The grey mare stood on the streetcorner, eyes closed and cello in hoof. Sweet music flowed from her instrument, washing over those who walked by. Octavia swayed slightly as she played, her tan uniform dusted with ash and a roaring heat at her back. Her song was gentle, mindful that the sun would not rise for a few more hours, but still clear through the crackle of fire and hiss of pressurized water. To her left was a soaked huddle of red rags next to a shattered pair of purple glasses, the remnant of her best friend. To her right was a contingent of fireponies, working feverishly with black-armored operatives to quell the blaze and save those still inside. In front of her, a glum-faced gryphon directed traffic and squawked into his voxcaster unit. He probably sleeps with that box of wires and crystals, she thought.

Passerby saw these strange things, and some stopped for a closer look. On later reflection, they would not remember the unconventional equipment those ponies in black armor were stowing in their AFV, only a soft melody that seemed to carry them away from the scene. It did not drive them off, but rather filled their minds with pleasant thoughts of what they could be doing elsewhere. At its core, the song was pleading for them to remember the beautiful things of life, for they are so fleeting and easily lost. None would remember the streetcorner musician, only the raging inferno behind her, and the music that ushered them away.

That is the story of my life, Octavia thought to herself as another explosion ripped through the safehouse behind her. Smoke rose high in the sky. She heard the clatter of wheels as another burned operative was lumped onto a stretcher and shoved into their only AFV, and added a somber note for him. The story of my life... playing my cello while the world burns around me, searching for a moment of beauty in the chaos.

Fire could be so beautiful. She opened her eyes and saw it reflected in the windowpanes of the nearby buildings. It flickered and danced as though it were alive, with a will and a malevolence all its own rather than purely a natural phenomenon. The mare sighed and rolled her neck to the side, stretching it out. She had been playing for quite some time, but that was not why her body ached. The sniper had received a beating from one of those dull-eyed monsters. It was as though every city in Equestria had spawned a dozen from the sewers, and the Lady Bon Hadescream had responded with surgical force. Octavia yawned, careful not to disturb her song, and glanced down at the remains of her friend, curled up next to an empty water barrel. This was the first pause either of them had known for quite some time, as soon as one city was stabilized they were on a train to another.

It was a hard life, but a good one. This was where she belonged, where she was needed. This was what her father's training was good for, and she had many opportunities to use her own special talent. The operatives they reinforced were often weary, and though she was not the Angel of Death with a golden harp, Octavia was still able to bring some cheer with her music. She winced slightly, and shifted her weight from one hind leg to another. Wounds from one of those strange vampires lasted longer than those from mere bullets. One had gotten the drop on her, and proceeded to kick her about like a cat with a new ball of yarn. Standing orders for operatives were to kill the "bleachies" on sight, but the Lady Bon Hadescream had asked for her to capture one if at all possible. The grey mare was stronger than the beast, but it was faster than her, and possessed a sort of brutal cunning that kept it one step ahead of her shots. Octavia had finally decided that bringing it in still kicking was untenable when it knocked her to the ground and tried to force her sidearm under her chin.

That was why she had a splotch of red all over the front of her uniform. She had tried to clean off, but the bleachie's head had exploded like a grape when she shoved the barrel of the pistol up and beat it at its own game. Her pink bow-tie had barely survived. Rollins had spent the next few hours muttering some litany under his breath and performing arcane rituals with isopropyl alcohol and salt, but he had managed to salvage her beloved accessory. Yes, she had others, they were one of her little indulgences, but those were back in her catacomb underneath the Bon Hadescream Estate. Save for the one around her neck, all the bow-ties she had packed when they first set out from the castle were thoroughly ruined. She had given each of them a proper decommission with heartfelt mourning.

In the past eighteen hours, she had routed a small kidnapping ring, rescued a police officer from a gang of "moonshiners" who had really been brewing deadly neurotoxins, and slipped a sack of bits into a busking musician's case when nopony was looking. The cellist felt a smile creep across her muzzle as she hugged her instrument a little tighter against the early morning's chill. Vinyl had been slacking, as usual, asleep until nightfall. She claimed that she could march about in the sun if she felt like it, but the unicorn was rarely seen before the day's last rays retreated over the horizon. However, according to the comms reports, she had hopped out of her coffin and begun merrily slaughtering her way through whatever the branch commander had pointed her towards as soon as the moon rose. She had returned from that assignment before the grey mare had finished hers. It had been a long day for the grey mare, and Octavia had been looking forward to a shower.

The grey mare took a deep breath, and coughed on a stray piece of ash. Everything had been going so well until they returned to base. Her driver had just announced they had arrived back at the safehouse when the first explosion rocked the ground. For a moment, confusion had reigned. It was a situation that the Lady Bon Hadescream would have easily managed, but she was back at Central Command, filing papers and meeting with The Nine to justify the Organization's continued existence. So, as more explosions shattered the night and a burning mare in a red trenchcoat came flying out a third-story window, Octavia had turned to the highest ranking officer present and smiled expectantly. She was an Asset, not an Operative.

That officer was of course a certain gloomy gryphon, who had made a self-depreciating remark about how far the chain of command had fallen and issued a few very wise orders that had kept the fire contained until the red wagons with wailing sirens pulled up. Choosing to lead by example, he was the first one out of the AFV, which was festooned with barrels and ladders to give the impression that it might be a perfectly innocent repair vehicle. He had snagged one of those large barrels, unscrewed the top with his claws, then swooped above the burning vampire and drowned the flames with a deluge of water. Vinyl had gone from rolling about to lying very still, her scorched epidermis hidden by the remains of her trenchcoat. After a moment, her hat twitched in what might have been a sign of thanks.

"Curses," the gryphon had said with a hint of a smile. "I thought that was fuel."

Octavia had been standing close enough to hear, and had decided that he was trying to be funny. His order to her had been simple. "I need a diversion. Something to keep civvies from rubbernecking while we clean this up."

That was why she stood on the streetcorner, playing her cello. Music was her gift, and so she gave it to others with all her heart. She ushered them away faster than any vague threat or loud bullhorn could. Her gift was peace, the calming whisper that this is not your problem, this is not your suffering, this is not your load to bear. Music was a language that spoke to the heart, not the mind. Go to your home, enjoy your life. There is nothing to see here but a fire, and as beautiful as it is, your heart longs to be home.

She had done that for the past... oh, three songs, perhaps an hour? Time was such wibbly-wobbly stuff when she was performing, all that mattered was the music. The mare glanced behind herself, tail still swaying in time with the music. They had finally gotten the advantage over the blaze. She smiled, pressing a happy overtone into her music, and looked upward. The moon was beautiful tonight, as were the stars, but she still felt so very cold. Why had there been an explosion at the safehouse? Octavia pressed the thought down. It was not her place to ask, and nopony else knew any more than she did. The truth would come out, one way or another. She glanced down and saw that the mess of red rags had crawled into the overturned water barrel. The grey mare reached out through that subtle empathic conduit that she and the vampire shared... but felt only pain from the other side. It was strange, usually Vinyl came bouncing back from even the most ghastly of injuries, but the vampire seemed quite content to huddle and shiver. She had just finished mulching through a list of enemies, and had done it in record time if the reports were to be believed... surely she was not lacking for strength?

The grey mare bit her lip and tried to focus on her music. Vinyl was her friend. Her savior. Vinyl was always there for her, well... mostly always. If she needed something, anything, Octavia would gladly give it. She swallowed hard. Those thoughts were because of the friendship between herself and the vampire, not because she was just as much of a marionette as those vitae-addicted ghouls... right?

Octavia pushed those thoughts away too. Discipline kept her on task. Regardless of what she was, or why Vinyl was pouting in a tin can instead of getting up and lending a hoof, she had orders. Good orders. She would follow them, and take her peace from the knowledge that she was serving Harmony. Her cello was the start of a babbling brook that urged all those who heard it to follow the stream back to their homes. The fireponies with their thick helmets were somewhat insulated from the effects of her song, but she noticed that even they paused now and again. For the operatives, this was their home, burning with some fire of unknown origin that had taken many of their comrades away.

Comrades. The grey mare wondered why that word seemed to stick in her mind. She glanced across the street. Her eyes turned cold, and she did not see the beautiful fire reflecting in the windows, the curious ponies trotting past, or even Rollins yelling at a carriage to clear the intersection. She saw only a frowning face that would shame even the grumpy gryphon, printed on a poster in an alleyway. Below it was the slogan: ARGUS Watches. ARGUS Knows.

Officially, ARGUS was a "private security company", bidding their services to understaffed police departments, nervous elected officials, and wealthy businessmares. There was very little separation between their "legitimate" activities and their monster hunting. The eradication of cults was sold to the public as "war on drugs". Their quiet policy of "disappearing" the impoverished and unlucky was whitewashed as "war on poverty". Whenever someone dared to question the thin veil of lies, they became the target of a "war on fear". War. War. War. ARGUS lived on war. Well, war and Council funding. The nobles of the Nine rather liked the idea of a private military-industrial complex under their command, and ARGUS was far more pliable than a silly old candy company. The Bon Hadescream Corporation had outdated things like morals and business principles, while ARGUS had glorious promises of a future lurking just beyond reach. Those ends justified all the shady acts, and nopony questioned too deeply where the vast sums that flowed into ARGUS' coffers were sourced from... or, perhaps more troubling to the grey mare's heart, where all their sad-eyed "soldiers" were recruited.

Octavia played her sweet music and thought again about that word. Comrades. Where had she seen it? The mare closed her eyes and thought again. She was tired, as they all were. The fire was waning now, she could feel the heat at her back ebbing away, and the sirens had long ago fallen silent. All that remained was the buzz of the city and her song. She would help them haul Vinyl to... wherever Rollins would mark as the fallback point, then find a bunk and rest herself. Maybe she had seen it on a shipping crate or something. Celestia's dawn would come, and when she awoke somepony would have figured everything out. All she needed to do was play her cello. One breath, in and out... mmmm...

Screeeeeeecch.

She opened one eye. A Chimera had skidded to a stop in the middle of the intersection, and ponies were marching out of it in lock-step. No attempt at subterfuge had been made, the AFV had a twin-linked heavy machine gun mounted on a pintle turret and a rotary cannon installed next to its driver's viewport. On the side facing her was painted an angry eye inside a cogwheel. Octavia took a deep breath. "Oh, bother." She saw Rollins mutter something far less refined as he was surrounded by ponies toting assault rifles.

Several of the operatives exchanged nervous glances as three more Chimeras pulled up, each painted with the same all-seeing eye. Sure enough, a proud young pegasus with a high-peaked hat bearing the ARGUS insignia marched down the ramp of the first Chimera. He strutted up to the gryphon, who had given up on directing traffic since anything driving toward the intersection was met by a line of heavily armed soldiers in thick greatcoats. Rollins heaved a sigh and put on his most diplomatic smile.

"Comrade!" the pegasus practically shouted into the comms officer's face. Octavia continued playing, but shifted the purpose of her song from move along, move along to the sun shines upon all, friendship and sisterhood. Warm, rich overtones drifted across the intersection, touched with snippets from centuries old anthems. She heard a clunk to her left, and saw that Vinyl had pulled herself completely into the barrel. Meanwhile, the fireponies traded nervous looks with the few ARGUS soldiers standing around their red wagons. The sniper looked around the intersection, and assessed just how badly they were outnumbered. Worse, only a few of the operatives had weapons of any kind, while ARGUS had enough firepower to level the entire block...

Dear Celestia. Judging by the look on Rollins' face, they might actually try it. Octavia glanced at the barrel containing her best friend, but still felt only pain and silence. She looked back at the street and saw Rollins growl at the pegasus, who sneered right back. A few of the operatives had sidled closer to her. There was little cover, if ARGUS decided to open fire they would all be dead within a minute regardless of where they hid. The grey mare was still struggling to understand why. Certainly there was rivalry between the two organizations, but you could not just shoot ponies dead in the street and expect nobody to care... right?

"Backstabbing scumbags," one of the operatives behind her muttered. "We paid them up front, too."

Octavia's eyes widened, and she turned ever so slightly while still performing. "Paid them?"

"Shipment of weapons." The operative lowered his head. "They were liquidating some old gear... and it was cheaper than our own manufacturing costs. Especially since we lost those workshops before you got here."

"I thought," the cellist asked softly, not wishing to attract the soldiers' attention, "there was an embargo on trade with ARGUS?" Ever since Manehattan almost two years ago, the Bon Hadescream Organization had frozen almost all relations with the overbearing army-for-hire.

"Leases, contracts, combined-forces agreements, yeah." The stallion nodded sadly. "Doesn't apply to one-off transactions... and BRANCHCOM decided it was a good deal on some hardware we needed."

The grey mare continued to play her instrument. "Where is your commander?"

He sighed. "We found her in there... wasn't pretty." The stallion stepped closer to her, having seen the Asset in action before. "It was just rifles, hard ammo, and some explosives. Nothing fancy, they said they had better gear coming in and needed to clear room."

"I rather think they were perfectly honest with you," she replied. "But the room they wanted to clear was in our safehouse, not their warehouse." The grey mare glanced down at her friend again. There was a remote possibility that this was not sabotage, but rather entirely due to the pale mare's meddling with a crate of freshly-arrived high explosives.

"Spiii...der," echoed from inside the barrel. The voice was raspy and weak. "Spider in the... crate. Jumped on me."

Oh no. Octavia resisted the urge to press a hoof to her face, and continued to play. Vinyl, you idiot-

"We didn't order one of those," said the operative, puzzled. He looked into the barrel while remaining two meters away from its mouth. The stallion had seen Vinyl in action before as well.

"Those what?" Octavia asked, puzzled. Perhaps Vinyl had not been making a play-fort with blocks of nitroglycerin.

"Spider-drones, they're self-animated target-sensing automatons." Seeing the blank expression on the cellist's face, he elaborated. "It's a new ARGUS pattern, the drones have four little legs. They skitter along the floor in search of a target. When they find one, they speed up and try to get within lethal range before detonating." He shivered. "But who's crazy enough to trust a suicidal machine-spirit with friend or foe recognition?"

The metal barrel rolled slightly, and Octavia favored the operative with a particularly humorless look. "I do not know, who would be crazy enough to slip one into a shipment in the hope that it would blow up their unwanted allies' base?"

He looked at the ground. "What do we do, ma'am?"

"I'm an Asset, not an officer." She looked over at Rollins, who had a cheaply assembled pistol poking into the front of his armor and an overconfident pegasus barking into his face.

"Do they expect us to run?" another operative asked.

"No." Octavia glanced to the side at the fireponies who were standing awkwardly in front of a line of armed ARGUS soldiers. "They expect us to die." She thought for a moment, then realized the ham-hooved brutes honestly could pull it off. Shoot everyone, burn the bodies, intimidate or replace the fireponies to have them corroborate the story. Yes, they could get away with it. As to why... she did not understand the politics, but ARGUS seemed to operate under the idea that they alone should protect the citizens of Equestria from the things that lurked beyond the firelight of civilization. Perhaps they needed no reason, only opportunity.

Her instrument case was on the ground next to her. She measured the distances with a glance, prioritized targets. If she put her cello away and drew her rifle, she could kill the pegasus before he shot Rollins... but she would not be able to put down all four gunners on the Chimeras before they opened fire. Then there were the mobs of soldiers to worry about, all heavily armed and drilled to think that accuracy was something that happened to other ponies. She could take a few rounds, but her concern was not her own survival.

If only the Lady Bon Hadescream was here... she thought. But the grey mare knew she might as well wish for Princess Celestia to stop by and pat Rollins on the head. She had always found it curious that, if the Bon Hadescream Organization was the only secret society truly authorized and enstated by Celestia Herself, why they did not get a little more respect. The sniper took a deep breath and cleared her mind. Such questions were not profitable at this moment. The moment she saw the ARGUS members ready their weapons, they would all become acceptable targets.

Octavia glanced back at the operatives, then down at the water barrel. Raw power was not on their side this time. This was all too neat to be a coincidence, whatever had been in that spider-thing must have been meant to destroy Vinyl... or me. Twelve ARGUS soldiers were standing between her little knot of operatives and the fireponies, and they had just clicked off their safeties. The pegasus with the high-peaked hat laughed oafishly into the gryphon's face. Rolins tolerated it with a fatalistic frown, but Octavia saw his wings twitch. Octavia drew her song to a close, and bowed her head. "Pick your shots, make your peace, and hold for my signal," she whispered to the operatives, who nodded in understanding. They would not go gently, that was practically the abridged motto of the Bon Hadescream Organization.

Author's Notes:

This is the first chapter of a mini-arc that will give us a look at the Bon Hadescream Organization's place in the power-struggle pecking order. This particular chapter was inspired by... oh, hades, I'll be honest. I had this image stuck in my head of Octavia playing her cello while a building burned down behind her, and I had to write it. It's so very in character for her. Why can she perform while being bothered by Pinkie at the Gala? Because even a crazy pink ball of hyperkenetic energy pales in comparison to some of the other stages she's performed on!

I want to try something new with these next few chapters. (Oh no...) For the next few days, I want to update chapters at a rate of one a day, until this mini-arc is complete. However, this comes at a very bad time for me in my personal life, so I may not be able to achieve this goal. Still, I wish to try, for I feel that this particular sub-adventure of the Bon Hadescream Organization is best told in short snippets.

Originally, this was two chapters. I looked at their wordcount, and decided I'd rather give y'all a good-sized scene to chew on than chop it up to attract more "heat" to the story. If you like Bon Hadescream, please let someone else know! I would rather have loyal readers than fake popularity.

As always, I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter. I read every comment, even if I don't get a chance to respond to each of you personally.