Hotline: Manehattan

Ah, you're finally awake... Good. No no, don't get up. Just stay there... Now then... Let's see how much you remember.
Do you know where you are? What time it is...? Who you are...? None of these things? Well... Maybe that's for the best. Because while you most likely do not know me, I know a lot about you... Where you're from, and what you do... And why you're here, now.

If you want to know who you really are, you'd best be prepared. Because looking at your track record, I'd say that you most certainly are not a pleasant pony... Not one many other ponies would like to know.

Let's start with a date. The third of the Fourth. See if that date makes you remember anything... Ah, yes... Now you're starting to remember...

The date was the third of the Fourth, 5 NCC. Manehattan's nightlife was just beginning to come alive, the beautiful neon lights in the street just starting to bloom. Most ponies would have found it beautiful. But there was one pony who just could not care less... Said one pony, a Unicorn, merely sat in his apartment in downtown Manehattan, staring grumpily at the floor, surrounded by rubbish, random articles and boxes, only vaguely recognising the flickering and buzzing of the lights around him.
He was waiting for a letter. A very particular letter from a particular pony whom he'd never met, and never would meet. He wasn't a very social pony - in his line of work, being social was a detriment.

At that moment, the embers in the fireplace began sizzling anew. Almost instinctively, the pony looked up at the flickering flames, which just a few seconds ago had been all but dead. The flames sparked a few more times, beginning to glow a bright green colour, until finally a sealed envelope ejected itself from the emerald embers, which in a matter of seconds died out once more. The unicorn caught the letter with his magic, pulling it slowly towards him, breaking the seal and carefully reading it.

"Dear Sir,

We are writing to inform you that your order of ten (10) customised cupcakes is now ready for collection. In case you need reminding, you can pick up your order from 18b, Crescent Moon Avenue, 7th Street. We wish you many happy returns.

- Buckwheat Baking Company."

The unicorn read the letter several times before throwing it back into the fire, letting the embers claim it. It was time to go and pick up a cake...

Grabbing a rubber mask from the side, leaving his apartment and walking down a small flight of stairs, the pony kept repeating the address to himself in his head - 18b, Crescent Moon Avenue. 18b, Crescent Moon Avenue. 18b, Crescent Moon Avenue. The last thing he needed was to burst into the wrong building and get berated for killing an innocent. As he made his way along the busy streets of Manehattan, he perused the buildings he passed, and pondered who might live in them. How they lived their lives... And how many lives they lived.

It wasn't very long before the unicorn reached his destination - but he did not take the entrance. You see, this may have been the correct address, but it most certainly was not the Buckwheat Baking Company. As a matter of fact, there was no "Buckwheat Baking Company". This was the hideout of a particularly notorious group of smugglers. Scoundrels and thieves, the lot of them - and this was precisely the reason why the unicorn was here. Slipping the mask over his face, the unicorn was transformed from a plain and simple pony into an instrument of fear. The rubber face of a timberwolf clung to the unicorn's skin as he approached the door, which he opened without knocking or waiting, and slowly but surely entered the building...