The PRS

After most of the war party departed, I turned to the accented stallion.

"Excuse me, but I didn't catch your name."

"My name's Whooves. Doctor Whooves. Now, tell me, how did you end up here?"

"I live here," I replied. Doctor looked me over.

"Huh. Don't remember seeing you around. But that's besides the point. I've got to get home."

"Wait," I called as he walked away. "What's the PRS?" He stiffened, then slowly turned around. Then he walked back to me. looking around hurriedly, he whispered,

"Nopony knows, Mr. L. That's why we keep it hush-hush. You'd best not tell anypony until we know what it is." He paused for a moment. "Well, anyway, cheerio!"

I stared after him. How could anypony resist even looking for the PRS? Somepony had to. And that pony was me.

Back in my office at L Industries in Manehatten, I told my secretary not to let anypony disturb me for the rest of the day. Then, I pressed a button under my desk, and the door to a hidden elevator slid open behind me. I went into it, and pushed a button. The elevator closed and began descending. As I stood there, mechanical arms emerged from the ceiling and began to fit my costume on. By the time the elevator reached the bottom level, I was in full costume. I stepped out, looking into a mirror. back at me stared the Mysterious Mare Do Well.