Amazing Grace

by Silver-Spirits-and-Ales


Chapter Twelve: Don't be afraid to love again.

Thunderhoof's memoirs

At the end of the day, I cannot really say that I'm surprised by the fact that Haysley was using blackmail to get whatever he wanted. It fits into his character, I suppose. And off I am to blackmail him myself. Hurrah.


The comb ran through the silky black mane until it was sleek and straight, almost flowing like a river.

Octavia gently put the comb down, and turned around to look at Thunderhoof. He was sitting at the desk, completely silent. The only sound that could be heard was the one of his quill scratching the paper.

"Writing your memoirs?" asked Octavia, nonchalantly.

"No," answered Thunderhoof. "Just a few letters. Don't forget to pack your things tonight."

"Uh-huh."

Thunderhoof carefully folded the two letters, and delicately placed them in their envelopes. He scribbled the addresses, and let them sit on the top of the desk. Peering over his shoulder, Octavia could barely make out 'The Right Honourable Earl Butterscotch' on the topmost one.

"That's a very solemn way to address one's father," thought the mare.

A loud whinny sounded from outside. The detective picked up the letters and stuffed them into his pocket. "I'll be off now," he said, walking over to his marefriend and kissing her on the forehead. "See you in a bit."

"Be safe," answered Octavia, nuzzling her coltfriend.

Thunderhoof left the hotel room, and went downstairs to the bar, where a mug of tea and a newspaper were already waiting for him on the bar. He gulped down the brew, picked up the newspaper and went out into the street where he climbed into the carriage that was waiting for him, pulled by one of his father's employees. "Haysley's," he said.

"Ite, sir," answered the coach-puller, setting off down the street.

As the carriage went around a corner, Thunderhoof picked up his newspaper and read it.

"Perspicacious Prosecutor Pronto: Court Closed due to Corruption," read the headline of the Trottingham Times

"The Right Honourable Canta del Pronto, prosecutor for the Special Court for Kudanda, has announced that the council for prosecution has demanded more time to study the evidence and make their case, therefore adjourning the court for an indefinite amount of time.

In a surprise press conference yesterday, Pronto announced that her council would retire 'until outside influence within the court is purged from the court itself.' A surprising, yet natural move for her to take, given the fact that the SCK's last verdict sparked a diplomatic incident between Equestria and the Zebrican Kingdom. Lord Fasu, ambassador for Zebrica, has declared the prosecutor's decision to be a 'smart move'. However, Fasu did temper his praise of Zebrica with a stern warning to the court itself. He warned that 'if [the Special Court for Kudanda] did not resume and hoof out just punishments for the war criminals' , Zebrica would demand custody of the accused and try them on their own terms.

Given that the Special Court for Kudanda is the first court of its kind (i.e an international court designed to render global justice), this could spell disaster for the future of so-called 'international law'. Canta Del Pronto therefore has a lot of pressure on her shoulders. "


From his hilltop house, Haysley looked down at the city of Trottingham. No-one knew it, but from his vantage point, the unicorn stallion could spot every single house and business that his family held; name the political majority and House representative for every constituency; he could even name every preacher of every parish in the city.

It was almost safe to say that not even a bit could change hooves in the city without Haysley knowing.

The unicorn smiled at himself, and brought his glass of cognac to his lips. He took a gulp, raised his hoof, and slowly swept it across the view. "Small Heap North. Stableist. Baleton," he thought. "Small Heap South. Fieldist. Hayfew. Albion shore. Fieldist. Hoofsley. Blackchapel-"

A roll of thunder interrupted Haysley's internal monologue. "I own this place," he said to his invisible conversation partner, disdainfully. "I own it and everything within it."

The cream unicorn turned around, and made his way to his desk as the rain started to pour down, making sure to step on each tile only once. That was a preoccupation that he couldn't chase from his mind.

Sitting down at his recently varnished desk, Haysley slightly shifted its ornaments, ever so slightly to the right or to the left. Everything had to be in order. He then donned his glasses, and picked up his work where he had left off. Unlike his brother Thunderhoof, Haysley was very invested in the management of the family business. He dipped his nose into about everything: accounting, acquisitions, research and development... if there was a department, he was the one to micromanage it. In his mind, he had already inherited of the holdings, and was therefore free to act as he pleased.

Once he'd finished writing letters, marking certain employees as 'expendable' and dipping into the company profits to organise a riot at one of the Haysingtons' wire-cutting shops, Haysley picked up his diary and opened it at the following day, to check if there wasn't something he could do to optimise his schedule. As he brought the tip of his hoof to '6:15 AM: shower, he remembered that he was almost out of honey-almond coat scrub. He made a note to his butler to buy more.

A secretary walked in. "Sir, your brother Thunderhoof is here to see you."

"Ah, excellent," responded Haysley. "Send him in."

The secretary left, and Thunderhoof entered. Haysley was pleased to see that despite Thunderhoof's military discipline and general air of well-kemptness, his mane was still messy and he had bags under his eyes. Overall, Thunderhoof didn't look as good as he did.

" 'Ite bruv?" asked Thunderhoof.

"Please, don't bring this street talk into my office," said Haysley, irritably, putting his ears back. "Now, brother dear, what do you have for me?"

"Questions."

Haysley looked up at his brother. "What?"

"Yes, questions," responded Thunderhoof.

"What sort of questions?"

"Does the name 'Sabot' mean anything to you?" asked the investigator.

"What? No."

"Come on," said Thunderhoof. "Promises of rich silver deposits... blackmail... you must know something about it all."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Haysley, huffily.

"Don't lie to me," snarled Thunderhoof. "I followed that string of emissaries back to your tea house. I know they brought that letter to you."

Haysley's face twitched, and for a few seconds, he wore a murderous look on his face. But it soon reverted to its natural, arrogant self. "Fine," he said. "Yes. I did blackmail him. But you can't prove anything, and you're not getting anything from me."

"Then tell me one thing," said Thunderhoof. "What are you getting from this?"

"I already told you," said Haysley, irritably. "Profit."

"And how? What's your plan? Why do you want Chestnut out of office?"

"All I can tell you is that it's necessary."

"I didn't want to do this," said Thunderhoof. "But you're not exactly leaving me a choice, Haysley. Either you tell me exactly what the endgame is, or I'll go to see Chestnut with what I have. Tell him about how my brother, and him alone, wants him out of commission."

Haysley's murderous gaze was back. "Well, well, brother dear," said Haysley. "It seems that I've misjudged you once more. It's funny. I, as well as other ponies who've hired you... we've always seen you as little more than... a pawn."

"I feel offended," said Thunderhoof, sarcastically.

"Well, maybe not just a pawn. A rook. A bishop. A knight, dare we dream..." Haysley took a sip from his cognac. "A fine piece for whoever controls you."

Thunderhoof sighed. "You're stalling," he said.

"Fine," said Haysley, in a disinterested fashion. "What do you want from me to keep your mouth shut? Go on, name your price." He leaned onto his hoof and looked into his brother's eyes, intently.

"Some things, we do for honour, Haysley," answered Thunderhoof.

Haysley continued staring into his brother's eyes. His whole body quivered, and his face tore up. He laughed. He laughed in a sincere manner, that was very uncharacteristic of him. Thunderhoof didn't like it one bit. After a few seconds of pure mirth, Haysley looked up at his younger brother, saw the latter's unimpressed and dead-serious expression, and his face fell. "What? You're serious?"

The detective raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"Not telling you."

"Look," said Thunderhoof. "I want to know what the finality is in all of this. Yeah, but I want to make sure I'm not causing damage to someone else at the same time."

"It's none of your concern," stated Haysley, plainly. "All that matters is that everyone is doing their part."

Just as Thunderhoof had thought, trying to appeal to Haysley's potential sense of honour had demonstrated itself as useless. And he was willing to bet anything he owned that trying to buy the answer off Haysley would be useless. So there was the final option.

"Very well, Haysley," said Thunderhoof. "You know, I was up at Father's, the other day. He knows a lot of things about you. I suppose that this time, we both somewhat misjudged him."

"What do you mean?" asked Haysley, cautiously.

"For one thing, he knows of your intentions, and he knows exactly what sort of filth you are."

"Well that's insulting."

"We both know it's deserved," said Thunderhoof.

"And? What do you expect me to answer? Yes, I am prioritising profit. Yes, I am ambitious. Is it so wrong to want success in this damned world?" piped up Haysley. "Come on! From day one in my life, it's been drilled into my mind that success and wealth are the two most important things in life!"

"Not dignity?" asked Thunderhoof. "Grace? Actual nobility?"

"Listen here, you," said Haysley. "You went to Saddlehurst Military Academy, became a soldier. Stableton went to Canterford Seminary, became a pastor. Mother sent me to Oxenford, to study business and management. I became a businesspony."

"Don't try to deflect responsibility," answered Thunderhoof. "Mother was a whore. But don't blame her for your shortcomings."

"IT'S JUST LIKE YOU WITH YOUR DAMNED WAR!" shouted Haysley, getting up from his seat so violently that he knocked his chair over. His murderous stare was even more vicious. He was breathing heavily, and a vein was throbbing in his temple. "Survivor's guilt! Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder! Oh, yes, it's alright when it's you, you STUPID BASTARD! But when it's me, it's all a matter of..."

The door opened, and the secretary peeked inside. "Is everything alright, My Lord?"

"GO AWAY!" shouted Haysley and Thunderhoof in unison.

The secretary left.

"I... I"m sorry, brother dear," said Haylsey, running a hoof through his mane. He levitated his chair back to its previous place, and sat down.

"Maybe I should tell you about what Father and I discussed," said Thunderhoof.

Haysley looked up at his brother intently.

"As I said, he knows what you are. And he wants to preserve the family name, you see. We... have a reputation to uphold."

"What are you getting at?"

"He wants me to inherit the family fortune. The title, the holdings, everything."

Haysley's eye twitched. A nervous smile appeared on his lips, and he let out a slight chuckle, that seemed shrill and unnatural. "You're bluffing," he said.

"Do you want to take a bet on that?" asked Thunderhoof.

Haysley took a sip from his cognac, and looked Thunderhoof up and down, as if sizing him up. "Let's suppose for a second, shall we? That what you are saying is... true. Why are you telling me this?"

"Well," said Thunderhoof. "If you tell me precisely what you're up to and who else is in on this whole thing... I might just let you have some of the inheritance."

Haysley didn't answer.

"Oh, and your associates," added Thunderhoof.

Still, Haysley didn't utter a word.

"Or would you rather I went to Chestnut and say that you were the only conspirator?" asked Thunderhoof. "That'll be some pretty hefty charges. Conspiracy, blackmail... you're facing a good twenty years."

Once again, Haysley remained silent.

"Come on, bruv, make your mind up."

"Very well," said Haysley. "Alright, I'll tell you about what I want. You see, what I promised Sabot in an attempt to get his cooperation was lands. Lands full of-"

"Untapped resources?" finished Thunderhoof.

"Yes. Well, it's what I promised if he accepted to cooperate, but as he didn't, I had to blackmail him. Or rather that was what I was told to do. But anyway, that's beyond the point. The point is that I was promised these lands. I was to cut Sabot into the deal."

"Because you thought it'd be easier if you didn't antagonise him?"

"Precisely. But that ship has sailed..."

"Alright," said Thunderhoof. "So that's the endgame. Resources."

"Yes."

"So this begs the question," said Thunderhoof. "How were you to acquire those lands?"

Haysley's eyebrows raised in a nonplussed fashion, and shrugged.

"You mean to say you don't know?" asked Thunderhoof, glaring in disbelief.

"Well look at it this way," said Haysley. "Somepony sent me a letter one day. In the letter it said that they needed to make some moves in Trottingham. Our family essentially owns this wretched place: we have eyes, ears, hooves and muzzles all around it, therefore anypony wanting anything needs my permission to do anything in my city. So instead of letting a potential threat operate in my territory with my blessing, I offered to do whatever they needed for them, in exchange for a slice of the pie."

"Makes sense."

"So anyway, they simply wanted me to get Chestnut out of office and bring in Gardener, preferably through his friend H. Sabot. You know the rest."

"So you're just a go-between?" asked Thunderhoof. "A pawn?" he mused.

"I fancy myself more of a queen," snorted Haysley in return.

"Whatever," retorted Thunderhoof. "I'm more surprised by the fact that you blindly accepted a deal with somepony you don't even know anything about."

Haysley chuckled smugly. "I never sign with my own name."

"Good for you, I guess," said Thunderhoof. "So here's what's going to happen: you're going to help me find the ponies behind the conspiracy."

"Fine," shrugged Haysley. "If it can spare me twenty years in prison, it's fine by me. So, how can I help you?"

"If I could know who else is behind this and what they intend on doing to get to those minerals, I can work from there."

"As I said, I don't know. Not for lack of trying though. You see, I've been trying to find that out myself. But every time I have a lead, it just turns into a dead end."

"Well you must have some idea," retorted Thunderhoof. "A lead that hasn't yet been exploited yet?"

"Well there is... one thing," said Haysley.

"What is it?"

"Somepony has been... meddling in my employers' affairs, and... well, as she falls within my jurisdiction, they have... asked me to take her out of action."

"And who would that be?" asked Thunderhoof.

"Canta del Pronto."

"Really?" responded Thunderhoof, trying his best to seem the least moved as possible at this revelation. "I'd ask how you were planning to do that, but truth be told, the better question is 'why'?"

Haysley shrugged. "How should I know?" he asked. "But they insisted that it should be done urgently."

"Alright," said Thunderhoof, getting up and going to the door. "Then I'll go look for her."

"Very well," said Haysley. "Oh, and... if there's anything else I can do to... avoid jail time, just tell me."

Thunderhoof gave a grunt of acknowledgement, and made his way to the door. But as he was about to cross the threshold, he turned around to face his brother again. "I'm curious," he said. "On the off chance that you do get caught by the authorities, what was your plan?"

Haysley smirked. "Create a bigger problem, to divert their attention," he answered. "I was planning on having the key congressponies of Trottingham declare the Griffish Isles an independent country and presumably sail off into the ocean. I even came up with a catchy name for it: 'Grexit'.

Thunderhoof sighed and shook his head in disbelief, and left his brother's house without another word.

Haysley waited until he heard the front door close, before getting a piece of parchment and writing down three words:

"Do it yourself.

-H"


"If they want to get rid of Canta, it's obviously because it's important to them," deduced Thunderhoof, walking down the street. He didn't wonder too long on what exact reasons they had for wanting to do so. Canta would probably have the answer. Finding her was the most important task at hoof.

The investigator got into his carriage, gave an address to the pull-pony, and it set off towards the city centre. Thunderhoof didn't know where the prosecutor was, but he knew someone who did.


"Sir?" asked the secretary, peeking his into the office.

"Yes?" asked the large stallion sitting behind his desk.

"Someone here to see you. On court business."

"Ah, yes," said the stallion. "Send them in."

"Barleigh," said Thunderhooof, cheerfully entering the office.

"Ah, Thunderhoof!" retorted Barleigh, rushing to shake the investigator's hoof. "How are you, old chuffer?"

"I'm alright, thanks," said Thunderhoof. "We should get together more often, maybe have a spot of lunch together."

Barleigh laughed heartily through his bushy moustache. "You left the Army a while ago, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, I'm working in the private sector nowadays."

"So I've heard. Not doing too bad for yourself, I hear?"

"Well, it has its ups and downs," shrugged the investigator. "And I heard you were working with the prosecution for the SCK?"

"Yes, I'm their military law expert," Barleigh explained. "Bit of an upgrade from legal officers, you know. But anyway, enough chit-chat. You're here regarding the court, I hear."

"Indeed," said Thunderhoof. "Look, I have reason to believe that Canta Del Pronto is in danger."

Barleigh frowned, and began to look incredibly serious. "You have?"

"Yes," said Thunderhoof. "Danger of death."

"What? How?"

"Look, the less I tell you about it the better. But can you tell me where she is?"

"Oh, she's..." started Barleigh, before faltering. "Wait a second... how do I know you aren't trying to..."

"Come on, Barleigh, you can't possibly suspect me of..."

"I ruddy well can!" exclaimed the legal expert, furiously. "I take threats such as these very seriously, I'll have you know! And I'm very sorry, Thunderhoof, but in light of the three stooges the court let out the last time, I cannot possibly-"

"Oh, what's all this racket?" asked a voice.

The two stallions turned around, and saw the Prosecutor for Kudanda walk into the office. She was wearing sunglasses and levitating a travel mug in front of her.

"Major?" asked Canta, levitating the sunglasses off her muzzle and stuffing them into her saddlebag. "What are you doing here?"

"Missus Pronto," said Thunderhoof. "Do you mind if we have a word?"

"Look, Major Butterscotch, I'm a busy mare, and right now I have to make a case that can make or break our relationship with Zebrica. So I don't have the time for-"

"You'll find this important, trust me," said Thunderhoof.

The prosecutor hesitated. "Ugh, fine," she said after a few seconds.

Pronto and Thunderhoof went to a side room, and the investigator summarised the whole affair to her. By the end, she looked aghast. At the PI's suggestion, he and the prosecutor boarded a coach to Praetorian Street, where they were ushered into Whinnston's bedroom.

The Prime Minister of Equestria was laying in his bed, chewing a carrot, a secretary taking notes.

"That'll be all. Dismissed," said Whinnston, finally.

The secretary bowed and left the room.

"Now then," said Whinnston, reaching for his bottle of whisky and pouring a dose into his tumbler glass, before filling it to the brim with soda water. "What is the problem?"

"It's about the conspiracy," said Thunderhoof.

"Ah, excellent," said Whinnston. He downed his glass, got up, and, still in his dressing gown, lead his two companions to his office.

"Alright, then," said Thunderhoof. "I managed to get it out of Haysley that the conspirators were planning to get rid of Canta, in some way."

"I see," said Whinnston. "Why, exactly?"

"He didn't say," answered Thunderhoof. "But it's important to them. Essential, even."

"So whoever is behind this wants to get rid of me and Canta. Obviously we can't let this happen," said Whinnston.

"I think the best course of action is to discover what their motives are," suggested Canta.

"Exactly," said Thunderhoof. "Why would they want to get rid of the Prime Minister and the Prosecutor for the first international court?"

"Logic would dictate that they're planning to take over our positions," said Canta.

"But that's only opening a whole other crate of bad apples," said Whinnston. "If they are trying to take over, why? What are they planning?"

"I think we should call for a press conference," said Thunderhoof. "Warn the people about the conspiracy, expose the perpetrators. Surely they'd stop if they know we're onto them?"

"That's no good," said Canta. "It might delay them, but they'd still be at large. And free to start everything all over again."

"The way I see it," said Thunderhoof, "the best thing for you to do is stay put. Whinnston, you do what you usually do. Missus Pronto, you should make yourself scarce for a while."

"But I can't," protested Pronto. "I have to meet somepony this evening."

"Who?"

"Somepony who has information regarding the last trial," answered Canta. "They say that they know why the judges backed down and let the culprits walk."

The two other ponies stared at her.

"You do realise that sounds a lot like a trap, right?" asked Thunderhoof.

"Well I-"

"We can't risk it," said Thunderhoof.

"But what if it isn't a trap?"

"I'll go instead of you," said Thunderhoof. "Just give me the time and the place."

Canta reluctantly hoofed a small piece of paper to Thunderhoof, who pocketed it. "Alright, then," said the investigator. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to... do something."


The whole thing stank. The mysterious pony whom Canta was supposed to meet had given her a rendez-vous in an abandoned steel mill in the East End, at 2030 hours. Thunderhoof was fully aware that he was most certainly walking into a trap, so he decided to, in his own words "make his peace".

"No, don't drag the knife," said Octavia, gently taking Thunderhoof's wing and pulling it across the canvas. "Slide it, and pull down."

"Alright," said Thunderhoof. He took a deep breath, put the painting knife on the canvas, and gently brought it downwards. And like that, he had created a mountain above the clouds.

"Well done!" said Octavia, beaming. "My turn." The gray earth mare picked up her fan brush with her mouth, delicately dipped it in a dark green mix, and drew a tree at the base of the painting. First the centre, before making branches.

Thunderhoof picked up his own fan brush, dipped it in the same green mix, and imitated her, drawing a tree just next to Octavia's. It was more messy, but he looked proud of it. "Because everyone needs a friend," he chuckled.

Octavia giggled, and nuzzled her boyfriend.

The couple sat there for a good half hour, painting a landscape together in the suite, laughing all the time. They felt content, peaceful, and happy to be alive, in a way that they had scarcely felt before.

"You know, when I was in the grenadiers, there was a soldier who could paint very well," said Thunderhoof, once they had finished. "He was a nice chap. Artistic, but not pretentious. He had his reservations, but he wasn't shy. He was a gentle soul."

"Was?" asked Octavia.

"He died in the badlands," said Thunderhoof. "It was a pity. I liked him."

"I feel you on that one," sighed Octavia. "I had a friend in finishing school. She had a bad case of shakehoof, but that didn't stop her from creating. She had a good ear, so she composed music, and I'd play it back to her. She was an adorable filly."

"What happened to her?" asked Thunderhoof.)

"We lost contact after finishing school," said Octavia, sadly. "A year later, I opened the newspaper, and in the obituaries, there was... there was..."

Octavia burst into tears. Thunderhoof wrapped a wing around her, and pulled her into an embrace. "Shh." He rubbed his hoof down her spine as she dribbled onto his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed.

"It's okay..." said Thunderhoof, softly. "It's alright."

The couple stayed like that for a good half hour. And by the end of their long embrace, Octavia brought her mouth to her partner's ear, and said three words: "I love you."

They broke apart, and Thunderhoof looked into his marefriend's deep purple eyes. And as he did so, his baby blue ones began to water. It was his turn to collapse and cry, wetting the sofa with his tears. "I'm sorry," he croaked.

"What's wrong?" asked Octavia, delicately pulling her coltfriend's chin up.

"I..." spluttered Thunderhoof. "I've heard it said before... and every time, either I or...they only got hurt."

Octavia pulled Thunderhoof into another embrace. "It's alright," she whispered. "Don't be afraid... You're not the only one afraid to fall in love..."


As he drank from his flask, Thunderhoof could remember having already visited this abandoned factory. Its roof had given way to the bombings of the Storm King's assault on the griffish isles. The owner and director had died in the bombing, and as the owner had no heir, the property had just... become public property of sorts. Thunderhoof had temporarily retaken his role as a Royal Ranger, and had set up a recruitment station at the centre of this factory floor. A smile made its way onto his lips as he reminisced about his wooden booth, where flat-capped earth ponies would come and sign up for the army. They had all been inspired by Whinnston Chestnut's rousing speech the day before.

Thunderhoof closed his eyes, and remembered the PM's speech, which had been broadcast across the Isles.

"We shall fight in the squares of Canterlot... we shall fight in the acres of Fillydelphia... we shall fight on the seas and oceans... we shall fight, with great courage in the air! We shall defend our country, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight in the dark, gray clouds... we shall fight in the fields, and in the streets. We shall fight in the hills if we must... WE SHALL NEVER SURRENDER!"

It was said that Whinnston's speech could be heard across the oceans, and had frozen the hearts of the Storm King's most valliant troops.

Thunderhoof started feeling doubt, as he had felt in Kudanda. Certainty, as he'd felt in San Palomino. Pride, as he'd felt in the Badlands. Sorrow, grief, regret, impending doom, everything. A solid minute of everything at once. A soldier's minute.

You'll see him in your nightmares
You'll see him in your dreams
He'll appear out of nowhere but
He ain't what he seems

You'll see him in your head
On the theater's screen
And hey buddy, I'm warning
You to walk it off

He's a god, he's a pone
He's a ghost, he's a guru
You're one microscopic cog
In a case with no proof
Designed and directed by
His red right hoof

The minute seemed to drag on for an eternity. How many "soldier's minutes" had he had? How many minutes of his life had felt like his last? Every time that such minutes had reached their ends, Thunderhoof had lost a part of himself. And he knew that this time was no different. The only thing he could think of was how much of him would be left by the end of it all?

As half-past eight reared its head, so did a slender gray unicorn stallion, on the other side of the assembly floor. He was wearing a suit and fedora. Just the type of pony that Thunderhoof expected. He probably wasn't alone, but Thunderhoof didn't care. The PI sat up, and trotted towards the stallion.

As Thunderhoof made out his conversation partner's face, he saw unease in the stallion's eyes.

The stallion ran his green gaze up and down Thunderhoof, as if sizing him up. He seemed daunted. "You're..." he said, "you're not... her?" He sounded like he was from Manehattan.

"Detective Inspector Butterscotch, Royal Trottingham Constabulary," lied Thunderhoof. "What do you have for me?"

"It's about the court. I... it's blackmail. It's all blackmail. I can't tell you who, they'll figure that I talked. But they threaten the judges to... to destroy their lives, with... with secrets. They even plan to get the prosecutor!"

"Ah, so it wasn't a trap," thought Thunderhoof, triumphantly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thunderhoof saw a figure move to his left. He turned around, and saw that three stallions were blocking what had been the hangar door. Turning around again, he saw that three others had blocked the other one. Out of the offices at the back came two more. And a prickling sensation at the back of Thunderhoof's neck indicated that he was being watched from behind.

"Not... intentionally, at least."

The snitch whimpered as he looked around. They were surrounded.

"Ya talk too much, whoever you are," said one of the stallions, in a similarly manehattanite accent.

The snitch turned back to Thunderhoof, and uttered four words: "eyes on the newspaper." And before anything else could happen, the snitch lit up his horn and disappeared.

One of the burly stallions lunged at Thunderhoof, who agilely dodged, and flew up into the air. He landed behind a foe unicorn, grabbed him around the neck, and thrust him into one of his partners.

"COME GET A PIECE OF ME!" shouted Thunderhoof, a manic glint in his eye.

A unicorn shot a ball of light at Thunderhoof, who flew up just in time, let himself drop onto the unicorn, and broke the latter's spine with his front hooves. But he felt a strong foreleg wrap around his throat and lift him off the ground; from the front, he saw another pony charge towards him. Thunderhoof swung his hind legs forwards, and brought them right back into the strangler's groin. He released himself just in time to soar up and see the pony charge into the choker.

The investigator landed on the floor, and as he started to back towards the door, he felt something sharp stab him in the abdomen. Looking down, he saw that the unicorn whose back he'd just broke had crawled up to him, and jabbed his horn into Thunderhoof's belly. The mobster unicorn wrenched his horn out of Thunderhoof, and smiled a malevolent grin, blood trickling down his face.

Thunderhoof had stared at the unicorn a second too long. All of a sudden, he felt two strong legs kick him backwards, sending him to the floor. Blood gushing all over his suit, his heart pumping ever more madly, Thunderhoof could only close his eyes as he felt eight pairs of hooves kick him, break him, destroy him. He tried kicking back, but his attempts were fruitless. As he felt his bones break, excruciating pain invading his senses, the noise became muffled.

"It's the end," thought Thunderhoof. "They've won."

But as he slipped into a world blacker than black, Thunderhoof could hear the shrill sound of a whistle being blown. More ponies were joining the battle, it seemed.

Thunderhoof opened his eyes for the last time, and as he lifted his head he could see the foes scarper as blue-uniformed ponies entered the scene. One of the policecolts bent over him, and shouted something that Thunderhoof could no longer hear. It didn't seem to be directed at him anyway.

His eyes rolled back into his head. He could only feel a pool of blood underneath him. As his heart stopped, Thunderhoof's thoughts went back to Octavia, the only pony he loved.