Sirens rang loudly throughout the city. Rain battered the streets like a widow crying at her husband's funeral. In a low end of the metropolis, Manehatten, sat a motel with deplorable upkeep. You sat on the bed in room 26 .The room illuminated by the pink neon sign outside the window. On the nightstand sat an glass ashtray with a mountain of ash and cigarette butts piled high, a steady stream of grey smoke rising from the hill.

Hunched over in the sitting position on the edge of the mattress you cradled you face in your hands. Clad in your boxers, you peeked between your fingers over at your small mass of clothes in the floor. Blue jeans, grey v-neck t-shirt, brown scuffed up biker boots, a roughed up walnut brown leather jacket , and atop the pile sat you helmet that would accommodate the shape of a pony's head rather than yours. Peering towards the window, you watched light pink Watters dots hit the window and gently glide down the glass pane, creating a light symphony akin to marching.

As you pull your hands down from your face you , you feel the pricks of your growing stubble against your fingers. Letting out a sigh you lay down on the bed, the sound of springs compressing breaking the silence in the room. All you feel aside from the numbing melancholic emotion filling your head is the aching in your arms and torso. Reflecting on the events of the night, images flash in your mind as your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Til finally, sleep overtakes your senses.

Images of your fists colliding with a pony's muzzle and flurries of punches being thrown your way crawl through your dreams as you slumber. The last thing to happen is you smashing another pony thugs face into a light post. Then you awake to the morning sun's rays shining in your face. You grumble slightly and roll over to avoiding the blinding light. You can't help but think to yourself "why don't I just show myself to these horse people." You sit up after a moment, while looking out the window then say.
"Cause they'll think I'm a monster, a freak even."
Rising to your feet, you stretch your arms out, hearing every pop and crack of your bones. The injuries of the night prior still feeling fresh. Dark purple spots dotted your torso from the beatting you were given. But those ponies robbing a convenience store got off far worse than you. You grab the TV remote out of the drawer in the nightstand, clicking the power buttom, bringing the TV to life. Hearing the local news while getting dressed seemed like a good idea before you moved to a different location to rest an work on your bike.

The hum of TV fades as you slip your clothes on. Looking down at your jeans, you see various holes and tears from the night before. Thinking to yourself that you should get new pants so the habitants of the city don't stare and get curious about you. The news station reporter explains about a robbery that occurred last night at the hours of 11:30 pm.

* the robbery was committed by three assailants, one of which had escaped before police could detaine him, til the night rider struck and stopped them in theyre tracks.*

The news station began to showcase footage of the store clerk being interviewed. The pony was a young mare with a pink coat, orange mane, brown eyes, and wearing a green t-shirt with what apeared to be a DJ Pon3 logo on it. A red headline at the bottom of the screen in bright white lettering, read Sunrise Peach. "One second the store is being robbed, the next i see the group of theives are having a brawl with only what, I can only assume is a colt in a leather coat and a motorcycle helmet. After the fight was over, the mysterious colt ran off." The channel swapped back to the news studio after the statement.

*who is this pony? Why is he doing the job of our police? Tonight we'll take a deep dive on the subject with Manehatten's chief of police, Bronze Badge, tonight at 9*

"Night Rider?"
You grimace after saying your given title, you never liked it, felt too comic bookish. Grabbing your helmet in both of your hands and quickly place it over your head to conceal your identity. Slipping black leather gloves on before you exit your room. A light rain falls on the street, cars roll down the road. Puddles disturbed by various tires on the way towards they're destination. After exiting the building your eyes fall upon your bike. Scratches run along its side, revealing silver streeks on a fogged black body. The front headlight scracked, looking like a spiders web. You groan in frustration while mounting your ride. You shouldn't have fled the scene last night in such a hurry, probably wouldn't have rammed into a fire hydrant. Turning the key in the starter, the engine roars to life, then a gentle hum reverberates through your body.

The throttle rolls back and the tires spring to life in a spinning frenzy. You speed down the road hitting twists and turns sharply heading for your hide away on the other side of the city. Hours pass as the wind whips around your body, hand clenched down on the throttle.

On the south side of the city, groups of wherehouse buildings stand near the docks. Sounds of seaguls and waves gently crashing against stone could be heard. You pull into one of the vacant buildings, parking near a table with tools and parts to replace any that might have broken due to your endeavors. The room is empty all but your workbench and an old couch with a pillow and blanket taking up space. After turning the bike off, you saunter over to the couch, and promptly plop down onto the worn sunken in cushion. You pluck the helmet off of your head and sit it down beside you. Pulling out a cell phone, checking the news had become a frequent habit of yours, in order to hear the latest crimes or if the ponies are any close to figuring out any of your whereabouts.

Article after article, all you see is news of the robbery last night and adds for various foods and dating sights. Eventually your eyes fall upon a headline, that reads * Chief of MHPD, promises to find and aprehend the Night Rider*. You huff lightly while placing a cigarette in your mouth, lighting it promptly. Scanning through the paragraphs, lines stating tat what you do is unjust, and immoral. You roll your eyes at that one. Clicking the phone screen off, you take your jacket off, you lay down while pulling the cigarette from your mouth. A trail of smoke leaves your lips and nostrils. The cushions of the couch sink lower as you lay down to get more rest before you patrol the dark streets.

The engine of your bike sounds off, making you smirk. Comparing it to a devil screaming or an angel singing. The lamp post's lights flashing overtop of you. Rounding a street corner you see a mare get pulled into an alley. Applying the breaks, the bike glides gracefully to a screeching halt. Scilently you beat your feet against the concrete sidewalk, making your way towards the alleyway. Poked your head around the corner, you see two figures struggling til one hits the ground. The one standing having a more masculine form than the other. A gleaming metal object flashes in the larger figures hand. This causes your adrenaline to rush, triggering your reflexes. Dashing down the narrow alley you bring an arm up and bawl your gloved hand into a fist.
The punch connects, cracking across the stranger's face. Your other fist plunging into his gut with a loud thud. The colt, with a blue coat, long sweat coated purple mane. He wore sweatpants and a dirty white tanktop. Clutched in his hand was a purse and in the other a switch blade. You quickly recognized him as one of the colts from before. He grits his teeth and rushes you, tackling you to the ground. He takes advantage of your lowered guard and plunges the knife in your side. The sharp pain shoots through your body. You can't help but let out a yell of pain, feeling the cold steel in your flesh. The colt pulls it out and prepares to thrush it back to draw more blood. The figure on the ground jumps up and shoves the colt off of you, slamming him against the brick wall of the building. You now see it's a mare, but the details are hard to tell, due to your blurred vision. Hastily getting to your feet, you slam your knee into the colts muzzle before he has a moment to recouperate. Teeth crack an shatter causing his mouth to gush blood. Causing his screams of pain to be muffled. You stagger back against the adjacent wall. Holding your side tightly, looking down to see your blood stained shirt and crimson coated hand. Your senses fade as you feel hands grab your shoulder pulling you out of the alley. Your eyes blink rapidly,fighting the urge to pass out. Words faintly echo in your head an you focus on putting one foot infront of the other.

"Fucking move!"

Author's Note

Taking another shot back at writing a story, been more than a few years. Please feel free to leave feedback. Any and all criticism is appreciated, I hope you've enjoyed what I've written thus far.