Every city, even Canterlot, has its bad streets. Not bad neighborhoods; every neighborhood is a bad neighborhood to someone else. These are the streets that every foal knows instinctively not to walk down, the ones the Guard march by without a second glance, the kind that even the most foolhardy adventurer dare not enter. In the heart of even the fairest community there is a place where darkness lurks and all the evils of the world are permitted to rot in silence, if one only knows where to look for it.
All this was lost on Written Script as he dashed down the nearest alleyway, gasping and panting.
It was dusk, though one would be forgiven for not knowing it; the black smog that the nearby factories constantly belched out had long ago completely coated the inner surface of the magical bubble that surrounded the city, cutting off all but the most direct sunlight. The unceasing hum of air purifiers and faulty streetlights were the only noises around the unicorn as he ran, the closest the city had come to silence since his arrival. While earlier he had been desperate to get away from the dirty and coughing throngs in the main streets, now he searched for a single sign of life as he raced between the towering and ominous spires. He caught sight of a small door with light shining through the cracks in its frame and skidded to a halt, frantically knocking. “Help me!” he yelled.
From within, there was the scrape of a heavy latch being shut, and then the light beneath the door went out.
Just as Written Script turned away, he heard the sound of his pursuer once again, the same sound that had been following him for the past ten minutes. He froze in place and shuddered, trying very hard not to breathe, as a hoofstep echoed down the alleyway behind him.
Just one single, solitary hoofstep. Just enough to make him stop running, if only for a moment. Just enough to make him wonder if he had even heard it at all.
Panic broke the spell and Script took off running yet again. He took corners at random, praying under his breath for a sign of life and once again cursing whatever city planner had decided to model Canterlot’s slums after a minotaur’s labyrinth. “Help!” he cried again, though he was starting to suspect that he was wasting his breath.
One turn later and he slid to a halt, almost bashing his nose on a fence that reared up in front of him. A chain-link wall stretched across the narrow street, forming a dead end on both sides. “Oh, come on!” Written Script yelled, stomping in frustration. “These really exist? What is even the point of this?” The single hoofstep echoed behind him again, but he ignored it, pointing forward. “Look, I can see the street goes on beyond here! There are ponies living here! What possible use could there be for a barely-threatening obstacle in the middle of the street?”
There was a long pause before the ominous hoof hit the cobbles again, a little more insistently. One by one, the streetlights behind him flickered and went out.
With a noise that was half gasp and half groan, Written Script surveyed his options. Adrenaline making a comeback, he quickly climbed on top of a discarded trash bin and made a leap for the top of the fence, barely catching it with his forehooves. A hoof crashed into the stones behind him as he kicked his hind legs frantically, straining to pull himself up. He caught the edge of a metal loop beneath one hoof and bucked out, giving him just enough of a boost to hurl himself over the edge as the darkness closed in behind him. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes and groaned, then hastily sprung back up and turned around triumphantly. “Hah!”
The street behind him was empty, the lights on and unwavering. Before he could react, he felt a tall shape behind him and breath against his ear. “Boo.”
Sometimes the body acts before the brain has a chance to stop it. Even as he screamed at himself not to, he slowly looked around and bumped horns with a visage of fangs and bright blue light.
To Written Script’s credit, he only wet himself a little as he passed out and the beast fell upon him. He was the third pony to have done so that night. He would not be the last.
“Wakey wakey! Rise and shine, customer of mine!”
What Written Script felt next would have been difficult to describe to a non-unicorn. In fact, he would have struggled to describe it to a fellow unicorn, as it was like nothing he’d ever experienced in his life. He felt cold, but not cold; hungry, but not hungry; utterly drained, as though a vast ocean inside of him had been reduced to a scorching desert. His inner organs creaked and rustled against one another, and a dull pain was slowly spreading from his horn, a pull for energy that simply wouldn’t come. But just as the walls of his parched seabed began to crack, new life sprang up within him. A wellspring of energy flooded down his throat and through his system, jolting him awake and sending a spray of sparks from his horn as his eyes snapped open.
What he felt next was more genuine cold, curled up on his back in the corner of the alley and the chain fence where he’d been captured. A little glass vial was being pressed against his lips, the last drops of a thick liquid being poured into his mouth. He leaped up, coughing and spluttering as he gasped for breath.
“Yippee, you’re awake!” A peculiar pony stepped back from him and tossed the vial expertly into her satchel, doing a little jig on the spot. Written Script stared. The mare in front of him was an earth pony, the first he’d seen since entering Canterlot, and the most vibrant shade of pink he’d ever clapped eyes on. Her face had been painted white, plastering her hair to her skin, while her mane rose high and bouncy above her head. She wore a tattered old coat with an impractically large faux fur collar, as well as a stained and muddied medical satchel that bounced against her side as she danced.
Script spoke the first word that came to mind, which also happened to be the second, third, fourth and sixth words he thought of. “What?”
The fifth word was uh.
“I saved you, silly!” The strange pony ceased dancing and began an improbable four-legged hop in a semicircle around Script. “That mean old Midnight just sucked every last drop of magic out of you. Lucky for you, I check this fence every Thursday. If I’d waited just one more minute, your insides would have gone kablooey!” She demonstrated with her hooves, which did nothing to calm Script’s frazzled nerves.
Something sizzled on the ground. Script looked down. The last drops of a glowing blue liquid was dripping from his lips. Even though the fluid was cold, it hissed and sparked as it splashed on the cobbles below. He licked his lips; the drink was flavorless, but the tiny amount he’d ingested seemed to have swelled in his stomach to the size of a three-course meal, plus biscuits and coffee. He found his voice again. “What?”
The pink pony stopped bouncing. “Oh, I get it,” she said, her voice and eyes suddenly full of wonder. “You must be new here!” She bolted forward, putting her face uncomfortably close to Script’s. “Are you new? Are ya? Huh, huh, huh? How long have you been in Canterlot?”
“T-two weeks,” Written Script stammered back, backing up against the wall as much as he could. “All the ads said it was a haven for unicorns. A... a good place to start a family.”
“Then I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” The mare backed up and raised herself onto her hind legs, doing an elaborate bow. “The name’s Graverobber. But folks ‘round here call me Pinkie Pie. Or...” She looked puzzled. “Or is it the other way around?” Several uncomfortable seconds passed while she contemplated this, then shrugged and dropped back to all fours. “I’m your guide, your ghost, and your guarantee of a good night’s sleep. Anytime you’ve got a question, just give old Pinkie a call.”
“Uh, thanks,” Script said, edging away, “but I think I’ve had my fill of crazy for tonight. I’ve really gotta be getting home, so if you could just point me out of here...”
“Yeah, sure.” Pinkie Pie turned away without so much as a disappointed look, pointing down the alley. “Second street on the right, then straight on ‘til morning.”
“Um... thanks.” Script trotted sideways and began to back away, afraid to take his eyes off of the strange mare in front of him. It was only when he’d stumbled awkwardly all the way to the corner that she’d indicated that he finally turned away, preparing to gallop as far and as hard as his hooves would carry him.
“But are you sure you want to go?”
Against his better judgement, he stopped. Legs still tensed, he looked back. Pinkie Pie had risen up and was slowly advancing towards him, a peculiar smile on her face as she spoke in a melodic, sing-song tone. “Out in the night, through the mist, steps a figure... no one really knows her name for sure. She lives in the blank spot behind both your shoulders, in every dark nook and behind every door. Maybe you think it’s a safe time to party, now that you’ve wriggled out once from her trap, but as long as your magical payments are tardy, the horn on your head will keep calling her back...”
Written Script shuddered. He didn’t resist as Pinkie Pie strolled up to him and nuzzled his cheek, drawing up to his side comfortingly. “All my life,” he said shakily, “I was told that Canterlot was a city of light. That it was a good, safe place, where friendship and reason ruled, and ponies could live together in peace and harmony.”
He looked up. The sky was black as soot, the once-gleaming spires of the city not much better. Every window and door was locked and barred, and floating, flickering streetlights glared down harshly on empty and dust-covered streets. Holding back a shudder, he looked to Pinkie Pie, tears in his eyes. “What happened here?”
The pink pony nodded sympathetically, throwing a sooty foreleg around his shoulders. “Follow me to my home downtown,” she said, raising a hoof wide, “and I’ll tell you the story of how it all went down...”
The Story of How It All Went Down (according to Pinkie Pie)
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“Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria, there were two regal sisters who ruled together and created harmony for all the land...”
Written Script sniffed and looked around, only half-listening. They alley they’d arrived in was virtually identical to the one that Pinkie Pie had led him from twenty minutes ago, right down to the chain-link fence with what he would have sworn was exactly the same dent in one corner. The only difference was the addition of a messy campfire, surrounded by old cans and bits of garbage, and a group of maybe a dozen grubby school-age foals. He couldn’t imagine that none of them had heard this story before, but all were staring in rapt attention as Pinkie Pie pranced and posed, speaking in a majestic voice that wasn’t quite her own.
Script nudged the foal nearest him, a yellow earth pony with a frayed pink bow in her mane. “Where are your parents?” he asked.
“Shh!” she hissed back, pressing a hoof against her lips.
“And so began the Thousand Years Argument,” Pinkie Pie continued. “The two sisters parted ways, and only spoke to each other once a century forever after. The Princess of the Sun stayed with the ponies of Equestria and became the most wise and generous ruler the land had ever known, leading her little ponies in friendship and harmony. But the Princess of the Moon left Equestria and traveled across the sky, all alone. And so every time the Princesses met, the Princess of the Sun was a little happier, and the Princess of the Moon was a little sadder. This went on until one day, one thousand years after they’d parted ways, the good Princess went to meet her sister and found a pony who wasn’t her sister at all, but a monster... Nightmare Moon!”
The foals all gasped. Written Script didn’t react at all.
“Full of sadness and envy, Nightmare Moon descended upon Equestria, trying to snatch little ponies away from their families and keep them for herself. With great sadness, the good Princess was forced to use an ancient magic, the Elements of Harmony, to seal her sister away inside the very moon she’d loved so much.
“But just hours after Nightmare Moon was defeated, along came another problem, hot on the hooves of the first. Without the magic of the Princess of the Night to hold it, the moon could not be moved through the sky to make way for the sun, casting Equestria into eternal night. Celestia tried and tried, but she didn’t have the strength to move the sun and the moon together. With no other choice, she called upon the magic users of Equestria to save themselves from a thousand years of darkness. As they did in ancient times, it would be up to the unicorns to move the moon across the sky.”
Written Script shuddered. He remembered that night, and the day that had utterly failed to follow it. Nopony had any clue what was going on; all the action was up in Canterlot, leaving Ponyville both literally and figuratively in the dark. More than eight hours had passed before the moon had even started to move again, dragging out a noticeably slower crawl across the sky, and entire days came and went before anypony had any idea of what had transpired. That was when the shield had gone up, and had shown no signs of coming down since.
Pinkie Pie interrupted his thoughts by throwing a vial of something silver into the fire, causing it to erupt in a plume of white smoke. The foals oohed and aahed in a seemingly choreographed way as Pinkie sculpted this with her hooves, drawing rapid circles in the air until a sphere of glowing cloud remained. “The spell was difficult to cast,” she continued solemnly. “Once, when all unicorns lived together and everypony knew what to do, the unicorn race was able to raise and lower the sun and moon with ease. But now, with ponies of all kinds spread all over Equestria, the only ones who could help were the ones in Canterlot. With time running out and magical energy running low, Celestia devised... a plan.
“From that night forth, and every night until Nightmare Moon’s return, every unicorn who lives in Canterlot must pay a magic tax.” She pointed upwards, towards the height of Canterlot. Rising nearly to the top of the shield, visible even from all the way down in the slums, the former Lunar Tower stood grim and blackened by soot. Near the top was an enormous silver sphere, kept gleaming and shining at all times, that glowed with a faint magical energy. Now that the moonrise was nearly upon them, every few seconds a bright line of magic would shoot towards it from somewhere within the city, causing it to pulse and glow slightly brighter with each addition.
“Oh, that’s what that’s for?” Written Script said, surprised. “They mentioned something about that at the gate, but I thought they were just asking for donations. Well, I’m glad that’s settled, then.” He sat back, breathing a sigh of relief. “How high is the tax? If all the scrawny nobleponies around here can manage it, then I’m sure it’s nothing too unmanageable.”
Pinkie’s grin widened. “By sundown each day, each and every unicorn is expected to produce...” She leaned over the fire towards him. He caught some of the foals around him stifling giggles, watching him for his reaction. “One point twenty-one jiggawatts.”
Script’s jaw dropped. “Wuh... one point... twuh-twuh-twenty one...” The foals burst out laughing, while he spluttered wordlessly for a few seconds and then burst out angrily at Pinkie Pie. “Are you insane!?”
“I get asked that a lot,” Pinkie Pie said reflectively, looking up at the sky. “I wonder why.” Then she shrugged. “But it’s still the law.”
“But... but...” Script clutched at his heart. “How? Every doctor says the maximum recommended daily output is one! A lot of ponies can’t even get that high! I could maybe do it once or twice, on a really good day, but I’d get burnt out in less than a week! How is this even possible?”
“It isn’t,” Pinkie answered calmly. “But that’s how much magic it takes to keep the moon spinning. Celestia’s tried to keep bringing more unicorns to Canterlot, so every pony has to do just a little bit less work, but it hasn’t been enough. You fell for one of those ads yourself, right?”
“R-right,” he answered, the overly-aggressive marketing in Ponyville suddenly starting to make more sense. “They said... they said that this was a good place to come to raise a family.” He lowered his head in shame, then rapidly raised it, eyes wide. “My daughter,” he gasped. “She’s a unicorn too. Does she-”
“Not ‘til she’s taken her Magical Aptitude Test,” Pinkie reassured him.
“Oh, phew.” Script wiped his forehead. “That’s still more than a year off. She’s safe until then. But... that still leaves me,” he pressed. “How does anypony survive in these conditions?”
Pinkie backed up and grinned, resuming her storytelling voice. “In order to help Canterlot’s unicorns keep up with the demand for magic,” she continued, “Celestia’s smartest scientists developed Hydrate,-”
“Hydrate!” the foals yelled in unison, each thrusting a grubby hoof into the air.
“-a powerful magical supplement,” Pinkie carried on as if nothing had happened. She reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a string of vials of glowing blue liquid, the same kind that Written Script had drunk from earlier. “One of these a day will give you enough magical energy to keep that moon up in the sky, plus a little more besides. Every factory you see keeps making this stuff, night and day, keeping Canterlot strong and Equestria safe. And all this can be yours, fresh off the lines of Canterlot’s chemical farms, for the low, low price of just twenty-five bits a pop!”
Written Script’s delight at the existence of such a substance was shattered immediately at the mention of the price. “That’s almost as crazy as making the magic in the first place,” he moaned. “Maybe that’s fine for those spoiled nobles, but I know half of Canterlot can’t afford that!”
“And that’s where your friendly neighborhood Graverobber comes in.” Pinkie Pie gestured around herself, and the dozen foals zipped from their places and stood proudly by her sides. “You see, this stuff isn’t fresh from Canterlot’s chemical farms,” she continued, shaking the chain of vials in the air. “If you know where to look, you can find enterprising ponies like myself selling Hydrate-”
“Hydrate!” the foals yelled again, punching the air.
“-for just two bits a bottle. There’s just one catch, though.” Pinkie looked the chain around her neck and leaned over the fire, casting shadows up her face. “Where do you think I got my name?” she teased.
Written Script paled. “You don’t mean...”
“That’s right,” Pinkie answered. “To keep up with demand, the only affordable Hydrate-”
“Hydrate!”
“-in the city has to come to you second-hoof... extracted from the brains of the dead!”
“Ewwwwwww!” the foals cried in unison, giggling and covering their faces with their hooves.
It was a lie. Bootleg Hydrate was extracted from poop. But her little apprentices weren’t ready to know that yet.
Written Script, to his credit, had only gone a little bit green. “I... I don’t know...” he mumbled. “That’s... that’s still a big step...”
“Well, it’s your choice,” Pinkie said with a shrug. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t spend too long deciding. Because there’s one more piece to this story, one that you’ve already run into. I think you’ve figured out what Celestia does to ponies who fall behind on their payments.”
Realization struck like a falling brick. “You mean that creature that was chasing me - Midnight, did you call her? - that was ordered by Celestia?”
“Midnight visits all of us, sooner or later,” Pinkie Pie said sadly. At the back of the group, a pegasus filly with an orange coat and a purple mane broke away from the others and stalked around the edge of the alley, keeping to the shadows. “When the shield went up and Celestia passed the new laws, she appointed three duchesses to rule over parts of Canterlot and keep order. The first was Twilight Sparkle, the Duchess of Magic, who controls the flow of magic in the city. The second was Applejack, the Duchess of Farming, from your hometown, who controls trade and keeps the city fed. The third was Rainbow Dash, the Duchess of Awesome, who controls the weather and keeps the city clean.” Pinkie looked up thoughtfully. “Actually, I think her first title was Duchess of Weather, but after the first month she got it changed.”
Written Script looked up. The shielded sky was near-black with smog. “Well, either way, she’s not doing a very good job of it, is she?” he snarked.
“They say they do their best. But then there came a fourth pony, a pony with no title at all, who stalks the streets when all is dark and keeps everypony in line. We call her Midnight, but what her true name is nopony knows.” Pinkie started to draw herself up again, her apprentices rushing and giggling around her. “Some say she’s a disgraced showmare who wanders our streets, seeking revenge. Some say she’s the heir to the Crystal Empire, filling in time for her aunt until her own kingdom returns. Some say she’s Celestia’s former student, who tried to run to another world and turned herself into a monster. And then some say she’s not a pony at all, just a shadow, an old, evil spell that sucks the magic out of ponies and leaves them to rot. But there’s one thing about her that everypony in Canterlot knows for sure.” She winked to her little friend Scootaloo, who was by now creeping up on Written Script from behind. “If you ever fall behind on your magic payments...”
“She’ll get ya!” Scootaloo yelled, jumping onto Script’s back.
Written Script shrieked, flinging himself forward. It was only a quick hoof from Pinkie that kept him from landing face-first in the fire. “So what’ll it be?” she asked, fluttering her eyelids. “Care to buy some Hydrate?”
“Hydrate!” Scootaloo yelled, still riding on Script’s back.
“Or should I go tell Midnight that you’ve been shirking your responsibilities?”
“I’ll pay! I’ll pay!” Script begged. “Just don’t send me back there!”
“Okey dokey!” Pinkie sat back, now with a legitimately cheery grin. She unlooped the string of vials from around her neck and tossed it to Script, who caught it with a stunned expression. “First taste is free! If you like it, be sure to come back soon.”
“Wha- tha- that’s incredibly generous,” Written Script babbled. After the string of horrors that had come before it, he hadn’t been expecting anything like this. “Thank you so much. You’ve just saved my life again.”
“Anytime!” With a prancing skip, she hopped over to the fence and pushed it aside, sliding it into a gap in the wall like a screen door. This did not appear possible, but Script decided not to question it. “This’ll lead you right back to the main street,” she said. “Anytime you need a top-up, just come this way and knock three times.”
“I will. I think.” He shrugged the clinging pegasus filly off his back and walked in the direction she pointed, looking back only once. The foals were staring at him with a variety of contemptuous expressions. “And... thanks again,” he said. Then he cantered off into the darkness.
Scootaloo walked back to Pinkie Pie’s side, smirking after him. “What do you think, Graverobber?” she asked. “Think we’ll see him again?”
“I know so,” Pinkie answered, bouncing back to the fireside. “Sooner or later, everypony comes back.”
The filly rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “This one was just a big wimp. I don’t know if he’s even gonna make it home on his own.”
“I can still hear you, you know!” Written Script yelled back down the alley.
“Aw, he’ll be fine,” Pinkie said dismissively. “I gave him a lot of the good stuff. Even Midnight won’t touch him for at least another week.”
The filly with the bow frowned. “Yeah, ‘bout that,” she said. “You’ve been givin’ away a lot of free samples lately, GR. Ah know there’s plenty folks in need out there, but what’d ya give a whole batch to that guy for? He just seemed like kind of a jerk.”
“I’m stiiiiiiill not gone yet!” Script called.
“And on top o’that,” she continued, “you’ve been awful cheerful lately, and Ah mean that even for you. So what’s goin’ on?” She tilted her head to the side. “Somethin’ on your mind?”
Pinkie looked up at the sky. “Do you know what day it is?” she asked.
“Uh...” The filly scratched her head. “Wednesday?”
“It’s the eve of the Summer Sun Celebration.” They all paused as a bell sounded at the top of the city. A few last pulses of magic hit the Lunar Tower’s sphere before the whole tower flashed, gathering silvery energy in a single point. This light consolidated at a figure faintly visible on a balcony just below the sphere before it shot out to the east, passing through the city’s shield and streaking off towards the horizon. A few long seconds later, the moon rose into the sky, its soft white glow piercing through the ash.
Pinkie smiled. “And that means that in ten hours, it will be exactly three years since Princess Celestia banished Nightmare Moon from Equestria. Tonight’s a night of mourning, when ponies remember ponies who are gone and say the things we keep hidden the rest of the year. But when the sun rises again, the Princess is throwing a gala to remember all the good that’s left in the world. But not just any gala, no. An opera, a Ponetic Opera with a super-special, super-secret theme. Now, I normally don’t go in for big, fancy musical numbers,” she concluded, causing a number of the foals to roll their eyes, “but this year... I’ve got a feeling something real special’s going to go down.”
There was a noise nearby, and she looked up, startled. From the direction Written Script had gone, there were the sounds of pounding hoofsteps, coming closer and closer. They kept getting louder until Written Script stumbled back into the firelight, screeching to a halt and panting heavily. “I’m sorry,” he gasped out once he’d more or less caught his breath, “but did you just say... opera?”
