Edge of the End

It’s a shame when you don’t receive all the details of a dangerous job. Employees hate it when you skimp out on the critical bits of information.  Take Pyre Head for example. She hid in a bathroom stall in a futile attempt to hide from a godforsaken force on her job worksite. She was prepared to deal with snooping special agents and unwanted snitches, not the untold horror of a pony’s silhouette that had a hankering for flesh, her flesh.

The job proposal called rather relaxing evening. She had to sit behind some monitors and pull the alarm when something tried to break in. It was a simple-minded task for Pyre Head, and she used the long hours to contemplate designs for fireplaces. But her daydreams were interrupted earlier that evening when she noticed somepony disabling the alarm system.

The security system displayed the image of a masked pony making its way towards the security station on the upper floor. Pyre Head watched the scene in horror as the figure took out several guards with catlike grace, utilizing kung-fu, flips, and death kicks for the swift disposal of each of her colleagues. Sometime between the ninth or fifteenth guard, she knew she would eventually be next.

Pyre gave up on the alarm system after she frantically smashed the button like her life depended on it. She resorted to running down the hall and locking herself in the stall. Natural instincts pounded her mind with surreal logic that maybe if she curled up into a ball and stayed quiet, the figure would just pass on by.

But a creak of the bathroom door told her no, the universe wasn’t on her side at the moment. The tile floor echoed the hammering beat of footsteps to Pyre’s ears. Stall doors opened with deafening cracks. Each one became louder as the figure trotted closer to a cowering mare’s stall. When the last stall was left, a shadow appeared below the door, accompanied by bits of gloom that dripped onto the tiles, leaving crimson puddles in place.

And with a final CRACK, the door flew open to reveal the ebony manifestation of Tartarus! The embodiment of horror reared up its head of desolation, and jerked forward with the war cry that could only be described as an ear shattering sneeze!

“AAAAAIKAAH!” screamed a dismayed Pyre Mane before she blacked out.

“ACHOO!”

“AAAAAIKAAH!”

A flu of unimaginable irritability and colorfulness was going on a full campaign of infection, and Amber Seed was becoming extremely agitated by it. She grabbed a piece of toilet paper from the stall to wipe the rainbow colored snot from her nose. Some of the red portion of the mucus landed on the floor earlier, and a good bit of blue and purple was sprayed over the unconscious mare in front of her.  The chromatic flu was hastily climbing up Amber Seed’s “What I hate about international travel” list.

Once she determined that the rest of the restroom was safe, she sat with a sigh in front of the sink to take a moment to allow her nerves to settle down, only to come down with a sneezing fit. Afterwards, she removed her mask, but as she did so a color spectrum of muck tried to bridge the gap between the inside of her mask and her nose. Unfortunately, a mirror was conveniently there to show her how filthy her head had become inside veil.

Oh, for Luna’s sake, it’s all over me, Amber repulsed in her head as she examined her disheveled reflection. It was rather evident that she hadn’t received a chance to clean up during her run through the warehouse. The mask had done an excellent job of keeping the mucus close to her face.

The rainbow of goop caked under around the nasal region contrasted significantly against her tan coat. Her purple mane was tangled and clumped into a chaotic hair net beyond the help of a single comb. Her green eyes, while normally a subject of entrancement for her, where now outlined by crust and wrinkles of exhaustion. If her mental state was equated with her looks, it would be a wonder how she took down an entire warehouse of guards.

“This is Grandfather Clock chiming for Feline,” called a buzzing voice from her earpiece. “What is the status on the mice, Feline? ...”

An aching moment passed before she responded. “Grandfather Clock, this is Feline”, she called into her earpiece with a queasy voice.  “The mice in, *cough*. The mice in the pantry have been thrown in the trap. *ACHOO* All but one, who’s taking a nap. The food has been secured. Extermination is complete. *cough*”

“Feline, you don’t sound too hot. Did anything happen?”

“No, just, *cough, cough*, a cold. It’s just a cold. I had it since this morning. Get the sweepers to clean up the, *ACHOO*, the mess.”

As Amber Seed slumped out of the restroom, her mind stated to wander on about sleeping on her couch with a nice cup of boiling tea sitting next to her. Even if she didn’t like tea, it would add a nice fragrance to the air once she got home. But until then, she had to make a travel from the latest warehouse to her home.

“Meow.”

Amber halted in place with a startled jump. Had something just meowed at me, she thought? She looked down to see a white cat rubbing against her leg.

“Shoo. Go home,” she ordered with a rasp.

“Meow.” It looked at her blue saucers and an expression that yelled, “I’ll do what I want,” and continued to weave between her legs to prove its point.

“Alright, have it your way. My brain is too fogged up to care right now.” And so, Amber Seed left the warehouse with a feline tailing her. A van slowed down and parked in front of her to finish off the procedure she started. Its doors swung out to allow a team of masked soldiers out of the vehicle to do their jobs, and to allow Amber a seat for a one-way stop to home.

The ride home was an uneventful blur for Amber Seed. The adrenaline rush of the mission had dissipated long ago, and in its place was a feeling that lulled the special agent to rest.  The view of the interior of the van slipped into her vision occasionally. It wasn’t anything special. The sole company that joined her in the metal transport was a fuzzy reflection that sat across from her. The reflection served to remind her how much of a sight her sickness made her. It’s unbecoming of a lady to look like that her mother would say.

The agent’s mind didn’t register the transition between the van and a couch. Her subconscious could’ve led her to the shower to get cleaned up. She wanted to at least take off her suit and throw it in the laundry. A little minimum effort could’ve been used to at least sleep in a bed. But no, she was too tired to give even the smallest bit of concern. So instead of preforming the aforementioned actions, Amber Seed took to the couch.

Few details of the surrounding environment stood out as the tan mare lay upon her crimson haven. There was a folded card in front of her that read in a benign font, “Welcome and enjoy your stay!” Further past the card was an open midnight view of the southern side of an urbanized mountainside. The view had a good left portion taken up by the Royal Castle of the Sister Princesses, who were probably discussing where Fate would take Amber next.

She could enjoy the glory of such a view if her senses weren’t displaced by a headful of rainbow mucus. It didn’t help that something decided to play tennis with hammers inside her head. Much to her chagrin, it didn’t play a good match.

“Meow.”

Did that cat have the gusto to follow me home? Amber pondered in her fogged up mind. Her thoughts were confirmed as she stared into the blue eyes of her bleached companion.

“What are you doing on top of me?” Amber demanded.

An unwavering gaze was used as a reply that lacked equal amounts of satisfaction or malice. The mare with a sluggish mind began to lose attention for the cat. When her thoughts allowed the cohesion of reality to slip away, the world faded away to make way for a steady snooze.

A small chirping in the inside of her ear forced her to regain a grasp of her surroundings. The room was noticeably brighter than before. Everything was soaked with a warm yellow tint, signifying that Celestia decided that the cosmic rotation needed to be switched up for the day.

Amber swatted in vain at her ear to rid herself of the chirping noise. It took her a moment to realize that that the chirp was telling her that her ear equipment was receiving a request for a video chat.

She waved a fore hoof out in a lifeless manner as if she was trying to draw the attention of a taxi. The visual recognition software of her earpiece interpreted the gesture as the action for “accept”. A real-world display modification promptly popped up a rectangle of light in the middle of the air while a monotone verbal notification declared, “You are now talking with: BABS.”

“Hey, big sis!” blared a voice with a Manehatten street inflection. “I see that your cold has improved your looks.”

Amber attempted to fight with her eyelids to open enough to view what was talking to her. A near perfect reflection looked back at her, if her mirrored self was smaller, younger, and had a slightly darker color scheme.

“You shouldn’t be the one talkin’,” she smirked back, slipping into a near matching Manehatten accent. “I could paint a portrait of you on the wall with my used tissues, and it’ll still look like a masterpiece compared to you, ya little snot.”

“At least I’m not rainbow colored and drippin’ all over the place.”

It was then that Amber Seed noticed a long piece of liquefied mucus that started purple at her nose, switched to blue at her chin, and ended in a bright green puddle by her shoulder.

“Touché, you little brat. So, how’s everythin’ runnin’ at home? Ah’ you still fightin’ with those bullies?”

“Nah, they stopped when you dealt with them last year. They haven’t been givin’ me trouble. In fact, some of them even joined the Cutie Mark Crusaders since you left.”

“That’s good to hear. And I bet the Royal Guard already arrested your scrawny butt?”

“Uhg, they’ve been blockin’ off all the good streets. Nobody’s been able to play hockey for the past week!”

“Hey, you think it’s bad there? Try to walk into Canterlot. I can’t even pick up a bite to eat without an elitist goon askin’ if I’m packin’ a bomb. *ACHOO*.”

“So they’re still not lettin’ anyone out of the cities?”

“Nope, they’re still that paranoid ‘bout future attacks.”

“Heh. If you ask me, I’m thinkin’ Shining Armor doesn't want to give up controlin’ our lives.”

“Hold on a sec. You can think?” Amber snidely asked.

“I think enough that I don’t go around eatin’ ‘chocolate’ skirts.”

“That was one time! One time! And I was on loopy pills for a surgery, so it doesn't count. “

“Oh, yes it does. It counts as much as you can’t- is that a cat?”

Bab’s lack of attention span directed Amber’s attention to above her, where a certain white member of the mouse-chasing species was looking at her from the back of the couch.

“*Cough* This little bugger? I was unlucky enough for him to follow me from work.”

“That’s a neat lookin’ cat. You know, I heard the other day that animals with white fur and red eyes are called albinos. He could be albino, but he was blue eyes instead of red.”

“Maybe he’s half albino in that case.” Amber looked back at the creature to put meaning behind her sister’s words. The alabaster feline seemed to not care about of the revelation that its color scheme was scientifically named. Or it could be expressing its contemplation of sending the world spiraling into chaos. The impaired agent couldn’t tell. Even on her good days, she was terrible at discerning animal faces for meaning.

“Now that I think about it,” Amber proclaimed, “Someone told me the same thing a while back, except the eyes could be either red or blue.”

“So that means he’s completely albino.”

“Yep, 100 percent albino.”

“Does he have a name?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t mention it while he was stalkin’ me back to here.”

“We should think of a name for it. Hmm…” Babs’s face contorted into a quizzical fashion as she thought about a good word to be considered as a proper name.

Amber, however, was mentally hindered from the burnout the flu was providing her, so she opted out of name creating. She sat back and allowed Babs to bring forth something from the depths of her inner thoughts.

After about a half minute’s worth of thinking, the younger of the sisters’ face lit up with inspiration. “How ‘bout Snowflake?”

The thought of naming a white cat with such an obvious name sent shivers down Amber’s spine. “Don’t you think *cough* that’s a little overused?”

“Hmm… You might be right. Do you have a better idea?”

“Babs. My head is flooded with mucus and cough syrup. Even if I had the greatest idea *ACHOO* in the world, I couldn’t tell it apart from-“

Her side of the discussion was interrupted by a rapid chirping her earpiece was making that came in fours, followed by “It’s your boss” played in a dull tone. It had an effect akin to a handful of rusty syringes injecting acid into Amber’s auditory senses. The least that could be admitted about it was that it wasn’t pleasant.

“Sorry, sis. I have to cut this conversation here. Business matters ask for my presence, *cough*.”

“Well someone has to make sure you don’t sit on your butt all day makin’ up excuses.”

“Don’t you have homework or somethin’?”

“Ya, ya, ya. I’ll call you tomorrow morining. Try to come up with a better name for your cat by then.”

“I’ll try to attempt that. Bye Babs.”

With the last word uttered, the floating screen flashed out of existence, and a new one took its place. A new stallion displayed within the confines of the specter box was significantly taller than the previous pony, sporting a horn and a cerulean coat.

The new arrival wasted absolutely no time in initiating the conversation. “Agent Feline, your presence is requested at Parlor for debriefing and mission assignment.”

“With all due respect, General Diamond,” Amber replied while slipping back into her standard dialect for formal occasions, “I’m incapable of reporting directly. *ACHOO* I’m currently indisposed at the moment.”

“We all wish you a full recovery, Feline. But our current situation isn’t allowing any of us the luxury of bed rest at the moment. The entire Equestrian government was placed under red alert five, and that means you need to be here. Now. You can curse last night’s mission for providing that, if it pleases you.”

“That raid last night took it out of me. *cough* Have Bovine do this mission.”

“He is. And so are Lupus, Canine, Boar, and you. It’s an all-hands-on-deck operation for Parlor. So get your lethal flank down here or Bovine will personally drag it to my desk, attached or otherwise!”

“He would like that, wouldn't he?” Amber retorted with a sense of irony.

“Why don’t I give you some motivation? Coyote is going to get here several minutes late if she flies. It would be a shame if she received a better job than you because you couldn't be bothered to come to the debriefing.”

“Fine, if you put it that way. Just leave an extra tissue box on the table for me *ACHOO*.”

“That’s the spirit. Get going. Here. Now. Pronto.”

The screen disappeared, along with Genera’ Diamond’s face. Nap time’s over, she griped internally.

To took Amber Seed several attempts to lift her head from the couch. When she finally succeeded, her mind protested by caving into itself. Amber’s endeavor of trying to escape the couch ended with her buckling over the side and face planting into a pamphlet. She was quite familiar with the contents of the pamphlet, which described family issues involved with being a secret agent, but she didn’t need to get this painfully familiar with it.

Parlor owes me some big vacation time, Amber grievanced internally.