The next morning, Beacon Fire paused before the Police Department’s infirmary door and knocked on it thrice. “Come in,” came a voice from within.

Beacon slipped inside and shut the door behind her. It was fortunately vacant, save for a lone thestral carefully slipping on her Shadowbolts uniform. Her bandaged barrel disappeared under the fabric.

“How are you feeling, Frost?” she asked, looking over her wings.

Frost smirked and nodded to Beacon, flaring open her wings. “Spent the night recovering,” she replied. “Side’s still sore. I can fly, just nothing fancy for me.”

Beacon nodded. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Frost adjusted her goggles around her neck and tucked her wings. “It’s not the first time I’ve been shot down, Bea,” she replied. “I keep hoping it’s the last though. Meet you in the briefing room.”

Beacon nodded and followed her subordinate out. Cold Case was waiting outside the door, pipe in her mouth. She watched Frost walk down the hall before turning to Beacon. “I certainly wish you would’ve told me sooner about your ‘hypothesis,’” she said coolly.

Beacon sighed. “I’m sorry. It was after you went to bed and I wasn’t entirely sure of it myself. But now that we know that it’s most likely true, we need to be on our guard,” she said. “Did the griffon start talking?”

“Hasn’t said a word, not even for a lawyer,” Cold replied. “One of Whitestone’s former crewmates, judging from the tattoo. We’ll start processing his clothes after the briefing.

“Then let’s not keep them waiting,” Beacon said with a nod.

Cold nodded, working her jaw in thought. “And… thank you. For sending Frost after Phillip and Daring. If she hadn’t been there to intervene, they…” She shook her head. “Let’s just get this briefing over with.” She snorted as she walked past Beacon.

Beacon smiled softly after her. “You’re welcome.”

Cold paused briefly—her only reply. She disappeared through the door Frost had gone through, and Beacon followed shortly after.

The cavernous hall dwarfed the ponies inside. Rows of seats, parted by a single aisle down the middle, faced a semicircular stage with a podium upon it, emblazoned with the department’s shield.

Officers and staff members filled the seats: even Doctor Mortis, Doctor Suunkii, and Twilight were present. Seated in one of the front rows were Phillip and Daring. On the stage on one side of the podium were Captain Hewn Oak and Cold Case. On the other side were Frost Glide and Pineapple Pizza.

Much like his teammate, Pineapple was dressed for combat. He wore mottled grayish camouflage pants and a shirt overlayed with a tactical, bulletproof vest and an army helmet. Aside from his service weapon, an assault rifle was strapped to his back and grenades hung from his vest. The bulges in his messenger bag suggested that it carried identical devices. Most ponies in the audience seemed to squirm when they eyed Pineapple’s walking arsenal, save for Detective Matchstick. She simply gave an appreciative nod.

Beacon made her way down the aisle and climbed onto the stage, standing before the podium. She adjusted the microphone with her magic and looked out over the crowd. “Officers of the Ponyville Police Department,” she announced. “As most of you are aware, a direct threat has been made against Chief Cold Case.”

Cold shifted as dozens of eyes glanced in her direction. She focused her attention to the side of the room, puffing on her pipe with a slight tremor on her hooves.

“The creature behind this message is a griffon known as Iron Claw. Not only does this griffon have extensive military training from her time in the war, she is being backed up by former crewmates of Whitestone and currently has a substantial cache of weapons, including weapons that were stolen from the Equestrian Military during a recent train crash.”

Some of the officers murmured to one another. Beacon cleared her throat before continuing. “These weapons are not the usual street ordinance you may be used to.”

Igniting her horn, she produced the captured weapon from beneath the podium. Officers gasped and more murmured anew. She carefully set the BAR on the podium in front of the microphone.

“This is a modified Blackhorn Assault Rifle, much like those used by Sombra during the war. This modified version has a longer range, a slower firing rate, as well as a sniper scope and suppressor,” Beacon explained. “As of right now, two more of these models are in Iron Claw’s talons.

“In addition to this, there are three ammunition-modified BARs, which are standard BARs equipped with incendiary ammunition runes, as well as two modified BARs with double barrels and larger ammunition drums. In addition to these stolen weapons, we believe these griffons to be armed with illegal military-grade weapons and armor.”

It was the officers’ turn to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Bumblebee gripped Prowl’s hoof when he noticed she was starting to shake.

“I know some of you may have faced BARs before this, but please understand that these are dangerous weapons in the talons of dangerous griffons. They targeted Detectives Finder and Do last night, which is how we recovered this one BAR.” Beacon nodded to the displayed weapon. “We believe that their plan is to target those close to or perceived to be close to Chief Case. Friends, partners, co-workers, we don’t know to what extent they’ll go.”

“Fucking lovely,” Red muttered from the crowd.

“Good thing I hate her guts,” Daring whispered to Phillip while elbowing him in the ribs. Phillips’s only reply was to shake his head.

“Sergeant Pizza has made necessary preparations – you will find your armory stocked with proper riot shields. No matter what your standard loadout is, any on-duty officers working outside the precinct must carry one with them, if not for themselves then for the civilians you serve,” Beacon continued. She turned to Cold. “Chief Case?”

Beacon stood to the side as Cold pocketed her pipe and stepped up to the podium. She took a quiet, steadying breath before looking out over the masses.

“Our purpose today is for all on-duty officers to get out in the field and track down whatever they can on Iron Claw. Knock on doors and make some noise – the sooner we discern Iron Claw’s location, the sooner we’ll all be safe,” she said. “For the time being, this is our best course of action. Anyone who is not going into the field is to stay at the precinct. All of you are dismissed – stay safe out there.”

As she left the podium and those on stage disembarked, the officers all rose to their feet, and a rumble of conversation filled the room.

Daring noticed Prowl hurry over to where Beacon, Frost, and Pineapple were gathered. She gave another salute and shook each of their hooves. Whatever she said to them was lost in the crowd. Prowl turned and left when Cold joined the group, and she went to join her partner.

“Hey, Prowl,” Daring called, walking over and stopping the thestral. “What was that all about?”

Prowl blinked. “Oh, right, sorry.” She flashed a sheepish grin. “It’s just an honor to be working with them, that’s all.” She jerked her head to Beacon and her teammates. “They’re legends in the armed forces.”

“Oh yeah?” Daring raised an eyebrow and glanced them over.

Prowl nodded. “Captain Glide is known as the ‘Rolling Thunder.’ Not only is she a top Shadowbolt, she’s flown a lot of missions. I heard she had the highest bombing accuracy of any flier – Wonderbolt or Shadowbolt.” Prowl then turned her head towards Pineapple before facing Daring again.

“Sergeant Pizza is known as the ‘Pony Earthquake.’ He’s supposedly from a famous line of chefs and has a sense of smell for explosives. It’s said he’s taken out entire squads of enemies with his explosives. And then there’s Lieutenant General Fire. Where do I even begin with her?”

“Maybe by breathing,” Daring said with a chuckle, setting a hoof on Prowl’s shoulder.

Prowl flushed, trying to calm her panting. “Sorry. The Lieutenant General is known as the ‘Flaming Shield.’ She aided in recovery like I did, and supposedly got shot five times in the chest while defending wounded soldiers.”

Daring whistled. “Damn.”

Prowl nodded. “General Shining Armor recognized her courage and taught her his shield spell. Then she fell under the command of the legendary General White Lotus, who was one of the few ponies to ever earn the status of Zinfahdon, or ‘friend of the dragons.’ She was even there at the Canterlot Wedding – and she’s one of the few ponies in General Armor’s circle of trust.”

“That is some resume,” Daring nodded. “Glad she’s on our side.”

Prowl grinned and nodded quickly, causing Daring to chuckle again.

“We should get to work analyzing the griffon’s clothing,” Suunkii said as he and Phillip both walked to Daring.

“Happy to help, Suun,” Phil said.

“Yeah, I for one don’t want to be shot at again,” Daring said.

As they headed for the exit, Phillip’s eyes narrowed at a familiar yellow earth pony leaning against the back wall. The stallion tipped his ten gallon hat to the detective.

“Deputy Apple?” Phil asked. “What brings you here?”

Braeburn huffed. “I’m still waitin’ on word on Smoky, and I get antsy when my hooves aren’t doin’ anything. I know these ain’t the same creatures who hurt him, but I still want to help. Better than doin’ nothin’.” He pushed off the wall. “I called the office and they gave me clearance.”

“We could use all the support we can get, mate.” Phillip nodded. “Talk to Chief Cold Case.”

Braeburn tipped his hat to them and disappeared into the crowd.

Closer to the stage, Cold Case looked through the crowd. “Detective Matchstick,” she called.

Matchstick halted her conversation with Wheellock and huffed. She nodded to her co-worker and made her way over to the stage, saluting. “Yeah, chief?”

Beacon walked over with Pineapple in tow. “Chief Cold brought it to my attention that she might know another potential target,” she explained. “I need you and Sergeant Pizza to get to the mayor’s office to check for any potential traps and guard her. I’ve called ahead and told her to wait until you got there before entering her office.”

“Chief Case, ma’am?”

Cold turned to find Braeburn standing there, hat across his chest. “Yes? Who are you?” she asked, her eyes falling on the six-pointed badge.

“Deputy Braeburn Apple with the Appleloosa’s Sherriff’s Office, ma’am. My office gave me clearance to help in any way I can,” Braeburn reported. “My husband was in the train wreck.”

Cold blinked. Beacon walked forward and set a hoof on his shoulder. “Know that those responsible have been dealt with,” she said firmly.

Braeburn nodded, replacing his hat. “I know, ma’am. But I’d rather be on my hooves doing something than waitin’ around frettin’.”

“Good stallion.” Beacon gave a firm nod.

“You can help Sergeant Pizza and Detective Matchstick with guarding the Mayor,” Cold said. “The more hooves there the better.”

“Yeah, the more the merrier,” Matchstick sighed. She turned to Cold and saluted again. “We’ll do our best, chief.”

“Let’s just swing by the armory first and suit up,” Pineapple said.

“And you’re sure my office is safe?” Mayor Margaret Mare asked as Pineapple and Matchstick entered her room. Braeburn followed after them, securing the door behind him.

“Yes, Ma’am, we’ve searched the building top to bottom,” Pineapple said, nodding to the windows. The blinds were shut and the curtains drawn for good measure. “They don’t have thermal scopes, so as long as they don’t see you, they can’t hit you.”

“How reassuring.” Margaret grimaced. “I can’t believe I’m being targeted again.”

“This sort of thing happen often, ma’am?” Braeburn asked. He rested his riot shield against the door and worked on one of the portable barricades Pineapple had brought with him.

“Just one other time,” Margaret said, taking a cautious seat behind her desk. She kept glancing at the windows over her shoulder. “Carving a message into a floating corpse was a rather… gruesome way to go about it. Are you sure they’re after me?”

“Miss Mayor, Detectives Finder and Do were attacked last night,” Matchstick said. “The Lieutenant General believes they’re going after those close to Chief Case first before going after her.”

“And we are friends.” Margaret nodded. “Very well. I trust you’ll be helping to escort me home as well?”

“Us and all the officers guarding town hall,” Pineapple said with a nod. He carted over a portable barricade to one of the windows and set it up. Matchstick set up another barricade at another window. Margaret nodded, busying herself with some paperwork on her desk.

“So, how exactly do BARs get modified anyway?” Matchstick asked, wiping her brow. “We’ve seen them here but… just the normal ones.”

“Well, there’s two different stories I’ve heard,” Pineapple said. He adjusted his barricade to face the window at the right angle. “One story is that Sombra got desperate towards the end of the war and started experimenting with his favorite weapon.”

Matchstick raised an eyebrow. “And the other?”

“Well, we in the army believe that, after the BARs got revealed, officers were given unwritten permission to capture them to be used against Sombra’s forces. Some of the weapon experts got their hooves on some and tinkered with them,” Pineapple explained. “Either way, we’ve been finding and destroying caches of modified BARs for years now.”

“Damn, lucky none of them made their way to Appleloosa,” Braeburn said. “The weapon y’all recovered looks bad enough. But incendiary and double-barreled? Sounds like a nightmare.”

Somepony knocked. Everypony’s hair stood on end. Mayor Mare made the motion to duck under her desk.

“Miss Mayor?” came a voice from the other side.

The three ponies in the office released their collectively held breaths. Braeburn unlocked the door and cracked it open, flashing the mare on the other side an apologetic smile. “Miss Nellie, we gotta keep this door locked unless it’s an emergency,” he said in a gentle, polite tone.

“Sorry, I just wanted to know if the mayor wanted lunch,” Nellie said, peeking through the crack.

Margaret blinked and checked the clock on the wall. “With all my appointments canceled I’ve completely lost track of time,” she grumbled. She turned to the door. “The usual, Nellie! And take care out there!”

Nellie nodded and walked away. Braeburn quietly shut the door behind her and locked it again. “She seems awfully worried about you, ma’am,” he remarked.

Margaret smiled and nodded as she relaxed back into her chair. “She can be jittery at times, but she always has the best intentions at heart.”

Gunfire and glass shards rained into the office. A dark shadow zoomed in front of the windows. Matchstick and Pineapple dove behind the barricades at the windows, while Braeburn held up his riot shield. The mayor ducked under her desk, kicking the chair behind her so hard it crashed into the wall.

Crackling, then an oppressive, yellow glow—Pineapple glanced over his barricade. A small flame licked at the curtain around the small bullet hole. He followed its trajectory into the mayor’s desk, where a small wisp of smoke waved about next to Margaret. “Miss Mayor, get out of there!”

Braeburn galloped over to the desk. One shaking hoof wrapped tightly around the handle of his shield; the other and helped the mayor crawl out of her once-safe hiding spot.

Matchstick was glowing red, both from the flush on her face and the magic strobing on her horn. Her extinguishing spells bubbled the flames while beads of sweat dripped from her temple. “What do we do?!”

“Put out the desk and get behind a barricade!” Pineapple ordered.

Matchstick nodded and swatted out the smoking bullet holes in the desk with her magic. The flaming curtains tore off and fell away. Pineapple ran over and pulled her behind his barricade.

A second round of gunfire thundered through the windows.

Braeburn raised his shield in front of the mayor. Scorching bullets clanged off the shield. Everypony’s ears perked up at another light, metallic clattering sound – it wasn’t coming from the bullets bouncing on Braeburn’s shield.

The sun’s harsh glare flooded the room. It glinted off the strings crumpled on the floor, severed in several places by the bullets. The blinds lay crumpled right beside them, having fallen off the window. The gears in Marchstick’s mind turned when she jerked her head up to face the window: the second round of gunfire had destroyed the windows’ blind controls, causing them to fall to the floor.

“Shit!” Matchstick swore. “We’re sitting ducks!”

Pineapple drew his assault rifle and glanced over his barricade. He squinted through the fiery haze of the burning curtains piled up against the windows. The dark shadow emerged again. The gun barrel glinted in the sun. It was then that Pineapple returned fire.

The griffon outside flew out of range. None of Pineapple’s rounds made their mark. He scooted his messenger bag around and rummaged through it. “Not yet we’re not,” he said.

He pulled out a pair of round, glassy grenades. A swirling cloud within them beckoned for release. Their blue glow stood out against the dangerous yellows of the sun and the flames. Pulling the pins on both of them, Pineapple lobbed one across the room and dropped the other on the opposite side of his barricade.

Pineapple led Matchstick around to hide in front of the desk. The glass orbs shattered, and a thick white fog swelled and swirled. When it touched the flaming curtains, the fog darkened to grey and rumbled. The soft patter of water accompanied the condensed clouds drizzling on the fires, snuffing them out.

The cloud blanketed the windows, and everypony’s hair stood on end as the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Braeburn whistled appreciatively by the door.

Matchstick smirked at Pineapple, teeth chattering. “N-Not bad,” she said. “Now wh-what do we do?”

Pineapple rubbed his legs for warmth. “They’ll have to come to us,” he said. “They lost line of sight.”

Matchstick nodded firmly and drew her service revolver. Each peeked around a corner of the desk, weapons leveled at the window. Braeburn kept one leg in front of the mayor, who was backed against the barricade by the door, and leveled his shield towards the windows.

A dark shadow approached the window. Then, a rain of glass shredded through the indoor cloud cover. With a floor-shaking thud, the griffon landed in the room. With one talon, he swatted away the clouds. With the other, he pointed his BAR through the clouds, reddish-orange runes glowing on its ammunition drum.

Matchstick rolled away from the desk, sprang up to her two hind legs, and fired her weapon thrice. One bullet pinged off metal. The griffon roared as he charged her.

She sidestepped one swat of talons and ducked, dodging the BAR’s line of fire. The heat nonetheless penetrated her core, her ears pounded from the sound. Matchstick’s eyes widened as she grunted: her earlier dodge came at a price. She fell to the floor and gasped. The griffon made to stab her with his talons.

Pineapple wouldn’t let that happen. He swung his assault rifle round and fired several focused bursts. Each impact elicited a grunt from the griffon, culminating with a cry of pain as one bullet found a gap in his armor. He stumbled back.

In a practiced motion, Pineapple yanked Matchstick away by one leg. With his other hoof he dropped his assault rifle and reached for his vest. He ripped off one grenade—along with the pin—and lobbed it at the griffon.

The black glass orb pulsed white. “Cover your eyes!” Pineapple barked, turning away as the grenade started flashing faster and faster. The ponies listened, but the griffon, seething and writhing on the floor jerked his head up in time to see the grenade inches from his beak.

Blinding white. The room shook. Everypony’s coats stood on end. A clap of thunder louder than a freight train blew out the other windows.

Matchstick was the first to rise out of cover and open her eyes. The singed griffon twitched once before collapsing to the floor. Smoke leaked from his feathers—especially a large black patch on his neck, where the lightning bolt sank its teeth into its victim. “Fuck.” Matchstick rubbed her ears. “Should’ve worn earplugs.”

“Sorry,” Pineapple said over his own hearing loss. “At least it’s only temporary.”

“Damn,” Braeburn walked over to the griffon’s corpse and poked it with his hoof. From behind, the mayor hesitantly peeked, only to slide back down. Her wide, bloodshot eyes betrayed an inner storm.

As the ringing in their ears began to subside, another faint sound could be heard: more gunfire, this time more distant.

“Those aren’t BAR shots,” Pineapple said, picking up his assault rifle and ejecting the magazine. “That must be officers.”

“Shit, another one?” Matchstick hissed, reaching for her own ammunition.

The door swung open. A second party crasher stormed into the room—submachine gun in one talon and pistol in the other.

Braeburn rolled, leaving the mayor against the barricade clear of the door. As he got onto his hind legs, one hoof reached for his holster.

Two shots barked out.

The griffon shrieked. The submachine and pistol clattered to the floor as the griffon clutched his bloodied talons and fell to his knees. Still smoking, Braeburn’s Filly Police Special pressed on the griffon’s forehead.

“Put those talons up,” Braeburn ordered, the warmth in his voice replaced by an icy chill.

Pineapple and Matchstick stared at Braeburn’s performance, the latter letting out a drawn-out whistle.

Before the griffon even had the chance to consider his options, there was a loud metal thwack. The griffon joined his weapons on the floor.

Braeburn blinked. He didn’t do that. The ponies in the office looked up to see who intervened. Nervous Nellie‘s wild eyes gazed at the griffon. After several more ragged pants, she dropped a now-dented frying pan to the floor with a clatter.

“Nellie!” The mayor gasped as she stood up behind the barricade. She let out a grunt as her secretary rushed over and hugged her tightly.

Words spilled out like a broken dam. “I’m so sorry I heard the gunfire and I came back as soon as I could and… and…”

The mayor patted her on the back, shushing her quietly.

Braeburn blew the smoke from his gun barrel and holstered his gun again.

“Damn, deputy,” Pineapple remarked. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

Braeburn flashed a shy smile. “Well, I’ve had a lot of practice disarming outlaws – you’ll find a lot of crooks out Appleloosa way with holes in their hooves courtesy of me. Griffons are just bigger targets.”

“My question is—” Matchstick said, looking to Nellie as Pineapple reached for his radio. “—where the hell she got that pan from?”

“Don’t think whoever she got it from is gonna want it back,” Pineapple remarked.

Phillip groaned and rubbed his eyes as he took a step back from the microscope. He looked about Suunkii’s lab, where he and Twilight were busy doing the same. The jailed griffon’s clothing was laid out on the tables, along with his various pieces of armor. Daring was scanning them with Phillip’s magnifying glass.

“Any luck, Suun?” he asked, walking over.

Suunkii gave a sigh and shook his head, rubbing at his own eyes. “The dust and dirt particles are nothing of note – they are found all over Ponyville,” he replied. “No clue as to where the hideout could be.”

“Not even a speck of salt from the sea or a foreign leaf,” Twilight added with a sigh.

“Well, we have to find something,” Daring said. “There’s no way they could not have something from the hideout’s area.” She leaned in close to a sleeve on the griffon’s cloak. “Aha!”

Twilight, Suunkii, and Phillip all rounded the table as Daring held out a hoof. “Tweezers,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on the object in question.

Twilight floated over a pair and Daring snatched them in her hoof. Carefully, she plucked something from the fabric and held the tweezers up to show the group.

It was a tiny sliver of wood, a tenth of the thickness of a toothpick. Daring handed it over to Suunkii who rushed it to a microscope slide and slid it under his microscope.

“What is it?” Twilight asked.

“Wood, oak. Golden oak, I believe,” Suunkii reported. “Golden oak lumber hasn’t been used in years, not since the early days of Ponyville. They were the first trees cut down in the area. This splinter shows quite some age.”

“So that had to have come from some kind of antique then,” Daring said.

Phillip rubbed his chin. “Or something old. Perhaps the Under?”

“If it’s from the Under, that’s a lot of ground to cover,” Twilight said. “And a lot of places for Iron Claw to hide.”

There came a knock from the lab door and Beacon Fire stepped inside. Cold Case, who had come in and out several times to check their progress, followed after her.

“Well, I have good news and better news,” Beacon announced. “The good news is the mayor was attacked.”

“And just how is that good news?” Cold asked testily.

“Well, while a few officers were shot, the only fatality was one of the two griffons. The mayor’s safe, and we recovered one of the incendiary weapons,” Beacon listed off. “I’d say the positives outweigh the negatives.”

“Don’t tell me the better news is the rest of the griffons are surrounding us as we speak,” Daring said with a quirked eyebrow.

Beacon frowned at her. “The better news is we got a tip on Iron Claw’s location. They said they’d speak with Finder and Do behind a bar called ‘McNeighly’s’ and that they’re to come alone,” she said, looking between them.

“Did the caller speak with a Mareish accent?” Phil asked. Cold’s eyes widened.

“I believe they did, yes.” Beacon nodded, then frowned. “Do you know them?”

“I think I have a good idea of who it is,” Phil replied. He thought for a moment, then grunted. “Fine, I’ll let Coin have his spiel.”

“I’ll go with you,” Beacon said, setting a hoof on his shoulder. “I was planning on going anyway – you’ve already been attacked once. There’s no guarantee Iron Claw won’t try again.”

“I’d appreciate it, Lieutenant General. Might be safe to stay back as to not spook the caller, though,” Phil nodded. He turned to Daring. “Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Daring huffed, slapping on her pith helmet. As the two walked towards the lab door, Beacon followed.

Cold set a hoof on her shoulder to stop her, glancing at the Lieutenant General. “Is the mayor alright?”

“The mayor’s fine. A little shaken, but unharmed. After a day like today, she clocked out early, and Pineapple, Matchstick, and Braeburn are escorting her home,” Beacon replied.

“Good.” Cold was silent for a moment, then glanced at her again. “Thank you, and keep them safe.”

“Will do,” Beacon said with a smirk and a wink before exiting the lab.

Cold Case watched her go for a moment, keeping her back to Suunkii and Twilight to hide the blush on her face until her icy mask made it subside. She let out a huff and exited the lab.

“What’s going on between Chief Case and the Lieutenant General?” Twilight asked Suunkii with a raised eyebrow.

Suunkii gave a low chuckle and a smile. “Fire melts ice, Twilight Sparkle, but it can sometimes take some time,” he replied sagely.

McNeighly’s hadn’t changed since the last time Daring and Phillip had been there, though they were short one private detective. Beacon Fire followed a few feet behind them, wearing her sunglasses.

As they rounded the corner McNeighly’s sat on, they paused just before the mouth of the alleyway. Daring and Phillip turned to Beacon, who gave a nod.

The two detectives slipped into the alleyway while Beacon crept up to the mouth of the alley. She leaned against the bar’s wall casually just out of sight from the alley itself, ears perked to listen in.

There, leaning against the bar’s backdoor was Coin Toss himself, flipping his coin. Upon their arrival, he caught the coin and pocketed it, eyeing them up and down before looking behind them.

“Thought you two weren’t showin’,” he remarked. “No one followin’ ya?”

“No, we came alone,” Phil said, scowling at the Mareish stallion.

“Ah, good, good,” Coin said with a sigh of relief. “Can’t be too careful these days.”

“So spill it – where’s Iron Claw hiding?” Daring asked. Phillip held up a hoof to stop her further, narrowing his eyes at Coin Toss.

“I’m still not convinced you’re just going to give us the location,” he said. “What’s in it for you?”

Coin blinked in surprise, holding up a hoof. “Lad, lass, ya wound me,” he said. “Can’t a citizen call in a tip to serve his community?”

“The only reason you count as a citizen is because you’re not in jail yet,” Daring replied with a frown.

“So what is it, Coin?” Phil demanded.

Coin looked between them and huffed in annoyance. “Well, if you two aren’t interested, maybe I won’t tell you where she’s at then,” he said, smoothing out his coat.

As he stood upright and opened the door behind him, the door handle glowed orange and slammed shut. He whirled around as hoofsteps entered the alley.

Beacon Fire walked past the two detectives and right up to the stallion. She slowly removed her aviators and hooked them on her chest pocket, revealing her golden eyes glaring down at him with the intensity of a sun.

“Hello, Mr. Coin Toss,” she said. “While you may not be interested in talking with these detectives, the princesses are very interested in talking with you.”

Coin gulped, backing against the door. His eyes fell on the army insignia on her jacket. “Ya lying bastards!” he spluttered. He reached for the gun in his shirt, but his hoof was snared in amber magic.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” Beacon said quietly, eyes focusing into his. “Here’s the deal, Mr. Coin Toss. You tell us where Iron Claw is, and perhaps I’ll forget we got it from you. And I won’t drag you before the princesses. Because believe me – they really want a word with you."

“Y-Yer bluffin’!” Coin spat, shaking more. “Ya got nothin’ on me!”

“Well, if you’re willing to toss that coin of yours again,” Beacon said with a smug smile. “Maybe it’ll be tails, maybe it’ll be your head.”

Coin swallowed hard, looking past her to Phillip and Daring. Phillip looked away while Daring grinned and gave him a shrug.

“Alright! Alright, I’ll talk!” Coin said, removing his hoof. “Look, I’ll admit I wanted a fair cut of Iron Claw’s weapons—and I was willin’ to pay a fair bit of bits for ‘em—but that bird’s crazy! Scared me and the lads off when we went to meet her at the old Saddlebags Brothel.”

“And how is that supposed to help us?” Beacon demanded.

Coin shuddered. “She said she wanted to meet us ‘close to home.’ I figured she lives close to that old rundown building. I swear on me mother’s name that’s all I know!”

“The splinter,” Phil muttered to Daring. “Is there an entrance to the Under there?”

Daring paused for a moment and nodded. “There should be a tunnel that leads to the old Ponyville Marketplace. Scoped it out once,” she whispered.

“And how sure are you on that?” Beacon asked, leaning in closer. Sparks flew from her horn, bathing Coin’s face in heat.

“Look, I’m just tellin’ ya what I know!” Coin said, trying to back further away. “We were at that warehouse, we heard about what they did. We aren’t endin’ up like those Disciples.”

Beacon studied the stallion for a few minutes more, before exhaling through her nose. “We’re done here,” she said, replacing her sunglasses. As she walked out the alleyway, Phillip and Daring watched Coin Toss scramble into the bar and slam the door behind him before following her.

“Some fine interrogating,” Phil remarked.

“Do the princesses really want that creep that badly?” Daring asked.

Beacon snorted and a satisfied smile crossed her muzzle. “No, I was just playing that up. The Mareish Mob’s a pain in the side, but the princesses have better things to do.”

“Well, at least we have a location,” Phil grunted.

As they disappeared down the street, a dark shadow took off from the roof of the bar.

Iron Claw was seated at an old wooden table. It had seen better days, even after years underground, and looked ready to fall apart if someone sneezed on it – though it somehow held the lantern that lit the room.

Her lone golden eye was focused on her task: running a whetstone against the sides of her iron talons that earned her her name. They lay in her lap, the whetstone in the hand that usually wielded them. Her other hand was long gone, replaced by a hook that resembled a scythe blade.

She only paused and looked up when a griffon came to the broken doorway.

“Iron Claw, that råtta Coin Toss sold us out,” he hissed, talons clenched into a fist.

“Leave him,” Iron Claw replied, going back to sharpening. “The vermin has done his work. It’s that tik I want.”

“So what are your orders?” the griffon asked, fist slowly unclenching.

Iron Claw smiled, looking down to the double barreled BAR that leaned against her stool. The cold smile trailed up to the griffon.

“Let them come. We, and Kriga, will be waiting.”

Author's Note

Dun. Dun. Duuuuuun.

I didn't really have a good title for this chapter - I wanted to convey burning the bush to flush out the varmints and I settled on that. But we got some backstory on the new characters!

Stay tuned next week for the next chapter of Frost and Fire!