The vault at the Manehattan Bank is supposed to be impossible to break into.

The chamber of safe-deposit boxes is protected by a two-foot thick twenty-foot diameter door made of magically reinforced steel with no less than six locks. The locks can only be opened by keys worn by the bank tellers, each of which is charmed with a unique spell that the bank manager himself applies and will only work during business hours. The safe-deposit boxes themselves are even more secure, as they can only be opened by having a bank teller and the box's owner turn a specially-charmed key at the same moment. When the vault doors are closed, the interior of the room is protected by a impenetrable web of motion-sensor beams. Attempting to force open the vault, triggering the motion sensors, or using the wrong key will trigger an alarm and an automatic lockdown.

Many ponies have tried to break into the bank's vault, some through deception and cunning, some through brute force. None have succeeded.

The main teller of the day reflected upon this fact as he took his place behind the desk, standing sentinel before the vault door. Adjusting his tie, he looked around the decorated marble room. The stone walls stretched high up towards a painted glass skylight that directed sunlight down onto the bank symbol on the floor, a golden shield with the large black letter M embossed on a sketch of the building. A pair of rotating doors let a constant flow of ponies in and out of the bank.

Even though this was a place of money, of business, the bank had always reminded him a fortress. He had always felt safe in here, protected. As long as he was in this marble room, nothing could hurt him. Nothing could scare him.

And that's when a customer walked through the rotating doors. The head teller had never seen this pony before. He was a unicorn with a tan coat and a dark walnut brown mane, mustache and tail. He was exquisitely dressed in a dark suit and tie. His cutie mark was a black king chess piece. He strode through the bank with a confident air, like he owned the place, and walked right up to the head teller's desk.

"Good morning," the pony said in a voice that held a trace of a Gerwhin accent. Lighting up his horn with a golden light, the visitor extracted a business card from his suit and floated it over to the teller. The card had the image of a black king chess piece with two white pawns and the words, "Discover Check Chess Club." Beneath this was a name: "Zugzwang."

Zugzwang smiled lightly at the teller, but his eyes, black and dark as a cave, showed no mirth. "I would like to make a withdrawl."

Slightly taken aback by the visitor's supreme confidence, the teller took a moment to respond. "Er...yes, sir. How much?"

Zugzwang's smile widened slightly. "All of the money in the bank." And he lit up his horn.

With a loud clattering and groaning of metal, the bank vault impossibly opened, slowly swinging open to reveal the walls of safe-deposit boxes. No alarms went off. One by one, each of the boxes sprang open, their contents floating out, trapped in a golden field. Everypony froze, watching in disbelief as hundreds of bits, valuable jewels and heirlooms all swirled out of the vault and into the center of the room. Several of the bits formed themselves into a large golden throne, standing in the center of the room surrounded by the riches.

"Wunderbar," Zugzwang said, climbing onto the throne and sitting upon it like a king. Calmly, he extracted a gold-leaf cigarette and silver lighter from his suit. Lighting the cigarette, he placed it in his mouth and took a long, slow draw on it, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the taste. When he opened his eyes, he looked around in annoyance to see everypony, including the head teller and the bank manager, who had stumbled out of his office, staring at him open-mouthed.

"Well, don't just stand there, dummkopf," he snapped impatiently. "Call the Guard."

Numbly, his illusions of safety lying in shattered pieces around him on the floor, the head teller reached beneath the desk and pressed the button for the silent alarm. Zugzwang continued to sit on his makeshift throne, enjoying his cigarette, seemingly oblivious to the incredulous stares that he was getting from all sides.

Three minutes later, a squadron of City Guards stormed through the doors, stopping to stare in disbelief. They had trained to deal with bank robbers before, but there was nothing in their training about a thief who stayed in the bank after successfully opening the vault.

"About time," Zugzwang huffed, dousing his cigarette in a silver-plated bowl. "Now, hurry up, I haven't got all day. And try not to crease the suit."

Thoroughly bewildered, the Guards placed shackles around Zugzwang's hooves and an inhibitor ring over his horn. They guided their prisoner out of the bank, leaving his ill-gotten riches behind, and placed him in the back of an reinforced carriage, where two Guards watched over him warily, like a bad-tempered rattlesnake.

By the time they reached Manehattan Jail, Zugzwang was smiling again. The unnerved Guards guided him to the booking center, where he was questioned, searched and photographed, and then carted him to a cell.

The cells in the Manehattan Jail were supposed to be inescapable. The cell doors, solid three-inch iron bars, are designed to be opened only from the outside: attempting to open them from the inside will set off an alarm. The keys required to do so have several layers of charms upon them, including a spell that ensures that the key can only be used by the guard that it is assigned to; if anypony else attempts to do so, they will receive a very painful shock and set off an alarm. Further, the prisoner inside the cell is surrounded by a variety of defensive spells that greatly weaken any magic that they have, and also prevent anypony from trying to get inside. Finally, pressure sensors in the floors will ensure that the prisoner stays in their cell and doesn't receive any unexpected visitors. Any sudden changes in pressure will set off an alarm. And that's all without mentioning the Guards and multiple layers of protection outside of the cell.

Nopony has ever successfully broken out of Manehattan Jail in over thirty years. It was this fact that the Guards reflected upon as they led Zugzwang into his cell, which was bare except for a wall-mounted table with an attached chair and a cot. Having him stand facing away from the door, one Guard undid his shackles and removed his horn ring. Turning, Zugzwang watched the Guards exit the cell, shutting and locking the door behind them. Against their will, the Guards found themselves staring back at him, chilled by the constant, superior smile on his face. To their surprise, Zugzwang's horn lit up with a golden glow.

The next moment, his cell door slid open with a clattering. Then, one by one, every other cell door in the Jail opened. For a moment, there was a total, shocked silence. Then, as if on cue, there was a great shouting and cheering as over a hundred criminals, thieves, robbers, muggers, drug runners, smugglers and murderers burst form their cells, stampeding out into the hallways, charging towards the exits and piling onto the overwhelmed Guards.

"Excuse me, gentleponies," Zugzwang said, starting forward as if he simply intended to walk out. One of his Guards, realizing that he was somehow responsible for this, for unlocking the cell doors, drew his baton and charged, swinging it at his head.

Casually, Zugzwang ducked beneath the swing and lifted his foreleg, thrusting it at the Guard's neck. A four-inch blade, concealed in the sleeve of his suit, sprang out and pierced his victim's throat like paper. With a violent gesture, Zugzwang ripped the blade out of the stallion's throat. Blood sprayed across the stone wall and the wide-eyed Guard collapsed, clutching his throat and gurgling on his last breaths.

Zugzwang looked up at the other Guard, the enigmatic smile still on his blood-stained face. "Run."

The Guard took another look at his dead partner, then turned and sprinted down the hallway. Zugzwang glanced down at himself, then looked at the body with a snort of distaste. "You got blood on my suit, schweinhund," he grunted, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleaning off the blade with it. Retracting the blade back into his sleeve, Zugzwang turned and left the cell, walking casually down the hallway filled with battling Guards and rioting prisoners. Reaching the back door—which was supposed to lock down in an emergency such as this—he opened it with a flicker of his horn and walked out into the back street.

"Your move," he said out loud, and with a smile, teleported away in a flash of golden light.

Author's Notes:

Well, here we go. The eleventh official Phillip Finder story is underway, and Zugzwang is back!

Hope you're all looking forward to the next one!