Life was a game that came without instructions. There were dice, tokens, and a stack of little cards with life-changing events that ran the gamut from winning a beauty pageant, to finding yourself carried away on a stretcher with two broken legs and a bullet in the chest. Doc was sadly aware of two facts about the game of life—one, the ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card had never fixed broken legs, and two, there were always house rules.
<“Stocks for international medical giant Crash Carriage dropped another two points at the close of the market today, amid fears of lower than expected third quarter sales for the corporation’s western branch. The corporation’s CEO assures investors that the quarterly growth projections will be met for the year.”>
Doc let out a snort at the trideo hologram. The ghostly newscaster floated before him like a miniature specter, a realistic-looking image that existed only between the television’s three-dimensional screen on the wall and the tiny projector within his glasses. He gulped down the remains of his beer, an amber swill as bitter as Doc’s faith in the news. The hologram blurred into a miasma of colors as the translucent newsroom morphed into a three-dimensional projection of a large sports car, the new 2071 Mustang GTX. Around the vehicle darted videos of its performance. It even drew a little brown pony—in the likeness of Doc—behind the wheel of the vehicle as a gimmick to entice him into buying one. However, for only thirty-six grand, he was pretty sure the curvy mare sitting on the hood wasn’t included. He tapped the right side of his glasses. The holographs of his Augmented Reality system turned off and left him visually naked in the real world.
The bar he sat at bore the many scratches and stains of a lifetime of service to drinkers both hard and casual. The scent of alcohol imbued the aged wood. Above the old bar hung dim yellow-white lights, weathered by the caked smoke of several thousand cigarettes over the years.
Doc listened to the cacophony around him; ponies bemoaned about the realities of their weary lives and cheered at their favorite teams playing on the dozen or so trideo TVs around the bar. Somewhere among the crowd gathered here, Doc overheard someone whisper the words Crash Carriage. It was a rumor, nothing more, that the company’s research data was stolen by a group of Trotters. Such rumors floated around a lot in this city; thieves, mercenaries, spies. An underground network of deniable assets for hire. Doc had heard of these ponies. Heck, he had patched more than a few at his clinic when they showed up full of bullets. Still, it all sounded more exciting than his life right now.
He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small, rectangular device—his commlink. Doc tapped a small button on the side and the commlink’s smooth touch-screen awoke. Lights and shapes came together and formed a program that displayed the bar’s available menu. He pushed a digital call button on the screen to get the bartender’s attention.
The bartender walked over with a smile wider than his red tie was long. “Another beer? We can toast to Crash Carriage’s financial troubles,” he offered.
“I don’t see a reason to be happy about that,” Doc said with a dismissive nod. “You know they’re just going to lay off some employees to meet their bottom line.”
“Sure, but come on, Vardo! Wouldn’t you want to be a fly on the wall of that boardroom meeting?” The stallion circled a hoof in the air excitement. “To see the CEO sweat in front of the stockholders?”
“Harvey, how long have we known each other?” Doc asked him. “Two years? Three? In all that time, why do you insist on calling me by my first name? You know I hate that.”
The yellow stallion smirked as he cracked open another cold one for his friend. He leaned against the bar. “Yes, and in my line of work, two years is plenty of time to get on a first-name basis with a regular customer. Cheer up, chummer. If you can’t take a little satisfaction in the misery of others, then you’re never going to be happy.”
Doc slowly shook his head and sipped the beer. His straight face then broke into a small grin. “You give lousy advice.”
“Yes, but that’s not why my customers come here,” Harvey retorted. He then held up a hoof. “One moment, need to send my new waitress on break.” The bartender placed a hoof to the side of his head. His lips twitched in silence as he stared at the ceiling, eyes out of focus.
Doc never understood the appeal some ponies had with an implanted commlink inside their brain. Any physical repairs or upgrades required additional brain surgery. Poking one's brain matter too many times led to complications. Several tables away, Doc saw a server check her commlink and then wave to Harvey. She trotted off to the back room.
The bartender returned his attention to Doc. “Say, Vardo, how did that blind date go last night?”
Doc hesitated, his eyes looked down at the bottle. “Uh, I rather not talk about it,” he replied.
The bar's front door flew open and banged like a gunshot against the frame. A hush came down over the patrons as eyes looked toward the entrance. Doc saw two rough unicorns stroll into the building like an autumn chill; one was a tall, brown stallion with a frayed biker jacket. The other was a chubby green mare with her mane done up in pigtails. They both openly carried small, tarnished pistols on their belt holsters.
The green mare looked around the room for a solid minute before she spoke. “I’m looking for the rat-bastard called Vardo Wagon!” she shouted.
“And that would be why,” Doc whispered. He put his beer down and shrank down on his seat. Part of him hoped they wouldn’t see him among the crowd. The other part knew he was an idiot for foolish hopes.
The room went silent as the two ganger unicorns walked over to the bar. Their long, lion-like tails held upright resembled those of cats stalking prey. Doc’s eyes met the green mare’s. Her face scrunched tightly into a scowl. She stood up on her haunches, which caused the metal bangles around her legs to clink together several times.
“I can’t believe what you did last night, Wagon!” She jabbed her hoof at his face several times.
Doc took a deep breath. “I apologize, Penny. Was the restaurant’s food really that bad, or was it the movie?” he asked calmly. “It was the movie, wasn’t it? You’re not into romantic comedies?”
“I got two friends who saw you patch up that dreck of a Nighter!” she continued to shout. Her tail twitched back and forth.
“Uh oh. Which member, if I may ask?” Harvey inquired.
Penny glanced at the bartender. “Blood Fang.”
Harvey gave a careful nod. Doc felt out of the loop here. “And Blood Fang is… important?” he asked.
“He’s one of the high-ranking lieutenants in the Nightmare Nighters gang,” Harvey answered in a whisper. “What’d you do, Vardo, make a house call downtown?”
“Wait, the unicorn with the skull makeup?” Doc’s ears shot up straight. “Now hold up! He came into my clinic! All I did was pull a few bullets out of his back and sew him up. Why—”
Penny grabbed Doc by the chest hairs. His lungs seized up with the agony of every stretched follicle as the unicorn yanked him forcefully off his stool. Although he wasn’t a very tall stallion, Doc was still looking down at a very angry pony that seemed stronger than she looked.
“We Discordians spent months planning his murder, you stupid stallion!" the mare shouted. "And you saved his life!”
“Is a public admission of attempted murder really wise, my dear?” Harvey asked.
Doc adjusted his glasses. “Let’s be fair, Penny. He was a paying customer and rent these days ain’t exactly cheap.”
The other ganger drew a pistol and pointed it at Doc’s head. Chairs around the room suddenly squealed across the floor. Several nearby patrons were up, and they held firearms of their own. Doc was pretty sure many of the patrons here had hooves on their gun holsters. It was ‘that’ kind of bar, and a big reason Doc preferred to come here for drinks.
Harvey waved his forehooves wildly in the air. “Whoa, whoa whoa! This is not how we conduct ourselves in my bar! Sir, put the piece away,” Harvey said in a stern voice to the stallion ganger. The pony complied, and in turn the patrons holstered their guns. “Thank you. Blood is a pain in the ass to to clean off the stool fabric. Look, Penny, I’m pretty sure Vardo was mostly unaware of who—”
“Completely unaware,” Doc interrupted.
“Completely unaware of who Blood Fang was. More to the point, if the stallion was able to crawl his way to Doc’s chop-shop after getting shot, he was gonna to survive anyway. Hurting my friend here isn’t going to do anything but make me angry and leave an unpaid tab on my books.”
“Gee, thanks,” Doc flatly muttered under his breath.
Penny stared into Doc's eyes for several seconds. She then released her grip on him. Spared from the threat of having his brains painted all over the bar, Doc watched the two gangers stomp out of the building. Their hooves echoed off the walls. Penny threw the front door open as she left the building. It banged against the frame once more and then returned to its closed position. The silence exited the room after the door shut as the patrons returned to their conversations and drinks.
Doc rubbed the soreness on his chest where Penny had grabbed him. “Well, that happened.”
The bartender sighed as he leaned against the bar. “I guess Penny won’t be returning your calls for a second date.”
“No shit? Wouldn’t have guessed that,” Doc said with a snort. He picked up his commlink. “So much for trying those cheap blind-dating websites. I’m just glad I have a friend to keep me from getting shot by these crazy gang mares.”
Harvey shrugged as if it were nothing. “Eh, you’re a decent guy. Maybe a bit too nice when you don’t ask questions of anyone who walks into your shop with three bullets in the back.”
Doc chuckled. He touched a few digital buttons on his device and electronically paid off his night’s tab, plus tip. “Reckon I ought to add that to my patient questionnaire.”
“Hey, as long as you keep treating my gout,” Harvey stated, “You’ll always have a safe place here.”
Doc let out an amused snort as he got up from his seat. “Nah, staying here with all this hooch is a bad idea.”
“You going to be alright getting yourself home? You want to borrow my gun?”
“...Nah, I’ll be fine. I’m not actually unarmed,” Doc said as he slid his commlink into his jacket pocket. He walked towards the front door.
Harvey frowned. “Could’ve fooled me!” he shouted after him.
As Doc reached the exit, he looked over his shoulder at his friend. “I just have to fool the gangers.” This confidence, however, assumed that he was inherently smarter than the gangers.
Seaddle buzzed, growled, blinked, and glowed with life under the cloudy night sky. The big neon sign above the tavern that read ‘The Wallbangerz’ was one of many that basked everything around in bright, flashing colors. The streets were lined with aged cars; their headlights illuminated groups of rough-looking ponies that shared cigarettes and chatter with each other. The thick, black clouds in the sky threatened a potential drizzle of acid rain. The sulfur smell was unmistakable.
Doc tapped the right edge of his glasses and the AR system came back online. Holographic objects sprouted up from nothing and overlaid themselves on his surroundings. As he looked around, each digital object his eyes panned over spoke to him in icons and text. He saw public profiles from the commlinks ponies used, the business hours of Harvey’s bar behind him, and even a weather report that pointed to the clouds above.
Then the ads showed up. The intrusively bright digital objects zipped and swooped in from Doc’s peripheral vision. They wiggled and danced for his attention to show the current sales and new items at each respective storefront they represented. Doc walked down the street and avoided eye contact with the hounding virtual objects.
He made a mental note to upgrade his ad-blocking program tomorrow.
Several blocks down the street, Doc turned the corner. The road here was quieter, with fewer cars and ponies milling about. The few sleepy holographic objects around lazily floated by him as he walked up to the bus stop. A faded sign marked the location, one with ‘245’ painted on it. A nearby rusted stump marked where a bench had once been long ago. He looked up at the bus sign. A little icon of a cartoonish blue bus yawned to reveal the current bus schedule. Doc scanned down the holographic chart for his route. He found it, but the information depressed him. Bus 245 was running fifteen minutes late. Doc let out a sigh as he dismissed the schedule with an eye roll. The bus always ran late.
The sound of an engine rumbled from behind. An old, rust-colored Mustang convertible with four passengers drove up to the bus stop. Doc recognized the two Discordian gangers from the bar in the back seats. The group jumped out of the car and walked over to him with a casual swagger. Doc took a couple steps back, but the gang was clearly there to grab his attention.
In the most literal sense of the term as they surrounded him.
“You waiting for the bus, chummer?” the unfriendly-looking driver asked.
Doc adjusted his glasses. “Yeah, but it looks like the short one arrived.” He bit his lip. This was one of those moments where he immediately regretted that his mouth ran faster than his brain.
The driver swung a forehoof at Doc’s face. It connected against his cheek and he staggered backwards into the pole with a soft thud. Then a second swing caught him in the stomach. The air violently popped out of Doc’s lungs. He stumbled sideways several steps, but raised his forehooves to block as he gasped for breath. Doc reached inside himself mentally. There was an invisible field of energy he knew how to tap into, to manipulate. He grasped this energy to create an effect. The scent of ozone permeated the air around him and a faint light emanated from his forehooves as he pulled this mystical energy together.
Penny leaped on Doc’s shoulders and the two tumbled to the cold, dirty concrete. One of Penny’s bangles clattered away across the floor when their legs scraped against the rough ground. The glow in Doc’s hooves winked out like an unplugged lamplight as he was pinned underneath the mare.
“You’re a damned mage?!” Penny shouted out. She thumped Doc hard on the head. “How the drek did I not notice that?”
Doc tried to get up, but the other three gangers grabbed him. He was still winded from the earlier blow and his lungs burned with each labored breath. Too weak to resist, he muttered, “Well, that’s what foreplay is for—”
“Shut it, dirt horse!” the driver interrupted with a hard kick to Doc’s shoulder. “The hell you doing working with Nighters?”
“Hey, it’s like... my friend said,” Doc answered, this time carefully, “I didn’t know who... who Blood Fang was. I’m just a street doc. Figure... I’ve patched up plenty of your friends, too.”
Penny spat upon the sidewalk. She limped as she stood up. “Yeah, well maybe you should get to know the gangs around here. We ain’t too keen on ponies helping our rivals. This is our territory, and helping the enemy makes you our enemy too!”
“Yeah. I reckon that much is clear,” Doc replied with a nod.
“I don’t think you do,” Penny countered. The mare waved at the youngest ganger. He walked over to the Mustang and pulled out a length of iron chains from the back seat. The other three pulled Doc up on his hooves and shoved him up against the bus stop pole. This was about the point where he regretted not resisting a bit more.
“Uh, is this really necessary?” an alarmed Doc asked.
“No,” Penny replied with a dark smile. “I just think it’s funny. Also, it’s payback for the ‘short bus’ comment.”
She leaned closer with the limp still noticeable in her step. The unnatural-looking smile bothered Doc; he saw nothing sincere in it. He failed to notice Penny wind up a hoof. She punched him hard in the gut.
Doc sputtered and coughed. The street spun around in his blurred vision.
The commanding rumble of an engine interrupted the beat-down. A gray and rusted pickup truck turned the corner and drove toward the group. Its high-beams flashed several times. Doc turned away from the dazzling light in his eyes. The gangers ducked down behind their vehicle. Doc pulled against the chains. The metal links creaked against one another, but he was held firmly in place.
The vehicle slowed down as it passed the gangers. A mare with a pumpkin mask and a pistol hung out of the passenger window. With a hollering ‘whoop whoop!’ she fired three shots into the Mustang. Flecks of paint burst from the holes where the bullets struck the car. The rival vehicle sped up and thundered down the street. The gangers hastily jumped into their damaged car to give chase.
“Hey, what about me?!” Doc shouted.
“What about you?” the driver replied without looking back. He slammed the gas pedal and the engine gave mighty roar. The tires shrieked loudly and spun until they found traction. The Mustang sped off to give chase.
Doc strained some more against the chains, but was unsuccessful. Fatigued, he resigned himself to his fate for now. “Well. Not the worst ending to a date that I’ve had.”
The street was quiet again. Minutes passed by Doc without regard. There was no help to be found around him. He couldn’t reach his commlink in the jacket pocket, and his AR display uselessly told him that his bus was still delayed. At least the predicted acid rain hadn’t come down.
After several more uneventful minutes passed, none of which Doc bothered to track mentally, he felt the cold barrel of a large caliber gun pressed against the back of his neck. This caught his immediate attention, as guns pointed at him often did.
“Commlink’s in my left pocket,” Doc blurted out. His heartbeat pounded in his chest. “Might be easier to loosen the chains first.”
“Are you a doctor?”
It was a mare’s voice, one that was deep and firm. Doc turned his head to look at her, but he couldn’t see more then the shoulder of a dark gray pony. “Yes ma’am. Sure as my cutie mark is the Rod of Asclepius.”
“Rod of what? Oh, that snake on a stick?”
Doc felt the barrel of her gun lift away and then tap his cutie mark. He gave her a nod. “Yeah, that’s the mark. If you’re curious as to why I’m currently tied to this post, well, it’s a funny story.”
“I really don’t care,” the mare replied. “I just need a street doc. Are you available or not?”
Doc tugged at the chains, but they still refused to yield. “That depends entirely on your generosity at the moment.”
The mare fiddled with the chains. They clanked against the pole several times and then finally came loose. Doc let out a sigh of relief as his binds fell unceremoniously onto the concrete ground with a metallic ring. He turned around to get a good look at his savior.
She was bigger than Doc—a dark gray unicorn with a torn, sleeveless denim jacket. Her purple, spiked mane had long bangs in the front that flanked the notable crack running halfway down the tip of her horn. The injury spoke to him in a way only a doctor could hear; a hard blow, delivered by a blunt object. There was dried blood all along the edges of the laceration.
He had dealt with horn fractures plenty of times. In his medical experience, it was one of the more painful injuries for a unicorn to sustain. That was his professional opinion though, as this mare steadily held up a sawed-off shotgun with her hooves.
Doc adjusted his glasses and pointed at her shotgun. “Mind letting me see your horn? I assume that is why you need a doctor.”
“Yeah,” was the simple reply from the unicorn. She slowly lowered her weapon.
He stepped closer and reached up to brush her bangs aside. The mare flinched. Doc held up a hoof to assure her and continued his observations. “Just taking a look at the damage. Hmm, it doesn’t look too bad. No chipped pieces, and it ain’t oozing anymore.”
“But you can fix it, right?”
“Well, my schedule has been… freed up, so yes. I certainly can,” he said, tongue in cheek.
The mare let out a loud sigh. “Stop with the jokes. I’m not in the mood.”
Doc smiled and motioned at her to follow him. His apartment was a good distance away, but at this point the bus wasn’t going to show. “I find a little humor to be good medicine. It keeps my patients’ mind off their troubles. Name’s Doc, by the way. Doc Wagon.”
“Doc? A street doctor named Doc?” she asked as she followed. “You know how stupid that sounds, right?”
“Yeah… my parents weren’t very creative with names,” he admitted with an embarrassed grin. Doc was lying, but he hated his actual given name. “How about you? I like to make introductions with all my patients. The job’s easier with some small talk.”
The mare hesitated with her answer. “Switchblade,” she finally said. The mare stuffed her shotgun into the backpack she carried.
“Mighty interesting name. I take it that’s your gang name?” Doc caught a glimpse of the bag’s contents under the passing street light. There were reflections of several tiny metallic objects bundled together under a mess of knotted wires. It looked like a mass of black spaghetti and tangled tools.
“Yeah, the Nightmare Nighters. So you best respect the name,” Switchblade warned.
Doc held in a small laugh. The beating he received by one angry gang was more than enough for tonight’s quota, so this ‘respect’ concept was worth a try. Something else he thought to try later was to move to another neighborhood.
[]-----[]-----[]
The apartment buildings where Doc lived didn’t look dilapidated, but they certainly looked their age; the cracked brick walls, the peeled grayish paint, the dirty windows... The paint along the trim wasn’t even a consistent tint. The dark iron bars over the windows created an atmosphere of imprisonment. Several of the street lights flickered with a dull electric gasp. In the distance Doc heard the occasional rumble of a car down a side street. He stopped to look, but no vehicles turned down this particular road.
Switchblade said nothing for the entire walk. Doc asked a couple of questions earlier about her medical history, but she gave no answers to either of them. Ponies that came to him were often unwilling to answer personal questions. After all, most of them were gangers and he was an unlicensed doctor. Trust rarely factored into that.
Doc turned and walked into an alley behind the building. The wide passage ended at a small, barely lit lot. Broken glass and torn food wrappers lined the sides. Four old and junked cars sat quietly in the lot like tombs. The faded tarps over the vehicular husks twitched with a passing breeze.
The stallion reached an unmarked metal door. Beneath the peeled black flecks of paint were long stains of rust. Doc carefully pushed an empty glass bottle out of the door’s way and slid his key into the lock. The hinges groaned as he pushed the door open into the darkness beyond. “Pardon the location,” he told the unicorn. “It’s not much to look at from out here, but I promise the inside is clean.”
The first room beyond the door was small and plain. It looked like a waiting area, with a single, faded blue couch and three folding chairs. A stack of old magazines sat neatly on one of the chairs. With no windows, the only light in the room came from the lamppost outside. The dim yellow light gave the room a sickly look. Doc walked across the room to a wooden door. He slid this one to the side, the door much quieter than the previous one. He reached into the darkness and flipped on a light switch. Two white lights above illuminated a cozy and tidy little clinic.
“Drek, thought you were kidding about the clean part,” Switch whispered.
It was a simple setup—a dentist-style padded chair with trays of surgical tools sat beside a long, plastic bed covered in exam table paper. To one side was a long countertop where dozens of tools, jars, and bottles sat in a meticulous order. The cabinets above and below were ajar and filled with packaged medical supplies. At the far corner was another door beside a tall metal device used to administer an I.V. This little clinic was nearly immaculate, a point that Doc took pride in.
“Okay, so… what’s first?” Switch asked when she stepped into the clinic. She seemed apprehensive, and kept her distance from the furniture.
Doc turned on an overhead light on a swiveling metal arm and pulled it over the bed. “Please lie down here on your stomach, and I’ll patch up your horn. It’s a simple procedure, I’ve done it plenty of times.” He opened some drawers and assembled tools from them on a metal tray; cotton swabs, clamps, sewing needles, superglue, and gauze. From another drawer, he unwrapped a syringe with a sizable hypodermic needle.
Switchblade dropped her backpack and retreated three steps. “Whoa, hey! What is that for?”
“Tetanus shot. I give one to all my new patients on account that most don’t have immunization records, but often have intimate contact with sharp metal bits,” Doc explained.
“Is there an alternative?” Switchblade asked.
He gave a light shrug. “Let your horn get infected. Then saw it off and live life as an earth pony.”
“Ugh, that’s worse. Fine, gimme the shot.”
“Harsh,” an indignant Doc commented.
Switch laid down on the bed slowly with her shotgun by her side. Doc ignored the firearm and took a seat for himself on a wheeled stool. With his commlink out, he started the bed’s sensor suite to monitor Switchblade’s vitals for him. A holographic chart of green numbers appeared in the upper-left corner of his glasses’ Heads-Up Display. Beneath the chart a tiny graph drew out her heart rate. It was faster than normal, but not a concern to him.
The silvery tray gleamed under the light as Doc brought it close to him. He unwrapped an alcohol wipe to clean his patient’s fur over her right deltoid muscle. He then picked up the syringe and stabbed the rubber cap of a small glass bottle. A clear liquid flowed into the syringe as Doc pulled back on the plunger with his teeth.
“Alright, just look away now. It’ll hurt less if you don’t watch,” he said as he gave the syringe a tiny squirt. Doc jabbed the needle deep into Switch’s foreleg muscle with steady hooves. The serum injected so smoothly that she didn’t react until Doc removed the needle.
Her reaction was to jump back and kick Doc in the head with a hind-leg. “OW!! Damnit, that shit hurt!” Switchblade yelled.
Doc wheeled back on his stool, left temple clutched in a hoof. He didn’t see where the syringe tumbled off to, but at the moment he didn't care. “Right, I forgot that needles are supposed to tickle,” Doc countered with an eye roll.
He got up and grabbed the metal tray before it fell off the bed. With a sigh, Doc pulled his stool back into place. He rubbed the sore spot where he was kicked. “Switch, please lie back down. The next shot isn’t going to be as bad—”
“What is it?!” the unicorn interrupted. She leaned away at the far edge of the bed. Her tail stood straight up like a pole.
Doc held up a second syringe. “This is an anesthetic. I don’t have to inject it very deep into your horn, and it’ll numb the pain while I patch it up. That sound alright to you?”
Switch gave the needle a good hard stare before she finally lay back down on the bed. Doc heard her grumble something about his WiFi as she pulled out her own commlink to use.
The numbers on his AR display jumped up a few points, an indication she was still very nervous. Doc found it amusing that a big, tough ganger was afraid of needles, but he reminded himself that it was a very common fear. No one enjoyed being stabbed by sharp objects. Doc injected the anesthetic near the wound with steady hooves and then got to work on the damage.
He cleaned out the laceration and then used a pair of clamps to hold the crack closed. He pondered what had happened that landed this unicorn with an injury like this. His first guess was that she had gotten involved in a gang fight somewhere and took a baseball bat to the horn.
“So, what do you do for a living?” Doc asked her as he applied a gel-like glue to the wound.
“Mmph, I fix stuff; drones, cars, computers...” Switch still sounded mad, but her eyes were focused on the mute Matrix game she played.
“Ah, so you’re a mechanic then?” he followed up. “Well that’s honest work. Which garage chain; Pep Colts? Maneke?”
The unicorn laughed at his question. “Pfft, as if! I don’t work for any chump garage chain that treats employees like parts. I fix stuff for the Nighters. They respect me, and I get a cut of the extra loot they sell in the Shadows.”
“The… Shadows?” Doc had heard the term many times before, but usually from patients filled with bullet holes and shady cyberware in their bodies. Asking those patients questions about the Shadows tended to get dirty looks and the business end of a gun barrel pointed at him.
Switchblade actually looked up at him this time. “What, you never heard of the Shadows?”
Doc nodded his head. “Oh, I have. I just don’t know much about it, other than that’s where Trotter mercenaries who make more money than I do come from. I try not to pry into the lives of my dangerously armed patients.”
“And yet you’re chatting away with me.” Switch tapped her shotgun.
Doc paused what he was doing, hesitant to continue. “Er...”
“Sarcasm, Doc. I’m only messing with ya,” Switch said with a little grin. She motioned for him to keep working. “So, turnabout is fair play; what do you really do?”
“Um, is it not obvious? I’m just a street doctor,” he replied in confusion.
Switch tapped some buttons on her commlink’s screen. “Really? Says here you got a couple pretty old contacts in Crash Carriage. And one for a... Harvey Wallbanger? Ooh, this one is labeled ‘parents’.”
Doc put his tools down and grabbed his own commlink. “What in tarnation? Did you just—” Before he finished his statement, he shut his commlink down. The digital vitals disappeared from the HUD display in a blink.
“Aww, but Mom left you like, three messages,” Switch teased.
Doc let out a frustrated huff at the unicorn. He tossed his commlink on the countertop and picked up the tools to finish the procedure. “I get it, you’re also a savvy hacker. You don’t need to mess with my personal stuff to show off.”
Switch poked him in the chest. “Oh, don’t be such a shirt. You’re just to easy to mess with. Most street docs I’ve met are cold bastards that work out of blood-soaked chop-shops, and they always take payment up front. You’re like… nice and stuff.”
Doc gently wrapped the last of the gauze around her horn and held it in place with a cloth sleeve. He tossed the clamps onto the tool tray. “Well, you did save me from my earlier predicament at the bus stop, so I reckon this is just repaying the favor.”
“See? What kind of street doc lets a little favor get in the way of profit?” Switchblade asked. She sat up and gently prodded the dressing wrapped around her horn. She then wiggled her head a bit. “Well, you got the skills. How come you don’t work for an actual hospital?”
“It’s a long story,” Doc replied. He dumped several tools in a jar of blue liquid and washed his hooves. “I’d rather not get into it. Anyway, your horn will be fine. Keep the gauze clean and change it out daily. I have some more here if you need them. I figure your horn will be fully healed in about a week.”
“In a week?! Geez, that’s going to cut into my nonexistent modeling career.” She slid off the bed onto her hooves. “Well, maybe I’ll send my friends your way next time they get their asses kicked. You do body mods?”
“Not really,” Doc answered. “I mean, I could do minor alterations, but I just don’t have the tools for installing anything fancy like cyberware.”
Switch shrugged. She picked up her things and slung them over her back. “Well, guess you’re alright. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Doc walked her to the door, where she gave him a light jab in the shoulder on the way out. Neither said a word, but he watched her disappear quietly into the alleyway shadows. The creaky door groaned as he shut and locked it tight. Doc went back to his clinic and retrieved his commlink from the counter. He booted his device up again. Sure enough, there were three video messages awaiting him, all from his mother.
The older cream mare had dark circles under her eyes. That was his mom alright. She rarely slept well.
<“Hello Vardo! It’s mom calling. I wanted to see how you’re doing. Your father’s here too, he just got back from the doctor’s office. He’s got a lot of nerve damage in his leg, probably gonna lose it soon. We’re trying to finance for a prosthetic one, but you know how insurance is. I dunno, we’ll work something out. So, how have you been, sweetie? You getting enough to eat? I haven’t heard from you in a while, so I thought maybe you found a nice mare and you’re spending all your time with her. I hope that’s the case! Well, call me when you can, we miss you lots. Good night!”>
Doc abstained from playing to the remaining two messages. He was sure they were more of the same, so he typed himself a note to call his mom tomorrow.
As he looked around, he felt that his little clinic was now out of place. It was too clean to be called a back-alley chop-shop, and Doc had plenty of training to be above the usual medical dropout ‘butcher’, but... this place felt too small and awkward to be a respectable clinic like those among most hospital networks. Why was he struggling to get by in his life?
Perhaps what Switch, and Harvey earlier, had said about him rang true; he was too nice. Was that so wrong? Doc shook his head. He refused to let himself get caught up in self-doubt this late at night.
He turned off the lights and used the brightness of his commlink to reach the far door in the corner of his clinic. On the other side was a narrow set of old, wooden stairs that led up into darkness. Doc climbed the creaking staircase and at the top, he flipped a switch to turn on the lights of his little studio apartment.
It was a cluttered living space; the central room served as both his living room and bedroom, separated only by a heavy curtain. To his left was the small kitchenette and to the right the bathroom. The little alcove beside the bathroom door served as the world's saddest-looking closet. Boxes of unused medical supplies were piled high against the walls all over the apartment. The bed was unmade, with one of his two pillows up against the sole window in the apartment.
Doc walked to the kitchenette to make a quick sandwich. The droning hum of the fridge was the only sound that competed with the clip-clop of his hooves on the linoleum floor. He unwrapped a bag of sliced bread and dropped two pieces into his old toaster. At the push of a lever, the little filaments within heated up to a soft orange glow. Doc then retrieved the block of soy cheese and a bag of tofu cubes from the small fridge. It was then that his toaster spat out the bread onto the countertop, untoasted, and angrily sparked in protest for having been misused.
Which, if Doc understood it, was anytime he tried to make toast.
He reached over and unplugged the malfunctioning toaster. Startled, he sat down on one of the two chairs by the miniature table in the corner to ponder his evening. One hoof idly scooped a few tofu cubes and shoved them in his mouth as he thought.
After getting blacklisted thanks to his last job at Crash Carriage, no respectable hospital in this city would hire him despite his qualifications. It was a black spot, a mark of death on his career. Corporations only cared about their bottom line, and Doc was labeled as a threat against that. He had been cast between the cracks of the medical field, forced to live as an unlicensed street doctor that took in mercenaries, gangers, and possible killers to make rent each month. Perhaps he needed to consider embracing a darker side and work more closely with the mercs?
Well, servicing these shady folks had taught Doc a few things about the Shadows. He also already lived in the danger of getting shot, beaten, and arrested for providing them with medical aid. All successful Trotters lived by their sharp wits... but Doc had to be realistic. He survived primarily by luck. He hesitated to join the criminal element, but one big aspect of the business enticed him—the Shadows paid a lot.
[]-----[]-----[]
Harvey’s bar was busy as usual; the haze of smoke wafted through the air, and the murmurs of conversation dripped off the tables. The smell of food and drinks rolled around as servers brought trays of prepared soy-based meals to their hungry guests. It was nearly five in the evening, and the bar was filled with patrons. The events and thoughts of the previous night had brought Doc back here for some risky information. He pulled up to a stool at the bar and waved for his friend to come over.
Harvey did a double-take when he saw Doc and galloped over. He smiled at his friend as he leaned up against the bar. “Vardo! Glad to see you’re still kicking around, chummer! What brings you here so early? Slow day, or is Penny still harassing you?”
Doc shook his head. He whispered to his friend. “I’m looking for a fixer, the ‘Shadow’ kind.”
The bartender’s joyous expression quickly melted off. He glanced around and then lowered his head. “Uh, Vardo, why are you looking for one?”
“I need a silhouette repaired,” Doc replied in a flat tone. “Why do you think, Harv? I’ve decided to become a Trotter.”
“No... you, a Trotter?” Harvey looked quite skeptical. “You sure about this? Do you even know what they do?”
Doc nodded confidently. “They’re deniable assets. Hired by anonymous suits to perform various tasks of corporate espionage.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Did you just Google that?”
“I might have,” Doc replied, tongue-in-cheek. He cleared his throat. “Look, you know what Crash Carriage did to my reputation. I’ve been living here two years and can’t even strike a job with an after-hours clinic. My so-called chop-shop gets broken into every six months, and soon my pop’s gonna be a tripod because his insurance won’t cover a prosthetic leg. I need the money.”
“Well yeah, I know all that. Err, not the part about your father’s leg,” the bartender said. He opened a beer bottle and served it to Doc. “It’s just… well, this is a real dangerous profession you’re undertaking. I mean, you could easily get fragged on one of these jobs. And that’s not the worst that can happen to you. Are you sure you understand what you’re getting into?”
He wasn’t a gambling pony, but Doc believed that Harvey knew a bit more than he was letting on. “I reckon you could tell me exactly what I’m getting into from personal experience.”
“Yeah, I could…” Harvey trailed off.
The two stared at each other for several seconds. Harvey broke eye contact first and sighed. “Yeah. I could.”
Doc crossed his forelegs together. “I believe we have an understanding, then,” he said with a sly grin. “So, can I count on you? I just need one job, enough to help my dad out. I reckon you get some kind of finder’s fee out of the deal, so it ain’t like you’re doing me a freebie.”
The bartender snorted. “Alright, but I’m charging my full rate for this. I consider you a friend, but this is business.”
Doc nodded in silent agreement.
“Well, let’s get down to brass tacks,” Harvey stated. He straightened up and crossed his forelegs. “You got any skills besides handling a gun and a medical degree?”
“Yeah, I know a few tricks.” Doc pulled out his apartment key, took a deep breath, and with a quick motion he scraped the key across his foreleg. Pain shot up his leg, but he grimaced through it. He watched Harvey’s reaction as blood appeared from the cut Doc inflicted on his own leg. His friend remained silent.
Doc put the other forehoof over his cut and closed his eyes. He mentally reached out to the invisible energy that flowed all around him. He grabbed wisps of this energy and shaped it together into a specific form. He focused this shape on the cut he had given himself. In his mind, Doc envisioned that the energy was thread and he stitched it across his wound. A faint green glow appeared under Doc’s hoof. It was warm like the morning sun on his face. When he completed the spell, the light faded. He lifted his hoof and revealed his leg, uninjured. The cut had been completely healed. Doc felt a little tired after that, but he looked up at his friend with a proud grin.
“Okay, that… that’s a pretty decent trick,” Harvey stammered, his eyes wide as he gave a low, appreciative whistle and poked at Doc’s rejuvenated skin. “When did you awaken?”
“It was years ago,” Doc answered as he reminisced. “Real early in my college days. This silver mane of mine? Not even my original color. I awoke during a weekend-long cram session without sleep. Totally messed up my dorm room and I had no idea what I was supposed to do. It took me a few years before I found a mentor to teach me how to use even just the basics of magic.”
Harvey tilted his head. “Really? It shouldn’t have been hard for you to find a teacher. Lots of earth ponies awaken. It’s common knowledge.”
Doc gave a slow shrug. "Yeah well, the government and all megacorporations require you to register with them; you get put on a list. I just don’t like the idea of some watchdog agency keeping track of me cause I can heal a paper cut without a band-aid. I wasn’t even a registered mage with Crash Carriage. I’m damn lucky they never found out,” Doc explained. He took a deep drink of the beer. “I’d probably spend the next five years in a ten-by-ten cell block for dodging their stupid laws.”
Harvey shook his head. “Fair enough. Any other surprises about you that I should know?”
“I know a couple combat spells,” Doc answered. “Nothing flashy, just something that can stun most ponies. I only studied defensive magic under my second mentor during my medical residency.”
“Alright, well, give me a minute to check with some contacts.” The bartender excused himself for a moment and left the bar.
Doc took a couple more sips of the beer. He glanced around; hopefully his spell was subtle enough that no one noticed. The patrons around him appeared to be involved with their own conversations. If someone spied on him, Doc couldn’t see them.
A few minutes later Harvey returned with a commlink. “Alright, Vardo. A pony of your skillset is pretty valuable in the Shadows. I’ll hook you up with a Johnson.”
Victory was in Doc’s hooves, though it felt too easy. “Oh? So you are going to be my fixer?”
“I’m retired,” the bartender snapped at him. Harvey typed something into his commlink. “My cutie mark is a drink mixer, not a... whatever a fixer’s mark would look like. Still, even when you leave the job, it never leaves you. Goes the same for Trotters.”
Doc looked on with excitement. He hadn’t predicted that he would jump into the Shadows this quickly. “I expected that you’d try a little harder to talk me out of this idea. Why’d you cave in so fast?”
Harvey put his commlink down. “Take a quick glance at the unicorn sitting alone at that table behind you, the one wearing the overalls. He’s an undercover cop waiting for a bribe. The zebra at the end of the bar is planning to elope with her marefriend to Cali. The pegasus in the corner wearing the fez? Yeah, he’s been Googling the history of cummerbunds for the past hour. I’m a bartender, Vardo. Personal info is my business. I know things, like how stubborn you are. I’d rather get you started on an easy job instead of watching your body bag show up on the morning trideo news.”
“Huh. History of cummerbunds you say?” Doc commented as he glanced at the pegasus. He looked back at Harvey’s commlink. “I thought your commlink was in your head?”
“Keep your legit business separate from the Shadows, trust me,” the bartender warned him. “Now, I’ve put out some feelers for light work. If I get a bite, I will call you with the info. Until then, go put on something nondescript. Wouldn’t want a rent-a-cop ID-ing you on private property.”
“Thanks, Harvey,” Doc said as he got up.
The bartender shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome. You know, it probably would be safer for you to go on a second date with Penny.”
Doc thought to respond to Harvey’s statement, but in all honesty, he felt pretty sure that statement was true.
[]-----[]-----[]
The drizzle of rain upon the Seaddle streets glowed with a sheen under the neon lights. Water flowed down city streets like miniature rivers into drains beneath the walking crowds of ponies and umbrellas. Cars sped by; their tires splashed puddles as they traveled. The city bus rumbled to a stop outside a small corner diner. The digital driver system clicked and whirred as it watched the raindrops slowly streaked down the windshield.
Harvey’s message said to arrive at this diner by ten o’clock and Doc was only minutes from missing the deadline thanks to another late bus. He hopped off the vehicle and held his black jacket over his head as he trotted into the establishment. It was a typical generic diner; plastic potted plants hung off the ceiling, faded posters on the walls depicted faraway pastoral scenes, and the gray, tiled floor had a permanent grease-like scent. The place was nearly devoid of customers save for two tables at the front with a couple of ponies at each one. The patrons spoke in hushed tones.
The old waitress at the podium leaned lazily against it. She looked up from her commlink to address Doc. “May I help you?”
He nodded. “Yes, I’m with the Johnson party.”
The waitress looked down at her commlink and fiddled with the touch screen. She pointed him to the long booth all the way in the far corner. “Last table there, hon.”
“Thank you.” Doc walked past her towards the booth.
The single lamp light that hung above the table gave a yellow glow to the face of the three ponies that sat here; to his left were a zebra stallion in a brown serape and a pegasus mare with a pirate hat. On the right, a young earth pony colt with goggles. Doc sat down on the latter side and gave the group a friendly wave. The zebra nodded, but otherwise no one said a word to him. After a third of a minute, he decided to break the silence with an introduction.
“Name’s Doc. I’m a medic and an awakened pony,” he whispered with his forehooves together on the table. “I uh, know some defensive magic to help the team.”
“Bah, you’re no big deal,” the pegasus scoffed in a gravelly voice.
Doc wanted to ask her about the hat. She also wore a heavy patchwork jacket and an eyepatch that hung around her neck, but that pirate hat stood out like it came from a costume party. Underneath the clothes, she appeared to be a short, skinny orange pegasus with a long, wavy red mane.
“Well, what’s your name?” Doc asked. He chickened out on the hat.
“I am Springboard Jackie!” she proclaimed as she sat up. “Mighty pirate and the deadliest pegasus with a wingblade this side of Seaddle.”
“Riiight…” Doc doubtfully noted. He shifted his attention next to the zebra. “And you are?”
The slouched zebra brushed back his blond mane. “Manco Correo, señor,” he replied politely.
Doc paused a moment to recall his college school Espoñol classes. He thought he heard a Mexicolt accent in the zebra’s voice. “And what is it you do?”
“I am a mail pony. I deliver the mail,” Manco answered.
’Are these Trotters or did Harvey set me up to get punked?’ Doc thought. He noticed that Manco’s eyes had thin, copper-like wiring instead of veins; a subtle tell that the zebra had cybernetic eyes. It was a very common modification that ponies got these days, but real-looking cyberware like these eyes were quite expensive. They moved as fluidly as natural eyes did.
“¿Que pasa? ¿Tengo algo en mi cara?” Manco asked him.
“Uh, no. It’s just... no one sends mail anymore. Well, packages maybe.” Doc stopped staring at his eyes and turned to the remaining member, the young earth pony. “Anyway, how about you?”
The blueish-gray colt barely looked fourteen, although he did have his cutie mark—a pair of keyboards. His attention was invested in some kind of game on his commlink. The colt paused it long enough to look up at him behind his goggles. “Ghost Hoof. Decker.” He returned to his game without further elaboration.
Doc wanted to ask him what a decker was, but a new pony sauntered up to the table.
A middle-aged earth pony mare stood before the group; she had a sandy coat and a long, brown mane combed to one side. Her well-fitted black business suit looked quite out of place in a cheap diner such as this. Doc felt sure that she was the Johnson the group was waiting for.
“Evening. You may address me as Mrs. Jay. Now, let’s get down to business,” the mare said calmly as she sat down next to Doc. “The job is a simple recovery operation. I need a team to discreetly enter a warehouse and recover some medical records for my client. I assume no one here has reservations with breaking and entering?”
Everyone shook their head no. Doc followed in kind, even though he had second thoughts about planning a robbery in a diner with complete strangers. Was he crazy? Well, crazier than he was usually accused of? Probably.
“Very good,” the Johnson said. She pulled out her commlink. A map of Seaddle’s port district lit up on the display. “Your target is on 55th and E Street. Retrieve the contents of storage bin STR-41235. Message me when you have secured the goods and we’ll exchange payment for the contents in the alley behind the diner. Any questions?”
Jackie was the first to speak. “Sounds like a drek run. How much is the job worth?”
“Five thousand nuyen in total,” Mrs. Jay replied.
Manco held up a hoof next. “How long do we have?”
“Forty-eight hours.”
Doc pondered the objective of the job. He was curious to know who wanted medical records, but one of the tips that Harvey gave him was never to ask for the identity of a Johnson or their client. Trotting was meant to be anonymous. However, he had a good notion on what the records were of, based on the location of the building and the bin number.
“We’ll do the job for six grand,” Doc said.
The other Trotters stared at him, but Mrs. Jay smiled. “What value am I getting for my money?” she asked.
“We’ll have the records in twenty-four hours, and without the owner knowing they’re even gone,” he answered with a confident tone.
Mrs. Jay leaned back in her seat. “Very well, six thousand nuyen for delivery in twenty-four hours. I’m sending you all the relevant info.” She tapped some buttons on her commlink's screen.
Doc's commlink lit up with a request to receive a file. He clicked the accept button and in seconds he had the address of the target and Mrs. Jay’s contact information to arrange the pickup. The other Trotters appeared to have received the same file request.
“I will be seeing you all soon,” the Johnson said. She got up, pocketed her commlink, and left the diner without looking back.
As Doc watched her go, he noticed her cutie mark—a stack of coins on a book. It had caught his attention because hard currency was all but out of circulation in Equestria these days.
Jackie leaned forward and pointed a hoof at Doc. “Alright, Dirk-”
“Doc,” Manco corrected.
“Dick, whatever,” the pegasus growled. “You know something I don’t? Why’d you cut our time in half?”
Doc looked up the address and showed everyone the result on his commlink. “I recognized STR as the prefix code Crash Carriage uses for Seaddle records. I know a little about the company, and what kind of medical records we’re looking for.”
Manco smiled. “Bueno, but how confident are you that we can steal the records in one night?” he asked. “Do you know what kind of security they have?”
Ghost snorted. He showed everyone his screen with the building’s records. “It’s a leased warehouse. I doubt they have more than a basic alarm and a rent-a-cop holding it down.”
“You seem a bit too young to be a professional Trotter,” Jackie said.
“And you seem a bit too masculine to be a bitch.”
Jackie jumped up and drew a butterfly knife from a pocket. Her wings flared out and struck Manco in the face. “Arr, I will cut you, you little—”
Doc interjected a hoof between them. “Hold up! We don’t need to be trading blows here, so let’s focus on this job.” He looked up at the other end of the diner. Two of the customers were watching their commotion. Nuts. He lowered his own voice. “Sit down, Jackie. We got ponies watching us.”
The pegasus let out huff and sat back down. Next to her, Manco appeared unfazed from the face full of feathers a moment ago.
Doc continued, “We’ll go to the site and see what security measures they have. Ghost can check their network and I can look for any magical defenses.”
“You sound like you got half a clue here,” Ghost remarked. He looked up and made eye contact. “Have you done this before?”
“No, but as I said, I’m a little familiar with Crash Carriage. I’ve also patched up plenty of Trotters. You pick up a few things from them if you pay attention.”
“Well, I can deal with any locks on the way in,” Jackie said.
“And I’ll satisfy any Affirmative Action requirements the team needs,” Manco added.
Doc stared at the zebra, unsure where that comment came from.
“Es una broma,” the zebra followed up. “Anyway, I’m pretty quiet, so I’ll follow Jackie inside. You tell us how to find the records we need, Doc. We’ll do the rest.”
“It may be easier if I come along,” he replied. “I can remain out of sight if I need to.”
“Well, sounds like the start of a plan,” Ghost said. He picked up a travel bag from under the table and threw his commlink into it.
Doc nodded. “Yeah, but let’s get going and see what’s actually there. We’ll work out more details then.”
Everyone gathered their things and the ’team’ exited the diner together. Doc reminded himself that these ponies had only met minutes ago. He felt confident he could earn their trust, but he also had to accept that no one was here to make friends. As he stepped outside the diner, he looked up. The rain had stopped, although it was still very cloudy.
Was that considered bad luck for Trotters? Doc needed to learn the finer points of this line of work.
[]-----[]-----[]
At night, the Ellitrot Bay sparkled with the reflection of the lights of the skyline. These luminous motes danced upon the waves and dipped in the wake of huge cargo ships that passed back and forth. Along the coastline, the scent of the salty bay was unmistakable. It covered the old industrial neighborhood like a coat of paint.
Doc walked quietly with his group through alley shadows. Few of the large warehouses were labeled with the names of the businesses that used them. Instead most bore the signs of age with rusty doors and peeling paint.
The Trotters reached the target warehouse from the rear side. A lone chain-link fence stood as the only visible sentry that barred their entry. It was a simple barrier, with nothing more than a rusted ‘No Trespassing’ sign mounted on it.
Ghost sat down behind a cluster of dead bushes. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a long, folded device that resembled a keyboard with wide keys. However, it had extra dials, ports, and a miniature screen built into it. There were several decals on the back side that declared various statements such as ‘Nerds are sexy’ and ‘Hack the planet’.
As the colt set up, Doc looked at the parking lot beyond the fence. It was only a short distance from the fence to the back entrance, but what if there was a camera watching the area? He hoped Manco and Jackie were good at spotting security systems.
The young colt extended a cable from the deck and plugged it into a small jack at the back of his head. “Alright, Crash, gimme a challenge,” he whispered.
“Don’t jinx it, kid,” Jackie said with a frown. She lifted the eyepatch up to cover her left eye. “I’d like to eat something other than ramen noodles this week.”
Manco nodded. “Enchiladas con chile rojo. Mmm!”
“That sounds like spicy food. Spicy food is nasty,” Ghost said. He typed expediently on his deck, but stared blankly into space instead of the tiny screen.
The zebra waved a dismissive hoof at the colt. “It’s good for the soul. The burning will make a stallion of you.” Manco then turned his attention to Doc. “You said you can see magic, right?”
“Yeah, just a sec.” Doc closed his eyes and concentrated on the ambiance of his surroundings.
Magic was a strange and beautiful thing. It was so complex that two awakened ponies could be asked to explain how magic worked and they would give conflicting answers. Doc’s first mentor taught him a very old tradition, that the world was a sapient entity, and that magic connected all living things to this world. He recalled the teachings of how to use his emotions to weave magic into tangible effects; to create heat, light, and sound. Most importantly, he had been taught how to ‘see’ magic.
Doc opened his eyes. There was a slight green glow to them as he viewed not the world seen by visible light, but the astral plane where the flow of magic surrounded all living creatures. Each creature had a unique aura of colorful patterns that reflected their state of being. The more in tune a creature was to magic, the brighter their aura manifested. Nonliving objects appeared as dark, gray surfaces. They were ashen shapes devoid of detail. The parking lot was a barren, colorless landscape dotted with tiny motes of grass and insects. Doc’s team was alone here, for now.
He glanced at his teammates. Jackie was by far the brightest of the three, her aura swirled with a whirlpool of vibrant reds. In contrast, Manco had a dim blue aura that gently swayed like waves in a disturbed pond. Ghost's soft, green aura consisted of flat strokes that faded at the edges.
“Do ya see anything, Doc?” Jackie asked.
He shook his head. “Hmm, no, I don’t. No able bodies, spirits, or magical barriers. I reckon that’s a plus.”
“Their security is a joke,” Ghost said with a laugh. “I can keep the alarms suppressed from here. There’s a cop the next block over, but she’s not moving anywhere right now.”
Doc closed his eyes again and mentally dismissed the astral sight. The glow over his eyes ceased and his ordinary sight returned. “Alright, keep on that and message us if something changes. Reckon we just break in. Jackie, can you pick the lock on the fence?”
“Can I pick the lock? Of course I can!” the pegasus boasted. “I am the scourge of the seven-digit electronic lock. Watch as my flashy moves dazzle and amaze!”
“Um… sure, if that helps you work quietly,” Doc replied.
Jackie swaggered up to the gate in the fence. It was locked by an old numbered keypad, with a single green light that indicated it was on. She pulled out a butterfly knife and unsheathed it with a quick flick. “Yarr, time for this dog to go hunting.”
She jabbed it into the side of the lock and attempted to pry the case off it. The keypad face did not budge, so the pegasus leaned into the knife. The blade snapped in half with a loud crack.
“My favorite knife...” Jackie whimpered. “It’s not flashy at all.”
“Now it’s like a one-legged hunting dog,” Manco commented. The pegasus punched him hard in the shoulder.
The zebra shrugged off the blow with a grin. He rubbed his forehooves together. “Bueno, we’ll just have to hop over the fence then. Zebra powers, activate!” He grabbed onto the fence links and pulled himself up and over the barrier. The only sound was the light rattling of the fence.
Doc reached for the fence, but Jackie poked him in the ribs. “Hey, I’ll carry you. It’ll be a lot faster,” she said.
“Oh, uh, sure.”
The pegasus grabbed him from behind and lifted him into the air. The ride over the fence was slower than anticipated. “Oi, you should lay off the snack cakes,” she whispered to him.
“I don’t weigh that much,” Doc replied defensively.
Jackie dropped him from three feet off the ground and let out an exhausted sigh. Doc landed hard on all fours. His hooves made a loud clip-clop as he hit concrete. He frowned at Jackie, but said nothing.
The three walked quietly to the building. A single dim bulb lit the rear metal door. Rust dotted the hinges and surrounded the electronic lock. The keypad appeared to be similar to the one on the fence.
A text message showed up on Doc's commlink. The words appeared on his glasses' HUD. <“Unlocking the door now.”>
The green light on the keypad flashed twice and then turned off. Manco tugged the door gently and it opened with a soft creak. “Good job, amigo,” Manco whispered.
“Yeah, but... did I give him my commlink number? I don’t think I did,” Doc said, concerned.
“If he’s a good hacker, you don't need to,” the zebra explained.
“Ah, suppose so.” Without further protest, Doc accepted the statement and followed his teammates inside. Trickles of ambient light from the outside street lights peeked through dusty windows set high on the walls. It seemed to radiate foreboding rather than light the interior. Doc turned on the flashlight app on his commlink and led the way. Jackie and Manco followed closely behind him.
The warehouse was sectioned off into tall aisles, labeled by ascending serial numbers. Rows and rows of cabinet bins created a vertigo-like maze well into the darkness. Out of curiosity, Doc stopped once in a while to peek into the cabinets. Some were filled with old medical records in the form of paper files and mini-discs. Other cabinets were filled with an assortment of clothing, keys, expired IDs, and—in one curiously open bin—a mess of used party supplies.
Manco picked up a roll of blood-stained blue streamers from the open party bin. “Great, I’m in Bobo Barnett’s Happy House,” he muttered.
“I reckon stuff in this section are just the abandoned personal effects when patients leave the hospital,” Doc explained.
“Like, in a body bag?” Jackie asked. She pointed at the blood stains.
Doc shrugged. “Well, it’s possible. Unclaimed things become property of Crash Cart, including their bodies.”
The team moved further down the aisles. The commlink was the only source of light at this point. Doc swept the beam at the cabinets he walked passed. The style had changed now; smaller drawers filled with dozens of mini-discs. The serial numbers at this point reached the 41,000s. Doc stopped and pointed down the row.
“This should be it,” he whispered.
Another text message popped up from Ghost. <“Security guard just entered. Watch out!”>
Doc fumbled through his commlink settings and turned off the light. He was nearly blind now, except for his teammates' faces lit by the device's back-lit screen. He texted Ghost back. <“Did they notice us?”>
<“Don’t know yet.”>
“Que lastima,” Manco muttered. He opened a small saddlebag hidden under his sarape and rummaged through the contents for something. After several seconds, he appeared to have given up.
“What were you looking for?” Doc asked curiously.
The zebra shrugged. “Butts. Frosted butts.”
“By the stars, you stallions are useless,” Jackie hissed. She rose toward the top shelves, disappearing into the shadows.
The earth pony attempted to call out to her in whispers. “Jackie, what are you doing?”
No response.
Manco tapped Doc on the shoulder. “I think she went to take out the security guard,” he whispered. “You grab the goods, I’ll back her up.”
“Back her up? To do what?” Doc questioned.
The zebra ignored him and stalked into the darkness. Doc turned the flashlight app back on and quickly scanned the drawers for the right one. He located it, bin ‘STR-41235’. The stallion opened it and found two mini-discs inside. He wondered what records were burned onto these discs for someone to pay a few grand for them.
Doc pocketed both discs, then he plucked two similar-looking discs from another drawer and dropped those in place of the purloined goods. He carefully closed up the drawers and walked back out of the aisle.
There was a loud thud somewhere in the warehouse, as if someone collided with the shelves. Doc hastened toward where he believed the source to have been. He typed a message to Ghost on the way. <“Any updates on that guard?”>
<“Tripped alarm hacking cop’s computer. Gotta jet.”>
<“Damn it, Ghost! You can’t just leave us!”> Doc angrily responded.
<“Sorry.”>
Doc resisted the urge to throw his commlink on the floor. He pocketed the device and felt his way along the aisles in the dark. Each hoof-fall was quiet, but Doc bumped into corners and drawer handles along the way. After several rows, he heard whispers from his teammates.
The faint light hinted at the outlines of his two companions, as well as that of a third body lying on the floor between them. Doc stopped and listened in on their conversation.
“Did you leave the doctor?” Jackie asked Manco.
“Who?” the zebra replied.
“The doctor,” the pegasus repeated.
“Who?”
“The—” Jackie abruptly punched Manco in the shoulder. “Ass.”
The zebra laughed, and Doc stifled a chuckle as well. He took a step out of hiding, but a familiar sound creaked from the darkness.
The back door opened and soft falls of hooves walked into the building. A bright light swept the area methodically. Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. Someone was searching the warehouse. Jackie and Manco once more vanished into the darkness.
Alone again, Doc put his commlink down on the floor and squeezed himself into a space between two cabinet units. He waited in silence, but his mind raced in circles for ideas on how to escape. As the shadow crept closer, he made out details of the stranger. A horn on the stranger’s head magically levitated a flashlight, and the unmistakable badge of a Buck Star officer glinted in the reflected light. Doc held his breath as the mare officer walked right by him.
The cop stopped and looked down at Doc's commlink on the floor. She unbuttoned the holster that held her gun. “Come out, now!” she commanded.
“Yarr!”
Jackie dropped on her like a curtain and the two mares tumbled. The flashlight hit the floor with a hard rattle. The officer kicked her assailant away and drew the gun with her horn's magic. She fired the gun twice in the pegasus' direction. Jackie dove backwards and slammed loudly into several bin drawers.
“Arg! What a lousy place to put a Luna-damned filing system!” she shouted. Jackie got up and scrambled into the darkness.
The officer scrambled to her hooves and pointed her gun. “Freeze!” she yelled out.
Doc reached into the drawer beside him. He rummaged for something large and for a moment his hoof brushed up against something soft and woolly. He grabbed the object and pulled it out. He held an ugly green sweater with a large, winged pig printed on the front.
’Someone paid money for this?’
The officer trained her pistol on Jackie and closed in. Doc took in a deep breath and leaped at the unicorn with the sweater. In one swift motion, he pulled the garment over the officer’s face with a hard yank. The blinded mare tumbled over backwards over him.
Clattering of the firearm drew everyone attention. Doc held onto the cop tightly as she attempted to pull free. The mare struck him twice in the face. Doc’s vision blurred and he let go of the sweater. He heard galloping from behind, but was preoccupied with the pain on his face to focus on getting up.
“What the drek is going on here?!” a second unicorn officer shouted. He levitated his own gun from its holster and pointed it at Doc.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three shots rang out from the darkness. The second cop dove onto the cold floor and rolled to the side. He fired back at unseen shadows. Gunfire shouted like thunderclaps in the warehouse. Sparks burst from the metallic bin doors as they were struck by bullets.
The mare officer saw her gun on the floor and seized it with her horn's magic. Doc brought his hooves together and focused. He reached out to the ambient magical energy around him. He reached for his own energy within and recited an incantation of ancient words. Ozone permeated the air around him. A ball of translucent blue light formed between his hooves.
“Stop!” the mare officer shouted. She brought the gun up close and aimed the barrel at Doc.
He immediately shoved the magical sphere at her. She pulled the trigger. Doc ducked to the side to avoid her shot. Something unseen tugged at his shoulder. The sphere of magic burst into sparks of energy upon impact with the officer. She collapsed sideways onto the ground. Her gun landed beside her with a resounding clatter.
The remaining officer turned his weapon on Doc. “Don’t move!”
Jackie leaped out from the darkness like a bat and kicked the officer’s floating gun to the ground. Her outstretched wings struck him in the back of the head. Dazed, the officer swung at the pegasus. His hoof connected with her coat and he tried to hold on. Jackie replied with an uppercut from her other wing. The cop tumbled over backwards and hit the concrete. He stopped moving.
The mare officer groaned. She stumbled to get back up, but two more shots from the dark struck her in the chest. She dropped to the ground again. Doc scooped up the dropped flashlight and pointed it to where the shots came from. He saw Manco, half hidden behind a cabinet drawer, around the aisle corner. The zebra waved hello with his pistol.
“Frag, did you kill her?” Doc asked in a panic. He scrambled over the body and checked her for vitals.
Still alive.
Jackie walked over to Doc's side. There was a slight limp in her left hind leg. “Oh, sure, check on the cop, but not the teammate,” she said with a growl.
“I don't want any cops killed... just for some records,” he countered. Doc realized he was breathing heavily from the fight.
“Cálmese, Doc,” Manco assured him with a grin. He held up his pistol as he approached. “I used gel rounds. Rather difficult to kill someone with something rubbery. Well, I suppose if it were big enough, like a bat. Or maybe a long, thick-”
Jackie stretched out a wing in Manco’s face to cut him off mid-sentence. “That’ll be enough of that, zebra. So, did we get the junk that our Johnson wanted from the bin already?”
“Yeah, I grabbed two discs from there,” Doc replied.
He checked the other officer and found no serious injuries. Finally, he attended to Jackie. Doc looked her over and found a few minor cuts from her flight into a cabinet. “Hold still a moment,” he instructed. He recited the words for his healing spell. His hooves glowed a soft green as he cast warm energy into the pegasus. Her wounds closed up in seconds. As he finished, Doc stumbled. He leaned against a nearby cabinet.
“Nice,” Jackie said with an approving smile. “Yeah, do that thing more often, okay?”
“Magic is draining,” Doc replied in protest. “That magical stun spell I threw took a lot out of me.”
The pegasus rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know how that kind of magic works. Just saying, stick to the healing trick. Get a gun if you want to hit something.”
Doc let out a tired sigh. “Well maybe next time, Jackie, don’t split up unless it’s part of the plan, alright?”
“Savvy,” Jackie responded with a grin. She headed for the exit. “Well, let’s see if the colt is still hiding outside and sail on back to the Johnson. I’ve got a date with a real veggie burger at the Stuffer Shack.”
“I doubt he’s still around, amigos,” Manco said. “He said he had to go, and he didn’t seem to be the kind of colt to stay when there’s danger. Eh, one less hoof to split the money between.”
“He’s just a colt though,” Doc argued. “I’m a bit concerned about someone that young working as a mercenary.”
“Pfft, he’s a hacker, or a decker I think he said,” Jackie replied. “Weren’t even in the thick of danger like I was.”
Doc snorted. “You jumped at the danger, though.”
“Flew, actually,” Manco unhelpfully corrected.
“Aye, you should’ve seen how I swooped down on that guard before he even raised his gun,” the pegasus boasted. “Gave him two strikes before he had fully hit the floor. Springboard Jackie, stealth pirate!”
“Maybe when you’re not chatting away,” Doc muttered as he noticed the tear in his jacket’s shoulder.
Jackie wrapped a wing around his neck in a headlock. “Yarr, I’ll make ya walk the plank for that. Better yet, pay for the drinks!”
Doc pulled himself away from her. She laughed as he stumbled backwards into Manco. The zebra chuckled and bumped him back.
"Come on, let’s get out of here," Manco said.
The three exited the warehouse through the rear entrance. The lot appeared empty so they returned to the fence and climbed over it once more. Doc followed behind the other two. He felt as if the shadows watched him. As if another Buck Star officer would jump out of the night and arrest him. He wasn’t a paranoid pony before, but he now felt this new sense that sprung up inside him. He hated the feeling.
[]-----[]-----[]
An old, yellow bulb ill-lit the diner’s back alley door. The years of greasy food waste left a permanent stench in the air. A stain that became the essence of this alley. The faint muffles of car engines waxed and waned from the streets on the other side of the building. Doc and his teammates (he would call them friends, but he wasn’t sure if they’d throw such a word around freely) walked around several pieces of grimy trash toward the door.
Two shadowy figures awaiting them. One was their Johnson, who wore a simple dark brown coat over herself. The other figure was a tall and muscular earth pony in a black dress suit. He looked like an executive's bodyguard that got lost.
Doc pulled out the two mini-discs he acquired and held them up for the Johnson to see.
“Impressive. It seems my money has been well invested,” Mrs. Jay stated. She leaned to one side as she looked the group over. “Hmm, weren’t there four of you earlier?”
“The decker fled the scene without us,” Doc answered.
Jackie brushed the hair out from her eyes. “Aye, the colt decided to turn tail when things got too hot for him,” she added.
“Nothing too complicated, I hope?” the Johnson asked.
“No, señorita,” Manco answered. “Only a little security we needed to get around, but we took care of them.”
“Yeah, fed them a good helping of an ass-kicking casserole,” Jackie boasted.
Doc stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “They were knocked out. Discreetly.” He glanced over to Jackie when he punctuated that last word.
The Johnson tiled her head as if she weighed the answer. “Very well, then. I have your payment ready. Six thousand nuyen, as agreed upon.” She motioned her bodyguard and he stepped forward towards the team.
Doc held up the discs and the large stallion pulled out a small, tapered credstick. They exchanged the items and the bodyguard returned to the Johnson's side to give her the two discs. She held them under the dim light and nodded after she read their labels. Doc assumed it was approval.
He then plugged the little specialized drive into his commlink. The monetary information held within flashed on his screen. It was all there. Doc showed his teammates the funds and they both brought up commlinks of their own. Doc entered a few commands to split the money three-ways with them. Everyone's devices flashed an icon that indicated a successful wireless transfer of money.
The Johnson turned to leave. “I will assume our discretion of tonight remains intact. Fare thee well, Trotters.” She walked away towards the other end of the alley with her bodyguard.
“Bueno! Time to go down a couple cold ones tonight,” Manco said with a big grin.
Doc had a hard time looking away from his screen. Two thousand nuyen in one night! He never made that kind of money before. “Hey, Manco, Jackie? I know a pretty good bar up north if either of you aren’t against a little walking. It should still be open.”
Jackie waved him off. “I have wings, why walk? See you grounders laters. I gotta date with some real food.” She took off into the air before Doc could reply to her.
“Gracias, but I also got plans,” Manco said. “Have to see a couple ponies before morning. Maybe next time?”
“Oh, alright then. Want to trade contacts at least?” Doc asked. He typed up a text message with his number for the zebra to copy.
Manco nodded and sent Doc a text with his own number. “Adios, amigo.” The zebra trotted off into the night.
Doc looked at his account again. It only now dawned on him that every nuyen of that money was made by breaking the law. Yet, it sat fine with him. Perhaps he still harbored resentment against his former employer? However, the more he thought about it, the less appealing the money became. There was certainly the danger of getting caught, and he had assaulted a police officer. With magic!
He dashed those thoughts from his head. No, Doc couldn’t dwell on this. He needed the money and this job turned out okay. He was going home to sleep it off. In the morning, he could contact his mother and send this money for his dad’s prosthetic. Then he would go back to his quiet life as if nothing happened.
Well, maybe he’d keep a little money to get that toaster of his fixed.