Crossfire

Return 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.