Streets of Sin

by Jarvy Jared

XIII: Hotel Greenwood

“What?! We have to go back to Ponyville?!” Rainbow was outright indignant, and her close proximity to Prose only further exemplified the fact.

Applejack, though to a lesser extent, was in shock. “Yeah, Prose. What kinda plan is that? Shouldn’t we all be helping out?”

“And where would you stay? The hotel?” Prose argued fiercely back. “That’s hardly the safest place! And now that this kidnapping has happened, nowhere in Manehattan is safe for any of us.”

“We don’t know how many were involved in the kidnapping,” Twilight added. “It could be two or more. Maybe an entire organization. Besides, if you head home to Ponyville, Princess Celestia will be able to have guards stationed to prevent anypony suspicious from following.”

Scootaloo did not seem troubled by the plan. “What about you, Twilight?” she asked. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Prose said he might need my magic prowess,” the unicorn explained.

Rarity nodded. “And I have to stay behind to help search for my sister. Especially since I saw the kidnapping up close.” Her tears had long dried, and her voice was more monotonous than it ever was. Obviously, the whole ordeal was starting to unravel her entire being.

“Well, what about Pinkie and Fluttershy?” Apple Bloom asked. “They’ll be coming with us?”

“I’ve told them to,” answered Prose. “It’s far too dangerous for most anypony to remain here.” He looked at the two fillies. “Considering the circumstances, it’s best you all remain in Ponyville until further notice.”

Rainbow remained undaunted. “We should be helping out!”

“How would you?” Prose asked.

“I could search the skies! The rest of us could cover the ground!”

“Logically, that makes sense, Opa,” Twilight said. “Why aren’t we doing just that?”

“Even if there is safety in numbers, I’d like to keep the group to a minimum amount. That way, we’ll be able to easily facilitate Sweetie Belle’s return. A larger group would hinder our progress. Additionally, the police tend not to like large investigative groups. They physically gets in the way of work.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Rainbow still argued. “What if you need a pegasus? Or a super strong earth pony? What if you need the rest of us, huh?! Have you considered that?”

“I have!” Prose shouted. “And I am telling you, it would be better for you to remain in Ponyville! I am thinking for the safety of us remaining, so I’d advise you do the same!”

Their argument continued without any easy solution coming up. Swol listened from the other room. They were situated still in the office, while he and Grifford waited outside. He could tell that Prose was desperately pushing for Rainbow and the others to leave. He guessed it was the author’s way of trying to ensure their safety, but he thought it would be better if they all stuck together.

“What do you think, Boss?” he asked the stallion next to him. “Shouldn’t we all stick together?”

Grifford shook his head. “If Prose says no, then I have to say no as well. He and I may not be on the best terms, but I can trust his strategic intellect more than anything else, regardless of relationship. He might be anticipating a danger none of us have the foresight to see.”

Swol nodded, but found himself doubting the stallions’ words. Just the way Prose was speaking—with dryness, impatience, and barely restrained anger (at who, he had no idea)—alerted his warning senses. The author definitely cared for the filly who had been kidnapped; but, with that care, Swol realized that there could be an exploitation of Prose’s emotions. He wondered if the kidnappers were planning something like this. He chose to keep the thought to himself.

His gaze drifted over to Rarity, though not in a needy way. His heart absolutely went out to her. Though her voice was carefully level, he knew there was a terrible battle raging in her soul. Her grief was enormous; her sister, she loved dearly, he could tell. He wanted to go over there and comfort her, support her, calm her and give her hope. But what could he do? Such hypothetical actions seemed false and phony. They did not feel like they were things he could give. He didn’t want to admit it, but if they couldn’t rescue Sweetie Belle, then the false hopes he would offer would utterly shatter Rarity.

That was something he couldn’t even consider risk doing. He had known the unicorn only for a day, and already he wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt any further.

Prose certainly isn’t doing anything to comfort her.

He blinked. Where had that thought come from? Of course Prose wasn’t. He was too busy concentrating on the mission. That had to objectively be more important than Rarity’s state—

Swol mentally punched himself in the face. No, nothing was more nor less important at this point. Everything was important. It was simply that Prose was focusing on one thing, while Swol focused on another. Combined, both points of focus could work for overall well-being.

The needs of the many must equal the needs of the few…

Pushing the thoughts away, he concentrated on the conversation once more.

Rainbow let out a tired breath, just as the argument was starting to die down. She looked tired, while Prose still appeared as bright as ever. “I just… I hate feeling useless, you know? I want to help, I really do! What kind of friend would I be if I did otherwise?”

“There is nothing you can do to help.” Prose’s words were freezing cold, and the shocked looks on the girls’ faces mirrored Swol’s. Grifford appeared neutral. The author caught their looks, and explained further, “I’m not saying you’re useless, Rainbow. I’m saying that you’re abilities aren’t needed at the moment.”

“Oh. Good.” Rainbow flew away, to sulk in the corner. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom went over to comfort her.

Applejack fixed Prose with an unamused glare. “That was mighty uncalled for, Prose. Ya know Rainbow wants to help badly.”

“I know,” he responded curtly. “But it’s the truth. You need to leave. It’s the only way I can get this investigation started.”

Applejack huffed. “Ya know, it’s not just you who’s doing the investigating. It’s a team effort. You’ve got Twilight helping, Rarity, that Swol feller, the Mayor—”

“Don’t remind me,” Prose hissed.

Swol turned to Boss. “Why has he decided to still work with us?”

Boss shrugged. “I assume it’s due to the philosophy of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ Besides, we’re working towards similar goals. If we combine forces, we’re sure to rescue every pony who’s gone missing.”

Prose suddenly stomped past them, muttering something under his breath. Grifford gaped at him, then shook his head. “Of course, that doesn’t quite explain his hostility.”

“Indeed, it doesn’t.”

Swol took this chance to enter the office. “I guess the argument is over?” he asked with a cock of his head, the clay-brown mane collapsing to the side.

Rainbow sighed from the corner. “I guess so.” She got up. “Come on, we’d better start packing. No doubt Fluttershy and Pinkie are way ahead of us.”

She and Scootaloo took off for the exit; Applejack and her sister followed soon after. Swol watched them go for a moment, before turning back to the remaining unicorns.

He searched his mind for if ever Prose had acted so harshly to close associates, and found none. “He must be really shaken up,” he said aloud.

Cautiously, as to not raise alarm, he walked over to where Rarity stood. “You okay, Miss Rarity?” he asked.

“Please, dear, just call me Rarity,” she responded, tired. “And… well, I’m getting by, I suppose.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

She smiled. “Oh, thank you, darling.”

The comment made him blush, and he looked away to hide it.

“Mr. Finch,” Twilight intoned, garnering their attention, “do you mind telling us what the current situation with the city is?”

He nodded. “Right. Well, you’ll be glad to know that I’ve the entirety of the Manehattan police force working to find Rarity’s sister and my other associates. We’ve the city on lockdown, as I’m sure you know, so nopony is escaping.”

“It’s still a large city, if you don’t count the districts and subsections.”

“Indeed. Which is why we’ll have to narrow the search somehow.”

“We could set up a crime scene investigation at the hotel,” Swol suggested. “One that’s more thorough, and encompassing the whole establishment.”

“That sounds good, Swol,” Grifford said. He glanced over his shoulder. “What do you think, Opacare?”

The stallion had reentered the room. Having previously appeared quite twitchy, now he seemed to be in an agitated state. He remained a good distance away from them, likely because Finch was there; it was almost as if he wouldn’t even dare breathe in the same air.

“Fine,” he stated. “But I’m leading. Not one of your ‘investigators,’ understood?”

Finch nodded. “Understood. You’re the boss.”

The comment made the author’s nostrils flare, and his eyes narrowed dangerously at the Mayor. “Don’t even go there, Finch.”

Finch took a step back, shaking his head in an attempt to mitigate the sudden tension. Rarity offered her own voice, “Opa, calm down. You’re in charge, okay?”

He nodded slowly, not taking his gaze off of Finch for a good while. Once he was satisfied that an imaginary hole had been burned into his head, he looked at Swol and the two other mares.

“I believe our best course of action would be to question the hotel staff,” he said. “While it would seem that nopony saw anything, there’s a chance something small might have been seen. It’d be good to gather enough accounts to recreate the entire scene.” He glanced at Rarity, anticipating her question. “While the primary account is good and all, additional details are needed. Then, and only then, can I see how these kidnappers were able to bypass security.”

“You mean, we?” Swol corrected.

The stallion’s gaze turned to him, and remained as cold as before. “I know what I said.”

Swol fought back the urge to gulp. His throat was getting sore from all the gulping anyway. He decided to offer a suggestion. “Do you think this could have been an act of revenge?”

“It’s doubtful,” said Finch. “No offense, Rarity, but no one in this city until today knew who you were.”

“That still doesn’t mean someone with a vendetta could have come up with this plan,” said Swol. “Of course, that doesn’t quite narrow down the field of suspects.”

“We’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way,” Finch asserted.

“Meaning?” Twilight asked.

Prose answered her, “Hooves on the ground. Start with the usual suspects.” He turned, but stopped. “I have somepony in mind, but first we need to head back to the crime scene.”

“Lead the way, Opa,” Rarity said softly. The author nodded, and took off in a brisk trot. Rarity and Twilight followed after him. Swol and Finch exchanged looks.

Swol wanted to ask the older stallion something, but thought better of it. Instead, he gestured Finch to take the lead, and after the Mayor had done so, followed after him.

One of the officers who was at the scene attempted to prevent them from entering. A quick order from Finch did away with that prevention, and they once again entered the hotel.

As they did so, Swol reflected on the establishment. The Greenwood Hotel was actually one of Manehattan’s finest hotels. Even though they had long retracted their eyes and ears there, the Family—more so, Grifford Finch—made sure to have security there at all times. Maybe not in the form of armed guards, but still ponies who were willing to report any suspicious activity.

The fact, then, that no security ended up being there when the incident took place was indeed suspicious. Swol remembered another fact: the famous singer, Sapphire Shores, came to own the hotel after the Family had left it. He doubted she’d be involved—she was much too boisterous and was Rarity’s number one client (so he had learned from the unicorn during the walk)—but it might be a manner worth looking into. He resolved to tell Prose this once his initial investigation was finished.

Twilight asked Prose why they had returned. Hadn’t he already scoped out the room? “I did,” he responded, “but I didn’t have the chance to thoroughly investigate the outside or the other inhabitants.”

“You suspect foul play?”

“Isn’t it obvious? No security, windows left unguarded, no one came to help when the windows shattered.” He shook his head. “It’s far too coincidental to be of coincidence.”

Now they stood in the lobby of the Greenwood. Police still swarmed the area, but they nodded to Finch and Swol, recognizing them. The Mayor offered a few words of encouragement, while Swol traded small talk with a few officers. Their attention was diverted when Prose began walking up to the front desk.

One hotel staff member had remained. She gasped as they approached. “Oh, Miss Rarity! I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, miss,” Rarity said. “Say, you’re the unicorn pony who gave me access to the room, aren’t you?”

The unicorn mare nodded. “Yes, that’s me. Oh, hello, Mr. Prose, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Secretary,” she greeted the three stallions. Prose barely moved, while Swol and Grifford offered their own words of greeting. “What are you doing here?” she asked Rarity. “I’d imagine you’d not want to be anywhere near this place.”

“We’re investigating what happened,” Prose answered for her.

“Oh, right. The Coalition of the Century, Miss Ruby Sparks put it.” The mare nodded. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

“There is. You can start by answering some questions.”

“As you wish. Though, it might be better if we move to a more discrete location.”

“Why?”

“Mr. Prose, you don’t know this, but I haven’t worked that long in the hotel. If something akin to sabotage is at work, then there may very well be unwanted listeners tuning in.”

Prose narrowed his gaze. “Awfully well-thought-out.”

“I read the papers, Mr. Prose. I may not have been in Manehattan as long as you have, but even I know when something’s wrong.”

The author’s gaze remained narrowed, and he appeared unwilling to budge. Eventually, though, the mare’s words seemed to convince him, and he nodded to her. She got up and led them to a back office, just behind the front desk, behind a carefully sealed door. The door closed behind them.

Swol realized the nature of the room. “This is the mail area?” he asked, pointing to the various compartments and storage containers. In each were letters and papers of all kinds.

“That’s correct, Mr. Swol,” the mare said. “We front desk ponies sometimes come in here during lulls in activity to talk about things.”

“What kind of things?” Prose asked.

“Usually small talk. Gossip, mostly.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t really into that, but I figure I should go. I had nothing better to do.”

She took a seat in one of the wheeled chairs, while Prose settled down in the one opposite of her. The scene quite reminded Swol of those old noir detective tales he had read when he was younger. Hmm. We’ve even got a pretty mare being questioned by the stern detective figure.

“So!” she seemed rather excited by this. “Where do we start?”

“We can start with you,” said Prose. “Your name, please, and your occupation, age, talent.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath before she began. “I’m Teal Dawn. I work as a front desk pony—we call ourselves ‘lobbyists’—for the Greenwood Hotel. I am twenty-three years of age. My Mark, which is a pair of hooves against each other, kind of in prayer, stands for my ability to make ponies feel welcome.” At this, her lips morphed into a smile, but then quickly it left, and she slumped. “Of course, it doesn’t quite mean their safety.” Her teal coat—how fitting, Swol thought—bristled in sadness.

Prose nodded. “Have you any family?”

“My mom and dad live up north, in Mareston. I don’t have any siblings, and I’m not married.”

“No fiance, no special somepony?”

“None of any sort. Plus, well—” Teal blushed. “—there aren’t a lot of mares in Manehattan who’d want to go out with me.”

The author remained unfazed. “Where do you reside, Miss Teal?”

“I own an apartment just down the block. It’s where a lot of the other lobbyists live, actually. We’re like a small community, really.”

“Could you give me the address? I might want to speak with them in the future.”

She gave him it, and he asked Twilight to write it down. “You seem awfully excited about this,” Swol commented.

Teal grinned sheepishly. “Ehehe, it’s not every day that you start living out a detective novel. They’re my favorite genre!”

“Thank you, Miss Teal,” Opacare said. “Now, I want you to tell me everything you saw when the kidnapping occurred. Spare not on the details, either.”

Miss Teal certainly was no slacker. She jumped right into the story with gusto and energy: “Miss Rarity and her sister had re-entered the hotel only minutes before. We greeted each other at the desk, before they made their way to the elevator. I remember they had a lot of shopping bags with them—from the Fashion District, right? I sometimes head there for my clothes myself.”

“Oh?” the conversation about clothing seemed to bring Rarity temporarily out of her depression. “I must say, that would explain the fineness of your dress.”

“Thank you, Miss Rarity. I had it custom fitted by another clothes designer who used that district’s designs. I think her name was Suri Polomare?”

“Let’s not get sidetracked,” interrupted Prose. “You greeted Rarity and Sweetie Belle, then they went to the elevators. What happened next?”

“Apparently the windows shattered. Due to their room being on the twenty-fifth floor, however, I wouldn’t have heard it.”

“That makes sense. What about alarms? Would they not have been tripped?”

“I received no sign of breaking and entering, Mr. Prose.”

“What exactly is your alarm system?”

In answer, she lit her horn, painting its schematics with the horn’s lights. “It’s all magic based,” she explained. “A team of unicorns had it implemented a while back. It’s an invisible barrier that surrounds the hotel that alerts to strange activity.”

“And what counts as strange activity?”

“Pretty much what you’d expect. Burglary, theft. We’ve never had reports of suspicious characters lurking on the premises, though.”

“It sounds like your alarm system is quite adept,” Finch said.

“It should be, but, as you can see now, it’s apparently very flawed.” Teal shook her head sadly.

Prose continued the questioning. “Who called the police?”

“I did. It was because I heard Miss Rarty’s scream even from the lobby level. When I went up to investigate, I found her with a large bump on her head, and her sister missing. That was when I guessed something was wrong. I used one of the payphones on that floor to make the emergency call.”

“And that’s it?”

“I believe so. Oh, then you and the police showed up and well… here we are.”

Prose nodded, before standing from his seat. “Thank you, Miss Teal. You have been somewhat helpful. Though, you are entitled to know that you are still under suspicion as the perpetrator.”

“What? Why?”

“The fact that this happened without anypony besides Rarity seeing the kidnapper or kidnappers enter is far too easy to brush aside as an error in security. You may be a witness, but doesn’t exclude you from the same suspicions I will have for all of those potentially involved. Understand?”

Teal nodded, sighing. “I suppose I do. Still, though… I want to let you know. I’m hoping you do catch those involved. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Would you be willing to allow the police to look through this mail area, for any suspicious items?”

“They’re welcome to, but they need a warrant for that.”

“I’ll help with that,” said Grifford.

“What are we going to do now, Opa?” Rarity asked.

“We need to move up the hotel. Investigate each floor.”

“We’ll come with,” Swol said, Rarity and Twilight nodding in agreement.

They made to exit, but stopped when they saw Prose frowning. His jaw was set, and he was mulling over something.

“Miss Teal,” he spoke. “Where is this team of unicorns who implemented the security here?”

“They’ve gone away, as far as I know.”

“So who maintains the security barrier? You?”

Swol saw her blink, then cock her head. “Of course not, Mr. Prose. It’s all regulated by non-pony stuff.”

“Such as?”

“Electricity, generators. It helps, since a good deal of our city population is Earth ponies.”

“And where would I find these generators to this magical barrier?”

“Downstairs is our main energy room. But the rooftop is where the magic happens.”

“I see…” He still had some questions left—Swol could see that, judging by his tongue clicking—but he nonetheless nodded. “Thank you, Miss Teal. You’ve been a big help.”

“I’m glad I could be, Mr. Prose.”

He looked to Swol, Rarity, and Twilight. “Let’s get going, then.” Once again, he took of in a brisk trot, Rarity and Twilight following closely.

Swol hesitated, before turning back to Finch. “Mr. Finch? Aren’t you coming?”

“I have to order a warrant for a search of this room. I’ll be staying on the ground floor.”

“Are you sure? I could stay.”

Don’t worry,” he responded, giving a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

Swol remained unconvinced. “But what if you need me?”

“I’ll always need you, Swol. But right now, our acquaintances require your assistance.” A knowing glint shone in Finch’s eye. “Particularly a certain mare, I believe.”

The tan, younger stallion blushed, but still remained uncertain. Eventually, Finch ordered him, “Go help Miss Rarity, Swol. She needs you.”

Swol finally nodded, before following after the unicorn. Soon, the four had entered the elevator.

Before Prose closed the doors, he explained his plan. “We’re going to be searching every floor on this elevator line. Then we’ll transition to the basement to see this generator, then the roof to investigate the barrier itself.” He closed the door. “That, unfortunately, will take quite some time. And time, I would imagine, is not on our side. Nevertheless,” he reminded them, “don’t be so quick at the expense of diligence.”

He pressed the button for the first floor, and they began to rise up.

“You heard nothing?” Swol was incredulous. The old mare before him, wrinkled and with her hair white and fading, absolutely floored him with her account.

“Eh? What’s that, son? You gotta speak up; my hearing’s not as it used to be. Neither is my sight. You are a son, right? I won’t judge if you used to be; not my style.”

Ignoring the strange question, Swol asked again, “Miss, are you saying you heard nothing the day of the kidnapping?”

“The kidnapping? Oh, that’s right; that’s the front page story!” She wheezed out a laugh. “I’d imagine Miss Ruby is absolutely joyful she finally got front page.”

Swol wanted to slap himself in the face. “Okay. You obviously aren’t helping. So… I’ll just leave you be.”

“Glad to be of service, son or daughter! Close the door on your way out!”

The tan stallion didn’t even have a chance to do that, as he was pushed out forcibly, and the door shut before he could perform the action himself. He groaned at the door, falling to his haunches. “My goddess, the elderly can be annoying…”

He heard a heavenly voice ask from behind him, “No luck, either?”

He quickly got up, facing the alabaster unicorn. Her worried look sent warmth through his body; he did his best to ignore this. “I’m afraid so, Miss Rarity. Just another poor witness.”

“Rarity,” she corrected, before nodding. “Yes. This floor seems to be full of the deaf.” She sighed. “Not that they’re all bad, but I do wish something substantial would come up.”

“I wish that, too.” Noticing her glum look, he tried for something different. “Heh, they ought to label floor twenty-four as the Deaf Suite.” His attempt to lighten the mood was somewhat positively received, as Rarity offered him a smile.

“That was an awful joke, dear.”

He shrunk, cringing, while also smiling sheepishly. “Yeah, I know. But hey, you smiled, so victory is mine.”

She giggled, placing a hoof on his shoulder. “I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, Swol.”

He gazed into her eyes, seeing she meant every word of it. She gazed into his for a second longer, before pulling away. “Anyway, we’d best continue searching. Wouldn’t want to give Opa a reason to complain.”

“R-right,” he stuttered.

Unfortunately, the rest of the floor was similarly unhelpful. While not all of its residents suffered from hearing loss, most were rather ignorant of what had happened. “I don’t pay attention to those liberal papers,” one pony said gruffly, to the shock of both Swol and Rarity. “Far too much gossip in them. No, you know what makes a good paper, boy? The Bugle.”

“The Bugle? That one lies all the time, sir. They printed a column that said Princess Luna would arrive as Nightmare Moon two months ago.”

“She didn’t show up because she’s a coward! She’s far too timid to be a part of Manehattan, anyway.”

“Why, you—” Rarity appeared ready to stomp the stubborn sir into nothing, but Swol quickly shut the door in his face and dragged Rarity away. She let out a huff once they had safely retreated. “Surely not every pony in this city is so stuck-up and rude?” She glanced at Swol, then thought for a moment. “Well, then again, there’s you… and Opa, to an extent. And I suppose Mr. Mayor himself.”

Brief and short as the comment was, it nonetheless warmed Swol’s heart.

Their search and questioning continued for a short while, and as Swol glanced at a nearby clock, he realized that nearly an hour had come to pass while they were on this floor. In that time, nothing had been discerned from the guests. The previous floors had either repeated what they already knew, or had been of no use whatsoever. It was strange how the most helpful had been Teal, and she had been on the ground level, meaning she hadn’t even directly seen the incident occur.

A few comments from several guests on the floors had unnerved him. One had said to him, “Have you heard the tale of the jabberwocky? He comes in night and takes the bad children away.” The pony who said this was little more than a foal, so he had written it off as childhood imagination. But then he met an adult on the same floor, who said, “The jabberwocky isn’t just a myth, son. It’s in the shadows; not many see it until it comes for them.”

It was probably just superstition from backwater ponies, but just the way they acted was enough to set him on edge. It didn’t help that a third pony told him that “sometimes it’s not even called a jabberwocky. Sometimes it’s a shadow pony. They strike when you think you’re safe.”

Probably the ramblings of an eccentric, he had figured. But the term “shadow pony” stuck in his head and ran marathons around his brain. He was unable to shake it away.

As the pair stopped in front of the final, unchecked door on the floor, he hoped that something worthwhile would come up. He knocked on the door, and it creaked open, revealing a faded-orange stallion with a brown mane that had white streaks in it. He was much older than Swol.

“Hello, sir,” the tan stallion greeted the older one. “I’m Swol, and this is Rarity. We were wondering if you have any information regarding the recent kidnapping?”

He squinted. “Recent kidnapping—Oh!” He pointed a hoof at Swol. “You’re the mayor’s secretary. And you’re—” He pointed to Rarity. “—you’re the one who screamed!”

Rarity and Swol’s eye’s widened. “You heard me?” the unicorn asked.

He nodded. “‘Course I heard you! With a scream that loud I would have thought anypony would have. But, judging by your disappointed looks prior to entering, I’d say nopony else did, huh?” He sighed. “Well, not all ponies have been trained by the Canterlot Guard.”

“You’re a former Royal Guard?” Swol asked.

The stallion stood straight up and puffed out his chest. “Yep, that’s me. Lieutenant Flint Steel, officer to Her Highness Celestia’s 29th Earth Equine division.” He coughed loudly, hunkering over. “Unfortunately, not even my training can fight the flow of time.”

Swol and Rarity looked at each other, before the latter asked Flint, “Do you mind if we come in?”

“Certainly, I suppose.” He squinted at them, before ushering them inside. Out of the corner of his eye, Swol saw that the door had five different locks.

“Um, preparing for a break in, sir?” he asked.

“Nonsense, boy. I’m preparing for an assault.”

Rarity’s gasp caused Swol to turn sharply, and he himself let out one of his own. The hotel room had been refurbished into an entire bunker. Gone were the beige walls, replaced with steel barricades. The bed had been surrounded by spiked tiles. To the side, where the dining area might have been, was a display filled with spears and other melee weapons.

“What is this place?” questioned Rarity. “It’s like a little fort!”

“Precisely so. Can’t be too careful nowadays.”

Flint pressed a switch that was on the wall, and Swol heard a faint hum. The lights briefly flickered, and he felt a faint vibration under his hooves. “What just happened?”

Flint smirked. “A device of my own design. It prevents anypony from listening to us while we are in this room.”

“Why would you ever need something like that?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Mr. Secretary? To prevent unwanted listeners.” He closed his eyes, letting out a breath. “In this time, there can be no precaution overlooked, after all.”

Swol exchanged glances with Rarity. “You’re… quite strange,” he said.

Flint sighed. “Yeah, that’s what got me kicked out of rejoining the Guard. Something about ‘being too paranoid.’” His smile returned. “Well, guess I’m not as paranoid as they thought. I knew something big was coming, and here you are!”

“Something big—” Rarity gasped loudly. “You knew my sister was going to be kidnapped?!”

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, Miss. No, I didn’t. I had my suspicions that something was going to happen. I didn’t know it was going to be kidnapping, even less it would be your sister’s kidnapping.”

“How exactly could you even guess that something like this would happen?” Swol asked.

Flint winked. “All I had to do was listen, Swol. You’ll find that these streets are not as they seem.”

Rarity’s mouth closed into a thoughtful frown. “Funny. My friend says that a lot.”

“Oh? Who’s your friend?”

“The author, Opacare Prose.”

“Ah! Old Prose, huh?” Flint let out a chuckle. “Of course he’d be thinking like that. That stallion is far smarter than we give him credit for. He can anticipate nearly anything! Well, maybe not everything.”

“What? You know Opacare?”

“Know him? Rarity,” he said, his grin never fading, “I worked with him!”

The two of them blinked, twice, before they both shouted one, single word that summed up what they were thinking: “What?!”

Flint snorted. “Shout all you want, nopony will hear you.”

Swol stomped the floor. “What do you mean, you ‘worked’ with Prose? Were you his partner or something?”

“In a way.” Flint inspected his hoof absentmindedly. “I helped him, you know. Well, it was Raven Lock and I who did.”

The dead detective? What’s he got to do with this? “What did you help with, specifically?”

“Oh, you know. Pulled some strings, kept some mouths shut, commissioned the publishing companies not to have his face put in his books.”

“That was you?” Rarity asked.

“Indeed, little lady! Quite the crowning achievement, if I do say so myself.”

“But I thought that was all Raven Lock’s doing!”

His face contorted into a frown. “Ah, yes. Raven Lock. A shame what happened. What was it, a gas leak explosion?” He shook his head. “But enough about me. I’d imagine you’ve questions for me?”

After a second of thinking, Swol decided that he could ask about Flint’s involvement with Prose’s disappearance later on. After a glance at Rarity, he followed Flint into the living room. The three of them took a seat on the sofas, Rarity and Swol sitting opposite of the former Guard.

Swol, for some reason, found himself not knowing how to start. He was just a secretary and sometimes a bodyguard; he had no experience with interrogation. Rarity, thankfully, took it upon herself to start. “What were you doing when my sister was kidnapped?” she asked Flint.

“Starting off directly, huh? Smart gal, kid. You sure know how to pick them.” Not picking up on either of the ponies’ growing blushes, Flint Steel continued his account. “I was washing up the place, you see. Gotta keep everything in tip-top shape, else they stop working when you need them the most. Around fifteen minutes into my cleaning, I heard your scream. I think your room is only two doors away from mine, even though it’s a floor above this one.” His face grew more somber. “I’d like to say that I rushed out, willing to get to your aid, but sadly that wasn’t the case.”

“Why was that?” Swol managed to ask.

In answer, Flint lifted up his two back hooves. Reaching down, he grabbed something on each leg’s side, twisted, and pulled. The legs came clean off, separating right where the knees were. Swol’s eyes widened; Rarity gasped.

Right in the separation, huge, burnt scars coated the stubs. Flint smirked at their looks of disgusted awe. “Had a nasty fight with a dragon only two years into my guard duty. The monster clean bit off my legs; but he and his flame breath cauterized the wound, so I didn’t bleed out. The technicians outfitted me with a pair of prototype mechanical legs that worked quite nicely. Ever been hit by a raging bison, son?”

“No…”

“Hmph, neither have the soldiers I trained. But whenever I hit them with these iron babies, they said that’s what it’s like.”

“And Earth ponies are already quite strong,” Rarity noted. She shook her head quickly, refocusing on the task at hand. “But still, that doesn’t explain why you were unable to come to my assistance.”

The ex-Guard nodded sadly. “Unfortunately, the technology behind these legs was lost a few years ago. Repair has been rather hard to come by; I’m forced to make due on my own. Over the years, the wear and tear of both being a Guard and getting older has made my legs much harder to utilize.” He looked away. “Right when you needed me, Miss Rarity, my legs had stalled. They weren’t moving smoothly, and I needed to refill their oil gauges in order to at least help them move.”

“In other words, you were too slow.” Swol hadn’t meant for the words to sound harsh. Once he saw Flint cringe, he quickly apologized.

“No, it’s alright, Mr. Swol.” Flint sighed. “You have every right to be upset at me; I’m quite mad at myself, honestly.” He whinnied angrily. “I’m a former Royal Guard, damn it; a stupid pair of legs shouldn’t stop me from helping the those in need!”

Obviously he was troubled. The guilt of inaction weighed heavily on his mind. Rarity walked over to comfort him, placing a hoof on his shoulder. “Mr. Flint, whatever you could have done yet could not do, is in the past. You may not have been able to help us then, but now you can.”

Flint managed to calm himself down, allowing Rarity to rejoin Swol on the sofa. The latter decided to take charge of the questioning. “If you say that your room is only a little while away from Rarity’s, then you might have seen the kidnappers through the window,” he asserted.

“That’s the strange thing. I didn’t.” Seeing their incredulous looks, he continued, “Well, I was staring out of that window back there.” He pointed to the wall-sized glass frame that overlooked the rooftops of Manehattan. “I swear to you, there was nopony out there. I didn’t even hear anypony climb up.”

“Not even on the fire escape platforms?”

“Not a sign of anything alive.”

“Mind if we take a look?”

“Go right ahead.” Flint guided them to the window, sliding it open. They stepped out, immediately greeted by the hustle and bustle of Manehattan. The wind blew in their faces, but it no longer felt like a familiar wind to Swol; he thought it more like the gale that carried itself over the shadowy valley.

The fire escape ran from the top of the roof to the bottom of the hotel, as far as Swol could tell. Strangely enough, it only directly passed by a few of the windows; the rest, it skirted around. Seeing a few doors next to the windows led to him guessing that the design was so that ponies didn’t have to struggle with opening windows.

Bending down to the iron floor, he traced his eyes all around its patterns for a little while. He scrunched up his muzzle, frowning, as he came up. “That’s odd. Nothing here.”

“Really? Let me see,” said Rarity. She lit her horn. “I’m going to try and find some signs of dust or fallen debris.” Her magic, though not as trained as other unicorns, still allowed her to cast a light around the area. She tossed her head left and right; she stepped in circles; leaned in close to the ground; and concluded the same thing.

Nothing.

“Maybe the wind carried any evidence away?” she suggested.

Swol nodded. “That could be possible. If that’s true, then it’s probably on some random rooftop elsewhere.”

“In other words, gone from our grasps.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking, believing it would be easy…”

Swol offered her a comforting hoof. “We’ll find something. I know we will.”

They walked back in, their disappointed looks telling Flint the whole story. “Nothing, huh? I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any more help.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Flint,” Swol said. “You’ve illuminated a few things, I think—though, I’ll have to check with the Mayor and Mr. Prose.”

“Ah, yes. Those two.” Flint’s eyes narrowed, and he rubbed his chin. “I doubt you know this, but seeing as how you all are working together… do you know of those two and their relationship?”

“I do. They were friends, weren’t they?”

“Were is correct. And if what Raven and Opacare said is true… all those activities…” He looked at Swol, and noticed him stiffen. “Ah. Of course. You already know of them.” He squinted. “Funny, Raven never said anything about the secretary…”

Swol sighed in defeat. How many ponies knew of the Family? He figured there was no harm in another knowing, but if this became common knowledge, he wasn’t sure he’d like it.

Flint cleared his throat. “Regardless, there is one thing you two should know about Opacare, before you move on.”

“What is that, Mr. Steel?” Rarity asked.

“He… is not the most willing to forgive somepony whom he believes has wronged him. He holds grudges; deep grudges.” He looked between the mare and the stallion, conveying a mysterious message that Swol was unable to decipher. “Keep that in mind, as you continue to work with him. He might need reminding himself.”

“… Thank you, Mr, Flint,” said Rarity. “We should probably get going, Swol.”

“R-right. Lead the way.” Still wrapped up in his thoughts, the stallion fumbled around his words. Flint chuckled, the action not lost on him.

“Ah. Ensnared, aren’t you? If I must say, it is quite fitting.”

Unfortunately, much like his message, Flint’s words remained just as distant and confusing as before. Swol simply nodded to him, thinking that was enough of a response. Rarity and he trotted out, the door closing and clicking its five locks behind them.

Once they were outside, they stopped, slightly befuddled. Swol slowly shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. “Well… I guess that went well,” he said, turning to the unicorn beside him.

“I liked him,” Rarity stated, a small smile on her face. “He seems… earnest enough.”

“I think that, too,” Swol agreed. “I doubt he’s lying.”

“You’re still going to tell Prose about him?”

He noted she hadn’t called the author “Opa.” “Yes, I’ll have to. After all, I’m not as good of an investigator as he is, so maybe he’ll be able to dig something up.”

She nodded. “That sounds good to me, Swol. In the meantime, I suppose we’d better join up with him?”

“Sounds like a plan, Miss Rarity.”

“Please. I’ve told you to call me just Rarity.”

“Your wish is my command, ‘just Rarity.’”

She giggled. “Oh, stop it.” Her voice was like glittering diamonds, and he sensed that the dreary mood had somewhat been lifted.

The elevator dinged as they stopped at the basement floor. The doors slid open, and they stepped out, and were greeted with a strange sight.

Twilight, Swol saw, was busy talking to a rather dirty, shady-looking stallion. Prose was in the corner, away from the conversation. As Swol and Rarity got closer, they could see that he was visibly shaking. Huddled in the corner as he was, he was the complete opposite of his fierce persona only hours before.

“Er… is something wrong?” Swol endeavoured to ask.

Twilight looked back at them, offering a welcoming smile. “Oh, it’s you two. Find out anything useful?”

“Maybe,” said Rarity. “We also bumped into one of Opacare’s old friends.”

At that, both the author and the other unicorn gave them confused looks. “We’ll explain later,” Swol said. “What are you guys doing now?”

“I’m talking to the main engineer,” Twilight answered, “though, really, it’s the only engineer.”

“Hey!” said engineer protested. His figure was still obscured by Twilight.

“What? It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Trust me, little lady, we usually have an entire team working with me down here!”

“What about you, Opacare?” Swol asked. “Why aren’t you talking to him?”

The author’s only answer was to shift his eyes between Swol, Twilight, the engineer, and back. The secretary noted he appeared apprehensive, even scared.

Twilight suddenly gasped, and when Rarity and Swol turned to her, they found her blushing. “Oh! It’s because… well, see for yourself.”

She stepped to the side, revealing the stallion in the shadows. Besides having a muddy-orange coat and bearing a cutie mark that resembled a white zap of electricity, all across his body were “points.” They seemed familiar, though Swol could not initially place why. The engineer’s eyes revealed red, cyst covered orbs, that could barely focus on one object at a time. His mane, as well, was disheveled; it appeared it had not been washed as of late.

Swol took a whiff, and a strong, burning scent plunged into his nose. He coughed and gagged, the substance burning his throat. “Gah! What is that?”

Rarity had covered her snout, but lowered the hoof to point at what “that” was.

Just behind the stallion was an open toolbox, filled with nothing by syringes and needles of all sorts. Their pointed ends stuck out like angry pinpricks, and in them were strange liquids and powders which—Swol guessed—could be injected via the points.

Now he could make sense of one thing. “This engineer is a junkie?!”

The engineer huffed. “Hey! No need for name-calling!”

“What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Orange Screw would suffice, thank you very much!”

Swol facehooved, then turned back to Twilight. “Okay… so how does this explain Opacare’s behavior?”

In a surprisingly subdued voice, the author answered, “I may have a slight aversion to needles and syringes.”

“He has trypanophobia,” Twilight further explained, giving an apologetic smile to Prose.

“Ah. The fear of needles.” He gave Prose a surprised look. “You know, I never figured you’d be scared of anything.”

The author seemed to want to say more, but only met Swol’s comment with a weary gaze. Swol gulped—gosh, I do that a lot—and said, “Ah. R-right.” Prose nodded, then turned away.

Gazing back at the engineer, Swol could more clearly see the number of needle lines that ran up and down and all around his body. Like rivers of broken ambitions, they flowed as red scars. In a way they were artistic; just the placement was morbidly aesthetic. He shuddered inwardly as that thought passed. It was quickly replaced with the realization that the engineer had on a rather dull look to him, judging by the way his eyes stared into nothingness.

He almost jumped when those same eyes suddenly and sharply focused on him. “Look, can I get back to work now?”

Twilight nodded. “Yes, you may.”

The stallion murmured something under his breath, before he trotted off. Swol blinked. “Wait. Weren’t we about to question him?”

“I tried to, but I only got a little bit out of him.”

“What did you learn?”

Twilight lit her horn, casting an illumination spell. A medium-sized circle of light panned out from her, allowing Swol to see there were actually three generators in the room. Each one was rumbling softly. Wires connected them to switches and pylons that were on the walls.

“Those switches and pylons conduct the generated electricity throughout the entire hotel. It’s quite impressive, really.”

“Where does the electricity come from, though?”

“If I had to guess, probably solar panels or windmills. I don’t think there’s any combustion involved; if there was, you’d be able to smell it.” Experimentally, Swol took a sniff; he realized that the air was surprisingly clean.

“They must have good standards here,” he commented. “There isn’t a speck of pollution in the air.”

“You can detect that?” Rarity asked. “That’s amazing, Swol!”

He blushed, feeling suddenly flustered. “Oh, it’s nothing. When you live in the city for as long as I have, you learn some simple techniques.”

“He’s right,” Opacare suddenly said, before resuming his silence. The comment, while short, filled Swol with an odd sense of pride. After giving the author a grateful smile, he turned back to Twilight.

“What else have you learned?” he asked.

Twilight told him. The power was constantly turned on; not a single day, according to the engineer’s account, had gone by without the basement gently rumbling. The generators used to be louder in the past, back when electrical appliances were harder to use, but recent improvements in technology had granted access and usage to special mufflers. While the electricity that was created did spread throughout the hotel, it did not do so instantaneously. Rather, like it was in a strange hierarchy, the electricity went to the lobby, then the topmost floor and down. Some ponies on the first floor, Swol remembered, had far less electrical appliances than he expected; this had to be the reason.

Twilight swore that the engineer was hiding something, though she admitted it might be because he was a drug user that made her so suspicious. She gave Prose a terribly embarrassed look, but his calm gaze seemed to assuage her anxieties. Swol turned to cast a quick look at the engineer. He was mumbling to himself something incomprehensible. Probably about his next fix, Swol thought with disdain. He shook his head in sadness.

“Unfortunately,” Twilight finished up, “that’s all I’ve been able to discover. There isn’t much to this basement; far less than we thought.”

“We at least found some things,” Rarity said. “That’s good enough, I suppose.” Quickly, she told them of the fact that nopony save for two had heard her scream.

“There might be more info,” said Swol, once Rarity had finished. “Mind if I go talk to the engineer?”

“You’re welcome to, if you think you can get anything out of him.”

Swol nodded, before rotating on his hooves and heading to the back area where the engineer was mumbling. The pony didn’t seem to notice him, still whispering incoherently. Swol took a moment to simply observe him in action.

He shudders a lot. That’s probably the result of all the drugs. In his time in both the Family and in the legislature, Swol had seen numerous accounts and statements concerning the negative effects of drug use. It was one of the biggest issues that the new governmental body had to tackle. It was also the first issue he had brought to Grifford’s attention, which had resulted in the most successful “drug prohibition”—as it was commonly called back then—that Manehattan ever had.

Swol considered looking into the engineer’s source for the illegal material, but decided that would have to wait. Once again, he was reminded of the ponies he was trying to help, and resolved that their needs were of the utmost importance.

He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Mr. Screw?”

He received no answer. The engineer only mumbled to himself. Swol took another step closer. “Mr. Orange Screw? Sir?”

“H-huh?” He seemed to be coming out of some sort of trance. He turned around. “W-what? Oh, it’s you. That weird kid. Whaddaya want now?”

“Just a few questions, sir.”

“Sir, huh?” Orange puffed out his chest. “Been awhile since anypony had called me sir. I like it, I think. Did you know that they never call us engineers anything but engees anymore?”

Seeing that he had formulated an opening, Swol said, “I can’t imagine, sir. Can you tell me how long you’ve worked at Hotel Greenwood?”

“What is this, some sort of interrogation?”

Swol bit his lip, thinking quickly. “Nonsense, sir, I’m simply asking out of curiosity. After all, you seem like the type of pony who knows his way around here.”

Orange’s chest was close to breaking through its own constraints, so filled with pride it was. “Finally! Somepony finally realizes my own worth!”

Or it’s somepony who’s decided that your drug use isn’t worth jeopardizing everything.

“Yeah, I know more than the average worker,” Orange continued. “What of it?”

“It’s not much, really, sir. I’d imagine it takes a lot of time and money to run all these generators.”

“Oh, definitely. I—I mean, my team and I—we work all day to keep them running. Takes a lot of expertise.” He huffed. “I don’t mean to brag, but I’m the best of the engineers here.”

“I’d imagine no less.” He paused, thinking carefully. “What powers the generators, specifically? My friend thought it was a combination of solar and wind energy.”

“Your friend would be right; if she were here five years ago. We got rid of that stuff.”

“Why is that?”

“It was costing too much to—” Orange coughed, sending out brown smoke. Swol fought to keep his face passive. “Heh. Sorry ‘bout that. Anyway, as I was saying: it was costing too much to power the generators with those stuff.”

“Really? I was under the impression that solar and wind energy is enormously cheaper than other sources.”

“Yeah, that’s what the government wants you to think. But really, they’re just hypnotizing the populace with that political jarble.”

Realizing that Orange Screw not only did not recognize Swol as part of that government, but also that he hadn’t been reading about the recent deals with the solar and wind companies that were offering to lower their prices, Swol kept his mouth shut.

“Anyway, what we use instead is a special kind of energy source. It’s, um… uh…” Screw squinted, his mouth moving silently. “Uh…”

Swol patiently waited.

“Oh! Got it, we use the earth! Yeah.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Oh, it’s pretty complicated. I’m not sure you’d understand it, since you’re not smart like me.”

Ignoring the insult, Swol said, “Why don’t you try to simplify it, then?”

“Hmph. I guess I could.” He pointed to the generators. “You can’t see it, but underneath are a bunch of pylons that travel maybe fifty feet downward. We had them installed once we got rid of the panels and all that crap.”

“And these pylons connect to…?”

“I was getting to that.” He huffed. “They connect to these, whaddayacallem, pillars, I guess, that go into the lava below.”

“Actually, it should be magma, if it’s underground.”

“Whatever. The point is, the pylons use the energy that the planet generates as a means to generate electricity, is what I’m basically saying.” He squinted, murmuring under his breath, “Yeah, that’s what the manual said, right? I don’t know…”

“It’s terra energy? Don’t you know that’s still highly contested as a usable energy source?”

“What, because the earth’s unstable and all that mumble jumble?”

“You’re tampering with the forces that can cause earthquakes!”

“Meh.”

Swol blinked, started, then stopped, realizing the immediate danger was lost on the stallion. “I would guess you’ve never had a problem with that, though, huh?”

“The hotel’s never sunk into a fire pit, if that’s what you’re asking. Are ya done?”

“Huh?” Swol was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he nearly missed the surprise question. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Good. Nice talking to ya, kid. Oh, and tell that yellow stallion of yours he ought to grow a spine. There are far scarier things out there than needles.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind. Thank you, Mr. Orange.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Swol walked back to the others, who quickly asked him what he had received. He told them what he had learned.

“How did you get all of that out of him?” Twilight asked, surprised.

Swol looked back at the engineer, then at the three in front of him. “I just asked the right questions, I guess.”

Rarity beamed. “I’m quite impressed, Swol. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Before the young stallion could think of something, Prose interrupted. “If you’re done here, it may be best that we move on to the rooftop. I would rather much like to check out the ‘magic,’ as it were.”

“Right,” Swol said. “Lead the way, Mr. Prose.”

Prose, already heading for the stairs, paused mid-step. He seemed to want to say something, but shook his head, already putting the idea aside. Resolutely, he returned to moving up the stairs. The others followed.

Opacare Prose was, as his colleagues and associates were well aware, not a stallion of too many words. Yet his silence often carried more weight than the usual diction of other ponies. It was a strong silence, that demonstrated that he was thinking deeply; a silence that, when cleared, revealed a stunning clarity never before seen to the onlooker.

Moreover, his silence conveyed everything that epitomized him: his stoicism; his grim determination; a cool intelligence; and unwavering convictions. Such convictions were as strong as the silence he held; neither the rushing winds nor the shattering earth could break them.

But ponies were a different matter. His beliefs were easily shattered by them. The mortal, it seemed, was stronger than nature itself, in this way; fate decreed that such ideas be vulnerable and susceptible to mortal injury. It was an almost cruel joke; a joke, yes, but cruel nonetheless.

He had wanted to say more to Swol back in the basement, but had refrained from doing so. The silence said enough, he figured; why should he have reason to doubt?

Swol was the reason, though. That young stallion had, throughout the course of this investigation, greatly surprised him—though he would not show it. Rather than being a stalwart lackey of the Family, the tan stallion employed his own unique sense of logic and understanding. While his investigation skills needed work, he put honest effort into them. Earnesty and compassion, it appeared, were Swol’s forte; they granted him a unique air, one that made him seem harmless. The amount of integrity he had alone gave enough reason for Opacare to pause; was this really the brainwashed worker of the Family he had long generalized and thus despised?

Opacare had to wonder whether that was the result of outside forces, or if something in the Family had changed. He doubted the latter, but so did he the former. His convictions wavered due to this dilemma; the mortal plane had played another card, and his hold on his hand—his beliefs, his values, the old ideas from an old time from an younger stallion—was weakening.

The wise fool would walk the earth with his ideas he had long groomed; but a day would come, it was said, that the fool would realize he was a fool, and then would he learn to be wise.

Whether that day was today, tomorrow, yesterday, or ever onward in the future, was of no concern to Prose. With signature resoluteness, he focused only on the facts at hand. The future would have to wait; its uncertainty could not be solved with the information he had at the moment.

Grifford saw them come out of the basement. Prose looked less tired than he expected, but the others—the experience was starting to wear on them, he could tell. He refused to meet their gazes, and they failed to notice him; he thought that was for the best.

The warrant, unfortunately, would take a little longer to be finalized. Even though the judge he had consulted had been understanding of the situation, Finch knew that the law was only so fast as it was written. That had been one of his earliest reforms; fighting to make sure that all matters of law had reasonable time managements.

He saw them enter the walk up to the elevator in a hustle. Prose had a harsh frown and an even harsher, deeply-furrowed brow. Judging by his eyes, he was somewhere else entirely; likely ruminating about something only he had thought of. Grifford let out a silent chuckle as he stood outside of Teal’s mail room. It was interesting, he supposed, to see his old friend in action.

His laughter died away. Friend. As serious as the situation was, it did not stop him from pondering what that word meant to him, now that everything had passed. He knew that he and Prose were not as close anymore; and he had a few guesses as to why. Yet, despite the pain that Prose brought in his leaving, Finch still respected him.

It was odd, to respect one’s opponent; though he did not consider the author as such. Prose had been gone for far too long; he had to be brought back into the Family, retrained, reintegrated. He had gone soft since he had left.

Was that such a demeaning result, though? Finch had rarely seen Prose smile; yet, as he remembered the newspapers on the author’s return—their accounts, and most especially the pictures—he knew that something had changed in that absence.

Opacare had to be happy now. Maybe happier than he ever had been. Certainly, he was distracted at the moment that he could not show it, but Finch’s gut feeling told him that Prose had lived a different, Family-free life—and was absolutely joyful for it.

Therefore, did Finch have any right to take that happiness away from him?

I would never do such a thing. It is Prose’s choice, after all; not mine to force nor to coerce. Yet his features lacked the conviction that his inner thoughts held.

The thoughts then dissolved into ponderous emptiness. He stared at the floor, thinking.

Maybe once they’re gone, I’ll take a look around.

Once the doors slid shut, he trotted over to the second elevator. Entering it, he pressed for a floor, and waited.

“Opacare? Are you okay?”

Rarity. Her tone had changed. It seemed less familiar, less friendly. Not cold, but not exactly the one he had grown to know in the past month.

He nodded to her, but refrained from saying anything. Rarity nodded back, before turning back to Swol.

The two were having some sort of muted conversation—at least, that was what Opacare had evaluated. Even then, he was unsure of what the nature of that talk was, or whether it consisted of anything worth listening to. Judging by their focused gaze on each other, he assumed it must have been a heated one; and, he decided, was one he would not involve himself in.

Once the door opened, they all piled into the elevator like a mad flock. Exhaustion leaked from their hooves and hugged their body, dragging them down to the floor. Prose did his best to fight the growing tiredness, but knew his companions would struggle.

It must be a universal truth, that if a means of solving a mystery has exhausted all who are involved, then they must now be on the right path.

While the adage was reassuring enough, it was not quite what Prose needed. He desired some time alone, in order to go over the facts once again. But he knew that he couldn’t.

They waited. The floors rushed past, and the elevator rumbled and jostled ever so slightly. Had there been music, it would have felt utterly surreal. It was an expected feeling, though, when considering the events that were outside that fantasy.

Swol and Rarity, he noticed, had died down. They were about as silent as he was, though definitely—as was Twilight—more fidgety. He was tempted to ask them to remain frozen; the younger stallion’s restless swaying was starting to irk him. But he kept his protests to himself.

Finally, after minutes had passed in a rather short amount of time, they reached the roof. The doors slid open.

The Manehattan skyline was revealed in all of its glory. No longer hidden by other buildings and rooftops, it sent a wondrous feeling of freedom and longevity through the air, whisking by their manes and filling the author’s mind with nostalgic thoughts. Stepping out onto the concrete roof, he breathed slowly. He could smell everything again—all that made his home—yet, as he did so, he realized that even now Manehattan was a distant memory. What this city was now was not the city he had grown up in; he had to keep that in mind, and suspect every little detail.

Not much was on the rooftop. Aside from a few vent openings, exhaust points, and the usual things you’d find on rooftops, the entire area was quite barren. The vents, he realized, were ideal for sneaking in; but a closer inspection revealed that they had not been tampered with.

“Opacare?” Twilight asked. “Where is the magic alarm?”

“I’ve no idea, but I’m certain if we spread out and look around, we’ll find it.”

Indeed they began to do so. While Rarity and Swol joined together, Prose and Twilight paired up, taking the far edge of the roof. With careful steps, they walked, making sure not to accidentally topple and fall off. Far below, the streets tended to blend into a mishmash of greys, concretes, and ponies; their obvious features blurred. Even with his remarkable perception, the author was unable to clearly define who they were. They moved at such a rate that they physically did become perceived to be blurred; at one point, there was a yellow carriage, and in the next instant, it had turned into a rapid and galloping vehicle that dodged and weaved through the crowds, before vanishing into an alley.

The streets may have been lively, but the edges were not. They were a dull beige, made of a less-heavy concrete, he reasoned. Physically, there was nothing that stood out; whatever magic was flowing, he could not see with his eyes.

As an earth pony, this lack of magic perception made certain investigations hard—so he had learned in a lesson from Raven Lock. “That’s why,” the late detective had said, “it’s always good to have a magic consultant, preferably a gifted unicorn.”

He glanced at Twilight, and saw that she was staring at the section of the sky that met the taller tops of the buildings. Her eyes appeared to be scanning for something.

“Find anything?” he asked.

“Maybe.” Her horn lit up, and she twisted and rolled her head, the light following in a linear pattern. “Come check this out, Prose.”

He walked over. “I can definitely sense the invisible barrier that Miss Teal was talking about,” Twilight explained. “If I’m sensing this right, it encompasses from about twenty feet above us, all the way to the bottom of the building.”

“Presumably surrounding each of the four walls?”

“That’s the more likely scenario. But… huh. That’s odd.”

“Hmm?”

Twilight walked around him, her brow furrowed. “It’s like there’s some sort of relay interference of some kind. Like a signal that buzzes in occasionally.”

“You can sense that?”

“I don’t quite have to.” She pointed a hoof out. “Look there.”

At first, as he looked to where she pointed, he saw nothing. Empty, blue space filled his vision. Then, all of a sudden, he saw a faint flash; then a similarly faint green glow could be seen.“The green glow? That’s the interference?”

“Yes. It’s hard to see, isn’t it?”

“It definitely is. What’s creating it?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t locate the source of this magic. Something’s blocking my spell.”

He frowned. A blockage? How is that possible? He endeavored to ask another question. “So if we can see it, then that must mean that anypony else can. So why has nopony mentioned this?”

“Good question. Was Miss Teal lying, do you think?”

He shook his head. “It’s doubtful. Her demeanor wouldn’t suggest that. Of course, it could be an act, but that seems equally unlikely.”

“Certainly not quite Bridleway material, that’s for sure.”

Opacare stepped around Twilight, peering at the green. After several minutes of staring, he took in a sharp breath. “It’s fading,” he said.

They waited for a little while, before the light returned. Twilight gasped. “Of course! Intervals! This has been a regular occurrence, then.”

“But it’s artificial?” Opacare asked. “Not nature-based?”

“Let me take a moment to measure them, then we’ll see.” As Twilight did so, Opacare stepped away, glancing all around the invisible barrier. If he had to guess, the flashes meant something was tampering with the alarm system. And if the alarm system had been tampered with…

Our perpetrators might have used that to their advantage.

But who or what had supplied the disturbance? One of the hotel staff, perhaps, out for revenge? If so, what kind of revenge? He thought almost immediately of Grifford Finch as the prime suspect, and his lips curled into a distasteful frown, before he shoved the thought aside. As much as he detested his former friend, his involvement in this was sketchy at best; he could see that now.

Besides, I think Swol would have caught on to such a plan long ago.

He considered another possibility. There may have indeed been many ponies involved with this. One being, of course, whoever had thrown the smoke grenade and had done the actual kidnapping (he reminded himself to check in with the police later as to the grenade’s status as well as the remainder of the evidence found); the other being a pony on the inside.

“Got it,” said Twilight suddenly. “The intervals occur about every seven minutes.”

“Good work, Twilight.” He then relayed his conclusions about the interference, and she expressed her agreement.

“If you’re right, Opa, then what we’re dealing with is an entire hotel on our suspicious characters list.” Her ears flopped. “Which probably makes this at least ten times harder.”

“Perhaps. Do you happen to know the exact type of spell used in this interference?”

“Not quite. There appears to be multiple layering involved, so multiple spells must have been used. It’s most certainly not a beginning unicorn; and even the intermediate ones would struggle to perform that many.” She cocked her head. “That leaves me thinking we’re dealing with an advanced magic user; maybe two, if what you say is indeed correct.”

“Then we can perhaps get, from Miss Teal, a list of all the unicorns who have come and gone in the past two days.”

“But what if this entire operation was set up from a long time ago? What if it was planned even before we came here?”

He bit his tongue, thinking. “Then, as you said, we’ll be facing ten times more difficulty.”

“Difficulty, huh?” They turned, to see Rarity and Swol approaching. The former had spoken. “That doesn’t bode well. I assume you two have found something?”

After retelling their conclusions, Rarity’s face grew despondent. “Of course it wouldn’t be easy. Of course it had to progressively become worse.”

“Don’t lose hope, Rarity,” Swol said. He turned to Prose. “Mr. Prose, there’s gotta be something we can use here, right? Some way of narrowing down the search?”

The author stared long and hard at the floor, thinking. Was there some way they could?

There must be something… something we’ve seen, something we’ve heard, that could help.

He went back over the details of the barrier, finding nothing in them that could help. He sunk to his hind legs, hooves clamping over his ears in a defeated manner. Rarity looked away. “Is there really nothing we could do?”

There has to be something! There just has to be!

For a moment, the four were silent. The sunken author had his eyes closed, and his jaw worked aimlessly closed.

C’mon, Opacare, think! Surely there’s something I can use here! There’s always something I can use; always some way to be found!

Let me think. The barrier encompasses the entire hotel from a twenty foot point above the roof. It is, in seven minute intervals, interrupted by an invisible relay that causes it to die out for seven minutes. Once it is turned off, anypony can enter from the side. If they move quickly, they can get out without triggering the alarm.

Nothing triggered the alarm the night the kidnapping happened. Teal Sparks had heard Rarity’s scream, but nopony else hadn’t. It can’t just be that some are deaf; the rest of the hotel is an exception to that. We still don’t know why, then.

The generators, from Swol’s account, run on terra energy; something I’m not entirely familiar with, other than it’s been a source of various scientific discussions in the past year. From what I’ve heard, it’s a highly unstable form, but apparently ponies nonetheless use it.

And the generators, through a combination of a regulated magical surge and electrical application, generate this barrier. So how can I use this information—wait a second.

Opacare shot up, eyes snapping open. “That’s it!”

The others recoiled at his sudden outburst. “What? What is it?” Twilight asked excitedly.

“I’ll explain in the elevator. We have to get moving; fast!” He galloped for the elevator, the others following.

Once they were in, Prose began his explanation. “If the hotel runs on terra energy, then that means somepony must have implemented it. That pony is our suspect for the disturbance in the alarm system. It has to be a character who is familiar with the technology used.”

“Like the engineer?” asked Rarity.

“Hardly that incompetent fool. No, we need to talk to his boss, his supervisor of the division. We should be able to find out just who he or she is if we search the contact list that all hotels have. This could be our big break—”

He was cut off when the doors stopped at the twenty-fourth floor. “What the…” Swol muttered.

Outside of the doors, a small group of police had gathered. Two were in front of the elevator, and were surprised to see the four ponies in the small compartment. “Mr. Prose! Mr. Swol! What are you doing here?”

“Investigating, officer,” Prose answered, clearly impatient to get a move on. “Why has our elevator stopped?”

“We’ve got another incident. You…” The officer glanced around, then leaned in close. “I think you’ll want to see this, Mr. Prose.”

His eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

The officer who had spoken led the way, taking them down to the final room. Opacare heard Rarity and Swol gasp, and he was suddenly filled with a feeling of dread.

“They were discovered only a few minutes ago, by one of the elder folks on this floor.”

“‘They?’”

“You’ll understand once you see.” The officer then looked at Swol. “I’m sorry, Mr. Swol, but you’re not going to like it.”

Before they reached the door, it burst open. Two officers had Grifford Finch in a blanket; he was shivering, despite it being relatively warm inside. He seemed in shock, evidenced by his wide eyes.

Swol gasped. “Hey! What are you two doing to the mayor?”

“He’s in shock,” answered one of them gruffly, confirming Prose’s suspicions. “Saw something most ponies shouldn’t see.”

Prose ignored his former friend’s condition, and pushed past the officer leading them. He stopped once he saw the scene.

“No!” Swol shouted, shoving past Prose. “No, no, no! Oh, sweet Celestia, no…”

Seeing a similar hysterical look on Rarity’s face, Prose asked her, “What’s wrong? Who is that?”

She turned to him slowly. “That was Flint Steel. He was… he was your old friend.”

Old friend?

There, in a pool of blood, with a large syringe sticking out of his back, was a faded-orange earth stallion; unmoving, unblinking, and still.

Author's Note:

I'm suffering from a lack of motivation, so updates will be scarce and random.