I’m in. Infiltration of the Blackwatch base was a success. The eagle is in the nest. I am now undercover as Fruit Punch and am fraternizing with the enemy. Will make contact at oh-five hundred hours. Taxi breaker breaker five. This message will explode in three, two, one-

“What are you humming?” the pegasus asks

“It’s the main theme of the Mission Critical comicbooks,” I say. How does this chick not recognize an all-time classic? I bought the record a few years back when I was visiting Cloudsdale. If I could, I would play it now so I can feel even more like a super-spy infiltrating the evil lair of Dr. Eureka. Call me Agent Born Possible!

“Oh, comic book music.” The pegasus rolls her eyes. “I thought you had better taste than that.”

Better taste? “I think it’s pretty catchy.”

She laughs before taking a sip of coffee. “It’s garbage and you know it. That crap is made for colts in flight-school.”

Flight-school? That settles it. You are the first to die if Agent Born Possible blows her cover.

We’re sitting in a break room in an office area in some back area of the theater. It has the standard office stuff, a few tables with chairs, a coffee machine, grey walls, and florescent lighting. I suppose even theaters need accountants to push the paperwork.

Fruit Punch helped me out more than she’ll ever know. She had memories of the layout of the entire base, complete with a straight path to Dr. Eureka’s office. Apparently the guy turned one of the balconies in the atrium into his personal lab. From what I gathered, he wanted a view of the big stage, where all the big experiments are going on.

The peach pegasus takes another sip of coffee and puts the mug down next to mine. “What pervert gets off at watching mares in the restroom?”

“A dead one, if we ever find him.” Oh, we’re going to talk about this again. Shut up girl, no one cares. This chick needs to buzz off.

“But what was he thinking we do? All that happens in the restroom is restroom stuff. We’re not kissing in there, not at all. We’re doing our flipping business like everyone else. ”

Stop making a big deal out of this! “Just got to hit them where it hurts to teach them a lesson.” I’ve said that five times already. I get it, you’re a damsel in distress who had a unfortunate encounter with a unsavory rogue. I was there, you were there, and I was there again as the rouge. Move on already, you one-dimensional bimbo!

“And he's one of ours. Whoever his commander is, he needs to put more discipline”-

The sound of cracking wood interrupts her. A plume of dust falls from the ceiling, followed by a metallic clang. The pegasus slumps on her chair, and white chunks of plaster fall from her hair, along with a metal pipe that rolls across the table.

I look up and find a hole in the roof where a ceiling tile used to be. The pegasus is out cold. I bet the pipe left a bump on her noggin. Hallelujah, a miracle from the building-maintenance gods! They couldn’t have timed that better.

Good news is I don’t have to listen to her complain anymore. Bad news is… nope, no bad news. A blue-eye knocked out by faulty architecture is always good news in my book.

Footsteps round the corner, and a blue-eye goon runs into the break room. “I heard something crash. What happened?”

I point to the mare, and then the ceiling. “That.”

“What the… How did that happen?”

Good question. I shrug. I’m not questioning this blessing.

“I’ll go get a medic. You make sure she’s alright.”

You got it dude. He runs back from where he came, and I’m left as the only soul who’s wide awake. Ah, alone at last. Let me enjoy this for a moment.

Okay, moment's over, back on track. Queue up the Mission Critical music.

I leave the break room to follow the Gilda sense, leaving that tasteless mug of coffee behind. It’s not like office coffee is good to begin with, but what good is it if it doesn’t even work on me? Now that I think about it, how am I ever going to get by without caffeine? I’m not exactly a morning bird, and the sconeshop is going to require me to get up in the wee hours of the morning just to set the place up for business.

Nevermind, my coffee woes are for another time. For now, I’m just glad the blue-eyes aren’t shooting at me. The offices aren’t too crowded with them. A couple of Blackwatch goons are walking around in full suits, but most of them are sitting at desks without their suits and filing paperwork. These guys aren’t important to me.

After a minute or so of wandering, I find a door that leads me into what I assume is the main lobby of the theater. It’s a lavish place, with intricate chandiliers and detailed wallpaper, fine paintings of musicians hanging from the walls, and a tile floor made of only the most expensive stone money can buy. Fancy.

Unfortunately, the fanciness is ruined by the Blackwatch operations going on in here. There’s an army of blue-eye goons running around and tearing up the place with their shenanigans. Some troops are moving crates and boxes around, some are cleaning suits and weapons, and others are patrolling around doing their own thing. Blackwatch isn’t out to burn the place down, but they sure are doing a great job scuffing up the floor. I hate to be the janitor who has to clean this place up.

The Gilda sense trudges on. I follow it up a grand staircase, keeping out of the way of blue-eyes who are either moving equipment around or just look like they’re in a hurry. Wait a moment, I’m the only one here without a suit on. Sure, some don’t have their masks on, particularly the ones doing hard labor, but my flank is the only exposed flank in this place. I hope no one notices.

Right seems to be the right direction at the top of the stairs, so I hang a right. These hallways are in the same state as the lobby, fancy décor muddied by Blackwatch equipment. It’s a bit of a shame, but it’s not much of a concern to me. The rich ponies can build another music hall if they want their concerts so badly.

On my way through, most of these blue-eye only glance at me, and then they trot on their way. A few blue-eyes let their gazes trail on my flank when I walk by. Three of them whistle, including a mare. Ah, I see why they wear the uniforms now, to prevent distractions.

“Hey Fruit Punch!” I jump when a blue-eye barks at me. “You’re missing something. Where’s your armor at?”

I turn around and look that the soulless goggles of the blue-eye. He’s one of the metal plate guys, one of the larger ones I’ve seen. Just like the regular blue-eyes, his face is hidden behind a mask, a metal one to be exact.

“It’s in my locker,” Fruit Punch says. “I’m off shift right now, so I don’t need it.”

“You damn well need it if you’re going to walk around the middle of this base. Did you forget protocol?”

“No I did not, sir.” Damn, I knew having no uniform would screw me over. It’s not like I knew I stand out like a cat in a rat’s den or anything.

“Clearly you did, otherwise I wouldn’t be staring at your ass. I’ll be plowing it to Tartarus if you don’t give me a good reason why you’re breaching dress code!”

That’s not something I want to go through. Is there anything Fruit Punch remembers that can get me out of this? Oh wait, there is. “I’m going to see Dr. Eureka about an offer he made to me, and I wanted to do it off shift.”

The armored blue-eye stares at me for a long, long moment before saying anything. “Are you out of your mind?! Eureka just wants you as a guinea pig. He’s going to experiment on you!”

I shrug. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. He said I’m an ideal participant for a special project.”

“He’s made the same offer to all the Dozers in this base! You don’t even know what he wants.” The blue-eye leans in and places a heavy, armored hoof on my shoulder. “Look, if you’re having issues, talk to me about it, or anyone else. Don’t put yourself under a mad-scientist’s scalpel because you think you’ll get super powers out of it. That pony is the craziest son-of-a-gun Genicorn has to offer. You’ll just be his lab rat!”

“I made my decision.” I push the armored hoof away. “I want to see what he wants, and that’s final.”

“No,” the blue-eye hisses. “As your commander, I order you to forget about Eureka. You’ll get nothing out of him.”

The creaking of wood interrupts our conversation, and a stack of boxes falls down on us. I jump out of the way before it all hits the ground, but the blue-eye isn’t so lucky. A boatload of boxes comes crashing down on top of him, and he’s buried by the avalanche.

For a moment I assume the guy died, but then I hear his voice come from deep beneath the pile. “My leg! Son of a, my leg is broken! Shit, this fucking hurts! Fruit Punch, help me out of here.”

Um, no. I got better things to do. I turn around and keep following the Gilda sense, leaving the blue-eye behind. He is not my problem.

“Fruit Punch! Are you still there?! Answer me! You better be getting a medic! Owowowow, my leg, my leg!”

Yeah, not my problem.