• Published 12th Apr 2013
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Evening Flames - Nicknack



Gilda and Farrington attempt to repair ties with each other.

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6 - Stalliongrad Connection

“So... you really like potatoes, huh?”

I glared down at my plate, then across the table to where Starfall had ordered the same exact thing. Finally, I glared up at him. I didn’t want to start an argument, since we still had five more hours to patrol together. I answered, “So do you.”

He tilted his head in a sideways nod; then he picked up his table knife and sliced his potato open. “I dunno, I guess it’s weird to think about you in your normal habitat. Killing, to eat.” Before I could decide just how offensive that was, he asked, “What’s it like?”

I blew a whuff of air out the side of my beak. “Like you haven’t killed some criminal before.”

Starfall shook his head. “I’ve come close with a few, and one guy chose death over imprisonment at the end of a chase, but so far, I haven’t actually crossed that line.”

“Huh.” I shrugged. “But you kill plants to eat. Why’s that different?”

“Plants don’t move or have instincts or bleed,” he argued.

“Sure they move, to face the sun. And they’re not like smart, but they... well, they know which way the sun is. As for bleeding...” I grabbed my knife and stabbed my potato around a dozen times. Pointing to the starchy white insides, I asked, “What do you think that is?”

He raised his hooves in mock surrender, still holding his table knife in one. “Easy there, Sharptalon—”

“And stop calling me that,” I said through a snarl. I despised his cute little nickname for me.

His right hoof came down and he brandished his knife at me with a glare. “You broke... No, you destroyed my wing.”

So not my fault.”

“Maybe not. But I’ve still got to wait until next month to hear if all my surgeries were even worth a damn, and if they were, I get to start what I can only imagine will to be excruciating physical therapy. So...” He flicked the knife back, spinning it around on top of his fetlock before he set it down. “No.”

For a moment, I considered bringing our sergeant into it. I shook my head and set down my knife. It wasn’t worth it yet; it was only noon on our first Monday together. “Arschloch,” I muttered.

Starfall chuckled quietly. While he was distracted, I leaned over the table, grabbed his plate, and switched it with mine. He looked down at the remains of what was now his potato, then he grinned. “Touché. Nothing like Comet’s boiled garlic potatoes, but I can do mashed.”

“Oh, shut up,” I mumbled. He always had a smartass response for everything. Luckily, he took the hint and we ate in silence. Our patrol was in the southern end of the Business District, so we didn’t have much time for chit-chat to begin with.

Inside, I bemoaned that tragedy.

Rules for patrols with a partner were fairly straightforward: there were two guards, not one. That meant there were two sets of eyes to watch over citizens and two bodies if it came down to a fight. There wasn’t a total ban on any socializing while patrolling, but it was one of those things that guards could be penalized for conduct if they did too much of it. Lucky for me, I got stuck with an asshole, so it was easy to focus on the job.

Then again, Starfall wasn’t content to leave it as “easy.” After we left the diner, side-by-side through both doors, he asked, “So, how are you and Iron doing?”

I took a few steps and sighed darkly before I admitted, “Better.”

Starfall’s head bobbed in the corner of my eye. “Good.”

What, do you want a thank-you card? I scoffed.

He continued, “Comet and I are doing better.” I turned my head to the left, and he met my gaze with a shrug. “In case you were wondering.”

“Good,” I said, despite the urge I had to scoff at how little it affected me. Then I realized he might’ve been thanking me, because I might’ve had some sort of role in repairing his marriage. Yay, me.

Still, I took it as a peace offering from him. I didn’t like him, I didn’t have to like him, but if we were going to be stuck together for forty hours a week for the foreseeable future, I’d rather pass it “neutrally” than “pissed.”

At five o’clock, when our patrol ended, we hit on a small conflict when Starfall asked, “Where do you want to go for dismissal?”

Partners had to report in to their sergeant at the start of shifts, but there was freedom in getting dismissed; you just needed to find someone who held a higher rank. There was some collaborative back-end to it that Iron explained to me my first day, but I had since filtered into the “I don’t care” portion of my mind.

Now it raised an interesting dilemma now, since Starfall lived in the north of town and I stashed my armor in the south. Even on days I read at the hospital, I usually stopped by the Citadel first. The farrier and his apprentice were talented, but sitting for an hour and a half took its toll on my unarmored butt; I didn’t want to think what would happen if I added armor into the equation.

Plus, it might scare the little guys.

To keep things as smooth as possible, I offered a compromise. “Our lieutenant?”

Starfall looked at me with thin, pursed lips. “Why not Iron or the Citadel, then?” I raised an eyebrow and he kept going, “Ever see a mid-forties stallion who’s bitter because someone half his age beat him out for promotion twice? We can go to the east gate if you want, but Comet’s not going to expect me home before six, regularly, or tonight, eight.”

“Why so late?”

He chuckled. “This is my first night of being employed after almost a month, Sharptalon. I love my wife. I love my children. But tonight, for a few hours, I am going to love being alone.”

I didn’t really understand his problem; then again, I only spent around ten hours a week with Iron. “Oh,” was all I said. “And stop calling me that, Arschloch.”

Starfall only grinned. I didn’t like how hard it was stay pissed at his consistency.

Once the two of us reached Iron’s south booth, he officially dismissed us before asking, “How did everything go?”

Starfall answered with a chuckle. “It’s the Business District, Iron; all the crime goes on indoors.”

I shrugged when Iron turned to me. “What he said.” I glared at Starfall. “Not exactly prime lunch conversation, but I’ll live.”

He grinned smugly at me. “Well, if you want food and a conversation...” He gestured at my boyfriend. “That’s his job.”

“Hey...” Iron warned.

Starfall shrugged. “Sorry.” After he said it, he narrowed his gaze at Iron, looked down at the bottom of one of his own hooves, and went back up to Iron’s exact eye-level. Iron smiled warmly; Starfall’s face deflated in a frown.

After a few more bewildering seconds, Starfall muttered “Cheater,” shook his head, and turned to walk back into the city.

When he was gone, I turned back to Iron and shrugged openly. He chuckled. “I stand four feet, ten inches tall. Starfall is four feet, eleven inches tall.” Iron lifted one of his hooves into view. “But officers don’t usually wear boots.”

I shook my head at their dumb little contest; in a few years, I’d probably end up taller than both of them. That made me look down at my gauntlets and ask, “Usually?”

“Officers don’t usually carry around bladed weapons, either,” Iron said. “Though I suppose there’s a difference between what is standard-issue and what is ‘acceptable.’”

That reminded me of something about my armor I’d never actually shown him. I popped the medallion out of my chest and showed the gold half to Iron. He blinked, wide-eyed, and asked, “Wait, that... that’s reversible?” He held his hoof out.

And diamond.” I handed it over.

Iron examined it for a few moments, then gave it back to me. “This whole time, I thought it was part of the armor.” He met my eyes, I raised an eyebrow, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Gilda, but the answer’s no.”

I resocketed the medallion, Farrington-side-out, and grumbled, “Yeah, I know. I’ll just get a spear, then.”

“A spear?”

My expression cracked into a grin. “In case we’ve ever got to fight sharks.”

He chuckled. “If you can find a spear that fits in a holster and doesn’t stick up over your back, you’re welcome to carry it.”

It took me a moment to realize that he wasn’t messing with me; that was actually the regulation for weapons. I shook my head and brought up my left hand. “I think I’ve got ‘bladed weapons’ covered.”

He didn’t say anything, but he bit his lips just barely enough for me to know what he was thinking. After Thursday’s disaster, our Saturday date had ended in a much-safer hug from me and kiss on the neck from Iron. I raised an eyebrow and asked, “So, uh, yeah, how’s your mouth doing?”

Iron rocked his head from side to side. “Oh, I took care of it before even Maxie saw the cuts. So... it’s been good.”

“Well, I’m probably going to get going here soon, uh...” I shrugged. “Want to try again?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, not... not if there’s a chance to end up like Thursday while I’m on-duty.”

I nodded sadly, but on one level I agreed. Or at least, I didn’t want to deal with how I now knew what Iron’s blood tasted like for a second time.

We said our goodbyes before I realized I was still in my armor, so I went back into the city to stash it in the Citadel for the evening. When I came back to say goodbye a second, extra time, Iron bid me to come closer to his booth.

When I stretched up to his height, he kissed the end of my beak. It made me smile, and I kept it for my entire trip home.

* * *

Friday evening, I had my community service at the hospital. Other than showing up on time and on schedule, the rules to fulfil my punishment were actually fairly loose. I started things off by purposely losing a board game to the little guys.

About half an hour into the game, Coal Ember—the younger colt who was sitting on the other side of the table—perked up and pointed behind me. “Who’s that?”

I turned around to see who he was looking at, and I met Iron’s gaze. I smiled and remembered our conversation from earlier, where I’d complained about not being able to do anything with him after my shift because of my community service. However, I also realized that he’d just created an awkward situation by showing up unannounced. I didn’t really want to explain how we were dating to a group of foals.

Iron must’ve picked up on my inner turmoil; he answered, “Gilda is a close acquaintance of mine, and we also work together.”

Dawn—the filly with orange eyes—piped up and asked, “Are you her boyfriend?”

I raised an eyebrow at her guess. Meanwhile, the rest of the kids walked over to form a loose circle around Iron. Firestone, the older of the two colts, turned to Dawn and said, “Don’t be stupid. They can’t date; she’s not a pony!”

I turned back to Iron and mouthed the word “Ouch,” to him. It wasn’t really worth getting angry at Firestone’s assumption. He was seven. Iron agreed by smiling and coughing a laugh into his hoof.

Dawn, however, gave him an answer of, “Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-huh!”

“Hey now...” I turned to them. “No fighting in the hospital. What if someone gets hurt?”

She stuck her tongue out at him; he pantomimed a fake little laugh, but didn’t actually make the sounds.

With that settled, I turned back to Iron. “But, yeah, what’s up?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to come see how you were doing, and perhaps hear another story.”

At his suggestion, there was a collective cheer of “Yeah!” from the foals. I shook my head and chuckled; I hadn’t really been planning on doing one of my tribe’s stories today. Still, I knew enough of them to improvise.

I pointed to Velvet and Lilac, the two oldest fillies, and said, “Okay, you two put the board away while...” I pointed at the other four foals. “You guys get out the mats.”

Everyone had their orders, so after watching them to make sure there weren’t any misunderstandings, I walked over to Iron and whispered, “It’s cool if you’re here, but next time, no surprises?”

He nodded and whispered back, “Sorry, I only thought of it after you came by my booth this evening. And, uh, sorry for ‘close acquaintance...’”

I shook my head but gave Iron a grin. “It’s fine. Besides, like Firestone said, we can’t date here.”

Iron chuckled. “You’ll have to introduce me to everyone.”

I rubbed my forehead with my palm. “Right...” Turning around to the foals, I beckoned Iron to follow me over to the part of the play area where the bookshelves were situated. The mats were out and the board game was almost packed away, so I sat in the center of the ring of four foals that had room for two more. When Velvet and Lilac got done with their chore, they closed the circle, so I cleared my throat and pointed. “By the way, this is Captain Iron Bulwark.”

They turned around to look at him again, and I saw his confusion as he went from foal to foal. Without manes, cutie marks, or fur, it was difficult to tell them apart at first. Iron looked at me for help; I tapped a finger twice on the side of my head, near my right eye. He nodded.

I went around the circle and introduced the kids by motioning to them. “And Iron, you know Firestone and Dawn Glimmer.” Red and orange eyes, respectively.

“Then there’s Lilac...” Green eyes.

“...Coal Ember...” Smoke gray eyes.

“...Velvet Rose...” Bright purple eyes.

I came to the youngest, who usually sat on one of the sides and slightly away from the rest of the group. Her eyes were also a slightly different shape from the rest, which meant I had learned her name first—from the nurse on the floor. “And finally, this is Sapphire.”

After the introductions, Iron waved at the kids. Five of them waved back, but Sapphire looked down and away from him. I grinned, but for her sake, I figured it was time to start the story.

I threw caution into the wind and decided to wing it with an entirely new legend. “So...” I turned to Firestone. “You don’t think a pony and a griffin can date?”

He shook his head. “Nope. It’s weird.”

I kept my chuckle in my head. “Maybe. But that reminds me of the story of Donar’s daughter, who fell in love with the son of Jord...”

For half an hour, I spun a tale completely of my own creation. Even with a good knowledge of my tribe’s legends, it was harder than I first thought. Twice, one of the foals raised a hoof to ask a question about some minor point that I’d completely forgotten about.

In the end, I told a story about how the princess of the sky and the prince of the earth fell in love, and how that love endured despite their difficulties in finding a place to live together—he couldn’t join her in the sky, but she grew restless and anxious on the ground, even though she couldn’t bear to leave him.

For my first time trying something like that, it went over pretty well.

After seven, when it was time for the foals’ dinner, Iron and I left the hospital together. We agreed to get dinner—this time, I wasn’t just twisting his words around—and when we got to our usual place, Iron brought up my legend: “That was an interesting story. But I thought you told me once that there weren’t any such tales about unconventional romances?”

I shrugged and grinned slyly. “Two months ago, there weren’t.”

Chuckling, he replied, “I thought it might have been that.” After a few moments, he added, “So, was that your way of saying you want to find a mountain to live on together?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I already live on a mountain. Our compromise would have to be a hill or something.”

“Farrington is almost half a mile above sea level, so technically...”

His tone was light and joking, but I didn’t really want to talk about the serious places this conversation was going to go. “I know, I know. I’m thinking about it.”

“Er... I didn’t mean it like that...” he quickly corrected.

I didn’t entirely believe him, but I decided not to push it any further, either. Instead, I just shrugged and changed the subject to something that, admittedly, still bothered me about the hospital: “I just wished they weren’t sick, you know?”

“Many ponies in Farrington would agree with you,” he answered gravely.

I shook my head. “Not that. I mean... well, okay, yeah, I wish they weren’t sick; I’m not that cold of a bitch. What I mean is that, they’re sick, they’re not going to get better, so getting attached is just...” I swallowed a lump before admitting. “Hard. Like, I want to enjoy my time with them, but it just always feels like, every time I’m there, I just get reminded of how it’s supposed to be a punishment.”

“The only punishment you’re supposed to be doing is in the form of community service...”

I glared at him. “Would you really put it past Sherry to do that, though? Especially since Starfall’s a father?”

After a few moments, he slowly nodded agreement. “Okay. Sherry’s good at finding fitting punishments, when she’s given that task. Maybe she went too far this time. If you’d like—”

“No.” I shook my head. I knew what he’d been about to offer. “I... I’m in too deep now. I can’t just leave them.”

Iron’s response came at a measured, cautious pace. “Well... at least you’re... good with children. That’s something good to learn from this, right?”

I wondered what was bothering him; then it hit me: We were dating, and the topic was my child-raising skills. Blood rushed to my cheeks before I deflected the praise. “That comes from being the second-oldest sister in a constantly growing flock.”

The rest of dinner passed without any awkward compliments, but soon after, it was time for me to go home again. Iron and I made plans for Saturday evening on our way to the south gate; there was a new play being put on in Farrington’s main theater. I agreed to go, if only because Iron had just sat through a hefty amount of my culture—or something based on it, at least.

When we got to the southern archway, this time, I knew what to expect when I walked around in front of him. I looked up at him, waiting, and said, “So, I guess this is good night...”

“For tonight,” he agreed, stepping forward.

I was expecting him to bend down and kiss me, but this time, he started things off by rubbing a hoof up the side of my arm and tucking it under my wing, gripping the joint. Whether he knew what effect that had on griffins or not, it sent jolts down my spine—good jolts. He pulled me forward for the kiss, and I kept going, wrapping my other arm around his neck to pull myself up.

This time, I kept my beak still as he wrapped his mouth around it. I was less panicked this time, so I moved my tongue slower when I brushed it against his.

We broke out of our second kiss sooner than the first one, but Iron still gave me a quick peck on the end of my beak. It was cute, but I didn’t want it to end there, so I leaped up and two-arm hugged him as I rubbed my neck against his.

Iron nuzzled into my shoulder and planted one final kiss there. Despite the glowing warmth that permeated me, I felt that it was a good note to end on. I broke away, stepped back, and looked up at him. “G-good night.”

He slid his hoof back from my wing, nodded, and replied, “‘Night.” It sounded thicker than his usual speaking voice, which made me feel guilty about the toll our kisses took on his mouth. However, it was hard to focus on the negatives.

For the first time, I felt like I didn’t want to leave the city that night.

* * *

The play on Saturday was entertaining. Before then, the closest thing I had to compare it to was “Skit Night” at Junior Speedsters’. However, they were two different entities entirely: The Farrington Performer’s Association carried themselves a lot more seriously than a bunch of teenage pegasi and one griffin who hadn’t even wanted to be there in the first place.

I liked the play that Iron took me to, though. It was about a pegasus mare who didn’t know what to do with her life and ended up stuck on a seafaring boat with a wise old stallion. Several comedic mishaps and one giant storm later, she found out that she’d known her answer all along.

Even better than the play was how I spent the whole performance sitting next to Iron and holding his hoof.

* * *

When I woke up on Monday, for some strange reason, I found myself grinning. It faded slightly when I questioned why, but then I realized I had a few things to smile about. Things were going well with Iron, the Guard was quieting back down back to normal, and I was doing pretty well with my “move out of Farrington” fund—even if that was becoming less and less of a priority. I was still aware that Iron was the main reason I would stay in that particular city, but after Saturday, I realized there were other things that I could do besides date someone.

My good spirits lasted exactly until I reached the city. There, they were popped by a pang of confused fear. From the air, I saw Iron, in his booth, looking like he were buried under paperwork, scrolls, and a newspaper that screamed the headline, “WAR IN THE STREETS.” It took a moment for me to realize what was so weird about everything; then it hit me that this was the first time I was witnessing strain within the Guard that I wasn’t a part of.

After I landed, Iron looked at me, smiled warmly, then turned back to his paperwork. He explained the situation: “Last night, one of Red Hooves’ underlings attacked an officer in the Guard. The officer is all right, the underling is in custody... but damned if it didn’t create a logistical nightmare on top of everything else this implies.”

I raised an eyebrow as I realized this situation might affect me, even if it wasn’t my fault. “Like... random patrols?”

“Like, your lieutenant is waiting for you in the Citadel when your shift begins...” Iron muttered. It caused a throb of pain that I shrunk down from; he looked up briefly and shook his head. “Sorry, Gilda. But you’re not going to like it, I don’t like it, but there’s some precedent for it, so if I do anything to stop it...”

“What is ‘it?’” I asked. Thinking it might help matters, I added, “Sir?”

Captain Bulwark nodded gratefully. “You’ve been assigned a schedule change. Technically, your shift doesn’t begin today until ten o’clock this evening.”

My jaw slackened, and I stood there for a moment. “So... what do I do for the next thirteen hours?” I tried not to seethe at him, but I remembered how, that morning, I had just been glad about how things were settling down and...

“Report to Horatio, report to Scales, and...” Iron sighed. “I suggest finding a place to sleep during the day.”

I scowled, blew a hot sigh out of my mouth, then shook my head. Getting angry at Iron wouldn’t fix anything. I pointed a finger at him. “I’m not mad at you.”

He nodded. “I understand, and thank you for taking this better than some officers would.”

I gave him as warm a smile as I could—which probably came off as an evil grin—but then I marched into the city, through the Citadel, to Sergeant Scales’ desk where, sure enough, my lieutenant was waiting, wearing his sunglasses indoors.

It took a force of effort to reel in my tongue and actions—getting fired from the Guard would be a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Instead, I jabbed my temple with my hand and said, “Sirs?”

They returned the salute, so I put my hand down. Lieutenant Horatio spoke, “I assume you’ve heard the news?”

I nodded.

“Any questions?”

“Just some minor ones about scheduling and procedures, sir.” It was a lie and I knew it.

My lieutenant nodded, and I saw the outline of a smile form at the edge of his mouth. “Then I’ll take my leave. For the record, I apologize for the inconvenience.”

A week of patrolling with Starfall had given me a pretty good idea about his real reasoning behind all this—a political jab at Iron—but I wisely clamped my beak shut. Maybe he was sorry that it affected me personally if he were bitter about his rank. It didn’t matter much; my only option involved nodding and accepting my orders.

My lieutenant headed to the doors that led to the lobby, which left me alone with my sergeant. Since it was just us now, I felt a bit more comfortable asking, “What’s going on, sir?”

“Officially? You’re low griffin on the totem pole, so you’re the one who gets to sub for the night shift.” He looked around to make sure no one else overheard. I did too; all of the other sergeants at their desks were either busy with paperwork or busy giving marching orders to officers. Sergeant Scales answered, “Unofficially? Buy a sword and learn how to use it. Part of Red’s danger is how unpredictable he is, even if his sister’s final sentencing is next week. He might just want to jump you for fun, not for vengeance.”

We shared a flat look until he clarified, “Jump, as in... like, ambush?”

I thanked him with a quick nod; then I realized I didn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day.

When I went to Iron’s gate to say goodbye for the day, he gave me a deep kiss “because I wasn’t on duty.” It sounded like a weak apology at first, but then I remembered how reluctant he was about physical stuff while we were both wearing our armor. Technically, that should’ve followed when it was just one of us on duty, but I guessed it was a Guard boundary Iron was willing to cross for our own relationship.

It was silver lining, or something. I hated sleeping during the day, and I hated how my shift had gotten switched around like that. When I got back to my cave, I covered my head in a wing and blanket so I could try to rest up for my night shift.

Tonight was going to suck.


Monday morning, at six minutes past eleven o’clock, I was still sitting at an outdoor Hoofington café and waiting for my Stalliongrad connection. Even though I stressed the importance of being here at exactly ten-thirty, my contact in Cold Front’s organization was now over half an hour late.

At least some things from Stalliongrad were still the same.

The early August morning was getting hot, which pissed me off. Not only was I going to have to gallop back to Farrington for my lieutenant’s shift—after cutting the timing far too close for comfort—but it was going to be a hot, sticky ordeal.

I blew an exasperated sigh out the side of my mouth and turned to the café’s window. My reflection was familiar, even if she looked completely different than me. The young, lavender mare looked down to her right foreleg, at the bracelet she wore. It had cost me almost three months’ wages back in Stalliongrad, but ever since then, a military-grade illusion spell had more than paid for itself.

I turned away from the reflection. High-quality or no, Fake-Sherry was still the same early-twenties mare that hadn’t aged a day in the past three decades. She was creepy to look at, and I cringed when I realized, since I was now waiting on an off-the-books meeting with the Stalliongrad mafia, this was exactly how things used to run near the end of my times with the Politsya.

It was the sort of shit I’d told myself I’d gotten away from.

For what must’ve been the tenth time that morning, I looked down at my iced coffee and questioned my methods. My intentions were good—they were always good. That was why I was so good at doing evil things. If everything turned out well, then by the end of the week, Farrington wouldn’t have an organized criminal element anymore. That was good intent.

The fact that I’d started this by putting one of Farrington’s officers into the hospital and framing it on one of Red Hooves’ underlings was probably where I’d crossed over into “bad methods.”

I sighed and threw back some of my coffee like it were something stronger. Ever since I’d left Stalliongrad, I’d told myself that I’d left behind all the plotting, under-the-table dealings, and death. I’d truly believed I had, too. But really, it was an elegant lie I’d told to both myself and to Iron.

His part in all this rang out louder than the others, or I felt it should’ve. Things had gotten stupid between us after Malt died—probably more my fault than Iron’s. I’d known his father, back in the day. Even if I’d failed in my responsibility of taking care of Iron, he was my responsibility. However, the only thing that had been bigger than my confusion back then had been the growing sense of emptiness and despair that no responsible mare would’ve acted on.

I should’ve known better. He was just a kid.

Four years later, he was still a kid, but he’d also grown up enough to use me. I shook my head; that wasn’t entirely how it went, and I knew it. Still, he’d thrown away an entire month of my efforts because of his own stupid indecisiveness, and he couldn’t even thank me for giving him the time that he wasted?

Hell, that wasn’t counting ten years of looking out for him, helping him through his problems, and giving him advice. I knew he did appreciate all that, but after his most recent slap-in-the-face dismissal, I had to reevaluate why I always put myself out on the line for him in the first place, and why it hurt when he just... expected it.

I looked back at the window, and the illusion of a mare that was his age scoffed back at me. I should have known better.

Being honest about Iron and me had made me realize it was time to wake up and quit lying to myself about what I was. Hell, it even numbed the pain over losing Malt when I realized one simple truth: Mares like me didn’t get a happy, second chance at life in a new town—not with everything I’d done in the past.

With all my disillusions boiled away, I was only left with one thing, the one thing I did deserve—revenge.

My first step towards that had been six days ago, when I’d put away the whiskey. The side effects of that were all shaky and annoying, but I knew my way around a pharmacy enough that I could operate with a mostly clear, sharp mind. That was the important part; if any of this blew back on me, I didn’t want it to be blamed on any mind-altering substances.

Over the next four days, I thought long and hard about where I and everyone else in Farrington were at. I’d gotten in touch with some old contacts and connections, rebuilt parts of my old surveillance network, and by the end of the week, I’d solidified my decision:

Four years ago, Red Hooves had lost his right to life. Now it was time to balance the scales.

The first step towards that was going to be handled later this afternoon, when I finally got back to Farrington. I knew which of Iron’s sergeants were in Red Hooves’ pocket; over the past few years, I’d had a little fun by feeding them slightly skewed information and watching Red Hooves’ street forces squirm. Those events usually ended in a stalemate, but I’d ended up covertly saving three guards’ lives in my time doing it. It was never enough.

Still, misinformation could go a long way. Red Hooves was a paranoid son of a bitch, and he’d be even more paranoid than usual now that one of his underlings had been apprehended at the scene of a crime against one of Farrington’s officers. I’d taken that into account, but really, the only surefire way I knew to get to him was through his sister. Since poisoning her wouldn’t generate any sort of predictable response from him, my next best option was to bait him into lowering his defenses—and what better bait than the griffin who put his sister behind bars?

If I made a big deal over keeping some documents secret within earshot of a bent night sergeant, I could practically guarantee that Gilda’s “random” patrols for the next two weeks would make their way to Red Hooves before midnight. The bent sergeant would think of himself as incredibly crafty for picking my desk’s lock, Red Hooves would get some legitimate intelligence on the Guard’s movements, and if everything worked out okay, the only thing to do after that was to make sure the entire powder keg situation turned into a controlled burn.

It wasn’t foolproof by any means. First of all, I’d have to make sure that Red Hooves even took the bait. More importantly, my whole plan was just a huge diversion. If Red sent out a large capture-or-kill squad to try and take out a griffin in a quiet manner, chances were good that he wouldn’t be watching his own back door.

Then, I would slip in, meet him face-to-face, and... I’d get creative from there.

Creative to the point where I’d need to destroy all the evidence, and that part of my plan boiled down to today’s meeting. That afternoon, I was finalizing the terms of the favors I’d called in with Cold Front, the leader of Stalliongrad’s mafia. Front was a psychedelic-peddling scumbag, but he didn’t dip into his own stash, which left him with a semblance of honor and principles. He was at least reasonable to deal with, especially from a business standpoint, especially when he owed me a debt.

When I asked for six soldiers and a special bomb, Front had sent me the killers “on good faith.” However, he didn’t want to let go of any high-yield explosives until someone in his organization had a conversation with me, which was why I’d ended up in Hoofington, on a Monday morning, for a ten-thirty meeting. By the time eleven-twenty came around, “waiting” had turned to “silently fuming.”

Finally, a thick, proud voice yelled out from the street:

Mestik!

I turned to face its source, but I already knew who it was. I never forgot a face, a voice, or the attitude of someone so bold that he’d come alone to represent his own organization.

Cold Front waved at me, broadly announcing his presence to the entire street. Some civilians actually turned to look at him, then to me. I wanted to roll my eyes at his flamboyance, but he was too proud for that, and I wanted our meeting to go well. Besides, there was a reason I was still in disguise; Front knew infinitely more about running a criminal organization than he did about subtlety.

I gave him a small wave, and he pranced over to me. Before sitting down at the little table I sat at, he leaned in for a kiss. I barely had time to turn my head and catch it on the cheek, but apparently, he wasn’t impressed. “Well, then. Hello to you, too.”

“You’re late,” I said flatly. I hopped over to his native language before I accused in a whisper, “And you’re here yourself. Why the hell wouldn’t you send a lackey?”

He chuckled, but answered in his language. “You asked for impressive gift. I didn’t want it falling into wrong hooves. And I am not alone; I brought friends to ensure things today go smooth.”

Coward, I scoffed. He’d brought armed guards with him; part of me wanted to take that as a compliment. With a small shrug, I gestured to the small haystack on the opposite side of the table. “Then you did bring it?”

“Da.” He tapped the saddlebags he wore, then he walked over to the other side of the table and sat down. Staring at me, he clopped his hooves together under his chin and raised an eyebrow. “My dear Mestik, mail order killers are one thing, handled by mail. But this, this is very dangerous weapon. I have worries.”

After over thirty years’ acquaintance, I knew that his “hardass” act was just that—an act. I cut through it. “Not even the best war mages in Canterlot can cook up something like this; by the time anyone in Farrington even thinks of sending for high-end magic forensics, everything’ll have vanished. It won’t get traced back to me, so how are they going to find you, unless you bumped into Celestia on the road here?”

Defeat came to Front in the form of a soft chuckle. “Okay, is true enough. But remind me again, what I am getting from this exchange?”

“What did you get,” I reminded him. “Stalliongrad. Thirty years ago, you said you owed me. This is you, repaying that favor, finally.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then what for the stallions in your city, awaiting your orders?”

I knew what he wanted, but there wasn’t a chance in Hell I was giving it to him. I shook my head. “Once Red’s out of the picture, there’s going to be a vacuum in Farrington’s underground.” I shrugged. “I won’t help you like I did back then. But I will get out of your way.”

He chuckled a bitter scoff, but his head bobbed a few times back and forth. He settled on saying, “Fine. If you won’t help, you not hurting is next best thing to hope for.” He opened a saddlebag and put a small, gift-wrapped box on the table. “Be careful with this, da?”

I looked at the red bow on top of the box, then up to him. “Really? Gift wrap?”

Front’s only response was a wide-eyed shrug.

As soon as I picked up the box, it felt like the temperature around me dropped to below freezing. My breath escaped in a surprised, chuckling fog; gift wrap or no, I hadn’t expected the tiny package to be that cold. Then again, maybe I should have. It contained enough ice-based explosives to level a building.

It was one of the final parts of an evil plan, one filled with necessary lies and deceit. I wanted to justify it as being the best for everyone’s sake: Iron’s city would be cleaned, and without order to the organized crime element, the Guard stood a decent chance to get an upper hoof against them—even if Front tried to start up a new game in a new town.

I’d be lying to myself if I said I was doing it for anything other than my revenge.

When I put Front’s gift box in my own saddlebag, I realized how fitting it all was. The meeting was over and everything was in order, so I should’ve felt glad, accomplished, or even relieved. However, the only thing I felt was the cold, empty knowledge that by Friday morning, I would finally have justice.

I’d been waiting four years for it.


For having a target painted on the back of my head, my first night on the night patrol went by pretty smoothly.

Monday evening, even though I’d napped for most of the day, I still felt groggy when I set out for Farrington. Flying and food helped to wake me up, so I was alert when I reached the city. It was lucky, too; I quickly learned that the night shift did things differently than the morning shift.

The strangest part to me was how all of the officers on the night shift gathered in the Citadel for a briefing meeting. There were about seventy of us, including the guards posted in the watchtowers throughout the city, but we all managed to cram into the main room in the Citadel to hear the nightly news from Lieutenant Sherry.

Next, the patrols were different. That annoyed me at first; I’d spent the better part of two months learning the day patrols, but none of that mattered now. On top of that, there were a bunch of different rules and regulations that were much more strictly enforced: break times, patrol laps, and sticking by your partner.

After a week of patrolling with Starfall, it wasn’t exactly a new concept to me to have a partner anymore. Still, as soon as I figured out I’d be paired up with someone new, I knew I wasn’t looking forward to meeting them.

Fortunately, I’d met my partner once before, if in passing. Her name was Sunset, and she was the purple and red mare who wanted to trade shifts with me back at the Summer Sun Solstice. I chuckled at the coincidence. Still, I must’ve made a good impression on her; she volunteered to be my partner in front of a fairly large crowd.

Things started to look up from there. Not only was Sunset cool with me, but I realized I wouldn’t have to apply that much effort to learning the night patrols. They weren’t going to be a permanent fixture in my life, and my partner had been an officer for eight years—more than long enough to lead me around the city.

Granted, it wasn’t all fun times. Sunset and I were posted in the Business District that night, but it was a completely different place than it was during the day. In theory, my guard tasks stayed the same: make sure no one was breaking the law, including the city-wide curfew after midnight. In practice, every alleyway, shadowy patch, and even the rooftops held the potential for danger, so as my eyes constantly darted around, I knew my safety depended on my ability to maintain vigilance.

Just before midnight, I started noticing the ponies who were busy going around the city and dousing all of the torches. It got darker and darker as time went on, until we were patrolling in near-pitch darkness. Right as I was about to complain about it to Sunset, everything got a few shades brighter; looking up, I saw that the Business District watchtower now had a glowing white beacon on top of it, almost as bright as a full moon.

A few diners stayed open late for us shift guards. However, at three in the morning, when Sunset and I took our break, she mentioned that civilians sometimes broke curfew to get a late-night meal. “Technically, if we don’t see them on the street, we can’t do anything,” she explained, but it was kind of a moot law to begin with. Procedure for dealing with curfew-breakers was to question them, search their saddlebags if they were suspicious, and then send them to their destination. It felt as if the whole system worked only because most citizens in Farrington already agreed with it.

I spent the entire night looking for any of the citizens who didn’t agree with the law. The few times I thought I saw movement, it turned out to be the wind, or my eyes were playing tricks on me. Whenever the second one happened, I chalked it up to the new schedule. Once everything got smoothed out, I’d be a lot more mentally alert. Griffins were mostly nocturnal, after all.

Sunset and I spent most of our shift quietly, but not silently. She kept whispering questions to me about Iron. It was weird, even after she explained it was just “friendly curiosity.” Whatever it was, I got stuck between telling her to mind her own business and trying to make a good second impression on her. Luckily, patrolling was difficult enough that I could spend a block or two to think of as vague an answer as necessary.

By the time the sky started to turn to a light shade of purple, I was exhausted. I took small comfort in how everything was slowly getting brighter around me; by the time five-thirty came around and the first business owners started to legally come out into the streets, I congratulated myself on making it through one shift. That came with a quick mental retort, though; I still had two more weeks of night shifts to go before I was done with them.

Much to Sunset’s delight, Iron came and found us at a quarter ‘til six. When he invited me to his home for breakfast, her sense of curiosity radiated off her like it was heat—or maybe that was just my face doing its own thing. Either way, I talked him down to a diner, Sunset seemed disappointed, and I tried to focus on how I now had something good to look forward to after my shift.

At the diner, Iron met me with an apology. “I hope I wasn’t too forward?”

My armor was in the citadel, which made it easier to shrug. “I wasn’t expecting an invitation to your house, but now that I think about it, I still don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

We walked inside and took our seats across from each other. Iron was quiet until we’d ordered our drinks—I stuck with water; I didn’t trust “coffee”—but finally, he asked, “Why?”

I went back to my earlier thought process. “I... dunno. Because it’s your house? I’m not sure if we’re ‘there’ yet.” I wrapped the word with finger quotes.

Iron bent his head to the side when he shrugged. “Fair enough, I suppose. I mean... is there anything I can do to make you feel more welcome, or...”

“No.” I shook my head. “You’re welcoming enough, it’s just... I dunno. Private?”

He nodded. “Okay then. Just so you know, it’s an open invitation. And Maxie’s okay with it as well, if that helps.”

“Huh,” I noted. I didn’t know how that change had gone down between them, but I guessed it did help with things. Just not enough. “I mean, that’s good, but still... no, it’s... weird.”

Iron closed his eyes and shrugged. “I understand, and again, I hope I wasn’t too forward—especially in front of Officer Sunset. But I wanted to catch you before you left the city for the day.”

Before I could tell him that it was fine, our waiter came by to take our orders. Iron knew what he wanted—oatmeal, with a side of fruit—but I ran into difficulty when it turned out they didn’t bake potatoes until the lunch menu. Since I had put off reading the menu, I asked, “Well, what do you have?”

The waiter shrugged with a wink. “Just the usual stuff, ma’am. Toast...” He tilted his head at Iron. “Waffles, pancakes, oatmeal, eggs, grits...” He trailed off; my sudden disgust must have shown on my face.

Before he could say anything else, I pointed at Iron. “I’ll have what he’s having.” The waiter nodded, but I glared after him as he left the table, following him until I couldn’t crane my neck anymore.

Iron had an eyebrow raised when I turned back to him, but he didn’t say anything. I grumbled an explanation to my placemat: “Since when are eggs food?”

The outside of his eyebrow dropped as he chuckled and shakily agreed. “Yeah... and, uh, what sort of fool would even offer them to a griffin in the first place?”

I pressed the conversation with Iron a little longer until our food came; apparently chicken eggs were a common cooking ingredient among ponies. I stopped him from listing foods, though; two items on the list already told me I’d eaten more discharge than I wanted to know about.

Oatmeal was pretty disgusting, so as far as goop went. It was tricky to get into my beak, and once it was there, it had the exact texture and flavor of pond mud. That memory reminded me of two things: one, I’d probably be eating on my way home and two, I’d probably want to close my mouth while diving into any bodies of water.

After our shared mishap that Iron called a meal, we headed to the south gate. This time, I promised to come into town early enough for us to do dinner at night; one pony “breakfast” was enough to last me for a long while.

We continued saying goodbye; Iron added, “And again, I’m sorry for putting you on the spot in front of your partner like that.”

I shook my head and grinned weakly. “She knows we’re dating and that we eat, so...” I shrugged. “It’s cool.”

With a kiss, we said goodbye again. Then I took off for home. On the way there, I thought back over the entire night; by now, it was a blur of exhausted memories. I couldn’t even make heads or tails of whether it was a good evening; the only thing I knew for certain was that I didn’t like having to do two more weeks of night shifts.

* * *

Tuesday and Wednesday nights went a lot smoother than Monday did. I started getting a full day’s sleep, Iron and I got our schedule worked out around our shifts, and Sunset and I finally established some boundaries of when she needed to stop talking:

“I mean,” I whispered, “what you just asked? I’d feel weird talking to him about that.”

She raised an apologetic hoof. “Okay, sorry. But it’s gonna come up.”

I glared at her pun, then I swept my eyes at the rooftops. “Well, then we’ll talk about it when it does.”

“All right, all right...” Sunset nodded. “I didn’t know where you guys were at—that’s why I ask stuff. I mean, it’s not everyday you run into someone who’s dating the captain.”

However, by the time our shift began on Thursday, I was beginning to appreciate how I could have gotten a lot worse for a partner—which was saying something, seeing how my daytime partner had technically stabbed me at one point.

Those amicable feelings darkened when Lieutenant Sherry handed out our patrol orders for the night. Sunset and I were stationed right in the middle of the Artisan District, sharing a route with another pair of guards. I gave a quick glance to my former sergeant, but I didn’t ask why.

She gave me a raised eyebrow that replied, “Why not?”

The strangeness of the situation wasn’t lost on Sunset, either. To space things out with the other guards on our patrol, we had to do an extra run up and down the north half of the main drag of Farrington. It was during that leg of our patrol that Sunset said in a rushed whisper, “I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking.”

I scoffed. “Yeah. Like, you noticed the random patrols?”

“Well, duh.” She shook her head. “Then there’s the whole ‘Red Hooves making an example out of officers’ that somehow got you here in the first place.”

We walked in silence to the intersection where we went into the Artisan District. Before we took the turn, I muttered, “Der Bauch der Bestie...

Even if she probably didn’t know what it meant, Sunset replied, “Damn straight.”

The first lap around the district was about as strained and silent as I thought it would’ve been. Tonight, there was no small chit-chat between my partner and me; both of us were too busy scanning rooftops, alleyways, and everywhere that an ambush might be lying in wait.

Given the sheer volume of buildings and serviceways that were crammed into the cold, black industrial heart of Farrington, we fought a losing battle between absolute certainty of safety and keeping a regulation pace.

I almost jumped out of my skin when something prodded my shoulder; when I looked over at Sunset, she pointed her head at a blacksmith’s shop. This late in the day, it had long been closed for the night; however, an assortment of tools had been left on a workbench that was open to the street.

Before I registered what was happening, Sunset went over and picked up a hammer. She secured it on her guard’s belt, but as we started up our patrol I asked, “Isn’t that, uh, stealing?”

“Technical term is ‘requisitioning civilian equipment,’” she whispered. “It’s a twenty-bit hammer; if it’s missing or bloody by the end of our shift, I can get him a new one before he even opens for business. But no superior officer’s going to come out here to check us for ‘uniform,’ Gilda. Not while the city’s still on red alert after Monday.”

I nodded; I was made of blades and pain, so I wasn’t going to give her crap over defending herself. Instead, I took a brief moment to look up at the night sky. The streetlamps in Farrington were lit until curfew, but I still saw the stars and offered a silent prayer. It was a quick thing, and I smiled at its uselessness; even if anyone were listening, odds were good that they’d have better things to do that night.

Sunset and I spent our first eight laps around the Artisan District in agonizing, strained silence. On one level, I was almost glad that things didn’t get any easier; all it would take was one missed blur, one split second of a delay, and we’d have the lower hand in an ambush.

By the time we took our Guard-mandated break at a Guard-approved diner, I was a nervous wreck. We only had about twenty minutes at the diner, so Sunset and I split things up to make things more time-efficient. She ordered our food, I hit the bathroom, and I sat at the table while I waited for her to get empty.

When she got back to the table, our meal had arrived—technically, lunch, I mused—and we ate in near silence. It only broke when Sunset chuckled. “We totally should’ve hit a bar.”

I returned an uneasy laugh. One bad trip on cactus buds in the Waisenwüste had been enough mind-altering experiences for one decade; even then, I didn’t think it’d be particularly wise to start experimenting with new substances during a late-night shift in a potentially fatal part of town. I deflected with, “Yeah, but are there any even open?”

She shrugged, I shrugged, and we finished our meal break in silence.

As soon as we left the diner, Sunset picked up her hammer from the barrel she’d set it on before we went inside. I didn’t say anything while she rehung it from her belt; once it was in place, I led the march back into the Artisan District, the same as always: her on the right, me on the left.

Now that our break was over, I began to count down laps in a hopeful manner. It was two-forty-five, which meant we only had five laps to go. However, the half hours lingered; it was slow work to walk at a measured pace while checking every corner, alley, and shadow. Even with the Guard’s watchtowers giving us a small amount of visibility, we still patrolled in an incredibly thick darkness.

On our third-to-last lap, when we were on an eastward leg of our patrol, I saw movement.

I tilted my head towards Sunset and asked, “Did you see that?”

“No,” she whispered. “What was it?”

“Movement.” I looked at the alley I had seen a shadow had run into. It was a long serviceway that ran between two rows of businesses, so that trash collectors and supply deliveries could be made without clogging up the main streets. It ran north and south, and because of the way the streets were laid out in the Artisan District, that alleyway went on for about five hundred feet until the next intersection. I didn’t exactly remember where the other end of that alleyway was, but I remembered it was only a few blocks south of the wall.

The whole thing stank of a trap, but Sunset and I had to keep walking. Besides, I reasoned, if the trap were in the alley, then we could just walk past it, keep going to the main drag, where we could find some other guards for backup. I didn’t know the protocol for dealing with threatening situations, other than “investigate,” but seeing how we’d already deemed it dangerous, I assumed the next step was “escalation.”

We kept walking, sharp as glass. A moment later, Sunset asked, “What’s that smell?”

I didn’t notice anything, so I looked at her and shrugged—right as I heard a quiet snapping sound, followed by a fast, high-pitched whistling. Before I could fully turn to its source, Sunset twitched to a stop in my peripheral vision. I looked back at her; she wore a confusing, wide-eyed expression that looked like she were desperately asking me for something.

Before I could ask her what was up, I noticed the back end of a crossbow bolt sticking out of her jaw.

Shock drilled into my gut right when a second bolt hit her above the left eye socket, whipping her head to the side. That was it; she just slumped to the ground and lay motionless. I heard someone pleading “Nein,” over and over as fast as I could draw breath; then I realized that I was the next target.

I ducked my head in and ran forward to safety; I only made it five feet before the world exploded into a huge gust of heat.

I skidded to a halt before I hit the bright wall of flames; a quick turn around told me that I was surrounded on three sides by an inferno. I didn’t know how deep they were, but there was no way in hell I was going to fly over them; that was how meat got cooked.

A clatter near my feet was all I needed to get moving. Someone had shot Sunset; now they were shooting at me. I dashed for cover—away from the flames, into the alleyway. Behind me, I heard a wumpf of heat, then another. I turned, and line after line of fire erupted, chasing me. I had no idea how far the fire was going to travel, but I knew that I had no intention of staying there find out, either.

I ran.


Shit!” I hissed the swear out the side of my mouth.

Seven of us had been watching over the Artisan District from the roof of a seedy motel, looking for movement, but I’d been the one holding the binoculars when the fires went off. I took them away from my eyes and shook my head for a moment. Red Hooves was acting according to plan—my plan—but I hadn’t expected him to firebomb a whole fucking street, either.

“Party has start,” came a voice on my left. I didn’t know his name, and I never would. Those were Cold Front’s conditions, and I was happy to oblige.

Da.” I forced authority into my voice. That composure got threatened when I saw a glint of steel down below; when I took a closer look, I saw a Farrington patrol that was under attack. A quick glance around showed that the same thing was happening to the other patrols in the Artisan District. I shook my head again, then I saw jets of water vapor coming from the rooftops above the now-burning street—anti-air nets that Red Hooves’ forces had gotten ahold of.

I suppressed a swear as I saw a netted figure fall out of the air and right into the flames; Red Hooves’ stallions were definitely killing guards. That changed things. I had no doubt he was still tucked away safe in his underground fortress, but now, before I could head down there myself, I needed to make sure I wouldn’t run into an army on my trip back up.

That meant I’d need more time, more reinforcements—and a hero to pin this all on. Luckily, I’d come prepared. I turned to the three killers on my right and singled the two pegasi out. “You two, get on those rooftops. Take out those netters, and anyone else with a weapon. Stay low, stay quiet, and don’t get seen.” They nodded in unison, then jumped off our makeshift observation deck.

I turned to the remaining four—three earth ponies and a unicorn. “You four; hooves on the street. Protect the guards; kill anyone holding a weapon.” I pointed to one of the ponies. “You go watch over the captain’s house.” I looked back around to everyone as I finished, “And remember the cover story—no accents.”

This time, there weren’t any salutes or acknowledgement of orders from these four; instead we all headed over to the fire escape. My hooves glowed blue as they hit the rusted iron stairs without making a sound. When we got to street level, my soldiers headed to their destinations in the Residential and Artisan Districts, but I headed northeast to the Market District. Half of the reason was because I knew how this was going to end, and the other half was that I didn’t know how widespread Red Hooves’ end of the assault was.

When I was alone, I slid my disguise bracelet onto my back leg, over my steelweave armor—a modern approach to armor that blended the hardness of steel with the flexibility of cloth. The black fabric didn’t change color like my fur beneath it did, but no one knew I owned the armor, either. Between it and my disguise, I could move around Farrington in absolute anonymity.

On my trip through the Artisan District, I found a three-on-one fight. The officer was holding his own—over the body of his dead partner—but as I watched, he started to get backed into a wall. I sighed, hoping this wouldn’t slow me down; then I checked the blades that I wore on the insides of my forelimbs. They were secure, so I galloped into the fray.

I lined myself up with the three stallions; then I leaped forward and slit the first one. Before my hooves touched the ground, I spun and grabbed the other two by their necks. When I dropped onto four hooves, they hit the ground, bleeding out silently.

After twenty seconds, I was alone with one very terrified Farrington officer. “W-who are you?”

I smiled, equal parts act and truth. “You thought we were gone, just because our queen returned?”

Before he could stammer out any more questions, I ran off. If he survived, he’d be able to report that little quote, which would better explain my forces out on the streets. Just to make sure I wasn’t being followed by the guard—which wouldn’t have ended well for him—I slipped into a side alley and waited. I didn’t hear anyone in plate armor clamoring after me, so I ran at full speed to my original destination: the Market District.


The farther I ran down the alley, the more uneasy I felt. The flames behind me had either slowed down or stopped, but I still had a limited number of options for getting out of there. If I went up, I had to deal with crossbows. If I went back, flames.

I ran forward into uncertainty, which was my only real option; glances to my sides showed that the gaps between buildings were blocked with stacks of crates. When I was almost halfway through the alley, a quick hope crossed my mind that nothing was actually in here.

Then, I tripped.

Pain shot up my wrist as whatever it was stretched slightly, and I almost fell to the ground. Almost. As I flapped my wings to both catch my fall and jump over whatever it was that tripped me, one of my older brother’s half-wise quotes crossed my mind: “Tripping a griffin only accounts for the four limbs that don’t matter.”

I landed, but I didn’t have time to keep moving before something hit me hard and fast on the back-right side of my head. That time, wings or no, I stumbled as I desperately tried to turn to see who hit me. I felt sick to my stomach as the world started swaying, but I kept a reasonable grip on my consciousness.

The alley behind me was empty. I blinked as little lights started floating in front of my vision, but after I shook my head, a very dangerous individual walked out into the street. Sapphire fur, red mane... And I was just thinking about blowhard older brothers, I noted. Or they’re the, uh... same age thing.

Red Hooves bared his teeth in a crazed-rage grin, but it was his eyes that scared me. They were familiar, but not in how they looked. While I tried to place it, he took a few steps towards me, and I took a few steps back.

That just made him smile. “You’re stronger’n you look, y’know. But where’re my manners?” he asked in his usual, thick accent. “Good evenin’, Officer Griffin.”

The chills, and that damn lurch I felt in my gut, were what made me remember why his expression was familiar. All he needed was a beak and one less eye, and I’d be at a sudden, unwanted family reunion. From the feel of it, I already had a not-uncommon concussion.

But here we were, then. Three years after the fact, I’d gotten stronger.

Reality and memory threatened to blur, which was another source of anger; one way or another, I felt a blaze burning me back into a coherent mindset. Coherent enough to handle things officially, anyway. I pointed a finger at him said, “You are under arrest, for the murder of a Farrington Officer.”

He laughed. It was deep and merry, and when he finally finished, he flashed his teeth at me again. “So arrest me, then.”

I took a step forward to start off what I knew would be a physical confrontation—it was always a physical confrontation. Red’s smile grew, and I was distracted by the sound of loud pops of air coming from the rooftops. I stopped, but I knew better than to take my eyes off my opponent.

“D’you like it?” He winked. “I think it’sa nice touch o’ irony. Pegasus guards gettin’ netted down by the Guard’s own weapons. But don’ think any flyboys’re gonna be comin’ t’your rescue.”

I froze, suddenly unsure of whether I wanted to try my chances in a fight with this guy. My talons were under gauntlets, so I wouldn’t be able to go for anything seriously damaging; however, if I were apprehending him, I didn’t want to cut his throat open.

“So...” He cocked his head to the side. “Since you weren’ supposed t’be awake at this point o’ operations, I’m gonna make you an offer.”

The way he said it made me antsy as I thought of ways to get my gauntlets off. The talons on my right hand weren’t fully grown back yet, but Father had mostly taught me “traditional” killing attacks, which used my left hand so I could hold a right hand in my other. Regardless, I was stuck waiting to see where this conversation turned.

“The time for my original offer has passed,” Red said plainly. “But you know why you’re ‘ere. If you come quietly, willingly, I promise it won’ hurt.”

“Some offer,” I scoffed.

He shook his head. “Oh... don’ think I don’ know how to hurt you. You took the one thing from me I ‘old dear and true. You’re leverage, Officer Griffin; ain’t no one concerned with what shape you get traded in. Alive is such a broad term, so I suggest you think—really think—what the next words out your beak are.”

I can think of two, I thought. However, I was stuck in a situation that I needed to get out of. I could slip off a gauntlet if he didn’t see—which was a problem, given how the light from the fires at the other end of the street were shining on me. Of course, there was still running, but I didn’t know how many other tripwires or deterrents the alleyway held.

Neither option seemed exceptionally safe or good, so I went with the third tactic: stalling. I shook my head. “You know, for all...” I waved my hand around at the buildings and alley. “This? I think you overlooked part of your ‘master plan.’”

“Oh?” He smirked.

I chuckled. “Yeah. I mean, you—or whatever that was—didn’t knock me out, so... good on that apprentice...” I wondered if he would know a way out of this situation. “But now I’m here, we’re talking... and your plan basically comes down to you winning a fight against me.”

His smile didn’t dampen, which worried me. “Oh, I know, Officer Griffin. And I have no intention o’ facing you, one-on-one, in a fight.”

It clicked as soon as he blew a loud, shrill whistle out of his lips. The alleyway around me exploded—boxes overturned, doors opened, and ten ponies swarmed around me on all sides, forming a tight circle. A quick glance around showed that most of them were holding a weapon of some sort; the two that weren’t looked like their hooves could punch a hole in a building.

After the weapons, I noticed they were all wearing the same type of hat: small, round, and tapered to a short brim in front. That’s that hat store mystery solved, I noted, but before I could dwell on it, clicking noises from above drew my eyes upwards. Two crossbow-wielding stallions, one on either rooftop, were looking down their weapons’ sights at me.

I looked back to Red Hooves, who was still wearing his evil, overly pleased grin. He said, “Time’s runnin’ out, Officer Griffin. So... what’sit gonna be? Pain, or no pain? Or d’you think your friends in the Guard give half a damn enough t’come risk a rescue?”


On the way to Starfall’s, I had over two minutes to try and process everything that had happened: One: Red Hooves had set up more than a trap for Gilda—he’d declared all-out war on the streets of Farrington.

Two: at least four guards were already dead, and they’d keep dying until this night came to an end—unless my three Stalliongrad assassins could turn the tide. That wholly depended on how many idiots Red had convinced to follow his orders, but I didn’t want to think about numbers now.

Three: I needed a cover story of my own. Without looking down, I could smell that I was covered in blood, which wouldn’t do well for showing up at Starfall’s house—too many questions. The solution presented itself almost as soon as I thought of the problem: the Market Square fountain. It wasn’t deep enough to swim in, but the spray would help me get tactically presentable.

I dove into the fountain, trying to remember what time the guards were slated to come through the Market Square. Fifteen seconds into my makeshift bath, I looked down at the black-stained water and decided it’d be good enough. At night, the whole city was too dark to really tell the finer details.

As I started running again, I became slightly aware of the sensation of my hair and fur hardening. That brought me back to the fourth and final point of interest for the evening: I still had a regime to topple. Regardless of his warmongering, I still needed to get to Red Hooves’ main base of operations. The freezing rune-bomb was in a pouch on my hip, one I’d worn under my armor for a week to get used to the cold.

Finally, I got to the end of my cross-city dash. As I approached Starfall’s house, I looked around for any would-be assailants—Starfall’s, Iron’s, and my house were all likely targets if Red were being “smart” about declaring war on all of Equestria.

No one was in the street and the house looked quiet, so after a quick trip around the back to make sure it was safe, I pounded on Starfall’s door. Little flecks of ice cracked and fell off my lavender hoof; in a split-second’s panic, I kicked the disguise bracelet off my hind leg. There weren’t any noises inside, so I took a moment to hang it back on my belt before I knocked on the door again.

This time, I heard stirring and hoofbeats coming to the door. After the locks slid open, Starfall opened the door and we glared at each other for a few moments. He finally frowned and asked, “What are you wearing... and why are you... icy?”

“Sherry’s supposed to be served chilled,” I deflected. He grunted in frustration, so I moved on to my business: “Red’s killing guards in the Artisan District. He’s got unicorns and explosives. Get your family safe, get armed, and get in there.”

His eyes widened at first, but then he nodded and closed the door. I smiled at that. He was a good soldier; he didn’t even point out that neither of us were in a position to give or take orders. Then again, I chalked that up to six years’ loyalty to the night shift.

I sighed, which came out as a wisp of fog in the hot August night. It made me shiver, which caused a tinkling cascade of ice shards fall out of my mane. But with Starfall woken up, I could hit up two more homes of combat-able guards on my way back into the Artisan District.

That thought snapped me back into action, and I took off into the street. I’d started a war; now it was time to end it.


Fighting would be suicide. Hell, I didn’t need a Sternwolf to tell me that. Actually... I risked a glance at the stars. Probably couldn’t hurt.

Back on my planet, Red and his army were not-so-patiently waiting for my answer. Without fighting, I needed to get out of the situation—Father had not bred a coward, so I wasn’t taking the “offer” of surrender. However, I needed to get un-surrounded, which meant that I’d have to do a little fighting. But I’d go for shock and awe, like lightning, then be gone before the thunder rolled in.

“Shock” needed some surprise, so I shook my head and bluffed. Hard. “Neither of those. Because you...” I looked around at the ponies around me, one by one, and checked their hoof stances. The one behind me at five o’clock was smaller than the rest, and his tripod stance was too narrow in the back. “All of you, are now under arrest.”

Their gale of laughter was perfect; in a flash, I twisted and pounced on the stallion behind me. In the same movement, I buried my beak into his shoulder socket and bit through the tendon; with any luck, that’d slow the pack down. I pushed off him—who overreacted a little with, “SHE’S EATING ME!”—and leaped down the alleyway in a mad sprint for freedom.

The archers on the rooftops were quick. I barely cleared my victim before I felt a crossbow bolt bounce off the center of my chest armor—the medallion. Before I counted myself too lucky, I heard a metallic rap and felt a sharp pain in my left wing. That was a new pain, but I only felt it in my wing, not my side. I was alive, but my wing was pinned to my armor. With flight out of the question, the injury at least gave me adrenaline for running harder.

Seconds later, I heard a familiar gust of compressed air that washed over me in a liquid weight. I tried to get the net off while running, but it was a lost cause. I finally tripped, which only tangled me further. Despite my efforts, in a matter of seconds, I could barely move; that knowledge was followed quickly by a shroud of doubt and realization that I had lost.

The shroud took roots and threatened to overcome me. I forced it down with one brutal truth: If I were going to die, or be kidnapped, raped, tortured, whatever... I was not going down hysterically, panicking, and trapped in a net.

Razor-sharp hate steeled my thoughts, and I clung to it for dear life. It opened a tiny window in my mind, one where I realized I needed to ditch my gauntlets. If I did, I could get out of that net and better fight off Red Hooves’ gang—who I could hear rushing over to me, but I toned that out.

Instead, I slowly, methodically slid my left arm up against my chest’s armor. Once I had it there, I worked on pushing it up to my beak; if I could bite off the strap and get my talons free, the net would fall off me like wet paper. The process was slow and painstaking; to keep my mind busy, I thought back to an instance of training with Father, one that had ended with me exhausted, bruised, but luckily, not broken.

He stepped back to admire his work, and I tried not to glare as I stood back up. “You hate me,” he said with relish. “I see it on your pathetic face as clearly as I can see the leaves on the trees. As amusing as it is, I am glad. You hate me now, but just know that one day, there will be those who intend to hurt you.”

I got the gauntlet to my beak and sliced through the leather strap. I bit one of the metal fingers and slid my hand free, grateful that I could now start on the net itself.

Like usual, his advice only brought more confusion. “Why... who...” I tried to speak, but I was winded from about six punches too many to my diaphragm.

Once I made a enough of a hole to free my arm, I worked on growing it until I could fit my head and other shoulder through. Red Hooves’ crowd was almost on me; I distantly noted that I had to work faster.

“Why?” he asked in an amused tone. “One day, perhaps, you will understand. Or maybe you selfishly wish to know, ‘Why me?’ If that is the case, simply name a sister, a replacement, and I will gladly rid our race of your ineptitude.”

I climbed out of the net and turned around to face my assailants. They were only ten feet away from me. Red Hooves held up an foreleg and everyone stopped; when he spoke, his eyes flared and his accent vanished into a dark, hateful tone: “Last chance, half-breed. If you make my boys shoot again, I’m gonna have ‘em shoot for the kill. Ransom’s easier than you’re making it; don’t make me choose a softer target.”

I came in low and fast on his left, where he couldn’t see as well. He threw out a punch, but I expected it and grappled his arm. I pulled myself behind his head and brought down my right hand, talons out, into his good eye. Before my blow landed, Father grabbed my wrist with both hands and swung me to the ground like a club. He chuckled. “It is also good you have someone to fight for. But one must choose battles wisely. Some are worth fighting.” He planted one foot between my shoulders, still holding my arm. “Others, will only end...” He pulled my arm out of its socket and snapped it for good measure. “In pain.”

My eyes darted up to the rooftops. Four ponies now had weapons pointed at me—two crossbows, two net launchers. They were the real threat here; as long as I didn’t get surrounded, the ponies on the ground would be a lot more manageable.

Gone were the thoughts of mercy, of running. Now, I had only one option: dealing directly with this lowlife piece of criminal scum. He was so arrogant as to threaten me, kill my comrades, and burn my city... For what? Vengeance? It was a new source of anger, but I welcomed it like an old friend and wore it like a second suit of armor.

If Red Hooves wanted to kill me, I would show him just how hard that would be.

I stood up on my hind legs and released a centuries-old war cry. The ponies in front of me shrank back, afraid—as they should have. Ten-on-one was an even fight, and that was only because they were armed with weapons.

Silence fell over us. Red Hooves glared at me a moment before shouting, “Kill her!”

The only response from the rooftops was the sound of a commotion, gurgling, and then someone pleading, “No, no, n—” before a single crossbow fell down to the street between Red Hooves and me.

He looked down at the weapon, then up to the rooftops, then back at me.

I was already in the air, leaping for him.

One of his stallions, either brave or dumb, got between us. We connected; my momentum flipped me on top as we rolled into the crowd. Two left-hand talons in, out, and I kicked off his midsection to jump back out of the fray.

I didn’t get far enough; someone came at my right with a sword. Luckily, I caught it on my wing-guard. Then I ducked into it, under his chest, and flipped him on his back—just in time to see the stallion behind me with a knife. I dodged left as he slashed once, twice. The third time, I grabbed the blade with my right hand; thanking my gauntlet, I threw the knife down the empty alley behind me.

The rest of the pack massed towards me—except their coward leader, behind them. Getting surrounded would be bad. I leaped towards the stallion on the right flank; two seconds later, he was down, disabled, and I had my back to the wall with seven ponies in front of me. They rushed at me like water, threatening to flow around me on all sides.

I whipped out my baton to stem the tide. No time for flanking; I just rushed in and swung at the neck of the closest one. He dodged, and two blows landed on my left side. I fell into them, getting away from them right in time to see someone swinging down with his sword. I dropped my baton and rolled on my back, gripping the blade and twisting it out of the owner’s grip.

It was far from an ideal position. I rolled right, away from them, but someone was already on that side, too. Still holding it by the blade, I stabbed the sword at him. He hopped onto one hoof to dodge, so I wrapped myself around it and pulled him to the ground with me, rolling on top. I held the sword up over him, he closed his eyes; I blinked, then cut his shoulder tendon.

Two stallions on either side of me—the big guys—rushed in, massive and clumsy. I dove in, low, at the left one and cut his shoulder; he crumpled. Then I turned and leaped up to fly over the second big stallion; when I flapped, pain ripped through my left wing.

I flew right, over the second big guy, but I landed on my back. Before he could turn around, I gripped my sword—which I still held somehow—by its hilt and swung it into his flank. He fell down, taking the sword with him, but now it was just four on one.

I stood up on two legs, trying to ignore the pain in my wing. Not wanting to be forgotten, the back of my head throbbed too. That split second’s hesitation was all it took; suddenly, my adrenaline evaporated, and I felt dizzy and exhausted.

The four stallions in front of me didn’t need to know that, though. They held back, which made sense; I’d just mangled the other half of their gang. Fear works, I realized. I scrambled to pick a weapon off the ground—a spiked club—and pointed it at them. “Stand down, or I’m gonna ramp up the ‘self defense’ part of this.”

None of them said anything, which made me think they were considering it.

Then, pain exploded in the back of my skull.

I crumpled to the ground; all of a sudden, it was a fight to stay conscious. During that haze, I became distantly aware of many punches, kicks, and other blows I’d long-since learned to tune out. A few times, I lost my personal fight, but I always seemed to snap back awake to receive another jolt of muted pain.

When it was over, everything I had was tied together with rope: my hands, feet, and wings all burned at the tightness of the knots. Red Hooves stepped over me—he’d been behind me the whole time—and turned around to loom over me. He had a smarmy grin, for some reason; then I remembered the fight we’d just been part of.

Leaning down, he gloated, “Well, well, well... I ‘ope that was fun. ‘Cause now, i’ss your turn.” He patted my cheek; I bit at his hoof, which only made him smile wider. Then, he turned to his lackeys, “Get the weapons, get the griffin, and le’s get lost.”

I felt myself being hoisted onto the backs of pair of stallions, which gave me a quick view of the other two stallions’ mad dash to pick up their fallen comrades’ weapons—and ignoring their pleas for help. The back of my mind noted I shouldn’t feel sorry for them, but I couldn’t remember why.

My captors started heading toward the north end of the alleyway, and I racked my brain as to why that was a bad thing. Father lived to the north, true, but they wouldn’t be able to take me back there—I had a... banishment thing. So we were stuck in Farrington, just like after my fight with Iron.

Iron.

That snapped me back to reality with a jerk—one that earned a slap from a stallion who warned me to “keep still.” But I remembered; this was all an attempt to... what, get to him, through me, to avenge Red Hooves’ sister? The more I thought of it, the more the plan didn’t make sense; Iron was the Captain of the Guard, he didn’t have anything to do with the prison system.

That brought me to a very real possibility that this wasn’t about anything as logical as “ransom.” It was extremely likely that this entire thing was just about me, as revenge for... what had he called his sister? “His only true thing in the world?”

I did not want to go where they were taking me. It would probably involve lots of sharp things, and it’d mirror the Sterkergeist art of keeping a prisoner alive.

As hard as I tried to strain against my bonds, they didn’t budge, and I got another hoof across the head for my troubles. That time, my hand and leg on one side went numb, which scared me more than any prospective torture could. I didn’t want to die, not now, not here.

The irony was overwhelming. Three months ago, when I’d decided I didn’t have anything worth living for, I had seriously considered death as an alternative to a long, empty life. Iron had found me after that, and he’d fought for me—and against me, even—to pick me up out of where I was. Sure, I’d been the one making the choices, but he’d given me options... now, after all his help, and I was worried about dying.

Three months... the timeline reminded me of Junior Speedsters, in a scary-accurate mirror. There was the one friend in the face of all the prejudice, then there was the difficulty with counselors which led up to the physical confrontation, where the other pony ended up disabled...

Then there was the test at the end, of everything I’d learned. And when I failed, there was Father to beat the hell out of me and throw me out of my home. Except Red Hooves was going to be a little more metaphorical about the whole “life banishment” thing.

I didn’t know when I started crying, but I couldn’t breathe enough to sob. All I could do was look up at the night sky, out of the corner of my eye. Stars blurred into streaks; one blink turned them into pointed dots. I found Ziu, not the most pleasant of gods, but I was desperate enough to beg, I would give anything...

My two captors jolted to a stop.

Terrified, my eyes fell from the stars to the mouth of the alleyway we had almost gotten out of. In the intersection stood an avatar of rage; for a second, before I came to my senses, I could have sworn that his eyes burned like molten steel.

Red Hooves, still behind his troops, gave a contemptuous command: “Get outta our way, kid.”

Starfall flared a wing, planted three hooves, and gripped his knife. Through his teeth, he answered, “Or what?”

A chuckle came from behind me. “I’ss five-on-one; you don’ stand a chance.”

Try me.”

The stallion near my head drew a sword and held the tip to my neck. “Outta the way, fly boy, or—”

Starfall’s hoof barely twitched and the stallion fell away from me, gurgling, knife sticking out of his throat. Before the body hit the ground, Starfall was charging into the two stallions that held me. They tried to set me down, but Starfall met them, and the four of us crashed to the cobblestones in a confusing tangle. I got thrown to the side, where I rolled like a sausage into a position where I could only see the entrance to the alleyway.

I heard a series of heavy, hollow blows landing: one, two, then finally, three. Starfall boasted, “One-on-one, you bastard. Now... oh, shit.

Hooffalls approached me and, moments later, my bonds popped off, one set after another. Starfall pulled me up by my armor’s shoulder hole, “We need to catch him!”

I got my feet under me and turned; around me, I noted the four unmoving forms of my captors. Down the alleyway, Red Hooves was fifty feet away and quickly gaining distance. I took a step forward, but the exertion of turning around had been too much for me, and I collapsed. I couldn’t walk, let alone chase after a criminal lord. Starfall let out a concerned, “Gilda?” but I didn’t answer. I was completely spent.

The crossbow on the ground next to me wasn’t.

I picked it up and, from what I could tell, it was ready to fire. It was designed to be worn on the end of a hoof, so I made a fist with my left hand and stuck it on. I lined up the sights, becoming distinctly aware that I had no idea how to shoot a crossbow.

By that point, Red Hooves was nearly a hundred feet away. I had no idea how accurate the crossbow was supposed to be, but I tried to aim for his right knee...

“Aim higher than your target, to account for gravity,” Starfall said, tension thick in his voice.

I aimed at the back of Red Hooves’ head, using one of the sights that had a distance printed on it. Figuring things weren’t going to get any more accurate, I flexed my wrist against the bolt-firing mechanism, and the crossbow’s snapping was accompanied by the whistling sound that the bolt made.

It hit Red Hooves straight under the tail.

He fell forward, on his stomach, before he jerked onto his side in a fetal position. He threw up, but he was otherwise silent; from his writhing, I guessed that he couldn’t scream after having the wind knocked out of him.

Behind me, I heard Starfall half-shudder, half-cough. “Ah... ah... r... really?”

I tried to say something cute, but I suddenly felt a rush of chilly wind come over me. Cold was bad, I reminded my broken body, but it didn’t care. Everything around me went farther and farther away. The fire at the far end of the street shrank to a pinprick; Starfall’s voice faded into a dampened, soft echoing as he called out my name over and over again.

First, I struggled against the encroaching darkness; eventually, I gave in and let it take me... wherever it was taking me.

The last thing I noticed was, for some reason, it was snowing.