Manehattan's downtown maze was still up and kicking, and, at night, it was a sensational maze with all the spotlights, searchlights, streetlights, city lights, and other kinds of lights including flashlights wielded by a group of ponies entertaining urban hikers with flashlight juggling. Carriages and wagons, either civilian or military, ran on, always in a hurry and only slowing down to drop a passenger and pick up another one—and off they went, sometimes with the driver rearing and whinneying for show or style.
One of these dropped passengers was Long Shot, who bade farewell to her two reporter friends, waving at them waving back at her, shouting goodbye's.
Alone she now was at a busy intersection where masses of ponies and non-ponies walked or, rather, jogged and scurried to wherever. Quick, few-sentenced exchanges were flung and lobbed, ending as quickly as they begun. For a few seconds, she was blinded by the fast and large lights.
So it was, again, in Manehattan.
Amidst the hubbub and the pedestrians pressing on her from all sides, she could hear a distinct chorus of three voices:
"Get your carrot dogs here! Only three bits per 'dog"
Long Shot's ears perked up. "Carrot dogs? Boy, do I need some chow right now!"
Dodged and avoided several ponies coming the other way.
Skidded in front of a little wheeled stall with a crudely drawn picture of a carrot dog at the top, its logo. Below that, behind the counter, three young ponies and a freckled stallion grinned at her, with Babs adding a sharp turn of her brows, giving Long Shot a cheerful scowl.
"We're the Cutie Mark Crusaders!" Sweetie Belle yelled.
Long Shot held on to her hat against the wind, glancing here and there as more ponies passed by her. A few had stopped to note the yell.
"And," Tender Taps continued, tap dancing his way closer to her, "we're selling carrot dogs! The finest in town!"
"Just like every other carrot dog stall," Babs murmured aside, rolling her eyes while keeping up that totally optimistic smile.
The stallion chuckled. "Yeah, m-my name's Star Tracker and I'm giving these foals a chance at earning their cutie marks, because why not?" He raised his hoof up in the air, shrugging with only one hoof. "Hey, I'm helping these ponies with their destinies 'cause I have nothing else to do. It's a slow day."
Long Shot licked her lips. "Alright! Win-win for every one of us!" She hoofed out a purse. "I'll have two plain carrot dogs, please!"
"Coming right up!" Sweetie shouted.
She levitated one of the grilled and charred carrots from the heater.
Taps caught it in the grasp of a long bun.
Babs squirted ketchup and mustard on it.
Star Tracker hoofed it to the customer in line. A line only one pony in length.
Long Shot gave the three bits to him.
Took the carrot dog.
Ate it.
The Cutie Mark Crusaders smiled, leaning closer and about to fall.
Gulped it down. "Delicious!"
"Does that mean you'll buy more?" Sweetie inquired.
She shook her head before wolfing the rest of it down.
"Huh?" the Crusaders sounded out together, looking at each other perplexed.
Long Shot wiped her mouth.
A carriage swerved to a harsh halt behind her. Silently except for the gruffs, Mr. Stripes paid the driver and trekked away, blending in with the rest of the fuzzy crowd.
Sweetie's eyes rested on him, distracted.
"So, what yer' sayin' is, you like what we're cookin'," Babs reasoned, "but you say 'No'?"
Long Shot nodded. "I only wanted a fast snack. After that, I have to return to my apartment. Gotta rest up, catch my Z's. Tomorrow's gonna be reckoning day for us newsponies, and I can't wait to see what'll happen."
Babs grumbled, taking off her smile. "You can always buy one for the go, you know."
Star Tracker took a step back, shifting his eyes and refraining from the filly and colt.
"That'll take up my time," Long Shot said. "It's awfully late and—"
"It's only seven," Babs said, pointing at a large clock streetlight illuminating the corner across the road.
"Seven is very late for us on the journalism side of things!" Long Shot replied, sweating. Muttered to herself: "Wow. I didn't know this one's got the attitude!"
"It'll only take up thirty seconds of your time, so quit your whinin'!" Babs shot back, raising her voice.
Sweetie whispering to Star Tracker in the background.
Taps grabbed a hold of Babs. "Uh, i-if she doesn't want to buy another carrot dog, then let her be! We're not supposed to force our products on these poor, innocent little ponies!"
"They're not poor and they're not little!" Babs hollered, pushing the hoof away from her and slapping him with it. "They got bits and that's what we're aimin' for, right?"
"We're aiming for our c-cutie marks, remember?"
"Oh." Babs rubbed her chin. "Right. I remember." Looked up at the confused reporter and pointed at her. "That doesn't mean we don't see through your excuses, ma'am!"
Taps shoved her to the side, facing Long Shot with a failing grin. "Eh-heh! Ta-da! That was our...presentation?" Coughed and resumed his grin. "Have a fun night, uh, sleeping on your bed!"
"Why, thanks!" Long Shot said. She looked at Star Tracker who was busy quietly speaking with Sweetie. "Star Tracker, they're really good at making and selling carrot dogs!"
"Wait one sec, miss," he said, holding up a hoof as he listened to Sweetie's whispers.
It was Long Shot's turn to say "Huh?"
Babs and Taps looked back, too.
Sweetie nodded and rushed to her fellow Crusaders. In an apprehended voice: "Guys, come with me to Rarity's."
Taps's teeth clacked. "Wh-Wh-Wh-Why? There must be trouble brewing o-over there. I kn-knew it!"
Babs lightly whacked him on the back of his head. "Get yer' butterflies outta' yourself! It can't be that serious."
"Y-You saying that makes it e-even more serious!"
"If what Sweetie Belle says is true," Star Tracker said, hastening his nervous speech, "then we gotta move!"
And he was the first one to gallop away, pushing the cart ahead.
The Crusaders followed him, galloping.
Long Shot trailed behind, dodging and avoiding yet more ponies—streetlights, trees, boxes, carriages, sewer holes, moving clotheslines.
The zooming blur disappeared when she and all of them stopped before that boutique, Manehattan Boutique.
Where sobs and screams pealed from the inside as some mover ponies carried boxes of precious suits and dresses out the door.
"Out of the way!" Star Tracker yelled as he and the rest of them—Crusaders and Long Shot—pushed past them and stormed the fashion store.
Inside, almost empty—a floral scent, perfume. Platforms and racks where trendy attire used to be on display. A single carpet survived, but it was pulled out of the boutique by some other movers.
At the center, a pleading Mr. Stripes before an armored blue pony.
A few hoofsteps away, Rarity weeping, face covered and away.
"Look, sir!" Mr. Stripes begged, on his hind legs' knees, bearing the fashionista's wailing nearby. "What about we, uh, we compromise? I'll send Rarity out, give her new job away from the dirty factories and mills! Rarity will be fine, I will be fine, you will be fine!"
"That's not how the order framed it," the armored pony said, rubbing his shiny metal leg guard. "Rarity is an important pony, important for the cause. Her ideas have caught our interest, and we know that she can be helpful in concocting up better uniforms that'll look good and be good."
"But, you can't send her to factory!" Mr. Stripes shouted, eyes welling. "Please! Understand me—I know what it feels like, because I have lovely wife and wonderful daughter—"
"Your family doesn't concern us at the moment," he said, brushing that off with a hoof's swing. "Who we're concerned about is Rarity, who could prove to be our chief uniform designer." He looked up. "By the way, what do you call that? Military dressmaker? Martial seamstress?" He shook his head. "Nah. Doesn't sound smooth to the ear."
Rarity broke out to another hysterical scream, turning around and showing her face splotched with running mascara.
Mr. Stripes grabbed him by the leg. "Please, General Radar! I don't want to be responsible for sending her off to a cruel fate! Don't you know how bad it's to work like factoryponies?!"
"It's wartime," Radar said bluntly. "We suffer the necessary losses to advance the war, give it a short end."
"But, Radar—"
The general put a hoof to the landlord's mouth.
"If you're not going to obey orders...someone else will."
Glanced at the bawling Rarity raising her hooves to the air.
Peered at a back door.
"Maud?" Radar called out, putting a hoof beside his lips. "We got a pony who's not willing to cooperate with us."
And the door was kicked out, sent flying through the air and barely above Star Tracker and crew (and the movers as well) who dodged the dangerous object. It landed on the road outside, casuing many carriages to veer and lurch around it, almost crashing into each other.
Out of the dust, an unkempt and scarred Maud trotted her way to the general's side, ignoring Rarity's cries.
Radar bit his lip. Without looking at her: "Maud, take her to the carriage."
Rarity's screams ended. "What?! No! I will not be carried off!"
Stood up on four hooves.
Gray hoof caught her tail.
Smashed against the wall, cracking it.
"Rarity!" Star Tracker, Long Shot, and the Crusaders cried out.
"Rarity, no!" Sweetie Belle shrieked.
Rarity fell down to the floor.
Eyes closed.
Picked up.
Maud walked to the door, with an unconscious Rarity in tow.
With Star Tracker and friends standing between her and the noisy Manehattan outside.
"Out of the way," Maud simply said in her monotonous voice. "Official military business."
Sweetie pushed the others aside, standing in front of the Rock Trooper. "How dare you?!"
Maud blinked.
"You think you can beat up my sister like that?!" Sweetie howled, eyes dead on at her. "You think you can just swing my sister like that?!"
"Yes, I can," Maud replied.
And walked past the ponies.
Sweetie dashed around her and pushed against her hooves.
Yet Maud walked on unimpeded into the outside.
On the road, parked by the sidewalk, a large carriage with a huge wagon hooked up to it, movers hauling the boxes of clothes to the wagon.
Maud threw Rarity up in the air.
She landed in the wagon, gone from sight.
"No, no, no, no!" Sweetie cried out.
Jumped at the wagon.
Stopped by Maud's stretched out hoof.
Fell down flat.
"Sweetie Belle!" Babs and Taps cried out as they ran to her, picked her up and put her back on her four hooves.
On the sidewalk, cold and windy, lit up bright as ponies slowly assembled to witness what was happening outside the boutique.
Star Tracker and Long Shot ran outside, seeing a sobbing Sweetie Belle beside her companions doing their best to comfort her—pats on the head, hushed words.
"Hey."
The two looked around to see the general behind them, standing against the interior's light.
"What I'm about to say...you probably heard it before," the general said, a stern expression. Pursed lips. "I did what I had to do. After the general failure we've had earlier this morning, we need to redouble our efforts. I'm...I'm sure that you understand."
Long Shot pushed a hoof against his chest. "How can we understand pulling a dear pony from her life's ambition, her talent, her dream?!"
"You..." he looked away. "You must be new to this, aren't you?"
A pause as she nodded, Tracker looking at her. "Received my license a month ago."
Radar rested his head on the doorway. "Well...you gotta know how we think through this. Do I look cruel at times? I...think so. But, it would be crueller to be kind, to give in to everyone who cries and weeps at my hoofstep. If I did that, everyone would be happier right before Sombra destroys Manehattan and all who live in it." A sigh. "The best I can do: Hold it off no matter what."
Looked at them with half-open, reflective eyes against the night.
From the sidewalk, Sweetie Belle's muted sobbing.