Silver Star wandered through the alleys of Moonrise, as though drawn by an invisible thread. He looked for Dusty in his usual corner shelter of crates and old blankets, but found no light glowing from inside. A little further he slowed for the Primrose twins, to rehearse his usual ritual of denying interest in their entirely legitimate establishment. But they too were nowhere to be seen. He sped up, eyes growing more furtive as he passed from the stone district into market district. He dodged a few leaks of sky-towers high above, climbed through steel supports, then he was into the Undermarket.

It was built almost directly beneath the center of the High Market, where ponies of color and distinction bought and sold with one another using that intangible, unknown thing that was money. A dozen stalls of scrap wood and corrugated lunarium sheets were clustered together here, along with a makeshift gate used by the “guards” to prevent theft.

They didn’t seem to care about theft today, because not a soul was here either. The stalls weren’t looted or overturned, there were no bodies or shell-casings. There was just nopony here.

“Have you seen enough?” Magpie asked, pulling on the edge of his cloak. She had a kebob in one hoof, stolen right off the makeshift fryer. There were no guards to demand she pay for it. “This is creepy as buck. Let’s just get back to my cave before somepony sees us.”

“You think… it finally happened?” he asked, voice bleak. “You think maybe the princess opened the door back to Equestria at last? They went home without us, on the day I finally decide to quit work. I’d dig holes for the rest of my life if I could dig them in our promised inheritance.”

“No.” She smacked him with a hoof, enough that he actually recoiled, bouncing back almost an entire stride. “Don’t get stupid with me, kid. You unicorns are supposed to be clever, so think for a minute. Even when I lived here the last time, ponies would be killing each other to get back. You think Regent Rockass would have to kill ponies to force them to leave? There would be ponies trampled to death, not shot on the floor.”

“Oh.” Her logic was sound. Even so, it far from reassured him. His answer would’ve been terrible, but at least it would’ve ended the guessing. Now they were back to where they’d been: confused. “So where are they?” Even as he asked, he circled around the market, all the way to a shop so important it had its own metal fence. Here was the place everypony knew you could buy things that regular ponies weren’t supposed to have. Weapons were forbidden to Reds and below. But life down here was difficult, and sometimes a weapon was exactly what a pony needed.

Silver turned a table around, revealing a dozen knives with their hoof-grips attached to the underside. He selected the strongest and sturdiest, slipping it into his cloak before turning the table back around.

“You ask me like I know,” she said, following him with annoyance in her voice. “If you want something, let me steal it. Whatever this is, it will go back to normal. That’s what rulers are for, right? Maintain that status quo.”

He wasn’t so sure of that. Why put guards at the apartment if ponies would just be going back to them? Something was happening, and he couldn’t resist the desire to find and watch. He needed to see for himself.

“There’s only one place big enough for all these missing ponies,” he declared. “The Arena.” He fell still, listening to the hum of pumps and the hissing of air overhead. He imagined he could hear hooves up in the High Market, and voices speaking as life went on.

Those ponies were too important to be bothered by whatever nightmare tormented the Whites and Yellows. And at least he had a solid final proof that the city hadn’t been evacuated. If something dangerous was happening, the Skytowers would be the first to empty into Vanaheimr.

He started walking, choosing his steps purposefully. The Arena was on the extreme edge of the cavern, where little construction had touched. That meant he rarely traveled there, since being caught in the open was just an opportunity to be targeted by the strong.

But now Silver had food in his belly and spells in his brain. He was one of the strong.

“Come on,” he urged. “Let’s see what’s going on. We can head back after that.”

“If you die…” she muttered, stalking along behind him. “I’m going to bucking pull your soul back and stick you in a doll or something to finish what you started.”

He didn’t slow down, couldn’t look away as he dodged between more supports and wiggled through the cracks in the side of the Skytower’s foundation. “You can do that?”

Magpie made a frustrated squeak. “No. Do I look like a bucking unicorn? But ponies usually don’t question it when I make scary promises. They just sorta assume. And since you’d be dead anyway, you wouldn’t be able to call me on it then.”

He choked back a laugh. “Is this how you stayed sane all those years? Just… made stupid jokes?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

He dodged between a few smaller buildings, the shorter towers that wouldn’t breach the surface high above. These were the suburban sprawl of Moonrise, where Purples and a few lucky Reds lived. There were no entrances this low in the colony—anypony unlucky enough to work in Moonrise’s basement wouldn’t be a Purple. There were some windows, and he caught a few furtive eyes watching—all looking outward towards the Arena.

A brilliant white glow illuminated the Arena even from far away, showing them the crowd in stark relief even from a distance. The raised seats were packed with disheveled-looking ponies, and the grounds all around were clogged with ponies in armor. The arena floor was impossible to see through the stands, but he could hear a voice echoing out from inside, magnified by wire.

“Do not imagine to yourselves that ignorance of what has transpired will save you from punishment! In Moonrise, if one pony falls out of line, we all do. In Moonrise, when one pony is disobedient, we all are. In Moonrise, when one pony is punished, we all are.” There was a harsh, metallic sound, followed by ponies gasping.

How close could he dare creep without risking being seen? Something drove him onward, something demanded to know what was going on in the Arena. He couldn’t make out faces from so far away, but he imagined the horror they were feeling. Something terrible was happening down there, and his instincts demanded to know what.

“No.” Magpie stopped him with a hoof. “That’s clear ground, idiot. You asking to get caught?”

He opened his mouth to argue, expecting her to chide him and force him back to her cave. But instead she pointed off to the right, on the very edge of the cavern. Here the ground had never been leveled, and here a constant coating of black moss and mushrooms flourished in the condensation that dripped always from the cavern walls. It was muddy and disgusting, dragging on his cloak—but she was right about one thing. There were no clear lines of sight this way. If they kept going, they should be able to creep very close to the Arena indeed. Maybe a dozen paces from its furthest edge. There didn’t even seem to be many soldiers on that side.

It was miserable going, made more so by the constant barking of the voice. It echoed strangely off the cavern walls, coming at them distorted and layered over itself.

“Who the buck is that?” Magpie asked, not whispering nearly so quietly as before. If anything, she was struggling with the hike a little more, since her legs were so close to the ground. She couldn’t stride over the pale mushrooms, she had to push through them. “The one yelling so loud?”

“They aren’t yelling, it’s a wire,” he said. “It’s connected to… a machine. It makes sounds louder, or records them for later. Probably both.”

Magpie glowered at him, her slitted eyes glowing in the gloom. “That’s not the part that really matters and you know it. Who is that?”

“Colonel Flint,” he growled. “Like the… the pony in charge of the low city. Every White and Yellow and Red knows her. Thinks of herself like the princess. Princess of ditch-diggers and whores.”

Colonel Flint’s voice overpowered whatever Magpie was about to say next. “Some of you may think this is a high price I’m exacting of you for the actions of a few. ‘You never saw a pony harboring fugitives! You never saw ponies making illegal weapons! You never saw a pony distributing forbidden propaganda.’”

That same metallic sound as before, joined by something meaty and wet. It had probably been there before, but as they got closer, Silver could hear it better. He could hear the muffled gasps and winces of horror at the same time. He wanted to climb over the ridge and look back, but about now they’d be as close to the soldiers on the outer rim as any who would be facing the city. He had to resist.

“Yet you knew ponies who did. You may not have made forbidden weapons yourself, or bought them, but you heard about them. Perhaps those ponies were kind to you, or distant relatives of yours. Of course you would justify their actions. You would ignore them. Worst of all, perhaps you heard a pony speak ill of the noble and generous Colonel Flint. Perhaps you heard General Rockshanks’s name uttered with anything other than hallowed respect.

“Yet the Provost Marshal’s office remained empty. Where were the loyal ponies of Moonrise, reporting this disloyally while they had the chance? Where were the ponies lifting their voices to praise the generosity of Colonel Flint in feeding creatures as unworthy as they, instead of complaining that their rations weren’t enough? The audacity! Each one of you who heard rebellion on the tongues of your companions, and said nothing—you are guilty too.

“If only Colonel Flint was half as cruel as you say she is, I would march each of you onto this stage and give you the same treatment. But all praise to the princess, I am not. I value our war against our ancient enemy as far more important. The princess requires ditch-diggers, and engine-rats, and water-haulers. Some of you contribute to Moonrise. And for your sake, the rest are spared.”

Metal again, along with wet gurgling. Silver could hide no longer—he stopped, muttering the words to his little spell. Then he clambered up the ridge, keeping low to look in at the Arena.

He was just barely close enough to see what Colonel Flint had done. As soon as he saw, he wished he hadn’t.

They’d built a machine, a terrible machine unlike anything he’d imagined. It held a glittering metal blade, balanced with a counterweight and settled into a track.

A line of ponies stood on the arena floor, all in irons and surrounded with armed soldiers.

As each one reached the machine, they were fitted into place, and the blade came down on their necks. An open metal basket of severed heads was already halfway full, and the usual arena dust was muddy red.

“Stars above,” Magpie whispered from beside him, her voice filled with horror. “What happened to this place?”

Silver had no answer for her—he wondered himself.

“Yet still, there will be consequences. You have been kept from returning to your homes—this is your reminder of the bounty that I provide to you. You will not be allowed to return until the night comes, be you Yellow or White. Your work orders will not change—arrive on time, and perform your duties. All who fail to do so will be punished as previously decreed. But this is not all. All warmth-shelters will remain closed for the first twenty-four hours of the lunar night.”

The weight of her statement hit the crowd like a wave. Ponies recoiled in their seats, gasped and moaned and muttered in horror. Only another terrifying sound of sliding metal finally silenced them, and another headless corpse rolling into the pile.

Workers from Recycling were already here with their white uniforms, lifting corpses into a waiting wagon. By the look of it, they’d need a second wagon soon.

“A whole day?” Magpie asked. “Is that… is she going to execute every single one of these ponies?”

“No,” Silver answered. “It takes a while to get really cold. The first day will probably only freeze a few ears off. And… probably a number of elderly or young ponies too.” He stared down at his hooves, expression darkening. “It’ll kill way more ponies than her machine.”

“Damn,” she swore. “That’s… cold. Something must be bucking wrong with my powers. I can’t sense any Nightmare from that stage. But I can’t imagine a regular pony so… evil.”

You think Nightmare ponies are evil? Silver turned, staring at her. Magpie looked as heartsick as he felt. So much for the fiercely dangerous Voidseeker, who knew only blood and vengeance for the moon twice-wronged.

He slipped back into the ditch, letting his hooves sink into the mud as he did so. Here he was out of sight of any soldiers who might be looking their way. But just because he couldn’t see the Arena anymore didn’t mean he couldn’t hear the machine, and know with each sound that another life was being taken.

How could you be so stupid, Silver? How could you be so selfish? Is pretending to be a Blue really going to fix all this? Do you even want to pretend?

He wanted to charge bravely up the hill, felling every soldier who got in his way, until he reached that awful machine. He would tear it to pieces, then teleport Colonel Flint to the surface to suffocate.

But that was a fantasy, and he knew it. Silver Star could win a few street fights, that was all. If he charged at those ponies, they’d shoot him before he got halfway to them. He could die on the ground, confident in his virtue as he bled to death.

He dropped to his haunches in the mud, staring down at nothing in particular. “You joined the Voidseekers to fight the Sun Tyrant, didn’t you Magpie?”

She settled beside him. He wasn’t watching her, but he could feel her nod anyway. “Yeah.”

“Was she this… evil? Did she kill ponies like that?”

Magpie was silent for a long time. Silver Star counted three more metal thumps. Colonel Flint kept on going with the propaganda, but that was all it was now. She was recounting the story of their origin, and the glory of their war against Celestia. The pride and unity they’d felt upon arriving in the moon. She spoke of Iron Quill and their other honored ancestors.

Silver Star felt that each of them must be turning in their crypts to have their names said by such a tongue.

“No,” Magpie said. “Some of the nobles were. Equestria… wasn’t all that different from Moonrise, really. Princess Celestia had the land divided into pieces, and a noble pony supervised each one, enforcing her will. In the stories, they were always noble and good—better than anypony else around them. Selfless examples of friendship to their peasants. If any ponies like that existed, I never met one.”

Silver Star nodded. “This is… what we rebelled against in the first place. Colonel Flint, and ponies like her. This is why the Nightmare Princess fought for us. Why we joined her cause.”

Magpie nodded again. “You could say it like that.”

There were already ponies standing up to her, Silver realized. That’s the whole reason this is happening in the first place. A few in our building even fought with the soldiers when they came, and died.

Were those the ponies in that solemn line, waiting to be executed? All the while Silver had been so occupied with his own misery, he hadn’t known that others were giving what little they had for the cause.

“Why doesn’t the princess do something about this?” he asked. “That’s… that’s the only way. You have to talk to her. If you fly there now, maybe you can stop the rest of these ponies from dying! She must not know about this!”

Magpie shook her head, patting him on the shoulder with a hoof. “What you’re feeling… it’s good, Silver. But I don’t think Nightmare Moon is the pony you’re thinking she is. Nightmare… influences you. It makes you see things differently. There’s only power, and obstacles to achieving it. If I had to guess… I don’t think Nightmare Moon would do anything, even if she knew.”

“She would!” he argued. Probably a little too loudly. Another metal thump, another corpse. “She’s the princess! She’s a harsh ruler, but fair. This isn’t fair.”

Magpie met his eyes, only sadness reflecting up at him from those slits. “Of course it isn’t fair. But… even when we were still on Equestria, she let her generals rule themselves. They fought to the death, and she watched. That’s how the princess has always been, Silver. If you think her appointed leader is doing things wrong, prove it by killing them. Take their place, do better. Why do you think she’s so upset about loyalty? She knows that the princess doesn’t care if she gets killed. Whoever wins between her generals, she gets the strongest pony either way. She still wins.”

A plan formed in Silver’s mind then, an incredible, audacious plan. Certainly impossible—beyond anything a White had ever achieved. He’d probably end up in that line of doomed ponies for just thinking it, yet he could consider nothing else. Colonel Flint had to die. And after her… General Rockshanks.

“You there, step forward!” bellowed a voice, much closer than any wire-amplified colonel. Silver had been so occupied in his own thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the pair of soldiers on the ridge. Both had rifles pointed at them. “More rebellion scum, lurking in the dark. Step forward, join your companions!”