The night air was cool, after the light drizzle that had just passed over Manehattan. The city itself was mainly dark and damp, with only a few lampposts lighting the way for anypony willing to brave the dark streets.
One street in particular, however, was dark. Anypony from out of Manehatan would have found it odd, but ponies knew that this particular street was always dark at night. They knew that dark places like this weren’t in control of the police. There was a much darker force at work here. Funny enough, it was on this street where a high class ballroom was located.
Also, funny enough, that was the street where I stood. I stood there in my best suit, waiting for somepony. And that somepony was late.
I looked at my watch. Nine forty. He was 10 minutes late. Of course, 10 minutes is a relatively minor setback, but I wasn’t patient tonight. Tonight was the night. I had been planning it for, what was it… at least over a month now. I wanted everything to be perfect, from the timing to my partner, to the choice of venue.
Because this is where it happened.
This ballroom was where my life changed. Forever.
It seemed like such a long time ago when it happened. It almost felt like a different life entirely.
It reminded me of why I was doing this. It didn’t make me feel better, but at least it made it feel justified.
It reminded me of my drive.
It reminded me of my purpose.
It reminded me that he was 10 minutes late.
What was taking him so long?
I heard the sound before I saw the car.
The sound of the archaic engine as it turned the corner and came down, the magic lights illuminating the street.
Finally, he was here.
The car pulled up next to me.
Not many ponies had cars. A lot of them said they were too expensive or made too much noise, but he didn’t care. It was quick. Quicker than walking.
He opened the door and got out, and nodded to me.
“Evening, Octavia,” he said.
“Evening,” I replied.
“You ready for this?” he asked while he trotted to the trunk.
“More ready than ever.” I responded.
He was grey, like me, and had a brown mane, hardly visible under the trench coat and the hat. He took out the keys to unlock the trunk.
“What took you so long?” I asked.
He opened the trunk. A light in the back shined on what was inside. It was a tarp covering what I was waiting for.
“Traffic,” he lied, knowing I wouldn’t believe it.
I didn’t press further.
He pulled away the tarp, and uncovered what he was hiding.
A Thompson submachine gun, a beautiful one at that.
It was loaded with its drum clip of 100 bullets, its wood finish handles shined in the light, and the small piece of metal jutting out from the side of the trigger made it easy for earth ponies to fire. Unicorns may have invented it, but in the end, this was an earth pony’s weapon.
A criminal’s weapon.
I shook the thought away for now. I had a job to do. Not a job from the boss, though.
This one was personal.
For now, I held the gun and placed it inside the coat, doing my best to keep it concealed until I needed it. I looked at my partner, and I knew he was ready as well.
This night was the most important one, probably in my life.
We began trotting to the hall. We entered the door. Guards were waiting for us, as expected.
My partner walked up, his gun concealed, and gave the guard his pay. His bribe.
The guard looked at the sum, and smiled.
“Enjoy your evening, sir. Madame,” he said, and nodded.
My partner smiled, and we walked in.
The ballroom was packed; mares and stallions were dancing the night away, the music soothing and peaceful.
I looked at the place where the orchestra was playing. I almost flashed back to that night. She was playing right there, that night. I remembered it clearly. I looked away, and across the room, to a table at the corner of the room.
He was sitting there.
Him.
I only looked at him for a moment, taking it in. He was right there, blissfully unaware that justice was about to fall his way.
This was my chance.
I pulled out the gun, and started firing, not at him, but up in the air, to scare everypony.
The bullets spit forth like fire, drowning out the screams of the scared ponies that started running.
I looked down, and saw him running, and I shot at him, determined to not let him get away.
The bullets hit him in the legs, and he fell to the ground.
I stopped shooting, and began trotting over, doing my best to hobble on two legs with the gun as a cane, of sort. I hobbled over to him, and looked him square in the eye.
He’s brown, with a black mane. He’s in a fine grey suit, speckled with his own blood. He looked scared, trying to crawl away with his legs limp. I put a hoof on one of his leg. He winces, and begins crying out in pain. A bullet must have hit bone. Every move he made only made me press down harder.
He looked at me, and began pleading, babbling, like an idiot.
“P-please…don’t-don’t do this! We…we’re of the same group! H-How could you do this to me? They’ll kill you! They’ll-aargh!”
I pressed down harder to silence him.
“Shut up! You have no right to speak now!” I yelled.
“Why? Why are you doing this? Just to get me? You realized that you’ve just condemned yourself to death?”
“Does it LOOK like I care?”
I pressed down again on ‘look’. He screamed again.
“But-but, why? Why me? Why?” tears were streaming down his face now.
“Why?”
I used the gun barrel to turn his head towards the orchestral stage.
“Do you remember this place? Do you remember what you did here?” I yelled.
“Uh, I-I-I don’t know, I come here a lot!”
I pressed down again, making him scream again.
“You don’t remember, don’t you? Is that what she meant to you? She meant nothing to you?”
“Uh…”
I pointed the barrel at his face.
“You were here that night. You were the one who shot her. You were the one who shot and killed my daughter, and I will make sure you pay.”
“But, wait, please…please…I’m sorry, please, don’t do this...”
Eventually, I just tuned him out. It would be so easy. Just pull back that trigger, and let justice happen.
But is it justice?
This was an evil, vile pony, but…
Did he deserve to die?
It would be so easy though, to just pull the trigger.
I reached for the trigger.
