i. sunshine, sunshine, ladybugs asleep
The memory shimmered, its edges soft and luminous, like a cherished painting hung in a sunlit gallery. I could almost smell the sweet clover that carpeted the Canterlot palace gardens, feel the gentle weight of my horn against my brow as I bowed low beside Cadence. Even now, years later, the sound of her laughter still echoed in my mind, a pure, untarnished melody that could always chase away the encroaching shadows of my solitude.
"Sunshine, sunshine, ladybugs awake!" Cadence’s voice, even in recollection, was a vibrant thing, full of warmth and light. She was just a young alicorn then, tasked with being my royal babysitter, but she was so tall, so impossibly graceful. Her coat a shimmering pale rose, almost white, and her mane and tail a cascading waterfall of purples, pinks, and deep blues. Even then, Cadence possessed a natural, effortless kindness, a genuine affection that drew me out of my books and into the world.
I, barely more than a filly with an unruly purple mane and an almost comical earnestness, fidgeted with my hooves, my gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the garden’s hedge maze instead of the game at hoof. "Clap your hooves and do a little shake!" I chimed in, my voice a shy counterpoint to Cadence’s exuberance. I remember thinking the lyrics were terribly silly, but wanting desperately to please the pony who had, for that brief moment, made me feel like I truly belonged. I felt, for once, like I wasn't a problem to be solved.
We stomped our tiny hooves, mimicking the graceful twirls and steps of trained dancers, our movements exaggerated and endearingly clumsy. Cadence’s laughter, bright and infectious, filled the air, and a warmth bloomed in my chest, chasing away the ever-present chill of loneliness. This wasn’t just a game; it was connection. It was joy. It was… a hint of what friendship could be. It was a feeling I chased like a moth to a flickering flame, a fleeting sensation that always seemed to slip through my hooves.
As the imaginary sun began to set, Cadence’s voice softened, drawing me closer, her eyes filled with a quiet tenderness. "Sunshine, sunshine, ladybugs asleep," she sang, her breath ghosting against my ear. "Close your eyes and drift into dreams so deep."
I closed my eyes, swaying gently as I imagined the tiny ladybugs, wings folded, settling amongst the flowers, seeking shelter from the approaching night. It was a world away from the dusty tomes and complex equations that usually occupied my mind, but it was a world I found myself drawn to, a world Cadence made safe and welcoming. When I opened my eyes again, Cadence was smiling at me, a beacon of affection that promised understanding and acceptance.
"You're getting so good at this, Twilight," Cadence said, ruffling my mane with a gentle hoof.
My heart fluttered, my usual anxieties banished by her simple praise. It was a fleeting moment of pure, unadulterated joy, a memory now almost untouchable in its perfection. A stark contrast to the nagging unease that had taken root in Ponyville, the unease I felt now, standing in the midst of the town square.
The present day was far less idyllic. I trotted through the bustling streets, Spike perched comfortably on my back, a stark contrast to the image of joy I'd just held in my head. The sun, no longer a figment of childhood games, beat down with a disarming cheerfulness, painting the colorful buildings in vibrant hues. But even the bright sunlight couldn't dispel the growing shadow in my heart—a shadow of foreboding, a growing sense of unease.
“Anything new, Spike?” I asked, my voice tighter than I intended as I scanned the marketplace.
Spike, ever my faithful assistant, consulted the scroll in his claws. “Still nothing, Twilight. No new reports of missing ponies, but the posters… they’re everywhere.”
He didn’t need to tell me. I’d seen them. The desperate faces staring back from lampposts and shop windows, their silent pleas tugging at my sense of responsibility. It wasn’t like Ponyville to be plagued by disappearances, let alone a string of them. This town was known for its cheerful residents, their unwavering optimism, and the strong bonds of friendship that held them together. Now, a subtle tension had taken root. Ponies walked with a hesitant caution, their smiles strained, their laughter carrying a nervous edge. Even the weather seemed to be affected, the once predictable sunshine now filtered through an unusually dense haze, casting long, unsettling shadows that stretched across the cobblestone streets.
I glanced at the familiar storefronts, the quaint boutiques and cozy bakeries that usually brought me such comfort. The warm, familiar smells of freshly baked bread and blooming flowers did little to settle my stomach, only adding a dull pang to the knot of worry tightening in my chest. Every closed shop, every hushed conversation, every wary glance from a passing pony reinforced the growing certainty: something was terribly wrong.
The treehouse library, once a sanctuary of knowledge and laughter, felt smaller than usual as I gathered my friends. The weight of the situation pressed down on the room, muting even the usually vibrant colors of the stained-glass windows. I stood at the head of the table, my friends gathered around, their expressions reflecting my own growing concern. Applejack’s brow was furrowed with worry, the lines around her eyes etched deeper than usual. Rarity, usually so impeccably composed, fidgeted with the hem of her dress, her polished demeanor cracked by anxiety. Fluttershy trembled visibly, her wings twitching as if sensing an approaching storm. And Pinkie Pie, the very embodiment of joy, sat quietly, her usual effervescent energy dimmed, replaced by a haunting stillness that made my stomach twist. It was as if we were all waiting for an answer, a solution, that I didn't know how to give.
But one face was conspicuously absent.
“Where’s Rainbow Dash?” I asked, the question a bare whisper, a fragile thing in the heavy silence.
A wave of unease washed over the group, their gazes shifting nervously. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, before Applejack finally cleared her throat.
“Ah… ain’t seen her in a couple of days, Twilight,” she admitted, her ears flattened against her head.
Fluttershy’s voice was even quieter than usual. “She’s not answering her door.”
My heart lurched. This wasn’t like Rainbow. She might be reckless, impulsive, and occasionally irritating, but she would never just disappear without a word. Especially not now, when something was clearly amiss in Ponyville. “Did anypony even try to check on her?” I pressed, a thread of accusation in my tone.
A guilty silence followed, broken only by the soft rustle of Fluttershy's wings. They all looked away, unable to meet my gaze. The weight of the unspoken admission hung heavy in the air. They’d been worried, yes, but not enough to actually do something. Not enough to overcome their own fears and uncertainties.
“We know this is just as weird as you think it is, Twilight,” Spike said, stepping forward, his small voice filled with a surprising amount of firmness. “But we didn’t know what to do.”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my muzzle. “We need to figure out what’s going on,” I said, my voice firm despite the tremor of unease running through me. “These disappearances… and now Rainbow Dash? It’s too much to be a coincidence.”
“But what if it is a coincidence, Twilight?” Rarity asked, her voice unusually hesitant. “Maybe they just left town for a while. Maybe… maybe they didn’t want anypony to know.”
I shook my head. “No. Ponies in Ponyville don’t just vanish. They don’t leave without a word, without a trace. Something else is happening here.” I paused, letting the weight of my words settle. “Something bad.”
A tense silence filled the room. The unspoken question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
“Ah’ve been checkin’ around,” Applejack finally said, her voice low and serious. “Turns out, most of the ponies who’ve gone missin’… they were all in debt. Serious debt.”
My ears perked up. Debt? That… was an angle I hadn’t considered. “Debt? To whom?”
Applejack shrugged, her expression grim. “Don’t rightly know. But it’s more than just a few bits here and there. We’re talkin’ life-ruinin’ debt. The kind that makes ponies desperate.”
My mind raced. Desperate ponies… doing desperate things? That sounded like a recipe for disaster. “And Rainbow Dash?” I asked, the question a tight knot in my throat. “Was she in debt, too?”
Applejack hesitated, glancing at the others before finally meeting my gaze. “We… we ain’t sure, Twilight. But she did mention some trouble with a loan shark a few weeks back. Said she had it handled, but…” Her voice trailed off, the implication clear.
A loan shark. In Ponyville. That was… unsettling, to say the least. This town was built on trust, on community, on helping each other out. The idea of somepony preying on their neighbors’ vulnerabilities, exploiting their desperation… it made my stomach churn.
“Alright,” I said, forcing a steady tone despite the growing knot of dread in my chest. “We need to look into this. All of us.”
Rarity, ever practical, raised a hoof. “Twilight, darling, while I admire your… enthusiasm, perhaps investigating a potentially dangerous situation involving loan sharks isn’t the wisest course of action for all of us.” She glanced pointedly at Fluttershy, who looked like she might faint at any moment.
I sighed. Rarity had a point. “Okay, fine. I’ll investigate. You all stay here, try to find out anything you can about Rainbow Dash and the other missing ponies. Any connection, any lead, anything at all.”
My friends, despite their obvious concerns, nodded in agreement. They trusted me to handle this, and I wouldn’t let them down.
With a final, determined nod, I turned and left the library, my mind already racing with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last. I was sure that the path ahead was dangerous, but it was one I had to tread.
I retraced my steps through the town, my senses on high alert. Every shadow, every alleyway, every closed door seemed to hide a potential clue. The faces of the missing ponies on the posters seemed to follow me, their eyes accusing, pleading.
As I wandered, my mind kept circling back to the debt angle. If Rainbow Dash had gotten involved with a loan shark, she might have been desperate enough to do something reckless. Something dangerous.
The thought made me quicken my pace. I needed to find out where she’d gone, who she’d been talking to. I needed answers, and I needed them fast.
My investigation led me to the edge of town, near a cluster of run-down buildings I’d never paid much attention to before. The atmosphere here was different—quieter, more unsettling, like a forgotten corner of Ponyville where hope had gone to die.
And that’s where I saw him.
He was leaning against a crumbling wall, his posture deliberately casual, his eyes scanning the street with a predatory intensity. A salespony. His coat was a dull, unremarkable gray, his mane a messy tangle of dark strands. But it was his eyes that caught my attention—sharp, calculating, and cold. This wasn’t some friendly, neighborhood merchant. This was a pony who knew things, who dealt in secrets and shadows.
And he was playing a game.
A game that looked disturbingly familiar.
He held a small, flat box in his hooves, tapping it rhythmically against his leg as he faced another pony—a haggard-looking stallion with a desperate, defeated expression. The stallion looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his coat dull and matted, his eyes bloodshot and hollow.
“Come on, just one more game,” the salespony purred, his voice smooth and persuasive, like honey laced with poison. “You’re due for a win. Double or nothing?”
The stallion hesitated, his hooves fidgeting nervously. “I… I don’t know…”
“You’ve got nothing to lose,” the salespony pressed, leaning closer. “And everything to gain. Just imagine—all your debts cleared, a fresh start. All it takes is one lucky flip.”
I watched, hidden in the shadows, as the stallion—Gravel, the one with mounting debts—finally nodded, his movements jerky and uncertain. The salespony grinned, a flash of teeth that seemed too sharp for a pony, and flipped a small, square tile into the air.
It landed with a soft slap.
The wrong side.
The stallion’s face crumpled, his eyes filling with despair. The salespony, however, simply chuckled. “Tough luck, friend. But hey, there’s always next time, right?” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Unless… you’d rather try something a little more… high-stakes?”
He produced a card, simple and unassuming, with just a phone number and an address. “Tell you what,” the salespony continued, pressing the card into the stallion’s hoof. “You think about it. If you change your mind, give us a call. We’re always looking for… motivated individuals.”
The stallion stared at the card, his expression a mix of desperation and fear, before finally nodding and shuffling away, his shoulders slumped with defeat. The salespony watched him go, a smug smile playing on his lips.
Then, he turned and vanished down a nearby alleyway.
I waited a moment, my heart pounding, before stepping out of the shadows. The stallion was still there, staring at the card as if it held the answers to all his problems.
This was it. This was my chance.
I approached him slowly, keeping my voice calm and even. “Hey. That card… what’s it for?”
The stallion jumped, startled by my presence. He glanced at me, his eyes wide and wary, then quickly looked away, clutching the card tighter. “It’s… it’s nothing. Just a game.”
“A game?” I repeated, tilting my head. “Looks like more than that.”
He hesitated, his gaze flickering between me and the card. “It’s… it’s a chance,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “A chance to win money. A lot of money.”
I nodded slowly, as if considering. “And what do you have to do to win?”
The stallion swallowed hard, his eyes darting around nervously. “They… they didn’t say. Just that it’s a game. A high-stakes game.”
I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “And what happens if you lose?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The fear in his eyes said it all.
I took a slow breath, gathering my courage.
“Give me the card.”
He stared, frozen. “What?”
“Give it to me,” I repeated, my tone firm. “I’ll take your place.”
The stallion’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You… you can’t! It’s too dangerous!”
I gave him a sad, knowing smile. “Dangerous is my middle name.”
Okay, maybe not. But it sounded good.
The stallion hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze flickering between me and the card. Then, with a trembling hoof, he handed it over.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the card gently. “Now, go home. Forget about this. Find another way.”
He nodded slowly, still looking unsure, before turning and hurrying away, disappearing into the crowd.
I stared at the card in my hoof, the simple number and address staring back at me.
This was it.
I was going in.
I took a deep breath, my heart pounding, and tucked the card safely into my saddlebag.
It was time to find out what kind of “game” this really was.
