//------------------------------// // Authoritarian Rebellion // Story: All-American Girl: The Third Law of Motion // by Cody MacArthur Fett //------------------------------// Equestria! We have grown muchly over these past years. Indeed, we have grown to rival even the great old nations of the Eurasian continent, but it has come at a terrible cost. That cost, my friends, is our independence in the industrial and military fields. Instead of relying on our own developments, we have taken them from the Yankee. His armaments are our armaments, his interests are our interests, his economy is our economy, and whenever those change in Washington, the government in Canterlot leap to match. We have become a satellite state to the US, and we have not a single American to blame. They offered charity, but it is we who took it and became dependent on it, making for grand consequences should they ever revoke that charity for whatever reason their flighty democracy has enter their heads. Living financially and economically on American charity, selling up the house to the Yanks when he won't pay any more charity out. Are you content to be occupied and protected by American aeroplanes? Are you content to be in the position of an old mare, gypped by her young relations? You who were the greatest power on Earth fifty years ago, and still can be! Why do I say, 'you still can be'? Because, my friends, I know you, I know the Equestriani people! I know that twice in my lifetime, in the war I fought in, in the war the Elements fought in, we the Equestriani have put forth our effort, our energy of valor, of heroism, unequalled in the history of the universe. It is for that reason that, here in Manehatten, in Trottingham, and in other cities across Equestria, the Fascist movement is taking ground. We remember what it is to be part of this nation and all the great things that we have done. We also remember that this great land needs protection that is all its own. Sadly, in this day and age, it simply isn’t just a matter of making some grand speeches to rally the population. It requires direct action. And that’s what the Fascist Legions, the Goldshirts, are for. They shall affect direct change in the community to counteract the rot of tribalism and to help all Equestriani who need it to further the bonds of friendship between them. Together in Equestria, we have lit a flame that the ages shall not extinguish. Guard that sacred flame, my brother Goldshirts, until it illuminates Equestria and lights again the paths of sapientry. “Where is she?! Where is my sister?!” Brisk Printer roared as he ran up to the front desk of Charity Kindheart Memorial Hospital, still clad in his painter’s overalls. The earth pony receptionist didn’t seem phased and tried to placate the clearly distraught human who was easily twice her size. “Easy now, sir. Now, does your little sister have a name?” Brisk let out several ragged breaths before replying, his voice more worry than panic now. “Keytone.  Keytone Printer. I’m her brother, Brisk.” “And I’m her mother, Ardent Printer,” the self-introduced pegasus explained as she came in with three foals in tow. “They’re all mine too.” The receptionist’s eyes widened slightly before she refocused herself on the screen in front of her. “Right. That should be enough information. . . . There. She’s in surgery right now with visiting MD Dr. Silver Sutures. Her father -- your father --  is already in Waiting Room 3. Place your smartphone on the grey pad in front of me to download the directory.” Brisk did so, and as soon as there was a confirmation beep, he was off at an impressive gallop, despite his shortage of legs. “Make sure to give him his ID band when you catch up,” the receptionist told Ardent as she handed off a bundle of five white bands to her. The atmosphere inside Waiting Room 3 was so tense that it could be cut with a knife, and as he shifted and paced about, Brisk looked ready to do just that. Lack of a knife notwithstanding. “Son, sit yourself down and try to remain calm,” Fit ordered him. Brisk snapped around like a black mamba to meet his father’s gaze, his brown eyes burning with a rage that made his younger siblings shrink back in fear. “My best friend is dead,” he growled, his voice seeming to hitch at the last word. “My sister might soon follow him. Why should I be calm?!” His voice was a broken scream, making his siblings retreat even further. Ardent, for her part, just looked heartbroken and full of pity. Fit did not flinch away from his son’s gaze and instead held it, his own bright eyes boring into his son’s dark orbs like a pair of lasers. “We can’t do anything right now. Keytone is in the hooves of the best surgeon in Equestria and in the best trauma ward in the country. All we can do is wait, and you scaring your siblings like you are isn’t going to help anything,” Fit said firmly as he continued to hold his son’s gaze until the boy flinched away. Brisk fell down into the chair behind him like a puppet with its strings cut. “It’s been hours,” he moaned morosely. “Why hasn’t anyone come in and told us anything?” “They probably just don’t want to say anything before it’s done, to make sure they don’t worry us,” Fit reasoned. Brisk felt like making a snide comment about them not accomplishing that goal but glanced at his father and decided to hold back, shame displacing his anger. Here his dad was, the stallion of the house, and him the unstable one. His dad had been at the scene of the attack and had watched Keytone being loaded into the ambulance; he more than any of them had cause to be upset, but instead, he stayed as calm as a mountain stone. Brisk resolved to follow his example. “Shadow, Benday, Dot?” Brisk addressed his siblings. “I’m sorry if I scared you, it’s just . . .” He paused, as if searching for the right words. Shadow filled them in for him. “It’s okay, big brother. We’re all worried about Keytone.” He looked at the graphene-furred pegasus filly for a moment for moment before nodding. The waiting room descended into a tomb-like quiet after that, nopony finding anything they could say to improve things. It continued on like that for so long that time as well as sound seemed to lose all meaning. A knock at the hallway door cleared their minds like the gentle bump of a thunderclap. The clock said that only half an hour had passed. The door opened, and in walked a slightly pudgy, green-furred earth pony stallion wearing a police uniform with the stench of tobacco smoke following him around like a miasma. “Alright, which one of ya is Fit Printer?” he asked, seemingly bored with the very act of breathing. Fit got up from his chair and walked in front of the police officer, the eyes of the whole family upon him. “I’m Fit Printer.” “Right, so I’m supposed to get your statement on the stick and birdbrain that got whacked out on 54th street. Just tell me what you saw, and we’ll have this over in a jiff,” the police officer said, pulling a pencil and notepad out of one of his coat pockets. Brisk’s nostrils flared, Fit’s face seemed to grow unnaturally calm, and Benday asked if his sister was dead. While Ardent was trying to calm the younger foals down and assure them that Keytone was still in surgery, Fit decided to continue on. The police officer had the pencil in his lips and was waiting for a response. “Yes, I arrived on the scene as soon as I found out what happened.” “Did you see who commited the crime?” “No.” “What did you see?” “An MPD patrol car, officers examining the body of Gabriel Graystone, and an ambulance taking Keytone off the street and loading her into the back. I asked where they were taking her and followed,” Fit reported. “OK, so the birdy died on the pavement, and the stick died on the way to the hospital. That about right?” “Keytone Printer is still very much alive and in surgery as we speak,” Fit said serenely, “and she is not a stick, she is my daughter.” “Whoa there, buddy! Calm down! I didn’t ask about what kind of pets you owned, I’m just trying to get to the truth so we can all go home,” the police officer said, sounding strangely genuine. “Then why don’t you listen to what he’s saying?” Brisk objected, frustration clear in his tone. “Hey! Calm down, twiggy. One more outburst like that, and it’s the clink for you,” the police officer officer said, pointing the hoof holding the notepad at the human in what was clearly an attempt to be threatening. Fit glanced between the police officer and his son, as if confused by what was happening. “Do you know who we are?” Fit asked curiously. “No, and frankly, I don’t give a buck,” the police officer said, impressing Brisk with his blunt honesty. “We’re the Printers, owners of the Manehattan Beugel, the largest news company in the city,” Fit explained, as if introducing the family for the first time. “Never heard of ya,” the police officer said, much to the incredulity of everypony else in the room. The police officer then got very close to Fit. “But are ya threatening me?” “No, sir, just stating the facts. It’s my job,” Fit said respectfully. The police officer grunted and then went back to scribbling in his notepad. “Witness arrived at scene after the fact, found gryphon male dead and human female receiving medical attention. That about right?” “Yes,” Fit said. “Good. Have a nice day,” the officer stated tensely before pocketing his notebook and pencil. After that, he left in such a rush that it was a full ten seconds before Fit turned around to address his family. “I think that was one of the most bizarre encounters I’ve ever had.” “I got it all on tape,” Ardent said, pulling out her smartphone from where it hand been laying behind her. The screen showed one of the more popular recording apps that she would often use for things like grocery lists. “Thanks, honey,” Fit said before being interrupted by the ringing of his own phone. He took it out of his shirt pocket, and his eyes widened at the caller ID before he answered. “Mac?! You have got the best dramatic timing of any stallion I’ve ever met.” “A strange compliment, but I’ll take it. May I ask why though?” Mac’s voice said over the line. “Well, I haven’t heard from you in months, and then, out of the blue you call just as I finish one of the weirdest conversations of my life,” Fit explained, moving to sit back down on his chair. “What happened?” Mac asked, sounding curious and genuine. Fit quickly relayed what had happened in the most efficient manner possible. At the end, Mac let out an angry sigh that, for some reason Fit couldn’t explain, unnerved him. Something had definitely changed about his former employee since he decided to get into politics. “Bastard. I’m sorry you had to live through that, my friend. Pass along the same to your family.” “I’ll be sure to do that, but why did you call in the first place?” “To ask how you and your family were holding up, and to give you some information.” Fit’s right eyebrow raised briefly. “What kind of information?” “I know who killed Gabriel and attacked your daughter. Two of my ponies were astute enough to follow when they heard the sirens, and when they reached the scene, they interrogated several eyewitnesses and found out that they were attacked by a group of masked ponies dressed entirely in red. I shouldn’t have to tell you whose colors those are,” Mac reported, and as he reported Fit’s countenance became increasingly serious and furious. “The Purehooves,” Fit growled. “Who else? I hope you don’t mind, but I’m e-mailing you the information my ponies gathered along with the names of the witnesses. I thought you and the old crew would like to update that headline on the site.” “We would. Thank you for everything, Mac. I won’t forget this,” Fit said enthusiastically. In his office in the Yellow Zone, Mac demurred, “Think nothing of it, my friend. In fact, I’m just an anonymous informant.” As he closed the connection, Mac spun around in his office chair to face his lieutenants. If there was something good to be said about the headquarters of the Equestriani Fascist Party, it was that the lighting was extremely thematic in the evening. The neutrally grey earth pony stallion Collective Consciousness, currently his chief propagandist, was covered in golden rays, while the navy blue unicorn mare Enigma Mirror, his chief of intelligence, was cloaked in shadow even though she sat just a few feet away. “Collective,” Mac began, “I think it’s time you got back into politics. There’s an election for mayor coming up soon, and you are going to win it.” If Collective Consciousness had any sort of emotional reaction, he didn’t show it. “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, sir, but the next election won’t be for some time.” Mac gave an expression of faux shame. “Well, you got me. It’s really more of a special election. Which brings me to you, Ani, because you’ll be arranging it. After all, someone has to let the mayor know about the allegations against him.” Enigma gave an equally jovial smile. “I do believe we have several things on file about him.” “Good. Now, I believe it’s also time we unseated the rest of the police and politicians in this city with connections to the Purehooves. We’ll have to rally the legionaries at the start, but we can get a lot more ponies with the proper motivations. Let’s start with something simple like, ‘Hey, hey, ho, ho, these corrupt cops have got to go.’” Apple Tree grumbled as he walked up the stairs to the apartment complex where his penthouse was located. The day had been like walking through Tartarus with the bucking newspapers going on about the murder. All that was left was the agonizingly slow trip to the top. Being mayor had its perks. He had just hit the button for the top floor when a unicorn mare wearing saddlebags entered the elevator herself. As she did, she hit the button for the second highest floor and slipped in alongside him. “Good evening, Mr. Mayor. Fancy seeing you without your bodyguards. Brave move with this city’s crime rate,” she said far too cheerily. Apple Tree gave her a sideways glance before responding. “Yes. When I’m home, they screen visitors to the apartment complex; it’s far more private that way.” “And I bet that privacy is something you find pretty useful,” the mare commented, her cheery demeanor never wavering. Apple Tree was sure there was something up, so he decided to skip right to the chase. “What do you want?” “Why, to help you get out in front of this scandal, of course,” the mare answered before her horn glowed pink, and a manilla folder floated in front of him. It opened to reveal things that could get a pony thrown away forever just for looking at them, especially if that pony was in them. “Colt cuddling, boy busting, tomfoolery, todd trembling, and a bunch of other fun ways to say ‘child rapist.’ Quite the palate,” the mare’s saccharine tone was now completely at odds with what was happening. “Where did you get these?” he asked, unable to stop fear from creeping into his voice. “Oh, Mayor, it’s the twenty-first century, everypony has a camera with them at all times now,” the mare said, and if it was possible, her grin got wider. “But like I said, I’m here to offer a solution to your problem. You see, the ponies who took these pictures are going to post them all over the internet in a few days, but if you get out ahead of this and resign first, then they’ll have no reason to do anything to you. Which would be a good thing to prevent it from coming to the attention of your royal relative. Make sense?” The elevator dinged on the second to last floor, and the folder snapped shut and returned to the saddlebags. “Remember, you’ve only got a few days,” the mare said as she left the elevator. The doors were almost closed before he slammed a foreleg through the gap to get them to open again. “Hey, wait a . . .” Apple Tree started before the doors opened to reveal nothing. She was already gone. Chief of Police City Lights couldn’t help but turn his nose up at the mass of ponies and other creatures marching through the street below the abandoned apartment that had been converted into a command center. There must have been thousands of them in the morning air, many of them wearing yellow and/or carrying signs that demanded things like justice and an end to corruption. Idiots. If these foals thought that they were going to get anything by repeating the horrors of twenty years past, they were out of their trees. They would bring only ruination and destruction. Still, so far, they had been remarkably peaceful, despite their rowdy nature, and he would be cursed if he let the lines of riot troops around the protesters be the ones to start the fight. “Sir?” one of his lieutenants asked, getting his attention. “Yes, what is it, Lt. Storm Rider?” City asked, gladly turning to look at his subordinate. A couple of the protesters were carrying a fabric display banner that was playing looping footage of the attack on Gabriel Graystone and Keytone Printer that somepony had recorded on their smartphone. It cut out before anything really nasty happened, but there were only so many times a pony could watch that and stay sane. “The mayor has ordered us to fall back. I was sent here to make sure you didn’t panic when the posses start to disperse,” the lieutenant reported. City’s eyes eyes narrowed and then widened in shock as he processed the information. “In Celestia’s name, why?” “He said that our presence was only increasing tension and that we should just let the protesters blow off steam,” the lieutenant answered, as if not believing it himself. “Damn him,” City cursed before turning his head to catch the eyes of everyone else in the command center. “Nopony goes anywhere. I want this command center up and running, no matter what happens.” City galloped past the lieutenant towards the door. “Road Pig, you’re with me. We’re going to talk the mayor out of this insanity.” The two earth pony stallions galloped out of the room and down the stairs as fast as they safely could, sometimes skipping two or even three steps as they practically flew out of the apartment block. They passed by a group of retreating police ponies on their way out the door, and City barked at them to defend the building. The protest was taking place several blocks away from the city hall, so they didn’t have far to run, but with his officers dispersing, City felt like like every second counted. That made that run one of the longest of his life. Luckily, he and his family had spent their entire lives in the city, and he was sure to find the fastest route possible. The pair reached City Hall in short order and dashed up the stairs to the entrance, throwing open the door and locking eyes with the secretary. “We need to see the mayor,” City declared as the pair strode over to the secretary's desk. “Now!” The secretary, a small earth pony mare with wire frame glasses and earbuds, just looked bored. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to wait; he’s in a very important meeting right now.” “I’m the Chief of Police. Who could he be meeting with that’s more important than me during a major security incident?” City demanded. “The city exterminators. You know how important they are, and how much they hate surprises,” the mare informed them. City stared her down for several seconds, cursed, and then spun around to walk towards the windows overlooking the steps to city hall. “Tell Apple Tree that the Chief of Police demands an audience as soon as possible.” The secretary shrugged, then turned back to her computer. Officer Road Pig looked at her strangely before going over to City Lights’ side. He looked to be in another one of those moods. “You know why I’m doing all this, Roadie?” City asked. Road Pig grimaced at the mispronunciation of his name, but didn’t bring it up. “I have a good idea, sir.” “It’s for my children. I have three foals, two fillies and a colt, and I want them to grow up in a city without civil unrest. These rabble rousers stand in the way of that future and must be swept aside,” City said wistfully. Road Pig grinned wickedly and then leaned in to whisper into the chief’s ear. “The kickbacks and tail are nice too though.” City Lights let out a sinful chuckle while grimacing in disgust, thinking of the dark furred mare he had bedded just two nights ago. He didn’t know her name, but he made sure to get her something nice with the extra money the department had before the next budget got rid of it. “They don’t hurt.” Road Pig let out a ‘heh’ before fishing his smartphone out of his pocket. They were going to be a while. “I feel for the Printers, I really do. They’ve been in this city for as long as I can remember, but starting all this over their stick daughter and her coltfriend won’t change anything; it will only make things worse.” “What else are they supposed to do?” Road Pig asked jokingly. “Accept it and move on, like the rest of us do every time something like this happens,” City answered seriously. “Damn it. I want to change this city, I want to so badly. I want it to rise up from the ashes, reverse this damn decline we’ve been in for the last two decades, and once again be known as the greatest city in Equestria, instead of the nation’s shame. Maybe they think this will help, but Luna take their souls to Tartarus, where were they when Gaston Greyfeathers was torn apart last year? Where were they when Perrywinkle had her brains blown out last week? Where were they when that zebra birthday party was attacked by the Purehooves back in ‘41? Where were they when all the other deaths happened? Did they only just now start to care because it happened inside the Green Zone? They weren’t even that far inside.” “I think it’s the Equestriani Fascist Party that’s organizing the protests, sir,” Road Pig said, briefly looking up from his smartphone. “The Fascists!” City cursed. “Rabblerousing idiots in search of a time that never existed and bullying anyone who doesn’t conform to their delusions. They are merely the pawns of that fiend, Macaroni, their ‘Boss.’ Their attempts to bring about a unitarian collective from diverse species shall end only in their own destruction. They are almost as bad as the Purehooves, almost.” “This is the first time they’ve called for your head,” Road Pig pointed out helpfully. City Lights rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Roadie. Maybe there’s time to fix all this yet though.” “Purehooves have shown up,” Road Pig stated, once again wincing at the nickname. “What?!” City said, whirling around to face Roadie, who was helpfully holding up his smartphone. On it was displayed the terrifying sight of ponies in red masks and hooded tracksuits marching on the protesters while wielding bats and clubs. As they started laying into the protesters, an old mare wearing a black and gold hoof band was bashed in the withers by some faceless thug. And then they appeared. "They" were a second group of ponies wearing yellow and gold, advancing from both within the crowd and from a side street. "They" were one of the rumored Fascist Legions, now appearing for the first time in public; they too wore masks, but otherwise stood out as having members from all species. The two groups collided, and a full blown street brawl was on. City turned away and stomped towards the secretary. “We need to see the mayor now.” “As I said, chief, the mayor can’t see anypony . . .” City ignored her and continued marching towards the mayor’s office. “Hey! I just said you can’t go in there!” “The mayor can bucking fire me for all I care!” City yelled back. Road Pig pocketed the smartphone and ran after his commander. When he found him, he was at the mayor’s office and shaking the door handle. He yelled for the mayor several times before giving up. “Buck! It’s locked. Roadie, help me bust this thing down,” City ordered. Road Pig let out a growl of annoyance but took up position alongside the chief with their rears to the door. “Okay, on the count of three,” City began, tensing his muscles in anticipation. “One, two, three ... ” With a mighty rear and a buck, the two stallions laid hooves to the wooden doors with enough power to smash clear through the door’s handle and locks, and the doors themselves flew open in an explosion of wood and metal. Shrapnel bounced off the carpet and embedded itself in the wall, causing thousands of bits in more damages. The pair of police stallions advanced into the room and began scanning their surroundings. Luckily, there didn’t appear to be any blood or bodies. “Mayor, are you here?” City called out. From under the desk emerged Mayor Apple Tree, holding a violin and looking shell shocked. “Luna buck. What the buck is wrong with you, Chief? You destroyed my door? Why… why the buck did you do that?” City glared at the mayor, disgust rolling off his muzzle. “Were you playing the violin?” he asked gravely. “Well . . . yes, as a matter of fact I was,” the mayor answered, still in a daze. “You were fiddling as your city burned,” City growled, advancing on the mayor. “Could you be any more of a bucking stereotype?!” “Burning? I think you overestimate how bad things could get, you bucking moron,” Apple Tree cursed. “And I think you’re bucking insane. You called off my officers, and now the bucking Purehooves have shown up to fight the protesters. The protesters that are being backed by the Celestia-damned EFP! We’ve got goldshirts and redshirts fighting in the streets!” “Oh, good, I was hoping they would show up,” the mayor replied calmly. City and Road Pig just stared at him like he had grown a second head. “. . . What?” “The protesters were clearly a problem that needed to be dealt with, but I couldn’t just order you and your police to smash their heads in; that would look bad in the papers. So instead, I ordered you and your police to disperse and hold back, because frankly, they were protecting the protesters as much as containing them, and that’s really far too scary. Once they were gone, I knew that the Purehooves would amass a force to fight the protesters to follow up on their attack yesterday, and because they want to squash the Fascists that oppose them. Now it seems that everything has gone as I have foreseen,” Apple Tree said smugly, trotting over to City Light to meet him muzzle to muzzle. “The protesters will be dealt with, the city will get a big old batch of royal aid to deal with crime, and we wouldn’t have had to lift a hoof. You could have been a part of this too, and all you had to do was not smash down my door like a complete bucking lunatic! Now I’ll have to fire you and find somepony else more pliable.” “Do your worst, you diseased maniac!” City barked. Apple Tree chuckled. “You’ve been reading too many of those comic books with those delicious foals of yours. You’ll see though, the Purehooves are sweeping aside this little insurrection, and once they’re done . . .” “Purehooves are getting their flanks kicked,” Road Pig cut in, having gone back to watching his smartphone at some point during the melodramatic conversation. “What?!” Apple Tree exclaimed. “Yep,” Road Pig said nonchalantly, turning the phone around just in time to show the outrageously muscular form of the EFP’s semi-mythic unicorn leader punching a Purehoof square in the jaw, sending her to the pavement in a heap. The mayor visibly deflated, and City grew a vicious grin. “Looks like the Fascisti have proved you wrong. They weren’t just some rabble to be swept aside.” “No, no, no, no, no, no . . .” Apple Tree muttered as he collapsed to the floor. “I’m ruined. They’re going to castrate me and hang me from a construction crane.” City rolled his eyes at the mayor’s misunderstanding of the Equestriani justice system. “Take the bit and bridle off my force, Mayor, and we might just be able to salvage something out of this.” Apple Tree just waved him away with his hoof and curled up into a shivering ball, repeating the same words over and over again. City turned away in disgust and motioned for Roadie to follow him. They left the mayor’s office as they had found it. As they walked into the hall, City keyed his commset and spoke with a confidence that he hadn’t felt since the previous morning. “This is the Chief, I have consulted the mayor, and he has allowed us to continue operations as normal. Please do so. I also need a squad to the mayor’s office as soon as possible.” When he stopped talking, City just turned his head to Roadie and grinned like the day his first foal was born. His opposite rolled his eyes but allowed a small smile of his own. Those expressions stayed on their faces till they neared the command center. “Lieutenant, report, and make it a good one,” City Lights said as he sauntered into the abandoned apartment. Lt. Storm Rider straitened up. “Sir, we’ve made a multiplicity of arrests, reports keep arriving about them. On the whole, the Purehooves and the EFP have both dispersed, and the cordon around the protesters has been reestablished. Medical ponies have arrived to treat the wounded, and evacs are under way for those in need of critical care.” City sighed happily. “Good. Crisis averted then.” As the chief was trotting over to the window, Storm Rider continued speaking. “Sir, there was one other thing, and it’s big.” City was about to ask what it was when a big booming voice echoed through the city, their voice dampened in the command center by ambient noise and the insulation. “People of Manehattan! Today we have won a great victory. Not just one of us, but all of us, together!” “Who is that?” City asked, looking around until he spotted one pony who had gotten on top of an ad hoc stage in front of the protesters. “That’s Muscle Macaroni, former member of the Royal Guard and current leader of the Equestriani Fascist Party. Shall we bring it up on a monitor?” Storm Rider reported. City nodded, and one of the technicians that had been watching him went about bringing up a live feed of the speech on one of the bigger monitors. “Mayor Apple Tree has just resigned!” The news made the crowd cheer, and as they did, City turned to the lieutenant. “Was this the big thing?” The LT nodded. “Now we can all see what happens when we put aside our petty differences and embrace our common bonds as Equestriani. When we unite our collective strength for a single goal. When we stand as one indivisible facis!” Another cheer went up, bigger than before. “The city charter calls for an election to determine a new mayor within a week, and my good friend Collective Consciousness has stepped forward to fill the position. When that day comes, we are all going to need to get out the vote, and I know we will. We have shown the world our strength, and in a week, we will show them our will!” The third cheer had somehow gotten even bigger, and as it did, a monochrome stallion took the stand, becoming animated in a way that did not seem natural. “A stain on Equestria’s honor, that’s what they call this city. We were once the greatest city in the world, and now, we’re a poster for urban decay. No more! Dare to hope, because when I am elected mayor, things will change. No more salt dealers selling to foals, no more retreating from neighborhoods, no more terror from the Purehooves, no more will we consider someone rich because they’re losing less money than us, no more will teens with bright futures ahead of them be beaten to death in the streets! We will create a city in which what happened to Gabriel Graystone never happens again, because the new fascist government will be a united government where no one gets left behind!” A huge cheer erupted from the audience. “No one gets left behind!” The cheering became a roar, and it wasn’t until it was nearing its end that City Lights realized that one of those cheers was coming from his own throat. When the door to Waiting Room 3 finally opened and Doctor Silver Sutures entered, it was a miracle that there was anyone around to greet him. He had been in surgery for more far than a day, and it would have been perfectly reasonable for anypony to relent and sleep in their own beds while waiting that long. Remarkably though, the entire Printer family was present when he arrived. Dot was the first one to react, the young colt lacking any pretense and jumping straight to the point. “Where’s Keytone?!” Fit jumped up and rushed over to meet him. “You’re Doctor Silver Sutures, M.D. and you’ve been working on my daughter for two days, so can you please give us an update?” “Please, Doctor, tell me my little filly is all right,” Ardent pleaded. The rest of the family had reactions that were how variations on “How is my sister?” Silver, quite practiced on this routine by this point in his life, calmly began to explain to the family the news of what had happened. “Your daughter will make a full recovery, and physically she’ll be fine.” Thanks to the march of technology, the news was more often positive than negative. “So she’s okay? Can we go see her now?” Brisk asked hopefully. “Those were future tense statements, and you said physically. Is there something wrong with her head?” Fit inquired. “She’s currently sedated and will be in and out of surgery for a while. We have her in a life support pod right now, so she can stabilize, and we can rest, but I’m not going to lie to you: she is going to have a long road to recovery even after her body is rebuilt. She lived through something that no one should have to experience, and that’s going to require a lot of time and psychological therapy to deal with. “But she survived, so she’s through the worst of it, and because of that, I know she’s going to be fine,” Silver asserted confidently. “How do you know that?” Brisk asked pointedly. Instead of responding immediately, Silver Sutures stood up on his hind legs, towering over Fit and Ardent and looking Brisk almost directly in the eyes. “Because years ago, when I was living in Scotland, I was hit by a car and had almost every bone in my body broken, but I was not only able to survive but recover to the point where I can now stand before you a whole stallion. Medical science has advanced even further since then.” Silver dropped back down onto his front hooves. “I know that she will be able to recover because I was able to recover. You two made the right call, putting your children in the genetic database here for cloned organs, and if you ever find out who called that ambulance, tell them they saved your daughter’s life. They got there with time to spare.” “So she’s going to be okay?” Benday asked hopefully. “Yes,” Silver repeated. “As long as she’s diligent with the recovery regimen, she should be perfectly fine.” “And if she’s not?” Shadow asked. “She will be,” Fit said firmly. “Then she’ll most likely have to wear one of those fancy new exoskeletons when walking for extended periods of time, or use a cane like I did,” Silver paused to look around. “Look, I might have come straight for surgery, but I’m not deaf. I know that your family has been through a lot and that the whole city is in an uproar over it. I just want to assure you that I’m not going to be one of those ponies haranguing you for being a blended family or sacrificing quality because of any personal feelings. "Indeed, last year, when my wife Moira broke her wrist after dropping something on it, I made sure to give her the best of care." “'Moira'?  She’s not a pony, is she?" Ardent asked. "Well, no, she's human.  And for that matter, later that day, I had to fix the arm of the M'bega kid - also human - next door."  He chuckled. "You know about foals climbing in trees." "Most of the trees are in the areas of the city infested with salt addicts, spice traders, and drug dealers, so no,” Brisk said matter-of-factly. “Trees mean danger!” Dot shouted. “Stay away from the trees!” Benday confirmed. “If you see a field, find another way,” Shadow intoned from memory. Silver was slightly taken aback by the response. It appears that Manehattan is in worse straits than anypony has realized, he thought, shocked. Ardent looked pensive for a moment, eyes darting back in forth as if watching a tennis match. “I want to see her,” she said suddenly. “Are you sure, ma’am? She is-” Silver began. “Yes, Celestia damn it!” Ardent interrupted. “She’s my daughter! I want to see what those what those bastards did to her and know that my little baby is okay now! Please, Doctor, let me see her!” her voice was practically pleading by the end. “Very well,” Silver answered simply. “Brisk, watch after your siblings. They’ve seen too much as it is,” Fit told his oldest son, looking him in the eyes and wordlessly bestowing upon him the title of family protector while they were away. Another knot of shame formed in Brisk’s gut, but he nodded anyways. A few short minutes later, the Printer parents were standing in front of a hermetically sealed pod with Doctor Silver Sutures standing behind them. The doctor barely held back a yawn, and the parents nodded to each other, slowly walking towards the transparent panel that would allow the person inside to see out, should they be conscious. The whole thing was another marvel of modern technology that ensured that more and more ponies would live, but to the Printers, it just looked like their daughter had already been sealed inside a coffin. They peered inside, and Ardent let out a gasp of horror. It was gone, it was all gone. The long black mane that Ardent had spent so many hours helping her daughter groom in her youth was gone, replaced in its stead by a web of sutures and scabs. That face, that beautiful face that had smiled up at her with a big toothy grin on her third birthday and said she wanted to fly like her mama, had fared even worse. It looked like her jaw was held together by metal and glue, and a plastic tube snaked down her through her mouth, itself open to reveal several missing teeth and a stitched tongue. Ardent couldn’t bare to look any longer and buried herself in her husband’s withers, bawling and losing all composure as she did so. Fit looked upon his daughter with dispassionate eyes, as if emotions had simply ceased to function for him. He observed, in this state, that Keytone actually looked much better than when he had last seen her. Of course, when he had last seen her, her legs had been hanging on by tatters, and he couldn’t see how any of that was going now. “I know it looks bad, but she’s stable, and a fresh batch of organs are being flash cloned as we speak to replace what she lost,” the doctor told them. Fit nodded solemnly. “We’re sorry for taking up so much of your time, Doctor. Get some rest. This whole city could use it.” His coffin had passed by thousands on its way to the cemetery, an avatar for a city that had finally had enough. Tears were wept by nearly all involved, none more so than his parents. For Brisk, though, Gabe’s best friend, surrounded by the wailing throng as he helped transport his deceased buddy’s remains, he could not shed a tear. Nothing came to him; he just walked on pained legs in stony silence. Even as he stood alongside his fellows as they laid their friend onto the unlit funeral pyre by the sea, his face showed neither emotion nor expression. Such sentiments he did not express even when the priestess spoke about the times Gabe would volunteer at the celaerium whenever they needed help, and even attempts by politicians of the mostly fascist persuasion to rally support for their pet causes, like state ownership of 'unreliable’ businesses or politically productive paramilitary patrols. Things blurred together, and before he knew it, the pyre was lit. His buddy's remains were consumed in fire. He watched the orange spires climb into the sky, and the world faded away again. When he came to, he was down by the shore, sitting on a rock and looking down at the refuse and oil collecting in the gaps between the rocks. For the first time in hours, something mattered enough to notice, and it was a bunch of trash. It was too strange to laugh about. “Bit for your thoughts?” “Hello, Uncle Mac, where have you been these last few months?” Brisk asked without turning his head. There was a scuffle as the large unicorn sat down on the rock next to his. “You know, that was such a pitch perfect recitation of what you said just a few months ago that I could swear you went and got one of those new voicebox replacement implants. You know, the ones with the playback and recording settings?” “No offense, Uncle Mac, but that sounds disturbing.” “Oh, you’re disturbed now? I’m the guy who got greeted by an MP38 file when I walked in,” Mac pointed out in faux offense. “Sorry, I guess I'm just a little bit out of it right now.” “Your best friend died, people you cared about got hurt, and you’re convinced it’s your fault. I know that feeling exactly.” “You do?” “Yeah, happened during the riots. Didn't know what to do for days after it happened, but eventually, those I cared about were able to bring me to the correct conclusion.” “What was that?” “That I should focus on keeping what happened from ever happening again. The EFP was the solution I came up with. You might come to the same conclusion.” “You asking me to join up?” “No. You're still in school, and your family would kill me if I let you join now. Can’t say I would disagree in this instance.” “Then what are you telling me to do?!” “Think things over. Finish school. Then . . . That’s up to you, and no one else. I hear the Guard is hiring, and I’ll certainly need every warm body I can find in a year, but your sister will need all the help she can get at the newspaper. Just make sure whatever you choose is what you really want, and commit to it.” There was a resounding clop when Mac’s heavy body hit the ground of the concrete pier. “I have to go out of town again. Your parents are waiting for you. When you're ready.” Brisk stayed on that rock for five minutes and twenty-six seconds more. Then he got up, and faced reality. Mac waved to Hurricane Wake and Stormy Keys as the twin pegasus stallions sat behind the controls of the rotorcraft. Between them was a Germanic human in a business suit helpfully pointing out parts of the controls when prompted. There was a nod between them, and suddenly, the double-stacked rotors on top of the craft began to turn, followed quickly by the propeller in the tail coming alive and pushing the craft down the runway. As the craft lifted into the air, the muscular unicorn turned back to face the young gryphon in a business suit who had officiated the meeting. “Anything to say for yourself, Mr. Faust?” Mac asked as the two walked towards a rotorcraft identical to the one currently flying through the air, both ground-bound sapients keeping one eye on the vehicle above them as it maneuvered like a hummingbird possessed. “What is there to say? As your pilots will soon discover, Herr Macaroni, the Braunschbank company makes the finest aircraft on two worlds and the Br-16 in particular is the best civilian helicopter in the air today. Fantastic speed, great carrying capacity, and a compact hydrogen power plant that creates fuel savings that will surely be noticed on the bottom line,” Kurt Faust said, even now in the sales representative mode that was his job. “Why are you doing this?” Mac asked suddenly, as they reached the nose of one of the parked Br-16s and memories of the recent election campaign back in Manehatten flashed through his head. “Selling aircraft or selling aircraft to you?” Kurt asked, dropping the pretense of his job. “To me, to my organization. You recognized me on sight.” Kurt didn’t answer at first, deciding to take a single gold coin from his pocket, his claw running over it with affection. “It’s simple: you fight. My parents and sister were driven out their home in Manehattan during the riots when the Purehooves burned it to the ground. Soon after they immigrated to the Spezielle Bayrische halb-autonome Wirtschaftszone," -- the Bavarian Semi-Independent Special Economic Zone, their current location, Mac noted -- "and changed their names to something more local. I was born soon after, and as is the custom here, my parents gave me a gold coin to help invest for the future.” Kurt paused to repocket the coin. “My father joined the Luftwaffe and became their first ace in nearly a century, fighting in some war I never really understood. Hans Faust became a household name; they called him Der Adler, The Eagle. My father was a folk hero, my mother was running a successful bakery, and my sister was starting a life of her own. Everything should have been fine for me, but we were still gryphons living in a land soaked with the blood of people who were not our ancestors. They are not bad people, they try, but sometimes, these Germans can’t help but mention how alien you are, and when the hyphenated description they tack onto you is Equestriani-Bavarian, one can’t but be curious.” “You found out about the Purehooves and wanted revenge. Why not move back to Equestria and join us in the fight, then?” Mac asked, filling in the blanks. Kurt chuckled. “If I did that, then who would sell you aircraft?” Mac gave a short chuckle at that too, but the German gryphon continued. “Of course I want to see the verdammt Purehooves destroyed, but not for what they did to our family. Life is good here, and in that way, they did us a favor, but we weren’t the only ones affected. They hurt many others and continue to hurt more every day. They might even come to hurt us here in little Bavaria. After all, they say that they just want to relocate the non-ponies, but we Germans know precisely where that argument leads.” Mac raised an eyebrow at the gryphon’s speech. “You do know what my political party is called, right?” “Yes, and it’s unfortunate; my father would certainly have me turned into a throw rug if he knew about this, but you’re not advocating the genocide of any ethnic groups, so I’m willing to let your poor choice in words slide,” Kurt said with a shrug. “Now then, does the Braunschbank Br-16 meet your specifications, Mister Logging Company Representative?” Mac took another look at the sleek rotorcraft and the twin sets of blades stacked on top of each other that dominated its profile, then he glanced down at his smartphone to read the texts from the twin pegasus pilots he had brought along that were currently test flying one of the Br-16. They confirmed what he had already suspected, that the machine would suit their purposes just fine. Good speed, good carrying capacity, and most importantly, plenty of room to modify. “It does. We’ll take 24.” Kurt’s eyes went wide. “A full staffel?” “Is that a problem?” Mac asked coldly. Kurt shook his head. “Nein, it’s just . . . that’s a lot of deutschmarks. Can your company pay for all that?” “It can, and more,” Mac said confidently. “In fact, throw in another one, and make it a luxury model.” “Very well, Herr Macaroni, I’ll get the papers,” Kurt said enthusiastically before flying off. When the gryphon was out of earshot, Mac started whispering to the white rotorcraft in front of him. “You’ll do fine, my Redsprites, you’ll do fine.” It was early in the morning when Keytone Printer finally woke up, right on schedule. Her eyes fluttered open restfully, and then shot wide in horror. Her breathing increased to a rapid pace, and her eyes darted around her surroundings, a view soon filled with fur. A less than eloquent whinny of surprise was all she got out before her wits came back. “Keytone! You’re awake!” her father exclaimed, rather stating the obvious. He was the only one besides her in the hospital room, the dawn light of Celestia’s sun fluttering through to frame him in a kind light as he stood above her bedridden form. “How long have I been out?” Keytone managed to rasp out. Unconsciously, Fit reached over to pass her a paper cup full of water. Keytone took the offered cup with eagerly grasping hands, drinking heartily from it. As soon as she had drunk her fill, her father took it back from her and placed it on the nearby stand. “Thanks, Dad,” Keytone said wearily. “No problem, sweetie. Anytime,” Fit Printer replied, patting her shoulders with the selfsame hoof he had used to grasp the water. The human girl took several deep experimental breaths, trying to get her bearings. The ticking of the clock seemed to echo throughout the room, each tick the loudest thing in their ears. Behind thick walls, the muffled music of equine activity could be heard as the hospital scrambled to keep up with recent casualties. “You’ve been out for about a week,” her father reported. “A week?!” Keytone asked, shocked. “That’s no good, I have to go down to the police station to make a report about the stallion who attacked me and Gabriel right away.” She made a move to prop herself up in the bed, and her father rushed to stop her. “Hey, hey, hey, instead of doing that and making the nice doctors angry, why don’t we make a video testimony instead?” Keytone considered this, then nodded in agreement. “That makes sense.” “Yeah,” her father said blandly, filling the gap in the conversation before reaching into his bag to bring out his smartphone, an Epsilon Eridani II. He brought the blocky green device up to eye level and pointed at his daughter, keeping the screen facing himself. He did not want his darling baby filly to see what she had become. As soon as she saw the camera light turn green, Keytone began to make her statement. Reporting with all the clarity and accuracy her family was known for, she left no detail out, describing her attackers such that those who observed the recorded video would be left with a picture most vivid. After saying what she could, she gave a hand signal to her father, and the recording ended. Her father’s extensories moved deftly across the surface of the phone, sending the recording both to the police and to their own personal repository. “Done,” he told her. “Good,” Keytone said satisfactorily. “Now that the time sensitive stuff is out of the way, where’s Gabriel? I know he was probably . . . Dad? What’s with that look?” “Sweetie . . .” Keytone’s pupils shrunk, and her lips started to vibrate as saline came unbidden to the surface of her eyes. A memory, something cerebral hitting her nose, blood and pain. “Dad, where is Gabriel?” Fit fought with himself to meet his daughter’s quivering eyes. “He’s gone to meet his ancestors in the Great Pasture.” Keytone said nothing for a few moments, her body shaking, and her father rushed to embrace her fully. As soon as his familiar forelegs were wrapped around her body, her subconscious knew that she was safe, and all her defenses fell. She wrapped her arms around her father in turn and broke down. Several orderlies in the outside hall paused their work as the air was split by an ear piercing wail, like the horrible sounds of a banshee. Those closest to the room the Printers were in then heard loud sobbing muffled by the door. They looked at each other in shame, then continued on with their duties. “Mackie, come to bed, please,” Wild Mane complained from beneath the covers of the princess-sized bed she shared with her coltfriend. It was a gorgeous night in the simple apartment on the outskirts of Manehattan. Luna’s moon was shining through the window, illuminating it in soft, pale light. Every wrinkle of the sheets was brought out in contrasting shadows, while on a nearby couch, a pair of gold and black Suri Polomare designed uniforms lay discarded. The only blemish was the muscular stallion hunched over a computer on the room’s desk. “I’m sorry, Wild, but there’s just too much to do,” Mac said tiredly. The straight-haired mare exhale audibly. This was one of the things she loved and hated about her coltfriend: his dedication to the cause. It was wonderful to see in action, but sometimes, he needed a little reminder that other things existed. “Mackie, the city has been freed from the tyranny of the democrats and the Purehooves, Collective is settling into the mayor role like it's his cutie mark, the last mayor died of ricin poisoning after he resigned, so it’s not like he can be re-elected somehow, Enigma has that fancy new umbrella she likes, more ponies than ever are joining the EFP, and our abandoned warehouse expansion project is moving along nicely, not to mention getting those fancy new helicopters so we don’t have to fly coach every time we need to get to Trottingham,” Wild Mane rattled off, holding up her hooves and making extensories as she did so. “Things are looking good.  You can afford to go to bed at a reasonable time for once.” Mac sighed and brought his muzzle into his forehooves. He stayed like that for nearly a minute, Wild Mane quietly letting him compose himself. “He’s still alive,” he finally said. He dropped his hoofs and turned to look at his fillyfriend, weariness and despair showing on his features. “Remember what I told you about what happened in Manehattan all those years ago? About that stallion I killed by stabbing him in the eye?” Wild Mane nodded sadly. “He was your best friend, until he was thrown out of the military, then he changed his name to Firebrand and joined the Purehooves. How could he still be alive?” “I don’t know,” Mac admitted. “He should be dead, but the description Keytone Printer gave of her attacker when she woke up matches him exactly, just without the eye. No Purehoof we’ve found yet has matched that description, so he’s still alive and out there somehow.” Wild Mane stayed silent, absorbing the information. “Well, what can you do about it now?” she finally asked. “I’ve ordered Enigma Mirror to start tracking him down, I’ve put out feelers to my contacts in the old Weather Underground who haven’t joined our cause fully, and I’ve had Collective get the police to add him to the wanted list,” Mac listed. “That’s what you’ve done. I’m asking what you can do,” Wild Mane clarified. Mac paused for a moment before answering. “Well, nothing, I suppose.” “Then come to bed,” Wild Mane reasoned. Mac sighed and then got up from the desk, shutting the computer down as he did so. “Very well. I could use the rest anyways.” As he was trotting over to his side of the bed, his fillyfriend scooted over to allow him more space. He smiled and started to get into the bed. His smartphone made a beep, and on instinct, Mac’s horn glowed and pulled the phone to levitate in front of his face. Wild Mane was clearly not happy about it. Da Chief says: ‘Shoud i ‘ Mac grimaced at the incomplete message, but nevertheless typed out a response. He had a pretty good idea why he would be getting this message, but at the same time, it was still annoying. If only he had been a few minutes earlier . . . Mac turned the phone off and tossed it onto the couch where the gold shirts lay before focusing back in on the bed and the mare on it. “Sorry about that. Had to take it.” “What was that about?” Wild Mane asked as her coltfriend settled into the bed. “Just tying up loose ends,” Mac said before kissing her. Out in the bay, Road Pig looked down at his smartphone as he stood upon the deck of a fishing boat. The Boss says: ‘Sure’ The stallion shrugged and then pocketed the phone. “Was that The Boss? He told you this was all a big mistake, right Roadie?” Current Chief of Police Road Pig turned to face the former Chief of Police City Lights, currently sporting the latest in concrete hoofwear and standing near the edge of the boat. He looked pretty terrified. “You know, City, you ain’t got a lot going for you. You’re too corrupt for the people to want to keep you around, you’re too much of a goody-four-shoes for the party to want to keep around, but mostly . . .” Road Pig turned around so his hind legs were facing City, “you keep mispronouncing my damn name!” Road Pig’s hooves slammed into City Lights’ chest, knocking the wind out of him as he went flying into the sea. He didn’t even have time to scream before his head passed beneath the waves. A few bubbles floated to the surface, but after that, nothing for the next five minutes. When he was sure that his former boss wouldn’t be coming back up for air, Road Pig sauntered over to the bridge. He’d let the Fascist captain know to “dump the cargo” and then call it a night. He really hadn’t been getting enough rest of late. Keytone, her now bald head lying on the hospital pillows, looked up at the ceiling of her room with mournful eyes. I never even got to say goodbye, she thought for the hundred and eighty-second time that day alone, just as she had done every few moments since finding out that Gabriel’s funeral had happened while she was in a coma. Her eyes briefly glanced to the left, catching the bright petals of the flowers her maternal grandparents had brought. They contrasted well with the balloons her paternal grandparents had brought. The human filly briefly wondered if they had coordinated on this; they certainly had done so for watching over her siblings like they were doing now, but then her eyes shifted, and so did her thoughts. On her right was her mother, a patient smile upon her muzzle, calmly knitting a hat with dexterous pinions. She had told her it was something for her head, since she didn’t have any hair left, and it would be a long time before it regrew fully. It was a kind gesture, but a futile one. Her gaze shifted upwards from her mother to the windows that looked out on the city to find a dark eclipse flying from a flagpole. She grimaced in disgust, knowing that her mad uncle had used the attack on her and her beloved for his own political gain. She'd trusted him once, and he had betrayed her in the worst way possible . . . so far. She had lost everything but her family: her body, her city, her dignity, and so much more. Oh, but I would be able to bare it all, my love, had I not lost you too, she lamented, tears no longer flowing from her eyes after so long under such strain. You’re gone, and it’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. There was a click as the door opened up to admit a new dancer to the festival of sorrows. Both the Printer mares tried to stand up, but the two gryphons that had entered waved them back down. Gisa and Guarino Graystone would not stand for their friends being made to bow and scrape, especially at that moment. They had all lost so much. Keytone was the first thing to say anything. “Mister and Missus Graystone, I’m sorry for…” “Don’t you say anything,” Guarino, dressed in his REAF uniform, ordered. The Printers followed his command, stilling their tongues. “I know that look; you got survivor’s guilt. Well, get over it, because that’s the exact opposite of what Gabriel wanted for you.” “Dearest, I know this is who you are, but do you have to be so blunt about it at this precise moment?” Gisa, who, unlike her husband, was dressed like a civilian pony, asked worriedly. “Yes,” Guarino replied before refocusing on Keytone. “Perhaps you forget your own testimony, but the police showed it to us-” “Not exactly professional,” Gisa put in. “-and the implication from that red’s message was that you were the one that they were trying to kill. Gabriel was the one that died instead, and that allowed you to live. That’s the best way we Graystone toms can go, saving the ones we love. I know you’re not trying to do it, but please don’t dishonor his sacrifice by wishing you died instead.” “But if it wasn’t for me, then Gabriel wouldn’t have had to make that sacrifice at all!” Keytone replied, her voice wet with poorly healing wounds. “If it wasn’t for you, Gabriel’s final months would have been far less happy than they were,” Gisa countered. “He loved you like Princess Cadance loved Shining Armor and could not bare to spend his life without you. You made him the happiest creature in two worlds, and for that, I will always be grateful.” “Besides,” Guarino broke in again, “those rebel scum were lying in wait. That tells that they would have struck eventually, whether you two were together or apart. Nothing anyone without precognition, which is all of us, could do would have stopped their attempt. I’m addressing you too, Ardent.” “What?” the pegasus exclaimed, surprised. “You’re thinking right now that if you had only done something different that day, the attack never would have taken place, but I’ll tell you now that everything you can think of would have just resulted in more casualties. This is the least bad of all possible outcomes,” Guarino finished, obviously trying to convince himself as much as the Printers. “Please excuse my husband; he’s just dealing with the pain in his own way,” Gisa explained. “That way is action. When I return to my unit, I am going to raise all sorts of hell about this with command until someone takes notice. We can’t have socialist paramilitary forces operating inside Equestria; we just can’t,” Guarino elaborated. “My way is by settling accounts,” Gisa said, reaching into her saddlebags to retrieve a folded cloth square. She walked over to Keytone and handed her the bundle. “What is this?” Keytone asked as she took the cloth. Almost unconsciously, she started to unfold it. “It was found on Gabriel’s body; he had intended to give it to you that day,” Gisa said, her voice starting to hitch. Keytone gasped as she revealed a gold ring, a wedding band. “He had been trying to find something that would fit, but he realized it might need to be resized anyway due to growth, so he got in engraved instead, and . . .” Keytone’s hands closed around the talons of the chick who, had fate permitted, would have been her mother-in-law. “Thank you,” she said, looking into Gisa’s eyes with all the love and gratitude she could cauble together within herself. “Thank you, Gisa Graystone. I can’t express to you how much this means to me.” “You’re welcome, Keytone Printer,” Gisa replied with a tear-filled smile. The room got quieter after that, and after a few seconds, Guarino spoke again. “I guess we better get going then.” “Do you have to get going now?” Keytone asked. “Well . . . no, not exactly. We actually could stay for a while,” the gryphon tom answered, a little uncomfortably. “Then do that. Pull up some chairs, let's talk. We never got to do that enough while school was in session,” Keytone replied, a genuine smile upon her properly healing face. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Gisa rationalized. So the two gryphons sat down and talked with mother and daughter, and when lunch came, they broke bread together. They might not have been bound by blood, but all of them resolved to hold fast to their relationships and not let them wither. All of them prayed that Gabriel would have approved. Mac climbed the steps to The Manehattan Beugel’s main offices with a spring in his step and hard cider in his saddlebags. He was happy, and why shouldn’t he be? He was returning the conquering hero after driving the darkness from the land, and like any good hero, he wanted to celebrate with his best and oldest friend. So it was that he opened the door to the office with a smile on his face, his two Fascisti bodyguards taking up positions inside while two more watched the outside. The ponies inside were both shocked and awed, at least that was the impression Mac got from their faces. He made sure to give them a reassuring gesture as he moved towards the office of Just News, something he had earned for himself as the company had expanded over the years. Mac gave a brief knock and then opened the door without prompting. “Come in!” Just said even has the door was opening; he turned away from his work to look at who had come through his door. “Oh, it’s you. Didn’t expect you of all ponies to see me today.” “Well, why wouldn’t I, buddy?” Mac asked rhetorically before glancing around the office. It was completely bare, save for the small box of valuables Just was packing on his desk and the half-open window. “Hey, what’s going on here?” Just didn’t answer immediately, a roll of packing tape in his mouth as he finished packing up the box. As he applied the tape, a car could be heard backfiring in the distance. “I got an offer for a job at Schaffhauser Zeitung and decided to take them up on it.” Mac was stunned, his eyes wide and jaw moving as if trying to decide how the words tasted. “Schaffhauser Zeitung? Switzerland?” Mac repeated, finally getting a grasp on the situation but surprise still evident. “You’re moving to Schaffhausen, Switzerland? You’re giving up living in the city and nation you’ve worked for your whole life for at one of the biggest newspapers in the worlds to go to some small time newspaper in a tiny tourist trap in the most neutral nation to have ever existed?!” Just shrugged his wings. “They made a pretty good offer, and I thought it was time to move on.” “Move on from what? Are you just running away like the coward you were all those years ago?” Mac said mockingly, much like he had a thousand times before. Just merely finished packing his things and stared at Mac like he was a rebellious teen son, then on went the saddle bags, and he was walking to the door. “Maybe, but it’s the only path I see,” Just said simply. Mac blocked his path with a single muscle-bound foreleg. “Stay in Manehattan, Just. If you’re done with the paper, join up with me. The EFP needs good stallions like you,” Mac implored, his words punctuated by the sound of a car backfiring drifting through the open window. Just met his old friend’s eyes with a flare of emotions that were all quickly silenced into neutrality. “No, Mac, the EFP most certainly does not need stallions like me.” The pregnant silence between the two was filled by the staccato burst of a small parking lot’s worth of backfires. It ended when Just leapt over Mac with a powerful flap of his wings. “Auf wiedersehen, Mac,” Just said with finality. Mac stayed calm for only a moment, an ear-splitting pop breaking him out of his stupor. His muzzle split into a twisted vestige of fury, and his eyes bulged with rage. The floor cracked as he roughly pivoted around. “Fine! Run away to your neutrality, you greedy despot! You power-hungary vermin! Nazi! Collaborator! Faint-hearted liberal! Communist! Stagnant monarchist! Leech-loving layabout! Duplicitous Trotskyite! Teutonic traitor!” Mac yelled, his face contorting with oxygen deprivation. When he was sure that Just was almost to the entrance to the building, he galloped over to the still open window and leaned out. “Syndicalist slaver! Enemy of the working class! Dullard! Fanatic fiend! Rapine purveyor! Sister seller! Fishmonger! Jew! Profiteering-profligate! Blood drinker! Anti-Semite! Gold loving fool! Hitler-friending islander! Nonsensical non-interventionist ninny!” Mac panted for breath as Just drove away, trying to think if any of his insults contradicted each other. With a bitter grimace, he extracted the cider from his saddlebag with his magic and unconsciously uncorked the bottle to take a swig. He was an eighth of the way through when he stopped, eyes wide, and turned the bottle to look at it. That lasted for thirty-one seconds before he tossed the bottle out with an angry growl. Predictably, there was crash when it hit the pavement. “Somepony clean that up!” he shouted out the window. Storming out of the empty office, he saw one of the younger reporters looking at him. “You! What are your feelings on neutrality?” The young mare squirmed under his gaze, terrified of the angry revolutionary. “I, uh, have no strong feelings one way or the other?” “Was that a joke?” Mac asked hotly. “Because that was pretty funny. If I was in a better mood, I would laugh.” “T-thank you . . .” Mac ignored her stammering response and went out the door. “Guards, avanti!”