Agent Sweetie Drops must perform the Equestrian Moose Census at all costs... even if it means her sanity.
MOOSE CENSUS BEGINS.
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HISTORY A FULL ENUMERATION OF ALL EQUESTRIAN CAPREOLINAE IS UNDERWAY.
To any normal citizen of Equestria, the secondary headline of the Canterlot Times is just filler to make the front page look denser and more important. To Special Agent Sweetie Drops, however, it's the beginning of a new task... and the nightmares to follow...
Two wagons skidded to a stop in the center of Ponyville, splashing muddy puddles onto the sidewalk around a residential lawn. No less than two dozen ponies in armored SWAT gear poured out. The unicorns among them levitated pump action shotguns. The earth ponies and pegasi... did their best.
With a series of loudly grunted HUTT!'s, the helmeted stallions formed a line, facing the front entrance to a two-story apartment complex. Thunder rolled as they all stood their ground, waiting for their superior officer's command.
He came stepping out of the front wagon in a casual manner, his trenchcoat soaked from the constant downpour. He dropped a lit cigar to the street and stuffed it out with a gnarled hoof. Then, tilting back the brim of his stetson, he glared forward in a way that action heroes dream of.
“Alright, colts,” the detective sneered. “Let's start the count.” He flung a fetlock forward for punctuation.
“On me!” shouted the first stallion, shuffling up with his gun trained. He and two others reached the front stoop of the apartment, and one of them slid forward, bravely grabbing the handle with his hoof. It opened without a hitch, and two of the stallions threw nervous glances over their shoulders.
“It's unlocked,” grunted the detective in a trenchcoat. “Of course it is.” He gave yet another signal to proceed.
The stallions cocked their shotguns and rushed in. There was another roll of thunder, and then all twenty-four of them burst into the foyer while a lucky two or three threw themselves melodramatically through glass windows, sending shards flying everywhere.
“Everypony freeze!”
“Nopony move!”
“In the name of the C.C.B! Stop where you are and put your hooves up!”
There was a gasping voice from the kitchen, followed by the clatter of utensils against a hard tile floor. The officers signaled to one another, and three stormed into the room in question. At the sound of a muffled shriek, the detective swiftly shuffled in. The commotion had upset an overhead lamp, causing it to swing pendulously. Thus, an eerie dance of light greeted the detective as he entered the room, and immediately his hard gaze fell on a shivering couple clutching each other in the corner. Beneath them, a casserole had spilled across the floor, glistening in the swirls of electric light.
During the time he stood there, eyeing the couple up and down, the rest of the stallions had finished their rounds. They all came back from their separate searches, shouting “CLEAR!” and “CLEAR” in swift succession. “Every room on the first floor has been covered! Sir!”
“Shall we ascend and check the secon—?”
The detective held up his hoof, his hard gaze locked on the couple. With agonizing listlessness, he pulled out another cigar, lit it, and blew smoke rings into the kitchen air. By now, the lamp had stopped swinging, and it cast an intimidating spotlight on the beady-eyed residents.
At last, with a gruff sigh, the detective spoke: “Look... I'm not very good at formalities, so let's get this over with.” He cleared his throat, leaning back so that his hat dripped moisture onto the tile floor. “I'm Detective Large Numbers of the Canterlot Census Bureau.” He opened his trenchoat, flashing a rusted badge for the full extent of two and a half seconds and folded it back up. “We're here on... official Equestrian business.”
“Uhhh... s-sure thing, officer!” the husband stammered.
“Anything we c-can do to help Her Majesty's Service!” added the wife through a plastic grin.
“Hmmmm...” The detective paced sluggishly towards them. “Let's get this over with, shall we?” When he was within spitting distance, he reached deep into his trenchoat.
The mare and stallion flinched.
The detective pulled out a photograph. “Now...” He held it out so that only the two ponies could see. “...do you know this pony?”
The two stared, blinking.
“Have you ever seen her in your life?” he added in a grizzled tone.
The husband and wife exchanged glances.
“Uh... n-no, officer!” the husband said, smiling nervously.
The wife gulped and added, “We've never seen her around these parts!”
“She's not... related to you?” Large Numbers asked, brow furrowed. “You wouldn't happened to have ever... offered herroom and board?”
“What... a f-foal like that?” the husband stammered.
“I should say not!” the wife said, then giggled like a braying donkey.
“Besides... it's not like a single one of us has that color in our genes! So how could our daughter possib—” Before the husband could finish, the wife stomped on his tail. He gasped, but it was too late.
Before the detective could respond, there was an unmistakable thump heard through the ceiling.
Ten uniformed ponies instantly flashed their guns toward the roof. They shivered slightly in their helmets.
“What was that?!”
“Sound heard! Do you copy?”
“Right above us—”
“It's just rats, honest!” the stallion of the house said, chuckling. “Or the thunder, y'know? Rats and thunder!”
“Hmmm...” Large Numbers smirked, taking another drag of his cigar. “I think I'll be the judge of that.” And he turned and shuffled up the nearby stairs. “Officers—”
The wife recoiled, inhaled, then lunged forward with a shriek: “NOOOOOO!” It took three stallions in armor to hold her back.
“Look out, sweetie!” the huband yelped, only to be struck in the muzzle with the butt of a shotgun. As he fell to the casserole and tile, he shouted: “Darling, run! They're coming to get—” SMACK! “Ooof!”
“Nuuuu! Please!” The wife sobbed, wrestling in futility with the officers all around her. “Don't do this to her! She's so... so very nice! And polite! Just the nicest thing in the worldddd-ddd-dddd!” She sobbed uncontrollably.
“Mrmmfff...” Large Numbers merely flicked his cigar as he icily climbed the stairs. “I bet she is.”
A train of special ops ponies marched up to the second floor. Here, it was dark, safe for the rain-refracted trails of moonlight bathing the ink-black walls. Lightning strobed, showing each floating gun in an epileptic flash, and then all was dark again. Thunder rolled through the building's foundation, causing the wooden floorboards to groan underneath everyone's horseshoes. At last, the group approached a single room at the end of the hall. Its frame was adorned with homecrafted peppermints made out of paper, cardboard, and glitter. The twinkling melody of an infant's music box wafted through the air-conditioned hallway by the time Large Numbers reached the final stretch. He swiveled the cigar to the far side of his mouth and nodded his head.
“Breach it.”
The first four stallions formed a wall and—stompstompstomp—galloped forward. In a heavy crash they burst through the door, entering a fluffy little filly's room suspended in haze and darkness. The stallions swung their guns left and right, hearing nothing but the wheezing hisses of their breaths from inside their riot helmets. Then, from the far corner, a flouncing figure emerged, one bouncing trot at a time.
“Why, thalutathionth, offitherth! What theemth to be the problem?”
The ponies all cocked their shotguns at once. Their telekinetic spells tickled the triggers—
“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” It was Large Numbers. He strode in, undaunted, his body anchored by a frown. He looked towards the corner—the source of the music box tune, which had trickled down to a stutter. A cute shape stood in the center of the room. After a veritable eternity, Large Numbers saluted one of the many stallions holding up the rear, and the officer flicked the nearest light-switch.
Overhead, a ceiling bulb flickered to life. In the dull golden glow, a peach-pale filly came into focus, her blood-red mane floofed out in all directions. She wore a wide... wide pair of blue spectacles that refracted two innocently blinking pink eyes.
“Wow, I'm not uthed to retheiving vithitorth thith late at night!” She giggled, her even-fluffier tail wagging.
“From the way your parents reacted, I imagine that's just the case.” Large Numbers took a bold step or two forward. “What's your name, 'lil missy?”
“Why, ponieth all over town call me Twitht!” She squirmed, rubbing her pigeon-toed hooves with a proud smile. “Aren't I jutht cute ath the dickenth?!”
“Mmmm... sure you are.” Turning around, Large Numbers signaled towards one of the officers.
The stallion gulped, his helmet rattling. Nevertheless, he dashed out the door.
“Would you like to help me count my thweethtth collecthion?” Twist bounced in place. “I'm about to get thtarted on the thinnamon thwirlth!”
“Thanks for the offer...” Large Numbers took a drag of his cigar and exhaled again. “...but I'm here for a different kind of count.”
“Oh? Really?” Twist grinned wide, her head slowly rotating until it locked into place at a forty-five degree smile. “What could be potthibly more exthiting than counting thinnamon?”
“Is that what you do on a rainy night?” Large Numbers pointed out the water-slick window. Lightning flashed in the distance as he blew more smoke against the pastel air. “Sit on your flank, counting sugar treats?”
“Why, no, offither!” Twist giggled. “Thometimeth I like to go out for a rip with my betht budth!”
A shudder ran through the group of trained gunponies. Large Numbers leaned forward.
“What was that?”
“I thaid I like to go hang out with my friendth!”
The detective glared. “That's not what I heard the first time.”
Twist's left eye twitched. “And jutht what did you hear, detective?” Her large lenses glinted in the last strobe of lightning. “Pleathe, do thhare it with uth.”
Before Large Numbers could reply, the one stallion came back with a large metal crate. Following the detective's gestures, he dropped it down in the middle of the bedroom floor. Large Numbers ushered him away, then knelt before the crate. As thunder rolled, he carefully unclasped it, one lid at a time. Right as he opened it, he paused, then looked across the room.
Twist looked back, smiling innocently.
The detective took a deep breath. He reached deep... deep inside, then pulled out a plate of cheesy macaroni. Placing it on the ground he pressed his hoof against it... and slid it across the carpet so that it came to a slow stop right before the filly.
Twist looked at it, eyes downcast. One ear twitched, and then the other, but she remained still.
“Just what do you eat when you go 'out for a rip,' Twist?”
“I... I'm afraid I don't underthtand.”
“Oh... but I think you do...” Large Numbers paced between her and the bowl. “In fact, I think you know well enough to realize that there's a very important Census to be done this year, and it doesn't bode well for the likes of... certain qualifying individuals who have done their best to elude Equestrian Immigration laws these last few decades.” He scuffled to a stop, chewing on his cigar as he glared with greater intensity. “There are consequences, both monetary... and otherwise.”
“Heehee... I... uh...” Twist struggled not to look at the deliciously crafted bowl of cheese and pasta. “...I don't think I get all of your adult wordth, detective...”
“Then let's stop appealing to the mind...” Large Numbers reached back into the crate. This time, he pulled out a tall red bottle. “...and aim for the stomach.”
“The... the thtomach?” Twist was trembling by this point.
“Mmmmmm...” Large Numbers uncapped the bottle and poured liberal amounts of ketchup all over the macaroni. He criss-crossed the tomato juice like a quilt, fully saturating the cheesy curds. “Not my stomach, mind you. Doesn't mix well with tobacco.”
“Now, about who you are...” Large Numbers tossed the bottle away and tilted his gaze. “...who you really are...”
“I... am Twitht...” The foal whimpered, fidgeting in place. “...the motht adorable filly that ever pranthed around...”
“Are you?” Large Numbers reached into the crate and pulled out a yellow bottle with a blue cap. “Are you... really?”
Twist whimpered. “Is that...?”
“Garlic and herb...?” The detective sprinkled several brown flakes onto the red-and-yellow mess. He squinted at the filly through the corner of his eyes while his cigar glowed inquisitively. “Does this refresh your memory?”
“I... I...” Twist's jaw clenched and unclenched with several popping sounds. “I... d-don't know what you're talking aboot, eh?”
Large Numbers instantly stopped sprinkling. He pulled the bottle back. “What was that...?”
“Uhhh... Uhhmmmm...” Twist was hopping up and down at this point. The whole second floor shook dramatically from such a tiny body. The officers rattled uneasily in their armor. “I... th-think it's time for me to go to bed... sleep and dream... of sleep...”
“What happened to your lisp, little girl?”
“Uhhh... uhmmm...”
“Perhaps...” Large Numbers reached into the crate one last time, pulling out a canister of Parmesan cheese. He ignored the moan issuing from the far end of the room as he raised it over the bowl and started dusting it over the macaroni mountain. “...the cat stole your tongue?” His eyes glared. “Or should I say squirrel?”
“Mmmmmmmm—” FWOOOSH! Twist rocketed forward. The thunder clap of her approach knocked Large Numbers back into the other officers. “GRAAAUGHHHKKTLLL!” She slammed her head muzzle-deep into the bowl, munching sloppily at the macaroni.
Large Numbers was helped back to his hooves. He steadied the officers with his hooves, glancing down at where his cigar had fallen, forming a burn-hole in the floor. With a deep breath, he trotted forward, his eyes locked on the cheese-devouring figure.
“Now... I'm going to ask you one more time...” He pulled out a clipboard from his trenchcoat, grasped a pencil, and prepared to strike a hash mark. “Who are you... really...?”
“I said...” Large Numbers sneered, thunder rolling as the righteous percussion to his next utterance: “Who. Are. YOU?!”
“Mmmmm-phweeeee...” The little redhead deflated, sobbing into the bowl. “I'm... I'm soh-rry...”
The detective glanced sideways. “Huh?”
“It was the only thing I could do... but now I can't hide anymore... none of us can hide anymore!”
Large Numbers could feel his pulse pounding through his ears. He pressed the pencil hard against the clipboard, until the graphite threatened to break. “You know where the others are?”
“I can't tell ya, hoser.”
“You can and you will—”
“No... I...” Twist looked up, and her eyeballs popped out, replaced by thick brown antlers that shattered through the wide-framed glasses. “CAN'TTTTT” She thrust forward, slamming skull-first into the detective's body.
SNAP! His pencil broke, forming a haphazard number “ONE” across the sheet. His body flew back with a shriek, lopping off the bottom half of the ceiling bulb. POP!
The room was cast into darkness.
Every officer gasped, shuddering in their armor.
Flashes of lightning flickered through the window, showing in bright bursts the tiny body of a ginger filly ballooning outward. Like a grotesque butterfly emerging from its pupa, a big brown mass of hair and muscle and hooves tore loose from its flimsy disguise. It rolled outwards like a gummy maw, and a slobbering set of jaws roarrrrred into the criss-crossing beams of the C.C.B.'s flashlights.
“We've got one! We've got one!”
“Look out! It's horns are loaded!”
“Twelve o'clock high—”
WHAM! A massive antler uppercutted two officers at once. They soared out into the hallway, serenaded by screams. Macaroni flew as shotgun after shotgun blew off, but to no avail. A stampede of monstrous hooves tore up the carpet, and one by one the officers fell amidst the settling dust of gunpowder.
Large Numbers shuddered, sprawled out on his chest. A stallion rolled over him, screaming for his mother. He reached out for his clipboard, only to feel his fetlock crushed to gravel by a giant hoof.
“AAAAAAAUGH!” He screamed out loud, but was then hoisted up by an enormous pair of antlers.
“I'M SOH-RRY!” A beady-eyed face screamed into a nightmarish flash of lightning and muzzle-fire. Everything was thunder and drool. Somewhere far below, a married couple wept in horror. “YOU PONIES MADE ME DO THIS!” It then proceeded to pummel Large Numbers' flailing body repeatedly against the wall. THUD! THUD! THUD!
Large Numbers wheezed, coughing up bits of his tarred lungs. He toppled over, dangling bloodily as he spotted the marionette bodies of battered stallions rolling across the sundered domain. “SHOOT HER!” he bellowed into the thunder and noise. “SHOOT HERRRRRRRR!”
“Open fire!”
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
The pellets simply bounced off the dense fur as the moose repeatedly smashed the detective's meaty figure against the stained surfaces of the place.
"I'M SOH--" And just like that, the image froze with Large Numbers in mid-impalement.
Clearing her throat, Agent Sweetie Drops swiveled away from the multimedia presentation and faced the rest of the room. "So... can anypony here tell me what this means?"
A thick group of secret operatives sat, slack-jawed, at their desks. Outside the towering office, the urban sprawl of Canterlot loomed beyond the circular windows, with pegasi and airships flying every which way to and from the horizon.
"Unnngh..." Sweetie Drops face-hoofed, then paced over to a chalkboard featuring the political outline of Equestria being encumbered by a gigantic moose hoof. "What we have here is evidence of the largest Capreoline incursion known to ponydom. For the last two decades, the Equestrian Immigration Board has stood idly by while creatures of all trots of life have sauntered their way across our borders, taking up illegal residence among our native kin. Normally, this wouldn't be that big of a deal, except that subjects of the Capreolinae variety are known for their innate susceptibility to chaos. One must not look further than old textbook illustrations of the notorious Discord to see evidence of this. But now..." She turned and pointed at the frozen field recording. "...those of the infamous antler taint have hidden themselves amongst the Equestria populous, and the clock of chaos is ticking."
"Wait... do you mean...?" one agent gasped.
"Oh no..." A mare nearly fainted in her desk. "It can't be!"
"That's right, fillies and gentlecolts." A dark line crossed over Sweetie Drops' eyes. "The Moose is Loose."
It was silent enough to hear a pin drop.
"I'm afraid that this is more than the Canterlot Census Bureau can handle alone." Sweetie Drops spoke while pacing once again. "Before this, it was all counting sheep... goats... minotaurs. All easy, penpushing jobs. But I'm afraid it's not going to be that easy any longer. As you have all witnessed from the graphic video tape, the previous head of the Bureau--Large Numbers--has been incapacitated." She paused, hanging her head. "Our thoughts go out to him and his family during this dark time of Deep Moosening."
Everypony hung their heads. There was a slight sniffle or two to be had.
"But we cannot afford to rest. Not even to mourn!" Sweetie Drops said, shaking her head. "That's why Princess Celestia has secretly combined the remaining forces of the Canterlot Census Bureau with the elite members of the newly reformed Super Secret Anti-Monster Agency. Ever since the return and imprisonment of the bugbear, we've been especially recommissioned by the Ruler of Equestria herself to see to it that the abominations who have plagued this land continue to threaten the lives of innocent ponies no longer. Because of the tragic turn of recent events, the Royal Council has deemed the Canterlot Census Bureau's issue to be our issue, which is why I've been especially assigned to brief each and every one of you today."
“But Agent Drops!” a donkey stammered, shivering in his seat. “How can any of us be expected to perform a census on creatures who dwell on the bugbear level of chaos?!”
“He's right,” a sarosian added with a nod. “We're peace keepers. Not soldiers.”
Sweetie Drops took a deep breath, her eyes closing meditatively. “The Counting is strong with you. Seek computational energy from all around us.” She opened her eyes, smiling proudly. “Or if all else fails, use an abacus. It's what I do."
"...an abacus."
"Besides, Large Numbers believed in you, and so do I.”
“Then...” A pegasus leaned forward in her chair. “...you are leading us from now on?”
Sweetie Drops opened her muzzle to reply. Just then, a door schwisssshed open on the far side of the room. Sweetie Drops looked over to see a unicorn with a crimson coat shuffling to a stop, gazing calmly at the presentation.
“... ... ...if I have to, then so be it,” Sweetie Drops eventually said. “The Super Secret Anti-Monster Agency has grown old... and rusty in its dormant state. The Moosening is exactly the sort of crisis that we need to get back on our hooves and learn how to defend Equestria again.” She stood tall, hooves clapping tightly against the marble floor. “I will be depending on you—the agents of the Canterlot Census Bureau—as much as you will be depending on me. I just know that, together, we will find each and every one of these Capreoline bodies and count them for the Canterlot Royal Logbooks to record. All it takes is time and commitment. Now... are you all in?”
Every equine in the room stood up at attention, saluting. “Sir, yes, sir!”
“Very well, then,” Sweetie Drops said. “Branch out, each and every one of you. I want every major city in Equestria covered.” She pointed. “Remember... these moose are innocent at heart, and completely unaware of the chaos that poisons them through their otherworldly antlers. We must make a headcount of each and every one of them, dragging them out of hiding if we must. But, at the same time, we must treat each and every one of them like respectable citizens.” She took a deep breath. “Large Numbers wouldn't... have it any other way.” She cleared her throat. “Dismissed.”
The various agents filed together, murmuring in tight groups as they shared files and compared notes. In the meantime, Sweetie Drops shuffled over to the stallion situated casually by the doorframe.
“Agent Drops,” the elder equine murmured in a raspy voice.
“Mister Top,” she said, curtsying slightly. She turned and stood alongside him, gazing at the full length of the briefing room. “I didn't expect to see you here today.”
“The gravity of the situation warrants it,” he muttered. “Fine job, by the way.”
“I should say the same to you,” she replied, keeping her voice just as low. “Writing that newspaper article for the Canterlot Times... citing Professor Estimates.” She exhaled heavily. “The C.C.B.'s implementation of effective misdirection is laudable. The Anti-Monster Agency could learn a thing or two from you fellas.”
“Mmmm... perhaps,” Red Top said with a smile. “And us the same from you, Miss Sweetie Drops... or should I say 'Bon Bon?'" He looked over. "Holing yourself up in Ponyville for these last few years?” The stallion arched a graying eyebrow. “That was a wise decision, considering where the Princess of Friendship chose to make her home. Who knew that—ever since the bugbear—you'd be working for the Agency completely off the clock?”
Sweetie Drops rubbed one hoof against another, her faltering eyes slowly lowering to the floor. “I... w-wish I could say I made the decision entirely for the agency.”
“Nevertheless, you're the finest agent in the field, and you outrank everypony who's left in the Bureau.”
“But... h-how could that be?” Sweetie looked over, muzzle agape. “Large Numbers is... is...”
Red Top met her gaze with a stone face.
Her pupils shrank, and she swallowed a hard lump down her throat. “When did it happen?”
“Two hours ago. It was quiet and peaceful, if you must know. But, just moments before, he had enough time to give me this.” Red Top reached into a saddlebag and produced a single clipboard. He handed it over to Sweetie Drops. “Congratulations, Agent Drops, you are now the head detective of the C.C.B.”
Sweetie Drops gently took the clipboard. Atop the top sheet was a violent slash in pencil graphite, indicating the number "one."
“So long as you're up for the challenge,” the stallion said.
She took a deep breath, jaw clenching. “For Equestria... I am ready for anything.” She turned and glared at the stallion. “And so will every pony who carries an abacus.”
Rarity sipped on a teacup and placed it gently down on the table. “Well, if you ask me, it's all rather melodramatic.”
Rainbow Dash and Twilight Sparkle looked up from across Sugarcube Corner. “You, Rarity?” Rainbow's voice cracked. “You of all mares should talk.”
Rarity frowned. “But I am being serious!” She rolled her eyes. “Who ever heard of an emergency census on Equestrian citizens, no matter how... erm... exotic?”
“I hate to say it,” Twilight remarked, fidgeting with a plate of half-eaten doughnuts. “But almost all public records written about moose encounters have proven to be... erm... less than cheerful.”
“Twilight's right,” Applejack said, leaning casually in her chair while gripping a bottle of sarsaparilla. “Our Granny once ran into a moose over in Fillydelphia when she was a young'n. The dang brute tore the horns clean off a pair of police unicorns. They was handicapped for life... or maybe hoofcapped...” She tapped her chin. “...horncapped?”
“Well, Applejack, perhaps those officers did something to disturb the poor citizen.” She frowned. “Like a cruel and unlawful body search?”
“Rarity does have a point,” Twilight remarked. “According to a recent news article, the Canterlot Census Bureau has ignored the Capreoline population for years. According to public records, they had... lots of trouble counting moose in the past.”
“Like what kind of trouble?” Rainbow Dash asked, munching on a cupcake.
“I'd... rather not go into detail,” Twilight remarked with a shudder. “Except suffice to say it involved the loss of many limbs.”
“Oh, now who's being melodramatic?!” Rarity grumbled. “Twilight, darling, I respect your love of history, but past accounts are more often than not dictated by those with the power to control information. How do we not know that the Canterlot Census Bureau simply wishes to distort the truth in order to legitimize their current exploits?”
“And just what in the hay would that accomplish?” Applejack remarked.
“A very fine question indeed,” Rarity said, sipping from her tea.
Twilight looked across the table. “Fluttershy, what's your opinion on this? You make counts of animals all the time—even the dangerous ones from the Everfree Forest.”
“Well, that's just the thing, Twilight,” Fluttershy remarked, stroking a pink bang aside. “Moose aren't exactly animals... I mean... I don't think so.”
Rainbow arched an eyebrow. “Have you ever even seen a moose?”
“Well, no.” Fluttershy shook her head. “But...” She smiled. “From my past experiences with large, horned mammals, I can only presume they're sweet, docile, and... nice.”
“Precisely what they want y'all to think,” Applejack grumbled.
“Applejack...” Rarity sighed. “Where do you get off clinging to such boorish prejudices?”
“I've got an even better question!” Applejack tilted her hat back, frowning over her shoulder. “Where in the cotton-pickin' hay is Pinkie Pie with the rest of our cupcakes?”
“Yeah!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed, wiping the crumbs off her fuzzy muzzle. “I'm going through pink icing withdrawal here!” A few seconds limped by, and her pupils shrank. “Erm...” She fidgeted, smiling bashfully at her friends. “I-I only like the color cuz it tastes so tangy.”
“Did somepony call my naaa-aaa-aaame?” Pinkie warbled from a distance.
“Over here, darling!” Rarity waved with a smile. “We're waiting on you!”
“Cupcake Frosted Fun Times!” Pinkie balanced the plate in question on her head as she bounced over. “Coming right up—!”
Just then, a bunch of ponies in uniform burst through the front door to the eatery. Patrons gasped and fell out of their chairs in surprise. Pinkie—no less frazzled—dropped her plate of treats to the floor.
“Awwwww!” Pinkie pouted. “Now look what you did! You creamed the cream all over my cream!”
“Officers!” Twilight Sparkle stood up, frowning. “What is the meaning of this—?”
“Keep your distance, Your Highness!” Mr. White trotted up, his stripes glistening in the electric light. “C.C.B. business! This will only take a second!” He turned towards Pinkie Pie while the rest of her fellow agents surrounded the party pony. “Miss Pinkamena Diane Pie... is it?”
“Abso-duti-loot-ly-ma-tazz!” she pleasantly chirped.
“Miss Pie...” The zebra's eyes glinted as he pulled out a clipboard and trotted forward, staring the mare down. “I understand that Mr. and Mrs. Cake are on vacation. They left you in charge of this bakery, have they?”
“Mmmhmmm!” Pinkie nodded proudly.
“And just how long have you been baking for them in their absence?”
“Two weeks!” Pinkie said, smiling.
“I see...” The zebra glanced at the clipboard. “...and have you bought any fruit or vegetables in order to restock?”
Pinkie nodded. “Two weeks!” She smiled.
Mr. White looked up. His fellow agents shuffled suddenly, uneasy. “Say again?” the zebra asked.
Pinkie Pie's brow furrowed. Her smile shook, quivered, then twisted all over. “Mmrmmmgnnnghh-two weekkksss....” She backtrotted, head twitching and spasming.
The patrons stared in dumb shock. Twilight and her friends watched, muzzles agape. Rainbow Dash nibbled on a cupcake.
“Gmmmghuuuuu-twooooo weeeeeekkks—guuhhhh-ghhhuuuuu-twooooo weeeeeeks—” Pinkie Pie's hooves traveled up to her muzzle, and she pulled and tugged at her face muscles while her eyes bulged. “T-t-t-t-two weeeeeeekss-ss-ss-ss-guahhhhhhh...!”
By now, the agents had whipped out shotguns and assault rifles. Despite their loaded weaponry, they shivered where they stood, watching with nervous breaths.
Pinkie Pie backed up into the wall of Sugarcube Corner. Reaching up, she stripped her pink wig off, exposing a smooth bald cranium. She twisted her ear, pulling out a horizontal glowing cylinder that slid several inches from her skull. Then—with a loud metallic clicking, her head split apart in over six segments, rising up to reveal a glaring moose hidden underneath. His antlers folded out, and once Pinkie Pie's head had reformed, he slid out of the fuchsia bodysuit and held the bald pony skull in two hooves.
Mr. White and his associates blinked.
Eyes, flaring, the moose threw the skull forward. “Catch, eh?”
“Guh!” The zebra backed up, dropping the clipboard. He inadvertently grasped the loose cranium in two shivering hooves.
“Get ready for a surpriiiiiise!” Pinkie Pie's head sang. KERPLOWWWW! she exploded in brilliant flames.
“Aaaaaaaugh!” The agents shrieked as their bodies were lit on fire.
Patrons flew back from the vaporous wave of the blast. Twilight and her table of friends fell against the wall.
The moose made a galloping escape while the force of the explosion took its toll. Glass windows exploded, and a violent wind instantly picked up. Ponies shrieked in horror as their bodies were sucked out into the merciless vacuum of the Ponyville atmosphere outside.
The persistent chime of an EKG machine greeted Red Top as he marched in through the M*A*S*H's tent flap. He stared, muzzle hanging wide open, while his eyes took in cot after cot of bruised, bloodied, bandaged ponies.
At the far end, Nurse Red Heart stood over a bed where a lavender figure rested, surrounded by surgeons, her battered limbs suspended in countless white casts.
Swallowing a lump down his throat, Red Top shuffled over towards the mare.
Red Heart looked over. With a sad expression, she trotted up to meet him, balancing a bloodied first aid kit over her flank.
“How bad is it?” Red Top asked in a hushed tone.
“Her Majesty is in critical condition, Mr. Top,” Red Heart said. “I'm afraid that her... g-gorgeous eyes exploded as soon as her body flew out of Sugarcube Corner, and most of the liquid inside her organs froze instantly. If... if it weren't for the bodies of her four dead friends forming a protective insulating shell of petrified flesh around her, then I fear that she might have—”
“What matters is that the Princess survived.” Red Top's brow furrowed. “Now, what of my agents?”
Nurse Red Heart hung her head. “They're... gone.”
Red Top's ears folded back. “Gone?”
“Mr. White... Fluffle Bottoms... Chimney Sweeps...” Tears flowed down the Nurse's cheeks. “...I could not spare them from the cold kiss of mortality. I'm so very sorry, sir...”
Red Top took a deep breath. “You... you did your duty, Miss Heart. And I couldn't be prouder.”
“But... but it's n-not enough!” Red Heart briefly frowned. “That damnable Capreoline monster—!”
“Shhhh... Was it counted?”
“All these years, it masqueraded as an annoying, obnoxious, squealy-voiced party mare! How could we have never put two and two togeth—?”
“Was. It. Counted?” Red Top glared.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
With a slight shiver, Red Heart reached over to a table and held up a clipboard. “With her dying breath... Mr. White produced this...” She wept. “Right b-before she exploded from a boiling circulatory system...”
Red Top squinted at the manifest.
Right next to a bloody zebra hoofprint was a pair of penciled hashmarks.
Red Top sighed. “...Two Moose,” he grunted.
“This is far beyond the C.C.B., Mr. Top!” Nurse Redheart exclaimed. She hissed through clenched teeth. “You can't keep holding back! You have to send in your number one agent!”
“I... I can't...”
“Why not?”
“Because she's already on assignment...” Red Top looked towards the E.K.G. machine besides the alicorn's bed. “...in Palermoats.”
The air of the old city streets filled with brass horns playing in bombastic salvos. A thick crowd of impoverished ponies in suits and dresses had formed, lining up while the bronze effigy of Princess Celestia was carried by robed clerics towards a market square. It was soon placed down before an altar, lined with candles. The orchestra's horn section rested while the drums rolled. A stallion in a white suit and a white hat shuffled up, then humbly placed several golden bits between the bronze feathers of the alicorn statue's outstretched wings. The crowd immediately applauded the gesture, and the stallion in white waved back, smiling proudly.
“Bravo!”
“Bravo!”
“Bellissimo, Don Farriernicci!”
Don Farriernicci smiled back, juggled a fresh orange in his hoof, and marched on down the line of attending equines.
Meanwhile, atop the grimy, soot-stained rooftops overlooking the holy spectacle, a pony in a brown coat and matching newscolt cap stepped up to the edge. Sweetie Drops glared down at the street, her eyes following the movement of the stallion in white. Somewhere in the distance, the traveling orchestra's horns picked up again, and she shuffled icily from roof to roof, keeping at an even pace with Don Farriernicci, stalking her target far down below.
The stallion in white casually strolled past processions of old wrinkled ponies in veils, little fillies in pale cute-ceañera gowns holding candles, and aged war veterans wearing faded uniforms. The onset of evening was staved off by the persistent glow of hundreds upon hundreds of electric light bulbs, strung up between banners of the Equestrian and Itailian flags that fluttered over the densely packed Palermoats street.
As another effigy of Princess Celestia passed by, Don Farriernicci paused, taking off his ivory hat and bowing his bald head to pay respects. Resuming his stroll, he passed by a miniature theatre where two marionette puppets were fighting with tiny wooden swords.
“Bah! Too much blood for me!” Don Farriernicci mused, much to the chuckles of respectable citizens all around him. He continued on his way, unaware of the shadow high above.
Sweetie Drops shuffled along, passing through a forest of tiny metal chimneys as she carefully eyed the stallion's movements from afar. At last, Don Farriernicci ascended the front stoop of an apartment building's entrance... just as Sweetie Drops had expected. Quiet as a cat, the mare reached into a tiny niche set deep within a brick wall, and pulled out a thick white cloth. Wrapping the item around her fetlock, she used it to mask her hoofprints as she opened a stairwell door and climbed down the dusty steps. Dim sunlight poured in, and the windows rattled with the muffled waves of orchestral noise resonating from the streets beyond. Sweetie Drops slowed her movement, and in so doing she could hear the echoing clops of Don Farriernicci slowly shuffling his fat way up the steps.
Wordlessly, the agent approached a lone apartment door. Before it hung an electric lamp. Holding the cloth over her hoof, she twisted the bulb until the light went out, casting the corner of the stairwell into shadow.
It was around this time that the orchestra stopped. Outside, a celestial priest spoke before the crowd gathered in front of the Princess' effigy, his muzzle clicking in an old world tongue. Between each muffled word, the hushed silence hung in deafening gasps. Sweetie Drops clung to the shadows, eyes glaring out from beneath her cap. She slowly, quietly slid an abacus into the cloth, bundling it tight and aiming it patiently outward from the shadows.
It was then that Don Farriernicci reached the level of his apartment. He came in like a pale ghost, piercing the dimness. His hulking frame loomed before the door to his home as he fumbled for his keys. He paused suddenly, which allowed Sweetie to hear the sudden thuds of her heartbeat as she waited. Swiveling about, the stallion in white squinted at the bulb. He reached over, flicking it with a few waves of his hoof. The light strobed in meager pulses, almost giving away Sweetie's position. But, alas, the stallion in white took no notice of the agent, and he opened the door to his apartment in a casual lurch.
This was the moment. Sweetie Drops emerged from the shadows. Fanfare resumed outside, followed by muffled cheers.
Don Farriernicci turned around suddenly, squinting at the unexpected visitor. “Hah...” He deliriously chirped. “What's this, a present?”
Glaring, Sweetie Drops took two final steps forward and thrust the bundled abacus deep into Don Farriernicci's chest.
RIIIIIP! His jacket and cloak ripped away, revealing coarse brown fur. Breathless, the would-be stallion staggered, clutching madly at his suit... ripping it apart in desperation.
With a mute grunt, Sweetie slammed the abacus hard across the charlatan's skull.
WHACKKK! His pony face tore away, revealing two branching antlers above a dazed moose head. The exposed Capreoline teetered, teetered, clung in desperation to the doorframe... and slumped hard to the ground. THUD!
Sweetie Drops panted from the exertion of her last strike. She didn't notice until a few seconds later that the white cloth had caught aflame from the force of her blow. Unraveling and stamping the thing out, she exposed the abacus, then squatted before the unconscious creature. With an iron glare, she swung one bead aside and sneered, “Three Moose.” Angrily, the agent shoved the abacus deep into the Caproline's muzzle. “THAT... was for Princess Twilight.”
The crowd outside cheered. Fireworks went off. The ponies of Palermoats hooted, hollered, and tossed their hats high into the air. Sweetie Drops marched back out into this bedlam, panting into the fresh smoke rolling over the apartment rooftops. She paused to draw a third hash-mark across a sheet of paper, then rolled it up and stuck it into a pocket of her coat. Swiftly, she broke the clipboard over her knee and shattered it into several smaller pieces. Then, in quick order, she stuffed each piece of evidence down the many-many metal chimneys sticking up all around her.
That accomplished, she tore off, descending the first fire escape she could find. Nopony noticed as she trotted calmly down the streets lined with native Itailians dancing and cheering in reverie. Fireworks sparkled all around her. The orchestra blared. The air was all alive and manic with delicious noise. At last, catching her breath, she paused to rest on a street corner where a minstrel was singing to warbling waves of relaxing accordion music.
The mare pulled the photo of a mint-green unicorn out of her coat. Squatting down on an apartment stoop, Sweetie Drops smiled, cradling the photo and murmuring over and over: “Lyra... little Lyra... your best friend loves you... she loves you, little Lyra...”
“It's not enough... I'm just afraid it's not enough,” Red Top said, twirling around from the main console of a C.B.B. Zeppelin en route to the frozen north. Cold gray clouds drifted past the gondola windows as he spoke towards two holographic projections situated across from him. “Sweetie Drops, no disrespect for you or your hard work out there in Itaily, but we just haven't got the numbers to root out... the... th-the moose numbers!”
“Scrkkk—But taking out the imposter Don Farriernucci has forced several of his antler'd buddies to come out of hiding!” Sweetie Drops' projection said in a crackling voice. “I am now at a count of Nine Moose. Combine that with the census in Central Equestria so far, and the Bureau is now at a total of Twenty Moose! Believe it or not, we're making progress, Mr. Top!”
“But not swiftly enough, I'm afraid. At least... according to our expert analysts in the field.” Red Top turned towards the other projection. “Button Smith! Fill Agent Sweetie Drops in on what you've discovered!”
“My pleasure.” The projection of a crystal pony turned towards its fellow hologram. “Ever since the untimely death of Princess Twilight, the Equestrian populace has been chomping at the bit for answers to the Great Moosening. With a heavy heart, Princess Cadance and several members of the Crystal Imperial Council sent a team to inform the ponies of Stalliongrad up north about recent events. When the team didn't come back, I took charge of a C.B.B. division and investigated the walled city myself.” Button Smith's shiny ears folded back. “I'm afraid what we've found is... most dismaying.”
“What is that, exactly?” Sweetie Drops' projection asked.
“Hundreds of thousands of cans of pale lager,” Button Smith said with a shudder. “And all of it bitter... and very dry”
“My Goddess...” Red Top blanched. “They've taken over Stalliongrad.”
“How many have you counted?” Sweetie Drops asked.
“We... we haven't made a single head-count yet. We simply can't! Not in our small numbers! I fear...” Button Smith gulped, shivering. “I fear that they have eyes everywhere. Even beyond the great walls of Stalliongrad, they saw us coming! It's just a matter of time before—”
Just then, the speakers broadcasted several large thuds coming from where Button Smith was standing. Ponies shrieked, and multiple agents blurred past her as she looked all around in a panic.
“Button Smith!” Red Top leaned over the console, his wrinkled face contorted in dismay. “Button Smith! Talk to us! What's happening?!”
“We've... we've been found...” Button Smith sniffled, a tear running down her smooth face. Her muzzle produced holographic vapors. “The temperature's dropping! They must be breaking in! Mr. Top, the C.B.B. needs reinforcements! Send soldiers! Send tanks! And... and if you sh-should see my family... tell them... tell them that I love—”
SCHLUNNNNK! A jagged antler burst straight through Button Smith's chest from behind.
The poor mare lifted up, twitching all over and gargling blood. A moose head rose into flame, distorting the hologram in copious, flowing fluids while equine screams occupied the background noise.
“Well if this don't for make a snug toque, eh?”
BZZZZT!
And just like that, the hologram fizzled out, leaving Red Top and Sweetie Drops gaping in silence.
After a full minute of the zeppelin puttering along, it was Red Top who spoke.
“She... she was my niece's best friend.” He sniffled, dabbing his eyes. “Never went to a hockey game in her life. When someone asked her what a 'puck' was, she always thought it was the thing her older brother urinated on.”
“Red Top, we have to send our remaining agents into Stalliongrad!” Sweetie Drops exclaimed. “I'll lead the front line of accountants if I have to!”
“Agent Drops...”
She stomped her hoof. “We can't let Button Smith's death be in vain!”
“And I don't want that either, Sweetie, but look at our ranks!” Red Top sneered. “We haven't got the hoofpower to mount a full-scale numerical invasion of Stalliongrad! I say we forfeit the city and finish the census across Equestria proper!”
“And just allow the moosening to spread—unchecked—to all parts of the frozen north?! That's where moose thrive, Mr. Top! Can we really afford to leave Princess Cadance alone in the shadow of those... boonie-bouncing creatures.”
Red Top frowned. “Careful with your words, Miss Drops. I fear you've been out in the field too long.”
“I'm as serious as I've ever been, Red Top,” Sweetie Drops said, her hologram frowning. “Don't make me go in on this census mission alone!”
“But Miss Drops, how are we going to even back you up?!” Red Tops shrugged wildly. “I mean... just short of making a ridiculously cheesy propaganda movie catering to the shallow plebeian minds of the Equestrian mass populace?!”
"Young ponies from all over Equestria are joining up to count for the future!"
In an wide Canterlot courtyard, several adult stallions and mares stand in droves, clad in thick black armor. One mare turns towards the camera, speaking through her tight-jawed helmet.
"I'm doing my part!"
A stallion turns his head from where he stands in another phalanx.
"I'm doing my part!"
A helmeted zebra looks over, teeth gritting.
"I'm doing my part!"
Several bodies over, Scootaloo hobbles out of line, dwarfed by her bulky soldier armor.
"I'm doing my part too!"
The closest line of soldiers all chuckle good-naturedly.
"They're doing their part."
The Equestrian banner waves in the shimmering sunlight.
"Are you?"
Several ponies pose in gallant armor, sliding the beads across abacuses while saluting at Celestial emblems.
"Join the Canterlot Census Bureau and count the world! Service guarantees cupcakes!"
W O U L D Y O U L I K E T O K N O W M O R E?
"We have the calculators!"
A mare picks up a single abacus and aims it at a mountain. The summit explodes in brilliant flame.
"We have the pencils!"
A stallion crashes through a front window, rolls across a living room, and holds up a clipboard. "Present!!!" he snarls.
"We need ponies!"
"Ponies like..."
YOU
"Ponies like Colonel Cantergore!"
"B-but sir!" A spineless yak shivers, clinging to a terrified griffin. "We can't go down that river! Moose are everywhere! It's too hairy!"
"RAAAAUGH!" A meaty stallion in a cavalry hat uppercuts them viciously while a circle of proud ponies cheer. "MOOSE DON'T SURF!"
"Ponies like Special Agent Sweetie Drops!"
Sweetie Drops straps on a helmet and leads a thick group of armored ponies through an unloading dock. "Come on, you equines, you wanna count forever?!"
"Raaaaaaaaaugh!" A rampaging herd of hoofed accountants gallop out the door, armed with number sheets and dry erasers.
"Service"
"Guarantees"
"Cupcakes!"
Hundreds of thousands of ponies march towards the walls of Stalliongrad, chanting a valiant war cry while the Equestrian Banner once again ripples into focus.
A pony screams bloodily into a flickering helmet cam.
The footage blurs, refocuses, and blurs again.
Equine bodies fly back and forth amidst explosions. The walls of Stalliongrad quake as giant antler'd monstrosities storm their way across the courtyard, knocking bloodied soldiers left and right.
The helmet cam jerks left to see a pegasus being impaled by a moose horn, followed by a vicious punch to the face. "I'm soh-rry, eh?"
The air echoes with the demonic chant, increasing in frequency amidst the blood curdling howls of crushed and disemboweled ponies.
"I'm soh-rry, eh?!"
"I'm soh-rry, eh?!"
"I'm soh-rry, eh?!"
"Aaaa-aaaaughhh!" A mare screams, struggling to pull her insides back into her lacerated belly. "Momma! Mommmmmmaaaaa!"
A howling pony head goes flying past the camera while shattered spinal bits shower the sidewalk.
Huffing and panting, a company of soldiers gallop up to the helmet cam.
"We need backup! There's too many of them!"
"Look out! We're being flanked!"
"Abacuses at the ready!"
"And... COUNT!"
RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Explosions rattle off in the distance. Brick and mortar fly, and the moose retaliate by flinging the body parts of the fallen straight back at the offensive line.
"Augh! Celestia! Celestia, save us!"
"Their antlers are tooo stronnnnnng!"
"It's a buck hunt, man! A buck hunt!!!"
"They're all over the place! They're coming out of the Celestia-damn walls!"
"They even set traps on Squad Six!"
"How can they set traps! They're animals!"
"Corporal, we're animals!"
"But they're hairier animals!"
"Oh goddess!" A soldier pointed, aiming his smoking clipboard. "They're coming straight for us!"
The helmet cam swivels right in time to see several hairy brown shapes bursting out of the mist, antlers first. "Why, you buds are in the way, don'tchaknowww?"
WH-WHUD! The camera jolts, and then everything splatters red with a gut-wrenching scream. There's the flicker of stomping brown hooves, a sweeping horn, and then the feed goes to snow.
Agent Sweetie Drops limped over a pile of refuse and twisted metal. She gritted her teeth, wincing as she peered across the hazy hellscape.
The ruins of Stalliongrad stretched before her, strewn over with bodies—both equine and otherwise. Limbs lay in tattered remnants of their former glory, and several torsos found themselves impaled on exposed rebar... because why not?
The mare shook, heaved. She heard a distant, wheezing breath. Her head jerked towards the sound. Blinking, she stumbled into a trot, and that trot broke into a canter.
Soon, she was crawling up to where a wrinkled old stallion lay, coughing up blood and writhing in pain.
Gently, Sweetie Drops pulled the cracked, sparkling helmet camera off his skull. She gulped, then spoke in as tender a voice as she could muster. “Hello... hello there, Mr. Top.” She caressed his stubbled chin. “It's... it's me, Sweetie Drops.”
Red Top quivered, blinking into open space. “Agent... Agent Sweetie Drops?”
“That's right, sir.”
“I... I can't see...” He winced. “I think... I think too much graphite got into my eyes.”
“It's... it's the pencils, sir.” Sweetie Drops bit her lip. “In the hooves of professionals, they're harmless. But so many of them in the grip of an army full of green noobies...” She couldn't finish that sentence.
“Now, don't go blaming yourself, Miss Drops,” Red Top slurred. “I've always lived by the pencil...” He groaned in a wave of pain. “I... I-I wouldn't go any other way.”
“Mr. Top...”
“Besides...” He coughed, sputtered. “...the battle is won.”
“But... n-not the war, sir,” Sweetie Drops said, a single tear running down her cheek.
“That's up to you to accomplish now, my dear.” Red Top raised a shaky hoof, clutching a clipboard.
Sweetie Drops gripped it.
“How... h-how many moose counted now... Agent Drops?”
Sweetie looked at the clipboard's rustling sheet, then back at him. “Fifty-Two Moose, sir.”
Red Top nodded, a smile crossing his bruised face. “Bring it up to a hundred... I'm counting on you, Miss Drops.”
“Red Top—!”
“The whole... Canterlot Census Bureau is... k-kaff... counting... on you-u-u-u-uuuuu.” And, with a death rattle, the stallion's body went limp in her arms.
She gazed at him, rested a hoof over his face, then buried her muzzle in his chest. It came out as a slow whimper at first, then morphed into a full-blown wail. Then, back arching, Sweetie Drops hollered her lungs to the sky:
With a pale hoof, Sweetie Drops plastered the number "forty-three" over the northernmost edge of the Equestrian National Map, completely covering the city of Stalliongrad. She sighed, rubbing her tired, baggy eyes. In a limping gait, she backtrotted from the wall of her Ponyville bedroom, staring at the map and the many-many strings attached to each brightly-colored number and pin.
No matter how many connections she drew, another crisis popped up, and another reason to stab a pin into the map. And number it.
“Here moose... there a moose... everywhere a moose-moose.” She stifled a yawn, leaning against a wall to her side. “It's... all too much to do on my own, Red Top.” Sniffling, she rubbed her eyes again and sighed, staring out the window towards the night's sky. “But if I won't count them... then who will? Who is left besides me? Who... is left... b-besides me?”
Silence.
With a muffled groan, the mare hung her C.C.B. badge over the edge of a bedpost and shuffled out of the room. Locking the door behind her, she trotted down the stairs towards where a gentle blue glow softly illuminated the living room of the apartment's bottom story. There, she saw a mint green unicorn lying back on the couch, her head titling on the verge of sleep. In front of Lyra, the television flashed between various live broadcasts of the Equestrian News. T.V. anchors were frantically busy covering such sights as the latest Capreoline incursions... and even Princess Twilight's royal funeral.
“Hmmmm...” Sweetie Drops leaned in, nuzzling the mare's soft mane, reveling in her honey'd scent. “Can't my best friend find something better to watch?”
“Mmmff...” Lyra's head tilted over, a dumb smile plastered over her sleepy muzzle. “Any show's a good show... so long as you're here to watch it with me.”
Sweetie Drops rolled her eyes, then reached down to caress the unicorn's chin. “You're such a silly pony, Lyra.”
“Phweeee...” Lyra nuzzled the agent's hoof, then slumped over, curling into a fetal position atop the couch cushion. “I'm so glad you're home, Bon Bon.” She yawned... and yawned again. “Just so... glad that you're home.”
“I'm so glad to be home, Lyra,” Sweetie Drops said. She leaned in, lips pursing, as she aimed for the pony's cheek. “It's the one thing worth counting... for?” Her blue eyes narrowed on a white envelope sticking between Lyra's flank and the couch. “Uhm... Lyra? What's this?”
“Mmmmmm-I dunno...” Lyra stretched and curled up into a fuzzy green ball. “Found it... mmmfff... on the front door stoop just shortly after...” A yawn. “...just after you got home.”
“After I got home...?” Curious, Sweetie Drops picked up the envelope. She turned it over, looking at the front of the sheet in the blue television light. Her blood froze at the name slathered across it:
“'Bon Bon.'”
Gulping, Sweetie Drops carefully ripped the envelope open. She pulled out a sheet of white paper. The mare unfolded it, read its contents, and gasped loudly.
Sweetie Drops hobbled backwards, dropping the sheet altogether. The note fluttered to the ground, ending right-side up. Across its otherwise blank sheet was the ink-black stencil of a maple leaf, beneath which were the bleakly written words: “we know.”
Sweetie Drops gnashed her teeth. Something moved in the corner of her vision. She swiveled her head over to look.
Something jerked out from beyond the front window. In a sliver of moonlight, Sweetie Drops could make out the unmistakable prongs of a big brown antler.
“Grrrrrrrrrrrr!” Sweetie Drops charged the front door.
Behind her, Lyra stumbled to her hooves. “What is it, Bon Bon?! Bon Bon, talk to me!”
Thwap! Sweetie Drops hammered her hoof over a lever connected to an umbrella stand. A minigun popped out, flying into her upperhooves. Dragging a full ribbon of ammunition, she kicked down the front door, darted out into the Ponyville street, and spun around.
SCREEEECH!
"...?" She jerked one hundred and eighty-degrees, just in time to see a wagon tearing off, pulled by large brown hooves. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!” She begun rotating the minigun barrel.
Hot ammunition shells flew as her gun muzzle lit up the Equestrian night. Bulletholes ripped open the dirt road immediately behind the runaway wagon wheels. But the vehicle turned the corner, knocking over a streetlamp in the process. Once the mayhem was over with, Sweetie Drops stood still, panting, her minigun smoking hellishly beneath her.
“You stay away from her, you hear me?!” Sweetie Drops spat, her eyes bulging. “You stay away from my BEST FRIEND!” She let loose another round of bullets for emphasis. RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!!!“Raaaugh!”
Lights flickered on in various windows across the entire block. Dogs barked in the distance while wagon alarms went off.
Lyra came galloping out in a bathrobe. She slumped by Sweetie Drops' side, panting. “Sweetie Drops! What... what in...” She gulped, staring off down the road and shivering. “What in the heck was that?”
“An invitation,” Sweetie Drops snarled, then spat on the barrel of her minigun. The saliva instantly evaporated with a hiss. “Pack your bags, Lyra.”
“What... wh-what for?”
“Time to end this.” Sweetie Drops marched back into the apartment. “We're headed to Manesota.”
"Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your moose unto me for the hooves of the unworthy must be baptized in syrup and smeared."
Deep in the forest, far away from dense equine civilization, several dozen antler'd bodies huddled together in the dim interior of an abandoned temple. Rustic pews and altars stood around them while the dense group gathered in a loose circle, within the center of which was the effigy of a mint green unicorn covered in viscous brown fluids smelling of maple and cinnamon. Eerie crimson candles lit the scene while the dozens of creatures in attendance bowed their heads and continued their warbling mantra.
"Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your moose unto me for the hooves of the unworthy must be baptized in syrup and smeared. Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your moose unto me for the hooves of the unworthy must be baptized in syrup and smeared. Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your moose unto me for the hooves of the unworthy must be baptized in syrup and smeared. Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your moose unto me for the hooves of the unworthy must be baptized in syrup and smeared."
Then, from the back, in a raspy feminine voice: “Ah-ah-ahem...” An equine figure trotted in, wearing a thick trenchcoat and leaning on an umbrella like it was a cane. “If you're all quite done, I'd kindly like a word with you.”
Every moose looked up, nostrils flaring in indignance.
“Keep it down there, hoser!” one spat. “No sense in turning this here summoning spell thingy into a kerfuffle, so why don'tcha go run a message somewhere else?”
“Yah, and grab a two-four while you're at it!”
“Ha ha ha ha!”
Sweetie Drops glared back, blue eyes glinting. Then, with calmly trotting steps, she shuffled back to the temple entrance and shut the huge doors tight. Thuddd!
Every moose blinked, then stood up one by one.
“'Ey!” One trotted towards her, frowning. “Whadda'yat?”
“Manners...” Sweetie Drops spoke, shutting one bolt. Schlunk! “Maketh...” She shut another. Sch-Schlunk! “Mare...” She fastened the last lever tight. Chting! With a hard glare, she looked over her shoulder. “Do you know what that means?”
“No.” The closest moose began grinding his hoof against the temple floor. “But I'm gonna thrash ya all the same, don'tcha know?”
Sweetie Drops calmly smiled to the shadows. “Then let me teach you a lesson.” Using the hook of her umbrella, she grabbed a nearby water basin and flung it—flipping—straight into the moose's forehead.
CLANG!
“Augh!” He fell back, his large girth smashing through several pews at once.
The rest of the Capreoline crowd gawked in surprise.
With a shrug, Sweetie Drops removed her trenchcoat, revealing a vast array of clipboards, abacuses, and pencils strapped tightly to her body. She twirled about, teeth gritting. “Are we gonna stand around here all day?” Her brow furrowed. “Or are we going to count?”
The moose exchanged glances, then stampeded towards her all at once. The entire temple shook from hundreds upon hundreds of hooves.
Sweetie Drops stood her place. She was more than ready.
When the first moose came and swung his hoof, she dodge, ducked under his legs, then bucked him hard in the belly. As he staggered, she twirled out from underneath the creature and slammed her elbow hard into the back of his neck, shouting “Forty-Five Moose!.” Another came barreling in. She juked aside, dodged his antler swings, unholstered two clipboards, then dual-wielded the things, locking them with his horns and anchoring his skull in place. Then—grunting—she bicycle kicked backwards, uppercutting his skull with her rear legs (“Forty-Six Moose!”). Two more charged in, and she ducked low, swinging both clipboards at their skulls and grounding them before they came within spitting distance (“Forty-Eight Moose!”). A creature grabbed her from behind. She squirmed, struggled, then shook two pencils free from her belt. Using her lower legs, she kicked and stabbed both pencils flesh-deep into his bleeding fetlocks. He yelped and backed up—giving her room to buck him up the chin so that he plowed into two other moose, forcing the trio to collapse into a cold heap (“Fifty-One Moose!”). A pair came at her from opposite sides, screaming. She jumped straight up, grabbed a chandelier, and waited for the two to lock horns before slicing the chandelier from its support and slamming the whole thing down onto their skulls, grounding them (“Fifty-Three Moose!”). Out of nowhere, a hockey stick whizzed by, its hooked end slicing at her skull. She ducked it, unsheathed an abacus, then deflected the next two swings. She bucked off an attacker coming from the rear, jumped the next swing of the forward attacker's stick, then thrust her abacus forward so that the hooked end got stuck between the beads. Twisting her grip of the calculator, she yanked the hockey stick out of the one moose's grip with a sickening SNAP to his hooves—(“Augggh!”)—then swung it so that the handle knocked his teeth in (“Fifty-Four Moose!”). Less than a second later, she bent backwards, swinging the stick over her body to trip the rear attacker before he could approach her flank again. He went sailing through a collapsing pew (“Fifty-Five Moose!”) while two more came charging in. Sweetie Drops somersaulted backwards, re-gripped the hockey stick by the handle, then swung it savagely so that the abacus flew off the end and slammed into one charger's skull. The beads spilled all over the floor, tripping his partner and two other Capreoline miscreants (“Fifty-Eight Moose!”). Four moose came charging this time, antlers first. Sweetie Drops broke the hockey stick over her knee— (“Grggh!”)—SNAP!—and twirled both shattered ends in opposite hooves. Backing down the temple full of bodies, she deflected all four sets of antlers, filling the air with flying sparks. When at last she reached the effigy of Lyra, she scooped the bulk of the doll under one hoof and flung it forward so that the fake horn sunk bloodily into one moose's chest—(“OWWW!”)—and the took the staggering opportunity to spin around and launch both halves of the hockey stick up high. This forced the four moose to duck, and Sweetie Drops made a quick end to them with mercilessly flung clipboards—Th-Th-Th-Thack (“Sixty-Two Moose!”)! The rest of the crowd came charging, screaming. Sweetie Drops backflipped over a podium, grabbed the rest of her clipboards, assembled them together with mechanical finesse, and—in the end—she cocked a fully-loaded pencil gun, aimed over the structure, and let loose on the incoming wall of moose meet. RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT! One by one, the pained creatures fell to the temple floor, their chests bleeding profusely from a merciless barrage of graphite. (“Sixty-Three Moose! Sixty-Four Moose! Sixty-Five Moose! Sixty-Six Moose! Sixty-Seven Moose! Sixty-Eight Moose! Sixty-Nine Moose!”) One managed to make it through, smashing the podium to bits with his antlers. Sweetie Drops slid underneath him, firing a barrage of pencils into his fuzzy belly. (“Seventy Moose!”) When she emerged beyond his collapsing figure, a pair of bulls were slamming their hooves down over her. She dodged with twisting motions of her sweaty equine body, locked hooves with one, then slammed the fetlock out from underneath the other with the empty pencil gun—WHACK (“Seventy-One Moose!”) Immediately afterwards, she somersaulted beneath the first moose, came out from behind him, grabbed a summoning candle from the floor, lifted his tail, and shoved the burning part where the sun didn't shine. (“AAAAAAAAUGH!”) The creature galloped in pained circles before leaping wildly out the nearest window with a shower of glass (“Seventy-Two Mo—!”). Sweetie Drops was barely done counting out loud when she had to duck the massive swing of a metal candle-stick holder from another Capreoline attacker. She backed up right into the strong grip of two other moose. Struggling, she ducked in time for the next swing of the pole to slam across the muzzles of her two wrestling opponents instead (“Seventy-Four Moose!”). At the end of her next roll, she galloped straight up the wall, backflipped, and flew straight over the moose with the candle-stick holder. The bull turned around stupidly. Meanwhile, Sweetie Drops landed on the far end of a pew, causing the other end to fly up and savagely uppercut the bludgeoner (“Seventy-Five Moose!”). More creatures sprung for her, but she jumped forward, grasped the candle-stick holder in both hooves, and spun it around like a bo-staff. Grunting and snarling, she slammed hooves in, bent limbs backwards, then knocked several skulls senseless (“Seventy-Eight... Eighty-Two... Eight-Six!”). The remaining mass of moose closed in from all sides. Holding her breath, Sweetie Drops stuck one end of the candle-stick holder into the ground then spun in a violent circle, rapidly kicking and propelling herself off every skull, antler, and muzzle that came within reach—WHAP!-WHAP!-WHAP!-WHAP!-WHAP!-WHAP!-WHAP!—until she was a veritable blur (“Grrrrr-raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!”). At last, she twirled up the top of the pole, flipped off, and went plunging with a massive downswing that sent the last moose toppling backwards, pinballing off a wall, and smashing straight through a baptismal fountain. CRASSSSH!
Sweetie Drops struck a pose with the metal pole, heaving, sweating. She looked all around, seeing a temple strewn all over with groaning, squirming moose bodies. At last, after her hyperventilation had calmed down, she dropped the metal bludgeon like a bad habit.
Clanggggg!
The metallic reverberation hadn't settled yet by the time she swept up a partially crumpled clipboard, straightened the sheet on the top, and plucked an errant pencil-half from a pew. Licking the graphite edge, she made several dozen hash-marks, punctuating it with a dark, dark dot.
“Ninety-Nine Moose.”
Clakk!
She dropped the pencil with finality, picked up her umbrella, then shuffled out the temple without another word.
Outside, beyond a line of trees, Lyra huddled behind a parked wagon, shivering. She heard the crunch of Sweetie Drops' hooves against the grass and leaves. With a gasp, she took a peek, then exhaled with relief at the sight of her best friend.
“Bon Bon! You're back!” She rushed over to the mare, panting. “Is it over? Have you counted every mmfmfrrmmfmmfff?!” Her eyes bulged.
Sweetie Drops' muzzle was deeply clamped over the unicorn's. After a full minute of sweaty tongue-locking, she leaned back with a smack! “No time to waste. My work here is done. We're fleeing to Mexicolt.”
“What...?!” Lyra stammered, draped limply in her grip, seeing stars. “Mex... M-Mexicolt?”
“... … ...okay, we're finding a motel, making love like dolphins at Carnival, and then we're going to Mexicolt.”
“But... but...” Lyra cooed, being dragged along after the secret agent. “The Moose Census! Is... is it really over?”
“I'm not taking any chances,” Sweetie Drops grumbled, hitching herself up to the wagon. “I've done my duty for Princess and Country. What's left of it. We're getting out of here and starting a new life.” She motioned. “Now get in the damn wagon.”
Lyra did so, shivering. “But... but Bon Bon.” She gulped. “What... wh-what if that wasn't all of them that needs to be counted?”
“Heh...” Sweetie Drops smiled wickedly, pulling the wagon onto the Manesotan Freeway beyond the woods. “I've seen it all, Lyra. I mean... honestly... how much worse could it get?”
SCHLUNKKKK! The moose in a police uniform impaled Lyra's shoulder with a spiked hoof.
"Aaaaa-aaaaugh!" Lyra wailed, penned against the side of the metal foundry catwalk.
The police moose stared emotionlessly into her writhing face. "Call to Bon Bon," he droned.
"Nnnngh..." She spat, seething with pain. "Go to Tartarus."
"Call to Bon Bon," he repeated, icily. He enlarged the size of his liquid metal spike.
"Ungh--guh! Aaaaugh!" Lyra flinched, whimpering.
The moose prepared to skewer her neck with his other limb...
...when a peach-coated figure in a dirty tank top appeared from the far end of the catwalk. "Hey! Flankhole!"
Schliiink! The moose cop instantly sheathed his impaling spike. He turned to face the agent...
Frowning, Sweetie Drops pumped a shotgun and fired a round at the creature. POW!
A splatter of liquid metal appeared across the moose's chest. He stumbled backwards.
Gritting her teeth, Sweetie Drops fired round after round of lead shot at the artificial monster. POW! POW! P-POW!
Bleeding, Lyra scurried over to Sweetie Drops' side, dodging sparks and bullet sprays.
Meanwhile, the moose cop lurched closer and closer toward the abrupt edge of the catwalk behind him... which loomed just above a gigantic vat of molten metal.
"Bon Bon!" Lyra whimpered.
"Grrrghh!" Eyes aflame, Sweetie Drops pumped the shotgun one more time and pulled the trigger. Click! She panted, eyes filled with bright white panic. She pulled the trigger again and again. Click click lick!
The moose cop loomed just inches from the platform's edge. Leaning forward, he took a breath, and the bullet holes in his chest healed themselves, expelling the shotgun pellets from his frame. His head tilted back up, framed by intimidating antlers. He bore the evilest of grins, waving a "naughty" hoof at the two mares.
Panicking, the two ponies spun around to run toward the far end of the catwalk.
But...
Just then...
A cyber-moose with half his skin and coat peeled away rode up the revolving end of a gigantic cogwheel. In his metallic hoof was a grenade launcher. A glowing red eye peered at his target beyond the mares. "Get down!" he gargled in a thick accent.
Lyra and Sweetie Drops dropped to the catwalk floor.
Pftooom! His gun lobbed one grenade across the way. It blew a massive hole in the cop moose's chest.
The police officer looked at his new orifice, then gaped in surprise at the cyborg.
The hero squinted his glowing eye and fired again. Pftooom!
This time the grenade exploded, shattering the cop's torso to an inconsolable mess of liquid metal patchwork. The villain teetered, teetered, then fell down into the fiery vat, upon which he shape-shifted into several shrieking pony effigies before finally dissolving to nothingness with a mute scream.
The cyborg slumped to the ground, only for the other two ponies to help him up. "One Hundred Moose," he slurred, his artificial voice barely disturbing the rising red mists of the foundry around them.
"Then that's it...?!" Sweetie Drops stammered, tossing her sweat-soaked mane. "The Count is over?"
"No... for there is yet one moose left to count." The cyborg pointed past his shattered antler and at his skull. "In here."
"No! No!" Lyra--a sobbing wreck--nuzzled his peeling chest closely. "You can't be serious!" She looked up, eyes puffy. "Even if you were a dastardly creation of Skynuck turned into a protector of equinity's last hope, it doesn't mean you have to sacrifice yourself like this! I forbid it!"
Tenderly, the half-android moose wiped away her tears with a metal hoof. "I know now why you cry, bud," he spoke. "For it is something that I can never do, eh?"
Lyra merely cried, standing there, shivering.
With noble grace, the cyborg moose climbed out and grabbed ahold of a dangling length of chain. He nodded to Sweetie Drops, and the agent nodded back. She pressed a button that lowered the hero into the vat of molten metal. He caught fire, his lower body melting to bits, and then his torso. At last, all that was left was a metal hoof, which he stuck straight up into the air... for... n-no apparent reason.
At last, the dead was done. Sweetie Drops let go of the button as she leaned against Lyra, her eyes plastered to the glowing vat. "... ... ...One Hundred and One Moose."
Lyra sobbed, burying her face deep in Sweetie Drops' fuzzy chest.
Sweetie Drops held her close, looking off with a hundred mile stare.
"The unknown future rolls toward us. I count the days for the first time with a sense of harmony, because if a Capreoline, a moose, can learn the value of equine life, maybe we can too."
Dark clouds and errant lightning bolts lingered over a hellish urban wasteland.
Swing sets drifted back and forth idly in a cold wind, creaking with haunting melodies.
Charred black playground equipment loomed in the shadows of bombed out buildings...
And then, in the first time in forever, a curious flash of light... and color.
P-POWWW!
A lavender unicorn appeared out of nowhere in mid-gallop. She slid to a stop, rubbing her skull.
"Euuughhh..." Shaking her head, Twilight Sparkle stood up straight, teeth clenched. "Alright, Nightmare Moon! You're done for as soon as I shoot the Elements with... a... spark..." She blinked awkwardly, looking all around. "Uhhhh... hello?"
Cold winds howled over the deathscape. A lifeless tumbleweed rolled by, colliding coldly with a rusted chain-linked fence and then dwindling over the crumpled horizon.
"Uhhm... Nightmare Moon?" Twilight blinked. "Girls?" She blinked again. "This isn't the Ancient Castle of the Two Royal Pony Sisters. Just how far did I teleport?" She tapped her chin in thought. "Hmmmmm... that... was a teleportation spell that I just cast, right? After all, that primary magical component scroll was marked 'T' for 'transport.' There's no way it could have stood for... for..." Her ears folded as her pupils shrank. "... ... ...'time.'"
She heard the cacophonous creaking of metal joints and she looked up.
"TARGET ACQUIRED! SEVEN HUNDRED AND NINETY-SECOND LAVENDER EQUINE TO HAVE ARRIVED AT THIS DESTINATION VIA REVERSE CHRONOTON PARTICLES!"WHURRRRRRRR-CL-CLANK!"COMMENCING WITH EXTERMINATION PROCEDURES"
Twilight's body deflated in a growing shadow. "Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww poop."
WHUDDDD! A giant metal moose hoof crushed her to a crimson pulp. "TARGET NEUTRALIZED, ORGANO-HOSER!"
