The town of O.K. didn’t have a proper jail, forcing Quiet Earp to lock Pretty Colt Bolt in the cellar of the hotel. There he had the bandit hoofcuffed to the wall with a paper bag over his head, to minimize the risk of any mare succumbing to the stallion’s charms. In the one night since he had been captured, there had already been a couple of near-misses, forcing the sheriff to station a guard outside.

Quiet returned outside in the morning sunlight to find the other Pinkietons returning from their patrols along the main street. They had synchronized so that they would return in pairs every fifteen minutes. Octavia was with Sharp Eye while Vinyl returned with Watt Sun.

“Has he said anything?” Octavia asked.

“Nuthin’,” the sheriff muttered. “He won’t say where Messy Manes is, or any other bandit for that matter.”

To the side, Vinyl was leaning against a wall with a stalk of dried of grass clenched between her teeth. She tipped her hat up to take a long look at the others. “I get the feelin’ that we’re gonna be seeing these other bandits soon enough. Eeeeeeyup.”

Octavia frowned at the DJ. “Vinyl, spit that out. It’s unsanitary.”

“Come on, Octy! I’m just getting into the local spirit.”

“I don’t care. If you want to be a Pinkieton, you have to behave as professionally as one,” Octavia insisted. “Spit it out.”

Vinyl gave the cellist an imploring look. “Please, Octy. Just let me have this.”

“No.”

The DJ finally relented, grumbling as she let the stalk of grass fall to the ground, leaving a small trail of saliva dangling off her lip. “Some thanks I get for saving your flanks.”

At the mention of the previous day’s events, Sharp Eye groaned and put a hoof to her forehead. “I’m such an idiot,” she mumbled. “How could I have been so helpless at such a vital moment?”

Next to her, Watt Sun awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. “Uh, hey, don’t fret it. He was a... uniquely challenging villain.”

“I think you’re losin’ sight of the real problem here,” Quiet Earp muttered. “Instead of frettin’ over the feller already locked up, we should be worryin’ ‘bout the bandits who might be on their way.”

“He’s right,” Octavia said in a grim tone. “Somehow, Messy Manes knew who we were and when we were coming. How else can you explain three of her bandits trying to capture us on our first day?”

“Perhaps we could fortify the town?” Watt Sun suggested.

“You’ve seen this town,” Quiet answered, gesturing around at their surroundings. “It’s too spread out to fortify.”

“Well at the very least we could get some more patrols,” Vinyl grumbled. “How come it’s just you, Doc and us out here? Speaking of which, where is Doc?”

Quiet pointed up at the griffon district, where they could see a solitary cloud sitting apart from the others. Sitting on it was Doc, scanning the horizon.

“One griffon isn’t exactly what I call an adequate aerial patrol,” Octavia said. “Why aren’t there more townsfolk helping us?”

“Distrust runs deep,” the sheriff answered. “Gettin’ these folks to work together is tough.”

“This divide in this town is ridiculous,” Vinyl muttered. “Do you know how many weird looks I’ve gotten today?” She looked over her shoulder to spot a mule giving them a wary look. “Hey! Why don’t you take a picture, it’ll last longer!” At Vinyl’s yell, the mule started and scampered into the nearest shop.

“Vinyl!” Octavia exclaimed. “Could you at least try to act professional?”

Before the DJ could answer, Watt Sun stepped in to prevent another argument. “Look, maybe we should just relax for a moment. Why don’t you two take a break and Octavia and I will continue our patrol until you’re done?” Vinyl and Sharp Eye nodded before heading for the saloon. Quiet began heading towards the griffon district while Watt Sun and Octavia started walking in the other direction.

The pair were silent as they trotted up the main street. Octavia noticed several ponies staring at them through a nearby shop window. Their expressions weren’t hostile, but not friendly either. It seemed nopony knew what to make of these newcomers.

“Octavia?” Watt Sun asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. “This might sound odd, but I have to ask you. Was…” He paused for a moment. “Was he really that good-looking?”

“Who?” Octavia blinked. “Wait, do you mean Bolt Action?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” The cellist trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean, I don’t want to bruise your ego, but… yes. Yes, he was that good-looking.”

“So… I shouldn’t be worried about Sharp Eye, erm, reacting the way she did? You don’t think she was... uniquely attracted to him?”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying that Sharp Eye – somepony you’ve known longer than any of us – is going to abandon us and run off with a bandit?”

The stallion’s ears flattened against his head. “It’s just that… you saw how she–“

“Watt Sun, you have nothing to worry about. Yes, Bolt Action was that handsome. No, Sharp Eye isn’t about to turn tail and join Messy Manes. Alright?”

Watt Sun smiled and gave a sigh of relief. “Alright. Yes, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

They proceeded quietly for another moment. By this point, they had left the edge of town far behind, walking up into foothills covered in scrub and dirt. “Although,” Octavia remarked, smirking at the stallion, “You’d better watch out for some of these other villains. I’ve heard that Clydesdale is quite a looker. And that Black Bronc had some real muscle on him…”

Watt Sun gritted his teeth and avoided looking at the cellist. “And you accuse Vinyl of being unprofessional.”

“Reach for it, mister!” yelled a high, squeaky voice from behind them. The two Pinkietons spun around as they drew their weapons, Octavia with her sword and Watt Sun with his kazoo dart gun, bracing themselves as they turned to see...

A young filly standing in the middle of the street. She was a small unicorn with a bright yellow coat and a dirty blonde mess of hair for a mane. In her forehooves she was holding a slingshot that seemed too large for her puny frame. Draped over her back was a satchel that was so large it hung close to the ground. She was giving the two Pinkietons a dirty look, with a small pebble loaded in the slingshot and ready to fire.

Both Watt Sun and Octavia let out a sigh of relief. “Well, hello there, little one,” the stallion said kindly, giving the filly a warm smile. “You know, you really shouldn’t sneak up on ponies like that. It’s dangerous out here!” With that, the two turned their backs to the little filly.

Watt Sun suddenly felt a sharp pain on his flank from where a pebble struck it at high speed. He let out a yelp and jumped into the air, his flank smarting from the unexpected assault. “What in the world?!” he cried.

“Alright, let’s try this again,” the filly said in her high-pitched voice, using her magic to pull a hoof cannon out of her satchel. As hoof cannons go it was large, but next to the filly it looked comically huge; the barrel of the weapon was almost as thick as her body and the entire device was larger than her head. It was only due to her magic that she was able to even lift the thing.

Watt Sun gulped as he stared down the barrel. “Um... now now, little one, that’s a very dangerous thing you have there. You should give that to your par—”

“Cram it, punk!” the filly squeaked. “Don’t you recognize Filliam H. Whinney when you see her?”

“You’re Filly the Kid?” Octavia blurted out.

“I’m not a kid!” Filliam squealed, pointing her weapon at the cellist. “I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself!”

“But you’re...” Watt Sun trailed off into silence at the fierce glare the filly was giving him.

“What? What?!” she yelled, pushing the cannon into the stallion’s muzzle. “Go on, say it! I dare you! I double dare you to finish that sentence!”

Watt Sun audibly gulped. “Um... what I mean to say is... you... seem very capable for somepony at your age?” he stammered, giving Filliam a nervous smile. The filly didn’t look amused.

“You’re real funny, mister. You’re real funny,” she muttered. “Hey Black! Get in here already!”

“Okay,” came a low rumble from behind the two Pinkietons. They started and spun around to find themselves face to face with Black Bronc. He was a towering figure the height of Princess Celestia, with bright red eyes that were a stark contrast to his pitch black coat. From the train he had been an imposing figure, but up-close he was downright terrifying.

Before they could react, he reached out with his forehooves and forcibly picked up both Pinkietons by their tails, leaving them dangling upside down in mid-air. In the process, the two lost their grip on their weapons, which fell to the ground.

Black Bronc looked at Octavia and held her closer to his face. “Mmm, you’re a pretty one,” he muttered, waggling his eyebrows at the cellist.

However, Octavia proved more dexterous than the hulking villain had anticipated, as she quickly snapped into action, bucking her rear hooves straight into the stallion’s jaw. Black Bronc bellowed in pain and promptly dropped the two Pinkietons, clutching his face. The cellist grabbed her sword and lifted it above her head to strike, only to hear the click of a hoof cannon from behind her.

“Not so fast, lady,” Filliam said, aiming her cannon at the back of Octavia’s head. “Come on Black, we don’t got all day. Tie them up already.”

“Why don’t we just kill ‘em?” Black Bronc grumbled, glaring at the two Pinkietons. “After what they did to my gang.”

“No, you idiot!” the filly squeaked. “Messy wants us to take them hostage so we can lure the other Pinkietons!”

“Alright, kiddo,” the black behemoth mumbled, reaching out to grab hold of Octavia again.

“What was that?” Filliam snapped. “What did you just say?”

“N-Nuthin’,” Black Bronc answered, avoiding the filly’s gaze. “I didn’t say nuthin’.”

“Nuh-uh! Hold on a moment!” Filliam stepped between Octavia and Black Bronc, glaring daggers at the towering figure above her. “What. Did you. Just. Say?”

At the height of a typical alicorn or Saddle Arabia royal, Black Bronc’s height allowed to him to dominate over nearly any pony, and he was at least a good four times the height of Filly the Kid. But under the influence of Filliam’s deathly glare and hoof cannon, he seemed to shrink before her. “Uh... nuthin’! Look, it was nuthin’!”

“So you think I’m a kid, huh?” Filliam growled in her squeaky voice, waving the hoof cannon in Black Bronc’s face. “What, I’m adorable, is that it? I make you feel like a big grown-up? I’m here for you to bucking babysit?”

Black Bronc was sweating at this point. “N-No, no! You, you got it all wrong! It’s... you know...”

“No, I don’t know! What, so I’m stupid now? Is that what you think?” she yelled, shoving the cannon into the stallion’s muzzle at this point.

“N-No, of course not!” he stammered. “It’s... hey, where did the Pinkietons go?”

Filly the Kid whipped around to see the two agents far off in the distance, galloping back towards town.

“Aw, buck!” Filliam squeaked, stomping a tiny hoof on the ground. “After them, you idiot!” she yelled, clambering onto the back of Black Bronc. Within seconds, he was galloping after the Pinkietons.

Ahead of them, Watt Sun and Octavia were running as fast as possible. “I didn’t think... Filly the Kid... was an actual filly!” the stallion exclaimed between pants for air.

“Her picture made her seem more... imposing than I had imagined,” Octavia agreed. “I wish I could say the same for Black Bronc. A photograph doesn’t quite do him justice.”

“Uh, speaking of which,” Watt Sun began, glancing back, “I think he’s gaining on us.”

Octavia looked back to see the black beast rapidly approaching, taking huge strides with each gallop of his massive legs. Steam snorted out of his nostrils and his eyes burned red. “Get back to town and get the others!” she demanded. “I’ll hold him off!”

Watt Sun looked uneasy. “Pinkietons are supposed to stick toget—”

“If he catches up, that’ll be it for both of us!” the cellist retorted. “Trust me on this!” Watt Sun opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he gave a curt nod and continued racing towards town as Octavia skidded to a halt, unsheathing her bow and a single arrow out of her satchel in one clean motion.

She turned to facing the oncoming villains, drawing the arrow against her bow as she did so. The snorting, massive stallion charged towards her, his hooffalls booming like thunder. As he came closer, the cellist began to feel the first instances of doubt creep into her mind. Her arrow looked like a thin stick of wood next to what seemed like a train locomotive barreling down at her.

But it was too late to change plans now. Octavia narrowed her eyes, taking careful aim at the stallion’s chest as he drew closer. She could see the whites of Black Bronc’s eyes when she finally let go of the arrow and leapt to the side, narrowly missing being crushed by the charging stallion.

At first, it seemed like nothing had happened. Octavia picked herself off the ground to see that Black Bronc had simply run past her without stopping. He continued on in the direction of the town for a few seconds before beginning a slow turn around. As he slowly began to face her again, the agent noticed with alarm that the arrow she had fired was embedded in his chest, but apparently having no effect. She quickly grabbed another arrow and drew it against her bow string, this time aiming for a more sensitive location.

She let the arrow fly and it struck perfectly on-target: right in the stallion’s muzzle, embedding itself in one of his nostrils. But once again, it seemed to have no effect except to make Black Bronc angrier. Octavia felt fear take hold and she promptly fled in the other direction, desperately looking for something she could use to defend herself.

Within a few seconds she found it, and not a moment too soon. Black Bronc was almost upon her when she rolled out of his way again, barely avoiding getting stomped on and choking in the midst of the dust cloud he generated. As soon as he was far enough away, Octavia bolted for a huge boulder sitting nearby.

She stood against it, turning to face Black Bronc again. Even as the stallion came closer, the cellist could just make out the sound of Filliam’s squeaky voice yelling frantically, “No, you idiot! It’s a diversion! We’re supposed to stop them from getting back to town!” But the stallion was beyond caring, intent on crushing this Pinkieton for good. Octavia gulped, bracing herself against the boulder and forcing herself to remain still as he drew nearer.

Finally, just as before, she leapt out of the way just before Black Bronc could make impact. She heard a sharp crack and suddenly felt herself pelted by bits of rock before she even hit the ground. A huge cloud of dust quickly enveloped her and she landed painfully, skidding along the rocky ground and unable to see anything around her.

Octavia could hear stomping nearby as she slowly rose to her hooves. After a moment, the dust began to settle, leaving a startling sight; the boulder was completely gone, with only a few large chunks remaining in place. In the midst of it was standing Black Bronc, facing away from Octavia with his head lowered. A squeaky moan in the distance marked the location of where Filliam had apparently landed.

The agent picked up her sword, readying herself for a last stand, but Black Bronc seemed confused. He slowly placed one hoof in front of the other, swaying unsteadily. “Ohhh...” he groaned. “My head...” Then, without another word, he promptly collapsed onto the ground.

Octavia heaved a sigh of relief before hearing a scuttling sound nearby. She turned to see Filliam getting up again, raising her cannon and taking dead aim at the agent.

“Alright, I don’t care what Messy says!” she squeaked. “I’m killing you now!” Before the cellist could react, the filly’s horn began to glow and she pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. The magical bolt that should have fired from the barrel never materialized, and instead a burst of sparks shot out of the side of the weapon. Now that Octavia looked more closely, she could see a dent where the gun had hit the ground.

“No, come on!” Filliam yelled, taking the cannon in her hooves and smacking the side of it. “Work, you bucking thing!”

Octavia sheathed her sword and smirked at the filly. “Looks like this kid has to learn some manners.”

“I’m not a kid! I’ll kill you for saying that! I’m Filliam H. Whinney, the toughest damn—Hey! What are you doing?!” She began squealing as Octavia, now back on four hooves, reached down and plucked up the filly, clutching the young pony’s tail between her teeth. She dangled helplessly below her chin, kicking and screaming as the agent started making her way back to town.