Covert Ops

by SnakeFire

Chapter 1

8:00 AM, outside ESA headquarters. Earlier that day….

Covert Ops trotted up towards the large veranda shadowing the ESA headquarters. He grinned goofily, faux leather briefcase clamped tightly between his teeth. He wore a crisp black suit, coattails neatly covering his haunches, and his jaunty blue tie swung wildly in the breeze. The stately building with blacked-out glass was formidable and imposing, a futuristic monument situated in downtown Canterlot. The surrounding buildings had a more whimsical tone in their exterior façade at least, but the building before Covert was all business.

Covert strode up to the doors and casually shut one eye. Inset into the doorframe was a small lens of glass, and from this a red beam scanned Covert’s other eyeball while he waited patiently. While the scanner worked its magic, he chewed on the flavored briefcase handle- lemon, his favorite. The scanner finished its work, and announced that he was allowed in with a little ping.

The black, metallic door slid upwards, and he strode inside. The lobby of the building was brightly illuminated by skylights and moon refractors inset into the ceiling. Covert trotted up to the receptionist’s desk against the far wall. The gray unicorn mare manning the back marble workstation looked up at Covert, peering down the edge of her horn-rimmed glasses. He gently placed his briefcase on the floor, before smiling at the receptionist.

She gave him a prim smile, shuffled a few papers, and pressed a button on her desk. She wished him a good morning as the doors to the lift slid open. Covert nodded at the receptionist, picked up his briefcase and trotted to the lift. Inside, he pressed the button for the tenth floor with a hoof. The doors slid shut, and Covert was treated to the ear-piercing screech of elevator music. He frowned, and jabbed another button opposite the floor select ones, selecting some rock and roll. He bobbed his head to the beat, watching as the numbers indicating floor ticked upwards towards ten.

The doors slid noiselessly open, and Covert bounced out of the elevator, energy in abundance. He trotted down the corridor, munching on the handle of his briefcase, past many of his coworkers. Down two hallways, two lefts, and a right later and Covert found himself face to face with the training room. Inside, Covert’s coworkers were practicing sprinting, fencing, jogging, magic, flight, everything. Those details were unimportant to him. He only had eyes for the butter-yellow unicorn waiting patiently in the doorframe.

He smiled warmly at her. His wings slowly spread open, and Covert began to flap and flutter his wings around in a complex series of movements; not just up and down, but opening, closing and folding every joint and feather. The mare watched every movement intently, mentally assembling the words spelled out with the wings in her mind as the pegasus “spoke.”

The unicorn smiled after the movement had stopped. “Hello to you too Covert. How are you?”

A few quick shuffles. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m very well, thank you.”

She smiled. “come on. You’ve got some training to get to, am I right?”

Covert nodded and hefted his briefcase. He trotted into a door with the sign for “colts” emblazoned on the door, just underneath the raised stencil of the words, “locker room.”

Inside, Covert trotted up to his locker. He placed a hoof on the large wheel and keyed in his code, before swinging the door open. Covert’s locker bottom was lined with numerous papers, mushed and smashed at all angles; the rest of the locker was relatively clean. Covert reached up and fumbled with the crisp fabric of the silk suit, eventually managing to extricate the buttons from their holes. The suit slid off, and he neatly hung it on its hook. Now naked, Covert paused to admire himself in the mirror inset into the far wall.

He grinned a bit. His body was fairly lean, but not anorexic- a far cry from a bodybuilder. Wrapping over the nondescript limbs was a pale blue coat, soft and springy to the touch, and tightly pressed into this was a pair of handsome wings, feathers neatly groomed and gleaming. Covert paused to examine his mane and tail- his black mane was cropped neatly, about an inch tall along his skull, with a tiny notch in it near the front. His tail was fairly short, with a flare in the bottom and a sharp-looking tip. He blinked, lids and nictating membrane moving in unison over a pair of bright green irises.

Overall, Covert was not very remarkable. His only interesting feature was his cutie mark- a silhouette of a chameleon on a branch. Covert grabbed his towel off the top shelf, slinging it around his shoulders, and snagged his waterbottle. Closing the locker with a kick, he trotted out to get on with his morning.

8:45 am. ESA headquarters, training facility.
Covert trotted out of the room. Outside, other agents were training and practicing both core kit and their special talent. He mentally took a roll call as he looked at each of the ponies.

The first pony on the list was Berry Punch. Berry was uniquely useful because of her trademark ability- she was unable to get drunk. With a little alcohol at hoof, Berry could extract information from the tightest of lips without ever having to get her hooves dirty. Currently, she was drinking a bottle of scotch. If the other two dozen empty bottles around her were any indication, her long-standing quest to get buzzed wasn’t going well.

Permeating through the room was a tasteful piece of classical music, woven like fabric on a loom, issuing from the contrabass of Madame Octavia. She was a contrabass player for the royal orchestra, and thanks to her high-ranking position and unassuming demeanor, she was able to construct a network of snitches and snoops in any place she was dropped- provided she had her contrabass.

Lyra was the team’s techhead. Currently, she was holed up in her ops booth- a large steel-and-starmetal construction set into the wall. Her special talent may have been music, but Lyra’s ongoing quest to construct herself a pair of robotic hands left her with knack for computers and the construction of anything the agents might need in the field. Lyra was the only one not trained as a field agent- her valuable skills made keeping her safe top priority. The door was propped open, and he could see her absentmindedly plucking the strings of her harp along with Octavia’s melody.

Covert trotted past the dueling ring and looked inside.
A few new recruits (all ten of them) armed with razor-sharp katanas were currently in the dueling ring with the agency’s deadliest swordfighter. All ten of them dogpiled on her, and were promply flung off and whipped with the flat of a rubber practice sword. The pony that was responsible shot Covert a cheerful grin. He smiled back, and waved a hoof. The mare hopped out of the ring and over to her snack basket, and removed a muffin.

“Good morning Covert! How are you?” Derpy asked as she tucked into her muffin. Her ears quivered with delight at the heavenly taste of the pastry through two holes in the top of a beat-up old hat. Around her the recruits were slowly regaining consciousness with loud groans of protest. She scooped a muffin out of the basket and offered it to Covert. He happily accepted. As he munched, Covert began to recite the rules of the basket. The first rule of Derpy’s muffin basket was you do not touch the muffin basket. The second rule is you do not touch the muffin basket. Covert had broken rules one and two on his first day. He still had the scars to show for it.

He munched on the muffin, moaning a bit with pleasure as the delicious taste of Derpy’s homemade pastries spread over his tounge. Covert grinned at Derpy. She chuckled, and reached out a hoof to wipe a bit of jam from his breakfast off his muzzle. Covert sighed deeply. Something about these ponies- his friends, his coworkers- made him feel…peppy. Like he suddenly was bursting with life and energy to take on anything that would threaten them- just by them being there.

He smiled as he thought of the pony that had taught him how to make friends; his mother. The old mare had a weird streak in her, that was for sure; hiding in the bushes near the aptly named “make-out point” to spy on the couples, for example. But his mother had given him some good advice- make friends; find a nice mare that loved him, that sort of thing. Covert rolled his eyes a little. His mother was sweet, but she stressed the importance of making friends and finding love just a little too much.

Covert smiled, suddenly rather sleepy. Derpy was a wonderful mare; she exuded this life and energy that seemed to invigorate everyone around her. He chuckled. Derpy loved her husband with all her heart; she even wore a tiny locket about her neck containing his picture. Covert played his eyes to her wedding band- a thin golden hoop piercing one ear, tiny diamonds arranged to mirror her cutie mark playing across the face of the ring. Unicorns may have exchanged horn-rings, but for pegasi and earth ponies, the custom was earrings. It was quite probable that her husband had forged the rings- she was wedded to a red unicorn pony named Flare, who was a blacksmith.

He downed the remains of the muffin before trotting over to a butter-yellow unicorn, who was waiting patiently in the corner, at her table. She was currently perusing a self-made catalogue of the gestures of hoof and wingsign language. The book was battered and dingy, and only half full. The book was designed like a photo album, where new “words” could be drawn on cards and slotted into the pockets as needed. Covert trotted over, new muffin in his teeth- Derpy was by no means a greedy mare.

The mare, Miss Buttercup, smiled warmly at him. Covert flared his wings and snapped them shut a few times before taking a seat.

“Why hello again Covert. Really, you should stop taking so long just wandering around.” She smiled, and suddenly put on a stern face before faking Minuette’s voice.

“Or else we risk GETTING BEHIND SCHEDULE! ”

10:46AM. Flight training area.

“Advanced areal tactics” was just fancy-talk for flying reeeealy fast while still maintaining control. , despite her appearance, was a master of this. To get going really fast, though, you had to be really good at compensating for headwinds, tailwinds, and any other sort of wind. In the wind tunnel area constructed for agents to test their strength, Covert and Derpy were floating next to each other. The wind howled in their faces, eyes protected by special goggles. (No need to risk your nictating membrane if you don’t need to!) The two of them flapped in unison as a technician slowly inched up the speed that the wind howled.

Covert wasn’t even breaking a sweat. His wings were trained to be able to keep going at extreme windspeeds, or distance flying. Derpy sat there like a gray statue, wings moving in rigid rhythm. Covert’s eyes flicked to the small counter on the wall that was ticking slowly upwards. 150…. 160…170… Derpy was unfazed. Years of delivering the heaviest of packages, at speed, on the wing, had left her wings strong enough to lift an ox.

The numbers kept ticking upwards. A quarter of an hour later, both ponies were straining against hurricane-force winds that threatened to splat them on the back of the wind tunnel- but neither was about to say uncle and signal for Engie to shut off the wind.

Covert clenched his jaw. After about the half-hour mark, it stopped being fun and games and turned into a contest of endurance, mental and physical. His wings ached, every muscle and bone in his pectorals and breasts aflame. Lactic acid coursed through them, sapping his speed and strength. His lungs, specially designed for sucking in huge amounts of oxygen at high altitude and higher speed now burned with every breath. His eyes narrowed in a stubborn refusal to concede defeat.

So he pushed on, the counter on the wall ticking slowly upwards.

An eternity of pain later, Derpy waved a hoof in a circle, the signal to kill the wind. The counter abruptly flashed down to zero, and Covert gasped in relief. His wings drooped and his eyes started to sag, muscles limp as his exhausted body plummeted towards the floor.

He landed on a springy mattress inset into the tunnel bottom, gasping for breath. The gray mare flopped next to him, panting exhaustedly. The door to the tunnel creaked open as the two of them rested.

“Oh sweet Luna. TWO AND A HALF HOURS?!” the earth pony technician shouted. “I’ve never seen…. ever! You…I…. WHAT!?!?!?”

Derpy chuckled. “This old mare still has some life in her bones, Engie. I may be forty but I ain’t gonna be in a home for a long time yet!”

Covert smiled.

12:24 am. ESA cafeteria.

“Mmmmmmmmmm….”

“Bleeeh….. Tavi, what in Celestia’s name is that!?” Vinyl Scratch asked, repulsed at her tablemate.

Covert rolled his eyes and took another bite of his Berry pie. He himself had tried a few bites of….whatever it was Octavia was eating, and it was pretty good. He wished Vinyl would shush and try some before complaining about what Octavia was eating.

“Mmmm…..sauerkraut…..mm...give it a try! Reminds me of my mother’s cooking….” Octavia smiled and offered Vinyl a forkful of the strange food. Vinyl shrank back a little, but took the fork anyway, floating it over to her mouth.

“Look…really…no joke, what IS this stuff?!” she demanded as she examined it. her trademark sunglasses were lifted so the judgment of the food could be passed without purple tinting. Vinyl examined the fork from all angles, spinning and rotating it slowly to get a better look.

She sniffed it slowly, and shrank back at it, making a face. “I’m not eating this.”

“Oh reealy now.” Octavia said with a mischievous smile as she took a sip of beer. “Are you saying zat ze famous Vinyl Scratch iz a bigger sissy zen a namby-pamby bassizt?

“Oh? Sissy? Was that a challenge, Octy?” Vinyl grinned hugely.

Octavia twitched slightly at the sound of her pet name before replying in a voice as smooth as her music,

“Vat do you zink, Jennifer?”

Vinyl (Jennifer) Scratch gaped, mouth opening and closing rapidly, food still in her grasp.

“ooOOOoooohh….” Berry heckled between sips of scotch, “am I sensing that Vinyl is about to pussy out? Right after you told us you could kick Covert’s flank in anything? That you could drop-kick our flanks outta this establishment?”

Covert spat out his iced tea, and turned to Vinyl Scratch.

Buttercup cleared her throat and translated,

“NAILS. I eat nails for breakfast, metalhead. Remember that next time you let your mouth get the better of you. Or you may just have to deliver.”

Covert waggled his eyebrows a little, just daring Vinyl to try.

She gulped. “Berry…I was drunk! That was your fault!”

“You could have said no.” The alcoholic said smugly, tossing her scotch into a recycling bin and grabbing a bottle of vodka.

Again Vinyl gaped. “No I couldn’t! you... You know damn well I couldn’t. I don’t back down from a challenge! DJ- PON3 DOES NOT BACK DOWN!”

“So how about zat sauerkraut zen, hmmmmMMMmmmm?” Octavia said with a smug smile at the DJ, chin in one hoof as she scooped up another forkful of her lunch.

Vinyl Scratch sighed deeply. “I…I suppose I’ll have to eat this awful…stuff.....then. O…okay. I just…..” she gulped and grabbed her can of red pegasus, swishing the contents as she steeled herself to do the deed.

Vinyl elected to get it over with as fast as possible, opening her mouth, shoving the fork in, and chewing like a pony possessed.

Her eyes snapped open and started to water. She spat the food out into a napkin and rapidly chugged the whole can of red pegasus.

Octavia smiled. “I probably should haf mentioned I like mine extra spicy.”

18:05 pm. Primary training room.

Covert yawned. He stretched out, reclined on a fluffy cloud hammock he had hung up in a corner of the room. His lids were quite heavy, and he was awfully sore.

He glanced over at the practice ring and smirked.

Buttercup was practice-sparring with Derpy in the ring. Derpy danced circles around her student, scoring hit after hit and nimbly dodging the telekinetic blade. Derpy had insisted she use a real katana for training, in spite of Buttercup’s protests about how incredibly unsafe it was for both parties. She had attempted to lift it to prove her point, but her weak telekinesis only hefted it about an inch off the floor. the weapon currently in her telekinesis was a much shorter spaneighsh rapier, the thin blade whirling around and uselessly whacking the floor, the ring, and Buttercup’s training armour.

Covert rolled his eyes and jabbed a beer-swilling Octavia in the back before pointing at the ring. She nodded.

“Buttercup!”

The grey blur that was Derpy stopped whirling around and stopped sparring. Buttercup was more than happy for the excuse to put the rapier down.

“Yes, Octavia?”

She took a sip of her beer before replying, “Covert vants somzing from you.”

She turned to Covert. “yes?”

He turned so he was resting on his front and she could see his wings. He began to move them around rapidly, slightly amused expression on his face. Buttercup nodded slowly, deciphering the wing-waving’s meaning. Covert snapped his wings shut abruptly and rolled onto his side, fluffing up the hammock a little near the head to make a pillow.

“Hmmmm….. don’t aim for where she is, aim for where she will be……how? Covert?”

The pegasus didn’t respond. He lay prone in the hammock, chest rising and falling slowly.

Don’t aim for where she is, aim for where she will be.

Buttercup ran that tidbit of advice through her head a few times before turning to Derpy, who was tapping her hoof impatiently.

“First off,” she said, pointing at the foil, “Never spear the sword into the mat. Ever. This breaks the blade, dulls the edge and makes it easier to snap, especially rapiers. Do that again and you’ll be sharpening every sword in the weapons room. And secondly, EN GAURDE!”

The battle abruptly began, Derpy dancing rings around a mare some twenty years younger than her. Buttercup continued her fruitless arcing and scything, trying to score a (gentle) hit on Derpy.

Don’t aim for where she is, aim for where she will be.

Buttercup hissed as the rubber sword smacked the tender skin of her muzzle, and narrowed her eyes. She adjusted her foil, and carefully watched the gray blur zooming around her. Every time Derpy made contact, her skin stung like a million bees, but Buttercup bit her lip and kept focusing. She raised the sword…..

And brought it down a microsecond later on the spot she had chosen. She slowly opened one eye, half expecting to see Derpy decapitated or chopped clean in half lying before her.

Derpy was frozen stock still in front of Buttercup. She was staring at her side, transfixed with a kind of horrified fascination.

Buttercup instantly stabbed the fencing foil into the floor and telekinetically yanked the medical kit off the wall.

A single drop of blood welled up from the millimeter-deep, inch-long, papercut-like incision in Derpy’s side.
The ruby droplet fell towards the floor, briefly a perfect sphere as gravity pulled and distended the teardrop. It hit the floor with a infinitesimal 8plip8, a stunned silence following in its wake.

“Buttercup, stop.”

Derpy turned at the thickly accented voice, to see Buttercup levitating every medical tool know to science, from bandages to stents and rubbing alcohol. Buttercup was ranting on and on, words tumbling out of her mouth in no particular order, “Sorry” “Help” “OhsweetCelestiaohsweetLuna” “HowcouldI” and so forth repeated again and again, a high-pressured jet that didn’t care about silly things like pronunciation or grammar.

The apologetic stream was cut off by the harsh strike of hoof-on-hoof. The sound repeated, again and again, faster and faster as Covert ops applauded his secretary with great gusto. Octavia slammed her beer into the table , joining in with the raucous chorus.

Buttercup abruptly dropped the medical supplies as Derpy’s face split into a broad grin. She reached up, doffed her Stetson, and placed it on Buttercup’s head.
Buttercup’s jaw dropped. That Stetson was one of Derpy’s most treasured possessions, a dirty brown thing that was supposedly not of Equestria. The wearing of the hat was, to Derpy, a christening. She examined the wound.

“Pretty good. Next time, try with a little more force. And since you can actually hit me, I think it’s time we graduated you to a practice foil. I did hit you about fifty times beforehand, though, so remember to keep moving and not just stand stock still. A real sword would have hacked you to pieces. “ Derpy said.

Buttercup nodded, still staring at the filthy brown hat.

“Yeah. Can I have that back now?” Derpy asked, extending a hoof.

Buttercup floated the hat over to Derpy, before giving her al little bow.

“Thank you for the training, Derpy! I’m glad you actually allowed me to spar with you. If I’m on assignment with Covert, I don’t want him having to save me every five minutes from whatever. Imagine how silly that would be!”
Derpy nodded and opened her mouth to reply.

The entire building shook, bottom to top. A quake of epic proportions, racing through the foundations of the building. Bottles smashed, swords fell, Covert tumbled out of his hammock and rudely awoke on the floor. Octavia immediately grabbed her contrabass and clung onto it as books fell off the shelf around her, determined that her lovely instrument would be safe.

Only Buttercup could sense the palpable tang of magic permeating the air. The energy and power in the quake raced up and down her horn, leaving the tang of ozone In her nose and mouth. the magic was laced with anger and a feeling of night. Darkness, blackness. Rage as hot as fire, soaring through the air on the magic of the moon.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

Octavia stroked her contrabass slowly, nuzzling it a little in the relief that it was safe. Covert picked himself off the air and took a small sniff- the acrid smell of scotch permeated the air. Everyone looked over to Berry punch, who was desperately trying to clean up several smashed bottle’s worth of booze. His gaze snapped to Buttercup, huddled on the floor, hooves clamped over her eyes, and then Minuette, Lyra and Vinyl Scratch as they came stumbling in.

Covert raced over to Buttercup without a second thought. He came to a screeching halt before her, clasping a hoof to his chest and gently rubbing her shoulder. His face distorted into one of extreme concern.

“Auugh…my head…..” Vinyl moaned, rubbing her horn and looking sadly at her glasses. One of the lenses was cracked, huge shatters all along it.

“Is…is everypony okay?” Minuette asked.

Covert shook his head and with his free hoof gestured violently to the still-trembling Buttercup.

“Covert…I..uh….”

He furrowed his brow. With his free hoof he pantomimed a horn, jabbed his hoof a few times in Buttercup’s direction, and drew a question mark in the air.

Everyone blinked. It was Minuette who took a step forward.

“Cc…Covert…I…we have…no idea what you’re trying to say…”

His eyebrows furrowed. He pointed at the three unicorns.

“Huh? Who, me?” Vinyl asked.

He shook his head.

“Me, then?” Asked Lyra in a trembling voice.

He nodded once.

Lyra trotted over. “Yes?”

Covert pointed at Lyra’s pack.

“O..okay….here.”

Covert rummaged in the bag, pulling out cables, pliers, batteries, and finally a hoofheld communicator.

He scrolled through some options before dialing a series of numbers. The phone rang once, and then the tiny screen of the hoofheld bloomed to life.

“hello, this is the Thunderbolt Inn and pub, Thunderlane speaking, how may I help you?” the screen showed a black-coated pegasus with a blue mane grinning at the screen.

Covert waved a hoof.

“OH! Oh! Hey, Covert! My man! How are ya, dude?”
Covert held the phone so Thunderlane could see his wings, which promptly began to whirr like a propeller plane restricted from takeoff.

“Okay, your translator’s out for the count...you need me to fill in for a bit? No probs dude.”

Everypony’s jaw dropped.

“H…huh? How in Celestia’s name are you able to understand wingsign!?!?” Lyra shouted. “No…nopony uses wingsign! That’s why he needs a translator!”

“Hey. Covert didn’t pop outta the ground just yesterday, sweet cheeks. We went to high school together! We made a good team, didn’t we, eh? I translated for you, and you kept the jocks from beating on me, the di-“

Covert made a slashing motion across his throat.

“Ah well. Anyway, I’ll fill in for yah. Video chat costs a hoof and a wing, but I’ve got enough regulars and drunks around hereabouts; I’ll make it up.” Thunderlane grinned a bit.

Covert gave a sigh of relief. He whirred his wings a bit, opening and shutting them, each feather pulled and distended to its maximum length.

Thunderlane slowly nodded as he watched through his hoofheld screen the series of movements, each one screaming loud and clear a message of desperation.

“okay. Wow. That’s serious. Okay, Covert wants to know what’s up with Buttercup.”

“Oh, was that it? Sorry Covert. That was UNSCHEDULED magical resonance. Buttercup- no offense dear, we love you very much- is not very resistant to magic. That quake was…it….felt….of moon magic. If I had to guess, I’d say that was Luna. It would have to be something extremely serious for Luna to be so irresponsible with her power- she probably didn’t realize she was doing it.” Minuette said, floating a blanket onto Buttercup and checking her pocketwatch.

“Also… Covert…Buttercup’s special talent 9is9 languages. Communication. Intention. What have you. Her plot tattoo isn’t a dictionary for nothing, you know. And Covert…you and Berry and Octavia and Derpy can’t hear it…but we can. The music. Magic…when I use it, it sounds like a choir of angels singing to the beat of some-”

“Pocketwatches!”

“Applause!”

Vinyl blinked.

“Uhhh….I was actually about to say “dubstep” but okay….anyway. Covert…..that blast was insanely powerful. That was the scream of a goddess. And you better believe we all heard Luna’s beat. But… I’m willing to bet….and you two can call me crazy….that for the first time, Buttercup heard the choir. Actually heard it, not just ...felt… nonsensical words.”

“….ah….”

Everyone’s heads snapped towards the sound of the noise.
Buttercup lay on the floor where she had fallen, slowly – oh so slowly beginning to stir. Covert spun, giving Thunderlane a decent look at the prone pony placid on the polished pale (oak) floor.

The pub pegasus whistled.

“That’s your translator? Covert, you glorious bastard. You reel in those fillies like fish on a hook, and you can’t even use pickup lines! What’s your secret, my friend?” Thunderlane asked, eagerly whipping out a pencil and paper. In the background, one of the pub’s patrons drunkenly requested to see the filly again.

Covert shrugged, and Thunderlane’s face fell.

“Oh…okay. Coworkers only. Oh, aaand you may want to get back to your lady- not fussing with the likes of me.”

Covert tossed the phone at Thunderlane’s prompt, eliciting a startled cry from Lyra. she dove to catch the expensive gadget, nimbly intercepting its doomed trajectory a nanosecond from smashing on the floor. she spun to look at the screen, and Thunderlane got a good long look at her.

“wow. Hell-o gorgeous. You doing anything tonight? Cause, you know, I do run an inn. And I have a lot of nice empty beds, if yah know what I mean.” He finished this masterstroke of subtle seduction by the most obvious eyebrow waggle ever to grace Equestria in her several thousand year history.

Every mare in the room facehoofed.

“Actually, yeah. I am doing something tonight. My marefriend is going to cook us dinner, and them my marefriend and I are going to see a movie, and then perhaps my marefriend and I will curl up in front of the fire. Oh, I’m sorry; you didn’t know I had a marefreind?”

“Oh…” Thunderlane blushed brightly, shutting off the call. The tiny screen went black.

Buttercup moaned loudly, and everypony in the room snapped their attention back to her. Covert was sitting next to her, a look of extreme concern splaying across his face. Buttercup slowly sat up, rubbing her head with a hoof as she did so. Her horn glowed briefly, surrounding her with a golden aura, which quickly dissipated.

As she climbed shakily to her feet Covert rose as well, unwilling to launch into a rapid-fire barrage of questions when she was clearly weakened. Buttercup took a shaky step- and lost her balance, tumbling facefirst into the floor. Covert immediately caught her by her forelegs, an gently laid her down on the floor, sitting down next to her and draping a wing over her back.

Buttercup shook her head, putting a hoof to her forehead as she did so.

“Oh goddesses….what in Luna’s name was That?”

“A magic quake. It…”

“Felt of moon magic, I know.”

Covert tapped Buttercup’s shoulder and lifted his wings. she turned to him. “Yes, Covert?”

His wings fluttered.

Buttercup paused, noting his words before replying,

“I’m…I’m fine. And... I don’t know what just happened. My horn still hurts, though…” she sighed and leaned against the pegasus, who promptly draped a wing across her back.

He sighed with relief. As much as it pained Covert to admit it, he really did have some feelings for Buttercup. She was his lifeline; Thunderlane was too busy to translate for him all the time and nopony else knew what wingsign was. Without her, he'd be what the better part of his childhood was- silent. Buttercup rubbed her horn a little and sighed.

"It's stopped." She stated, shakily climbing to her hooves.

At once she was bombarded by a thousand questions from all sides.

"Are you okay?"

"Vat vas zat?"

"What did the choir say, and did it rhyme?"

"Need a drink?"

"Come here, I gotta run a vitals check!"

Covert flared his wings sharply, silencing everyone. Minuette stepped forward, and turned to face the team.

"Okay, everypony. I know you're eager to make sure Buttercup's okay, but I don't think now is the time. Right, Buttercup?"

The mare nodded once.

"Exactly. Now, I need everypony to give the poor mare some space while I ring up the palace and find out what happened."

Minuette pulled her phone out of her saddlebag and dialed. Everypony waited patiently as she listened to the dispatcher on the other end of the line.

After a few minutes, Minuette hung up and stowed away the phone before turning back to the assembles agents.

"Okay. The dispatcher has no idea what's going on, but he does say that princess Luna wants us all in the situation room now for a briefing." With that, Minuette turned and trotted towards the situation room, the rest of the team following suit.

The situation room was spartan in its construction- high backed chairs around an ancient oak table, edges rounded with minimal flourishing besides that. The table was the seat for an arcano-tech projector (copyright Lyratech) for displaying images and so forth. Aside from that, the only other thing of note was the row of portraits- former directors of the agency, photographed in the study in all their glory. Esteemed mares and stallions; Covert could name them all. Or at least their moves and tactics. He strode by them, smiling at each one. As he walked by he mentally named each one. Whooves, Raindrops, Moondancer, Star Sparkle, this really short mare called Littlepip, and finally, the most recent director, Carrot Top.

“Ahem.” Everypony in the room immediately snapped to attention as Minuette tapped a hoof on the table. From the rather impatient look on her face, it was quite probable that was the tenth time she’d said that. She lifted he pocketwatch off the table and checked it rapidly, twiddling the dial slightly, before clearing her throat again. Minuette opened her mouth to speak-

“Hey, Minuette. You really should learn to speak up, y’know?”

“Vill you shut UP Vinyl Scratch….”

“Sure thing Octy.”

“How many times haf I told you NOT TO CALL ME OCTY?!?!”

“Enough.”

Vinyl Scratch and Octavia both turned to face Minuette. She sighed deeply.

“I’m sorry Vinyl….I’m just not a really….assertive pony, I guess.”

“No problem, short stuff. So, what was that about an alert?”

Minuette groaned. She lifted the button-pushing stick and levitated it to the projector before switching it on. The screen flickered to life slowly, the visage of the royal princess of the moon appearing across the screen. Everypony stood up and faced it, bowing a little as they did so.

“Greetings to the royal taskforce from Canterlot. I see there are some unicorns amongst you, so allow me to formally apologize for that earthquake and subsequent magical resonance. That was my decidedly undignified response to the code black I received.”

Everypony’s jaw dropped.

“Whoa, Woah. Code black. As in, “sweet Luna matter of national security hell and damnation Discord walks once more”? That code black?” Vinyl said. She lifted her glasses, magenta eyes plainly visible. “Mother of Celestia….”

“I’m afraid so.” The moon princess responded, a grave expression on her face. “But unfortunately the reality is far worse.” She sighed deeply.

“I’m sorry to inform you that the elements of harmony have been stolen.”

Covert spat out his coffee all over the intern who had just hoofed it to him. The intern furrowed his brow and toweled himself off as the agents gawked at the screen, incredulous.

“No. p…Please….tell me this is a drill. A test. We’re off schedule, right? I let everyone get off schedule and you’re punishing me, right? RIGHT?! I’m so sorry princess, no more delays! Not even FIVE SECONDS! Just tell me this is a test. Please. Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease……” Minuette’s hair began to frizz up as dozens of clocks were wrenched off the walls of everywhere in the building, offices, hallways, and even the training room and pulled into the situation room. All of the clocks showed the same time, down to the second hand.

“Minuette….”

“No…no…no…no...AH-HA!” she screeched. All the clocks crashed to the floor with a thunderous resonance as she dumped them unceremoniously. She spun to face the princess, eyes bloodshot and panicked with tears streaming from them. Luna quite reasonable recoiled slightly from the crazed unicorn. Minuette brandished a clock in her telekinesis, waving a hoof at the clock like it had been caught red-handed.

“Minuette.”

“This one. THIS CLOCK IS HALF A SECOND OFF. SEE? SEE!? I’M SORRY PRINCESS. THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGA-”

“MINUETTE. WE COMMAND YOU TO BE SILENT!”

The unicorn shrank back in fear, cradling her prized pocketwatch to her chest.

Luna took a deep breath, opening her eyes.

“Minuette. This is not a drill. Nor is it a punishment. I would ask that you not fly off the handle- this is a crisis situation and you must keep your head on. Am I clear? Luna wore an extremely stern expression.

Minuette nodded. She crawled out from under the table, standing up in front of the princess. She snapped open her saddlebags, floating out (in order) a brush for her coat, a comb for her hair, a handkerchief to wipe her eyes clean, and a small silver hand mirror. The mirror she floated in front of her face, and wiping here eyes clean with the handkerchief. This she neatly folded and put back in place in her bag. The comb floated over and began to untangle her mane, even timings between each stroke. With her mane straight, the comb was placed back in the bag and she groomed her coat, even strokes in both time and location, large swaths of coat smoothed down without overlapping.

Luna noted the extreme specificness of the items and turned to the pony she felt would be the most truthful. The wild-haired DJ seemed like as good a choice as any.

“Excuse me. Vinyl? Does…this…happen often?” she politely inquired.

Vinyl grinned from her seat, lounging in a most undignified position. “Not that often. I keep telling her to have a drink and chill out, but eventually her stress just gets to her and this happens. Actually, it’s pretty regular- once every 30 days. You can’t be sure what time though.”

Minuette looked at her in horrified shock. “oh…oh goodness…” a calendar and pencil floated out. Minuette flipped to the current month, checked the day on her watch, and rapidly marked the date on the rest of the months on the calendar. She checked the time and made a rapid note of that.

“Right, I’ve scheduled a nervous breakdown at precisely 18:10 every thirty days. This should smooth out that unpredictability. I do apologize Vinyl. “
Covert tapped Buttercup in the shoulder with hoof. She nodded. Covert began to move his wings, and Buttercup began to translate.

“Okay, Covert says, “ princess, do we have any intel for where the elements were taken?”

Luna frowned. "No. We currently have no indication of where the elements might be. Minuette? As current head director of this institution, I would ask that you allocate ponies and resources as you see fit. Top priority is the retrieval of the elements; bringing the culprits to justice is a secondary concern.”

“No problem, your majesty. We’ll take care of it. You’ll have those elements back within the next two weeks, and that’s a promise!” Derpy said with a smile.

“Actually….you do not have that long. There is another thing I forgot to mention…..”

Everypony gulped.

“The elements are currently in possession of one who seeks to use them to cause chaos in the land. Perhaps that is a secondary goal; we do not know. But I do know that the longer the elements are surrounded by this chaos…”

Luna stepped out of the way of the episcope she was video chatting with. Discord’s statue zoomed into focus, enshrined on a dais surrounded on four sides by the high concrete walls of a large sealed room, with only the tiniest of windows and a small door.

Luna zoomed the episcope in on Discord’s hind paw.

Running up the side, barely noticeable from the front, was a hairline crack.

“A crack.” Luna said, keeping the camera on the statue, “A chink in the armour. Harmony balances chaos; the embodiments of both keep the other in check, keep it from getting too strong. The statue must be kept in a room that never changes; the elements must be kept in a chaotic castle. Such is the way of the world.

“But the elements have been plunged into the hooves of chaos. The imbalance weakens the seal, breaking the bond and tipping the scaled in the favor of chaos. And the longer the elements remain….”
“The more the statue will crack.” Berry Punch may have smelled like a minibar, but the look on her face was sober and dead serious.

Luna nodded gravely. the view through the episcope zoomed away and pointed back at the princess. Her face wore an expression of extreme concern.

"I need your entire team to report to the Hall of the Elements immediately, fully mobilized. Thus far, the investigators have been unable to make any conclusive calls as to who took the elements and what have they done with them. My hope is that your team will be able to see things that are escaping the rest of us. Time is of the essence. Please be here within the hour. "

"Equestria is counting on you."

~~~~~
Next chapters coming soon!