Chapter 12

It was late.

Late enough that some would consider it early.

Some, in this case, including the dark grey pegasus that had gotten up for a 4 am heist.

This certain pegasus gave a short string of curses before muttering. “It too bucking early to get up.”

“Hush,” the blue unicorn next to him said. “We’re about to start.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

The unicorn and pegasus quickly cut across the street, hidden by the darkness of a Canterlot night. They were silent as they moved, before coming up to a single building on the corner of 14th and Gemstone. The store, a little jewelry shop called Crystal and Quartz, specialized in replacing gems and watch glasses, and was filled to the brim with small diamonds, gold, silver, quartz glass, and a dozen other items that could be sold for a decent amount of money.

The unicorn and pegasus both slid up to the door, before the unicorn’s horn began to glow.

The glow faded, and he spoke quietly. “Alright, Blackjack and Live Wire are in position.”

“So we break the window open?”

“No!” the unicorn hissed. “Live’ll open the door for us once they’ve got the shopkeepers tied up! Weren’t you listening?”

“It’s too early, man.”

The unicorn rolled his eyes.

They waited a moment, listening to the silence of the early morning. It didn’t take long before the two heard the sounds of a quick struggle, before the silence then returned.

The door popped open and a green unicorn stood on the other side, smiling. “Knocker, Getaway,” he greeted. “Glad you could join us.”

Getaway, the tired pegasus, yawned, and pushed his way into the room. “Shut up, Live.”

Live Wire grimaced, before stepping aside for Knocker. “Get in here.”

Knocker came in, and was then met with the sight of the Shop owners, Crystal Glass and Quartz Gear, bound, gagged and being held by the group bruiser, Blackjack.

Blackjack was a massive pony, his shoulders were as wide as two lesser ponies across, and his hooves were easily as large as Quartz’s head. The blackjack club on his flank said just about everything that needed to be said about their muscular wrecking ball of a pony.

“So where’s the boss?” Knocker asked, shouldering his club.

“Upstairs,” Blackjack answered. “He’s doing the last bit of the math.”

“Math-smash,” Getaway muttered. “Let’s just take it all. It’s easier that way.”

“That is not how we do things here, Mr. Getaway,” a soft, powerful voice echoed in the small shop.

Getaway’s eyes went wide as every head turned to the figure on the stairs.

A white, black-spotted unicorn stallion stood at the top of the stairs. A large book sat in his telekinetic grasp, his eyes never leaving the pages as he descended, step by step.

This new unicorn filled the room, up to the point where he seemed taller than Blackjack. His neatly pressed tuxedo jacket fit a little snugly, making him appear tall and lanky. His bright red tie appearing to be a trail of blood from his throat in the darkness. His face was long, with sunken eyes that glinted in any light they could find, making him seem cold and calculating. However, the most horrifying part of him was the matching scars that ran along his flanks, utterly destroying his cutie mark. He reminded Quartz Gear of a hundred different nightmares.

He did not say a word as he came forward, walking past the counter and register, before coming to a stop. His body faced away from almost every pony in the room, facing only the bound couple and his muscle. Finally, he lifted his eyes from the pages, and he turned his head to face Getaway, slapping the book shut as he did.

“We do things different, Mr. Getaway,” he said, his soft voice ringing in the ears of the gathered. “You follow my rules, and I follow fate’s rules. You agreed to do things my way, you sighed your life on it.” He opened his tuxedo jacket and pulled out three different knives. “Now, you do what I say, or I collect, Mr. Getaway. Do we understand each other?”

Getaway nodded.

The boss smiled, and one of the three knives slid back into his jacket. “Good,” he said, “you are to take seven thousand bits from the register, and fifteen items of varying worth each. Nothing more, and nothing less. Now… as for you two,” he said before turning to the bound ponies in the room. “Good morning, Mr. Quartz, Mrs Crystal, allow me to introduce myself.” The knives went under both their throats, and Crystal Glass whimpered as she felt the cold steel touch her. “My name is Mr. Domino, and I am an agent of fate.

“Fate decreed that this morning, myself and my colleagues would come in, and take all but five percent of your livelihood. Likewise, fate decreed that you two would be easy enough prey for us, and we would be having this conversation.”

Mr. Domino smiled. “Just think of how lucky you are for a moment. You had a five percent chance of my die landing on a nineteen, and only a 0.19% chance of it landing in your neighborhood. Very, very lucky indeed.” he pulled out the black d20 from his pocket. “Let’s see if your luck holds out, shall we?”

“On a two through ten,” Mr. Domino said, “I kill you, Mr. Quartz.”

Silence suddenly fell on the group of thieves, and they all stared at their boss with wide eyes and shocked expressions.

“On an eleven through nineteen, I kill your lovely wife,” he continued without missing a beat. “On a twenty, I kill you both. Then, if you are lucky, and it lands on a one, you both get to live. A ninety percent chance one of two of you dies, five that both of you die, and five where you both live. Sound fair?”

Quartz gave a feeble whine.

“Good,” Mr. Domino said, before throwing the die into the air.

Almost every pair of eyes locked onto the die as it soared through the air. Almost every pair but the grey eyes of Mr. Domino.

Clack! Clack, clack! Clack…

Mr. Domino looked down at the die that now lay on the hardwood floor.

He smiled. “Seems like you have someone looking out for you, Mr. Quartz,” he said, scooping up the black die, and pocketing it. “Very, very lucky indeed.”

She was dreaming.

She knew that, but it didn’t change how much she didn’t want to see this.

“Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die,

Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die!

Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die,

And he ain’t gonna jump no more!”

She was paralyzed, unable to move or speak as she watched Alan weave a rope through the branches of an old tree.

He kept singing that same song, the same verse, over and over again as he threaded the rope around.

The noose always in sight.

“Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die,

Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die!

Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die,

And he ain’t gonna jump no more!”

She didn’t want this.

She didn’t want to see this.

She just wanted all of this to stop.

He tied the rope off at one end, wrapping around the trunk multiple times, before walking up to the noose, and draping it around his neck.

“Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die,

Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die!

Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die,

And it is all your fault!”

The rope went taut.

Chaos paced his room.

It was a rather impressive thing, a large, round room with wooden floors and stone walls. Tapestries of ages long past hung along the walls, and a massive four poster bed sat empty to the side.

Chaos kept pacing, walking around the large carpet in the middle of the room.

Beneath it…

Beneath it, hidden under the floorboards was a sword.

The sword.

Celestia had taken it to the royal vault, and Chaos had removed it from there.

Harmony believed it would end them both, and if that was the case, then he could not risk it.

His hands still burned from holding the blade.

He paced around the rug that covered the weakened floor, not daring to get too close.

He kept telling himself there was nothing to worry about, no one was onto their plans. Everything was going to work out.

It was working out already.

Celestia was already being affected by Twilight’s supposed rejection of her, along with the rising crime that was beginning to take her city. The background crime, along with his own agents, would certainly help, and, along with his masterstroke, her fall would be guaranteed.

It was all going to work out.

Chaos paced out towards the balcony, trying to forget the sword that pulsated pain, and stared out towards the cityscape.

Some carnal part of him enjoyed watching the city, his new realm when his master ruled the earth.

It was such a simple pleasure, he had even come up with a little poem to go with it.

“Prepare my Court, little ponies,

Know that I’m watching all the time,

Ruling Canterlot behind the veil,

Behind every crook and crime.

I see you at your hearth,

I see you at your bed,

Bow down to me, my subjects,

Or prepare to lose your head.”

Twilight moved around the library, slowly but surely replacing the books to their proper homes on the shelves.

On a good day, she could sort up to ten books at a time, today, though, she gladly settled for one book.

It was mindless, busybody work. She kept pausing as she worked, naming the books title by title as she put them up, just to keep her mind off things.

“How’s it coming, Twilight?” Spike asked, carrying a stack of newspapers and magazines.

“Alright,” she said half-heartedly.

Spike nodded. “Gotcha. Here’s the new newspapers and magazines for the archives, I’ve already got them organized, so they’re all ready to go.”

“Thank you, Spike,” she said.

The dragon set the stack down on the table before turning to stare up at his surrogate mother. “Hey, Twi?”

Twilight looked up from the books. “Yes?”

“Could you...will...will you be alright for a little bit?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” the dragon began, before fiddling with his claws. “I...you’re family, Twi, and while I’d like to...well...I want to make sure you’re okay, but…”

He sighed.

“Look, Twilight, will you be alright while I go see Rarity?”

The purple unicorn’s eyes widened in realization.

The poor boy had not left the library, he had been here the entire time, and as a result, was not spending time with the one he loved.

He was staying for her.

“Oh, Spike…”

“Now, hang on,” Spike said. “I can stay, don’t-don’t try to convince me to go if you can’t take it, I don’t want—”

“Spike…” Twilight began.

“—you doing more than you can handle right now, if you—”

“Spike,” she said again, stepping off the little step ladder and walking towards him.

“—don’t want to be alone, I can do that. It’s no big deal, really!”

A strong, magical grasp shut down around his snout, while yet another picked him up. “Spike. I understand. You can take the rest of the day off.”

“Ar you sureff?” Spike asked through the pressure on his mouth.

She gave him a smile. “Just get out there.”

And with that, she lifted him up and out of the doorway, and into the Ponyville streets.

As she released him, he was quick to get back to his feet. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” She said, holding back a laugh, her first real laugh since Alan had died.

“Are you really sure?” Spike asked.

Twilight shook her head and closed the door, leaving herself in the library alone.

Almost alone, Orion was having a nap upstairs.

Still…

“No,” she said aloud to herself. “No, I’m not going to think about it. I’m not lonely, I am just alone right now. I will be fine.”

She moved back to the last stack of books, and quickly shelved them all by habit. “Just don’t think about it.”

And then suddenly she found herself without a distraction.

Her eyes quickly scanned the room, looking for something, any mindless, mundane, brain-killing—

Her eyes fell onto the tabloids in the pile Spike had brought in.

Perfect!

She snatched up a paper, and quickly read the headline. “Celestia Pregnant? Find Out Who the Father is!”

Maybe not that mind-numbing…

Sighing, she set that one particular issue aside, when another headline caught her eye.

“Ghost Sighted Near Cloudsdale!” Read the title, but once she saw the picture, it had her undivided attention.

The silver stallion from her dreams stared back at her, and next to him floated a perfect, hard-mana copy of Judgement.

She blinked, before reading the article. “Tuesday evening, the ghost known as the Armored Stallion was sighted again, this time near Cloudsdale. A local farmer claims that the ghost walked by his house early in the morning, seeming to be heading for Trottingham. He further claims that, as a serving member of the army, he recognized the figure, voice, and weapon of the ghost as having belonged to the late Pendragon. However, this theory is simply hearsay at this point...”

“Wait. Again?” Twilight asked again before searching more of the tabloids.

More headlines began to pop up. “Ghost Seen in Canterlot City!”

“Specter Spotted Along Southern Canterlot Line!”

“Apparition Appears in Ponyville!”

“Ponyville?” she asked, surprise.

She read closer, her mind skipping over the words as she read. “Sighted Thursdays...came across Main Street...stopped by library...witness says...knowledged of town...other witnesses claimed...nothing…”

She cocked her head in confusion.

Conflicting reports? Why? Nopony in Ponyville suffered from hallucinations to best of her knowledge, there shouldn’t be any actual conflicting accounts. You either saw something or you didn’t.

Unless it was a fake story.

But...but it couldn’t be.

Unless Luna sold the perfect description of the Silver Stallion to the newspaper from her dream, then they would not have been able to take that photo. But that seemed unlikely for her...

The photo had to be real. The positive account had to be real as well. This meant…

This meant that someone was lying.

Her eyes narrowed, before she quickly gathered up the newspapers.

This needed more research.

“Are you really going to believe in a ghost story, Twilight?” she thought to herself.

Of course not. Ghosts don’t exist.

“Then what do you believe?” her conscious asked as she began to descend into the basement.

She believed something impossible.

She believed that Alan was alive.

He was alive.

He had to be alive.

He was alive.

He had to be alive.

He was alive.

He had to be alive.

She repeated the mantra in her head over and over again as she continued to work on her conspiracy theorist's dream board.

All of the tabloid clippings were pinned to the corkboard in her basement, along with pictures of all of the witness of the accounts, as well as a little bio she had certainly not gotten from the Canterlot Police Station through less-than-lawful means...

This board was weeks in the making, perfectly complete and perfectly secret.

No one knew about this board, what with its red yarn plotting out the chronological order of the Silver Stallion sightings and photographs of the places he had been.

No one could know about the board.

Spike had been so happy to see Twilight leave the house, finding out that she had ulterior motives for her cross-country train rides would not impress him.

She was so close.

He was alive.

He had to be alive.

He was alive.

He had to be alive.

It had all come down to the Milkmare. Who was she? Where did she come from? What was the purpose of the goggles?

Twilight sat back on her flank, just she could get the scope of her entire plan.

Yes...yes.

It was all becoming perfectly clear.

She had gone completely bonkers.

She sighed, collapsing on herself as her accusatory thoughts echoed through her mind. She had just gone completely insane, and she knew it.

Alan was dead, she knew it.

Even if the ghost was real, Alan didn’t have the magical ability to create a translucency spell.

That could only mean…

She stared up at the board once more, and her eyes wandered over to the corner of the board, where a little note had been pinned.

It read a single sentence, a definition she had put up as a reminder.

“Apophenia: the experience of seeing patterns or connections in random or meaningless data.”

The word just seemed to pick at her.

She was crazy and she knew it.

She needed to remember that this...all of this was stupid.

Her lip quivered.

The board suddenly flew backwards, captured in her magical grasp as she bashed away at her work in anger.

It was stupid!

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

He was dead!

Dead! Dead! Dead!

Pins flew out of the board, papers scattered, and yarn whipped around crazily as she slammed into the board again and again.

It was just so...stupid.

She sighed, and slowly gathered the board, papers, and pins. She set the board back up, and slowly began to replace the map, articles, pins and yarn.

She needed the board.

It was the only thing that kept her sane, really. She smirked at the irony of it, going insane kept her lucid. Kept the nightmares away.

Didn’t Alan’s iPod sing something about that?

That stupid little thing had been giving random bursts of song for a while now, it was probably broken.

But it used to be his…

She finished putting the board back together, and took a step back.

No.

No more today.

With that ultimatum floating in her head, she left the board behind to head back upstairs where the normal ponies lived.

As she entered the main room of the library, her eyes quickly scanned the room.

Every wall, every shelf, every book reminded her of him. Every reminder only served to skewer her heart further as the thought of having been responsible for his death haunted her. There was nowhere in this house she could look for comfort.

What...

She couldn’t be here…

She couldn’t take living in her house anymore.

It...everywhere she looked she saw Alan, and whenever she saw Alan, she saw him fall.

And whenever she saw him fall, she heard her voice. Her screeching voice telling him that loving him was a mistake.

She needed to get away.

She needed to leave so bad.

A knock sounded on her door.

“Spike!” she called.

She didn’t get an answer.

Sighing, she turned to the door, and opened it. “Yes can I hel—”

Her question was cut off as two, lithe white, furry arms grab. “Oh, sweetie! I’m so sorry! I couldn’t even imagine!”

Blinking wildly as her personal space was suddenly violated, and sputtering as an unfamiliar mane was shoved into her muzzle, Twilight found herself in an overly tight hug.

“Fleur!” the shocked voice of a startled stallion cried behind her.

“Oh, just look at her, Fancy! She’s absolutely beside herself!”

“Fleur…” Fancy Pants said, as he began to pry the mares away from each other.

Fleur De Lis was very hesitant in letting the librarian go, however, once she had, Twilight began gulping down air like she had never breathed before.

“Forgive my wife,” Fancy Pants apologized, “she’s been absolutely frantic with concern for you after hearing the news.”

“It is perfectly horrible!” Fleur explained. “He was so young! To be taken in such a tragic accident! Oh, I can’t imagine your pain, Mrs. Sparkle.”

Something poked at her when she heard the word accident. Nonetheless, Twilight nodded.

“Fleur, please,” Fancy said. “Mrs. Sparkle...I...we come here with an offer for you.”

Twilight looked up at him.

“We are not aware of your current financial situation, and it is not my business to know. However, in any case, we would like to offer you a place in our home.”

“I insist!” Fleur said simply. “After you helped Fancy get his new position, it’s the least we can do.”

Twilight blinked, before taking a long look at the bookshelves around her.

The haunting memories of her husband stared back at her.

She looked back at the pair of ponies in front of her.

“Th-thank you…” she said. “I’d...I’d appreciate it.”

Mr. Domino smiled.

It had taken almost a month, but finally, finally, he rolled a twenty. He stood before the stallion who ran the now empty store, and smiled as he lifted his knife. “You’re all alone…”

The stallion, a pegasus who was scared stiff, stared up at Mr. Dominio with wide, fearful eyes.

He lifted the d20 into sight. “Ever seen one of these? Most ponies haven’t.”

Blackjack stood behind the stallion, watching him with a smirk.

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Lightning. If I roll a 20 for you, you get to live. If I roll a two through nineteen, I kill you. On a one, I kill you and your entire family. 5% you’ll live, 90% you die, and 5% that everything you love is destroyed. Sound fair?”

Gold Lightning did not answer.

Mr. Dominio rolled.

All eyes fell on the die as it bounced.

Clack! Clack, clack! Clack…

And then it went still.

“Ooh…” Mr. Dominio said with a smirk. “How...unlucky…”

And done! Sorry this took a while, guys been working on stuff around the house and for classes. You know the drill.

“So what’s the story, huh? Why do you keep moving Twilight around? What’s the deal with the ghost? What are all these notes on your desk that say operation rev—”

And that’s enough out of you.

“But the people need to know!”

Where’d you get that camera and press badge?

“You can’t silence the First Amendment! Or is it the second?”

Pinkie...just...just let me write my story, please?

“Fine! But I’m watching you.”

Forever?

“For-EV-eeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrr…”

Right.

Anyways, next time, Twilight moves to the Pants house, a meeting with a certain stallion, and a new hero makes the scene!

“We’ll see you all next time!”

Bye!