Author's Notes:

Added on 07 Mar 2015

An hour after the deadly brawl, Winny groans and pushes herself to her feet. Her whole body is aching and when she tries to move her beak she immediately screams, clutches it tight and falls to the ground sobbing. She feels the pieces of her beak get pushed down by her talons, making her cry even harder and kick her legs wildly. After what seems like an eternity of crying and attempts to move, she is finally able to limp towards the exit. But she trips over something and falls to the ground in a warm, sticky puddle. She’s able to fall on her shoulder to prevent more damage to her beak, but she starts trembling when she realizes that she fell in blood and that the body she tripped over belongs to Octavia’s. Winny whimpers and scrambles backwards, only to slide into more blood and trip over another body. This one is Lock, or at least it looks like Lock.

Winny starts hyperventilating and staggers towards a fallen EIB pony with a radio set. She fumbles with the equipment, being sure to keep her destroyed beak clamped with her talon, and when she has the appropriate frequency, she puts on the headset.

“This is Undercover Guard Oksana Wasyl. I need help. Medical help. 443 Wash Street,” says Winny, her voice muffled and strained with the pain from her destroyed beak. “Please, bring lots of help!”

There is fuzz on the other end, and when the voice on the other end speaks, her heart sinks.

“Repeat. We cannot understand you,” says the stallion, his voice garbled and covered with fuzz. “We need your name, number, and location.”

Winny whimpers and wipes her face, leaving streaks of red, and then she speaks in a quivering, more pained voice. “Oksana Waysl. ID number-”

The door suddenly flies open, sounding like a gunshot echoing in the forsaken structure, and Winny stiffens and scans the darkness with her hazy eyes. She hears multiple hoofsteps and voices giving out orders, among other things.

“She's been here, all right. I know her work,” says a stallion.

“Thank you, Chopper,” says another stallion, his voice exotic. “Fan out and find Maud! Kill her on sight!”

The others acknowledge the order and Winny grabs the pistol Octavia held and aims it at the doorway, which now has beams of light chasing away the dark.

“Someone's here. Send backup. 443 Wash Street,” says Winny quietly.

“Repeat. We cannot understand you,” says the stallion.

Winny gets up to leave, but freezes with the sound of a safety clicking off. She gulps and turns, heart racing and thick beads of sweat rolling down her face, and she sees a group of ponies wearing armored body suits painted black with a red wrench inside a lightning bolt on their vests. Leading them is a tan and brown earth pony, and beside him is a familiar unicorn mare, and she is aiming a revolver at Winny's head.

Winny sighs and blinks tears out of her eyes as she slumps to the ground, knowing it is all over, and she glances over shoulder when light falls on her and sees a zebra leading a group of more ponies. One of which is a light gray stallion with a dark gray mane.

“Is this her?” says the tan pony.

Lyra Heartstrings nods, tears rolling down from her bloodshot eyes and her weapon shaking. “Yeah, that's her.”

“Lucky catch. We got one of Gilda's top muscle and the one that murdered Lyra's friend.”

“I can see that, Cracker,” says the zebra. He looks at Lyra. “I believe the honors should go to you, Madam Heartstrings.”

Lyra and Winny lock eyes, and a few seconds of heavy silence later, Winny stands up, tall and proud, like a proper griffin.

“Just know that I’m sorry... I'm sorry for everything,” says Winny, the talking bringing more tears to her eyes.

“Sorry won’t bring her back,” says Lyra.

Then she pulls the trigger and the last thing Winny sees is the flash of the gun.

Lyra lowers her weapon, sniffling and shaking as she stares at Winny's corpse. There is a hole in the griffin's head, and a pool of blood creeps towards everyone in the room, but no one moves. No one except Lyra. Her legs give out and she falls to the ground crying in her hooves, and only Cracker offers a comforting hoof, but she does not look up. She keeps her eyes shut tight and trembles at the thought of what she had just become in not even a second’s time. She can hear other sets of hooves carefully go past her, and following them are methodical gunshots going into each body.

“Repeat. We cannot hear you,” says the stallion over the radio. "We need your credentials and location."

“This is for life, right?” sniffles Lyra. Another gunshot makes her cringe, prompting the hoof to give her a light, comforting rub on her shoulder.

“Unfortunately,” says Cracker.

“Do not be upset, Lyra,” says the zebra.

Lyra and Cracker both look at him, and he smiles and holds his hoof out to her.

“You are doing great things,” he says, “ and Roar Shock will be proud of you.”