Hitting the hay, I awoke the next day to find a can of something that thankfully, wasn't hay. After swallowing the preserved meat trapped within its tin prison, I chugged another water bottle, did my business, and headed out. By then maneuvering through the junkyard was second nature, and I easily snuck past the distracted owner of the place who was taking apart a rusted engine block.

“Stars above this is difficult,” he muttered as I sneaked by. “This fancy spark plug better be worth all this effort.”

I wished him the best in his endeavor and continued on, sticking to the shadows while winding my way eastward. As I moved, I noted there were thirteen days until this big meeting, and I had yet to get anywhere in my investigation. I needed to find out who was in the right, who was more manipulatable, and the full story behind the split.

Thankfully I now had a lead, though it wasn't a big one, it was at least, a start.

With that in mind, I headed out into the day, intent on locating the establishment my assistant mentioned, only to end up in a bit of a traffic jam. Two carts, one motorized, one not had struck one another in the middle of a busy intersection, causing dozens of creatures to end up arguing. The guard was present, and attempting to get a handle on things but they were outnumbered three to one by bitter, aggrieved parties on the verge of throwing hands in the street.

With winged creatures flying overhead, little cover, and the fake sun beaming down on us, there were few shadows deep enough to hide me. There was a chance I could still sneak by, maybe even cause a distraction to help me in this, but the more tempting option was also the easiest. Simply waiting posed no chance of potential issues, and it was only a matter of time before things got sorted so it wasn't like I’d get stuck there all day.

I decided to listen in, and learn what I may, but was disappointed that I couldn't hear much over the general clamor. When I did catch snippets of conversation it was mostly just people complaining, or shouting insults at one another. Annoyed, but undeterred, I waited until the guard received reinforcements, and were hopefully able to get traffic flowing once more.

This took over two hours.

During this time they almost came to blows a half dozen times, with only a few calm voices keeping things from turning violent. Still, I was glad to see them all begin to move once more, and the guard depart, but I was a bit pissed that they had taken so long. It was clear from this brief interaction that they didn't consider the people of the underplate to be a high priority. They likely had few people to spare, and fewer still with the diplomatic know-how to keep things from boiling over.

“I didn't even catch any interesting gossip,” I muttered as I slipped down a side road, hiding in the shadow of a primitive car resembling a slightly more rounded model T. “Did learn a few new swears though.”

That wasn't exactly a benefit I could mention to my assistant and only current team member but it was still kinda funny.

Hornhead, dirt licker, feather brain, and other insults like it were obvious racial slurs but ponies spat them with such little venom. Sure, telling someone their mother was a dirt-licking mud pony was still cruel but there wasn't great a history there. As I contemplated the interchange between oppression and insults, I worked my way eastward with only the vaguest sense of where I was going.

The eastern fringe of Grey Shield territory was a good indicator, but I also had no idea who held what territory. It wasn't like they raised flags over the areas they controlled, and I couldn't just ask someone for directions. The best I was capable of was to see if there were grey shields around, and if so, if there was a bar called The Copperhead.

I snagged some snacks from a vendor who wasn't paying attention and yoinked a bottle of water from the bag of a weary traveler along the way. Unfortunately other than some sustenance, I didn't locate anything of note, not even a bit of useful information. Hours were spent going from one tiny cluster of homes to another, my non-existent ears trained for any mention of my destination.

After spending almost the entire day looking without success, I overheard something interesting.

“-The Copperhead,” whispered a voice.

Perking up, I turned back, glancing at a small group of hooligans I had passed a few seconds earlier. Numbering at a paltry six, they didn't look that intimidating at first glance, but then I looked again. They were tall, well built, and mostly pegasi, though there was an earth pony and a unicorn in their ranks. They also carried weapons of a wide variety like baseball bats, knives, and probably other concealed items that I couldn't see.

“That's where we’re going? Isn't that Grey Shield territory?” asked a towering female earth pony.

“Don't worry,” stressed the first speaker. “We have a contact on the inside. They’ll meet us at the edge of town, and bring us to where the deal is going down.”

“I don't like this,” muttered another of their group. “How do we know this isn't some kind of set up?”

“We’ve done pickups here dozens of times. It's not a setup newbie,” retorted the leader.

“But to pay them that much though? Red eye sells but what are the margins here? Like, ten percent?” Added another.

“It's not about the product or the profit. It's about getting an in,” the more dominant of the group whispered, leaning in close. “Our contact is about to come out on top between those two feuding morons and when they do, they’ll be allies of us, the Azure Ocean.”

“Ooooh that's brilliant,” added another.

“I know it is, so just shut up, keep your hands on that briefcase, and don't ask any more stupid questions. We’re already gonna be late due to Cumulus over there stopping to take a shit every ten minutes,” spat the male.

“I told you I ate something weird the other day. You’re the one that said I should come anyway,” whined a nasally young female.

“That's because I need your magic, now shut up and keep walking. We got a schedule to keep,” demanded the leader.

Sure enough, they grouped back up and started heading south.

I was tempted to follow them, to find out who their contact was, but they were not heading in the correct direction. It may have been a bad idea to ignore them, but my reasoning was sound, I thought to myself. I had a goal, a destination, and getting distracted with side quests wouldn't help me, not while I had something more important to do anyway.

This confidence in my decision-making lasted for another few hours. Then, with exhaustion creeping in and evening turning to night, I made the decision to head back home. I was hungry, thirsty, and defeated.

“I really should have asked Pursey for directions when I had the chance,” I muttered.

As I headed back to the junkyard I had claimed as my base of operations, I took some solace in gathering a bit of intel. If Azure Ocean was seeking an alliance with the soon-to-be-unified Grey Shields, then their rivals, the Crimson Dawn likely doing the same. Given this information, it was safe to assume that one or both had likely already chosen a side and were actively working to help one.

I slithered into the rusted hulk where I slept and noticed that a table had been set for me. There were a dozen cans of tuna, a few more of beans, and a full waterskin along with a note.

“Let's see here…” I muttered, picking up the small piece of paper. “Sorry, I couldn't make it. Went back to work early. Gonna work as many doubles as I can in preparation. If you have any questions or whatever, leave a note here and I’ll pick it up when I can. Will bring by more supplies soon.”

“That's nice of her. Oh wait, there’s more,” I exclaimed, turning it over. “P.S., The Copperhead is in a small unnamed town built inside, The Cage. It's just south of the Vindicator Aerospace plant. You’re welcome.”

“She already knows me so well,” I remarked aloud, somewhat bitterly. “How unfortunate.”

Bitter, and a bit defeated, I slithered into what amounted to my bed and fell quickly to sleep.

I awoke once more, painfully aware of the time I was losing. Twelve days to essentially hijack an entire organization was not exactly a ton of time, heck most projects in university allowed for at least two full weeks. With that in mind, I took care of my bodily requirements and set off, all but sprinting through my brief morning routine.

Hitting the streets once more, I headed off in search of this strange plant that Pursey had mentioned. Thankfully I had left relatively early. So early in fact that the sun had barely risen, and few people had stirred. This was convenient, as I still hadn't quite figured out this place, and maneuvering through the endless piles of trash wasn't easy.

Following Pursey’s directions, I made my way down to where I assumed this vindicator plant was located. This time I actually found what I was looking for, as the large sign atop the five-story tall factory indicated. The enormous letters nearly went from one side of the mammoth structure to the other so it made sense why people used it as a landmark.

“A lot of guards around here,” I muttered to myself as I observed the scurrying white blobs.

From the look of things, this was likely a military asset of some kind, as the area was far more orderly than normal. There were no endless mountains of slowly rusting scrap metal, discarded trash, or narrow dirt roads. Trucks trundled from the factory, towards the military bases that grew like tumors from the side of the mountain.

The path I had been using wound around this structure, giving it a wide berth before splitting off and going in several other directions. It took a bit longer than I would have liked to get around the factory, but guard patrols were frequent and I did not wish to get caught out. By the time I was finally able to put the towering plant behind me, it was after noon and I was growing irritated.

My inability to travel out in the open meant that things generally took far longer than they normally should. Remedying this issue would be one of my number one priorities, but for now, it made for good stealth practice. I could almost hear the ding as my stealth skill improved, going from one arbitrary number to the next and edging me closer to a level.

Thankfully the masses of rusting garbage soon returned, and I was able to move a little quicker as there were fewer guards. More travelers were present, but they kept to themselves and generally made no effort to inspect their surroundings. With a bit more speed, I continued on, following Pursey’s directions to where I assumed the town with no name lay.

It didn't take me long to find… something but it sure didn't look like a town.

A massive warehouse stood in the center of a dozen roads, though it didn't seem to be in operation. At least not in the way it likely been originally intended to be anyway.

Signs advertising pubs, restaurants, an open market, and other establishments of that nature plastered the walls. Each one pointed towards the central opening that allowed passersby to enter the nameless warehouse town. A few shops and stalls were present outside, their operators attempting to flag down travelers to try some food or drink, most common of which was noodles.

Though busy, and surrounded by open space, it wasn't hard to reach the warehouse, as there was plenty of cover. Numerous burnt-out cars sat in a rough mass, the scorch marks indicating that there had been fighting of some kind. Left to the flames, these vehicles were now little more than metal frames occasionally sporting some half-melted components or scorched leather.

I didn't need to know the history to appreciate a free approach.

Reaching the edge of the structure, I took a peak through a window to see what looked like an entire town. Built inside the warehouse, the homes and businesses were packed close together, with almost every single one sharing a wall with another. They rarely exceed one story, but when they did they still did not reach the impressively high roof.

No wonder they call it the cage. I thought to myself.

From my position, I couldn't quite see everything, but I could see a sign advertising the Copperhead which pointed to a set of stairs. There really wasn't anywhere for these stairs to go other then the roof, so that was where I started my search. It was difficult to reach this point though, as the walls were mostly, flat unadorned expanses of sheet metal.

Then I spotted it, some scaffolding that was likely there to replace the drooping sign advertising Rim’s Riceballs. Whoever was working on it had either abandoned the project or was on break, either way, no one was present. I took advantage of this and ascended as high as I could go before jumping the last little bit, coiling myself up as tight as possible before shooting up onto the roof.

There I saw a small cluster of tiny homes likely made for winged creatures as there was no paths that lead to it, and a bar. The Copperhead was made from what looked like a half dozen metal shipping containers pushed together. It was also off to the side, built atop the office area, which explained how it didn't just fall through the roof due to it’s weight.

“Well crap,” I muttered, staring out over the wide open, mostly metal expanse that led from where I was to where my destination lay. “How the hell do I get over there?”

Ducking behind a large exhaust pipe, I began to contemplate how I was going to get over there only to stop. I glanced back around to the bar and noted that there was another of the same air exchange openings near it. The solution was obvious, but I didn't like it one bit, as moving through a ventilation duct wasn’t as quiet as movies would like you to believe.

But I had few other options, and I was relatively exposed which meant I had to move quickly lest I be spotted.

A thin mesh grate was all that blocked my entry, and it was easy enough to remove. I tossed the thing off the roof as to not make my entrance too obvious before heading into the pipe.

What proceeded next was about a half hour of wiggling through air ducts, avoiding fan blades, and getting absolutely covered in a thick layer of rather gross dust. In the end, I reached my destination and clambered out of the pipe while holding back the urge to wretch. I ducked behind a primitive, roof-mounted air conditioner unit to quickly wipe myself off before peeking around the corner.

Though it was getting into the late afternoon by now, it was still early for a bar. A few patrons could be seen through the two large, and only, windows. The flickering yellow light of the sign over the door illuminated the small path that led from the roof access door to the front entrance. Cigarette butts and broken bottles littered either side, creating mini ditches of refuse on the road to The Copperhead.

“Augh gross,” I muttered to myself.

The distance wasn't far and thankfully the trash was not so thick that I was in danger of slithering over any shattered glass. Still, I didn't have a firm destination in mind until I glimpsed the air exchanger strapped to the top of the structure. From it grew a series of slithering pipes that wrapped about the whole building, pumping air in or out of the place.

It wouldn't be quite as convenient as being able to slip into the bar itself, but it offered me a chance to listen in at least. This was a start, and I had hope that it would lead to more opportunities in the future.

With hope bubbling in my chest, I headed out, slithering over to the bar, my body pressed firmly against the roof. A few patrons emerged when I was about halfway across the clearing but the staggering drunks barely even knew the location of their feet, never mind me. With as much speed as I could muster, I crossed the distance and reached the bar. A quick inspection revealed a way up, and with a bit of effort, I heaved myself up onto the ventilation system before clambering up the side onto the roof. From there I was lucky enough to spot a half unmoored tarp flapping in the breeze, which I untied and cast around my shoulders before settling in next to the exit vent.

For a moment I worried that I wouldn't be able to hear anything other than the sound of fans and the churning of the air conditioner. Then, there were voices, distant at first but as I focused, I was able to bring them into sharper clarity.

“That nitwit that always sends back his steak is here,” remarked a bitter, tired masculine voice.

“Don't worry. Pounder is our doorman. If that idiot starts acting up just let ‘em know what's up,” retorted a gravely feminine voice that sounded slightly older.

“Aww fuck yeah. I love that guy,” exclaimed the first speaker.

“Yeah, we know,” exclaimed the second person with a hint of snark.

The male grumbled under their breath but said nothing.

I meanwhile, chuckled to myself and settled in for a long evening of listening in on inane conversations. Sure enough, the majority of it was just that, idle gossip, teasing between chefs, and a bit of ribbing amongst the staff. There was a surprising amount of comradery, and I could tell that everyone who worked there had been employed there for some time. They just had such a rapport with one another that was at the same time endearing and a bit revolting.

If you’ve never worked in a kitchen you wouldn't know, but for those of us who have, it's second nature. Mean comments, teasing, and jabs were constant, however, the intention wasn't to be cruel, at least most of the time. It was a way to blow off steam, a kinda dickish way to do so but hey, it came with the territory.

I learned a bunch about the people who worked there, but most of it wasn't useful. Stuff like; who was dating who, who could grill a good steak, and who wasn't trusted to replace an empty keg. They served a surprising amount of food there, and a shocking amount of meat.

By the sounds of it, the bar half was a late addition to the business, with the restaurant being the original impetus for this place’s construction. It made sense, since by the sounds of it mostly winged creatures visited this place. Griffons, and pegasi alike both had a taste for something bloody, though a few other races shared in these desires as well.

This meant that they were of interest to the predators, who made up the majority of their clientele, but given that the Copperhead was outside their territory, they couldn't lay claim to the restaurant. Still, with so many of their members frequenting the establishment they were unofficially associated with the gang. This worked out relatively well by the sounds of it, as they didn't have to pay protection money but weren't messed with.

The people who worked there were mostly okay with this arrangement, though I could tell some were uneasy with their patronage. They were in the minority, as most were just happy that things were stable and trouble was infrequent. The owner sounded like a real standup guy as well, with the bar operating almost as cooperative, with revenue sharing and stuff.

It sounds altruistic, but it was also practical, as you are less likely to steal from your place of employment if you lose out by doing so. I was getting very emotionally invested in this place and I had to stop myself a few times from shouting into the pipes. It wasn't my fault that I wanted Savory Steve to finally ask out the girl he’s had his eye on for a while.

Hours passed by like this until at long last the bar was an hour from closing time and things were getting late. I was tired, hungry, and was starting to cramp up, my body aching after remaining motionless for so long. Despite my negativity, I was paying enough attention to hear something interesting.

“I can't believe that wingnut with the weird hairdo came back,” remarked an individual I recognized as a server. “You’d think after getting his ass beat he’d keep his distance.”

“That doesn't narrow it down much. All those gang types have crazy haircuts, and half of them have gotten jumped after running their mouth,” deadpanned a bored cook.

“You know. The bright purple mohawk, skinny, supposedly some bigshot in the Grey Shields,” retorted the server.

“Grey Hawk?”

“Yeah, that's the guy.”

“I wouldn't fuck with him. That dude’s nuts” added a third voice. “I heard he’s the right-hand man of Mr. Breezy.”

“He doesn't seem that bad. I mean, how tough could he be if he got his butt kicked?” added a fourth person from a bit further away.

“He was fighting eight other dudes and still put six of them in the medical ward,” declared a gruff voice I recognized as the owner. “I’m fairly certain he’d have won if he wasn't blind stinking drunk at the time.”

“Damn, that is kinda badass,” murmured the server.

“Who ya talking about?” added another of the servers who had seemingly just arrived.

“Grey Hawk. The guy with the big purple mohawk. Decent tipper, used to come here like, every single day before he got in a big dust-up a while ago,” reported the first one.

“Oh, that guy? He just left. He just stopped in long enough to have a beer and pick up some floozy that’s been floating around the bar, not spending a dime all night,” shot back the second.

I shot up, casting aside the makeshift shawl I had been wearing and slithering over to the side of the building. I managed to catch the briefest glimpse of a tall, lanky male unicorn with a tall purple mohawk, and a short, stubby griffin girl tucked under one arm. Then they were gone, the door to the rooftop access slamming shut behind them with a metallic clang.

“He’ll know something,” I muttered to myself. “He has to.”

The only problem was the fact that there was more than one exit and I could only cover one side at a time. I considered maybe waiting along one of the roads extending out from the town but there were dozens of winding paths that led into the junk filled hills. At least I could perch on the corner of the roof and and watch two of the four sides, reducing things down to just a coin flip.

Choosing the closest and most likely corner, I perched myself at the very edge and peered over the side. With my body flat against the cool tin roof, I was basically invisible. My head swiveled back and forth, always on the look out for that distinctive purple mohawk.

Minutes crawled past without any sign of him, and in my panic, I was tempted to get up and sprint/slither across the roof. That would take forever, and I would be exposed the entire time, so that idea was tossed aside before even being seriously considered. The yawning pit of defeat opened up beneath me, threatening to swallow me whole, but then I realized that there was a silver lining.

The guy was apparently a regular, with one of the servers even mentioning that he used to come by every day. Assuming he was back onto his old routine after recovering from his injuries, I just had to wait another day before I found him. With that in mind, I remained motionless for nearly an hour before packing it up and heading back home.

I had gambled, and lost, though the only thing I had given up was my time.

“I’ll get you next time,” I muttered, putting my head down and slithering back in the direction of home. “For now, I must rest.”

Author's Note

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