Thick ropes chafed a soft coat and sensitive hide as a brilliant gamboge Earth pony wrapped into a hunched ball was wheeled down the long corridors of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. Cash lay strewn across the cold, steel floor. Thugs, each wielding a firearm, were stationed at every corner of the silent lodge. Two of them in those ranks pushed a wheelbarrow containing the pony in question: a mare with three crimson apples adorning her flanks. The two cronies, in the midst of ascending excitement and an uncertain debate, came to a standstill in the middle of the room.
“Yep, this is definitely one of ‘em ponies with the Bat. The Boss is going to flip out once he sees what we’ve found,” one of the two deliverers remarked, snickering greedily at the thought of a large reward.
His partner nodded in agreement, inspecting the mare in disgusted fascination, “It’s strange how the Bat despises us pariahs, yet he allowed these things to tag along with him. What does he see in these weak excuses of life?! It’s pathetic!”
“Beats me. These things did make quite a reputation in Arkham, and they managed to make it out alive,” his comrade remarked.
“Doesn’t matter; we have a vulnerable one now!” The goon chuckled, “So what should we do with this pony? Give it a nice beating?”
The first thug shook his head vigorously despite contemplating whether it would be appealing, "No. Boss has to give out the order on what we’re going to do with it; though, I do agree with ya’.”
The second thug sighed in exasperation, “C’mon, man! Maybe we can sell this thing, it’s probably worth a fortune with its vibrant, soft coat and those fancy-looking tattoos on its ass...”
The two scums of Gotham leaned their heads together, prospecting the proposal, “Hmm, ... maybe...”
Heavy footsteps echoed sharply from down the garage entrance, catching both thugs’ attention as a short, aged man dressed sharply in a white dress-shirt approached them.
“Boss, glad you could make it! Hey, we’ve found–”
“Shut it,” the man hissed, hand raised to strike down his employee’s feeble greeting and attempt at small talk. Turning to their captive, the man inspected the unconscious mare, greedy expectations evident behind the glint of disdain and malicious glee, “From the looks of this, Batman’s friends have finally come back. Good.” The man blew out a puff of smoke from his cigar before spitting it out, “Nine months, and these meddlesome freaks have returned. They cost me everything, so … it’s my turn to take from them...”
From behind their employer, the two goons snickered, anticipation growing as they fantasized the many possibilities of a reward.
The man turned, addressing his henchmen with a crooked grin of praise, “You idiots are lucky you’ve managed to find this pest, I might actually consider giving you a nice reward for finally doing something right.”
One thug smiled proudly, smugly demanding, “Well, ... what is it?”
The employer smirked, “First, a new task. Join the gun-running crew guarding the weapons’ caches I had planted over the city, and I’ll think about giving you a nice payroll of cash.”
Both men groaned in disappointed, annoyed they were not getting the reward they deserved as their boss cackled.
“Now!”
The henchmen scurried away, the wheelbarrow tipping over as they hastily fled their master’s unleashing wrath. Applejack tumbled out, her body plopping with a low rhythmic vibration on the metallic flooring in wake of the men’s precarious retreat. Her eyes shot open, sap green orbs darting about as she attempted to make sense of her surroundings.
“What in tar– Ugh!”
Applejack groaned as a heavy boot sharply connected with her prone right flank. Lurching in pain, Applejack caught sight of the lower part of two stubby legs as they stepped in front of her. Applejack’s eyes darted upwards only for her to cringe from the terrible, manic display of bared teeth as a beast of an aging man loomed over her.
“Wakey-wakey, you miserable peasant. Thought I’d forgotten what the Bat dragged into my life, did you?!” exclaimed the man, retrieving another cigarette from out of his grimy pant pocket. “You’re mine now, so you’d better start talking! … Where are the others? I would especially like a word with that rainbow-colored pain in the arse!”
From down the hall, two fleeing men could still hear the thunderous boom that was laughter erupting from the lungs of Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, known to the masses as Emperor Penguin.
Autumn gusts whistled through the streets of Bleake Island, tossing and twirling scraps of rubbish scattered about the desolate streets and avenues. The old-gloomy structures of Gotham rose high above the tattered wastelands as pandemonium plagued the vacated county town, looming over all hiding beneath their shade.
A blur of brilliant azure darted from the shadows of one superstructure to another, growing rigid and still at every resounding shot of bullets from their firearms, every blare of an alarm, and every crunch of splinter-esque glass. Two equine ears swiveled about in all directions with each frightening sound, not daring to fold back against the silky curls of pale cornflower mane draped across her shoulders. Were it not for the adrenaline coursing through her veins, Trixie Lulamoon would have collapsed in stark terror at the unfamiliar environment she found herself waking to.
Loneliness terrified the showmare. She dreaded abandonment, fearing rejection as she had faced it in its cruelest form once in her lifetime. Being ostracized by the majority of ponykind twice before, Trixie shuddered at whether she had been deserted once again.
“No, of course not! Tri- I must not think this way. ... They’re my friends, they would not leave me like this, right?”
This thought repeatedly raced through the trembling unicorn’s head as her gray-violet eyes darted, searching every corner, nook, and cranny for either her friends or ... them.
“What in Celestia’s name are making those sounds?! Even Discord’s ruckus is tolerable!”
Trixie galloped the streets of the city, mind racing in panic as she darted from shadow to shadow to avoid any detection or hostility from whatever or whoever roamed these foreign lands. It was only when she slowed, panting in exhaustion, did her ears detect heavy pursuit. Instinctively ducking to her left, Quickening her trot, only to skid to a sharp halt as her eyes bulged and jaws gaped at the sight of her doom standing motionless before her: a brick wall, that treacherous dead end.
“No, no, no,” Trixie softly cried through clenched teeth, her little heartbeat accelerating to that of a hummingbird’s wingbeats. Trixie spun as a cluster of figures blotted out the remaining light from behind her. Her horn flared, casting a pale magenta glow to fill the cavernous imprisonment she had fled directly into. Trixie gulped as the aura of her light spell revealed her captors, shying away from the bipedal beasts before her. Each member of the pack stood as straight and tall as a Diamond Dog, dressed in twin red uniforms and brandishing a manner of gleaming rods. The showmare prayed otherwise, but it was evident these items were relics or tools of a deadly arsenal.
“Freeze,” one barked as the group slowly closed in on the trembling pony, their rifles aimed and at the ready, all directed to her forehead. She faltered, backing away in terror until her rump met the building wall.
“You’re coming with us,” another snidely informed, lunging and pinning the unicorn by her throat to the alley corners. Raising his rifle, he jeered, “From what we’ve heard, I’d thought you’d be tougher.”
Trixie squirmed and thrashed, a wailing shriek escaping her lips. The aura of her horn, as did her sharp yelp, instantaneously died when the man swung the barrel of his firearm, smacking her across the forehead millimeters from the horn’s base. The force thrust her hat off her head. All were plunged into silent nothingness.
“C’mon, take her to Ace Chemicals! The Knight’s dying to meet one of ‘em.”
Rainbow Dash’s eyes snapped open, squinting as she raised a hoof to shield herself from the blinding glare which greeted her.
“Are you bucking serious– Aaargh,” the pegasus mare hollered, almost roaring, as her nostrils flared. Suddenly, a sharp pang followed by throbbing pain seized her, sending the equine lurching forward and reeling. Gingerly reaching the side of her head, Dash felt a tender swell stiffening forming from beneath her tangled mane. Getting the idea that her cowl had been unmasked.
Several figures approached Dash, converging as a group directly in front of her bleary field of vision, to which she bolted from the cot.
“Whoa, easy,” a voice exclaimed in protest.
Dash’s eyes swiveled about in disorientation as she stood defensively against a man that stood near her. She stiffened, preparing for a skirmish until her vision panned on the badges clipped to each man’s navy uniform, each reading ‘GCPD.’ Glancing down, she growled at the sight of a mattress draped over with a fitted-paper sheet.
“We mean no harm, ma’am; Batman ordered us not to do anything of the sort,” an officer informed her, attempting to calm her as he cautiously approached. “We just want to talk,”
Dash gritted her teeth, a burning inferno of rage erupting from her mouth as she shouted, “Don’t cite him to me! I don’t have time to talk, nor do I care for it; I gotta get back out there!”
“Ma’am, plea–”
“Where’s my cowl,” Dash demanded, another officer tossing the mask to her, not daring to get within swinging distance of her hooves. Dash snatched the fabrically-made replica of Batman’s cowl mid-air, glaring down at the clothing, crumpling it before hurling the offending object away in disgust and hatred. Keeping it defiled her, and she despised it as much as the man whose image and title it was designed after. Casting aside her batsuit. “I trusted that stupid brick wall of a man,” Dash fumed, landing back on the bed, her head hanging in despair as a scowl worked its way onto her muzzle. “I looked up to him, tried to help him, and he repays me like this?!”
The officer sighed, “Look, I don’t know much about the guy. I do, however, think he is doing this to keep you out of harm’s way. You could’ve been killed by one blast from those tanks.”
“You’re talking to a mare who’d rescued an entire nation about a dozen times with her friends! You’re telling me Br–” Dash paused, “Batman wants the mare who assisted him in shutting down Arkham City to stay put... What?!”
“No disrespect, ma’am, but we’re dealing with an army equipped with some of the most advanced weapons on Earth. I highly doubt you’ve dealt with this before where you came from.” Rainbow Dash sharply turned her head towards the opposite direction from the officer.
“So what? I’m not scared,” she boldly stated. “I have no reason to be here, I should be out there to check every inch in this city on finding my friends.”
“How did your friends go missing?” the officer asked, Dash’s mind trailed away from the conversation, her eyes unfocused from the officer’s own. Rainbow was not fully sure, but her suspicions on the incompleteness of Twilight’s rework of The Mirror is the only sensible cause of the separation.
“It’s...complicated,” she answered weakly.
“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. If you want us to help you, we’ll gladly assist you on your search.”
“It’s fine, I’d rather find them on my own. But thanks for the offer.” Dash smiled.
The officer sighed, “If you really are willing to help, I think we may have to show you what we normally deal with in these streets.”
Dash scoffed. “Of course I know what you guys deal with; a bunch of sick maniacs that do nothing but harm others for their own enjoyment.”
“Unfortunately, that’s correct But since you have only experienced this city for one night, I think you need to learn more about Gotham’s criminals.” He stated, Rainbow raised her eyebrow with interest, “There’s an evidence room that I would like for you to take a look at. It contains the belongings we’ve obtained from these so-called ‘super criminals’ for safe keeping.”
“Sure, why not,” Dash grumbled, head tilted to the side. She was still fuming, enraged at bruce, but a little information on Gotham’s scum would surely distract her.
“It’s right this way, you may call me Officer Blackmore by the way, Miss– Er, my apologies, I never got your name,” the officer stammered, slapping himself as his face grew red with a deep flush.
“It’s Rainbow Dash. Sorry about that.”
“Right. The room is this way.” he gestured towards the room across the main room. As they make their way, the officer spoke, “As you know, Gotham houses some of the most dangerous criminals in the world, most are criminally insane, diagnosed with disturbing obsessions and beliefs.”
Dash nodded, glancing around the public room, many deputies were present in the area. She spotted an aged man, sporting glasses, by the front desk. Clearly bickering with someone through the telephone.
“I know that already,” Dash commented. “I mean, I’ve met enough creeps when I was in Arkham City, I don’t think I would want to learn anymore.”
“Oh, you don’t even know half of them.”
Taking a right from the lobby, through a doorway secured by metal detectors. The group accessed a vacant room with blaring blue fluorescent lights illuminating the atmosphere. Dash scanned the area, spotting a couple rows of glass cases, all of which are empty. Rainbow’s eyebrow shot up.
“Er, it’s ... empty,” Dash asked, eyebrows raised.
“Oh! This part of the room will be updated as soon as we capture the scum out in Gotham.” Blackmore pointed to a doorway leading into a secondary room. Dash’s jaw dropped at the sight as they entered, sighted many belongings of Gotham ‘super’ criminals contained in those glass containers. Despite many of these items being considered dangerous equipment and hazardous material. It was similar to a museum stashed with treasure.
“Most of this loot we have are from the ones that no longer reside in Gotham. Ever since Arkham City’s shutdown, the city’s crime rate has seen an immediate decline. Many of our criminals have been transferred out of the city to other prisons throughout the country, while others just seemed to have disappeared off the face of the Earth.”
Dash nodded, her eyes falling upon Mr. Freeze’s infamous Freeze Ray, lying at the center of a platform behind a large Pexiglass display case, stifling a chuckle as she recalled Victor Fries’ arrival in Equestria and the acclaim he and his wife received upon establishing permanent residency at the Crystal Empire.
“Been the first time in years since this city’s mostly been rid of crime.”
In another display case, an assortment of select weapons lay scattered. In one glance, Dash was certain, without a doubt, who these implements belonged to. She shot a serious glare through the glass screen before glancing down, eyeing a bright red button starkly contrasting with the white platform.
“Press that button right there,” Blackmore ordered, “It’ll give you details and info on the individual weapons, who they belong to, and how they were used.”
Dash complied, placing her hoof over the button and pressing down. “One vial of TITAN formula, one set of explosive false teeth infused with dynamite, one pair of ... actual X-ray specs. One ‘toy’ gun, loaded with one toy flag and five real bullets,” spoke the voice recording of a man with a deep, gravely voice from the speakers built into the platform. As Dash eyed each weapon, the recording continued, “All these are the property of The Joker, no known identity. It’s one hell of a toy box; I’m glad no one’s going to play with it again,”
With that, the recording ended, Dash’s ears were perked forwards, allowing her to better hear and notice the drop in the man’s tone as he described the weapons’ individual capabilities.
“Take all the time you need to explore,” said Officer Blackmore. “If you need me, just holler.”
The officer stepped away, leaving Dash alone. Shrugging, Dash skimmed the many artifacts of criminology studies and seized possessions confiscated or recovered with each case Gotham City was able to close. Eventually, the pegasus decided to just go ahead and randomly select.
One particular case presented a morbid wooden ventriloquist puppet adorned with a top hat and dressed in a suit and tie.
“What the...” Dash remarked, though a closer look at the doll sent a chill up her spine. Upon pressing down on the button, Dash shivered upon learning of the split-personality disorder of the Ventriloquist.
“One ventriloquist’s dummy aka Scarface. This ain’t the original Scarface. It’s a Joker knock off. Don’t ask me why, but the clown took a liking to these creepy things.” Dash snorted, it’s absolutely ridiculous most of these freaks look like they would come out from some twisted circus act.
For minutes, Dash listened to the various recordings. Button by button, recording by recording, Dash was recounted to the tales of grueling investigations. She was not spared by any display the horrific details of twisted acts and vicious deeds.
She had initially come here to distract herself from the anxiety she felt for her friends, the rage she harbored against Bruce, and only partially out of curiosity. Now, however, with each description, the pegasus found her spirit sinking even further and her stomach churning with dread and disgust and terror.
Most of these items seem very unordinary! All these gadgets and weapons, tools of depravity and violence. The vile minds of Gotham’s scum, enabled and enhanced to perpetrate such terrible deeds with these many devices.
While wandering around the locker room, Dash’s communicator rang, which she still kept in her ear “Rainbow Dash,” a familiar voice rang, “Can you read me?”
Dash beamed “Oh! Hey there, uh-”
“Just refer to me as Oracle, Rainbow Dash,” Barbara Gordon said, but continued on to the serious topic, “I know you’re upset and probably wouldn’t want to hear his name at the moment, however, there is something you need to know about what happened during your conflict with Batman. And yes, I heard everything that went on.”
Dash sighed. “Oracle, I only wanted to help, I don’t know what problem he has. He’s more stubborn than what Applejack used to be during applebuck season.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Bruce has his own ways of protecting his own peers.”
“By knocking them out cold and forcefully leaving them in a Police Department,” Dash bluntly stated.
Barbara sighed, “You don’t understand. There’s always a reason, y’know. Similar to how he doesn’t allow Tim to help out.” Dash perplexed, wondering what point she’s trying to make. “Bruce is never open with anyone about this topic. But I’m sure you know about his past.”
Dash blinked, “Uh, y-yeah,” stuttered the pegasis, “Where are you going with this?”
“The past shaped the way he is. It affected his life. He doesn’t show it, but he’s doing this to prevent losing another ally. You’re not the only one that deals with his ways of protection. I think you should think it over.”
Dash closed her eyes, deeply inhaling as she processed everything.
Half an hour earlier...
Two shadows – one the elusive Dark Knight, the other a swift Cyan Crusader – darted through the late night sky, soaring and leaping above or from roof to roof until they glimpsed their distant destination: a safehouse. They had used the building's roof as their alternate route, one clung to the vertical structure and the other hovered in steady flight, both had watched a band of soldiers guarding the penthouse.
“I see you've kept the communication speakers I lent you," Batman mused.
Dash smiled through her cowl, activating the mechanism attached to her right ear, “Hey, I never know when I need these.”
Directing her gaze through the window near their surveillance spot, the cyan speedster spotted another assembly of goons stationed inside. The duo observed the scene within, preparing for intervention as they gathered more information on Scarecrow’s schemes.
In the quiet interior of their penthouse, the soldiers were gathered at a cell’s window.
“How long do we have to keep her in there,” a soldier moaned, impatiently stirring from his rigid stature.
“Until we get his order to gas her,” one of his comrades gruffly responded.
Dash raised an eyebrow, angrily growling. The thought of these so-called soldiers tormenting a hostage with a dose of experimental 'fear gas' sickened her, causing her stomach to churn.
“Do your worst; the boredom is killing me,” a feminine voice spoke from within the walls of her imprisonment, sounded detached and oddly at ease despite the circumstances of the situation she was in.
“Oh, don't worry, you'll get what’s coming for ya' when we're good and ready,” one soldier argued back.
“Why do we have to wait? We can give her a dose now,” the first soldier returned, shifting in anticipation.
“Be my guest. I'll tell Scarecrow it was your idea.”
Dash cocked her head, mondering how Scarecrow even manage to hire an entire military to willingly comply with his biddings. Just by eavesdropping on his employees' bickering made her shudder!
“I was just joking,” the first soldier protested, raising his arms in either exasperation or terrified surrender.
“Didn't sound like a joke...” the second soldier muttered.
Dash focused on Batman, pending for the moment to take action, sighing when he simply shook his head disapprovingly and instructed her to standby.
“You think I want him to know I disobeyed the given orders?! Have you seen him," the first soldier hissed.
The other soldier nodded, cringing as he replied, “Yeah, saw him up close. He's done something to his face, hasn't he? It’s like he carved chunks out of it.”
“Rumor is he got his face torn off by some freak called Killer Croc,” another soldier mentioned.
"Really? Sounds deliberate to me."
“Yeah, well, I guess he figured he should look the part. Y'know, like a scarecrow.”
Most of the men recoiled at the suggestion, one covering his mouth in aghast, "Ugh, now that's messed up, man!"
“Speaking of messed up: Why is she here,” one soldier inquired, pointing through the cell window towards their prisoner.
An impatient sigh was the inquiry's answer, "I'm here because your boss has an inferiority complex. After all, he's only human."
“Nobody asked you, freak,” was shot back.
“They offered her the chance to join, but she refused. Scarecrow is going to use her as his new lab rat."
“Pamela Isley, a woman able to control plants with her mind... Really,” a soldier foolishly scoffed.
“Stick around, maybe you'll find out,” Isley hissed, leaving the patrolling soldiers confused on whether she was making a genuine threat or bluffing.
“Oh, I've seen it with my own eyes. One of the guys bringing her in got torn in two by one of her giant tentacles.” one pointed out.
“You make it sound so crass. It was ... beautiful,” Isley crooned dreamily, to which Dash shot a disgusted frown, shivering at the malicious words of Pamela Lillian Isley, known by Gotham as Poison Ivy.
Beside her, the Dark Knight held his hand in a halting gesture as he sensed Dash’s excited anticipation. The mare huffed, grudgingly remaining in place as she slowly drowned out the rest of the conversation in boredom.
One of the soldiers turned to his neighbor, hushedly grumbling, “Man, what's wrong with this city? It's just full of monsters... God!”
“You’re not wrong. Check Compressor 5. We need to be ready to go when we get the order,” the group's leader instructed.
A piercing crash interrupted the soldiers’ conversation, those closest to the window whirling around and stumbled back, raising their arms to shield themselves from the wave of shattering glass. Soldiers collided with another, soon sending the group into a jostling frenzy as a duo of shrouded vigilant rose from the wood floor strewn with glistening shards.
Quickly recovering and regaining their footing, the henchmen focused on the intruders, one shouted, "It's Batman and his pet!"
“You really need to check for holes in your security,” Isely snidely commented carelessly, arm-crossed.
“I’ll handle this,” the group’s leader assured calmly, pulling a pistol from the holster at his waist.
As Dash hunched low to the wooden flooring, Batman produced a batarang from his utility belt, swiftly javalining the projectile. A metallic ring followed by a thudding clatter pierced the tense silence as the two weapons impacted and the pistol fell to the floor.
“Shit,” was the only word that escaped the commander’s parted lips before a bat-clad torpedo launched itself from the ground and rammed into his midsection, a hoof bucking his head as it darted from off his fallen form.
“Who’s next,” Dash challenged, wings flared. From behind her, the door was flung open as the soldiers stationed as watchmen outside poured in, joining the stirring pandemonium.
One soldier rushed Dash from behind, a sin on his part as she wickedly snickered, bucking him in the face. The man lurched, clenching his face in pain as he fell backwards into another group of soldiers, effectively tangling them.
She spun around to her next opponent, but the claustrophobic-level space provided prevented her from ducking as a fist connected with her jaw. In retaliation, she blindly windmealed, her front hooves connecting with the foreheads of the men on either side and hind ones uppercutting those unfortunate to be approaching from those positions.
From across the room, soldiers swung at the Dark Knight, their main objective. The vigilant avenger delivered rapid kicks and swift blows to his assailants, easily taking them down. Intercepting another soldier’s meek swing, Batman flung the hapless man onto a home network curb attached to the wall. The soldier flailed, shrieking, but was unable to prevent his head from coming into contact with the wires. The effects were immediate, a shockwave coursing through the victim’s body, which spasmed as his eyes bulged and his hair stood on end. When at last the man faded from consciousness, he was deposited to the far wall.
Dash came to a halt beside Batman, gawking at the electrocuted man, aghast. Pointing a shaking hoof towards his still smoldering form, she choked out, “Did you...”
Bruce shook his head, “I never do.” Lifting the man by his collar, he pointed at the chest, which still rose and fell, “See?”
Slow clapping filled the empty silence. “Well, that’s made things a tad more interesting,” Isley congratulated.
Batman and Dash spun, gaping as a final militiaman aiming a barrel at the unfazed woman’s head. Speaking into a walkie-talkie, he informed, “Sir, they’re here.”
Behind him, a distorted projection of the man in question flickered, addressing the prospectors in his gravelly voice, “Were you expecting to find me, Batman? I’m afraid I must disappoint you. Take a look at the chamber; I want you to know the fear that is coming.”
“Listen up, Bat-freaks,” shouted the militiaman, roughly pulling Pamela by her arm and placing the barrel against her temple, “we’re walking out of here nice and slow. Try otherwise, and she eats lead!”
“Charming,” Isley scoffed. “but only one of us is getting out of this cell.”
The goon cocked his head, “Wha–”
A steady hiss cut off his snarky response. Stiffening, he turned his head towards a ventilation system, eyeing a nasty, orange gas in horror. Isley smirked, freeing herself from his faltering grip as he wheezed from inhaling the fear gas.
As the fumes engulfed him in its murky mist, he shrieked in panic, “No! NO! NO!”
Shots rang, the firearm tightly gripped in his hand aimed at random. Bullets ricocheted off the walls.
Dash cringed as a blurred figure waveringly filled the cell’s window, the gas clearing away to terrified watery eyes staring back at her before the man’s head was suddenly jerked back and slammed forwards. The thick glass fractured, webs of cracks spreading across its face before the head sank, almost sliding down, from view to reveal Pamela Isley.
“Nothing like a little natural immunity,” she mused, stepping over the soldier as Batman flipped a nearby switch to free her from the imprisonment. Stretching, Isley glared daggers at the Caped Crusader, “What are you doing here?”
“Why’d Scarecrow lock you up,” he inquired, ignoring her sharp question. From beside him, Dash tensed in expectation of a brawl, only for Batman to gesture the woman posed no threat at the moment. The mare quirked an eyebrow, deciding to comply while warily keeping Pamela in sight.
Approaching the stone gargoyle of Gotham City, Ivy narrowed her eyes, quisicley purring, “No hello?”
“Answer me,” the Defender forced, resisting her seductive aura.
“What if I don’t want to?” she teased.
“Every last plant in Gotham burns.”
Ivy stiffened, jaws clenched, then relented, “It started with a meeting–”
“What meeting,” he cut her off.
“Everyone was there – Penguin, Two-Face, Riddler, ... even poor Harley,” she elaborated, brushing past the Dark Knight for the penthouse exit. “Scarecrow proposed an alliance in which we all team against you, promising Gotham would be the reward.”
“Over my dead body,” Batman growled, and Dash could almost see his eyes narrowing to slits beneath that cowl.
Ivy stepped out to the rooftop, extending her arm to a garland of vines hanging from the building, almost beckoningly. The vines peeled away from the ledge from where they hung, wrapping themselves around her outstretched hand and snaked their way up to her elbow in a crude yet elegant resemblance of a glove. Ivy eyed the new adornment before turning back to face Batman, “I rejected his idea, told him I wanted nothing to do with his pathetic human games. When I came to, I found myself caged in a shitroom!” A wry smile crept its way onto her face, overriding the furious anger as she noted, “Such a shame his vile toxin has no affect on me.” Approaching an elevator and stepping in, she faced the two vigilantes and raised her arms high as if in an exaggerated display of triumph, declaring, “Nature ALWAYS wins.”
“The buck–”
Without warning, thick vines lashed out from behind the two and coiled around their torsos, tying them together before lifting them into the air and inside just as the elevator doors shut. As the mechanism made its slow descent, Ivy shook her head in amused disappointment, “Will he ever learn?”
The elevator doors slid open at ground level, and Ivy turned to address her ensnared companions, gaping in shock at the escaped duo who glared daggers at her, one stiff and rigid with a scowl and the other hovering with forelegs crossed.
“You’re coming with me,” Batman stated.
Ivy irritatedly rolled her eyes as her arm was gently taken by the Caped Crusader, “You only had to ask.”
“You meatsacks don’t deserve life; you do nothing but harm all vegetation, using all of my poor, helpless babies for your pathetic needs,” Pamela spat, easily getting the attention of Dash, eyebrows furrowed in anger at the metahuman. “You’re all worthless consumers! Your deaths will hold more meaning than your lives ever will. I have a dream of plants being nourished as you decompose. One day, my children shall flourish, and it will be you who are consumed.”
Dash blinked, then snorted before lurching to one side, covering her muzzle in a feeble attempt to stifle her outburst of laughter, “That’s rather ironic. For someone who spews about animal kind being worthless destroyers, you sure like using your ‘babies’ to– Oh, forget it!” Pointing a hoof in Pamela’s face, Dash bluntly reminded, “Whether you like it or not, and how much you insult us ‘meatsacks,’ you’re still a human. No matter what mutation or WHATEVER you’ve gone through, that’ll never change what you are.”
“You dare oppose me,” Ivy roared, trying to lunge for Dash, only to be halted by Batman while he shot a warning glance towards his pegasus conrade.
As the trio exited the building, Dash’s ears pricked at what she thought was a distant rumbling and she glanced over her shoulder. The mare came to a dead stop in flight, eyes bugging out as a chill of unimaginable intensity ran down her spine. “Uh-oh,” she muttered.
From behind, motors roared with exertion as a squadron of military trucks accelerated to their destinations, a sturdy tank accompanying them. The offending reinforcements assembled to a halt in front of the three, barricading the only hasty route of flight as three soldiers streamed out, all wielding rifles trained for the escapees’ chests.
“Go! Go! Go,” a soldier barked, rallying his partners as they rushed to intercept and corner their targets.
“Don’t move,” one ordered, eyeing the two vigilantes warily, hefing his firearm at them in warning.
“We got the target, sir. He’s cornered. One of the pony creatures is also with him,” another reported as he spoke through a TYGER microphone.
“Are you sure it’s them?” was the response given by the militia’s employer, uncertainty and anticipation both evident in an eerie cocktail in his voice as he proposed the question for confirmation.
“Confirmed, it’s Batman!”
“Sir, that tank they have backing them up is unmanned,” Alfred informed through Batman and Rainbow’s communicators.
Batman signaled Dash to flee, an order she complied as she frantically glanced around for an escape route without being gunned down by the gathering of militiamen. Batman, surreptitiously slid his hand into the interior of his cape, bringing his index finger to the button of a remote secured to his utility belt.
From a nearby plaza, a sleek black vehicle roared to life and hastily made its way to the site of the brewing tensions. Shattering several stone pillars along the way, the Batmobile took a swerving turn in a wide arc to its left before coming to a stop alongside its soon-to-be passengers. Dash gaped, coming to a halt and marveling at the mysterious wonders of Batman’s infamous vehicle.
Similar to Dash, the soldiers stared in shock at the Batmobile as the vehicle’s tires retracted, expanding to a larger width by their extendable axles. Upon reaching a preset width, the tires rotated to a tilted angulature, resting at a balanced slant. The mainframe rose from the hood of the automobile, firing several sixty-millimeter missiles at the rattler tank from the cannon which rose from the provided open roof.
A shared gasp escaped the parted lips of three militiamen as the horror of their weapon being taken down so easily hit them. Recovering from their shock, they let loose bullets at the offender’s vehicle, only for the ammunition to simply ricochet off its sturdy, well-armored surface of carbon nanotube aggregate. Fear and panic set in as rubber pellets whizzed through the air from one of the Batmobile’s arsenal of alternative weapons: the Riot Suppressor retracting from the mainframe’s side. Non-lethal slam rounds took their toll on the group as, one by one, they grew rigid from immobility, colliding hard against the cracked concrete.
“I’ve detected six more unmanned tanks approaching fast though Chinatown. They’ll be there any second,” Oracle warned.
Batman motioned Ivy and Dash to seek shelter back inside the penthouse to avoid harm’s way, an order which the woman obeyed while displaying little to no care of the situation. Dash, having snapped out of her dreamy daze, took to the skies and perched on an adjacent rooftop to admiringly spectate the battle to come; this was an action done much to the Dark Knight’s dismay.
Using his remote controller, Batman grew still, awaiting the next squadron of rattler tanks to approach the makeshift ‘arena.’ In her peripheral, Dash spotted two rattlers swiftly descending on the Dark Knight, a notion the man noticed as well.
From its backsides, a set of laser beams were emitted, allowing the Batmobile to swiftly make narrow dodges as the two tanks’ cannon let loose their ammunition in futile attempts to put down their shared enemy. The Bat vehicle swerved to face its opponents, and with two shots, both rattler tanks were eliminated. With each arrival of reinforcements, the Batmobile decimated tank after tank while expertly avoiding lasers attempting to get a steady, direct line of fire on it.
The Batmobile slowed as Batman utilized its secondary combat mechanism: the Missile Barrage, which launched a powerful missile soaring for each individual tanks’ engine. With each impact, the missiles sent a vibrating pulse across Chinatown, the metropolitan terrain shaking from the earthquake-esque shockwaves
A thrumming whir from above, snapped Dash out of her trance before she warily glanced up at a hovering newschopper. Its headlights panned on the scene of glorious demolition as a terrifyingly familiar voice reached Dash’s ears through the communications system, “This is Vicki Vale, reporting live in Chinatown, Gotham City; what appears to be a massive, deadly clash between unidentified tanks deployed from an unknown militia battling what seems to be– Wait, is that, the Batmobile?!”
Dash almost face-hoofed, shaking her head in bewilderment as an image of an overjoyed reporter she had helped rescue from The Joker’s sniper men near the old police department building flashed in her mind, “It’s her,” Dash muttered.
Spreading her wings, the mare ascended towards the chopper through the chilling winds of Gotham’s autumn night. Her lips parted to a mischievous, sly grin as she approached the aircraft, circling it at a distance before inching closer. Approaching the chopper window adjacent to Vicki’s position, she lightly tapped the glass to get the reporter and her cameraman’s attention, startling them from the details which were being broadcasted.
“What was that?!” Vicki cried, barely glimpsing a black blur darting from the window.
Snickering, Rainbow zipped around to the other side and tapped on Vicki’s window, dashing away just as the woman spun to face her. Vicki quirked an eye as she checked each direction out her window, she turned her focus back down at the battle.
“D-Did... Did you see that?!” Vicki shrilly screeched, pointing a shaking finger to where Dash had just been mere seconds before.
Dash tilted her head, pondering how to get a good laugh. Suddenly, she let out a chuckle. Reaching out again, she gave Vicki’s window three, calculated taps before waving as the woman gaped in recognition and surprise.
“What the–” Vicki stammered, “Oh, it’s one of them!”
The cameraman beside her cocked his head as Vicki excitedly reported in front of his camera, “I’ve just got news! The mysterious ponies have made their presence known just outside this chopper! It’s unknown whether they are involved in the situation currently unfolded below, but– Oh, I’ve got to interview them on where they came from, how they got there, and why they’ve returned...” Vicki turned back to her window, frowning questioningly as she had done so in time to see Rainbow facehoof and dive back to a rooftop, “Hmm, maybe later.”
Down below in the streets of Chinatown, the Batmobile fired one last missile, obliterating the final rattler tank. Dash grinned in fangirl-style delight, swooping down beside the Dark Knight. As she touched down, however, a dawning realization struck her cold.
The Batmobile gradually reverted into its normal appearance, parking right besides the street curb right at the penthouse entrance. Batman pressed a button on his remote to open the passenger seats located on the backside of the vehicle.
“We need to leave,” Batman hustled, walked Isley towards the vehicle.
“The master of understatement, as ever,” Ivy muttered as she willingly settled into the seat, the restraint bars automatically locked around her before the seats were inserted indoors of the Batmobile.
“Bruce, I see a transport deploying more tanks at Panesa Studios. I’ve warned GCPD to pull their men off the streets.”
“Rainbow,” Batman addressed over his shoulder, not turning to face said mare, “I need you to head to GCPD.”
Silence answered Gotham City’s protector, something the man was not quite expecting from his excitable, enthusiastic, and rather naive assistant.
Batman turned to Dash, stopping upon seeing her rigid stature, her expressions vacant and eyes staring into the distance as Oracle’s urgent warning registered along with her descending optimism. Dash’s smile crumbled away, a deeply-set frown full of worry overriding it. As anxiety and concern laced with terror coursed through the Equestrian’s veins, her pupils constricted to the size of pinpricks. The emotions mixed into a strong, paralyzing cocktail. Her mind raced, wracked with fear and worry before she finally protested: “What?!? You want me to leave you alone to face these punks?!”
“I can handle myself. You’re not equipped to help take on what this militia is capable of,” the man argued in reply, frustration and impatience beginning to rise given the lack of time they had to flee.
Dash’s eyes narrowed, her wings flaring as an elixir of oxytocin, vasopressin, and corticotropin-releasing hormone seeped the frothing sea of ichor at an accelerating velocity, “What about my friends?! Every square inch in this city is being burnt to the ground, and you expect me to abandon them?!!”
Batman remained motionless and unswayed, his face drawn into a frown and a glare evident behind his cowl, “I’ll look for them. You will stay put in GCPD from now on; I’ll have Alfred notify the officers to let you in.”
Jaws clenched and teeth ground against one another as Dash hovered before the stone man, nostrils flaring as she demanded a reason for his lack of concern for others’ well-being: “We helped you in Arkham – saved you from near death even, – which proves we can handle ourselves. But that was then, and for all I know, we’re all separated in this Celestia-forsaken Tartarus hole! Why aren’t you letting me come with you, why don’t you care, WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HELP?! TELL ME!!!”
There are moments in life when emotion overrides thought, and one unintentionally spits out something without truly meaning it or without clarifying. Emotions, like matches, can also spark.
“Because you’ll only get in the way!”
Words, like actions, have an impact. Dash could only stare at the man blankly. A match was flung just as adrenaline flooded into the ichor, and what was once an aqueous solution became a heterogenous accelerant.
Accelerants and flames don’t mix well, and an inferno is what was once a small flame.
One wrong word, and Dash’s mind and body were consumed in fiery hate and singing rage as the world turned red.
In a flash, Batman tackled the lunging fireball flying at him, grunting slightly at the force of impact as he intercepted and flipped the black and cerulean torpedo. His hands gripping the sides of her head, Batman dove, sending both man and mare crashing to the cracked ground.
As both fell to the hard, unforgiving pavement, Dash speedily detached herself from the cold surface, readying herself for offense against the caped-hero. Batman took a defensive stance. Dash attempted a roundhouse, followed up with a quick jab. Both attacks were blocked by the bat. After a session of Dash throwing many kicks and hooves, some were blocked or flicked aside. Others were successfully connected onto various parts of his face. Having enough of her attacks, Batman quickly threw a strong open-handed strike against the Equestrian’s open chest to create some distance.
“Stand down, Dash!”
Rainbow snarled in response, clutching her chest from the effects of the attacks. “I ain’t going to stand by, not with my friends out there. If it means I have to get through you, then fine!”
Her statement worked up her motivation. She ascended higher up into the chilling air, glaring down at Batman. In a blink, Batman flung a batarang upwards towards Dash, hovering sideways for the flying object to pass by.
With an acrobatic somersault, Dash proceeded with a dive bomb, descending towards Batman at high speeds, her forelegs front and center. Batman, having very little time to react, Dash successfully connected the maneuver against the crusader square in the armored-chest plating. The force was strong enough to force the caped-crusader meters across.
Batman grunted in pain, he fell to his knees, clutching onto the spot against his chest. The power through the attack could be felt through the armored plating. He turned his head upwards to see the charging figure, throwing her right hoof towards her opponent, only for it to be caught by his firm grip. Batman rebounded with a straight uppercut under her chin.
Sending the pegasus a few feet upwards, descending back down, Batman measured for the right position to time a spinning side kick to knock her ways away. Yelping in reaction to the powerful kick.
Dash glared at Batman painfully as she shakily stood up. Batman then quickly leaped forwards, with a quick roll against the concrete followed with a kip-up. Batman flicked his cape to stun Dash, proceeding to execute his signature beatdown, though holding back his attacks. He then pins Dash down to the concrete.
Dash’s eyes shut tightly with gritted teeth through her struggle. All she could do is glare at her overpowering opponent. Batman knew the amount of heat she has towards him, although his mindset strictly stands to keep her out of harm’s way. Raising his right fist, yet he paused, an act of hesitation. Dash could only stare intently, awaiting for the finishing blow. Batman shook off the feeling, he struck Dash to knock her unconscious as quick and painless as he could.
Through fading vision, she made out a hidden face, a deep frown working its way across its visible features.
Under that ominous mask, Bruce Wayne shakily whispered in response to her pained whimper, “I’m sorry...”
Dash Blinked, processing the events unfold.
“I’ll just...let you think this through,” Barbara stated, therefore ending the session.
Dash turned, eyes glistening as she gazed into the distance, across the spacious expanse of society’s taint. A smirk gradually spread across her muzzle as she, her despair renewed with this newfound information bequeathed to her, “Oh Celestia, I wish Pinkie was here.”
Bleake Island rang with the ever-present mayhem of gangs and purgers, their comotion echoing across streets and avenues, inside the interiors of vacated buildings, and seeping into the gloom of alleyways.
A pink mare shivered with each resounding cacophony, huddling close to the filthy of the where she’d awoken alone.
Pinkie Pie feared loneliness is a terrible sickness, and one may grow to wish they were dead. Loneliness is a despairing feeling liken to that of being abandoned.
Pinkie shivered at the memory of a birthday party she’d forgotten – her own, – and the misery and pain she faced. Though things were cleared up in the end, she would never forget how she’d lashed out at her own friends and how they reacted to her almost bipolar change in attitude.
Her past was a gloomy, drab one which haunted her constantly. The tensions of dealing with them left her with a vulnerable spot, one which she hid away with her new life of cheer and joy. But those memories and thoughts always lingered at the back of her mind, and she feared–
“You fear what, may I ask?”
Pinkie Pie flinched away from the whispering voice, turning and cowering at the sight of a dull pastel pink muzzle donning a cruel, glowering sneer emerging from the alley’s dismal shadows.
“What’s wrong? I thought you didn’t like being alone,” said a pink mare as she slinked forwards, the dull moonlight making both enamel and sclera almost glow in comparison to her muted pastel fur and mane. Pinkie gaped as the mare chortled, “Priorities, Pinkie. You really need to wrap your silly brain around the term.”
Pinkie shivered as the mare drew ever so nearer, the smile on her sharply drawn face stretching wider than even she thought possible. Backing away from the approaching pony, Pinkie reached the alleyway exit and prepared to bolt when suddenly a gunshot stopped her in her tracks. She turned tail and leapt over the other mare, but skid to a halt upon realizing she just cornered herself with the monstrous fiend.
The mare let out a giggle of amusement, shaking her head as she slowly turned to face the trembling Pinkie, “Such cowardly behavior! Where did you learn to sing about facing your fears?”
The mare, Pinkamena, continued to jeer her poor victim, who trembled with every insult that escaped her opposer’s lips.
“Bravery by laughter, ha,” Pinkamena spat in disgust, waving a forehoof dismissively as if to ward off invisible flies. “Pathetic, silly, and totally absurd; all of those words I use to describe you accurately.”
Pinkie clenched her eyes shut, afraid the tears welling up in them would evoke more insults and taunts from the mare whose image she now resembled as her mane deflated and vibrance faded.
Again. She had come once more, and again she had something to say. That cackling monstrosity — a doppelganger-esque incarnation — loomed over the weeping mare, having returned to resume plaguing her. She would never leave, would always return.
The jeering would never cease.
Endless, and...
“Forever,” Pinkamena mouthed, licking her lips as if already having anticipated and now savoring the idea of a lifetime: a lifetime of fun mocking her mutual prey, or rather host. “Eternity with me, now isn’t that exciting?! Oh, no, my little dear, no... Never fear, Pinkie, for you are never alone. Being forever a loner and abandoned? No, Pinkie, you shall never be. You have me, and I will always be here for you, bringing some semblance of meaning to your meaningless, pathetic life! Look at me, Pinkie, ... I am here, and it’s all just for you!”
As a filly, Pinkie had known this mare. While still living at the Pie Family rock farm, she had the complexion of the mare before her. A drab and depressing life, those days were until she witnessed a Sonic Rainboom expand upwards and out from the distant horizon – a rainbow sun in dreary times. She loved her family, truly, but the life of rock farming was not for her; she had different tastes, and a mission of spreading joy and laughter was born that very day. She continued life with a different, more bubbly complexion, but it seemed that her old self still lingered within her. A part of her, a fragment of life she wished to forget but could never. No matter what, she was still Pinkamena Diane Pie, and no party or pastry could ever change that.
Sometimes, Pinkie felt anchored, other times shackled and in chains within a claustrophobic cell, and still other times shut in. Knowing what the sensation was, there was no hiding from the universal notion of being trapped.
Sinking in despair for a better life.
Surrounded by fears and insecurities.
Walled in by the terrors of being forgotten, or ostracized, or rejected, or–
The mare, now towering over her, cackled heartily a manic roar of mirth. “You are nothing, and that is all you will ever be. Face it, my dear, nopony likes you. But, I...” the mare’s face seemed to fill Pinkie’s vision, “will always be here. You are nothing, but I still complete you and make your life worthwhile. I am always before you, beside you, and right behind you.”
“Stop it! Please, stop! W-Why...?” the pink Earth mare wept, rocking back and forth on her haunches as torrentuous tears streamed down her quivering cheeks. Her world was crumbling around her, her mind drowning in despair and pain. All words failed her, there was nothing she could say in defense or protest against her tormentor. But, through trembling lips, she could only manage to choke out, “Why do you have to be so mean?”
The reflection of the despairing mare merely laughed, shrill bouts of harsh exhalations filling the vast interior of Pinkie Pie’s mind and soul within its deafening sound.
The laughter... It–
Overwhelmed her.
Washed over her.
It was consuming her, enveloping her in its cold, loveless embrace as its acrid breath greeted her as it roared from the gaping maw inching ever closer to seize and enclose her in its rancid interior.
“Please stop! L-Leave me alone! Just...”
Now reduced to a blubbering mound of sagging pastel pink, Pinkie did not realize the onslaught of giggling – those piercing, vicious vocalizations – had finally departed, simply faded into nothingness.
No, wait...
Pinkie’s ears swiveled about, and through her sobs and the occasional gunshot or shatter of glass, she did hear something else. Not that tantalizing guffaw, but rather... They were replaced by a soft, soothing humming.
“Pinkie...?”
Pinkie glanced up, her large tear-clouded blue eyes meeting an identical pair.
Pinkie shrieked, bolting from her fetal position on the grimy cement, and scurried muzzle-first into the alley dead-end. Her head jerked backwards from the stunning impact, her body falling backwards right into two awaiting hooves.
“Don’t touch me,” Pinkie snapped, and the two pink hooves supporting her withdrew. Pinkie wirled to face Pinkamena, hooves outstretched and raised in warning, “S-Stay away! Just ... leave me alone!”
Not once in her visitations had Pinkamena physically interacted with Pinkie, but she was only now doing so. Pinkie’s pupils shrank to pinpricks at the dreadful thought of why this was the case.
Torture is simply defined as the act of inflicting severe pain, whether it be emotionally, mentally, or ... physically.
Pinkamena drew back within several fore leg’s distance from the hyperventilating Pinkie, raising both forelegs up in ... defeat? Peace? Surrender? “Pinkie, please, calm down. Please, just ... hear me out,” Pinkamena pleaded, her eyes begging the panicking pink party pony to listen to her.
Weak with fright and too scared to move, Pinkie simply plopped to the floor, paralysis having taken over.
“Pinkie, please, I need you to understand I am not the fiendish entity plaguing you,” Pinkamena began after a deafening moment of uncomfortable silence.
“Liar,” Pinkie hollered, managing to regain her composure. “You've been coming to me, ruining my life for years with your mean words! Why do you have to lie about that?!”
"She — or rather, ... it — was not a real being, Pinkie," Pinkamena protested, hooves raised, outstretched before her as she faltered back in surrender. "You do not understand because you thought that thing was an actual pony. She isn't real, she never was. She's only a figment of your imagination!"
Pinkie gawked, stunned at these words.
“Pinkie, I swear upon Celestia’s reign, I am telling the truth,” insisted the other mare. “I am not that ... thing from before. It is nopony whatsoever. That apparition, it does not exist, it’s just in your head. Pinkie, please, I want you to understand the incarnation was merely an embodiment of your fears manifesting themselves to you.”
Pinkie blinked, stunned by these words, “Huh?”
Pinkamena sighed, head drooping slightly in sorrow, “Ever since you were a filly, you’ve always wanted a better, happier life, right?”
Pinkie nodded in confirmation, now not quite sure where this was going.
“You see, once you left the rock farm in pursuit of your self-imposed mission, you began having doubts about how you would be received. Having never had many social experiences while living at the rock farm, you did not have much experience with others. Once you started interacting with others, you had doubts regarding what they thought of you.” Pinkamena waved a hoof in acknowledgement of Pinkie’s ever-growing confusion, “What I mean to say is, a fillyhood with no social gatherings left you uncertain when you first started connecting with others. Insecurities began to form, but you refused to acknowledge them. By covering them with bubbliness and jokes, you refused to address a, um, sensitive spot of yourself with both your own self and others. The joy and merriment was real, but also served as a shield against something you dreaded facing.”
Pinkie nodded, once again recalling her surprise birthday party and her ‘party of one.’
Pinkamena nodded, eyes expressing earnest hope and rising hope, “By not facing those insecurities, you allowed them to fester and grow. Eventually, they took on a form which you couldn’t quite escape from.” Pinkie tilted her head, pondering. “The soft spot,” Pinkamena continued, “was always there, even if you never addressed it. When your mind did focus on those fears, you envisioned another mare of your spitting image confronting and taunting you.” Pinkamena rose, “Pinkie, the incarnation you know as Pinkamena, it’s only you being forced to confront those lingering worries, and it happens especially when you are in a situation conveying said worries.”
“I see..." Pinkie murmured, but then her eyebrows rose in suspicion of one problem – a very significant issue at hoof. Thrusting an accusatory hoof at the mare’s chest, she rose and approached Pinkamena, “So then, who are you?”
“Um...”
Pinkie tapped her hoof in impatience, but there was also anticipation, “Well?!”
“Wait, I–”
One equine crouched low to the ground, teeth bared and nostrils flaring, and suddenly two pink mares crashed to the ground in a vibrant blur of speeding color. When the pastel torpedo collided with the still form of another, a cloud of debris rose before clearing to one mare
pinning another to the filthy, cracked pavement.
A pink hoof jabbed the tackled victim hard in the chest, repeating the action with every hissed word, “Who ... are ... you?”
The fallen pink mare wheezed, “Need ... to ... breath!”
Two mares, identical reflections of each other, stared back at one another. One stared back inquisitively, eyes widening in surprise; the other, well, grunted and gasped for air.
Finally, Pinkie sighed. Cautiously rising from the crumpled form of Pinkamena, eyeing her warily as she did so, she rolled off and backed away. Pinkamena sighed in relief, brushing scraps of paper and other bits of ... unspeakable rubbish from her coat and limp mane. Turning directly to the expectant pink party pony who simply nodded for her to proceed. Pinkamena cocked her head and let out a snort of cheeky mischief, “You have got to lay off the cupcakes, sister. I swear I couldn’t breath with you sandwiching me like that.”
Pinkie blinked before bursting into a short fit of giggles, “You sure know how to roast a pony, huh?” Recovering from the joke, Pinkie grew serious again and nodded for Pinkamena to proceed, “Well?”
Pinkamena’s shoulders slumped, "I... I honestly cannot prove myself to you, Pinkie. I can only ask you to trust me when I say I am not a delusion or hallucination. I am Pinkamena, and I was born this day to set you free from your misery.”
Pinkamena then proceeded to lecture Pinkie on the Tulpa Effect.
“The Tulpa Effect?” Pinkie inquired curiously.
Pinkamena nodded, “The Tulpa Effect is a theory explaining the creation and existence of Tulpa, which is a thoughtform, or being created from the collective thoughts of separate individuals. The Tulpa Effect essentially, theoretically speaking, produces an entity or organism solely from collected works by individuals with a passion for creation.” She paused as Pinkie took this all in, “I was just a thought, a mere idea spawned from the works of many intellectual thinkers, but now...” She gestured to herself, “I am alive.”
Pinkie gaped, “You’re otherworldly?”
Pinkamena nodded in confirmation, “Indeed, I am.”
“What kind of ideas?”
At this, Pinkamena grimaced, “I would rather not say. Not all the ideas of me are, shall we say, friendly.” Raising a hoof as Pinkie stared at her with a concerned eye, Pinkamena quickly reassured, “Not all the ideas are friendly, but that doesn’t mean they all are unpleasant. Besides, I also stem from your aspirations and desires.”
Pinkie frowned in confusion, “Wha...? What do you mean?”
Pinkamena chuckled, softly ruffling Pinkie’s straight mane, “Recall asking the manifestation why she is so mean? Well, your wish is granted! Pinkie, listen to me. I am here for you. I’ll always be beside you when you need comfort and guidance. I will never let anything harmful happen to you. I...” Pinkamena took a step back and began to make a familiar gesture, “Pinkie Promise.”
Slowly, a smile worked its way across her young, adorable face. In a faint whisper of gratitude, she let all her burdens and pain evaporate and simply drift away, “Thank you...”
Pinkamena smiled, beckoning for Pinkie to draw near. In one fluid sweep, two mares – identical twins in appearance and mindset – embraced.
“You know,” Pinkamena whispered into Pinkie’s ear, “when The Joker deceived you three years ago, you almost became his equine Harley Quinn.”
Pinkie stared back into Pinkamena’s eyes – caring, motherly eyes full of kindness and mischievous – and giggled, “You are so random.”
Pinkamena chuckled in return, “One and the same, my sister and friend.”
“Yes, we are one and the same...”
As both mares settled back into a warm embrace – an embrace signifying their agreement of friendship and love – a mist of soft, translucent pink surrounded them. In a flash, where two mares stood locked in a mutual bond, one now stood alone.
No, she was never alone.
She would never be, and never again.
She had friends, and now another.
She was a mare who survived a bleak past, had made a future for herself, and had achieved – and would continue to achieve – great things.
And she would succeed, because she had a companion – a companion who was always there for her and would forever trot beside her.
They were friends.
Sisters.
A family of their own unique individuality.
Pinkamena Diane ‘Pinkie’ Pie emerged from the gaping maw of a deary, dilapidated alleyway in a tainted city, a bright smile on her muzzle and the shadows drawing away from behind her. Rising onto her hind legs, Pinkie beamed ever wider, staring up into the cloud-filled sky above.
There were no constellations, for there were no glittering stars. But upon observing further, she briefly glimpsed a silver sliver of light.
In the booming, glooming of this dreadful night of doom, Pinkie Pie could still spy a smidge of moonlight peeking through the obscure aerial fog.
A pink mare’s heart beat beat, and her grin grew as she sensed the renewed hope within her.
In the din of Gotham City’s Halloween night, through the unsynchronized chorus of gunfire and glass and siren wails, you may just be able to hear the vestiges of a cheerful giggle, a sweet note ringing with uncorrupted light. A light that shines in the dark, driving it back.
A spark of hope, a beacon of prosperous peace.
Up above and far away in the horizon, a vortex swirled and lingered before collapsing away. Pinkie squinted her eyes, her jaw set with determination. The mare arched her back, settled and settled onto all fours, trotting into the night.
A pink mare’s slow trot gradually morphed into a cheerful bounce as, through giggles, she remarked, “Just like magic...”