Chapter 131

A typical day at the Wheels n’ Pipes Bar and Billiard Hall—Friday, February the 10th, to be exact. It was late afternoon, and many of the establishment’s regulars had poured in after finishing another long work week, many of them journeymen and bikers who’d left their motorcycles or work trucks parked outside, free of obligation as most of them had no one waiting at home with a hot meal on the table. No, it was time to unwind with some loud, profane conversation and a basket of fries and wings, washed down by pint after pint of cold, mind-numbing beer.

It was always a rowdy time on weekends, and this one was no exception—especially with the newcomer of the day: a tall, sexy woman, wearing a well-worn leather jacket and sporting a head of wavy, fiery-red hair.

None of the regulars had ever seen her before, but she certainly did make an impression, and had quickly become the center of attention after engaging in a drinking game with one of the veteran heavyweights—who she was in the process of drinking under the table like a fool.

The match had become such a spectacle, in fact, that the majority of the bar had gathered around to watch, pounding the small, square table that the pair were seated at as they cheered their champion on, despite the fact that he was obviously fighting the most miserable of uphill battles. The few people not watching were the two bartenders, busy with their work behind the bar, that one old plumber with the white moustache who came every night and sat alone, staring out the window with a half-empty mug before him, a small group of truck mechanics who were facing-off against some bikers at a game of pool, and lastly, a man and a woman, sitting quietly at a table in the back, near the washrooms.

The red-headed girl sat across from her opponent, arms crossed with a smirk on her lips as she watched the overweight drunkard slide his hand towards the nearest shot glass that wasn’t empty. As his sausage-like fingers fumbled with it, a half-cocked grin appeared on his lips, his droopy eyes fixed on her as he lifted the tiny glass to his lips, paused, and then sucked it back… slowly.

A roar of cheers followed countless fists into the air as he set the glass upside down on the table, signalling a successful turn.

The red-head pursed her lips and nodded, looking only mildly impressed. Despite the fact that everyone there was cheering for the big man, many of the bar’s patrons had taken a drunken shine to this young vixen; she was very beautiful after all, with big, turquoise eyes, a seductive smile and a body that never quit. Her charm was alluring as well, flirtatious enough to draw one in, yet she played hard-to-get with the best of them, and seemed to take joy in teasing every man there with a well-placed smile or an inviting wink.

And she knew exactly what she was doing. She knew precisely what all of them had in mind for her, should any of them be lucky enough to capture her interest. And why wouldn’t they have these thoughts? She was sending out all the signals: vapid giggles, lip biting smirks; and let’s not forget how touchy-feely she was. Every chance she got, it seemed like she was touching someone’s hand or grazing a stubbly cheek with her finger…

Ready for her turn, she drew a quick breath after waiting to see if her opponent would keel over. She reached for the next shot glass and, without hesitation, threw her head back and downed it with a single gulp.

The crowd roared as she plopped the glass down on the table. She re-folded her arms and sat back, listening to the gang begin to chant the name of their Champion Chugger, their Prince of Alcohol Poisoning, their Lord of Liver Damage.

“Come on, Dozer, you can do it buddy!” a denim-vested man shouted, patting his shoulder and nearly causing him to topple over. Barely conscious, he sat with a glazed stare at the smug red-head as the stomping of surrounding feet grew in both volume and speed, keeping time with the chanting of his name.

“Do-ZER! Do-ZER! Do-ZER! Do-ZER!”

After a series of heavy-looking blinks, his reddened eyes dropped to search the table for the next shot. He found it with reasonable speed, considering his condition, and with a deep breath, reached, or more accurately, dragged his hand across the table to retrieve the next round.

What appeared to be concentration of epic proportions, however, turned out to be a few too many brain cells being washed away in the smooth, brown undertow of Lake Daniels, and poor Dozer promptly collapsed on the table. He then slid off the side to the floor, surrounded by the clattering and bouncing of empty shot glasses.

Stunned, the burly, denim and leather laden crowd brought their eyes from the face-down Caterpillar to the red-head, who, after casual glance around, reached for Dozer’s glass and quickly dumped its contents down her throat. Then she set the glass down and stood.

“The trick is bread, boys. Lots of bread,” she announced as she tousled her hair and then adjusted her jacket.

“Take ‘er easy there, missy,” a fat biker with a long gray beard cautioned, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You just put back enough booze to kill a horse; don’t wanna see you fallin over.”

She cocked a brow. “What do you know about killing horses?” she replied with a smirk.

“Nothin, nothin; it’s just… I never seen anyone put old Dozer under the table like that before.”

“Heh heh, yeah!” a raspy voice said from somewhere behind her. “So much for his undefeated streak!”

After a glance over her shoulder, the red-head looked again at the bearded man, raising her hand. “Well, high-five to that.”

The man looked surprised for a moment, but then he took his hand from her shoulder and swung it to connect it with hers.

She caught his hand and held it for a moment, smirking at him as he shook his head incredulously.

“I don’t know who you are, lady, but damn, that had to be the craziest shit I ever seen,” he chuckled, glancing to his right as a few of the other patrons passed by; with the game finished, the crowd had begun to disperse.

“Yeah, well…” she replied modestly, maintaining a grip on his hand as she looked to her left to feign interest in what was going on around them.

Lives with his mother; pees sitting down; yyyyyeah… definitely not the guy. She released his hand and gave his shoulder a firm pat. “Well hey, I’m glad you enjoyed the show,” she chuckled, glancing around for her next subject.

He leaned over to follow her gaze. “You sure you’ll be OK, miss? In all seriousness, I really don’t know how you’re even standing right now.”

She brought her attention back to him, looking slightly galled by his concern. “Huh? Nah, I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”

“Pffft! OK then,” he said, cocking his head, hands raised in surrender. “That may be the case right now, but I get the feeling someone’s gonna have a rough morning.”

The red-head arched a brow. “Now, that I can guarantee—IF I find the right man,” she said, cocking her hips to one side as she gave him a suggestive wink.

Speechless, he stared back, his cheeks glowing overtop of that long beard.

This, of course, was a double-entendre on Sunset Shimmer’s part—one that only she would understand.

Her search for the Pies’ killer, after starting at a hunting and ammunition shop on the southern outskirts of the big city, put her on the trail of a single buyer of several boxes of rounds for a Manestetter 391. As it turned out, the buyer was not the killer, unfortunately, but rather an ‘errand boy’ of sorts, despite being of retirement age. No matter, he was glad to relay plenty of information along to Sunset—without realising it, of course.

That was two days ago, and now, Sunset knew she was zeroing in on her goal. She could feel it.

She would have him by sundown. That was the promise of the day, her self-affirmation; someone in this bar knew the whereabouts of her target and was going to lead her to him, whether they liked it or not.

First, however, she had to shake this big guy. His mind was devoid of useful information, and it was time to move on.

He was still stammering after hearing her remark, trying to find a response when she gave his arm a gentle slap.

“Hey, you’re right though: I am starting to feel the effects of all that booze,” she said, bringing her knees together. “Think I need to go visit the little girl’s room.” She glanced past him, spying the washrooms, which sat at the rear of the main room, situated to the left of the bar itself. “Ah, there. If you’ll excuse me.”

He chuckled and stepped aside to let her pass, stuttering stupidly as he tried to think of something clever. “Heh, you… uh… well, I’m not really surprised after all those shots you put back!”

Sunset looked back at him as she weaved between the tables, dodging chairs and burly bodies along the way. “Heh. What else did you expect?” she replied with a smile.

While Sunset was saying this, a man’s voice sounded from somewhere ahead of her.

“Where are you going?”

A woman’s voice replied. “I’ll be right back! Jeez! I’m just going to the ca—“

The voice was alarmingly close, making Sunset face forward again when she realised she wasn’t watching where she was going. It was too late, however; her momentum was opposed by the young purple-haired woman who’d been sitting in the corner with her male acquaintance. She was looking back at him to answer while she walked, and so her head ended up colliding with Sunset’s rather forcefully.

The two women stumbled backward, grunting loudly as the man watched from the table with an annoyed scowl. A few chuckles came from the crowd, during which the pair took a moment to steady themselves.

“Sorry about that, I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Sunset said quickly as she approached the girl, who was pressing her palm to the side of her head, grimacing.

She hissed through her teeth, prompting the man to stand and make his way over, looking annoyed by the whole ordeal.

The red-head placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you OK? I bumped you pretty good th—“

The girl jerked her shoulder away, scowling. “Fuck!” she growled. “Stupid drunk bitch! Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

Sunset recoiled at the outburst. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Feeling bad, she reached out to touch the girl’s temple. “Lemma have a look at thaaaaaa…”

This did happen on occasion, where, in a hectic moment, Sunset would forget about her magic and touch someone. This was one of those cases; she felt bad for headbutting the young girl and was quick to check and make sure she was alright. She was too quick, however, and before she knew it, she’d found herself in a headspace that wasn’t hers—gone from the bar, and gone from that tangible weight of reality.

She was inside the young girl’s mind without intending to be, and it took her a moment to get her bearings.

Stairs. This was the first thing Sunset saw.

She looked down at the girl’s boots, adjusting to her alien proportions as she ascended the steps, wondering where this was.

Is this where she lived? That was a surprisingly nice carpet laid over those steps; surely the house they belonged to was out of this rough-looking girl’s price range. Maybe she lived with her parents.

The final step was at eye-level now, and Sunset, who’d become interested to see more of this girl’s home, cast her eyes upward to observe the long, dark hallway that waited ahead.

Who was this girl anyway? Why was she at the bar? And who was that man she was with?

The man! He was a suspicious character if Sunset ever saw one. Sunset had noticed him right away when he arrived, at which point he headed directly for the table where she was seated. Sunset had made a mental note to study him, and was formulating a plan to get close enough to do so—not the easiest thing to do with the pair of them looking so unapproachable, hence the drinking game, which had given her the excuse to use the washroom so she could pass their table, close enough to touch them.

And it gave her cause to get away from the bearded guy, so it worked out well.

The man’s behaviour —unsurprising, given his appearance— was as surly as she suspected once she’d gotten within earshot, and as it turned out, the girl was no peach herself. Once this probe into her mind was finished —she was already inside, after all— the next move was, without a doubt, to get into his head next.

He had the answers. Sunset had a gut feeling about him, and she had to follow it.

Returning her attention to the memory, Sunset quickly realised the girl had left the stairs and was very slowly and quietly making her way down the hall.

It was then that an uneasiness came over the red-head. This hallway felt dreadfully familiar.

On the right was the first door. The girl stopped to peer inside, finding a dark bathroom. She continued quickly, and a feeling of apprehension came over Sunset as the girl made her way to the next door, which was also on the right.

A gloved hand reached out to push the plain, wooden door open, and she leaned inside rather cautiously.

What Sunset saw through that girl’s eyes nearly made her sick.

It was a bedroom. A messy bedroom, lit by a pink lamp on the dresser, with clothes and stuffed animals strewn about; the walls were pink, as was the bed, which was unmade and empty, with a set of pyjamas lying on top of the twisted bedspread—pyjamas that’d been tossed carelessly into place, pyjamas that were pink, and decorated with blue and yellow balloons.

Sunset knew exactly whose house this was now, she was horrified of what she was about to see next. One of the unfortunate effects of her power, however, was that information from a certain event would be ‘downloaded’ rather quickly, and whatever was received would then play out in Sunset’s mind, meaning that whatever she was going to witness in this girl’s mind, Sunset had no choice but to see it.

Finding the bedroom empty, the girl moved on to the next door, which was on the left this time, only a few steps past the first room. The door stood partway open —presumably to block the hallway light, should someone turn it on— showing only the lower portion of a bed, occupied by a pair of legs hidden beneath a green, white and gray plaid quilt.

Helpless, and knowing that what was about to happen had already happened, Sunset watched in horror as the girl slipped silently into the room without moving the door, making her way along the side of the bed. She approached the pillow and looked down upon the sleeping woman: straight, grayish-green hair was sprawled across the pillowcase, but was cut very short on the side that faced the ceiling, around her ear and temple.

The girl watched for a moment, listening to the woman’s soft snoring. She was hesitant to do the deed she was sent there for, and Sunset could feel her attempts at psyching herself up, trying to get the proverbial ball rolling. After clenching her fists several times in a row, she produced a pistol —a Manestetter 391— and paused to study it for a moment before looking back at her unsuspecting victim, whose peaceful slumber was about to be extended indefinitely, her life shattered with no chance to defend herself.

Unable to watch, but unable to look away, Sunset felt the girl take a deep breath before quickly reaching to grab the pillow and yank it from beneath Limestone’s head. The eldest Pie sister snorted when disturbed by the sudden movement, but had no chance to open her eyes before the pillow was plopped over her face. The gun’s barrel was shoved into the pillow and the trigger squeezed, sending a round through the fabric with a muffled BANG that rang throughout the house.

Limestone’s flailing stopped as quickly as it began.

Panting, heart racing, the girl stepped back and stared at the pillow, which now sported a blackened hole in the center. The woman laid motionless and defeated, her blood quickly becoming visible as it soaked the sheets from beneath her pillow.

A door opened at the far end of the hall, jumpstarting the girl’s mind when she heard a man’s voice call out, demanding an explanation for the loud noise.

This was it. She was committed. One of them was dead, and now she had to finish the job; no witnesses could be left behind.

With her adrenaline now at full throttle, she was about to turn to leave, but stopped when she remembered something. Frantic, she returned to the bed and pawed through the sheets in search of the spent casing. She was lucky enough to find it quickly, and so she pocketed it and spun around to leave the room.

Out in the hall, she turned to her left and met eyes with a gray mutton-chopped man, standing in the doorway at the far end.

The stare they shared was fleeting. She quickly raised the pistol, prompting Igneous’ eyes to widen as he raised his hands in surrender.

A shot rang out, followed by a gruff wail as the old man toppled over, the right knee of his blue-and-white striped pyjama pants instantly soaked in crimson. She took a few steps closer, passing another doorway on the right.

She heard the rustling of bed sheets from inside the room as she went by, prompting her to stop and assess the situation. The father was incapacitated for the time being, and she didn’t know how many more of the kids were present, so she decided she’d better find that out first.

Backing up a step, she used the gun to push the door open. It swung quietly out of the way, revealing a bed on the right, occupied by a young girl with striped gray hair and violet eyes—violet eyes that were wide with terror as she clutched the blanket to her chin.

The killer raised the gun to aim. Marble panicked, dropping the quilt to cover her face with her forearms in a heartbreakingly vain attempt to protect herself. Sunset had wondered if she was right about how this played out ever since she theorized the scenario to Constable Wallis, but she never thought she would have the chance to witness it like this. Here she was, however, watching helplessly as the girl fired the weapon without mercy.

A puncture instantly appeared on Marble’s forearm, and her head snapped back when the bullet entered her skull, her mouth and forehead agape as the force of impact knocked her off the far side of the bed; her head hit the floor first, leaving only her legs on the mattress, entangled in the bedspread.

After pausing for a second to study the splatter of blood that’d covered the wall, a laboured voice could be heard from outside, reminding the killer of the father.

“Marble…” he grunted, fearing the worst after hearing the shot.

She bent to pick the spent casing up before leaving the room. Back in the hall, a quick searched found the shell that’d dropped the father. She pocketed them both and turned to face him, finding a furious yet terrified glare on his face.

“Why?” he grunted, clutching his knee with a bloody hand as she approached, slowly and methodically. “For what hast thou murdered my youngest daught—“

His sentence was cut short when her boot suddenly met his chin, causing him to roll over and cry out, his voice gruff. She followed and raised her foot, watching him cup a hand over his jaw to adjust it back and forth, waiting to strike as he lied there, wincing in pain. Once he became aware of her, he stopped and turned slowly to look up at her, his eyes widening when he realized what she was poised to do.

Before a plea could be uttered, the killer dropped her boot onto his face. The heel collided with his cheek, the sole crunching his nose. Eyes watering, he brought his arms up to protect his face when she brought her foot back up to stomp him again. Igneous hollered and squirmed as his arms were repeatedly driven against his face, throbbing with pain as the boot jack-hammered relentlessly, but still providing a reasonable amount of protection.

The girl grew frustrated by this, and she halted the assault to glance down at his bloodied knee. A swift kick to the wounded joint caused him to jerk and reach down to clutch it with his hands, grunting in agony. With his face now vulnerable, she launched a full blown attack on it: stomping, kicking and twisting her heel; his head thumped against the floor under each impact. She could feel his hose collapse under her heel, followed by his teeth when she stomped his mouth in.

When he tried to reach up with one hand to protect himself, she used her other foot to pin his wrist to the carpet, then continued to drive her heel into his face, his temple, and his eyes. Then, when a particularly well-placed stomp landed on his jaw and broke it, even the killer’s stomach churned when she felt it crack and give way, and she felt her foot sink to the back of his mouth.

Igneous let out a bloodcurdling screech, one that Sunset would never expect from such a well-composed man. It rang down the hallway, filling the upstairs of that house with the sound of pure agony.

The killer paused for a moment to look down at him, surprised by how much his face had, although bloodied, sprung back into place to look somewhat normal—though she knew its structure was long gone, and a simple touch would surely cave it in.

“Igneous!” A soft, female voice came from the end of the hall, and the girl looked up to see who was there.

Horrified, Sunset locked eyes through the killer’s with her friend’s mother, who was sitting up in bed, clutching the quilt to her chest. A look of horror dominated her features, despite not being able to see clearly without her glasses; though her eyes were not very well focused, she knew her family was in danger by the fact that her husband’s form was lying on the floor, to say nothing of the terrifying shriek he’d just released.

Having grown weary of picking up empty shells, the girl holstered the gun and stepped over the bloody Igneous to approach the master bedroom.

Cloudy gasped and leaned back, too gripped with fear to leave the bed, too paralysed to try to fight or escape. Standing at the foot of the bed, the killer was now close enough for Cloudy to realise that she was wearing a ski-mask, though she could still see the sadistic smile through the hole in the lower half, revealing to the elderly woman what Sunset knew since the first life was extinguished: she was enjoying herself.

With a trembling jaw, Cloudy kept her chin down, eyes planted on the invader. “W-w-why?” she whimpered.

After a brief smirk, the killer snorted softly and looked down as she reached behind her. Slowly, as if to torture her victim with terror, she produced a knife from a sheath that’d been clipped to the back of her belt, it’s blade over six inches long, growing in width from the point to a fairly wide base.

“Because,” she said at last, eliciting a deep gasp from her victim, who beheld the shining blade with fright.

Then, without warning, she leapt onto the bed and shoved Cloudy down with her forearm, pinning her onto her back. Panicked, the old woman cried out as she was straddled and immobilized, terrified of what was to come next.

The girl reached to the head of the bed and snatched a pillow, which she used to cover her victim’s face, muffling her screams. Holding the cushion in place, she wound her arm up and paused, holding the knife firmly.

Sunset prayed for Cloudy, despite knowing this had already happened and that her efforts were completely futile. Still, witnessing the next few seconds was something she wanted desperately to escape.

But she couldn’t, and she was forced to watch the tip of that blade come down and jab through that pillow, into the frightened face below. The feeling of bone impacting the blade jarred the killer’s arm; once, twice, three times. Muffled squeals echoed from under that pillow, and that frail body squirmed and thrashed, but was unable to throw the girl’s weight off. Instead, Cloudy was doomed to endure more of those excruciating jabs to her face, leaving cuts in her skin: her cheeks, her nose, her forehead—even one of her teeth were knocked free when the blade sliced through her lip and jabbed her gums.

The ordeal must have been horrific for the poor old lady. On top of all the pain, she knew her assailant couldn’t see where she was thrusting that blade, and that it was only matter of time before she hit something vital.

That moment came before long; the girl had raised the knife and brought it down for another blow, but this time, instead of being stopped by the hard impact of bone, the blade sank deep into the pillow—unnervingly deep, and the girl froze when she felt the writhing body beneath her lock up, stiff as a board, but trembling slightly.

Sunset felt it too, and she likely would have vomited right then and there if she was mortal and occupying her own body. She already knew from the crime scene photos what had happened: the knife had landed in Cloudy’s eye, sinking deep into her head. The very thought of it was so profound, so sickening, that Sunset began to panic, not wanting to see anymore.

But she was stuck here. She had no choice but to bear witness to this horrific scene.

Grimacing when she realised what’d happened, the killer attempted to withdraw the knife, but was met with unexpected resistance. She frowned and tried again, only to find that it wouldn’t budge.

The base of the blade was stuck in Cloudy’s eye socket, wedged into the bone that surrounded the opening.

With a huff, she placed her hand next to the knife handle to hold her victim’s head in place, and she tried to pull the blade free.

It wouldn’t budge.

Growing frustrated, the girl began to jiggle the handle to try wiggling it free. When that didn’t work, she cranked it downward to pull it towards herself, then she pushed it forward, moving it back and forth like a lever. The blade, of course, sliced and stirred itself around inside the poor woman’s head.

Cloudy made no noises, but her limbs twitched and shook as the knife destroyed her brain, her breathing quick and random, not under any actual control.

At last, the blade popped free, sending the killer nearly toppling off the foot of the bed. Panting, she looked at the blood-smeared blade and then at the hole in the pillow, watching the spot of crimson grow as the old lady’s blood was mindlessly pumped out of her head and into the fabric.

A rustling from the floor next to bed alerted the girl, and she turned to find the father, gurgling, whimpering and crawling toward the bed in a futile attempt to protect his wife.

It was too late, however; she was long gone.

After rolling her eyes, the girl jumped off the bed, grabbed Igneous by the hair with one hand and raised the knife above her head with the other. She swung her arm down and slammed the blade into the side of his throat, burying it up to the handle in his neck.

He stiffened like a board as she switched hands to hold his hair with the other, reaching under his chin to grab the knife handle. After a deep breath, she yanked it firmly and quickly, drawing the blade through his throat with a rapid sawing motion until it ripped free from the other side.

Blood spilled onto the carpet as she shoved his face downward, and then stood over him to watch his final breaths gurgle their way out from below his chin. Before it was over, however, she bent down and used the tail of his pyjama shirt to wipe the blood from the knife, grinning smugly at herself for managing to find one last way to disrespect the man’s final moments.

Satisfied that he would be gone within a few seconds, she stood and reached behind herself to sheath the knife. As she adjusted the black wool mask, she heard a sound through the wall, prompting her to spin to the right.

It was coming from the next room: the sound of a window sash being pulled open. There must be one more daughter left, she figured, before drawing the gun and holding it up next to her face before making her way back into the hall.

Quickly, she noticed a door that’d she’d missed in her haste to go after the mother. Approaching quickly, she paused next to the opening, took a breath and readied herself, then swung into the doorway, aiming the weapon.

The room was dark, with two windows on the far wall that faced the tree-covered side yard; the killer was able to make out little more than a desk sitting in the rhombus-shaped beam of hallway light that cut through the center of the room. She furrowed her brows when she noticed the workstation covered in books, notes, and what appeared to be a rather diverse selection of rocks and stones, making her wonder what kind of shut-in loser must have occupied this space.

Just as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, the girl heard a quiet scuff from the left. She aimed the gun, searching the darkness before quickly finding a shape that she hadn’t noticed at first, blocking the tiny bit of light entering through the left-hand window. The figure turned and looked back at her, eyes gleaming like jewels in the dark. The killer squinted, barely able to make out a face in the dim light—a face that was strangely expressionless, given the circumstances.

After a quick breath, the killer tilted her head and closed one eye to line the sights of her weapon with the victim, who quickly turned and squeezed forward, hoping escape out of the window. She was too slow, however, and a shot rang out, illuminating the room with a bright flash as if a photo had been taken, giving the killer —and Sunset— a fleeting glimpse of the escapee’s straight, purple hair, gray skin, her off-white T-shirt and baggy, lavender pyjama pants.

She lurched forward when the bullet impacted her right shoulder blade and she went limp, her body slipping from the opening and falling outside to the cold, wet grass fifteen feet below, the end of her journey signalled by a thump and a loud snap.

The girl ran to the window and looked down, trying to focus as she searched the darkness for her fallen prey. She found her before long, lying next to a shrub that grew against the house, twisted into a motionless pile of unconscious limbs and splayed hair, her shirt soaked with blood, coloured black by the darkness.

The killer reached outside and aimed the gun, ready to ensure that the job was complete. She stopped suddenly, however, and looked over her shoulder toward the bedroom door, noticing the trail of crimson footprints she’d left behind as she realised she would have to find the empty casing before leaving the scene.

She then looked back at the broken body, lying in the grass with her neck bent back at a sickening angle, surely broken by the impact.

Even Sunset was almost convinced of Maud’s demise, despite knowing she’d survived—which was quite a shock after seeing what the stoic young woman had endured.

The girl chewed her lip, feeling the chill of the outside air as she considered the idea of firing the gun outside: the shell would end up falling into the yard somewhere, and if she didn’t want the investigators to find it, she would have to go down there and look for it, which meant she’d have to risk leaving even more evidence, especially in the soft grass.

She pulled the gun back, deciding not to chance it. That girl had to be dead, she figured; the way she was laying, her neck must have been busted to kingdom come. Turning away from the window, she holstered her weapon and made her way back to the doorway to retrieve the last shell.

Released at last from the nightmarish vision, Sunset peeled her hand away from the girl and staggered back, tripping over her own feet until she ran into a table with her backside, causing it to skid a few inches. Eyes wide, she gasped uncontrollably; all of that brutality, all that horror, that ruthless murder spree, all of it committed against people she knew, the family of her close friend, had barged into her mind in just a few seconds, and she was forced to get her bearings on the setback in time amidst the gruff, drunken laughter of the other patrons.

“HAHA! Oh shit, she’s feelin it now, boys! All those shots are finally kickin in!”

The tears began to flow, streaming down those amber cheeks as the red-head covered her mouth, trying to sort it all out and get a grip on herself. Her eyes rose to look at the girl, who had turned to face the man she was sitting with, still holding the side of her head.

“You OK, Gage?” he asked, sweeping her hand away to inspect for a goose egg.

With her jaw shaking uncontrollably, Sunset watched them for a moment. Her emotions continued to rise, despite her efforts to control them. It was hopeless though. After witnessing the merciless slaughter of that innocent family, every feeling in existence began to well up inside Sunset until they boiled over in her mind, which was still flooded with that terrible imagery.

She’d witnessed the entire thing, more than she ever expected to, or wanted to. And she saw it all through the eyes of the killer herself, and not only that, she felt the sick enjoyment the girl felt as she destroyed those lives, the deranged lunacy of feeling a sense of accomplishment after mangling their bodies. Sunset felt this herself, and it filled her with unbelievable guilt, for she could not distinguish the difference between her own feelings and the killer’s.

It was as though Sunset herself had committed the atrocity, and it felt like she enjoyed it.

Leaning back on the table with one hand, Sunset glared at the girl as she swatted her companion’s hand away and shook her head, muttering something about being fine.

Damn her.

Sunset’s fists balled tightly as she watched. Her hatred for this person grew exponentially, her rage causing her blood to course through her veins like fire; her jaw clenched, her nose crinkled, and her breathing deepened as her heart began to race.

Fuck Golds’ orders.

The red-head stood suddenly and approached the pair with ballistic intent, growling through clenched teeth.

“You… BITCH!” Sunset bellowed at the girl, who, at the last second, turned to look just as the red-head swung her fist hard and fast, connecting a right hook to Gage’s cheek so hard that it spun her around, and she landed face-down on the table behind her.

This caught the attention of everyone immediately surrounding them, drawing a sea of wide eyes, ‘holy shits’ and ‘whoas.’

Sunset ignored it all. She had tunnel vision; she was focused only on one thing: beat the living hell out of this Gage person. She stepped forward to grab the other girl’s shoulders, but was stopped when someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her back.

“Hey!” A man’s voice came from behind. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?”

Teeth bared, Sunset looked over her shoulder to find Gage’s partner pulling her back by her arms. Undeterred, she let her arms go limp and ducked out of her jacket, pulling the sleeves inside-out as she went. Holding onto the cuffs, she quickly twirled around and wrapped his arms in the jacket, binding them together; then she brought her foot up and drove her boot into his stomach, releasing the jacket to let him stagger backwards and eventually fall over, grunting and clutching his gut with his arms.

After bringing her attention forward again, she was met with Gage, who had drawn a knife —the same knife that ended the lives of Pinkie’s parents— to thrust it towards Sunset’s throat. The red-head was ready for it; she quickly brought her left hand up and swatted Gage’s hand down, then she drove the back of her fist into the other girl’s face, followed by a fast right jab and then a knee to the abdomen, sending her stumbling back and then toppling over a chair to the floor, falling head-first.

The downed girl grunted, kicking the chair away so she could roll over. Sunset took a step closer to continue the confrontation, but was stopped when the crowd of burly patrons closed in on her.

“Whoa there! Take it easy,” one of them chuckled as he and a few others placed their hands on her shoulders to guide her backwards.

“GET OUTTA THE WAY!” she shouted, pushing back.

Her strength, even combined with all her rage, was far from adequate to power through several large men.

“Bit of a mean drinker, are we?” another one of them laughed from somewhere on her right.

“Yeah, take it outside, missy!” someone else said. “Get some fresh air; walk it off!”

Frustrated, Sunset peered between the men to watch her adversary rise, rubbing the back of her head. Once on her feet, she turned to look at Sunset, and the two made eye contact for a brief moment, during which everything around them seemed to darken, slow down and fade to silence.

One set of eyes, turquoise, was filled with rage, and the brown eyes they were locked with were full of shock and confusion.

After a moment, Gage decided to get away and regroup, so she turned and headed for a door marked ‘staff only’ in the rear left corner of the bar, just beyond the washrooms.

Noticing this, and figuring there was a way out via a receiving door, Sunset became frantic and began to push harder, thrashing against the barrier of beards and denim that held her back. “No… NO! Let me go! She’s getting away!”

It was no use. None of them listened, and simply continued telling her to ‘calm down’ and ‘take it easy’ ad nauseam.

Sunset cursed and backed away to appraise the situation. When she did, something bumped the back of her thigh and she turned to look down at it.

It was a wooden bar stool.

After a glance through the wall of half-drunk guardians, she located her enemy and then quickly hooked her hand under the seat of the stool and, grunting noisily, whipped it into the air with all her might. The seat spun through the air as it arced clear over the heads of the crowd before finding its target, slamming Gage between the shoulder blades.

With a husky squawk, the purple-haired girl was knocked forward onto her hands and knees, gritting her teeth.

The successful hit made Sunset’s adrenaline pump, and she shook her fists in celebration before charging forward without thinking, intending to use the chance to break through the row of men to intercept her target.

The move was ill-fated, however, and the red-head was stopped in her tracks. Several hands grabbed her at once and lifted her from the floor to carry her back as she screamed frantically for them to release her.

Gage, meanwhile, had slowly risen once again, leaning on a nearby table. She looked back at Sunset, giving a nasty scowl before continuing her escape.

Seeing this, Sunset fought even harder to break free, kicking her feet and jerking her arms to escape their grip. “NO! LET ME GO! SHE’S GETTING AWAY!” she cried in frustration. “THAT PIECE OF SHIT KILLED MY FRIENDS!”

Gage looked back again when she heard this, brows creased with disbelief. There was no doubt she was wondering how Sunset knew this, and thusly, she was prompted to quicken her pace.

“FUCK!” Sunset yelled, squeezing her eyes shut as she squirmed vigorously, being carried toward the front door. “YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO!” she yelled again, opening her eyes in time to see the table they were passing, which had a half-empty bottle of beer sitting near its edge. Without hesitation, she brought her left leg up to kick the table, and the bottle tipped off of the edge where it met her right foot, which kicked it up to her.

Luckily, she’d managed to wiggle her right arm free and was able to catch it by the neck, and she swung it over her left shoulder to connect it to the forehead of one of her captors with a dull clunk.

He hollered and released her, clutching his face. Now half-freed, Sunset swung the bottle over her other shoulder to whack the face of another man, this time shattering the bottle. He released her as well, and he spun around to distance himself from her as a stream of blood drew a wavy line from his brow to his beard.

Sunset’s freedom was fleeting, however; she hadn’t even taken a single step when another strong hand grabbed her wrist to gain control of the weapon. The burly crowd was much less forgiving now; several of them tackled her at once, pinning her between their musky-smelling bodies and holding her arms against her chest as they shouted angrily at her.

“OK SETTLE DOWN, MISSY! THAT’S ENOUGH!”

Sunset fought valiantly, but she was hopelessly overpowered. She kicked, hollered and thrashed, but the gang of heavyset bikers were too much for her, and they were not interested in hearing her pleas as they continued to carry her to the front entrance.

“STOP! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! SHE’S A MURDERER!” she screamed, looking back to see where Gage was, finding her less than ten feet from the escape.

Frustrated beyond words, Sunset squeezed her eyes shut and thrashed her head around, whipping her hair into a frazzled mess. “AAARGH!” She arched her back and writhed like she’d been possessed.

How could this happen? How could she have been lucky enough to find the suspect here, only to have her escape because she was being imprisoned by these dumbasses? The rage she felt was unparalleled; frustration murdered her common sense. Tears filled her eyes. The thought of that terrible person taking the innocent lives of the Pies and getting away with it thus far was enough, but letting her escape a second time, after making Sunset personally witness the killings herself was infuriating. She felt the gun kick in her hand, she felt the cartilage snapping under her heel, that blade sinking through the eyeball of someone she knew.

It was too much. Sunset felt like she might explode. She was failing her friend, failing to bring justice to her family—and no one was listening. She was helpless, and didn’t know what to do.

But… just as that last glimmer of hope had slipped away, something happened.

Emotions had hit critical mass, and something seemed to snap inside Sunset Shimmer. A flow of warmth began to pour through her, permeating every cell in her body, like a sleeping demon had been awakened. She didn’t notice it at first with all her squirming and hollering, but it wasn’t long before she sensed something was different, changing; she opened her eyes and was immediately stunned by her hands—which were emitting a sparkling, phosphorescent glow that emanated from her skin.

Her ears tingled, as did the top of her head. Her hair began to feel fuller, heavier. Wide-eyed, she turned to look down her back and found a piercing white light coming from the tips of her hair, which was rapidly growing longer, like a fuse burning in reverse.

She faced forward again, stunned by the realisation of what this was.

Holy shit, it’s happening!

She’d barely finished the thought when something unexpected happened: a pinpoint of green energy appeared on her chest, just above her bust. It remained unchanged for a few seconds, just large enough to capture her attention.

Then it began to grow. It happened slowly at first, but before long, it was the size of a golf ball, then a baseball, and it continued from there. Ripples of energy could be seen washing across its surface, circling its basketball-sized perimeter, which had at last began to attract the attention of her captors.

They had little time to behold the anomaly, however; quite unexpectedly, it expanded rapidly and exploded throughout the bar like a shockwave in all directions, forcing everyone and everything in its path outwards with a deafening WHOOSH!

Freed, the red-head dropped to one knee, panting. Next to her laid a lock of red and gold hair. She reached out to touch it; it was indeed her hair, although significantly longer. Drawing a breath, she reached for the top of her head and found a fuzzy, pointed earlobe poking straight up out of her hair.

Her mind immediately began to race, unsure of what to do next as she took a scan of the bar. Everything —every person, every piece of furniture— had been swept away by the energy blast, arranged in a concentric ring of broken chairs, tables and groaning men.

How did that happen? she wondered, scanning the carnage. All the times I’ve ponied-up, I’ve never seen that happ—

It was then that Sunset noticed a flicker of turquoise light just above her field of vision, and her eyes shifted upward to follow it. She was surprised to find a small beam of energy emitting from her forehead; it was about ten inches long and tapered to a point, and it had a subtle flicker to it, like a Star Wars lightsaber. Sparks of phosphorescent energy rippled up and down its length, coaxing the red-head to reach up and touch it.

Open mouthed, she watched in awe as her fingers passed through it, feeling its energy, its warmth; it offered no resistance to her touch, but the power that surged through it was intense, raw, and magical.

Then it dawned on Sunset what this was: her horn. Not a physical manifestation, of course, but its presence was there, its energy, its advantages.

Just as she looked down at the floor again, eyes wide, she remembered Fluttershy’s story from the deep sea base and the pony-up she experienced, which had certain enhancements added to it.

She drew a breath when the realisation hit her, and she looked down at her hand, squeezing it into a tight fist.

Golds… she thought, shifting her eyes onto the painted concrete floor.

Perhaps a test was needed?

Biting her lip, Sunset raised her fist above her head and then brought it down like a hammer, slamming her knuckles into the floor. The entire building shook, rattling the mugs and shot glasses that sat behind the bar, as well as the few tables that were still standing. A web of cracks darted out from beneath her fist, surrounding the impact zone with a two foot radius of shattered concrete.

Holy shit! Sunset stood in an instant, faster than she ever had before. She felt light as a feather, like she could move around quick as lightning. This is intense… this is intense… She panted with excitement, glancing around at the recovering crowd, some of them still lying on the ground, some of them standing back and staring. OK, so… she continued, exhaling through pursed lips. There’ve been a few changes: strength… speed… this weird energy horn thingy—

She paused suddenly, her eyes crossing as they looked up at the glowing appendage again.

Waaaaait a minute… Sunset raised her right hand and pointed at a fallen stool, which was instantly bathed in a green aura and shot straight up into the air. Then it began to spin like a propeller when she twirled her finger.

Oohhhh… sweet Celestia, she gasped, my magic! My real magic; everything I could do in Equestria… I can do here!

Her attention was abruptly drawn from the twirling stool by a holler, and she turned to face one of the other patrons, who was pointing a finger at her, his face stuck in panic-mode.

“She’s… she’s fuckin possessed or somethin!” he shouted as more of them got to their feet and set their sights on her. “Or a alien!”

Sunset could see what was about to happen: this guy was trying to rally everyone against her. Rather than wait for the attack, she brought her attention back to the stool and swung her finger towards the raving lunatic.

The stool stopped spinning and rocketed toward him, seat first, hitting him square in the midsection with such force that his limbs wrapped around it and sent him flying towards the front wall, where he soared over one of the booths and crashed through a window, landing outside, out of sight.

“Ha!” she laughed, shaking her fist in celebration.

Ready for action, Sunset brought her attention back to her primary target. She faced the rear corner in search of Gage, who had stopped and looked back to watch the spectacle. The two locked eyes from across the room.

The red-head raised a finger to point at her adversary. “You!” That soft, beige tone quickly drained from Gage’s face as she watched Sunset turn her hand around and use her index finger to coax her over.

This was not a high priority for the purple-haired killer, and with a quick breath, she spun and sprinted for the back room as fast as her ripped jeans-wearing legs would carry her.

Undaunted, Sunset stepped forward and swung both arms ahead. Several tables and chairs responded by skidding noisily across the floor, passing the fugitive and slamming into the corner like they’d been shoved there by an army of poltergeists. They piled themselves up in a giant heap, blocking the door.

Gage screeched to a halt, her only escape now cut off. Trapped, she drew a breath and spun around to find Sunset watching with a victorious smirk.

Lowering her hands, Sunset cocked her head and raised her brows, feigning inquisitiveness. “Going somewh—“

CRACK!

The red-head stopped when something struck the back of her head, followed by the thinner half of a pool cue flying past her to land on the floor, clattering and then rolling into the ring of fallen tables. Scowling, she quickly turned her head to find Gage’s tablemate, holding the other end of the stick.

The bold look on his face was quickly replaced by panic when he realised his attack had no effect, and he raised his free hand, backing away.

“No… wait!” he cowered. “I didn’t mean to— … I-I…”

He grimaced and flinched when Sunset’s foot snapped up and knocked the cue out of his hand; it spun a few times in the air before she caught it. Then she raised it with the sharp, broken end pointed his way, and, without hesitation, thrust it through his shoulder.

He cried out as the wood emerged behind him, protruding nearly six inches from his back. The agony then increased ten-fold when Sunset lifted him from the floor by the cue to bring him closer; she held him directly in front of her, gripping his collar with her free hand to hold him steady.

“Let’s see who you fuckers are,” Sunset said as she brought her other hand up and covered his face with it.

The bar was locked in pandemonium by then; some men were running for the exits, some were paralysed by either fear or shock, standing motionless. Others were braver, and were tentatively circling the red-head, trying to make sense of what she was doing, holding her hand to the face of her prey, eyes closed.

After a short time, she sneered at the man. “That’s it?” she growled, taking him by the shirt with both hands and shaking him. “WHO DO YOU WORK FOR!? WHO’S AT THE TOP!?”

Before he could answer, one of the larger bikers approached from the right and tried to pull her off. She swept his hands away with ease, and then drove her palm into his chest, knocking him back into the ring of debris over ten feet away. This caused the rest of the stalkers to grant her some space by backing away, not knowing what else to do.

The commotion was then punctuated by the click-clack of a twelve-gauge being pumped, which came from behind Sunset. She turned quickly and found the older, more heavy-set bartender aiming a shotgun with its barrel sawed-off directly at her.

He fired without hesitation, unaware that his shot was destined to miss its intended target.

With a flash of green light, the red-head vanished, leaving her hostage exposed. The spread pelted his chest, tearing him open and knocking him off his feet.

A second burst of energy came from behind the bar, delivering Sunset to the immediate right of the bartender. Wasting no time, she grabbed the shotgun and yanked it upward, cracking his chin with the stock. His head snapped back from the impact, but she caught it with her left hand and proceeded to drive his face into the bar top.

As he slid unconsciously to the floor, Sunset brought her attention to the other, more nimble bartender, who was in the midst of making his escape by climbing over the far end of the bar. She wound up and threw the gun like a Frisbee; it connected with his heels just as he stood upon the counter, knocking his feet out from under him. The force of the impact threw him into a backflip, at the end of which he landed with the back of his head on the bar before disappearing behind the other side amidst the clatter of empty glasses and toppled stools.

After a brief glance at the cautiously approaching crowd, Sunset decided to bring her attention back to her target. She placed a hand on the bar and leapt over it with ease, surprising even herself with her agility. The second her feet touched the floor, she charged forward and clotheslined the first man she passed.

He was flung into the air by the impact, spinning head over heels before being caught by Sunset; one hand gripped the collar of his leather vest, the other the rear of his belt, and he was tossed off to the left, knocking down two other men.

She turned her attention to the rear corner again, but stopped in her tracks when she found no one there. Shit! She began to scan the room for Gage, but was unable to spot her. Where in Tartarus did she go?

This was a question that would be answered later, for the sound of feet scuffing the floor behind Sunset drew her attention. She turned, and was fast to duck when she saw a quick-approaching fist from the corner of her eye. A muscular arm, belonging to a large man in a tight, black T-shirt, swung over her head, missing its target.

Now facing him, Sunset bowed her head slightly, and a thick, rippling beam of turquoise energy fired from her horn and collided with his chest, blasting him clear across the bar, past the billiard tables, where he smashed into an old jukebox and fell to the floor in a bulky, but ultimately ineffective heap.

The red-head spun around again to search for the fugitive, giving her arm a quick wave to send two more men through the front windows and into the parking lot. A second scan confirmed that Gage had in fact disappeared, which made Sunset’s jaw clench with annoyance.

Where did she go?

Dammit. I shoulda just teleported to her when I had the chance.

Hindsight is always 20/20. Distraction had gotten the better of Sunset, and now her target had slipped away.

The tables and chairs were still piled against the rear door, so she didn’t go that way, and it was highly unlikely that she’d made it to the front door with all the commotion going on. Her eyes returned to the freshly broken windows next, and she suddenly remembered the man she’d torpedoed with the stool; that window had been wide open for some time now, and it was significantly closer to where Gage had been standing.

Shaking her head, Sunset took a glance at Gage’s accomplice, lying dead of the floor with his chest blown open. As dead as he was, he had been able to occupy the red-head long enough to allow his partner to escape. Sighing, she faced the window again and took a step in its direction, but was stopped yet again by the front door bursting open.

In came a man in a camouflage coat and a bright orange hat, holding two hunting rifles. “Jerry! Catch!” he yelled as he tossed one of the weapons to another man, who was standing near one of the pool tables.

With a phosphorescent flash, Sunset instantly appeared before the second man before he was able to catch the rifle, which was instead intercepted by Sunset.

Oh, how she missed teleporting!

Wasting no time, she pulled the bolt back, aimed and fired at the man in the doorway, who yelped and dove back outside, narrowly escaping the shot.

Sunset then spun around with the gun raised above her head; she brought it down like a sledgehammer, breaking it over the second man’s shoulder. He crumpled to the ground in a broken heap, motionless, and she tossed the remains of the weapon on top of him.

Before she even had a chance to think about her next step, something heavy hit her shoulder. She turned to look down at it, just as a yellow blur zipped past her face. It landed on the floor a few feet away with a sharp crack, and rolled across the empty circle where the brawl had started.

It was a billiard ball.

Frowning, she turned the other way to find the source: a modest crowd of bar patrons who, as a last resort, had armed themselves with the balls.

Sunset let her head droop as she stared at them, deadpanned. “Really? Wow.” With a sigh, she glanced down at the pool table and then reached down to hook her hand under it. She heaved the massive slab into the air, standing it on end, nearly touching the ceiling with it. Extending her arm, the red-head engulfed the table in her magic and launched it toward the group.

In a panic, the men hollered and dropped the balls, parting like a denim sea as they dove in both directions to avoid the velvety green projectile. The table punched through the wall of the bar and landed face-down outside, legs pointing to the sky.

The place was mostly empty by then—and practically destroyed. Sunset was glad for this; now she could finally go after Gage with no further disruptions. She approached the booth to leave through that same window, hoping there might be some footprints in the gravel outside, but stopped at the end of the table when she found, to her surprise, the old plumber still sitting there with his half-empty mug.

She paused, watching him as she slowly looked up at her. “Uhh… mind of I pass through?”

He sniffed and wiggled his moustache, glancing out the open window before looking back up at her. “Oh… yes.” He sat back and brought the mug to his chest, clearing the table for her. “Pardon me, miss.”

With a smirk, Sunset leapt onto the table and made her way to the opening. She stopped, though, and looked down at him once more. “Hey… thanks for not trying to attack me.”

He cocked his head and shrugged. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

With that, the red-head smirked and ducked outside.

Outside, once her feet hit the gravel, Sunset found herself disappointed to find it far too coarse to have any distinctive tracks imprinted in it. She took a moment to scan the parking lot, which was littered with men running to their vehicles, or the vehicles themselves —be it motorcycle or work truck— making their escape. Clouds of dust had been kicked into the air as they peeled out one after another, leaving behind their nebulous signatures that’d been set ablaze by the falling sun.

Had Gage already gotten away?

Worried about this possibility, Sunset took off toward the road, her legs carrying her much faster than ever before; pedestrians and vehicles alike changed course when they noticed the red-head charging across the yard, desperate to avoid crossing paths with her.

At this speed, her long hair trailed behind her like a comet tail, the wind whistling in her ears. It was a bizarre sensation, but Sunset had little time to observe it before coming to a halt at the edge of the pavement. She looked to the north first, but couldn’t see far due to a curve in the road, which was bordered by thick trees on both sides. To the south, she saw several vehicles speeding away, but had no idea if any of them were carrying her target.

Biting her lip, Sunset turned back and scanned the parking lot to locate her motorcycle. She was fast on foot, but not as fast as her bike, so she sprinted back into the parking lot to retrieve it. Halfway back, however, she happened to glance at the building and then stopped when another thought hit her: what if Gage was still there? What if she was hiding in the rear lot?

Sunset stopped for a moment to consider her options. If Gage had already hit the road, it would be impossible to tell how far she’d gotten, or which direction she’d gone; if Sunset tried to give chase, there was a fifty percent chance she would be going the opposite direction. And if she was still on the property, leaving to go find her would give her the perfect chance to escape.

“Shit,” she sighed, “if she’s on the road, she’s good as gone. But if she’s here…”

In the moment, it made more sense to stay and look for her. The road was a fool’s venture, and it likely made no real difference if Sunset left now or after a quick search around the building.

With her resolve solidified, the red-head launched into another sprint. After several steps, though, it felt as if a weight had been dropped on her, as if gravity had suddenly became that of a larger world’s. The extra burden caused her to stumble, and she fell to her hands and knees, scattering stones as she skidded into the gravel.

Her hair felt less substantial, and the sound of the commotion around her had changed, prompting her to reach up and touch her ears. They were gone, replaced by the human lobes on the sides of her head.

“Dammit, magic!” she cursed, climbing to her feet—with considerably more effort than it took just seconds earlier. “I wasn’t done with you!”

It was no use; she was back to normal. With little choice but to continue, Sunset resumed her sprint to the side of the building at a comparatively slow pace. She’d already passed her bike, and going back to make use of it would waste valuable time.

After passing a row of parked work vans, Sunset came face-to-face with one of the other patrons. They both skidded to a halt, and after staring for a moment, he turned to run.

Sunset gave chase, diving through the air with her arms outstretched before he could gain any ground; she managed to snare his ankles with her forearms and trip him up, causing him to fall forward onto his face. She climbed over him as quickly as she could to trap him in a head lock, putting her weight on his back so he couldn’t move.

“No! Please! Don’t kill me!” he pleaded.

“WHERE IS SHE!?”

“Please! I swear, I won’t— … please d-d-don’t—“

“SHUT-UP!” Sunset hollered into his ear, silencing him. “Where is she!?”

He stopped panting for a second. “W-who?”

“That girl,” Sunset replied. “With the purple hair. What was her name? Gage?”

Taking shallow breaths, his eyes began to dart around. “I… I’m not sure. I think I might have seen her go that way” —he glanced at the far corner of the building— “b-but I don’t know for sure.”

Wasting no time, Sunset released him, got to her feet, and took off in the direction he’d indicated. As she made her way across the front of the building, Sunset noticed the sun had dropped to the point where it was just touching the treetops across the road. This filled her with apprehension; having to search in the dark would make finding the perpetrator many times more difficult.

She approached the corner as she thought this, noting the presence of a driveway that ran along the side of the building when the sound of a V-8 engine filled her ears from somewhere out of sight.

She found the source soon enough. When Sunset rounded the corner, she was met with the headlights and grille of an early-nineties Ford Bronco coming right for her at full throttle. Metal and plastic slammed into the red-head before she had a chance to change course, knocking the wind out of her; her arms and face slammed against the hood, and she was carried backwards across the lot, her heels dragging through the gravel.

She struggled to stay aboard, but the smooth, metal hood was difficult to hold onto. With a tentative grip, Sunset managed to raise her head and get a glimpse through the windshield, and was astonished to find its pilot to be none other than Gage herself.

They locked eyes and stared at one another, shocked to have found each other once again. It was Gage who broke eye contact first when she scanned the parking lot, making Sunset look over her shoulder to see where they were headed.

The truck swerved abruptly, catching Sunset off guard as the engine began to roar through the grille at her, accelerating the truck directly towards a parked van.

Sunset’s eyes widened when she realised what her adversary’s plan was. “Oh, shit,” she gasped, turning forward again, eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted as she braced for impact.

The Bronco slammed into the side of the large, white van, caving its sliding door in and shoving it sideways several feet before the whole commotion came to a sudden end.

Inside the cab, Gage was hunched forward, her aching forehead resting against the steering wheel. She winced and rocked her head slowly, drawing a deep breath as she lifted her brow from the wheel and looked through the windshield to assess the damage.

On the hood was a pair of arms and a pile of red and yellow hair. Gage watched intently, hoping that her attacker would remain motionless, and that this terrifying ordeal would be over. Unfortunately, however, the red-head’s fingers began to curl, and she slowly lifted her head to look through the windshield, tangled hair hanging in her face as she glared at the girl in the driver’s seat—who immediately noticed the absence of injuries on the woman’s face, in stark contrast to her own.

“What the fuck are you?” Gage whispered as her chest filled with that same hopeless terror she experienced as a child, watching slasher films in which the villain couldn’t be killed.

She looked down at the instrument cluster when she realised the engine was still running, noticing then that the transmission was still in drive. When she looked up again, she saw the red-head struggling, but unable to move, and it suddenly hit her:

She was trapped.

Gage drew a breath and, knowing she had the upper hand as long as she left the vehicle as it was, reached for the door handle.

Sunset ceased her squirming when she heard the door click, and she looked ahead to find Gage stepping out with an anxious expression, thinly veiled by a smug smirk. Knowing she was at a disadvantage, she quickly reached into her pocket in search of her phone, but her heart sank when she found nothing but shards of glass and plastic.

“Shit,” she whispered, placing her hands on the hood to try forcing her way out. It was no use, however, and Gage had approached the fender, lifting a pistol that she’d brought from inside the cab. She pointed the barrel at Sunset’s forehead, prompting Sunset to scrunch her face up and turn away as the gun fired.

She could feel the round ping off her skull, accompanied by a deafening ricochet that rattled through her brain. Enraged, Sunset slowly turned back to face her enemy, jaw clenched firmly—but it just wasn’t enough to reignite the pony-up.

“Huh…” Gage muttered, rolling her jaw as she lowered the weapon. “Don’t see that everyday.”

Helpless, Sunset watched as the beige-skinned girl tucked the gun into her pants and then produced a cell phone. After hitting the screen a few times, she held the device to her ear and began to pace back and forth alongside the truck.

After about half a minute of this, she froze and lifted her head. “Uh… hi. It’s Gage.” A pause. “I’m good… kind of. You?” Another break. “Good. Um… so listen: you said I could call you anytime I needed help, right? Well… I think this is as a good a time as any.”

Grunting, Sunset tried to wiggle free, but any freedom gained was immediately eaten up by the truck, which maintained a steady pressure and kept her pinned against the crumpled van.

“Well…” Gage continued. “Some chick came sniffing around the bar; she knew about the thing at the house —you know, with the family— and she knew it was me who did it.” She paused for a moment to listen. Then she looked over at Sunset. “Uh... well, just tried that, but… it didn’t work.” She was quiet for a second, then she shrugged. “It didn’t work! I don’t know, what do you want me to say? This whole thing’s kinda fucked-up.“ Her eyes landed on the red-head again. “I’m lucky this crazy bitch didn’t kill me.”

Sunset chewed the inside of her lip and listened, wondering who was on the other end of that conversation.

And Gage watched Sunset as she listened, licking her lip. “Yeah… I kinda need a hand with this. How soon can you be here?”