I'm starting to feel that something's off.
Since I discovered the basement, I have not been attacked by a single drone. From what my guide told me, I got the impression that there should have been more of these lurking around. The only ones I've seen since I arrived were the ones on the ground floor. Where have they all gone?
One of the rooms had a chalkboard detailing some complex mathematical equations, which I more or less understood. They were linked to magical formulae and runic symbols, which I didn't. Included on the board was a diagram of those butterflies I'd been seeing, with the label "Magifly" stenciled beneath it. At the very least, I have a name for those now. In addition, it offers some proof that whoever it was that orchestrated the Police Station attack, the scientists have connections to them.
That's the only worthwhile evidence I've been able to find. Any paperwork that could possibly disclose additional details has vanished. Either those ponies at the jail had something to do with it, which seems unlikely due to some of them being willing to talk, or Trifecta stole it when nopony was looking. Either way, this has been a disappointment so far.
Connection established with Headquarters. "Officer Coffee, this is General Leviathan with a status report." The chain of command back home would have fits if they ever heard that sentence. It must be why I'm smiling. "I found some design specs for one of those drone types that attacked us yesterday, but the basement's otherwise looking sparse. No sign of Trifecta yet, so I'm suspecting he's not ready to be found. Over."
-"Confirmed, General. Have you searched Sub-Level #2 yet?"-
Huh. "I wasn't aware that there was a Level #2."
Some papers rustle over the connection. -"There was a case involving the Institute thirty-five years ago,"- Coffee informs me. -"According to our files, there should be two sub-levels accessible via hidden passages. Almost half the arrests the Police carried out during that case were beneath your feet. Over."-
Unless it was completely blocked off between then and now. It's still worth checking out, though. This is why it pays to have someone on Mission Control. "Thanks for the tip, Officer. I'll see what I can dig up. Out," I say, ending the connection.
I know what to look for now.
Timing is everything.
Trifecta had been lurking upstairs since before Leviathan had arrived at the building. Through a crack in one of the boarded-up windows, he had witnessed her arrival. With his ears, he had listened as she destroyed all of the drones on the first floor. And with the radio that had still been in his possession, he had eavesdropped on her messages back to the Police HQ, remaining completely still so as not to make his presence heard.
As soon as the transmission had ended, Trifecta was on the move. He trotted to the room where, just yesterday, he had blasted a hole through the ceiling as part of his distraction. The Torchounds he had brought with him gave him cursory glances, but ignored him otherwise; they were designed to recognize him as an ally, and to follow his orders if need be.
Gathering himself, he jumped as high as he could... and at the height of his jump, air bursts exited out of his armor's hooves and launched him higher. Catching himself on the roof and pulling himself up, he hustled over to one of the building's A/C units. It was part of the first wave of "modern" air conditioning, having been installed clear back when the Institute was built. Slightly more efficient units had been developed since then, but it would still do what Trifecta had in mind.
Making life in the Institute more comfortable wasn't the only thing this particular unit had been designed for, after all.
Trusting that the Torchounds he had stationed in Sub-Level #2 were still in position, he pried open the A/C unit's cover and got to work. All the while, Trifecta scanned the skies just in case any random pegasi noticed what he was doing. He would prefer not to harm any innocents, but if he had to choose between that and his allegiance to Cocoa Mocha, his reservations would just have to go.
Coffee was right. Now that I knew there was an extra floor, investigating the area near the stairs revealed the next flight going down. There wasn't anything to accessing it, just looking for another X-shaped crack and pressing against it until the wall slid aside. I suppose those who implemented it decided that if anyone was able to reach the basement at all, trying to mislead them further would've been pointless.
Turning the lights on reveals another hallway similar to the one over my head. This one feels a bit more homey, though I only have Drama's residence to go by for local standards. The floor's clean for the most part, and there are a few paintings and photos on the walls. One such painting at the end of the hall shows me a lightly-armored black alicorn sneering at something in the distance... it's a bit ostentatious, and it stands out compared to the relative cheerfulness of the other decorations.
Walking as quietly as I can, I open doors and look around as I go. There's no evidence of the pony I'm looking for, and checking the cabinets and desks within turns up nothing of note. The few pieces of paper and parchment scattered around don't have details that would help me or the Police any.
Would anything of import be kept in the upper stories? It doesn't feel like there would be. I was told that the building was abandoned, suggesting that the general public believes this. If the staff got in the habit of trying to sneak upstairs to store anything, they wouldn't be able to keep the secret forever. Those determined enough to investigate suspicious activity wouldn't be stopped for very long by locked doors or barred windows.
Trifecta might be hiding up there, though. I'll have to go back outside and get in through the windows if I want to find him. Annoying, but nothing I can do about that.
...
Last room on this side. Let's see what it's hiding, if any.
I turn the knob and push, but the door won't move more than a millimeter. Something inside the room is keeping it from opening. Knocking on it a handful of times in various places and listening for where any sounds are coming from... ...Here we are. There are locks near the bottom and top of the door.
Earlier, I had been concerned about causing damage to the building. This was in part because I didn't want to have to pay for anything I didn't need to. Now, I can rationalize what I did when I give my report to the Police: those responsible for the basement's construction likely didn't have the betterment of ponykind in mind.
So with this in mind, I place one hand near the top of the door and activate my ice generators. My plan here is to channel sub-zero temperatures through the wood and into whatever lock is being used, weakening both to the point where a strong enough shove will break the locks. The nice part is that at my best I can reduce temperatures to as low as -60°F, so even if the locks are made of cold-resistant metals, that's far more than the wood itself can take.
Somewhere and somewhen, a few are probably saying: "Why don't you just use that pointy stick of yours and slash down the door?", or "Why don't you just kick it down?". To which I respond: "Because I'm not a brute." There's always the possibility, however slim, that the door's destruction would damage something worthwhile within the room. The average pony's not going to use a harpoon gun to eat a standard lettuce leaf, is he? Well, I'm not going to use overwhelming force unless there are no other options, or if I have nothing to lose by doing so. I like using my brain.
Alright. Going to give these a few more seconds...
...and that's good enough. I turn the handle and push, this time applying a bit more strength. Once, twice, thrice, four times, five---
And there we go. Door's open, and the only parts of it damaged were where I worked my stuff. I see what's left of the locks get swept aside by the door as I enter.
This room is like most of the others on this side of the hall: a bed made for a full-grown pony, a small cabinet meant to hold personal effects or what have you, a wastebasket, desk, and a wall-mounted hook. Unlike the others, there are three additional items: an empty cardboard box, an old, threadbare lab coat hanging from the hook, and a box-like bed sized just right for somepony like Zig-Zag. There's a thick layer of dust on everything, which lends credence to my belief that this room has not been used in a very long time.
Note to self: go for a swim after I've finished with the traitor. I feel unclean just standing here.
There likely isn't going to be anything here that can help me, but I should at least check anyway. For all I know, a unicorn could've just magicked something out of sight. Since that was probably how they locked the door, I wouldn't put it past them.
Let's see, checking the desk... assorted writing supplies and a binder labeled 'D.Z.I. Regulations'. Ix-nay.
The wastebasket... empty. Don't know why I looked.
The cabinet... just a glasses case with nothing in it, along with the usual array of toiletries. And a ball of yarn, of all things.
Nothing hidden in the twin-sized bed... or full-sized, depending on your species.
That just leaves the new items. The lab coat has naught but a few paper clips, and the box just as barren. The child's bed, on the other hand, is concealing something beneath the mattress. This seems promising...
And I was right. There's a book here. This doesn't look like anything a foal would read: no pictures. The word "Journal" is stenciled across the cover plain as day. The pages seem to be in fairly good condition, surprisingly. The text is all in Equish, but the cursive is very messy: I can't read it. I suspect that if I took this to a pharmacy somewhere, I could probably get a prescription filled.
Now, this could have been written by the bed's former owner, but the feeling I'm getting from looking at the text is that it was hidden away for a reason. This room's the only one on this floor that was secured in any way, and the book's the only thing that stands out down here. The pony that locked up the room was trying to hide this for some reason. Why, I don't know, but it's the only thing that makes sense to me. If there's a simpler solution given the context, it's not coming to mind.
I don't have time to make sense of the book now, though. I'll wait until after Trifecta's apprehended.
...
...
You can still tell that somepony had been living and working here recently. As I walk, I'm detecting the exact combination of air particles that are synonymous with hair spray. As voluminous as most ponies' manes and tails are, it doesn't surprise me that they would want to keep them in pristine shape.
And having seen photos of Celestia, I won't try to imagine how much upkeep her mane requires.
Though it can't be normal for them to use this much hair spray, can it? There's enough of it in here that I could've choked on it—or poisoned myself, even—if I needed to breathe. Isn't the ventilation system supposed to deal with that? I can hear it working, so what's the problem?
I've been looking around the rest of the floor, not trying to find evidence against Trifecta but instead seeking out any surprises that might have been stashed down here. Beyond a nestful of those spider drones that required some fancy footwork to destroy—took long enough to find—there hasn't been much. What's your game here, rogue? If you're not going to populate the basement with those drones and overwhelm me with numbers, then why are you hiding instead of confronting me?
I stroll past a nice-looking mirror with an even nicer-looking reflection (if I do say so myself), pushing open a door and entering a decent-sized break room. As the door closes, I take in my surroundings. The room's big enough to hold a pair of circular tables with six chairs each, cabinets and a countertop that span an entire wall, and an icebox like the one Drama owns. Two more spiders and a newly-indentified Magifly are squatting in the room, but my Javelin takes umbrage with that and evicts them permanently before they can attack.
As the debris clatters against the tiled floor, I give the room one more glance before turning to leave---
What the...?
The rustling of wood and the clicking of metal against the floor is making me freeze up, and I slowly turn around. Three of those fire dogs are climbing out of the cabinets nearest the icebox, dislodging a few cans as they go. They line up next to each other and stare across the room at me. They're not moving or trying to attack. They're just staring.
I smirk at them. "You think you can take me? Go ahead on. It's your move."
Banter is wasted on the brainless. The dogs don't react to my words in any way other than their lifeless gazes continuing to bore into my consciousness. Even a few mechaniloids I know of would've taken the bait.
Well, alright. If you're not going to attack, I will! My Javelin points at them as I prepare to fire—
Caution: Flammable materials present.
Flammable? In here? If it was a furnace room or similar I'd be worried, but...
Wait. I know what my systems are warning me about. The scent of hair spray is just as heavy in here as it is elsewhere in the level. While it helps with beauty, it is also combustible. The canisters' standard printed warnings tell the user to keep away from high heat and flame.
And with a virtual mist in the room, if even one of those wolves decides to attack---
X help me, that spray couldn't have been here yesterday! There's no way Trifecta didn't know I was going to be the one sent after him! He planned this! No wonder the ventilation isn't working properly!
Okay, so maybe spelling out my weaknesses in that interview wasn't my best move, but come on—!
The drones have noticed my anxiety. Their eyes are developing a dim glow, which I'm taking as a danger sign. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare---!"
No time to destroy them before they fire, don't want to drop the journal and lose it in the explosion, just RUN! Out of my way, door! I don't have time to open you, so I'm going through you!
There's hissing above me. It's that same scent flooding into the hall from the air vent! Not safe yet, Levi, now GO!---
The room's walls are blown apart by the explosive conflagration, much like how I believe the drones were. Even without it directly touching me, being this close to a source of intense heat isn't helping my systems. More and more of the air lights up as the fire comes into contact with the spray. Move move move, stairs stairs stairs stairs stairs---!
The hall behind me is a sea of fire. My coolant is all but boiling as I jump up the stairs, clearing them five at a time as I hurry. I think this is the first time I've had to try outrunning a fireball instead of just dodging it! So help me, if I trip even once going up these blasted stairs---!
My radio crackles. -"Leviathan-are-you-picking-us-up? Come-in!"-
Part of me's happy to hear her voice. The rest of me isn't, and not just because she's talking so fast that her words are running together. "Officer Coffee!" I snap as I reach the next floor. "Whatever happened to radio silence?"
-"Never-mind-that!"- Coffee barks back. -"We-just-received-word-that-the-upper-floors-are-going-up-in-flames! Are-you-okay?"-
...What?! "When was this?! I've been scouring the basement this entire time!"
-"Just-a-minute-ago!"-
...Wait, so that would mean that they began torching the upper floors just before I discovered those fire-breathers...! "Trifecta's trying to bring this building down on my head and trap me in the flames!" I shout, channeling my power through the Javelin. And if they're banking on me burning to death before all the air runs out, they might actually do it unless I start getting creative! "Quiet a moment!"
Now that I'm not so focused on finding a way through like I was earlier, I can see a vent at the top of the passage. I have to focus a little to hear anything over the roar of flames, but it doesn't sound like it has started spitting out hair spray (another one for my list of strange sentences). I aim the Charged Slash at the vent and let it rip.
Good. There's a thick coating of ice particles covering most of that wall now. It's not going to last long with the incoming fire, but it will slow down the spread a little. That should be long enough for me to get out of here.
Though if the splintering overhead and the rise in temperature are any proof, admiring my handiwork right now would be a lethal idea. My mad dash continues as I resume funneling energy into the Javelin, spinning it one-handed as I go. Another door becomes a casualty of my boot in my haste to leave. I'm proven right an instant later as the ceiling in the room collapses, blockading the passage I'd just left with fire and debris.
The floor beneath me is warm, and the ceiling in the hall is becoming more unstable. My vision's tinted red from the "Danger: High Temperature" warnings that are blaring at me, but I force myself to ignore my discomfort. I hold the journal close to my chest and bring the Javelin down once more... though this time it's not a Charged Slash I'm unleashing, but the dragon-headed form of my Spirit of the Ocean. I jump onto its back as it materializes, coming mere centimeters from hitting my head on the ceiling, and point in the direction I'd entered the building from. "Fly!"
The construct doesn't need encouragement; it's not sapient, but it is just cognizant enough to know what needs to be done. With an icy howl it jets off down the corridor. When it reaches the bend in the hall, it smashes through the corners instead of properly navigating the turn. A section of the ceiling crashes down behind the Spirit, adding to the urgency I'm feeling. It's just enough to offset the tiredness I'm suffering from being in close proximity to the flames.
Recall that swimming pool I wished I had after I'd caught the thieves? I could really use it right now.
Two more wolves are blocking the exit. I don't care, just add them to the debris... though I will take that little crystal that the Spirit just sent flying into my teeth, thank you---!
My ride slams into the wood-and-glass doors at full throttle, shattering them into a thousand pieces; the Javelin is leveled so that the blade blocks anything from reaching my face, but from the looks of things the Spirit took the brunt of the damage. I leap off the dragon and direct it back into the burning building, letting it dissolve in the flames as I make a mad dash for the fence. One jump and I'm clear of the property, while another takes me clear of the road.
-"Leviathan?"- Coffee's voice calls in my ears as I slow to a stop. -"Leviathan!"-
"I'm... I'm alright," I try to assure her, leaning against the Javelin for support. I can hear the Officer who escorted me to the Institute rushing up to me, requesting his own status report. I watch as the building continues to go up in flames, thick smoke billowing from the windows; the stonework will survive, but the wood won't. Somewhere nearby, there are fire alarms ringing. "I think we can safely scratch one Institute. That building's going to be gutted before the locals can put it out."
-"What-happened-in-there?"-
"Let's just say," I answer after a deep breath (sort of), "that I'm very happy that I can keep my hair looking nice without any spray."
The Officer with me sniffs. "Huh. Explains why you smell like marmalade."
That's what that was? I wish our sense of smell had been more refined.
-"But-why-did... ohhh,"- Coffee realizes. Her voice slows down towards 'normal'. -"Right. Hair spray's flammable. Must have been a ton of it to get that kind of reaction. Have you apprehended Trifecta yet?"
"Not yet, but I did recover a bit of history from the lower levels before my escape. It doesn't have the look of anything recent." I hand the miraculously undamaged journal to my guide, who is regarding it curiously. "Can you make any sense of it?"
The Officer sits up and takes it in his hooves, looking it over and checking the first few pages. "'Property... of Juniper Leaf... YoC 964'," he reads, closing the journal. "Pretty sure that's what it says. The writing's some of the messiest I've seen. Reminds me of my doctor's."
Suppressing an amused snort, I repeat the words to Coffee. As I hear her scampering off to check the Police's archives, I run a quick scan to see how badly that fire affected me.
Coolant Levels: 88%. Please replenish at your earliest convenience.
Current Power Output: 79% of capacity.
Recommended Course of Action: You are tired. Take a rest.
Not as bad as it would've been if I'd been in the midst of the fire. Getting hit by one of Zero's Fire Chip-enhanced slashes has done worse. It's still something I wish I could have avoided, though. Trifecta's somewhere nearby, and I'll need all the energy I can spare.
There's a crowd trying to gather around the property, though they at least have enough good sense not to get too close: pony noses are fairly sensitive. Some of them are murmuring, wondering what I had to do with the burning Institute.
-"Alright, I've found something,"- Coffee speaks up. -"Juniper Leaf, born in YoC 937. Was arrested in 964 for multiple counts of illegal experimentation and being a willing party to a foalnapping. Pleaded guilty to all charges and was sentenced to 27 years, but was released on good behavior a few years early. Last check says that she's working as a babysitter to make ends meet."-
Was a willing party to a foalnapping... and she makes a living as a babysitter. There's something about this that doesn't make sense, and I think it's Equestria---
INCOMING CLASS-B THREAT! "Everypony, clear out of the way! NOW!" I warn, swinging the Javelin above and to my right.
A pony-shaped form strikes the flat side of the blade and rebounds off of it. The attacker alights on the road, six meters away from me. I meet his stare--or what I'm assuming is his stare--as my warning sinks into everypony's minds, 'encouraging' them to get away from the confrontation.
The armor Trifecta's wearing shimmers with a blue-green hue in the light. From the looks of things, it consists of several sets of overlapping scales that are straining my eyes just to view, and it covers everything between his neck and tail. There are some metallic pieces around the neck, chest, and hooves that offer proper protection, but otherwise his defense seems low. He has some goggles and a breath mask equipped to protect his face and conceal his visage, though his short mane remains visible.
A sealed cylindrical tank half the size of his torso is attached to his back. Even without the warnings buzzing, it doesn't take a genius to guess what's inside. Which makes me curious about something...
Before he can say anything, I raise a hand to stop him. A time and place for everything, yes, but this has to be answered now. "One question. Don't feel you have to answer this. Of all the things you could have tried to immolate me with, why did you choose hairspray?"
Trifecta's silent for about ten seconds. Just when I think he won't react, he finally shrugs minutely. "There wasn't any propane on-site," he explains, his speech muffled but understandable.
...Fair enough. He had to make do with what accessories he had available. I won't ask any more questions.
"In exchange, I'd like to ask a question of my own." Trifecta gestures at the journal that my guide's carrying a safe distance away. "Where did you find that book?"
"The locked room in Sub-Level #2," I answer without my hesitation. Not like it matters at this point: the room's probably in the same condition as the rest of the facility by now.
His headwear's making it very difficult to judge expressions, but his speech is doing a fine job of telling me his mood. "The one place I couldn't get into without making it obvious..." he's muttering. "More sleeping quarters?"
I nod, but offer him nothing else. In my peripheral vision, I see some pegasi moving clouds into position over the blaze. The distant rumble of fireponies galloping reaches me from down the road.
“Well, then. As if I needed another reason to destroy you.” He gestures at the street, and I move to the center of it obligingly. “My name is Trifecta, and before I take that book I'm going to reduce you to slag.”
“I'm single and uninterested,” I rebuff him.
“I can't tell if you're deliberately misinterpreting that word to get a rise out of me or not. Either way...” The muscles in his legs visibly tense, discernible even past the scales. “Burn.”
