//------------------------------// // Taking down the boss // Story: The Case of the Missing Mare // by MrPandaa //------------------------------// In the corner sits a giant crossbow-like machine, filled to the brim with rainbow-colored thread...the same rainbow-colored thread that was accidentally sewn into the fabric. And even more surprising, the thread sparkled like both the dress and the plainclothes. If there was any doubt I wasn't at the right place, it was all dispelled right then. “Yes, Mr. Locke, you are in the right place.” says a voice behind me. I spin around to face the owner of the voice. The big boss. Him. This time, I'm ready. At least, that's what I thought before I saw him. What stands before me now characterizes the phrase “big boss” in a way I had never imagined possible. This colt is big. And I mean this colt is big. Like, me standing on my back hooves in a fighting stance is still several feet shorter than this guy on all fours. And he wasn't just tall, he was big. You know what, just imagine the biggest pony you can, and make him about two times bigger. That's maybe how big this guy is. “Yes, Mr. Locke, this is the right place. This is the big bad boss' lair, and you've stumbled your way into it. Congratulations.” His voice sounds like thunder and lightning, a boom and a crash that resounds over me like the waves that churn out the window. “But this story won’t have a happy ending. You see, I want this city. I want its commerce, its trade, its business. And I’m going to get it. Why?” He looks straight at me. “Because I have Coco Pommel. This name may mean little to you, but she is the key to the city. She is the employee of Miss Rarity of Ponyville, perhaps the most talented seamstress in all of Equestria.” He gives a half smirk. “She doesn’t trust herself enough with her work to make it big, but I’ve studied her work long enough to know.” He walks to the open window and stares out into the ocean. “With her one and only employee in my hooves, I will be able to coerce Miss Rarity into working for me, in exchange for her friend’s safety. Her generosity is unparalleled; I have no doubt that she will agree.” He turns back to look at me. “But I have a little parasprite buzzing in my ear...and I want it out.” “I am about to discredit you in front of thousands of ponies as I declare myself the savior of Manehatten’s economy. When the ponies of this city see that you were the one to steal away the three mares, you will have nowhere to run...nowhere to hide. Just to be fair, I will give you one chance to beat me in this game of wits. One chance, Locke.” He walks to a homely chair-and-desk combo sitting by the window and picks up a timer sitting there. “After this timer reaches the five minute mark, one of us goes down in history as the ponynapping criminal, the other, as the salvation for all of Manehatten. Your pick.” I walk to his comely little chair and sit down, already pulling up the analysis I had previously made of the situation. Connecting the dots was easy enough, but breaking them apart...that’s more difficult. Suddenly, I have it. Game over, big guy. I start out of my chair as the timer reaches the four minute mark. “Alright, big guy, I’ve got you all figured out.” He turns to me with interest written clearly on his face. “You wanted Manehatten, so you decided to strike it right at one of its core industries: textiles. To win the textile industry, you needed the best seamstress there is--this Miss Rarity I’ve heard so much about the past few days.” I glance back to my time. Three and a half minutes left. “And so, you marenapped Coco Pommel, her first and only employee, knowing that she would come to Coco’s aid. But that wasn’t enough. Knowing that Coco was in possession of a marvelous thread that, when sewn into clothing, made even plain and drab outfits look like shimmering masterpieces, you forced her to reproduce the feat several hundred times over.” Two minutes. “Getting the doof scientist on your side certainly helped with the production; the mares thought that they were producing the thread for a bumbling fool, and so thought little of their forced labor.” A minute and a half. I begin to walk over to the side of the room were the doof’s projector still lies dormant. “But you still need this thread, just as much as you need Miss Rarity. Because, as you said, she doesn’t trust herself with her work. With the thread, it wouldn’t matter; her work would look amazing anyway, and with the help of Coco and whoever else you wanted, you could easily take the textile industry of Manehatten within weeks.” One minute. “But you didn’t anticipate one thing.” 50 seconds. “A little parasprite came buzzing in your ear.” 40 seconds. I move over to the giant crossbow-machine full of thread. “And this parasprite isn’t done yet.” 30 seconds. I begin to aim the whatever-inator at the general vicinity of the elevator door and where the big guy is standing. The door slides open, and three distressed mares stumble out. I fumble over the controls as I take a good look at the first one, a beautiful white mare with a green-and-white-streaked mane. I gaze at her and for a moment forget why I’m here. Oh, right. Now I remember. The boss level. Right. Maneuver the traps, beat the boss, save the princess. Wow, this is turning out to be a more traditional adventure than I thought it would. 20 seconds. I turn to the big dude once more and say proudly, “no, sir, this little parasprite isn’t done annoying you yet.” The final line delivered, I fire the nets, trapping the three mares, who look at me in shock, and the big dude, who looks at me with-- Okay, I did not expect this. He’s looking smug, like I did something wrong. 10 seconds. He rumbles out a laugh. “Hahah, Locke, you amuse me with such banter. You have thoroughly figured out my plot, and now have me in your clutches. But think of the scene that lies before you. Four ponies lie in nets, and one pony doesn’t. Who is the victor here?” He pauses. “Actually, allow me to rephrase that question: who will Manehatten think is the victor, and who the loser?” He makes a signal, and a giant screen slides up from a notch in the floor. “Well, Mr. Boss-Man, I’ve already got that one figured out,” I lie. He smirks. “Good. Then you’ll have no problem explaining yourself to Manehatten right now.” He looks up at me from his heap on the floor. “It’s showtime, Locke.” Calmly taking a position in the center of the screen’s view, I address what I’m assuming is the populace of Manehatten. (I’m later told that this was shown on the sides of buildings and walls all over the city and even in others.) Swallowing both pride and fear, I begin.