The Long Nightmareby The Sonic MageChaptersPrologueChapter 1: The White KnightChapter 2: The Black KnightChapter 3: Meet the MobChapter 4: Addressed to the PublicChapter 5: Backdoor Dealings in the DarkPrologueTo call Manehattan “The City that Never Sleeps” would be a tad inaccurate. While it was certainly true that mass activity never really stopped at night, whether it be work or parties, there were plenty of parts of the city that were “dead”. Abandoned warehouses, decommissioned buildings, entire city blocks left empty and rendered useless. No pony lived in these areas, and few ever passed through them. These were the city areas that slept, and, for one reason or another, were cursed to remain asleep until they were eventually knocked down and replaced. However, unbeknownst to anypony, that night, in one of these supposedly sleeping neighborhoods, on the edge of the city limits close to the Manehattan River… …one apartment building lay awake. “Where am I? Where are you taking me?” “Shut your trap.” A dark brown earth pony with a stopwatch and double-helix Cutie-Mark as being dragged into the apartment building with a burlap sack over his head by four other ponies. The four ponies were all wearing black and white, pinstriped suits and floppy fedoras. “P-Please,” the brown pony pleaded, “Let me go. I-I have money! I-If you let me go, I would be willing to give-” his haggling was cut off by a blow to the head. He fell to the floor dazed. “Put a sock in it! Or I’ll put a muzzle on it!” The earth pony being dragged along is named “Double-Time”. He’s known for being exceptional at information retrieval and removal. In fact, it’s his job. But he doesn’t work at any law firm or bank. He finds employment in what is affectionately referred to as “The Business”. Crime. He’s an escapist for hire. He can make ponies disappear into the next town or the ground. If you want to disappear, make somepony else appear, or steal an identity and everything it owns, he was the pony to find. He was known for being efficient, effective, a master of his craft. And a two timing sellout. He was known to turn on employers if offered enough money. Even if it meant he got only one more Bit out of it. He was hated, but respected. He was considered invaluable. Every mob needed a back door exit, and Double Time was the only pony who had a 100% satisfaction guarantee, provided that you paid enough. His role and status made him feel invincible, untouchable. He was anything but that at the moment. His four captors finally managed to get their victim up to the top floor. They dragged Double Time across the dirty tile floor to the old penthouse suite. “New guy,” the lead crook gave Double Time a kick in the face as he got his cohort’s attention, “Help hold him.” The lead crook let go of one of Double Time’s limbs, as he went to the door to give it a knock. A few seconds later a knock came from the other side of the door. The crook reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a seemingly ordinary Bit, and held it up to the peephole in the door. A few seconds after that, the door was opened by another crook, a bat-pony, who surveyed the group before him. He looked at the crook who had knocked, then to the three crooks holding Double Time down, then back to the crook who knocked. “Booker,” The door crook said plainly, “You’re late.” Booker gave an annoyed huff. “You try and get this whiny little rat across Manehattan, without drawing the cops attention, in a timely fashion.” “You do realize that I’ve been on ‘pick-up duty’ as well, right?” “Shut up, Gate.” “Yeah, yeah,” Gate opened the door wide giving them access, “Just get the punk in here so that The Boss can deal with him.” Booker looked back at his partners in crime, and motioned for them to bring Double Time inside. “Ups-a-daisy, dirt bag.” “P-Please, whatever it is, I’m sorry!” “Oh, you will be. Trust me.” “New guy, keep a good hold on his head. And keep that bag on him!” The four “Pick-up Ponies” dragged Double Time into the suite. Booker hung his hat on the way in, uncovering his horn. “So, Gate,” he said, how’s ‘house-keep duty’ been going for ya this week?” Gate locked the door behind them. “Same as always,” he said, “We keep the place in order, guard every entrance, and the place still smells like cigarettes and bodies, no matter how much cleaner we use.” “Somethings never change.” Booker walked through the finely decorated living room along side Gate. The other “Pick-up Ponies” were close behind. “Where’s the rest of the ‘House-keep Crew’?” Booker asked. “They’re working on the other rooms,” the bat-pony replied. He would have kept talking if they hadn’t arrived at a particular doorway. It was a set of double doors. The right door was painted white, while the left door was painted black. Booker leaned over to Gate’s ear. “Has, uh...has The Boss come outta’ there recently?” He whispered. “If he has, then I didn’t see.” Both Gate and Booker looked at each other. “Well,” Booker said, “You’re the house-keeper. Knock.” Gate sighed, went up to the door, and, with some hesitation, knocked. There was a *clack* as the door unlocked. Gate slowly opened the door. He looked back at Booker, before disappearing into the room. Now they had to wait. Booker reached into his suit pocket, and pulled out a cigarette. He placed it in his mouth and got ready to light it, until he heard a *cough* from behind him. He looked to see the “new guy” covering his mouth. “What?” Booker said through his cigarette. “Uh…” the “new guy” seemed anxious. “I can tell ya got something to say,” Booker said, “So, what is it? Spit it out!” The pony shook his head to gather himself, “S-Sorry Sir, it’s just that…” “‘Just’ what?” “...We’re going in to see The Boss, right?” “Yeah, and?” Booker lit his cigarette waiting for the “new guy” to get to the point. “W-Well, it’s just that…” the pony took a moment to put his words together, “...I-I’ve never seen or met The Boss.” Booker coughed, briefly choking on his own inhale. The two other “Pickups” went wide eyed as they turned to the “new guy”. “Are you serious?” The big bruiser of an earth pony holding Double Time’s left arm and took off his hat in disbelief. “How in Tartarus did you get in this mob?” “I Uh…” The “new guy” yelped as he suddenly felt a blade at his throat. The pony holding Double Time’s right arm revealed his steel tipped pegasus wings. “What are ya,” he asked, his voice giving off an air of crazy, “Some undercover cop?” “Cops? Where? Help! Please!” Double Time cried. “No, no, no, guys Stop!” Booker quickly intervened, “Guts, chill out! Vincent, put those knives away, you’re scaring the kid!! Time, SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” The trio fell into silence after. Booker’s outburst. The unicorn took a puff of his cigarette, before looking to the “new guy”. “Okay, first thing first: Kid, tell me your name, and take the hat off.” The young pony removed his hat, revealing his unicorn horn. “M-My name’s Mason, Sir.” “Okay,” Booker took another puff, blowing smoke into the air, “Now how did ya get into this mob?” “I got the offer from that guy, uh, Gate! He gave me an interview. And none of you guys asked anything, so I thought it was normal.” Booker massaged the bride of his snout. “Okay, look,” He went right up to Mason and looked him in the eyes, “There’s a lot you need to be taught, and not a lot of time to do it. For now, here’s what you need to know: “1: You do what The Boss says. You don’t question him, you don’t talk back to him. “2: Don’t get smart or smug with him. And don’t get all high-and-mighty either. “But most importantly, right up there with ‘don’t question’, is the third rule: “Don’t. Stare.” Mason was sweating, and was now a tad confused. “W-What?” “Don’t. Stare. At The Boss,” Booker repeated, emphasizing each word, “You know how yo mama always told ya, ‘Don’t stare at other ponies, it’s not polite’? That’s what I mean.” Booker pressed his snout against Mason’s, “Are. We. Clear?” “Y-Yes, Sir.” One of the double-doors opened, Gate stuck his head out. “He’ll see ya now.” Booker straightened out his suit, and looked back at his partners in crime. “Let me do all the talking, alright?” The other three ponies nodded, and they slowly entered together, dragging their squirming hostage with them. The room was dark. No lights were on. The only light that came in was the glow of the full moon through the windows. Even then the blinds were pulled in many of the windows, all of them opened and lowered to various levels. It coated the room in midnight stripes, an atmosphere that would have been calming if it weren’t for what resided inside the room. The room was filled with all sorts of things. There were various filing cabinets lined up against the wall. They were all filled with files and documents regarding different ponies across Equestria. There were bulletin boards hanging from the walls with newspaper cuttings and photos of various ponies hanging on them, red strings connected to them all creating a massive web. On the wall, at the front of the room, was a beautifully painted portrait of the Royal Sisters, with smiles filled with warmth and kindness. It was in pristine condition, and looked very expensive. At the back of the room, there was a desk. A large, dark brown, laminated, oak desk. It was slightly worn from age, especially around the corners, but it was still functional. Above the desk, on the back wall, was another portrait, one of some well dressed stallion. This one wasn’t nearly in as good condition as the other. While the right side of the portrait was fine, the left side was burned and torn beyond recognition. Behind the desk was a large, luxurious armchair. And in that armchair, his silhouette barely visible in the shadows, was “The Boss”. A clock on the wall ticked as he waited. The door opened. Four ponies in suits and one with a bag over his head entered. “The Boss’s” eyes stared the ponies, his eyes unblinking. Booker, the pony in front, gave a small bow as he stood at the opposite side of the room to the desk. “Evening Boss,” Booker said, trying to hide the stress in his voice, “Sorry we’re late. We got caught up in traffic, had to dodge some cops…Had to, uh, go around the city through the back streets to get here.” “The Boss” didn’t respond he just continued to glare at them as he sat in his chair, giving off an air of aggravation. Booker resisted the urge to wipe his brow of the sweat that was beginning to form. “We uhhh…” Booker could feel his employer losing what little patience he had left, “Oh! We got the guy you wanted us to grab!” On que, the other three ponies threw Double Time down on the floor, before pulling the sack off his head. The air of aggravation that the boss had quickly escalated to an aura of rage. Double Time looked up at the pony in the dark who had ordered his capture. He couldn’t make out much. He could tell that the outline was the build of a stallion, and the stripes of light from the windows illuminated a double breasted, pinstriped suit, but he couldn’t see much else. What he could see in clear detail were the pony’s eyes. The right eye looked normal enough, with a green iris, while the left eye seemed wrong. It looked sickly, dry, and irritated. The eye was dark red, with thick veins that looked like bloody cracks. And almost seemed like the eye wasn’t in its socket. Like it was just floating there. Glaring at him. Double Time couldn’t help but be transfixed by the eyes. They were filled with such raw passionate hatred and disgust. All directed at him. Double Time eventually mustered the courage to stand up and speak. “Um, S-Sir…Whoever you may be…Please allow me to say that, whatever it is I’ve done, I am truly sorry for-” His confidence was interrupted by a mechanical *click*, and a shape emerging from the shadow of the desk. A shape that made him freeze. It was the slender barrel of a light repeater bow. Pointing right at his torso. Double Time started shaking. “S-Sir, I-” His attempt at continued speech was rewarded with an all too familiar blow to his back. Guts brought a hoof down on his back forcing him to the ground once again. “You don’t talk when The Boss point a bow at ya!” He bellowed “When he does that, it means he wants ya to shut up!” Guts was about to stomp on Double Time’s spine, before another *click* made him stop. He didn’t need to look to know that “The Boss” was pointing the repeater at him now. Guts returned to standing against the wall, without saying a word. Booker cleared his throat, looking to his employer. “So, Sir,” Booker asked, “What do we do with him?” There was a long moment of silence. Nopony moved. Nopony said a word, or made a sound. Then, in the poor light, “The Boss” reached into his left inner pocket with his right arm, and pulled something out. There was a metallic *ping* as a silver coin rose into the air, turning heads over tails, before falling back to the hoof that flipped it. Everypony in the room watched as the coin fell. “The Boss” held the coin up to his obscured face, glancing down at it, examining the side it landed on. He then looked back up at the other ponies in the room, all of them waiting for something to happen. Then, a deep, growling, rage filled voice that could only belong to “The Boss”, uttered five words. “Take him for a swim.” Double Time’s pupils shrank. He looked behind at his captors. Vincent was smiling maliciously. “You heard the man,” the blade loving pegasus said, “Your hide is going for a dip in the Manehattan River!” Double Time officially went into panic mode. “N-No! Please, no!! There must be something I can do!” “Sure,” Guts said throwing the squirming pony over his shoulders, “You can tell us if you know how to swim or not.” “You act that’ll matter in few minutes.” Vincent forced the bag back onto Double Time’s head, dampening his screaming. “Alright, enough with the theatrics,” Booker ordered, “We all know what to do, so don’t waste time. Let’s go!” Booker lead Guts and Vincent out, with Mason tagging behind. The newbie gangster hesitated on his way out. He chanced s glance back at where “The Boss” sat. He had turned the chair sideways to face one of the windows in the room, as he fiddled with his coin. “Oi! Mason!” Booker called, “No dilly dallying! Let’s move!” Mason shook his head and hurried out. “C-Coming!” The door to “The Boss’s” office closed, and the lock *clicked*. The pony in the armchair stared out the window, observing the city beyond the glass. He turned the coin over in his grasp. One side was clean, the other side scratched and burned. A scarred side. He flipped the coin, and caught it. He took a moment to see what side it landed on. ‘Good head…’ ‘Always the Good head…’ The pony sighed, before returning his gaze to the window, and began passively flipping the coin. “The only true justice…” Author's Note And so it begins... Chapter 1: The White KnightAuthor's Note I would like to take a moment to do two things. Firstly, I would like to once again thank Lightning Ace for giving me permision to make this story as well as collaberate with me on it. I can't thank you enough! Secondly, and this is IMPORTANT, this will flip between past events and present events, which will be indicated by a sort line at the top of the Fic before the actual chapter starts. Any way have fun, and please do leave a comment. Enjoy! Chapter 1: The White Knight Many, many months ago... Manehattan. A city that many consider a slum, despite it being a very technologically advanced city, considering the time period. Here in this city domestic busy work, business, and transportation fill the streets. While the sounds of construction, street performers, and arguments echoed through the air. Those weren’t the only things that fill this city. There was something else: Crime. Manehattan was notorious for being home to more robberies, vandalism, legal scandals, corporate corruption, and mob activity than any other major city in Equestria. It’s a city considered by many as hopeless, unsalvageable, a complete lost cause. It is the very city that Prince Blueblood is trying to save. “Freeze!!” “Stop! In the name of the law!!” “Bite me, rust buckets!!” In this city, Royal guards chase a black pegasus, carrying a satchel, through the streets, pushing past civilians and hopping over carriages. The pegasus is Max Revenue. He’s a stock trader in Manehattan. He’s also been engaging in shady business dealings and sketchy financial activities for a while. And now he had been discovered. “All air units, stay on him,” The captain ordered over the connection in the guards’ enchanted helmets, “If gets out of the city and into the countryside, we’ll never find him!” “Either somepony catch up to him, or cut him off!” Max was making hoping to make a quiet, clean getaway, but one can only hope for so much. ‘Damn guards,’ Max despised law enforcement of any kind, unless it worked in his favor. He kicked over a fruit cart before resuming his run. He was only a few blocks away from the bridge that would lead him out of the city and into the countryside. There he could disappear, leaving no trace as to where he went. The guards were finally beginning to gain on him, but he had something for that. Max Revenue reached into his bag and pulled out a small red jewel. It was brimming with magic, just waiting for release. Max flapped his wings to gain some forward momentum. He spun around mid-air and threw the jewel down to the ground in front of the guards chasing him. In an instant the jewel cracked and engulfed the sidewalk in an explosion of scorching flames. “Put that on ice, tin cans!” Max heckled the now blocked soldiers. He started flying close to the ground, as fast as he could with his bag. There ahead of him, he could see it the bridge, the countryside. It had been a struggle, but soon, all his efforts would be rewarded with- *WHAM!!!* -A piece of metal smashing into his face. His body’s momentum continued forward, pressing his muzzle forward, before swinging him down to the ground, skidding on his back for three feet. His ears were ringing, his vision was blurry. He couldn’t make out anything specific. Then a fuzzy shape stood over him. Max’s ears stopped ringing and vision began to clear up, just as the shape began talking. “Division 1 Baseball, one of the top 10 batters on the team. Also, division 1 Boxing, one of the top 5 hitters in the school,” the pony standing over Max said, “Put them together, mix them with magic, and you get one hell of a swinging arm.” Max realized that he recognized the voice, and he wished he didn’t. His vision continued to refocus. The unicorn standing over him had a white coat, blond mane, and a very smug smile on his face. “In other words, Mr. Revenue, I believe you’re down and out for the count.” The one and only Prince Blueblood rested a shiny metal bat over his shoulder. “Screw you, you blond fleabag!” Max coughed out through his broken teeth and bloodied nose. “Aw, shucks, I hate you to,” Blueblood said. His expression became serious and stoic, as he pulled out a pair of hoof-cuffs, “Now how about I read you your rights before I lock you up for a long time.” The other royal guards rushed over after putting out the flames, grabbing the broken pegasus and dragging him to his hooves, slapping the weighted cuffs on him Max spit at Blueblood, his crimson spittle landing on the Prince’s neck. The Prince didn’t even flinch. “Maximum Revenue, you’re under arrest for manipulation of the stock market, and embezzlement of funds. “You’re scum, Blueboy.” Blueblood simply began to read him his rights. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will be used against you in a court of law.” “You’re never gonna win this city!” “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you by the state.” “You’re messing with things way bigger than you, your aunts, even Equestria!!!” On of the Royal Guards hauling Max to the armored carriage grabbed his head and pushed it down into the doorway. They slammed the door on the pegasus, sending the transport off to the Federal Penitentiary. The Captain of the unit stepped up to the Prince, and saluted him. Thank you for your aid, Your Highness.” Blueblood saluted the Captain. “At ease, soldier. And please, it’s my privilege to work alongside you.” “Nevertheless, thank you, Your Highness.” “You’re welcome, Captain.” Blueblood dropped the salute, turning around to watch the prisoner transport and escort team roll down the street. “You think they’ll get there without incident?” The Captain looked on, “Getting the scum bag there won’t be a problem. Keeping him there is a whole other matter.” “Right. Either somepony will bail him out, or the trial will deliver a ‘not guilty verdict’.” It was times like this where Blueblood wished he had fists to clench, just to quietly express his frustration. The Captain placed his hoof on the Prince’s shoulder, and gave him a hopeful smile. “Don’t worry,” he said, “We’re setting a standard here. It may be slow progress, but it’s progress nonetheless.” Blueblood couldn’t help but smile at the optimism on display before him. “Thank you Captain.” “Well, I’ve got to get back to the station,” the Captain said, straightening out his uniform, “And I’m willing to assume that your aunts will want to see you after this.” “Oh, they sure will,” Blueblood chuckled, “I better get going then.” “Take care, Sir!” “And you, Captain!” And so Blueblood threw on a grey coat and hat, making his way down to the train station. “But what if he hurts himself this time?” “Tia, we have been over this.” Ever since Blueblood became very involved with the efforts of the Royal Guard, and various police districts, to crackdown on criminal activities, and spent much of his time fighting crime, Celestia and Luna have developed a habit of taking turns worrying about his safety and well-being. This time it was Celestia having a Twilight-esk worry-wart session, while Luna sat on her throne calmly reading a newspaper. “But what if he gets captured? What if he’s tied to a chair getting beaten about the face right now? What if-?” “Sister!” Celestia was broken from her panicked thoughts by her sister’s shouting. “You’re overreaction is preventing us from reading the newspaper.” “I’m sorry Luna,” Celestia sighed, “I just can’t help but worry about him.” “Considering everything he’s been through, that’s understandable,” Luna concurred, levitating a glass of water over to her older sister, “But you can’t let your hyperbolic concerns dictate every moment of your day.” Celestia accepted the glass, taking a sip out of it. “I just don’t want to wake up one morning and find out that I need to put the country into lockdown…again.” “To be fair,” the sound of the throne room door opening and a familiar voice caught the attention of the sisters, “Locking down the country really isn’t a card you play twice.” Standing there in the doorway, in a grey high collar trench coat and fedora was a proud Prince Blueblood. “Blueblood!” The two Royal Sisters put down whatever they were holding and rushed over to their nephew “Hi-*oof!*- aunties.” Blueblood was tacked into a bear hug by his aunts, who were crushing his lungs with love. “Welcome home, Blueblood!” Celestia gave her nephew a loving squeeze. “Uh, Auntie Tia,” Blueblood wheezed, “I’d like to breathe.” “Oh, goodness,” Celestia and Luna released their now beloved nephew, “My apologies.” “Never be sorry for the fact that you love me,” Blue said, finally able to breathe, “How was your day?” “Stuck up nobles and self-righteous dignitaries,” Luna answered, “And you?” “Police action and high speed pursuits,” Blueblood responded, “In other words nothing new for either of us.” “It would appear so.” Celestia said before reaching in for another hug, “Oh, it’s just so good to see you home safe again.” “I’m guessing she was the one panicking about me this time,” Blue asked as Celestia snuggled him. “Indeed she was.” Luna smiled at the scene before her. “You’re on a streak this week Aunt Tia,” the young Prince jokes, using her affectionate nickname “You had best pick up your fair share of worry slack Aunt Lulu, or I might start to think you don’t care.” Luna smiles despite her rolling eyes. “Hush now, you know we both love you equally,” Luna walked over to him, Celestia releasing their nephew in order to let Luna have her fair share of hugging time, “And can you truly call me having faith in your abilities ‘not caring about you’?” Celestia arched an eyebrow, “Did you have faith in his abilities three weeks ago?” “Hush, sister.” “You know, if it helps you calm your nerves a little, you are always welcome to join me from time to time on my patrols. We could be like a badass crime fighting family” Blueblood half-joked, in an attempt to calm his aunts. “Don’t give us ideas nephew, or we might take you up on that offer,” Luna mentioned with a smirk. “Don’t you dare Luna,” Celestia warned her sister, “Tartarus will freeze over before I let you leave ruling the whole kingdom to me!” “Oh, like it will be any different. Come now Tia, you already did it for a thousand years, what is one or two days more?” “Here’s a thought: Why don’t you rule over a week, and then you tell me how it goes,” Celestia counters. “If it’s alright with you, aunties,” Blueblood said, interrupting the two alicorns, “I’d like to get some paperwork done and wash up before dinner.” “Of course Blue,” Celestia said, Luna releasing him from her grasp, “Take care of your work, and we’ll see you then.” Blue gave a simple tip of his hat and a kind smile, before exiting the throne room and making his way to his room. “They grow up so fast don’t they?” Celestia said. “Sister,” Luna groaned, “If you want to be an actual mother of children, adopt or find somepony.” “Oh please, Luna,” Celestia scoffed, “Who in the world could I possibly have a child with out of genuine love and compassion?” Luna smirked, arching an eyebrow while scratching her chin, “Well…” “Don’t answer that,” Celestia said, making her way back over to her throne, “And don’t you dare give Cadance any ideas!” Blueblood took his time walking to his room, allowing himself to appreciate the architecture, paintings, and potted plants throughout the halls. On his way he passed several members of the castle staff, from servants to soldiers, all of which he greeted with a kind smile and “hello”. He was almost to his room when he came across a familiar character sitting at a table, reading a book on the history of martial arts. A dark purple unicorn mare, with a broken horn and scars in several places. She was wearing a special kind of Royal armor. It was black with much gold detailing. The colors were meant to signify duel enrollment in both the Solar and Lunar Guard divisions, and the armor itself was reserved exclusively for Elite Corps. Blueblood approached the unicorn, Still wearing a kind smile on his face. “Tempest,” Blueblood said, addressing the mare, “It’s good to see you.” Tempest looked up from her book, meeting the prince’s gaze. “It’s good to see you to, Your Majesty.” “Getting some reading in before work?” “Duty calls, Prince Blueblood.” “Indeed,” Blue chuckled out of a sense of relatability. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Have a good day, Tempest.” “And you, Prince Blueblood.” Blue began walking to his room again, before turning back to face the purple unicorn. “Oh, and Tempest.” The guard in question looked up from her book again. “Yes, Your Majesty?” “Try to take care of yourself, I’ve heard that it’s going to be quite a black knight tonight.” There was a glint in Tempest’s eyes, quietly registering that she knew exactly what the Prince was talking about. “Rest assured, Prince Blueblood, I’ll take care of myself.” “Thank you, Tempest.” Blueblood resumed walking to his room down the hall. Tempest returned her gaze to her book. There would indeed be A Black Knight. Blueblood took a certain level of joy from his subtlety coded conversations with the reformed Tempest Shadow (or Fizzlepop-Berry Twist to those who knew her well enough). But as much as he would like to keep the pleasantries going longer, both of them had work to do. At last he arrived at his room. Untouched, exactly how he left it. Including the stack of legal documents sitting on his desk. Blueblood sighed “Home, sweet home.” He pulled the chair out and plopped down on it, pulling the first document up to his face with his magic. He brought one of the lit candle sticks over for better lighting. He had only begun to read it before he noticed two letters sitting at the center of his desk “What do we have here?” He took the two letters in his hooves. One was from Ponyville, plainly sealed, with a name written in script, with the smell of flowers and nature. The other was from within Canterlot, closed with a rather fancy, red wax seal, and a lipstick stain on the corner below the elegantly scripted name. It smelled of wine, roses, and typewriter ink. Blueblood couldn’t help but lean back in his chair and give a sigh of contentment. This new life of his was truly great. ‘Can’t go forgetting that this is a new life,’ He reminded himself. For him, if he forgot the life he had before, he wouldn’t have a reference point for the life he had now. And he wouldn’t be wrong. Plus this life wouldn’t feel as special if he forgot. This life had everything, loving friends, caring family, a job that felt good to do, and a house that actually felt like home. This was everything he could ever possibly want. Sure the money his position gave him was nice, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that he was happy, and he was trying his best to make other people happy. Sure, it took dying in a burning pile of rubble, and a little intervention on Lady Death’s part, but overall it was simply: “Worth it.” Blueblood leaned back in his chair, being happy that he was alive. He reluctantly put the letters off to the side, and refocused on the paperwork before him. Specifically, a document with a picture of a well dressed griffin on it. “So, Mr. Falcon,” Blue said as he scrutinized the document, “What are you up to?” Chapter 2: The Black KnightSomething has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.Chapter 3: Meet the Mob(Past) The Hearthstone is a very high profile, upper class restaurant. It caters to some of the richest ponies in the country, with some of the best food and service ever. The five stars under its name weren’t there for no reason. If you ever happened to walk by or, if you were really lucky, went inside, you would hear the sounds of high society clinking glasses and dining to the sounds of violins. It is one of the top dining spots for the upper class. It was also the perfect front for the mob’s activities. After all, the best way to sell a lie is to have just enough truth in it for it to be believable. At this time, inside the restaurant, a well dressed griffin with a faded scar on his right cheek, accompanied by two earth ponies wearing suits, walked through the main dining area. They slipped past all the guests, who were too focused on their food and table-mates to notice the trio. The griffin and his escorts made their way to a pair of “Staff-Only” double doors that lead to one of the many kitchen spaces in the restaurant. The catch with this one, however, is that the space was hardly ever used for actual cooking. The stoutly dressed trio walked through the doors, walking past cold stovetops and room temperature iceboxes. They came to another room in the back and were stopped by two bouncers. The built unicorns gave the trio a look that said, “Show us your pockets”. With a sigh, the griffin unbuttoned his suit jacket and put his front talons in the air, his escorts following suite. The two unicorns scanned them with their magic, searching for anything they were under orders to confiscate. They gave the trio a nod and let them in. The griffin walked in and made his way towards the “U” shaped arrangement of tables to sit alongside the other creatures gathered there. Sitting in that room, gathered around those tables, were some of the most notorious mob bosses, corrupt elites, and untouchable crime-lords in all of Equestria. All of them made their millions in a variety of colorful ways. Goods smuggling, arms dealing, drug trafficking, money laundering, the list could go on for days. The one thing all their money has in common: it is in part built on the foundations of dead bodies and broken bones. “Mr. Falcon,” a zebra boss said, “Glad to see you have come. Please, take a seat, we have saved you one.” He motioned to the empty spot next to him. “ZaZa,” Falcon said, “You’re doing it again.” The zebra in question looked puzzled before covering his mouth with a hoof. “Oh, my apologies. Force of habit you know.” “We all know, ZaZa,” a cream yellow pegasus mare groaned, leaning back in her chair impatiently, “What’s good to see is that Falcon isn’t the last one to show up again.” “Ah, Lady Feather Thread,” Falcon said, taking a seat at the table next to ZaZa, “If it weren’t for the fact that I could hear your perfume from across the table, I would have thought you were absent.” Feather Thread narrowed her eyes at the griffin. “You want to say that to my face, you pillow stuffer?” “Can the two of you just shut up?” A black earth pony with a dark blue mane glared at the bickering crime-lords, as he fiddled with a poker chip and occasional adjusted the gold and silver cufflinks he was wearing with his suit. “Go back to playing with your chips, Gamble,” Thread shot back, “This isn’t your business.” “How about I take a stack of these chips, and em shove down your-” “Are y’all here at this table even capable of having a pleasant conversation?” A distinctly western voice spoke up from under a hat over their face. The caramel colored unicorn placed the hat back on his head, uncovering his white tipped muzzle and grey beard. Gamble stood up in anger, “I’ll show you ‘pleasant’ when I break those teeth, Old Man-” “Would all be so kind as to cease this bickering?” A mud-brown unicorn with a slight gut in a waist-coat said rubbing his temples. “Put a sock in it Thorne, you fat bastard,” Gamble shouted across the table, “You’re not the one in charge here!” Thorne stood up, “Neither are you, you foul-mouthed-” All the arguing ceased when the sound of hoof-steps echoed from the hallway towards the head of the table arrangement. All the mob bosses and crime lords slowly sat down. “Ten bits says it’s not gonna be him.” Gamble whispered to Lady Thread. “Why bother?” The pegasus asked, “We all know it won’t be.” Into the room walked a plain white earth pony stallion with a plain black mane in an unremarkable black tailored suit and necktie. “Ah, The Big Man’s honorable paper boy. Pleasure for ya to join us.” The western stallion remarked. “Your snide remarks wound me, Mr. Macree.” “What message of doom did The Big Guy send you to deliver,” Gamble asked impatiently, “Seeing how he’s too chicken to do it himself.” “Need I remind you Mr. Gamble,” The Messenger responded, “That my employer is more often than not busy with making sure that the operation in motion here does not go to pieces. Therefore usage of messengers is customary, to save time. “And just because I am a messenger, does not mean that you can belittle me, Mr. Gamble.” Gamble simply grit his teeth behind his sealed lips, glaring at the “The Big Guy’s” proxy. “Now, on to the matter of this meeting.” The Messenger reaches into the inner pocket of his suit and extracted a sheet of paper. “As some of you may be aware, the ever so persistent Prince Blueblood has claimed another victory for his self-righteous crusade this afternoon. “Him and his associates in law enforcement managed to successfully gain enough evidence and leads to arrest Maximum Revenue. In doing so they have cut us off from our connection to the stock market.” Murmurs went around the assembly when they were told of Maximum Revenue’s arrest. Macree briefly paused chewing his toothpick, Falcon massaged the bridge of his beak, ZaZa fiddled with his buttons, Thread rolled her eyes, Gamble just glared. “This has set us back in the financial department of this sector, but nothing that isn’t recoverable.” The Messenger said. “Forgive me for interrupting,” Thread said called from her spot at the table, “But considering the importance of this development, where are the rest of our co-workers? I can understand our international collaborators not being present, but what about our more local associates?” “Most of our international members are busy working on deals and operations that benefit our cause,” The Messenger explained, “As for some of our more local associates, they are occupied doing similar things.” The Messenger’s eyes returned to the paper. “It is also worth noting that the authorities managed to collect enough evidence on Mr. Revenue that he is to be held in prison without bail,” he read, straightening out a corner of the paper, “Not that that was an option in the first place-” “That fucking bastard!” Gamble exclaimed in frustration, slamming his right hoof on the table, “It’s like this is a game to him now, how does he keep doing this?! Less than a year ago, he wasn’t more than a brainless, pompous brat dancing at our hooves and acting as our veil to keep those annoying aunts of his distracted from our activities. Now it is like he a freaking bloodhound with a vendetta against us! What the hell happened? How can he know where and when to hit us so easily?! I swear if I could just put an arrow right between his eyes…” “Mr. Gamble,” The Messenger interrupted, “While my employer understands that this is difficult, you cannot let emotions overwhelm you. Please calm yourself.” Gamble simply growled in response. “If I might ask, in light of this news,” ZaZa said, “What exactly are we supposed to do?” “We must engage in new methods to make up for our losses,” The Messenger responded. “That much is obvious at the moment,” Thorne said, “Does your employer have any suggestions?” “That, Mr. Thorne, is up to you and your colleagues to discuss.” The Messenger folded the paper that he had been reading from and put it back into the inner pocket of his suit. “I trust that I can leave you all to come up with something.” With that, he turned and left the room the way he came, disappearing around the corner. Everyone in the room sat in silence for a moment. “Well that was almost useless.” Thread remarked under her breath. “‘Almost useless’?” Gamble said loudly, “That was completely useless!” “Like it or not, Mr ‘doom and gloom’ is right,” Thorne said, straightening out his waist coat, “We need to think of a way to make up for our financial losses, and it needs to be fast. So let’s get brainstorming.” Everyone sat in silent contemplation, trying to come up with some kind of plan to regain their financial stability. Finally, Falcon looked up from the rings he was wearing on his talons. “I believe…I have an idea.” Everyone at the table looked to the Griffin like he had said the most important words in the history of the world. “What is it?” Feather Thread asked. Falcon looked to his colleagues. “It’s going to require a very large, very secure warehouse, several shipping units, and the aid of businesses like yours Mr. Gamble.” “Son, you haven’t answered the question,” Macree pointed out, “What exactly is your idea?” Falcon eyed each of his compatriots. “We're going to clean some money.” The Messenger made their way over to a particular black limousine in the parking lot of The Hearthstone. The driver opened the passenger door, allowing The Messenger to climb in and take a seat across from a pony who was already in the car. The Messenger’s employer. “The office.” The employer said. The driver nodded and closed the door making their way to the front of the limo to drive. “The Employer” looked over to his proxy. “How did they take the news?” “Better than expected, all things considered,” The Messenger reported, “We need only wait to see what they do in light of it.” “I don’t care what they do, as long as it furthers the plan.” “I’m sure whatever they come up with will do exactly that.” “It better.” The Messenger’s employer reached over to the sideboard and raised a glass of bourbon to his lips. “Many of them are asking for a real face to put to the plan that’s in motion.” The Messenger’s employer placed the glass down on the sideboard. “They want to know who I am?” “Yes, Sir, they do.” There was a long pause. “Tell them this at the next meeting: “Tell them that if they do as their told, and if everything goes according to plan, then they may call me by my title…” A street light shone through the car window, revealing The Messenger’ employer was wearing a pristine white suit and a burgundy dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. While his fur was pale his face wasn’t. His face was pitch black, resembling a skull. No one could decide if it was a two piece mask or if he had his head dipped and cast in metal. Regardless of which one was true, his visage had earned him a name… Black Mask Chapter 4: Addressed to the Public(Still in the past. About two days after chapter 3) “No.” “Prince Blueblood, I insist.” “No.” “It would look absolutely fabulous-” “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but my answer is still no.” Whenever Blueblood wasn’t out aiding the police, on study sessions on how to be a prince or in his office working on profiles and financials, he found himself in disagreement with certain members of the castle staff. At this moment it was the Royal wardrobe maker that he was debating with. “I’m not going to wear my finest suit to this,” the Prince reiterated, “It’s an interview for The Canterlot Town-Crier, not a party.” “True, but one should always look their best when in the public eye.” Blueblood knew that Godfreed meant well, but sometimes he couldn’t help but shake his head. “The point of this isn’t to show off my clothes. The point is to answer any questions that the public may have.” “But surely that doesn’t mean you have to go to it in a regular dress shirt and blazer jacket.” What Blueblood wanted to wear to the interview was a simple white dress shirt, black necktie, and a dark blue blazer. What Godfreed wanted him to wear was a very expensive, fancy tuxedo. It wasn’t a bad tuxedo by any means, it was just that… “I just think it’s too fancy for what I’m doing,” Blueblood knew this would go on for a long time, so he quickly came up with a compromise. “Look, Godfreed, if you will let me wear this blazer to the interview, I will wear the tuxedo to the next big event. Sound fair?” The Royal fashion expert sighed, but accepted. “Very well, Prince, I will lay the matter to rest. But you will have to consider the option of a formal cape in the future as well!” He lays a condition with finality with Blueblood although not liking the idea too much ultimately relinquish and nod “Thank you, Godfreed.” With that matter settled, he put on the shirt, tie, and blazer, as Godfreed dusted his shoulders. “How do I look?” The Prince asked. “Marvelous, Sir.” “Well, I best be off,” Blueblood walked over to the door and opened it, “Wish me-oh!” He almost ended up bumping into a short, marble colored, unicorn mare wearing glasses with her mane done up in a bun, holding a clipboard. She was a character he was all too familiar with “Clean Speech.” “Prince Blueblood.” Clean Speech was the chief royal press secretary. She wasn’t keen on a lot of things: Late reports, off-script responses and questions, all the things that any press secretary would dislike. But if there was one thing that drove her up the wall, it would be Blueblood’s recent antics in city areas. They caused such a buzz, that it made her job more complicated than it needed to be, in her opinion. “What can I do for you, Speech?” “What’s this I hear about an interview?” The press secretary asked. “Well,” the Prince said, “I’m going to a newspaper interview.” “Really?,” Clean Speech responded sarcastically with a raised eyebrow, “You don’t say? This is the first I’ve heard about it.” Speech looked over the notes on her clipboard. “Nope, nothing here about Prince Blueblood having an interview. Which can mean only one thing…” ‘Here we go,’ Blueblood thought. “...You didn’t tell me about it.” Speech moved the clipboard to her side, looking up at the Prince with an annoyed expression. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” “I went into your department to do just that, but you were busy with other matters,” Blueblood explained, “Matters that seemed more important than me and an interview. So I gave it to your second-in-command, Spell Check.” “You should have told me about it, and let me handle it, because this is a scheduled media appearance by a prominent member of The Royal Family, so therefore it falls well within my purview.” “Okay, Speech, I’m sorry I didn’t go to you directly,” Blueblood said, “I promise, next time I will leave it on your desk with a detailed note, all inside an envelope.” There was a moment of silent consideration on Clean Speech’s part “Very well.” She said matter-of-factly. “Thank you,” Blueblood said, levitating a stack of notes, papers, and a saddle bag over from his dresser. He slipped the papers into the bag and rested it over his shoulders. “Wish me luck!” the Prince said to Clean Speech as he began to walk down the hall. He didn’t get far before he stopped and looked next to him. Clean Speech was walking right beside him, flipping through the pages on her clipboard. “Are you…coming with me?” “Yes.” The press secretary didn’t look up from her clipboard. “Spell Check is already there.” “I know,” she said, “I’m going to relieve her of this assignment when we get there.” This made Blueblood stop in his tracks and whirl around to face Clean Speech “What, why?” “Because I refuse to let anything involving you be handled by anyone in a secondary position,” Clean Speech explained. Blueblood arched an eyebrow, “Sounds more like you don’t trust in the abilities of your subordinates.” “Do you expect me to not come?” “No, I expect you to let Spell Check stay on this assignment,” Blueblood explained, “Rather than making them feel inadequate unnecessarily.” Clean Speech groaned and massaged the bridge of her muzzle behind her glasses. “Very well, I won’t take them off the assignment, but I am still going to come to ensure that this goes right.” “Thank you, Clean Speech.” “You’re welcome.” The two resumed walking to the press room where the reporter was waiting. Upon opening the door, they found Spell Check and the reporter having a rather…interesting discussion. “That question is entirely off topic, and it sounds like an attack.” “I’m a reporter, do you expect me to not ask hard hitting questions?” “I expect you ask questions that remain on topic for an article in a credible newspaper,” Spell Check said, “Not intrusive, personal inquiries for a tabloid magazine!” “*Ahem*” The two stopped bickering the moment Blueblood made his presence known, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” The reporter, a brown pegasus mare with a yellow mane, fluttered over to the Prince and Chief Press Secretary. “Prince Blueblood, Your Majesty, It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” The Prince shook the reporter’s hoof. “It’s nice to meet you to.” The reporter motioned over to the table in the room, “Shall we begin the interview?” “By all means.” The Prince and reporter walked over to the table, while Clean Speech and Spell Check stood off to the side, both ready to pounce if they had to. The reporter placed a blue enchanted crystal on the table and tapped it, triggering the auto-scribe spell it contained. “So, Your Majesty,” the reporter began, “For the sake of pleasantries, how are you doing today?” “I’m doing well. And please, just ‘Blueblood’ will do.” The response made the pegasus pause for a moment, but she carried on. “So, if I may Blueblood, could you shed some light on your recent activities in the metropolitan areas of Equestreia?” The two press secretaries glared at the reporter. “Uh…pardon?” Blueblood asked. “Your active role with the police forces and guard. Could you elaborate on that?” “That is not the subject of the interview,” Spell Check said, “You are supposed to stay on topic.” “Do you expect no one to ask about this?” the reporter asked, “A ‘one-on-one’ opportunity like this doesn’t come often.” “Then you should have made that the subject of your interview.” Clean Speech responded. The three probably would have started attacking each other, had Blueblood not let out a whistle. “Now that I have your attention,” the Prince looked to the secretaries, “I will answer the question,” then back at the reporter, “Provided that all other questions are about the updated trade policies my aunts have handed down.” There was a silence that hung in the air for a brief period. Blueblood looked between the two parties. “Sound fair?” The conflicting trio quietly agreed. “Good,” Blueblood looked back to the reporter. “I suggest you choose your question wisely.” “Well…You’ve been running all about Equestreia: Manehattan, Trottingham, Canterlot, etc. And in all those areas you’ve taken quite an active role in the arrest of several criminal figures. “You also engaged in similar activities during your exile. So I suppose the question on everypony’s mind is, to put it simply: Why?” Blueblood took a moment to consider his words before speaking. “Because it’s my responsibility.” He said plainly. Sensing the need for elaboration, Blueblood continued. “Sure, all those places might have looked nice and pretty at first glance, but you take away the veil and you see a deep network of corruption, crime and misery…and even unconsciously, I was the one that let it get that far. Even with my first arrest of Fort Knox, by cleaning my first mess I only left a vacuum of power for others to try to become the next kingpin, that is why I needed to help. All those criminals were created because of me, so it my responsibility to end their reign of terror and return Equestria to its former glory, before my mistakes “Several of the crime lords that were in power in the past such as Fort Knox, and the ones in power now, got that power because of my actions, whether I was aware of it or not. And seeing as how it was my actions that lead to the current mess, it’s necessary that I clean it up. “It may take a while, as many great efforts do, but it will happen. And should anypony who is criminally involved read this, then I can tell them this: ‘You are not needed. There are better ways to gain money and power. Crime will not pay.” There was a silence in the room for a moment. The reporter was entranced by Blueblood’s words. Clean speech quietly rolled her eyes at the Prince’s monologue. “Did you get all that?” Blueblood asked. The reporter blinked, bringing herself back. “Every word, Your Majesty.” “Good,” Blueblood straightened his tie and cleared his throat, “Now how about we discuss what this interview was supposed to focus on.” “Of course.” “Can I trust that you will publish this before you write an article on my escapades?” “Absolutely,” the reporter assured the Prince, “Now, about these new trade policies…” The reporter kept her word. Blueblood’s response to her question regarding his anti-criminal activities wasn’t published until the following week. Reactions were mixed. Some saw it as a grand thing to be celebrated that somepony was out to help them, and that their Prince was trying to change for the better. Others saw it only as an elaborate ruse for the Prince to gain popularity. Some just didn’t care. Low rent criminals felt uneasy or unsafe. High-rise gangsters either ripped up the paper, broke something in their room, or shrugged it off. While one pony, in an old crummy apartment somewhere in the city, sat in a busted-up armchair, laughing hysterically. Just… …Laughing Author's Note Here's a new chapter! Hope you enjoed it! Chapter 5: Backdoor Dealings in the DarkSomething has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.
PrologueTo call Manehattan “The City that Never Sleeps” would be a tad inaccurate. While it was certainly true that mass activity never really stopped at night, whether it be work or parties, there were plenty of parts of the city that were “dead”. Abandoned warehouses, decommissioned buildings, entire city blocks left empty and rendered useless. No pony lived in these areas, and few ever passed through them. These were the city areas that slept, and, for one reason or another, were cursed to remain asleep until they were eventually knocked down and replaced. However, unbeknownst to anypony, that night, in one of these supposedly sleeping neighborhoods, on the edge of the city limits close to the Manehattan River… …one apartment building lay awake. “Where am I? Where are you taking me?” “Shut your trap.” A dark brown earth pony with a stopwatch and double-helix Cutie-Mark as being dragged into the apartment building with a burlap sack over his head by four other ponies. The four ponies were all wearing black and white, pinstriped suits and floppy fedoras. “P-Please,” the brown pony pleaded, “Let me go. I-I have money! I-If you let me go, I would be willing to give-” his haggling was cut off by a blow to the head. He fell to the floor dazed. “Put a sock in it! Or I’ll put a muzzle on it!” The earth pony being dragged along is named “Double-Time”. He’s known for being exceptional at information retrieval and removal. In fact, it’s his job. But he doesn’t work at any law firm or bank. He finds employment in what is affectionately referred to as “The Business”. Crime. He’s an escapist for hire. He can make ponies disappear into the next town or the ground. If you want to disappear, make somepony else appear, or steal an identity and everything it owns, he was the pony to find. He was known for being efficient, effective, a master of his craft. And a two timing sellout. He was known to turn on employers if offered enough money. Even if it meant he got only one more Bit out of it. He was hated, but respected. He was considered invaluable. Every mob needed a back door exit, and Double Time was the only pony who had a 100% satisfaction guarantee, provided that you paid enough. His role and status made him feel invincible, untouchable. He was anything but that at the moment. His four captors finally managed to get their victim up to the top floor. They dragged Double Time across the dirty tile floor to the old penthouse suite. “New guy,” the lead crook gave Double Time a kick in the face as he got his cohort’s attention, “Help hold him.” The lead crook let go of one of Double Time’s limbs, as he went to the door to give it a knock. A few seconds later a knock came from the other side of the door. The crook reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a seemingly ordinary Bit, and held it up to the peephole in the door. A few seconds after that, the door was opened by another crook, a bat-pony, who surveyed the group before him. He looked at the crook who had knocked, then to the three crooks holding Double Time down, then back to the crook who knocked. “Booker,” The door crook said plainly, “You’re late.” Booker gave an annoyed huff. “You try and get this whiny little rat across Manehattan, without drawing the cops attention, in a timely fashion.” “You do realize that I’ve been on ‘pick-up duty’ as well, right?” “Shut up, Gate.” “Yeah, yeah,” Gate opened the door wide giving them access, “Just get the punk in here so that The Boss can deal with him.” Booker looked back at his partners in crime, and motioned for them to bring Double Time inside. “Ups-a-daisy, dirt bag.” “P-Please, whatever it is, I’m sorry!” “Oh, you will be. Trust me.” “New guy, keep a good hold on his head. And keep that bag on him!” The four “Pick-up Ponies” dragged Double Time into the suite. Booker hung his hat on the way in, uncovering his horn. “So, Gate,” he said, how’s ‘house-keep duty’ been going for ya this week?” Gate locked the door behind them. “Same as always,” he said, “We keep the place in order, guard every entrance, and the place still smells like cigarettes and bodies, no matter how much cleaner we use.” “Somethings never change.” Booker walked through the finely decorated living room along side Gate. The other “Pick-up Ponies” were close behind. “Where’s the rest of the ‘House-keep Crew’?” Booker asked. “They’re working on the other rooms,” the bat-pony replied. He would have kept talking if they hadn’t arrived at a particular doorway. It was a set of double doors. The right door was painted white, while the left door was painted black. Booker leaned over to Gate’s ear. “Has, uh...has The Boss come outta’ there recently?” He whispered. “If he has, then I didn’t see.” Both Gate and Booker looked at each other. “Well,” Booker said, “You’re the house-keeper. Knock.” Gate sighed, went up to the door, and, with some hesitation, knocked. There was a *clack* as the door unlocked. Gate slowly opened the door. He looked back at Booker, before disappearing into the room. Now they had to wait. Booker reached into his suit pocket, and pulled out a cigarette. He placed it in his mouth and got ready to light it, until he heard a *cough* from behind him. He looked to see the “new guy” covering his mouth. “What?” Booker said through his cigarette. “Uh…” the “new guy” seemed anxious. “I can tell ya got something to say,” Booker said, “So, what is it? Spit it out!” The pony shook his head to gather himself, “S-Sorry Sir, it’s just that…” “‘Just’ what?” “...We’re going in to see The Boss, right?” “Yeah, and?” Booker lit his cigarette waiting for the “new guy” to get to the point. “W-Well, it’s just that…” the pony took a moment to put his words together, “...I-I’ve never seen or met The Boss.” Booker coughed, briefly choking on his own inhale. The two other “Pickups” went wide eyed as they turned to the “new guy”. “Are you serious?” The big bruiser of an earth pony holding Double Time’s left arm and took off his hat in disbelief. “How in Tartarus did you get in this mob?” “I Uh…” The “new guy” yelped as he suddenly felt a blade at his throat. The pony holding Double Time’s right arm revealed his steel tipped pegasus wings. “What are ya,” he asked, his voice giving off an air of crazy, “Some undercover cop?” “Cops? Where? Help! Please!” Double Time cried. “No, no, no, guys Stop!” Booker quickly intervened, “Guts, chill out! Vincent, put those knives away, you’re scaring the kid!! Time, SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” The trio fell into silence after. Booker’s outburst. The unicorn took a puff of his cigarette, before looking to the “new guy”. “Okay, first thing first: Kid, tell me your name, and take the hat off.” The young pony removed his hat, revealing his unicorn horn. “M-My name’s Mason, Sir.” “Okay,” Booker took another puff, blowing smoke into the air, “Now how did ya get into this mob?” “I got the offer from that guy, uh, Gate! He gave me an interview. And none of you guys asked anything, so I thought it was normal.” Booker massaged the bride of his snout. “Okay, look,” He went right up to Mason and looked him in the eyes, “There’s a lot you need to be taught, and not a lot of time to do it. For now, here’s what you need to know: “1: You do what The Boss says. You don’t question him, you don’t talk back to him. “2: Don’t get smart or smug with him. And don’t get all high-and-mighty either. “But most importantly, right up there with ‘don’t question’, is the third rule: “Don’t. Stare.” Mason was sweating, and was now a tad confused. “W-What?” “Don’t. Stare. At The Boss,” Booker repeated, emphasizing each word, “You know how yo mama always told ya, ‘Don’t stare at other ponies, it’s not polite’? That’s what I mean.” Booker pressed his snout against Mason’s, “Are. We. Clear?” “Y-Yes, Sir.” One of the double-doors opened, Gate stuck his head out. “He’ll see ya now.” Booker straightened out his suit, and looked back at his partners in crime. “Let me do all the talking, alright?” The other three ponies nodded, and they slowly entered together, dragging their squirming hostage with them. The room was dark. No lights were on. The only light that came in was the glow of the full moon through the windows. Even then the blinds were pulled in many of the windows, all of them opened and lowered to various levels. It coated the room in midnight stripes, an atmosphere that would have been calming if it weren’t for what resided inside the room. The room was filled with all sorts of things. There were various filing cabinets lined up against the wall. They were all filled with files and documents regarding different ponies across Equestria. There were bulletin boards hanging from the walls with newspaper cuttings and photos of various ponies hanging on them, red strings connected to them all creating a massive web. On the wall, at the front of the room, was a beautifully painted portrait of the Royal Sisters, with smiles filled with warmth and kindness. It was in pristine condition, and looked very expensive. At the back of the room, there was a desk. A large, dark brown, laminated, oak desk. It was slightly worn from age, especially around the corners, but it was still functional. Above the desk, on the back wall, was another portrait, one of some well dressed stallion. This one wasn’t nearly in as good condition as the other. While the right side of the portrait was fine, the left side was burned and torn beyond recognition. Behind the desk was a large, luxurious armchair. And in that armchair, his silhouette barely visible in the shadows, was “The Boss”. A clock on the wall ticked as he waited. The door opened. Four ponies in suits and one with a bag over his head entered. “The Boss’s” eyes stared the ponies, his eyes unblinking. Booker, the pony in front, gave a small bow as he stood at the opposite side of the room to the desk. “Evening Boss,” Booker said, trying to hide the stress in his voice, “Sorry we’re late. We got caught up in traffic, had to dodge some cops…Had to, uh, go around the city through the back streets to get here.” “The Boss” didn’t respond he just continued to glare at them as he sat in his chair, giving off an air of aggravation. Booker resisted the urge to wipe his brow of the sweat that was beginning to form. “We uhhh…” Booker could feel his employer losing what little patience he had left, “Oh! We got the guy you wanted us to grab!” On que, the other three ponies threw Double Time down on the floor, before pulling the sack off his head. The air of aggravation that the boss had quickly escalated to an aura of rage. Double Time looked up at the pony in the dark who had ordered his capture. He couldn’t make out much. He could tell that the outline was the build of a stallion, and the stripes of light from the windows illuminated a double breasted, pinstriped suit, but he couldn’t see much else. What he could see in clear detail were the pony’s eyes. The right eye looked normal enough, with a green iris, while the left eye seemed wrong. It looked sickly, dry, and irritated. The eye was dark red, with thick veins that looked like bloody cracks. And almost seemed like the eye wasn’t in its socket. Like it was just floating there. Glaring at him. Double Time couldn’t help but be transfixed by the eyes. They were filled with such raw passionate hatred and disgust. All directed at him. Double Time eventually mustered the courage to stand up and speak. “Um, S-Sir…Whoever you may be…Please allow me to say that, whatever it is I’ve done, I am truly sorry for-” His confidence was interrupted by a mechanical *click*, and a shape emerging from the shadow of the desk. A shape that made him freeze. It was the slender barrel of a light repeater bow. Pointing right at his torso. Double Time started shaking. “S-Sir, I-” His attempt at continued speech was rewarded with an all too familiar blow to his back. Guts brought a hoof down on his back forcing him to the ground once again. “You don’t talk when The Boss point a bow at ya!” He bellowed “When he does that, it means he wants ya to shut up!” Guts was about to stomp on Double Time’s spine, before another *click* made him stop. He didn’t need to look to know that “The Boss” was pointing the repeater at him now. Guts returned to standing against the wall, without saying a word. Booker cleared his throat, looking to his employer. “So, Sir,” Booker asked, “What do we do with him?” There was a long moment of silence. Nopony moved. Nopony said a word, or made a sound. Then, in the poor light, “The Boss” reached into his left inner pocket with his right arm, and pulled something out. There was a metallic *ping* as a silver coin rose into the air, turning heads over tails, before falling back to the hoof that flipped it. Everypony in the room watched as the coin fell. “The Boss” held the coin up to his obscured face, glancing down at it, examining the side it landed on. He then looked back up at the other ponies in the room, all of them waiting for something to happen. Then, a deep, growling, rage filled voice that could only belong to “The Boss”, uttered five words. “Take him for a swim.” Double Time’s pupils shrank. He looked behind at his captors. Vincent was smiling maliciously. “You heard the man,” the blade loving pegasus said, “Your hide is going for a dip in the Manehattan River!” Double Time officially went into panic mode. “N-No! Please, no!! There must be something I can do!” “Sure,” Guts said throwing the squirming pony over his shoulders, “You can tell us if you know how to swim or not.” “You act that’ll matter in few minutes.” Vincent forced the bag back onto Double Time’s head, dampening his screaming. “Alright, enough with the theatrics,” Booker ordered, “We all know what to do, so don’t waste time. Let’s go!” Booker lead Guts and Vincent out, with Mason tagging behind. The newbie gangster hesitated on his way out. He chanced s glance back at where “The Boss” sat. He had turned the chair sideways to face one of the windows in the room, as he fiddled with his coin. “Oi! Mason!” Booker called, “No dilly dallying! Let’s move!” Mason shook his head and hurried out. “C-Coming!” The door to “The Boss’s” office closed, and the lock *clicked*. The pony in the armchair stared out the window, observing the city beyond the glass. He turned the coin over in his grasp. One side was clean, the other side scratched and burned. A scarred side. He flipped the coin, and caught it. He took a moment to see what side it landed on. ‘Good head…’ ‘Always the Good head…’ The pony sighed, before returning his gaze to the window, and began passively flipping the coin. “The only true justice…” Author's Note And so it begins...
Chapter 1: The White KnightAuthor's Note I would like to take a moment to do two things. Firstly, I would like to once again thank Lightning Ace for giving me permision to make this story as well as collaberate with me on it. I can't thank you enough! Secondly, and this is IMPORTANT, this will flip between past events and present events, which will be indicated by a sort line at the top of the Fic before the actual chapter starts. Any way have fun, and please do leave a comment. Enjoy! Chapter 1: The White Knight Many, many months ago... Manehattan. A city that many consider a slum, despite it being a very technologically advanced city, considering the time period. Here in this city domestic busy work, business, and transportation fill the streets. While the sounds of construction, street performers, and arguments echoed through the air. Those weren’t the only things that fill this city. There was something else: Crime. Manehattan was notorious for being home to more robberies, vandalism, legal scandals, corporate corruption, and mob activity than any other major city in Equestria. It’s a city considered by many as hopeless, unsalvageable, a complete lost cause. It is the very city that Prince Blueblood is trying to save. “Freeze!!” “Stop! In the name of the law!!” “Bite me, rust buckets!!” In this city, Royal guards chase a black pegasus, carrying a satchel, through the streets, pushing past civilians and hopping over carriages. The pegasus is Max Revenue. He’s a stock trader in Manehattan. He’s also been engaging in shady business dealings and sketchy financial activities for a while. And now he had been discovered. “All air units, stay on him,” The captain ordered over the connection in the guards’ enchanted helmets, “If gets out of the city and into the countryside, we’ll never find him!” “Either somepony catch up to him, or cut him off!” Max was making hoping to make a quiet, clean getaway, but one can only hope for so much. ‘Damn guards,’ Max despised law enforcement of any kind, unless it worked in his favor. He kicked over a fruit cart before resuming his run. He was only a few blocks away from the bridge that would lead him out of the city and into the countryside. There he could disappear, leaving no trace as to where he went. The guards were finally beginning to gain on him, but he had something for that. Max Revenue reached into his bag and pulled out a small red jewel. It was brimming with magic, just waiting for release. Max flapped his wings to gain some forward momentum. He spun around mid-air and threw the jewel down to the ground in front of the guards chasing him. In an instant the jewel cracked and engulfed the sidewalk in an explosion of scorching flames. “Put that on ice, tin cans!” Max heckled the now blocked soldiers. He started flying close to the ground, as fast as he could with his bag. There ahead of him, he could see it the bridge, the countryside. It had been a struggle, but soon, all his efforts would be rewarded with- *WHAM!!!* -A piece of metal smashing into his face. His body’s momentum continued forward, pressing his muzzle forward, before swinging him down to the ground, skidding on his back for three feet. His ears were ringing, his vision was blurry. He couldn’t make out anything specific. Then a fuzzy shape stood over him. Max’s ears stopped ringing and vision began to clear up, just as the shape began talking. “Division 1 Baseball, one of the top 10 batters on the team. Also, division 1 Boxing, one of the top 5 hitters in the school,” the pony standing over Max said, “Put them together, mix them with magic, and you get one hell of a swinging arm.” Max realized that he recognized the voice, and he wished he didn’t. His vision continued to refocus. The unicorn standing over him had a white coat, blond mane, and a very smug smile on his face. “In other words, Mr. Revenue, I believe you’re down and out for the count.” The one and only Prince Blueblood rested a shiny metal bat over his shoulder. “Screw you, you blond fleabag!” Max coughed out through his broken teeth and bloodied nose. “Aw, shucks, I hate you to,” Blueblood said. His expression became serious and stoic, as he pulled out a pair of hoof-cuffs, “Now how about I read you your rights before I lock you up for a long time.” The other royal guards rushed over after putting out the flames, grabbing the broken pegasus and dragging him to his hooves, slapping the weighted cuffs on him Max spit at Blueblood, his crimson spittle landing on the Prince’s neck. The Prince didn’t even flinch. “Maximum Revenue, you’re under arrest for manipulation of the stock market, and embezzlement of funds. “You’re scum, Blueboy.” Blueblood simply began to read him his rights. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will be used against you in a court of law.” “You’re never gonna win this city!” “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you by the state.” “You’re messing with things way bigger than you, your aunts, even Equestria!!!” On of the Royal Guards hauling Max to the armored carriage grabbed his head and pushed it down into the doorway. They slammed the door on the pegasus, sending the transport off to the Federal Penitentiary. The Captain of the unit stepped up to the Prince, and saluted him. Thank you for your aid, Your Highness.” Blueblood saluted the Captain. “At ease, soldier. And please, it’s my privilege to work alongside you.” “Nevertheless, thank you, Your Highness.” “You’re welcome, Captain.” Blueblood dropped the salute, turning around to watch the prisoner transport and escort team roll down the street. “You think they’ll get there without incident?” The Captain looked on, “Getting the scum bag there won’t be a problem. Keeping him there is a whole other matter.” “Right. Either somepony will bail him out, or the trial will deliver a ‘not guilty verdict’.” It was times like this where Blueblood wished he had fists to clench, just to quietly express his frustration. The Captain placed his hoof on the Prince’s shoulder, and gave him a hopeful smile. “Don’t worry,” he said, “We’re setting a standard here. It may be slow progress, but it’s progress nonetheless.” Blueblood couldn’t help but smile at the optimism on display before him. “Thank you Captain.” “Well, I’ve got to get back to the station,” the Captain said, straightening out his uniform, “And I’m willing to assume that your aunts will want to see you after this.” “Oh, they sure will,” Blueblood chuckled, “I better get going then.” “Take care, Sir!” “And you, Captain!” And so Blueblood threw on a grey coat and hat, making his way down to the train station. “But what if he hurts himself this time?” “Tia, we have been over this.” Ever since Blueblood became very involved with the efforts of the Royal Guard, and various police districts, to crackdown on criminal activities, and spent much of his time fighting crime, Celestia and Luna have developed a habit of taking turns worrying about his safety and well-being. This time it was Celestia having a Twilight-esk worry-wart session, while Luna sat on her throne calmly reading a newspaper. “But what if he gets captured? What if he’s tied to a chair getting beaten about the face right now? What if-?” “Sister!” Celestia was broken from her panicked thoughts by her sister’s shouting. “You’re overreaction is preventing us from reading the newspaper.” “I’m sorry Luna,” Celestia sighed, “I just can’t help but worry about him.” “Considering everything he’s been through, that’s understandable,” Luna concurred, levitating a glass of water over to her older sister, “But you can’t let your hyperbolic concerns dictate every moment of your day.” Celestia accepted the glass, taking a sip out of it. “I just don’t want to wake up one morning and find out that I need to put the country into lockdown…again.” “To be fair,” the sound of the throne room door opening and a familiar voice caught the attention of the sisters, “Locking down the country really isn’t a card you play twice.” Standing there in the doorway, in a grey high collar trench coat and fedora was a proud Prince Blueblood. “Blueblood!” The two Royal Sisters put down whatever they were holding and rushed over to their nephew “Hi-*oof!*- aunties.” Blueblood was tacked into a bear hug by his aunts, who were crushing his lungs with love. “Welcome home, Blueblood!” Celestia gave her nephew a loving squeeze. “Uh, Auntie Tia,” Blueblood wheezed, “I’d like to breathe.” “Oh, goodness,” Celestia and Luna released their now beloved nephew, “My apologies.” “Never be sorry for the fact that you love me,” Blue said, finally able to breathe, “How was your day?” “Stuck up nobles and self-righteous dignitaries,” Luna answered, “And you?” “Police action and high speed pursuits,” Blueblood responded, “In other words nothing new for either of us.” “It would appear so.” Celestia said before reaching in for another hug, “Oh, it’s just so good to see you home safe again.” “I’m guessing she was the one panicking about me this time,” Blue asked as Celestia snuggled him. “Indeed she was.” Luna smiled at the scene before her. “You’re on a streak this week Aunt Tia,” the young Prince jokes, using her affectionate nickname “You had best pick up your fair share of worry slack Aunt Lulu, or I might start to think you don’t care.” Luna smiles despite her rolling eyes. “Hush now, you know we both love you equally,” Luna walked over to him, Celestia releasing their nephew in order to let Luna have her fair share of hugging time, “And can you truly call me having faith in your abilities ‘not caring about you’?” Celestia arched an eyebrow, “Did you have faith in his abilities three weeks ago?” “Hush, sister.” “You know, if it helps you calm your nerves a little, you are always welcome to join me from time to time on my patrols. We could be like a badass crime fighting family” Blueblood half-joked, in an attempt to calm his aunts. “Don’t give us ideas nephew, or we might take you up on that offer,” Luna mentioned with a smirk. “Don’t you dare Luna,” Celestia warned her sister, “Tartarus will freeze over before I let you leave ruling the whole kingdom to me!” “Oh, like it will be any different. Come now Tia, you already did it for a thousand years, what is one or two days more?” “Here’s a thought: Why don’t you rule over a week, and then you tell me how it goes,” Celestia counters. “If it’s alright with you, aunties,” Blueblood said, interrupting the two alicorns, “I’d like to get some paperwork done and wash up before dinner.” “Of course Blue,” Celestia said, Luna releasing him from her grasp, “Take care of your work, and we’ll see you then.” Blue gave a simple tip of his hat and a kind smile, before exiting the throne room and making his way to his room. “They grow up so fast don’t they?” Celestia said. “Sister,” Luna groaned, “If you want to be an actual mother of children, adopt or find somepony.” “Oh please, Luna,” Celestia scoffed, “Who in the world could I possibly have a child with out of genuine love and compassion?” Luna smirked, arching an eyebrow while scratching her chin, “Well…” “Don’t answer that,” Celestia said, making her way back over to her throne, “And don’t you dare give Cadance any ideas!” Blueblood took his time walking to his room, allowing himself to appreciate the architecture, paintings, and potted plants throughout the halls. On his way he passed several members of the castle staff, from servants to soldiers, all of which he greeted with a kind smile and “hello”. He was almost to his room when he came across a familiar character sitting at a table, reading a book on the history of martial arts. A dark purple unicorn mare, with a broken horn and scars in several places. She was wearing a special kind of Royal armor. It was black with much gold detailing. The colors were meant to signify duel enrollment in both the Solar and Lunar Guard divisions, and the armor itself was reserved exclusively for Elite Corps. Blueblood approached the unicorn, Still wearing a kind smile on his face. “Tempest,” Blueblood said, addressing the mare, “It’s good to see you.” Tempest looked up from her book, meeting the prince’s gaze. “It’s good to see you to, Your Majesty.” “Getting some reading in before work?” “Duty calls, Prince Blueblood.” “Indeed,” Blue chuckled out of a sense of relatability. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Have a good day, Tempest.” “And you, Prince Blueblood.” Blue began walking to his room again, before turning back to face the purple unicorn. “Oh, and Tempest.” The guard in question looked up from her book again. “Yes, Your Majesty?” “Try to take care of yourself, I’ve heard that it’s going to be quite a black knight tonight.” There was a glint in Tempest’s eyes, quietly registering that she knew exactly what the Prince was talking about. “Rest assured, Prince Blueblood, I’ll take care of myself.” “Thank you, Tempest.” Blueblood resumed walking to his room down the hall. Tempest returned her gaze to her book. There would indeed be A Black Knight. Blueblood took a certain level of joy from his subtlety coded conversations with the reformed Tempest Shadow (or Fizzlepop-Berry Twist to those who knew her well enough). But as much as he would like to keep the pleasantries going longer, both of them had work to do. At last he arrived at his room. Untouched, exactly how he left it. Including the stack of legal documents sitting on his desk. Blueblood sighed “Home, sweet home.” He pulled the chair out and plopped down on it, pulling the first document up to his face with his magic. He brought one of the lit candle sticks over for better lighting. He had only begun to read it before he noticed two letters sitting at the center of his desk “What do we have here?” He took the two letters in his hooves. One was from Ponyville, plainly sealed, with a name written in script, with the smell of flowers and nature. The other was from within Canterlot, closed with a rather fancy, red wax seal, and a lipstick stain on the corner below the elegantly scripted name. It smelled of wine, roses, and typewriter ink. Blueblood couldn’t help but lean back in his chair and give a sigh of contentment. This new life of his was truly great. ‘Can’t go forgetting that this is a new life,’ He reminded himself. For him, if he forgot the life he had before, he wouldn’t have a reference point for the life he had now. And he wouldn’t be wrong. Plus this life wouldn’t feel as special if he forgot. This life had everything, loving friends, caring family, a job that felt good to do, and a house that actually felt like home. This was everything he could ever possibly want. Sure the money his position gave him was nice, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that he was happy, and he was trying his best to make other people happy. Sure, it took dying in a burning pile of rubble, and a little intervention on Lady Death’s part, but overall it was simply: “Worth it.” Blueblood leaned back in his chair, being happy that he was alive. He reluctantly put the letters off to the side, and refocused on the paperwork before him. Specifically, a document with a picture of a well dressed griffin on it. “So, Mr. Falcon,” Blue said as he scrutinized the document, “What are you up to?”
Chapter 2: The Black KnightSomething has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.
Chapter 3: Meet the Mob(Past) The Hearthstone is a very high profile, upper class restaurant. It caters to some of the richest ponies in the country, with some of the best food and service ever. The five stars under its name weren’t there for no reason. If you ever happened to walk by or, if you were really lucky, went inside, you would hear the sounds of high society clinking glasses and dining to the sounds of violins. It is one of the top dining spots for the upper class. It was also the perfect front for the mob’s activities. After all, the best way to sell a lie is to have just enough truth in it for it to be believable. At this time, inside the restaurant, a well dressed griffin with a faded scar on his right cheek, accompanied by two earth ponies wearing suits, walked through the main dining area. They slipped past all the guests, who were too focused on their food and table-mates to notice the trio. The griffin and his escorts made their way to a pair of “Staff-Only” double doors that lead to one of the many kitchen spaces in the restaurant. The catch with this one, however, is that the space was hardly ever used for actual cooking. The stoutly dressed trio walked through the doors, walking past cold stovetops and room temperature iceboxes. They came to another room in the back and were stopped by two bouncers. The built unicorns gave the trio a look that said, “Show us your pockets”. With a sigh, the griffin unbuttoned his suit jacket and put his front talons in the air, his escorts following suite. The two unicorns scanned them with their magic, searching for anything they were under orders to confiscate. They gave the trio a nod and let them in. The griffin walked in and made his way towards the “U” shaped arrangement of tables to sit alongside the other creatures gathered there. Sitting in that room, gathered around those tables, were some of the most notorious mob bosses, corrupt elites, and untouchable crime-lords in all of Equestria. All of them made their millions in a variety of colorful ways. Goods smuggling, arms dealing, drug trafficking, money laundering, the list could go on for days. The one thing all their money has in common: it is in part built on the foundations of dead bodies and broken bones. “Mr. Falcon,” a zebra boss said, “Glad to see you have come. Please, take a seat, we have saved you one.” He motioned to the empty spot next to him. “ZaZa,” Falcon said, “You’re doing it again.” The zebra in question looked puzzled before covering his mouth with a hoof. “Oh, my apologies. Force of habit you know.” “We all know, ZaZa,” a cream yellow pegasus mare groaned, leaning back in her chair impatiently, “What’s good to see is that Falcon isn’t the last one to show up again.” “Ah, Lady Feather Thread,” Falcon said, taking a seat at the table next to ZaZa, “If it weren’t for the fact that I could hear your perfume from across the table, I would have thought you were absent.” Feather Thread narrowed her eyes at the griffin. “You want to say that to my face, you pillow stuffer?” “Can the two of you just shut up?” A black earth pony with a dark blue mane glared at the bickering crime-lords, as he fiddled with a poker chip and occasional adjusted the gold and silver cufflinks he was wearing with his suit. “Go back to playing with your chips, Gamble,” Thread shot back, “This isn’t your business.” “How about I take a stack of these chips, and em shove down your-” “Are y’all here at this table even capable of having a pleasant conversation?” A distinctly western voice spoke up from under a hat over their face. The caramel colored unicorn placed the hat back on his head, uncovering his white tipped muzzle and grey beard. Gamble stood up in anger, “I’ll show you ‘pleasant’ when I break those teeth, Old Man-” “Would all be so kind as to cease this bickering?” A mud-brown unicorn with a slight gut in a waist-coat said rubbing his temples. “Put a sock in it Thorne, you fat bastard,” Gamble shouted across the table, “You’re not the one in charge here!” Thorne stood up, “Neither are you, you foul-mouthed-” All the arguing ceased when the sound of hoof-steps echoed from the hallway towards the head of the table arrangement. All the mob bosses and crime lords slowly sat down. “Ten bits says it’s not gonna be him.” Gamble whispered to Lady Thread. “Why bother?” The pegasus asked, “We all know it won’t be.” Into the room walked a plain white earth pony stallion with a plain black mane in an unremarkable black tailored suit and necktie. “Ah, The Big Man’s honorable paper boy. Pleasure for ya to join us.” The western stallion remarked. “Your snide remarks wound me, Mr. Macree.” “What message of doom did The Big Guy send you to deliver,” Gamble asked impatiently, “Seeing how he’s too chicken to do it himself.” “Need I remind you Mr. Gamble,” The Messenger responded, “That my employer is more often than not busy with making sure that the operation in motion here does not go to pieces. Therefore usage of messengers is customary, to save time. “And just because I am a messenger, does not mean that you can belittle me, Mr. Gamble.” Gamble simply grit his teeth behind his sealed lips, glaring at the “The Big Guy’s” proxy. “Now, on to the matter of this meeting.” The Messenger reaches into the inner pocket of his suit and extracted a sheet of paper. “As some of you may be aware, the ever so persistent Prince Blueblood has claimed another victory for his self-righteous crusade this afternoon. “Him and his associates in law enforcement managed to successfully gain enough evidence and leads to arrest Maximum Revenue. In doing so they have cut us off from our connection to the stock market.” Murmurs went around the assembly when they were told of Maximum Revenue’s arrest. Macree briefly paused chewing his toothpick, Falcon massaged the bridge of his beak, ZaZa fiddled with his buttons, Thread rolled her eyes, Gamble just glared. “This has set us back in the financial department of this sector, but nothing that isn’t recoverable.” The Messenger said. “Forgive me for interrupting,” Thread said called from her spot at the table, “But considering the importance of this development, where are the rest of our co-workers? I can understand our international collaborators not being present, but what about our more local associates?” “Most of our international members are busy working on deals and operations that benefit our cause,” The Messenger explained, “As for some of our more local associates, they are occupied doing similar things.” The Messenger’s eyes returned to the paper. “It is also worth noting that the authorities managed to collect enough evidence on Mr. Revenue that he is to be held in prison without bail,” he read, straightening out a corner of the paper, “Not that that was an option in the first place-” “That fucking bastard!” Gamble exclaimed in frustration, slamming his right hoof on the table, “It’s like this is a game to him now, how does he keep doing this?! Less than a year ago, he wasn’t more than a brainless, pompous brat dancing at our hooves and acting as our veil to keep those annoying aunts of his distracted from our activities. Now it is like he a freaking bloodhound with a vendetta against us! What the hell happened? How can he know where and when to hit us so easily?! I swear if I could just put an arrow right between his eyes…” “Mr. Gamble,” The Messenger interrupted, “While my employer understands that this is difficult, you cannot let emotions overwhelm you. Please calm yourself.” Gamble simply growled in response. “If I might ask, in light of this news,” ZaZa said, “What exactly are we supposed to do?” “We must engage in new methods to make up for our losses,” The Messenger responded. “That much is obvious at the moment,” Thorne said, “Does your employer have any suggestions?” “That, Mr. Thorne, is up to you and your colleagues to discuss.” The Messenger folded the paper that he had been reading from and put it back into the inner pocket of his suit. “I trust that I can leave you all to come up with something.” With that, he turned and left the room the way he came, disappearing around the corner. Everyone in the room sat in silence for a moment. “Well that was almost useless.” Thread remarked under her breath. “‘Almost useless’?” Gamble said loudly, “That was completely useless!” “Like it or not, Mr ‘doom and gloom’ is right,” Thorne said, straightening out his waist coat, “We need to think of a way to make up for our financial losses, and it needs to be fast. So let’s get brainstorming.” Everyone sat in silent contemplation, trying to come up with some kind of plan to regain their financial stability. Finally, Falcon looked up from the rings he was wearing on his talons. “I believe…I have an idea.” Everyone at the table looked to the Griffin like he had said the most important words in the history of the world. “What is it?” Feather Thread asked. Falcon looked to his colleagues. “It’s going to require a very large, very secure warehouse, several shipping units, and the aid of businesses like yours Mr. Gamble.” “Son, you haven’t answered the question,” Macree pointed out, “What exactly is your idea?” Falcon eyed each of his compatriots. “We're going to clean some money.” The Messenger made their way over to a particular black limousine in the parking lot of The Hearthstone. The driver opened the passenger door, allowing The Messenger to climb in and take a seat across from a pony who was already in the car. The Messenger’s employer. “The office.” The employer said. The driver nodded and closed the door making their way to the front of the limo to drive. “The Employer” looked over to his proxy. “How did they take the news?” “Better than expected, all things considered,” The Messenger reported, “We need only wait to see what they do in light of it.” “I don’t care what they do, as long as it furthers the plan.” “I’m sure whatever they come up with will do exactly that.” “It better.” The Messenger’s employer reached over to the sideboard and raised a glass of bourbon to his lips. “Many of them are asking for a real face to put to the plan that’s in motion.” The Messenger’s employer placed the glass down on the sideboard. “They want to know who I am?” “Yes, Sir, they do.” There was a long pause. “Tell them this at the next meeting: “Tell them that if they do as their told, and if everything goes according to plan, then they may call me by my title…” A street light shone through the car window, revealing The Messenger’ employer was wearing a pristine white suit and a burgundy dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. While his fur was pale his face wasn’t. His face was pitch black, resembling a skull. No one could decide if it was a two piece mask or if he had his head dipped and cast in metal. Regardless of which one was true, his visage had earned him a name… Black Mask
Chapter 4: Addressed to the Public(Still in the past. About two days after chapter 3) “No.” “Prince Blueblood, I insist.” “No.” “It would look absolutely fabulous-” “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but my answer is still no.” Whenever Blueblood wasn’t out aiding the police, on study sessions on how to be a prince or in his office working on profiles and financials, he found himself in disagreement with certain members of the castle staff. At this moment it was the Royal wardrobe maker that he was debating with. “I’m not going to wear my finest suit to this,” the Prince reiterated, “It’s an interview for The Canterlot Town-Crier, not a party.” “True, but one should always look their best when in the public eye.” Blueblood knew that Godfreed meant well, but sometimes he couldn’t help but shake his head. “The point of this isn’t to show off my clothes. The point is to answer any questions that the public may have.” “But surely that doesn’t mean you have to go to it in a regular dress shirt and blazer jacket.” What Blueblood wanted to wear to the interview was a simple white dress shirt, black necktie, and a dark blue blazer. What Godfreed wanted him to wear was a very expensive, fancy tuxedo. It wasn’t a bad tuxedo by any means, it was just that… “I just think it’s too fancy for what I’m doing,” Blueblood knew this would go on for a long time, so he quickly came up with a compromise. “Look, Godfreed, if you will let me wear this blazer to the interview, I will wear the tuxedo to the next big event. Sound fair?” The Royal fashion expert sighed, but accepted. “Very well, Prince, I will lay the matter to rest. But you will have to consider the option of a formal cape in the future as well!” He lays a condition with finality with Blueblood although not liking the idea too much ultimately relinquish and nod “Thank you, Godfreed.” With that matter settled, he put on the shirt, tie, and blazer, as Godfreed dusted his shoulders. “How do I look?” The Prince asked. “Marvelous, Sir.” “Well, I best be off,” Blueblood walked over to the door and opened it, “Wish me-oh!” He almost ended up bumping into a short, marble colored, unicorn mare wearing glasses with her mane done up in a bun, holding a clipboard. She was a character he was all too familiar with “Clean Speech.” “Prince Blueblood.” Clean Speech was the chief royal press secretary. She wasn’t keen on a lot of things: Late reports, off-script responses and questions, all the things that any press secretary would dislike. But if there was one thing that drove her up the wall, it would be Blueblood’s recent antics in city areas. They caused such a buzz, that it made her job more complicated than it needed to be, in her opinion. “What can I do for you, Speech?” “What’s this I hear about an interview?” The press secretary asked. “Well,” the Prince said, “I’m going to a newspaper interview.” “Really?,” Clean Speech responded sarcastically with a raised eyebrow, “You don’t say? This is the first I’ve heard about it.” Speech looked over the notes on her clipboard. “Nope, nothing here about Prince Blueblood having an interview. Which can mean only one thing…” ‘Here we go,’ Blueblood thought. “...You didn’t tell me about it.” Speech moved the clipboard to her side, looking up at the Prince with an annoyed expression. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” “I went into your department to do just that, but you were busy with other matters,” Blueblood explained, “Matters that seemed more important than me and an interview. So I gave it to your second-in-command, Spell Check.” “You should have told me about it, and let me handle it, because this is a scheduled media appearance by a prominent member of The Royal Family, so therefore it falls well within my purview.” “Okay, Speech, I’m sorry I didn’t go to you directly,” Blueblood said, “I promise, next time I will leave it on your desk with a detailed note, all inside an envelope.” There was a moment of silent consideration on Clean Speech’s part “Very well.” She said matter-of-factly. “Thank you,” Blueblood said, levitating a stack of notes, papers, and a saddle bag over from his dresser. He slipped the papers into the bag and rested it over his shoulders. “Wish me luck!” the Prince said to Clean Speech as he began to walk down the hall. He didn’t get far before he stopped and looked next to him. Clean Speech was walking right beside him, flipping through the pages on her clipboard. “Are you…coming with me?” “Yes.” The press secretary didn’t look up from her clipboard. “Spell Check is already there.” “I know,” she said, “I’m going to relieve her of this assignment when we get there.” This made Blueblood stop in his tracks and whirl around to face Clean Speech “What, why?” “Because I refuse to let anything involving you be handled by anyone in a secondary position,” Clean Speech explained. Blueblood arched an eyebrow, “Sounds more like you don’t trust in the abilities of your subordinates.” “Do you expect me to not come?” “No, I expect you to let Spell Check stay on this assignment,” Blueblood explained, “Rather than making them feel inadequate unnecessarily.” Clean Speech groaned and massaged the bridge of her muzzle behind her glasses. “Very well, I won’t take them off the assignment, but I am still going to come to ensure that this goes right.” “Thank you, Clean Speech.” “You’re welcome.” The two resumed walking to the press room where the reporter was waiting. Upon opening the door, they found Spell Check and the reporter having a rather…interesting discussion. “That question is entirely off topic, and it sounds like an attack.” “I’m a reporter, do you expect me to not ask hard hitting questions?” “I expect you ask questions that remain on topic for an article in a credible newspaper,” Spell Check said, “Not intrusive, personal inquiries for a tabloid magazine!” “*Ahem*” The two stopped bickering the moment Blueblood made his presence known, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” The reporter, a brown pegasus mare with a yellow mane, fluttered over to the Prince and Chief Press Secretary. “Prince Blueblood, Your Majesty, It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” The Prince shook the reporter’s hoof. “It’s nice to meet you to.” The reporter motioned over to the table in the room, “Shall we begin the interview?” “By all means.” The Prince and reporter walked over to the table, while Clean Speech and Spell Check stood off to the side, both ready to pounce if they had to. The reporter placed a blue enchanted crystal on the table and tapped it, triggering the auto-scribe spell it contained. “So, Your Majesty,” the reporter began, “For the sake of pleasantries, how are you doing today?” “I’m doing well. And please, just ‘Blueblood’ will do.” The response made the pegasus pause for a moment, but she carried on. “So, if I may Blueblood, could you shed some light on your recent activities in the metropolitan areas of Equestreia?” The two press secretaries glared at the reporter. “Uh…pardon?” Blueblood asked. “Your active role with the police forces and guard. Could you elaborate on that?” “That is not the subject of the interview,” Spell Check said, “You are supposed to stay on topic.” “Do you expect no one to ask about this?” the reporter asked, “A ‘one-on-one’ opportunity like this doesn’t come often.” “Then you should have made that the subject of your interview.” Clean Speech responded. The three probably would have started attacking each other, had Blueblood not let out a whistle. “Now that I have your attention,” the Prince looked to the secretaries, “I will answer the question,” then back at the reporter, “Provided that all other questions are about the updated trade policies my aunts have handed down.” There was a silence that hung in the air for a brief period. Blueblood looked between the two parties. “Sound fair?” The conflicting trio quietly agreed. “Good,” Blueblood looked back to the reporter. “I suggest you choose your question wisely.” “Well…You’ve been running all about Equestreia: Manehattan, Trottingham, Canterlot, etc. And in all those areas you’ve taken quite an active role in the arrest of several criminal figures. “You also engaged in similar activities during your exile. So I suppose the question on everypony’s mind is, to put it simply: Why?” Blueblood took a moment to consider his words before speaking. “Because it’s my responsibility.” He said plainly. Sensing the need for elaboration, Blueblood continued. “Sure, all those places might have looked nice and pretty at first glance, but you take away the veil and you see a deep network of corruption, crime and misery…and even unconsciously, I was the one that let it get that far. Even with my first arrest of Fort Knox, by cleaning my first mess I only left a vacuum of power for others to try to become the next kingpin, that is why I needed to help. All those criminals were created because of me, so it my responsibility to end their reign of terror and return Equestria to its former glory, before my mistakes “Several of the crime lords that were in power in the past such as Fort Knox, and the ones in power now, got that power because of my actions, whether I was aware of it or not. And seeing as how it was my actions that lead to the current mess, it’s necessary that I clean it up. “It may take a while, as many great efforts do, but it will happen. And should anypony who is criminally involved read this, then I can tell them this: ‘You are not needed. There are better ways to gain money and power. Crime will not pay.” There was a silence in the room for a moment. The reporter was entranced by Blueblood’s words. Clean speech quietly rolled her eyes at the Prince’s monologue. “Did you get all that?” Blueblood asked. The reporter blinked, bringing herself back. “Every word, Your Majesty.” “Good,” Blueblood straightened his tie and cleared his throat, “Now how about we discuss what this interview was supposed to focus on.” “Of course.” “Can I trust that you will publish this before you write an article on my escapades?” “Absolutely,” the reporter assured the Prince, “Now, about these new trade policies…” The reporter kept her word. Blueblood’s response to her question regarding his anti-criminal activities wasn’t published until the following week. Reactions were mixed. Some saw it as a grand thing to be celebrated that somepony was out to help them, and that their Prince was trying to change for the better. Others saw it only as an elaborate ruse for the Prince to gain popularity. Some just didn’t care. Low rent criminals felt uneasy or unsafe. High-rise gangsters either ripped up the paper, broke something in their room, or shrugged it off. While one pony, in an old crummy apartment somewhere in the city, sat in a busted-up armchair, laughing hysterically. Just… …Laughing Author's Note Here's a new chapter! Hope you enjoed it!
Chapter 5: Backdoor Dealings in the DarkSomething has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.
