Masks

Chapters

Prologue
1. Silk
2. Monochrome
"Masked Mystery Mare: Return of the Vigilantes" by Dead Line
3. Film
4. Fans and Fanatics
5. Crumble

Prologue

Manehattan. A city of sin. A city of hope, of depravity. A city of masks. Its jagged skyline rising far above the ocean to one side and the suburbs to the other like a predators jaw. A predator waiting for the innocent, for the good, for a feast. The beast waits behind its mask throughout the day, donning a different mask when the sun sinks beneath the horizon. But I have seen the face of the city, It is made up of thousands of other faces, faces of the streetwalkers, the addicts, the muggers, the two-bit gangsters, the monsters. I will make the City look upon my face, and I will make it fear me.

The wind screams in my ears, the traffic screams far below. I slowly open my eyes and look upon the city. From above the city is marvellous, the streets lit, the cars weaving, the ponies walking. I look down as the pavement far below rushes to meet me. I roll my shoulders, daring the city to make its move. At the last moment I panic and pull my leg back. Of course I do. The City does not fear me yet. I throw my foreleg out, hurling the heavy metal hook. I feel it crash onto the ledge of the high-rise across the street. And I feel the force of my fall as the rope pulls taut. The force of my fall pivots around the hook, swinging me through traffic at breakneck speeds. For a moment I squint into the bright lights of an automobile, grit my teeth at the stench of gasoline and the blaring horn. But I clear the car.

As I continue to rise, weightless, I crack the rope, releasing the hook from its perch. The line retracts into the small box on my shoulder, the curved metal harpoon pressed against the metal ring near my hoof. I'm nearing the peak, I can feel myself slowing, my sweatshirt flapping in the air. I glare down upon the city below, scouring the rooftops for the one I'd spotted moments before from the tower's ledge high above. I reach the peak of my flight, and for one fleeting moment nothing is moving. Not me, not the cars below, not my targets on the rooftop three blocks away, and not their victim, crouching and searching for an escape. And then I begin to fall. And they begin to move. My victims stepping closer. Their victim backing away.

I wrench my body through a backflip to face down once more. I swing my foreleg out again, launching the hook towards another ledge. I fall towards the street once more, the cord pulling on my shoulder. I swing towards the next roof, every leap bringing me closer to them.

Two more buildings and I'm flying up towards the lip of the roof.

"Trust me Silk, we didn't want it to come to this..." the largest of the three stallions is saying as he stalks forward.

The loud thud causes all of the ponies on the roof to freeze. Their victim, Silk, looks at my masked face with a mixture of terror and hope. His attackers all turn to me with looks of fury.

"Well, well, well." The lead stallion is speaking again as I weigh my options. "What have we got ourselves here boys?"

"Dunno boss," one of the others chimes in, "but those things on her legs look expensive."

"How'd she get up here anyways?" the third wonders. "Maybe she-" his theory is lost in a gurgle as my hoof connects with his throat. I whip my head towards the second stallion as he begins to move, only now realizing the shortcomings of using a ski mask to hide my identity as the black wool blocks the other two stallions from view. I crouch back to avoid his first punch and pounce forward while he is off balance. I land across his shoulder pressing his foreleg against him. Raising my forelegs to deliver a haymaker to the pony's spine I feel teeth clench around my tail. In a moment of panic I buck with both of my back legs, feeling one connect with a jaw. To my dismay the stallion does not release me. Grunting in pain and rage the muscular thug drags me back and off of his compatriot. He tosses me away and I land heavily several feet from the attackers.

"Well," the uninjured stallion begins, "she's fast."

The third stallion glares at me while massaging his throat, "I hadn't noticed," he spits sarcastically.

"She's undisciplined," The large stallion growls as he glances around the roof. Pushing myself to my hooves, I watch warily as the two smaller stallions stare back; but the first walks away to a rubbish pile. My eyes widen in fear as he turns back to me with a segment of metal pipe clenched in his bruised jaws.

Have to move faster, otherwise there won't be a third chance, I reprimand myself.

As the stallions once again begin to approach, I throw a glance at Silk. He's remained still, crouched in a corner shaking with fear throughout the whole fight. I absentmindedly wonder why these stallions cornered him on the roof while I crouch slightly in anticipation of the attack. The second stallion is the first to move, lurching forward and drawing his hoof up to deliver a punch. Seizing the chance, I dart forward and strike his foreleg just before it swings forward, bending his leg further back. He grimaces in pain and pulls his head back, revealing his chest for my second attack. As he leans forward, doubling over in pain, I strike down on the base of his neck and he drops to the ground gasping in agony. I look up to see the large stallion charging with the pipe still held tightly in his jaws. I jump backwards, away from the stallion on the ground, away from my attackers, and away from Silk, now watching in awe.

The stallion charges forward, barrelling across his floored comrade and turning his neck to one side in preparation for a ferocious swing.

You’re supposed to meet the girls in the morning, I think suddenly. What will they think if you show up with a broken neck?

I have no time to ponder the thought as the mountain of a pony is upon me. I see his eyes blazing with fury, as his head begins to move in a deadly arc. I do the only thing I can, and flatten myself to the floor as low as I can. I feel the wind from the pipe as it rushes past, inches above my spine. Without thinking I bolt up, slamming my head into the underside of his jaw, and carry through with all the force I can muster. I hear him shout in pain and surprise, and I hear the pipe clatter to the ground beside me. He staggers away but I don't follow him, instead flinging myself at the pipe, coming up with it now firmly grasped in my jaws. I swing as he charges again, striking his jaw for the third time. This time I feel it give way. He is tossed to the side and only three ponies remain standing on the roof.

The final stallion and I eye each other warily. I am tired, but he just watched me strike down his companions. Eventually he runs towards me as his partners had. I bolt forward, pulling my head to one side. I swing long before he is in range and see the confusion in his face for a fleeting moment before I open my mouth, and let the pipe sail into his legs. He goes down in a jumbled, bruised, and swearing pile.

I do not stop to savor my victory as my first assailant has begun to stand. I sprint toward Silk. "Run!" I shout. My voice jars him out of his paralyzed state. He begins to move away towards the edge of the building, and I notice for the first time he is favoring his right leg. They must have gotten to him before I arrived. I overtake him and throw a foreleg over his shoulders to guide him to the lip of the roof.

"Down!" I bark as I force him over the lip to the fire escape. We make it down three floors before I hear the first clangs above, signalling that the stallions had begun to follow. I fear they will catch us. Only one of them is limping, and he won’t slow the others down. My fear is multiplied tenfold when I hear a gunshot from above as the railing to our right sparks and clangs. Only one chance.

I turn to Silk and growl, "Grab onto my neck, and don't let go." He looks at me in confusion but does as I say. The second gunshot strikes the platform just above us, ricocheting past and into the night. I climb onto the railing and glance down at the city spread below, and for a moment I hear it laughing at my foolishness. I lean forward and we begin to fall.

1. Silk

This city is completely insane, Detective Roseluck thought as she stalked away from the two cowering stallions. It's not even four in the morning and ponies are getting in brawls and jumping off rooftops.

The crimson-haired mare walked to the corner of the roof furthest from the two battered ponies as the other two officers on the roof double checked their bodies for life-threatening injuries and their stories for consistency. Rose turned up the collar of her trenchcoat and glared down at the city as she removed her phone from an inside pocket.

The phone only rang twice before the other pony picked up. "Thanks for the great case, chief. There's no way two officers could do this without a detective," she began sarcastically.

The police chief sounded tired as he answered. "Roseluck, this is the kind of thing you love.”

Rose feigned concern. "Oh dear, I didn't wake you up, did I?"

The chief wasn’t playing along. "Rose, I know it’s early, but you’re not admitting to sleeping on duty are you? That would mean I’d have to take disciplinary action. Neither of us want that, do we?"

Rose narrowed her eyes and remained silent for several seconds before finally replying. “No.”

“Good, now why did you call? Something about the case being beneath you?”

"Chief, this case is straightforward. I didn't need to be assigned to this. Two of Ice Pick's boys were beating up some poor sap on a roof, and some crazy mare decided climbing up and getting involved was a good idea. After she gave them a thrashing, she jumped off the fire escape and the pony they were assaulting ran away. Dumb idea, but it's no mystery."

"Rose, there's something they’re not telling us. We looked up the one running out the front from the security camera footage. He's one of Ice Pick's boys, too."

The detective’s eyes widened as her mind raced ahead, still staring out over the city. "So that must mean..." she trailed off.

The chief sighed. "Rose, if you're doing that thing where you stare into the middle ground and run off without explaining whatever you realized, it’s not the same if I’m not -" the phone snapped shut, and Roseluck spun around.

She darted across the roof and stepped down on the closest thug's foreleg, causing him to cry out in pain. "Rose!" the nearby officer shouted, "What are you-"

"Shh!" she replied without looking. "Now, tell me again who you were fighting with before your masked friend appeared."

"We-we were fightin' with a stallion, big an' bulky. He-he was wh-white w-with a b-blue mane an-" the stallion cried out again as she applied more pressure to his injured leg.

The officer started towards Rose, but she waved him off for a second time.

"No." She growled, "You weren’t fighting him. He was helping you attack someone else. Who was it?"

"What? I-I told you!" the pony stammered.

"No. You told us that the pony who ran downstairs was your target. But he's with you. We know it. Who. Was. The. Target?" she demanded, leaning harder on his leg with every word.

The stallion screamed. "Alright! Alright!" She slowly relieved the pressure from his foreleg. "It was some unicorn, built like a sprinter! We chased 'im all the way 'ere from a place in Li'l Windsoar. All I know is boss called 'im 'Silk.' Please, let me go!"

Rose released his leg with a final push, rolling him unceremoniously into a heap. There's only one Silk I know who has a place in Little Windsoar, Rose thought, with a surge of excitement. "What color was he?" she asked the second criminal, moving towards him.

"He was red! He was red! With a scalpel and needle for his mark!" The stallion cried, cringing away from her.

Rose smirked and turned to the officers on the roof. The policeponies looked back at her disapprovingly. "How was I supposed to know that that one had the hurt legs? I thought this one just had the head injury." The detective continued grinning as she walked to the stairwell. "You two can take care of this right? I'm going to talk to a witness." Roseluck waited until the elevator door closed to pull out her cell phone, making sure there was no camera inside the elevator. At least I know Silk should still be awake.

Silk Moth was doing his best to remain calm as he ran down another alley, wondering if he'd already run in a circle by accident or needed to circle back again in case he was still being followed. Better safe than sorry, he thought to himself, turning a hard right into an identical alley. He'd been running for thirty minutes now. Thirty minutes since that mare had rescued him from the rooftop. Thirty minutes since she'd jumped from the fire escape and used some kind of hook to swing to safety. Thirty minutes since she took a look at his leg in the alley, nodded at him, and sprinted away into the night. He stopped at the next intersection of alleys and leaned against an aging brick wall. Panting heavily, the stallion tried to catch his breath and inspect his injured leg. Looks like it's just a sprain, better double check when I get somewhere safe. I'll have to – Silk's head snapped up when a raindrop splashed against his snout. He glared up at the city, at the oppressive buildings stretching high above the ground, blotting out the sky. He glared up at the night, at the dark clouds that had finally decided to let loose their burden as if to spite him.

Of course it's raining, he thought angrily. Otherwise this city would have missed a chance to screw with me. Silk started down the alley again, at a slower pace; and after ten minutes he found himself back out on an actual road. Wow, I didn’t think I ran that far, he thought, taking his bearings and whistling aloud at the distance he'd covered. Little Neighjing's not too far from here. I guess that's where I'm spending tonight. He trotted down the road as casually as possible, wincing slightly when stepping on his sprained leg.

It took him another twenty minutes to reach the outskirts of Little Neighjing, and another ten to follow a convoluted path through half a dozen markets and two temples. Assuring himself that he had lost any potential pursuers by now, Silk stepped through the door of a convenience store. The clerk greeted him in his native language without taking his eyes off of the shelf he was restocking. When Silk returned the greeting in flawless Manedarin he looked over. The elderly clerk beamed at the stallion, nodded, and then went back to what he was doing. Silk had befriended the old stallion years before, and had been using the back door of the shop to reach his safe house undetected for quite some time. Trotting through the storeroom Silk had a moment to contemplate what had happened tonight, and what the appearance of his savior entailed.

Are Vigilantes really going to make a comeback? he mused as he eased the back door open and scanned the dark alley way. Or is it just one madmare with a death wish? Silk stole down the unlit path, hoping the rain would let up soon, and stopped against a fence. Checking once more if the alleyway was clear, he quickly clambered over the fence and dropped to the other side, grimacing as he landed on his wounded leg. He took a moment to examine his surroundings and ensure nothing was out of the ordinary. The yard was still cast into darkness by the canopy of thick branches formed by a single tree, the haphazard arrangement of decaying stone statues were still in place, the stepping stones remained unused. He tread silently across the thick uncut grass, careful to avoid the stepping stones, up onto the back porch of the two story oriental building squatting unassumingly between a laundromat and much larger apartment complex. Examining the ivy climbing the back wall to ensure it had not been tampered with, he quickly used his magic to remove the key from its hiding place inside the door-frame itself and let himself in before returning the key to its resting place and locking the door behind him.

Silk leaned against the door and sighed, finally feeling safe. He hurried to ensure the curtains were all drawn and the doors were all bolted before making his way to the living room. I suppose I should make some coffee, he thought. No point trying to sleep if they might still be searching. He stopped for a moment in the living room to turn up the thermostat in the hopes he could banish the cold that seemed to permeate through his entire being thanks to the rain. He quickly summoned his cellphone from the magical void he stored it in and set it on the coffee table, before walking to the small kitchenette. Searching his cabinets he found only enough expired ground to make two or three cups of coffee and decided it would have to do. He set the pot to brew and leaned on his counter.

He surveyed the small building; opposite the kitchenette was a narrow hallway leading to a reinforced door with two deadbolts, and off to another side was the steep staircase leading to the second floor, which consisted of a single bedroom. The living room was a small square room, with a single window looking out at the wall of the laundromat, a lowered section in the middle containing a single chair, a sofa, and a glass coffee table. A television lay gathering dust in one corner as he'd never bothered to outfit all of his safe houses with cable.

A loud burst of electronic noise had him jumping into the air with his hair standing on end. Swearing as he landed on his injured leg he realized it was just his cellphone's ringer. Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart he glanced at the clock on the microwave. Three forty-five. I'll just pretend I was asleep and missed it. Nopony could find that suspicious. Grimacing at his leg, Silk headed upstairs towards his bedroom, where his medical supplies were stashed in a closet. Throwing the sliding door open, he pushed the pristine suits aside and opened the smaller hatch hidden in the back. Pulling out a first aid kit and a bottle of pills, he sat on the edge of the bed. Glancing at the label to ensure the painkillers had not yet expired, he took two before re-sealing the bottle. Next he pulled out a roll of bandages and a piece of cloth before returning the supplies to their hiding place.

Walking down the stairs he was surprised to find his phone ringing again. "Someone’s determined," Silk muttered. Trotting back into the kitchen, he ran the cloth through cold water in the sink and placed it in the freezer nearby. The phone ceased its cacophony for a few seconds, before the caller tried again. Fine! You have my attention, he thought angrily.

Glancing at the caller ID he was surprised to see Detective Roseluck's face smiling up at him. It had been far too long since he’d seen that in person. No way she's calling about the roof. Even if she's on duty, Rose would never be awake and working at four in the morning. Steeling himself, Silk levitated the phone to his ear and slid it open.

"Rose! How long has it been? Two weeks? Three? You're not already investigating me again, are you?" he began jovially.

"You know me, just like to keep you on your hooftips," Came the joking reply. "I have to say, I thought I would have woken you up, but you sound pretty energetic."

"Well, I was having trouble sleeping. Night terrors I think." Not technically a lie.

"Those night terrors of yours wouldn't happen to involve three of Ice Pick's men, a rooftop, and a madmare in a mask would they?"

Silk froze for several seconds. "What do you know?"

"I know that both parties I've talked to so far tonight tried to keep your involvement a secret, and that makes me think I have to come talk to you. Which of your little hidey-holes are you in?"

Silk sighed. "The one near the north bridge. You know, the one in Little Neighjing."

"Oh, and hide whatever they've got you pushing, I don't want a chat between friends to turn into a drug bust," she added.

"You know I don't do that anymore Rose," he replied, feigning an emotional slight, while pulling a bag of heroin from its hiding place under the sink.

Rose took her time going to find Silk. She knew he was paranoid and wouldn't be too happy if she pulled up in his driveway fifteen minutes after their call. To set his nerves at ease, she decided to park her unmarked and beaten car in an overnight lot on the fringes of Little Neighjing so she could walk the rest of the way. She stood for a moment by her car, tightening her scarf and trench-coat, and pulling the brim of her hat tightly down to keep rain from her eyes before locking the door and walking away.

Little Neighjing was one of her favorite parts of the city, because it didn't feel like the rest of the city. She paused for a moment, looking up at the strings of lanterns and banners across the road at the haphazard array of buildings all built like oriental temples climbing higher as they moved away from her. And the lights. Everything from ornamental gates to balconies and banners had lanterns and lights adorning them. The rain had forced many of the inhabitants indoors leaving the streets abandoned save for reflected lights rippling in puddles. With a slight grin Roseluck began her journey.

It took her twenty minutes to find a street she actually recognized, though she probably could have done it in ten if she hadn't stopped for takeout. Wandering through the labyrinth of crowded buildings and narrow streets, she eventually came across the road she knew Silk lived off of. She trotted down and past the apartment complex she recognized as Silk's neighbor. Turning she found a cast iron fence blocking the small path to his tiny home. Carefully opening the gate with her hooves she stepped into his yard and looked around. Making direct eye contact with a stone statue of a dragon, and the camera she knew to be hidden inside, she walked to his front porch. Balancing the containers on her back, she turned and hammered the door with a front leg.

She heard the stallion inside trotting down the hallway. "Who is it?" came Silk's patronizing voice.

Roseluck shot a withering glance at the nearest statue, "You know damn well who it is."

"Fine, fine." The sound of several deadbolts being drawn back drifted from inside.

Rose pushed past him as soon as the door was open, desperate to escape the rain. "Got some takeout. Lo mein, your favorite," she said as he levitated the containers from her back. She carefully placed her scarf, coat, and hat on the coat rack standing to one side of the door, but kept her holster in place.

"Where did you get takeout at this hour?" Silk asked incredulously as he bolted the door once more.

"Some place just down the road, has some otters on the sign. Cute place," she replied, leading the way down the hallway to the living room.

Silk knew the restaurant. "Really? You didn't find the place at all shady?"

"Oh yeah." Rose laid down on the couch. "I think a stallion was selling cocaine in the corner. But other than that it was pretty nice."

Sinking into the chair opposite her, the stallion levitated one of the containers across the table to her. "Coffee?" he asked, gesturing to the styrofoam cups sitting on the table. "I have to warn you, it'll be awf –" he watched in wonder as Roseluck downed the expired coffee without so much as a grimace.

"You think that's bad? You should try the stuff they brew at the station this early." She opened the container of noodles. "So, tell me about the roof, Silk."

"Well," Silk began, magically separating the chopsticks on the side of the container, "I had a feeling they'd be sending someone around to 'talk' with me, so when –"

"Why?" Rose interrupted without looking up from her noodles or the chopsticks she was so dexterously maneuvering with her hoof.

"I've recently entered a new agreement with the Ironclads. They wanted to start moving medical supplies in addition to weapons, and needed me to ensure there wasn't a problem. In return, I get enough supplies to keep my practice open. Ice Pick can't do it as efficiently, and he's quickly losing turf, so I severed my agreement with him. He wasn't too happy about this."

Rose nodded for him to continue. "I came home last night and saw a few stallions hanging around my place in Little Windsoar. They looked like Glaciers, so I ran. Took a wrong turn somewhere in the alleys and ended up running through the backdoor of some apartment complex. They chased me up to the roof, and –"

"Is this before or after they got your leg?" Rose interrupted again. She looked up at his surprised expression and added, "You were limping a bit in the hallway. Looks like it's just a sprain, but you're the doctor."

"I sprained it running up the stairs. I've got a cold compress chilling in the freezer right now. Do you want the rest of the story or not?"

"Yes, of course. Continue."

"They had me pretty well cornered when the mare dropped in. I mean that literally, she dropped out of the sky right behind them. She thrashed the thugs, with a bit of luck. She had the element of surprise, but she's no fighter. We made a break for the fire escape but the leader pulled a gun I think, so she told me to get on her back. I assumed she was trying to get me off my leg. That's when she jumped. She had these– these boxes on her shoulders. They must have had a spool of cable because they connected to some kind of grappling hook she threw at a building and swung us into an alley. And then she just ran off."

Rose looked up from her empty takeout box. "She just left you there? After fighting three goons who are hired only because they're good in a fight, she left you alone?"

"Yeah, maybe she was worried I'd ask who she was or something."

"Well, I'm trying to track down two ponies tonight. The big stallion who attacked you and got away, and the masked one. Any idea who either of them are?"

"Other than being able to tell you the big guy was a local and an earth pony, no, I can’t tell you much. I didn't hear his name and I'd never seen him before. I can't even tell you what species the masked mare was. She wore a sweatshirt to hide her back and a hat that could hide a horn. Though come to think of it, she didn’t use any magic. Doesn’t mean much, though."

"Damn." Rose glared at the wall. "Well, you were in Ironclad territory. Was she one of them? They don't exactly get along with Ice Pick, and it sounds like they want to keep you healthy."

"Since when have the Ironclads hired ponies? No, it wasn't them, they'd have sent someone here by now. I heard that Griffon-Changeling team is back in town, the one from Talongrad. Maybe it was them. What's the changeling’s name? Aleksi?"

"No, if it was them we wouldn’t even have this much to work with. Besides, why would a changeling need to wear a mask?" Rose asked as she placed the emptied container on the table.

"Maybe one of those 'Starbursts' or whatever that new unicorn gang is calling themselves?"

"No way they'd mess with someone like Ice Pick already. They're nothing yet. Plus she didn't use any magic, you said."

The two ponies sat in silence, sipping their coffee and racking their brains for a long while before Silk spoke up again. "I know a Private Eye who can dig up info on our masked friend. Someone must have gotten a picture."

"Well, I guess the only thing to do is wait until tomorrow morning. I'll crash –" Both ponies looked to the back door as the sound of stone grinding on stone signalled the approach of a pony on the rigged stepping stones.

Silk looked back to Rose only to find she had already dropped to the floor and drawn her pistol. Carefully treading to the kitchen she silently moved to the light switch. Flicking off the lights she pulled back the curtains on the window and peered out into the yard. She saw nothing. Must be hiding in the bushes. Rose considered using the back door, but decided on taking the front and circling around. Stepping outside, she crouched low and, still holding her weapon in front of her, the detective crawled around the house and surveyed the backyard.

There, near the stone lantern. She spotted a dark shape moving in the bush. Tightening her grip on the revolver she crept around the yard until she could see the intruder’s back. Too big to be a pony. She snuck forward. The trespasser froze. So did Rose. She saw a silhouetted head come up, framed by the light from a store across the street. Diamond dog, Rose realized, seeing the shortened snout and collar. She held her breath as the dog sniffed the air. The head began to turn towards her and Rose acted. She sprung forward. The dog's body whipped to face her. She saw paws come up to catch her.

The paws connected just below her forelegs, knocking the wind out of her. She was close enough to smell his breath. Glaring into her eyes the diamond dog grinned. He kept grinning as the pistol slammed into the side of his head. And he kept grinning as he fell to the ground unconscious. Rose stood up and looked at the fallen diamond dog for a moment.

"Silk!" Rose called out towards the house, "help me get this inside!"

Silk opened the back door and ran out only to stop in his tracks. "Rose, you want to bring that inside my home!?"

"Him, Silk. They have feelings. Well, usually," She replied, putting her head against the fallen dog’s side and pushing towards the house. "We can't just let him go, I need to have a talk with him. Hopefully one more civilized than our last."

"And where are we going to put him?" Silk asked, taking his place beside Rose and pushing. "This safehouse doesn't exactly have a basement or panic room like some others."

"Anything in your fridge?"

"What?" Silk looked alarmed.

"We'll just unplug it and cram him in there. we'll poke some holes in the lining so he won’t suffocate. I've got some handcuffs, but we should probably grab some duct tape too." Rose stared impatiently at Silk as he resignedly lifted the diamond dog from the ground.

Silk sighed as they dragged the unconscious form across the threshold. "Fine, you unplug the fridge, I'll go grab a knife and some duct tape." Silk made his way to the stairs but stopped and looked back at Rose. "Do you think he has something to do with the Glaciers from earlier?"

"I'd bet money they have something to do with it. But I don't think they were just there because Ice Pick's mad at you. Call your P.I. in the morning. I'm staying on your couch tonight."

2. Monochrome

A sudden burst of noise woke Monochrome with a start. Panicking, her eyes shot around the darkened room looking for the source of the disturbance. Finally, as her heart rate slowed, she traced the cacophony to the phone lying on the floor. Sighing, she got up from her desk and walked over to it. Guess last night took more out of me than I thought, she thought, realizing she had passed out in her office instead of the adjoining bedroom.

She reached out with her magic and levitated the phone to her ear, pressing the answer button with her cheek. "Hello?”

"Monochrome, I have a job for you," the stallion’s voice came from the other end. He was whispering.

The mare frowned. "Who is this?"

"It's Silk." The voice sounded surprised.

"Oh. Okay, what do you need?"

"Last night I was attacked, and –"

"You want me to figure out who did it. On it." Monochrome needed to hurry, she was probably late for breakfast as it was. "It'll just be the usual –"

"No;" Silk cut her off, "I need you to figure out who intervened. She was wearing a mask and a sweatshirt, so I don't even know what race she was. Someone had to see her, she was using hooks to swing all around town."

"You want me to track down a Vigilante, with nothing more than she had some hooks? This is going to cost extra."

"Fine, whatever it takes, I just – Rose! What are you doing!?" a yelp came from the background. "Rose! Put that – Monochrome, I trust your judgement. I have to go."

"What was –" The line went dead. Fine, I need to get going anyways.

Monochrome trotted into her bedroom and into the connected bathroom. She glanced at the mirror and her dishevelled reflection glared back. Levitating a brush to straighten her white mane, she used a hoof to flatten any rough patches on her light gray coat. She exhaled to smell her own breath and was only slightly surprised to still smell whatever she'd been drinking last night. She poured a cup of mouthwash and took in the rest of her appearance. Her yellow eyes had bags under them but there was nothing she could do about that now, and the dark gray streak in her mane was ragged. She spat the liquid into the sink and made for the door, grabbing her saddlebags on the way.

She paused at the front door to her office, examining the room. The office consisted of nothing more than her desk sitting some distance from the door, a dozen filing cabinets placed against the walls, and a corkboard with information regarding her current case pinned to it. Everything was in shades of gray, including the corkboard. Even the photographs on the board were in black and white. She liked it that way. She trotted to the door and put her hoof on the door knob reading the letters stencilled on the glass from behind. "MONOCHROME SUNSET, INVESTIGATOR INTO ALL MATTERS BOTH PUBLIC AND PRIVATE" written in block capitals above a stylised image of a sun sinking below the horizon, her cutie mark. Using her magic, she quickly picked up her watch, black hat, and dark grey trench-coat before steeling herself for the Manehattan morning cold.

Squinting into the light as she opened the door and emerged onto the street, she turned and began to trot towards the cafe she'd be meeting the girls at. Hopefully my appearance won't worry them, she thought as the cafe came into view. Seeing her friends had already found their usual table, she quickly made her way to the outdoor seating area and dropped into the empty chair.

She took the moment to examine her friends. Film Reel, the earth pony with a beige coat and perpetually dishevelled orange mane held her gaze from under her black fedora, marking her as a member of the press. She looked tired, but comfortable in her dark windbreaker. Dead Line, the sky-blue pegasus, looked out from under her sea-green mane with excited eyes.

"Sorry I'm late," Monochrome began. "I had a long night."

"It's fine, Chrome. I was a bit late too," Film started to say. "But wait until -"

“Chrome! You will not believe what Film got on camera last night!” Dead Line interrupted, beaming widely.

Film Reel rolled her eyes at her friend before continuing, “Line, I thought we were waiting until the paper got here to show her.”

The pegasus looked down sheepishly, “Sorry, this is all just so exciting.”

“Show me what? What did you catch on camera?” Monochrome asked confusedly.

Film sighed. “Well, I guess we’ll tell you while we wait for the delivery. Last night I was out photographing the crowds and decided what I really needed was a shot from up on the roof of one of the apartment buildings. So, after a brief climb, I was on the fire escape of an older apartment building trying to get a picture of the crowd, when I heard a stallion screaming. So, naturally I looked over. Take a look at these.” The photographer reached into her jacket’s pocket and placed several photographs on the table.

Monochrome’s eyes widened as she studied the pictures. The first and most prominent was a picture of a mare in a gray sweatsuit, boots on all four hooves, a ski mask, and a large ballcap falling from the side of a building, with another pony on her back. The mare was throwing what appeared to be a grappling hook attached to her foreleg. The next picture was from above as the pair swung through an arc stories above the street, and the final was from behind as the two flew off towards an alley.

“Film, these are… outstanding. They’re all framed and focused perfectly, and she must have been a fast-moving target.” They almost look like they were set up beforehand, Monochrome added silently.

“Well that is my special talent,” Film replied beaming and showing off the roll of film adorning her flank.

“Wait, you said you wanted to wait until the paper got here, are you saying you already got these published?” Monochrome asked incredulously.

“Yep!” Dead Line was bouncing again. “I was out with a few friends but Film called me as soon as she had the pictures, so we called the paper and told them we had just found something important that we could get done for the mornings paper and be at least an issue ahead of any other paper!” The pegasus took a deep breath in to continue, “So we worked on it almost all night and got it in just in time!”

“You got an entire article done in just a few hours?” Monochrome stared in wonder at the journalist. She knew her friend was good, but that was amazing.

Dead Line’s smile got even wider. “I was already down near the museum, so we got there as fast as possible to take a look at the Vigilante exhibit and used a lot of that, the editor loved it!”

I’ll need to check that out myself. Maybe it has something I can use to find this masked mare. “Do you have any idea who it was behind the mask or where they were going?”

Both of her friends’ smiles faltered. Film spoke up, “No, I wasn’t in a good position to follow her, and she swung around a corner, so I lost her.”

Monochrome nodded, “That’s a shame, I was just hired to find her.”

Dead Line frowned, “Really? By who?”

“One of the ponies who saw her rescue that stallion from the roof,” Monochrome lied. Stupid, why would you tell them you were hired for that?

“Makes sense,” Film Reel replied. “I figured I wasn’t the only pony who saw them falling. Also good to know that what I thought was a gunshot actually was, now at least the articles isn’t a string of us guessing what was happening.”

Monochrome was on the verge of asking them to help her track down any information on the mare when a waiter walked over to the table, signifying the cafe had finally opened for business. Monochrome decided it would be better to keep this job between her and the client, and ordered her usual breakfast: an omelette with sunflower, a cup of coffee, and a cinnamon roll.

She asked her friends about work, and they asked about hers. She’d been following up on a warehouse break-in a week ago that the cops had said didn’t have enough evidence to work with. She wasn’t willing to admit it, but she barely had enough to tie it to one of Manehattan’s many gangs. The nature of the stolen goods led her to suspect the griffon gang known as the Ironclads, but beyond that she had nothing for her client.

Dead Line told them that her next article was going to be a large piece on several of the city’s gangs and how far their influence spread. Both of her friends volunteered to help her get pictures and evidence for the piece before she even asked, and Monochrome urged her to publish under a pseudonym for her safety.

Eventually their meal came to an end and they said their goodbyes, as they all had other engagements for the afternoon and needed to prepare. Film went back to her crowd photography to prepare for another article, Dead Line went to the library to begin her research, and Monochrome went to the warehouse to investigate her case.

Hours later, Monochrome found herself sitting alone outside another restaurant. She reclined in her chair with a newspaper in hoof, looking as innocent as possible while pretending to eat her food and read Dead Line’s article on Vigilantes. In reality she was watching the warehouse down the street.

Monochrome was waiting for the thief to reappear. Both she and her employer expected another break-in tonight. It had been nearly two weeks since anything went missing, which either meant it would happen soon, or it was over. Monochrome knew nothing like this ever ended in Manehattan. Not without a serious change.

And so Monochrome found herself sitting in front of the Labyrinth Bar and Grill, a place she detested. She knew plenty of criminals frequented the cafe to talk business in a place no one would risk making a scene. For the same reasons they liked it, she hated it. It was too exposed for her liking. She couldn't cover her back and watch the building at the same time, and that made her nervous. The Minotaur bartender who glared at her until she ordered more than a cup of coffee didn't ease her nerves either.

The P.I. cast another glance down the street at the warehouse and saw once again that nothing had changed. She sighed.It’s almost midnight. Looks like nothing’s happening tonight, maybe we’ll be luckier in a few days. Monochrome called out to one of the nearby waiters for her check and folded the still unread newspaper next to her plate.

She paid with exact change, turned up the collar of her coat, and walked out onto the street. Monochrome began the journey to her car, a block and a half away. As she was passing the warehouse across the street something caught her eye. A truck was pulling around the corner towards the loading bay.I didn’t think there were any shipments in or out tonight, she thought.

She knew better than to simply charge in. Either these were legitimate workers and wouldn’t want to be bothered by a crazy detective this late at night, or they were dangerous criminals who really wouldn’t want to be bothered by a crazy detective this late at night.

Monochrome kept walking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened and calmly pulled her cell phone from its pocket. She pulled up the owner of the warehouse on speed dial and pressed the phone to the side of her head as she ducked into the nearby parking garage.

She had to call twice before the mare on the other end finally picked up. “Monochrome, do you have any idea what time it is?” the angry voice came from the other end.

“Yes I do, you have me on a stakeout remember?” Monochrome grumbled. At least I’m on retainer here, and not paid by the hours she thinks I work.

“Oh, right. So I’m assuming you have something then?”

“Are there any shipments in or out scheduled for tonight, boss?”

“Um… no, no there shouldn’t be. Why?”

“Oh, just a hunch. You know me.” Monochrome hung up before her employer could respond. She didn’t need to know there might be armed griffons inside the warehouse right now.

Monochrome put her phone away and checked that both her gun and knife were resting against her ribs inside her jacket. Hopefully these won’t be necessary, but I’d rather have them and not need them than need them and not have them, she thought as she walked back out of the garage.

She cut across the street between the two buildings next to the warehouse, looking for a way in that wasn’t the front doors or the currently occupied loading area. Eventually she settled on the fire escape of the three-story building next door to the warehouse. Climbing quickly to the roof, she stayed low as she stole over to the other side to check if the alley below was clear. Seeing no signs of life, she searched for a point of entry that wouldn’t require smashing a window,. Soon enough she spotted a balcony on the second story.

Monochrome took careful aim and launched herself from the roof. Rolling as silently as possible on impact, she crouched low and scanned her surroundings. Hearing no change she carefully tried the door. It was locked. Monochrome swore. I knew I should have asked for that master key. Weighing her options, Monochrome drew her knife and placed it between the door and the frame. Oh boy is she going to be pissed about this. Maybe I can blame the robbers. Monochrome applied force and felt the deadbolt break from the wall under her blade.

The door glided open noiselessly, revealing a shadowy network of catwalks reaching between platforms lining the walls. Creeping to the edge of the plywood flooring, Monochrome peered down onto the main floor. She watched as a stallion in a hard hat and vest opened the large roller doors of the loading area and guided the truck as it backed its doors to the entrance. She saw the stallion flick a light switch to illuminate the center of the floor.

Monochrome held her breath as the stallion opened the back doors on the truck and four griffons stepped out. She slowly used her magic to pull her cell phone out and point the camera at the intruders. She flicked the switch to video and hoped they would say something confirming them to be Ironclads. Unfortunately the Manehattan Police Department wouldn’t take the fact they were each carrying the Ironclads’ signature gray and black camouflage revolving rifles as evidence.

She watched the stallion speak with one of the griffons, he had a large brown body and golden feathers on his head, they seemed to reach an agreement and the stallion walked further into the warehouse while the griffons spread out and looked around. Monochrome held her breath as a small white griffon scanned the second floor through his rifle’s sights. Luckily her habit of wearing gray allowed her to blend with the shadows.

The white griffon reported that all was clear. Monochrome slowly let her breath out. The stallion came back with a piece of paper and showed it to the brown griffon he spoke with before, who seemed to be in charge. After a hushed conversation, the griffon gestured towards the truck, and a fifth griffon and two unicorns climbed out from inside the container.

The two unicorns moved with an air of confidence, even if they did look wary of the armed griffons. The fifth griffon was shorter than most of the other griffons and had a squatter, rounder head with a flatter face and large round eyes. They must have brought the owl to keep lookout, Chrome thought. Oh wait, the best place for her to keep lookout is up here. Crap.

Chrome watched in fear as the owl griffon flew up to one of the platforms on the other side of the room and began to look around. She held her breath as the griffon scanned the shadows. She barely dared to let it out when she seemed satisfied and looked down at the proceedings below.

Monochrome saw the unicorns follow the stallion in the vest down an aisle between the crates stacked below and come back a few minutes later levitating three very large crates each. Celestia, they must be powerful. I don’t think I could lift a single one of those, let alone three. She watched and kept recording as the unicorns set the crates down and the brown griffon used his talons to pry one open. Monochrome stifled a gasp at the contents. She said they were just taking the metal to build guns. Monochrome was no weapons manufacturer, but she could see from her hiding place that the rifles in the crate did not need to be built.

The brown griffon looked to the stallion and spoke, “Good. As long as they’re all here, and the cops stay out of this, Razor Talon will see you get paid.”

Monochrome fought the urge to cheer. Razor Talon was the head of the Ironclads, and all the evidence she needed. Monochrome realized she wouldn’t be able to sneak away while the owl was on watch, so she decided to simply remain recording until the Ironclads had left and she was safe to make her get away.

The stallion spoke, “Don’t worry about that, Viktor. The mare who owns this place doesn’t even know the crates are full of weapons. She thinks it’s whatever’s written on the box. Steel sheets this time.”

Well, at least she didn’t know the Ironclads were stealing actual weaponry, Monochrome thought. But they’ve only been doing this for a while, and that’s a lot of guns to risk. They’re not normally reckless. Something big must be coming. That thought worried her. Anything that can make the Ironclads take unnecessary risks could be disastrous for anyone nearby.

The two unicorns waited silently for Viktor to reseal the crate before effortlessly lifting them from the ground and placing them inside the truck. The unicorns then climbed inside, followed by the griffons on the ground. Monochrome pressed the button to end the recording, and immediately regretted it.

The click the button produced was barely audible to her, but she knew the owl would hear it. Frozen in place she watched through the corner of her eye as the owl’s head snapped towards her. She stared for several seconds before slowly drawing her rifle. Monochrome weighed her options as the owl signalled to Viktor to wait. As she began to stalk across the catwalk separating their platforms, Monochrome made her decision.

Jumping backwards and reaching into her coat with a hoof she found the grip of her pistol. The owl started in surprise and began to move her rifle to her shoulder. Monochrome let loose a burst of light from her horn directly towards the large eyes of the griffon as she landed on three hooves. Taking aim, she let loose two shots at the griffon, one clipping the talon she held the rifle in.

Monochrome heard the owl screech in pain but didn’t look, she had already turned towards Viktor, who was trying to bring his rifle around. Firing off two more shots, Monochrome turned and bolted for the exterior door. The loud clanging of talons on metal told her the owl was in pursuit.

Monochrome didn’t have time to open the door, and opted to barrel through it instead, knocking it off its hinges. She rolled her shoulder as she exited onto the balcony. If that’s not broken, it’s going to be sore in the morning. The roof she had used before was no longer an option, since it was an entire story above her head. Frantically turning around, Monochrome saw the owl charging through the open doorway at her and reacted instinctively. Dropping to the floor and rolling to her side, she let the griffon fly past her and into the railing of the balcony.

Monochrome came up on her front legs and let out a vicious kick with her back legs, feeling her hooves make solid contact with the owl’s side. The combined force of the griffon’s charge and Monochrome’s kick proved too much for the railing, and it buckled. The griffon fell with a screech to the alley below.

Monochrome planted her hooves beneath her once again and ran along the balcony. I wonder if she died, Monochrome thought, hearing nothing from the griffon below. It was only two floors, so probably not. Maybe some broken bones. Or a lot of broken bones. Hollow bones probably break easier. Monochrome reached the edge of the balcony and lept. She was coming down near the front of the warehouse and aimed for a small car parked in front.

The roof buckled and dented under her weight but held. She rolled off into the parking lot as the alarm began to sound. To whoever’s car this is, I’m so sorry. Unless you just sold weapons to the Ironclads, then I wish I’d hit faster. Monochrome took her bearings and bolted out across the street towards the parking garage she had visited earlier. Her car wasn’t here, but there were enough back doors that she could lose them in the city nearby.

Monochrome ran through the garage and out into the winding alleys, slowly doubling around to reach the decrepit diner she had parked her car at. Sure she had lost whatever pursuers she might have had, she checked the footage on her phone again. I’ll definitely get a bonus for this,she thought as she patted her pockets for her keys and started the car.

"Masked Mystery Mare: Return of the Vigilantes" by Dead Line

MASKED MYSTERY MARE- RETURN OF THE VIGILANTES?

Last night between the hours of three and four a.m., the attempted mugging of an unknown stallion by three armed assailants was witnessed by local residents taking place on the roof of an apartment building on Fifth Avenue. Eyewitnesses reported that a mare wearing a ski mask used a grappling hook to swing from the office building across the street to land on the rooftop of the apartment complex, where she assaulted and overpowered the three attackers. The mare and the stallion who was the target of the original assault then swung off the rooftop into an alley using the grappling hook before police arrived.

Two of the three attackers were apprehended at the scene and reportedly denied assaulting a fourth individual. Instead they claim that they were fighting amongst themselves, though they did confirm the involvement and escape of the masked mare. Neither the victim nor the vigilante who rescued him have been found as of yet, though photographs were taken by Manehattan Times photographer Film Reel showing the stallion to be red with a crimson mane, though no cutie mark is visible for a positive identification. No identifiable traits were found in the photographs of the vigilante, who was wearing a full-body disguise which police say could have concealed either wings or a horn. The mare is currently wanted by the Manehatten Police Department for vigilantism, assault, and kidnapping, and the unidentified victim is considered a missing pony.

This event marks the first instance of vigilantism since the decline of the period of widespread vigilantism known as “the Clear Night”. Experts on the phenomenon and superhero enthusiasts alike are astir and over the masked mare’s appearance. Mr. Antiquity, curator of the Manehatten Museum’s Vigilante exhibit, had this to say: “Vigilantism has been a field few have forayed into in recent years, and for good reason. After a large increase in national wonder at the concept of masked heros following the brief appearance of the ‘Mysterious Mare-Do-Well’ in Ponyville, the idea of a crime-fighter with a secret identity was romanticized in novels, television shows, movies, and of course, comic books.

“For this reason it came as no surprise that when criminals in large cities began to wear disguises to conceal their identity, and thus preventing the police from acting effectively, that several civilians took the idea to heart. After the initial success of these anonymous crime fighters, more and more began to take to the night in masks and costumes to fight off the gangs.

“At first this was nothing but good news. Teams of vigilantes, numbering usually no more than four or five, helped to stop, prevent, and dissuade crime in large cities. The Vigilantes themselves became local and national celebrities, and it looked like this golden age of heroes, the ‘Clear Night’, as it came to be called, would last forever. But as the Vigilantes became more and more common and effective, the criminals they fought became more desperate, escalating both in force and ferocity.

“This unfortunately led to the injuries and deaths of many of these crusaders, and caused the remaining few to match their opponent’s brutality in order to survive. People began to lose respect for their former heroes, finding the new brutal effectiveness less comforting and more terrifying. As time went on and the continuing escalations showed no sign of relenting, the government took action and passed a law that outlawed vigilantism.

“Many Vigilantes refused this new deal, believing their work was not done as long as these dangerous criminals still roamed free. Vigilantes clashed with the police quite often, leading to more than one riot and many casualties on both sides of the law. Unfortunately, with both the Vigilantes and the police occupied, crime in Equestria reached an all-time high, and it became apparent that a solution to the problem was desperately needed. With the last inklings of public support for the Vigilantes failing, the government passed the ‘Mask Act’, giving the option for Vigilantes to obtain license from the government to work with law enforcement agencies and remain operational, as long as they registered their identities and complied with new regulations, which included strict background checks. The strictness of the license’s requirements led to a steady decrease in legally licensed heroes, until the arrest of the last active Vigilante in Equestria two years after the act was passed.”

So what does does the appearance of a new Vigilante mean, after all these years? Will her return mark a new chapter in the history of masked crime fighters? Are we witnessing the rebirth of the Clear Night, or is this mysterious masked mare the last of her kind? Just how long she survives the life she has chosen remains to be seen.

Dead Line, Manehattan Times Special Correspondent, Investigative Reporter

Photographs by Film Reel

3. Film

Film Reel sighed. No matter what she did she couldn’t find a way to make a picture of the bustling crowds interesting. One of the reporters had asked her to get a few “interesting shots of the crowds” for an article about fashion standards changing. Or something like that, Film didn’t like to listen to Ink Blot, she was boring.

Oh well. She wouldn’t know an interesting shot if it came with a sign, Film thought as she placed the lens cap back on her camera and admired the view. She was currently perched on the balcony of the penthouse room belonging to one of the many five-star hotels located in Manehattan’s busiest district.

This was one of her favorite places to come when she had free time, she could wave her press badge at the concierge, an old friend of hers, and get VIP treatment for a few hours at the Ritz. The roof and balconies had wonderful views of the bustling downtown crowds to the south, the Manehattan University’s taller buildings climbing above the skyline in the west, and the incredible expanse of green that was Central Park to the hotel’s north and east. As long as she was taking pictures of the sights no one would bother her. She was a photographer after all, and they had no way of knowing whether the shots were for an article or just for fun.

Film Reel leaned on the railing and blew a strand of her orange mane out of her eyes, turning to admire the park. The three square miles of lush gardens, forests, and small lakes in the heart of such a large and bustling city always made her smile. Film simply stood and stared at the park and its border of towering skyscrapers while thinking about the rest of her day. Well, I have to find some pictures of those gargoyles in Windsoar for Fountain Pen, and I still need to get down to the University to get a picture of that one graffiti artist’s latest piece. Maybe seeing it in person will help explain what all the fuss over this “Batsy” guy is.

Film stood still on the balcony while telling herself she should start working on the errands. Well, she thought, I can probably walk through the park to get to Windsoar, and then just double back to get to the University. She smiled as she turned back towards the hotel’s interior. Any day got better if she could find an excuse to walk through the park.

An hour and a half later Film Reel found herself looking over the park’s lake for the second time. Sweet Celestia, this park wastes my time like nothing else. Now I remember why I avoid it while I have errands. Film sighed as she looked at her watch, only slightly surprised to find she had just spent twenty minutes watching two swans and half a dozen ducks.

She turned to the path leading north again. No more distractions. Not even that nice mare with the churro cart. She walked down the path and marvelled at the city around her. The crisp borders of skyscrapers against the sky were looming in front of her above the verdant trees. Back to Manehattan. Back to reality, Film thought to herself with a slight frown.

Film stepped through the wrought iron gates of the park and back out onto the street, and turned east. Film liked Windsoar, but she suspected she’d like it more if she’d been born a pegasus. The entire neighborhood had been built based on griffon architecture, which unfortunately favored the flying. The griffons had started with architecture similar to the pegasi, but had quickly found that fortresses made of clouds don’t hold up against a siege. griffon architecture retained many traits of their ancient cirrus cities, including a feeling of weightlessness to even the largest of buildings.

Film Reel admired one of the nearby buildings, a towering monolith containing office spaces and shopping centers. The entire facade had marble columns carved with a spiraling design around the edges, even on the upper floors where they appeared to be only an aesthetic feature. The lower floors were mostly open courts with elegant marble railings and light granite tiles forming large mosaics. As the building climbed higher, granite became more common and floors became less open to the elements. The subtle transition from white and light gray spiraled columns to dark gray bricks was striking against the red and brown brickwork of the surrounding buildings.

Film decided she’d need to get up on the roof one day for a panorama of the boundary formed between griffon and pony architecture. With a little shake of her head, she kept walking down the street. Now, where did Fountain say those gargoyles were?

Film racked her brain trying to remember what the journalist had told her. He’d said they were big, and that they were the only representations of some kind of feathery serpent god from old griffon myths in the entire district. She sighed and set off down the street with no real idea of where she was going. Well, it can’t possibly be that hard to find some huge statues of a god, can it?

After thirty minutes Film already regretted not paying more attention to Fountain Pen’s directions. She’d been wandering from street to street with her neck craned back staring at the rooflines of the griffon buildings. Tilting her head forward again and rubbing the back of her neck she decided it would be a good idea to ask someone for help. Film looked back and forth, finally deciding that the fast food restaurant down the street would probably be able to help. If they advertised delivery they had to at least know the neighborhood.

Film was reaching for the door when it burst open. A wall of gray and black came flying from inside before barreling right into her. Falling to the ground and panicking she shoved the mass off of her body and trying to scramble away. Looking at what she’d just thrown off she found an amused and upside-down chiropteran. The batpony’s yellow serpentine eyes looked up at her with a mischievous sparkle.

Shouting came from the restaurants door, “Last warning, leatherback. Stay out!” The colt rolled back onto his hooves, stretching his dark, leathery wings and calling back, “Fine! Your blini aren’t even all that good!” The stallion dodged a small dish flung from the owner of the store, an impish grin on his face.

The door slammed and he turned to film. “Sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to run into you there, but I was in a bit of a hurry to get out.” The pony still looked as if he was only a second from laughing at the whole situation. “I’m Onyx Wings, but most people just call me Onyx.” Onyx held out his hoof to help her up.

“I’m Film Reel,” she replied, slightly stunned by the whole ordeal. “Are you alright?” He hauled her to her hooves.

Onyx snorted. “He was always a little racist, but maybe I shouldn’t have made a pass at his daughter in front of him.” He started to laugh.

His energetic and carefree demeanor was infectious, and Film started to laugh along. After a few moments Onyx gathered himself together and asked, “So, Film Reel, what brings you to this fine neighborhood?”

Film Reel blinked, Oh right, getting things done. “I’m here to find some statues and take a few pictures. I’m a photographer, and a writer needed a few pictures for a piece he’s working on.”

Onyx winced and looked over his shoulder at the restaurant he’d just been thrown out of. “I hope you weren’t planning on asking friendly in there for directions. If he saw you laughing with me he probably won’t be in a helpful mood. Maybe I can help, I know the area pretty well.”

“Umm... alright. They’re supposed to be kind of big. A feathery serpent from some old stories. I don’t actually know what building it’s supposed to be on.”

Onyx was smiling again. “S’alright, I know what you’re talking about. Zmeya, big angry looking snake with a bunch of feathers. C’mon, I’ll show you.” He started to trot off, with Film close behind.

Onyx eventually led her to a towering building, constructed of dark slate and granite. Film marvelled at the architecture, completely taken by the variety of griffon work. Whereas the first building she’d stopped to admire had been built to mimic clouds and appear weightless or delicate, this building had been constructed to look like a fortress. The wider lower floors topped with a barren balcony gave the impression of defensibility, and the sharp angles, straight-cut lines, and high, narrow windows made it look forbidding. Film could just see the silhouettes of menacing statues set in alcoves and on pedestals at the corners of the balconies, glaring down at the ponies below.

“Your statues are up on the roof. Should be able to get right through to the elevator as long as we explain to the doorman what we’re here for.” Onyx stated grinning at Film’s awestruck expression. “Quite the architects, these griffons, eh?”

“It’s wonderful. All the variety. You don’t see this in pony buildings. At least not to this degree.”

“I’ll have to take you by the bat neighborhood one day, you’d love it.”

She looked toward the high double doors, and then looked back at her new friend. “Wait, would the doorman normally be a problem? Isn’t this just a mixed office building?”

“Well, not really. Most of the building is owned by some long-range import and export business. They’re very security conscious, and kind of scary. They worry some other company will try to muscle in on their business or some criminals will steal their goods or something like that. All I know is that if you get off on the wrong floor, security does not mess around.”

There’s got to be a funny story in there somewhere, but now really isn’t the time. I’m behind schedule enough as it is. She pushed open the doors and walked into the lobby. Film’s eyes wandered across the interior, surprised once again by griffon architecture. The interior was mostly dark granite, with accents of gold and white marble on the columns, furnitures, and ledges. The inside looks more like a palace than a fortress. Ponies could really take a lesson from griffons.

“Can I help you?” the griffon behind the front desk asked through a thick accent.

“Yes, I’m Film Reel, a photographer for the Manehattan Times, and I was hoping to get up on the roof to get a few pictures of the statues of Zmeya. Is that alright?”

The griffon looked over her with a bored gaze before examining Onyx. “Do you have press badge?”

“Um.. yes.” Film quickly opened her windbreaker and stuck her snout into the inner pocket. After a moment she turned back to the griffon with the badge gripped triumphantly in her teeth.

He silently reached out and took it from her with a talon. He stared intently at both sides before handing it back to her. “And him?” he asked, gesturing towards Onyx.

“He’s um.. with me. He doesn’t have a badge of his own, but I’ll vouch for him.”

The griffon blinked slowly before shrugging. He pulled a clipboard out from under the desk and placed it before them. “Sign here, and I’ll get you two visitor passes. Sign again on the way out and drop them off.”

Film signed quickly, feeling increasingly awkward in the silent lobby. When Onyx had signed, the griffon placed the clipboard back under the desk and handed them two plastic badges. “Wear these whole time. Security will not be happy if they find you without them. Go directly to roof, and directly back.” He pulled a small radio out from beneath the desk and spoke into it, “Two press visitors for roof. They shouldn’t need an escort.”

Film thanked the griffon and hurried to the elevator. Onyx slipped in behind her, touched the button for the roof and then pressed his hoof into the “door close” button.

He whistled and looked over at her. “Should have warned you about that guy. Kind of creepy isn’t he? What with the accent and the deadpan voice. At least he didn’t seem to remember me.”

“Remember you?” Film asked with a sideways glance.

Onyx looked up at the display showing the floor number as the elevator began to move. “Well, remember that comment about getting off on the wrong floor? That story ends with something like four black eyes, one broken wing, two smashed windows, and a broken desk. Followed by a brief stint in a holding cell here, and another at the Manehattan Police Department.”

Film’s jaw dropped. “You caused all that mayhem by yourself?”

He shrugged. “Me and another guy. To be fair, the security staff helped a lot.”

She stifled a giggle. “What were you doing here last time?”

“I used to do some work for a courier company on floor twelve. One day we hit thirteen by accident and didn’t even notice until the first guard came barreling down the hallway.”

“Wow. You weren’t kidding when you said they were security conscious.”

“And he’s not joking when he says that the guards won’t be happy if we get off on any other floor.”

After a few more moments the elevator stopped with a ding, and the two stepped out into a small room. Looking out through the windows in the wall, Film saw that they were indeed on the roof, and that the statues were very large.

With a look of wonder on her face she pushed open a nearby door and stepped out onto the windy roof. The roof was in the shape of a large hexagon, with raised platforms running from every corner to the center. In the intersection of all these lines a single six-sided obelisk rose up. Along each of the platforms the image of Zmeya was sculpted from black marble. Each of the statues was in a different writhing position, but all glared over the edge and down on the city with ferocious snarls. Tracing the nearest serpent with her eyes, Film realized that each of the tails curled around the obelisk, tapering to points along its edges near its midpoint.

Film stared for a moment longer at the statues towering above the city. Its head is nearly twice as large as I am, she marvelled as she approached one made to show lips curling back, exposing a mouth full of sharp fangs. She looked to the one on her other side, and saw its mouth opened as if it were about to strike at some unseen foe. And that one’s even bigger.

Film brought her camera up, popping the lens cap off. Onyx stepped behind her while she took her pictures. A few dozen snapshots later she finally put the lens cap back on, satisfied that she’d gotten each of the statues in the best possible ways.

She walked back to the outbuilding that contained the elevator. After walking in she realized Onyx was no longer behind her. Looking back she saw him standing several feet away, staring out past the statues and down on the city.

“Hey, you coming?” she called out.

He sighed and turned towards her, before jogging across the roof. “Sorry,” Onyx muttered as he pressed the elevator call button.

The doors opened almost immediately and the duo stepped inside. “What were you looking at back there?” Film asked as the elevator began to descend.

Onyx shrugged. “I was just thinking how much more interesting this place could be with some color, or at least something other than bricks and columns.”

“You didn’t seem like the art type when I met you.”

He grinned. “Well I didn’t make a very positive first impression at all, now did I?”

Film was about to reply when the elevator suddenly stopped. She glanced at the floor display and saw they were still twelve floors above the lobby. Remembering the ominous hints about the company in charge of the building, she tensed up, waiting for the door to open.

When it did, Film relaxed only slightly to see a large, muscular, and frustrated griffon talking hurriedly on his cell phone. He stepped in between the two ponies, giving them an apologetic look as his wings furled tight against his back.

Film examined him through the corner of her eye. He had an impressive coat, a stunning white with accents of steel gray. She admired his magnificent wings with feathers fading from white to gray before seeing his dark gray talons, which were covered in a sprawling mass of criss-crossing scars. She looked at Onyx and found him closely examining at the griffon as well. Trying not to look as if she were staring at the new arrival, she ran her gaze quickly over his face before looking forward again. The griffon had silver eyes, a dark beak, and even more scars around his throat, eyes, and beak.

He was not joking when he said these griffons were scary people.

The griffon reached out and pressed the button for one of the basement floors.

“No, you listen to me.” The griffon was saying. Film was surprised to find that the accent present in the receptionist was not apparent in this griffon’s speech. Is that a slight Hoofington accent? That’s pretty far from usual griffon haunts. “I don’t care what gets in the way. You find him, or we lose him. And we can barely afford to lose him, but they made it clear that they can’t. So if we lose him we lose the twins. And if we- no, the second him. Yes, him. Dammit, just find him.”

The griffon snapped his phone shut and sighed. He looked at the two ponies in the elevator. “Sorry about that,” he said, addressing them now. “One of my business partners disappeared a few days ago, and the man I sent out to look around is proving to be… incompetent.”

“I hope your partner is alright.” Onyx said.

“Oh he’s done this before. Usually he’ll drop off the grid for a few days and turn up hungover in the back seat of his car a few blocks from his house. What are you two doing here though? I don’t remember seeing any scheduled visitors.”

“I’m a photographer for the Manehattan Times, one of the writers wanted some pictures of the statues of Zmeya on the roof.” Film replied.

“Ah, yes. What did you think of the old snake? Magnificent statues aren’t they?”

“They really are. As is the architecture on this building. Truly wonderful.” Film said dreamily.

“Well, it’s been nice talking, but I think this is your stop?” The griffon said as the doors opened into the lobby.

Film nodded and said goodbye to the griffon. The two ponies walked to the desk and returned their badges before heading back out into the street.

“So, Film, after capturing some angry gods, what’s next for the adventuring photographer?”

“I’m heading down towards Manehattan University. That graffiti artist, ‘Batsy’ apparently struck again. You seem to like art, want to tag along?”

Onyx grinned. “Sounds like fun.”

The subway ride to the university was tedious, as always. Film hated the subways. Unless she was passing through Royal Central Station it was all just boring tunnel and close-pressed crowds in metal tubes.

Luckily for her it was only a single line change to the university’s dedicated station. They pushed through the crowd of college students and commuters to reach the stairs and emerged on a corner of the campus’ large central courtyard.

“So where do you think the piece is?” Film asked Onyx.

He chuckled at her. “For someone so fascinated with her surroundings you don’t pay much attention to specifics.”

“Stop messing around, Onyx.” Film fought back a grin. “I’m no good at remembering what I’m told. Get me a map or get me there once, and I’ll be able to get you there forever. Directions are boring, places aren’t.”

He laughed at her some more. “It’s... I think it’s right over there, on the backside of the library, where the big blank wall is.”

“The big blank wall? What?” Film gave him a quizzical look as he began to trot across the courtyard.

“The entire library’s back wall is just white stone, it’s probably as boring as directions.”

“Hey!” Film caught up to him. “How’d you even know about the wall?”

“I went here. Just graduated two years back.”

“I – Woah.”

Film’s jaw dropped as she surveyed the scene in front of her. Formed behind the library there was a crowd of dozens of students, faculty members, and sightseers staring up at the back of the library which had indeed been a large blank wall, but “Batsy” had turned it into a canvas. Sprawling across the wall was a massive painting of Discord. Film fought through the surprising crowd of students to get a better vantage point and admired the unique style the artist had employed, using only black paint they had drawn outlines and shadows, creating a highly contrasting effect. Tracing the twists of the Draconequus’s contorted, serpentine body as she removed her camera’s lens cap she spotted a detail she had missed. Under his mischievous grin Discord’s hands were raised and holding strings as if for marionettes, strings that were attached to three silhouetted ponies in suits.

Film took photographs from as many angles as she could, before wading back through the crowd to where she’d left Onyx. He was simply smiling up at the wall.

“You get your pictures?” he asked without looking towards her.

“I got a lot, but I can’t get a good one of the whole thing, it’s just too big.”

He frowned and looked around the small plaza behind the library. “Well that’s not good, let’s see if we can find you a better view.” He searched the nearby buildings before he settled on a small dorm building on the other side of the square. “There,” he said pointing, “That balcony up on the fourth floor. If I remember right, it’s just a little coffee shop, so you won’t even bother anyone.”

Five minutes later the two of them were stepping out of the stairwell and into the dining area of the shop. Film walked straight through the room to the balcony they had seen from outside.

She raised her camera and moved to set up the shot before stopping and smiling.

“What?” Onyx asked, seeing her lower the camera.

“It seems ‘Batsy’ knew this would be the best place for a picture,” she replied, gesturing towards the railing in between her and the painting.

Onyx leaned in for a look as she raised the camera once more for the picture, and found a signature hastily scrawled in black spraypaint on the inside of the railing. He chuckled as he looked at the stylized letters spelling out “Batsy.”

Film snapped a few pictures of the entire piece, being sure to capture the signature Batsy had left for them and the crowd gathering to admire his work. Placing the cap back on her camera she looked at her watch and sighed when she realized she’d already spent most of the day on just two errands.

Oh well, she thought, it’s not like I wasn’t productive. Besides, it just goes to show she looked at Onyx beaming down on the crowd, this city is hiding something around every corner.

4. Fans and Fanatics

I tumble across the building and swear in pain. I should have made that landing, I overestimated that gap. Stupid. I pick myself up and adjust the cap on my head.

Now, where are they? They were just near here. I creep to the edge of the roof and look down into the alley. Aha! There they are. Three stallions in dark jackets and bandanas all facing one batpony. Monsters. How dare they? How dare the three of them attack him? Two holding him while one of them kicks. Even the monsters are cowards in this city.

So are you, a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispers. I try to drown it out before vaulting the edge and falling into the alley. The rush of wind silences the doubts. The stallion preparing to kick the batpony doesn’t even look up before I crash into his back. He crumples, no shouting, no fighting. Keeping low, I turn my head to face the others.

The batpony is wearing a black sweatshirt with a hood and some kind of gasmask obscuring his lower face. But I can see a smile in his eyes. I don’t think about it as the other stallions release him and step towards me. The first rolls his shoulders and tenses up. I dart forward and drop low, getting under his first attack. I overshoot, there’s no room to throw a kick. I headbutt him in the chest, hoping to stun him.

I step back and pull a foreleg back, aiming for his head. Suddenly my vision is a burst of stars and I’m pressed against the wall. The other stallion hit me. I snap my head to look at him, he’s pulling his leg back for a second hit. I stand still, and watch him swing. I drop as late as I’ll risk it and his hoof slams into the brick wall. This time I aim my headbutt, straight into the joint of his foreleg. Something cracks and he cries out.

He falls as I jump away. I throw a quick kick with a back leg to the side of his head and he falls silent. I spin to face the other attacker and my eyes widen in fear. He’s got a switchblade clenched in his teeth.

I can’t move, and for a moment, I don’t even see him. I’m hiding behind the crates again, watching a different stallion with a voice like cold steel and eyes like ice slowly cut a mare’s throat. I’m looking into her pleading eyes as she lies in front of me, coughing and gasping while he moves on to another pony somewhere else in the room. I’m sprinting down the street away from Silk. I can’t breathe, I can’t think. I’m terrified.

The stallion with the switchblade is laughing, and I’m back in the alley. I watch warily, waiting for an opening. There’s true pleasure in his eyes. I hate him. I hate him more in this moment than I’ve hated anything or anyone. I step backwards, trying to keep the fear from showing in my eyes.

There’s a loud thud, and the stallion’s face goes slack. There’s a second, and he falls to the floor. Leaving only the batpony standing over him, a thick piece of wood in his jaws.

He drops it on his attacker’s back and smiles at me as he pulls his gasmask back up onto his muzzle.

"Thanks for the help. I'm Onyx." He holds out a hoof. "You're that mare who was in the paper yesterday right?"

I look at his hoof. "What's with the gas mask?"

"It's not really a gas mask, but the filters keep me from inhaling a bunch of paint fumes.”

I stare at him, not understanding.

“I’m not just Onyx, I also go by Batsy.”

“You do the graffiti.”

He nods. “The mask has the added perk of hiding my face... What I do isn't, strictly speaking, legal." He's still holding out his hoof.

I stare at him in silence for a few seconds and he simply states back at me, smiling under his mask. Finally, I reach out and shake his hoof.

"Do you have a name?" He turns to a black duffel bag I hadn't noticed tucked away in the corner of the alley.

I remain silent. He slings his bag across his back and turns back towards me. He sighs loudly.

"If you're gonna be a vigilante you need a kickass name. Like the old days, when we had people like Night Owl, Silver Dollar, Dark Star, or --"

I turn and start walking away. His hooves clatter on the pavement and suddenly he's at my side. "Well, if you haven't picked a name yet then you probably haven't chosen a real costume either." How did he know this wasn't final? Is it really that bad? "What about fighting? You can't rely on surprise forever."

I stop walking. "What do you mean?" I ask, keeping my voice as toneless as possible.

He turns to face me. "I appreciate what you did, and that was impressive fighting, but they had you beat. If you hadn't gotten the drop on them, literally, and if I hadn’t stepped in, we probably wouldn't be having this conversation."

"It's worked so far."

He raises his eyebrows. "That's what, twice you've fallen out of the sky to win a fight? But if the paper's right then you didn't even really win the last one, just got away before they got their gun up."

"I can handle myself." I start walking again, looking up at the roofs.

"Well I know a guy who can help if–"

I fling a grappling hook to the skies and I’m pulled behind as it catches hold. The coil inside does its work smoothly, and I'm standing on the lip of the roof just second later, free from Batsy.

I start to run across the roof, ready to search the city for more of the monsters out in the dark.

"Now those..." the voice comes from behind me, "are impressive."

He has wings. Right. "Listen, I really don't need your pointers, and I really don't need you following me around."

"I know." He looks down at his hooves when I turn to face him, like a scolded child. "It's just, what you're doing, I feel like it means something to this city. Or at least it should. Manehattan needs a hero, but if no one's there to see it, it might as well not be happening. And if you get killed out there, it might do more harm."

I open my mouth to give him a response but it dies in my throat. "Fine." He meets my eyes. "But you have to stay quiet."

Even with his mask on I can tell he's beaming again. He starts spewing thanks as I turn back down the roof. With a running start I leap and throw, swinging into a dim backstreet. The alley flies by in a blur, dark bricks, a sleeping pony, and the stench of trash. I swing around the corner at the end of the alley and onto another road. No cars, no ponies, only streetlights and buildings.

It continues like this for almost an hour and half a dozen roads before I alight on a rooftop a block from an intersection. I’ve moved closer to busier parts of the city. Cars sit silently along both sides of the road, and a few ponies are walking to their homes. Should have planned out a route. You can’t just wander aimlessly through the city looking for criminals.

“Shut up.” I mutter.

“What?” Batsy asks. I don’t respond. “The subway would probably be a good place to look for someone. but you can’t really go in like that.” I look back at the intersection and spot the dimly lit staircase descending to a subway station. He’s right, it would be a good place. But I can’t have the cops called.

“So we look somewhere else,” I growl.

“Well, we could hit up Discord’s Walk, it’s just a bit northwest of here.”

Discord’s Walk is what they call the slums along the river further northeast along the island of Manehattan. The police have virtually no presence there, making it a hive of criminal activity. I think about it for a long while before deciding that the slums would be as good a place as any to patrol. I get my bearings and turn towards the north. Batsy’s hoof presses against my chest and he whispers for me to stop.

He stands still and holds his breath, his ears twitching. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

He grins at me. “Not a chiropteran, then. Someone called for help.”

“Where?”

His ears twitch for another second. “That way.” He points across the street.

I launch myself off the roof and throw one of the grappling hooks. I swing through alley after alley until I can hear the voice too. Calling for help. I turn a corner at high speeds and my shoulder screams in protest. I get as close as I can to the sound before I decide to land. I roll to a stop on the sidewalk and listen.

Batsy lands silently next to me. “There.” He points to the alley across the street.

I nod and walk across the street. “Stay.” I whisper. He nods. I stand still in the entrance of the alley and survey the scene. One stallion with a knife, one terrified mare holding out her purse with pleading eyes. I trot towards him.

“One chance. Leave. Now.” He’s not getting that chance.

The stallion turns around and looks at me. He laughs. “Or what?” He steps toward me.

I swallow and step forward, glaring at him. He waves the knife from side to side and steps forward again. His mistake. I swing my front leg, and the heavy metal hook makes solid contact with the side of his head.

The knife clatters across the cold ground and he swears. I dart forward and pummel his side. He drops and rolls to his back, kicking out with his hind legs and catching me off balance. I slide a few feet on my side and struggle to my hooves. He’s trying to find his knife. I jump across the narrow alley and raise both hooves for a strike.

He hears me move, and tries to turn. I slam into him and hit the base of his neck. He falls.

I turn to the mare, frozen in place. “Go.”

She thanks me and runs past out onto the street. I hear a soft scraping sound and suddenly something’s on my back pushing me down. I feel cold steel against my neck and hear heavy breathing.

“Now we’re gonna see just how fast you are with a nice little slash in your throat,” the stallion spits.

I struggle and turn my head to try and look at the knife, and see something else. Batsy is trotting towards us, not making a sound. I see the stallion smiling in the corner of my eye and he press the knife against me. Batsy tosses piece of trash at him. I see it arc through the air and towards his back.

He pulls his head back in surprise and I buck with all my might. He drops the knife once more and loses his grip, staggering back. Batsy grabs his head with a foreleg and slams him into the ground. I kick his head and side again and again and again until I’m sure he’s not going to get back up.

Batsy and I silently walk to the mouth of the alley and turn back onto the street. I stop a block later and take a deep breath, looking down and sitting. I take a moment to let the panic calm and look at him. “We’re done for the night. Go home.”

He looks at me with concerned eyes. “Are you alright?”

I remain silent as I start to walk away.

“I…” He wants to say something more, but he stops and turns away, flying off into the night.

Hours have passed and I’ve found nothing. It’s well past midnight and the city has decided not to reveal anything more tonight. I swing to the roof of small two story building.

I walk angrily to the stairwell, and pull off my mask as soon as I'm inside. I kick open the door to the second floor and move to the long vacant bedroom. This building had been abandoned for years, so I know that I can hide things here without the risk of them being disturbed. I climb onto the moth-eaten mattress and press a hoof against the wall above it, ignoring the fading floral wallpaper. It takes a moment longer than it did at the beginning of the night, but the false boards lean back on their hinges, revealing a small compartment inside the wall.

Two nights and the hinges are already sticking. Oh well, I’m not a handypony. I carefully place the mask, boots, hat, and sweats that I use to hide my identity and pull my dark coat out from inside. It’s a good thing I work irregular hours or this “hero” thing would really put an impact on my work, the nagging voice from before chimes in again, all this late night running around, how are you going to get enough sleep?

“Sleeping pills if I still have any. Cold medicine if I don’t.” I mutter angrily at the voice.

Now you’re talking to yourself. That can’t be a good sign. I snort and pull on my coat before carefully replacing the panel. I step back into the hallway and walk towards the dilapidated stairs. This building looks fine from the outside, but that’s the only upkeep ever done. Filthy Rich owns it, indirectly of course. One of his shadowy companies that he can’t be legally connected with owns it and pretends to keep it in good shape, claiming it’s a bed and breakfast or something of the like. Money runs through it from imaginary customers that exist only on receipts and tax forms, money that eventually goes back to Rich.

The City looks out for its own, for ponies like Rich. Manehattan will defend these monsters at every turn. My only hope is to get better at this.

I step out onto the deserted street and begin the long walk to the nearest subway station. Batsy had some good points. I try to quiet the voice, but this time I agree with it. I need to change if I’m going to beat this city. I need to fight and I need a name.

My thoughts are interrupted by a piece of trash fluttering in front of my face. I angrily stomp down, pinning it to the ground. Looking down I find the front page of the Manehattan Times from a few days back, and a picture of me under a bold headline half covered by my hoof. “Mysterious Masked Mare.” I stare at the headline and picture and something clicks. Right now, what I really need, is a face.

5. Crumble

Dead Line was writing when the phone started ringing. She’d been trying to work on her article on the extent of organized crime in the city, but her research had come to a dead stop. Her informants were being less than cooperative, but she knew she could get what she needed with enough time. Standing up to stretch her legs, she reached for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” the caller began rapidly, “but I got a little distracted.”

Dead Line sighed. Film was a good friend, but a little scatterbrained. “Just tell me you’ve got something on the vigilante, Film.”

“Couldn’t find anything concrete, but there are a few rumors that they showed up by The Belfry, but nothing I can confirm, no one’s coming forward. Batsy did a piece of a silhouette with glowing eyes fighting off three angry looking ponies with knives. Maybe that’s related?”

“Maybe, but we can’t use graffiti as a source for a column. We were pushing it when we tried to pass off a dozen receipts as ‘important financial records.’”

“Hey, that was only for the editors; everything in that article was true. But fine, we’ll save the Batsy thing until we get more info. But what are you gonna do for now, Line? You’ve got all your eggs in that gang basket. Are you just not going to write articles ‘till then?”

“I write about what happens in this city. Right now there’s one big thing and that’s the vigilante. Without information on her I’ve got no choice but to keep working and poking around until something interesting jumps out for us. Monochrome’s been busy a lot lately though, so there’s definitely something going on behind the scenes. I’ve just got to wait.”

“Alright, Line. I should get back to photography. Just got a message from Ink Blot, she wants something new for that awful column of hers. Why doesn’t anyone fun ever want me?”

Dead Line rolled her eyes. “Good luck, Film.” She hung up and sat back, glaring at the half-written article. She read over her work again and sighed. She just didn’t have enough yet. These organizations had managed to last this long because they were careful, and made it difficult to find any proof of their actions. Beyond the shady, but not technically illegal, business practices of the Orange family and Filthy Rich, she had very little on the two major syndicates in the city. The “Glaciers” had plenty of evidence against them up until about a decade ago, when the pony in charge met a rather gruesome death. After that, whoever took over definitely made a change of pace toward caution. In Dead Line’s opinion, it was a wonder they’d kept them in line this long.

On the other hand, she had plenty on a smaller gang that called themselves the "Jackals,” as they’d never been very subtle. But they spent their time out in Discord’s Walk, the slums near the river, and the police didn’t have much presence or influence in that area these days. Now the Jackals produced more than half of the city’s drugs in peace, and ruled the slums with little opposition.

But even worse than the two syndicates and the small-time gangs were the two complete enigmas. The “Ironclads,” allegedly a large group of Griffon smugglers, were thought to be the source of most of the guns on the streets of Manehatten. They were like a shadow in the city; most ponies knew the stories, but the gang was simply too careful. There’d never been an arrest or bust by the police that had ever turned up any proof of a smuggling ring in the city. Every now and then the police would raid somewhere and find a few people bringing something in illegally, but the suppliers were never connected.

And then there were the “Starbursts.” They were something else entirely. They were something new. As far as her research could tell, they were a small, recently-formed group of unicorns located somewhere on the North-East shores of Manehattan. The few members the police had brought in looked like they were cult members at first. Each of them had several runes drawn or tattooed on their bodies, an ancient and mostly forgotten form of magic. No two patterns were alike, but all the unicorns shared an identical rune where the spine met the skull. The official MPD reports on the arrests stated that the common rune was supposed to enhance magical ability, but the reports also pointed out they shouldn’t need that as they were all sparklers off their meds. “Sparkler” was the term given to unicorns who suffered from Magical Overload Syndrome, an ailment that caused unicorns to produce significantly more magic than they could normally handle. Without the help of special medicine, a constant low level spell to burn the excess power, or a combination of both, their magic reserves will eventually reach a critical point, causing their bodies to discharge the excess magic, usually in a very violent and catastrophic manner that will leave the unicorn without magic at best, and dead or comatose at worst. The term “sparkler” came from the colloquial name for the syndrome, “Twilight Sparkle Syndrome.” Unlike the city’s other gangs however, there was no pattern to their actions beyond their general location. The police caught one unicorn extorting “security” payments from a shopkeeper in Little Neighjing, one stealing a car in Discord’s Walk, one pushing drugs at the edges of Windsoar, and so on. No pattern.

She was re-examining the police reports on the Starburst arrests when her phone rang again. She tapped the button to put the call on speaker.

“Dead Line,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

“We’ve got a visitor here, Line. Says you’re expecting him.”

“What’s his name?” she asked absentmindedly while staring at one of the mugshots.

“Apple Crumble.”

The name jolted Dead Line back to reality. "Send him in." She quickly placed the police reports and files from her article back in her folder and slipped it into her bag, taking a second folder out and placing it on the desk.

She waited a minute for the knock on her office door to signal her visitor's arrival. "The door's unlocked," she called.

The stallion who walked in had a bright yellow coat, a pale green mane and orange eyes. Dead Line examined his dark suit as he closed the door and took a seat across the table from her. I wonder if he's got a gun. I can't tell if he could hide a holster in that jacket.

Dead Line did her best to keep emotion out of her face as the stallion returned her gaze, looking both annoyed and just a bit nervous.

"So Crumble," Dead Line finally began, "you got your two weeks. Do you have what I asked for?"

"What you want isn't something I can just get. The files you're asking for could get ponies killed. Mr. Orange has too much money invested into his business to let something like this be easily accessible. You may just have to take my word for it."

Dead Line's eyes narrowed. "You know damn well I can't write this with 'one of Orange's people said...' I need something that proves he's connected to these shell companies you're talking about. I need proof that the stuff you've said is true. I need proof Orange is at the head of all of this."

Crumble stood up and started walking to the door. "Well, what you've got is the best you get."

He doesn't usually push back this much. Time for something drastic.

"That's a shame. I guess I'll just have to publish it as is then."

Crumble hesitated, and turned to look questioningly at the reporter.

"If this is the best I get then I'll just be sure to mention who told me. I'll toss your name in there and some snipping from your report here," she flipped the file on the desk open revealing Apple Crumble's scowling mugshot and three police reports, "and no one will think to question the authenticity of my source."

Crumble stared at her, trying vainly to hide his fear. "I... Dead, if you do that, he'll kill me. He'll kill my family."

Dead Line stared back at him as calmly as she could manage. "Well, if I had something else to use as proof..."

Crumble sighed, his shoulders drooping. He walked across the room to the potted plant sitting on the shelf near her desk. "Okay. I'll find you something, but you need to work with me. The books you want, that conclusively prove everything goes back to Orange, they don't exist. And if they do, I could never lay a hoof on them."

Dead Line fell silent, thinking hard for a moment. At least he's cooperating now. I don’t know what would have happened if he left. Would I really have outed him?

“Is this real?” the stallion asked as he poked at the dirt in the pot on the shelf.

“Yes.” Dead Line watched him move some of the soil around with confusion. “Um. Do you... want to talk about the job?”

“Ha! Job? No, no, no, you’re blackmailing me into informing on my boss. That’s not a job.” Crumble returned to his seat, wiping the dirt that remained on his hoof on the side of the chair.

“Regardless, I need something solid. I don’t need everything, but I can’t just give them your word if you want to remain anonymous. Work with me here. What can you get?”

He looked through the window and thought for a moment.

“If you give me more time, I can connect him to a few of the shell corporations. And I can prove that ponies on his payroll were responsible for the bank robbery last year.”

That was a sudden turn around. “You never mentioned that before. Why did he rob the bank?”

“It wasn’t for the money. Something in some of the safe deposit boxes. I don’t ask questions, I just do my job.”

“How can you prove these things?”

“I can get financial records that should let you connect to Rich Enterprises for a few of the shadow companies without raising suspicion. And I have… let’s say, firsthand evidence that the robbery was under his orders. I’ll find a way to connect it to one of his lieutenants if you can get me the police report.”

“Are you telling me you were in the bank?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

He glared back at her. “I’m not going to confirm or deny that, because if any mention of your informant being involved with that gets into the paper, the search for the rat narrows.”

She held his gaze for several seconds before replying. “Fine. See how much easier this is when you work with me?”

Crumble got up from his chair with a scowl and started for the door. He stopped with a hoof on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder. “Oh, Dead Line? There’s something else I’m going to need from you. When this goes public, you’re going to help me frame another pony as the rat. Because if this blows back on me, I’m making sure the boss has your real name. Do you understand?”

She looked up and nodded, waiting for him to leave and close the door behind him. As soon as the door closed she sucked in a deep breath. If Orange finds out what I’m doing, I’m dead. She continued to hyperventilate for a moment, desperately trying to calm herself down. Don’t worry, Crumble can’t sell you out now. You’ve got too much on him, and he knows that. It’s mutually-assured destruction if either of us rats.

When she’d finally calmed down enough to behave normally, she decided she’d take a break and leave the office. Walking out into the hallway she ducked past the editor-in-chief’s open door, hoping he wouldn't ask about the vigilante. After a short walk and elevator ride, Dead Line found herself in the breakroom a few floors below her office. It was as deserted as usual, with only three other ponies in the room, one of which was asleep. She wandered over to the table in the corner where the coffee pot sat, somehow always half-full.

Dead Line poured herself a cup and found a seat near one of the windows. She looked out the window at the city of Manehattan. The breakroom was situated on the twenty-fifth floor of the towering skyscraper that the offices of the Manehattan Times were situated in, high above many of the neighboring buildings. Dead Line sipped her coffee as her eyes wandered across the neat grid of buildings and the bustling streets in between, watching hundreds, if not thousands, of ponies for just a moment without hardly noticing. There was a parent chasing after her children as they led the way into a toy store, or the stallion stepping in to browse suits, the college student staring longingly at the glass front of a videogame store, and a repair crew on the roof of a building. She watched the ponies push and crowd up and down the streets by hoof and by car, like blood through the veins of some vast creature.

There’s so much life in this city, she thought, and so much of it is unaware of what’s happening around it. How many of these ponies even notice each other? How many of them know what happens down the street from their homes or in the neighborhood over? The paper’s still selling, so at least ponies are reading something about current events. Even if it takes a vigilante to get them interested.

She drank more of her coffee while watching an airship carefully moving in to dock at a nearby skyscraper. She watched in wonder as the ponies in charge of mooring it jumped deftly from the rigging to the extended dock, tossing ropes back and forth to tie it off, and the one pegasus who climbed to the top of the balloon that carried it to search for damage.

I wonder though, she thought as she watched the pegasus strut confidently around the balloon, where does our vigilante go from here? Is she going to make a name for herself before the papers just make one up? Her thoughts strayed to the article she’d been working on and Apple Crumble. I hope she makes a difference in the city. Celestia knows we could use a real hero. The cops can only do so much, and ponies who work on their own time like Monochrome can’t do much more.

Dead Line paused. Monochrome was investigating the vigilante too, wasn’t she? She was sure she’d said something about that at breakfast the other day. Maybe she found a lead that Film and I haven’t been able to turn up.

Come to think of it, Monochrome could have all kinds of useful information I could use. Finding criminals is what she does for a living. If she doesn’t have anything on the vigilante maybe she can at least shed some light on a few of these gangs. If anypony I know would know something about the Ironclads or Starbursts, it’s her.

Dead Line’s thoughts drifted back to the vigilante. Film missed her chance to go ask the police about her too. Maybe I can go talk to them. She watched the city for a few more minutes before sending a quick text message to the editor in chief, telling him she was going out to get some field research done, and moved quickly to the elevator. As the door opened to the parking garage, two very angry-looking unicorns pushed past her to get inside. She was surprised at the touch. Besides being simply rude they were both incredibly hot to the touch, as if they’d recently been on fire.

She stumbled out past them and turned to glare back at the pair as the elevator doors closed, sizing up the two rude unicorns. One was a mare, with a dull yellow coat and pale green mane, and the other was a stallion with a very dark coat and mane. They both wore simple black suits and glared right back at her. Dead Line caught a whisper of a bright white pinstripe tattoo on the neck of the stallion, hidden mostly by his collar before the doors closed. That was odd. I’ve never seen the two of them before, who else would be coming and going at this hour? And why were they so warm?

Dead Line pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind, and instead focused on the herculean task of finding her car in the cramped garage.

The two unicorns rode the elevator to the twenty-fifth floor in silence, both glaring straight ahead at the stainless steel doors. Eventually it came to a stop and the doors opened. The two calmly walked out, their steps in time with each other.

“You remember where to go, Romeo?” The mare asked, looking down the hallway they found themselves standing in.

“Of course I do. This way.” The stallion began to trot confidently down the hall. The two of them had learned years ago that if you were somewhere you shouldn’t be, the best way to keep people from noticing was to strut around like you owned the place. Eventually Romeo stopped in front of a door to one of the many offices on the floor.

The mare stepped forward and examined the small plaque sitting in the center of the door. “Dead Line, Special Correspondent,” she read aloud. Romeo said nothing and pointed at the door knob. She quickly tried to open the door only to find it locked. She snorted and examined the lock, before starting to manipulate the tumblers with her magic. With a click, the door swung open.

“Three seconds. You’re getting slow,” Romeo said as he walked into the office.

The mare followed right behind him and stopped in the center of the room. They both looked around the office before turning to face each other.

“She’s not here.”

“Well I can see that, Juliet. The question is, why? She didn’t have anything today. She can’t be far. See if you can find anything that could give us a clue.”

Juliet rolled her eyes and walked to the journalist’s desk. The computer was powered down and there were only a few loose papers sitting out. She looked through them quickly, and found nothing but notes for an article. She looked up to see if her partner had had any luck when a framed photograph of three ponies on the boardwalks caught her eye. She carefully picked the photograph up with her magic, staring at the three ponies: a beige earth pony, a gray unicorn, and a familiar green pegasus.

“Romeo, we just saw her.”

“What?” The stallion turned to look at her.

“The mare, in the elevator. That was her.”

He was silent for several seconds, pondering the implications. “So, we know what she looks like. Now we need to find her.”

Juliet put the photo back down. “There’s nothing here about a meeting or any phone calls in, she must be out on something unscheduled. We’ve wasted enough time already, she could be almost anywhere in the city right now.”

Romeo nodded. “Then we leave. Tell the boss she wasn’t here and try to catch her somewhere else.”

Juliet got up and the two of them walked back into the hallway and towards the elevator. “We can’t come back here, we’re on the cameras now. One unscheduled visit won’t look suspicious, but two visits from the same ponies moving directly to and from her private office? We can’t risk it.”

Romeo nodded. “Like I said, we’ll have to catch her somewhere else.”

Dead Line pulled into the parking lot outside One Police Plaza, headquarters of the Manehattan Police Department. She knew that the Bureau of Detectives was situated here, and it made the most sense for them to be in charge of the vigilante case. She leaned over and pulled a copy of the Freedom of Information Act from the glovebox. They can’t claim the vigilante wouldn’t know there’s an investigation, it was literally on the front page of every paper in the city. That means they’ve got to share something with me. She slung a bag containing a notebook and a few pens across her shoulder, letting it hang on her right side, and tucked the paper into it. Dead Line pushed the doors of the imposing building and entered the lobby.

The air conditioning hit her like a wall. She’d never liked that. They kept the lobby incredibly cold year-round, whether it was ninety degrees outside or forty. It’d probably be nicer and cheaper to just open one of the thousand windows. That’s probably a security risk or something though, she mused as she trotted through the vast foyer up to the receptionists desk.

“Can I help you miss?” A bored-looking Unicorn in a crisp slate-gray uniform asked without looking up.

“I’m with the Manehattan Times. I was wondering who I could speak with to get more information on the investigation into the vigilante that appeared several nights ago.”

She thought for a minute. “That would be Inspe– Detective Roseluck. Let me call her office and see if she’s in.” Dead Line watched as the receptionist consulted a long list of names and extensions before dialing the four digits on the desk phone. The receptionist hit the button labeled “intercom” and they waited patiently as it began to ring.

Eventually a voice came from the other side. “Hello?”

“Hello, Detective Roseluck, this is Miss Neat from the lobby, we have a reporter asking for you from–”

“Ha!” the detective’s voice cut her off– “Voicemail. Leave a message.” The tone followed to indicate that it was really a voicemail message.

Neat slammed the phone down angrily and looked up at Dead Line apologetically. “Roseluck can be… difficult. I’ll try her chief, if anyone knows where she is it’ll be him.”

Dead Line nodded and waited for her to enter the new extension. I think that that constitutes a bad sign as far as willingness to share information goes.

To Dead Line’s relief the chief picked up almost immediately and seemed to be a real pony. “What is it, Neat?”

“I’ve got a reporter here for Rose, but she’s not in her office. Or at least not answering her phone. Do you know where we could find her?”

The chief was silent for a few seconds. “Actually yes. She’s in my office right now, uninvited. Send the reporter up, I’ll make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

Neat turned back to Dead Line. “Roseluck is in the Chief of Detectives’ office, up on the eighth floor. Just take the elevator up, the hallway in front of you all the way to the end, turn right and then all the way to the end again. And good luck with Rose. Don’t let her intimidate you, or you’ll never get anything out of her.”

Dead Line thanked her and hurried over to the elevator. She stepped into the bleak aluminum elevator and pressed the button for the second floor. Okay. Roseluck is apparentlygoing to make this difficult. Just keep it straightforward. Do they have any leads on an identity or motive, have they discovered anything to do with the fight on the rooftop, do they intend to prosecute the vigilante. Simple. A bell rang and the door slid open, revealing an office-lined hallway.

She stepped out onto the marble tiles and started walking to the end of the hallway like Neat had told her to. She looked at the doors as she passed, simple dark wood with a frosted glass window and a name and rank drawn in black ink. It’s funny. I’ve been interviewing police for so long, but I’ve never actually been in any of their offices before. She noted Roseluck’s door as as she passed, three doors down from the fork in the hallway. The writing read “Inspector Roseluck” but it looked as if someone had crossed “inspector” out with a permanent marker and hastily written “Detective” above it. Odd. Neat made a point of that too. There must be a storythere.

She found herself at the end of the hallway, looking at a door that bore the inscription “Blue Steel, Chief of Detectives” and three stars below the name. Dead Line tentatively lifted a hoof and rapped on the wood.

“Are you the reporter?” called the gruff voice from the phone. The chief.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Come in.”

“Go away.”

The two responses came simultaneously from inside. Dead Line decided to obey the chief’s voice and turned the knob. The door swung open and she saw two scowling ponies. Closest to her a cream colored mare with a deep red mane and piercing green eyes scowled at Dead Line while a large light-grey stallion wearing a crisp white shirt and golden eagle on his chest scowled at her.

The chief gestured towards the unoccupied seat in front of his desk. “Take a seat. Who’re you with?”

Dead Line glanced around the room as she sat. The filing cabinets against the wall and bulletin board on the back wall were both covered in what appeared to be polaroid photographs and newspaper pages. All across the desk and any free horizontal surface was a collection of what appeared to be random odds and ends, but she got the feeling there was a story behind each and every one of them. “The Manehattan Times. I’m currently credited as a ‘special correspondent’ but I’m really more of an investigative journalist.”

Roseluck made a face but the chief just nodded. “And your name?”

“Dead Line.”

The chief nodded again, his face as blank as a slate. “You wrote that first piece on the vigilante a few nights ago. I haven’t seen an article stir up so much talk in this city in a long time.”

Dead Line blushed. “Well, it was the editor’s idea to go with the attention-grabbing headline and the ‘beginning of a new era’ angle. We just wrote up what we had and why it was significant.”

He stared back at her. “You were on the scene well before anyone else could have been. Your photographer must have been very lucky.”

Dead Line was a little put off by that statement and did her best not to show anything. Is he implying something? “Yes she was, she’s always been that way.”

The chief simply nodded and glanced over at Roseluck, who was staring intently at the side of Dead Line’s head. “So what’s this about, Dead Line? Did you come looking for Rose specifically? Did she do something I need to be aware of?”

Dead Line shook her head. “No, I came to see if there was any official information I could get regarding the vigilante, and was told Roseluck was the detective on the case.”

Rose seemed to be appeased by something she’d said. Dead Line wasn’t quite sure what, but Rose was no longer staring as intensely at her.

“You’ll have to forgive Rose,” the chief said, “or don’t, but she’s not very fond of talking to the press. Or other police officers. Or ponies in general. But she can answer your questions.”

“What do you want to know?” Rose asked without moving her gaze.

Dead Line turned to face her, meeting the green eyes. “Do you have any information on the rooftop disturbance you are able to release to the public?”

Rose’s gaze changed just briefly, a slight change in the focus of her eyes. “Nothing that hasn’t already been released.”

“Do you have any information on the vigilante?”

“No.”

“Do you have any current leads?”

“We believe we have identified one of the stallions from the rooftop via security camera footage, and will be questioning him as soon as he can be tracked down.”

“Thank you. Last question. Should the vigilante’s identity come to light, does the MPD intend to prosecute them for their actions?”

Rose’s eyes flickered again. “Yes.”

The chief chimed in, feeling the need to break up the scene in front of him. “Of course we do. Unregistered vigilantism is a crime under Equestrian and city law, and what she’s done constitutes assault and possibly even kidnapping.”

Rose snapped to face the chief. “Kidnapping? Really? She was almost certainly trying to get that pony away from whatever was happening on the roof. There’s no evidence she was doing anything else.”

“There’s no evidence she was only getting involved out of the kindness of her heart either.”

"So the logical conclusion is kidnapping?"

"Rose, until that pony comes forward we have to assume him missing."

"Well, what if they just don't want to come to the cops? That's not exactly a rare occurrence in this city."

"And if the vigilante is rescuing criminals from other criminals then everyone involved needs to be arrested."

"But if she's only going after criminals why should we even interfere?" Rose was fairly agitated now. "We know everyone she fought was a criminal, and we got two arrests out of the deal. As long as she's going after the right ponies I think it's a good thing!"

The chief sighed, and Dead Line wished she'd left before asking that last question.

"I know your thoughts on the matter Rose, but vigilantism is a crime for a reason. No pony gets to be above the law."

Rose looked like she was about to fire back another retort, but Dead Line interrupted. "Thank you both for your time, I can see myself out."

Rose looked towards her with a confused look on her face, as if she hadn’t noticed her before. The chief nodded and bid her farewell.

Dead Line hurried down the hall and back to the elevator. Miss Neat waved to her as she passed and walked back to her car.

Well, that was certainly... interesting, she thought as she joined the flow of traffic. The police seem to have about as much information as we do, but that Rose seems like she's determined to find something. I'll have to either count on her sharing or find a way to get info on my own. Something tells me she doesn't like the press. Maybe Monochrome's got something.

She reached for her cell phone and quickly dialed Monochrome's number. She picked up on the third ring.

"Dead Line?"

"Yeah, hi. I was wondering if you'd answer a few questions real quick."

"Dead, you don't need to use your reporter mode on me. What do you want to know?"

"You said you were looking into that vigilante from a few nights back. You haven't found anything new, have you?"

Monochrome was silent for several seconds. "No, nothing you don't have, I think."

Dead Line frowned. Guess I'll have to get investigative myself. "One more, a general one this time, for my article."

"Shoot."

"What can you tell me, with evidence, about the Ironclads?"

Monochrome was silent for a moment. "Well, officially they were broken up a few years ago, back when Silver Dollar and Dark Star were cracking down. But you also know that there's still some kind of powerful smuggling operation in the city, and every time a smuggler gets busted someone tries to link it to the Ironclads, and usually has some kind of evidence. And you probably know that although Silver Dollar's shooters were never identified, the weapons match up with the sort the Ironclads prefer. Other than a few odd cases that really make me suspect the Ironclads are still around, I can't help you all that much."

Dead Line nodded, a little disappointed. "Thanks Chrome. I'll let you go, we still on for breakfast next weekend?"

"I'd never miss it."