//------------------------------// // Act 3 Chapter 45 : What part of 'Secret' do you not understand? // Story: Starlight Over Detrot: A Noir Tale // by Chessie //------------------------------// "Equestria made some powerful enemies down through the centuries, both because we refused to submit and because we were sometimes incautious with our own trade efforts. The industrial boom the first few years after Luna's return us chewing through resources at a speed that was quickly becoming unsustainable. If the war had not occurred when it did and been followed by the subsequent reductions in our rates of advance, events might have spiraled out of control within a matter of decades. As it is, we were faced with the need to check our own growth, lest we end up having to eat our neighbors or ourselves to survive." - A History Of The Cutie-Mark Crusades “And...that’s how I ended up here.  Pretty rough couple of days, if I do say so myself.  Thoughts, Princess?” “...I’m sorry that happened to you.” “Which part?” “All of it.  I didn’t mean to sound like I’m condemning your course of action.  I just didn’t understand.  Has Nightmare Moon’s...has whatever she did to you had any additional side-effects?” “How would I know?  It seems to manifest as pregnancy cravings the like of which nopony has ever seen before.  Did I want to get out of Quickie’s way because I wanted it, or because Nightmare Moon knew I wouldn’t be able to talk her down?  Honestly, I don’t have any idea.” “That’s a disturbing notion.” “Find me anything of late that is not a disturbing notion!  I dare you!” “Alright...alright.  You made your point. Tourniquet worries me, but she seems benevolent.  Though, to be fair, if you were from somewhere else and told me that somepony moved the Sun and Moon, I’d be pretty scared of them, too.  Broadside is a greater worry.  Do you have a plan for dealing with him?” “Broadside is one pony.  Dangerous, yes, but just one pony.  The P.A.C.T. is the biggest threat and the Family is an infection we will have to root out. Broadside said we destroyed his ‘family home’.  Unsurprising, but also leaves me wondering just how deep this conspiracy goes if they can plant one of their inner circle as the leader of the P.A.C.T.  The Family came to Detrot, built the city, and have been controlling its development for decades.  Right now, we have to take care of the Shield.  Disable that, and we have Royal support.” “I hope we can reach you in time, Detective.  If Celestia and Luna can work the magics to return Canterlot, they’ll be badly drained, uninformed, and we can’t risk them in direct combat.  I’ll come, though, and I’ll bring everything I’ve got.  A few hundred changelings and umbrum dropping out of the sky should make a real big impression!” “Should do.  Meanwhile, we’ll be training our people.  I’ve got the police department behind me and they’re training everyone.  We have less than four days and hitting the Office may accelerate the Family’s timeframe.” “I...I hate to ask this question, but timeframe to what?  Do you have any idea?” “I hate to say I think I do.  Broadside says the ‘big attack’ is coming then.  They’re probably giving their remaining troops time to finish transforming.  The city is a wish machine, right?” “Based on our research, I am inclined to accept that postulation.” “It’s powered by pain, suffering, and chaos. I think they intend to make their ‘big wish’ here in a few days. They’re going to unleash the P.A.C.T. and the transformed ponies from Uptown on the citizenry, drive everyone nuts, and use that burst of energy to make it happen.” “Oooh...that’s a...hmmm.  That makes a horrible kind of sense.  Then, I guess we should ask the next question.  What do we think they’re going to wish for?” “What do you mean?” “Think about it, Hardy.  What could they possibly want that a thousand years of preparation, the power to throw Princess Celestia and Princess Luna off the planet, and a whole city under their control couldn’t get them?” ---- I leaned my head back against the cool surface of one of the padded seats and slowly let the walkie-talkie roll off my hoof.  The new vehicles suspension was solid enough to absorb every bump and it was damn near putting me to sleep.  Too bad I couldn’t afford more rest, just yet. It’d felt good to tell someone everything, but the explanations had left me exhausted. Mags, who’d been laying silently against my leg, scooted over and put her head on my knee, looking up at me with her big, yellow eyes. “You be afraid, Egg Pony?”  she asked, softly. “I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t,” I replied, rubbing my forehead with the back of my leg. “You think we be going to die?” she asked, clicking her beak. “You’re going to live,” I answered, stroking her head.  “If I have to pitch your fluffy little backside into a universe hopping train and have the engineer cart you off to another planet, I’m making sure you live.” Taking that as an appropriate response, Mags hopped down and went poking her nose through the various compartments, no doubt looking for something to eat.  I looked up and found Swift watching me from one of the seats further down, her gun disassembled in front of her on a little folding tray.  Limerence was absorbed in a gilded, jewel-studded tome, and only the single ear cocked in my direction gave me any indication he was paying attention to his surroundings. “You have a question, kid?” I asked. Swift clenched her forelegs, tightly, then slowly forced herself to breathe.  “No, Sir.  I heard what I needed to hear.  Broadside is going down when I get my hooves on him.” I rolled my neck a little, then straightened in my seat.  “You have a plan for that, kid?  I’m fresh out.  We haven’t even seen everything they could bring to bear against us, yet.  As far as we know, they’ve still got a gun that can shoot through walls, at least one of the Moon weapons, and a number of full sized dragons hiding out somewhere on the edge of the city.  This is on top of the P.A.C.T. arsenal and some kind of weird mutation that makes ponies turn into suicide bombers that explode into black goo that negates most forms of magic.  Am I missing anything?” Limerence’s ear twitched, but he didn’t look up as he added, “They have a rogue necromancer in their employ and someone capable of breaking the Archivist’s security system.  It is most probably a current or former Archivist who somehow slipped through father’s screening procedures.  I have been monitoring the Archive’s message exchange arcanum.  It’s been accessed, repeatedly.  They are also likely aware that I have been accessing it, as they have been more carefully covering their traces.” “Right. All those things,” I said, drawing a little circle on the seat in front of me with my toe.  “Point being, I don’t even know what we can bring to this fight, yet, but I’ve got no guarantees that we have any actual advantages.  If you want to roll against Broadside, I’m going to need to hear a plan.” Swift chewed at her lip, then curled her forelegs under herself.  “Sir, how can you be so...so nonchalant about this?  He killed you.” “And believe me, I’m feeling a bit of resentment—,” I replied, “—but I don’t want the city awash in the blood of bystanders. That means we have three days to figure something out.  Tomorrow we’re headed for the Office.” Limerence shifted on his seat and slowly shut the book he’d been reading.  “I do so very often wish that great magical power didn’t come with such emotional instability,” he said. “Quickie or Jade would be very useful in these circumstances, if they could be relied upon.” “I’m pretty sure Mom just needed to get that out of her system,” Swift murmured,  “She doesn’t like feeling helpless.  When the time comes, she won’t even bat an eyelash at thumping some baddies.” “I can relate,” I added, looking up at the ceiling as tiny, pink zebrican runes danced in little circles around the light fixture, like playful pixies. “Kid, has Tourniquet made any headway toward disabling the shield around Uptown?” Swift pursed her lips.  “I can ask her when we get to Supermax, Sir.” “Why not right now?”  I asked. “I...I can’t hear her inside the truck.  Everything is muffled and my...my magical sight isn’t working. It’s making me really nervous.  It feels really enclosed and there’s no electrictrical lines.  I think it’s even E.M. shielded. I wish—” “You want to complain, Swift, you can get out and fly,” Taxi grumbled, kicking us into a higher gear that set the floor vibrating. “In here we are safe from dragon-fire, spell-fire, electrical discharge, and high explosives. It took forty ponies two days to enchant the armor and I burned out half a dozen horns making sure the exterior plating would take an armor piercing round without buckling.  Do not criticize the…the...ehm...”   My driver hesitated for a moment, then fell silent. I slipped off my seat and trotted into the front compartment.  I peering out the windshield, squinting at the darkened street. We were just edging around a bit of a broken blockade made from two wrecked buses, but there didn’t seem to be anything particularly dangerous out there. “The...what, Sweets?” I prompted, relaxing a little. Taxi tugged her braid down her shoulder as she squeezed us through the gap with barely a meter on either side “Oh?  Nothing, really. I just realized that I never came up with a name for it. I was going to break a bottle of champagne over the front bumper and everything if we hadn’t run out of the Vivarium like scared rats.  Thanks for that, by the way.  I knew you should have just left Iris somewhere doped up with enough Ace to leave her comatose for a year or two.” “I’m starting to agree.  Still, we can’t have a ride without a name.  You have any ideas?” I asked as I slid into the passenger seat again. She shook her head. “The lead engineer was a pony named ‘Tea Pot’, and he kept sending me bits of paper with the words ‘Wheelie Bunker’ across the top.  He’s from Trottingham, though, so I’m pretty sure that’s a play on ‘wheelie bin’. I’m not calling it that.” Swift stuck her head between the seats.  “We could call it the ‘Death Cab For Cutie-Marks’!  It is a mighty pony war taxi, after all!  I saw some of the weapons.  Where’d you even get a grenadine launcher?  I thought the syrup was super illegal in Equestria.” “It is, but Stella had a stock he was willing to part with in the name of saving the world,” Taxi replied. “Grenadine?” I asked, quizzically.  “Are we trying to get our opponents drunk?” “It’s draconic booze, Hardy,” she explained.  “It comes from a plant that grows on lava flows.  Mix it with a solution of gasoline and it burns hotter than magnesium. And before you ask, no, I’m not naming it the ‘Death Cab for Cutie-Marks’.  We’re not in a Crusades era propaganda piece or a comic book.” Limerence called from the rear of the truck, “I suppose calling it ‘Alcoholics Pugnacious’ is too accurate.” “It’s a little much, yes,” I grumbled, glancing at the beer bottle I hadn’t realized I was still holding. We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the tires rumble over the pavement.  The storefronts, lit by the infernal, eternal eclipse rolled by like empty-faces in a crowd, though we were quickly nearing the great, empty stretch of land between Detrot and Supermax.  It had taken us longer to reach than the last time we’d driven that way; the roads were in worse condition and there were more blockades, though all seemed to have been abandoned. I was just finishing my beer when Mags piped up, “I be having a name!” Taxi and I exchanged a slightly weary look that said, ‘Fine. Indulge her.  How bad could it be?’ “Alright,” I said, swallowing a sigh.  “Mags, what is your idea?” My ward poked her beak around my seat and fluffed her chest feathers, proudly.  “It be full of big lizard drink, right?” “Uh...yeah?” “Then it be the Dragon Flagon Wagon!” ---- The D.F.W. toodled down the wasteland road toward Supermax at good speed, though in deceptive silence.  A steady trickle of pink smoke had gradually filled the compartment with a friendly haze of whatever magic the engine was leaking.  It was enough that I started to feel my muscles unkink, letting my brain drift.  I was dozily watching the road and feeling pretty gnarly dejavu, when the great prison appeared in the misty distance.  Coiling about the upper floors like an amorphous, cloud snake devouring an especially difficult prey, the File Cloud boiled and seethed with arcane energies. Once in awhile, an arc of lightning in a rainbow of colors would lance out, striking one of the corners of the rooftop. A low fog was blanketing the wastes, leaving the windows damp and vision limited.  It might have been natural, or one of the prison’s new defensive measures; I’m not a pegasus and I’ve never been sure how they can tell the difference between normal weather and the curated stuff. “Swift, do they know we’re coming?” I asked. “Yes, Sir!” she answered. “Sweets, shut off the camo.  I’d rather not surprise anypony with a rocket launcher.” Taxi tapped the button on the dash and there was a soft thrum from the engine. “We’re visible.  I hope the P.A.C.T. aren’t looking this direction just now,” she murmured. “I don’t think it matters to them one way or the other,” I said.  “They’re confident.  I want to keep them that way right up until the noose closes and the floor drops out from under them.” “And...do we have a noose?” Limerence asked, padding into the front compartment, a bottle of apple-juice with a straw in it floating beside him. “We’re here to buy some rope,” I replied, watching the approaching building with only a bit of trepidation.  “Sweets?  Are we still punched into the police radio network?” Taxi shrugged and pointed at a dial on the console, then a mic nestled in a holder just below it.  “The department’s transmitting equipment probably got eaten by beasts from another universe, but I can’t imagine the engineers broke the radio for laughs. Why?” I gave the dial a quick spin, then picked up the mic and pressed the ‘talk’ button. “Ahem...breaker one niner.  This is King Cop to the Queen of the Signal.  Call back?” For a long minute, there was nothing, but finally the speaker sputtered and a cheerful trumpet reveille played so loudly I had to jerk the mic away from my face, lest I be deafened.  It went on for a moment, then was replaced by a familiar, husky voice and a jazzy jingle. “All hail the conquering champion!” Gypsy crowed.  “I knew you’d make it!  Nothing keeps a good cop down for long!  Incoming roads are open and we’ve got the red carpet ready! You’re clear to approach the Everfree Fortress!” “Good to hear it, Gypsy,” I replied, settling back in my seat.  “How are you and Tourniquet getting along?” “She’d scare the fur off me if I had any left, but no worse than some of the things I’ve seen in the File Cloud!  Oh...by the way, somepony else wants to say ‘hello’!” There was a slight shuffling and a weak, distant voice whispered, “Hey Hardy…” I hesitated, then gripped the mic tightly in both hooves.  “Wait...is that…-?” “It’s me,” she said, so softly I wasn’t sure I’d heard properly.  There was no mistaking it, though;  Radiophonic Telegraphica, back from the great beyond. “Telly!  Telly, by Celestia’s fluffy butt!  Are you alright?” “If you’re asking whether or not I’m alive, I’ve got no idea, but I can’t talk for long.  I’ve got to concentrate on keeping myself together in here. It feels a bit like I’m balancing a bunch of spinning plates on my head.  It’s easy to get lost.” “It’s fine, Telly.  Do what you need to do.  It’s just damn fine to hear your voice, again!” “You too, Hard Boiled.  Be careful.  I’ve got fifty bits in the Fortress betting pool on you only dying after the last cockroach if everything goes to shit.  Don’t let me down.” “I hope you never have to collect that, then.  Be there soon!” ---- Up close, Supermax was looking less like a prison and more like a modern art installation funded by a rich, security conscious maniac.  The File Cloud obscured much of the roof, but I couldn’t see any sane pony wanting to try to fight near the simmering field of magical energies growling and snapping, lit from within from time to time by strange lights.  It looked much less like stable weather and more like a dance party inside a cumulonimbus. Rows of sand-bags, decorated with the Aroyo’s style of strange paint and zebra symbols lined the road up to the building, forming little bunkers and fall-back points.  They were manned by dozens of alertly armed sophonts, standing at attention, eyes following us in; zebras, griffins, ponies, and yaks stood shoulder to shoulder and all had at least a pistol or two. Amongst their number a few pieces of heavy weaponry stood out.  There was a gaunt earth pony with a sort of mobile turret mounted on his back with a saddle and seemingly operated by his partner, a muscle-bound griffin hen who was casually smoking a pipe as she lay against the sandbags and watched the sky.  They were working alongside a team of four zebras manning what I could have sworn was an archaic catapult, though knowing the Ancestors it was probably altogether more deadly. The D.F.W. was drawing more attention than I liked, but then it wasn’t designed for anything like discretion unless you liked giving your audience a radiation sunburn.  Most of the mass of armed persons was pretty orderly and none broke ranks to get a closer look.  It made me wonder who was training them, though considering most sported Aroyo markings or bright red crescent moons (or both), I should have guessed outright. We trundled into the formerly disused parking lot, which had been packed to brimming with all manner of cars and vehicles.  At the giant front gates, Wisteria and the Cult of Nightmare Moon’s lawyer, Geranium, were standing side by side next to the security door.  Wisteria had her foal in a saddle-side holster on one side and a rifle on the other, while the unicorn was wearing a thick layer of body-armor, though no weapon. Taxi flicked the ignition switch and set the parking brake, then shoved her door open.  Wisteria’s purple mane was blowing as she chewed on one of the piercings in her lip like a nervous school-filly waiting for a date.  Geranium looked like she was anticipating a dinner of lemons, limes and fresh piss. I opened my door and the stairs slid into position.  My driver appeared at my side, offering me her foreleg to lean on as I descended.  My legs were feeling more stable than a couple hours back, but I doubted a jog was in the cards, so I took the proffered support. “Well, well, well...What’s the idiot done to himself, now?” Geranium snarked and Wisteria gave her a sharp jab in the ribs. “He died for our cause, ye bruja mare!” Wisteria snapped, “Tie dat sharp tongue in a knot!” The former-lawyer gave me a crooked smile, rubbing the spot she’d been elbowed as though it were a regular occurance.  “He died? He looks mighty lively.  I’d like to think if he were going to die, he’d have the grace to leave instructions to free the innocents he allowed this machine to enslave.” “Ye be eatin’ too much for a slave, bruja,” Wisteria grumbled, then turned look up at the truck.  “We be welcomin’ ye back to the Fortress Everfree, Crusada.  De Lady In Shadows be waitin’.  I and I see ye have a new ride.  Lovely, it be.” “Aye!  I named it!” Mags chirped, dropping onto my shoulders from the front seat.  “It be the Dragon Flagon Wagon!” “And a fine name it be,” Wisteria replied, reaching out to chuck Mags under the chin.  “So, Crusada!  Lady say ye be running from an angry mama-bear.” “Tomorrow is going to be a bad day,” I said,  “Today?  We plan.” “Sir?” Swift murmured, leaning against the truck’s back fender.  Something about her voice was a little strange; she sounded distorted, like I was hearing her through a bad speaker. “Kid...uh...I don’t know how to ask this gently, but do you know your head is glowing?” She nodded and the soft, yellow halo of flickering light around her skull faded slightly. “Sorry, Sir..  Tourniquet is helping me get up to speed on what all is going on.  It’ll go away soon.  Can I go interface with her?  We’ll clear you a path downstairs.  You should probably talk to Wisteria, though.” “Um...Sure,” I muttered, then gave my whole body a good shake.  “At some point you’re going to explain to me why you’re unworried every time something magical happens to your body.” Swift grinned and licked her fangs.  “Sir, after my teeth changed I’m pretty sure a part of me started getting off on it, just a little.” “Oh Celestia!” I groaned. “Kid, I’ll pay you to never say that in front of anyone else.” “Too late,” she giggled, nodding at the wall behind me.  I looked up to find a camera with a blinking red light peering down at us. “Ugh! Go do your ‘interfacing’!  Just make sure you get a shower when you’re done!” Her ears flattened and she clenched her back legs together, tucking her tail between them. “I-it’s not like that—” “Yeah, I’m sure, kid.  Shoo!” I waved a hoof at her and thankfully Taxi was still pressed against me, else my legs might have failed me again. Swift lifted her nose in the air and attempted to look like indignantly regal as she marched toward toward the door to the prison.  Pausing with one leg on the handle, she looked over her shoulder and said, “Just because I like you, Sir, doesn’t mean I won’t have my best friend—who is the whole city of Detrot—zap you in the tush!” “And just because I like you doesn’t mean I won’t tell your mom—the maniacal pony who destroys buildings when she’s mad—that you’re ‘interfacing’ without introducing her to your marefriend!” My partner gulped and darted inside.  I waited until the door slammed shut, then sagged against Taxi.  Recovery, it seemed, would have to wait. “Dat was...evil, Crusada,” Wisteria commented, folding a wing over her happily cooing foal.  “I and I must hear dis story of de angry ma-bear who destroys buildings.  But first, I ask, what happen to ye legs?” “Egg Pony got himself set on fire and all shot full of holes like stupid cardboard target,” Mags groused, giving me a flick in the ear with one of her talons.  I rolled my barrel and she squealed as she was dumped on the ground.  She squirmed about until she was on all fours and glared up at me.  “It be making him grumpy.” “We’ll walk and talk.  Mags, go find something to eat and try to keep yourself from being seen, would you?”  I said.  At the word ‘eat’, Mags face lit up and she scampered through the security door before I’d reached ‘would you’.  “I swear, that kid is going to kill me…” “Ye should be so lucky, Crusada,” Wisteria snickered.  “Dat be de easiest of deaths I and I see in de future.” “Sweets, do you mind coming?” I asked, offering my leg to her. “I could use a crutch.” “I’m pretty sure we’ve been using each other as crutches since we were kids, Hardy,” Taxi  replied.  “You want to change that, now?” “Not a chance.”  I slid my leg around her neck. “If you don’t mind, I believe I too will go find something to eat,” Limerence mused, trotting down the truck’s staircase and shutting it behind himself.  “Once I’m done, I will wait with the vehicle should we need to make another panicked retreat.” “Make sure nopony screws with it,” Taxi added.  “I don’t need more amateur Aroyo electricians under that hood until I’m there to supervise.” “I and I could just order mine to stay away from de ‘Dragon Wagon’,” Wisteria commented, an amused glint in her eyes. “No less than four foals found their special talents while ‘helping’ me with the design,” Taxi grumbled. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Aroyos in the last few days it’s that ‘don’t touch’ is not in your vocabularies when there’s technology to fiddle with.” “Aye, that be true.” “Now, if only they’d get a few cutie-marks in cooking,” Geranium complained, turning on her rear heels and heading for the security door.  “I haven’t eaten a decent meal since the idiot locked me down here, then upended the planet!” “Ye know he be not de source of de troubles!” Wisteria barked. “I know nothing, because nopony tells me anything!  It’s all ‘go talk to crazies about not being crazy, bruja mare’ and ‘stop seducing married stallions for fun, bruja mare’ and ‘don’t eat all the ice-cream, bruja mare’!  Nopony will even tell me what ‘bruja’ means!” “It means ‘witch’ in Zebrican,” Taxi said, rolling her eyes as she helped me hobble toward the thick steel door. “Witch!?  You’ve been calling me a ‘witch’ this whole time?!” “I and I call ye only what ye earn,” Wisteria replied, pointing toward the picket lines out front of the prison.  “Now, go see if de guards be needin’ coffee, bruja mare.” I thought, briefly, that Geranium might fight her on that, but it looked like an argument she was used to losing.  Heaving a put-upon sigh, she headed out towards the rows of sandbags and the attentive guard posts.  I watched her leave and slowly shook my head. “Part of me hoped she’d learn something having to serve others,” I murmured. Wisteria snorted and gave her foal a quick squeeze with her wing.  “She be never sayin’ it, but she be happier.  I and I catch her singin’ when she makes de coffee or sweeps de floors.  She be thinkin’ I do not know she sleepin’ wid one of de Aroyo boys, but half dat wing hears dem at night when she be forgettin’ silence magics and he bites her ears.” “Huh.  Well, whoever he is, give him my best.  I was a little worried somepony would end up putting a bullet in her,” I said. “Dat I will do,” she replied, following me through and letting the door swing shut. I looked up at the now-familiar walls of the prison and let myself relax.  There’d been so many bad days of late, and yet, Supermax was a place I could be assured of my own safety.  It was probably a mistake, mind you, but I’d only had a little under twelve hours to recover emotionally from being a charred corpse before we had to beat our hasty retreat. Overhead, the three levels of prison cells were all thrown open and the occupants moved about with purpose.  There were foals hauling ammunition, aging mares moving food stuffs, and clever-taloned griffins hiding extra guns at choke points, all to generally making the already nigh impregnable fortress a little more impregnable. The din of moving hooves, feet, and other appendages was marked by something strange; a complete lack of conversation.  The work was being done in almost total silence. I studied them for a moment and, slowly, a pattern started to emerge. “They all have Tourniquet’s mark…”  I murmured. “True,” Wisteria said, scratching at her tattooed jawline with one toe.  “It be strange, but busy work be done more quickly and dey do not object.  Dey be like...many bodies, but de one mind.  At de end of de day...dey awake and dance, sing, and be ponies again.” I shuddered as a tiny filly with shining eyes who was carrying a pile of blankets on the level above us walked cleanly underneath a towering griffin without so much as brushing one of his legs.  Neither she nor the griffin acknowledged each other and she continued on her journey to points unknown as though nothing had happened. “Mercy.  This is going to take some getting used to,” I muttered. “You’re not kidding,” Taxi whispered, her eyes roving over the crowd of creatures moving around one another with unerring dexterity.  “Oy...and Swift is the queen.” “Don’t remind me.  It could be worse, though.  Tourniquet is a good seed.  This won’t be the first group who integrated into Equestrian life from some strange place.” “I know if I could leave my body to do paperwork while I sleep, I’d do it in a second,” she added, thoughtfully. “Me too,” I muttered, then stomped a hoof as that same shiver that’d been working on the back of my neck started creeping into my chest.  “Let’s leave the philosophical implications of this to ponies who’ve got more time to waste.” “Heh, I and I be less worried de more time I be spendin’ wid dem,” Wisteria said, holding out a leg toward one of the side passages.  “Dey work, yes, but de magic...she be not very creative.  Dey do not write, nor sing when de magic is on dem.  De Lady of Shadows be liking song and dis be only de way tings be because we must get tings done quickly.  She say we have but four days, till blood will run in de alleys.” ---- The lower levels were a blessed relief from the bizarre ‘factory floor’ sensations that pervaded the prison proper.  I heard the first strains of a familiar old show-tune being belted out by a scratchy baritone, then laughing voices exchanging cheerful greetings. As we rounded the stairwell, we came across a young colt with a mane desperately in need of a cut sitting on the steps. “Epoxy!  I and I be tellin’ ye to stay off de steps!  Ponies got to be walkin’ here!” Wisteria admonished. The colt leapt to his hooves.  “Sorry, Marm!  I and I just wanted to see de Crusada’s friends!  De Warden came through and since de Crusada be dead—”  His mouth slowly fell open as he laid eyes on me.  He took a step back and his flank bumped against the railing “D-dead?!” he squeaked. “I would take it as a personal favor if you didn’t tell anyone I’m not,” I said, quietly. “B-but dis be...dis be fake?” he asked, shoving a hoof into his mane and producing a wrinkled flier.  He thrust it at me. On the flier it said across the top in an obnoxiously officious font, ‘All Who Opposed Equestria Will Die.’, then below that was a black and white picture of a charred body, curled into a fetal position, laying on the front walk of a smoldering house.  Most of my face was still reasonably undamaged, though the fire had done a number on my ears and one eye.  I could see where the gun harness had melted into the flesh of my neck.  The photography was cheaply done, but effective; probably a corner-store camera. Across the bottom, in bold letters, there were these words: ‘This is Hard Boiled.  He opposed efforts to restore law and order to this city in a misguided effort to take control of the police department and destroy what little remains of Detrot’s government.  He was killed after taking multiple hostages.  His final act was to set fire to this house and everyone inside.’ Acts of criminality or riot will be met with maximum force while we attempt to take back our fair city from those who would threaten her.  Curfews remain in effect - Stay inside your homes, do not leave, do not see to neighbors or relatives.  We will restore order and discover what has happened to the Princesses.  Remain calm.  This will all be over soon.’ Staring at my own scorched remains, I thought I smelled a hint of smoke again. “It’s real,” I said, softly.  “I mean, the garbage at the bottom isn’t true, but that picture is me.” “So what dey be sayin’, dat ye cannot die—” the colt began, but I cut him off with one hoof on his. “I can die.  It just doesn’t stick.  I can’t explain it here, but please keep it to yourself that you saw me.  I’ve had a tough couple days and could use some rest.” A mischievous smile split the colt’s face and he pulled a marker out of his mane, then held it out.  “I and I can do dis...for de Crusada’s autograph?” Popping the end off the marker with my teeth, I reversed it and quickly scribbling ‘Hard Boiled, Crusader’ across the picture of my dead body.  I passed it to him and he took it in both hooves like an object of worship, then looked up at me with glistening eyes.  I could feel Taxi’s expression over my shoulder, but I was carefully not looking at her. “Put that somewhere out of the way for a couple days, alright?”  Reaching out, I cupped Epoxy’s head and pulled him into a conspiratorial huddle.  “Can you imagine the look on the baddies’ faces when I show up again out of nowhere?” The colt’s eyes lit up and he nodded, then scampered up the steps the way we’d come, his prize held carefully in his teeth.  Wisteria grimaced at his back, then started down the stairs again. “Sweets?  You have something to say?” I growled, resting my weight on my driver’s barrel again. “Just that you’re going to have to run long and far to avoid scenes like that becoming a regular occurance.” “If Princess Celestia tries to bring any medals near me, I want you to have the D.F.W. running and ready to leave the country,” I said, tugging at my coat collar.  “I am not doing ceremonies, press conferences, or late night talk shows.” ---- Whatever witchcraft Tourniquet pulled managed to clear the hall nearest us, then Wisteria led us through a number of side-passages and maintenance tunnels which were, likewise, empty, though almost all showed signs of recent occupancy.  It seemed any spare inch of space on a wall was fair-game to one of the army of bored artists hiding in Supermax while the world outside slowly froze.  I let my hooves follow Wisteria whilst quietly studying the paintings. My own face showed up more than a few times, alongside the words ‘Crusader Will Save Us’.  There were plenty of interesting sexual suggestions involving myself, Swift, or Sweet Shine.  There was a picture of a cab that was, if anything, more improbable than the monster we’d just ridden in on; I don’t remember the Night Trotter having eight wheels, giant fins, or Princess Luna in lingerie hanging off the back wielding three alarmingly phallic warhammers. Despite the months to adjust, it was still a little intimidating to realize just how far and wide the story of Crusader had managed to spread, helped along by what I’d come to recognize as an irritatingly efficient public relations team. At last, after a trip that’d taken longer than it would have on better days, we stood outside the open door of the Supermax control room.  The place still smelled strongly of stale beer, but somepony had at least thrown some clean sheets over the couches, cleared out most of the bottles, and replaced the bong-water with something that looked a bit fresher.  It made me long for my own sofa, now ashes and springs, laying in a burned out pit somewhere across town. Through the open door to Tourniquet’s chamber, I could see a long dining table fit to seat twenty ponies, which was covered in a giant map of the city.  A soft, yellow glow radiated from overhead, casting thin shadows over the table.  Tourniquet and Swift were nowhere to be seen, but toward the back of the massive space I could see two glowing, red eyes and hear a pair of soft snores; Goofball was laying back there, keeping watch. “Come on in, Hardy,” Tourniquet said, her voice sounding like it was next to my ear.  “We are waiting for you.” Carefully disengaging my leg from Taxi, I gave her a reassuring smile as I stood on my own four hooves.  My knees trembled, but held as I plodded into the chamber and onto the carpeted floor space.  It was so very different from that evening not long ago when my partner, my driver, and I stumbled into the lair of a murdering cultist and found a half-metal child, weeping in the dark. “Who all is ‘we’?”  I asked, limping to the table and studied the map for a moment.  It was covered in notes, pins, and felt-tip pen, but was still recognizable as one that typically hung on the wall of most of the public libraries. A swirl of something like blue smoke poured down from overhead in a thin, curling stream and alighted on the floor.  Dual yellow lights flickered into being as the cloud took on a vaguely equine shape.  Gypsy’s hooves settled on the carpet and she slid onto one of the benches, crossing her ethereal knees one over top of the other.  I couldn’t be sure, but I thought that misty face might have a smug smile on it. “Well, I’m here, daddy-o.” “Is...is that...Gypsy?  The disk-jockey from the radio?” Taxi asked, a bit of alarm in her voice. “She’s also the pony who controls the File Cloud.  Gypsy, meet my driver,” I said, waving at her forehead. “Good to meetcha, Sweet Shine! Big fan of your work!” My driver’s brow knitted together.  “My work?” The ghostly figure shrugged and a manila folder seemed to flow out of her forelegs, landing on the table.  She pushed it across into Taxi’s waiting hooves.  “Early on, before I figured out how the Cloud worked, I had nothing to do but read police reports all day.  Detrot might have seen an epidemic of Red-Sky if you hadn’t caught Dizzy Mal.  They found out that stuff builds up in your system if you’re not a minotaur.  Two years of regular use and one day, you suddenly go into a violent rage until your heart stops.  You saved a bunch of lives.” Taxi picked up the case file and flicked through it.  A tiny smile crossed her face as she came to the picture of her and Fox Glove, standing side by side over the cuffed form of a grimacing stallion.  She ran a toe down her partner’s cheek, then sighed and shut the file. “Sorry to bring up bad memories,” Gypsy murmured, quickly taking the file and stuffing it into her own chest where it vanished in the fog. “No, those were good memories,” my driver replied.  “Fox Glove used me, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t have some good times. I got my revenge, so I can remember him fondly.” Before I could ask what she meant, a soft buzzing filled the room, then a swarm of Ladybugs poured in, landing on every available surfaces and all across the map on the table. The tiny insects perched on the bench, on the floor, and a few on my shoulders.  I gave them a little shake, but they refused to be dislodged.  A moment later, Queenie zipped in behind them, the giant bug landing heavily on the bench beside me, turned in a little circle and settled. “Ahhh, it is good to see the Detective again,” it chirped, “We most enjoyed your latest death!  Extremely violent!” “I wondered where you’d managed to hide yourself during this,” I grumbled.  “No soaps to keep you interested?” “Quite the contrary!” Queenie replied, cheerfully.  “We have found little need of soap operas of late! You ponies seem bent on making the world as exciting as possible!” I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my muzzle.  “Who else is attending this little meeting?” A rattling laugh rattled through my brain as my grandfather strolled out of the darkness beside Goofball.  The great brute of a dog let out a frightened yelp as the tweed-jacketed skeleton seemed to appear at his front leg.  The beast’s two sleeping heads jerked awake and quickly centered on the intruder.  A soft growl boiled out of all three of the demonic hound’s throats, but my grandfather seemed unimpressed.  He leveled his empty eyes-ockets at the mighty creature until, with a soft whimper, Goofball set his heads back on his legs. “Now, then...Isn’t this interesting?” Bones cackled.  “I see a ghost, a bug, and a dead pony walking.  That says to me ‘secret meeting’, and thirty years on, I find I can’t get enough of those.” “Bones, isn’t it?” Gypsy asked, drawing a swirl of misty air behind her leg in the shape of a dog bone.  “You’re popular talk at the Vivarium.  You made an impression, strutting into the commissary, declaring you needed cigarettes for the war effort, then muscling into that poker game.  I’m pretty sure half the ponies in that room are still wondering if someone slipped them something in their evening rations. Quite a few are claiming that even the dearly departed are working for Chief Dead Heart.” “Isn’t that the case?” my grandfather replied, settling himself at the table. “Tell me you didn’t...” I groaned. Bones opened his coat, showing a fresh pack of cigarettes tucked in his pocket.  “Believe me, it did less harm than lurking around craving a smoke would have.  I may or may not have also said you were the favored of the heavens and the Princesses’ chosen warrior of light or some such nonsense.  Those ponies needed a morale boost.  You never saw such a bunch of drooping faces.” “And when somepony wants to know why a jovial skeleton is wandering about smoking and playing poker, I just tell them he’s my prophet or something?” I asked, irritably.  “Speaking of that, how are you here?  Did you follow me?” “Prophet!  I like that!  I didn’t follow you, though.  It’s amazing what you can learn with a little discrete lurking in the place everypony else is avoiding.  That ‘Jade’ pony is a nasty customer, isn’t she? She was drinking in the commissary and muttering about peeling your flesh off and wearing it for a coat.  Then she got this big smile that would have set my testicles crawling into my throat if I still had any.  I asked around until I discovered the most likely place you’d run if somepony were to try to kill you and went for a little run through the sewers.  Now then, let’s get this conspiratorial planning session going!  Anypony mind if I smoke?” “I mind.” Tourniquet’s ‘voice’ shook the chamber from end to end, setting the dust jumping in the air.  Bones paused, a cigarette halfway to his lipless teeth, and slowly spat it back in the pack.  He glanced at Gypsy whose expression might have been smug, if she’d had an expression to show, then at Queenie, who was eating a cake roll it’d gotten from somewhere. Overhead, light pulsed across the ceiling, spreading down the tangled web of spaghetti-like wires as they began to unwind like a bundle of flexing, metallic worms.  The roof bulged downward, expanding until it began to sink toward the floor in a way that reminded me of a deep sea creature’s pseudopod.  It gradually unraveled, spreading open until it revealed my partner and Tourniquet, laying on a bed of cords and wiring. Swift lay there, dwarfed against the mechanical pony’s chest, wrapped in her forelegs like a foal.  The size disparity was well on the way to disturbing, since Swift only came up to Tourniquet’s chest and the construct was looking entirely too much like an alicorn for my comfort. She hadn’t sprouted a horn or anything of the sort, but the wires tethering her to the ceiling had taken on a golden sheen closer to where they connected to the spine and her gem-like eyes shimmered as flashes of electricity danced inside them. I coughed into my hoof and Swift jerked a little, then sat up and opened her eyes; they were still glowing, if anything more vigorously.  Her mane looked a right mess, sticking out in every direction.  She had a blissed out smile on her face. “Now, there’s something you don’t see everyday,” Bones mused, tucking his pack of cigarettes away as he addressed the two of them.  “I recognize the short pegasus, but what sort of beasty might you be?” “I’m not a ‘beasty’ of any sort,” Tourniquet said, curtly as she carefully separated herself from Swift. “My mother built this prison to keep me alive. My circulation fans are old, though, and I’d like to get another few years out of them before they need service.  You are the first Hard Boiled, right?” Bones let out a hissing chuckle, smacking himself on the chest with his foreleg.  “That I am, Miss Cogs!  I met a few people that were more metal than pony during the war, but you look like you decided to camp out in a dragon’s mouth!” “At least I don’t look like I camped out in a graveyard!” she bit back, then stuck her tongue out at him. “Heh, fair enough!  I’m still getting used to being amongst the undead.  Thirty years is long enough to think things through, but you don’t really get to come to terms with death when it’s the difference between waking up with skin one morning and waking up the next without.”  His eyes drifted over to Gypsy.  “And what are you, Miss?” “Scientific idiots during the war using an ancient magical nexus to store a living body,” she replied, blowing a bit of fog away from her face like a strand of smoke.  “Take it or leave it.” “Hrmph.  Succinct, but I’ve heard worse.”  He turned to Queenie.  “Now, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this here looks like a...a Ladybug swarm, but...you aren’t a ladybug, unless somepony stuck a magnifying glass to my head.” “You may call our representative ‘Queenie’, Mister Hard Boiled!  It is most pleasing to see what is left of you once more!  I had believed your death to be permanent and found time between ‘Lives Of The Restless’ episode sixty eight and ‘Forever The Young Shall Eat Cake’ episode one hundred and ninety three to feel true sadness!  It was most exciting!” “I take it back,” he grunted, pulling a flask out of his pocket and tipping it back over his teeth.  “Definitely a Ladybug.  So, let’s get to it, shall we?” “Mister Bones, does the word ‘secret’ mean nothing whatsoever to you?” Taxi asked, sliding into a seat beside the skeleton. “Much the same thing I’m sure it means to you, Miss Shine,” he replied, passing her the flask.  “Now, I could be cooling my hooves at the Vivarium, teaching wet-behind the ears children which end of a gun makes the loud noise, but you’ve got a commando sitting here with more field experience than all of you put together and I suspect you’re planning an assault on The Office which is like to pile up some bodies. I figure it can’t hurt to offer my expertise.” I leaned over the giant map and nudged one of the pegs sticking out of it.  “Well, as you say and so long as you’re here.  The Office is where I intend to hit, but as you can imagine, there are complications.  Tourniquet, Swift, have you two figured out how these bastards are evading detection?” Swift was the one who answered, stepping up to the side of the map and putting her knees on the edge of the table.  “Yes and no, Sir. We’re pretty sure they’re using some kind of magic like the Scry, except in reverse.  They did take one of the Moon Guns, but those are powered by the moon and we don’t know how the eclipse-” “Oi!You lot let these maniacs get ahold of the Luna Lasers?!” Bones groaned. “Luna Lasers?” Gypsy asked, the lights in her eyes dancing merrily. “Weapons prototypes from the war,” I explained, then nodded.  “Bones?  You know something about those guns?” “They’re what that monster on your leg is based off of,”  he said, reaching across to tap the sleeve where my revolver was hidden.  “There were some experimental enchantments on them; early versions of the spell that eventually became the Grand Shadow.” “The Grand Shadow?” I asked. “The anti-tracking magic on the Crusader weapons.  I would imagine, if they got a bit to study them, they might reverse engineer something useful from those spells.  Still, I thought all the Luna Lasers were destroyed.” I gave him a sardonic look.  “The same way you destroyed the last Crusader?” He had the good grace to look a bit embarrassed.  “I don’t trust dragons, son.  Never have, never will.  Those were different times.” “Not as different as some of us might like,” Gypsy commented, swirling around to one side of the table and pointing toward one edge of the map.  “Our most recent estimates say there are at least twenty full sized fire breathers on the outskirts at any given time, each taking a different sector of the road network.  Considering we now know the Emberites were only holding part of the northerly areas, that leaves us in a right pickle.” “We know when they’ll attack, at least,” I said, tapping my toe on the map where a red ‘x’ was marked with the words ‘Office’.  “Four days from now, they’re coming for us, one way or another.  If we take the Office tomorrow, though, we’ll eliminate their biggest information advantage; the Scry.” “We’ve got no shortage of bodies and weapons to throw at them, but that’s a lot of death I think we’d all rather avoid,” Bones murmured.  “What’s your plan, Hardy?” “Right now?  I...hrm…”  I tilted my head to one side, then the other, trying to get a feel for the positions available.  Bits of red string seemed to suggest the places where diamond dog tunnels ran, while the sewers were marked out with Aroyo iconography.  We controlled much of the city below ground level, so long as one didn’t mind tromping through crap or dog mines, though there was less the closer one got to Uptown.  “Alright, we need to hit the Office as quickly and quietly as possible.  Do we have any information on how fortified that position is?” Tourniquet extended a single wire from her back and used it to trace a circle around our destination.  “Detective, I’m pretty sure it makes my security look lax. It’s in a nexus of positions within the city which we’ve been able to track by having our people ‘pop up’ in different locations and try to attract P.A.C.T. attention.  They’re not very discriminatory with dispatching kill teams for any group of ponies on the street greater than ten or fifteen.” “What’d you learn?”  I asked. “That playing chicken with killers is dangerous,”  Gypsy commented, propping her chin on her ephemeral hooves.  “On the upside, our losses have been minimal, and we know their response times to any given point in the city.  They’re protecting very specific areas, which include the Office, but they’ve got that spot locked up tight.  Anypony who even looks like they’re going near it, they’ll have ten squads of Blackcoats using them for chew toys inside of six minutes.  An air approach would give you about three minutes.  That doesn’t address the issue of guards on site.” “What about the sewers?” Taxi asked, pulling her checkered saddlebag up onto the table and rooting around until she found a celery stick to chew on.  “Could we use the Underdogs and burrow in?” “Not unless you fancy trying to dig through five meters of reinforced, enchanted concrete,” Bones said, dusting at his jacket.  “Apple Bloom never built anything by half measures when she had a budget.” “She doesn’t build anything by half measures without a budget, either,” I said, dryly.  “Still, if we’re not getting in from the air or underground, and a surface approach is probably a death trap...where does that leave us?” Taxi squinted, then leaned back in her seat. “Distraction,” she murmured. “Sweets?” “A distraction, Hardy.  They’ve set up a situation perfect for dealing with small, relatively uncoordinated groups of ponies or that assumes they can perfectly track our movements.  Why don’t we use that to our advantage?” Bones rubbed his jawline in a way I found internally upsetting for some reason, not least because it made a noise like chalk grinding across asphalt.  “Hrm...I think see what yon filly has in mind.  If I were these Blackcoat bastards, I’d want staging areas around the city.  Those need regular resupply and fresh troops and they think the only credible threats to them are holed up in little forts and too scared to come out for a tussle.  Mighty fine targets, if you ask me.” “So we hit the staging areas,” I said, nodding as the shape of their plan unfolded.  “We could take a few dozen small teams of five or ten, move them into position underground, then do as much damage as possible with explosives and spellfire, then retreat after we’ve confirmed a response.” Tourniquet’s crystalline eyes spun a bit faster, then she let out a soft, whining breath.  “I wouldn’t trust anypony who hasn’t taken my mark to organize all of that in this short a timeframe.  The odds of being spied on are too great and all it takes is one and the jig is up.” “Then they’re the ones we’ll use,” I continued.  “We’ll operate in cells.  Each cell has a leader, who is one of the marked ponies.”  I sucked a breath as something hit me.  “Oog...We’re going to be tipping our hoof something fierce letting them know just how coordinated we are.” “I do believe our hooves will be tipped by almost any action we take,” Bones agreed, “Still, best do it undermining their information superiority, right, ladies and gentlecolts?  Without this ‘Scry’, they’ll have to rely on scouting.  If they want to attack us, they’ll be doing it blind.” “While the attack is going on, we hit the Office in the transport with stealth mode,” I explained, tugging off my hat and using it to point at the main access road towards the skyscraper in question.  “We’ve got a grenadine launcher that’ll melt through anything and enough horsepower to pull the front doors off their hinges.  With their support pulled away, all we have to do is get inside...and...get upstairs.  Damn.”  I turned to Bones.  “I don’t suppose you could draw us a map of the interior, could you?” “Oh, I could, I suppose…” he mused, then clacked his teeth together and one of the lights in his eyes vanished for a half second.  I realized he’d winked at me.  “Or I could come along!  Hard Boiled and Hard Boiled ride again!  They’ll never know what hit ’em!”