Corvus

by Delerious

Chapter II

II

—apples, the Mare-Do-Well swore under her breath.

The second the unicorn’s horn had started to glow with a bright, vivid red, her confidence in a sneak attack had plummeted like a stone.

Quick as a whip, she flicked her hoof—the one with the loose length of cord—and lashed it around the thick cable under her hooves. She had no time to test if the tether would hold—it would have to do.

For one more dangerous second, she waited, taking a deep breath.

And then, the Mare-Do-Well jumped.

---

Trinny’s and Digger’s jaws hit the bridge as they watched the purple- and blue-clad pony, a hundred feet above them, soar into the air—and drop like a stone.

Then, their eyes strained at their sockets as the pony somehow flew under the cable, soaring upwards into the air, with a series of somersaults and twists that left them both cross-eyed. Hypnotized by this sudden act of foalishness, neither pony noticed where she was traveling until two pairs of hooves hit the wood.

The two criminals turned around, hoping to get a closer look at the strange new arrival. That was exactly what they got—the back hooves of the mare were barely inches from their muzzles.

CRUNCH.

The giant pony went first, his muzzle bleeding profusely from the mare’s furious buck. The momentum from the impact sent him through the catch fence of the hoofbridge and over the edge. Whether he hit the highway below or the East River, Trinny was not sticking around to find out for himself.

Like every aspiring criminal in Manehattan, he had heard the stories about the purple pony mere feet away from him. Some years ago—Luna only knew how long—there had lived six mares in a small town far away. Ponyville, they usually said. These six ponies were well known and respected by everypony else in the town, and even by the royalty of Canterlot, and many of their adventures were legend throughout Equestria. One of them, however, had let her desire for fame get to her head one day, and her five friends had created an elaborate ruse to rein in her boasting.

From that ruse, the legend of the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well had been born. And mysterious she certainly was—the only thing everypony agreed on was that she was always female. From there, nopony could decide if she was a unicorn, a pegasus, or simply an earth pony. Some even said she was somehow all of the above, and still others said there was more than one Mare-Do-Well. A few of the craziest ponies even suggested that the Mare-Do-Well was one of those six ponies from long ago, impossible physique for such an old age notwithstanding.

And while Trinny would admit to subscribing to many of these and other urban legends about this so-called hero, he also knew that in spite of all those stories, she was far from royalty. She was just a normal pony.

His horn brimmed with a scarlet glow once more as the mare in mauve got ready to buck again.

BANG.

The hoofbridge below her splintered into kindling, throwing the mare off-balance and down at Trinny’s hooves.

“Special talents—Luna, you gotta love ‘em,” smirked the unicorn. His voice was still a little tremulous—no doubt because of his near miss—but seeing the costumed pony struggling to get to her hooves gave him even more confidence than before.

“My family was in the fireworks biz,” he said to her matter-of-factly. “They always told me I’d be the best little firecracker in all Equestria. Shame they didn’t live to see me earn my cutie mark—a real shame I earned it when I blew ‘em and their shop halfway to Hoofington,” he added. He chuckled evilly as he turned himself to where the prone mare could see better; emblazoned on his flanks were three lit sticks of dynamite arranged in a triangle.

“But you know what?” he went on. “I found out who I was that day. What I was born to do. And that’s to make things go—” he spread his hooves apart while making a soft “pew” noise. “And I’m good at what I do. I don’t need anything else but thin air. My magic plus one puff of wind equals one big boom for Trinny.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen,” Trinny said, his eyes blazing with a fire more infernal than his horn. “I dunno who you are, or why the hay you’re dressed up for the Nightmare Night parade so early, and frankly? I don’t care—I got business to get back to right here.” He aimed a disdainful kick at Amber Bale. “And if you even think about interrupting my business, I swear to Luna I’ll tear this whole buckin’ bridge apart, and everypony here with it!” He grabbed the Mare-Do-Well by her muzzle. “Don’t. Think. I. Can’t,” he added in a sinister whisper.

“ … thnnk … wnnt … ”

Trinny moved in closer, unsure of what the costumed mare had said. “What’d you s—uunnngh … ”

---

The Mare-Do-Well removed the blunt end of her Horseshoe from the rapidly swelling bruise on the back of the unicorn’s neck. “I think you won’t,” she corrected him as he slumped to the wood, out like a light.

She galloped over to Amber Bale, tearing off the blindfold and gag to deep breaths from the former hostage. “Are you hurt?” she asked softly.

Amber slowly shook her head, refusing to take her eyes away from the costumed mare in front of her.

Hoofsteps came running up behind them. “Amber!” Hay Bale’s face was a perfect portrait of relief as he embraced his wife. “Oh, Celestia, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry … ”

The Mare-Do-Well allowed herself a smile at the reunion of husband and wife before she remembered the unconscious unicorn. “Go to the police,” she instructed the ponies. “The 5th Precinct station is just a mile to the north. Give them what they need, they’ll give you what you need.”

“What’re you on about?” Hay Bale asked.

“I mailed a package to the 5th Precinct. Courtesy of your friend Cracker.”

“What kind of package?” Hay Bale looked wary.

“Himself.” The Mare-Do-Well regretted that her cowl could not show the mischievous grin on her face. “I decided to send the postage with him, too,” she added. “He was heavier than I thought he’d be.”

“Postage?” It took a second for the Bales to understand. “He still has the money?” Amber gasped.

“Technically, the 5th Precinct has the money right now,” said the Mare-Do-Well. “All Cracker has right now is his rights—for all the good they’ll do him.” Also, a few bruised ribs and a black eye, she added to herself, but that wasn’t important right now.

“What about the other two?” said Hay Bale.

“I gave the police an anonymous tip. There’s three units on the way right now. And even if they run away, ponies like Cracker are all the same. He’ll break eventually. Name names. They’re not going anywhere.”

“And what if they do?” said Amber. She still wasn’t looking at the Mare-Do-Well, instead fixating her gaze on something behind her shoulder. “What if the police can’t stop them?”

Beneath the lenses of her cowl, the Mare-Do-Well rolled her eyes. “Then I guess I’m the only thing standing between Manehattan and a couple of psychopaths.”

Hay Bale swallowed. “Is that something you’re prepared to do?”

She said nothing, but merely gave a solemn nod.

The unicorn raised a hoof. “Then you’d better look behind you.”

And just like that, the dramatic moment was gone as the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well planted a hoof over her masked face. She had never liked those three words. Never. Not once in her life. Because no matter the situation she was in, they always seemed to spell trouble. And so, with a thinly veiled sigh of resignation, she looked behind her.

She was not altogether surprised to see the red unicorn slowly clambering up to his hooves. She was surprised, however to see the brown pony from before helping him up. His overcoat was gone, leaving nothing to conceal the pair of wings that held him aloft right now. Worse still, the Mare-Do-Well could see his right hoof glinting in the glare of the streetlights.

He’s wearing horseshoes, too?!

“Go,” she ordered the Bales, with as much force as she could put into her voice. “Now.”

They didn’t need telling twice. As the sounds of their hoofsteps faded away, the Mare-Do-Well lowered her body, digging at the wood with a front hoof as she prepared to charge.

And again, that wood exploded beneath her. But the unicorn had produced a much more powerful explosion than before; this one had sent her quite a distance in the air.

Right into the path of a very angry pegasus.

Instinctively, she raised her hooves to block the oncoming pony. Pain seared through her forelegs as the horse-shoe-clad hoof of the monstrous flier connected with her, sending the earth pony tumbling end over end across the hoofbridge.

SHHKK.

The punch had sent the Mare-Do-Well flying at least thirty feet, but she heard that sound so clearly it might as well have been inches away from her ear.

Inches—

She ducked—narrowly missing another punch from the brown pegasus, who had rushed in from behind her. She was so close to him, she could see the multiple glints of light on his horseshoes—wait, multiple?

She looked again—and practically heard the color drain from her face.

A split second later, she literally heard the sound of bones crunching as no less than ten inch-long spikes—each one attached to the iron horseshoe of an immense hoof—drove into her barrel with the force of a locomotive, shredding her costume into confetti.

The Mare-Do-Well felt pain spreading throughout her entire body—not a searing pain, like something she’d get after taking a very bad tumble. No, this was a cold pain. Very cold—like all those metal spikes had been icicles. Instinctively, she immediately knew she was seriously hurt.

Her breath came out in ragged gasps, and instantly she knew her left lung was gone—if not the horseshoes themselves, then whatever fragments were left of her ribcage had finished the job. She could see large amounts of blood on the pegasus’ hoof. Her blood. It had soaked into his coat completely, all the way up to the knee.

Nopony could lose that much blood and live.

I am going to die.

Her senses were already fading; the pegasus above her becoming blurrier and blurrier, and the sounds of the wind around her fading into silence. Her mouth tasted faintly metallic—she knew she was hemorrhaging blood; it was trickling from her mouth. From far away, she heard somepony laughing, and she thought it was the pegasus, having a good gloat at her broken body. But it was too high-pitched to come from somepony his size.

That was when the Mare-Do-Well realized she was the one laughing.

This isn’t funny, some distant part of her thought. I am going to die. Why the hay should I be laughing?

“You think this is some kinda prank?” she thought she heard the pegasus say. “Huh?!”

She felt the spiked hoof tear itself from her chest, and the sensation of her hitting the bridge was met with only a faint surprise. Then, she felt her body crushed into the wood as the spikes came down again, crushing her withers with forces no pony’s bones could possibly withstand—least of all the Mare-Do-Well’s spine.

She did not hear the snap—she only felt a freezing sensation, like her entire body below her neck had been suddenly frozen inside a solid block of ice. She could not move any of her legs at all.

She was helpless.

And yet she still heard that infernal laughter, still felt the corners of her mouth turned up, even as she began choking on her own blood. She heard herself coughing, followed by a spattering sound. Yet still she didn’t stop.

Celestia, I was a foal. That faraway voice had spoken up again. I should’ve just listened to the police last time. She heard gruff voices in her head, and though she did not know what they were saying, she knew from many times in the past what they had meant for her. We catch you doing our job again, we’re putting out a warrant, and so on and so on. She stared up at the sky, her deteriorating eyesight not focusing on anything in particular.

The sky was growing lighter—perhaps the storm was clearing up? Was it daylight already? How long had she been lying on this bridge? She did not see the shadowy forms of Digger and Trinny looming over her anymore. Did they run off? Yes—at the very extent of her failing hearing, she thought she could hear the approaching sound of a police siren.
Her heart rose against her will—help was on its way! Maybe she would live through this after all! Her days of helping to buck crime and corruption in their ugly faces were certainly over, but to the moon with that—she would still be alive!

No, said the voice once more, calm and resigned. I’m too far gone. And they don’t know if anypony’s been hurt. They won’t think to send an ambulance until they see me. It’s too late.

It’ll always be too late.

She tore her eyes away from the sky as it grew bluer still, and forced herself to close her eyes—she did not want to remind herself about any light before the tunnel. That had been one reason she’d stopped watching those old soap operas—they were too dramatic, too sappy. There was nothing sappy about dying. Especially not when you were lying in a pool of your own blood.

A strange noise reached her ears, strange in its shear dissonance with the dank, urban environment around her. It was high-pitched and rapid, a quick thew-thew-thew noise. It was faint at first, coming from somewhere overhead. But even the Mare-Do-Well could tell it was getting closer.

It sounds like … birdsong?

And then, in the space of one tiny little moment, her entire world exploded in a burst of light and sound—

And stopped.

---

MANEHATTAN POLICE DEPARTMENT, 5TH PRECINCT

CONFIDENTIAL TRANSCRIPT

INTERNAL USE ONLY

(The following is a transcript of an audio recording recovered three days after the destruction of the Bucklyn Hoofbridge. The identities of the ponies herein have been confirmed and verified by Lt. Bullhorn of the MPD.

Investigation into the incident is still ongoing.)

LT. BULLHORN: Sergeant Saber, what’s your twenty?

SGT. SABER: We are, ah, about a half-mile north of your chariot, Lieutenant. Looks like one of your strobes burned out again. Might want to get that looked at (chuckle).

BULLHORN: (grunt) If you’re going to use those sharp eyes of yours, Sergeant, I suggest you at least be productive instead of being smart with your superior.

SABER: Noted, sir. Ready, fillies?

OFC. GLOSTER: Ready!

SGT: GRUMMAN: All set.

CDT. KOMET: (faint groan)

GRUMMAN: (chuckle) First time over the East River, huh? Don’t worry, Cadet, you’ll get used to the smell before long. Gloster, check right, get the greenhorn into your slipstream. We’ve got two dangerous foalnappers on our hooves here. Last thing I want is somepony’s puke on my feathers.

GLOSTER: Hear, hear, Grumpy.

GRUMMAN (under breath) Really wish he’d stop calling me that …

BULLHORN: Okay, everypony. Just so we’re up to speed: ten-thirty, we got a 911 call. No name, sounded like a mare. Scared out of her wits. Reported a possible hostage situation and aggravated magical assault on the hoofbridge up top. Suspects were described as a red unicorn with a tan mane and a big brown pegasus with an overcoat.

(brief burst of static)

KOMET: (slurred, indistinct, possibly “Sky so beautiful”?)

DET. 2ND GRD. GLASS: We cross-checked criminal records and found two matches. The pegasus is called Digger Wasp. Real loose cannon, that one. FUI record from here to Detrot, loves to start fights even more than he likes to finish ‘em. The unicorn’s called Trinny. No idea if that’s an alias, but his profile matches the same perp behind that string of arson attacks in Alpony over the summer. Suspected of murder—

SABER: Suspected, my flank!

(burst of static)

KOMET (clearer): So bright …

GLASS (sputtering): With respect, Sergeant, I would appreciate it if you didn’t interr—

SABER: No, I mean he’s doin’ it right now! Something just exploded on the bridge, and I’ll bet my left wing that’s our ponies right there! Break formation, everypony! Close in from both sides—don’t give them a chance!

GRUMMAN: Komet, pick up the pace for Celestia’s sake!

SABER: Bullhorn, where the buck are you?

BULLHORN: Coming up on—

(shout of pain)

BULLHORN: Glass? Glass, you all right? Glass!

GLASS (flat): Pull back.

BULLHORN: What?

GLASS: All units, pull back!

GLOSTER: What’s going on down—

BULLHORN: Detective, what’re you—

SABER: Are you crazy! We can’t turn back now!

GLASS: Saber, get out of there. Get out of there, right now!

SABER: Just a few seconds, Glass! That’s all I—

BULLHORN: Saber—!

(tremendous burst of static)

(Recording fades in and out for approximately thirty seconds before fading out entirely.)

---

Lieutenant Bullhorn had just turned the police chariot onto the expressway that led to the Bucklyn Bridge when it happened.

His companion, Detective Second Grade Looking Glass, had been updating the pegasi patrol when his horn suddenly lit up with a shower of greenish-white sparks of magic. Immediately, the unicorn clasped his hooves to his forehead with an uncharacteristically loud cry of pain, like he’d suddenly suffered an immense migraine. Instinctively, Bullhorn whipped his head towards him.

“Glass?”

No response.

“Glass, you all right?” Bullhorn wondered if the weather had been getting to his partner. It wouldn’t have been the first time—for some reason, stormy weather always had this strange tendency to play tricks with Glass’ magic. He’d had to take a few days off during the first rains earlier that spring. Then there was the “microburst incident” from two years ago; Bullhorn still had nightmares about the paperwork he’d had to do after that disaster. In fact, every time it rained or snowed in Manehattan, Glass’ unicorn magic simply went haywire—the worse the storm, the worse he was affected. It was like he had some kind of supernatural allergy.

And right now, those allergies looked like they were about to flare up again.

“Glass!” Bullhorn yelled, almost into his ear. Suddenly, the unicorn sat bolt upright, so quickly that Bullhorn nearly fell off the chariot.

“Pull back,” Glass said. His voice was monotonous, and his eyes had a quality to them that Bullhorn had only seen in veterans of the brief but brutal Second Age of Discord. They stared straight ahead, unmoving, unblinking.

“What?”

Glass grabbed the mouthpiece of the radio transmitter, startling Bullhorn even further. “All units, pull back!”

Now the lieutenant was concerned—he’d known Looking Glass for six years, and not once had he sounded so frightened. “Detective, what’re you—?”

Gloster’s voice, tinny over the radio, sounded equally worried. “What’s going on down—?”

“Are you crazy?” screeched Saber. “We can’t turn back now!”

Glass was nearly foaming at the mouth. “Saber, get out of there!” he bellowed. “Get out of there, right now!”

Lethal, fragile flowers of charge blossomed above the clouds, dying in the same instant that they had been born. Bullhorn saw them, and somehow he knew exactly what was about to happen.

“Just a few seconds, Glass!” Saber was shouting back. “That’s all I—”

Bullhorn knew from his studies that lightning traveled at over a hundred and eighty-six thousand miles per second—fast enough to travel to the moon in the blink of an eye. He also knew that if there was any chance of rescuing his subordinates from certain death, he had to act even faster.

Time seemed to stand still as he snatched the radio from Glass, and roared into the mouthpiece with all the lungpower he could muster. “Saber—!”

That was the only word he was able to say before all Tartarus broke loose.

---

Unbeknownst to the rest of her flight team, Cadet Komet had been recovering from a bad head cold for the past few days now, and this, combined with tonight’s bad weather, had hampered her flight skills noticeably. Of course, she would never have confessed this to her teammates; Komet, like any other young Cadet, would be banished before missing out on an opportunity for the fame and recognition that might come when catching criminals. Her squadmates had therefore attributed her erratic flight to the notorious odor of the East River—which, in and of itself, was not without a kernel of truth.

As they approached the bridge, she could hear Grumman—ahead and to her left—trying to coach her to go faster. She looked down at the bridge, trying to get a bearing on the suspects she and the rest of her team had been as-signed to apprehend, and for one tiny moment she thought she had seen something flying below her, racing over the hoofpath. Komet blinked instinctively, and then it was gone; a very brief but very blinding burst of fiery light, like she’d looked head-on into a camera flash. It streaked across the bridge in what had seemed like no time flat.

Which was exactly how long it took for the first bolt to crash down from the heavens; a jagged J-shaped blast of deafening sound and blue-white light—hot enough to perhaps challenge Celestia’s sun itself—that couldn’t have been more than thirty feet away from her. A hot wind seared her face, and she smelled ozone.

Komet didn’t have time to catch her breath—almost immediately, the second bolt filled her vision completely, right in front of her and striking the nearby suspension tower. Though it was gone as quickly as it had arrived, she still banked sharply out of instinct. She had to stay low now—she had learned in flight school that lightning was more likely to strike the highest possible place in the area; for instance, the lightning rods atop Bucklyn Bridge.

But Komet realized too late that right now, those lightning rods were not the highest point in the area.

By the time she turned to look at the unsuspecting pegasus above her, the third bolt had already found a suitable attractor in Grumman’s right wing. One blinding flash of light later, Grumman was plummeting like a rock—and Komet was right in his path. The poor mare had no time to react before the limp form of her sergeant plowed into her like a cartload of bricks. She felt a burst of pain somewhere in her withers, a burst of stars, and the lightning and thunder faded into silent, infinite blackness.

---

The situation was no different for Bullhorn and Glass. One moment, they had watched as one blast of lightning after another enveloped the bridge in white-hot energy in a matter of seconds.

Then Bullhorn had noticed that the lightning was moving in a very strange and disturbing pattern—strange and disturbing because it was heading right towards them.

Without a second thought, he heaved on the reins of the carriage, flashing back for only a moment to his grand-pappy’s range in Omareha, where he’d lassoed his first bull. The two cadets pulling the carriage quickly responded as they’d been trained to do right as the lightning storm hit.

For the longest moment of his lifetime thus far, Lieutenant Bullhorn’s world was nothing but light, sound, and an unpleasant sensation in his stomach. It felt like his face was on fire, and the stink of ozone nearly suffocated him. But as soon as the unpleasant sensation began, it was over, and Manehattan as he knew it returned to his senses.

After twelve seconds of regretting having stopped over at the Donut Joe’s near the station earlier today, Bull-horn clambered unsteadily from the carriage, just in time to see the last of the lightning bolts zigzag towards a television antenna several blocks away. Thunder was still rumbling, both outside the carriage and inside Bullhorn’s ears. But both were gradually fading, and it wasn’t long before Bullhorn came around to check on Glass.

The detective had certainly seen better days; he was shaking so violently he appeared blurred around the edges. Glass’ maroon eyes were mere pinpricks, and his dark green mane, normally curly and impeccably maintained, was standing on end; whether that was because of the lightning or because Glass was that scared, Bullhorn decided not to ask. Instead, the lieutenant merely extended a hoof outward, which his partner slowly accepted.

“Detective?” Bullhorn eventually asked, concern in his voice.

“Ugh—I’m all right,” replied the unicorn, tottering unsteadily to his hooves.

If he had a bit for every time he’d heard that before, Bullhorn thought, he’d have retired years ago. “You sure about that?” he pressed on.

“Didn’t I just say I’m all right?”

He’s fine. Bullhorn couldn’t resist cracking a grin—nothing could shake the unicorn’s normally prickly mood for long. He turned back towards the bridge. “We’d better get up there,” he remarked. “Climb on my back, Glass—we’ll get there quicker that way. You two”—he pointed a hoof at the cadets at the carriage—“fly back to precinct, tell them to send backup to the Bucklyn Bridge. Medical squads, fire teams, the works—I want them here five minutes ago. Stay as low as you can. Understand?”

“Sir!” The two pegasi wasted no time in lifting off, carriage and all, and racing back to the police station. Bullhorn, meanwhile, was already galloping for the bridge as fast as his legs could carry him, Glass on his back.

Nopony bothered to give a second glance to the lone mare nearby, occupying a bench as though an electrical storm had not just ravaged one of the most vital transportation routes of all of Manehattan. And if anypony had, they would have been surprised to discover that same bench wasn’t so occupied anymore.

---

The first pony Bullhorn and Glass encountered when they reached the bridge was Trinny. Bullhorn guessed a lightning bolt had struck very close to him indeed; the luckless unicorn’s fur was singed and smoking, and the expression on his face left the policepony with little doubt that he wouldn’t be speaking complete sentences any time soon. Bullhorn snapped cuffs around his hooves anyway, and fitted a special cone on his horn to nullify his magic completely, on the off chance he might be faking his injuries. Bullhorn had seen less convincing acts before that had fooled better and more experienced ponies than he; it was best not to take any chances.

There was no fooling from Digger Wasp, though. Bullhorn didn’t need a medical team to know that this one was beyond saving. From the knees down, the pegasus’ front legs were just … gone; half-melted remnants of what Bullhorn suspected were illegally modified horseshoes were mixed in with the decidedly messy remains of Digger’s front hooves. He quickly averted his eyes from the scene, and turned toward the hoofbridge—or what was left of it.

Trinny had done a spectacular job, Bullhorn grudgingly admitted as he began setting up evidence markers for the forensics teams. As far as he could see, the entire wooden length of the bridge, from one end to the other, had been gouged down the middle. Among all these splinters and shards of wood were two large bloodstains about fif-teen feet apart that he’d cordoned off specifically. One he knew to be Digger. The other was somewhat more vex-ing; there wasn’t near as much blood as with the unfortunate pegasus, but there wasn’t a body either. And there was no evidence to suggest that this other victim had been thrown off the bridge onto the expressway below, or even into the river.

In fact, the more Bullhorn looked at this, the more he was unsure about whether it had been the unicorn or the storm that had done more damage here.

What in Celestia’s name happened here?

“Lieutenant!” Glass’ voice drew Bullhorn back to reality. “I just found Grumman and Komet!”

Bullhorn galloped over to the unicorn, who was crouching over a pair of pegasi. “How are they?”

“They’re alive—somehow,” Glass said incredulously. “Looks like they both took a nasty fall. Komet must’ve had the worst of it—look here: cracked ribs, maybe some head trauma, definitely a bad concussion. She’s going to be out of commission for a while.”

“What about Grumman?” Bullhorn wanted to know, but his question was immediately answered when the sergeant in question slowly, gingerly got to his hooves.

If he had fared any better than the cadet, it wasn’t by much. One eye was closed and bleeding, and much of the right side of his tan coat was a sooty black. His right wing looked particularly bad; more than half the feathers were nowhere to be seen, and much of the remainder were smoking stubs. But Grumman, miraculously, was still kicking.

“And I think I owe it to her,” he groaned, pointing a bloodied hoof towards the still-unconscious Komet. He gave a pained chuckle, shaking his head. “If I told her once, I told her a hundred times. But the damn hotshot still thought it’d be a good idea to play hero. Guess even I have to eat my words sometimes.”

“Don’t talk too much, Sergeant,” Glass advised. “That lightning strike did a number on you both. Just take it easy for right now; there’s ambulances on the way now, and—”

“I think I know my own body better than anypony else,” Grumman said dismissively. He spoke a little louder than necessary; Bullhorn wondered if the lightning had possibly affected his hearing. “I’ve had worse happen to my wings before. Remember that changeling nest under Stallion Island? Couldn’t do crazy eights for a month after that, and I still bounced back, right as rain.”

Bullhorn did indeed remember. “But that was completely different, though—”

“And as for the rest of me, I think I can walk my own self to the ambulance.”

Bullhorn knew Grumman well enough to know that the pegasus was certainly old and reliable—and about as stubborn as the lid of a jam jar. Nothing short of brute force would get him anywhere beyond the mandatory checkup. Looking to change the subject, Bullhorn asked, “Did you see Saber and Gloster anywhere?”

Grumman sighed. “Last I saw, they were ahead of me before the lightning struck,” he said somberly. He looked at Bullhorn in a very meaningful way. “Not all the bolts hit the bridge. They never had a chance, sir—I’m sorry.”

Bullhorn felt his heart sink. Nopony in the MPD’s long history had made the rank of Sergeant faster than Saber, and even though Gloster had only been with the force for ten months, he’d been on track to break that record. But more than that, Bullhorn had liked them both very much; he was going to miss their unique brand of enthusiasm around the office for a very long time.

After what felt like hours, he rose to his hooves, the faint sound of ambulance sirens drawing closer and closer. “It’s best I break the news, then,” he sighed, already mentally steeling himself for the emotional grief he’d be hearing from the two fallen pegasi’s family members. “Look, I’ll be heading back to precinct soon. It’s going to be a long night for me, no matter how I slice it. Glass, stay with Komet and Grumman. I don’t think there’s much more we can do here; it’s up to the forensics teams now.”

“Need a lift back, sir?” Glass’ horn started to glow, only for the lieutenant to wave him off.

“I’ll walk back,” Bullhorn assured him. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he did not trust teleportation as a reliable means of transportation, even in emergencies. And while Glass was certainly capable—he’d graduated from the Canterlot Military Academy as one of the top fifteen unicorns in his class—there was no telling what those “allergies” of his would do if he tried to teleport a mouse five feet, let alone zapping a full-grown earth pony like Bullhorn a full mile back to the station. At least walking back didn’t run the risk of displaced insides.

Once a pair of ambulances had arrived to transport the casualties (Bullhorn silently thanked the Alicorns once they’d zipped up Digger’s remains into a body bag), he set off for the police station, making a mental note to brew a fresh pot of coffee once he made it to his office.

---

Even at this late hour, the waiting room of the Manehattan Downtown Hospital was a constant murmuring of noise. A pair of starved-looking mares half-covered in purplish bruises sat unmoving on stark wooden benches, speaking indistinctly under their breath and trying their best to stifle their crying, and an equally emaciated pegasus stallion jerked back and forth in his seat, eyes staring straight ahead, unblinking, and hooves twitching every which way so quickly and violently they might fly off at any time. He muttered incoherently in a language most likely known to himself and nopony else.

The one element of silence in this room was the receptionist at the front desk. She lounged on her stool with a bored expression on her face as she turned the pages of Mareika Leonard’s latest release. “Octane?” she called out.

The pegasus in question jumped a few feet from his seat, evidently not expecting his name to be called so soon. As calmly as he could—which is to say, not at all—he sped out a nearby door that led to the emergency rooms.

The front doors of the hospital blew open suddenly, briefly startling everypony except for the receptionist, who merely flicked her eyes upward to see what new victim of Manehattan’s streets had walked through her doors. Finding nopony standing before her or taking a seat, she shrugged. Must’ve been the wind, she decided as she returned to her reading.

One of the bloodied mares shrieked.

The receptionist, now slightly annoyed, turned to reprimand the unfortunate pony, then noticed the mare’s bruised hoof was pointing somewhere in front of her desk. Frowning, she rose from her stool to look for herself.

It was a testament to her years of experience that the receptionist did not scream, run for help, or otherwise cause a scene when she saw the sight before her eyes—and more importantly, that she still appeared to be alive, if only by a thread. Instead, she quickly produced a radio from her uniform, summoning doctors and orderlies to the waiting room with calm, practiced efficiency.

The next few minutes passed by in a flurry of activity as the receptionist attempted to calm the waiting patients while half a dozen doctors and surgeons burst into the waiting room, barking indistinct orders and medical jargon barely audible above all the commotion.

“ … severe lacerations and bludgeon wounds … multiple injuries to barrel, forelegs and spine … get a gurney with IV drip immediately … five units of Aa-positive … prep the operating room, stat!”

A nurse rushed to the side of the new arrival, putting a calm, reassuring hoof on the mare’s shredded withers. “Do you know where you are?” she called out, looking into her eyes, which were already half-clouded over. “You’re in a hospital! Can you hear me? You’re in a hospital! … ”

---

You should not have done that.

I should have left her there to die, you mean.

You know full well you have no power in this city. None of those ponies was your responsibility.

I don’t care about just the city! I care about Eridanus, and you should, too! If those two creeps hadn’t been stopped when they did, there’s no telling how much damage they’d have done to both worlds.

Insignificant. Irrelevant.

Don’t tell me you didn’t see it. There was something about that mare. I hope we haven’t seen the last of her.

You believe you made a difference.

Heh. You think I was fast at the bridge? Should’ve seen me back before I met you.

Part of your duty is learning to accept that your allegiance no longer lies with Equestria. You are no longer one of them—

—and I can’t let such petty nonsense get in my way. Yeah, yeah, you’ve told me a thousand times already. But still, I think this would qualify as extenuating circumstances. Look at them. All that bad blood between them—it was bound to happen. Maybe if we’d stepped in sooner, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

…

Oh. Right. All I’m saying is, with Kraz and Chiba still at each other’s throats, somepony’s got to pick up the slack around here.

That pony is not you.

Really? Since you apparently seem to know everything, just who might that pony be?

That is for this city to decide. Remember that in the end, we are only observers here. Nothing more.

Whatever. So, who do you think’s going to win?

That is for this city to decide.

…

It’s time to leave.

… Fine.