02:54 - 07/12/1008 - Fillydelphia City Hall
“At a recent dockworkers strike in Petershoof, several communist agitators were identified and arrested on picket lines. Carried among them were stacks of pamphlets that used phrases like ‘decadent capitalist’, ‘class war’, and even ‘revolutionary proletarian counter-offensive’. It is unclear just how far this literature was spread or how well received it was amongst the strikers, but at least a third of the strikers who were searched were found to be carrying communist literature.”
Governor Alesia Snezhnaya took her eyes off the page and gazed around the meeting room. Every year in early December a summit of every Governor of every province in Equestria is held. The tradition went back well over a century and continued after into the Lunar millenium. This specific meeting had gone on for nearly three hours, yet just ten minutes had passed since she started to speak.
Yet the other governors gathered around the roundtable did not give the reaction she’d hoped for. They were leaning back in their seats, fiddling with their pens, digging through their notes, checking their watches, or simply staring at the plain white ceiling. Maybe two or three were actually listening, but it was hard to tell. Despite sharing a party affiliation with the vast majority of the politicians in the chamber, that of the New Equestria Party, she rarely felt like she fit in. Undeterred, Alesia continued.
“All points showcased indicate a coordinated scheme by the outlawed Communist Party of Equestria and other criminal left-wing extremists to sow distrust towards Imperial governance, disrupt economic activity, coerce and manipulate the working masses, and ultimately overthrow Imperial authority by means of insurrection and communist terror.” A pause to breathe and let the point sink in. “We have no reason to think such activity is exclusive to Severyana. Governor Celery,” she called.
“Hm?” grunted Braised Celery, slumped back in his seat. He sat up a little, fixed his tie, and looked in Alesia’s direction. “Um, yes, Governor Snezhnaya?”
“Could you inform us about the left-wing extremist activity at the recent Baltimare Steelworks strike?” Alesia asked.
“Um…” Braised Celery scratched his beard. “The city mediated a good deal between the companies and unions, and the more... hm, unreasonable unions were kept in check by the local police and Night Guard. There were ponies from illegal parties like the Confederation of Anarchists and the Communist Party on the picket lines. One guy was arrested for waving a red flag, some of the anarchists fought with cops, though I think it was handled pretty well. Nopony was seriously injured.”
“Well, that sounds good to me!” said Pearl Gleam, governor of Ponnsylvania and chairmare of the meeting, as she scooped up her gavel and prepared to tap the sound block. “I’d say this year’s National Governor’s Summit has been a wonderful success! So, who says we adjourn and go say hello to our friends in the press, hm?”
“Hold on!” cried out Alesia.
Pearl Gleam turned to Alesia. She looked like she was trying not to sigh. “Yes, Governor Snezhnaya?”
“Withthe danger we face and with us all together, we need to make our commitments clear and get behind a common strategy to do something about these communist extremists!” A clap of a hoof on the table punctuated Alesia’s proposal.
“Like what?” asked Pearl Gleam.
“I’m glad you asked.” Alesia grinned and reached into her suitcase, retrieving a small stack of paper. “I’ve here a draft of a declaration on the matter, denouncing the evils of communism, reaffirming our opposition to it, and calling on the national government to dedicate more resources to rooting it out. I have copies for each of you. Please, give it a read.”
Alesia passed half the stack to the governor on her left and the other to the one on her right, who each took a copy and passed the rest further along.
“It’s only a page long and mostly summarises what I’ve spoken about already. I have my own copy here, and I ask that you all sign it.” She brought her chin up and fully straightened her posture. “If we’re going to present anything to the press, it should be this.”
Soon everypony around the table had a copy and was reading through it. Alesia gazed around the room, watching over her colleagues and taking note of their reactions. While she’d have certainly preferred to have presented this at an earlier point in the summit, she felt reasonably confident that it would be well received. She noticed some of the governors nodding along as they read, and others-
“Woah woah woah, what?” a gasp from across the table caught Alesia’s notice. The pony, Governor Copper Plated of Stableside, soon realised that eyes around the room were on him. “Oh I’m sorry Governor Snezhnaya,” he said. “But your letter starts by saying that communism is the single greatest domestic threat in Equestria. I’m not so sure about that.”
“Really?” Alesia cringed. “After everything they’ve done and continue to do under the snout of the law? What else even comes close to the threat they represent?”
“Um… The Solarists?” Copper Plated said, tilting his head a little.
Alesia barely held back a scoff, brought on by a mix of disbelief and frustrating familiarity at what she just heard. “The Solarists are no more. The communists, however! Their strikes, their violence, their propaganda, all of it stemming from a nationwide network dedicated to burning Equestria and the whole Empire to the ground! You know how close Severyana came to a revolution in the 990s? It was only thanks to-” A sudden pause. With a Lunarist audience, she’d have to make her next point very carefully. “It was only because of a dedicated and thorough intervention from the central government of the time that there wasn’t a full-blown insurrection.”
“Government of the time?” Shimmer Moon, governor of Tzinacatlia, raised an eyebrow. “Are you talking about Celestia?”
Exactly the veiled accusation Alesia wanted to avoid. “For once the old regime stepped in to do something good, yes,” she sighed. “But obviously it wasn’t enough, as is to be expected from that regime, given we still face the same troublemakers tonight. If there was one thing that characterised Celestia’s rule, it was inaction. We cannot risk making the same mistakes that made her so weak. Any future insurrectionists won’t be half as merciful as us.”
Ponies around the room shared looks with each other. Pearl Gleam scratched her head and shrugged. “I mean, sure, we can sign the letter, but-”
“Excuse me, Governor Snezhnaya,” snapped a voice from the other end of the table, catching Alesia’s attention. Choke Hold, a gigantic earth pony bodybuilder turned Governor of Coltfoalnia, had stood up from his seat. The chamber fell silent, all eyes turned to Choke Hold.
“Yes, Governor Hold?” Alesia said.
Choke Hold took in a deep breath as he glared toward Alesia. “This letter is suggesting that we should treat trade unions as we treat terrorists. My father was a trade unionist. He stood on picket lines, he marched with his fellow workers, he fought for economic justice.” Choke Hold paused, clenching his jaw. “Governor Snezhnaya, you daring to equate ponies like him with Solarist terrorists is disgraceful.”
The accusation hit her like a rock to the face. Alesia gritted her teeth and stood up. “I did no such thing, Governor Hold.”
Choke aggressively tapped his copy of the letter. “Right here. Your letter describes ‘agitators in labour unions’ as enemies, and in the paragraph immediately afterwards it says they do ‘more damage to our nation than terrorists’ and that they deserve to be fought like terrorists. How else am I supposed to describe that?”
“The declaration is clearly talking about extremists in the unions, not the rank and file members,” Alesia asserted.
“And am I supposed to believe that your preferred methods in rooting out communists don’t involve busting their unions, seeing as you think they’re so easily swayed by the radicals?” Choke argued.
Admitting to applying those methods right away might be a mistake. She needed to pivot, deflate Choke’s point. “Do we not keep tabs on all Solarist organisations, the moderates and the radicals, in case there may be violent extremists lurking amongst them?”
“Governor Snezhnaya, how many ponies were killed in Solarist attacks this last year?” Choke barked.
This song and dance again? Alesia tried not to roll her eyes. “Forty-one,” she finally replied.
“And twenty-eight of those lost were at the Black Bat Bar bombing in my home city of Tall Tale,” Choke added. “Twenty-eight killed and another sixty injured by a single suicide bomber. That is what you’re downplaying. Now tell me, Governor Snezhnaya, how many ponies were killed in terror attacks by trade unionists, socialists or any other of the various communist radicals this past year?”
Alesia sighed before he’d even finished asking the question. “That's not the point-”
“How many, Snezhnaya?” Choke shouted back.
Alesia stood in silence for a good few seconds, her mouth hanging open. She’d heard this line of questioning many times before, but the force in Choke Hold’s voice startled her. She steeled herself. “Four,” she answered confidently. “Two police officers were savagely beaten in the Vanhoover dockworkers’ strike in February, a security guard was killed during the national textile workers’ strike, and a small business owner in Twisted Tail Valley was killed by a known communist.”
“Four versus forty-one.” Choke squared his shoulders. “You would brush off those forty-one murders but get up in hooves over four?”
Alesia continued. “There’s much more to this than the casualty list, the overall impact of their actions-”
“Overall impact?” Choke shot her a look of repulsion. “What, economic impact? Families were murdered, and you’re thinking about money?”
“It’s part of a concentrated effort to destroy everything we hold dear!” she shouted back, feeling her patience wear thin.
“And the Solarists aren’t doing that?” Choke retorted.
“They may try, but they’re a meaningless fringe!” she insisted. “It is the communists that are organising a national movement, and they have the ear of thousands of ponies! Where’s your sense of perspective?”
“Where it should be, on the ponies!” Choke banged on the table. “Do you think a grieving child or parent cares that their closest relatives were killed by a ‘meaningless fringe’?”
A sharp wooden rap echoed through the chamber and drowned out their voices. “Order!” shouted Pearl Gleam, banging her gavel. The room fell silent as every governor in the room turned to her, meeting her enraged eyes. She sighed and settled back into her seat. “I really thought I’d get through the whole summit without needing to do that.”
“If I could try to present a middle ground,” Pearl Gleam continued, “I’m sure everypony in this room agrees that communism and radical Solarism are a danger to us all. There’s no reason why we couldn’t do something about both! We have more than enough resources at our disposal. Governor Hold, would you be willing to sign Governor Snezhnaya’s letter if the language was revised?”
“The statement is fundamentally incorrect,” Choke grunted. “I would not want to put my name on any version of it.”
“Thank you for deescalating, Governor Gleam,” Alesia said, trying to reclaim some respectability after the shouting match. “But I would prefer for the statement not to be watered down. I am sure many of you understand the danger that these communists present and would sign it unaltered. Yes?”
Alesia looked around the table expectantly, finding the others unenthused. Whenever she made eye contact with anyone, they quickly averted their eyes. She noticed everyone in the room took a final glance at Choke before either shuffling back into their seats or quietly shaking their heads. Feeling her jaw drop, she only just repressed the urge to shout.
“Either way, I’m afraid we’ll have to adjourn. The press are expecting us any moment,” Pearl Gleam said with a shrug. “Sorry, Governor.”
Releasing a quiet groan, Alesia fell back into her seat. Even if they signed it, even the original and not a watered down edit, she knew it wouldn’t amount to anything tangible. They’d blinded themselves to the real growing threat from some of the most putrid and bloodthirsty ponies in the country. That movement grew stronger every night. She could ship every communist in Severyana off to Chiropterra, but what good would that do when there were hundreds if not thousands of reds running around every other province in the country?
“If nopony has anything else?” said Pearl Gleam, raising her gavel. The room was silent. “Then our meeting is adjourned.” And it was made so with the rap of the gavel.
The governors collected their things and made their way out of the room and into a much larger hall to meet the press, along with the “family photo” of the summit. A row of cameras from the herd of journalists greeted them, snapping quick photos and clamoring for their attention as they assembled on the stage, with the governors themselves smiling and waving to the cameras. As everyone had taken their place on stage, Alesia looked across the assembled governors and noticed that Choke Hold was towards the middle, wearing a huge toothy grin. Made sense, it’d look lopsided if a pony of his size was on the edge, but it also indicated who was being favoured and focused on.
Perhaps there was a chance earlier in the summit to bring the declaration up with each governor one at a time, to form a broader bloc of governors committed to stamping out the flames of communism. But there was so much more that the rest of them wanted to discuss, not least of which was their delusions about an imminent Celestial counterrevolution. No use dwelling on her regrets, she thought. She’d have many more chances to get the right ponies on the right side before it was too late, and she’d just have to keep this experience in mind for the future.
She forced a smile as the largest camera flashed. It immediately dropped to a scowl afterwards, as she pushed her way off the stage. The others more or less followed suit, either dispersing in a similar hurried manner or engaging in conversation with the ponies around them as they did, while Pearl Gleam stepped forward to address the journalists directly on the matters the summit had agreed on.
Taking a few looks around the hall as she trotted towards the exit, she wondered if there was any point to staying longer. There was important work to be done back home, and it felt increasingly clear that nobody here was going to listen to her. Some of the journalists might be willing to hear from her, which may help in getting her message out, but the word of her and her alone would doubtless be buried beneath the noise of the overall summit. The whole point of the letter was to get every governor in Equestria on the public record and make their collective commitment known, but it was hard to speak of a collective commitment when there was clearly no such thing.
“Scuse me, Mrs Snezhnaya?” a voice in a strong southern accent called from behind.
Alesia turned around and was greeted by Governor Nickajack of Mixie. A red earth pony with an impressive ginger handlebar moustache donning a white ten-gallon hat, he was one of the few Equestrian governors who didn’t belong to the New Equestria Party. He was a member of the Equestrian Values Coalition, a rural conservative party from Celestia’s time.
“Ah, Governor Nickajack,” she said, extending her hoof to meet him. “Tired of having to repeat the same old Lunar slogans to everypony here, yet?”
Nickajack laughed at her comment, his moustache rustling like unruly foliage in a breeze. “Boy, don’t get me started. Having to start every gut dang conversation with ‘we’re so thankful for what our Empress has done’ and ‘Our Empress is so great’ that…”
She always found she could speak more candidly with such ponies individually, as she didn’t need to put up a performative dedication to the Lunarist cause. She cared about Severyana, and Nickajack cared about Mixie. Loyalty to the Nightmare was always secondary to ensuring prosperity and stability in their home.
“Right, Governor Snezhnaya. Just wanted to talk to you for a minute, about earlier,” he said, keeping his voice low. “For what it’s worth, you’re absolutely one hundred and twenty percent right about the reds. For as long as they’ve been a problem, we’ve been doing everything we can to keep ‘em outta the southeast.”
A hundred possible responses rushed through her head. Why didn’t you say that at the meeting? Did you have nothing to say then? Why didn’t you sign the letter? Yet, she settled on a smile and a polite “Thank you. It’s good to know there are ponies in government with the right perspective.”
“Thing is, when you’re talking to these guys.” He gestured at the ponies around the hall. “Y’know, the real deadset Lunarists, you’ve kinda gotta tone it down a notch. Meet ‘em where they’re at. Be open to compromise.”
“Compromise? What is there to compromise on? I’m trying to stop their Empire from collapsing. It’s not like I’m proposing some radical alternative hostile to all their values, my program benefits them! And they’re-” She bit her tongue, glanced over her shoulder, and dropped her voice to a near-whisper. “They’re delusional.”
“Yeah, I getcha.” Nickajack smirked and rolled his eyes. “Y’know what I mean though. We can be frank with each other, sure, but you always gotta put a show on for them. Have it be clear at every opportunity that you’re doing this to keep their Equestria going.”
“Yes, of course,” she groaned. “Makes you wonder whether they appreciate anything we do for their sake.”
Nickajack chuckled. “You’re tellin’ me.”
12:19 - 14/12/1008 - ???
Stinging pain seared through Alesia's ribs and tore her awake. Instinctively she tried to move but to no avail. Rough, tight ropes had bound her arms and legs to a chair. No matter where she looked, the world was black. She could feel there was a bag over her head. She wheezed out a strained groan, the bag making it hard for her to breathe properly. If all that wasn’t enough, the mother of all headaches topped it off.
What the hell happened? Last she remembered was that she was in Princessyn, in the car on the way back from the train station. A tire burst, they were thrown off the road, and then...
“Finally, she’s up,” spat a raspy, feminine voice.
The bag was pulled off her head and harsh incandescent light flooded into her eyes. The only source of light in the room was a lamp aimed at her face, giving her an illuminated view of the mostly empty room and her situation. Two ponies glaring down at her, both donning balaclavas and dressed head-to-hoof in black clothes that concealed their identities. One was a pegasus and the other was a unicorn, as their wings and horn respectively were beneath black clothing. Only their eyes were visible, both staring at her with palpable hate. The unicorn was shorter and had more pronounced eyelashes, they were likely a mare, while it was difficult to discern anything about the pegasus.
One of the ponies, the pegasus, dashed a newspaper onto her lap, then fiddled with it to get it to stay upright. “Hold still, and look at the camera,” the unicorn said.
Only after the camera flashed, forcing her to blink, did she notice it was there. Aside from that and a bag on the floor, the room was mostly empty and undecorated. The sole door was closed. Behind her she spotted a flag on the wall. On a red background it displayed two crossed swords beneath a circle depicting the sun. The Solar Faithful? Alesia thought, recoiling at the mere sight of their symbolism up close. They were a southeastern terror group, one of the most bloodthirsty by any count. Since when were they operating in Severyana?
And yet they had her, with a photo of her tied up with the night’s newspaper in the shot to prove it. For what, ransom? She’d heard enough of this group’s practices to know that if they were going to kill her, they would’ve done so already. They wanted her alive then. What they wanted her alive for could be for anything. Not like she cared to beg them for answers.
The unicorn passed the polaroid to the pegasus. “Get this copied and mailed off, with the list too,” they said. List of names, list of demands, list of groceries, Alesia could only guess as the pegasus slipped out of the room with everything stashed under their wing.
“Look at you.” The ponynapper sneered, leaning in close enough that she could smell their breath. “After all the garbage the lunatics spread about you. ‘Hero of the Crystal War’,” they mocked, contemptuously waving their hooves. “‘Most popular governor in the country’, ‘Equestria’s next blah plah pleh’.” They groaned, putting a hoof to their forehead. “I am so sick of it.”
Alesia remained unmoved by the mockery and veiled threats. She’d faced worse than this. Compared to facing Sombra’s armies, being held hostage by some lowlife rebels was nothing.
“What’s the matter, badger-cat caught your tongue?” The ponynapper raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t said anything yet.”
Alesia hit them with a fierce glare, refusing to back away. “I’ll never cower before you, terrorist swine.”
Even with only their eyes visible, Alesia could tell the ponynapper was giving her a smug look. “Oh yeah, and one more thing. Just in case you get any stupid ideas.” They stepped just out of sight and could be heard rustling through a bag. They soon returned to her with a little polaroid floating in their magical grasp, held just in front of her so she could clearly see…
A gasp escaped Alesia’s lips as her eyes nearly fell from their sockets. Maks?
It was a photo of her younger brother, Maksim. Alone. Right in front of his house. Walking onto the street, unaware of the camera. The photo looked to have been taken from a car just across the road. They didn’t even need to say anything to get the message across. Alesia tore her eyes off the photo and onto the terrorist, feeling hot air rush out of her nostrils. She grit her teeth. “You wouldn’t dare,” she snarled.
“Don’t try anything stupid,” the terrorist commanded. “Don’t scream, don’t bang on the walls, don’t attract any unwanted attention. Is that clear?”
“He has nothing to do with anything I do, you coward!” she yelled. “He’s a civilian, you’d be murdering him for-”
“Shut up!” the terrorist shouted. The force of their words sent Alesia back. “We have ponies on his street. Pyotr Street, yea? I make the call and in less than five minutes, they’ll go into his house and shoot him in the head.” The terrorist paused, letting their words sink in for Alesia.
In the few moments of silence that followed, she felt the fire of the fury within her be snuffed out by icy tendrils of fear, like a candle threatened by cold howling wind. Sweat rolled down her forehead. “He’s not even a Lunarist,” she pleaded, “not politically or religiously, please-”
“You heard what I said,” the terrorist insisted. “Now tell me what I told you to do so I know you understand.”
The ropes felt like they were suffocating her. Already the image of masked thugs breaking into Maks’ home and murdering him was flashing before her eyes. She shut her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t see it, but that only made the image more stark. She hastily attempted to steady her breathing, relenting. “I won’t scream, I won’t bang on the walls. I won’t attract any unwanted attention.”
“Because what’s going to happen if you do?”
“You’ll shoot him in the head.” She spoke as quickly as she could, hoping that forcing the words out of her mouth would get the image out of her head too.
“Him?” the terrorist said. Their cheeks beneath the balaclava could be seen rising into a sneer. “Who’s him? He has a name, doesn’t he?”
The thought wouldn’t go away. They wouldn’t let her get the thought away. Already she felt hateful rage flare in her again, only kept in check by the knowledge of what would follow if she gave in. “Maksim,” she seethed. “You’ll go into Maksim’s house and shoot him in the head.”
The terrorist stashed the photo into their pocket and roughly patted Alesia on the cheek, seeming to savour her fraught breath and enraged expression as they did. They levitated the pack onto their back and made for the door. “We’ll check up on you soon. See you then, lunatic.”
The terrorist clicked a switch, the lights went out, and they disappeared behind the door, plunging Alesia deep into darkness and deeper into dread.
06:43 - 16/12/1008 - ???
Her stomach growled again. Third time in the last hour, Moon knows what time in the last twenty-four hours. At some point earlier they’d given her her only meal so far, literally spoonfed the blandest mashed potatoes she’d ever tasted in her life and had two glasses of water poured down her throat.
Only a slither of light crept under the door, shadows occasionally walking by. Despite however much time had passed, the images hadn’t left her mind. With nothing to occupy the mind, all she was left with was the horrifying knowledge that these monsters had the willingness and capability to murder her closest family. The line between consciousness and unconsciousness grew blurrier and blurrier. She hadn’t kept track of when she was awake and when she slept. When the light stopped coming under the door she barely noticed.
Alesia was jolted into awareness by a soaring bang from down below. She immediately recognised it as the sound of gunfire. Ponies outside the room shouted panicked questions and hasty commands. Hooves thundered outside the room and raced down what sounded like stairs. Faint noises of glass smashing, wood cracking, and ponies screaming followed.
The struggle moved progressively higher, nearer. Gunshots rocked her ears again, closer than before. Whacks and groans and crashes were right on the other side of the door. Near enough for her to hear metal slashing into flesh, prompting gurgling chokes. Not a whisper of light from under the door, literally leaving her in the dark. Her ears leaned forwards, struggling to pick up anything. She flinched back as a dense thump hit the door.
The lock on the door clicked and clunked. A long creak, accompanied by something slumping against the floor with a wet splat. The littlest trace of light indicated a pony had opened the door. Approaching hoofsteps, then a torch clicking on with its light landing right in her face. She had to blink a few times as her eyes adjusted. She thought to groan out an inquiry, until she met the cold gaze of the pony standing before her.
A thestral, if their tufted ears, slit pupils, and sharp fangs were any indication. They wore a headtorch, illuminating little more than their face and chest. Much of what she could see of them was spattered with blood, the dark red standing out sharply against the seafoam blue of their coat and the cyan of their long silky mane, but complimenting his sanguine irises and eyeshadow. One of his hooves was held up, equipped with a pair of bloody metal hoofclaws. Their lips parted into a wide grin, flashing their bright white fangs at her.
“Ello, Guvna!” they said, in a cartoonish Trottingham accent. “The name's Blanche. Carte Blanche!”
Alesia’s breath was still too fraught to speak a proper response. “Who?”
“Perhaps I should have led with my other name, Night Eye Cygnus,” they said without the phony accent, grinning broadly. “I've come to get you out of here, Governor Snezhnaya.”
“You- You’re-” Alesia blinked a few times then blew out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding, worries washing away under a tide of relief. “Oh thank the Nightmare,” she sighed, her meaning entirely literal. They’d sent a Night Eye agent, and they’d found her this soon? She quickly took notice of her resucer’s flawless pronunciation of her name, not unexpected for a job that entails multilingualism. But even looking at them up close, she couldn’t tell-
Carte giggled. “I know that look. I’m a stallion. Now hold still, lemme get those ropes off of you.” He lurched forward with his hoofclaws, making Alesia flinch. But as his action freed Alesia’s forelegs with one clean slash, her nerves tempered. Before she’d even had the chance to move her stiff joints, he’d already dashed down and cut through the ropes binding her hind legs.
Sucking in deep breaths through her mouth, Alesia wriggled her limbs to wake them up after two nights of inactivity. “Agh,” she groaned. “Why’d they even bother with the ropes and the dark room?”
“Sadistic pleasure,” Carte quickly answered. “Trust me, I’d know all about it. Also saves on power. You’d be surprised how fast the bills pile up in a place like this.”
Alesia winced, wondering if that was supposed to put her at ease.
“For real though, can you walk?” he asked.
Alesia slid off of the chair and landed on all fours, her stance uneasy at first. Carte leaned forwards to support her. Alesia delicately pushed him away. “Yes, I think I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, and I think you’re going to need this more than I do.” Carte took off the head torch and passed it to Alesia. Affixing it to her forehead, she immediately got a much better view of Carte, confirming him to be a thestral by his leathery wings. She took note of the belt of tactical equipment around his waist, as well as the fact that the blood was mostly on the front of his body. “Ready?” he asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Alesia answered, hearing her limbs crack.
“Sweet! Let’s get a move on.” Carte skipped out of the room. Tentatively, Alesia followed, out of her prison and through the door.
Alesia staggered to a stop as the stench hit her like a brick to the face.
Immediately she recognised the smell. She moved her head in every direction to piece together the environment. It appeared to be a scarcely decorated second floor landing of an ordinary townhouse, save for the pervasive evidence of the bloody massacre that just happened. Freshly spilt blood stained the walls and floorboards. Mangled corpses were slumped against the walls and collapsed on the stairs. It was like she was back in Netherstal after it had been abandoned by Sombra.
“Yo!” Carte called. Alesia snapped towards him. A nonchalant smirk was on his face. “You coming?”
The shock wore off after a moment. Guess there were more ponies here than she thought. “Yes, of course,” she replied. She followed after the thestral, her eyes fixed on the walls still trying to imagine how one pony could be capable of all this-
Something caught her leg, she stumbled. She looked down, the light showed that she’d nearly tripped over a warm, dead body at her hooves, difficult to even recognise as such. Several stab wounds in his neck, his chest, his face…
“I’m sorry.” She tore her attention away and put it onto Carte. “Why are the lights out?”
“Why, I’m glad you asked.” He spun towards her with a proud grin. “I knew that there weren’t going to be any thestrals in this house. Tripping the fuses before I got properly started meant they couldn’t see a thing, while I- oop!”
Suddenly Carte tackled Alesia, throwing her off her hooves and into a side room as the roar of a gun filled the house with flashes of light and her ears with a sharp bang. Alesia hit the ground with a grunt. When she opened her eyes, Carte had gotten off of her and slammed the door shut. Looking past him, she spotted a chunk of wood had been shot off of the doorframe. “Sorry love,” Carte laughed whilst dusting himself off. “Seems I missed one.”
Preparing to leap out of the room, Carte retrieved a small device from his belt. Alesia immediately recognised it as a flashbang grenade, even in the dark. “Cover your ears and stay down!” he said, loud enough for her but quiet enough so their opponent wouldn’t. She’d already done that before he finished the sentence.
Carte yanked the pin out of the flashbang, let it cook, and tossed it through the door. He slammed the door and covered his ears, right as a blinding flash framed the door in a glow of white along with a deafening bang. Alesia winced, her ears ringing. The terrorist shouted. Then gunshots. One after the other, worsening the ringing in Alesia’s ears. Carte shot to the floor with his legs and wings protecting his head and neck. The blasts kept coming. A couple bullets peppered the upper half of the door. Until…
Silence. Relative silence. Past the ringing, Alesia heard a faint clicking, that of an empty gun. A fangy grin flashed on Carte’s face as he shot to his hooves. “My turn.”
Carte barreled through the door and leapt into the corridor, wings wide. A crash and a grunt, and the clicking ceased. A muffled scuffle erupted. Heavy thuds against broken wood and shuffling hooves on the soaked floor. Rapid, rhythmic smacks and grunts reverberating through the narrow space. One sided from the sounds of it. None of the shouts sounded like Carte, only the raspy cries of his opponent. As much as she felt the instinct to look, Alesia kept back until she heard the coast was clear. Not like she’d be able to see any of it in the dark.
It ended with a visceral, dense crack. Silence for half a bone-chilling second. Then screaming. A howling scream raw enough that it made Alesia shudder, rattled by the abhorrent intensity of it. It felt straight out of the trenches.
The scream petered out, fading into choked wails as a discordantly cheery voice cut over it. “You can come out now, Governor!”
Rolling to her hooves and rising, Alesia pressed on to the door. She stepped out and shone the torch to guide her way, spotting Carte standing over a pony writhing on the floor. Every step she took, her hooves landed with hushed anticipation as they seemed to harmonize with the haunting wails that pierced the air.
Her cautious advance led her to the harrowing sight of the fallen combatant. A mare, barely in their 20s, if that. They were clutching at the jagged, bloody ruin on her forehead that was once her horn. Her body was marred by a tapestry of brutal cuts and contusions, and her eyes were brimming with tears. The sight was, if anything, pitiable. Enough to elicit an immediate and instinctive surge of sympathy in Alesia.
That was before Alesia recognised their eyes. They may have been dilated, teary, and bloodshot, but they were the same smug eyes that relished in her torment. The last pair of eyes she’d seen before Carte had arrived. Her sympathy fizzled away like a drop of water in a bonfire.
“You,” Alesia spat. “You threatened Maks.”
“Maks?” Carte cocked an eyebrow, as both he and the terrorist looked to Alesia. “Who’s Maks?”
“My younger brother.” Alesia met Carte’s eyes, trying to keep a lid on her rage as she felt her jaw tense. “They have ponies near his house, they showed me a photo. They said they’d kill him if I tried to escape.”
“Really?” Carte turned to Alesia and took a step back. “This guy was gonna kill your little brother?” Alesia gave an affirming nod.
Like an electric jolt had coursed through him, his face transformed. He actually looked moved, even offended, at the prospect. Carte held a watch on his left foreankle up to his mouth. “Cygus here,” he said into the watch. “Snowy is safe and sound. All immediate threats have been neutralised. We’re at 171 Steeple Street, Princessyn. You got all that?”
A quiet, crackling voice came out of the watch. Alesia couldn’t make it out.
“Yo, Governor.” He turned to her with his hoof extended to her, presenting the face of his watch. “They want to hear from you.”
Alesia craned her neck forward. “Alesia Snezhnaya speaking,” she breathed into the watch. “I’m here, I’m safe. The Night Eye agent took out the terrorists.”
“Good to hear from you, Governor,” came a dry, official voice, distorted under a layer of radio static. “Is there anything we should know right away?”
Her reply came almost instantly. “Yes, about my brother, Maks. Maksim Snezhnaya. The terrorists threatened to kill him, they showed me a photo they’d taken of him outside his house, which is at 55 Pyotr Street, northwest Princesscyn. They might already be on their way. Ensure his safety at once, please.”
“Understood, Governor,” the voice replied without a hint of emotion. “A team to secure Mr Snezhnaya’s safety will be dispatched. A police escort should arrive at your location in five to ten minutes.”
“Good,” she breathed, nodding her head. “Thank you.”
As she finished, Carte playfully slapped off the link. “Oh, no need to thank me, Governor! I do this for the love of the craft!” he said with a cheerful grin. “Now, better make your way downstairs. I can handle our prisoner by myself. Looks like they’re in shock.”
After parting with Carte, Alesia hurried downstairs, taking care to not trip on debris or bodies. On the bottom floor, she found the kitchen to be mostly free of the gore that had drenched the rest of the house. She rushed to the sink and poured herself a glass of water, drinking the whole glass in a single gulp. Then she did it again. Then again. And again. Even after her thirst had been quenched, she lingered alone in the kitchen. She felt her gut grumble again. She snatched an apple from a fruit bowl and crunched down, already feeling better.
Her ears perked up at the thumps and voices coming from the front room. She switched off the headtorch, in case a threat still lurked, and carefully poked her head into the room to get a look. A large shattered window on the opposite end let in light from the street, with Carte’s silhouette standing out against that backdrop. He was talking into his watch, the hogtied broken terrorist at his hooves. Bound with the very same rope and bag that they used on her, from a glance looks of it. From what else she could see, all the furniture in the room save for one sofa was battered beyond use.
“Understood, Cygnus over and out.” He spun around to face Alesia, like he was aware of her presence without looking. “Good news! Your brother is safe, unharmed, and in protective custody!”
Heavy, shaking breaths left Alesia’s mouth as she was overcome with genuine relief for the first time in what felt like an eternity. “Oh thank Nightmare,” she sighed, sincerely. She flicked the headtorch back on.
“Of course it’s up to you what happens next, Governor, but the plan from the cops is to keep your brother in Night Guard custody until we’re sure he’s no longer a target, which we’ll accomplish by eliminating the group’s local cell. ‘course that means he’ll be under close watch while we investigate, but ahm…” He kicked the hogtied terrorist. They shuddered, a muffled whine came from under the bag. “I’ve dealt with this type before. They might make a mess, but they’ll tell me everything before you know it.”
Alesia spotted that some of the blood on Carte’s face had trickled down onto his grinning teeth. “Right,” she sighed.
“Now until they get here…” Carte hopped forward and threw his back onto the bloodstained sofa, making a wet squelch on impact. He drew in a deep, exaggerated breath. “...we can relax. Oho, smell that iron!” he chuckled.
She settled to sit on an upturned basket, after carefully avoiding bits of broken glass on the ground. The breeze from the outside gently tousled her mane, a delicate caress that sent a shiver down her spine, momentarily startling her. Yet, in the next breath, it elicited a sensation of liberation, reminding her that she was out of that dark room and that her brother was safe. How long had it been since she felt something as basic as the breeze? She caught sight of a clock on the wall, noting the time, and a stained newspaper discarded on the floor, the date printed on the cover. She felt like she was alone in that room for days, but in terms of sensitive hostage scenarios it had been no time at all.
“How did you find me so quickly?” Alesia broke the uneasy silence.
“Eh?” Carte brought his head up. “Oh, same way these chumps found you.”
Alesia blinked. “What?”
“Somepony in your security staff was part of this group. Guy called Sky Scraper, you know ‘em?”
Her head shook. She couldn’t believe it. Not just the prospect of infiltration, but at the name he gave too. Sky Scraper, one of her bodyguards. They weren’t a native Severyanian, but she remembered nothing but a diligent and reliable worker. Had he been with this lot the whole time? “I believe so, yes-”
“Doesn’t matter, he's dead,” Carte chuckled. Alesia shuffled back. “Okay, not dead dead, but with the way the evidence is looking, there’s no way he’s escaping death row. Given he was the only survivor of the attack on your motorcade and his testimony blatantly contradicted every other account, I knew that something was up. Searched his apartment, and lo and behold, Solar Faithful correspondence and plans carelessly thrown into the trash. Not even in code, believe it or not. Almost wish they’d put in a little more effort. Almost.”
And that had somehow gone completely under the radar. Alesia’s eyes slid off of Carte and to the floor.
“But he gave up where they were keeping you, so I’ll make sure he has a nice death! Something for you-” He kicked the terrorist, making them wimper. “-to keep in mind, yeah? Still though, a sunnie in a governor’s security staff. How’d they manage that? Heheh.”
It felt impossible,but clearly it wasn’t. Every last police officer and every last employee of the county’s security services was thoroughly screened for ideology and radical inclinations as well as a litany of background checks. How did nopony notice until now? Even if their affiliation with the Solar Faithful went unnoticed, surely their relationships and beliefs would’ve triggered a response. Did they make no off-hoof comments that flared up one or two red flags?
Red flags. A funny expression, that, given that the Solar Faithful flew a red flag. So did the communists.
She knew the recruitment guidelines for security personnel, she approved them herself. At the very top of the list was a requirement that the security services wouldn’t allow anypony with even the slightest hint of communist affiliation into their ranks. Other requirements were further down the list, but those were always secondary or tertiary. After all, they needed to reconcile with the Celestial Loyalists somewhat, even other Lunarists agreed on that. Ideological deviation was frequently overlooked, as long as they were dedicated to fighting the real enemy.
The real enemy, she thought. There was no way that the communists had infiltrated her staff, or that they were going to target Maks. They would in some hypothetical future where their revolution succeeded, no doubt, but their current tactics didn’t involve targeting the families of politicians or taking hostages. And what was a hypothetical future compared to the real present? Had she been fixated on the communists, to the point of tunnel-vision?
Her train of thought was halted by the wail of police sirens, quickly approaching. Alesia looked out the window. Not yet in view, but it sounded like at least three or four vehicles.
“Say, Governor,” Carte said. Alesia turned her gaze to him, realizing that he’d gotten up. A caring look on his face despite the splatters of blood. “I know this has probably been a lot for you, so like, don’t feel overly pressured to answer right now-”
“I was at the Battle of Netherstal,” Alesia blurted out. “This is- This is nothing.”
Carte smiled. “Right. But, seeing as our job is to stop this sort of thing from happening in the first place…” His eyes slid onto his hooves, then back at her. “If there’s anything you want passed up the chain, to the Director of the SSD, Head of Military Intelligence, or hell, all the way to the Warmaster, I’ve got their ear. Anything we oughta be doing differently?”
The police vehicles screeched to a stop outside. Alesia glanced outside for a moment, then turned directly to Carte. “I’d say your attention is right where it needs to be.”
