Author's Notes:

Trump may be president, but that's not going to stop me from writing this story. :)

Is this chapter out of place? Too early to make? lol, probably

But even I was a bit annoyed by it, even when we're only three chapters into the second act - and twelve chapters into the story - but I feel that this not only gives some proper story, but also helps me write better. Writing is fun, though I get stuck with WB every now and again.

Regardless, enjoy! If you're new, don't forget to leave a like and a comment! :)

Swift Shadow had looked onto his mass array of men, of workers - tough and brute, they were fierce. They would kill for any reason.

But deep down, he saw the kindness in their hearts - not just the kindness for him. Their families, their own friends, they all had kindness for one another. They were not just some murderous cult.

They killed for a reason.

And that reason was close.

So, so close.

"-And may we prosper in our soon-to-be newfound freedom!" Swift finished a long, thought out speech to the men throughout the factory in which they had spent day and night working, for hours on end. They all stopped and listened him for several minutes, taking in every thoughtful word that came out of his mouth.

They saw him as a saint, and as his followers, they worshipped him.

His men cheered as he ended his speech, congratulating him - and themselves.

The many men of more than one-hundred made celebrated their close victory at the makeshift bar. It wasn't the fanciest place they had ever gone to, but the music, the atmosphere, and the drinks were more than enough to get their circuits moving and their legs kicking.

The radio that had been playing on a wooden box near the wall had been playing some of the latest music to hit the stations. Even from far down beneath the streets of Manehattan, the reception was extremely good. His men were doing jigs left and right, playing darts, and a couple of them were even having a few tongue-fests - not that Swift mind.

What they did was their business...and whoever wanted to watch, of course.

Swift was sitting at the bar table having his own set of whiskey. The day for him - hell, the past couple of months - had been nothing but stressful. Every day had him waking up, thinking that at some point, the MPD would be busting down their barricades, breaking through, and arresting every single one of them. And all of his work would go to waste - just like that.

Another part of him saw himself waking up and wondering if some other poor soul coming across the place, threatening to expose him, and then...

Swift had enough blood drenching and staining the floors of his room.

With each drink from his bottle, Swift thought on that, on whatever came to his mind. Ten years ago, he never thought - never dared to think of killing a single pony, for any possible reason. In just a single year, he's killed more than he could count. Fifty? Sixty? Just to keep this whole damn thing under cover, under wraps until it was complete, at least complete enough for him to take action.

Who knows what life they lived? They could have been fathers, mothers, uncles, celebrities or actors-...

But Swift shook his head slightly.

No...no, they made their choice, I made mine.

So he took another swig, and he continued to think.

And with each further swig he took - his thoughts started to conflict with everything else.

He thought back to a couple of months back - that one night when everything changed, the one night that he felt like it...shouldn't have happened.

That dragon, that guy.

Swift could remember what happened - the way his men just sunk their blades into him, the way he screamed...

The way he just...bashed his skull in...

And he still lived, apparently.

Durable bastard, he was, Swift could agree on that.

But the dragon...

He regretted ever saying that to them.

"Have fun, boys."

He didn't care that he lost those two bastards. They were...pricks, anyway.

But that dragon...

He was a child, for damn's sake, and he told them...

It was the whiskey. Of course, it was the whiskey, it always made him think like this - at least, since then, it did.

Was it the whiskey?

Swift closed his eyes and gave a sigh. None of his men or even the bartender noticed. The atmosphere was too loud and chaotic for them to notice, or even care.

Not that Swift himself cared, either. His thoughts were more than enough to drown out all of that.

He put the bottle down and looked forward, behind the bar's counter. There was a set of all kinds of different alcohols. Some of them were created right here in Manehattan, others in places like Los Pegasus and Seaddle. Many of them ranged from recently brewed to having been around for decades.

It was insane, to think that someone could have created the drink in one bottle and have already died.

He was drinking a dead man's drink, for all he knew.

Swift looked at the bottle of whiskey he had been drinking for the past few minutes. Surely, there was a date on it somewhere.

1958 La Malt.

Well - it's still so long ago, but...maybe the maker is still alive, out there, somewhere. Clearly, it's Prench, so he would likely never live to know it.

He found it strange to think of that, how much time seems so insignificant.

It was the drink again, making him think - he was sure of it.

He thought of them.

The princesses of the day and night.

They were the sole reason he was where he was today. The things he had been doing for so long, the ponies he killed, the men he strove to protect, to lead, to govern and serve as they would him - it was all because of them.

For so long, the thought that they could destroy this world with the littlest of thought, of effort, scared him to near death. He wanted for years to rid the world of their power, to rule the throne - to save the world he cared deeply for.

Ah, so the whiskey said, now there was the problem.

If they wanted to destroy the world and everything it held on and in it - wouldn't they have done so long ago, when they first took power, or in the days, months, and years after they took the throne for themselves?

As the books of history told him and anyone else who had the least bit of care for history, Celestia and Luna had ruled Equestria for more than five millennia.

Five thousand years, dozens of generations, millions of mares, stallions, fillies, colts, foals come and gone, come and gone.

And yet, after all that time...

The world was still spinning, still revolving around the sun Celestia provided them with, granted with the dimness of the moon Luna shared with them.

So many chances to burn the Earth beneath their hooves or freeze it with an eternal winter.

So many chances never taken.

...

Was Swift wrong?

He thought for a moment on that question, really thought on it. Was he nothing more than a paranoid conspiracist hell-bent on stopping an apocalypse that might never actually happen?

And what if he was? He certainly wouldn't dare tell this to his men, after all of this time, after all of these months slaving over their hard work, spending lesser time with their families than anticipated, not sleeping for sometimes days on end.

And what of the ponies he had taken from this world? What if he had taken them away...for nothing?

That was something they would never get back, something he would never give back.

Those lives were something that would never come back.

They were gone forever.

Because of him.

He did this.

And to think, he could be all wrong about it...

...

He got up from his seat and walked out of the small bar area. None of his men questioned it, but continued to party.

The part of the factory outside of the bar was still filled with stallions, some partying and others working. He walked about for a bit, observing the place and the ponies that filled it. He had gotten very familiar with this place for the past year, perhaps more than that - but he never truly took a look at it.

It had certainly changed, both the factory and its workers.

The workers...definitely.

Swift could remember when the workers were nothing more than the common folk who shared the same fear he once shared...no, the same fear he shared, that's it. Ponies who were just as scared as the eventual, potential apocalypse by the princesses who promised nothing but safety. They had loving families, some were parents - they worked for their children and their wives, having friends and visiting them down at the local pub, or enjoying the sights of the latest hoofball game.

Those were the days Swift could remember the most, the days he loved.

Those days were gone now, and those same men Swift had been thinking about were in a corner - the Dog Pile, they called it - fucking the brains out of a mare they had killed just days ago. Her skin was pale, definitely stiff. Surely, she was starting to smell by now. She had died, what, a week ago?

But his men didn't care. The one stallion on top of the mare's corpse was pounding into her again and again, laughing and smiling as the other men watched on, cheering him on. Another stallion was in her mouth, over and over, pushing further, bending her head in a way that, in life, likely would have been painful, dangerous even.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" they yelled. Over and over again, they shouted it. It was an odd chant.

They kept pounding the body, throating the body.

And in the midst of it all, you could hear the sound of a loud SNAP! if you were close enough.

Swift was close enough.

They broke her damn neck.

And what did they do?

They cheered.

The stallion who was in her mouth pulled out and laughed as he shouted, "I broke the bitch's neck!"

They laughed with him while another had their own go at her. If one finished, another came forward.

To think - just a week ago, this was a living, breathing being just like Swift himself. She talked with ponies like her, had a job probably, owned a house, used to shop and gossip-...she liked to report.

And now, that mare had been long gone, her corpse that once carried her soul now used for nothing more than sexual pleasure by brutes.

It actually made Swift sick for once. He had started to get the feeling a long time ago, but it wasn't until just now that the feeling was starting to make him physically ill - he wanted to vomit at the sight, the stench, the smells all mixed around. Sure, the mare had been dead for a week herself...

But who was to say the bodies beneath her were dead for the same time? Surely, there were ones who had been there for weeks, months.

Surely, there was a skeleton in this place somewhere.

Swift walked away from the scene. He had to get away from it. He didn't want to see it, hear it, or smell it - Goddesses, the smell, most of all.

He started to make his way back to his living quarters, the Chamber, he liked to call it. It had been his home for longer than this place had been called his factory. It had been abandoned for years, even when Swift was no more than a teenager. He fixed up a small patch and made it a little shack, daring to tell nopony else about it.

Who knew it would become what it is today?

He wasn't sure whether or not to feel proud or...

With a twist of the door knob, he shut the door behind him, and immediately, it was a bit more quieter. The cheering and the music was muffled, but still quite loud.

Swift Shadow looked at his room, his quarters. The place was trashed - had been for at least a night.

Wasn't his fault. The guy put up a hefty fight.

...

He wasn't sure if that was regret he was starting to feel.

Was regret always so common in nature?

With a gentle flick of his head, he took a look towards the makeshift metal door that had been covering the entrance that would lead to the outside world. Of course, what part of this factory wasn't makeshift?

The stallion made himself closer to the door. Even if it was cheaply put together - the texture of it was enough for him to see himself, even just a little bit, reflecting back to him. He could visibly see that brown fur of his, that dark blue mane.

Those red eyes of his always taunted him. He never liked the color, he hated it. It made him seem like a cheesy villain in a poor man's story. It was never his intention, he never wanted it to be his intention growing up.

And yet - kids gave him shit for it.

He never liked Bullet. Out of all the witnesses he killed, he was glad to have slit his throat. What were the chances, though, that he would see him all these years later - just to kill him?

Swift stopped. He chose not to get distracted by a simple look at himself.

So he opened the door. The door was quiet as he slid it open, he was sure none of his men would hear it even if the music had been turned off.

The tunnel itself ran down several hooves, deep to the point where it would get dark before a light source shines up its proper spot, before darkening again. It was definitely creepy to even Swift. He was never afraid of the dark, but he always feared something hiding in it.

Eventually, he reached a corner where one of his men had been stationed, a guard that, with a few others, encircled the perimeter of the factory. The stallion noticed him and greeted him with a gentle smile.

Swift smiled back with a nod, though said nothing.

"Sir?" the stallion asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

But the crime boss simply shrugged it off, saying he was 'right as rain' - an odd set of words he rarely used, but it fit in this case.

"I'm going to...head up to the surface, maybe get a bit of fresh air. It's a little stuffy down here, don't you think?"

His guard tilted his head and said, "Sir, don't you think you should have someone accompany you, maybe keep you-?"

Swift shrugged it off. "Don't you worry about me. The Guard's been busy recently. I'm sure they won't think of me different from any other citizen.

"Just keep your guard up and...don't let anyone get through. If they do - lock them up until I get back and I'll take care of them. Understand?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, sir."

With another small smile, Swift patted the guard on the shoulder.

"Good," he said, "Don't let me down, now."

Swift turned away and started walking down one end of the tunnel. He could hear the stallion say, "Have a good evening, sir."

He didn't react to it and kept walking.

Swift was familiar with that stallion. Granted, he never really knew his name - but of all the men he governed, he was one of the lesser ones, the ones who stayed out of the business of the others. He didn't defile corpses or play games with them as chunks of them slowly slipped off with each passing day.

No - he stayed away from all that. Swift mentally appreciated that attribute of him.

He'll have to ask him his full name again when he got back. Surely, there would be something for him.

But for now, he just...needed to get away.

If he didn't know any better - Swift'd think he was going crazy.

...

He hardly laughed and just walked on.

The path from the factory's entrance to any form of sewer system was short in its own way - but long enough so anyone was bound to be lost if careless enough. To Swift, it was a good thing; this meant finding his hideout would be nothing short of a possibility to the uninformed. He was always found amazed when somepony was able to actually get close enough to where his guards would find them.

In a way, it - now that he thought of it - seemed unfair to Swift. For all he knew, some of those he's killed probably wandered down here as a dare, or maybe there was some kind of angsty teen hideout nearby, and they just came across the wrong place at the wrong time.

If only some of his workers knew how to erase memories - maybe then, his count would have been less.

Much less.

He chose not to ponder on it.

Within a few minutes, after twists and turns, Swift came across the main sewer line that connected throughout the entirety of Manehattan. The system spanned the whole eight miles of the city itself - in some cases, even a mile or two onward.

Regardless, it was massive - and having lived down here for well over a few years, Swift knew a lot of places, to and fro.

His immediate choice was to hit the mall. Surely, no one was there at - what was it, four in the morning? It wouldn't be open for at least another few hours.

That would be more than enough time for Swift to relax, calm himself, and maybe even have a smoke while he was at it.

The tunnel leading to the mall was long. It would be at least a twenty minute walk to get there. Swift didn't mind the empty company, though. It was always better walking alone, no matter how dangerous it was now.

The stallion's pace at the beginning was average, nothing more than a simple jog, which definitely would shorten the trip by a few minutes. Along the way, the structure of the tunnel's began to change shape, diverge into different paths. The canal in the center quickly became accumulated with water the farther Swift went, indicating it was curving downward. Eventually, he came across stairs as the formation changed, and he spent a good five minutes jogging alongside the railings.

As Swift went farther outward, it was less likely for him to come across his own men. Sure, there were times where he would be seeing familiar faces that belonged to him - but the system itself quickly became a home to the homeless, ponies wearing nothing but tattered clothes or, commonly, nothing at all. Their fur was bunched and matted, their eyes bloodshot - like they hadn't slept in a long time.

This was the side Swift grew to know - poverty.

It was common, even when the majority of the living didn't notice it. When one sees a city as great as Manehattan or Los Pegasus, they get lost in the beauty of it. Their architecture, the ponies who inhabit it, the kindness and the poshness. The elegance and the casual.

A city can look like the perfect paradise on the outside.

What Swift was looking at was nothing more than the inside - the trueness of Manehattan.

And that was the other thing that motivated him. The princesses of the night and day had the power to move celestial objects capable of altering all forms of life on this earth, can rule over the world for thousands of years - and yet, they are completely powerless to give these ponies a place to live other than the dirt they're forced upon?

Surely, he was wrong about them in many ideals - but that was something he did not like about them one bit.

He saw them as selfish. The fact that they were living in high-ranked castles, fed the finest of foods, and sleeping in the greatest of sleeping quarters only justified that thought.

But he thought for a moment - what if he never was the bad guy he had pointed himself out to be?

Would they heed his words? Help the sick and needy, the disabled, the poor and dying?

Help the ones that held the looks of fear even on their faces as he passed them by?

Yes, he was no stranger to the many poor ponies he was now walking by. They knew of him and the things he had done. Some feared him and looked at him fearfully until he was gone. Others...

Well, some looked up to him, hoped he would bring a change and they could live again.

It was a strange feeling - to have ponies other than the men he led see him as something other than a monster.

He felt-...

A distant boom echoed from behind him, stopping him in his tracks. He turned around and could see nothing but the lights from the ceiling that travelled far off. The sound was faint, indicating it had to have been a long while back.

Could it be the...?

Were they on to him?

Swift didn't stay to ask himself.

With a turn back forward, he began to make a sprint, away from the sound. The distant noise then became a mass array of gunshots, the sounds reverberating off the mossy walls. Some of the ponies around him also began to flee the scene, though in a more cautious manner, rather than a full-on panicked gesture.

As he continued to run, the sounds of the gunfire and screaming got further and further, until it was nothing more than the faintest of echoes.

Soon enough, there was nothing. There was always the possibility that it stopped. Perhaps his men took care of whatever happened? A rogue officer? A fighter?

He hoped it was over.

Please don't play with them, he thought.

After a few minutes of unending sprinting, Swift eventually found himself at the manhole that would lead him into the mall. There wasn't a guard there, and the ponies who fled behind him were all gone.

Alone, he climbed the ladder all the way to the top of the tunnel. With a few gentle pushes, he was able to slowly open the cover and push it to the side to allow himself up.

Just as he had guessed, the mall was still closed, its once flashy lights either dim or dead until sunrise. Most of the store fronts were shut closed with metal doors or shutters.

But the one thing that struck Swift more was the absolute emptiness of it. There was not a single soul in sight for the whole length of the place. The sound of hooves clopping every which way was absent. The chatter of individual mouths was gone, the laughter nowhere to be heard.

Even the music that would casually play over the mall's intercoms was dead.

The mall was truly closed.

Well - except for Swift. For him, there were so many choices to go with. Surely, he could be able to reopen a pretzel shop and cook himself some pretzels.

...

If he knew how to do that, of course.

For now, he simply settled one one of the more plausible goals - having a smoke.

The place for that was a common shop by the name of Smoky's - that would've been a terrible name growing up - one of the more popular cigarette shops in the city. Its name often signified that it sold mainly items related to smoking. Cigarettes, cigars, lighters, etc.

They even had backpacks for it, Smoky's logo done on the back.

Though, Swift was sure kids wouldn't be bringing those kinds of backpacks to school.

When Swift arrived to the currently closed shop, the front had been fortified with not only shutters, but an apparent security system. The last thing he wanted was to draw the police to the mall for nothing more than a pack of smokes.

Now here was a question for the common knower - how do you destroy electronics?

Water.

Grabbing a cup from one of the nearby closed concession stands, Swift made his way to a nearby restroom, filled the cup to the brim with warm water, and went back to the shop. Once he was able to find the initial trigger of the entire system - he poured the entire cup's contents on it.

A brief electric squeak was all that came out before the flickering lights died.

Throwing the cup aside, Swift gently opened the shutter door from its base. As he slid it up slowly, he was careful in case it was still active. With each little lift of the barrier and every creak its metal texture made, he was cautious, hopeful no alarm went off.

Halfway through it, with no siren to go off, he simply shoved the rest of it upward, causing its stop to echo throughout the empty mall. Luckily, nopony was around to hear it.

It made him wonder why a mall as big as this, so empty at night, never had a single night guard. He noticed it a few times in the past whenever he would visit in a disguise. When the night came, it was completely empty. No one to protect the stores but the shutters themselves.

And even they didn't work out.

With no obstacles left in his path, Swift was free to explore the shop. Its look had changed since the last time he came around here. Many of the shelves that were in a horizontal position facing the sides were now vertical, facing the front to the back of the place. Perhaps it was to catch crooks easier?

Most of the merchandise, however, was more or less the same - backpacks with logos on them, to several packs of cigarettes, untouched and unopened, as well as a whole stand dedicated to the lighters alone. Even the walls had some form of decoration, painted to look like cigarettes. Paintings were put up in some of the more emptier parts of the place, portraying popular ponies of the past or even the celebrities of today having a smoke themselves.

It was interesting to him that someone took the time out of their days to paint these. They definitely weren't altered pictures, they were clearly paintings. How long did each take?

He chose not to get distracted further.

With a small leap over the front counter, Swift started to take a look at the inventory from top to bottom. There had to have been at least a couple hundred cartridges and no more than twenty brands.

In the end, they were generally all the same kind of cigarette, regardless of where they came from.

Despite that, he always seemed to choose Hoofwood cigarettes. He started smoking at fifteen and preferred those at eighteen.

He'd never thought of becoming addicted to the damn things.

But - the labels never lie. Fifteen years, and he's still chugging the sweet nectar of nicotine like it was his life source.

Hm, ironic, he thought.

After a moment of searching, he found a single pack of Hoofwoods and took them out of their slot. Without a hint of thought, he grabbed two extra packs and placed them in the pocket of his suit.

There was always a benefit to wearing the damn thing, even if he didn't like it sometimes. He always thought it to be idiotic or cheesy, while others would likely see it as classy - depending on who wore it.

Sure, it made him look classy and odd, in a good way, but sometimes he wished he could just take off the suit and either wear some more casual clothing or just wear nothing at all like everyone else.

Of course, then he'd be more likely to be caught that way - and after these past couple of months, that was something he just couldn't afford.

Leaping back over the counter, Swift grabbed a cigarette lighter and held it in his hoof. With the other, he grabbed an extra - always in case. Making sure they were already filled - which was always, in his personal opinion, careless but good for him - he made his way outside to the main hall of the mall and searched for a bench to lounge himself on.

After walking for a moment in the darkness of the place, he eventually bumped into one of the few benches around him, centered around a fountain that had been switched off until the lights came back on. He seated himself upon the bench and started to open one of the cartons, revealing eight total cigarettes.

"Should get me through till next month," he said to himself, his voice gently reverberating into the distance, though quiet enough for only him to hear.

He took out a single stick and placed the carton back into his pocket. Placing said stick in his mouth, he grabbed one of the lighters and flicked it open. With a single twist, a dim flame lit the small area around Swift as he ignited the cigarette. Once it was lit, he started to inhale, and immediately, the feeling of the nicotine journeyed its way down his throat and into his lungs - he could just feel it.

Placing the lighter back into his pocket, Swift took the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaled, releasing a small plume of smoke in front of him. The stench itself filled his nose.

It would irritate his head, but he liked the smell.

For a few minutes in the silence, the boss inhaled a few puffs of the stick, only to blow it out moments later, and as he did, he felt at ease - much more relaxed than he had been in days.

He found himself looking around at the various shops, all of them closed and gated with shutters and their own individual alarm systems. Clearly, he was one of the more common reasons for that - but water was more of their worry than him when it came to their store being broken into. He was certain Smoky wouldn't mind if a couple things turn up missing. It wasn't like Swift trashed the place and burned it to the ground.

Though, ponies tend to overreact as if that did happen. He'd never understand that.

As Swift looked around, he noticed that, while the mall was completely off, it wasn't entirely pitch black, and he had the lights of every other skyscraper around it to thank for it. Sure, it was still definitely dark, but not to the point where he would stumble over things and act like he had gone blind.

And nor did he want to experience that.

With every other puff of smoke he blew out, Swift's thoughts began to turn back to that moment back in the sewer. The gunshots, the screaming, the booms. He knew his men had their own guns - was it them who opened fire? What blew up?

Of course, he could've gone back to check - but for all he knew, the police were there and killed all of his men, and they were just waiting for him to come right back and throw him away for good. He knew it was risky.

But a part of him believed he should have gone back - tried to help, sneak about, see what had gone wrong.

What if-...

Suddenly, Swift found himself blinded by bright lights, causing him to reel back and cover his eyes with a foreleg. As he squinted, he wondered what the hell just happened.

That was when he started to hear the sound of water running behind him, indicating that the fountain had turned on. And overhead, on the intercoms - a familiar song started to play and echo throughout the entirety of the mall.

That was when he realized it - the mall was opening.

At four o'clock in the fucking morning.

Why the f-...

"Hey!" he heard a voice call out to his right.

When he turned, he held his cigarette in his mouth and looked.

Standing there, suited up, gun in hoof, was a police officer, one of the many early-morning shifters.

And his gun was pointed right at Swift.

"What the hell are you doing in here? You're not supposed to be here!"

Why so jumpy? Swift thought to himself as he looked at the officer, who seemed to be eyeing him up and down, as if trying to see if he recognized him.

Nopony in Manehattan had a clear idea of what Swift looked like, save for his men and the homeless.

And...well, the dragon...

And maybe-...

"Don't move," he said to the boss, who was more than intent on staying still.

He didn't have a weapon with him, and with no men around, he'd be more than stupid to try and outrun a gun-wielding cop.

The officer, still aiming his weapon, rose to his hind legs and activated his walkie-talkie.

"This is officer Badge to dispatch," what a name. "I've got a 603 in progress at the Mall. Brown, earth pony, possibly early thirties - red eyes, wearing a suit."

Badge released his hoof from the button and waited for an answer from the other side. Meanwhile, Swift continued to look at the officer, then to his gun. Swift wasn't like most ponies who were afraid to die at the hooves of a gun wielder.

But he didn't want to get shot.

The officer on the other side spoke up - and it genuinely surprised him.

"...Swift Shadow?"

Ah, so Swift was wrong - ponies did have a general idea of his look.

That was...definitely bad.

Badge pressed the button to reply. "Yeah. Seems so. Fits the profile, at least."

As he released the button, the other side immediately replied, "Hold on, hold on - you said red eyes?"

"Yeah, red eyes. Why?"

"Well, we've got officers who just raided that little compound of his. Says they got him, fit the whole look and everything. Didn't mention anything about red eyes."

So it was...

All those men...

Badge turned away as he asked, "You sure it's the right guy?"

"I could ask them, just to be sure."

"Good, do that."

And with his back turned - maybe he had a likelier chance to run.

So he did. Getting up from the bench, Swift started to run in the direction opposite of officer Badge, whom immediately yelled out to him, telling him to stop.

But he didn't. He kept on running. Certainly, an officer wouldn't risk shooting a notorious crime boss, wouldn't he?

Then the bullet hit him in the side.

The brief whistle as it came from behind, and the great pain that dealt him as it struck him in the side of his torso. With a shout, Swift fell to the marble floor of the mall, squinting and flinching as the pain circulated throughout his body. He heard the sound of metal clanging as he watched one of his lighters fall out of his pocket and onto the floor in front of him.

For a split second, he touched the wound to be sure it was truly there, only to reel back in agony as he felt the wound - and the wound responded back.

He had never been shot before. Sure, punched and hit a few times - but never had he been shot.

It fucking hurt.

Badge was heard yelling in the distance.

"I warned you, I told you to fucking stop! Now you got a bullet in you!"

As he talked, he was heard walking towards him, the clip-clops of his hooves growing louder as he got closer.

"You try and run again, and I will shoot you dead, you understand?"

Swift didn't reply to him, the pain overlapping everything he had said to the point where it was just indistinctive chatter to him. He was breathing heavily as the pain continued to hit him hard. He grunted as he tried to move his arm, only to feel the cold air piercing his wound and making it feel even worse.

He kept it sitting there and waited for the officer to inevitably rip it away and cuff him.

Just had to run - didn't he?

So he didn't run again. Instead, the injured Swift laid there on the floor, as a small puddle of blood dripped down his side and onto the floor, pooling as it did. It was a small pool, nothing too bad - he would live.

He just regretted making the choice - a true feeling for the first time in a while, it seemed.

It made him laugh.

As he lay there, he looked at the lighter. He could barely move his body, so he even struggled to look up - which, technically, would've been forward. A part of him wanted to reach for it - it would be a shame to simply leave it there to be taken by someone else.

But the officer likely would have taken it as a gesture of escaping, so he chose not to try and grab it.

But as he looked at the lighter, laying down along with him - he noticed something.

It started to shake. It was subtle at first glance, not even Swift would have noticed. A tiny pitter patter of movement, almost as if the officer's movements would have been the likely reason.

Then the shaking started to grow more, and the lighter started to frantically move around on the floor, like a jackhammer had been placed directly under it.

And then Swift noticed it too. Within moments, he could feel vibrations beneath his body, almost for the same reason.

Badge noticed it too, the shaking causing him to stop and feel the ground.

Was it an earthquake? They were rare here.

"What the hell is that?"

No.

It wasn't.

Not even close.

Without absolute warning, the entire floor felt like it had dropped ten feet. Swift seemingly 'floated' in the air for a split moment, Badge along with him. The lights flickered and died for a split moment, only to come back on and keep flickering, and the song that played overhead started to skip and loop.

The moment gravity graced itself again, Swift and the officer both fell to the floor, now seeming to crack and shake beneath them. Pieces of the wall and even some of the pillars began to already give way. The entirety of the mall shook like an earthquake had dealt it. The lights continued to flicker.

As the boss attempted to compose himself, try to get an understanding of what the hell had been going on - he could smell it.

It filled the air.

Methane.

...

They fucking did it.

A loud boom shook through his bones. Through the now breaking windows at the top of the mall, the plume of fire and smoke rising into the air was visible, the light bright enough to illuminate the mall, even as the lights continued to die and come back to life.

Swift could hear the sounds of ponies, children even, screaming outside, their shouting loud enough for him to hear. He could hear the sounds of explosions rocking every direction he could think of, the sounds of concrete, steel, and metal roaring as buildings shook and leaned about. Entire glass panes fell from the ceiling and smashed onto the floor, shattering into thousands of little pieces, small to medium sizes of the concrete aspect falling with them.

It was dangerous. He was out in the open.

Something could fall and...

He had to get out of here, find proper cover.

With the strength he had in his body, all the will it took to ignore the bullet wound that was flaring out of control, Swift got to his hooves and attempted to keep running.

But as he started to run off - he heard Badge calling out.

"Wait! Don't leave me here!"

A call for help?

He turned around to see Badge still lying on the floor - with his leg seemingly twisted.

Whether or not he had sprained it or broken it was anypony's thought, something Swift couldn't think long for.

Should he leave him or should he help him? He could turn him over, or kill him, or...

...

So many decisions.

...

It would be cruel to simply just leave him there, leave him to die - no matter if he was an enemy.

He had to help him.

So he did.

Or...well, he tried.

With the ever-growing hope of mercy on his mind, Swift decided to run back to the cop, with the intent on bringing him to safety.

But before he could ever reach Badge in time, a large chunk of the concrete balcony that was the second floor came crashing down on top of him. With enough force, it crushed Badge to death almost near instantly.

He could feel the blood of the dead splashed on his suit, his fur.

All that was left of the cop beneath the rubble was his head poking out and...

Was that his...?

The rumbling was greater. Parts of the mall - stores, shops, and even manholes - were bursting into flames as jets of fire and methane spurt out of them, igniting like flamethrowers.

Swift knew he was at a much greater risk like this.

He had to keep going.

"I'm so sorry," he quickly said as he ran away once more.

He hadn't said that in a long time.

Sorry.

Certainly not to a cop.

As Swift ran, the growing shaking of the ground and the falling debris, the bright flashes and the loud booms, the screaming and crying continued to do so, grow. His wound continued to bleed, so every further step was another few drops of blood lost. The pain only continued to grow - this was what hindered Swift's faster speed the most.

Pieces of the second floor continued to crash down around him, and he was careful not to get caught below it.

The floor below him grew dirtier, and more obstacles blocked his path, forcing him to either jump or go around - both of which were difficult or dangerous.

But then he realized - the whole city is a landmine. Every part of this mall was either blowing up or falling apart.

Where do I fucking go?

He thought, he thought, he thought.

Where to go? Where to go?

...

The bathrooms!

With a more attempted proper hoofing, he continued to run as he made his way to the closest restroom in his area. Initially, one would think that the bathrooms are the last place on someone's mind to hide or confide when the world is seemingly ending, or so it seemed like.

But it has been known - or rather, believed by some - that the restrooms of city malls are one of the safer parts of a building in the onset of any kind of disaster or situation. It was like a safe area for ponies.

Of course, it had never been proven. It was a stupid idea, idiotic even.

But Swift was willing to take the risk, take the chance.

After a brief few moments of running, Swift came across a corridor that had a bathroom sign hung over it. With the strength still left in him, he sprinted down the hall. As he expected, there were two doors for both bathrooms, stallions and mares.

He didn't care which one he hid in and simply ran into one - the mares' restroom.

The restroom was dirty; almost all of the mirrors had fallen down and smashed on the floor, one of the stalls collapsed, and the lights flickered about.

But - seemingly - it was holding.

He hoped the idea was true, he really did.

If it wasn't...

He made his way to the very back of the bathroom and sat in the corner, huddled to the very back. He didn't cowardly cover his face with his arms and hooves. He just stared and gripped the wall as much as he could.

The bathroom shook. Tiles began to fall from the walls, and another mirror smashed to the floor.

It was as if hell had come to the Earth itself.

He closed his eyes, not tightly - hoping this would all be over.

Then the lights went out.

And he lived.

In the hours after it was over, he had found himself lying on the floor of the bathroom, still huddled in the corner. The door had fallen off its hinges at a point, and the light of the morning made its way in.

Swift was in disbelief.

The sayings, the myths and ideas - it was all true.

He was right. They were right.

He lived.

And with the bit of effort he still had, he got up to his hooves again and made his way out. His wound had stopped bleeding, but he knew, without help, it would get bad before it got better.

The mall had sustained a lot of damage in the past - small earthquakes, hurricanes, even a flood back when it first had been built.

But today, most of the mall was nothing more than a pile of concrete and rubble with dust blowing in the wind.

Surely, the city could have fared better...couldn't it?

But then, Swift took his first step out, into the city for the first time in a long time.

And he stared.

He stared for a long, long time.

It was...

Broken.