Pony Noir: where it all started

by Garnot

First published 14th of March, 2014

When darkness rules the land, it takes the most unlikely of ponies to save the world. Too bad there are real horrors waiting in the shadows. The prototype to "The Fifth."

Once upon a time, a young writer by the name of Garnot started a noir story about ponies in the late 2010's. He worked hard, but in the end, lost it all to disaster. He started over, eventually turning his story into something new titled "The Fifth." A story that remains unknown to most.

Today, he's found the last surviving copy of his once lost work, saved on a seemingly forgotten USB on it's last legs. This is that story.

Everything you read here is unaltered from its original version.

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Original story summary

Crime. Corruption. Coldness. Hope.

In Equestria, there was a time when dawn was once thought of as a mere foal’s tale to foolishly cling to. But despite all the Neighsayer’s calls of falsehood, the dawn finally came, heralded by the most unlikely of individuals.

Yet, the vices of old linger, growing in the shadows: cults that worship chaos, mercenaries out to make a few bits and secretive organizations that conspire for control over Equestria, a land of airships, of auto-carriages, of magic and of technology. A land besieged by a dark power that threatens to destroy everything.

This is the world of Pony Noir.

Introduction

Author's Notes:

I’ve had many nicknames in my life, a few of them sticking to me to this day. Currently, I go by two names: Nappy, and Garnot. I like to think of myself as good writer, but as the days turn to weeks, and then turn to months, I find myself being stuck repeating word after word in the attempt to put out something that someone will like out there. As my viewer cont can attest to, I have failed in this task. Really, all I can do is look to my past and see the errors I’ve birthed, and see just why I am where I am today.

Well, my story so far hasn’t been that happy. I had a rather rough childhood that involved violence. Though there were many good times after the bad ones, I can never, nor should I ever, get over the fact that I bear scars for a reason. These scars shaped me in ways that many would find troubling. Indeed, on arrival to this country, I was seen as a threat to many. I managed to pass under the radar of society for two years before my violent tendencies got me into trouble. Thankfully, what would have been me end, turned into a blessing in disguise, for my act of violently threatening an annoying girl (who I wanted to strangle at the time. She was THAT annoying), resulted in a couple of years of anger management and psychiatric therapy. It was here that I was diagnosed with ADD. The anger was eventually quenched, and I learned how to use it to my advantage, turning it into the fuel that allows me to do things that many others say they cannot, for they either lack the willpower or the mental fortitude. I am lucky in that my rage fuels me, and in doing so, allows me to be a peaceful and serene man that had only gotten truly angry twice in almost a six year timeframe.

Why do I mention this aptitude to keep going? Because it’s what led to the story I am about to post today. Yes, I know I am opening with a bit of my life, but that’s because what this story was at the time of the writing was a part of my life. Now, it’s a relic of days long gone, a story I lost when my old computer died. Through luck, I managed to dig up what you are about to see. I know I am breaking the rules of posting by opening the story like this, but I feel it’s important to do so. Fimfic moderators, do take this fact into account before you reject it.

What you read today is the prototype of the currently ongoing story “The Fifth” and its continuations. Naturally, the story presented today will never be completed, for what was done has been lost. I only want to show this to the world, more than anything to let it shine and to feel like a part of me has been given new life again.

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This introduction is, in many ways, horrible. I could just call it "Telling: the intro." I've no idea what I was doing back then, but it seems like my idea of making an engaging intro at the time was to dump all the information out at once. I'm actually ashamed of this, in more ways than one. The telling is bland, the information provided is simple not that interesting, and most importantly of all, nothing I say here couldn't have been introduced as the narration went on in-story. In this regard, I am far prouder of how I started Fifth with the letter opener. Part of the story itself, while also delivering on the exposition needed to get the reader going.

I will not blame any of you if you choose to skip this introduction due to sheer boredom. What you see here is how it was exactly written. No alterations outside of spacing fixes has been done. I would say 'enjoy the intro,' but I know deep down none of you are going to enjoy it.

Equestria: a land shared by many races; birthplace of the Pegasi, the Unicorn, and the Earthen Pony; a beautiful, peaceful land, sweet as syrup, colorful as rainbows.

This is what the Equestria of old was: a garden of Eden in an otherwise troubled world; a land where crime was nonexistent and corruption was unheard of; a country where love and tolerance were commonplace and endorsed above all else; a country where the equines, under the caring leadership of two powerful being, Princesses Celestia and Princess Luna, thrived. Loving and accepting love, giving without ever expecting anything in return, and enjoying an unbreakable bond with nature and life as a whole; these were the virtues every citizen lived by.

This age is often referred to as the golden age; a time when Equestria was at its peak. This age is also known by another moniker: “The age of deceit,” for the grand majority of citizens lived oblivious to the horrors of the world beyond Equestria’s borders. The Princesses’ powers ensured that nothing too unsavory made it into the heart of Equestrian soil; an attempt at preserving the beautiful garden untouched by those who would taint it.

It was only a matter of time before the mirage came crashing down…

It was ten years ago that Princess Celestia and Princess Luna vanished without a trace. Their palace was half destroyed by some great upheaval, and many of the guards present at the time were either killed or injured. The survivors spoke of a great battle, the release of great and powerful forces that seemed to tear at the very fabric of reality, bending the world to its will; a bright flash, followed by the onset of something heavy, murky, and damned.

Dozens of search parties made up of guards and citizens alike searched high and low for the missing princesses and their two protégées: Trixie Solaris, adoptive daughter to Luna, and Twilight Sparkle, prodigy of the Academy for Gifted Unicorns. Both had been present when the surge of power buffeted the palace and those in it.

Guards and citizens alike searched for weeks on end, but the search had to be eventually called off as no physical or magical trace of either Princess could be found. The royal sisters and the two young unicorns with them had utterly vanished, taking with them all peace and tranquility, but worst, taking with them the very leadership of the nation. The vacuum of power severely weakened Equestria and its assets. It didn’t take long for the masses to realize something was gravely wrong with their nation.

Word began to spread around the land. Dissent grew among the citizens. Many began to preach that disappearance of the royal sisters foretold the end of Equestria. Despite the Royal Guard’s best efforts to keep the truth a secret, it didn’t take long for news of the princesses’ absence to become clear.

The citizenry wept over the loss of their beloved royal figures. A great day of mourning was held. The future, once bright, suddenly became unclear, but the citizen’s of Equestria held their heads high. The nation had been founded without the princesses, it would endure their absence.

Many nobles - ponies who had once bowed to Celestia and Luna’s will - quickly seized the opportunity to gain more power. They pointed out the flaws of the Princesses’ rule, stating how the royal sisters had kept the populace withdrawn from reality. They used the very innocence once cherished by all equines and used it as an example of how the royal sisters had used it as a way of keeping the citizenry under their totalitarian control. They called Celestia “the great Despot” and promised a new future, one where every citizen would have the right to forge his own path, not have it chosen for him or her. Thunderous roars and applause rang across the streets of countless cities. The time for change had come.

The Regime soon came to power. With blinding speed and finesse they took total control over all aspects of Equestrian life, imposing order through fear and manipulation. Under their rule, Equestria’s military is tripled, Civil Protection and the Guards are unified into one fighting force and many laws are enacted, including restrictions that could only be bypassed by serving time in the Regime and earning a “citizenship;” a model of rule fashioned after the Human Federation.

The change took place in little over a year, yet in that year alone, massive dissent began to grow in the populace, as many of the laws were so oppressive as to be ridiculous. The Regime started to be seen for what it really was: a fascist rule to benefit the few while the rest suffered.

Within two years, an underground resistance group came to be formed. It quickly grew both in numbers and influence. The Regime’s answer to the dissent is simple: kill all who showed signs of opposition.

Within another year, open rebellion began. Another half a year, and war - an utterly alien state of affairs for most citizens - finally erupts.

Order broke down in the metropolitan areas first, swiftly followed by the countryside. The Regime’s military arm, Civil Protection, met with the Rebel’s military force, the Children of Eclipse. The first battle took place in a once lush field of grass southwest of Fillydelphia.

On that first day of battle, over ten thousand ponies perished, bodies mangled, burned, and incinerated. The battle would claim another thirty thousand lives – a grand total of eighty thousand dead – before the battle was declared as a Regime victory.

The brutality of the war, coupled with the Regime’s willingness to kill without remorse, made the Guards leave the Regime and become their own faction. They refused to fight in an unjust war and against their fellow equines. The Guards became a neutral faction solely dedicated to ensuring the survival of ponykind.

The Regime would not allow anyone to stand against them however, so they launched attack after attack against the Guards. The Children of Eclipse also deemed the Guards as enemies, for they would not fight against the oppressive Regime.

Within three months of their defection, the Guards found themselves nearly wiped out. Overwhelmed and desperate for aid, the head of the guards, a powerful Kirin by the name of Haggar Finn, sent out a call for aid to anyone who would listen.

The first to answer to call is the Griffin Nation.

Now, the Griffins weren't a trusted society; their war-like culture and their unsettling taste for equine flesh made sure of that. They, however, were widely known for keeping their vows of honor. A griffin that made a promise would gladly claw its way out of the depths of hell to keep it, and it just so happened that the griffin emperor – Crissaegrim – had vowed to “protect and come to the aid of Equestria should it ever need such aid” Since the last vestiges of the old Equestria lay with the Guards, Crissaegrim, True to his vow, sent several battalions of griffin armed forces to answer the Guard’s call for aid. The griffin reinforcements, upon seeing the carnage the Regime had sown, vowed to see the war end.

Another unexpected ally to suddenly pledge its aid is the Federation.

Just like the Griffins, Humans were seen as a war–like race not to be fully trusted. Humans lived under a Stratocracy. Humans also lacked magical energies, something all the other species had in some way, shape, or form. Coupled with their biology - which was unlike any on the face of the planet - humans were often considered strangers by all races. Despite lacking the ability to harness magic naturally, none doubted the technological marvels humanity had developed over the centuries. Out of all sentient species, human were by far the most technologically advanced, but they were the least powerful when it came to magic.

The Federation’s council had pledged its allegiance to Equestria thanks to Luna, who had served as Equestria’s representative for hundreds of years. Unlike her sister, Luna had been the most stalwart supporter of human industries. Luna herself drafted many favorable trade regulations, including the introduction of technology into Equestria. Luna also provided magic the humans lacked, allowing their civilization to further thrive. The mutual partnership soon led to the creation of Magiteck; the flawless crux of magic and technology. Because of this history, the Federation did not hesitate to answer the Guard’s call for aid.

The Griffin and Human forces secured the Guards as an independent force strong enough to take on the Regime. As such, they called themselves “the last vestiges of old Equestrian rule.” The Regime replied by launching more attacks against the Guards, but the attacks failed due to the Guard’s new allies.

This marked a turning point in the Civil war. The guards divided their attention to providing safe heavens for refugees and to tending for the injured, regardless of side. Many a Civil protection soldier and Rebel joined the Guards out of gratitude. The Guard’s number’s swelled, further agitating the Regime. In a bid to choke both the Guards and the Children of Eclipse, the Regime captured and destroyed Cloudsdale, thus ending the production of rain-bearing clouds.

This attack against all ponykind marked a turning point for the Guards. After three years of neutrality, they took up arms and began launching attacks against Regime occupied towns and cities. Slowly, the Guards began to take back Equestria.

The Regime fought back hard, using every weapon at their disposal. The battle devolved into a stalemate, both sides digging themselves in and engaging in trench warfare. Both sides continued to push, but no new ground is gained. The Regime became solely focused on defense.

It’s during this dark time that history took a new turn.

A unicorn, once believed dead, returned to his scorched lands. He had lived alongside the princesses, carrying with him their wisdom and will. He boasted an army of heavily armed equine troops and the will to use them. The Unicorn’s name is Fifth, the once trusted general and mentor of the princesses. He disappeared a year prior to the fall of the crown, the reasons for his departure never clear. He’s larger than the average equine, with a mane of vivid white and a body of platinum. His mark, the moon and the sun mixed into one silvery orb - which he also bore on his jacket - tied him to the monarchy of old.

Fifth quickly took the role of commander-in-chief of the Guards and mobilized his own army of ponies, unicorns, pegasi, kirins – magically induced half-breeds of unicorns and dragons who hailed from the far east and sported silver or blue-white coats, white crackling manes and a large, sharp horn which allowed them to control lighting at will – dragons and zebras.

Fifth’s arrival marked the beginning of the end for the Regime. Within a year, Fifth’s forces had all but pushed the Regime back to the Capital. Fifth’s war, now known as “The Great Crusade”, finally broke what little strength the Regime had. Yet, there was to be one final battle before the war came to its end. The battle known as “the siege of Canterlot” lasted five months, as the Regime once again dug itself in and erected a magical field to keep all opposition out. For five month’s artillery pounded both sides, yet it isn’t brute force that eventually wins the battle, but a well planned attack by a small group of agents. These agents bypassed the city defenses and penetrated right into the palace, where they set about their mission: assassinate the Regime leaders.

The Regime woke up to find its leaders dead, but the soldiers continued to fight nonetheless. Without leaders however, the Regime forces could not coordinate. The chains of command soon broke apart as generals surrendered or perished. Within a month, most Regime forces had been routed. The few holdouts of resistance were soon cleared, and with that, the Guards claimed victory.

Five years after it started, the Equestrian Civil War had finally come to an end, yet it’s not a sweet victory; the cost of life was unfathomable: thousands dead, hundreds of thousands more injured or missing. The country lay in ruins, worst yet, it had been left leaderless. Many of the denizens quickly came to lose hope in a brighter tomorrow as countless ponies had seen their hopes and dreams shattered and burned by the war; many more had been woken from their innocence by death and suffering. War changed the populace, hardened them, and made them cynical and jaded. Even if Equestria recovered fully, the populace would remain forever changed.

Squaring their shoulders, the Guards set about rebuilding the nation. Fifth, who not only saved the nation in its darkest hour, but was the closest living individual to the royal princesses, took it upon himself to lead the nation. He took the role of leader knowing well that such power could corrupt. To that end, he decided to create an enclave of specialized individuals to uphold peace and justice. The Royal Guards, once under the servitude of Celestia and Luna, were chosen as the best candidates for this mission. They had more than proven themselves during the civil war years, and their numbers had swelled considerably since then. The current head of the Guards, General Haggar Finn, an old and weathered Kirin nearly twice the size of a normal equine - bearing a gray-blue coat and a lion-like mane that glowed white hot due to his kirin ancestry - stepped forth into the vanguard of Equestria's future.

Fifth’s proposed enclave was to operate as judge, jury, and executioners, acting entirely autonomous of any established organization; a dangerous proposal, but one he viewed as necessary to ensure a government devoid of corruption. The oath was to “hunt down corruption and villainy is our goal; one that we shall pursue till death take us all.” The first members were handpicked by Fifth himself, each representing a virtue the enclave was to uphold. In total, twenty original members were chosen.

Thus the Regulators, under Haggar's command, were born. Sporting white exoskeletal armor and advanced human weaponry, the Regulator corps went about stomping out crime and villainy. In the early days after the war, they were all that stood in the way of chaos, even if the methods they employed were often overzealous.

Within two month, the first batch of newly trained recruits hit the streets of all major regions. For a time, hope seemed to be on the rise as everyone dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they had been when Celestia and Luna ruled.

But the dream was just that – a dream. Crime continued its steady incline. Paramilitary groups – all of whom vied for control over Equestria's many natural and militarist resources – began to appear in every major city and town. Corruption became more and more noticeable with each passing day.

Walking down the street, one saw many things that would undoubtedly serve as reminders of good times long gone. The parks that once brought about images of fillies playing now brought up images of bums and junkies shooting up illegal drugs. Drug stores once brought about images of a caring shopkeepers handing out free soda and candy on weekends; now they brought about images of violent robberies, of shopkeepers gunned down by lunatic.

Equestria still had many hurdles to overcome, but despite the challenges and the suffering in between, the nation slowly continued to flourish, bringing back peace and tranquility little by little. But this small ray of hope did nothing to clear the darkness that had blanketed this nation after the war. No longer is love and tolerance preached by the populace, only caution and paranoia. Ponies, Griffins, Kirins; they all went about their lives, caring little about others, choosing to ignore the world as a whole. Emotions became almost taboo and hope became little more than a fairytale from days long gone. Criminals still ruled the streets, and despite the Regulator's efforts to stomp warlords and petty thugs, crime always found a way to flourish.

These problems however were only the tip of the iceberg.

A new evil, ancient and cryptic, slowly crept from its dark hole to overtake the cities and towns; it ushered in fear and brought forth death. The organization called itself Crux Nado; it declared an unspoken war on the Regulators and all forces of order, painting the streets red with the blood of the innocent.

Not much is known of the Crux Nado’s inner workings, but their influence appears to go back centuries. They are mentioned in several aged records and archives, many of which date back thousands of years. The Crux Nado however, had never made their operations so public until now.

Those still loyal to the original cause of the Regulators and the Guards continued to endure with whatever willpower they still carried within them. But willpower can only get one so far.

Ten long years have now passed, and the nation of Equestria, though struggling, remains resolute in its goal to improve. It is the backdrop of this new dark world that this story takes place. What few know however, is that Equestria is about to be forever changed.

Pony Noir Chapter One

Author's Notes:

Chapter one, as the title of this entry suggest, was an extremely difficult chapter to write, mostly because I struggled endlessly to actually start. I must have spent at least a week gazing at an empty page before inspirations truck I wrote the whole first draft of the chapter in the single day. Naturally though, I was not happy with how it turned out, so I went back to fix it, and then I want back to fix it some more. Chapter one likely has had the most revisions done, to the point where I must have scrapped at least thirty versions of it, all of which have been lost to the ether, sadly.

Another struggle was getting the mood just right. I wanted to open dark, but not too dark. I also didn’t want the opener to be lighthearted. I wanted readers to know just what kind of story this was from the very first words. In hindsight, opening the chapter with an info-dump from the main character’s view is a horrible, HORRIBLE idea. It’s something no one should ever do, as it not only bores the reader, but it detracts entirely from the point of having character development. It’s not telling that wins the day in these types of stories, but showing.

The subsequent scenes I am actually prod of to this day. The way I show the Bogart running after his target, how he fires at her, how I show all of this with virtually no dialogue or an info-dump, this is exactly how I should have just opened the entire story. Tossing the character into an action opener is the best way to engage the reader. The rest of the world can be expanded on as the story moves on.

The rest of the chapter, I’m kind of ashamed of. What follows is a lot of saidism abuse, lots of wrong comma usage, and of course, lots and lots of telling. The one idea I am still using to this day however, is the letter and image idea. There is a bit of text later that’s written in the language that would later become the incantations of Blood Magic for the story “The Fifth.” I give a short explanation of what the translation is supposed to mean, but again, this translates to telling instead of showing. The other instance is the use of in-story letters. These are good for delivering information directly to the main character without compromising the ideology of showing. There is a reason I still use them.

Naturally, this chapter continues to show how my titles are derived from the story's end quotes. This idea I got from reading some of Alan Moore's work, most prominently, Watchmen (which this story takes many cues from). The title alludes to the idea that if you fight something long enough, you'll eventually become the very thing you hunted. This quote by Nietzsche was so powerful, that I ended up using it for "The Fifth" as well. It became one of the main building themes, along with "Half truths make people into craftsmen of destruction" as well as the idea that in order to prevent wrong from happening, one must do what is necessary, including giving up everything they hold dear.

Once again, this chapter has had no alterations from its original form other than spacing fixes. Hope you all enjoy it.

My name’s Bogart Maltese, a rather bland charcoal-coated, green eyed and light-gray maned unicorn born in the far off continent known as the Federation. When on duty, I wear black and grey riot gear similar to the one once worn by Civil Protection soldiers on top of which I sported a weathered brown duster that had at one point had been my partner’s. I go about my job as a detective seeking the truth within the lies and shooting up all types of criminal scum along the way. It shouldn’t come as too big a surprise when I say that truth and I don’t look eye to eye. My association with truth is fundamental but ultimately flawed; the image portrayed refracting confusingly like fragmented glass. Truth is the core of my life, the endgame of every last one of my moves and motives, yet I pursue it with strategies painstakingly constructed of lies. In many ways, truth to me is like the most desirable filly in the world, and I to her would be the most jealous of lovers, instinctively denying anyone else the slightest glimpse of her, yet for all my zeal, I am an unfaithful lover, for I betray her routinely. I spend most of my time knee-deep in falsehoods only to turn back to her with the lover’s ultimate Mobius strip: but I only did it because I love you so much…

Truth - if she had a voice and will - would likely call me a scumbag…

Ones does not go into my profession, – or, if one does go into it, last very long – without some natural affinity for its rather paradoxical demands: ruthlessness and compassion; having a heart while sheeting it with an inch-thick coat of metal, and above all else, revere the truth as sacred all the while functioning under the principle of deception. As Regulators, we are above the law, enforcing justice by any means at our disposal. We are judges and executioners, the only thing standing between order and utter chaos, prepared to do what is necessary to uphold peace through Equestria.

Scumbag… the most prolific term in my vocabulary. What constitutes a scumbag? The signs are too numerous to list, but I don't need to; I know a scumbag when I see one. I myself would qualify as one, but that’s giving me too much credit where it isn’t due. The unicorn running away from me at this very moment, this filly in street clothes and a wide-eyed look of terror, to my colleges and superiors, was a grade-A example of what a real scumbag was, but to me, she was little more than the victim of a cruel law, one that I was duty-bound to enforce regardless of my personal feelings on the matter.

She ran—flying almost—as I pursued her in a steady trot, heavy earthen pony revolver tightly gripped in my mouth.

She ran fast for somepony her age. Then again, the filly’s looks were meant to deceive. Her true form was all that mattered, something that wouldn’t become evident till she either wished it, or was killed.

Killing her happened to be my mandate…

The Unicorn’s ragged red robes concealed just how dangerous the piece of filth was, and the scum was as vile as you could get: a foal-raping, mass-murdering cultist who was mere seconds away from having his brains become part of the pavement…

I have quite the knack for imagery, especially the cheap morbid kind. In this world, it’s about the only type that exists in spades. I could theoretically see myself as the lone figure of justice in a wasteland of depravity, but that’s an outright lie. I hold no delusions of being some golden-armored knight galloping off into the heart of shadow; what I do is crude, crass and nasty.

The cultist nearly collapsed from exhaustion and pain. He staggered towards the nearest wall, standing on his rear legs in order to grab on for support with his tattered hoof.

I aimed my revolver - a modified blue-finished marksman’s Peacekeeper I had nicknamed “Negotiator” - and magicked the trigger.

The bullet struck the cultist right below the left shoulder, blowing a two-inch hole in its wake. The shot was a through and through, which explained why the wound was so small; a .44 bullet, especially if it left the barrel tumbling, could have easily blown half the unicorn’s torso away.

The cultist let out a yell of pain as he tripped over his own legs, stumbling to the left, straight through a pane of glass that was the storefront to an old furniture shop.

I holstered Negotiator and walked over to the Cultist’s broken remains. He was still alive, dragging his body over the shards of broken glass, struggling to get back up. I was amazed at the fact that the unicorn was still attempting to escape. I actually felt some pity for him as he gasped and wheezed as I stood over his soon-to-be corpse. He turned himself over to face me, and then... he began to laugh, cackling like some demented psychopath.

This shocked me. I slowly backed away as the cultist steadily rose up, as if possessed by some external force. He looked me in the eye, smiling widely and sinisterly. “Kill me you may,” he whispered, “but none can stop their arrival. They will come, past the walls of reality, past the walls of sanity…” he cackled, producing a small sawed-off shotgun seemingly out of thin air, clicking the hammers into place. “Crudox Cruo Nakad’mus!” he growled loudly, pointing the weapon at my head.

My eyes widened, hairs standing on end. I reached for Negotiator, but it was already too late. I stepped back instinctively, knowing full well it wouldn't do a damn thing to save my sorry rear; my head was about to be blown into a fine red paste. I gritted my teeth, anger sweltering inside me.

Then, the cultist did something unexpected: he turned the shotgun on his head and pulled the trigger with the aid of his kinetic manipulators - horseshoe-shaped apparatuses that allowed an equine to manipulate his or her environment.

I heard the hammers click against shells in a fraction of a second, followed by a loud bang. I covered my face, eyes closed in a flinching reaction. The blast caused my ears to ring for a good five seconds, during which time I tried to make sense of the situation. When I finally regained my composure, I was met with a gruesome sight. The cultist’s head was no longer on his shoulders, instead having become little more than a new coat of paint on the glass and walls around him. His body was still rigid, but it soon slumped over, blood flowing from the stump that was his neck like an overturned milk carton. Pieces of his skull and brain were scattered all over the place.

I exhaled, still shaky from the adrenaline rush. I looked at my reflection in one of the still intact glass panes. Sure enough, I was covered head to hoof in blood and pieces of skull and brain. I used my magic to lift all the liquid and body bits off my duster, coat, and hair. I rolled it all up into a nice little sphere, floated the ball of gore on top of the cultist's corpse and released it, drenching his already filthy robes with even more filth. I then looked around as a large crowd started to gather around the scene: stallions, mares, fillies and even a few griffins; all were looking at the scene with a wide mix of emotions as varied as a rainbow. Some displayed fear and revulsion, others wonder and excitement, but most simply didn't care or simply didn't choose to display sentiment, instead looking on with empty gazes; the chilling result of ten years of senseless violence just like this.

As I looked at the scene, I could relate to those who no longer wished to display emotions; I myself had to hide my true feelings while on the job. Feelings were a liability in war, and this was a war.

Looking up at the dark sky, I couldn't help but feel a void forming in my chest. The words “he who hunts monsters…” echoed in the back of my mind. Some part of me, likely my sense of reason and morality, told me the only sensible response to these feelings of emptiness was to cry. Tears, however, would do nothing. Tears wouldn't stop the murders, tears wouldn't stop the rapists; they wouldn't wash away the blood that had coagulated in the gutters and sewers after who knows how many dead bodies had rested on the pavement; they would do absolutely nothing…

And yet, tears were precious, more so than all the riches in the world combined. Tears represented the only sign of sensibility left in this hellhole of a city. Tears represented innocence lost so long ago.

Soon, the crowd began to disperse. Some took pictures of the crime scene, others talked about it with little in the way of emotion; most looked on with tired faces. I looked down at the corpse, strong feelings forming in my chest. I wanted to hate the cultist, that mass murdering equine, but aside from his crimes - which were unforgivable in their own right - I had no reason to hate the unicorn; no reason to jeer and scorn at the now lifeless body. For all I knew, maybe the unicorn hadn't even raped a filly or killed an innocent civilian; maybe this cultist had been an initiate - a kid who sought power above all else - brainwashed into becoming yet another disposable pawn in a sick game of chess. I wanted to hate the dead cultist, but I knew damn well that it wasn't him who I actually hated, but those who pulled his strings.

Sirens rang in the night; the police had arrived. They had come to clean up the mess I had caused. They arrived in their fancy armored cars, stepping out to take the glory of the kill all for themselves. Their white and blue riot gear did nothing to hide their true nature; most were cowards at best, corrupted at worst. Years of brutality and senseless violence had changed them into something they originally couldn’t have imagined. Money, greed, power: all of these turn the rookies - who always came into the force eager to clean up the city - into apathetic equines out to serve only themselves.

I stepped out of the way and let the policecolts tape up the scene. They went through the usual motions, gathering evidence and questioning me about the incident. They asked me why I had blown the equine's head off, to which I replied that he had done it himself either due to brainwashing or because he wanted to send a grisly last message. The officers scoffed in open ridicule, but wrote it down anyway. They told me they would take care of the mess, and congratulated me on another flawless take-down. They offered me some cash; likely dirty money from a large, violent drug bust or sale, possibly some gang related extermination, or even perhaps a weapon deal. Either way, the money was foul, and I refused to take it. I gave them a glare. It was all they needed to pocket the cash and back off. They knew better. I could feel the dirty looks, but I merely smiled to myself. I drew out Negotiator and spun her around several times. Almost immediately, the few policecolts that were eyeing me with contempt looked away.

Yes, they knew better.

I again looked at the spot where the cultist had taken his own life; yet another spot out of thousands where someone had violently perished. I turned around and headed back to my office - which also happened to be my apartment.

My apartment… Just thinking about what happened there was enough to bring my blood to a boil and chill me to the bone all at the same time. The scene of a horrible crime; the place where she died…

It had been a rough night; our unit had just taken down an entire group of red robed psychopaths, the “Crux Nado” everypony feared so much. The battle had been bloody; half of our unit had been wiped out by the group, whose members had all attacked with little concern about their own welfare, chanting in an unknown and twisted tongue. Despite the heavy losses, we ended up securing the warehouse which served as their hideout. What we found inside, however, proved too much for many of us to bear. Bodies everywhere; hung up by hooks, wires and all manner of improvised tools and contraptions. Half-eaten corpses lined the floors and walls; a freezer was stuffed to the brim with body parts from all conceivable races. The bastards were fulfilling sick and twisted fetishes using flesh and bone...

Many of us emptied our guts right then and there. The sights I saw that night lingered in my mind for months to come, but the stench of it all remains with me even today. I was glad my partner had decided to stay at the office to get some paperwork finished; her gut was not on the strong side.

Our unit called for backup and started the daunting task of cleaning up the building, but many just couldn't bring themselves to go back into the warehouse. Haggar himself showed up, and was just as repulsed and horrified as many of the other troops. Unable to stand the sight of the now hellish warehouse, he decided to torch it, a funeral pyre for the innocent who had been butchered.

Unable to maintain my attentiveness any longer, I asked permission to leave, which Haggar granted. I got in my vehicle and drove back to the office, wanting nothing more than a cold shower and a long night's rest.

But as soon as I opened the door, I came face to face with another nightmare…

My partner had been pinned to the ceiling using rusty railroad nails. Her entrails had been ripped out of her abdomen, violently spread over the floor in intricate patterns that evoked images of evil rituals. On the wall was a message, written in a cryptic, evil language:

“Kill a man; one is a murderer. Kill thousands; one is a conqueror. Kill them all; one is a god.”

For the second time that night, I puked with little control, screaming in horror so loudly that I lost my voice for a few days.

After the funeral, I dedicated myself to finding those responsible for the murder. I promised myself to, “Hunt down the ones responsible for her death. I'll hunt them all down and end them once and for all – for her sake; for everypony's sake.”

Ten years have passed since Princess Celestia and Princess Luna disappeared, leaving us all to fend for ourselves in this brave new world.

Five years have now passed since the Regulators’ formation, and we have made almost no progress in destroying the Crux Nado. Crime remains just as rampant as before, and the populace still remains as hopeless and uncaring as ever.

Two years have passed since my partner's murder, and I still have nothing to show for all my work…

I sighed in hopelessness; nothing to do but head over to the office, put more clues together, try and piece together this incomplete puzzle, and bang my head against the wall in frustration, just like I have done for the last two years.

This was going to be a very long night…

Suddenly, a white and gray car pulled up next to me; a Regulator's armored patrol car.

I stopped in my tracks, knowing full well who was behind the wheel.

The door opened and out stepped Haggar Finn, one of the only truly righteous stallions left in Equestrian soil. His mane was starting to show age, graying here and there, almost devoid of the fiery glow it had once bared. What could be seen of his coat through the heavy trench coat he wore still retained its silvery blue sheen from days long gone however, hinting that perhaps he wasn't getting as old as I had originally assumed. He smiled at me, stepping out of his car. “Long time no see Bogart,” he said in a soft yet stern voice that carried with it the wisdom and courage that this city lacked. “I heard you've been keeping busy chasing cultists and all manner of lowlifes. Is that to be believed?”

“Yes sir,” I said with forced resentment. “Come to try and give me a more appropriate assignment, sir?” I asked, already knowing full well what his answer would be. I held nothing but respect for the old Kirin, but when I had made my choice to leave the main force to work solo, Haggar had scorned it, calling it foolish and dangerous. Haggar of course had been wholly correct, but my desire for retribution at the time had been so intense, instead of taking his words as the absolute truth, I had screamed and cursed, calling him all manner of ill, non-deserving names that I still felt shameful of using. Rather than taking my words with rage, he took it all in like a father took his kid’s rants.

Now, as the old kirin stood before me, I wanted nothing more than to apologize for the things I had once said, but I didn’t know how to do it, so I instead feigned resentment, if only to cover up how pathetically lost I felt.

“Actually, I've come to lend you a helping hoof,” Haggar said, smiling with all the self confidence of a war hero. “Come, I'll drive you back to your office; maybe get some nice hot coffee on the way.”

“Coffee would be nice,” I said with a slight smile. I got into Haggar's passenger seat and fastened my seat belt. He then drove off rather quickly, keeping his eyes wholly on the road ahead.

“I’ve been doing some digging around,” Haggar started, eyes never parting from the road, “and I believe I've found something that might interest you.” He motioned to his glove compartment. I opened it and pulled out a file; it was rather thin, almost as if it bore absolutely nothing. I opened the file and started reading its contents. Suddenly, I felt the car pull over, glancing to the side with my peripheral vision, I noticed we had arrived at a coffee shop, crowded with many young fillies and colts enjoying the last few hours of their night before it became too dangerous to roam outside.

Haggar prodded my shoulder before stepping out. “What are you having?” he asked. I looked at him, mulling over my coffee options.

“Something strong,” I started, “with lots of sugar and cream and oh yeah; ask the clerk if she can mix some chocolate into the bottom of the cup.”

“Alright, I'll be back in a few minutes.” Haggar said as he closed his door and walked into the coffee shop, where he was immediately surrounded by a large group of young colts who had undoubtedly recognized him as Haggar Finn, war hero and supreme “judge” of the Regulators. They all wanted his autograph and picture.

I half-laughed at his predicament, but then returned my full attention to the files Haggar had compiled. Not much to go with, but what was there was rather intriguing.

Some fifteen minutes later, Haggar stepped out of the café, still swarmed by groups of young colts and fillies. He was smiling, but I could tell the foals were being a nuisance to Haggar, who was just too polite to say anything harsh to the young ones. Somehow, he managed to make his way past the swarms of pre-pubescent fans and back to the car. He had a holder with two broiling hot cups of coffee. He walked over to my door and opened it using his magic, he then handed me my cup, careful not to spill any of the contents. I closed the door while he walked to his seat. He set his cup in the holder, turned the car’s engine on and got ready to pull out of the parking lot. As he did, I noticed a rather warm smile on his face. He drove off rather slowly at first, but then sped up as he entered the main street.

It took about twenty minutes to reach the apartment complex that housed my “office”. During that time, I had re-read the files Haggar had collected at least twice, and despite the information being clear as day, what it pertained to was anything but. It appeared to be missing several critical portions, almost as if it skipped pages.

Haggar drove down into the lower parking lots and pulled into the nearest parking space. The entire parking complex was eerily empty. He set the car to park and turned over the engine.

“So,” he suddenly asked as he took a sip of his coffee, a very strong, almost mud-like black brew. “Anything in those files relevant to your ‘case’?” he asked with a certain hint of expectancy in his voice. He knew this wasn’t really an official Regulator case, but he treated it as such, if only to make sure I had backing should things go out of control.

“Yes,” I told him, taking a sip of my now cold coffee, “though I can’t help but feel there is missing information.” I opened the files and read a small excerpt of the research notes:

Crux Nado cultists are known for keeping their attacks secretive. However, when they do launch an attack, the victims are usually random, though there are exceptions. The blood of the victim is often used as a means of sending cryptic messages to the authorities, though this is not always the case. More often than not, the very nature of the crimes, coupled with the militated state of the victims is enough to serve the Crux Nado’s purpose, which is to inflict terror on the populace.

Out of all murder cases in this category, one stands out as particularly chilling in its method of execution: the murder of a Regulator operative whose name has been withdrawn until full investigations are complete.

I looked at Haggar. “Her murder no doubt…” I took another sip of my coffee and continued reading.

Random attacks are one of the many methods the Crux Nado employs in their campaigns of terror, but it isn’t the only method they favor. According to a very reliable source by the name of ******, one of the most carefully planned methods of terrorization at the Crux Nado’s disposals is the “execution” method.

Unlike normal attacks, executions are carried out with the intention of terminating a certain target, living or otherwise. The attack is not considered ritualistic; it is carried out with precision and swiftness, often leaving little in the way of evidence.

Many murder cases have been compiled since the Crux Nado’s rise to prominence. It is quite possible that the Cult hires out assassins or trains its own to take out high priority targets. Analyses of these assassinations have turned up almost no patterns. It isn’t clear why they are done, or just what purpose they serve, though its theorized they are meant to eliminate potentially dangerous and/or troublesome assets.

The Crux Nado’s apparent bloodlust however, is not the most worrisome aspect the Cult seems to display. Questioning of Crux Nado source ****** has turned up vital information that points to a dark endgame.

The Crux Nado appears to be in the planning stages, putting the final touches to some twisted arrangement. ****** revealed over the course of several interrogation sessions that for the last twenty years, the Crux Nado has moved to capture and control several points of interest in and around Equestrian soil. ****** mentioned several names, including the now infamously mysterious Salty Shores, a town that was wiped off the map by the Regime some months before it was toppled. ****** warned that Salty Shores was but the first of many, and that the Crux Nado’s true goal was unfathomable, and that it had to be stopped.

All the locations pointed out by ****** however, shared one common property: they were all focal points for energies now recognized as the consciousness grid of most higher-intelligence creatures, including Equines, Griffins, Dragons, Humans, and Deer.

I closed the thin folder and looked at Haggar. “The files seem to go on, but that information cuts off. Also, I’m interested on who this blacked-out source is.”

“The ‘source’ the files refer to is former Crux Nado,” he answered, “he’s… different; a unique case.”

“Unique?” I asked, “How so?”

“It’s complex.” Haggar replied. “I guess the best way to put it would be to say that this individual is quite important. Standard procedures weren’t going to cut it with him.” He opened his door and stepped out of the car, carefully taking his coffee along. “You’ll be working on the case, so you’ll need to be filled in on the finer details. They are however, sensitive. It’s something we can’t discuss out in public.” Haggar looked around, as if to make sure there were no unwanted ears around. “It’s best if we talk about this in your office, away from unwanted ears.”

“Fine by me,” I replied, agreeing wholly to Haggar’s statement. Exchanging sensitive intelligence out in public was good ways to get unwanted interest. He magicked his cup of coffee and downed the brew in a single gulp, sighing with satisfaction. He then closed his door and levitated his now empty cup of coffee to the nearest trash bin.

I took a sip of my coffee, though I didn’t want to down it all at once. I walked up to Haggar, was in the middle of locking his car’s door. He levitated his keys and pressed a small controller. The car chirped twice, signaling it was now locked. I turned to face him, “Is there anything you can tell me out here?” I asked, expecting him to say no. Instead, he rubbed his chin and nodded. “Yes,” he replied, “as I mentioned earlier, our source is ‘unique’. He’s not your average individual. We had to take certain precautions when we dealt with him and the information he provided.”

“Is he some type of cultist psychopath, or was the information he provided that important?” I asked.

“They guy was quite worn out, but rather sane far as the Crux Nado goes.” Haggar answered. “It was the info he provided that warranted the unique precautions.” Haggar said that in a slightly dark tone. He walked ahead, towards the elevator leading to my floor. He called down the elevator, keeping quiet.

About a minute passed before the elevator’s door opened, allowing us to step in. I pressed the second floor button, making sure there was no one else in need of a lift, I then turned to Haggar. “Was this guy a turncoat of high knowledge?” I asked. “Was he some type of Cleric?”

The elevator rumbled to life, slowly acceding towards its destination.

“Not a Cleric Bogart; one of the Chosen…” Haggar replied.

“The Chosen…?” I repeated. Haggar nodded in reply.

My eyes widened at the revelation. At this, the elevator’s door slid open. I stepped out first, leading the way down the rather unkempt hallway. I magicked my office key and opened the door. On the front was a faded sign. It had my name on it. Next to my name was the removed shadow of a hazy forename. I sighed at the sight of it. Haggar placed a hoof on my shoulder, as if to tell me he felt my pain. I half scoffed, but it came out more like a cough.

I opened the door, allowing Haggar to walk in first. I then entered and closed the door tightly. Once I was sure the door was sealed, I turned to face Haggar. “One of the Chosen… Sweet Celestia, this… this could be it…”

“Regrettably, it’s a sign that events have taken a turn for the worse. There is a reason this Chosen turned away from the cult.” Haggar walked up to my desk and sat down facing me. He looked over my desk and spotted a small radio, one I usually turned on when things got too quiet even for me.

He looked up. “Do you mind?” he asked, motioning to the small radio. I nodded in reply.

He pressed his hoof and turned the small apparatus to the first station it could pick up, one I hadn’t changed for a good few months.

“Evening fillies and gentlecolts, this is your good friend Octavia Stradivari, and tonight we have a very special selection of soothing classics picked out juts for you. We’ll begin the night with an oldie re-mastered by the lovely and talented Sapphire Shores. Here is her number one single for eight weeks in a row: ‘I always kill the thing I love’”

“Ah, Sapphire Shores,” Haggar said with a warm smile, “what a pretty filly; damn good voice on her as well.”

“Yeah,” I replied to Bogart’s previous statement. “Filly has talent, especially considering the fact that she has no cutie mark of her own.”

“Right,” Haggar smiled as he looked at me. “Of course, she isn’t the only ‘blank flank’ out there.”

“You got that right.” I said in a slightly solemn tone. I looked to my own flank, which was as blank as a newborn foal’s. I sighed as I turned to look at Haggar. “You were saying about this Chosen.”

Haggar’s face darkened. “Bogart, they tried to kill him...”

“The Cult tried to kill one of its most powerful members? They must be crazier than I thought.”

“’Member’,” Haggar corrected, “The other Chosen are already dead; betrayed by the enigmatic heads of the Crux Nado.”

“Damn…” I said as I sat down in my partner’s old chair. “No wonder we had to take special care with that turncoat. The guy must be a gold mine of information, if he lives long enough to spill any of it that is.”

“That’s where the trouble comes in.” Haggar said as a new song started playing on the radio, a classic Cello tune, likely performed by Octavia herself. “The Crux Nado launched ten attempts at his life while under custody, all within three days. The attempts failed, but we lost five good agents in the ensuing gunfights. The turncoat was deemed too dangerous to keep under custody, so we had to place hid him.”

“Witness protection?” I asked, standing up in the process. “So the turncoat’s out there living under a fake identity?”

“Yes,” Haggar replied, “we had no choice. We made it appear as if he committed suicide. The attacks stopped soon after that information was ‘leaked’, so it’s safe to assume it worked… for now.” Haggar looked at me. “I personally don’t buy it; The Crux Nado’s not known for giving up so easily. Fifth agrees with me as well.”

“Fifth is in on this?”

“Yes; it’s because of him that the plan was concocted in the first place. Fifth provided the authority to override any court mandate; this is a matter of national security after all.”

“This is…” I half scoffed as I thought about it. “…This is conspiracy material right here Haggar! The Regulators harboring a monster, hiding him among civilians while the Crux Nado runs rampant!” I shook my head, “This guy’s info wasn’t even that earth shattering! Most of that information we could have gotten from a low ranking member!”

“That’s because you’ve only read a small fraction of the files Bogart.” Haggar replied in a serious tone. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small memory card, the kind used in most PDA and personal computers. “See this? This card contains over ten gigs of files, photos, detailed plans and information, all given by the turncoat. Only two copies exist; Fifth holds the other one.” He placed the small card back in his coat. “No one else knows any of this. If what the turncoat said is true, no one must know…”

I looked at Haggar in the eye. “Why are you telling me this then? Why do you trust me with such information?”

“The Crux Nado took from us not only a good agent, but a good friend.” Haggar sighed. “I have duties; I can’t just go out to look for the truth, neither can Fifth…” Haggar looked at my desk, directly at a picture of her. “The other Regulators can’t be trusted with this either. You however, you can be trusted. You lived through the Civil War without becoming some depraved monster in the process.”

“I never lost sight of my true orders as Civil Protection,” I answered unceremoniously. “What the other soldiers did was wrong. It wasn’t our job to fall into temptation; we had clear orders.”

“And those orders made you a hero in the eyes of many.”

“No; they made me a pariah...” I hissed at Haggar. “My own men called me weak, saying I had no desire to see the Regime survive its imminent fall! Then they had the audacity to…” I slammed my hoof on the table. “They called me a traitor!” I sat down and sighed, bitterly shaking my head. “The one order I should have ignored, but couldn’t bring myself to.”

“If you had, you would have been killed,” Haggar uttered as he turned the radio off, “but because you stuck to your orders; you stood your ground and surrendered. Your squad may have betrayed you, but it was you who survived the war, not them. It was you who was found innocent of all war crimes while your fellow lieutenants and commanders were found guilty and executed.” Haggar smiled, “Following that order saved your future.”

I returned Haggar’s smile, but I couldn’t match his optimism.

Haggar and Fifth had led a squadron of guards and troopers to rout the last of the Regime forces. At the time, I had been charged with stalling the guard’s forces; a supposed last stand. Then, my general ordered our unit, the 605th infantry Roughnecks to surrender.

The squad found the order appalling, and by extension, they found me appalling for even agreeing to follow the order. That was when they turned on me and my general. They killed him and stuck me in a prison cell. Then they fought off the siege, a battle that couldn’t possibly be won. Many wised up to this fact and ran for it, oh, but not her…

I laughed softly, in a manner that would have somewhat come off as sarcastic. Of course, Haggar could tell I wasn’t being sarcastic at all; Haggar could always tell.

“You give me too much credit Haggar.” I said with another chuckle, this one filled with bitterness. “My hoofs are still stained with blood from the war.”

“That’s not the point Bogart,” Haggar expressed as he shook his head. “What you did in the war was out of your hoofs, you should already know that.”

“I still feel guilty about it. That’s going to stay with me till the day I die.”

“But you won’t die anytime soon,” Haggar said in a stern tone, “not until you find out who killed her.”

“…Yes.” I said in a soft, yet ominous tone. I once again felt my blood boil and my rage rise. I looked around my office, feeling both sorrow and fury. Two years ago, I stepped into this place to find her nailed to the ceiling. I could almost hear her screams of pain as the act took place…

I shook my head once again, this time determination filled my gaze.

Haggar suddenly got up and walked up to me. He placed a hoof on my shoulder, all the while looking like he too was fighting to keep his cool in check.

“You’re going to need to know everything--” He suddenly stopped, looking up and around, darting his eyes about, as if suddenly alarmed by something unseen. “I’m sorry Bogart… but can’t divulge the information even here…”

“But you said--” I started, but Haggar quickly placed a hoof over my mouth, cutting off my words instantly. He looked around with a worried gaze, as if expecting danger all of a sudden.

“Keep your voice low,” he ordered in a serious tone. He let go of my mouth and slowly stood up. His horn suddenly glowed, its magic wrapping itself around his pistol, a rather hefty looking .38 revolver. He suddenly swung the gun at the window and took two shots without so much as looking. The bullets shattered the window, the curtains turning red. I suddenly heard a groan of pain followed by a scream, and then a nasty wet thud.

Haggar raced towards the window and shoved the curtains out of the way. He aimed his gun down at the ground and fired several more shots, only this time, someone fired back at him with automatic weapons. He ducked, two bullets impacting my roof just above the window. Haggar took the opportunity to reload his weapon.

I trotted towards my closet, swinging the door open violently. I concentrated, wrapping my magic around the only thing that could help: Deckard.

Deckard was a modified carbine rifle modeled after a Chicoalt Typewriter, the weapon popularized by the gangsters and detectives of New Yolk City of all places. I had modified Deckard further, adding a holographic sight, a collapsible stock, an ammunition replenisher system mark II, lighter titanium components, and a muzzle break to decrease recoil. Despite being based off a submachine gun, Deckard used .7.62 rounds, qualifying the weapon as a carbine.

With Deckard floating next to me, I trotted towards the window full sprint, ready to fire. I pressed myself against the right wall, looking at Haggar, who was ducking to the left. I gave him a nod and then stepped out of cover, eye down the sights. I magicked the trigger, and within two seconds, I had emptied almost forty rounds down the street. Deckard’s A.R.mkII system ensured unlimited firepower, but it wasn’t without its drawbacks; I couldn’t fire the gun for more than fifteen seconds without it overheating. I had to regulate my firepower.

My shots tore up their first target: a red robbed cultist sporting a combat shotgun and some combat armor. My bullets ensured the stallion’s organs were exposed to the light.

The other five cultists fired back with their sub-machineguns, spraying the window with an awesome amount of firepower.

I jammed Deckard’s bullet selector to burst fire and shot the nearest cultist in my sight square in the head; three bullets tore at his skull, causing half of his cranium to burst open like a watermelon, spilling brains into the sidewalk.

I aimed at the other Cultists, further setting my weapon to single fire for further accuracy. I let loose two shots, one hit a cultist dead in the chest, flooring him instantly The other struck a cultist in the eye, blowing a hole in the back of the head large enough to fit a hoof in. I then returned to cultist now lying on the floor and shot him in the heart. He wasn’t going to get back up again.

The remaining three cultists fired back, but their accuracy was laughable. I took aim and fired three shots, each one to the head. Two struck their marks, but the third missed. The cultist picked up his fallen comrade’s weapon and held them akimbo style. He then began spraying the window with little regard for precision. The amount of fire was such that I had to take cover, for even the small pistol caliber bullets were beginning to penetrate the thick brick walls.

The Cultist stopped firing, presumably to reload. I popped from cover, ready to floor the bastard, but by then, I realized he hadn’t stopped to reload, but to escape. By the time my sights fell on him, he was over a thousand yards away. I had little chance of hitting him. Not long after that, he vanished in a bright flash of light; bastard had teleported away.

I looked down at Haggar, who nodded at me. I placed the safety on my weapon, walking away from the window. “Your senses are as sharp as ever. You placed two rounds into that cultist without even aiming.”

“Bastard was a mouth breather,” Haggar replied, “I heard him almost a mile away. I didn’t think he was a threat until he pulled out his pistol and aimed it at me.” Haggar shook his head, “They knew about this meeting. Did any of them get away?”

“Yes; one… bastard teleported before I could shoot him.”

“Dammit... this changes everything.”

“This changes what?” I asked.

“I was going to tell you all I know about the Crux Nado, but damn bastards seem to know what I was up to. If the bastards knew about this meeting... then there’s no telling what they know by now.”

“You think the turncoat’s in danger?”

“The Crux Nado’s full of crafty sons o’ bitches; they have ways of tracking their own.” Haggar sighed; he holstered his revolver and turned to face me. “Looks like you’re the only one I can turn to now. The turncoat’s a valuable asset, he still knows far more than he’s led us to believe. I need you to pay him a visit, now.”

“Now?” I asked, “As in, right now right now?”

“Yes!” Haggar snapped, “The clock’s ticking Bogart!”

“Fine,” I said in a rather bitter manner, “but I’m going to need information; details, ideas, revelations; now!”

“The turncoat’s in Ponyville,” Haggar started, “the only safe place we could find that hadn’t been tainted by the Crux Nado scum. He’s living under a new alias: ‘Raize’.”

“Do you know where he’s currently living?”

“Last I checked he was living in--” Haggar stopped mid sentence, gazing around before looking me in the eye. “I’m sorry, but I can’t divulge that out loud.” he walked up to my desk and picked up a blank sheet of white paper. He then used his magic to lift a pencil and started writing down all the information he could not speak out loud. Once he finished, he folded the paper and floated it towards me. I used my magic to pick it up and stuff it in my duster’s inner pocket, making sure it was secure. I nodded, acknowledging Haggar’s intention.

“Get whatever belongings you can; I’ll teleport you to the train station. Once there, take the express to Ponyville. You should arrive by morning. From there, I strongly suggest you head to the town citizen record’s office and find the address I wrote down in the paper. Find ‘Raize’, keep him safe by any means.”

“Wait, can’t you teleport me straight to Ponyville?”

“I’m not that powerful Bogart. Magic of that magnitude requires augmentation or a powerful enough source of energy. I have neither. Teleporting you to the train station is all I can manage right now and even that’s going to strain me beyond my abilities.” Hagar stretched his head side to side as he prepared himself. “I won’t be able to accompany you until I fully recover my magic reserves. I also have to clean up this mess before it attracts unwanted attention. I’m sorry Bogart, but you’ll be on your own for a while.”

“Typical.” I half scoffed. “Can’t I have some back up at very least? Why not pair me up with Applejack? I hear Ponyville’s her hometown.”

“I’m sorry, but we just don’t have the time to coordinate. Besides, Applejack’s on assignment.”

“Damn…” I said out loud. Though I didn’t fully agree with Haggar’s plan to send me out all alone, I couldn’t see any other choice in the matter. Ironic considering I often liked working alone.

I nodded in reply to Haggar, I then raced towards my closet and pulled out Deckard’s travel case - a violin-shaped suitcase and placed the carbine inside nice and comfy. Once I was sure Deckard was packed, I took out a set of four saddlebags, which I quickly filled with several changes of underwear, some loose clothing in case I had to blend in with civilians of Ponyville, and a few miscellaneous items, including my notepad.

I looked down at my duster and armor; I wanted to shower in order to get some of the gunk out of my coat, but there wasn’t time. The last thing I did was check to see if Negotiator was prepped for travel.

“You got everything?” Haggar asked me in a rushed tone. I nodded in reply. Haggar took a deep breath of air and focused his magic. Being a Kirin, he had the blood of a unicorn and a dragon flowing through him, two immensely powerful and magical creatures.

The hairs around his head and beard began to glow a vivid white, giving off a fiery heat. I could hear the cracking of energy flowing through his mane, making the air feel thick with an electric charge. Streaks of blue appeared in his coat, forming intricate patterns that shined like stars. Hagar’s very eyes glowed with power, erupting into orbs of white flames. Before I knew it, I was wrapped in a thick veil of blue magic. Haggar was slowly disappearing from sight.

“Remember!” Haggar suddenly called out, “find ‘Raize’ and secure him with your life!” Haggar’s voice echoed in the distance, barely recognizable.

What! Is what I wanted to yell at him, but it was too late; soon as the thought materialized in my head, I was tossed into a vortex of blue and white flames.

The sensation of swirling and spinning engulfed all of my senses, giving me the sensation of great unease. I wanted to yell, but I had no voice. I saw sights that shouldn’t have been, places I had never even see, yet somehow knew by heart.

Is this what it’s like to teleport? I asked myself. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it all stopped. I blinked several times, unsure of whether I was back in reality, or if I was just looking into some image. I took a step forward, which reassured me I was indeed back to reality.

I now found myself outside the gates to Manehattan’s central station. Though the hour was rather late, I could still hear the rumbling of train engines as they awaited the arrival of passengers. The air was thick with a slight fog, making the streets look barren and ominous.

I took a deep breath of air; all I had to do now was board the express train heading to Ponyville. I had my weapons in case things turned nasty, but I was without backup. I still wasn’t entirely sure of what to do, so the first thing I did was opt to read Hagar’s letter. I took the piece of paper out and looked it over.

Bogart, I’m sorry I can’t tell you this information directly, but the walls have ears, and nobody can be trusted.

The turncoat’s real name is Caleb Armitage, though you’ll first know him by the name of ‘Raize’. He will not trust you at first; the only way he will know you are working with me and Fifth is through a password. Tell him, “Those who hunt monsters” and he should open up to questioning. Next to me and Fifth, he has all the details you seek. Be very careful Bogart, you may not like what you hear.

His last known whereabouts were 96 Moonbeam Str. Just in case, head to the town records to verify he is still living in that address. If he has moved, it should be noted there. If for some reason, he has vanished from the records, then do not hesitate to contact me.

Find him; keep him safe and alive by all means. Watch your own back as well; dark forces are stirring in the shadows.

I closed the note and stuffed it again into my duster. I picked up Deckard’s case and trotted towards the ticket vendor, all the while looking around for signs of trouble. I could feel many eyes fall on me, but I was unsure which were hostile, and which were of curious ponies. Regardless, I kept my magic tightly wrapped around Negotiator.

"He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

Pony Noir Chapter Two

It had taken several hours to get from Manehattan to Ponyville. During that time, I had wanted to use to catch up on some much needed rest, but despite my best efforts, sleep was just something my body refused. Instead, I spent two hours staring out the window before deciding to do something more “productive”. I levitated my saddlebags from their compartments and rummaged through them. After about five minutes, I found what I was looking for: a comic book I wisely had packed for the trip. It was about time I caught up on the newest issue of “The Adventures of Captain Baseball Bat Boy”, an import graphic novel from the Federation, and still my favorite graphic novel since foalhood. It mostly dealt with a hyperactive human kid that solved his problems by cracking heads with his baseball bat, though the perspective did shift between various characters. In this month’s issue, Captain Baseball Bat Boy was up against his most dangerous nemesis; the nefarious Maxwell’s Demon and his army, The Freaking Demons from Outer Space.

It was good – if somewhat childish – entertainment that made the last leg of the trip bearable. Still, the issue wasn’t that long – about 80 pages – so I finished the book in about a half an hour, maybe forty five minutes. It was a guilty pleasure, and one that at least kept my head away from undesirable thoughts, like the fact that I had been sent on this mission in the middle of the night, right after a shootout. I wondered how Haggar was faring. He had to take care of the bodies and any further retaliation by the Cultist. Part of me felt worried for the old Kirin; he had used a powerful teleportation spell to get me to the station, one that in all likelihood severely depleted his magic reserves. If he was attacked in that state, he would be vulnerable. Regardless, Haggar was a sturdy son of a bitch; tough as they come.

I spent the rest of my time looking at a map of Equestria conveniently placed on the wall in front of me. My eyes settled on my destination first - Ponyville - and then the rest of the country later. Ponyville was a medium-to-large-sized town located right in the middle of the Equestrian countryside. It had train routes going through it to nearly all corners of the nation and beyond. To say it was a hub of transportation and commerce was an understatement.

More west than north of Ponyville lay Canterlot: Equestria’s largest city and capital. Canterlot was mostly known for its ancient palace built ages before Celestia and Luna's rule. If knowledge served me correctly, the palace had been constructed right after the founding of Equestria, and had seen the first ever Grand Galloping Gala to commemorate such an event. Matter of fact, The Gala itself was a commemoration of Equestria’s founding.

The other reason Canterlot was well known was for its massive airports commissioned by Luna herself. Added to the cliff sides of the city, they facilitated airships travel and commerce. Ships docked day and night, constantly loading and unloading, bringing goods from all over the world. At the same time, Canterlot served as the gateway to other nations. All ships had to pass by its airport before being given clearance to leave the country’s borders. I myself had undocked in the city when I first arrived.

To the southwest of Ponyville was an expanse of near-impenetrable woodlands known as the Everfree Forest. It’s been said to be the dwelling place of both monstrosities and secrets from ages long forgotten stretching back to the reign of the Zeborites; a once powerful race of stags that had lived almost ten thousand years ago before being wiped out by an unknown catastrophe. Their descendants scattered across the world, presumably mixing in with then other “lesser” races. The Everfree Forest was a place where even the bravest dared not tread without good reason. The few that braved it on a daily basis were either Monster Hunters; individuals who made a living killing the monstrosities that would otherwise run unchecked for profit and materials, or Alchemists in search of rare ingredients.

Due south of Ponyville was Hoofington, a small town roughly the size of Cloudsdale - which itself laid northwest of Ponyville and served as the headquarters for dense cloud creation. I didn't know much about Hoofington other than it was home to some of the world's best magicians and illusionists, as well as several great detectives. It had what in human terms is known as a “thick English atmosphere.” From what I've read, the town was the birthplace of Trixie Solaris, adoptive daughter of Luna. What became of her has never been resolved as she vanished alongside the Princesses and another of Celestia's closest aides: a young unicorn named Twilight Sparkle.

To the northwest lay Stalliongrad, a frozen waste of depravity and corruption. Once the home of the fair Rosalinos, it is now completely run by a merciless Syndicate called The Stopped Necromancers. Though the Regulators did have a garrison in the city to keep the order, the poor bastards often opted to keep their heads low lest they lose them. From what I’ve heard, the only equine brave enough to stand up to the Necromancers in plain sight was a pony by the name of Ebony, a cloaked and hooded avenger. He or she fought the Necromancers at every possible turn.

Finally, to the west of Ponyville lay Manehattan, my home town... for the time being. It was the big rotten apple itself. It may look shiny on the outside, but deep down, it’s full of worms slowly eating away at its core. There wasn’t much say other than keep your distance.

I lowered my head and sighed. The sun was rising over the horizon. I looked at the clock posted over my seat. I still had about an hour before arrival. I lay my head down and closed my eyes. I wasn’t going to fall sleep, but at the very least, I could force myself to rest.

The station was called through the rather ancient loudspeakers as the train slowed down. I looked out the window at the quickly approaching town, feeling both relieved and on edge. Now that the sun was out, I could clearly see the mountains and the hills surrounding Ponyville. It was quite the view because the surroundings were still pristine and untouched.

I gathered up my belongings and waited for the train to stop completely. It wasn’t long before the vista was covered by a large structure. I could see many other trains parked nearby, all waiting to be boarded. In the far left, near the back of the building was a steam train, likely there as a display of what transportation was like in the old days before gauss magnetic rail technology became widespread.

The train slowly and silently came to a stop. I stepped towards the door to my compartment and walked down the hall. There were plenty of other ponies around, but they were kind enough to make way for me. I kept telling myself that I was no longer in Manehattan, so I didn’t have to worry about ponies shoving their way out. I looked at my watch; it was a little past six in the morning. I took a deep breath and prepared to disembark. The conductor game me a smile and led the way. I had my saddlebags tightly strapped to my sides and Deckard’s case tightly fastened in my back. My duster was closed tight, ensuring that the only signs of my Regulator’s armor would be my hind legs. To the average citizen, I would look like nothing more than some travelling musician. Not the exact image I wished to portray, but one I welcomed nonetheless.

I walked around the station in an attempt to get my bearings on the new scenery. Soon as I exited the building, I was struck by how bright the sun shone here. It was so different than Manehattan.

Manehattan was located near one of the great lakes of Equestria, far west of both Ponyville and Canterlot. Despite being located to the west, the lake was frigid year-round. This transferred to the city itself. Half of the year, murky shades of black dominated the sky; dark gold during the day, dark blood red during the night. While the foggy lake provided half the darkness, the other half was solely to be blamed on leftover pollution. During the war, the city had served as one of the Regime’s foremost centers of industry: tanks, ships, armor, weapons; they were all rolled out day and night. Though many of the canals now run dry, they had at one point served to move molten metal from factory to factory, lighting up the night with liquid fire.

The other half of the year it snowed, hard. The blizzards darkened the sky, bringing about six months of near total darkness. The sun was a stranger during the winter, and the only warmth came from lit petroleum barrels. So strong were the blizzards that few left their homes for anything other than work. Only place that was worse during winter was Stalliongrad, which was snowbound year-round.

Ponyville, in comparison to Manehattan, was devoid of darkness and leftover pollution. The sky was blue, the trees green, and the clouds white as snow. The sun shone uninstructed by murk, bringing down warmth on my coat that was almost alien. I was almost tempted to stand still, baking in the warm rays. The houses were rustic yet inviting in design. The streets were made up of small neatly placed stones that lined up perfectly to the point that it was impossible to feel them. Every pony walked about, the few vehicles I could spot were powered by magic or solar power instead of some type of combustible fuel.

Ponyville... It is a lot more colorful than I expected... I found myself thinking. So used I was to murk and shadows; to tall buildings and alleyways; to wide streets and ruined neighborhoods that the town seemed almost dreamlike, as if I had stepped into some kind of children's television show and was now part of the story…

Instantly, I noticed the town was almost entirely made up of mares and fillies, with very few stallions in plain sights. I saw a few other species as well, mostly griffins and zebras, but again, the grand majority was female, though I could have been wrong; griffin gender was a tad difficult to discern from a distance, but having led a few back in my Regime days, I knew what to look for: slimmer body structure, brighter plumage around the eyes and neck, and a somewhat taller stature.

As I walked down the road from the train station, the townsfolk started eying me with a mix of curiosity and excitement. Every gaze seemed to study me from head to hoof, diligently taking in every detail. It made me feel odd; I wasn’t a fan of being stared at and studied. Growing up as an outcast in human society had been enough to imprint that in me. I unbuckled Negotiator’s holster and prepped her for any unsavory encounters.

She was an old beast, Negotiator. Not the most advanced revolver on the market, nor the most powerful, but as far as side arms went, she was reliable and rugged. Combine that with her above-average accuracy, .44 caliber rounds and a Magiteck ammunition replenisher and Negotiator was easily one of the best pistol I had ever used, only outclassed by Gauss pistols, which cost quite the pretty bit.

I shook the unease of being watched, and just kept on walking, mind settling on more pressing matters: the reason I had come to Ponyville in the first place. My “assignment” was quite clear: find “Raize” aka Caleb Armitage and ensure his safety. I wasn’t sure if I had beaten the Cultist to the town, but from the sights I was witnessing, I was almost ready to say the Crux Nado had yet to show up. Then again, members of the Crux Nado were quite proficient at keeping a low profile when needed.

I sighed, closing my eyes for just a second to try and come up with a feasible solution. Perhaps I could play it safe and change into something unassuming; play the tourist card long enough to get a feel for the town. No, that would take too long. I need to act quickly. First things first; I need some base of operations, a temporary headquarters. A hotel room would do fine. Unpack, change appearance, blend in; that was the plan for now. I turned to head down the street when I suddenly bumped into somepony, knocking us both to the ground.

I landed face first, eating some dirt in the process. I shook my head, looking up at the culprit. I was ready to utter some rather nasty words, but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the pony.

She was a pink earth pony that smelled of pastries and sarsaparilla. Her mane and tail were puffs of magenta that looked more like cotton candy than hair. She was young - no older than seventeen or eighteen. Her cutie mark had two blue party balloons and one yellow one. The pink pony - who appeared unharmed - quickly recovered from her fall, hopping on her hooves before I could even say a word. She shook her head and smiled, taking one long look at me, her smile seeming to grow and her cyan eyes widening to proportions I hadn’t thought possible for any living creature. Suddenly, she jumped up in the air, gasped loudly for what seemed like a minute straight, and zoomed away at an impossibly fast pace - not once touching the ground - until she was completely out of sight.

I lay there, shaking my head in an attempt to make sense of what I had just seen.

“That… was weird...” I found myself whispering. I was in a state of shock, completely forgetting where I was. I didn’t even think about standing back up, instead lying around like some idiot.

“Are you alright darling?” a soft feminine voice suddenly asked out of nowhere.

My hairs stood on end as I drew hasty conclusions. I shifted my body around to face the source of the voice, mental image set on something nasty. Instead, I was met with a pair of concerned eyes. After laying eyes on the owner of those words, I felt my heart skip a beat.

The unicorn mare was a creamy off-white color with an indigo mane carefully fashioned into curls. On her rump was a cutie mark of three shining diamonds. She… she was the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. Her mane was radiant with a life all its own, her eyes seemed capable of peering into one's soul, her lips were rosy and fresh, her coat vibrant and clearly well taken care of, radiating both youth and regal beauty.

“Um… Darling, are you-- are you well?” the unicorn asked again, this time with more concern. I snapped myself out of my self-imposed trance. I nodded at her request.

She smiled, bring a hoof to me. I grabbed it with my own and stood up. As I did, I grunted slightly. I looked at my outfit, which was now stained with mud and grass. I tried to shake it clean, but the mud wouldn't come off. Thankfully, magic worked better than shaking, but some of the mud was now caked over the duster.

“Looks like you took quite a nasty fall darling,” the unicorn said, “glad to see you’re at least unhurt.”

“Fall? Yes; nasty? Not quite. I was merely caught off guard.”

“What happened?” the unicorn asked, suddenly filled with curiosity.

I shook my head, managing a rather sincere smiled. “To be honest with you, I’m not even sure myself.”

“Oh,” the unicorn said, “well, at least you seem to be okay now so--” she laid eyes on my duster, and suddenly, her expression changed. “Look at you!” she suddenly bellowed, prompting me to take a step back, “So filthy and unkempt…” she eyed my getup with a scowl on her face. “…that duster - so ancient and worn…” she looked at my riot gear next and that armor… are-- are those bullet holes? And-- and is that blood?!” she pointed at several small stains that, while dry and ancient, were indeed composed of blood. The unicorn let out a loud, overtly-dramatic gasp, placing a hoof on her forehead. She quickly recovered however, and gave me a stern look. “The armor you are wearing is not only dreadful, but far too light to offer adequate protection”

“Yeah but--”

The unicorn suddenly grabbed me by the neck of my duster. “You’re coming with me darling! There is so much that needs to be done about that getup!”

“Wha-- what?” I managed to utter before I found myself being dragged by the mare; she was surprisingly strong considering her size.

The mare dragged me down the road for what felt like fifteen minutes, right past a large plaza filled to the brim with fillies and mares. Beyond that was what I could only assume was some type of shopping district, for the location was absolutely swarming with citizens of all ages. Shop after shop met my gaze, some known - like brand name supermarkets and cafes - some unknown - like a small-yet-popular furniture shop by the name of Devonport’s Sofas and Quills.

The mare dragged past all this, into a small out of the way location with a few high-end houses and shops. Next to some large foliage was what appeared to be a carousel - a large, purple and blue carousel-like building complete with ebony and azure pony figures, gilded purple bars that connected the shop’s three levels together, golden decorations that shone in the sun, and several tent-like extensions around the wooded area, all connected by a large fence that also seemed to have been made of ebony and azure marble. Compared to the other shops, the carousel seemed somewhat out of place, but the aesthetics of the building spoke a different message altogether. It said “joy” and “happiness”, which I personally found rather unsettling. Why I found it unsettling was a different topic altogether, but it had to do with depraved sexual predators that used similar imagery to lull victims into a false sense of security; I had shot enough scumbags to know.

The mare magically opened the door to what I was now sure was her boutique, and stopped dragging me the moment we were inside. I took a look around as soon as I could. I was met with hundreds of pieces of clothing, all neatly arranged in various rows, all either in the process of completion or altogether finished. The clothes on display were quite diverse.

“Alright darling,” the pony said in a soft manner, “welcome to my shop. Now, if you would be so kind as to remove your duster and armor.”

“Wait, what?” I asked in shock, "Why?”

“How else am I supposed to fit you with a new suit you silly foal!” she motioned coyly.

“New suit?” I asked, “While I appreciate the gesture, I like what I’m wearing.”

“Oh no, it just won't do darling! Even a Regulator such as yourself needs to look his best every once in a while!” the unicorn used her magic to forcefully take off my duster, which upon closer inspection, was indeed starting to fade in certain places. “I'm sure your line of work leaves little time to go window shopping, but that's no excuse to be sporting such a dreadful piece! And that armor has quite definitely seen better days.” she lifted me in the air using her magic and removed my armor as well, spinning me in the air several times before I fell on the ground, leaving me in nothing more than my natural, charcoal black coat.

“How do you know about armor?” I managed to ask, “Better question: how did you know I’m a Regulator…?” I asked, eyeing the unicorn with mistrust. I charged my magic; near invisible energy wrapped itself around Negotiator. A precaution I told myself, but I knew well it was paranoia slowly taking over. I could feel sweat beads form in my brow, my heart quicken its beating. How could this mare know what I was? Had she been following me? Was she a Cultist? No, she couldn’t be; she looked too well kept, to formal and innocent…

Then how did she know?

I looked at her, desperately attempting to read her expression. I could almost see myself drawing Negotiator, bullet in barrel, ready to fire…

The unicorn gave me a look of sudden understanding. At first, she seemed to tense up, then her eyes filled with sudden realization as she smiled at me. She pointed at my duster, towards an outer pocket I had somehow neglected to close. “Part of your badge is showing darling,” she said in a peppy manner.

Sure enough, the small leather wallet that held my badge was flipped open, showing a small bit of the shield-like emblem with the letters LATOR in plain view.

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

“Right,” I said, clearing my throat, and reaching over to shove the badge deeper into my pocket. I secretly let out a sigh of relief, discharging my magic and relaxing; the unicorn wasn’t some enemy agent.

I turned to look at her, expression somewhat hardening. “Who do you think you are? Telling me what to do?”

“Oh,” the unicorn suddenly exclaimed, a look of great shock flashed on her face, “where are my manners? My name is Rarity Diamant; I am this town's most prolific fashion designer. I work with it all, including armor. As a matter of fact, most of the orders I get are from rich Canterlotians who wish to have their suits reinforced with all matter of bulletproof materials.”

“Canterlot?” I asked, “That’s the capital. Security in Canterlot’s supposed to be extremely tight. If they’re having trouble then...”

“Then what darling?” Rarity asked, curious as to what I was going to say.

“...Nothing.” I said with a dismissive shake of my hoof.

“Well,” the unicorn went on, “I hear criminals are becoming bolder and more hostile. Many of my clients feel the need to enhance their personal safety.” She sighed, “No one is safe from those--” she stopped suddenly as she shook her hoof in the air with fury. “Scum!” she yelled out in rage. Her use of the word “scum” completely caught me off guard; I had expected her to use a more “refined” word like ruffian.

“Yes, I can't think of a more fitting term for them than scum.” she looked at me almost guiltily. “…Oh dear, there I am going off again…” she levitated my duster into the air, carefully inspecting it. “I can have this duster all primed and prepped in a few hours, maybe less. I’ll even make sure to reinforce it with something light but sturdy.” she levitated my armor next. “Now this: this is a travesty; a crime against both fashion and personal defense. I don’t even need to test its protective rating to know that this suit wouldn’t even stop the lowest caliber handgun round. It should be a crime to wear such a thing in public.”

I scowled. “Now listen here; that armor’s been with me for quite the long time. It’s saved my ass more times than I can count, plus, it’s enchanted; rune’s make sure bullets don’t penetrate.”

“This armor is falling apart at the seams!” Rarity exclaimed, “It’s outdated and a threat to its user!” she shook her head, smiling with what looked like… excitement?

“It’s been years since the last time I gave my skills a test. This right here,” she spun the suit in the air once before setting it down over a pony shaped mannequin, “this is just the kind of challenge I’ve been yearning for. It just screams ‘fix me; I’m poor and outdated.’” The unicorn giggled as she pranced towards a closet. She used her magic to pop it open and float out all sorts of materials ranging from simple fabrics to hefty looking metals. She turned back to face me with a wide grin. “I shall rebuild your armor! I’ll make it better, more resistant, more durable, and above all else, I’ll make it fashionable!”

“Now hold on just one second here,” I said in a stern tone, “I haven’t agreed to any of this. I don’t have the time; I’ve got important business elsewhere.”

“That’s fine!” Rarity said in a cheery manner, “You can go about your business as usual! I work best when I’m alone you know.”

“That’s not the point!” I almost yelled, “The point is that you can’t just go around plucking strangers off the street and dragging them into your business just because of how they are dressed; that’s borderline pony napping. I have half a mind to place you under arrest.”

“I’m so sorry officer…” she stopped, motioning at me with her hoof.

I sighed in reply. “Bogart.” I said unceremoniously, “Sergeant Bogart Maltese.”

“Bogart Maltese you say? That’s quite the lovely name darling,” the unicorn smiled as she placed a hoof on her chin, “a tad human in nature, but still quite a lovely name.”

“Sounds human because it is human;” I replied rather quickly, “I’m from the Federation.”

“The Federation?!” the unicorn said with a gasp, “That’s quite a long way away! How did you end up here in Equestria darling?”

“Well…” I started, but then I shut my mouth close, letting out a rather bitter sounding sigh. “That’s a long story; one I’m not willing to divulge to any stranger who asks.” I closed my eyes as memories came flooding into me, many bitter. “It’s… unique.”

While it’s true that I was born in Federation soil, where and when was a total mystery to me; I had no memory of who my parents were or what happened to them. Far as my recollection went, all I could recall was being a street urchin, running around with a gang of mixed races; other outcasts that, like me, had banded together to stay alive in the harsh, unforgiving streets.

My life as an outcast however, soon came to a swift end the day the authorities got fed up of our kind. By mandate of some politician, the federation troopers started eradicating gangs. Many died. I was among the lucky ones; I was rounded up and tossed into a youth rehabilitation program in the hopes of, well, being “rehabilitated.”

I would spend the next seven years in this program. I guess I was eleven when this happened.

I can’t recall my early years in this place however; the only clear image is of me laying down facing some white ceiling and a number: 5675. Perhaps that was my assigned numerical name? I’m not entirely sure. Regardless, I was eventually set “free.”

“I understand darling.” Rarity said with sympathetic eyes. “What brought you over to Equestria?” she then asked me.

“I came looking for my roots.” I answered truthfully.When I was seventeen, I was finally given my freedom after being deemed “rehabilitated.” I was truthfully different; no longer was I attracted to a life of crime, but instead harbored a strong hatred for it. In retrospect, this was when I first developed my moral code, one I still follow to this day.After earning my “freedom” I decided to seek out my roots.

“But you said you were born in the Federation. Wouldn’t your roots be there?” Rarity asked.

“Being an equine, I was certain to find records of who I was here in Equestria.” I bitterly chuckled, shaking my head. “I got caught up in a lot of bullshit because of it; ended up in fighting in the war.”

I shook my head. “Civil Protection,” I replied, “I joined before the Regime came to power. I then served through the war under their mandate; worked my way up the ranks and got my own unit. Then, we lost the war…” Had my own men turn their backs on me and nearly kill me… I thought to myself. “Thankfully, I was accepted into the Regulators due to my history in the war. I’m still serving to this day, mostly to clear my conscious of unsavory acts...”

“I see…” Rarity said with a tone that suddenly sounded sad. At the same time, her voice showed doubt over my story. I wasn’t entirely sure, but part of me told me that she was on to the fact that I was covering some of my own history…

“Well, what brings you to Ponyville?” Rarity suddenly asked, switching gears almost instantly from suspect to lively. “You mentioned you had a task at hoof?”

“Yes,” I replied, “the majority of that task is classified, but I guess I do need the help. I need to locate the town’s Citizen Records office, but, well… I’m lost on your town’s layout.” I rubbed the back of my head, all the while looking lost. “Damn; this town is unlike anything I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Town’s quite the diamond in the rough, isn’t it?” Rarity said, “Lovely and safe from all those scumbags that like to tear down civilized order at every possible opportunity.”

“Yeah…” I said, looking out the window and into the pristine blue sky. Ponyville was, by all accounts, a paradise. Last time I saw the clear sky was when Celestia and Luna still led the country.

“Oh, there I go again with my outbursts. I am really sorry you have to hear me like this. It’s just that, I really wish I could do something about all those ruffians running amok; makes me feel so helpless.”

“It really wouldn’t make much a difference. Only way this country’s going back to the way it once was is if it gets hit with a mega-spell.” I chuckled at this statement. Mega-spells were the answer to Man’s Anti-Matter Bombs, the evolution of what they had once called the Atom Bomb.

“Now, isn’t that a bit too jaded on your part?” Rarity asked, giving me a look of concern.

“Believe me; when you’ve lived through what I’ve lived through, coming out of with any feelings at all is an accomplishment worthy of medals and achievements.”

“…I guess--” Rarity started, sighing and looking a tad miserable all of a sudden. She then shook her head in a rather quick manner. “Never mind,” she quickly said, changing her composure and feigning a smile. “Getting back on track; you said you needed help finding your way around town? No problem!” she walked up to her desk and opened a drawer. She then charged her horn with purple energy and levitated out all of its contents. Papers, parchments, and books floated all round Rarity in a circle. As this happened, she seemed to inspect each piece with a careful eye, as if hoping to spot something of importance.

“The citizen’s records office was recently moved to Town Hall darling,” Rarity said as she looked over the papers and parchments, “which is itself located north of here, in the business district. By hoof, it would take you about four hours to get there, but you’re in luck; there’s a subway that runs directly there.” She suddenly smiled as she singled out a yellow and green pamphlet. “There you are!” she carefully floated the rest of her drawer’s contents back into the drawer all the while levitating the pamphlet towards me. “This is a map of the subway system. It will tell you exactly where you need to go and what sub to take.”

“Thanks, uh, Miss Diamant is it?” I asked. While I could just call her by her first name, that would be rather impolite towards her. Part of me wanted to come off as civil, especially after the way I had acted towards her earlier. I half smiled as I looked her in the eye. “I can call you that right? Just calling you by first name feels wrong.”

“Rarity will do Darling.” The unicorn replied with a smile and a pair of big bright eyes.

“Right,” I myself said as I took a step back from the mare. “Now, about my stuff,” I said, quickly changing the subject. “Be honest with me: are my outfits really in that need of repairs?” I asked, feeling somewhat concerned over my armor and duster.

“Yes,” Rarity said with a wave of her hoof. “To be blunt with you darling; sending you on your way wearing that deathtrap of a suit of armor is the equivalent of me personally shooting you.” she looked me in the eye, somewhat worried over her words. She took stock of my reaction. I of course, showed no emotion over her words. She notices this and relaxed. She shook her head and walked towards my two outfits, which were now over a pair of white pony mannequins. “I’m sorry, but that is something I cannot allow.”

“Okay…” I said, somewhat taken back by the Rarity’s sudden show of determination over outfit matters. I could see a fire burn in her eyes, feel a sort of energy flowing from her very being; a flame that burned bright and hot.

I set this out of my mind for a moment as something else dawned on me: the price this was going to run me. My Credstick had access to about twenty thousand Bits; money I had rounded up over the course of five months. I wasn’t a big spender, I got by with the bare necessities - food, electricity, and some entertainment - and that was it. My pay as Regulator - coupled with money from small jobs here and there, mostly security detail - served to further add to my pool of funds. By spending so little, I rounded up quite a small fortune, of which I kept several hundred bits in a small bag just for such occasions as this. I looked Rarity in the eye, putting on my best shrewd salesman’s face. “How many bits are we talking about here?

Rarity laughed in a soft and gracious manner. She shook her head and smiled. “My sister’s going to kill me for this, but I’ll do it for free; the suit and the Duster.” she walked up my two outfits and let out another laugh. “Yup, she’s going to give me the talk of the century…”

I looked at her with some concern, but then another thing entered my mind. She had mentioned having a sister and I was somewhat curious to know who she was referring to. “Sister?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Rarity replied, “my younger sibling: Sweetie Belle. Quite the lovely filly, but she can be quite… assertive, especially when it comes to money.”

“How old is she?” I asked out of curiosity.

“She’s sixteen.” Rarity replied.

Sixteen… I said to myself. My mind suddenly and unwittingly started recalling how the scum of Equestria had a thing for young fillies. Bastards took pleasure in ravaging youth and innocence, raping the very future of this country. My face turned white as the horrid images played in my mind…

I shook my head and looked at Rarity’s eyes. “Keep her safe...” I said in a surprisingly commanding tone, one that stemmed from experience rather than precaution.

“I will.” Rarity replied with a somewhat confused look. I smiled at her, and she smiled back as the meaning of my words dawned on her. At that, I felt a strange link to her, almost as if she somehow understood me clearly. It was something I hadn’t experienced since…

Her…

Two years have passed, and the pain’s still as fresh as if it had happened only yesterday. For the longest time, that very pain had driven me forward; the desire to vindicate her death, to make the bastards pay, being the fire that gave me purpose.

Eventually, reason took over my mind and reminded me of who I was; what I was. Vindication was still coming, but it no longer was due to some desire to extract revenge, but to ensure no such tragedy befell others.

Still, every so often, I would recall her death, and the feelings of rage would fill me, drive me…

Revenge was alive and well in me, slowly poisoning me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I had some pressing matters at hand.

I opened my eyes and faced Rarity with a rather neutral face. “You mentioned you would do the work for free?” I asked.

“Yes.” Rarity quickly replied.

“Free?” I asked again, this time showing signs of disbelief. “Are you sure? I can pay good bits.” I said, reaching for my credstick.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Rarity replied, placing a hoof on my forelimb and lowering it. “It’s not every day that I get to work my magic on something that desperately needs it. I can tell both the suit and duster have a history. Besides, I need to do my part to make sure the streets are safe.”

“And what does fixing my suit have to do with keeping the streets safe?” I asked, raising my eyebrow in the process.

“You are a Regulator; keeping you alive is enough to guarantee the streets will be safe.” Rarity replied, smiling soon as she finished her words.

“Yeah…” I said. “At any rate,” I continued, “I better get going.”

“Good luck!” Rarity chirped. She walked up to her desk, magicked several pieces of paper, lifted a fancy quill and started drafting suit designs. “Check in later today, I might have your duster ready,” she said without looking back at me.

“Fine by me,” I said in reply. I picked up my saddlebags and strapped them around my waist and back. Now that I was without a duster, the bags made me look like some hiker about to embark on a long journey.

I picked up Deckard’s case, with my hoof, but it slipped, hitting the floor rather loudly. Rarity turned back to see what the commotion was, at which point she laid eyes on me. “Is that your luggage?” she asked in a somewhat concerned tone. She pointed towards my saddlebags first, then down to Deckard’s case. Upon seeing it, she smiled rather broadly. “I didn’t know you played the violin,” she remarked with excitement.

“I know it looks like a violin case, but believe me when I say that what’s inside is quite the deadly little instrument.” I said with a rather devious smile.

Rarity loss some of her smile at my words, laughing a bit nervously. I wasn’t entirely sure if she got my meaning, or had instead come up with something completely different.

“Yeah…” Rarity said as she rolled her eyes. Suddenly, her expression changed. “Oh darling,” she suddenly remarked, “you don't need to drag your things around town like some kind of vagrant. You can leave them here. They'll be quite safe I can assure you.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but I’d rather have my things with me.” I replied.

“Are you sure?” Rarity asked, “Ponyville is a rather large town.”

“That’s fine, really,” I lied. “I’ll just carry all my stuff around like a good soldier.”

“Do you have a place to stay at least?” she suddenly asked.

“Well…”

“You don’t have a place to stay the night, do you?” Rarity interrupted me, sounding dead serious.

I shook my head in reply.

“If that’s the case, then I will have to insist you stay the night as my guest.” Rarity said with a smile.

“Wait, what?” I suddenly retorted, somewhat dumbfounded by Rarity’s words.

“You heard correct; you are staying the night as my guest.”

“No,” I said in a rather bothered tone, “That’s not necessary. I’ll rent a room, a--”

“Darling!” Rarity interrupted, looking at me with a slightly angry glare, “You are staying the night as my guest; end of story,” she said sternly before going back to her work.

“Fine...” I said with some resentfulness, feeling as if I was being treated like a foal rather than a stallion. This Mare, she was so assertive, so strong in both voice and will. She really did remind me of her…

Putting all four of my saddlebags on the floor again, I took out a smaller pouch that I could tie around my neck and a small nondescript white dress shirt and tie. I grabbed Negotiator and its holster, a medium sized notepad to write on and my badge, and stuffed all of it into the pouch before turning back to Rarity one more time. I was scowling already. Free board and outfit repairs, all without so much as a single bit paid... either this mare is quite generous, or this is going to end up costing far more...

I made my way out of the boutique. As I walked down the road leading from Rarity's home and shop, I began to feel strange about her attitude. She and I…we were kind of alike, but her attitude was so much closer to my dead partner’s. Either fate was playing with me, or...

No, it couldn't be; it was just a bunch of extremely convenient coincidences; yeah, coincidences.

Then again, in my line of work, coincidences don’t happen that often…

Maybe I was over thinking things - it wouldn’t be the first or last time either. Still, something about Rarity struck me as odd, and it wasn't her personality… It was something else, something more meaningful. She seemed so familiar yet so unknown. I wasn’t a Canterlotian, so I couldn’t verify if she was indeed a famous designer there, though by the looks of her home and shop, she had to have fair revenue. What struck me as almost sinister was how familiar she appeared. Her voice, her looks; all of it came off as eerily known, like some faded memory…

I set off to the nearest subway station, mind still attempting to put this puzzle together.

Pass the needle trough that loop, make sure it goes through that grove there... Just a little more... there! Now just one last pass... Almost got it... there! Perfection!

Raising the now fully-stitched duster up to the light, I smiled with glee at my accomplishment. It might have taken two hours to finish, and I might have gone just a little bit overboard by dying it black after the original coloring came off as dreadfully faded, but none of that mattered one bit. This was what I lived for: the art of the dress!

“Bogart is sure to say a thing or two about the color, but once he hears what went into it, he'll be groveling at my feet in gratitude, and I haven't even started on his armor yet! Oh how he'll worship me after this is over!”

Now Rarity, keep calm and don't get overly excited before the job is done! The duster took two hours, and that was a simple “patch job.” The armor is damaged and quite worn out; you'll have to replace almost all its components.

Now, let’s see here… what kind of plating should I use? Something light yet durable, flexible yet robust, warm yet cool. Steel’s out of the question; too heavy and restrictive. Titanium would be a good choice, but that wouldn’t stop a gauss round. I need something more damage resistant yet light as a feather. Dragon skin would make nice light strong-yet-light armor, but that would mean killing a feral dragon and hiring a hunter would take far too long a time, not to mention the expenses it would call for: weapons, supplies, insurance; all a bit out of reach at the moment.

But of course, Mithril! Why didn’t I think of it earlier? Mithril is light, flexible, night indestructible, and above all else, easy to come by thanks to my suppliers. One call and I can have half a ton delivered in an hour tops. Problem now is that Mithril would take hours to smelt properly. Not sure if Bogart’s willing to stay that long. Oh, but he’s staying the night, of course! I invited him over. I can leave the mithril melting overnight and forge the suit first thing in the morning. Then, I can work all day and have it ready by nightfall. Besides, Bogart’s going to have to stick around to get his armor back; no harm in ensuring he stays put for a little longer.

My thoughts turned to Bogart’s persona as a whole. True, I didn’t know much about the unicorn, but even so, something about him came off as odd; I couldn’t help but feel something unique about him overall. It couldn’t be his looks; he was charcoal black, nothing unique about that. There was the matter of his cutie mark, but he could have had it dyed or something. It couldn’t be his accent; he spoke like your average city pony, rudeness and all. Maybe it was the fact that he’s from out of town? Possible, but that wasn’t it. Could it be that he hailed from Federation soil? No, that wasn’t it either. There was something else, something I couldn’t place my hoof on. He reminds me of a certain someone, from the war…

Oh, I’m just wasting time, time I could be using to start on Bogart’s armor!

But wait; what if he runs into trouble? What if he has to go into the Everfree? The place is a deathtrap; he wouldn’t last more than a few minutes without armor. He’ll need something to wear…

I could always give him my old armor…

“I could do that…” I found myself saying out loud, “I have no further use for it now that the war's long over. But I don't think he'll like it much… I mean, it has Civil Protection's logo on it, and not many people like to remember what they did. Then again, he served with them as well…” I placed a hoof over my chin. “Wonder if that’s why he seems so familiar? He mentioned he had led a squad of soldiers; could that be it?” I shook my head. “Oh Rarity; the past is the past!” I smiled at first, but that quickly devolved as I caught sight of my own image. As I did, I couldn’t help but see the young mare responsible for so much death. “Yeah… the past IS the past… a terrible past; a damned past…” I slowly lowered my head, sighing with sudden sorrow. I could feel tears building up in my eyes.

Dammit Rarity! How many times must you keep going over this; it wasn’t your fault! Yes, ponies died. Yes, ponies suffered; but it wasn’t your fault. You did not pull the trigger; you didn’t kill a soul.

“But I made the guns that did kill.” I sighed, “I was just as responsible as any other soldier.” I looked myself in the mirror and bitterly chuckled. “So much for absolution…” I sighed, slumping on the table.

Five years ago, I had dedicated myself to forging weapons of war. It hadn’t really been a choice, but it did save me from fighting in the front lines.

Making weapons hadn’t been difficult at all, and forging armor was virtually the same as creating dresses, except the materials were a tad more difficult to work with. Overall, working for Civil Protection had netted both myself and Sweetie Belle recognition and fame. But neither of those could change the fact that my weapons had been used to slaughter the innocent while the murderers hid behind my armor. To this day, my reputation still precedes me; a reputation that I am bitterly divided over.

On the one hoof, my name was quite well known in all the upper circles. The rich and influential come to me for protection, and I have delivered every single time.

On the other hoof, my work carries the stigma of the war. I no longer make weapons, but when I did they were greedily sought after; the quality of my “instruments of protection” spoke volumes - more than I could have predicted.

No, I was getting worked up over trivialities. The past is past. I no longer make weapons, and I hoped to never have to touch my gunsmithing tools.

I looked at Bogart's armor and made up my mind. This armor represented my past; cracked, soiled, weak. With my tools and my skill, I would make it whole, clean, and strong.

I picked up my quill and started drafting designs all the while prepping the materials.

The trip took longer than expected; about an hour’s wait for the subway, followed by thirty minutes of travel, and then another thirty of walking.

For the most part, Town Hall looked like one giant library complex, complete with several outlining buildings and a small park, upon which rested a several statues. I recognized several of the monuments as rulers from ages past, there we also several statues dedicated to the founders of Equestria: Commander Hurricane, Chancellor Puddinghead, and Princess Platinum. In the middle of the large park stood one large statue above all others. I immediately recognized her as the first Alicorn to rule the land, Princess Helia, or as the religious nuts at the Church of the dawn call her, Saint Helia. In the same location, a few pegs down, were the statues of Celestia and Luna, both of whom looked up to Saint Helia, as if seeking guidance. Made sense considering Helia had been the pair’s mother.

My gaze left the statues and instead focused on the main doors. I wasn’t sure where the citizen’s records office was located in the Town Hall complex, so my best bet was to ask the receptionist. I took a step forward when I suddenly heard the flapping of wings, followed by rushing wind. Then, I was suddenly struck in the head with something rather heavy.

I let out a groan, closing my eyes and furiously rubbing the spot that had been struck. Within seconds, I clearly heard a soft, almost squeak-like “Oh no!” emanate from somewhere. I looked up at the source of the voice.

Hovering a few feet above me was a gray Pegasus mare. Her mane was a lively blond color; her coat and wings were lightly faded, likely due to a combination of sunlight and exposure. Her eyes were a golden hue, a little lighter than her mane. While she was indeed looking at me, one of her eyes seemed to be wandering about, as if it had a life of its own. I would have loved to say that was her most striking feature, but I would be lying. That honor belonged to her cutie mark; or rather what would have been her cutie mark if there hadn’t been gnarled scar tissue covering most of her flank. I could just barely make out what had once been a trio of bubbles on the very edge of the large patch of scarred skin; my hunch told me that this pegasus had either tried to remove her own cutie mark or somepony else had tried to do it for her. I wasn’t sure which possibility disturbed me the most…

“I’m so sorry mister!” the gray Pegasus said in a soft tone, “I was flying like a bird, about to drop off my delivery when I accidentally dropped it on your head! Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said in a somewhat annoyed tone, rubbing my head right in the spot the package had drooped on. “I’ll live.”

“Oh, that’s swell!” the Pegasus said in a cheery tone. Had she been standing on the ground, she would have likely skipped. She lowered her altitude and landed rather gracefully next to me. I used my magic to pick up her package, which I levitated towards her. She grabbed the box in her hooves and smiled appreciatively. She then reached for her saddlebags – blue bags with the emblem of the local courier company: a winged parcel – and slipped the box in. She then turned to me with a broad smile. “Thank you kindly!” She said as she reached into her right saddlebag and pulled out a rather big muffin. “For you!”

“Thank you…” I said in a somewhat taken back manner. I took the baked good out of politeness and smiled.

I hadn’t noticed it until now, but judging from the sun’s position, it was getting late, and I still hadn’t eaten any breakfast. I was starting to get quite hungry. My stomach suddenly growled, prompting me to start eating the muffin without a second thought.

“You sure are hungry mister! I can’t blame you; muffins are delicious!”

“Yeah, that was a damn good muffin,” I said after taking the last bite. “Where can a colt like me get more?”

“Oh, that’s real easy,” the Pegasus said with a wide smile, “I get all my pastries – especially muffins – from Sugarcube Corner, the best bakery in this or any town!” she pointed westward. “Follow that road, go through the shopping district, and finally make a left. You’ll get to the shop; a building made to look like a gingerbread house. You can’t miss it mister!”

“I see,” I said. I took out my notepad and wrote down the directions. I made a note to double check the directions once I got a hold of a proper map. At the same time, I made a small note to investigate who this Pegasus was, and why her rump was so scarred.

I closed my notepad and turned to face the gray Pegasus. “Thanks for the info. I’ll be sure to drop by for some grub.”

“No problem mister!” the gray Pegasus said with a cheery smile. She then flapped her wings and took to the air. “Now, I need to finish this delivery as fast as lighting! It was nice talking to you mister, and sorry about the package.”

“No harm done.” I said in a surprisingly cheery manner. She then took off to the north, going through some low laying clouds, disappearing from sight.

I looked on for a few more seconds before turning back to face Town Hall’s stairs. I cracked my neck and started walking up towards the large double doors. In my mind, I formulated my goals: find the info I need, get a map, and if possible, get a guide.

Sounds easy enough… so why did I have this feeling in my gut?

Generosity is nothing else than a craze to possess. All which I abandon, all which I give, I enjoy in a higher manner through the fact that I give it away. To give is to enjoy possessively the object which one gives.

-Jean-Paul Sartre

Pony Noir Chapter Three

Author's Notes:

This chapter man. THIS CHAPTER... almost twenty thousand words long, and I spent them not only saying very little, but also stuck in what I could consider limbo. To say the chapter came out as less then expected is an understatement. However, I am proud to say that the length was, at the time, one of the longest things I had written. Naturally, this would be eclipsed by later works, such as the "The Fifth."

As is obvious in this chapter, the formatting is a bit off. I am leaving it untouched to showcase just what poor quality this original piece was at. Once again, this the delivery of the story it its rawest form. It is not out there to impress, but rather, to show a piece of historical fact.

The biggest issue in this chapter is the sudden jump to the past. The flashback had to be delivered in a better fashion, a more natural framing that would not come off as uninspired. On top of that, the lenght is not optimal, as the story does very little to actually move the overall story forward. However, what it does is reveal more of the character's rather grim background. Once again, I could have been much, MUCH better at delivering this. I'll let the rest of the chapter speak for itself.

Happy bashing!

The double doors to Town Hall swung open as I approached them. Weather this was done with magic or technology didn’t matter so long as the doors actually opened.

Past the double doors, I walked down a small hall decorated with various paintings of Ponyville and the surrounding provinces. Many of the portraits showed ponies going about their daily lives. Some of the ponies posed for the camera, others seemed almost desperate to avoid it, but the majority seemed oblivious to the camera. One portrait in particular called my attention. I stopped to look at the image more closely.

The photograph was clearly a good fifteen years old; it showed the princesses and the two royal “daughters.” One was a lavender unicorn with a deep purple mane and tail, both of which had a magenta crest running through them down the middle. She wore a very dark blue cape which was adorned with various constellations, the most prominent of which was Orion, the heavenly hunter. The unicorn was no doubt Twilight Sparkle, Princess Celestia’s protégée.

The other filly was also a unicorn, but was a light azure in shade. She sported finely groomed silvery white mane. She wore a cape similar to the one worn by Twilight, save hers was light blue and studded with small silver stars rather than complex constellation patterns. Floating next to her head was a magician’s hat, which matched the cape in coloring and decoration.

The filly was Trixie Solaris, Princess Luna’s adoptive daughter and soon be head of the mage’s guild.

The fillies and the princesses posed in front of a large tree-like building - or building-like tree, the door of which had a small book drawing upon its purple surface, as well as what looked like a candle underneath that. The royal daughters seemed overjoyed by the prospect of being immortalized in film next to their “mothers”, though out of the two, only Trixie Solaris could lay claim to being an actual “daughter” to royalty, even if it was through adoption.

Aside from the already mentioned fillies and alicorns, there was a third figure in the portrait, one I hadn’t expected to see at all.

Standing in the middle of the princesses and the fillies was a male unicorn almost as big as Celestia, only falling short by a few scant inches. His mane was a vivid snow white, tied up into an intricate ponytail that hung by the left side of his head. His coat was shiny silver, almost chrome, on top of which the unicorn sported a large white vest; very regal in appearance yet distinctively military. The coat was adorned with all sorts of medals, many of which I had never seen outside of a museum or textbook. The stallion’s expression was stern; eyes sharp and at attention; golden irises focused on the camera.

I knew well who the unicorn was; at one point I had fought against his forces, and he was also responsible for who I was today. He had brought some semblance of peace and justice back to Equestria when all seemed lost, and he now led the nation.

He was Fifth, former grand general of Equestria-turned supreme commander. He looked somewhat young in the photo. At the very least, he wasn’t sporting some beard and mustache.

The photograph, though rather simple in nature, started rising questions in me; what was happening in the picture. Why were the princesses taking a photo in front of some dinky old tree house? Why were they in Ponyville in the first place? Where was this library located?

I made a mental note to check into this before turning away from the photo and continuing onwards. My mind was still abuzz with questions, but I knew I had other more pressing matters to attend to first.

I eventually left the hall behind and came to a round room. There was a desk with a receptionist - a blue coated earth pony mare with a pair of thick glasses, a nicely tied up yellow mane, and a suit that wasn’t out of place in an office setting. Behind her were various doors that presumably led to all the municipal offices. Each door was labeled with a number rather than a name, so it was impossible to tell what each one was without asking or having prior knowledge.

I walked up to the receptionist, who was busy typing something on her personal computer with the aid of her Kinetic Manipulators. She seemed quite engrossed, to the point that she came off as oblivious to her surroundings. Part of me wanted to tell her off for it. After all, ignoring one’s surroundings could prove hazardous. Then again, she was nothing more than a secretary; she wasn’t paid to deal with the scum of the street, but to provide assistance to any who asked, and that was the keyword here: ANY WHO ASKED.

I approached her desk and coughed in a soft manner so that it didn’t come off as obvious or forced.

The receptionist typed her last word and looked up at me through her thick eyeglasses. She seemed to study me for a few seconds before lowering her glasses, sighing, and closing her eyes in a “they don’t pay me enough to this” way.

“Welcome to Ponyville’s Town Hall. My name is Cloudpuff; how may I be of assistance?” the mare uttered in a tired and annoyed voice. Judging by her pitch, I dared a guess that she was in her early forties, maybe a little younger. She looked old, but not that old. Her tone was also laced with annoyance, as if the mare was too high and might to be doing her kind of job. I looked her over with the urge to say something about her tone, but decided against it; telling her off was not going to get me anywhere productive, so I forced a smile on my face and answered her question as politely as I could.

“Yes,” I started, “I would like to get some directions.” You sulking bitch. I ended in my thoughts.

The receptionist pushed her glasses up her snout and then brought her hooves together. “What office do you wish to visit?” she asked in a tired and bothered tone, placing especial emphasis on the “you”.

I took a breath of air and continued smiling. “I wish to find the Citizen Records. Would you be so kind as to direct me there?” If it’s not too much of a bother you pampered bitch. I again thought to myself.

“Citizen Records?” The mare asked in a somewhat annoyed tone. I nodded in reply to her question.

She sighed and pointed to her right. “Take the door marked ‘No.3’ and go down the hall. Once you reach a T section, go down the left until you hit another door. Open that and walk down to the patio until you reach the next building. Go inside and take the first door to your right. The office will be labeled, so there is no way someone like you can miss it.” she said before smiling rather bitterly. “Any further questions should be directed to the Equine Resource Department. That’s located behind door No. 8, down the hall to the left, then another left, out the building, past the statue garden, and the first door to the right.”

“Great,” I said in a forced cheery manner, “thank you for the information.” I stopped, suddenly remembering one of the reasons I had gone to Town Hall in the first place. “Before I forget, would you kindly provide me with a map of your lovely town?” I said, putting on my best smile, which, in my opinion made me come off as a shit-eater.

“Map of Ponyville?” The mare asked in a somewhat confused manner, “Well, that’s an unexpected request,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes in the process. “Just what this town needs: another tourist disrupting productivity.” The secretary half scoffed as she said those words.

At that, I felt a surge of anger flare.

Up to that point, I had been at least attempting to maintain my cool, but this mare was deliberately attempting to piss me off. I looked her in the eye, giving her my most stern look possible, all the while thinking, “don’t make me pull rank you stuck-up bitch!” I was just about ready to pull out Negotiator and my badge, and DEMAND this stuck-up secretary give me good service when she started singing a different tune. She must have noticed my sudden change in equanimity, for she relaxed her stance, opened one of her desk’s drawers and pulled out a map, which she placed it in the counter and slid it towards me with a look of contempt.

I feigned a smile of politeness and picked up the map, giving her a slight nod of approval. She softly scoffed and went back to her work, pretending that I wasn’t there.

I walked towards the door she had pointed to, door No. 3. I magicked the handle and carefully opened it. I was greeted by a long hallway and dozens of doors leading left and right. I recalled the receptionist’s instructions; down the hall till you reach a T section. I guess that meant I had to walk down the hall until I ran into the wall, then take the left way. I started walking, taking every sight into consideration. All the doors had numerical labels; a few of them did have a name or some type title in fine letters. Near the end, I spotted two doors that called my attention; Ministry of foreign affairs and Ministry of happiness.

Far as I knew, the Ministry of foreign affairs did just as its name suggested; they watched over all foreign policies, including tourism. They acted much like embassies, though their power was restricted to the town in question. All actual embassies were in Canterlot; I myself had gone through it on first arrival; nice place, though somewhat intimidating, especially for those whose understandings of foreign traditions was limited or downright skewed. Having lived the majority of my life in the Federation, I qualified as the type to see the world rather skewed. My vision of Equestria was very different than it should be; cold, dark, foreboding; everything I had grown up with in the Federation. It took me a few days to adapt to the Equestrian way of life, which was downright alien in my opinion.

I looked on at the door labeled “ministry of Happiness” and felt a violent shiver run up my spine…

The Ministry of Happiness was something out of an Orwellian nightmare; a branch of the government solely dedicated to bring about “happiness”. While the idea sounded innocent in the surface, the “happiness” was achieved through various nasty means including torture and brainwashing. Unhappy ponies would go or, was often the case, be brought in; husk of once sentient ponies would come out.

The last time any of the offices held the power to carry out this type of social pacification was during the reign of the Regime. Once the fascist government was toppled, the offices were decommissioned and its workers jailed or executed.

Every single office I had seen thus far laid empty, vandalized, or torn down; reminders of a dark past that few liked to recall.

This particular office however, looked not only occupied but remodeled and refurbished. Was it possible that the reason this town seemed so happy be this office’s use? I asked myself. Part of me wanted that very idea to be false; the very concept that citizens were being tortured and brainwashed into being content sickened me to the core. I believed in order, but not at the expense of individuality…

The Ministry of Happiness’s doors suddenly flew open, a pony making its way out of a suspiciously bright room. I braced myself for what I was about to see; images of lobotomized and tortured equines filled my morbid imagination. I stood there, taking in the sight before me. What met my gaze was not a husk of former pony however, but something else entirely…

The colt - an earthen pony - stopped in his track, looking at me with some slight confusion. He was blue in color, with hair somewhat silvery. On his rump was what I could swear was a safety pin mark.

I quickly inspected his body for signs of injury, checking his skull for stitch marks and implants, yet, no matter how hard I focused, I couldn’t find a single unnatural mark on his being.

The colt – the first I had seen all day today – carried with him two saddlebags full of party supplies and what looked like letters sealed in pink and red envelopes. He blinked several times before smiling at me with innocence. I myself smiled back, unsure as to how to react.

Suddenly, a filly exited the office; her face decorated by what I could only assume was clown makeup. She prodded the colt, who smiled in the return. The pair waved at me before going down the hallway, merrily hopping along.

I was somewhat stunned at what I had seen; the words, “ministry of happiness” running through my mind once again. Unexpectedly, I found myself laughing; it was a laugh full of bitterness.

I sighed; part of me thanked whatever gods I still had favor with for proving my horrid hunch wrong, yet another part of me felt utterly disturbed by the fact that I had even though up of the horrors in the first place. The more I contemplated it, the more I found myself filled up with a deep unease stemming from the fact that the very idea that something could be pure and genuinely happy seemed impossible to me…

I shook my head; I was nothing more than a jaded fool. I kept on walking, unsure as to how to feel. I instead opted to try and forget the whole thing.

I turned left as I had been told by the under enthusiastic secretary and once again set my mind to the task at hand; finding the citizen’s records office. I walked for two minutes before being greeted by another set of double doors, only these ones were good old fashioned; the kind that needed to be pushed open.

I placed both hooves on the door’s handles and gave a light push. I was rewarded with the door swinging open effortlessly. I took a step forward, and I again found myself bathed in bright sunlight. It blinded me for about two seconds, but my eyes quickly adapted to the now bright atmosphere, allowing me to take in the rather cheery atmosphere before me.

The patio secretary Cludpuff had told me about was filled with dozens of foals playing under the watchful gaze of several guardians. Each little foal, be it a filly or colt, played utterly devoid of worries and cares; purity in its most raw form.

As I watched the young play, I suddenly felt the world change. The sun suddenly darkened and the very soil turned to ash. I blinked one instant facing purity and joy, the next facing devastation and death…

I knew well what was happening. Another vision; another raw memory making its way out of the dark recesses of my mind…

Before me lay a vast field of destruction devoid of life and existence; fresh corpses lined the very ground I thread upon. Looking down at my feet, the bodies became clear. I winced as I realized what the bodies were; foals, children, younglings; youth…

In the distance, I could hear the wails of the lost and damned. The bodies at my feet were little more than charcoal, one touch, and they fell apart, like leaves in autumn, blowing away with the winds…

I trotted past all the death, desperate for some kind of respite. Instead, I found myself facing rows of burnt houses. Among the ruins, I could see more bodies, some cuddled together for protection, others in the fetal position. Mother grasping on to their children; fathers shielding their families; faces forever twisted in agony and sorrow.

I looked away, unable to take the images before me. I started telling myself that it was all a bad vision; a sick figment of my morbid imagination; a fever dream brought on by PTSD; but it did nothing; nothing…

From a burned-out home, a little filly crawled out. Her coat was badly burnt; raw flesh exposed and limbs disintegrated till only the bone could be seen. She spotted me and crawled forward, every drag of her diminutive body left a trail of ash.

I met the filly halfway, fearful that she too would be blown away by the ashen winds. She reached up to me with a bony hoof, one I took up with my own. She managed to smile, though it was hard to tell, considering she no longer had lips. She wheezed in agony as her barely developed body coped with its imminent shutdown. She looked at me and with a voice barely loud enough to be a whisper said to me, “Mama… Mamma… Where is mamma…” she closed her eyes and stopped breathing, her forelimb dropped away from me; a forelimb that would never again feel the warmth of the sun, or the soothing sensation of the wind or the caress of her mother or the reassuring arms of her father. She closed her eyes; eyes that would never again gaze on beautiful rainbows or the enthralling starts above or the green trees swaying in the spring breeze; she closed her eyes, never to open them again.

She then turned to ash before me, disintegrating till there was nothing but burnt bones…

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath of air. When I next opened them, I was back in the patio, now surrounded by the same foals that had been playing. They all looked at me with joy and innocence. One of them walked up to me and with a look of happiness and asked if I wanted to play with them. They said I was welcome, for I was one of them, at which point they pointed to my blank flank.

I looked at the group, smiling with bitterness. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I have some work to do first.”

The foals all smiled, chirping “okay” in unison before returning to playing freely and happily.

I looked on as they played. Then, I turned and headed towards the next building; my destination. Deep down, I felt like taking the foals up on the offer; we are on this world for so small a time; so short a life to spend, enjoy, and savor; why shouldn’t we enjoy it while it last?

“Because” I whispered to myself, “you gave all that up the day you swore to uphold justice.” I smiled bitterly once again. “For peace to exist, sacrifices must be made. I’m just another sacrifice out of countless others…”

With that though it mind, I continued on my way, leaving the foals behind.

I entered the new building and looked to my right. Sure enough, I was met with a door that read “Citizen Records”.

I wasted no time; I magicked the door open and walked inside. Soon as I did, I was struck by just how low-lit the room was, swiftly followed by the sheer size of the office. There was a front desk with a receptionist and computer, but behind that stood a nearly three story tall room filled to brim with dozens of three-story tall shelves, which themselves were filled to the brim with papers, and that was only at the entrance. Looking deeper into the office, I was met with even more shelves, all of which ran till the very end of the room, which itself was almost half a Hoofball field in size. I noticed there we a set of stairs leading down, meaning that there could have been even more floors filled with rows upon rows of documents. Just looking at the dizzying amount of paper was enough to make me feel fatigued.

I turned to the receptionist, a young filly pegasus. She was silver in color with pink hazelnut mane and several red crests. Her eyes were about as green as mine, though they seemed somewhat bigger. Far as mane length went, she had cut it in a somewhat bowl-style, with all sides save the front being the same length.

The receptionist looked up from her computer. Instantly, I noticed she had about three piercings- two on each ear, and one on her nose. She smiled broadly, and quite frankly, with far more hospitality than Cloudpuff had.

“Good morning!” she chimed in a firm tone, “I welcome you to my little slice of heaven; citizen records~!” the pegasus let out a rather squeak-like laugh as she looked me in the eyes. “My name’s Smiles. Why am I called smiles? Because I really like to smile!” she laughed at her own statement; I simply kept a straight face. I guess she must have noticed I wasn’t laughing, for she clicked her tongue in a scolding way. “I see you’re a bit of a hard case; that usually gets the others.”

“Well,” I started, “you’ll have to forgive; I’m used to a whole different breed of humor.”

“Ah, I see,” the pegasus said in a teasing manner, “you’re one of them jaded fellows that digs black humor.” she smiled, true to her name. “If that’s the case, then try this one on for size!” she looked around before turning to me. “They also call me Smiles after my father, who according to word, died with a big ol’ grin on his face, and he got shot over twenty times!” she sighed. “Oh, never really got to know my old stallion so much. Heard he was a good pony; really liked to liven things up.”

“That’s nice, but why exactly are you telling me this?” I asked, quite surprised at how readily this filly was willing to talk about matters that should be private.

“Oh, well…” she – surprise, surprise – smiled at me. She sat down, clearly affected by my statement. “Well, I don’t get that many visitors; most requests come in from other offices.” she looked me in the eye. “I often try to start up a conversation whenever possible. You know, to pass the time more readily.”

“That’s barely a reason.” I replied, somewhat angered at the filly’s train of thought. “There are so many other things to say to strike up a conversation, like the weather, or some type of town news.”

“True, but be honest mister; would you even be talking to me had I not said that?”

“Well,” I thought about it, and realized the filly was right. Had she started the conversation with some other topic, I wouldn’t be talking this much. I looked at her and myself, shaking my slowly. “Well played.”

“Yup; that’s the idea.” Smiles said with a wide toothy grin. She again sat properly on her chair, clearing her voice. “Now that my introduction’s out of the way, how may I be of assistance mister?”

“Yes,” I started, “well, I not entirely sure how things work around here, but I need to check a certain address and name; verify that this person’s still living there. I also need actual directions.”

“Ah, you need someone located.” Smiles grinned once again. “Well, you came to the right pony. I’m what you would call, a master at finding information. See these shelves?” Smiles motioned with her head at the three story-tall shelves behind her. “A normal pony would take days, maybe even weeks searching through them. Me, I can do it in a day, maybe less.” she flew up in the air again, this time stretching and showing off her aerial nimbleness. At this, I managed to catch sight of her cutie mark; it was appeared to be a trio of thunderbolts made out of paper. “Give me a name and I’ll work my magic.”

“Okay then Miss Smiles,” I said in a passively annoyed matter; the filly was getting on my nerves with her showing off. “Here is the information: the pony I’m looking for is named Raize and his ‘supposed’ residence is in 96 Moonbeam Street.” I took one of the blank papers lying in Smile’s desk and wrote the information down. “As for a timeframe, I’ll leave that to you.”

“No problem mister!” Smiles said as she scooped down to her seat and typed the information into her computer. “Give me a five minutes to cross reference the name and address with others in the database, and I’ll be able to give you all the info you need. I won’t even have to look into the physical files. A shame, because that’s the fun part of the job!” the filly said as she started typing on her computer at a peace that was fast – too fast if anyone asked me.

True to her words, on the five minute mark, Smiles looked up from her computer, but instead of optimism, she looked somewhat distraught. Part of me concluded that perhaps she found something she wasn’t meant to, or maybe something rather disturbing. Either way, I did not like the face one bit.

Smiles gave me a small giggle before speaking in a manner that fitted her new expression. “Well,” she started, “I found the information, but you aren’t going to like it Mister.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I replied, “I need that info.”

“Well…” Smiles took a breath through clenched teeth, bracing for whatever response I would give her. “That address… It doesn’t exist, at least not anymore...”

“Say what?” I swiftly replied, somewhat taken back by the filly’s sudden words. “What do you mean, ‘It doesn’t exist’?”

“Says here that the entire section of town was cordoned off after parasprites were found; not just any type of parasprite either, but the nasty ones that eat everything! Records state that most of the residents were relocated to new locations within the town. This Raize character however, he simply vanished from the records. No trace of his whereabouts after the cordoning…”

“When did this happen?”

“It says here ‘five months ago’.”

“Is there anything else?” I asked. Smiles nodded and started typing again, this time in a more desperate way. Eventually, she stopped, sighing in defeat. She looked at me and smiled with apparent determination. “Computer’s busted mister; I KNOW we have the records in here somewhere; maybe it just hasn’t, you know, been entered into the system.” she cleared her throat and took flight. “I’ve yet to fail at finding anyone in town; and I’m not about to start now!” she flew towards the nearest shelf and started going through papers with speeds that shocked me. “Listen Mister,” she suddenly started, “this little operation might take a while; you lucky this office employs me, otherwise it might take weeks to find the proper info.”

“Wait a second,” I suddenly said, “are you telling me you are going to go through all of these records?”

“Not all of them, just the ones going back two years; I’ll also cross reference all ‘Raizes’ still living in town just to be safe.”

“But you said the cordoning was only five months ago.” I scowled, “and do you have to cross reference all the citizens named ‘Raize’? Can’t you narrow it down a bit more?”

“No,” Smiles replied, “as to why two years? These kinds of things often have plans drawn up years beforehoof.”

“Makes sense, though it still sounds a little too excessive.” I said with a nod of my head. “So, I’m guessing I’ll have to wait a while huh? I’ll just,” I motioned with my hoof towards the door, “wait outside.”

“I don’t recommend it Mister,” the filly pegasus said as she diverted her attention away from the shelves and to me. “I’ll have to go through several thousand files, reading every single one with great care. Again, you lucky you have me here, or weeks might pass before you hear anything.” she smiled, and then suddenly looked a bit worried. “As for the how long this particular search might take… well… I strongly suggest you come back tomorrow morning. Go home, eat something, have some fun and leave the work to the expert.”

“Come back tomorrow?” I asked in surprise, “That’s a bit… excessive, don’t you think?”

“Good work’s often excessive Mister.” Smiles Replied with a smile, “I need my five hours of sleep too you know.”

“Uh…” I started, but suddenly found myself lost for words. I looked up at the three story tall shelves of magically held files and records, and suddenly found myself realizing that with so much paperwork to go over, having it done overnight compared to waiting weeks suddenly didn’t sound so bad.

I gave Smiles and a nod, “You’re right. You are the expert here.” I smiled. “Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“I promise I’ll have the information you need by then!” Smiles said with a vigorously cheery and determined voice. I gave her another nod in reply.

I picked up my bags and made my way out of the office. As I did, I was suddenly reminded of just how hungry I was. I remembered the muffin given to me by the gray pegasus currier, and recalled her instructions on how to reach a bistro by the name of Sugarcube Corner.

I took out the map given to me by Cloudpuff and looked it over. As I did, I was suddenly struck by the size of Ponyville.

All the maps I had ever read referred to Ponyville as a “town”, yet it had its own farms, its own factories, and was a hub of train transportation, likely the only place in all of Equestria connected to every single mayor location. Ponyville was big enough to be a city, hell; it was almost as big as Manehattan or New yolk, two of the biggest cities in the country.

I ran my hoof over the map and found the location I sought; Sugarcube. If I calculated the distance right, it would take me about one hour by hoof. Luckily, I had an entire day; plenty of time. Besides, I needed the exercise.

I folded up the map and made my way out of the Town Hall complex, cutting through the patio leading to the main building; I wasn’t in too good a mod to get gawked at by some bitchy secretary.

One hour’s walking sure left my hooves feeling worn out. I blamed the fact that aside from a rather cramped subway ride, I had been walking back and forth all day long. Usually, when I opted to walk, I had my armor’s kinetic manipulators to take the brunt of my hooffalls. Since I was practically naked save for a simple dress shirt and tie, there was nothing stopping my hooves from taking the full brunt of my walking. I sighed; so used was I to walking while wearing something that a few hours of barehoof travel had left me more worn than I liked. Thinking about it made me feel embarrassed; I was a damn pony, my limbs were meant for walking and trotting and sprinting. Some equine I was…

Suddenly, my nose caught the whiff of some sweet aroma: the smell of baked goods. A smile spread across my lips as I found myself trotting all of a sudden, hoof discomfort be dammed.

I turned one last corner, and at last, my eyes met the bakery known as Sugarcube Corner. I eased my speed, calmly walking towards the bakery. Suddenly, I had the feeling of being watched... I stopped in my tracks and looked around carefully. I couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, but still had the feeling of eyes bearing down my neck. I put the sensation out of my mind and continued on my way.

The bakery was charming, made to look like something out of the old human fable “Hansel and Gretel”. Its cookie–like walls rose from the ground for three towering stories before they came together to form a roof that seemed far too realistic to be brick-and-mortar. What looked like caulking had been spread out over the edges to resemble decorative frosting and there were also various bits of plastic candy here and there, all of it adding to the overall feeling of a gingerbread house. I didn’t exactly know why, but almost instantly, hated the building’s aesthetics.

I walked up to the door and lightly pushed on it. The door swung open without a sound. It was dark inside, without a soul in sight. The darkness was a little unsettling, but not yet threatening. I decided to head inside with care. The first thing I did was to try and familiarize myself with the new setting, the second thing I did was take stock of every item in the shop; that’s when I noticed that many of the bakery’s tables were bare save for red checkered tablecloths.

I took a look at the walls, which had several banners nailed to them. They all read, “Welcome to Ponyville!” and “Hope you like your stay!” in bold, decorative calligraphy. Looks like someone important came to town; probably some government type or pop star; wouldn’t be too surprised if it was Sapphire Shores. I thought to myself, recalling that Sapphire Shores used to live in Ponyville before moving to Canterlot and making it big as a pop star.

Pretty little filly; made it big without a Cutie Mark too. I thought with a half smile. Who needs some Cutie Mark anyway? I chuckled with strange bitterness at that thought; I couldn’t help but look back at my own bare flank and frown.

I set the thought out of my mind and looked around some more, eyes wandering about the shop. Suddenly, I spotted something new among the old banners; it was a worn out emblem, nailed to shop’s back wall, dusty and seemingly forgotten; it read: “Welcome Princess Celest”.

“Princess Celest?” I whispered. “That isn’t right...”

There was something next to the banner - a small, barely visible note. It read: “Wrong spelling of the Princess’ name. Change ASAP.”

Judging by the weathered looks of the cloth and the fact that the banner was undoubtedly welcoming Celestia - albeit with her name misspelled - it must have been a good decade old, maybe even older. Whoever had made the banner either hadn’t cared to check his or her spelling or had been in a too much of a rush to care. I found myself wondering what might have happened to whoever was responsible for the sign. Part of me pictured a hapless pony standing before the Princesses, being judged for their bad spelling, followed by a swift banishment to some celestial body like Mars or Jupiter. The other part laughed at the notion, first because banishment was far too serious a punishment for something as trivial as a misspelling; second because even if said pony was banished, the federation’s space program - which had existed for hundreds of years but had never bothered to travel farther than the moon – had finally up the initiative to travel to some other world besides the moon or the planet’s orbit. Said banished pony could be brought back to the planet quite easily, nullifying the punishment’s severity. I also had to wonder how a pony vanished off world could survive in hostile environments, but I figured that was taken cared of with magic. Funny, the whole of ponykind has had the capability to travel off world for millennia, yet has never bothered to do so.

I recalled reading a novel in my youth, the name of which currently eludes me. In the story, two rival nations were locked in a perpetual arms race. Eventually, both nations developed space travel as a way to show off technological prowess. The story ended with both nations racing madly towards the fictitious Alpha Century System, but needless to say, it didn’t end well; both nations ended up waging war along the way; no one arrived to Alpha Century. In contrast, the people left behind due to being deemed “inferior” went on to develop their own peaceful civilization under the banner of unity, fearful that those who had deemed them “inferior” would one day return to wipe them out. Good novel; good message.

I tore my gaze away from the banner and walked up to the shop’s counter; I was immediately enthralled by all the different but delicious looking cakes and pastries sitting behind the glass display. Realizing I wouldn’t draw attention by just gawking at the food, I rang the small bell that was sitting on the counter.

Almost instantly, I heard a crash from the kitchen, followed by giggling. “One second!” called somepony. It was a young and seemingly carefree equine based on the sing-song way they said it.

I took a step back, looking at the kitchen door. A pink earth pony suddenly appeared, carrying what looked like several large boxes of flour. I couldn’t see the pony’s face, but what I could see of her frame told me she was female. Her coat was pink, and she sported her magenta tail in a puffed-up fashion, bearing the same consistency as cotton candy. The first thing that struck me about her was how she was balancing the boxes on her forehooves, walking upright in a manner reminiscent to a human - a very difficult feat for ordinary ponies to master.

She turned around so her back was now facing me, and I caught a glimpse of her Cutie Mark: three party balloons, two blue and one yellow.

My thoughts jumped back to earlier in the day and the first pony I had bumped into. She had the same marks.

“Welcome to Sugarcube Corner~!” the filly sang cheerfully. “How can I help you today?” she asked, setting the boxes on the ground and looking me straight in the eyes.

Neither one of us said anything at first; the filly seemed a little shocked I was there. I simply waited for her reaction. She gasped in shock for several seconds before pointing at me.

“You!” she said, “You’re that new stallion in town!”

“And you; you’re that filly who knocked me on the ground earlier today, aren’t you?” I crossed my forelegs while giving her a stern look. “You didn’t even bother with an apology. You just gasped and ran off faster than a Rainbolt.”

“Right…” the pink filly said, rubbing the back of her head with a sheepish smile on her face next to her blushing red cheeks. “I’m really, really sorry about that. It’s just that, I get so excited when a new face shows up in town!”

“Well, just try to watch where you’re going next time, okay? If this was Manehattan, you'd be--” I hesitated; she didn’t need to know about the kinds of things they’d do a filly like her in Manehattan. “Well…”

“What would I be?” she asked expectantly.

My expression soured a bit. “Nothing; nothing at all,” I said rather harshly. She suddenly looked saddened. I raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t about to cry, are you?” I asked with some sarcasm.

“No,” the pink pony said bashfully, “It’s just that...you, well...” she sighed, “You aren’t supposed to be here at all…” she looked at all the banners; banners I quickly realized she had set up. “Your surprise party is ruined…”

“Surprise party?” I asked in shock. Well, that explains why tables are set up that way and why it’s so dark in here. Must have walked in earlier than I should have… “Why...why would you throw me a surprise party?” I asked with a great deal of surprise. The idea that someone would toss me - a total stranger - a surprise party simply eluded me.

“It’s customary,” the filly said with a growing smile. “Well, customary for me!” she suddenly giggled as she leaned over the counter. “Don’t they throw parties where you come from?”

“Not these kinds of parties.” I told her rather dryly.

For me, parties had always been boring. I don’t drink; no point since alcohol has little effect on me. Besides, drinking’s nothing more than comfort for the weak and degenerate. I didn’t like to get acquainted with hookers and whores either. Not that I hate them, I just don’t approve of their lifestyle, and I also wasn’t the type to dance; four left limbs and no rhythm.

Looking back, the only parties I ever recall being invited to were a single birthday, a New Year’s, and two mandatory Grand Galloping Galas. The first had been benign and for my partner. The second involved drinks and nice looking broads, neither of which I had any interest in. The third I had no say on; Gala attendance was mandatory for most Regulators. Thank the stars I don’t fall in that category anymore.

I smiled at the filly. No need for her to know about amoral parties. “Never really been to any kind of party other than a birthday,” I quickly lied.

“Is that so?” she asked. The look on her face told me she was greatly surprised by my response. “You’ve never attended a party other than birthdays?”

“A birthday,” I quickly corrected her. “It was a one-time deal for my old partner. I’m not one to socialize much. I prefer things quiet and tranquil.”

“Oh. That’s too bad mister,” the filly said with disappointment, “to think you’ve never experienced the wonderful sensation that is a true party!”

“Well, I’ve attended a real party before, but only because I was forced to be in attendance. So it doesn’t count.”

“Forced?” she suddenly asked, “what kind of party would you be forced to attend?”

“The Grand Galloping Gala,” I answered completely deadpan.

“THE GRAND GALLOPING GALA!?” the pink pony suddenly shouted in what I could only describe as near ecstasy. “You’ve been to the Grand Galloping Gala!?”

“Yeah,” I said, recoiling from her sudden outburst, “twice.”

“OH MY GOD!!” She squealed in excitement. I noted the filly’s use of the term God, which was odd, as most Equestrian citizens still looked up to Celestia as their personal deity. It wasn’t accurate, but old beliefs die hard.

The pink filly leaned in close to my face, close enough that I could smell her breath... It smelled like peppermint.

“WHAT’S THE GALA LIKE!?” she began shouting, “WERE THERE LOTS OF PONIES!? WAS THERE LOTS OF FOOD AND GAMES!? WHAT ABOUT SARSAPARILLA! I LOVE SARSAPARILLA!”

“There were lots of ponies alright,” pampered, rich bastard ponies, “but no so-called ‘games’.” Excluding such classics as ‘who can talk the longest without falling sleep’. “As far as food went, well, I only ate the ‘imported’ food.” And by imported, I mean Pony Joe’s famous donuts and hot coffee. “All in all, the Gala is pointless and needlessly fancy. What else can I say? It's a party held for rich bastards by rich bastards.”

The pink pony suddenly slammed her left hoof down on the counter. “YOU LIE!” she shouted at me in an incriminating fashion, pointing her right hoof at me, her face twisted in a scowl. “The Gala is the greatest party of the year! It represents the very founding of this country!”

“You may be correct,” I said, pointing at the window with my right hoof, “but nowadays, The Gala’s little more than a fundraiser for the rich and amoral.” I tapped my left hoof against my head. “They make you believe the Gala is still about celebrating unity and prosperity, but that ship sailed a long time ago.” I sighed, “And you are right,” I said in a serious tone, “the Gala wasn’t always some rich pony’s orgy of money and fame. No, it used to mean something.” I paused, then started laughing, prompting the young filly to look at me with confusion.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s just that, I’m repeating the same words my superior officer told me the first time I was in attendance at the Gala. He really hates the Gala, even more than I do. Can’t blame him really; he’s seen it change over the years from an actual celebration to a mere gathering of scrooges and corrupt politicians.”

“Superior officer?” she asked all of a sudden with a broadening smile. “Are you a soldier!?” Her eyes narrowed, but her smile didn’t change at all.

“No. I’m, um...” I paused, realizing I didn't even know this filly's name. “What's your name anyway kid?” I asked, “The least a filly can do before swarming me with Twenty Questions is introduce herself.”

“Oh, okay!” the pink filly said with enthusiasm. She took a deep breath, looking like she was getting ready to dive underwater and started: “My name is Pinkamena Diane Pie. Don’t know why mother picked such a long name, so I call myself Pinkie Pie! Thinking back on my name though, it might have to do with the fact that I’m pink, but I’ve never actually confirmed that with mother. Then again, my mane is magenta and my eyes are light blue, so who knows? My mom calls the eyes 'cyan,' but I think they're light blue!” she exhaled as though she’d come back up for air and looked at me with the same broad smile. She motioned with her head in an expectant manner. “I’m about 17 years old; I love to bake; throw parties; attend parties and various other things. The list goes on really.”

“Ah, that clears up a lot.” I said rather sarcastically. “So, your name is Pinkamena.”

“Pinkie,” she said in a slightly flustered way. “That other name… I don’t like it much.”

“Why?” I asked, giving Pinkie an inquisitive look.

“I just don’t like it...” she said without giving me as much as a glance. She seemed to brood for a bit, and for a second, I could swear her hair turned a few shades darker. Then, just as suddenly, Pinkie looked back up at me with a broad smile. “Now it’s your turn~!” she said in the same sing-song manner as earlier.

I said nothing at first, studying the filly with a diligent gaze. Can I trust her with my name? She strikes me as odd, but not much of a threat.

“Okay,” I said, “name’s Bogart Maltese and I’m what you might call a detective.”

“Detective Bogart Maltese is it?” Pinkie said with a giggle, “Bogart Maltese’s human name...”

“Yes, it is,” I said, “that’s because I was born in the Federation.”

Pinkie’s face suddenly lit up with excitement at the news. “Oh wow!” she shouted, “You’re from the Federation! What was it like growing up among humans!? What were your parents like?!”

“Well,” I started, “humans aren’t that different from us equines on a social level. They may be more advanced technologically, but that doesn’t make them smarter.” I smiled. “You’d be surprised at how stupid some humans can be.”

“How did your parents meet?” Pinkie asked.

“Never knew who my parents were.” I said without much hesitation. “Whoever they were, they left me in some gutter.”

“You’re an orphan!” Pinkie said with sudden horror.

I nodded. “Not that it matters much. I turned out okay,” I said with a sad smile. “When I turned seventeen, I moved to Equestria.”

“Why did you move?” Pinkie asked, “Didn’t you have friends to take you in?”

“Well,” I started, “not really. I had a few friends, but most ended up dead or in jail. There was this one pretty hippogriff, but she and I, we came from different worlds.”

“That’s so sad!” Pinkie said. “Who was this hippogriff friend of yours?”

“She’s no one,” I said rather harshly. I looked at Pinkie sternly. She smiled, apparently taking the hint. “As far as reasons go, I moved here to find my roots and a better life. Neither of those things happened.” I chuckled bitterly. As I said those words, memories of my once good friend stirred in the black abyss I called my mind. Her voice, so soothing; her gaze, so understanding... I missed her, more than I let on. Part of me wanted to say her name, but I knew damn well that it’d be a risk to do so.

Sorry, but I can’t let anyone find out about you. If something were to happen... I looked down at Negotiator and grinned bitterly. If something did happen, I might even put this whole Crux Nado business on hold...

Pinkie, though slightly stunned at first, quickly regained her composure. I merely shook my head. “Getting back to the story,” I started, “I hadn’t lived a year in Equestria before war broke out.” I grimaced. “I was forced to join Civil Protection in order to avoid being deported back to the Federation. Looking back, that would have been a blessing.”

“So, you were a Regime solider?” Pinkie asked in shock.

“Yes.” I hissed with some annoyance, “It’s something I look back on with mixed feelings. I did some nasty things under the Regime’s banner, but I also became what I am today.”

“From what I’ve read in class, a lot of ponies did bad things.” Pinkie suddenly said. She sighed, looking at me with sadness in her eyes. “Soldiers always seem to get the bad cupcakes in life.”

“You can say that again kid.”

“Soldiers always seem to get the bad cupcakes in life,” Pinkie repeated. I hadn’t expected that, and despite my jadedness, even I had to admit that was cute.

“Speaking of which…” Pinkie suddenly said, dashing into her kitchen with the speed the famous Rainbow “Lionhert” Dash. She came out a minute later holding a tray of every single pastry I could imagine, and even a few I had never seen before. My mouth watered again. Just the thought of eating was enough to make me smile.

I reached for my saddlebag and pulled out my credstick. “How much for a few cupcakes?” I asked, placing the plastic card on the counter.

“Nothing~!” Pinkie sang with a small hop. “You’re new in town, so you get the guest treatment! Besides, your surprise party is spoiled, so you might as well just enjoy the delicious snacks I baked for the occasion!” she hopped up and down, smiling with glee.

“Fine by me” I said, pocketing my credstick. As I did, I felt the left-side of my mouth curl upwards. This pink pony didn't know it, but that was as close as I ever got to grinning around strangers. I took a small cupcake, peeled the paper cup away and took a bite out of it. Damn... this isn’t half bad.

“So,” Pinkie suddenly said, head resting on both of her hooves, “what happened after you became a Regime trooper?”

“Well,” I said, putting the half eaten cupcake down, “the usual for poor suckers forced to kill for a damn banner; pain, suffering, life at its lowest.” I chuckled bitterly. “Ironic how following an order everybody thought was wrong turned out to be the best damn thing to happen to me.”

“What do you mean?” Pinkie asked, leaning over the counter in anticipation.

“That order...” I said before shaking my head. “Nah kid; it is worth more to me than a plate of cupcakes to relive that hell.”

“Okay!” Pinkie said with a hop and a smile. She grabbed the now empty plate of cupcakes and walked back into the kitchen. Seconds later, she came out not only holding two platters of freshly baked cupcakes, but a bowl of purple colored punch balanced masterfully on her head. She walked past the counter, out towards the front of the shop, and set everything down on the table nearest the rightmost window.

“Well,” she called out, “are you going to stand there all day or are you going to come here and finish your story?”

I groaned softly, shaking my head in defeat. I walked over to the table, already formulating some excuse to leave. By the time I arrived, Pinkie had already set up two chairs, both facing each other. I took the one nearest the window. She looked at me expectantly, forehooves placed together.

“So, I’m guessing you want me to tell you about my military past, right?” I asked, taking a cupcake and biting the top right off.

“Yes please!” Pinkie said with a smile. She grabbed a cupcake and flung it in the air. She opened her mouth and caught it, eating it in a single bite.

“Listen, kid, you’re nice and all, but...” I sighed, feeling pretty bad about the whole situation. “A stallion’s past is his own. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, he won’t.”

“Please!” Pinkie said, placing her hooves together with another pleading look.

I looked away. Dammit, she’s not going to let up, is she? Looking back, I was met with her quickly blinking puppy-dog eyes. I sighed. You’re going soft Bogart. You’re going soft...

“Tell you what kid; you tell me about this town and its citizens, and I’ll go ahead and tell you about that order.”

“Promise!?” Pinkie asked, shooting forward rather quickly. She was once again mere inches from my nose.

“Yes, I promise.” I told her in a passive tone, pushing her back gently.

“Yes!” Pinkie said in an enthusiastic manner, closing her eyes and smiling wide. “Okay! Here we go!” she said, “Ponyville’s a...” Pinkie began talking before I had a chance to react. I quickly opened my bag, levitated out my notepad and pen and began scribbling down everything that came out of her mouth.

It took half an hour, but Pinkie finally finished telling me all about her life, the town as a whole, and various useful tidbits of info, including the parasprite infestation that took the town by surprise about five months ago. She finished with a big toothy grin, looking at me with expectancy.

I closed my notepad and gulped the last of my punch before looking Pinkie in the eye. “Alright kid, a deal’s a deal.” I said, “It was the now infamous siege of Canterlot,” I started, motioning with my hooves, “things seemed pretty hopeless for the Regime, but there were those that still felt a victory could be pulled off if the Guards and Rebels could be held off long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Unfortunately, those reinforcements were held off by a brilliant tactical move on the part of Haggar Finn; he ambushed the travelling forces, catching them off guard. In a matter of a day, he had routed them entirely, extinguishing all hopes the Regime had of a victory. Once news reached us, the order went out; buckle down and endure the inevitable assault.” I refilled my cup with punch and continued.

“It was during the preparations that I was given my last promotion to squad commander. I was placed in charge of over five hundred other ponies; ponies I believed had had little will left to fight and die in a hopeless battle. My general felt the same way I did, but he and I, we were both bound by the orders of a higher power: that of the Regime heads.” I again motioned with my hoof, drawing imaginary lines in the table to show troop movements. “The battle started out well for us; we held off for the first two weeks with minimal casualties on both sides. At the time, we believed the Guards had opted to starve the city out; pay the Regime back for shutting down the cloud factories when we took over Cloudsdale.”

“During the Battle of Cloudsdale, right?” Pinkie asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “Honestly, that move was the stupidest one ever made; it--”

“Forced the Guards to enter the conflict,” Pinkie said, finishing my sentence.

I nodded in reply, this time waiting a few seconds before continuing. “Yes. Anyway…” I continued, still wary of Pinkie’s sudden interruptions. “That’s what HQ told us at first, and they couldn’t have been more wrong. On the dawn of the third week, we got word that a small squad of enemy troopers led by none other than Rainbow “Lionhert” Dash had infiltrated the palace and killed the Regime’s main heads.” I chuckled at my words. “You should have seen the panic and chaos that erupted soon as those news spread. Entire squadrons up and surrendered on the spot. I mean, why fight? The old stallions playing at ruling the world were dead. Unfortunately, many of the officers still alive didn’t see the writing in the wall; they still ordered us to fight till death. That’s when it happened…”

“What?” Pinkie asked.

“The order came from my General. He said that there was no point to die for a war that was for all intends, lost; he wanted to admit defeat honorably. Being squad commander, I was bound to follow whatever orders he gave, and those orders were to surrender. To my surprise and horror, the order was met with hostility by the troops. They argued that they had come too far to simply surrender. I tried my best to keep order, but that’s when my own troops turned on me and the general.” I sighed, “They shot him in the head and tossed me in some cell, all the while calling me a traitor. It would be another five days before their leader, my former lieutenant, realized all WAS truly lost. That’s when I got out and tried to pay her back for what she did.” I groaned in annoyance. “I underestimated her and nearly got myself killed. Thankfully, I was saved, but by the most unlikely individual, one I had deemed an enemy for so long a time...”

“Who saved you?” Pinkie asked, rising from her side of the table, face filled with excitement and expectation.

“Ah, now that’s something very private kid.” I said with a smile. “I don’t think I trust you enough just yet. Hell, I’ve already said more than I should have.”

“Why?” the pink pony asked, looking around with sudden shiftiness, “are you like, a runaway war criminal?”

“A war criminal? No,” I said with a hint of annoyance. “I faced court like every other officer and was found innocent. Now, I’m the one who brings criminal scum to justice.”

“I didn’t mean to insult, it’s just that, from what I was taught in class, all officers were found guilty of crimes. They were then either--”

“Imprisoned or executed,” I said, cutting Pinkie off just like she had cut me off. “You’re right about that, but I was apparently a special case.” I stood up and looked out the window. “I guess I owe the general for that. He was a good stallion; didn’t deserve to die how he did.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Pinkie said with great sincerity in both her eyes and tone. I gave her a warm look, managing a slight smile in the process.

“Well,” I started, “that’s war for you.” I gave bitter chuckle as took my seat. “Like the old saying goes, ‘War doesn’t determine who is right; war determines only who is left.” At those words, I was reminded of that burnt little filly.

I sighed in a somewhat depressed way. “Yes,” I whispered in an almost distant way, “only who is left…”

I closed my eyes for a second, picturing the slaughter that was the battle of Fillydelphia; the first mayor conflict of the Civil War. I was but a mere Peacekeeper then, the equivalent of a private. I was given a rifle, light infantry armor, and a satchel of bullets, and then told to kill all Rebels on sight.

Within two hours, the battle devolved into a bloodbath. So many civilians killed for no reason. The houses on fire, the smell of burnt flesh; all forever implanted into my mind. I looked at Pinkie, and then recalled something else; something I had thought buried…

Two fillies, scared yet determined to live, running through the ruins. Their home was wrecked and their lives in grave peril. I recalled their colors: light beige and mint green. They ran, past the all the death and ruin before them. Then, they ran into me.

I had orders to shoot on sight; it was an unavoidable order. Disobedience was treason, and treason meant a court marshal and execution.

I raised my rifle and took aim, loading the bullet into the barrel. The pair embraced, weeping with the full realization of things to come. I took a slow breath of air and magicked my trigger; the bang greatly startled me, the kick nearly knocked me off my stance; I was young then, so young…

The bullet made impact, but it did not strike flesh, but stone. I fired again, hitting noting this time. I lowered my rifle, setting the safety on. I looked at the two fillies, looking at them with a deep longing to be them.

The mint green one saw my reaction, and suddenly understood what I had done. She grabbed her friend, and the pair ran past me. As they did, they both gave me a grateful look.

I merely nodded in reply.

I waited till the pair was out of sight before taking a step forward. Then, I heard a loud click. I looked up a saw a Rebel pegasus taking aim at me head, eyes filled with hate. He glared at me for what seemed like hours, fires raging behind us like the pits of hell itself. He tightly grasped his rifle’s grip, hoof on the trigger. He let out one final breath and fired.

I hit the ground, bullet grazing the top of my skull. I magicked the selector on my rifle and took aim myself. Seconds later, I let loose a single bullet at the Rebel’s head. He saw it coming; he could have moved aside, ducked and fire back; but he didn’t…

There was a sickening crack as the bullet blew an inch-wide hole in the Rebel’s head. He let out one final breath, and slumped backwards. He hit the ground dead; eyes white, mouth agape.

I stood up, no longer a colt, but not yet a stallion. I looked at the fires around me, then at the corpse now lying at my hooves.

At first, I asked “why?” but that question suddenly changed to “how?”; “how had things come to this?” I looked at the flames once again, and saw a filly no older than ten crawling out of the blaze, alive but damned to perish. I lifted her in my hooves. I was a mix of sorrowful feelings and sheer understanding so blunt it left no room for madness. The filly coughed, and then, she whispered to me those fateful words; the last call to her long dead mother…

I opened my eyes to face Pinkie, who was now picking up the empty platters and bowls of punch. I looked at her being, feeling her vibe; it was different than the rest; untouched by depravity and hopelessness. A part of me, likely my jaded and cynical side, hated the filly for it, but another side of me; my rational and collected half knew well the feeling stemmed from jealousy. In all truth and fairness, Pinkie was fortunate; she was young and happy, two things I was deprived of at an early age. Jealously however, would not bring back my lost innocence; nothing would. The best I could do was to make sure no one else lost its innocence like I had.

Pinkie and I talked a bit more after that, but other than a few general questions about my job, we discussed nothing of real importance. I purchased a dozen or so cupcakes from Pinkie and bid her farewell.

I looked at my watch; it was now nearly one in the afternoon. Though I was somewhat shocked at the time, I reminded myself that I had to wait till the next morning to check on Smiles. I recalled the map I had been given by Cloudpuff and decided to do some “recon” around town, the idea being that the best I knew the town, the quicker I could move around it. For now however, I was feeling a bit lazy, likely due to all the pastries I had eaten. I looked around and spotted Ponyville’s equivalent of a taxi; magic chariot-like vehicles. I walked up to it and asked the driver – the second colt I had seen all day – about fares. He asked where I was going. The question caught me somewhat off guard. I thought about it for a moment, and finally settled on Rarity’s boutique. I wasn’t sure of the exact name, but I knew where it was located. I pulled out the map and pointed the location. He smiled, telling me the trip would run twenty bits. I pulled out my credstick, which he swiped through his charging machine. Two seconds later, there was a beep and green light. He nodded and told me to get in. I did, making sure I left nothing behind. He then drove forward with surprising speed.

The cab driver spoke to me during the trip; I found his accent – a thick New Yolk accent – somewhat unnerving, as it reminded me too much of home. Regardless, I spoke to him. We didn’t really have much to talk about, but the chatter at least made the trip pass by quickly.

Finally, the cab arrived at the destination I had pointed out. I thanked the driver, who then drove off rather quickly. I looked down at the plaza before me and started walking. It would likely be another half an hour before I reached Rarity’s Shop.

I lifted my welder’s mask up and wiped my brow. All this sweat was making my skin feel itchy and sticky, but I was so close to getting started on the real meat of this project. I’ve already worked the Kevlar weaves underneath the framework of the new suit, replacing the old mesh - which hadn’t even been bulletproof – with something more adequate. How on Equestria had Bogart gotten slapped with such a weak suit of armor in the first place? Its design was downright amateurish. It felt rushed and sloppy, the armor plates being so thin they might as well have been made of cardboard.

I shook my head; allowing Bogart to go about his line of work wearing such a travesty of self-defense was downright criminal! Why, I couldn’t call myself a fashionista had I allowed such travesty to exist on my watch.

I took a deep breath. Calm down Rarity, You’ve already corrected two of the three major flaws. You replaced the old weave and reinforced the frame. Now, you just need to add the armor plates; soon as the mithril’s ready that is.

I walked towards the furnace, checking to see how the smelting process was going. The mithril in the flames was almost melted. Thirty more minutes, and I could star forging the plates.

I looked around my “secret” shop, taking in the sights of forges, anvils, and smiting tools. When I first constructed the Carousel Boutique, I made sure to add this extra level to accommodate for all heavy projects. I made sure there was ample room for my various tools as well as a small tunnel that connected back to the carousel’s chimney, which would allow the extra warmth to leave the furnace area while still keeping the temperature consistent. Really, I was surprised at how easy it had all been; then again, there really wasn’t anything I couldn’t do once I set my mind to it. Still, while the shop was ample enough for whatever tasks I set myself to, it was nowhere near as large as my the expansive forges I had once called my own. But that was another life…

“Rarity!” I suddenly heard a voice echo from the shop’s main floor. “I’m home!” the voice yelled. It was a voice I knew full well, that of my younger sister Sweetie.

I dropped what I was thinking and turned towards the stairs, as the sound of four light hooves made their way into my secretive shop. I wiped the sweat off my brown and turned to face another white unicorn, mane a mix of pink and light lavender.

“Sweetie!” I called out as I walked towards her, “you’re home early. How did your shopping go darling?”

“I got everything I needed,” Sweetie said in a rather plain tone. “Got that one saddle I had been dying to get for months now. Best part is I got for a bargain; a real steal.”

“Good to hear Sweetie!” I said, smiling in an uncomfortable manner. Sweetie was quite the haggler; loved to barter more than the infamous camel traders of the south; she was also just as cheap as they were, often rebuking me whenever possible.

Sweetie looked around and noticed the burning hot furnace and half-formed armor. She gazed at me with a rather inquisitive look. “Okay,” she suddenly started, “what are you up to this time?”

“Well, as you can probably guess, I’m in the middle of a delicate process.” I walked towards the furnace and pressed the small hoof switch near the base, causing a rush of air to enter the furnace, instantly raising the temperature several hundred degrees. “There’s an order I need to fill.”

“Very nice!” Sweetie said with almost foal-like giddiness, “Big order means big money!” she rushed towards me, smiling broadly. “So, how much did we make?”

“Well…” I started, running my hoof over the back of my head, “I didn’t actually talk about a price; the job is sort of a… favor…” I ended my words with a smile.

Sweetie raised an eyebrow, looking at me clear disappointment, followed by a flustered look. “A favor you say…” she said in a somewhat neutral tone. She sighed, and then looked up at me with some anger. “So we aren’t making any money from this?” she asked, looking at the half complete armor. “Sister; you are by far the worst businessmare I have ever met.”

“I’m not doing it for the money;” I answered Sweetie, “I’m in doing it because it’s the generous thing to do; the right thing to do.”

Sweetie looked at me seriously, sighing in apparent frustration. She walked up the opposite wall, one that was seemingly empty, or so I wanted others to believe. She pressed her hoof against an empty block, pushing it in. this act caused the wall to suddenly slide open, revealing a small room filled to the brim with weapons and armor stands. In the middle rested a pony mannequin, upon which rested a set of armor, red in design; it sported the banner of the Regime.

I felt my ears drop as Sweetie gave me a stern look. “Tell me sister; do I need to remind you what happened the last time you ‘wanted to do the right thing’?” she grabbed a revolver off the nearest gun rack with her magic. It was a gold plated piece with a small scope and an ivory-like handle. “Last I recalled, ‘doing the right thing’ ended up hurting a lot of ponies….” she popped the gun open and looked at the ammunition cylinders, “and it’s loaded…” Sweetie said as she closed the revolver and placed it back in its rack. “Have you been taking potshots out back?”

“Yes.” I replied, walking up to the wall, levitating the gold revolver, and pressing the same brick Sweetie had, causing the wall to slide back into place. “I keep the revolver loaded because I’m afraid of being caught off guard.”

“’Caught off guard’ she says,” Sweetie remarked, extending her hoof in a ‘what the hell is this’ type of way. “Who the hell is going to be shooting at you? We aren’t living in some shithole; this is Ponyville: a pristine a town as it gets.”

“Sweetie, don’t forget; the world is harsh and cruel. If the war taught me anything is that safety is only temporary.”

“I guess I can agree with you on that.” Sweetie said with some understanding, “Still, I don’t want you paranoia rubbing off on ME.” she looked back at the revolver with a worried look. “I personally don’t like the idea of you keeping all of those weapons around; last I checked you hated your so called ‘legacy’.”

“That’s why I keep them hidden, so that no one else can ever use them.”

“I still think you were stupid; ending your gun business.” Sweetie shook her head. “Do you have any idea how much money we were making? A hell of a lot more than by selling clothing and the occasional armor piece; that’s how much.”

“I just couldn’t keep selling firearms darling; the guilt was just too much. At least with armor, I know ponies are being saved, not killed.”

“Dammit,” Sweetie said with a shake of her head, “you need to stop blaming yourself for the war’s death toll! You didn’t kill a single living thing!”

“Not directly,” I said as I put the revolver down on my design table, “but I made the guns that were used to kill the innocent and weak. No matter how much I want to pretend it isn’t true, I can’t: I’m the mother of death.”

Sweetie shook her head in disapproval. “If you weren’t my sister…” she sighed, walking up to me. She smiled and gave me a tight hug. “You’re such a whiner sometimes,” Sweetie said as she gently broke the embrace. I sighed in agreement, but said nothing. Instead, I turned back to my work; Bogart’s armor.

“I know you’re doing this ‘as a favor’ and all, but what made you take the job in the first place?” Sweetie suddenly asked, “More importantly, why are you using mithril?”

“Mithril’s the perfect material for armor.”

“True, but mithril’s not cheap.”

“I know that Sweetie, but it’s for a good cause.” I half whined, well aware I had said that already. “I just couldn’t turn my back on the armor. He didn’t really want the work done, but I insisted till he agreed.”

“The fact that it’s for a good cause is irrelevant he-- wait, did you say you were the one who pressed the matter!?”

“Yes. He was quite reluctant at first, but in the end, he agreed to not only let me touch up his armor and duster, but to stay here for the duration of his stay in Ponyville.”

“YOU WHAT!?” Sweetie suddenly shouted. “RARITY, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?”

“I was been a good hostess and a good pony darling.”

“I… Ah…. Argh!” Sweetie couldn’t seem to find the words she was looking for. In the end, she slapped a hoof over her face and sighed in defeat. She took a seat in an empty chair, shaking her head in clear disappointment. In return, I offered her a smile.

“Okay,” Sweetie started, “I can accept the fact that you’re doing this for free, but I can’t accept that you opened your home to a total stranger!”

“He’s not a stranger to me darling,” I snapped, “he and I are very similar in so many ways. I feel a sort of kinship.” I noticed Sweetie’s confused look. “It’s hard to explain; I just have this feeling, like I know him or something.”

“What do you mean?” Sweetie asked as she hopped off the chair and walked towards me. “Have the two of you actually met before this?”

“No,” I replied, “but we both bear the same origin.” I looked at Sweetie in the face. “He didn’t say much - and I don’t think he ever will - but he was once part of the Regime just like I was. I, I think he might have been my officer.”

“Are you positive or are you just assuming?”

“I’m not entirely sure; he just looks so familiar, and his background fits.” I scowled. “Oh, if only I could get him to talk more about it.”

“No, he isn’t a fugitive; he is a Regulator.”

“A Regulator you say?” Sweetie suddenly said, face perking up. “Regulators work outside the system….” she laughed rather maniacally. “He can help me square off a few debts. Deadbeats thought they could get away with my money!”

“No.” I said in a stern voice, one that caught Sweetie off guard. “I forbid it!”

“Gee sis,” Sweetie said, “don’t get your tail in a tighter braid. I don’t think I was going to get that money anyway; deadbeats skipped town weeks ago.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? IT’S NOT ABOUT THE MONEY!” I shouted at Sweetie with force I hadn’t used in years. I noticed her reaction, and recoiled from my outburst.

I moved to apologize, but Sweetie raised her hoof. She chuckled; I was unsure whether she was angered or amused. “Been a while since you shouted at me sis; feels good to know you still have some of the old fire in you.” Sweetie sighed as she seemed to reminisce in old memories. She looked at me with a smile. “Well sis, I’m feeling hungry. I’m going to raid the fridge and make myself something to chow on. Want something in particular?”

“Well,” I started.

“HA! Too bad!” Sweetie suddenly said, “I recall you telling me, and I quote: ‘Sweetie, next time you ask me if I want something to eat, kindly remind me to refuse’.”

“Oh, right.” I said, recalling why I had told Sweetie that. I was reminded of the two days I spent with a gut full of vile. “Nevermind,” I said, turning back to face Bogart’s armor. “I’ll go up and cook something for myself. First though, I need to finish this.”

“Work, work, work;” Sweetie said in a nagging voice, “what’s the point of working if it isn’t making us money?”

“Sweetie--”

“I know,” Sweetie said, interrupting my words, “’it’s not about the money’.” she scoffed. “Money’s the only thing that talks in this world.” she turned around and headed upstairs. As she did, I was reminded of our father, and how he above anyone else had pounded that mentality into my sister. I sighed, thinking of mother. She was so nice, so understanding compared to father. I felt a pain in my heart when I thought of them. I really missed mother…

“Oh Sweetie,” I said to myself, “one day you’ll understand that money brings nothing but misery…”

I knocked on the door three times, thinking about knocking a fourth time to make sure I was heard. I waited for what seemed like five minutes before the door swung open. I had expected to see Rarity, but instead I was faced with a unicorn filly no older than sixteen. She had purple and pink hair, and was the same creamy white color as Rarity. She had big round green eyes which normally would have come off as somewhat innocent, but now stared at me with apparent malcontent. She looked me up and down, studying me quite extensively. She had a small sandwich floating next to her head, from the looks of it; it was a mash-up of everything in the fridge save the fridge itself. It smelled strongly of mustard and looked absolutely gaudy.

She took a bite out of the sandwich and gave me a questioning look, as if visually asking “who the hell are you?” Of course, she didn’t say a thing, instead moving out of the way and motioning me to follow her inside. She swallowed what she had in her mouth and spoke.

“Welcome valued customer,” the filly said in a somewhat uninterested manner, “My sister is currently occupied; so I’ll be glad to provide assistance.” she said with a forced smile. Her very tone seemed uninterested, as if the filly had better things to worry about other than customer service - or any type of service for that matter.

“Well,” I said in a neutral tone, “I’m actually here to get my stuff.” I pointed to a set of four saddlebags placed against the wall, near a table absolutely filled with papers. “I was also hoping to speak with Miss Diamant.” I said; my last few words coming off as rather strained.

The filly’s face suddenly changed, going from attempted cheeriness to plain cantankerous. She looked me in the eye and grunted, as if greatly displeased with my very presence.

“You must be the freeloader.” The filly said in an almost hateful way. “Well, if you must know; sister’s busy working on your armor, armor that she’s giving away for free.”

“Right…” I said, showing understanding. “You must be Sweetie Belle then. Your sister mentioned you; said you would be quite displeased about the free job.”

“The word ‘displeased’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.” the filly said in a very livid matter. “That’s good money she’s throwing away, and why? All because of a ‘feeling’ she has. I mean, she thinks you were some kind of officer? Come on! You don’t strike me as a military stallion.”

“She thinks you are some kind of officer.” Sweetie laughed. “Personally, I think my dear sister’s been down at the forge too long; fumes must be starting to cook her poor brain.”

“Sorry to break it to you kid, but I am an officer.” I reached into my pocked and pulled out my badge, flipping it open. It had the nation’s emblem, the words “REGULATOR” engraved in bold lettering, and of course, my information right underneath. My name was also in bold letters, starting with my rank: Sergeant.

Sweetie took a look at me badge, and merely scoffed. “So what?” she said with a voice that sounded both hostile and full of swagger. “So you’re some big shot Regulator; big freaking deal. Doesn’t make you any better in my book. You’re still some freeloader, and there’s nothing I hate more than freeloaders.”

“I’m not a freeloader,” I replied, “I never even wanted the job done in the first place; but your sister insisted on doing it. She practically called my armor a piece of crap.” I shook my head.

“That’s Rarity for you,” Sweetie said in a tired tone, “she has this almost impulsive desire to set things right around her. Was it not so annoying – and costly – I would call it a perk.”

I shook my own head, suddenly recalling the feeling with which Rarity had spoken to me. The more I thought about it, the more I was starting to realize that Rarity represented something that the world had lost, something beautiful; generosity. I looked at Sweetie and smiled, catching the filly by surprise.

“I think what your sister is doing is a damn fine thing to do. We need more generosity and less greed.”

Sweetie scoffed at my words, almost as if they sickened her. She shook her head, smiling. “Generosity doesn’t pay the bills nor does it buy food. Money makes the world go round; that’s the way things are.”

“SWEETIE!” I head another voice ring from behind us. I instantly recognized the voice as belonging to Rarity, though her tone of voice sounded somewhat muffled, as if speaking through some type of headgear or filter.

I turned to look and, sure enough, Rarity was wearing a welder’s mask. That fact alone greatly surprised me. I noticed her once lustrous coat was darkened by what seemed like sooth, the same kind one gets from hanging around furnaces. She had protective hoof wear, as well as a thick mantle over her chest and back. Despite being stained and darkened, Rarity’s face was still as stunning as ever, making me wonder how the mare had managed to keep her make-up on.

“Sweetie Belle! That’s no way to treat our guest.” Rarity said, scolding her younger sister.

Sweetie rolled her eyes in reply. She walked back in the kitchen, clearly crossed with her older sister.

Rarity sighed, giving me a warm look. “She’s at that rebellious age. I’m sure she’ll eventually come around.” she sighed, “It’s just; it’s hard being both a big sister and a mother figure to her.”

“She’s got a bit of an attitude – and greed – problem.” I said, looking at Rarity with a slight smile of my own.

In my mind, I knew well that Sweetie’s attitude was in part thanks to Rarity, who seemed to be a bit too generous for her own good. Sweetie obviously felt that her sister was giving away their livelihood; it made her resentful. Still, I didn’t think telling Rarity this would be of help. After all, I was but a mere guest in their lives; who was I to say anything? I was best if I kept my distance from this.

Rarity cleared her throat, signaling a change in conversation. “Well, I’m guessing you are here to pick up your armor and duster; am I correct darling?”

“Yes.” I answered, “I was also hoping to borrow your phone. I need to contact my commander, see how a certain situation has played out.”

“That can be arranged darling,” Rarity said with a nod, “the phone’s in the living room. I’ll go and fetch your duster. Your armor is still a few more hours away from completion.”

“That’s fine,” I said to Rarity, “Certain unforeseen circumstances have forced me to stick around town longer than expected.”

“No luck finding the pony darling?”

“Not yet.” I said, “It’s been looked into as I stand here, but I won’t know results till tomorrow morning. If I had fingers, you could say I have them crossed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that darling, but at least you can relax a bit now, take in the town and its sights.”

“He can go get lost and eaten in the Everfree for all I care.” Sweetie suddenly uttered, walking into the room, looking quite annoyed. “Why don’t you go do some rounds around town huh officer?”

“You know, you’ve got a real attitude problem kid,” I said, looking at Sweetie with a serious glare. “keep that up, and you’ll end up getting yourself into trouble with the wrong crowd.”

“HA!” Sweetie laughed in a mocking manner, “Wrong crowd? What wrong crowd? This is Ponyville, one of the safest towns left in Equestria! Only wrong crowd I see is you!” she walked up to me, glaring daggers. “I know your kind; machine colts with machine hearts; unloved and unnatural in every way. You veil your addiction to violence by painting it with a paint of morality.”

“SWEETIE!” Rarity suddenly shouted, but her sister didn’t stop her berating.

“You strive to order to the world, not realizing that if all was orderly, you would be out of a job! Then what? What would you use to feed your addiction to battle? You and everyone like you are no different; you’re all warmongers…” Sweetie turned to face her sister, and then I noticed her eyes were filled with tears. “Warmongers!” she shouted, shaking her head and storming out of the living room. A few seconds later, I heard the front door slam shut.

I looked back at Rarity, who was now openly weeping. She looked up to me, but still managed a smile. She wiped the tears off her eyes and pointed to her phone; she then turned around and walked out of the living room.

I sighed, picking up the receiver. Sweetie’s words still abuzz in my mind. While the filly was woefully misguided in her views, she still struck a valid point; Regulators were no different than Civil Protection had been; organizations set up to maintain order and peace. Yet, history showed that corruption was never too far behind. A charismatic leader or a strong enough cause; that was all it took to change everything. Who was I to say that the Regulator today wouldn’t morph into something gaudy tomorrow? We all walked a fine line as it was; what would push us over the edge?

I set the question out of my mind; I had other pressing matters to attend to first.

I dialed Haggar’s direct line, hoping to catch him in his office. The phone rang several times before his answering machine picked up. He clearly wasn’t at his office. Next, I decided to dial his private cell line. The line rang two times before he picked up. He answered with a doubtful ‘hello’, likely because he didn’t know the number. I quickly cleared up the confusing by not only stating who I was, but proving it by reciting my badge number: 333615.

Haggar and I spoke for about five minutes, the bulk of our conversation having to do with the aftermath of the shootout. He informed me that the bodies had been cleared, and that my office was being repaired; he said it would be about a week or so before I could inhabit my apartment again. I said that didn’t matter much. I told him about the most recent development, including Caleb’s sudden disappearance from the grid. The news didn’t sit well with Haggar, who after keeping quiet for a good half a minute, ordered I keep him posted with any new developments. I agreed, and he hung up. The call itself took less than four minutes.

By the time I hung up, Rarity had returned with my duster, which at first I didn’t recognize, for it was now black rather than brown. I asked what happened, to which Rarity explained just what had gone into the duster. I was shocked to hear how many materials had been used, and even more to realize that the duster was now fairly bulletproof. I immediately slipped it on, and I was shocked at how comfortable it felt, almost as if motherly hooves had wrapped around me.

I reached into the bag around my neck and pulled out several hundred bits. I walked up to rarity, took her hoof in mine and gave her the bits.

Expectedly, she refused the money, but I insisted she keep it, not as payment, but a sign of goodwill for a damn good job. I gave her a nod and smile, and walked out of the living room, heading for the front door. She asked where I was going. I stopped in my tracks and replied, “I’m going on patrol. I need to scout; make traveling easier, but I also need to think about a few things…”

With those words, I stepped out of the boutique.

“We’ve been watching this Stallion move about town for hours now. Can we move in and neutralize the bastard now?

“Patience; our charge is not extermination; its information extraction.”

“Then shouldn’t we, you know, be infiltrating that citizen’s records office? That’s where the information is at, right?”

“You would be correct about that assumption Snug, but you know as well as I do what’s at stake here. It wouldn’t make much difference if we infiltrated anyways; the traitor’s long gone from the system.”

“Heh, think any info will show up at Orion?”

“If he does, it will outdated information, not at all worth it. The best chance we have is to watch Bogart Maltese; he’s the only chance we have at finding the Caleb now.”

“Hey Orion, think he’ll come out of hiding? Think he’ll make contact with the Regulator?”

“Who knows? Caleb knows what’s at stake here; he knows the time is near.”

“Speaking of that, what are we going to do once, you know, once shit hits the fan?”

“Again, we are here to watch and wait. Once an opportunity shows itself, we will seize it; we have to.”

“What about this Bogart fellow? Should we be worried about his involvement?

“Should he find out too much? Well, if that happens, we’ll have no choice but to move in and make him aware of several things. Right now though, he’s the key to this entire operation.”

“Oh jeez; I’m sick of all this waiting; can’t I at least rustle up some sort of commotion? You know, give the Regulator something to regulate?

“Snug, if you feel that bored, then go waste time in the Everfree; practice your hand to hand combat; it’s sloppy.”

“I might just do that Orion. Tell me if anything happens.”

“I will Snug, now leave me to my work.”

“Right.”

Ponyville was the polar opposite of everything I was accustomed to: cars driving by in a rush, mobs of ponies walking down the dark damp streets with empty gazes, sirens blazing right into the night followed by gunshots off in the distance: that’s the kind of atmosphere evenings brought to my mind. In contrast, evenings in Ponyville were calm and quiet. The sensation of peace was utterly alien to me. I guess I was far more paranoid than I thought, for what my eyes took in as “safe”, my mind translated as “deception”. The environment itself presented an exercise on my nerves, for every shadow seemed hostile and every little sound rang with menace. Though barely visible, my horn faintly glowed, my magic wrapped around Negotiator, making it so I could draw her the second some thug jumped out. I had no control over this “action”; it was more an instinct than a voluntary movement by this point. I felt beads of sweat slowly forming on my brow as the uneasiness grew and thickened. It was comparable to the first days as a Civil Protection trainee, back when I was young and naïve. Over the years, I matured, physically and mentally. No longer was I a frightened little colt, but a fully blown stallion. Age however, hadn’t changed one rather fatal habit; my “lone wolf” ideology. Sure, I was no stranger to working as part of a unit – and I was damn good at it too – but given the opportunity, I went it alone, and that’s how it stayed for a while. This habit followed me into the Regulators even, where as soon as I was given my badge, went lone wolf.

Haggar noticed my reluctance to partner up, so driven by wisdom that I hope to one day possess, he partnered me up with another young and promising unicorn, one that just like me, had so far been working alone out of personal choice. He introduced us and assigned us to work together. He smugly smiled through the entire introduction. At the time, I still felt sore towards him; a matter of pride really, but that feeling has all but fade over the years. Haggar’s like a father to me.

At first, I had wondered if Haggar had played some prank; my partner-to-be was the polar opposite of everything I was. Where I was cynic, she was an optimist; where I was brutish, she was graceful; she was my shadow, and I appeared to be hers.

Needless to say, my new partner and I didn’t really see eye-to-eye the first few weeks. Her background as the daughter of a lord contrasted against my background as an orphan and hermit of sorts. She saw me as an uncivilized monster, and I saw her as a pampered “princess”. It took some time before we warmed up to each other, but once that initial hurdle was passed, we quickly learned to work as a team. Things quickly fell into place after that.

Over the course of three years, my partner and I became a sort of “dynamic duo” among the Regulators; top of the class, best of the best. She was relentless in her search for justice and I was relentless in dealing said justice. She believed in non-lethality and in using force only when necessary; I believed in using deadly force with restriction and precision. She was just, kind and fair, at times more like Celestia’s reincarnation come down from some astral plane to dole out divine retribution on the voraciously wicked. Time and time again, I pictured her in the golden armor of the royal guards rather than the white armor of the Regulators.

In the three years we stuck together, my partner developed quite the reputation, one that ultimately made her a target for those who would willingly corrupt the world and watch the blood of the innocent scab over the city’s gutters. A beautiful partnership of three years, ended on a cold night, in the most brutal way imaginable: she was made an example off by the Crux Nado, so that all those who would follow justice’s mandate knew the price of opposing them. Had I been there, they would have killed me too, but fate had chosen me to live. The sorrow I felt upon finding her mutilated body could have only been matched by my rage. It was a rage so powerful, the all consuming fires of the abyss where nothing compared to it. It seared my very being, staining my soul black. My drive was tempered by the flames, giving it new purpose: retribution.

Going to her funeral had been hard; seeing her body, cold and lifeless filled me with sorrow. I gave my speech, hesitating with my words a few times. I tried to be as unemotional as I could, but more than once, I felt the urge to cry. I had to remind myself that tears wouldn’t do anything save remind me of how much I missed her. I had to be strong, for the sake of her memory.

Going back to an empty office, to sit facing an empty dust-covered desk proved harder than attending the funeral. At first, I felt numb; I did nothing but stare out my window. I didn’t sleep for a few nights; every time I closed my eyes, I saw her, nailed to the ceiling, entrails spread.

After about five days of absence from the force, I was visited by Haggar. He talked to me, and with his aid, I got myself back on track. I donned my duster – the same duster she had given to me as a birthday gift just a few months prior – and made another promise: to wear the duster not just to keep her memory alive, but to remind myself of my mission, for the duster was no longer just a duster; it was my partner’s last will.

Two years I’ve searched for answer; two years I’ve hunted the Crux Nado, seeking out the truth; every day driven deeper and deeper into a circle of hate and blood that only seemed to get thicker and nastier with every bullet I fired. Deep down, I knew I was slowly damming myself, but vindication needed to be extracted from the wicked, not just for her sake, but for the sake of all those who could not defend themselves.

With that final thought, I looked down at the now scribbled on map of Ponyville. Over the last few hours, I had gone around town, marking points of interest and shortcuts for getting around, all the while grappling with several heavy thoughts. In the course of the afternoon, I had only visited a mere quarter of the town, but it was enough to get me started. The rest of Ponyville could be accessed by taking the subway or hailing the occasional “cab” which I had found out was little more than a private transportation company out to make a few bits and start a new trend. They yet weren’t big enough to make the list as a viable transportation, but they were an option nonetheless.

I looked at the map and decided that I had spent enough time outside pondering and traveling. Besides, the twilight was getting darker, and I didn’t want to be caught out in the dark. If the route I had made for myself proved accurate, going back to Rarity’s boutique would only take me half an hour; acceptable time.

I put my map away and started walking at a brisk pace.

Suddenly, I was filled with the foreboding sensation of being watched. I looked around, but spotted nothing out of the ordinary. I continued walking, keeping a careful eye out for anything or anyone suspicious.

War does not determine who is right; war determines only who is left.

-Bertrand Russell