//------------------------------//
// XI: Collatio 
// Story: Streets of Sin 
// by Jarvy Jared 
//------------------------------//

	What beats four aces? A gun.

The thought ran through Swol’s head as he examined the gun in the local shop. It was a revolver, charcoal grey, with wood stocks and a long, narrow barrel. He was informed by the seller that it had long lost its ability to fire, the mechanisms having decayed from repeated magical use. Now, it was more like a trophy, one that Swol decided was worth keeping.

Paying the owner a handsome amount, he left, the gun tucked into his coat, empty. He was not adverse to collecting such firearms, unlike Boss and a few other members of the Family. It made him somewhat unique, even as he strived to remain “just another pony.”

The store was only a short trot away from the office, so he reentered the building in only a few minutes. He pushed open the door, stepped inside, and made his way up the steps to Grifford’s office. He nodded and greeted some of the workers, getting a few “Hellos” in response.

As he entered, he heard Finch grunt. “I take it the sale was successful?”

Swol blinked, then looked down to his side. The gun’s butt-end was hanging out. He looked back at Finch. “You could say that. It was pretty cheap.”

Finch nodded. He had a frown. “Still invested in those monstrosities, are you?”

“Hey, they’re actually interesting to collect,” Swol protested. Finch made no effort to hide his dislike of guns. “And don’t worry; it’s only for collecting. Look, see?”

Earth ponies have a noticeably hard time to lift a gun without using teeth or a special harness, but for someone as talented in the field as Swol, it was no problem (that being said, any trained pony could lift and utilize a firearm given enough time; though the weapon was found to be mostly new, and rarely used within royal armies). He reached down with one hoof and pulled out the gun, revealing that the chamber was empty. The gun did not seem to fumble in his grasp.

Boss eyed the gun uneasily. “I’ll take your word for it.” He pulled out one of the chairs. “I do ask that you refrain from pointing it at any pony.”

Hopefully I won’t have to. Swol took the open seat, replacing the gun back into his jacket. “Any news on Minx’s, Newt’s, or Viper’s whereabouts?”

Boss’s brow furrowed. “I’ve had my best field operatives investigating any and all ends, but we’ve found nothing. Seems they’ve left without a trace.”

“Any hunches?”

“Other than they’re on an unscheduled mission, no. It wouldn’t surprise me if Viper or Newt did that, but Minx?” He shook his head. “We may have had our differences, but she doesn’t strike me as one who would go against orders, or make up her own.”

Swol nodded. “She didn’t seem that way to me, either. I thought she would be smarter than that.”

Finch nodded in agreement. “Indeed. Aside from Prose, it’s safe to say she was the most cunning holder of any Prime title.”

As the mayor turned away, back to paperwork, Swol looked back down at his lap in thought. I know that a month ago, those three made Finch lose his temper, but there’s nothing between them that would make all three of them vanish.

A disturbing thought occurred to him. What if something had gone wrong? What if they had been found out? What if something was coming, something sinister, bent on taking down the Family?

But who would do such a thing? And how? Seeing as how he had no answer, he pushed the paranoid thought away. 

The revolver suddenly grew cold in his pocket.

Time passed. The clock ticked and ticked, its arms slowly rotating around the center, settling on noon. A few ponies came in, most of them the secretaries, handing both Finch and Swol some more paperwork. The papers weren’t hard to fill out, and the easy and simple task calmed Swol’s nerves.

An assistant, walking in, had a concerned frown on his face. “Boss,” he said, carrying with him a paper in his magic. “I think you should read this.”

Boss grabbed the paper and leaned back, eyes scanning the headline. His eyes narrowed, and he looked at the pony. “And this happened yesterday?”

The stallion nodded. “Yeah. Police were able to release a report just this morning.”

Quickly reverting back to Family tongue, Swol asked, “Boss, what’s wrong?”

The older stallion dismissed the secretary, before turning to Swol. He handed him the newspaper. “Read this.”

Swol swiftly did so, eyes widening in alarm. “A foal-napping?!” he nearly shouted. “In Manehattan?!”

Finch said nothing, but the way his features contorted showed he was trying to calm himself down. Swol continued, “But how? Manehattan hasn’t had a foal-napping in seemingly forever!”

“Seemingly forever is right. Grab our files on the underworld, would you?” Getting up, Swol walked over to a nearby filing cabinet, and began sifting through, searching for any crime statistics he could find. Quickly he found several, and he laid them out on the table, letting him and Boss read them.

The city, under Finch’s leadership, saw a large fall in crime rates. Most felonies were attributed to simple muggings, such as the one Prose had stopped. Bank robbery was even less common. But kidnapping, and by extension, foal-napping, was unheard of, even to Swol. His records of the city, detailed as they were, revealed that the practice had barely started in Manehattan’s older, more corrupted days.

It was no surprise, then, why the papers were completely wild with the information. Who had kidnapped the filly? Why? And, more importantly—

“How the devil did they do so without alerting our ponies on the streets?”

Boss shouted the line while slamming his hoof on the desk, nearly splintering it. The jump from calmness to calamity was so severe that Swol shuffled back in response. “Damn it, how did this happen?”

He grabbed a file. “We had ponies in Greenwood, I thought, didn’t we? Why hadn’t they seen anything?”

Swol found another paper, and he gulped. “Boss, we didn’t. We had seen no activity in the hotel, so we had decided to withdraw our watchers.”

“What?! When?!”

“A month ago.”

“Who authorized that asinine action?!”

“You did.”

Finch started, before grabbing the paper. He read it carefully, before dropping it. He fell back into his chair. “You mean to tell me, the reason why that filly was able to be kidnapped… was because of me?”

Swol had the decency not to say anything, falling back into his own chair. Boss’s sudden change in demeanor was destabilizing. One moment, he was as vibrant as he had been in his youth; the next, depressed and regretful.

“We-we’ll find her,” Swol tried to reassure him. “We haven’t let a single crime go unpunished in Manehattan.”

Grifford said nothing. The younger stallion knew he was blaming himself for this. Say what you want about Mayor Grifford Finch, but if there’s one thing he can be counted on doing, it’s caring for the innocent. Remembering how horrible Boss’s childhood was, Swol realized that he only wanted to make sure that the foals of today won’t suffer from a darker world, like the one he had been born into.

Neither stallion said a word. Even the office had gone quiet.

Swol’s gun could do nothing but sit in his pocket, growing ever more colder.

Who this filly was; whom she was related to; what she had done, or did; mattered not so much as finding out why. Swol could see in Boss’s face that he promised to find an answer to that. Silently, he made a similar vow.

No other foal would be ripped from their loving guardian as they had been. That, he promised.





Finch had calmed down after many minutes had passed, as had Swol. The younger, tan, golden-yellow stallion let the older, darker-brown one be, choosing instead to coordinate communication between the Mayor and all the law enforcement that he could in his position. As the personal assistant to the Mayor, his words held some authority, but he could do little more than request the offices to lend a helping hoof.

Already, they were receiving reports that several news stations were requesting a full press conference as soon as possible. The secretaries had to tell them that the Mayor had, as of yet, not enough details to hold a conference, but, in due time, would be able to message Manehattan and keep its residents calm.

But the Mayor had not moved from his spot, staring down at the ruffled papers. His eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. Swol didn’t say anything, though, knowing that Boss was busy thinking long and hard.

He closed his eyes as he fell back into his chair. He let out a sigh. First Minx, then Newt and Viper… and now this filly. What has Manehattan come to?

He didn’t want to answer that question, so he lowered his head, eyes still closed. His hoof shook. He clenched his eyes tighter.

Well… on the bright side, this should be the only problem we encounter throughout.

Faintly, through the door, he heard the voices of the Family. They sounded concerned; and rightfully so, he supposed. 

Then he heard what sounded like stomping, not from this floor, but from the floor below.

Below? How?

More quiet voices. Then, a moment of silence, before he heard a distant boom.

His eyes snapped open. Were they under attack? He listened carefully.

The voices outside grew louder, all garbled and confused. From the clutter, he guessed that several had risen from their desks, to get a better look at what was going on.

He heard another boom, and then—unfamiliar voices. He couldn’t guess how many there were; the office’s sounds blended their tones. But he could tell that at least one was a male.

Another boom, much closer. He heard faint shouting, female. A gruff, muffled reply from the male.

“I’m going to—”

The voice faded, replaced with the sound of something being knocked aside. Swol heard a few ponies try to stop whoever was barging in.

Based on the way that the room suddenly shook, he doubted they had succeeded.

Finch’s eyes returned to focus, and he quickly stood. Swol shared a silent, tense look with him. Somepony’s coming our way, Swol thought. Thinking quickly, he pulled the gun out of his pocket. This won’t hurt them, but maybe it’ll drive them away…

They stared at the door.

“N-now, please,” they heard one of the secretaries stutter. “Y-y-you need to calm down, sir—”

Something in another language—obscene, Swol guessed—was spoken by the male voice. He saw Grifford frown, as if remembering something.

Swol bit his lip. Whoever was trashing the office not only had a lot of nerve to do so—he was beyond angry. Absolutely livid, in fact. 

Like a demon out of Tartarus.

More voices, both familiar and unfamiliar. Crashing. stomping, and cursing. Finch made to step to the door, but Swol held him back, looking at him intensely.

You might get hurt.

Finch understood the silent thought, but grimaced. Whoever was outside was likely destroying the office; why shouldn’t Finch confront them? He looked pointedly at Swol, waiting for an answer. The tan stallion met his gaze evenly.

Suddenly, they heard it. 

Nothing.

It was as if the entire office had died. The eerie loss of sound made both of them pause. Swol tightened his grip on the revolver.

Soft whimpering from one of their secretaries just barely cut through the silence.

Now Swol wished he had bothered to buy a working gun.

His heart raced, and his shoulders locked. His legs felt as though they were like springs, about to jump out at whoever this assaulter was. He kept himself still, gun locked on the door. When it opened…

He cut the thought off as the sound of hooves approached rapidly. He narrowed his gaze, focused entirely on the door, staring down the barrel of the empty revolver.

They waited.

One second. 

Two seconds. 

Three. 

Four. 

Five.

The door made a creaking sound, as if something had pressed up against it. There was no whisper, not a single breath, taken. Swol suddenly felt as though the entire atmosphere was pressing down on him.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten—

Brr-aaammm!

As if hit by a freight train, the door suddenly was blasted off of its hinges. Swol barely had time to react. He grabbed Finch and ducked, just as the door careened over them and crashed through the back window.

The door sailed outside, hitting the opposite building, before falling to the ground with a thud.

Swol wasted no time in getting up. He jumped to his feet, intending to point the gun at whomever stood before them. But the gun had been lost in the sudden expulsion, and now he stood weaponless, staring down at…

Some strange ponies?

There were six mares and one stallion, he saw. Two of the mares were unicorns; another two were pegasi; and the final two mares and stallion were all earth ponies. Their coats were a stark contrast to his and Finch’s; brightly colored and lively, they were definitely not a common sight for a Manehattanite. One thing that they, save for the stallion, shared, was the look of shock at what the pony had done.

But he barely had time to register their full appearances, when the stallion turned his gaze onto him.

“You!”

His voice boomed so loud that Swol thought he had somehow used the Royal Canterlot Voice. He couldn’t react in time. The stallion surged forward, knocking the younger pony aside, growling as he tackled Finch. The Mayor barely had time to register the movement as he was slammed against the back wall.

Swol quickly recovered, and, getting up, he could now see this newcomer clearly. He wore an ash-grey cloak which covered a navy-blue vest. The hood had been thrown off, revealing a slightly spiky slate mane, with bright-blue highlights. His body was a pewter-grey, and his face was as stormy as a roaring sea. So filled with raw fury was his face, that Swol nearly missed his eyes which, somehow, shone more dangerously than any amount of emotion he had ever seen.

And they were pink.

“Opa! Wait!” one of the unicorns, an alabaster-white, tried to call.

Opa?

“Where?! Where is she?!” the stallion shouted, thrashing Finch around. The Mayor couldn’t respond much more than with a grunt, but he did manage to kick the stallion away. “Opa” quickly recovered, throwing himself once again at Finch.

Swol ran up from behind, intending to pry the stallion away from his mentor. He was kicked back with so much force that the wall he crashed into cracked. He groaned in dull pain.

Finch once again threw the stallion off of him. “Opa” flew through towards the alabaster unicorn.

Swol reacted by launching himself off the ground, tackling the mare to the side, as the stallion flew past them. They both grunted as they landed. The mare had a look of surprise on her face. He felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment, and he was drawn to her sapphire eyes.

“Get off of me!” she shouted, pushing him away with her magic.

He jumped off, blinking past the pain and onslaught. “Who are you ponies?!” he shouted back, not realizing how loud his voice was.

“Swol, move!” Finch ordered, just as the new stallion began charging towards him. Swol jumped away at the last minute.

Finch managed to land a blow on the stallion’s nose, but that didn’t stop him from tackling Finch to the ground. Hooves were thrown, each impact a resounding crack. Both of their faces swelled as each fought for the advantage.

“Opa, stop!” cried the purple unicorn to Swol’s side. Her horn lit, and she approached, intending to grab them both with her magic.

Finch punched the stallion in his face. Reeling, the stallion struck the unicorn with his body, throwing her back.

“Twilight!” the others shouted.

Finch pounded on Opa, not giving the stallion a moment to rest. Seeing the wild look in the Mayor’s eyes, Swol realized he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

“Boss! Boss!” As he shouted this, he raced forward, tackling Boss off of the stallion. “Stop it! You need to stop it!”

The younger stallion’s voice broke through the rage-filled attack. Boss stumbled back, holding his hooves up halfway, a look of tired horror on his face. Swol glanced over his shoulder, wincing as he anticipated “Opa” to attack him. When he saw nothing, he turned around, and saw that the white unicorn was doing her best to restrain him in her magic. The strain of the task was evident on her face.

“Opa, please! Calm yourself!” she shouted desperately.

“Not until he’s dead!”

Finch knocked Swol away. The newcomer managed to flail around enough, distracting the white unicorn and making her preemptively disarm her magical hold. As he charged towards the mayor, he let out a cry.

“Opa” slammed into Finch whilst reaching down to the ground for something. Rushing past Swol, he leapt over the desk, stopping just short of the window. He held Grifford outside by the throat.

Swol made to rush forward, but stopped when the stallion growled, “One more step and I blow his head off with your revolver.” Fiercely he pushed the stub into the brown stallion’s neck.

Grifford groaned weakly. “Still have it in you, don’t you?”

The pewter stallion growled. “Not. Another. Word.”

Swol heard rustling behind him. Looking, he saw Twilight slowly rise. Her mane was a mess, and her eyes glowed a dangerous white. Her horn began to glow.

“You won’t kill me,” Finch continued. “You can’t.”

“I will!”

“No, you seriously can’t,” Swol said, trying to diffuse the situation before Twilight did something drastic. “The gun. It’s empty.”

The stallion blinked, looking down at the gun. Finch took this chance to kick him away with his hind hooves, throwing him over the desk. But the stallion recovered, dropping the gun, and he launched himself forward as Finch struggled to regain his breath.

“Enough!”

Suddenly, the two fighters were wrapped in a light, purple glow, frozen in the air. Swol looked over, seeing that Twilight had risen from her spot. Her mane hung loosely over her face, and her eyes glowed a dangerous white. 

“Both of you, cut it out!” she shouted again. They struggled for a little longer, before Finch first nodded slowly, ceasing his struggle. The other stallion, after a much longer moment, stopped. But he kept a fierce glare upon Finch.

Swol slowly got up, ignoring the pain in his body. Twilight shot him a warning look; he raised his hooves complacently, showing he intended no harm.

She looked at the two captured stallions. She was breathing heavily. “We just outright destroyed governmental property,” she whispered fiercely. “Do you realize how much trouble you’ll be in?”

The question was directed at the pewter stallion. He said nothing, still glaring at Grifford. The way he did so, sparked something in Swol’s mind, and he struggled to figure out why.

“What… what are you doing?” Finch wheezed. “This isn’t… this isn’t you…”

“You think you know me?” The stallion struggled in Twilight’s magical grasp.

“Opa, calm yourself!” she shouted.

“Opa…? Is that what they’re calling you?” Finch may have tried to grin, but with the swelling and bruising, it came out more as a grimace. “Sounds like… something a kid… would make up…”

The comment made “Opa” madder. He spat, “Shut up!”

Swol finally understood who the stallion was. He could scarcely believe it. What was he doing in their office?

He had to confirm this. He got to his hooves and raised a hoof, curious and bewildered, at the stallion. In a voice that reflected his emotions, he stuttered, “You’re… you’re…”

Finch, despite the seriousness of the moment, let out a dry chuckle. “Of course it’s you. Welcome back…

“Opacare Prose.”





        The situation still had not been completely diffused even after they had managed to right the room. Swol sat in his chair, still recovering from what had happened. The unicorn named Twilight had placed Prose and Finch in chairs opposite of each other. Their faces, previously swollen and bruised, were quickly healing thanks to an efficient healing spell the aforementioned unicorn cast moments earlier. The large desk sat between them.

“Hey, Mr. Mayor! What gives?”

The voice came from outside, below. Swol swiveled and went up to the window. He saw a small group of ponies looking at the removed door, confused.

“Er, it’s nothing major,” he reassured them. “Door came loose. Had an angry pony stumble in. Kicked the door clean out!”

“Is everything okay?” a mare asked. “Should we call the police?”

He glanced back at the Mayor, seeing him shake his head. “Er, no, it’s fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

Before they could get another word in, he shut the window and closed the blinds, releasing a breath as he slid back into his seat. 

One of the mares inside, a butterscotch yellow, flew back into the office. She was followed by the pink earth mare. Swol asked a silent question to the white unicorn. “They’re probably going to help fix things up,” she responded.

He wasn’t sure what to make of all of them. He looked at the ponies. Twilight and the white unicorn looked particularly tired. The cyan pegasus had a nasty grimace on her face, mirrored by the orange earth pony’s scowl. Lastly, Prose had locked his gaze on Finch, anger steaming from his nose.

Swol didn’t know what to say. He maintained a frown, tired, confused. He opened his mouth, as if to say something; then closed it and sighed.

What exactly do you say to ponies who just broke into your office?

Prose suddenly shifted his gaze to Swol. The tan stallion flinched under his intensity. For a moment, neither spoke.

“Swol, right?” Prose began suddenly. Caught off guard, he didn’t have a chance to respond. “Personal secretary to the Boss.”

“You mean, the Mayor—”

“Don’t try and correct me.”

Swol gulped. Even though he had known Prose longer than most others in the Family, the author never failed to make him feel small.

Prose continued, “Yes, I remember you. Still corrupted by his beliefs.”

Swol tried to say something in protest, but a hoof placed on his shoulder by Finch held him back. The Mayor looked at the others in the room.

“Now, before I have you all arrested for assault, do you mind telling me what this is all about?”

“You can only have me arrested,” Opacare said, glaring. “And you know exactly what this is about.”

Swol saw Grifford frown, thinking carefully. “Your… job?” He said it delicately, as to not reveal the Family to the mares.

Suddenly, the attitude of the room shifted down the angry spectrum. Prose’s glare was like a Gorgon’s glare, as if it could kill even the fiercest of minotaurs. “Is that all you’ve ever cared about? The ‘job?’”

Swol blinked. What was it that Prose had said?

“Where is she?!”

As his mind connected the dots, the white unicorn cleared her throat. The action seemed to bring Prose out of his daze. She took a step forward, looking directly at the Mayor. When she placed a hoof on the desk, the former Prime Intimidator looked suddenly concerned, like he was worried that Finch would suddenly attack the unicorn.

“Mayor Grifford Finch?” she addressed. He nodded slowly. “You must have heard by now of the recent foal-napping?”

“I have. Why? Do you have any information regarding the victim or perpetrator?”

Though, if they did, it wouldn’t explain why Prose attacked Finch.

The mare’s face grew troubled. “Mayor, my name is Rarity. And the victim was…” Her voice wavered. “… was my sister. Sweetie Belle.”

Swol’s eyes widened. The Mayor’s grew large and sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Finch said softly. “Rest assured, we have the city’s finest looking out for your sister.”

His hoof drew a bit closer to Rarity’s, as if to provide some sort of comfort. Opacare shot from his chair, yelling, “Don’t you dare touch her!”

Caught unawares, Finch quickly retracted his hoof, shooting Prose a questioning look. “Whoa, Prose!” the cyan pegasus exclaimed. “Cool it!”

Prose would have none of it. “You think you can play this off, like it’s another one of your schemes? Is that what you think?” He snorted bitterly. “You can try and hide it all you want, but it’s obvious what you’ve done!”

“Is it?” Grifford responded, a bit uneasily, Swol noticed.

“Yes!” Prose slammed his hooves on the floor. Underestimating his strength, but not caring either way, he cracked it, nearly collapsing the wood. “You kidnapped Sweetie Belle, all just to get back at me! I ought to—”

“Opacare Prose!” Rarity shouted, making him stop mid-sentence. Her glare matched his to such a degree that Swol was sure that she had spent years honing it. “That is quite enough!”

“We know what he did! We should have him arrested—”

“As much as Ah’d love to tie that varmint’s face into a tight knot,” the orange earth pony interrupted, getting looks from the stallion and the mare, “Ah hate to break it to ya, Prose; but you’re the only one who thinks he knows what the Mayor did.”

“Applejack is right. We don’t have any evidence to say he even was involved,” Twilight said, trying to keep her voice calm. But it was clear that she was growing tired of Prose’s outbursts.

Rarity turned back to the Mayor and Swol. She glared down at them, while Finch shifted in his seat. She stepped closer; Twilight held Prose back with her magic. As Rarity neared, her horn lifted Finch up by his collar. She looked directly at him.

“Listen to me,” he said, not faltering under the two intense gazes from the mare and the author. “I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that the city and I will be working our hardest to find your sister.”

Rarity paused, looking into his sharp blue eyes. Her intense gaze fell away, falling into something similar to surprise.

Swol found himself feeling suddenly hot. Something about the sudden big eyes made his heart race. He wasn’t sure why.

She dropped Grifford back into his chair. “Did you hear that?” she said to nopony in particular. “‘Will be…’!”

She looked at Prose. “That implies that he didn’t know beforehand about this.”

“He could be lying.”

“Look into his eyes and tell me that he is.”

Prose cast a quick glance. “You know that I know that he’s hiding something.”

She huffed. “If this is about him hiding the Family from us, it’s hardly a surprise.”

Swol nearly fell out of his chair. “W-what? You know?”

“Of course we do!” the cyan pegasus exclaimed, flying over to him, casting a reproachful glare. “We were there when Prose confessed who he was, remember? I bet you also remember scaring ponies into leaving town, taking the necessary steps to take over Manehattan—”

“Rainbow.” Prose’s voice was low, dark, and commanding. But it got the point across. Rainbow nodded, before flying back to the door.

Grifford looked at Rarity, then to Prose, before sighing. “I should have known you’d end up telling them.”

“I trust them.”

“But do they trust you?” Finch frowned, pushing past his own question. “You still haven’t told us what you want, Prose.”

“I want many things,” he growled. “You, out of that chair, is one of them—” A sharp crack on the floor from Rarity cut him off once again.

“Mayor,” she addressed. “I know you’ve been involved in some dastardly deeds in the past. But something tells me that the issue at hand is not something you’re entirely familiar with.”

“How do you figure?” Swol asked before he could stop himself.

Rarity flashed him a smug smile, and something in his heart stopped for a brief moment. “His voice. And the way he’s sitting. When he talked about my sister, there wasn’t a sense of familiarity in his voice.” She looked his way. “Is that correct?”

He nodded. “I only just received word of the incident some time before you arrived.”

Prose looked like he wanted to say something, but held back.

“And the way he had been sitting suggests that he’s also perturbed by what has transpired. Not guarded completely, but not obnoxiously open. It’s like how a pony sits when they know something is wrong, but don’t know what.” Her face fell. “I used to see it a lot with Sweetie Belle…”

She glanced back at Prose, seeing his brow furrowed. “I know it seems hard to believe, Opa, given you two’s… history. But, if you want, let Applejack question him. She can detect a lie from miles away!”

He nodded slowly. The orange mare—Applejack, Swol correctly guessed—stepped forward, giving the Mayor a stoic look. She wasn’t sure what to make of him, and had little to go on but what Prose had been saying. Swol hoped that she wouldn’t let that blind her from seeing Finch as he was.

“Ah’m gonna start right off, Mister Mayor. Were you involved in Sweetie Belle’s kidnapping?”

“I was not.”

She scrunched her muzzle, looking at him from every angle. Swol tried to join in, but failed to see anything wrong with his mentor’s expression.

“That’s yer answer?”

“It is indeed my answer, yes.”

She sat back, looking at him through narrowed slits. She was silent for a little while; then, she looked to her friends. “Best as I can figure, he ain’t lying.”

Swol released a breath. Good. Thank Celestia that was over—

Why did she still look troubled?

“But,” she added, “Ah can’t help but feel that something else is wrong. Is that right, Mister Mayor?”

With seven gazes set upon them, demanding an answer, Swol felt any calmness leave him. What could they say to remove their suspicions? Swol knew they had absolutely nothing to do with the foal-napping. He couldn’t even see Finch wanting to kidnap a child. He was much too kind to them to want to cause any harm.

He thought back to Prose’s words: “You’d do it just to get back at me!”

What had happened that would make Opacare think they’d want to hurt him? He had been a valued member of the Family; the least thing they’d want to do is drive him away! Finch may not have been as close to the author as he had once been, but he still held him in high esteem.

Suddenly, the author seemed like an entirely different pony to Swol, different from the stallion he had known about in the last few years in the Family.

I’m not even sure what exactly he wants to do. Doesn’t he see all the good we’ve accomplished? Why would he suspect us?

He looked over to Grifford, hoping for answers. Surprisingly, he provided some; though, shockingly, not the ones Swol was expecting.

He reached down underneath the table and pulled out the three files. What—What is he doing?

“This can’t be a coincidence,” Finch muttered as he placed the files on the desk. “It’s too easy. Too stupidly easy.”

“What are you talking about?” Rarity asked. She trotted over to the desk, and raised the papers with her magic. “Who are these ponies? Victims?”

Finch shook his head. “No. But I believe that Prose here remembers them?”

They turned to him expectantly. The author shifted his hooves, a bit disgruntled, before sighing and snatching the papers with a hoof. He read through them quickly.

“Viper Navy. Male. Age: 25. Relatives: Brother, Apartment 421F, Manehattan Coastline Residency. Occupation: Accountant. Operation: Comminator.

“Newt Ginger. Male. Age: 27. Relatives: Unknown, likely orphan. Occupation: Bank Teller. Operation: Comminator.

“Minx.” At that his eyes widened, and his voice rushed through the words. “Female, age 23, relatives, mother, retirement home in downtown Harbor; occupation, secretary for mayor. Operation: Coercitor Protos.” He looked up. “Prime Enforcer.”

Finch nodded. “You remember them well?”

Any anger that had been boiling in the stallion had seemingly vanished. “Yes. I remember when they were just starting out. Barely adults.” His frown returned. “Why are you showing us this?”

Swol finally understood. “Because what happened to them may have something to do with what happened to her.”

All eyes were at once trained on him. He took a breath. “We received word a day ago that Minx had not arrived at her post. We first assumed that she was simply on an extended mission, but a quick check-up revealed she had no work to be done for the next week. Our next discovery was that Newt and Viper were gone as well, and, once again, without any work being assigned.”

“So what you’re saying is, they’ve vanished,” clarified Twilight.

“We don’t know for certain, but it is a high possibility. Especially now that we know about what happened to Rarity’s sister.

“It can’t just be a coincidence,” he continued, “that four ponies vanished, only a day apart. Three of ours, and that filly—Sweetie Belle.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t know how else to explain it, but somehow, those vanished ponies are linked. It’s far too easy to call it coincidence.”

“So easy that,” Rarity finished, “the only explanation, is that something else was involved.”

He nodded, before cringing under Opacare’s stoic stare. “I know it seems far-fetched, but it’s the most sensible possibility.”

In the pewter stallion’s face, there still remained a level of distrust that Swol still did not understand completely. It both mildly frustrated and greatly confused him.

At the very least, he hadn’t said anything in protest, so perhaps Swol’s words were making some amount of sense to him.

“Somepony else is involved,” breathed Rarity. “We simply cannot let them get away with this!”

“She’s right,” Swol said. “I don’t like having kidnappers running amuck in Manehattan.”

Finch stood, appearing very mayor-like. “To that end, if we are to find these ponies, then we must pool our resources—both the city’s, and our own.”

“An alliance?” Twilight asked.

“More of a coalition, but yes, essentially an alliance.” He tried for a smile. “What do you say?”

A seat suddenly was pushed back as Opacare reared his hooves, whinnying madly. The action, so primal, to uncanny, caused everyone to flinch back. “No! Absolutely not!” He turned on Rarity. “You cannot possibly be so stupid as to think allying yourself with that filth will do us any good!”

Rarity looked hurt by those words, judging by her furrowed brow. Swol suddenly wanted to go over to her and shield her from Prose. She tried to say, “Now, Opa—”

“Have you forgotten what he’s done?!” Prose shouted over her. Twilight’s horn glowed dangerously, but she appeared hesitant to use her magic at the moment. “All of the ponies he’s scared?! The mass exoduses he’s performed?! The families he’s driven apart, the fillies and colts who have been scarred, the friends he’s killed—”

“Opacare Prose!” Her voice, shrill, furious, and livid, drowned out the raging stallion. “That is quite enough!”

She took a step forward, pushing a hoof into his chest, hard. “Whatever spat you had with the Mayor, no matter how painful, is of no consequence right now! Sweetie Belle is missing, and we need all the help we can get! So, please, put your anger aside and help me find her, or Celestia help me I will throw your self-entitled, uncaring, and hateful flank out the window—”

She suddenly stopped, staring into his eyes. Swol couldn’t tell what was happening between the two, other than she had reached some sort of understanding about the stallion. She slowly backed off, hoof over her mouth. She looked away, as did he.

The tension slowly fell, replaced with exhaustion. Even Twilight, Applejack, and the cyan pegasus, who weren’t a part of the shouting match, looked tired. Finch held onto a guarded but thoughtful expression.

“Opa, I…” Rarity’s voice trailed off.

He stepped back, heading for the open doorway. He didn’t say anything, and simply walked out, leaving the others in stupefied solitude.

The white unicorn started shivering, and wiped her face with a hoof. The shivering didn’t stop; it was followed by shaky lips, and unsteady legs. Before any of the mares accompanying her could get to her side, Swol was there, spurred on by instinct. She leaned against him, not caring who he was, only wanting the support he offered.

Something dampened his coat.

She gasped, pushing away. “Oh! I-um… Th-thank you…” Her apologizing quickly turned to stutters. Swol saw a few remaining tears in her eyes.

He managed to give a small, understanding smile, followed by a nod. He stayed in his spot, though; the others didn’t seem keen on asking him to leave.

Rarity turned to Finch, who was looking at her. With a concerned frown, he did not seem like a towering monstrosity, a walking filth, that Prose had called him. Swol could see that he genuinely was worried for Rarity and the missing filly. Here was a stallion who pledged to save Manehattan. And he was preparing to renew that pledge.

Rarity was the first to speak. She cleared her throat. “Mister Mayor,” she began, voice soft and strained, “the way I understand it, you have done some… things.” She failed to find the right adjective but, with a wave of her hoof, Swol understood what she meant. He cringed. What had Prose been saying about them?

“And… I’d like to think that Opa is telling the truth to his side of things.”

Finch said nothing, staring carefully at her.

“But… with only his word to go on, I think that… there remains some doubt as to your… heinous acts.”

Swol nearly let out a relieved sigh.

“As such, I think that what you have offered would be unwise to refuse. I-I—” She fumbled, looking for the best way to phrase it. Her formal tone collapsed, but she did not. 

Shakily, but still determined to stay strong, she said, “Please. Help me find my beloved little sister.”

Finch, at first, remained silent, before reaching around the desk and pulling out a small notepad. Writing something down, he handed it to Swol. “Give this to Marble. See to it that she prepares all that is written.”

He then looked at Rarity, and, though it couldn’t be said he was pleased with what had transpired, he was still empathetic. “We’ll get your sister and our associates back. I promise.”

“Grifford?” Swol asked. “What should we do about the…” He gestured around the room. “The mess?”

Finch waved a hoof. “We’ll take care of that later. Right now, get that to Marble. This is much more important.”

“Right away, sir.”

As Swol stepped beside Rarity, he stopped for a moment. Something told him to say something, but he didn’t know what. He opted instead to place a hoof on her shoulder reassuringly. “We’ll find her,” he whispered.

He didn’t see her nod. He walked out.





“Mr. Prose?”

The author stiffened when Swol spoke. He turned, eyes narrowed, staring down the tan stallion.

Swol gulped. After delivering the note to the secretary, he had, for some reason, decided to walk out and talk to the author. He knew it was a foolish idea, but something told him he had to anyway. Clearing his throat, he stepped down the steps. A low grunt from Prose told him to keep a short distance away.

“I… um… I just wanted to tell you that Mayor Grifford Finch—” The mention of the name caused Prose to glare at Swol. The tan stallion hesitated, but pressed forward: “—he’s called together a press conference to let Manehattan know what’s going on.”

Swol scuffed a hoof on the sidewalk. He could sense Prose’s eyes stare right through him, analyzing his every word and movement. “He didn’t say specifically, but I could tell he wanted to… to…”

There was simply no way to say it without angering the stallion. Swol took a breath, trying to keep himself cool under the pressure that Prose was laying on him.

“He would want you to come.”

No discernable reaction could be seen from Prose. It was as if he had shut down completely. All that remained was his gaze, brilliant and dark at the same time.

Swol had anticipated this silence, and he pressed on. “I don’t know exactly what you think of us, or why… but I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty, we’re not what you think we are. We… we aren’t monsters. We’re ponies like you. We just want to help Manehattan.”

“By scaring innocents? Coercing the foolish? Bullying the beaten?”

Opacare’s voice was hard, years of bitterness behind it. In three simple interrogatives, he told the story of a wounded warrior. Swol tried to remain calm.

“We only scare criminals. Only those who have it coming.”

“That’s what he said, isn’t it?” Of course Opacare saw through those words. “Not what you think. Tell me, Swol, what do you think about the Family?”

Sweat beaded down his face, but he answered strongly, “I think we’re just ponies who want to do good.”

“Then you’re as blind as I was.”

“Or maybe you’re still blind to the truth.”

The words were out like a rocket. He saw Prose pause and stiffen. If Swol kept going on about the Family, he knew that the author wouldn’t want to be around anymore. He needed to keep Prose close, to ensure that they would find the missing ponies.

“Look, it doesn’t matter what you think of us, or of me, or of the Mayor. Right now, the city needs you to go to that press conference.” He sighed. The cold wind rushed past.

Prose didn’t respond, and Swol took that as a sign to continue.

“Whatever… qualms… you have, I… I think you need to put them away for now. From what I can tell, despite your little… rage a little while ago, you care for the missing filly. As does Rarity.” For some reason, saying her name made him feel a bit warmer.

He looked Opacare dead in the eye. “I’m not asking you as a member of the Family. I’m asking you as a fellow pony. I want to help find Sweetie Belle. So does Grifford.”

He paused, before finishing, “Please. Come to the press conference. The city needs you. We need you. She—” He gestured back to the building. “She needs you, Mr. Prose. I think they all do.”

With the wind blowing by, it was hard to tell if his words were getting through to the stallion. Yet Swol continued to wait for a response, ignoring the cold.

“… When?” Prose simply asked.

Inside of Swol’s head, victory bells were ringing. He fought down a grin, trying to remain serious. “We’ve scheduled for later today. I’ll let you know the exact time and place.”

The author turned, seeing that business was done. He began walking down the street, pulling up his hood as he did so, fading back into anonymity. Swol watched him go, happy, yet strangely sad. Hadn’t he convinced Prose to join them? Why would he be feeling this way?

He pushed the thought aside, deciding to mull over it another time. Something compelled him to add one more thing. “Mr. Prose?” he called.

The stallion stopped. He barely glanced over his shoulder.

“… For what it’s worth… thank you.”

The stallion let the words sink in, before continuing to walk away. He vanished down the street, and Swol guessed he was heading to the hotel to rest. He considered getting a few ponies to watch over him, but quickly decided against it. Something told him that the author needed to be alone for now.

Away from everyone, and everything.

Swol wondered how he could ever find comfort in that.





THE COALITION OF THE CENTURY!

        Ponies of Manehattan, rejoice! Rejoice, I tell you, because the goddesses above have granted us not one, but two, distinct saviors, to alleviate us from this sudden threat!

Frequent readers of the Manehattan Times will remember that, just a day ago, a young filly was kidnapped by unknown assailants from her room in the Greenwood Hotel. Currently, an investigation is underway by the Manehattan Police Force, though nothing concrete has come up, I am told.

But! Fret not, my fellow ponies, because now we’ve our city’s most prestigious figures lending a direct and personal helping hoof. That’s right; Mayor Grifford Finch not only has vowed to find the missing filly, but he is doing so with the help of the legendary and formerly missing author, Opacare Prose!

Mayor Grifford revealed in a press conference today that he had received word of the incident a day after it had happened. He then revealed that three other ponies who had been a part of his legislature have gone missing. After hearing about the missing filly, he realized that there is a high possibility that the many disappearances may be connected.

“Manehattan is not a home to criminals!” he spoke to reporters at the press conference. “If they should seek to terrorize and kidnap our fellow Manehattanites, they will find no safe haven in our fair city!”

Ironically, it seems that these perpetrators will be staying in Manehattan for much longer than anticipated. The police have started a blockade around the city’s main exits and entrances, and are checking every pony who is trying to enter. In the meantime, no ponies are allowed to leave. “This is to ensure,” said one of the officers, “that we keep the search to Manehattan, and Manehattan alone.”

I know what some of you are thinking: “Kidnappers? In Manehattan? Why shouldn’t I leave?” Well, that exact question was posed to the Mayor, and he had this to say:

“If we show that we are afraid of these criminals, then crime will resurface once again. We must show that we are not afraid to make difficult decisions; we must show we are willing to sacrifice a great deal of liberty in order to sniff out those ruffians. The only thing we need fear is our hesitance in not doing our part, to find and safely return those four missing ponies.”

The names of the missing are as follows: Minx, a red Earth mare, whose Cutie Mark is a purple eighth note; Newt Ginger, a mint-green unicorn stallion with a Mark in the shape of a mask; Viper Navy, a blue unicorn stallion whose Mark consists of a green pen with a jade wisp of smoke trailing behind it; and Sweetie Belle, an unmarked, unicorn filly. Any pony with information on these victims is asked to report to the police immediately.

When asked what he thought we, as a city, should do to help, Opacare Prose had this to say:

“Servo vestri amici et familiae, sed non inanes sunt manifesta.”

I had to look up the words, but here is the best translation:

“Keep your friends and family close, but do not oblivious to the obvious.”

It’s strange advice, but, since it came from his mouth, I believe we would do well to heed his words.

I must confess, it is like something out of the author’s novels! A foal-napping resulting in a joint effort by our beloved Mayor and our beloved Author… I tell you, readers, it’s truly a magnificent time we live in!

If you want to help Manehattan by following Opacare Prose’s advice, we have a few puzzles on the next page to help enhance your mind and keep you from being “oblivious to the obvious.”

Manehattan Times and my editorial column will do our best to keep you all informed as the days pass. And don’t you worry, missing ponies; with the combined might of the Mayor, the Author, and the city, we’ll get you all home, safe and sound!


-Ruby Sparks, Reporter of the Manehattan Times