Pinkie and Chylene searched through the crowd for their friends, avoiding conversation whenever they could, mostly by pretending that they were already in a deep, meaningful talk. Pinkie kept a hold of her friend’s hand, never letting go for even for a second.

With Diane around, Chylene felt significantly more at ease, but the party was still very daunting. It was a hustle and bustle of conversation, and the bathrooms seemed to be the only quiet place around. For Pinkie, the party was just very boring. Sure, they had a live band (she even recognized Octavia from the last Gala she went to), yet she thought it would be ill advised to take center stage.

Despite their personal grievances with the event, the two kept looking for Twila, Rarity, or both. The sheer size of the place hadn’t really dawned on them until they had gone from room to room to room. Dancing here, food there, dull conversations scattered all over... Pinkie even thought she saw some card tables in one room.

Finally, on a balcony overlooking the streets below, they found the tailor, alone, sitting on a stone bench. She was sipping a glass of champagne and staring out at the view. If Pinkie didn’t know better, she would’ve said the woman’s eyes were red. But Rarity always looked her best, to Pinkie’s knowledge, so that seemed doubtful.

Still, Pinkie could read her friends like books. She approached Rarity, walking sneaky-like, and hugged her from behind. “Hi, Rarity!”

Nearly spilling the champagne for the second time that night as the pink-haired woman broke her reverie, Rarity yelped. “Oh, God! Pinkie! Don’t do that when a lady is thinking. I very nearly swallowed my tongue.” She noticed Chylene still standing at the doorway. “Oh, hello, Chy! Please, come, sit. Drink?” She raised the now mostly-empty glass. “I have more.” She gestured to a half-full tray of glasses on the ground next to her.

Pinkie glared, looking at Rarity closely. Her eyes weren’t the only thing that seemed a little red. A noticeable blush definitely darkened the woman’s cheeks. Chylene went to her other side, taking a seat on the same bench. She gave Rarity a small wave.

“What’s up?” Pinkie asked. “Something’s getting at you, and it isn’t an itch.”

Rarity--Rarity--snorted. Finishing the last sip in the glass, she mumbled something harsh, but too quiet for Pinkie to hear.

Chylene asked, “What was that, Rarity? I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

Still quiet, but audible enough, Rarity said, “I blew it, screwed the pooch... I failed!”

“Failed?” Chylene asked timidly, putting a hand to her chest. “At what...?”

“At tricking that damnable Blueblood to bed to find out where the List is.” Her lips pouted, and her eyes watered. “Apparently I’m just not good enough a woman for him. Him!” She threw the glass against the far wall, shattering it to pieces. Chy squeaked and backed off a little. “Years of caution with a perfect routine, designed to hone this body to gorgeous perfection. Hours of preparation today, to top it off just so...for nothing. When you girls count entirely on me, I let you down. Just like with Alice. I’m a failure. And worse, a terrible friend.”

“Whoa! Slow down, Rarity.” Pinkie grabbed Rarity’s shoulders, spinning her around so their eyes met. “You haven’t let us down--there’s gotta be some work around. We can figure it out! We always do! More importantly though, you are not a terrible friend! We wouldn’t have you any other wah, Rarity ‘cause...well, you’re you!”

“Plus, Blueblood wouldn’t see you for who you really are anyway...” Chylene added, with a small smile.

She sniffed and said, “I know, but still...” Rarity turned, pinching her nose and took a few deep breaths. “I still messed up the plan, girls. Twila said she’d think of something, then went off with some young man I’ve not seen before. She wouldn’t tell me anything, and I haven’t seen her since. Just sat here, pitiful, pointless, planless.”

“I’m sure Twila has something up her sleeve! She always does--she’s Twila.” Pinkie put an arm around Rarity, her voice becoming more gentle. “And you’re never pointless. You’re our friend.”

Rarity returned a weak smile. “Thank you, Pinkie. I know, it’s just...” She ran a hand through her hair, letting out a breath. “This should be my sort of battlefield, girls. Even considering Blueblood, to have been so handedly denied was just a shock. I think a part of me is still in our first mission, where failure had terrible consequences. Not that it still doesn’t here, in its own way, but you know what I mean.”

Diane rubbed her chin, thinking. “Hmm...” She then let out a gasp. “I know! I can get with Blueblood! I’ve got a few tricky tricks here and there.” Chylene shared a skeptical look with Rarity, but didn’t voice her objections.

Stopping a wince, Rarity patted the thoughtful woman on the back. “Er, yes, we know, Pinkie.” She looked over her friends, neither who had judged her for her failure. Now that she thought about it, even Twila’s words now seemed more harsh due to haste and distraction, rather than true disappointment. Perhaps she was being a bit dramatic. No one was dead--at least she hoped, since she had no idea how Jack and Dash were doing--and they still had the whole night ahead of them.

Standing, she looked back to the doorway leading to the only man who had denied her. For now. Rarity was now more determined than ever, more certain of her success. With her friends.

“Alright, girls. Round one is over, and we’re down.” She held out a hand to each woman. “But not even close to being out. Shall we turn the table with three of Torani’s most desirable, single ladies?”

“Woo! Let’s do this thang!” Pinkie screamed, jumping into the air.

“Um...we’ll try our best, Rarity,” Chylene uttered, smiling gently. Admittedly, the idea of hitting on Blueblood wasn’t the most pleasant, but she would follow through for her friends to the best of her ability.

“Let’s go, girls,” Rarity stated, turning to the door. “Out of curiosity, did you see him anywhere in particular before you found me?”

“Nope! But if I did, I would’ve turned my head the other way,” Pinkie replied, with Cylene nodding in agreement.

“Mmm, well,” Rarity began, thoughtful, “let’s just find the largest collection of brown-nosing flunkies we can. He’ll be at the center of their attention, just where he likes best.”

“And then we’ll appear and be like: ‘Hey, Blueblood! We got the goods right here!’” Pinkie giggled mischievously. “He won’t be able to resist!”

“Perhaps not that direct, Pinkie, dear,” Rarity said weakly, rounding a corner. “Well, actually. That...might not be such a bad idea. If we do it right, of course.”

Chylene fidgeted with her dress. “Rarity? Um. How do we do that the ‘right’ way...?”

Stopping, she brought the pair closer, whispering quickly. “Blueblood is all about his reputation--either his own personal one or the Blueblood family name. His pride thirsts for attention and recognition of his abilities. Well, if there’s one thing that will lose him more ‘prestige’ in this collection of outdated thinkers and patriarchal louts than anything, it’s letting a woman get the better of him.” She raised up a single finger. “We can’t just go in there asking, or they’ll see it as the desperate begging. Which Blueblood can--and, in his male power, should--deny. But if we make ourselves wanted, then deny him...” She gave a cold and sharp smile. “That’s an affront to his manhood he can’t let rest.”

“Uh, okay...” Chylene looked down, saying her next words very quietly, “I’ll try...”

Resting a hand on her shoulder, Rarity gave it a small shake. “Exactly like that, Chy. They love that sort of woman--quiet, cute,” she made an ugly noise, “and docile, in their view.” With that, she continued to lead the way in search of their target.

It took less time than both Chy or Pinkie expected, considering they’d been through most of the building hunting Rarity. But Rarity noticed some of Blueblood’s typical bootlickers wandering toward a secluded room off the main hall.

It was a moderately sized smoking room, which meant it was nearly bigger than the entire first floor of Chy’s cottage in Mansfield. The decor was dark, to reduce the notice of the smoke stains along the walls. Painted a dark forest green, the carpets were lush and brown. Rarity saw the theme was pseudo-outdoors and sporting. Various animals’ remains were hung here or there, which Chylene avoided looking at with all her might.

The center of the room had been cleared, with a dozen or so tall, richly red chairs arranged in a circle. Almost all were full, each looking much the same as the last. A few older gentlemen, but mostly the up and coming youth of some of the older families, sat around, pipes or cigarettes lit and creating a stinking, visible pall in the room. A few had wives or mistresses with them, sitting on a knee or the arm of the chair, or standing obediently nearby.

This told Rarity they had entered at the perfect time. If the women were separated, attending their escort for the evening, that meant the men were in full show off mode. They couldn’t ask for a better audience to put Blueblood’s back against a wall. Provided he hadn’t found himself some tart already, Rarity added to her planning.

The trio entered and approached the gathering, eyes already turning to view them. Out of the corner of her mouth, Rarity hissed, “Sashay for all you’ve got, girls--remember, we’re here to look irresistibly desirable.” Pinkie gave a reserved nod of the head, then swung her hips in an obviously exaggerated motion. Rarity sighed, but kept her smile small, coy.

Chy had to fight through her nerves, but she found the advice of a hundred spa sessions with Rarity. It was far from anything she’d do if she could help it, but her friends were counting on her.

As they crossed the room, all eyes--men and women alike--had found them. Blueblood was, as Rarity hoped, alone. He sat, the others sitting around him, clearly at their center. The nobleman seemed almost bored, with a half drained wine glass in one hand.

The pompous jerk gave Rarity a sneer, she noticed, no doubt the words of before still pleasing him. But when he saw Chy--the poor girl was trying, with some success, but still her nervousness bled through--his eyes lit up. He even licked his lips, quickly taking a straighter posture in the large armchair.

You see a prize you hope to win, Blueblood, Rarity thought, determination filling her, but this prize has its catch. Prepare to make your worst investment yet, you impotent twit.

Jack stepped away from one nightmare into the next as she waited at the doorframe of the office.

The footsteps Jack heard intensified--coming closer to where she stood. In a blur of motion, a man in full fatigues ran past, his assault rifle strapped to his back and both arms pumping in a full sprint. In the brief glance the farmer saw of his face, raw, animalistic terror filled every nook and cranny of his lined countenance as he went right.

It wasn’t but a few seconds later that another man shot by. Before she saw him, the click-click-click of his boot heels on the tile announced his coming, forcing her back to her hiding spot. When she did see him, she goggled. Jack had to actually reprocess what she saw with a double take, it was so beyond normality.

The man’s arms were all but completely stained with red and flecks of gore--behind his full mask, the farmer could hear a rapid panting as he ran down the hall in a half-crouched, frenzied sprint.

Suddenly, there came the sound of screams.

“What the fuck’s going on?!” Dash exclaimed.

“Bolt?” Jack called out, pressing down on her earpiece and slowly stepping out into the hallway.

“Stetson! Are you hearing this shit?”

The farmer narrowed her brow. “Hearin’ what?”

“Listen, Goddamn it!”

The farmer held her breath and stood as silently as she could. From across the compound, though muted, she could hear frantic footsteps, muffled shrieks, and unintelligible yelling.

“The... hell?” Jack questioned to herself. “What is that?”

“Started just a minute ago over here. You see anything?”

Jack took a few nervous steps right, slowly backtracking towards the vault. “S-saw a man bein’ chased by another fella, looked like.”

Dash grunted. “Well, I’m going to peek around--Drake’s reprogramming an optic sensor, so the door’s not getting budged for a bit.”

“Wait up, I’m comin’,” Jack said, already at a half-jog as she traveled down the hallway.

“Just meet me by the door, hayseed. I’m just taking a look-see.” The coms clicked off.

“Bolt, fer the love a...” Jack grumbled under her breath, irked at the other’s nature. Isabelle had to be the most uncompromising woman the farmer had ever laid eyes on.

The blonde rounded a corner and froze. There, lying face down in a pool of blood, was a guard. One whose demise she hadn’t caused. Jack cautiously approached the body and braced herself. She turned the corpse over.

Two holes, each the width of a palm, had cut deep trenches into his body, effectively disemboweling him. Through his body armor.

“What...?” Jack trailed off.

That man earlier, she thought, her mind swimming through a sea of adrenaline. His arms--he did this...?

The farmer covered her mouth, feeling bile rise up her throat at the sight. Her mind came up with the likely scenario. He had been running and tackled from behind. Must have flipped on his back trying to stop the other man. Didn’t help. He got tore into. The assailant must have left him for dead--judging by the smeared and runny glove print on the wall. Man must have had just enough gas in his tank to turn over and try to crawl.

“Poor bastard,” Jack said to the empty hallways. In the distance, she heard a few muted gunshots.

Maybe the hallways weren’t so deserted after all... Her earpiece sparked to life again.

“God, J--Stetson. Get here. Get here now,” Dash barked out frantically. “The vault--get to the fucking vault!”

“Comin’, I’m comin’!” Jack said, feeling panic set in. She wouldn’t let it take over, though. Her Pa’s words were still fresh on her mind. She pressed on her earpiece. “Drake--can you get me to the vault once I find a markin’ or somethin’?”

“Of course. The schematics weren't changed that much. Just additions.” He stopped briefly. “Are you near any rooms? If you could get a number, that’d be fantastic.”

The tall woman looked onward. There, just about thirty feet ahead. She left the corpse behind her and moved on, then read over the small sign at the center of the door.

“15-B.”

“Give me just a moment, Stetson,” Spike said.

“Hurry the fuck up--I think Bolt might be in trouble.”

“...OK, OK! Got it. From where you’re at you need to take the first right you see. It’ll be easier if I run you though from there.”

“Roger.”

Jack went at a controlled run, gun at the ready and eyes alert. Every sound she heard put her on edge. Every step she took felt like it was loud enough to wake the dead.

Isabelle cracked through the earpiece once more. “Stetson?! Where the fuck--these guys, they’re--”

Jack her hand to her set. “Bolt! What’s your statu--”

A pained scream. “Get the fuck off me, asshole!”

“Oh God, Dash!” Jack threw caution to the wind, holstering her gun and sprinting as fast and as hard as she could through the hallways. She came to the T-section and swung right, pushing hard on her set. “Drake, Goddamnit, I need you!”

“Take the next left then stay the course for two more!”

The farmer didn’t need to be told twice. The hallways blurred as she ran full tilt towards Isabelle, her mind swimming with the possibilities of what happened to her. If she had gotten hurt, or...

Jack shook the thought away. Dash was fine. Dash was fine. She took a left and pressed on.

Things went to shit when she came to the next junction.

She sprinted, oblivious to everything but her own worries. At the approaching intersection, she didn’t even register the blood trail rounding the corner, or the figure, hunched and waiting behind the wall.

As the tall woman crossed the wall’s threshold, she was pounced on by a blur of speed, knocking her across the hallway and cracking the back of her head against the wall. She gazed up through her blurred vision at the person pinning her with his knees--a man in full riot gear, his arms covered in gore like the last.

He snarled and shouted, then whimpered as tears fell from his eyes--his mood shifting the features of his face with the speed of a camera flash, in a terrifying and grotesquely unnatural way that set Jack’s teeth on edge. Confusion and fear, a terrible rictus of pain before joyous laughter, and then the deep concentration of one on the cusp of overwhelming pleasure.

His voice faltering in disgusting ecstasy, the man brought his thumbs towards Jack’s eyes. The farmer twisted, threw her weight to the side, and violently rolled him off her shoulders. She rose to a knee, pushing herself back, and fumbled for her gun as he started returning to his to feet. Jack fired right as he seemed to fly off the ground in an impressively swift dodge.

No slowing, he pounced just as she fired again. Her aim was on the money, connecting square with his lower jaw; her bullet tearing flesh, bone and helmet with the ease of a fist smashing an egg. The soldier landed on her, knocking her to the ground, dripping blood and worse on her shirt-front. Jack pushed him quickly off and rolled to the side, her gun at the ready as she lay on her stomach. The corpse lay in a crumpled, twisted heap, the shot Jack fired revealing a half-blown away mouth bared in an accusing, pinched grin.

Jack took a deep, shaky breath, swallowed her dread, and made her way towards the vault.