“Why do you hate us so much?”

It escaped Blackberry’s mouth before he could stop himself. How he’d tried holding it in, he really had! But the sheer silence following Prasad’s near-assault of him had just grown too heavy to bear. Volatile and unpredictable as the human female was, he felt like the weight on his chest would make him burst unless he tried making contact with his captor.

The pilot clicked her tongue. “Someone’s forgotten the rule of silence. Last warning, bucko.”

“I’m only asking a qu–”

“And you’re not to fucking ask any questions!” the pilot yelled at him. “How hard is it to drill into that flaming skull of yours, you’re a war prisoner, I’m your guard, you don’t get to act all matey with me! If this were some...some fucking library, you’d keep your gob shut just like you ought to, wouldn’t you? Well, picture me as the crusty, take-no-shit librarian who’ll whoop your arse if you spew anymore from your stupid mouth! Now, SHUT it!”

Oh, Sweet Celestia, that stung. He was going to cry, he just knew it, as he felt his lower lip begin to tremble. Max had kept saying he just needed to toughen up, goodness knows, he’d tried so hard at that too, and now, lost in the woods and cuffed-up by some hostile alien, he was going to lose what semblance of dignity he’d left in him.

“Bloody hell,” he heard the pilot whisper, from somewhere behind the forehooves he’d buried his shaggy head into. “What am I doing? This isn’t me… it shouldn’t be.” She breathed in. “Story of my life...”

Blackberry paid her scarcely any heed, too caught up in his own despair.

“Kid? Hey, kid.”

Why did she insist on calling him that, when he’d told her his real name all the way back when she’d first grilled him. It was like she refused to acknowledge him as a real person. Horrible, horrible beast, treating him as worth less than, less than anything...

“Alright, don’t hurt yourself,” came Prasad’s gruff voice. “Can’t rightly begrudge you a bit of the old weeping. Let it all out, I’ll look away if you want. Fuck knows how today, I’ve let off more steam than I knew I had in me still.”

True to her word, she gave him five minutes’ respite. At last, the weight on his chest abated enough for him to feel like himself again. Gingerly, he lowered his forehooves from his eyes, but he dared not lock gazes with the pilot again.

“Should’ve chosen someone else for the job,” the pilot muttered sourly. “They knew I wasn’t much of a pony person…”

He swallowed, twice, pulling himself together, determined to show his spirit remained alive.

“What’s this about ‘pony person’?” Blackberry demanded. “You hate us. You just showed it.”

A light went out behind the human woman’s eyes. “Yes… I suppose that’s true…” she whispered wearily, folding her arms and gazing downwards. “I thought it was past, that… but some wounds, they never quite heal. Especially given the sorts of things you leave behind… or not really. Can turn a person… cruel, it does.”

Something about her tone gave Blackberry pause for thought.

“...Is there something I’m not getting here?”

“More than you know, you poor fool…”

Applejack couldn’t believe her ears.

“What in tarnation?” she muttered, shooting the cloaked mare a dark, suspicious look. “You’re lettin’ us through? Just like that, after you tried to stop my friends’ advancin’?”

Their waylayer didn’t nod or shrug or whatever, yet she did raise her head by an inch. Anymore, and the four mares could almost have looked her in the eye, staring back from beneath the hood’s shadowy confines.

“Yes, I am,” she answered simply. “Though I’d rather you didn’t move ahead, I’m not prepared to fight you over this. Step forward, and you won’t find me blocking your way.”

Except Applejack sensed something else under the comforting words. Like always, although every word the cloaked one had spoken was technically true, she meant more than she said. There had to be a catch.

“Of course, that isn’t all.” As if anticipating the Bearer of Honest’s imminent objection, the waylayer was quick to follow up on her previous statement. “I cannot challenge you directly, for risk of bringing the very harm upon you I’d wish to spare you from. But I’ll speak openly. If you weren’t here, nothing would stand between my blade and these thugs’ necks.”

This provoked Fluttershy, as was to be expected, to gasp far louder than she commonly raised her voice. Applejack herself, though, felt strangely calm.

“You would, eh? This straight after you were done listing off humanity’s faults.”

Once again, the cloaked mare appeared to have seen this coming. “Ends and means, Miss Apple… humans, our kind, the people of Equus… each of us, joined as though by threads, in the ties that bind...” she said, a customary sadness staining her tone as always. “Your way, the way taken by the Elements of Harmony, is a most pure and good way. But it is not the only way, nor does it work alone. Just as a lie is neither a good or bad thing in itself… see how a comforting lie can spell out the greatest kindness... the act of bringing death, of cutting the threads, can only be measured against how they are woven back together, so they may shape new life… rebirth.”

“Okay, now what the heck are you yappin’ on about?”

“No doubt you wonder what has become of your friend, Miss Lulamoon.” Rather than deign to address the outraged Applejack’s question directly, the cloaked mare levitated a blue marble from the seemingly bottomless folds of her cover. “Please, let me you show you something.”

There came a spark. At an awed little intake of air from Fluttershy, and a mumble from Applejack below her breath that she recognized such an artifact from somewhere, the blue mare shone with magic, coalescing into an image which projected itself above all their eyesights. An image of Trixie, cut and bloodied, both blades hovering above the forest floor in the act of warding off some unseen assailant. She wore her domino mask, an emotionless gaze fixed upon whoever she was fighting.

“What is this?” Fluttershy whispered.

“A living, breathing person, turned into a tool of death,” the cloaked mare said quietly. “That’s the face of life at war, ladies. Right, wrong, you can debate the morality of it until the cows come home, the simple truth is, all people are equal when given the power to kill another. Take a life, and something will get cut, something you can never tie as it was before.” Even hidden within the hood, Applejack could tell she was peering at them. “Many learn to keep on living with it. But is this really who you want to be?”

“Trixie is a good mare at heart!” Applejack stated defiantly. “In fact, one of mah greatest regrets is how we’all treated her when she first came to town. We shoulda seen the light when she tried rescuing those two stupid colts’, for their thick-headed fault, takin’ a stage magician at her word! And Ah’ve seen how hard she works on herself. How dare ya drag our friend’s name through the mud like this, you who said you’d kill these stallions like nuthin’!”

Applejack expected some angry retort, but instead, a small, warm smile briefly tugged at the cloaked mare’s lips, before it vanished like the first wisps of morning dew in winter.

“Touching,” she whispered.

“Where is she?” demanded Applejack. “She might be a blow-hard, and fulla rage at Major Bauer’s abduction, yet Ah refuse to believe she’d go kill-crazy on a whim like that, it’s against her training. You’re trying to fool us again.”

But deep inside, she didn’t feel so sure. Swallowing, she fought down a growing headache over seeing that the moving images wherein Trixie was furiously busy hacking and slicing, albeit with less blood to show for than might be feared, looked real enough, and live.

“I haven’t shown you everything. Miss Lulamoon wasn’t the example I wished to put forth.”

The moving image of Trixie in battle panned away, at last revealing her opponent.

Suddenly, irrationally, a sickness wrenched at the insides of Applejack’s stomach, some latent grazer’s fear of the bygone times when tracked down by a hunter on the prairies, knowing that at any moment tooth and claw may grab you, tear your flesh, chunk by chunk. At first sight, it was just a mare like any other, with a goldenrod coat and an olive-green mane flapping slightly in the wind, her cutie mark obscured by motion blur.

“Some call her the Candymare,” the cloaked mare explained matter-of-factly. “Most people know her by her given name of Pineapple Cutter.”

But look closer, and you were witness to the cold, unfeeling look in her eyes. The look of someone who did not care in the slightest about you, to whom you were, at most, a fascinating slab of meat on a table.

“She fights in the name of humanity, like Miss Lulamoon does.”

And she was slashing in return, parrying Trixie’s every move, though how she held onto the massive blade without horn or wing, Applejack could not properly tell.

“Unlike Miss Lulamoon, however, no great cause or sense of altruism moves her. She maims and kills because she enjoys it. Nor is she the only one in the PHL to do so. Human existence is of precious interest to her solely for its dark, brutal side. A being of pure hunger.”

Fast and pitiless, the duel raged on. It took a minute before Applejack could summon the will to say anything further, after the shock of what she’d just seen.

“Why are you showing us this?” she asked quietly, flaring her nostrils. “And why the fight?”

Particles of magic began to assemble themselves around the waylayer’s cloaked figure, heralding an imminent teleportation spell.

“Because I know I can entrust this to your conscience,” she announced soothingly. “Eventually, either Cutter will kill Lulamoon, or Lulamoon will kill Cutter, worked up into a blood frenzy as they each are. Such is the nature of what shapes them, that only this way can their fight end… unless interrupted. Though the Forest may be vast, if the power of your friendship holds true, it’s a feat well within your grasp, as always.”

Thus she vanished.

Glaring daggers, Short Fuse spat at the hooves of the earthmare before him.

“What d’you want?” he sneered, idly watching his spittle dissolve into the soggy, mud-like ground that bordered the claypool. “I was comfortable in my little kiln of misery, kind of waiting for you lot to get the old girl fired up…”

All this earned him was a punch to the face for his trouble. For a moment, Fuse was left staring to the side, caught off guard by the blow and unable to rub his bruised cheek due to the ropes still binding his forehooves, before slowly looking back at the earthmare. “Really? At least let me finish, you daft haridelle.”

“Where is Weaver?”

Her voice was a growl, and she held the sword right up to his blue-jowled chin, but Short Fuse was barely fazed by any of it. Humongous earrings, straight and silky raven mane, tattoos, and now this...

“Macuahuitl sword,” he commented lazily. “From far south of the Badlands, the Forbidden Jungles if I remember correctly. Well, aren’t you far from home, little jungle pony?”

Seeing her eyes narrow at his words, Fuse barked a harsh laugh. “Are ya aware, I’ve seen your tribes before, staying hidden inside your jungles, away from the pinheads and flies. What’re you doing with this lot? Ya do know they’ve taken your treasured ‘idols’ time‘n again, right? Heck, grabbed a few myself before I quit.”

Fuse expected another punch, yet the earthmare looked impassive, a wobble in her earrings the only giveaway to her true feelings. Emboldened, he plunged further onward.

“Ah, c’mon, let’s waste no time. Wasted enough already just gettin’ me out, whaddya want me raw for, jungle mare? Perfectly good kiln, do me in five minutes, even if ya were to serve and share me out with all yer pals, there’d be enough of me to cut ya a nice, big slice…” Though hampered by his bonds, Fuse made a show of waggling his fleshy hindquarters back-and-forth upon the wet, sticky ground. “Why not beg ‘em as a last request, save the nicest, most juicy parts for ya...”

His head cocked back as the mare lashed out with several more brass-shoed, forehoof blows to his face. While a placid face, she ignored her weapon altogether in favor of trying to cave his face further into his skull, to the point that when he actually fell over, Blackjack had to walk up to the mare as it became clear she wasn't going to stop raining blows.

“Macua… enough,” the white unicorn muttered as he gently placed a hoof on her shoulder. “Don’t let him stack the deck against you.”

The earthmare heaved with anger, placing her own hoof atop the stallion’s own, nodding her head as she took a step back to breath. Fuse couldn’t help but cough up some laughter.

“Your marefriend needs some reeling in, Jackyboy.”

“I wouldn’t play the same hoof again, Fuse,” Blackjack muttered as he fixed his ‘tie’.

“Why stop now, when it’s gettin’ good!” Fuse quipped cheerfully. “Ain’t no irrelevant topic I'd started broachin’, ya know that, mate. How ‘bout showin’ to her that my name did mean something, in the old days? Ya wouldn't even need to untie me, just set me back on all four hooves and pass me a box of mat–”

“Not likely, not unless you want one of your bricks put to creative use.” Blackjack commented drily. “Pushing her’ll make things messy for each of the players. It’s true, we’re… close, but we don’t let it get in the way of the House rules if it comes up. Tell us where Weaver is, and we can let you all go.”

“No…”

Both of them looked around and saw the earthmare brandishing her sword once more, holding it threateningly to the injured mare’s throat. Incredibly, the frail little thing, otherwise pushed around so easily, had not let go of her rosette hoofbag once, even when forcibly led all the way to the claypit. She’d now wrapped her forehooves around it for dear life, as if it could somehow shield her from Cihuateto’s wrath.

As for the other hostage, the blue unicorn, a Ponyville native whom Fuse recognized as Noteworthy, he was tensed up, apparently ready to spring into her defence. Regardless of how the brave imbecile’s last attempt had resulted in a block to the back from Blackjack.

“No one goes, they all suffer in his place if he refuses to answer.”

“Macua…”

But the earthmare would not desist, leaning forward to stare down all three of her captives.

“You want to know why I am here with the treasure stealers? Why I side with them?” Her eyes were so icy, they would have given the most hardened criminal pause, and Fuse had left the business a while back. “Because I seek to finish the job you couldn’t do. Kill Daring Do. Not ‘end’ her or ‘destroy’ her. Kill her.”

Forcing down a gulp as best he could, Fuse glared back at the earthmare as she dragged the trembling, injured mare before his hooves.

“My life was good,” the earthmare seethed. “I had a fine, caring spouse, strong and kind as the sun itself. But I was heavy with foal when he was taken from me, and I lived to see my foal take only a few, gasping breaths before she, too, passed away. Would that in my misery, I could have joined them both, soon after! Except Tlazolteotl had other plans.”

She all but threw the mare at his hooves, her terror-filled eyes looking for an escape, but none could be seen as she looked up at the sword with utter fear.

“I returned, given new purpose, and led my tribe into a new life of understanding. I walk between realms, guiding those who must move on to the fields of joys and bliss. But I can no longer do that, thanks to the adventurer!” She hissed at the word, baring her teeth at Fuse. “Her words were lies, Caballeron may have come to my valley, but he had no intent of taking the idol within the temple. He had no use for it! He was there for days, living with us, sharing our food and bed, and he could've stolen it any time he pleased, but he didn’t. No, when she arrived, it would have been far too late to stop him, even had he been there for it.”

More of the sickly green magic began to pour out from her tattoos. “I pleaded with her, begged her not to take the idol from its place, but, how stubborn was she! So convinced that Caballeron meant to take it, blinded not by greed, only by her selfish thrill for the chase. And that’s how she took it! She ignored the tribal elders! She ignored me! And so she flew off, happy as a stupid Itzcuintl, leaving the rest of us to perish!”

She slammed her hoof into the ground, blades springing up all around the frozen mare, their black tips growing outward like deranged vines. The captive mewed in fear at the sight, but no worse befell her, for the enraged earthmare closed her eyes, the ground slowly pulling the blades back into the depths as she reeled in her power.

“Life departed the valley in a matter of days.. Gradually, inexorably, the leaves began to wilt off the trees, the beasts of the field departed for greener pastures, our harvests failed as the crops ceased to bloom, and eventually, the waters in the streams themselves slowed to a trickle, which no great showers of rain could replenish. Even the sun seemed to bear down heavier, hotter, turning the grass into dust. I could no longer face the pain in their eyes, the misery, so, like a coward, I fled, cursing myself for my failures as a cihuatetotl… One of Caballeron’s most trusted lieutenants found me, lying on the rocks overlooking the valley, starved, feverish and half out of my mind. He persuaded his master to take me in. Oh, I hated him and his pity, at first! But I soon saw that, perhaps, fate had guided me back onto a righteous path. Blackjack told me he knew how to get at Do.”

Cihuateto smiled grimly. “For that, I’ve pledged myself to him, to get at her. So where you failed, I shall personally end her life for her acts against my kin. I’ve waited a very long time, and won’t let some noble xolopitli come between me and my goal.”

She floated her last remaining blade underneath the jaw of the shivering mare, who was whimpering with tears flowing from her eyes, desperately looking first to Fuse, then to that peculiar ocean-blue unicorn stallion, for help.

“Tell me where she’s at… Or I shall give all these ‘Loyalists’ to the fiery pits of Tartarus, so they may forever be denied the Mictlan’s pastures.”

“We ain’t playing her game.”

Applejack had thought long and hard about the mysterious waylayer’s proposal, and for her, there was only thing to it, and those were the very words she’d just firmly spoken.

“But Applejack!” Fluttershy squeaked unhappily, anxiously stomping a rear hoof. “What about Trixie? If the stranger was telling us the truth, she could get killed by that horrible mare!”

“Don’t ya get it?! The minute we leave, she comes back and finishes off the goons!” shouted Applejack, gesturing wildly towards the thugs imprisoned in the treetops. “Whaddya expect us to do? Come between Trixie and what’s-her-apple, ask them both to sit down quietly over tea and crumpets, settle their differences? Won’t work!”

Her friend’s ears drooped. “Trixie and the Major always said you don’t leave a man behind… he got so mad at us all for letting Lyra sleep in that first morning…”

“Ah say we trust Trixie,” said Applejack, suddenly very interested in re-adjusting her hat. “She can handle herself jus’ fine. And it’s not like we care about some other crazy madmare with a knife… why’d she attack her own teammate, the rube?”

“Perhaps Trixie did go funny, and she was trying to stop her hurting people?”

As Applejack opened her mouth in search of a gentle, understanding way to set Fluttershy’s benignly naive assumptions straight, she heard no words come out, slowly letting it close back up. Inexplicably, the waylayer’s odd pronouncement stayed with her.

‘Take a life, and something will get cut, something you can never tie as it was before. Many learn to keep on living with it. But is this really who you want to be?’

What difference did it make to a mare like the one challenging Trixie, if people ended up hurt? Only a single difference, a single difference only. People getting hurt in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Otherwise, the Blue Spy could well go ahead. That’s what she was built for. The cause in the name of which she killed barely mattered, only that she could do it.

“We need help. Fluttershy,” Applejack whispered. “Here’s what to do. I’ll stay right here, keeping mah eye on the thugs, you go get Zecora, the real Zecora, this time.”

“Wh-what if I, I encounter her again?” Fluttershy whispered back.

“Don’t worry, Sugarcube,” said Applejack, gently patting her friend’s forehoof. “Somehow Ah suspect she ain’t one to try pulling the same trick twice. On the other hoof, Ah’m mighty worried for Zecora’s well-bein’ all of a sudden.”

“Surely she’ll expect us to go looking for Zecora,” Fluttershy countered anxiously. “After all, that’s just what Rarity and M-minus asked me to do, before I met her and she… she hypnotized me.”

“She won’t hurt you. That part, she told it true.”

“Why’d she want to keep us apart, though?” Fluttershy wondered. “It’s so strange. Like she knew all about us, our names and who we were, our friendship. Like she… respected us.”

“She knew about us… and our friendship.” Applejack mulled it over ponderously. “Maybe that’s just it. Maybe she knows we can do impossible things when we’re all together, like break into a brickyard fulla varmints, live to tell the tale. Ah don’t think she wanted us to die. But nor do Ah think she wanted us to save anyone else’s lives.”

A deep scowl took root on her face, right below the brim of her hat.

“Hurry up and fly, Fluttershy. Fly like you were helpin’ Rainbow call up a tornado.”

Much to Applejack’s surprise, despite the tense situation, the buttery pegasus tittered.

“For a moment, you sounded just like Zecora, there.”

The mare paused in midstep on the grass, her ears perked up and alert. “What was that?!”

“What was what?” grumbled Flare from ahead, resolutely marching on, toward the great boulder which was their destination, tucked away at a comfortable distance outside the brickyard’s stuffy confines. “I don’t hear nuffink.”

“Hush up there!” she shushed him tensely, one forehoof still hovering above the long grass. “I coulda sworn I heard someone.”

He stopped and turned to face her. “Ah, ya just been hearing things.”

“Says the stallion who got spooked by a rabbit in a bush!”

True to his name, Flare’s cheeks turned a somewhat deeper shade of orange at this remark.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, lass,” he said, leaning himself against the boulder, modulating his voice into what he plainly hoped was a suave tone, “Don’t let’s get skittish right now, it suits you none. Checking out that bush was your idea.”

“Only because you were absolutely pressed for a quiet space to make do like a rabbit,” she retorted huffily, catching up to him. “If Locksmith finds out we sneaked off guard duty, he’ll have our hides tanned for sure! I mean, we are meant to be on the job...”

“That’s what I say, Sunny,” snickered Flare as he set back on track. “And don’t worry, if ya think I’ll be granting ole Locksmith the privilege of tanning your pretty–”

And then he froze at the sight which greeted him around the corner. Hidden in the shade the boulder provided from the afternoon sun, between grey rock and their agreed-upon bush, sat Sunny, mouth clamped shut and hooves tied behind her back with green slime.

“Isn’t it such a nice surprise, Flare?”

The mare behind him laughed softly as green flames enveloped her, revealing the distinct chitin form of a Changeling.

He tried to take a breath to scream, only for the Changeling to spit out green goo, covering his entire face. His cries were muffled, as he struggled to rip off the slimy substance, rolling across the ground before he fell still, struggling to breath.

“Shush now,” the Changeling said quietly as he used his magic to tear open a small hole for her snout. “Sergeant Jaka, the east wall is clear. Two more for lockup.”

“Good, Lieutenant Coxa. Report back to the group once you have them secured.”

“Roger.” Coxa looked down at the two ponies, an inscrutable smile on his face. “Boy, you two got lucky. If the Queen were in charge of this, you would’ve been placed inside the same pod for what little love you have for one another. But that’d be force, and we’d have to hear Elder Mythuselon gripe on and on to the Queen about giving us a bad name.” The Changeling thought it over before shrugging. “Oh well, we’ve got plenty of love now. Up you go.”

Both ponies wiggled in the his grip, as he buzzed away, their muffled cries going unheeded by anyone around them. The forest grew silent after his departure, and for a few minutes nothing could be seen or heard, until the low grumble of a certain unicorn came into range.

“I mean really, darling. Why in the world would you have a secret entrance?” she huffed, blowing the leaves out of her now-tangled mane in the process.

Her small pegasus of a companion only smiled indulgently. “Former adventurer,” answered Minus, inducing a head shake from the other as she gazed about the clearing, and spotted the outcrop of boulders, just the ones she’d been looking for! Though when Minus turned back to face Rarity, she saw the unicorn looking anxiously back the way they’d come. “Hey, don’t worry about Fluttershy and AJ. Fluttershy… she grew a lot in ways I’d never thought possible for a mare of her standing.”

Rarity giggled at her description. “Yes, well, when Twilight told us that Fluttershy regularly wrestles with a large bear, I found it kind of hard to believe.”

“Oh yes, Harry is such a hoofful. Fluttershy’s the only pony I know who can take him down no problem… Outside Fuse or myself, at least.” Minus sighed at the mention of her husband’s name. Rarity gave her a sad smile, gently putting on hoof on her shoulder, all of which she returned in kind. Then she broke it off. “Thanks. Come on, this way.”

“Where does this lead out of?” Rarity asked as Minus led her towards the boulder.

“Into the kiln, though we have to move fast, because it will shut as soon as we open it.” Minus explained, grimacing as she stared at the large piece of rock before her. “It’s a one-way, so we’ll... have to get out through another. Hope we can bring someone’s massive strength into the mix if it means fighting our way out...”

Next to her, Rarity noticed her continued underlying frustration, and sought to tactfully divert the subject.

“Um… why’s it one-way, dear?”

“You know, it made sense to me and Fuse when we first made it.” Minus paused, face beset by owlish blinks as the question bounced around her head. “Something about it serving best as ‘an entrance, not an exit’. Huh, figures. Don’t want enemies getting in through one of your own escape routes, after all. Now… whole thing just seems kind of stupid.”

Rarity blew wisps of her mane away from her face, albeit not without an amused snicker. “Must be an adventurer thing, I suppose. Come along, dearie. Open up so we can go save the lout of your life.”

Fuse snorted disdainfully. “I can’t tell ya nuthin’ about a Weaver, ‘cos I don’t know who that is, plain and simple. Might be I did know, but if so, all gone now. Yer wastin’ time, ya might as well give me back to Locksmith and let him fry me.”

The icy blue grip of despair, scarcely kept at bay by his own sweeping willpower, began to tighten around Noteworthy’s heart as, feeling like a stallion sinking beneath the surface, the realisation closed over him that even bound, beaten and forced to kneel in mud, the village brickmaker would give no other answer. Whether out of misplaced sense of honesty or bull-headed lack of guile, Fuse wasn’t going to tell their captors anything but his mind.

Yet the white unicorn with the weird ‘tie’ didn’t seem ready to take a hint.

“Bollocks, Shorty,” Blackjack growled. “Memories are more than just these little tendrils of thoughts any old mage can pick and stopper into a crystal bottle. Mayhap gold standard’s only an idea, one that works if everyone believes in it, but it sure needs precious metal to exist in the first place! So it is too with people,” he added wrily. “Look at you, you’re an earthpony squelching about in a claypit… more than the place you make your so-called honest life’s living in, you know this is where all life first came from. Tis’ why if I said right now your mind is mud, it wouldn’t be an insult.”

“And yer point being?”

“Macua here is no mind mage or dreamweaver,” explained Blackjack, respectfully indicating the tattooed earthmare who was shuffling on three hooves with barely-concealed impatience, “But she molds some of life’s very fabric as well. If it came to it, I could ask her to probe your brains her way. Only, that’d be rather… physically unpleasant. Hence I was hoping to check and see if you’d managed to keep something safe inside that thick skull of yours… that was an insult, by the way.”

Sadly, this remark as good as flew over Fuse. “Ooh, mare offering pain. Very forward of ya, I’m sure, sweetheart,” he said, even though he was staring down Blackjack upon saying this, “Except, I’m a married stallion. Have to call a summit meeting afore gettin’ back on yer offer. That is, if ya feel like sharin’ at all, of course.”

The unicorn and the earthmare shared a sharp, black glance.

“Disgusting,” muttered Cihuateto.

“From way back in the old days,” Blackjack agreed. “Well, no need to dwell on the past.” Abruptly, he had his sights on Noteworthy and the injured mare. “And how about you two? Anything you’ve got that might’ve evaded the blast radius when your minds got wiped?”

Alarm bells were ringing in his head now, resounding so very loudly that Noteworthy had to bite down the pained groan his senses were practically screaming at him to release, for when the bells rang, it was more than mere figure of speech. His skull felt ready to crack open.

He made a snap decision. He remembered very little, it was true. But he had eyes unlike any others, he hadn’t taken any real punishment yet, and more importantly, the trembling, injured mare next to him had. A clear path took shape in the morass around him.

“I might have… something,”

Immediately, he was choking back a gulp when Cihuateto seized him by the neck.

“Something?” she echoed in a sinister monotone. “Get over here.”

Blackjack’s pallid red aura wrapped itself around Noteworthy’s entire body, forcing him to his forehooves and pulling him closer to the claypool. He bit his lip, wishing against hope his nerve wouldn’t fail him. At least Blackjack was quick to haul him where he was wanted, not puppeteering his forehooves into carrying the whole of his upper body weight alone, as had befallen Fuse on the way between brickyard and pit.

They held his head stretched out over the claypool, so close his lips were almost touching the surface. Teeth clenched beneath closed jaws, Noteworthy tried not to breathe in. The pool didn’t smell unpleasant, not exactly, but it was a thick, powerful scent of raw, humid earth, and he feared that if he drew breath too hard, he’d end up choking himself on clay. Worse, the proximity was flooding his senses with the same stupefying, dull brown.

“You remember something?” Cihuateto demanded.

“Not… not quite memories, you understand,” Noteworthy explained nervously, ever-conscious of the thin, muddy line before him separating air and asphyxiation. “I just… see th-things. Things that leave a trace, can’t wipe ‘em out, everything does it, even… people’s memories, I guess.”

“So you say you were part of an organization that was all about hating ponies,” Blackberry repeated slowly. “Only they didn’t start off being all about hating ponies, until they did. And then you left them because it was getting too hateful.”

Prasad inclined her head a single time. “Except it ain’t so simple. One day, it’s like I wake up from a bad dream and I says to myself, girl, you gotta get out of here. Easier said than done. Not to mention, when you get where you wanted to be… you find that others followed, and brought their baggage with them… stuff like that, it doesn’t ever quite wash away.”

“But you say you weren’t about the hating?”

“No, kid,” she sighed. “Just fighting for our lives, like any person has a right to. Before the rot crept in, there to stay.”

He swallowed, collected his thoughts, then spoke them in a low voice, gazing at his cuffs.

“Now I think about it, that makes two of us…”

“Well, why didn’t you leave, then?”

“I’m a medical practitioner,” he retorted, a hint of indignance rising in his throat. “Haven’t earned a full-time licence yet, but bound by oath, darnit!”

The pilot, meanwhile, turned glum, to Blackberry’s inward surprise and guilt.

“Did I, did I say something wrong?” he asked delicately.

“No, you remind me of someone I used to know.” Prasad sounded so utterly drained that for a brief flash, he couldn’t recognise her as the same person who, moments ago, had been holding back a whole cauldronful of anger behind that flintlock. “Always the young ones, get all worked up over a cause, and then they…”

She wearily shook her head, the side of it pressed to one hand resting against her vehicle.

“...Like that doe you talked to?” Blackberry began tentatively.

Prasad blinked twice, before letting out a surprisingly pleasant laugh.

“A doe,” she chuckled. “Wait till Bjorgman hears that one! You’ve really got no clue, do you?”

“W-well, she, she does sound like one, it reminds me of Hearthswarming Eve, that’s all!” Blackberry indignantly replied. “I-i-it’s an honest mistake!”

“Sure is, kid, sure is,” Prasad agreed heartily. “Funny thing is, that’s not the first time anyone’s called her doe-like. Personally, we think of her more as this lovable dork, a bit nosey in other people’s business, but at least she means well. She does have that… elvish aura around her. Heh, should get the others to pool money, see how she’ll react to a doe plush next month...”

“We may’ve run into something bigger, Sarge. I’m seeing a few of those nasty-looking ones… beating the others. It’s getting worse, but I have a clear shot. Is Plan B still viable? Over.”

“Negative, Nordfjell, hold your fire, over. Coxa?”

“Sir, I’ve successfully dispatched the first few guards on the way to the VIP, but I can’t hide out for too long, over.” Coxa replied.

“We need to start moving,” Sergeant Jaka muttered into his radio as they all snuck against the brickyard wall. “Go in loud and fast.”

“Loud, huh?” Lieutenant Scratch piped up, causing the others to turn to her. “I can do loud.”

“Good enough,” Jaka said approvingly, before continuing his talk with Coxa. “Lieutenant Coxa, clear the gates on your side. Lieutenant Scratch is going to clear the way first, over.”

“Understood, sir. Coxa out.”

“I just got one thing for Ana, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Watch my flank.” Vinyl’s smirked as she trotted away from the group. “You guys can admire it if you want.”

Before Jaka could do so much as form a rebuke, Harwood ruined what little semblance of professionalism remained by bursting into hysterical laughter.

“Ma’am, I like your style!”

Jaka decided to let the slip go, yet he mentally filed a note to have Harwood be the one sent out like this next time, should circumstances allow. Though knowing how things stood between he and Bjorgman, perhaps the results wouldn’t be altogether different, alas.

“Right, on your mark, Lieutenant.”

The large thugs stood in front of the gate, staring at the road with boredom. Their ears picked up as they heard the muffled sound of some very odd music coming further down the bend.

“What the hay is that?” one asked, only for another stallion to elbow him, pointing at a unicorn mare wearing purple shades, with white fur and a striking dual-toned blue mane approaching. They stared at her with confusion, wondering why she was swaying her backside around. At least one was clearly enjoying the show.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” the unicorn called out cheerfully.

“Well, things, were pretty boring, but they got a whole lot better now you’ve showed,” one cheeky stallion remarked, causing the mare’s smile to grow wider.

“Thanks, dude! You know how to make a mare feel good!” She dug into her pack in order to pull out a strange device, which she floated before him. “Here, it’s for you.”

“Uh…” the stallion held out his hoof and grabbed the thing. “What is it?”

The group watched as something was pulled out of the strange device, and tossed away. The mare then pulled on her earphones and the tint of her sunglasses grew darker.

“An experience,” she said before the world exploded in light and sound.

Everypony jumped in shock at the loud sound that burst from the gate, shouting and screams echoing out before it drew into silence.

“What’s going on?”

Locksmith stormed out of the warehouse. He blinked as the gate slammed open and a unicorn mare trotted in, along with several armed and armored beings behind her.

“I’ll show you how to really make a scene!” the mare yelled out, pulling out two small speakers from her saddlebag.

“GET ‘EM!” Locksmith roared, the gangsters rushing forward. He and his cronies raised their batons and staffs, ready to attack but the unicorn smirked, not intimidated in the least. She simply pulled out a small white rectangular device and awarding the charging group with a most beaming smile.

“Let’s party!” she crowed as three gangsters, large and heavy earthponies leapt at her, and the small speakers exploded in sound and magic. Locksmith’s jaw dropped as the entire charge was not only stopped, but was blown back into a large heap.

This… music, if it could even be called that, felt as though it had burst his eardrums, rattled all his teeth, and maybe even liquified his insides.

Amidst the chaos and confusion caused by the so-called music, Locksmith heard soft thumps, and all around him his underlings fell in stunned agony.

The ashen pegasus glared at the mare who had started it all.

“Who are you?!” he demanded.

The unicorn mare just smiled and replied, “You don’t know who I am? I’m the fucking Original DJ, bitch!”

“Picked up a bit of feedback down there, sir,” announced Specialist Resolute.

“Vanhoover-Actual,” said Marcus. “What’s the sitrep down there? Over.”

Silence briefly followed, interrupted by what sounded like Jaka clearing his throat.

“Is, is that music I hear?” Specialist Resolute said, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s better if you hear it for yourself, sir,” the Sergeant deadpanned. “We’re not exactly all about–”

‘For the love of all that is holy,’ Marcus silently prayed, ‘Do NOT say ‘that bass’.’

“Conventional warfare,” the Sergeant finished.

Marcus blinked as the thrum of whatever genre of electronic music Vinyl was playing echoed through the radio. And followed with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“God damn it, Vinyl. Just had to make a scene.”

“GAAAAH!”

Ana pushed her radio away, recoiling from the loud burst of - if her hearing hadn’t fooled her - bass and screeching synths having taken her by surprise. Quickly enough, the sniper regained her composure and readjusted her sights.

‘Faen i helvete! What was that? Oh!’

Now snickering, the sniper returned to her scope, still trailing the guard post. It was all too clear that a certain DJ had broken cover and gone in shock and awe.

‘Gotta readjust the first hit a bit, blast!’

In spite of Vinyl’s rather abrupt breaking of the stealth element, the large crowd in the guard post had dispersed, leaving a much smaller group of opponents in its wake.

Fewer targets, fewer shots.

‘Well, here goes nothing. Good luck, everyone.’

For one stallion, it was as if the world had exploded into a cornucopia of colors and tastes. Past the harsh clang of the bells pounding at Noteworthy’s brains, past the smears which were clogging his sights in the stressed haze of his poor head being held dangerously close to the claypool’s surface by a murderous earthmare ready to drown him at the drop of a pin, the music of Vinyl Scratch shone through.

To many living creatures, when the red mist falls across their eyes, it is as though a burst of rage-fuelled vigour, of blood-pumped strength, a seething, desperate, angry desire to just live in defiance of how the world seeks to smother you, promptly takes over – that, there, is the ultimate expression of what life, beneath all the soothing sights and sounds and many other cues which compose the ordered rhythm of civilized society.

In his case, the pure energy released by the music filled him full of what could only be properly called determination.

“What the–”

Blackjack, the ruffian, had no time finish his phrase as, with a furious roar powered by this newfound second wind, Noteworthy reared up on his hindlegs, ignoring the weight applied on him by the much larger earthmare. The force of it reeled her, but she had the presence of mind not to loosen her forehooves from his shoulders.

Well, too bad for her.

Driven by an agility he hadn’t known he possessed, Noteworthy slammed his forehooves on the muddy edge of the claypool, an impact which sank them about three inches into the softened clay. He ignored it, pouring all his willpower into keeping them rock-steady, as the momentum sent him in a forward buck, throwing the surprised Cihuateto off and cartwheeling over his body, into the claypool with a mighty splash.

Mane flapping, Noteworthy sharply pulled his forehooves out of the mud to face Blackjack, who stood a few paces further away. By the look of it, the only reason why the thuggish unicorn hadn’t moved to intervene owed itself to getting taken off-guard by the simultaneous onslaught of the musical attack and a captive’s unexpected resistance. However, the element of surprise was already beginning to wear off, if the bared teeth and dark glint in his eye indicated anything.

Yet in a rush of sensation, the solution presented itself, like the missing piece on a puzzle. There was no question of letting this ruffian make the first move. And to that end, his own teeth set on edge, Noteworthy took the chance away from his tormentor.

Almost instantly, his cyan-blue aura manifested itself around the black baton Blackjack wore like a makeshift, cynical parody of a classy tie, and pulled. Under normal circumstances, he couldn’t have shifted a pony of such bulk more than a pace or two. But, with his strength multiplied by the adrenaline burst, and their standing on a muddy, slippery surface, it so happened that Noteworthy succeeded in yanking the thug’s necktie with such force, Blackjack fell face-forward into the sludge.

“Karma,” Noteworthy whispered, allowing himself a small vindictive grin.

He hadn’t the time to savor victory, as a stab of pain coursed through his hind leg. Yelping, he glanced backward to find what appeared to be over a dozen rotten eagle claws, emerging with a horrid slurping and popping sound from the dampened earth under his hooves, grabbing, clawing to drag him below with them.

To his bewilderment, Noteworthy saw that the earthmare hadn’t been struggling for long with the mass of wet clay he’d dunked her into. Much on the contrary, the very essence of the pool seemed to shift around her outstretched hooves, and judging by the aura of blood-red waves exuding from her, it was plain to see the malice directed at him.

“Vemana,” she uttered, a low rumbling in the back of her throat.

There was no doubt of it. Cihuateto would kill him if he did nothing to save himself.

A twinge ran through the length of his horn, and, eyes following the direction of its pull, he noticed his aura still wrapped around Blackjack’s baton. What had drawn his attention was the thug desperately pawing at the chain, obviously in distress – the thing had tightened on the white unicorn’s neck like a noose.

How easy would it be, to yank it just a little further…

“Stop!” he yelled at Cihuateto, his voice very different from the intimidated plea of when he’d last asked this of a thug. “Back off, or I’ll do it!” And as such, his voice sounded more ragged than he remembered.

She spotted her companion’s ordeal, and understood her former captive’s intent.

“You don’t have the guts,” the earthmare sneered. “You needed us for this, didn’t you? If you could really choke him, you would’ve already done it.”

“And give you all the more reason to strangle me?” Noteworthy shouted back defiantly. “No! Leave me and the other two alone, I leave you alone, that’s how it goes! I’m n-not someone who… does it… for the fun!”

“Fun’s just a side bonus,” Chihuateto said off-hoofedly. “Mostly, it’s the money, moreso for these colts. Sometimes, it’s just revenge.”

Bells, bells resounding harder than ever on the walls of his skull. Cihuateto gave him a look bordering on pity, like a stern parent tut-tutting before their misbehaving foal.

“You’re not going to do it. Not far gone enough. Some people, one bad day’s all it takes. But not you… you’re too soft-hearted for that.”

Was he really? For a moment, not just her immediate vicinity, but the whole of his world had turned red, the response of a soul who’d taken so much of seeing others suffer in one day...

Something caught his eye. The injured mare, looking at him pleadingly, and next to her, the village brickmaker, whose gaze never quite wandered towards the unfolding clash of wills. Suddenly, it all became clear to Noteworthy.

“Alright,” he whispered. “You want him? Then CATCH!”

And with a supreme effort of will, he telekinetically hurled Blackjack into the claypool, straight at the earthmare. Just as he’d hoped, the simple unexpected nature of the action caused her to lose focus, all claws and witchery dissolved into dust. He was free, for the time it took to flee.

Catching his breath, Noteworthy briskly trotted over to other two ponies left in the claypit.

“Nice goin’, blue boy,” Fuse grunted. “Ya better be makin’ tracks.”

“We can’t leave you here, sir!” Noteworthy protested, reaching over to fumble with the thick ropes which covered the brickmaker’s whole torso, binding his forehooves behind his back.

Fuse pushed him away with a bump of the shoulder. “Knew the guy who knotted these up. Ya won’t get ‘em loose in time, son. Give it up, and scram, if ya know what’s good for ya.”

“Then we can carry y–”

“And apply more weight to that poor mare’s ribs?” Fuse snapped. “No, save up yer strength for her! Besides, even if both of ya were unharmed, would be useless... Too heavy for the little ones, like yerselves,” he concluded morosely.

“Telekinesis…” Noteworthy started, unwilling to let the matter drop.

“Jus’ go, damn ya!” Fuse barked at him. “No need for ya to pay the price, you or the mare! I’s the one they want, I can deal with ‘em. Now get yerselves someplace safe, so one can claim at least some good came outta this!”

“How?” the injured mare whimpered. “There’s thugs everywhere, and now, whatever just made that awful racket!”

The brickmaker’s left ear flicked towards something behind him, much to their bewilderment, given how there was nothing be seen there except more damp earth, its sole distinguishing feature being that it was set below an prominently jutting part of the grassy overhang which marked the line between claypit and the terrain above.

“What… what you trying to say?” she managed to stammer.

He shook his head impatiently. “Secret passage. Over there, see that circular patch, right beneath the overhang? That ain’t just earth, it’s an entranceway covered by a curtain of old corn and grits colored ta look like some random piece of earth. Wouldn’t catch yer eye… unless ya knew where to look.”

“And where would that lead?” enquired Noteworthy, still trying to wrap his head around the idea of a secret passage.

“Back to my office, brickyard,” Fuse admitted reluctantly. “Everywhere really. Tend to use it find slackers or make surprise visit to the other areas of the yard. No matter. But go halfway,” he added, spotting the looks on their faces, “Hole up ‘til this blows over, and ya should be fine. Hopefully’.”

“Look–”

“No buts! Jus’, jus’ go!”

With great reluctance, Noteworthy left Fuse, an apologetic look plastered upon his face, to help the injured mare stand, gingerly laying her bad hoof, the left one, around his withers for support. It was all covered in mud like the rest of her, staining her cute chartreuse mane and frilled pink vest into a colorless mess, but then, he hardly any better off.

She nudged him, relieved. “C’mon, sir. Let’s, let’s get outta here.”

And without looking back, they headed towards the circular patch Fuse had pointed out.

A small, angry web of cracks slowly snaked its way across a patch of the kiln’s interior wall.

“Empty!” Minus snarled, biting into her lip deep enough to draw blood as she nursed her bruised forehoof. “I refuse to believe it. Go to all the trouble of locking a guy up, don’t so much as have the decency to keep ‘em trapped. It’s as if these days, you can’t even trust a ruffian to act like a proper ruffian anymore! What is the world coming to?”

Rarity felt the onset of a headache coming on.

At the Ranger’s insistence, she’d left her horn permanently lit up, in order to channel all her energies into guarding the entrance to the kiln – nothing more than a slab of granite on a spring, designed to be pulled down effortlessly into a makeshift ramp, which would then close up automatically – from trapping them in turn. This was no easy task, for a slab capable of carrying Fuse’s bulk could give the most concentrated unicorn’s magic a run for their money, and to make matters worse, she was standing at the edge of the huge granite trapdoor.

“Well,” she commented, keeping her tone cool and clipped. “Looks like the choice has been made for us. We’ve got to rescue Major Bauer first.”

Her companion took several deep, catching breaths. “Yeah…” said Minus, with a reluctance she barely concealed. “Yeah, nothing else for it, I guess. But something feels wrong here. I see either one of two reasons why they’d let Fuse out, neither of them good. First option, if we’re lucky, he’s agreed to rejoin their gang.”

“And if we’re unlucky?”

“Wait up, Rarity,” Minus snapped. But her expression quickly softened a little, though her cheeks grew no less flush. “He would never do that, not if I know him at all. I’d pursue him to the ends of the world if he did, and he cares far too much to let me spend the remainder of my days chasing after him.”

And Rarity knew, by the look in the Ranger’s eye, that Minus wasn’t using any of these familiar terms in the way the heroines would in the romance novels she liked to read.

“So where are they?” Rarity asked.

“I’m not sure,” Minus admitted. “Though at a rough guess based on past happenings, we’re probably dealing not just with your typical money-grabbing horse thieves, but full-on insane cultists bent on committing a blood sacrifice, then getting sloshed during the after-party.”

Rarity forced the horrible images out of her imaginary sight, which wasn’t as hard as she thought it might be, after the pictures she’d seen and the testimonies she’d heard of the Solar Tyrant’s crimes against life. That idea brought her scant comfort.

“Why would you think that?” Rarity asked.

“I’ve been around,” Minus said.

“Still,” Rarity mused. “Sacrifice? Wouldn’t they need some sort of, I don’t know, altar for that? Where’d you find one of those in a brickyard?”

This remark was greeted with a great clap of the forehooves from the Ranger.

“Only one place for it,” Minus smirked triumphantly. “Claypit.”

“Oh,” Rarity sighed wearily. “And here I was, thinking things could only get worse.”

Minus raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t that be ‘couldn’t get any worse’?”

“No, no, things can always get worse, I’ve learned that now.” Almost on cue, a loud bang echoed out from outside the kilnhouse. The sound of shouting and gunfire roared past them, prompting Rarity to sagely nod and indicated the wall as if to prove a point. “See, what did I tell you, it got worse. So, not only have we got a fight breaking out all around us, but why did they have to get so messy on top of everything else?

“Now don’t tell me you still mind dirt...”

“Of course!” cried Rarity. “But I’m talking about more than mere dirt in this chaos! Do you have the faintest idea who’s fighting who at this point? Because I don’t think I do. Everything’s coming apart at the seams here!”

“Hold up. Let’s see if yer really Zecora this time,” Applejack said, a hint of warning in her voice.

Standing beside an out-of-breath Fluttershy, who’d forced herself into engaging in the back- and leg-stretching muscle exercises the Major had taught them to preserve stamina, the zebra witch-doctor just gave her an impassive stare, prior to nodding a single time.

“Alright. Gonna ask ya a question only the true Zecora could answer,” pursued Applejack, enunciating each of her words carefully. “Sumwhat she told me after Luna’s visit on Nightmare Night. Why do yer do that rhymin’ thing, and almost no other zebra does?”

It was indistinct, yet a shimmer of sorrow gleamed in the Everfree witch-doctor’s eye.

“Although you may know me as a healer of bodies today,” she said softly, “it used to be so that I had not found my way. Once was I driven by impetuosity of youth, and fancied myself a greater healer than that, forsooth! Aye, a wise mare to bring the balm to people’s very soul. But of course, that arrogance was to take its toll. Pray do not ask me to give you the full detail! We are not to know of all which lies beyond the veil. Cast out was I by my people from my home, left to wander and mayhaps atone. Suffice to say that just as I once pursued unholy incantation, it now is my penance to speak only in recitation.”

Applejack drank in her words. Stared at her. And reached to grasp Zecora in a bear hug.

“Exactly the same words you told me…” Applejack whispered. “Why ya can relate to Luna.”

Fluttershy joined them in sharing the comforting embrace.

Grunting, heaving, Stephan labored to drag Discord behind one of shelves of drying bricks, Erma helping him at best she could by picking up her father’s tail. When Discord let out a pained howl despite Stephan’s best efforts in gently setting him down, Erma was prompt to leap into his open arms, an action which solicited a discrete smile of fondness from the sick Chaos Lord.

“Ihr versteckt euch hier, ja?” Stephan told them, kneeling next to the pair, still clutching his newly-acquired orichalcum knife, the only weapon he had in this place.

“Uh… what…” groaned Discord.

“Looks like we’ve got company.” Stephan growled, staring at the doors with trepidation. “They may try to come in here and use us as a shield, as negotiation for their release and a free pass out of here.”

“Well… we can’t, can’t have that now can we?” Discord coughed out, placing a paw atop of Erma’s head. She puffed up her cheeks, little fangs extending from her mouth in an effort to look vicious, but Discord indulgently pressed the fangs back inside with a thumb, making her blanch self-consciously. “Now now, daughter of mine. You’ve done enough as it is.”

“We will sit and wait. If our kidnappers come in, then we fight,” Stephan leaned back as the sound of rushing hooves echoed through the doors. “But if it’s our people, best bet would be to stay down and out of the way of fire.”

“Sounds… ugh… sounds good. Yeah,” were Discord’s final comments, before his eyes rolled to the back of his head, falling unconscious once more. Erma stared at him with worry, tugging at his limp arm. Stephan ruffled her hair in an effort to reassure her.

“Worry not, Mädchen,” he said kindly. “Your father’s just sleeping. For now, I want you to be quiet, in case they come.”

“We should be safe in here.”

The tunnel was wide enough for as many as three equines of above-average height to walk through standing side-by-side. On the downside, there was no lighting, natural or otherwise, so the soft cyan glow of Noteworthy’s horn served as their only guide. He asked himself how an earthpony like Short Fuse, or his pegasus wife, could possibly navigate their way down here without seeing anything. Maybe they just had the whole route memorized.

Over the course of the journey, supporting the mare with her injured hoof slung over his wickers, Noteworthy’s forehooves had been carefully tracing the cavernous walls dug into the earth. At long last, they found what he was looking for, tapping into a wooden panel up to head height. Satisfied, he indicated to the mare that she could let go and lay down for some rest.

“This must be the entrance to the office,” he deduced. “Guess that if walk on any further, we’ll come across some other exits or what have you. But we don’t know where they lead, so best we stay here like he suggested, and wait it out.”

“Seems awfully paranoid, doesn’t it, though,” the injured mare remarked, pressing her back to the wooden panel. “Building them hidden entrances and tunnels all around your place of work.”

Noteworthy shrugged, hoping he came off as more confident than he felt. Images of the fight with Cihuateto, the unearthly claws seeking to drag him down into the earth’s depths, how he himself had nearly committed a drastic act against a fellow pony, kept burning in his retinas.
“Paranoid, yet a life-savior,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” she replied quietly. “Too bad it couldn’t save the poor chap… whoever he was.” The injured mare blinked at him, holding back tears, still clutching at her ubiquitous flowery hoofbag. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. Hardly remember where I live or what my name is… only that humans are scary, and now, ponies can be too...”

“Hey,” Noteworthy told her gently. “Less of the glum talk, okay? Everything’s going to be alright.”

“How?” she sniffled. “How’s everything gonna be alright?”

“Well, first off, we should start going over what we do remember,” he said brightly. “Our names, for instance. Should’ve done that from the start, saves everyone a lot of trouble, asking people their names. I’ll go first. Mine’s Noteworthy, what’s yours?”

She stared at him, blushing. “It’s Peachbottom.”

“Peachbottom?”

“My parents loved me,” the injured mare insisted, a little defensively.

“No doubt they did, Miss,” Noteworthy said, attempting to soothe her. “Nothing to do with you, only, it’s… funny, for me. Not like you think,” he hastened to add. “It’s just, I see these colors… But anyway, yeah, sure they must have loved you. I’m sure they loved you very much. After all, those are the kinds of things we’re fighting the humans for, to keep safe, right?”

“Trying to fight the humans for,” Peachbottom corrected him, nervously groping her hoofbag. “I’m… I’m just a frightened mare, M-mister N-no-noteworthy.”

“Well, you must of had a reason to be here… With time, you would remember why, and maybe come to an understanding with it. You have to be pretty brave to be here, at the very least.”

Peachbottom blushed softly at his words, but nodded along eagerly. “Heh, maybe? I… I can barely handle being in here.”

“Scared of the dark?” Noteworthy asked as the light on his horn grew with intensity.

“No, scared of being t-trapped…” she murmured.

“Ah, I see.”

Noteworthy quietly guided her down the narrow tunnel, doing his best to calm the skittish mare. Inquisitive as ever, he took note of a few tunnels that branched off the main tunnel, no doubt leading to other entrances and exits around the burly, secretive stallion’s yard. And blinked in shock as a loud bang echoed all around him, causing him to take a step back, letting go of the mare in his charge for a second.

An eternity passed. He flicked his ears, but there was nothing to be heard except his own ragged breathing.

“Come along, Miss. We need… to…” Noteworthy blinked in utter shock when he realized he was missing said mare by his side.

“Miss Peachbottom!” he called down the darkened tunnel. “Miss Peachbottom, where are you!”

“Hear a noise, Minus?” Rarity asked, jolting her horn to light up more of the surrounding gloom.

“Psst, keep your voice low, Miss Rarity,” Minus advised her from up ahead, trotting quite at ease down the lengths of tunnel network, light or no light. “Nobody else knows about these hidden passageways, but better safe than–”

Something whooshed past them in the near-dark, stopping the Ranger dead in her tracks.

“Good grief!” she exclaimed. “Did you see that?”

“Barely,” Rarity admitted, shaking. “No chance to get a good look at it. All I picked up on was that whatever it was, it was peach-colored, I think.”

“Peach-colored?” Minus repeated. “Huh, maybe a giant mole. Didn’t seem interested in hurting us any, after all. Never heard of any peach-colored ones, though…”

“How much further are we?” Rarity demanded, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. Despite letting off steam, she’d felt ready and capable enough on the surface. Down here, however, nothing in her training had prepared her for playing “tunnel rat”, and as such, she was left dependent on Minus for the duration of this trek, a constraint she did not enjoy.

“Just another two corners,” replied Minus, who had a knack for getting asked that question not long before arrival time. “Follow me this way, and…”

Her voice trailed off. She was too far ahead for Rarity to see what troubled her in the darkness.

“What is it now?”

“Oh, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Minus swore, yet the force wasn’t in her tone. She merely looked and sounded thoroughly dejected. “The entrance… it’s gone.”

With some trepidation, Fuse stared at the cloud of dust slowly drifting past the two enforcers as, they looked over the collapsed entrance with blank stares. Not two seconds ago, using her savage magic, the earthmare, Macua or whatever she called herself, had only just finished placing a last patch of wet clay over it, and in perfect tandem, Blackjack’s horn had hardened the slop into a crust, sealing that path forever.

‘I’ve been out the game for a long time… Miss Do must’ve been of been more hindrance to the Doc than I realized, rubbing it in his face by making money off it in writing, while he got shafted by the deals and his name got dragged in the mud…’

Given his own damp, sticky situation, the irony of that last statement did not escape Fuse. His eyes narrowed as that thought trailed to a certain someone. ‘And Minus didn’t see a single bit this entire time. Beginning to understand Jacky’s mare’s hatred now, always thought Do was too headstrong and full of bravado, but without Minus or anypony else to curb those tendencies… Damn it, ‘Daring’, what did you do?’

“Yer know,” he coughed out, “I don’t think Doc would like ya optin’ for straight-up murder. Don’t fit his sense of style, nor playfulness.”

Blackjack wiped the last of the clay off himself. “Normally, you’d be right… but...”

“No more games,” Cihuateto cut him off, giving Blackjack a sly look. “Just as the adventurer must learn that actions have consequences, so too must those who stand in our way.”

Blackjack sighed, yet nodded acquiescence. “Doc Caballeron’s trying to run a business, Shorty. And if good old-fashioned tomb raiding won’t make ends meet, he’s got to look someplace else outside the rule of law for his pet projects.”

“Which means going a step up from the schoolcolt villainies advertised by the adventurer in her, must it be said, quite watered-down series of books…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Fuse growled sardonically. “Yer truly are the tough guys now, ain’tcha.”

“More than you can possibly know…” Blackjack muttered.

‘I have to get out, I have to get out, give me the sky, please gimme a way out! IdontwanttobehereanymoreIwantoutOUTOUTOUTOUT!’

Peachbottom rushed through the tunnels, blind in the darkness and suffocating beneath the tonnes of dirt surrounding her as she bumped into the too-small corners and twists and turns. She slammed right into a wall, hooves scrambling for a way out, but only meeting more dirt.

“No! Nonononononono!” Peachbottom cried out in terror. “Let me out! Please!”

Wailing, she threw her hooves up and hit the ceiling, a loud thud echoing out and for a second, glorious light shone through a gap created by the impact, one too finely linear and narrow to be just a crack. The darkness returned a second later, but Peachbottom remembered the light, and felt for where it had come from, and literally touched wood. She had figured her way out!

“Yes!”

Cheering, she threw her hooves up again, slamming the hidden trapdoor open with brute force. She giggled madly as she leapt out of the hole, kicking the door shut with a smile on her face. Yet when she turned around, she instantly froze in shock at the sight of the two-legged being standing behind her, its head cocked to the side. It slowly raised its firearm, aiming towards her.

“Hold–”

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! DOOOON’T EAAAAT MEEEE!”

Her hooves scrambled for purchase, ripping up the floorboards below her with ease as she raced away and ran through the nearest empty shelf, shattering it like mere plywood.

Harwood stared for a second before giving chase, jumping after the crazed mare through the mess of splinters she’d made, just in time to see here plowing through several thugs in the courtyard outside, sending them flying with looks of utter surprise on their faces.

He winced as the unfortunate ponies, none of whom had wings, crashed back into the ground, one of them not ten paces away from Vinyl, still at her speakers.

As plainly taken aback as anyone else, even for someone who claimed they’d seen it all, the DJ lowered her shades to stare as the mare raced wildly around the yard, plowing through equipment and stacks of crates without even slowing.

Screaming all the way, Peachbottom constantly shifted directions in a rush of people and places as everyone tried to stop her, corralling her to another section of the warehouse. She just wanted to go home! Why did she have to be here! It wasn’t fair!

She turned the corner to find another thug blocking her path.

Sliding to a halt, the poor little injured mare that she was froze stiff as he began to quickly race towards her, the adrenaline rush falling away and removing the numbness by which she could ignore that twisting pain in her ribs. Frightened, she tried to back off, but he was gaining on her.

Only for a blur to slam into his side, slamming him straight into the nearby warehouse’s wall.
Peachbottom’s savior, a red pegasus flapped his wings several times in her direction, waving not at her, but signalling somepony she couldn’t see. She didn’t care, though. At last, she thought excitedly, here was a pony willing to fully protect her, with his kind smile and that wonderful fiery mane. Peachbottom was all for throwing herself at him…

Until green flames engulfed his entire being.

Dread took hold of her as the unwantedly familiar and terrifying form of a Changeling took the fabulous-looking stallion’s place.

“NOOOOOOOO!”

The panicking mare threw herself to the side, plowing through a crate like it wasn't even there, her eyes so focused on the Changeling behind her that she didn't even notice the–

A wall of downy fat, fur, feathers, and muscle abruptly sent her flying backwards.

“Ooof!” the massive black-headed griffon squawked, clutching at the spot where she’d inadvertently hit his lower abdominal region. “Well now, lil’ Miss, that is quite the tumble you took there. Any faster and you could’ve embedded yourself in my belly!”

“... Meep,” Peachbottom whimpered. “IpromiseItasteterribleandI’llgiveyouindigestion!”

“Eh?” the griffon asked. “Didn’t catch that–”

But Peachbottom didn’t stay to hear the rest of it, for she managed to give the massive griffon the slip as she fled, away from the courtyard before the kilnhouse and toward the delivery depot at the back of the brickyard. She didn’t look back, neither at the Changeling, nor at the griffon, not at anything as she barreled through the hastily patched gap. All she cared about right now was running free through and through, away from all of those nasty gangsters and those strangers and alien creatures and whatnot.

A shadow descended upon her.

Without even looking up, she’d barely managed to dodge out of its way when the ashen pegasus crashed onto the ground, a hateful glare leveled at her.

So close, so close...

“Now then,” Locksmith began in a low voice. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Please let me go, mister...” Peachbottom sobbed. “I d-don’t mean any trouble for y’all...”

“SHUT UP!” he roared. “I don’t wannna hear anything come out of yer piehole, lady. Someone had the bright idea of ruining me and my boys’ plan, and now, don’t even care who, someone’s gotta pay.”

The thug ringleader glared at Peachbottom so fiercely, all other pain in her body seemed to simply glaze over, and a numbing chill took hold over, helpless as she was to do anything except back against the depot’s thick brick wall. The growing mess in the claypit suddenly felt far, far more preferable over whatever unpleasantness the ashen pegasus had in mind.

But she lived to regret her lack of action, for the next thing she knew, Locksmith had pounded forward with a hoof aimed at her bruised leg, and white-hot pain consumed her entire being. She bowed over, struggling as the impact rippled throughout her body.

Locksmith loomed over Peachbottom, mouth contorted in a twisted grin.

“Ya bloody ‘Loyalists’, nothing more than shy lambs being led by wolves into a slaughter,” he taunted her. “Ya all thought ya were doing such great things… but in the end, you were sacrifices for the ‘greater good’. Bah! If we were in charge? Ya’d be seeing a lot less of us, and a lot more ‘missing pony’ posters. But enough dawdlin’, I'm gonna get my pound of flesh.”

“Wh… why?”

“Because,” Locksmith said, “Everything has gone flank-end-up, and I am sure as Tartarus coming outta here with somethin’. Don’t much care much as I get mine.” His smile grew more deranged as he towered over her. “Frankly… coulda made a better career choice than fightin’ for yer country. Ya don’t have that spark... but I do… So let me SHOW you!”

Peachbottom’s mouth opened for a scream as Locksmith’s wings flared open...

But a crack sounded out, and the thug reared back in shock.

“What now?” he roared. “What sort of hay-chewing, horseapple-brained moron had the bright id–”

“I did,” replied a gruff, weathered voice from somewhere above Peachbottom. “And if I were you, I’d let the lass go.”

“HAH! And who do you think you are?!” Locksmith spat back. “Fancy yerself some sorta white knight in shining armor?!”

His challenger’s response came with a bang, in the shape of a volley of diminutive projectiles, of the sort fired by the griffons’ flintlocks, yet sleeker, sharper, speeding by almost too fast for the naked eye. They scarcely missed their target to hit the cobble-stoned ground behind him.

Shivering, Peachbottom fearfully looked up.

A grey-headed gregarious griffon hovered above the two, his eyes narrowed at Locksmith. Armed with a blade and a black firearm that was surely of human design, the weathered-looking griffon swooped down in front of Locksmith, his sword drawn.

“Let the lass go, gangster swine, and yield,” he said menacingly.

“Ain’t your fight, featherbrain!” Locksmith yelled, stomping a hoof hard on the cobblestones, interposing himself between the griffon and Peachbottom. “Ya don’t get it, do ya? We had the Chaos Lord in our grasp and you had to go ruin it all!”

“This is not how it works, colt.” The elderly griffon swung his blade at Locksmith, stopping just inches away from cutting his throat. “Way I see it, the crimes you jokers did? That’s worth a couple years spent in the dungeons. Now, as I’ve said, yield!”

Unfortunately for him, in keeping his eyes focused square on the ashen pegasus’ wings, the elderly griffon failed to spot in indistinct movement of his rear hoof...

“LOOK OUT!”

Her panicked warning came a second too late, for the pegasus, taking advantage of a sharp crack his hoof had made in the cobblestones, reached downward and throw a gritty hooful of dirt into the griffon’s face. Dazed and confused, the elderly griffon barely managed to parry a stab of the knife Locksmith had kept tucked under one wing, but the blade ever so slightly tilted left, sending it into his hind legs instead of what would have been a fatal slash.

The griffon took off with a powerful wave of his wings, his flintlock pointed straight at Locksmith. The volley of projectiles from it was enough to force the ashen pegasus to take flight as well, stabbing and slashing with utter malice and vicious desire.

But, from Celestia knows where, something whizzed by. It was clearly another invisible projectile of some sort, for the depot wall close to where Peachbottom lay cowering suddenly had a tiny, circular hole carved out of a spot which had been solid brick just before.

“Huh?” she asked weakly.

Seizing the opportunity, the elderly griffon’s claws curled into a fist and struck the ashen pegasus across the face. Lockmsith recoiled from the blow, yet he did not fall, and just raised his head to flash his opponent with a look that spoke utter loathing.

“Stand down!” a foreign voice barked.

And in strode a black-clad human, hand raised to reveal one more black firearm. The human’s features were hidden by its mask, and it towered over Peachbottom. “Stand down now!”

With a grunt, Locksmith grabbed the elderly griffon with his hooves and threw him down, striking the human and sending them both tumbling. He spat, pointing at the three below.

“This ain’t over yet! I’ll get you all next ti– AAARGH!”

And the thug ringleader lurched back in pain, as a cloud of blood and flesh exploded from where his right ear should be. Before a second impact could tear his head off, he dashed away, out of the group’s sight or reach, through an open upper-storey window into the delivery depot.

“Missed the shot, Actual,” spoke a distinctly feminine, soft-spoken voice, from somewhere out the ether, so far as the increasingly woozy Peachbottom could tell. “But target should be incapacitated, over.”

“Understood, Nordfjell. We’ll take it from here,” the human said as he stood up, dusting himself, taking in both Peachbottom and the elderly griffon as if noticing them for the first time.

“Take the civilian inside the kilnhouse,” he ordered. “Should be safer for her now.”

“Aye aye, Sergeant,” the elderly griffon said in response.

The human marched back in, weapon in hand. Gazing after his retreating form, for a moment, Peachbottom felt her heart sink, even as her head began to spin in a daze and the long-dormant pain from her bruised ribs started to overwhelm her.

“Alright, lass, come up. I’ll take you inside,” the elderly griffon said wearily. “The rest of the boys should be cleaning up right around now. It’ll be safer for you as well.”

“No, no-no-no, don’t take me back in there, please...” Peachbottom said in a daze, lazily waving him off, her vision rapidly blacking out.

“Calm down, lass,” the old gentleman of a griffon grunted, hoisting her over his back. “You’re in no condition to brave the Everfree by yourself.”

“I… I can’t, please.”

“We’ve got someone to help you, don’t worry. It will all be alright.”

Peachbottom idly wondered to what extent the griffon’s words would hold true, as she lapsed into unconsciousness.

It was, as her companion might have said, a full house. All around them, fellow gang members were busy beating a hasty retreat back to the drying shed, most of them sporting some form of injury or another on their bodies.

“The deck was stacked against us,” Blackjack muttered as they discreetly retreated back into the claypit, the queasy popping sound of splintering bone echoing out once more from up ahead, one of their own crying out in pain. “Lady Luck just isn't on our side, Macua.”

Cihuateto could have screeched. She could have stamped and cursed and raved at the unholy vengeance she’d rain down on these intrusive aliens for getting in the way of her purpose. But that was not how she went about such situations when they arose. She looked back, and there in the claypit she saw Fuse’s motionless form, still breathing, and more importantly, still lying bound by ropes in the mud.

A cold smile graced her lips. “Are you saying we ought to cut our losses, partner?”

Blackjack nodded urgently, “We need to escape, cover our tracks so they can't follow...”

Her companion hurriedly took several steps away as the same sickly glow began to envelope the whole of Cihuateto’s wiry frame. And as that occurred, her sword, hovering even with no unicorn magic to guide its path, took a glide past Fuse and nicked at his left cheek, drawing a spot of blood. Apart from a token wince, this provoked no response from the brickmaker, not that she was awaiting one. No, what mattered was when she brought the sword’s tip in touch with the same lower, wetted depths of this pit of clay where they’d taken an involuntary swim earlier today, piercing through into a space in which something new would take shape.

“Don’t you worry, Blackjack. The likes of Short Fuse and Locksmith can deal with griffons, they can deal with wild dogs and zebras, but when faced with an otherworldly threat…”

Her smile grew more feral, in tune with the rate at which the magic began to spread from her body towards the ground. Close by, the hitherto stagnant and opaque yet tranquil surface of the claypool began to bubble, to froth, to groan.

“What better than another otherworldly threat?”

Author's Notes:

Hey guys! Surprise surprise! Another chapter for you all!

We are now set up for another 4 months... or are we?!