//-------------------------------------------------------//
                           Hench                           
                    -by theycallmejub-                     
//-------------------------------------------------------//
//-------------------------------------------------------//
                         Chapter 1                         
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Chapter 1
Hench
It's Nightmare Night in Maretropolis's Matte District, and that's good news for a no-name lowlife like me. The July Jack-O-Lanterns—the city’s most notorious street gang—have a thing for throwing wild parties every year on October 31st, which means Matterhorn and her gang will have their hooves full tonight. Sure the Power Ponies can fly, shoot eye-beams and wreck shit like monsters plucked from a shitty B movie, but the Jacks have numbers—more than any other gang in the city.
It's a little after nine when I arrive at the corner of Hurricane and Puddinghead, my old stomping grounds in the heart of the Matte District. I'm late to the party. Mobs of crystal ponies are already flipping carriages, smashing windows, fighting in parking lots and looting stores. Half a block away, a griffin liquor store owner stands in the doorway of her precious business, brandishing a crossbow at any rioter bold enough to come near.
Fucking Beaks. Mayor Cubic doesn't have a single job or welfare check for the displaced crystal pony refugees, but every other shop owner on this block is a fucking Beak.
A howl from overhead catches her attention, a long, loud and lupine "Ouu-Ouu-Ouuooooooooooo!"
Her face jerks skyward, claws following to aim her bow—but she's a good two seconds too slow. One of the Jacks, a diamond dog mounted on the back of a bleary-eyed pegasus, winds up and pitches a brick at her, busting her in the face.
Blood splashes as she falls to the sidewalk, screaming, clutching her broken beak. I don't see how bad the damage is until her claws leave her mangled face in search of the dropped crossbow. What's left of her beak has been jammed into the flesh under her eyes, no doubt puncturing something vital.
She's already dead—been dead since the brick struck her face—but she doesn't realize it until her talons brush the handle of her fallen bow. Then she goes still.
I don't realize I'm standing still myself—cowering beneath a busted streetlight and shaking with a mix of excitement and terror—until more ghoulish diamond dogs streak across the smoke-filled sky. Staring up, I break into a half-panicked, half-thrilled gallop, unable to tear my gaze from the wraiths that haunt Maretropolis every Nightmare Night.
Across the street, one of the night riders dives low and glides just above the pavement, his silhouette there and gone and there and gone as he passes beneath the gas lamps that line the sidewalk. During every pass, I catch a glimpse of the neon-orange patch sewn into the back of his leather vest. There's a fanged jack-o-lantern grinning at the city from the center of his broad back, proudly proclaiming his allegiance to the July Jack-O-Lanterns.
The low-flier spots me just as I turn down an alleyway that ends at a high chain-link fence. Too high to climb. Ponyfeathers—this is about to get interesting.
Sweat beads on my brow and neck, chilling me in the cool October air.
Wings beat behind me.
A wolf howls.
I'm ready to puke when salvation appears in the form of a low hanging fire escape ladder. I wish for claws as I gallop toward it—dragon claws, griffin claws, anything but hooves—then kick off my hind legs and leap for that sliver of salivation. It's a mad scramble up the ladder to the scaffolding, all clumsy hooves and aching legs that trip up a dozen times.
Once on the scaffolding, a demonic neigh jerks my face the left. Bleary-eyed and foaming like a rabid dog, the pegasus beneath his mutt master streaks directly at me. Feathers fall from beating wings. Smoke billows from flared nostrils. Then—another sliver of salvation.
Maybe it's the drugs the Jacks shoot into their pony slaves, turning them into vegetables with basic motor skills, or a simple case of bad timing, but the pegasus crashes head-first into the fire escape's guardrail. His body folds like an accordion—spine contorting, hind hooves flopping forward to graze his shoulders—and the mutt pitches through the air, his howl morphing into a shriek in mid-flight.
It's a short flight before he crashes into me. We hit the flat of the scaffolding. Bounce. Roll. Sharp nails rake my back as we tumble, and teeth graze my shoulder, flirting with my neck.
I'm trying to scramble away when a paws seizes my foreleg, twisting it behind my back. Straddling my hips, the mutt wrenches up on the caught limb, yanking my forehoof up between my shoulder blades.
"Get the fuck off—" A cuff to the base of my skull shuts me up. As he grabs a fistful of mane and wrenches my head back, sparks flash behind my eyes. They flash brighter when his paw drives downward, smashing my snout into the platform.
Shit, he's heavy. He lifts my face and makes me kiss the iron a few more times, but all I can think about is his weight. There's a living boulder on my back, crushing my diaphragm, making every breath a chore.
He growls something in my ear—a taunt or threat I don't hear over the throb, throb, throb of my racing heart. A hot breath blasts my neck, a tongue flicks out to taste me. I thrash my hardest but it's no good. He's too heavy. I can hardly move, hardly even breathe.
My pulse quickens to a gallop. It feels good in a crazy kind of way. Feels like I'm alive... if only for a few seconds longer...
"LEAVE PUNY PONY ALONE!"
The fire escape shakes from the force of a familiar voice. The mutt looks up, and I crane my neck to look with him, catching a glimpse of something that resembles a small yellow-and-green mountain in a harrowing free fall.
The mutt panics, losing his grip on my leg. With all four limbs under me now, I buck and roll and roll and keep on rolling, eventually slipping under the guardrail and falling from the fire escape. My back crashes into a dumpster lid, sending all kinds of hurt rattling up and down my spine.
A second later, the free falling mountain crashes on the mutt. He and the fire escape practically explode. Blood and twisted metal shoot up and out, flying everywhere. The mountain, actually a giant mare clad in tattered green spandex—an Arctic Horse ripped from the pages of a Frozen North fairytale—roars and pummels whatever's left of the night rider with a series of wild hammer blows.
He's a red smear when the pulverizing finally stops. His leather vest is tattered, but the fanged Jack-o-lantern is still grinning, amused by the brutal, senseless slaughter.
I groan as I try to sit up on the dumpster lid.
She looks my way. Shit—that was a mistake. Made too much noise. Got her attention. Shit—gotta move now. Gotta...
I try again, but the shooting pain in my back keeps me glued to the lid like a bug stuck to flypaper.
The ground shakes as she lumbers closer. A steamy snort makes me blink. Our muzzles are at kissing distance, and if she were small and sweet and harmless, like she was the night I met her, I might pucker up and plant a wet one on that pretty mouth of hers. I've kissed her dozens of times before, but never while she's wearing the mask. Never while she's Saddle Rager.
"Babe," I say, forcing a smile. "It's me... Clip..."
She snorts again, glaring with a stranger's eyes. Then her head turns at the sound of a far off howl, and she leaps away, smashing into the side of a building. She lands, grabs at the crumbling wall, roars, leaps again. And then she's gone.
I gasp, gulping down greedy swallows of air and wondering how long I'd been holding my breath. In the distance, I hear my hulking sweetheart growl as she smashes her way through the Matte District.
My back is in knots. I'm still dizzy. Still panting.
Climbing off the dumpster sucks. Limping down the alleyway and back toward the rioting is worse. Much worse.
From my hiding place behind an overturned carriage, I watch two crystal earth mares have it out over a dozen spilled coins. Limbs flailing, they wrestle and bite at each other on the sidewalk outside of a damaged retail store.
Rager's been here. There's a gaping hole in the wall to the right of the entrance.
Other ponies notice the struggling mares, and rush over to scoop up their spilled coins.
"Don't—!" shouts the mare on the bottom, her hoof driving into the other's cheek, neck craning to better watch the thieves rob her. "Don't touch those! I need them! I—!" Her voice goes hoarse as the other mare stomps her throat. She clutches her neck and turns to her side, still staring at her precious coins, and the scores of hooves scooping them up, carrying them away.
She doesn't see the stomp that dislocates her crystalline jaw. I see her chin hang slack and askew, like a broken piece of a foal's plastic action figure. She covers the injury with both hooves, moaning, her eyes closed against the barrage of stomps that follow.
Tears roll down her cheeks. It's an ugly sight, not easy to watch
The mare on top no longer seems concerned with the spilled money. She's fired up, transfixed by the task of beating her enemy bloody. Others rile her on, and a few join her, pulling into a bully's circle around the defenseless mare. They gather in front of the store's entrance and kick her all to pieces.
Dumb bastards. They're blocking my way in.
Avoiding the mob, I circle around the building in search of another entrance. I find one easily enough. A massive corrugated door at the store's back has been ripped away, folded like a scrap of tin foil and left sitting in the parking lot. "Thanks, babe," I laugh to myself as I step inside.
I hurry past the warehousing section of the store and canter around in search of a cart. Dull crystalline bodies litter the aisles, dead or unconscious, strewn about alongside a bunch of crap that got knocked over during the looting. I dig through the saddlebags of the fallen ponies, expecting little and finding even less. Poor desperate bastards; it's no wonder they rip each other apart over a few coins.
I don't come across any carts, but what I do find is even better. Mane N' Tail shampoo and conditioner, the boss's favorite. There's racks of the stuff, untouched by the mobs or my sweetheart. Fuck the cart—I lift a saddlebag off one of the stiffs and start shoveling in bottles. I'll have to save a few for myself.
I hit the registers on my way out, but come up with nothing. They're empty; already cleaned out by the mobs or the Jacks. Figured as much. Better hit some other stores tonight, before all the cash gets looted.
The front entrance is clear now; even the mare on the receiving end of that nasty thrashing is gone. Either she picked herself up and limped off, or the mob carried away her corpse. I hope it's the former, 'cause that would be pretty hot. I've always had a thing for tough mares.
I've got one hoof out the door when the lasso loops around my neck. It's thick and golden and shining—realer than real—like something out of a fever dream or a bad poison joke trip. I gasp and clutch at my neck, at the golden rope—and then I'm off the ground, sailing over a checkout counter.
Bottles fall from my saddlebag as I careen into a rack of snack cakes. The rack topples over. Boxes drop to the floor. Dizzy, I try to scurry away, but the golden rope stretches longer and hogties me, forcing me on my back as it binds together all four of my legs.
When I realize there's no pony holding the rope, a blood vessel bulges on my forehead. "Fuck off, Marevelous! I ain't even doing nothing!"
"What was that? What did you just say?"
My blood freezes when I hear the voice. The pulsing vein on my face shrinks to a thin line, then vanishes altogether.
It's not her. It's her rope but it's not her.
"Doing nothing, huh?” says the voice. “Doesn't look like nothing to me."
I hear footsteps—lightweight boots on tile—and the whine of claws scraping along the aisle's metal racks.
"Untie me, you fucking sicko!" I shout, my demand squeaking out like plea. "I'm serious! You touch me and she'll get really pissed! She'll bash in your fucking skull!"
The boots draw closer, the whine grows louder.
"Come on, kid,” I go on, “you gonna mess with me over some shampoo? The boss sent me on a run. Just a run. I wasn't doing anything."
The heel of a boot stomps my throat. I sputter. Croak. Claws pluck at the golden rope.
"Stealing is a thing." He's bigger than I remember, his boot heavier. "And so is lying." He leans forward and rests a forearm on his bent knee, grinning, wisps of smoke curling away from the corners of his scaly mouth.
His teeth are filed. Sharp for a baby dragon.
"Marevelous!" I croak from under the dragon's boot. "I know you're in here! Call off your fucking lapdog!"
Humdrum slaps my face with a gloved claw. "Marevelous isn't here, pretty boy. It's just you... and me..."
"Bullshit! She moved the rope! I saw it! I saw her move the rope without touching it!"
"You saw the rope move alright. But like I said, my mistress isn't here." He taps his temple with two claws. "I got the magic in me these days."
"Is this how the Power Ponies operate?" I shout again, calling out to Marevelous. "Shaking down innocent stallions carrying bags of shampoo? You're a bunch of thugs! You're no better than the rest of—"
Humdrum growls and clamps a claw around my mouth. "Shut up!" he roars. "Shut up and look at me! Stop screaming her name and look at me!" His talons clench, squeezing my cheeks together. My lungs go all tight and useless, and my heart gets to racing all over again.
He moves his boot and drops a knee on my throat. "I'm gonna start with this pretty mouth, pretty boy," he says, shaking my head. "Gonna rip off these pretty lips and eat them. Gonna make you watch me eat them. Make you look at me..."
"That's enough, Humdrum." I crane my neck and spot Mistress Marevelous swaggering down the aisle, all swishing blonde hair and curvy legs and flared hips and red spandex that hugs her in all the right places. "I think our pretty boy has had enough."
Humdrum looks up and tosses Marevelous a belly laugh. "Aw, come on, Mistress. He was just about to piss himself. Now the mood's all ruined." He traces my cheek with a gloved claw. "So cute. It's no wonder why Rager fell for you."
"Humdrum," says Marevelous. "Heel."
"But Mistress—"
"Now."
Without another protest, the baby dragon climbs off my throat.
"Good boy," she says, as if congratulating a pet for performing a trick. I half-expect her to toss the little monster a doggie treat. She says "Down," instead, then stomps the back of his head once he's on his hands and knees. "Humdrum, were you defying me just now?"
"No, mistress," he mumbles. She twists her forehoof left and right, grinding his face into the tiles.
"I can't hear you."
"No, mistress! I would never..." The rest gets choked off as she grinds harder, really driving her weight down.
"That's what I thought you said." She eases up on the grinding. "Go run crowd control outside, and try not to die if you bump into any Jacks." She tosses a leer my way. "I want a minute alone with our pretty boy."
She lets him up. Humdrum wipes his face, sniffs, then struts out with his head up and his back straight, staring daggers at me from over his shoulder as he leaves.
"Sorry about that." Marevelous comes closer. The rope glows, unties itself. "I told him to scare you and... you know how he is."
I stand up and massage my neck. "With the short leash you keep him on, it's no wonder he acts out so often."
"How we raise him is our business."
"Raising him?" I say with a laugh. "Is that what you call it? That's pretty sick, even for you fuckers."
"Says Maneiac's number two lieutenant." She glances down at the spilled bottles of shampoo. "The hay is this, Clip? Am I supposed to believe you risked your life braving the riots for mane-care products?"
"Believe whatever you want," I say, "but that's pretty much how it went." I pick up my saddlebag and start gathering the fallen bottles.
"That's bullshit."
"It's really not."
"Why then?"
"Because I'm worth it."
She bites my saddlebag, rips it off my hip and tosses it aside. "Why? What's in the shampoo, Clip? What is Maneiac planning?"
"Uh, to wash her mane," I say, flustered. "Horse apples, you're a paranoid little fucker."
She headbutts me between the eyes. "Say that again."
I take a breath. Rub my muzzle. "You know, I'm getting real sick of being kicked around tonight.” I try to shove by Marevelous, but she blocks me with that sturdy body of hers.
"The boss ordered me to make a run," I say. "I fuck up and it's my ass."
"I'm sure," she says. "Look, you know I got nothing against you, pretty boy, but Matterhorn doesn't like you fooling around with Rager. If it was me or Zapp or Radiance this wouldn't be what it is, but the boss is protective of Rager. She's... sensitive. You break her heart, she throws a tantrum and breaks Maretropolis—get it?"
"Yeah, I get it,” I say—and I do. I really do. This is a conversation we've had before. “You respect her power but not her. She ain't a foal, you know. How 'bout letting her make her own decisions."
"Matterhorn calls the shots. Not her. Not me. Not anyone else."
Marevelous glares as I laugh in her face. "Matterhorn can't stop her, can she? All that alicorn power and she's still scared of my little sweetheart."
"Matterhorn can't,” she says, “but I can. And believe me, pretty boy, if it ever does come down to your 'sweetheart' needing to be stopped, you don't want me to do the stopping." She looks away for a moment, then looks back, her eyes softer now. "I know it sucks, but if you really care about her... Leave town and never look back. I'll... I'll tell her the Jacks got you or something."
"And how would I survive outside of the city? You gonna pay for my train ticket? Food, maybe? A place to stay?"
"I've already set up a phantom account through Marvelous Industries. Leave tonight and you'll have a hundred grand at your disposal by tomorrow morning. More later if you need it."
I shake my head. "Well damn, you really have thought this through. I wonder how Rager would feel about all this... her so-called friends buying off her lover."
"She doesn't need to know. And if you tell her, I'll find you and break your neck."
"And I'm supposed to believe you fascist pricks would really just let me walk?" I ask. "No trial? No prison time?"
"Consider it a favor," she says.
A new life? A fresh start? That does sound tempting...
"I've seen her without the mask,” I say. “I know her face. Her name. You gonna let that slide, too?"
"Keep that to yourself," she says. "Tell anyone—anyone at all—and I'll send Humdrum after you."
I mull it over. Only takes about a second. "Okay," I say with a nod. "Okay..."
I lurch forward and swing my forehead at Marevelous's nose, paying her back for that cheap shot. It lands with a crunch that hurts us both, but only Marevelous staggers backwards.
"You little shit," she grumbles, fondling a gilded horseshoe on her belt. "Don't you dare say I never gave you an out."
I snort. Lower my stance. "Come on, then." My forehoof rakes the ground, the gesture more bull than stallion. "Let's get this over with."
She's drop dead gorgeous.
My head is spinning, and my legs are shaking, and my ribs are singing, but that's okay because Mistress Marevelous is gorgeous—all hips and thighs and sinful red spandex that clings in all the right places. I can barely see her through the punch-drunk haze that's settled over my eyes, but she's there alright, panting, leering with seductive eyes.
We've been fighting for a cool minute now. One of those seductive eyes has started to blacken and swell. I must be doing all right.
"Yo, Mistress," says Humdrum. He's sitting on one of the shelves in the soap aisle, bottles of shampoo and body wash flanking his small frame. "You sure you don't want me to rip out his pretty eyes? We could take turns. I do one, you do one."
"Shut it," she snaps. "I thought I told you to run crowd control."
"Crowd's all gone. Moved on to greener pastures." He flashes a grin, showing off two rows of filed teeth. "Don't be so stubborn, Mistress. I know you can take this guy; I just want a bite. Just one measly bite."
"I said shut up." She turns on him, glaring. "Go back outside."
"Nope. I'm watching your back, like it or not."
She snorts. "Fine, but stay put. You interfere once and I'll—"
"Quit the posturing bullshit," I interrupt. "What's wrong Marevelous, too dizzy to levitate that fucking magic rope?”
She inches toward me, head lowered. "I don't need it. Not for a piece-of-shit thug like you."
Mmmm, so stubborn. I like that.
"You sure?" I taunt. "That shiner I gave you says otherwise."
"A lucky shot," she says. "Won't happen again."
She's right about that. I'm still in this fight—still awake for it anyway—but so far she's been landing punches at a rate of about six to one. It's round seven or eight and I'm way behind on points. I need a knockout to win this one. Better get creative.
Another snort and then she's off like a shot, galloping at me, leading with her head. While she's closing the gap I get creative. Reaching for one of the aisle's middle racks, I bite into a container of baby powder and fling it at her. It bursts against her shoulder in a pop of white dust, most of it plastering her eyes.
"Son of a—"
I pivot on my fores and slam both back hooves into her muzzle, forcing the word "bitch!" back down her throat. Her head pops up. I don't let her stagger, don't wait for her to reel or stumble. I pivot back, spring to my hinds and flick a jab at her throat.
She croaks, still trying to blink away the powder in her eyes. A keen fighting instinct jolts her body upright, and her fores raise to match my boxing pose, front hooves hovering just beneath her closed eyes. She feels out a right cross I send her way, half-slipping, half-blocking, but my follow-up left cracks her ribs with breath-stealing force.
Her gasp is delicious. She hurls a blind haymaker, meaning to pay me back with interest. But I'm long gone before the punch lands—already stepping off to her left.
Another body shot practically lifts her off the floor. The angle is perfect. Her body folds in half, gut pursing around my hoof as if meaning to swallow it. She's soft around the middle. Much softer than I expected.
In the background, Humdrum's laugh rumbles up like a rock slide in reverse, too big and too deep for a creature his size. It's a thousand-year-old laugh, the quaking chuckle of a full grown dragon. He must be enjoying this as much as I am.
"I wouldn't if I were you," he says.
I make the mistake of losing focus, of looking his way—looking at that grin, those filed fangs—and wondering why... why does he file them?
I get distracted. Stop punching.
Seizing the moment, Marevelous belts out a bronco's neigh and pumps those gorgeous hinds, driving her shoulder into my gut and pushing me into one of the racks.
Steel bites into my spine.
Soaps and body lotions topple from shelves.
Marevelous takes a half-step back, giving herself the perfect amount of space. I see her forehooves clap together, watch her hips swivel, but I'm too slow and too stunned to stop her elbow from looping forward and cracking my jaw.
My neck twists violently, giving my nerve endings something to scream about. But I'm still on my hinds, my back leaning against the shelves. And my senses are still working, my hooves still raised, muscles still—
A scarlet laser beam streaks through my guard, searing my muzzle. Another beam shoots low, finding my gut, and I make a sound I've never heard on a pony's lips before—let alone mine. It's a noise usually reserved for dying frogs, like a ribbit mixed with a croak.
I'm on my way down when a spandex-clad foreleg slips between my hinds. A second leg loops around my shoulder, slapping against my back—and then I'm airborne, my body horizontal, chest pinned to Marevelous's torso. She holds me for a second—maybe 'cause she's tired and needs a break, maybe just to show me she can—then she turns, falls and slams me to the floor with all the power, bluster, and flare of a pro wrestler.
I slip away for a moment. Everything flickers... Marevelous, the racks, the fallen goods... all of it rapidly blinking in and out of existence. When the store settles back into constant shapes, I'm on my back, and the masked mare is lying under me, her fores coiled around my neck.
"Gave you a chance," she breathes in my ear. I feel her lips move as she says more, but I miss the words; the ringing in my ears is too loud.
Then everything goes tight.
"You win," I plead, sounding pathetic as I pull at the biceps bulging against my neck. They're big and round and thick, too much for my fragile throat.
"I know I've won," she says, breathing heavily. "I won the moment you landed that first cheap shot." Her technique is perfect: one knee gripping her bicep, the other tucked behind my skull. She pushes my head forward and tightens her grip, letting the crook of her elbow sink deep under my chin.
"Get off... me..." A deep flush creeps into my cheeks. I try to suck back a swallow of air, but by now my lungs have given up on me.
Marevelous is breathing just fine; I feel her aroused pants blast my neck. "What's wrong, pretty boy? All out of cheap shots?"
She rolls to her side, taking me with her, and, balancing on her hip, straightens her hinds and crosses her fetlocks. Her stomach flexes against my back, turning to corrugated steel as her thighs go taut around my ribs.
Fuck, she's strong. Too strong. Too much pressure...
"I'll... leave..." I just barely manage to say.
"What was that?" She loosens her choke hold but squeezes harder with her thighs. "I couldn't hear you?"
"I'll leave town," I say, hating myself for uttering those words. "I'll leave her alone, I swear. Just... stop..."
"You fucking coward." Marevelous breaks her sleeperhold, then yanks my head back and tucks my chin under her foreleg. Her front hooves clap together behind my neck, and those thick biceps flex all over again. "Miserable, fucking..." Her voice trails off. She adjusts her scissor hold, arches her back.
"Please," I moan. "I'll leave... I promise I'll..."
Something pops below my chest, forcing a ragged bellow from my throat. It's low and pleading and pathetic, a sure sign of submission. Of complete and utter defeat.
Grunting, she squeezes a second pop from below my chest. Then those gorgeous hinds splay and her fores thrust out to shove me away.
We lay side by side, panting and spent.
"I thought about letting you stay," she says, breaking the short silence. "I thought about hiding you from Matterhorn, faking your death. It could have worked. Matterhorn is sharp, but I'm sharper. It could've worked."
She climbs back to all fours. "But then you went and blew it. You threw her away because you couldn't handle a little pain." Her mind reaches down the aisle, summoning the golden rope. It floats to her, ethereal in the gloom. "Rager deserves better than a coward like you. Go to the bank near the train station in the next district over. Walk up to the third teller from the entrance and tell her you're Clip Cowlick with MI Inc. Once you have the money, board the next train heading out of Maretropolis. If you're still here tomorrow morning..." She pauses. Sighs. "Just don't be here. Understand?"
"Can I—" my voice flounders on a hiccough. I try again. "Can I at least say goodbye?"
"You already did."
Marevelous calls her lapdog down off the top shelf. She doesn't make a sound as she pads away, but I hear the echo of Humdrum's boots on the floor, and the strident whine of his claws scraping along the metal racks.
A good long while goes by before I muster the will to get up. Tired and hurting all over, I retrieve my bag, gather up the spilled shampoo and head for the exit. I whistle as I go, thinking about the money, the train ticket, the brand new start.
I step out of the little colt's room and amble up to that yellow line nopony is supposed to cross while waiting for the train. It's a cold morning. By now all of last night's fires have been put out, and the local guard has cleaned up most of the blood. Maybe. Damn cowards, those guards. They never raise a hoof to stop the yearly riots, just show up the next morning like armored janitors clocking in for an early shift.
The station is surrounded by desert. I stare out to that distant place where the tracks meet the flame-orange horizon, wondering what's out there.
“Oh, you're already here. I didn't think you'd show up so early.”
I turn at the sound of her voice, and my heart gets to pounding when I see my sweetheart's smile. She's small and harmless again. She isn't the free falling mountain anymore, not the Arctic Horse or the one mare in this city who Matter-Horn fears. She's herself, and she's not wearing that damn mask. I'm hoping she never will again.
“Look at you,” I say, smiling. “You're beautiful.”
“I know. I'm almost as pretty as you.” She comes closer. My heart skips. “So it's over then? Did Marevelous really give you the money?”
I open my saddlebag and give her a peek. Her face lights up, but not in a good way.
“Unbelievable.” Her cheeks redden, her eyes narrow, and for a second she looks like Saddle Rager again. “I thought we were friends. I thought... How could she?”
“Come here,” I pull her into a tight hug. “Fuck them. Fuck that whole city.”
Her muscles expand against me, growing larger, denser. “They'll come after us. We can't hide from them—not for long anyway.”
“Let them come,” I say. “None of them stand a chance against my sweetheart.” I plant a big wet one on her kisser and her muscles shrink back to normal size.
The train comes a little later, and my heart starts racing as me and my sweetheart climb aboard. Feels good in a crazy kind of way. Feels like I'm alive.