Fallout: Equestria – Moomento Mori

Chapter 3: Steady On

Pactum serva.

“Keep the faith.”

–Cicero, Roaman Statezebra

They were waiting when I landed.

I peered through the tinted cockpit glass. The retreating sun cast my sky-tank’s shadow wide like the yawning silhouette of a vicious beast, its jaws gaped to swallow them whole. Their energy rifles shone in the dying light of dusk. Their blue-black armor clashed with the subdued grays and whites of the hangar.

This was it, huh? I suspected I knew what came next. I had been dwelling on it the long flight home.

Two military police stood as I descended the cargo ramp. A further pair guarded the hangar’s entrance. Had they expected me to cut and run? Mirthlessly, I smiled; they wanted an insubordinate. I wasn’t going to give it to them, not the way they wanted.

“Evening, gentlecolts. Week’s shaping up to be an interesting one, huh?” The nerves hid beneath a neutral drawl, dripping boredom. I suspected I had little more than personal dignity at this point.

One, near indistinguishable from his partner, clad in kind, stepped forward. “Captain Ace Molder,” he announced like he was about to begin monologuing. His voice was synthesized. The insectoid eyes of his helmet glowed.

“Are under arrest,” I matched his authority; even cleared my throat for effect. “I figured, officer.”

The scowl it summoned burned clear through his armor. I barely held back a shit-eating grin.

He growled, “Come with us.”

They had stripped my uniform from me. I had nothing but clammy anxiety, suppressed until my thoughts were my sole company. The policepony (I didn’t care to remember him past that) had made a grand display about trial dates and rights and on and on until I’d zoned out. I only cared for the words, “accused of inciting hysteria and multiple homicides.”

I was being pinned for Forthright’s Luna-damned fuck-up.

The cell was cold. Cold in the way that saps more than just comfort. There was a stiff cot, a toilet, and a sink. The floor and ceiling were thick concrete. The usual girder of iron bars made the front. The brig was empty.

Again and again, my thoughts wandered. I’d seen Shock fire. I’d seen those bolts flash the air like flares. I’d seen them vanish behind the buildings that curtained the crowd. I’d retreated–fled. Whether under orders or by my own volition, it didn’t matter.

The guilt ate at my gut, chewed like an acid, made me want to heave.

I closed my eyes. For a brief moment, my breath was slow–calm. The chill of the air, the silence of unoccupied cells, the steady thump of my heart, I drank it all in. Thunder drifted across my mind, tangling himself in ropes of grief and yearning. Being in this cell was doing precisely what I’d dreaded. Every passing second that ached by was one more to take him down. He had warned me about being a danger, and in less than a day I had proved him right.

But what could I have done? Should I have ignored my gut and followed through? Should I have pulled the trigger even if it meant seeing innocent ponies hurt?

I should have slept in.

Time passed uneventfully, marked by a tiny window looking over the clouds. The food was bland. The guard who brought it regarded me with little more than boredom. I spent the time daydreaming of Thunder and fixating on everything that had led me here. The suspense was crippling. The more I sat in that cramped, claustrophobic cell, the more I wanted to bounce off the walls.

It was on the second day that, with the sun peeking its lids over the horizon, two MPs marched in, ordered me up, and dragged my flank down the long, winding corridors of the Judge Advocate General's corp. “Don’t get my phone call?” I quipped. They didn’t answer. Not ones for conversation, I guess.

One of them shoved me through a doorway. With little more than a grunt of “change,” they slammed the doors closed. My ears twitched at the slick click of the lock.

The place was cramped. Scarce. Nothing but a single table with my uniform and a clock on the wall that passed the seconds between 5:10 and 5:11. No seat, not even a magazine to kill time. Typical.

I collected my clothes and, for a span, held them gingerly in my hooves. The black boots reflected their polish in the harsh light. The peaked cap was worn–the emblem in its center was a familiar Enclave flare. The gray uniform and the tan jacket had a weak stain through the right shoulder where wine had spilled–a distant memory of a 20th birthday when my mother had the clarity, and I the stupidity, to celebrate together. This uniform was an evocation, a part of me. I had given my life to the Enclave. I had strived to prove I wouldn’t be like the stallion they thought was a traitor. Yet here I was.

I slipped it on, entertaining the tilt-a-whirl in my head. It was a twirling, dizzying mass of clashing thoughts and seeded panic. In three days, I had been shoved so far into the clouds that I was damn near buried. The only reason I hadn’t fallen into a complete muddle of hysterics was stubborn stoicism and mirthless humor–the two core tenants of every soldier.

The door unlocked, somepony came in and shut it behind them. I was wrestling with the front boots, trying to slip the rubber over my hooves. There was a presence next to me, a gap of space to my left filled by sense and instinctual intuition. The visitor sighed. Their breath rested weakly on my forehooves and hung there, tingling. “You’d think I’d have earned the right to wear parade dress at my own trial. Field kit is a bitch,” I grumbled.

“0600,” Major said.

I regarded her from my place at the table. A wave of simmering anger burbled in my throat. “Your clock must be wrong.” Of all the ponies I expected to brag, she wasn't one of them.

A glint of confusion danced across her brow then slid seamlessly into bemusement. She was dressed prim and proper, collar perfectly folded, stripes and bars flawlessly straight, green mane clean and smelling of aromatic shampoo. Everything about her screamed professional. I wonder how I paired up, three days overdue for a shower and severely lacking patience. “0600,” she repeated, “You have an hour until your court-martial begins.”

Despite it all, my heart fell. I knew what I was facing. But hearing it spoken aloud, ‘my court-martial,’ it filled me with no slight dread. “Helluva an appetizer for a summary case as the main course,” I tried. It hadn’t even left my muzzle and I knew that wasn’t the case. I wasn’t that lucky, not with all this shit.

She blinked, slow and schooled. “You know that’s only for enlisted.”

“A special-court martial? Still over the top for talk back.” My smile matched her facade. I didn’t believe a word I was saying. We both knew the charges and the severity. It wasn’t hope that spun my words, far from it. “I guess that’s why I ain’t JAG, eh?”

A quirked edge, the faint rise of a grin so close to the surface, dampened by Major’s indomitable will. “Ace.”

I blinked.

There was one phrase to describe her: by the book. She never used first names and always addressed with full rank. Yet she’d said mine. It sounded weird on her tongue. What was she getting at? Why the sudden break in character?

My shoulders squared, girded by a narrowed gaze.

“It’s a general court-martial. I’m not going to explain to you what that means.”

Once more, the dread hit and the nausea that followed swirled restlessly.

“You and I both know what happened–the truth. And though I can’t do anything to fix this, I can give you the fairest chance possible, as all should receive.” I could see it in her eyes, that quick-fixing gaze that commanded authority. I was going to receive a little briefing of my own. Despite all the growling, seething anger–the roiling emotion that tumbled about my gut with their molten waves–my admiration and respect grew.

“General Forthright is heading the prosecution; he's obtained special authority to do so by inciting Article 24. Lieutenant Bolt and Gunnery Specialist Force have both made deals to secure their safety. Since this is such a high profile ca-”

“Hold on; Shock did what?!” I snagged on Article 24. By the time my thoughts caught up, I was already talking, “You’re pulling my leg!”

Her silence confirmed the new details. I was left reeling, wanting to sink right back into that murky pit of lethargy and depression. Yet on the same bit, I wanted to rampage through Neighliss until I found that piece of shit general and caved his skull in with my hooves. My best friend, the buck I’d known for damn near two decades, and he was being turned on me by that slimy bastard. And Gale? I couldn’t say I was surprised, but surely she would have heard of the truth. She was crew!

“Only thing worse at this point would be the council presiding.” It was sarcastic. Entirely sarcastic.

Another lapse of silence.

“Oh, stars make me their bitch! No. Fucking. Way.”

“Please refrain from that kind of language, Captain.”

I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it, let out a sound akin to a pathetic groan and a foalish whine, and closed my mouth again. A single word sang through my head: fuck. “Wait, wait, wait”–I mentally slapped myself before I got stuck on repeat– “how in the Goddesses name is this supposed to help me?! Sounds like you’re just listing off every way I’m going to be fucked. Don’t I get a lawyer or something?”

“You did.”

“I did?” I sure as hay couldn’t recall being offered anything but a few glares and the oppressive company of guards.

She raised her wings and dipped her feathers in crude quotations. She repeated her words again. “I am your counsel,” she said afterward, “as little as it may be.”

Grand, just grand. I wasn’t even an underdog at this point; I was mincemeat for top brass. I was a scapegoat. All my efforts were for nothing. “Why? Why come here and risk being seen and charged with ‘collusion’ just to tell me this? If it’s an attempt to showboat, you’ve done a damn bad job at it.” I was angry. I needed a target, something solid, something feasible. The council, the court, and top brass were all a jumble of terms corporeal only in meaning. Major was a tenuous link between all of it.

“You’re going to be charged.”

“Gee, thanks, Maj., didn’t know that. Was it Forthright holding all the cards, or is it because I can't fold!? I’m all in, and my hand is shit!” As was my poker face, it seemed. My rage dripped like sweat. I hadn’t let myself ruminate on the future to the extent it found its way past all of my mental barricades. Not until I accepted that my wings were truly tied and my hooves were near dangling off the edge.

Major fixed me with a scowl, “Let me finish.”

A rushed blast of air from an exhale, with it, the tiniest of melted stress. I nodded at her to continue.

“Two council members will be present. I know that doesn’t change much, but at the very least, it isn’t all six.”–being shot in the head twice wasn’t much better than six times, I thought–“Yes, your cards are…bad, but that doesn’t matter, I came to give you this.”

It was a blank envelope marked only with ‘Ace’ in swirling font. Major's wing shook as I took it. The room was mired in grief, emanating off her in waves. She hadn't begun to realize the part, but the signs were there.

“It’s from my sister,” her voice was hushed. "I found it while I was…" She closed her eyes. A long, slow breath shuddered between gritted teeth. “Just read it, I don’t know of any others with your name.”

My attention fell on the letter within. My heart caught in my throat. The name at the bottom, I knew it. Stars, I fucking knew it. Sweet Celestia.

She was opening the door. A question found itself trapped on my tongue, perhaps the last I'd ever get to ask her. I spat it out, "What is it–your name?"

I was regarded with searching eyes that betrayed her deepest thoughts. She said, with a finality and weight, "Clip. Iron Clip."

Then she was gone.

[✉✉✉]

Dear Ace,

This letter is a precaution should what I fear could happen does. Not long before our paths re-entwined, I encountered somepony with an uncanny knowledge of my fate. They asked that I pass a message onto you. I scarcely believed the request–how could I when they claimed I would meet a pupil I hadn’t seen in 13 or 14 years?–but I did as was asked. As a result of my involvement, they had ‘rewarded’ me with a gleaning of the future: a terrible forewarning of a tragedy that followed another encounter with you.

I’m aware our first meeting in years was strange and, to you, unknown, but I beg for your trust. The Enclave does not take kindly to those on the side of truth and justice, but I will not sacrifice those virtues for my safety. Whatever comes shall come.
Find my associate where we first met.

It is time to confront the truth hidden far below,
Paper Clip

[✉✉✉]

“Oh.” Paper. Miss Clip. They were one and the same. How had I not recognized it sooner? Celestia’s sake, her cutie mark was a stack of papers and a paperclip! How much more blatant could it get?

Guilt crawled across my fur and set itself between my lungs. If I had noticed sooner, maybe things could have been different. I still could’ve ended up here, but perhaps I’d have spared a life.

An uncanny shiver crept up my spine; raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Somepony had told her all of this, her very own death. Somepony who inexplicably knew about me.

That didn't track. Anypony who wasn’t Enclave, let alone a pegasus, would be swarmed before they could get near the clouds. I doubted those old pegasi who called themselves ‘mystics’ could tell the future by throwing torn-out feathers into a bowl of water. Maybe it was some kind of voodoo unicorn magic.

What if she was lying?

The thought occurred, and I toyed with it for a while, enough for the time to drip away like drizzle. Major could be setting me up. Forged the note to toy with me. Maybe she was Paper’s sister, and perhaps she really did want to help but could only forge a false letter for…what? Hope? Relief?

Try as I might convince myself this was all counterfeit, I couldn’t. I had experienced this long ago. Seconds before my dad ran, when my vision shuddered as I entered the living room, and everything felt wrong. My stomach dropped, blood rushed to my ears. The world slipped into startling clarity. I knew something was off–that deep, primal recognition layered in the subconscious psyche. I could taste the dry night, feel the stillness upon my fur, smell the suspense in the air, see it unravel.

When my father burst through the door, panting and sweaty and eyes afire, it was deja vu.

They came soon after.

Like executioners they stood, one holding the door while two waited in the hall. The letter was hidden securely in an inner pocket. I was torn between two paths, one of fiery scorn at the injustice and another of holding myself high, going down with a sense of pride. Divided, I did neither but walk quietly.

My new ‘friends’ and I arrived in a concrete rotunda lacking all but the simplest decor. The space was circular, centered by a round pillar set under a rising skylight. A flat metal mesh dangled below. A bank of cloud terminals, shaped like mini cumulonimbus, ringed the column. Their low buzz accompanied the humdrum of a wingful of guards and personnel scattered about. Some began to stare. I noticed the old look, but it had a new zeal, one of arrogant assurance and righteous indignation. How many knew of the massacre? How many knew what really happened? If civilians had caught wind, I wouldn’t have been here. I’d be listening to the jeers of a riled crowd from within a courthouse cell.

I didn’t know whether the realization was good or bad. The military didn’t play its hand to the public until it needed to.

An officer noticed my retinue and approached a terminal. A moment passed as he tapped the keys and scrunched his nose at the screen. Eventually, he pointed to a door on the right. The lead policepony knocked. A silence gathered.

I fidgeted; forced myself to stare straight. Eyes burned into my back. If whatever the fuck was meant to happen didn’t happen soon, my coat was going to start smoking.

The stagnant seconds stretched to minutes.

Eventually the door whispered as one of my captors, fed up with no reply, pressed his weight against it, wrestling the counterweight that let it swing closed. It was an easy effort, and once more, they jostled me through.

The room was the type of bland place I imagined brass would meet. A long conference table, business cushions, a litany of terminal screens hooked into the same feed, and those office walls with the texture of sheared fur. I had thought the endless concrete hallways were depressing. This took it to a whole new level.

Two of the guards escorted me the length of the room and sat me at the ass end of the table. I guess they didn’t trust me enough to refrain from leaping at General Forthright when he came through the door. That was understandable. I didn’t either.

They retreated after, settling into their posts on either side of the door. The apparent leader let it swing closed and did whatever his type did after a transfer. I settled into a lumpy cushion. Once again, I was waiting at another table for shit to happen. There wasn’t even a clock this time.

I was distinctly uncomfortable. Two cameras winked red at me. What kind of place was this? Why here?

Two rapid knocks. The guards straightened—turned about-face. The left executed a column right. The right followed with a column left. They both faced perpendicular to the entrance and snapped a wing in salute. Their Novasurge rifles hummed as the barrels pulled up. They were standing at full attention.

It opened, and through the threshold marched six ponies clad head to hoof in pitch black power armor. Red tiger stripes slashed the length of their body. Their wings were crowned with a crimson flare–an excited beam of energy sharpened to a knife’s edge. Their rifles weren’t standard. They glowed a sickly scarlet that dripped, sizzling into nothing as it fell. Somehow, these dudes carried weaponry that leaked light like stars-damned liquid.

They moved in sync. Two took the guards’ positions, and as the latter marched out, their heads turned in compliment to somepony at the edge of the frame. Two moved halfway down the room and halted with a practiced click of their hooves. The final pair made for me. I braced for a hit, but it never came. Instead, they passed and stood back to the wall. Somehow that was worse.

They settled quickly, growing as still as statues. Not a single shift in stature. I could feel the two behind me, keenly aware of whatever the hay their kit was and how close they were to my flank. I think one could crush my skull with ease if they tried. A small part of me, an anxious, ever pessimistic part, squeaked that they were indeed here to do just that. But why, I thought to myself, they’d ruin the lovely walls? And the fancy business cushions!

Somehow, the ultra spec-ops death squad wasn’t the thing that worried me. They were just there to guard a cargo. To provide an escort. To ensure no harm and no fouls. There was a soldier’s saying: don’t give a fuck about the dog, worry about the owner. I didn’t like what I saw on the other end of the leash.

She was dressed in a smart black suit. Her mane was a glossy chocolate hue pulled up into a respectable bun. Her coat was a sharp, shining bronze. Her face was wizened with age and experience. A pair of piercing eyes found mine and stuck. The pupils within narrowed so thinly they looked like the gaze of a serpent. They tunneled their way into my soul and latched there with a humiliating bite. I broke contact first.

He was attired suitably the same, but where she radiated an iron poise, he was calmer. He looked genial, observant. Relaxed. His attention fell on me, and a frown found its way to his lips. His turquoise coat was matte where hers was offensive. His silver mane was cut short, but it matched his eyes. He was older than her, more experienced. He didn’t need her nature to command respect.

If I were into older bucks, I’d think he was pretty hands-

She cleared her throat. I minced the thought. We met each other again in an uncomfortable staring contest as she sat. Even with the distance between us, they were too close.

But there was more to the fun, it seemed. In came General Forthright followed closely behind by Shock and Gale. I stewed in silent rage. I was stuck in a room with two of the most powerful ponies in the Enclave, a piggy-fuck general, and a crew that had seen fit to condemn me.

“One hell of a high-stakes game, huh?” I managed weakly.

Forthright growled, Gale glared, She Scowled, He raised a brow. Shock, dipping his head low, hid a smile. A good reception, all things considered. I hadn’t gotten hit for it.

“Ace, it's been some time.” Her voice was dry, bone dry. “You’ve grown.” Classy. First meeting in years and she opens with that.

“You’re still playing dress-up?” The last time I had seen her, she was donning the corpse of my mother’s hard-fought position.

“You will not speak to councilmare Intel like tha-” Forthright was silenced. He zipped his muzzle shut, and Mrs. Intel’s wing retracted. The general kept communicating, though his eyes did a lousy job carrying his words.

She pressed her hooves together. Her lips pursed. I could see it, the cogs revolving ever onward. Mercifully, she spared me a retort. “Captain Ace Molder of the 6th armored cavalry corp, the charges of 33 counts of consecutive homicide and deliberate incitement of mass panic have been levied against you.” She said it as if it was nothing. As if this was just procedure.

“As Captain Ace Molder is deemed the instigator, later counts of homicide in the ensuing disorder, accidental or with intent, or whether at the hooves of Enclave military personnel or civil rioting, are to be added to the charges. Due to the high-profile nature of this indictment, article 24 has been invoked. The commander of the units operating during the mission will be designated a provisional judge for the case’s duration. Two council members will be presiding over the trial, pursuant to the Enclave’s uniform code of military justice. All such accusations, evidence, and investigation towards the concurrent case can be located in priority case log: 222. The respective participants will now state their name and rank.”

I was stunned into silence. No words could describe how fucked I was. A single thought ran through my head: sleaze. Mrs. Intel was a sleaze, a liar, a bitch, and any insult I could find to throw at her and wish I was telepathic. She was sitting next to the stallion responsible for all of this and droned on about how, in bureaucratic terms, absolutely Celestia damned, Luna-fucked stars-screwed I was. I thought I detected the hint of a smirk on her lips.

They sounded off.

“Judge; Major General Forthright, Enclave Regional Aerospace Defense .”

“Presiding first council member; Stormfront.”

“Presiding second council member; Intel.”

Stormfront said, “We will hear the testimony of those that came forward.” Yeah, as if Shock chose to come forward. You could see it in his eyes. He looked at me with this pleading, sorrowful stare that said everything yet nothing at all. He was as scared as a colt learning to fly. “We will first hear from the mare. Please state your name.”

Gale stood and went through the whole name and rank thing. She told them everything, about her protest of the mission and knowing something was going to go wrong. The premise was too absurd to even consider. How I ignored her. How I had ordered her unfit for duty. How she was barred from the operation.

The welling slew of emotions cooled. She sounded genuinely honest. Not malicious, not cruel, nor taking pleasure in watching me squirm. You could see it in her eyes. She believed every word she was saying, and her ardent pursuit reflected in her voice. By the time she sat down, exhausted of all answers and unable to say anything more of value, she seemed satisfied. I had expected my disgust of her to burn my throat, but instead, in its place was choking despair. For her sake, I hope she never learned the truth.

“Please state your name clearly, second testifier.”

Shock was up to the plate. He looked lost; gazed at the table blankly.

“Lieutenant,” Forthright said. I fixed him with a glare. Fuck this dude.

Gale nudged him. Shock jolted, startled, “Huh, oh uh yeah, e’right.” He stood, but it lacked vivacity. Strands of mane swept across his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, or preened his feathers, or washed. It was like someone had loaded him up with a spiker then left him to drop. I imagined that if I stepped closer, I’d be able to smell the alcohol on his tongue, judging from the way Mrs. Intel’s nose wrinkled. “Ah’m, uh.” He collected himself or tried to at least, “This is, Lieutenant Shock bolt of tha’ 6th armored cavalry corp.”

“Good, now please recount the story you told us.” The councilmare had regained her composure. She waited expectantly.

He was a drunk in the carriage lights.

When his attention held on me, pleading silently for something, anything to fix this, I could do nothing but observe. I realized then that I wasn’t getting out of this. Not if I wanted him spared the anguish. I mean, I knew before, yeah, but it was like when Major dropped the news of the court-martial. There's a difference between knowing and recognizing.

Shock began to speak a lie.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. We appreciate your honesty and time. Your sense of justice and dedication to the truth is admirable,” Mrs. Intel said when he had finished. It was rubbing salt in the wound and sand in the eyes. It made my blood boil.

My friend nodded, stiff and shaky. He sat.

Stormfront clapped his hooves on the conference table. “Now, with the testimonies complete, and the evidence supplied and presented in priority case log: 222–all judiciaries will now indicate the status of their examination,” they each said ‘Aye’ “–then with confirmation, we will now adjourn briefly for a recess, followed by a deliberation. That is unless the accused would like a moment to defend themselves.”

The smirk that’d been slowly lifting itself along Forthright’s muzzle broke. Mrs. Intel was more reserved, but the way she shifted, an ear twitching, a flash of something dangerous along the contours of her face, this was news to her.

She started, “Councilstallion Stormfront, you are aware tha-”

“Yes, Intel, I am.” He didn’t turn to acknowledge her; he kept his focus on me. I took note of the lack of formality. “But procedure dictates, even in the event of a high-security case, the defendant may choose to argue against the charges.”

I considered it. I thought I’d be sitting here listening to ponies speak about my non-existent crimes and be spared any chance of justice. Sure, I could’ve spoken up, but then it’d be more ammunition for them to use in whatever deceitful tape they were probably recording. I suspected it wasn’t a coincidence my ‘judges’ sat below the cameras.

"Yes, sir, I would like to contest." I didn’t want to hurt Shock, but I needed some way to guarantee Thunder would be okay. I hadn’t a clue what I was going to do, but I’d always been a sucker for quick thinking.

“All right, we will recess then hear your defense.” Forthright and Stormfront stood, the former red in the face. The latter began to usher Shock and Force out. There was a fleeting glance my way before my squadmate disappeared through the door.

Mrs. Intel stretched her neck and raised a hoof to trace a circle in the air. The red light beneath the cameras cut. The souped-up pony-in-a-cans filed out without a word.

It was just the councilmare and I. The puzzles of my batshit plan were crammed together helter-skelter. My hand was bad, real bad, but Stormfront had unwittingly dealt me another card. It was shit, but half the skill in poker was psychological. Fake it until you make it, baby! I just had to find a way to spice up the pot, give her the win without losing Shock or Thunder.

I made the first bet. “Stormfront doesn’t know the truth, does he?”

She studied me.

“The only reason you’re not dead and incinerated is because of your mother. She pulled all her little spider strings together to make her web.”

“So he’s an old friend?”

It had become a stand-off, “She knew it was inevitable yet she did it anyway.”

“So, what? Cooked this up from the start? Didn’t expect the wildcard?” No plan survived first contact with the enemy, another soldier’s saying.

“Oh. No, this was the General’s fuck-up, impressive as seconds go, considering the magnitude of his first. I just happened to catch his messy way of trying to clean things up. Then I found you tangled in this web.”
Bingo. I had found purchase, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t trying to entice me. I was wary of time. Any moment they could return, and out the window went my plan. Curiosity had a hell of a bite, though. I had to risk it. ”And what would the first be?”

She smiled. It was detached. The light never had the chance to reach her eyes. “He oversees E.R.A.D. You’re a smart buck. You connect the dots.”

I squinted, confused. ERAD was responsible for the defense of Grand Pegasus, but what did tha- “No way.” In the span of a single statement, everything slid into place. Forthright’s dogged compulsion, the reason I’d been framed, why I was so important in taking down Thunder, The Enclave’s biggest boon had been stolen right under Forthright’s snout. This wasn’t a power play, he was scrambling, trying for anything to fix his mistake.

“Ah, so you do know.” It wasn’t a question.

In my surprise, I’d let the act drop. I’d inadvertently confirmed I knew about the SPP crisis. It bolstered her hand, and she acted on it without pause, “Just how exactly did you learn that? Was it from a certain Lieutenant-colonel? I’ve heard the general has identified him as a prime suspect.”

The rope tightened. A growl rumbled in my throat, and fury flashed bright like lightning. I held myself still. “Be careful with what you say next.”

She waved her wing at me as if I was being blasé.

“The general and I have a mutual goal, though he’s going about it somewhat…” she paused, whether for effect or to find the word I didn’t know, “...unconventionally.”

“He’s jeopardized the whole of the Enclave!”

She cocked her head and pinned me with this soft gaze. It was like I was a little foal who was so close to understanding the bigger picture. Amusement assaulted her lips. I heard condescension, inexplicably saw pity. “Oh, Ace,” her voice was soft. She shook her head so slowly.

If only you knew, her eyes said. “He’s a means to an end.”

An end that had been gathering since my father jumped ship.

“I’ll spill my guts to your partner.”

That gave her pause. She regarded me. “And what do you think that would do? He’s not liable to believe you.”

“I don’t need him to. If I tell my side of the story, you think he won’t pursue those leads out of procedure? You hadn’t expected him to offer an ear to my side of the story. Do you really want to risk it?”

There was no retort, and I filled the interim with reasoning to seal the play. Luna-damn was this bluff dangerous. One slip up and I was fucked. “Every day after will be one step closer to the truth. You can't expect every pegasus to keep quiet. Something will come out. And if you kill me? Won’t that look suspicious? How many days do you think you’ll get before you’re found out?”

She was calculating, mulling over every option, considering the best way to come out on top. I could see the question on her face, the way she struggled to suppress a smile. There was a cliche there, desperately trying to remain hidden.

I grinned. “And if you think you can have your cake and eat it too, you’re dead wrong. Break the promise, and the very lieutenant who testified will be the one to reveal the web. You can't dispose of him if you want to share this ‘triumph of justice’ with the public. Mighty suspicious if something happens to the crown colt, the stallion of the hour, the one who brought down the big bad Ace.” There were so many holes she could poke her feathers through. They could frame Shock, doctor the footage, let Forthright fuck over Thunder anyway, and there’d be little I could do to assure otherwise. It was hope that held the strings tight. I wasn’t going to drop the act until I managed to drag a guarantee out of this.

There was a lick of admiration in her voice when she spoke, “I’m impressed, nephew, you’ve gotten cunning.”

If she expected me to preen at that, she was sorely mistaken.

“Thought you dropped that word after you fucked over your sister.”

“For old times sake.” She shrugged, “If you acquiesce, I’ll make sure your precious stallion stays safe. I recognize good points when I hear them.”

For Thunder’s sake, I prayed that was true.

Mrs. Intel clapped her hooves. The cameras flipped back on.

As if on cue, the door opened. The councilmare settled into her calm, poised demure. The others filed in, Shock and Gale missing.

The stallions sat, and Stormfront began where he left off, “Before the recess, the accused requested to argue against the charges. We will now give him the floor.”

I caught Mrs. Intel’s gaze. For a moment, I considered recanting my promise just to fuck with her. But I wasn’t going to risk it, not if it compromised our tenuous agreement. “I have nothing to say, sir.”

“You seemed to five minutes ago.” Stormfront raised a brow.

“I changed my mind, councilstallion, sir.”

He squinted and spent a silent moment of consideration.

“If…that is the case, then I suppose we’ll move on to sentencing.” He looked to Forthright, then to Mrs. Intel. “Considering nothing new has been presented, the general and I have reached a verdict. With your prior judgment, councilmare–provided you don’t have any new objections to it–the decision is unanimous.”

“And when would the date be?” She inquired politely

“Tomorrow, Mrs. Intel,” Forthright said. Her eyes fell upon him and he withered. Good, at least I knew she’d make him miserable as long as she held that ‘favor.’ There was a macabre satisfaction in that. A shame I wouldn’t be around to see it.

The councilmare turned. A thin, strained smile curled along the curve of her lips. It piqued at the edges. I knew the verdict before it even left her mouth.

"The acting jury and judges have seen fit to reach an undisputed verdict. Captain Ace Molder has been found guilty of all accusations leveled against him. This court has deemed his execution as recompense. Celestia bless the Enclave."

Footnote: Level up!

New Perk:
Cantankerous Compulsion – You just can't help but be mouthy! While in dialogue, you can choose to be more argumentative, uncooperative, or temperamental. Doing so may unlock particular paths and options previously inaccessible. However, be warned; some may want to shut you up!