Prologue: Sincerest Condolances
The droning tolls of the funeral knells echoed throughout the cathedral situated in south Unicornia. The chapel was deathly silent except for the echoes of faint whispers of condolences and an occasional ‘good riddance.’ The Ponies dressed in black encircled the coffin upon the altar, which was decorated with a vast assortment of flower arrangements and other trinkets. engraved onto the lid of the coffin,as was tradition, was the Cutie Mark of the deceased-- a donut with bright pink frosting and numerous candy sprinkles.
Some ponies watched the service from the upper balconies of the chapel. In one balcony, a pair of Unicorns looked down upon the memorial with straight faces. They did not shed any tears, nor did they wear traditional funeral attire. The mare was mostly naked, except for a simple black boa wrapped around her neck. Beside her was a stallion wearing a black dinner jacket, well ironed collared shirt and bright red bowtie. On his hooves he wore black dress dress boots. He had a bulky build uncommon in Unicorns. Sagging folds of skin on his sides were indicative of a recent and rapid loss of fat that was slowly being replaced with well toned muscles that suggested an Earth Pony lineage. His muzzle was wide and very round. His brown mane, futilely combed, was shaggy and mostly obscured his small horn. Adorned onto the stallions beige flank, was a donut Cutie Mark nearly identical to the one on the coffin.
“It must be creepy seeing a casket with your Cutie Mark on it, Con Man.” said the mare in a thick Unicornian accent. Traditional Unicornian language was sharp as crystal yet as crisp and fluid as freshly melted snow. It was the kind of voice that Con Man would normally enjoy being lost in. However his attention was not on the well proportioned Unicornian noble on his side, but instead rested solely on the display below.
“It doesn't bother me as much as you’d think.”
“Colonel Creme Brulee died in his sleep, or so I’m told.”
“He got off easy.” Con Mane’s tone was deathly blunt. His gruff voice was a low growl, seeded with bitterness.
“You sound as if you’re disappointed that you did not kill him yourself.”
“I am. Col. Brulee killed three of Equestria’s agents.”
“Why should you care?” she scoffed, “I thought you were retired from Mane6?”
Con Mane flared his nostrils in frustration. “Ponies seriously need to stop asking that. I am retired. But I have personal issue when it comes to hunting down the agents of DISCORD, and I won’t stop until every single one of them pays.”
The Unicornian remained silent for a few moments and returned to watching the mourners. one by one they piled through, bowed in respect to the coffin, spoke some reassuring words to the presiding monk and stopped to pay respects to the sobbing mare in the long, black dress and thick veil that hid her mournful face and running mascara in shadow. Every condolence or happy memory delivered by a guest reinforced her weak knees and wailing cries.
“But just look at the Colonel’s wife.” said the mare next to Con Mane, “She is absolutely wrecked with sadness.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Con Mane said with unrelenting indifference.
His partner sighed in surrender and said with pity and concern, “Is there anything else our Unicornian station can do for you, Monsieur Mane?”
Con didn't answer. His gazed remained fixated on the crying widow below. Two stallions on either side of her patted her back and reassurance and politely escorted her out of the chapel. as she approached a spiral staircase that led to the private chamber soft the cathedral, a handkerchief levitated by a magical aura lifted out from her dress pocket and dabbed her eyes behind the thick veil.
With a clenched jaw, Con suddenly turned around. “Maybe later.” he said to his partner before quickly exiting the balcony.
the ornate wooden door unlocked loudly and Co. Brulee’s widow crept in quietly. She caressed a lovely bouquet of red roses in her hooves. She gave them a long, pleasant sniff before setting them daintily on the side table. Her private chamber was lavishly equipped. The tall walls were painted with murals depicting Celestia and Luna descending from the heavens to greet the three founders of Equestria. Through heavy, red curtains, a sliver of Unicornia’s grand landscape could be seen in front of the morning sun which caused beams of light to stretch across the floor. Traditional Unicornian pottery lined the shelves on the walls and a proud grandfather clock ticked away the seconds against the far wall.
She slowly made her way across the room to the expensive Davenport lounge chair that sat before the crackling fireplace across the room.However, she stopped in her tracks at the sight of an off place shadow. A figure was already sitting in the chair, mostly obscured by the light coming in through the window.
“I m sorry for your loss, madame.” The pony, Con Mane, got out of the chair and approached the widow. She stayed still and silent. “I am here to offer you my most sincerest condolences.”
The blow came fast as a ball of thunder. Con Mane’s hoof collided with the side of the other pony’s face with a fleshy crunch. Con Mane’s dress boots hit the pony hard and heavy with a resounding thud. The pony toppled to the hard floor and the thick black veil flew off to reveal the face of stallion with heavy makeup.
“My dear Col. Brulee,” Con Mane growled over the collapsed pony, “I don’t think it was very smart of you to wipe your own tears, when your wife is supposedly an Earth Pony.”
Creme Brulee rubbed his aching cheek and was about to get back on his hooves when he suddenly was engulfed in an emerald green light and levitated above the ground.
Con Mane continued; “Did you really think you could hide from me, Colonel? I've been hunting down you monsters in DISCORD for months now. I know all your little tricks. I’m honored you’d fake your own death in fear of me, but the time for running is over. Now tell me. Who are the remaining members of the Elements of Irony?”
The floating Brulee shivered in reproach. “I don’t know what--”
“Don’t play dumb! You’re DISCORD’s Chief of Relations. You’re high up enough on the chain of command to know who your bosses are. Now, there are three Elements left in charge of your organization: ‘Loyalty’, ‘Laughter’ and ‘Magic’. Now who are they!?”
Brulee’s face contorted in rage. His horn shimmered with blue light. Before Con could react, he was struck in the back of the head. The pounding, brain jostling pain buckled him to the floor along with the shards of the broken pottery that struck him. Brulee, freed from Con’s magic, landed on his hooves. He charged at Con Mane, his horn forward. Con shook the senses back into his brain just in time for him to react to the oncoming ram. He raised a hoof just in time to catch his assailant.
Brulee took to the air and landed on the small table next to the Davenport chair. The table collapsed beneath Brulee’s weight. As Brulee scrambled among the splintered wood, he desperately reached out with his magic which took hold of a nearby wooden chair. He tossed the chair at Con Mane with blind abandon. The chair caught Con and pushed him across the room. He was slammed into the wall next to a tall wooden curio cabinet with glass display doors. Within the cabinet were several Unicornian relics. Pinned against the wall and unable to overpower the magic surrounding the chair, Joe watched as the recovered Brulee approached him once again. Joe focused his magic on the curio cabinet and with one mighty push, the cabinet toppled forward onto Brulee. The glass shattered and wood splintered on top of the Colonel who was pinned down by the mighty weight.
Freed from the chair, Joe lifted the cabinet off of Creme Brulee. He lay there motionless, his skin cut from glass and splintered wood, and his feminine, black dress was tattered to the point where Con could see Brulee’s pink donut Cutie Mark which was near identical to his own.. Con bent down to inspect the body and see if he was still alive. His answer came in the form of Brulee quickly sweeping his hooves and hooking Con’s legs, causing him to trip onto the floor. Brulee desperately leaped into the air in an attempt to land on Con. However he missed and over shot Con, instead landing on part of the rug that slid with him.
Con got to his hooves once again, but Brulee had an answer for his blunder. Brulee magically lifted the entire grandfather clock and pointed it at Con like a missile. Con dodged the incoming clock which crashed into the floor without a resounding cacophony of gonging springs. the ancient timepiece was quickly reduced to a pile of timber and bent clockwork. Brulee was in a rage. He desperately levitated any object he could get his magic around. In a moment, Con was being bombarded with potter and broken furniture.
Con was forced to shield his eyes from wood and shards of clay that constantly clawed at his body. He opened them again just in time to see a yet undamaged chair flying straight for him. Con charged his horn and took control of the chair mid flight, and then shot it back at Creme Brulee. The chair shattered to pieces as Brulee was slammed against the door of the room. Con approached the badly damaged Colonel, levitated flat against the door and then punched him hard in the gut with his thick boot. Brulee sputtered and groaned in pain.
Brulee then charged his own horn and enchanted Con Mane. Con was lifted into the air and slammed hard into the wall, freeing Brulee from the magical grasp. The situation reversed, Brulee delivered his own blow to Con’s husky frame. Both ponies grabbed a hold of each other and they threw themselves onto the floor in a somersault that ended with Brulee bucking Con into the air.
Con landed hard on the floor and could hear Brulee already recovering. He looked up and saw the mighty red curtain, thick and heavy, towering above him. Con used his horn to yank the curtain off its hinges and land right on top of Brulee who struggled underneath the thick fabric. Brulee wriggled his way from underneath the curtain only to find himself muzzle to muzzle with Con who delivered another brain shattering punch to Brulee’s face.
Colonel Brulee’s face was badly bruised, puffy and purple. He made a mad dash to the nearby fireplace, but tripped against the crumpled rug and remain of the grandfather clock that he could not see through his swollen vision. He fell onto a black coffee table which broke beneath his weight and landed before the fireplace. Brulee relied on his levitation once again and took hold of the iron fire poker resting against the wall. He stuck the dagger sharp into the embers until it glowed a brilliant red. Then when Con approached, the Colonel quickly turned out and swatted at Con with the fiery poker.
Con Mane stepped back as Brulee wildly blindly swung the dangerous object. But Con Mane did not watch where he was going and he fell backwards into the plush Davenport. Brulee swung down hard with the poker which made contact with Con’s flank. Con let out a scream as he was whipped with the weapon that burned and lashed at his skin. He instinctively kicked outward and nailed Brulee in the face. Brulee was forced to press his hooves against his already damaged face and let go of the poker. Con grabbed the poker with his hooves and pressed it longways against Brulee’s throat. Fueled by his adrenaline, Con kept the poker tight against Brulee’s throat and pressed against the windpipe. The choking Brulee scrambled to free himself from the strangling but could not muster the strength.
“Tell me!” Con demanded, but the only sounds to escape Brulee’s mouth were guttering spats. Suddenly there were a series of loud, desperate bangs on the door. From the other side, Con could hear Brulee’s bodyguards yelling out his name. When the answer did not come, the bangs on the door became more forceful.
Con looked around the room, now in complete shambles with all of its furniture left in ruin, but could not find any means of escaping with his captive. Left with no other options, Con Man cursed at himself and sharply jerked the fire power. After a loud snap, Col. Brulee’s lifeless body fell to the ground with a broken neck.
Con dashed to the window where he yanked off the curtain earlier. He shielded his eyes and crashed through the window just as the bodyguards broke down the door and entered the room. Half the bodyguards ran over the inspect their boss’s dead body, while the others headed towards the window. There was no balcony outside the window; only a several hundred hoof drop to the cathedral courtyard below. But, to the guards’ surprise, Con Mane appeared on the other side of the window.
Con Mane levitated in midair, but his horn was not alight. Instead, roaring flames shot out of the soles of his black dress boots, their propulsion suspending him in the air. The guards all stood dumbfounded at the impossible sight.
“My condolences, gentlecolts.” said Con, “I’ll be sure to send flowers. Now if you’ll excuse me.” The rockets in Con’s boots increased their output and accelerated Con into the air. He elevated high above the cathedral’s bell tower. Down below, he could see the numerous bodyguards rushing out onto the various balconies and outdoor walkways in an attempt to track down the flying Unicorn. However, their efforts were in vain, as Con Mane became a mere black speck against the blue sky.
Agent Con Mane
in
Undercurrent
Chapter 2: St. Nightingale's
“A little more to the left will you?” Donut Joe sighed contently at the feeling of gentle hooves kneading into his lower back.
Joe lay face down on a table of old, padded leather covered with thin paper. The alabaster white mare stopped rubbing his back. With his eyes closed in relaxation, Joe did not see her blue eyes sharpen in protest. She brushed a stray bang of bubblegum pink mane out of her face as she tutted.
“I’m not a misuse, Mr. Mane, I’m your nurse. And nursing you back to health would be a lot easier if you would hold still.”
“Whatever you say, Nurse Redheart.” Joe chuckled, “Whatever you say.”
Nurse Redheart sighed and continued working on relieving the tension from Joe’s muscles. Donut Joe, who was administered under the name Con Mane, arrived at St. Nightingale’s Health Clinic the previous evening. He suffered from several high impact bruising and other epidermal lacerations. The insurance company responsible for leaving Mr. Mane in the clinic’s care did not specify the source of such injuries, and as they were classified under high profile confidentiality reports, the clinic management had no right to make any further inquiries. Still, Nurse Redheart had her curiosities.
“Where did you get all these bruises from anyway?” she asked as she stroke her hoof across a particularly tender spot on his flank that had already turned an ugly purple. The bruise was long and thin, and discolored his donut Cutie Mark.
“I got into an argument with a widow.” Joe said with a steady tone. A sly smile etched Redheart’s muzzle accompanied by a raised eyebrow.
“No, you’re kidding.” she said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “Not with your irresistible charm. I’d think widows would be crawling at your hooves.”
Joe chuckled again and turned slightly to look at Redheart with a mischievous smile. “Oh no, not this one. He didn't like me at all.”
Redheart stood on three legs with wide eyed confusion. Joe took the time to get off the message table and grabbed a weathered pink bath robe hanging on a hook fastened to the wall painted hospital green.
Redheart was snapped out of her confusion by an overhead roar that lightly shook the instruments in the room. She waited for the E.U.P. airship to pass by before silently cursing her least favorite part of the job. Originally, St. Nightingale’s was built as a small medical outpost for the E.U.P. Guard base mere miles away. The clinic was eventually re-purposed for public use but the military base still existed and airships flew in and out in constant intervals. Redheart aided Joe in tying his robe and hoofed him his expansive watch which was lying on the nearby table. Just as Joe snapped the watch into place, the curtains separating the massage room from the rest of the clinic slid open.
“Ah, Nurse Redheart.” said high range, rather nasally voice. “I was hoping to have a chance to see you, but I can see somepony else is already in your capable hooves.”
Joe turned to see the stallion standing in the entrance way. He was a Unicorn with a sickly purple colored coat, that reminded Joe of a large tender spot of bruised skin, and grayish mulberry eyes that reflected a bright danger. His muzzle tapered to a point that made his smile snide like a rodent’s. His mane was a slimy, avocado green that was poorly barbered and was plastered against his moist forehead. His Cutie Mark looked to be a worm or caterpillar of some sort eating away at a brown leaf. He continued to lurk in the entryway as his eyes shifted between Redheart and Joe.
“I’ll be with you in a minute.” said Redheart, “Con Mane, this is Count Cocoon.”
Joe looked intently at the stallion. He carried himself with standoffish indifference, and his pupils reflected pride.
“What’s up, Count. Sorry if I keep her a bit longer. She’s the only pleasure in this whole joint.”
“I see you've figured that out as well.” Cocoon curled his lip and glanced at Redheart through the corner of his eye. She had turned away from the stallions, and was preoccupied with her clipboard. Joe figured that Cocoon was admiring more than her Cutie Mark and well groomed, pink tail that was tied in a cute, taught bun.
“A-hem!” Redheart barked as she turned around. Her glare was indignant and her cheeks, red. “Mr. Mane, your next therapy session is scheduled for eight o’clock.”
The two stallions approached each other and politely shook hooves.
“It’s been good to meet you, Count.”
“Yes, I’m sure it has been.”
The ritual was quick and merely a formality, but their eyes remained locked in a silent battle of masculinity. Just as they finished the empty display, a sharp chirp jabbed the air. Joe looked down at his watch. The back-light of the face was blinking. Joe simply pushed a button and silenced the noise.
“Is something the matter, Mr. Mane?” Count Cocoon asked.
“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Joe made a show out making note of the time. “It’s time for my daily dose of donuts. Just what the doctor ordered, you know what I’m saying?”
Redheart rolled her eyes at the remark and returned to her charts. With the weight of the Count’s stare growing increasingly awkward, Joe finally said, “I’ll see you around.” and stepped around the pony and out through the curtains.
Joe swiftly cantered down the faded greens and off whites of the clinic until he rounded a corner. After quickly checking to make sure he was alone, Joe turned his attention back to his watch. He turned the silver plated dial that surrounded the face and suddenly the hands and numbers of the clock disappeared and were replaced with the image of a magical formula. Although admittedly not very talented himself when it came to magic, Joe had to study magical formulations for years. After about a year without study, Joe had grown rusty, and it was only due to his recent exposure to things such as Dark Magic, Chaos Magic and Nightmare Energy that he was motivated to brush up on what he had learned. Even still, he did not need remedial knowledge to recognize the formula in front of him. He remembered it clearly from his days at the academy, for it was one of the most important categories of magic that he had to know. Suddenly overcome with a cold sweat and a racing mind, Joe hurried to the nearest phone.
“The Doctor finished analyzing the data from the TMD.” said the voice of Miss Raven on the other end of the line. It had only been about an hour since Joe contacted Canterlot and sent over the readings. He knew The Doctor would work fast. That pony had a knack for getting the job done efficiently. Sometimes, it even felt as though he already knew what was expected of him before he was even asked. “He called it… Transmuphormic Cytometamorphosis.”
“Ok, so what does that mean for those of us who don’t speak geek?” Joe said rather irritably. He kept a diligent eye on the clinic hallway for any sign of passers-by. For the time being, he was alone.
“Changeling transformation magic.” Miss Raven responded, “Unmistakable.”
A surge rushed through Joe’s brain. The sudden pique of attention caused Joe to speak out without hesitation.
“Change--!” He caught himself just in time for a nurse to calmly turn the corner. Joe turned his back to face the wall and patiently waited for her to walk out of earshot before he whispered more cautiously into the receiver. “So I was right. But, Equestrian Law dictates that all Changelings in Equestrian borders need to be registered along with their disguises.”
“But this ‘Count Cocoon’ isn't showing up in the registrar. Not to mention the E.U.P. Guard operates outside standard Equestrian jurisdiction. There shouldn't be any Changelings near that base, period.”
“So much for my relaxing getaway.”
“Joe.” Raven said quickly. Her tone was harsh and accusing. “Mane6 is not to interfere with the E.U.P. So if you insist on getting your sticky, glaze covered hooves on everything, you’ll be seriously reprimanded.”
“Well then, Miss Raven, next time you see me you can bend me across your knee and give me a good spanking.”
“Joe--”
Joe hung up the phone before anything else could be said.
The chill of the stale hospital air clung to Joe’s goosepimply skin like a wet shirt. He longed for his usual tailoring of a pressed, white, collared shirt, red bowtie and black dinner jacket. Instead he resigned to simply trot around in his off-white, practically pink, hospital gown. At least, he figured, it was better than wearing nothing.
As he made his way down the hallway, he made note of a passing window. A harsh glare of orange twilight flooded the floor. It was late evening according to Joe’s watch which further froze his ankle. His massage session with Nurse Redheart occurred strictly at 3:30 since she insisted on his punctuality. The nurse was so boorishly tempered that it was almost alluring in a way, and Joe decided best not to resist her too much. He didn't get out from under her until near a quarter past four. At around five, the cafeteria off the lobby would be passing out the horrible atrocities that they passed off as buttered muffins and raisin bread, and so the stagnant hallways were devoid of ponies save for the occasional rogue nurse or janitor.
The clinic receptionist was more than willing to tell Joe where Count Cocoon had been booked for his stay at St. Nightingale’s which apparently was for the purpose of a sort of all-around treatment package. Another example of the wealthy needlessly indulging in their own deep pockets. Possible Changeling magic aside, Joe was curious to find out just what sort of pony it took to treat a hospital like a day spa. The answer to that question stood before him in the form of Accommodation Room Seventeen.
Joe opened the unlocked door slowly. The silence invited him into the still room. As expected, the Count had not yet returned. Being in the health clinic portion of the facility, Cocoon’s room was very similar to Joe’s own. It more closely resembled a hotel room than a hospital room for a patient. The furnishings, although fairly cheap, were comfortable enough. A recliner, bed, love seat, small dining table and writing desk. The windows were heavily curtained, the carpet cleaned to perfection and the air conditioned to only slightly above freezing. A small vanity station stood next to the entrance on which was a simple black phone and a small platter of muffins. Freshly baked banana nut by the smell.
Across the cozy quarters were two doors. The brown, lacquered door on the left was mostly open and led into a pristine bathroom. The other door, painted hospital white, was shut tight and was most likely some sort of walk-in closet. Joe drew his attention towards the writing desk. He eyeballed through the various papers strewn about on top of the desk, but very little caught his attention. A brochure for the clinic, itinerary and other travel documents that suggested that the Count was also from Canterlot.
Just then, the humming of the A/C kicked in to blow more cold air into the room. A loud slam behind him made Joe jump. His brain jolted into adrenaline fueled action as he whisked around, his horn ablaze with a shimmering emerald light. He sighed himself calm when he realized that the change in airflow merely caused the entrance door to slam shut. He returned to scouting the room. He figured that the room must have just recently been cleaned by the staff because, aside from the muffins and writing desk, it showed no signs of being inhabited. He crossed to inspect the bed when a shuffling noise caught his attention. The unmistakable sound of carpeted hoof falls could be heard on the other side of the closed white door, and they were getting closer. The brass doorknob rattled and slowly turned.
Forced to act fast, Joe leaped towards the direction of the door and pressed himself against the wall next to the hinges in hopes of obscuring himself. The door opened and stopped just short of bumping into his body. Through the tiny slit between the door and the wall it was hinged to, Joe could see a sliver of the room it contained. From what he could tell, it was another accommodation room just like the one he was in.A pony peeked his body partially through the door frame. At least Joe assumed it was a pony given the body shape. The entire creature was bandaged, wrapped from head to two in gauze like some sort of mummy on Nightmare Night. The pony was wrapped up so tight that no fur was visible. Even its tail had been shorn bald. No horn protruded through the bandaged forehead so Joe assumed it must have been an Earth Pony, or possibly a Pegasus with his wings wrapped to pin his sides. And he was most certainly a stallion, given his shape.
The mummified pony scanned Cocoon’s room with bright, golden eyes that blazed like suns against the white wrapping. He cautiously inched forward into the room. Joe could feel his heart pounding against his chest and the sweat beading his neck. He braced his muscles. As soon as the bandaged pony stepped through that threshold, Joe would have no choice but to knock him out. His magic would be easily heard at such close distance, so he bent his hindquarters and readied a solid punch.
Joe nearly gasped with a jolt at the sudden sharp chirping of a ringing phone coming from the other pony’s room. The mummy stopped and returned to his own room to answer the phone. Joe waited to hear the tingling click of the phone and the mysterious pony, muffled by the gauze around his muzzle, answered into the receiver.
“This is Mosquito. Yes, I've recovered nicely.”
Not wanting to waste the opportunity. Joe swiftly darted across the room to the exit and swiftly opened the door, making sure not to rattle the handle or latch. He could still hear the muffled voice of the pony in the other room, although it was impossible to make out what he was saying. His curiosity pricked at his skin more than the chilling air. Still he sided with his better judgement and quickly left the room, leaving it just as pristine as he first found it. But before the door closed shut, a muffin levitated off the platter and out the door.
An hour later, Joe walked into the dimly lit Examination Room. Much of the light was being provided by a holomagic display in the center of the room. The display was a large, flat rectangle of brilliantly glowing white. Standing before the display, mostly silhouetted by the intense glow, was Nurse Redheart.
“You’re late, Mr. Mane.” Redheart pressed a button on a nearby panel and two images appeared in the holo display. Both images displayed a pony’s skeleton superimposed in front of a black border, each showing the skeleton from a different angle. Joe could get a better sense of the room under the harsh artificial lighting. Several other machines lines the room. Some were simply recognizable such as the treadmill, but other had far more questionable purposes. All of them, however, were connecting to the various instruments lining the wal that were used to take readings of the patient. In the far corner of the room was an area sectioned off by a sheet of opaque glass. The sign on the door to this area read 'Steam Room.' Joe's body ached to try it, and that thought naturally transitioned his attention back to Nurse Redheart.
Joe approached Redheart and placed a hoof around her shoulder while he gazed upon the x-rays. “Me?” he asked. Redheart merely hummed in the affirmative with little interest as she removed the unwanted hoof. “Well, I’d never recognize myself. So, do I look healthy?”
“Too healthy.” Redheart pushed another button on the panel and the holo display vanished and the room was filled with usual fluorescent lighting which revealed a simple med lab with bleach white walls and various pieces of complex looking equipment. She turned to Joe with a frown. “Bend over.”
“You never say that as if you mean it.” Joe said lightheartedly as he disrobed himself. It did little to change Redheart’s mood and she proceeded to inspect Joe’s body from various angles.
“Hooves over your head please.” she commanded, not asked. Joe obeyed and stood on his hindquarters while Redheart looked closely at his underside. “You still have significant bruising around the chest. Support yourself on my back while I apply the lotion.”
Joe rested his forelegs on Redheart’s back. Her fur felt soft and well groomed. He could feel the rhythm of her breathing. She wasn't wearing perfume as far as he could tell, but the addictingly strong smell of disposable gloves and sanitizes had been soaked into her body.
Redheart squirted the lotion onto her her hooves and slightly turned her body to lather Joe’s belly. As she turned her head, Joe slipped his leg over her neck so he could look her eye to eye, and before she could react, Joe passionately met his lips with her. She squirmed and struggled against Joe’s lips and forelegs until she was able to push him off of her. The struggle undid the bun in her bubblegum mane which fell messily onto her face. Her loose mane and face contorted in anger gave her an alluring wildness.
“BEHAVE yourself, Mr. Mane!” She stormed across the lab to one of the machines in the corner. “I see there’s only one place to keep you quiet.” The base of the machine was low to the ground. From the base rose four mechanical arms, each with several articulating joints. At the end of each arm was a thick clamp. The whole thing resembled an insect dead on its back, or four Manticores poised to strike. It made for a menacing silhouette that made Joe swallow hard.
“What the heck is that supposed to be?”
“A motorized traction machine for relieving tension from the legs and spine.” She said plainly, “Some patients call it the Spider.”
“I can see why.” The trepidation was clear in Joe’s voice.
“Oh get on.”
Redheart eventually was able to get Joe to stand on the base and clamped his hooves in place with the uncomfortable vices.
“So what do I do? Say giddy up?”
“Oh, stop fooling around and stand up straight.” Redheart proceeded to attach leeds to Joe’s chest that were wired to a nearby heart monitor. The gel used to hold the leeds in place were even colder than the air in the room.
“By the way,” Joe asked, “who’s the pony in the room next to Count Cocoon’s?
“I really don’t know too much about him.” She calmly adjusted the dials and switches on both the heart monitor and the spider machine. “His name is Mosquito. From what I understand, he was involved in some sort of fire. His entire coat burned off and his skin horribly synged.” Red activated the spider machine and with a sudden jolt, the machine springed to life and the four arm lifted Joe until he was suspended several hooves off the ground. “There now,” Redheart looked up at the uncomfortable stallion with a wry smile, “First time I’ve felt safe all day.”
She pushed a button on the spider’s base and the arms began manipulating Joe’s hooves. The arms forced Joe to simulate a midair gallop. They pushed and pulled and stretched Joe’s limbs at different angles. It was not as painful or intense as he had imagined, but it was certainly uncomfortable, awkward and rather embarrassing. Redheart laughed at the sight before turning to leave the lab.
“I’ll come see how you’re doing after fifteen minutes.”
She left, leaving Joe slone in the room, stuck in the air at the bizarre contraptions mercy. With the way the arms were constantly undulating Joe’s legs, he could do little in terms of looking around. All he had to focus on was the clock on the wall directly in front of him. Joe sighed and resigned himself for what was likely to be the longest fifteen minutes of his life.
After precisely four minutes and thirty seven seconds, Joe could feel his legs growing numb from the constant manipulation. He could feel the slight bobbing up and and down of his body caused by the arms having a toll on his body, and he regretted having that muffin from earlier.
After precisely six minutes and eleven seconds, Joe jerked up at the sound of the door opening. He realized that he must have fallen asleep sometime around five minutes and forty seconds. Joe looked at the clock and was disappointed by both the amount of time that had actually passed and the thought that Redheart likely wouldn’t check on him this early in. But then, Joe realized, that begged the question: who just entered the room?
Joe tried to turn his vision the best he could, but from his positioning he couldn’t see the machine’s base directly underneath him. He could hear the shimmering of a horn, but the rhythm of the pulse was different than that ofa typical pony’s. A familiar voice laughed from below.
“Nice to have met you, Mr. Mane.”
The spider machine was temporarily encased in a dark, sickly green aura. The voice continued to laugh as the smooth undulation of the mechanical arms became more forceful. They stopped moving Joe’s legs in a smooth galloping motion, and instead started twisted them in differing and odd angles and they whipped joe’s body back and forth and up and down and side to side. Through the chaos, Joe was able to catch the sight of a flank adorned with a caterpillar eating a dead leaf walk out the door.
The mechanical arms moved faster and faster as they continued to whip Joe around like a bucking bronco and pulls at all his legs in an attempt to rip them from his body. With nothing beneath his hooves to ground himself, Joe was unable to fight back. His neck was whipped in all directions by the out of control arms. His hooves seared with pain as they reached the limits of being pulled from their sockets.
“HELP! HELP!!” Joe cried out against the pain, although between the ringing in his brain from being tossed around and loud clanging of the out of control machine, Joe was unsure whether he was making any sound or not. Still he screamed out as loud as he could. He looked ahead at the clock on the wall, but was he was not allowed to be still enough to even have a chance of seeing the time. His face became soaked with tears and sweat as his spine was contorted in painful, unnatural angles. The pain became too great. His vision blurred blood red, and with one final strong toss of the arms, Joe’s head lashed backwards and he was consumed by darkness
Chapter 1: The Monster in the Mirror
“Thank you for everything you've done for me and my family, Milord. Thank you!”
The Earth Pony mare bowed so low, her muzzle touched the soft carpet that was sprawled across the floor. The audience chamber of the castle was carved out of blackstone and supported by thick columns. The cold dryness of the night air breathed into the chamber through the tall windows that were situated high above. The cold bounced across the blackstone and blanketed the room in goose-pimply briskness. The navy blue carpet ran between the heavy, iron belted doors and the elevated altar upon which the throne sat. Seated upon the elegant red lining of the throne sat a stallion, gently smiling down at the mare. She was naked and attempted to hide her shivering from the stallion. He, however, was protected from the cold by a thick cloak draped around his shoulders.
“There is no need to thank me, my little pony.” spoke the stallion’s soft congenial voice, “We here at the International Brotherhood for the Assistance of Stateless Ponies strive to help unfortunate ponies such as yourselves. In this day and age, where our world is being slowly pervaded by the forces of Disharmony, many ponies such as you are finding themselves with no home to call their own. Our Brotherhood provides that home.”
The wide-eyed mare stared up at her benefactor. The tears in her eyes glistened with hope and adoration. She gazed upon the stallion as if he were the most beautiful pony she had ever seen. As he sat diligently on his throne, the tiny creature that was comfortably sleeping, nestled into his shoulder, stirred with an adorable yawn. It was a tiny yellow Parasprite. The Parasprite purred and chirped as the stallion tenderly stroked it. This tiny act made the mare smile.
“We were beginning to think that the ponies of Equestria had abandoned the ponies from the Griffon Nests just as the Griffons did. When their Great Storm Cloud suddenly vanished, they fled and left the earth too dead to farm. They left us to die.”
Her eyes welled up at the memories and covered her sobs with her hooves. The stallion looked down on her with pity and with a hoof on his heart. “No need for tears, my friend. Our Brotherhood is more than willing to take in all the ponies who have found themselves free from the Griffon Nests. We also recently began harboring a number of former Lunar Soldiers that were exiled from the New Lunar Republic after that horrible insurrection.”
He descended from his throne, which jostled his pet Parasprite awake, in order to approach the young mare. He lifted up her chin so that she could stare into his beautiful eyes. A smile of relief warmed her face.
“Such Kindness and Generosity. You would do our Princesses proud, My Lord.”
Her admiration was interrupted by a mighty voice that echoed through the chamber. “Lord ‘Magic’!” it called out. The booming voice flooded the room. The mare looked around in confusion, but could not ascertain the source of the voice. Her stallion benefactor took a small step away from the mare. His smile faded and he closed his eyes as if in thought. She looked at him with concern.
“It would seem as though I am needed.” he said dryly and without the warm compassion he spoke with earlier. The horn on the stallion’s head glowed with a yellow light which surrounded a small, pure iron door at the side of the chamber. The door creaked open with a chilling screech. Beyond the threshold was a flight of stone steps that led into an impenetrable darkness. “Just step through there and my ponies will take care of you.”
The mare looked between the door and the Unicorn, still baffled as to the nature of the voice. Eventually, the stallion’s stare became too much to bare and so she quickly made her way to the door. “Thank you, Milord! Thank you!”
‘Magic’ watched as she disappeared down the stairs and into the cold dank dungeons. He slowly trotted his way towards the doors across the rug that led out of the chamber. The Parasprite fluttered into the air and flew to catch up with its master, nestling itself comfortable onto his back. As ‘Magic’ magically opened the doors, a piercing, horrific scream echoed from the dungeon. ‘Magic’ smiled pleasantly to himself as he slammed the doors behind him.
He slowly made his way through the halls of the massive, foreboding castle on DISCORD Island. The pony that previously took care of the estate sadly perished some time ago and so the castle was falling into disarray. Dust painted the walls and cobwebs decorated every corner. ‘Magic’, however, cared little for such things because he knew that this castle, like all things in life, was expendable. The castle and the island merely served as a place for ‘Magic’ to gather his followers and execute his designs. When the time came, it would become just another ruin in his wake.
‘Magic’ arrived at the private chamber. It was guarded by two ponies, both of which lacked Cutie Marks and possessed faded colors. Their emotionless eyes stared blankly as ‘Magic’ walked passed them and entered the room beyond. The room was very small and dimly lit by a pair of wall mounted candelabra. The only other decorations of any sort were five full-sized mirrors. However, all the mirrors, with the exception of one, were shattered into pieces.
‘Magic’ stood before the last remaining mirror and charged his horn. His reflection in the mirror shimmer and warped until the image was gone entirely. In its place was another throne. This throne was much more massive in size and much more elaborately decorated. It was carved out of golden colored coral and carved to resemble the shape of ocean waves. Occupying the throne was a massive creature, twice the size of a normal pony. Its fish like body was covered in luminescent green scales, and in one of its fins it grasped a golden trident sharpened to a point. It had the face of a lion, also covered in green scales. A bony, golden scale of a crest adorned its head which was flanked by two long curved horns. A thick, fiery red mane surrounded its lion face and bellowed about freely in the water that surrounded it.
“Lord ‘Magic’,” the sea-lion spoke in the same booming voice from earlier, “do you read us?”
“Yes, ‘Loyalty’, I can see you. You are late in contacting me.”
The sea-lion’s eyes went wide for a moment before he quickly bowed low. “Our apologies, Lord ‘Magic’. We were overseeing the final preparations for the E.U.P. Project.”
“Everything is in order, I presume?” ‘Magic’ casually stroked his purring Parasprite.
“Yes, ‘Magic’.” ‘Loyalty’ bowed slightly again. When he raised his head, ‘Magic’ could see the trepidation in his beady eyes. “Although, to be frank, we are worried. For things to have escalated this far… Are we prepared? Do we have enough Discorded Puppets?”
‘Magic’ laughed to himself as he looked behind him back towards the direction of the dungeons. “A new batch of refugees has just arrived. They will make the perfect slaves. They will not be missed. It is not like you to be so paranoid, ‘Loyalty’.”
‘Loyalty’ glared solemnly. “When we began we were six! First it was Ironhoof. Then Rook and Griselda. Even our own ‘Element of Laughter’ chose to abandon us. Now there is only us two. Perhaps it is not too late?”
‘Magic’ glanced at each of the four broken mirrors. The sight of them made him want to spit in disdain. “We cannot fail after coming this close, ‘Loyalty’!” he barked.
“But all of our plans have failed!”
“Failed!” ‘Magic’ said loudly, overbearing even ‘Loyalty’s’ great voice. “In what way? Sure Dr. Ironhoof was far too ambitious. Destroying the barrier to the New Lunar Republic? He was asking to be overwhelmed by Mane6 and the LIA. But his shadow magic generator served its purpose. The world is now drowning in concentrated evil! The territorial struggles between Equestria and the Griffon Kingdom have been thrown out of balance. Not to mention our new alliance with the Changeling Hive, the uprising in the NLR and the Dragons declaring their neutrality. The political environment has grown unstable. Now Harmony is all but a memory. The time to put our final plan into action is now! We shall achieve our ultimate goal! And I trust there will be no failure.”
‘Magic’ stared coldly into the sea-lion on the other end of the mirror. ‘Loyalty’ was hesitant a moment before saying, “No failure, whatsoever, Lord ‘Magic’. The operation is already in effect. With the aid of the Changelings, we have successfully infiltrated the ranks of the E.U.P. Guard. Once the Sword of Starswirl is in our possession, The Cosmic Council will have no choice but to force Princess Celestia to give in to our demand. The Changeling in charge of the operation, Count Cocoon, is currently blending in within a health clinic located right next to the E.U.P. Guard base. And nopony will be able to stop him.”
