Back to the Past 01: Grave New World

Cloud followed Heftig through the bustling streets while trying her best to conceal her confusion at the strange world around her. The streets were crowded with an odd mix of species—humans, donkeys, gnolls, ponies, and strange aliens she had never seen before. Towering above them were massive buildings that stretched up into the polluted sky. Strange vehicles zoomed by on elevated roads, trailing noxious fumes.

Everything was unfamiliar to Cloud, from the garish neon signs advertising products she had never heard of, to the strange languages being spoken around her. She stuck close to Heftig, not wanting to get lost.

They passed by a human aggressively hawking credit transfers. "Hey ladies, need some quick kopins? I can hook you up, no problem!" Heftig waved him off with a scowl.

Further down the street, a mixed group of donkeys and ponies were crowded around a screen displaying some kind of sport. One of them whooped and shouted "Yeah! Go team!" as the others groaned. Cloud stared, having no idea what they were watching.

Heftig led her into a shop selling used tech. Cloud tried to hide her fascination as she looked over bins of unfamiliar gadgets. She picked up a small metal rectangle studded with buttons and balanced it on a hoof as she inspected it. "What's this thing?" she asked Heftig.

Heftig chuckled. "That's an old school phone. Sorta like our datapads, but without the touch screen."

Cloud nodded, pretending she understood. She set the phone back down quickly.

They left the tech shop and Cloud followed Heftig down a narrow alley. Steam billowed up from vents in the ground and strange critters scurried away into the shadows. The alley opened up into a small market square ringed by food stalls. The smells were overwhelming to Cloud.

Heftig purchased skewers from a vendor, the scent of cooked meat heavy in the air. Greasy smoke writhed up from a sizzling grill, twisting into the murky sky. The vendor, a gruff-looking gnoll with a stained apron, presented the skewers with a curt nod.

Heftig turned and offered one to Cloud, who hesitated, her nose wrinkling at the unfamiliar and pungent aroma. "Are those chunks some kind of meat?"

"It's tunnel lice." Seeing the blank response, Heftig explained further, "Or vinegaroons. They're sort of like, uhhh… lobster-scorpion things with a long tail like a whip that sprays acid."

"Lovely," Cloud said while making a face.

"Go on, it's food," Heftig encouraged.

Cloud, not wanting to offend, gingerly accepted the skewer, sitting and clamping it firmly between her front hooves. She eyed the glistening chunks speared on the stick with suspicion—a far cry from the fresh fruits and vegetables of her agrarian past.

With a tentative nibble, Cloud's taste buds were assaulted. The skewer was smoky, savory and laced with unfamiliar seasonings. She chewed contemplatively. Then she swallowed and concluded, "I never had anything like that. Actually not bad, though."

"I know, right? For sure it beats the standard ration protein bars back at HQ." She ripped a bit of vinegaroon meat from her skewer with her beak.

They ate in companionable silence, then continued their journey. As they walked, Cloud spotted another graffiti like the one she'd seen in the tunnels, and she read it out loud: "INSANE IGGY REST IN FREEDOM. Hey, why did they call him insane?"

Heftig answered, "Humans, you know?" The only brought a blank response, so she continued, "They all have funny nicknames like that. And sometimes they get—"she tapped the side of her head with a talon—"notions. Iggy had a notion that we could all rise up against Sceleste and overthrow her." Then the griffin barked out a laugh. "Can you believe it? They don't come more crazy than that."

Cloud forced an uneasy chuckle. "Heh, wow. Yeah, that's pretty far out. I guess."

Heftig cast a sidelong glance at her companion, then shrugged and went on, "But don't get me wrong. He may have been off his gourd some ways, but he was pretty cool for a human. He had a way of pulling folk together."

They approached an intersection. Strange vehicles sped by in both directions. Heftig gave Cloud a nudge. "How's your wing feeling?"

"Uh, I guess I can make a hop with it," she answered.

"Then c'mon!" Heftig launched herself and flapped her way above the vehicles, and came to a landing on the other side of the intersection. Cloud followed without difficulty.

Heftig commented, "I know you already found out, flying without a license and a transponder is risky. The chopperoids will come right after ya. But little hops like that, we can get away with, no problemo."

Cloud nodded, wanting to ask what transponders and chopperoids were, but not really wanting to show off her ignorance.

Heftig led Cloud to a storefront with open garage bays revealing a grubby mechanic's shop within. The air was thick with the acrid scent of grease and the clanging of metal against metal. Sparks flew as one human in stained coveralls welded pieces of machinery, while others hunched over workbenches littered with tools and parts.

"Wait here a sec," Heftig said, motioning for Cloud to stay put near the entrance. The griffin sauntered over to a wiry human with a shaved head who was wiping his hands on a rag. "Hey, Genial Jeff, how's tricks?"

The man glanced up, his eyes crinkling in a smile. "Well, if it ain't Heftig. What brings you 'round these parts?"

"Oh, you know how it is," Heftig said with a shrug. "Sometimes a catbird's gotta fly the coop, spread her wings a bit."

Jeff chuckled. "I hear ya. So, what can I do ya for?"

Heftig leaned in closer, her voice lowering. "I was hopin' you might let me and my friend here take a little stroll through your back room. Maybe even let us borrow that old lift of yours."

Jeff's eyebrows raised. "The lift, huh? You're braver than me!"

"Let's just say we're lookin' to avoid the crowds, if you catch my drift."

The mechanic nodded, his expression turning serious. "I gotcha. Alright, head on back. Just make sure you don't touch nothin', yeah? I got some sensitive projects goin' on."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Heftig said with an avian grin. She waved Cloud over. "C'mon, let's get movin'."

Cloud followed Heftig through the shop, weaving between workbenches and piles of scrap metal. They passed through a door into a storeroom filled with shelves of parts and supplies. The air grew musty as they ventured further into the building, the sounds of the shop fading behind them.

They entered an area that looked like it had been abandoned for years, metal beams and panels decorated with flaking paint and rust. The space was cramped, with pipes and cables crawling along the walls. Strange creatures scurried away into the shadows as they passed. Heftig navigated the maze of rooms with ease, clearly familiar with the route. Cloud watched her hooves, trying to avoid debris and piles of grime, although her griffin companion, with much softer feet, didn't seem bothered at all.

Finally, they came to a halt in front of a rusted metal door. Heftig turned a handle with both her yellow-scaled forepaws. After a moment, the door creaked open. "Here we are," she said, stepping inside. "Our ticket to the upper levels."

Cloud hesitated for a moment before following, the door slamming shut behind her with a clang that echoed through the darkness. They had entered a small, dingy room. Piles of junk and old machinery were shoved up against the walls. At the far side of the room was an open elevator car, the kind with an iron cage around it rather than solid walls. Cloud eyed it warily. The elevator looked ancient, all exposed gears and thick cables.

"All aboard," Heftig said as she pulled open the cage door with a screech of metal. They stepped inside the rickety car. Heftig slid the door closed with a clang and pressed one of the buttons on the control panel. With a lurch, the elevator began its ascent.

After they had climbed a short distance, three walls of the elevator shaft disappeared and the cage emerged into open air, climbing up the side of the building. Cloud realized the sides of the elevator were almost completely open, with only a short railing. She approached this cautiously and peered outward. Her eyes widened.

Spread out before them was a dizzying view into the core of Spaceport City. Layers upon layers of roads and bridges crisscrossed between the buildings, disappearing into the gloomy haze. Strange vehicles zoomed. Neon lights flashed from signs and billboards. Plumes of smoke belched from pipes and vents. Faint music and voices drifted up from below.

The sights were almost too much to take in. Cloud peered down into the narrow spaces between buildings, catching glimpses of the city's gutter level—trash-filled alleys, dark doorways with shadowy figures lurking in them, exposed pipes dripping unidentifiable gunk.

Higher they climbed. Cloud's peered over the railing, downward, where people in the streets shrank to the size of ants before fading into the haze. She watched an airborne car speed past, close enough that she could have reached out and touched it from the open elevator.

The city was alien, yet enthralling. Cloud took in the scenes unfolding with fascination. Upon one of the bridges hulking, bipedal robots battled, exchanging weapons fire. Their sleek metal carapaces reflected the neon glow around them. One of the robots reared up, then transformed into some kind of high-speed cycle and scooted away.

On a towering building ahead, near one of the invisible lanes in the air where skycars streamed past, an animated advertisement played. An overly cute cartoon tiger flashed onto the screen, singing in a distorted voice that echoed eerily through the architectural canyonland as he danced and extolled the virtues of some kind of beverage called TGR FUEL. Cloud was startled when the tiger's head suddenly spun around like a top, shooting rainbow beams from its eyes.

As they ascended into the upper city, the signs and lights grew ever more numerous. A sign displayed a spherical white housing with a lens and mechanical iris in the center, and a dark gray stem trailing behind. Above this was the word VISION, and beneath was the slogan: SEE THE WORLD ANEW.

Gigantic holograms leaped between skyscrapers, accompanied by pulsing music. Cloud gawked as a pixelated alicorn galloped through the air, trailing cascades of sparks that coalesced into the words, "Experience Beyond Reality."

Other billboards were showing the chaotic, random, yet somehow fascinating clips of video that Cloud had come to recognize as the Neverthink feed. The disjointed images and sounds were like a twisted kaleidoscope into the psyche of this strange world. Faces, places, words all blurred together into an incomprehensible stream of consciousness.

Likewise there were the heavily stylized but recognizable posters of Celestia, with to-the-point captions such as OBEY and CONFORM. The alicorn's likeness gazed imperiously down upon the city streets, her visage both beautiful and terrible. It was clearly propaganda meant to intimidate the populace into submission, a constant reminder that the Empress was always watching.

Cloud's attention was drawn by movement of something huge in the distance. Peering into the gloom, she saw an enormous, black, scorpion-like creature crawling up the side of the building directly opposite them. It ascended ponderously, steadily toward some unknowable goal. Showers of glass fell each time one of its legs found a new foothold and knocked out a window.

Cloud shrank back against the elevator wall, unnerved. Just when she thought she was getting used to this bizarre world, some new wonder or horror would manifest. She glanced over at Heftig, who leaned over the railing and peered at the monster. The griffin exclaimed, "Pluck me! I had no idea tunnel lice even got that big. We could throw a barbecue for the whole gutter level with that one. Dunno how anyone would ever take it down, though."

They watched as the elevator slowly overtook the creature. Drones arrived to buzz around the giant vinegaroon. One of them fired a weapon, and the creature responded by raising and swinging its long tail. Heftig gripped the railing with her talons as she watched. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "Did you see that? There goes the acid!"

Then a loud, whining buzz approached, and Heftig suddenly shoved her pony companion downward. "Duck!" They both dropped to the floor and huddled as closely as they could behind the guard rails. Cloud risked peeking through a narrow slit between the rails. A drone hovered next to the elevator, keeping pace with it. A ruby-red light flashed out, pure, sharp and scintillating unlike anything she'd seen before. The light rapidly traced a grid pattern across the elevator, then went dark. The drone hovered for a few more seconds, then turned and flew away.

"That was a close one," Heftig said. "Pluckin' chopperoids! They're stirred up now."

At last the elevator passed the very tops of the lower buildings and continued upward. They were approaching the domain of the elite now, and the city became cleaner, more orderly. Gleaming white spires rose up around them as the elevator slowed approaching a platform near the peak of one of the tallest towers.

Heftig didn't wait for the elevator to reach the end of its track, though. She said, "We're above the no-fly zones, and this is our stop. Follow me!" Then she spread her wings and hopped over the railing and sailed into the open space, and Cloud scrambled to follow likewise.

Heftig banked and angled toward an open balcony on one of the gleaming towers. Cloud followed closely, taking in the surroundings as she flew. In contrast to the chaotic sprawl of the lower city, up here everything was pristine and orderly. The towers were smooth and white, constructed with clean lines and sweeping curves. Lush gardens filled with strange, alien foliage overflowed from rooftop planters. There were no grimy alleys or dilapidated buildings up here, just open spaces and gracefully arching walkways between the towers.

It was strange, Cloud thought. In her experience, those with wealth and power usually isolated themselves in castles or compounds, not out in the open like this. But she supposed much had changed in the ages she had slept.

They swooped lower, and Cloud could see elegantly dressed beings strolling along the walkways and through the gardens. Here ponies were dominant in numbers while other species were less represented. She stared openly at their fine clothes and jewelry as she coasted past. The inhabitants gazed back with faint curiosity but no particular alarm at the two fliers passing by.

Heftig aimed for the balcony and came in for landing with outstretched talons. She touched down lightly. Cloud followed, her hooves clopping against the smooth, white floor. This close, she could see just how pristine everything was, from the railing to the exotic potted plants that framed the balcony. Not a single scuff or speck of dirt marred the perfection.

She joined Heftig at the balcony railing and peered over. The city sprawled in all directions, towers clustering densely near the center and thinning out toward the massive circular wall she had flown over when first arriving here. The wall itself seemed like a distant line drawn across the horizon. From this height, the lower levels were obscured by haze and shadow. Wisps of smog drifted above the lower levels, but none reached up to sully the clean air where they now stood.

"Quite a view, huh?" Heftig remarked.

Cloud nodded. "It's like a different world up here."

Heftig made a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh. "You got that right. The high-ups pretend the lower levels don't even exist. Outta sight, outta mind."

Cloud looked again at the elegant beings wandering the gardens and walkways around them. She tried to imagine Princess Celestia strolling among them—the graceful alicorn of her childhood memories, not the cruel persona that had manifested later.

Heftig led the way inside through glass doors so transparent that Cloud nearly bashed them with her invisible horn before realizing they were closed. The interior space was just as plush as the balcony, with glossy white floors that reflected the ambient light from the high, arched ceilings. Strange, angular furniture and decorations were placed just so. At the far side of the room, a male griffin with spectacles sat at a glossy desk, peering at multiple floating holographic screens. He glanced up as they entered, fixing Heftig with a cool stare.

"Heftig. You're late." His clipped tone reminded Cloud of some of the more officious palace staff back in Canterlot.

Heftig shrugged, unperturbed. "I took the scenic route, gave the new recruit a tour. Cloud, this is Seax. He keeps things running around here."

Seax's gaze moved to Cloud, looking her up and down. "I see. Well then, if you'll both follow me, the others are already waiting." He dismissed the floating holograms with a wave and came out from behind the desk.

They followed Seax deeper into the tower. The décor remained stark and minimalist, with not a single personal touch anywhere. It reminded Cloud more of a museum than a home. She wondered who could live in such a place.

They entered a sitting room where two more griffins awaited, a male and female. Both wore fine business attire and an air of bored superiority. The male was speaking but cut off abruptly as Seax led Heftig and Cloud inside.

"Sorry for the delay," Seax said smoothly. "Heftig has brought her… ah, companion."

The seated griffins exchanged a look. The male said, "Yes, we were told there would be two. Please have a seat."

Heftig chose an angular chair and sprawled casually across it. After a moment, Cloud decided to simply sit on the floor next to Heftig's chair. The male griffin raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"So," he began. "Let's get straight to business, shall we?"

Heftig leaned back in her chair, assuming a relaxed posture despite the scrutiny of the other griffins. Her tail swished idly as she met their gazes.

"So, Brise, I don't need to tell you how useful some of your connections could be to our little group," she began.

The male griffin, Brise, nodded. "I have some idea what you're after. But first, perhaps introductions are in order for your companion?" He looked pointedly at Cloud.

Heftig waved a paw dismissively. "New recruit. She goes by Cloud Strife."

At the brief description, Cloud inclined her head in greeting, but said nothing. Her exotic turquoise eyes with slit pupils tracked between each griffin, assessing them cautiously.

"I see," said Brise. "Well met, Cloud." His eyes lingered on her unusual appearance—the wings, eyes, the black coat and her sheer size. "You seem… hmm… uniquely qualified. I imagine the lower city's criminal element would hesitate to cross such an imposing figure."

Cloud shifted, muscles tensing imperceptibly. Her voice was carefully neutral. "I only wish to help Heftig's cause and make this world a better place."

The flexible corners of Brise's beak curved into a thin smile. "Commendable goals." He turned his attention back to Heftig. "Now, you mentioned needing access to certain resources. I may be able to help with that."

Heftig sat forward. "Yeah? What have you got for us?"

"My family has interests in the manufacturing and distribution of specialized equipment. Law enforcement and private security, that sort of thing. Some of it inevitably goes astray, as you might imagine."

Heftig's eyes gleamed, but her tone remained nonchalant. "Anything fun find its way into the wrong talons?"

"We may be able to divert small quantities of prototype models. Non-lethal ordnance, mostly." Brice examined his polished talons. "Riot shields, stun grenades, tear gas, sticky foam. That sort of thing."

"We're not trying to stage a protest here. We need real firepower if we're gonna make any headway with the Iron Syndicate." Heftig's lion tail lashed in irritation.

Brise held up his scaled forepaws placatingly. "Try to understand, we want to avoid lethal escalation. I assure you, these non-lethals will give you a considerable advantage against the common street thugs. My friend Seax here can instruct your group in their proper use."

Seax inclined his head in confirmation.

Heftig huffed. "Fine. We'll take what we can get. But if an opportunity comes up for the real deal, I expect you featherheads to send it our way."

"Naturally, we'll keep you in mind." Brise smoothed the front of his waistcoat. "In the meantime, I believe we can come to an arrangement that is mutually beneficial."

Heftig grinned. "Love hearing that. So what's it gonna cost us?"

Brise reclined slightly, the gleam in his eye growing sharper. "We’ve had a mutually advantageous relationship with the spaceport's stakeholders for some time. And not just the spaceport itself, you understand. Deals are made with aliens on the lower levels, and goods flow between the spaceport and the rail yard. But with the Iron Syndicate no longer playing by those unspoken rules, it's becoming unsustainable. They're bad for business, our business and the city's."

Heftig's tilted her beak upward, catching the scent of opportunity. "You're looking to change the guard?”

"In essence," Brise affirmed with a nod. "The Syndicate’s grip undermines the very fabric of commerce that has made the spaceport a hub of civilization. If someone more... cooperative were to take the reins, it would benefit all parties with vested interests."

Heftig leaned forward, her talons resting coolly on the glass tabletop. "And you believe Iggy’s Army might just be the crew to step into that space?"

He nodded and elaborated further, "There’s a cycle to these things, you know. The Iron Syndicate has been on top for too long. They’ve become complacent, lazy, arrogant. They’re in decline, and they’re making a mess of everything. If there was ever a time to challenge them, this is it. Meanwhile, your group—your so-called Army—is on the rise.” Brise emphasized with a sweeping gesture, "We seek not a mere distraction, but a renaissance. A reclamation of order, facilitated by your ascension."

Heftig’s tail flicked with a predatory swiftness. "Big words, Brise. But if we do this—if we’re the ones to bring down the Syndicate—you and yours will back us? Ensure our hold on the territory is recognized?"

Brise interlocked his talons thoughtfully. "To orchestrate such a change… yes, it would necessitate our full support. With our connections we could keep the Commissars from coming down on you. A new governance under Iggy's Army would be critically advantageous in smoothing the frictions currently disrupting our operations."

"And what's it gonna take?" Heftig leaned back, one eyebrow arching.

Brise's gaze was unflinching, "Provide us with an assurance. Once the Syndicate has been supplanted and you have consolidated power, you will remember who provided the means to your rise. We expect a cooperative endeavor at the spaceport—our operations free from interference, and an understanding of priorities."

Heftig scoffed lightly, "Of course, it goes without saying. Stability is good for your business and our people alike." Extending her paw, she offered, "You got yourself a deal, Brise."

He took her paw in his, the handshake firm and calculated. "Then let's begin this venture, for a better future—a Spaceport City guided by a new hand, one we can all profit from. Let's show the Syndicate that their time at the top has come to an end."

Cloud had followed the exchange closely. Outwardly she was still, but inwardly she frowned. That was it? They were just going to hand over contraband weapons in return for a vague future commitment? Something about Brise's smooth demeanor reminded her of the aristocrats who curried favor in Canterlot. Their pleasantries hid layers of machinations. But for now, she was in no position to object or raise questions.

Brise glanced her way, as if sensing her thoughts. "Well then. I look forward to seeing how your new assets serve you, Heftig. Do let me know if any other needs arise."

Heftig stretched and stood. "You got it. We'll be in touch." She flicked her tail at Cloud. "C'mon, let's blow this joint."

Cloud rose and followed Heftig from the room. As they left, she heard Brise say, "Interesting companions you're keeping these days…"

Seax replied, "Heftig has always attracted strays. This one seems more useful than most."

Their voices faded as Cloud and Heftig made their way back to the balcony. Once outside in the open air, Heftig stretched her wings with satisfaction.

"Well, that went pretty damn smooth. Ol' Breezy came through better than I hoped." She peered over the railing at the city below. "Let's see if we can get outta here without getting spotted this time. Remember, short hops! I know where all the no-fly zones and point defense systems are. Just follow my lead, m'kay?"

She vaulted over the side, snapping her wings open to catch the wind. Cloud followed suit, glad to leave the sterile tower behind. This strange encounter gave her a bad feeling, but Heftig must know what she was doing. For now Cloud's fate was in this fierce griffin's talons.

Heftig banked left, angling away from the direct route back to headquarters. Cloud followed her lead, though she was confused about the sudden change in direction.

"Smell that?" Heftig called over the wind. "They're doing a chem dump up ahead. We'll have to go around."

Cloud sniffed the air and immediately regretted it. A harsh, acrid odor stung her nostrils even at this distance. She coughed and blinked tears from her eyes. "What is that?" she shouted back.

"Toxic waste, hazardous chemicals, you name it," Heftig replied. "They dump it down the sewer lines sometimes. They call it Gutter Level for a reason, y'know? Not exactly healthy, but the high-ups don't care what happens way down here."

Heftig and Cloud altered their course, giving the noxious plume a wide berth. They swooped lower, angling for a landing in an unfamiliar sector. The smog thickened as they descended, reducing visibility to a hazy blur. The sun had already been sinking low when they left Brise's aerie, and now it might as well be night in the lower levels of the city.

They touched down in a broad but largely empty street, made drab and moody by the amber glow of sodium streetlights and murky smog. Heftig sniffed, then dropped her beak and hissed in disgust but led on without further comment. A sparse few pedestrians hurried on their way, rarely looking up from the ground—or, in the case of bipedal humans and gnolls, glowing phones clutched in their hands. Cloud followed close behind Heftig, senses alert, past the glowing signs of storefronts.

Heftig navigated with practiced ease, avoiding contact with passerby. She came to a sudden halt at the mouth of a grimy passageway. "This way," she muttered, jerking her head toward a dimly lit stairwell.

They descended into a dank, tiled station. A battered train sat waiting, its doors hissing open to disgorge a mob of passengers. Heftig shouldered her way through them, Cloud trailing in her wake.

Inside the car, the air was tainted with smoke from cigarettes. The other passengers shied away from the intimidating pair, leaving a bubble of space around them. Heftig slouched into a seat, her sharp gaze sweeping the car. Cloud remained standing, her stance shifting as the train lurched into motion. She watched the tunnel walls blur past, streaked with graffiti and grime.

Heftig said, "C'mon, Cloud, sit down! You're taking up space."

Reluctantly, Cloud shuffled back and planted her haunches on the bench. Then she looked around the rail car slowly.

In an opposite corner, a downcast donkey in worn coveralls gnawed on a protein bar, the fur on his muzzle flecked with flakes of old paint. He was joined by a griffin, her feathers lackluster and eyes dulled from apparent long shifts at some relentless job, her claws clinking against the metal threadings in her vest pockets as she counted something silently. They both glanced up at the newcomers with a mix of curiosity and wary reserve—another pair of potential bullies or maybe allies in the endless struggle for survival. Their indifference to Heftig and Cloud spoke volumes of the weary resignation that saturated the lower levels of Spaceport City.

Near the center of the car, under a flickering light, a pack of young gnolls, mixed in gender but uniform in their hard-edged defiance, postured with exaggerated indifference. They were clothed in the neon-bright, patchwork outfits favored by the youth of the gutter level, emblazoned with garish logos and holographic strips. Several had augmented limbs that whirred and clicked softly, betraying substandard maintenance. They watched Heftig and Cloud sotto voce, their low whispers a mixture of excitement and fear, speculating about the purpose behind the muscled griffin's and the large pegasus's presence, yet not daring to make direct eye contact.

A single older gnoll sat stooped near the sliding doors, his matted fur and frayed transit uniform marking him as a porter between districts, well acquainted with the hierarchy of the city's laborers. Decorative, dimly gleaming eartags hung heavy, signifying some personal or cultural significance. His intelligent gaze lingered on the two warriors before him—an appraising look that shifted quickly to an uninterested downcast expression—as he slipped a phone from his pocket, enveloping it in both handpaws to focus on images that provided a brief escape from his surroundings.

At the far end, scarcely acknowledged and seemingly invisible, a decrepit unicorn mare huddled in the shadows, a shawl drawn tight around her scrawny form, her horn wrapped tightly in iron wire—presumably not by choice but by legal mandate to prevent magic use. It would be nearly impossible for her to remove it by herself.

The car door slid open and two black-uniformed minotaurs stepped through. Cloud sized them up. Their muscles were obvious, their bodies easily matching Cloud and Heftig by mass, but the height granted by their bipedal stance made them loom above everyone else. Angular shapes hinted at body armor worn underneath their uniforms, and each of them carried a black device, a chunky machine of some sort, by his side on a shoulder strap. Cloud had little experience with any sort of gun, so it took her a few moments to identify them as such.

As the pair moved through the car, everyone else avoided eye contact with them. Only Cloud's naive curiosity drew their attention. One of the minotaurs paused, focused his scornful gaze on her, and she shied back.

Heftig stepped forward to interpose, saying, "Alles klar, Herr Kommissar?"

The minotaur snarled, "Don't get smart with me, griffin!" His partner looked on warily, a hand resting on the grip of his subgun. The first minotaur turned his attention to Cloud again and said, "This one looks familiar. A black pegasus was recorded on security feed flying into the city without permit and evading our drones."

Heftig fixed the minotaur with an unwavering stare and said, smoothly, "Commissar, there must be some misunderstanding. My associate here is a licensed courier, just doing her job. She hasn't even been outside the walls in months. Isn't that right, Cloud?" She placed a yellow-scaled paw on Cloud's shoulder and subtly dug with her talons.

The black pony nodded and softly affirmed, "That's right."

The minotaur snorted derisively. "Let's see some ID then." He loomed over Cloud, his breath hot on her face.

Heftig smoothly interjected, "Of course, Commissar. Just a moment." She reached into a pouch at her belt and produced a small device. With a few deft taps, she brought up a display.

Cloud's heart raced, but she fought to keep her expression neutral. She thought of the training she'd been given by Topaz, and raised an arm, making the display of her data pad visible. She pulled the stylus out of its sleeve with her teeth and tapped at the screen, struggling to remember how to navigate the infuriating device. It took her a fair bit longer than Heftig, but she managed to call up the fake ID that had been made for her.

The minotaur squinted at the flickering images, his brow furrowed, and he checked a device strapped to his own wrist. After a tense moment, he grunted and waved a massive hand. "Fine. But I've got my eye on you two. No funny business."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Commissar," Heftig replied smoothly. She made a show of checking the time. "Oh, would you look at that. We'd better be on our way. Tight schedule, you understand."

The minotaur's eyes narrowed, and he put his hand on her wing. "Not so fast. There's still the matter of the processing fee."

Heftig never faltered. "Oh, sure! How forgetful of me." She tapped at her device again. "Two hundred Kopins to your account. With the department's gratitude, I'm sure."

The minotaur glanced at his own device, then nodded curtly. "Move along then. And stay out of trouble."

"Always do, Commissar. Always do." Heftig sketched a mocking salute, then jerked her head at Cloud. "Come on, we've got places to be."

As they moved down the car, away from the watchful eyes of the Commissars, Cloud let out a shaky breath. "That was too close. Thank you, Heftig. I don't know what I would've done…"

Heftig waved off her gratitude. "Don't mention it. That's why we stick together down here. Got to watch each other's backs." She glanced sidelong at Cloud. Then she added, "We got lucky. This guy was more interested in a payoff than he was in your stunt flying."

Cloud nodded, still rattled by the encounter. "Could we have fought them, if we had to?"

Heftig glanced downward, then said, "Maybe, maybe. But they had subguns, and that's when you've gotta watch yourself. And then, even if we beat 'em, we'd have the whole Commissariat coming after us, likely as not."

The rest of the ride back to HQ was quiet, but Cloud had much to think about.