Senator Count Privilege was a unicorn with an upturned nose and an aristocratic bearing. He ran the Committee of Internal Affairs, one of the most important ones in the city at the present time. His coat was the color of gold, with his mane a silvery color. His eyes were the color of diamonds, a light grey that sparkled and shone like the precious stone.
His image was one of disgust by the ponies of Manehatten. He had expressed a public distaste of the ponies who did not have it as good as he did. He ignored corner street beggars. He had called the ponies who had given to charity "self-righteous ponies who donated because they wanted to make themselves look good"- even though that was exactly what he did behind everyone's back. And to top it all off, he was now on his third marriage, divorced twice because his wives before had been pressuring him to buy more and more things for them, while Count Privilege wanted the money more for himself.
So when the senator burst the door open the door of the ragged-down corner street bar late at night, every eye in the room immediately turned to his direction. The senator panted in the door frame for just a second before he came into the crowded room. The nauseating smell of vomit and spilled drinks hit the senator's nose like a punch. He stumbled through the room regardless, ignoring the looks of venom directed at him by some of the residents sitting at tables spread throughout the room.
When he came to the bartender, the pony behind the bar scowled at him and did not ask him anything.
Count Privilege drew a crumpled slip of paper out of his elaborately tailored suit and laid it before the bartender. "I'm here to see Client 24," he told him in an impatient tone.
The bartender looked over the slip for just a second before gruffly nodding and motioning for him to follow. The Count put the slip back in his suit and followed the pony.
They came to a small, out-of-the-way back room behind the bathrooms. Count Privilege nodded politely, motioning for the bartender to leave. The bartender, after shooting him an irritated look, walked away.
Count Privilege hurriedly opened the door to the back room and slipped inside it and shut the door. The room was small, with only a fan and a single aging yellow light on a chain above them. The room only allowed room for a small table and two chairs.
Across from him, sitting in one of those chairs, was Client 24. He was the only pony in the room, apart from the Count. Client 24 was in a dark brown trench coat with black leather gauntlets on all four of his hooves and a wide-brimmed hat that obscured his face. He had on large sunglasses and a black bandanna on his nose and mouth, so Count Privilege could not see any part of him. The old yellow light threw most of his body into a dark shadow.
And then the Count realized that he had goosebumps. The room seemed much more colder than he had remembered the last few times he had visited his shady client. He grunted. Somepony had forgotten to turn on the heater.
"You are late," Client 24 told him. Client 24's voice was hard and deep, like a monster whose voice ascended through the depths of the earth.
Count Privilege shuddered and sat down across from his client. "The debate in City Hall took longer than I thought it would. I needed to wrap up the talk about allocating some of the funds to go to the school system. They already have enough as it is."
"The education of the young ones is always a necessity," his client disagreed. "If not reared correctly, they grow up in false beliefs... and teach others their false beliefs."
Count Privilege sighed and slammed the table. "I didn't come here to talk to you about education. I came here to talk to you about something that I'm mad about. I'm very mad about what's been happening recently."
Client 24 smiled under his bandanna; Count Privilege could see the motions his mouth made under the cloth. "Please enlighten me," he said in an evil tone. "I would like to know why I've been summoned."
Count Privilege ignited his horn in a silvery aura, and his briefcase opened. A newspaper floated out, and the Count slammed the paper down on the table. "This is what I'm mad about. Look at the paper. Now."
Client 24 did not take the paper. "I am aware of the news. Do not insist that I know nothing of what's going on recently." He sounded like a feral animal.
"There have been murders! Killings in the streets, after daytime! This is bad for the Committee of Internal Affairs. If I don't do something soon, I'll be lynched by Congress!"
Client 24 gave a harsh, evil laugh that sounded like a barking dog. "That would be worth seeing," he commented wryly.
"Don't play games with me, client. I know you've broken our agreement."
"How so?" he replied evenly.
"You've read the papers. You've seen the pictures. The pictures of the bodies. Do they look familiar to you? The wounds? Those are the marks of a gun."
"And?" he asked.
"And you are the only pony in the world that has uncontrolled access to those kinds of weapons! You are the pony that robbed that laboratory of that blasted scientist and took all of the weapons. So you are the only pony in the world that can give those weapons to somepony else. A week ago there was that gang that was found disemboweled in the side streets. And there was that train of guns that you were transporting into Manehatten that was crashed! And just yesterday, eight griffons were killed in that same warehouse I set aside for storage of the guns for the night. You want to know how they were killed? You want to know what happened? They were shot. And the Night Terror had to have gotten those weapons from somepony. That somepony is you!" His voice went up near the end of his rant.
Client 24 paid no attention to him. "Are you insinuating that I sold guns to the Night Terror?" he asked threateningly.
"YES!" Count Privilege bellowed at him. "Who else?"
"A criminal given guns that turned away from crime and is now working against his former criminals?" he suggested. "A thief who stole the guns from my storage? A pony that invented another prototype of the weapon?" He shook his head. "You are running a dangerous risk in blaming me for these murders."
"Did you or did you not sell your weapons to the Night Terror?" the Count demanded. His hooves were numb from the chilling cold all around him.
Client 24 sat forward. Underneath the sunglasses he wore, the Count could see a red, angry glow as his client's eyes burned. "I swear to Celestia I did not sell the Night Terror the guns."
"You'll have to better than that," the Count snapped. "I'm not all that inclined to believe you right now. I can always just fire you. You came to me with the promise of making me rich with guns, and I can send you away whenever I want."
Client 24's eyes burned a brighter red underneath the sunglasses. "I swear on the soul of my poor dead mother that I did not sell the guns to the Night Terror. I swear also on the soul of my sister that if what I am saying is false, that I will burn in Tartarus. I speak the truth, Senator. I did not sell guns to the Night Terror."
A moment or two passed while the two partners stared at each other fiercely.
Finally Count Privilege leaned back in his seat and broke off eye contact. "I really don't like how certain you sound about this."
"Our deal has not been broken, my dear Senator. I still sell you secret weapons that generate enormous profit when you redistribute them to crime leaders, and you look good in the senate because you're busy looking into the violent crime cases that result from them. I will not break the deal now. What if the Night Terror comes after me as a result of me providing criminals the weapons?"
"You're always concerned about your identity, aren't you?" the Count asked bitterly. "That's why you always dress like this whenever we meet?"
"I have to be. Otherwise, I would be captured and prosecuted. I did not kill Bright Mind and loot his work so I could get captured and rot in prison for the rest of my life. And I did not perfect the prototypes so I could listen to you whine about ending the deal." The dull yellow light made the shadow running diagonally across his face look murderous.
"And what will you do if I do decide to end the deal?" the Count demanded indignantly.
His arm shifted. "I have full access to these weapons, Senator. Did you think I would leave the house without one on hoof?"
The count examined Client 24's trench coat. It would be easy to conceal a weapon as small as a gun in there. A growing sense of uneasiness gripped him. "So what do we do about this... Night Terror?"
Client 24 tapped the table. "Guns were not the only thing that poor scientist developed. I stole some of his... more interesting toys, shall we say, after I killed him in that lab explosion. And I intend to use them. The next time he attacks, he will run into more trouble than expected when I introduce him to Bright Mind's more deadly experiments."
"And when will that be?" the Count demanded of him. "I ordered another shipment of weapons into the city two days ago, after the train accident. I want your guarantee that the shipment will not be hijacked or destroyed. I lost fifteen thousand bits when that train derailed."
"Tomorrow, after the docks close, a small private yacht will arrive at the piers. It will transport guns to the head of crime in the city, Amadeus. No doubt the Night Terror will strike there. But I will set a trap for him. I will kill him myself, if I have to. I will not rest until he is dead." He leaned forward. "And a tired, restless pony is a dangerous adversary to contend with."
Count Privilege gulped. The already chilly room seemed a lot colder. "I wanted your promise that the Night Terror won't disrupt it."
"I make no promises on if the Night Terror shows up. But I promise you that if he does, he'll be in for a world of trouble. He is the only thing standing in the way of your success. Just let me handle it. I will join the fight. He will not be a problem. At no extra cost to you."
The Count looked squarely at him. Client 24 made no movement of expression. One of the many advantages of having your face covered, Count Privilege thought. You can look like anything you want underneath the sunglasses and bandanna and hat. Anything.
Anything at all.
"I still only have to give you... that one mineral?" the Count asked. "Whatever you need it for, it had better be good. It's very hard to find, and very expensive. I'm losing money trying to find it. It's hard to get private scientists and miners and purifiers, and all that equipment."
Client 24 smiled under his black bandanna. The Count could see the motions his lips made under the cloth. "Don't you worry about a thing, Senator," he barked. "You will be rewarded for all of your hard work. That I guarantee you."
Count Privilege smiled then, the first real smile Client 24 had seen out of him that night. "And soon we will share in our reward. The Night Terror and his vigilante work will be dead. The crime business will be crushed when I expose them all. They'll be put in prison for life, and the ponies will be so happy that they'll elect me as mayor of Manehatten. We'll have Manehatten under our total control. I'll lead the city as the richest pony in Equestria, and you'll be a successful businesspony... with that other, strange element you need for some reason. Are you going to sell it?"
"Oh, no." Client 24 shook his head. "I have much better plans in place for what you owe me."
"I've held up my end of the deal." Count Privilege told him. "I've given you plenty of that... unpronounceable element. You still need to make sure all of the weapons get to where they need to be when I buy them and get them into Manehatten. So far, the guns haven't made it to all of their clients."
"Are you not even a little uncertain about this?" Client 24 asked him. "Have you truly thought about how dangerous this all could be? All those griffons and ponies down on their luck. If they decide to revolt against you..."
"Then I'll just take their money." The Count shrugged, then gave him a look. "But why are you asking this?"
"I simply wanted to know if you were truly prepared to advance with the deal. Are you certain you can handle things if something unexpected happens?"
"I'm absolutely certain I can. I am one of the most powerful ponies in the city."
"Next to the Night Terror?" Client 24 asked him.
"Don't ask that." Count Privilege gave a sharp intake of breath. "I wouldn't know what to do if he were to attack me."
The Night Terror smiled yet again. "I'll be there for you if he does." He stood up. "I think that's enough for tonight. They might get suspicious if you stay too long."
"It's always a pleasure doing business with you," Count Privilege muttered, though not enthusiastically. "Hopefully we can catch the Night Terror and end all our problems."
"We need a lot of luck with that. He's a phantom of the city. He seems to be everywhere at once. He permeates every private corner. He sees all. He hears all. He knows all. He's probably listening in on this conversation right now. He probably knows every word we have spoken. He's probably much, much closer than you think." His expression was unreadable under his bandanna and sunglasses.
Count Privilege's face was anxious and sweaty as he looked around the room, even though the room was biting cold. "You...did check the room for bugs beforehoof, right?"
"Of course I did," the Night Terror responded, all serious. "Nopony is listening in. I was joking."
The Count gulped. "I've never heard you joke before."
"I have to start somewhere." He shook his head in amusement. "Remember. The yacht will arrive at the harbor after hours. The guns will be delivered to the place I arranged. Now go. If you stay back here for longer than ten minutes, they think you'll either be banging a whorse again or making a secret deal with somepony. This has to be kept secret."
"I'll never say a word," the Count whispered, and he winked. He then picked up his briefcase with his magic and opened the door. As he left, he shot Client 24 a look. But the Night Terror motioned for him to leave, and Count Privilege left the small room.
The Night Terror leaned back in his seat, a small smile on his face under the black bandanna. "Oh, senator," he murmured in his normal voice- softly, calmly. "I almost feel sorry for you."
And he laughed. It was a haunting laugh because it was so brief and so soft and so hypnotizing, and the air dropped another few degrees.