Operation Crimson

by Stereo_Sub

First published 1st of June, 2012

Nurse Redheart is forced to confront her past, her old friends, and the Manehatten Mob.

A mysterious break-in. An eccentric professor. A criminal underground, running deeper than the foundations of Manehatten itself. Memories of a time where killing was second nature. Old flames, with love left still burning.

Intrigue. Suspense. Romance. Betrayal. DJs. Mobsters. A plan that threatens all of Equestria.

And in the middle of it all, a certain nurse mare with a pink mane, a sharp tongue and a mean left hoof.

Chapter 1: The Night Shift

Ponyville

The sun gently tickled its way through the last of the puffy, peach-colored clouds, basking the verdant field in a perfect golden nova of warmth and serenity. Nurse Redheart sighed contentedly as she felt the rays caress her white coat, counting the creamy floating cottonballs as they made their slow, plodding way across the azure canvas of the heavens. She lay in the meadow, eyes shut, letting the wind softly rustle its way through her unkempt pink mane. She was tranquil, relaxed, perfectly attuned to the eddies and flows of nature. She was calm. She was untroubled. She was-

*BWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*

“Paging Nurse Redheart, you are needed on Floor Two. Repeat, Nurse Redheart, you are needed on Floor Two,” a voice chirped from above.

Redheart groaned softly at the P.A. announcement, head held between her hooves. This was the fourth time she had been called off her break in as many days, and the nurse wasn't sure how much more she'd be able to take. Those precious thirty minutes had been the only thing keeping her sane over the past few weeks, and now even they were about to be snapped away. She forced herself to her hooves and stretched, savoring what would most likely be the last peaceful moment of her day. The announcement came again, in that same relentlessly cheery tone:

“Nurse Redheart, you are needed on Floor Two-”

“Oh hush, I’m coming,” Redheart grumbled to no one in particular as she grabbed her nurse’s hat and saddlebags off a nearby table. Easy to be cheerful when your job is to sit behind a desk all day. She shot one last, longing glance at the comfortable, overstuffed chairs of the break room. What I wouldn’t give for another ten minutes... she shook her head. No point in moping, Redheart. With a sigh, she turned, opened the door, and stepped out into the hive of activity that was Ponyville General’s main ward.

Redheart hurried through the hustle and bustle of the hospital, hoping fervently she would only be needed for a minor task or two. I wonder if I’ll have time for another cup of coffee... yeah, coffee sounds great right about now. A big mugful, with cream and sugar and maybe a shot of chocolate or-

“Afternoon, Redheart.”

The nurse pony started. Preoccupied with her dreams of caffeinated bliss, she had managed to walk all the way up the stairs to the second floor without noticing. She shook her head briefly, and responded, “Oh! ‘noon, Caduceus. You needed me?”

Doctor Caduceus was the lead medical practitioner at PVG. A slate-gray stallion with a pale blue mane, he was generally softspoken, but projected an aura of confidence about him that said more than words ever could. His cutie mark matched his namesake, a winged rod with two ribbons intertwined around it.

Caduceus chuckled. “Forgive me for interrupting what I’m sure was a wonderful daydream, but yes. I do need you. As you know, Nurses Tenderheart and Belle Blossom are currently away on administrative business, and Nurse Vanilla is busy managing the upper floor. That leaves just you and me to take care of this ward, and I’m needed down in R&D,” he said, motioning to the cart he had been pushing, which was filled with vials of a fluorescent blue liquid. “I sincerely apologize for this, but I’m going to need you to take double rounds for the rest of the night shift.”

Redheart’s jaw dropped. “Double rounds?! Doctor, I’ve been putting in overtime hours this entire week! I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in even longer than that. I’ve been called off my break to get a patient another glass of water, for Celestia’s sake! And now, after I come to work four hours early, you expect me to pull the entire night by myself? Honestly, if I wasn’t doing this for the good of ponykind, I’d-”

“Redheart.” Caduceus spoke softly, but his voice carried a hint of steel underneath it. “Please. You know that if there was any alternative I would have already taken it. I am aware that this is an extraordinary amount of work to impose upon anypony. I am also aware of, and appreciate, your contributions to the smooth operation of Ponyville General. I know this seems unfair. But I am asking, no, I am imploring you to please consider the well-being of the ponies in this ward. If you don’t look after them, who will? It is hospital policy to always provide a caring and friendly environment for our patients, and how will we do that if there is nopony around to care?”

“But I-...” Redheart sighed, her brief irritation fading. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry, doctor. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I guess the stress is getting to me more than I realize.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Caduceus said with a smile. “Now then, you go get another cup of coffee, and I’ll get these samples down to the lab before Cura starts flipping tables. Again.”

Redheart grinned at that. R&D Head Pony Radi Cura was known for two things: her extremely sharp mind and equally vicious temper. She had been known to destroy expensive lab equipment for giving her results she disliked, among various other acts of terror. Caduceus was the only pony who could calm her down, and even then it was usually temporary. “Oh, and be sure to double-check the locks on the windows before you shut the place down for the night. We don’t want any drafts now that winter’s setting in.”

“Will do, Doctor. See you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early, as usual.” Caduceus winked at her before trotting off towards R&D, leaving Redheart standing in the middle of the ward. She sighed quietly to herself, feeling the weight of the night’s responsibilities settle on her shoulders. Better get started on the rounds, she thought, then remembered what Caduceus had told her.

But first, some coffee. I’m gonna need it.

It was going to be a long shift.

Redheart stumbled back into the break room, utterly exhausted. It had been a long shift. Between caring for the patients, filling out ward paperwork, and remembering to lock all of the hospital’s many windows, it was a wonder she was awake at all. Ludicrous amounts of coffee had helped, but even caffeine, that wonder drug, could only do so much. Her eyes were dark and rimmed with deep circles, and her mane had come undone from its tight bun at some point, leaving it a frizzy pink mess. The nurse pony could care less. Right now, the only thing she was interested in was sleep. Flicking off the lights to the room with her tail, Redheart navigated over to her favorite overstuffed couch and curled up on it, letting her weariness overcome her.

Ahhh. This is... amazing, she thought dreamily. I hope the Doc doesn’t get mad at me for crashing here again. He better not, since this whole load of horseapples was his idea in the first place. That reminds me. Did I lock that top window near the ward entrance? Whatever. I’ll get it... in the morning...

Two minutes later, she was sound asleep.

Redheart awoke with a start. Something had jolted her out of the incredible dream she had been having, and she was annoyed, to say the least. She glanced around irritation, eager to get back to sleep. I swear, if that Screwball mare is loose again...

Redheart froze, her ears pricking up. She could hear the low murmur of voices. They sounded close.

Who the hay would be here at this hour?

Redheart slung her nurse’s saddlebags over her torso and got up from the couch, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. She pressed her ear against the crack in the door, straining to hear what the voices were saying.

“The Boss said it would be here.” The first voice Redheart heard was low, with a heavy Appleloosa drawl.

“He meant at this hospital, not right here. Idiot.” This next voice was smooth, with a hint of a Manehatten accent.

“Well, how the hell is we ‘sposed to find it then?” Redheart began to suspect the owner of Voice One was not the ripest apple in the bunch.

“I dunno, maybe look for something science-y. A lab or something.” The third voice sounded odd, with an accent she couldn’t quite place.

“Finally, somepony doing the thinking that isn’t me. Didn’t we pass somethin’ that looked like a lab a little while ago?” said Voice Two.

“Uh, yep, but it had a big damn metal door on it, in case ya’ll didn’t notice. Ain’t no way we’re gettin’ in there, not without some kinda bomb.”

Voice Two chuckled evilly. “Don’t you worry about that. We’ll get in all right. No hunk of metal’s gonna stop me from getting my hands on those samples.”

Redheart suppressed a gasp. Thieves! She had heard tales of skullduggery between rival hospitals before, but she never would have dreamed of it happening in Ponyville!

“Now, just let me get that spell seal-”

That was all the incentive Redheart needed. She pulled her ear away from the door, then turned, dropped low, and bucked it with all her might.

WHAM!

She jumped out into the darkened hallway, the sound of the door still ringing in her ears. In front of her were three young-looking stallions, barely more than colts. All three of their cutie marks looked like they had been branded over, replaced with an odd-looking symbol: A circle with three lines intersecting it, and a smaller one rising perpendicular to the center. Redheart frowned. What kind of hospital has cutie mark brandings?

“Well lookie here,” said the stallion standing closest.He was a dark blue earth pony, and was looking at her with a contemptuous smirk. “Little Ms. Nurse Mare thinks she can just jump in and spoil our fun.” Redheart realized this was Voice Two. That oily Manehatten undertone was unmistakable.

“I don’t take kindly to my fun being spoiled. Do I, boys?” The other two stallions sniggered. She replied, keeping her voice even.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Visiting hours end at six o’clock every day. You’re free to come back tomorrow if there’s anything you need.”

Two’s smirk got wider. “Oh, but I don’t think we’re quite ready to leave just yet, are we? Not without what we came here for.”

“I’m asking you to leave again, politely. If you refuse to comply, I will be forced to contact the necessary authorities,” said Redheart, still keeping her easy tone.

Two’s eyes narrowed and his smirk disappeared. He took a threatening step forward, his muzzle nearly touching hers.

“Now look, you little bitch. Here’s what’s going to happen,” Two spat. His voice had lost all of the oiliness it had had previously, leaving only anger in its place. “You go crawl back to wherever the hell you came from, and stay there ‘till we leave, and I won’t have Stab here cut your hooves off and feed ‘em to you.” He motioned to the pony behind him, a brown unicorn who was levitating a wicked-looking serrated knife. Redheart guessed he was the third voice she had heard from behind the door.

“So, whaddaya say? We got a deal?”

Redheart sighed, then shifted her weight onto her hindquarters, letting her left forehoof hover just above the floor. She kept her eyes locked on Two, daring him to blink.

“Please don’t make me do this. I would really prefer not to hurt you.”

The stallion burst out laughing. “You? Hurt US? You’re a bucking NURSE, for ‘Tia’s sake! I bet you couldn’t kill a parasprite if it was biting up your-”
CRUNCH.

Redheart’s hoof had come out of nowhere, flickering out like a hydra’s tongue. Two reeled back in shock and pain, clutching his jaw. When looked up, there was pure hatred in his tear-filled eyes.

“Kill. Her. Make it slow.”

Stab smiled menacingly, spinning the knife back and forth in the air. He was flanked by a very large rust-colored earth pony who looked just as murderous. The larger pony laughed.

“Heh heh heh. You got it, boss. Nice an’ slow.”

Yup, that was Voice One all right, ‘Ploosa drawl and all.

Redheart dropped lower to the ground, distributing her weight on every hoof but her front left. The motion alone caused her two would-be killers to falter, unsure if she was about to make a move. She grinned inwardly. Amateurs. If these colts had been real hit-ponies, she would have been dead before her first sentence.

“Listen,” she said, still keeping her tone even. “There are fourteen ways to combat a unicorn assailant wielding an edged weapon from this stance. Five of them will knock you unconscious, three will severely injure you, four others will ensure you never use your horn again, and the remaining two will kill you instantly. All of them involve me confiscating said weapon and using it against you, and all of them are extremely painful. Now, I am going to ask you to leave one more time. If you refuse, I will assume no responsibility for your subsequent injuries. Fatal or otherwise.”

Stab hesitated for a moment, his knife floating lower in the air. There was a long, tense silence. After what seemed like an eternity, he dropped his gaze and shuffled backwards towards the other two stallions.

Redheart nodded, apparently satisfied. “Good. I’m glad we came to an agreement without any unnecessary bloodshed. Now if you would all make your way to that door over there-”

Stab charged.

Redheart had been anticipating it. She felt old instincts flooding back into her, skills she had hoped to never use again. With the blood humming in her ears, she rolled low, dodging the first swing of the knife.

Stab swung again, the cruel edge of the blade landing right where her heart would have been a millisecond earlier. His third slash nearly connected with her head, and would have lopped it clean off if she hadn’t ducked, nipped the knife neatly from the air with her teeth, and thrown it.

Stab had about a half a second to react before the knife’s handle met his skull with a sickening THUNK. He fell limp, knocked unconscious.

One down, two to go, Redheart thought, before turning to see Voice Two, now fully recovered, poised to buck her in the face. She jumped to the side, letting his hooves meet empty air. Two stumbled, swearing. Redheart didn’t give him a chance to recover, hitting him a hard buck of her own. He gasped as the wind was knocked out of him and fell to the floor, wheezing and clutching his chest. Before Redheart could deliver the knockout blow, however, she was sent flying across the hallway by a huge, rust-colored hoof.

CRASH.

The nurse pony smacked against a row of hospital carts, her body shooting with pain and spots bursting in her eyes. Voice One, stupid as he was, apparently had a hell of a foreleg.

Ow. All right, new strategy: don’t ignore the big dumb one.

Redheart got shakily to her hooves, blinking the spots away. The bigger pony was closing fast, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to take another hit like that.

Voice One reached her, smiling evilly.

She blocked his first blow with her forelegs, feeling the impact vibrate through her entire body. It hurt. A lot. I need to end this fast. Her opponent apparently had the same idea. He roared, rearing up for a skull-shattering front buck.

“I’ll crush you!”

That was the opening Redheart had been waiting for. She hopped close, landing neatly in front of Voice One’s vulnerable chest, and struck out hard with her left hoof.

THUDTHUDCRACK.

The giant pony fell backwards, moaning faintly. Redheart had jabbed him three times in rapid succession, each strike targeting the soft tissue between his ribs. She had missed once, judging by the sound of that last hit, and the shock had knocked him out. Redheart wasn’t too concerned. Ribs fixed themselves eventually. Skulls didn’t.

A wheeze from the floor behind her interrupted her thoughts, and she remembered that one member of the ill-fated thieving party was still conscious.

Redheart grabbed the knife off the limp form of Stab and tucked it into her saddlebags. No point in giving her captive a potential weapon. She then walked over to the still-winded Voice Two and straddled him, keeping one hoof raised. Redheart had no qualms about injuring her would-be killer, but she needed answers.

“I’m going to ask you some questions now. If you don’t answer, correctly, the first time, I’ll hit you where it hurts. Understand?”

Two smirked despite his perilous situation. “Oh, I understand all right. You straddlin’ me like that. Never woulda thought you would be the type-”

THUD.

“GAAAH!” Two screamed, rolling over and clutching between his hind legs. He continued the display for several minutes, finally segueing into the occasional whimper. When he had sufficiently recovered, Redheart continued her interrogation.

“Let’s try that again. Do. You. Understand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good. Now, first question. Who sent you?”

“I don’t know his name. Never seen him, either. Always talks through one of his middlemares. Hay, most of the time we don’t even get to see them. Letter shows up, we do the job. We come back, there’s a bag fulla bits sitting inside our door. No idea how he knows, but he does.”

Redheart frowned. Speaking through intermediaries, withholding information, and using uncertainty and fear as tools. Classic mob tactics. This might not have been a hospital raid after all. “Sounds like your boss knows what he’s doing. But that doesn’t change the question. I need an identifier. A nickname, a callsign. Something.”

“Uh... wait. I remember. One of his middlemares called him somethin’ once when she thought we weren’t listening. It was some kinda gem, I think. Opal? No, it was... Garnet! Yeah, that’s it. Garnet! Can you let me go now?”

Redheart ignored his plea and continued. “Garnet. Got it. Next question. What samples were you after, and why did Garnet want them?”

“We didn’t get too much info on them, either. The letter said they’d be green, in a cart, and somewhere in this hospital. That’s all I know. Honest. As for what the boss wanted with ‘em, hell, your guess is as good as mine. I’m just hired muscle. They tell me what I need to know for the job, and that’s it.”

Redheart nodded. She had been expecting as much. “Okay. Last question. How would I contact one of Garnet’s middlemares?”

“You don’t. If the boss wants something, they’ll come to you. If he doesn’t, and you’re smart, you’ll stay as far away from him as possible. Trust me. He does bad things to ponies who start stickin’ their noses where they don’t belong.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve realized by now that I don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. You are going to tell me how to get in contact with Garnet, or I will break something vital.”

Two considered this for several moments before replying. “All right, tell ya what. You let me up, and I’ll try an’ set you up with a job. It’ll be somethin’ low level, probably just carrying a message or some... supplies. Easy stuff. I’m warning you, though. Once you’re in, you’re not gettin’ out. Deal?”

The nurse pony thought about it. I hate doing this, but it might be the only way to find out what the hay’s going on. Besides, I can always hit him and ditch him if he gets to be too much trouble. “Deal. But if you pull anything stupid, I’ll knock you out faster than you can blink.”

“Sure, whatever. Can you let me up now?”

Redheart stepped away. Two got to his hooves slowly, flexing and stretching his aching back and chest.

“Damn, I hurt. Where’d a mare like you get a hoof like that, anyway?”

“Shut up and walk.”

“What about my boys? We just gonna leave ‘em there?” He gestured over to the two unconscious stallions.

Crud, forgot about them. Celestia, I am out of practice. “Good point. Grab that tubing over there and tie them up.”

Two grudgingly complied, not wanting anything else fractured, broken, or otherwise damaged. Meanwhile, Redheart looked around, trying to find anything she could use to write a note. There. An old lab report sheet, with a pen. Perfect. Grabbing the tool in her mouth, she quickly started scribbling a message to Caduceus. She had no doubt he would be furious with her for leaving like this (of course, Caduceus’ “furious” was any other pony’s “mildly irritated”), but Redheart figured he would at least want to know what had happened. Nothing too specific, though. No point in making him worry. She was already doing enough of that for the both of them.

A couple minutes later, Stab and the giant earth pony were trussed up tighter than a hay bale on stacking day. Redheart finished her note, signing with her usual initial. She placed it on top of the two unconscious ponies and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

C:
Attempted break-in last night. 3 stallions, possible mob affiliates. Two of them here, one escaped. Nothing stolen. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Taking next week off for mental recovery.
Tell Vanilla she can have my coffee stash.
-RH

It wasn’t entirely a lie, just stretching the truth a bit. It probably wouldn’t fool Caduceus, either, but at least she had made an effort. Redheart was sure that the doctor would be able to deal with two immobile, unarmed colts. Hay, he would probably clean them up and heal them before they were carted off to Canterlot Correctional.

Well, that was it, then. Time to go out and single-hoofedly infiltrate what was probably a gigantic criminal empire. Nothing to it, Redheart.

“All right,” she said, turning to Two. “Let’s get moving.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just so ya know, I still think you’re dumber than a turnip sack to be messin’ with the boss like this.”

“Considering I’ve met turnip sacks smarter than you, I take that as a complement.”

“Oh, and she’s a comedian, too! You’re a real interestin’ mare, ya know that, sugar?”

“Shut up and walk.”

Chapter 2: "Easy Stuff"

Manehatten

Redheart paced back and forth in the narrow alley, her thoughts a dark, messy tangle of nerves and paranoia. All the cool bravado she had displayed the previous night had since faded, along with the heady buzz of adrenaline and the mindset that yes, this was definitely a good idea. Two had said her contacts would arrive at noon. It was now ten minutes past, and with nopony in sight, she was having second thoughts.

Last night could have been a fluke. It could have been some other hospital getting back at us, or one of the Nix extremist groups protesting some treatment or other. There’s really no reason for you to go and involve yourself personally. But if it wasn’t... No. You swore off this entire business years ago. Hurting ponies creates twice as many problems as it solves, and you know that. Do you really want to jump back into the thick of it now? Just put everything that happened last night behind you, Redheart. It never happened.

But if this WAS tied to something bigger, and I’m the only one who knows-

“Hey, anypony home?” A voice spoke from behind her, thick with a Bucklyn accent.

She whipped around, dropping the same stance she had used the night before. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the alley for potential threats.

“Whoa. Feisty one, aren’t ya? Good. This isn’t a place for weaklings.” The owner of the voice was a pink earth pony mare with an electric-green mane, done up in flamboyant spikes. Her cutie mark had been branded over as well, replaced with the same symbol as the colts from the hospital. All right, so that seal is definitely tied to Garnet and the mob. Now, if only I knew what it meant... “

“So, you are the mare Slick was tellin’ us about, right?”

“Uh, yep, that’s me.” So, the blue one’s name was Slick, huh? Fitting. Well, he won’t be so slick now, after the thrashing I gave him. The blue colt had reluctantly accompanied her on the train to Manehatten, setting her up with an entry-level job for one of Garnet’s underlings. He had also attempted to escape no less than four times, and tried to overpower her twice. The second time had ended with absolutely no injury to Redheart and Slick being thrown in a Manehatten dumpster, unconscious and sporting a considerably more broken nose. Redheart was confident he wouldn’t be interfering anytime soon.

“So, what’s the job, exactly?”

The pink mare rolled her eyes. “I ask the questions, rookie. Now, first, what’s your name?”

“Uh...” Buckbuckbuck WHY DID I NOT THINK OF THIS

“Rose!...Rose...heart!” Oh, fantastic, Redheart. They definitely won’t see through that right away.

“Roseheart, huh? Sounds like a pussy name to me. From now on, you’re Rookie, and you’ll stay Rookie until you can shove it off on somepony else. Got me?”

Oh thank Celestia, this one is as dumb as she looks. “Yeah.”

“‘Kay. Second, if you want in, you gotta recite the Blood Hoof Pact. That’ll make ya as close to a member of the family as you can get, least until ya aren’t the Rookie anymore. Now, repeat after me:

“I live for the family.”

“I live for the family.”

“I will kill for the family.”

Damn, these ponies don’t mess around.

“I... I will kill for the family.”

“I will die for the family.”

“I will die for the family.”

Redheart had no intention of keeping any part of the pact, especially that last line. Is that all I have to do to get in? Just parrot some warped code of honor? Seems too easy.

The pink mare interrupted her thoughts.

“All right, you’re a full-fledged Sister now, more or less. I’m Candi, by the way. Candi Floss.”

Redheart suppressed a giggle. Roseheart is a pussy name, but Candi Floss isn’t?
“It’s a pleasure, your highness.”

Candi rolled her eyes again. “Funny. All right, now shut up and listen. Here’s how the job’s gonna go down.”

Redheart complied. She couldn’t afford to miss this.

“This is our target.” Candi rummaged around in her saddlebags, finally producing a photo of an aging unicorn stallion with a distinctly bookish air about him. “Name’s Ink Blot. He’s a professor at the Royal Canterlot Institute for Emerging Magical Technologies. Don’t make me say that again.”

Target? Wait, she can’t mean...

“Is this... is this a hit?”

Candi frowned. “What, did Slick forget to tell ya?”

“He didn’t really tell me anything.” Redheart neglected to mention this was because he was currently unconscious under a pile of week-old hay fries.

The pink mare snorted. “Figures. Whatever. Yeah, it’s a hit. Boss wants this guy out of the picture, we got picked to do it. Standard stuff. As cut-and-dry as it gets.”

Oh sweet motherbucking Celestia on a stick. HE SAID I WOULD BE A MESSAGE PONY! Redheart’s mind was racing at a thousand miles an hour, desperately trying to find a way to extricate herself from the situation. She came up blank.

“Why does Gar- I mean, the boss want him dead? What did he do?” The words were out before she could stop them. IDIOT! Redheart mentally slapped herself in the head.

Candi rolled her eyes again. Redheart began to suspect it was her only way of showing emotion. “Does it matter? Boss thinks he’s dangerous, that’s good enough for me. Now, I thought I told you to shut up and listen.”

“Sorry.” No no no no NO! This can’t happen. I can’t do this. I SWORE! No more killing, no more death. I’m a nurse now, not a Celestia-damned assassin!

If Candi had any idea of the inner emotional turmoil Redheart was experiencing, she didn’t show it. “Whatever. So, like I said, here’s how it’s gonna go down.” She tapped a hoof against the photo. “Inky here’s gonna walk down this street in about twenty minutes. He takes the same route every day. Now, my associate and I are gonna be waiting somewhere nearby.” She pointed to the shadows behind her. Redheart squinted, then started as she realized there was a silhouette of a pony there. It looked like a stallion, but she couldn’t be sure.

Candi continued. “Since you’re still the Rookie, we aren’t gonna trust you with the dirty work just yet. Blade’ll take the shot.” She pointed again to the pony in the shadows. Looking closer at the dark figure, Redheart realized there was something long and thin slung across its back. But those were outlawed years ago...

Candi nodded at Blade and continued talking. “We just need the Prof to be standing nice and still when Blade pulls the trigger. That’s where you come in. All you gotta do is walk up, keep him talking, and then book it back here when he goes down. Make it look like you were clueless, and just got scared. Don’t stop runnin’. We’ll meet you a couple alleys down. Easy as pie. Ya get it?”

Time to go for broke. “And if I say no?”

Candi’s eyes narrowed. “Then we gut you and throw your worthless flank off the Bucklyn Bridge. You’re a Sister now, remember? No turnin’ back.”

She had figured as much. Let’s see, if I can drop her before the other one can react, I might be able to... NO! Dammit Redheart, you’re not going to hurt anypony else! Besides, if that Blade pony, whoever they are, has what I think they do, I’ll be dead before I can blink. There’s got to be another way out of this, something I haven’t thought of yet. Redheart sighed inwardly. Guess I’ll just have to improvise. “All right, count me in.”

Candi smiled, only her eyes betraying her previous irritation. “Knew you would see it my way. All right, you chill here. Blade and I are gonna go get in position. As soon as you see the target, just get out there and keep him talking. And remember, any funny business...” She drew a hoof across her throat. The message was clear.

“Got it.” Redheart watched Candi and her mysterious companion dart across the shadows of the street, finally ducking out of view into another alley. Then, she settled back on her haunches and attempted to formulate a plan. She didn’t get very far.

There’s just no way! Too many angles, too many different ways to approach. Who knows how many other ponies they have hiding in those alleys, or what kinds of contingencies they have in place? I’m sure I’m not the first “Rookie” to get cold hooves.

Redheart allowed herself one last sigh, then brought her head up, steel in her eyes. I’m just going to have to do it. Yep, just gonna have to break years of promises, years of therapy, years of deconditioning. Years of swearing ‘never again.’ She grimaced, then shook her head.

Nothing. Bucking. To it.

Ink Blot trotted quickly down the nearly-deserted street, scanning back and forth for anypony lurking in the shadowy alleyways. Apart from a couple vendors hawking their wares and some members of one of Manehatten’s less... upstanding institutions, there was nopony in sight. Still, one could never be too careful. This wasn’t exactly the best part of town. And they accuse me of being paranoid, he thought. Paranoid? No. Cautious, yes. Impossible to be too careful. Identify risks, analyze outcomes, maximize survival. Simple logic. Foal could understand it. Tutting to himself, the stallion turned off on the next street and picked up his pace, eager to get back to his apartment and the relative safety it provided. He didn’t notice the three pairs of eyes watching him, waiting for a certain mare to make her move.

Redheart saw Ink Blot a while before he saw her. She watched the white-coated, grey-maned stallion advance down the sun-baked cobblestones of the empty street, waiting for the opportunity to stall him. Finally, as he was about to pass the alleyway, she moved.

“Uh, excuse me? Mr. Blot?” Redheart trotted out from the alley, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.

The stallion looked up sharply. He gave Redheart a once-over, his green eyes feeling like they were piercing right through her.

“Yes?” His voice had a clipped, detached feel to it, as though he was continuing several trains of thought at once, the conversation being the least important of them all. Definitely a professor, Redheart thought.

“Um.. well, I was wondering...” Oh, why the HELL did I not think of something beforehoof?! She mentally whacked her forehead for what felt like the tenth time that day. Ink Blot squinted, analyzing her, and Redheart had the sensation of being a particularly interesting specimen underneath a microscope. It was not a pleasant feeling.

Finally, the white stallion began to speak. And didn’t stop.

“Hmm. Don’t tell me. Out in the city, knows my name... are you a research assistant? Maybe affiliated with Canterlot Magicka? No, no visible insignias, no paperwork. A field tech? Nonono, no equipment, and of course non-optimal observation venue.” He spoke so quickly, and jumped from sentence to sentence so abruptly, that Redheart began to feel ill. “Non-scientific then. Maybe police or law enforcement? No, no uniform or visible weapons... you’re not a gang member, are you?”

Redheart felt the blood freeze in her veins. Why don’t they get it over with already, before he figures out and runs? She risked a look back at where she had last seen Candi and Blade. Nothing. “No, of course not. Cutie mark intact, no companions. Silly of me. Ah! Cutie mark!” Redheart breathed a silent sigh of relief as the Professor peered at her flank. “Crosses, hearts. Medical? Possibly. Nearest medical center is twenty, thirty minutes away. Maybe administrative business? No, again, no paperwork. So... you have no urgent calls, no paperwork, no equipment, non-civilian, obviously... lost, perhaps?” He looked at her with those piercing eyes. “Are you lost?”

“Um...” Redheart was still feeling slightly overwhelmed from the torrent of words the white unicorn had let loose. It’s like he voices every thought out loud at twice the speed of a normal pony! She eventually remembered to speak. “Uh, yes! I’m lost. I’m, uh... a student from Canterlot Medical Institute. I’m here on a... field observation study.”

Ink Blot regarded her critically. “Interesting. A student, who somehow knows my name, lost, no equipment, no notes...” He tutted. “Irrelevant. Not my policy to ask questions. Where do you need to go?”

“Great Central Station!” Redheart blurted out the first destination that came to mind. Where the buck are they? Is this some kind of sick test?

Ink Blot nodded. “GCS. Not too far off. Ten, fifteen minute trot at most. North from here, turn right, continue for a mile...” Redheart had stopped listening. She had seen a strange shadow in one of the alleys as the eccentric stallion had started his directions. She peered closer. Was that Blade? The shadow detached itself from the alley Redheart had been watching, moving into different stance. A sniper’s kneel.

It is. Buck. This is it. Now or never, Redheart.

“...Another right, and you’ve arrived. Understood?”

Redheart watched Blade pull what looked like a looked like a long, thin tube off his (or was it her?) back. She knew now, without a doubt, what it was and what it could do. Ink Blot’s voice came again. “Repeat. Understood?”

Redheart was frozen in place, watching the events unfold as if in slow motion. She saw Blade’s shadow bring its weapon up to eye level, pointing directly at the professor. Ink Blot spoke a third time, his voice concerned. “Are you all right? Hmm. No signs of injury, seems in competent mental health, possibly internal-”

I can’t do this.

Redheart made a snap decision.

“PROFESSOR, GET DOWN!” She wrapped her hoof around Ink Blot’s neck and shoved the older pony to the ground just as Blade’s shot rang out with an ear-splitting CRACK. Redheart estimated they had around thirty seconds before the two mobsters gave chase. More than enough time to lose them, if they were fast. “We have to run! NOW!”

Ink Blot got to his hooves, somehow still looking perfectly composed despite having just been shot at. He nodded quickly.

“Agreed. Alleyway to the left.”

The pair took off just as Blade’s second shot pinged off of the cobblestone street. As she ran, Redheart’s breathing settled into a soldier’s rhythm, deep and easy. She galloped through the darkened alleyways, feeling the adrenaline course through her like liquid fire. Ink Blot was not as conditioned, and Redheart soon found herself outpacing him easily. Finally, after several minutes of fear-fueled sprinting, he collapsed in an intersection, wheezing heavily. Redheart slowed to a trot, kneeling down near the exhausted unicorn. She frowned.

“You all right? Can you keep going?”

Ink Blot nodded once, then shook his head, too out of breath for words. The stallion didn’t look like he would be getting up any time soon.

Redheart’s mind raced. I can’t just abandon him here, but if we don’t get moving soon, we’ll both be dead. Ah, buck it. I’m not leaving him at the mercy of those idiots.
She spoke again. “All right, just stay here. Catch your breath. I’ll wait.”

Ink Blot shook his head again, still gasping. Then he spoke, his eyes cool despite the situation.

“No. You advised retreat from initial engagement. Indicates inferior strength, equipment, or tactics. No point in direct confrontation. Staying results in two deaths. Leaving... only one.” His voice faltered for a moment. “Go.”

Crap. He knows we’re screwed as much as I do. Probably figured it out twice as fast, too. He’s not making this easy.

“Look, I’m not leaving you here to die. Just give me a minute to think of something.”

“Very well. Your funeral.”

Redheart could already hear the distant hoofbeats, growing louder by the second. If they hesitated any longer, Ink Blot’s prediction would come true.

If we stay, we’re dead. If we run, we’re dead. Wait... if I run-

“There they are! KILL THAT DOUBLE-CROSSING BITCH!” Candi’s shriek echoed across the alley. Blade wouldn’t be far behind.

Redheart made another snap decision.

“Come on, Professor. You’re going for a ride.”

“Wha-?!”

Redheart grabbed the white stallion by the rear hooves, throwing him over her back in a firemare’s carry. He was surprisingly light, despite being at least twice her age. Then, without missing a beat, she took off down the maze of alleys.

Twisting and turning through the dark corridors, Redheart risked a glance behind her. There was nopony biting at her hooves yet, but she could still hear Candi’s increasingly angry shouts. The high-pitched shrieks bounced off the alley walls, making it impossible to tell whether she was ten meters behind or a hundred. Doesn’t matter. Gotta keep going, get to somewhere crowded. Redheart knew the mob ponies wouldn’t dare try anything in public, not with hundreds of potential witnesses. She saw light leaking from an alley a couple corners away and doubled her efforts, eager to escape the shadowy labyrinth.

Almost there... just a little farther, Redheart-

“GOT YOU NOW!”

Candi’s triumphant yell gave Redheart the boost she needed to rocket out of the alley and into the bright sunshine. Ponies all around her yelled in varying degrees of irritation as she bowled her way through them, eventually slowing to a stop at one side of a busy intersection.

Redheart sighed in relief, her heart rate gradually returning to normal. There must be at least three hundred ponies here. We’re safe. For now. Wait, where is ‘here’, anyway? She glanced at the sign and started in surprise.

Mane Street?! Wow, I must’ve run farther than I thought.

Redheart allowed herself a small smile. Candi was probably spitting in rage right now, so close to her quarry but unable to do anything but watch and wait. The smile faded, however, when she realized she was attracting more than a few stares from passersby. Redheart frowned. What are they looking at? She glanced down at her hooves and winced.. Oh. Right. Her forelegs were coated in a mixture of dirt, alley grime, and dried blood from the night before, and her body was criss-crossed with a myriad of scratches and scrapes. Add in her dramatic entrance and the shell-shocked stallion slung across her back, and it was a wonder somepony hadn’t called the Manehatten PD already.

“Uh, excuse me? Miss? Are you all right? Is he all right?” A young colt was looking up at her, his large eyes filled with concern. Wow, I must be a hell of a sight. Better get out of here soon and clean up, before I get thrown in jail. But where...

It was then Redheart had an idea. An impossibly stupid, totally idiotic, incredibly reckless idea. It also happened to be the only idea she could think of.

She smiled at the colt.

“Actually, you might be able to help me with that. Do you know how to get to Great Central Station from here?” Oh my Celestia this is a dumb plan.

The colt nodded enthusiastically. “Sure! Just keep going down Mane, then take a left once you hit 33rd and Cherry. It’s the huge building with the yellow clock tower. Can’t miss it.”

Redheart smiled. “Thank you. Now, run along before somepony sees you talking to a
weird street mare.”

“Uh, whatever you say, miss!” The colt darted off.

Ink Blot had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the whole affair. Redheart shifted the stallion’s weight on her back, bringing his head closer to her ear. He was breathing, slowly, but otherwise didn’t respond. Out cold. The delayed shock of almost dying must have hit him pretty hard. Probably for the best, anyway, considering I’m about to do something very, very, stupid. Ink Blot did not strike her as the type to entertain foolhardy ideas. Well, better get going.

She shifted the stallion back over her torso and set off at a brisk trot down Mane Street, ignoring the stares of ponies passing by. If anypony asks, I’m an off-duty EMT. That’s it. Just keep walking, Redheart. One hoof in front of the other. She sighed. I really need to find a new conversational partner.

Twenty minutes and two train tickets to Fillydelphia later, Redheart was sprawled out on a luxury sleeper car bed, feeling truly relaxed for the first time in what felt like years. Has it really only been a day and a half? Guess time kinda skips when you spend most of it a hair away from death. She giggled. Oh Celestia, listen to me. Barely a day back in action, and I’m already spouting battlefield cliches like a washed-up old vet.

Ink Blot’s groan from the opposite bed interrupted Redheart’s musings. Oh good, he’s coming to. Wouldn’t want this trip to be too boring. Or quiet. She leaned over from her bed, trying to catch a glimpse of the stallion. “Hey. You awake?”

Ink Blot jerked up from the bed, eyes darting around as he attempted to take in all of his surroundings at once. “What... Hold on. Rectangular room, apparently modular construction, sensation of movement... who exactly are you?” His eyes flashed in a mix of confusion and anger. “And why in Equestria are we on a train?”

Redheart rolled her eyes. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ And to answer your question, I’m the pony who saved your sorry flank from getting shot, and we’re on a train because I have a plan that will hopefully result in neither of us dying within the next forty-eight hours.”

Ink Blot frowned, processing this turn of events. “I see. Please, inform me further about this ‘plan’.”

Redheart obliged. “Well, calling it a ‘plan’ might be exaggerating a bit. It’s more like an ‘idea I had while you were unconscious on my back and we were a couple minutes away from probably going to jail.’ But that’s not really important. What is important is that we get to Fillydelphia as soon as possible.”

“Fillydelphia? Second-largest city in Equestria, birthplace of the Neo-Ponyism movement, extensive historical brick-and-mortar sewer system... Why?”

“I have a contact. Somepony who might be able to help us with our situation.”

“...Situation? Elaborate.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re both marked ponies now,” Redheart explained. “I’m wanted for disobeying the Family, whoever they are, and you... Wait. Why did the Manehatten Mob want to kill you, anyway?” She had been meaning ask Ink Blot about that since they met, but recent events hadn’t exactly given her the opportunity. The stallion shrugged his thin shoulders.

“Wish I knew. Never had any dealings with them. No unpaid debts, no favors, no intentional provocation, nothing. They didn’t want experimental tech... would have taken me alive.”

“Experimental tech?” This just gets weirder and weirder. “I thought you were a professor. Just what kind of ‘tech’ would be worth killing for?”

Ink Blot shifted uncomfortably on his bed. “Ah. Not sure I’m at liberty to say. Still highly confidential, you understand. Proper clearance, et cetera.”

“Look, we’re both on the same side here. The more I know about why Garnet wanted you dead, the better chance we both stand of getting out of this alive.”

“Garnet?”

“He’s- Wait. I’ll only tell you who Garnet is if you tell me why your work is worth murder.”

Ink Blot smile. “Understood. Both of us have knowledge that would benefit the other. I propose a deal. You tell me everything you’ve witnessed since first contact with the mob, I summarize my work and its applications. As you said, hiding knowledge from allies is counterproductive. Agreed?”

Redheart grunted in irritation. Oh Celestia damn it, he’s right and he knows it. Guess I don’t have a choice if I want him to stick around.

“Agreed. All right, it started late last night...” Redheart proceeded to retell the events of the past day and a half in as much detail as possible. Ink Blot listened intently, occasionally pausing to clarify a point. When she had finished, the stallion was nodding thoughtfully in comprehension.

“Interesting. Any theories about the contents of those samples?”

“No idea. I’m a nurse, not a lab pony. They could’ve been anything from a retrovirus to a vaccine to last night’s dishwater. But enough about my adventures. It’s your turn, professor.”

Ink Blot nodded again. “Suppose I owe it to you. So, an overview: As you said, I am a professor at Canterlot Institute for Emerging Magical Technologies, or CIEM-Tech. Our primary focus is the testing and development of practical applications for experimental spells and arcanomechanical devices. Are you familiar with records and record players?”

“Um... sure, I guess.”

He smiled proudly. “One of our finest innovations. Sonic vibrations are captured by a web of magic, translated into pitch-velocity-corresponding runes, and etched onto an easily portable medium. The player then re-traces the microscopic symbols with its needle, activating them in sequence to produce sound. Took years to develop a universal runic system that wouldn’t mutate or decay with prolonged use. Secret was in introducing redundant reliance between all possible benign magical pairs-”

Ink Blot noticed Redheart’s eyes glazing over slightly and cleared his throat. “Ahem. Digression. Apologies. As I was saying, our primary work is in experimental technologies. All types. Transportation, communication, navigation, even weaponry. Doesn’t matter. If a tech is publicly available, it was reviewed and analyzed by the entire department. Of course, most isn’t public. Usually too unstable, too untested to introduce. My current project especially.”

“And what project would that be?” Redheart asked, curious.

Ink Blot coughed uncomfortably.. “Really shouldn’t be telling you this... personal assignment from Celestia herself. Code name, ‘Lock and Key’. Low-energy, high-radius variant of a standard shield spell. If cast correctly, has the potential to completely nullify nearly any branch of magic using a modified mimic charm and backscattered arcane energy. Essentially, in an ideal setting, would prevent any magic of a specific type from being performed correctly, or at all, within the designated area. Applications too many to list. Still in the very early experimental stages, obviously, but progress is steady. Well, was steady. Assassination attempts have a way of derailing schedules.” He chuckled at his own joke. “I believe that covers everything. Satisfied?”

Redheart, deep in thought, almost didn’t hear the professor’s question. “...I guess so. You think that’s why they tried to kill you? To shut down the project?”

Ink Blot frowned. “Possible, but highly unlikely. Nopony outside of CIEM-Tech is aware of Lock and Key. All project information very tightly controlled, all members thoroughly background-checked. Leaks almost unheard of.”

Redheart sighed dejectedly. “Huh. Guess we’re back where we started, then.”

Ink Blot nodded in agreement. “Appears that way. Still, any information is good information. May be useful later on.”

If there is a later on. Hopefully riding to Fillydelphia will throw those assholes off our trail for a while, Redheart thought. She wasn’t exactly optimistic about their chances of surviving another encounter with the Family. With a huge yawn, she turned to Ink Blot and said, “Well, as fun-filled and action-packed as today has been, I think both of us should try and get some rest. I know I need it.”

Ink Blot nodded again, barely suppressing a yawn himself. “Agreed.” He lay back down on his bed, turning off the light with a flicker of green magic.

“Good night, Ink Blot.”

“Good night... ah. Never did get your name.”

“It’s Redheart.” No point in keeping secrets after what I’ve already told him. Well,
most secrets, anyway.

“Good night, Redheart.”

Redheart lay in her bed, letting all the stress of the past twenty-four hours leech out into the soft cotton. From nurse to almost-assassin to fugitive all in a day. Hopefully tomorrow won’t be quite as exciting. She sighed into her pillow. Yeah, right. Yawning one last time, she rolled over and let the soft, soothing motion of the train lull her to sleep.

Interlude 1: Welcome to the Jungle

Zebrica
4 years ago

All was quiet in the dense rainforest, save for the soft drone of insects and the occasional hoot or screech from a distant jungle creature. The moon shone bright and clear in the sky, dappling the lush canopy with drops of liquid quicksilver. It seemed like the night itself was holding its breath in anticipation, waiting for something to break the silence. And break it did.

Crunch, rustle, snap!

Equestrian Special Agent Crimson Flare (callsign “Ember”) hacked her way through the dense brush, cutting and slashing like it had personally offended her. The scarlet-maned, white-coated mare stumbled out into the dark forest clearing, shook off a couple lingering leaves, and sighed. They had been going at this for over six hours now, and so far hadn’t encountered anything that looked even remotely like the camp of a zebra warlord. She was beginning to wonder if this mission was Com’s idea of a practical joke. With the intel they’ve been giving us, I wouldn’t be surprised. Still grumbling, she lifted a hoof to her ear, activating the magical communication conch curled behind it.
“This is Ember. Storm, give me an aerial report.”

High above the forest canopy, a sea-green pegasus (callsign “Storm”) heard the command. He raised his hoof in a gesture similar to Flare’s and replied, hovering above the trees. “This is Storm. It’s all quiet up here. No sign of anypony, hostile or otherwise. If you ask me, this whole thing’s a heaping bucket of horseapples.”

Below, Flare rolled her eyes. “Roger that. And nopony did ask you, Cirrus, so keep your mouth shut and your eyes on the leaves.”

Cirrus chuckled. “Yes ma’am.”

“And don’t call me ‘ma’am’. I’m your squad leader, not your mother.” This only elicited another chuckle from the incorrigible pegasus. She grunted in irritation. Cirrus had always had trouble understanding the gravity of their missions, a fact about which he and Flare had never seen eye-to-eye. But, for all his unprofessionalism, he was still the best recon pegasus in the force, hooves-down. Crimson could deal with the occasional jibe and disagreement as long as he kept their flanks covered from the air.

*kshhhzt*

Flare’s brooding was interrupted by a burst of static from her com shell. “Hello?” Several hundred feet away, a charcoal-black unicorn mare named Dusky Glow (callsign “Shadow”) answered, in a voice like silk:

“This is Shadow. Nothing to report here, either. I’ve been sticking to the trail Com layed out for us, but no luck so far.” Glow was their designated infiltration and sabotage pony, using her talents as a former security agent in combination with her unique magical abilities to disable or slip past even the toughest of defenses. Her unique skillset made her absolutely invaluable on stealth missions like this one.
Now if only we could actually find the place we’re supposed to be infiltrating...

“Roger that, Shadow. Keep up the good work. Wave, any luck on your end?”

Wave was the final member of Crimson Squad. A large navy earth pony of few words and deliberate actions, he only spoke when he felt there was dire need. “Negative,” he said, his voice low and rumbling over the com-conch.

Crimson nodded absentmindedly, forgetting there was nopony around to appreciate the gesture. “All right, everpony rendezvous with me at the next clearing,” she said. “We’ll take one more sweep through the area as a group. If we don’t find anything, I’ll radio Command and give them a piece of my mind. Copy?”

Three voices answered in unison:

“Copy.”

Crimson leaned against a tree, waiting for her squadmates to find her using the tracker acorns embedded in their packs. Hopefully we’ll just find an abandoned camp and maybe a couple sleepy zebra commandos. I really don’t want to think about what Com will do if I tell them we managed to lose an entire guerrilla army. She heard a flutter of wings nearby and looked up to see Cirrus alight gracefully on a branch near her head. He grinned.

“Miss me, Sparky?”

Flare ignored the pegasus’ feeble attempt at a pet name. “Like I miss my hydra bite.”

Cirrus chuckled, not letting the insult deter him. “Ah, come on, don’t be like that. Just because I’m a heroic, dashing soldier and you’re a sensitive, delicate medic doesn’t mean can’t be together.”

She rolled her eyes. “In your dreams, flyboy.”

“Flyboy? Cute. I love it. And you complain about me giving pet names.”

Flare stomped a hoof in frustration. Some ponies! Honestly, throw a pair of wings on a stallion and he suddenly thinks he’s Celestia’s gift to mares. She looked at Cirrus.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“Playing hard to get, huh?” His grin grew even wider. “I can roll with that.”

“Celestia, you are bucking impossible.”

“Aren’t I?”

Their banter was cut short by Dusky Glow materialising from the shadowy undergrowth like a ghost. She smiled at the pair. “Sorry to interrupt a lover’s quarrel-”

“Oh don’t you start. He’s bad enough as it is.”

Glow giggled, a sound like tinkling bells. “I know.” She tossed her blonde mane over her shoulder. “Besides, we both know the only plot Cirrus will ever get will be from between the covers of a book.”

She and Crimson both burst out laughing. That’s my girl. Always ready to lend a hoof, or, in this case, a punchline. Cirrus put a hoof to his chest, looking deeply wounded.

“That hurts, Glow. That really does. Honestly, it’s like you mares forget I have even have feelings.”

Crimson and Glow hoof-bumped, ignoring him.

“Hope Wave finds us soon. I don’t know if I can take another ten minutes with Casaneighva here,” said Crimson.

Glow nodded, wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Ha... me neither.”

Cirrus retreated to higher in the tree, sulking. Flare wasn’t unduly worried. Two minutes and he’ll be back to his normal, irritating self. Unfortunately.

Five minutes of idle banter later, Wave still hadn’t arrived. Crimson was starting to get concerned. He wasn’t that far away, was he? She raised a hoof, activating her com-shell.

“Wave, this is Ember. Status report.”

There was a pause, then Wave’s voice rumbled back through the conch, sounding urgent. “Copacetic. But... There’s something you need to see.”
“Copy that. On my way.” She focused on the acorn in her saddlebags, thinking of the color blue. After a couple seconds of concentration, a glowing azure sphere floated up from within her pack and began to make its way across the forest floor. Flare immediately set off at a quick trot after it, motioning her squadmates to follow. When Wave said something was important, you bucking listened.

Within two minutes, the entire squad was gathered behind a cluster of moss-covered boulders near the edge of small cliff. Wave had nodded curtly when he had seen the three approach, motioning them to get behind the natural cover for reasons only he knew.

Crimson looked at him expectantly. “Well?” The stallion simply motioned past the rocks into the forest beyond, not bothering to give an explanation. Flare rolled her eyes and began crawling, commando-style, up the outcropping. Reaching the top, she peered out over the jagged edge of the rocks and nearly gasped in shock. Oh sweet Luna. This mission just got a lot more interesting.

The clearing below was filled with a mishmash of tents, battered target dummies, and zebra commandos, all bathed in the sickly green glow of spellfire lanterns. Crimson counted at least three dozen troops with her first glance, maybe even more. They were all armed with tribal toothbows and spike rifles, nasty zebran murder implements that could throw a hail of poison barbs at their target in the time it took to blink. Many of the warriors were also painted with odd, swirling patterns that seemed to move of their own accord in the flickering light, an effect only intensified by the myriad of stripes already present on their bodies.

Flare slowly crawled back down from the rocks, looking at her squadmates in apprehension. Cirrus, as always, was the first to break the silence. “Well? What is it? Don’t just leave us hangi-mmmph!” His question was cut short as Flare shoved a hoof in his mouth, motioning to her team to lean closer. They obliged.

“Enemy camp is in the clearing below us.” Flare whispered, pointing down past the outcropping. “At least thirty hostiles, probably more in the tents or out on patrol. All armed with the standard zebran guerilla kit. Spike and tooth. You know the deal. No sign of the warlord or our intel, at least not yet.” She grinned at her companions. “So, everypony ready for some action?”

Dusky and Cirrus mirrored her expression. Wave, stoic as always, simply nodded.

“All right, here’s the plan. Storm, when I give you the signal, you strafe out above the camp and draw the zebras’ fire. Get close enough to piss them off, but don’t play it too risky. I can heal a lot of things, but a clip of poison barbs to the face isn’t one of them.” The green stallion’s grin intensified.

“Gotcha. I’ve been looking for a chance to try out my new reverse aileron anyway.”

Flare sighed at the pegasus’ complete lack of gravity and self-preservation. “Just don’t get killed. Shadow, I need you to cut back around while Storm is distracting the soldiers. Get into the camp and search as much of it as possible. You can take out a couple of them if you need to, but try not to call attention to yourself.”

“Will do.” said Glow, letting her gaze stray to the silenced hex repeater holstered on her right hoof. The fact that she preferred to work in the shadows definitely didn’t mean she couldn’t pop a few heads if need be.

Crimson turned to the final member of the squad. “Wave and I will be somewhere nearby, giving covering fire and taking out any zebra that gets too close. With Storm diverting most of the heat, we should be in and out before the stripey bastards know what hit ‘em.” Wave nodded again, bringing his Hexala II Runic Chaingun to bear with a grunt. The massive weapon was capable of spitting out a veritable firestorm of enchanted slugs, turning everything in the immediate area into the equivalent of magical swiss cheese. The gun’s only downsides were its incredible weight and the expertise required to correctly load and operate it. Both of these problems were severely mitigated by the weapon’s owner, who also happened to be the one of the twelve or so ponies capable of actually lifting it.

Flare surveyed her squad approvingly. They were the Equestria’s best and brightest, hoof-picked by the Royal Sisters themselves to combat any and all threats to the nation’s safety. Hell, if there’s anypony that can charge into a suicide mission and turn it into a victory, it’s us.

“All right, Crimson Squad. Break on three.” said Flare, extending a foreleg. Her squadmates did the same, stacking their hooves on top of hers. It was a ritual they had, a way of saying “good luck” without any awkwardness.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Come on, Crimson. You’ve got this.

“One, two, three, break!”

Dusky gave a little wave to the rest of her squadmates before melting back into invisibility with a glow of cream-colored magic. Flare caught a glimpse of a single semi-transparent hoof before the stealthy unicorn was lost inside the undergrowth. She tried to suppress a shudder. No matter how many times she saw Glow’s special talent in action, it always managed to slightly creep her out. Once Flare was satisfied that Dusky was out of sight, she began making her way towards the camp, motioning for Wave to follow. He did so wordlessly, as usual.

A half-minute of stealthy trotting later, Crimson and Wave were both lying concealed behind a fern-covered ridge near the encampment. It was the perfect spot for an approach: close, concealed, and easy to escape from or duck behind if need be. Flare could see the nearest soldiers clearly now, everything from the sweat running off their backs to the wicked barbs of their spike rifle bayonets. She swallowed and drew her own rifle from her back holster. It was an old enchanted shortbarrel that she had substantially modified over the years, stripping out obsolete parts and adding new ones as she found them. It now sported a top-of-the-line scope, a suppressor, and even a steel griffon talon bayonet she had mounted under the barrel as a trophy from a mission long ago. It wasn’t the prettiest-looking weapon, but, as her old target instructor was fond of saying, “A gun don’t have to look pretty to put a slug through your head at two hundred yards.”

Flare smiled at the memory, then shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Plenty of time to reminisce when the mission’s over. For now, focus on the task at hoof. She reached up to her com conch and tapped it twice, activating the device’s whisper mode. Barely moving her lips, she breathed to her squadmates:

“Everypony in position?”

“Storm here, bored but ready when you are.”

“Shadow responding. Stealthed and good to go.”

“All right.” said Flare. “Storm, fly up and get their attention.”

“You got it, Sparky.”

Crimson stared daggers at a nearby leaf, imagining it was the pegasus’ head. “Call me that again and I’ll clip your pinions.”

“I’m sure.”

There was a rush of static through the shell as Cirrus took off, arcing gracefully out over the outcropping before coming to a hover around 30 yards above the camp. He managed a single lazy circle around the trees before one of the guards noticed the unwanted company. The guard barked something in the harsh zebra language, motioning to the sky with a tattooed hoof. Within seconds, the camp was alive with angry shouts and the fwip-fwip-fwip of spike rifles. Cirrus dodged the volleys easily, taunting his attackers.

“Seriously? That’s the best you can do? I thought zebras were supposed to be expert shots. Guess you guys missed the memo.”

The zebras might not have understood the insult, but the pegasus’ insolent tone was clear enough. They redoubled their efforts, shooting round after round at the green blur whizzing around the night sky above the camp. Cirrus laughed, savoring the chance to showcase his flying skills. None of the shots had so much as ruffled his fur, let alone actually hit him. He looped and swerved, dodging and rolling to avoid the speeding projectiles. Every so often he would come to a dead stop, flashing his trademark grin and goading the soldiers on. “What, is that all you got?” The next second, he would be gone again, spiraling up into the humid night air without a care in the world.

On the ground below, the invisible silhouette of Dusky Glow was making its way quickly through the camp. Dodging a couple stray poison barbs and a pair of oblivious zebra commandos, she reached the first of the tents and yanked open the flap. Damn, she thought. Nothing but a couple dirty mattresses and some stale hay. The next four she searched yielded similar results. The fifth tent Dusky found was bigger than the rest, boasting elaborate designs and hangings on the sides. She lifted the flap and grinned. Ha! Jackpot.

Scattered across a makeshift table on the dirt floor of the tent were a series of faded papers, all covered with intricate zebra runes. The symbols pulsed and shifted in the flickering spell-light, almost as if they were drawing in night itself. Glow had no idea what they were, besides the fact that they were obviously important enough to warrant Crimson Team’s involvement. Tucking the sheets into her saddlebags, she turned to exit the tent, only to come nose-to-painted-nose with a very confused-looking zebra.

Reacting instinctively, Dusky lashed out with a right hook, aimed at the head. There was a thunk, and the bewildered commando crumpled instantly. Right in the temple. Never fails. She stepped over the body gingerly, exiting the tent, and set off at a quick trot back towards the forest. She whispered into her conch as she ran.

“Ember, this is Shadow. I’ve got our intel, but still no sign of the warlord.”

“Roger that, Shadow. Get back to cover. Wave and I will move in and try to find him ourselves.”

Dusky whispered her an affirmative, vaulting a rotting log near the back of the camp.
Just as she was about to make her escape, she felt a sudden, searing, pain in her hind leg. She collapsed on the ground in shock, barely avoiding crying out. Looking down, she felt the blood turn to ice in her veins.

Oh hell no.

A single white poison barb was protruding out below her flank, the tip coated a vivid, angry red. It obviously hadn’t been meant for her, considering she was effectively invisible. It had just been a lucky shot. Just a stupid, random, lucky shot. Buck.

Dusky tried to force her weary legs to move, to no avail. Already, she could feel her pulse getting sluggish, her heart and lungs struggling to keep up with the strain the deadly toxin was exerting on them. Her cloaking spell popped, flickered, and died, leaving her downed and exposed in the middle of enemy territory. She could see a couple curious zebras approaching the spot she had fallen, amidst the hail of angry shots that Cirrus was still provoking. Summoning her last vestiges of strength, she drew her revolver from its holster, gripping it in her teeth. She let her tongue find the trigger, aiming down the barrel at the approaching commandos. Glow smiled through the pain. If this is how I’m going down, then I’m going down fighting.

From behind the ridge, Crimson saw Dusky fall. She turned to Wave, her eyes like flint.

“Cover me.”

Flare vaulted over the rock, taking out the two closest zebras with a quick front jab and a half-buck. She heard the familiar bwrrrrrr of Wave’s chaingun spinning up behind her, and drew her own rifle in her teeth before setting off at a hard gallop towards where Dusky had gone down. Ally or enemy, it wasn’t a good idea to be anywhere near the Hexala when it started firing.

She darted through the camp, ducking and weaving between the zebras’ poison barbs and Wave’s enchanted bullets. A pair of guards noticed her amid the chaos and stepped to bar her way. BLAM. BLAM. They fell. The next three met similar fates.
Crimson saw the downed form of Glow on the ground ahead of her. The unicorn had her revolver gripped between her teeth, wincing at even the minor exertion of keeping the weapon upright. She had it pointed shakily at the squad of commandos converging on her, waving it in a weak attempt to intimidate them. The zebras laughed cruelly, savoring their victory. Or so they thought.

BLAM. BLAM. THUNKCRUNCHCRACK.

Flare grinned savagely, standing in the middle of a ring of recently-alive soldiers. “Not this time, assholes.”

Launching into another gallop, the medic grabbed Dusky with one hoof, throwing the black mare over her back without breaking stride. She sprinted back through the camp, dodging more shots as she neared the exit. These weren’t accidental. After Glow’s near-capture and Flare’s subsequent rescue, the entire camp was on high alert. Crimson noticed Cirrus silhouetted against the night sky above, diving low in an attempt to redirect the zebras’ fire. She reached the edge of the forest, ducked to avoid a toothbow bolt whizzing past, and set Glow down against a sheltered tree, panting.

“Team, this is Ember. Shadow’s down. Poison barb to the flank. Fall back and regroup near the ridge.”

Cirrus was the first to argue, as usual. “No can do, Sparky. As soon as I stop playing Wonderbolt, you’ll have an entire camp of armed zebras bearing down on your ass. I know you’re good, but you’re not that good.” he said, voice distorted by the rush of air.

Flare grunted in irritation. “Fine. Stay up there. Wave, hold your position and make sure he doesn’t die.”

“Roger.” The bwrrr of the Hexala could be heard again from the trees below, along with the panicked screams of the zebras in its line of fire.

Crimson put her head between her hooves, trying to block out the sounds of yells and gunfire. Focus, Flare. Follow the procedure. She knelt down next to the injured unicorn, opening the flap on her medic’s saddlebags as she did so. “Here, let me see it.”

Glow rolled over weakly, trying to move as little as possible in an attempt to minimize the pain. Flare couldn’t help but wince slightly as the wound came into view. The skin around the barb was a sickly green, already veined with angry red tendrils of infection. Zebra magic was fast and brutal.

“All right, let’s get that out.” One of the very few positives of zebra poison was that it clotted very effectively to stop any venom from leaking out of a wound. That meant she could easily extract the round without having to worry about Dusky bleeding out.

Grabbing a pair of tweezers between her teeth, the medical mare leaned forward and gave a sharp tug. There was a hiss of pain from Glow as she yanked the blood-covered spike out of the unicorn’s leg and threw it aside. “There, better now?” Glow mumbled something through the metal of the revolver in reply.

“Good. Now let me get the disinfectant...”

Flare took a out a small clear vial from her bag, holding it carefully between her hooves. She unscrewed the top with her mouth and trickled a couple drops directly onto the injury. The droplets sizzled and popped as they hit Glow’s skin, sending up wisps of amber steam. Phoenix tears. The most potent antivenom in Equestria, and it still won’t be enough. Damn the zebras. Damn them to hell.

Flare took a pad of gauze and wrapped it tightly around the wound, taking care not to press too hard on the affected area. She nodded in approval. “That should hold until we can get a full magical transfusion from a unicorn medic, which’ll need to be soon. Now, don’t move unless you want to die. Can you cloak?”

Dusky shook her head.

“Crud. All right, stay here and I’ll try to-”

Fwip-fwip-fwip! A flurry of barbs whizzed over Flare’s head, missing her ear by inches.

Oh for the love of- “Glow, stay down!”

She turned to see a squad of zebras galloping towards them, rifles drawn and throats alive with angry war cries. Flare grabbed her own rifle from against the tree, yanking the trigger twice.

BLAM BLAM.

Two zebra heads disappeared in a haze of pink mist. Flare sighted and pulled again.

BLAM BLAM click.

Oh, buck.

There was no time to reload. No time to think. Only to act.

Throwing her gun aside, along with any notion of caution or care for her own life, Crimson yelled and charged, ducking to avoid the first volley.

“Nopony hurts my squad, you bastards!”
The pure recklessness of the gesture made the commandos hesitate for a split second. Why, they wondered, would any creature, pony or zebra, do something so utterly stupid?

They realized their mistake a second too late.

Then Flare was upon them.

The white mare rippled and flickered through the squad like a dancer, hooves flashing and twirling in a twisted ballet. The only thoughts in her mind were the next strikes she had to make, and who she had to get through to make them.

CRACK. Left uppercut, watch the hind leg, pivot, follow through.

CRUNCH. Transfer the horizontal momentum downward, careful, bayonet, hind kick to low spin to double half-buck.

THUNK. Swoosh. CRACK-SNAP. Four down, one left. Watch his holster. Hind sweep to front throat buck, don’t let him grab the rifle.

WHAP. Dodge his right hook, then in for the kill.

THUD. Game over, motherbucker.

The final zebra staggered and fell, joining the several others splayed out across the hilltop. Crimson stepped back from the pile of bodies, still breathing heavily. She could already see another squad of commandos advancing up the hill, looking every bit as murderous as the first. Dammit. I can’t keep this up forever, and even if I could, Glow needs a transfusion yesterday. She reloaded her rifle, yelling into her mic as she did so.

“Crimson Team, regroup now!”

She aimed and fired again, taking out another three soldiers with a trio of well-placed shots. “Wave, flank them and pull their attention while I hold up here. Storm, get back and airlift Shadow to somewhere safer.”

BLAM BLAM BLAM.

Another three pulls, another three less soldiers. The whole camp was out in force now, most of the zebras having finally given up on hitting Cirrus entirely to focus on more easily-approached ground targets.

Wave rumbled an affirmative. Flare could see him slowly making his way around the camp towards her and Glow, mowing down any zebra stupid enough to get in his way.

At least he’s dependable, she thought.

“Storm, confirm?”

Cirrus yelled something indistinct over his mic in reply, the sound obscured by feedback and gunfire.

“Repeat that, Storm?” yelled Flare.

“I said, give me twenty seconds!”

In twenty seconds, Glow could die.

“Storm, get your flank up here NOW. That’s an order.”

BLAM BLAM. Two more. They just keep coming!

“Fifteen.”

“Storm, I swear with Celestia as my witness I will file you for discharge if you do not get up here and save your OWN DAMNED SQUADMATE!”

“Ten...”

“STORM!” What the HELL is he doing!?

Crimson paused to snipe another squad of zebras and reload, seething inwardly. If we lose her, so help me...

“Five, four...”

A flicker of sea-foam green shot across the sky above the camp, trailing something iridescent and lime-colored in its wake.

Was that...

“Three, two...”

Oh Celestia.

“One. Eat this, motherbuckers!”

Flare grabbed Dusky as gently as she could and dove behind a nearby tree.

“EVERPONY DOW-”

FWOOM.

A brilliant green mushroom cloud erupted from the center of the camp, turning the Zebrican night into dawn for a single eye-searing second. Flare felt the rush of air as every last bit of oxygen was sucked out from around the clearing to fuel the inferno now raging at its center. The shockwave followed a millisecond after, throwing her back against another tree with the power of a thousand hooves.

Crimson smacked against the trunk with a bone-rattling THUD, ears ringing and eyes burning with the afterimage of the blast. What in the hell...

She forced herself to her feet, still dazed, and staggered over towards the limp form of Glow. Please be okay, please be okay...

Flare put a hoof to the mare’s chest, feeling for the steady beat that would confirm Dusky’s condition. A second later, she sighed in relief.

Stable. Thank the Sisters. Hopefully the others are fine too. With a grimace, she forced herself upright again and called out to her squadmates.

“Crimson Team, report!”

“This is Wave. I’m fine. No sign of any living hostiles from this vantage point.”

“Copy that, Wave. Rendezvous with me at the hill ASAP.”

“On my way.”

“See you then. Storm, what’s your status?”

Besides ‘complete bucking idiot’, of course.

Her query was answered in the form of Cirrus landing next to her with a whoop.

“Hell yeah! Take that, you stripey-flanked jerk-offs!” The pegasus made a rude gesture at the still-burning remains of the nearby camp, a self-satisfied grin stretched across his face. “Spellfire lantern with a little bit of flaktree bark for flavor. Not bad for twenty seconds, huh?”

Flare’s jaw dropped.

“Not bad?! You nearly incinerated an acre’s worth of protected Zebrican rainforest, for ‘Tia’s sake! Do you have any idea what the political fallout will be if International Relations gets their hooves on this?”

Cirrus shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Flare facehoofed in resignation. “We’ll discuss this later.” She looked around the clearing and spotted Wave making his way towards them, looking slightly singed but none the worse for wear. The huge earth pony glanced around the group, frowning in concern as he saw Glow laid out against the tree.

“How is she?”

“Stable for now, thank Celestia. The phoenix tears won’t last too long, though. What she really needs is a full-body cleansing and transfusion from a unicorn medic.”

Wave nodded in comprehension. “Should we radio Com?”

“Seems like a good idea.” With another hoof-tap on her conch, Crimson opened a channel to Equestrian Special Tasks Force Internal Command, colloquially known as ‘Com’. There was a burst of static, then the familiar voice of Special Operations Commander Striper rang out from the shell, sounding as cool and collected as ever.

“Hello, Crimson Squad. I’m assuming this call is to confirm the success of Operation Verdant Dawn?” Commander Striper had never been one for small talk or beating around the bush, a trait that both infuriated and endeared her to many members of the ESTF.

Flare sighed. “You could say that.” She could almost see the Commander tapping her forehooves against the polished oak surface of her desk, chewing one of the chocolate candies from the permanently-filled bowl she kept close by. Maybe she’ll let me have a couple before I’m mem-wiped and thrown in the street for Code and Conduct Failure.

Thousands of miles away, Striper sensed Flare’s apprehension. Her tone became softer, almost motherly. It was rare that the Commander showed any emotions beyond cool, calculating indifference, but when she did, she meant every word.

“All right. You can give me a full debriefing when you’re here, safe, in my office. For now, the only thing I’m concerned with is getting the four of you out of there as soon as possible.” Striper paused, sounding wary. “...Any casualties?”

She hated that question, hated it with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns. All too many times, she had asked it, only to be met with the hollow, broken tone of a pony who had just lost their friendly rival, their drinking buddy, their best friend. There was no consoling a pony like that. No words to fill the void that would forever replace a piece of their heart, no vision to make them forget the last time they had seen their squadmate alive and happy.

Striper shook her head, scolding herself. Don’t dwell on it, dammit. They’re gone, and crying about it won’t bring them back.

Crimson’s voice came again through her desk’s built-in speakers.

“Nothing fatal yet, but Shadow’s incapped. Spike rifle barb to the flank. I’ve medicated it the best I can, but she needs a full C&T from a medical mage, and fast.” Striper gave a silent sigh of relief.

“Roger that, Agent Ember. Expect an emergency waygate in five.”

“Thanks, Commander.” With another hiss of static, the line went dead.

Striper leaned back in her chair, a rare smile making its way across her lips. I wonder what kind of stunt that flying instrument of terror Cirrus managed to pull off this time. She stood up and trotted toward the large, gilded door of her office, unwrapping another candy with her tongue as she did so. The unicorn technicians were always a bit touchy about being asked to provide dimensional waygates on short notice, and she didn’t need to add an empty stomach to her laundry list of concerns for the day. The confections weren’t strictly a part of the diet that the her personal manager had prescribed to her, but Striper figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. The mare chuckled to herself, savoring the sweet taste of cocoa and fruit filling. Honestly. With the business I’m in, the things I’ve seen, and the missions I’ve ordered, the last thing to kill me will be a couple extra chocolates.

Striper swallowed contentedly and pushed open the door, setting off down the hallway at a brisk, professional trot. No point in anypony getting the wrong idea about their commander. As much as she despised fluff and bureaucracy, certain appearances did need to be kept, if only for the sake of appeasing the higher-ups in Canterlot.

She turned off down one of ESTFIC’s many hallways, her appearance prompting a wave of salutes from the various ponies passing by.

Striper rolled her eyes. Would it kill them to be a little less formal once in a while? Just once, I would like to walk into a room without feeling like I’m interrupting my own memorial service.

“At ease.” The ponies resumed their duties.

Shaking her head, the commander continued walking towards the waygate generation lab. Hopefully Agent Shadow will heal up sooner rather than later. I hate to put more pressure on Crimson Squad, but we need the best. Striper sighed, her expression turning grave as she remembered the debriefing she herself had received just hours earlier.

Especially when all of Equestria’s at stake.

Chapter 3: The Kick and the Drop

Fillydelphia
Present Day

SCREEEEEEEEEEEE-

The thoroughly obnoxious sound of metal grinding against metal shrilled around the cabin, lancing through Redheart’s head like a hot chisel. With a muffled groan, the medical mare forced herself out of the warm, down-filled heaven of her sleeper car bed and looked around blearily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Ink Blot? Professor? Hello?”

She gave a small yelp of surprise as the stallion in question slammed open the car’s door with a burst of lime-colored magic, a box and two steaming cups levitating behind him. Ink Blot saw Redheart sitting on the edge of the bed and nodded in approval.

“Redheart? Ah, you’re awake. Good.” He gestured animatedly to the white cardboard box hovering next to him. “We arrive in five minutes. Took the liberty of visiting the dining car before you were up. Wasn’t sure what you liked, brought some of everything. Got coffee as well. Zebrican Morning Blend with cream and sugar. Assumed you didn’t want decaf.” Ink Blot set the box and cups down on the bed next to Redheart with another flicker of magic, levitating several pastries out as he did so. “Danish?”

Redheart fought back another groan. Oh Celestia. It’s too early for him. “I’m fine for now, thanks. The coffee sounds fantastic, though.”

Ink Blot shrugged. “Whatever you like. Will save the rest for later.”

He set the cups on the small table at the foot of Redheart’s bed and took a large bite out of a scone.

“Delicious,” he murmured. He swallowed and looked toward Redheart quizzically.

“Anyway, about your contact. Do we have a location? A time?”

The mare sipped her coffee, feeling the steaming liquid make its way down her throat and shoot tendrils of fire through her sleep-fuzzed brain. Ah. Whatever I’ve said about the zebras, they know how to make caffeine taste good.

Several seconds later, a now considerably-more-awake Redheart replied:

“Both, actually. Tonight at The Pulse. It’s a club in downtown, near the big lakeside strip. I used to be a regular there when I was living in Filly for med school, so we shouldn’t have too much trouble getting in.” Hopefully. This whole thing is a pretty much a gamble.

“I see. What do you suggest we do until then?”

“Well, we’ll need a place to stay. How many bits do you have on you?”

Ink Blot peered into his saddlebags and shook his head. “Not many, I’m afraid. Carrying large amounts of money on oneself when you are a resident of my neighborhood is generally inadvisable.”

“Crud. I’m pretty much broke myself.” Redheart sighed. “Well, if there’s one thing Filly has plenty of, it’s cheap motels. I’m sure we’ll find somewhere. In the mean time, we should scout around the city, check for anything that might help us figure out what the hay is going on.”

“Agreed. I have my suspicions, but one piece of hard evidence is better than a hundred years of speculation.”

There was a ding as the conductor’s voice came over the train’s PA system. “Ladies and gentlecolts, we have now arrived at Western Fillydelphia Station. If this is your destination, we request that you would all please exit the train in a civil, orderly fashion. If you are on the line to St. Foal or Las Pegasus, the train will leave in twenty minutes. Thank you for riding Ironshoe Lines. We hope you enjoyed your journey.”

Redheart downed the last of her coffee and turned to Ink Blot, who had been packing the rest of the various pastries inside his saddlebags. “So. You ready to go take on the mob?”

He winced. “Would prefer to avoid any direct conflict if at all possible-”

Redheart rolled her eyes. “It was a joke, professor.”

“Ah. Of course. Forgive me.”

Hopefully, it’ll stay that way.

Several hours and a seedy motel room later, the duo was standing outside the glowing, neon-lit facade of The Pulse, watching the various patrons make their way in, or, in some-cases, out. Redheart winced as one particularly inebriated-looking stallion was thrown forcefully out the door into a mouthful of asphalt.

“Ouch. He’ll feel that once the booze wears off.” She glanced at Ink Blot, who had been looking more and more uncomfortable as they neared the club. “You ready to go?”

The stallion swallowed. “As I’ll ever be.”

No wonder he’s nervous. Canterlot alumni aren’t exactly clubbing material. “Relax, professor. Stick by me, and we’ll be in and out before you know it,” Redheart said. “Besides, it’ll do you some good to get your face out of a book once in a while.” Not that the past few days haven’t been exciting enough.

Ink Blot nodded. “Suppose you’re right.”

Redheart began to walk towards the entrance to the club, Ink Blot trotting nervously behind her. She felt the bass thumping through her hooves as she approached, a steady, pulsing beat that reminded her of younger days. Redheart smiled. Good to see she’s kept the beat alive. She skirted around the edge of a line of hopeful club-goers, finally stopping near the neon-decked entrance to the venue. The bouncer, a large, burly stallion with a scruffy gray mane and a chocolate brown coat, saw her approach and frowned.

“Hey, whaddaya think you’re doin’? You wanna get in, you wait in line, same as everypony else.” He motioned to the back of the line. “Now get outta here before I make ya.”

Redheart smiled at the stallion. “Are you sure you can’t make an exception? I know the owner, after all.”

He remained unmoved. “Yeah, you and half of Fillydelphia, to hear them tell it. Now beat it, before I- Hang on. Is that...” The he peered at her, brow furrowed. “Well I’ll be damned. Redheart’s back.” The bouncer broke out into a wide, toothy grin, all posturing forgotten. “Shit, filly, it’s been a while! How are ya!?” He gave Redheart a hearty thump on the back, nearly making her stumble with the unexpected force. She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her face.

“Nice to see you too, Rocky. You mind letting us in now?”

“Us? Who else did ya bring?”

Redheart pointed at Ink Blot, who had been fidgeting behind her. “He’s with me. He won’t be any trouble, I promise.”

Rocky raised his eyebrows at that, but refrained from commenting. “Whatever ya say. Oh, and while you’re in there, tell Vi I need a raise.”

Redheart rolled her eyes again. “Will do. I’m sure she’ll be as benevolent and understanding of your request as she always is.”

That got a laugh out of Rocky. “Hey, tryin’ never hurt nopony. Now...” The stallion cleared his throat. “Ahem. Lady and gentlecolt...” He lifted the club’s entrance bar with a flourish and extended his hoof. “Welcome to The Pulse.”

As soon as the duo entered the club, Redheart’s senses were hit with a combined
assault of sweat, alcohol, glaring lights, and a bassline that made her teeth rattle inside her skull. She stepped forward into the press of bodies around the main stage, where a stallion wearing a hoodie was hunched over a turntable. The vibrations from the music bounced up and down the entirety of the club’s neon-soaked interior, causing the floor itself to shake in time with the pounding beat. Redheart grinned. Feels good to be back.

Behind her, Ink Blot shouted something indistinct over the thumping bass of the drum pattern.

“What?” Redheart yelled back, getting as close to the stallion’s ear as she could without shoving anypony else away.

“REPEAT: HOW DO YOU PLAN ON FINDING YOUR CONTACT HERE?”

Redheart pointed at the stage. “Oh, we’ll find her all right.” She’d never miss a chance to perform.

As if in response to Redheart’s words, the stallion’s song suddenly ended, and a single spotlight illuminated the center of the stage. A unicorn mare with a white coat and an spiky electric-blue mane strode out into the middle of the light’s glow, levitating a microphone behind her. She turned to the crowd, light reflecting off the purple-tinted lenses of her goggles, and yelled:

“HEEEELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO FILLYDELPHIA!”

The clubbers replied as one:

“HEEEELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO DJ PON-3!”

The mare laughed. “Now that’s what I like to hear.” She walked over to the hooded stallion and shook his hoof. “Well, ladies and gentlecolts, would you say that performance was freakin’ SWEET?!”

“YEAH!” The crowd replied. Redheart yelled as loudly as any of them, all thoughts of restraint forgotten.

DJ PON-3 nodded. “Damn straight. All right, now let’s give it up for DJ NEOOOOON LIIIIGHTS!” She grabbed the stallion’s hoof and held him up for the crowd, who roared and stomped their hooves in approval. “That one was off his new album, Scratchin’ Sparks. Everypony go buy it.” The clubbers laughed, as did she. “But seriously, this guy’s awesome. Check him out. All right, good luck on your next one, Neon.” The stallion nodded his thanks before trotting quickly off the stage, seemingly eager to get to wherever his “next one” was. DJ-PON-3 turned back to the crowd, grinning hugely.

“So. We’ve got around five minutes before our next act gets here for the night. Guess that means it’s my turn now. Sound good?”

The crowd roared an affirmative.

The DJ’s grin grew even wider. “All right, Filly. You wanna party?” She hopped onto the seat behind the turntables and cracked her forehooves. “Let’s party.”

There was a blast of noise from the speakers, and the song began.

The beat was simple and familiar, just a drum machine and some high, warbling synths. Redheart remembered the same pattern playing years ago, when she had been a student looking for a place to unwind after a grueling day of exams. This was her first hit, wasn’t it?

DJ PON-3 stroked the turntables like a cat, gradually coaxing more and more complicated phrases out of the machine. She added layer after layer. First came more synths, then a distorted, harmonic voice line. Redheart knew what was coming. She whooped and punched a hoof in the air. Beside her, other ponies did the same, swaying back and forth like a single entity caught in the web of the music. The song grew louder and louder, building toward a climax that would seemingly never come.

Finally, just when it seemed like the speakers themselves would be blown out, DJ PON-3 turned to the crowd, smiled, and with a yell of “BUCK YEAH!”, dropped the beat hard enough to crack the windows.

Redheart felt the rhythm rush through her, filling her body with pure energy and the desire to move. She whooped again, jumping up and down and hoof-pumping in time to the pounding beat. Just like old times.

Several breathless minutes later, the song drew to a close, leaving Redheart sweaty, overheated, and with a gigantic grin pasted on her face. She scanned the club’s interior, searching for Ink Blot, who had slipped away around the time the performance had started. She found him leaning awkwardly against the wall near the door, trying not to make eye contact with any of the other patrons. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking slightly miffed.

Redheart grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Guess I got a little carried away.”

“Apology accepted.” Ink Blot said, still looking slightly irritated. Whatever, thought Redheart. I’ll deal with him later.

Redheart pointed back at the stage, where DJ PON-3 was making her exit to thunderous applause. “Come on, now’s our chance. We have to get her attention before she goes backstage.” She trotted quickly around the edge of the crowd around the platform, shoving past the occasional drunken partier. Ink Blot followed close behind. Hopefully she’ll recognize me.

DJ PON-3 had stepped off the stage and was just about to disappear around the corner when the duo caught up to her. “Hey! Over here!” yelled Redheart, waving at the mare.

Instantly, both she and Ink Blot were seized by three large, burly stallions in security uniforms and shoved against a wall, forehooves pinned behind them. Redheart felt herself go into combat mode, her senses heightening and muscles tensing in preparation for what they thought was a conflict. She fought the instinct down, biting her lip in irritation. Idiot. Were you really going to start a fight in the middle of a crowded club? Dammit, why won’t they let me go-

“Whoa, boys!” Redheart looked to see DJ PON-3 watching the scene with a frown. The blue-maned mare motioned to the guards, who released Redheart and Inkblot wordlessly, dropping them to the ground. “Now, who wanted to see me so badly?”

Redheart picked herself up off the floor, nodding her thanks. “Hello, Vinyl. Been a while, huh?” She smiled and offered a hoof.

Vinyl didn’t take it. “Uh. Do I know you?” she asked, frowning. The security stallions stepped forward threateningly.

Redheart laughed nervously. “C’mon, Scratch. Remember? Skipping classes to go get drunk and dance the night away? Couch-hopping between apartment blocks when we couldn’t pay rent? That one time when we tried to pick up colts for free smoothies and almost ended up getting arrested? You’ve got to remember that.”

Vinyl was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, she removed her goggles, revealing a pair of bright red eyes, wide in astonishment. “Oh no buckin’ way. Crimson? Crimson Flare?”

Redheart smiled. “The one and only. Oh, and the name’s Redheart now, by the way.” Please don’t ask about it, PLEASE don’t ask about it....

“Redheart? You actually kept that dumb name we slapped on your fake I.D. all those years ago? Why?” Vinyl asked, frowning. She glanced at Redheart’s tail and nearly did a double take. “And your mane! What in the Hell did you do to your mane!? Pink?!” She looked outraged. “Flare, I’ve known you for over five years, and if there’s one thing I learned during that time, it’s that you are not a pink kinda girl.”

Shit. Redheart sighed. “Long story. Very long. You’ll get to hear it, I promise, but later.” Later being never, if I can help it.

The DJ squinted at her, looking unconvinced. “Are you sure? For all I know, you could be some crazed fan disguised as the Crimson Flare I know and love, trying to get close enough to murder me and steal my identity.”

Redheart smirked. “If I was some crazed fan, would I know that your life’s goal for over a year was to get in bed with Octavia Philaharmoni-”

“OKAY! YOU WIN! IT’S YOU!” shouted Vinyl, looking around in terror. Once she confirmed nopony else had been paying attention, she turned to Redheart and burst out laughing. “That’s more like the Flare I remember. So, what brings you here, anyway? Oh, and who’s that?” She pointed at Ink Blot.

“That’s Professor Ink Blot.” replied Redheart. “He’s... well, again, it’s kind of a long story. Is there anywhere we could talk? Privately?”

Vinyl nodded. “Follow me.” She led them around the back of the stage through a red velvet curtain, stopping at a door marked “VIP Only” in large neon letters. It swung open silently as soon as she approached, revealing a large room containing several comfortable-looking chairs, a bed, and a minifridge.

Vinyl flopped down on the closest chair, motioning for Redheart and Ink Blot to do the same. “Welcome to the Den. Make yourselves at home.” They gratefully obliged. “Can I get you anything? The fridge is fully stocked.”

“I’m good for now, thanks.” said Redheart. Ink Blot nodded in agreement.

“Suit yourself.” Vinyl popped open the minifridge’s door and levitated out a half-empty bottle of Applejack Daniels, which she promptly chugged. “Ah. Good stuff,” she said, swallowing. “So. Now that we’re all here, can I ask made made you decide to drop in after eight years of radio silence? Not that I mind, of course.” She leaned back in her chair and put her forehooves behind her head, as if to say this better be good.

“Well, it all started a couple days ago...” Redheart proceeded told Vinyl everything that had happened in the last 48 hours, with Ink Blot occasionally interjecting to give his version of events. When the pair had finished, the DJ was silent, jaw hanging open in disbelief.

Redheart took the pause as an opportunity to continue. “So, now that you’re all up to speed-”

Vinyl held up a hoof. “Whoa there, filly! You promised me a full explanation. You can’t just drop that big of a bombshell and expect a mare not to have questions.”

Redheart sighed. “What else do you want to know?” She began thinking frantically of possible excuses for the questions she knew Vinyl would ask. I can’t tell her the truth, but I sure as hell don’t want to lie to the mare who was my only friend for most of college. Gah! The heroes in the movies never have to deal with this crap.

“Well, for starters, what the hay is Crimson Flare, the mare I once saw take a bottle to the head and then smack down the colt who threw it, doing as namby-pamby, pink-maned, bun-wearing nurse? In the middle of freakin’ Ponyville! What happened, filly?”

Redheart rolled her eyes and pointed to her flank. “This cutie mark isn’t just for show, you know. Neither were the four and a half years of med school I somehow managed to find time for in between the parties and near-death experiences.” Her tone made it clear it was an issue she didn’t want to discuss further. Why won’t she just leave this alone?!

“...I guess.” Vinyl didn’t seem satisfied. “But really? Ponyville? You couldn’t have picked a tinier backwater burg if you tried. I mean, the whole deal: tiny town, tinier hospital, working as a nurse... It just doesn’t seem like... you.”

“Look, Vinyl.” Redheart was beginning to get irritated. Whether it was at herself or the DJ, she wasn’t sure. “Things change, all right? Sure, I might have been pretty wild when we were just apartmentmates with no money and too much free time, but, well... I’ve put all that behind me now. I like being a nurse. I like saving lives. And you know what? I’ve even begun to like Ponyville. Sure, it’s pretty quiet compared to the big city, but it grows on you. And besides, a little quiet now and then isn’t the worst thing in the world. Especially when... when you...” No. Don’t bring that up. Don’t even think about it. She could feel the torrent of repressed memories clawing at her skull, seeping through the cracks in the mental barriers she had so carefully constructed over all those years.

“Especially when what?” Vinyl asked curiously. Redheart shook her head, her voice suddenly hollow.

“I... I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Maybe, someday, I’ll be able to tell you. But right now... I’m not even sure I can come to terms with it myself.” Please, let that be enough. Please. Redheart looked at her friend, her eyes silently begging her not to press the issue further.

Vinyl’s scarlet eyes widened as comprehension dawned. She placed a comforting hoof on Redheart’s shoulder, wincing as she realized the old wounds her seemingly-innocent questions had reopened. “Oh, shit.” She patted Redheart’s shoulder sympathetically. “Oh Celestia, Flare, I’m sorry. If I had known, I would have never-”

“It’s fine. You didn’t know. But please, can you just let me leave it at that?”

Vinyl nodded. “Definitely.”

There was an awkward silence, which was promptly broken by Ink Blot.

“Very touching. However... I believe we came here to gather information, not reminisce and argue,” he said, looking expectantly at Redheart.

Vinyl rolled her eyes and mouthed stallions

“So, what did you come here for, anyway?” asked Vinyl, still grinning.

“I’m looking for someone,” said Redheart. “Pegasus stallion, sea-green, spiral cutie mark, kind of a jerk. Last I remember, he was living somewhere in downtown Filly. I figured you would know as well as anyone, considering the amount of traffic The Pulse gets. Seen him around?”

Vinyl shook her head. “Can’t say I have. Honestly, the one you would really want to ask is the bartender up front, Barley Malt, but he’s off sick today. Something with his horn.” She suddenly brightened. “Wait, hang on! This stallion, did he have a white highlight in his mane?”

“Come to think of it, I think he did,” said Redheart. “Why?” How did I not notice that before?

“You just gave me a spot-on description of Lyra’s older brother. At least, from what I’ve heard from her.”

“Who’s Lyra?” asked Redheart. The name seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Unicorn musician. She plays the lyre in the Fillydelphia Orchestra. Octavia introduced me to her way back when we had just started dating. Nice mare, if a little out there sometimes.”

Redheart nodded. “Where would I find her?” Please be close.

“Well, she lives in Ponyville. Just moved there, as a matter of fact-”

OH FOR BUCK’S SAKE-

“But you’re lucky. Her and Bon-Bon are staying at the hotel around a mile and a half from here, the Equestrian Grand. Visiting one of Lyra’s relatives, I think.”

Thank you, Celestia, thought Redheart. She frowned as Vinyl’s words caught up to her thoughts.

“Bon-Bon?”

“Lyra’s fillyfriend. They’ve been together for a few months now. She’s a confectioner, really sweet. Ha! Sweet.” Vinyl giggled.

Redheart rolled her eyes. “I see your sense of humor still hasn’t improved.”

“Never gonna happen,” said Vinyl. She grew serious for a moment. “Oh, by the way... If you’re going to go and ask Lyra about her brother, just... be careful, all right? I mean... they weren’t exactly the closest.”

“What do you mean?” Figures. Any mare that had to spend most of their life with him would probably be the opposite of ‘close.’

Vinyl shook her head. “I don’t know specifics, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. That’s Lyra’s deal, not mine.”

“Fair enough. You’ve given me plenty of information already, anyway,” said Redheart. She stood up from her chair. “Thanks for everything, Vi. Say hi to Octavia for me.”

Vinyl nodded. “Will do. See ya around, Fla- er, Redheart. It’s been real.”

“See you.” Redheart reached the edge of the doorjamb and hesitated. “Vinyl?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay safe.”

The DJ shot her a grin. “You know me. Safest mare in all of Filly.”

“Uh-huh. And I’m the Princess of the Sun.”

“Really? Thought you’d be bigger,” Vinyl quipped.

Redheart rolled her eyes. “Seriously. I’m not sure if the mob knows I’m here yet, but after tonight, there’s a chance they’ll be after you too.” Hopefully only a chance. Who knows how many eyes and ears they have here already. She brushed off the thought irritably. Paranoia won’t get you anywhere, Redheart.

Vinyl nodded. “I’ll take care of myself. You just worry about giving those mobster’s sorry asses a good old-fashioned Fillydelphia beatdown.”

“I’ll throw in an extra kick for you. ” Redheart gave a final, small, smile before turning and trotting quickly through the open door, Ink Blot following behind her.

“I’d like that,” Vinyl said, but the duo was already out of earshot. Damn, she thought. Crazy how a pony can change in less than a decade. Whatever she went through, it must’ve been pretty bad. The DJ glanced at the now-empty doorway, remembering the all the times she’d had with the mare who had occupied it just seconds ago. She smiled.

Stay safe, Crimson Flare.

The humid Fillydelphia night hit Redheart like a solid wall of hot moisture, causing beads of sweat to form on her coat within seconds of exiting The Pulse’s air-conditioned interior.
Wow. Was it really this hot when we came in? Feels like Luna forgot to switch the thermostat off “Boil”.

She snuck a glance at Ink Blot, who had been trailing behind her silently as they walked. The professor’s face was impassive, but Redheart knew that he was probably bursting with questions about Vinyl’s unexpected interview. Damnit, Scratch. You just had to drag up my past, didn’t you? she thought ruefully. Well, maybe it’s for the best. It would’ve come up at some point, anyway.

A flicker of movement from above snapped her back to the present. She craned her neck upward, but nothing was there save for a burnt-out streetlight and the pale glow of the moon. A 360 of the rest of the deserted street revealed similar results. It’s late. You’re getting paranoid, Redheart. There’s no way they could’ve tracked you this far in only-

Another flash of movement from the sky. This time, Redheart caught a glimpse of a winged figure out of the corner of her eye. What the hell... She did another 360 of the block, but found nothing. The entire street was deserted, with only the distant lights of the Fillydelphia strip indicating there was life at all. Perfect mugging territory.

“Something wrong?” Ink Blot had stopped and was watching her, concerned.

Redheart nodded, already hunkering into a combat stance. “We’re not alone,” she said quietly, eyes darting around the heavens above them. “Watch the sky and be ready to fight.”

Ink Blot nervously returned her nod. “Will try to stay out of your way,” he whispered, glancing nervously at the stars.

Well, at least he knows he’s a liability-

“Redheart! Behind you!”

Redheart spun in time to see a shadowy blur barreling towards her and flung herself to the side, feeling the rush of air as the whatever-it-was shot past. She got to her hooves quickly, scanning the sky for the next attack. They’re using pegasi now? Come on. That’s just bucking cheating.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Ink Blot retreating to a nearby alley. Good. One less problem to worry about.

The shadowy form swooped down again, shooting towards her faster than any pegasus she had ever seen. Redheart leaped away a second too late, and felt something cold and metallic slice the edge of her shoulder. She hissed in pain from between clenched teeth. What the hell? Are their wings made of razor blades?

Redheart’s question was answered a half-second later in the form of a flash of steel slicing a hairsbreadth away from her neck. She jerked back instinctively and lashed out with her left hoof, but only managed to graze the back of the assassin’s torso. It’s just too fast! There’s no way I’m making it out of this alive if I can’t even score a solid hit. She saw the razor-winged figure diving down for another pass, and a desperate idea sparked in her mind. Here goes nothing.

As the assassin sped towards her, Redheart tensed the muscles in her hind legs, preparing to spring. Just when it seemed like the glimmering blades were about to slice her to red-and-white ribbons, she released the tension in a burst, leaping over her shadow combatant and kicking out with her hind leg. There was a satisfying thunk and a grunt of pain from the assassin as Redheart’s hoof connected with its head. There we go!

Redheart landed on all fours and spun, looking to land the final blow before her opponent could take to the skies and regain its advantage. She saw the injured figure staggering to its feet and charged. Not so hot when you can’t fly away, huh-Ugh!

THUD.

Redheart gasped in pain as another shadowy something slammed directly into her chest, knocking the wind out her and throwing her across the rough pavement. Oh my Luna. There’s two of them? If I wasn’t about to die, I’d feel almost honored.

The assassin was looming above her now, wingblades fully outstretched and gleaming in the light of the moon. Wheezing, Redheart twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding the first slash of the glittering razors. As the shadowy figure leaned in to deliver a second strike, Redheart threw an uppercut, clipping her combatant squarely in the jaw. The assassin reeled back, and Redheart saw her chance.

She leapt towards the her enemy, locking her forehooves around its back leg even as it took to the air again. The black-clad pegasus seemed to barely notice the extra weight, climbing higher and higher above the Fillydelphia skyline. It didn’t make any effort to dislodge her, or even acknowledge her existence. Redheart frowned, even as her forelegs screamed in exertion from holding on. What are they playing at?

As the lights of the city turned to pinpricks below them, however, the truth became sickeningly clear. The pegasus didn’t need to buck her off to kill her. It would simply stay up here until her strength gave out, then watch as she fell all those hundreds of feet down before turning into a chunky puddle on the Fillydelphia sidewalk. Redheart winced at the mental image. No, she chided herself. That’s not gonna happen.

Summoning her very last reserves of strength, she pulled herself up from the assassin’s leg until she was nearly straddling its torso. The pegasus twisted in alarm, but Redheart managed to maintain her grip. Just a little closer...

She lunged towards the assassin’s blade-tipped wings and hooked her forelegs around them, ignoring the sharp steel slicing into her hooves. Then, with a grunt of exertion, she yanked backwards. Gotcha.

The pegasus gave a muffled scream as its wings were dislocated with sickening twin pops. A half-second later, both assassin and prey began to plummet downward, the lights of the city blurring into multicolored lines as they sped back towards the ground below. Redheart strained to keep her eyes open against the roar of the wind, knowing she would have only a tiny window of opportunity, if any. Come on, take the bait, she thought, desperately willing the other assassin to intervene.

As if in response to her plea, the other pegasus suddenly swooped in from the side, obviously looking to save its injured partner from a messy demise. Redheart saw the incoming figure and tensed, preparing herself. She would only have have one shot, and any mistake meant death.

The second assassin sped closer, and Redheart leapt.

There was a sickening second of total freefall, followed by a satisfying THUMP as she landed on the would-be-rescuer’s back, dealing another hefty blow to its head in the process. The stunned pegasus immediately dropped like a stone, desperately beating its deadly wings in an attempt to compensate for the unexpected weight. Its efforts were futile, and they quickly began to accelerate back towards the unforgiving ground below.

Shit. Probably shouldn’t have kicked its head if I wanted to ride down.

Redheart would’ve sighed if the wind hadn’t snatched every last vestige of air from her lungs several seconds prior.

So this is how it ends. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with me riding a half-conscious freak of nature to my pavement-splattered death.

The wind howled in her ears.

The sidewalk sped closer.

There’s probably worse ways to die, but I can’t think of any.

Redheart closed her eyes, mouthing her final words:

Celestia dova, romo voctus dae
Avia otorum, al divina novaru
Soluma dorin-

Crunch.

Silence.

Redheart lay perfectly still, eyes still squeezed shut and limbs held stiff. She had the sensation of bobbing gently up and down, as if she was floating on the top of some distant sea. It felt serene, peaceful. A faint smile creased her lips.

If this is death... I could get used to it.

“Redheart? Redheart. Respond. Please.” A voice came from her right, sounding urgent and worried, and she felt a hoof prod her neck gently.

Redheart’s eyes snapped open.

She was hovering less than an inch above the ground, enveloped in a flickering green cocoon of telekinetic magic. A glance in the direction of the voice revealed a shaken-looking Ink Blot, horn sparking with the effort of keeping her aloft.

Redheart breathed deeply, savoring the taste of air after being deprived for what felt like hours. “Professor? I...I’m alive.” The words were obvious, stupid even, but simply saying them felt like a gigantic weight lifting off her chest.

Ink Blot gave a relieved grin.

“Would appear so.” He stepped back, and the field faded, dumping Redheart unceremoniously onto the Fillydelphia sidewalk. “Had me worried. Expected several possible combat maneuvers. Mid-air nocturnal acrobatics... not one of them.” The professor’s tone was light, but he was clearly shaken.

Redheart got to her hooves, still shaking slightly herself. All right, Redheart. Lesson of the day: earth ponies do not fly, and are not meant to in any way, shape, or form.

She returned Ink Blot’s smile weakly. “To be honest, I didn’t either. The threat of getting shishkebabed kinda got in the way of little things like ‘planning’ or ‘forethought’.”

The professor laughed. “Suppose that could be expected. You are all right, though, correct? No serious injuries, blunt trauma, lacerations...” He saw Redheart’s shoulder and frowned worriedly. “That cut... Can’t tell how deep it is. Could be critical, could be nothing. How does it feel?”

Redheart shook her head dismissively. “It’s not that bad. The blade barely grazed me. Give it a wrap and a couple days and it’ll be fine.” She shrugged off her saddlebags and opened one, grabbed a length of medical gauze in her teeth, and began to wrap the wound with quick, expert motions. A few seconds later, the cut was fully tied off and bandaged, with only the presence of the gauze indicating it had been there in the first place.

“There, see? No problem,” said Redheart. “I’ll clean it off and disinfect it when we get back to the motel, but for now, I think we should get moving.” She glanced around the street. “Hold on. Where did those pegasi end up, anyway?” Might as well check them for clues.

Ink Blot pointed at an area a couple feet away, averting his eyes. “One landed there. The other... not sure.” His tone made it clear he would prefer to stay as far away from the the point of impact as possible.

Redheart nodded and walked over to where Ink Blot had. She saw the pavement, slick with red, and the crumpled, broken form lying on top of it. The assassin’s wings were splayed at an unnatural angle, frozen in a last, futile attempt to keep the ground away.

“Ouch,” Redheart muttered, bending down to get a closer look at the body. “Professor, could you give me some light?”

There was no response, but a couple seconds later, a small, luminescent orb popped into existence next to her, bathing the scene in a flickering greenish light. Guess autopsies aren’t his thing, she thought. Well, can’t say I blame him.

With Ink Blot’s orb providing assistance, Redheart took a closer look at the corpse. The pegasus’ wings were, not, as she had first thought, made out of razors, but rather encased in a soft, flexible sheath with the blades attached at regular intervals. Whether they were sewn, glued, or otherwise attached, she couldn’t be sure. The rest of the assassin’s body was clothed in a similar fashion, with a form-fitting, pliable black fabric that Redheart couldn’t quite place. It felt like nylon, but stronger and less stringy. The suit left no room for a mane or tail, and Redheart assumed they had been shaved off or otherwise removed for additional streamlining. The whole ensemble was tight, aerodynamic, and perfectly suited for blending in with the night.

Redheart glanced at the assassin’s face, which was covered entirely by a mask made of the same cloth as the rest of the suit, with only slits left for eyes. Something about it caught her eye, and she leaned closer, squinting in the dim light of the orb. There, stitched neatly into the seam of the mask, was a logo.

Neosil Industries. Never heard of them, thought Redheart. Probably some shady military contractor that sells to the highest bidder. She squinted closer at the letters, trying to glean every possible bit of information from the stubbornly uninformative symbols.

Hang on, what’s this?

Redheart frowned as something below the stitching of the logo caught her eye. There was an small, cylindrical bulge in the mask’s otherwise skin-tight surface, like something had been accidentally sewn in and then forgotten. Redheart prodded it experimentally and was surprised to find it fairly pliable, as if it was simply a wad of fabric stuck inside. But this is military-grade stuff, she reminded herself. They don’t make sewing mistakes. Whatever it is, it’s there for a reason. She grabbed the fabric in her teeth. And I’m going to find out what that reason is.

The fiber tasted foul, but she ignored it, yanking as hard as she could at the cloth of the mask. The substance proved deceptively strong, and almost a minute later, she had torn a hole just large enough to see the bulge for what it truly was: a sheet of paper, rolled tightly and wrapped with a length of string. Redheart extracted it gingerly, being careful not to rip or tear the tiny note. She grabbed the string in her teeth and untied it with the same care before slowly unrolling the paper against the assassin’s bloodstained body. Now, what is this? A coded message? Secret orders? Somehow, I don’t think ‘in the mask of an flying assassin’ is the safest way to carry your- oh Celestia.

Redheart’s breath caught.

The paper wasn’t a secret message, it was a letter, written in a flowing, elegant script that looked almost too perfect to have come from a pony. But more importantly, it was a letter addressed to her.

Eyes wide in disbelief, Redheart began to read.

To Former Equestrian Special Agent Crimson Morenna Flare, Leader of Field Operations and Reconnaissance Squad 0477 (designation “Crimson”):

If you are reading this letter, I would like to congratulate you. When I was first made aware of your presence by a distraught Miss Floss, I was, for lack of a better word, quite skeptical. How could one mare, I wondered, manage to escape the grasp of not only one of my most senior underlings, but also my best assassin, hoof-picked for her unmatchable skill and utter devotion? It just didn’t seem plausible. After all, Blade is not known to miss.

But now, by defeating not one but two of my most highly-prized killers and finding this scrap of paper, you have completely and wholeheartedly surpassed my admittedly meager expectations for your competency. You have proven yourself a worthy opponent, if a rather persistent and irritating one.

However, as you no doubt have already guessed, the game is far from over. As a matter of fact, it has only just begun, and I hold all the pieces.

If I may be frank, Miss Flare, you are fighting a losing battle. Think about the situation you find yourself in: racing across the country, constantly hounded by my associates, all while babysitting that bumbling fool of a professor. Not particularly ideal for orchestrating any kind of organized assault, let alone one on Equestria’s most formidable criminal institutions. Meanwhile, I am perfectly content to sit back, perhaps with a nice mug of brandy, and wait patiently for you to make your first, fatal mistake.

Of course, the purpose of this letter is not simply to gloat, as amusing as I may find it. Instead, I would like to propose an offer. I have outlined the terms of said offer below, and have worded them as clearly as possible to prevent any unfortunate misunderstandings.

-Two days from now, at 10:45 A.M. exactly, you will enter the Daisy Hay Cafe in East Fillydelphia. You will bring this letter, and you will come alone. If there is any possible chance that somepony else is accompanying you, the offer will rendered null and void, and my associates and I will make every effort to ensure you do not survive the hour.

-Once you have entered the Cafe alone, and I repeat, alone, you will take a seat at the third booth from the left. It will not be occupied. Once there, you will be joined shortly by one of my associates, or ‘middlemares’ as you may know them. She will be wearing a burgundy scarf. If she does not appear within five minutes, it means I have become paranoid that you may be attempting to double-cross me, and have called off the offer. Do not give me any reason to be paranoid.

-Once my associate has arrived and sat down across from you, you will present this letter. If you do not present it, the same terms outlined above will come into effect.

-My associate will review the letter, and, after ensuring its authenticity, will outline the terms of my second proposal, which I will not elaborate on here. Said proposal is non-negotiable, and any attempt at doing so will void the offer.

-After my associate has finished explaining my terms, you will have a choice: You may accept or decline.

-If you accept, assuming you have kept to the previous tenets of the offer, everything from the past two and a half days will disappear. You will be free to walk the streets without fear, and your life will resume as normaI. I’ll even let you keep your pet professor as a token of my respect. I swear this by my life.

-However, if you decline, I swear by an equally solemn oath that before the week is over, I will hunt down and brutally execute every pony you hold dear, starting with that booze-swigging imbecile a DJ, and concluding with yourself. I will not be merciful. I will not accept pleading or begging. I will kill all of them, and then I will kill you. Slowly, and with enough relish that by the time death finally comes, you will embrace it.

Whatever you may decide, I would highly suggest you at least hear me out, as it were. If you decline this offer by refusing to show, I will logically assume you have declined my second one as well, and will act accordingly.

It’s your choice, Miss Flare. The lives of the ponies you love hang in the balance, and you will be the one to save them or damn them.

The day after tomorrow. 10:45. Don’t be late.

There was no signature, just an elaborate seal: an inked version of the same symbol she had seen on Candi and the colts in the hospital.

How...

That seal... it must be Garnet’s, whoever he is. There. That’s at least one thing I’m certain of. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.

Garnet... he knows my real name, my rank, where I’ve been, even my friends... my friends! Vinyl! Redheart started in terror. I have to warn her. She stuffed the letter in her bag and was about to yell for Ink Blot to follow when she remembered Garnet’s words:

Do not give me any reason to be paranoid.

What if telling them about the letter voids the offer?

She wanted to scream in frustration. If I don’t tell her, she’s in danger. If I do, she might be in even more. Celestia damn Garnet, whoever he is. Standing up from the body, she stomped a hoof on the bloodstained pavement and sighed. You can think about this later. You have a day.

She began to walk away from the body, slowly, each step requiring a conscious effort.

Focus, Redheart. One hoof in front of the other.

She saw Ink Blot standing in the same spot he had been earlier, eyes pointing anywhere but the direction of the messy scene she had been examining. “Anything interesting?” he asked, peering at her quizzically.

Redheart nearly shook her head, but something made her hesitate. He needs to know, needled her subconscious. Not now, but soon.

“Later,” she said, half to herself. Tomorrow. No excuses. He deserves to know, after the hell you’ve put him through.

“Pardon?” Ink Blot looked looked confused.

“I’ll tell you later. Promise. I need to sleep on this. I’m sure you have plenty of questions for me anyway.”

The professor nodded. “Correct. I will hold you to your word.” His face hardened. “Secrets are counterproductive, after all. Believe we agreed.”

“I know. Trust me. Tomorrow, you’ll know everything,” she said, wiping a smear of blood from her shoulder. “We should get back to the motel.”

Ink Blot shot her a quizzical look. “The motel? Are you sure? Public. Very insecure. Easy to set up an ambush...” He glanced around nervously, as if expecting another duo of assassins to materialize from the shadows.

“It’ll be safe.” For tonight, at least. “Besides, it’s not like we have too many other options.”

“Suppose you’re right. Let’s get moving.” The professor began to trot quickly down the street, hooves clicking quietly over the cobblestones. Redheart followed behind him, lost in her thoughts.

Several minutes of silence later, she remembered something that had been nagging at her since her near-death by falling pegasus.“Professor?” she asked, briefly breaking into a run to catch up with the stallion.

“Yes?” Ink Blot replied, not breaking his pace.

“I just realized. I never actually thanked you.” Celestia, I probably sounded so ungrateful back there.

“Thanked me? For what?”

Uh.

“For... you know. Saving my life.” How does he not...

“Ah. Think nothing of it,” Ink Blot said dismissively. “Simply repaying a favor.”

“A favor? To who?”

“You, of course. You saved my life. I saved yours. No need to thank me. Would’ve done the same for anyone... no.” He shook his head. “Not anyone. But for you, certainly.”

“Oh. Well, uh, thanks anyway,” Redheart muttered awkwardly. Is that really all he thinks this is? Just a debt to be repaid? Well, now that we’re even, what’s to stop him from just waltzing out of here and leaving me on my own?

She said as much, and Ink Blot shook his head again vigorously.

“Abandon you? Not a chance. As you said earlier, we are marked. I am old, unathletic, and of near-zero potential value in any confrontation. You are none of the above, and are also the only one of the two of us that has any semblance of a plan. To abandon you now, in an unfamiliar city, directly after an attempt on both our lives?” He shuddered. “Suicide.”

Well, I guess that’s better than ‘yep, see ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya’. Not by much, though.

But Ink Blot wasn’t done. “Besides. The past few days have been dangerous, uncomfortable, and a complete deviation from my standard lifestyle. However...” Redheart couldn’t see the professor’s mouth in the dimness of the night, but she could have sworn he was grinning. “A little adventure never hurt anypony, and I believe it was you who told me to ‘get my face out of a book once in a while.’ He gave a weak laugh. “What better way to do it than a semiconstant string of near-death experiences?”

Redheart shook her head in silent disbelief. One minute he’s freaking the buck out about going to back to the motel, the next, he’s calling almost dying twice an adventure? Whatever works, I guess.

“Stallions,” she muttered to herself.

“Sorry?”

“Never mind. Look, there’s the motel,” said Redheart, pointing at the dingy-looking building up ahead. “Let’s get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

“Is it?”

Well, if digging up a couple years’ worth of repressed memories doesn’t qualify as ‘big’, I don’t know what does.

She sighed.

“More than you know.”