//------------------------------//
// IV. The Watcher 
// Story: Starship Ponyville: Mystic Acoustics 
// by Vylet Pony 
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“11 / 21 / 2050, 6:54pm”, Satyrn’s transmitter reads to her

The sun shot straight into the bazaar, illuminating clouds of dust formed by the trampling of sand.

“It’s getting kinda late. Guess I sh-AAAACH!” Satyrn shouted as a robust stallion pushed her out of the way, knocking her over. 

“Fucking jerk.” Satyrn muttered to herself.

The market was bright with vibrant oranges and yellows cascading across the pale concrete shops. Various exotic aromas filled the air. Canterlot’s Eastern Sector had become a cultural phenomenon. Perhaps it was due to Mr. Cumin opening up “The Tasty Treat” all those years ago that attracted the idea of diversifying the city. Over the decades, Canterlot expanded in all directions, producing four major sectors. Each region functions differently. The western sector is home to … well, homes. It’s comprised of tall high rises that are mostly apartment complexes. South sector is an industrial powerhouse, fit with factories and manufacturing facilities. You get the idea. The Canterlot castle kinda sits where it always has: a short distance away from the rest of the city. Not many ponies loiter about the Castle grounds, though (not that they ever have anyway).

Satyrn started making her way to the Sector Exit when she noticed a peculiar trinket on one of the merchant’s carts. Upon inspection, she found that it was a golden astrolabe. As she started to study it more closely, she heard shouting from behind her. A knife darted past her face. Causing her to stagger backwards. In shock, all she could only hear were screams from the people around her. Satyrn forced herself back into focus and snapped her head to where the knife came from. A hooded figure was fleeing the scene in quite a hurry.

She dashed quickly around the building and chased the perpetrator. As Satyrn turned the corner she saw the figure’s red eyes before losing him again. Continuing her pursuit, the gravel beneath her broke underhoof with the force of her sprint. The stallion dashed through alleys and streets - Satyrn followed quickly behind. She found herself standing in another marketplace. Lost him again. Frantically, her eyes darted everywhere to find him. After a moment, she spotted him through the crowd, running up a stairwell onto the rooftops. Satyrn hastened her pace and rushed on his trail, her sweat now soaking her mane. Gaining ground, she had a clear vision of the watcher. As she endeavored to dash at him, the assassin struck an awning which came crashing down onto the roof. Leaping across the debris, Satyrn was met by two flash grenades, temporarily impairing her vision. A few moments later, the smoke cleared and the assassin was nowhere to be seen. Thoughts of endangering her family flooded Satyrn’s mind. In tears, she became fearful for her own life as well.

Refocusing again, she felt herself still running hurriedly through the Eastern Sector trying to track down her attempted killer. An energy bolt stopped her stride abruptly, singeing the ground in front of her. She skidded to a full stop and traced the projectile’s stream to a window in the building overhead. Another blast came. And another. The assassin began firing relentlessly at the pegasus as she flitted from one corner to the next. More screaming. More panicking. Everything was a blur. A moment later, Satyrn spotted a merchant cart with weapons in it. Seeing she had stopped moving, the watcher fired at the cart and the street filled with dust and smoke. He looked around for Satyrn’s remains, but as the dust cleared, did not see her. For a minute he glazed over and thought about what to do but was interrupted as the ceiling came down. Satyrn flew at the stallion with a blade, striking over and over again as the her opponent dodged each movement. Suddenly she was knocked back by the asassin’s rifle and hit the ground. She tried to get back up but, instead, watched his hoof bash into her face. Rolling over, she used her wings to blow up dust as she was knocked back. The killer struggled to squint through the cloud as Satyrn came back up for a deadly strike. Blood stained the floor and the walls; Satyrn’s blade was completely dark red. The stallion became limp and fell to the floor. Everything was silent now. Satyrn knelt down and examined the body. She traced her eyes along his cloak, her heart racing. There were marks peaking out from behind the stallion’s mane.

“It can’t be..” she trailed off.

Removing the hood and brushing away the stallion's mane, Satyrn found just what she feared. Stamped on his forehead was the number ‘5029’