Morality is a concept intertwined with thought. It branches and flowers from it, becoming more and more complex with the development of the mind throughout the years. Each individual has their own set of morals and each individual adheres to them as much as they please. Morals are influenced by punishment at an early age, and rules set by society at a later. If in one's early ages they were not punished for behavior their caregivers found unethical, and grew up in a law and prejudice free society, free would their morals be purer?
No, they are just as much driven by greed and lust as any other sentient being. This is because, at some level, no matter how intelligent or cultured we think we are, we are all animals.
I am a prime example.
Yeah, I know that's a depressing-ass-philosophy to go by, but I'm not feckin' changing it. You can mention love and compassion and all that, but I never got any of that shite unless I stole it. I'd say it was because I am a changeling, and ponies shouldn't judge a book by its cover and all that glurge, but I don't deserve any love, so I'd be lying. Which I do all the time anyway, so I don't know why I'm so worried about it now.
I'm still pretty badass though.
If I didn't give myself ego boosts regularly, I'd probably have died from serotonin deprivation.
That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!
Bloody Tartarus, I'm bad at introspection.
Where was I?
Oh right.
Filthy Rich told his intellectually challenged bowler hatted goons that they could just use their ties as blindfolds, so the big one took off his tie, tied it around my face, and threw me back into the carriage. I had a lot of time to think about stuff during the drive back, like why I was wanted specifically to kill this 'Ion Brilliance'. Behold my amazing deductive powers. I could figure out from a name like 'Ion' that he was a science pony of some sort, and with Filthy's dealings with illegal drugs, that probably meant that this guy made drugs. Why would Filthy want somepony who makes drugs dead? Why do I care? A job is a job right? I guess the whole way of forcing me to take the job is making me question this stuff. I've never been kidnapped before. Normally ponies are too scared even to touch me, as if I have some sort of disease that will make them like me.
I mean like as in similar, not as in enjoy. Never speak with ambiguity, I've learned that the hard way before. Literal minded chefs are the worst kind of chefs.
I was dropped off in the general vicinity of the place I was staying at. The ride there was quite long, and by now it was pretty dark. I looked around at my surroundings, at the bustling city of Manehattan. The city was always full of life, ponies running back and forth to get to their mundane lives and jobs, not knowing nor caring to know what goes on in the dark alleyways, thinking that good nature is inherent to all ponies. I can see the gooey guts of this city, and it's gross. Like if you leave a peeled banana out for a year and its just a pile of slimy, smelly, fly covered goop that you think at one point used to be a form of foodstuff. That disgusting thought reminded me, I had to eat.
As much as I enjoy food, I often had spent too much money on other stuff, and didn't have enough for food, or forget that I have to eat at all. This leaves me in pretty bad physical condition, sometimes I'm too weak to strangle somepony or anything similar to that, and I have to use magic, which presents a problem when facing unicorns. I only know simple levitation and basic offensive magic, and many unicorns I faced knew some form of magic self defense. This meant I had to do something sneaky, like get them into a position so that I can drop a gargoyle statue or something like that on them, or just stun with a surprise magic burst and strangle them with wire. Gargoyles are cooler though. I probably should have learned more spells and trained physically, but I never seemed to have the time. Or maybe I was too lazy. Probably the latter, frankly.
I disguised myself as a particularly forgettable looking pony, save for the hat, which I don't wear during the actual jobs, and waded through the various city folk to make my way to a little café where I would eat something and look at my folder for this 'Ion Brilliance' character. I like my hat, it helps me have some semblance of a sense of identity, although it can often be somewhat conspicuous. At that stage, I wasn't a big enough menace to society for the cops to have scheduled changeling sweeps, so I didn't really worry that much about being found out. I walked into the café and sat down at a table, a waitress took my order, and brought it over to me. I paid with money from my hat. Hat pockets, gotta love 'em. I picked up my sandwich and took a bite. It was really good. I had just started to read through the information in the folder when I heard some loud yelling.
The yelling didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon and was bloody loud, so much so that it left me unable to concentrate on reading the file and eating my delicious sandwich. I groaned and closed the folder irritably then went outside to see what the problem was and if I could tell them to keep it feckin' down. There was a stallion standing on a ledge of a building.
Come on! Can't I enjoy a nice sandwich in peace!
"I'm gonna jump!" He yelled, nopony seeming to notice him. They all just walked on by carrying on with their daily lives.
"I'll do it, I swear!" Some ponies looked up at him and walked away. What was their problem? I stopped a nearby pony.
"That guy says he's going to jump, don't you care!?"
"I am really late right now, I'm sorry. I just have this meeting-"
I let him go and looked back at the ledge guy. Why was this guy attempting suicide, and why is nopony caring? I had made my descision. I was going to do something about this, and I was going to do it now!
"Feck off, you bloody eejit!" I yelled up at him.
"I won't! My life is over! I've caused so much pain for this city, and I can't live with myself anymore!"
I just realized that I had sympathy. Why are there so many concepts that one has to grasp once sentience arises!? What else did I have to feckin' internalize and bloody come to terms with before I am actualized!? Not thinking sucked, but intelligence is a pain too.
"What in Tartarus have you done that's so bad!?" A hint of concern was present in my voice despite my doubt about the poor bastard.
"I've ruined thousands of ponies' lives!"
Wait, what!?
"I highly doubt that!" I said, highly doubting that.
"It's true!"
I looked up at that dot of a pony, bracing himself against the wall behind him, the wind blowing through his mane. He was scared, but with a hint of determination.
"Stop being an attention whore! I'm sure that you contribute to society in some way or the other!"
"You...you really think so?" His voice was quavery, as if my words had been the highest degree of compliments and had moved him emotionally.
"Of course! And if you haven't, you can always start, you can help ponies!" I am a hypocrite.
"I've always tried to help ponies, and look where it got me!"
"Obviously, your intentions are better than mine, and you don't see me jumping off of a feckin' building for my sins!"
"That's because you're stupid!"
"Stupid is as stupid does, but I don't particularly have to be intelligent to realize that there is always a way!"
This silenced the jumper for a moment, and he looked down upon me from high up on that ledge of his.
"That was really clichéd."
"Well, I tried. Have fun being a stain on the street."
I turned around and started to walk away when I heard him start up again.
"Wait, please! Help me down!"
I smirked briefly, congratulating myself for this victory. Fortunately, I was in the form of a pegasus, so I could fly up to get him. I flew past the numerous windows of the huge apartment building, making my ascent to save the pony who I had talked out of suicide. It felt good, a certain warmness filled me, caressing my insides. Helping ponies felt really good. I hovered under him, and after a little bit of gentle convincing, well, frantic yelling and complaining, he hopped onto my back. Thankfully, he was light, so I was able to get us safely to the ground without falling and thwarting my earlier efforts.
"Thanks for talking some sense into me." He told me, avoiding eye contact.
"You look like you need a cider."
"....Yeah."
I took him into the café and got him a cider, he at down next to me. I continued to eat my sandwich while he drank his cider slowly, savoring the flavor. The alcohol seemed to cheer him up a little.
"I never caught your name."
"Hm?" I inquired with utmost elegance, my mouth full with the last bite of sandwich.
"I'd like to know the name of the pony who stopped my from ending my own life."
I finished chewing and swallowed.
"Names aren't important anyways." I said offhoofedly.
"I think a name is one of the most important things about a pony, but I won't pry," He took a sip of his cider and smiled subtly. "A name is one of the biggest parts of who we are, our Identity."
"Interesting."
"I find it kind of funny how something given to us, not even of our own creation, can play such an important role in shaping our identities and personalities. The name is an indication of the special talent, and many studies have looked into just how given names contribute to the obtaining of a cutie mark."
"I've always wondered why ponies often have names that describe their special talent."
"The most widely accepted theory is that the name actually plays a large role in the determination of the special talent, giving parents nearly complete control over their fillies' and colts' jobs and personalities. I, on the other hoof subscribe to a different theory."
"What would that be?"
"My theory is that there is a special type of magic that lies in parents that enables them to unconciously see what their foal's special talent is. I, personally, don't like the idea of ponies having absolute control over each other."
"I like that theory."
"I'm Ion, by the way." He offered me his hoof. I shook it.
Wait a minute.
"Brilliance is my other name. Ion Brilliance."
There are no words to express what I felt like when he said that.
Well, except for those.
I just sat and stared at him, likely wide eyed and slack-jawed. I probably looked really stupid by the look that he was giving me. Why did I make myself so obvious all the time? I need a poker face. Speaking of poker, I know I shouldn't play it now. I've lost a significant portion of my savings on that wretched game. Stupid chips and stupid cards and-
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm going dreat. I-I mean to say that wall is ell." Dammit, mouth! I thought we were friends!
"Are you drunk? You've barely touched your cider."
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Alright." Ion took another little sip of his cider, looking at me worriedly.
I needed to distract attention from myself, get him talking, I needed to think things through.
"So, err, tell me about yourself."
"Um, Okay." He cleared his throat. This was going to be a long boring story, isn't it?
Why are you looking at me like that?
Anyways, he started to tell. "I am an experimental chemist, I graduated with a doctorate from Canterlot University. I don't like the doctor title, so I don't use it. I find that ponies treat you differently if they call you doctor. I have a wife and two kids-" He paused and sniffled. "I had a wife and two kids. She left and took both. I haven't seen any of them since."
Oh sympathy, how I hate thee.
"Why would she leave you? You seem like a nice enough guy." I inquired.
"She found out that I was involved in less than legal activities and packed up and left the next morning. Not a goodbye or warning to speak of." He wiped a tear from his face and took a large gulp of cider. "That was a week ago. The research facility I was working for got budget cuts, and I was let go. I just needed the money to feed my family!" Tears steamed down his cheeks, and he didn't bother wiping them away.
How was I supposed to feckin' kill this pony if I felt so sorry for him!? What the hay was I supposed to do?
The alcohol seemed to get to him after his last gulp, and he broke down sobbing. He looked so weak and pathetic, right there in front of me. I was expected to kill this pony. This pathetic blubbering mess of a pony.
I couldn't stand for this, I wasn't going to kill this guy. What would Filthy do to me anyways? Kill me? Feh. Not likely.
"Are you okay, Ion?"
He sniffled and smiled at me weakly. "..Yeah." He wiped his face with a napkin. "Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. I don't really have anypony to talk to now."
"All that happened last week."
"Yes."
"You can't just let her go."
"Wha-What!?" He stammered out, surprised at my statement.
"You need to find her, and explain yourself!"
"What if she doesn't care about my intentions?"
"Then stop making-err doing whatever illegal thing you were doing! Get a different job, do something!" Almost slipped up there.
"You're-"
"Take charge! Pull yourself together!"
"I- Bu- She- Oh, alright. I don't have anything to lose, right?"
"That's the spirit! ....I think,"
He just sat there for a moment, staring at me expectantly.
"What the hay are you waiting for?"
"I-um,"
"Feck off!"
Ion stood up and started to trot away from the table. He turned around to face me, his eyes intense, all previous uncertainty washed away.
"Thank you, and I hope that we meet again sometime, Stranger."
He wouldn't recognize me.
"Not until you've talked to your wife, that's for bloody sure."
I watched as Ion Brilliance, my former target, walked outside into the moonlit street, confidence in his stride. I sipped my cider. There was only one thing left to do now.
I was going to put an end to this.
Thousands of lives were ruined because of the drugs Ion was forced to manufacture. The drugs being readily available in family friendly market chains. There could be only one way to stop it, and that was to cut off the head of the beast.
I had to kill Filthy Rich.
I had to find out where he lived, which wasn't too hard. The history of Barnyard Bargains were printed on glossy, colorful posters in the front of the store, just through the doors. Apparently the Rich family played a large role in the foundation of Ponyville, a somewhat rural town just south of Canterlot, and is still located there to this day.
What did I want to gain from this act of murder? Not money, I wasn't paid to do this, as I took it upon myself, and not power, I had no interest in trying to control a drug empire. Was it justice? I don't know. Without Filthy Rich, I figured, the world would be a better place.
Since when did I care about bettering the world? I dunno, but I was set on this idea and incredibly stubborn.
The train ride from Manehattan to Ponyville took the rest of the night and part of the next day. I would chronicle my exploits in public transportation to you, except they weren't the slightest bit interesting, and would probably make you fall asleep if you aren't asleep already. On that note:
WAKE UP.
I arrived at Ponyville around midday, the sun hung in the cloudless sky like a.... comparison... in a.... thing. The town was small and quaint, and had a pleasant, amicable quality to it. It was also quite colorful, especially compared to the dull, grey concrete that Manhattan was made of. The town smelled faintly of apple pastry.
I wandered around for about an hour, making sure to stay in the shadows in order to avoid being noticed by anypony. I stuck with my current form, towns like these were generally close-knit, and they would spot an impostor quite easily. I wanted this done swiftly and to leave as quickly as possible.
The house was not very hard to spot, it was huge, so it stuck out quite badly. Crime rate here was absurdly low, not counting monster attacks, so I heard, so I assumed that there probably wasn't some high end security system that I had to deal with. A quick survey of the perimeter from inside nearby trees confirmed this thought. I watched the house's windows for hours, looking for the right place and time to make my move.
I carefully observed Filthy Rich through the windows, trying to figure out a pattern to his behavior. Possible places to strike were the living room, office, kitchen, or if I waited long enough, the bedroom. I ruled out the bedroom because one, I was impatient, and two, I might be noticed if I was in the trees for too long. His visits to the office were too short and random for that to be an option. He only settled down once in the living room, I thought that I should have struck then, but I didn't know how long he would stay there at the time. I would strike in the kitchen.
Filthy was going through the icebox, pulling out bread and some jars of jelly or something. There was my chance. I flew up to the window, opened it and entered. Filthy shut the icebox door and looked at me wide eyed.
I shifted forms.
"You."
The look in his eyes was at first of confusion, and then of sheer terror.
He dashed for the exit, I hit him with a spell, immobilizing him. He fell to the ground limply. I used all of the little strength I had to lift him up with my forelegs, and used his momentum to slam him headfirst into the icebox.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Finally, with a sickening thud, he ceased living. I slumped down against the blood stained icebox next to him, breathing heavily.
Something was at the door, I turned my head to see a small filly at the doorway, her face plastered with an expression of fear, shock, and despair. Tears ran slowly down her face, leaving trails on her fur. From the look in her eyes, what she'd seen was a monster.
Her father had gone into the kitchen to make her a sandwich. How was she to know that he wouldn't be coming out?
...
Did I help to better the world by ridding it of Filthy Rich?
No.
What did I think I was, a hero?