Red Runner: Hitmare Extraordinaire
“Ugh…Agh…Buck.” The mare blinked her eyes, unsure of where she was. Shaking her head, she looked around and assessed her surroundings. To her dismay, she was in a dumpster. Hefting herself out of the dumpster, she fell to the ground with a loud “thud.” At least, that’s what it would have sounded like had she not fallen into a puddle. Groaning, she pulled herself to her feet and looked into the puddle.
Staring back at her was a white unicorn. Her long mane cascaded down in a crimson waterfall about her shoulders, laced through with streaks of black. Eyes as red as her hair stared back, burning with the knowledge of failure. Shaking her head, she whinnied softly. She then proceeded to check her gear. In addition to being covered in filth, her black and red bodysuit was torn and matted with blood. Her own. The tactical vest that she wore over it was ripped off when her attacker dropped her, lost somewhere in the streets of Manehattan.
Groaning, she began to walk out of the alley way she had fallen in. Despite the pain in her body, she kept on walking. It was nighttime in Manehattan. That time so late when even a big city dares to sleep. Pretty soon, she came to a small donut shop. It was just one of many throughout any big city: small, nondescript, and family owned. Pushing through the door, she staggered into the dim light of the eatery. The gruff-looking manager stared at her and snorted.
“We’re closed, ma’am. I’m just here counting stock. We won’t be serving anything for another three hours.”
"But…I just wanted a jelly donut with…extra jelly” said the mare. The manager’s eyes narrowed.
“What did you say?” he growled.
“A jelly doughnut with…” Unfortunately, the young mare could say no more. Before she could finish, she fainted. Grumbling, the manager took grabbed her collar with his teeth and dragged her to the back. The storeroom, while full of supplies and ingredients like any other, had one noticeable difference: an old, broken down oven. Casual viewers would find it odd that, not only was the oven not in the kitchen, but that such an old piece of junk was there at all. Casual viewers would then assume that it was there for sentimental value, a relic from the store’s antiquity. Casual viewers would be entirely wrong.
Grunting, the manager opened the oven. The young mare muttered weakly.
“Get in the oven.” Making good on his words, he then proceeded to heft up the young mare and place her in the oven. Turning the knob a full three hundred sixty degrees, he closed the door. A small ding was heard, and the oven began to sink down into the floor. Once the top was level with the floor, the manager stepped on.
The elevator then began to descend farther than should be possible, past the building’s floor, past the streets. After a while, the elevator finally stopped. The manager hopped off, and the door popped open with a pneumatic hiss. The two had reached the location of a facility that was never supposed to have existed. The inside was spartan, devoid of any of the creature comforts the other ponies delighted in. The only furniture was a hospital bed, and a small desk. The only thing that seemed to provide a sense of luxury was the ornate perch, upon which rested an owl.
The manager dragged the unicorn over to a hospital bed, and plugged in an IV tube. Satisfied that she was stable, he then trotted over to the owl. The bird, while looking like any other owl, was preening itself. As the manager approached however, the owl looked up, and eyed him closely. Smiling grimly, he pet the bird. He went over to a table, and took out a pen and stationery. For a second, he paused, as if unsure what to write. The moment passed, and he committed pen to paper.
“My Lady, I have intelligence of the utmost importance. One of your assassins has found the safe house. She’s here, but injured. Unfortunately, there has been a snare. Do not be cross with me, my lady. I am ignorant as to how she has appeared here. More importantly, the mare I see before me is your daughter. By the time you have received this, your daughter should be back in Canterlot. This unexpected turn of events, as you understand, has necessitated such actions.”
He rolled up the scroll, and went back to the bird. He then swung open a door, which revealed a tube for the passage of the bird.
“You best be going. It is not wise to keep La Morte de Rouge waiting.” The bird nodded, and took the scroll in its claws. It then flew up through the tube. The manager watched the bird disappear. He then turned to look at the unconscious mare. Heiress to the most infamous family in all of Equestria.
“Now, let’s get you patched up. That way the both of us won’t lose our heads, eh?” As he proceeded to operate, he could only think: “Lauren damn it. Why me?” As if she heard his silent prayer, the patient groaned. One feeble eye opened up. Meeting her gaze, the manager sighed.
"Why the buck did you have to come here? What are you even doing? You should be at home, like a good little girl. Instead, you're bleeding out down here. And that'll be a mercy compared to what she has in store for you."
"Don't...don't treat me like a kid," whispered the mare. "Especially if you know who my mother is." Struggling to rise, Red Runner failed. She flopped back down on the bed, and glared at the manager. He winced, sending a shiver of pride down her spine. The manager was not so easily defeated, however.
"Kid, the only reason my jimmies are rustled is because of your eyes. Other than that, no, Just no." Red Runner stuck out her tongue in response then winced, her eyes watering from the pain that simple movement caused her body.
"Ow," she whimpered. The sight was so pitiful, even Fluttershy would be jealous. Too bad the manager was a grizzled old son of a jenny.
"That cutesy-wootsie thing might work on the stallions, but not me. I'm too old and ugly, so I don't even try." He applied some ointment, which made Red Runner wince even more. "The burn means it's working," he whistled cheerily.
"Buck you." though she had to admit, the ointment was helping her wounds heal at a remarkable rate. "What's in this thing?" she asked. He almost chuckled at that.
"Kid, see the thing is, if you want to be an assassin, don't ask questions."
"Pleeeeeeassse?"
"Ha ha ha...no." At this, Red Runner began to pout. "Deal with it. Say, these are some injuries? What happened?"
"A good assassin doesn't ask questions," she said.
"A better one doesn't need to. Judging by the lacerations you've revived, and the fact that your legs were broken, I'd say you were dropped by a griffin."
"Really? You're good! Only, I managed to fight her off, see! I made her drop me. "
"Cool story. Either way, you're still bucked." At this, he noticed Red Runner's face droop. "Listen, kid. I have no idea what you're doing out here. I feel sorry for you, really I do. Except pity is for the weak, y'know? C'mon. Let's get you home."
Red Runner could do nothing to object. She jumped off of the bed, and fell. Her knees buckling, she finally got up. Shaking his head one last time, the manager motioned for her to follow him.