//------------------------------// // Interlude: Muggers, Mysteries, and Merchandising // Story: Magical Deathmatch // by Impossible Numbers //------------------------------// The hexagonal platform jolted. The doorway ground open. Suri waited until it was all clear – and until she could slow her heartbeat – before stepping forwards. It was like being in kindergarten again. Overhead, the endless distant light of the cylindrical tower pulled her gaze through sheer gravitational dread. Once more, she wondered what was actually up there, and why this room felt so cold. Carved from a glacier? She wouldn’t put it past these crystal freaks. Columns either side stood, unsympathetic. They didn’t actually bear anything up. She supposed they’d been added for some kind of imperial style. They said, Don’t even try to get to our level, kid. Her hooves tapped on the empty floor. Now and again she stopped to rub herself down. It wasn’t just the cold, but that was good reason in and of itself. Breaths came out in crystals before her. If she felt small before, she felt microscopic coming up to that boulder of a desk. Rugged pigs stood as bodyguards on either side. Unexpectedly, Feldspar was standing in front of the desk. She was also deep in conversation with a pig of her own. “I don’t care if you have to break down the door,” Feldspar snapped. “Get Peccary up here right now and keep an eye on those two flesh-bodies until I send him back. I’ve got new instructions for him and him alone.” Cocking its head, the pig grunted curiously. “Because need-to-know, that’s why. Now be a dear and go get him, will you? Oh, and after the Titanium Town incident, tell Gutter to report to Factory Five.” At this, the pig gave a strangled squeal. “Enough of the theatrics. He let me down hard, and now he can make up for it. Unless, of course, you wish to join him?” The pig shook its head violently and saluted. Suri mentally added, Memo: Find out what Factory Five is. Could be useful. Even when the pig turned and scampered past her using its bizarre loping gait, she felt the tide of anxiety flow back. There’d only been a momentary respite. Besides, she quite enjoyed seeing others get bawled out. Feldspar rounded on her. Sans towering desk, she looked strangely crouched and mousey, almost as though she’d been converted from one species to another without due care and attention. Something of a rat’s squint lurked about her eyes. “Oh, so you’ve decided to join us, have you?” said Feldspar. Suri was determined not to gulp or shiver. She was a darn Manehattanite, for goodness’ sake. Manehattanites were put off by nothing and no one. “Why pigs?” she said, trying to sound chummy rather than chiding. “Why pigs what?” “I’ve seen all the gadgets and gizmos this place has. So why use pigs for anything?” For a moment, Feldspar actually loosened up. Her face eased back into that of a child lounging on a comfy new beanbag. “Oh, Diamond Bites are fine for eyes and ears, but sooner or later you need muscle. Crystal ponies are a bit tricky, even after you’ve hammered it into their heads that disobeying is a no-go. But pigs? Ah, pigs. They don’t get squeamish over nothing.” Suri cringed. She started rubbing her foreleg again. Suddenly, a bath far, far away sounded like heaven. “Come now, this is the best place in the universe,” Feldspar continued. “Of course we allow pigs in. We have an open-minded policy. What more do you want?” “You promised me a studio,” said Suri sullenly. A studio. Right. Like this is all worth a studio. But she’d seen the ones they had here. Palaces in their own right. Enough staff to make clothes for a royal coronation and everyone attending. More fabrics and threads and needles and knitting machinery and patterns and styles and accoutrements than she’d ever imagined existed. They made the shimmery stuff from Fashion Week look tacky. This place would’ve been paradise, except for the obvious drawbacks… “Oh, deary me,” said Feldspar. “Heaven forbid I keep the fashionista from her fashions. What do I do but basically run an entire empire? Its mines, its malls, its merchandising, and its magical systems? Pfft. Second fiddle to what fabric of the week’s coming in.” Suri didn’t dare glower at her. And then Feldspar laughed. Suri hated that laugh. Hidden not-so-subtly among the ringing decibels was the message: This is all a huge joke. You’re just too stupid to get it. But I’m not. As soon as she’d struggled her way to a finish, Feldspar gestured behind herself. “But seriously, seriously, just to give you an idea of what wonders we have here: observe.” A floating platform of rugged crystals came out from behind the desk. Suri, mind starting to slip into the cold again, shivered. “Look how cool this stuff is!” Feldspar raised each item on her hoof in turn. “Action figures, lunchboxes, feeding bags, decorated saddles, stylised cart stickers, comic series, aerated horseshoes, even little picture books! All based on the marvels of Magical Deathmatch! Can’t get enough of the action in the arena? I’ve made sure you can get it anywhere: at home, at work, on the journey to and fro. Every last bit of it tailor-made for the ponies who make up my Empire to get that little bit closer to their favourite heroes!” Through the barrage of words and her own insistent demands for an immediate wash, Suri found the energy to frown. “Children’s toys?” she said. “Get ‘em young, Suri. That’s where the money is. Wait until they’re fully grown, and half of ‘em won’t care a fig. We learned that lesson long ago. But get ‘em while they’re sweet and innocent, and you’ve found a special connection. Wait until they’re fully grown then, and most of ‘em won’t forget the magic of childhood. I hold their hearts in my hooves.” “Let me get this straight,” she said, hardly daring to believe her own words. “The game’s called Magical Deathmatch, and… you’re marketing it towards children?” “Well, yeah,” said Feldspar, and the tone in her voice suggested Suri had stepped off of Planet Idiot. “Kids love a good deathmatch, Suri. It’s exciting! It’s violent! It’s full of drama and twists! Besides, it’s something to pretend-play.” “You’re marketing towards children.” Feldspar chuckled. “What, and you don’t? Or wouldn’t? Or think you shouldn’t? Kids are the worst for wanting stuff, Suri. Might as well give ‘em something worth wanting.” She’s marketing towards children! Suri clung to the speech. By now, she was so desperate to get out and blast herself with water that anything to make this go faster was welcome. Besides, a little bit of Suri thought, She’s got a really good point. I could learn something here… The rest of her glared it down. Yes, there was that, but Feldspar just had to be wrong. Kids, for crying out loud! Contempt rose up afresh, trying to wash away anything and everything to the contrary. There had to be some standards. Thankfully, the disgusting platform zipped out of sight again. Suri watched the pigs standing to attention, but it was better than watching Feldspar pacing up and down before her. Those hoofsteps echoed oddly among the columns and across the vast gaping cylinder of the ceiling. Besides, she knew what was coming… Suri quailed. How low could this psychotic madmare sink? Applejack kept the Ice Lash wrapped around her. Since the arena, she’d come to look upon it as a fire-forged friend. Besides, if she couldn’t have her hat then she’d have a little piece of rodeo at least. Irritably, Peccary grunted behind her. For the moment, he seemed more tag-along pet than bodyguard. All the same, she was used to pigs and so ended up ignoring the tap of hooves following her. The city looked no less dark and craggy than before, as if she was walking through a civilized volcanic cave. Daytime, night-time, afternoon, evening: they were starting to become dreams. Only the occasional crystal pony and crystal guard wandered about, none of whom paid much attention to her. Weird. There were loads of fans watchin’ us. Not that Ah’m complainin’, but where’ve them lot gone off to? No one was watching, though. Carefully, she uncoiled the Ice Lash strung around her chest. For a moment, she thought of swinging it at Peccary. No way that this pig was a match for her: not when she was in a lassoing mood. But Diamond Bites dotted the city, even dotted the “sky” overhead with its mountain-like stalactites and upside-down towers. Crystal guards patrolled in pairs up ahead. She sighed and let the thought go. Instead, she swirled the rope over her head. Twirling, twirling, twirling idly as she walked along. After a while, the circle blurring overhead seemed to steady itself. Always a good way to take her mind off things, back on the farm. She hummed a little country ditty to herself. In her heart, she knew it was wrong. She was enjoying the play of the rope and a brief walk of freedom, all while Apple Bloom was who-knew-where, terrified, alone, maybe even locked in that ice block. And there’d be kin back home – Big McIntosh, Granny Smith, Winona – staying up all night with worry. Friends wondering where she was now: imagining her stuck in a prison, or lost in a wild wood, or something even worse. But she couldn’t worry forever. Worrying just used up energy. They had a plan. Rarity had a plan. Deep down, that wasn’t good enough, but up here at the surface where she could breathe fresh air for now, it would do. First thing first would be to last a few more days. That meant more matches. That meant keeping in shape. She’d need to be ready for anything. She had the rope. She didn’t know how to deal with being captured, but she knew how to spin a rope. All these reasons flitted through her mind, smoothing down the waters without ever diving right in, until she got tired of walking down the main road and tried a shortcut. It turned out to be an alleyway. Six crystal ponies jumped her. Dark cloth. Wide-brimmed hats. Peccary growled. Applejack raised a hoof. The growling stopped. “All right, Missy,” said what she presumed was the leader. “Just hand over your valuables, and no one gets – Holy Haematite! You again!” Life rushed back into Applejack. With the rope in her mouth, she wasn’t about to start any small talk. “Ugh, first the raid and now this.” The leader’s stick of straw shifted from one side of his mouth to the other. “Get –” The Ice Lash wrapped around his legs. Applejack heaved and groaned and watched with utter satisfaction as he screamed past and smashed into the quartet of chain-wielding crooks who’d been sneaking up behind her. Peccary stood very still. The rope had soared right over his head. When she turned back, the other crooks were wielding iron chains and bars. One raised a hoof device glowing with rubies. Too slow! She ducked the shot and swung the leader round like a hay-bale-tossing champion. Barely a flick of her jaws later, the links unwound from his hoof and the device, its owner, and the leader tumbled down the alley in confusion. Of the remaining four fighters, none of them looked keen to get close. One stared after his disappearing colleagues until the clatter of cans and bits of crystal fell silent. Applejack spat out the rope and grinned. “Jus’ try it, fellas. This is me bein’ friendly, see?” They froze. All of them were armed. She suddenly wasn’t. But she was grinning. Bullies relied on their chums for support, otherwise their careers in the world of troublemaking were about as solid as an ice cream in a baker’s oven. A chain-wielder dismissed his colleagues’ cautions and struck. Applejack herself barely understood her own gravity-lurching movements. She trusted her instincts. The complicated motions ended up with the chain slicing the ground right where her legs had been, and one hoof resting not-too-casually on the links. The chain-wielder tugged. Her leg jerked slightly. On the second tug, she let go and he smacked himself in the face. Peccary made a noise between a hum and a groan. He sounded impressed. “Come on, fellas!” Applejack said loudly over the thump. “Y’all makin’ this look too easy!” Of the remaining three, one took a step forwards. His colleagues shook their heads. He stepped backwards. To her own surprise, she let out a bellowing “YEEHAW!” and charged. Chains clattered and hoofsteps died away before she completed ten steps and came skidding to a halt. Their weapons lay strewn about the place, clearly not important enough to save. She recovered the Ice Lash and came up to the leader, who was whimpering and curled up amid the scattered garbage. Such was the nature of the city that even their cast-off clothes and wrapping paper and tin cans sparkled along their facets. “Maybe next time you fellas think of robbin’ some poor pony blind,” she said, “you’ll do us all a favour and join the circus instead.” The leader jumped up, cast her a terrified look, and then scurried over his unconscious friend and fled out of sight. She couldn’t see him for the sparkly dust. As for the rest… Perhaps some degree of civic duty was called for, even in a place like this. A minute later, she strode out and tapped the shoulder of the first crystal guard she saw. A cool green slit-of-a-gaze turned to her. This pony had a partner too. “Some fellas in that there alleyway lookin’ to start over.” She jerked her head towards the alley. “Tried to rob me blind, see?” Only then did Peccary step out and hurry after her. In all the excitement, he’d taken a while to get up to speed. Both guards exchanged expressionless looks with each other. Slight metallic puffs of breath rattled inside their helmets. “Six of ‘em. One of ‘em had a blaster thingy. There were four more, but they got away. You need mah help with anythin’, jus’ say.” Peccary uttered a low, menacing groan. The first guard shook his – or her – head and signalled to the other. Applejack watched them disappear into the alleyway and was surprised to find herself disappointed. Whatever thrill had danced through her now ceased. All too soon, she was back with her contemplations. She twirled the rope again. Now she had no weight on the end, it just wasn’t the same. Even the pig was barely important anymore. Onward she went. At least home was right there, if she’d ever call a black tooth of a building “home”. Peccary stopped outside the door and cocked his head curiously; another pig had thundered to a halt before him. Applejack let the door slam on them both. No one greeted her. Clanking and fizzing noises came from the other doorway. She guessed Flim and Flam were busy with something. Well, fine. She could bother them later, or thank them, or whatever she wanted to do with them. Right now, it wasn’t important. She dropped the rope, went up the stairs, stumbled into her room, and was too tired to stop herself falling onto the bed. Which, she realized too late, was made of crystal. “OW!” She gripped her nose. “Hoo doggies, that smarts! Ow-how-HOW! Ah did NOT think this through! Ooooooow!” Suri suddenly felt very exposed, as though her soul was falling away from the body and Feldspar could see it laid bare. “Of course, all my hard work doesn’t add up to much if the show’s lousy,” said Feldspar. “I calculate every single match to maximize suspense and to please as many fans as possible, with as few petty arguments and dumb fights as possible. You know how many plates I have to spin? Even the reviews have to be carefully regulated, or else we get the stuff that blighted the deathmatches before me.” “Um…” Suri wished she could back out. That voice was taxiing. It was coming up to the runway. She didn’t want to be on it when things took off. “Um what?” said Feldspar. The pacing hoofsteps stopped. Suri tried really, really hard to take in all the details of those spiky pigs. Anything to avoid whatever expression Feldspar had aimed at her. “You said deathmatches before you?” said Suri. A dangerous moment held its breath. Then Feldspar sniffed with amusement. “This is the one thousand, nine hundred, and eighty first deathmatch. How old do you think I am?” “Uh…” “Stupid drama! That’s what I’m talking about! It’s a tightly organized harvesting system. It needs food, sunlight, warmth, water – all that stuff – to keep the crops coming in.” When Feldspar next spoke, her voice shot up and Suri braced herself and the echoes around the cylinder brought back dozens of Feldspars all bursting with fury. “SO WHEN I TELL YOU TO OFF HALF THE TEAM, YOU DARN WELL OFF HALF THE TEAM!” “But –” Frightened bravery died on her lips. “Good grief, girl! Wasn’t it bad enough you messed up the kidnapping!? No witnesses. No witnesses until you got hired for a job. And what happens? Acting on your information, using your help, we get a park full of witnesses and a Royal Guard who now know what species they’re dealing with! Mare alive, you idiot! You were on thin enough ice as it was!” “Hey, that wasn’t my –” “PUT A SOCK IN IT!” Now Feldspar was nose-to-nose with Suri. “And now we have a Team Backstabbers that can’t kill for toffee! That mindless animal did a better job than you!” Outrage jumped to Suri’s defence while she cowered behind its shield. “Hey, wait a sec. You can’t pin that on me. Those losers had Applejack and Rarity and Coco surrounded. If it wasn’t for that orange pony, they’d have had ‘em.” To her horror, she got a faceful of scream. Feldspar raised a hoof. She shut her eyes at once. Nothing happened. When she risked a peek, she saw Feldspar, red-faced, veins popping, staggering away to pace up and down again. “You don’t get it, do you?” said Feldspar suddenly. “You and Ahuizotl. This isn’t really about wiping out the other team. Do what you like with the rest of ‘em, I said. In fact, Suri, you’d have made a better impression if you had wiped out the rest of ‘em.” “Don’t bring that up.” Suri clutched her stomach. Any moment now, she was going to throw up. “Come on. Please. I’m asking nicely, OK?” “It’s about creating a story! Adding meaning to the fight! You don’t kill the main heroes in a goshdarned preliminary match!” “So nobodies are OK?” Suri snapped. “YES! And you killed exactly one, and then chickened out!” It was all Suri could do not to haul off and slug her one. But that wasn’t how she would get her revenge, even in the rough climate of Manehattan. Sure, she told lies and stole ideas, but at least the victims were alive to wail about it. That was just business. This was beneath her. But she could still haul off and slug that witch one in the face. The flash of light entered her mind. As though she were there in the sand pit, she felt her leg muscles rise to fire. She heard the pony scream. She didn’t even have time to tell if it had been a mare or a stallion. What the heck did it matter now? Suri’s throat burned with bile. And the way Coco had stared at her… She ground her teeth. “Lame,” Feldspar muttered in a sulk. “Next time, follow the script. Got it?” “Oh, sure,” said Suri bitterly. “Of course, some ponies might wonder why there’s a script for trying to hurt the ponies trying to kill you. Why not just shoot ‘em and have done with it?” “But where’s the style in that?” Once more, Feldspar slid into her excited child persona. It made Suri’s skin crawl. “You’ve got brains, Suri. Think: who’s the most popular character in any story you care to name? The hero? You have to root for them, but no. Not by a long shot. It’s the villain.” “Aheheh,” said Suri, far more casually than she felt – anything to feel normal again – “Little pointer, sweetcakes: I’m not a villain, OK?” “You are now, kiddo. That’s a good thing.” You are now, kiddo. You are now. Suri was too shocked to move. She was gaping. From somewhere Suri didn’t want to be, Feldspar’s words echoed on. “Team Backstabbers have been reigning champions for decades. It doesn’t matter that they get restocked every year. It’s the villainy that ponies like. They want the bad guys to win. They want to pretend they’re not so bad really. They think the bad boys and good-for-nothing girls can be – bless their little hearts – healed. ‘I will fix him,’ they say. ‘I can change her,’ they say.” Suri saw the pit opening up before her. She almost stiffened trying not to fall in. “Well, they can’t. That’s just some weird kink in pony brains, I guess. But as they say, when in Romanèchite, do as the Romanèchites do. And make money off it. That’s what I do.” Rarity simply stood along the margins of the stable. She didn’t enjoy the “party” at all. Which was a shame, really: Cheese sang and danced and juggled and did things that should’ve landed him in hospital. He slapped backs. He tossed plates of cakes so expertly that ponies barely noticed them landing on their backs, complete with landing forks and complementary glasses of crystal grape juice. Balloons, beach balls, inflatable pools with apples bobbing in them… whatever his other virtues, “restraint” was not among them. Yet the overall effect, paradoxically, was to make the place as miserable and lifeless as possible. Ponies stood about in a daze or gloomily inspecting plates and tables as though they were as fascinating as empty air. One by one, they slipped out. Not that there had been many. Rarity counted only seven ponies who’d stayed besides her, and Cheese shouldn’t really count. In fact, the only one who was making any effort was Trenderhoof, and even he winced and struggled his way through a dialogue with Cheese. Rarity’s heart ached for him. Sheer gallantry, that’s what it was. Only a true gentlecolt would suffer such harsh treatment for the sake of another. All the same, Trenderhoof didn’t talk to anyone else either, even during those moments when Cheese abandoned him to try another karaoke competition. Not even to her! Rarity’s heart quailed at this. To be so refined, and yet so cruel! Well then, why don’t YOU talk to him instead? If the thought had possessed eyes, Rarity would have avoided them. She felt like a schoolfilly all over again. So instead, she watched the few ponies who remained. That was always insightful, or at least it usually was. Here, her only major occupation was to note the varieties of gloom on display. Her gaze fell upon the orange pony. Her gaze remained upon the orange pony. The orange pony hadn’t been there from the start. As Rarity watched, she slid around the edges and disappeared back into the locker rooms. Hmm. No one else was paying attention to her. Rarity sidled up to the door and squeezed through the gap. On the far side of the room, the orange pony stood before one of the lockers. Its door swung open. Suspicion crept through Rarity’s chest. None of them had been assigned lockers yet, and she was sure that Applejack or her would’ve gotten first pick, given their current status. The way the orange pony stiffened. The way she had her ears cocked for the slightest sounds. The ever-so-slight rustle of effort trying to keep her own sounds to a minimum. Rarity slipped inside. She crept towards the nearest row of lockers and pressed herself up against the first one, out of sight. All without taking her eyes off the orange pony. Gently, she used her magic to ease the door shut behind her. She kept only one eye exposed. Her ear detected clanking, the strain of a wire being unfurled, something clicking into place, a slight hum of energy – The orange pony spun round. Rarity ducked out of sight. Silence waited in ambush. She held her breath. Then the noises continued. What is she doing? What if I get caught? Rarity raised a leg to sneak out… and drew it back. No. She might be spotted. Yet she also couldn’t wait here. Not if she thought the orange pony was half as competent as her body language suggested. Worse, there was no other cover. She'd be cornered. And something about the orange pony's manner suggested getting caught would be painful at best. Carefully, slowly, silently, Rarity focused on her horn. The telekinetic magic slid up the side of the locker as a questing limb, feeling its way along the smooth contours and over the lip to the top. There was… she felt around… a narrow gap between ceiling and locker. Just enough for one pony to squeeze in if they could climb up. A slam: the orange pony shuffled. Straightening up, perhaps? Rarity sighed. No choice. This next trick was, well, going to be tricky. Rarity held her spell in place. She bent and stretched, bent and stretched, bent and stretched in readiness. Slowly, she reeled herself up. The strain was like pulling herself up using one forelimb, but flatter herself though she may, she wasn’t nearly as weightless as she’d pretended. In her mind, she cursed her weakness for triple chocolate sundaes; those things were pure sugary evil! Up and, equally slowly, over… She did not dare move a real limb, and so had to bend snakelike around the sharp edge like a blade. Wisely, she kept her back an inch clear of this blade. Only then did she dare peek down. Erect ears passed by; the orange pony finished sneaking up on the corner, and then surged forwards and looked. No one there. But of course. Rarity drew back, just in case. She didn’t breathe again until the door opened and closed. She prepared to step down – Wait a moment. She paused. She waited. She listened. No sounds. Then the door opened, actual hoofsteps followed, and it closed again. This time, the orange pony’s muffled hoofsteps died away. Aha. I thought so. I’ve pulled that trick on Sweetie Belle once too often to fall for it myself! Now to see what she’s been up to. Rarity slid down the side of the locker and released the spell with a gasp. Her horn was going to ache horribly, but that could be dealt with later. Business first. She crept over to the locker. Fourth one along from the right. Her memory was needed; once shut, it looked no different from the others. Unthinkingly, her spell reached out to open it. Thinkingly, her spell cut off at once. That would be too easy. Instead, she held her breath and forced the magic through, squeezing it through the tightest gaps. The nice thing about telekinetic magic was that it lacked the shortcomings of flesh-and-blood limbs. She could feel her way through the inside of the locker as though patting it with tiny hooves. This wasn’t something they’d taught at school. On the battlefield of sisterly warfare, she’d soon devised her own weapons of class destruction. And to think her unicorn friends were content just to levitate stuff! All the same, her brain felt like it was going to pop out of her ears. Do it soon, do it soon, do it soon! I’m going to burst! It didn’t take long. Some heavy mass sat up against the back of the locker. It clicked and hummed continuously. Ever so slightly, she felt the threads of two wires, one either side of the door, which ran along the inside and then joined in the middle. Taped down, possibly, or somehow embedded into the crystal? Something told her it would be a bad idea to open the door. Opening it would pull the wires. Somehow, she doubted the heavy mass was a pie-throwing machine. She took a deep breath and probed further. Little bits, crystals here and there, but clockwork and metal pieces too. Forcing her spell to cling on, she held the heavy mass and eased it, the wires, and the attached door open. Gently. Quietly. Desperately trying not to collapse her own head through sheer magical effort. OK, you’ve opened the door. Now what? Within the mechanical tangle and mishmash, a single gemstone pulsed. Now, machinery was a bit beyond her unless it had needles and thread attached, but gemstones were something else. And this was packed with vibrating power. If it went off, anything standing nearby would probably end up vaporized. She almost sweated at the touch. Yet she’d moved several decorative stones before. This was no more challenging than the readjustment of a badge on a lapel. Levitating and still feeling as though her brain was about to explode, she lowered the gemstone to the ground. Only then did she yank the wires off the door. Something clicked. A tiny hammer swung up and hit the now-unoccupied space where the gemstone had been. Two bolts zipped through the gap. A very small laser cut across the emptiness. Rarity glowered at it. Stimulators. But who on earth would want to put a stimulated powerhouse gemstone in a random locker? If someone else had opened it without knowing what was inside… My word. I think we need to keep a close eye on our orange friend. The locker slid shut again. Rarity tucked the gemstone into the space on top of the locker and went off to find a trash can in the party room. Neither Cheese nor Trenderhoof noticed when she dumped it and strode out of the stable and into the street. For a moment, she thought she saw an orange face watching from the other side of the road. When she stopped to look, however, a pair of crystal guards strode past and the house opposite was empty. Rarity took deep breaths. She didn’t bother waiting for Trenderhoof. He could make his own confounded way home. “Why don’t you just sell stuff like anyone else?” said Suri. “What’s with the death stuff?” Feldspar groaned. Behind her, the pigs shook their heads sadly. “Not so simple, I’m afraid,” said Feldspar. “Aheheh, and why’s that? I’d have thought a smart pony like you woulda found a way, OK?” “Don’t blame me! I’m just the delivery mare. It’s the crowd. You can’t afford to lose the crowd, Suri. That way madness lies.” “So you’re saying you axe the deathmatch gig, and the whole Empire turns psycho on you?” “No, you idiot!” said Feldspar – a bit too quickly, in Suri’s estimation – “Anyway, we’ve had revolutions aplenty. They don’t change a thing. Revolutions come and go, some other House gets into power, and the whole thing starts all over again. How do you think I landed this ‘gig’? How do you think I’m going to go out, sooner or later?” “What, you? In this wonderland?” “Nothing comes cheap. Or free. Before me, it was the House of Organics. They thought like you too. They didn’t last very long.” Feldspar smirked. “I made sure of that.” “So what, then? You’re afraid of getting a bad rap?” “Sales! Selling them stuff! Keeping their tiny minds contented in this wretched heckhole.” “I thought you said this was the best place in the universe?” “It is! And it’s a heckhole! If it weren’t for me, it’d be even worse!” “In what way exactly –” “What are you, my confidante? Get out of here.” But in Suri’s mind, a little voice said, I’ve got you, you scumbag. Oh yes, I’ve got you now. Feldspar sighed. “I like you, Suri, so I’m only gonna say this once. It’s not an easy job running the best place in the world. And it’s not made easier by ponies not doing what I ask them to do. Now follow the instructions, or you’ll end up as a nice decoration on the corner of Sapphire Street. Understood?” Suri boiled with rage. “Get lost. I’m not a backstreet thug like those other mooks you hired.” “Ah yes. Big mare in the city, are you?” Suri’s patience was almost all smoke and vapour. “Hmm… that said, a creative mind like yours could be put to use. How do you feel about marketing?” Despite the hot waters of rage, Suri still felt unclean. She wouldn’t forget the flash or Coco’s face. Never mind her dog-eat-dog philosophy: they were still only Equestrians. She never wanted to kill anyone. “You don’t wanna know what I’m feeling right now,” she said. “Oh, boo hoo. Get over it. Killing’s not gonna upset anyone’s feelings. Haven’t you got the message by now? The little colts and fillies like it. They love it. Anyway, mere controversy I can deal with. Any news is good news. But this Magical Deathmatch: this is the sacred cow. You think you have it bad? All you have to do is pull the trigger when I say when. I have to duck and dodge and deal with life and death on the battlefield of public opinion. So quit acting like you’re getting a raw deal. Ponies are going to love the Evil Suri.” You couldn’t have missed the point more if you were blindfolded, Suri thought angrily. “Now what?” she hissed, not trusting herself to say more in case she exploded into a screaming rage. Feldspar gave her a lopsided look, briefly confused. Or at least apparently so: her pupils quivered. She seemed to be making her mind up about something. Then she scurried around the desk and disappeared. Axles squeaked. After some muttering, her face appeared overhead. In control. Dominating the scene. “Ah yes. That’s right.” Paper shuffled. “Dressmaking.” Now Suri herself would be the first to admit she lacked creative talent. Or not. She wouldn’t exactly admit to it. That wouldn’t be to her advantage. But she knew it in her heart. It needled her. It stung. It laughed at her every time she saw someone else’s works dazzling the audience. However, in some respects she was a very quick thinker. “All right,” she said coldly. “What do you want made?” Because she couldn’t resist it, she added, “Buster?” “Less of the lip.” Feldspar grinned again, never put out for long. “How d’you like to be an assistant?” “How d’you like some manners, you oversized brat?” Pigs on either side snorted. They sounded amused. They sounded distinctly less amused when Feldspar glared at them. “I was going to say you could be the new face of Team Backstabbers,” said Feldspar through gritted teeth. “Look, you know the aim of the game. I know the aim of the game. Why fight it? Stick with me, kid, and you could be the biggest and the baddest superstar Team Backstabbers – no, the entire Magical Deathmatch series – has ever known.” Suri opened her mouth to argue. She got as far as the first gasp of breath. Then her brain kicked her. This witch is just playing with you, part of her thought. Yeah, thought another, much grimmer part. Better playing games than playing dead, eh? Listen to the mare. Darn it! She’s got me right where she wants me. Tempting witch. Her mind worked furiously. There had to be an angle, or maybe a downside, to all this. But what could it be? Overhead, Feldspar leaned forwards, gaping with anticipation. Hungry for an answer. Rarity strode along the road. At no point did she even consider touching the alleyways. Once had been bad enough. This time, she noticed as she walked along the occasional stares thrown her way. Noticed out of the corner of her eye: she glanced up every time, but the crystal ponies were careful to look away instantly. Many kept their heads down. Clearly, it didn’t pay to give certain ponies too much attention. Overhead, Diamond Bites drifted to and fro. Partway along, she noticed six guards, each keeping pace with a chained and shuffling prisoner. The ponies wore dark cloth, but their manes were a mess as though they’d recently lost long-loved hats. They tramped along without hope, with their heads down, with no colour in their coats. Creeping up on her, the dread shivered through her limbs. Long years of fashionista drama had drilled into Rarity an instinct. She reached up for her mane. Curls were coming undone. Terror caught in her throat. At times like this, she needed reminding of the beauty of the world. Beauty was all she had. There were no clothes, no accessories, nothing to draw out what lurked in the hearts of mares. If she couldn’t even trust her mane to stay together, what chance did she have? “The strength of the artefact is important, but so is the inner strength of whoever’s using it.” That’s what Cadence had said. Well, she’d been wielding the tiara all day and had felt nothing. And her inner strength was always looking outwards. No, Rarity. You have to face up to it. You were stupid to let Applejack go off alone. Now would be a really good time for a friend. And what of poor Applejack? I’m sure she needs a friend close by. Typical, thoughtless, selfish Rarity. Now she was thinking, Should I be alone on a strange street? From her left, someone leaped out of the darkness. Rarity drew a leg back and kicked the pony in the face. Two more instantly smothered her beneath their cloaks. Strong hooves clamped over her mouth. Big mistake. Rarity bit down hard. One pony drew away, cursing. As soon as she could, she spun round to swipe at the other, but now all three of them had jumped her and caught her limbs in their embraces. She merely wriggled feebly. Loud and long, Rarity screamed. Or would’ve done, if one attacker hadn’t promptly covered her mouth with both hooves. “You said she’d be easier,” hissed one of them. Grunting, they jostled her into the shadows. A fourth silhouette stepped into what passed for dim light. “She is. She’s not even armed.” He leaned down and inspected her closely, stick of crystal hay glinting as it shifted from one end of his mouth to the other. “Now, girly, I’m gonna do this quick, because I am not in a good mood. Hand over your valuables.” Rarity’s insults were lost to the muffling hooves. She tried biting. Neither hoof shifted. “All right,” said the leader. “Hand over you.” He chuckled, but there was no mirth in it whatsoever. “I’m sure we’ll find a use for her. Let’s just get the heck out of this side of town.” Thrashing, Rarity briefly freed her mouth. “AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHH –” “OW!” Hoof smothered her muzzle again. “That was right in my ear, you freaking hornhead!” At least it had the desired effect. The leader suddenly looked about, panic barely kept in check. Roughly, they bundled her along the edge of the road. All the while, Rarity noticed them keeping to the shadows of overhangs and patios and the occasional alcove. They weren’t just glancing up at the Diamond Bites or across for potential crystal guards. They inspected windows and side streets too. Once more, she tried lashing out. Nothing she did could dislodge them. Then they turned down the next street, and immediately found it blocked. They stopped dead. A dozen crystal ponies stood in a line. Unlike the crooks holding Rarity, their cloth was rather more stately and layered. Rarity saw smart jackets, faux ermine capes, tight shirts, and wide hats with feathers dashing out of them. Being crystal, the whole ensemble seemed finely carved. Would that circumstances had been different! That ensemble! That style! They had a certain picaresque, debonair swashbuckler-chic about them. Very quietly, the crook with the stick of hay in his mouth said, “Oh sugar.” Some of the stately ponies reached under their capes. Crystal glinted. In the windows on either side, more faces looked out and more crystals glinted. “Dear me,” said the stateliest of the ponies standing before them. Judging from her excess of jewellery and her central position, Rarity assumed she was the head of the gathering. “Strays wandered onto our territory, by the look of it.” Rarity looked up for Diamond Bites. An overhang covered the street. She was as good as invisible. The leader of the crooks gibbered. “No, no, we were just on our way out, really.” “Is that right?” The stateliest one – which Rarity's over-romanticised mind privately called “Dashing Desperado” – tipped her hat, the feather shaking slightly as she did so. “And this dear wench is just your girlfriend for the evening, is she, Spessartine?” “I found her! Finders keepers!” “Right, and we found you.” Dashing waved a hoof. The other stylish ponies stalked closer. “You got your own patch, Spessartine. And this ain’t Titanium Town, last I checked. Last I checked, this was midway between Alkali Quarter and Plagioclase District. None of them are your patches, boy. Or have I got my geography mixed up with my geology?” Rarity shoved an unresisting hoof out of her mouth. By then, the other crooks were backing off. It was the only direction that didn’t involve getting mobbed. Dashing’s colleagues kept coming. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Rarity bent down at the surprised Dashing’s hooves and kissed them over and over. “Mwa! Mwa-mwa-mwa! MMMwwwaaa! I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come in time!” Chuckles ran around the circle. Behind her, the sound of retreating hoofsteps died away. She was surrounded by well-dressed ponies who suddenly seemed very interested in her. A touch of doubt dropped into her mind. “Um,” she said, “this is a rescue, isn’t it?” “Yeah,” said Dashing with a smirk. “Yeah, let’s go with that. I’m sure a pretty gal like you is wasted on a bunch of rowdies like them. Lucky for you we’re more civilized company.” Before Dashing signalled, Rarity shot to her hooves and screamed louder. Too late, strong legs lashed out. She sidestepped, twirled, and then hit someone’s outstretched leg and tripped onto her own back. “Oh…” she groaned. Upside-down, she saw the road as a ceiling. Four ponies ran back up it, iron chains spinning. The four crooks gave a great battle cry, and at once Dashing shouted something and the two sides fell upon each other. Two sides fighting on the “ceiling” was quite a sight. Then Rarity remembered herself and flipped over. She had enough sense, after all. Barely had she made it two steps when Dashing swept into view before her. Oh curses! To barrel past her would be to besmirch those lovely clothes! What devious cunning! Rarity’s horn glowed. The robe rose up and over, and Dashing yelped as it dropped over her eyes. Rarity left the not-rescuer to struggle with the entangled cloth and bolted. Her brief pride at finding a loophole immediately went out. Home! Home! Home! Anything’s better than this! She turned the corner and bumped off a crystal guard. Eventually, the ringing in her ears died down. She held her head to stop it vibrating. Squadrons of crystal guards surged past her to the disturbance. Soon, the usual thumps and groans of fighting took on urgent tones as they presumably hit harder or yelped more desperately. Guards stepped out of Rarity’s way, and one approached her directly. At least, this one was clearly a guard from the neck down, but unlike the others she wore nothing from the neck up. Faceted eyes frowned seriously at her. “Another disturbance,” said the guard. “Are you all right, Miss?” Rarity’s eyes widened with sudden recognition. “You –” “Are merely a servant within the Crystal Guard's Silicate Force. Of course, you are new and would not know that, not having met me before.” “What are you talking abou –” Rarity’s brain kicked into gear. “Oh. Right. Sorry. I… must still be in shock.” The guard raised an eyebrow. “Shock?” “From having recently been kidnapped twice,” said Rarity carefully. “That’s not something that happens often. It was a good thing you showed up in time to rescue me from those criminals. I thank you.” To show willing, she nodded her head curtly. Not once did she dare look up. Those floating Diamond Bites would almost certainly be there. “I am Titanite, Commander of the Silicate Force. What happened?” “They were fighting over me!” Rarity wailed. “That’s what happened!” Titanite looked her up and down. “This happens often to you?” “Not in that way! They were crooks! And kidnappers! I’m sure I mentioned it!” One guard approached Titanite and leaned forwards. Metallic echoes whispered in such a way that Rarity scarcely heard bits of it. At once, Titanite straightened up. “Ah, now it makes sense,” she said authoritatively. “The Alkali and Plagioclase Gang must have caught strays. It sometimes happens. However, rest assured you are now in protective custody.” “I want to go home.” Shamefully, the words were out before Rarity could put a stop to them. But why not? I was nearly snipped by a Scorpony and shot at by Suri and covered in dust that I KNOW no amount of brushing is going to get out! I’ll be itching for days! I’ve had enough! I want home! I want it now! I wanna goooooo hooooooome! Titanite gave her a steady gaze, as though trying to work out something. “Perhaps you could be of assistance, Miss?” “Is it necessary?” Rarity said. From the side street, someone’s yelp was cut off. “No. We respect personal liberty –” “Ha!” Rarity wondered if she was delirious. How long had it been since her last drink? “…and you are free to walk away,” finished Titanite. “Many gracious thanks, Commander,” said Rarity stiffly. “However, I’m afraid you simply must seek out someone who has had a less stressful day of not dying. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a pillow to cry into.” Without waiting for an answer, Rarity stepped around the affronted face and stumbled her way back to the big black tooth of a building. She hated just looking at it. She loathed the idea that she had to live in it. There were too many things to think about. Rarity shut them out the entire time, and spent so much energy doing so that she didn’t notice Applejack on the bed until she snored suddenly. Rarity sighed and made for the other bed. Trust Applejack to forget whose was whose. Defying her thoughts, she lay wide awake and tried not to wonder what kind of favour a commander-plus-underground-traitor would want. Something strenuous, almost certainly. Well, that was another pony’s problem. Not hers. She had enough of those rotten things as it was. “Superstar?” said Suri, contriving to sound utterly unbelieving while leaving room for a possible useful bit of belief, if one were so persuasive. Feldspar tapped the desk impatiently. “Listening now, are we? Yes, you’d have a special role to play. Face of the new Team Backstabbers is just the start. Everyone loves a bad girl image. And then there’s the studio – your very own studio! – as promised. And who knows? Teach you a thing or two about crystalline fabrics and we could set you up for your old career again. There’s always a call for fads and fashions. They’ll sell like hotcakes. Crystal hotcakes, with golden sprinkles. Made from actual gold.” And Suri was thinking: Hmm. Hatred burned on, but for the moment, the flame dimmed. “Superstar,” she murmured under her breath. Well, there was the comfort. After the last few days, hadn’t she dreamed of getting back to her old Manehattan life? Making dresses? Stealing designs? Tutoring useless assistants and making fun of them? Those were the best days of all. Assistant, though? The heck will I be anyone’s assistant. Those days are dead. I’m not going back THAT far. “How about some kind of managerial position?” she said. “I’d sooner put on hiking boots and jump on thin ice. What’s wrong with assistant? When you’re an assistant to me, you can’t get much higher without being a crystal pony.” “Yes, sure, whatever, yeesh.” Suri wondered if the hiking boots could be arranged, but dismissed that particular revenge plot as impractical. Cool as a true Manehattanite, she added, “My own studio, you say? Big one, is it?” “Practically a palace.” Deep inside Suri’s buried and scabby heart, a little filly bounced around squealing. Even the best Manehattan studios only occupied one whole floor. “Doesn’t sound too bad,” she said. “Magical Deathmatch season is starting. If you’re gonna be the new face, then I suggest you get to work on your sales pitch. The last pony couldn’t give this stuff away.” “What happened to them?” Suri said before she could stop herself. Feldspar giggled. “There’s an awfully nice statue down on Triclinic T-Junction. You’re welcome to take pictures, if you want.” Suri ignored this. If she paid attention to every petty threat thrown her way, she’d have never gotten far in Manehattan. “Not that it’ll come to that. You’re the creative type, right?” said Feldspar. There was a sneer behind those words. Suri added another item to a private list of grievances. Besides, in that sneer she heard a horrible copy of her own dulcet tones. “Yeah,” she said coolly. “Creative like a gallery. Heck, I could have my own gallery.” “Dream on, cutie.” Hatred flared up again. Suri needed all her city-born skill just to stop twitching. That list was getting longer fast. “Well?” Feldspar waved her away airily. “First things first. Go get me some coffee, assistant. Crystal cappuccino. We’re gonna have to rebuild the teams. Tuskcrusher will show you to the kitchen.” By now, all Suri could do was steady her breathing. The rest of her trembled with barely controlled fury. There will not be a hole deep enough for that little crystal freak. I’ll tear her limb from limb. When I’m through with her, there won’t be a single pony who’ll remember her name. One of the pigs stepped forwards and grunted. Glaring at Feldspar until she got sick of the sight of her, Suri followed it around the desk and towards the darker area beyond. A single archway led to more darkness, and a distant light, as though she were peering down a glacial shaft in the mountains. “Oh wait, one more thing,” said Feldspar. Suri turned. The crystal mare was standing on a normal-sized crystal chair, all blocks and sloping facets. However, it was raised several feet off the ground. Most of the desk was hollowed out, save for drawers and cabinets. Axles squeaked as the chair spun. That giggle was really starting to get on her nerves. Feldspar said, “For someone who’s not a villain, you’re handling your first kill awfully well.” Something snapped. Suri blazed with loathing. Nothing would work unless that cocky little crystal face was reduced to splinters. She marched straight for the chair – At once, the pigs surged forwards. Suri stopped. The pigs slowed, turning their charge into a menacing crawl. Every single one bristled with enough dental horrors to fit twenty different species, and all of them ate ponies. Cooler heads prevailed. Suri backed off slowly. To make absolutely sure, she raised her hoof to her eyes and then pointed at Feldspar. I’ll be watching you. I’ll make hawks look blind. Feldspar waved cheerfully. She was just the type to pull faces at a caged tiger. Suri knew that type. Groaning, Suri followed the pig into the darkness, with only the light at the end for company. Assistant. A mere assistant, me. There will be Tartarus to pay, you little crystal freak. She only noticed Peccary galloping past when they almost collided and she swore after him. Plots ran through her mind. Eat or be eaten, huh? Well, it’d work for her yet. She’d make it so. It’d work for her yet. Coco stumbled down yet another street. After a while, they blended into one another. Plus, her hooves were aching. Yes. Sadly, after all these blurry hours and exhausted miles, she had to admit she was lost. Every single empty house looked like every other single empty house. She’d only managed to navigate using the vast contours and stalactites of the cave roof, but half the time they hid behind the large buildings on the ground. “Excuse me,” she said to a passing pony. They merely lowered their head and hurried away. “Sorry to bother you,” she said to another retreating back. “I’d just like directions to… And you’re gone too.” She sighed. “Of course you are.” There was no community feeling anywhere. Ponies even avoided looking at each other. After the way they’d exploded with excitement all together in the arena, this was wrong. She could sense it through her heart. In fact, this city was nothing more than Manehattan version two-point-oh. Not because of how it looked – though the towers, general busy-ness, and night-life aesthetic certainly helped – but because of the ever-familiar sense that she could vanish overnight and no one would miss her. Ponies back home might eye her up suspiciously or rant at her if she tried talking to them, but in both cases the cloud of distrust was thick. Interesting. She wondered if this place had ever seen someone like Charity Kindheart. Obviously, not her. Just her type. Coco sorely wanted someone like her right now. Even the wide open streets felt dangerous. She passed a dark alley without a second glance. Being city-born-and-bred, Coco avoided alleyways on principle. And… there! That’s the tower. If such could be called a tower. The building was a mass of blocky spires, the inner ones rising higher than the outer ones until the lot resembled a gigantic crown. Under the darkness, the outline pulsed with a sickly green. Relief flooded through her. At last, a way to shelter! She had to get off these streets. She looked left and right. She saw… Um… She saw no branching streets. No direct path. Again, she’d have to walk round. On hooves that were killing her, to add salt to the wound, or at least to add more tramping steps to throbbing feet. Coco groaned and sat down. Enough was enough. Couldn’t the universe spare her the indignity for a change? Wasn’t it bad enough her career was going to tank like this? Alone, sans dresses, a mere shopping accessory to some country nouveau riche – Furiously, Coco shook herself down. Manehattanite spirit, usually weak and feeble, now roared within her chest. That's going too far. This is too far. Well, I’m not taking this lying down. I’ll march for as long as it takes. Then we’ll see whether nice girls finish last OR first. Such was her determination that she failed to notice the pony coming the other way. Metal dinged. Coco shook herself down and looked up. “Oh my word, I’m so sorr –” She almost bit her tongue. One of the crystal guards stood before her, sans helmet, sans partner, and – worse – sans any goodwill or good humour in her stare. “Eep,” Coco managed to say. “Pardon me, madam,” said the guard. “Can I help you?” Almost tripping, Coco backed off. “Eep – I mean, uh, s-sorry about that. I was just, um…” “My colleagues reported seeing you circling the plaza earlier. You seem to be lost.” “No, no, no,” said Coco. Guilt and reason gave her funny looks. “I mean, yes, sorry, yes I am. I’m trying to get to the Eleven Towers.” “Ah!” The guard’s face allowed a smile to peek round the corner of her mouth. “I know that region well. In fact, I have a house there. Allow me to escort you, madam.” “Oh, you needn’t put yourself out,” Coco said automatically, and then wished she’d thought before speaking. To her surprise, she saw the guard simply turn and watch. A floating platform leaped over the rooftops and then, as though noticing company, it slowed and guided itself to a stop right next to them. Instinct told Coco to steer clear of such technology. Throbbing legs and childlike wonder inclined her closer. Those pulsing lights were worth a few moments of silent awe. “It’s beautiful,” she said. The guard politely gestured for her to climb aboard. Childishly, Coco thought it’d sag the moment she stepped onto the platform. Crazy. Looked like something that’d shatter, but felt like solid stone. She couldn’t resist peering over the edge as the guard clambered up. “I’ll drop you off just outside,” said the guard. Around them, the edges curled inwards. Coco’s brief image of her tumbling over the side vanished. Obviously, they’d thought of everything. Even a couple of Diamond Bites hovered closer to watch them go. The thing lurched. Coco covered her mouth. Rooftops gently rose up. She’d fantasized about floating up on balloons when she’d been a filly, and apart from the balloons, the view was just as breathtaking as she'd imagined it. She dared herself to lean over the safety edges. “Amazing. How does it work?” “Lines of force. Many things work using lines of force. You’d have to be a crystal pony to see them.” Pride warmed the guard’s voice. “Wow.” Coco’s hoof slipped. She merely gave herself a jolt and a scare, but it was enough. She refrained from leaning after that. Up ahead, the Eleven Towers loomed. Then the guard spoke, and this time the timbre was deep and serious. “Miss Coco Pommel, up here we can speak freely.” Coco’s glowing joy iced over. She didn’t like that commanding voice. It promised no friends. Worse, it suggested enemies were a plausible option. Trying to remember anything from defence class years ago, she spun round. “What? What? How do you know my name?” “We can get you out of this place,” the guard said urgently. Her face was professionally blank. “You do not belong here. It’s clear from your life history this place will prove fatal to you. However…” “You can get me out?” Coco said. “However,” said the guard, adding a warning to her voice, “you in turn must help us.” “Who’s ‘us’?” Coco’s chest beat with hope and squirmed with suspicion. “Who are you?” “The name is Titanite.” “You’re serious? You can help me escape? But the others said –” “The other crystal ponies said what they wanted you to hear. They are not your allies, and they are not mine. They have no incentive to tell the truth.” “But you can help?” “If you help us, yes.” Coco nodded, sadly familiar with this tit-for-tat approach. Back in Manehattan, no one ever did anything for free. There was always a price. “This is too sudden,” she said. “I barely know who you are.” “Listen to me. Dressmaking is possible again. We can have you making dresses. We know your type. That’s where we need help.” Coco opened her mouth to object. But she’d said the magic word… Dressmaking. No. No, this was too good to be true. Manehattan had taught her that lesson as well. “Commissioned work?” she said suspiciously. “Total creative freedom. Our best at your beck and call. No one to tell you what to do or how to do it. We can provide you with a studio and a budget, but the rest is up to you. Think of it as a service. That’s all we ask, and then once you’ve made the dresses, we can guarantee your freedom.” Total creative freedom. Total creative freedom. “Sorry, could you say that first part again?” Confused, Titanite repeated, “Total creative freedom.” This time, Coco’s sigh was one of pleasure. Those words had been tossed around all her life like a game of keep-away. Now they were landing in her lap. She raised both hooves to pinch herself, but declined due to the presence of eyebrow-raising company. “Do I have to decide now?” Eleven Towers grew faster until she was looking up at one massive spire, and they entered its shadow. “No,” said Titanite. Gently, the platform tapped the ground. Coco declined the guard’s offered forelimbs and hopped down, stumbling slightly. “Take your time to think about our offer,” said Titanite. “If you change your mind, you can find us in Titanium T – Blast. I mean… The Silicate Centre. You can find us at the Silicate Centre. Ask for Titanite. They’ll know what to do.” Coco mouthed the words. Total creative freedom. No Suri. No stage productions. No wannabe divas shouting for coffee. No waiting for someone to take charge. No sales assistant work! I must’ve died and gone to heaven. Oh, please oh please tell me this is real. A frown crossed her face. Something wasn’t right. The way the guard talked. “Excuse me,” she called up as the platform drifted away from the ground. “Who’s this ‘we’ you keep talking about?” The platform hovered and then landed. Titanite leaned forwards. “Just think of us,” she whispered, “as the ponies who will abolish Magical Deathmatch. Forever.” While the platform disappeared over the rooftops, Coco stood and chewed her lip for a moment. It sounded like a no-brainer. She didn’t trust no-brainers. On the other hoof… what could be worse than waiting for the next brush with death? The screaming fans? The monsters? Suri, aiming at her? The one poor pony, vanishing? The flash? Everything for one moment resting on whether or not Suri had a conscience? Coco shivered. She’d think about it. That committed her to nothing. Fine by her. She went inside. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to come out for a good long while. She was used to being on her own. At least then, she had the only company she could – ultimately – trust.