Waking up for the Equestrian dream

by Jack Kellar

Rating: teen
Tags: Shining Armor, Crossover, Human, Sad, Princess Luna, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Princess Cadance
Length: 12988

Woden's manor was only the last set for the second act. The story was far from over.

They were all dead. The Cleaner case was wrapped up, waiting to become a part of the NYPD's police archives, a present to be delivered with an extensive obituary as the ribbon tying the box shut.

To me, too, it was over... just not in the way I had imagined.

A Max Payne crossover.

Published 2012-05-25 09:04:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-03-20 04:20:41 UTC

Chapter 2

Silence enveloped the room like a thick fog, disturbing and uncomfortable. I was too perplexed to form a rational reaction. I was in the presence of an unicorn, a pink unicorn with wings. Something so burlesque hadn't occurred even when I had taken an involuntary dive into the depths of a Valkyr binge.

For a moment, I pondered about the possibility of false awakening, that I was still under the influence of the paramedics' sedative, or maybe dying from a painkiller O.D.

“Please, look at me. Don’t be afraid.”

And then, all of a sudden, the cold truth crashed down, unexpected and fierce like an avalanche. There was far too much behind those pupils for any imagination to have conjured, for it to be a figment of anybody’s consciousness or a byproduct of drug abuse. It complemented all the oddities I had overlooked or ignored before, alien colors mixing and seeping into an unreal arabesque.

I was in a recovery room improvised out of a luxurious bedroom, face to face with a mythical horse that had her hoof on my cheek. And it was all real.

The epiphany was silent; there was no agitation, no panic, not even denial – just a lingering confusion that pulled at my mind. Whatever sedative Cadance had used blocked my emotions, but it didn't stop the hows and whys from buzzing like flies.

“You have very sad eyes...” Her expression mirrored that of her gaze, a blend of worry and poignancy, topped off by an innocent curiosity that almost made her eyes twinkle. It was just as hard to maintain eye contact as before, but for all the different reasons. She didn't complain when I turned my head back to the ceiling, her foreleg coming down on the floor with a quiet clack. “... can I help with anything else?”

Voicing my thoughts felt strange. I was completely out of my element, flying blind through a tropical storm in the middle of the night. “Where am I?”

“You're at the Royal Palace of Canterlot, in Equestria, home of my aunts, Princesses Celestia and Luna.”

I was reminded of how she had mentioned 'Princess' before. Having something at least vaguely familiar to lock onto put me a bit more at ease, but there were bigger issues and questions to ask. “How did I get here?”

Cadance hesitated. “No one really knows. After we banished the changeling queen, you were there on the carpet of the chapel, in the middle of a scorch mark.”

“I remember that happening. I blacked out, didn't it?”

“Blacked out is an understatement! You were so hurt everypony wondered how you were even conscious.”

I wondered the exact same thing through a yawn.

“Oh. I’m sure you have many questions, but for now, you have to focus on resting at least for a little, okay? I'll be back in about an hour.”

The only thing that pointed Cadance's leave was the sound of the doorknob moving in its nest, clicking twice. I was left alone with my thoughts – or at least what little that wasn't run over straight away by fatigue, who had decided to stop tailing behind and finally caught up.

The dream had started out the way it used to a long time ago – the same entrance hall, with a wardrobe to the right and two cupboards along the entrance. Between them, the wallpaper had been scraped in the rough shape of a V: the black paint was gone, but it left its scar, misshapen, ugly and even bigger than the wound that preceded it.

The phone in the next room was ringing. I put it to my ear. The line was as mute as a grave, no sound at all from the other side.

The pictures in the living room had changed. The one I had taken with Alex, from a time where waving to the camera didn't feel like a hollow act, was warped – instead of a balding blonde man in a DEA suit, my photo self had his arm over the shoulder of a robed figure holding a scythe. Someone I felt I knew better than I did Alex.

Above it, the news headline Michelle had made sure to be conserved in a frame had been replaced by the shot of a pink horse. At first I thought it was Cadance, but even though the emotions within the eyes were almost the exact same, there was no lighting in the world that would make me mistake Cadance's amethyst with the electric blue of this one. The lack of a horn and the different mane sealed it – that wasn't her. The frown the image had on was uncanny, an ugly stain, like the face in it wasn't supposed to ever have a sad expression. Like before, I averted my gaze.

The world shifted as I climbed the stairs, from wallpaper to raw concrete. I emerged in a small, almost empty room. The only company I had was a bare table, a piece of cardboard nailed to the middle of it with a wooden stake, the word “NOW” inscribed on it staring back at me with its rusty red letters.

Going back through the door led me to what was left of a laboratory, red lines crisscrossing the air like the illumination set of a rave party frozen in time. A computer screen shone behind the mishmash of laser tripwires. I made the mistake of entering the path of one of the beams, and something much worse than an explosion happened. A baby began crying, drilling into my head with its desperate wails. Wishing for it to stop and covering my ears only made it louder.

Head swimming, I drunkenly stepped back and off the beam's path. It surged forwards with the speed of a turtle, and as it did, the wails diminished, fading to nothing as the light touched the wall. All the other tripwires went undisturbed – I made sure not to make the same mistake twice.

There was no keyboard under the monitor, an image of a grey office looking oddly three-dimensional behind its borders. My hands sank into the glass as they touched it, and it offered the same resistance as I heaved into it like a window. Nicole Horne's computer stared blindly at the window behind the desk; beyond it, the snow I remembered had been replaced by a dark rain, running thickly over its surface, green stains left in the wake of each drop.

The doors of the elevator were open, the yellow light glaring into my retinas like the devil's eye. The doors hadn't closed for over a second before they opened again, an entirely different vista unveiled behind their polished edges. The mist rolled over the morgue's floor like seafoam on the sand, covering the feet of the gurneys, more than I could count. Each had a covered body in it, their features protected by white sheets. I pulled the closest one off, and a ghost leapt out from its cage.

The body was that of the first junkie I had killed in my old home.

The other gurneys revealed more vaguely familiar faces, some of which I could recognize easily, others going without an accurate identity. After a while, I stopped uncovering the bodies and just walked on. The restaurant-morgue hall stretched on far beyond what the cold fog allowed the eye to see, bathed by the sterile white illumination of the mercury lamps.

Suddenly, the lights overhead exploded in showers of sparks and glass shards, their light replaced by the infernal orange of fire. I lost my footing when the ground shook, and as it threw me around, I got a glimpse of my six. It was Casa de Angelo all over again, fire and explosions racing after me like a pack of hellhounds, intent on giving their master the soul of the day. Something snagged my ankles, and it was by sheer luck that I stayed on my feet.

Dragging themselves along the floor, the gurneys' occupants grasped at my legs like a swarm of infernal ants, bodies peppered with bullet holes, clothes bathed in blood, eyes gleaming with unholy light and vengeful anger.

I ran. Salvation came in the form of a bulkhead marked by the acronym D-6, the end of the hall now in sight.

I never had the chance to get close to the door: another explosion came from behind, throwing me forwards to the tiled floor in a heap, right in front of a pair of expensive dress shoes. The killer was smiling.

“Max Payne. It’s nice of you to join us.”

I had seen less teeth in a bear trap.

The baby started wailing again. Three voices cried at the exact same time, still distinguishable in their perfect unison. “MAX!!”

“… did you do?!”

“Ah dunno! Ah jes’ tapped the gemstone an’ it started doin’ that!”

“You’re choking it!”

“HELP!”

It wasn't the commotion in the room that woke me up.

“Urk-!”

When you are ripped from the waking world by something flattening your windpipe, you tend to go deaf to voices.

The shackles around my wrists refused to budge, pressing them against the mattress almost as tightly as the one around my neck, biting down on the flesh straight through the skin. I’d already lost all sense of sight and hearing by the time they finally let go.

The stress of the nightmare had coupled up with the pain and lack of oxygen, leaving me to curl up in a ball, coughing worse than a lung cancer patient. Almost instantly, someone forced me back on my back, pressing a cold cloth over my throat, his voice rough enough to grind a diamond. “You three! Who let you in here?!”

No response came.

“Don’t you see the results of your actions? He could’ve been hurt really bad!”

The trio began talking, trampling each others’ words with their own...

“We’re so sorry!”

“He wasn’t breathin’ right when we came in!”

“We were just trying to help!”

... in children's voices.

Before I knew it, each hack was being followed by a raspy cackle. I wasn’t laughing only at the absurdity of being treated by self-aware, talking unicorns in an improvised hospital. I laughed at how much of a mean-spirited prankster death was, how three kids had almost killed me when a small army of men with the gear to match only came close to doing it twice.

It wasn’t a nice sound, of joy and relief. It was something bitter, tasting like bile, echoing with resignation, each bout a shard of broken glass bouncing on the walls. When it finally stopped, I hit the pillow again, contemplating the ceiling, feeling as hollow as when the warden had opened the door to my cell. My neck voiced its disagreement just then, and I coughed more. I tasted rust.

“Are you okay?”

I didn’t have it in myself to lie. “Haven’t been in a long time.”

The male went silent for a moment. “Girls, I think you better go join Twilight in… whatever she’s doing.” It wasn’t a request. “And don’t think you’re home free: I’m still talking to her about this later.”

The door opened. “WHAT IS THE MATTER? WE HAVE HEARD NOISES FROM THE SURROUNDINGS.”

I cringed from the sheer volume, Bravura and his megaphone coming to mind. After I left the DEA, he was the first I came in contact with, and his offer of a spot in Homicides was the best I could have asked for. I would have my mind too busy to think of the past, stuck behind a desk for most of the time, where my Wild West approach – his words – wouldn't cause the force any issues. Everyone satisfied. End of story.

It didn't take much effort to picture him now, sitting on his own hospital bed, a pile of reports still warm from the printers and old case files freshly smuggled from his office scattered over his lap, the man over them sighing with a hand on his forehead, longing for a cup of coffee. He was a good guy, wishing only to do the best for his city and his subordinates – I didn't doubt he would be trying to chalk Winterson's death as Mona’s doing just to cover for me. I felt sorry for him: in three years, he’d had to get two stomach ulcer surgeries, and he’d be lucky if he didn’t need a third after last night.

“Princess Luna, Your Majesty!”

The voice snapped me out of my daydream, and I turned to look, my ears still buzzing. A winged unicorn was standing in the doorway, peering inside with narrowed eyes. Part of the view was obscured by another horse, a white one wearing a Roman Legionnaire costume.

“Captain Shining Armor. Would thou… you mind explaining the current incident? And, as you are at it, why, pray tell, are the wedding’s flower fillies here.”

I followed his gaze to three smaller horses huddled in the corner, trying to make themselves as diminutive as possible. The captain horse kept silent, looking left and right, chewing on words stuck to his tongue.

“They were trying to help me.”

All eyes turned in my direction. The room was like a cup of microwaved water, ready to boil over and scald all within reach with the slightest jerk. “Whatever was holding me started to tighten. I was suffocating, and they heard it.”

The seconds rolled slowly. Shining Armor scratched the ground with a hoof. “I can attest to that, Your Majesty. They were trying to shut the restrictor down, and he was flailing on the bed.” I felt my arm being taken. “He's even got the marks to prove it.”

“Is that so...?” Metal clacked on the floor as she approached, a warm breath falling over my arm. “I see.” The top of her head came into view, a small, black crown perched on her head behind her horn, her snout nuzzling the cloth I’d taken to holding against my neck after the male had left it there. I was thankful her eyes were on the bruise.

I was thankful too soon.

She shifted her stare up, straight into mine. She froze much like I did, déjà-vu piercing into my soul like an ice dagger. I had seen eyes like that before – the underlying emotions were different, but whatever the cause, in the end, it all boiled down to a dull gleam, leftovers of repressed hate and desire for payback.

I had been seeing those eyes for years. They were there every time I looked into a mirror. This time, the reflection was pale, foggy, almost nonexistent, but it was still there, reminding me of my past. A nervous relief washed over me when I finally broke eye contact, turning to stare at the window.

“V-very well. Captain, We shall trust thee to… to manage the necessary steps. Now if you excuse Us, We must be off… to tend to our duties. Yes.” She was out of the room almost at a gallop.

Her Majesty practically screamed that something was up. Most crackpots had better game faces than hers.

“… okay, what was that all about?” one of the children asked.

Shining Armor wasn’t pleased. “Nothing to worry about. Now, go find Twilight.” Once we were alone, he turned to me. “Thanks for that. They are good kids, my sister tells me, but you can’t leave them unwatched for ten seconds.”

I waved him off. “Think nothing of it.”

The silence was oppressive, coiling on me like a snake over a mouse. The captain scratched at the floor. “This is so strange…”

There was little humor in my chuckle. “Got the words right out of my mouth.”

All of a sudden, the door smashed against the wall, and in came six horses of all colors and types, the jewelry on all of them grafted with gems that shined with a menacing light. Luna swaggered in behind them, a victorious smirk drawn on her face. “Tainted wretch! Thou shall not corrupt this land or its dwellers! It has taken Me a long, hard lesson, but even I know there is no room in Equestria for a Nightmare!”

One of them, a purple unicorn with a golden tiara, stood in front of the others, braced as if to charge. “Now, girls!”

All bets were off. The moment they had busted in, I was already crouched on the bed. The dive roll came as easy as riding a bike, sending me across the room.

For all the good it did to evade the multicolored blast aimed at me, I might as well have stayed on the bed.

The tiles were white once. Now they were tainted, grime turning them a bony, yellowy color.

I didn't find them ugly. I didn't deserve it.

One look down showed I was bound to the floor of the stall. The chain links were rusted. The bathroom beyond the glass had no mirror, no sink, and no toilet. Just grimy bone-colored tiles. There was a valve to my left.

All of a sudden, the little mares from earlier, the whole half-dozen, appeared from the sides of the stall, dazed and confused. The purple unicorn got her wits back first, and waved them all to the stall with a foreleg. Her words were muffled from behind the glass. They all stepped closer, staring. They were curious. I could see it in their eyes.

I felt myself turning the valve. A shower started raining red from above, painting the yellow tiles of the floor. It was cold, but I didn't complain. I didn't deserve it.

It didn't take long for the red to pool around my feet. It wasn't red anymore, it was dark, black like the void. It climbed up, gulping down my legs. I turned to stare at the horses. They had taken a step back. They were shaken. I could see it in their eyes.

I didn't let myself feel scared. I didn't deserve it.

Something that wasn't the steady drip of the shower made me look ahead. The horses were knocking on the glass. Their mouths were moving. They were scared. I could see it in their eyes.

When it was in the middle of my chest, the shower went mute, tapping down on my head with its contents every few seconds. I closed the valve. The horses weren't knocking anymore. They were banging on the glass. They were desperate. I could see it in their eyes.

I wished they weren't here. They weren't supposed to see this. They didn't deserve it.

The outside view was blocked. The pink mare had climbed on two of the others and was trying her hardest to break the stall open, her hooves hitting the glass with the strength of a jackhammer. Out of all of them, she was crying the hardest, sobbing like an abandoned baby.

I looked into her eyes. They were electric blue. A name came to my mind.

Rose.

I wanted to turn away, but the chains wouldn't let me. I didn't want to think of Rose. I didn't deserve it. There was only one way not to look, not to listen. I had to be alone.

It didn't take long for my lungs to flood. I didn't mind.

I had drowned my soul in blood an eternity ago.

Chapter 3

I woke up from a bad dream I didn't remember. Emotions I thought long dead stirred like zombies, gnawing at my brain from the inside. Their return hit me like a bullet, leaving me as shaken and unsteady as my legs when I tried to get up.

The technicolor flash hadn't come alone. The ECG was dead, the bed wasn’t on its feet, and several small items were scattered all around. I lay against an overturned cabinet, its contents strewn out its busted door: a leather jacket, a set of pants, two shoes, and a Heckler & Koch submachine gun. I felt more naked without the last one than out of my clothes.

As much as I wanted to collect it all, it wasn’t an option. The six mares were stuck in a catatonic stupor, barely blinking back tears, and the captain and the princess were rubbing the blurs caused by the lightshow off their retinas. They weren’t going to remain like that for long. It was time for a tactical retreat.

The courtyard all the way down was empty and a window one floor above was open. The masonry bit into my fingers throughout the climb, but in the end, the reward came as an empty bedroom and a chance to gather the puzzle pieces. Something during my contact with Luna had given the wrong hint, and it got her spooked enough to take direct action. There was a game being played, that much was obvious, but the room was too shady to take more than a glimpse of the players, the cards they held, or the chips on the table. All I knew was that at least one wanted me out of whatever was going on, and Luna was a part of it.

Those questions promised to stay in my head for a while. This was Luna's turf, and I was naked in all senses of the word. The only things I had were a few skimpy bandages that didn't even cover my private bits. My stuff was still in the first room; I had to go back and get it.

The door budged to a push, showing an empty corridor – if the sound of hard hooves on stone was any indication, that was gonna change soon. The room closest to the staircase was unlocked, and from there, I watched the sources of the noise through a crack left open in the doorway. The two armored horses were relaxed, oblivious to the scene that had gone on one floor below, going past without a hint of suspicion. After they disappeared behind a bend, I was on my way.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase didn't ease my spirits or the pressure around my lungs, not even as I opened the door I wanted. They had set the furniture upright again, and tried to close the cabinet to no avail – a dent the size of a human shoulder had been caved in the side of it, stopping the lock from engaging. The clothes were folded neatly under the gun. The trenchcoat was heavy on my hands, and the answer as to why came when the pockets were emptied: five MP5 magazines, one empty Desert Eagle clip, and a grenade. It had been a good choice not to dive for the gun as soon as I saw it – I could tell the submachine gun was dry just from picking it up.

The sense of security I expected didn't come even after reloading it and making a stock check. Someone was trying to whack the human, but it wasn't Princess; the owner of this joint clearly had an interest in me. The apple had a rotten piece, but it was still red in the eyes, and until I had a way to discern who was with who, pulling the trigger was nothing but a way to create another enemy I didn't need.

As rudely interrupted as it was, I'd had enough sleep to feel an uncomfortable but fortunate sense of hyper-awareness. The sound of metal on stone outside the door registered before the door opened. I had barely hid under the bed before a familiar face stepped in. Cadance took a long look at the room, shock showing in her face, before she ran off calling for the guards. Whether that was a lucky break or not remained to be seen, but I wasn't going to sit back and watch. The room was a bit too reminiscent of a death row cell for me to be comfortable in it.

The windows let through peals of sunlight that made the light colors of the architecture gleam cheerily, but failed to light up the fog of autopilot I'd fallen into. Colors, noises and the impact of my feet on the floor all blended together as I moved, every second bizarrely feeling both sped up and slowed down at the same time. I'd fallen into a routine: slink quickly through the lit up corridors, hide when the guards come, run before they come back.

A metal and glass double leaf door with a view of a garden hit the brakes of my train of thought when it didn't budge to a push. Behind me, hooves clopped against the masonry, the steady march of impending capture. The corridor was as straight as a roller-coaster, without any doors on the sides; whoever was approaching had nowhere else to get to but to where I was. Outside, a shed leaned against a stone wall. It wasn't the smartest location to have a structure, but I wasn't going to spit the bone I'd been thrown.

A shadow crept around the corner, and I made my move.

*CRASH*

The doors didn't just fly open – the bronze of the frame warped around my foot, bending like boiled noodles. The scared squeak from the hall and the symphony of falling glass shards were backed by the clanging of the loose leaf against the rock of the walkway, briefly covering my footfalls.

The shed was closer.

“Over there!”

There was more adrenaline than blood on my body, stripping me of my humanity, primal instinct taking its place. The grip on the edge of the roof came easy, the lift even more so. The wall might as well have been a stair step given how little trouble I had to climb its irregular side.

A locomotive whistled from the other side, the carts it pulled low and slow enough to jump onto. I didn't need a prompt to do just that... but my ticket was confiscated before the trip started. The fall was broken by two limbs gripping my chest from behind, their owner angling our movement in a horizontal arc. I dangled like a falcon's kill taken back to the nest, unable to do anything as the smaller figures below looked in expectation.

The landing was surprisingly gentle, as the one holding me took the care to set me on my feet. The light of the sun vanished, hiding all the horses, leaving only a circle of light around me. I was on the spotlight, alone on the stage.

The submachine gun hit the grass under my feet, and real slow, I lifted my arms.

Chapter 4

“Sir?”

“At ease, Corporal. That's the minotaurs' gesture of peace. Keep sharp, but don't rile him up.”

“Oh, so that's what he's doing!”

“Why is it all clothed?”

“It's a 'he', you dodo! Captain Shining Armor just said that!”

The road map was the blueprint of a roundabout. I ended up exactly where I started, surrounded and out of breath – a mouse played with by a cat, given the false hope of freedom only to have it broken one second later by a bite to the head.

“Why were you running away?”

There wasn't any need for introductions. Just from the voice, I knew who was running the show. Something rounded the corner of a pearly white wall – half a dozen blurs of color, magnified by the lens of adrenaline, each sporting a bit of gold. “Wait, Princess!”

One of them strayed from the flock with the speed of a jet. I made to dodge the yellow blur, and the decelerating pegasus embraced air. “So, here's damage control.”

Over ten mouths sang together, an incoherent set of questioning words spilling forth. One spoke louder than the rest. “Damage control? What do you mean?”

“Why don't you ask them? Or Luna, for that matter? Speaking of which, where is she? Doesn't she want to play the devil's advocate herself?”

“What?”

“'Devil's advocate'? What's that?”

“Please, you're not making any sense.”

I turned to the apparent leader of the bunch, the purple unicorn with a tiara. “You're one explosion too late to play the innocent card, you know. Or are you gonna say whatever you did was an accident that just happened to coincide with you saying 'now, girls' when you stormed my bedroom?”

The whole sextet recoiled from the question. Her mouth opened in a stutter for an answer. The pressure piled up even more when Princess decided to speak, “Twilight Sparkle. I believe an explanation is in order.”

Mi Amore Cadenza, Shining Armor, Twilight Sparkle. As odd as it was, it all seemed to fit, in a picture book-like sort of way.

Twilight scraped the ground. “Princess, please, it's not like that...”

No answer came forth.

“Princess Luna told us that he was a Nightmare, and that we had to use the Elements to expunge him.”

“We all remembered Nightmare Moon, and all that 'eternal night' mumbo-jumbo, and how good things never come from that kinda stuff.”

“So we barged in, but them Elements didn't exactly work like we thought.”

“Instead, we had a most horrible experience. After we came to, he was gone...”

“... and we've been looking for the poor thing ever since.”

Half of the explanation went over my head, but given the setting, it didn't seem to be much of a tall tale. Still, I had learned my lesson. Trusting Mona the first time had left me stone-cold on the floor of a dead nightclub, just like trusting B.B. had cost me Alex's life. They completed each other's sentences far too naturally for people not neck-deep into the art of deception.

“Girls, that is a very grave accusation.”

The world spun around, and in half a second, I went to being stared at by a white giant, two black holes with purple rims boring a hole deep into my brain.

The clock hands scrubbed off the hard lines on the face before me as they ticked by – by the end of it, her composure was a façade, hiding a train wreck of vague recognition, sorrow and regret. I don't know what answers she was looking for, but what she did find hit a sore spot.

She took a long, deep breath. And then, she did something I didn't expect.

After New Jersey, I had changed. It got worse after Alex died and didn't stop there. The interactions I started were always professional, always with suspects, witnesses or colleagues, and always as short as possible. The time I didn't spend at the precinct, talking as little as possible, I spent at home, alone in the silence of the television's banter and my own breathing. All physical contact had two goals, subdue or kill. It was what led me to back away from the alien version of a surprise hug.

She hid it well, bringing her wing back to her side as if nothing had happened, but it's hard to lie with your eyes – the look of pining was still there, mixed with pity. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

I just nodded. There was nothing to be said.

“It seems we got off on the wrong hoof here. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Princess Celestia, diarch of the Kingdom of Equestria.” Her voice was sweet, but not the syrupy kind drenched in the honey of a crook's throat. It was honest, warm, like a mother gossiping on the school playgrounds about her kids as she watches them play. It was the final period written on a long list of proofs of how far off the mark my first assumption about her had been.

She made a pause, waiting for an answer. “Detective Max Payne, NYPD.” Formalities had never been my forte.

The equines behind us exploded in murmurs. She winced like the words stung her ears, but concealed it behind a white smile. “It's a pleasure, Detective Max.”

“Princess?”

My stint with Celestia must have been enough reassurance for the others to make their approach, but one look I gave them was enough to stop them in their tracks. The same pegasus from before was the most agitated of the bunch – her tail whipped the air like a loose wire, and her head decorated Twilight's shoulder. She refused to look up, probably because of my first reaction, but the only thing stopping her from coming closer was Twilight's body.

“Yes, my student?”

“If it serves for anything... we think Princess Luna was mistaken.”

*click*

“Max?”

The sun decided it had had enough of the show in the courtyard, dunking the land in a cauldron of golden light as it crawled towards the horizon. The sunset reflected off the black metal of the gun, my fingers dancing across the sinister glint. I didn't see when it came back to my hand, but now it was there, safety disengaged and ready to fire. Celestia stepped closer, giving me the curious eye. “Are you okay?”

Fate found this a good opportunity to gift me with a second gut punch. “SISTER! THOU HATH FOUND HIM!”

Flying out of the creeping night like a ghost come out of a nightmare, Luna appeared, flanked by a batallion of wings and black armors. An all-too-familiar appearance, full of nostalgia-less deja-vu. I gripped my weapon tighter. My enemy was right in front of me. There was no holding back this time.

“LUNA! WE NEED TO TALK!”

She landed with four distinctive clops on the soft earth. “Yes, sister, I know. How fortunate that you have him rounded up as well! Now, Bearers of the Elements, this is your chance! Expunge this fell monster from Equestria forever!”

Nothing was said or done by anyone. My finger was itching, but I wasn't tempted to set off the bomb.

Celestia sighed. “Actually, Luna, this is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Huh? About what?”

“Max, come here for a second. Please.”

I obliged with some hesitation. When I was close enough, a white leg wrapped around my waist, and I understood. It was a show of good faith.

The female in blue watched, surprised. “Sister? Hath thou... have you tamed him?”

“Tell me, Luna, how do you know he is a Nightmare?”

“'Tis easy! His eyes don't lie!” Then, she added, almost in a whisper, “Those are the same eyes I once looked back into...”

“I undestand. But what exactly did you see in his eyes?”

Luna took a moment to digest the question. Her mouth opened a few times, as she stumbled with her words. “I saw... I saw bad things, sister. Anger, hatred, resentment...”

“Is that all?”

Luna reared up and slammed her hooves on the ground. It was a reaction I'd seen coming a mile away: she was squirming hard, the typical behavior of a suspect under questioning, cornered by undisputable evidence. “It was enough! I didn't have to see any more than that to know what he is!”

Her sister knew exactly what buttons to press, though, and wasn't gonna get off the steamroller that easily. “Like Ponyville's behavior last Nightmare Night was enough for you to cancel the celebration forever?”

“THAT WAS DIFFERENT!” The explosion of sound was backed by a crack of thunder, as if on command. Her breath was heavy, and the veins in her eyes started to make themselves known, in a contest of visibility against the spiderweb of cracks in her composure. “IT ALL WAS NOTHING MORE THAN A MISUNDERSTANDING!”

“Luna...”

All of a sudden, the other princess stopped arching like an attack dog. She took a deep breath, and the stress signals in her body disappeared, her muzzle arched back into a smile. The calm before the storm. “No, my dear sister, I understand now. He has brainwashed you, ordering you to do his bidding.” The hoof lazily pointed at me would have looked less dangerous if it was replaced by the muzzle of an assault rifle. “Well then, if you are unable to deal with the problems presented, it is my responsibility as Princess of Equestria to assume control. Night Watch!”

“Remember Nightmare Moon.”

These three words could've been mistaken for a time-freezing incantation. As it was, they stopped the advance of the dark armors, their shot caller, and the trigger behind my finger, dead in their tracks, all at once.

“... what?”

The warmth behind me disappeared, replaced by a huge white mass on the corner of my eye. “One thousand years ago, you let your emotions cloud your judgement. You didn't want to face the facts then, just like you are denying to do now. Do you remember what happened then?”

No verbal answer came forth. Instead of that, Luna slouched, and the grass became very worthy of her attention. “... I do.”

“I'm not doing this to aggravate you or challenge your authority, my dear sister. I'm only doing so to stop you from committing an injustice. You said yourself that Ponyville was a misunderstanding, and I can assure you that our old dispute was one as well. Who can grant you that, as it is, you're not unwittingly doing the wrong thing again?”

Going by the previous demonstrations, it was surprising how fragile Luna looked. “But, sister, the Elements...”

A mass of purple emerged from behind one of the guards, capitalizing on the crowd's disarray to reach the middle of the circle they formed. “Pardon me, Your Majesties, but... I don't think the elements failed.”

“Excuse me?”

Twilight didn't answer; instead of that, she made her way into the huddle. The exchange of whispers was punctuated sometimes by a raised head pinpointing me like a periscope with living lenses, full of sadness. I barely noticed, too busy sorting out my own thoughts.

My judgement had been turned on its head for the third time that day – the dark diarch wasn't anything close to the shady backstabber I thought her to be. Instead, I was faced with was a cut-and-paste of Bravura, someone passionate for doing the right thing, but too one-track-minded to accept tenuous facts even when they could steer the course of events onto the right track. I knew. It was a behavior I'd been exposed to, from both sides of the line.

In the end, it all boiled down to a rainstorm atop a water glass.

And just like water, something was draining the warmth of my hands. The submachine gun was a memento of a harder time, cold and hard in its purely practical design.

*click*

The safety went back on, and I sighed to stifle a yawn. It had been two nights on the run, four days without rest. And now, with the adrenaline that kept me nailed to the saddle going down the drain, I was losing steam fast.

By the time my hand came down from my eye, Luna was there. Her figure was different, nervous, but still trying to front. “Our sister vouches for thee, as does her student. Why?”

I knew what she wanted.

And then, what Celestia had done before made sense. It's much more than a stare down when the other can see past the skin of your corneas, into the blood and bone marrow hiding the ghost in the machine. The part of you that you keep locked away in a cage after banishing it somewhere far away, storing the truths you don't want to face.

Kindred souls do share a bond. I might not know exactly what had happened in the incident Celestia mentioned, but I understood nonetheless. It was a non-rational and non-verbal conversation, but it conveyed a lot more than any logical means of talking.

Without the surprise factor counting, the old news parted ways for the more hidden pages. And one of them, the sheer innocence behind Luna's gaze, was enough evidence that our understanding was as mutual as a one-way lane going her way. The taint her soul carried had taken its toll on her, but not one big enough to break the same purity her niece had.

It all came down with the tear that rolled off her eye, ripping a hole in the silence big enough for a whisper to creep into the screen. “What... what is it that hurts you so much?”

“It doesn't anymore.”

For all of her naïveté, Luna was sharp enough to see through the half-lie. Or maybe it was compassion, it doesn't really matter. Either way, the outcome would have been the same.

The thick neck wrapped over my shoulder and the lack of hands on my back made for an unusual embrace. The liquid warmth on the other side of the leather, riding along with choked sobs as relieving for you to let out as they are painful for others to hear, guided my own arms around her. The twinkly wave of hair on the back of her head was soft velvet under my fingers.

What else can you do when your comforter-to-be is the one that ends up in need of emotional shelter?

Author's Note

Celestia: Set phasers to HUG!
Payne: NOPE

I don't think I've ever seen someone back off from the rare shows of affection Celestia has under her belt. That's important.

Chapter 5

“Excuse me, darling. Is this seat taken?”

Scooting over from where I was sitting was enough of an answer. The white unicorn jumped up next to me with a smile, taking advantage of the warmth on the part of the bench that I'd just left.

It was hard to believe Luna was a merciless, irritable persecutor that had almost overthrown her co-ruler with legal basis not ten minutes ago. Her little weight was a surprise, but after more than a full minute of apologetic hugs and nuzzles, I started to sag. That was the only chance Celestia had to get her off me – her sister was clinging to me like a child to its teddy bear.

The two went off on to a private talk with a few others. What they were saying, or why Cadance ran off with a nod after the first words, was a mystery I wasn't very keen on solving. I excused myself to the sidelines as soon as it all started.

“If you’ll pardon me being this straightforward, I have to hand it to your tailor…”

Without a strategy, my thoughts disbanded and drowned, tortured by alarms. I wasn't exactly in pristine condition when I'd woken up back in that bed, and the latest fight-or-flight only made it worse.

I could barely hear this girl making small talk, trying to be amiable.

“… and though I have to contest the choice of color – I don't understand why such a bland choice! –, it does have…”

She was one of the sextet from before, one of Twilight's buddies. The other four stayed back, waiting while she paved the way to an approach, and their purple friend chatted away with her two superiors.

The coughing fit hit fast, hard and rough, like the serrated edge of a knife. The hand in front of my mouth came down polka-dotted in red.

“... and the stitching of your coat- oh my goodness, darling! You're bleeding!”

There was a pink and yellow blur blocking my vision not five seconds after she said that.

A jump back, a quick draw, a face from behind iron sights. Another corpse to the pile. The same knee-jerk that had saved my skin so many times would cost the life of an innocent, maybe more... but that would be if I wasn't too slow. I was, and gravity took that into account.

As I tumbled off the bench to meet the cobblestone of the pathway, back first, I couldn't be more glad for being so beat up. “Damn it...!”

“Oh no, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?”

I wouldn't have been able to stand up again if I didn't have two heads pushing my chest up and a furry back to lean on. “Don't worry about me, I'll live.” The sting under the skin guided my hand to the pocket of my coat. Empty, like I expected. The pills weren’t there when I got dressed; there was no way but magic that they’d be here now. “I've been through worse.”

“Still, that doesn't mean you ain't gotta take it easy, sugar cube...” stated the mass I was leaning against. There was a slight strain in the voice.

“Please, let me take a look – I mean, if you don't mind. Coughing blood is a very serious symptom…”

I took a look at the Equestrian that took my left arm over her back, and the others as well. By this point, all suspicions of foul play had been defused and disposed of. They were the genuine article, so why not give them a chance?

“As long as you know what you're doing.”

“Well, you can't go wrong with dear little Fluttershy! This girl has got the magical hoof to treat absolutely anything living.”

Before, while and after I was escorted back to the bench, using the orange mare as a walking aid, the boys in plate stayed put, not even an eyebrow raised. Discipline hid the fear of a nasty tongue-lashing: the escape had only ended more than half an hour after it started, at the outer wall and by their boss to boot, after I sneaked under their noses for at least a good ten minutes. They probably thought the blame of the fiasco might fall on them, and didn't want to sour things up any further. From what evidence I could gather, this bunch was high up enough in the food chain that they were glad to leave the issue in their hands.

As it turns out, little hooves-and-wings seemed to have at least some medical experience, though she kept a nice balance by being unable not to not blurt out a torrent of baby talk. “Oh my, these contusions are almost black. You poor dear, how did you get yourself so hurt?”

I kept silent. The truth wasn't a very compelling version of the story to tell, and it already hurt enough to breathe. She prodded the edge of the bruise. Something dripped out the side of my mouth.

Then, there were those wide, innocent eyes again. Something clenched deep inside, a non-physical pain that both burned and froze at the same time. It wasn't an eye-to-eye stare from the start, which was the only thing I was thankful for. She turned her attention beyond my teeth, my mouth propped open by a soft hoof.

“Fluttershy? What are you doing?”

“Oh, Twilight, Princess, Max is hurt! His neck is bruised really badly. I was doing a checkup so Princess Cadance can move on to fixing him up faster...”

“That's very considerate of you, dear. Have you found anything?”

The three were joined by other voices, accents and timbres blending together into a confuse cacophony, coherent as radio static.

“... it burst a few...”

“... why is he...”

Exhaustion had burned through my circuits. Sense and reason were gone already; now it was the time for consciousness to follow their lead.

“... Max?”

Whether it was real sensation or just suggestion was up for debate, but I did feel myself nudging the nurse away and lying down on the stone seat with my head on something warm and fuzzy before I passed out.

The air con unit hummed with a sense of peace diametric to the rest of the ambience. A manila folder slapped the tabletop in front of my hands.

“C'mon, open it.”

Inside were a ream of printed paper and a collection of photos. The shots were a grim showcase of limp corpses sprawled on white stone floors and colorful carpets, the golden sunlight shining over them the gaze of a sad angel.

Fur, tails and hooves. They weren't human bodies.

“Felt like going for the hat trick, huh?”

The figure across the table knew how to keep himself sharp. A hand-pressed dark grey suit, tailored just so the cuffs of his shirt barely showed underneath the sleeves; hair, combed and gelled into place in the typical 'businessman' fashion. His face had some actual color, the flushed complexion of a person well-fed in body, mind and heart. This guy had a reason to take care of himself, someone to go back home to at the end of his shift. I envied him. I envied him so much more than ever before.

He thought he was having a bad day. How little he knew about bad days.

I browsed the first page of the documents with my eyes. It was all there: my name, social identity number, date of birth, even the four undercover aliases I'd used, all supported by a bunch of paragraphs preceded by dates.

The answer was as black on white as the ink on the paper, but I asked anyway, flagging the first page back and forth in the air. “What's this about?”

“You didn't seriously think the FBI wouldn't keep a file on you after your stunts, did you? A senator's cover only goes so far, pal.” He stood up and walked to the door. “Why don't you go see for yourself?”

Time is far from being a constant. It goes back, freezes in place, fast-forwards. It loops, sometimes the same as the last iteration, others with differences of all kinds and magnitudes.

Outside, the weather raged, dark clouds blanketing the sky, bombing the castle's windows with pieces of frozen water and raindrops of the same temperature. Caution tape was stretched everywhere like the string of a careless spider, contrasting with the dark splotches on the carpet.

The scene was awfully familiar.

Time is as malleable as clay in your head. Your actions determine its flow, your choices the sluice controls, determining if the events you set for yourself will wet your shoes or sweep you off your feet.

You have no one to blame but yourself if you drown.

As we walked down the hallway, I recognized the faces of the coroners. Focused on their jobs, pinching shell casings off the floor, sampling the blood stains, flashing their cameras at measures they'd put up, they were all the same. I didn't have to strain my imagination to know the question they had in their notepads and in their heads.

The other let me lead the way through the grim showcase. I didn't need directions, not that that they would have helped – conventional navigation was useless; the only way to make progress was to follow the blood stains left.

And they were watching me do it.

Some of them wore cobalt barding, others had golden armor, both either pierced by gunfire or dented by blunt trauma. A few wore classy outfits that would've made a businessman look literally half-dressed. Wherever I went, the few that had their eyes closed opened them, and their gaze moved along with my steps, desperately asking questions that stung harder than accusations, louder and louder with each passing second.

I wanted to hide, but I couldn't. The only option was to keep moving. It was the only way out of the cage of icicles my heart was trapped in.

The drag marks disappeared under a decorated door. I looked back, and when he nodded, I turned the doorknob. That was it, the eye of the black hole, what it all funneled down to. I pushed the door in and entered, but not without taking a deep breath first.

The first thing that came to note was the sobbing.

The open window was letting the rain through. The blood still pouring from the six was diluted in the water all over the floor; the wisps of red spread all over, writhing with the current. A set of necklaces was scattered all around the bodies, gems cracked and metal corroded to an ugly, lackluster grey.

The remains of a tiara were still dangling from a lavender Equestrian's head. A bullet had shattered the star on top of it.

The source of the crying came into view with the second push. With the two holes in her chest and one right below the jaw, Luna wasn't going anywhere. It didn't stop her from trying, though – she flopped in place like a fish in the dry, flailing her limbs without any real result. All she managed was to force the blood faster out of her throat.

Something didn’t add up.

“What are you doing here?”

“W-wha...?” Despite the wound in her neck, her voice came clear and without pain. If anything, she was confused.

“This isn’t a place for–“

“So, are you proud of yourself?”

My attention slipped from her back to him, and I set the photo back on the table. The other crossed his white-furred hands together in front of his face, shielding his mouth, and tossed more pictures on the tabletop. I thought of rose petals to a matador at the end of his show. “Quick and no-nonsense, most of these. If someone told me you were a cop, I wouldn't believe it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What he means is...” she said, walking out from the shadows. Her body was mostly hidden under a burgundy business suit with a blood-red overcoat on top. The pink and yellow hair framing her face did nothing to hide the cold in her eyes. “It doesn't look like the job someone with just a cop's know-how would do.”

Shining Armor nodded. “This is a professional's work, Payne.” He grinned coldly. “Then again, you know all about slaughtering bunches, don't you?”

“But I don't understand...” Cadance whispered in my ear. I don't know which had the worst chill, the words or her warm breath. “Why did you step down the game? Going for prey that runs?”

The other set his head down to rest his chin on his fist. “Wanna know why, Cadie?”

Tapping from the one-way mirror caught my ear. The two didn't mind it.

“Our mutual friend here…” he said, grabbing my hand. It was a gentle, but poisonous gesture, like the preparation for a lethal injection.

I couldn't fight back. I never felt like doing so.

His finger ran through my palm. “Take a look over here: no lifeline. His soul is dead. Max Payne is dead.” The cold metal of the furniture hit my skin as he dropped my hand.

I just wanted to have some peace. Not even an end to the broken record of questions, both mine and others'.

“So, Payne, no answer?”

Just an interlude, a day off from myself, would be enough. A chance to lie down and sleep, long and deep. To wake up feeling rested and ready for the next day.

“I'll just say it, then, since the cat got his tongue. You can’t keep your suffering to yourself or have the decency of ridding the world of you. Everywhere you go, people die, things get destroyed.”

He lifted his other hand, and a gleam of silver came with it. “There's nothing else you can do except spread your plague. You're a goddamn zombie, Payne.”

Someone tapped the one-way mirror on the other side of the room, or rather slammed on it hard enough to dislodge it from the frame.

Her fur was marred with black, mane a curtain of crumpled light blue hair. She was thin, emaciated even.

Her horn lit up.

None of the other two took heed of the newcomer, but they did notice something else. Detective Armor lowered his gun. “You’re just a pitiful little thing, Payne. Killing you would be doing more of a favor to you than the world.” He turned to his partner. “Let’s get out of here.”

I felt Winterson nod to him over my shoulder before her cold presence left my back...

*THWACK!*

… only to come back, cold and unyielding, with fifteen times as much force.

“AAAAGH!”

As a rerun of previous events, I'd just been smacked in the back of the head with the grip of a pistol. Somehow I knew this shouldn’t have hurt, but it did, enough that I couldn't choke down a scream of pain.

There was a glitch in the system.

“You're a real angel, Max. The fallen angel of Death.”

I saw stars and heard sparks, but I couldn't tell if it was the concussion, or if I should blame the princess and whatever she was doing in a place she didn't belong.

When someone says you see things through a jade tint, you normally don't expect to take those words literally.

The world felt like an ocean of molasses for the first few seconds, and gelatin for the next. I took a breath, but what came in wasn't air. It was a thick syrup that invaded my throat, evicting bubbles in favor of itself. A radio tuned in, playing a flashback song of drowning under a sea of liquid emerald, a deep abyss of screams and souls.

Trying to get out was a losing battle: the walls had no places to hold on to, and no matter what I did, I couldn't swim in the ooze. I was heavier than it was.

I slammed my fist on the glass out of sheer desperation, and regretted it right away. The vibrations ran through the muck and straight into my flooded eardrums, rattling them hard. As I grunted in pain, one of my hands flew straight to the bullet's entrance, the point that hurt the most.

The circuit closed to one very simple fact. This wasn't like the danger of being shot dead, where you're able to stall it by hiding behind cover, where time losing its momentum is a blessing that gives you the chance to solve the trouble with a well-aimed response. This time, time worked against me, and it slowing down was just extending the agony of facing the inevitable. I was drowning to death, and there wasn't a single damn thing I could do about it.

A rumble from the outside caught my attention, but the goo was too thick to see through. I plastered both hands on the edge of the water prison, pleading for help from the other side. Something moved above, and next thing I knew, I was moving up through the green, coughing out three gallons of it as soon as my head emerged.

Someone gasped. “Whoa, whoa, easy there, little fella!” It was a male, a newcomer to the book.

When I was done expunging my lungs, I rubbed my eyes open. We were in a different room than last time, a whole other suite colored mostly in aquamarine green and dull silver, the same colors as the bed the third person in the room was on, breathing with a hitch, her whole body shivering and slick with sweat, staring ahead into a limbo privy only to her own two eyes. Another one of her Night Watch was talking to her, trying to snap her out of the aneurysm she was having.

I'd caught myself in that exact same situation too many mornings not to know what was going on. Shell-shock, traumatic stress, call it what you want. All that matters is how nasty the moment is.

Luna looked as sick as I felt. She was about to either have a stroke or barf her guts out.

I myself was draped arms-first over the edge of a glass vat near the bed, weighing far too much for my liking. My stomach was shriveled, its remains glued to my spine. It made me feel like a curiosity display, or a bad petting zoo's main attraction.

“Hey, buddy! You okay up there?”

The benefit of privacy washed off the Buckingham guard makeup from the soldiers, or at least that was the case with this guy, a unicorn grey in fur and navy in armor. His horn was shining a very pale green. “Listen: I'm gonna get you out of there. If you feel sick through it, tell me.”

I nodded, too raspy to talk. I wondered how he was going to do that; it's not like he had a pair of wings like his pal over with their charge to fly up here.

The light on his head brightened up and I was halfway shoved into an inner tube one size too small. He grunted, and before I knew it, I was floating in mid-air, suspended by the same aura as his horn. So much for doubting him.

The fur right under his helmet became wet in seconds, the glow on his horn flickering like a rave party's light set. If he was tiring as fast as he looked, this crazy parlor trick was about to get ugly.

Sure enough, when the guard cut off his David Copperfield imitation, I almost kissed the tiles, in many ways a twisted simile of a newborn fresh off the womb. “Shoot…!” He was quick to shove his head under my chest to push me up, for all the good his strength alone did where before it took three. “You're really not on your weight class, are you?”

I was too busy panting the air back in to respond. It flowed in like scraps of sandpaper, worsening the itch, rekindling the cough.

A horse's snort bounced off the walls like a pinball. “Gentlecolts...” Luna spoke, a bit shakily, “I have reason to believe your services are no longer necessary for the moment.”

“... Your Majesty?”

“For now, it might be more productive of you to find escort Doctor Mi Amore Cadenza over to this chamber so she can check on her newly-awoken patient. I shall take care of him until then.”

“... by your order, Your Majesty.”

The two left, clicking the door shut behind them. Four unshod hooves slowly clipped closer. “Can you stand?”

I spoke through action. The uphill was stopped by a steel gauntlet deep inside, gripping and twisting all organs and muscles into a painful cramp that Luna caught on to. “Do you need help?”

I nodded. I'd been doing a lot of that recently.

Other than my stomach, the past week felt like it had been crossed off the script after the scenes were filmed. Freshness I hadn't felt in ages was ingrained in my muscles, the feel of bullet wounds no issue other than phantom pains. I was as healthy as a duct taped trinket: not pleasant, but solid enough to last for a while.

A wing landed on my shoulders, gently pushing me into a walk aimed at a set of beanbags. “Max... why was the baby crying?” Her undertone was velvet on crystal.

Saying the truth out loud would take me having to face it.

“I don't know.”

She wanted her daddy back.

Author's Note

I don't feel like explaining why, but I recognize it: God, this took forever. And I hate my keyboard.
If you feel confused by the second chunk, that means I've succeeded in my plan :raritywink: In any case, as always, questions are welcome.

Chapter 1

The kiss broke with the muted sound of a gun’s hammer being de-cocked. Black hair, pale skin, cherry-red lips, azure eyes. There lay the modern Snow White, hunted by the evil sovereign until the moment she was finally stricken down.

Unlike the fairy tale, however, the kiss she received as she lay wasn’t one of life, but instead a late, and final, goodbye.

As my eyes shifted away from her resting spot, black spots began dancing at the corners of my eyes. My already damaged eardrums couldn’t catch a single sound other than the booming cracks of thunder overhead, muffled like the sound of bombs detonating above a shelter. My legs were weak. My stomach burned. My head pounded.

Ever since the warehouse where Annie Finn had died, when the ends of the threads forming the Cleaner Case fell in my hands, until this very moment, I had barely stopped. But now, after remaining on its feet for night after night, with the few and far between pauses far from enough to restore even a fraction of its strength, and sustaining injuries that would have stopped it entirely if it wasn’t for the numbing doses of painkillers I forced it to ingest, my body was dangerously close to quitting. I couldn’t blame it.

The floor steadily changed under the soles of my shoes, from marble to concrete, then marble once again, and finally, carpet. Without knowing how, I had ended up in an employee wing whose existence I had no previous idea of. Then again, I should have expected it – what kind of king lived in a castle with no servants to tend to his needs? Certainly not the kind Woden fancied himself to be, even before cancer made those servants a necessity.

At a certain point, my knee bent much farther than I expected it to. I tried to will myself back up, but the exhausted muscle wouldn’t have any of the pep talk I tried to give it. Out of choices, I crawled to the closest door and opened it. It was a maid’s bedroom. I believe it took me minutes to crawl onto the bed and take a sitting position, but I couldn’t say for sure. A glass jar full of water on the nightstand granted me the luxury of not having to ingest the pill dry.

As I lay down on the simple cot, I looked out the window. Behind the glass, the night sky was clear of the storm clouds, a single star twinkling right in the center of the frame. I felt a connection with it: we were both alone in a sea of darkness, far away from any sources of light, stuck in a point until we gave out, either dying of old age or being sucked into a black hole.

I couldn’t help sticking a hand out in a gesture of caress. Could I ever have peace once again?

Immediately after that, feeling like an idiot, I rolled to face the wall. The sirens didn’t bother me as I drifted off. The cops would find me one way or another.

In real life, there are no happy endings.

I found it strange that I wasn’t on my feet when I became aware of my dream self. Instead, I was in the exact same position in which I was when sleep claimed me, this time lying on a crimson carpet, facing steps leading to an elevated chancel. It puzzled me. I wasn’t a religious man by any stretch of the imagination ever since 1997, and hadn’t visited a church in many years before that. Yet, I was in a cathedral.

Sitting up proved to be a painstakingly slow task. That was strange as well – though I had been buried under a stack of boxes, fallen off a red trail to a dark pit with a depth I couldn’t possibly measure, and been shot so many times I didn't care to count, I had never experienced pain in my dreams. But this time, the constant acquaintance of mine was there to greet me with a hug and words of how it had missed me. I didn’t return the feeling. Nevertheless, I fought through it until I sat upright once again, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand.

My hands fumbled with the inside pocket of my coat, my nails getting snagged up on more than one of the several bullet holes that riddled it, until the sensation of the plastic bottle met my fingers. Two to ease the ache. I didn't question how I had the painkillers with me; the subconscious is a twisted place, a web of thoughts and memories where logic has no country.

This time, I wasn't alone. As I rubbed my fingers against my eyes, they came into view. I couldn't see their shapes, blurry as fingerprints on the shot glass after you down its contents and contemplate its bottom. However, I could see their eyes. I wish I couldn't. They stared with an intensity that I could only describe as soul-unveiling. It was impossible to stare back; I averted my eyes with a shiver, self-consciously pulling my coat closed over my bandages as I did it.

For a moment, I sat where I was, staring into the bottle of analgesics, the label reading like ancient runes for all my brain saw of them. My mind was elsewhere, a graveyard shift detective trying to piece together a jigsaw when it couldn't even find the corners. Maybe the cops had found me, and I was in an ambulance being shipped straight into the nearest hospital, and this hallucination was prompted by the morphine the paramedics had used after seeing the results of the night's events.

The figures remained where they were, boring holes into my spirit with their silent gaze, making me feel like a recently-dead sinner in front of a tribunal of angels as they decided the final verdict – which wasn't a far off possibility. I couldn't stand it, I had to move away from them.

Vlad's last present decided to make itself heard as I attempted to stand, the raspy voice leading the chorus of protests sung by broken stitches, strained muscles and sore articulations. It didn't come as a surprise to me when I fell back on all fours as I tried to turn away from the eyes. My hands didn't impact with the soft texture of the carpet; instead, they collided with a solid dark pink surface that I was sure wasn't there half a second ago.

I could hear voices from behind me.

“… I don't know what to say, Princess. It’s never been stated that a changeling can turn into anything that wasn't an equine.”

“If it serves as any comfort, Twilight, I'm just as puzzled. Cadance, do you-”

“It's hurt!”

That was the last thing I heard with any coherence; the rest dissolved into nonsensical mumbles that grew quieter by the second.

My cheek touched the glassy wall under me when I couldn’t prop myself up on my arms anymore. It was warm.

For the first time in over half a decade, I didn't come awake with a jolt. I didn't have it in me to open my eyes, not that I had to in order to figure out where I was: the beeping of the ECG and the pungent smell of antiseptic, along with the now-dulled pain, were all the hints I needed. Since I knew the reprieve would be short – my ticket out of jail had been taken to Woden’s grave along with him – I decided to relax as best as I could. I might as well make the best of it before I was dropped off in a cell at Southport.

Somewhere in the room, a young woman was mumbling. I focused on her voice. “... at least thirty perforations by metallic projectiles of unknown origin, and severe internal bleeding.” She sounded more sad and concerned than I would expect from any nurses in New York, or at least those used to receiving patients in situations worse than mine at least twice every day. Maybe she was a green one, fresh out of a medical academy and not used to the happenings of the Big Apple's health centers, still getting used to the scent of blood that didn't run in classrooms and laboratories. “Just what have you been through? How are you even alive...?”

“They weren't packing hollow-points.”

I amounted the silence that followed to the girl being confused at the attempt of a joke. I didn’t know I was only half-right. “... you can understand me?”

I shifted on the bed, away from a point that was poking my back. Aside from it, the mattress was very smooth; too smooth for a hospital cot. “Why shouldn't I? Did I suffer any brain damage?”

“Uh, no, it's just...”

“Just what?” Something was off: a nurse wouldn't beat around the bush this much if things were on the ordinary. The sand had glued my eyes shut; at the same time I moved my hand to wipe them clean, I tried to sit up. A set of elastic restraints on my wrists and neck made sure my time was wasted. “What the hell-?”

Almost instantly, the woman's presence was right over me like a mother hen shadowing her chick. A flat, solid object pushed my head down. “No, nonononono! Easy, easy. You're too badly hurt to be trotting around, you know.”

I didn't find the pun, as odd as it sounded, funny enough to react to it. Being tied to a bed like a dangerous lunatic didn't exactly make my mood soar. “Was this really necessary?” I asked, pulling on the bonds on my wrists for emphasis.

“Well... we didn't know if you were dangerous, or in league with the changelings, so we decided to play it safe. It doesn't sound like you are any of the two, but...”

Alarms were screaming inside my head with the intensity of klaxons even before she finished the first sentence. Forgetting about the predicament I was in, I tried to reach for my face again, with predictable results. I groaned. “Can you at least untie one of my arms? I want to be able to wipe my eyes clean, at least.”

“I’m sorry, but no, it’s a straight order from the Princess. I can clean them for you, if you wish.”

I accepted, and a few seconds later, a wet cloth was being dabbed over my eyes. I took the moment of silence to organize my thoughts, now that I had something to work with. I wasn’t in the government’s hands: there was too little noise going on for wherever I was to be a state hospital, and from what this caretaker said, she worked for someone in particular who called him or herself ‘Princess’. Whoever this was, they didn’t know anything about me or my past history, and were afraid I was involved with a rival faction, the "Changelings".

That raised a number of questions as well. The way the woman that tended to me talked made it sound like the gig was far from being small time, yet none of those names matched anything from the investigations of gang warfare or organized crime that I knew of. Why Princess would rather keep a grey piece on her board instead of discarding it straight away was another mystery – any don that prized his safety would have a loose cannon sleeping with the fishes faster than Edward Robinson could say the word 'liability'.

Adding to the pile was the apparent ignorance of my identity. In 2001, the name Max Payne had been featured in the national broadcast, in different ways before and after a certain one-eyed senator intervened. If Princess was tuned in to the news like any organized crime boss would, they would have linked my face to the Aesir Crisis straight away.

The girl broke me out of my thoughts as she moved to the other side. “Do you have a name?”

Sending an unassuming person to make just the right questions was an old but effective tactic. It seemed Princess wasn’t as naïve as I had been led to believe so far. Had it been someone that didn't know the dealer's ace in the sleeve, they would have gotten their answers – the girl was nice company, the kind that can make even a paranoid shut-in feel comfortable. I had to be careful not to make a faux pas. “Depends on who is asking.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, forgive my lack of manners. I’m Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, but you can call me Princess Cadance, or just Cadance if you'll like.”

It goes without saying that this made the confusion return with a vengeance. What she had just said was far past the realm of reasonable nicknames and code talk, and into the grounds of complete lunacy. My eyebrow arched almost without command, my mind too busy reviewing the analysis I had just made.

“There we go, you can open your eyes now.”

I did. Unlike anything I expected, the ceiling was up high, a light purple backing decorated with gold trim, covered in pictures of stars and stylized horses. I turned my head to the side, and was met with a vision I thought had been left behind in the last nightmare. I couldn’t turn my head away fast enough.

“What’s wrong?” I couldn’t answer. I could still feel the gaze on my back, sharp like a spearhead. “Please, what's wrong?” she insisted. “Why won't you look at me?”

Of all the poisons that can afflict a man's mind, panic is one of the worst. It's a cloud that paralyzes, cuts the brain off from the body and takes both for itself. Divide and conquer. The owner of the eyes took notice of the process before hyperventilation could take its toll, though, and a thin object touched the side of my head. Almost instantly, it was gone, along with the weight that had settled on my chest. Out of my range of sight, the same object she had applied to my front before wrapped around my jaw and pulled my head back to her. There was no resistance to the motion.

It's hard to surprise a police officer with more than half a decade of work in New York City. What I saw accepted the challenge and breezed through it.

"Princess Cadance" was as far from a human as the caricature of a winged unicorn could be.