The stories of those who were there, fighting, living, surviving.
Author note: I wrote two chapters for this story in collaboration with BaroqueNexus for the now-deleted story The Saddle Arabia Diaries. This is just my bare contribution, without context. The story was to be tales of ponies who fought it the war and civilians who had to endure it.
"The Night The Lights Went Out in Zakirabad"
Captain Spark 80th Bomb Wing 0034 hours Near Zakirabad
I looked out the window but there was nothing to see, not even when I adjusted my glasses. The desert passing by only one hundred feet below our aircraft might as well have been miles away, lost under the clouded night skies. Good. Darkness was our friend.
The B-1B Lancer was arguably the best bomber in the world for minimum altitude strike missions, and there was no place Iâd rather be than sitting at my defensive systems station in the back seat.
Lieutenant Colonel Dust was the pilot. His helmeted head rested on the seat in front of me. As unicorns, we were both in the Air Forceâs minority. His deft touch on the controls and my training with electronics made us suited for the low-level penetration bomber role. Pegasi generally made up the fighter pilot corps, but the natural flying sense of our copilot, Major Winter, was a nice complement to Colonel Dustâs abilities. Beside me in the back was an earth pony mare named Captain Burster, the offensive systems operator. Because she was in charge of our ordnance we nicknamed her Boom-Boom, which could have been taken several ways but she didnât seem to mind.
Our crew had trained together for quite a while. Even if we werenât all good friends, which we were, the practice would have honed our group into an effective unit, a cohesive collection of ponies working together in sync. Weâd rehearsed missions like this in the Neighvada desert, a place similar to Saddle Arabia. Tonight was the real deal.
I checked my systems panel. Off to the northeast was our set of targets, a SAM [surface-to-air missile] site and an electric substation. The missiles guarded the power grid for Zakirabad from ponies like us who wanted to take it out. The intel guys had told me that we were dealing with SA-5âs, a very long range system developed in the old Hooviet Union.
The Lancer was not a true stealth aircraft. It was a lot harder to see on radar than some things, but that would only help us so much. Our primary method of staying out of sight was flying in the dirt like Colonel Dust was doing.
In a way, a unicorn pilot was a lot less unconventional than the plane he commanded. The B-1B was massive, and could carry a 75,000 pound payload- almost a whole semi truck. Despite that, it looked like a scaled-up fighter, with wings that folded back at high speed to allow it to skim the ground at nearly Mach 1 with no trouble. The four afterburning engines had power to spare, and the trio of bomb bays could carry just about any mud-moving weapon the Air Force owned.
âNinety miles to target,â reported Burster, her voice going out on the cockpit intercom.
âStill clear,â I replied, checking the threat board.
Our reports did not leave the airplane. Part of sneaking in was staying quiet. Everything about the mission had been planned ahead, and there was no need for the radio. If we stayed on the correct course and speed, our support would arrive right on time.
Bringing up the rear, miles behind us to the south, was a Navy EA-6B Prowler, a small, slow aircraft with next to no weapons. What made it valuable were the jamming pods hanging beneath the wings. In the face of enemy radar and communications, the Prowler could blast the area with a cloud of RF [radio frequency] noise to render electronics useless.
Bucking Navy. They were just going to hang out and work their little beep-boop computer thing. Meanwhile, we had to do the heavy lifting- literally. The Prowler couldnât carry enough weapons needed for the mission.
Knocking out the SA-5 missiles was first priority for a reason. They had a very long range and very powerful warheads. We could sneak under the radar for a while, but the closer we got to the site, the more likely it was that we would be detected.
I checked threat board. Seventy miles out. The radar, over the horizon from us, was starting to tickle the upper surfaces of the bomber but not enough for a return just yet. âI suggest another drop in altitude to evade radar.â
âGotcha.â Dust carefully, very carefully, applied a slight magical pressure to the control stick in front of him. The plane gave up another twenty feet of altitude, dropping us to a mere eighty. This was technically the autopilotâs job, but I trusted Dust more than a computer.
Funny, then, that my whole job was dealing with electronics. Maybe my dislike of enemy radars had inadvertently carried over to all electronics in general. You canât blame me. My whole job was defeating detection and keeping the Lancer invisible.
I glanced at the time display, counting down. We had carefully planned the mission, down to the second. I watched the time continue. When a prearranged moment came, my screen flashed into a whiteout with a huge amount of static from the Prowler. If the jamming looked this bad to me, imagine what the missile operators must be seeing.
âJammingâs on.â
Dust made a small noise to let me know he had heard. I wasnât required to let him know, and he wasnât required to respond, but both gestures were good for everyponyâs confidence.
Still, the jamming wouldnât protect us forever. When we got close enough to the radar, its signal would âburn throughâ the cloud of noise and pick us up anyway. Dust carefully altered course to spiral us towards the target, reducing our closing rate. This kept us hidden in the jamming longer and fooled the radarâs range calculators, so it thought we werenât moving so fast.
The maneuver did make our course longer, however. Good thing one of our bomb bays had been fitted with a ten thousand gallon fuel tank. The plane had some pretty long legs to begin with, but this gave us quite a boost.
We spiraled in, staying low and patiently approaching the target. At thirty miles, it was time for our final attack run. The Lancer came around, its sharp nose slicing through the desert air directly towards the missiles.
My hooves shook slightly with nervousness as I hit the switches for our electronic countermeasures. The bomber carried a small jammer of its own, but at this point we were committed to the attack and whatever happened, happened. I tried to relax, adjusting my glasses again. There was one final touch to our defenses. I popped loose the ALE-50 Towed Decoy, a small target that trailed behind the plane and would hopefully attract a missile meant for us.
The mare beside me had her weapons ready to go. She checked the readouts and compared our location to the drop zone. I felt Dust pull back on the controls to get the bomber to mission altitude. It was at that moment my panel lit up with acquisition. They had locked us up with fire control radar.
Had a missile been launched right then, we would have been dead. There was a momentâs hesitation as if the radar operator could hardly believe his eyes. Then- launch.
I couldnât see the missile site in the dark, but the satellite photos of the site that the intel guys had shown us before the mission depicted it as a six-pointed star like the old Hooviet doctrine. Each point on the star had a couple of missile launchers facing outwards. The radar, command center, and generators were at the middle of the star. Even if we didnât manage to take out the missiles themselves, they would be useless without the other things.
The fiery rocket motor of the launched weapon went streaking by my window as the plane passed the missileâs minimum engagement distance. It hadnât had time to arm, and disappeared harmlessly behind us. At the same instant, Boom-Boom shook loose two dozen Mark 82 Snakeye bombs. The Lancer jerked higher with the sudden drop in weight.
Each weapon packed five hundred pounds of high explosive and was fitted with tail fins that slowed it down, letting our low-flying airplane get away before the bombs exploded on the ground and damaged us.
The radar disappeared from the threat board under the onslaught of twelve thousand pounds of destruction. I touched Boom-Boomâs shoulder, wordlessly congratulating her on a job well done, but didnât take my eyes off the board. The night wasnât over yet.
Dust pulled back on the stick, lifting us away from the ground to where any surprise anti-aircraft gun emplacements couldnât get us. Our next target was only a few minutes away, a substation that controlled critical infrastructure for Zakirabad. While it didnât provide electricity to the whole city, it was an important target because eliminating it should cause a domino effect that took down the entire power grid. That was why we had to destroy a serious missile defense system to get to it. Speaking of, I cut loose the decoy. There were no more radar sites out there to take advantage of its distraction.
We did have to worry about Anti-Air Pegasi, but they had to have daylight to see us or be guided by a ground control station painting us with radar. This low, this fast, it wasnât a problem. And once we turned tail for home, none of them would be able to catch up. The last time I checked, the only pegasus who could break Mach 1 was Rainbow Dash, and she was one of our pilots.
The substation was a worthy target even if it wasnât as inherently dangerous as a missile site. A blackout in Zakirabad would give our troops a big advantage. We had planned for darkness. The enemy hadnât. Not to mention the loss of all the electronics the Saddle Arabians normally took for granted.
The Prowler ended its jamming and turned away. The hard part of the mission was over. The Navy aircraft would get home before we did, but I consoled myself that at least I would be returning to a nice runway instead of a ship.
Over our next target, the rotary bomb racks installed in the belly of the Lancer spun to the correct position and unleashed a couple of special weapons. They were cluster bombs, loaded with reels of fine graphite wire. Over the target, the conductive filaments would spread out like a spiderweb and short-circuit the entire substation. It limited collateral damage and death of any civilians in the area, and destroyed electronics just as well as a bomb.
I glanced out the window. The glow of Zakirabadâs lights on the horizon were suddenly snuffed out as if the city had never existed. Mission complete, the bomber slowly banked into a turn, heading for home.
A warning tone sounded in my headset, alerting me to a new radar that had just turned on. I frantically checked my equipment, surprise and fear quickening my movements. The signal was fighter-based, and coming in on our tail. âWeâve got a big problem!â
I searched my memory for an aircraft that matched the radar return I was getting, deciding that we probably faced a Mirage F1. It was an older fighter, but that didnât make it any less deadly. The Lancer was fast, but not fast enough to run. It certainly couldnât outmaneuver the smaller plane.
That didnât mean we were going down without a fight. Dust shoved the throttles forward and pointed the nose at the ground. We slipped through Mach 1 and kept accelerating. Forced to follow to get a good radar picture, the Mirage mimicked our path.
From what the blinking lights of the threat board were telling me, the fighter was getting close to missile range. I threw all the power I could into our meager jammer and fired a few rounds of decoy chaff and flares to confuse the Mirageâs sensors.
Did I say buck the Navy? I take it back. While the fighterâs radar wasnât as powerful as the SA-5 site, the Prowler detected it and turned back to give us a helping hoof. The blanketing RF jamming effectively shut down any hopes the fighter pilot had of locking us up with a radar missile.
I knew that the Mirage could still track us by the glow from our afterburning exhaust. The fighter was able to carry heat-seeking missiles to home in on that, too. Less serious but still something to think about were the fighterâs machine guns. The jamming had bought some time, though. Our assailant would have to get a lot closer to use those other weapons.
With a practiced eye, Dust hauled back on the stick, pulling the Lancer out of its dive under as many gâs as the airframe could stand. We leveled out over the desert at fifty feet and Mach 2.
And then the Mirage disappeared. I blinked, hardly believing it. Cautiously, Dust pulled the throttles out of afterburner and we made a slow spiral up to altitude. I squinted through the window, making out a plume of flame in the night. Our pursuer had slammed into the desert sand.
âWe got a maneuver kill!â I cheered on the open airwaves. âNopony ever beats the ground!â
Under wartime flying rules, any way you could destroy an enemy aircraft was acceptable, including tricking them into crashing. This was one of the very few times that a bomber could claim credit for killing another airplane.
âHang on there, Air Force,â came the voice of a Naval Flight Officer sitting in the back of the Prowler. âIt was our jamming that confused his radar altimeter into thinking he wasnât so close to the terrain. If anything, you got the assist.â
Buck the Navy.
"Meals on Wheels"
James âBigâ Macintosh Private First Class, 141st Infantry Brigade 1326 hours Kanterhar Province, South Saddle Arabia
âIt ainât me, it ainât me, I ainât no Wonderboooooolt. It ainât me, it ainât me, I ainât no fortunate cooooolt.â
Private Carney had an annoying habit of singing along with whatever we played on the radio. I remember he wouldnât shut up no matter what we threw at him. No matter how many times Gunner, Ox, and Caballine told him to be quiet, he couldnât keep his mouth shut. It didnât mind me so much, but it pissed the hell out of Ox, our fireteam leader. He actually volunteered to relieve Gunner of the machine gun nest on top of the Humvee we rode in. Eventually we shut the radio off and just rode in silence.
I couldnât blame the kid. Carney was brand new and heâd already been deployed to Kanterhar, where fighting was fiercest. He was just trying to blow off steam. I found that I blew off steam best shooting bad ponies with my gun, which I named AJ. She was loyal, hard-working, and had a hell of a temper when it came to a fight. Just like a certain pony I knew.
Carney was brand new. You could call him a little overconfident. Ox made it clear a while back that he didnât want to foalsit the new guy. Heâd already gone through it once.
Well, in Oxâs eyes, I was still a B.N.P. [Bucking New Pony.] Iâd seen enough combat to earn a promotion to PFC, but I still wasnât used to this.
I donât think Iâll ever really get used to it. I used to be a farm boy in Ponyville, and now Iâm fighting a war. What for, you ask?
In truth, I really donât know. Iâm not really one to express my opinions. I just notice things, is all. Some might call me shy, but I donât have any problem with putting a bullet in the head of a pony thatâs trying to kill me.
Caballine liked me, and so did Gunner. Ox respected what I did and appreciated my efforts in Fire Team Four. As for Carney, things werenât getting off to a good start. Especially when he kept singing without any music.
âSome colts are born, made tâ raise the sun, ooooh, and bring the moon down, too!â
âOh for buckâs sake! Shut the buck up, Carmey, or Iâll throw you out!â
Finally, the kid stopped. âItâs Carney, sir.â
âWhat?â
âItâs Carney. C-A-RâŚâ
âI can spell, Private!â Ox turned around to look at us, keeping his eyes on the new kid.
âCarney, huh? You get a lot of jokes about that?â
âWhat? Like I work for a carnival?â
âNo, like your face is so bucking ugly that you belong in a freak show.â
Caballine stifled a laugh as she kept her eyes on the road, which was practically invisible due to the flying dust. I had to lean over and pretend to cough so that I wouldnât double over. That was a pretty good insult, and I felt bad for the kid, donât get me wrong, but I could only barely keep it contained.
âWell, I suppose that does make you an employee of the carnival, so youâre right, grunt!â
Carney didnât speak for the rest of the trip.
We were on our way to a settlement called Bagriza. Weâd been assigned a town sweep because Predators spotted terrorist activity, but as usual Command didnât want civilian casualties. So they sent in the foot ponies.
It was something I had gotten used to. In truth, the army life is kind of dull. Thereâs a lot to do, but most of it is menial labor. You have to scrub the floors, clean your gun, accompany patrols, guard checkpoints, and other stuff like that. I got to see action, though, about two weeks ago in Guldeesh, just south of Nagram AFB, where I was stationed. Thatâs where I became Private First Class Big Macintosh (I donât use my first name, not if I can help it.)
Iâd done my share of town sweeps. Most of the time we came up with nothing, and ended up driving dozens of miles back to Nagram with nothing to show for it. Occasionally weâd find a gun or somepony left behind, but the RSA almost always managed to abandon the town before we got there.
But ARSA [Army of the Republic of Saddle Arabia] was the least of our problems. Now we had the Arabian Brotherhoof, a guerilla group that wanted both the RSA and the Equestrians out. We found more of them than we did government troops on our searches, and they tended to be more violent, more unpredictable. But worst of all was, you couldnât tell them apart from the regular civvies, and we ended up arresting and searching nearly every damn pony we came across. You couldnât trust anypony.
So I didnât. Especially not after that day.
âWhy so quiet, Mac?â
Caballine nudged me. I broke away from my thoughts and looked at her fiery eyes. She was a pretty mare, with her crimson mane cut short and her straw-colored coat peeking out from underneath her ACU. She could also find a needle in a haystack in under a minute, and use that same needle to disarm a bomb. She was a hardy little thing.
I just shrugged, and she smiled and playfully punched my arm. âCâmon, big guy. Bit for your thoughts?â
âI dunno,â I said. âKinda hard tâthink with all the bouncinâ and dust flyinâ up everywhere.â
âDamn right,â Ox replied. âI can barely see anything.â He brought his walkie-talkie up to his mouth. âRoller One, this is Roller Four, do you have visual on anything that ainât sand, over?â
A few moments later: âNegative, Roller Three. Weâre still ten miles out from objective. Sit tight. Over.â
âCopy, One. Out.â
âTen miles?â Carney piped up. âThat doesnât seem too far.â
âIt ainât,â I said, looking out the window and seeing only clouds of sand. âI jogged ten miles every day back home.â
âDidnât you live on a farm?â
âEyup. Whereâd you live, Carney?â
The new guy looked at me like I was about to insult him. âManehattan. Bucklyn, specifically.â
We argued good-naturedly about the pros and cons of big city life. Carney thought I was a dumb hick, and I threatened to teach him a thing or two. Luckily, we didnât have to endure much more bickering. The Humvees could make good time even on the terrible roads. It was a damned shame that we hadnât yet received up-armor kits for extra protection, but at least the lower weight made the Humvees faster.
The town of Bagriza looked like many of the settlements in Saddle Arabia; sand-colored and primitive. Carney looked at me. âRemind you of home, Mac?â
I didnât reply, my eyes scanning the buildings around us. I hoped Carney would shut his stupid mouth and do the same. The convoy was most vulnerable in the tight confines of a town.
Moving as fast as we were, IEDs [Improvised Explosive Devices] would probably not be an issue. The Arabian Brotherhoof were slippery bastards, but they couldnât plant bombs if they didnât know we were coming. That made it important for us to get in, do the job, and get out ASAP.
Speaking of IEDs, thatâs what we were here for. Intel suggested there was a sort of factory were the Brotherhoof was building them. I didnât really know who or what âintelâ was, but sometimes they were right and sometimes not. We-or at least the more experienced of us-knew to take anything intel said with a grain of salt.
âEyes on target,â called Ox from the turret. âSee that three story building up there?â
I glanced forward, noting the structure he had pointed out before going back to scanning my area of responsibility. Everything about military order was divided into sections. Each member of the fireteam in the Humvee had an assigned task. Our Humvee was one of six in the convoy, which formed a small platoon of troops. Had it been necessary, we could have brought along more Humvees to bolster our ranks to a company or two. As it was, intel said resistance would be light and so only thirty of us went on the raid. This time, intel was wrong.
The radio squawked. âRoller convoy, approach target area and proceed as directed.â
Ox started giving orders. As fireteam leader, it was his job, but the rest of us knew them just in case. The plan called for the six Humvees to surround the target building before we went inside to take down the factory. To make that happen, we had to know the route to get there.
Caballine steered us in the right direction while consulting a map. Gunner helpfully held it beside her with magic. It was really more of a rough sketch made from overhead imagery, but good enough. The problem was not our route, but who we encountered on it.
A civilian ran out into the street ahead of our Humvee. The narrow corridor between buildings didnât leave much room to maneuver, and Caballine jammed on the brakes to avoid running the pony over. From the turret, Ox shouted and waved a hoof, trying to direct him to get out of the way. None of us in Roller Four spoke the local language. The stallion was clearly trying to tell us something, but his point wasnât coming across.
The hair on the back of my neck went up. Something wasnât right here. The noncombatant locals might not hate us, but they didnât go out of their way to warn us of danger. Whoever this pony was, we wouldnât gain anything by trying to communicate with him. In fact, it would only delay us from the mission. Or...
âArmed stallion on the roof, two oâclock!â shouted Ox, swinging his turret. He didnât have to tell Caballine to get moving. The pony in the street jumped out of the way as the Humvee shot forward. I gritted my teeth and pulled my rifle closer.
âWhat-â Carney started to say, but his voice was drowned by the sudden burst of M249 machine gun fire from the turret. Ox was taking no chances.
The Humvee swung around the next corner as Ox briefly stopped firing to radio the situation. By now, Carney was fully aware what was happening and he wasnât pleased. âThat raghead set us up! He pretended to be all innocent and then-â
This time it was me who cut him off. âShut up! We all know what happened, anâ you talkinâ is not gonna help! Keep your mouth closed and your ears open.â
Ox didnât say anything, but I thought he would be pleased that I took care of Carney. The radio began calling in more status reports. There was significant resistance at the target area. They might not have been waiting for us, but there sure were a lot of Brotherhood in the area looking for a fight and we were delivering it to them as fast as our wheels could go.
âTechnical!â called Caballine, spotting a pickup truck with a machine gun in the bed. I heard Ox light it up, spotting tracers from the M249 riddling the truck with holes. We swept past the wreck, noting a couple of dead ponies. Carney stared wide-eyed at the blood.
We slid to a stop near the target building. âMacintosh, Gunner, Carney, cover the rear. Caballine, get us up the street to the command position.â
At Oxâs order, I opened the door and bailed out simultaneously with Gunner. Carney did the same, but a little more slowly. I took half a second to get my M16 shouldered, scanning the buildings around us. The rifleâs sling was wrapped over my back to hold the weapon secure and my right hoof rested on the trigger guard. As a unicorn, Gunner didnât have that problem.
The Humvee proceeded up the street with Ox covering the front quadrant from the turret. The rest of us brought up the rear. Moving at the alert position with only three legs left for walking is not exactly easy on the muscles, but comfort comes second when your life is on the line. Despite his magic, Gunner was feeling something of the same thing. Unicorns canât carry the load of armor and ammo on their body as well as an earth pony, which is why that race was less common in the army. Pegasi even less so.
We joined up with the rest of the convoy. There was a pony in every Humvee turret, and occasionally one of them would shoot at a bad guy. A group of dismounted soldiers covered behind the vehicles. The Lieutenant in charge of the convoy was there, coordinating with the fire team leaders before assaulting the building. âTeam Four, youâre taking the south staircase.â
âYes sir!â Ox turned to the rest of us and we headed off. Caballine had replaced him in the turret and would not be coming with. The military likes to pretend to be integrated and equal, but weâre actually sexist as hell. All of us would gladly go into combat on behalf of a mare.
Ox looked too preoccupied with commanding the rest of us to worry about a little thing like getting shot as we assaulted the stairs, and that was good. I donât like my leaders looking more scared than I am. Gunnerâs face looked grim but determined. Carney was a mess, but I was glad to see that he still gripped his rifle tightly.
The first floor had already been cleared, swept by M249 fire and grenades. A piece of pony lay next to the stairs and I ignored it.
We leapfrogged up the staircase, covering each other in turn just like we had been trained. That was the great thing about training. It was long, grueling, and unpleasant, but it taught you how to do things instinctively, without having to think about it. Pausing at the landing, Gunner yanked a flashbang grenade off his load-carrying harness and tossed it through the door. âFlash out!â
I closed my eyes and braced against the wall. The ear-shattering blast was over in an instant and we went through the doorway, spreading out to keep any burst of fire from hitting more than one of us.
Two ponies were down, looking dazed and stunned. âCarney, cover them!â ordered Ox. Gunner and I followed Ox through to the next room, meeting up with another fireteam. After declaring the floor secure, it was time to mount the stairs again. The two prisoners weâd taken were left with a support pony while Carney rejoined us.
âFlashes again,â ordered Ox. Gunner nodded and tossed two of the grenades out on the third floor. The two of them went left after the blast while Carney and I swept right. I saw one Brotherhoof member down and holding his ears. Further back, another stallion rolled out from behind cover, raising an AK-47.
I pulled the trigger three times, ensuring the pony would go down and stay there. His blood decorated the wall behind him. Still moving, I swept the muzzle of my rifle around the room, checking behind cover and pieces of equipment that took up the floor.
The next target to pop up was on Carneyâs side of the room. It wasnât my responsibility to cover that area, but I swung my rifle because I didnât trust Carney. I was right not to. He hesitated, fumbling in surprise. I was an instant late in firing, and the raghead got off one shot before my bullets cut him down.
âCarney! Are you all right?â
I kept my eyes on the room, rifle still ready. I heard hard breathing and some pained moans. Seconds passed, and I tried my hardest not to abandon my vigil. Then Carney spoke.
âIâm okay. The-ouch-my armor stopped the bullet, but it hurts like hell.â
I let out a breath Iâd been holding. The shock plates and kevlar might have been heavy, but it was worth its weight in gold. âAre you good?â
âYeah.â I heard him get up, and he trotted over to me. âSorry.â
I bet you are, I thought. âCome on.â
I had taken half a step forward when an armed stallion came through the next door. Carney was still slower than I, but at least this time he got a shot off. Good; he was learning. We advanced, stepping over the fallen body.
We reached the end of the building and declared it clear. Coming back, Carney and I met up with Ox and Gunner. They both saw the marred surface of his armor, but didnât comment. It would have to be declared to the quartermaster who issued the gear, but not until we got back to base.
Back down at street level, we put up a perimeter to protect the rest of our guys as the demolitions ponies went in to organize the destruction of the factory. This was no time to relax, even though a shot hadnât been fired in our direction for several minutes. I took a moment to glance at Carneyâs face. There was a shallow cut on the side of his face from a fragment of bullet that had glanced off his armor, but more importantly I saw how his eyes had changed. He was serious. He now knew what it took to fight and stay alive. Even a lowly PFC like me could see it.
With the explosive charges placed, we got back in the Humvees and pulled back to watch the fireworks. Really, it wasnât that impressive, just a little puff of smoke from the third floor. We couldnât just take down the building, as the civilians might not like that too much.
Mission accomplished, we rolled out of town. Carney was still on edge. He didnât even sing along when the radio played that old Hay Stevens song about Arabians. Something very important had happened to Carneyâs attitude. If we were going to survive, if our convoy was going to fight like it should and repel any attackers who thought we were easy pickings, we needed ponies like him-the new him.
I thought a little about going back to base for some nice food and giving AJ a good cleaning. She deserved a little TLC after the day weâd had. I made a mental note to help Carney with his rifle. Heâd earned it.
Author note: Exactly what it says on the tin, folks. This was supposed to be part of an epic collab between a bunch of us who each had more than 400 followers apiece. I'm not going to name who was involved, but odds are we would have broken the featured box. This is my contribution.
The Carousel Boutique in Ponyville was open for business. Rarity, the proprietor, was working on fitting a customer for a new outfit. An array of fancy mirrors in the center of the floor let her see the dress from all angles.
The white unicorn was an expert on fashion. Anypony would agree. Those that didnât simply didnât know what they were talking about. Rarity was confident enough in her ability and secure enough in her vanity to be the foremost dressmaker in Ponyville.
Near the front door of the boutique, an earth pony sat in a comfortable chair, his hat pulled low. Rarity glanced at the orange-colored stallion, assuming he was waiting to get a moment of her time. She hadnât seen him enter the shop, but sheâd been busy. He sat rather strangely, draped over the chair as if he had fallen over backwards. His black mane and tail were untidily spread around him.
The mare that had just been fitted for a dress paid her bill and turned to go. Rarity went to pick up the shop a bit before greeting the next customer. Scissors, needles, and scraps of cloth were scattered around.
The pony with the dress left, the sound of the door closing startling the stallion awake. He tipped his head back, revealing grey eyes below the wide brim of his hat.
He looked around, taking in the interior of the boutique, the bolts of fabric, and the carousel horse-like pony mannequins, all the while having a quiet little panic attack. Okay, it looks like Iâve stumbled into a bad human-in-Equestria fanfic. Am I dreaming or just insane?
It was lucky that our silently-freaking pony was in fact a brony, from a country called the United States on a planet called Earth. Heâd started out watching a very nice animated cartoon called My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, and had progressed from there into writing fanfiction of it. It was hard to deny that heâd dreamed of going to Equestria, but would have quickly dispelled such thoughts had he known that it could actually happen.
The stallion fought to manage his emotions. He knew that panicking wasnât going to help. Getting control of his thoughts was a little difficult because he was a natural worrier. Where am I going to live? How will I survive here?
Between an extensive knowledge of trivia and engineering, plus some wilderness training, he felt confident that he could scrape together some kind of life in the forest if necessary. But wait, was it possible that this one of those fanfictions where heâd replaced a pre existing resident of Ponyville? If so, he would already have a place to stay.
Who am I? He glanced down at his body, sitting in the chair like Lyra, which is to say like a human. Strangely that made sense, because the last thing he remembered was sitting in the seat of his car.
The man-turned-stallion twisted to see the pictogram on his hip. It seemed like fun and games to call them cutie marks, but was horribly emasculating to actually have one. He recognized the symbol as the hood ornament from a Plymouth Valiant.
Iâve been turned into my original character! This sucks! My OC is a dick!
The character named Plymouth Valiant had been a creation inspired by the former humanâs own car. In fact, heâd been driving it right up until the point when his sudden relocation to another universe had happened.
The stallion frowned and tried to remember what had transpired to bring him here. It had been dark. Heâd been driving over the speed limit, albeit on a familiar road. After that, thereâd been a sudden, unexplained deceleration. The airbags had done nothing, because there werenât any installed in such an old car.
While he didnât know it, a horrific crash had been the cause for his deportation from Earth. Back in the mists of time, the year 2001 to be exact, a movie studio blocked off a road in southern California to film some stunts for a street racing move that involved Paul Walker. The blockage forced the rerouting of a truck carrying a shipment of steel belts for tires.
The tire factory was not pleased, and had to dip into its emergency stock of belts. Unfortunately, inventory being what it is, the error was never really corrected and set off a butterfly effect of parts shortage. Soon, inferior goods were being introduced to cover the demand.
One of those crappy belts found its way into a tire, and at a particularly inconvenient time, it broke. The tread ballooned, throwing the carcass out of balance and setting up a resulting force that ripped apart the tire.
The drag and traction differences were not balanced quickly enough by steering action and the car, the Plymouth Valiant, swerved violently to the side, facing a particularly nasty roadside feature. There may have been an epic ball of fire, but no cool guys walked slowly away from it.
The lesson of the story, even though the stallion didnât know it at the time, was that Paul Walker had done him wrong.
Slightly panicked about his situation, and with no Vin Diesel in sight to save him, the pony pushed his hat back and got out of the chair. The flat-crowned hat was made of tan leather and still seemed to fit his new cranium, perhaps due to the wear accumulated over long years of use. For some reason, the hat was the only part of his clothing that had made the jump to Equestria.
The pony liked to think that he was a fairly normal human being, and therefore uncomfortable with nudity. He tried to reassure himself with the thought that in Equestria, it was simply a way of life. It didnât really help.
Rarity came walking back into the room. âIâm sorry that took so long, I was busy with another customer. I can help you now, MrâŚ?â
The stallion thought quickly. He certainly didnât want to be his OC, same appearance or not. He fumbled a few words, and finally replied, âDart. Dodge Dart.â
âWell Mr. Dart, if youâll please come this way Iâll get you fitted,â said Rarity.
âSorry,â he said, shaking his head. âIâm not quite sure why Iâm here.â
The white unicorn was taken aback. âYou arenât here for a new outfit? Perhaps a replacement for that worn out piece of headgear?â
âEr, no,â he replied. âHow long have I been sitting there?â
She thought for a moment. âI first saw you dozing in that chair a few minutes ago and assumed youâd come in while I was upstairs getting a few supplies. Why?â
âThe last I remember, I was a different species, on a different planet.â
Rarity rolled her eyes. âNot another one!â
âThis...happens often?â he asked.
âYou arenât the first stallion to wake up in my boutique with no recollection of where heâs been.â She heaved a deep sigh. âOh, Rarity, you are a minx.â
âBut I do remember,â said Dart.
âNo you donât,â she corrected tersely. âThose are the rules. Now get out.â
Confused, the stallion let her shove him forcefully out of the building. Rarity slammed the door behind him.
Ponyville looked just like what Dart had seen through his TV set, minus the small Hub logo in the lower right corner. He stood for a moment, getting his bearings.
Fluttershy came along, leading two ponies down the street towards the library. One of them paused and pulled a glass container out of his backpack, taking a swig from it. It was a bottle in the shape of a human skull.
Dart decided to follow them, if for no other reason to find out if the pony would share his drink.
It's a long list, but Rarity is going to scratch every name off it.
Author note: I wrote this more than a year ago, for a ponified Kill Bill collab that didn't work out. This is the first chapter, The Bride vs. Vernita Green
Rarity walked up to the door. It was well cared for, just like the rest of the house, and the other houses on the street.
Her mind replayed the scene at the wedding more than four years ago. She remembered what Rainbow Dash had done to her. Now, that debt would be paid.
Rarityâs clothing did not stand out in the neighborhood. A cheap, but decent, jacket covered her shoulders. It was a shame that she hadnât had time to come up with something better.
After knocking, Rarity heard steps approach. âJust a minute,â called Rainbow. The pegasus swung the door open.
She looked just like Rarity remembered. Sky-blue body, striped multicolored mane, mischievous smile, and athletic build.
There was an instant when the two ponies stared each other down. Rarity had been missing for so long. She was the last pony Rainbow expected to see.
A solid shot to the face knocked Rainbow backwards. Rarity struck with her front hooves again, driving the other pony back through the door.
To her credit, Rainbow didnât stay stunned for long. At Rarityâs next attack, the pegasus wrapped up the white ponyâs striking leg and used her momentum to throw her against the wall, breaking a glass-fronted picture.
Rainbowâs hooves came down on Rarity as she lay on the floor amid shards of glass. Quickly blocking to avoid being crushed, Rarity kicked at the other ponyâs face.
The unicorn had been in a coma for a long time. She had nothing like the muscle tone that sheâd once possessed. Still, her kick knocked Rainbow backwards over the living room couch and she crashed down on the coffee table.
Rarity picked herself up, shaking the pieces of glass off. She quickly vaulted the couch to continue her attack. Rainbow was waiting and cracked her across the knee with a piece of the broken table. Despite the adrenalin pumping in her system, Rarity couldnât avoid crying out in pain.
Falling to the floor again, Rarity was forced to block another diving attack by Rainbow. She grabbed the pegasusâ neck and managed to flip her over. Moving to a better position, Rarity got one of her front legs around Rainbowâs throat and began to squeeze.
The blue ponyâs wings flapped ineffectually against Rarityâs body. Rainbow still had options though, and began dragging herself across the floor with Rarity along for the ride. Her hoof reached out, snagging a fire poker from its holder and pulling it sharply down on Rarityâs head.
Struggling free, the pegasus attempted to swing the poker at Rarity again, but the unicornâs back hooves kicked her in the chest, knocking Rainbow against a rack of shelves. Novelty china went everywhere as the blue pony regained her bearings. She upended the rack on top of Rarity.
With a flap of her wings, Rainbow shot off towards the kitchen. Rarity pulled herself out from under the set of shelves and gave chase.
She rounded a corner and just barely avoided getting her face sliced off. Rainbow was holding a large cooking knife in her mouth, leaving her hooves free to defend.
Rarity grabbed a frying pan with her magic and blocked the next stab. She backpedaled, trying to buy enough time to drop her defense and draw her own weapon. Rainbow pressed forward, out for blood.
Going backward, Rarity bumped into a solid wooden table and just barely avoided another swipe of Rainbowâs knife. She ducked underneath the table, dropping the frying pan and unsheathing the knife strapped under her jacket.
The pegasus hadnât been expecting her to do that and attacked Rarityâs legs as she slid under the table. The unicorn knocked the table on top of the other pony and leaped over the top, making room so the real fight could begin.
Rainbow dug herself out and faced Rarity. Rarityâs knife was about the same size as the one Rainbow had grabbed in the kitchen, but hers was sharpened on both sides and had been designed with fighting in mind.
Furthermore, Rarity was the more skilled knife handler. She may have been out of action for so long, but knife fighting was more instinct than skill. The blade hovered in the blue glow of her magic, ready to strike at any moment. There was nowhere for the pegasus to go. She couldnât fly away indoors.
The two ponies circled each other. Rarity was feeling more confident. She knew that the job was far from finished, but she now possessed the advantage.
Both of them were distracted by an orange pegasus filly coming up the sidewalk. Rarity saw Rainbowâs eyes flick towards the window. Her thoughts might as well have been written on her face.
Rarity wanted the Rainbow dead. She was more than willing to do the job herself, however she was no monster. She couldnât kill the pony in front of her daughter.
Without speaking, both of them put their knives out of sight as the door opened.
âMommy, Iâmââ the filly was brought up short by the damage to the house and the blood on the two ponies.
âHow was school?â asked Rainbow, struggling to sound like she wasnât gasping for breath.
âWhat happened?â asked the young pony, looking wide-eyed at the carnage.
âOh, that good for nothing tortoise did it.â
It was clear to Rarity that the filly didnât believe it. She took a step towards her mother.
âTank did this?â
âDonât come in here. Thereâs broken glass everywhere and you could cut yourself.â Rainbow nodded to Rarity. âThis is my friend. We go way back. She came over to help me.â
âHello dear,â said Rarity. âWhatâs your name?â
The filly didnât respond, looking anxious.
âHer name is Scootaloo,â answered Rainbow.
âA pretty name for a pretty filly,â said Rarity. âHow old are you, Scootaloo?â
âIâm four,â she replied.
âFour years old, really? I had a daughter once. Sheâd be about four now.â
Rainbow shifted uncomfortably. âScoot, my friend and I have some grown-up things to talk about. So go in your room now and leave us alone until I tell you to come out, okay?â
The young pegasus nodded, and slowly left the room. There came the sound of her hooves on the stairs.
Rainbow sighed. âYou want something to drink?â
âSure,â replied Rarity. The filly didnât know it, but her arrival may have saved her motherâs life. Rarity didnât know if she could go through with killing Rainbow now.
The two of them walked into the kitchen.
âSo suppose it's a little late for an apology, huh?â said Rainbow.
âYou suppose correctly.â
âI need to know if you're going to start any more of this around my kid.â
âYou can relax for now,â said Rarity. âI'm not going to murder you in front of your child.â
Rainbow handed her a glass of water. âThat's being more rational than Spike led me to believe you were capable of.â
âItâs mercy, compassion, and forgiveness I lack,â said Rarity coldly. âNot rationality. Just because I have no wish to murder you in front of your daughter doesn't mean that parading her around in front of me will inspire sympathy. You and I have unfinished business, and one way or another itâll be done.â
âFine. When do you want to do it? Tomorrow? The next day?â Rainbow grabbed a box of cereal. Based on the bright colors, Rarity guessed that it was for her daughter.
âHow about tonight?â
âSure. Thereâs a park I know near here.â
âWeapon of choice?â asked Rarity. âYou can keep using that butcher knife if you want.â
Rainbow laughed. âVery funny.â She whipped around, raising the cereal box. âVery Funny!â
The bullet fired from the concealed gun inside the box just barely missed Rarity. Sheâd been holding the glass of water in front of her with magic, and hurled it at the pegasusâ face.
Rainbow put up her hooves to block, giving Rarity just enough time to draw her knife and hurl it at the other ponyâs chest. The blade sliced between ribs, driving itself in to the hilt.
The blue pony fell back, sliding down the kitchen cabinets to the floor. Multicolored cereal scattered everywhere.
Rarity took a few steps forward, the spilled cereal crunching under her hooves. Rainbow was bleeding from the chest and the mouth. Rarity judged the angle of the knife, concluding that it had probably passed through the ponyâs heart and one lung. It was a fatal wound.
It was not the first life that Rarity had taken, and it wouldnât be the last. She watched the pegasus take her last gasping breath.
Rarity noticed a towel on the counter. When she was sure the pegasus was dead, she pulled out the knife and began cleaning the blade. There was a slight step behind her.
The young filly stood there.
It was the first time Rarity had ever felt even remotely sorry for killing anypony. She sighed.
âIt wasnât my intention to do this in front of you. Iâm sorry. You can take my word for it, though, your mother had it coming.â
She finished cleaning the knife and slipped it back into its sheath. Scootaloo was still standing there when she turned back.
âWhen you grow up,â Rarity said, âif you still feel raw about it, come find me. Iâll be waiting.â She walked to the door.
Outside, Rarity consulted a list that she carried with her. There were five names on it. She lifted a felt-tip marker out of her pocket and crossed off Rainbow Dash.
Captain Dusk and his crew have an important mission ahead of them. With no modern electronics, navigation, or communication, it won't be easy. They must pull together in order to survive the Dead Zone.
Author note: I think this would have been a fairly unique idea: the idea of high-tech ships forced to do battle the old fashioned way, with line of sight weapons, dead-reckoning navigation, and nobody to call for help. I was planning to also explore the idea of one pony in charge of so many and being their ultimate leader. With the radios down, he can't call to ask for advice. It's a terrible burden. Captain Dusk isn't confident in himself, but slowly grows to learn that he has to be, because his crew look up to him. At the end of the story, I was planning a giant battle. Dusk knows the stakes, and knows that he will have to answer for the orders he gives. He says, "Fight her 'till she sinks." Then cut to black. The story of how the ship turned out is not important, it's the personal journey Dusk went on to get there. Over the course of the story, he and his entire crew bond and will support each other, even in the face of possible death. Oh, and TMS Honor was to be a Zumwalt-class bought from the Americans. I set the story in the future so we could see what the US Navy's currently most advanced ship would have aged to.
2046 Guam
The twisted metal and wreckage of what had once been a submarine was tied to the pier. It was a miracle that it still floated, really.
Dusk turned away from the damaged vessel. Even if the sub wasnât part of the Equestrian Navy, he still didnât like seeing such destruction. It reminded him too much of his own ship.
While Dusk wasnât a very political stallion, he knew that the war with China had been a long time in coming. He also knew that the war had mostly been instigated at the behest of the United States. Equestria, as a participating member of the UN, had become involved.
The dimensional doorway technology to connect the pony world to the human one was now more than fifty years old. The two sapient species had learned to live together. Both had needed to make adjustments, but the relationship was mostly good.
And then war came along. The Princesses had recognized that people were more experienced at it and sought to improve the readiness of their own forces. That involved the purchase of advanced weapons and combined training with human forces. Ponies had been present in at least an observation role in every conflict from Afghanistan all the way up to the present.
That still didnât mean Equestria had the best military in both worlds. Dusk swung his gaze across the pier to where his ship was tied up. Their Majestiesâ Ship Honor was an antique, built in the 2010âs for the US Navy and retrofitted for Equestrian service. The Princesses simply could not justify to their citizens the spending of trillions on weapons. However, it would have to do. Honor was next ship scheduled to deploy.
Dusk walked up the gangway to the quarterdeck, saluting the shipâs ensign and the officer of the deck. The pony saluted back. âWelcome aboard, Captain.â
Nodding to the sailor, Dusk continued up to the bridge. Other crew members greeted him in passing. He was not a difficult stallion to recognize. Much of his coloring had been inherited from his mother, Twilight Sparkle. His mane and tail were cut short in a military style. The abbreviated uniform he wore was good for the warm weather in Guam. The matching cap on Duskâs head had a hole in the brim for his horn. The embroidery on the front of the cap spelled out TMS Honor, BBG-100.
The designation was an unusual one. In the human military, the ship had been classified as a destroyer. However, Honor was the largest surface combatant in the Equestrian navy. There was a certain amount of national pride in calling it a battleship. Dusk himself felt more than a little affection for the ship. Despite its age and hand-me-down status from the Americans, it was still his.
When heâd been picked for command, some ponies muttered about the political connections of his family but few could argue his qualifications. Dusk had never seen combat before, but had shown such mastery of everything else in his career that most assumed he would take to warfare with equal aplomb.
When Dusk arrived on the bridge, preparations were already underway to get the ship out to sea. The crew were well trained and knew their jobs. Their orders to sail would arrive soon. Dusk already knew where they were going; northwest, to the Philippine Sea.
China had spent decades building defenses. While an invasion of the mainland was probably not in the plans for allied strategists, they still had to defeat the Chinese military forces wherever they were found.
A system of electronic jamming and noise had been set up deep in Chinaâs interior where it was difficult to find and destroy. The signals it produced were a nuisance most of the time, but they created a zone of interference in the Philippine Sea where all the signals from the various places were focused and built on each other. It created a virtual black hole for electronics. Nothing worked there; radar, radios, and even GPS were blocked. It had been nicknamed the dead zone.
The zone worked both ways. Chinese warships suffered under the same blanket of silence. However, shipping through the area could pass by virtually unmolested. It was a safe haven for the cargo vessels traveling between China and territories it had taken over. That was cargo China needed to survive, and so ships like Honor had to venture into the dead zone in order to find them.
Author note: One day, specifically, one night at BABSCon 2014, the brony convention in San Francisco, totallynotabrony, Law Abiding Pony, Xjuggernaughtx, Super Trampoline, Pen Stroke, Benman, Andrew Joshua Talon, Ebon Mane, Leonzilla, Horizon, electreXcessive, ocalhoun, Regidar, TheNerdMichael, and Xepher were in a hotel room together and bored. Using totallynotabrony's computer, they took turns writing lines in a massive round-robin collaboration. This is what happened in the span of about an hour. Over a year later, nothing else has been done and the project appears to be dead.
âWell,â she said as we stared up at the giant hole in the hotel roof, âthat sure didnât work.â
âI told you!â a voice called from the bathroom. âSee, I told you! You never listen to me!â
âWell, excuuuuuuse me, princess,â Blueblood sneered at his cousin Cadance. âI didnât expect that smooze was what was clogging the toilet.â
Princess Celestia craned her neck forward, looking up through the hole to the clouds above where numerous pegasi were beginning to gather. âDear nephew, shouldnât you be more concerned that such a smooze like substance came from⌠you.â
âIâm quite certain itâs fine,â Blueblood said. âThis has been happening for weeks, ever since my encounter with that zebra peddler, and nothing untoward has happened yet.â
âExcept for the fact that a pagan cult has grown around smooze,â Cadance growled as she used her magic to flick the sticky white smooze of her cousin off her flank. âAnd stop spewing it in all directions like that, itâs staining the carpet.â
âAre you sure theyâre pagan?â Blueblood asked. âThey could merely be drunk.â
âYou would know,â Cadance shot back.
Blueblood coughed again. âAt any rate, I would stop if it were possible. It gets stuck in my throat and I canât breathe.â More smooze issued forth with another cough, small globules sticking to the nearby window. âBesides, if it means theyâre worshiping it, then maybe theyâll start bringing me gifts.â
âYour optimism is just astounding,â Cadence commented, dry as a sun bleached bone. âNothing gets you down.â
âYou should be glad of my optimism, cousin,â Blueblood sniffed, seizing an embroidered red handkerchief and rubbing his nostrils clean. He sneezed again, and soaked the handkerchief to the point it turned pure white. He grimaced and quickly tossed it over his shoulder. It landed with a plop on the carpet, and Cadenceâs stomach stirred when she saw it begin to undulate.
âIt is going to take over the castle and demand sacrifices,â Cadence warned.
âYouâre just jealous.â
âCousin dear, if I was jealous of needy creatures, I would have murdered you years ago. The only creatures I am jealous of are those sexy, smexy bison. Ooooh, I get all hot and flustered just thinking about them ââ
A blush spread across Cadenceâs cheeks as Bluebloodâs face twisted in confusion and disgust. âBison? What are you talking about? Arenât you married to that surfer?â His brows furrowed. âMaybe this smooze-goo is something to be worried about. Pagan zebras worshipping me, you⌠worshipping⌠bison. Is that new?â
âWell I might have been planning on raising a second family with bison while I keep Shining Armor busy at the Crystal EmpireâŚâ Cadance said hesitantly.
âWHAT!â Blueblood yelled in shock.
Cadence laughed, her composure broken. âOh Luna, your face,â the Princess of Love cackled. âOf all the things that break you, thatâs it?â
Blueblood sniffed, his cheeks burning. The smooze-saturated handkerchief began to crawl away, unnoticed by either pony. âWell you are the Princess of Love. To talk so candidly about bison-â
âI also know when ponies have negative reactions to love, or like, or even lust,â Candence said with a smile, âand that is very useful, would you not agree?â
Blueblood grumbled. He looked over at the handkerchief, which had now reached the bookshelf.
âWould you like to discuss your bison issues?â Cadence asked.
âIsnât the smooze-goo more pressing a matter?â Blueblood asked, a hint of urgency in his voice. Cadence rolled her eyes.
âYou havenât shown a single note of concern over it until you needed a distraction. Whatâs your bison issue?â
Blueblood worked his jaw, refusing to give her the satisfaction. Cadence hummed.
âAre you still smarting over that bison femaleâs rejection?â
âSh-She was-That is not-There is nothing remotely involved in-in my feelings and STOP READING MY HEART!â Blueblood snarled. Cadence smiled, a serenity borrowed from the sun princess.
âIâm not reading it. Iâm tempted to cover my ears, with how loudly youâre shouting about it,â Cadence said. âIs that rejection really so hurtful? I was told of what happened with you and Rarity-â
âThat is entirely different,â Blueblood said, just as shortly but without the note of bitterness. âSheâs just some⌠Some⌠Bison, and she goes and rejects me out of hoof for the flimsiest of reasons!â
âYou mean, your personality?â Cadence asked.
âVery funny,â Blueblood snorted. The prince looked over at the smooze-handkerchief, his eyebrows rising in alarm. âCousin, it has gotten to the books.â
âYes?â
âIt has opened a spellbook,â Blueblood continued warningly.
âI know. Basic Fire Spells.â
âIsnât that more concerning than my love life?â Blueblood growled. Cadence shrugged.
âI can multi-task. Besides, I can handle a little magic wielding monster: The terrible trainwreck that is your approach to females? That is a true challenge.â
A glow was beginning to envelope the smooze-handkerchief, a tiny flame starting to flicker in the air beside it. Cadance, however, nonchalantly lifted a piece of the roofâs wreckage and tossed it to her side. It smacked into the handkerchief, causing its small spell to dissipate with a pop. The smoozian creature shifted and waved a corner in aggravation at Cadance, but then had to flee as the princess chucked another chunk of a roof timber.
âSo, how did that rejection go again, cousin?â Cadance asked, a puckish smile on her lips. âYou were knelt down with flowers and chocolates, as I recall, and then what happened?â
âGroup hug!â
Cadence raised an eyebrow. âAs I recall, thatâs not ââ
The cultist who had screamed out the battle cry tackled her. âGROUP HUG!â he repeated, dragging her toward the roiling mass of smooze as Cadence shrieked and kicked him in the muzzle. The stunned cultist staggered backward and fell into the sticky white puddle, splashing little gibbets of goo everywhere.
Cadence glanced around the room, where half a dozen more smooze cultists had stepped out from the shadows to gallop toward them. âA little help here, cousin?â
Blueblood studied the edge of a hoof, smirking. âOh, dear. I was getting all prepared to talk about bison, but if youâre having trouble multitasking âŚâ
âVery funny,â Cadence growled, her horn lighting up.
Blueblood smirked, his horn lighting up as well as he eyed the charging cultists warily. He leaned backward, cracking his back like the trained contortionist that he was, getting ready to attack.
âGroup hug!â Another collective cry rang out as the group of crazed smooze worshipers prepared for a full on assault of epic care-bear like proportions. Blueblood reared back on his hind legs, bringing his forehooves down on the face of the nearest cultist, sending him tumbling back into the throbbing mass behind them to join his brother.
âHuh. I didnât expect you to actually be willing to get your hooves dirty BluebloodâŚâ Cadence curled her upper lip, snickering at Blueblood momentarily, only turning to deliver a swift kick to the jaw of yet another nameless cultist, sending him flying backward and crashing into the white marble floor.
âTell me why again you invited these people, dear cousin?â Blueblood reached up and cracked his neck, watching as the remaining cultists began to slowly close in the circle that they had formed around them.
âDid you send the guards off to go fetch your nail clippings or whatever it is you do again? That might explain it,â Cadence said, deadpanning at Blueblood. She took a deep breath, seriously considering moving to the desert after this was all over.
Princess Celestia had, to this point, watched without a word. There is, however, only so much smooze, cultists, and bison gossip one can take before gathering the motivation to take action. The Princess of the Sun decided to take matters into her own hooves. In a flash of intense light, Celestia appeared next to her royal kin, fire burning in her eyes.
âSister?â Luna glanced to the side at the bright flash beside her.
âSister?â Celestia blinked. She slapped a hoof into her face. âUgh. Teleports, how do they work?â She shook her head. âWrong royal kin.â In another flash of intense light, Celestia appeared next to her other royal kin.
One look at Celestiaâs face and Cadence took off like a shot. Sheâd been disciplined by the sun princess before and she had no desire for another lecture. Bowling aside the royal guards, she bolted, scrambling around corner.
Oh, this again? With a snarl, Celestia broke into a gallop. Her hooves sparking, she rounded the corner after Cadence. I guess some lessons need more reinforcement than others.
âBackspace! Backspace? WTF? Whoâs saying that?â Celestia shouted. âThereâs this damn ethereal voice shouting into my ear! It makes no sense.â
Luna looked at her sister. âSeriously, Tia? Are you quite well? There is no voice warning you as you delete your various mistakes of narrative.â
âOh,â Celestia said, âhow would you know? Iâve seen the ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion, these things mean little to me.â
âTia, youâre drunk. Go home. The smooze can be contained by the rest of us. You need to sober up before you can be useful in this battle!â
Celestia gasped. âAre you seriously calling me drunk? ME?â
âWell,â Luna said, âseeing as how you teleported away from me half a minute ago and you are still talking to me, yes.â
Celestia contemplated this for a moment. âGroup hug!â a cultist cried, leaping onto her back.
âGroup hug!â several other cultists yelled, piling on.
Blueblood saw his chance! He could save his aunt from the Smooze, and then she would be impressed with his bravery, and would forgive him the whole unfortunate business. He reared back, flailing his hooves in the air, and let out his battle cry: âThis isnât even my final form!â
Blueblood did a triple backflip, nearly tripping over his own hooves before hopping back up and snarling at the dog piling cultist. Blueblood charged forward, lowering his shoulder as he crashed headfirst into the swarming pile of cultists, sending a few of them flying off in other direction. He reared up and whinnied, repeatedly bringing his hooves down on the remainder of the hugging fanatics. No matter how many times he stuck, they just kept reappearing from the dead or unconscious bodies of their comrades.
This wasnât going to work. After thinking for a moment, Blueblood brought both hooves against his face and groaned. âWhy am I doing this with my hooves? I have magic, donât it?â
The fact that his grammar had begun to slip could have been an indication that he was indeed drunk. It was becoming harder and harder to hide despite his stunning athletic feats. Alcoholism, however, was the least of Bluebloodâs problems. His own alcoholism, at any rate.
It was Celestiaâs alcoholism that was the problem.
âDo you like bananas?â
A deluge of silence flooded the room. Every eye turned to stare with horror. Celestia didnât always bring that up when she was intoxicated, but when she did it was a warning to all involved that any given situation was about to go from bad to worse.
So of course that was when a particularly foolish cultistfoolishcultist chose to ask, âBanana muffins?â
It was going to be a story about Constant Clock keeping his mouth shut. With his incredible sense of timing, he is easily able to point out plot holes in movies and such. Nobody likes when he does this. I was originally trying to write a story for October 21 - Back to the Future day. Didn't work out, though. The plot was boring.
Everypony in the office watched the clock, waiting for quitting time.
Constant Clock, by contrast, instinctively knew what time it was. That almost made the wait even more excruciating.
But the worst thing was when a case came up twenty minutes before he was due to go off shift.
âHey Connie!â called a voice. Constant looked up. The new detective, Tack Driver, came over holding a file. âWe just got a report about a break in. Itâs got your name on it.â
Tack grinned. He might have been new, but he took to the office bandwagon of teasing Constant. It was partly because Tack was young enough to have grown up with the influence of irreverent human pop culture and also partly because Constant had never been one to take a joke.
âWhat is it?â Constant asked.
âA human runs a jewelry shop on Eighth Street. She says she was robbed by a time traveler. And get this â her name is Connie!â
Constant didnât appreciate his nickname. Heâd been called that even before the dimensional doorways were opened and his fellow cops had started giggling about female humans named Connie.
âSo, sorry to drop this on you twenty minutes before quitting time.â
âNineteen minutes and twenty three seconds,â Constant corrected automatically.
âThatâs just enough time for both of you to get started,â broke in Sugar Song, their boss.
âHuh?â said Tack, face suddenly sober.
âMake some inquiries. If it takes a little overtime, then do your job,â Sugar directed.
Constant had never really cared for his boss. She paired him with the worst partners.
Tack grumbled at the assignment, grabbing his jacket and putting it on to conceal the pistol belt around his midsection. His cutie mark was a pair of crossed pistols, something that would have been impossible before the humans showed up.
Constant had a pocket watch on his hip. Not really fitting law enforcement, but he had his own talents.
The two of them left the building, heading for the trolley stop nearby. The Equestrian streets hadnât been built with cars in mind, and public transportation still reigned supreme.
Tack, though, didnât seem to appreciate it. âI wish we could roll around in whatever we wanted, like Miami Vice. Iâd look great in a new Mustang.â
It took Constant a few moments to figure out what Tack was talking about. He decided not to reply.
However, Tack asked, âWhat kind of car do you drive?â
âI donât.â
Tack frowned, as if it was a foreign concept. âI should get you into Top Gear. Youâd like cars then. You also might like the British. Thereâs an American version of the show too, but we donât talk about that.â
âI donât really watch TV.â
That really threw Tack for a loop.
The jewelry shop down on Eighth looked like it had been converted out of an older building, so the doorknob was lower to pony standards and it retained some of the decorative gingerbreading around the eaves.
Constant frowned as he saw the display of watches in the front window. Only two were correct to the second.
Tack opened the door and the two of them stepped in. There was a woman behind the counter and Tack flashed his badge. âWeâre here about the robbery.â
âOh, thank goodness,â she said. âIâm Connie Callahan. I filed the report.â
Tack shot a grin at Constant before turning back to the conversation. âWhy donât you walk us through it?â
âA customer came in today to pick up a copper necklace that had been repaired. He showed me the receipt. When I went back to look at it, though, it was fake.â
âCan we see it?â Tack asked.
The woman produced the slip of paper for them, sliding it across the counter. âSee, the date is actually from the future.â
âWhere was this printed?â Tack asked.
âThe credit card machine here,â she replied, indicating it behind the counter. âI just got a new one.â
âAre you from the United States?â Constant asked suddenly.
The woman frowned. âYes. Why?â
âAmericans use month-day-year format. Everywhere else uses day-month-year. â
Realization dawned slowly. âItâs not November eighth, itâs August eleventh,â Tack said.
The woman turned red and covered her face. âOh my God! Iâm so embarrassed.â
Originally written for Altoid's Ruby Eyes and Echos in February 2013, and eventually used in Part 2, Chapter 14. At one point, a woman with a decent voice sang it, but the video has since been taken down.
Sleep, sleep, little one Your day was long and now it's done No more tests, get your rest When tomorrow comes, do your best
The world can be a scary place Keep a smile upon your face Do take care, I'll be there To see you as a lovely mare
Sometimes you might feel all alone Lost and scared, without a home Trust in me, you will see Let your mind be forever free
As you sleep the nighttime through Let Luna's moon shine down on you Like calm breeze, through the trees Sleep little one, sleep in peace
Author note: This story didn't pass moderation. Easy to see why.
HEY
Shining Armor looked up, seeing no obvious source of the voice. âYesâŚ?â
DO YOU WANT YOUR FOAL TO BE SO ENERGETIC?
âSo energetic as what?â asked Shining. âWho are you?â
TRY POWERTHIRST, ENERGY DRINKS FOR PONIES WHO NEED GRATUITOUS AMOUNTS OF ENERGY.
"Why would I want that?" asking Shining. âWhatâs Powerthirst?â
WITH POTENTIAL ALL NEW MAGIC-BASED FLAVORS LIKE SHOCKOLATE. ITâS LIKE ADDING CHOCOLATE TO AN ELECTRICAL STORM.
âLike I said, why would I want that? Why would I want that for my foal?â Shining raised his voice. âHey! Is this some kind of advertisement?â
SOUND THE ALARM, YOUR FOAL IS GOING TO BE UNCOMFORTABLY ENERGETIC.
âYou know what? I think I will,â decided Shining. âWhoever you are, the Crystal Guard is going to find you.â
WHATâS THAT?
âI saidââ
YOU WANT STRAWBERRY? WELL HOW ABOUT RAWBERRY? MADE WITH LIGHTNING. REAL LIGHTNING.
âI could just ask a pegasus to get me some lightning if I wanted it. And anyway, thatâs a terrible thing to eat,â Shining argued.
MADE WITH SOULS. REAL TORTURED SOULS.
âWhat?â
SPORTS. YOUâLL BE GOOD AT THEM. ITâS AN ENERGY DRINK FOR MEN. MENERGY.
âWait, go back to that part about the souls, before the puns.â
THESE ARENâT YOUR DADâS PUNS. THESE ARE ENERGY PUNS. TURBOPUNS.
Shining lit up his horn. âIâm warning you! Show yourself or Iâm going to find you wherever you are! Why are you doing this?â
SCIENCE, ENERGY, ELECTROLYTES, TURBOLYTES, POWERLYTES, MORE LYTES THAN YOUR BODY HAS ROOM FOR.
âThat isnât even correct grammar!â
YOUâLL BE SO FAST MOTHER NATURE WILL BE LIKE âSLOW DOWNâ AND YOUâLL BE LIKE âBUCK YOU!â AND KICK HER IN THE FACE WITH YOUR ENERGY LEGS.
âEven worse!â
YOUâLL HAVE SO MUCH ENERGY.
âNo, youâll have energy!â It was admittedly not a great one-liner, but Shining needed something to help him look cool if he was going to take down some nefarious character that seemed to be randomly shouting clips of unappealing ads.
IF YOUâRE USING ENERGY OVER A PERIOD OF TIME, YOUâVE GOT POWER. POWER MAGIC, POWER FRIENDSHIP, POWER CRYSTALS, POWER SNACKING, POWER SPAWNING BABIES. YOUâLL HAVE SO MANY BABIES. FOUR HUNDRED BABIES.
âI already have one!â Shining shouted in reply.
GIVE POWERTHIRST TO YOUR BABIES AND THEYâLL BE GOOD AT SPORTS. THEYâLL SPROUT WINGS AND FLY. THEYâLL FLY AS FAST AS KENYANS. PONIES WILL WATCH THEM FLYING AND THINK THEYâRE KENYANS. THEYâLL RACE AS FAST AS KENYANS IN A RACE WITH ACTUAL KENYANS AND ITâLL BE A TIE AND THE KENYANS WILL GET SENT BACK TO KENYA.
âWhat are you even talking about anymore?â Shining demanded. âWhatâs a Kenyan?â
BUT WAIT, THEREâS MORE.
âIâm not interested!â
FOR A LIMITED TIME ONLY YOU CAN GET POWERTHIRST: ROCKET EDITION FOR THE SAME LOW PRICE OF ONE DELICIOUS SOUL.
Shining started to shout in return, but paused as his mind caught up.
TRY THE NEW EXCITING FLAVORS OF HELLFIRE HUCKLEBERRY, PALE HORSE PURPLE DRANK, AND DEATH.
âHang onââ
âITâLL GIVE YOU GLOWING SWEAT. USE YOUR GLOWING SWEAT TO FUEL SWEET RAVE PARTIES.â
âYou canât just keep saying things like âHellfire Huckleberryâ and then something completely different!â
YOUâLL FEEL LIKE A FIGHTER JET MADE OF BICEPS.
âA what?â
TURN YOURSELF FROM AN EVERYMAN INTO A BEVERYMAN. BEVERY STANDS FOR BEVERAGE.
âYour puns areââ
WE INTERRUPT THIS ADVERTISEMENT TO BLOW YOUR MIND. NOW WITH PREPOSTEROUS AMOUNTS OF TESTOSTERONE. PREPOSTERONE.
âStop!â
TANG. ITâS A KICK IN THE GLASS.
âI thought we were talking about-â
THINK FAST, DOUCHE-FAG. YOUR SOUL WILL BE MINE.
âJust stick to one extreme or the other! Stop this swinging back and forth between vague threats and pure nonsense!â
YOUâLL INVENT HUMP-CATTING, A SPORT SIMILAR TO BEAR BLASTING. BOTH ARE UNNECESSARY EXTREME ACTIVITIES TOO ENERGETIC FOR NORMAL SPORTS.
âThough given the choice, I suppose I prefer the nonsense.â
CAN IT. WHEN GOD GIVES YOU LEMONS, YOU FIND A NEW GOD.
âEasy for you to say. I married an alicorn. Sheâs nice, and pretty, and excessively magical.â
EMOTIONS GOT THE BEST OF YOU? POWERTHIRST WILL TURN YOU INTO A LEAN MEAN KILLING MACHINE.
âBelieve me, you donât want to know what magical hormone swings during pregnancy do to somepony.â
POWERTHIRST IS THE NECTAR OF ELYSIUM, THE MEAD OF VALHALLA, THE FIERY BLOOD OF THE UNDERWORLD. HOWL, DOGS OF WAR AND COME FORTH TO IMBIBE.
âWhen you put it that way, it sounds even less appetizing.â
THIS SUMMER, EVERYPONYâS FAVORITE ACTION HERO ENERGY DRINK RETURNS.
âWe live in the Crystal Empire thatâs constantly surrounded by snow. Itâs kind of hard to tell what season it is.â
I PROMISE.
âPromise what? Can you even back up these ridiculous claims - which is not saying I want you to. Wait, why am I even talking to you? Itâs pretty clear that this isnât an equal conversation and I donât want what youâre selling.â
POWERTHIRST IS SERIOUS BUSINESS. THERE IS NO TIME FOR YOUR PETTY MORTAL CONCERNS.
âHey, that actually hurt. I hear it enough talking to my wife, sister, and my two aunt-in-laws.â
STAND BY FOR VENN DIAGRAMS.
âHow? Are you actually planning to add some visual to this audio presentation?â Shining chuckled. It was a PowerPoint joke. He thought it was funny.
Author note: An entertaining idea for a story, but the following chat log is as far as the four of us got. Also probably would be too meta and wouldn't include enough ponies to pass FIMFiction standards.
[7:25:26 AM] Bank job... [7:26:49 AM] We will rob the bank right next to the con, and then blend into the BronyCon group and no one would know [7:27:10 AM] all dressed in fursiuits [7:27:23 AM] There were a lot of people cosplaying as the guys from Pay Day last year, they would be questioned first! [7:27:28 AM] I was just about to type fursuits [7:27:43 AM] Clearly everyone wants this I'm surprised Hollywood hasn't made this movie. [7:27:44 AM] the furry bandits [7:28:01 AM] there were guys in bear suits in AVengers [7:28:04 AM] no, not that one [7:28:08 AM] the other one [7:28:16 AM] Batman vs. Superman? [7:28:24 AM] yeah, that one [7:28:26 AM] Lol [7:28:44 AM] Blame the airsoft guys [7:29:01 AM] Just got to put orange tips on our real guns and no one would know [7:29:20 AM] Just don't wear a con pass or have a Pinkie Pie on your shoulder [7:29:28 AM] nevar [7:29:31 AM] Actually do [7:29:36 AM] Confuse the fuck out of everyone [7:29:55 AM] "Get the buck on the ground! Get the buck on the ground! Don't make me use this party cannon!" [7:30:07 AM] I don't think this would work as well as you guys would think [7:30:13 AM] lol [7:30:16 AM] unless we immediately ditch the suits [7:30:21 AM] and that's like [7:30:23 AM] I am a criminology major [7:30:29 AM] $2k gone right there [7:30:34 AM] My major tells me how to get away with a crime [7:31:06 AM] I mean, we're all writers, so [7:31:11 AM] odds are we've all planned several [7:31:16 AM] lol [7:31:20 AM] a guy who would be a supervillain is a criminology major? [7:31:27 AM] That is how we fucked up [7:31:42 AM] We don't follow the plan, because we all edited it and forgot to share [7:31:52 AM] do you think we'd have more success if we were polite [7:31:55 AM] like, we still have guns and all [7:32:03 AM] But ask please and thank you? [7:32:14 AM] but it's just, "Hey, man, we just want whatever's in the vault. You're cool. Just pop it open and we'll bounce." [7:32:24 AM] Bro it out [7:32:39 AM] we could even email the bank manager afterwards and say the teller performed admirably given the circumstances [7:32:44 AM] Lol [7:32:48 AM] 10 out of 10 [7:33:03 AM] TheGuysWhoRobbedYourBank22001@gmail.com [7:33:38 AM] But yes, I would so be a supervillain [7:34:03 AM] I would have to put you down [7:34:21 AM] You are going to take out the big comic book nerd who became a villain? [7:34:26 AM] I know how the plot goes! [7:34:37 AM] but I edited it for you [7:34:43 AM] Oh shit [7:35:23 AM] I will still have my comic book skills! [7:36:04 AM] Heh... we all know the plots of these stories so we would all try to avoid it but we end up doing it anyway. [11:52:07 AM] EXECUTE THEM [11:52:11 AM] EXECUTE THEM ALL
Author note: I originally started this story to be about long nights sitting around waiting for something to happen but then it morphed into something vaguely about the real Topgun school. Somewhere between the two, it lost its way.
I wrote most of this on a phone with one hand while eating lunch with the other. Sorry.
Soarinâ sat in the weather office in Seaddle, drinking coffee and waiting. A storm was on its way.
He glanced at the clock. It was nearly two a.m. He looked at his coffee cup. It was half empty. It wasnât his first cup.
He looked around the room. The shift tonight was six ponies. He saw there was another patch present. Her name was Glider Rider. Her team jacket had insignia from half a dozen cities.
Soarinâ preferred to stay in one place. Maybe that made him a terrible pegasus. He got enough travel with the Wonderbolts.
The printer in the corner buzzed and ran its track back and forth a few times as if stretching before grinding out a page. Trade Winds walked over and pulled the perforations off. He scanned the page and announced, âStill on track.â No one acknowledged the report, but they all heard.
The night shifts were always quiet. They were all alert, but something about the hour naturally led to introspection. It couldnât have been lack of sleep. Weather teams were not allowed to be tired.
One of the newer guys, Hailstorm, let out a long sigh. He looked at the clock. Soarinâ glanced at him. Their eyes met. Hail got up and came over. Soarinâ saw his eyes go to the patches on Soarinâs jacket: Seaddle Weather Team, Cloudsdale Equestria Games, Wonderbolts, Sweet Apple Acres frequent customer. Entire stories could be told from the back of oneâs jacket.
Hail sat down, still focusing on the simple black and white patch on Soarinâs shoulder. He said, âI wanted to talk to you about going to All Weather school.â
Soarinâ looked across the room. âGlider.â
She looked up. Soarinâ tipped his head. Glider got up and came over, taking a seat with the two of them. Other than the Seaddle Weather Team, the only decoration her jacket shared with Soarinâs was the All Weather patch.
Soarinâ said, âHailstorm wants to go to the school.â
The school, the patch. Glider nodded. âWell, you know what they sayâŚâ
ââŚthe best of the best go there to get better,â Soarinâ finished. He smiled.
Hailstorm leaned forward. âI want to do that.â
âTheyâll teach you some advanced techniques, but mostly theyâll teach you how to teach others,â said Soarinâ. âActual job performance is mostly up to experience. Take Trade Winds. Heâs not a patch, but heâs been around longer than I have.â
âSoâŚshould I not?â
âIf you want to, you should,â said Glider. âBut itâs just another tool in the kit. Youâll be cooler for being good at your job than for having been to the school.â
âUnless youâre just hunting for achievements.â Soarinâ gestured to his back and chuckled.
Nightmare: evil, looks like a motorcycle, actually an ancient magical alien.
Fortunately, they live in one of the wilder neighborhoods of Tokyo and nobody notices.
But what people donât know can hurt them, and thereâs trouble brewing. Celty and her trusty steed might be the only ones who can stop an impending disaster.
Author note: Durarara is an anime. In canon, Celty has a horse (that she can turn into a motorcycle or other things) that I replaced in this story with the banished Nightmare Moon. Unfortunately, while I quite like Durarara, it's a very visual story, and I just couldn't find a way to make the plot of this crossover interesting.
Ch1
The black rider came to a stop at the curb and got off the motorcycle. The bike was as dark as the night, and had no lights, mirrors, or license plates. The rider was similarly clad, with the exception of a yellow helmet that had perky cat ears on top.
The door of a nearby building opened and a man came out. He was both shorter and thinner than the rider, who was already leaner than most.
The man took a long look, frowning. Even up close, at night it was hard to tell if the suit that encased the riderâs thin form was made of leather, or latex, or perhaps shadow itself. Any expression was hidden by the helmet.
âYouâre the courier?â he said in Japanese, with a trace of a foreign accent.
The rider nodded.
He handed over a backpack that weighed perhaps five kilos and a slip of paper. âThis needs to go to the address listed.â
The rider accepted the backpack and put it on, then held out a hand. The man put an envelope in it.
The rider unzipped the front of their suit a dozen centimeters, exposing pale skin and clearly identifying the rider as a woman. She made to stow the packet of money, but paused, considering it. She opened the envelope and flipped through the bills.
She slipped a phone out of her sleeve and tapped out a quick message, showing it to the man. You agreed on 100,000 yen.
âThatâs half.â
Up front, she typed.
The man scowled, but took out some more money. âDonât be late,â he said after she had taken it and zipped up again.
Such disrespect after attempting a swindle! hissed a voice in the back of the riderâs mind. This maggot deserves to be taught a lesson.
Instead, the rider nodded once and got back on the motorcycle.
One of these days you must get even. said the voice as the rider headed down the street.
He was a first time customer. the rider mentally pointed out. Now he knows that I stick by my agreements and will expect him to do the same.
Oh, and I suppose some day heâll be another friend that you canât allow close to you because youâre self-conscious about being a monster?
The rider lightly slapped the motorcycleâs tank. That was uncalled for!
You know itâs true.
The rider knew better than to reply, even though she wanted to. An argument right now, in the middle of a job, would only be a distraction.
She guided the bike onto the expressway and accelerated. Her trusty steed may have been a megalomaniac, but loved to race.
There wasnât much traffic that late at night, but the rider casually slipped between cars, comfortable at a pace more than double the speed limit.
The bike hit an expansion joint in the road at 150 kilometers per hour and the rider suddenly heard a cry. She straightened up, glancing side to side. Where is that coming from?
Not you? Maybe that package.
The rider felt faint movement against her back and brought the bike to a screeching halt at the roadside. Opening the backpack, she discovered a baby inside.
Several seconds passed as she stared, frozen in shock.
I told you we should have killed him.
Quiet.
The rider shook her helmet side to side. How could this have happened? She didnât usually care what she transported, but she wasnât going to participate in a kidnapping.
But - what exactly what she supposed to do with a crying baby on the side of the road in the middle of the night?
A set of headlights swung into view from around the curve, slowing down and shifting to the shoulder. A green van pulled up behind the motorcycle. Four people got out.
âDo you have a problem?â asked the young man who had stepped from the front passenger seat. He tilted his head. âArenât you that transporter?â
The rider didnât know them by name, but had seen the four of them around before. She shifted the infant to one arm and quickly typed on her phone, I think this child has been kidnapped. I donât know who the parents are. I need to go back and find the man who gave the child to me.
âWe can totally take care of a baby!â said the girl that had gotten out of the back seat.
âA steady diet of milk and manga!â added the boy next to her. âThatâs what growing kids need!â
âOh no, Iâm not letting some puking baby in my van!â the driver argued.
The man who had spoken first quietly accepted the baby from the rider. âWeâll go to the police for you.â
The rider gave him a quick nod of thanks and jumped back on her bike. She shot across the road into the opposite lanes and zoomed back the direction from which sheâd come.
The building where sheâd met the mysterious client earlier was dark when she arrived, minutes later.
If he was smart, he wouldnât still be here. said the voice.
Iâm hoping heâs not. The rider took out the money, to give it back in refusal of the job.
She walked up to the door and turned the knob.
A fraction of a second later, an explosion ripped the building apart, the blast tossing the rider like a ragdoll across the street and upending the motorcycle on top of her.
Ow⌠She groped for her helmet, which had been blown clean off.
The bike obediently rolled off her and set its kickstand. Now will you kill him?
The rider found her helmet and put it on. Maybe.
Kyohei Kadota sat in the passenger seat of the van, thinking. He and his friends had encountered the black rider around Ikebukuro before, though this was the first time she had ever âspokenâ with them. It was rumored that she didnât talk. There was something distinctly mysterious about her, particularly the way her motorcycle accelerated without even a whisper of noise.
His thoughts then turned to her delivery, which sheâd turned over to them. The crying had not stopped all the way to the nearest police station, despite the four of them trying to appease the baby. In the back of the van, Erika Karisawa and Walker Yumasaki had tried everything they could think of, but babies apparently were not into manga.
Fortunately, the baby was now the Ikebukuro Policeâs problem. At the station, Kadota had told them that theyâd found the kid in a dumpster. No need to implicate anyone, at least not until they knew the full situation.
Saburo Togusa sat behind the wheel next to Kadota, muttering quietly under his breath. He was usually the groupâs stick in the mud, but occasionally they needed one of those. It helped balance out Erika and Walker, who were both raging otaku.
âWell, I guess thatâs our good deed for the day,â Kadota said. He pulled off his black sock cap and scratched his head. âIâm still trying to figure out what that was all about, though.â
âItâs not like thereâs some sort of secret underground toddler-snatching ring,â said Walker. He pulled a box of Pocky out of the pocket of his blue sweatshirt and began to nibble on the contents.
âUnless there is,â argued Erika, crossing her arms over her black tunic. The two of them quickly descended into theorizing on possible scenarios, which spiraled from improbable to laughable.
Kadotaâs instincts were usually good, and he got the feeling that something larger was at play. The strangeness of a kidnapped baby being transported covertly around the city by an unknowing courier sounded far too convoluted for an isolated incident.
But he didnât think it was his problem. Not yet, anyway.
The elevator dinged. Shinra Kishitani, got up, buttoning his lab coat, and stepped out of his office towards the front door. The lock clicked and a woman in a black suit and yellow helmet came in.
âHello Celty! How was tonight?â Shinra asked.
Celty took off her helmet and handed it to him. Scratches and dust were all over it. Concerned, he looked up. Celty herself seemed fine. She looked perfectly normal, save for her conspicuous lack of head, which as her roommate heâd been expecting.
âWhat happened?â he asked, addressing the wisp of shadow above her unadorned neck.
She tapped out the details on her phone. The client wanted me to transport a baby. When I found out, I tried to go back and find him, but the building exploded.
âWho was it that connected you to him?â Shinra asked.
Izaya Orihara, the information broker. Iâm going to talk to him next. Watch the news. Maybe thereâll be something about the police finding a missing child.
The still-open apartment door opened a little wider as the motorcycle rolled in by itself. Inside the apartment, the black bike swirled into shadows, reforming into a horselike creature, black as midnight, with a sharp horn on her head and wings at her side.
âDonât track dirt in here, Nightmare,â said Shinra. âWeâve talked about this.â
âWho has just been caught in the debris of an exploded building?â Nightmare snapped in return.
They didnât get along, but Shinra mostly took it in stride. It was simply Nightmareâs default attitude, and heâd seemed to accept that. Celty was still the mediator for the more heated arguments.
Shinra had learned to accept a lot of things. Celty, for example. Theyâd met some two decades previously, when he was four, and had been living together since then. That was shortly after sheâd lost her head. Literally, of course.
Celty was apparently a dullahan, an Irish fairy that guided souls to the afterlife, by force if necessary. But most of her memories had gone with her head, and in looking for it, sheâd ended up in Japan making money as a courier in the meantime. No one, herself included, was quite sure how she could see, hear, and think without a head.
Nightmare was ostensibly her loyal steed, but exactly how that had come about Celty couldnât remember. Nightmare had indicated that sheâd been banished from her home planet for her behavior. At any rate, her powers complimented Celtyâs and they made an effective team, albeit with constant bickering.
The shower started and Celty realized Nightmare had beaten her there. She sighed inwardly and instead turned to her computer.
Celty had Izaya Oriharaâs email address and sent a brief message describing what went wrong. Izaya was a snake, she was convinced, but he was also one of the most well-connected people in Ikebukuro, or even the whole Tokyo area.
That done, Celty turned on the TV. There was nothing about a recovered child yet, but breaking news was covering the destroyed building.
The water shut off and Celty heard hooves on the tile floor of the bathroom. She headed that way.
Nightmare had both the incorporeal abilities and magic to not require showers at all - so did Celty - but they both took it as a small comfort after a stressing day. They traded places in the small bathroom. Celtyâs clothes wisped away into shadow with a thought.
âSomething has happened,â said Nightmare.
Celty wondered for a moment if Shinra had forgotten to buy soap, but realized from Nightmareâs tone that she meant their earlier escapades.
What? Celty wrote on the steamy mirror.
âI need some time to be sure,â said Nightmare. âI may have sensed something that I have not felt in a long time.â She smiled, showing her fangs. âA worthy opponent.â
CH2
Kadota and his crew had seen the exploding building from their van. It had been worth a look, but emergency services hadnât let them get too close. Theyâd retired for a late night snack.
The cheapest sushi joint in Ikebukuro was owned by Russians. One generally got what one paid for when it came to sushi. Still, it was a good meeting place.
âWho do we know in that neighborhood?â Kadota asked, over a platter of limp fish.
âI donât know if the Yellow Scarves have moved into that block,â said Walker.
âAre you talking about the explosion earlier?â asked Simon, one of the sushi chefs. He was tall, black, Russian, and a couple other adjectives besides. He dropped off more food, an order they hadnât placed.
âThatâs it,â said Erika. âYou donât deliver your special wasabi to that neighborhood, do you?â
Simon waved his hand. âNo, no. What else could have happened? Was Shizuo involved?â
Shizuo Heiwajima, widely regarded as one bad-ass dude, could have actually destroyed a building. Kadota considered it, but shook his head. âI donât think so.â
âYeah, he probably wouldnât have had anything to do with a baby,â said Saburo.
âBaby?â said Simon. They told him the story.
âVery strange,â Simon agreed. âWhy donât you eat some sushi and stay out of this?â
The four glanced at each other. Erika grinned. âI think weâre already involved.â
The next morning, Celty roused herself. She stretched and got up, changing out of her pink pajamas. Shadows curled around her body, forming the black suit she was known for around Ikebukuro.
Nightmare still slept, legs and wings splayed. Shinraâs apartment was quite nice for the neighborhood, but sharing a room with Nightmare was often crowded. In return, Celty got to see her asleep, which was cuter than Nightmare would otherwise have allowed. For being a motorcycle most of the time, Nightmare was strangely concerned with how others saw her.
Celty sat down in front of her laptop. Izaya Orihara had replied to the email sheâd sent asking for information. He wanted to meet, naming the top of a building in Ikebukuro. Checking the time, Celty realized she would have to hurry.
Nightmare was not an early riser. She much preferred the night, but with a grumble carried Celty downtown.
The local dreams I sampled last night were fascinating, Nightmare said as they sliced through traffic. My premonition was correct. Something is most certainly afoot.
Any idea what?
No, But itâs only a matter of time.
They arrived at the meeting place and Celty went to talk with Izaya. That involved finding her way to the roof, passing a sign that indicated Authorized Personnel Only. He was waiting for her there, wearing a fur-lined jacket too warm for the weather and a perpetual smirk.
âCongratulations,â he said. âYou broke up a North Korean kidnapping plot.â
Oh! Celty typed. Why were they doing that?
âNorth Korea has a lot of Japanese citizens held hostage, or arenât you from around here?â Izaya asked.
Celty was sure by the way he said it that he knew she wasnât. Izaya was like that.
âThey government might give you a medal or something, if they heard about it,â he said.
Celty said nothing. They both knew that neither of them would be saying anything to the police. Not that they were involved with the kidnapping plot, at least Celty knew she wasnât, but police asked questions and at some point someone would probably ask for Celtyâs ID.
âI should be going now,â said Izaya. He hadnât asked for money in exchange for the information, so he likely believed Celty owed him a favor now. He walked for the stairs, somehow still maintaining his smirk.
Seconds after he had disappeared, a pair of hands gripped the edge of the roof and a tall man hauled himself up, having apparently climbed to the fifth floor without stairs. If it had been anyone besides Shizuo Heiwajima, Celty might have been surprised.
He was blonde and wore a pair of blue sunglasses, clashing with his attire that made him appear as a bartender of a fancy pub. He glanced around and said, âI wasnât expecting to see you here, Celty. I heard Izaya was in Ikebukuro.â
You just missed him, Celty typed.
Shizuo scowled. âIt hasnât been a good day. This on top of the kidnappings.â
More than one?
âYou havenât heard? A couple of babies have been taken over the last few days.â Shizuo cracked his knuckles. âThereâs no possible reason anyone could have for that. When I find them, Iâm going to stop them.â
Shizuo was strong enough to toss vending machines and lift cars. Completely literally. Celty had seen him do it. She didnât pity whoever he might catch.
Izaya was perhaps the only person fast enough to stay out of his reach, which was why he seemed to enjoy taunting Shizuo. It was probably no accident that heâd departed moments before Shizuo had arrived. The two of them had a long-running and intense rivalry.
This may be a larger kidnapping ring than anyone realizes, said Celty. She filled him in on the previous night. Izaya said it was a North Korean plot.
âDo you believe that?â
The man I met could have been North Korean. But I get the feeling that isnât the whole story.
Shizuo seemed to have mastered the scowl as well as Izaya had the smirk. After a moment, he said, âIâll keep my eyes open.â
Celty nodded and Shizuo walked her back down to street level.
Astride Nightmare, she headed out. Nightmare said, Such a stallion would be a powerful ally.
Nightmare often used horse terms. She was one, after all. But Celty caught the undertone. Shizuo isnât interested in relationships. Heâs told me so.
Everyone lies.
Youâve seen how strong Shizuo is. He has nothing to gain by lying. Heâs just a friend.
Do you have friends?
The fact that Celty didnât reply immediately told them both what she thought. She finally replied, Shinra lets us both share his apartment.
Because he wants you for your body.
Celty flinched. There had been no undertone that time. Shinra and his family were interested in what made Celty tick, and sheâd agreed to undergo exploratory surgery to that effect in exchange for a place to stay.
To no oneâs surprise, being a monster was rather lonely.
Slightly related, a bug the size of a large dog splattered across Nightmareâs front tire.
They came to a screeching halt. Celty jumped off and took a few steps back in the direction of the thing they had hit. Black-clad appendages and green guts were spread everywhere across the street.
She looked around, looking for help, looking to see if anyone had noticed, looking for anything that might explain what had happened. It was midmorning on a quiet, narrow street. Everyone who might commute through here was already at work or school. Celty, Nightmare, and the large, dead bug were the only ones around.
Iâve never seen anything like this, Celty thought.
Is that a changeling? Nightmare said, a note of amazement in her voice.
How would I know?
Itâs a creature from my world. Nightmare studied what was left of it. Yes, Iâm sure. I wonder what itâs doing here?
It came from your world? Celty looked around again, pulling a hand to the chin of her helmet. How could it have ended up here?
I donât know. But I doubt itâs alone. They never travel alone.
Celty threw her leg over Nightmareâs seat and grabbed the handlebars. We should go.
I think that would be wise.
CH3
Shinra was packing his medical bag when Celty and Nightmare arrived back at the apartment. âHuh? Whatâs up?â he said, seeing Celty's manner.
âWe ran over a creature from my world,â said Nightmare. âIts exoskeleton burst open like a grape.â
Shinraâs eyes widened. âExoskeleton? What kind of creature was this?â
âThey are called changelings,â Nightmare explained. âThey are vaguely equine in shape, but insectoid in physiology. They have the power to change their appearance, and do so in order to replace family members and feed on love in their place.â
âFeed on love?â Shinra shook his head. âJust what sort of wacky creatures do you have on your zany alien planet?â
âYou are the aliens,â Nightmare shot back.
âCelty, what do you think?â Shinra asked.
Celty shrugged. She typed, Iâll take Nightmareâs word for it. But doesnât âchangelingâ make you think of something else?
Shinra thought about it. âCome to think of it, I believe Iâve heard that word before. Canât remember where.â He looked down at his bag. âI have to be going, however. Another day, another thug with a bullet to extract.â
When he was gone, Celty sat down at her computer and did a search for changelings. A lot of tall tales came up, but they all had some points in common.
âWhat a coincidence,â muttered Nightmare, reading along, her chin resting on Celtyâs shoulder.
Celty had to agree. According to the internet, in human folklore, a changeling was a fairy child that replaced a stolen human baby and was unknowingly raised by the parents. Not only did it resemble themes of the changelings Nightmare knew of, but it was extra suspicious in light of the local kidnappings.
Celty wasnât sure what to do with this information, but the thought of children being kidnapped still revolted her.
âItâs underhanded, Iâll grant you, but why the specific disgust?â Nightmare asked, reading her thoughts.
At least Iâm only an abomination. Youâre evil, of course you donât understand.
Nightmare put a hoof to her chest. âYou wound me.â
Celty got up and stretched. She shuffled her feet a little and took a long look out the window.
Nightmare waited, but not patiently. Finally, she asked, âWhat now?â
I guessâŚletâs go hunt some fairies.
âAre you not also a fairy?â
Are you going to believe the internet?
Nightmare lowered her head. âI concede that point.â
Erika and Walker were hard at work spending their pocket money, bouncing all around Otaku-R-We in search of the latest yaoi. At least thatâs what Kadota thought they were doing. He was probably right, too.
He stepped out of the store for a moment for some fresh air and immediately regretted it. There was more than one smoker outside. They were all either finishing their smoke before going into the store or lighting up after coming out.
Either that, or they were Shizuo Heiwajima. Kadota was pretty sure he didnât read manga. The two of them nodded, but said nothing. Nothing needed to be said.
A group of girls passed by them, fangirling about this and that. âDid you hear the new Kasuka Heiwajima poster is out?â one of them squealed.
âHeâs so dreamy!â added another.
Shizuo stiffened. The girls went by into the store.
âI think your movie star brother can protect himself from the likes of them,â said Kadota.
Shizuoâs fingers twitched on his cigarette, but he calmly put it back in his mouth. âYou have to let the baby grow up sometime,â he muttered.
âSpeaking of babies, did you hear about these kidnappings?â said Kadota.
Shizuo nodded.
The two of them lapsed back into silence. On the highway a block over, a black bike went by. The only sound of its passing was the woosh of displaced air.
Celty wasnât bad with technology, but finding someone whose name she didnât now in a place the size of a Tokyo neighborhood was no walk in the park. For the moment, she decided to revisit the scene of the exploded building.
Surely the police would have picked clean any evidence by now, Nightmare commented.
Celty shrugged. She didnât have many other ideas.
The scene was still taped off, but that didnât bother either of them. No one was around, so apparently the police had found whatever it was they were looking for.
Celty dismounted, surveying the scene but without a clear idea what she was looking for. Watching her step, she waded into the rubble. It was impossible to tell what the building had been used for before it exploded.
She felt a twinge of something and paused, slowly looking back and forth. Can you sense that?
Nightmare came over. A few seconds passed before she replied, âYes. Itâs magic.â
Tell me about it.
Nightmare judged it for a moment, but then shook her head. âIt is nothing that I recognize.â
Not like a changeling? What else could have magic?
âNo, not like a changeling, althoughâŚâ Nightmare considered it. âThere may be an aspect of shapeshifting. Perhaps there is some creature native to this planet that possess those abilities.â
Well, I doubt itâs the North Koreans. Celty paused. Though I am still curious why that man was involved.
She rolled Nightmare back down off the pile of debris. Izaya Orihara was waiting for her.
âFancy seeing you here,â he said, smirking. âI came by myself to get a better feel for Mr. Lee, our mutual acquaintance.â
That was his name? Celty typed. What do you know about him?
Izaya held out his palm. âFifty thousand yen.â
That was half what sheâd been paid to take the job in the first place. Not that Celty needed money, but when lives were on the line, Izaya was as mercenary as ever. She paid him.
âNorth Koreans have kidnapped dozens of Japanese over the years,â he said. âThis is the first time Iâve heard of them going after babies, but Iâm sure they have a reason that makes sense-â he scoffed â-to them.â
Where can I find this gang?
Izaya considered it. âWhat are you planning? You know Ikebukuro already has its own homegrown gangs.â
The Yellow Scarves. Blue Square. Yakuza. And others. Truly, local gang battles rarely resulted in more than a few injuries, but none of the hundreds of members them would take lightly to North Koreans of all people infringing on their territory.
Somepony has to stand the watch. Somepony has to stay up all night, just in case.
Tonight, it's Spitfire.
Another attempt to capture the feel of long nights sitting around waiting for something to happen. Not bad, I guess, but jeeze, can you imagine twelve whole hours of this?
The desk was probably older than her. Hundreds, or maybe even thousands, of ponies had sat at the desk over the years. Various inkblots dotted the surface and the drawers had gotten rough in their tracks. A green hardcover journal sat on top the desk, a quill carelessly off to the side.
Spitfire sat down in the chair, which creaked. She opened the journal and flipped through the pages until she found the most recent entry. The bottom line read 1800 - Nothing Significant to Report.
"Yeah, like it says." Airborne gestured. "Nothing happened."
Spitfire nodded. "All right. See you in the morning."
Airborne nodded and walked out the door.
The listing of the day's activity was sparse. Nothing had been scheduled for the weather, just maintaining clear skies. Airborne's writing began at six a.m. The watch officer before him, who had stood the same twelve hour shift that Spitfire currently held, had similarly had nothing to say.
Spitfire looked at the calendar beside the desk. The next day was scheduled for gentle rains, cultivated from an incoming front.
Spitfire turned back to the log and signed her name in the book, just after Airborne's last entry. She was now on duty.
The process always seemed so formal. While the rest of the weather team slept, the dozens of hard working ponies all gone home to bed, she was awake. If anything happened, she would be the first to know. She would also have the responsibility of deciding what to do about it.
Spitfire had checked the weather visually on the way into the weather team office. It was clear, and the sunset was coming on. She decided that she wanted to see it.
1804 - watch officer to roof
The office was small, but the second floor was still better than the ground. Spitfire opened the door and walked to the railing. She'd timed it well and caught the good part of the sunset, the darkening skyline of Detrot obscuring the proper horizon.
A little breeze came up. Spitfire judged it at five knots from due west. She turned her back to it, looking east to the rising moon. While 12-hour duties weren't Spitfires' favorite thing, she didn't envy Princess Celestia, handling a pair of heavenly bodies morning and night every day.
1822 - watch officer returns
Spitfire sat down again. The office contained little besides the desk. The drawers held reference information and office supplies. Curiously, there was also a shuffleboard puck deep in the back of one of the drawers. Spitfire had discovered it the previous week. Nopony seemed to know where it came from. Probably somepony who had long since departed Detrot.
She sat back in the chair and stared at the ceiling, wishing she'd remembered to stop by the library before arriving. It was going to be a long twelve hours with nothing to do.
Spitfire looked at her hooves. Her friend thought she needed to be shod. Her hooves were a little rough, true, but it wasn't like she spent a lot of time on the ground. Well, okay, running was part of her new workout plan. But shoes slowed her down and were just one more thing to worry about.
She opened the bottom drawer on the left. It contained a three-ring binder with no paper. The top left drawer had half a ream of blank paper, a ruler, an eraser, and a staple puller. The bottom right drawer had a box of paperclips, a stapler, an envelope with smaller envelopes inside, a brand new journal like the one used for the watch log, and the shuffleboard puck. The top right drawer had two quills, a bottle of ink, a broken pencil, and a crumpled ball of paper.
Spitfire unfurled the paper ball. Somepony had started to write "Detrot Weather Team" but broken their pencil halfway through the last word. She dropped the paper in the trash can.
The trash was kind of full. Not fully full, just mostly. Spitfire looked around. She looked at the trash again, sighed, and got up. After taking the bag out of the can and tying it off, she looked around for another bag. Nothing in the office. She walked out the open door and into the hallway. The supply closet next door seemed like a logical choice.
Inside was a sink, mop bucket, a carton of toilet paper rolls, and yes, trash bags.
Back in the office, Spitfire replaced the bag in the can.
1853 - took out trash
The dumpster behind the building seemed extra foul today. Possibly because Spitfire approached from the east and had the wind in her face. She lifted the lid just enough to toss the trash bag in. That done, she returned to the office. Nose still feeling molested, she made a detour to the restroom to wash her hooves. No telling what she might have touched.
The office clock read 1901. Well, that was one hour down. Spitfire sighed and leaned on the desk.
Twilight notices that many Equestrian cities are old and use archaic city planning. She fixes it.
I had this idea about wastewater to generate electricity. It wasn't a very good idea.
âHas anypony ever noticed how difficult it is to get around Canterlot?â said Twilight over lunch with her friends.
âNo,â said Rainbow Dash.
âYes,â said Rarity.
Rainbow blinked. âOh. Roads. Ground pony problems, got it.â She went back to eating.
âItâs not just roads,â said Twilight. âItâs the system. We need to take a top-down look at tributary organization and determine how traffic flows, which will then inform our decision on how to correct it. Smaller streets need to feed into larger roads and highways. Straightening them out would also help a lot.â
âIâm all for straight roads,â said Applejack, âbut whatâs it going to take?â
âThere are probably a lot of houses in the way,â added Fluttershy.
Twilight considered it and turned to another friend. âWhat do you think, Pinkie? You havenât said anything yet.â
Pinkie grinned. âI say go for it. There ainât no party like a road construction party because a road construction party donât stop.â
With that settled, Twilight drew up some schematics and presented her plan to restructure Canterlot to Princess Celestia.
âThis seems like it will require a lot of effort and cooperation from citizens,â said Celestia, looking at the blueprints Twlight had drawn up.
âThe city is built on infrastructure literally a thousand years old,â said Twilight. âPonies back then couldnât have planned the city would grow into what it is today. If we make an investment now, and allow for the future, the improvements could last us well through the next millennium.â
Celestia considered it for a long moment and then nodded. âMake it so.â
Being placed in charge of transport modernization for a whole city made Twilight giddy with responsibility over budgets, labor, and above all, efficiency.
Something occurred to her, however. The roads were one thing. What about trains, the airship station, and pegasus flight lanes?
But none of that could operate without electricity, trash collection, water supply, wastewater outflow, and dozens of other factors. Twilight realized that she needed to take her plans deeper.
It took a lot of long nights, but she drew up new plans to modernize the whole city. Grinning with anticipation of how awesome a properly organized, efficient city would be, she ordered the outline made real.
The weeks passed. Twilightâs friends became concerned. They hadnât seen her since the project had begun. Strange things were afoot in Canterlot. They decided to visit.
When they arrived, they found the city torn apart in a massive civil engineering holocaust. Pavement, wires, and pipes went everywhere. None of it seemed to make any sense.
They found Twilight in a deep underground pit consulting with a stallion who spoke with an accent about some incredibly large machines.
âAh dunnoâ if we can do that, Capân,â he said, Scoltish accent in his voice.
âItâs just another kind of wastewater,â said Twilight.
âIf you say so.â The stallion sounded dubious.
Twilight spotted her friends and came over. âHello girls! Sorry I havenât been home lately. This huge industrial project has been so exciting!â
âIf you say so.â Rainbow sounded dubious.
âWhat this thing?â Rarity asked.
Twilight turned. âItâs a system to utilize wastewater to create electricity.â
âSounds fun!â said Pinkie. âHowâs it work?â
âWe can use the sewage outflow to drive turbines to create power,â said Twilight. âIâve named it fecalelectric generation.â
It took a second, but all her friends grimaced as the meaning sank in.
âI can give you the tour,â said Twilight. âEverything is going so well. Weâve finished routing the train lines.â She pointed to a map.
Rarity squinted at the drawing. âDo they go through the retirement community?â
âThey donât go through the retirement community. I laid out the lines in the most efficient way first, and then relocated the retirement community around them. Who else wouldnât be able to hear the noise?â said Twilight.
âTrain routes are one thing,â said Rainbow. âI want to know what you did with the pegasus routes.â
âWe eliminated them. All of you need space to flap your wings and it was much more efficient to pack you into public transportation like everypony else.â
Above Rainbowâs protests, Pinkie said, âArenât there any public meeting places anymore? Where are ponies supposed to hold parties?â
âWe have designated party locations,â said Twilight, pointing them out.
âWhatâs this about hydroponic gardens?â Applejack asked.
âWe installed them inside pegasus homes, so they could receive ideal water,â said Twilight.
âThen what are the earth ponies supposed to do?â Applejack asked.
âMandatory marriage to pegasi.â Twilight turned to Fluttershy. âSpeaking of that, youâre married to Applejack now.â
Fluttershy stammered. Twilight said, âItâs okay, weâve set up designated breeders so theyâll be a controlled amount of children, even for same-sex couples.â
âTwilight, I think your obsession with efficiency is getting out of control,â said Rarity.
Just then, the Scoltish engineer Twilight had spoken to earlier burst in. âThe wastewater generation is operating at redline!â
âMaximum efficiency, yes,â said Twilight. âWe canât let it operate at any less than capacity, now can we?â
âBut the shit turbines cannaâ handle it, Capân!â
âWhy does he call you âcaptain?ââ Rainbow asked.
âI donât know, one of those weird things the Scoltish do. Iâve told him to stop because throwing an extra word in isnât efficient,â said Twilight.
She turned to a new set of plans. âI hope youâre all hungry, because I canât wait to show you what Iâve got planned for how to deal with biomass disposal!â
I based this story on real-life history, with maybe some steampunk elements. There would have been aerial battles, fedoras, ân stuff. The airship captain would have been Rainbow Dash. Rarity might have appeared as a lounge singer. Ultimately, the plot was just too straightforward and not worth writing. I also couldn't seem to make the humanizing work, and keeping them ponies would have made the retro technology not retro at all. Casting by Navieka, SilverScales, and Dafaddah.
October in Washington, D.C. is a fine line between summer and fall. The weather progressively gets colder as the month goes on, gradually fading into winter.
It was on an October day that Sunburst walked to work. He had just begun to wear a coat and grow his beard out due to the downturn in temperature. He lived two blocks from the Bureau of Internal Revenue building, where he was an Agent with the Prohibition unit.
Sunburst had been with the Bureau for six years, going to work for them after getting out of the Navy. During his time as a sailor, heâd rarely set foot on a ship, despite serving through the Great War. After scholarly pursuits in his teenage years, his business in the military had been in intelligence.
He hadnât been a spy, not really. Sure, they had trained him in field work, but he had never seen anything important, and most of his time had been spent sitting cramped at a desk analyzing information that had come in.
Sunburst didnât look like a spy, either. He was skinny and redheaded, with delicate hands, pale skin, and wore glasses. The beard made him look a little older than his twenty-eight years. The clothes he wore were nice enough to conform to the office dress code, but everything came off the rack.
The United States was doing fairly well for itself in 1924, but that didnât mean people like Sunburst could relax. Being with the Prohibition unit, his job was to enforce violations of the 18th amendment, which banned the manufacture, sale and transportation of alcohol.
He got inside the building a few minutes before nine and went up to his desk. He shared a room with three other agents. Waiting on his desk was short message written on memo paper.
Bureau of Investigation called. AJ Edgar Hoover herself wants to talk with you. Canât imagine what she wants. Driver from the Bureau will arrive at 9:00 to give you a ride.
Sunburst picked up the message and went down the hallway to the switchboard room. Ms. Harshwhinny worked there. She was perhaps sixty and had been around the Bureau of Internal Revenue for as long as anyone could remember. She reminded Sunburst of a least favorite aunt.
She looked up when he walked in and pulled back one side of the earphones she wore.
âWhatâs this about the Bureau of Investigation?â Sunburst asked.
âWhatâs written on that paper is all I know. I sent a message to the boss. He said heâd just heard about it a few minutes ago. Whateverâs happening, itâs moving fast.â She turned back to her board.
Sunburst said thank you, though she wasnât listening to him anymore, and went back to his desk. At the dot of nine, a young man poked his head in the door.
âIâm looking for Sunburst.â
âThatâs me.â
âIâm supposed to take you to the Bureau of Investigation building. Iâm Agent Pipsqueak. You can call me Pip.â He stuck his right hand out for a shake and handed Sunburst a business card with his with his left. Sunburst shook his hand and slipped the card into a pocket. He thought Pip looked to be in his early twenties, with a cheerful face.
Sunburst went back to his desk to get his hat and then followed the Pip outside to a shiny new Ford with government plates.
Pip was a good driver. Sunburst had a license, but didnât get much practice. At that hour of the morning, the streets were crowded but Pip wove in and out of traffic without a problem.
âDo you have any idea what your agency wants me for?â Sunburst asked.
âYou donât know either?â asked Pip, surprised. âI was just told to go get you and take you to the directorâs office.â
âThen what could this possibly be about?â
âWell, I guess youâll learn soon enough.â The Bureau of Investigation building came into view. Pip found a place to park the car and they went inside.
Sunburst had never visited the building before, and followed Pip. At a door marked DIRECTOR, Pip stopped and swept his arm forward. Sunburst turned the knob and walked in.
AJ Edgar Hoover had been a name known to government people around Washington for a long time. She was famous for getting results and unflinching stubborness in going to any lengths to get them. When Sunburst came in, she was seated at her desk talking with a sharply-dressed man.
The Director of the Bureau of Investigation was a mysterious figure. No one was quite sure what AJ stood for or where âEdgar Hooverâ came from. She was blonde with freckles and had traces of an unplaceable accent. She stood as Sunburst came in.
The man with her turned. He was tall and wore a well-trimmed mustache. His clothes cost more to just look at than Sunburst had paid for his.
âAgent Sunburst,â said AJ. âI was hoping you could help the Bureau of Investigation with something.â
Hello, itâs nice to meet you, too, thought Sunburst. âYes maâam, what is it?â
âWe have a prisoner that was caught making a deal involving alcohol. He has information that could lead to the conviction of Donut Joe. You know him?â
âHeard of him. Isnât he some liquor runner out in California?â
âThatâs right. The prisoner works for him, but heâs agreed to help us put him away. Weâre going to be transporting him to Los Angeles to testify.â
âSo why do you need me?â
âWell Sunburst, not only are you from the Prohibition unit, but what weâre planning might go more smoothly with your Navy background.â
Sunburst frowned. âWhatâs that?â
AJ gestured to the man beside her. âYouâre going to help Agent Fancy Pants here get the prisoner aboard a Navy airship for the trip to Los Angeles.â
Sunburst had heard that the Navy was experimenting with blimps and dirigibles but had never seen one during his time in the service. âThe Navy agreed to this?â
âNot quite yet, but they were planning to make the trip across the country anyway. Joe isnât going to be happy about an employee of his turning on him, and might try to silence him. Iâm convinced that traveling by airship is the best way to make sure that doesnât happen. Besides, itâs faster than the train.â
Sunburst nodded. It was all he could do. âAlright, when do we leave?â
âThree days from now. The airship is at Naval Air Station Lakehurst, in New Jersey. Weâll get a train ticket for you.â
It seemed as if this was really happening, not just speculation. âAll right, then. Anything else?â
âNo, I donât believe so, Sunburst. Agent Pip will drive you back.â
Sunburst turned to go. Fancy Pants walked over and followed him out.
Pip leaned against the wall outside. He straightened when he saw them come out.
âGive us a minute,â Fancy Pants said to him. Pip shrugged and headed back towards the car. Fancy Pants turned to Sunburst.
âSorry about her.â
Sunburst shrugged. âSo whatâs the deal with this prisoner?â
âHis nameâs Zephyr Breeze. We caught him while he was trying to set up a Canadian supplier of liquor for Donut Joe. I heard from some of the fellows who arrested him that heâs a real piece of work. Right now, heâs in a holding cell in New York. Heâll be delivered to us when we leave.â
âSpeaking of leaving, what do you think about the airship?â
âI think itâs a completely insane plan.â
âYouâre not the only one,â said Sunburst. He said goodbye to Fancy Pants and went to find Pip.
Back at the Bureau of Internal Revenue, Pip dropped Sunburst off. The gossip had already made its way around and everyone knew that he was working for the Bureau of Investigation.
Sunburst didnât get much work done the rest of the day because people kept dropping by to talk to him or ask him questions. He wished he knew the answers. Late in the afternoon, a messenger appeared with an envelope for him. Sunburst signed for it and the man left.
Inside the envelope was a handwritten note from Fancy Pants and a train ticket to Hartford, Connecticut.
Fancy Pants explained that Sunburst should be at Union Station the next day. They were going to go to Connecticut to take care of a few things before going to Lakehurst. They were expected to be gone for three weeks. Sunburst began to think that he might have gotten himself in over his head. So much could happen in the span of one day.
Sunburst put the envelope in his pocket when he left the office that afternoon. On his way home, he stopped at a corner flower shop to buy a bouquet for his wife. He was going to need all the help he could get.
Starlight was as pretty as the day Sunburst had married her, six years before. She was smart and loving but had a temper that would make brave men cower.
As Sunburst came in, she saw the apologetic look on his face and the flowers in his hand.
âWhatâs the occasion?â she asked.
âThe office wants me to take a trip.â This was not something new. He would sometimes go with a team for investigation, or occasionally, arrests.
âHow long?â
âThree weeks.â
âThree weeks!?â
âItâs a joint operation with the Bureau of Investigation. They seem to think Iâm the only man for the job,â he placated.
Starlight shook her head and moved in to embrace him. âWhen do you leave?â she asked into his chest.
âTomorrow.â
He waited for another outburst, but instead she sighed and said, âWell, I suppose weâd better get you packed.â
Starlight made him breakfast in the morning and sent him on his way. Sunburst caught a cab to Union Station.
The station was an enormous white stone building located on Massachusetts Avenue. The architecture was big on arches and open space, with some ceilings reaching perhaps ninety feet above Sunburstâs head.
He checked with the ticket office and they told him his platform number. He had arrived twenty minutes before the train was scheduled to depart.
Sunburst stood near the platform and smoked a Camel. The train pulled up and passengers began boarding. Sunburst put his cigarette butt in an ashtray and followed the crowd aboard the train.
Fancy Pants arrived a few minutes later and sat next to Sunburst. The ride to Harford would take nearly all day, but that didnât appear to keep Fancy Pants from dressing as sharply as ever.
Sunburst said good morning to him and asked, âWhat are we doing in Connecticut?â
âThereâs a man I want to see before we leave. Donut Joe knows a lot of people all around the country he can call to assist him. We might need all the help we can get.â
Sunburst shrugged it off, figuring he would find out what Fancy Pants was talking about soon enough.
He dug into a scientific journal heâd purchased for reading. It was speculated that the Nobel Prize in Physics this year would go to a fellow who had researched X-ray spectroscopy. That didnât mean much to Sunburst, but learning was why he read.
The train passed through Baltimore, Philadelphia, Trenton and New York City before getting to Hartford. Sunburst stumbled off with his suitcase, stiff from sitting too long in one place. After the train trip from Washington, the idea of riding in an airship sounded like Heaven.
Fancy Pants had already booked two hotel rooms using a government expenses account. Sunburst was beginning to suspect the Bureau of Investigation was rather well-heeled. After the trip, he fell into his bed and was out like a light.
In the morning, the two of them got into a cab and went to the Colt Firearms facility. It appeared to Sunburst that Fancy Pants had been there before and that someone was expecting him now.
The two of them went into an office building separate from the factory. It was much quieter inside, with only the sound of pencils scratching on paper, instead of machines forging weapons.
Fancy Pants knew where he was going and led the way to an office. The door stood open and Sunburst glanced at it as they went inside. It read Big Macintosh, lead designer.
âMr. Macintosh,â said Fancy Pants, addressing a very large man sitting at a drawing table.
âHowdy,â said the man, standing and extending a hand
Fancy Pants said, âIâd like to introduce you to my associate, Sunburst.â
On hearing his name, Sunburst came forward and shook the manâs hand. He had the feeling that heâd heard the name Big Macintosh somewhere before, but couldnât think of where.
âWeâve come to Hartford on business,â said Fancy Pants. âYou might say weâre about to embark on a little adventure. Iâm not allowed to disclose specifics, but Iâll tell you about it when itâs over. Believe me, itâs going to be a good one.â
âAre you working on a Bureau expense account?â
âWe most certainly are.â Fancy Pants smiled.
Macintosh nodded. âIâll see what I can do.â He left the office.
âWhatâs going on?â asked Sunburst.
Fancy Pants grinned. âYouâll see. So will I, come to think of it.â
Macintosh returned a few minutes later lugging a heavy suitcase.
âMr. Sunburst, may I see your sidearm, please?â
Agents of the Bureau of Internal Revenue were not specifically authorized to carry firearms, but some, especially of the Prohibition Unit, did. Sunburst owned a Smith & Wesson .38 Special.
âHow did you know I was carrying?â he asked.
Macintosh did not reply, and merely looked at him.
Sunburst removed his pistol from its shoulder holster and held it out to Macintosh, who took it and examined it for a moment. He nodded and handed it back.
âMr. Sunburst, were you ever in the military?â
âYes.â
âThen I assume you are familiar with the Colt Model 1911 pistol?â
Sunburst suddenly remembered where he had seen Macintoshâs name before. It was engraved under patent numbers on more than a few firearms heâd seen.
Impressed, Sunburst said, âYes, I know the weapon. A fine pistol it is.â
âA fine pistol it was,â Macintosh corrected. âIt had a few flaws, some of which I have been working to correct.â From the suitcase he produced a pistol that at first glance resembled a standard 1911.
Looking closer, Sunburst saw that there were numerous small modifications. There was a slight curve on the back of the grip now, and the ejection port was larger. The trigger looked like it had been recessed and the frame around it had been cut down and streamlined.
There was one modification that showed above all others, however. The barrel was half an inch longer than normal, and had several small holes drilled on the topside. Sunburst noticed that the bore was also smaller than usual.
âWhat in the world is this?â he asked.
Macintosh smiled faintly. âThe military wanted to make a few changes to the original design. Theyâve just put the new version into production. This particular pistol, however, is chambered in .38 Auto. At high-power loadings, I have found this cartridge to be effective in penetrating body armor.â
âBody armor?â
Macintosh nodded. âThere have been some inventive fellows who have taken to wearing steel plates in order to stop bullets. Rifle bullets should have no problem going through the metal, but pistols are somewhat lacking in power.â
Sunburst nodded. Heâd heard stories about inventive criminals, but never encountered any. He touched the holes that had been drilled into the barrel. âWhat about these?â
âTheyâre called compensators. As the bullet leaves the barrel, some of the hot vapors from the burned gunpowder are directed upwards out of those holes. The force helps hold the end of the pistol down and reduces recoil.â
âMr. Macintosh, I do believe you are a genius.â
Macintosh shrugged. âIâm just doing my job.â
Macintosh handed Fancy Pants another one of the pistols. He gave each of them two magazines and a box of the high-powered .38 Auto. Sunburst discovered that the magazines held nine rounds. Having no holster to put the pistol in, he shoved it in his waistband, covering it with his coat. He dropped the spare magazine in his coat pocket.
Fancy Pants worked out a price with Macintosh to go on the expense account. Sunburst joined him in thanking Macintosh and they left.
Fancy Pants had tickets for a train to New Jersey. Sunburst spent the ride getting comfortable with his new pistol. It kept digging into his hide, and Sunburst had to surreptitiously adjust it several times. He wasnât used to carrying a gun without a holster.
Because Lakehurst was not on the main rail line, it took most of the day to get to their hotel. It was located just outside the naval base. Sunburst went out to smoke before retiring for the night. Behind the base fence, he saw a few towering hangars that were so big they could only be for airships. Even from a distance, they were absolutely massive.
Sunburst finished his cigarette and went back to his room. He usually slept well, but the anticipation of the next day kept him awake.
In the morning, Sunburst and Fancy Pants went to the front gate of the base. Security was a little tighter than usual due to the launch of the airship that day. They both had the proper authorization and the sailor on watch directed them where to go, not that they needed it.
The airship, USS Shenandoah, was even more impressive than the enormous hangar needed to store her. She was painted silver and seemed to Sunburst to be larger than most buildings heâd ever seen.
Shenandoahâs bow was tied to a pylon. It looked completely unnatural for such a large object to simply be floating a few feet off the ground.
A member of the ground crew met Sunburst and Fancy Pants and directed them to the officers in charge of running the airship. Before they could make the meeting, however, a sedan pulled up.
Two men got out and showed Bureau of Investigation credentials. One of them said, âWe have the prisoner.â
They pulled an unkempt man in handcuffs from the rear of the car. He had a couple days of beard stubble and his hair was pulled back and tied, though some still fell in his face.
âZephyr Breeze?â asked Fancy Pants.
âThatâs my na-â He stopped midsentence, awestruck at the sight of Shenandoah.
âWeâll take him from here. Thank you, gentlemen,â said Fancy Pants. He nodded to them and took Zephyr by the elbow. Sunburst formed up on the other side of Zephyr and the three of them walked towards the airship.
Applejack teams up with Starswirl the Bearded to stop a world-ending cataclysm.
Twilight is jealous.
Just what it says on the tin. The idea was kind of funny, but I just couldn't find time to work this out to a whole story. It could have been a nice western. Though, with Nazis, would that have made it a Germern?
The farmhouse sat in an orchard of apple trees. As the sun came up one morning, a man walked the long driveway to the front door. He paused for a moment in the front yard to look at the house before continuing up onto the porch. He knocked on the door.
A young man, tall and broad-shouldered, opened it. He looked at the visitor on the doorstep with perhaps a little less curiosity than the man merited. The visitor had a grey beard halfway down his chest, a blue robe, and a pointed hat with bells on it. In his hand was a carved wooden staff as tall as he was.
âHello,â said the visitor. âI must apologize for arriving unannounced, but this matter is of utmost importance and I beg you to hear me out. Is this still the Apple family residence?â
âEeyup.â
âGood! And you are?â
âMacintosh Apple.â
The man smiled. âYes, I can see the family resemblance. My name is Starswirl the Bearded.â
Mac put his hand out, which the man eagerly shook. As their hands parted, Mac looked at Starswirl, eyebrows lifting slightly.
âYes, to the matter of my business,â said Starswirl. His tone turned more serious and his smile vanished behind his beard. âI once partnered with an ancestor of yours to defeat an unimaginable evil. I beg you, for the sake of the world, please take what I am about to tell you seriously.â
He paused, to ensure he had Macâs attention. âSupernatural forces exist in this world. A great evil is about to befall us and I once more require the assistance of the Apple family to stop it.â
Mac turned and called up the stairs, âApplejack, itâs for you.â
Applejack was a naturally suspicious woman. That didnât mean she wasnât open and honest, but she was a certified skeptic. So when she came downstairs and saw an old man in a wizard getup at the front door, her immediate thoughts were not âactual wizard.â
She stopped at the foot of the stairs, just behind her brother. âHowdy, Iâm Applejack.â
The visitor stared for a moment. Applejack checked her jeans and plaid shirt. No, nothing on them.
He shook his head. âPardon me, I really must remember that fashion changes with the times. I was merely surprised to see a woman wearing trousers.â
âUh huh,â said Applejack, shooting a glance at Mac.
âForgive me, I should have begun with introductions. I am Starswirl the Bearded.â
Applejack shot another look at Mac, but he had already silently excused himself. Applejack turned back to Starswirl. âWhat can I do for you?â
Starswirl repeated his spiel to her, finishing with, âThis took place in what I belive is the territory of Arizona. I do hope that name rings a bell.â
âIt does,â Applejack said. Out west? What was a wizard doing there?
Applejack, skeptic that she was, had still seen more supernatural evil than most twenty-two year old women. Or men. Or most people regardless of age. Her high school experience had been...well, magical.
But when faced with someone who apparently needed her help to stop some unspecified disaster perpetrated by the forces of evil, Applejack couldnât help but ask a few questions.
âSo this ancestor of mine,â said Applejack, âAnyone Iâd know?â
âNo, unfortunately, he passed away before your time. But he was a good man, and if you have even half the will he had, we will certainly succeed.â
What ancestor of hers had been in Arizona? Maybe Jebidiah Apple, the cowboy.
ââBefore my time?ââ said Applejack. âNot to be rude or anything, but exactly how old are you?â
âWhat year is it?â
Applejack told him.
âThen I am one thousand sixty seven years old.â
Applejack blinked. Heâd said it seriously. âYou, uh, look mighty good for your age.â
âI have to pace myself,â admitted Starswirl. âI have gone into long periods of dormancy, waking upon magical triggers I set for myself when the world is in peril. Such as it is now.â
âExactly what peril is the world in?â
âThis may take a long while to explain,â he said. âDo you have a comfortable place to sit?â
Applejack thought for a moment. âHow about a library?â
Starswirl kept his hands neatly folded in his lap, sitting in the passenger seat of Applejackâs old truck. That didnât stop his eyes from moving, and he appeared quite interested in what, to her, was a beat up old farm vehicle.
Starswirl didnât seem to be the average nutcase. While Applejack wasnât quite convinced that he was really some wizard, he didnât seem to be putting her on. That made her even more suspicious.
She pulled into the parking lot at the Golden Oaks library and the two of them got out. Starswirl at least seemed to know how to use a modern door handle. He looked at the library. He seemed appreciative, though not especially enchanted. He picked his staff up out of the back of the truck and Applejack led him inside.
This is where Starswirlâs interest appeared piqued. Applejack wasnât sure if it was the huge variety of books stacked floor to ceiling, or the glossy covers and plastic dust jackets. Neither were things she figured they had a thousand years ago.
Applejackâs friend Twilight was standing behind the counter. She looked up from organizing a couple of books for reshelving. âHello Applejack.â Her bespectacled eyes slid to the side to settle on Starswirl. âWow, that is an amazing Starswirl the Bearded costume!â
Starswirl opened his mouth, but Twilight had already come out from behind the counter. âLook at this! Are these hand-stitched? The bells are perfect! Applejack, who is this? Where did you find him!?â
âHe says heâs Starswirl the Bearded.â
âWell obviously, but-â Twilight looked him up and down again. âWow, I canât - is that beard real?â
âIâve been growing it since the day I was born under a meteor shower through the aurora borealis,â said Starswirl.
âWell, anyone could have looked that up,â said Twilight. âOnly a true researcher of Starswirl would know about the time he allegedly gained the power to manipulate the sun and moon and then got drunk and gave it away to a pair of horses.â
âNot my proudest moment,â said Starswirl. âFortunately, I put things right before more than a fortnight had gone by.â
âWait, you read that manuscript too?â said Twilight. âThat was one of the rarest and least-known documents in the Canterlot Library. I was the first to check it out in over a hundred years!â
âI was not aware that I had gained such fame,â Starswirl remarked.
âMe neither,â Applejack replied.
âWait, you didnât know I would recognize him?â said Twilight. She frowned. âI mean, I totally do, because he was one of the biggest figures in the early magical community that I was able to find in old books. But if you didnât bring him here to show me this excellent cosplay, then why did you?â
âHe showed up at my house this morning claiming to be the actual Starswirl and he wants me to go on some quest,â Applejack explained. âNaturally, I figured youâd have something helpful to say.â
âThe actual Starswirl the Bearded?â said Twilight. âThatâs ridiculous, by now heâs long d-â She frowned. âActually, I donât remember any mention of Starswirl dying.â
âI didnât,â said Starswirl helpfully.
âItâs-itâs still ridiculous,â said Twilight. âAnd I say that after having independently discovered magic six years ago.â
âOh really?â said Starswirl. âWhat sort of containment did you use?â
âWell, I started out with sensors for electromagnetic waveforms I noticed that didn't seem quite right and eventually advanced to a field capture device that allowed me to intercept and store what I later realized was magic.â Twilight flushed. âThere were...a few problems along the way.â
âReality holes?â asked Starswirl.
Twilight nodded.
âMagical evil transformations?â
Twilight blushed and nodded.
âHappens to the best of us,â said Starswirl.
Twilight sighed. âYeah, thatâs why Iâve kept my research on a very low profile these last few years. Most people donât believe in magic anymore. I didnât, until I experienced it for myself. Maybe someday Iâll figure out a way to take it public without causing mass panic.â
She shook her head, bringing herself back to the moment. âApplejack, why does Starswirl want you to go on a quest?â Her hands suddenly clenched in front of her chest and her eyes went wide. âMr. the Beard-er, can I call you Starswirl?â
He smiled. âYou may.â
âCan I come on this quest!?â
âWhile I admire your scholarly enthusiasm, I must unfortunately decline. This is purely a job for an Apple.â
Twilightâs face fell. âBut-! Can I at least help with whatever it is youâre doing? What kind of quest?â
âRighting an ancient wrong, and defeating an ancient evil,â said Starswirl.
âSo the usual,â said Twilight. Applejack nodded.
Starswirl looked at them both.
âWell, what did you think a bunch of teenage girls did with magic?â said Applejack.
Starswirl nodded. âI should have known.â
They talked for a few more minutes before Starswirl insisted that they be going. Perhaps he was trying to tactfully turn down Twilightâs repeated enthusiastic offers to join the quest.
It would be a long journey. They stopped by the Apple homestead on the way. Applejack needed to pack up. As she was the practical sort, it didnât take much time to throw a toothbrush and a change of clothes together.
She came back downstairs to find Starswirl looking grave. âMiss Appejack, I appreciate your enthusiasm so far, but I must ask once again if you are willing to brave whatever challenges come our way.â
Applejack nodded. âIf an Apple did right by you way back when, then I figure I have to do the same. You heard Twilight - this ainât my first rodeo.â
Starswirl nodded. âI am grateful. However, I must recommend that you make preparations to protect yourself.â
Applejack smiled. âWell now, that wonât be a problem.â
She led him to the living room, where a glass case stood. Inside were nearly a dozen diligently maintained-firearms of various ages. Applejack opened the door and pointed to a shining Colt Single Action Army revolver, an authentic cowboy gun. âThatâs his.â
Starswirl frowned. âNo, I believe that one was.â He pointed.
Applejack followed his finger to a GI 1911. âWhat? Thatâs the sidearm Grampy Smith brought back from the war.â
Starswirl nodded. âYour grandfather did some very bad things to some very bad Nazis.â
Applejack shook her head. âWait, did this only happen less than a hundred years ago?â
âThatâs correct.â
âAnd you said this happened out west.â
âIs that not where these Nazis were?â
Applejack shook her head again. âNo. They were...well, it was called a world war. I didnât know about any Nazis in Arizona until just now, but most were over in Europe and there were millions of âem.â
âMillions.â Starswirl frowned deeply, even if most of his face was hidden by beard. âThis makes the problem somewhat bigger.â
Twilight gets her interdimensional cable TV set up and discovers a show called Voltron, about robots that combine together to form a bigger robot.
She can't help but wonder about the validity of such an experiment.
However, not enough robots and more than enough magic results in...not exactly the same thing.
I thought it was a unique idea until I found dozens just like it.
Twilight Sparkle was many things - a librarian, a scholar, purple pony princess, a nerd - but she was no showmare. When she had something to say, she got straight to the point.
"I believe I can increase the effectiveness and coordination of our friendship magic by literally bringing us closer together."
Her friends, the other five ponies she'd called for a meeting around the circular crystal table in her castle, showed varying levels of enthusiasm.
"Don't we need room to manuver?" asked Rainbow Dash. "Isn't this about fighting monsters?"
"But being closer together makes group hugs easier," said Pinkie Pie. "Right, Twilight? Is this a plan to group-hug every bad guy we meet?"
"Not exactly, or at least not the way you're thinking of it," Twilight replied.
"If we're going to be standing closer together, that should easily put us in group hug range," Applejack speculated, pushing her hat back.
"Closer," said Twilight.
"Surely we won't be battling monsters cheek to cheek?" Rarity shifted uncomfortably, as if concerned somepony would attempt to get that close.
"Closer," said Twilight.
"Well, the only way to get closer than cheek to cheek would be if we were inside each other's skin and combined together into some kind of multi-pony amalgamation," said Pinkie.
The others laughed. Twilight didn't.
"Wait, really?" said Applejack, first to notice the serious look on her face.
"Well, think about it," said Twilight. "All our talents and abilities combined into one form would help us be even more in sync when we set out to do something."
"IâŚcan see your point," said Rarity. "But all of us are individuals, darling. That's part of what makes each one of us special."
"Not to mention making ourselves one target makes it easier for a monster to attack us," added Rainbow.
"And I know Fluttershy's too embarrassed to say anything, but she's mortified at the thought of being so completely intimate," said Pinkie.
Fluttershy's face turned red, but she managed to nod once before hiding behind her mane.
"Well, I didn't intend to imply that this was the best idea for all circumstances," said Twilight. "But it would give us another option. For example, if we had to solve a friendship problem in a hole that was only big enough for one pony."
Applejack lifted one eyebrow.
"Or if we were on the train going someplace we could save money on one ticket instead of six!" Pinkie suggested.
Applejack's eyebrow lowered.
"I couldn't imagine what we would all look like," said Rarity. "Which is why I'm certain this would result in a form never before seen nor clothed! I would certainly enjoy the challenge."
Applejack's eyebrow went back up.
"So, can we at least try this?" said Twilight. "If we don't like it, then we'll know."
Varying levels of agreement went around the table.
Twilight, not hearing a no, said "Okay girls, let's do this."
"It's morphin' time!" Pinkie cheered.
Being Pinkie, it didn't even elicit a reaction from the rest.
Twilight showed them to her study room and brought out several scrolls of paper covered in scribbles. "I think I have everything worked out. I also built a reversal spell on a three minute timer, just in case."
She took a piece of chalk and drew out a quick six-pointed star on the floor. "Girls, if you could stand at each point."
The six of them took their places, wearing expressions that ranged between nervous, cautious, and excited.
"Okay," said Twilight, holding a scroll out in front of her. "And here we goâŚ"
There was quite a lot of light. It began at Twilight's horn but spread to the scroll and then her friends, enveloping each of them in swirling, multicolored magic. The entire room seemed to fill with bright colors before it condensed down to one being, standing in the center of the chalk star.
She was an alicorn, though not much taller than the average mare and with a smaller horn and wings. Her coat was a shade paler pink than Pinkie Pie. Her grey mane seemed to go everywhichway, not following any one style. Her eyes were nearly the same purple as Twilight's, and when they opened they spun in confusion at having six minds in one brain.
What inponyfeathers-tarnation awesome!happened to medon't like this
Her body jerked awkwardly, trying to go several ways at once, but the general consensus agreed on the mirror in the corner and she lurched in that direction.
The thoughts briefly fell silent as she looked at herself, but started up again just as fast.
What theLame!Is thatme?I can't wait toneed to take notes.
She tried to move again, but only succeeded in falling over this time, involuntarily grunting in pain.
"Stooop," she slurred.
Who saidthat?
Me!
Twilight?
"Hang on," she managed to say. "Jus-"
"Wait, how does this thing work?"
Pinkie! I'm trying to
We can
Just let Twilight
Her legs began twitching in all directions even as she lay on her side. The almalgamated alicorn began to flop across the floor.
Ouch!Sorry, I didn'tEverypony stop! We need to
About that time, the spell timer ran out and with a flash the six of them were standing back where they had been three minutes before. All six simultaneously fell over, trying to overcompensate for now having only singular bodies.
"Ugh," Twilight groaned, sitting up. "That wasn't what I was planning at all."
"Just what did you intend?" Rarity asked.
"I didn't think our minds would be fighting each other." Twilight gestured, bringing her hooves together. "I expected them to merge just like our bodies."
"What?" said Rainbow. "That's really freaky. Getting merged up is one thing, but that would be like looking my identity, like I didn't exist anymore."
"We've had some of that before, what with some of the villains we've faced," said Applejack. "And I wouldn't do it again for any reason."
"Okay, okay, maybe this wasn't such a good idea," said Twilight. "Which is why I have a backup spell!"
That statement went over like a plutonium cloud. Twilight, however, ran to grab her notes again over the audible groans of her friends. "Hang on, this is going to be different. Instead of merging all into one body, we'll combine."
"What's the difference?" said Rainbow, as if she didn't really want to know.
"Rather than becoming a homogenous new form, we'll use parts of our bodies to build into a new body."
"I don't like this idea," said Fluttershy.
"It'll guarantee we don't get our personalities mixed. We'll all still have our own minds." Twilight glanced at her notes. "Okay everypony, back to the spell star!"
The others moved reluctantly, but they moved. The six positioned themselves around the rune on the floor again and Twilight cast the spell.
She blinked away the light and saw that she was alone. Looking down, however, Twilight discovered that she may not have been quite as alone as it seemed.
Her front legs were yellow, her hind legs were orange, her wings were blue, her mane was pink, and the rest of her body was white. Looking in the mirror, Twilight found that she had her own head, at least.
Author note: This was going to be kind of a sequel to SSEE Inc E but I realized it probably wouldn't be allowed because it's arguably in script format. Also, the left and right inserts really did a number on the format of the page.
TAKEOFF 172000Z ON STATION 172130Z OFF STATION 180430Z LAND 180600Z EQUESTRIA WEST ISR ROUTE
SIPR mIRC client Maximum classification: SECRET//NOFORN
CTF-72 Ops
MadFox436: checking on station
CTF72_BWC: status?
MadFox436: Well, after the other airframe came up sour on preflight, this one seems fine. To make up the time and get on station in the right window, we had burn a little extra fuel, which will cut us short at the end
CTF72_BWC: @613_AOC are you here?
613_AOC: rgr
CTF72_BWC: Can you shift a tanker?
613_AOC: what do you have?
MadFox436: weâre a P-8
613_AOC: what route?
MadFox436: up the west Equestria coast and back to Guam. Need a splash to meet the intended time on station.
613_AOC: how much?
MadFox436: 1sec
613_AOC: you donât know?
CTF72_BWC: heâs sitting in back with the computer, probably had to go ask the pilots
MadFox436: need 20k lbs gas within next six hours
613_AOC: rgr, working it
INDOPACOM ISR
MadFox436: checking on station
IP_watch: rgr, little late?
MadFox436: backup plane
MadFox436: deploying camera to stream now, how copy?
IP_watch: solid
IP_watch: the new MX-20âs pretty good
MadFox436: sure is. let us know if thereâs anything you want us to point it at otherwise weâll just shoot the priority targets and come home
613_ISR
MadFox436: is that scheduled RJ flying Equestria right now?
613_AOC: affirm
MadFox436: what was their handle again?
613_AOC: @82RSairborne
Direct message with 82RSairborne
MadFox436: hey Air Force, are you taking the north or south part of the route first?
82RSairborne: Weâre up north right now. Iâll wave as we go by.
MadFox436: appreciate it. anything going on?
82RSairborne: Itâs Equestria. Some FM radio, not many other signals.
MadFox436: okay. let us know if you want a picture of anything and weâll cross-cue
INDOPACOM ISR
MadFox436: anybody watching our feed? I heard there was a destroyer out here.
IP_watch: let me check
IP_watch: Theyâre on the east coast. probably donât have the bandwidth to do it realtime, anyway. The small boys donât have the satcom a big deck does
MadFox436: the weatherâs good enough to barely get the camera on Cloudsdale from here. the requirement wanted all three modes, EO/IR/SAR. EO=good IR=itâs a cloud city SAR=itâs a cloud city
MadFox436: who writes these?
IP_watch: well, we wanted to make sure it was a cloud city. infrared or synthetic aperture radar probably wouldnât show up, but you never know with ponies
MadFox436: weâre turning south first. Las Pegasus is a lot closer and has a lot more to see
MadFox436: just got a DM from NSA Hawaii. theyâre talking about a potential ship of interest. Request deviation from intended route for search
IP_watch: request granted, on not to interfere basis
CTF-72 Ops
MadFox436: weâre going to take the southern part of the route first.
MadFox436: @613_AOC status on gas?
613_AOC: on the way, Exxon10 will meet you. Iâll get back to you on freq
MadFox436: 20k of give? any extra?
613_AOC: 20k guaranteed, maybe extra
Direct message with NSA_Hawaii
NSA_Hawaii: Youâre doing the Equestria route?
MadFox436: in the route now
NSA_Hawaii: We have a signal of interest that recently started, a little bit up the coast from Las Pegasus. No accurate fix yet, may be a ship. Itâs one of the more powerful radio signals weâve seen out of Equestria. Seems to be in the civilian radio frequencies.
MadFox436: weâll work on it if we have time
Direct message with 82RSairborne
MadFox436: NSA Hawaii thinks they found a ship
82RSairborne: Yeah, they talked to us. I think we found the signal. Lots of power. I bet they can reach most of Equestria. Weâll pass the coords in Link 16 and update if we get something better.
MadFox436: what do you think it is?
82RSairborne: Sounds like music.
MadFox436: weird. literal pirate radio?
82RSairborne: lol
CTF-72 Ops
MadFox436: coming down to FL10 to do a ship search
MadFox436: looks like we might have stirred up a reaction
CTF-72 Ops: intercept?
MadFox436: yeah, letâs call it an intercept. As we descended and slowed down, 2x pegasi came out with cameras
MadFox436: never seen them this far out. Equestria doesnât really realize weâre supposed to keep 12nm away and stay in international airspace. they donât usually come out to meet us. check the feed
MadFox436: still taking pictures. Not sure why weâre so interesting.
CTF-72 Ops: I think we only just got them trained that an Air Force has planes and a Navy has ships. Some of them even understand that there are planes that go on ships. a P-8, a Navy plane that flies from land, might be stretching it, though
INDOPACOM ISR
MadFox436: intercepted by 2x pegasi
IP_watch: rgr, watching the feed
MadFox436: pilots say they have radar on surface contact
MadFox436: cameraâs on it now. white and blue like some kind of coast guard boat?
IP_watch: doesnât look like it. Also, isnât this the boat playing music?
Not enough here to make a story, but didn't want it to go to waste
Applejack yawned as she came down the stairs. The sun wasn't up yet, but it was time to begin the day.
"Apple Bloom, weather," she called.
"The forecast today for Ponyville indicates sunny skies and mild breezes with a high of twenty-six Celsius," replied a young female voice.
"Big Mac, why do you keep settin' her to Metric?" Applejack grumbled, though mostly to herself. It wasn't like she actually needed math practice, that was why they had Apple Bloom.
Entering the kitchen, Applejack saw the family computer seated at the table. The anthropomorphic adding machines had been popular a few years back, though there were still a few around town. The big selling point at the time had been a machine that would grow with one's children. Though, that wasn't true at all. Apple Bloom had always been a preteen model. When Applejack was a kid, Apple Bloom was like an older sister. As she grew, Apple Bloom became more of a peer, and then finally a younger sister. It didn't really matter that she had silicon chips for brains. Apparently the red hair and cheerful smile was effective enough that most people treated the machines just like people. Some older couples had even gotten them instead of children in some kind of obvious pretend game.
Apple Bloom wasn't alive, Applejack was aware. But that didn't mean she wasn't part of the family. Though, the more she followed that line of thought, the stranger it became. Applejack instead started making her own breakfast and forced it out of her mind.
"What are you doing today, Applejack?" Apple Bloom asked, one of her subroutines that only deepened the illusion of personality.
"The south orchard needs harvesting," Applejack replied. It didn't really matter that the question was coming from a robot. It would have been impolite not to answer.
Applejack was tempted to ask her computer what it did while she was gone, but that would only lead to more questions about systems and software that she didn't understand and didn't have time this morning to learn. She knew that Apple Bloom often networked with Rarity's Sweetiebot and someone else's Scootaloo. She wasn't sure if it was to give the impression that the robots had friends like real people, or if there was something else going on.
I had an idea about ponies setting up some kind of "East India Company of Friendship" in the human world. It may have been a kind of spiritual sequel to Magical Harmony Spec Ops Friendship. The muse just wouldn't come.
The building was located in a business park just north of Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. It half a dozen spaces for rent, was merely a single story, glass-fronted, and the next thing to soulless.
Plain letters on one of the office doors read: Friendship Export Co. Ltd. The door was kept locked. There were shades pulled over the windows. Inside, there were a few computers and printers, standard office equipment. The back room held a large conference table and some high-end video teleconference gear.
There were currently cars occupying the spaces in front of the building, the only outward indication that the office was occupied.
In the back room, there were sixteen present, slightly crowding the room. Twelve of them could have been six pairs of twins. They were joined by three other women and a dog.
âIâm sorry to hear about what happened at Canterlot High.â Twilight Sparkle, one of two young women in purple, spoke. She glanced across the table at a woman who looked strikingly like her, differentiated only by the pair of glasses she wore.
âWell, to be honest, it was getting to be a bit of a chore,â Celestia replied from the head of the table. Something in her tone suggested that was not her entire reaction, but she kept the conversation moving. âI must say, this was an unexpected career move. Please give Princess Celestia my regards. Before we begin, can we get you anything? Coffee?â
Twilight glanced at the women seated on her side of the table. âDo you have tea?â
âWe really should have anticipated youâd ask,â Celestia replied regretfully. âApologies, Seattle is known for coffee.â
Lack of beverages aside, the meeting was not impeded much. The lights dimmed and a projector lit the screen at the front of the room. Celestia walked the group through a few PowerPoint slides to update on progress.
âThere were no problems distributing the imported gold to a number of buyers around the city. Our startup costs are covered as well as expenses for the next three months.
With multiple magic incidents happening in the human world, but humans woefully unprepared to deal with them, Princess Twilight decides that it's high time somepony fixed it.
It's not like they're going to refuse, right? -editing by Dafaddah
I originally wanted to enter this in a horror story contest. Twilight develops a new spell to get to the human world. Instead of going through the mirror portal, she and her friends just occupy the bodies of their counterparts. They then fight evil with kawaii magical girl abilities. Then, the reveal, the human girls are none too thrilled about being possessed and their bodies used for battling monsters. It was maybe not as good of an idea as it could have been.
Down at Sugarcube Corner on a lazy Saturday morning, six girls sat around a table. They were regulars.
The waitress had just departed the counter with a tray of pastries and was on her way across the room to deliver their order when a thundering explosion and a flash of light detonated outside - and close. The windows blew inward, shards of glass flying through the room.
Outside, through dust and smoke, an army of misshapen creatures advanced. They were a variety of shapes and sizes, all of them seeming to have more in common with deep sea creatures than anything else on the planet. Their mere appearance would have been enough to cause public panic, but the attack clearly marked them as a threat.
The group of girls had been buried under debris and their table in the explosion, but were quick to get up. âNot bad, we arrived less than ten seconds after activating the spell,â said Princess Twilight, examining her hands. There had been the usual burst of color as her essence was pulled from one universe to another, as much as such things could be usual, anyway. It actually had started to be somewhat run-of-the-mill since she'd developed the spell. It had really increased trips to the other world.
The human world was usually only accessible from Equestria via the mirror portal. Considering how much business Twilight and her friends were finding in the other world lately, the spell she had developed let them go any time they wanted, though via a slightly different method.
Twilight looked around at the destruction. âWhat did we get called here for this time? Looks like some kind of attack. Is everypony okay?â
âWell, we are,â Applejack replied. Several people around the room had been hurt by falling objects or flying glass.
âTheyâll need help. Fluttershy?â Twilight turned towards the open front of the building. âAlright, power up and letâs do this!â
Rainbow light began to swirl around the six of them, altering clothing, and also their bodies. Ears, tails, and other anatomical bits lifted from ponies appeared, not to mention whole other limbs such as wings. A sparkle and a shine, and it was done, the Elements of Harmony, ready to go.
