Redmist watched in satisfaction from beneath a hood of deep black fabric as the workers below his office stacked the newly arrived shipment of large, heavy wooden crates. They worked in complete silence, save for the scuff of hooves on concrete and the clunk of wood on wood. He trotted down onto the factory floor and began examining each box individually.
“Has everything been searched?” he growled at a nearby worker.
“Yes sir,” the colt said, slapping a hoof to his chest and lowering his head in deference, “no tracking devices or tampering were evident. It would appear that the police have no suspicions.”
“It’s not the police we have to worry about,” Redmist said, dully, “police can be bought, reasoned with, and disposed of. No, the only group we have any need to worry over is-“
The warehouse door was struck with such force that it was nearly knocked off its hinges and on its tail came a skittering hunk of metal, sliding across the concrete. Redmist barely had time to turn his head away before the flashbang went off.
A deafening sound met his ears while the explosion simultaneously blinded nearly everypony on the factory floor. Redmist bolted, charging up the stairs to his office even as a legion of armored ponies, their faces hidden by protective head coverings, charged onto the factory floor, subduing and binding each of the workers there.
Redmist swore under his breath as he scrambled into his office, sealing the door behind him and opening the trap door hidden under his desk, only to find the point of a sword pressing against his neck. “Going somewhere, Redmist?” asked the stallion emerging from his own escape tunnel, “We’d really appreciate it if you stuck around.”
Within minutes the warehouse workers were tied up and kneeling against a wall, Redmist at the head of the line. After a sweep one of the armored ponies removed his mask to yell out the door, “All clear, ma’am.”
Through the door stepped a pegasus mare. Taller and with a slimmer build than most, she cut an intimidating vibe with the scars spread across her body. Her throat was ringed with old, deep burns. She turned to regard the captive ponies, her eyes were cold behind frameless elliptical glasses and her face, like her body, was marred by deep scar tissue. She carried an ornate rifle strapped across her back and wore an armband with the insignia of the former New Lunar Republican army.
“Director Moxi,” Redmist said, a patronizing smile spread across his face, “to what do we owe the honor of a visit from her majesty’s head of secret service?”
“You’re a two bit thug, Redmist,” Moxi growled in reply, “I don’t know how long you expected to have this operation running before we shut you down, but it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is what’s in these crates? Care to tell me and see if it gets you any leniency?”
“How about you fuck off, with all due respect,” he grinned arrogantly, “I know my rights, and I don’t have to tell you nothing.”
“Charming,” Moxi sniffed. She turned to regard the troops stationed through the room, “Smash ‘em open, colts!”
“Oi!” Redmist barked, “That’s private property! You got a warrant!?”
Moxi slugged him across the face and he reeled back in shock at her display of force, a trickle of blood spilling from his nostril. “You know who I am,” Moxi snarled, getting close enough that Redmist could feel the heat from her breath, “do you really think I need one?”
Both ponies locked eyes with one another as Moxi’s troops began smashing open the wooden crates. Redmist lost the staring contest, finally backing down and turning away in discomfort. Moxi huffed out a breath with a nod and turned to examine the crates.
“Empty night,” her lieutenant said, “what are these things?”
As Moxi arrived at the box, she looked down to find them stuffed with slender objects of wood and metal, similar in design to the rifle strapped to her back, if less ornate. Scooping one of the rifles up from the box, she examined it more closely.
Primarily made of a heavy, carved wood, the weapons only had one superfluous piece of metalwork in their designs, a seal embossed into a brass plate on the stock of the gun. Inspection of one of the smaller crates revealed stacks of small, metal cartridges of a perfect size to fit into a hole in the rifle’s frame. Slapping one such cartridge into the rifle in her hooves, Moxi turned the weapon on one of the restrained ponies against the wall and casually pulled the trigger.
An explosive blast rent the air and a spray of blood blossomed forth from the pony she’d aimed at, a small piece of metal having apparently torn through his throat. Moxi regarded the weapon in astonishment, ignoring the sputtering pony bleeding out on the floor nearby and the ponies around him who were staring at her with sheer terror in their eyes.
“This is a remarkable piece of technology you’ve managed to smuggle into my country,” Moxi remarked to Redmist, approaching him with a calm, purposeful stride, “now tell me, where did you acquire such technology? Speak quickly, my hoof feels a little slippery and this trigger is remarkably sensitive.”
“What the hell?” Redmist said, his eyes wide in terror, “Aren’t you supposed to have some fucking code of ethics or something!?”
“No,” Moxi replied plainly, “because you ponies took that from me six years ago. Now tell me what this insignia means or I swear to Luna, I will fire this gun into your gullet.”
“I don’t know what it means,” he stammered, Moxi shoved the barrel of the rifle into his gut and he screamed, “I swear! I don’t know! I just get the shipments!”
“You’re not telling me anything that makes me think I should keep you alive,” Moxi growled.
“Marelin!” he screamed, his voice reaching a fevered, high-pitched wail, and Moxi could smell as his bladder released, “We get the shipments from Marelin in Germaneigh! That’s all I know! I swear!”
Moxi eyed him in disgust before standing and handing off the rifle to one of her masked soldiers. “There, you see?” she gestured to the gathered ponies, “These gun runners aren’t so tough. Put the fear of Luna into them and they’ll scramble to tell you what they know.”
“Does that mean you’ll let us go?” one of the warehouse workers piped up, his voice trembling in fear.
“Oh heavens no,” Moxi said, turning on them with a humorless smile, “you’ll be taken back to Canterlot, questioned, tried and if you’re lucky, thrown in the dungeon for the rest of your natural lives. If you’re upfront with us like you’re oh-so-wise leader here, it should even be relatively painless. If you struggle, however, you will die before you reach the street.”
Moxi saw the hope of all of the ponies in the lineup die at her words, each of them hanging their heads, terror evident on their features. Moxi turned and gestured to the crates. “Collect two crates of rifles and four of ammunition,” she called out, “intact ones, I want a proper analysis once we’re back in Canterlot. The rest of you, gather up the prisoners and get ready to move out. I want everything done within ten minutes.”
The Secret Service ponies snapped to a unified salute before setting about their duties. Moxi watched as they finished their tasks with time to spare, and once everpony had left the building she stepped outside and turned back to fire her rifle into the stacked crates of weaponry, calmly took to the sky as the crates caught fire and exploded, collapsing the building behind her.
The rifle landed on Prime Minister Luna’s desk with a solid, heavy thunk of wood on wood. The alicorn mare took a long look at the weapon before turning her gaze up to meet Moxi’s.
“What am I looking at here?” she asked, her voice calm and neutral.
“My ponies did a raid of a smuggler warehouse today,” she responded, gesturing at the rifle with a hoof, “this is what we found. They were stockpiling the things.”
Luna nodded before spreading her hooves in slight exasperation. “Yes, that’s all well and good,” she sighed, “but what is it?”
Moxi’s face flushed as she continued, “It appears to be a rifle, similar in design to the experimental rifle the science corps made for me during the war, but designed purely through earth pony innovation. It’s not nearly as powerful, but they’ve clearly been able to mass produce them. It would seem that it uses some kind of explosive to launch bits of metal at deadly speeds.”
Luna raised an eyebrow, turning to face the green unicorn who stood just behind and to the right of Moxi. “Melody,” she said, gesturing at the rifle, “have you had a chance to examine these things?”
“Not as well as I’d like, ma’am,” she said, laying out a series of objects on the table; an empty cartridge, a conical sliver of metal, and a small pile of black powder. “Moxi’s analysis is an apt one, unfortunately it’s as apt as we’re going to get until we have a chance to properly examine this powder. It’s clearly the propellant, firing this piece of metal fast enough to pierce flesh. We have no idea as of yet where the cultists gained this technology…”
“So that’s a dead-end,” Moxi growled, “what about the insignia?”
“We checked all known trademarks,” Melody sighed, “wherever these things are from, it’s not Equestria. You said that the cultist leader claimed they were receiving shipments from Marelin?”
Moxi nodded. “The crates were stamped with another symbol that we weren’t able to identify,” Melody continued, “our records of foreign trademarks and companies are fairly lax, but if we go to Germaneigh we might be able to figure it out.”
“We couldn’t send an armed force into another country without sparking another war,” Luna said, planting a hoof firmly on the desk, “things are more stable now than they were six years ago, but the Republic’s foundation is still shaky. If we spark an international incident now, the public dissent could be enough to make us easy targets for an ambitious militarized nation.”
“Then we don’t send an armed force in,” Moxi interjected, “we can’t keep explaining away these cultists as gangsters, and we damn sure wouldn’t be able to justify chasing simple criminals into another nation, nopony would buy it. My ponies are loyal, but even they get suspicious sometimes. If they stumble onto a Temple of Wrath before we’ve had a chance to sanitize it, it could spark an issue.”
“I’m well aware of this,” Luna sighed, “so what do you suggest?”
“One mare,” Moxi said, planting her hooves on the desk and leaning towards Luna, “send me. My loyalty has never been in question and there’s nopony in Equestria who hates the Cult of Wrath more than me.”
Luna pondered for a moment, standing and walking to the window of her spacious office, gazing out at the jeweled night sky. “You realize,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Moxi, “you’ll be on your own. We won’t be able to offer much of any support, if you are arrested or killed, we will be forced to disavow your actions and, depending on the circumstances, you may be branded a traitor.”
“I will do what it takes to bring this organization down, princess,” she said, her wings furling and unfurling in apprehension.
“Don’t call me that,” Luna sighed, approaching Moxi and wrapping a hoof around the smaller mare, “you never needed to refer to me by a title, even when that was mine. When you’re ready, name your successor as director of my secret service. I trust your judgement on this better than anypony else… and, above all else, take care of yourself out there, and know that you will always have a home here.”
“I’ll pen my resignation tonight,” Moxi smiled weakly, “and I’ll be gone before anypony wakes. Goodbye, Luna.” With one final hug, Moxi exited the Prime Minister’s office.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Melody said, watching Moxi go with misty eyes, “I have to see to some things.”
“See to it she has whatever support we can afford to give her,” Luna said, turning a stern gaze on Melody, but she could see the fear and discomfort behind her eyes. Melody gave her a quick nod and galloped out of the room.