Max Cake

by Clonehunter

Part I: The Equestrian Dream

Written by

Clonehunter

Prologue: Time’s Irony

It’s funny, ironic maybe, how much life can give you. All the things there are to make you smile, all the things to warm your heart and to let you know there’s someone who loves you out there in the world. How life can give you a family, a beautiful wife, amazing children, the best of friends, everything you could ever want - and then take it all away with from you in a sweep from the arm of fate. It’s a good laugh. Especially when you laugh at the irony. Laugh at how I’m the one that received that swipe, and lost everything.

I’m still told today I used to be the one to make others smile. The one who created that warmth through my work, through my family. I can’t remember him. That image of myself is nothing but a memory of happier times, times that no longer exist, and can never repeat themselves. Time is all we ever have, and at some point we’ll run out.

Part I: The Equestrian Dream

Chapter I:

Homecoming

It started three years ago. I was coming home from a week-long trip. It was a catering job in Hoofington, a big order. Cup had to keep things bolted down at home, and we didn’t want to leave the kids home alone with Pinkie Pie for a week. For most guys, the only thing that needs to be worried about after a week of absence is whether or not your wife knocked up some other stallion or found a new taste. Or at least that’s the first thing they fear. I myself tried to keep that thought off my mind. But there’s always that sneaking suspicion, and from the outside, you can never tell. Sugar Cube Corner looked exactly the same as I had left it. The windows were open, I could smell fresh pies baking in our oven. The town commoners were going about their daily lives. I thought I heard laughter even coming from our humble bakery. The door had the sign turned so that it outwardly read “Closed”. It was a beautiful day out, Pinkie Pie was probably out with her friends. It looked like it was just going to be me, Cup, and the babies, and together we could all relax and catch up, like a family. Live the Equestrian dream.

Unfortunately, some dreams have the habit to become nightmares.

Opening the door, it looked like a small war took place. Funny thing is, one did. Tables and chairs were flipped over and broken, dishes and pastries littered the floor, the dishes in little pieces here and there creating a floor where if you didn’t have hooves or horseshoes on your feet, you had no choice but to cut yourself up if you wanted to walk bye. I went over to the stairs that led upstairs to the hallway and the room we rented out to Pinkie Pie. The handrail on the wall was broken, and the wall it was attached too had deep claw marks raked into it.

Then bursting through the sound barrier, shattering both it and my heart, a sound that for as long as I live, I will never forget. It was the last thing I ever heard from my wife. The last time I’d ever hear her voice. It froze me where I stood; made me light headed and lose my footing and fall against the wall. I needed to find the energy to move, to find her. My legs felt like rubber; I could hardly stand let alone walk. But I forced myself up the stairs. I thought that was the source of the scream. Pinkie’s room.

Pinkie’s room.

I crawled step after step, pushing out the hundreds of mental images that crowded my mind. What would I find? The scream I heard was a death throe, and so the images of violence forced their way into my mind, and I could barely keep up with them. I reached the top step, and peered over the edge into Pinkie’s room-- finding nothing. The room was empty, in fact, it was untouched as I recall. I struggled back down the steps to the hallway, and noticed signs of struggle heading down the hall to our bedroom. I found energy somehow, and began to pick up a gallop down the hall. My hooves clopping against the wood floor, the sound resounded down the hall, alerting a presence hidden behind a door, a door that to this day I keep closed. He sprung from it, wild eyed and streaked with blood and dripping in sweat. I skidded to a stop as this demon stared at me from down the hall. It wasn’t another Pony, no, it stood on two legs. It was one of those digger dogs, a gem eating dirt hound. He wasn’t wearing anything other than a tattered green shirt and he had some sort of blade gripped in his paw. He shouted something unintelligible and drunkenly ran towards me, an internal fire lighting up his eyes. It was almost by instinct that I spun around, lifted up my back hooves, and thrust them outward at the attacker, striking him full in the chest and throwing him back down the hall on his back. I didn’t realize what I had done until I heard him thump against the ground and grunt in pain. I turned back to face him, but saw that he wasn’t a threat anymore. His blade had spun into the air with that kick and had found its place in his chest.

At first I started to pass by the room he had come from, but doubled back when I remembered what room that was. I guess you could say that that whole day is something I’ll never forget or put behind me. My children were still in their crib, and on the floor, and on the changing table, and everywhere else too. Both of them. The two things that had brought me and my wife as much happiness as we could ever want. It felt like a steel bat bludgeoned me over the head, and I found myself again on the floor. I broke into a cold sweat. I didn’t know what to do, what to think, or anything. I stumbled backwards out of the room and pointed myself back to our bedroom. I stumbled towards it, everything looked clouded like as if it was shrouded in a foggy haze. Reaching the door with a speed I didn’t remember picking up, I slammed through it, breaking it off of its hinges and splintering the edges.

Another dog looked up in surprise and terror, his eyes wide and crazed like the last. I only got a quick glimpse of his expression though, as soon I was again frozen in place. He was holding a gun. Guns were rare weapons, first created by Griffins, that were almost outlawed on several occasions due to the fact that the majority of Equestria’s populace were Ponies, and since Ponies didn’t have the fingers that were used to get through the trigger guard and pull, we Ponies naturally couldn’t use them. But almost everything else could, and that’s where the fear came from. Luckily, the gun was never turned on me and in his surprise the dog shot a Unicorn standing in front of him, who wore a tattered green shirt like the first dog. Realizing his mistake the dog dropped the gun and backed away, his eyes still crazed in some sort of fear. Then without warning he fell on his back, coughed, and died.

Slowly I came to my senses, and even more slowly, in a trance almost, approached the bed. Blood dripped down the sides of the quilt and onto the floor. One of her fore-hooves hung limply off the side of the bed. A breeze came in from a smashed window, pushing the limb gently from side to side. Her eyes and mouth were both open in a frozen scream of horror. She was laying on her back, three dark red craters in her stomach. I crawled onto the bed and caressed her body, holding it close to mine. It was still warm, but I could feel it cooling. I held her head to mine and kissed her forehead. I stayed there for long time, holding my wife, stupidly hoping she would begin to breath again. She never did, and I cried.

Chapter II:

Train Station

Three years have passed since then. In that three years, the murder was reported all over Equestria, and then some. Everyone heard of it. Violence like this was unprecedented. Princess Celestia had her guard force in Canterlot, and Manehattan shared some of that too. Ponyville didn’t have its own security force or law enforcement group. But with this sudden, brutal incident, it seemed the populace woke up finally, and realized they were going to need something. With help from the existing security and law enforcement groups in Canterlot and Manehattan, we were able to create a police force in Ponyville, comprised mostly of volunteers. Everyone took shifts, turns and what not. Some of us were paid. Some of us didn’t want to be paid. It was kind of like a neighborhood watch system. I decided to join for a time, and as the years passed, I started looking at the mounting number of cases that weren’t able to be solved. Basically, if they couldn’t figure it out, they’d send it to me to file away and let it collect dust. Technically, my family’s murder is considered to be one of these cases. Everyone involved is believed to be dead, but there wasn’t any motive as far as anyone could see. The killers who were there were also all found to have no relation to each other, and no past history. Even the two dogs weren’t found to have any connections to each other. It seemed completely random. They didn’t know what to make of my claims about their apparent mental order. They all seemed completely insane, and not just because they were killing babies and wives, but just looking at them, it was clear something was wrong with the killers themselves.

So three years later there I was, trying to piece things together. I filed the cases that came in when I wasn’t working at Sugar Cube Corner. And everyday, I looked over my case, seeing if I could figure it out. Every once in awhile something new would come in that looked like a link. For example, we found out that the green shirts the killers had were like those sold to private corporations for use on test subjects. So the killers were test subjects, but test subjects for what? Working for whom? Later I found something else out. Some sort of drug. After the murder, crime rates suddenly went up, in all kinds of ways. Maybe not because everyone thought you could go ahead and commit crimes now, but because the eyes of many were opened, and now they finally saw what they were living in, and noticed the unnoticed crimes around them. Drug trafficking was a small time thing though. In fact, almost no one did it. There wasn’t anything useful to traffic. But now there might’ve been. Maybe there was before. There were only small reports. No one knew anything about it.

I was finishing up work at the Corner, getting ready to go out and file some more. There wasn’t a lot of work, and they even told me I didn’t need to come in every day. But I did anyways. I wanted to check on my case. But when I arrived, I was given something new to do.

The only real full time member of the force was the chief, Keylocker. He was born into a family of security and protection. His father was once a royal guard to Princess Celestia herself. Keylocker ran the show here in Ponyville. He was the big boss. We always got our orders from him, even though I never expected to get any myself. I wasn’t sure why.

He stood up from his desk when I walked through the door. We kept most of our operations in the Town Hall.

“Carrot,” he called. “I want you to do something useful.” The stocky light-brown stallion came around his desk and got in front of me. “I know you want get back down to USC, but I want your help on this.” He seemed tired, like he had been up all night. I noticed an empty bottle of imported cider on his desk. It was lying on its side next to an empty glass.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. I cringed every time I heard myself speak after those three years. The murders changed me. I was sullen, my voice deeper and darker. I remember when it was higher, more light-hearted, a little more nasally than now. I was completely different. I remember this little white and orange hat I used to always wear for work or anything else I did that Cup gave me in the early years of our marriage. I keep it locked away now.

“We got an anonymous tip that something is going to be arriving at the train station in a few hours. I want you to go and intercept it. It’s something for those mobsters out in Manehattan and Canterlot.” The command seemed simple enough. He was troubled though, uneasy. Mobster business I assumed. We’ve only ever had scattered reports on them too. They were well organized crime, but we didn’t know who had them in the reigns.

“Wouldn’t someone else already be there, like the guys it’s intended for? What is it?”

“Noteworthy thinks it’s that drug that we’ve heard about before. We sent a few others down there already. They found the guys it was for and took ‘em in. I want you to pose as one of them and wait. They told us that the guy with the package isn’t looking for any specific face, but some sort of badge. They all got them, these badges. Identification between them. We got a badge, and a nice brown coat for you at the station. Wear that.” It was simple enough. Pose as a criminal, and wait for another criminal to give you something criminal.

“Alright well... Fine, okay, I’ll do it.” My voice cracked a little. I was finally doing something. Who knows, maybe there would be some tiny chance that I could find an answer to the questions I’ve been asking for too long. Or better yet, maybe I’ll die. Maybe I’ll be with my family again, wherever they are. That was always a hope for me nowadays.

“Oh, and another thing,” Keylocker called out as I was heading out. “Some letter for you. It has your address on it, but it got sent here by mistake.” He gestured towards a scroll on a desk behind him. I broke the seal on it and unrolled the paper.

The letter was from an old friend in Canterlot, a really old friend. His name was Pony Joe, or well, that’s what they called him. His actual full name was Donut Joe. He owned a doughnut shop that he ran by himself. A great baker, and he was once involved in some project that had to do with creating healthier baking ingredients. Cup I know did a little work for that too, heck, I was originally hired for it. The letter was odd if anything, well, not really, but, it was telling me to meet him at the train station I was already heading out too. He was coming here for some reason, for a visit I guess. Why would he come to say hi, when he never came or wrote or anything when my wife died.

I turned to Keylocker and asked, “Where is the train coming from?”

“It’s coming out of Manehattan, or so we’ve heard.” Well, whatever the reason, I had two reasons to go now. So again I headed for the door. “Good luck,” Keylocker called as the door shut behind me. I muttered a ‘thanks’, but I doubt he heard it.

I walked directly to the station. I thought about stopping by the bakery, to check on Pinkie, but I decided against it. If I died, she’d inherit the place. That was all there was to that. It was hitting winter now, and it was bitter cold out. Snow was beginning to set in. A few fillies were playing near a well, ignoring the biting breeze, laughing and scuttling around the ground, chasing a small ball. They looked happy. Like a thousand times before, the sight of the laughing children made me think of my own, and what they could’ve been and what they could’ve done. If only life wasn’t so cruel. The world was a dangerous place, but it used to be that we were afraid of were the monsters in the forests, the beasts and dragons. But it seemed like now the things we had to worry about were our own neighbors.

When I arrived at the station blue colt Noteworthy Blues was waiting for me. He gave me the jacket. It was light, and didn’t offer much protection from the cold. It was light brown, sort of resembled a shortened trench coat. The badge was a small silver star with another much smaller star inset into the bigger one. The colt opened a side door for me and I walked into the building.

“We’ve cleared most of it out already,” the earth pony said. “You might just see a few attendees here and there. Only other guy from the force here is Whooves. Look for him if you can.” That brought me up a little. Dr. Whooves was a clock-smith who stuck with me after my wife’s murder. They were friends, and after she died, he warmed up to me a bit. I guess he’s now the closest thing to a good friend I have at the moment, as I’ve pushed most everyone else away due to depression and self-pity on my part. Like me, he also volunteered to work part time at the force.

“Thanks,” I muttered. “I’ll keep an eye out for him.” Entering the building, I went and walked through the corridors of the building. The halls were crisp, cool. Was there no heat in this building? Eventually I found myself in a hallway that headed towards the loading platform. But as I reached the door, voices could be heard. At first, I thought they were just workers, or maybe it was Whooves. Cautiously I peered around the door. You never could be too careful. I could hear them about now, and I could see that neither one of them was Whooves, and I doubted they were workers. They were both unicorns, one was brown with a red mane and tail. The other was all gray and rather sullen looking. The gray one was wearing a pin.

“Where’s the train? I’m a tired of waiting. Wasn’t it supposed to be a here twenty minutes ago?” the gray one spat. “I mean, where is it? These cops almost screwed us a bit by a removing our others guys. Thanksfully we had us nearby keeping an eye out for things. And, them others you know.”

“Calm down Cotton,” the other said. The other spoke with much better grammar. “The train will arrive when it arrives. We just gotta keep an eye out for any cops or guards. Brimstone told me he was going back because he thought he saw one doing some heavy snooping. Maybe he’ll kill the guy.” I could only guess that the cop he was talking about was Whooves.

“Yah yah, sures,” Cotton smirked. “I just want this train here right about a now.” I tried to lean closer, get a better look at them. The one called Cotton was wearing a hat and looked a bit on edge. I tried to step forward a little bit more, but that turned out to be foolish. I lost my balance and fell against the door. They heard it, and their horns glowed bright colors. I saw glowing objects remove themselves from their jackets, and realized in horror that they were guns.

“Who the hay is that? Get him! Cotton-- fire!” That night I found out magic could be used to operate a gun. Getting to my feet and I escaped the hail of bullets by running back down the hall behind me. I heard more shouts to follow me. I ran through the halls and corridors of the station, desperately looking for a way out, trying to find the way I had come from. But I couldn’t find an exit; I was lost. I felt some sort of gratitude then. I could see my family again if they got me. There was always that hope.

A door opened to my right and a dog came out of it with a wooden bat. He turned my direction with a surprised look on his face. We were pretty close to each other. In some sort of instinct, I flipped around and reared up my legs, bucking him hard in the face. I heard a muffled scream and I turned back around in time to see him slide back across the room. He groaned and tried to get up, but he only managed to fall back down, unconscious. I heard shouts coming my way, and I jolted back past the room, nabbing the bat up in my mouth. I kept running through the station, looking for a way out. I was was wondering if I’d find Dr. Whooves.

I came across another door that was slightly ajar and started to go past it when I heard something, a distinct and familiar voice that I heard only moments before.

“Why do I a feel yous hiding something?” The voice was from the unicorn, Cotton. Somehow he got ahead of me, or did I get turned around in the maze of hallways?

“Please, can’t you just, um, leave me alone?” I didn’t recognize that voice.

“You telling me you haven’t seen anyone else?”

“No, I swear! I’ve been working in here all day, I don’t know what’s going on! Who are you? What do you want?”

“Whatever. You are not a worth it.” I heard the metal click of the hammer on a gun, and at that moment, out of some sort of impulse, some sort of drive to preserve a life I guess, I jumped into the room, bat swinging. I had quick glimpse at Cotton’s surprised face as the bat came across the side of his head. He lost control of his gun and it fell to the floor, the bat putting a halt on his magic output. I raised the bat up, and he started to say something, but he never finished, as the bat came crashing back down on his head. After several more heaves the bat broke over Cotton’s skull, half of the bat splintering away. Panting heavily, I dropped the bat down and slid back towards the door in a daze.

“Holy--” The attendant Cotton was threatening was an Earth Pony, like me. He looked down at the body, and then back up at me, and then back down again. After a few minutes, he stuttered some sort of thanks and ran off, picking the gun up and taking it with him. That was fine by me, I couldn’t use one anyways without magic or fingers. Then again, the attendant couldn’t either. Maybe he just felt that he would be safer with it.

I sat there for a little longer, looking at the body. All this time I had been looking for killers, and here I was now, a killer myself. But then again, if I didn’t do anything, Cotton would’ve shot the attendant, heck, he would’ve tried to kill me too. Is that what justified killing is? I wouldn’t think so. Killing is killing, plain and simple, right?

“Cotton, hey Cotton! Where’d you go?” I heard the clacking of horseshoes coming down the hall. “C’mon, I heard that the train is almost here. They might beat the weather!” The train. For a moment I had forgotten about the train. Whatever Keylocker wanted was on there, and Joe too according to the letter. I thought about what train cars I would search first. I supposed that any contraband would be in the caboose perhaps, hidden from other passengers.

I needed to get out of here before the other unicorn got here. I couldn’t burst out of the door; he’d see me and he’d shoot me. There was no other exit in the room. I could hide, but where? There was a wood table with stacks of paper on it. I couldn’t fit up on that. There was nothing I could move quick enough, or make the move look natural. The broken handle of the bat was still on the floor. The splintered end was sharp, dangerous. At first I rejected the idea. The fresh body haunted me. I had never taken a life before, and I had never intended to take a life, except my own maybe. But I didn’t have much choice here.

I bent my neck over and bit the end of the bat handle. I took it and hid the best I could behind the door and and waited. The sound of steps was getting closer.

“Darn it Cotton. Are you even here?” I heard him stomp a hoof and mutter, “Maybe I should try somewhere else.” There was a pause in this sound of his movements, and for a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to come any further, that he was going to turn and look somewhere else. But there was something I hadn’t accounted for. Cotton’s head wounds were bleeding out, the wounds that were created from the bludgeoning he received from the bat. The blood ran in a thin stream towards the door. There was nothing I could do to stop it in time. It had gone unnoticed for too long. “Well, I guess he isn’t... What the hay?” There was sudden burst of hooves clopping on the wood floor as he came rushing towards the blood.

I jumped out from behind the door and turned my body so that I was facing the door and running out of it. The unicorn was there, the same startled expression on his face that was on Cotton’s and the dog’s. I swung the broken bat at him, driving the sharp end into his eye. There was short scream that was cut off as I stuffed it further into his head. I dropped him, and sprinted off down the direction I thought he had come from.

I didn’t feel anything towards the second kill, I just kept running. Something was going on here, the place was starting to swarm with these thugs. I felt like I needed to find Whooves, now. I thought I was on my way back to the platform when I met up with another familiar face. He was coming out of an adjacent hall when I slammed into him, lost in my thoughts.

“Hey, watch where your go-- Carrot?” It was a gray colt named Lucky. He worked full time at the station, taking time off only to grow his gardens of assorted green plants, primarily different types of clovers or small bonsai trees.

“Lucky? What are you doing here?” I asked him. He looked a bit dazed and surprised still, but he managed to clear his head.

“Working. What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t anyone tell you? Keylocker sent me here to collect some sort of contraband from an incoming train. He thinks it’s that drug.” He eyed me suspiciously, looking down at my coat and pin. “Dr. Whooves is here too, and Noteworthy...” I trailed off as he gave me another look at the mention of the blue colt’s name.

“I just got here, Noteworthy is dead. Why do you have that badge? What’s going on here?” I wasn’t sure where he was going at first. He didn’t seem to know anything about what was going on here. And Noteworthy, dead? I didn’t like how this was starting to look. I noticed Lucky’s holster wrapped around his torso. Ponies couldn’t use guns because of the safeguard rings which were there in case a weapon ever fell on the trigger. Lucky managed to get one without the ring, and with a strap on it so he could hold it, and shoot it, with ease. I assumed it was custom made, probably ordered right from the Griffin manufacturers.

“Noteworthy? Dead?” My voice cracked as I said it.

“Carrot, where’s Whooves?” He stepped back a bit. Something felt off. I couldn’t quite place it. But something was wrong. “Cake, you tell me right now--” His voice became demanding, loud, “--what’s going on here.” His ears flattened back and he took a menacing pose.

“Lucky, I was--was given this to wear. I was supposed to pretend to be one of them, but it didn’t work. And I have no clue where Whooves is. I’m being chased! These thugs are everywhere!”

“What thugs?” Something was definitely wrong here.

“Here, I’ll show you, follow me!” I turned and galloped down the hall, back towards the thug that were killed moments earlier. I reached the door, turned, and found myself alone. He didn’t follow. At first I thought he was still on his way, somewhere behind me and that I just rushed off to quick. But he never came. I thought of going back, but then I decided to find another way back to the platform. I was now desperately hoping that I’d run into Whooves now. I managed to find a way back to the platform again. There was a single occupant, a griffin. But moments later, coming from another door, was a female pegasus.

“The train still isn’t here?” There was an aggravated sigh.

“Lamp Heart, there you are,” the griffin turned from the edge of the platform. “I have news for everyone. Train isn’t coming anymore. It halted down the tracks.”

“Why?”

“The weather got in the way. Though I heard the boss doesn’t mind too much. Heck if I know.” The weather? I didn’t understand, not then anyways. It was getting bad, but bad enough to stop a train? It didn’t sound natural. But I wanted to get out of here really bad. I heard another door slam open and I heard padded feet on the wood.

“Guys, guys!” a scratchy, nasally voice frantically called out from outside my view. “Some yellow earthy, running ‘round here mad! He’s dressed like one of us. Mashed my face in! He got Cotton and Bright Star!” There was some whimpering. “It’s bloody man, plain gruesome.”

“Shoot, we have company,” Heart said. “If the train isn’t coming, let's get moving.”

“Right,” replied the griffin. “Lets find the train down-track quick before conditions get any worse.”

The dog started to whine after them, telling them not to go. “He got two of our best guys! Hey Garth, you armed?”

“Yah, I’m armed you mutt.” I heard them walk off, but I made a careful peek around the corner of the wall to make sure the platform was empty. When I was satisfied I walked onto the wood and looked over the edge at the tracks, looking down both ways. The tracks disappeared into the snowy darkness in both directions.

“What’s going on here?” I muttered softly to myself. Something was happening, and I wasn’t able to figure it out. I turned to go back through the station. The last events were confusing. Was Noteworthy really dead? Why did Lucky not know what was going on here? Where was Dr. Whooves, and why haven’t I found him yet? Some of these questions I was wanted to find out would be answered sooner rather than later. Question was, would I be ready for the answers, or would I be better off without them? Not like it really mattered though. Those answers were on a collision course with me, and were completely unavoidable.

Chapter III:

The Boiling Point

The train station had become quiet. Most of the firefly lamps were off, the bugs asleep. The electric lamps were off too; the lamps went off abruptly as if something cut the power. No sound of heating appliances, the building was becoming cold. I was on edge, fearful of where the thugs might be hiding, waiting for some sort of prey. The cold was biting, I don’t remember a winter this cold. Icy knives were stabbing through my fur. Doors must’ve been open everywhere, and windows too. It was one of those moments where I wished I was one of those stockier stallions, thicker coat, bigger muscles, all of that. That keeps you warm. This jacket didn’t do much for me either. It was cold.

I eventually found myself heading down stairs, to the lower parts of the station. I was hoping there would be a way out, but it was just storage. I went back up, through more doors, aimlessly wandering, when I came upon a metal gate that controlled the masses from getting to the platform when they weren’t allowed too. I vaguely remembered passing through it before. It was closed now, and it couldn’t be opened. This was probably how I’d get back to the entrance. The gates were electrically controlled, and if there wasn’t power, these things were firm shut. Still, I tried to push it open anyways, until the sound of hoof-steps could be heard approaching from the other side. I was going to try and make a break for it, thinking it was a thug, when yet another familiar face turned the corner.

“Carrot, is that you?” he exclaimed. Finally, after what must’ve been an hour, I found him, Doctor Whooves, the time pony.

“Whooves! It--I’ve been looking for you,” I said.

“And it looks like you found me.” Whooves stood there on the other side of the gate, smiling. I always regarded the light coffee colored colt one of the best on our makeshift force. “Something big is going on here, something huge, you won’t believe it. Do know what’s on that train coming?”

“The train isn’t coming. I heard some of those thugs talking about it, and they said it stopped way down the tracks. I don’t get it. Did you know Lucky was here?” He searched my face with a bit of confusion.

“Lucky? I didn’t know he was here, or was even going to be here, and the train isn’t coming? Shoot!” He stomped a hoof on the ground in frustration. “That’s just perfect,” he growled. “I find something out, and now it might be useless tonight.” He looked up in thought. “Well, it’s still important, but...”

“Um, what did you find out?” He gave me a curious look, then smiled.

“You’ve heard some of those stories right? About some sort of drug or something spreading through Equestria?” I nodded my head. I had heard about them. I didn’t know too much about them though. Keylocker kept talking about them. “Well guess what, and you might find this amusing, it’s sugar.”

“Sugar?”

“Yes, sugar, one for baking according to the files I found. I found a crate being guarded by some of those thugs. I was able to distract them and then managed to check it out. Loaded with white paper packets and some folders filled with files. Apparently, it was created a few years back as research. Some project about trying to find healthier sugars for food that weren’t like those fake sugars, or something. I don’t entirely understand the project. It was real, but healthy, I guess. Better than natural sugars. Sound familiar?” It did, and for once, I thought I had a clear shot at mystery being solved. Cup had gone to something like that, a research program. Those who worked with food were being pulled from all around Equestria. I was actually supposed to go, but an accident had it so Cup went instead. I told Whooves this, even though he already knew some of it. “Right, and anyways, according to the files, something in the sugar, a small mismatched ingredient caused the entire thing to backfire.

“The sugar caused a huge need for it in the subjects who tested it. They became insanely addicted by it, crazed by it, and they couldn’t get enough. The sugar somehow gets itself into their bloodstream and up to their brain, so now they believe they need it, just absolutely need it. And the thing is, they continued testing with it. They wanted to see how far it could go. Long story short, they eventually did develop a biological need for it and they found that they needed bigger and bigger doses as time went on. Finally they just stopped giving them the substance, and the subjects died after a while. Dangerously addictive, the sugar. The report didn’t say much else, but if that sugar I found is the report sugar, well, it looks like it’s a market now, even though the report says they ended the project there and went home.” I thought it over.

“So in other words, it’s a drug?”

“Pretty much. I think it was that trains cargo. Someone is trafficking it, I’m guessing these guys around the station here tonight.” He paced around a bit behind the bars with a slight frown. “I wanna know now though, why it isn’t coming anymore. Also, I would like to know where it’s coming from, the sugar. It sounds like production stopped and the project cancelled after the accident, but someone decided to keep making it and sell it even. The train was coming from Manehattan.”

I thought back to those years of the project. It was supposed to be a three week trip, but it ended up lasting a month and a half. I received a letter a few days after the intended end of the trip telling me what was going on. All it said was that more time was needed, she was sorry for any problems that this extension may cause, and she said Pony Joe was there too, something I already knew about. We both had been talking about the trip for a week before it was too happen. With the extension on the trip, I had figured they were making a breakthrough. Some breakthrough it turned out to be. Several dead test subjects and a vile sugar-drug that was death incarnate.

The murderers, I remember them being crazed, insane. I started to think there was a connection. So I decided to ask, “Is there any mention on how the patients acted or looked after they took the drug, or sugar?” Whooves thought for a moment.

He shrugged and said “It only said they developed a mass addiction to it. That was it really. Why?” I was hoping he’d make the connection himself, but then he wasn’t there, so he hadn’t seen what I had seen, and words could only go so far to describe something. Sometimes you just had to be there to understand.

“Oh, well... Never mind.” I sulked back a bit. I’d figure it out myself.

“Anyways, Carrot, look around your side of the gate. These are electric I think, so see if there’s a panel or something.” He started to explore his side of the gate, looking for some sort of control panel or circuit box to get gate power. I looked on my side, but couldn’t find anything.

“There’s not anything over here from what I can tell,” I reported. “Anything over there?”

He grunted. “No, nothing over here.” He stomped a hoof in frustration. “Well, maybe I can find a way around--Hey, do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Listen, I thought I heard someone coming.” He walked back and turned his head around the corner. From there I saw his eyes widen and his pupils shrink to tiny black marbles. There was a bright flash from around the corner and the thunderous sound of gunfire resounded around the bare walls. I saw Whooves stumble back, his face splattered with blood. He stumbled a bit, then shuffled towards the gate and fell forward. A red crater was centered on his forehead, his eyes stared up at me from the ground. Then suddenly there was shouting, another crack, and the sound of hooves running away. There was another scuttle of hooves on the concrete floor and the first familiar face rounded the corner.

“Holy--Carrot?!” It was Lucky, the last colt I wanted to see. Something was off earlier, and now this made things worse. He looked at me, and then at the body of Whooves, and then back up at me again, his eyes wide. “What did you do?” There was alarm in his voice, but there was an odd ring to it. I couldn’t quite place it at the time. Still, his accusation set me back.

“W-wait what? I-I didn’t do anything!” I stammered, slowly backing up.

“Stop where you are Cake! Don’t move! What happened here?” He glared and shouted at me from the other side of the gate, standing behind Whoove’s body.

“I-I don’t know! I think he was shot!” I looked at the body, the bloody crater in his head. He was shot. “I heard running, coming from where you came from!”

“My way? Only guy running this way was a terrified janitor, a mare. Ponies don’t carry guns, we can’t shoot them! And that shot was me dropping my gun! It discharged!” I glanced at the revolver strapped to his belt. Would that be irony? But I could see what he was getting at. It was suddenly clear. Slowly I backed away from Lucky. “Hey, where are you going?” I continued to step back. My back hoof hit something and it clattered across the floor. I turned to look at what I had hit.

It was a revolver.

“What--What the heck is that? Is that a gun?” I saw his hoof go for his belt. He slipped it through the band on his gun and drew it from his belt.

“No, I didn’t kill--” He shot at me mid-sentence. It missed, the bars of the gate throwing his aim off. I wasn’t going to wait for him to try again. I darted off the way I had come, galloping at full speed down the hall. I took a left turn as another crack of gunshot burst after me.

It was a setup, it had to be. I couldn’t understand it. Why? Did Lucky killed Whooves? Why? What was going on? I didn’t have the slightest clue what was going on.

I was nearing the platform. The cold air gripped me, stabbing at me through my coat and trying to get through my fur and to my skin. But I didn’t feel any of it. I took no notice of the iciness of this winter night. My blood was boiling. Boiling from fear, anger, adrenaline.

I stopped at the edge of the platform and looked both ways down the tracks. Sheets of snow fell from the skies, killing visibility in the dark night, the only light being a small firefly lit lamp at the left end of the platform. I could barely see the tracks, but I knew what way went to Canterlot, and what direction went to a number of other cities, mainly Manehattan. The train was coming from Manehattan, and it was stopped on the tracks somewhere. The griffin said it was the storm.

Then I remembered Joe’s letter. He lived and worked in Canterlot. I thought about heading his direction. He said to meet him here. I don’t think any other trains came by, and I haven’t found him here yet. I glanced over my jacket and the pin on it. Maybe he was coming from Manehattan, in fact with that letter, he had to be.

I jumped off the platform and headed towards the great concrete city, walking down the tracks through the dark and snow. A glance behind me only showed me the faint glow of the lamp at the platform. It was all I could see of the station. I continued down the tracks, the wind and snow whipping around me, blinding me, freezing me, deafening me; as I continued the sound of someone angrily shouting my name blew in from behind.

I ignored it and continued through the snow.

Comments

[Latch]

Now this is an interesting crossover I must say. Tracked and thumbed up for the it being something new and highly intriguing!

[Clonehunter]

381988

Thank you for taking an interest in it! I'm glad you liked it!

[Jack Kellar]

Wow, man, this was way better than expected! It's still early to judge, though, so I'll track this, watch you, and see what comes out of it.
Cheers!