I sat back on my couch thinking about last night. What motivated me to do something that... grotesque? It'd never leave my mind. I, for the first time in years, felt regret.

I couldn't get it out of my head: the screams of not the mother, no not the father, the worst one was the filly. I was again sucked into the moment.

"What did they do!" she screamed.

"They didn't answer."

"But-"

I wrapped the saw around her neck, and she had cried something incomprehensible. In my own drunken rage I didn't think about how I did this: I pulled tighter, but I wanted to make this last... for whatever fucking reason I did it slowly; ever so slowly. The blood didn't seep through the wounds, but gradually trickled down. She continued to scream and cry until Ifelt the windpipe and neck against the saw, but I didn't hesitate. I kept on pulling until the neck gave way, decapitating the filly; the severed head rolling off the body.

It was over like that. My gaping hero complex had finally gotten the better of me. I always looked at myself as an anti-hero, but now that I see what I truly am: a monster; a villain in the finest right. I walked back to the fridge, and inside it lay another six pack, bought fresh right after I got all her blood off my hooves.

I grabbed two beers and downed them both in under a minute each. It wasn't enough to wash it out. It couldn't wash out the pain. I couldn't do it anymore. Was I done? Am I done with this job? Is this time to give up?

No, I needed to finish this. Now part of this isn't for money, it's for revenge. I grabbed two more beers and chugged them quickly. I stumbled down the road, no jacket this time. At least I remembered the clip. It was time for revenge.

I walked into the window right next to the door at the pawn, which grabbed the attention of Rock Bottom. He stared, horrified at what he saw. I then waltzed through the door. It was then I finally got a grip on myself and at least tried to push through this state of abuse.

"Son, you alright?"

"Shaken, but not broken."

"Well, that's not entirely true. You've been working an awful lot lately; anything going down?"

"More than you may know. I'm trading in my .38."

"Well I'll be. Thought you'd want to hold on to that."

"Guess not, but it's more of a trade."

"Oh?"

"I saw that the sawed off on the shelf is 140 bits, and I'm trading it in. Give me all the shells I can get with the rest. Whatever is the most brutal you have."

"That will be the flechette. She's all yours"

We both slammed down our weapons, his a wooden stockless sawed off shotgun. Mine the Taurus M85S revolver. Fair trade. He pulled three boxes of flechette and one extra box. This one was birdshot. I was fine with that, as birdshot is just a slightly more lethal flechette.

"Well, is that all?"

"Yup."

"Well, I need to ask, did you have anything to do with the incident that happened last night?"

"Don't ask."

"I see."

I put the shotgun under my arm and walked home, turning faces in the streets. But as soon as I got home, I pulled the shotgun up to my face. Not the barrel, but the side of the shotgun. I looked at what it said on the side, if you're going to own a weapon know what it is.

'Mossberg 500. 12 GA. Proudly made in Equestria. Armory Lane, Fillydelphia.' was inscribed on the side. The mossberg 500 is a good shotgun, but I much preferred the 590 I used back in the PD.

I put on some fitting music from my MP3 player while I got the shotgun ready for my next move. The song was 'Why'd you bring the shotgun to the party?', couldn't be better.

'Oh he's so alone, afraid, the kid your mother made sittin’ in that room like loser with all that drool. You think, then you get so paranoid with all the drugs they filled you with then BOOM. Make you feel like a man? Oh BOOM. Not the size we understand. If you want to start a way you better know what you're hittin’.'

I pulled the pump back, giving me the classic click sound. Music to my ears. A buckshot shell flew out of the chamber, so I picked it up for later and pumped it back and forth until it was unloaded. Previous owner left it fully loaded with buckshot defense grade shells. I'm looking for something a little more cruel for this occasion.

I cleaned the spaces between the pump and the main shotgun's frame. If I had the ramrod I would've cleaned the barrel, but I didn't have such luxuries.

'You turned the TV on, watch it if you dare. You see a politician and you start to pull your mane. They talk about demons but there's really nothin’ there. You wanna tell em what you're thinkin’ but you think they fuckin’ care? So BOOM, you think they hear you now? So BOOM, making noises in the crowd.'

By that time the mossberg was ready. I had more preparation to do though before I were to make my next move. I put it away and laid down on the couch. I guess revenge could wait: it was too rash... too short and too ill advised. It was time I had a talk with Twilight about this... problem she had.

She greeted me with a smile... or a fake one at that. I walked in with her as we went to the normal meeting room.

"So, you had some questions?"

"Yes. What happened with this Starlight chick?"

"Oh, that's simple. She ran a settlement in a secluded region of Equestria, one that wasn't even mapped. When we tried to subdue her, she fled through a tunnel, making us unable to get through with the chase. I don't feel comfortable with her still being around. So that’s why I got you. Anything else?"

"Yes, now you see I would imagine you had some control and authority in military actions, or at least on the homefront. So I did some research, and it turned up that you actually do have a position where you can command search warrants and arrest warrants. If that's the case, why not just send the ESS after her? I'm sure a 500 pony chase would be much more effective than a had-been off on the side of the road. So what's the big deal?"

"Well, that's where things get complicated. Celestia frowns upon the use of unnecessary violent force, and claims that it should only be used when the nation is in peril. Well, she said that she's not a state of national security so she stated me not allowed to hunt her down. So I looked for someone else that could. Now you see, I looked at the crime reports and noticed an unusual trend. For months you had been doing this job and had built up quite a reputation with people in this business..."

"Wait, people know who I am?"

"One way or another... yes."

"Well that just ain't right."

"You see, I was pointed in your direction. You were just what I needed. Invisible, smart, experienced, and motivated by money. That's all that mattered."

"So here we are?"

"Yes."

"Well that's boring. I expected more explosions, shooting and crap."

"Life isn't always what you expect. Anything else?"

"No, that's all."

I walked home, after all I already know that tonight wasn't going to be my night. Getting hungover wasn't ever fun. At least I forgot about last night. As soon as I reached home I opened the box of flechette and birdshot, loading the first 7 rounds to be flechette and the last one to be birdshot. Ironically, it makes the last shell loaded the first shell you fire, seeing as that one goes at the top of the tube.

Flechettes are nasty shells. Rather than the typical shotgun shell, which fires pellets, flechettes fire raw shrapnel. The ones in this specific box were nails and broken down sheets of metal. So in other words a whole lot of little nails flying downrange to bleed your target to death. The birdshot, however, was just a buckshot with smaller pellets allowing it to have the power of a 10 gauge.

Pumping the shotgun loaded the birdshot into the chamber. It was ready for tonight. Walking over to my pack, I pulled my other .38 out. It identified itself as the famous (or infamous depending on who you asked) Smith and Wesson model 10 'Victory'. The victory model was built originally for police use but was adopted into gangs soon thereafter.

I opened the cylinder, which revealed it to be full with .38 hollow tip rounds. These expanded a lot faster on contact and were banned from use by military occupants and police ponies due to them being too powerful. Well, looks like I got six of ‘em. I also got that box of .38s I bought the other day. I filled my jacket with boxes of ammo and sat on the couch, watching television. Nothing was on, but I didn't care. Needed something to pass the time.

Author's Notes:

I feel this story may be developing pacing issues. So yes I understand that this chapter isn't the most eventful but it's made to put things on a more rational tone. The next chapters will be much longer. I need to make these last if I want this story to go on.