//------------------------------// // 2-2: Electric Boogaloo // Story: The Gems of Creation: Part 2 // by BSting //------------------------------// “So, those murders...” Cornfield came to rest on the cracked tiles in their makeshift hideout, a dimly lit break room of a now-condemned company building. As he initiated a discussion addressing the meaning behind his partner’s infamy, Cobalt Coral sat near the scuffed table on an old rickety chair. Awaiting but not exactly willing to divulge more of the past that plagued her livelihood. “You think they started slaughtering innocent ponies so they could get the heat on you?” he continued, granting her the benefit of the doubt. “No,” defended the suspect, shaking her head. “I mean, yeah, they are using it against me, but it all happened when I was still with the syndicate.” She leaned on a table to her side, opening the excessive indisposable baggage dating back ages ago to share with her travel companion. He had the right to know why their latest circumstances have become excessively difficult, or so she felt. “I used my talents to rob a warehouse of a certain parcel, an experimental narcotic that was being developed. One that would have a pony hooked on it for life.” She picked up on the concern saturating her friend’s mind, but preemptively quelled his fear after sticking up a claw between them. “Thankfully, the drug turned out to be a dud, but I still stole from a gang of failed alchemists that were playing too deep in waters for my leader to be comfortable.” More and more, the colt grew attached by the tale, tethering closer with reaffirmation to chill on the floor. “So, what happened?” “Relieved that he had no competition, but wary of how ambitious they were, the syndicate burned the warehouse down, along with the research of its development secretly stashed away. However, that was after I told my boss that there were good honest workers that were staying overtime.” Coral’s eyes welled with remorse. “He made sure nopony got out,” she spoke with muted dread in her words. “No trace, no survivors.” The truth, however gruesome, only cemented their bond tighter than ever as he capitalized on a milestone, gathering penetrative insight developed through their destiny. He had found an isolated glimmer of unwavering virtue laid deeply submerged in her selfish heart. The colt hummed to himself quizzingly. If she were truly against excessive casualties and resisted bloodthirsty nature, why sustain loyalty under such extremes? “Who is...or was your boss?” Reading more into Cornfield’s tone, the gem hunter forced herself from the table and sternly approached with her brow furrowed. “A cold-blooded son-of-a-bitch that hid behind his love of jazz, blues, and bars where you could cut up the dance floor.” She halted just above him and glared down where he lounged. “His name is Electric Boogaloo.” Her friend snickered at the name drawing the image of a closeted clown. “I know, I know. The cute name just made him unsuspecting.” After filtering the humor out of his system, he scrambled some ideas fueled by imagination who this powerful figure could be. “Huh...Was he a pony?” “Unicorn, yes.” “Then what’s the plan? You still think you can grease some frogs to get us a boat outta here? Surprised, Coral cocked her head, eyebrow raised. “Are you already picking up the lingo here?” Letting that slip, she crouched to his level. “Either way, no, we can’t, because we have both Canterlot Guard AND Baltimare P.D. on our tails. I can’t set hoof anywhere without being picked out of a crowd...” “Argggggghh,” he growled as he impatiently launched up off the hard tiles. “Then lets get some sleep for now. We’ll deal with it in the morning. Or you can stay up, but I am BEAT!” Heading to his store-bought bounties, he improvised a bed utilizing an economical blanket and pillow combo, shortly before setting himself off to sleep. His companion sighed and followed suit with her mind swimming on what only plan they had for the following day. Alas, her eyelids grew too heavy as she dozed off in mid-thought. In what seemed like mere seconds for the hippogriff, a loud banging noise immediately startled her awake. Outside the iron gate, unfriendly voices emitted subtly into the room. Coral sent herself soundlessly where the conversation was and lead with her ear, attempting to decipher the dialogues over Cornfield’s obnoxious snoring. “What about **** door?” one voice with a slight rasp asked. “Think maybe ****** is there?” “Silver said **** met someone ****** last thing ***** was Coral,” replied a young, aggressive voice.  “Pull it open.” Adrenaline snapped Coral out of her roost, her heart pumping a mile a minute as she crawled to her partner to shake him awake. “Cornfield!” she hissed, scared out of her wits, like the Grim Reaper had arrived to claim her soul. “Get up! Pleeeease!” Cornfield snorted, mindlessly waving her off as he tossed and stirred. “...Ah... Not now, ma... Just call in sick for me, will ya…?” He let out a wide, drowsy yawn without a care in the world before the violent attempts to break the door open spurred him awake. “Uh…! Huh...?” The only prevalent option of escape was deeper into the building. Coral sprinted towards the back wall and found the only door into the obscure workplace was rusted shut. Cursing under her voice and submitting to the fact that she was up shit creek without a paddle, the hotheaded avian faced the door, aiming to fight for their freedom. Channelling her anger, her vines jutted razor-sharp thorns in response, growing sharper with each heartbeat. She breathed heavily, expecting, at worse, a whole army of goons assigned to take them out. “I can’t let it all end here!” Her psyche pumped her flora on the verge of growing out of control. Rubbing one eye, the sleepy colt sat up, naive of the on-going emergency. “Ugh... what was that?” Then, he found a distraught and hostile hippogriff standing by for a death match. He knew it was never a good sign when the thorn-laiden plants swarmed about. The door’s latch surrendered, letting in the blinding sunlight of the new day. The bird’s vision was painfully blinded, recoiling away trying to cover her eyes. While her sight began to regenerate, the only thing she recognized was a wooden bat swung at her legs. Taking a direct blow to the kneecap, she stumbled onto the floor, losing all her strength to guard herself, with a pained scream that resonated throughout the neighborhood. “CORAL!” Cornfield cried out, scrambling to his hooves! “OH BUCK!” Without sparing to see the attackers, he leapt through the air to coddle her injuries. “Are you ok?!” As she slightly whimpered from the shock, he reaffirmed his need to protect Coral and glared at the party responsible. Before they both knew it, a band of battle-worn hired hitponies surrounded them, denying any hope of liberation. One punk, a brown stallion pegasus with a bandana over his mouth and messily cut blonde hair, stood over fuming with intimidation at the innocent colt defending Coral as she groaned and sneered. Inner instincts caused the colt to dare rise up and protect the female from the other bigger stallions. “What do you want?” he shouted, targeting the alpha crook and waiting for his next move. “No, Cornfield. Nghh. Don’t!” Coral pleaded as she grasped for Cornfield’s shoulder, gripping lightly as to not pierce his flesh. The Ringleader with the bandanna stepped forward, looking down on their hapless victims. “Word on the street was that you came back, Coral,” he cockily informed, “And the boss wanted to ensure you wouldn’t miss his invitation during your tour. It’d be a real shame if you didn’t drop by to say hello to old friends.” The mercenary on his right spoke up, wearing a red jacket over his dark blue fur and a shaved grey mane. “You even went and made a little posse for yourself? Ain’t that cute, hiring the young and dumb.” The gravity of this dangerous encounter hit the young photographer as his legs got weak in the knees. “So, they sent you to KILL US?!” he fretfully guessed. “No...” Coral said as she struggled to get back up in defiance. Using the lapse of the conversation to weigh her options, even with The Heart of Nature, there was no guaranteed method of assault and escape without putting their lives on the line. To ease Cornfield’s troubled soul, she grinned the pain emanating from her leg away and acted like she was in control. “If he wanted me dead, he wouldn’t send the likes of you around. He would want the pleasure of killing me himself.” A glimpse into their boss’s cruelty against his own former colleague triggered Cornfield’s sense of despair. “Son of a…” “Tha’s right.” confirmed the bandanna thug. “We got a special carriage ride just for you to Blues and Booze, where he’ll happily see you don’t miss the reunion party!” “Come quietly,” chimed the jacket goon, “Let’s do this the nice and easy way.” After Coral complied, he understood with bitter resentment how dire the situation was. Even if by some miracle they were able to overcome them, the police would join in on the hunt. Cornfield hung his head defeated, but then jerked his muzzle straight at the assailants. “Fine, as long as I go with her!” “What?!” Coral shifted over to him with disbelief written all over her face to vent her rage. “No way, absolutely not!” She let her cool drop and shatter like glass in premonition of him being sucked into their business. “Don’t listen to this idiot! Leave him out of my affairs!” Withstanding her intentions but cut from defaming his intelligence, Cornfield tried appealing to the hippogriff. “But, Coral-” “Chill, chill, baby,” eased the bandanna thug with a sickening grin cast over his sinful disposition. “It’s nice that you care, but nopony is getting a choice. He’s coming along, whether you like it or not. You know Electric’s ol’ saying?” “... Better a dead tongue than a loose one?” The morbid proverb quietly seeped out Coral’s beak as the purpose of the riddle got the colt’s chest to jump inside his throat. “Right, and who knows? He might like the kid.” The delinquent issued a command by nodding to the group. It was time to send the captured to their inevitable meeting with the powerful shadow who held the criminal underground captive in Baltimare. Coral and Cornfield were made prisoners, all because of the mounting sins accumulated via the former. “Shit…” It was the only freedom Cornfield could taste as he was helplessly shoved aside. Feathers fly as they wrangled the avian mercilessly against the ground like she was caught in a snare. She put up a miniscule resistance as an obscure black collar was wrapped around her neck. Content her fate was firmly sealed, the gang finally permitted her to rise on her feet, assured she was thoroughly “leashed”, and lacked even the least bit of sympathy. Meanwhile, during the time Coral felt the restricting accessory uncomfortably tug on her plumage, Cornfield’s mind chaotically explored avenues of reality. “How’d they find us?” he asked himself as he pondered. His memory centered on the mysterious black mare from last night. She knew of the Onyx Syndicate, perhaps even worked for them! His brow furrowed and teeth grit indicating the verdict of guilty on her. “That bitch!” “Hey, Cornflake! Lissen up!” the bandanna stallion announced, confirming the colt was paying attention. “We’re about to give you a demonstration.” “...Ok?” The photographer gave him an audience, but his nerves got to him as his impatience swelled. A spontaneous rush of fear flowed into the hippogriff’s subconscious, the unbecoming fresh sweat rushed down her forehead. “H-He doesn’t need one, really,” she stammered. “Oh, I think he does!” the jerk in the jacket mockingly argued. “All right, so watch this. When I say the magic words ‘choking down the pain’...” Without warning, the collar magically tightened around her neck, cuffing the bird’s breath and threatening to end her life slowly and painfully. Tears formed around her eyes as her throat endured a gripping, unrelenting squeeze. She gasped and gurgled, her claws subconsciencly digging beneath the leather to rescue her airways under siege but without any success. In a panic, Cornfield raced to the powerless hippogriff as she collapsed and writhed in agony. Notwithstanding that the Onyx Syndicate would abuse their power to length’s end, he faced them to plead, “Alright! Alright! Stop it! I get it already! Let her breathe, for Celestia’s sakes!” The bandanna stallion snickered wickedly as he kneeled by the tortured bird. For a brief moment, there was what sounded like indiscernible muttering to their literal choker, then it ceased the incantation. Once her throat was no longer constricted, she sucked in air desperately like a loud vacuum. Momentarily hyperventilation occurred as a side effect, until finally stabilizing her lungs with a calming sensation as her partner sweetly rubbed the back of her neck with his hoof, easing her pain. He catapulted a condemning gaze at the thug as Coral wheezed. “You…” she uttered, coughing between words. “...Dick...” “All right, guys,” the jacket-wearing hoodlum decreed. “Enough with the circle jerkin’. We have to get this package to Electric.” The bandanna pony pointed at their hostages. “Follow!” he ordered while the band of criminals headed outside in organized fashion. Arrested by crooks with nowhere to go, Cornfield lifted his friend’s foreleg from his head onto his back to get her mobile. “Come on, Coral…” he encouraged softly, struggling a bit with a grunt to raise her larger physique. “I’ll always be at your side, no matter what. Can you walk?” “Yeah, you knight in- Urk!” She gagged when she touched her bruised windpipe. “I’ll be ok for now. I just hope that our luck can’t sink any lower than this...” Having the young stallion as an aide, she limped out into the sunlight, praying fervently inside that her journey doesn’t end prior to reaching Mt. Aris. Cornfield walked with her, slightly behind to give her the lead, as he steeled his nerves for the worst case scenario. The carriage rumbled along the cobblestone streets of Baltimare in high noon. Avoiding unwanted attention, the ringleader of the thugs pulled the cart albeit lack of his signature bandanna. Inside, two other lackeys are restraining their cargo with their eyes, sitting across from them, not speaking a word nor stirred. The tedium of the ratty interior made Coral drift to watching the environment outside the dark tinted windows. The cityscape would dynamically shift from ritzy to shady, as the coming of Luna’s night introduced the streets to many ponies who habitually abandoned their responsibilities with cancerous vices. Alcohol, clubbing, gambling, prostitution, maybe all of the above. During the day, however, the sidewalks were vastly neglected, perfect time for nefarious minds to organize and set their dastardly duties in motion when the sun sets. While Coral mused in whatever peace she had left, her distrusting partner laid back and stared at their brutish escorts. The reality was an opposing contrast because, on the inside, Cornfield was cynically afraid with Coral being an ace up their sleeves. The crooks engaged in the staredown, daring him to give them an excuse to break his nose, until the carriage slowed to a halt in the cover of another alley. The lead stallion driving it dislodged from the reigns to knock on the cart door. The gang motioned the two refugees out, with the submissive hippogriff obeying and her smaller guardian covering after her. “I hope they improved the selection in the bar the last time I came around here,” she bluntly commented, stepping into the glow of the sun. “Maybe if we’re lucky, the cops will arrest everypony for serving an underage stallion.” he remarked when, suddenly, he remembered Coral was already enough of a felon. He turned his head away with a blush. “But then they might slap another charge on you too… Ha…” “Yeeeeah, let’s just pray that I get arrested rather than let Electric have his fun with me. It’s a much better alternative.” Everypony trampled along the puddle-riddled, cigarette-littered alleyway when Cornfield saw a large blued steel door. Noticing they all stopped at its steps, the muscle-bound leader banged loudly on it. Another casually informed the young-blooded colt about the club. “Welcome to Booze and Blues, a wonderful, musical shithole designed for scum like your pal here. They accept lots of packages this way. If you play with a bad hoof, you might go home in several of them! Heh heh heh...” Then, the Leader whispered into the door, “You steal the sun, you steal the shadows.” The door clicked and opened to receive the next order of business. As they entered, their ears immersed into a vortex of jazz music. Inside a humble yet sizable venue, the grand entrance on the right would greet naive clubbers, but it was locked to shelter their shady dealings from official business. A finely-polished wooden dance floor dominated the center alongside a web of tables and chairs populating the surrounding black carpet with white polka dots. Further accompanied by an underground band lively practicing for tonight on an elevated platform. Snug in the right corner was an old retro jukebox that appeared broken and an outstanding white mare whose mane was jet black. A blue feathered hat sat on it, and a striking broken heart cutie mark stained her flank. Complementing the club was a port of entry for all involved, a.k.a. the bar. Equipped with a hoof full of chrome stools with red leather seats, the sleek mahogany station stretched from one wall to the other serving alcoholic traps that would hinder the testimonies of any loose lips. The tacky dark-green furnishings, music themed paintings decorating a brick wall, and framed vinyl records didn’t help the two captives feel welcome. Leaning to take a peek beyond the bar, Cornfield could make out a hallway strictly for VIPs, radiating a sinister aura around it. He peered down in curiosity, asking, “So...We go to the back...? Or are they going to escort us to him?” “The boss will see YOU two when he is good and ready,” ordained the leader. “Until then, sit tight.” The thug nodded at the burly bartender, who donned deep orange fur and a permed and slick mane. Wearing a fancy glorified two piece black suit that hugged his bulky torso, with a cocktail glass cutie mark accounting him as Electric’s stamp of trusted personnel. The employee in question finished wiping an exoticly shaped cup and trotted down the inner hall. Marching in pure professional attitude, he delivered an unseen door a firm knock. “Fine... Whatever…” the colt responded with a huff. “Electric is very proud of his establishment, so he allows even his captured to set a spell and take a load off.” said the stallion in the jacket while he and the third member guffawed at their misfortune. “He may be cold, but at least he gives his dead-to-be their last drink.” “Please tell me that ain’t us, Coral,” complained Cornfield with folded forelegs. “Because I’d hate my last drink to be this overpriced black-market piss.” In response, Coral snatched his awnry snout into her vicinity, and went eye-to-eye with the bratty teen. “Listen to me,” the avian cawed in a hushed voice to his ear. “There’s a very good chance that MY goose is cooked, but I don’t want you to either make my inevitable worse or ruin any slim chance I may have to get out of this.” To drive the point further, she planted a claw in his nose. “Just keep the snide comments to yourself and don’t make everypony here rain Tartarus down on us.” Allowing him back into the scene of the seedy underworld, the colt let his immaturity spark as he grunted, followed by a “Fine!”. “Penny Pinch! Come here NOW!” The establishment had their collective attention on the ill-tempered mare in the corner, apparently gauged to lay the smackdown over the one thug that never broke his silence unless absolutely necessary. He gripped a baseball bat in his mouth, the same one that struck Coral, wearing a common black beanie, sported a goatee, and had a messy blue mane and tail to match his light purple coat. Surprised to see her so estranged, he spat out the bat  and pointed to himself in uncertainty. “M-Me?” he stuttered. His buddy system ditched him like the bat he tossed, even Coral knew how this could end as she joined alongside them. Cornfield didn’t care as he watched the bartender coming back just in time to witness familiar and never ending conflicts in the club. Though the band played on, they failed to maintain their natural talents as the music subtly deviated in slight miscalculated strokes and slipping focus. “Penny Pinch, you stood me up again,” she seethed in a combative gait towards her coltfriend. Penny shivered as he checked where his “friends” left, silently pleading for help until she stood point-blank from him, leaving room enough only for confession. “B-but Electric said that I had a really important job to do, baby! I thought you’d understand.” With the squabble getting harder to ignore, Cornfield eyed the action and curiously spectated the ongoing beef between the two. The white mare effectively shot the stink eye through her “special somepony” like a silver arrow. “Then, tell him that you are busy.” “I can’t do that! He owns my ass!” Then she turned her head dramatically, faking rejection to Penny but, in turn, winked her shaded eye at the menacing bartender. The enforcer lifted a counter flap in his way and stuck behind the scenes to ambush him as grizzled mercenaries cowered away with each step, inching so closely to Mr. Pinch. “If you don’t have the gumption to choose me over your career,” the femme fetale replied, “You won’t get far.” “Cornfield, close your eyes,” Coral instructed as she also distanced herself from impending terror. “You’re not my mother, Coral,” he sarcastically remarked. “Cornfield, I’m serious, close your eyes before-” Coral derailed mid-sentence as Penny was draped in shadow, looked back like unassuming prey and inadvertently closed the book on his fate. In one swift motion, the bartender instantly twisted the “messenger” pony’s head, brutally overriding its limitations and inducing an audible sickening pop, killing the band’s performance on a bit. The doomed body slumped on the floor, dead. There were no words, no music, and no sounds as everypony stood stricken with unmitigated fright at the demonstration by Electric’s henchpony. It was another casualty at this dive, laid waste for all to see. Just in the peace of mind Cabellaron’s witness had seen enough bloodshed, another heinious murder was commited without regard. Registering the death paid a toll on his emotions, drilling itself into his heart and ransacking it of all the foundations that anchored his once faithful soul. “Oh, well…” he hesitantly strained to brush it off internally. “It’s not the first time... and I guess it won’t be the last…” Despite his ruse, his body unconsciously gravitated humbly to Coral. The disgusting violence corroded the hippogriff’s discipline, trying desperately not to tear up after wincing away from the public execution. Sufficing an order of death “on-the-rocks” served with haste, the bartender hoisted the limp body over his back, carried it behind the counter, opened a discreet laundry chute, and slid the carcass in unceremoniously. Parting the deceased was a sendoff in awakened silent fear. The stallion-devouring white pony fired an expression that could break glass at the band. “Well?!” the mare shouted impatiently. Knowing the threat attributed to her influence, they retroactively played like their lives depended on it. Courage hemorrhaged in Coral’s spirit from the old nightmares remergance, her talons erratically combed through her mane as she murmured, “Shit, I hate this place.” “What are we going to do now, Coral?” the young stallion asked, dependent on their salvation by her claws. Being an ex-member of the syndicate stole the confidence she held inside, and avoided any direct honesty with him while massaging her collar. “Uh, well, there are two things that might happen. Either I make a plea deal with Electric and hope he listens, or I get a shock treatment from him personally.” “So, we take a plea deal, right?” “Assuming he’s kind enough to let me talk, right.” Single once again, the white mare, sought fresh, unadulterated young meat. Coral caught a familiar pattern incoming and blood fled from her face, resembling the same color as the fur that layered said female approaching Cornfield. “No,” the bird mashed the mental emergency panic button. “Buck no, you aren’t touching him! He’s going to end up in the chute if I don’t do something now!” “So, here I am, thinking ‘what’s a girl to do to find my special somepony’ and, well, you don’t seem to be doing anything tonight, right?” the white mare discussed innocently with Cornfield, who, unknown to her, can’t even pull the effort to spare her the time. “Name’s Fleeting Fancy. Nice to meet you.” “Aw shit, here we go again….” the colt sensed before stepping forward to nip this potential disaster in the bud. “ Look, lady,” he said as plainly and bluntly as possible. “I’m kinda stuck between a rock and a hard place.” Unabiding under the receiving end of rejection, Fleeting’s mood converted into vexed intolerance. “...What?” “AND BESIDES!” Coral shouted boldly as she reached out to take a hoof from the photographer stuck between two troubled chicks. “He’s my special somepony, isn’t that right, darling?” Distracted, Cornfield shunned eye contact with either girl in agreement. “Uh, yeah, what she said.” “You don’t look like it to me,” the white threat rebutted. “Of course we are! Cornfield, baby?” She tugged on his foreleg urgently, vocals cracking and pulling out all the stops. Since Electric was evidently in no hurry to greet his “guests” and so, terribly sick of this mare’s twisted love games, Cornfield took initiative to burst in pseudo dating. “Yes! We are together!” Mentally relieved, Coral blushed and played coy with an effeminate giggle, while Cornfield portrayed himself as the ideal gentlecolt best to his knowledge. “Tell you what, ‘baby’, let’s go over to a table where we can get more ‘comfortable’. He smoothly directed her over to a lonely table. “Oooh, I love it when you talk romantically to me.” With a sultry strut in her step, she enabled his escort if it meant sneaking away from that dastardly mare. Substituting the sting of a loss in belief the bird will be fried, Fleeting Fancy went back to flirting with the terrified band members. Cornfield pulled out a chair for her in continued facade. Just as they sat down, the bartender rested a silver tray on the table. It held two “complementary” shots of hard liquor swirling in glasses exclusively for them. The server was back at his post in a snap and the adjacent-sitting colt spoke softly for Coral’s ears only. “Ugh! The mares in this town are rock bottom sleazy!” “It’s worse than that,” his playdate added. “Fleeting Fancy is insane. She lost her coltfriend when one of Electric’s hitponies killed him dead for disobedience. Now, she stays in the bar most of the time, working with the boss while hitting on suitors to replace him.” “Except, they just get killed because of some ‘workplace discrepancy.’” His tongue clicked as he shook his head in distaste. “Sounds pretty insane to me. I wonder if you and Ms. Night all learned from her...?” Coral was dealt an uncanny revelation when all the pieces fell into place. “Wait, that thief in alleyway? She tried that on you?” The hippogriff stifled a chuckle at the sound of the colt’s admittance. “Well, that mare did teach the subtle art of wooing stallions before getting them to do your bidding. I thought they were a little too cliche and forward for my tastes but, as you are living proof of, it works sometimes.” Unable to hold back, she might as well enjoy the free booze after generating a subtle titter. With a swift swig, she drank the whole contents in one entire gulp and coughed from the intense burning kick throbbing down her throat. The sullen pony in his displacement, with forelegs folded, and denying the dignity of a response in any form, clearly unamused by her comment. “Ah ha... ha…” When she realized that he wasn’t in the mood for levity, she once again brushed her mane before going back to more pressing matters. “Anyway, do you see why I left? Electric does have power, no pun intended, to protect his gang, but they are all insane. The murder of innocent civilians is what made me fly the coop when I got the chance.” “Yeah, well, is he known for keeping ponies waiting or is this some unusual circumstance?” “Well, well, well, look what the bird dragged in.” As if on cue, the pony in question had announced his presence with a honeyed, yet gritty voice. Neither flinched in his unexpected arrival, while an empty chair from afar flew in the air with his telekinesis to join them. The country pony’s intuition hinted at the stallion as the source of every despicable event they’ve attested to since arriving. Not just in bondage, but within Baltimare alone. He couldn’t afford to say so much a quip but knew the worst has yet to come. Fate manifested itself through a bright orange unicorn fancying a green zoot suit and a spikey, gelled back white mane with eyes glaring red as the sun. He spun the chair in swagger ending with a suave posture sitting on a chair in reverse form, intimidation building up while he greedily sought the guest of honor foremost, " So... What’s shakin’, fly girl?” The big boss, the pony that crushed his foes under an iron hoof and owned a stranglehold in the underground, seemed calm and laid back. However, the gem thief was already familiar with his explosive mood swings like a maximum case of bipolar disorder. “Electric Boogaloo” were the only words she chose as pawns moving on the board of social chess. “Enjoying ourselves today?” the pony who delighted in a musical purgatory queried. “Drinks got the same kick as before?” Coral identified the intense raging fire burning inside his eyes zeroed on her, rather transparent even with his relaxed demeanor. “It’s the same as always.” He nodded after driving fatal intentions into her soul, then glanced over to the uninvited one. “And you? Enjoying my modest club?” “Yeah... real cozy…” Cornfield replied, already over the nonchalant nice-guy act. “Yeah? Would you be willing to stay here for as long as you live, it’s that cozy?” “What exactly are you insinuating?” Anger slowly begins to solidify his senses, sick of being toyed with. Electric mildly raised his hooves and laughed. “Whew! This colt is all hot. Relax, cat. I’m not here to hurt ya. Now, your friend here...” “If you’re going to kill me, go ahead and do it,” the hippogriff had it with his crap, cutting him off and examined her empty glass in humility. “You have everything you need. The bartender. The collar. Your magic. Just pick one.” Electric paused briefly and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, as he does whenever beginning a slimey deal. A good sign, it meant he allowed for negotiations and that stalled their demise; a possibility of hope they very much lacked. Dressed in a faint blue aura, he tossed the pack on the table, isolating a cig that floated due to his magic. Then, a miniature bolt of lightning struck the tobacco tip, banding his horn and reeling it into his puckered lips. After deeply inhaling the addictive soothing substances and billowing it out in a collective cloud above, the interrogation had begun. “Where’s my diamond?” “Sold it.” “Nice gem on your chest. What is it?” “Not telling.” He switched gears to the plus one beside her. “What’s that gem on her chest?” “It’s a heart. Can’t ya tell?” he plainly retorted. “Your ‘no-harming’ privileges are on a fine line.” “Is that a threat?” “I don’t know. You tell me.” “PLEASE!!!” Coral begged, losing her cool, not accepting the charades determining their punishment caused by her cursed transgressions any longer. Emotions on the verge of snapping, she unknowingly pressed her talons into her temples, feeling like the organ in her skull could breach and accumulate a mess on the fine carpet. Reaching the boiling point of a mental breakdown, Electric lazily smirked at his pathetic plaything, intrigued if she will cave in and sell the colt into slavery. During a prolonged awkward silence, she finally straightened herself out on the hot seat and regained minimal composure with a deep sigh. “What do you want from me?” “R-E-S-P-” The jazzy stallion sucked out a puff of smoke, expelled it precisely at her face, and tapped the ash off his cigarette. “-E-C-T. You are gonna get something for me to prove trash like you is worth the trouble.” The tainted gas provoked her lungs, displacing a coughing fit as she rapidly waved to recirculate her breath faster. “It’s always-” She wheezed again. “-something with you. What is it this time?” “Pop quiz: What event is happening in Baltimare right now?” “The Harvest Festival…” Cornfield answered for the sake of his partner. “Ding ding ding! You’ve won first prize!” Electric answered with overblown sarcastic enthusiasm, clapping his hooves. “Bartender! Fetch a glass a’ juice for our wonderful colt!” The bartender humorously obliged, pouring a cup of colorful fruit juice meant to mix with cocktails. When brought onto the table, it even had a bendy straw, pre-bent. The young stallion, unnecessarily poked fun of at his expense, tilted his nose far down as despair latched on, the mocking glass in view and spoke as a defeated victim. “You’re a real comedian.” “It’s an annual event where ponies with nothing better to do grow a bunch of plants and compare who wasted the most time. Not to mention that pretentious cunt Mayor Mare is bringing a solid gold trophy for the winner.” Finding amusement in his line of dirty affairs, the orange puppet master chuckled as he dumped the cigarette in the colt’s juice, making the abridged loud hiss of a punctured tire. “I’d compete myself for the hunk of cold hard moolah but, well, everything I seem to touch tends to die.” Casually stating death like it was just another day at the office almost unnerved the syndicate’s deserter. Moreover, his proposal had passed the point of absurdity. “You want me to steal a trophy?” she implored clarification as she was stranded in disbelief. “Yeah. My room could use a new decoration.” “Why us?” Cornfield further questioned. “To compensate a debt?” “It’s very simple, a yak can understand it.” Done screwing around with the vermin, Electric’s tone harshened; baring the teeth of criminal dictatorship. “You get me the statue, we bury the hatchet. I go to the police. I clear birdbrain’s name. You refuse, don’t get it by midnight, or skip town, you’ll be choking down the pain.” Coral’s pupils shrunk to pinpricks upon activating the cursed collar, throttling her neck immediately. She opened up her beak to claim back her health, but the object resumed its cycle of painfully crushing her throat with hydraulic strength. The suffering too soon revisited Cornfield’s psyche and permanently contorted his heart as he broke out streams of sweat. Imprisoned helplessly into an exhibition of his best friend dying, a nuclear bomb of catastrophic heartache went off within his social conscience while she descended towards a painful death. To save his friend, he disregarded his hatred for Electric and nearly reduced to pleading for a stoppage. “We get it, alright?! There’s no need for that!” “Nah, nah,” the cruel unicorn smiled, entertained by the sheer agony. “She has to say it. Speak up now, Coral! I can’t hear you. We got a deal?” Oxygen had nearly deserted her decrepit lungs, inducing slight hallucinations she was at the gates that swallowed its victims through assimilation unto their final destination. Her claws dug into the surface of the table and grasped for one last merciful chance. Her head practically ascertained a purple hue akin to the recently deceased. All Cornfield could do was absorb the unbearable sight inside a cracked bottle made with thin glass. “You’ve gone TOO FAR now!” his mind screamed. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do it. But I will KILL you myself!” Electric bellowed hysterically and, knowing exactly when to pull back before the victim fell to asphyxiation, said “breathe easy”. This conveyed to a loosened collar, registering the notion to disarm. Stunned from the lack of oxygen, she ragdolled onto the ground, feeling like she had entered a trans-dimensional rift into another world while the room spiraled around her. Gasping for air as her vision realigned sluggishly, she lifted a clawful of talons up and counted each digit in tune with a list. “W-wuh-”, Her gaping beak absorbed more polluted ventilation. “Whisperweed, glass-cutter, binoculars, and a disguise for me to wear.” “Whisperweed?” Under his cool composure, Electric’s curiosity piqued, “Why does the ‘lone eagle’ need whisperweed?” “C-Cornfield is going with me. H-He’s-” she gulped the smoke-tainted air down with her mangled throat enough to speak without knocking herself out. “H-he’s my recon.” Her partner became dumbstruck, wondering what brilliant idea she has rationally conceived in her condition. “Whisperweed it is, then.” While the hippogriff remained hacking like a cat throwing up hairballs on the carpet, his horn glowed. The collar suddenly radiated a magical fog around it, then abruptly stopped. Towering over her, he pointed his hoof down at her no better than garbage strewn along the side of the road. “You leave town, don’t see me at midnight, or try to take off that collar, it will choke a bitch so fast, your head will pop off. Not kidding. Get my trophy.” Hopping off the chair, he lightheartedly punched Cornfield’s shoulder experiencing deja vu giving his partner a hoof. “Good luck, colt. You’re gonna need it.” Disregarding the comment, Cornfield wiped the impression left by Electric’s corrupt hooves, and watched him go back to the hole he crawled out of earlier. Then he beelined to help up Coral. In a particularly soft, caring dialect, he aided her up. “Here. Grab my hoof, let’s go before they get any more bright ideas.” Although the leverage his hoof provided got her back on her feet, she fringed on keeling down again, wrapping her foreleg around his neck like it was a lifesaver. She glanced behind in trace of Electric. The murderous unicorn visibly slammed the door behind him. “I hate... him…” she rasped. “And this place.”