//------------------------------//
// Chapter 4 
// Story: Outstanding 
// by TheGuyWithAPen 
//------------------------------//

	*SMACK!*
I keeled forward, spilling my food and landing face-first on the floor with a plop.  I rolled over and glared at the floorboard that had hit me, rubbing the back of my head.  The floorboard, however, was oblivious to the fact that it had just whacked me in the head in its attempt to vanquish its foe.  It swung left, jabbed right, parried, and slashed, but no amount of technical maneuvering could get past its rival floorboard, which happened to be just as skilled in swordplay as it was.
I was just about to pick myself up when the floorboard below me decided that it was time to settle its rivalry between the board three spaces over, once and for all.  It promptly yanked itself up, challenging the other one to a duel.  Meanwhile, I had been thrown from my spot and landed in a heap against the wall.
“Heartsong, why in the HAY did I ever let you convince me this was a good idea!?” I yelled at thin air, my voice dripping with frustration.  I grumbled, picking myself up from the floor, and walked over to collect my spilled breakfast, making sure to keep my head down low to avoid another collision.  As I was sweeping up bits of purple cabbage, Luna ran past, tagging me on the shoulder.
“Hey ‘Tia, TAG!”  She zoomed around the corner and latched onto a stair, which continued to play leapfrog with its companions, dragging Luna along with it.  As she was thrown around, she yelled, “THIS IS THE BEST.  HOUSE.  EVAR!”
Heartsong walked into the room and stopped, looking at the scene.  She chuckled and shook her head, amidst the squeals of delight coming from the staircase. The step that Luna was attached to had realized that it was carrying an unwanted passenger, and was now desperately trying to shake her off, to no avail.  “How are you this morning, Celestia?” Heartsong asked, turning to me.
“Not good.  This house is killing me,” I responded with a huff.
“Well, at least Luna is enjoying herself.”  She glanced over to the trouble that Luna was causing amongst the staircase.
“That’s easy for her to do; she’s less than two feet tall!” I yelled, pointing at Luna, “She can run and play and it won’t even matter that there’s anything dangerous directly above her, ‘cause it passes right over her head!”
“Heh, you do have a point there,” she admitted, before narrowly dodging a swipe from a board that was intended to be the crushing blow to its opponent.  “Here, why don’t we go out and see if we can make some friends today; see what we can see?  It’ll be nice to familiarize ourselves with the town,” she said, holding out a hoof to help me up once I had finished cleaning up my breakfast.
“Sure, whatever,” I said, taking her hoof and pulling myself up, “it still won’t matter.  Once the ponies find out about what we are, it’ll be the same story over and over again.”
“Well then, we’ll just have to not let them find out, won’t we?” she responded, giving me an encouraging nudge.  I just sighed.
We met up with Luna, put on our vests and saddlebags, and waited at the doorway until it had shifted to a spot closer to the ground.  When it had moved to a suitable spot, we all leapt out before it could shift again.  We picked ourselves up, dusted ourselves off, and set off through the town.
We met various ponies, some friendly, some not.  We even met a couple fillies and a colt that were my age, they seemed pretty cool and fun.  But I knew it didn’t matter, I knew that if they saw us for what we really were, they would all reject us.  This was all pointless, but I didn’t feel like complaining, it took too much effort, so I kept going with Heartsong and Luna.  We continued to walk through the town, stopping and talking to ponies along the way, eventually ending up on Main Street, I believe.  We stopped to get some lunch, and sat next to the roadside, eating it together.
What caught my attention next was an interesting and suspiciously dressed unicorn walking down the street, wearing an extremely confused expression on her face.  She was wearing a very heavy overcoat and a scarf, and her saddlebags were filled to the brim with some sort of assortment of glass things that I had never seen before.  She sat down a few feet away from us, glancing around and muttering to herself.  I eyed her, trying to not make myself look conspicuous.
She had a lavender coat, darker bluish-purple hair with a pink streak through it, and eyes furrowed in concentration, like she was trying to solve some complex problem.  I also noticed that she had a slightly different build than normal ponies.  She was taller, a bit more slender, and had a longer horn.  She continued muttering to herself and I heard phrases like, “This can’t be right, where’s the snow?” and, “I thought we had calibrated it correctly.”  I was about to say something when Heartsong spoke up, obviously also noticing this same strange pony.
“Excuse me, miss, but are you lost?  Is there anything we can do for you?” she asked, walking up to the pony.  The pony looked up, blinking a few times.
“Huh, what?” she asked, having been pulled out of her thought processes.
“Are you lost?  Can we help you?” Heartsong asked again.
“Lost?  Oh, yes—er—sort of.  I mean, well it’s complicated,” the unicorn replied.  She looked around.  “Can you tell me where I am?”
“Oh yes, dear, we’re in Hampsterdam, on the borders of the Inverted Mountains!” Heartsong replied cheerfully.
“And, uh, pardon my asking, but what year is this?” the pony said, still glancing around uneasily.  Meanwhile Luna and I had joined Heartsong, and we eyed the strange pony while they spoke with each other.
“Um, sorry dear, but what’s a year?” Heartsong asked quizzically, not quite sure what the pony was talking about.  Luna and I shared a look, and then turned back to the pony, waiting for an answer.
“Uh, period of time, lasts about twelve months?” the pony said, rolling her hoof back and forth, “Ringing any bells?”
“Nope, I don’t know where you come from, but nothing around here is consistent enough to be measured by anything” replied Heartsong, “not even night and day!”  She chuckled and put a hoof around the other pony’s shoulder.  “So, where you from, dearie?”
The pony flinched slightly at the hoof and gave an uneasy smile at the question.  “Pretty far away, hehe,” she said, giving a small laugh, “Actually, we, uh, never have any problems with Discord’s magic where I’m from.”
“Really?  I thought it surrounded the whole world . . .” Heartsong drifted away in thought, while the other pony seemed to look extremely distressed.  Suddenly, Heartsong snapped back into focus.  “So!  Got any place to stay, dear?” she asked, bubbly personality showing through.
“Uh, heh, not really . . .” she said, her fake smile shifting into a worried look.  “I’m only staying here for two—um, I mean, a short time, so I—”
“No problem!”  Heartsong grinned.  “You can stay with us!  We just moved in two days ago, and we’d be happy to let you stay, right girls?” She looked down at us expectantly.
I looked up at her before looking back at the unicorn suspiciously.  “Okay, I guess,” I said, glancing at her heavy overcoat and the strange things in her saddlebags.
Luna, however, looked the pony up and down with the most critical expression she could muster.  She scrutinized every inch of the pony, until suddenly, her face brightened up and she gave a huge grin.  “I like her!” she said as she ran up and latched onto the pony’s left foreleg, beaming up at her.
The pony drew back in surprise at the sudden onslaught of the filly, but gave a smile shortly afterward.  “Why thank you, little one!” she said, looking down at Luna, “And just what is your name?”
“I’m Luna!” Luna said.  The pony’s ear twitched.
“W-what was that?” she asked, the smile gone from her face.
“Ah yes, dear, my name is Heartsong,” said Heartsong before gesturing to me and Luna.  “And these are my two daughters, Celestia and Luna.”





Marshall plodded along, surrounded by guards.  Firefly had since stopped struggling, thankfully.  He was starting to worry that the guards might kill her or something if she irritated them too much.  They had exited what seemed to be the older section of the castle and were now traversing through a much more pristine section.  The walls were brilliantly white and appeared to be made of some sort of composite plastic or something.  The floor was smooth and shiny enough to see his reflection, once more reminding him of his current shape and status.  He could see various security cameras on each corner, watching the platoon as it walked by.   There were no windows, and no ponies around either.  Other than his crowd, there was no one at all, no staff, no more lab coat ponies.  Marshall wondered where everyone was.  If this was a castle, shouldn’t there be people to run the place?  He dismissed the thought and instead shifted his attention to the restrainer that had been placed on his front left foreleg.
It looks like something out of science-fiction, like one of those nifty devices the crew of the Enterprise would use to restrain their prisoners.  It was made out of a shiny metal, with little lights strewn about that flickered on and off.  He had no clue what they meant or what purpose they served by blinking on and off, although he had been informed by the captain that if he tried to run, this little device would “end him”.  Whatever the outcome, he wasn’t willing to risk whatever fate lay in store for him if he were to attempt an escape.
So he continued on, wishing that he were somewhere else, but having no power to make that a reality.  He desperately longed to be back home, in Seattle, where his life was stable and things were normal.  He thought of his apartment, with its slightly broken doorway that could only be opened with force.  He thought of the huffy landlord above him, and he thought of the guy below him who was “really going to make it big” with his guitar playing, eventually.  He thought of his job, his coworkers, and that infernal office-fan that had started this whole ordeal.  He thought of his family.  They had probably discovered him missing by now.  What would his parents think?  And his sister?  She was only in highschool, how would she hold up?
Things were so much fun when I first came here, he thought.  Even though it had had its fair share of surprises, the prospect of being on a whole new world had been exciting to him, with its own different set of cultures and aliens.  Now, things were still exciting, but much, much less fun.  Ugh, stop thinking about that, Marshall.  It won’t help your situation at all.  He searched through his mind for something more lighthearted to think about, but couldn’t find anything useful or helpful.  Truth-be-told, thinking about puppies and kittens just didn’t help him very much.
His mind wandered off again—a habit that it seemed to be fond of—to Twilight and Nyx, the only ponies he had met and befriended thoroughly during his short stay on this new planet.  Just what had happened to Twilight in the past to cause all this mess?  Was all of this her fault?  Oh, if it was, he was so going to chew her out when she got back.  And what had happened to Nyx?  She had just disappeared—had she been killed?!  Had all of the scientists been killed?  Oh man, no one better have been killed or else I am really going to—
He sighed.  What could he do?  Nothing.
His ears perked up as they caught a sound coming from behind the wall.  It was a high pitched whining sound, increasing in pitch, like some device was charging up or locking on to something.
A split-second after Marshall first noticed the sound, the wall directly to the front and to the right exploded.  The smooth white paneling warped and blew out, sending out massive chunks of stone behind it in every direction.  Everyone in the hallway dove to the ground, seeking cover from the blast.
The dust settled and a beige-colored teenage pegasus revealed himself, wearing a black spandex suit and holding what was obviously the detonator. A vicious smile was plastered on his face.
“Evening gentlemen,” he nonchalantly said as another spherical device was thrown from behind him.  It bounced against the opposite wall and landed amongst the frozen guards.
“Grenade!” the captain shouted and they all scrambled to get away, Marshall included.  Unfortunately, they were in a confined space, so little could be done to get away from the device before it went off.
Much to their surprise—barring the pegasus—the device did not explode, but sent out a shockwave which caused all of the electronics in the vicinity to short out.  The group stood for a second in confusion as little bolts of electricity jumped out of the eye implants, earpieces, nearby cameras and Marshall’s restrainer.
Ah, it’s an EMP.  Clever.
Suddenly, the fact that they hadn’t been blown to pieces registered in the guards’ brains, and they scrambled about, trying to regain order within their ranks, and screaming for backup into their now useless earpieces.  While this was happening, another teenage pony with a top hat, also black spandex, and pumpkin-colored hair stepped around the corner.  She had two gigantic, shiny gatling guns strapped to either side of her body, and she wore the same devilish grin as the other assailant.
“Say hello to my little friends!”  She smirked, and the two guns activated.
What happened next etched itself into Marshall’s brain forever.  Time slowed to a standstill.  His entire field of vision filled with neon green as he stared down hundreds of laser blasts aimed directly at him.  They bounced off the walls, picking off the guards one by one, until Marshall’s turn came.  The impact stung, and he hit the ground.  He slowly closed his eyes, taking in what he knew was his last breath.





“Good work SugarButter!  As usual,” said Featherweight as he stepped through the hole in the wall.  He wore a black spandex suit like the other two, and went to retrieve the EMP device.
“No problem Cloudy!” replied both Pound and Pumpkin Cake at the same time.  They glanced at each other, back to Featherweight, back to each other, and giggled a bit.
“You know, Sugar, sometimes you scare me when you use those things,” Pound Cake mused as he wrapped the detonation wires back up.  “Makes me worried to think of what would happen if you ever got your hooves on some actually lethal guns.”
“Whatever Butterface.  It’s not like you don’t get your own creepy maniac on when you start blowing things up,” Pumpkin Cake replied.  “Besides, at least Smith and Wesson will always be there for me—” she gave her two miniguns an overly dramatic loving embrace before turning back to him, “—your greatest creations never stick around long enough before they blow up!”  She fluttered her eyelashes at him and pouted slightly.  Pound Cake simply rolled his eyes.
“Hey Butter, you almost finished?” called out Featherweight.  “Come help with these guards!”
“Yeah, one second!” Pound Cake called back just as he finished wrapping up the last of the wiring.  “What ‘we got this time?”
“Looks like we have ten guards and . . . oh dear.”
“What? What is it?” Pumpkin asked as she trotted up to Featherweights position.
“We’ve got a civilian.  Crap.  Some sort of rodent thing too.”
“Uh, that’s a ferret,” Pumpkin remarked.  The ferret stood over the civilian’s body, hissing and stamping.  Featherweight put a hoof up to his ear to speak through the transceiver inside.  “Midnight?”
“What is it, Cloud Hop?” asked a female voice through the earpiece.
“We’ve got a civilian on our hooves—unconscious—he looks to be a prisoner of some sort.  Guy’s guarded by like a ferret or something.”
Midnight sighed through the earpiece.  “Whatever.  Bring him back; we’ll let the boss take a look at him later.”
“Are you sure?” Featherweight asked, staring at the prisoner, “Are you sure we can handle taking in some random pony?”
“Well, you can’t just leave him there!” Midnight defended, “Nopony deserves to be left to the hooves of the Warden.  You know exactly who I’m talking about, Cloud Hop.”
Featherweight stiffened.  Yes.  I know.  I couldn’t save them.  It was my fault.  He saw their faces, determined and grim, knowing exactly what was in store for them.  And he had left them in the hooves of that sick freak that calls himself the Warden.  He had left them to die.
Not this time.
Featherweight straightened up, putting his hoof to the earpiece again.
“Got it.”
He shifted his focus back to the other two ponies.  “Alright you two, let’s get these guards out of sight quickly!  We only have ten minutes before the next patrol comes around, so let’s move!”
They stuffed the guards through the recently blown out hole into an empty closet used by janitorial staff.  Hopefully they wouldn’t wake for a few hours, and the castle staff wouldn’t start working until eleven o’clock that evening.  Her highness liked solitude, and kept the castle as empty as possible during the day.  Honestly though, it creeped him out.  It was so silent and empty, so white and clean, so unnatural.
Once they were finished with the guards, they turned to the unconscious pony with the ferret on it.  It snarled at them, baring small but sharp white teeth.  They peered at the thing.  One set of eyes blinked.
“So uh, what do we do now?” asked Pound Cake.
“Sorry Sugar, but you’re going to have to put it out,” Featherweight said. “We gotta get going.”
Pumpkin Cake pouted, but eventually relented.
“Sorry honey,” she said to the ferret, “but this is for the best.”  She hit it with a blast and it flopped to the ground, unconscious.  “Mommy still loves you!” she whispered.  Featherweight hoisted the pony onto his back and Pumpkin Cake gently put the ferret in her backpack.
“Sugar, would you please kindly do the honors?”
“Yeah sure,” Pumpkin Cake replied, and levitated the chunks of stone back into place, horn glowing through her top hat.  She then cast a simple deception spell to disguise the rubble, and the wall suddenly looked exactly like it was before they had broken in.   “Alright, let’s go,” Featherweight said, and the trio took off down the hallway.





Five right-turns, two left, a trapdoor and an incident involving an adolescent hydra later, the trio was standing outside the room where their prize was located.  They had set Marshall down and Pound Cake was proceeding to spread a jelly-like blasting agent around the lock of the door while the other two stood watch.  When he had finished, he hooked up the wires and grabbed the detonator.
“Aaand three . . . two . . . one.”  He pressed the button, and the jelly sizzled and glowed red, eating through the doorway.  He smiled; things like this always gave him a bit of a buzz.  He pulled the wiring out of the now unlocked door and rolled it up as quickly as he could while the other two went inside.
“Aha! Here we go!” Featherweight’s voice came from within.  He and Pumpkin came out shortly after, him stuffing a little square of metal into the bag he had brought.  He put his hoof up to his earpiece and called out, “Little John, you read me?”
“Yes, darling,” replied a male voice with a husky British accent.
“We’re coming up on your position, get ready to take us out of here!” he responded.
“Ready as always, darling.”
Featherweight, Pound Cake, and Pumpkin Cake booked it down the hallway, up a flight of stairs, and into a side chamber, where what appeared to be a desk clerk was nearly given a heart-attack by the sudden arrival of three mysterious ponies, one with lots of wiring wrapped around him, one with a hostage, and one with two extremely dangerous-looking guns.  However, she was quickly subdued by a single blast of the stun gun, and fell unconscious on the floor.
“*cough* Overpowered. *coughcough*” Pound Cake blurted out.  Pumpkin Cake elbowed him in the gut.
“Quit it you two, we’ve gotta go!” Featherweight scolded, glancing between the doorway and the window nervously.  “Ready?” Featherweight said through both his earpiece and to the other two ponies, both of which nodded.  “Okay, one, two, three, GERONIMO!”  And with that, all three leapt out of the balcony, Pound Cake adding a little flair by doing a front-flip.
For one solitary second, the three of them fell, time slowing to a standstill.  During that second, Pumpkin Cake made a funny face at Pound Cake, and Featherweight grabbed onto Marshall in order to keep him from falling off course.  The mountain in which Canterlot Castle was built rushed past them, and the ground below—eager to meet them—grew closer with increasing speed.
Before they hit the ground, however, the two pegasi spread their wings and Pumpkin enveloped herself in telekinesis magic, slowing their freefall.  Less than half a second after that, they were all swept up by an open-topped speeder, angled downward to reduce the force of impact.  The trio, plus Marshall, landed in a heap upon the deck of the speeder, which pulled up and out of the dive just before hitting the ground, rustling a patch of wheat stalks.  The driver, who was a large earth-pony stallion, with a cream coat, brown spot upon his eye, slicked-back mane, and a healthy amount of stubble on his chin, glanced back at the group.
“Greetings friends.  I trust that everything went swimmingly?” asked Pipsqueak, revealing himself to be the pony over the intercom.
“Yup,” answered Featherweight, “got the goods, got out, and no one saw us long enough to raise a stir, thanks to Sugar here.”  He motioned his hoof towards Pumpkin Cake, who was attempting to untangle Pound Cake from her miniguns.
“You can use my real name now, you know,” remarked Pumpkin Cake, “it’s not like anyone can hear us way out here on this thing.”  She gestured to the speeder.
“I’d rather not risk it, darling,” called back Pipsqueak, “and I’m sure our dear friend Cloud Hop agrees with me.”
“Yeah, it’s a good idea to keep using code names until we get back under Midnight’s safety net,” responded Featherweight.  “Never know who could be listening in out here.”
“Fair enough,” Pumpkin Cake admitted.  “So, uh . . . what’re we gonna do about Mister Sleepyhead here?”
“And just who is ‘Mister Sleepyhead’, darling?” Pipsqueak called out over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off his driving.
“Civvie that we picked up during a run-in with the guards,” interjected Pound Cake.  Pipsqueak’s eyes widened.
“Oh.  Oh dear, that is a problem, isn’t it?”
“At least he was unconscious for all of this, it would have been a real problem, had Pum—I mean, Sugar—not shot him in the face,” Pound Cake mused.  He shared a look with Pumpkin Cake, an unspoken language passing between them that garnered him an elbow to the shoulder.
“Keep working on that combat lingo, kid,” Featherweight said ruffling Pound Cake’s hair.
“Yeah, whatever,” Pound Cake replied, doing his best to smooth it out and restore it to its former glory.
Featherweight cocked an eyebrow for a second, and then directed his speech back to Pipsqueak.  “Anyways, I talked with Midnight, she said to bring him back and let the boss handle him, and I wholeheartedly agree.  Well, about the getting him out of the castle part, at least.  I don’t know what’s going to happen now, but I trust Midnight, so that’s what we’re doing.”
Pound and Pumpkin Cake shared another look, before giving Featherweight a skeptical one. “So you would listen to somepony our age, so long as it’s Midnight,” Pound Cake snapped, “but you disregard the opinions of the rest of us?”
Featherweight sighed before responding in a slightly annoyed tone.  “Need I remind you that she is older than all of us, despite her looks?”  Pound Cake opened his mouth to say something, but closed it shortly after, having thought better of the matter.
“Now ladies, relax, you’re all pretty,” cut in Pipsqueak.  “Besides, everypony knows that I’m the smartest, most handsome, and certainly most civilized pony out of the whole lot of you.”
“Oh can it, Little John,” Pumpkin Cake huffed.
“Doesn’t matter, darling, I’m still the best,” Pipsqueak deflected, eyes closed in righteous indignation.  They flew on in silence, staying low to the ground.  The sun had just finished setting over the horizon, twilight enveloping the landscape.  They passed fields of wheat and potatoes, with the occasional hut here and there.  As much as Ponyville itself had urbanized, it still was farm country, so to speak.  Not like Baltimare or Fillydelphia, which were so populated that they had essentially melded together.  Thankfully, Ponyville sat under the shadow of Canterlot, and most ponies chose to disregard it.  It was barely even considered one of the eight core cities, the dying Appleloosa probably the only one less popular.  That meant they had the lowest chance of getting caught by the SFSS.
Soon enough, fields were replaced with streets and huts were replaced with houses as they drew closer to the center of the city.  In the distance, large towers, each one representing the different noble families that owned them, jutted into the sky.  They shone with light, each one bearing its own architectural style.  Some were smooth and straight, resembling the royal castle’s style, others were jagged and angular to pay homage to past architectural styles.
The speeder slowed as it travelled through the more inhabited section of the city, until Pipsqueak broke the silence.
“We’re here, folks!” He exclaimed.  “Thank you for riding the Ol’ Bess Express!”
All the other ponies rolled their eyes as the speeder pulled up into a warehouse within the slums of Ponyville, just south of the Apple Tower.  They all stepped out, Pipsqueak volunteering to carry Marshall—he being the strongest—but not until after he had parked and covered his speeder.  They walked to the end of the warehouse where an elevator shaft sat, and after loading it, they descended quickly, reaching the bottom of the shaft within minutes.  From there, they boarded a mine cart and rode in silence, tunneling under the cityscape.
After several minutes, they reached the end of the tunnel and rode up another elevator to the surface, ending up in a postage station.  From there, it was a short walk until they were at the front gates of another tower.  This one was primarily blue and was constructed of angled terraces.  A fancy “L” was inscribed in each of the gate’s doors.
“[State your intent.]” a robotic female voice said while a surveillance camera panned in closer.
“Ah my dear Miss Jenkins, how pleasant to see you today!”  Pipsqueak stepped forward.  “Having a good day, darling?”
“[State your intent.]” it monotoned.
“Oh, it seems I forgot you have no taste in good conversation.”  He gave a dramatic sigh.  “Anyways, I believe we are looking to have a game of pandki with a certain SnuggleBug, if I am correct?”
“[Very well.  Enter.]”
“Thank you, darling.”  The gates opened and the four ponies strolled up the road to the manor.  Upon entering the luxurious reception room, they turned right, walking down a hallway and down a flight of stairs.  Taking another right after that, they reached a gold-plated elevator and rode it down one more level.  The elevator gave a cheerful ding at the bottom, and they all stepped out into a much less decorated entrance room.
“You guys are back!  That’s great!  Did you get the goods?”  A teenage-looking pony rose from the multiple-monitered desktop she had been sitting at, took off her headset, and ran up to meet them.
“Yup,” answered Featherweight, lightly patting the bag in which the piece of metal resided.  “Got it without a hitch.”
“Hey Midnight, you wanna come help me get S. ‘n W. off?” Pumpkin Cake called out.
“Sure!” Midnight trotted over to help her get her massive miniguns off.
“Pumpkin, we’re back at base,” Pound Cake criticized, giving her an incredulous look, “we can use real names now, so you might as well call her N—”
*GROAN*
All heads snapped to where the civilian lay, who was now just waking up.  He rolled over, eyes opening.
“Wha . . . what?”  His eyes blinked a few times, and he began to register his surroundings.  The first things they made contact with were Smith and Wesson, the two miniguns.  His eyes widened.  He nervously glanced around before noticing the pony helping to remove the guns.  This particular pony had a black coat, long purple hair tied back into a ponytail, a blue shield for a cutie mark, wings, a long horn, and deep turquoise, cat-like eyes.
“Wait, Nyx?  Is that you?” he asked.  She blinked at him in confusion, along with every other pony in the room.  The looks of confusion slowly morphed into horrid realization, the ponies realizing the gravity of what Marshall had just said.
“Oh dear,” Pipsqueak said.





Marshall sat at one end of a table, with a bright light shining in his eyes.  The room he was in was devoid of all furniture, save for the table, and had absolutely no decoration whatsoever.  Across from the table sat another pony, a pegasus, but not the one that had blown up the wall.  In the corner stood another one with a slicked back mane, with a slightly larger build than the first.  Both were shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the one shining on Marshall.  It reminded him of every law enforcement show ever, well, except for the fact that they were all ponies.
“Okay buddy, you’ve got some explaining to do,” the one across the table said.
“I’ll say!” Marshall blurted out, “What happened?!  I’m walking along to my doom and suddenly the wall blows up and then some pony with some freakishly huge guns walks out and shoots us all to pieces!  I thought I was dead!  But then I woke up.  And there was Nyx for some reason and then somebody blindfolded me before I could do anything and then they dragged me off despite my fighting back and then they dumped me here and NOBODY WILL TELL ME ANYTHING!  Where’s my ferret?!  What’s going on?!”  He took a deep breath, lowering the hoof he had been waving about, trying to stop the trembling that was coursing through his body.  Needless to say, he was pretty sick of being stuck in situations where he had no clue what was going on; it had been happening to him a lot lately.
“Whoa, easy there buddy,” said the one across from him, taken aback by the sudden outburst.  “Your ferret’s fine, Sugar’s taking care of it, she likes animals.  We just wanted to ask you some questions, starting with how in the world do you happen to know Midnight’s real name?”
“So that’s what she’s called in this world . . .” Marshall mused.
The larger one raised an eyebrow while the pegasus rubbed his temple.  “Okay, what do you mean ‘in this world’?” he said.
“Eh heh, yeah, this might be a bit problematic,” Marshall admitted, growing uneasy.  He steeled himself for a rough conversation ahead.  “Okay, so there’s this alternate world where I’m from . . .”





“He’s definitely completely insane,” Featherweight concluded.
“I would think so myself, if it weren’t for the fact that his story seems to work just a bit too well to be fake, as strange as it is.  He does know Nyx’s real name, and quite a bit about her personality, darling,” Pipsqueak brought up.
“So he’s a stalker, nothing otherworldly about that.”  Featherweight shifted back into his seat.  “Somehow he’s been tracking her through all the security measures we have and wants to use it against us.”  The two were sitting in the underground lounge, along with the Cake twins and Nyx.  Featherweight had talked to the boss, and she told them to decide for themselves.  It was their team, after all, she had said.
Nyx was not taking it well.  She sat in the corner, trembling, nearly oblivious to Pumpkin’s comforting hoof resting on her shoulder.  Nyx’s slivered eyes shot back and forth around the room, and she sniffed every once in a while.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and a dark brown earth pony with a chestnut mane bustled in, fumbling around with a stack of paperwork.
“Sorry I’m late guys,” Button Mash apologized, “I had some trouble working out the deal with the Flim and Flam brothers; those swindlers kept trying to cheat me.”  He sat down next to Pipsqueak.  “So, what’s up?  Care to explain why we’ve been called to this top-secret meeting?”
“We’re deciding what to do about a particular pony who claims to be from an alternate reality, darling,” informed Pipsqueak.
“Really?” Button was mildly surprised.  “Um, okay then.”
“The problem is that he just so happens to know nearly everything about poor Nyx over there,” Featherweight said, nodding towards the corner where Nyx sat, “Down to her personality even, although he seems confused as to who her mom is.  Talking about a pony named Twilight Sparkle or something, an alicorn, no less.”
“Hmm, I think I may have heard of a Twilight Sparkle somewhere in my dealings,” Button contemplated, “although I know she’s not an alicorn.  I believe she is the Lieutenant General of the Equestrian Guard, actually.  Or was it Brigadier General? Hmm . . .” He put a hoof up to his chin.
“That still leaves us with the question as to what to do with him,” Featherweight said, reeling the conversation back on topic.  “He knows too much to let him leave, but I certainly don’t want somepony with that kind of mental state around here.”
“Well, I don’t know, darling, but he was a prisoner, which means he is an enemy of the state, and an enemy of my enemy is a friend to me,” Pipsqueak added.
“How do we even know if he’ll be useful to us?” Pound Cake threw out.  “We’ve never seen him do anything special, and he doesn’t even have his cutie mark!  He’ll just be dead weight!”
“Easy now, Poundy,” Button Mash scolded.  “Nearly half the ponies out there don’t have their cutie marks, and they still can function.  Besides, it’s only a matter of time before it’s eventually found, especially in this group.”  He glanced at his own cutie mark before turning back to Pound Cake.  “Or have you forgotten that it’s only been a few months since you’ve gotten yours?”
Pound Cake opened his mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again, looked over to Pumpkin, and decided to redirect the conversation to her.  “What do you think, Pumpkin?”
“I dunno, I think he’s kinda cute, actually,” she mused.  Pound Cake facehooved, and shot her an exasperated look.  They carried on another unspoken mini-conversation, until a voice nopony had heard all evening spoke up.
“But what if he is some psychotic serial killer who murders ponies, whether or not they are friends or enemies?”  Nyx looked desperately at the rest of the ponies in the room.  “What if he’s been stalking me all my life and this is just some trap to get me off my guard?!”  She began hyperventilating.
“I’m sorry darling, but I don’t think that’s very likely.  We should give him a chance,” Pipsqueak responded.
“SAYS THE PONY THAT ISN’T EVEN INVOLVED!”  Nyx blew up.  She stood up and glared at everypony in the room, flaring her wings and channeling magical energy into her mane and tail, making them ripple and swirl.  “None of you know what it’s like! Having every single bit of the safeguards you put up ripped down by some crazy pony you’ve never met before!”
Pipsqueak looked uneasy.  “Actually darling, I—”
“SHUT UP!”  The ground began to rumble and her voice multiplied upon itself.  “I DON’T CARE IF HE’S MY LONG-FORGOTTEN BROTHER OR SOMETHING!  I DO NOT WANT HIM ON THE TEAM!”
“What is going on here?!”  In stepped “The Boss”, an aged Trixie Lulamoon with a robotic foreleg, and she witnessed the spectacle.  Nyx had gone full-blown Nightmare Moon, and the rest of the team was trying to put as much distance between themselves and her as they could.
“Nyx Renae Lulamoon! Come down this instant!” she shouted.
Nyx, upon seeing and hearing Trixie, deflated.  Her eyes stopped glowing, the magic drained out of her mane and tail, leaving it ragged and messed up, and she let out a slow breath.  When she had returned to normal, she cleared her throat and looked down at her hooves.
“Sorry mom,” she said.
“Come with me, young lady,” Trixie said in a firm, yet somehow gentle, tone.
Nyx joined up with Trixie and slowly walked out the door, head downcast.   Just before they left, Trixie looked over her shoulder and said, “As you were, everypony.”  With that, they left.
A long, drawn-out whistle resonated from Pound Cake’s lips.  Wide eyes returned to normal size, and everypony released their held breaths.
“That one’s a time-bomb, she is,” Button Mash commented.  An unspoken affirmation circled around the room.





Nyx and Trixie walked through the hallways of the manor, side by side.  These hallways were familiar to Nyx; after all, she had lived in them her whole life.  They walked past paintings, bookshelves filled with tomes on every subject imaginable, and various knickknacks and trinkets, all of them holding a special place in Nyx’s heart.  Nyx glanced over at Trixie, who was looking around the hallway with a thoughtful expression, the servo motors in her prosthetic foreleg whirring and clicking with each step she took.
“So tell me Nyx, what’s on your mind?” Trixie finally spoke, “Because I may not be the most observant mare, but I can tell that something’s troubling you.  It might also have something to do with what just happened back there.”  She looked down at Nyx, who seemed to have taken a sudden interest in staring at the floor.
“Nothing mom, it’s fine.  I’ll be fine,” Nyx mumbled.
“Now come on, I know you better than that,” Trixie said, stopping and turning to Nyx, putting a hoof on her shoulder.  “Tell me.  What’s really troubling you?”
With that, the floodgates opened.
“I don’t know, I’m just scared cause this crazy pony showed up out of nowhere and he knows my name and says he’s met me before even though the only times I ever go out is when I’m wearing my disguise and using my fake name but for some reason he knows my real name and I heard him talking to Featherweight and he was describing me perfectly and he was in prison before, right?” Nyx paused for a second to take in another breath, “I just know he’s here to hurt me or to use me to hurt my friends but I don’t want him to hurt my friends but I don’t know how to stop him and the rest of the group seems hell-bent on taking him in and—”
Her stream of words was cut short when she was knocked over and surrounded in a crushing hug.  Trixie squeezed her and stroked her mane, not saying a word.  Nyx could feel Trixie’s soft fur around her, the warmth emanating from it and seeping into her own body.  She could feel the coldness of the robotic limb where it touched her body, much like the coldness of a strip of wet cloth.  She sat rigid, not wanting to be comforted for some reason.  She didn’t want to feel better, not yet.  Not when things were still so wrong.
“Easy there, easy,” Trixie soothed.  Nyx finally gave up and sighed out, sinking into the hug.  “I know you’re scared, honey.  I would be too if I were in your position.”  She pulled back, looking into Nyx’s eyes.  Such beautiful eyes.  She wished that the whole world could see those eyes for what they were, free of any disguise or hindering.  But that wouldn’t ever get to happen, at least not in her lifetime.  “I honestly don’t know what to say dear,” Trixie said, “I have no clue what the right answer is.”  She pulled Nyx in for another hug.  “So let’s just go forward and see what happens.  We’ll be brave together.”
Nyx sniffed and returned the hug.  “Thanks mom,” she said.
“Come on; let’s go get some cabbage soup.  I know it’s your favorite.”





One hour later, Trixie and Nyx were back in the room with the others.  They had discussed over a few more issues, with Nyx being much more reserved, although still presenting her fears and worries.  Over the course of the conversation, the team was still split between themselves on the issue.
“Let’s call a vote, shall we?” Trixie proposed.  Heads nodded.
“Okay, all for keeping him?” she said.  Pipsqueak, Pumpkin Cake, and Button Mash raised their hooves.  “And for getting rid of him?”  This time Featherweight, Pound Cake, and Nyx raised their hooves.  Trixie took a tally, and frowned upon the results.
“Well darling, it seems to be a stalemate . . . again,” Pipsqueak commented, glancing at Trixie.  “It looks to be that you are the only one that can break this tie of ours.”  He gave a heavy sigh.
Pumpkin Cake, who had not been saying much during the course of the debate, twisted her face in intense concentration.  Suddenly, her face lit up and her eyes widened.  “I have an idea!” she nearly shouted, “One that is oh so perfect!”
Heads turned and quizzical expressions were given.
“Okay, so how about we take him in as sort of like a ‘half-member’ of the team?”  Eyebrows cocked.   “We could take him on like a small mission or something, and if he proves useful and stuff, then we send him through the usual induction process!  We would only tell him the bare essentials of what he needs to know at first, like our mission names and stuff, and when we go do stuff he would only know stuff that involves his, um, you know . . . stuff.”
“But what about—” came Featherweight’s voice.
“OH! And of course, we’d keep him away from Nyx, cause that could get scary or something.  No contact or anything, just—” she pantomimed their separation by spreading her two forelegs apart and flicking them at the end for accent.
“You know, that might be—” Pound Cake attempted.
“And we should totally call him ‘The Rookster’!”  Pumpkin blurted out again, “Cause, you know, he’d be a rookie.”
The room was silent for a second, everypony waiting expectantly to see if Pumpkin was going to say anything else.  “Oh, sorry,” she whispered, “you guys can talk now.”  She closed her eyes and waved a hoof dismissively, to indicate the passing on of the “speaking rights”.
Featherweight was the first to speak.  “Well, actually that sounds like kind of a good plan.  I mean, if he does turn out to be problematic, he wouldn’t know more than any other pony that we’ve run into, and he was unconscious for the trip over here, so he doesn’t know our location.  We’ll just have to be careful what we say, make sure he’s blindfolded when we enter and exit the place, and I guess we should let him know why we’re keeping information from him, cause he probably deserves to know.  You’ve got a dungeon around here in case things go sour, right Trixie?”
“Good heavens no, that’s totally barbaric!  We’ll stuff him in the cellar full of those horrible talking dolls instead.”
“Hm, I like it too,” Pound Cake said with a satisfied look.  “It gives him a chance to prove himself before we take him in for real, not that I’m saying we will, you know, but at least damages will be kept to a smallish amount,”  Grunts and nods of approval manifested around the room.
“Well, it looks like it’s settled then,” Button Mash said, “We’ll go with that idea.”
“Ahem, one moment please,” Pipsqueak cleared his throat and said, before turning to Nyx with a concerned expression on his face.  “Nyx, darling, are you going to be okay?  I mean, you are, after all, the pony this entire topic means the most to.  Are you willing to let us go through with this?”
Nyx looked up and noticed the other ponies staring at her, some with looks of hopefulness, and others with apprehension.  She drew back slightly, but managed to speak.  “Don’t worry guys.  I’ll be fine.”
“Just know that we would never do anything purposefully to hurt you, and we will do all that we can to keep you safe, darling,” Pipsqueak replied, the concern very apparent on his face.  Nyx gave him an uneasy smile and nodded an unspoken “thank-you”.
Nearly every other pony in the room stared at Pipsqueak, surprise evident on their faces.  “Whoa Pip, I’ve never heard you say something like that before,” Button spoke up, “That was pretty deep.”
Pipsqueak merely shrugged and said, “I’ve been through a few things, darling.”
“Huh.  You know, I’d like to get to know you for real someday, Pip,” Button replied back.
Silence reigned for a minute, each pony lost in their own train of thought.  Featherweight’s train of thought, however, was choosing to drive toward a more practical destination.  He brought a hoof to his chin, eyes staring at the ceiling in contemplation, and said, “Where are we going to stick him?”
“Beats me,” Button Mash said, shrugging, and the group began to discuss how in Equestria they were going to house another pony in the basement.
Meanwhile, Pound Cake quietly hoof-bumped Pumpkin Cake.  “Nice idea, cone-head,” he said.
“No problem, featherbrain,” she replied.





Marshall sat on the floor of the room the other ponies had left him in.  He sat, and he sat, and he sat.  He sat on the table.  He sat in the corner.  He stood in the corner.  He paced around the room exactly three-hundred-forty-seven times.  He switched directions and paced around sixty-nine times.  He practiced balancing on one hoof.  He tried to sit cross-legged.  He gave up after he realized that pony anatomy doesn’t allow that kind of thing.  He tapped out syncopated rhythms on the table with his hooves.  He tested the door.  It was locked.  He took a short nap.  He stared into space for a while.  He ran around the room, wings outstretched, and made airplane noises.  He sang songs, mostly out of tune.  He yelled at thin air.  He laid on his stomach, his back, and his head.  He did a somersault.  And he sat.
“AaaaaAAAAAAUUUUGH!!!!” he screamed, “What the hell are they doing in there?!” He pounded the table, and attempted to punch the wall, but in mid-swing he realized he no longer had fingers to curl into a fist.  He chipped his hoof when it made contact with the wall.
Profanities echoed through the small room as he tore about, screaming and cursing.  He kicked the table, which only resulted in him tripping and falling face-first onto the metal floor.  He sighed out, letting some tension drain and glared at the table-leg which had dared to commit this heinous crime against his person.
“You sir, are a freaking jerk,” he said.
“No I’m not the jerk, you’re the jerk.  You kicked me, after all,” the table-leg replied back.  Marshall stared at it for a total of eleven seconds before finally realizing that the table-leg was talking back to him.
“Holy crap.  I really am going insane,” he said, rubbing his eyes and glancing around the room.  He ran up to the doorway and began pounding on it.  “Somebody get me outta here!” he yelled.
Just as he was doing so, the door was thrust open, sending him reeling back.  He looked up, sprawled out on the floor, and saw the same pegasus that had been interrogating him earlier step in.  “You!” he yelled, pointing a hoof, “You have to get me out of here!  I’ve been stuck here so long that inanimate objects are starting to talk to me!  Just ask that table-leg over there!” he said, pointing at the one he was talking with earlier.  He then leaned in closer and whispered, putting a hoof to the side of his mouth.  “But don’t trust anything he says.  He’s a jerk.”
The pony who had stepped in had taken two steps back, a look of bewilderment on his face.  He glanced between Marshall and the table a few times, before shaking his head.
“Okayy . . . so that’s a thing, I guess.”  He helped Marshall off the floor and sat him down.  “Now, here’s what we’re gonna do.  First off, my name’s Cloud Hop.  Yours?”
“Marshall Bradley.”  Marshall took the other pony’s hoof and gingerly shook it.