“Did you find the Gold Star's informant?” asks Soarin.

Fuller and Andromeda exchange looks. Both are standing in front of Soarin in his office in the Royal Guard Headquarters, which is quickly becoming one of the most fortified places in Equestria. Not that it was lightly defended in the fist place, but after the attack, it was determined that a major overhaul was needed.

With the construction of thicker walls, new barricades and towers, the installation of anti-aircraft turrets and pillboxes, and plans for a network of bunkers and tunnels to go all around Canterlot and leads to the Royal Palace, the Crystal Mines, and the surrounding countryside, it will be yet another engineering marvel. Though, like all upgrades, it is a noisy, dirty mess, so the once beautiful, quiet facility is now butchered by roaring machinery, metallic saws, bangs, shouts, cranks and screeches, and all the dust and mud that comes with them.

The two unicorns look back at the first pegasus Captain of the Royal Guard and the EIB Director is the first to speak.

“We traced the evidence to one of your secretaries,” says Andromeda.

Soarin arches a brow, even though a part of him is not very surprised since secretaries are given access to a lot of information for the sake of scheduling. Plus, there seems to be an unwritten rule that every secretary must be a mare and an eye-pleasing piece of tail. It will be easy for them to flirt their way to get more information if need be.

“Her bank informed us of a hefty sum of bits deposited in her account, and she has a son and daughter, both of whom have graduated from college, placing her under partial responsibility for a large student loan debt,” adds Fuller.

“How much was she paid?” asks Soarin, wincing quietly from his injuries protests when he shifts in his seat.

“Enough to cover all the debt, then some.”

“My agents are interrogating her right now, but so far she swears that she is innocent,” says Andromeda.

“The guilty always say they're innocent,” mutters Soarin.

“And not all who are interrogated are guilty,” says Fuller. Soarin and Andromeda stare at Fuller, and without breaking eye contact from Soarin, he adds for both of them: “Experience.”

Soarin nods in agreement while Andromeda rolls her eyes.

“The trail leads directly to the suspect,” says Andromeda. “We got call logs and bank statements that mark her guilty.”

Fuller glances at Andromeda. “The Gold Star Movement was able to orchestrate military attacks to pit us in a war against Bernese. I highly doubt that they will leave obvious trails to their real informant. If I were you, I would take a closer look at your evidence. I have a feeling they might be misleading. As for me, I will have the CDA continue searching the public for any leads regarding the Gold Stars, starting with known supporters of Perfect Harmony and moving on from there.”

“This is ridiculous! We have the suspect. She is guilty. End of story!” says Andromeda. “There is no need to continue wasting time by chasing shadows!”

“If the shadow is holding the knife, then we will not be wasting time chasing it,” comments Fuller.

“Okay, okay, stop it, you two,” says Soarin. This gets them to stop and look at him, and he grunts quietly as he once again shifts in his spot so he is leaning forward, hooves on the table and eyes locked on the mare. “Director Cluster, thank you for your help, but I'm going to need a word with Fuller alone.”

Andromeda looks at Soarin quizzically, then at Fuller, who remains staring at the Captain of the Royal Guard, stone still and completely focused. When Soarin tries to tell her to leave again, the words do not leave his lips, for the new EIB Director nods, wishes them a pleasant evening and trots out of the room. Soarin looks past Fuller to watch Andromeda leave, which brings him to wishing they would shorten his office. It seems like a mile from his desk to the door.

When the door closes, Soarin looks at Fuller, bringing him to wonder if the unicorn has even blinked, and then he takes a deep breath and lightly beats his hoof against the table. He blows out some air in an attempt to buy some time so he can think of some words to say. He has an idea of what he wants to say, but the words elude him, and the ruckus of the construction projects is not helping his mind in any way.

“You confuse me, Director,” says Soarin after a long strain of awkward silence, adding with a scoffing laugh: “I mean, you helped me get this far when you could have easily gotten this position, but you chose to be the CDA Director, and now you are defending the obvious guilty.”

“Just as we were obviously guilty of the bombing in Bernese, and Bernese is the obvious guilty party in the attacks against our nation?” counters Fuller calmly.

Soarin falls silent.

“Captain, you must understand that the Gold Star Movement and their ideology is deceptive by nature,” continues Fuller. “They mislead for control, and we already fell for their first trap which has plunged us in a war we cannot win conventionally, and we cannot fall for their other traps by going after the first mannequin they display.”

Soarin clicks his tongue. “Fair enough.”

“As for the reason I chose not to go for the title of Captain of the Royal Guard, it is because of two reasons. First, I feel I can do more good in the long run in my current position. Secondly, I do not want to be put in a more compromising position than what I was already in.”

“More compromising? Director, I think you are possibly one of the most hated ponies in Equestria for the secret police stuff the CDA does. You compromised yourself beyond redemption the moment you took that position. At least with the Royal Guard there is a sense of trust and you have a group of friends who will have your back no matter what. You should know that. You were a military pony, after all.”

“Friends?” Fuller shakes his head in disbelief. “Friends are dangerous. More so than the enemies you see.”

Soarin raises a brow. “What do you mean?”

Fuller stares at Soarin, and he stares back, and when the seconds tick on by to an extended amount of time, the older unicorn sighs and takes a seat.

“If you must know, I once had a group of friends,” says Fuller.

His voice is mostly intact with his normal neutral tone, however, there is a slight taint of painful nostalgia in there. Despite the tone, Soarin still lets out a quick laugh.

“You? A group of friends? Quit pulling my tail,” he says.

“It is because of this group that I realized the dangers of friendship,” says Fuller, his voice sharpening and his eyes narrowing.

This wipes the smile off of Soarin's face quickly, and Fuller lowers his eyes, which are now glowing faintly with nostalgia.

“We were like brothers and sisters, and I was considered to be the honest one of our group,” continues Fuller. “I like to think that they were right, but at times they got annoyed because I would see past their lies, read them like books and made their fears the source of unpleasant pranks. I never wanted to see my friends or my family hurt, though, so I used my gift against those that wished to harm us. I studied them and turned their fears against them, made their nightmares a reality, and in one case, even removed a particular fiend permanently.”

Soarin sits up a little straighter, his interest piqued, and the Director of CDA barely lifts his eyes, but it is enough to show a concoction of emotions, from rage to sorrow, and pride to regret. It is the first time Soarin has ever seen Fuller confused about anything, and now here he is. Vulnerable.

“I will not explain the details, but upon my return from keeping the ones I loved safe, I discovered the greatest truth there is. Friendship is dangerous,” says Fuller, the anger simmering in his voice. “My most loyal friend was the first to betray me and the others followed soon after. They even convinced my first wife -the smartest and kindest mare you would ever meet- to turn her backs on me for what I have done. It was on that day that I discovered loyalty and friendship's true nature, and for the longest time I have been afraid to let others close to me.”

Soarin keeps silent and watches Fuller more intently. His anger has subsided, and now an unquenchable sadness looms over him.

“When I attempted to let friendship into my life again, I found a mare I thought I could be happy with,” says Fuller. “I thought that my first real friend in so long would be the light I was afraid to have, but fate had other plans.”

“I apologize if I am being rude, but are you talking about Aural? That daycare teacher who... died in our custody?” asks Soarin carefully.

Fuller stares at Soarin, and with his silence and gaze, the Captain becomes a little paranoid that he might have just crossed a line. However, when Fuller nods without trying to stab him or bludgeon him, he relaxes in his seat a little bit.

“Yes, that is her, another kind and smart mare that I regret not a single moment with. But, in the end, friendship is something to be feared, Captain, for it is only a path to greater pain, which is something you have yet to realize,” claims Fuller. “You need many allies to get anywhere, that is how I was and still am able to do what I do, but you cannot risk having those allies become your friends or they will become your downfall.”

“So, what does that make you and Twilight? Really good allies?” asks Soarin, sporting a playful smile.

Fuller breathes slowly through his nose and without saying another word, he gets up and heads to the door, saying without looking at Soarin: “Good night, Captain.”

Soarin watches the unicorn leave, and once the door shuts with a quiet click, he blows through his nose and drums his hoof on his desk, his eyes going back on some paperwork, but his mind blank.

“Well, okay then.”

“Your friend is on his way back to Bernese, Leinen, as are the others, and I have found the one who betrayed us and will be taking care of him soon enough,” says the Painter

“I am happy to hear that, but Gilda would like that rat spared so she can deal with him herself,” says Rotes, though his tone is the opposite of pleasant.

The Painter takes a moment to contemplate his next words. “You can tell Gilda that I am sending Nasty Hick home.”

In a dimly lit room, a lone stallion sits in the center of a lavender carpet with frilly, green trim, his mind on the short conversation he had with Rotes just a few minutes back. In the middle of the carpet, where he sits directly above, is a tree with an alicorn curving around its top, and in the middle of the tree's trunk is an eye.

The lone stallion stares at a stone pendant hanging around his neck, his hoof gently rubbing the engraving of an eye surrounded by crystals as its symbol. It glows an eerie green and whispers of confusion, fear, sadness and rage all fight for attention, each wanting their new warden to hear their demands for release. While most burdened with such artifacts try to ignore them, or are driven mad, he has grown accustomed to them and has accepted everyone trapped inside as a part of him. He can even name every single one of them, which makes dealing with them easier for him.

Thousands of souls, thousands of personalities, all his until their use has ran out. Such has been the way for the centuries he has wandered after the flash of fire and brimstone consumed Roam.

He stops stroking his pendant and lifts his emerald eyes to a series of shelves contouring with the curve of his wall. All of them are filled with crystal carvings of ponies in various poses, all protected in glass containers. Some are prancing, others are laying down or walking, while quite a few are snuggling or rubbing noses. Every pony in there is carved with great care of different pieces of gems varying in colors across the spectrum and held together by what many will think to be glue. However, they do not realize that every piece making every pony has been fused with the power of magic. Not that he wants anyone to see them, anyway. They might accidentally ruin them out of curiosity.

Huffing quietly, the stallion stands up and turns to face an oil painting made of rough strokes and dark colors that vaguely represent chained ponies holding their grimy, bloody hooves towards a tiny light. It is a light at the very top of a pit, mocking them for the salvation they cannot have.

He picks up a platelet of paint and a bundle of brushes with his magic and starts adding small touch ups to the ponies. Each of them getting a face that he vaguely recognizes, and by his own mind wandering, his brush dips into the brightest blue it can find and starts stroking the highest pony in gentle brushes. The chained pony is above the rest, her desperation for escape is admirable, but even though she is suffering and the chains are digging into her skin and pulling her into the abyss, she has hope in her eyes. The tears of hope shine and she is trying to take another with her. Who that pony is, he does not know, nor does he really care, all he sees is one pony trying to save herself while trying to save someone she cares about.

The blue pony, he realizes after finishing up the wings wrapped in chains, looks striking similar to a certain mare that has been giving him a lot of problems as of late. She is a bug. But even bugs have to be admired from time to time for their resilience and perseverance.

The painting comes to an abrupt stop, and he places his brushes in a cup of stained water. His eyes become fixated on his masterpiece that no one will see and he focuses on the blue pony being dragged to the inferno.

“How much longer must you suffer until you realize that Loyalty will betray you and those you hold dear in the end, as it does to all who bear it?” wonders the stallion, almost expecting the blue pegasus in the painting to answer him.

Seconds later, a clock chimes and he glances over his shoulder, watching the grandfather clock behind him ring with its golden pendulum swinging back and forth hypnotically.

It chimes again and he stands up and uses his magic to summon his full body painting suit, fully clothing him with a mist that hardens into thick thread. Another chime calls out to him and a pair of tinted goggles materialize over his eyes. The third chime echoes in his chamber, and his sharp, gem tipped baton appears in front of him, soon to be holstered. By the fourth chime, he disappears in a flash of green light, leaving his art without an audience.

An elevator door dings pleasantly and slides open to reveal four ponies inside, three unicorns and one earth pony, all stallions. The earth pony and one of the unicorns leave and walk down a hallway, passing marked doors, all rigged to stay shut courtesy of the CDA.

“Why are you so paranoid? We got this guy guarded pretty good,” says the unicorn that left with the earth pony. He has a black coat with white spots, carries a Trottingham accent and has a cutie mark of a hat and sunglasses over each other like a cheap spy. His name is Suit.

“He ain't guarded 'pretty good' from what he knows. Mah pa kept his liquor stash more guarded than this place,” quips the earth pony stallion next to Suit with a heavy Ozark drawl. He has a gamboge and amber streaked mane and a light gold coat with his cutie mark hidden by the frayed duster coat, which has a revolving rifle strapped to his side. It took many hours of arguing before Suit and the other agents realized that this earth pony will not be giving up his prized possession, so they just let him carry it around. If anything, the visual of an agent armed with a big rifle keeps unwanted company back.

The two stroll down the hallway, which is guarded by four other CDA agents, two of which are guarding the elevator they just came out of.

The earth pony tries to ignore the looks he is getting from the fellow agents. He thinks one of the reasons they are staring is because of his rifle and the fact that he is one of the few earth ponies in the Civilian Defense Agency. Another reason he thinks they are staring is because of his curse. The curse of being really, really, really, really ridiculously good looking.

Every mare he has passed so far has blushed and giggled around him when he offered a “Howdy” and every stallion has muttered a return greeting, then both genders proceeded to stare at his amazing country flanks. That being said, Special Agent Braeburn Apple really wishes he looked average so he did not have to deal with that kind of attention on a daily basis.

“You're just paranoid,” repeats Suit while levitating a folder and flipping through the pages, thus bringing Braeburn out of his thoughts.

“Look, Ah jus' got a bad feeling about this, alright? Ah don't like this set up. Its jus' askin' fer a lotta trouble,” says Braeburn.

Suit hums. “Well, take it up with Fuller after we get this Top Soil bird out of here.”

Braeburn rolls his eyes, distinctly remembering how Fuller convinced him to join the Agency after watching him shoot at a competition in Appleloosa. It really does take someone special to carry a conversation with that unicorn without feeling unnerved in someway, and Braeburn has made it a personal mission to keep conversations with the Director of the CDA down to a minimum. Even though he did give him a job with great pay, benefits, pensions and nice vacation time.

The two stallions stop in front of a metal door guarded by two more agents, and after they show their badges and have their credentials checked via radio, they are allowed entrance.

The room they enter is simple, with a great view of the city and furnished with a metal table and a few cushions. Inside are four more unicorns wearing suits and the CDA badge, guarding none other than Nasty Hick.

The griffin is pacing in circles, eyes bugged out and talons twitching, and the only thing Agent Braeburn can think is: Wow.

Never before has he seen such a pathetic griffin. Not that he has seen a whole lot, but the few he has met ever since he has started his career as a Civilian Defense Agent has had something going for them. Pride and bulk, mostly, but even the skinny ones had kept themselves looking sharp with their preened plumage. All of them also had a sense of menace to them. But their griffin? Top Soil, also known as “Nasty Hick”, is none of the above. Dirty, jittery, cowardly in appearance, it will be no surprise to Braeburn if their assignment was probably very unloved in his community.

“Top Soil,” calls Suit, getting the griffin's attention. “I am Special Agent Cuff and this is my partner, Agent Apple.”

Nasty Hick swallows anxiously. “Is it just you two that's going to... protect me?”

Braeburn shakes his head with a reassuring smile, even if his gut doesn't believe in it. “Nah, you got these colts here, outside, and all those guys waiting downstairs. Think of it like a small army that'll be protecting you.”

“Oh... Okay. Um, where will I be going exactly?”

“We'll be taking you to a safe house in Stalliongrad,” explains Suit. “It's got the largest griffin population in Equestria, so you'll be able to blend in easier.”

Braeburn adds with a teasing smile: “We'll probably dye your plumage and fur to make you blend in better, too. Maybe something cool, like red and black.”

“That's a good idea,” says Suit with an approving nod. “Probably add in some really bright blue contact lenses to bring out the eyes a bit.”

The agents chuckle and Nasty Hick flashes an uneasy smile.

“Yeah, how about not.” says Nasty Hick, his tone matching his smile.

Braeburn forces a laugh. “Oh, c'mon! It'll be great! I'll even pay for it with my own bits!”

The agents laugh louder this time and even the dirty griffin manages a chuckle and shrugs, feeling a little better about the lighthearted joke.

“Well, if you're buying...”

“That's the spirit!”

Down the hall, the elevator door dings and slides open, and the two agents guarding it turn, both cocking their brows in question. But that is as far as they get before their brains are burned out by thin, green electric beams that snap their heads back and throw them to floor, leaving smoking holes in their foreheads.

Their killer, an elderly earth pony, steps out of the elevator, leaving two corpses inside with caved in skulls and crushed ribs that have hoofprints burnt into them. He fires four more more times and kills the other two guards with shots to their chest before they can react. He keeps keeps his pace quick as he approaches the targeted room, not paying any mind to the trail of bodies he is leaving or the green mist that is being absorbed into him, adding to the voices in his head.

The black spots around his focused eyes have become more faded and wrinkled, and his fully buttoned trench coat is seared along the edges. The only part of his attire that is not damaged in any way is his fedora, but even then it is discolored with age. The saddle he is wearing has a slim, gem studded cannon that has three curved claws pointing at the barrel, where a large, green gem rests, with the barrel and gem smoking from their use.

As he walks down the hall, his ear twitches from the sounds of thousands of tormented voices crying and begging him to help or release them. The voices did not come until after the Stallion With The Glasses gave him a pendant made of a strange stone. That is when his eyes changed to the emerald, too, and he can frequently see his original color returning, but more often than not, his eyes are green.

Just the mere memory of how he became like this leaves a foul feeling in his brain and heart, like someone has poured rotten meat in his skull and ribcage. But, as awful as the feeling is, his mind always replays the conversation to needlessly remind him of where his choices have led him.

“Do you fear death?” the Stallion With The Glasses asked him when he was at Black Sun Prison Infirmary, and the old earth pony strongly recalls telling him “No”.

“He knew you would deny me. So, we have a back up plan,” is what that damn pony told him in response with that equally repulsive, never faltering grin.

The old stallion remembers the Stallion With The Glasses putting an audio recorder next to his cot and playing the message.

“You do not know me, but I know you, and I know your brother and your niece, whom you consider to be the daughter you never had,” says a stallion on the recorder. Never before has he heard anyone sound so cold, so emotionless, and it is the first time since his confrontation with Trixie at the Spire when it was collapsing in an inferno that he has truly felt fear. “I also know that you have become so numb that an eternity in hellfire will be more pleasant than the shell you have become. However, I should let you know that I have your family in my custody, and they are already suffering, but you can save them if you cooperate. If you want proof, Case Study still believes that her Uncle Grape will save her, and Love Joy is still being a thespian and has lost his sight again, giving him plenty of opportunity to use his gift.”

The elderly earth pony lowers his eyes when he passes the two other guards he shot and stops in front of his target's room.

“You now have a choice, Grape Muffin. Will you embrace death, or postpone it to save what little you have left?”

Gray Muffin lifts his eyes to the 505 stamped on the door, then he takes a deep breath and presses his hoof against the door. As soon as his hoof touches the wood, there is a roar of laughter on the other side and he hears one of the voices beg him not to do it. He does not know if the voice is old or new. All he knows is he has a job to do, and by doing this, it will bring him one step closer to saving the only ones he can rightfully call his family.

Gray Muffin's eyes glow brighter as well the amulet around his neck and a hidden circle of gems in his chest that barely show from under his trench coat. The coils spark around his hooves, burning the carpet, wall and door, and-

Braeburn's ears flick to the door, not sure if what he heard is real or if it is in his head, but out of his peripheral vision he can see the other agents making the final preparations in their bright mood. He thought he heard a pair of thuds earlier, but nobody else reacted, so he figured it was his mind playing a joke on him. However, when he hears a humming comes from behind the door with a green light bleeding through the bottom, Braeburn's heart skips and his eyes snap wide as he leaps towards Nasty Hick.

“Get down!” barks Braeburn.

The windows of the complex explode from a ball of rolling, electric flame, carrying with it burning debris of furniture, flooring, walls and glass. Sirens and screams follow seconds later over the noise of the dying traffic, and the darkening sky is polluted by black and red smoke billowing from the gaping hole. Guard vehicles zoom through the traffic while the ones on hoof bully their way through the crowd of ponies in a state of comatose or fleeing from the site.

Watching the chaos with satisfaction from the safety of a roof a few blocks down through a sniper scope is the Painter. After spying on the room for some time and seeing the devastating attack of his newest recruit, he is confident that the backstabber is dead. With that pleasant thought, he packs up his sniper rifle and goes to the maintenance stairwell that leads to the roof, and disappears in a flash of green light when the metal door closes behind him.