“SUCCESS! In a thrilling press release today, the Outer Planetary Exploration Commission has announced the discovery of a new habitable planet, only 50 years after its establishment. Dubbed Celestia’s Providence, this planet marks the first of many discoveries the organization hopes to accomplish. The world waits with bated breath for confirmation of the results.”

- ENN Special News Bulletin: Discovery of First Habitable Planet - 2202 E.C.

My couch was the perfect example of what a couch should be. It was satisfyingly lumpy, having none of that stuffy ‘new couch’ feel you get with newer furniture. It had no awkward stiff surfaces and no abrasive, coat-catching fabric. It was just a simple, worn out, comfortably plush piece of furniture with the substance of what I imagined clouds felt like. Of course every time I thought that, I would inevitably find the broken support bar inconveniently placed slightly off-center, which would then jam itself into my withers and remind me of the differences. Regardless, my couch was cozy. It was a cozy couch! It was nice and warm when you needed it to be, and yet worn out enough to be cool in all the right places. And then of course there was the smell. Granted while booze, barf and cigarettes leaves something to be desired, the pungent qualities of their odor fades over time leaving a wonderfully fragrant mix of ‘lived in’-ness that only the couch’s one true owner could appreciate.

I shifted gratefully in the warm, loving embrace of my couch, cuddling up to one of the lumps near the... wait. The lump was gone. So was the smell. For a moment I thought someone had dared to clean my couch, but I threw out that theory the moment I shifted position and discovered that the metal bar was gone too. The fabric scratched uncomfortably against my coat, and the cushions were... I gasped. Firm. Disgustingly, uncomfortably firm. What was more, this couch smelled new.

I gathered my evidence, and as the sole prosecutor and victim of this travesty, I presented my case before my mental jury. The defense made a valiant effort, protesting this, objecting and arguing, but I overcame! Time and time again, I pressed the defense with passion, wit and zeal, utilizing everything in my legal arsenal to prove my case. Facts were my ammunition. Logic was my weapon. The defense was powerless against me.

Finally, the jury broke for deliberations and I was left waiting in the courtroom for them to return. It took a long time. Whatever the jury was debating, the debate must have been heated, with much hoof waving and passionate arguing. More to the point, they were taking too long. The judge, highly irritated, passed the verdict in the jury’s absence.

This thing, I concluded with tremendous exhilaration, this abomination was not my couch.

Blearily, I opened my eyes, an action which I instantly regretted as the glare from the lights seemed to be somehow amplified by some mysterious force. The memories of the previous night slowly clawed their way back into my head.

I had been mugged. Well, more like beaten to a pulp. Come to think of it, it was a miracle I was still alive.

“What... happened?” I asked the couch. Not surprisingly, the couch did not reply. It was enough to fully jog my memory, however.

I should have died, I realized. That unicorn was going to kill me. Something had distracted her. Or someone.

I tried sitting up and groaned as pain lanced throughout my body. My head pounded like a rung bell in tandem with the rest of me. My body throbbed from head to hooves, a symphony of pain that played a jarring, dissonant tune. I sank back into the couch, grateful for its softness, even though it was firmer than I was used to. My aching body demanded more rest, and I decided to let it have its way. This time.

“Ugh... kill me.” I babbled into the couch cushions. I eyed the monstrosity I had woken up on.

The couch was white. Not truly white, mind you, but sort of an off-color white, that kind of eggshell white that you could point a hoof at and say, “that is white,” and find yourself doubting the truth of your own words.

White couches are ugly, I concluded. Though I suppose any color of couch other than drab green with dark splotches all over it would probably appear ugly to me anyway. On top of that, the couch was clean, and that bothered me even more. What kind of unholy, sadistic bastard cleans his couch? That observation drew my attention to the room.

The room was clean. Very clean. Everywhere I looked, things had been tidied up. The coffee table had been wiped and polished, its three stone centerpiece artfully balanced inside a square bowl; The wooden floor had been dusted and mopped; I couldn’t even see dust on the lampshades. Whoever owned the place must have either taken great lengths to keep it clean, or never stuck around to dirty it up. I placed a bet on the latter.

I heard a noise like a door opening nearby and I gingerly turned my head to its source, which in my condition ended up being more of an unsteady lolling motion. As the door opened, the lights came on with brutal, piercing brilliance. I then came to realization number two: I had a hangover.

“AARGH! LIGHTS! KILL THE LIGHTS!” I screamed, shielding my eyes from the burning glare with my hooves. Screaming was a bad idea. My voice reverberated in my head like a smashed gong.

“Hey you’re awake!” a familiar male voice said just a little too loudly. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake up.” The lights dimmed to just below tolerable. I groaned, cradling my head and squinting as my eyesight adjusted. A body was approaching me, details coming slowly into view as it got closer and my vision cleared. The body turned out to be a buck with a dark grey coat and a mauve mane. He had an eight ball for a cutie mark. It took me a moment to recognize him. He was the colt who sat down next to me at the pegasus’ food stand.

“Sorry about the lights,” he said. He was holding a glass of something I couldn’t quite identify on one hoof while walking gracefully on his other three legs. He set the glass on the small coffee table next to the couch and I got a better look at it. It was an ugly greenish drink with a sickly orange tinge.

“Drink this it’ll make you feel better.” The colt said, watching me expectantly. I swallowed a lump in my throat.

“Well it’s your choice, I’m not forcing you to do it or anything. I just thought you could do with some more meds after your little incident.”

“How thoughtful.” I took another glance at the drink, and in response a bubble floated to the surface and popped with a thick, audible blurp. I tasted bile in the back of my throat. “And how do I know it won’t try to strangle me on the way down?”

“Judging by your condition I’d say you wouldn’t mind.” He replied dryly. He grinned, an expression that I found more than a little irritating for some reason. Great, another pony to hate.

“Bah don’t be such a pansy, sure it tastes like shit, but it should help with that hangover. It worked for me anyway. That and it’s packed with meds. So it will help dull the pain.”

“Question. Why do I have a hangover?” I asked, one hoof still bracing my pounding head.

“I had to improvise on pain killers, sorry.” He paused for a moment. “So are you going to drink it, or...” He trailed off. I took another look at the drink. It did not look any more appetizing than before, but if it made the pain go away it might be worth it. My mental jury wanted to break for deliberations again. I decided to expedite proceedings.

“Yeah, sure whatever.” I said. I struggled to grip the glass with my hooves as I retrieved it from the squat table. Then, lifting the thick, gloppy concoction to my lips, I forced it down, gagging as the putrid liquid slowly slithered down my throat. It tasted like... you know... I’m not sure what it tasted like. At first it tasted like alcohol, almost like a sour beer, and then a moment later the flavor changed. It was like someone had put salt, pepper, eggs, toast, and a little coke-a-colta in a glass and shook it twice. I felt like I had just eaten breakfast, which was great because I had a pressing need to puke, and I would not want to do that on an empty stomach. A small bucket presented itself just in time.

“Don’t worry.” the colt said, smiling reassuringly as I emptied my stomach into the bucket he had nudged into position. “It’s a natural reaction.” I truly, truly began to hate this buck.

“Ugh... what just hit me?” I asked, returning to a sitting position and feeling dazed.

“It’s an old recipe from a friend.” The colt said, clearing away the bucket. “It was his version of a miracle cure. Like I said, it tastes like shit, but the meds help with any pain you might be feeling. It has one unfortunate side-effect though.”

“I don’t feel any different.” Well that wasn’t entirely true, the headache had lessened very slightly, and I could already feel the meds kicking in. The pain in my body was dulling already.

My eyes had adjusted to the light, but my head still beat terribly, throbbing harder whenever my eyes strayed too close to a light source. I sat upright on the couch, squinting. The aftertaste of the sludge drink still burned on my tongue. I was getting thirsty for something that didn’t taste like a septic tank.

“You got any water?” I asked, desperate to wash away the flavor congealing in my mouth. Instantly, the buck produced yet another glass of liquid, this one clear. I took a cautious sip of this one just in case it was something worse. Thankfully, it was indeed water. I drank it greedily, but my stomach still lurched as it went down.

“It’s a natural reaction.” He repeated, laughing this time. That grin was getting on my nerves. I kept drinking. The water had been just what I needed, cool and refreshing, and more importantly, cleansing. The unique flavor of the drink went away, mostly. I could still taste hints of it on my breath. Satisfied, I set what was left of the water back down on the coffee table, and took a deep breath of mercifully fresh air.

“The stand owner asked me to keep an eye out for you. I figured I owed him that much for all the free food he gives me.”

“That and I need you for something.” I started to get up from the couch, but the buck stopped me with a hoof, gently pushing me back into my seat.

“Whoah whoah! not so fast! let the meds work. I had to set the bones in your legs and you’ve been out for the past three days while the doc did its work.” I stopped and sat back down.

“Yeah... you were in a really bad way. You were lucky I showed up when I did. Otherwise that mare would have finished you.”

“How did you fix me?” I asked. He pointed to a small machine next to the couch. It looked a little bit like the maintenance bot I had seen on the way in, but in place of its forward wastebin was a refrigerator with a glass door, holding some syringes, a couple bottles of reddish orange liquid and some small surgical tools. It took me a moment to recognize the odd-looking bot.

Well I’ll be damned. I had seen ponies use that kind of equipment in hospitals, but never privately.

“I called in a few favors.” He said. Silently I wondered just what kind of favor would require stealing from a hospital. Then, I had a sobering thought.

“Quite a few I’d say, considering the amount of trouble you got yourself into. But don’t worry I won’t call them in immediately.” Something about that statement made me nervous. My wing twitched in response.

“That’s just what other ponies call me. I never really bothered to correct them. Cutie mark and all that. Keeps it simple.”

“Just call me Nightshade. That’s what my friends call me.” If friends qualified as ponies who owed him big favors, I wondered what his enemies called him.

“What about being stranded in the Rim! Can’t find good stock to make fritters and all that!”

“HAH! Nah, that’s the same sob story he gives everyone.” That son-of-a-mule. “His fritters are terrible, though the part about the stock is about right. Earth ponies don’t sell their prime stock to just anyone.”

“Bad fritters, no one wants to eat there, so that leaves him free to listen to what is going on at the other stands. You’d be surprised to see how many people roll through this sector and hear what they say while getting a quick bite to eat.”

“It’s a long story. Short version is, I set him up with the stand and a bit of sagely advice for a favor.”

“It’s the way of the universe man. You gotta give in order to get something in return. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. It’s how things work around here. When you don’t have the bits to pay for it anyway.”

“I’m flattered but I don’t cuddle colts.” I deadpanned. Nightshade facehoofed.

“Don’t worry, I’m not looking to buy, I just need a ride. Or two. Or three...” His grin came back in full force, I felt my brow twitch. “Or more, depending on how much help I need.”

So the price of my life was reliable transportation. I supposed that wasn’t so bad, all things considered. His damn grin though, why did I find that so annoying?

“First however, I think I’ll need to do you a few more favors before we can do that.” Suddenly, he had my full attention.

“What do you mean, ‘more favors’?” I said incredulously. Nightshade raised an eyebrow and placed a hoof on the center of his forehead. Subconsciously I imitated him.

From the moment I had woken up I knew something felt off. Mostly I had just assumed it was the fact that I had woken up alive on a nasty, disgusting, rotten excuse for a couch that wasn’t green and didn’t smell like something died on it. Feeling my hoof touch my forehead however alerted me to what really felt off. I scratched a spot I hadn’t touched in months. It felt glorious and terrifying at the same time. My eyes widened. My WAND was gone.

I felt naked. Alright ponies are usually naked but this was a different type of naked. Without the constantly itchy reminder of my WAND on my forehead I felt fundamentally wrong. I never took it off, not even to clean it. It was as much a part of me as my wings or a unicorn’s horn. It was convenient. It just, was. And I could barely function without it, much less fly a ship.

I shuddered to think what my dad would to do to me if he ever found out it had been stolen. Then I stopped, wondering why the hell that would bother me. Dad was gone, why would he care?

“I... Bu.. Y...” I sputtered uselessly, still grappling with the discovered theft. My eyes narrowed. “What did you do with my WAND?”

“What did I do with it?” He said, taken aback. “What do you think happened to it!”

The muggers took it. My WAND was my most valuable possession, even in as poor condition as it was. Just by being functional, it was worth a lot of bits. Hell, I could have probably lived handsomely if I had just sold the damn thing instead of flying, but then of course I would not have been flying and that just would not do. Now I couldn’t do either. I was stuck on a colony I didn’t know, with a ship I couldn’t fly and a not a bit to my name. Oh and I owed a buck a big favor for saving my life. There was that too.

“No. But...” Nightshade said, looking thoughtfully at one of the dimmed lamps in the corner, “I might know where to start.”

Trading information, trading favors, trading bits, I wandered about completely lost while following Nightshade from one contact to another, as we tried to get a bead on where my WAND had run off to. His so-called contacts turned out to be more ponies who owed him favors. They were ponies whom he had told to keep an eye out for juicy bits of information and the like. Ponies whom he had helped with either finances, or helped out of a tough jam, or, judging by one pair of mares, something else entirely.

We saw Fritter again, but that lead turned up moot. He had no idea where they might have taken it, but seemed in good spirits to see me still in the land of the living. I still managed to squeeze a few interesting details out of him, however. It turned out that Fritter’s full name was Crispy Fritter and the story he told me was mostly true. He did indeed travel from the PC to the Rim seeking his fortune, and he was right in saying that it was a mistake. He just left out the rest of the details. Like how Nightshade had taught him how to glean information from passersby and how valuable that was to others. The ‘other stuff’ he sold was information. The fritters were just a lousy side-business, an excuse to hang out in the food courts. Sadly, he didn’t have any good intel for us. Before we left, however, I did manage to ask him about why he sent ‘Eightball’ to look after me. Who would have thought that the price of one’s life was a 10 bit tip?

After Fritter, we hit up a few more of Nightshade’s contacts, and then stopped in at a supply store. Nightshade spoke at length with the owner, apparently getting into some form of a heated argument over some of the things he wanted to purchase. We ended up paying in bits. Apparently Nightshade’s favors didn’t fly terribly well with the store owners when it came to store product. Some things never change I guess. Our supplies consisted of a fresh flight suit (mine had been destroyed when I was mugged), another for Nightshade at my suggestion, and for some odd reason, soap. Nightshade declined to answer why we bought the soap, promising instead that he’d ‘tell me later’.

Eventually we stumbled into a Donut Joe’s to meet another one of his contacts, and to get something to eat. His contact, apparently, was the owner.

I sat at the bar while Nightshade talked to his contact. I really couldn’t hear what they were saying, nor did I care. After contact fifteen I had stopped wondering how many favors these ponies owed the buck and started wondering how much of the station didn’t owe him a favor in some way or another. I was confident that list would be pretty short.

The bartender leaned over the bar, while I munched on a sandwich I had received ‘free of charge’.

“So, ol’ Eightball’s got you on his favors list as well eh?” The barkeep asked. The barkeep was a white and sand unicorn with a martini glass for a cutie mark. He was levitating a glass in the air with his magic and wiping it with a questionably stained rag. Odd, all of his contacts kept referring to him as ‘Eightball.’

“Is it that obvious?” I responded, taking a bite of my sandwich. It wasn’t exactly fine dining, but in comparison to the fritter it was much better. Truly, truly terrible fritters I mused. I took another bite.

“Well he doesn’t just drag anypony around kingdom come unless you’ve got something he wants. How long have you been at this?”

“All day.” I answered. The bartender stopped polishing the glass for a moment and blinked.

“No kidding. Considering this is the second favor he’s doing me.” The barkeep set the glass down.

“No shit?” The barkeep set the glass down and leaned in, raising an eyebrow. “What he’d do for you?”

“Saved my life, I think. Some gang tried to kill me down on the processing levels while I was on a job from one of the shippers.”

“Just that he bothered.” I was mid-bite when I stopped and set the sandwich back on my plate.

“Don’t get me wrong. Yer damn lucky Eightball turned up for ya. It’s just that,” The barkeep paused, to make sure that Nightshade wasn’t looking in his direction, or listening. He was still talking to his contact. Apparently they were arguing about something I couldn’t hear. “Eightball doesn’t do just anypony a favor like that, much less two. You’re in for the long haul if he’s that interested in ya.”

I swallowed. Come to think of it, he had been extraordinarily kind. Unnaturally kind. And he gave me a different name. I had to consider that as well. The barkeep leaned in even closer, almost whispering.

“Sometimes I’ve even heard some ponies turn up dead around him. Favors and all that.” That... didn’t bode well. The barkeep nodded to himself, chancing a glance at Nightshade and then back at me.

“You be careful around that one.” He said, voice low. “Don’t let him do too much for ya.” He leaned back, and picked up the glass again, inspecting it. Then, he proceeded to polish again as if nothing had happened.

“How’s the sandwich?” He said, frowning. Frowning? When did this buck frown?

“It’s... uh... good?” I offered. For a fraction of a second Nightshade cast a suspicious eye at the barkeep and then returned his gaze to me. The barkeep pretended nothing was happening, though I could swear he started polishing his glass with a little more intensity.

“Well I think I figured out where your WAND is.” Nightshade said. I didn’t like his tone. He sounded troubled. “You’re probably not going to like this however.”

“I was that hoping the gang that mugged you fenced it.” At my confused look he clarified, “Sold it on the black market.”

“Well yeah,” He said, “If it hits the market we can just buy it back, or convince the vendors to hand it to us.”

“So, we’ll have to get it back personally. According to my contact, one of the local gangs has been gloating about some new fancy toy they recovered, and their leader is showing it off.”

Great. The muggers were parading it around like a trophy. That didn’t explain completely why he was frowning however.

“I’m guessing there’s more to this story than what you’re telling me.”

“We don’t know which one.” He said flatly. “I’ll have to call in a few favors for this.”

A few favors turned out to be two. The first, was a request to some shady dealer we met as we descended further and further into the station. Nightshade paid in bits, flashing a weird bitstick that was black instead of the normal slate gray. The dealer looked at it with a toothy grin, and then, after insisting that I step out, starting giving Nightshade some equipment from his stores. Whatever it was, Nightshade insisted on keeping it hidden in his saddlebags. I let it go. I probably didn’t want to know anyway.

We continued lower, and I started recognizing the territory. A wall here, some grafitti there, deja vu overwhelmed me as I came to an unsettling realization. We were heading back to the place where I was mugged. When I asked Nightshade if this was correct, he simply pointed out that I had inadvertently wandered into gang territory. He seemed surprised when I said I was on an errand for the shipping office.

“And you didn’t find that the slightest bit suspicious?” I hung my head, thoroughly embarrassed that I could be so stupid.

About halfway there, we stopped and sidetracked. Instead of taking the stairs we began wandering through a set of hallways which were heavily laden with graffiti and absolutely filthy. Pictures of badly drawn, obscene gestures covered the walls, alongside scenes of explicit content and impressive, garishly colored signatures in large, stylized lettering.

We didn’t see many at first, just an earth pony here, or a zebra there. But as we went deeper and deeper into the station, more started showing up, often hanging around in groups or eyeing us with passing disinterest. One group almost approached us, but thought better and decided that the fire in the barrel they were hanging around was more interesting.

We passed two more corridors, and then the walkway opened up into a massive room. It wasn’t a room per say, it was more like the ponies living there had done some extensive remodeling. Walls had been knocked out, exposing the inner support struts and wiring inside, some had been cleared away completely in order to make room for the little gangs that hung out inside their makeshift living spaces. They had also punched through the ceiling, which in its ruined state, I could see several floors up. Eyes were watching us from where the light could not penetrate to upper decks.

the groups of ponies were much larger down here, accompanied by zebras, griffons, and all manner between. They went about their business, crowding around filthy looking stalls, shouting insults and doing their best to ignore each other. Or in some cases, just shooting the breeze.

I realized then, As I stood at the entrance to the massive room, that I was staring straight into the heart of the station’s underworld.

“What is this place?” I asked Nightshade, nervously glancing at a pair of spikey haired zebras as they walked by.

“It’s an abandoned factory.” Nighshade replied. “A long time ago one of the businesses on the station went belly up and left. Then the gangs moved in.” He glanced at what used to be a wall. “Did a bit of remodeling while they were at it.”

“No kidding.” I muttered, staring at a hole in the floor. Exposed wires jutted out where the metal plating had worn away.

Off in the distance I heard shouting. Near the back was a walled off section of the floor made of fallen support beams and station debris. It was a squat, almost cage like structure, with only one visible entrance. A large mare bouncer stood in front of a squat iron doorframe, doing her best to look menacing. Nightshade took us toward her. The filthy, barding clad guard stopped us before her eyes opened in recognition.

“What do you w... oh hi Eightball. Got another one?” Wait what did she mean by ‘another one?’

“Yeah something like that.” Nightshade responded. “I’m here to see Clip.”

“Oh come now, I think she can spare just a bit of time for an old friend.” Nightshade put on his grin again. The guard did not notice.

“It’s important. that’s all you need to know.” The mare bouncer seemed to ponder this for a moment before stepping aside while shaking her head..

“Whatever y’say, crazy eight.” She admitted Nightshade, and then promptly placed a hoof in my chest as I tried to follow.

“Hold it winger.” She said. The cordiality she used with Nightshade was gone.

“He’s with me.” Nightshade interrupted. She glanced at him and considered me for a moment. Then, reluctantly, she stepped aside.

It was a fighting pit. The shouting I had heard was a throng of ponies all crowded around the main ring, all watching two naked fighters duke it out. Judging from the sounds, it was a fairly good fight, that or incredibly one-sided. A collective ‘ooh’ rose from the crowd, interspersed with howls of laughter and generous amounts of vulgarity.

Nightshade scanned the crowd, and then his eyes settled on his mark. He trotted through the crowd, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. I did my best to follow.

We approached a table on a makeshift dais overlooking the fighting pit. Behind it was an impressive griffon flanked by two earth pony guards in heavy barding. The griffon was a tan and bark coloration with several plumes of dark red forming her crown. More noticeable however, was her wing. Her left wing had been hacked off at the secondaries, the remaining stub poking out at an awkward angle. The griffon was watching the fight with barely contained enthusiasm, slamming the table with a taloned fist in tandem with the fight and calling out jeers that were lost in the din of the crowd. More of the odd black bitsticks sat in a small pile on the table, and with each strike of her taloned fist, they bounced closer and closer to the edge. The guards eyed them nervously, or enviously. I really could not tell, guard stuff and all that.

“Heya Clip!” Nightshade called out to griffon over the crowd. The griffon looked around at the mention of her name before her gaze settled on Nightshade. A broad smile broke over her beak.

“NIGHTSHADE!” She called back. I stopped, shocked at hearing that name. “Good to see ya old buddy! How’s it goin?”

“Not so great Clip, I need to call in a biggie.” The smile on her beak abruptly disappeared. She motioned to her guards to watch the table, and then turned toward a room behind the dais.

She led us into a small back room away from the pit, carved out of the station wall. The only thing in it was a beat up desk and a chair. Clip checked to see if we were alone, and then, satisfied, sat down facing us.

“What’s up?” She asked, pulling a cigar from somewhere beneath her plumage. “Does it have to do with him?” She pointed the cigar in my direction. Instinctively, I took a step back. She smirked. “He doesn’t look very tough to me.” She cut the cigar with her beak and spat out the end on the desk. and placing the rest of the cigar in her mouth.

“Yeah, this poor buck got his ass beat while working for some shipping office.” Nightshade explained. “Some of the other gangers stole his WAND and we need to get it back. Know anypony we’re looking for?”

Clip frowned. “I might... yeah. I do.” She popped out a lighter and lit up, taking a short drag before returning said lighter to her plumage. She held the cigar in one hand, propping up her arm with the other.

“One of my gangs decided to strike out on their own. Said they’d had enough of my rule or some crap like that.”

“Now, now don’t get ahead of yerself Shady. I’ve been far too busy to deal with them, and somehow they’ve picked up some new digs.”

“Yeah, like legit digs. Armored barding and stuff like that I don’t supply. Weapons. Oh yeah, and drugs.” That seemed to set Nightshade on edge.

“Drugs.” She repeated. “I don’t know where they get it, I just know that if I don’t do something about it soon I’m gonna have a real problem on my hands. They’ve been edgin’ out my dealers. Bad for business.”

“Some bitch of a unicorn named Daisy Dawn or somesuch. She’s not important really, just a nuisance. Her and that pack of rats she calls a gang.”

“Just eight. But their success has been gettin ‘em support from the other gangers here in the pit.” She puffed her cigar and then put it out on the desk, leaving a big sooty black spot on its surface.

“You know I can’t spare any of my gang right? I can’t involve them in this, they gotta keep the peace here,” She laughed, “for what it’s worth.”

“Right. I’ll get my things and meet you two outside.” The griffon stood up and left. Nightshade simply looked at me, putting on that irritating grin of his.

As promised, Clip met us outside and together we made our way back to where I had been mugged. The area, I learned, was exclusive to Daisy’s gang, lead by the very unicorn who nearly killed me during my little beatdown.

Nightshade led the way, leaving me and Clip to follow a short distance behind. Just out of earshot, I took the opportunity to ask Clip a burning question.

“You call him Nightshade, why is that? All the other ponies I know call him ‘Eightball’”

“Eightball is what all the other ponies call him.” I was silent for a moment.

“Mind if I ask why?” The griffon thought about that for a moment and then answered.

“Well seeing as yer in as deep as me, why not.” She paused, taking a deep breath.

“Before I ran the underground I used to work for a buck called Loose Ends. Incompetent git really. Never really gave orders, never minded his own damn business, and he always stuck his fat arse in the wrong things at the wrong time. So, Loose made himself an enemy of pretty much everypony involved with the underground in some way or another.

Loose hired me as his security detail. My job was to protect the idiot from himself. That eventually evolved into me taking care of his business for ‘im. The brains of the operation if you will. I made Loose look good. I dealt with the gangers, placated his enemies, that sort of thing. And then I met that buck.” Clip pointed a talon in Nightshade’s direction.

“Shady over there found me in a bar. I guess I was a might bit drunk at the time, spoutin off about how I hated my boss and all that. And suddenly he goes into this whole big speech about ‘favors’ and shit like that. I didn’t really pay him much attention, just sort of nodded my head and kept drinkin. He offered to do me a favor and I said sure. I think, not sure really, most of that night is a blur. Anyway, next day, I get back to Loose, and Loose is dead.”

“Heh, ironic part is, nopony really noticed. I kept on running the show, eventually stepping up to where I am now. Shady and I crossed paths a few more times. He starts asking me a few favors in return and we start ourselves a nice little working partnership.”

“I don’t know what he did to get Loose dead, don’t rightly care. All I know is that he helped get me set up and this is how I return the favor.”

Clip chuckled. “Funny thing is, I’ve been meaning to deal with Daisy Dawn for a while now. Guess now’s my chance to take care of some loose ends.”

“Righto capitan.” Clip replied, rubbing a claw on her breast and admiring her talons.

“Good ol’ Shady.” She said, turning back to me. “Even when you do him a favor, he still ends up doing you one in return.” She smiled. “Nice knowing ya kiddo. Yer gonna be in debt to him the rest of yer life.”

We stopped. I nearly bumped into Nightshade who looked back at me and motioned me to be quiet.

We had arrived at the same place I remembered. It was the same, dead end alleyway with the same locked door, the only difference being that there were no ponies out for blood. The air smelled of piss, and dark brown blood splotches were left where my head had smashed against the deck. Ripped tatters of my suit still sat on the ground mixed with the blood and piss on the floor. There were even dents where I had been slammed into walls and floor. Seeing it from this angle I shuddered. Somehow I had survived that. Regardless, I was not happy to be back.

Thankfully there was no sign that the gang had been through recently. Nightshade approached the door and rapped it twice with a foreleg. A slot in the door opened and a mare inside gave us a once over, looking first at Nightshade, and then at me. Clip stood next to the door, just out of sight.

“We’re here to see Daisy Dawn.” Nightshade said. “We’ve got some business to negotiate.”

“Deedee doesn’t take visitors, piss off.” The slot slammed shut. Nightshade sighed.

“We’re here about the package from Cinder Casserole.” I said, raising my voice a little so I could be sure the mare inside could hear me.

There was a pause. Nightshade and Clip gave me an odd look, and then the slot opened once again, slowly and deliberately.

“You heard me. The package from Cinder Casserole. We’re here to get it.” She looked skeptically at me, and then at Nightshade. A moment more, and then she made a decision. The slot closed. The lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Clip popped around the door frame, and body checked the guard, whose eyes instantly became saucers. There was a loud bang as the mare’s head slammed against the wall, and the mare sank to the ground, unconscious.

“Here.” Nightshade said, reaching into his pack. “Yuphll need thith.” He tossed something that clattered down on the ground next to my hooves. I looked down at it and froze.

“I... I...” I blubbered. No one heard me. A loud kerchack drew my attention to Clip, who was admiring a heavily worn assault rifle, and Nightshade was loading a pistol of his own. I looked back down at my new weapon and swallowed down bile.

“Don’t worry, everything will be fine.” Nightshade said, nudging it back. “Just take it. This will be over quick.”

“First timer?” Clip said, grinning. “Boy Nightshade you sure know how to pick ‘em.” Clip racked a round into his weapon, and then started moving inside.

“Just take it.” Nightshade insisted. I hesitated, staring at the gun and nervously pawing the ground with a hoof.

The hideout was more like an abandoned club. Beyond the iron door was a short, unlit hallway ending in a pair of polished oak doors. We all shared a glance at that. Compared to the steel gray walls and hard floors, the doors looked decidedly out of place. There was a restroom off to the side which, after a moment of checking, Clip confirmed to be empty. Loud music boomed from the other side of the doors, stifled by the wood. Clip and Nightshade nodded to each other and together we all walked in. As I stepped through the doorframe, dread crept down my spine with a sick chill.

Inside was a lavishly decorated lounge with a full bar to one side. The floor had been carpeted in a rich burgundy which felt plush under my hooves and cozy on my eyes. Sun lamps hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in warm yellow light. Near the center of the room sat a large poker table surrounded by low stools.

At the table, several ponies played poker, while another stallion minded the bar, mixing up drinks for everypony present. And then I saw her. Sitting on the throne was Daisy Dawn, a very familiar unicorn who watched the poker game with mild disinterest, while slugging down a small bottle of whiskey.

At our entrance, somepony stopped the music. All of them looked up. Daisy Dawn leaned forward in her seat, her cream colored mane falling into her half lidded green eyes, and one of her eyebrows arched in skepticism. Then I saw it. Nestled cozily behind her horn, and partially hidden by the locks of her mane, was the distinct gleam of a WAND’s focusing gem. Daisy Dawn was wearing my WAND... incorrectly.

“Who the hell are you?” She spat, looking at us. Her eyes shot to Clip. “And the fuck are you doing here?”

“Wow, Daisy.” Clip said, taking an impressed glance around the room. “You’ve been doing really well for yourself. Ah.” Clip snatched a drink off a nearby parlor table and lifted it to her mouth, sipping lightly on the small straw. She blinked, and then looked down at the drink, a smile growing on her beak.

“Put that down.” Daisy ordered, levitating out a pump action shotgun and leveling it at Clip.

“Let’s not get too hasty, Daiz.” Clip said, casually setting the drink back down onto the parlor table. Her grin widened. “We wouldn’t want you to get any more wrinkles on that ass you call a face.”

“Easy, easy.” Nightshade interjected. “We’re just here to get something. My friend here recently lost something, and we need to get it back.”

I don’t know who fired. I don’t think it mattered at that point. Daisy Dawn’s head snapped back and she fell backwards out of her chair, landing in a twitching pile on the floor. Her shotgun clattered to the floor and discharged, sending a pair of the ganger ponies ducking for cover. Chips scattered everywhere as another ganger upended the poker table, and in an instant the room erupted into chaos.

I watched in mute shock as Daisy fell, dimly aware of my surroundings. Ponies were drawing weapons from behind the upended table, Nightshade said something, and then turned and started shooting. Clip charged the bar and leapt over, engaging the bar pony who was trying to bring out a shotgun of his own. I simply stared at the now dead unicorn.

Every bone in my body screamed for me to move. I couldn’t. I could hardly even breathe. Movement registered all around me, followed by loud pops, and intelligible noises. I stared at the body of the mare who moments ago had been aiming at me.

“GET DOWN YOU IDIOT!” Nightshade screamed, tackling me. We hit the ground and rolled, slamming against the poker table while bullets perforated the floor behind us. We stopped and thrashed, tangled in each other’s limbs. I got kicked in the face, and Nightshade broke free just in time to take out a ganger poking his head and weapon around the table.

I tried to get up, but I couldn’t. Everything blurred together. I couldn’t tell up from down. I couldn’t see straight. All I could register were the sounds. Shouting. Gunfire. Confusion. I was paralyzed, gripped with fear, lying on my back and hyperventilating while death raged all around me. Wood chips rained from the table as the gangers laid on their assault, splinters erupting where the bullets penetrated.

And then I had a pony in my face. Leaning over the Poker table, a ganger smiled as he leveled his weapon at my head. I panicked and kicked, narrowly connecting. It was not a strong kick, but the awkward buck was enough. The pony’s head snapped to the side and his weapon went flying.

“CLIP, LIGHTS!” Nightshade shouted. I saw movement. Clip popped up from his position, aimed skyward and opened fire. One after another, the lights in the room popped and shattered, showering everyone with bits of glass and plunging the room into darkness.

I was blind and scared, thrashing helplessly in the dark while trying to orient myself. I couldn’t see, hell I didn’t even know which direction was up. I felt Nightshade move away. I heard more gunshots. Muzzle flashes revealed faces of fear and rage around the room, while the lights sparked violently, illuminating the scene in blinding bolts of electric blue light.

I lay on my back, useless and paralyzed. I wasted a precious moment, and then I had the sense to rollover and cower. I squeezed my eyes shut and whimpered. I covered my head and curled, expecting the worst. It never came.

As quickly as it had started, it was over. There was a last crack, a spray of gunfire, and a pained choking noise. Silence returned, and with it a ringing in my ears. I heard noise, muffled at first, and as my hearing cleared I realized Nightshade was shouting.

“Clip! You okay?” He called towards the bar. “Clip?” there was no answer. The lights sparked again, bathing the room in cyan. and I saw Nightshade get up.

“Ah shit! CLIP!” Chips rattled, glass crunched. Galloping hooves slowed to a stop. Broken bottles clinked as somepony cleared them off the table, landing on the ground with a crash. A scraping noise, something heavy was being dragged across the floor. I felt liquid falling on me from somewhere above.

Unsteadily I sat up, and bumped into something soft and warm. And wet. The light flashed and for an instant I stared into the dead eyes of the ganger who had tried to pop over the table. A bullet had taken him in the eye and throat. Darkness reigned.

There was a fizz and a pop and a crashing noise. The one of the lights fell from the ceiling and smashed into the ground, flaring brilliantly. It sparked, once, twice. Nightshade stood over by the bar, staring down at something.

Finally, I managed to say something coherent, and despite what fears it might bring, I only wanted one thing.

“Light.” I croaked. “Please, somepony turn on the light.” Moments passed in the dark. Minutes. And then, finally. I heard the distinct crack and hiss of a flare. Red light flared to life revealing the room and the pony holding it. Face half illuminated by the flare, Nightshade looked truly terrifying.

And very, very angry. He spat the flare out, where it landed on the floor and started burning the blood soaked carpet. Pooling blood hissed and boiled.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” He roared. I felt myself shrink. His voice reverberated off the walls. I backed away, bumping back into the poker table, now riddled with bullet holes.

“YOU HAD OPEN TARGETS WHY DIDN’T YOU FIRE?” He advanced on me, glass cracking under his hooves, mixed with the clatter of poker chips.

“I... I...” I was fully backed against the table. My hooves slipping on the poker chips littering the floor. I couldn’t get away from him. I couldn’t run. I was sure I was going to die.

“Give me your weapon.” He ordered. To be honest, I didn’t know where it went. Hell, I didn’t even know how to use it.

“GIVE IT TO ME!” He screamed, putting the muzzle of his pistol into my face.

“I don’t have it!” I cried. I just wanted him to go away. Make the scary buck go away. I started bawling and curled up into a ball on the floor.

I felt a hoof roll me over again and once again i was staring into the sum of my fears.

We locked eyes. My terrified yellow, with his steel gray. He held the gaze for a minute, two. And then he stopped. Something in his eyes softened and he took his hoof off me, I rolled back on my side and wept.

“You’ve... never been in a gunfight before have you.” It was not a question. He wasn’t even talking to me. He simply stared at me in the red light, considering something, replaying events in his head. Another minute passed, and then he changed. Something in him seemed to deflate. The terrifying pony I had just witnessed melted before me, replaced by something... tired.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Nightshade shook his head and looked away, trudging back toward the bar counter.

“No.. you...” He drew a long breath, then sighed. “No. I dragged you into this. I should be sorry, and I am.” He looked at something I couldn’t see. “I assumed you were more capable than you were.” Scanning the room, he spotted something on the ground and picked it up. It was my pistol. He pushed a button near the magazine well and the magazine popped out with a click. Scooping it up in in his fetlock, he inspected it. I hadn’t fired a single shot.

The silence resumed, broken only by the occasional spark of the lights. Nightshade lit another flare, righted the poker table, and then set the flare on top, before turning to me.

“Stay here.” He ordered. “I need to check on something.” His voice was cool. Careful. Measured. Almost as if nothing had happened.

“I... okay.” I said. He disappeared into the other room. Tension left my shoulders, and air flooded my lungs. I took a few shuddering breaths, breathing easier for what felt like the first time in hours. Lights came on in the next room. I was left to sit in the lounge in the red light of the flares. I scanned the wreckage of the club lounge, and spotted the dead leader.

Daisy Dawn was pretty. Or at least, she used to be. She wasn’t so pretty now. Her cream mane was stained red with blood, belonging to both her and the buck who died next to her. A gleam in her hair caught my eye. My WAND. She still wore it, nestled behind her horn like a tiara. She looked like a queen, a dead queen of the criminal underground.

Death was everywhere.

All because of a favor.

The word resounded in my mind with a dread I could not shake. I shivered. Clip was dead. Nearby, her lower half sat limp behind the bar counter, her side checkered with bullet holes and still bleeding. Her blood mixed with the seven other dead ponies in the room. Her favor had taken her life and cost several others.

“Crash. They’ve got tons of it in the back. I’m guessing that this is probably what your contact up in the shipping offices wanted.” Nervously, I glanced at the bag of seemingly innocuous white powder. Back on L6 the stuff was hard to come by, and extraordinarily expensive, not that I’d ever done any myself. A dealer could make a load of bits, provided they didn’t get caught. Judging by the quantity, Nightshade was holding enough to make him rich for life, and if what he said was true... well, at the very least it explained why these gangers had enjoyed such extravagance. How they managed to get ahold of it was beyond me.

“Now? Now we leave. We need to get out of here before word gets out that Clip is dead.” He said. “Without her keeping the peace the whole underground is going to destabilize. We need to stay out of sight until the smoke clears.” Leaving. Yes, leaving was a good idea.

Nightshade chuckled. In a room full of dead ponies, and after losing a close friend, he chuckled.

“It looks like I owe you a couple favors for dragging you into this.” He said.

The Stars Beyond The Veil

by Charlemane

04 - Chapter Four: Favors