Author's Note

Chapter Two Recap :
https://docs.google.com/document/d/13zowVy6A_-T5DINQIiGbL6LmWo7ZNvvlJyldOVONC5I/edit?usp=sharing

The Unveiling

Cave’s home, a small cottage with cobblestone walls and a yard full of rail spikes and disassembled train parts, rests deep within the woods of White Tail. The furnishings are quite bare; an old sofa sits in the center of the living room, across from a weathered stone fireplace with the fleeting embers of its last fire still glowing. A bar at the edge of the living room separates it from the kitchen, and the bathroom past that, where the quiet sounds of shower water raining down can be heard from behind the closed door.

The furniture may be sparse, but the contents of nearly every surface and even some of the walls are far from it. Newspapers clippings are scattered amidst strange sketches and an old, half-burned candle. The papers line the kitchen bar and make their way up onto the nearest wall, where one particular newspaper is pinned next to a drawing of a mare. Small blood-stained fingerprints dot its lower half, and the headline reads of the young Princess Twilight. In fact, nearly all of the articles mention the princess.

The kindling of Fall brings a cold wind through the only open window in the house, and gently lifts the corners of the surrounding newspapers.

In the house’s small bathroom, Cave scrubs vigorously at his fur with a soapy washrag, steam rising all around him. A lantern mounted on the outside of the shower creates a bright, yellowish glow; and the rain of hot water is the only sound to be heard in the small room. To an ordinary creature, anyway.

Cave’s ear perks up as he stares intently at the curtain between him and the bathroom door. Every muscles in his body freezes, waiting for the return of a distant, muffled noise. He lifts up a paw and twists one end of the shower rod slowly, loosening it from its position against the wall. When the sound does return, it’s closer, and more evident. The diamond dog returns to bathing, even as his senses hone in on the entity making its way into the room. Cave washes needlessly in the same spot for a moment, and his eyes narrow at the sliver of light bleeding through the side of the curtain, waiting for it to disappear.

Just as it does, Cave springs into action, and throws the curtain rod in the direction of the door, covering the other individual with the wet curtain. The attacker’s flintlock pistol pivots up into the air as Cave immediately wraps his arms around the creature’s neck. Through stressed grunts and sheer willpower, the covered assailant slowly turns his aim from the ceiling and down toward their heads. With gritted teeth, Cave loosens his choke hold on the intruder, and swats at the gun with his closest paw. A few of the attempts push the weapon away, but the attacker is quick to bring the barrel back to the hairs on top of Cave’s head. His grunt turns into a shout as he uses his left arm to twist the attacker’s head as far as he can manage, then his right paw to overpower the creature’s shooting arm, and slam it down into the sink basin.

Both creatures flinch as the gun’s booming shot fills the room, and the smell of gunpowder quickly follows. The mirror shatters where the shot lands, distorting the reflection of the two violently grappling at one another. Cave returns both arms to the other creature’s neck, applying as much pressure as manageable. The smoking pistol drops to the ground with a thud, as the victim of the chokehold claws mercilessly at the diamond dog’s arms and face. Bloody stripes quickly lace his coat.

“AAAGH—”

The attack fuels a sudden burst of raw adrenaline in Cave, who digs his claws into the back of the attacker’s head through the shower curtain, and forces it to violently crash down into the sink basin.

The other creature shouts out in agony, desperately scratching at the homeowner’s arms, but doing little to impede his relentless attacks. Again and again Cave brings the covered assailants skull down into the sink, even as the basin cracks and dislodges from the wall. The attacker turned victim slumps over lifelessly as Cave releases the back of his head. His body falls into a pile of porcelain and blood, its long red reach filling tiny moats around the tiled floor.

Bent over, panting, and with fresh blood still pouring from the wounds on his face, Cave takes a much needed moment to regain his stamina before inspecting the corpse. With the curtain torn from its spot above the shower, steam is left to freely roll over the room’s two occupants.

After wincing and twisting his head in annoyance at the ringing that remains in his ears, Cave kneels down onto the bloodied floor, and grabs a pawful of the thin cover still resting over the body. He then yanks it off, revealing the assaliant’s identity.

Most of the face was grotesquely bruised after the fight, but Cave had known the victim well enough to still put it to a name. It was Arnold; his once partner in their life of crime.

The shower curtain falls in on itself as the diamond dog tosses it aside, and then leans back against the wall to continue his recovery. His head rolls back and eyelids close, perhaps an attempt to focus on the sound of the shower water over the ringing that would remain for a while yet.

After a short recovery, Cave turns off the shower head and makes his way out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, noticing the open window on his trip there. Once inside, he kicks aside the old rug on the floor, and begins to feel the floorboards with a paw. One of them creaks irregularly. Once removed, the board reveals the hidden cache below, a burlap sack full of coins of varying metals. Cave shuffles through it briefly, then narrows his eyes and turns back to look at the doorway to the living room.

Upon re-entering the bathroom, Cave is quick to kneel over the corpse again and begin rifling through the belt pouches. As one paw discovers something, the other reaches out for the flintlock pistol on the floor, brought close so that its new owner can inspect it. The paw digging through Arnold’s ammo pouch finally brings out a couple of paper cartridges, Cave rolling them around a bit in his paw, then grasping them firmly and standing up with the newfound pistol and ammo.

* * *

Twilight flips eagerly through the pages of an old tome, as a strange blue light fills the room around her. The alicorn’s shadow dances over the shelves of many more books, next to chests and desks covered in documents and strange metallic tools. All is quiet, except for the occasional turning of pages, and a light hum emanating from the device in the center of the room.

The device itself is one of particular interest. It’s round, and thick—about three feet in diameter—and made mostly of an engraved wood. There’s a locked panel on its side, and a bright projection that spills out over the top. This holographic image shows a cluster of light points, a bit like how a three-dimensional map of the cosmos might appear. Every now and then, its radiance is enough to draw Twilight’s eyes up, the swirling mysteries within just begging to be discovered.

Voices outside the door are the next thing to steal Twilight’s attention. Before long, the door creaks open, and one of the voices’ owners makes herself known. Lyra Heartstrings steps through the doorway cautiously, with a pair of cups in her magic’s grasp.

“Gentlecolts.”

One of the guards outside nods respectfully at the mare, as she passes into the room Twilight resides in. The door comes to a close slowly, but Lyra is quick to canter inward and greet the princess with a smile. “Princess, I see you’ve been hard at work…”

The unicorn’s magic levitates one of the cups onto the desk before Twilight, who creases her tired eyes with a smile. “Ah, thank you.” The response is uttered meekly, Twilight turning the warm cup gently with a forehoof. Lyra’s usually energetic body language gives way to a more still, cautious waiting.

“What—oh, damn it!” The mint colored pony places her own drink down as she takes a moment to scold herself. “That’s right, you said you don’t drink coffee…”

“It’s fine!” Twilight quickly comments. “I probably would never make it through tonight without some kind of boost.” The princess is genuine with her reassurance, and smiles sympathetically toward the distraught mare.

“You sure? Because I could totally change the order.”

Twilight Sparkle simply waves a hoof. “There’s no need.”

Lyra removes her scarf with magic, then makes a rather hurried trip over to the coat hanger while resolving the matter with the princess. “...Alright, well, I promise I won’t forget next time.” The unicorn’s comment is enough to draw a smile from Twilight, who’s reminded of a question she’d had on her mind for some time now.

“I’ve been wondering, Lyra…”

The mint colored mare trots back to Twilight’s desk, beaming with curiosity. “Yeah?”

“...How did you end up becoming one of Equestria’s first anthropologists?”

Dr. Heartstrings hums a soft note of affirmation in the middle of a drink. “—Right place right time, I suppose.” The princess stares with renewed interest in her sleepy eyes, as Lyra leans against the corner of the desk and peers at the light of the machine. “Back in Starswirl Academy, I had a seat in the Board of New Horizons, overseeing the expansion and broadening of academic programs, where oppurtunity might yada dada da—” A winding motion with her forehoof compliments Lyra’s aversion to the details “—some ponies used the position to genuinely aid the student body and advancement of art and science. Others, I felt, used it more so for a claim to status.”

Twilight hums in understanding as Lyra pushes off from the desk and turns around to face her directly. “Anyway, once wind of The Vault reached the school, I was leaping at any chance to submit the study of anthropology as a formal practice at SA.” The tone in Lyra’s voice shifts, as she carries on in disbelief of her own story. “We were on the cusp of possibly the greatest discovery of the millenia, and I wanted the academy to be the beating heart of its decryption!” Silence ensues—save for the otherworldly hum of the machine—and Lyra stares off to a dark corner of the room while lost in thought.

“...The board disagreed?”

The unicorn sighs and takes another quick sip of her drink. “It wasn’t in line with their ‘tenet of traditionalism’, for one.” Before continuing, she shakes her head and places the cup down with telekinesis. “Anyway, turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because here I’d come to find out that Canterlot was forming its own team, and my unrest over at Starswirl was enough to get the Princesses’ attention.”

“For what it’s worth,” Twilight begins. “I think Canterlot can really offer a lot of great opportunities for your research.” The smile so commonly found on Lyra’s lips make its return, as she happily nods in agreeance.

“I think so too. I mean, can’t get much closer to The Vault than right on top of it.”

After ‘hmm’ing in agreeance, Princess Twilight plays a bit with her cup in a field of magic. “How was the move?”

“Good!” Lyra nods nonchalantly and gives her short, cyan mane a little bounce. “I got set up with an apartment downtown, almost no loose ends; but uh—” A pause in her reply allows the mare a moment to simply stare at the floor, before shaking her head and lifting her cup back up. “—well, that’s enough about me anyway, what about you? Find anything interesting in here?” Dr. Heartstrings prods at the mechanism in the center of the room with a forehoof.

“Well,” Twilight begins with a growing smile and a tinge of excitement in her voice. “There is one data set that has me particularly curious…” The violet mare pushes away from her desk and canters around to the front, where she can more readily access the large, humming device. The projection shifts as Twilight’s horn begins to glow a vivid violet, Lyra stepping closer with her interest piqued.

“What vector are we looking at?”

“Uh... “ Twilight’s magic begins to effortlessly flip though a notebook with hundreds of pages of neatly organized lists, notes, and mathematical equations. “...this is in… S4800.A55.16.” Another glowing cluster of lights appears in the blueish projection. “Now most vectors are seemingly random when compared next to one another, right?” Lyra nods in understanding. “Alright, so look at A55.16… and then .17…” The magic surrounding the mechanism coaxes it to show a new projection, similar in shape to the last. “...and .20, and .30. They’re not just similar, it’s building upon itself, like a… like a progression.”

Dr. Heartstrings steps even closer for inspection, leaning forward so that her muzzle is painted by the machine’s light. “Can you scale out?” With a nod and a flash of her horn, Twilight obliges, and the constellation between the ponies shrinks so that hundreds of more points make themselves known. “Move through them again, maybe a hundred at a time…”

The alicorn looks away from her friend and down toward the device, where she focuses her energy. The mares are quiet for a moment, entranced by the lights show presented before them, its radiance moving the shadows around the dark walls of the room.

A smile grows slowly on Lyra’s muzzle. “It’s music.”

Twilight looks up, confused but curious. “How can you tell?”

“Look at this pattern over here—” Her mint colored forehoof extends out into the projection, casting a large shadow on the ceiling above the ponies. “See how rythmic its expansion and contraction is?” The princess tilts her head at the display, watching the web of lights more closely. “Like percussion, maybe?”

Twilight Sparkle stares in bewilderment as her cohort circles around the machine. “Huh…”

Lyra crouches down to inspect the side of the wood, where a large panel is situated. “You don’t think we can get any kind of audio output on this thing, can we?”

Twilight shakes her head. “The table wasn’t designed to translate vibrations, it’s just the raw data.” The panel on the side of the device comes cleanly off under the guide of Lyra’s magic, exposing the large glowing crystal inside. Clouds of freezing air spill out with the panel door. “However…”

“...However; with the rest of the team, and access to a pressing plant, a solution could be found?”

The dance of lights before her is too powerful to allow her eyes to drift, Twilight responding while she levitates her cup up before her muzzle. “Hypothetically, anyway.” Still lost in the display, the princess takes the smallest of sips from the warm drink, her eyes narrowing just a tad at the unfamiliar taste. It was apparent now that she’d have to get used to it.

* * *

Light, cream colored forehooves with an impeccably sleek coat cross over one another, moving with a small, but rapid tapping. The hooves themselves are adorned with unmistakable high heels, painted with a fiery red, and shined so much so that the entire room is visible in their reflection. This effect is amplified by the pouring of light that comes through the stained glass window, fixed just before the mare and revealing every corner of the small room with its radiance. The light penetrates through an ornate depiction of Princess Celestia reaching up toward the sun, its shades of red and orange giving the room a warm, comforting glow.

To the mare’s right, rests a black briefcase, propped neatly against the wall. Further right still is another mare—unicorn as well—small in frame and with her mane held up in a ponytail. Her telekinetic grasp is wrapped around two cartons full of drinks; though the nervous expression she wears is hardly any indication of her trust in them staying upright.

After a moment of muffled conversation and hoofsteps coming from beyond the room, one of two doors in the room swings open to present a small group of ponies coming out from the stone hall behind them.

“Thank you so much for meeting with us, Councilman.” The first stallion out of the door says with a genuine smile, reaching up for a hoofshake shortly after. One might guess that the mare standing off to the side of the two gentlecolts is his wife, infant foal swaddled snuggly in a blanket hanging from her neck, and a forehoof propped under it for support.

The bearded councilman returns the smile, and replies gently. “It was our pleasure.” As the couple turns to leave, he makes a small wave at the sleepy foal being carried out by the mother, a laugh stifled by his desire to not disturb the infant.

Once the family is cleared out, the councilman turns to the two ponies still waiting by the window, the cream colored mare having never looked away from the glass during the commotion. A smile was on her muzzle though, and her ears remained pricked during the conversation.

“Senator Peach?” The unicorn turns her profile so that she can listen more directly to the stallion. “The High Council will see you now.”

The smile on the mare only grows wider. She nods, and the vibrant red curls in her mane follow with an almost comical bounce. Her head is blocking the view of Celestia on the glass behind her, leaving the masterfully crafted design of the sun to hang over the senator’s visage instead.

“Splendid.”

The trio of ponies make their way through the door, and up the long winding staircase behind it, the stone steps cold to the touch. Senator Peach’s apparent assistant—the smaller framed mare—makes the slowest ascent, carefully balancing the carton full of drinks as the others idly chit-chat.

Once at the top of the stairs, the councilman takes the lead, and holds the door open for the other two. Peach thanks the stallion, then strides confidently into the room full of ponies seated at a long table, the head of which is no other than Princess Celestia.

“Fillies and gentlecolts of the High Council, it’s a pleasure to meet with you all again.” Senator Peach wraps around the table and exchanges a few smiles and nods with the creatures sitting there, until she finds her gaze locked with her ruler’s. “And of course, it’s an honor to once more have an audience, Princess Celestia.” The middle-aged mare takes a well practiced bow before her Majesty. Celestia’s response is small, smiling just a little wider and lowering her muzzle mere inches.

Before the silence can grow too long, the senator is swift to launch into her next statement. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought drinks for everypony…” A cream colored hoof extends out toward the small pony trailing behind Senator Peach, and the cartons she’s still struggling to balance.

“A kind gesture. Very well then, Senator.” Celestia’s words ring pleasantly against the other mare’s ears, and she quickly lifts one drink off of the tray with magic, then signals her assistant to finish hoofing the rest of them out.

The single drink Senator Peach grabs hold of is designated for the princess, a thin transparent cup seemingly filled with water alone, and a couple cucumber slices mounted neatly on the rim.

The smaller mare begins to slowly make her way around the room, passing out the predesignated cups as she does so. Each is of varying size and color, with the council member’s initials marked clearly on the side. Some emit a small bit of steam, caught in the daylight pouring in from the near floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding the room; others glisten, a thin layer of condensation coating their smooth plastic.

“So,” Peach begins, as her assistant continues to trot diligently around the room. “where are we at, in regards to last week’s discussion?”

Celestia tilts her head, and unfurls her impressive wings for a brief flap, right before divulging any information. “I’m saddened to have to deliver this news, Senator; but we’ve done little more than become increasingly assured of our stance.”

Senator Peach’s expression of somewhat off-putting enthusiasm remains steadfast, despite the news. “Oh?”

“Senator, you must understand…” An older mare joins in, with a deep, royal blue coat. “We are very early in The Vault’s life above ground. Technologies can’t simply be plucked from its branches like a farmer might take fruit from her orchard; there is research to be done, and questions of ethics to first be raised.”

A younger council member, and the only griffon at the table, leans in to add to the discussion. “Not to mention the issue of theoretical application versus real-world use. Let us not forget, this was an entirely different civilization—and one that failed, plain and simple.” Many of the room’s members nod silently at this assessment. Dominus is one exception, who’s amber scales glow gently in the sunlight. Despite his power, the dragon often found himself lending himself as a silent observer more than an active part of these discussions.

“Councilmembers, I implore you, there is much potential to be gained from this opportunity. We’re talking about lives that can be saved—”

The senator is suddenly cut off by the first mare that had spoken on the matter, with the royal blue coat. “Or lives lost, should it fall into the wrong hooves.”

Dominus Temporis is suddenly ripped from his gaze at the others, as the small assistant pony finally reaches his (and the last) spot on the table, right next to Princess Celestia. His steady claw grabs hold of the offered drink floating in the pony’s telekinesis, smiling as he does so; and thanking her quietly under his breath.

“Senator Peach.” Celestia begins with signature confidence. “I understand your desire to help ponies, and to give a voice to those without the opportunity to be heard.” The Senator’s smile fades just a tad, as she listens intently. “But you must also understand that there is an order in these things, and that the process mustn't be rushed. The Council’s interest is with the citizens of Equestria as well.”

Peach’s eyes stay trained on the alicorn’s, even as she can feel the others’ stares. “Of course.” She pauses, widening her smile back to its original proportions. “I understand.”

The meeting concludes shortly after this exchange, and eventually Senator Peach is left to wander back down into the lobby, where she recoups with her assistant. Using her magic, the cream colored mare fidgets restlessly with a long curl on the edge of her mane. The mare’s eyes are held by Celestia’s visage even outside of the boardroom; though here, it's merely in the form of the stained glass window to her right.

She casts her glance aside for a moment, to converse with her young assistant. “You did good, Penny.”

Looking at the scene before her, Penny is unable to hide the concern in her expression nor voice, as she responds slowly. “...Mrs. Peach? Are you alright?”

The senator suddenly pauses, ceasing the manic twisting her telekinesis was performing, and turning fully to face the other mare. “I’m fine.” The smile returns. “Thank you, Dear.”

Suddenly, the wooden door leading to the boardroom above swings open, and a member of the High Council steps out. He’s a middle-aged stallion, with bushy sideburns and a dull red coat. “Senator,” the colt is quick to remark. “I was hoping you’d still be here.”

Peach turns her attention to the approaching earth pony, and extends out her foreleg for a hoofshake. “Councilman Sterling, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The stallion shakes the senator’s hoof without pause. “Oh, just a small matter really. If you don’t mind, I’d like for us to speak in my office for a spell?”

At this, the mare turns to her assistant, and lifts her muzzle a tad before speaking. “Wait for me in the main hall?”

“Of course.” Penny nods enthusiastically.

As the two older ponies begin to walk out together, Sterling looks back at the assistant, and gestures with his forehoof. “Thank you, Dear. We’ll be but a moment.”

Penny smiles and nods back, watching the two slip away into the deeper parts of the castle.

Councilman Sterling’s office is furnished as one might expect a member of the High Council’s to be: ornate wooden cabinets and shelves line the outer walls, filled with books and a dozen or so of small, golden trinkets. The desk the councilman himself sits behind is rather large, more than enough area for the inkwell, binder, and ceremonial dagger on display that cover it. Senator Peach takes a closer look at the blade as a guard brings Sterling’s drink to him, hilt gleaming with shades of amber and gold, and crafted with an almost rope-like shape. The blade itself is quite eye-catching as well, crude imagery of a dragon skull etched into its side.

“Thank you.” The councilman offers to the guard, who nods and turns to exit. Peach draws her attention back up to the pony, and the two wait quietly for the sound of the door shutting to fill the room. As it does, Sterling wastes no time to speak.

“A long black,” The stallion points to the now steamless beverage on his desk. “made with ristretto and embellished with a single pombyet leaf.” Sterling rotates his stool a bit while enjoying a soft chuckle, and looking down at the drink. “...Pretty specific…”

“I take it you enjoyed it, then?” Peach chimes in from her side of the desk.

The stallion responds by smirking and leaning in a little closer. “Senator, I want to help you. But first, I have to ask a few things.”

The nervous tapping Senator Peach has previously exhibited returns, in her right leg crossed over the left. “Alright.”

Sterling first crosses his forehooves on the desk. “Why so adamant about The Vault? What’re you expecting to find?”

Still smiling, the senator tilts her head barely enough to be noticable. “I’m only following the will of my constituents. Wouldn’t be here had I not.”

“Right—” Councilman Sterling looks off to the side and quietly smacks his lips. “—well, let me be the first to tell you, this,” he gestures wildy with his hooves “general, nebula of a bill you’re trying to pass with the council? It’s hopeless.”

Peach squints a little at the stallion’s comment, but stays quiet and allows him to finish.

“The only way you’re gonna get it through is if you narrow its scope. DNA—” Sterling places both hooves flat out on the table. “—that’s what you’re after, right? Forget about the cataloging, forget ‘digital data storage’; just, raw DNA testing. That’s your ticket.”

More restless now, Peach speaks up. “Have you considered yet what will happen if other nations recover these technologies before Equestria does?” The councilman starts to shake his head before she can even finish.

“Canterlot is in total control of the flow, here. Nothing will slip through the cracks.” No response is uttered by the senator, who simply stares as the stallion carries on. “Listen...” He begins suddenly, with a more relaxed tone. “...I’m owed some favors up there; and half of those ponies couldn’t care less about how this bill turns out.” Even as she continues to listen, Peach’s gaze grows lifeless, like she’s staring through Councilman Sterling rather than right at him. “They’re tired, Senator. I can give you a guarantee on this.”

Finally, the mare on the other side of the desk dips her head, and takes a moment to recollect herself. Now Sterling opts to wait, giving the pony as much time as she needs.

When she again lifts her head, it’s with the return of her business smile. “How much are we talking?”

Councilman Sterling smirks. “Actually, I’m not quite interested in bits. Not anymore, anyway.” He extends a hoof out and begins to toy with the top of his beverage, slowly pivoting it around. “...In the boardroom, you struck me as a confident mare, who always…” Sterling looks up, and inhales. “...knows the right thing to say.”

“Ah,” Peach returns with a smirk of her own. “you’re a romantic.”

The stallion laughs softly, but makes no interjection.

“So what’re looking for?” Senator Peach begins. “Hoof, wing, or horn?” To the mare’s surprise, Councilman Sterling hesitates for a moment, seemingly uninterested in any of the options laid before him. “...Or, something more exotic, perhaps?”

“Actually,” He responds with a furrowed brow. “there’s somepony specific who’s already caught my eye.” The senator leans back on her stool as she watches Sterling search for the right words to use.

“Your assistant… Penny, was her name?”

The words paralyze Mrs. Peach. She allows a moment to pass where she half expects the stallion to begin laughing, and claim it all a joke. Instead, she’s met with a chilling silence.

“...That’s not her job.”

Sterling takes a brief moment to casually sip from the last of his coffee, then looks back at his guest and attempts to provide more of an explanation. “I’m aware, and I understand your hesitance; but I’m afraid…” While thinking, the councilman enjoys a soft chuckle, contrary to the nature of their conversation. “Well to be frank, I’m afraid I’m quite stubborn on these matters.”

Senator Peach interjects faster now. “Councilman, I assure you, my selection will meet your—”

“I’ve no doubt your selection is of great quality, Senator. But my mind is set; I need but one evening with her.” The finality of the stallion’s request is emphasized with his forehooves, stretched out and planted firmly on the desk. “You do want that bill to pass, don’t you?”

Peach scoffs. “How could I ever even have your guarantee on something like this?”

“Well, I’m obviously willing to risk my career on it—”

“And mine.” A momentary impasse, the ponies simply staring at one another.

“Senator, don’t fool yourself into thinking that Canterlot has any good grace left with the populous. I’m sure you saw what happened at The Summer Sun Celebration. The reporters would be practically climbing over one another to get the chance at a corrupt councilman story.”

The cream-colored mare bows her head and looks down, perhaps at the bright red heels she wears, the brown carpet beneath her hooves; or perhaps at nothing at all.

“All of the cards are in your hoof, Senator.”

A field of magic begins to fiddle with the curls in Mrs. Peach’s mane. She steels herself, faces forward, and smiles.

“Ms. Penny will be in need of a raise, don’t you think?”

Councilman Sterling returns the smile, stands up from his stool, and outstretches a hoof to shake the senator’s.

“That can be arranged.”

* * *

As the sun reaches its apex, and the brilliant Canterlot sky drifts peacefully overhead, the ponies of the Equestrian Special Forces agency move about their base diligently. The building itself is modest in size, but very modern in appearance, with many large windows and metal and stone intertwining often on the exterior.

Inside, brightly lit halls and offices wind around the building, a myriad of colors filling the space thanks to the ponies who work there. Many are at their desks, coffee and typewriter at the ready. Others drift casually, conversing with one another as they trot by. Rainbow Dash—divided from the communal work space by blinders and a large, glass wall—is one of the former.

The blue pegasus rubs her tired eyes with a hoof as she looks over a lengthy document on her desk. The words, seeming to sprawl on endlessly, hold Dash’s attention well enough for her to ignore the muffled phone rings, and idle chatter outside. But not well enough to keep her from occasionally looking up at the manila folder laid out on the back of her desk.

Once she’s sure she’s read enough, Rainbow Dash slides an ink well before her, presses hard with her hoof into the black substance, then does the same at the bottom of the document. When she lifts her hoof up again, a unique insignia is left on the paper, cloud and lightning bolt centered inside her hoof mark. Dash then pushes the document aside with her other hoof, and rolls back on her stool to wash the ink covered hoof at a sink in the back of her office. As she does so, she takes another glance at the manila folder sitting inconspicuously at the back of her desk.

‘Aegis, “The Equestrians”’ The tab reads.

Dash shakes her forehoof, and flings the excess water into the sink basin. All while watching the folder with a cross expression on her face. When she finally rolls back to her desk again, she’s able to do little but sit and stare, as if the folder could fling itself open at any moment.

Just as she exhales, and reaches forward to obtain the document, the telephone in her office begins to ring noisily.

“Ugh, what now?” The mare mumbles under her breath. She stands up from her desk and walks over to where the hoofset is mounted against the wall. The ringing ceases as Dash picks up the line, and holds the phone to her ear. “Rainbow Dash, Captain of the First Wing.” The words come out in a droning, uninspired tone.

“Captain, there’s a… Starlit… Glamour here to see you.”

Hearing the words surprise Dash, who stumbles a bit over her response. “Oh, uh—okay, I’ll be out in just a minute. Thank you.”

The two mares share their goodbyes, then Rainbow Dash hangs up, and paces over to her office door. She takes a brief moment to lean to the side, using her reflection in the window to attempt to correct any loose hairs in her mane, and then she begins to open the blinds blocking her line of sight with the communal office. As she does, she’s quick to spot a pack of commotion gathered around the center of the large room.

“...Aw, crap…”

Dash’s coworkers swarm around a duo of pegasi leaning against a desk, engaged in casual conversation with the excited mares and stallions that’ve approached them. Their posture is relaxed, and their smirks wide; these were Wonderbolts, and Rainbow Dash recognized both of them.

“Hey Spitfire,” Dash starts as she slowly approaches the group. “hey Soarin’.” Before the Wonderbolts can even begin to respond, the police ponies around them quickly hang their heads and canter back to their respective desks. This elicits a smirk from Spitfire, who pushes her aviators up in front of her mane.

“Whoa, looks like Rookie here really knows how to crack the whip!”

Rainbow’s mane bounces a little as she snickers at the comment. “Something like that. What are you guys down for?”

Soarin’, who’s foreleg is pressed up against a desk as he stretches, responds before his cohort can. “We’re off-season, Crash. It’s high time for a little R & R.”

“We’ve been getting the old crew back together,” Dash’s head turns back to the yellow mare with a wild, orange mane. “looking to check back in with the Canterlot nightlife… and we’re short one rookie in particular…” Spitfire ends her statement with a little nod in Dash’s direction, to which the mare responds with a look of confusion.

“You know I graduated from the academy with honors, right?”

The stallion stretching against the desk is quick to retort. “You’ll always be a rookie to us, Rookie.”

Despite her casual and relaxed posture, Spitfire’s stare is unyielding, and she continues with her conversation as if Soarin’ had never even made a comment. “What do you say? You got time this weekend?”

Feeling a bit flustered, Dash crosses a hoof over her leg as she stammers a response. “I uh…”

Spitfire turns her head a bit while looking out over the working ponies at their desks. “This club we’re looking at, said to draw one helluva crowd—” She takes a step closer to Rainbow Dash before proceeding, and greatly lowers her voice. “—including some rather... ‘energetic’ studs.”

Dash shivers. Perhaps from the invitation, or perhaps from the other mare simply standing so close to the pegasus, and delivering it with such a sultry tone. “Aheh, sounds like fun…” Spitfire returns to her original position, and both Wonderbolts look up, eager for an answer. “...but I’ve got a lot of work to do right now. Sorry guys.”

Switching forelegs, so his remaining one can stretch out against the desk, Soarin’ doesn’t hesitate to give up on the blue pegasus. “Told you she wouldn’t.”

There’s a look of disappointment in Spitfire’s expression, but also of understanding, as her smirk flattens just a bit. “Well, had to try.” Dash smiles under arched brows. “...But if you come to your senses, you know where to find us.”

A polite chuckle escapes Rainbow’s lips, and she tilts her head off to the side. With the tall windows on the outside of the office now visible to the pegasus, she can see her friend Starlight pressed close against the glass, using her hooves to surround her face and likely eliminate the sun’s bright reflection. As the two notice each other, Starlight backs up, and waves enthusiastically at her friend indoors.

“—I will uh,” Rainbow Dash quickly returns her gaze to the duo of ponies before her. “I’ll definitely let you know.” A nervous step backward is made by Dash in the middle of her statement. “I’m sorry guys, I really gotta go. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Soarin’ and Spitfire share a confused glance, before the latter pony responds to a fleeing Dash. “...Sure… you got it.” The cyan pegasus smiles and waves from over her shoulder, before turning back around and walking hurriedly toward the exit. This leaves the veteran Wonderbolts to simply stare between one another, Soarin’ raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders before returning to some wing flexes.

When Rainbow Dash finally reaches the main entrance, Starlight Glimmer is there waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey Dash! I hope I’m not intruding…”

The cream-colored pavement is warm under Dash’s hoofsteps, even as the colors of Fall claim the small potted trees and ferns surrounding the station. “You’re fine. Let’s talk over here.” Rainbow uses her wing to invite Starlight over to a steel railing, away from the intermittent stream of ponies through the main entrance—and the tall windows dividing the outside from the offices.

Starlight Glimmer happily trots over to meet her friend at the railing, where they exchange greetings and brief pleasantries. “I was in the area, and I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

At this, Dash turns her head so that only her profile is visible to Starlight, and so that she can watch the small crowds of ponies walk up and down the colorful streets of Canterlot. “I’m alright.”

Starlight scoffs, watching her friend’s cool expression while a smirk creeps onto her own muzzle. “That exciting, huh?”

Dash’s smile too reveals itself, and she turns to offer a little more context. “I dunno. Something doesn’t feel right. Like something’s… looming, I guess?”

“I get what you mean.” The unicorn offers with a sympathetic tone. “It’s not like anything we’ve dealt with before, is it?”

“...Yeah…” After quietly responding to her friend, Rainbow Dash turns her attention to look back over the railing, and at the commotion of ponies out in the street. For a moment, this is all either of the ponies do, and the relaxing ambiance of hooves clopping against stone, and unintelligible discussions from the street are all the sounds that fills the air.

As enough time had already passed to make the moment a bit awkward, Starlight turns and attempts to salvage the conversation. “Hey, uh… you haven’t seen Twilight recently, have you?”

Rainbow’s ear twitches, and she too turns back away from the street. “Mmm… not since… our dinner, I think.” Hearing this causes the unicorn to hang her head and twist her expression in confusion.

“It’s probably fine. We had just—talked about doing something tomorrow, and I haven’t heard back from her.” A pause passes, before Starlight continues to announce her confidence. “I’m sure she’s just busy, is all.”

Now things appear to really be at a standstill. Dash had nodded in agreeance with Starlight Glimmer, but had little else prepared as response. Desperately, the cyan pegasus begins to search for a continuation of their discussion, whether that be more talk about their mutual friend, the weather, or even just a way out. “...Starlight?”

The unicorn with a pink-purple tint in her coat perks up. “Yeah?”

“Have you uh… ever been—you know, with a colt?”

Starlight recoils back a small step as the question surprises and confuses her. “...Yeah, why?”

Still pained by the search for words, but obviously not enough to stop, Dash continues her odd questioning with squinted eyes. “...You mean, while you were…” A shake of her head silently tells Dash that Starlight still had no idea where she was going with this. “...you know, like in power at your village, and controlling ponies?”

“What? No!” Starlight quickly retorts. “I never used my magic to rape any of the villagers there, I had a coltfriend long before that.”

Dash’s famed voice crack makes a particularly spectacular return as she stumbles over an apology. Still confused, but with a little more curiosity now, Starlight Glimmer leans in and tries to get to the bottom of it. “Are you okay? Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry.” Expecting more to come, Starlight looks onward as Dash simply returns to staring out into the street, no more words finding their way to her lips. The unicorn’s eyes crease and lips curl with great concern; but even she had to admit that this ‘friend problem’ might take more than a short, caring conversation to repair.

* * *

With clouds rolling over the Canterlot sky, the bright sunlit vista of the past few weeks begins to give way to a cold, grayish blue. At the top of one of the castle’s towers, the effects of the foreboding weather can be viewed in great detail; tall, spotless windows doing little to prevent the room’s occupants from observing the looming gray clouds.

“Senator Peach,” Celestia announces warmly from her end of the long table. “welcome back.”

The mare with bright red curls and a light, cream colored coat first acknowledges the welcoming with a nod. “Thank you, Princess Celestia.”

Velvet, one of the older mares at the table, begins to curiously look behind the senator for the presence of another pony. “Your assistant isn’t with you? Is she well?”

“Ms. Penny is feeling a little under the weather today.” Peach responds quickly and punctually. “I hope it’s not an issue that I participate in this meeting alone.” One of the stallions at the table—one with long, well-groomed sideburns—takes a particularly long gaze at the table beneath him, and away from the face of the mare speaking.

Velvet raises her brow and reveals some of her deeper wrinkles as she frowns. “Not at all. Please, tell her we wish her well.”

“I will.” Again the red-maned mare responds rapidly. “Thank you, councilwoman Velvet.”

Princess Celestia leans in from the other side of the room and gently places her forehooves against the table. “Well Senator, we have some rather good news for you.” Before proceeding, the alicorn slides a small stack of paper to be neatly placed in the center of the table before her. “The High Council has heard your proposed compromise on the bill, and we’re willing to move ahead with a restructured plan regarding the use of DNA testing in criminology.” Senator Peach simply smiles and nods as her superior continues. “We refuse the application of ‘cataloging’, used by late human civilizations, but we’ll be enabling the nation-wide practice of DNA testing suspects of severe crimes. You’ll find all of the details in here:” A golden aura lifts the document off of the table, and levitates them over to the senator.

“Thank you kindly, Princess Celestia.” Mrs. Peach grasps the document in her own magic.

“Keep in mind,” Celestia suddenly adds. “this process will take some time, most notably due to the nature of the technology. You’ll be notified when we’re ready for a press release.”

Smiling a little thinner than usual, Senator Peach nods respectfully one last time. “Of course. Thank you.”

From the opposite side of the room, just next to Celestia’s massive wing, sits a contemplative Dominus Temporis. His index finger and thumb are wrapped around his snout, and his scaly elbow rests against the table. Only his cat-like eyes give any indication of motion, as they peer intently at the senator expressing her thanks, before rolling down to stare at nothing in particular.

* * *

At night, the cobblestone streets of Canterlot fall into a sleepy haze, only a hooful of ponies walking quietly under street lamp glow where there were once hundreds. Even still, the city had a sort of warm charm to it after nightfall, accented by the particularly entrancing glow of store fronts and apartment windows. It was quiet; but life still breathed through these expansive streets.

On the corner of one, two mares skirt closely around a dark building, their laughter echoing around the block. One is a unicorn, mint green in color.

“...Yeah, so, needless to say, that was the last time I was in that class.”

The other mare, a violet alicorn with a much darker violet mane, smiles widely as she responds. “I’m surprised you were let in the school after that!”

Lyra chuckles. “If the dean had his way, I probably wouldn’t have been.” She stops just before the corner building’s entrance, and places a hoof on the glass. “You ready?”

Twilight excitedly lifts the object she had been carrying with her magic up close to her gleeful smile. It’s a thin, large package, plain and unlabeled, except for a small sticker on the top with a string of random characters.

Dr. Heartstrings nods, and lifts up a single silver key with her own magic. Upon pressing it into the door lock, and turning it with a satisfying click, Lyra swings the door inward, and allows passage into the dark room before them. Both mares instinctively light their horns to better reveal the room’s contents, of which there are very few.

The glow of the ponies’ horns illuminates a large white room, lined with booths next to the shuttered windows, and tables hidden under dust covers in the remaining space. There’s a bar close to the inner wall, where somepony with a creative mind might be able to imagine a chatty group of mares and stallions discussing nothing of consequence over sandwiches and shakes, as foals run playfully around the clean tile floor. For now, though, there was only darkness.

There’s a distant rumbling of a door handle and furniture moving, drawing both mares’ attention to a staircase behind the restrooms in the back. “Lyra? That you?” A voice cries out.

“Down here, Crane.”

Dark, brown hooves first appear on the lower steps, followed by their earth pony owner. A bulky stallion; obviously not opposed to eating his fill, but with a muscular figure that mostly still shows through the fat. “...And Princess Twilight Sparkle?” The stallion squints from his dark side of the room.

“Hello,” Twilight responds awkwardly, still not quite able to make out the pony’s face in all of the darkness.

“Don’t tell me Lyra’s roped you inna’ running this place too…” Crane’s voice is deep, and growly.

“Oh, move past it.” Dr. Heartstrings turns to explain to Twilight. “Crane’s my ex’s brother, and he agreed to help cover her end of this place after we split. Though he acts like I forced him…”

Crane snickers as he moves finally to the bottom of the steps and out onto the floor. “You know, I never understood how my sis’ could walk out on a mare like you.” Lyra cocks her head and coolly rolls her eyes off to the side.

“Flattery’s nice, but I’d rather see the power back on…”

“You said to take care of that this weekend!”

“It’s Saturday!”

“Which means I still have another day.”

Lyra stares at the stallion under the light of her horn, then chortles and shakes her head. “Good to see you again, Crane.” The mare steps forward, and embraces the other pony with a forehoof over his shoulder. Crane does the same, smiling and patting her back with all the extra length his leg has.

“Likewise.”

After they break the hug, Lyra’s quick to glance over her shoulder at the princess, then turn back again to explain the situation. “We’re just gonna be in the back, alright? Generator still there?”

“Well I haven’t moved it.”

“Naturally.” Lyra quips, leading Twilight past the counter and through the kitchen.

The two mares part ways with the large stallion, who wishes them well and then returns to his office upstairs. As his hoofsteps creek on the floorboards above, Lyra and Twilight enter a storage room behind the kitchen, the former mare immediately groaning at the sight of things.

“Ugh… we might be in here for a while.” She says, shuffling through a few cardboard boxes. Twilight approaches from her side, and begins to help move objects around with her own magic. She still holds the mysteriously labeled packaged by her side, and splitting her magic in so many different ways dims the light over her horn.

“Crane seems nice. You two have known each other for a while?”

“Technically, about as long as I knew my ex, that being… well, years.” Twilight remains quiet as she watches her friend lean over a box and flip through its contents. “But the last year specifically is when I really got to know him.”

The alicorn nods slowly, then returns to walking around the room and looking over the stacks of boxes and furniture. “I’m sorry, Lyra. It sounds like you guys were pretty close…”

“With Crane?” Lyra’s head pops up from under a pile of dusty containers. “Oh,” She smiles and rolls her eyes at her own cluelessness. “With my marefriend. Yeah, we were pretty close.” The unicorn spots a particular detail through the darkness, and moves in close to begin uncovering it. “It’s in the past. I’m just glad we both landed on our hooves, and that we’re still—” Lyra grunts as she moves a particularly large box out of the way. “—on good enough terms.”

Curious, Twilight raises her own head to try and see what’s holding Lyra’s attention. “Did you find the generator?”

“Yep.” Twilight can hear her colleague cough—likely from all of the dust they had been kicking up—and then a series of small clicks as she kneels down and fiddles with the contraption. Shortly after, a low hum begins to fill the air, and both of the mares’ lights flicker as the hair on their coats stands up.

“Oh!” Princess Twilight exclaims, as a flash of colorful light cuts through the darkness.

“Did it turn on?”

The light and mechanical whirring draws Twilight closer to the newfound machine. “Yep! At least, I’m assuming this is it.”

Lyra pushes her way through the piled boxes and canters excitedly over to where her friend stands. “That’s it alright.”

Twilight is leaning against the curved wooden display on the jukebox as Lyra approaches, bright colors of red and yellow emitting from all around the curve. After reaching it, and accidentally bumping into a box full of what sounds like silverware, she leans down to the machine’s side, and inspects the lock.

Princess Twilight instinctively pushes off from the jukebox as she realizes what her cohort is doing, Lyra releasing the lock with a click and then pivoting the front face of the device open. Inside is an empty disk platter; and a carousel, and a dozen or so exposed mechanical parts.

When Lyra looks back up and away from the machine, the princess smiles gleefully, and extends the sealed package forward with her magic.

“Care to do the honors?” Lyra asks a surprised Twilight.

“Me?”

The mint colored unicorn simply smiles and nods, a hoof extended out over the disk platter. Twilight laughs nervously, then slowly begins to release the sticker seal over the flat package. When she’s finished, an unmarked disk is pulled out in the field of her violet magic. She takes one last look at Lyra, as if to confirm she really did have permission, then moves cautiously toward the brightly-lit jukebox.

The record goes on without a hitch, aided likely by the meticulous and somewhat unnecessary caution Twilight takes to place it. Then, having completed her task, the alicorn happily steps back from the machine, and allows Lyra to finish the job.

“...I would like to see this place up and running, you know?”

Twilight cocks her head curiously at the unicorn’s comment. “Well… sure. Why wouldn’t you?”

Lyra steps forward and looks out over the disk carousel. “I just think there’s a really good opportunity here. For something special.” She removes one of the old disks out of its sleeve, and holds it by her side before pressing down on a coin-sized metal lever. Finally, she taps twice on a small metal switch located in the top left corner of a collection of switches. With the front hatch closed, this is likely where the song selection inputs on the outside would line up.

A small motor revives itself, and whirs noisily as it rotates the carousel to the far end, then allows a metal crane to grapple helplessly at the space where Lyra removed a disk. The unknowing crane makes its way back around, and places the non-existent record on top of the one already on the platter; the one Twilight had placed.

The two mares look at one another, then allow the machine to work, its metal tonearm quick to pivot over the disk and drop its needle down.

The silence that ensues is harrowing. There’s a bit of grainy texture that comes through the speaker, and the record is clearly shown to be spinning under the warm light of the jukebox. But no instruments can be heard, nor voice.

Just as disappointment settles in, and Twilight finally gets relief from her excited shivering, the sound changes. The unmistakable sound of an acoustic guitar rings out, though garbled as it may be. The two mares look excitedly at one another almost simultaneously, as the guitar continues to play alone. And both mares are quick to return their gaze to the record, as if it might do anything other than turn.

After the guitar is slowly plucked through a few chords, it returns to the first chord. Only this time, a voice joins the melody.

“My girl, my girl! don’t lie to me, tell me wheeeere did you sleep last night?”

Lyra exhales softly through her nose. She stares onward at the entrancing spin of the disk, while the unidentified man sings through another line.

“In the pines, in the pines! Where the sun, don’t ever shine, I would shiveeeer… whole night through.”

“Hmm.” Dr. Heartstrings begins. “Clearly recorded early on in their time, judging from the distortion.” She pauses to listen a little longer. “Maybe… ‘30s or ‘40s?”

Lyra glances over to Twilight for input, but is only met with silence—and the awestruck left on the princess’s muzzle.

“...I—” Her voice catches in her throat, and Twilight is simply unable to say anything else.

Lyra finally loses her composure, and stifles a laugh as she excitedly rocks back-and-forth on her hooves. “I know!”

The two ponies share a moment of childlike glee with one another, before turning back around and listening in awe at the sound of the ancient being’s voice. Their horns were dark now, and only the glow of the jukebox provides a soft rim light between the two mares.

* * *

Deep in the forest of White Tail, under pitch darkness and a light rain, lies a cottage. Candles glow in its windows, and smoke rises out of its chimney in thick, shapeless clouds. The sound of raindrops can be heard plinking against the roof gutters, just above the empty porch out front. And every now and then, a cool breeze will pick up, and rattle the screen door against its frame.

Two griffons occupy the house. One is a female, large, and with a long scar just over the arch of her brow. The other is smaller, a male who paces steadily back and forth through the living room with a pistol holstered to his hip, and a pained expression on his face.

“Would you sit the fuck down? Making me nervous just watching you…” The larger griffon asks around a half-smoked cigarette.

“Boss, I’m sorry, I gotta take a piss.”

“Well take a fucking piss, then! I already told you you could.” She snaps at him. “‘Less you need me to aim it for you, too?”

The male griffon looks nervously at his boss, then shakily nods his head. “I’ll be real quick.”

With that, he heads off down the hall, out of the living room he was pacing in, and past the table that the other griffon sits at. A radio sits next to her, a pack of smokes and a heavily used ashtray next to that. Further still along the table, is a flintlock pistol, easily reachable by the griffon’s massive talons.

She flicks the cherry of her cigarette over the ashtray, then shouts down the hall in the direction the other griffon took; even after his tail had long since disappeared behind the corner. “And hurry the hell up!”

The radio is at a low volume, not much louder than the crackle of the fireplace, or the soft sheets of rain landing above the house. It drones on about the scores of two baseball teams, every now and then the screams of the audience audible behind the sound of the sports broadcasters’ voices.

One sound in the house particularly stands out. It’s the screen door—bashing against its wooden frame every time the wind allows it to. From where she’s sitting, the griffon with a scar over her eye can easily watch the front door, and the screen door behind it. She drills in her focus on it, the cherry at the end of her cigarette growing longer as she simply lets it dangle out of beak like it was a permanent part of her anatomy. Sometimes the door would slam harder than usual. Sometimes it would swing, and not make a sound at all.

After choking back a cough, and plucking the hot remnants of the cigarette from her mouth, the griffon finally looks away from the living room, and instead watches the glow of the radio’s display. Very soon, though, she finds herself called back to the sway of the exterior door.

“Hey!” The griffon shouts as she turns back around and adjusts the radio’s volume to be silent. “What the fuck’s taking so long?”

A creek on the floorboards and slowly moving shadow sends a chill down the griffon’s spine. She bolts up and places a claw over the pistol just as the tip of Cave’s own gun reveals itself from the shadows.

“Stop. Move away from the table.”

The griffon doesn’t budge. Her claw remains firmly planted on top of the nearby gun.

Cave was completely out of the hallway’s shadow now, and in the light of the kitchen. “Maggs… I’m not feeling particularly patient tonight…” Three thin, long scars can be seen running from the top of his head almost down to his chin.

Maggs remains frozen, wings half extended. She takes a good look at the diamond dog’s eyes, and folds under their cold, unblinking stare. Slowly, her talons extend upward, and her body leans back away from the table. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding, Cave.”

Cave lightly grips his chest with his free paw as a stifled cough makes its way out of his mouth, and he motions off to the side with his gun. “—The couch.”

Maggs’s wings finally fold against her side, and she slowly begins her walk toward the living room couch. Cave simply follows her with the barrel of his gun, eyes unmoving from the large, predatory creature. When she finally finds her seat, he strafes slowly to the kitchen table, keeping the gun to the back of the griffon’s head, then picks up the pistol that she originally had her talons wrapped around.

On his trip to the living room, where Maggs sits, Cave drags one of the empty chairs at the table along with him. It glides slowly along the kitchen linoleum, then screeches loudly as it slides along the living room floorboards. Just as he’s readying himself to sit down, and place the spare gun on the dresser next to him, Maggs makes a request.

“Can I smoke?”

Cave pauses. He looks at the griffon, an almost playful smirk on her face, and to the table in the kitchen, with the pack of cigarettes still lying there. The diamond dog takes both pistols with him, and retrieves the pack so he can toss it to the griffon.

“Thanks.” She replies, pulling out a match.

With a chance to finally sit down now, Cave relaxes in his chair facing the griffon, and with his back turned to the fireplace. Its warm glow draws a flickering silhouette over him.

“I guess…” Maggs starts, inhaling to get the small flame at the end of the match to catch. “...we have a lot to discuss.” The diamond dog at the other end of the room doesn’t move. Instead, he leans lazily against the dresser, gun kept pointed straight at Maggs. “Considering I have no earthly fucking idea what you’re trying to pull.”

Cave remains quiet. He takes the time to study the griffon; her posture, relaxed against the sofa but with talons practically dug into its arm. Her long pauses with the cigarette, where she simply allows it to dangle between her fingers, and allow the smoke to rise above them. “...A couple days ago, Arnold broke into my house.”

Maggs takes a draw from her cigarette, and narrows her eyes at the creature.

“He tried to kill me with this gun.” Cave flicks his eyes down at the pistol, but doesn’t dare move it away from its target.

The griffon scoffs. “Never was very bright. Guessing that roach was still mad about the bits.”

“I don’t think so.”

There’s a quiet gap that the crackling of the fireplace occupies. Maggs stares in confusion at her underling, who’s posture and joyless expression remains. “Oh, Cave—you don’t seriously think I ordered a hit on you, do you? Arnold was just jealous, he woul—”

“Arnold was a coward.” Cave interjects. “He was afraid of me. And he never would have pulled something like this unless…” He groans as he pushes off of the dresser and leans forward in his chair. “...unless someone he was more afraid of told him to.”

There’s no response. Smoke rises to the side of Maggs’s head, and her eyes stare unblinking at the creature in the room. “...Cave.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He’s quick to say. The chair creaks as he shifts his weight back again. “I’m not robbing banks and trains anymore.”

Maggs nods her head slightly, and looks about the room as she collects her thoughts. “...Well, sure, Cave. I mean if there had ever been any of you guys who I thought had it in ‘em to go straight, it was you.” Cave doesn’t respond, and instead allows the griffon to rattle on. “You know I’ve got connections up north? Sometimes I daydream about putting all this shit behind me, and just heading up there for a fresh start. Way I hear it, their rivers are so bloated with fish you can just cut a hole in the ice, drop a line, and the little fuckers will hook themselves!” Maggs enjoys a soft chuckle, the only one in the audience. It doesn’t take long for the smile to fade, and for the severity in her voice to return. “...You can have that, you know. A fresh start.”

Cave remains still, with his shoulder leaned against the dresser, and the gun still pointed forward. “I have a story.”

There’s a fear in Maggs’s eyes as she lifts up the cigarette for another drag, and listens closely to Cave’s tale.

“It’s about my father. John Walker. He was a railway tycoon, as I’m sure you know. Company laid more than half the tracks in Equestria. And he acted the part—rarely saw the family, and what time we did have with him…” Cave’s eyes sink low just as he trails off. “...He had this funny little saying he’d cling to. ‘Everything happens for a reason’... I grew so sick of hearing it. Like some higher power had given him riches, so that he could neglect the family at best, and tear it apart at worst. ‘Everything happens for a reason’, he’d tell me… as he beat my mother and raped my sister. The day would finally come where John repaid his debt to those higher powers, and cancer would take his life. And not a soul mourned him.”

Silence again. This time, even the crackle of the fireplace is barely registered by Maggs, who sits unmoving and tensed at the end of the couch. She swallows, unable to speak without first clearing her bone-dry throat. “Shit… Cave, I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” He responds nonchalantly. “It feels as if that was a lifetime ago. I’ve had plenty of time to move on since then, but… you know what I’ve realized? He was right.”

The glow at the end of Maggs’s cigarette has almost completely consumed the paper, despite the griffon’s slow commitment to smoking it. She looks up from it, and to the diamond dog in front of the fireplace, then begins to shakily form her words. “...Cave.” Her head shakes almost violently. “Not like this. Please.”

There’s no shift in Cave’s posture or deadpan expression; only the parting of his lips as he prepares to deliver the verdict. “I’m sorry, Maggs.” He stands up and pulls the hammer back into full cock. “But I can’t let you stand in the way of destiny.”

“Oh, PLEASE NO! N—” There’s a thunderous crack in the room, and a large cloud of smoke that rises from the gun. The bullet passes through the griffon’s head before either of them can notice, just under her right eye. Blood instantly begins to pour out of her nostrils, staining her beak and chest feathers. The body convulses violently, and her lifeless, glazed over eyes stare up at nothing.

After the smoke clears, and the spasms in Maggs’s corpse are reduced to nothing but twitches in her talons, Cave stands alone. His arm remains outstretched, despite the threat being naturalized, and the gun emptied. He stares coldly at the lifeless body before him, as blood still pours freely from one nostril. There were remains scattered against the couch fabric behind her head, and a growing dark spot on the cushion beneath her that—had you not seen the body—might be mistaken for a leak in the roof, as it drips steadily to the floor.

Cave finally lowers his arm. The smell of gunpowder was thick in the air. Floorboards creak beneath his paws, as he walks to the window in front of the living room, and peers out into the darkness. Rain still pours gently beyond the glass, and a breeze shakes the surrounding trees. The woods appear to stretch endlessly, out in the darkness. Like nothing but the void lies beyond.