The street in front of Manehattan General Hospital was quiet. A few ponies meandered past, a group of friends having a night out.
They were shocked when a burly grey stallion flew out of a second story window, plummeting downwards and smashing a cart to matchwood. They screamed, and one ran into the hospital to get help for the unconscious stallion.
One down, two to go.
Fanta swung her hind hooves up into a roundhouse kick, sending the mare over the reception desk and into a wall. The other stallion lunged with a knife but Fanta grabbed his arm and threw him over her shoulder into a shelving unit. Fanta could hear the mare coming up behind her. She grabbed a trolley full of empty plates, swung it around and sent it flying full force into the mare, giving her a first class trip through some double doors and into a vacant operating room. The mare crashed into the operating table and went limp.
Fanta turned to face the last pony. He jumped at her. Too slow. Fanta sidestepped and sent her hoof straight into the side of his head, knocking him out like a lamp. He fell to the floor.
Panting, Fanta looked around. Wouldn't be long until somepony meddled, so now would be a good time to make a getaway. She ran back to Feather's room, and greeted the doctor. "Doc, there's a medical emergency in the foyer, you should get there quick!" The doctor sped off like lightning and Fanta scooped up the confused Pegasus. "We're getting out of here."
"How?"
"Don't worry, I have plenty of existence with breaking out of hospitals."
- - - - - - - - - -
The sun rose over Manehattan. Freud was sitting in her office, sipping a cup of tea, calmly eyeing the headliner on the newspaper. 'MYSTERIOUS BEAT-UP AT HOSPITAL - GANG WAR GONE TOO FAR?" She contemplated this, reading the article.
"THREE gang members were hospitalised at Manehattan General Hospital last night. The attacker is a mystery, but all three ponies are under investigation for owning deadly weapons with intent. More on page 3."
Freud nodded. She set her glasses on her desk. She knew exactly how this was going to play out. She started to sort through her files for the day. Fanta wouldn't go to the police. This had become a personal matter to both of them, and Fanta would want to settle this herself. She would probably leave Feather at their apartment for safety. And that is her first mistake.
Freud allowed herself a smile, and got down to work.
- - - - - - - - - -
Rubber Glove was tired.
She was the cleaner for the first and second floor at Sigmare Freud's mental institute and it was a tough job. The ponies who worked there only wanted the best when it came to office cleanliness.
As she was so fatigued, she never even saw the white hoof before it collided with her head.
Fanta made sure that the rope was secure and donned the clothes of the poor cleaner. She stepped out of the cleaning cupboard, pulling a heavy trolley after her, piled high with plastic bottles and brushes. She made her way to the goods lift, and pressed 'up'.
The lift stopped and Fanta pushed the trolley out. She slowly lugged it across the hall, passing the cordoned-off remains of the office were Feather was attacked and finally reaching Freud's door. She knocked.
"Come in."
Fanta kicked the door in, knocking the stallion standing behind it out cold. He fell to the floor and a burly pegasus mare sprang, only to be sent flying upwards by a swipe from a mop. She whacked her head on the ceiling, fell to the floor and lay still.
Fanta calmly placed the mop back on the trolley, and faced Freud.
"How may I help you, Miss Fa-"
"Cut it! Explain to me what the heck you're pulling here, before I knock your lights out."
"... Very well. We have about twenty minutes, then you must leave."
"Why so little time?"
"Because, in twenty minutes, I am going to put a crossbow bolt through your friend's head."
Fanta stiffened. "What?"
"If you haven't left the building in twenty minutes, I won't be able to stop the sniper from firing at your friend, will I?"
Fanta growled. "Tell me what the hay you did to my friend, Freud."
"A simple spell; it increases anxiety and depression in the brain. It works easiest on pegasi, interestingly. Most of my patients are pegasi."
Fanta snarled. "And what do you expect me to do? Nothing?!"
Freud smiled. "No. You have a strong sense of justice. So, you know that your friend ending up dead would be... Highly unfair. If you want to keep her alive, then you will stay very, very quiet."
Fanta glowered. "I'll get you for this, Freud."
"Please, don't forget to close the door on your way out."
Fanta growled audibly all the way down the stairs, scaring the reception staff as she passed them. As soon as she was out of the building, she smirked. Reaching into the knotty mess of her mane, she pulled out a small camcorder. Sure, the actual video would be mostly crimson hair, but as long as the audio was intact. She started running.
Freud looked at the radio on her desk. She sighed. It was unlikely that Fanta would take her seriously. She would have to take out both of them. She almost felt bad. The Pegasus had about three minutes to live, and Fanta would join her soon after.
Two minutes.
Fanta screeched to a halt. The police station looked very quiet. Looking around, she looked for a way in. Finding one, she started doing some stretches.
Officer Dimple was a simple stallion. Happily married, with two adopted foals. He was waiting for his shift to end so that he could celebrate his fifth anniversary with his husband. He had a plan that involved buckets of petals and a romantic movie. He smiled fondly.
Occupied as he was, he was completely unprepared for the taxi cart that smashed through the double doors of the police station, landing more or less in front of him. After the initial shock, he and his fellow officers separated, looking for a culprit. Dimple was the only pony to notice the camcorder, tucked into the seat. "Hey, guys! Look at this!" He gingerly picked up the camera. "There's something on it... Listen!"
A few seconds later, a crossbow fired. It was a remarkable weapon - a Prejudice MK II vine-wired bow with a stainless steel spring, with an accurate firing range of 127 metres. This particular weapon had been outfitted with a short range scope. The bolt, a smooth varnished wood bolt with a polished iron tip, whipped through the air, straight through the window of a room in an apartment block on the other side of the street. It pierced the blankets of a bed, straight into a lump that clearly had yellow and black hair poking out. The lump lay still.
The sniper, an experienced stallion who worked for one of the many Manehattan gangs, smiled. Tonight was an easy job. He liked the easy ones. He turned around just in time to duck under the white hoof aimed at the back of his head. He jumped, putting distance between himself and his attacker. "You! You're the mare I'm supposed to hit next!"
"Sorry hun - you're not hitting anyone tonight." Fanta grinned. The sniper tilted his head in confusion, before a sharp pain stabbed through his skull, and he fell to his knees. The next few seconds were a dull blur. He heard voices. ".... No, no, no! You didn't hit him hard enough, you blue flapping moron! Like this!"
And then he was out.
- - - - - - - - - -
The Ponyville Express chugged through the countryside. Fanta and Feather sat across from each other. Fanta was reading a newspaper. Feather was trying to unwrap a lollipop. And she was failing.
"...... Faaantaaa?"
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"
"You want me to open your lollipop wrapper."
Feather tapped her hooves together. "Actually, I was wondering something. I know Freud got caught and all..." She gestured to the headliner of Fanta's paper, 'THERAPY SCAM REVEALED'.
"But?"
"But... Why? Why did she run a company like that?"
Fanta put down the paper, and sighed. "Feather, some people are jerks. Remember the guy who shot the dummy of you in the apartment?" Feather nodded. "Well, he's a jerk. Freud's a jerk. They just use others for their own gain."
Feather nodded, and thought about this. "I'm glad you're my Friend, Fanta."
"Why? Is it that I'll beat up anyone in my way?"
Feather shook her head. "No. You're just nice. You may not admit it 'cuz you wanna act tough, but you're nice."
Fanta hmm'd. Then she smiled. "Thanks, Featherbrain."
"No problem, Fantastic!"
"CALL ME THAT AGAIN AND YOU'RE GOING OUT THE WINDOW."
- - - - - - - - - -
Freud looked around her cell as the door closed behind her. Bare walls. Simple bed. She looked down at the handcuffs on her hooves. None of this bothered her.
What bothered her was that she felt angry. After almost eleven years of feeling barely any emotion, anger felt like a cold shower. It overwhelmed her. She needed to escape. She needed to exact her revenge on the foolish filly who had dared tussle with her.
"Enjoy your life, Miss Shock. You don't have much of it left." She allowed herself a tiny, malicious smile. "Not much left at all..."