The streets echoed with the steady bass of club music, an eclectic mix of moombahton, house, and a few nascent genres yet to find their foothold, still little more than a psychedelics-induced dream inside the mind of a wannabe-DJ. The narrow road was congested with garishly-colored sports cars, drunk and/or high partygoers, their sober friends anxiously swiveling their heads for trouble, and a few undercover cops who stuck out in the crowd like sore thumbs on account of their crew cuts amid a sea of punks, hippies, and other counter-culture rejects. This wave of bodies, old and young, rich and poor, a perfect representation of California and its past, present, and future, drifted along the road, drawn by glowing neon signs and the promise of alcohol, ecstasy, and every other substance that flowed through the city, uncaring of the future and only focused on the hedonism of here and now.

Luna cut through the crowd with ease, an expert in all the nuances of Maritime Street. She drew quite a bit of attention from men and women alike with her outfit: a pair of stunningly white Gurkha trousers with a silver wallet chain resting on her left hip; a polo shirt of alternating dark blue vertical stripes, highlighted by a silver-filigree moon pendant on the end of a chain; and a brown leather coat that went down to mid-calf, the tails billowing outward in a way that made her look like a secret agent in an old spy thriller. She already had to break a few wrists whose owners decided to get a bit too familiar with her in the noise of the crowd.

On a quiet stretch of Maritime Street, nestled between two far more popular clubs that drew in clubgoers with dazzling displays on their fronts, was a small, dark storefront. No neon signs, no long line of people waiting outside, just a dimly lit store - a bookstore, by the looks of it - with an old, wrought-iron sign hanging out front.

Under/World

Under/World seemed out of place in this new generation of nightclubs and bars, a remnant of an older time, a different economy, a demographic that had faded into the past and reappeared, older and grizzled, in the white picket fences of suburbia. The tinkle of a bell as Luna stepped inside alerted the store's single employee, an older man dressed like an ancient college professor, the old guard in departments such as classics and history. He stared at Luna over wire-rimmed glasses that looked older than her. "What can I do for you, Miss?"

Luna leaned on the old wooden counter, glancing around to make sure that no one else was within earshot. "I'm looking for a copy of Dante's Inferno. The 1961 Oxford edition, translated by Sinclair."

"Hmmm," the man hummed approvingly, "a very fine edition. Tell me, what's your favorite canto in the Inferno?"

Luna pretended to think it over. "Well, I do particularly enjoy the section where Dante and Virgil are crossing the Acheron."

"Password?"

"Chiron."

"Right this way, Luna." The man ushered her behind the counter and through a door leading to the stockroom.

"Must we go through that song and dance every time, Old Tome?"

"Our business model is secrecy. Our clients expect to get what they pay for," Tome responded, waving her down a staircase hidden behind shelves stocked full of books. Rolling her eyes playfully, she stepped into the stairwell and braved the dim light that could not be up to code. "Don't let the lost souls catch you on the way down." A soft bang came from behind her as he closed the door.

Carefully stepping her way down, Luna came to a door at the bottom of the staircase. The muffled sound of rock music could be heard from the other side, accompanied by the quiet mutter of chatter. With a smirk, Luna opened the door and entered the real Under/World.

It was a large, almost cavernous space, impossible to imagine that it sat under such a busy street. Despite being underground, the space was well-lit by sconces positioned along the walls, flickering with the flames of candles scented like sweet perfumes. The decor was a strange mix between the ancient and the modern, with high Ionic columns and classical statues sat alongside elegant vases and plush red carpets. Servers carrying trays rushed around, their togas swishing around their ankles as bussed drinks, food, and cigars to the floor.

Luna walked her way through the establishment, nodding as she met the eye of familiar faces. Professors, anarchists, government bureaucrats, hippies, communists, punk rockers, venture capitalists, and old revolutionaries all made their home in Under/World, bound by a mutual agreement to not let their differences get between them in this space, though still happy to debate them, making the venue an excellent place to listen to a mix between genuine dialectical conversation and childish shit-flinging. This eclectic band, so separated in daily life, was Luna's crowd: the strange, the powerful, and everything in between.

"I'll take a Bellerophon, please." The bartender nodded and went to prepare Luna's drink, which was really just a Paper Plane with an olive speared on top and some dye added in for a bit of dazzle. Leaning against the counter, Luna awaited both her drink and the person who was supposed to meet her there.

"Hello, moon maiden," A sultry voice spoke from behind her. Luna rolled her eyes and took a sip of her recently arrived drink.

"Hello... Chrysalis." A blush burned across Luna's cheeks as she took in the sight of her old friend/ on-and-off partner. Chrysalis had always been an ethereally beautiful woman, blessed with dark skin that nearly shined in the light like the chitin of an insect and teal hair that spilled off her head in a long waterfall. She always walked with the grace of a queen, sashaying her hips in a way that hypnotized Luna more than once. And god, did she know how to accentuate it. Chrysalis was currently decked out in a bralette/sarong combo that seemed to be made out of bright green scales that glittered in the light, hugging her curves in all the right ways - unless they were outside, where it probably would not be street-legal. Luna tapped the bar to get the bartender's attention. "Could I please get a glass of ice water?"

Chrysalis laughed, settling on the bar next to Luna. "Like what you see?"

"Shut up and tell me what you've found."

"Oh, so demanding," Chrysalis crooned. "I thought our dynamic was the other way around."

Luna was never more grateful for the quick service of the bar. She downed her ice water in one quick gulp.

"Alright, alright, I get it," Chrysalis chuckled, producing a manila folder from... somewhere. She placed it on the bar, spreading out a sheaf of papers full of photos, screenshots of obscure internet forums, and a few documents with strange seals that didn't belong to any recognizable government. She tapped a photo of the Wondercolt Statue. "Your school is quite famous in the paranormal community!"

"No surprise there. Parts of Canterlot High were built in the 1800s. I remember the old tales of the Man in Shadow and the Everfree Devil."

"Yes, though it gets even more specific than that," Chrysalis pointed to various factoids spread across the sheets. "Reports of demons, sirens, spontaneous combustion, UFO's, fairy lights, all around Canterlot. The Valley is already a hotspot of paranormal activity, but Canterlot virtually exists in its own Bermuda Triangle with all the shit going down here. Plus," Chrysalis drew her attention to an old sepia-toned photo. "Look at this."

The photo depicted a woman around their age dressed in late-Victorian clothing. Though the most striking thing was that she was a dead ringer for Celestia. The exact same face, same hair, it was almost uncanny. Luna swallowed the knot in her throat and took another sip of her drink.

"Just a resemblance. It doesn't mean anything."

"If you say so," Chrysalis said, shuffling through more documents. "The point is, all of this activity centers around the high school. Specifically, that statue out front." She placed a graph in front of Luna. "Some paranormal investigators have gotten strange readings outside of it. Where was Celestia's mystery child found?"

"Chrysalis, I asked you to find out what you could about Sunset, not go down the rabbit hole of /x/. I could have done that myself," Luna groaned.

"I'm getting there!" Chrysalis huffed, lightly slapping Luna on the shoulder. "Okay, so Celestia says the kid came out of nowhere, almost like she appeared out of thin air. I mean, how does a kid covered in blood just suddenly appear on the lawn of a high school in front of a busy road without being seen?" She threw her arms out for emphasis. "Well, I decided to hack the police records -"

Luna nearly choked on her drink. "You what!"

"Relax," Chrysalis waved dismissively. "Canterlot PD doesn't have the IT prowess to even realize anything happened. Anyway, they've got nothing. They've checked every CCTV in a one-mile radius and they've got nothing. For all intents and purposes, she just flashed into existence behind the statue."

"That's impossible."

"Normally, yes. But," she took a sip of Luna's drink, earning a glare that she brushed off with nary a thought. "What if the statue is a portal to another dimension?"

Luna swirled her drink for a moment, staring into the tiny whirlpool. "I think you've finally gone off the deep end."

"Luna, her medical records-"

"The amount of felonies you're casually admitting to is not helping your case."

"Everyone in this room could go down for half a dozen felonies each," Chrysalis retorted. "Now let me finish. According to her medical records," she held up a hand before Luna could speak, "she has sustained delusions of an alternate world full of magic, mythical creatures, all sorts of fantasy stuff, and she's the student of an immortal Sun-goddess named Princess Celestia!" Her eyebrows raised imploringly. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"I think you're taking the delusions of a traumatized child and combining it with local folklore and internet paranoia into a plot worthy of a Dan Brown novel," Luna deadpanned.

"How do you explain the mysterious Victorian woman who looks just like your sister? If Sunset's world has an immortal sun-goddess that's an alternate version of your sister..."

Luna rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Chrysalis, my family has been in this town since it was founded. You likely found a photo of an ancestor."

"Alright, doubter," Chrysalis huffed, pointing towards the documents with the strange seals. "Read 'em and weep."

"What exactly am I looking at?"

"Documents from the DPI, the Department of Paranormal Investigation. It was a joint operation between the U.S. and the UK after World War II, tasked with investigating all the occult stuff that the Nazis dipped their fingers into." She pushed one of the documents toward Luna. "And they have a file on your statue."

The two were silent for a moment as Luna read through the document. After a few minutes, she turned to Chrysalis with a raised eyebrow. "Chrys, this doesn't prove anything. The CIA has poured millions into projects involving telekinesis, hypnotism, and dozens of other pseudosciences. All this shows is that this 'DPI' investigated claims of paranormal activity in the area and found that the Wondercolt statue was a focal point. There's no actual evidence."

"Ughh, you're so boring sometimes, Dr. Sol," Chrysalis groaned, gathering up her papers and slipping them back into he folder. "That's unfortunately everything I have. As far as documents are concerned, your girl came into existence on Friday."

"Nothing? Strange..." Luna trailed off, staring blankly into the wall behind the bar.

"It almost makes you wonder..."

"Don't go there."

"No fun," Chrysalis pouted. God, Luna had to look away to hide the fierce blush on her cheeks. It was too late; Chrysalis was dancing her fingers along the side of her chin, turning Luna's face until their eyes met. "But maybe we can turn this night around. I think we're done talking business anyway."

"Is this going to be one of our 'on again' moments?" Luna asked, breathless.

"Oh yeah," Chrysalis said with a sultry smirk. "Why don't we head back to my place? I love your outfit, but I think I'd like it more if it was strewn around my bedroom."

Luna had never scrambled to pay a bill faster.

Author's Note

Dedicated to my dog, who was put down yesterday. Miss you already, old friend.