//------------------------------//
// Line of Ire (3) 
// Story: Super Pony Roomies 
// by TheManehattanite 
//------------------------------//


9


“So gimme a clue!” the Horseshoe Torch called over the hum of engines, hovering as close to the Thing’s chariot as was safe. Didn’t wanna set fire to his hat and coat after all. “What’d they do this time? Glue your hooves to a pedestal again? Sneezing powder in your fancy custom skin cream? One of Lockjaw’s doggy bags on your porch?

“Said it was Yancy Street business,” the Thing said, pulling off a hoof-into-shoe smooth landing in a carriage bay without even looking at his controls, “’nothin’ about the Yancy Street Gang.”

“…are you dying or something?”

“Yeah, the thought of doin’ this for ya is killin’ me.” 

Grim Skies led him around a corner into the street proper, adjusting his king-sized fedora brim. Johnny flamed off, striding as hard as possible so he could pull alongside the mass of trench coat and adopt a more casual canter.  

He searched each alleyway and storefront for signs of…he wasn’t sure. Yancy Street was as personal to Grim as Hob’s Garden was to Deerdevil or Haven to Cage. Others in the business weren’t unwelcome, but there were nuances that needed to be carefully navigated and were almost impossible to articulate. 

For example, how Grim would rage against the place and everypony in it one moment (which to be fair could be applied to Manehattan in general) and then bellow his pride in it as he headbutted Terrax the next, for as long as Johnny had known him. 

“Place looks better than you made it sound,” he noted as they passed the local synagogue. “Then again I always thought Reed found you in the Savage Land or something. Y’know, flossin’ with fossils, making loincloths out of velociraptors, licking volcanoes for sustenance, that kinda thing.” 

“Wasn’t that different back in the day,” the Thing said without irony, “and even then? Beats whatever Ken Doll factory you escaped from.” 

"Yeah, okay that was pretty good. Whoa!” Johnny ignited on instinct as a frog leapt out of a nearby park pond, bursting briefly into showtunes before it landed on the sidewalk and resumed it’s normal bland staring. None of the pedestrians seemed phased. 

“Just ley lines, squirt,” the Thing rumbled with a roll of those ever lovin’ blue eyes. “We’re practically a beeline for the Kingdomsburg Bridge, whaddaya want?” 

“Got one of those crazy long scrolls on you?” The Torch doused himself. “Where are we going anyway? You’re being weirdly subtle. I don’t like it. Feels like you’re trying to lure me into a subway kiosk so you can make like a Daring Do book and roll over me.” 

“Classy.” 

Grim waited for a passing carriage to finish crossing and trotted across the road. Johnny almost walked into him, expecting the journey to wind up in an alley or the Phantom Pasture or something. “Well. Here ya go, matchstick.” 

“Here I go what?” Johnny squinted, trotting around the Thing and squinting into the deepening shadows. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” 

“I look like a guide book to you?” Twin jets of something that smelled of brick dust snorted from the Thing’s nose as he harrumphed. “Guess lightin’ up don’t mean you’re all that bright!” 

The comeback died in Johnny’s throat as he began to slowly turn, actually taking in their surroundings. He’d assumed Grim had just been crossing into another part of the block, but the big galoot and his noir cosplay had been blocking the revelation. 

They were standing in the middle of what might once have been a park, some new looking playground equipment in each corner next to lines of picnic benches, but now encircled by low, new stone walls, making it more like a secluded garden. 

The place looked strangely serene in the setting sun, like they’d stepped into a tranquil alien world in the middle of Manehattan’s constant background noise…which Johnny now realised was slightly muffled by the walls. 

Remodelled tenements on either side of each wall linked up with the one glinting at them in the setting light now, overseeing the park. All three formed one big complex, the park building as the centre. The park entrance and front doors were designed to mimic a brownstone setup, combining to give the whole thing equal feelings of accessibility and privacy. 

“Not bad,” Johnny smiled, craning to take the whole thing in. The sun was giving the building a sort of halo thanks to strategically placed abstract Pegasus statues on the roof. “Armilla?” 

“Yep! We just finished a few days ago.” 

Johnny blinked at the proud smile on that stony mug. “You built this?” 

“Commissioned,” the Thing clarified. “You might remember my lil’ windfall!”

“Ugh, seeing you that happy was so weird,” Johnny groaned with a roll of the eyes. 

Technically he was a financial non-entity, what with being 15 when he stowed away on that fateful airship test. When Reed, Sue and Grimm all clubbed together to found the company, he legally couldn’t have been a part of it if he wanted to. Through Fantastic Inc.’s finances his money was Reed and Sue’s, a salary paid for serving on expeditions and supplemented by his percentage of his own merchandising rights. 

Which was how Grim was paid too, leaving that money he’d paid in untouched and to grow with basic compound interest. Johnny still wasn’t sure that wasn’t a mix of Reed’s guilt and Sue playing some kind of long game. She’d been the one to break the news to the big lug after all: he wasn’t on Tony Spark’s level, but now had enough that he could build his own custom airship armada if he wanted to. 

Or apartment buildings, apparently? 

“Good looking place, gruesome,” Johnny smirked in pretend-begrudging admission, patting a stony foreleg. “And here I’d have thought you’d have made a Thing Museum and traumatise innocent tourists.” 

“Project much?” the Thing smirked back down at him, craning with him to take in the statues again. “Wakin’ up with my own lil’ dragon horde…I dunno, felt this itch to get back in touch with the old neighbourhood. Fix it up before somepony finally bulldozed it. Maybe make ‘em feel like they don’t have to fight back as much.”

He proudly gestured up to the central statue, a rearing Pegasus. “This place was one of the first on my list.”

“Yeah?” Johnny looked over his shoulder to take in the street behind them, full of various breeds and creatures. “Looks like the neighbourhood’s in good shape, but what’s so special about this place?”

“I was born here.” 

Johnny looked up into those big blue eyes, trying not to laugh as he pictured an adorable little rock baby! “Tell me your Aunt Petunia has photos.”

“Like anypony in this neighbourhood could afford a camera back then!” 

Johnny thought the Thing was about to pull one of his stomping off routines, but he was only making his way over to a small plaque by some of the bushes. 

Johnny peered around him as he heaved trench coated shoulders and respectfully removed his hat. At first he thought it was some weird post-modern thing, but realised he was looking at a cutie mark carved into the stone: a pair of wings framing a cracked circle. 

“Hey, Slammy,” Grim said softly. 

Johnny felt like the big guy had almost forgotten he was there, and that it might have been better if he wasn’t. 

“Your brother?” he asked carefully, remembering fragments of his teammate’s bio from various editions of their press release. 

“Yeah. Strider 'Slam' Skies. High an‘ mighty leader of the Yancy Street Gang.” The Thing smiled ruefully. “’Course he probably wouldn’t have been if the place hadn’t been such a dump. When I say we were born here I really mean we was dragged up where that coffee house is. But there’s only so many times ya can mosey past the ol’ place an‘ stare at the lot where his last big rumble went down. Think he’d like the place. Not too fancy.” 

“Grimm, I…I didn’t know.” Johnny backed up uncertainly. He was pretty sure any display of sympathy would wind up a clobberin’ offence. “You never said anything.”

“On account of it not being any of your business.” Those blue eyes were back under the shadow of a hat brim and looking down at him now. “Only told you so you understand I want you to treat the place right!”

Something cold churned inside Johnny even as indignant steam began to rise off his back. 

“You’re…giving me this place?”

“Whadda I look like to you, an Element of Harmony?” The Thing huffed. “I’m the one comin’ out ahead here once you sign the paperwork. May as well fork over half your action figure dough for the next couple of--”

“I see!” Johnny’s eyes were orange and venting flame now. “You’re not condescending to me, you’re just humiliating me!” 

“Humi...? Ah, I shoulda know you’d take it like this,” Grim muttered, making the mistake of waving a dismissive hoof. 

“Did Sue put you up to this?!” Johnny snapped, taking a furious step forward and rising to the Thing’s eye level as he flamed on.

“No, and y'know what? She ain’t said word one!” The old goon actually had the audacity to jab a condemnatory hoof against his 4 crest. “For some crazy reason she actually wants to see ya get somewhere, so watch the mouth or I’ll lose my famously amiable temper!” 

“You fraud!” Johnny laughed furiously. Pedestrians were staring in through the gate at the two elementals staring each other down. “Oh boo hoo, I’m 400 lbs and my wings don’t work no more! But I’ve heard your trash talk! You can’t stand the idea of anypony managing to climb out of your shadow!” 

“For the love of my sweet Aunt Petunia, boy, willya stop lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth and take the blasted keys?!”

“Oh what, because little Johnnycake can’t do it on his own?!” 

“Kid,” the Thing said simply, “ if you think that’s what any of this is about then you got bigger problems than just finding a roof over your head.”

The Torch seethed, flames flaring in and out like a revving engine. 

Then he launched himself into the air so hard the Thing had to cover his eyes from the light, as the backdraft sliced his street clothes to embers. 

Grim Skies watched the furious comet climb, arching directionlessly away from the city. He coughed, squinting at his brother’s memorial through the smoke curling off his uninjured shoulders. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. "I dunno what I’m gonna do with that kid either.” 


10


By the time Johnny had calmed down Luna’s moon had risen, and he could feel the near stratospheric cold even through his flames. 

Stupid, he berated himself as he began the loop back to Earth, stupid, stupid, stupid! What was THAT?

That had been him acting like a total cliché because a kind gesture from a friend made him feel inadequate. That was him acting like Dr. Gloam because somepony dropped paradise in his lap. Flaming on like that! What if somepony had been close by? 

He let out a long sigh, a pony of fire incongruously breathing out cold mist, and altered his course to head for the lights of Midtown. He needed to get lost for a while. He needed to think up an apology to Grim and Sue. He also still needed his own space but…

He hit the brakes, squinting in the constantly flashing brilliance of Times Square as his ears pricked up. “Huh?”

Yeah, he hadn’t imagined it. Burglar alarm, heavy duty! 

He soared over the rooftops, switching his eyes to infrared, a trick Reed had taught him a few years ago after theorising about similarities between his and Sue’s powers. The crowds and steam ducts below became one big throbbing swamp of rainbow colours, but he was guessing something he could hear all the way up here had to be coming from a rooftop setup. 

And…bingo, warm bodies diving for cover from cold shapes. 

Blinking back to normal, Johnny realised he’d been looking down through the shattered dome of the Blue’s Birds airship dock. 

Gratuitous heroism and daring violence, that’s what he needed!


***

“Airport’s the other side of town, fellas!” he called as he arched through the gap, hovering above the floor to take stock of the situation. 

After years of watching civilians scatter and panic he’d learned to assess quickly. Security guards desperately trying to take control of the situation, maintenance and business ponies rushing for the stairwells. And writhing from parked ship to parked ship, a team of…flying snakes? 

He hurled a fireball at the one racing for a cornered senior maintenance pony, knocking it away from her in a shower of harmless sparks. 

“Anypony hurt?”

“Not yet! They just came out of nowhere! They’re so fast! They’re taking everything apart! Look out!” 

Johnny lowered his temperature so he could bowl her to the floor, one of the bat winged shapes darting over them. A few deflated balloons hanging from winches suggested the site was safe, but he’d have to watch it anyway. The amount of hydrogen in here could probably take out the entire block and leave only the ley lines. 

Not that he needed to act right this second, it seemed. The hanger was clearing quickly because the invaders didn’t seem to care about witnesses, simply bowling them over if they happened to be in the way. 

And they weren’t trying to take the parked gondolas apart either…their tails snapped at panelling too precisely, pulling out…he couldn’t see what, too much movement. It didn’t help that these things were ridiculously skinny. 

“Hydrogen tanks are…?” 

“Other side of the room and sealed,” the maintenance pony managed as he led her to a stairwell. “Standard procedure. Provided you don’t aim right at ‘em…”

“Sure,” the Torch agreed and winked, passing her the wrench she’d been using, “but only because you’re cute.” 

Launching himself through the open windows of a luxury gondola, he arced around the room in a circle, trailing a wall of flame between the seven invaders and their targets. He blinked as they finally stopped moving and came into focus: empty Basilisk costumes. 

“Y’know, I wish I could say this was the first time the bad guys didn’t have the decency to show up, but…” 

He squinted, trying to focus on what they clutched in their tails. One lunged at him, empty cowl yawning wide like a maw. One of his new epidermis enhanced flame-shields easily bounced it to the floor, but it had been a diversion for the rest, swooping through the shattered dome. 

The suit he’d just deflected hadn’t been carrying anything, but there was some kind of stone poking through the peeled lining of its cowl. He’d check on that later. 

Giving chase, he braked in mid-air as he realised the other suits hadn’t gone far, whipping in a circle around a hovering figure. 

“The Horseshoe Torch?” the apparently real deal Basilisk sneered. “Man, takin’ you out’ll do more for my rep than just the Spider!” 

“It’s important to have goals.” 

Johnny squinted. This guy was, like, Grim old, not Basilisk old. 

“Since we’re just floating a couple hundred feet above the greatest city on Earth, don’t suppose you’d answer a quick question? Your crew here ripped off one component of millions of gems worth of hardware. Everything from even just one of those ships would’ve gotten a decent price on the black market. Why only go halfway?”

“My client was specific,” the Basilisk replied as the empty suits dropped streams of whatever they’d stolen into the sack he was holding open. “Y’know, there’s something I’ve been dying to try since I got this gig!” 

“Make real friends?” Johnny quipped, preparing twin flame jets for the left and right suits. “Because I know a guy who’s dating--”

“Nah! This!” 

Johnny had just enough time to register that bruise of a face rearing back as the empty costumes shot forward, the slits on their foreheads bursting into a chaotic lightshow that he could feel through his hastily shut eyes. 

What felt like a rubber tube made of titanium lashed into his sternum, and he felt panic and vertigo as he fell through pulsing darkness before he ploughed into something coarse and spongy…

Wheezing and groaning, he blinked back the blinding spots, realising he’d been saved from slamming into the hanger floor like a cake dropped from the top of Canterlot Castle by one of the emptied ship balloons, stopped a few feet above at least a few broken bones. 

“And that’s why I’m the Horseshoe Torch…” he wheezed as he got his breath back. 


***

Once his vision had cleared he slid down the canvas, using a thermal pulse to slow his drop to the floor. He’d have to hang around to explain things to the M.E.U.P. (again) so he may as well take a look around. 

Whoever had been taking those Basilisk costumes for a joyride was long gone and had taken their plunder with them, but he still had that weird stone, which the FF could ask the guard for access to, and the eyes of a mechanic. 

He squinted into one of the gutted panels, trying to see if he could spot the missing component by its absence. It took a couple of trots down the row before he realised. 

“Huh…now what’d somepony want those for?” 


11


“So…” Peter Trotter said. 

Gem Stone looked up from her drink. They were at their usual table at MJ’s, the early night crowd just starting to warm up on the dance floor. Compare notes, she’d said. As if they hadn’t been out of each other’s lives for months. 

“You got promoted!” Peter tried to smile, knowing from the way it felt he must look like a symbiote trying not to dry heave. 

“I did,” Gem smiled, humouring him. “How about you? May said you were looking for work.” 

“Still got a roof over my head,” Peter managed eventually, looking down into his untouched cider. 

He couldn’t do this. It was Gem! First kiss Gem. Never give up Gem. 

You looked me in the eyes every time you told me you loved me and held back your biggest secret Gem. 

“What were you doing under the Basilisk’s?” Her tone didn’t sound accusatory. That was something! 

“Trying to figure out this Dark Deco thing.” He shrugged, making professional eye contact now. “That’s who was driving the suit this morning.” 

“Think he’s got accomplices?” Gem asked. “Because the station’s been swamped with multiple reports of Basilisk attacks. Faceless Basilisks!”

“Faceless?” Peter blinked. “So Blackie is the one with the remote control?” 

“The what?” 

“Right, right!” He hastily explained the out of bodysuit experience back at the clocktower. “But I still have no clue how he did it. There’s no way he’d have found something to add to Tomb’s design on his own. He even mentioned he was working for somepony.” 

“And you were going to pass this along when?” Gem frowned. “These things have been hitting the city all day! We even doubled surveillance on Tombs just in case. You’re lucky it was me passing by between shift changes.” 

“I didn’t even know there were that many suits! I was…out of town.” 

Why couldn’t the club lights be going off to hide his blush? Why couldn’t the plush booth be made of quicksand and mercifully swallowing him?  

“For the whole day?” She raised an eyebrow, almost giving him The Look. Then smiled softly in realisation. “You were visiting Princess Celestia’s student.” 

“You…looked her up!” Peter said, trying not to sound too cheerfully panicked. 

“We’ve met, remember?” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “That Sanctum Sanctorum case? We all went out for coffee afterwards? She was trying not to bring it up, but it slipped out when we were talking about Daring Do and the incredible accuracy to arcane history? MJ was fangirling over her fashion friend!” 

“Oh man, I forgot!” Peter felt his entire body shaking with laughter and spontaneously released tension. “And Fluttershy too! And then Pinkie Pie got into the club sound system and…” 

They dissolved into laughter, muffled by the sounds of the club. Peter finally took a sip of his cider to re-hydrate as comfortable silence settled over the booth, a little pocket in the dimming lights and moving bodies. 

“Feel better?” the Unicorn smiled. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” He let out a fortifying sigh. “You and Twilight…I shouldn’t worry but I do. You’re…you, I could never forget that. And she’s…she’s…” 

She’s one of the few people who makes me feel like a whole person. And I can never thank her enough. WORDS aren’t enough. 

“She’s good people,” Gem said, taking pity on him. “I like her.”

“Thanks. That means a lot. I know it shouldn’t but…you were that important too. You still are. Not that way! Just…”

“I get it.” Gem eased back into her side of the booth. “We have history, but I’m happy for you and Twilight. We’re not what we were but I know we have each other’s backs.” 

She conjured a folder and slid it across to him. “Which is why I’ll always kick your tail to make sure you’re on the job.” 

“The M.E.U.P.’s wanted my tail for worse,” he quipped to let her know he was okay now, and flipped through the files. “Huh. These are all mechanical robberies. Blackie Basilisk’s heist was artefacts. Well, a bag of rocks.”

“Huh.” Gem frowned. “Maybe that’s why museum staff are still trying to find out what’s missing. All they know is the theft took place in the archives. Lots to comb through. But maybe if we focus on geology we can—Agh!”

She almost spilled her drink as a piece of parchment plumed out of the air in green fire, bouncing off the rim of Peter’s glass and into his lap.He hastily checked to make sure none of the other patrons had noticed, but special guest DJ PON3 had switched tracks just in time to drown the fwoosh of Spike’s breath. 

“It’s from Twilight!” he assured, unfurling it. Gem illuminated her horn so they could make out the cursive in the changing club lights. 


Peter,



Finally found your rock!



 Northern. Pre-Sisters old. Possibly pre-three tribes old.



Not saying it’s Asgardian, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Had to go that far back.



Main rune is a language. Closest I can translate is “Will across distance”.



Best I can do right now. Super tired. So tired I cast a spell and nothing happened. Try and follow up in the morning.



Love you, tilde left arrow three!



What? Agh, Spike, no, not like that! Uuugh! 



—Twilight ~<3 


“At least he put it in,” Gem murmured, bemused. 

“And Twilight’s given us a link in the chain,” Peter smirked with Rainbow Dashian pride. “Will across distance. Deco’s piloting an army of Basilisks through Asgardian rune stones. One pony crimewave!” 

“Also explains why the museum hasn’t come forward.” Gem Stone’s grim face had become even grimmer since college. “Active Asgardian artefacts are heavy duty contraband. But my question is where’d Deco get the idea?” 

“Whoever hired him hooked him up with the costume.”

“Which still doesn’t explain the M.O. here.” Gem’s shoulder was pressing against his as they both leaned in to study the reports, but they were both too in the crime solving zone to notice. “From artefacts to random machines. Dark Deco was a Manehattan crime throwback when we were kids. There’s been no bank jobs, no jewellery stores! Putting together his own army once he knew he could, sure. But leaving the financial district untouched?” 

“Random.”

“Sorry?” 

“You said random machines. Maybe not.” Peter began flipping through the reports even as he asked the question. “Was anything stolen from Damage Control?”

“No, first lead I checked.” He smiled, feeling proud of her. “Stop that. Where are you going with this? Still Tombs?” 

“Maybe. I do know better than to underestimate him by now. What I’m wondering is, what’s he after? He had to know Damage Control wouldn’t let him near anything he could weaponize…”

“I can look up the victims for connections to Damage Control,” Gem said, catching a still glowing new folder she’d conjured “They work with hundreds of smaller salvage and disposal companies all over the kingdom, he’d be able to look up what they deal with and when to go for it.” 

“Okay, so what we’re going with is…” Peter spread the file’s small map over the table, adding blurry photos of Basilisks and damaged airships and boats. “Tombs is locked down: work, then right back home. He finds out about these Asgardian control stones. Sets up Blackie, anonymously, with another suit to draw suspicion. It couldn’t be me officer, why, I’m still watering my pretentious Neighponese shrubbery! Check out my stinky tracking bracelet!” 

“And Blackie, desperate to get back in the game, agrees with his mystery partner’s orders to rip off these other scrap dealers because he gets to keep all the suits,” Gem Stone followed, flipping through the new files. “Or so Tombs lets him think.” 

“And that leaves us…right back at square one.” 

Peter’s ears folded, the rush abating. All these years and he was still an armchair detective at best. Twilight had mentioned wanting to try out one of those mystery dinners, but it wasn’t like the city would be on the line from cosplay.

More than it usually was. 

“Think so?”

“We know Tombs is probably using Blackie for something, we just don’t know what.” Peter’s eyes narrowed. “All these thefts. He’s building something and for all this effort it’s gonna be big!”

“Then he’d probably need a big place to put it together.” Something in Gem’s voice made him turn to her. Even after so long she still looked so right to him pouring over data. Textbooks. Police records. The girl he’d loved and so much more now. “What if you were right? What if Damage Control is the link?” 

“You said--”  

“That they didn’t lose anything, yeah. But their subcontractors did.” There was that triumphant smirk. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten it. All that was missing was her glasses. “And one of them has a disused plant…” 

She jabbed a hoof to the map. 

“Right here, a few blocks from Tombs’ lodgings.”

“I should ask Twilight to wear glasses…”

“What?” 

“I mean, I’ll swing by the station if I find anything!” 


12


“Ley re-aligners?” Mr. Fantastic finished zipping up the blue unstable molecular fabric vest that only he really wore anymore. Johnny figured Sue only kept her white one so they’d be their own little duo within the team. To him it always just made them look like their own winter wrap up variants. “Interesting.” 

“Maybe,” the un-ignited Torch agreed, following his field leader into the depths of the lab. “Dunno what a D-lister like Not-Basilisk would want them for, but it’s a lead.”

“Perhaps more than you know.” 

Reed’s horn glowed with that distinctive Krackle of his magic that pumped its way through so many of his designs, sliding back an equipment rack. 

“I agree it’s not our usual sort of case, but between this and the rash of thefts I presume our scaly suspect is constructing something. And to take precautions against lay line magic suggests it’s something that depends on precision. Deadly precision.” 

All these years on the job and Johnny still got a little tingle whenever Reed accidentally talked like a ’60s movie trailer! 

“Any luck with that weird stone?” 

“Yes, the police helpfully confirmed my suspicions a few minutes ago,” Reed beamed, ruining the previous effect by turning back into a ’50s dad. “An Asgardian rune stone! Most likely loaded with a powerful animation spell judging by your encounter at Blue’s Birds. How are you feeling by the way? That sounded like a nasty lash.” 

“Well enough to step up!” Johnny smirked, flaming on just to show off and sending the shadows of the lab wild. “Especially if we’re going up against Asgardian action. Even the standard stuff up there can be weapons grade down here!”

“Indeed, and the Princess will most likely be expecting a full report from all parties involved to find out how so much outlawed magic was allowed into the city.” Reed turned away from whatever gizmos he was tinkering with, horn still orbited by pulsating dots. “Are you sure you’re up for this? It doesn’t sound like you had the best time of it with your…uh…errands today.” 

“Grim Skies tattled, huh?”

“It was his coat, really.” Reed gave an understanding smile. “Or what was left of it.” 

“I’ll work with the shrimp if he’ll work with me,” the Thing rumbled, striding into the lab alongside Sousaphone in full Phantasmal Pony mode. 

Floating inches off the lab floor the Torch held his gaze for a few seconds, then nodded. 

“What are you thinking, dear?” Sue asked Reed. 

No mention of his treatment of Grim. Johnny wasn’t sure what to do with that. He’d been chewed out for way less. Even deserved some of it. It was why he had to at least try to get out of here. Stop being the little brother. 

“The proverbial splitting up in search of clues,” Mr. Fantastic smiled as he levitated a small hoof compact device to each of them. They looked like one of the dozens of variations of an overgrown compass he’d made over the years. 

“I’ve enchanted these to pick up the Asgardian runes Basilisk is using…and a secondary feature that should spot if lay line energy is being countered. It should show up as a dark distortion. Our quarry wants lots of re-aligners for some probably nefarious purpose.” 


13


The Baxter Barn’s rooftop garden glowed under the moonlight, some strange plant specimens in neat rows glowing fluorescent colours, giving the space a cheerful air in addition to the lights of skyscrapers and billboards. Johnny had been tempted to throw a rave up here as a kid, but Reed and Sue guilting him with the potential loss to thuamic-botany had been surprisingly effective. 

The glass doors of the actual barn shaped main building whooshed open, the Phantasmal Pony and the Horseshoe Torch galloping past odd specimens and stranger equipment to the barrier at the edge of the roof. They waited for the sound of the silo opening and the Thing’s chariot fans. 

“Remember, standard search procedure,” Sue said as the glass partition began to sink into it’s grove. “Search your area, ping us to let us know you’re moving on and--”

“Send a flare up if I’m in trouble. We’ve been doing this a while, sis.” The Torch smirked at her as he flamed on. “And Reed said this literally four minutes ago.”

“I’m thorough! Sue me!” 

“Conflict of interest! We have the same lawyer!”

“Good luck everypony!” Mr. Fantastic called, bounding towards them and stretching his springy forelegs for more speed. His particular method of roof travel needed an extra wind up, turning himself into a glider as he launched himself off the roof and soaring over the city. 

The Phantasmal Pony galloped onto what seemed to be open air, creating an invisible force field platform to ride. Johnny always half wondered if she allowed ponies to (sort of) see it for reassurance or if he could pick it up due to some weird sibling thing. 

He took the long way around to his search pattern, drawing alongside the Thing’s Fantasti-Chariot. 

“Somethin’ on your mind, junior?” 

“Grim, look, about this evening…I’m sorry.” 

“I figured.” Grim wasn’t looking at him. But. “Offer’s still on the table if you want it.”

“Rein check?” Johnny tried not to sound too relieved. “I need to see how far I can get on my own, otherwise--”

“I hear ya, squirt.” The Thing nodded. “Just don’t go growin’ up too fast. Can’t do without my favourite punchin’ bag!”

“Aww that’s okay, my little Thingy!” the Torch smirked as he began to pull away. “I already planted an extra special gag inside it! Shouldn’t stain too much!”

“Wh...oh, you fryin’ pan faced lil’—!” The rest was lost over the sounds of wind and traffic, but the epidermis covered hairs on the back of Johnny’s neck could feel the old man’s clenched hoof waving as he curved back into position. 

If it had been the jungles of some uncharted island or the weird dreamscapes of the Negative Zone he’d have felt totally fine, but there was something exciting about being on the job in night time Manehattan! Maybe it was the fact it never really stopped either. 


14


The tedium of sector clearing did set in pretty soon, though. Clear an area. Ping the others. Clear another area. Ping the others. Checking the small clock face built into the compact, he groaned at the hour and a half that’d gone by, and began to debate the merits of a quick shawarma break. He was technically already drifting towards street level…

Something whipped past his snout and began circling his head. 

Johnny squawked, covering his precious hair, his flames glowing brighter on instinct and illuminating the area. It was…an origami web-swan. 

“Never gets old!” Spider-Pony crowed from his perch behind a chimney. “What’s up, gack face?”

“Got a bone to pick with you, hose brain,” the Torch groused, gliding over, “about your peanut gallery.”

“You mean my rogues gallery.”

“I meant what I said.”

“Wait, the FF’s on this Basilisk thing?” Spidey squinted at him in that weird one tiny eye, one big eye way his mask did. “It’s that serious?”

“Reed thinks it could be. Maybe he’s ripping off junk to fence, pay for that facelift.”

“Different guy, though we’ve got a pretty substantial hunch the original Mr. Personality’s got him wrapped around his hoof.” 

“…has there been a bad guy called Mr. Personality yet?” 

“Careful, the universe’ll hear you and make him an Elements of Harmony thing.” Peter cocked his head at the compact. “Need laser tracking to do your hair now?”

“A) I would love that.”  

“Yeah…”, Spidey conceded. 

“And B) your guy stepped up enough that he’s using Asgardian stuff. That leaves a pretty distinct energy signature, ditto if he’s using lay re-aligners.” 

The mask’s lenses narrowed as Peter did that contemplative hoof to the chin thing. “Lay re-aligners…” 

“It’s fun to say.” Johnny swept the compact around the area, getting nothing but the stable glow of centuries of magical trails and the odd stay radio signal. “Taking forever to pin either of them down, though.” 

“Maybe not.” They leaned close together, tourists craning up to gawk as natives rolled their eyes. “Can that thing check ahead? I was heading for the old Tinker’s Class factory.” 

“You want hay-fries with that?” Johnny muttered as he began scrolling. 

Blocks of magi-mapped Manehattan sped by until they finally reached an industrial section. A back spot flecked with golden light churned in the centre of a large building, a swarm of small white letter 'A's drifting across it. 

“Rune stones and chickens and snakes, oh my. I’ll ping the team.”

“What’s that, go on ahead and steal all the credit?” Spidey raised a hoof to his cocked ear as he fired a web-line at the nearest building. “Well okay, if you say so!” 

“That’s kind of you citizen, but a professional hero could never allow an armature to risk letting the bad guys get away like that!” The Torch put on an extra burst of speed. “Just to be clear, we both know what a ley re-aligner is, right?” 

“I’m the one with the thaumaturgical physics degree, Mr. Gap Year.” 

“And I’m the one who’s been building flying bathtubs since he was 16,” Johnny smirked back. 

He counted down until the mid-swing web-spinner let out a groan. No matter how much smack he talked, he could never resist a nerd challenge. 

“It’s a small engine like device that generates randomised signals to protect sensitive mechanical systems from high or sudden changes in background magical frequency, such as between nations with different magical natures or more often ley lines in large concentrated centres, like our very own Big Apple.” 

“A+.” The Torch doused his flame, skidding slightly across a nearby roof as the shadow of Tinker’s Class loomed over them. “Pop quiz: what’d one of your peanut gallery want them for?” 

“Let’s ask him,” Spidey whispered, doing that creepy melt into the shadows thing. 

Rolling his eyes Johnny galloped across the roofs, managing each jump with the bare minimum of noise until he landed on the edge of the factory. Peter was already perched by a skylight, wiping away grime. 

The lights were low, strategically lit lamps placed along scaffolding lending just enough light to make everything into silhouettes and highlights. From what they could make out most of the Basilisk costumes were just…hanging there. Others flitted around something under a tarp, or hauled carts full of metal towards it. 

“An airship?” Johnny guessed. “Like, a basilisk shaped one?”

“They do both have a serious need to advertise,” Spider-Pony murmured. 

They both flinched back from their porthole as a door slammed open, pouring light into the room. Creeping back up in boy detective sync, they looked down as Dark Deco hovered from a foreman’s office across the central catwalk, cowl pulled back and eating a sandwich. 

“It can’t be this easy,” Johnny muttered, raising an eyebrow as they looked at each other. Mainly so he could see two of his own reflection in Spidey’s lenses. 

“On the other hoof, you’re supposed to be the Horseshoe Torch,” Peter countered as he began fiddling with the lock on an ancient roof hatch. “And some of us have to go job hunting tomorrow.”

“Oh hey, how’s that going?”   

Spider-Pony yanked the bolt free, taking the splintering door with it, and dived into the shadows.

“Good talk,” the Horseshoe Torch muttered, lighting up and diving in after him.

“What the—?!” Blackie spat as his flames lit the room in violent oranges. He began scrabbling, trying to pull the cowl on…with the hoof holding the sandwich. The hovering Basilisk outfits shook in mid-air but didn’t move. The others working below ground to a halt.

With almost a decade and a half of practice each, the super ponies fired a thin beam of flame at the lining of the faux-Basilisk’s cowl and a wad of webbing at his hooves. The mouth, and the rune stone sewn into it, whipped into the air as Deco crashed to the floor. 

“Aww man, my stone!” he cried. Then looked down at his now pinned, sticky hoofs. “Aww man, my sandwich!” 

“I’d make a prison food joke but this whole thing is sad enough already,” the Torch said over the sound of leathery suits hitting the ground, shaking his head. 

“Maybe we can still get a happy ending.” Spider-Pony waited until the air was totally clear of suits before flipping off a gantry rail to land on the edge of an empty cart, weight and momentum rolling it up to the tarp. “Gonna take a look at what they were working on, maybe we can find a link to Tombs.” 

He reached out, tugged. 

“Tombs?!” Blackie spat. 

“The real Basilisk?” Johnny asked, flaming off. Then he saw what was under the tarp, freezing up exactly like his partner had. 

“Indeed!” a withering voice cried triumphantly from the shadows. 

Spidey’s Spider-Sense had kicked in seconds before the sound, but he’d been too stunned by the rough mechanical body staring back at him to react in time as the Basilisk suits sprang back to life, a torrent of tails and wings slamming him into the air. Deco squawked as his own costume tail whipped up, cracking against Johnny and pitching him over the railing to crash onto a lower catwalk, stunned.

Groaning, Spider-Pony forced himself up on one leg from where he’d landed, looking up at the smirking Arcadian Tombs as a Basilisk costume pulled its mouth wide to admit him. 

“I was hoping for a few more uninterrupted hours to put on the finishing touches,” the real Basilisk called loftily as four of his empty minions wrapped their tails around his creation and began to haul it into the air, “but then you showed up. Ah well, I was going to make Deco’s suit spit him out somewhere over the East River.”

Deco sputtered indignantly. 

“This way I shall have the pleasure of doing it…” Tombs smiled with those crooked yellow teeth. “In spirit!” 

Deco went dead silent. 

“How...?” Spidey croaked. 

“Oh, live long enough you pick up all sorts of things.” Tombs examined his tail like Rarity would a fresh pony-pedi. “Such as enough Asgardian rune stones to construct a fake zen garden, allowing one to pilot a few of one’s spare costumes under the authorities’ noses. Of course, there’s the small matter of the item the stones were forged to control not being on this plane of existence…but I’m the industrious sort! Good evening, gentlecolts! See you all tomorrow…perhaps for the last time!” 

With that wheezing cackle of his, the old man soared out through the shattering roof after his prize. 

He sighed contentedly at the feel of the wind on his face, admiring his half-completed creation in the moonlight. Then turned, snarling with frustration at a glow behind him.

“Fastball special!” a still woozy Torch called, using a jet of flame from one hoof to pour on the speed as he began to wind up with the web clutched in the other. 

Spider-Pony went from trailing behind his partner to rocketing past him, eyes narrowed with determination as he levelled both web-shooters at the old pony’s startled—

The familiar thwip was muffled by a sound almost like Unicorn magic as the heads of the shooting web-lines morphed into two enormous dandelions. 

“Oh, you have got to be kidding!” Peter snapped as they caught the wind and began to drag his forelegs back. “Ley li-iiiiii-nyaaagh!” 

A startled Torch had just enough presence of mind to flame off as Spider-Pony crashed into him, sending both of them tumbling end over end back to earth. The spinning streets rushed up to meet them…and something caught Johnny just in time for him to feel his spirit launch out of his body and snap back in inches from the pavement. 

“I gotcha roomie!” came a familiar and ridiculously soothing voice.

“Soarin’?!” Johnny croaked as his college roommate drifted carefully down to the street. “What’re you doing here?!” 

“Investigating an aerial crime wave.” Spitfire hovered above them, holding a dangling Spider-Pony by the tail. She didn’t look pleased with either of them. “And catching amateurs while the real threat gets away!”

“Amateurs?!” Johnny snapped back, trying to wriggle free of Soarin’s grasp. 

“At least you’ve got the decency to be registered with the crown!” Spitfire’s golden eyes flashed darkly between the eyeholes of her mask as she released Spidey’s tail, letting him flip down onto a street sign. “I swear Web-Slinger, if I didn’t owe you one your vigilante butt would be halfway to the Stockade right now. Either of you want to explain what the hay just happened?” 

“The Basilisk, captain.” Spider-Pony glared up at the moon. “He’s building his own Destroyer.” 


To be Continued