Count Privilege stepped out of his private gilded carriage onto the tan-colored sidewalk the next morning. Though the morning was warm, it was another grey, cloudy morning that was overcasting a depressing mood upon the city. It was confusing to Count Privilege as to why the mood in Manehattan was affecting the weather as well. Weren’t the weather teams supposed to be making the city more presentable? That was certainly one of the many changes Count Privilege was going to make to city policy once he was mayor of Manehattan. Make the weather teams more sharp, and make it so that the weather would always be sunny.

After giving instructions to his chauffeur to stay with the carriage until he came back out of the building he was parked in front of, Count Privilege waltzed in front of the building he had parked in front of. As he came near, a plea reached his ears.

“Please...please! I need money to eat today. J-just a few bits, please!”

It was coming from a street beggar lying on a haggard tasseled grey mat just outside the bank. Count Privilege curled his lip in utter disgust and ignored his petition. He should have earned his way to success like me, Count Privilege thought as he came under the building’s shadow and faced the bank doors. If he didn’t end up making bad decisions, he would have ended up like me. You take responsibility for your own actions. And you take advantage of the actions, you twist them to the way you want them to be. This pitiful beggar made bad decisions. That’s why he’s suffering.

A wave of refreshingly new, cool air sped forward and blasted his face as he entered the northeast bank of Manehattan. As he looked around, he noticed many other ponies sitting in red velvet chairs reading the newspapers. Quite a few of them picked their heads up and whispered to each other when they noticed him entering. It wasn’t confusing to him at all. His presence could pick heads up and cause whispers everywhere he went.

The clerk behind the desk went pale at his entry. Given that she was a pearly white already, this made the recognizable shift in color all the more astounding.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Count Privilege declared with all of the refined manners of a high-class citizen. He had been born in Canterlot, after all, where his parents had taught him the Natural Order of things. The better than the other pony you were, the better others would treat you. “I would like to make a transaction today. From an account I set apart for one of my clients to my own, account 488-333.” Count Privilege had many separate accounts given to his associates in the criminal underworld that he would direct or redirect bits to wherever he saw fit. It was a way to let his underlings know that regardless of what they did, their money was still in the control of Count Privilege.

“Ah, um, y-yes. Yes, of course, Count!” The mare behind the desk fumbled with her cashier for a little bit. While she did it with a nervous expression on her face, Count Privilege tapped the floor impatiently. Wasn’t she supposed to be better at this?

Finally, with a chorus of beeps and a shrill whine, the register announced that it was ready for transaction. “Proof of registration, please?” she asked, extending a hoof. She still looked nervous at his appearance.

Count Privilege gave his ID badge to her, and she swiped it along the top of her register. A chime resounded forth, and she gave it back. “There we go. Sixty-two bits to account 488-333.”

Sixty-two bits. He almost laughed. Count Privilege didn’t actually need the sixty-two bits; he had already had thousands and thousands of them. But he did it anyway because it was a way to show that annoyingly righteous griffon, Kevin, that no matter what it was that he believed, the only thing that mattered was the power to enforce. And it was because of his skewed beliefs that made it so that Count Privilege had now sucked his entire life savings account dry.

Noticing the look she was still giving him, Count Privilege demanded, “What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“I mean, what’s with the look you’re giving me? You’re looking at me like I’m a ghost.”

The mare pressed her lips together tightly and shakily pulled a newspaper out from behind her work desk and placed it on the desk in front of him. “You gave a close guess,” she whispered.

Count Privilege stared at the newspaper headlines in shock. There, on the front cover, was a picture of a horribly jointed, armored bipedal creature with sharp creases in his armor and a flat-looking face holding up a griffon that looked an awful lot like Kevin. The picture was blurry at best, and was taken through snapping flames, but the mere sight of the monster, pressing a blowtorch a millimeter away from the forehead of Kevin, brought an unhappy, tense, cold feeling to him. His presence was intimidating, terrifying, awful. Nopony could look upon him for long without feeling cold. Even in a picture, and even though the picture showed little detail, Count Privilege could feel it--a clammy, slippery fist that clenched around his heart and made him sweat and tremble so hard his vision almost blurred with involuntary tears. He was so preoccupied with the picture that he almost didn’t notice the headline.

MANEHATTEN CITY BANK DESTROYED--NIGHT TERROR APPREHENDS SUSPECTS--CONFESSION OF THE PERPETRATOR REVEALED INSIDE!

Count Privilege felt his breath catch in his throat upon reading it. The perpetrator? Could it be-

No. No, no, no, no! Kevin, I swear, you will pay for betraying me! The Count seethed in his mind before daring to take a peek inside.

Yesterday at four in the afternoon, a thunderous explosion tore open the roof of the Manehattan central bank, and out poured over a dozen potential thieves. Our own brave Manehattan police force and firefighting department managed to get both the bystander crowds and fire under control before the flames could expand out of control, but it was a mysterious monster that managed to stop the thieves themselves before they could escape. It seemed impossible, for the criminals had access to weapons of terrible destruction MPD recently identified as a gun. And the mysterious and elusive Night Terror also had access to these terrible weapons, which have been confirmed to have the power to kill from a faraway distance. But he chose to not use guns and instead used his powers to pin down the robbers and take most of them out so that the rest of them could be rounded.
The mysterious Ironheart, as he is now referred to in the law enforcement department, was revealed to be not a pony, not a griffon, and not a dragon. No, he is something apart from the rest, in a group of his own.
Ironheart is a machine.
Ironheart, the Night Terror, has waged a soft war against crime in this city for the past few weeks. Massacring his enemies with a ruthless vindicism, Ironheart also looks out for the common people as well as he can. In an interview conducted by Flitter Gust, assistant secretary to the police commissioner of Manehattan, Ms. Cherry Blossom gives her report of her own encounter with the Night Terror.
“If he saved my life--along with my virginity--then he’s my hero,” she says while describing a failed attempt by several ponies to rape her on her way to work. “He told me to go and run to the police station. How could he hate me?”
Estimates from varying descriptions place him to be six feet tall, with long, jointed limbs and metal armor that protects him from most any attempts at harm. How he was even managed to be assembled in the first place is an enigma, but what matters is, who is the one controlling him?
But whoever it is that’s controlling him, Ironheart forced a confession out of one of the griffons. The name of the perpetrator, the one that ordered the attack to be carried out in the first place--was the notorious senator now aspiring for the office of mayor, the head of the Committee of Internal Affairs, Count Rich Privilege!

Count Privilege’s heart stopped upon reading those final few words. Count Privilege gave no outward reaction, but inside his mind he was seething with ideas of how in the world he could possibly get out of his newfound predicament.

---

Ironheart was calm that morning as he sat in a small seat in front of his device, in his cavernous white lair. Earlier he had dipped himself in a large bubbling vat of that strange chemical that left his outside black, like a second flammable skin, ready for a public appearance. Peaceably acceptant of whatever might come his way because of the choice he would make that day, and with a perfect knowledge of what would happen as a result, Ironheart switched the communications satellite on. The radio spazzed a bit with faulty feedback, but after a while the radio turned to a condition of clarity.

Chasin’ money and dem hoes, uh. Uh huh, yeah, that’s what I do! Eatin’ out da booty like frooty loops! She lovin’ it, she screamin’ more, she beggin’ me to bend ‘er o’er--

Ironheart spun the dial so fast it almost flew off the device. He was incredibly angry all of a sudden. Those idiotic little stains of evolution that call themselves rap singers today. All these years of improvement they had made in the field of music many years before, and they only sing about sex and money today, in these little repetitive synthesized rhythms that aren’t even made with real instruments. Put-tah trrrrilla. Put-tah trrrrilla. Over and over and over again until you want to slap somepony. Come up with something original, please? Something to make me feel better inside? Something to make me feel like I don’t hate the world, perhaps? Nope, sorry about that, Ironheart. Looks like you’re going to have to just grin and bear it like everything else in your miserable life. More proof he needed to clean the earth of them--the sooner the better.

Ironheart amused himself by imagining the best way to kill them once he finished his work in Manehattan. Maybe during a live concert. That would certainly be an iconic way to end their singing careers and would draw plenty of attention from the media.

Or perhaps as they’re recording the songs, he would blast open the door, march in, flip his arm into a long-barreled shotgun, and blast their insides all over the recording studio. Well, they’re the ones pushing violent and destructive messages, and messages proving just how much better they were than others because they were richer than most others. Maybe the end of having their lungs shot to pieces and flung in bits of tissue all over their production rooms would make them happy to know they died because of the beliefs they had. Violent ponies, violent ends.

The new channel he had switched to buzzed for a little bit before settling into a grainy kind of quality.

Kkkkkttt...kkhtt...Good morning, Manehattan. I’m Spur Parker, here to deliver the early morning news for this northeast part of Equestria. Let’s get down to our main story today: the Night Terror, also recently known as Ironheart. Recently, he’s been known to cause several acts of terrorism and public property damage. But yesterday, he was spotted at the heist of the Manehattan central city bank, fighting off the criminals that were holding citizens hostage. Elen, what do you think of this?

Hello there, Spur, and good morning, Manehattan. What the general consensus here is saying is that this Ironheart was defending the citizens. Police and journalists alike interviewed the passerby on what had happened, and it is consistent among the reports that Ironheart didn’t open fire at random into the crowd. Here are some of their responses.

I don’t know exactly what I saw there, but that...thing--it’s dangerous. I’m lucky it didn’t hurt me, but what says he won’t spare the common people next time?

I think that stallion is worthy of my thanks, and I’m lucky to have him watching out for me. He could have started to attack the citizens out there, but he focused on stopping the robbers. I think that says something about him.

It’s a remarkable thing, to have somepony like that in Manehattan, Spur. But what’s even more remarkable is the fact that Ironheart himself isn’t even a living being at all!

Ironheart scowled and cracked his fingers together so hard they crackled like gunfire. He was a living being; just not the one they would think of. To be demoted to the level of an unfeeling object of destruction...it hurt him.

That’s right, Manehattan. For Ironheart himself isn’t even a pony! He’s a machine! Spur, do you have anything to say about this?

Of course I do, Elen. Pictures taken yesterday proved that the Night Terror is, in fact, made of steel. And he isn’t even in the shape of a real pony! He’s bipedal, he has fingers instead of hooves, and he has a huge storage of weapons that can prove to be catastrophic when put in the wrong hooves.

“You have no idea…” Ironheart whispered with a small grin. Without another action he set to work adjusting the settings on the massive communications device in front of him. When he was done setting it to his desires, he twisted a small knob on it until it clicked at the end of its rotation.

And the radio in front of him cut off suddenly, waiting on his speech to be entered in. All across Manehattan, every radio transmission, every intercom system, every phone, on every wavelength, now was waiting for his words to be spoken. The screen on the device in front of him showed the miniscule images of citizens from every security camera in the entire city. The cameras on the device in front of him broadcast his image on every TV screen all over the city, on every billboard, on every electronic image-displaying system, from the shabby overgrown streets of Bronclyn to the Mare Statue on Eqius Island; from the Maneway’s spacious interior, holding trains and countless commuters, to Bridleway, where the massive multi-story billboards the size of buildings usually displaying merchandise now showed his intimidating image. And his image was a bipedal, sharply-angled silhouette with bright, red eyes, large, drooping wings out to the side, a long braided tail of sharp metal wire with a wicked hook on the end, and sharp claws on the end of his clenched fingers.

“Good morning, Manehattan,” the silhouette spoke into the cameras and microphones in front of him with reserved, detached calm. “I am the Night Terror.”

---

All across the city, every activity halted. Every single citizen of the city stopped what they were doing and looked up at the intercom systems in malls, at the phones in their own homes, at the radios broadcasting the calm, serene, bone-chilling voice filled with a hard venom. Outside in the streets, in the center heart of the city, ponies gazed at the massive billboards that now displayed the nightmarish form of the Night Terror. For the first time, those ponies had gotten a first good clear look at the spectral figure haunting the city’s citizens. Doors were opened, and out came ponies, rushing out to gaze in shock at the figure on the electronic billboards that looked like it came from the pits of Tartarus itself. And it certainly gave off that image, with its wide, drooping wings and black, featureless silhouette, with only a sharply piercing red-eyed gaze showing out of his face. They could hear the beating of his hideous heart in the background, never changing pace. Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. The day, which had seemed once to be naturally warm and comfortable for the morning, suddenly seemed chilly and bitingly cold to all who cast their gaze upon Ironheart or heard his next words speak.

“As most of you are undoubtedly aware of by now,” the nightmare continued after a prolonged pause, “this city is wallowing in corruption and decay from both the outside and inside. Illegal weapon shipments are going on under your very nose, being used to commit crimes of murder and theft and hold hostages captive for ransom. The forensics expert in Manehattan, the late Case File, was shot and murdered in cold blood, and the Elements of Harmony themselves were kidnapped and held captive in the city sewers before I liberated them. But steps are being taken to prevent this from ever happening again. Such as apprehending the pony behind it all.”

The Night Terror readjusted his stance to a firmer position and continued. “Amadeus the Terrible, as he is known in the city, has perished, along with his pathetic rat, False Felony, for killing Case File and kidnapping the bearers of the Elements. His organized crime system has fallen apart, for there is now nopony I left alive to run it. The final remaining ponies and griffons that belonged to his contact will be hunted down and destroyed utterly from off the face of the earth. The citizens of Manehattan are now safe from his underlings. But there is another that has eluded capture and apprehension. But that problem will be fixed today.”

His soft yet commanding voice echoed and reverberated throughout the city, through every radio and every intercom and PA system. It echoed inside buildings like malls, company buildings, and hotels. It echoed through the streets themselves, bouncing in between buildings and rising up to the early morning sky. His voice was irresistible, inescapable, tantalizing, capturing the attention of all who heard it. His image was up on the electronic billboards in the richest parts of the city, unmoving but captivating to all who stared at him.

“I come out now into the open to denounce the atrocities committed against the free citizens of the city. The prolonged and awful feel of torture and fear has gripped the underside of the city for too long now, and it is now time for identities to be revealed and for secrets to be exposed. My secret shall come out first. I am the pony behind the deaths of criminals all over the city. I admit it now, and in the open, to allow for no ignorant mishandling of either my words or intentions. I am an enemy of the filth and scum that you have to live with. No penance shall come from me to them.”

Inside the yellow-lit bank where Count Privilege was located, he bit back every impulse to shriek in terror at his words that seemed to slither and crawl from nowhere and invade his ears. All around him, ponies were instinctively lifting their heads to the sky like he was flying right above their heads. Goosebumps were erupting all over his clammy flesh just listening to his words, in that deceptively mild tone he used. He felt himself get nauseous, and he turned and stumbled away, out of the building and into the sidewalks where other ponies were turning their heads, trying to ascertain what was happening. But the words continued to speak regardless of where Count Privilege was, all throughout everywhere in the city where speakers were located.

“You saw me at the attack on the bank yesterday. You know now that I am more than meets the eye. And, most importantly of all, you now know that I am not to blame for the corruption in this city. That title belongs to somepony else.” Those watching the massive screens in Bridleway saw him lean forward slightly. “You all know it by now. It was in the newspapers this morning. It is Count Privilege that is to blame for the weapon shipments and the robberies and the blackmailing of his clients.”

Count Privilege by then had managed to stumble inside his private carriage parked outside the bank and draw the curtains on the side so nopony could see inside. But on the other hoof, his carriage was opulent, resplendent, and significantly bigger than the other carriages on the streets at the moment. So trying to hide his position now was an impossibility. And his voice still carried into his private carriage anyway.

“And I now come to you, Manehattan, to offer this lawbreaker up for a bargain I know you will not refuse.”

Count Privilege froze. He cautiously peeked his head out of the carriage. There, up ahead of him, was another electronic billboard that had once hawked body spray outside of a hygienics store on the other side of the street. It was now occupied by a terrible image of the bipedal monster with outstretched wings and clenched fists at his sides. Upon seeing him, Count Privilege felt a jolt of electricity spasm his entire body into inaction. He was a devil. He was a captivating devil that could clench your heart into a feeling of awful coldness, freeze it and shatter it into razr-edged pieces that pierced your body and made you bleed and hurt all over the inside of your chest.

“At this very moment,” he continued, “a catastrophic device of unimaginable power is set to explode directly underneath the city. Don’t bother looking for it; it’s too well hidden for you to find it before your time limit is up. And I hold the trigger to detonate it.”

If any soul in Manehattan wasn’t previously paying attention, they certainly were now. He had barely released any details about this supposed weapon, yet he held the attention of every single living thing already, so it mattered not.

“All I ask is for Count Privilege, in place of being delivered to the police, to be delivered to me on the front steps of the city hall, alive and well--and unharmed. In terms of being unescorted...I’m not too particular on that spot. It matters not to me if he brings an entourage to fight against me when I come to claim my quarry. If he does, I’ll simply kill each and every single one of them.”

The offhand way he spoke of unprovoked mass slaughter made Count Privilege shudder in his elaborately-tailored suit. And it was unnatural for him to be afraid. He had never been a captive before, or a bargaining chip in a terrorist’s endgame. What did he want with him? What was going to happen to him?

“Now, of course, I could have simply abducted him out of his home. I could have done that. But I chose not to. Because I want you, Manehattan, to prove your loyalty. To willingly force a disease out of your sight. To prove to me that you want him gone as well as I do. Now…answer me this...” He leaned forward, and everyone watching him on the billboards flinched back. His heartbeat grew louder, just slightly. “Shall you protect a coward like himself? Shall you protect a criminal? Shall you protect a sinner from the wrath that awaits him? Let him face what he deserves at my hands. Bring him to me.”

He was inciting rebellion! He was inciting the public to rise against him and deliver him to Ironheart! Count Privilege felt indignant, and furious at Ironheart’s audacity in thinking that the city would deliver him to the clutches of a demon. But he also felt fear, in the darkest depths of his soul.

Fear, in his soul, that Ironheart was right...

“Deliver him to the steps of the city hall before 6:00 this evening,” Ironheart spoke. “I allow you all plenty of time to apprehend him. You need not worry about having him escape the city boundaries; every exit is being watched. If he so much as sets a single hoof outside the city, I will seek him down and he will be blown to bits.”

He then raised an arm, with something long and cylindrical clenched tightly in his fist. “But be warned, Manehattan, that this choice is not a choice at all. I am deathly serious about my claims. He will be given to me, or my weapon shall detonate, sending all of you to an unfortunate and premature afterlife.” He tilted his head. “How many of you are ready and prepared to face whatever afterlife you may be sent to?”

There was a collective silence. Never in the whole history of Manehattan was the entire city so quiet as in the present moment, as everyone listened in fear to Ironheart’s words.

“Deliver to me Count Privilege,” Ironheart whispered, “and the city will be untouched. Deliver to me Count Privilege, and there will be no further attacks. Deliver to me Count Privilege, and your loyalty will be awarded.”

He then fixed his steady gaze on something, and Count Privilege had the inescapable feeling that he was focusing on him. Even though the two of them were separated by hundreds and thousands of feet and there was no possible way for him to know where he was, Ironheart was now looking directly into Count Privilege’s eyes.

“And now I speak directly to you, Count Privilege,” he whispered. “Now is the chance for you to redeem yourself. Now is the chance for you to willingly sacrifice yourself for the good of your city, by coming alone, and unarmed, to my presence at the steps of the city hall. Now, if you prove that you will be a hero to the civilians you are attempting to rule over, your punishment will be significantly diminished once you are in my grip.

“But if not...if you prove yourself to be a coward, and come kicking and screaming to your doom, then you will finally be exposed to be carrion before the eyes of every single pony in the entire city. You have nowhere to go. You have no other option. You are at last defenseless against my irresistible and irrevocable power, for I am the unstoppable judicator that shall sentence you to an ignominious death if the wrong decision is made.”

Here he paused. And he simply gazed into the depths of Count Privilege’s soul as the Count sat with most of his body leaning out of his carriage at the deathly apparition that had come at last for his doom.

“You have until six in the evening for a decision to be made,” he finally spoke. “And after that, none shall live that stand between me and you, Count. For I now blanket the entire city with my outstretched wings, blocking the sun’s rays of hope from those that will harm the children of Equestria. I waged a soft war against crime in action alone before. Let it now be a war in name as well.” Ironheart’s voice dropped to a deep, captivating, soothing voice, even deeper than before, and his eyes brightened to an impossible quality. “I hereby declare open war on crime and tyranny. None shall stay in my path and live. Every last remaining life that shall side with you shall die. And every...last...traitorous soul...shall bow in my outstretched shadow.”

And without another word he reached forward, twisted a knob on the top of a device resting in front of him, and his image and voice and captivating heartbeat abruptly cut off.

For several long, long moments following it, there was a collective silence over the entire city, save only for the fearful whispers now being uttered in the ears of ponies all over Manehattan.

Gradually, radio transmissions buzzed back to life on the stations prior to Ironheart’s public statement. The electronic billboards in Bridleway sparked and statically snapped back to showing the latest prize-winning book and diet soda on their massive multi-story displays as if nothing had been on the screens before. Telephone lines became unjammed. Intercom systems became responsive once more throughout the city. Ponies then broke out into chatter all at once, both outside in the streets and inside the buildings. The day became warm again, though its warmth was more unwelcome than before Ironheart’s announcement.

Count Privilege collapsed back inside his carriage and lay down on his velvet bench, breathing hard from his mouth and holding a hoof to his chest. Doubtless the city would now be on a hunt for him right now. Ironheart had made it very clear that if he was not delivered to him like a sandwich on a platter, Ironheart would take him himself, and then massacre everyone else in the city.

He needed another option. Of course he wouldn’t just surrender to Ironheart. That would only prove that Ironheart had complete power over his actions. What Count Privilege needed was a way to have him protected while facing him down.

Suddenly the idea came to him. Leaning forward, he furiously whispered some instructions to his driver and he instantly took off to where Count Privilege had ordered him to go: a grimy, filthy corner street bar off in an isolated corner of Manehattan.

I have to get to Client 24!

---

Inside the police station, chaos reigned. It could not have been more disorganized than if Discord himself had set it up. Immediately after the declaration of open war was announced through the police intercom systems, every police officer and secretary inside the station started to sprint all over the place, searching for everything and anything in the office files relating to both the Night Terror and Count Privilege alike. The police commissioner and his assistant Flitter Gust were now engaged in a heated debate in his private office, while chaos reigned outside.

“We don’t have a warrant of arrest for Count Privilege yet, sir,” Flitter Gust was saying to the overweight commissioner as he twisted in his spinny chair uncomfortably. “We can’t just go out and arrest the Count directly because we have no jurisdiction to do so. Right now the only word we have that he’s done anything wrong is a rushed and forced confession from a bank robber and the accusations of a terrorist! We don’t have any physical proof that Count Privilege is behind all the crime in the entire city, especially considering that not all criminals are under the control of one pony. Some act alone. Some are enemies of the largest gang. What can we do?”

The overweight police commissioner shifted the bulk of his drooping body in his all-too-small chair. “Flitter Gust, you and I know that the Count’s a bit of a dog. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he was behind it all. Either way, now his chances of running for public office are now gone. If there’s even a chance that he’s behind the recent crime activities, he needs to be apprehended.”

“Sir,” Flitter Gust said, sitting upright in her chair, “I know that the Count’s lousy, but that’s no excuse to hoof him over to a terrorist demanding acquiescence!”

“He has a device that can wipe us all out. He said so himself. We need to treat him like he’s telling the truth.”

“But what if he isn’t? What if he’s taking a risk and only pretending?”

“What proof do you have that he isn’t? It’s entirely possible that he does have it, but he simply isn’t detonating it at the moment because he wants leverage against us.”

“Sir, I still think it’s a bad idea to arrest the Count and deliver him to a terrorist instead of to the courthouse, where crimes are to be properly tried and proper sentences carried out.”

“What would you recommend I do that doesn’t jeopardize the city’s inhabitants?” The police commissioner leaned forward. “I want the city and the people that live inside it to be safe. I don’t like Count Privilege because he’s corrupt and insane. And I want to do my job so that I can both serve proper justice and protect the inhabitants I serve the best I can. With those three reasons, I reason that it’s better that one terrible citizen should perish than for this entire island of prosperous citizens to fall to the demands of a monster.”

There was no arguing it now. Flitter Gust sighed in defeat and leaned back. Once his mind was fixed on something, the overweight police commissioner was never going to back down from it. “I’ll send word to the public office that we need to send out a warrant for the Count’s arrest,” she muttered, and she turned and marched out of the police commissioner’s office.

---

As soon as the message cut off, Ironheart instantly snapped up, leaped over the communications device in an impressive display of acrobatics, and hurried to the turquoise metal tubes at the opposite end of his lair. Shutting himself inside the tube with a hiss of hydraulics, he punched the controls on the side and the elevator shot up like a bullet from a gun.

Of course Ironheart wasn’t serious about setting off the Manehattan project just because the city wouldn’t deliver him his prey. If that happened to be the case, then he would simply hunt Count Privilege down himself and take him in alive, without taking the trouble to detonate the device. He wasn’t going to detonate it under the hooves of over a million innocent citizens just because he was mad. Only stupid and weak ponies did that--lose control when they got mad.

Paying attention to the clothes at his feet, Ironheart swiftly switched back to his hated pony form and picked up the clothes on the floor of the elevator. He had pulled himself into that outfit so many times before that it was instinctive at this point how quickly he did it. By the time he had reached the top level of the secret elevator shaft and stepped out of the elevator’s rotating doors, not to the left and outside in the open air like he had programmed to do with Twilight, but to the right and into a small anteroom in the side of a grimy street bar with a single table and slowly-revolving fan, he had already put on a heavy trench coat, sunglasses, a bandanna, and a wide-brimmed hat.

Client 24 shut down the door of the elevator as fast as he could, and the door disappeared into the back wall without even a sign that it had even existed. He had constructed the elevator in his spare time when he had first came to Manehattan, but now it was finally coming into its full use for his schemes to take place.

Client 24 rushed out of the door and burst upon most of the bar’s patrons, who looked up in some form of relative surprise. Ignoring the looks levied at him, he trotted out and came near the front door of the bar, where he was expecting a certain senator to come wheeling by soon. And sure enough, some time later, he spotted the opulent carriage stop with an abrupt halt in front of the bar. The carriage door burst open and out stumbled the senator, looking queasy and sickened.

Client 24 instantly rushed outside and held a hoof over the senator’s mouth hard to prevent him from screaming. He stopped in surprise and struggled against his grip before realizing it was his own client and gazed up at him with wide eyes.

“Not in there,” he hissed deeply. “There are ponies inside that’ll recognize you and turn you in!” He swept his head to the alley next to the bar’s outside. “In here. This is more private.”

Client 24 dragged the senator into the side alley and retreated a considerable distance until they were behind the corner bar entirely, then finally released him. Count Privilege, spluttering and gasping, demanded, “What was that for? Don’t you know that I am--”

“You’ll find that there’s little in this city that I do not know,” Client 24 hissed to him. “I saw and heard everything. You idiot! You blew yourself and our future with selling guns! Now they’ll come after you and discover what we’ve been doing, and we’ll both be sent to the city hall to meet Ironheart’s wrath! Ironheart’s coming after you, and there’s little we can do about it!”

"I was betrayed!" Count Privilege returned. "Yesterday, one of my associates decided to reveal the truth about our little deal when that--that freak interrogated him in front of dozens of reporters!"

"What did you do to him?" he asked with interest.

"Yesterday he came to my house and told me that he wouldn't work for me anymore. So I threw him out of my house and out of my social connections, and I just now took all of his life savings out of the bank. See if he'll cross me again."

Client 24 trembled with silent rage, unable to strike at him and rip his jawbone out with his bare mechanical hands. "Way to assert your power, but that doesn't matter now! You're in danger now!"

“Which is why I came to you for help!”

“You were wise on that part, at least. Together we can hopefully get out of this mess and crush those that say we can’t.”

“But nothing works!” the Count declared forcefully, shoving him away. “Your guns don’t work against him! Your rocket launchers are ineffective! The only reason I haven’t turned you in to the police commissioner yet is because who else am I going to get income of money and weapons? Your little toys didn’t work before. How do I know this will not be the case this time?”

“That was before I learned that the Night Terror was a machine,” Client 24 snarled. “Guns are powerful, but not enough to destroy beings made out of metal! And once I realized that, I decided to improve how I can attack machines.”

“What did you come up with?” the Count shrewdly asked.

Client 24 reached into his coat pocket and drew out a small pebble-sized object with a small button on top. “This.”

“What is that?” he demanded, grabbing it out of his client’s hoof and holding it in his upturned hoof.

“It’s an electrical disturbance emitter,” he explained impatiently. “Otherwise known as an EDE. It shuts down the electrical devices it’s thrown onto by blocking the flow of electricity inside it. No more power is distributed to whatever it’s on. This is a way I recently figured out to stop Ironheart. He’s dangerous and deadly now, but if you use this against him, he’s nothing more than a glorified bucket of machine parts.”

Count Privilege’s face registered interest. “And how would I use this?”

“Put this on the bottom of a bullet. Once it is fired and the force propels the bullet forward, the button on the end will depress, and it will charge the bullet with the power of the EDE. Whatever the bullet hits will stop providing electricity, and it will shut down almost instantly.”

The Count’s face turned to one of dubious glee. “It’s good in theory, but are you sure it works?” he asked, examining it from every angle.

“Of course it works!” he growled. “I tested it myself on a parallel circuit. It shorted itself out and sparked for a while afterwards.”

“But will it work on Ironheart?”

“Ironheart’s got weaknesses, too. You just haven’t seen them yet. You haven’t tried dousing him in water yet. Water destroys electrical objects. And his body can be overrun with enough electrical volts. And he needs a power source. Every living thing needs a power source. For us, it’s our hearts, but for him, it could be his chest. That could house his electrical motor that powers his movements.”

Count Privilege gave him a look. “How do I know that I can trust your judgement on this?”

“You trusted my judgement before,” Client 24 said harshly. “Why are you doubting me now?”

“This is different!”

“Shh!” Client 24 looked around wildly. “Stop talking so loud, you idiot!”

Count Privilege looked abased, but continued in a low voice. “It’s different now because my life’s in danger!”

“If what Ironheart says is true, you’ve been in danger for a long time,” Client 24 pointed out. The shadow from the back of the building threw Client 24’s face into a diagonal shadow. “He could have attacked you at any time he wanted to. He has the power to do that, you know. Who will deny that he doesn’t? But he spared you for a reason. And that reason…” He pointed in the general direction of Bridleway, but the large brick building they were behind was in the way, “...was revealed today on the screens of Bridleway. He wants the city to deliver you to him themselves. To make you realize that the city doesn’t really like you all that much. I’m not accusing you of anything,” he quickly said, noticing the look of outrage that crossed his face. “I’m simply telling you something you need to know.”

“So what would you recommend I do?” the Count demanded of him quietly.

“Make it look like you’re coming willingly, so it looks to the citizens that you’re a hero that can face death with courage. When Ironheart shows up, shoot him in the heart with this.” He pointed at the EDE. “Not only will Ironheart die, the city will see that you killed him and your reputation will soar among the citizens there. They’ll see you as somepony that can defend the city, and you can actually have a chance of gaining the highest office of political power in this entire northwest corner of Equestria.”

Count Privilege finally gave a grin. “You really did think of everything, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

He blew a sigh of relief. “Good. I was scared there that this would turn against me.”

“If you play your cards right, you can still salvage everything out of it, and build yourself higher than ever. Here’s a lesson I’ve learned over the years, Count. What you endure makes you stronger. Years and years of abuse, for example, can turn an aimless pony into a hard-willed weapon of power. A husband losing his wife can turn him into a pony that can love his new wife more than ever for fear of losing her as well. Everything you endure builds up your strength. There’s always hope for you when you’re deep in despair. There’s always a chance for you to regain your initiative.”

Count Privilege blinked. “Thank you, Client.”

“My privilege,” he ironically replied, bowing a little.

He laughed just a little, then frowned and looked at the EDE. “You...don’t happen to have more of these, do you?”

“Of course. I have more.” He pulled out a jangling sack and placed it in his grip. “I took the trouble to make a large supply for you.”

“Ohohoho, yes!” the Count said softly, weighing the sack. “All I need to do is put this on the bottoms of the bullets, and they’ll be able to kill Ironheart?”

“Correct.”

His expression dimmed. “I...don’t have to pay you anything for this, do I?”

“Let’s see if you survive tonight, and we’ll take it from there.”

“Which reminds me--I can’t just show my face in public for the moment being. What will I do in the meantime until I kill Ironheart on the steps of the city hall tonight in front of every single citizen?”

Client 24 stiffened--just a little bit. Then he said, “I will provide sanctuary for you. You’d be surprised how little police decide to check the Ultraground’s sewers.”

“Oh!” The Count recoiled. “In there? With all that water and grime and moss and...feces? That would ruin my clothes that I bought from Las Pegasus itself! I refuse! I demand at least some semblance of respectable arrangements for me!”

“Fine, then. Stay up here, where literally every single pony here is hunting you down and looking to capture you. Stay up here, with no protection at all, with no allies, with nowhere to hide, for the sake of your dignity. Count, from what I’ve seen, you have nothing to lose at this point. Shove aside your demands and follow me.”

Unaccustomed to hearing his client speak so forwardly to him, Count Privilege reflexively nodded. “I...all right. But I warn you: I’m not going to like a single bit of it!”

“You can choose how to feel about your situation,” Client 24 said harshly. “Others told me that before in my life. You need to choose how you feel about what I’m saying to you now.”

“That’s stupid! Feelings are reflexive! Some of them you simply can’t control!”

On that, Count, we can finally agree, Ironheart thought.

“One more thing, Client.”

“Yes?” Client 24’s voice snapped out.

“Are you going to be at the city hall tonight? I could use your help facing him down,” Count Privilege asked him.

“I’ll be there.” Ironheart smiled under his bandana and sunglasses. “Trust me.”

---

“Is...is it over?” Fluttershy whispered from her hiding spot under the bed.

“It’s gone,” Rarity said, holding a hoof over her heart uncomfortably. “It...it’s gone.”

Fluttershy crawled out from under the bed in their own spacious private apartment. When the loudspeakers in the hallway and the radio in their room suddenly started to speak with Ironheart’s tantalizing voice out loud, Fluttershy had screamed and bolted under the bed as fast as possible. The rest of the girls and Spike weren’t as startled as her, but as they listened to Ironheart speak of Case File and their capture by Amadeus the griffon, the unpleasant, vibrant memories forced their way back to the forefront of their minds. Case File, with a deep bloody crater in his forehead. The cold, damp sewers of the Ultraground as they were led to their captor. Amadeus, twitching on a thin bladed horn before collapsing forward to reveal the pony that had viciously impaled him. The carnage and blood all over his secret hideout, shed from the bodies of dozens of ponies and griffons. And the initial moment, where they had first discovered who Ironheart was, as they saw his awesome power displayed in all his terrifying mechanical might.

As they all stood around, pondering the remarkable circumstances and the turn of events, Applejack made the first comment.

“Well, that’s pretty darn bad,” she frankly said, sitting down on a couch. “It was bad before, but now it’s even worse.”

“That was pretty freaky,” Spike commented, shivering. “Brr. I don’t know if I’m going to be safe ever again.”

“What was that message all about?” Twilight asked in wondering horror. “H-how did he manage to access every single speaker in the city? Why did he give that message in the first place?”

“Ironheart’s making a move,” Rainbow Dash grimly declared. “How’s it going to turn out for him? And...for us?”

“Well, let’s think this through like how we did with other events,” Twilight said logically, pacing back and forth. “What did Ironheart do, what he might gain from this, and what we should do in response.”

“He came out and offered a public statement at last,” Spike offered her. “He showed himself. And he openly said that crime is terrible and that he’d fight against it with all the strength he has.”

“He said he wanted Count Privilege,” Rarity disagreed. “He’s offering him as a bargaining chip against the entire city!”

“Question is, will they listen?” Applejack said from her spot on the apartment couch. “Will they honestly try ta deliver him to Ironheart right now?”

“By all accounts, it must make sense to them,” Rarity said. “If they give up Count Privilege, not only will the gun shipments and money embezzling stop, not only will a corrupt senator leave the city, but Ironheart will leave Manehattan alone forever!”

“Are you suggesting shoving a pony to his death is a good thing?” Twilight asked in surprise.

“No, no, no, Dahling!” Rarity waved her arms. “I’m better than that! But I’m simply trying to see things from their perspective instead of mine!”

“But is he right?” Fluttershy asked, her calming voice quieting down the apartment. “Do you really think that everypony will just give him up just because Ironheart says so?”

“You’d be surprised at what these people are capable of,” Rainbow said darkly.

“Especially because Ironheart told them that if they didn’t they’d all go KABLOOEY!” Pinkie pointed out.

“That’s worth mentioning, actually,” Twilight agreed. “Ironheart threatened to use the Manehattan project against the city! Is he serious?”

“Ah don’t think so,” Applejack said, sitting more upright. “If there’s anything we know ‘bout him fer certain, it’s that he wants to keep the innocent civilians safe.”

“Then why’d he threaten to use the bomb?”

“Ta provide initiative, I’d guess.” Applejack got up off the couch. “Ta get ‘em movin’. See, we know Ironheart won’t detonate the Manehattan project. But they don’t. They’ll follow Ironheart’s directions like a cow followin’ a carrot and movin’ away from the stick.”

“Or like a Pinkie following a cake and moving away from loneliness?” Spike suggested with a smile, nudging Pinkie Pie subtly with her elbow.

“Exactly,” Twilight agreed. “Everypony moves away from the things they don’t like and towards the things they do. And that’s what Ironheart’s doing now. He’s enticing the citizens of Manehattan to throw one pony that they don’t like to his death to avoid having the rest of the city be blown to pieces.”

“But what’s the point?” Fluttershy whispered, lying on her back on the bed. “What’s the point that Ironheart was trying to make by making that demand?”

“You remember why Ironheart was selling guns to everypony here?” Rarity asked her. “He was trying to prove that we were all incapable of handling good things. He was trying to prove that they were all terrible ponies. He wants to prove that the world is beyond saving. I think this is only a continuation of that. He wants to prove that these ponies are willing to kill. He wants to prove that we’re so much of a fallen people that we’re willing to see what circumstances are okay to send ponies to their deaths without a pretense of justice.”

“He wants the entire world to see as he does?” Fluttershy asked, trembling. “B-but if ev-verypony saw the world like he does, what will be left of the world?”

“The good ponies,” came a mumble. It came from Rainbow Dash.

Applejack wheeled to face her. “Rainbow?” she asked in concern. “What’re ya sayin’?”

“I-I’m saying...that if we all had good judgement of what’s right and wrong...and we used that judgement righteously...then we don’t have anything to fear! We can expel darkness from the world on our own, and we can all live without fear of terrible ponies!”

“Yer right, Rainbow,” Applejack said tenderly. “But the way to expel darkness from the world is ta use kindness and love as an example fer others ta follow! Not killin’ everypony that don’t measure up to yer standard of perfection!”

“I’m not saying we should kill everypony we don’t like!” Rainbow cried. “But what about Count Privilege, huh? What about the terrible things he’s done to the city? What about him? For his entire life, he’s gotten off easy for the terrible things he’s done because he has a lot of money! Where’s the justice in that, huh?”

“Which is why we need to make sure he faces justice, not vengeance!” Twilight interrupted before Applejack could respond. “There’s a difference!”

“And who’s gonna give it to him, Twilight? Not the city government! They don’t like him either, but if he gives them money to pass the wrong judgement on him, they’ll let him go free!”

“So are you going to be the one that will give him his just desserts?” Pinkie asked.

“If I have to!” Rainbow cried, flapping into the air in irritation. “If nopony else gets the courage to give him his punishment, then I’ll do it myself!”

“Rainbow, stop it!” Twilight cried. “We’ve had this discussion before, and you know what the end result is going to be if we continue with it. Drop the issue!”

“Oh, what is it, Twilight?” Rainbow asked with a sneer. “Is it your sense of right and wrong knocking on your head again?”

“Listen to what you’re saying! You’re becoming like Ironheart!”

“There’s truth to what Ironheart’s saying!” Rainbow declared.

“But not the whole truth!” Applejack declared. “There are lies that contain a kernel of truth--even lies that are mostly truth! That’s the lie that’s the most easy to believe, and the kind of lie we need to watch ourselves around the most! Don’t start believing a lie, Rainbow! Even a lie that’s almost the truth! Yer better than that!”

“Then what is the whole truth, then?” Rainbow Dash demanded. “What’s the one true thing we all need to believe? Spread friendship and love and harmony to everypony, no matter what sort of terrible things they’ve done in their life? Give love to everypony, even if they’re terrible ponies and don’t deserve a second chance to redeem themselves? Make sure that everypony gets whatever they want as a consequence, regardless of the bad choices they’ve done? Are you saying that mercy should be given to absolutely everypony, not thinking of their previous actions?”

Fluttershy instantly jumped in front of Rainbow Dash, a fire raging in her eyes and a venom in her voice. “YES!” she screamed in her face. "BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT WE'RE DOING TO YOU RIGHT NOW!"

Rainbow Dash recoiled, falling on her butt and staring falteringly into Fluttershy’s angry gaze. The rest of the apartment had silenced themselves completely and said absolutely nothing. They all knew that a mad Fluttershy was a dangerous one, and so didn’t interrupt her.

“I trusted you, Rainbow Dash. I thought you were better than resorting to thinking like Ironheart. I have pity for him, Rainbow, but I don’t want to have pity for you! You don’t deserve pity! You deserve far more than that, because you’re the oldest and best friend I have! Ironheart’s wrong! Ironheart doesn’t see the truth, but you do, Rainbow! You do! Don’t throw away what you know is right just because Ironheart’s option sounds enticing! I admit, it sounds good to get revenge. It sounds good to give out other pony’s just desserts. But there’s a limit to that! There’s a difference between making a bad pony say they’re sorry, suffer a consequence, and make reparations, and just straight-up hurting and killing others because you think they’re bad ponies!”

Rainbow Dash was trembling on the floor, now completely unable to match Fluttershy’s gaze as she delivered her explosive outburst. But she did manage to get out, “B-but their c-consequences! Are you s-saying that they need to have a merciful treatment, no matter what they do?”

“I’m not saying that!” Fluttershy loudly asserted. “I’m not saying that mercy can rob justice! But when justice does come, it can’t be extreme or prejudiced! It can’t be based off of hate! It can’t be because the harm was personal!”

“What about when you screamed at Amadeus, huh?” Rainbow Dash cried, standing up and forcing her to look into Fluttershy’s eyes. “It wasn’t personal for you then, so it was okay for you to lose yourself like that, right?”

“Would you like it if I was like Ironheart?” Fluttershy demanded. “Imagine if I got really vindictive at the bullies that hurt me in Flight School, and I decided to hurt each and every single bully I came across simply because I wanted to? Would you like me as a friend then? Would you still think I’m a good pony? So if I became like that and you think I’m bad because of it, why do you think Ironheart is a pony you should emulate?”

At that point Twilight opted to chime her horn to life and fire a circular purple shield in between the two of them. Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy stared at each other from across the shield for a few more moments. It felt a lot longer than it should have been for either of them, but it was Fluttershy that spoke first. “Oh, I’m so sorry I said those things,” she whispered, casting her eyes down. “Can you forgive me?”

“What?” Rainbow said in surprise. “O-of course I’ll forgive you! You--” She stopped. And she instantly remembered the conversation they just had. Forgiveness. Mercy. Love. By apologizing without even trying, Fluttershy had simply proved her point even further. She had proved herself right.

Twilight stopped her magic and the purple shield between them disappeared. Rainbow Dash slumped down and looked on the verge of complete disrepair to the point where she looked like she was about to cry. “What’s happening to me?” she breathed in between gasps of air.

“Rainbow,” Twilight whispered, inching nearer to her. “Are you okay?”

Rainbow Dash looked fully into Twilight’s eyes, and there was a haunted, hollow kind of look there. A terrible, haunted, sickened look, about herself. At her own thoughts, and at her words, and at her deeds. It made Twilight freeze in her tracks, to see the most confident and independent friend she had look like she was at the ultimate breaking point. What had happened? Ever since her encounter with almost killing Amadeus, she had deteriorated more and more. What was it that made it look like Rainbow Dash was being eaten alive from the inside out? Was it that her mind was enthusiastically pondering new radical thoughts that had entered her head, and she was now maniacally grasping on to the urge to hurt others in the name of justice?

Or was it fear that she knew that her new sympathies were wrong, but she didn’t know how to get rid of them?

“Rainbow?...” Twilight asked again, but slowly, and cautiously.

“...I...I need some time alone, Twilight,” Rainbow mumbled, a tear leaking out and shining on her cheek. “I don’t...I don’t want to talk right now…”

And she sped in a cyan blur into the restroom and locked the door. Through the thin wood they could hear her start to sob. It was the most heartbreaking thing any of them had heard. Tears on their own were one thing, but coming from a strong, independent soul like Rainbow Dash, those small drops of water and those small whimpering sounds cut into the hearts of all those assembled.

“Goodness,” Pinkie said soberly, coming next to the bathroom door to wait for her to come out. “She needs a snuggle right about now.” She raised her voice. “You hear that, Rainbow? When you come out, you’re getting the biggest snuggling hug in Equestria from yours truly!”

There wasn’t any answer from the back of the door, but the sobs stifled just a little bit.

Spike doubled over, his cheeks bulging.

“Oh, really, Spike, must you?” Rarity chided him. “Rainbow Dash is going through something really tough right now, and you have to go and--”

BUUURP! A flurry of green flames spewed out of Spike’s mouth and from the flames came forth a tightly furled letter with a red ribbon. Twilight’s aura held the letter in the air tightly.

“Oh.” Rarity’s ears folded back. “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry about that, Spike. I, um, wasn’t thinking there.”

Twilight unfurled the letter, casting aside the ribbon, and her eyes travelled to the top of the script. When this happened, she looked over the top of the letter. “Celestia sent a note back,” she reported. Then she begun to read aloud.

My faithful student, princess Twilight Sparkle,

I received your letter late last night, and me and Luna have analyzed it from every angle. I applaud you for your diligence in tracking down this Ironheart and in doing your best to thwart his plans, and I sincerely hope that you may catch a break sometime soon from your duties.

Please do not take my reluctance to send help as a sign of negligence. But I had hoped that this was an issue that could be resolved quickly and discreetly. Your letter, however, proved me wrong. This situation is now a matter of national security.

I have sent word to Captain Shining Armor and Princess Cadence to send an expeditionary force to Manehattan, and I have mobilized troops in Canterlot to join them on the road. The first forces should arrive in Manehattan in only a day or so. In addition, Luna and I will join your sister-in-law and your brother in Manehattan to fight this terrorist that dares spread the spirit of fear throughout this peaceful land. In the meanwhile, send word to the mayor that we will arrive, and tell him to lead an evacuation of the city.

Be warned, my student, that Ironheart will try to get you to see as he does to evoke sympathy from you. But you must not yield to the temptation! Resist his impulses! Resist his ways! Nopony must adopt his dark and shadowy ways of wrathful revenge. You are still the strong and powerful student I have always ever had, and I would not ask this of you if I knew you could not do it. Prepare for battle, and cling to what you know is right.

With all my heart,

Princess Celestia

Twilight finished reading it aloud and searched for any reactions. Applejack was uncomfortably passive. Rarity and Fluttershy looked noticeably worried. Pinkie Pie looked up at her with interested eyes, and Spike mumbled, “So...what now, Twilight?”

Twilight set her mind firm in her decision before speaking. “We’re pressed for time enough as it is.” She turned around to stare out the window at the city streets. In the northern district of Manehattan, far away from their window, was the domed spire of the Manehattan city hall. Her next words were spoken clearly, and with determination. “We must go to the city hall and face Ironheart tonight.”

“What?” Pinkie asked in surprise from near the bathroom door. “But Twilight! Ironheart...how can we fight him?”

“Ironheart has weaknesses too,” Twilight said with certainty. “We just haven’t been looking for them hard enough.” Twilight turned away from the window again to look each of her friends in the eye. “Celestia will be here with the Canterlot army tomorrow. Now is our last chance to solve the problem without forcing Celestia to lose countless lives to do so. Now is the time to show Ironheart that he may call us his allies in his goals, but that we will resist him and his end goals. He may call himself a pony spreading good ideals, but he is just spreading death and terror. We can show him tonight that he can be better than that.”

“And if not?” Fluttershy timidly asked. “What if he disagrees with us and continues in what he’s doing?”

Twilight paused for a moment, then finally said, with resigned reluctance, “Then we must end him permanently, no matter what.” She straightened with a feigned strength. "No matter what," she repeated, unsure if she had the strength to do it after all.

Next Chapter: Betrayed Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 56 Minutes