Night in Crystal City

I refreshed my memory with the spell book while eating my simple breakfast. Then I headed off to the mines, joining the march of beleaguered faceless workers on the way out of the city.

I got my pickaxe and hardhat and reported to my finger of the mine, my own little endless project where I moved the wall and the minecart tracks got longer behind me. But alone in the dark was just where I wanted to be.

I took one swing at the wall using my magic and glanced back over my withers. As usual, nopony there. I'd forged a valuable reputation of quiet subservience. A pony who worked his job, spoke very little, never complained or acted out and thus I required minimal supervision. Underling of the year.

I shot a magical blade at the wall which dispersed in a blink on impact. I lit up my horn to add to the lantern light and squinted at the rock wall. There was a noticeable scratch in the stone. I just needed to keep practicing.

"Make with the digging, Moon," growled an unseen guard from up the tunnel. He'd noticed the silence from my corner. C'mon, I just barely got here, I thought.

I obliged him and began waving my pickaxe at the wall. I worked earnestly for a couple more minutes, building up a pile of rubble in front of me. I looked behind once more to make sure I was still alone and then began shooting blades at the wall one after another right at the spot I was mining.

As I began building up the neural pathways in my brain, the cuts in the wall became deeper and deeper. Eventually it appeared that I'd reached the threshold of practicality. I floated a hoof sized rock into the air and attacked it with my ethereal razor. It cleaved in two like an orange in a guillotine. I grinned at the halves before letting them drop to the floor. What a satisfying result.

I checked my six again and continued experimenting. I sliced rocks in two as I floated them in the air. I tossed rocks in the air and sliced them in two before they hit the ground. It was so slick and effective… and addictive. I battered the wall with a continuous staccato of blades while simultaneously chipping with the pickaxe. Not that I cared but I bet this made me a more efficient worker, the magic softening up the stone for the pick. I began altering the blades, making them slightly larger than their somewhat diminutive default size.

Suddenly on my backswing, I heard a metallic clang. I looked down on the floor and saw the tip of my pick under the glow of my horn. I levitated the tool I was still wielding, up to my face to see that one end had been sheared clean off about half way up. Oops. This spell was legit though. If it was enough for rocks and iron, it was enough for flesh and bone.

I had to stop now and go through equipment protocol or I'd be in trouble. I took the busted tool and plodded back to where my tunnel joined the main branch of the level. I was immediately accosted by a mind controlled earth pony guard.

"What's the deal?" he grunted.

"My pickaxe broke." I levitated it in between us.

He intercepted the tool with his hooves and looked it over closely. The 'break' looked oddly clean, almost as if I had smoothed it down flat with a grinding wheel. His eyes flicked up at me. "Got another end doesn't it?" he argued.

I shrugged. "Just reporting it. It is weaker and off balance now though."

"Come with me," he grumbled.

I followed the stallion up the tracks of the main tunnel through a constellation of miners to the central elevator shaft. The slatted door clattered as he rolled it to the side. We got on and the lift screeched upward toward the surface. As we reached the very next level, the car unexpectedly lurched to a halt. I heard a heated exchange and then the door rolled open. Sand Cast, without his hard hat, stumbled inside from an apparent shove. He crashed into the back wall and collapsed. He had a magic inhibitor locked around his head and the base of his horn.

Two unicorn guards entered, one of which immediately sprang on Sand, stomping and pummeling him in the corner while the other shut the door again and hit the up button. My companion did not flinch or even acknowledge their presence.

I kept facing ahead at the scrolling rock face but tried to look out of the corner of my eyes as Sand groaned and cried for mercy amid meaty thuds and cracks. The freight elevator was slow but this was unsurprisingly the longest ride I’d ever experienced on it.

"Enough,” chided the other guard, flipping closed a floating lighter and exhaling smoke. “You're making a mess and he needs to have enough brains left for questioning."

Now quivering limp on his side, Sand’s speech slurred as he drooled blood on the floor. "Please, I didn't do anything. I can't leave my kids."

The first guard kicked him again in the rib, planted a hoof on his neck and pushed. “Save it for the White Caps.”

Sand continued to cry and sputter wetly as the guard pressed him into the metal floor

I knew this guy from back in Canterlot; Thornwick was his name. His weird burgundy coat makes him easily recognizable. He's also a complete psycho and that’s exactly why he keeps becoming a guard. I had him fired and court martialed for doing this exact same shit under my command. Of course he hated me for it, Shining Armor, that is. My worst fear was that he might somehow recognize me if I let him look at me long enough. Needless to say, I made a point to stay the hell out of his path.

There was no way I could abide by his actions as his commanding officer but I had a solid case for doing absolutely nothing about it at this moment. I could save Sand Cast for now. I could fight the lot of them and win before we reached the surface but then what? My identity would be burned and we'd both be on the run and how would that ultimately help Sand’s family anyway?

Even though I could soundly rationalize my inaction, I couldn't remember a time in my life where I'd been more ashamed of myself. I never would have stood by and let this happen before and yet I was too afraid to even look back and spare him a piteous look.

Blinding sunlight pierced through the slats of the door and the smoking mare pushed it open. Sand Cast coughed and gagged. I stepped out of the lift, feigning callous disinterest in the senseless brutality while guilt and sadness were eating away at my insides.

I went with my guard to the equipment shed and he passed the broken tool to the equipment monger who further scrutinized it before filling out a small report. Then I got a new old pickaxe and we returned to the elevator.

A trail of crimson drips now dotted the dirty snow outside the doors and inside were hoofprints and a pool of blood which no one had dealt with yet. Even if it got cleaned up, I'd still see it every day but what’s one more intrusive thought? I knew I'd be reminded of this moment, this lapse of integrity, every time I used the elevator and I'd have the same awful tug of war in my head where Shining Armor always lets go of the rope.