Chapters

Chapter 1: "I wish you'd slow down, Daredevil."
Chapter 2: "Hey, lover boy!"
Chapter 3: "That was way closer. We almost died, like, for real."
Chapter 4: "Have we become that predictable?"

Chapter 1: "I wish you'd slow down, Daredevil."
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SCOOTS

Chapter 1: "I wish you'd slow down, Daredevil."

Chapter 1: “I wish you’d slow down, Daredevil.”

My heart bangs out a heavy-drum, dubstep remix of an old school rock ballad. Trashy club music, the kind a pony could really shake it to. The engine picks up the tune, roaring and rumbling and dancing under the hood, having itself a time.

AJ's riding shotgun, clutching her hat like it’s a security blanket as we tear-ass down Puddinghead Ave at about ninety miles an hour. The egghead is leaning forward in the backseat, yelling her face off and giving me all kinds of shit about my driving. Spike's back there with her. He’s as quiet as a mouse, curled up like a hatchling and spilling his guts all over the upholstery. Dying if he isn’t dead already.

Oh yeah, and there’s a unicorn stallion tied up in the trunk. He’s not dead either. Not yet anyway. He's a mobster. Twilight kidnapped him. Not my idea. My idea was kick the hell out of him and his gang and then haul ass. Guess the hauling ass part stuck.

One glance in the rear-view mirror tells me our quiet little get together has just evolved into an open house block party, and judging by the number of uninvited guests showing up late, I’d say it’s going all night. The flashing red and blue lights catch my attention a split-second before the sirens sound, like lighting coming before thunder.

Cops. Because the night had been so dull up until right now.

AJ goes into full panic mode: sweating, shaking, the whole nine yards. She pulls her ten gallon in front of her face and makes the sort of scared squeaking sound I’d expect to hear out of Fluttershy.

Fearless, the egghead sticks her face between the front seats and asks me if this heap can go any faster for what must be the dozenth time. My eyes flick toward the speedometer. “92 mph.” Not bad but Twilight's right, we can do better.

I glance in the rear-view again and the flashing red and blue lights get a lot closer. The damn sirens are wailing like spoiled brats, and the egghead refuses climb down out of my ear. In a desperate attempt to kill the racket, I give the radio’s dial a twist and crank the volume to max. The speakers pulse and out blasts a Vinyl Scratch classic—an all-the-way bass and drums showstopper the DJ so aptly titled "Dancing with Discord." I shift gears, cut the wheel and power slide onto Platinum Drive just as PON-3 scratches the track and gets to doing what she does best.

During the turn Twilight smacks against the passenger door and finally shuts the hay up.

AJ vomits.

Rubber squeals against road as one and half tons of the sexy Equestrian muscle powers through the intersection, swinging wide into oncoming traffic.

I sideswipe a truck, and the front end of my car lurches all wrong. The left front tire gets the bright idea to turn all on its own. Laughing, I jerk the wheel to the right. It jerks back. The car wobbles, swinging its rear left and right like a dancer working hard for her tips.

Just as I level out my ride, two oncoming headlights transform the road into a bright stretch of empty white space. Looks like there might be a semi behind the lights, but I can't tell and honestly I don't give a damn.

Twilight lets out a blood-freezing scream.

AJ doesn’t make a peep.

Scratch gets to the bridge of “Dancing with Discord,” and the baseline spasms like a seizing heart.

With a smile on my lips I floor it, playing chicken with the pale horse himself. I dare him to hit me. I dare him.

Hit me.

The egghead shouts something I don't hear over the sirens and the sweet, earsplitting artistry of Scratch going nuts on the wheels of steel.

Hit me. Come on, I can take it.

Twilight tries again. She leans forward and gets right in my ear, but the world-shattering craziness barreling toward us smothers her voice.

I can take it. I want it. I want feel it. Hit me…

“Come on, hit me!”

“Damn it, Rainbow Dash!”

The egghead’s voice breaks through the madness like a knife breaking skin. I twist the wheel at the last second and veer around death, blowing him a kiss as I rocket by unscathed.

It’s a lovely night in Fillydelphia.

It’s another terrible night in this terrible city. Spike’s bleeding all over my lap, AJ’s being especially useless, and Rainbow’s doing her level best to get me killed. She’s been trying to get me killed all night, the idiot. I told her to follow the plan, but does she ever listen? No, of course not. She had to play daredevil and get us caught up in this ridiculous car chase. I swear, it’s all a game to her. It’s a stupid videogame, and Rainbow's a stupid kid with a pocket full of quarters, and tonight she's going for the high score.

Spike squirms in my lap. His tail flops like a dying fish. His claws dig into my jacket sleeve, tearing it. He tries to look up but his neck goes slack and his head to lolls to one side. I cradle him. Press him to my chest. Try to comfort him.

“Easy, little guy, you’re all right,” I tell him. I have to put my lips right over his ear so he can hear me over Rainbow’s blaring music.

Spike blinks, then tosses me a slow half-lidded gaze and mouths the word, “Hospital.”

I shake my head. “No hospitals. You knew that when you agreed to come along.” His face scrunches. He coughs. The bandage wrapped around his middle is soaked through. I wrapped it just like first aid manual said, but it’s no good; he’s still bleeding. He won’t stop bleeding. The baby dragon squeezes my foreleg and mouths the word, “please.” I answer him with a stern “no.” Then he lets go of my leg and clutches his stomach, turning his face away from me.

Ponyfeathers. My best friend is virtually holding in his own guts and all I can do is tell him to suck it up. It’s another terrible day in this terrible city.

"Police, pull over!" shouts some halfwit cop who’s seen one too many action movies. He hangs his upper body out the passenger-side window and shouts into a bullhorn like he’s on the set of a summer blockbuster. Feeling playful, I jerk the wheel and give the half-wit’s squad car a love tap at a hundred miles an hour. My driver side window smacks him in the face, and his partner lets out a loud "Holy hoarse apples!" as the halfwit’s nose bursts and he tumbles out of the car. Speed and momentum turn him into a rag doll the moment he hits the road. One of the other cop cars rolls over him like speed bump. Then he's in my rear-view before I catch any of messier details.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" shouts the egghead.

"No way," I shout back "you've been doing enough of that yourself." I don't turn around to look at Twi's face, but I know she's glaring holes in the back of my skull. Not that I care much about her feelings right now. We've been out at each other's throats for a while. We're about one shouting match away from things coming to blows, and after all the craziness she’s put AJ and Spike through these past few months, blows are exactly what she deserves.

Twilight's just about to shout something else, when a burst of automatic gunfire smacks into the back of car. The egghead lays down flat across the backseat, shielding Spike with her body. I hunch down in my seat, trying to make myself as small a target as possible.

AJ doesn’t get down. Doesn’t move an inch. She’s frozen. The dumb hick’s as stiff as a board.

“Down, AJ!” I shout. Her head twists in my direction but she doesn’t get down. Her stare is vacant; I don’t even think she sees me. Poor hick, she’s useless in a car chase—always freezes up when the speeds climb into the triple-digits.

“Down!” I repeat. When she doesn’t respond the second time I reach over, grab the back of her head, and shove her face into her vomit-covered lap. The car hits a small pothole before I can get both hooves back on the wheel. I laugh at myself as the front end dips and I nearly send us pitching onto the sidewalk. Then I think, what the hell, and swerve onto the sidewalk anyway.

After plowing through two mailboxes and some poor pony’s wooden fence, I realize I have no idea where I’m going.

This idiot has no idea where she’s going.

My head throbbing, I lay spike down beside me, reach between the front seats, and turn off the radio. Rainbow growls something I don’t hear over the pounding in my skull. I tell her to shut up and listen for once in her life.

“We need to get to Junior's place!” The music is off but I still have to shout over the roaring engine. “Do you know the way?”

“I just keep straight down Platinum and hang a left on Hurricane, right?” Rainbow shouts back.

“It’s right on Hurricane!”

“Right, right, I got it,” Rainbow snorts. “Now climb down out of my ear and let me get us out of your mess.”

The pounding in my skull gets worse. I lean back in my seat and massage the scar on my forehead where my horn used to be. “My mess. Of course, Rainbow, of course it’s my mess. This doesn’t have anything to do with you picking a fight with Filthy’s thugs, or with your obsession with this stupid car.”

Rainbow adjusts the rearview, glaring at me through it. “This stupid car”—she and I duck as another burst of gunfire riddles the bumper—“this car and I have saved your life about a dozen times, you smug little know-it-all punk.”

“Name calling now, are we? How very mature of you.”

I’m looking up at the starless sky, so I don’t see Rainbow’s face, but I know it’s crimson with anger right now. Dash and I have been doing this little song and dance for months. She takes a shot at me. I take a shot at her. We’re about one disagreement away from strangling each other. She’ll crack first, though. Try something. And when she does… Oh Celestia help me, I swear I’m going to beat her blind.

“Oh yeah,” she says, snorting again. “Well it’s too bad you’re not as tough as you are sarcastic. Then maybe you wouldn’t have let those punks carve out your horn in the first place.”

You’re going to pay for that, Rainbow. I don’t say it. I think it, but don’t say it. I don’t say anything. Rainbow lets out a cocky laugh, taking my silence to mean that she’s one this round.

Well that shut her up, I think to myself, letting a cocky laugh slip past my lips. A second later, I’m slapping myself in the face and mumbling curses under my breath.

Nice one, Dash. Why not wait for her to lie down before you start kicking next time.

I glance down at the speedometer, almost afraid. “141 mph.” Holy hoarse apples, we’re pushing 141 and these jokers are still keeping pace? And unless my eyes deceive me… Yep, that’s a police blockade up ahead. All this trouble for little old Rainbow Dash and her marry band of Madmares. Seems a bit excessive, but I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.

I’m about ten minutes away from meeting and bad end on the wrong side of the law, when I decided to do something really, really stupid.

“AJ, enough with the hundred-yard stare,” I shout, cuffing the dumb hick behind the ear. “Snap out of it already.”

She doesn’t. I cuff her again, harder this time.

“What?” she says, her voice sounding far away, like she’s waking up from a dream. “Where am Ah? Rainbow, what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later. Well,” I stop to chuckle at myself, “okay, no I won’t explain later—but right now I need you to take the wheel.”

Applejack shakes her head and blinks about a dozen times. “The wheel?”

“Yes, the wheel, AJ. Take the freaking wheel. Take it now before we all die.” I grab AJ’s hoof and place it on the steering wheel for her. Then I unbuckle my seat belt.

“Rainbow…” says Twilight. The note of panic in her voice tells me she knows what’s coming next. “Rainbow, don’t…”

I push my hat down, trying to get it nice and snug so it doesn’t fly off while I’m making an ass of myself.

“Rainbow, please…” Twilight leans forward and places a hoof on my shoulder. “Be careful.”

Keeping one hoof on the wheel, I spin around in my seat and face Twilight. We lock eyes and for a moment the egghead looks like her old self again, horn and all. “When am I ever not careful?”

The hornless unicorn lets out a small sigh. “I wish you’d slow down, Daredevil.”

“Maybe when you catch up, Egghead.”

I give the purple hoof on my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Then I’m off like a shot, laughing. Laughing at all of it. At the cops—and the tragedy bleeding to death in the back seat—and the sad little unicorn who lost her magic—and the dumb hick fumbling for the wheel—and the angst—and the loss—and big bad Fillydelphia, strutting around like she’s just the hardest damn city in Equestria. I soar up into the night, laughing out loud.

Ah don’t even realize my hoof is on the steerin’ wheel till Ah hear Rainbow laughin’ like a maniac. She shoots up out her seat like a bullet spiralin’ out a riffle. The second her hoof leaves the gas, Ah accidently nudge the wheel downward, and the car drifts. We clear two lanes of traffic before Ah accidently nudge the wheel again and send the car fishtailin’ this way and that. Twi hollers somethin’ ‘bout me being an idiot as Ah scramble into the driver’s seat and try to keep us on the road.

Without meanin’ to, Ah twist ma’ head to see where Rainbow’s gone to and find her flyin’ alongside one of them cop cars. The cop drivin’ rolls down his window and takes a shot at Rainbow. The bullet rips through her long black overcoat, but don’t hit no meat. He takes another shot just as Rainbow—grinnin’ while she does it, the lunatic—shove’s one of her front hooves in the cop’s face. His head pops back. Then she grabs hold of the wheel and gives it a sharp turn, sendin’ her, the driver and his partner slidin’ across the road and plowin’ into another cop car. Both cars flip somethin’ nasty, and Rainbow musta got her foreleg caught or somethin’, ‘cause Ah don’t see her fly away from wreckage.

From behind the wheel of this hear screamin’ metal death trap, Ah watch Rainbow waste four cops and probably herself along with them—but somehow don’t none of it seem real. Feels like Ah’m still frozen to ma’ seat. Still caught up in all that fog and surrounded by all them bright lights…

“Applejack! Eyes front! Eyes on the road!” Twi’s voice wallops me upside the head, knockin’ me back to the here and now. She sounds pissed.

Ah face front and see a bunch of cop cars parked in the middle of the road, blockin’ the next intersection. They’re parked long-ways and a whole mess of officers are crouched behind them, aimin’ their pistols and their shotguns and their riffles and their glowin’ horns in our direction. Ma stomach lurches like it wants to vomit again. Ma hooves get to shakin’ so hard Ah can hardly keep hold of the wheel. But despite bein’ scared out ma wits, starin’ down this here gang of blue suits has me crackin’ a smile. It’s a mighty ridiculous show of force to stop a couple of trouble makers out for a midnight joyride. Either these Fillydelphian fellers are all nuts, or they take their law enforcement a mite too seriously.

Twilight ain’t scared one lick. She’s kickin’ the back of ma chair, throwin’ herself a hissy fit like she’s a three year old who just dropped her ice cream. Ah ain’t seen Twilight so much as bat an eyelash at nothin’ ever since we left Ponyville and started on this crazy marehunt across Equestria. It’s like she’s too driven to be scared of anything. Too obsessed.

The police blockade gets closer. Ah’m not sure if Ah actually hear all them guns cockin' or if Ah just imagine it, but before the cops open fire Ah feel everythin' kinda slow down. The air goes electric and all the sensations—the sights and sound and smells—they all get cranked up to max. The streets lights shine brighter. The sirens wail louder. The traces of vomit still clingin’ to ma muzzle reek somethin' fierce, makin’ me sick all over again.

At first it’s all flashes. Muzzle flashes from barkin’ guns and lights from unicorn horns, like a million cameras takin’ a million pictures all at once. Then me and Twi and Spike drive smack into a wall made of hot lead and hotter light. The windshield becomes a bullet-shield, and not a very good one. Bolts of magical energy toss up chunks of road like they was confetti at a birthday party. The whole world screams, and then goes straight to hell.

Feelin’ sick to ma’ stomach, Ah cut the wheel and make the hardest left turn that ever was made by an outlaw runnin’ from the police. The car lifts up on two wheels, graceful as a ballerina, then drops back to all fours as we clear the intersection, narrowly escapin' the barrage of bullets and bolts. Rainbow's car gets shot all to hell. She'll be mighty peeved when she sees what the cops did to it.

Leavin’ the blockade in ma rear-view, Ah try to remember what Rainbow said ‘bout workin’ the stick. Ah crank the shaft. The gear shifts before Ah finish tellin’ it to, and Ah have to squint real hard against the sudden rush of air tryin’ to peel ma cheeks off ma face. The needle on the speedo-watchacallit points at the number “163,” like a colt tuggin’ at his mamma’s dress and pointin’ out his favorite candy bar. Giddy, the engine purrs. Damn thing sounds like it’s alive. Sounds like it’s havin’ fun too.

“No! No! No!” Twilight yells, beatin’ an angry hoof against the back of ma seat. “Where are you going? Junior’s place is back that way!”

“Twilight, stop and listen to yourself. We go back that way and we’ll get torn to pieces,” I say, tryin' ma darnedest to reason with her.

Twi rages for a spell. A long one. Then she shuts up and gets to ponderin’ our next move. Ma eyes are on the road—and that’s where they’re stayin’—but Ah don’t need to look to know Twi’s wearing her thinkin’ face. She’s been out of sorts in the head since she lost her horn, but Twilight ain’t stupid. Crazier than she used to be, but still a far cry from being dumb. She ain’t no daredevil like Rainbow. Twi always knows when to call it quits. When it’s time to move along to plan B.

I look over my shoulder to see how well the cops are keeping pace. Seems like we lost them for now. I guess Rainbow’s bit of stunt flying bought us some time.

Good. Okay, better move on to plan B.

“Make a right at this next light. Then find an alley or a back lot pull into and kill the engine. Make sure to find someplace dark. If we get spotted sitting still we’re dead.”

For once AJ manages to follow my directions without messing anything up. She turns right at the light, then pulls into the first alleyway she spots. It’s not as dark as I’d have liked, but it will have to do.

She twists the key and the engine, annoyed, grumbles before going silent. I take off my seatbelt and melt into the leather seats. The pain in my head swells. My skull feels swollen. Heavy. Too heavy for my neck. I must be groaning as I massage my forehead, because AJ turns around in her seat and says, “Hey, you all right, Twilight?”

“I’ll live. You?”

“The days have been kinder… Is Spike still with us?”

I stroke the little bundle of blood and scales, shaking my head and wondering how I let things get this bad. “He’s unconscious, but yeah, still with us.”

“So now what?”

“Now we sit quietly and wait for police to get bored of looking for us.”

“What about Rainbow?”

“What about Rainbow?” I answer, a little too quickly. “She knew the risks. We all did; Spike too.”

AJ huffs and turns away from me. She mutters something under her breath. I don’t hear what she says, but I know it’s about me, and I know it’s nothing nice.

We sit quietly until the silence grows thick and uncomfortable. “Get it off your chest,” I say. AJ doesn’t respond. “Go ahead and say it. You’ve been thinking it all night. I know you have, so just go ahead and say it.” Still nothing from AJ. She slouches so that the top of her head vanishes behind the headrest. I wait for her to drop the cold shoulder routine and confront me. I end up waiting a long time. AJ’s always been a stubborn ass, and life on the run has only made her worse.

When it sinks in that she’s not going to talk, I decide to do all the talking myself. “You’re thinking I don’t care about them. You’re sitting there thinking I don’t care about two of my best friends—and it’s pissing me off, Applejack!” My outburst surprises both of us. “You think I’m just going to let them die, don’t do?”

Finally, she turns around and faces me. “Ah didn’t say that, Twilight.”

“You didn’t say it, because you don’t have to. It’s all over your face. It’s in your eyes.” I sit forward and look AJ square in the eye. Those damn eyes. Those damn judgmental eyes. “Well I won’t let them die. I won’t let anypony die, because unlike you, or Rainbow, or the heap of bleeding useless there, sleeping off a stab wound—I have a plan. I’m a step ahead. That’s what I do, AJ; I stay ahead of mouth-breathers like you and your marefriend with the hero complex.”

“Now wait just one minute—”

“No, Applejack! No, I won’t wait one minute!” AJ stays her tongue. Holds her flat expression. “I’ve been waiting for you to pull your head out your ass and get on the ball for half a year now. So no, I won’t wait. I’m through waiting. I’m through with you.” I wait for her to respond. To get angry. Say something back. Something nasty. But she doesn’t say anything. She just keeps staring at me with that flat gaze, like she’s trying to peel away my skin with her eyes. “I’m sick of you always making a mess of everything I plan. Every time a take step forward, you and Rainbow drag me two steps back. You’re stupid and not committed and useless—and if you don’t stop staring at me like that, I’m going to cut those fucking eyes out of your fucking head!”

Furious, I lunge forward and grab AJ by the collar of her trench coat. She does the same and yanks me foreword. She’s so strong she almost lifts me out of my seat.

So strong. Too strong. Too strong and she’s touching me. She’s touching me, touching me, touching me…

A freighted shriek assaults my ears. My skin crawls. Every pour beneath my fur cringes and screams in unison. “Don’t let her touch you!” they shout, a fearful chorus of thousands, their voices ringing out like the cries of the doomed. The damned. “She’s too strong, don’t let her touch you!”

It takes me awhile to realize the shriek is coming from my own mouth. AJ gives me a fierce shake. Then she pulls my face close hers. Our noses almost touch. Our mouths. So close. Too close…

Too close, too strong, touching. Too close, too strong, touching.

I lose focus. AJ’s face starts blurring, transforming into fuzzy orange felt. Her eyes dull and take on a glassy look. I start feeling sick. Then she shakes me again, and her features pull themselves back together all at once.

“Now Ah understand you being upset, Twi, really Ah do.”

Touching me. Too close. Too strong.

“But ya need to calm down before ya do or say somethin’ ya regret.”

Touching… Me…

“Don’t touch me!” As soon as the words fly from my mouth, I shut my eyes and trust my head forward. The top of my brow slams into AJ’s muzzle, popping her head back.

“You little…” AJ growls, more surprised than hurt. We wrestle awkwardly between the seats until eventually AJ scrambles in the back with me. She easily out muscles me and pins my face against the car door. “Ah’m sick of your attitude, Twi. Ah’m sick of the way you been treatin’ and talkin’ to me.”

“How should I talk to you, AJ?” I hear myself say. I can’t think straight. Too many sensations. Too much pushing and bucking and grinding and touching and touching and touching.

I can’t think straight. My eyes tear up and the words come automatically. They come spitefully, and without my permission. “How should I treat you? Should I thank you for doing such a good job of looking out for Spike? Oh, wait, no, that’s right—you were too busy pissing yourself like a little filly to be of any use.” I paw at AJ’s face but it’s no good. She’s too strong. So much stronger than me.

“Ah froze up for one second. For one second, Twilight. You gonna lynch me over one second?”

“You hesitated. You stood there and watched some lowlife take a knife to my best friend.”

“Yeah, and then Ah pulled that lowlife off Spike and put his face through a wall. Ah also kept you from gettin’ maimed by that diamond dog he set loose on you, or did you forget ‘bout that part,” she says. “Look Ah know Ah messed up back there. Ah admit it, so just shut up.”

When I don’t shut up, AJ’s temper flares. She pulls my face away from the door, then slams my forehead right on the handle. She does it a second time. A third. Then she hits me with a heavy front hoof, tears streaking down her face while blood streaks down mine.

“Oh now you wanna fight?” I taunt, twisting in her grip and creating just enough space to jab her in the throat. She coughs, staggers but recovers quickly and shoves my head down into the seat. “Where was all this fight when you and Rainbow were getting stomped by Filthy’s thugs, huh?” I squirm underneath her, trying to right myself, but she straddles me, easily pinning me again. One of her hooves is hot against my cheek. The other is driving down into my neck, not hard enough to suffocate me, but hard enough to be uncomfortable.

“That ain’t fair, Twilight. Ah been fightin’ your battles for you this whole time, while you do nothin’ but boss me around and complain. Well Ah’ve had just about all Ah can stand.” Her hoof comes down like a mallet. My teeth rattle as she belts me across the jaw. “Ah ain’t your personal billy club. And Ah ain’t gonna hurt no more ponies for you, Twi. Not if ya keep treatin’ me like Ah’m your attack dog.” She hits me again. Again.

“You don’t get to judge me,” I hiss, pushing the words through my teeth as I struggle to buck AJ off me. “Not after what happened tonight. Not after you and Rainbow ruined another of my plans. I was close this time. Close to following up on a real lead. A real chance to find those bastards.”

“You was close to cuttin’ a deal with them thugs. With crooks and rapist and murders, Twi.” She pins my hooves beside my ears and scoots her hips from my stomach to my chest. “Scum, Twi. Scum. Is that really how you want to do this? Is this really the road you want to go down?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“You’re obsessed. We should’ve taken this to the guard. We should’ve told your brother or the princess. Either of them could’a straightened this mess out by now.”

“NO!” I shout, fighting even harder to free myself now. “They can’t get involved. I have to do it. I have to it with my own hooves.”

My words stun Applejack. She eases off me a bit. Her eyes water. “Do what, Twi?” Her voice comes out scared and confused.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know where this is going. Don’t do that, AJ—not after everything that’s happened. You’re not innocent. You don’t get to be innocent, and you don’t get to judge me.” I swallow a lump in my throat and keep talking. Keep going. I want to hurt her. I want to her hold down and kick her until she pukes, but I’m too weak for that. I’m too weak to inflict any bodily harm, so I keep talking. AJ hit me. Touched me. I want to hurt her. I want revenge, and I take it the only way I can.

“This isn’t just about me. This is about us—and it’s about you too. What you did. What you didn’t do.”

“Stop it!” Applejack wails. She raises her hoof, threatening to hammer me again.

“Where were you, Applejack?” The question cuts her like a knife. It stabs her. I've asked her that same question a dozen times, but the words never lose their edge. They never dull. They never will. “Where were you when I needed you?”

“Please…just stop it.” The raised hoof looms, like judges gavel waiting to drop. Waiting to cast judgment and hand down my sentence.

“When those psychopaths came for me in our own hometown. Not out in Las Pegasus or Vanhoover or here in Fillydelphia. When they came to your home and put their hooves on your friend… Where wear you then?”

“That ain’t fair, Twilight. Ah apologized for that. You know how sorry Ah am…” She turns away from me, trying to hide the tears wetting her eyes.

“Where were you when I shouted and begged? When they cut me and had their way with me?”

Applejack sniffs. Wipes her face.

“I want to hear you say it,” I press.

“Ah…” she starts.

I reach up and grab her, yanking her down her jacket collar. “Look me in the eye when you say it.”

“Ah—Ah wasn’t…”

“Say it, Applejack. Where were you when they took my horn?”

She lets out a deep, defeated sigh “Ah wasn’t there.”

“That’s right, you weren’t there. You weren’t there for Spike today, and you weren’t there for me. If I’ve changed, then so have you, Applejack. So don’t act innocent.” I let go of her collar, shoving her away in disgust. “You do that again, and I will hurt you.”

The both of us sit in silence for a long time.

“Get the hell off me,” I say.

Applejack climbs back into the driver’s seat. I sit up straight and wipe my bleeding muzzle.

It’s quiet for a while longer.

“Ah’m real sorry about all this, Twi,” Applejack says earnestly. “Ah should’ve been there. Ah… Ah'm sorry…”

I lean my head back and stare up the starless sky, half-expecting the cops to show up and mow me down in hail of gunfire.

“Save it for Spike when he wakes up. Maybe he’ll give a shit.”

Chapter 2: "Hey, lover boy!"
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SCOOTS

Chapter 2: "Hey, lover boy!"

Chapter 2: "Hey, lover boy!"

The pitter-patter of raindrops spoils the stillness of downtown Fillydelphia. Ah had to pull over and put the top up a few blocks back to keep from getting soaked in the sudden downpour. Damn rain came out of nowhere. But then lots of things do that these days—come out of nowhere, Ah mean.

Drivin’ along the backstreets Ah notice there ain’t another car or carriage in sight. Nothing to see on either side of me but black fire escapes zigzaggin’ up the sides of grey buildings, lookin’ like scribbles on the wall. Ah can hardly see them through the windshield; it’s all cracked from drivin’ through that hail of gunfire. There’re a half-dozen round glass spider-webs between me and the open road, each of them markin’ a spot on the windshield where a bullet landed. Where one of them little lead devils could’a punched clean through and ended me. Gotta say, Ah’m plum tired of gettin’ shot at. Tired of Twilight and this never endin’ goose-chase across Equestria. Tired of gettin’ yelled at and called a dumb hick by ponies who are supposed to be ma friends. Tired—but Ah reckon that’s all right. Junior’s place aint but a little ways from here, and once we get there Ah’ll have me a chance to lie down for a spell and sleep off this nightmare of a night.

Speakin’ a sleep, Twilight’s one step ahead of me, as always. She’s curled up in the backseat like a sick kitten, shiverin’ and mumblin’ in her sleep. Ah can’t hear what she’s mutterin’ on account of the rain and the steady hum of the V8 engine flexin’ its muscles, but Ah see Twi’s lips movin’ in the rear-view mirror. Seems like there ain’t no peace left for that one, not even while she’s restin’. Before noddin’ off Twi told me to wake her when we get to Junior’s place. Told me take the backstreets so the cops don’t spot us again.

Ah gave apologizin’ one more go once we got back on the road, and for ma trouble Twi picked herself another fight with me. No blows were thrown the second time ‘round, just loads of swearin’ and name callin’. Loads of anger. Not much understandin’. Ah still can’t believe Ah put ma hooves on her like Ah did. A year ago we’d a talked out our differences like real civil like. Guess a lot can change in a year.

Rainbow’s car grumbles, annoyed, as Ah ease off the gas to break at a stop sign. She’s as restless as a barrel of rattlesnakes—Rainbow’s car, Ah mean—and Ah reckon Ah don’t blame her one lick. She was built for speed and for defyin’ death and all that craziness. Cruisin’ down backroads at a scant twenty miles an hour don’t suit her none; it’s like puttin’ a battleship in a kiddy pool. Truth be told, Ah’m surprised she’s still movin’ after the beatin’ the cops laid on her. She’s tough as nails, Rainbow’s car. Tougher than anypony ridin’ her, that’s for damn sure.

Ah didn’t even know what a car was till we ran into them Flim Flam brothers a few months back while travelin’ through Applewood in beautiful sunny Las Pegasus. Before arrivin’ on the west coast we’d been takin’ trains and just plain hoofin’ it, chasin’ ole Inks and Blinks all over Equestria. We’d been followin’ lousy leads and ice cold trails for five long months, and we’d been doin’ most of it on foot. So when them travelin’ salesponies offered us an alternative, Rainbow jumped at it. Naturally, Ah was against buying anything from Flim and Flam. Ah didn’t trust them no good shysters, but Twilight didn’t seem to care and Spike always just sort of goes along with whatever Twi says. After Ah got outvoted, Rainbow went and spent just about every bit we had on the car—and as much as Ah hate ridin’ shotgun while Rainbow’s behind the wheel, Ah’m glad she bought the stupid thing. Turns out nopony east of Canterlot had ever heard of a car neither, and for awhile we was runnin’ circles ‘round the cops and the crooks in every town from Appleloosa to Dodge to Baltimare. They couldn’t keep up chasin’ after us in their carriages like they was. Flim and Flam said somethin’ ‘bout cars still bein’ new and “experimental,” whatever that’s supposed to mean. They said you can only get one out west (at least that’s what they thought), and until comin’ to Fillydelphia, Me and Twi and Dash and Spike was only ponies who had one.

Ah used to hate drivin’ the thing, but so long as we go nice and slow Ah don’t mind too much. She’s a real bueaty of machine, Rainbow's car, loud and fast and always reliable. Truth is, she’s the only reliable one left in this entire group. She gets us where we’re goin’, gets out of danger; and after a long day of stirrin’ up trouble we find ourselves someplace safe to park, put the top up, and sleep in her.

She’s our home away from home. Feels like she’s keepin’ us together. Like she’s the only thing keepin’ us together…

“Stay away!” I hear myself shout as I lash out blindly. My eyes snap open just in time to see AJ pulling away from me like I tried to bite her.

“Sorry, Twi,” she says sheepishly. “Ah was only nudging you awake like you told me. Ah weren’t tryin’ to startle you.”

AJ looks at me with tired eyes. She looks like shit. There’s blood on her overcoat from our tussle in the backseat, and vomit stains from when she lost her lunch during the chase. And there’s bruises on her face—big mean purple things around her eyes and under her cheeks. Seeing them now makes me feel bad about giving AJ such a hard time over what happened with Spike. She fought like a monster out the Everfree to protect the little guy, and nearly got the freckles beaten off her face in the process.

It’s been a long night. Now that we’ve made it Junior’s place, it’s only going to get longer.

“You okay, Twi? You don’t look so good,” says AJ. She sounds genuinely concerned about me, but there’s an edge to her voice. I get the feeling she isn’t ready to kiss and make up just yet.

I wipe a few beads of ice-cold sweat off my brow. “I’m fine. I was just having a nightmare, nothing to lose our heads over… When did it start raining?” The question hangs in the air for a long time before AJ answers.

“A little after you fell asleep,” she says, turning away from me and leaning her head against the rain-streaked window. She stares at the wet world beyond Rainbow’s car, blankly, knowing there’s nothing out there to see. “How’s Spike doing?” The words come out almost formally, like she’s just going through the motions at this point.

I glance over at the sleeping baby dragon. “He’s hanging on. The bleeding finally stopped, but his breathing is still shallow. Don’t worry, I’ll have him fixed up in no time,” I say, forcing a weak smile. AJ doesn’t respond. Doesn’t care. Grumbling, I push the door open. “You stay here with Spike while I sort things out with Junior. He doesn’t know we’re coming, and I don’t want to startle him by dropping a half-dead baby dragon on his counter.”

“Yeah, all right,” AJ answers.

“His bar closes in about twenty-five minutes,” I continue. “I should be back in thirty. Do not leave the car until I come back and give you the okay, understand?”

“Yeah,” she says dully.

“I’ll be back real soon, Spike.” I kiss the sleeping baby dragon on his forehead, then start climbing out of the car. I get one hoof onto the sidewalk and stop suddenly. I start to say something else to AJ, but there’s so much that needs saying the words clog my throat. I choke on them for a moment, then I swallow hard and force them back down in my gut where they belong.

As I swing the door shut behind me, I notice that the parking lot is almost completely empty. Good. That should make things easier on me.

Shaking the fatigue out of my limbs, I start toward Junior’s place. His full name is Pony Joe Junior; he and his father have been friends of my family for years. Junior and I grew up together in Canterlot, though he left a year or so before I did. Guess I always knew he would. Canterlot was a wrong fit for a pony like Junior. It’s a wrong fit for most ponies.

Nowadays he runs an ice cream bar in the middle of downtown Fillydelphia that’s surrounded on all sides by liquor stores, pool halls, and dive bars—watering holes where the city’s criminals often gather and plan their mischief. Junior likes to pretend he’s running the one clean business in the neighborhood. He isn’t fooling anypony. This far downtown, just about every pony dirties their hooves doing one thing or the other.

The thing about Filly is that at its core it’s not a bad town. It’s no Ponyville, but I’ll take it over Dodge or some of the seedier parts of Appleloosa seven days out of the week. Not a bad town, but a rough one. Rough enough to make a place like Junior’s feel all wrong.

I push open the door and right away the smell of sugar jumps down my nose. It's a sweet smell, like the scents that used to fill Sugarcube Corner. Like the chocolate and strawberry cream aromas that would to work their way into Pinkie’s fur and cling to her after a long day of serving treats and making small foals smile. The aromas in Junior’s bar stir old memories, and the memories pluck my heartstrings like a harp. I blink away a threatening tear and steel myself before trotting toward the front counter. Junior spots me coming his way and flashes a wide, stubble-chinned smile that reminds me of his father. That smile: honest and gentle and warmer than a campfire. It makes what I have to do tonight that much harder.

“Twilight, I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he calls to me from across the room. “I figured you’d have moved on by now. You seemed so upset the last time we talked…” Junior bends over as he talks. His face disappears in search of something under the bar. “I’m sorry I couldn't be of more help last time. I hope you found whatever it was you were looking…for…”

His voice trails off when he looks up and sees me perched on a stool in front of the counter, all drenched and shivering like a bird with a fever and a clipped wing. The lights in the bar are low and romantic; they do me the favor of setting a sensual mood. I cross my front legs about my chest, holding myself the way mares do when they want a big, strong stallion to take off his jacket and drape it across their shoulders. Junior’s plenty big and plenty strong. He’s a white-knight type. The kind of stallion that can’t stand seeing a mare cry. He’s just like his father. Just like my own father, and my brother, and nearly every other stallion in my life. White knights, all of them constantly galloping to the rescue of some distressed damsel.

“Oh my… Twily, you look awful. You get yourself into some kinda trouble again?” he says. When I see his face go all soft and squishy with sympathy, I have to beat back a threatening smirk. This is going to be easy.

“No more trouble than usual,” I say. “I’m just coming in out of the rain. I'll be on my way once it clears up."

“It’s like the end of days out there,” he says. “You look like you’re freezing. Let me get you something warm to drink.”

“Thanks Junior, but I don’t have money for drinks. Like I said, I’ll only be here till the rain stops.”

Before I even finish my sentence, Junior’s horn flashes and a piping hot mug of cocoa magically appears on the counter-top. “It’s on the house,” he says, using his magic to slide the mug toward me. It’s still glowing when I pick it up and take a sip, still veiled in the last fading wisps of magical green light. I shut my eyes and smile, enjoying both the heat of the drink tickling my throat and the warm glow of Junior’s magic caressing my cheeks.

Magic. My oldest lover. I haven’t basked in her light in some time.

The residual glow clinging to the mug illuminates my face. The glow doesn’t last, but it hangs around long enough for Junior to take a good look at the bruises AJ gave me. I almost drop my drink when he suddenly reaches out and cups my chin with a strong front hoof.

“What’s this,” he asks in a gruff tone. “What happened?” I hear a customer at the end of the bar call out for Junior to refill his drink. I hear him, but Junior doesn’t. Good. That means I have the big lug’s full attention.

“It’s nothing,” I mutter. I try to pull away, acting as if I mean to hide my battered face. “It’s my business, so just leave it alone.” I feed the big lug my best Fluttershy impression, letting my voice come out all mousy with false innocence. Junior takes the bait. He grabs my shoulder with his other hoof and holds me still.

“Stop it,” he says, pulling me closer to him, “Stop squirming and let me see.” A strong hoof turns my head left then right. Careful eyes take note of my busted bottom lip. My swollen cheek.

“It’s nothing, Junior, just leave it alone,” I plead.

And, wait for it…

“Who is he, and where is he?” Right on cue Junior’s temper flares. His jaw tightens, and I feel the strong limbs holding me still tense, like a catapult being drawn back, ready to fire. “Where’s the son of a bitch who put his hooves on you, Twily?” Immediately the big stubble-faced lug assumes some guy roughed me up. It’s exactly the kind of macho, white-knight, bullshit response I was expecting. But it’s not the one I need.

“It was…” I stop to sniff and sob, letting the words hang in the air for a while. Letting Junior stew in his rage before I diffuse it. “It was Applejack and Rainbow Dash. They said they didn’t want to help me anymore, and that they were going home. When I tried to stop them from leaving, they got mad and beat me up before tossing me out on the street.” I take Junior’s hoof in mine and guide it from my chin to my cheek. It’s too early to start with the water-works, but the nuzzle I give his hoof tells him that “poor little Twily” is feeling good and vulnerable right now.

The feeling of my cheek warm against his hoof douses Junior's anger. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he coos.

“Don’t be,” I respond. “It’s what I deserve. I’ve been awful to them.” I close my eyes and let myself melt under Junior’s touch. “I’m surprised it took them this long to ditch me.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he says. “You’ve been doing your best, I’m sure. AJ and RD—they can’t possible understand what it’s like for a unicorn to lose her magic.”

“And you shouldn’t be making excuses for me. I’m a terrible pony.” The note of insecurity in my voice sends Junior right over the edge. If there’s one thing these white-knight types get off on, it’s insecurity. Insecure ponies need assurance. Protection. And that’s where they come in. Give one of these closet male chauvinist a mare who’s confident and they don’t know what do with their hooves. They only know how to hold broken things—and they can’t catch a mare unless she’s falling. Junior here is a pro. The smoldering look in his eyes tells me he’s been catching falling mares for years.

“If you need a place to crash for the night, you’re welcome to stay here. I’ve got a room in the back. It’s small but—”

I plant a gentle kiss on the frog of Junior’s hoof that turns him into putty. “Thank you, Junior.” He leans forward like he wants to give me a real kiss, but restrains himself. Poor bastard. He wants me. It’s all over his face. Junior wants me bad. He’s wanted me ever since we were kids, and he could have me right now, if he didn’t pride himself on being such a gentlecolt. He’s too much of a stand-up guy to take advantage of a distressed filly. Poor, dumb bastard. Somepony should tell him chivalry is dead.

“Hey, lover boy!” shouts the same customer from before. He’s an old mule with a hideous hairpiece and a voice like a minotaur chewing gravel. “When you get a minute, you mind refilling my drink?”

“Excuse me, Twily,” Junior stammers before trotting over to refill the mule's empty mug. The mule ropes a wrinkled foreleg around Junior’s neck and whispers something in the stallion’s ear. His face turns beat-red. He glances toward me, and then says something back to the mule. I don’t hear what he says, but it makes the mule smack the counter and laugh out loud. At first Junior looks annoyed, but he quickly lightens up and flashes his stubble-chinned smile.

While Junior talks with the mule, I take another sip of cocoa and let my gaze wander toward the window. By now my drink is lukewarm. It’s stopped raining. A glance at the clock hanging from the wall behind the counter tells me it’s almost midnight. After everything that’s happened, it’s hard to believe it’s still so early. Only midnight…

I know that come tomorrow morning I’m going to wake up hating myself—but it’s only midnight, and the rain has stopped, and I have Junior good and malleable and ready to give me everything I need from him. Tomorrow I’ll probably wake up with a desire to wrap my lips around the barrel of a shotgun and choke down a few rounds—but for the first time tonight things are starting to go my way.

Celestia in heaven, I’m beat to hell. I’m covered in cuts and bruises and my throat is still sore from screaming my head off during that pile up. Thought I was a goner for a minute there. All that noise and shattering glass and twisting metal—all of it whipping around my head like a cyclone. The kind of cyclone us pegasi can’t kick up in clouds. A real storm. A perfect storm—with headlights for lightning and crunching bones for thunder and blood and tears for rain. I thought I was a goner, and I’d never felt more alive.

I’d be lying if I said tonight hasn’t been fun. A gang fight in a hotel lobby, followed by a kidnapping, followed by high-speed chase—what’s not to love? I feel like a kid playing cops and robbers. Only it’s not a game. I’m a real outlaw, and I must be a psychopath too, because this feeling swelling up in my chest—this need to straddle the edge of sanity and blow kisses into the abyss—it’s eating from the inside out. It’s eating me alive in big, hungry bites, and I like it.

I’m flying low over a forest of concrete, iron, and cement, riding a frozen breeze on aching wings and taking in every drop-dead gorgeous inch of Fillydelphia. Filly is nothing like Ponyville or Cloudsdale. She’s a bad broad and she’s sexy as all hell and she knows how to show a mare a good time. She’s not as wild as Dodge or as stylish as Las Pegasus, but she makes up for it in attitude. In Filly the crooks run their mouths like they built every skyscraper in town with their own hooves, and the cops shoot first and ask questions to corpses. It’s like some kind of hyper-real parody of a city; a setting plucked straight from a lowbrow crime drama or a kid’s comic book. It’s hard to believe places like this exist in Equestria, and even harder not to fall in love with the sheer absurdity of it all.

And they have cars in Filly! I mean, they have them out west too, but those were bite-sized compared to two-ton gas-guzzling monsters rolling down the streets of Fillydelphia with V12 engines roaring in their bellies. If power has sound, it’s the rumble of a V12 waking up with an empty stomach, starving to chew apart a few dozen miles of city street.

I think the engine is the reason I fell in love with cars in the first place. I’ve flown with the Wonderbolts. I’ve booked it at speeds that make nature shrug and shake her head in bewilderment. Light thinks I’m pretty damn fast, and Sound—the noisy little punk—he can barely keep pace. My ride can climb up to about 170 mph, or 200 plus if I’m really trying to get some pedestrians killed. That’s cake; I can fly faster than that in my sleep. But still, there’s something about turning that key and listening to one and half tons of sexy Equestrian muscle come alive that sound just does it for me. I think it’s that sound. That crazy roar, like the growl of some change animal demanding his freedom. That sound rubs me the right way, and in all the right places.

I realize now I had never soared a day in my life till I soared down my first stretch of highway with the top down, the wind in my mane, and the whole world in my rear-view.

I also realize that I may be a tad too obsessed with my car, because when I finally make it to Junior’s bar and see my baby sitting in the parking lot, looking like somepony drove it through a gun range, I almost cry.

My hooves touching down on the pavement account for all the sound in the lot. I trot along the passenger side and run my hoof along the bullet-riddled doors, wondering if maybe I should say a prayer for the departed. When I make my way to the trunk my spirits rise a bit. The rear bumper is shot to hell. It's hanging on for dear life, but the license plate is still in one piece. There’s a bullet hole in the center of the second “O,” but other than that the cheap thing looks fine. I can still make out the word “SCOOTS” written in all caps letters on the plate.

SCOOTS. It’s what I call her—the car, I mean. I named her after a kid who used to look up to me. A kid I’ll probably never see again. I couldn’t fit her whole name on the plate like a wanted, so I had to settle for SCOOTS. It has a nice ring to it, I think. Twilight’s been hounding me to change the plate for months now. She says it makes it easier for the cops to ID us, and maybe that’s true, but I can't bring myself to get rid of the stupid hunk of metal. That plate—that filly’s name hanging there framed in cheap metal—that’s the last little piece of home I have. It reminds me of the life I walked away from. The one I left in the rear-view with the rest of the world.

“Rainbow!” A familiar country drawl rings out from in front of me, pleased as punch that I’m still breathing. “Oh ma’ stars, Ah thought you was done for.” She throws herself at me, wrapping me up in those strong forelegs of hers and squeezing until it hurts. She still smells like vomit. I’d tell her to back off, but I don’t mind the stink or the pain. Both are reminders that I’m still alive.

“You aint hurt, are you?” she asks, nuzzling my neck with her cheek.

“I got my ass kicked by gangsters and then nearly died in a car crash. Of course I’m hurt,” I say with a laugh. I meant for that to be a joke, but it comes out sounding harsh. AJ doesn’t find it funny. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.” I peck her on the cheek and her expression brightens a bit. “How you holding up?”

“By a thread,” she says gloomily. “Me and Twi got into it pretty serious.”

“She give you more shit about the freeze up? Don’t sweat that; it was nothing. You handled yourself like a champ back there. And judging by the number of holes in my car, I’d say you must have kicked ass out-driving the cops.”

She brightens a bit more and kisses me back. “Well yeah, she was mad about what happened with the gangsters and the kidnappin’, but it was more than that. Things got pretty heated and well… Ah… Ah hit her, Rainbow… Ah hit her a few times…”

At this, I almost laugh out loud. “Good."

"How can you say that? That's our friend your talkin' 'bout."

"Oh come on, we both know Twilight needs to have some sense beaten into her. And while you’re at it could you hit me too?” I say, only half-joking. “All this running and gunning has me feeling like somepony else. I’ve always been an action junkie, but this life and death craziness... It’s like a high I can’t come down from.”

“That’s just nerves talkin’, Rainbow. It’s been a long night is all.”

“You don’t get it,” I say, shaking my head. “That stuff I said to Filthy’s thugs—I wanted to piss them off. I wanted that fight. And then when the cops were chasing us, and I swerved through traffic, and those headlights were in my eyes…” My voice trails off as the memory comes rushing back in vivid detail. “…I think I wanted that truck to hit us. And when I veered around it, I just kept thinking it didn’t come close enough. It’s like I’m going numb, AJ. Like I can’t feel anything unless I’m right there at the edge, staring off into the abyss.”

“Well this little crusade has taken its toll on all of us,” Applejack sighs. “Twilight especially. She ain’t been right since she lost her horn.”

“Can you blame her? I can’t imagine what it would be like if somepony held me down and hacked off one of my wings.”

“Well that wouldn’t be so bad,” AJ says. She kisses my neck and lets a genuine smile grace her lips. Something I haven’t seen her do in a long time. “You’d at least still have SCOOTS here. Ah reckon she’s holdin’ up better than any of us.”

“And she’s shot full of holes. Ain’t that a bitch and a half?”

After a long, thoughtful pause I say, “AJ?” Her name comes out like a question.

“Yeah, Rainbow.”

“There a reason we’re standing in parking lot freezing our tails off?”

She makes a face like she just remembered something important and says, “Oh right, Twilight told me to wait outside. Said somethin’ ‘bout not wantin’ to startle Junior.”

“And you just listened to her?”

“Heck yeah, Ah just listened to her,” she says without the slightest trace of shame. “To be honest, Ah’m a might scared of that one.”

“Well you should be. The egghead is out of her mind. She’s probably planning to murder both of us our sleep, or something equally as deranged.”

Applejack searches my face for humor. When she doesn’t find any—when she realizes what I just said wasn’t a joke, not even a half-joke—she throws her head back and laughs out loud. Pretty soon I’m laughing right along with her. We lean against each other so we don’t topple over, and then against the car—and our eyes are water—and AJ clutches her side and shakes—and I pound my hoof against the trunk, laughing so hard it hurts. I laugh until my sides are splitting. I laugh until can’t see straight. And then I laugh some more.

I can’t help it. I can’t help but fall in love with the sheer absurdity of it all.

When the laughing fit passes, me and AJ are left standing shoulder to shoulder, staring at the license plate and sharing another thoughtful silence in the freezing Fillydelphia night.

“AJ?” I say, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, Rainbow.”

“I want to go home.”

“Me too, Rainbow… Me too…”

Chapter 3: "That was way closer. We almost died, like, for real."
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SCOOTS

Chapter 3: "That was way closer. We almost died, like, for real."

Chapter 3: “That was way closer. We almost died, like, for real.”

My heart breaks a little as Junior opens the door to his room. A chunk of it crumbles away like stone under a chisel, turning to powder inside my chest. He calls it his bedroom but it looks more like a closet. A paper-thin wall is all that separates it from the kitchen, and all the syrupy smells waft in from next door, flooding my senses. I think of Pinkie Pie again, her usually cheery face twisting into a frown as I tell her AJ and Rainbow and I are going away for a long time. She cried then, in that dramatic way children do when they want attention. She cried for my loss, but there was something insincere about the tears rolling down her cheeks. I watched her eyes go puffy, and her bottom lip quiver, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was moments away from bursting into laughter.

That was the last time I ever saw Pinkie Pie. It was our final moment together. Sometimes I lie awake at night, and wonder if it was our first…

Junior is a messy pony. He apologizes to me as we step over mounds of dirty clothing and make our way to the bed hunching in the corner. Junior offers me a seat. His mattress is lumpy but at least the sheets are clean. The rest of his room looks like a crime scene minus the caution tape. The carpet is stained in several spots. The wallpaper has started to peel, looking like shreds of a torn dress worn by an abused mare. Neglect has the room looking wounded. Lonely. Judging by the lack of upkeep, I’d guess this place hasn’t been graced by a lady’s presence in ages. Good. That makes things easier on me.

The big lug mutters another apology as he shoves a mound of junk under his bed, clearing a spot on the floor where he intends to sleep. Then he asks me if I need anything: something to eat, a glass of water, some extra blankets. I answer with a headshake.

“Let me get your coat,” he says, embarrassed that he forgot to take it at the door. I recoil when he touches my shoulders and hug myself again. Then I flash my best guilty look and turn away like I’m too ashamed to meet his gaze. It takes all of two seconds for Junior to bite. He sits down beside me and asks what’s wrong.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” I say, feigning the note of reluctance in my voice. “I didn’t come here because I had no place to go. I need your help.”

“What is it?” he asks, tensing up. I don’t answer at first. I let him wait. Let him stew in it.

He inches closer like a colt afraid to put his foreleg around his date's shoulder.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me, Twily.” His voice comes out gruff with barely stifled desire. I don’t know why he does it. Why he tortures himself. He’s not fooling anypony. He wants me. I know he does.

“I still intend to find what I’m looking for,” I say. “I may have lost Dash and AJ, but I still have my plans. I’m not done yet.”

“What plans?” Junior says stupidly. I lean into him. He leans away.

The hell are you doing, dumbass? Touch me, damn it!

My heart beats faster. My stomach lurches, then squeezes itself into a golf ball. “I need a specific drug,” I explain, forcing the words out of a dry mouth.

Junior’s head tilts slightly. “Why would I be able to help you with something like that?” he says defensively.

Ponyfeathers, you’re losing him Twilight, I think as Junior pulls even further away.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to lie to me,” I say, shrinking my voice to a mouse’s squeak, reeling him back in. “I know it’s not your fault. I know how Filthy Rich’s thugs force you to house their drugs here in your bar. It’s awful what they make you do.”

That’s a lie; nopony is forcing Junior to play ball with the local drug dealers. The truth is he cut a deal with them. Junior is a model citizen with a spotless record and a flawless reputation. Nopony would ever suspect him of throwing in with the neighborhood pushers, which makes him valuable to them. He lets the hoods store their product at his place whenever the streets heat up and the cops start cracking down harder than usual. And for his cooperation he gets a cut of the drug money.

“How do you know about that?” If Junior sees through my lie, he doesn’t let on. He likely thinks I’m just misinformed—and the white knight in him will never admit that he willing breaks the law.

“I’ve been…” I stop short and let him put the pieces together himself.

“You have been getting into trouble again.”

“No more than usual.”

“Twily,” he sighs. I wish he would stop calling me that. We aren’t kids anymore, and even then I hated it. “Filthy Rich is a dangerous pony.”

“Filthy isn’t my concern. He doesn’t handle his own dirty work. He doesn’t even live in Fillydelphia.”

“But his enforcers do. He’s got ponies running his businesses all over Equestria.”

“Exactly. A criminal network with that kind of reach is just what I need,” I explain. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about these thugs, it’s that they take care of each other. They fight each other. They know each other. They hide from the rest of us, but they can’t hide from each other. And a network as big as Filthy’s must be nearly all-inclusive. I’ll bet a pony can’t stick up a liquor store without Filthy hearing about it.”

“And the ponies that answer to him…you really think they can help you find…” Junior’s voice trails off. His words die in his throat long before they reach my ears.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” I say. “But I know you’ll help me. You’ve always helped me in the past.”

“You’re asking a lot of me, Twily,” he says.

“I know. I don’t have any money, but I can pay you, Junior.” I take one of his hooves and place it on my naked thigh. “I can pay you…” My skin crawls. Junior suffers a mild panic attack.

“W-what are you doing, Twily?” He jumps off the bed. Furious, I do the same, following him. He starts to say something else just as I rope my forelegs around his neck and pull him into a rough kiss. He fights me at first. Tries to push me away. Then he stands up on his hind legs, and his mouth opens, and his tongue glides over mine. Thick forelegs circle my waist. Eager hooves slip under the folds of my heavy trench coat, fondling my hips, my dock, and the matching starburst cutie marks on my flanks.

I try to pull him back to the bed but we stumble, dancing an awkward lust-drunken waltz before tumbling to the floor. I land on my back and Junior lands on me. His chest heaves against mine. He’s so heavy I can hardly bare his weight. Hardly breathe. His mouth opens, wide and greedy as he kisses me that same hungry way Inky kissed me all those nights ago. Our lips part long enough for a few heavy breaths to blast my face. Warm my cheeks. I stroke the back of his mane and tilt my head, pulling him into another rough kiss—licking his tongue, and biting his bottom lip, and breathing in his scent, and tasting him. Junior smells like Pinkie Pie. He tastes like her sisters. Like hunger and selfishness.

A little voice in the corner of my mind screams. It reminds me that Junior is big and strong and that he’s kissing me. That he’s licking me, holding me, stroking me, tasting me, smelling me…

…Touching me, touching me, touching me…

I tell the voice to shut up. When it doesn’t I start rocking my hips, dry humping Junior until the member poking my pelvis stiffens. I show the voice that I don’t care. That I like it. That I want to be touched again. I can take it. I’m not fragile. Not precious.

Touching me! The voice screams, calling my bluff. Touching me!

Junior moans into my open mouth, rocking his hips, rubbing his member against the folds of my entrance.

Lips and teeth graze my neck.

My skin crawls. A thousand fire ants creep through my fur, biting me all over.

Touchingmetouchingmetouchingmetouchingmetouchingmetouchingme!

I try to ignore the voice, but it repeats the words over and over. Too loud and too rapid—and over and over and over and over and over and over…

Shut up! I tell the voice. This is what I want! Leave me alone!

I scissor my hind legs around Junior’s waist, rocking against him harder now, whishing he was inside me. Whishing I could feel him—feel something, anything that isn’t fear or disgust at the thought of being touched.

I rock my hips.

My skin crawls.

I rock my hips.

The ants creep through my fur. Their hairy legs make me itch. Their pincers sting.

I screw my eyes shut, and my hips rock, and my mouth mashes against Junior's, graceless and hot and lusty. I hold him. Moan for him.

Junior rocks against me too. Then he stops suddenly. He breaks our sloppy kiss—and he splays my hind legs—and he grabs hold of his penis—and he strokes it once, twice, then guides it toward my warm entrance. My warm, inviting hole. Begging to be stuffed. Begging to be pleasured. To be wanted.

“Tell me…you want me…Junior.” My voice comes out strange and gnarled, my words separated by huffing pants. The sound stops Junior cold. His eyes glaze over, like he’s not sure what he’s looking at. Then he wipes flecks of sweat from his brow and sighs.

“No,” he says, more to himself than to me. “I don’t want you. Not like this.” He stands up dreamily and wanders to the other end of the room, leaving me lying on my back, panting.

“You liar!” I rise on shaky legs. “You’re no different from them. No—you’re worse. The Pies are monsters but at least they were honest. They didn’t lie about wanting to have their way with me.”

Junior doesn’t say anything. He stands silently and stares at a picture on the wall. It’s a portrait of him and his father.

“Look me in the eye,” I say. “Turn around, and look at me, and tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you’re different from them.”

“How are you even comparing the two?” he says, his gaze still fixed on the picture.

“What?” I shout, marching over to him. “What did you say? Don’t cheapen this, Junior. Don’t play games with me.”

His head lowers. His ears wilt, folding against the sides of his head. Then he sucks back a heavy breath and turns to face me like a stallion. Like the stallion he’s always pretending to be.

“Listen to yourself, Twilight. You’re not thinking straight. How are you comparing me to them? I have…” He struggles with the words for a few moments. They didn’t struggle. They came right out and said it. “I have feelings for you, Twily. I always have. Every since we were kids.” He struggles. They didn’t struggle. They were honest.

“They had feelings for me too,” I say bitterly. Junior’s eyes widen. He looks at me like I’m not making any sense. But he’s wrong. I’m making perfect sense. For the first time in my life, everything is making perfect sense. “Of course they had feelings for me. They even said so—just like you did.”

“They violated you, Twilight,” he says, shaking his head in pale-faced horror. “They raped you. They didn’t have feelings for you. Pinkie’s sisters… They wanted to hurt you.”

“That’s why they hurt me,” I say, frustrated that Junior doesn’t understand. “It’s Because they had feelings for me. Because they wanted me. Everypony who wants me hurts me. It’s why you’re hurting me right now.”

Junior’s head tilts in confusion. His eyes soften. “…Oh, Twily…” he pulls me into a gentle hug that makes me want to jump out of my fur. “What did they do to you? I’m so sorry. I wish I could… Oh Celestia, I’m so sorry.” He holds me for a long time. Then he lets me go and wipes his face, smearing his cheeks with fresh tears before saying, “You needed something right? A drug, you said. What was it? What did you need?”

“I don’t need anything from a liar.” I spit the last word in his face.

“Come on, Twily, I want to help. Just tell me what you need.” His voice comes out all lonely and tired and beaten. I search his face for deceit and find plenty. But he’s right. I do need that drug.

“It’s not really a drug. It’s a potion that temporarily renders a unicorn’s magic useless,” I explain. “I was told you would have something like that.”

“Told by who?” He waits for me to answer. I don’t. “Never mind. Yeah, I have it.”

He turns around and looks at the portrait of him and his father. His horn glows. The framed painting drifts away, revealing a hidden combination safe embedded in the wall. He twists the dial, stops a moment to think—like maybe he’s forgotten the combination—then he twists it again and swings the metal door open. The safe is full of bottles. Bottles of pills and liquids, all bearing nondescript labels. I stare inside the metal box. Then at the back of Junior’s neck.

My left hoof slips into my right sleeve, reaching for something cold and cruel. I almost cry. Almost.

“Is it true what you said, Junior?” I pull the ash-black garrote from my sleeve and rear up on my hind legs. “Is it true that you don’t want me?” The wire goes taut between a pair of sad hooves.

“It is, Twily. I would never lie to you.” Junior says the words but he doesn’t turn around and face me. He doesn’t look me in the eye. He can’t. He stares into the mouth of the open safe, sobbing quietly.

He tries to whisper one more apology, but the time for that is behind us now. It’s too late. The wire is already slipping around his neck.

Twi’s been gone a while. It’s gettin’ late.

Rainbow and Ah are still standin’ 'round in the cold. We was talkin’ ‘bout the state of things not too long ago, but all that talkin’ and ponderin’ has us plum tuckered out now. Rainbow especially. Ah’m starin’ into her big beautiful eyes, watchin’ her blink away tears and painful memories, when Ah hear a knockin’ sound come from inside the trunk. Ma heart skips like a scratched record, and ma head spins, and the memory of Twilight stuffin’ a stallion in the trunk earlier tonight comes rushin’ back with a taunt and a chuckle. Twi clocked him good and knocked him out cold. He’s awake now, and Ah reckon he ain’t none too happy ‘bout being stuffed in a trunk for the better part of the night.

Rainbow don’t waste a second. She shoves me aside, swearin’ as she drops down into a fightin’ stance.

The knockin’ gives way to a muffled cry. Then the trunk lid gets to glowin’ bright pink in the center before a blast of light blows it into the sky. The slab of metal cartwheels through the air for a spell, then smashes on the hood of another parked car. Ah look to Rainbow. Her eyes flick from the trunk, to me, then back to the trunk. Then her wings spread mighty quick, kickin’ up a small wind that rustles her trench coat. She pushes her hat down till its snug on her head and lets’ a fiery grin wipe away the sad look she was wearin’ not one minute ago. Her eyes turn into sparkles, all bright and wild with the excitement. And then she’s gone. The moment takes her.

Ah try to follow Rainbow’s lead and strike a fightin’ pose myself, but ma legs are already shakin’ somethin’ powerful. The unicorn stallion in the trunk—the one Twi knocked out and stuffed in the car during our scrap with Filthy’s thugs—he ain’t right in the head. He’s got a gaze like this pegasus Ah used to know, all crossed eyed so you ain’t never sure what he’s lookin’ at. He can’t talk proper, neither. Sometimes his words come out soundin’ longer than they should. And he’s got this wail. This right ghastly banshee-shriek. Twi said his name was Soprano. Ah reckon it suits him.

Soprano lets out a furious wail as he climbs out the trunk. His legs are long. They seem to unravel as they come down on the sidewalk, like ropes bein’ lowered out a window. He’s the tallest unicorn Ah ever seen, only a hair sorter than either of the princesses. It’s a wonder Twilight managed to stuff him in trunk at all.

Rainbow makes a dash for Soprano, rammin’ him head on and crushin’ him between her shoulder and the rear bumper. He shrieks as Rainbow grabs hold of his thin barrel and flips him onto his back. Ah watch his long legs kick at Dash’s head, missin’, hittin’ nothing but empty air. She’s too quick for him. Laughin’, Rainbow stomps his mouth, shuttin’ him up for a spell. Ah shake the fear out ma limbs and follow Rainbow’s lead, chargin’ forward and tellin’ myself there’s nothin’ to be scared of. It’s two against one, and Rainbow’s mighty tenacious in a scrap. She’s already got the feller on his back. We can handle this, Ah tell myself. We can handle this.

Rainbow stomps him again, grinnin’ her fiery grin. Soprano wails. Ah’m a step away from joinin’ in on Dash’s fun, when suddenly Soprano’s horn flashes. Bright light burns mah eyes and Ah go blind. Somethin’ that ain’t there grabs ma tail and chucks me like Ah don’t weigh a thing. A second high-pitched scream wallops ma eardrums. It mixes with Soprano’s, fillin’ the empty parkin’ lot like somethin’ tangible, as Ah flip through the air like a tossed coin. Air rushes. The world spins in slow motion. By the time Ah realize the second scream is comin’ form me, Ah’ve already dented the roof of Rainbow’s car with ma spine. Pain darts up ma back, laughin’, enjoyin’ itself plenty as a bounce off metal and then thud against concrete. A moment later ah hear a second thud that can only be Dash hittin’ the pavement.

Ah’m lyin’ on ma back, tryin’ to re-teach myself how to breath, when Ah see a rainbow shoot across the sky and try wrap itself around a streetlight. It makes a wicked pingin’ sound, then drops to the floor in a heap. It’s not till Soprano trots toward it that Ah realize the fallen in rainbow is Dash. Ah see under the streetlight, grinnin’ at some secret joke as she struggles to stand.

Ah try to stand myself, but the pain in ma back keeps me glued to ground. The best Ah can manage is rollin’ onto ma stomach.

“Stuff me in a trunk, huh? I’ll learn yaaaaa! I’ll learn ya goooodd! St—st—stupid dykeeeee!” Soprano’s wail bursts into a slew of curses and slurs as he kicks Rainbow clean on the jaw. Her head snaps back and she falls onto her side, still smilin’ at her secret joke. “Do you know who I am? Who I work fooorr?! Who my family works foooooorr?!” he sheiks.

The unicorn pummels Rainbow. She takes her lumps like a champ. She’s all courage and bravado, that one. There’s nothin’ but fight in her.

Ah try to hurry to Rainbow’s rescue, tellin’ ma body to stop messin’ around and get up. But it’s no good. The pain in mah back is too much. Ah can’t move.

“Rainbow…” Ah try to shout her name but the words leave ma mouth quiet as prayer. Hopeless front legs drag me forward. Ah grit ma teeth and haul myself, crawlin’ on ma belly like the useless thing Ah’ve become. Twilight was right. Ah have changed. Ah’m weaker now. Slower. Dumber. Ah couldn’t keep the knife from slidin’ between Spike’s ribs. Ah couldn’t stop Inky and Blinky from hurtin’ Twilight—and Ah can’t stop this piece of trash from beatin’ Rainbow to death. Ah’m useless. Twi was right all along. She always is.

An earsplittin’ holler tears out of ma throat. A belly-deep, soul-shakin’ scream, like a somethin’ out of a night terror. Ah let it out. The anger, the frustration, the helplessness, and the fear—it all comes gushin’ out of me. Everything Ah am spills onto the sidewalk—and it keeps spillin’ till there ain’t nothin’ left. When the holler finally fizzles out the old apple-buckin’ farmhand from Ponyville is gone. She ain’t nothin’ no more. Nothin’ but a lame horse.

The unicorn hears ma holler climb above his own, and his head cocks likes it’s on a swivel. He faces me, his horn glowin’, his lazy eyes rollin’ in his head. Pink light halos around his pale face—and the face wails—and Ah screw ma eyes shut, waitin’ for it.

While Ah’m waitin’ Ah hear Soprano’s shriek change. It ain’t his usual angry, frustrated whinin’ no more. He yips like a hurt puppy at first, then starts makin’ these wet chokin’ noises. Ah open ma eyes and see Twilight ridin’ him like a buckin’ bull, that cruel black wire garrote of hers tied tight around his neck.

He tries to throw her off but Twi scissors her hind legs around his barrel and pinches her thighs. He bucks. Hacks. Wheezes. Flecks of spit dribble down the corner of his mouth. His eyes glaze. His legs buckle. They fold beneath him as falls on his side, lookin’ like a tangled mess of rope piled on the ground.

Twi breaks her scissor hold. In the dim glow of the streetlights Ah watch her take Soprano’s mane between her hooves, lift his head, then drive his face into the ground. She does it repeatedly, liftin’ and drivin’ till a red puddle forms where Soprano’s muzzle keeps strikin’ the pavement. When she gets board of smashin’ his face, Twi grabs one of them long forelegs and twists it behind the unicorn’s back. He yips, beggin’ Twi to stop. She doesn’t. She’s past stoppin’. She’s in too deep now. Twi’s up to her neck in evil, but it still ain’t enough to sate her. She won’t stop till all that anger and hatred rises up over her head. Till it covers the scar beneath her bangs, that jagged wound in her skin—in her mind—that marks the spot where her horn should be.

Trapped in a painful daze Ah watch Twi twist the unicorn’s foreleg till his shoulder gives with a nasty pop. Then she lays the leg on the ground and braces her heel against the knee. The unicorn screams for mercy, but Twi don’t pay him no mind. She pulls the limb toward the sky, bendin’ it a way it ain't meant to bend. Soprano wails. Begs. Twilight don’t make a sound. She’s quiet and expressionless the whole time, pickin’ him apart like a kid pullin’ the legs off an insect.

Ah try to speak up and ask her to stop but the words hide in ma throat, afraid, not wantin’ to find Twilight’s ears. She goes to work on his second foreleg. Watchin’ her makes me so sick Ah have to look away. Ah’m not like Twi or Rainbow. Ah’m not brave enough to chance a gander into the abyss.

Eventually Soprano passes out and Fillydelphia goes quieter than the Everfree Forest at night. There ain’t no noise except for Rainbow’s groanin’, ma own heavy breathin’, and the barely-there clop, clop of Twi’s hooves ghostin’ along the ground as she trots toward me. Ah tilt ma head up and see Twilight standin’ overhead, her eyebrows lookin’ like a pair of flat lines. There aint a shred of concern showin’ in her face.

“Get up and help Spike out of the backseat,” she says, her voice as flat as her eyebrows.

“Ah…Ah think Ah hurt ma back,” Ah say, tryin’ to stand again and failin’ somethin’ awful. “Help me, Twi. Ah can’t get up…”

Twilight don’t say nothin’; she just shakes her head and trots back to the fallen unicorn. She drapes Soprano across her shoulders, wearin’ him like a cape as she makes a beeline for Junior’s place.

“I’ll be inside taking care of this piece of trash,” she says as she walks by. “Let me know when you and Rainbow are done being useless.”

“Twi, please,” Ah mutter, soundin’ all kinds of pathetic. “Ah can’t get up…”

She stops cold. Drops the unicorn. Trots up to me. Kneels down and offers me a helpin’ hoof.

When ah reach for Twi’s hoof she pulls it away harshly.

“It doesn’t feel too good when your friend isn’t there for you, does it?” She runs a bloody hoof through her bangs, stain’ the spot on her forehead where her horn should be. “I hope the damage isn’t permanent.”

“Punk,” Rainbow mutters through a mouthful of blood. She can’t seem to get up either.

Twilight turns to face Rainbow. “I’ll be inside when you work up the nerve to say that to my face,” she says. Then she picks up the unicorn and walks off, leavin’ me and Rainbow to lick our wounds.

Ah look all around, suddenly worried that our ruckus might’a earned us some unwanted attention from the cops. Thankfully Ah don’t see any blue suits. There ain’t nothin’ to see but a busted-up Rainbow Dash and her busted-up car.

It feels like hot dragon teeth are chewin’ on ma spine, but Ah suck it up, grit ma teeth and manage to crawl closer to Rainbow. She’s lyin’ face up, smilin’ at the stars with a bloodstained mouth.

“You all right, Rainbow?” Ah ask.

She doesn’t say anything at first, but she answers me all right. A laugh creeps up her throat, and Ah see her stomach contract violently as her body pushes it out. It’s a deep, unnervin’ belly laugh. Hearin’ it gives me a fright much worse than Twilight with her blank face and her garrote.

“I definitely felt that,” she laughs. “That was way closer. We almost died, like, for real.”

Ah stare at Rainbow for a spell, watchin’ her cover her face as the laugh shakes her from the inside. When Ah can’t stand no more Ah roll over and look at nothin’ at all. Ma gaze roams free across the empty lot till it falls on Rainbow’s car. It’s full of holes. The trunk is gone. The roof is dented. It’s startin' to look like us, Ah think. All beat to hell and back. All ugly and misshapen and less than it was at the start of this crazy journey.

Ma eyes fix on the license plate. It’s still there. It’s danglin’ off the back of the car, but it’s still there...

Chapter 4: "Have we become that predictable?"
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Chapter 4: "Have we become that predictable?"

Chapter Four: "Have we become that predictable?"

When I was a filly still going to school in Cloudsdale I got into a serious fight with my best friend of the time, a griffin named Gilda. It happened right smack at the start of my horny, rebellious teenage years. Unlike the other girls in my class, Gilda included, puberty wasn’t doing me any favors in the body department. None of the hormone-crazed colts had eyes for me because I didn’t curve in any of the right places the way Gilda and the others did. It didn’t matter that my friend was a griffin living in a town of mostly ponies; she had an adult’s body before most of her peers and that was the only thing colts our age cared about.

But there was one colt who didn’t. His name was Slipstream and at the time he was sex on four legs. Slip was hunky, brooding, moody, popular, cool. He was the bar, and boy oh boy was the bar high. Colts hated him. Fillies loved him. And to be blunt, he was way out of my league.

Gilda wanted Slipstream in that nonchalant way pretty girls seem to want everything in the world. One night during a sleepover at my place, Gilda made a big stink about being madly in love with Slip. Apparently she had been crushing on him since preschool and figured now that she had the goods (i.e. a slamming supermodel body) it was time to grab the little snot by the balls and make him her boy-toy. Her confession was only mildly obnoxious right up until the part where she made me promise I wouldn’t try to steal Slip from her, at which point it erupted into a full blown what-the-fuck fest.

Let’s get one thing straight right now: I wasn’t a spiteful kid. I got made fun of for my tomboyishness so often that I eventually learned how to let things roll off my shoulder. Being teased by school bullies didn’t bother me much, mostly because I was too busy flying circles around those losers to care. But something about the way Gilda made me swear not to put any moves on Slip got under my skin. Anypony with eyes could see that a colt like Slip was about six divisions out of my league. I didn’t have a chance. I didn’t have half a chance. And the weirdest part of the whole thing was that Gilda already knew I was a little rug-muncher in training. I never came out and told her I was gay, (I wasn’t sure myself then) but I’m positive I faux-flirted with Gilda often enough for her to do the math on her own.

To this day Gilda will claim that the whole thing was just in my head—and maybe it was—but I swear she was taunting me. She knew I could never score with a prime piece of ass like Slip, but she wanted to make sure I knew it too. It was her way of keeping our playing field uneven.

Despite her laziness and total lack of respect for authority, Gilda did fine in school because she was smarter than most of her teachers. We both got high marks in class, and we were both heads and shoulders above our peers in all things related to flying. I was the faster flyer, of course, and even at a young age I could corner on a dime—a trick it took Gilda years to wrap her head around. After all the numbers where good and crunched it wasn’t hard to see which of us was better in the air. Still, Gilda had a grace about her when she took to the sky that even I couldn't match. I was good, but only because I was trying to be good. With Gilda it was different; you could tell she didn’t give a fuck. She could pull off some truly amazing stunts when the mood struck her, but flying wasn’t a competition for Gilda the way it was for me. She flew the same way she did everything else: at her own pace and only when she felt like it. She didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, griffin or pony. Gilda knew who she was and didn’t care what the world thought of her. It was a quality I didn’t have. I envied that about her. I really did.

We were pretty much even in scholastics and flying, but at the end of the day Gilda was the sexy one and I was the dumpy-looking best friend. I had no problem admitting that she had better luck with colts, but the fact that my best friend felt the need to elevate herself by pushing me down really, really ticked me off.

After Gilda rolled over and fell asleep I decided there and then that nothing in the world was going to stop me from hooking up with Slipstream.

The saddest thing about this story is that I didn’t even like Slip. I thought he was a jerk who strutted around acting like his shit didn’t stink, but none of that mattered after Gilda’s confession. Gilda thought I wasn’t good enough for him. Worse, she thought she was better than me. Well fuck that, I thought. Fuck that and fuck her too.

I went after Slip like he was a limited time offer and supplies were running low. Admittedly, I may have been a tad too aggressive in the beginning. I figured a dick head like Slipstream, with his bullshit punk rock attitude and his totally fabricated edginess, would appreciate the forward approach. In hindsight, I realize he probably thought I was too easy. I never offered to suck him off behind a bungalow or anything crazy like that, but I flaunted myself so often I might as well have.

Slipstream blew me off dozens of times, but I also noticed he blew off every other filly as well. He even blew off Gilda. It happened one day after cloud busting class and all the popular kids in Gilda’s “other” circle of friends were there to see it. I was there too. I’m not proud of it, but I have to admit I enjoyed watching my best friend’s public humiliation.

Later that same day Gilda came over my place after school and cried her eyes out for like two hours. I seriously considered dropping the whole stupid feud right then and there. Yeah I’d lost the race, but Gilda and me were tied for last place and I figured that must have counted for something. Rejection had made us equals again, and for the moment that was good enough for me.

The moment was short lived. The next day at school I saw Slip leaning against his locker with his nose buried in an old issue of Batmare. It was the one with the totally kick-ass, totally misleading cover image of Batmare smashing through a skylight with her cape thrown wide as she dropped down on her arch nemesis, The Kidder.

Worst. Issue. Ever. Printed. Ever. Seriously, I had been following the adventures of Batmare since Amble Moore revived The Kidder’s persona in The Slaying Gag, and in the span of only twenty-six pages I almost gave up on the entire series. And judging from the disgruntled expression of on Slip’s face as he flipped through page after page, I figured the feeling as mutual.

Without thinking, I trotted up to him and said, “Pretty lame, huh?”

He lowered the comic and gave me a look like somepony had just punted his puppy into the stratosphere. Turns out Slipstream was a die-hard fan boy who was deeply distressed that he had fallen behind in Batmare only to catch up and find himself balls deep in the worst story arch of the series. I wasn’t a die-hard fan myself; Amble was the only reason I had discovered comics. I had read Watchmares, seen the movie version of C for Contention, and only heard about The Association of Phenomenal Cavaliers (which sucked because that was Slip’s favorite book by Amble). I didn’t know the ins and outs of the comic world like Slip did, but I figured if I pretended to he would find me more…appealing, I guess (cut me some slack, I was like fourteen at the time).

The conversation gradually shifted from geekdom to dating. I asked Slip if maybe he wanted to catch a flick with me this weekend, and he flashed this adorable smile and told me the flirting thing was getting old fast. Then he rolled up his comic like it was newspaper and tucked it under his wing before trotting off. The bell rang a few minutes later, and as I watched the other foals scurry off to their homerooms, I realized something had changed. I didn’t feel any closer to Slip, and I still thought he was jerk, but now he was a mildly dorky jerk who had wrinkled his nose at issue #137 of Batmare.

And he had smiled at me…

I didn’t see Gilda that day until lunch after third period. For the first half of the school day we didn’t have any classes together, a phenomenon that had never bothered me until that day. I remember wanting very badly to tell Gilda about my moment alone with Slip, and the agony of keeping it bottled up for three periods seemed to be shaving years off my life. I wasn’t planning to rub such a tiny win in Gilda’s face. Nothing worth bragging about had happened between me and Slip, but I knew just talking about the only pony who’d ever rejected her would be enough to annoy Gilda. It was the least I could do after she’d tried to make an ass of me during the sleepover.

I ended up never saying a word about me and Slip. When lunch came and I saw Gilda shooting the shit with a couple of her friends seated at the “Griffin Table,” I decided our faux-love triangle wasn’t worth piss. Mentioning Slip now was only going to upset Gilda for less than a minute and make me look like a petty jerk who couldn’t shut her gob and lose gracefully. Besides, our so-called rivalry over Slipstream existed nowhere except in my own head. Slip still didn’t like either of us, Gilda still had half the guys on campus wrapped around her talon, and I was still stuck playing the field, though at this point I was mostly running in place.

After lunch me, Gilda, and two of her griffin friends decided to ditch class for the rest of day. Gilda’s parents were never home, so we went to her place to eat junk food and laugh our asses off at her dad’s cringe-worthy collection of old shitty, racist flicks. The movies were made during an age of Equestrian history that apparently predated tact by several decades. There was this one—I don’t remember the title now—but it was about a wealthy mare from Manehattan who had to hide her zebra lover from her ignorant, bigot parents. The story was about love and tolerance and cultural acceptance, and it might have been a touching romance if the “zebra” hadn’t been played by an earth stallion with stripes painted on his face. The funniest thing was they didn’t even bother finding a stallion with a white coat. The mare’s lover was this hideous black and lime green monstrosity that talked in rhyme for the entire two hours the movie ran. It was soooo bad.

That flick impressed me. Before then I had no idea how wildly amusing a truly bad movie could be. The four of us laughed so hard and so often that we kept sporadically missing chunks of the flick, but it was still so memorable that me and Gilda quoted lines from it up until graduation. That was a good day. I won't say it was the last truly awesome day I shared with Gilda, but it was definitely one of the last. There were more good times waiting for us further down the road, but we never laughed like that again.

A week later I started scheming up new ways to get Slip’s attention. Winter was right around the corner, so I decided to start working part time at a weather factory that wasn’t too far from the school. I got a job making snowflakes. The work was infuriatingly tedious, but it was a seasonal job that only lasted three months, so I managed to tough it out.

Most of my money got spent on random comic books. I realize now that it wasn’t much of a plan, but I didn’t know what other angles to work. One crappy issue of Batmare was the only thing me and Slip had ever bonded over, and with the exception of the few titles I remembered from that one conversation, I had no idea what books Slip liked. I knew he was a die-hard fan boy; anypony could tell that much by the enthusiasm that snuck into his tone when he talked about his favorite heroes. He was also a teenage colt, so I figured anything with copious amounts of face-punching was a safe bet. But was he mainstream or indie? Was he a superhero purest, or did he dabble in other genres? I needed to know if I as going to impress him. Pretending hadn’t worked so I figured it was time to give the real thing go.

The questions only got deeper when I actually went to do some browsing at the only comic shop I knew of in Cloudsdale, a store called Page’s Pages. I asked the owner, a grubby, middle-aged stallion with the world’s least conspicuous overbite, if he had any books that were like Batmare. He adjusted his glasses dramatically before extending a friendly hoof and introducing himself as Page Turner.

I liked Page right away. He was the first adult I’d ever met who didn’t talk like an adult. He didn’t talk like a kid either. Page and his fellow stallion-foals spoke in their own language, which consisted of mostly movie one-liners and obscure references to shows nopony had ever seen and books nopony had ever read. They were impressively lame, and half of them were probably still virgins—Page included—but they also reminded me of Gilda in a way. Page and his friends knew who they were, and they were happy living vicariously through their mountainous heaps of picture books.

Page told me to start with Amble Moore. So I started with Amble Moore…

It didn’t work. I learned a ton of useless junk I figured Slip would dig, but he kept shooting down all my advances. For a stretch of almost three weeks I was literally getting rejected daily, and I definitely wasn’t wearing Slip down. The situation called for a change in tactics. I started interrogating Slip’s friends. I needed to know what kind of music he listened to, what sports he liked, what his hobbies were—anything that might give me a new edge.

I kept learning, kept trying, kept getting shot down. It was mostly Slip’s fault that I kept coming back for more punishment. He never just said no. He was always coy about it in a way that made me figure I still might have a chance if I tried working a new angle. After a while I think it just became this sick game neither of us could stop playing. I was addicted to the challenge of chasing him, and Slip was addicted to the attention. In a weird way, Slipstream helped me get over my fear of rejection. I used to be embarrassed about my body, and I knew colts weren’t into me so I just avoided the entire dating scene as way to spare myself the sting of not being wanted. But then Slipstream came along and made not being wanted this casual thing. Rejection started hurting less and less every day, until it eventually it became a mundane part of my life. I got up in the morning. I ate breakfast. I went to school. Slip rejected me. I went home. Maybe I did some homework. Maybe not.

With the fear of rejection gone all that remained was the thrill of the chase. I was so addicted to the challenge of hooking up that I started flirting with just about every colt on campus. Almost none of them liked me, and the ones that did were creeps, but that was never discouraged me. The challenge was plenty fun on its own. Dating was this big, stupid, thing I couldn’t do, and struggling to make sense of it made me feel alive.

Colts were the only thing that interested me for a long time. School was a breeze, and I had already performed a Sonic Rainboom before I even got my cutie mark. I don’t mean to brag, but with exception of snagging a coltfriend most everything I did came too easily. Colts were the only challenge the world had to offer at the time, and without a challenge I felt numb.

Eventually I let my colt obsession spiral out of control. I realized things had gone too far when one day Gilda pulled me aside after lunch and told me half the school was talking about me. I asked her what they were saying and she shook her head and shouted, “That’s not the point!”

And she was right: that wasn’t the point. The point was the chase. I had something new and fun to dive into and get lost in. Lost…yeah, that’s definitely the right word. My obsession got so bad that I up and stopped caring about a ton of things I used to love. Whenever Gilda asked me to hang out I’d tell her I couldn’t because I had twenty some-odd issues of assorted Marevel Comics to root around for at Page’s place, hoping I could use my knowledge of geekdom to impress Slip. My grades took a nosedive. My flight skills got sloppy. The manager at the weather factory cut me loose, claiming he’d never met a more unfocused worker in all his life.

The crazy thing was I didn’t even care. My friends and parents were all crawling up my ass about “responsibilities” and “priorities,” but none of them understood the importance of what I was doing. Everything else bored and depressed me. I felt empty if I wasn’t batting my eyelashes at some random guy strolling down the hall or trying to chat up the foreign exchange students who hadn’t been around long enough to know what a freak I was. And I hated feeling empty. It was the worst feeling in the world.

Then one day Slipstream ruined everything when he finally accepted my advances. At first I was so excited I could hardly think straight. The hottest colt in the school said yes to me! I’d done it! I beat Gilda! I beat them all! Every single colt who had turned me down and all the fillies who had made fun of me were gonna have to watch me prance up and down the campus holding hooves with the hottest colt in school. Gilda could blow me. Cloudsdale Middle could kiss my ass. The entire world could eat my box. I won. Fuck everypony else, I won.

A few days into the relationship I realized I had lost. The chase was over. The thrill was gone. I didn’t give a shit about Slipstream; he was the destination, and now that I had arrived there was nowhere else to go. I slip into a depression that lasted for days. When Slip caught on and asked what was wrong, I told him we were done. He asked me why, and as I fumbled with my answer Slip leaned into me and planted a sweet, shadow of a kiss on my open mouth. When the kiss ended I shoved Slipstream and screamed something about hating his guts and never wanting to see him again. He didn’t say anything back, but he had this look on his face like he couldn’t decide if what had just happened was hilarious or heartbreaking. It was long flight home that day.

Thankfully, the next day was a Saturday so I didn’t have to go to school. I had my parents helped me haul all my stupid comic book paraphernalia to Page’s place so I could sell it pack to him. He frowned and told me he’d only be able to give me a fraction of what I originally paid.

“That’s cool,” I remember saying as I stood in front of his counter, sheepishly scratching the back of my neck. “Not like I was expecting a refund.”

As Page riffled through my boxes of childhood adventure I tried to ignore the flicker of nostalgia in his big, goofy-looking hazel eyes. Selling my comics felt like a betrayal. Page and I had shared laughs and been swept up in heated discussions over the words and illustrations in these stupid glossy-paged picture books, and saying that I didn’t want them anymore was like saying I didn’t want Page anymore. That didn’t seem fair to him.

Page stopped his riffling half way through the third box and dramatically adjusted his glasses. He plucked a single issue from the bunch and laid it down on the counter for me to see.

“Sorry, but I just can’t bring myself to buy this one,” he said, feigning a disappointed look. “It’s worthless. You’ll have to keep it.”

I looked down at the lone comic and smiled. It was Batmare issue number #137. Page winked at me. It was a cheesy thing to do—but I was glad he did it.

On Monday morning I bumped into a very angry Gilda. She was waiting for me at the gate wearing a scowl that reminded me that griffins are predators. She told me to meet her behind the bungalows after school because we needed to talk, and I laughed in her face and asked her what there was to talk about it. It was a fucked up thing to do, but Slip and Page and this whole crazy semester had me feeling sick and mixed up. Gilda was the last person in the sky I wanted giving me shit about everything that had happened, but by then it was too late. Our time and place of reckoning had already been set. After school behind the bungalows. It was time to pony up and face the music.

I remember standing behind the bungalows and watching the sun hide its face behind a mass of grey clouds. It’s strange to experience a cloudy day in Cloudsdale. It only happens every blue moon and only because some lazy factory worker is pulling his dick instead making sure all the clouds are hanging at the right altitude.

As I squinted up at the grey veil that hid the sun’s face, it occurred to me that I couldn’t chalk up the dreary weather to simple equine error. Doing that would have cheapened all the thoughts, emotions, and events that had brought me here. I wanted the cloudy day to hold a more esoteric meaning. I wanted to believe that the sun was a sentient creature that hid it’s face because it wasn’t interested in seeing my petty high-school drama run its course. I remember looking up and wondering how many stories like mine it had ignored. I remember feeling small and alone, and in that moment I realized just how utterly insignificant my story was. Then Gilda shouted my name from behind, and I forgot all about the sun with its mask of grey fluff and its bored disposition.

Gilda called me all sorts of names. She screamed. She might have cried; I don’t remember now. What I do remember is that Gilda shoved me during her tantrum. It wasn't painful, just surprising. Jarring. I had been picked on and bullied before but nopony had ever gotten physical with me. Ponies don’t fight all that much; our heads aren't wired for it. Gilda's no pony but she'd been living like us for so long our sensibilities had been bred into her. She was domesticated—a jungle cat without fangs or claws, no more of predator than I was.

The moment after the shove was strange and frightening for both of us. It was as if we'd discovered this entirely new way of communicating. Of solving problems.

Thinking about it now, I never would have hit Gilda if she hadn't shoved me. I couldn't have hit her; I wouldn't have known how. It was Gilda who taught me that new way of speaking. She opened my eyes to something ugly and to show my thanks I hit her so hard I broke her beak. I hit her so hard I cracked the domed ceiling of the sheltered world our parents and teachers had built for us with their lectures and their warnings and their rules. And hidden in the dull thump of my hoof slamming into her beak was a high that was better than flying or colts or the escapist fantasies trapped in the pages of my old comic books.

A sudden rush of adrenaline made my pulse pound. I hit Gilda again. Again. Again.

Then she hit me back…

After the fight I remember sitting on a cot in the nurses office with a wad of gauze pressed to the talon marks on my neck while I tripped out on the crazy thump, thump, thump of my heart going nuts in my chest. That was the first time since the day I pulled off the sonic rainboom that I was sure I was alive.

It was the same way I felt the night Twilight lost her horn. Same way I feel now...

Rainbow looks at me like I'm a stranger, like she doesn’t know who am in or where she is. Then something clicks in the back of her head and her expression softens. Her eyes turn into feathered pillows and she smiles at me like the punch-drunk clown she is. I try to match her smile but the cold air and the colder thing beating in my chest make forming the expression a chore.

"What are you smiling at?" I ask, unsure if Rainbow's grin is bothering me or not.

"Your face," Rainbow says as I help her back to all fours, her tone sober. "You remind of this punk I kicked in the beak when I was kid."

Rainbow winces as I lace one of her forelegs around my neck and tell her to lean on me.

"So, is this the part where you say sorry and I fall back into your hooves like nothing happened?" Rainbow says. She might be joking. She might be dead serious. Honestly, I can’t tell which.

"No. That part comes after you chide me for getting AJ hurt," I answer ruefully.

Rainbow laughs weakly. It’s a hollow sound at the back of dry throat, almost a wheeze. When the wheezing laugh becomes a cough the two of us start trudging toward Junior’s bar. I focus on putting one hoof in front of the other. I count the steps, trying hard not to think Applejack lying face up on the concrete or Spike lying curled up in the back seat of rainbow’s car or Junior’s corpse lying face down in the walk-in freezer.

I count the steps.

One. Two...

"Have we become that predictable?" says Rainbow. The notion seems to upset her.

Three. Four...

I wait for Rainbow to bring up AJ as we transverse the parking lot. When she doesn’t I find myself thinking about the flecks of saliva that sputtered from Junior’s mouth as I strangled him.

Five. Six...

I remember my thighs scissored around his midsection, squeezing, trying to grind his ribs into paste.

Seven. Eight...

I remember the sounds. The breathless, dogged gurgles. My name, desperate and misshapen on his foamy lips.

Nine...

He trashed for a long time. Longer than he should have.

During the trudge a random pedestrian catches sight of me and Rainbow and stops to watch us. Rainbow shouts at the poor stallion, asking him what the hay he thinks he’s staring at. The stallion gives a start, then shuffles off hurriedly with his nose pointed toward the ground. Others pass by without heeding us. Apparently we aren’t much of an anomaly this far into the bad side of town.

"...I'm sorry about all of this, Dash," I hear myself mumble as we cross the invisible threshold that marks the halfway point between where we started and where we’re going.

Rainbow keeps her gaze fixed on the blood trail forming beneath her she speaks. "Don't ever apologize to me again, egghead,” she says. There’s something like anger in her voice, but quieter. More detached. “If you say sorry one more time I'm going to start hitting you and I'm never going to stop. Just tell me what to do next. I want to help you nail these jerks, okay. So just tell me what's next."

She doesn't even look at me as she talks. I don't see her expression and her tone is hard to read, somehow I know Rainbow and I are done fighting. We've been chipping away at each other with chisels made of words and mean looks for the better part of a year, but that's over now. Rainbow just ended it with a few words.

She wants to help me. After all I've put her through, she's still dedicated to my mad cause. Element of Loyalty, I guess.

As I reach the door and push it open I'm struck with the almost crippling realization that Dash won't survive my crusade. Dash is dedicated to loyalty. To honor. There's no place for her this far from home. Not among all these thieves.

Without thinking, I nuzzle Rainbow’s cheek with my own as we cross into Junior’s bar. I think I’m trying to tell her that everything will work out in the end—but it feels like I’m saying goodbye.

Rainbow understands. She nuzzles me back, saying goodbye as well.

From wear Ah'm lyin' on the concrete Ah watch Twi 'n' Rainbow nuzzle each other as they stumble into Junior's place. Now ain't hardly the time to be gettin' jealous, but Ah feel the old green-eyed monster get to rustlin' 'round in mah guts just the same. It’s good to finally see them gettin' along, but it still grinds mah gears watchin’ them be so...close.

The door swings closed behind them, and for one minute too long Ah’m all alone with the cold air and the ache in mah back and the night sounds. Never much cared for the city at night. Ain’t like the countryside. The countryside gets tuckered out after sundown and goes to straight to sleep right along with the ponies livin’ on it. It’s quiet and peaceful, and if ya happen to wander out and have a gander up at the midnight-blue sky there ain’t no streetlights or neon billboards to stop ya from seein’ the stars. There ain’t nothin’ to see now. The sky’s empty and black.

After the minute goes by, Twi pushes open the door and steals across the empty lot. Ghostin’. Not makin’ a sound as she trots up to me. Neither of us says a word as Twi bites mah jacket collar, drags me inside, and lays me down across from Rainbow in a booth near the bar’s entrance. The table that’s separatin’ us might as well be a continent ‘cause that’s how far away Rainbow feels right now. She don’t so much as look at me as Twi piles mah limp body into the booth. She don’t say nothin’ either. Ah reckon Ah expect the silent treatment from Twi; when she ain’t barkin’ orders or throwin’ hissy fits Twi's usually clammed up in her own head, thinkin’ and schemin’. But Rainbow’s always been a doer, not a thinker. Ain’t like her to brood.

Twi steps out for a spell and then returns carryin’ Spike on her back. The little guy’s still asleep as she sets him down in the booth beside Rainbow. Then she plops down in the free space beside me and stares at her own hooves restin’ on the table. Ah watch her mouth get to workin’ silently. She don’t say nothin’, but her lips flap and she gets to drawin’ on the tabletop with her empty hoof like she’s strugglin’ to work through a complicated math problem only she can see. During her calculatin', Twi shakes her head a bunch of times like she keeps makin’ mistakes. The longer it goes on the more frantic her lip flaps get, until eventually Ah’m sure she’s cursin’ as she suffers through her make-believe equation. Then she stops all at once, runs a hoof through her frayed bangs, and starts rubbin' her forehead. Her eyes widen as she stares down at her unfinished math problem, and by now she’s sweatin’ all over and breathin’ heavy.

It’s a right frightenin’ sight, like watchin’ a nervous breakdown on mute. Ah look over at Rainbow to see what she’s makin’ of Twi’s behavior, only to find her passed out and lying face down on the table. Guess the beatin’ finally got her.

When Ah look back to Twi she’s starin’ square at me, and, without warnin, she pulls me into a tight hug. A burnin’ sensation two-steps across mah back as Twi squeezes, but Ah don’t have the heart to tell her she’s hurtin’ me. Ah grit mah teeth to keep from hollerin’ in pain as Ah pat her on the back. Ah even let her rest her chin on mah shoulder. Ya know, let her have her moment.

After what feels like a long time, Twi breaks the hug and slides out the booth. Ah watch her disappear into a door behind the counter that Ah reckon must lead to the kitchen. She reappears a few minutes later, strugglin’ to walk as she balances a metal tray on her back. There’re three bowls of what looks like ice cream sittin’ on the tray, and all three of them accidently drop to the floor as Twi comes stumblin’ from behind the counter. She stares down at the wasted ice cream and frowns.

Her eye twitches.

Then she loses it.

The sound of metal banging against wood jolts Rainbow awake. She swivels in her seat, sees Spike sleepin’ by her side, and blankets herself across him, hopin’ to shield the little guy from whatever’s attackin’ the bar. A few seconds skirt by before Rainbow chances a look up, and together me and her watch Twi throw herself quite the hissy fit. Twi don’t shout or curse or nothin’; she just keeps bangin’ her tray against the countertop until the wood chips and the metal tray bends and changes shape under the force of the blows. Me and Rainbow watch in silence, and when Twi huffs and stomps back into the kitchen, Rainbows turns and cocks an eyebrow, shootin’ me a look that says, “Seriously?”

Ah shrug, not knowin’ how else to answer.

Twi gives it another go. This time she carries each bowl one at a time, settin’ one down on the table before staggering back to the kitchen to grab another. When all three bowls are in place, Twi sits down in the booth and stares at us like she’s waitin’ to watch us eat. It’s so quiet and awkward Ah almost let out a nervous laugh.

“Right, spoons,” Twilight says with a start before joltin’ out her seat and racin’ back to the kitchen. Ah hear a crash followed by swearin’, then Twi wobbles back to the booth with a mouthful of silverware.

“Sorry,” she says, letting the spoons fall onto the table as she talks. “Guess I’m still not used to moving things without my magic. I don’t know how you earth ponies and pegasi do it.” Twilight lets out a bleak laugh and stares down at her front hooves like she don’t know what they’re for. “Oh wow, are my hooves shaking? It must be cold in here. Are you guys cold?”

“You’re just tired, sugar cube,” Ah say in the most soothin’ voice Ah can muster.

“Yeah. Just tired.” Twi hugs herself tight, shakin’ from a cold only she can feel. “You guys should eat something. Sorry I don’t have any real food to give you, just this ice cream.”

Rainbow’s eyes narrow. Ah ain’t sure why, but she glares at Twi as the purple mare gets up and tries nudgin’ Spike awake.

“Time to get up, little guy,” she coos. Spike don’t budge. “Come on, Spike, you’ve slept long enough. You need to eat something too.”

She nudges him a bit harder. Still nothin’. “Seriously, Spike, get up.”

Spike don’t move a lick. His bandages are soaked through and his face is sickly pale and he don’t move a lick.

“Spike… Spike!” Twi scopes him up in her forelegs and nuzzles his face. “Spike, get up. You—you need to eat something… You need to…”

Twi’s voice dies in her throat but her mouth don’t stop movin’. She scoops a spoonful of ice cream and tries to force Spike’s lips open.

Ice cream smears across the dragon’s cheek.

Rainbow buries her face in her hooves and shakes her head.

Twi tries force-feedin’ Spike for another half a minute before callin’ it quits. “Uh…It’ll be here when you wake up,” she says weakly, pattin’ the dragon’s crest. “I’ll be here too. I promise.” She sets Spike down in the booth and reclaims her seat beside me. She stares blankly and waits for one us to pony up and admit what we already know is true. Ah reckon Ah'm waitin' on Rainbow for the same thing. Waitin' for her to be the brave one and tell Twi how bad she messed up this time. Ah end up waitin' a long time for nothin'.

“Go ahead and eat,” says Twi, forcin’ a smile. “You don’t want it melt, do you?”

Me and Rainbow exchange wary glances.

“I said eat!” Twi roars, makin’ the bowls jump as her hooves come crashin’ down on the table. She stands up, her shoulders square, her hooves restin’ on the tabletop. She glares at me from behind frayed bangs. It’s a challengin’ look. The kind one pony give another when they're lookin’ for an excuse to get some hurtin’ done.

Ah glance down at the bowl of ice cream. Twi’s gettin’ sloppy. Losin’ her touch. Whatever poison she sprinkled or poured into this here bowl is givin’ off a mighty powerful stink. If she thinks Ah’m dumb enough to eat this slop then she really has lost her—

“Mmmm, thanks egghead,” says Rainbow with a satisfied sigh as she swallows a mouthful of ice cream. “That really hit the spot.”

Ah almost scream as Ah start to warn Rainbow about the food, but she pops another spoonful into her mouth and shakes her head at me real inconspicuous-like.

She knows. Rainbow knows Twi’s drugged the food but she’s playin’ along anyway. Element of Loyalty, Ah reckon. Rainbow still trusts Twi. As crazy as our hornless friend is, Rainbow don’t think Twi has it in her to really hurt us. Least that’s what Ah’m guessin’ as Ah lift mah spoon and close mah lips around it. Ah could be dead wrong. Could be Rainbow’s just lookin’ for a way out. Maybe we're swallowin’ a helpin’ of somethin’ lethal. Maybe it’s just meant to knock us out so Twi can cut our throats while we sleep. Either way we’d be done with it. Maybe that’s all Rainbow wants. Shucks, maybe that's what Ah want mah self.

The ice cream ain’t half-bad. It don’t even taste tampered with...

After the first three spoonfuls, the room gets darker, like somepony put shades on all the lamps. After the fourth mah forelegs turn into wet noodles. Ah drop mah spoon and knock over the bowl as Ah smack face-first onto the tabletop.

A smile that must look mighty dopey settles on mah lips as the pain in mah back ebbs away.

Ah hear a dull thud that must be Rainbow fallin’ out the booth.

Twilight mumbles an apology from miles away.

Before the creepin' darkness eats me alive, Ah think about how Twi and Rainbow nosed each other as they stumbled into the bar. Ah think about me and Twi’s fight in the backseat of the car and her cruel wire garrote wrappin’ ‘round that feller Soprano’s neck.

Ah wonder what happened to Soprano. Ah ain’t seen him since Twi broke his forelegs and dragged him inside.

Ain’t seen Junior neither…