//------------------------------//
// All Truths Come Out (Part 2) 
// Story: Live By The Sword... 
// by redandready45 
//------------------------------//

"You can't just hurt him Gilda," Sprint complained. The military girl, Sunset, and Micro Chips sat in the Sprint's basement, which doubled as a personal gym. Gilda was mercilessly punching a punching bag.

"I never said I wanted to hurt him," Gilda said with fake sympathy. "I just want to bash his brains in!" She returned to thrashing the inaminate object.

"We don't even know if he did this." Sprint said. 

"Wake up Sprint," Gilda said. "Its black and white, clear as crystal. Your little friend is a little psycho. I can tell by the way he twitches."

"No he isn't, Sprint threw back. "And he doesn't twitch. He stammers. I've known Quick for...months. I don't think he's capable of doing this. Not unless something really, really provoked him."

"I haven't done anything to him," Sunset repeated in a tired voice. She felt more than a bit troubled at the idea that one of the few people who had been nice to her from the beginning was basically stringing her along. "If I did, I would've gone up to him and paid him back."

"All of the evidence points in his direction," Micro Chips said. 

"And we'll get more when we make him-,"Gilda began with a bloodthirsty smile.

"We're not gonna act like thugs doing this," Sprint said forcefully. "Because if it turns out he didn't do it, than we'll be violent upperclassman guilty of attacking a freshman." Gilda's bravado died down from the thhought. "Don't start slugging him just because you want to take out your frustrations for getting your eyes sprayed. And don't say I don't care either. Twinkle's been my best friend when we were ten and this nut hurt him. But like Twinkle himself said, we can't innocent people suffer because we're scared." Twinkle's words pushed away the anger and frustration on everyone's faces.


"OK, so how do we do this," Gilda asked. "Do we just hand the information to Garda."

"Quick has a stammer," Sprint said. "I don't think you can interrogate him in a traditional way."

"Could we try and trap him?" Sunset asked.

"No," Micro Chips. "Quick has been smart enough to cover his tracks. Down to covering up his height with stilts. He's not gonna fall for a setup. We need hard evidence pointing in his direction."

"How?"

"I have an idea?" Micro said with a smirk.





"Can you provide us with a tiny camera for what we need?" Micro Chips asked Moondancer in her usual work station.

"Yep.

"With proper visuals and broadcasting?"

"Yep."

"And a good internet connection?"

"Yep."

"Any problems?"

"Nope." Micro began smiling. "Except such small issues like...illegal surveillance, violations of civil rights and privacy, and a host of other laws you might be breaking." Micro Chips began frowning. Moondancer turned from her station to glare at Micro. "I am not going to do something that could get me a mark on my record. And I doubt Officer Garda will go along with this."





"I can't allow you to do this," Officer Garda said. Micro Chips, Sprint, and Gilda decided to approach the man directly with both their suspicions and conclusions. They frowned at what Garda had said. He abruptly got up from his desk.

"And you need to understand that you kids can't just play detective," he continued a little too loudly. "And that your job is to-," he slammed the door, locked it, and turned back to the three teenagers, much to their confusion.

"Let me be clear that what I am about to say must stay off the record," Officer Garda said. "I am going to give you permission to do this."

"Really?"

"However what you record can never, ever be published," Garda said firmly. "You don't share it with anyone but me and amongst yourselves. This information you may collect can never be used publicly. Or I will wash my hands of you."

"Then what's the point of us being allowed to record?" Gilda asked the portly man. 

"Officially, I can't use it," Officer Garda said. He then gave Gilda a small smile. "But if I know he's guilty, I can catch him the next time he decides to misbehave or now which direction to look. Besides," he said, lifting up his notebook, "this information you all gathered-very well written and organized-does point in his direction. And frankly, the fact that your willing to finger one of your teammates interests me, Mr. Speed. Most kids would cover for their friends no matter what they did."

"Well," Sprint said sadly. "I think of Quick as my brother. If Quick just pulled pranks, I would cover for him. But I can't do that if he's willing to seriously hurt people. I just wish I knew the 'why'. But since there is no why, and he turns out to be some psycho, he can't be allowed here."

"You've described him as having a troubled childhood," Garda said. "He could be taking his frustrations out on Sunset. Not saying it excuses him, but he could be letting out some aggression." Garda looked at the notebook. "But its too soon to say for sure. Just get what you can, and I'll see what I can do. But let me stress: be as quiet as possible."

"OK," Sprint said. 





Sprint pulled up to Quick's house in his father's blocky used sedan. It was the least conspicuous car any of them owned. The home was in lower-middle class part of West Canterlot. An area that was s few short blocks from the much poorer Southwest neighborhood.

"Are you sure he wasn't suspicious," Micro asked, while sitting in the back seat. 

"I snuck it under his shirt after gym class," Sprint said. "And one in his locker. Since they are the size of fleas, he probably won't notice."

"Did you act any differently toward him," Gilda asked Sprint while sitting in the passenger seat. 

"I held onto the side of me that thinks he's innocent," Sprint said. "So that I wouldn't act coldly toward him."

"Let's hope we can get something," Gilda said tiredly. As they pulled up, Micro Chips waited for the camera to pick up the signal. It activated, revealing Quick eating dinner with some woman, who shared his red hair and white complexion.

"-w-w-wish she would leave," Quick stammered. "But s-she just wouldn't get the message."

"Did he just say that I think he said," Gilda said in disbelief.

"Honey, you're trying your best," an oddly accented woman said. 

"Who's that," Micro said.

"Quick's mom," Sprint said.

"I s-s-send her the same message o-over and o-ver, and she just won't l-leave," Quick said in frustration. "I think I might have to drag out of there myself." Sprint frowned and Micro and Gilda smiled.

"Yes, we got that fucker!" Gilda said. She noticed Sprint's downcast expression. "Sorry your friend turned out to be a freak," she said with a shrug.

"Honey, these things take time to recover from," Quick's mom said.

"But s-she's m-missing out on things. I wish she would get out m-more."

"You just have to keep being her friend," Quick's mom said sympathetically.

"He's not talking about Sunset," Sprint said. Both Gilda and Micro were disappointed. 

"Anyways, eat your liver," Quick's mom said in a motherly tone, "I want my son to be big and strong." They watched as Quick's mom walked away from the table to do some dishes. Quick suddenly had a sly smile on his face. He took the liver and dropped in the floor. 

"M-mom," Quick said as the woman turned back toward him. "I'm sorry, b-b-but y-your delicious l-liver fell on the floor by accident. And b-because of the three-second rule, I c-can't eat it any."

Gilda snickered a bit, while Sprint and Micro also looked a bit amused.

"Don't worry my son," the woman said, pulling out a plastic case, "I have some baklava you can enjoy." Quick smiled, until suddenly the baklava fell onto the floor.

"Sorry son three second rule," Quick's mom said to Quick with a nasty grin, who looked heartbroken. "Don't worry. Tomorrow, when I make you the Brussel sprouts you love so much, I'll watch you eat so nothing falls to the floor."

"Y-yes ma'am," Quick said sadly, acting like his dog died.

The three occupants of the car laughed like crazy.

"The kid is lucky," Gilda said. "When I tried the same trick with the Sergeant, he had me clean the floor." 

"Now upstairs, time for homework and bed," Quick's mom said.

"Yes ma'am," Quick said bitterly. 

Quick went to the bathroom and pulled out some nozzle thing from the wall. He fired, spraying his shirt by mistake. 

"D-damn it," Quick said. With a frustrated sigh, Quick ripped his t-shirt off. 

"He's not gonna do what I think he's doing," Micro said scarily.

Quick took the t-shirt off and shoved into a hamper. All they had were pictures of clothes.

"He did," Sprint said.

"Shit!" Sprint said.

"Moondancer's gonna kill me," Micro said fearfully.

"We still have the camera in his locker," Sprint said.

"Let's get out of here," Gilda said. "His mom's gonna put the clothes in the hamper, and I doubt they can tell us anything."





"So who was he talking about," Gilda asked Sprint. Sprint looked reluctant to talk about it.

"A friend of his named Muharib [1]," Sprint said. "She was his best and only friend before he came to CHS."

"What happened to her," Gilda said.

"She was this athletic girl," Sprint said. "Who, according to Quick's mom, fell down two stories and became paraplegic."

"Ouch," Gilda said sadly. 

"It really bothered her," Sprint said. "Muharib was like a sister to Quick. Protecting him from bullies, and teaching him to work out."

"Double ouch," Gilda said with sympathy. 

"Quick's mom had a strange accent," Micro said.

"She's Ospreyan [2]," Sprint said.

"Is she a refugee from the Olive Island crisis[3]," Gilda asked.

"How did you guess?" Sprint asked.

"A lot of Ospreyans who came to the UP were refugees from that conflict," Gilda said.

"Olive Island Crisis?" Micro asked. 

"OK, so the Ospreyans and Helotians [4] have been at each others throats for generations," Gilda said, "They've also divided Olive Island. 15 years ago, the tensions between the two groups erupted into civil war. Massacres and all that." Micro stared at her. "This is the kind of thing you learn if yourfoster dad is in the military."

"So Quick's mom escaped slaughter," Micro asked.

"Gets crazier than that," Sprint said. "She ended up falling for a Helotian man."

"You serious," Gilda asked.

"Yes," Sprint said. "They fled so they could marry here and have Quick. But even here, they were ostracized for their marriage by the respective immigrant communities. And," Sprint's face fell ,"Her husband was killed in a car accident when Quick was 5."

"Man," Gilda said sadly. Micro himself looked sad. 

"Yeah," Sprint sadly. "This is why I felt the need to take Quick under my wing. He's had it rough."

"Anyways," Gilda said. "Let's get home. Maybe his locker will turn up new things."