Ascension, Abdication, or Abduction?

Throughout history, no matter where you were, Earth's sunrise was stated to be a sight to behold. From the first sliver of amber light smouldering against the darkness to the fully risen orb of fire and fury. Depending on the cloud cover, the time of year, or your geographical position, you could watch various colours such as pinks, blues, and violets transition across the sky over a period of hours.

Unfortunately for Neil, Equestria wasn't on Earth as far as he knew. Sunrise here was a quick and seamless transition spanning less than a minute. The sun came to a halt in a mid-morning position, allowing light to spread across the land and dissipate all but the most persistent of shadows. This included multiple beams of light spearing between the wooden slats of his current home. No matter his position, one beam always managed to bombard his eyes at just the right angle, irritating him to the point of wakefulness.

With a groan, Neil shifted his neck from side to side until his muzzle was no longer buried under his leg, and the light no longer assaulted his eyes. For a fleeting moment, thoughts of returning to sleep flickered in his mind. But then the rest of his stiff and aching body kicked in, reminding him of the effects brought about by a whole night's rest in a shipping crate. He needed to move, extra sleep be damned.

He fully uncurled from his sleeping position, not unlike a dog, and stretched as much as his crate would allow. As multiple muscles and joints popped in series, a soothing sensation spread over his body. He'd been a pony for about three weeks at this point, and not once had he ever dealt with something like this as a human. If not for his sleeping arrangement, he might have been worried about the health of his current body.

With some of the stiffness worked out of his muscles, he plopped down on his rump and lifted a hoof to a particular board. He carved a line with his hoof into the soft pine wood every morning. Today would be the 23rd line. "Almost a whole damned month in this place," He growled before clearing his throat. One month of confusion, survival, and a growing sense of paranoia while living on the streets.

He could dwell on that later. He spun around like a cat and looked over the other half of his home. Compared to his standard of living as a human, it was pathetic. A matching shipping crate was pulled against his sleeping compartment to make the enclosure slightly more weatherproof. It mainly acted as a door, keeping him hidden from the weekly garbage collector that walked by with a cart. It also doubled as his food storage.

Unfortunately, the only thing sitting at the base of his food crate was an empty garbage bag. He'd stolen that particular bag from a dumpster on Restaurant Row two days ago. It had been full of vegetable scraps and leftover salads at the time. Still, he'd unintentionally finished it off the previous night. That small oversight left him with nothing for breakfast this morning, and his stomach protested with a whimpering gurgle. On the other hand, what little there was last night had tasted... off. Either way, it wouldn't be the first time he'd gone without food since waking up here.

He pushed a single hoof into the small gap between the crates. With less strength than what would have been required as a human, the shipping crates split apart. Once there was an ample gap, he bit down on the empty garbage bag, doing his best to ignore the faint taste of spoiled salad dressing, and hopped into his back alley.

It would be easy to discreetly dump the bag in a random garbage can, take care of some personal business, then be on his way. Ponies only used the main streets in this city, with only the rare flyer passing by overhead. The main question on his mind, however, was where to scout.

Besides the two crates he used for sleeping, he managed to liberate five more from the Skyport during his stay in Canterlot. It was easy enough to watch and learn how the gold-plated ponies patrolled the poorly guarded storage yard full of empty crates. Moving the shipping crates was more challenging, but the hassle was worth it. Those five outposts had been strategically placed, allowing him to watch and, thanks to his increased hearing as a pony, eavesdrop on the public as they walked by. Ponies were surprisingly oblivious to the new additions, and not a single crate had been touched so far.

Three crates were placed near food sources, and given his lack of food, he'd be dumpster diving after dark. Despite the bag in his mouth, he grinned. Tonight would be the opposite of healthy, and his stomach growled approvingly.

~~~

The city of Canterlot held itself to a strict routine. The sun would rise at far-too-early in the morning, acting as an alarm clock for most citizens. After that, the average pony would take their sweet time freshening up, have an excellent breakfast, and prepare for another day.

It was the outliers that Neil had to watch out for when making his way toward any of his scouting positions. These were the night shift workers tiredly plodding their way home or a pony racing to open their shop early for the morning rush. On top of that were the ever-present patrols, which could be spotted from a mile away due to their gleaming golden armour. He always had to keep a wary eye when crossing a main road to avoid being spotted.

This is why Neil found himself jogging up to his outpost near Canterlot's primary market. It was the same size as the crates he used for his home, making it cozy to sit in but little more. Unlike the containers he used for his home, one of the eye-level wooden boards had been broken off about four inches from the frame. This allowed for a much clearer view when spying on the citizenry.

It also allowed him to watch his primary target for the upcoming evening. Like most of the businesses here, the front face of the building had a smooth stucco finish of pale purple with gold-trimmed windows. Neil was pretty sure each city district had to adhere to a strict colour scheme, and the market's theme was purple and gold. To differentiate itself, this building also had pink stars and diamonds evenly painted between the windows and the front entrance. There was also the giant pink donut mounted above the golden overhang. The overhang doubled as a sign, reading Donut Joe's in a formal script.

A closed sign was placed in the corner of a ground-floor window, yet there was still movement inside the building. A tan male, or stallion as they preferred, with darker brown hair and a tail was trotting from the kitchen to the main counter. This, Neil presumed, was Joe. And Joe was a pony that broke the laws of physics every time he came out of the back. Trays laden with baked goods, primarily donuts, would float alongside the stallion in a forest-green aura. The very same aura emanated from his horn.

Joe belonged to the most common pony type in Canterlot called unicorns. Unicorns, from everything Neil had gleaned from his spying, could use magic. Or the natural ability to lift objects with telekinesis, which they attributed to magic. The thought of his science and physics teacher, Mr. Blanc, learning that such an ability could exist had kept Neil entertained for an hour or so more than once.

From the information Neil overheard, every unicorn had telekinesis. Most could also make light from their horn, with varying degrees of brightness. The unicorn guards he'd spotted patrolling at night were proof of that. But he also heard each unicorn had unique tricks, or spells, that were somehow tied to the brand on their hips. So far, he hadn't seen an example of such.

Pegasus ponies, as they were called, had the second most common ability though saying they were common was a stretch. They were mostly guards flying above the city as little more than golden flecks of light. Out of all the ponies, these were the ones that kept his paranoia on high alert during the day. They could fly right over and spot him without warning if he walked through an empty back alley. They were the main reason he camped out most of the day and did most of his work at night. He'd also heard snippets about pegasi working with the weather, usually from a unicorn complaining about shoddy work. He assumed that a pegasus could fly up to a cloud and, after checking whether it was a storm, somehow gauge its severity?

Finally, the third and rarest type of pony without a horn or wings was called an earth pony. While Neil hated his current predicament, even he felt some sympathy for the magicless, most human-like of the bunch. After weeks of scouting, he only knew about four in the entire city of Canterlot. One worked at the Skydock, carrying full and empty crates on her back. The second he'd only spotted once, momentarily, as they pulled a cart with unicorn passengers. The last two were guards that patrolled during the day.

Despite that, even they had a trick or two of their own. They were the strongest and most durable type of pony on average, or so it was claimed. It was also stated multiple times that they grew food better than the other ponies. On the other side of the scale, they were looked down on by some of the upper class in the city. He'd heard them being called Dirt Ponies and Mud Shovellers on two occasions. Both times it was a unicorn that looked to have a full evergreen tree shoved up their ass, so Neil wrote them off as rich racist bastards.

Still, it painted a grim picture where earth ponies were shunted to being lower-class citizens and forced to work on farms. Experience alone could explain their increased physical fitness and exceptional agriculture skills. Would that be enough to create a cycle of confirmation bias? If they were all stuck on farms, that would also explain why earth ponies were rare in Canterlot. They were only used for jobs that required physical labour.

Neil broke from his mental review, wishing for the unknownth time he had a pen and paper to write it all down as he watched Joe trot up to the window and flip the closed sign to open. He usually opened up a few minutes before six in the morning, meaning the worker rush was about to hit... now.

Like clockwork, the morning rush swelled into the market district like every other day. Some of the herd would divert into Joe's shop while the rest passed on by. Barely any of these ponies would be window shopping or chatting to pass the time. But above the din of pounding hooves on cobblestone, Neil caught a word here and there. More fractured complaints about the weather pegasi? The weather being late today?

Between the snippets of gossip, Neil would watch Joe through the window when it wasn't obstructed by the crowd. Joe would greet every single customer with a smile, though most of his customers were women, or mares as they were called. He seemed to know all his regulars because he'd usually have their order ready by the time each mare was at the counter. A quick exchange of gold coins and most ponies would walk back out, likely to their job.

A few more casually dressed mares, or those without any clothing, tended to linger through the morning rush. Usually, they would stand by the counter and chat until the next customer walked in, or they would take up one of the nearby tables after paying for their order to enjoy their breakfast.

Despite all of the information he could gather in this spot, there was a reason why he also loathed camping out in this particular spot. And he was reminded of that fact every time Joe turned around to get something off the shelf. Mares blatantly stared at his ass, appreciating him like a savoury, high-end steak. Others tried to be slightly more sneaky, glancing up from their meals. Even mares outside of his shop would slow down to enjoy the view.

However, what confused him the most to this day was the fact that Joe enjoyed the attention. Occasionally, he would swish his tail to the side, flashing his junk to the entire store!

If that wasn't blatant enough, just three nights ago, an honest to god musical number paraded through Restaurant Row as he snuck through a nearby back ally for food. That such a spectacle could happen out of the blue shocked his system. Add random ponies popping out of windows to join with instruments or backup vocals, with little to no warning on top of that? It was pure insanity! It was also horrifying when some instinctual part of his new pony body kept urging him to join in on the song. He had to mentally focus, ignoring the compulsion in his head, and force his hooves to move away from the musical until it disappeared.

But the absolute worst of it all was the content they were singing about.

Neil assumed it was after a successful date because the group of five mares was singing about finally finding a stallion for their herd to take care of. Most of the song was about sappy, informative hardships and the perseverance of finally finding a stallion. But one of the five, an orange pegasus with fiery red hair, kept popping in with salacious innuendos about the guy's stamina, the size of his massive schlong, and how he was a stud that could last in their bed for very prolonged sessions.

All of this was brought about by one significant difference between Equestria and his home, which both disgusted and terrified Neil. It all came down to a cursed four-to-one ratio Neil kept hearing about. Birthrates, on average, consisted of four mares to every stallion in Canterlot. Despite being more robust and durable, stallions were a desired resource to be protected at all costs. To put it bluntly, stallions were seen as little more than breeding stock to be taken care of and protected by the mares of the world.

More than any other, that reason was why he even had a stay hidden at any cost policy. Hell, he was only twenty-three! He could barely picture himself in a stable relationship with one woman, let alone five of them!

The morning rush would typically last a few hours, thinning to a slow crawl near the end. This generally led to a slight lull in business, allowing Neil to properly piece together anything he heard. Today a storm was late, and it was somehow the fault of the weather ponies. Scrunching down in his crate to angle himself correctly, Neil could barely see a sliver of gray sky between Joe's roof and the top of his box. At some point between six and eight A.M., cloud cover had blown in. That still begged the question of how a storm could be late and why it was the fault of the pegasi?

The only other shred of information related to little more than celebrity gossip. Some Fluer-De-Something French mare was caught flirting with yet another mare. He would hear more about that rumour in mind-numbing detail later, as much as he didn't want to.

Neil knew it was nearly lunchtime when all the upper-class ponies, almost exclusively well-dressed unicorns, finally deigned to join the remaining working-class peasants in the market. Neil guessed that one of the perks of being a rich snob was the ability to sleep in, right? But even the elite couldn't avoid the allure of Donut Joe's as the odd pair started to trickle in.

Just as the lunchtime window shopping began, something unexpected broke his well-established schedule.

A small group of posh-sounding ladies were chatting in front of the jewellery store his crate was parked against. One of the mares was going on about how she was actually at the party Fleur-De-Lis attended because, of course, she and her husband were invited and how the Prench mare kissed some upstart unicorn model from Fillydelphia that obviously did not belong, in front of her stallion no less!...

Neil silently groaned, adding two more horse-punned locations to the ever-growing mental map of the world.

At the same time, another pair of unicorn mares, dressed in wealthy-looking gowns, were gossiping in front of Joe's. They were too far for Neil to listen in on, but he knew it wasn't essential with the way they would occasionally raise a hoof to giggle or glance at Joe's ass through the glass. He wrote them off until one of the mares stopped mid-sentence.

Her large eyes went from the glass to the ground, staring at something in absolute shock. Her companion also looked and mirrored her friend's appearance almost immediately. Within a second, without warning to any nearby ponies, they ran beyond Neil's limited view away from the market district.

The nearby group of gossipers went silent as well.

Suddenly there was a large, wet plap as a fat raindrop struck the top of his wooden crate. A few seconds later, a second hit.

The sporadic start lasted for a minute, giving most ponies just enough warning to duck into a nearby building. This included Donut Joe's, which was happy enough to accommodate more customers just as the clouds above finally relented and unleashed their payload. This left only the most stubborn of ponies galloping through the streets.

At this point, Neil learned something valuable about the crates he stole. They were very water resistant. He couldn't claim they were waterproof with the one board he broke off and an entire side open to the elements. Still, despite the odd drop splashing against his muzzle through the peephole and his drenched butt, he was surprisingly dry. He didn't even feel cold, which he attributed to his fur coat.

Thankfully the clouds above weren't a full-on thunderstorm. There was no flash of lightning or any hint of thunder beyond the downpour. This storm was a consistent but dreary shower that went on and on. To the point that Neil was bored enough to watch his tail shift and flow with the water streaming further into the back alley.

What felt like hours passed before Neil finally dozed off to the thought of freshly baked donuts...

~~~

With a suspiciously horse-like snort, Neil startled awake. The first thing he noticed, besides the fact that his crate was much darker, was the ongoing rain. The drumming of his box sounded as fast as he remembered earlier. Hinting that the same consistent downpour had lasted the entire day. The second thing he noticed, thanks to the street lamp just out of sight and the amber light above Joe's door, was the green open sign had been flipped to closed. Peering through the water-drenched windows, he saw a tan and white blur hovering over the wooden tables. That was Joe, and he was probably wiping them down for the evening.

Neil's anticipation grew by the minute as Joe finished wiping down the tables and countertops. Once he was back behind the counter, the stallion levitated a clipboard and pencil toward himself. Joe took inventory of all the various pastry leftovers after the day's sales. Then, like a well-oiled machine, he set the clipboard aside, unfolded a new trash bag, and emptied all his old stock from the shelves.

That single reason was why, out of all the ponies Neil knew by name or looks, he liked Joe the most. Compared to every other restaurant and diner in the city, Joe made rummaging through his dumpster a quick and easy task. It took less than a minute to flip the lid up, snag the bag, and be on his way without any digging required.

His stomach was at a near-constant rumble as he continued to watch. Though he was loathe to admit it, even he couldn't deny the best thing about being a pony. Whether it was skill, magic, or just his new taste buds, the food here was an almost euphoric experience.

Donuts and coffee were never his morning ritual, but he liked Tim Hortons when it was suggested. If asked, he would have been hard-pressed to name a better donut. After devouring day-old Donut Joe's out of a dumpster? Tim Hortons was a distant second at best. It wasn't even in the same league. When he managed to return home, it would be a dreadful experience getting used to regular food again.

The only reason he didn't raid Joe's dumpster every night was his paranoia. And the thought of dying from pony diabetes. But mainly paranoia.

When the trays were cleared, Joe tied off the bag and put it aside. He removed each tray, set them in a stack, and attacked each shelf with a cleaning rag. Only after everything up front was thoroughly wiped down did he go into the back with all the metal trays and the bag full of old food floating behind him in his aura.

Despite his growling hunger, Neil stayed in his crate. Joe usually took half an hour to an hour to finish cleaning the kitchen and take care of any other chores in his bakery. After that, the stallion would lock up and leave. Once that happened, then Neil could leave his spot and claim his dinner for tonight. He only hoped it wouldn't be too soggy, or better yet, the rain could quit before Joe took out the trash.

After roughly forty-five minutes, luck wasn't on Neil's side as the rain continued. He felt another jolt of excitement when Joe walked out of the kitchen wearing green boots, a matching raincoat, and holding a black umbrella with his telekinesis. Apparently, he knew about the rain ahead of time and planned accordingly. Joe opened the door with his telekinesis, then floated his umbrella out and popped it open. Only then did he exit the building, turn around, and lock the door.

When Joe stepped away from the door, Neil started counting down from two hundred under his breath. Was it overly paranoid? Yes. But stupid little policies like that kept him hidden from the ponies.

Once he reached zero, Neil slipped from his mostly dry crate into the rain. A small part of him noted that this was his first shower since he'd woken up as a pony. He would have preferred a nice, hot, relaxing one instead. But the rain was surprisingly not cold, and he could almost imagine all the grime he'd collected in his scraggly gray coat simply washing away. Unfortunately, he didn't need to imagine his tangled black hair, guided by the rain, washing down into his eyes.

It took time, but he managed to remove that annoyance with his hooves and 'not-wrists'. Without any further hindrance, he cautiously walked up to the entrance of the back alley. Once there, he poked his muzzle out. A quick look both ways revealed no errant ponies running home or the golden armour of a guard patrol despite the rain making everything hazy. And if there was a pony or a patrol? The rain gave him just as much cover. Releasing a breath, he darted across the open street. He pressed his side against Donut Joe's when he was around the corner and listened.

Neil couldn't precisely control his radar-like pony ears, but they seemed to know what to do on their own most of the time. Now was one such example as he felt them rotate, trying to pick up any cries of alarm or fright. When none were found, he audibly exhaled. He wasn't spotted. Only then did he relax, taking a deep breath to enjoy the mixed scent of Joe's bakery and fresh rain.

He did his best to ignore his own wet pony smell.

Neil trotted to the dumpster, refocused on why he was there. During his first days, dumpsters were an annoying inconvenience. Most were designed with telekinesis in mind, with only a dirty handle attached to the lid. Since he couldn't use telekinesis, he was forced to use his muzzle. He couldn't count the number of times he gagged after accidentally pressing his nose or lips against an unsanitary surface that first week. Or the times he carelessly bumped his horn against the metal lid, leaving him with a throbbing headache when he returned home.

Now he didn't spare a second thought as he used his muzzle to burrow under the handle and lift it. He took a moment to glare at the tip of his useless horn. If he could only figure out how to activate his telekinetic powers, this part of the job would be a breeze.

Once the lid was high enough for Neil to fit his entire head in, he angled his head far enough so his horn wouldn't get caught against the lip and pushed in. He shivered as the edge of the lid lightly scraped against the grooves of his horn but didn't stop until his chest was pressed against the side of the metal dumpster.

Generally, by this point, his nose would be pressed into a pile of trash, with the bag he wanted sitting at the top. This time he felt nothing but air, which was odd, but he brushed it off as a change in schedule. He made a note to keep his eyes and ears open for surprise visits near his home, but that was a later problem. His stomach growled ferociously, redirecting him back to the food he sought. He reared up on his back legs and worked his front legs over the lip to pull himself further in.

A disturbed snicker managed to escape his lips. He couldn't see anything, but he probably looked like some deranged horse mounting the poor dumpster.

He swung his muzzle back and forth around the interior, lightly brushing against metal on his left and nothing on his right. After each pass, he would push himself a little harder. Straining his neck and nose down a little further... He was just starting to think this dumpster was empty when he felt his nose brush against a trash bag. Bingo. Now if he could push just a little more and bite down on...

His back legs were stretched precariously, and his front hooves were firmly pressed against the inside of the dumpster, fighting for every single millimetre of reach. It was just enough for his teeth to bite down on the bag.

At that point, Murphy's Law caught up with him.

This was his first storm as a pony, meaning this was also his first time dealing with rain-drenched hooves trying to keep traction on rain-drenched cobblestone. In Neil's moment of victory, he'd overextended as his right back hoof slipped.

Neil lost stability, and his gut reaction was to brace his front legs. This inadvertently pulled him in further with the help of gravity, and he fell head-first into the trash bag full of pastries. His body and back limbs followed into the dumpster, as each of his hooves caused multiple metallic clangs. The heavy lid slammed down after him with a resounding bang, and he found himself lying on the damp metallic floor of the dumpster.

He groaned loudly, primarily due to his stupidity more than any pain. This was the second time he found himself in a dumpster, though this was the first time it was done unintentionally. On the bright side, his muzzle was firmly pressed into his target. His back end, however, had the distinct displeasure of laying in a layer of something slimy. Neil hoped that it was extra frosting that leaked at some point, and not something more disgusting before refocusing his thoughts. He needed to gather his meal, hop out, and return home. Easy as apple pie... or an apple fritter, in this case. Hopefully.

He just needed to straighten out his position, roll onto his stomach, and get his hooves underneath himself... but as he completed that final step, his ears locked onto a new noise. It was faint but distinct enough beyond the rain drumming against the lid. Multiple hard somethings slamming against something else, and it was getting louder. It took a few seconds for him to discern that it was hooves galloping against the stone. He froze, only allowing himself slow and silent breaths.

'It's just some poor Bastard caught in the rain and taking a shortcut,' Or so he hoped, as the hooves charged closer. He just had to wait for them to pass by, and everything would be... Was the pony slowing down? The clip-clop splash transitioned from a gallop to a trot, a walk, and finally, a standstill. Neil was starting to freak out internally when a second set of hooves landed solidly nearby on the other side of the dumpster. 'Two ponies!? Why the hell did they stop in the middle of an alley? And out of all the fucking alleys in Canterlot, why this one!?'

His answer came far quicker than he would have liked when a strict, no-nonsense female voice tore through the rain. "Private Echo! Would you kindly tell me why I had to chase your flank down this alley through the rain?"

The mare was quickly answered by another one with an unusual accent. It struck him as an even blend of Spanish and Scandinavian, which he had never heard before in Canterlot. "I apologize, Ma'am, yet there was a series of banging only a moment ago." Private Echo reported. "I fear it might have been the creature!"

Neil filed that away as important information as he held his breath. An unknown creature was on the loose, and the guards were tasked to find it. Of course, his clumsy ass went and alerted some jumpy private. Now he had to avoid both, somehow, with his food!

"I know not to underestimate your hearing Echo," The first guard conceded, "However, that doesn't give you permission to rush off and abandon your partner without saying anything beforehoof. Understood?"

There was a long pause. The longer Neil held his breath, the faster his heartbeat climbed. It was starting to become a struggle before she finally responded. He took advantage of her words to silently mask his exhale.

"I fear you are right, Corporal Hearth. I shall warn you next time before I am to rush off, yes?"

He regained only half a lungful of air when she finished her question, but that would have to do while he waited for the two mares to leave. Then he could go back home, and everything would be fine. Any moment now, he'd listen to their hooves clacking against the cobblestone, preferably going back the way they came from, and-

Suddenly there was a squeak of metal hinges, and he felt rain splattering against him from the neck up.

"'Tis a stallion?" Private Echo called out, confused, as she floated above the dumpster with the lid held in her hoof.

Neil looked straight up into the radar green eyes of a brand new pony type. He noted multiple unique traits for later evaluation in their moment of joint surprise. She had average, pony-sized wings that defied the laws of physics like a pegasus. Still, they were a bat-like membrane instead of feathered like an ordinary pegasus. Her eyes were slitted like a cat's and might have also been reflective. Last but not least, she wasn't wearing golden armour. No, what little he could see in the dark and rain was made of some purple, leather-like substance with navy blue accents.

He was the first to shake off his surprised terror as his fight or flight instincts flared, urging his body to react on its own accord. Like a wound spring, his legs kicked out, going from prone to a leap in a blink of an eye. His larger body quickly knocked aside the confused bat pony mare, causing her to wobble and slam into the wall. The dumpster lid once more came down with a loud bang!

His landing was less than graceful as he sprawled atop a normal golden guardsmare. But he was quick to his hooves and shot off before either guard regained their bearings. It was bad enough that he had to abandon his bag of pastries at the bottom of that damnable dumpster, but first, he had to get away! He couldn't be caught by the crown royals. He was an alien. They'd execute him, turn him into a breeding stud, or make him into a lawn ornament if those particularly ludicrous rumours were true!

His ears swivelled on their own as a second set of hooves slammed into the cobblestone at full gallop. A quick look back revealed the golden mare he assumed was Corporal Hearth giving chase. She was close enough to keep him on his toes, but he wasn't worried with a fifteen-ish foot gap between them. What bothered him was the distinct lack of green eyes and purple armour that had him internally freaking out.

Something about this chase smelled rotten besides his wet, garbage-drenched fur.

After the dressing down Corporal Hearth gave, he didn't think the golden-clad mare would abandon her partner so quickly. The bat mare, Private Echo, was still in play, but where? She should have been chasing him. Hell, she would have caught him by now if she flew even half as fast as a pegasus. But she wasn't there.

His next thought was aerial recon. His head twitched to look upwards, but he caught himself. He couldn't afford to take his giant pony eyes off the road or have them battered by rain. If Private Echo acted as overwatch, his only hope was for the winds to push her around and the rain to obscure her view.

The third and final option was for her to fly ahead and block the exit. That would also explain why Corporal Hearth wasn't pushing herself to gain ground. Was she herding him into her partner? That had to be it. It was the most logical plan since there were no side exits in this particular back ally. Neil narrowed his eyes.

"I don't know who you are," Corporal Hearth yelled placatingly over the rain, "Or why you're running, but if you just slow down we can help! Sir!"

'Hell fucking no, you can't!' He yelled internally as the alleyway exit emerged from the rain. Surprisingly, he couldn't see Private Echo waiting for him. But that didn't mean she wasn't there, ready and waiting to ambush him. He tensed and took the corner sharply, ready and willing to shoulder-check the mare if she pounced at him. Or buck her off if she landed on his back. Neither happened.

Instead, he found himself on a direct course for a street lamp. He managed to weave around it with some desperately quick hoof work, only losing a few black hairs to the post's decorative filigree. He was now out in the open, on one of the main roads of the market district. But he knew where he was as he caught sight of a nearby shop called Shale's Shingles. He was currently heading north, and there was another alleyway entrance only a block and a half away. An alleyway that started straight, then abruptly curved with the mountain before intersecting with another alleyway. In other words, his best shot at losing his tail.

Thinking of his tail, the noise of her hooves became clear again. Or as clear as they could be in the rain, leading him to believe she had just exited the alleyway. Without looking back, he took a moment to politely yell his formal response to her earlier plea. "Fuck off!"

Whether she took the corner too sharp, lost her footing on the slick cobblestones, or it was pure dumb luck, the rhythm of her hooves seemed to falter. Neil capitalized on that mistake, putting as much distance as possible between them. There was even a hint of smug victory as her hooves became more distant. But he couldn't get cocky. He angled himself and crossed the road. There was little chance she wouldn't see him duck into the upcoming alleyway, so increasing the gap by any means possible was his top priority.

And after he lost her? 'Take the long way home. Keep a look out for flyers. Avoid open areas. Get back home. Avoid Joe's for at least a month... That last one is going to fucking suck.'

However, he had to focus on the here and now. He timed it in his mind.

1. He wove around a sign advertising Marigold's Timeless Perennials, left out on the street by a lazy store owner.

2. Fifteen feet away, less than two full running cycles before the corner.

3. His muscles tensed, ready to push off like a spring in a new direction.

4. Neil sprung off the stone walkway, his body angled to cut into the alleyway at full speed. As he passed the corner of the flower shop, his eyes widened in shock. Standing there, less than a body length away, was a muscular white mountain of a pegasus pony covered in golden armour. The stallion's blue eyes widened in shock as Neil soared through the air mid-leap. With all four hooves off the ground, he had neither the time nor the ability to veer off course before his unprotected chest slammed into unyielding metal armour. He could almost hear the popping and cracking of his forward shoulder joints as his breath was forced from his body. Or were those ribs breaking? He couldn't quite tell as his momentum dragged the guard with him toward the ground.

The realist in him would have assumed the situation was salvageable, even if he had to scrap his current plan. The optimist in him would have hoped the stallion would stay down while he ran off into the rain. Maybe Corporal Hearth would be unfortunate enough to trip over him as well? Unfortunately, neither happened as his skull and, by extension, his horn slammed into the ground.

Agony. Pure, unfiltered agony reverberated throughout Neil's entire horn and directly into his brain. He knew little else as his mind was overwhelmed with unending waves of pain, and his brain went haywire. Limbs thrashed and spasmed, clashing uselessly against the metal-adorned guard he was tangled with.

The guard found himself in a moderately better position. Yes, he was sent tumbling when a random pony crashed into him. Yes, his wing was crushed painfully between the ground and his armour as he rolled onto his back. But it was nothing compared to the skull-splitting crack, followed by the short, wailing scream from the stallion above him. Whether the guard recognized the symptoms in a fraction of a second or did so just to protect himself, he latched onto Neil with all of his legs and a single wing. Doing his absolute best to prevent his assailant's limbs from thrashing about.

~~~******~~~

This was the chaotic scene Corporal Hearth found herself in as she turned the corner. Luckily she could bring herself to a complete halt before she collapsed on top of the pile. However, her horn erupted with an amber glow with a fellow guard in trouble. She quickly tapped her horn against the flailing stallion's back, allowing her magic to fully encase and lock him in place. Only after the runner stopped moving and she could step back did she recognize the large, muscular pegasus underneath as he slowly untangled himself. "Private Bulk Order, what happened?"

"I think he hit his horn, Ma'am." He told her with his deep, country accent as he did his best to slip around the other stallion's frozen legs. "I was patrolling this alley when I heard yelling, so I went to check it out when..." He paused, eyes wide as he just managed to pull far enough away and get a good look at his assailant. "What the fluff! Wings!?"

"Ignore that for now. You said he hit his horn?" She asked Private Bulk urgently, looking between him and the runner. She could feel his muscles sporadically straining against her containment spell. The runner's eyes were also rolled back from the pain, another clear sign of a disrupted horn. Once Bulk Order gave her a nod of confirmation, she closely examined the runner's horn. The impact area was easy to spot, with a quarter-bit-sized chunk shaved off midway down. That wasn't so bad. Unfortunately, she also spotted a hairline crack that started from the impact site and stopped two inches further down his horn. Corporal Hearth winced, just imagining what the poor stallion was going through.

Near the end of her inspection, Corporal Hearth noted the sound of another pony landing behind her. Since Private Bulk didn't react, she concluded her examination before turning around. As expected, her partner was there standing at the ready. "Private Echo, I need you to fly to the castle. Tell the infirmary staff we have a stallion suffering from a cracked horn."

Instead of taking off right away, her thestral subordinate tilted her head with a look of confusion. "Would it not be faster for me to report to the nearest district clinic?"

"Normally I would agree," Corporal Hearth conceded. Still, she didn't have time for this. The longer it took, the more pain this stallion suffered. "But, well, just look." She ordered as she stepped aside.

Private Echo's wings flared in surprise as she took a step back. "Merciful Moon... He is an alicorn?"

"It's a possibility, or he could have been transformed." Corporal Hearth admitted as her eyes lingered on his horn. "But he needs help now. After you tell the healers, inform both Princesses. Understood?"

"Understood!" Without another word, Private Echo saluted and took off with a mighty flap of her leathery wings.

That left just her and Private Bulk to take care of the runner. "Private Bulk, I'm going to release the containment spell. I need you to hold him so I can put him to sleep."

Private Bulk nodded quickly as he planted himself next to the runner's side. It wasn't perfect, but he managed to put the alicorn stallion in an awkward-looking hold with his front legs and wings. Corporal Hearth could feel him against her magic; muscles tensed in preparation for the spell to dissipate before he even said so. "Ready."

For a fleeting moment, she couldn't help but picture herself as the pony being held in the wings of... She shook away that thought and dropped the spell. The amber glow of her magic dissipated, ceding the alleyway to the dark and rain again.

Freed from their prison, the alicorn's limbs lashed out. However, Private Bulk held firm. Both of his forelegs clamped down the moment he could, locking down the alicorn's spasming front legs. As for the alicorn's wings? Despite the apparent strain, they were both held down by Bulk's uninjured wing. That, unfortunately, left the alicorn's rear legs unchecked even if they bucked uselessly against the cobblestone.

It was a second, maybe two, before Corporal Hearth's horn gathered enough magic to light up the alleyway again. This time the amber magic jumped from the tip of her horn to the alicorn's without physical contact. It quickly encapsulated the bone and followed the spiral grooves downwards like a marble. The further it went, the weaker the alicorn became until the spark finally merged into the fur of his forehead. Only then did the stallion fall limp, asleep, within Private Bulk's hold.

Once she was sure the spell took a firm hold, Corporal Hearth made eye contact with a very cautious-looking Bulk Order. He looked worried as if any slight movement or sound might wake the poor stallion. She swung her still-lit horn in the alicorn's direction. "So long as I keep the spell going, he'll stay asleep Private Bulk."

Private Bulk released his breath with a slight rumble, "Very well Ma'am. But, uh, what do we do now?"

"Private Echo should be reaching the castle shortly if she hasn't already." Corporal Hearth informed him as she looked in the direction of the castle. "After that, they'll dispatch an emergency cart. It'll be faster if we just wait here."

Private Bulk acknowledged her with a nod. "In that case Ma'am, should we get outta the rain? The flower shop next door has an awnin' that should cover us."

"We probably should," She agreed as she helped Private Bulk shift the alicorn onto his back. "Wouldn't want him to suffer a cold on top of a cracked horn. Poor colt." Once he was secured, she followed Private Bulk out of the alley and underneath the extended awning of Magnificent Marigolds.

Private Bulk turned to look at her when they were out of the rain. "So, what did this fella do?"

"Honestly? I don't know what's going on with him. Echo found him in the dumpster behind Donut Joe's, and he just... jumped out, body-checked us both, and ran off terrified."

Now that things were relatively calm, she gave the unconscious stallion a quick look over. His cloudy gray coat was soaked through, making the patches of matted fur all over his body stand out in the mixed light of her horn and the nearest street lamp. His charcoal mane was even worse, existing as a single giant, knotted and tangled mess. A glance at his rump told her his tail was in the same, if not worse, condition. She also noted his lack of a cutie mark.

"If I had to guess, I think he's been living on the streets for a long time." She offered as she gently held his wing in her hoof and extended it. Just like the rest of him, his wings weren't cared for. A quarter of his wing feathers were out of alignment, but none were broken. Nor did she notice any blood or feather rot, thankfully. "Maybe he was hiding from a perverse unicorn mare using transformation magics on him?"

"You really think a mare would do that to the poor fella?" Private Bulk asked, looking at the stallion with a noticeable amount of pity.

"It's not like an alicorn would just appear out of thin air," Corporal Hearth countered, "He also didn't use any magic, or fly off when he had the chance. You don't find that odd?"

"The fella had just enough time to run into me and crack his horn." Private Bulk offered with a careful shrug. "I can't really judge him offa that. What I can say is, he's as strong as a bull despite his build."

"He has earth pony strength, then. Makes sense he would be an Earther if he was under a transformation." She said with an air of finality.

The sound of rainfall filled the void after that. Corporal Hearth kept watch on the skies, looking for the medical cart. Private Bulk watched the unconscious stallion on his back, ensuring he was comfortable.

After waiting a minute, a pertinent thought popped into Corporal Hearth's head. "Private Bulk, why were you alone in the alley? Where's your partner?"

"I was assigned to patrol with Corporal Scarlet tonight," He informed her with a shrug. "You know how she gets on the ground. She flew off to do an aerial patrol around the district not too long ago."

"And left you alone when you needed backup," Corporal Hearth filled in with an annoyed groan. "She's going to get written up again."

And just like the ancient proverb, 'Speak of Eris, and she will speak back,' a pegasus guardsmare landed hot. Her hooves cracked audibly against the stone just outside the awning's reach. "Bulk, why are you just standing here? Also, what the buck happened to- An alicorn!?"

Corporal Hearth had a sneaking suspicion that this night, to quote Nightmare Moon, 'Was going to last forever!'