When the world brewed awake, it was quiet. Not a soul stirred and some things never changed. Equestria was still a gloomy world. The sky was still grey and all beneath it was similarly uninspiring. She finished typing with the last few clicks of her old world typewriter, unsure what to do when, for once, her paperwork was actually over with. Other drones were monotonously clicking and clacking their ink machines, staying in unbreakable trances and nose-deep in their paperwork. Four rows of secretarial ponies surrounded her at their stations. They were the majority of the petite, shoddy shack she called her thinking space. Before Mr. Littlehorn returned, she'd compiled all her wonderful texts and offered them neatly against his grandiose and polished study.

A familiar, surly and youthful Damien Littlehorn slipped inside their own, little slice of heaven. About his head were large, imposing horns that curled back and into a swirl. They matched his heavy, black eyes, muddled in dim and washed colors. His eyes were the most lifeless part about him, weirdly enough. Not even his mane, so polished with oil and shine, it was like some wax imitation of a businesspony haircut. Seating himself in the same old, plush leather seat crinkled his suit all over, especially his forelegs as they folded left-over-right on his study. His mouth parted for a split-second upon seeing the mare in his humble office. But that gave way to him spotting the assembled papers. Damien's careful eyes stabbed the paper over and over till the faintest hint of pleasure crept over his lips. His smile was a ray of sunlight.

"Did you really write all this just for us...?" The ram inquired, eyeing her between reading.

"Yes. I did. I thought you could use some more interrogation techniques. And ways to keep the recruits from being bored." She answered, sitting with both forehooves at her lap.

"It certainly is an interesting piece. You go down from saline solutions to bleaches and even chili pepper extract inside rotting wounds, to how to break a joint with less stress than needed. Tell me, Ms. Grins, where did you learn all of this delicious information?"

Ms. Grins held the back of her head, ruffling that portion of her cherry blossom mane. It semi-curled delicately about her youthful features, just falling an inch or so over where her eyes glowed a soft shade of the same color. It contrasted wildly with her... cotton candy pink coat. Across her thin lips spread an embarrassed grin of all sorts of interest. She closed her eyes and let her long, thick lashes intermingle. As she answered, the mare shifted in her seat, sliding her naked, flared hips over the dark leather seat. She was naked aside from a single article of clothing: a hat. The capé hat itself was a magical, childish thing, floating over her head and tilted toward the right. It was slightly undersized so it barely fit if worn properly. It had a single, silver star on the front.

"Experience, Mister Damien. I picked it up from working as a butcher for the Grand Pegasus Enclave." Replied Ms. Grins, her grin turning crookedly to the right.

"You... worked for the Grand Pegasus Enclave? But you're not a pe... Nevermind that, Ms. Grins. How would you feel if I told you I had a contract for you? We could use some experience like yours. And the pay will be most excellent." Said Damien Littlehorn, who shared her content sentiment, even putting his cloven hooves together.

The proposition was no more than five minutes decided, allowing her ample time to plan on reaching her mark. The who's and whats were easy to think about. She'd find that stallion and isolate him from his officers. Then, she'd snuff the life out of him by any means necessary. But how to reach him and where to go, she knew little about. Staying deep in thought, the bubblegum mare slipped out Mr. Littlehorn's office building, being careful to gently click the door into place. When that happened, she sighed at the click of a pistol hammer behind her head. Grins turned her head to stare blankly over her shoulder.

"For crimes against the people of Mini Soda and Old Appleloosa, you're hereby sentenced to death. Any last words, motherfucker?"

Ah. Another regulator. She had a mean scar over her eye. The geometries of her cur resembled a bugbear's claw tracing across her brow to her delicate cheek. Her wide-brimmed, leather hat only added to that oh-so-fawned-over cowgirl charm. What caught Grins' attention, however, was how nice her golden sheriff's star looked. Not to mention that delicious .44 with the ivory grip...

"Yeah." Replied Grins, letting her tongue hang out.

Her pronounced, wide and compact canines went on full display as her lips contorted into an angular, predatory grin. And when her enemy saw it, she also saw her sickly, white-blue tongue. It sent her hooves into thorough, heavy shakes. The other three she brought along followed like lambs to the slaughter.

"Should I roast you alive or fuck your corpse?"

A harsh burst of popping gunpowder struck her ears. Her legs sprung with astonishing speed for a mare of her muscular inclination, jolting her forward on thin and wiry limbs. A bullet grazed her nose and cut the bridge, putting a scowl over her lips. The gunslinger that bled her was tackled upward at the chest, knocked off balance and stomped unconscious. Another .44 round struck her shoulder. Grins took a low, bestial crouch and sprung again, sprinting past the shaky bulletspray. A desperate pistol whip struck toward her muzzle, only to be neutralized by rushing past the strike and headbutting her enemy. He winced and reeled back before she caught his bright orange mane. Grins embodied her namesake and felt content, showing teeth as she slammed his snout into the nearby door. He gargled on loose blood as it slicked his throat, spitting several teeth away.

"Good idea." Noted his captor, knocking his mouth into the brass knob.

He convulsed and screamed away, howling a shrill soprano while he was used as an equine body shield. Empty shots landed into Grins' regulator bullet sponge, forcing her last assailant to panic and hurriedly reload. Refilling his chamber, his eyes went wide as every bullet he grasped fell from his quaking hooves. He jumped when the corpse of his fallen brother was used as a battering ram. The last thing he saw were the whites of somepony's teeth. After she popped a .44 in his eyes, the air in his lungs gradually choked away on wet gargles. He lay paralyzed and pinned to the jagged, rocky ground while blinded by unimaginable, stinging pain. There were teeth dug into his neck and he was torn open at one side of his trachea, while something smooth and sharp flayed his stomach open. His dry and sobbing cries were all he could manage, having lost all the energy to buck his legs about. The colt struggled to find a place to hide away in his head. He fought everything in his body just to try and ignore the unthinkable sensations violating him in all orifices.

Grins finally dismounted her straddle and rest on one knee, analyzing her handiwork. His intestines were hanging limply about on the pebbled dirt, while half his throat was ripped open and the early foot of his rib cage lay exposed to biting, dusty wind. She chuckled fondly, bursting into a giggle when she poured sodium and chlorine inside him. There was no more pleasant part of her day than that particular moment in time. She held his cheeks with her soiled hooves and wished they were a couple he made her so happy. While he begged her to stop, she hushed comfort to her captive audience.

"I had a great time... If I could make you last, I would. But you're ready to sleep now."

All she had to do was take the hunting knife from his boot and slit his throat wide open. The wastes were silent again as Grins tied a noose around his neck and dragged him along on their very special journey together. A few times, she glanced over her shoulder to watch the bubbles fizz and hiss in his gastric acid sack, which had been sliced open just enough to reveal protofecal composition. It drew a curious thought to her mind, wondering if she could do the same to her target, Apfel Schnapps Mondstein. A childish, bubbly grin warmed her features.

She pondered, maybe, if the ponies she'd just eviscerated went to the same place, if they truly escaped to the great sky:

where the bubbles go. Next Chapter: Edge Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 52 Minutes