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