Her stomach growled in protest as another pill was quickly retrieved from her bags. It had no taste, but, of course, it wouldn’t light itself on fire either. In reality it was a potent mix, good for staving off malnutrition and hunger for eight hours at a time, a Creed soldier’s greatest weapon. They didn’t have to get hungry, and if needed, could stave off drowsiness as well. For a dead pony like Faith, this was a necessity.
Over the last day and a half, she had relentlessly tracked her prey. This was far different than simple rooftop following, Faith was better than that. She was the shadow in the nook between buildings, the mare on the side corner carefully selecting roses, or the blind colt begging for a few bits for his morning meal. All the while memorizing patterns, setting points, and preparing. This confrontation was going to be different. She’d promised herself, no killing.
As the sun set over her second day like that she checked all the preparations. Her carefully rigged entrance let right into her prey’s ceiling, it had been set to be silent. She loaded two simple darts into the hoof mounted device. It was elegant in its simplicity, capable of loading six darts at a time, each carrying the payload with lethal accuracy. These two, however, were all she needed. The mare would be asleep before she felt the prick. Even the building had been rigged in case plan A failed, nothing was left to chance.
Bathrooms had simple gas canisters rigged, hallways were lined with paralytics, even the couch had been painstakingly coated with an adhesive today. This was her perfect element and she never failed twice.
The minutes ticked by until the shadowy assassin finally heard the familiar clicks of latches turning. She had intended to fire off the darts the second that mare was within view, but fate had other plans. The mare had secluded herself in the bathroom before Faith had time for an accurate shot. The poor thing must have been planning to unwind. Well, she would have to unwind into a drug induced sleep. Still, never overestimate yourself. That was rule 2.
There was only one safe zone left, even if her prey made it out of the trap, the door out. Faith silently drifted down, landing without more than a silent plop in front of it. She had effectively sealed the mare’s one refuge into a nightmare of traps and terror. Seconds later the familiar hiss of the canisters was accompanied by a frenzied rush. The door to the washroom burst open with the still soaked pegasus in a full panic.
Faith had to admit, if not for the gas mask now adorning her face, it wouldn’t have been a bad sight. But, this time Faith wasn’t about to hesitate. Her hoof shot up, flexing instinctively to trigger the pressure switch on the inside. It was a fluid motion, releasing the dart in an instance as it flew towards the soaked mare.
If she hadn’t stopped and turned the dart would have embedded itself squarely into her neck, but Faith could only admire as it whipped only hairs from her and through that still soaked mane. This mare definitely had fluid movement and agility, almost as good as her own. That meant very little, though. This was still a playground of hidden traps she was darting into. The paralytics were next.
Panic does things to even the most seasoned veterans, this was no different. This soaked and panicked mare rushed straight onto one of the caltrops before noticing them at all. It was almost poetic, that hoof would be entirely useless in less than a minute, and yet she still ran. The last dart was unloaded, more for the fear factor than to actually end this. It was little surprise when it found itself in the door. Then again, Faith was inside her opponent’s mind now. The path was obvious, dart for the window, use the couch for extra push considering the crippled hoof. The couch which had been so thoroughly prepared. It was almost fun for her to take the slow walk to the door, with the struggling taking place on the other side.
There was an obvious hiss of anger as the door creaked open, “You did NOT just mess with my favourite couch!”
Of course she had, she had messed with the entire apartment, and yet the couch deserved this kind of hatred? Faith would never understand some mares. Even so, she wanted this to be a bit more comfortable, well, comfortable looking. She took careful precision to remove the gas mask softly and with compassion, peeling it gracefully away from the mare’s features. She then placed a hoof and forced her into a more comfortable looking sitting position rather than standing on the couch. Of course, the adhesive meant she would be stuck fast and less comfortable than normal. But, it was more comfortable for Faith to look at and gave her prey the illusion of a normal situation. Interrogation Rule 1: Make your target feel comfortable and safe.
“Relax, you’re quite lucky, you know.”
“Lucky? Just let me out of here. You'll be the lucky one if your body is still in one piece after you messed with Bubbles.” Okay, making her feel comfortable might be a little harder than she imagined. What kind of a pony names a couch, anyway? The same kind who attempted to tackle a pony while firmly stuck to a couch.
Faith thought strongly about laughing in the mare’s face, but that wasn’t likely to endear the two of them. Maybe a different route was in order? A small glass of water was pulled out of her bags from which she began to drink slowly until the thrashing began to settle down a bit, “Would you like some?”
Wrong path, definitely wrong path. The struggling picked up again, leaving Faith to drink in silence until it started to die down again, “Look, this doesn’t have to be hard. I just want a few answers.”
“Then you’ll kill me?” Normally, yes. Her anger was understandable, but it didn’t make the process any easier between the two. Back and forth quips were not going to solve anything. On the other hand, she was slowly calming down. Reason couldn’t be that far behind, could it, “I don’t need to answer to mares like you.”
“No, you’re really quite lucky in that respect.” Faith wasn’t lying. She really had no desire to kill the mare in front of her. Now, all she had to do was convince her of the same thing.
“I don’t believe you. You’re Creed. Now, just finish it.” Okay, this was getting tiresome. Even worse, every time this pony said Creed Faith got an earful of the hatred she held. It shouldn’t have bothered her that much, but everything was different now. There was a part of her that understood the anger, and a different part that desperately wanted to cut out the mares tongue. She refrained from the latter, though.
“You get to be the first pony who's ever walked away from an elite kill order,” She wanted to be a kinder hostess, offering the water for another time. Of course, it actually ended more along the lines of shoving the water down the already soaked orange mare’s mouth. Maybe she wasn’t completely over everything, “So, why not just co-operate?”
She spat the water back out with vigour, thoroughly covering Faith’s hoof and a bit of her chest, “What the hell is this? Fridge, all the door drawer is full of it. Bring over one bottle, then we talk.” Okay, maybe the spitting was moderately deserved, but since when did captives demand their own treatment? It didn’t matter, though. Information first, anger later.
“I try to be hospitable and I get spit on. I’ll never understand mares.” It was more for dramatic flair than it was to make any kind of point. Faith hoped she could at least get some sympathy out of the mare. That could easily work in her favour. But, instead, nothing as she left the room. It really would have been too much to ask for this to go smoothly. On top of it all, it seemed most of the fridge’s contents were various types of liquor.
Another thing I’ll never understand. Liquor only dulls the senses. Still, she grudgingly took a clear bottle with an interesting label out of the fridge. She gave it a cursory sniff and proceeded to close the cap back tightly. There was no way that was worth trying, but if it helped the situation. Well, she would return with it anyway.
“So, can we try this again now,” The door creaked shut behind her and she made her way back over to the couch, brandishing the gaudy liquid, “Or do we have to do this the normal way?”
The normal way, for reference, usually involved flaying off little patches of flesh in an ever more eccentric pattern until the subject gave up the information or passed out. It was most Creed’s favourite interrogation method, but it often fell short in comparison to what Faith had been taught.
“Is the creed really that desperate. Tracking down the only killer in Fair-feather just to ask her of her welfare and info, then just let me live?”
Faith set the bottle down with a loud slam in an effort to detract from the questions. There was little point in giving up information, “What do you know about the Hooftail division of Creed?”
It was a simple question. Honestly, it was to test the waters, to see if she could even be useful at all. That, and, Faith wanted a trip down memory lane, “Not much. They operate here in Fair-feather, along with the Shadowbrands.”
“Hooftail and Shadowbrand have been given operating dominion over the Griffon border, starting with Fair-feather. Not like we’ll ever have the honor of running into such esteemed groups out here in the boonies.” It had been a joke, of course. Lore was an elite division. An elite division cloaked in a cover of a cover of a simple intelligence section. But, father had always had a very modest sense of humour.
The strong liquid graced the pegasus’ mouth, allowing her to drink while the next question was posed, “And, what about Lore division?”
“Much better.” She drank down the horrid substance in a way Faith would never understand before continuing, “They’re intel gatherers. But I guess you knew that already.”
“Yeah, I suppose I did,” Of course this was, at best, a half truth. Memory lane was a cruel mistress. And she paused with the memories.
“A Creed serves Equestria above all else. We do the things others can not. More importantly, to take the life of another Creed member is our biggest taboo.” Father again, he always spoke so eloquently. So, where was all that heroic talk now? Where was the strong and noble Creed and what had this Creed done to it? No matter, she could still remember the kill order she found clear as day. She would commit the taboo, but she would not have been the first.
“Well, that's enough about the past, I suppose. Let's go with something easy. A meeting place or gathering ground for anypony in Hooftail?”
“You're the Creed member. You tell me.”
Of course this wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing with this damnable mare ever was, “I’m not here to explain myself. I’m here for information.”
Okay, that one came out a lot sterner than she had hoped for. The memories that led her here were still a little fresh in her mind. Instead of an impartial executioner, this time had made her an instrument of retribution. It was harder to maintain composure like that, “Information I don’t have. I just pick them off one by one.”
“Then I suppose you’re useless to me,” Faith had to get this conversation back. She tried offering another drink, readily accepted, in order to coax even the slightest morsel of information. A little bit could start the process, “Just tell me what you do know. Any decently high ranked member.”
“I’m sorry, I would rather die before I do that.”
That damnable mare! She didn’t get it at all. No, of course she didn’t. No pony could get something that had never been explained to them. The rage subsided again and she tried being calming once more, “You would rather die before giving up a Creed member?”
“I'd rather die before giving info to a creed. What's up with you, anyway? Civil war?”
There it was again. She was trying to steer the conversation. But, this line of questioning might be perfect to score a little sympathy. No, a Creed is a Creed is a Creed. No outsider was going to understand what it meant to have every pony you knew and grew up with slaughtered on a kill order. No amount of telling a story was going to get rid of her hate, “It. It isn’t important.”
“Then why do you want to know?” She pushed for the information, harder, and yet gentler this time. But, there wasn’t anything that was going to change Faith’s mind.
“That's my business. Besides, you shouldn't look a gift pony in the mouth.” Nothing. This pony was stubborn to a fault. What was left. What could Faith exploit?
“So I guess that's it then?” That last little bit of inspiration finally struck. She didn’t like the idea, mostly because it felt stupid, but it was the best shot at her information.
“I suppose,” A small dagger was quickly drawn from her bags. Not as elegant as the hoof bracer, but it would serve a very effective purpose as it dangled above the couch. That precious couch, Mr. Bubbles, “You sure you don’t have anything to tell me?”
That was it, all the mare’s bravado and questioning broke down in an inelegant squeal as she feared for, of all things, a couch, “No...Not Bubbles! You wouldn’t dare!”
Faith would never understand mares. But, she couldn’t help the giggles from erupting. It had been so long since she’d had the leisure to laugh, even if it was a short one, ”I will never, never, understand mares.”
She paused briefly, trying to compose herself from the giggling fit before placing the tip of her dagger to the couch as if she was going to kill some pony who might hide inside, “Come on, think about it. You get to keep the couch and help your cause at the same time.”
“Don't touch it! I'll... I'll... Fine” Faith had done it. She’d won a battle of wits with a couch. Not her finest moment, but she would take any victory she could get.
“I took out two of the Hooftail elites, but their master is still around.” It was impressive to hear of a single pegasus, no matter who they worked for, taking out two elites. On the other hand, from what Faith had experienced the other night, these elites certainly didn’t live up to the name.
“A location would be nice.”
“I don't know where he is, but when he walks around, he's escorted by a detachment of upstarts. At least thirty,” What arrogance. Faith had never heard of a master who would be stupid enough to bring escorts. Creed were assassins, to parade them around was sheer lunacy, “He's also accompanied by the three specialists in the order.”
“Normally I would assume I wouldn't be able to tell the escorts from regular ponies,” There wasn’t any point in this, but she felt better verbally belittling such actions, “But they don't seem that skilled here.”
“I suppose that’s all you’ve got for me, right?” Faith tried prodding again, just a little reminder that there was always more to be said. She didn’t even really need the knife anymore.
“The Trade Guild has a two sided deal. The Shadowbrand’s spin massive amounts of money to bring in new recruits and weapons. Even poison material,” It didn’t really surprise her. Even if Shadowbrand wasn’t her target, they would likely have to be dealt with eventually, “However, they never sold me out. I'm too small of a problem and casualties make profit.”
She should be thankful, it was the perfect amount of information and just enough to allow her to keep out of having to face two divisions at once. This mare, she might have been weird, but at least she was helpful, “I’ll deal with them later. But, maybe I can make use of them. In either case, you’ve given me enough to track them. Thank you.”
Oh, this was a red letter day. Faith was not only going to let this mare live, but she even thanked her. There must have been something wrong in her mind. Of course, planning to eliminate two divisions on your own might have been the first clue.
“Yeah yeah. If you're so desperate to kill them, then why not let me do my damn work?”
“ I've got my reasons. Just like I've got my reasons for letting you live.” Those reasons...Hell if I know what they are. It wasn’t a full lie. Honestly, she did have one reason for letting that orange mare live, but it felt more like an excuse than the real reason.
“Name one of each.” Pushing again, but this time Faith was more than happy to oblige an answer.
“I'm about to destroy a taint and become something horrible in the process. If you want a reason for you to live, it's because Hooftail wants you dead.” It was true, to some extents. She did see Hooftail as completely tainted. The orders from such a division might as well have gone against Creed doctrine itself. But, wasn’t all that just an excuse? Surely, killing this mare meant less than nothing to an experienced and elite Creed.
“You know... Next time we meet, we're still enemies.” We are, aren’t we?
She finally removed the solvent bottle from her bags and dumped it all over the mare and the couch to remove the adhesive. It was slow acting, designed that way to give her a long enough head start, “It should take about an hour, maybe less if you're lucky.”
Of course, part of it was a lie. There was no reason to dump the solvent over her captive, just pouring on the couch where she was attached would have done the trick. Maybe she just looks better with a wet mane, “I'm killing you for what you did to bubbles...”
“Take it easy, that's the dissolving agent. So, take my advice. For all intents and purposes, you are dead now. Pack up your things, and leave. Find a nice new place and make a life. This place is about to become a hell hole.”
“If I wanted advice, I'd have went to church a long time ago,” Religion had no place on the battlefield, but the message was clear. She had no intention of leaving, whether it was safe or not, “I'm leaving when the creed are dead. Including you, couch profaner.”
Faith turned away, leaving her conversation buddy to wallow while the solvent worked, “Take it easy. When I'm done they will be.”
Of course, what she had meant to say was, Don’t die. Not that it mattered, but there was not a pony left in this world to even name the grave she would leave behind. A little memory wouldn’t have been a bad thing at all. Even if they never would meet again.