Author's Notes:

Edited- 27 Dec 2015

“Hey there everypony! DJ-Pon3 here for a weekly wrap up of what’s going on in Canterlot! But I’ll reading some fan mail first, and we’ll be starting with...”

Some paper rustles and DJ-Pon3 clears her throat.

“‘Dear Vinyl, will you date me?’ Sorry, buddy, I’m too busy keeping the music and news flowing to date. Next we have: ‘Dear DJ, enough with the political stuff. Play the music!’ Okay, first off, normally I don’t care for politics, but what Equestria is going through is too important to be ignored, even by a political hating filly like me. Secondly, screw you! I’ll run my station how I want to!”

More rustling.

“Okay, lots of mail... Lots and lots of mail... More mail than usual... Tsh-tsh-tsh, okay, I’ll read this last one before I play some music from Fifty Bits’ new album, ‘All Things Fall’ , which I know you rapping fans will love! Anyway.”

DJ-Pon3 clears her throat.

“‘Dear Ms. DJ-Scratch’ -aww, that’s cute- ‘Are you going to do more news on the mysterious vigilante? My foals love hearing you talk about her.’ Well, missy, while the vigilante thing has been going on for a few weeks, I don’t really have much on her. Sure, this pony is beating up the muggers and taking on the griffin thugs, but all I got are rumors and anonymous guard reports. So, peeps,that means I need your help in bringing me the stories about this pony. Good ones, too, not that weird crap that says they're an alien or a member of the League of Justice. Those are just bullshit. Real stuff, guys. Real stuff. Now, for some gender degrading, moral bashing, momma hating, gang loving music!”

Late at night, the door to the Roost is opened up for Pinkie Pie by the griffin outside, and is escorted in by another griffin. She looks over her shoulder when the door is closed, and then nods with a polite smile to other griffins that sit around table, smoking or drinking. They return her courtesy with either confusion, disdain, or, in the case of a couple of male griffins sitting in a corner, smirks and bird calls.

“Far from home, little pony, eh?” says one of the griffins.

Pinkie Pie says nothing, but flashes a smile at them, and continues walking, noticing multiple weapons, ranging from ballistic to hand held are nearby the patrons at all time. Off the bat she spots a dozen griffins in the red lit lobby, and her nose wrinkles from the stench of old cigars and cigarettes.

Her escort leads her up an elevated dining area that is walled off by a solid railing decorated with repeating patterns of a gold, fiery wing wrapped around a red orb that connects to a talon. The separated area has an oil painting of a male griffin with breath feathers and plumage, posing with a purple scarf around his neck and a gold crown on his head, and below that picture is Winny.

She is sitting at a booth, her back against the wall with four other griffins, and she is eating chicken meal and has an assortment of sauces at her table. Winny, and all the griffins stare at Pinkie Pie and her escort intently, and Pinkie Pie's eyes drift to the revolver by Winny's plate. It is turned to her and she is willing to put money on the table to say that it is loaded.

Winny says something in her national language that Pinkie Pie cannot understand, and the escort replies in the same language. A moment later, Winny waves them forward.

“So, you are Ms. Sprinkles?” says Winny as Pinkie Pie walks up to the table, smiling all the way.

“That I am,” says Pinkie Pie.

“Tell me, what business do you have with us?” says Winny.

Pinkie Pie eases herself in a free chair, watching all the griffins with absent minded carelessness as she turns a container of hot sauce towards her so she can look at the label.

“Raging Dragon Hot Sauce,” says Pinkie Pie. She squints her eyes and leans a little bit closer. “Made with peppers of over one million Scoville heat units. Wow, I would hate to get that in my eyes.”

“Answer the question. Why are you here?” says Winny impatiently.

Pinkie Pie looks up and smiles sweetly as she drags the container closer to her. “You met a friend of mine at Bon Bon's place a little while ago. Beat up unicorn mare, blue and silver in color. If I remember correctly you said she could see you if she had a problem.”

“Well, you aren't her and I didn't invite you.”

“I am speaking on her behalf. That is how we do the fancy business talk, right? Am I right?”

Pinkie Pie looks around, noting the four new griffins that arrived and how everyone is now brandishing a weapon. Her mouth goes dry and a trickle of sweat goes down the back of her neck as a second thought of this being a bad idea crosses her mind. Her whole body, every muscle strand, every bit of fur, feels like a pulled wire or a static charged sock, all just waiting to pop, and her eyes flick around to the griffins, zeroing in on every possible part she can, noting their shifts, their nervousness in some and annoyance in others. This had been a bad idea, but there is no turning back, and with a self loathing sigh of her pickled situation, she looks back at Winny.

“I guess not,” says Pinkie Pie.

“So, if you are speaking for this mare, why is she not here?” says Winny.

Pinkie Pie smirks. “She's got a life.”

The griffins chuckle, but Winny remains stern.

“If your friend has a problem then she can come to me, but I will not let you be her voice. You are more than welcomed to be her bodyguard, but not her tongue,” says Winny.

“Oh, why not?” says Pinkie Pie.

“Words are easily twisted by the messenger if they have an ulterior motive.”

“Really? All me and my friend want to know is who killed Bon Bon and why.”

Winny snarls, leaps from her chair and points at Pinkie Pie. “Get her out of here!”

The griffin closest to Pinkie Pie grabs her by her shoulder, and before anyone can count to three, she grabs the hot sauce, twists her way out of his grip and smashes the container against his face. The glass shatters and slices his face, and red and green sauce mixes with blood as the griffin shrieks in agony and clutches his face. The stench of boiling eye juice stinks up the air and his sobs make Pinkie Pie's shaking worse. And while all the griffins leap back, swearing up a storm or going completely speechless at the sight of their friend writhing on the ground, she smiles nervously and drops the broken bottle.

“Can we try this again without anybody getting hurt this time?” says Pinkie Pie.

The griffins look at her, and one by one the shocked expressions change to a lust for blood, and growls and snarls mix with the cocking of weapons and the beating of blunt weapons against palms. Pinkie Pie looks to her side to see Winny spinning a revolver, and when it clicks shut, she swallows the tiny amount of spit in her mouth and looks at all the griffins again.

“I guess not.”

A few minutes later, Pinkie Pie is scrubbing blood off of her hooves in a grungy sink of a dim, graffiti infested bathroom that has a flickering lights. Her breathing is frantic, her eyes are wet, and her skin and clothing are ripped and covered in blood. She breaks open the paper towel dispenser and uses tape from the office to bandage her wounds. The paper towels quickly turn red and she uses all of the tape to keep them on. Once she is done, she adjusts her wig, takes a deep breath and flashes a nervous smile.

“Round three, here we go,” she says.

Pinkie Pie steps out of the bathroom and into the ransacked Roost. Nearly all the tables and bottle are broken, covering the ground in shards of glass, splinters, puddles of alcohol, and all of the attendants are unconscious and tied to pillars. Bullet holes and indents also wreck the walls, railing and window, and in the main lobby, a ceiling light dangles, flickering on and off. The front door has also been locked, the sign has been flipped to “CLOSE”, and to make things a bit more secure, she blocked the back entrance with a fridge.

Pinkie Pie ignores the other captured griffins and walks up to Winny, who is the only griffin tied up and alone at the back of the establishment, and she pats her cheek to wake her up. The griffin stirs, but is still unconscious. A quick jab to the cheek fixes that.

Winny swears and her eyes shoot open, and when she sees Pinkie Pie, she struggles to break free, but she is tied in such a way that it is almost impossible for her to move.

“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you,” says Pinkie Pie.

“Right, you just beat the crap out of me and my gang and tied us to poles!” says Winny. “Do you realize what Gilda's going to do to you?”

“I got a good idea.” Pinkie Pie sits in front of Winny. “Now, I have a question for you. They are very simple and only need simple answers, and if you’re good I’ll give you a cupcake. How’s that sound?”

Winny scoffs. “Sounds stupid.”

“So, can you tell me who put the hit on Bon Bon and who killed her?”

“Are you kidding me? Have you been living under a rock?”

“So, it was Gilda who ordered Bon Bon killed, after all. But who killed her.”

Winny rolls her eyes. “Santa Hooves, dip shit.”

Pinkie Pie punches Winny on the side of the head, and her captive squawks painfully as her head jolts to the side with a gash over her eye.

“What the fuck?” cries Winny.

“That was mean,” says Pinkie Pie.

“Mean? You think I'm mean? No, I'm a damn saint compared to Gilda, and you'll find out very soon what I mean.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really. You're getting a closed casket funeral, you know that right? Dead!”

Pinkie Pie snorts. “Lady, I've already had one closed casket, and I won't mind getting another one.”

Trixie ducks behind a dumpster in a grungy alley next to a spray painted mural of an all white, winged crescent moon with its points facing downward. She’s about to move, but shrinks back when a patrol vehicle passes by, shining a light in her direction. Luckily the dumpster shields her from the light, and when the vehicle passes, she makes a mad dash across the street by a small, single story, building with a radio tower on it that has 86.5 Scratch FM painted on the windows. There are radios playing a tune on the window display, which the windows have steel grates over them, as well as the door. Trixie also notices that the station appears to be acting as a home, too.

“...That was some good music wasn’t it?” says DJ-Pon3 from the radios pushed against the window. “But now that that is done and over with, I’m going to be finishing off with the usual.”

Trixie looks around to make sure no patrol is coming before she approaches the window. As she peers through the window she can make out all kinds of radio equipment and faint glow from the back room with someone’s shadow along the wall. And another thing she notices is a navy blue flag with the same symbol she saw in the alley stitched to it hanging over more equipment.

“And that means the lecture and then some lullabies. Let’s face it, in this day and age, we all need a lullaby to help us sleep and a lecture to help us think. Don’t worry, tonight's lecture will be soft, and these will just be words of encouragement more than anything else.”

Trixie forces herself to leave before she gets too wrapped up in what DJ-Pon3 has to say, and disappears from sight. After a few minutes of snaking through the grungy alleys, she finds Pipsqueak standing in front of a gang of eight mares, one of which is a pegasus perched on top of a motorized wagon to act as their lookout.

“Just give us what’s in the saddle and you can go on home to your mommy,” says the lead mare, who is an earth pony with a silver coat and a crazy mane that has obviously been dyed to look like rainbow puke.

“C’mon, Teaspoon,” groans Pipsqueak, “we’ve already been through this.”

“That was last week!”

“Yeah, and you took everything so what makes you think I would have anything now?”

“You little-”

"Hey!” yells Trixie.

The gang and Pipsqueak look at Trixie, and then Teaspoon glares at the pegasus.

“Some look out you are,” says Teaspoon.

“But I didn’t see her!” says the pegasus.

Trixie marches towards the gang, clearing her throat and grumbling to herself to get a perfect disguised voice. The whole time the gang is staring at Trixie, Pipsqueak cautiously inches to the safety of a dumpster.

“Eight fully grown mares against one small colt? You must be proud,” says Trixie in her disguised voice, which is really gruff and raspy.

“You sound like you have throat cancer,” remarks Teaspoon, making her gang laugh.

Trixie stops and looks at each of them, and one word can accurately describe all of them: Butch.

“Great, I walked into a gang of violent lesbians,” mutters Trixie in her normal voice.

“What was that?” says Teaspoon while turning her head slightly and leaning in closer. “You got something to say about me and my gang?”

“Yeah,” says Trixie, back to her disguised voice. “I see a group of cowards who are so afraid of a little colt that they have to gang up on him. You must really suck.”

“The only things we suck at is... um... SHUT UP!”

“Wow, even your insults are horrible. Why don’t you go home to have a pillow fight or something before you get hurt.”

Teaspoon laughs, as do the others, and Trixie’s eyes narrow and she scrapes her hoof along the pavement.

"I mean it. Beat it!" says Trixie.

“Now why would we listen to you?” laughs Teaspoon. “You’re covered in bedsheets!”

“Last chance. Either you leave or I leave you as bloody pulps for the guards."

The gang stops laughing and ooh at her while waving their hooves like cheap ghosts. Teaspoon, however, glares at Trixie and wipes her maw.

“Look, whoever you are, just get on outta here and let me and my gang put that shrimp in his place, or else we’ll break your legs and make you watch us beat him to a pulp,” says Teaspoon.

Trixie’s blood starts boiling and she takes a threatening step forward, which must have given off a vibe that she’s not messing around because the whole gang takes a step back.

“Very last chance,” says Trixie.

Teaspoon laughs nervously as she scratches her hoof against the pavement. “Oh, I love this guy.”

“Gal.”

“Whatever.” Teaspoon turns to the crook closest to her. “Take care of this clown, please.”

The mare hesitates, but still charges Trixie at full speed.

Trixie watches every step of the attacker, and Pipsqueak’s eyes widen when it appears that she will take the punishment of the potential head butt. But at the last second Trixie turns around and bucks her attacker full on in the maw. She feels and hears the bones break underneath her crushing blow, and the mare sails through the air and lands on her back on the pavement with another sickening crack. The rest of the gang stares at her, eyes wide and jaws open, as Trixie’s victim lies on the ground, sobbing with a bloody, destroyed face, barely able to move.

Teaspoon takes another step back and points at Trixie, stammering: “Wha-What are you waiting for? Kill her!”

Five of them reluctantly charge, but the pegasus flies to the safety of an apartment balcony and watches the scene unfold.

Trixie and the five mares charge each other, and the first of the five mares rears up to crush Trixie’s skull with her forehooves, but Trixie tackles her to the ground. Before the others can react, Trixie smashes her target’s voice box, and she instantly clutches her neck while gagging and curling up. Then Trixie jumps out of the way as the second brings her forehooves down, but instead of hitting Trixie, she ends up stomping her fallen comrade’s gut.

Trixie bucks the second mare’s front leg and it pops the bone out backwards at the lower portion, and the attacker shrieks and falls to the ground, trying to cover her injury with her other hoof. As the second mare cries on the ground, another mare jumps on Trixie's back and wraps their hooves around her throat.

Trixie gasps for air and pushes herself up so that she’s standing on her hind legs, and then lets gravity take over. The choker is sandwiched between Trixie and the pavement, and she smiles under her cheap mask when she hears a cracking noise and the mare grunt painfully. However, that smile is short lived as another mare stomps her in the gut. All of the remaining air is forced out of Trixie’s lungs, and she coughs painfully and twists sporadically to get her choker off as the attacker relentlessly tries to stomp her to death, with each stomp sending a surge of sharp pain around her gut and sides. When the stomping mare brings her hooves up for another stomp, Trixie turns just in time for the hooves to land awkwardly on her choker’s side. The pony choking her cries out in pain and Trixie hears her bones snap like twigs.

The pony releases Trixie, and she levitates the one that stomped her off of the ground and throws her away. She screams as she flies back, but her screaming comes to an abrupt end when she hits the corner of a brick wall and lands on her face on the sidewalk with a nice blood splatter on the wall and ground. The pony that choked Trixie earlier crawls on the ground, gasping for air and coughing out blood, but a quick hoof to the head is enough to put an end to her noise.

“Hooooaaaaaahhh!” yells the remaining attacker.

Trixie turns around and sees the remaining attacker is a unicorn that is spinning a bunch of knives around her with magic while making weird cat sounds and flailing her hooves idiotically. Trixie sighs, dips her head, and then one quick spell later, a small storm cloud appears above the unicorn's head and zaps a huge bolt of lightning that leaves her on the ground, twitching and smoking. When that is done and over with, Trixie turns to Teaspoon, only to see her bolting down the road.

“Oh no you don’t,” growls Trixie.

Trixie gallops after Teaspoon, ignoring the pain in her abdomen, and when she is in range, she takes a flying leap and lands on top of her target. Both ponies roll end over end of each other, and stop when they hit a motorized wagon. The vehicle shakes in its spot and Trixie does her best to ignore the worsening, splitting pain in her side.

Teaspoon clambers to her feet and attempts to buck Trixie, but Trixie dodges the attack and Teaspoon’s hoof ends up going through the wooden door of the vehicle. Trixie’s hoof collides with Teaspoon’s jaw soon after, and the thug yelps and falls to the ground with her teeth knocked loose and a hoof covered in splinters from the door, which now has a huge gash in it from the leg being awkwardly yanked out.

Now laying on the ground, coughing and spitting out blood and teeth, Teaspoon looks at Trixie, her whole body shaking and eyes wide with panic. “Who are you?”

Instead of answering with words, Trixie knocks out Teaspoon and drags her broken body to the others. When they are all in a pile, she launches a ball of bright light from her horn. At first its nothing special, but then it explodes in the sky like a firework, lighting up everything, and soon after, sirens are heard wailing in the distance.

Trixie then turns to Pipsqueak, who is still hiding by the dumpster, and she extends her hoof to him. “Let’s get you home.”

Pipsqueak nods and after Trixie helps him up, he follows her through the maze of the alleyways. As they walk Trixie ignores the soreness all over her body and the terrible pain her ribs are suffering from, and the silence between the two becomes awkward to say the least. The only real sound in the city now, aside from the approaching sirens, are the clip-clops of their hooves meeting the ground. The whole time they are walking, Trixie keeps herself on high alert.

“So...” says Pipsqueak uneasily, “what brings you around these parts?”

“What kind of question is that?” asks Trixie, being sure to keep her voice disguised, which is now hurting her throat.

“Yeah, that was a dumb question. So what’s you’re name?”

“I wear a disguise for a reason.”

“I know. I was just wondering what your superhero name was.”

“My superhero name?”

“Yeah, you wear a costume and fight crime, you must be a superhero.”

Trixie rolls her eyes. “I don’t have one.”

A sharp pain then stabs at her side, and Trixie winces and leans against a wall to get a breather. She coughs painfully, and to add salt to the wound, each cough feels like a claw digging into her lung, and it brings her to the ground, wheezing for air.

“You okay?” asks Pipsqueak.

He grabs Trixie's hoof and tries to help her up, but she waves him away and bites her lip when she stands up, having to use the wall for support.

“I don’t need your help. I’m fine,” says Trixie, forgetting to disguise her voice.

“I don’t know, that fight looked brutal, like changelings in a gladiator match or something.”

Trixie stares at him for a moment before she shakes the thought of gladiator changelings out of her mind and proceeds to walk down the alley.

“So, where do you live anyway?” asks Trixie.

“I live across the street from Bon Bon Land. I’ll show you the house and maybe mum can fix you tea and crumpets!” says Pipsqueak excitedly.

“No.”

“Awww, but it’ll be a token of gratitude for your services.”

“No.”

“Oh, I get it.” Pipsqueak gets a sly smile. “Tea and crumpets are not a snack for the Dark Mare. You would want something like cider and hay bacon.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I can’t because if I have tea and crumpets then I would have to take off my mask, which would defeat the purpose of this disguise.”

“You’re wearing bedsheets, though.”

Trixie stops and glares at him. “So!”

Pipsqueak also stops and looks at her apologetically. “Miss. Sorry Miss, but with those bedsheets you kinda look like those unicorn supremacists who burn totem poles outside earth pony homes.”

Trixie’s jaw drops. “I am not a racist! And those ponies wear white sheets. This is not white, it’s more of a dark brownish color.”

Pipsqueak cringes, then his ears perk up and he stares at Trixie quizzically. “You sound familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

Trixie’s jaw locks shut and she starts sweating nervously. “No, and I don’t know you either.”

Pipsqueak eyes Trixie suspiciously, but still nods and walks ahead of Trixie. “I guess I’ll lead you to my mum’s place, then.”

“Why are you out past curfew, anyway?” asks Trixie as she walks next to him, cringing and resisting a need to cry with every step taken.

Pipsqueak looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you out past curfew?”

“I’m doing a service. What are you doing?”

Pipsqueak hesitates. “I was at the park, fell asleep, and woke up past curfew so I tried to get back home before I ran into trouble. It obviously did not work very well.”

Trixie doesn’t believe him, but she does not feel like interrogating him, so they walk in silence for a few more minutes until they arrive at a basic duplex with flowerpots on every step of the staircase and a lovely welcome sign hanging on the front door.

“Well, this is where I live,” says Pipsqueak while walking up the stairs, but before he goes inside he turns to face Trixie. “Thanks for your help, Dark Mare.”

Trixie smiles behind her mask and does a courteous nod, and when Pipsqueak goes inside, Trixie instantly hears his mother shouting: “Where have you been?”

“I fell asleep at the park and almost got mugged, but I was saved by the vigilante DJ-Pon3's been talking about. Honest this time,” says Pipsqueak.

“Poppycock! I'm getting your father! Davenport, get over here!”

Trixie takes that a the queue to leave and she disappears into the neighboring alley.

After an hour or so of aimless travel, Trixie staggers into one of the city parks, complete with trees in full bloom, cobblestone pathways, small playgrounds, and a fountain with a statue of Celestia posing on the top with the Bearers looking up to her with wonder in their carved eyes. Trixie collapses by the fountain and is barely able to grab the edge. The tip of her hooves go in the water and she closes her eyes as the cool air and the calm trickling of water fills her with a sense of peace. However, that sense of peace is ruined when Trixie coughs again, and this time she pulls off her mask and hocks a ball of blood into the crystal clear water.

Trixie gets a sickening feeling as she watches the blood spread out, and then she feels the pain in her side strike at full force. She grunts and slumps to the ground underneath the Pinkie Pie statue, and starts gasping for air as she holds her side and rests her sweaty head against the marble, cursing herself for allowing those scumbags to get those hits on her.

Trixie closes her eyes and really wishes she had some of her pills to help her combat the pain that is overwhelming her mind and body. Then she hears a vehicle pull up and she peeks past the fountain and sees Minty’s vehicle stopping just shy of the fountain, and her parole officer hops out seconds later, grinning and trotting towards her.

“There you are,” says Minty. “I just drove by a small army of Night Guards and paramedics loading up some of messed up gangsters. They pulled me over, but luckily I had this little baby with me.“

Minty giggles and holds up her badge, and Trixie smiles wearily and looks ahead at the dark scenery, still keeping her hoof on her side.

“I might’ve had something to do with that,” says Trixie.

Minty is about to say something, but when she sees the blood in the fountain she slides next to Trixie and starts inspecting her. When she touches her ribs, Trixie winces and bats Minty’s hoof away.

“That hurts!” snaps Trixie.

“You’re going to a hospital,” says Minty sternly while helping Trixie up.

“We can’t go to a hospital, it’ll be too easy to connect me to the thingy I did.”

“Your late night vigilantism?”

“Yeah... that. Ow.”

Minty stops and thinks about it for a second, then she helps Trixie into her vehicle and has her lay down. After Trixie is as comfortable as she can be, Minty drives down the road seemingly without direction, and a few painful minutes later, Trixie passes out.