Overture

by Dusk Quill

Chapter 12: Plan B

“I thought we were going for a surreptitious approach, Agrostis.”

“We are,” Bentgrass said, casting a puzzled look at the pegasus beside him. “Why do you say that?”

“Bent, my whole life is based on sneaky. Ten armed agents in a bed and breakfast is not sneaky.”

Bentgrass followed Fleethoof’s disparaging gaze around the tiny bedroom. He had to admit, it was cramped with a dozen ponies in it at once. Not that they had much of a choice. When Bentgrass had sent the call out for additional agents for the arrest of Dandridge and his associates, he hadn’t expected Director Top Notch to be quite so generous. When it came to high-profile cases, it seemed no chances would be taken.

“You were the one who wanted to wait. Dandridge has had a full week to bolster his security if he’s on to us.” He remained unmoved by Fleethoof’s negativity. “More agents means less of a risk when we apprehend the suspects.”

“Uh-huh…” Fleethoof glanced out the open door as the elderly proprietor shuffled past, muttering something under her breath about the ‘government takeover’. “So what’s your grand plan this time? A blitz maneuver?”

“Oh, nothing so brash, Captain. That I can assure you,” he remarked with a lilting laugh. “Midnight is going to finish the deal and get out with the weapons. Then, once she’s back in our care and we have our holographic recording of the deal, my agents will make the arrest. Dandridge is in custody within ten minutes, you have whatever information you want, and we all go home to a nice glass of port by supper.”

“Okay… So what’s Plan B?”

Bentgrass looked up at Fleethoof from over his shoulder, brows knitted together. “Why do you think we need a Plan B?”

“Because I’ve been around long enough to know the first casualty of any operation is the plan,” muttered Fleethoof. “What’s Plan B?”

“I can promise you, Fleethoof, that this plan will go off without a hitch.”

“That’s a terrible lie, Special Agent…”

“Credit for trying?” Bentgrass chuckled at Fleethoof’s humorless expression. “Very well. Plan B is we ambush Clydesdale. One team enters through the front while a second sets up perimeter around the rear. Put Dandridge between a rock and a hard place.”

Fleethoof cocked a brow. “Is that really your backup strategy?”

“Do you have a better one?”

“I’d like to bust down every door and kill everypony inside.”

Bentgrass made an exaggerated move of rolling his eyes. “Then that can be your Plan B, you monolith of marshall law.”

“Fine by me. But I’m holding you to that.”

Bentgrass tapped the emerald laying on the table, bringing up the holographic screen and beginning the recording. “We’re all set. Miss Dasher, are you ready?”

Midnight strode into the room with an elegant gait and a soft clop of hooves against wood. Fleethoof looked up from Bentgrass’ set up and did a double take. Midnight was wearing her form-fitting dress again, her mane swept back behind her upright ears. She smiled at Fleethoof as she slipped past him, her body brushing against his as she made her way to the dresser. She applied a single spritz of her perfume to her neck. The room lit up with the delicate fragrance of blooming jasmine flowers, sending a couple of the stallions into a tizzy. With a casual glimpse to her backside, Fleethoof caught a peek of her shiny silver pistol tucked in the garter around her thigh. He smirked. He had taught her well.

“Easy there, Mid,” Fleethoof quipped with a smirk. “You’re setting the guy up, not taking him on a date.”

“Maybe this is my definition of a date, Fleety,” Midnight remarked, slinking past her captain again with a flick of her tail beneath his chin for good measure. Fleethoof lifted his head away and shied away from her touch. “I’m ready whenever you are, boys. You did remember to pay the nice arms dealer, right?”

“Indeed. We transferred the money to Dandridge from an RIS burn account. My agents will be ready to move in when you finish the deal.” Bentgrass looked up from his seat with serious eyes directed at the mare. “Remember, you need to complete the deal before we can arrest him. Make sure Dandridge remains oblivious the entire time. Do not take any risks that may compromise your cover. We are too close to lose everything now.”

Midnight just waved off his concern like he was discussing the weather or sports scores. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Just let me do my thing. Don’t you worry your pretty little head off, Benty.”

“Do you give everypony a nickname?”

“Only my friends.”

“Welcome to my hell,” Fleethoof muttered while a playful grin snuck onto his face.

“He loves it, really,” Midnight told Bentgrass, glancing to Fleethoof. “All right then. Let’s not keep Danny-boy waiting. Wish me luck!”

Midnight didn’t make it two steps down the hall before Fleethoof was rushing after her. “Midnight, wait.” She stopped, and he circled around to her front. The deep creases around his frowning mouth alluded to his worry, even if he refused to say it. “I need you to know I trust you. You’re a very capable soldier, and a pony of immense talent and skill. If anypony can get him to reveal his plan or find anything useful, it’s you.”

Midnight smiled a wide, toothy grin. “Aww, thanks, Fleet. And here I thought you didn’t have a heart.”

“But I need you to promise me you’ll be on guard,” he continued, his voice pained and hushed. His eyes darkened in the dim light of the corridor. Midnight could see the shadows of doubt crawling in those pools of ice blue. “I want Dandridge’s little scheme stopped, but I want you back safely more. Promise me you won’t do anything reckless to try and prove yourself.”

It took a moment for Midnight to realize that he was being serious. Fleethoof was sincerely worried about her well-being. She could see the pleading look on his face, begging her for that peace of mind. She nodded her head once. “I promise.”

Fleethoof’s shoulders drooped as the weight was taken from them. He placed a hoof on Midnight’s shoulder and nodded in return. A smile softened his features. “You look very nice, Mid.”

Midnight smiled back and slipped past him, trotting down the stairs as fast as she could to avoid letting him notice the color spreading across her cheeks. Fleethoof listened, counting each step she took until he heard the front door close. He drew in a deep breath through clenched teeth and hurried back into the room. Bentgrass was still seated where he had been all day, staring at the flickering green screen before his eyes. He could see from Midnight’s perspective as she flew across the grassy hills toward the manor from the emerald around her neck.

“You saw all that, didn’t you?” asked Fleethoof. Bentgrass didn’t say a word. “If you tell anypony about that, I will burn every port shipper to the ground.”

“Create a port drought? Underhanded, Captain. I’ll simply have to dig into my private reserve.”

“You mean the very flammable barrels in your basement back in New Horseleans?” Fleethoof grinned at the expression Bentgrass gave him.

“What ever would I say anyway? That Captain Fleethoof loves his ponies more than any officer I’ve ever seen? That he concerns himself with their safety and their lives with such passion, it should inspire generations to come?” Bentgrass met gazes with his friend, the ghost of amusement and admiration flickering through his contrasting eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Captain. After all, your actions speak louder than my words ever could.”

Fleethoof held Bentgrass’ gaze for a long while before he turned back to the screen. Midnight had just landed on the porch. It was time. All around the room, the other agents were busy preparing their equipment. The assortment of all kinds of ponies felt like a small army ready to take down one villain. Fleethoof liked those odds. But looking back and knowing Midnight was on her own on the front lines, his courage wavered.

“Let’s get this prick.”

Midnight walked down the mammoth hallways of Clydesdale Manor with its proprietor close by her side. Dandridge had, of course, greeted her with his trademark smile that showed too many teeth and a tight hug. She did notice when his hoof started to drift much too low for her liking, but for the sake of her part, she held her tongue. Now she was doing her best to avoid the lustful glances he kept stealing at her as they walked. She didn’t need to be a telepath to know what was on his mind.

“I think you’ll be very pleased with what I was able to get for you, darling,” Dandridge hummed when they neared his office. “I inspected each one myself. After I received your payment, I made sure to emphasize to my supplier to find the crème de la crème of Germaneic weaponry.”

“Aww, spared no expense on my behalf, Danny? I’m touched,” Midnight spoke with an airy giggle.

“But of course, my dear. Come, step into my office and we’ll talk shop.”

“Speaking of talking shop,” Midnight began, “what you said last time got me thinking. If I wanted to get in on this ‘reform Equestria’ scheme, who would I see about that?”

To her side, Dandridge uttered an ominous chuckle. “Where is this coming from, hmm?”

“What you said about making something of yourself again last time made me wonder where I want to go in life.” Midnight cast a sideways glance over at her companion, the corner of her mouth curling up in a sly smirk. “Maybe I want a piece of that pie for myself too.”

“My darling Aurora, I wouldn’t dream of involving you in anything so dangerous and devious,” he replied with a barking laugh. “Fear not, my lovely. Allow me to handle my own affairs with my collaborators. Should you wish to obtain a more prestigious position, seek me out after the fact in Canterlot and I’m certain we could come to a mutual arrangement.”

Midnight shed off the shudder of disgust that rippled down her spine. She put on her best pout and turned the full force of her sad eyes against him. “But how will I know when that is?”

“Oh, don’t fret. You won’t be able to miss it.” Dandridge laughed again, a sound that unsettled the collected Midnight.

The two ponies veered out of the hall and once more into Dandridge’s spacious study. He led her over to one of the long tables near the wall. A black pistol lay across a map, its metal surface polished to a pristine shimmer. To her surprise, the name of her alias was engaged in elegant script along the slide, a personal touch Dandridge had taken the liberty to add, it seemed. A suppressor was already attached to the end of the barrel, ready for action. Dandridge picked it up and ejected the magazine to show it was empty before handing it to Midnight.

Midnight picked up the weapon and checked every inch of it, inspecting the gun in earnest. “Nice weight. Good sights. Fits in the hoof like a horseshoe.” She snapped the slide back and dry fired the weapon, listening to the sharp snap of the hammer against the firing pin.

“I knew you would like them. These are the same types of guns the Mossad uses, after all.”

“Really? And how did you manage to get your hooves on these?”

Dandridge paused, running his tongue over his teeth as he chose his words. “Let’s call him a friend with benefits.”

“My favorite kind of friend.” Midnight laughed and set the pistol down again. “It’s perfect. You have the others here too?”

He nodded. “But of course. Let me go get the crate and a few strong ponies to assist you, my dear.”

She followed his movements with wary eyes until Dandridge left, and then rushed over to the door. She left it ajar to make sure he had disappeared down the hall before rushing back to the table and picked up the gun, holding it level with the emerald around her neck.

“Get a good look, boys,” she spoke to the agents far away. Her hooves turned the gun over slowly, making sure they got all the details of it before setting it back down. It was a shame she couldn’t keep it. It was a beautiful work of craftsmanship.

Placing the weapon back down again, Midnight turned her gaze across the cluttered table and expansive office. Okay… she thought with trepidation at the daunting task before her. Time to find something useful for Fleety…

She eyed a map of Equestria it had been laying on, the lower-left corner torn off and missing. A variety of topographical maps and shipping manifests littered the table, all bearing little interest to her. Left to herself, Midnight sauntered over to Dandridge’s desk and circled it, eyeing the contents left out in plain sight. She looked over each photograph, snickering at each failed relationship Dandridge had gone through. She had no sympathy for the predatory bastard. She picked up every item on his desk and inspected it like a fascinated child, from his perfectly arranged quills to a small, sharp letter opener shaped like a sword. Nothing looked like any dastardly plans to overthrow the nation.

Dandridge was taking longer than she liked. Was something wrong? Was he on to her? Then again, she didn’t know how long it would take to move a crate of smuggled weapons. Giving in to her state of boredom, Midnight moved on to peruse his bookshelves. Her eyes followed the endless sea of spines. All of the titles seemed to pertain to some field of study that would have put her to sleep. Economics, philosophy, and law made up the bulk of them. Boooring… she thought and stifled a yawn.

She continued down the shelves until she came to one with more abstract and interesting titles. She looked over a couple on the psychology of serial killers, pulling them out and skimming through the contents before setting them back home, and then stopped on one titled The Art of Secrets. She smirked to herself.

Now that sounds like my kind of book.

Midnight grasped the book and pulled the book out. Except the book refused to move more than halfway out of the shelf. Midnight felt some sort of resistance give, and the sound of machinery and gears grinding together came from the bookcase. The startled bat pony stumbled backwards, watching in awe as a section of the bookcase slid away, revealing a hidden set of doors. Her eyes widened with shock and awe. It was like something out of a bad spy novel.

Oh, this place is so cool! she thought and stepped up to the doors, pulling one open with wary curiosity.

The stench of dried blood and decaying flesh smacked her nose like a sucker punch. It was almost enough to make her flinch away, the smell turning her stomach over. She fought past the wave of nausea threatening to cripple her and pulled the door open even further, letting the light spill into the boundless darkness.

Lights flickered on automatically inside the room. Midnight wished they hadn’t.

The room inside was the most macabre scene she had ever witnessed. Shackles were bolted to the far wall with singed wiring running from them to a switch. Tables were covered with bloody knives and an assortment of other instruments of torture. The floors, which Midnight guessed were once brown wood, were horridly stained in spots with what she could only assume was blood. But most grotesquely of all were the two bodies lying on the floor.

Midnight gasped, and then coughed as she tried to choke out the noxious air she inhaled. The very taste of death reeked in the stagnant air. Horrific images of a dark mansion in the Everfree Forest flashed before her eyes. She could feel the bile rising in her throat, burning as she swallowed it back and brought a hoof to her mouth, afraid that she’d wind up vomiting if she didn’t.

“Oh, dear Luna, Princess of the Night…” she gasped out under her breath. Terror clutched at her heart.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

Midnight gasped and spun sharply on her hooves. Dandridge was leaning in the doorway, a proud grin across his visage. It sickened and terrified Midnight.

“W-What is all this?” she asked with great trepidation, unable to hide the tremor in her voice when she spoke.

“It’s my finest work,” said Dandridge. He closed the gap between them at a paced saunter. “A sort of testament to the failing government, if you will. Oh, how this will drive that bastard on my doorstep mad when he finds out how I tortured the mare and murdered both of them for the fun of it. Have you ever smelled burning flesh before? It’s a damned foul thing, but so satisfying to know that you’re inflicting more pain than could ever be bearable to the victim.”

She choked back another retch threatening to empty the contents of her stomach all over the floor.

“Have you ever killed any government agents, my dear?”

Midnight looked away from the stallion, preferring the grim sight of the torture chamber to his grinning face. “I… I don’t know…”

“I wouldn’t expect so… seeing as you are one. And a little fashion advice: RIS emeralds don’t go very well with indigo, I’m afraid.”

And then she heard a gun cock.

“Step away from the door, if you please, my dear…”

The smooth voice of Dandridge came out cold and deadly. Her breath caught in her throat and her body felt like dead weight under her paralyzed nerves, yet she managed to take a few uneven steps back away from the door. She lifted her hooves up in slow surrender. He had her within his power.

There was a sound of a switch being thrown, followed by the rattle of loose metal. Midnight glanced to the right and saw metal shutters barring the wall of glass, blocking any escape. Dandridge’s hoofsteps came closer and closer until Midnight saw his shadow emerge on her peripheral vision. The silver pistol clutched in his grasp gleamed in the bright light as if to threaten her into submission while he pulled the door closed once more, hiding away the grim truth he kept locked away. Midnight made the mistake of looking up. The wanton look of invitation was dead in those citrine eyes while they glared at her, empty and soulless, like a shark.

Midnight swallowed hard, her mind racing, desperate to grasp onto any plausible excuse. “Danny, I was just—“

“Save your breath,” he snapped and trained the gun on her head. “It all makes sense… I know who you are. I know who you work for. I dared not believe it before, but now I know for sure.” He gestured with his gun to the emerald necklace. “You think I’ve never seen an RIS communicator before?”

His words left her speechless. Midnight had no excuse to get out of that one. If Dandridge already knew what it was, no lie in the world could save her skin. She could feel her mouth hanging open, but couldn’t bring her tongue to utter any words. Staring down the barrel of a gun immobilized her like a deer in headlights.

“How long have you been spying on me, hmm?” Midnight didn’t respond. “How much does the RIS know? Did that pale bastard put you up to this?”

Her brain still couldn’t break through the paralyzing fog enough to speak. She felt like she was trapped inside her own body. Dandridge snorted and circled back behind her with slow steps. She shut her eyes and beat herself up inside. She had messed up. If she hadn’t given into her curiosity and just stuck to the plan… Midnight’s breath caught in her throat, held there as she waited for him to say something or just shoot her.

What she hadn’t been prepared for was the feeling of his hoof on her flank. She gasped and jumped, then froze again when she felt what she assumed to be his gun jam into her lower back. Behind her, Dandridge murred and ran a hoof down her hind leg. Midnight felt her dress slide away from her leg, and then the weight of the gun in her garter disappear.

“Don’t want anypony getting hurt now, do we?” he purred. Midnight heard the gun clatter against the floor somewhere behind her. “Now, about the RIS…”

“Dandridge, I’m not with the RIS—“

“Oh, shut up, my dear. I’m not stupid. Now tell me how much you know!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Midnight cried out. Dandridge snorted, his humid breath rustling through her mane at close proximity.

“I must admit, you played your part very well. I didn’t catch on for quite some time… But in the end, I always win,” he growled out and pushed Midnight to the ground on her belly. “Very clever, Special Agent. Trying to blind me with my favorite kind of bait. I’m impressed. Too bad you’re about to witness it backfire.”

Dandridge chuckled darkly and dropped all of his weight down on Midnight, making the bat pony wheeze as the air was knocked out of her lungs. In one brutal move, Dandridge tore the necklace off of her neck, choking her for a fraction of a second before the band broke. He held the emerald up, grinning at it like he had won a game.

“You might think you have me, but I’m going to make you suffer before you take me. Now you get to watch me kill another one of your agents… But first, I think I’ll take what you’ve so generously given me…”

Tossing the emerald aside, Dandridge laughed and tugged Midnight’s dress up over her flank. Midnight’s eyes shot wide open and her body snapped back to life in a flash. She struggled and fought against Dandridge’s hold on her with all her might. Her hoof swung out, narrowly missing hitting him in the jaw. Dandridge growled like an animal and pressed a hoof down in between her shoulder blades, pinning her to the ground. He brought a hoof to the back of her head, slamming it down into the floor. Midnight heard bells ring in her ears, her hooves and wings thrashing, beating with wild abandon. Still struggling against his power, Midnight yelped and cried out as he ran another hoof up her side.

“No! Get off me, you bastard!” She squeaked when he pulled her closer to his body. In the chaos of the struggle, she screamed for the only pony she could think of. “Fleet! Help!”

Fleethoof clapped his hooves together with great joy as Midnight lifted the gun to the emerald’s view, capturing it all. ‘Atta girl, Middy, he thought with swelling pride. A smirk split his lips, and beside him, he could see Bentgrass nodding his approval as well.

“That’s it,” he said. Conviction and triumph held his voice strong. “We’ve got the bastard. How about you, Captain? Satisfied that this pony isn’t anything to you?”

“He’s not giving anything away… But maybe I’m just trying to force connections that aren’t there,” Fleethoof sighed. “Unless Midnight find anything, there’s nothing but empty threats and we can’t stall any longer. Let’s just get her out of there.”

“Patience, Fleethoof. Let her finish what she started and leave on her own accord. She’ll be in less danger if Dandridge suspects nothing the whole way through. Though I am curious why you wanted to delay this.”

Fleethoof shook his head and groaned while burying his face in his hooves. “It’s nothing. I’ve been following this… I don’t even know what to call it. A conspiracy? A myth? If it’s true, I think Equestria might be in a lot of danger. But the pony in charge of it always seems to be three steps ahead. I just thought that maybe if Dandridge was somehow involved, I could close that gap.”

Bentgrass raised a perturbed brow. “A conspiracy that could threaten all of Equestria? That is a grave notion. And who is this pony supposedly heading it?”

“I don’t even know their real name. I thought I had found it out, but that pony lived almost a thousand years ago.”

“A thousand years? And you think this pony is still around threatening Equestria?”

Fleethoof became aware of just how insane that sounded. He scowled and slumped further down into his chair, his mind blazing through any and all other possibilities of Dandridge’s cryptic plot. Every creature he had met involved with whatever Silence was had been all too eager to share their involvement, like treason was a proud endeavor they endeared. Dandridge had remained enigmatic and closed off.

His eyes followed the projection. Every intricate thing Midnight did, he watched. He watched as she went through every single object on Dandridge’s desk in an attempt to find anything incriminating. He watched as she ran her hoof along the rows of books in his collection.

“Clydesdale was right about one thing… You are something special, all right, Midnight…” he muttered to himself, shaking his head with a halfhearted smile. He wasn’t at all surprised the ADHD-apparent filly hadn’t gone on to become Equestria’s first bat pony genius.

Bentgrass had begun gathering up the rest of the intelligence left behind by the other agents to wrap up their investigation. For all intents and purposes, Dandridge was theirs. There was no way he was weaseling his way out of this one.

Fleethoof watched Midnight take a book out of the shelf—and then blinked when the bookcase disappeared. His forehead creased and he sat up straight again, leaning his hooves forward on the table to get a closer look at the screen. Two doors lay hidden behind the false bookcase.

“Bent.”

Bentgrass looked up when Fleethoof called his name. He watched with the same astonishment as his partner while Midnight pushed open the doors. At first, nothing but darkness came through. And then the lights turned on.

Fleethoof’s jaw fell. Bentgrass shot up in his chair. His eyes were frozen, glued to the screen like his life would end were he to look away. Fleethoof stared in awe at the fright that was the torture chamber. Dandridge had gone to great lengths to hide it, and for all the horror Fleethoof had seen in his life, very little came close to the dread it instilled in his heart. Shivers ran down his back and his wings bristled. It was a nightmare manifested into flesh.

Bentgrass, however, was too fixated on the two crumpled bodies. He recognized those coats, those manes, the faint glimpses of the cutie marks in the light: Keen Eye and Dawn Glimmer. His missing agents.

“That’s why we couldn’t find the beacon,” Fleethoof muttered, his gaze and voice grave and disturbed. “They were right there the whole time…”

Bentgrass was silent. Fleethoof had come to expect succinctness from the agent, but he knew this kind of silence too well. He cast his gaze to his friend and saw the turmoil, the grief, and the anger in his eyes. The faintest of tremors shook Bentgrass’ steady hooves.

For all his strength, Bentgrass couldn’t quell the monsoon stirring within his heart. The beaten, burned, and battered bodies of his compatriots tossed carelessly across the floor like piles of trash offended him on a profound level the likes of which he had never felt before. And it was all because of that silver-tongued devil on the hill.

“Agrostis—”

“The signal wasn’t wrong… We were less than a meter away all along…”

“Step away from the door, if you please, my dear…”

For the longest, most gut-wrenching minute, nothing happened. The ponies watched with halted breaths as Midnight stood utterly still. Then Dandridge appeared from the corner of the screen, his gun pointed at her while he shut the door. Fleethoof’s heart stopped beating.

“Danny, I was just—“

“Save your breath. I know who you are. I know who you work for.”

Fleethoof dared not look away from the screen. “We’ve got to get her out of there.”

Bentgrass turned to Fleethoof next with a hardened look. “Captain, you stay with us. We apprehend Clydesdale together.”

“I’m not waiting around anymore. I’m doing this my way,” Fleethoof shouted and snatched his pistol up from the table, jamming it in it holster as he made for the door. “I’m going with Plan B!”

“Fleethoof!” It was much too late. Fleethoof was bursting out of the bed and breakfast by the time Bentgrass spoke. “Dammit all! Agents, let’s move! There’s a pony in distress!”

Fleethoof tore through the air like a bat out of hell, bound straight for the manor house. He silently cursed himself for putting Midnight into this sort of danger, and for not putting a bullet in Dandridge’s head when he had the chance. I knew he was dangerous… he chided himself in his head. I fucking knew it and I still let him live!

He darted around the mansion, spotting the large wall of glass that marked Dandridge’s office with metal shutters sealing it off. He shouted every curse he knew and made a beeline for the front door. His hooves hit the porch at breakneck speed, just about sending the pegasus tumbling into the doors. He slammed his hoof against the doors in deep, pounding knocks that rattled the hinges. A second had barely passed before he was pounding on the doors again so hard it hurt his hoof. He peered through the windows beside the doors. Nopony was in sight.

With a snarl, Fleethoof threw away the RIS’s courtesy and slammed his body against the doors, his shoulder aching with each attempt he made at entrance. The doors shook, but refused to give way. The wood was too dense to bust down, and definitely too much so to shoot through. He didn’t have time for this. Every second he wasted put Midnight in more harm.

“Captain!” He looked over his shoulder to see Bentgrass running towards him. “The others are on their way.”

Fleethoof scowled and shook his head. “They’ll be too late. We have to get in now!”

“Captain.”

Fleethoof looked up to see Bentgrass pointing towards the windows. He threw his body against the frosted glass window, shattering it on contact and sending himself crashing into the foyer. The glass stung at his skin, leaving small lacerations in his coat that he couldn’t care less about. Fleethoof shook off the shock of impact while Bentgrass climbed through the destroyed window.

“We have to move quickly!” he said as they rushed down the hall. “I remember the way. Follow me!”

“And why didn’t you just do that in the first place?” asked Bentgrass with a questioning glance.

“…Because I was in a panic and didn’t think about it until now.” He growled and kicked himself. He shouldn’t be letting himself get this out of sorts.

Up ahead, two of Dandridge’s personal guards ran out into the hallway, drawn by the sound of the smashing glass. Fleethoof had his gun up on them in an instant, Bentgrass a moment later.

“Federal agents! Stay where you are!” Bentgrass barked in order.

The guards exchanged a look, and then drew their pistols from within their jackets. The two stallions cut them down with two lightning-fast shots.

“So much for quiet. They know we’re here. We have to hurry!”

The ponies picked up the pace from a canter to a full tilt sprint down the long corridor. Another guard popped out from a side room, a gun clutched in his hooves. Fleethoof and Bentgrass drew down on him. The stallion froze and tossed his gun to the floor before they could demand his surrender, raising his hooves high in the air.

“Get down on the ground!” the agent commanded, moving closer to make the arrest. “I said, get—“

As he neared the guard, a second pony shot out from the room and landed a vicious right hook across the agent’s jaw, sending him spiraling to the ground. The first pony dove for his gun again while the other brandished his. Fleethoof put two rounds in the guard’s chest. Bentgrass grabbed his fallen weapon and kept his aim on the one on the ground, glaring daggers at the stunned criminal.

“Leave it,” he snarled.

Bentgrass clambered back to his hooves and began cuffing the living guard. Fleethoof waited for him, then continued down the hall, nearing the end after what seemed like an eternity of running. His chest felt so tight it almost hurt to breathe. Midnight’s cries for help echoed in his mind, haunting him and driving him forward. He had to reach her if it cost him his life. There was no alternative.

Just as the ponies neared the end of the hall, a group of guards ran out to engage them. Fleethoof moved first, gunning down one as they came into view while Bentgrass took another. The remaining two dove back around the corners, using the walls as cover while they popped shot after shot at the exposed ponies. Fleethoof grit his teeth and hugged the wall as bullets snapped past his head. He brought his pistol up and returned fire at the hidden ponies, keeping them suppressed long enough for Bentgrass to work his way up to a better position as well.

In a moment, the quiet manor had turned into a violent standoff. Neither side could gain an advantage over the other. When the guards would peek out to shoot, Bentgrass and Fleethoof would take their shots, praying to score a lucky hit, both sides exchanging gunfire back and forth. Then the sound of stomping hooves echoed down the hall behind them. Fleethoof risked a glance back and muttered every profanity in the Equestrian language. More guards were coming up behind them, sandwiching the ponies between two fronts of enemies.

“Hug the walls!” Fleethoof shouted across to Bentgrass, even though he knew there was no getting out of this trap. They were pinned. Bentgrass flinched as a bullet nipped past his head, dropping to a crouch to reload his weapon and shout something into a radio clipped to his lapel, his words lost in the explosive gunfire.

But as the guards came closer, a cacophony of gunfire drowned out the heavy hoofsteps. Fleethoof blinked, and then the guards were all down on the ground. The rest of the RIS task force was filing into the house, detaining or eliminating the rest of Dandridge’s security, fighting their way forward from the foyer room by room. They had bought them some time.

Focusing all of his attention back on his targets, Fleethoof took a deep breath and waited. His hoof flexed on his gun, grasping the cool metal as tight as he could. His sights were trained right where a pony’s head had popped out before. All he needed was the right moment…

The pony leaned out, his pistol pointed toward another agent. Fleethoof squeezed the trigger, heard the boom, and saw the pony’s head snap back with a blast of red mist. He dropped to the ground with a twitch and fell still. The last guard cried out and made to bolt across the hall again. Fleethoof remembered the layout of the manor well enough to know where he was running to.

Dandridge’s office.

The guard made it about halfway across the hall before a storm of gunfire from both stallions sent him cartwheeling across the now-bloodied floor.

“Move up!” Fleethoof sprinted for the end of the hall and took the corner sharply, skidding across the slick wood. He led Bentgrass by memory down the hall, counting the doors he passed as he went. It was ten doors from the corner to his office. Ten doors to Midnight. They had just passed five.

The door to their right opened up suddenly, and two more guards ran out to meet them. Fleethoof skidded and collided into one of the bodyguards. The two tumbled and sprawled over one another for a time across the polished wood floor. Bentgrass used his momentum and slid into the hooves of the other pony, taking him down with a smooth gliding kick. He reared back and brought his elbow down into his foe’s muzzle, feeling the bone and cartilage snap. The pony shrieked in pain. He was silenced by a following kick to the side of his head.

Fleethoof felt the weight of the other guard land on top of him and hooves wrap around his neck. He grunted and pushed up against his attacker, unable to draw breath with the pressure on his windpipe. His hoof swung up, catching the guard’s legs in the crooks of his elbows and breaking his grip. As he fell, Fleethoof shot up, smacking his head against the bridge of the pony’s nose. His hoof shot out and grabbed his gun, pressing it between them and firing three rounds into the pony’s chest point-blank. He pushed the limp body to the side and put another into his skull for good measure. These ponies worked for the monster threatening his teammate. They deserved no more mercy than he did.

Fleethoof motioned to the doors a short ways down as they came up to them. He and the agent each took to one side, breathing slow and steady while he pressed an ear to the wood, listening inside. He could just make out the sound of somepony struggling against something.

“When we go in, don’t wait for the arrest,” Bentgrass told the pegasus at his side. His voice was rough and dangerous, his eyes smoldering as he reloaded his gun. “Arresting him is secondary to Miss Dasher’s life. If you can get a safe shot, take it.”

“Don’t kill him, Bent. I know you’re angry, but I still need him alive.”

“Then don’t shoot him in the head. On three. One… Two… Three!”

Their hooves connected with the doors, breaking them inward in a hail of obliterated wood.

Dandridge growled like a wild animal as he wrestled Midnight back to the floor, pressing all of his weight down on her back to keep the mare pinned. She wasn’t making it easy for him. Her wings beat and flailed in the air, very nearly catching him in the face. Her hoof slipped free from beneath him, coming back again and smacking the end of his nose with enough force to make him stumble back. Midnight fought, pushing up against him to squirm free. She made it a few inches before Dandridge brought the butt of his gun into the back of her head so hard her ears smacked together.

Every muscle in Midnight’s body turned to rubber. She collapsed, stunned and limp. A sharp pain split her skull and her ears had a small pony ringing a bell inside of them without end. Then she felt something cold and hard meet the back of her head, and she became motionless.

“You’re one hell of a fighter,” Dandridge husked, his breath rough and hot against her ear. She could almost feel the sadistic grin in his voice. “That’s good. I like my mares a little feisty.”

She whimpered and felt his hoof wander lower, lower… She bucked out, her hind leg catching one of his by sheer luck. Dandridge toppled on top of her. His balance gone, Midnight scrambled to pry herself free again. Her desperate attempt at freedom was cut short when she felt the gun press to her head again.

“Very nice! You’re a lot more fun than Glimmer was! Oh, I’m going to have fun with you!”

Two pops like firecrackers broke through the otherwise quiet residence, making both ponies stop dead. Midnight’s ears swiveled to the side, trying direly to locate the sound again. She risked a glance up at Dandridge. The stallion was looking towards the door, back to the front of his house.

Two more snaps were heard somewhere else in the manor. And then all hell broke loose, the sounds getting closer and much more frequent. Midnight’s mind broke through the pained haze long enough to realize she knew those sounds by heart. Gunshots.

“Bloody RIS prats…” Dandridge gnashed his teeth together and climbed off of Midnight, grabbing her mane in his teeth and yanking her with a rough start to her hooves. She yelped and stood, albeit wobbly and uneven on her own legs. Her head was still spinning like a merry-go-round. “Get up! We’re leaving, my dear. Try anything brave again and I won’t give you a third chance. Now go!”

Midnight stumbled forward, shuffling her hooves toward the door at his insistent urging. She wanted to fight back, to try and do something to hinder him, but the fear of death paralyzed her beyond action. All she could do was lumber forward, out of control of her own movements.

No sooner had they reached the doors, the gunfire came from just down the hall. Dandridge grabbed her around the neck from behind, yanking her backwards into the sanctuary of the office again. She gasped, choking against the tight restraint his hoof put around her throat. She could hear the furious edge to his rough breathing and the firmness of his gun pressed into her spine.

“Not a word, my dear.” His order was clear and concise. “Utter a single sound and you die.”

Standing just away from the door, Dandridge waited, listening to the hoofsteps run up to the doors. They were on the other side. A moment passed, then another. He could see the shadows creeping around through the gap beneath the doors. Using Midnight as his shield, Dandridge lifted his hoof and leveled his pistol with the doors.

“Come on in, gentlecolts… Don’t be shy…” he sang out to the hesitating agents on the other side, his voice mad and wicked.

And then the doors exploded inward, shards and splinters of the polished wood flying across the floor. Dandridge took aim at the first pony he saw and fired.

Bang!

Fleethoof recoiled from the gunshot. Beside him, Bentgrass cried out and crumpled to the floor. A fresh hole tore through the shoulder of his suit, red staining the white fabric of his undershirt at an alarming rate. Fleethoof’s mind worked on autopilot. He grabbed Bentgrass’ collar in his teeth and dragged him away from the door as a second shot nipped past his leg and a third splintered the doorframe near his head. Breathing slow to calm his racing heart, Fleethoof looked down at the fallen agent. He was pressing a hoof to his bleeding shoulder, groaning in agony.

“Son of a… Argh! Get him, Fleethoof!”

“Dandridge Clydesdale!” Fleethoof shouted from around the corner, leaning as close as he safely could to the open doorway. “Throw your weapon down and surrender! There’s no way out!”

“Then I’m afraid there’s no way out for your lovely spy either!”

Fleethoof took the risk and peered around the corner. As the office slowly came into view, he spotted Dandridge in the open, holding Midnight close to his body. His pistol was pressed to the side of her head, his hoof quivering on the trigger. Fleethoof pulled back behind cover, licking his rough lips while his mind sped through every possible option. He couldn’t do anything to risk her life. But he was her captain. It was his responsibility to protect his ponies, and she was relying on him to do something.

He poked around the corner again, his gun raised and aimed at Dandridge from behind cover. “Put it down, Clydesdale. You’re done.”

Dandridge scoffed and sneered at the soldier. “No, you’re done, pegasus! I will walk out of this house alive and well, while you get carted out in a body bag!”

Dandridge turned the gun on him. Fleethoof was a split second faster, disappearing as another bullet chipped away at the edge of the doorway. He could feel the coarse fragments of wood scrape across his face, reminding him of the dangerous game of chicken he was playing. He came back around, training his sights on the thin strip of Dandridge’s face he could see.

“Dandridge, let her go,” he commanded, calm and authoritative. He had to regain control of the situation if he had any hope of freeing Midnight. “Let her go and we’ll disappear. You can run from the RIS all you want. She and I will be out of your life.”

“Ah, so this one is yours, Guardspony,” Dandridge surmised. Even with his face obscured, Fleethoof could see that stomach-churning grin on his face as he ran the pistol over Midnight’s cheek and collar. He took a deep inhale into her mane. “I must say, you have a ravishing mare on your team. I’ve been having all sorts of fun with her.”

Fleethoof saw the way Midnight was trembling. He could see the terrified look in her eyes. But despite it all, she remained cool, not a single tear falling from her apologetic eyes. He bit his tongue, doing all he could to tune out Dandridge’s chiding.

“You know, when we get out of here, I think I’ll show her the time of her life…”

“Kill him, Fleet,” Midnight cried out. “Shoot him. Kill the son of a bi—“

Her heated shouts were cut off abruptly as Dandridge tightened his hoof around her neck, blocking off her oxygen intake. Fleethoof’s muscles flexed in anger when Midnight gasped and choked. The enraged warrior was helpless to do anything but watch with murderous ire.

“Be silent, my dear. The important ponies are talking.” He turned back to Fleethoof. “Put your gun on the floor and walk away, pegasus. Do the smart thing.”

Fleethoof bared his teeth and fought the rage burning in his blood. The smart thing was to kill him. He wanted to take the shot—he needed to take it. By all reason, he shouldn’t have been hesitating. Midnight wasn’t a factor. She had signed up to give herself for Princess and country. She had traded her life for duty to the good of the nation. And right now, the good of the nation demanded Dandridge Clydesdale be stopped by any means necessary.

He had the shot on Dandridge. It wasn’t a clear one, but he had it. He had run through this exercise with his team time and time again; the overlapping targets of hostile and hostage. He knew his scores by heart. He could successfully kill the bad guy six out of ten times from this distance. That meant taking the shot left Midnight a good sixty percent chance of survival. It also meant she had a forty percent chance to perish with him. Fleethoof weighed that notion. Dandridge would be dead and Midnight could be too. She would fade from existence into little more than a uniform alabaster grave and a folded flag above somepony’s mantle. She would be another wrinkled photograph on the wall of the Copper Cannon—just another smiling face in a sea of lost brothers and sisters. She was expendable. Their duty was not.

He had to take the shot.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t put her life in jeopardy, even if his beliefs demanded different. She was his teammate and his friend. She was loyal and dedicated to him to a fault. They had trained together, grown together, shared personal details of their lives in confidence. She had gone to extreme lengths to save his life in the past. How could he ever consider ending hers in turn?

“I said, put your gun down, Guard!”

“I’m not doing anything you say, Clydesdale,” snapped Fleethoof and shook his head. His mind was made up. But if he couldn’t kill Dandridge, he could put him off his game. “I guess you can relate to that. Bet your family never thought you’d be the one to destroy their legacy. Guess that’s the one useful thing you’ve done in your life.”

Dandridge’s eye twitched. Fleethoof felt a twinge of triumph knowing he had struck a nerve. “…What did you say?”

“I bet your father’s real proud of you. Daddy’s little boy Dandridge getting into all sorts of trouble with the ponies he worked so hard to get in with.” Fleethoof was racking his mind, rushing to pull up every weakness and sore spot he had watched Dandridge reveal to Midnight.

“Shut your mouth! You don’t know what sort of insignificant rabble my family was trying to woo,” Dandridge seethed.

“What’s the matter, Danny? Doing some good for Equestria got too old school for you? Or do you like spending your blood money to treat ponies like pawns?”

“I swear to the Great Alicorn, if you say one more word—“

Fleethoof didn’t stop. He went for the jugular. “Or do you just like making ponies feel as inferior as your family made you feel?”

“Stop talking about my family!” Dandridge yelled, turning the gun on Fleethoof again. His plan worked, a little too well as he dodged another much-too-close bullet. “You insipid little cretin! This is above anything your tiny brain could hope to comprehend. Do you know how ineffective Equestria’s government is? How feeble and frail the alicorns have become in a millennium of peace? And the Earth ponies… My lineage has been degraded by haughty politicians to serfs that do little more than work fields and mines! We were all great once! My proud family name has been disgraced by a corrupt government!”

“You disgraced your family’s name yourself!” Fleethoof shouted back, going to turn the corner again when another bullet ripped through the air in front of his muzzle. He flinched away, heart pumping adrenaline through his veins as fast as it could.

“Me?! Compared to my ancestors, I’m the most successful Clydesdale since the founding of Equestria!” Dandridge laughed a haunting, disturbed laugh and fired another shot blindly at where Fleethoof was hiding. “I have been helping to usher in a revolution of Equestrian security and law. Never before has law enforcement worked so feverishly on disrupting organized crime. I will go down in history as a keystone in bringing Equestria back to its former glory.”

“You will go down in history as a psychopath and a murderer.”

“Only by this society’s book! Soon, that perspective will be so obsolete, nopony will even waste the time mourning it. I will have secured myself in history forever, and all will recognize the authority of Dandridge Clydesdale!”

Fleethoof squared his jaw and peeked around the corner. “So that’s what this is all about? Money and power? You’re nothing more than a garden-variety crooked politician looking for a better payday.”

“Money and power are the only universal currencies in this world, Guard! Control both, and you control all of the world!” Dandridge caught a glimpse of crimson and blonde and put another round into the wall to keep him at bay. “You stay where you are! I am not a villain! I am the devil’s advocate—a wise stallion amongst thieves! You are not in control here! I am in control! I am in charge!”

Not if I can help it… Fleethoof thought and swung around the corner again, bringing his pistol to bear on the cocky, anxious criminal, assured that his level head would best Dandridge’s temper. A loud gunshot rang out and Fleethoof felt a force tear his weapon out of his hooves. His wrist snapped inward with a pop. He cried out and blinked, stumbling back and falling to his flank. His weapon bounced across the floor with a clatter, sliding down the hall a short ways. Dandridge had managed to shoot his gun out of his grasp.

Dandridge laughed in victory; he had the pony on the defensive. He lifted his gun, creeping forward in advance now that he had disarmed the soldier. He could escape!

And then he noticed the slide of his pistol locked back. The chamber and magazine lay empty. He had used up all of his ammunition in his blind fury.

Dandridge gaped at the empty gun like it was a snake in his hoof, ready to strike against him. Midnight also took notice of the gun and made her move. She threw her head backward, smacking the back of her head against the bridge of Dandridge’s muzzle as hard as she could. She felt her skull make contact with his nose and he cried out in pain, his grip around her loosening. She kept up the momentum from her training, bringing her hoof backward and delivering a powerful strike of her elbow into his jaw. Dandridge staggered back, clutching at his bleeding nose as the pain and shock disoriented him.

Midnight ducked beneath her stunned captor and dove for his desk. She could see her gun lying on the floor just behind it. Dandridge recovered much quicker than she hoped, however, and with a roar, the stallion hurled himself at the agile bat. But he was an Earth pony—faster and stronger than she was. He caught her as she flew over his desk, grabbing her round the middle again. Midnight lunged forward, taking them both soaring over the desk before crashing to the floor with all of his supplies and records.

Fleethoof heard the commotion within the room and peered inside. Dandridge and Midnight were gone. The papers fluttering in the air like autumn leaves told him what had happened and where they were. He hurried and dove for his weapon. Midnight was fighting back and she needed his help. Time was of the essence.

Midnight grunted and fought against Dandridge as he wrestled to pin her down again while her hooves scrabbled at the floor to try and crawl away. She could see her gun lying a short distance away from her, just out of reach. Dandridge drew up over her, pressing a hoof into her face and shoving her head to the floor. Midnight’s hooves brushed through the debris, looking for anything to help her. Something thin and sharp poked her hoof. She grasped it and pull the letter opener out from beneath a pile of papers, wasting no time in bringing the sharp tool straight towards her attacker.

Dandridge yelled out in agony as Midnight drove the dagger-like point through the muscle in his shoulder. He reeled backward, feeling the instrument still lodged in his shoulder as blood trickled down his leg. Midnight lashed out with her hind legs, catching him square in the chest and bucking him onto his back. She rolled to her hooves again and scurried across the floor, diving for her gun just as Dandridge ripped the letter opener from his skin, bringing it around on the mare with a shout.

Midnight’s hooves wrapped around the pistol. She was on her back in a blur. Dandridge was right on top of her.

Bang!

The gun went off, silencing the room. Dandridge recoiled under the pressure of the point-blank round smacking wetly into his upper chest. His hooves flailed as he fell back again, crying out in sheer anguish, clutching at the bleeding wound with his good leg.

Fleethoof rushed the room just as the gunshot went off. His heart felt like it was clutched in a vise. He galloped across the room; the closer he drew to the desk, the more clear the carnage became. He saw Dandridge lying bleeding on the floor. Midnight sat a short distance away, her shaking hooves clutching the pistol like her life depended on it.

“Midnight,” he spoke softly, abandoning the injured pony on the ground for his teammate. “Midnight, are you all right?”

She didn’t respond. Her eyes were glassy with glazed fear and shock. He stepped around the desk and lowered his weapon, reaching a hoof out to her. Midnight’s whole body was tensed up, akin to a spring ready to burst, but her hooves wouldn’t stop shaking. Fleethoof crouched down beside her and looked over the gash on the back of her head. It wasn’t bleeding too badly, but the risk of a concussion concerned the captain.

“Midnight…” he called out to her. She didn’t so much as blink. He shuffled a little closer, resting a hoof on her shoulder. Her head swung to the side, gazing at him with frightened eyes. “Can you hear me? I need you to put the gun down.” Midnight held his gaze, but still didn’t move. He leaned forward and took the gun by the slide, ushering it down. “Let go of the gun, Middy… It’s okay now…”

Her hooves gradually relinquished their hold on the firearm enough for Fleethoof to lift it away and set it on the floor.

Click!

Fleethoof’s head shot to the side. Bentgrass was looming over Dandridge, his hoof pressed down on the pony’s chest to keep him pinned to the floor. Bentgrass had his gun trained on his head, but the entire mood felt wrong. There was no intention to detain or arrest Dandridge. Bentgrass’ tidy mane was tousled and messy, the sleeve of his jacket damp with his own blood. The calm look in the stallion’s eyes was gone, replaced by an inflamed hatred.

“Agrostis, put your weapon down.”

Bentgrass’ hoof tightened on the gun. Fleethoof didn’t dare to take his eyes off him, watching the injured pony like a hawk. A trapped animal was always the most dangerous.

“Agrostis—”

“And what then, Captain?” he asked. “He goes and stands trial before his friends and colleagues? Buys out the courts with fancy lawyers? Makes it a news spectacle then walks free?”

“No. He isn’t walking away from this. He’s going to prison for the rest of his life. You said this yourself.”

“That’s not good enough,” Bentgrass snapped with anger in his heart and revenge in his eyes. “After what he did… He doesn’t deserve a trial. He doesn’t deserve to keep breathing.”

“That is why we have our justice system. Regardless of what you think, he will get what is justly coming to him. Keep your hooves clean, Special Agent. Murder isn’t your character.”

Bentgrass’ strength faltered. A slight quiver shook his hooves. That was all it took to put a crack in his resolve. Fleethoof’s fight was over. Now he had to get Bentgrass to end his.

“I need him alive, Bent. I need to know about his plan.” He rested a hoof on the trembling pegasus’s shoulder and leaned in closer. “Don’t stoop to his level. You’re better than him, Agrostis Bentgrass.”

Many hoofsteps clopped loudly into the office behind him. More RIS agents rushed in and surrounded Dandridge, starting to tend to his wound while the others cleared the rest of the manor. Bentgrass’ opportunity to kill Dandridge had passed. He was safe.

Fleethoof released a tense sigh, feeling his taut muscles fall into a state of numbness. The world moved by in a slow blur as the agents detained the laughing Clydesdale and began carrying him out in cuffs. Against his instinctive desire, Fleethoof slid his pistol back into its holster and trotted around the desk to tend to Midnight.

He whistled to one of the agents and motioned him over. “Take her out of here,” he said, helping lift the shaking Midnight back to her hooves. “Get her back to the inn and wait for me. I’ll help wrap up here.”

The agent nodded and whisked the delirious Midnight out of the office. Fleethoof watched her disappear out the doorway, and then he stepped around the office and toward the bookcases. The doors to the hidden room were pushed open, and Bentgrass was nowhere in sight. Fleethoof knew where he would find him.

Stepping into the dark torture room, Fleethoof got his first glimpse into the real mind of Dandridge Clydesdale. The acrid smell of burned and rotting flesh put him in a constant battle with his gag reflexes as he fought his way through to the statuesque special agent standing over one of the bodies on the floor. Bentgrass was gazing with hardened eyes down at the corpse of a mare. Even in the dim light, Fleethoof could see the color had been drained from her coat, and that the floor was stained a heavy discoloration beneath her. She had bled out. It couldn’t have been a quick death.

“I’m sorry, Agrostis.” It was cliché. He couldn’t think of anything else to say though.

Bentgrass dropped to a crouch beside the body. He reached out with a delicate hoof and brushed the mane out of Dawn Glimmer’s motionless face. She wore an expression of absolute serenity, as if nothing in the world had ever hurt her and she had just fallen asleep. His throat felt tight. He had been so close to them all along. So close, and he had failed them.

“Did you know Equestria hasn’t carried out a capital punishment sentence in over five hundred years?” Bentgrass asked, the slightest trace of a quiver in his rock-steady voice taking Fleethoof aback. All he could do was shake his head dumbfounded. Bentgrass looked up at him with a fire flickering behind his eyes. “Dandridge was correct about one thing: I think it’s time we broke from that peaceful tradition.”

Comments

[Alpharius IV]

Capital punishment Bentgrass?
I think that if Fleet needs to find out new information from him, it'll be a lot worse than lethal injection for him.
Close call with Midnight though, we're nearing the end of Overture methinks. Oh well, it sounds like a sequel if Clydesdale has the information they need.

[MariusIoannesP]

“Then that can be your Plan B, you monolith of marshall law.”

I think you mean "martial law".

Well, that was quite an action packed climax. I knew we'd see an example of having to take out someone with a hostage. Well, it looks like this adventure is coming to a close. I look forward to the ending chapter, and what comes next.

And oh my gosh! Midnight almost got violated!

Keep up the good work.

[YoungQuillMaster]

I carry the motion of the Death Penalty after interrogations have been terminated, but that is for the court to decide. Granted, I am one who believes all murders that prove the murder should end in the murder's death, life time in prison doesn't pay the necessary price of blood. But that is politics and personal beliefs that have no holding in any justice system. On with the show!

[The Graysons141]

Great climax to the story and it seems like Bentgrass and Fleethoof changed ideology a bit back there, can't wait for the next installment!

[Habanc]

I see what you've done here.

Fleety was about to have some touching, emotional moment to help Middy calm down. But the Bentgrass interrupted that, and so Fleet had Midnight sent back to the inn. Considering that you've given some serious footholds for the shipping climb, I get the feeling that while this chapter has wrapped up the main plot line, the concluding chapter(s) will provide some sort of advance or development in the whole Fleet/Midnight relationship. Which I approve of wholeheartedly.

Then again, this is just me, but I couldn't help but run with it.

[Akouma]

Really great stuff, but I feel the need to be that guy and point out that hooves can't "tighten" around a gun. They can't tighten around anything. They don't have digits. I'm still trying to wrap my head around a pistol designed for use with hooves (rifle? Sure, that's feasable. Handgun not so much), so this really stood out to me.

[YoungQuillMaster]

4108664 I think of it like this: There is no finger guard in front of the trigger so they just pull back (tighten) on the exposed trigger, same goes for rifles and handguns. But I really don't think ponies have guns in all honesty, but for the sake off this story I believe it can pass.

[FenrisianBrony]

If Fleet decides to get information out of this guy with the help of the rest of Skyfall like he did in the last story, then Clydesdale will end up wishing Equestria had the death penalty.

[k64speed]

“He’s not giving anything away… But maybe I’m just trying to force connections that aren’t there,” Fleethoof sighed. “Unless Midnight find anything, there’s nothing but empty threats and we can’t stall any longer. Let’s just get her out of there.”

And you may want a comma after "threats".

Man, I was on the edge of my seat for most of this chapter. I commend you greatly for writing gripping action.

Also, shall we start tallying the charges? There's murder, attempted rape, assaulting an officer of the law...

[Visiden Visidane]

Bentgrass made an exaggerated move of rolling his eyes. “Then that can be your Plan B, you monolith of marshall law.”

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[Pitch Bend]

5774326

I'm so glad someone made the same connection

[Dances With Unicorns]

4113918
The guns the ponies use would be fired by their pasterns, the short part between their hoof and their fetlock. DQ never described pony guns in detail, so these don’t have the same gun grips and gun triggers found on guns made for human hands. On the other hand, Griffons have hand like claws, so their firearms would appear closer in appearance to human firearms.

Don’t get me started on Minotaurs and their firearms. What about a Minotaur Army General who is Steel Will, the older sister of Iron Will?

As for ponies gripping firearms, see the episode, “Pinkie Pride” where Pinkie is shown holding a crossbow in her hooves in the episode “The One Where Pinkie Pie Knows”. Or, imagine how Countess Coloratura plays her piano in the episode “The Mane Attraction”. As for me, these ponies have a magic that allows them to grip things with their hooves like human hands grip things.

[Dances With Unicorns]

Friendship is Magic is a TV-Y world, yet the ponies have everything they need to craft firearms like we have in the human world. Trixie Lulamoon has smoke bombs (explosives) and Pinkie uses party cannons; along with a bazooka shaped party cannon on Cozy in the episode “The Ending of the End - Part 1”.

The Skyfall Team really needs a unicorn to operate a bazooka and a Kirin to carry and load bazooka rounds for rapid entry into buildings and taking down dangerous monsters. After the Everfree incident, I can image that something like a bazooka would be crafted for the Skyfall Team

Moreover, in the episode “Pinkie Pride” the character of Cheese Sandwich has a tracked, party tank! If these tanks fired lethal rounds instead of party confetti those would be very useful for Skyfall Team in future stories.