The Trottingham Terror gets beat up by a janitor

The Trottingham Terror, The Canterlot Chopper, The Cannibal Of Canterlot. Three common names all used to refer to the same monstrous stallion responsible for a string of killings that had targeted the upper class. For a while it looked like a class war was going to break out over the tension between the different classes it caused.

But then, just as suddenly as they started, they came to a stop. The monster had faded away, and become little more then a children’s story, with many wondering what exactly had happened to the stallion behind the killings, and some even choosing to believe he had never existed at all.

The truth of what happened to the Trottingham Terror was a lot less exciting then most people would expect. He had accidentally run into an elite guard unit on a mission unrelated to tracking him down, and after being identified, he had suffered through the following: all of his ribs being shattered, his jaw being broken to the point it no longer held his teeth, a punctured lung, a ruptured kidney, liver damage, a shattered hip, and a ruined ego.

But, he had survived. Slipping his way into a storm drain he had been presumed dead, and it had come very close to killing him, the infection from the sewer water had ate into his flesh and almost finished him, it had taken months of lying down and desperately trying to keep himself from taking a final nap. But slowly he had recovered. Slowly he had dragged himself back from that final fated rest.

The damage hadn’t been easy to come back from however, and even though he had survived, his body wasn’t the same. There would be no more stories of him leaping from rooftop to rooftop, no more cutting throats and slipping back into the shadows. His killing spree had been stopped, and the papers and public would never know the story of just how badly his ass got beat.

Hatter was the true name of the Trottingham Terror, a gray stallion who was nothing like the stories. Daily baths to try and heal the aching in his bones, a slow, sedentary life where not much happened and he just got left alone. Despite being in his early fifties, he felt and lived as if he were already well into his seventies.

It was no way to live, but he was thankful for the fact he had a life at all.

That was, until the Trottingham Terror reappeared. He had been in the kitchen, munching through a bowl of porridge. On the front page of the morning paper were three words that made his blood boil.
“Trottingham Terror Returns?”

He flicked through to the page and leaned back in his bean bag chair, feeling the metal in his hip tug painfully at his flesh, reminding him of his failures and promising him that the pain was going to flare up later. His false teeth ground against the slop in his mouth as he read over the paragraphs.

“The first victim was a 20 year old brick layer. He was stabbed twelve times and his remains were discovered divided into bin bags.”

This wasn’t right. None of these stories matched up with how he did things, why the fuck was the paper even considering this as his hoof work? He didn’t haphazardly stab ponies, he did elegant slashes with his razor and removed the organs of his victims as an artistic statement to spread fear in the upper classes. He’d never just decide to stab a brick layer, and he’d use as few stabs as possible to let blood loss finish them off.

This pony was unhinged, they had no class, they had no idea how to kill ponies, they had clearly just killed these ponies motivated by rage. He was a good pony now, he was a calm pony that never got angry and-

His magic failed due to his anger, the apple green glow that had been coming from his horn sparking out as the same magical glow wrapped around the spoon did the same.

The metal eating utensil plopped loudly into his porridge, splattering some of it across the side of his face as he sat there and ground his teeth together thoughtfully. He wasn’t the type of stallion to let anger get to him, but he had killed those ponies for a reason, and to just taint his legacy like this?

No, no! He couldn’t just let that stand. He wiped the porridge from his brow and climbed to his hooves.

He was going to kill this killer and show them what true fear was once again. Hatter was going back to Trottingham.

Trottingham was where he had been born and raised. It was home, and he was very sad when the heat got too much and he was forced to relocate his killings to Canterlot. It had been a long time since he had worn his proper clothing. The crimson trench coat still fit him perfectly, hugging around him with dozens of extra pockets sewn on the inside filled with all kinds of trinkets.

The weight was comforting. Atop his head, he wore a battered black top hat, pulled low over his emerald green eyes. This had been burned in a house fire, a house fire that had very nearly took him with it. It was his lucky hat, and he couldn’t kill anyone without it.

Climbing onto the train, he had found that the world wasn’t as he had left it. It had only been twenty years, but they had replaced the old trains with a newer model. The seats were hard and plastic, digging uncomfortably into his skin and making his bones ache. The thin padding that covered them wasn’t nearly enough.

There was a child crying a few seats in front of him and a mother trying desperately to get them to stop because of the disgusted looks it was drawing from the other ponies. He despised those ponies, looking at that poor mother as if she had done something wrong.

Calm. Breathing the scent of popcorn through his nose, he tried to settle back into the hard plastic chair. The ticket collector came to examine the tickets, but nobody paid him any extra mind. He was just a stallion coming back home.

When the train finally pulled into Trottingham, it was raining, the kind of soft rain that never seemed to stop and made everything damp. It fell onto his eyelids, soaked slowly into his jacket and bought out even more musty smells from within. He missed the rain, the cool concrete, the buildings.

It was almost as if the city was welcoming him back home. For the first time in forever, he felt like himself again. The fact he smelled like he belonged in a museum and the aching in his bones was the only thing that had changed.

The streets were cobblestone, and as he strolled forward from the train station, the first thing he noticed was all the changes that had been made to his beloved city. The lamp posts that had once lined the street and bathed it in the flickering yellow warmth of gas light had been uprooted, replaced with electric monstrosities that produced the kind of light that held no warmth.

He scoffed, then almost tripped up on one of the cobblestones that was more uneven then the rest. The city didn’t appreciate being laughed at, and once he straightened himself up, a bright smile cracked across his face. It was time to get to work.
He begin with trying to piece together a motive. There didn’t seem to be one. A location? The victims had been murdered all over the city. No clues there.

The only pattern he managed to put together was that the victims all seemed to be less then rich. Nobody that would be greatly noticed had been carved up, and that just made him angrier. Solving a murder was harder then it seemed, and harder then actually committing one.

One connection. He just needed one thing that he could use to link to link things together. A lead? Hell, at this point he would take a mere hint. This was only going to get harder the longer it dragged on. He wasn’t a detective, at this point the guard were going to catch them first, and there was no way that he could break into the guard station.

Notice. Think. The stallion got to work. This was going to be easy.

He smacked his head softly into the wall of the hotel he had rented. It had been over a week and still nothing, the hotel room was beginning to look like the lair of a mad man, newspaper clippings and bits of string strung everywhere.

He was assuming this pony was stupid because of the reckless nature in which they killed, yet they had still managed to evade the guard. Hatter had made the rookie mistake of assuming he was smarter then the person he was trying to catch. That wasn’t the case, maybe the reason they hadn’t been caught yet was because it hadn’t been their first victim.

And then the pieces clicked together.

His poor city had really been put through the wringer. Once upon a time there had been small, quaint little buildings that were of a normal size, difficult to climb up, but not really a problem. Now they had giant eyesores made out of steel and glass, crammed with tiny cubicles where ponies toiled their lives away.

He hated these skyscrapers, and for more then just the fact they were ugly. Standing beneath the giant and steel building, he panned his eyes upwards to where the moon shone from above. Tonight it was bright out, the moonlight shimmering off the glass panes and almost making them look like quicksilver.

The air was brisk and biting, attempting to sink through his jacket and down into his bones. The tail of his jacket blew gently in the breeze. His hip nagged at him, telling him how much of a bad idea this was, and promising him agony if he decided to go through with it.

Many a retelling of his story depicted him as an earth pony with incredible athletic abilities, leaping from building to building and climbing up them with sheer strength alone. His horn glowed lightly beneath his hat, wrapping around his hooves as he pressed them to the first of the glass panes.

Those stories made him laugh, but they were complete nonsense. Just for tonight, he hoped that he could prove himself closer to that legend then to the sad excuse of a pony he had become. He planted his other hoof against the glass, then one of his back hooves.

Fucking glass. What kind of material was that to build something out of. It was like ice beneath his hooves and offered no grip, demanding all his focus. But, it wasn’t going to stop him. With a soft sigh, the stallion begin to walk up the side of the building.

As he got higher, the wind begin to baffle, attempting to knock him free from the building and send him tumbling to his death. His hip nagged, then ached, then screamed at him. His horn threatened to fail, and yet he kept climbing, refusing to let his focus fade.

The wind was cold, his hooves were numb, higher and higher the Trottingham Terror climbed, old wounds and old memories coming to say hello, before being numbed away by the cold. By the time he climbed to the outside of the room he was looking for, his vision was starting to dim at the edges, his impressive night vision failing him.

Was this where he died? He hoped not, it was a long way down, a long way for a pony to think as they fell towards the ground.

Normally he would have taken this slow, worked through things calmly, but at the moment he was over a hundred meters above the ground and about to pass out. He didn’t have time. He was going to fucking die!

Taking out his glass cutter, his horn begin to splutter, and he was forced to take the tool into his mouth as he slid down the side of the building a few feet. Cutting the glass was hard, it was reinforced, and he wasn’t even sure the tool was rated for it, but he managed to cut an oval large enough to slip inside.

He fell to the floor with a soft thud. The carpet was rough, and the cold wind followed him through. Once again he had proved himself worthy of being a legend, but he had also pushed his body far beyond its limits. Hatter wasn’t a spirited 30 year old any more.

Should’ve known his limits. With his vision swirling, then failing, he realized that he was passing out. His heart was thudding a sweet lullaby into his ears as his eyes slowly lulled shut. He was just going to rest his eyes for a few minutes, and then-

Hatter awoke to someone poking him in the side with something that felt like a stick. His head lifted slowly as he let out a soft gasp of pain. His hip was burning, complaining about his stupidity.

The pony that was poking him with a stick appeared to be a janitor of some kind. She had a banjo for a cutiemark and the most incredible rich golden eyes that he had ever seen. For a moment, he was simply lost in their amber brilliance, and then she jabbed him in the side with the wooden handle of a mop and he snapped back to attention.

“Ah. Agent Silverfang, Equestrian Special Investigations department?” He said in a questioning tone. His body was still working to try and get itself together. Just a few minutes ago he had been out cold, but the lie should buy him some time to get himself together.

The mare didn’t seem to buy the lie, mostly because of the fact that he had just broken in through a window and was currently lying on the floor in a semi-broken heap.

As the room came back into focus he took notice of the slight breeze coming through the window that he had just cut his way through, along with the fact that this mare was stood next to a cleaning cart and had a badge with her face and name on it.

Unfortunately for him, his eyes were still attempting to focus and unblur his vision. After doing so, the pony’s name and features came into focus. The image on their badge looked like it had been put through the photocopier a few too many times but it definitely belonged to the pony he was staring at.

He took a few moments to read the name badge.
“Puffy Gamedrops?” He asked. His tongue was still waking up, and it tingled slightly as he attempted to form the words.

The janitor’s face was tainted as the earth pony’s brow furrowed slightly.
“It’s Gumdrops. I’d like to see an ID badge to prove you are who you say you are, otherwise I am going to have to call the guards.”

Shit. This wasn’t good. He didn’t come here to go carving people up, and this pony was a janitor, he didn’t go carving up working class ponies if he could avoid it.

“Ah… I’m sorry. I lied. I am actually a private investigator hired by one of the families in connection with the murders that have been taking place recently. I am looking for a missing vat of chemicals I believe could have been used to dispose of the bodies, and I discovered that one had been ordered to here. I have reason to believe your boss may be connected to the murders.”

Puffy brushed her brown frizzy brown mane back and blew a plume of air up at it, swinging her mop so that it rested against her shoulder.
“Alright. Sounds good, what was it that you’re looking for?”

Hatter didn’t know why that had worked and the previous lie hadn’t but he would take any blessing he could at this point.
“Well, I underestimated how easy it would be to break into this building, but I’d like to see where you keep your cleaning chemicals, if that’s at all possible. Sorry about the window, by the way.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. This building is too cheap to hire security and you didn’t set off the alarm, it’s not my problem.”

She offered him a hoof to help him up, and already Hatter was starting to feel better. The fact that this mare had been prepared to simply trust him was a miracle, but now she was actually been nice to him? He gripped her hoof firmly, and she pulled him up.

Puffy was strong. She didn’t look it, but a life-time of hard labour had forged her muscles into lithe powerhouses. His hip was screaming at him as he rose to his hooves, needing a few moments to gather his balance as he scanned around the room.

He was in an office of some kind, desks were laid as far as his old eyes could see. Slapping himself gently in the side of the face with a hoof, he felt the world spin around him, threatening to tumble away once again.

“You don’t look good.” She commented simply. He didn’t know how to respond, this entire situation was really strange for him. Hatter expected this to be a simple job, but already it had become incredibly complicated. How was he meant to deal with this? Now there was a mare all up in his business.
“I’m fine.” He muttered to himself, doing his best to keep standing and stop his voice from wobbling.
“So, why do you think that the barrel of chemicals went missing here?”
“I checked all around, an entire barrel of chemicals was ordered here. Seems a tad excessive, don’t you agree?”

Puffy looked shocked, the expression on her face looking confused for a few seconds, before her expression once again returned to the uncaring, calm look that was infuriatingly impossible to read.
“Ah. Well I’ve worked here, and there’s been no barrels of chemicals pass through mister detective. If you want, tomorrow I could help you look?”

Hatter was instantly on guard, turning to face her as he stepped back out of her grasp. “Why are you being so nice to me?” He asked.
The mare looked confused, blowing at her messy brown mane as she studied him intently with her golden eyes “Because you’re a private detective helping to solve a murder, and murder is bad?”

Oh. Right. He wasn’t used to being on the right side of the law. Everything hurt. His hip was screaming bloody murder at him, and it felt like at any moment he was going to give out, but he forced a gentle smile onto his face and tried his best to straighten up.
“Right, that makes sense. Sorry, my whole body is giving me hell at the minute. I’m getting way too old for this job.”

The mare nodded in an understanding fashion. It was strange having somepony be nice to him.
“It certainly does look like you’re in a lot of pain. I know a great motel I could show you to? Maybe even pay for the evening?”
There was a slight purr to her voice, like she was hitting on him.

Suddenly, things were making a lot more sense.
“I see. Strange stallion drops into your workplace and you instantly want to sleep with him?”
A slight shrug of her shoulders, “What can I say, you only live once, and this is my first time meeting a stallion as intriguing as you, and I can’t really pass this opportunity up!”

Could Hatter really take such a long break to get laid? Something about this still didn’t seem to sit right with him…

• Well, if there wasn’t time in life to take a load off and enjoy getting laid, then life really wasn’t worth living. Besides, he was worn out and really could use lying next to a pretty mare to sort his head out.

The walk back to her place was slow, Puffy really didn’t seem comfortable walking next to him, and for a few moments he was worried that she was suddenly going to turn on him and yell for the guards. He would be in a lot of trouble then.

But no, the reason she was looking so uncomfortable soon became clear when they pulled up to an old motel. It was a cheap looking place that looked like it had seen far better days and simply relied on the fact that carriages had nowhere else to pull up and rest their weary wagon crew.

The walk there took some fifteen minutes from the office building, and throughout the entire thing not a single word was said, they simply found themselves enjoying a shared silence, although maybe Puffy wasn’t having as much fun with it as he was. His hip was burning, all his organs were singing complaints of being pushed to their limits, and yet he found himself with a newfound strength born of a burning lust deep within him.

Age hadn’t dulled that part of him in the slightest. Even staring up at the grimy, mildew laden windows of the motel, he was picturing plowing his length into the mare just behind him, feeling her taunt body quiver… Marching through the carriage parking lot, he suddenly realized why it was she had been looking so nervous.

“You don’t have a home, do you?” He noted, to which Puffy winced slightly, then gave a slow nod.
“No, my home is wherever I lay my head for the night.”
“Trust me, I’ve slept in worse places, with worse company,” He said, slowly making his way up the metal steps onto the catwalk that divided the top and bottom of the motel into two separate sections, “I’m sorry that you don’t have a proper home. Fuckin’ upper class cunts keep snatchin’ the good ones from us.”

Puffy gave him half a smile as she used her key to unlock one of the doors, a large 16 painted crudely on the door with white paint that was chipping and peeling. Stepping through the door, Hatter followed eagerly behind her, his eyes locked so firmly on her flank that he didn’t even notice the room around him.

Unfortunately, he also didn’t notice when the mare suddenly bucked both her hind hooves backwards. He was tired and he was slow, and so her hooves smacked squarely into the soft part of his stomach and forced all the air from his lungs.

He didn’t even understand what exactly was happening, but suddenly having air in his lungs was a distant fantasy and he was doubling over as a desperate wheeze rolled from his lips. He didn’t understand, his oxygen starved brain was trying to make sense of it, but most of its focus was on trying to get him breathing again.

As she turned towards him, he noted the hateful expression in her eyes, a blazing, raging inferno the likes of which he had seldom seen before, besides in his own blood stained reflection. And then one of her hooves smacked into his jaw, and suddenly he didn’t have to worry about breathing or about any of those other things that the waking world had burdened him with, because he was tumbling through a pitch black void, the world lost to him.

And all he could think about was how much it was going to hurt in the morning, before that too was lost to him.

He didn’t expect himself to wake up after a blow like that, with the hatred that the mare had shown, she should have carved him up into little pieces or something. So, waking up was a bit of a shock, his eyes going wide as he came to, all his senses returning one after the other.

Pain. Pain was the one thing that he hadn’t missed. His head felt as though it was being split open, and his vision stayed blurry for longer then he had expected, and certainly longer then was healthy.

Puffy was over in the corner, sitting in a chair and glaring towards him as if she had been simply waiting for him to awaken. She was holding a large kitchen knife in one of her hooves, and for a brief moment Hatter was genuinely scared that he had already been carved up, and it was simply a matter of time before he noticed it.

Thankfully that wasn’t the case. The situation was bad, but there were still many ways that it was able to get worse. Although he hadn’t been carved up just yet, there was still plenty of time and his hooves were currently firmly bound to the bed with thick ropes and metal hoof clasps.

This mare had done this before. He had been led right into a trap and not even realized it.

Puffy stood up from her chair and marched over to him, her tail flicking in an angry fashion behind her, although he didn’t need the tail to tell him just how angry she was when her eyes still contained so much wraith he felt like she was about to begin raining hellfire down upon him.

He wanted to go back to a few minutes ago when he had been picturing staring down into those eyes while plowing her senseless, instead of staring up into those eyes and fearing for his life.

“How did you know?” She hissed. Hatter’s mind searched for a response, but he had no good response to give her.
“Know what?” He asked, his mind racing.

The mare struck him straight in the leg. Pain flared through his body, he squirmed wildly against the ropes and tried his best not to scream. He was a tough stallion, he could take more then a little beating.

He had already been through so much however. There was only so much that his body could take. How was he going to get out of this one?

Where was his hat, his jacket? He didn’t know for sure. He was naked, scared, and unarmed.

Puffy stared down at him as she raised the blade, threatening to cut his face open. Hater didn’t even flinch. He was going to break out of here, he just had to figure out how to do so.
“You’re telling me… That this was just a fucking fluke? You just happened to stumble in on me and… It was a guess?” She sounded mad. He didn’t understand why she was mad, but he attempted to pull on his bindings again.

The knife came down, rending a bloody slash into his chest that drew a pained wince from the poor stallion, who still seemed to be completely failing to understand the situation currently unfolding before him.

“I don’t know what’s going on. Why are you so angry at me? I haven’t done anything!”
The mare’s face twisted in a viscous snarl, “You stupid fucking idiot! I’m the murderer!”

Hatter finally got it. She was the murderer. But none of his clues had led him to that outcome. Was he really that bad of a detective that he had failed to spot the signs?

Normally this was where the detective would have some kind of cool flashback showing off all the clues that had lead them to that outcome, or the clues that he had missed, but this didn’t make any fucking sense. How could she be the killer?

His horn had a metal ring on it, a binder that prevented him from calling upon his magical focus and left him feeling disconnected.

He pulled firmly against his bindings, and the mare brandished her knife again.
“I thought you’d figured it out. I thought that Trottingham Terror was hunting me… But you’re a fucking idiot!”

Her hoof came down and smacked him firmly in the face, dazing him rather badly. He couldn’t think. He needed to get out of this.
“Not that it matters. Cool fact for you, moron. Bone burns at 1,500 degrees. Then I can dissolve the remains using the cleaning chemicals I bought. I’m going to go and heat the furnace downstairs to 1,800 degrees and then I’m going to carve you into tiny little pieces.”

The knife came down, stabbing into his right shoulder and turning his vision white. By the time he managed to get a grip and pull the world back into focus, the mare was was gone. This was the only chance he was going to get to break out of here.

For almost all ponies, it would have been completely impossible for them to break free, the ropes were too strong and the bindings too tight, but he knew exactly what he needed to do to escape. His shoulder was screaming at him, his breathing was rapid and he was starting to sweat. Due to his old age, he was struggling.

Puffy Gumdrops was strong. The knife was stabbing right up against the bone, and he felt ready to throw up. But he could do this. And he could do it simply due to the fact that the binds were too tight.

He pulled. He pulled with all his strength, and he screamed into the pillow of the bed he was bound too. He felt like he was about to throw up, but he twisted his hooves against the bindings until they drew blood. Blood lubed up the metal bindings.

Hatter was playing a dangerous game, dancing on the edge of falling unconscious. If he passed out here, it would be the end of him, there would be no saving him.

Thankfully, he didn’t pass out. He simply danced right on the edge of doing so. Twisting and contorting his hoof, causing skin to peel away and… Agony to rip through him.

With the right amount of twisting motions… His hoof managed to pull free. His heart was threatening to give out at a moment’s notice. There was no rest for the wicked however, and after removing the metal ring from his horn, he begin to try and focus his magic.
He was absolutely fucking spent. There was nothing left to give. He wasn’t really a religious pony, in fact he was pretty sure that if there were any Gods out there, they likely hated him. He knew for a fact the goddesses Luna and Celestia hated him, but in that moment he called upon the help of whatever Gods were prepared to help him out.

Not because of the fact he was a good pony, not because of the fact that this had taught him a valuable lesson, but because once he got out of here, he was going to fuck that mare up.

And then his focus returned. He used his abilities gained from working with fabric to cut the ropes, then he flopped down to the floor. Everything hurt. Everything always hurt. Right now he was in a lot more pain then he was used to however, wobbly legs and a dry mouth, a body right on the edge of giving out, keeping just an inch away from passing out and facing a horrible end.

No. He couldn’t be beaten by this mare. She had damaged his reputation, and he was going to show her just how he had earned all those names and carved himself into the history books.

His things had been hastily dumped into a plastic bin bag that he quickly ripped open. Getting his jacket on was a struggle, but the moment the red velvet was hugging around his frame again, he instantly begin to feel a lot better, a lot more like his old self. Of course, to put it on, he had needed to pull out the knife wedged in his shoulder.

Thankfully, most of his wounds had been easy to stitch up or bandage. The mare hadn’t yet returned from the basement, but he didn’t really mind, it was giving him chance to get his strength back.

This was going to be one hell of a fight. Could he do it? He didn’t know, but he was going to give it his best shot. His nerves were really getting to him. Why was she taking so long?

His razor was light in his magic, the wood handled blade providing some degree of comfort as he counted down each of the seconds. Then the handle turned, the door swung open and he stepped forward, swinging his razor down towards her leg.

The first blow landed easily against the shocked red mare, but he needed to get outside, fighting in a confined space like this wasn’t something that he could handle. It was the golden eyed mare’s turn to look shocked as he pushed himself into a front flip.

He managed to keep it contained, managing to squeeze through the doorway over the top of her, landing on the metal cat walk and swinging out one of his legs in a wide kick that impacted firmly against the back of her leg, but completely failed to do anything besides hurt himself.

His legs gave out, his magic almost failed and he came down hard against the metal catwalk. His razor slashed out again, catching the back of her leg and cutting deep.

No time to think now. He climbed to his hooves and slashed wildly, landing several more deep cuts on the back of their legs. Even if she was tough, his blade cut deep and the cuts bled heavily. Nobody could stand and take that kind of assault.

She was forced to stumble backwards into the room, and he followed, keeping up the attack, precise, measured slashes at her limbs, threatening her face and forcing her to raise her front hooves if she didn’t want to lose an eye.

The cries of pain from the mare soon turned into ones of furry as he tried to drive her further into the room. Whether she had done it purposefully or not, he wasn’t sure, but drawing himself into the small room where his mobility was useless was a smart idea.

She came forward with a wide swing, attempting to take off his head. He ducked under it and sent his razor to work, opening up multiple cuts that begin to rapidly haemorrhage.

Ponies thought they were stronger then him, they always started off so confident and cocksure of themselves, until they realized that his razor was enchanted and-

He was blacking out. Why was he blacking out? His brain actually took a few moments to catch up. Currently he was buried halfway into a length of dry-wall. When had he been struck?

The ringing in his ears hit him all at once, and he stared, seemingly in slow motion as the mare rushed towards him, her yellow eyes blazing with hatred as she prepared to finish the fight.

Right. His body wasn’t responding. It seemed it had finally given up. Fucking useless thing. He bundled all his willpower together in an attempt to rise back to his hooves, but they were not responding.

Getting old sucked. Her hooves sailed towards his head, but with a final surge of adrenaline, he managed to roll out of the way, grabbing his razor with his hoof and rushing her down as her hoof sank through the drywall.

He was on her back in an instant, pressing his razor to her throat and trying to not to vomit. At this point, she attempted throwing him from her back, but the blade bit into her throat.

“I… Ha… Win!” Hatter panted, before narrowly avoiding having his lip burst as she launched her head backwards. She was weakening however, and he now had the chance to take whatever he wanted from the mare.

It was time to show her how it was really done.