricken voice heard through the chaotic miasma of sound. When he ran out of breath, he collapsed, blinded by blood that was streaming down his face. He didn’t care. He had failed. The President was dead. “Bronco…Bronco? You there, man?” “Yeah,” he replied, coughing, his bloody eyes full of rage. “I’m fine…Blaze?” “Yeah?” “We’re gonna make ‘em pay, Blaze. We’re gonna make those motherhumpers pay.” “You need to get the buck outta there, Bronc! Now’s not the time for melodramatic threats!” Bryant stifled a laugh. Even in the most heinous of situations, Trailblazer still had a sense of humor. It wasn’t that he meant to be funny; it was as if he couldn’t help it. “Copy, Blaze. Edge of the square. On my way. But what about Ob…” He stopped. What was the point of giving a dead pony a code name? “What about the President? Did you confirm?” “No, Bronc, but the way it looked, we ain’t gonna find enough of Freemane to confirm his death.” His rage burst like a bubble. “DAMN IT!” “Indeed.” “Damn it, Blaze! Bucking damn it!” “Dude, now’s not the time…” “I think now’s the perfect time to curse my rump off, you idiot!” he yelled. “Oh, to heck with it. I’m on my way.” “Bronco…” But Bryant heard nothing more as he ripped his microphone from his throat and picked his way across the burning wasteland that used to be Turnbull Square. \*\*\*\ I don’t fly much, but believe me, when I saw the background of fire against those buildings… Man, I buckin’ flew. Jack, being an earth pony, arrived on the scene several minutes after I did, but I hadn’t moved since. The scene before me was the definition of devastation. A firestorm had engulfed Turnbull Square, and through the smoke I could see the bodies of several ponies, dead and dying, about to be eaten by the flames. Emergency crews were on the scene, but even the PFS (Pegasi Firefighting Squad) couldn’t curb the inferno. I watched in horror as the great stage that had held the President of Equestria collapsed under a blanket of fire. I only moved when smoke began to fill my lungs, and even then I didn’t stop staring at the carnage. A few survivors were dragging themselves away from the fire, their bodies mangled. Onlookers and bystanders flocked to the edges of the park, their eyes drawn to the rampaging firestorm that had nearly consumed the entire park. “…back, all of you! Get back, now! This is a matter of national security! I said, get back!” The voices, two of them, came from a pair of ponies that had just appeared out of the veil of smoke. One was a white Earth pony, the other a red-and-black unicorn. They both wore suits and had broken sunglasses. “This area is unsafe! Get back!” “Hold it!” Jack shouted, heaving breathlessly. “This is my jurisdiction! I deserve the right to…” “You deserve the right to shut the buck up and get back, before I make you part of the ground!” screamed the unicorn, producing a very large handgun. Jack’s eyes went wide and he began to back up, but something snapped in me, and before I knew what I was doing, I was in the unicorn’s face. “What gives you the right to push ponies around, you cockeyed hornsucker?!” Everypony around me gasped, and the answer I received from the unicorn was a slap in the face. I tasted pavement, and from the way my arms jerked back, I knew he was about to cuff me. “You’re a hopo, ain’t you? A street pegasus? Betcha can’t even fly, you filthy little groundbound…” If the unicorn hadn’t been so strong (and if he hadn’t been restraining me with his magic) I would have kicked his sorry rump. Nopony, and I mean nopony, calls me a groundbound. “You son of a pig! You hoofsucker! Screw you, you motherhumping dunghead!” “Got a nice mouth, this one does!” the unicorn laughed, and at that moment Jack unfroze. “Get your hooves off her!” he said, drawing his pistol. The unicorn just smirked. His partner, gouged and scarred from the explosion, looked too weary to interfere. “You dare point a gun at an EBI agent?!” He dug in his suit pocket and produced a laminated card and badge. Jack’s eyes became smaller than peas. “Oh…” “Yeah, oh is right, motherbucker. You can join your precious little groundbound in the slammer for armed assault! Or you can shut the buck up and let us…” “Shut up! The EBI has no business interfering with our city’s emergencies!” “The EBI protects the President!” “The President is bucking DEAD!” “SHUT UP, YOU HOOF-SUCKING…” BLAM! The gunshot snapped them out of their argument, but I didn’t see who the shooter was because the unicorn was pressing my face hard against the pavement. I heard muffled voices, and suddenly I could breathe again. Sniffing the smoke-laden air, I looked at my rescuer. It was the unicorn’s partner, the one with the bloody face. His pistol was smoking, and he looked like he was about to shoot the unicorn. “What the buck are you doing, Blaze? You let yourself get offended by some pegasus prick?” “Didja hear what she said, Bronc?! The little mangy whore…” “WE HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DEAL WITH RIGHT NOW THAN YOUR FEELINGS, TRAILBLAZER!” the earth pony screamed. The unicorn backed down, and just when my savior was about to address me, a crackling noise came from his belt, followed by distorted voices. “…all units…all units…be advised, Objective One is in custody…Objective One is in custody…relocate at 192 Palomino Street…repeat, relocate at 192 Palomino Street…Objective One is in custody…” I had no idea what the voice was talking about, even when I realized that it was coming from the pistol-packing pony’s belt. He snatched it up and spoke excitedly. “Base, we had confirmation of the loss of Objective One…” “…negative…Objective One was swapped…I repeat, Objective One was swapped...” “Swapped?” the unicorn gasped, his anger fading. He seemed to have forgotten us. “That means…” “Roger, Base, regrouping at 192 Palomino Street,” interrupted the earth pony. He grabbed his partner and ran across the street down an alleyway, leaving dozens of shocked ponies speechless. Until I broke the silence. “What the buck was that all about?” Nopony answered, and I realized that I had forgotten about the fiery tidal wave that was bearing down on us. I turned and looked, but saw that dozens, maybe hundreds of cloud-carrying pegasi were working on putting out the flames. The air had become thick with sirens and flashing lights, and before I knew what was happening, Jack Hoover had taken me by the hoof and packed me into a taxi, heading for Celestia-knows-where. /*/*/*/ Jack Hoover’s apartment was in the Gold District of Manehattan, several miles from Turnbull Square, but when the taxi dropped him and Scootaloo off he could still see the pillar of smoke that was once a beautiful park. Sighing and shaking himself free of ash, he helped the exhausted pegasus up to his apartment. It wasn’t the best of living spaces, but it did well enough for the likes of Jack Hoover. It had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room, all tightly compacted and sparsely furnished. The TV was already blaring about the explosion as Scootaloo went in to take a shower. Jack plopped down on the couch without even bothering to take off his coat. He reached for the remote and turned up the volume. Onscreen, a blue unicorn was standing in front of a mass of fire brigadiers and bystander ponies. “…being called one of the worst terrorist attacks in Equestrian history, Tom. No one has yet claimed responsibility for the attack, and as of yet the death toll remains unknown, although speculation has placed estimates at around five hundred to over a thousand. But allow me to reiterate that President Freemane escaped the bombing, seen here in this amateur footage brought to ENN by a local citizen.” The viewpoint switched to a grainy cellphone video of Titus Freemane, his suit dusty with soot and his eyes wide with confused fear, but otherwise alright. The video showed the president entering a limousine as EBI agents approached the camera holder. The blue unicorn appeared on the screen again. “Again, President Freemane is safe and nopony is certain who is responsible for this devastating attack. We’ll continue to bring you live coverage of this event and the events that unfold, but for now, I’m G. P. Trixie, reporting live from Turnbull Square, ENN News.” Jack shut the TV off. So the President was alive, and it was a terrorist bombing. That was why the EBI had been there. He laughed mirthlessly. The black-and-red unicorn had been right. His jurisdiction meant nothing went in came to the safety of somepony as powerful as Titus Freemane. Scootaloo emerged from the shower dressed in her usual blue coat and gray hoodie. She sat down next to Jack, and the two sat in silence for the longest while, punctuated only by the continued growling of Scootaloo’s stomach. When the sun dipped over the horizon and the sirens finally stopped blaring, she spoke. “I’ll do it, Jack. I’ll be your partner. I don’t wanna…I don’t wanna have to do that again.” Jack smiled and put his arm around her, but she cringed and shimmied away. He still smiled. “Alright, kiddo,” he said soothingly. “Alright. Welcome aboard, then. I assure you Governor Goldhoof will…” Knock, knock. “Who the heck could that be?” Jack wondered aloud as he went to the door. He unlocked it and opened it. Standing there were two ponies, and Jack and Scootaloo immediately recognized both of them. The EBI agents, the ones that had nearly killed (and saved) them both back at Turnbull Square. They had cleaned up and were wearing fresh suits, but the blonde pony still bore the scars of the explosion. The unicorn was looking very sullen and uncomfortable. “What do you want? Here to arrest me?” Jack growled. “No, no,” the earth pony said, putting his hooves up. “Do you mind if we come in?” Jack looked ready to say yes, but Scootaloo stopped him. Something about the stallion’s eyes told her that he had something genuinely important to say. “Oh, fine,” the detective groaned, leading the two agents in. “You want something to drink?” “No, thank you.” The earth pony had a reassuring voice, and Scootaloo felt more comfortable around him than she did around Jack. “My name is Agent Bronco Bryant, and this is Agent Trailblazer. I think we got off to a rough start back at Turnbull…” “Oh really?” “Yes,” Bryant continued, ignoring Jack’s sarcasm. “So we came down here to do some…damage control.” He stared intensely and angrily at his partner when he said this, and the unicorn tried to avert his eyes, clearly embarrassed and frustrated. “We also require your assistance.” “Our assistance?” Jack said incredulously, sitting on the couch as Bryant and Trailblazer sat on the seats opposite. “You’re with the EBI! Why do you need our assistance?” “We believe the assassin behind the bombing at Turnbull Square is a Ponyville resident.” Scootaloo gulped. Surely that didn’t mean… “You’re not saying you suspect her?” Jack said carefully, looking at the agents in shock. “I can vouch for her, she was eating with me at Hayburger at the time of the…” “Relax, gramps,” the unicorn finally said, his voice a little strained but no less haughty. “We’re not here to arrest the pegasus. She ain’t a suspect.” “Then why do you think the bomber’s a Ponyvillian?” Agent Bryant leaned in. “Our demolitions team recovered the explosive device and found within it a residue uncommon to Manehattan or the surrounding boroughs. It was sent to the laboratory for analysis, and the results came back surprisingly quick. The residue is from a rare plant, Funnicus noxus, otherwise known as poison joke.” Scootaloo’s heart leapt into her throat. She began to sweat profusely. Cold shivers ran up and down her spine. Poison joke… “Where is this going, Agent Bryant?” “I’m coming to it, Detective Hoover. You see, we pulled both of your files while waiting for the analysis results. You both had a documented history in the Population Department, and yours…” He indicated Scootaloo. “…mentioned affiliations with a group formerly known as the Mane Six, all of whom, nearly twenty years ago, were exposed to a particularly strong dose of poison joke in the Everfree Forest.” “H-How do you know all of this?” the pegasus managed. Trailblazer smiled. “We’ve got ways of knowing, toots. We got people.” “Is that information true, Miss Scootaloo?” She waited several hesitant moments before answering. “Y-Yes.” “Then you won’t mind telling us who collected said poison joke. Or should I say, you won’t mind confirming it. I believe the file mentioned a zebra by the name of…” “Zecora,” finished Scootaloo, and her breath caught in her chest. “Yes,” said Bryant uncaringly, pulling a piece of paper from his suit pocket. “Let’s see…we have Zecora’s record here…hmmm…incidents of disturbing the peace…illegal sugarcube and hard cider dealings…known affiliations with suspected terrorists…staunch anti-Freemane activist…” “Sounds like you’ve got your mare,” Jack interrupted. “So why do you need us?” Bryant put the paper away. “Well, in all honesty, Detective Hoover, we cannot simply waltz in and snatch the zebra. You forget that different cities are in different districts, and in the Lunacest District, where Ponyville is…” “…a mare or stallion has sanctuary law if no evidence is present to convict said mare or stallion,” Scootaloo finished. “You are familiar with the sanctuary law?” She nodded. Trailblazer made a dismissive noise. “Well, that brings me to my main point,” Bryant piped up. “We have the location. We have the men with C.O.L.T. and the Bureau ready. But the governesses, Celestia and Luna, will not allow a criminal extradition unless proper evidence is presented. However, that does not mean we are prohibited from detaining Miss Zecora and holding her in Ponyville until the evidence is presented.” “And what’s the evidence?” “The residue found in the bombs,” Bryant finished, “and your testimony.” Scootaloo’s eyes widened. “My testimony?” “Yes. You were a witness to Zecora’s activities, and the only one who I’ve been able to contact so far. We have little time. Zecora probably knows we are coming, and if we are not in Ponyville by tomorrow, she will be halfway across Equestria and we’ll never find her.” “So what are you saying?” Trailblazer leaned forward, and for once he didn’t seem to show any contempt. “We need you to come with us, Miss Scootaloo. We need you to present your testimony to the governesses after Zecora’s detainment. It will be a day’s effort, no more, and I assure you will not be in any danger whatsoever. Your transportation to Ponyville will even be provided, courtesy of the EBI.” “You want me to go to Ponyville?” she asked, but then Jack cut across her. “She doesn’t go anywhere without me,” he said defiantly, and Scootaloo looked more than a little embarrassed. Trailblazer’s eyes flared, but Agent Bryant smiled. “By all means, come along, detective. We need all the horsepower we can get. Another gun will ensure a safe and quick detainment. You may accompany Miss Scootaloo to Ponyville with the C.O.L.T. team, and we will see to your return after her work is finished. What do you say?” In any other situation, Scootaloo would have thought for a long time about the offer. She would have considered her options, decided whether or not these ponies were trustworthy. After all, one of them had almost killed her. But she was being given a free chance to go back to Ponyville, and to see the Princesses, even if it was to give evidence against a friend. She accepted. Bryant clapped his hooves. “Very well, then. Detective, grab your badge and sidearm and meet us at the EBI headquarters on Galloping Avenue in the next two hours. And thank you both.” \*\*\*\ I’m still amazed by how fast everything went down. An hour after the agents had left, we found ourselves in the middle of a prepping army. The smoke from Turnbull Square still lingered in the air. President Freemane was going to give a speech later that evening about the attack. The COLT team consisted of eleven big, powerfully built stallions and one minotaur. Each was dressed in his own blue-and-black COLT fatigues, as well as steel helmets, DragonScale bulletproof vests, Thunderbolt tactical goggles, and black balaclavas. The minotaur’s fatigues were sleeveless and he didn’t wear a helmet, but rather a baseball cap that lay slightly propped up on his black horns. The EBI agents joined them and the other team, a group of business-suit-wearing unicorns that could only be the EBI’s tech crew. I kind of lost focus when Agent Bryant briefed everypony and minotaur, but then Jack snapped me out of it. He was wearing a bulletproof vest over his shirt and had a helmet, but was otherwise unarmored. With the pretense of not being in any danger, I was not supplied with any sort of armor, and had only my jacket and hoodie to protect me from the inevitable firefight. When the briefing was over, we all went to the roof, where two Blackwing helicopters lay on separate helipads, waiting for our arrival. Nopony said a word as we boarded the choppers and took off. I didn’t like flying in the helicopter, mostly because it was so bumpy and loud, so I tried to get some sleep. I had only just drifted off into slumber when a loud buzzing woke me. The sky was bloodred. It must have been late in the evening. We were hovering over a large section of dark forest just outside a medium-sized city-town. The Everfree Forest. Ponyville. I was home. Not that I got to enjoy it. Not that I got to see any of my old friends. Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie…this was all business, I would find out. At least I’d get to see the Princesses. They hadn’t told me I would be fast-roping with the rest of the squad, so as the stallions and minotaurs slid down the ropes, our helicopters touched down just outside the forest. I got off steadily, happy to be on solid ground again. The EBI guys were waiting for me, both wielding large pistols and wearing vests. “Miss Scootaloo, there is no reason for you to come with us. Undoubtedly, you find the spectacle of a firefight interesting, but I must insist that you stay here. I’ll give you this two-way radio so you can be updated.” He tossed a small radio to me, and I guess he saw the dejected look on my face. “Don’t worry, ma’am. It’s for the best. We’ll be back shortly. Blaze, Detective Hoover, please follow me.” With that they headed into the forest, and Jack gave me one last look before disappearing into the trees. It was a sort of apologetic look, but it didn’t look very sincere. So I waited and waited. The sounds of struggle soon filled the radio, and I noticed the delay of sound in the gunshots that rang out from the forest versus the gunshots that crackled over the radio. The COLT team’s voices were quick and to the point, but never raised, never fearful. They knew what they were doing. There were only a few shots, and one explosion I assumed was a flashbang. After that, silence. I sat next to the Blackwing, trying to dissuade the tech ponies from looking at me. “Miss Scootaloo? Miss Scootaloo, come in.” Agent Bryant’s voice was not the one I really wanted to hear, but I answered anyway. “I’m here.” “The operation was a success. No injuries and no permanent damage to the suspect. We’re bringing her out now, and by the looks of her place, I’d say we have enough evidence to lock her up for good.” “Glad to hear it,” I said, but I really wasn’t. It took them about five minutes to get back into the clearing where the Blackwings were parked, and when they emerged, a COLT stallion and the minotaur were holding a cuffed, half-naked, furious-looking zebra. She was shouting and protesting in her native tongue, and by the looks of her wounds, I’d say she’d gotten on the wrong side of the minotaur. Bryant had lied when he said there was no permanent damage. I didn’t see much of Zecora, as they placed her on the second Blackwing and out of sight. Agent Trailblazer was on his phone, talking in rapid, hushed tones, and Bryant came up to me, accompanied by a very sweaty Jack Hoover. “Once again, I thank you both for your cooperation,” the EBI agent said. He looked as if he had never gone into the forest. “I’m afraid we brought you here for no purpose, unfortunately. You see, Zecora’s house holds enough evidence to allow extradition, even without witnesses. Looks like you won’t be seeing the governesses after all. My sincerest apologies.” He bowed slightly, and I got the sense that he only talked this fancy when he was in the company of others, or in the company of a female. Maybe both. I was mad. Real mad. They brought me all the way to Ponyville, and I wouldn’t get to see anyone. “I…” “I’m sorry, Miss Scootaloo,” Bryant interrupted, stressing the word, indicating that he didn’t want to argue. “You must return to Manehattan. Agent Trailblazer will accompany you back on the helicopter. I must meet the governesses and collect the evidence. I thank you both, regardless.” He bowed again and walked off, leaving me with clenched teeth and hooves. Jack placed his hoof reassuringly on my shoulder. “Hey, don’t get worked up about it, kid. You’ll get your chance. I kinda wanted to see the Princesses, too, and I’m not even from Ponyville.” “Yeah…” I said, not really believing myself. “But that little…” “He works for the government. What’d you expect?” He looked at the helicopter, which was filling up with COLT members and techies. “We’d better get on the chopper. C’mon, Scooter.” “Okay, okay,” I groaned, following him to the helicopter. Within a few minutes we were in the air, but just before the sound of the rotor blades drowned out my voice, I remembered that I wanted to thank him for giving me an opportunity, a new life, a new job. I wanted to thank him, but all I managed to get out before the sound of the helicopter muted me was his name. “Jack!” He looked at me quizzically, and I knew he wouldn’t be able to hear anything else I said. So I just smiled. Even though I had just been screwed over by a scumbag government worker, even though I’d been cheated out of my childhood memories…I smiled. Because I had found a new path. A path that didn’t involve alleyways, sugar hits, collapsing houses, and the fear of death everyday. …okay, maybe that last one was still prevalent. But it was still worth smiling for, and for me, knowing that I could still smile was one of the happiest thoughts I’d ever had. Blackened Roses, Part 1Blackened Roses - Part 1 A knock at the door jarred me from my sleep. Sunlight was pouring through the dusty window that stood next to the bed on which I lay, and I guessed it was about ten or eleven o’clock in the morning. Rubbing my eyes, I stretched my wings and put on a ratty old T-shirt before going to the door. Jack’s apartment was dirtier than usual, but that could be blamed on me. Years of living on the streets hadn’t exactly instilled in me good manners, or indeed, good personal hygiene. The floor of the apartment was littered with pizza crusts, hay, cider cans, and other pieces of trash. The TV was muted, and onscreen fillies and colts danced along with a griffon in clown makeup. I didn’t want to know what that was all about, and whoever was at the door was in for a surprise. Jack had already left for work, leaving a note on the bed. As his junior detective, I could come in around noon to assist him in cases, and when I looked at the clock I was surprised to see that it was only nine o’clock. Then I remembered it was Sunday. My day off. As usual, I had nothing to do. Maybe whoever was at the door would change that. Yawning, I unlocked the door and swung it back. Standing in the hallway was an old purple unicorn with mauve and pink hair, dressed in an oversized green sweatshirt, her purple eyes confused at the sight of the dirty pegasus in front of her. At first, I didn’t realize who I was looking at, so I said, “Yeah? Can I help you?” “Ummm…” the unicorn said steadily. “Scootaloo? Is that you?” “Who’s asking?” “It’s me, Scootaloo! It’s Twilight Sparkle!” “Twi…” And before I knew what was happening, we were hugging and laughing, locked in an embrace of joyous reunion. “By Celestia,” I gasped. “Twilight Sparkle! I haven’t seen you in years!” “Nor I you, Scootaloo,” she replied, chuckling. “It’s been a while.” “Well, uh…I’m not sure if you want to come in, this place is a mess right now…” “Oh, I’ve been in worse. It’ll be OK.” I smiled, hardly daring to believe that one of my old marefriends was here. I led her to the couch, brushing aside cans and trash heaps and turning off the TV. “So,” I said as we settled down. “What can I do for you?” “Well, it’s funny, actually, I was on my way to Equestria City on a dragon flight when the darned thing had to layover here in Manehattan. Dragons, Scootaloo. Can’t ever trust them as transportation.” “But you had a dragon!” “Spike was different. Besides, I haven’t heard from him in months. He’s probably punch-drunk somewhere on Draconia campus. But anyway, I came here because a little bird told me you had joined the police force.” I blushed. “Well, maybe not joined, but I’m certainly a part of it. After the Cake fiasco…” “Oh, I heard,” Twilight said, her face growing dark. “Poor Cakes. I never thought…” “Yeah, well, neither did we.” I interrupted. “So what can I do for you?” “Well, see, the next train to EQC leaves in about an hour, and to be honest I’m kinda scared. I know I’m grown and can take care of myself, but the streets are no place for a pony like me, especially not now.” “Why not now?” “What, you mean you haven’t heard? I’d figure you’d be the first to hear about it.” “About what?” “It was in Equestria Today, it’s probably on the news…” “What?!” “Oh, for pony’s sake!” She magicked the remote into the air and turned the TV on, changing it to ENN. Onscreen was Trixie, and Twilight let out a small gasp. “She’s an anchormare now?” “Yup,” I replied as she turned up the volume. Trixie was standing in front of crime scene tape and was flanked by dozens of police ponies and medics. “…third death in less than two weeks. The victim’s name has yet to be released, but we have confirmed that it is a pegasus, and that the cause of death is the same as the first two killings. Yes, people of Equestria, it seems a serial killer is loose in Manehattan.” “HUH?!” I cried as Twilight shushed me. “With the first double homicide of a pegasus and earth pony in Whitetail Park less than two weeks ago, a great deluge of panic has flooded the city of Manehattan. The Pegasus Poacher, as the killer has become known as, has struck again, leaving a young pegasus dead in the streets of Manehattan with, like the other victims, her wings torn from her body.” Chills ran up and down my spine, and Twilight’s eyes were wider than her hooves. “Authorities have yet to comment on whether they have any leads, as the previous suspect, a unicorn by the name of Midnight Madness, was cleared of involvement after being arrested last Tuesday. The Manehattan Police Department and the Manehattan Investigative Agency urge all ponies, not just pegasi, to caution themselves. Travel in numbers and in well-lit areas. Tell other ponies where you’re going. These are the official remarks of the two departments, and rumors that the Equestrian Bureau of Investigation is now involved in the investigation are unconfirmed. Live from Clopperton Avenue, downtown Manehattan, I’m G.P. Trixie. Back to you, Chuck.” Twilight turned off the TV. I was still shaking. My wings had frozen. The unicorn tried to comfort me. “I’m sorry, Scootaloo. I didn’t mean to…” “No,” I interrupted. “Don’t be sorry. Thank you, I should say. If I hadn’t known about these killings, I’d…well…living on the streets was tough enough, Twi, but with a serial killer…” “Hey, it’s alright,” she said comfortingly, placing her hoof on my shoulder. “You’ll be safe with me.” “Yeah. It’s just that Jack’s only let me on small cases so far. Nothing big.” “Jack?” “Jack Hoover. He’s a detective, MHPD. MIA Branch. This is his apartment. He’s the one who got me off the streets.” “Jack…Hoover?” I nodded, trying to make sense of Twilight’s incredulous expression. “Hmm,” she said, looking thoughtful. “Why does that name sound so familiar?” “Well, he was with me for the Cake shooting, does that…?” “No, no, I’m thinking way back. Something to do with…I dunno. You’ll have to ask Shining Armor when you see him. He’ll probably know, as captain of the Canterlot…I mean, New Canterlot Guard.” “Wait. We’re gonna see Shining Armor?” Twilight nodded happily. “Shining Armor, Princess Cadance, their son, and a whole bunch of other ponies. They’re having a party up in my brother’s estate, and he wanted me to come. I’m sure he remembers you from the wedding.” “Doubtful, all I did was throw flowers down the aisle.” “Yes, but you did a wonderful job.” We both snickered, and then I straightened. “So you’re inviting me to go with you to New Canterlot?” “Well, you’re the only pony I know in Manehattan besides Big Macintosh, and I haven’t been able to get a hold of him. Shining Armor said I could bring my friends, but they all have other things going on. I thought, maybe, but if you don’t want to…” “Well of COURSE I want to!” I yelled, beating my wings excitedly. “I’d be honored to be your bodyguard!” “Bodyguard?!” Twilight snapped, looking surprised, but then she smiled. “Oh, okay. We’d better get going, then. You’re about my size, so I have some clothes for you if you need anything.” “Alright. Oh, wait a second…” I found a piece of paper and a pen and jotted down a note to Jack: Jack, Going with Twilight Sparkle to New Canterlot. It’s alright, she’s a friend. I’ll be back soon. Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing. Scooter I looked up at Twilight, who was grinning. “Alright, then. Let’s be off.” /*/*/*/ What an excellent day for a homicide investigation, thought Jack Hoover to himself as he and his unicorn partner, Sable, exited their car and made their way toward the crime scene. The media ponies had already flocked the edges of the alleyway off of Hoofshire Street, where the body had been found. Police and crime scene investigators dotted the interior of the alleyway, and Jack could see a tarp-covered form next to the dumpster, lying in a pool of blood. Jack adjusted his leather vest which he so often wore over his unassuming gray sweatshirt. He wasn’t the most professionally dressed of the detectives of MIA Branch, but he got the job done nonetheless, so unless he was bare naked, his superiors didn’t give a buck about the way he dressed. The sun was shining in the cloud-free sky, but the alley that held the body was still dark. The flashes of cameras distracted him, but once he lifted the crime scene tape and allowed his partner through, he felt shut out from the media. Smiling grimly, he approached the first responder. It was an earth pony with a three-day stubble, not unlike Jack’s, and when he spoke he sounded like a parasprite had gotten stuck in his throat. “Morning, detectives. I’ll fill you in. Around ten last night this guy Joe, who owns the donut shop next to this alley, hears a commotion in the alley. He goes outside but sees nothing. A few minutes later, another commotion. This time he catches sight of what he called a ‘really big pony without wings or a horn, completely covered in black.’ Joe thought it was just a tramp, so he let things be. Next morning, he goes to open up, smells somethin’ fishy…finds this poor fella deader than dead.” “By Celestia…” Sable gasped, and Jack felt her shock. Another officer had gingerly lifted back the tarp to reveal the body. It was a pegasus, or at least, had been one. Like the other victims, its wings had been brutally pulled off. Not sawn or cut, put pulled. There was a deep incision on the throat, just like the other victims, but its flank was devoid of a cutie mark, as it seemed that the killer had actually bitten the skin off around her flanks. She had several cuts and bruises, most likely from a struggle, and the blood around her body came mostly from her torn-off wings, but as an investigator pointed out, there was also a very deep, very ragged-looking cut on her right foreleg. Jack’s heart skipped a beat. The pegasus had been pretty. She had a flank of gold and a mane of auburn hair, and her eyes, now gray and pallid in death, were once vibrant and full of life… He noticed that Sable was clutching her chest. She was a hardened unicorn, and a pretty one at that. Her opal eyes went very well with her light-blue skin and silver mane. Now, however, her face was a tinge of green. Jack didn’t want her to vomit on the evidence, so he got her to step away for a moment, to catch her breath. “Is this Joe our only witness?” He asked the officer. He nodded. “Cameras across the street ain’t working, and nopony else was around at the time.” “Well, let’s go talk to him, eh?” Sable joined him when she had regained her strength, and they went into the donut shop, where, among the rows of pastries and cakes, a very scruffy looking pony was being interviewed by another officer. “That’ll do, Shinebeam. We’ll take it from here,” said the first officer. The second left, and Jack turned to Joe. “Mister…?” “Joe. They call me Joe. Nothin’ else, really.” “Ah. Well, Joe, I’m Detective Jack Hoover, and this is Detective Sable. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” “But I already told the cops everythin’!” the donut pony protested. “It’s alright,” Sable said soothingly. “You’re not in trouble. We just want you to tell us what happened.” Joe breathed. “Fine. Around ten last night I heard some kinda shufflin’ goin’ on in the alley. I thought a dog or somethin’ might’ve gotten into the dumpster, so I went to check. Nothing was out there, so I came back in. Few minutes later, before I was gonna close shop, I hear it again and go outside again. That’s when I saw the pony.” “You’re certain it was a pony?” Joe nodded. “Oh, yeah. It had four legs and a tail. Wasn’t a dog or anything. Definitely a pony.” “Earth pony? Unicorn? Pegasus?” “Earth pony.” “And what did the pony look like?” “I didn’t see much of him,” the donut man continued. “Or her. I couldn’t tell if it was a mare or a stallion. Seemed like a stallion, though, it was pretty big. All I know is that other than its tail, it was covered in some kinda black thing. The really weird thing is, the black thing was, like, reflective. I remember the light shining off of its body like it were made of…glass, or something. Oh, and its tail was pokin’ out, and from what I could see it was dark, maybe brown, maybe black.” “Interesting,” Sable said, writing down Joe’s words. “When did you discover the body?” “This morning. Actually, a coupla hours ago. I’d just gotten from home and was gonna open shop when I smelled something bad…I mean, worse than usual, comin’ from the dumpster. I went to check and…I saw the body…” Joe stopped talking, and he looked like he had seen a ghost. “Do you remember which direction the pony ran in?” “Uhhh…” Joe thought hard for a moment, then led the detectives outside. He pointed across the street. “Into that alley, I think,” he said. “Gallopin’ at full speed.” “Thank you, Joe.” Jack and Sable turned to each other as a policemare escorted Joe back inside. “What do you think?” she asked him. Jack shrugged. “The forensics team has the body. Why don’t we go check out that alley?” “Sounds like a plan to me,” Sable agreed. Together they dodged the various camera crews and reporters as they made their way across the street into the alley, following a trail of bloody hoofprints left by the killer. They hadn’t even been looking for more than a minute when Sable found something. “Jack!” Hoover made his way toward his partner, who was examining something in a pile of trash bags. “What’d you find?” “These,” Sable said, holding up the items in her hooves. At first, Jack thought Sable had just skinned an animal, as she appeared to be holding a black sort of hide that was covered in blood. When he looked closer, though, he realized that it was a suit. A rubber suit, made specifically for a pony. The suit was covered in blood, but more so in the mouth and hoof areas than anywhere else. Sable also held up bloody hoof covers, which explained why the hoofprints stopped at the end of the alley. The suit had small eye and nostril openings, and as Jack pulled on hoof covers of his own, he noticed a flaccid indentation in the head area of the suit. He examined it. The indentation was actually not an indentation but a piece of the suit that had nearly been poked through by something on the wearer’s head. He propped it up, and it fell sideways. “This is some kinda bondage suit,” Sable realized disgustedly. “I’ve seen ponies wear these in the Underzone.” “You’ve been to the Underzone?” “My brother lives there. He’s…well, I’d rather not talk about him…but you know the Underzone. That’s where the freaks go, like the ponies who would wear something like this!” “You may be right. However, this suit tells us several things. One, the killer’s a unicorn. Two, the killer’s a weak unicorn. And three, the killer’s a fetishistic unicorn.” “How the buck do you know that?” “Think about it,” Jack said, launching into an explanative tirade. “The protruding piece of rubber on the suit’s head was left there by a horn. From what I can tell, this is a male pony’s rubbersuit. If the killer is a unicorn, he could’ve siphoned the blood away from the scene and from his body with magic. But he didn’t! He used this suit while killing and transporting the victim. It provided him with a disguise in the darkness, as well as something to cover his body during the murder. You know how a thief wears gloves to cover his hooves, to not leave any hoofprints? This is the same thing, only the killer put his entire body into the glove. Ingenious, really.” “Okay,” Sable answered, trying to keep up. “But how do you know he’s a weak unicorn?” “Horn size,” Jack answered, pointing to the bloody suit. “In the academy, we learned that the size of a unicorn’s horn is like the size of a pegasus’ wings; the bigger they are, the more powerful they are. This is a full-grown unicorn to be wearing this suit, but if you prop the horn up…” He did so. “…you’ll see that its about three inches long. That’s less than half the length of the average male adult unicorn’s horn. Less than half. This could also explain why the killer ran instead of teleporting, and why he’d be using such cruel and crude methods to kill.” “And let me guess. The unicorn is fetishistic because?” “Because even the weakest of unicorns can cast an invisibility spell,” Jack answered in fake condescension. “The killer wore this because he wanted to wear it, because it gave him some kind of sick pleasure to wear it as he killed. Fear might be a part of it, too. How frightened would you be if a pony in a black rubber suit was trying to kill you?” “Depends whether or not I have my gun.” Jack smiled. “Always learning, this one.” “Hey! I’m not a rookie anymore!” “Of course not. I’m just saying, having only become a detective last year…” “Oh, go soak your head!” But she was grinning, and so was he. They had to grin, for if they allowed the depravity of the murder to consume them, they might never smile again. \*\*\*\ The train plowed along through the mountains and the fields on our way to Equestria City, and Twilight Sparkle sat across from me in the booth. We talked a lot, talked about Ponyville, about Manehattan, and about our lives. “So how’s good ol’ Ponyville?” I asked about an hour into the ride. She shrugged. “Surprisingly, not that different. Ever since Celestia and Luna were deposed, they’ve dedicated themselves to beautifying the Lunacest District. Their only problem is Flimflam Incorporated.” “Flimflam Incorporated?” “Yeah. After they knocked Applejack out of business, they began sucking the town dry, almost to the point where the town would’ve been called Flimflamville. But Celestia became governess and appealed to the President, who passed the Lunacest Sanction.” “Oh, that one about limiting trusts and monopolies?” “Bingo,” Twilight answered as she stared out the window. “Flimflam Incorporated shrunk after the sanction passed, and we got our town back. It’s nowhere near what it used to be, but it’s a heck of a lot better than what those two brothers had in store for us.” “Wow,” I said, genuinely interested. “Have you heard from Apple Bloom or Sweetie Belle?” She shook her head. “Last I heard from AJ was a couple of months ago. They’re doing well, but she’s still pretty upset that Big Macintosh left the farm. He’s in Manehattan, right? What’s he doing?” “He works at a bar.” Her jaw dropped. “Really?! Wow, I didn’t figure him for a bartender.” “He’s not. He’s the bouncer.” “Oh. Well that makes sense. Anyway, I haven’t heard at all from Rarity or Sweetie Belle, mostly because I see them every day in Pony magazine. She’s a real big shot in Los Pegasus.” “I heard.” “Rainbow Dash is still with the Wonderbolts, but did you hear? They set up their airfield just outside Ponyville! Dash did that for us, and not only do we get to see her almost every day, but Ponyville’s never seen more tourists than now!” “Oh…that’s wonderful…” I said, slightly crestfallen. Twilight looked concerned. “Hey, I’m sorry, Scootaloo, if I’m…” “You’re not doing anything, Twilight,” I said a little too quickly. “Go on. What’s up with Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie?” “Well, you know Pinkie Pie. Hasn’t changed a bit. Opened a party supplies store and is doing pretty well. I’m sure you heard that Fluttershy got married. I’m surprised that you…oh, wait…nevermind…” Again, I looked hurt, but did better that time not to show it. “Anyway, Windstopper’s a great guy. He’s perfect for Fluttershy. And guess who moved in next door? Iron Will!” I sat up. “Really? The minotaur?!” “Yeah! He’s still doing assertiveness training, but now he’s based in Ponyville!” “Wow!” I exclaimed, but soon the elation wore off and I began to feel awkward, wondering why she didn’t ask me how I’d been, then remembering that she already knew… “So, what’s going on with your brother anyway?” Twilight broke from her staring contest with the land outside. “Oh, well, you know how his son, Rook Bishop, is running for President? Well, after that attack on Freemane two weeks ago, he wanted to make sure the general public didn’t think he had anything to do with it. Although in my opinion, it’s kinda useless, I mean, they already caught the guy who did it…” I bit my tongue. Because Zecora was still in custody by the EBI, her name and race hadn’t been released to the media, who only knew that the bomber had been apprehended. “…so he’s doing this charity party thing in New Canterlot, and Shining Armor and Princess Cadance are hosting, and…Scootaloo?” “Oh, sorry, Twilight.” “It’s okay. We’re almost there, anyway. You look good, by the way. Much better.” She had provided me with a simple black dress to wear. I hated dresses, but I didn’t want to upset her, and I figured that’s what most mares would wear to a fancy party, so I wore it. Twilight had also forced me to take a shower and run a comb through my mane, and when I looked in the mirror, other than the dark bags around my eyes and my thinness, I looked like I had never been on the streets. The train slowed, and the towering buildings of Equestria City loomed in the distance. I got up and followed Twilight out of the car, not knowing what to expect. Blackened Roses, Part 2Blackened Roses, Part 2 The smell of rubber and leather was overwhelming in the little hole-in-the-wall bondage store. Various items and gear hung from the rafters, and the walls were lined with masks, suits, fake hooves, bizarre costumes, and other paraphernalia. Sable actually covered her nose when she entered, but Jack had seen worse things than a pony fetish store. A mare with a black-skull cutie mark and sunken eyes approached them. “Hi! Welcome to the Buck Boutique, specializing in…” “Save it,” Jack interrupted, flipping open his badge. “I’m Detective Jack Hoover and this is Detective Sable. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” “Oh, um…okay.” “For starters, do you keep purchase records?” “Of course,” the mare replied. “Alright. How many of your…erm…specialty apparel items have you sold in the past month?” “Well, I don’t keep track of that. I mean…” “You run this whole place by yourself?” Sable cut in. She shook her head. “The other guy, Slick, couldn’t come into work today. Called in and said he had the trots. Sounded awful.” Jack made a mental note to get Slick’s personal information, then continued. “We’re investigating a murder, and we believe the killer may have purchased an item from this store that was involved in the murder.” “What?!” the mare exclaimed, backing up. “Easy, easy,” Sable said soothingly. “What’s your name, kid?” “Angie.” “Well, we need to see the purchase records. Do you have close-circuited TV in here?” Angie shook her head again, and Jack sighed. “Then, we’ll go the long way. If you’d be so kind as to retrieve the purchase records.” She nodded and sped off, and a minute later she was back, holding a file between her dirty teeth. Jack took it and opened it, examining the contents. “You sell bondage suits, correct?” “Yes. Male, female, pegasus, unicorn, inflatable, straitjacket…” “How many of these ponies bought one of your suits?” Sable asked, and Angie looked thoughtful. “Ummm…let’s see, he wanted the inflatable…also wanted a ball head and a whip…nice guy…she was only looking for a corset, I’ve seen her before down on Red Street…oh!” “What?” the detectives said simultaneously. “There was this guy…yeah, called himself Sphincter…he was a very rude unicorn…” “Unicorn?” Sable piped up. “How was he rude?” “Well, he wanted to buy a rubbersuit but didn’t have enough bits to accommodate the horn portion. I told him he could just purchase a regular earth pony suit, but he refused. We got into an argument, but he eventually bought the earth pony suit and left.” “Did he pay with bits or credit?” “Bits. But by law you have to submit your ID in order to purchase from here.” “Do you have a receipt of his ID?” Jack said hopefully. “I think so. Hold on…” She ducked behind the counter, and sounds of rummaging could be heard. Jack turned to Sable with a stupid grin on his face, but she was unsettled by all the latex and leather that lay around her. “Aha!” Angie exclaimed, holding up a piece of paper. “Here it is!” She gave it to Jack, who read it over: Purchaser Name: Sphincter Species: Unicorn Item: 1-0029X Full-Rubber Price: 299 Bits ID Check: Positive Purchaser DOB: 1/23 Purchaser Place of Residence: 224 Hoofington Avenue, Keyluck Apts., Floor 15, Room 9 “Does that help?” Jack looked at Sable, who smiled. “Yes, I believe this helps us very much.” \*\*\*\ While I’d expected the reception at Equestria City to be…well, fancy…I hadn’t expected for things to turn out the way they did. After the cab dropped us off in front of the mansion Twilight buzzed us in. Because of the attack on President Freemane, security had been raised for both him and his opponents, and I caught sight of musclebound gun-toters at nearly every corner. Once inside, however, the guards blended in with the crowd of partygoers, and I felt very alone even in a sea of ponies. Twilight led me by the hoof to join her brother and the Princess. When Shining Armor saw us, he gave a low yelp of joy. “Twili! Ah, so good t’see you, little sis!” “Hi, Shining Armor! Great party! Hi, Cadance!” The princess smiled. “Always a pleasure, Twilight. And who is your friend?” I tried to look away, but Twilight pulled me closer. “This is my good friend Scootaloo. She was one of your flower fillies, remember?” “Ah, yes, I seem to remember one filly in particular who found wearing a dress to be quite…how did she put it? Uncool.” Everypony laughed, and I blushed. But it was true. Dresses weren’t my thing. “Well, gotta say, you’ve grown up, Scootaloo,” Shining Armor said, taking a sip of cider. “What are you up to nowadays?” “Um…well, I joined the Manehattan Police Force…” “Really?!” said a pony to my left, and I recognized him as Rook Bishop, son of Shining Armor and Princess Cadance. Despite all the attack ads by Freemane on TV, in person, Bishop didn’t seem like a bad guy. He’d inherited his father’s long cobalt mane and snowy-white skin, but everything else, including his personality, was his mother’s. He smiled genuinely as he shook my hoof. “Splendid! Here to protect me as well, are you? I say, with a mare like you around I hardly think any wrongdoer would even attempt to ruin this evening…” His tone was pompous, the voice of a Canterlot elite, but he seemed nice enough. Shining Armor and Twilight started up a conversation, and Princess Cadance went to greet other guests. I was alone with Rook Bishop. “…have special ties with the MHPD, I must say. Of course, our relations with them were slightly soured after the Hoover incident…” I broke out of my bored trance. “Wait. What? Hoover incident?” “Oh yes!” Bishop exclaimed. “See, a fellow by the name of Jonathan Hoover, called Jack by his peers, was a member of the Canterlot Guard before Titus Freemane came to be. Hoover was a top-notch guardspony, my father always said…” “Talking about Hoover, eh?” Shining Armor cut in as Twilight smiled. “Yeah, I remember him. Good pony. Good guard. Except…” “Except what?” “Well, just after the Royal Guard fell under conversion to the New Age Initiative, you know, that law requiring the use of firearms in the Royal Guard…well, there was one guard in particular that refused to carry a gun, preferring the old ways of a spear and armor. This guard happened to be the personal bodyguard of Senator Blueblood.” I gasped. Senator Blueblood? But… “Wasn’t he assassinated, like, last year?” Yeah. He was. I remembered hearing about it at the marehouse. Shining Armor nodded. “Yes. You all know it well. Blueblood was leaving Hotel Equestria when he was shot by an extremist. Two other ponies were killed in the gunfire, and the ambassador for the Changelings was paralyzed so that he couldn’t shapeshift anymore. Well, not only did we lose a good senator, but we lost the initiative in the Changeling Conflict, which you know led to…” “The War for Change,” I finished, recalling the seven-week conflict that had been splashed all over the news. I still remember the horrifying images of ponies and Changelings with guns, killing each other with bombs, and using tanks against each other… “But…you’re saying…” “Yes. That day was Jack Hoover’s last day as a Royal Guard. He blamed himself for the senator’s death and for the conflict that arose as a result of it. I haven’t heard from him since.” “Scootaloo has!” Twilight said, oblivious of my discomfort. “She’s working with him?” “Working?” Bishop chimed in pompously. “You mean Hoover is with the police force?” “Uhm…well, sort of…he’s a detective with the MIA.” “Manehattan Investigative Agency?” I nodded. Shining Armor’s face went blank. “Well…give him our regards, would you, Scootaloo, when you go back to Manehattan?” “Of course,” I responded politely. Shining Armor gave me a courteous nod. “Excuse me. Shining Armor?” “Yes?” Shining Armor turned around to meet… Shining Armor. “Queen Chrysalis says hello.” BLAM. /*/*/*/ The apartments on Hoofington Avenue were the highlight of the Underzone. If there was a hell, this would probably constitute hell in Equestria. Jack and Sable pulled up in their car just outside Sphincter’s apartment building. As Jack stepped out of the car, a shot rang out. Then another. Something plinked off the hood of his vehicle. They were being shot at. “Motherbucker!” Jack cried as Sable drew her gun and took cover behind the car. He also drew his pistol and did a quick sweep to determine the position of the shooter. There, up in the fifteenth floor, approximately. A flash. BOOM. The ground snapped up next to his hooves. It could only be Sphincter. “This is Detective Sable, we are taking fire at 224 Hoofington Avenue! Repeat, shots fired! Shots fired!” Jack pulled a spare clip from his jacket pocket as he felt something snap past the hood of his sweatshirt. But as soon as he popped up from behind the car, gun ready, the shooting had stopped. He looked up. Nothing was in the open window on the fifteenth floor. “Son of a parasprite! He’s running!” “The stairs in the apartment!” Jack nodded, and the two galloped through the doors of the apartment building. Upon entering the graffiti-adorned lobby, they noticed that the elevators were broken and that there were two staircases. “You take left. I’ll take right,” Jack said. Sable nodded. It would be one of the worst mistakes in his career. Jack burst through the door, keeping his Brigadier pointed at the top of the stairs, listening for hooves on asphalt. When he did hear the noise of somepony coming down the steps, he aimed and waited for a moment. A pegasus appeared. “FREEZE! HOOVES ON YOUR HEAD! GET ON THE GROUND!” “OKAY! OKAY!” the pegasus cried, laying down on the ground. “Geez, for the love of Celestia, don’t shoot!” “Get out of here,” Jack said swiftly, allowing the pegasus to pass him by. Then he heard another shot. Muffled, as though through a wall. Sable. With adrenaline kicking in, he raced back down the steps, knocking over the pegasus he’d almost shot, and entered the other stairwell just in time to see a unicorn with a gun jump out a window. Another unicorn was slowly tumbling down the stairs, blood oozing from her flank. “SABLE!” Jack screamed, running over to her and checking her pulse. The wound looked bad, but she was breathing. Taking her radio, Jack called for an RA unit and proceeded to jump out the window. He hadn’t realized he’d been on the third floor when he jumped, and when he landed he felt as though he had broken his legs. Recovering quickly, Jack saw Sphincter running down the alleyway. He had a clear shot. He raised his gun. Then the radio crackled to life. “…all units, all units, be advised, lock protocol is now underway, we have reports of an assassination attempt in Equestria City…” Jack froze. Memories came rushing back. …Blueblood, in his trademark white suit, leaving the hotel after a good breakfast… …Jack Hoover, dressed in old Guard uniform, spear at the ready, looking ridiculous compared to the macho stallions with mane-cuts and sleeveless T-shirts under which their muscles bulged… …a car, its rear window fully lowered… …a hoof sticking out. Grasped in the hoof is a fully automatic Ungulate 300… …Blueblood, his trademark white suit now red from blood… Crash. Jack returned to his senses when he realized that Sphincter had jumped the fence. Cursing himself, he galloped after the unicorn, smashing through the iron fence and nearly breaking his shoulder doing so. He had just enough time to witness the unicorn relieve a stallion of his car and speed off. He talked into his own radio. “Base, this is Hoover, report disregard for lock protocol, armed suspect fleeing the scene of a shooting at 224 Hoofington Avenue, get me some buckin’ backup and show me in pursuit!” With that, and without waiting for a response, Jack jumped into his bullet-riddled car and sped off after the shooter, cursing himself over and over for not pulling the trigger. \*\*\*\ One inch. One more inch and Shining Armor would have been a dead pony. The bullet instead struck his cider glass, sending shards anywhere, and continued past his ears until it buried itself in the wall of the mansion. Before I could come to my senses, the shooter was gone. I hadn’t even seen him. Twilight and Cadance were screaming, and Rook Bishop was motioning for a guardspony. Shining Armor seemed to be fine with only a few nicks from flying glass. Then I saw it. A flash of black and green in the rear of the mansion. A Changeling. Queen Chrysalis… I beat my wings until I was hovering over the panicky crowd and dashed through the open doorway into the Equestrian night. The assassin had a car waiting for him, and as I watched it sped off down the spiraling entranceway of Shining Mansion. I hadn’t flown in years, so there was no way I could have caught up to them with only my wings. But then I saw a beauty of a machine sitting all alone in the parking lot. A chrome-plated F2 Lightning 900, one of the fastest motorbikes in Equestria. I smiled. Though I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ridden a scooter, they didn’t call me Scootaloo for nothing. I flew down to the bike and proceeded to hotwire it, remembering the tips I’d learned from my time on the streets. The engine roared to life, and in spite of the situation I could not help but feel a little giddy. The assassin and his driver had crashed into the gate, knocking it down slightly, and were preparing to ram it again as the driveway guards opened fire. I couldn’t reach them in time. So I improvised. Seeing a small partition on the edge of the elevated parking lot, I gunned the engine and let the wind do the rest. Before I knew it, I was flying. Not with my wings, but with the bike. Dim lights grew below me, and I hit the ground with such force that I nearly fell off. Struggling to maintain my balance, I hit the brake until I smelled burnt rubber, then gunned the engine again. By now the assassins had crashed through the gate and were barreling down the EQC Highway. Growling, I sped after them. Only then did I realize that I had no bucking clue what I would do once I caught up to them. My cutie mark was a gun, all right, but I had no gun. What was I gonna do, drive by and politely ask the assassin to slow down? I kept driving, dodging traffic and other obstacles as the battered car raced ahead. The chase went on for about an hour until we reached the EQC-Manehattan Expressway, which led to the Trinket Tunnel, the shortest pathway from Equestria City to Manehattan. The assassin took a hard left and, suddenly, found himself facing oncoming traffic. Very stupidly, I followed him into the tunnel. Now the only things I could see were the lights of the cars that were barreling towards me. Wishing that my cutie mark had been a bike and not a gun, I swerved and dodged as the assassin hugged the left side of the tunnel, trying to avoid hitting any cars. I knew I’d caused a minor pileup, and pretty soon I could hear sirens. Sirens coming right toward us… At the last moment, a tire exploded on the assassin’s car, and he swerved into the middle lane, on a collision course with a speeding roadster… WHAM! The impact was incredible, but I only had a second to view it before the wreckage of the roadster careened towards me. Taking a leap of faith, I jumped from the bike and flapped my wings harder than ever. I suppose if I was being judged I’d get an A for effort, but an F for follow-through. The crashing cars missed me, but I still slammed face-first into the asphalt, sliding and bouncing a couple hundred feet before finally rolling to a stop amidst a scene of chaos. Oh, bucking Celestia, the pain. OOOH… It was painful. Very, very painful. Smoke began to fill the tunnel, and I could just barely make out the lights of the police cars through the haze. Fire and debris were scattered across the tunnel, and as I picked myself up, reeling with pain, I saw a dark shape detach itself from the wreckage of one of the cars. The smoke cleared for a moment, and I could make out a sleeveless leather jacket over a gray hoodie… “Jack!” I screamed, happy though in extreme pain. I limped toward him, and when he saw me he smiled. We embraced, and I began to cry from the pain. BLAM! I was suddenly covered in brain matter. Jack slumped in my hooves, and when I looked at him there was a bloody hole where his left eye should have been. I was about to scream, but was silenced when he suddenly morphed into a black, necrotic creature with wings and a craggy horn. The Changeling. I dropped its body. It lay motionless on the ground, bleeding black. Ponies were reacting to the shot, but I wasn’t. I was just looking for him, looking for… He still had the gun pointed, his eyes hard and his face bloody. He must have hit the railing after the cars had collided. But it was him. The jacket. The hoodie. The straight brown mane. Jack Hoover. He saw me, and I saw him, and suddenly he was running towards me, calling my name. At that moment, however, the pain finally shut my body down. I drifted into unconsciousness, but I had one last thought and one last vision before darkness overtook me. My last thought was Man, for a gun-hater, he can really shoot. My last vision was of his gray eyes and bloody face standing over me, saying my name over and over. Then darkness. Unconsciousness. Night night. Back in ActionBack in Action The smell was what really bothered me about the alley off of Colt Street. It reeked so bad that it made me look forward to inhaling Snorty’s farts every time I went back to the marehouse. Even though I’d been in that alley a million times, I could never get over the smell of rotten wood and apples. Sure, I’d smelled things like that before, worse things, but wood and apples made me think about my friend, a filly I used to know in elementary school, back in Ponyville… Only it wasn’t Ponyville anymore. After Baltimare fell victim to that freak hurricane accident a few years back, Ponyville saw an influx of newcomers, so much so that I distinctly remember Pinkie Pie losing her voice, having sung her welcome song so many times. Years went by, and even when Baltimare was rebuilt, the ponies kept coming. Eventually, what had been a quaint little pony town had become a dirty, bustling metropolitan area. But then again, the same thing had happened to all of Equestria. Industry took over. Pretty soon nobody had use for carts and carriages; it was all about cars, sweet cars that stallions could drive down the cobbled streets to pick up a few mares with. What came after that? Politics, of course. I mean, who can expect a monarchy like that of Princess (sorry, ex-Princess) Celestia’s to sustain itself, given the changing times? Before I knew what was happening, President Titus Freemane was in office at Canterlot, otherwise known as EQC (Equestria City). Celestia and Luna fell from power, and, according to the rumor mill, they were living somewhere in the Everfree Forest. So much stuff happened. Friends came and went. My idol, Rainbow Dash, the greatest flyer in all of Equestria, eventually joined the Wonderbolts and is still with them today. Apple Bloom, the friend I mentioned earlier, had a more difficult time. With industrialization gripping the nation, the Apple family business collapsed. That, and poor ol’ Granny Smith finally clocking out, split the family. Apple Bloom and her big sister Applejack went to Appleloosa to live with their cousin, and last I heard, Big Macintosh was working right here in Manehattan as a bouncer for the Lucky Loony, one of the biggest watering holes in the city. I don’t know much about the others. Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy, and Pinkie Pie are all still in Ponyville. I know Fluttershy got married a while back to some pegasus named Windstopper. I know Spike, Twilight’s dragon, left a while back to enroll in the University of Draconia. Rarity is some sort of star in Los Pegasus; she and Sweetie Belle moved there a while back, way before I left Ponyville. That’s right. I left Ponyville nine years ago. My parents…well, they weren’t around much. Never were. And I never really cared. Not until Flim and Flam, those two charlatans with their super special awesome cider machine, bought out my father of our property so they could build some giant factory. I saw my house get razed by a dozen construction ponies, but I didn’t cry. I packed up what little I had left and hitchhiked across Equestria, but I didn’t cry. I watched my friends disappear, not knowing if I’d ever see them again, not knowing if ever a time would come when I would return… But I didn’t cry. I never cried. At least, nopony ever saw me cry. When I did cry, I made sure it was raining out, so that my tears could mix with the rainwater and so that nopony would know that Scootaloo, the Scootaloo, was capable of such an infantile emotional reaction as crying. People on the streets had other names for me. Scootalooter. Scootaloser. And, my personal favorite, Scoota-what’s-her-face-the-pegasus-in-the-hoodie-that-hangs-by-the-Carrot-Cake-building-every-day. It’s my personal favorite because I made it up. And it was true. The streets of Manehattan at that time were not safe, nor suitable for an adolescent mare such as myself. But you know what? I didn’t care. My parents had abandoned me. My house was gone. My friends were gone. I had nothing. Nopony. And yet I lived. I stole from the Cakes, and they never knew it was me. They, too, had been driven out of Ponyville by big business and tough times, and they made the mistake of coming to Manehattan, thinking they had a chance at doing well. They could not have been more wrong. At least they still had a roof over their heads, but with both of their kids in different colleges (Pound Cake at Cloudsdale Flight Academy, Pumpkin Cake at Fillydelphia Ponytechnic University,) they barely scraped by. Many nights saw me crouched in the alleyway, clutching my jacket and sweatshirt to keep my body and wings warm, hearing the muffled bellows of Mr. and Mrs. Cake, arguing about money. I felt that their relationship was going to end in one of two ways, neither of them being particularly pleasant. And yet I stole from them, I lived off them, and even though I cost them hundreds of bits for every cake I ripped from their shelves, I didn’t care. The alleyway became my home, my dirty, rotten, smelly, gut-wrenching home. It was a place for me to brood, to lament. When I wasn’t busting my wings over at Snorty’s marehouse, letting ugly fat mustangs do…things…to me, just so I could take their bits from their sweaty hooves and buy more sugarcube from the local dealer, Edge Sketch, I was in the alley. Shooting up on sugar, gripping myself in pain after the latest mustang’s wild romp with me, unwittingly, involuntarily reliving those moments in my head; the rhythmic grunts, the sweat, the smoke, my eyes shut tight, their filthy hooves running down my back… I threw up every night I had to do it. I didn’t want to. I hated it. But Snorty gave me good money, and as long as he got his share, he didn’t care who got their hooves on me. Every night was the same for me in that alley. The smells became progressively worse with the putrid odor of vomit and salty, tangy scent of tears. I began to cry even when it wasn’t raining. I cried at day. I cried at night. I cried the other day when I held up a unicorn at gunpoint, tears running down my face and staining my jacket as the revolver in my hooves trembled. The unicorn was very kind and got me to give up the gun; I think if I hadn’t cried, she would’ve used her horn and torn me apart with her magic. Now I had no food, no money (at least, none gained the way I wanted it to be gained,) and no gun. I liked that gun. I was one of the first to get a gun, back when they started getting really popular in Appleloosa. A genius by the name of Sharpshooter decided that it was time to put away the spears and swords and break out the heavy power. With the invention of guns, even more changes came. Gone were the armor-wearing, plume-helmeted royal guards; instead bulky bodyguards escorted President Freemane, their muscles bulging out of their bulletproof vests, their manes shaven, and their eyes hardened. I saw a few when Freemane went on his campaign tour in Manehattan. Even I was scared of them. But I’m getting off track. I had lost my gun, and in Lower Manehattan, especially around Colt Street, not having a gun was a death sentence into itself. The police ponies did what they could, but many of them were too scared to go after the rising number of griffons and wyverns that had taken residence in the Southern Slums, Lower Manehattan’s pet name. Other ponies were in the pockets of crime and drug lords, what with the exponential rise in sugarcube dealing, of which I was sadly engrossed in. Already my teeth were rotting and my orange skin was turning yellow. I felt like I was dying. Then again, when you live on the streets of the Southern Slums, you’re pretty much dead already. Oh, the tragic irony. How I would love to laugh, if I still could. It was raining the night he killed her. I was, as usual, sleeping off another horrible night after the marehouse. The customer, a fat pony named Bigbuck, had shown very little restraint. I was still bleeding between my legs by the time I got my pay from Snorty. The alley stank, I stank, my hooves were covered in rainwater and blood, and I felt miserable, not to mention jacked up on sugarcube, which I had tried to give up. BLAM. BLAM. I snapped up, the sound of the gunshots ringing in my ears. I’d heard shots before, but never this close. It sounded as if… As if they were coming from the building right next to me. I pulled my hoodie and jacket closer into me as I dashed out of the alley and into the decrepit cake store. There was Mr. Cake, standing over the dead body of his wife, holding a smoking pistol. His face, unshaven and weary, was a mixture of unchecked terror and uncertain satisfaction. The cakes nearby were covered in Mrs. Cake’s blood. Mr. Cake said nothing. He did not blink. He did not breathe. I knew I wasn’t dreaming. I knew it wasn’t the sugar that was making me see these things. Then he noticed me. His eyes went wide, and for a second I thought he was going to shoot me. But he didn’t. He merely slinked back into the shadows, pathetically… I had witnessed murder. I had heard of murders before, and I saw my share of tarp-covered cadavers being hauled away by Manehattan’s Finest. But I had just seen Mr. Carrot Cake, kindly ol’ Mr. Carrot Cake, murder his wife. In cold blood. I don’t think he even said anything. It was as if he walked up to his wife, grabbed her as if they were going to kiss, and put two bullets in her. I stood there stupidly, hearing the sound of a door slamming and a van screech off into the stormy night. The pool of blood around Mrs. Cake’s head grew wider, and I noticed for the first time the look of surprise on her face, wondering if she had tried to scream, and if that scream was now stuck in her throat, cold and dead as she was… I had no choice. I called the cops. Then I threw up. /*/*/*/ Detective Jack Hoover exited the police car with a rookie patrol pony just outside Cake Confectionaries on Colt Street. There had been a shooting. Wife dead, husband gone. It was a clean-cut case. There were a few black-and-whites outside the shop, coupled with a forensics van, but other than that there was nothing. Some stallion went crazy and blew away his mare. Was that really worth his time? The rookie, a unicorn that looked no older than eighteen, tried to keep pace with him. Hoover didn’t like rookies as partners, but the sergeant hadn’t given him a lot of choice. Now they sidled up to another officer, a gray pegasus with a lazy eye. “What’ve we got?” he said, his voice husky from smoking and drinking. “One dead mare,” said the officer. “Two gunshot wounds to the head. ID’d her as a Mrs. Carrot Cake, who owns the store with her husband.” “Who is…?” “Gone, but he left a note. I’ll show you when we get in.” “Who found the body?” Jack asked, pushing open the door to the cake shop. “Pegasus by the name of Scootaloo. Says she heard the shots and walked in on Mr. Cake with the gun. She’s over there.” The officer pointed to the far end of the room, past the tarpaulin-covered corpse, where two other officers were questioning an orange, purple-haired pegasus that wore a blue, stained jacket and thin gray hoodie. There were no tear marks down her cheeks, but Jack could tell by the way she held herself that she had been traumatized by the incident. At least, she had been traumatized by something. Jack walked over to her, stepping around the tarp-covered body, and once he caught her scent he immediately knew the girl was a hopo, a homeless pony. She had needle marks on her hooves and bruises on her face, and she smelled of sweat, dirt, and unhappiness. Jack sighed. This pegasus was one of the many hundreds of ponies out of work and homeless around Manehattan. Observing the needle marks again, he knew this girl’s testimony would be contested. Who would trust a sugar junkie? Seriously, who? “Miss Scootaloo?” he said in his calm detective voice. “I’m Detective Jack Hoover, and I was wondering…” “I told ‘em already,” the pegasus replied in a scratchy, boyish voice, and Jack saw in her eyes a look of utmost hatred. “Cake killed his wife. I saw it. They had tapes, check ‘em, I don’t want any cops…” “And why is that?” Hoover asked, pulling out his tape recorder. “Cops around here,” she muttered. “Everypony on the streets…dying, oh no, dying…” “Miss Scootaloo, are you alright?” “Yeah,” she said absentmindedly, an obvious lie. “I’ve been off the shug for a while now, and when you’re off the shug, things can happen. Bad things.” Her eyes rolled and she held herself tightly. Jack smirked. At least this girl was willing to admit she was a sugar addict. However, that meant that whatever she said could be contested in court. “Miss Scootaloo, run me through exactly what happened,” he said calmly. “…seeing things…Cake ran in…dictionary…oh, man, I love me some shug…” “Miss Scootaloo?” “Once upon a time…OCTAGONS!” she shrieked, startling everypony at the crime scene. Jack rolled his eyes and took the pegasus by the wing, dragging her outside in the rain. The water seemed to quiet the girl, who shook her head and began to cry, trying to mask her face in the shadow of her hoodie. Jack waited several minutes, and Scootaloo finally seemed to calm down. “Miss Scootaloo,” he shouted over the sound of rain and police activity, “are you alright?” She nodded wearily. “Good,” he said patiently, trying to squash the growing feeling of pity for this girl out of his stomach. “Now, come with me and tell me what happened.” “I was sleeping right there,” she hiccupped, pointing down the alley as they walked underneath an awning. “I got nowhere else to go, man. I hear the shots ‘n run in, and I see Cake standin’ over her, with’a gun.” “And you say the tapes will prove that? How did you know there was a camera?” “’Cause I stole from ‘em a lot,” she said, her eyes unfocused, and Hoover was surprised by her blatant honesty. “I got nowhere else to go. I lived offa ‘em. I woulda died if it weren’t for ‘em.” Observing her closer, Jack Hoover saw that the pegasus was missing several teeth and had a mean, runty look about her. Her hair was dirty and disheveled, and her eyes were bloodshot. Her words were slurred by her lack of teeth and her current state, and Jack felt the pity in his stomach grow tenfold. This girl didn’t deserve to be on the streets. She didn’t deserve any of this… “I think I know where he going next.” Hoover snapped to attention. “What?!” “He’s got kids. Two of ‘em. College ponies. But Fillydelphia Tech is out on break, right?” “How am I supposed to know that?” he began, but the rookie from earlier, who had been listening in, interrupted. “She’s right. My sis is at FPU and she’s out on break.” “Well, what does that have to do with anything?” Jack snapped, clearly annoyed. “His daughter, Cake’s daughter goes there, and they live in Ponyville,” Scootaloo said, and for a moment Jack thought he saw a roguish glint in the pegasus’s purple eyes, but a clap of thunder startled him, so much so that he barely caught the last bit of her sentence. “…killed her, then he’d kill the whole family.” “Why do you say that?” “I know these things,” she said resolutely, and Jack could tell that the sugar was no longer affecting her. “I grew up in Ponyville, and I’ve seen stuff like this happen in Manehattan. I put two and two together.” “That fast?” She shrugged, and Jack saw her in a new light. He shouldn’t have been listening to the ramblings of a street junkie, but something about Scootaloo’s words drew him in, made him trust her. A police officer showed him the bloodstained note by the body: I regret nothing “Maybe he won’t go back to kill his kids, but where else would he go if he can’t stay here?” That was it. That was the clicker for Jack Hoover, who smiled. He was going to get this girl off the streets. He was going to put him to work. \*\*\*\ So that’s how I ended up in Detective Hoover’s car on the way down to Ponyville. In any other situation, I would have found it mortifying, to be seen in the presence of a cop. That, as with so many things, was a death sentence in the Southern Slums. But you know what? I didn’t care. I felt happier than I had ever felt in my life. When they took me to the station they gave me a warm bed, warm food, and something to help with sugar withdrawal. They even washed my clothes (which I didn’t let them throw away, because they were the only things I managed to save from my old house.) Gone were the days of having to bust my butt (literally) for Snorty; I had told Jack about him and the next day he was in Equestria Ponytentiary. And I was going home. Back to Ponyville. Or so I thought. I’ll get there, don’t worry, but I’ve gotta explain some stuff first. When I finally managed to get away from the alley, they took me downtown to the police station, questioned me some more, and let me sleep off my sugar binge. After that Hoover and his boys got clearance to set up a raid on Ponyville, and that’s how I wound up in the passenger seat of Hoover’s car, followed closely by two police cars and a C.O.L.T. (Counterterrorism Operations, Logistics, & Tactics) team. I didn’t say anything. There was nothing to be said. I had already thanked Hoover profusely, but I could tell he still didn’t trust me. I could tell he was wary of me, and I didn’t blame him. Would you trust a junkie you had met on the street? Nevertheless, I wanted to engage him in conversation, but a crackle over the radio interrupted me. “All units, be advised, PVPD is reporting a suspect matching our description in a black 4-door heading northbound on I-10 towards your convoy, over.” Cake was running. We were gonna meet him halfway. Jack grabbed the radio. “This is Hoover to Herd One, Hoover to Herd One. Solid copy on that report?” “Roger, Hoover,” came the reply. “Have the C.O.L.T. truck hang back in case things get ugly. Myers, Hoofman, stay on my tail. We’re on I-10 southbound,” he said, addressing the previous radio caller. “Any idea when we’ll meet?” “Copy, Herd One, suspect is raging down the road. Expect him within two minutes, over.” “Two minutes?!” I cried. We were nowhere near Ponyville, and Cake had already fled. “You don’t think…” “No, I don’t,” he growled, cutting me off. “Cake is paranoid. He knows we’ve got the tapes. He knows we’ve got the note. He knows, that’s why he’s running.” I slid back in my seat. This was about to get wild. /*/*/*/ And wild, it did get. Detective Hoover had barely any time to register what was going on before a flaming hulk of metal and glass careened over the median onto I-10 southbound, clipping his car and sending it into a tailspin. When they got their bearings, Scootaloo looked sick to her stomach, but Hoover, wasting no time, took his Brigadier 9mm pistol from his holster and exited his car, shielding his eyes from the smoke of the wreck. The car was a fireball. There was no way Cake could have survived. The pursuing units pulled up to the side of I-10 northbound, preparing a roadblock. Smoke filled the air and the nostrils of everypony within a hundred yards. There was no way he could have survived. Hoover addressed one of the pursuing officers, who was wiping his brow free of sweat. “What happened?” “Lost control,” he gasped. “Went crazy. Flipped a coupla times, then he…” “GUN! GUN!” Hoover was firing before he knew what he was firing at, and he wasn’t the only one. The air filled with bullets, and the wreck scene became a battleground. Hoover finally saw the shooter, none other than Mr. Carrot Cake himself, covered in blood and ash, carrying a powerful-looking pistol. The officers opened fire, and Scootaloo hit the deck, nearly breaking her nose on the asphalt. Jack fired and fired, trying to reach his radio. He saw one of the officers go down, a flower of blood blossoming from his flank. Another had taken a bullet to the knee. It was a war zone. \*\*\*\ Had I known Mr. Cake was as crazy as he turned out to be, I would have spat in Jack Hoover’s face and gone back to my alley. Instead, I went along with him and found myself underneath a squad car, my eyes wet from crying, my ears ringing from the gunshots, caught in the crossfire. An officer fell next to me. He was boyish, a young unicorn with a badge-shaped cutie mark that was now red with blood. His pistol slid over to me, a black metal death-bringer. I risked a look over the squad car. The first thing I saw were his eyes, full of hatred, brimming with fury, as if everypony in the world had wronged him and he had set out to punish them. He fired carelessly, aimlessly, not caring who he hit, not caring for his own safety. I saw no pony in those eyes: I saw only demon, devil spawn, the wrath of a loathsome creature that thrived on hatred and gave not a single care for the lives it took in spreading scorn. It was the look of a murderous creature, the eyes of a horrid beast. He was no longer he, but it. It had clenched teeth like fangs, scruffy features like a mongrel, and a horrid complexion. It was a monster. I reached for the fallen pony’s pistol. There was a single bullet left. As shots erupted around me, as the world blew up around my ears, I took aim. I squeezed the trigger and watched as the flash of light lined itself up perfectly with the space between Mr. Cake’s eyes. /*/*/*/ “Cease fire! Cease fire!” Cake had fallen. Somepony had gotten a lucky shot off. Moving swiftly, checking on injured officers as he went, Hoover made his way to the gunman, his Brigadier still drawn. As the smoke from the wreck began to clear, he caught sight of Cake, lying spread-eagled on the ground, a perfectly round hole smack-dab between his wide eyes. Blood leaked from the hole and pooled in the whites of his eyes, turning them red. His mouth was open, as if he were screaming, and Hoover shuddered with the thought that this pony had died with a scream trapped in his throat, never to be released. Cake was dead. Feeling no remorse, Hoover slapped the nearest officer on the back. “Nice shot, officer.” “Uh, detective, I didn’t…” “It was her.” He turned around and saw Scootaloo standing stock-still, the pistol still in her shaking hooves, tears in her eyes. Slowly she lowered the pistol and collapsed to her knees. Hoover abandoned his ambivalence of the girl and ran to her side. “Scootaloo? You alright?” She looked at him with tear-stained eyes and began to sob. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, only moving when the paramedics and firefighters arrived and when the lifeless body of Mr. Carrot Cake was zipped up in a body bag and taken away. She threw up as the sun went down, but Jack was always by here side. Traffic had begun to flow again, slowly, as police, firefighters, paramedics, and reporters flooded that stretch of highway. Jack knew he would have to answer for what she did, but at the moment he could care less. He comforted the pegasus, trying his best to soothe her. “That was one heck of a shot,” he said, not sure if it was the right thing to say. “Where’d you learn?” Wiping away her tears, she lifted the top of her pants away from her skin, exposing her flank: her cutie mark was a pair of crossed pistols, old-fashioned six-shooters. She smiled grimly. “We need good shots, Scootaloo, and I know you don’t like where you are now,” Hoover said, choosing his words carefully. “I can make it up to you. How would you like to work for me, as a junior detective?” He had expected her to say no, to walk away and never talk to him again. He had not expected her to hug him tightly and say, with the sincerest of voices, “I would love to.” The evening became night, and the number of police and reporters dwindled, but, sitting on the side of the highway, two ponies began new lives. This would not be the last time they would find themselves in the crossfire, but whatever came next, they would be ready for. They would be ready for the end.
Return to NormalcyReturn to Normalcy President Titus Freemane adjusted his tie and ran a hoof through his midnight-black mane. The speech would begin in a few minutes. Half a million ponies, dragons, and other creatures had turned up in Turnbull Square, the heart of Manehattan, to hear his address. For the President, it was nothing new. He had given dozens, perhaps hundreds of speeches in his time as President of Equestria. The only speech he had had any difficulty with was the “Sermon of the Oust,” the speech that officially depowered Princesses Celestia and Luna. Oh, what a fun little talk that had been. The listeners had rioted beneath his hooves, and while critics had a heyday with him for his apparent lack of concern for the rioters, his supporters praised him for keeping calm in such a situation. This was different. This was merely an address to the people of Manehattan, a sort of pick-me-up for the coming election. His primary rival in the candidacy was none other than Rook Bishop, the son of Shining Armor and Princess Cadence, both of whom were living in their estate outside Equestria City, which had become known as “New Canterlot.” In contrast to the refined prince and princess, Bishop was snobbish, useless, and feeble. His supporters consisted of cockeyed farm-ponies and misinformed unicorns that used, above all things, magic to spread Bishop’s incomprehensible aims for the presidency. President Freemane did not worry much about his chances at reelection, but it never hurt to appeal to the people every now and then. A pegasus with a baseball cap and headset flew in and indicated that it was time for the President to take the stage. Straightening his tie again, Freemane blinked twice and walked forward, only stopping when a firm but gentle hand clutched his shoulder. “Mr. President, please come with us.” \*\*\*\ It was bright and sunny out, unusual for this time of year, and Jack Hoover and I sat at an outdoor table at Hayburger, a popular fast food joint in this part of Manehattan. He had bought me hay fries and a chocolate swirled milkshake, but I wasn’t hungry. Every part of me rejected the food. I couldn’t eat anything. Jack stared across the table at me, his gray eyes brimming with anticipation, a dash of ketchup still on his lips. He coughed and neighed softly, trying to dislodge a bad onion ring from his throat. When he managed to hock the chunk of food out, he looked up at me and smiled. “So, what do you say, Scooter?” The paperwork was in front of me, a dozen sheets of words, words, words. I didn’t read any of them. He had already told me what he wanted, and my answer was still… “I dunno,” I said, sipping my milkshake. “I…I can’t be certain. Are you certain?” “You seemed certain back on I-10.” “I wasn’t in my right buckin’ mind on I-10, Jack. For Pete’s sake, I had just murdered somepony. You think I’d be thinkin’ straight after that?” “Still, you sounded certain.” “Yeah, well, I’m not certain anymore. I’m not certain of anything.” Jack frowned. “You’re a heck of a shot, Scooter. Heck of a shot. If I may ask, when did you get your cutie mark?” “The day after the Brigadiers came out of Appleloosa,” I mumbled uncomfortably. “A doped-up mare was trying to take my shug. She had a blade, I had a gun. I…I…” I said nothing more, but I think he got the picture. The memory of that night haunted me like the memory of Mr. Carrot Cake’s dead body, a perfect hole between his eyes… “Scoots.” “Why do you keep calling me that?” I snapped, upsetting a little foal and her mother a few tables down. “Scoots, Scooter, Scooty…damn it, I’m not your daughter, or some figure you can call like a pet!” Jack put his hooves up. “Easy, Scootaloo, easy. I didn’t mean anything by it.” “Then what do you mean by this?” I growled, slamming my hoof on the paperwork, knocking the mustard bottle off the table. Jack sighed. “We need ponies like you, Scootaloo. I’ve seen where you live, in what conditions you survive. I can’t say I know how you feel, but I know how to make it better. I can give you a home, Scootaloo. I’ve got a spare bedroom in my apartment, from when…” He seemed to falter, as if he had just reached an uncomfortable subject, and continued. “The setup’s not bad. As for this…” He rapped the paperwork. “I can’t let you say no.” “You’re gonna force me?” I said incredulously. “Force me to be a cop?! I’d like to see you try! What, just because I murdered a guy, means I…” “That wasn’t murder, Scootaloo. What he did was murder. What you did…that was self-defense. We’ve already been through that.” He was right, at least on that point. It’d been about a month since the Cake shooting, and I still wasn’t myself. Not that I hadn’t shot anyone before. The mare who tried to take my shug, heck yeah I shot her, but she didn’t die. She limped off back to her own marehouse, licking her wounds while some sick stallion licked her body. That was three months before a unicorn managed to separate me from my gun. And several weeks later I wound up here, outside Hayburger, trying to decide whether or not I wanted to be Jack Hoover’s junior detective-in-training. “Jack, I’ve got no background in law enforcement,” I finally said. “Heck, the MHPD probably has a file on me somewhere. I’ve done stuff, man. Loads of stuff.” “But you exemplified the characteristics of a good officer that day, Scootaloo,” he answered. “I’ve talked it over with the chief, even got a say from Governor Goldhoof. You’ll be cleared of all charges, and, though you won’t necessarily have the same privileges and powers as I do, but you’ll be part of the Manehattan Investigative Agency. You’ll be with me, and I won’t let anything happen to you.” He leaned closer. “I’m sorry for what I put you through on the highway. I’m sorry I had to put you in that situation. I really am. Had I known that Cake would blow up like that, I would have never invited you along. I made a mistake. Ponies make mistakes all the time.” “You’re just brushin’ it off, then?” “No, no,” he cut in, putting his hooves up in defense. “I’m just saying I’m sorry. Look,” he suddenly shifted, and his eyes became laden with grave remembrance. “I lost my partner a few years ago. Pegasus by the name of Piper. He was a good cop, a good detective. A shug dealer shot him in a sting operation in Turnbull Square. I was devastated, Scootaloo. Devastated. I didn’t want anypony else. I didn’t want another partner. But you…you remind me of him.” “I remind you of a male pegasus?” “For Celestia’s sake, stop twisting my words!” he shouted, startling a few restaurant-goers around us. “I need you, Scootaloo. The ponies of Manehattan need you. Surely you don’t want to be living on the streets for the rest of your life?” I tugged at the zipper on my jacket, avoiding his eyes. He was right. I hated living on the streets. I didn’t want to go back to the marehouse, even with Snorty gone. “Okay, tell you what,” he said. “You don’t have to make the decision now. Heck, you don’t even have to work for the police. But at least accept a room in my apartment. Please, Scootaloo, it really hurts me to see such a pegasus like you all alone on the str…” BOOOOOOOM! The ground shook beneath us, and I felt a blast of hot air against my face. We both fell from our chairs as a shockwave tore down the street, knocking ponies off their hooves and sending cars into tailspins. I looked up, trying to get my bearings. The first thing I saw was a giant cloud of black smoke, birthed from the roiling red fire that had erupted down the street, visible above the rooftops, just outside of… Turnbull Square. Jack recovered from the explosion and got to his hooves. Shaking his mane free of dust, he looked in the direction that I was staring in, and his jaw dropped. Sirens were wailing. Ponies were screaming. “Jack,” I said, not believing what I was seeing. “That’s Turnbull Square. Isn’t that where…” “Oh, no,” he murmured, his eyes wide with panicky fear. “The President.” /*/*/*/ On the best of days, Agent Bronco Bryant of the Equestrian Bureau of Investigation only had to put up with the occasional drunken opponent or rabid supporter to the President. Such was the tedious task of security to the President during his campaign speeches. Nothing usually happened to Agent Bryant, and normally he didn’t start his shift off with a faceful of shrapnel. Spitting, trying to wipe his face, Agent Bryant, a handsome, blonde-maned stallion, struggled to his hooves. His black suit was covered in ash and blood, and his long mane was singed from the explosion that was still ringing in his ears. “All units, report in!” Bryant screamed into his throat-mike, picking his way through the rubble. “This is Bryant! Does anypony copy?” “Copy, Bryant, this is Trailblazer,” a voice crackled over the radio. Agent Bryant sighed with relief. Trailblazer, his partner, was alive. “Blaze…you okay?” “Took some shrapnel to the face, but otherwise alright.” “Yeah, same. What the buck was that?” “I don’t know, Bronco, but we’re rerouting to the edge of the square. There may be more than one bomb.” “So it was a bomb?” “That’s what it looks like.” A horrible thought came over Agent Bryant. “Blaze…the others…?” The static-filled silence told Bryant that the rest of the security ponies hadn’t made it. “What about…” he tripped over a broken pipe, swore, and continued. “…Objective One? Do we have an update on Objective One?” “Bronco…that explosion came from right underneath his platform. There’s no way he could’ve made it.” Bryant threw back his head and yelled, making his stricken voice heard through the chaotic miasma of sound. When he ran out of breath, he collapsed, blinded by blood that was streaming down his face. He didn’t care. He had failed. The President was dead. “Bronco…Bronco? You there, man?” “Yeah,” he replied, coughing, his bloody eyes full of rage. “I’m fine…Blaze?” “Yeah?” “We’re gonna make ‘em pay, Blaze. We’re gonna make those motherhumpers pay.” “You need to get the buck outta there, Bronc! Now’s not the time for melodramatic threats!” Bryant stifled a laugh. Even in the most heinous of situations, Trailblazer still had a sense of humor. It wasn’t that he meant to be funny; it was as if he couldn’t help it. “Copy, Blaze. Edge of the square. On my way. But what about Ob…” He stopped. What was the point of giving a dead pony a code name? “What about the President? Did you confirm?” “No, Bronc, but the way it looked, we ain’t gonna find enough of Freemane to confirm his death.” His rage burst like a bubble. “DAMN IT!” “Indeed.” “Damn it, Blaze! Bucking damn it!” “Dude, now’s not the time…” “I think now’s the perfect time to curse my rump off, you idiot!” he yelled. “Oh, to heck with it. I’m on my way.” “Bronco…” But Bryant heard nothing more as he ripped his microphone from his throat and picked his way across the burning wasteland that used to be Turnbull Square. \*\*\*\ I don’t fly much, but believe me, when I saw the background of fire against those buildings… Man, I buckin’ flew. Jack, being an earth pony, arrived on the scene several minutes after I did, but I hadn’t moved since. The scene before me was the definition of devastation. A firestorm had engulfed Turnbull Square, and through the smoke I could see the bodies of several ponies, dead and dying, about to be eaten by the flames. Emergency crews were on the scene, but even the PFS (Pegasi Firefighting Squad) couldn’t curb the inferno. I watched in horror as the great stage that had held the President of Equestria collapsed under a blanket of fire. I only moved when smoke began to fill my lungs, and even then I didn’t stop staring at the carnage. A few survivors were dragging themselves away from the fire, their bodies mangled. Onlookers and bystanders flocked to the edges of the park, their eyes drawn to the rampaging firestorm that had nearly consumed the entire park. “…back, all of you! Get back, now! This is a matter of national security! I said, get back!” The voices, two of them, came from a pair of ponies that had just appeared out of the veil of smoke. One was a white Earth pony, the other a red-and-black unicorn. They both wore suits and had broken sunglasses. “This area is unsafe! Get back!” “Hold it!” Jack shouted, heaving breathlessly. “This is my jurisdiction! I deserve the right to…” “You deserve the right to shut the buck up and get back, before I make you part of the ground!” screamed the unicorn, producing a very large handgun. Jack’s eyes went wide and he began to back up, but something snapped in me, and before I knew what I was doing, I was in the unicorn’s face. “What gives you the right to push ponies around, you cockeyed hornsucker?!” Everypony around me gasped, and the answer I received from the unicorn was a slap in the face. I tasted pavement, and from the way my arms jerked back, I knew he was about to cuff me. “You’re a hopo, ain’t you? A street pegasus? Betcha can’t even fly, you filthy little groundbound…” If the unicorn hadn’t been so strong (and if he hadn’t been restraining me with his magic) I would have kicked his sorry rump. Nopony, and I mean nopony, calls me a groundbound. “You son of a pig! You hoofsucker! Screw you, you motherhumping dunghead!” “Got a nice mouth, this one does!” the unicorn laughed, and at that moment Jack unfroze. “Get your hooves off her!” he said, drawing his pistol. The unicorn just smirked. His partner, gouged and scarred from the explosion, looked too weary to interfere. “You dare point a gun at an EBI agent?!” He dug in his suit pocket and produced a laminated card and badge. Jack’s eyes became smaller than peas. “Oh…” “Yeah, oh is right, motherbucker. You can join your precious little groundbound in the slammer for armed assault! Or you can shut the buck up and let us…” “Shut up! The EBI has no business interfering with our city’s emergencies!” “The EBI protects the President!” “The President is bucking DEAD!” “SHUT UP, YOU HOOF-SUCKING…” BLAM! The gunshot snapped them out of their argument, but I didn’t see who the shooter was because the unicorn was pressing my face hard against the pavement. I heard muffled voices, and suddenly I could breathe again. Sniffing the smoke-laden air, I looked at my rescuer. It was the unicorn’s partner, the one with the bloody face. His pistol was smoking, and he looked like he was about to shoot the unicorn. “What the buck are you doing, Blaze? You let yourself get offended by some pegasus prick?” “Didja hear what she said, Bronc?! The little mangy whore…” “WE HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DEAL WITH RIGHT NOW THAN YOUR FEELINGS, TRAILBLAZER!” the earth pony screamed. The unicorn backed down, and just when my savior was about to address me, a crackling noise came from his belt, followed by distorted voices. “…all units…all units…be advised, Objective One is in custody…Objective One is in custody…relocate at 192 Palomino Street…repeat, relocate at 192 Palomino Street…Objective One is in custody…” I had no idea what the voice was talking about, even when I realized that it was coming from the pistol-packing pony’s belt. He snatched it up and spoke excitedly. “Base, we had confirmation of the loss of Objective One…” “…negative…Objective One was swapped…I repeat, Objective One was swapped...” “Swapped?” the unicorn gasped, his anger fading. He seemed to have forgotten us. “That means…” “Roger, Base, regrouping at 192 Palomino Street,” interrupted the earth pony. He grabbed his partner and ran across the street down an alleyway, leaving dozens of shocked ponies speechless. Until I broke the silence. “What the buck was that all about?” Nopony answered, and I realized that I had forgotten about the fiery tidal wave that was bearing down on us. I turned and looked, but saw that dozens, maybe hundreds of cloud-carrying pegasi were working on putting out the flames. The air had become thick with sirens and flashing lights, and before I knew what was happening, Jack Hoover had taken me by the hoof and packed me into a taxi, heading for Celestia-knows-where. /*/*/*/ Jack Hoover’s apartment was in the Gold District of Manehattan, several miles from Turnbull Square, but when the taxi dropped him and Scootaloo off he could still see the pillar of smoke that was once a beautiful park. Sighing and shaking himself free of ash, he helped the exhausted pegasus up to his apartment. It wasn’t the best of living spaces, but it did well enough for the likes of Jack Hoover. It had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room, all tightly compacted and sparsely furnished. The TV was already blaring about the explosion as Scootaloo went in to take a shower. Jack plopped down on the couch without even bothering to take off his coat. He reached for the remote and turned up the volume. Onscreen, a blue unicorn was standing in front of a mass of fire brigadiers and bystander ponies. “…being called one of the worst terrorist attacks in Equestrian history, Tom. No one has yet claimed responsibility for the attack, and as of yet the death toll remains unknown, although speculation has placed estimates at around five hundred to over a thousand. But allow me to reiterate that President Freemane escaped the bombing, seen here in this amateur footage brought to ENN by a local citizen.” The viewpoint switched to a grainy cellphone video of Titus Freemane, his suit dusty with soot and his eyes wide with confused fear, but otherwise alright. The video showed the president entering a limousine as EBI agents approached the camera holder. The blue unicorn appeared on the screen again. “Again, President Freemane is safe and nopony is certain who is responsible for this devastating attack. We’ll continue to bring you live coverage of this event and the events that unfold, but for now, I’m G. P. Trixie, reporting live from Turnbull Square, ENN News.” Jack shut the TV off. So the President was alive, and it was a terrorist bombing. That was why the EBI had been there. He laughed mirthlessly. The black-and-red unicorn had been right. His jurisdiction meant nothing went in came to the safety of somepony as powerful as Titus Freemane. Scootaloo emerged from the shower dressed in her usual blue coat and gray hoodie. She sat down next to Jack, and the two sat in silence for the longest while, punctuated only by the continued growling of Scootaloo’s stomach. When the sun dipped over the horizon and the sirens finally stopped blaring, she spoke. “I’ll do it, Jack. I’ll be your partner. I don’t wanna…I don’t wanna have to do that again.” Jack smiled and put his arm around her, but she cringed and shimmied away. He still smiled. “Alright, kiddo,” he said soothingly. “Alright. Welcome aboard, then. I assure you Governor Goldhoof will…” Knock, knock. “Who the heck could that be?” Jack wondered aloud as he went to the door. He unlocked it and opened it. Standing there were two ponies, and Jack and Scootaloo immediately recognized both of them. The EBI agents, the ones that had nearly killed (and saved) them both back at Turnbull Square. They had cleaned up and were wearing fresh suits, but the blonde pony still bore the scars of the explosion. The unicorn was looking very sullen and uncomfortable. “What do you want? Here to arrest me?” Jack growled. “No, no,” the earth pony said, putting his hooves up. “Do you mind if we come in?” Jack looked ready to say yes, but Scootaloo stopped him. Something about the stallion’s eyes told her that he had something genuinely important to say. “Oh, fine,” the detective groaned, leading the two agents in. “You want something to drink?” “No, thank you.” The earth pony had a reassuring voice, and Scootaloo felt more comfortable around him than she did around Jack. “My name is Agent Bronco Bryant, and this is Agent Trailblazer. I think we got off to a rough start back at Turnbull…” “Oh really?” “Yes,” Bryant continued, ignoring Jack’s sarcasm. “So we came down here to do some…damage control.” He stared intensely and angrily at his partner when he said this, and the unicorn tried to avert his eyes, clearly embarrassed and frustrated. “We also require your assistance.” “Our assistance?” Jack said incredulously, sitting on the couch as Bryant and Trailblazer sat on the seats opposite. “You’re with the EBI! Why do you need our assistance?” “We believe the assassin behind the bombing at Turnbull Square is a Ponyville resident.” Scootaloo gulped. Surely that didn’t mean… “You’re not saying you suspect her?” Jack said carefully, looking at the agents in shock. “I can vouch for her, she was eating with me at Hayburger at the time of the…” “Relax, gramps,” the unicorn finally said, his voice a little strained but no less haughty. “We’re not here to arrest the pegasus. She ain’t a suspect.” “Then why do you think the bomber’s a Ponyvillian?” Agent Bryant leaned in. “Our demolitions team recovered the explosive device and found within it a residue uncommon to Manehattan or the surrounding boroughs. It was sent to the laboratory for analysis, and the results came back surprisingly quick. The residue is from a rare plant, Funnicus noxus, otherwise known as poison joke.” Scootaloo’s heart leapt into her throat. She began to sweat profusely. Cold shivers ran up and down her spine. Poison joke… “Where is this going, Agent Bryant?” “I’m coming to it, Detective Hoover. You see, we pulled both of your files while waiting for the analysis results. You both had a documented history in the Population Department, and yours…” He indicated Scootaloo. “…mentioned affiliations with a group formerly known as the Mane Six, all of whom, nearly twenty years ago, were exposed to a particularly strong dose of poison joke in the Everfree Forest.” “H-How do you know all of this?” the pegasus managed. Trailblazer smiled. “We’ve got ways of knowing, toots. We got people.” “Is that information true, Miss Scootaloo?” She waited several hesitant moments before answering. “Y-Yes.” “Then you won’t mind telling us who collected said poison joke. Or should I say, you won’t mind confirming it. I believe the file mentioned a zebra by the name of…” “Zecora,” finished Scootaloo, and her breath caught in her chest. “Yes,” said Bryant uncaringly, pulling a piece of paper from his suit pocket. “Let’s see…we have Zecora’s record here…hmmm…incidents of disturbing the peace…illegal sugarcube and hard cider dealings…known affiliations with suspected terrorists…staunch anti-Freemane activist…” “Sounds like you’ve got your mare,” Jack interrupted. “So why do you need us?” Bryant put the paper away. “Well, in all honesty, Detective Hoover, we cannot simply waltz in and snatch the zebra. You forget that different cities are in different districts, and in the Lunacest District, where Ponyville is…” “…a mare or stallion has sanctuary law if no evidence is present to convict said mare or stallion,” Scootaloo finished. “You are familiar with the sanctuary law?” She nodded. Trailblazer made a dismissive noise. “Well, that brings me to my main point,” Bryant piped up. “We have the location. We have the men with C.O.L.T. and the Bureau ready. But the governesses, Celestia and Luna, will not allow a criminal extradition unless proper evidence is presented. However, that does not mean we are prohibited from detaining Miss Zecora and holding her in Ponyville until the evidence is presented.” “And what’s the evidence?” “The residue found in the bombs,” Bryant finished, “and your testimony.” Scootaloo’s eyes widened. “My testimony?” “Yes. You were a witness to Zecora’s activities, and the only one who I’ve been able to contact so far. We have little time. Zecora probably knows we are coming, and if we are not in Ponyville by tomorrow, she will be halfway across Equestria and we’ll never find her.” “So what are you saying?” Trailblazer leaned forward, and for once he didn’t seem to show any contempt. “We need you to come with us, Miss Scootaloo. We need you to present your testimony to the governesses after Zecora’s detainment. It will be a day’s effort, no more, and I assure you will not be in any danger whatsoever. Your transportation to Ponyville will even be provided, courtesy of the EBI.” “You want me to go to Ponyville?” she asked, but then Jack cut across her. “She doesn’t go anywhere without me,” he said defiantly, and Scootaloo looked more than a little embarrassed. Trailblazer’s eyes flared, but Agent Bryant smiled. “By all means, come along, detective. We need all the horsepower we can get. Another gun will ensure a safe and quick detainment. You may accompany Miss Scootaloo to Ponyville with the C.O.L.T. team, and we will see to your return after her work is finished. What do you say?” In any other situation, Scootaloo would have thought for a long time about the offer. She would have considered her options, decided whether or not these ponies were trustworthy. After all, one of them had almost killed her. But she was being given a free chance to go back to Ponyville, and to see the Princesses, even if it was to give evidence against a friend. She accepted. Bryant clapped his hooves. “Very well, then. Detective, grab your badge and sidearm and meet us at the EBI headquarters on Galloping Avenue in the next two hours. And thank you both.” \*\*\*\ I’m still amazed by how fast everything went down. An hour after the agents had left, we found ourselves in the middle of a prepping army. The smoke from Turnbull Square still lingered in the air. President Freemane was going to give a speech later that evening about the attack. The COLT team consisted of eleven big, powerfully built stallions and one minotaur. Each was dressed in his own blue-and-black COLT fatigues, as well as steel helmets, DragonScale bulletproof vests, Thunderbolt tactical goggles, and black balaclavas. The minotaur’s fatigues were sleeveless and he didn’t wear a helmet, but rather a baseball cap that lay slightly propped up on his black horns. The EBI agents joined them and the other team, a group of business-suit-wearing unicorns that could only be the EBI’s tech crew. I kind of lost focus when Agent Bryant briefed everypony and minotaur, but then Jack snapped me out of it. He was wearing a bulletproof vest over his shirt and had a helmet, but was otherwise unarmored. With the pretense of not being in any danger, I was not supplied with any sort of armor, and had only my jacket and hoodie to protect me from the inevitable firefight. When the briefing was over, we all went to the roof, where two Blackwing helicopters lay on separate helipads, waiting for our arrival. Nopony said a word as we boarded the choppers and took off. I didn’t like flying in the helicopter, mostly because it was so bumpy and loud, so I tried to get some sleep. I had only just drifted off into slumber when a loud buzzing woke me. The sky was bloodred. It must have been late in the evening. We were hovering over a large section of dark forest just outside a medium-sized city-town. The Everfree Forest. Ponyville. I was home. Not that I got to enjoy it. Not that I got to see any of my old friends. Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie…this was all business, I would find out. At least I’d get to see the Princesses. They hadn’t told me I would be fast-roping with the rest of the squad, so as the stallions and minotaurs slid down the ropes, our helicopters touched down just outside the forest. I got off steadily, happy to be on solid ground again. The EBI guys were waiting for me, both wielding large pistols and wearing vests. “Miss Scootaloo, there is no reason for you to come with us. Undoubtedly, you find the spectacle of a firefight interesting, but I must insist that you stay here. I’ll give you this two-way radio so you can be updated.” He tossed a small radio to me, and I guess he saw the dejected look on my face. “Don’t worry, ma’am. It’s for the best. We’ll be back shortly. Blaze, Detective Hoover, please follow me.” With that they headed into the forest, and Jack gave me one last look before disappearing into the trees. It was a sort of apologetic look, but it didn’t look very sincere. So I waited and waited. The sounds of struggle soon filled the radio, and I noticed the delay of sound in the gunshots that rang out from the forest versus the gunshots that crackled over the radio. The COLT team’s voices were quick and to the point, but never raised, never fearful. They knew what they were doing. There were only a few shots, and one explosion I assumed was a flashbang. After that, silence. I sat next to the Blackwing, trying to dissuade the tech ponies from looking at me. “Miss Scootaloo? Miss Scootaloo, come in.” Agent Bryant’s voice was not the one I really wanted to hear, but I answered anyway. “I’m here.” “The operation was a success. No injuries and no permanent damage to the suspect. We’re bringing her out now, and by the looks of her place, I’d say we have enough evidence to lock her up for good.” “Glad to hear it,” I said, but I really wasn’t. It took them about five minutes to get back into the clearing where the Blackwings were parked, and when they emerged, a COLT stallion and the minotaur were holding a cuffed, half-naked, furious-looking zebra. She was shouting and protesting in her native tongue, and by the looks of her wounds, I’d say she’d gotten on the wrong side of the minotaur. Bryant had lied when he said there was no permanent damage. I didn’t see much of Zecora, as they placed her on the second Blackwing and out of sight. Agent Trailblazer was on his phone, talking in rapid, hushed tones, and Bryant came up to me, accompanied by a very sweaty Jack Hoover. “Once again, I thank you both for your cooperation,” the EBI agent said. He looked as if he had never gone into the forest. “I’m afraid we brought you here for no purpose, unfortunately. You see, Zecora’s house holds enough evidence to allow extradition, even without witnesses. Looks like you won’t be seeing the governesses after all. My sincerest apologies.” He bowed slightly, and I got the sense that he only talked this fancy when he was in the company of others, or in the company of a female. Maybe both. I was mad. Real mad. They brought me all the way to Ponyville, and I wouldn’t get to see anyone. “I…” “I’m sorry, Miss Scootaloo,” Bryant interrupted, stressing the word, indicating that he didn’t want to argue. “You must return to Manehattan. Agent Trailblazer will accompany you back on the helicopter. I must meet the governesses and collect the evidence. I thank you both, regardless.” He bowed again and walked off, leaving me with clenched teeth and hooves. Jack placed his hoof reassuringly on my shoulder. “Hey, don’t get worked up about it, kid. You’ll get your chance. I kinda wanted to see the Princesses, too, and I’m not even from Ponyville.” “Yeah…” I said, not really believing myself. “But that little…” “He works for the government. What’d you expect?” He looked at the helicopter, which was filling up with COLT members and techies. “We’d better get on the chopper. C’mon, Scooter.” “Okay, okay,” I groaned, following him to the helicopter. Within a few minutes we were in the air, but just before the sound of the rotor blades drowned out my voice, I remembered that I wanted to thank him for giving me an opportunity, a new life, a new job. I wanted to thank him, but all I managed to get out before the sound of the helicopter muted me was his name. “Jack!” He looked at me quizzically, and I knew he wouldn’t be able to hear anything else I said. So I just smiled. Even though I had just been screwed over by a scumbag government worker, even though I’d been cheated out of my childhood memories…I smiled. Because I had found a new path. A path that didn’t involve alleyways, sugar hits, collapsing houses, and the fear of death everyday. …okay, maybe that last one was still prevalent. But it was still worth smiling for, and for me, knowing that I could still smile was one of the happiest thoughts I’d ever had.
Blackened Roses, Part 1Blackened Roses - Part 1 A knock at the door jarred me from my sleep. Sunlight was pouring through the dusty window that stood next to the bed on which I lay, and I guessed it was about ten or eleven o’clock in the morning. Rubbing my eyes, I stretched my wings and put on a ratty old T-shirt before going to the door. Jack’s apartment was dirtier than usual, but that could be blamed on me. Years of living on the streets hadn’t exactly instilled in me good manners, or indeed, good personal hygiene. The floor of the apartment was littered with pizza crusts, hay, cider cans, and other pieces of trash. The TV was muted, and onscreen fillies and colts danced along with a griffon in clown makeup. I didn’t want to know what that was all about, and whoever was at the door was in for a surprise. Jack had already left for work, leaving a note on the bed. As his junior detective, I could come in around noon to assist him in cases, and when I looked at the clock I was surprised to see that it was only nine o’clock. Then I remembered it was Sunday. My day off. As usual, I had nothing to do. Maybe whoever was at the door would change that. Yawning, I unlocked the door and swung it back. Standing in the hallway was an old purple unicorn with mauve and pink hair, dressed in an oversized green sweatshirt, her purple eyes confused at the sight of the dirty pegasus in front of her. At first, I didn’t realize who I was looking at, so I said, “Yeah? Can I help you?” “Ummm…” the unicorn said steadily. “Scootaloo? Is that you?” “Who’s asking?” “It’s me, Scootaloo! It’s Twilight Sparkle!” “Twi…” And before I knew what was happening, we were hugging and laughing, locked in an embrace of joyous reunion. “By Celestia,” I gasped. “Twilight Sparkle! I haven’t seen you in years!” “Nor I you, Scootaloo,” she replied, chuckling. “It’s been a while.” “Well, uh…I’m not sure if you want to come in, this place is a mess right now…” “Oh, I’ve been in worse. It’ll be OK.” I smiled, hardly daring to believe that one of my old marefriends was here. I led her to the couch, brushing aside cans and trash heaps and turning off the TV. “So,” I said as we settled down. “What can I do for you?” “Well, it’s funny, actually, I was on my way to Equestria City on a dragon flight when the darned thing had to layover here in Manehattan. Dragons, Scootaloo. Can’t ever trust them as transportation.” “But you had a dragon!” “Spike was different. Besides, I haven’t heard from him in months. He’s probably punch-drunk somewhere on Draconia campus. But anyway, I came here because a little bird told me you had joined the police force.” I blushed. “Well, maybe not joined, but I’m certainly a part of it. After the Cake fiasco…” “Oh, I heard,” Twilight said, her face growing dark. “Poor Cakes. I never thought…” “Yeah, well, neither did we.” I interrupted. “So what can I do for you?” “Well, see, the next train to EQC leaves in about an hour, and to be honest I’m kinda scared. I know I’m grown and can take care of myself, but the streets are no place for a pony like me, especially not now.” “Why not now?” “What, you mean you haven’t heard? I’d figure you’d be the first to hear about it.” “About what?” “It was in Equestria Today, it’s probably on the news…” “What?!” “Oh, for pony’s sake!” She magicked the remote into the air and turned the TV on, changing it to ENN. Onscreen was Trixie, and Twilight let out a small gasp. “She’s an anchormare now?” “Yup,” I replied as she turned up the volume. Trixie was standing in front of crime scene tape and was flanked by dozens of police ponies and medics. “…third death in less than two weeks. The victim’s name has yet to be released, but we have confirmed that it is a pegasus, and that the cause of death is the same as the first two killings. Yes, people of Equestria, it seems a serial killer is loose in Manehattan.” “HUH?!” I cried as Twilight shushed me. “With the first double homicide of a pegasus and earth pony in Whitetail Park less than two weeks ago, a great deluge of panic has flooded the city of Manehattan. The Pegasus Poacher, as the killer has become known as, has struck again, leaving a young pegasus dead in the streets of Manehattan with, like the other victims, her wings torn from her body.” Chills ran up and down my spine, and Twilight’s eyes were wider than her hooves. “Authorities have yet to comment on whether they have any leads, as the previous suspect, a unicorn by the name of Midnight Madness, was cleared of involvement after being arrested last Tuesday. The Manehattan Police Department and the Manehattan Investigative Agency urge all ponies, not just pegasi, to caution themselves. Travel in numbers and in well-lit areas. Tell other ponies where you’re going. These are the official remarks of the two departments, and rumors that the Equestrian Bureau of Investigation is now involved in the investigation are unconfirmed. Live from Clopperton Avenue, downtown Manehattan, I’m G.P. Trixie. Back to you, Chuck.” Twilight turned off the TV. I was still shaking. My wings had frozen. The unicorn tried to comfort me. “I’m sorry, Scootaloo. I didn’t mean to…” “No,” I interrupted. “Don’t be sorry. Thank you, I should say. If I hadn’t known about these killings, I’d…well…living on the streets was tough enough, Twi, but with a serial killer…” “Hey, it’s alright,” she said comfortingly, placing her hoof on my shoulder. “You’ll be safe with me.” “Yeah. It’s just that Jack’s only let me on small cases so far. Nothing big.” “Jack?” “Jack Hoover. He’s a detective, MHPD. MIA Branch. This is his apartment. He’s the one who got me off the streets.” “Jack…Hoover?” I nodded, trying to make sense of Twilight’s incredulous expression. “Hmm,” she said, looking thoughtful. “Why does that name sound so familiar?” “Well, he was with me for the Cake shooting, does that…?” “No, no, I’m thinking way back. Something to do with…I dunno. You’ll have to ask Shining Armor when you see him. He’ll probably know, as captain of the Canterlot…I mean, New Canterlot Guard.” “Wait. We’re gonna see Shining Armor?” Twilight nodded happily. “Shining Armor, Princess Cadance, their son, and a whole bunch of other ponies. They’re having a party up in my brother’s estate, and he wanted me to come. I’m sure he remembers you from the wedding.” “Doubtful, all I did was throw flowers down the aisle.” “Yes, but you did a wonderful job.” We both snickered, and then I straightened. “So you’re inviting me to go with you to New Canterlot?” “Well, you’re the only pony I know in Manehattan besides Big Macintosh, and I haven’t been able to get a hold of him. Shining Armor said I could bring my friends, but they all have other things going on. I thought, maybe, but if you don’t want to…” “Well of COURSE I want to!” I yelled, beating my wings excitedly. “I’d be honored to be your bodyguard!” “Bodyguard?!” Twilight snapped, looking surprised, but then she smiled. “Oh, okay. We’d better get going, then. You’re about my size, so I have some clothes for you if you need anything.” “Alright. Oh, wait a second…” I found a piece of paper and a pen and jotted down a note to Jack: Jack, Going with Twilight Sparkle to New Canterlot. It’s alright, she’s a friend. I’ll be back soon. Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing. Scooter I looked up at Twilight, who was grinning. “Alright, then. Let’s be off.” /*/*/*/ What an excellent day for a homicide investigation, thought Jack Hoover to himself as he and his unicorn partner, Sable, exited their car and made their way toward the crime scene. The media ponies had already flocked the edges of the alleyway off of Hoofshire Street, where the body had been found. Police and crime scene investigators dotted the interior of the alleyway, and Jack could see a tarp-covered form next to the dumpster, lying in a pool of blood. Jack adjusted his leather vest which he so often wore over his unassuming gray sweatshirt. He wasn’t the most professionally dressed of the detectives of MIA Branch, but he got the job done nonetheless, so unless he was bare naked, his superiors didn’t give a buck about the way he dressed. The sun was shining in the cloud-free sky, but the alley that held the body was still dark. The flashes of cameras distracted him, but once he lifted the crime scene tape and allowed his partner through, he felt shut out from the media. Smiling grimly, he approached the first responder. It was an earth pony with a three-day stubble, not unlike Jack’s, and when he spoke he sounded like a parasprite had gotten stuck in his throat. “Morning, detectives. I’ll fill you in. Around ten last night this guy Joe, who owns the donut shop next to this alley, hears a commotion in the alley. He goes outside but sees nothing. A few minutes later, another commotion. This time he catches sight of what he called a ‘really big pony without wings or a horn, completely covered in black.’ Joe thought it was just a tramp, so he let things be. Next morning, he goes to open up, smells somethin’ fishy…finds this poor fella deader than dead.” “By Celestia…” Sable gasped, and Jack felt her shock. Another officer had gingerly lifted back the tarp to reveal the body. It was a pegasus, or at least, had been one. Like the other victims, its wings had been brutally pulled off. Not sawn or cut, put pulled. There was a deep incision on the throat, just like the other victims, but its flank was devoid of a cutie mark, as it seemed that the killer had actually bitten the skin off around her flanks. She had several cuts and bruises, most likely from a struggle, and the blood around her body came mostly from her torn-off wings, but as an investigator pointed out, there was also a very deep, very ragged-looking cut on her right foreleg. Jack’s heart skipped a beat. The pegasus had been pretty. She had a flank of gold and a mane of auburn hair, and her eyes, now gray and pallid in death, were once vibrant and full of life… He noticed that Sable was clutching her chest. She was a hardened unicorn, and a pretty one at that. Her opal eyes went very well with her light-blue skin and silver mane. Now, however, her face was a tinge of green. Jack didn’t want her to vomit on the evidence, so he got her to step away for a moment, to catch her breath. “Is this Joe our only witness?” He asked the officer. He nodded. “Cameras across the street ain’t working, and nopony else was around at the time.” “Well, let’s go talk to him, eh?” Sable joined him when she had regained her strength, and they went into the donut shop, where, among the rows of pastries and cakes, a very scruffy looking pony was being interviewed by another officer. “That’ll do, Shinebeam. We’ll take it from here,” said the first officer. The second left, and Jack turned to Joe. “Mister…?” “Joe. They call me Joe. Nothin’ else, really.” “Ah. Well, Joe, I’m Detective Jack Hoover, and this is Detective Sable. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” “But I already told the cops everythin’!” the donut pony protested. “It’s alright,” Sable said soothingly. “You’re not in trouble. We just want you to tell us what happened.” Joe breathed. “Fine. Around ten last night I heard some kinda shufflin’ goin’ on in the alley. I thought a dog or somethin’ might’ve gotten into the dumpster, so I went to check. Nothing was out there, so I came back in. Few minutes later, before I was gonna close shop, I hear it again and go outside again. That’s when I saw the pony.” “You’re certain it was a pony?” Joe nodded. “Oh, yeah. It had four legs and a tail. Wasn’t a dog or anything. Definitely a pony.” “Earth pony? Unicorn? Pegasus?” “Earth pony.” “And what did the pony look like?” “I didn’t see much of him,” the donut man continued. “Or her. I couldn’t tell if it was a mare or a stallion. Seemed like a stallion, though, it was pretty big. All I know is that other than its tail, it was covered in some kinda black thing. The really weird thing is, the black thing was, like, reflective. I remember the light shining off of its body like it were made of…glass, or something. Oh, and its tail was pokin’ out, and from what I could see it was dark, maybe brown, maybe black.” “Interesting,” Sable said, writing down Joe’s words. “When did you discover the body?” “This morning. Actually, a coupla hours ago. I’d just gotten from home and was gonna open shop when I smelled something bad…I mean, worse than usual, comin’ from the dumpster. I went to check and…I saw the body…” Joe stopped talking, and he looked like he had seen a ghost. “Do you remember which direction the pony ran in?” “Uhhh…” Joe thought hard for a moment, then led the detectives outside. He pointed across the street. “Into that alley, I think,” he said. “Gallopin’ at full speed.” “Thank you, Joe.” Jack and Sable turned to each other as a policemare escorted Joe back inside. “What do you think?” she asked him. Jack shrugged. “The forensics team has the body. Why don’t we go check out that alley?” “Sounds like a plan to me,” Sable agreed. Together they dodged the various camera crews and reporters as they made their way across the street into the alley, following a trail of bloody hoofprints left by the killer. They hadn’t even been looking for more than a minute when Sable found something. “Jack!” Hoover made his way toward his partner, who was examining something in a pile of trash bags. “What’d you find?” “These,” Sable said, holding up the items in her hooves. At first, Jack thought Sable had just skinned an animal, as she appeared to be holding a black sort of hide that was covered in blood. When he looked closer, though, he realized that it was a suit. A rubber suit, made specifically for a pony. The suit was covered in blood, but more so in the mouth and hoof areas than anywhere else. Sable also held up bloody hoof covers, which explained why the hoofprints stopped at the end of the alley. The suit had small eye and nostril openings, and as Jack pulled on hoof covers of his own, he noticed a flaccid indentation in the head area of the suit. He examined it. The indentation was actually not an indentation but a piece of the suit that had nearly been poked through by something on the wearer’s head. He propped it up, and it fell sideways. “This is some kinda bondage suit,” Sable realized disgustedly. “I’ve seen ponies wear these in the Underzone.” “You’ve been to the Underzone?” “My brother lives there. He’s…well, I’d rather not talk about him…but you know the Underzone. That’s where the freaks go, like the ponies who would wear something like this!” “You may be right. However, this suit tells us several things. One, the killer’s a unicorn. Two, the killer’s a weak unicorn. And three, the killer’s a fetishistic unicorn.” “How the buck do you know that?” “Think about it,” Jack said, launching into an explanative tirade. “The protruding piece of rubber on the suit’s head was left there by a horn. From what I can tell, this is a male pony’s rubbersuit. If the killer is a unicorn, he could’ve siphoned the blood away from the scene and from his body with magic. But he didn’t! He used this suit while killing and transporting the victim. It provided him with a disguise in the darkness, as well as something to cover his body during the murder. You know how a thief wears gloves to cover his hooves, to not leave any hoofprints? This is the same thing, only the killer put his entire body into the glove. Ingenious, really.” “Okay,” Sable answered, trying to keep up. “But how do you know he’s a weak unicorn?” “Horn size,” Jack answered, pointing to the bloody suit. “In the academy, we learned that the size of a unicorn’s horn is like the size of a pegasus’ wings; the bigger they are, the more powerful they are. This is a full-grown unicorn to be wearing this suit, but if you prop the horn up…” He did so. “…you’ll see that its about three inches long. That’s less than half the length of the average male adult unicorn’s horn. Less than half. This could also explain why the killer ran instead of teleporting, and why he’d be using such cruel and crude methods to kill.” “And let me guess. The unicorn is fetishistic because?” “Because even the weakest of unicorns can cast an invisibility spell,” Jack answered in fake condescension. “The killer wore this because he wanted to wear it, because it gave him some kind of sick pleasure to wear it as he killed. Fear might be a part of it, too. How frightened would you be if a pony in a black rubber suit was trying to kill you?” “Depends whether or not I have my gun.” Jack smiled. “Always learning, this one.” “Hey! I’m not a rookie anymore!” “Of course not. I’m just saying, having only become a detective last year…” “Oh, go soak your head!” But she was grinning, and so was he. They had to grin, for if they allowed the depravity of the murder to consume them, they might never smile again. \*\*\*\ The train plowed along through the mountains and the fields on our way to Equestria City, and Twilight Sparkle sat across from me in the booth. We talked a lot, talked about Ponyville, about Manehattan, and about our lives. “So how’s good ol’ Ponyville?” I asked about an hour into the ride. She shrugged. “Surprisingly, not that different. Ever since Celestia and Luna were deposed, they’ve dedicated themselves to beautifying the Lunacest District. Their only problem is Flimflam Incorporated.” “Flimflam Incorporated?” “Yeah. After they knocked Applejack out of business, they began sucking the town dry, almost to the point where the town would’ve been called Flimflamville. But Celestia became governess and appealed to the President, who passed the Lunacest Sanction.” “Oh, that one about limiting trusts and monopolies?” “Bingo,” Twilight answered as she stared out the window. “Flimflam Incorporated shrunk after the sanction passed, and we got our town back. It’s nowhere near what it used to be, but it’s a heck of a lot better than what those two brothers had in store for us.” “Wow,” I said, genuinely interested. “Have you heard from Apple Bloom or Sweetie Belle?” She shook her head. “Last I heard from AJ was a couple of months ago. They’re doing well, but she’s still pretty upset that Big Macintosh left the farm. He’s in Manehattan, right? What’s he doing?” “He works at a bar.” Her jaw dropped. “Really?! Wow, I didn’t figure him for a bartender.” “He’s not. He’s the bouncer.” “Oh. Well that makes sense. Anyway, I haven’t heard at all from Rarity or Sweetie Belle, mostly because I see them every day in Pony magazine. She’s a real big shot in Los Pegasus.” “I heard.” “Rainbow Dash is still with the Wonderbolts, but did you hear? They set up their airfield just outside Ponyville! Dash did that for us, and not only do we get to see her almost every day, but Ponyville’s never seen more tourists than now!” “Oh…that’s wonderful…” I said, slightly crestfallen. Twilight looked concerned. “Hey, I’m sorry, Scootaloo, if I’m…” “You’re not doing anything, Twilight,” I said a little too quickly. “Go on. What’s up with Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie?” “Well, you know Pinkie Pie. Hasn’t changed a bit. Opened a party supplies store and is doing pretty well. I’m sure you heard that Fluttershy got married. I’m surprised that you…oh, wait…nevermind…” Again, I looked hurt, but did better that time not to show it. “Anyway, Windstopper’s a great guy. He’s perfect for Fluttershy. And guess who moved in next door? Iron Will!” I sat up. “Really? The minotaur?!” “Yeah! He’s still doing assertiveness training, but now he’s based in Ponyville!” “Wow!” I exclaimed, but soon the elation wore off and I began to feel awkward, wondering why she didn’t ask me how I’d been, then remembering that she already knew… “So, what’s going on with your brother anyway?” Twilight broke from her staring contest with the land outside. “Oh, well, you know how his son, Rook Bishop, is running for President? Well, after that attack on Freemane two weeks ago, he wanted to make sure the general public didn’t think he had anything to do with it. Although in my opinion, it’s kinda useless, I mean, they already caught the guy who did it…” I bit my tongue. Because Zecora was still in custody by the EBI, her name and race hadn’t been released to the media, who only knew that the bomber had been apprehended. “…so he’s doing this charity party thing in New Canterlot, and Shining Armor and Princess Cadance are hosting, and…Scootaloo?” “Oh, sorry, Twilight.” “It’s okay. We’re almost there, anyway. You look good, by the way. Much better.” She had provided me with a simple black dress to wear. I hated dresses, but I didn’t want to upset her, and I figured that’s what most mares would wear to a fancy party, so I wore it. Twilight had also forced me to take a shower and run a comb through my mane, and when I looked in the mirror, other than the dark bags around my eyes and my thinness, I looked like I had never been on the streets. The train slowed, and the towering buildings of Equestria City loomed in the distance. I got up and followed Twilight out of the car, not knowing what to expect.
Blackened Roses, Part 2Blackened Roses, Part 2 The smell of rubber and leather was overwhelming in the little hole-in-the-wall bondage store. Various items and gear hung from the rafters, and the walls were lined with masks, suits, fake hooves, bizarre costumes, and other paraphernalia. Sable actually covered her nose when she entered, but Jack had seen worse things than a pony fetish store. A mare with a black-skull cutie mark and sunken eyes approached them. “Hi! Welcome to the Buck Boutique, specializing in…” “Save it,” Jack interrupted, flipping open his badge. “I’m Detective Jack Hoover and this is Detective Sable. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” “Oh, um…okay.” “For starters, do you keep purchase records?” “Of course,” the mare replied. “Alright. How many of your…erm…specialty apparel items have you sold in the past month?” “Well, I don’t keep track of that. I mean…” “You run this whole place by yourself?” Sable cut in. She shook her head. “The other guy, Slick, couldn’t come into work today. Called in and said he had the trots. Sounded awful.” Jack made a mental note to get Slick’s personal information, then continued. “We’re investigating a murder, and we believe the killer may have purchased an item from this store that was involved in the murder.” “What?!” the mare exclaimed, backing up. “Easy, easy,” Sable said soothingly. “What’s your name, kid?” “Angie.” “Well, we need to see the purchase records. Do you have close-circuited TV in here?” Angie shook her head again, and Jack sighed. “Then, we’ll go the long way. If you’d be so kind as to retrieve the purchase records.” She nodded and sped off, and a minute later she was back, holding a file between her dirty teeth. Jack took it and opened it, examining the contents. “You sell bondage suits, correct?” “Yes. Male, female, pegasus, unicorn, inflatable, straitjacket…” “How many of these ponies bought one of your suits?” Sable asked, and Angie looked thoughtful. “Ummm…let’s see, he wanted the inflatable…also wanted a ball head and a whip…nice guy…she was only looking for a corset, I’ve seen her before down on Red Street…oh!” “What?” the detectives said simultaneously. “There was this guy…yeah, called himself Sphincter…he was a very rude unicorn…” “Unicorn?” Sable piped up. “How was he rude?” “Well, he wanted to buy a rubbersuit but didn’t have enough bits to accommodate the horn portion. I told him he could just purchase a regular earth pony suit, but he refused. We got into an argument, but he eventually bought the earth pony suit and left.” “Did he pay with bits or credit?” “Bits. But by law you have to submit your ID in order to purchase from here.” “Do you have a receipt of his ID?” Jack said hopefully. “I think so. Hold on…” She ducked behind the counter, and sounds of rummaging could be heard. Jack turned to Sable with a stupid grin on his face, but she was unsettled by all the latex and leather that lay around her. “Aha!” Angie exclaimed, holding up a piece of paper. “Here it is!” She gave it to Jack, who read it over: Purchaser Name: Sphincter Species: Unicorn Item: 1-0029X Full-Rubber Price: 299 Bits ID Check: Positive Purchaser DOB: 1/23 Purchaser Place of Residence: 224 Hoofington Avenue, Keyluck Apts., Floor 15, Room 9 “Does that help?” Jack looked at Sable, who smiled. “Yes, I believe this helps us very much.” \*\*\*\ While I’d expected the reception at Equestria City to be…well, fancy…I hadn’t expected for things to turn out the way they did. After the cab dropped us off in front of the mansion Twilight buzzed us in. Because of the attack on President Freemane, security had been raised for both him and his opponents, and I caught sight of musclebound gun-toters at nearly every corner. Once inside, however, the guards blended in with the crowd of partygoers, and I felt very alone even in a sea of ponies. Twilight led me by the hoof to join her brother and the Princess. When Shining Armor saw us, he gave a low yelp of joy. “Twili! Ah, so good t’see you, little sis!” “Hi, Shining Armor! Great party! Hi, Cadance!” The princess smiled. “Always a pleasure, Twilight. And who is your friend?” I tried to look away, but Twilight pulled me closer. “This is my good friend Scootaloo. She was one of your flower fillies, remember?” “Ah, yes, I seem to remember one filly in particular who found wearing a dress to be quite…how did she put it? Uncool.” Everypony laughed, and I blushed. But it was true. Dresses weren’t my thing. “Well, gotta say, you’ve grown up, Scootaloo,” Shining Armor said, taking a sip of cider. “What are you up to nowadays?” “Um…well, I joined the Manehattan Police Force…” “Really?!” said a pony to my left, and I recognized him as Rook Bishop, son of Shining Armor and Princess Cadance. Despite all the attack ads by Freemane on TV, in person, Bishop didn’t seem like a bad guy. He’d inherited his father’s long cobalt mane and snowy-white skin, but everything else, including his personality, was his mother’s. He smiled genuinely as he shook my hoof. “Splendid! Here to protect me as well, are you? I say, with a mare like you around I hardly think any wrongdoer would even attempt to ruin this evening…” His tone was pompous, the voice of a Canterlot elite, but he seemed nice enough. Shining Armor and Twilight started up a conversation, and Princess Cadance went to greet other guests. I was alone with Rook Bishop. “…have special ties with the MHPD, I must say. Of course, our relations with them were slightly soured after the Hoover incident…” I broke out of my bored trance. “Wait. What? Hoover incident?” “Oh yes!” Bishop exclaimed. “See, a fellow by the name of Jonathan Hoover, called Jack by his peers, was a member of the Canterlot Guard before Titus Freemane came to be. Hoover was a top-notch guardspony, my father always said…” “Talking about Hoover, eh?” Shining Armor cut in as Twilight smiled. “Yeah, I remember him. Good pony. Good guard. Except…” “Except what?” “Well, just after the Royal Guard fell under conversion to the New Age Initiative, you know, that law requiring the use of firearms in the Royal Guard…well, there was one guard in particular that refused to carry a gun, preferring the old ways of a spear and armor. This guard happened to be the personal bodyguard of Senator Blueblood.” I gasped. Senator Blueblood? But… “Wasn’t he assassinated, like, last year?” Yeah. He was. I remembered hearing about it at the marehouse. Shining Armor nodded. “Yes. You all know it well. Blueblood was leaving Hotel Equestria when he was shot by an extremist. Two other ponies were killed in the gunfire, and the ambassador for the Changelings was paralyzed so that he couldn’t shapeshift anymore. Well, not only did we lose a good senator, but we lost the initiative in the Changeling Conflict, which you know led to…” “The War for Change,” I finished, recalling the seven-week conflict that had been splashed all over the news. I still remember the horrifying images of ponies and Changelings with guns, killing each other with bombs, and using tanks against each other… “But…you’re saying…” “Yes. That day was Jack Hoover’s last day as a Royal Guard. He blamed himself for the senator’s death and for the conflict that arose as a result of it. I haven’t heard from him since.” “Scootaloo has!” Twilight said, oblivious of my discomfort. “She’s working with him?” “Working?” Bishop chimed in pompously. “You mean Hoover is with the police force?” “Uhm…well, sort of…he’s a detective with the MIA.” “Manehattan Investigative Agency?” I nodded. Shining Armor’s face went blank. “Well…give him our regards, would you, Scootaloo, when you go back to Manehattan?” “Of course,” I responded politely. Shining Armor gave me a courteous nod. “Excuse me. Shining Armor?” “Yes?” Shining Armor turned around to meet… Shining Armor. “Queen Chrysalis says hello.” BLAM. /*/*/*/ The apartments on Hoofington Avenue were the highlight of the Underzone. If there was a hell, this would probably constitute hell in Equestria. Jack and Sable pulled up in their car just outside Sphincter’s apartment building. As Jack stepped out of the car, a shot rang out. Then another. Something plinked off the hood of his vehicle. They were being shot at. “Motherbucker!” Jack cried as Sable drew her gun and took cover behind the car. He also drew his pistol and did a quick sweep to determine the position of the shooter. There, up in the fifteenth floor, approximately. A flash. BOOM. The ground snapped up next to his hooves. It could only be Sphincter. “This is Detective Sable, we are taking fire at 224 Hoofington Avenue! Repeat, shots fired! Shots fired!” Jack pulled a spare clip from his jacket pocket as he felt something snap past the hood of his sweatshirt. But as soon as he popped up from behind the car, gun ready, the shooting had stopped. He looked up. Nothing was in the open window on the fifteenth floor. “Son of a parasprite! He’s running!” “The stairs in the apartment!” Jack nodded, and the two galloped through the doors of the apartment building. Upon entering the graffiti-adorned lobby, they noticed that the elevators were broken and that there were two staircases. “You take left. I’ll take right,” Jack said. Sable nodded. It would be one of the worst mistakes in his career. Jack burst through the door, keeping his Brigadier pointed at the top of the stairs, listening for hooves on asphalt. When he did hear the noise of somepony coming down the steps, he aimed and waited for a moment. A pegasus appeared. “FREEZE! HOOVES ON YOUR HEAD! GET ON THE GROUND!” “OKAY! OKAY!” the pegasus cried, laying down on the ground. “Geez, for the love of Celestia, don’t shoot!” “Get out of here,” Jack said swiftly, allowing the pegasus to pass him by. Then he heard another shot. Muffled, as though through a wall. Sable. With adrenaline kicking in, he raced back down the steps, knocking over the pegasus he’d almost shot, and entered the other stairwell just in time to see a unicorn with a gun jump out a window. Another unicorn was slowly tumbling down the stairs, blood oozing from her flank. “SABLE!” Jack screamed, running over to her and checking her pulse. The wound looked bad, but she was breathing. Taking her radio, Jack called for an RA unit and proceeded to jump out the window. He hadn’t realized he’d been on the third floor when he jumped, and when he landed he felt as though he had broken his legs. Recovering quickly, Jack saw Sphincter running down the alleyway. He had a clear shot. He raised his gun. Then the radio crackled to life. “…all units, all units, be advised, lock protocol is now underway, we have reports of an assassination attempt in Equestria City…” Jack froze. Memories came rushing back. …Blueblood, in his trademark white suit, leaving the hotel after a good breakfast… …Jack Hoover, dressed in old Guard uniform, spear at the ready, looking ridiculous compared to the macho stallions with mane-cuts and sleeveless T-shirts under which their muscles bulged… …a car, its rear window fully lowered… …a hoof sticking out. Grasped in the hoof is a fully automatic Ungulate 300… …Blueblood, his trademark white suit now red from blood… Crash. Jack returned to his senses when he realized that Sphincter had jumped the fence. Cursing himself, he galloped after the unicorn, smashing through the iron fence and nearly breaking his shoulder doing so. He had just enough time to witness the unicorn relieve a stallion of his car and speed off. He talked into his own radio. “Base, this is Hoover, report disregard for lock protocol, armed suspect fleeing the scene of a shooting at 224 Hoofington Avenue, get me some buckin’ backup and show me in pursuit!” With that, and without waiting for a response, Jack jumped into his bullet-riddled car and sped off after the shooter, cursing himself over and over for not pulling the trigger. \*\*\*\ One inch. One more inch and Shining Armor would have been a dead pony. The bullet instead struck his cider glass, sending shards anywhere, and continued past his ears until it buried itself in the wall of the mansion. Before I could come to my senses, the shooter was gone. I hadn’t even seen him. Twilight and Cadance were screaming, and Rook Bishop was motioning for a guardspony. Shining Armor seemed to be fine with only a few nicks from flying glass. Then I saw it. A flash of black and green in the rear of the mansion. A Changeling. Queen Chrysalis… I beat my wings until I was hovering over the panicky crowd and dashed through the open doorway into the Equestrian night. The assassin had a car waiting for him, and as I watched it sped off down the spiraling entranceway of Shining Mansion. I hadn’t flown in years, so there was no way I could have caught up to them with only my wings. But then I saw a beauty of a machine sitting all alone in the parking lot. A chrome-plated F2 Lightning 900, one of the fastest motorbikes in Equestria. I smiled. Though I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ridden a scooter, they didn’t call me Scootaloo for nothing. I flew down to the bike and proceeded to hotwire it, remembering the tips I’d learned from my time on the streets. The engine roared to life, and in spite of the situation I could not help but feel a little giddy. The assassin and his driver had crashed into the gate, knocking it down slightly, and were preparing to ram it again as the driveway guards opened fire. I couldn’t reach them in time. So I improvised. Seeing a small partition on the edge of the elevated parking lot, I gunned the engine and let the wind do the rest. Before I knew it, I was flying. Not with my wings, but with the bike. Dim lights grew below me, and I hit the ground with such force that I nearly fell off. Struggling to maintain my balance, I hit the brake until I smelled burnt rubber, then gunned the engine again. By now the assassins had crashed through the gate and were barreling down the EQC Highway. Growling, I sped after them. Only then did I realize that I had no bucking clue what I would do once I caught up to them. My cutie mark was a gun, all right, but I had no gun. What was I gonna do, drive by and politely ask the assassin to slow down? I kept driving, dodging traffic and other obstacles as the battered car raced ahead. The chase went on for about an hour until we reached the EQC-Manehattan Expressway, which led to the Trinket Tunnel, the shortest pathway from Equestria City to Manehattan. The assassin took a hard left and, suddenly, found himself facing oncoming traffic. Very stupidly, I followed him into the tunnel. Now the only things I could see were the lights of the cars that were barreling towards me. Wishing that my cutie mark had been a bike and not a gun, I swerved and dodged as the assassin hugged the left side of the tunnel, trying to avoid hitting any cars. I knew I’d caused a minor pileup, and pretty soon I could hear sirens. Sirens coming right toward us… At the last moment, a tire exploded on the assassin’s car, and he swerved into the middle lane, on a collision course with a speeding roadster… WHAM! The impact was incredible, but I only had a second to view it before the wreckage of the roadster careened towards me. Taking a leap of faith, I jumped from the bike and flapped my wings harder than ever. I suppose if I was being judged I’d get an A for effort, but an F for follow-through. The crashing cars missed me, but I still slammed face-first into the asphalt, sliding and bouncing a couple hundred feet before finally rolling to a stop amidst a scene of chaos. Oh, bucking Celestia, the pain. OOOH… It was painful. Very, very painful. Smoke began to fill the tunnel, and I could just barely make out the lights of the police cars through the haze. Fire and debris were scattered across the tunnel, and as I picked myself up, reeling with pain, I saw a dark shape detach itself from the wreckage of one of the cars. The smoke cleared for a moment, and I could make out a sleeveless leather jacket over a gray hoodie… “Jack!” I screamed, happy though in extreme pain. I limped toward him, and when he saw me he smiled. We embraced, and I began to cry from the pain. BLAM! I was suddenly covered in brain matter. Jack slumped in my hooves, and when I looked at him there was a bloody hole where his left eye should have been. I was about to scream, but was silenced when he suddenly morphed into a black, necrotic creature with wings and a craggy horn. The Changeling. I dropped its body. It lay motionless on the ground, bleeding black. Ponies were reacting to the shot, but I wasn’t. I was just looking for him, looking for… He still had the gun pointed, his eyes hard and his face bloody. He must have hit the railing after the cars had collided. But it was him. The jacket. The hoodie. The straight brown mane. Jack Hoover. He saw me, and I saw him, and suddenly he was running towards me, calling my name. At that moment, however, the pain finally shut my body down. I drifted into unconsciousness, but I had one last thought and one last vision before darkness overtook me. My last thought was Man, for a gun-hater, he can really shoot. My last vision was of his gray eyes and bloody face standing over me, saying my name over and over. Then darkness. Unconsciousness. Night night.
Back in ActionBack in Action The smell was what really bothered me about the alley off of Colt Street. It reeked so bad that it made me look forward to inhaling Snorty’s farts every time I went back to the marehouse. Even though I’d been in that alley a million times, I could never get over the smell of rotten wood and apples. Sure, I’d smelled things like that before, worse things, but wood and apples made me think about my friend, a filly I used to know in elementary school, back in Ponyville… Only it wasn’t Ponyville anymore. After Baltimare fell victim to that freak hurricane accident a few years back, Ponyville saw an influx of newcomers, so much so that I distinctly remember Pinkie Pie losing her voice, having sung her welcome song so many times. Years went by, and even when Baltimare was rebuilt, the ponies kept coming. Eventually, what had been a quaint little pony town had become a dirty, bustling metropolitan area. But then again, the same thing had happened to all of Equestria. Industry took over. Pretty soon nobody had use for carts and carriages; it was all about cars, sweet cars that stallions could drive down the cobbled streets to pick up a few mares with. What came after that? Politics, of course. I mean, who can expect a monarchy like that of Princess (sorry, ex-Princess) Celestia’s to sustain itself, given the changing times? Before I knew what was happening, President Titus Freemane was in office at Canterlot, otherwise known as EQC (Equestria City). Celestia and Luna fell from power, and, according to the rumor mill, they were living somewhere in the Everfree Forest. So much stuff happened. Friends came and went. My idol, Rainbow Dash, the greatest flyer in all of Equestria, eventually joined the Wonderbolts and is still with them today. Apple Bloom, the friend I mentioned earlier, had a more difficult time. With industrialization gripping the nation, the Apple family business collapsed. That, and poor ol’ Granny Smith finally clocking out, split the family. Apple Bloom and her big sister Applejack went to Appleloosa to live with their cousin, and last I heard, Big Macintosh was working right here in Manehattan as a bouncer for the Lucky Loony, one of the biggest watering holes in the city. I don’t know much about the others. Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy, and Pinkie Pie are all still in Ponyville. I know Fluttershy got married a while back to some pegasus named Windstopper. I know Spike, Twilight’s dragon, left a while back to enroll in the University of Draconia. Rarity is some sort of star in Los Pegasus; she and Sweetie Belle moved there a while back, way before I left Ponyville. That’s right. I left Ponyville nine years ago. My parents…well, they weren’t around much. Never were. And I never really cared. Not until Flim and Flam, those two charlatans with their super special awesome cider machine, bought out my father of our property so they could build some giant factory. I saw my house get razed by a dozen construction ponies, but I didn’t cry. I packed up what little I had left and hitchhiked across Equestria, but I didn’t cry. I watched my friends disappear, not knowing if I’d ever see them again, not knowing if ever a time would come when I would return… But I didn’t cry. I never cried. At least, nopony ever saw me cry. When I did cry, I made sure it was raining out, so that my tears could mix with the rainwater and so that nopony would know that Scootaloo, the Scootaloo, was capable of such an infantile emotional reaction as crying. People on the streets had other names for me. Scootalooter. Scootaloser. And, my personal favorite, Scoota-what’s-her-face-the-pegasus-in-the-hoodie-that-hangs-by-the-Carrot-Cake-building-every-day. It’s my personal favorite because I made it up. And it was true. The streets of Manehattan at that time were not safe, nor suitable for an adolescent mare such as myself. But you know what? I didn’t care. My parents had abandoned me. My house was gone. My friends were gone. I had nothing. Nopony. And yet I lived. I stole from the Cakes, and they never knew it was me. They, too, had been driven out of Ponyville by big business and tough times, and they made the mistake of coming to Manehattan, thinking they had a chance at doing well. They could not have been more wrong. At least they still had a roof over their heads, but with both of their kids in different colleges (Pound Cake at Cloudsdale Flight Academy, Pumpkin Cake at Fillydelphia Ponytechnic University,) they barely scraped by. Many nights saw me crouched in the alleyway, clutching my jacket and sweatshirt to keep my body and wings warm, hearing the muffled bellows of Mr. and Mrs. Cake, arguing about money. I felt that their relationship was going to end in one of two ways, neither of them being particularly pleasant. And yet I stole from them, I lived off them, and even though I cost them hundreds of bits for every cake I ripped from their shelves, I didn’t care. The alleyway became my home, my dirty, rotten, smelly, gut-wrenching home. It was a place for me to brood, to lament. When I wasn’t busting my wings over at Snorty’s marehouse, letting ugly fat mustangs do…things…to me, just so I could take their bits from their sweaty hooves and buy more sugarcube from the local dealer, Edge Sketch, I was in the alley. Shooting up on sugar, gripping myself in pain after the latest mustang’s wild romp with me, unwittingly, involuntarily reliving those moments in my head; the rhythmic grunts, the sweat, the smoke, my eyes shut tight, their filthy hooves running down my back… I threw up every night I had to do it. I didn’t want to. I hated it. But Snorty gave me good money, and as long as he got his share, he didn’t care who got their hooves on me. Every night was the same for me in that alley. The smells became progressively worse with the putrid odor of vomit and salty, tangy scent of tears. I began to cry even when it wasn’t raining. I cried at day. I cried at night. I cried the other day when I held up a unicorn at gunpoint, tears running down my face and staining my jacket as the revolver in my hooves trembled. The unicorn was very kind and got me to give up the gun; I think if I hadn’t cried, she would’ve used her horn and torn me apart with her magic. Now I had no food, no money (at least, none gained the way I wanted it to be gained,) and no gun. I liked that gun. I was one of the first to get a gun, back when they started getting really popular in Appleloosa. A genius by the name of Sharpshooter decided that it was time to put away the spears and swords and break out the heavy power. With the invention of guns, even more changes came. Gone were the armor-wearing, plume-helmeted royal guards; instead bulky bodyguards escorted President Freemane, their muscles bulging out of their bulletproof vests, their manes shaven, and their eyes hardened. I saw a few when Freemane went on his campaign tour in Manehattan. Even I was scared of them. But I’m getting off track. I had lost my gun, and in Lower Manehattan, especially around Colt Street, not having a gun was a death sentence into itself. The police ponies did what they could, but many of them were too scared to go after the rising number of griffons and wyverns that had taken residence in the Southern Slums, Lower Manehattan’s pet name. Other ponies were in the pockets of crime and drug lords, what with the exponential rise in sugarcube dealing, of which I was sadly engrossed in. Already my teeth were rotting and my orange skin was turning yellow. I felt like I was dying. Then again, when you live on the streets of the Southern Slums, you’re pretty much dead already. Oh, the tragic irony. How I would love to laugh, if I still could. It was raining the night he killed her. I was, as usual, sleeping off another horrible night after the marehouse. The customer, a fat pony named Bigbuck, had shown very little restraint. I was still bleeding between my legs by the time I got my pay from Snorty. The alley stank, I stank, my hooves were covered in rainwater and blood, and I felt miserable, not to mention jacked up on sugarcube, which I had tried to give up. BLAM. BLAM. I snapped up, the sound of the gunshots ringing in my ears. I’d heard shots before, but never this close. It sounded as if… As if they were coming from the building right next to me. I pulled my hoodie and jacket closer into me as I dashed out of the alley and into the decrepit cake store. There was Mr. Cake, standing over the dead body of his wife, holding a smoking pistol. His face, unshaven and weary, was a mixture of unchecked terror and uncertain satisfaction. The cakes nearby were covered in Mrs. Cake’s blood. Mr. Cake said nothing. He did not blink. He did not breathe. I knew I wasn’t dreaming. I knew it wasn’t the sugar that was making me see these things. Then he noticed me. His eyes went wide, and for a second I thought he was going to shoot me. But he didn’t. He merely slinked back into the shadows, pathetically… I had witnessed murder. I had heard of murders before, and I saw my share of tarp-covered cadavers being hauled away by Manehattan’s Finest. But I had just seen Mr. Carrot Cake, kindly ol’ Mr. Carrot Cake, murder his wife. In cold blood. I don’t think he even said anything. It was as if he walked up to his wife, grabbed her as if they were going to kiss, and put two bullets in her. I stood there stupidly, hearing the sound of a door slamming and a van screech off into the stormy night. The pool of blood around Mrs. Cake’s head grew wider, and I noticed for the first time the look of surprise on her face, wondering if she had tried to scream, and if that scream was now stuck in her throat, cold and dead as she was… I had no choice. I called the cops. Then I threw up. /*/*/*/ Detective Jack Hoover exited the police car with a rookie patrol pony just outside Cake Confectionaries on Colt Street. There had been a shooting. Wife dead, husband gone. It was a clean-cut case. There were a few black-and-whites outside the shop, coupled with a forensics van, but other than that there was nothing. Some stallion went crazy and blew away his mare. Was that really worth his time? The rookie, a unicorn that looked no older than eighteen, tried to keep pace with him. Hoover didn’t like rookies as partners, but the sergeant hadn’t given him a lot of choice. Now they sidled up to another officer, a gray pegasus with a lazy eye. “What’ve we got?” he said, his voice husky from smoking and drinking. “One dead mare,” said the officer. “Two gunshot wounds to the head. ID’d her as a Mrs. Carrot Cake, who owns the store with her husband.” “Who is…?” “Gone, but he left a note. I’ll show you when we get in.” “Who found the body?” Jack asked, pushing open the door to the cake shop. “Pegasus by the name of Scootaloo. Says she heard the shots and walked in on Mr. Cake with the gun. She’s over there.” The officer pointed to the far end of the room, past the tarpaulin-covered corpse, where two other officers were questioning an orange, purple-haired pegasus that wore a blue, stained jacket and thin gray hoodie. There were no tear marks down her cheeks, but Jack could tell by the way she held herself that she had been traumatized by the incident. At least, she had been traumatized by something. Jack walked over to her, stepping around the tarp-covered body, and once he caught her scent he immediately knew the girl was a hopo, a homeless pony. She had needle marks on her hooves and bruises on her face, and she smelled of sweat, dirt, and unhappiness. Jack sighed. This pegasus was one of the many hundreds of ponies out of work and homeless around Manehattan. Observing the needle marks again, he knew this girl’s testimony would be contested. Who would trust a sugar junkie? Seriously, who? “Miss Scootaloo?” he said in his calm detective voice. “I’m Detective Jack Hoover, and I was wondering…” “I told ‘em already,” the pegasus replied in a scratchy, boyish voice, and Jack saw in her eyes a look of utmost hatred. “Cake killed his wife. I saw it. They had tapes, check ‘em, I don’t want any cops…” “And why is that?” Hoover asked, pulling out his tape recorder. “Cops around here,” she muttered. “Everypony on the streets…dying, oh no, dying…” “Miss Scootaloo, are you alright?” “Yeah,” she said absentmindedly, an obvious lie. “I’ve been off the shug for a while now, and when you’re off the shug, things can happen. Bad things.” Her eyes rolled and she held herself tightly. Jack smirked. At least this girl was willing to admit she was a sugar addict. However, that meant that whatever she said could be contested in court. “Miss Scootaloo, run me through exactly what happened,” he said calmly. “…seeing things…Cake ran in…dictionary…oh, man, I love me some shug…” “Miss Scootaloo?” “Once upon a time…OCTAGONS!” she shrieked, startling everypony at the crime scene. Jack rolled his eyes and took the pegasus by the wing, dragging her outside in the rain. The water seemed to quiet the girl, who shook her head and began to cry, trying to mask her face in the shadow of her hoodie. Jack waited several minutes, and Scootaloo finally seemed to calm down. “Miss Scootaloo,” he shouted over the sound of rain and police activity, “are you alright?” She nodded wearily. “Good,” he said patiently, trying to squash the growing feeling of pity for this girl out of his stomach. “Now, come with me and tell me what happened.” “I was sleeping right there,” she hiccupped, pointing down the alley as they walked underneath an awning. “I got nowhere else to go, man. I hear the shots ‘n run in, and I see Cake standin’ over her, with’a gun.” “And you say the tapes will prove that? How did you know there was a camera?” “’Cause I stole from ‘em a lot,” she said, her eyes unfocused, and Hoover was surprised by her blatant honesty. “I got nowhere else to go. I lived offa ‘em. I woulda died if it weren’t for ‘em.” Observing her closer, Jack Hoover saw that the pegasus was missing several teeth and had a mean, runty look about her. Her hair was dirty and disheveled, and her eyes were bloodshot. Her words were slurred by her lack of teeth and her current state, and Jack felt the pity in his stomach grow tenfold. This girl didn’t deserve to be on the streets. She didn’t deserve any of this… “I think I know where he going next.” Hoover snapped to attention. “What?!” “He’s got kids. Two of ‘em. College ponies. But Fillydelphia Tech is out on break, right?” “How am I supposed to know that?” he began, but the rookie from earlier, who had been listening in, interrupted. “She’s right. My sis is at FPU and she’s out on break.” “Well, what does that have to do with anything?” Jack snapped, clearly annoyed. “His daughter, Cake’s daughter goes there, and they live in Ponyville,” Scootaloo said, and for a moment Jack thought he saw a roguish glint in the pegasus’s purple eyes, but a clap of thunder startled him, so much so that he barely caught the last bit of her sentence. “…killed her, then he’d kill the whole family.” “Why do you say that?” “I know these things,” she said resolutely, and Jack could tell that the sugar was no longer affecting her. “I grew up in Ponyville, and I’ve seen stuff like this happen in Manehattan. I put two and two together.” “That fast?” She shrugged, and Jack saw her in a new light. He shouldn’t have been listening to the ramblings of a street junkie, but something about Scootaloo’s words drew him in, made him trust her. A police officer showed him the bloodstained note by the body: I regret nothing “Maybe he won’t go back to kill his kids, but where else would he go if he can’t stay here?” That was it. That was the clicker for Jack Hoover, who smiled. He was going to get this girl off the streets. He was going to put him to work. \*\*\*\ So that’s how I ended up in Detective Hoover’s car on the way down to Ponyville. In any other situation, I would have found it mortifying, to be seen in the presence of a cop. That, as with so many things, was a death sentence in the Southern Slums. But you know what? I didn’t care. I felt happier than I had ever felt in my life. When they took me to the station they gave me a warm bed, warm food, and something to help with sugar withdrawal. They even washed my clothes (which I didn’t let them throw away, because they were the only things I managed to save from my old house.) Gone were the days of having to bust my butt (literally) for Snorty; I had told Jack about him and the next day he was in Equestria Ponytentiary. And I was going home. Back to Ponyville. Or so I thought. I’ll get there, don’t worry, but I’ve gotta explain some stuff first. When I finally managed to get away from the alley, they took me downtown to the police station, questioned me some more, and let me sleep off my sugar binge. After that Hoover and his boys got clearance to set up a raid on Ponyville, and that’s how I wound up in the passenger seat of Hoover’s car, followed closely by two police cars and a C.O.L.T. (Counterterrorism Operations, Logistics, & Tactics) team. I didn’t say anything. There was nothing to be said. I had already thanked Hoover profusely, but I could tell he still didn’t trust me. I could tell he was wary of me, and I didn’t blame him. Would you trust a junkie you had met on the street? Nevertheless, I wanted to engage him in conversation, but a crackle over the radio interrupted me. “All units, be advised, PVPD is reporting a suspect matching our description in a black 4-door heading northbound on I-10 towards your convoy, over.” Cake was running. We were gonna meet him halfway. Jack grabbed the radio. “This is Hoover to Herd One, Hoover to Herd One. Solid copy on that report?” “Roger, Hoover,” came the reply. “Have the C.O.L.T. truck hang back in case things get ugly. Myers, Hoofman, stay on my tail. We’re on I-10 southbound,” he said, addressing the previous radio caller. “Any idea when we’ll meet?” “Copy, Herd One, suspect is raging down the road. Expect him within two minutes, over.” “Two minutes?!” I cried. We were nowhere near Ponyville, and Cake had already fled. “You don’t think…” “No, I don’t,” he growled, cutting me off. “Cake is paranoid. He knows we’ve got the tapes. He knows we’ve got the note. He knows, that’s why he’s running.” I slid back in my seat. This was about to get wild. /*/*/*/ And wild, it did get. Detective Hoover had barely any time to register what was going on before a flaming hulk of metal and glass careened over the median onto I-10 southbound, clipping his car and sending it into a tailspin. When they got their bearings, Scootaloo looked sick to her stomach, but Hoover, wasting no time, took his Brigadier 9mm pistol from his holster and exited his car, shielding his eyes from the smoke of the wreck. The car was a fireball. There was no way Cake could have survived. The pursuing units pulled up to the side of I-10 northbound, preparing a roadblock. Smoke filled the air and the nostrils of everypony within a hundred yards. There was no way he could have survived. Hoover addressed one of the pursuing officers, who was wiping his brow free of sweat. “What happened?” “Lost control,” he gasped. “Went crazy. Flipped a coupla times, then he…” “GUN! GUN!” Hoover was firing before he knew what he was firing at, and he wasn’t the only one. The air filled with bullets, and the wreck scene became a battleground. Hoover finally saw the shooter, none other than Mr. Carrot Cake himself, covered in blood and ash, carrying a powerful-looking pistol. The officers opened fire, and Scootaloo hit the deck, nearly breaking her nose on the asphalt. Jack fired and fired, trying to reach his radio. He saw one of the officers go down, a flower of blood blossoming from his flank. Another had taken a bullet to the knee. It was a war zone. \*\*\*\ Had I known Mr. Cake was as crazy as he turned out to be, I would have spat in Jack Hoover’s face and gone back to my alley. Instead, I went along with him and found myself underneath a squad car, my eyes wet from crying, my ears ringing from the gunshots, caught in the crossfire. An officer fell next to me. He was boyish, a young unicorn with a badge-shaped cutie mark that was now red with blood. His pistol slid over to me, a black metal death-bringer. I risked a look over the squad car. The first thing I saw were his eyes, full of hatred, brimming with fury, as if everypony in the world had wronged him and he had set out to punish them. He fired carelessly, aimlessly, not caring who he hit, not caring for his own safety. I saw no pony in those eyes: I saw only demon, devil spawn, the wrath of a loathsome creature that thrived on hatred and gave not a single care for the lives it took in spreading scorn. It was the look of a murderous creature, the eyes of a horrid beast. He was no longer he, but it. It had clenched teeth like fangs, scruffy features like a mongrel, and a horrid complexion. It was a monster. I reached for the fallen pony’s pistol. There was a single bullet left. As shots erupted around me, as the world blew up around my ears, I took aim. I squeezed the trigger and watched as the flash of light lined itself up perfectly with the space between Mr. Cake’s eyes. /*/*/*/ “Cease fire! Cease fire!” Cake had fallen. Somepony had gotten a lucky shot off. Moving swiftly, checking on injured officers as he went, Hoover made his way to the gunman, his Brigadier still drawn. As the smoke from the wreck began to clear, he caught sight of Cake, lying spread-eagled on the ground, a perfectly round hole smack-dab between his wide eyes. Blood leaked from the hole and pooled in the whites of his eyes, turning them red. His mouth was open, as if he were screaming, and Hoover shuddered with the thought that this pony had died with a scream trapped in his throat, never to be released. Cake was dead. Feeling no remorse, Hoover slapped the nearest officer on the back. “Nice shot, officer.” “Uh, detective, I didn’t…” “It was her.” He turned around and saw Scootaloo standing stock-still, the pistol still in her shaking hooves, tears in her eyes. Slowly she lowered the pistol and collapsed to her knees. Hoover abandoned his ambivalence of the girl and ran to her side. “Scootaloo? You alright?” She looked at him with tear-stained eyes and began to sob. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, only moving when the paramedics and firefighters arrived and when the lifeless body of Mr. Carrot Cake was zipped up in a body bag and taken away. She threw up as the sun went down, but Jack was always by here side. Traffic had begun to flow again, slowly, as police, firefighters, paramedics, and reporters flooded that stretch of highway. Jack knew he would have to answer for what she did, but at the moment he could care less. He comforted the pegasus, trying his best to soothe her. “That was one heck of a shot,” he said, not sure if it was the right thing to say. “Where’d you learn?” Wiping away her tears, she lifted the top of her pants away from her skin, exposing her flank: her cutie mark was a pair of crossed pistols, old-fashioned six-shooters. She smiled grimly. “We need good shots, Scootaloo, and I know you don’t like where you are now,” Hoover said, choosing his words carefully. “I can make it up to you. How would you like to work for me, as a junior detective?” He had expected her to say no, to walk away and never talk to him again. He had not expected her to hug him tightly and say, with the sincerest of voices, “I would love to.” The evening became night, and the number of police and reporters dwindled, but, sitting on the side of the highway, two ponies began new lives. This would not be the last time they would find themselves in the crossfire, but whatever came next, they would be ready for. They would be ready for the end.
