She fell on her hands and knees.
Crickets chirped around her, the windows from the school dark. Above, the moon and stars shone against a deep sky.
Initial instincts told her to run. To keep running, and never look back, not for a second.
A brief chill shivered down her spine. Her arms seemed colder than they should be, and she reached up to find her sleeves missing. Three years ago she'd come through with a shirt. This time, she had a tanktop.
Strange. She wondered what that meant, if anything.
Suddenly she remembered the circumstance she was under, and scrambled to her feet. It took a moment remembering how to stand on two legs, and she nearly toppled. Her gait seemed different as well, and lifting her leg to inspect she realized her shoes had changed too.
Heeled boots now, huh? Kinda neat. Also kinda hot.
Facing the statue, she balled her fists. If one of those idiot guards tried coming through the portal, she'd break their jaw and send them right back where they fucking belonged.
She watched the statue. Saw the moonlight glinting off its smooth marble surface. Waited. Any moment now, she expected to see the base part and ripple.
Nothing happened.
She sighed, releasing the burden off her shoulders. She found herself, rather frankly, a little disappointed.
Those guards always pissed her off. Silent. Stoic. Never answered a Sun-damn question unless their preeecious Princeeeess told them to, even though she was the Princess' own personal protege.
She snorted. Definitely a 'was' now.
She would have loved the chance to put one in their place. They'd be easy meat, stumbling around like a moron like she did the first time she came through. She'd already royally screwed the pooch with Celestia, so might as well take the opportunity to rough up one of her stupid guards a bit. Really twist that knife for good measure.
Celestia earned it.
She spun around, swiftly removing herself from the premises. She didn't want to get caught loitering. Loitering meant cops, cops meant questions, and they really weren't questions Sunset felt adequately equipped to handle. Lying wasn't hard, but you had to be in the right mindset to pull it off effectively.
When she reached the next block she paused, found a bench and sat down. Above her a streetlamp flickered, intermittently failing and casting her into shadow.
Knuckles pressed to her cheek, she stared ahead at a darkened storefront. Where did she take things now?
It was actually kind of funny. Part of her always knew, eventually, that she'd wind up here.
For as much as Sunset hated her guts, Celestia wasn't stupid. She ruled a large, strong, prosperous nation, and had done so for over a millennium. Nobody just casually strolled into that kind of position and survived for that long without some damn good reasons.
No. It hadn't been a matter of if Celestia unveiled her transgressions. It was a question of when.
Still. She didn't expect it this soon.
Too soon.
She needed time to prepare. To plan. To learn as much as she could about this world so she could not only survive, but thrive.
Celestia ruined that, like most things in her life.
It wouldn't stop her. She'd made it this far. Just had to go a little farther.
And she took just enough to get a head start.
Left and right, she scanned her surroundings. When she was sure nobody was around she smirked, and pulled a fistful of glittering somethings from her skirt pocket.
Her palm opened, revealing a tidy sum of gold coins. In their smooth, opulent surface, her youthful face glared back. She rubbed her thumb across, sifting the small pile.
It wasn't a lot - only five bits. She wanted more, but she grabbed what she could in the heat of the moment.
From what little she'd gathered during her first excursion thirty moons prior, the people on this side of the mirror used a different currency - some strange greenish paper with printed number values and the faces of humans she didn't recognize. What the conversion rate would be, she had no idea, but she hoped it was more than what five bits got you in Equestria.
Until she found somewhere to exchange it, they were genuinely worthless.
Standing, she returned the bits where they belonged. The cool evening breeze filled her lungs, and far away she heard the sound of barking dogs.
If she was going to make it in this city - so called 'Canterlot' - she ought to learn it inside and out. Memorize the streets, the alleys, the districts until she could just as easily breathe them. That had been one among many mistakes she'd made back home, not using the environment to her full advantage.
She wouldn't make that mistake again.
Turning the corner, she chose a random direction and stuck to it. She knew she would likely never recall the entire city with perfect clarity, but she took notes of everywhere she passed regardless. Without a proper map or at least a phone, her mind would have to make do.
She was fine with that. Whatever kept her sharp.
She came upon others with a scarcity, none of whom spared her more than a glance. She was fine with that, too.
And ultimately unsurprising. Judging by the moon's position, it must have been an hour past midnight. Beyond the limits of downtown and the realm of bars and nightclubs, if human cities were anything like ponies' they'd be dead as lead.
It wasn't too long before she approached downtown herself. The distant lights and shouting voices drew closer with every step. Wafting smells of food and alcohol made her stomach rumble, reminding her that she never did get to eat dinner.
Guess Celestia didn't think she was worth feeding. No point if she wasn't her prized pupil anymore, right?
Hot wetness touched her cheek. She ducked behind a building, and nearly smacked it off her face before she continued.
No sentimentals, Stars damnit. If Celestia didn't care about her, she shouldn't care about Celestia.
Once in the thick of things, she kept to crowds. A fact she had been smart enough to gather was safety in numbers. Herd mentality, the textbooks called it, a thorn in ponykind's side that divided the tribes whenever it flared up. She wondered if it might be the same for humans.
A few particularly inebriated men and one or two concerned, more sober women called out to her. She must have appeared strange to them, a hard-faced fifteen-year-old girl strolling by like she owned the place.
She kept walking.
Downtown ended shortly after. Either Canterlot City was significantly smaller than the real deal, or she'd gone through the short side.
With the noise and late reverie behind her, she stuck to corners and darkness. Better to not be seen, just in case. Until standing next to adults, she had forgotten how much smaller - and weaker - she was by comparison.
In Equestria, she had magic to fend for herself. Powerful, potent, precise arcana trained and honed throughout her young life. Nopony but the Princess herself and a few elite guards could step to her.
She had none of that here, no - human - combat experience.
Back to the basics, she supposed. It would make for a good challenge.
The further she tread, the higher her hackles rose. Clean, smooth roads and pavement gave way to broken concrete and pockmarked asphalt. Previously pristine glass panes cracked, others closed off by iron shutters or wooden boards. Streetlamps flickered, dimmed, or failed to work altogether.
She knew the signs of poverty when she saw them. She'd never stolen more than a fertive glance towards the uglier parts of Low Canterlot - that old goat Swan made sure of it - but she recognized everything she'd seen then, here.
"Hey kid."
Her eyes shot leftward. She'd passed a red brick alley without even realizing.
And she wasn't alone.
Her heart began to race, and she said nothing as she tried to pass.
"I said, hey kid."
The gruff, slurred voice growled deep, and before she knew what was happening a massive hand grabbed her arm. She shrieked, trying to pull away, but her boots did nothing more than scrape the sidewalk. Compared to her, he might as well have been an earth pony.
And she was a unicorn.
Without any magic.
"Get off me!"
She tried prying the fingers off her wrist. He responded by digging them into her skin, and she wondered if it might bruise after.
Assuming she survived.
"C'mon, girl. Ain't gonna do ya no harm. I just wanna know where you're goin'. Awful dangerous out here on your own, with nothin' to defend yourself."
She glared daggers at him. His unshaven beared looked a few days old, scraggly and full of bristle. His skin felt cold, clammy, and greasy, but the worst part was his breath. A foul odor of reeking beer that stung her eyes.
"I'm nothing to you."
"That so?" He smirked, revealing two rows of stained yellow teeth. Booze, coffee, or cigarettes. Could have been all three, really.
He yanked her in, releasing his grip as she stumbled into the alley. Her back slammed against the bricks, which dug at her spine.
"'cause I'm not so sure."
She made to scamper, but his forearm pinned her waist to the wall. "Ain't ever seen a face like yours before. Some'n in your eye's older than ya look. Real pretty, too. Be a shame if someone tried takin' advantage, and I don't think either of us want that, now do we?"
Her lips pulled back, revealing a feral sneer.
"Nothin'a say? That's fine. Kid like you don't just stroll the fuck in this parta town with nothin' ta do. You got somethin', and I'm gonna find out what."
Her stomach coiled in disgust, but she didn't resist as he felt up her skirt. Eyes cast down, she calculated her best move.
He was big. Huge really, standing two full heads above her, and thankfully more general bulk than muscle, not to mention drunk.
She could take him. Just had to play her cards right.
"Holy shit," he breathed. He'd found her coins, holding one of them in the dull, sickly yellow light. In his shock, he'd removed his arm from her waist. "You gotta be kiddin' me. This for real?"
"What are you talking about."
"This!" He shook the coin, waving it in front of her. "Gold! Is this shit real gold?!"
"I... yes?"
He went silent for a moment, turning it over and over. She didn't understand what about a basic Equestrian bit would fascinate him so much, but she saw the opening.
Her bootsteps made barely more than a scuffle. By the time he looked down, she was already gone.
"Right behind you, asshole."
Instincts locked in. Before he had the chance, she moved, sweeping a foot through his legs. Caught unawares and uncoordinated, it didn't take much for him to stumble.
"Fuckin' bitch!"
He spun on his heel, nearly tripping in the process. A solid punch delivered pain to her gut, and she fell back, wheezing.
'Sweet street brawl,' Sunset thought. 'How I've missed you.'
His next blow was sloppy. Unused herself to footwork, she didn't so much dodge as she did lurch. Regardless, his punch missed the mark, knuckles slamming into raw stone. He hissed an expletive, instinctually cradling the bloody knuckles to his chest.
She took her shot.
A full-body slam knocked him face-first against the wall. She wouldn't have described the move as anywhere approaching graceful, but it did the job.
As he groaned, reaching for something in his pants, she lashed out again. Boot to the knee, make him jolt. Do it again, make him unstable. Elbow the back of his head, and he falls.
She pressed further. Another kick, shoving him to the ground. He sprawled, propping himself up with his elbows, but a sharp heel to his back and skull sent him crumpling. From there she wound her fingers through his hair, and slammed his face into the floor, again, and again, and again.
Between the shock, the booze, and the pain, he was at her utter mercy.
Sunset smiled.
When he quit squirming, she dropped his head. She moved quickly, checking for and confirming a pulse, then flipped him over. Pink froth burbled through his cracked teeth, and she might have impressed herself if he hadn't been drunk.
"You'll be fine," she muttered. Other than the broken nose, some general welts and bruises, and bloody raw skin, she hadn't done any real damage. Nothing that would last, anyway.
Except maybe his pride.
Sunset smiled wider.
Crouching, she pried the coin from his fingers. He hadn't let it go, even during the fight.
Next his pockets. Turnabout's fair play, after all.
She didn't find much in the first. Crumpled up ten dollar bill, slightly torn. A bit of loose change. Lint. She pocketed the money, and switched to the other.
Her eyes widened, as her hand closed around a handle. She moved her thumb, and briefly grazed something cool, flat, and metallic.
With care, she eased the object out. She hadn't noticed her heart slow, but now it beat again, thumping hard at her chest.
In the grim light of the alley, her reflection glinted off the small, unpolished knife.
She didn't think it would be this difficult.
Obviously, homelessness wasn't exactly anyone's idea of a good time. But after experiencing it on Earth?
She had to give it to Celestia.
Equestria, for all its faults, at least tried to take care of its population. Exposure, crime, drugs, lack of necessities, all these were still a problem, but the Crown did its best to mitigate. Much in the way Celestia personally funded the Royal Orphanage, so too did she build and strengthen a singular program, meant to provide for and help ponies to their hooves. Plenty managed to slip through the cracks, but those were the exception.
Here, they were the rule.
In her short time, she'd witnessed more than she cared to. Clusters of tents, stretched over areas no larger than a block. Dozens or more bodies packed into cramped spaces, relying on scrap for donations, with little to no hope of recovery.
At least, in those instances, they had each other. Until someone got uncomfortable or felt vaguely threatened, in which case the cops came in and tore it down. Worse, if anyone tried to resist.
In most cases, the homeless only had themselves.
Granted, she'd be lying if she said they didn't make her uncomfortable. Bad smells, ragged clothes, unkempt, unwashed.
Addicted.
Many times they didn't even have the mental wherewithal to know what they were doing or saying. It made a kind of sick, twisted sense. Anyone would lose it under these conditions, and if your only respite was found at the end of a bottle or point of the needle, well. That made it worse.
She'd never seen anything like it, and it horrified her.
What horrified her more, was the possibility of becoming one.
She couldn't - wouldn't - let that happen.
Sometimes, when she slept on stiff benches and jagged stairs, she thought about going home. Returning to Celestia. Begging forgiveness.
Already she missed Equestria. She missed her magic. Walking on all four hooves, a far more stable gait than these ungainly, bipedal limbs. She missed the warmth of her bedroom, the sight from her balcony, the food servants brought her, and the vast selection of books and tomes to consume at her leisure.
But she couldn't go back. Her window had closed, and even if it hadn't she wouldn't do it. Wouldn't stoop that low, and grovel before Celestia like a worm in the dirt.
This was a temporary measure. A brutal patch in her life, bridging to that ultimate victory.
Wings.
A crown.
A title.
She mused on it like a dream. 'Princess Sunset Shimmer'.
She wondered how Philomena was doing.
Within the week, she learned it wasn't a good idea napping in public. The police harassed people there as well. Thankfully, they hadn't gone after her quite yet. Encounters with authority were the last thing she needed right now. If she was fortunate enough not to be bludgeoned and thrown in juvy, they'd send her to another Sun-forsaken orphanage.
So she switched tactics, finding rest - and food - behind various dumpsters. Sometimes she ate well. Other times not at all. Somehow, through the agony in her gut and forehead, she refused to eat anything spoiled. Stale, sure, but never spoiled.
To think she'd fallen this low, it repulsed her.
She deserved better - no - the best. The finest silk sheets, velvet pillows, satin curtains, all across a room-sized bed inlaid with jewels the price of small towns. Attended by her own servants, protected by her own guards, looked up to and beloved by her ponies.
She couldn't have that yet, but she would.
First, though, she had to survive. Survive, in order to thrive.
To do that, she needed someplace stable. Somewhere she could set up base, sleep, and study without the risk of murder - state-sanctioned or otherwise.
In the time she wasn't sleeping, she spent scouting. Mapping the city in her mind, locating all the nooks and crannies.
Closer to the outskirts, she pinned the perfect spot. A portion of the city where time had moved on, abandoning homes, apartments, and factories to decay. It reminded her of where she'd met that man, but emptier. Desolate, gray, and truly hopeless.
Or, as a few told her - condemned.
She had no clue what that meant. Superstition, perhaps. Unsafe, but she willingly took that risk. It was better than being out in the open.
The building itself was huge. Six stories tall, and half a block wide. An ugly, barren, concrete rectangle full of disposed needles, vulgar writing, and strange withered rubber tubes, filled with something she couldn't identify by sight and refused to by touch.
She took up residence on the second floor. Strategic, for a few reasons. High enough she had mild scouting advantage, close enough to ground level she could jump and escape without any harm.
By far, the public library was the most valuable resource she'd found. She couldn't just walk in though, looking and smelling how she did.
It ate the better part of a day, but she tracked down somewhere she could shower. As for her clothes, dispenser soap and hot water had to serve.
Once she was in, it took all the willpower she had not to laugh. It paled in comparison to the libraries of the real Canterlot. Even the one from her fillyhood was a story taller.
That's when she discovered computers.
Any doubts about finding the info she needed were utterly dashed. She could, with the stroke of a few keys, learn and gather as much as she could ever desire and more about this strange other world.
She swore it must be magic. In a way it was. Another science, different from the realm of arcana in so many ways, yet in others shockingly similar.
It took her some time to learn how to use them, though. Initially she'd poked and prodded the various letters with her two pointer fingers. When the other library-goers began tossing her strange looks, she made a note of how they used it - a keyboard, fittingly named - and adjusted.
She stayed on two websites, primarily. One, a vast, boundless encyclopedia of knowledge one could drown in. The second packed to the brim with videos - oddities similar to pictures, but which moved and talked without magical input. In spite of the endless, meaningless garbage on that particular one, it proved easy enough to mine for valuable information. Plenty more, she learned from simple, contextual osmosis.
Downloads. Uploads. Online. Offline. Audio, video, photo, executable files. Bugs and viruses, private networks, GPS tracking.
Had she not been Celestia's student for so long, she wouldn't have stood a cold chance in Tartarus keeping it all in. Given that, she still struggled.
But she had one problem, larger than any other.
Outside the library, she had no means of internet access.
If she was going to make it in this world, she needed that power. There wasn't any debate.
Through phones, she found out how.
But she didn't have the money. Nor an ID, birth certificate, or any reference of caregiver.
If she was going to get her hands on a phone, she had to take it.
Robbing one of their stores was not an option. They locked those things up tight. Tighter than she felt any confidence in breaking.
The pieces puzzled together, and a plan formed in her mind. After some investigation, she found her target - a little general store on the poorer side of town, seemingly undefended.
She entered at noon. The door jingled as she passed through, and was greeted by shelves of various goods, none of which looked or smelled remotely new.
The owner, a sour-looking old woman, grunted and glanced her way. She offered no greeting - or anything else for that matter.
Sunset took that as permission to peruse. To see if this place had what she needed.
It did.
Including a lack of security cameras.
With her ten dollars, she bought a cheap and reusable bottle. It would come in handy later, or when she couldn't find a water fountain.
She left, and spent the rest of her day at the library. Hours passed. Night came. She returned to the store.
She watched as the lady hobbled out the door and turned the key. She waited. Waited. Then waited some more, until not a soul but her breathed the moist summer air.
Clutching for purchase, she rubbed the dusty brick wall between her fingers. Her heart raced, throat tightened, and guts flipped.
It wasn't the first time she'd done this.
It was the first time she'd done it alone.
Taking a deep breath, she bolted.
The bottle made quick work of the glass. Given its quality, the glass also made quick work of the bottle.
Unfortunate, but she could always take another.
Boots crunched against the shattered remnants, and she worked as fast as her adrenaline-filled body allowed. Twitching hands swiped only what she needed. Gloves, pants, hoodie, mask, all in black. A flashlight, batteries, bedroll, lighter, replacement bottle, and baseball bat for good measure.
The second she was done, she was out. Her legs pumped fast, boots pounding, pounding, pounding the concrete below. Wind rushed past her ears, and all the world became a blur as her red-gold tresses turned to fire.
Tears streaming down her face, she threw her head back, and laughed.
For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, she felt truly free.
It was sublime.
When she'd passed several blocks, she kept running. When the outskirts rose into view, she kept running. When she reached her building, she kept running, and didn't stop until she was on the second floor.
There, she collapsed. The stolen goods rolled from her arms, and she let herself sprawl.
Still laughing, crying. Her chest heaved, until her voice grew to quiet giggles, and finally fell silent.
On her knees, she spread out her treasure. She only unfurled the bedroll, leaving the rest for later. They could all wait.
But she was gonna sleep well tonight. On something meant for sleeping. For the first time in two weeks.
Tonight, she would sleep like a real person. Tonight, she looked out past the building, beyond the city, into the darkness and the visible stars outside and whispered,
"It's just a stepping stone. You'll go back one day, and show her how wrong she was."
For the next couple days, she laid low. Chances that she'd been caught were slim and slimmer, but she wasn't rolling those dice.
On the third, she stalked the night, slipping between shadows and buildings like a ghost. Mask on, hoodie up, wearing her gloves and black trousers. All the while, she kept her blade close at hand.
Chances were, she'd easily find someone with a phone. They seemed a nigh universal technology, with many of the homeless she'd encountered having one of their own. Something they kept before losing everything, she guessed. Or stolen, like hers.
Sunset wasn't about chances, though. Never had been. Never would be.
So she waited for the right person. Someone to stroll along all on their lonesome, with their device in hand or eyesight.
She found her. A woman, with pearl-white skin, black-frame glasses, and a loose chocolate-brown bun.
Sunset's heart stopped. She knew a mare like that. But how could she possibly be here?
It didn't matter. She kept herself flush to alleyways, peeking behind corners and trailing the woman as she went. When she was sure they were alone, she leapt out.
"What-"
Sunset didn't reply, merely clamped a gloved fist over her mouth and shushed her. The same heartbeat she revealed the knife, letting the woman get a good, long look at the gleaming steel. The woman trembled, stifling a gasp as tears of panic flowed freely down her cheeks.
Sunset felt genuinely sorry, even if she was who she thought. In either case, she'd never done anything wrong by her. But she had to do this. What other options did she have?
Pressing the edge to her throat, Sunset's free hand gently took her purse. Initially she'd intended on swiping the whole thing, but after seeing the woman's expression she couldn't find the nerve.
She did find the phone.
"I'm sorry," she whispered and slid it in her pocket. Slowly, she lowered the knife, released her grip, and fled.
Ten thousand dollars.
That's how much those bits got her.
More than enough to fuel her needs. Even if she blew a hundred per day, her stockpile would last just over fourteen weeks. Plenty time to cement her situation, and she would never be that stupid with her rations.
She spent only for necessities. Food, primarily. Without refrigeration or preservation spells, she went for canned goods. A mix of soups, beans, and vegetables to balance her diet. Water she could take freely, thank heavens, unlike everything else on this planet.
Playing close to the chest, she bought for three days maximum. Three meals per day. Nine cans total.
Averaging it out, that meant nine to twelve bucks per day. Put another way?
Enough meals to last over two years.
That assuming she made no efforts to change her situation. And she had zero intention of doing such.
Nonetheless, she required a regular, fluid income. She hid her stacks well, buried under junk and spread across various corners of the second floor. But she'd been taught the hard way that life took great pleasure in bending you over, and fucking you at every opportunity it could. She wouldn't treat this small break any different.
And so, as always, she researched.
The first thing she did to Raven's phone was factory reset. She'd have no internet service on her own, but she also couldn't be tracked. Considering she'd already committed three serious crimes within the span of a month, that was vital.
Second, she had to find a charger. Annoying thing was getting the correct type. Seriously, was it really necessary to have like a hundred of the damn things?
The answer was no, and the reason was money. Like many things back home. Like everything over here.
This time around, rather than commit a fourth crime, she relied on the generosity of strangers.
She remembered the girl that gave it to her, although she didn't remember her name. She found her at the library, reading a fanned array of clothing magazines, with a pure white complexion, coiffed violet hair, and a truly immaculate sense of fashion.
The chat had been brief. She came up, like she did to the others she spotted charging their phones. Asked if she could borrow hers, because she'd lost her own recently. To Sunset's pleasure, the girl pawned it off wholesale.
"Take it, darling," she said. "I've got more than enough back home."
Not one to look gift dragons in the maw, she thanked her and left.
She had all the tools she needed now. Phone. Charger. Internet, thanks to the library. She no longer used the computers when stopping by, using this 'Wi-Fi' - whatever that stood for, she still hadn't bothered looking it up - to download pages and articles relevant to her ambitions.
And every now and then, random things that caught her interest. Animals being cute, mostly, although she'd also grown quite partial to these so-called 'rock' and 'metal' genres.
As for making money, the obvious choice was a job. Except normal human jobs required normal human things, like background checks on a background that she didn't have. She could fake an ID or certificate, but she wasn't cozy enough yet to make that jump.
Instead, she delved into the world of organized crime. Nothing too serious, certainly not on the level of genuine gangs. She had no interest for getting wrapped up in that mess again.
Selling drugs, though?
That she could do. On a small scale and with a close, tight-knit partnership. Lesser chances of being shot, too. Present, but lesser.
Before she could attain that, she had to make connections. Find a couple low-levels, get her instructions, and prove herself capable.
During her excursions, she made sure to wear her black hoodie - hide the identifying cutie mark. Those first few deals made her nervous, though it had nothing on her initial entrance exam for Celestia's School.
No backup muscle, no protection. Just a young teen, assisting a handful of already employed dealers where she could. The sort that would throw her to the cops or in a river if she made the slightest mistake.
The thing none of them seemed to realize about her, was Sunset Shimmer didn't make mistakes.
Turned out, that kinda word spread quick underground. Whispers of the girl with red hair, amber skin, and an iron attitude. A few reached out, but she chose just one.
Which was how she found herself here.
Sitting in a traphouse. Entry doors locked. One table between her and two men.
The first was an older gentleman, looked to be in his mid-thirties, with gray skin and spiked silver-white hair. His partner, looking to be around university age, had a tawny complexion and fine gold hair, buzzcut at the back and sides. Wearing a deep blue pinstripe and plain brown suit, she decided to name them Silver and Goldman, respectively.
While she knew neither of their names, she'd gotten the general scoop of them from deeper, darker parts of the web. The recruitment offer drew her intrigue, and the positive reports and impressions sealed the deal. Among the alternatives, they were her surest bet.
Their stares were intense. She would not have described them as unfriendly, but hard. They reminded her of stern unicorn professors at Celestia's School, except these would sooner put a bullet in her brain than her in detention.
Silverman leant forwards. Elbows propped, hands clasped to conceal his lower face. "Enlighten me once more, why it is you want to work with us. You don't even look eighteen."
Intimidation tactics. Meant to sow self-doubt. She knew this game.
"I'm not," she said, shrugging. In the early August heat she appreciated her tanktop. In this cold room she wished she owned a jacket, but she kept her face impassive. The identifier was a show of trust. "And I'm here for the same reason as you."
Goldman quirked a brow. "And what's that, precisely?"
"Money."
The older man smirked. "How much you want then, huh, firebrand? Lemme guess. Eighty-twenty. No? Seventy-thirty?"
Her expression was stone. "Depends on how much you make."
He broke into a laugh, slapping the boy's back. "Hear that? She wants to know how much we make!" His laughter died off, and he wiped invisible tears from his eye. It met her gaze again, cool as before, but the barest hint softer. "I think I'm growing to like you. Got a name, firebrand? Or can I just keep calling you firebrand." He grinned.
"Firebrand's fine," she said. "Didn't answer my question, though. How much do you make?"
Goldman thought a moment, rubbing his chin. "Per gram? Hundred on a good day. Bad day? Eighty."
She leaned away from the table, thinking herself. "Alright. How many grams do you usually sell per day?"
Let's see," said Silverman, pulling up his phone. "Besides me and my partner, we've got two under our employ, because I sure as shit am not telling you how much we're earning. As for you, how much dough you pull in depends entirely on how much product you can move. If you want an estimate, we've got a couple others under our employ who sell an average of one to two grams per day. Lows of zero, highs of ten. Ish."
The boy continued. "For a starting rate, we offer a twenty-eighty split in our favor. Prove yourself, and we can bump that up by five percent."
"And I can leave whenever I like?"
They both nodded.
"But." Silverman held up a finger. His expression darkened, and in it she saw the promise of death. "Double cross us, rope us into some street gang, or snitch to the blue?"
He withdrew an engraved, silver handgun. "I don't think I need to explain myself further." He glanced Goldman's direction. "Do you?"
"Nope."
"Another thing, we don't hand out some piddly shit like kush. Product's dangerous, and we don't wanna be responsible for another druggie. Last one OD'd before we could fill his skull with lead for stealing our supply. Do I make myself clear?"
She remembered some of the homeless she'd encountered, and shuddered internally. "Crystal. I don't take anything that fucks with my head."
That wasn't entirely true. She'd done a bit of underage drinking in the past, and she rather liked being hammered.
He grinned. "Smart girl. Anyone ever tell you that? And one last thing, you work for us. No one else. That includes yourself. We tell you where to go, what to do, and who you can speak with. Capiche?"
She nodded.
"Good! I see then we understand one another. You've heard our terms." He offered a hand. "So, do we have a deal, little miss Firebrand?"
Sunset didn't hesitate. Outstretching her hand, she took his and shook it firmly.
"Deal."
After, when she expressed an inability to purchase her own firearm, they hooked her up with a dealer. That chewed a not insignifcant hole in her funds, but the sacrifice was worth it for a little self-defense.
Besides. She fully meant to earn the cost back, and much, much more beyond.
Through the rest of August and September, she wheeled and dealed her teenage heart out.
Sculking in the unseen places, the forgotten corners, she waited for her clients to arrive. Some were goners. Others had a chance, but this was business, her livelihood; she wasn't gonna try and convince some substance-hooked junkie to get off it.
The worst were the newbies. The people experimenting without any clue of what they were getting themselves into, or the rarer sorts pressured in by peers.
No small part of her hated this. What she was doing. All that she had done since she crossed over.
Before she saw what she'd seen in that throne room, she thought she might be getting better. It had been years since she did anything unseemly.
She'd buried her nose in books, trained with Celestia, sparred with the Captain of the Guard. And one day, she believed, she would bear her own crown, and a set of glorious golden wings upon her back resplendent with shining feathers.
All it took was one block. One block removed from the tower, and her whole life came crashing down.
She did what was right. She did what she had to.
Celestia never loved her, and she saw that now, clearer than ever. She was a tool, and hadn't ever been anything more. Swung, manipulated, and when Celestia sensed resistance she tossed her in the trash.
How many students had she mentored besides her? Just one? Tens? Dozens? Hundreds, across the eras?
It was her fault, anyway. She was the one above it all. A goddess of the Sun, long-lived and profoundly wise. Yet she kept her secrets as much as anypony else, as much as her, and then turned around and tried to act high and mighty when she learned about Sunset's.
No. None of that was important anymore.
She was on Earth. On Earth, she did ugly things to survive, so that when she came home she would be beautiful.
And so she did these ugly things. Ruining lives. No doubt ending others in the process. But those would have died somehow anyway.
It would be worth it. Had to be.
She carried the gig onwards. Despite her anxieties, her first real deal went without a hitch. Ever since, she'd proved herself a highly skilled seller, and earned that quarter split on her own merit.
Clients told her employers, which fed down to her, how safe she made them feel. How polite she was. She wasn't jumpy. Wasn't an ass. She got the job done cleanly and efficiently.
If she kept this up, she could start expanding her reach before long. She could buy new clothes, better food, a fake ID. With a false ID, if she truly stepped up her game, she could snag herself one of those sleek, gorgeous, purring motorcycles.
She shooed these fantasies aside. Luxuries were nice, but not what she came here for. Keeping her head low, camp secure, and money coming was the only thing she should focus on.
On the second week of October, a late Thursday afternoon, she stood and watched at one of her usual meeting spots. Between a nearby theatre and the start of the industrial district, barely anyone came around. Too dangerous for the regulars, too close to authority for the rowdier criminals.
Perfect, for a quiet one.
Today she was scheduled to meet a particular buyer. Some woman who'd been hashing out dough to the men and their proxies for years. Silverman had warned her that she could get a bit jumpy, after being under the influence for so long, but she dismissed his concerns. She could be a hothead, but only with those whom she had emotional attachments.
The sun dipped lower down on the horizon, and she glanced at her watch - something cheap but functional she'd bought in mid-September. Quicker to catch the time, and safer than pulling out her phone.
Leaning her back against the wall, she tapped her boot. Damn chick was late.
Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out. Silverman made sure to position her where she could leech off Wi-Fi or hotspots.
'SM: Yo. Struck yet?'
She texted back, sighing. 'FB: 'No. Isn't here.'
'SM: Noted. Inform when struck.'
'FB: Aye aye.'
She pocketed her phone once more, and continued to wait. Another good twelve or so minutes passed before she saw someone - thin and lanky - jogging towards her.
As the figure approached, she made out more details. They were in fact a woman, though looked more skeleton than flesh. Gaunt cheeks, sunken eyes, protruding bones over which hung clothes that once upon a time might have fit her well.
Any beauty she might previously have possessed was gone. Her dull gold hair hung in limp, straw-dry strings. Her Mint green skin had an off yellowish tint, and pulled tight and rough over her body.
Sunset felt that pang in her heart again. The one she felt when she knew she was doing something bad.
"Hello." She waved at the woman, who stepped close.
At this short a distance, she noticed her mannerisms better as well. Jumpy was right. Her eyes jittered back and forth, lips twitched, and she fiddled and picked ceaselessly at her fingers. The scabs turned her stomach.
"A-a-are you... F-Firebrand?"
Sun and Stars, she sounded it too.
"Mhm. You here for the bleach?"
She nodded emphatically. "B-but-"
Ah shit, here it comes. Druggie doesn't have the cash.
She hated when that happened. Those were always the scariest, riskiest encounters.
"I-I don't... quite have enough to pay yet. Could we, m-make a deal or something?"
Sunset shook her head, folding her arms. "Sorry, but that's a no-go. Just policy. You can come-"
"Please!"
The woman took a step closer. Sunset inched back, before realizing she was already against the wall.
"L-listen, you understand, right? Right? C-come on. I'll have payment in a week, n-not even!"
Sunset unfolded her arms, standing in full. Her right hand she pressed close to her pocket, feeling the metal indent inside.
Other than target practice, she'd never had to use it before. She didn't want to start now.
"I understand, but I can't do that. It's not my decision-"
She didn't get another word out. The woman lunged fast, too fast, gripping her by the collar. Sunset was shorter, but the woman much frailer. It wouldn't take a lot to push her off.
Her breath stank.
"L-listen to me you little s-s-shit. I don't fucking care what they said. I need-"
Sunset saw the woman's hand moving.
To a pocket.
Not hers.
But bulging with a faint, rectangular outline.
"-my fix!"
Sunset was faster.
She whipped out her gun, and pulled the trigger.
Her ears popped, and a high, piercing shrill blocked everything out. Dully she heard the woman curse and scream, and Sunset didn't waste a second pushing her off.
She shouted an apology before she went, but she doubted that would do much for the bleeding hole in the woman's thigh.
Turning, she ran. Ran faster than she ever had in her life. The staccato thump-a-thump of footfall came to her senses more as vibration than sound.
She remembered breaking into the woman's store in July. She remembered how good the adrenaline felt, pumping through her system. Laughing. Crying.
Freeing.
This didn't feel very free.
Thank Sun she was by the industrial district. She had to get home, pack her shit, and hustle.
Once there, she gathered all her spare cash. Maybe all. She wasn't sure. She also didn't care. It was in the high thousands. The rest could rot.
Everything else she haphazardly tossed in her recently purchased backpack, to which she silently thanked herself for getting. Whatever it couldn't carry she stuffed down her skirt and hoodie pocket.
From there, she made a beeline to the library. Once she was in range of its Wi-Fi she shot a quickfire series of textx, unable to stop her hands from shaking.
'FB: went aouth'
'FB: bad stuff hd to usesilver'
'FB: please advise'
She hoped he would comprehend. She was honestly a little shocked she managed to keep the language so covert.
Each second that ticked by without response felt like aeons. Her heart stopped when she saw three dots, and didn't resume until the message arrived.
'SM: Noted. Will deal w/i.'
'FB: need out for now too.'
'SM: Noted. Will message soon.'
With that taken care, she resumed her flight. No time to think. Just run.
She didn't know what she'd do next, or where she'd go. Skip town, maybe? She didn't have the highest authority in the land to bail her out anymore. If she got caught, if everything she did was revealed-
Stop. Don't think. Slows you down. Run. Keep running.
The world was a blur. Several shouted as she urged her way past. She paid them no mind.
Pavement. Sidewalk. Asphalt. Concrete. Grass.
Grass?
She stopped, looked up for a minute. She saw the statue.
And kept running.
She ran westwards. To the suburbs. Maybe she'd find a bus stop along the way.
From there, she could ditch this city. A smaller population meant cheaper housing, less risk, more quiet. What if she fled the state? Put as much distance between her and the cops as she could.
She didn't see him coming. Huge eyes and a gaping mouth was all she made out before hurtling into him with her entire body, all that momentum.
They fell together. Him first, and her after, rolling onto suburban sidewalk.
"S-shit, I'm so sorry!"
She got that little out before scrambling to her feet, but he stopped her.
"Wait! What's going on, are you okay?"
For some reason, she paused. Every nerve of her was on fire, begging, screaming to turn tail and offer not a single word of response.
She didn't know why she stood still. She didn't know why tears came rushing down her cheeks. She didn't know why months of stress, buried and pushed down under sheer force of will and perseverance exploded in one furious, hideous, gagging sob.
"No," she managed, a feeble croak between the tears. "I'm not."
Slowly, he climbed to his feet, and she got a better look at him. They were the same age, give or take a year. Compared to her light orange his skin was yellow, with a thick mussy mop of electric blue hair. Briefly her eyes saw his jeans and jacket, and she felt oddly jealous.
"Hey, hey. It's alright. I'm not mad or anything."
He approached her cautiously, like she was a ticking time bomb. Given to explode at the slightest provocation.
"I- I'm sorry." She gathered her strength again. Pushed everything else down. A few sniffles and rolling tears later, her face returned to an impassive mask. She surprised herself with how quickly she managed it.
"You're fine. Well..." He scanned her up and down, hissing inwardly. "Okay, maybe not fine fine. When did you last eat?"
"Noon," she said. "I had a... can of beans."
"That's it?"
She nodded.
"I hope this isn't too personal to ask but, do your parents, like... feed you properly?"
She felt her face twist on instinct. Parents. Worthless, cruel, stupid, heartless, evil-
"No."
He opened his mouth to say something. She continued.
"I don't live with them anymore. They kicked me out."
His jaw closed. The lie had come so easy.
"Why did they..." He gestured. "Y'know. If you don't mind me asking, that is. I mean really, I understand if-"
"I..." she continued. Wringing her sleeves, she cast her gaze downwards, and played her act. But what role to take?
"I came out as bi. They... said they never wanted to see me again. I took what I could before I left, so I've just been buying canned food to make do."
His expression grew stunned, fell, then darkened all in the space of a second. "Fucking pricks. Sorry, I... hope that's okay for me to say. I just don't get why anyone would be so heartless, over something like that?"
She carved a smile. "It's fine. You're right. They were pricks."
She wasn't lying about that.
"Hey, so, look..." He rubbed the back of his head, averting his gaze. "I was heading home from school. CHS? You might know it. Anyway, uh, if you come home with me, my parents might be willing to take you in. I don't think either of them could take one look at you and shut you out. I-I mean, no offense."
She smiled. Genuine, this time. "None taken, and thank you. I can't tell you how much that means to me."
"Don't sweat it. Just helpin' out a fellow teen in need! But, uh, I don't think I caught your name." He smiled, stuck out his hand. "I'm Flash Sentry."
She looked down at the open greeting for a long, long time.
Then, she took it.
"Nice to meet you, Flash. I'm Sunset. Sunset Shimmer."