***

Pull me close look into my eyes
Smile at me when you stick in the knife
We're bleeding into a cup when we've got enough
We'll just paint the walls
And we don't care how much it hurts
You think you're cursed it's what you deserve

'Cause you're talking rock and roll
Walking karaoke soul
I can see you desperate to please
Let me treat you for your disease
Tom McRae, Karaoke Soul.

***

One day I might be able to tell you where I got this scar. One day I might be able to tell you just how broken people and ponies can be. Maybe on that day you'll understand, maybe you won't. I hope to the Pony God you do… but then, maybe I hope you don't more.

***

London, July 3rd, 2026.

Vinyl Scratch sighed as she walked into the small corner shop. The pale mare, her normally wild hair tied back into a ponytail, didn't know whether they'd have what she needed in this morning, but she'd needed to get out of her small apartment. The news was just too damn morbid today.

Not that being in here helped, since the shopkeeper had the radio on.

"In other news, we are assured by the Governing Council that reports that three more villages in the Midlands have been listed as 'destroyed' are premature. BDF forces led by Major Redmond are investigating the reports, and we are expected to hear confirmation of the fate of these villages shortly..."

"Never good news, is it dear?" the old woman behind the counter asked.

"Doesn't look like it, Maureen," Vinyl replied with a humourless smile. 'Good news'… they hadn't had good news since this damn war started. If it wasn't Grey Squadron getting wiped out in the slaughter at Manchester, it was the reports of PER terrorists taking Plymouth, and if it wasn't Plymouth, it was reports of missing ponies being found tortured and mutilated, with radical HLF suspected.

"Ah well - maybe it'll be better tomorrow," Maureen said with a smile. She was a genial sort - white-haired and wrinkled, wearing a simple floral dress. Vinyl liked her. "Is it your usual, Miss Scratch?"

"I… yeah. Yeah," Vinyl said softly. "Make it my usual."

Maureen nodded, a knowing look in her eye, as she retrieved a bottle of beer - locally brewed stuff, the only sort you could even get these days - and put it on the counter. She grabbed a tin of baked beans and a loaf of bread as well, and put them on the counter too.

"So it's ten luxuries and fifteen essentials in total," she said with a sad smile: 'luxuries' referred to the 'luxury ration coupons', of which most civilians got one a week, but specialist morale officers like Vinyl tended to get more. Essentials referred to 'essential ration coupons', which were more common.

Vinyl raised an eyebrow. "Gone up a bit, hasn't it?"

"One of the alcohol suppliers lost some people in the last raid," Maureen said conversationally. "Damn Empire."

Vinyl clucked her tongue. "Damn Empire."

She forked out the coupons - she scrimped and saved, and often bartered for more, just so she could get her alcohol fix, but even then, ten luxury coupons was a blow to her savings. She'd been hoping to get a fresh record this week, but that would have to wait. Maureen packed the shopping into a saddlebag for Vinyl, then helped her on with it, and the mare left the little shop feeling… well, the same as she always felt.

Empty.

As she walked through the streets, she took the time to note the various people walking about. Civilians, mainly - a suited man with dark hair, a blonde woman and her daughter, a few older people stood chatting in a corner. Couple of men in red uniform jackets and blue facial tattoos here - though what the Long Watch of Britannia were doing this far inland she didn't know - or the odd Resistance soldier wandering about there. She sighed as she took note of the Kevlar vest and dagger the ponies wielded - close combat specialists or not, they deserved better.

Don't we all.

She noticed the Long Watchmen frowning at her slightly, and she sighed to herself - the Long Watch were about as good as any other Cult Militant in terms of their military effectiveness (and there were even rumours that they could use human magic, however that strange brand of magic was supposed to work), but they were humans only (which was a step up from the 'Britons only' attitude they'd had in the early days before realising that was unsustainable), and they had a tendency to attract the worst of the HLF.

"What?" she asked them, expecting some sort of anti-pony comment (she'd had the odd one or two of those).

"Nothing," one of the men said, sounding young. "It's just… you're Vinyl Scratch, right?"

Vinyl raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Awesome!" the guy said with a grin. "I heard your last album - I loved your cover of 'Rockafeller Skank'…"

Vinyl grinned. So maybe she'd misjudged these guys. That happened, maybe more often than the humans she walked by deserved. She'd have to watch that - misjudging people just because of prejudice was what had led so many ponies to support Solamina's war…

"Thanks," she said with a smile.

"Come on," the Long Watchman's colleague said gruffly. "We've a hearing to get to."

Vinyl waved as the younger man smiled and headed off, feeling… better. A little bit. Truth be told, she'd hated doing that particular cover - she felt like it had been a paint-by-numbers, that-goes-there-and-that's-the-end-of-it sort of piece, but it had gone down well. And it was nice to be recognised for her work - she'd wanted to fight, but half a dozen people and ponies had convinced her that her skills in music making were far better suited - funnily enough - to making music. That, and the fact that her bass cannon idea - while more than a few people had spoken up for it, including a mad Afrikaner Dead Man - had been deemed impractical, mainly because it would have been incredibly expensive. Ultimately, staying where she was had made sense - though it didn't alleviate her burning desire to do something.

Another time, Vinyl, she thought to herself. Another day.

***

She arrived at her little apartment six minutes later. As always, she put the baked beans in the cupboard, put two slices of bread in the toaster, ate the toast dry (there was never enough butter and it cost too much for her to consider it worth her time), and then poured herself a glass of beer.

She took a swig, gagged, forced herself not to throw the foul tasting concoction up, then took another swig, adjusted to the taste (barely), and downed the whole damn glass. She sighed mournfully, before going to the radio and switching it to today's Resistance FM frequency.

Harsh dubstep music - Vinyl's favourite kind - started blaring out of the radio, and she sat back on her sofa, closed her eyes, and began listening as an achingly familiar voice began speaking in soft, soothing Trottingham tones that always made her feel safe, even when she wasn't.

"Hello to the ponies of the Resistance, wherever you are. This is Resistance FM, broadcasting for as long as we can…"

And for a few short minutes, Vinyl Scratch was alive again.

***

Life without you wasn't anything. Music was dull. I didn't have the energy to put into it - when people congratulated me on the work I did, I just felt… empty. There was nothing keeping me alive except the thought that you were too.

Until… that day.

***

London, July 4th, 2026.

"And in other news, the Long Watch of Britannia have vehemently denied accusations that members of their organisation are responsible for the spate of pony murders that have occurred over the last five weeks. They insist that any HLF in their organisation are loyal members of the Watch and do not break their code, which prohibits illegal activity."

"But, in our top story today, it is revealed that Quiet Corner, a stallion who was one of the recent victims of this unidentified murderer, had secret connections to Jacob Levy and his PER remnant active in Plymouth. This has sparked investigation into the other murder victims…"

"Bloody PER," Maureen said softly. "As if the world isn't in enough shit."

Vinyl raised an eyebrow at that. It was the following morning in the shop, and she had come in to chat to Maureen and get the latest newspamphlet (now on 100% recyclable paper!). The front page - an article by True Quill on the latest spate of murders - was as depressing as ever.

"I haven't heard you swear before, Maureen," Vinyl commented idly.

"I'm not a pony, love," Maureen replied with a wry smirk. "Why, my Derek used to be a sailor - swore up a storm when he banged his toe once…"

Vinyl laughed. "You know, ponies swear too."

"Aye, you've got your pony swear words, sure," Maureen agreed, "but I ain't never heard a pony swear."

"Bullshit," Vinyl said with a wink, and Maureen giggled. "I happen to like human swear words."

The two of them chuckled at that, when all of a sudden there was a yell from outside. Vinyl frowned.

"Get to your basement, Maureen," she said quietly. "I'll go see what that is."

Maureen nodded and headed off through a door to her back rooms. Vinyl put the pamphlet down and edged to the front door, looking out to see what was going on.

She could see two BDF soldiers firing down the road at a man in cover, and two ponies - one a civilian Unicorn mare and one a Resistance Earth Pony stallion - struggling over a dagger. The man in cover was wearing what looked like ex-armed police gear that had been kept in piss-poor condition, and was firing an SMG down the road at the BDF men, who were both armed with L85s.

Vinyl stayed out of sight, wondering what this was - the start of some kind of food riot in progress? Those were rare, but they did happen. She could see other BDF knocking some more people, men and women similarly armed, to the ground with riot gear, and she could see some civilians cowering as well. Whatever it was, it was only just breaking out.

As Vinyl watched, the civvies got the dagger off the Resistance pony and stabbed him in his throat, before turning her attention to the still preoccupied BDF. From her saddlebag, she retrieved…

No, Vinyl thought, eyes widening. The mare had vials of potion with her. They were PER.

"No!" she yelled, charging out without thinking and ramming into the mare, knocking her over and to the ground, standing over her with narrowed eyes full of hatred. The mare had time to look Vinyl in the eye before the infuriated DJ began hitting her in the face. The BDF soldiers turned to see Vinyl pounding the mare in the face with her hooves, uncaring of the blood that was staining her coat. With a final hail of gunfire that tore the PER human apart, they turned their attention to the two Unicorns.

"Ma'am!" one of them said, grabbing Vinyl and pulling her off the PER mare. "Ma'am, you can stop!"

Vinyl, her vision tinted red, took a breath, looking wildly up at the BDF man, who pulled his mask off and gave her a concerned expression.

"Ma'am," he said again. "Ma'am, it's alright, you stopped her."

Vinyl looked at the PER mare, who was lying unconscious, blood splattered across her face, her snout clearly broken. The other BDF man was kneeling by her, taking a pulse and looking at the vials of potion, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. Looking around, Vinyl saw the other PER - they must have been PER - being arrested.

"Damn," the first BDF man said softly. "You know how to take down PER."

Vinyl took a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah. I… I guess I do."

"Hey," the soldier said, frowning in recognition. "You're Vinyl Scratch, right?"

Vinyl sighed.

***

London, July 5th, 2026.

"And we have received reports through the usual channels that a PER attack in London was stopped by the timely intervention of the BDF and Resistance forces present, as well as assistance from the musician Vinyl Scratch," the Trottingham accented presenter said, a tinge of warmth in that cool delivery. "We are sure the BDF soldiers are grateful for Miss Scratch's assistance in this matter."

Vinyl sat back, a smile on her face, an empty glass of beer on the table next to her.

Today was good. Yesterday had been better. It was strange - she had seen a stallion die horribly, and yet she felt… alive.

Alive…

***

Why did fighting make me feel alive? Why did beating the snot out of that bucking PER mare make the blood pump like it hadn't in months?

Maybe it doesn't matter. What matters is what happened next.

***

London, July 7th, 2026.

"Morning Maureen," Vinyl said breezily as she walked into the shop.

"Mornin' Vinyl," Maureen replied, smiling at her. "Everyone's been talking y'know, about what you did when you took out that bloody PER bitch."

"Oh yeah?" Vinyl asked.

"Aye," Maureen said. "Tell you something - wish I was young enough to pull that sort of stunt off. It'd be good to give those little shits a taste of their own bloody medicine."

"I know what you mean," Vinyl said with a grin. "It did feel good."

As she browsed the shelves in the little shop, a dark-haired suited man - a man she'd seen wandering the streets before recently - walked in. He gave Maureen a nod, and glanced at Vinyl, his eyes lingering a little longer than a normal glance would. She frowned at him slightly. His suit, now she was paying attention, was a shabby, mismatched three-piece suit in greys, blacks and pinstripe. Over it, he wore a long dark overcoat, the cuffs unbuttoned.

"Mornin' love," Maureen said with a warm, friendly tone. "Not seen you in here before. You new?"

"Uh huh," the man said, smiling slightly at Maureen. "Here on business of a sort."

He threw another glance at Vinyl. She frowned slightly at him, and he looked away.

"War business?" Maureen asked, raising an eyebrow. "You don't look exactly dressed for it."

"Appearances," the man said quietly, giving her an odd smile, "can be deceiving."

He picked up two bottles of Diet Cola - apparently there was an incredible stockpile of the stuff still to shift, which seemed ridiculous until you remembered that the various cola companies still had factories in the country and had been churning it out even as the world ended - and put them on the counter. He grabbed two more, and a packet of crisps too.

"Ooh," Maureen said, raising an eyebrow. "That lot'll come to fifteen luxuries."

The man smirked and put a book of Luxury Coupons down on the counter. Maureen's eyes widened in surprise.

"Keep the change," he said, before putting his shopping in his satchel. He turned, looking at Vinyl again as he did so, who scowled. She didn't know whether he recognised her and didn't know when to stop staring at her, or whether he was one of those rare people who found ponies attractive, but either way it was getting to her.

"Alright, pal," she said. "I dunno what's up with you, but you'd better stop staring at -"

He drew out a taser and aimed it at her face. Maureen yelled and he drew a pistol with his other hand, aiming it at her.

"Shut up," he said to the old woman. "Please."

Maureen apparently knew how to shut up when she was told to, because with a small whimper she stopped making noises. Vinyl narrowed her eyes at the man.

"I don't know what you think you're gonna get out of this," she said angrily, "but I guarantee it ain't what you think it'll be."

"And I guarantee," the man replied with a smirk, "that it will be, Miss Scratch."

He fired the taser. Volts of electricity jolted through Vinyl's body, and Maureen was screaming -

And then everything went black.

***

"… and in other news, the kidnapping of respected musician Vinyl Scratch has left BDF guards and other investigators stumped, despite the presence of witnesses. One woman had to be taken to hospital for shock, but no other injuries are reported. Unlike the previous kidnapping victims, Miss Scratch is known as a staunchly loyal member of the Resistance and has frequently performed motivational music, and indeed has written music that this station has played to you. We will keep you informed as this troublesome situation develops..."

"Eurgh… I'm right here, Tavi," Vinyl muttered, her eyes opening slowly and adjusting to the low light of the room she was in. She frowned, realising suddenly that Tavi wasn't here (Pony God, I wish you were), and wondering what precisely was going on.

She was in a dark room - a basement, judging by the lack of windows and the dark bricks. She had been tied to a chair, tight enough to stop her moving, but also very carefully, carefully enough that she could feel all her extremities.

"Ah, Miss Scratch," a new voice said. "You've woken up. Good, good. I was hoping the news report might get your attention - I was going to start slapping you, but like any true artist, you have an excellent sense of timing…”

She looked to see who had spoken, and then he appeared. The man in the suit who had been staring at her, his overcoat off, revealing the grey jacket, black waistcoat and pinstripe trousers, a tie hanging loosely around his neck from his grey, striped shirt.

"You," she hissed. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" the man repeated. He sighed. "You know, once upon a time me and my brother were some of the better known criminals on this sorry planet. Goes to show how times change."

"Yeah well, I didn't visit this planet much before things went to hell," Vinyl muttered, trying to see if she could escape. Her horn worked, but she didn't know any spells that could cut through the rope without slicing half her organs out, and if she tried to kill the man - well, that would just leave her alone in a cellar. "And even if I did, I don't know anything about your criminals."

"That's perhaps your mistake," the man said, smiling. He pulled a chair from the darkness and set it before her. "One of a few."

"Another being to not see that you were a creep," Vinyl said scathingly.

The man grinned. "I am far more than a 'creep', Miss Scratch. I am an artist." He stood up and moved away from her, still grinning. "In fact, I'm rather like yourself, in that though I do not serve in the military, my art has a beneficial effect for this little island."

"Oh yeah?" Vinyl asked. "Finger painting, is it?"

"Nothing so drab, though I do use my hands," the man said. He reached into the darkness, and suddenly a spotlight shone on…

Vinyl wanted to scream.

It was the PER mare she had been beating up. She had both her eyes gouged out, and blood was dripping from her mouth, as though she had been punched across the face repeatedly. There were a half dozen cuts on her face, each one stained with a yellow substance - iodine? There were more cuts all over her body, similarly stained.

And she was alive. Vinyl could see the soft rise and fall of her chest to indicate that she was breathing, and hear a faint wheezing - clearly she had some sort of chest injury as well.

"Fitting, no?" the man asked with a smirk. "The pain she decided to inflict, returned to her a thousand fold. Not my best work, I admit, but I'm not done yet. You're privileged to see my work in progress, really."

"Pony God," Vinyl said, eyes widening in horror. "How did you… why did…"

"The how was a simple matter of bribery," the man said, smiling. "The fruits of my previous works - coupons like the one I gave to your old shopkeeper friend. Even the soldiers of the BDF need luxury items." He sat back in front of Vinyl. "As for why - well, they are the PER."

"And that makes this… this sadism right?" Vinyl asked, horrified.

"As opposed to what?" the man asked. "Letting them go?"

"As opposed to giving them over to justice," Vinyl growled.

The man sniggered. "Oh believe me, the justice I deliver is only different in terms of the number of people delivering it. You'd have people clawing over themselves to tear this one apart out there."

He turned away from her, moving over to the unconscious mare and standing behind her. Vinyl turned away slightly from the sight, but he pointed at her.

"Wake up, little mare," he whispered in the mare's ear. She jerked, a sudden gasp coming from her mouth.

"Sweet Solamina," the mare whimpered. "Please, no more, please…"

"Hush, little mare," the man whispered. "You have a witness. Another captive down here."

"Oh no," the mare whispered. "Not… not another pony… please, no…"

"Tell our new friend your name, little one," the man whispered.

"S-S-Starshine Sky," the mare stammered. "Please… please…"

"And tell her what you are," the man continued.

"I-I am a… a member of the -"

The man jerked Sky's head back, growling angrily.

"No!" he snapped. "That is not what you are! TELL HER!"

"I… I am a traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch," the mare whispered, sounding broken.

"A traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch," the man repeated. "Quite right."

"P-please," Sky said. "I'm - I'm sorry. I just… I want… I -"

"What you want has no bearing on this discussion," the man said, smirking. "Say it again."

"I -" the mare whimpered.

The man growled "Say it!"

"I am a traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch," Sky whimpered.

"Again!" he yelled.

"I am a traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch!"

"Keep saying it!"

"I am a traitorous genocidal hypocritical bitch!" She was sobbing, and she might have been crying if her eyes hadn't been torn out. "I am a traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch! I am a traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch!"

Vinyl could only watch in horror as the mare kept screaming out the self-recrimination, getting more frantic as she did so. Finally, he let her stop - signalling for her to stop by smacking her across the face.

"There," he whispered. "Now doesn't that little bout of honesty make you feel better."

"P-p-please," Sky whimpered. "I just… I want to go home - I'll do anything…"

"Anything?" the man asked. "Anything at all?!"

"Yes!" the mare screamed. "Please!"

"Will you bring back the people you killed?" the man asked.

Sky faltered. "I - I - can't -!"

"Thought not," the man said. And faster than thought, he brought out a knife and raked it across Starshine Sky's throat.

"No!" Vinyl screamed, her eyes wide. "Oh buck, bucking -!"

She found herself suddenly silenced, the man's hand held over her mouth, a dangerous glint in his eye as a devilish grin played over his face.

"Now, don't cry for the little traitor," he said with a dangerous tone. "She's dead. Cry for you, if you turn out to be not the mare I thought you were."

He removed his hand, and Vinyl looked him in the eye.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" she hissed.

"It means, I have plans for you," the man said with a slow smile. "If you play nice, then you'll like them. If not… well…"

Suddenly he grabbed Vinyl's head. She struggled, but he was bigger and stronger than she was. She could do nothing but watch, terrified, as he brought his knife, still slick with Starshine Sky's blood, up to her head, placed it on her forehead… and cut.

***

I'd just seen a mare be horribly murdered in front of me. I'd seen him torture her before she died, break her down until she was nothing but a crying wreck, then end her life without a second thought. Then he'd taken his knife to me…

The worst part of it?

I knew it wasn't over.

***

"#I'm not a gangster tonight, don't want to be a bad guy. I'm just a loner baby… and now you've gotten in my way…"

Vinyl blinked as her eyes opened. She had been tied to the chair for hours, and eventually fatigue and hunger had overcome her, and she had fallen asleep. She felt different - her sight was a bit fuzzy, and she could feel that her head was lighter, as though her mane had been cut.

The sound of music could be heard through the room, and she frowned as she saw another pony tied to a chair, this one a pale yellow stallion. The man was whistling as he walked around the room, grabbing something from somewhere before standing in front of the pony, looking down at the stallion with a raised eyebrow.

His eyes flicked over to Vinyl and he winked. She tried to spit, but her mouth was gagged. He grinned, and waved a hand over the pony,m singing to the oddly jaunty tune as he did so

"#I can't decide whether you should live or die. Oh, you'll probably go to heaven. Please don't hang your head and cry - no wonder why my heart feels dead inside - it's cold and hard and petrified. Lock the doors and close the blinds. We're going for a ride!"

The stallion woke up, looking groggy, and his eyes widened when he saw the man.

"No…" he groaned. "No, no, no, no, no, n-!"

The man held up a knife and smiled slightly at the stallion, whose eyes bulged when he saw it. The man just kept singing.

"#Oh I could throw you in the lake, or feed you poisoned birthday cake - I won't deny, I'm gonna miss you when you're gone…"

He lashed out, cutting the stallion across the face, leaving a great gash that bled profusely. He lashed out twice more, leaving two more gashes in the pony's chest.

And then the song finished, and the man - to Vinyl's surprise - took an iodine bottle from his pocket, splashed some of the foul yellow substance on the pony's injuries, and left.

There was a long moment of tense silence as the stallion breathed painfully, clearly in agony from the fresh cuts. Vinyl didn't know what to think, didn't know how to process things. She considered cutting through the other pony's ropes, but she still wasn't sure - even at this angle - whether she could do so without killing him.

Dammit, knew I should have taken remedial classes - Amethyst Star told me...

"You…" the stallion said, interrupting her train of thought. "You're… a pony…"

Vinyl raised an eyebrow, nodding.

"Oh, it's good to be near another pony," the stallion said softly, leaning his head back. "Can you… can you try to get me free? He hasn't impeded your horn…"

Vinyl shook her head, hoping he'd understand.

He nodded, a sigh escaping his lips. "Of course - this range, no way to calibrate a cutting spell. That's if you even know one." He chuckled, an empty sound from those lips. "Still, you've no idea what it's like to be in the company of a pony again. Been working with BDF for weeks. Bucking monkeys. The smell…"

Vinyl tensed slightly - without her trademark glasses on, and with her mane shortened, she wasn't recognisable. He couldn't have seen her cutie mark. That explained why he was so liberal with his words - he must have thought she would be like him - that she was PER...

"I don't know why the Empress doesn't just come herself," the stallion continued, almost oblivious to Vinyl's reaction. "This island… it's so small... they could fall in a day if she put her mind to it… they've nothing…"

Every word made Vinyl tense more. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to think…

"Wish I was still in Plymouth…" the stallion continued absently, almost like he was talking for the sake of talking. "Oh Solamina… I’m going to die down here, aren’t I?”

Vinyl didn’t move. The stallion wasn’t even talking to her anymore anyway, he was talking to himself.

“I don’t want to die down here…” he said, eyes wide in horror. “I had more to do, more to give… do you know, I’ve done so much good already… I never thought it would end like this.” He chuckled. “It could have done you know, but I thought I was so careful… I picked the best undercover spot, I did the best I could to pretend the monkeys didn’t disgust me… dammit, I shouldn’t have left Plymouth, I should have stayed with my friends.” He laughed again, a hopeless, empty thing. “You know, we did a raid once - battle of Lancaster, before we were broken - where we…" He coughed, almost retching, as though either his situation or his injuries were taking their toll. "Gah. Where we… we broke into this orphanage. Killed the guards… then Levy - I think it was Levy, human names are so dull… Levy started potioning the kids. One by one… little ones… you know, there's no better feeling than getting little Convies back to Equestria… it makes you feel like you’ve done something right... I’d give anything to feel that again."

Vinyl blinked, trying not to see red again. This stallion… this inequine little shit was happily describing an atrocity, as though he was proud of it!

"Are you…" the stallion said, looking at her, frowning slightly. "Are you sure you can't… try to get me free?"

Vinyl tensed, then she looked up at her horn. It started glowing.

"Oh, thank Solamina," the stallion said. "Aim for my rear legs first, if they -"

He was cut off by a spell from Vinyl's horn zapping out, striking him between the eyes, drilling through his skull and splashing against a wall in the back of the room. The stallion let out a gasp of shock, eyes widening, then the momentum of the spell toppled him and the chair he was on to the floor. Vinyl closed her eyes, expecting… something.

A few moments later, the man returned, looking at the corpse with raised eyebrows - but of appreciation, not surprise. It was almost like he had known what would happen.

"Not bad," he congratulated, and Vinyl felt sick. "A little quick, a little clean - definitely precise, though. Have you done this before?"

Vinyl felt nauseous. Tavi forgive me.

***

That's what I learned down there. That's how it starts. The buildup of fury, the breaking point where suddenly you're vision is red and you burst and ponies are dead at your feet. That's what he wanted to teach me. Maybe I already knew it. Maybe I was just waiting…

***

He was sat in front of her, knife in hand, looking for all the world as though he was waiting for something.

Vinyl was staring at him, eyes narrowed in hatred. She had no gag in her mouth, but she refused to speak until he did. She wanted to know what he wanted.

Since the incident with the stallion - whose body he had moved with no trouble - he had fed her, holding a spoon of some thin, foul gruel to her mouth until hunger compelled her to eat. He had given her water. He had sat there, waiting for something. He hadn't said a word, merely staring patiently. She didn’t know how long it had been - it could have been minutes, it could have been hours, it could have been days.

Finally, she could take no more of it.

"What the buck do you want from me?!" she screamed at him.

He grinned.

"That," he said.

***

I kept telling myself that he wouldn’t break me. I kept telling myself I’d escape. That I’d get out. That I’d do something, anything other than what he wanted, whatever it was that he wanted.

I kept telling myself that.

I kept lying.

***

“So,” the man said, a long time later. “If you’re that good a shot, why aren’t you in the Resistance Army?”

Vinyl scowled. “What’s it to you?”

He shrugged. “We all go where our art takes us. My art led me here, eventually. A lot of peoples’ art leads them to the army, always has.”

Vinyl frowned. “My ‘art’ is my music.”

“Yes, I’ve listened to that,” the man said. “‘Rockerfeller Skank,’, ‘Gansta Trippin’’, three separate albums of Daft Punk covers… all of it a bit… empty.”

Vinyl raised an eyebrow. “Empty?”

“Empty,” the man repeated. “Lacking in a certain spark. Missing something, though as I’m not a musician I couldn’t tell you what, though if I had to hazard a guess…”

“Don’t,” Vinyl interrupted. “Don’t you dare.”

The man smiled. “Touched a nerve?”

“I don’t need a psychopath criticising my work,” she growled.

“And I don’t need philistines criticising mine,” the man replied, “but I don’t get angry at your ‘psychopath’ remarks.”

“Good for you,” Vinyl said with a sneer. “I guess I’m pickier.”

“I guess you are,” the man said with a smirk. “Still, picky isn’t a problem. I can work with picky.”

“‘Work with’...” Vinyl repeated. “What do you want?”

“What I want is for you to understand something,” the man said. “And for that to happen, you need to see my work, and you need to believe my work.”

Vinyl narrowed her eyes into a glare. “That isn’t going to happen.”

“But it already has,” the man said. “That stallion - sure, it was rushed, but that was a brilliant first piece. I bet you felt all sorts of wonderful angry feelings, too, didn’t you? Not my favourite way to make a piece, but…”

“Buck off!” Vinyl screamed, her anger rising. The man leaned back, eyes wide in shock. “Why are you doing this to me, you maniac?!”

He blinked, and then he smiled.

“You and me, we’re the same,” he said softly. “I saw it when you beat that little PER mare up - off in the distance you were, but I saw it all the same. And sure, you do your work for reasons different than mine, but I see in you the potential to be a better artist than even me and dear Army in our heyday…”

“I… am not a murderer!” Vinyl growled furiously.

“The stallion you killed would disagree,” the man said with a smile. “I heard every word he said, and I wondered just what that was doing. Watching Angry Artists at work… that’s usually something special. Sometimes they have to get worked up, but sometimes… ooh, sometimes they just snap. Like you did, with the PER traitor bitch and that stallion. Snapping is fun. How does it feel?”

Vinyl felt her gorge rise. This man… it was almost as if he took some sort of sick, twisted pleasure from the fact that she had been violent. Almost as though violence itself gave him a thrill, even a high.

“You’re evil,” she whispered.

He grinned, stood up, and bowed, almost like a stage performer to an audience.

“Amadeus Robert Cain, at your service,” he said theatrically. “I am a master of my art. And with my help, you will be too.”

***

Evil is a smile, Tavi. Evil is a laugh. Evil is a man who’s done the most horrible things in the world and still thinks of himself as an artist, a genius. And he wanted me to be likehim, wanted me to see the world the same way he did.

It would be… it would be so easy to lie to you. It would be so easy to lie to you and say that no, that I didn’t, that I couldn’t...

It would be so easy to lie.

***

He came down. He spoke about his work. He fed her. He gave her water. Sometimes he took her a drink of that diet coke - he had more than the two bottles he’d bought from Maureen. Maybe he’d stolen the coupons from those he kidnapped and murdered - that seemed the most likely option.

Not that PER deserve coupons anyway… she found herself thinking.

He had told her more about himself - about Amadeus and Armando, brothers in psychopathy - Amadeus the civilised, methodical, artistic killer, and Armando the brutal, the quick, the clean, the efficient, the planner who’d always kept them moving. Where Armando was, he did not say, and Vinyl did her best to not say anything to him at all.

Two days after he had finally named himself, Cain brought another pony down. Vinyl was awake to see him bring her, this time.

She was another mare, young, pale green, innocent looking. There were tears in her eyes and she had a cut at the top of her forehead, like she had been attacked already. Cain looked flustered - he was wearing no tie, and he had a bruise under one eye.

“Another PER bitch,” he said, grinning gleefully. “Go on - tell the good pony your name.”

“I… I’m Sundown,” she said softly. “I… oh please, please, don’t…”

“Tell the nice mare what you were doing, Sundown,” Cain said, kneeling down and holding a knife to the terrified mare’s throat. “Go on. Don’t be scared.”

“I… I…” the mare said, gulping. “I was… I was sending information to… to Levy in Plymouth… he passes it on to the Royal Guard. Please… please, I’ll… I’ll turn myself in, please, they’ll execute me, but please… please, don’t…”

“Please don’t what?” Cain asked, hissing in her ear. “Kill you? Oh, I’m not going to kill you…”

He pulled the knife away from her throat, and Sundown sobbed in relief, burying her head in her hooves. Suddenly, Cain brought the knife down in a stabbing motion, and the sharp metal impaled the mare in her shoulder. She screeched in agony, and Vinyl winced in horror.

“I’m just going to hurt you,” Cain continued. “Very, very badly.”

He sat by the tortured mare, and looked up at Vinyl, a smile on his face.

“Unless, of course, my friend here decides that she wants to deal with you,” he added with a smile.

Vinyl felt ill again. He’d brought this mare down here for her to kill, for her to… to…

Punish.

Vinyl’s eyes widened in horror. Where had that thought come from?

He’s going to hurt her anyway.

Vinyl shook her head. I’m not like him. I don’t hurt ponies for kicks.

It wouldn’t be for kicks. It’d be punishment for her crimes. How many humans are dead or Converted because of her giving away information?

That’s not the point…

Of course that’s the point! It’s why you hurt that PER bitch during the raid, it’s why you killed that little bucker bragging about ponifying orphans! You punished them!

“I’m not you,” Vinyl said aloud, looking Cain in the eyes. “I won’t hurt her…”

Cain shrugged. “It’s your choice - if you don’t want the canvas… I’ll have it.”

He stroked Sundown’s mane, and her eyes widened in horror.

“Please, don’t hurt m-!” she began, but Cain gripped her mane tighter and with a shriek she fell silent.

“Don’t. Say. A word,” Cain hissed. “One way or the other, little traitor, you die today.”

Vinyl felt conflicted. One way or another. Punish her, or he will. There’s nothing I can do. She can burn in Tartarus. Maybe if I hit him… but she’s PER - traitor! Sun-worshipping bitch! I can’t let her get away with what she’s done…

“Please,” Sundown whispered.

Vinyl’s horn glowed. With a flash, Cain was blasted backwards from the mare, hitting the wall with a grunt of pain, stunned for the moment.

“Oh, thank the Sun! Thank you!” Sundown said, slowly pulling herself to her feet. “Thank you so -!”

Vinyl’s next spell blasted the top of the mare’s head clean off, and the bloody, ruined remains smoked for a moment before slumping back to the floor.

Vinyl breathed heavily, eyes wide with horror and shock at what she had just done.

Justice.

“Was that really necessary?” Cain asked, scowling as he stood up, the effect of the spell having worn off. He rubbed the back of his head.

“Shut up,” Vinyl said quietly.

He looked over the corpse. “Another quick kill. Interesting. Is that just how you do it, or is it because you’re still getting used to making this kind of work?”

“I said shut up!” Vinyl snapped. “I… I’m not… I didn’t… you would have made her suffer.”

“Probably,” Cain said. “But the result would have been the same.”

“I spared her pain,” Vinyl said.

“You certainly did that,” Cain agreed. “Hell, you even gave her a fleeting bit of hope there - it’s always nice to see the hope before you -”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” Vinyl screamed. “I’m not like you! I don’t enjoy this! Killing ponies - any ponies - isn’t a fucking art form!”

Cain stepped back slightly, surprised by her outburst.

“Well,” he said softly. “You think so now…”

“I’ll always think like that,” Vinyl said stubbornly.

Cain, to her sickened horror, started chuckling.

“We’ll see,” he said simply.

***

There… there… was something… something satisfying about it. In my darkest moments… I thought about… about how the little wisps of smoke flew from the crater where that PER bitch’s head used to be. About how… about how much… about how much I liked the feeling of putting her down. IT was… good.

***

Eventually, after Pony God only knew how long, she had to speak to him.

“Why did you cut my mane?” she asked him one time, as he brought her water.

He had shrugged at that. “I like the look of you with short hair.”

Though she was reluctant to talk to him more than necessary, they had (eventually) started talking about what had brought them here - her more so she didn’t go insane than any particular desire to speak to him.

“My brother and I made a point of being meticulous,” Cain was saying. “I killed slowly, he planned slowly. A perfect match, really. He and I were in Europe in the last days - we figured it would be the perfect time to indulge in some larceny.”

“Bit of a strange time to be worried about material possessions,” she sneered.

“We weren’t,” Cain said. “But I like to think of it as a game of risk. We were so close to the damn Barrier…”

He trailed off.

“It caught him,” Vinyl guessed.

“A quick death,” Cain said, sounding emotionless for the first time since he had kidnapped Vinyl. “Clean. Instantaneous. One minute he was there, the next minute the Barrier jumps and he, the bank and the car are gone and I’m left standing a few metres away, having to run before it does it again.” He paused. “Not at all like the death I’d planned for him.”

“You… you planned to kill your own brother?” Vinyl asked.

“As opposed to what?” Cain asked. “Letting him die of old age, or be executed by some clod who had no idea how to make something beautiful out of it? How… mundane.”

Vinyl made a noise of disgust. Every time she thought Cain had run out of ways to make her sick, he came out with something new.

“But he was just gone,” Cain continued, not noticing (or not caring about) Vinyl’s reaction. “No appreciation for the art of pain. No appreciation for the moments of suffering. Nothing. It was… impersonal. And the Empire keeps doing that - impersonal killing. Boring killing. Unartistic killing. It’s… anathema to me.”

“And so you kill PER?” Vinyl asked.

“They get missed less,” Cain shrugged. “And if anyone - or, I suppose, anypony - needs a lesson in how to enjoy their art, it’s them.”

Vinyl scowled. “You know, I still don’t agree with your definition of ‘art’.”

Cain laughed. “I’m sure.” He stood up, and went back up the stairs of the cellar, leaving Vinyl alone.

***

Damnation isn’t a switch you flip on and off. Damnation is a road, one you keep walking down until you can’t see where you came from anymore. Did I go that far down?

I don’t know. That’s the worst part. That last day… what happened…

I just don’t know.

***

Cain brought down another pony a few hours later, a mare again. She was grim-faced and hard-eyed.

“I think the problem,” he said simply, “was that you were aiming your spell at the wrong place. That first time, you got angry and you blew that nice little hole in that stallion’s head - that was neat, but it killed him too quickly. If you can do that, but drill a hole through a leg or a non-vital part of the torso…”

The mare scowled at Cain but did nothing, the knife at her throat the perfect deterrent. She said nothing as he tied her up, still rambling.

Vinyl looked her over - she had to admit, this one looked… dangerous.

“So,” she asked softly. “Who’s this?”

“My name,” the mare said before Cain could answer, “is Hard Case.”

Vinyl’s eyes widened - Hard Case was one of the key PER ponies of the bad old days. She’d heard legends of the running clashes between her posse and men like Thane of the HLF Jackal-brigade, but those were consigned to urban legend, forgotten now that most of the ponies and Convies involved were back in Equestria and most of the humans were dead or Convies.

“Ah, you know of her,” Cain said with a smile. “Yes, I thought you’d like working on this one.”

“‘Working’ on me?” Hard Case asked, smirking. “The mare tied to a chair?”

“Hm, you’re right,” Cain said. He took his knife out and then walked over to Vinyl, before deftly cutting her free. Vinyl fell out of her chair with a grunt, and slowly, unsteadily, got to her feet. She felt a little weak, but she hadn’t been down here long enough for her limbs to truly atrophy.

How long had she been down here? Did it matter?

“So,” Cain said. “Like I was saying - if you pick a nice spot to hit, you can extend this little piece for hours...”

He was talking to her like… like she was his friend. Like she was on his side. Like somehow he thought that she was alright with this insanity.

“I’m not going to -” she began.

“Not going to kill her, blah, blah, blah,” Cain said, groaning slightly. “Look - you are. You always say you won’t but you always do in the end. And in this case, she’d be dead anyway if she ever got out of here because she’s wanted. You don’t have to feel that ridiculous guilt thing you’ve got going on here.”

Vinyl blinked, frowning, before looking at Hard Case, who was glowering at her.

“And if that doesn’t convince you, how about this,” Cain said. “If you don’t kill her, I’ll let her go.”

“No!” Vinyl said at once, eyes wide. “She’s… she’s a murderer!”

“So am I,” Cain said with a grin.

“If you let me go, I’ll kill both of you,” Hard Case growled. She looked imposing enough that Vinyl was reasonably sure she could do it, too.

“There,” Cain said. “Now, I’m going to leave you two alone - have fun, Miss Scratch.”

He left the room, leaving Vinyl alone with the tied up mare. Hard Case grinned.

“So,” she said, “you wanna let me go and die quietly, or d’you wanna get on with this?”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Vinyl said quietly.

“Then your friend will let me go - and I am going to kill you,” Hard Case said. “But then again, I guess a wuss like you isn’t cut out for killing anypony anyhow.”

Vinyl scowled. “I’ve killed.”

“Uh huh?” Hard Case said with a grin. “Like a little pampered whorse like you could kill anypony, Miss Scratch. I know who Vinyl bucking Scratch is, and no third rate button-pushing excuse for a musician is gonna be the death of me.”

“Shut up,” Vinyl growled.

Kill her.

“Make me,” Hard Case said, smirking. “I think I might break your legs first.”

She is an enemy. She is a danger. Kill her.

Vinyl felt weak at the knees again. She suddenly realised that she hadn’t eaten for what felt like hours - she was starving.

She will kill you if you don’t kill her first.

“And once I break your legs, I might break a rib, puncture a lung, watch you choke on blood,” Hard Case continued. “That’s always funny. Did that to a Resistance pony the other -”

“Shut up!” Vinyl said again.

“Why should I?!” Hard Case growled. “You’re a pansy. You can’t kill me - you don’t have the guts. And if you are, I’m not gonna sit here like some victim waiting for you to do it - I’m gonna rant and rave and call you a little bucking whorse if I want to...!”

KILL HER.

“I said SHUT UP!” Vinyl screamed, and her horn glowed. Hard Case had time to look surprised before a pencil-thin beam of light lanced out of Vinyl’s horn - right through the PER mare’s throat. She blinked in shock for a moment, then began coughing, blood leaking from the miniscule hole in her throat, bubbling up from her mouth.

Vinyl blinked in shock. “I… I…”

Hard Case spat at her, her blood staining Vinyl’s coat. Vinyl stepped back, the hunger and fatigue and weakness all taking their toll.

As Hard Case began retching and choking on the blood from her punctured artery, Vinyl Scratch hit the floor, fainting…

***

Tavi. Forgive me.

***

“... this is Resistance FM, broadcasting for as long as we can…”

When Vinyl awoke, she was alone. Hard Case was gone, and Vinyl could only see dried blood on the concrete floor where the PER member had been. The radio was blaring Resistance FM and she could hear Tavi’s voice speaking.

“Uh…” she groaned, standing up. She frowned, looking around. There was no sign of Cain.

There was also no sign of anything stopping her from leaving.

“Hello?” she asked, frowning in confusion. It couldn’t be this easy.

“We have received word that an anonymous tip has been given as to the location of the missing motivational musician Vinyl Scratch - we understand BDF to be converging on that location presently, and we will provide more information as the communication channels provide it…”

“Anonymous tip?” Vinyl wondered aloud, frowning. “What?”

She could hear banging upstairs. She tensed suddenly - what was that?

“In other news, the bodies of more ponies affiliated with the PER have been located. These bodies were all horribly burnt, which has stumped several investigators, but the exact cause of death appears to have been some sort of spell damage. Expert magic-detection units have so far failed to identify the type and origin of these spells due to the extent of the damage.”

“Hello?!” a voice called out, muffled by the wood of the ceiling. “Miss Vinyl Scratch, are you here?!”

“Hello!” Vinyl yelled. “Down here! Anypony?!”

There was a bang, and suddenly a light shone down into the dim cellar.

“Miss Scratch?” a voice asked, as a BDF soldier slowly crept down the stairs, garbed in full hazmat.

“Did you get him?!” Vinyl asked frantically.

“Get who, Miss Scratch?” the soldier asked.

“Him!” Vinyl yelled. “The man who kidnapped me, Cain!”

The soldier tilted his head in obvious confusion. “There’s no one else here, ma’am.”

Vinyl slumped to the floor, eyes wide.

“No one else here…” she repeated.

The soldier took his mask off, frowning at her confusedly.

“Ma’am?” he asked. “What happened?”

***

I told them. I told them everything. That he’d tied me up, tortured me, made me kill those ponies. I’d been down there over a week, apparently - the house was a small one in the outskirts of London, and they’d never thought to look for me. Cain was nondescript enough that they couldn’t trace him from his description.

They pardoned me for killing those ponies of course - you don’t get arrested for killing PER in Britain. I got a psych eval - told me nothing I didn’t already know, that I was in shock and needed rest and recuperation. My mane could grow back. The scar across my eye, though… that was permanent.

They told me they’d look for Cain, but I never heard anything back from them about him.

I did hear from him, though…

***

London, July 30th, 2026.

Vinyl opened her eyes, sitting up and gasping for breath.

The nightmares were always the same - a man, a smile, a knife, and the feeling of a blade going through flesh.

It was dark, and cold despite it being July. She frowned - she had an… odd feeling. Like anticipation… or foreboding. Tensing herself, she got up and walked to her front door - there was no noise, no sign of anyone or anypony there… but there was an envelope that had been pushed under her door.

Frowning, she lit her horn and opened the letter. Her eyes widened in horror.

It was a black-and-white picture of her, lying unconscious next to the wide-eyed corpse of Hard Case, greeted her. On the flip side of it was a handwritten note.

Nice work. Shame you fell asleep during it, but you were tired. She lasted seven minutes, and they were glorious. I look forward to seeing more from you in future.

A.R.C.

She dropped the photo numbly and slumped to the floor, her eyes wide and all thought gone.

I’m not like him. I’m not like him. I’m not like him. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not…

***

I’m not like him. I can’t be. I never killed a soul since that day, except at the battle of Canterlot. I didn’t enjoy it. I can’t be like him.

I just can’t be.

Author's Notes:

I had to write for AOA again - I was going mad. And this particular story is one I've been itching to tell for a while...