CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT - BATTLE MATH
"Pick your battles. Nope. That's too many battles. Put some battles back." - Anonymous Meme

You ever heard the phrase: you've got to pick your battles? Like...you're supposed to take a good hard look at everything that matters in the whole wide world and then just sort of pretend not to give a damn about half of that.

I used to hate that phrase. 'Cause it's fucking dumb. The more battles you fight, the more you're going to win! That's just…you know…basic battle math.

But it's different when the ideas you're fighting for are actual real life ponies. It's different when the enemies you're fighting use actual real bullets against you.

It felt weird to be planning a jail break in a slave compound - risking fire and death and torture under the ominous stare of the Pinkie Pie Balloons o' Doom - just to save one lady. It felt wrong. Like we shoulda been toppling the whole damn thing. Roller coaster, Fillydelphia, Red Eye, and all.

I mean…isn't that what I'd hated about the Powers That Be in the first place? That they valued one life over another? That they'd murder Twink just to save Strawberry Lemonade. That they'd sacrificed the kids of Sub Mine F in the process?

But Misty and I - we couldn't save everybody. Not this time. At least probably not.

This time, the universe wasn't on our side. It sucked! And the sucky cherry on top of the sucky whipped cream on top of the sucky ice cream was the fact that this zebra that we hinged all our hopes on? I had a bad feeling about her. Something I couldn't put into words.

But what could we do…except follow the plan?

The Safety Super-Secret Society of Sneakers, (or S.S.S.S.S.), had arranged to rendezvous at 11:00 pm. New kids - inductees who hadn't been around a full year, (or had simply never journeyed Fillydelphia's tunnels into the amusement park before) - were to assemble at the Magenta Building three clicks South of my dorm. The idea was that we could all leave in time to get "initiated" by midnight.

What the fuck any of that actually meant was totally beyond me. I had no idea what our "initiation'' was gonna entail. And as far as I could tell, a "click" is just what you call a city block whenever you're being reeeeal strategical and military and sneaky.

Misty didn't have a fucking clue either. Our plan was to break away from the S.S.S.S.S. entirely, and make for the bumper plows. But we still needed them to get in. And that meant we had a couple of hours to kill.

Cliff Diver, Bananas Foster, Misty Mountain, and me wasted the evening away, just sorta...hanging around. Napping in shifts. Playing cards - weird versions of Go Fish, and Rummy that I hadn't played before. 'Cause it was an old wartime deck. Six suits. One for each "ministry," (which, apparently, were governing bodies led by a bunch of grownups from my hometown).

"Ha! Four of Eemage," said Misty, laying a card down on the table, bearing the emblem of a militarized banner: Rarity's cutie mark.

"Not so fast!" said Cliff. "You thought you had the final Seven Card in the deck. But you're forgetting: Pinkie's wild."

Cliff Diver laid down a card depicting Pinkie Pie, somewhat gray-haired, bursting out of a giant birthday present full of confetti. "I declare this...a seven! Mwahahah!"

"Gah!" Misty humphed.

"How long have you been holding on to that Pinkie card?" I said.

"I don't know," Cliff grinned a wicked little grin. "How long have we been playing?"

"Oooh!" said Misty, suddenly alarmed. "Too long! We should wake Bananas Foster."

"She's not really asleep," Cliff replied.

"Yes, but she deserves time to herself like anypony else...er...anychangeling...um..."

"Technically," Foster called out from the couch, eyes still closed. "The term is anycreature. But we should stick to 'anypony' for simplicity's sake. It's a stupid thing to trip up on."

"How long have you been awake?" Misty snorted.

"I told you," Foster rolled off the couch, stretched, and rose to her hooves. "I rarely sleep. But I do appreciate the time to think."

"You alright?" Cliff asked.

"Of course," Foster twisted her neck, and spine, crunching all her bones together. It sounded like a maraca getting slowly crushed beneath an elephant's hoof. "How about you?" she added hastily. "Have you eaten?"

Cliff Diver lowered his hoof, and the cards with them. Laid 'em face-down flat on the table. "I can't."

"Still?" said Foster. "You really should."

"We've been over this," I said. "He's not gonna."

"This isn't just about you," Foster jumped in. "It's about the mission." Bananas Foster got all statuesque. Again. As if to say, 'I'm totally gonna die tonight, and it's going to be 'cause I saved you. The least you could do is take care of yourself, and bring your A-game.'

"I'll be fine," Cliff replied. "I go to bed without supper, like, you know, all the time." He hung his head.

Foster looked to me. Appalled. Furious as ever at Cliff Diver's parents, who were, you know, punitively not fucking feeding him. It was obvious. But we didn't say anything. It would be positively awful to rub it in.

"Whoa," said Misty, totally fucking rubbing it in. "Eet sounds like your parents - they are asshole who don't love you at all."

Clonk! Foster smacked Misty upside the head.

"Oww!"

"Dude, shut up," Foster snapped.

"He's right," said Cliff Diver, staring down at his overturned cards like they were crystal balls, about to reveal the secrets of the universe. He gazed really really reeeeally really hard. Until, at last, his eyes flung open. Like windows getting their shutters blasted off into a thousand tiny pieces by a giant firecracker. "If my parents did love me," he said. "Then...I would never have ended up here, would I?"

I rushed to apologize for the millionth time. For dragging him and Foster into this. But Cliff wouldn't let me.

"I'd never have found my way here!" Cliff giggled. "...With the best friends anypony could ever hope for. Haha!"

Cliff plowed into us both, sweeping us into a giant hug.

"Eep!" I eeped eepishly in surprise.

While Foster sighed. Leaned in. Pressed her head against Cliff Diver's big gray neck.

It was a relief. A massively gargantuan super big deal, in fact! I'd never seen Cliff Diver actually happy after talking about his parents!

"Dee sights of Fillydelphia - they might make you wish you never come," Misty said.

And one by one, we all turned our heads to him. Then, drearily, to one another.

"It's almost time, you know," said Cliff Diver.

"Yeah," I replied.

We eyed the door in silence. As if a clan of Safety kids was gonna swoop in at any minute, and sweep us off to the slave pits of Pinkie Land for a Sneaker Secret Society adventure.

But they didn't, of course. And in a way, that only made it worse. To have to...sorta...work up the energy to go out there on our own. Knowing that the four of us had only just gotten together a couple of hours ago - that Misty had only barely met my friends.

That this was probably the last time we'd all get to play cards together.

"Okay," Misty clopped his forehooves together. "We should be goingk." But he didn't stand up. Or do much of...anything really. He sat there. Like the rest of us.

"Yep," said Cliff, fidgeting with his mane. "We should."

"Alright!" said Foster. "Let's do it." And suddenly she was back to being all noble and…statuey again.

I didn't like it. But I didn't like anything about this.

There were no hornets yelling at me to save anypony in particular, nor voices urging me to get to any doors or anything, but it all felt wrong somehow. Whenever my brain tried to picture the slave compound, and the zebra who needed rescuing, I got a headache. And the entire plan just felt kinda sorta, you know…off.

"Dee bug ees right," said Misty. "We go!"

"You should get outta the habit of calling her that," I said.

"Rose has a point. You don't wanna slip up," Foster added. Totally unfazed by getting referred to as 'the bug.' Her only concern was blending in.

"Bah,'' said Misty. "I've been stranger een a hundred lands. I can keep my facts straight."

"It'll mess Rose Petal up," Foster leaned in and whispered. As though I couldn't hear.

Misty's eyes met mine.

"It's true," I shrugged.

"Okay,'' said Misty. "No bug talk. But we should make movingk. 3...2...1…Go!"

Cliff and Foster made for the door, but Misty still didn't move. Neither did I.

"Why the hesitation?" I said to Misty as if my own passivity - my own braindoubts - weren't also nailing my hooves to the floor. "You're the one who's all: I must save my zebra friend! I must try!"

"There's somethingk I'm forgettingk," he replied, deep in thought.

"We don't have time for forgetting," said Cliff Diver, gesticulating wildly at the door.

But nopony listened. A hush sunk into the air, as Misty neither remembered, nor moved to action. While I twittled my hooves in indecision.

Twittle twittle.

Twittle twittle.

Twittle twittle.

"Ugh!" I cried out at last. "This sucks. It's like…" I paused to correlate my feelings, but totally failed to do anything of the sort. "It's like…, um...like…" My brain searched far and wide across the Plains of Brainitude for the right word, even as my mouth kept babbling the wrong ones. "Like, like, like…"

Gahhhhhh! There had to be something I could say. To make it all better. To get everypony charged up, galloping confidently toward the mission (that I had dragged half of us into to begin with). But I couldn't. I didn't even know how to express how I felt. Until, outta nowhere, it hit me.

"Ooh!" I cried out suddenly. "It's like that time when Pinkbeard and her first mate got marooned on the Lost Isle of Inertium. And Clam Clam, the nerdy navigator had to command the rest of the mission all by himself. Even though he's always been the math guy.

'And in the meantime, everycreature is just sorta stuck where they are after breathing the Cursed Fog of Eternal Ennui. And it takes the Lost Crystal of--;"

"Dat ees eet!" Misty leapt from his stool laughing. "I remember!"

He dashed for his saddlebag, all-of-a-sudden-like, and plunged his face inside. "I forgot to mention," he cackled. "Dees fate. Dees theeng that makes bring of us together! Yesterday, I discover pre-war text in Glenn's library, and immediately, I think of you, Rose Petal."

"Me?"

"Yes, you, stupid. Before I even knew you were here! Ahaha!"

Cliff stepped away from the door, and approached Misty. "That makes sense," he said. "We've actually been in this ducky--;"

"Emu," said Misty.

"Sorry, emu," Cliff corrected himself. "We've been in...Fillydelphia for two days now. We got here yesterday. You say you found this book yesterday?"

"That explains it!" said Misty, totally sure of our mystical connection. "Yes!"

"What did you find?'' Foster asked.

Misty Mountain kept a meticulous saddlebag. I could tell just by glancing in it. A bundle of rope, a canteen of water, little balls of tin foil (presumably wrapped around some foodish substance or another), all spaced out evenly. Super orderly-like. But he levitated the only item in there not of practical value to survival.

It was a beat up old book. No binding. (It looked like it had never even had one - just a bundle of pages held together with rotting, ancient ribbons).

"Thees," said Misty. "Thees remind me of you."

"What is it?" I said, but even before Misty floated it to me, my heart stopped and my lungs choked for air. 'Cause I saw the title plain as day.

"Pinkbeard and the Princess of Stripes?!'' I said.

"Ees pirate book,'' said Misty. "I figured you would like."

"I've never seen this one," I whispered in awe. "And wait, how did you know I liked these books? I never mentioned it until now."

"Uhh...You make run up and down mines of Trottica. Saying, 'Yarrr, yarr, YARRR. I am pirate, but not whiny pirate, yarrrrr.'"

"I never said that!" I exclaimed. "I mean, not out loud."

Foster snickered. And Cliff made a point of turning away.

"Hold on, do I do that?"

Foster shrugged. While Cliff Diver coiled up and shrunk.

"Cliff, do I? Do I yarrrr?"

"Well, no...not that I've noticed, I mean uh...yeah...kinda...sometimes…well, all the time actually."

Misty busted out laughing. Foster too. They clutched one another, cackling at me all the while.

"Hmmph," I said, laying the decrepit old book gently on the coffee table. I plunged my muzzle into its pages, starting with the preface at the very beginning - a heartfelt open letter from the author to her readers:

• When I was a little filly, I wanted nothing more than to grow a beard - a big, fat, bushy beard; or perhaps, a long, straight one that I could braid like some manner of barbarian king. Every day, and every night, I wore a false one. (It had been part of a lumberjack costume that I'd stolen from my brother after he'd finished using it on Nightmare Night).

  Against my mother's wishes, I snuck it to school on my first day of Kindergarten. As you can probably imagine, it did not go well for me. The other children were quite cruel, and that night, I cried myself to sleep for the first (of many) times. However, I did not stop smuggling beards to class. For years, I found a way, whether through cheap costumery, or clever make-up tricks, (speckling my chin with "stubble" fashioned from my sister's eyeliner pencil).

  Though my acquaintances were few, and my friends fewer - though I came home often with sour milk clumped in my mane, or paint splashed upon my coat - markings made by sadistic classmates unchecked by the educational authorities - it paled in comparison to the experience of looking in the mirror each day, and seeing a bald, unbearded chin.

  From the primordial depths of this childhood longing - from the scars - (literal scars) - I'd won for daring to express it - a pirate named Pinkbeard was born.

  This rugged sea captain had a lot in common with that scared little girl who couldn't fit in, only Pinkbeard managed to grow her mighty beard by sheer force of will.

  Those of you who have been reading and following her saga for all this time should know that this series is about freedom - not only from oppressive institutions like the East Equestria Trading Company, but from social mores as well. Captain Pinkbeard's hallmark phrase, "I am what I am what I am," is more than a motto. It is a way of life.

  As I sit now, fifty years after publishing my first novel, I do not regret selling my house to finance the publication of this very book that you now hold in your hooves, dear reader, for though easy financing was to be had for soulless pulp, (should I choose to write some), it was far more important to me to stay true to the values that made Pinkbeard special in the first place.

  You have probably heard the buzz - read the headlines calling me a "traitor" for daring to write a children's book in praise of zebras in these admittedly troubled times. However, it was precisely my experience as that little girl who cried herself to sleep at night that made it impossible for me to remain silent in the face of the injustices that zebras face today. This novel, which will undoubtedly mean my financial ruin, if not outright arrest, is a story that must be told.

  We all need Pinkbeard, now more than ever, to whisk us misfits away from the fillies who pour sour milk upon our manes - away from the parents who decry our beards and "zebra-loving" ways - and carry us off to a real family, and show us the sort of love that can only be found on the open sea amongst fellow outcasts.

  Though I strongly suspect that this book will be the series' final installment, I'd rather the S.S. Beardo go down in flames than die with a whisper, subordinated to this jingoistic atrocity we call "the war effort."

  To all of my fans who have supported me these long years, you have my eternal gratitude. Though you owe me nothing, I ask one small favor of you - that you give this book a chance, and consider the zebrish race, not as mere enemies, but as reflections of that scared little girl who only ever wanted to grow a beard.

"Ees amazing dat copy survived," said Misty. "I remember when thees book come out. There were burnings in every city and town."

"What?!" said me, and Cliff, and Foster. All together at once.

Foster may have survived the Shadow Castle. And Cliff may have survived...well…Cliff's parents. But the notion of burning books?! On fucking purpose? It was monstrous. Insane! And Pinkbeard? Burning Pinkbeard?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Why would anyone burn Pinkbeard?" I whispered. "Just 'cause of a stupid zebra character?"

"Dee war - dee patriotic fever - is impossible to describe," Misty shook his head. "But at dee time, eet was unthinkable to praise zebra. Which is why no publisher would touch thees book. Dee parents - dey gathered in school playgrounds, and made dee Pinkbeard fires."

"Which emu did that happen in?" I said, clutching the stack of shoddily bound pages to my chest as though it were a newborn foal.

"My home emu," answered Misty. "I remember dee burnings - dee anger at dee zebra princess character - but never could I read them. I didn't know how copy could be found.

'But here it ees now - een Safety of all places - and eet made me think of you. Not just because of YARR, but also, dee stubbornness of author."

Slowly, gently, I eased Pinkbeard and the Princess of Stripes closed. Carried it to the door, and slipped it in my own saddle bag.

Without saying a word, I suited up for the cold. Coat and scarf and boots and hat. "Let's save your zebra friend," I said at last.

Sometimes you just gotta fight like a pirate.

We slipped out back so none of the grown-ups would see us. Misty led the way. First through the alleyway where I'd spied a jumpsuit slave the night before; then down the mane thoroughfare. All of the long rainbow rows of crazy-colored buildings were shades of gray now, except for the blades of light cast by lampposts, and gashes of shadow in the alleyways.

'Three clicks South' apparently means three blocks further away from the amusement park. Further away from the wall. Further away from the logical fucking place to stick an entranceway to a tunnel meant for mascot-headed park employees.

I didn't like it.

"Why would they build a tunnel all the way over here?" I whispered.

Cliff tossed his head left and right, and up and down, and spun himself around. "Yeah," he said. "You've got a point. It makes no sense."

"Shush," said Misty. "I don't know. I wasn't told much theengs. Or else I would seemply go by myself."

"Shut up!" Foster grabbed me and Cliff by our tails. And zoink! Yanked us behind a dumpster. She covered my mouth so I couldn't yelp.

"What, you need to--;" said Misty, ready to scold us. But his eyes flew open suddenly. "Damnit!"

He dove behind the dumpster too.

"What?" I tried to whisper through Foster's hoof, but Misty threw another hoof over my mouth. To double shut me up.

That's when a sprite bot floated by. Eerily silent. Completely ignorify-able. Till bzzzt! It rotated one of its periscope-a-majigs. The Eyes of Safety.

I crunched myself into a ball. Peeked an eyeball between two locks of my own hair, and fixated on that lens-ish-looking thing. Hoping it wouldn't turn our way.

Slowly, steadily, the spritebot passed us by, drifting like a fluffkin shed from the head of a dandelion. And after a few hundred heartbeats, it slid all the way down Mane Street, rounded a corner, and was gone.

Misty poked his head out first. Followed by Foster. Then Cliff, then me. Pop, pop, pop, pop. Like a broken whack-a-mole table where, like, all the moles stayed out once they emerged, and, you know, played sentry-or-whatever to make sure that a sprite bot didn't catch them wandering around outside of their mole holes at night.

My friends and I stepped out onto the sidewalk, and tip-hooved forward. That's when we saw a whole other herd of kids. Half a block away. Five or six of them. Emerging from an archway.

Cliff pointed, but Foster grabbed him by the hoof.

"Come," Misty whispered. "Quickly!"

We trailed the herd. Or tried to. They moved damn fast, even though their hooves didn't make a sound. While Cliff and I cla-dunked along in our Safety-issued winter boots.

Cla-dunk, cla-dunk, cla-dunk, cla-dunk, cla-dunk.

The dark figures slid further and further and further and further and further and further and further and further ahead, but we didn't dare trot, lest the cla-dunkening intensify.

"I thought you knew the way," Cliff whispered to Misty.

"I know dee building," Misty replied. "Not dee exact way in, or what to do once eenside--:"

We cla-dunked after them some more. Jerking our limbs around like kindergarteners playing with tissue boxes on their hooves...Till Fwoomf! A little boy popped his head out at us from above. Hanging upside down like a bat.

"Shhh!" he brought his upside down hoof to his upside down lips, and said.

We all leapt back. Foster instinctively threw her hoof over my mouth again so I wouldn't yelp. I brushed it away, thoroughly insulted.

I had sneaking experience, damnit!

Upsidedown Boy looked us over carefully. I stepped forward, and did the same to him. His hindquarters were entangled around the ladder of a fire escape. In the lamplight, he seemed to have a yellow complexion; long purple hair that gravity pulled away from his head; and eyes green like grapes. "Yer gonna get us all caught," he said.

"We only want make join of your club," said Misty.

"Why?" Upsidedown Boy narrowed his eyes at Misty, then at me.

"To see theme park," Misty replied.

"You can see the park on field trips." The colt somersaulted off of the fire escape. Landed without a sound. It was only then that I got a sense of just how small he was. Maybe half Bananas Foster's size.

"Why tonight?" Formerly Upsidedown Boy grilled Misty. "Why us?"

"'Cause it's sneakier that way," said Cliff Diver.

The little boy scratched his chin. Smirked. "I like the way you think, New Kid. Lose the clonkers," he pointed to Cliff's boots. "And you're in."

We rushed to shuffle, and kick our boots off. I ended up on my back, squirming. Tuuugggging at my final clonker. Till Misty came right up to me, tugged on my shoelace with a gentle bit of magic, and the whole thing slid right off.

"Carry them with you till I can find a safe place to stash 'em," said the little boy, already dashing ahead.

He led us around the corner. Down a thin walkway between buildings. Steamy mist poured out of an exhaust pipe jutting from a nearby wall. But the fog didn't slow us down. A few zigs, and a half dozen zags later, and we were in some kinda courtyard, surrounded by the back ends of a bunch of buildings.

The one on the far end was magenta.

"How'd you hear about us?" Formerly Upsidedown Boy whispered to Misty.

"I haff good ears."

Formerly Upsidedown Boy nodded, apparently pleased with Misty's answer.

He led us silently along the perimeter of the courtyard, hugging the sides of buildings as he went. Other kids did the same on the wall opposite us. Slinking like...well...like Wastelanders. Nothing in the world is sneakier. (Except maybe ninjas).

Before we reached the Magenta Building, our guide steered us into a little crevice. He gestured at a nearby dumpster - a place to hide our boots, (which we did without question).

It was then, in that deep city quiet, that Formerly Upside Down Boy gave us a little speech. "Listen," he said. "The Secret Society of Safety Super Sneakers is very serious about security. I could get in trouble with the Order just for bringing you here."

The Order.

"...But it beats letting you all clonk around Safety on your own.”

"I do not clunk,'' said Misty. "Dees one - maybe." He pointed at me

"Hay, I'm plenty sneaky," I protested. "You, of all ponies, should remember!"

"Shhhhh!" everypony said to me. Friends, stranger and all.

I recoiled. Whispered, "Sorry," and blushed a little. Point taken.

"Just follow my lead," the little kid groaned. We tip-hooved along the final stretch of the courtyard, taking cover behind the jagged shadows of creaky old playground equipment. The Boy circled us like a sheep dog nipping at our heels, herding us from front and back. Making sure we were sneaky enough.

That's when it hit me. Creeping around a bunch of drunken slave guards. Getting shot at, or whatever. That was easy.

But the Safety kids?! They were a different story. They were on the ball - and by the ball, I, of course, mean that they were gonna have their eyes on us 'new kids' to make sure we didn't slip away, and try to rescue any zebras out of the bumper plow pen, slip into the sewers, escort them to freedom, and disappear into the recesses of time and space, and duckies, and stuff.

We were gonna have to outsneak the sneakers. And I was only medium sneaky. At best.

The boy threw a hoof out. Signaled for us to stop. "The leader of our group, Meadow Blade," he said. "He graduated last year, and, he was, like, super strict. But I don't know the new leaders very good, so I'm not sure they're gonna let you in or not."

"What do we do?" Foster said.

"Sneak," the little boy replied.

We came to a cluster of other kids. Six or seven of them. Standing outside a steel door - the kind with the letter R painted on it.

One of them raised a forehoof. Checked on the pip buck growing out of her wrist. "Two minutes," she whispered.

And so we stood there. For two whole minutes. As the wind whisked our coats against our backs, and other kids' sneaking panchos flapped around their legs.

Cliff looked to me. Nervous-like. While Foster stayed kinda statuey cold.

But Misty had a fire in his belly. He looked ready to charge through everypony, and storm the tunnel by force if that's what it came to.

This mission. This zebra lady. It was his line in the sand. The battle he'd chosen long before he even met me. Xenith was the whole reason Misty got himself in this mess to begin with.

And while the strategist inside my brain had her doubts, I could only imagine what it'd be like to have a chance - a real fucking chance - to rescue the boy I saw on my first night in the Wasteland. To know for sure that he'd survived.

The girl with the pip buck gave the hooves-up signal. And our little (formerly upside down) escort leaned in, reeeeal super close to the door, and knocked.

Tap tap tap tap tap.

There was no reply. Not at first.

On the count of three, all the sneakers around us let out one continuous hiss. "Sssssssssssssss," they said.

"What was that?" Cliff whispered in the boy's ear.

"Secret password. Shh!"

After a moment's consideration, the door creaked open and we all slipped inside. Single file. Nopony told us to form a line that way. Everypony just sort of knew.

We crept like shadows down a long, dimly lit hallway full of dripping pipes, and crates and stuff. It smelled like bleach and it looked a lot like the back room of the infirmary that we'd snuck into earlier. But all the doors were closed. The faint silhouette of mops flashed to life in the corner, and disappeared again as little blinky machinery-lights made halos behind them.

But it still wasn't enough light for a pony to see where the fuck she was going.

After a tedious trek down the winding corridor, the crowd filed into one of the many unmarked doors. I don't remember which - they all looked exactly the same. But once the last of us was inside, it closed behind us, and...Click! Latch! Shhuunk! locked good and tight.

I didn't even get a chance to spin around before somepony called from the opposite end of the room, "Perimeter secure!"

"Good," answered a booming voice. "New Blood, step forward."

The small herd of kids delicately parted. Making way for me and my friends and a few other initiates. I couldn't see a damn thing thanks to the Puffy-Maned-Tall-Kid in front of me - a veritable wall o' pony, the color of key lime pie. But we inched forward, step by careful step, until at last, we came before the S.S.S.S.S.'s leaders.

Three figures stood up on a table. Hoods hung over their faces. Flowery robes draped over their backs.

Cloak-o's!!!!!!! My brain shouted at me from inside of my mindskull.

Suddenly it all made sense. The ceremony, the secret password! The "order," as our new upside down friend had called it. The Super Safety Secret Club or...whatever - it was cloak-o's. All cloak-o's.

Ahhh!!! my brain shouted at me. Ahh, ahh, aaaahh!

I fell to my flank. Tumbled backwards. Misty caught me. But not in the usual spazz way - you know, when I'm...like...totally being a dork. He clutched me tight.

He was fearful too.

'Cause even though Misty had been all over the duckyverse - even though he'd once been transformed into a bowl of sentient tapioca pudding - Misty also knew what secret orders of cloaked ponies really meant.

His horn sparkled to life. Threw a dome of magic purple light around us.

The crowd parted. The tallest cloak-o leapt off the table, and charged toward my friends and I.

Ckkk! The dome flared with magic lightning as Misty Mountain gritted his teeth, and clutched me tightly. Protective-like.

Suddenly, the head cloak-o's hooves staggered to a halt.

A light flickered on from the ceiling, and the whole room became clear. There, beneath the cloak, was Iris - the kid who gave us our tour during orientation.

"Rose Petal?" he said. "Cliff Diver?! Oh my gosh, I heard what happened, are you okay?"

"Um…" Cliff froze.

Iris' eyes darted upwards in horror at the sight of his own hood - his own cloak. It was gray now in the ordinary light. Not pink. The yellow daisies? Nothing but white circles. A polka dot bathrobe cleverly tailored into a ceremonial cloak.

Iris flung the thing off as though it were made out of eels. He'd been in my Emotional Education class. He knew my story. My history with Trottica - with cloaks.

Three or four other kids took their cues from Iris. Hurried to shed their makeshift ceremonial robes.

It was only then that Misty lowered his lightning dome. Though he positioned himself right in front of me, as if to shield me from danger.

But, the 'cloak-o's' weren't dangerous at all. They were busy muttering apologies - "sorry"; and "oh my gosh"; and, of course, "fuck" - as they shook off the last entanglements of their robes.

"No," I pleaded. "It's fine. It's…You don't have to…"

Lucky, the other kid from our orientation - the one with all the scars - ignored me, and ran straight to Cliff Diver, all concernitty. Cliff shrunk back with a squeak and a whimper. Like that scared little kid in the playground. The day we first met. All over again.

"We want to join your club," Foster stepped forward, drawing all the eyeballs in the room away from Cliff.

"We were all so worried about you," said Iris.

I cringed. Planted my face in my hoof. I only dared to sneak a teeny tiny little peek from behind it. Everypony was watching. It felt like I was sinking in a maelstrom of eyeballs that...like…punched me with their eyeball hammers, and grabbed me, and dragged me down into some kinda Ocular Abyss of…you know, getting stared at a whole lot.

I wanted to burst. To run away. To rush right past them, and just...sorta...gallop straight down their secret passageways - straight for the Pinkie Pie compound. And start fighting our way towards Xenith, the zebra slave. Dodging bullets. Hacking through slavers. Risking capture and torture and death and fire and stuff.

Anything would be better than this!

"Please," said Foster. "It's been a long day. We just wanna belong."

One by one, the eyeballs softened. Bobbed up and down as the two dozen kids surrounding us all nodded in approval.

Except for one filly. She wasn't one of the cloak-o's. She didn't belong to the sea of anonymous eyeballs either. She was right next to me. Amongst the 'new recruits.'

It was Scribbles. Watching me with absolute horror. "Sweet fucking Mercy," her eyes seemed to say. "What are you doing here? What are you planning?"

"We accept anypony," Iris continued. "That's our way. But the Rite of Initiation is hard. Are you sure you want to go through with this? You've endured so much toda--;"

"We want to belong," said Cliff Diver, stepping forward. "We want to join."

"Of course," said Iris. "Um...Lucky? Take over."

Lucky raised a hoof in salute.

Iris turned to us. "A moment alone," he said gravityishly. "You too, Mr. Magic Dome." He glowered at Misty, as if to say, 'You shoulda known better, and by the way…what the fuck are you up to, and why are you entrenched in New Kid Drama?'

We all slipped out the door we'd come through. Back into the hallway. The rest of the Secret Sneaker Super Safety Squad or Whatever carried on. Neither scandalized by our presence, nor shocked by our need for a little private talk.

Except Scribbles. Her Eyeballs O' Dread were still fucking velcroed to us. And they stayed that way till the very last second when the door swung shut.

The hallway buzzed with fritz-itty light. Pale. Green. Dreary. Iris, my friends, and I were finally alone.

"Are you okay?" said the secret society leader in an awful hurry. "What happened?"

None of us answered. Iris had been there in the classroom when Cliff tossed that desk. He'd seen what happened. It was an odd question.

Iris looked to each of us. It took him a moment to figure out just how fucking confused we all were. "...You know," he said. "After they threw you out of class?"

"Miss Honey showed us the boy behind the glass," answered Foster. "In the infirmary." Her voice was thick with grief. She sounded like she had nails in her throat.

"Yeah," Iris sighed.

And for a moment, I wondered about Miss Honey. How she'd requisition-ized two dozen factories worth of parts, and sixteen refineries or whatever to build that boy his accordion lungs.

How much of that had really been for him? How much of it was just to convince herself - to convince us all - that this project - this society that Miss Honey was building - was worth the blood and sacrifice of its slaves?

Was that boy Miss Honey's line in the sand? The battle she refused to lose?

"Look," said Iris. "I really really really don't wanna exclude you, but you do know where we're going, right?"

"Of course," Misty said proudly.

Iris rolled his eyes. "And you! What was with that dome stunt? Huh?" Iris demanded.

Misty blushed. Said nothing.

"Well?" Iris insisted. But Misty just sorta seized up some more.

"I know him," I blurted out. It was probably a stupid thing not say. 'Cause I had no idea what Misty had told the other Safety kids, or if I was about to contradict his story, but out it came. "We were in cages together."

Misty hung his head. "I, um, well…not dee same cage, but…cloaks. They make scare of Rose Petal, so I pretend to protect–;"

I stomped on his hoof.

"Ow," he yelped. "Okay, I theenk you are cloak cult colt. And I make dome of anger. Not because I am to be afraid. In my home country, we have much scarier theengs - cult leaders twenty times more–"

"I'm sorry," said Iris.

Misty fell silent. And simply nodded in reply.

We all stood there. Contemplateishly listening to the slow drip of a leaky pipe trickling into an overflowing bucket at the end of the hall.

"Look," Iris said, running his hoof through his mane. "All of you have been through…well…a lot today." His eyes started to water. "What are you gonna do if you come with us, and you see something that you know...sets you off? It's dangerous. For everypony."

"That won't happen!" I stomped and squeaked at the same time. The hallway boomed with the echo of it.

Iris cringed. Plunged his hoof into my mouth to shut me up. Everyone does that eventually.

"I'm the one who threw the chair," said Cliff. "I've got it under control now."

"And I am not scared," Misty announced with bravado.

"Please," said Foster. "We don't want to be the kids that everypony pities. The kids who got sent away."

Iris flinched. As though Bananas Foster's words had just stabbed him in the ribs.

I seized the moment, and brushed Iris' hoof out of my mouth. Spat out the dirt. "Pleeeeease," I said. "We can do this."

"Fuck," Iris ran a hoof through his mane. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck. I can't. I'm sorry. I can't, it's...it's...just... Fuck!" Iris hooved at his mane, tugging at his own hair like the answers were gonna fall out. He looked like he was about to cry.

...Till Bananas Foster caught his eye.

"We should stick together," said Foster calmly. Firmly. "It's the Safety Way."

Iris stopped his fussing. Stared off into nothing. "We should...stick together," he said, rubbing his head, looking all around him to figure out where the hell he was. "It's...the Safety Way."

A pale reflection of green flame shimmered in Foster's eyes. As a ckkkkk sound came from below. Like the hiss of sauna water splashed over hot coals.

It was Cliff Diver's hoof. Scrrrraping against the floor in anger. But he didn't say a word. Just averted his eyes.

Damnit. I'd felt the same way. Back when I first saw Foster do weird changeling magic stuff to the nurses back at Ponyville General Hospital.

I hadn't been able to cope back then either.

Cliff'd been understanding at the time, but, you know, neutral. It was different now.
It's harder to mess around with free will once you've caught a glimpse of slavery - actual, for real slavery - even a tiny glimpse.

I reached my hoof out to Cliff. Brushed it up against his stamping, scraping, stomping hoof. And he froze. Looked to me with great big forlorn eyeballs. Bit his lip and nodded.

He didn't have the luxury of freaking out, and he knew it. Not enough time. Not enough space. Not enough privacy.

We were on a mission to rescue a real slave. The kind with real chains attached to their real necks, and real guns pointed at their real heads.

We had no choice but to push forward. No matter what. And to follow Iris as he shook the confuseitty brainwashitude out of his head, and led us back the way we came.

The room was empty. Like, totally empty. The super sneaker kids who'd congregated there just a few minutes before had left no trace. Iris blink-bloinked. Spun around as though twenty kids might randomly be hiding right behind us somewhere. "They must have gone ahead without us," he said. "Don't worry. We'll catch up."

My friends and I all motioned forward to follow him. But Iris didn't lead us any further. He just threw a foreleg up instead. "That means we gotta do the oath. Here."

"We should really get moving," said Foster.

"Oath first," said Iris, hooves planted firmly on the ground. Head held high. The sudden change was striking. A marauding army of squids woulda had to cut off his head and all of his limbs with their squid-scimitars, and chop him into a hundred million billion tiny bits before any of those dismembered Iris-chunks would roll over a single inch without first hearing THE OATH.

"Fine," said Misty. "What ees oath?"

"Hooves on your hearts." Iris clutched his chest.

We did the same.

"Since time immemorial," Iris said in a great big majestic voice. "The Mystic Knights of the Super Sneaker Secret Society of Safety have been the keepers of secrets - wisdom of the ancients! Wisdom unearthed from the Forgotten Age - wisdom that holds the key to the rejuvenation of civilization itself.

'It is time for these secrets - and more - to be bequeathed unto these four initiates here - our next generation of mystic super sneaker knights. Who are ye who do now seek such wisdom?"

Iris fell silent. And looked to each of us expectantly.

Cliff cast his eyes down some more, still burying his rage over the hypno-slavery. While Foster and Misty visibly quaked, fighting to contain their urgency. I didn't understand at first until I took a second to think about it.

Breaking away from an entire herd of kids - even smart and sneaky ones - was totally doable. All four of us leaving Iris in the dust? Impossible! We had to catch up with the rest of the Sneaky Society if we were to have any hope of running off on our mission.

"I'm Rose," I said hurried-like. "That's Cliff and Foster, and…"

"Can we make speed of this?" snapped Misty. "We need catch up with others."

"Fine," said Iris. "I'll skip the prelude."

My friends and I let out a sigh of relief. It sounded like steam escaping.

Iris rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling, and rapidly mouthed a bunch of mystical words or whatever - like when you have to sing a whole song to yourself just to recall the lyrics of the final verse. "Aha!" he exclaimed at last. "Do you, Cliff Diver, Bananas Foster, Rose Petal, and Misty Mountain, vow never to reveal the secret way that you are about to be shown?"

"Yes…Sure…Fine…Yep," we all murmured our oath.

"Do you swear to treasure the secrets of the past, and impart them responsibly to all who seek entrance to the Safety Super Secret Sneaker Society?"

"Yuh-huh," we all (more or less) replied.

"Do you pledge allegiance to Red Eye, and to use the wisdom of the ancients to further the expansion of Safety and of Fillydelphia, and the Great Empire of Equestria we seek to restore?"

Misty and Foster affirmed, "Yes," impatiently.

But Cliff squeaked out a "What?!"

Iris batted his eyes in surprise. "Is there a problem?" Iris said. Totally confused.

"No," Foster replied, shoving her hooves over Cliff's mouth instead of mine for once. "We agree."

"Hold on," Cliff brushed the hoof aside. "You all are breaking the rules."

"We're doing it for Safety. For Fillydelphia. We may be super secret sneakers, but we're still believers in The Cause." A horror suddenly crept onto Iris' face. "Aren't you?"

"Yes! Yes, of course," said Foster.

"Yeah,'' I added. "We love Safety."

And Cliff looked at me. With eyes that seemed ready to cry. A say-it-ain't-so face. Like he expected me to...I don't know…leap up, and just start slashing Iris with a sword or something, and go free all the slaves myself.

But the reality was: if we were lucky - like, really fucking lucky, we might kinda maybe stand a chance of saving just one. And to do that, we needed to bullshit our way through this stupid pledge.

Cliff saw the fear in my eyes, and suddenly the fire in him was gone. He nodded. I don't know what exactly I did, or what the hell my face musta looked like to get him to understand, but Cliff turned to face Iris. "Yeah," he said. "Of course. I was just kind of surprised." Cliff pretended to laugh. Wiped a tear from his eye. Slouched a little like he did whenever his stupid mom was around.

I rested a hoof on his shoulder. "It's just a little confusing," I said to Iris. "You know, 'cuz we're breaking the rules."

"...And we don't want to betray Safety," Foster rushed to add.

Iris twitched. Just an itty bitty eyelid flutter. But it freaked me out. Had Bananas Foster just used her flaming green eyeball magic again? I couldn't tell.

"I hear you," Iris replied, un-brainwashedly, or so it seemed. "It's a lot to take in, but you'll understand once you see the power of Greater Fillydelphia for yourself. I was confused too, at first, you know - torn between my need to know more, and my fear of betraying the folks who'd saved my life."

Misty silently chewed on his own mane, inpatient with all of the talkittyness. But Cliff, of all ponies, stepped forward, no longer mad, but earnestly curious. "What do you mean?" he asked softly.

"Well," Iris blushed. "I don't have much time for the full story. We should get going."

"Yes!" snapped Misty.

Iris ignored him. "Let's just say that pip bucks go for a lot of bottle caps on the black market," Iris held up his prosthetic leg - the right leg, where all the other bunker-stunkers had their pip bucks. He waved it around with a warm chuckle. "I woulda bled out if our troops hadn't found me at just the right moment."

Silence filled the room. Like a dense fog made outta gaseous iron that weighed a million tons, choked up our lungs, and made all four of us stare in disbelief at the pony before us, as we all pictured him getting his leg sawed off by bandits or whatever, and left to die.

Even Misty who'd travelled the Duckyverse. Even Foster, who was physiologically incapable of empathy except for those whom she embraced as her "hive." Even Cliff, whose righteous indignation had lit a raging fire in his soul just a moment before.

A profound air of what-the-fuck made us all forget ourselves. Just for a moment.

"You're in good hooves now," said Iris with a warm and heartfelt smile. "We all are."

And at that, the S.S.S.S.S. leader patted Cliff on the shoulder, and led us through the final door. The room that hid the secret passageway to the Pinkie Park o' Fire and Slavery and Doom and Stuff.

Nothing could prepare us for what we were to discover.