Baltimare, the City of Charm, glowed in the light of the setting sun. The smell of salt and the scent of water were ever present as one walked its streets. The city straddled the great Maressissippi river, standing tall over the mouth of the river as it spilled forth into Horseshoe Bay. To the north, the city was prim, and proper, and old. It had the decency - or perhaps, the utter boredom - to slow down and grow calm as the day wound to its end. Old buildings of brick and plaster spoke to a noble and enduring history as one of the oldest cities in the Domain of Canterlot.

Beneath the river, a different story was told. Nestled just above the seemingly endless depths of the Hayseed Swamps, South Baltimare sprung to raucous and vibrant life with the setting of the sun. There, music was played and food served not in fancy restaurants and family homes, but on the streets themselves. Time could be made for anypony, and a story was just as good an introduction as a name. It was the sort of place where you could be anypony you wanted, and also the sort of place that, if you wanted, you could be nopony at all. It was where ponies went to disappear, and for that trait, it had drawn the attention of a singular pony with a curious reputation.

Hers was a cold and analytic visage, plastered across a royal blue face. Over its top was a rough long mane of pure and icy white, matching the disheveled appearance of the south river's usual street wanderers. Upon her flank, a banner of the same pale tone hung frozen in the midst of a potent gust. Nopony paid her any mind for how well she blended into the crowd. A shadow would have had a harder time passing unseen.

She walked past a pair of stallions engaged in the city's music, one blowing wildly into a trumpet as his partner's magic strummed a lively guitar. By ear, she picked out a healthy helping of flats - B, E, A, D, and even a F that shouldn't have borne the lower tone. The trumpet was out of tune, though she decided better than to correct its player. The little errors added a life to the sound that had always seemed absent from Canterlot's 'flawless' music.

She snapped down the last of her petty excuse for dinner. The bowl of gumbo, rich in spices, had been reduced to a single chunk of fried seaweed, slathered in batter pleasing and yet painful to the tongue. She rolled the food between her teeth, tempting out the subtle flavors. An equally subtle frown spread across her muzzle. It was clear the 'secret blend' of spices that the merchant had espoused was nothing more than dried chilies mixed with oregano and garlic powder. She had been hoping from something new and local to try in her own cooking.

"Ooh, lookit that!" somepony cried, gesturing up into the faint orange sky. The dialect was that of a swamp farmer, known for their cocoa and cotton. Its exclamation drew her attention toward the distant Mountain of Dawn, where Canterlot hung as an almost mocking reminder of the past. Closer and higher in the sky, two lines of fire traced their way across the sky, surprisingly close together.

"Pegasus trail," she muttered under her breath, intending only to be heard herself. "Fire based, but without obvious military application." Her brow furrowed. "Wonderbolts? Here?" Their trajectories were on an obvious path toward the city. "Surprisingly close together... a chariot? Meaning passengers. Wonderbolts pulling passengers. Full speed. Train is too slow. Who would the Wonderbolts..." Revelation came before the rest of the words were necessary. With a sullen glance around, she began walking toward the river.

Like the harbor streets, the river was lined with shops and stalls and clubs, bouncing and glowing with lanterns and music. Here, above all else, the southern half of the city was its own entity. She had to force her way past more young ponies dancing incredibly close than she knew what to do with. In the back of her mind, she recalled the city's population growth. Its source was blatant.

Finally, she reached the water, where docks stuck out into the river like the jagged teeth of the deep-swamp ponies. Only a few actually held any vessels, and of those, only one had a pilot. He was a lanky, buck-toothed stallion with a wide-brimmed hat and an enormous smile. It only grew as she approached. "Well, missy, it's real pleasure 'avin a customer tonight. Where we goin'?"

"Across the river." Her voice came out in a perfectly controlled Canterlot accent: succinct, pointed, and business-like.

"Yeah, I'll bet. T'ree bits." She handed him the money without comment and stepped calmly onto his little barge. "T'anks." His hooves slipped into fabric straps on a pair of oars and without further ado, he began to move them across the calm but powerful river mouth.

The mare watched the approaching city as her eyes tried to guess the chariot's landing site. It was nearly into the city, and as soon as it reached the roof level, it would be out of her sight. "They'll need information. Town hall district gives lots of sites, as well as landing space, and-"

"The city what's fun's back where we left. Up 'head's just borin' stuck-ups." She didn't respond, and so he again felt the burden to break the silence. "Wha's your name, miss?"

"So you call yourself 'No'? Or ya prefer Concern?" She gave him a dead look, only to realize from the obvious humor on his face that he understood her perfectly, and chose his response for humor. She noted once again not to underestimate the locals' linguistic comprehension because of their accents, before turning back toward the north with her thoughts.

The rest of the ride was quiet, as the stallion finally seemed to realize that she had no desire to speak. The water carried them to the other shore, where a finely organized pier waited. Dozens of spaces were open to pull up, but that didn't stop another mare with a carefully styled bun in her mane from running up to the edge of the dock. "You can't dock here! This is private property!"

"The river ain't nopony's property. 't ain't proper," the pilot shouted back. The blue mare was inclined to agree. Who could claim as property what they could not hold in their hooves? And yet, how many times had her own tongue staked such a claim in hypocrisy and bitter fact?

Such high thoughts soared unnoticed through the golden sky, far above the sight of the dock-keeper. "I'm not arguing with you about this, swamp pony! I'll get the guardsponies if you try-"

In the course of her diatribe, the boat had gotten considerably closer to the pier. The passenger spun in the wing like a cresting dolphin. Glimmers of sunlight danced on her unbound hair, catching the eye and defying the heart. Her landing on the still dock was almost bittersweet. Before the dock manager could regain her composure, the other mare whipped out a small golden badge in a burst of white magic, and flashed it. "I am a guardspony. Now, please get out of my way." She walked up the dock, putting her hooves in marching order without actually waiting for a response. The words would have taken too much time. Her last act on the pier, as she approached firm land once more, was to glance back over her shoulder. The other mare was ferociously biting her own lip and struggling in vain to maintain a calm demeanor. With a casual burst of magic from her horn, the guardspony's disheveled mane became a neat bun, perfectly replicating the dock's manager.

The path from the river to City Hall was particularly short, even given the marginal traffic of ponies traveling from work to their homes. They were business mares and bureaucrats, young and old. All seemed cut from the same mold. Short, tight manes gave little sign of individuality. Marble faces, little more than busts mounted upon shoulders, stared unfeelingly into the prospect of another day of business-as-usual. None sensed the chameleon in their midst. The guardspony walked with them, sharing their hoof steps and mirroring their faces. She had no need to, but the action was more a part of her in those days than any name or belief. Her duty defined her, and it demanded such actions.

She saw her goal plain as day around a simple corner. The throng of civilians clustered like ants to a picnic around a golden chariot. Wings told her of pegasi. Blue jumpsuits said more. They told her she had been right. Life was suddenly and unexpectedly gathering in front of the ancient white structure that defined the city's government, forcing city officials to squeeze through a rabid crowd as they continued what would be a long night of work.

They had been why she joined the guard, and yet she couldn't help feeling as she looked upon the masses that she was somewhere high, and looking down. Perhaps it had just been time. Guardsponies said it happened to be the best. When they had said it, they were already talking about her.

A trained eye and a sharp mind together knew better than to examine the throng. Whoever had come along through the sky was smart enough to have left the herd. So, instead, she passed her eyes over the whole open square. Little planters played home to tiny well groomed trees, and bushes as reserved as the manes of the northern city's ponies. At the edge of the cobblestone square, closed storefronts had given up selling the little trinkets and tourist traps that every great city peddled in droves. Only a sparse few restaurants remained. One, a corner cafe with a ivy-covered wooden trellis over its entrance, seized her attention. The object of her focus was a gentle purple glimmer in the glass - a reflection whispering of an old but familiar memory.

Her hooves guided her to the building. A flash of her badge got her past the waiter who stood in the entrance offering seats. He even went so far as to point out directions, all of which she ignored. Her hooves fell heavy on old wood and plush carpet as she wandered the walkways left between the finely carved wooden booths until at last she came upon them.

A stallion's voice slowly became audible over the murmurings of the other tables. "...but the kiwis are a bit overpowering. How's your meal?" His back was turned, concealed by the tall seat of his booth, but the gemstones glimmering on his forelegs gave away his identity all the same.

The other mare wasn't a guardspony. It was clear enough by the actual comfort she allowed herself sinking low into the cushioned back of her seat. Pegasus wings were folded over a rather boring brown vest. Her hooves moved quickly, devouring a salad as if in fear that it might rot on her plate. There was no chance the food was being tasted, and in that regard, she had wasted the careful labor of an excellent chef. She paused from her voracious feast only long enough to plunge a brown fluid down her throat, before answering her companion. "Good, now that the waiter got over himself and brought me my Scotch. I swear-" The pegasus mare finally saw the approaching unicorn. "Hey, do we know you?"

The purple armored pony leaned out of the stall to glance the unicorn's way. He too was a unicorn, but their similarities ended at the bases of their horns.

"Captain Shining Armor," she observed, as his face confirmed her suspicions. "May I join you?"

"I'd like to know who you are first," he told her bluntly. She noticed and subsequently ignored the glow building on his horn. His trust was only an introduction away.

She sighed, and then turned away from him. He saw her eyes shoot every which way, darting pointedly towards the darkened nooks and crannies of the cafe in concern. Only after her search was done did she bring a hoof to her horn in a stiff salute. Her form was perfect enough to seem almost lifeless. It brought to mind figure 1-01a in the Royal Guard training manual. The biggest picture in the entire book. "Second Lieutenant Flag, Honor Guard."

Shining's response was the one she had dreaded. His eyes widened, though her fear was spawned of the glimmer in his eye that suggested recognition amidst surprise. "Wait, you're-"

"I assure you that whatever stories you've heard about me are true, Captain." She barely resisted the urge to lean into his face as she stated her words bluntly. "They are also in the past, and right now we have bigger issues to deal with."

"You're Honor Guard?" The pegasus mare briefly turned to Shining Armor, even as she shied away from Flag. The motion was small, subtle, and instinctual. What she saw in Shining's face, Flag couldn't guess, but only a moment later the other mare turned back. "What kind of stories are we talking about?"

It was Flag's turn to bear confusion, which she expressed with a slightly raised eyebrow and a judgmental expression. "If you had heard my story, you would have recognized me by name." Her voice was short when she explained, tired of the thousand repetitions that had defined the last decades of her life. "It has nothing to do with the Honor Guard. I was the one wearing Platinum's Ward when it happened."

Flag wasn't surprised, though she still gave out a sigh at the necessity to explain the intricacies of the guard like a common Drill Instructor. She really couldn't fault the pegasus though; the name wasn't well known outside the guard. She reached over to Shining's chest and rapped twice on the amethyst cuirass covering his body. "This is Platinum's Ward." She glanced over to Shining again, offering him a small smile. "The armor of the most powerful mage in the Guard. That used to be me, going on fifteen years ago, but it's hard to compete with the Paladin of Canterlot." She noted the blush that appeared on Shining's cheeks at the use of his informal nickname. Without addressing it, she turned back to the pegasus mare. "I have to wonder who you are, to be traveling with the Captain."

Shining held up a hoof before Solo's somewhat sarcastic manner could put her into confrontation with the no-nonsense elder guardspony. "Lieutenant, this is Going Solo. She's my... uh, consultant."

"I see..." Flag turned around, grabbed a chair from an empty table with magic, and settled it down at the end of the table. "Do we really have time to eat?"

"Hey, lay off!" Going Solo slapped a hoof on the table. "I haven't eaten since last night!"

Flag resisted the urge to comment on the poor manners of the way she shoveled her food into her mouth . Instead, she raised both her forehooves in a placating gesture. "Sorry. If we are going to take the time, I suppose I should ask what you recommend."

"Scotch," Solo muttered sarcastically, before taking a gentle bite of a dandelion sandwich.

Shining Armor rolled his eyes, gesturing down to his bowl, a mixed array of a dozen brightly colored citruses. "The tropical fruit salad is excellent."

"All right," she noted, deciding against commenting on the tragic lack of freshness to be found in the so-called 'tropical' fruit of Baltimare. Flag waved down a waiter between his rounds and gestured to the bowl. He gave a short nod before wandering off. No words were necessary. Turning back to the Royal Guard and his so-called consultant, Flag pressed her hooves together on the tabletop. "We've traced Masquerade to Baltimare. It's my understanding that she has some sort of residence here, as well as a dead-drop that she uses to communicate with her clients without having to actually meet them. It took me a long time to squeeze that much out of the city's small-time crooks and dealers." Ever perceptive, Flag's eyes noted the slight glare that passed Going Solo's face. She made no mention of it as she continued. "I know the place is on the river, probably on the south side. I was working some traces when I saw you coming in. You really know how to make an entrance."

Shining Armor gave a quick glance outside, where Spitfire and her 'lieutenant' (a National Guard corporal) were still signing autographs around the golden chariot they had used to transport their superior. "It was the fastest way to get here," he told her, by way of explanation. "We were in Cloudsdale this morning. We'd found one of Masquerade's... middle ponies, essentially, named Go Between. We took him in," the guardspony held up a bandaged hoof, "but she'd put some sort of an enchantment on him. When he tried to tell me how to reach her, the spell killed him."

Flag's brow rose slightly. "A sealed spell? Was it Clover's Cunning Contingency? My research suggested she didn't have any academic background, but if we knew some of her repertoire, we might be able to establish a dueling style." For just a few moments, Shining Armor thought he was listening to his sister, as Flag's monologue ran on. The similarities crashed to a jarring end when she conclude her thoughts. "That sort of knowledge would make it much easier to eliminate her."

"As per our mission, yes. Find and kill the assassin known as Masquerade." She looked straight into Shining's eyes calmly, as if it were the most regular command in the world. "Were you hoping to take her alive?"

"O- Of course!" Shining stuttered out of sheer shock. "We need Masquerade alive so we can find a cure for whatever poison she used on Luna!"

Flag shook her head. "Captain On told me the doctors would have one a cure by tomorrow morning." Reacting to the shock on his face, the Honor Guard continued. "The Princess has the best doctors in Equestria, Captain. Are you honestly surprised they'd be able to heal Princess Luna?"

"It's Flag," she snapped, as her nose wrinkled and her brow dropped into a glare. Her chair momentarily tilted beneath her as she leaned forward forcefully. "Lieutenant Flag."

Going Solo broke out into uncontrollable laughter. "You're a guardspony, and your name's White Fl- mmmph!" The sudden disappearance of her lips and mouth altogether resulted in perhaps one of the strangest sounds Shining Armor had ever heard. The smooth patch of her coat where the orifice ought to have been pushed out rapidly as the mare's tongue felt for an opening. She was clearly panicking.

As the glow surrounding Flag's horn faded, her enraged gaze turned toward the smuggler. When she spoke, her tone was calm and factual, a complete contradiction of the twisting wrinkles of fury that had covered her face. "Going Solo, I'd appreciate the opportunity to talk to Captain uninterrupted. This is guardspony business, which means lives are at stake. Frankly, as a civilian, guardspony business is none of your concern. So you're going to be quiet and keep your mouth shut, or I'll leave it this way." Then, with another flash of magic, she undid her terrifying spell, leaving Going Solo to gasp as her forehooves investigated the flesh of her face.

"Are you insane?" Shining asked an a forced whisper, contained only out of the interest of avoiding public attention. "What if you hadn't been able to undo that?"

"I will always be able to undo that," Flag answered calmly, though her face still bore the rage of moments only barely past. "Form the morphic matrices of the soft tissue into an Everfree Net, and then wrap it over the limbs or orifice in question." Seeing Shining's confused expression, she shook her head and sighed. "That's second year magical theory at the Academy, Captain."

"I'm not my sister," he mumbled. "I never went to the Royal Academy. All the magic I know I learned at West Horn, or by figuring it out myself, and I wasn't even in Officer Training there. I joined the guard as a Private."

Flag seemed taken aback. After a moment of silence, she looked at the floor. "I see, Captain. I didn't mean to insult you. Given Twilight's skill, I suppose I just assumed... The point being, the spell I used was entirely safe. It's a restraint spell, usually used on the legs, or the wings of pegasi. It was still improper of me to use it in such a manner, and for that, you both have my apologies. I would, however, request the matter of my past be dropped. Celestia knows it's already been brought up between guardsponies more times than anypony could ever care to hear."

"Accepted, Lieutenant." Shining gave a short and serious nod. Solo seemed less convinced, but a glance from Shining eked out a slow nod from her as well. "Though there's something you need to know. I used your first name because I thought it would be more comforting, so I'm sorry for that. There's no really easy way to put this, so I'll just say it. Soldier On is the guard traitor."

"What." The single word wasn't snapped out or asked incredulously. It wasn't even a question. It simply stated, in perfectly clear terms, that Flag didn't believe a word of what she had been told.

"I understand it might be hard to believe, but please listen to me. One of my Lieutenants was killed two days ago. He was trying to tell me about a traitor in the Honor Guard, with unfinished business from the Stalliongradi revolution."

"The Blizzard Revolution," Flag observed, nodding. "But On wasn't the only one who had a part in that. Dead Reckoning ran a few extractions in Stalliongrad back then, and Loose Cannon was friends with one of Baron Frostbite's sons."

"We picked her up out of the Wonderbolts. Doesn't matter, though. She died five years ago. Not really the point. Do you have any sort of evidence that says Soldier On was the one behind all this?"

"You just gave it to me," Shining Armor answered, unfolding a letter from his armor and placing it on the table in front of White Flag.

How she had deciphered the guess from looking at his expression, he would never know, but she was right nevertheless. "Yes, and the doctors can't even identify the poison, let alone create a cure. Soldier On and I were told to find Masquerade so that we could interrogate her to reveal the poison. If Masquerade dies, Princess Luna dies with her."

Flag sighed, turning around in her seat to stare at the restaurant. Baltimore's ponies were coming and going, eating their food and drinking their beverages. All the while, they were completely unaware of the treachery revealed quietly in their midst, driving a cold and unyielding fissure into White Flag's gut.

The waiter approached, levitating a bowl of fruit salad down onto the table in front of Flag. "Your dinner, madam."

"Thanks." Her utterance was cold, but she felt it better than saying nothing at all. Without a word, the maitre d' wandered off. Flag turned to her food, levitated a few bites into her mouth, and then swallowed slowly. She'd barely tasted anything. "Let's say it's true, for argument's sake. What do we do about it? Does On want Masquerade dead so that there won't be a cure for the Princess? Do we still prioritize Masquerade, or do we go after On to make sure she doesn't reach her first?"

"If we go after Masquerade, we might run into Soldier On in pursuit; we have to make finding the cure our first goal."

"Agreed, but we do have an advantage: there are two of us. I think it might be more advantageous for us to divide our efforts."

"I'd like another unicorn present if we actually do find Masquerade here," Shining protested.

"If you do actually find her in the city, I won't be far away." Flag gestured with her horn toward the opposite side of the large open square in front of Baltimare's magnificent city hall. "But either way I'll need to go alone to Soldier On. She knows you're after her, but she might still trust me. That, and if your 'consultant' crosses On, she'd end up a splatter on the wall."

Going Solo rose to her hooves, balancing her upper body on the table. "Look, guardspony, I've been in worse scrapes than you can probably imagine, and I'm still walking around, so you can shut your trap about me. You don't know me!"

Flag took a deep breath as if preparing to shout back, but her next action was to silently look straight at Going Solo. Her eyes traced up and down her body, taking in little details of her vest, hooves, and facial features. The whole action took twenty seconds at most, and ended with the Honor Guard speaking aloud. "You're a mediocre flier, for which you were made fun of as a foal. To compensate, you flap too hard when you fly, leaving you with strong wings but terrible agility and wing control. You're a Nightshade user, and judging by the dozen pockets you've failed to conceal on the inside of that vest, I'd say a dealer as well." The flinch on Solo's face was proof enough for Flag, who continued unabated. "You're a street-fighter. You learned in Cloudsdale, starting with the wings - probably against the bullies who made fun of your flying - which explains the way you fold them when you're standing still. You think you're tough because you've been in a couple brawls while you were selling, and..." Flag glanced down at Solo's hind hooves. "... you've been to prison for a short time. You don't know pegasus military magic, or even how to make something as simple as a mist screen." Concluding her thought, she shook her head. "You have no idea what Soldier On or Masquerade would do to somepony like you. You're welcome to think that I'm a 'bitch', since you probably already do, but I'm trying to look out for you here. Armor and I are career soldiers. You'd get in the way, and you'd get hurt. Worse, you'd get him hurt trying to save you."

Going Solo stepped out of the booth and walked away. Flag barely paid any attention to her passing, and Shining's cry of "Wait!" came too late and too softly to deter her retreat. When the doors shut behind her, Shining gave an angry look to Flag. "Was that really necessary?"

"I just saved her life, Captain. If she hates me for it, I will gladly live with the burden. Have you seen Soldier On fight? Her Endura rivals your Arcana."

"Endura. The proper name for 'Earth Pony' magic, also used by Boars, Buffalo, and Griffins. I hope Arcana is obvious." Her tone made it perfectly clear that the short explanation had been a nuisance. She returned quickly to the topic at hoof; "Frankly, that mare shouldn't have been here to begin with. I wouldn't fight Soldier On myself without some sort of advantage, but even you ought to be careful around her."

Silence fell on their dinner like rain when the short explanation was done. "You didn't have to be so rude to her." The captain's response was plain and simple, hoping that facts might be the best way to reach the Honor Guard lieutenant. Flag seemed unaffected.

"Everything I said was true, and I didn't say anything you didn't already know. You had her introduce you to Grizzaloo, didn't you? At least he might be fit for what you're doing."

"How did you-" Shining stopped midsentence, choking down his words. "This doesn't matter. I found a bank account here in Baltimare owned by a Masquerade Ball. Once I talk to Solo, I'll see if I can track down an address."

"Masquerade Ball?" Flag seemed to almost chew on the name. "I had heard 'Masquerade' was her full name. Check the city records building for 'Ball' with a false first name. You might turn something up that I hadn't. If you need resources or a place to stay, we keep a safe-house at 147 Dawn Way, Apartment C. You might want to put Solo there if you go check out a potential site. Masquerade wouldn't hesitate to kill her any more than she will hesitate to kill you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to catch a train."

"Soldier On is coming in on the 7:52 from Vanhoover. I'll restrain her, and then find you." She rose to her hooves , put back her chair, and then turned back to Shining Armor. "One last question, Captain. If On has been removed from command, am I...?"

It took him a moment's thought to realize what she meant. Then, firmly, he shook his head. "The Princess picked another Stalliongradi pony - a pegasus named Red Ink. He's the Tsar's son. Kind of a-"

"A relief?" Shining's brow rose. "He's not exactly what I'd call the best commanding officer..."

She cut him off with a raised hoof. The slight folds of her muzzle and the fire in her eyes said everything about her mood that she kept hidden from her voice. "Yes, Shining Armor. I was. There's no point dwelling in my past. You're that pony now."

She was halfway to the doorway when Shining Armor placed a hoof on her shoulder. She braced herself for his sympathies and turned to look at him.

His face was not one of sympathy; it was cold and hard and above all else, determined. It was a face she had seen a thousand times on Unending Vigil, and the Commander. It was the face of a leader. A face she had forgotten. He spoke to her bluntly. "Were you friends with Soldier On?"

Flag had to think about her words, before nodding. "We all were, Captain. But you and I both know that the mission comes before friends. Good hunting." Walking out the door of the restaurant, White Flag reflected on the Royal Guard's young captain. The amethyst armor fit him better than it ever had her.

The 7:52 from Vanhoover was pulled into Baltimare station by a team of five titanic earth ponies at precisely 7:43 P.M. Standing in front of the door of the second passenger cabin, an excited and yet angry pegasus began to lose patience as he waited for the doors to be opened.

His brown trench coat sat uncomfortably over his back, lacking the space to properly conceal his wings. Most ponies would probably assume it was from discomfort, but the truth was very different. Red Ink's signature black coat was in fact probably the cheapest thing he owned. He'd bought it the same day his brother died, on a whim. It had been on sale in the store window, a size too small and of far too thin a material to actually keep away the cold of a real Stalliongradi winter. It had cost three bits, and over the years that tiny investment had come to represent his devotion to his cause. In Stalliongrad it meant strength and power, and in that way it was more comforting than any fabric.

Princess Celestia had given him the trench coat when he asked her for a disguise. It probably belonged to the Commander, or perhaps even his predecessor. It smelled of age and money, and its thick and comfortable fabric left Ink feeling like he had betrayed what he felt he represented. It also seemed altogether ridiculous, reminding him of the detective stories about hard-boiled sleuths and hysterical dames that a young pony might buy for just one bit at the local shop. That was to say, in his eyes, that it looked almost fictitious. Nevertheless, without any basis on 'fashion', he was prepared to trust Celestia's judgment.

When the doors swung open, he stepped off in a hurry. Serp and Molot followed behind, leaving enough space to suggest the three ponies weren't connected. Molot had cleaned up well, wearing no armor or clothing at all, and wearing only horseshoes for a weapon. Serp, ever on the edge of attacking ponies at random, wore a necktie that hung only half-tightened around his neck, along with a business coat that failed completely to fit with his personality. Like Ink's coat, its only purpose was to conceal the razor sharp blades lining the crests of his wings, and in that, at least, it fulfilled its purpose.

Ink ignored his lackeys and marched into the city. He had nearly left the train terminal when a passing unicorn rather bluntly slapped him in the chest with a newspaper. He glared at the offending periodical, and then turned back toward the mare, but she was gone. He might have merely passed off the incident, had his eye not caught Stalliongradi characters written in bold red across the folded face of the paper. Careful not to give away his wings, he clutched the newspaper in his teeth and carried it to a waiting bench, where he unfolded it with his hooves and began to read.

Ink ignored the false, and bluntly libelous report, scanning down the page until he found the first of the Stalliongradi characters, clearly intended for him. They were, after all, written in his namesake.

"Nice to have competent subordinate for a change," Ink muttered to himself, tucking the paper into his jacket. Without hesitation, he set a course for the Chocolate Market, leaving behind the train station.

Standing next to the third of the passenger cars from the front, White Flag spared a momentary glance to watch him go. The 'easy part' of her plan had been taken care of, and now she needed only to find Soldier On. Ink's appearance on the train was almost miraculously bad, guaranteeing that the cunning traitorous Honor Guard would have found somewhere to hide or get off the train. Knowing On, though, Flag was certain that she had arrived somehow. The strong, silent mare was known amongst the Honor Guard first and foremost for her tenacity. She never left a job undone.

Her scan of the remaining cars revealed that On was not onboard. Disguises worked well for colors or mane-styles, but the earth pony's enormous size wasn't easy to conceal. The reality, however, was that nopony was on board at all, save the conductor. He gave her an odd look until she flashed her badge, at which point his concern disappeared.

Stepping back out of the train and onto the platform, Flag shook her head. None of the ponies who had crowded off the train could possibly have matched her target. "Nopony is that good..." she muttered, as the gears of her mind spun with possibilities. She scanned once more over the train, from its caboose to the four tired earth ponies harnessed to the engine.

"Four?" A smile broke over her face, and she laughed aloud. "Of course, the Stalliongradis make the trains run on time. Clever, On." A moment later, her eyes located a small door at the far side of the station, labeled 'Staff Only'. Casually, she began to make her way over. It took only a slight touch of magic to unlock the door, and with a gentle push, it swung open on well-greased hinges. Behind it lay a short hallway with at least four doors, leading to a sharp corner. She took two full strides into the back area, before a sudden pain met the back of her neck. Her mind raced, exploring the dull colors of the linoleum floor and the plaster walls as they blended together in an instant. Whatever painter had produced the scene then added shadows, here and there, steadily increasing until the whole world was plunged into darkness.

The moon reached its peak in the sky when the unfortunate burly stallion stopped walking abruptly. The cart shook, shedding its excess speed. Its unwilling passenger was thrown forward, his coat striking the bars around him. He was roused instantly. A warrior's eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, pulling in the shapes in the shadows. They were somewhere in the desert. The location was impossible to tell, when sand stretched on to the horizon infinitely in all directions. Masquerade was standing beside his cell, facing down a dozen boars. The simple fact that they weren't already fighting told him the creatures were more than simple bandits. In the middle of the group was the only boarish face he recognized.

Most boars were about a little bit bigger than griffons - a head and a half over an average stallion, with a fair deal more breadth. He stood easily three times that height, with tusks that hung nearly to the ground before scything back up a full foot. Their shape suggested that they could pull the belly out of a pony with no more effort than falling asleep, even before one considered the deadly serrated barbs that had grown on their tips.

"You brought him?" The enormous boar's voice was deafening when it was heard, but it grew more quiet in the memory, until the it was hard to remember that he had spoken at all.

"I will never understand you ponies, and your obsession with the soft metal." The boar looked across his kin. "Steel is more valuable than gold." At least one laughed in a guttural tone, but the fading light made a count impossible.

"Clever." Masquerade shook her head. The Commander couldn't see her face, but his mind draped mild annoyance over it. "I'd say that everypony has a price, but I'm not about to disagree with you. Where is it?"

The boar's tusks shone with a fuzzy brown aura, though the Commander knew that in a moment, none would be able to recall the presence of magic at all, let alone the color. A bag was levitated off the back of a smaller boar, and dropped in front of the assassin. Already, he had forgotten the hue of the aura.

"Perfect." Masquerade must have been looking at the bag hungrily, desperate for its contents. She didn't even bother checking the bag, instead lifting it onto her own back with her distinctly black magic. "Does our arrangement still stand?"

"Hunt his friends until there are none left, pony. But first, free him. I would make him stand before me and answer." Khagan's blunt, boorish snout curled up, pulling his lip away from his teeth. They were big, spade-shaped yellowing things, visible for their color and their despicable appearance even in the dim light.

He hadn't thought he'd been noticed, but such was the perception gifted to the ageless. Steel answered by rising shakily to his hooves. Masquerade turned toward him, and he saw her face wore surprise and concern. He gave her a cold nod, though even he wasn't sure what it really meant. It simply felt right. Without warning, his rear left leg gave out beneath him, and with a sharp crack, his jaw collided with the wooden floor of his cell. The boars laughed. All save Khagan.

"I had expected better. Tell me, pony, if the stories of you are true, who placed a wound upon your body?"

Steel didn't answer. His wings helped lift his body, and with all the strength he could muster, he stood proud. He couldn't afford the weakness of the fatigue that made the world swim in front of his eyes. Masquerade's whisper salt had all-but broken him. Even at his best, he couldn't fight one of Celestia's peers. The pride of trying had led him to that night. It had finally come to costing his life.

Khagan's tusks skipped magic altogether, and smashed the iron bars of the cage holding the Commander into broken pipes and splinters as if they had been toothpicks and twine. Then, he stared at Steel and simply waited.

The pegasus took an unsteady step forward, and then another. Finally, his hooves met the edge of the cage, and he stepped free for the first time in weeks. His wings brought him down, leaving him to land carefully on the sandy, dusty ground. The boars encircled him.

In defiance, Steel held his tongue. Khagan roared out a bellow that echoed into the night and memory in equal proportion. Steel waited for it to rot its way out of his mind, and then turned to Masquerade.

"Look at me, pony!" Khagan's demand was feral, and almost desperate. Steel ignored it.

Masquerade looked between the boar and the pony, and then offered a slow nod. "Yes."

"Then this is it." Steel swept his right forehoof in a semicircle in the sand. The motion ended with the limb outstretched, and his body lowered to the ground, weight shifted away from his crippled leg. His wings unfurled slowly, resisting his every sudden motion. The world swam as his blood shifted and his heart sped up, readying itself to once more wield his special talent.

Khagan, the boar a mere step away from divinity, laughed. "Do you intend to fight me? You've grown proud sitting by Celestia's side. I will enjoy this."

He didn't speak, but the curt nod of his chin was plenty of answer. The mirth left Khagan's face, replaced with focus. The boars were warriors as a race, bearing both the Arcana of unicorns and the Endura of the earth ponies in heaping measure. They were shaped for battle, with heavy bodies that could take all manner of punishment and walk away even before the gifts of their magic. Pegasi, masters of Empatha with its flight and speed, were their natural foe, more agile than a boar could follow and able to flee into the air where their strength made no difference. Even then, a battle of magic was a battle of attrition, and every time it would be the boarish ruler who won out.

What little advantage the Commander might have had was lost to the drugs flowing through his veins. He might be able to fly over a short distance, but not fast enough to evade the Warchief's magic, nor strong enough to turn his own Empatha against the boar. His challenge was doomed from the start, but not all battles were fought with the goal of winning.

His wings gave him speed not upward, but straight toward the boar, aided by a three-legged lunge. Khagan was prepared, bringing up his tusks just as Steel had hoped he would. Shining Armor or White Flag might have called it a chess ploy, but Steel never played the game. It was too easy to start thinking of comrades as 'pawns'. Instead, he likened his plan to his own duty - making a sacrifice for the betterment of Equestria. In the desert, his sacrifice was his wing, and its loss was painful. The tusk collided hard, with force brought on by a magic beyond mere muscular strength. The limb was thrown out of its socket and broken in the same searing pain. Its trade came a moment later, when he landed a blow on Khagan's skull with his forehoof. It would have been a felling blow against a pony, and even the average boar would not have walked away easily. Against the titanic strength of the boar Warchief, it did next to nothing.

The momentum of the lunge and the collision sent the Commander spinning in midair, and with a heavy collision, he landed on the sand atop his injured wing. He was grateful that the whisper salt numbed his pain. Even without full sensation, black and white dots filled the edges of his vision. He knew he couldn't pay them any mind, and years of instincts kicked in when the pain overrode his thoughts. He was low, and Khagan was large. It wasn't much, but his mind pulled out an opening. He carried the roll until he was left lying on his back in the space beneath the towering boar's belly. There, he lashed out with the three legs that could manage, landing blow after heavy blow against Khagan's ribs. His speed came from desperation, and his strength from a lifetime of dedication. They made a powerful combination. Blood was drawn and a rib broken in the sparse few seconds before an aura of magic tore the warrior out from beneath his opponent by his tail. The arcane grip swung him a dozen feet into the air, and then smashed him against the sand like a whip.

That single blow, between his skull and the densely packed desert sand, ended the battle. Merely the sound of the collision was enough to make the fact clear. Steel felt his other wing break, along with at least one of his ribs and his right foreleg. He struggled to draw breath between the bouts of pain that surged through his body like the lightning he had once been known to wield.

Even laying on the ground, bleeding and beaten, the Commander had yet to admit defeat. As Khagan stomped forward with heavy footfalls that shook the spinning world, Steel focused his emotions. Spasms of pain only built on his determination, and as slowly as he could, he dragged both his hind legs through the sand. The motion was defined only by its sheer agony. The rolling of his hips twisted the broken spurs of bone in his chest, sending shards of rib tearing through muscle and flesh. He couldn't even see for the pain, but the beating of the Warchief's approaching hooves told him that his one and only opportunity was approaching. When his legs were finally contracted, and his focus as tight as it could ever be, he lashed out.

One leg extended. One too few. The burn that had claimed his cutie mark, and his skill as a warrior had also claimed his life. Without both legs, the magic didn't come. The lightning wasn't there. The stunning blow that might have bought him a swift death in retribution simply didn't come to pass. One leg shot out, in a weak buck, a foot too far to even land a hit. He'd been counting on the lightning for one last time in his life, and it failed him.

"F... Finish..." The horizon leapt up and down, blurring against the night sky. "...finish it."

"You wish to die, 'Commander'? Such a tragedy. I thought you might last longer before you begged."

"Oh? We will have to fix that." Khagan glanced to the other boars. "Take him back. Treat his wounds. In the morning, I will break him again."

"What?" Masquerade's face wore a shocked expression. "You said you'd kill him! I didn't agree to torture."

"If I had simply wanted him to die, I would have had you kill him amongst his kind. If I were to kill him, his Princess will send his soul to a life of peace and happiness. I want him to suffer, the way my kind suffered at his hooves. Body, heart, and soul. He will watch helplessly as you and I eradicate everypony he has ever cared about. Then, perhaps, I will end him. Go away, pony, and bring me the others, if you can still stomach the work. I may permit them quick deaths."

Masquerade forced herself to look at the broken, bloodied pony who lay on his belly on the sand. She gritted her teeth, hardening her heart and steeling her resolve. The chill brought to mind harsh winters spent in the icy hell of the dragons, learning her craft. This was what she wanted. This was her life. She wouldn't turn back. She couldn't let her resolve be broken.

She walked over to Steel's side. Khagan watched her with curiosity, but a casual motion of his own hoof stopped his entourage from approaching to hold her at bay. The pegasus looked up at her, and his gaze was shocking. She'd expected pleading eyes. She'd expected him to ask her to kill him. To stomp on his throat or spine, or wield her magic, and simply end it all there. Instead, his glassed-over orbs were just as cold and just as unfeeling as the first time she had laid eyes on him. Though his breathing was ragged, he took the time to draw up words.

The assassin glanced back at the creature, and then shook her head. "He only wanted you."

"Good..." Steel's shattered chest shook with a hint of a laugh that was smothered almost immediately by its pain. "Equestria...safe..." A droplet of blood traced its way out of his ear, and down his cheek. His tongue flicked at it idly. "No war... Go..."

Even for her lifestyle, and her forced detachment, Masquerade was sad to see the noble guardspony as he faced his brutal end. "Goodbye, Steel. I was glad to know you. I'm sorry."

His face, covered as it was in sand and blood, nevertheless rose from the ground to look her in the eye. His voice struggled with the words. "Not... my..." As the last escaped his lips, he collapsed to the sand, unconscious. " ...friend..."

Masquerade walked away from the only contract she had ever ended without killing the target. It was the only contract that had ever left her with a regret.

Shining Armor watched as a sullen and angry Going Solo pushed her way into Baltimare City Hall. The few ponies left at that late hour fled out of the way of the angry pegasus, though the actions were likely motivated by deference to the armored unicorn who followed her. Marbled floors led to a polished dark wood desk, where an aged stallion with spectacles watched the approaching storm.

"I have!" the smuggler answered furiously, before turning on the old unicorn behind the desk. "We're with the Royal Guard. We need to find a pony named Masquerade Ball."

"Can you... aargh!" Through gritted teeth, the pegasus roared, slamming her hooves on the wooden counter. The sound gathered every single set of eyes that still lingered in the room. "Just tell us!"

"I cannot release personal documents without proof of membership in the Royal Guard, or a search warrant signed by a Magistrate or seated Judge. It's the law."

Growing tired, Shining responded with the voice she often offered him. "Yes, I can see that. Now, relax and let me deal with this." The real guardspony turned to the old stallion. "Captain Shining Armor, of the Royal Guard." He indicated to the small seal emblazoned on the shoulder of his armor - a suitable substitute for a badge. "We're looking for records, particularly of residence, for anypony with the surname 'Ball', especially attached to 'Masquerade'."

"Of course, Captain. Let me see what I can dig up for you." The old pony turned around and ducked back into one of the many doors behind the counter.

Business dealt with, Shining turned back to Going Solo, who was hovering in midair with her forelegs folded across her chest and her back turned to her partner. "Solo, what's wrong? Really? Red Ink said worse things than Flag did, and you didn't-"

"I mean, I'm useless here. You're the real fighter. You have a guardspony badge. You're smart, and clever, and everypony does what you say. What do you really need me tagging along for?"

Shining Armor heard the wounds in her voice, and answered with his kindest tone. "You've helped me more than you know, Going Solo."

"How?" He was silent. "Tell me how." He didn't answer. He couldn't give her one. "All you needed was somepony to help you meet Grizzaloo, right? You agree with her, don't you?"

Solo turned and looked Shining straight in the eyes. The force of her gaze was enough to stop his words. He could feel the pain in her eyes. Her voice was firm and demanding, suggesting a hidden strength standing up under her emotions. "You think I'm going to get in the way, don't you? You think I can't help you. That's why you left me behind in Cloudsdale."

Shining looked away. "It's my special talent, Solo. I protect other ponies. I'm a guardspony."

"And who watches out for you?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Who guards the guardspony?"

He heard in her words another voice, one he had lied to bluntly in order to spare her pain. "Are you safe, Shining?" Cadance had asked. He'd told her he was. He'd lied, the same way he lied to Twilight, and his parents.

"Nopony," he told her slowly, admitting the truth. "Sometimes that what it means to be Captain."

Tears built up beneath Solo's eyes, but they didn't spill down her face. She held them in, leaving her only with an angry expression. "I guess you don't need me, then." Once more, Shining Armor's words came too late to stop her from flying out of the room and into the Baltimare night.

"Mares..." The voice suggested understanding instead of sarcasm. It held a sympathy that Shining did not want to hear. He turned toward the old clerk, who was approaching with a few sheets of paper. "Is she your wife?"

"No." The Captain collapsed onto his flank, staring as the swinging doors slowly lost momentum. His armor felt suddenly heavy, and he regretted his every word. He knew what he should have said. "Just a friend." He wished he'd said that sooner. She'd been there to stand up for him, to support him, and to heighten his mood. Without her, the fatigue and the stress of his mission suddenly fell onto his back. His mind, kept from wandering thoughts, drifted to Cadance and Twilight. Loneliness gripped him in a city of millions.

"Well, if she's a real friend, she'll be back." The old pony smiled. "I promise."

"Well, I found what you were looking for. Ms. Ball - the paper just says 'M.' for a first name - has an apartment off no more than two blocks from here. Another pony named 'Mystery Ball' owns a house on the south side of the river. Judging by the size, it sounds like one of those old all-white plantation mansions. There's a lien on the property for unpaid excavation work, and a number of reports by neighbors demanding that the grounds be maintained."

"Perfect." Shining smiled, though he failed to put much feeling into the expression. "Thank you."

"My pleasure to help a guardspony." The clerk gave a stiff bow, before looking back at Shining. "Are you certain she's 'just a friend'?"

"Just a misinterpretation, I suppose," the aged stallion answered, before pulling a key out of a drawer behind his desk. "I've got to close City Hall now, Captain, unless you need anything else.

Shining allowed himself to be ushered outside without resistance, where he was finally able to clear his mind. The chill in the night air was plenty to sweep away uncomfortable thoughts and bring back to mind his mission. He glanced down at the paper he had been given, and then magically folded it up and tucked it into his armor. The spell seemed slow to rise, and felt draining on his horn. He made a note of his own magical fatigue - the inevitable effect of a long mission - and then began trudging down the street.

True to the clerk's word, the apartment building in question was only a short distance away. It was a modern structure of sleek glass and stone, towering into the sky with an opulent penthouse apartment at its crown. A pony in a light jacket and a tie stood at the door, holding it open for the few residents who had yet to make their way home. Shining walked past him without a word, receiving a curious glance in turn.

There were a thousand words to be said about the furnishings of the lobby, from its marble floors to its hoof-crafted trim. He ignored them all, walking with swift determination, never allowing himself pause to contemplate the danger he was approaching. Stairs sloped upward in smooth stone and polished wood. He only saw his path. Two floors. Three. Six. He didn't think between counting until he reached eight. The target. His goal. The door to the hallway of small apartments was locked, but it offered no impediment to a guardspony's kick. The splinters spread over his steel-lined shoes and he felt pure, unadulterated nothing.

The sheet of paper read 812, and so did the door. More interesting than the number plate was the scraped paint on the doorframe. It had been forced in, and an incredible force at that, as the deadbolt had been ripped clean out of the wall. He pressed on the door as gently as he could, swinging it silently open.

The bliss of the absence of sensation was gone with his first look down into the room. His brain swam in a cocktail of adrenaline, focus, and desperation. Soldier On stood over two bodies. A pair of ponies lay still and dead. One more pony, a stallion, was breathing quickly as the traitor stared him down in relative calm. He could do nothing but watch in awe as her hoof rose and fell. The sound was terrible, but brief. He moved toward her, gathering mana. Focused eyes and gentle breaths were broken by the noise of his approach. Words weren't necessary, but his tongue threw them out anyway, not bothering to ask for permission.

"Soldier On, by the authority of Princess Celestia and the Domain of Canterlot, I place you under arrest for treason against your crown and country, and for murder."

"Armor?" Her legs straightened beneath her, restoring her to the advantage of height. He'd forgotten her size, but it offered him no intimidation. He'd fought larger monsters. Magic was his shield, and at times, a sword as well. "What are you doing here?"

She wasn't wearing armor at all. Her coat bore the color of eggshells, but none of their fragility. It glowed with the tone of roses alongside his rising magic. The fatigue from earlier rose in his mind, but he forced it down. Bolts, like thunder, flew toward her from point blank. She sidestepped two, faster than any pony ought to have been able to react. The third she struck mid-flight with her right forehoof, inches away from her muzzle. As the rippling waves of mana spilled down her coat, she stared at the limb, failing to bend her ankle. She had no idea that the spell would have paralyzed the whole body of a normal pony. Her blank stare seemed confounded.

"Did you kill these ponies?" She looked down where he gestured, and then nodded. The lack of remorse on her face turned a thousand Royal Guard rumors and gossiped stories into frigid fact. A sea of hot, wet bile surged up his throat, stopping just behind his mouth. It didn't come from corpses; he'd seen enough of them in his time. He forced himself to focus. "You'll receive a fair trial in Canterlot." Truth and justice murdered compromise. "Give up."

"Who-" He smothered his own question. It was a ploy. It had to be. He'd let his guard down, and then he'd be just as dead as the other ponies. He stepped back, channeling magic into his horn. The mana fought against his call. When his glow built up again, Soldier On's gaze was one of disappointment.

"You aren't going to listen to me?" Before he could even consider an answer, she moved.

The battle began with a tempo that outpaced any Shining Armor had ever known. Soldier On's hooves moved heavily, providing a bass beat like war drums. Allegro was the order of the day. Their deadly dance began with On lunging into the air off her left leg. There, she seemed to float, as Shining's magic added a blare of brass to the percussive undertones. Spells struck Soldier On dozens of times; she ignored them all. Her limp right hoof came down on the second beat, sending a ringing pain through Shining's skull. His jaw bounced off the floor on the half-step, long enough a time for On to land and grab onto the Captain's neck with her left foreleg. The third beat of the first measure was a shift of her weight, leading to a crescendo of pain as he was hurled across the room. Drywall cracked and dust covered his pristine armor.

"Then surrender." Shining rose to his hooves, feeling the building headache that came from drained magic. He didn't have nearly enough left to fight as he would like. It left one option he would have rather avoided, but it was all he could do. She was charging him.

It was strange for the rather large unicorn to be the smaller of combatants, but the difference gave him a distinct advantage. Her next blow came from a curving swing, taking the long path to his side to build momentum. He ducked, hearing the hoof whistle through the air just above his neck. Then he rose, with a blow of his own, to her jaw.

She blocked his next blow with her own foreleg, and the contest evolved into a grapple. There, Soldier On's advantage was undeniable. Even with a limp leg, she was pressing him backward. He ducked and spun, and used every trick he'd ever learned on the Royal Guard training field. She anticipated and countered them all as though he were a raw recruit. He needed magic to beat her, and for magic, he needed space.

She gave it to him, painfully. Rising up on her hind legs, she lifted Shining by his torso, and then tossed him into the air. The motion was too fast for him to avoid, and his shift to the side only left his belly exposed instead of his back. As he fell back toward the floor of the apartment, she stepped forward, and reared up on her forelegs.

Shining was thrown a full twenty feet to the far wall of the room, where he not only crashed into, but through the drywall. He rolled across the floor of the next room as the world spun in his eyes.

He rose with her next step forward, bruised but not beaten. Platinum's Ward had kept his bones from breaking, but it paid off the debt with his already weakened magic. Tired and lacking focus from the pain, Shining had to hope the raw power of his spell would pay off. He let his part rest for a beat, as Soldier On turned toward him. There wasn't so much a hole in the wall where had passed, as a complete lack of wall. A section easily as wide as two grown stallions had been torn away and broken into dust on the floor. Through the gap, he could see his opponent approaching quickly. His magic slowly built in volume as she ran forward. Two, three, four seconds, all passed in peace.

Then she reached him, and he could wait no longer. The spell he chose came of desperation and an instinct for survival. His magic scythed through the air in a rose arc. Its target was On's chest. Only a leg's reach away, she leapt to the left. Her body curved in midair, pulling herself away. The motion passed like lightning. There were pegasi who wished they could move as fast as the traitorous titan. Nevertheless, the spell cut too close. Its raw mana touched her right ear, halfway up its length. The noise might have been a whisper, but the drip of blood was unmistakable. She paid it no mind for as long as it took to bring a hoof around upon the Royal Guard. Her blow struck the crown of his head, throwing him downward onto the floor again.

He considered rising, but the pain throbbing in his head, and the fatigue in his horn warned him otherwise. If he could have won the battle, he would have done so already. Without his full magic, he simply wasn't her equal.

"You tried to kill me." Her hoof felt the smooth cut where half her ear had been taken away. Her face bore almost no expression, save a slight widening of her eyes. "I didn't think you had it in you, Captain, but your Arcana is weaker than I was expecting." Shining Armor let out a little gasp that might have become a word. The noise stopped when he felt an overbearing weight press against his exposed throat. "Do not speak. Listen." Her limp hoof was pulled up limply by its shoulder until it pointed toward the trio of corpses. "The stallion was the last link in the chain to Masquerade. He has records of contracts, but not customers. Flag will know how to use the body to track the assassin, provided she survives the night. I will arrange that, so do not try to stop me. I won't hesitate to kill you if we meet this way again."

Her hoof was pulled away from his throat, a necessary tool in walking away. As the earth pony approached the door, Shining found his voice in accusation. "Why did you do it?"

She didn't feel the need to turn around and face him when she spoke. "Believe what you want."

A boar, a griffin, and a pegasus walked into a bar. Going Solo eyed the latter of the three from her seat in the corner, but otherwise paid no mind to the potential humor of the situation. She hadn't come to gawk at barflies and regulars. She'd come to forget.

Her glass was still half-full, as her usual self would put it, though she was more inclined to label it half-empty at that moment. She would have loved to drown her thoughts of Shining Armor, and his uptight 'good cop' act, and his smile, and his incredible musculature...

She took a long drink, leaving her with a quarter-full/mostly-empty glass. Forget Shining Armor. He didn't want her, and she certainly didn't want him. Besides, in a bar like this, she was certain she could fine a pony just as big and welcoming, who'd be all-too-happy to climb into a comfortable bed with her and help her forget. She contemplated a mare, briefly, but there wasn't any interest even in the thought of the young rainbow thing from a few days earlier. No, it was definitely a stallion night.

She wished there had been that pony sitting at the bar. He would have been a pegasus, with big strong wings and the sort of jaw you could slice bread with. His tail would be well kept at the top, but if your eyes traced it down, you'd find the end to be rough and dirty and glorious. And his flanks would be built like boulders, thick and tough like you could almost take a bite out of. He'd turn and look at her, and his mane would flit out of his eyes, and he'd smile the way nopony else in the entire world could smile. The way Shining Armor smiled.

"No!" She yelled, smashing the table. At a Baltimare bar, nearing midnight, none of the patrons even bothered affording her a glance for the outburst. Her stallion wasn't there... or was he?

She glanced to the newcomers. He wasn't sitting at the bar, ready to offer that perfect smile, but the pegasus was surprisingly handsome. He and his non-pony companions had climbed into a stall in the far corner, waiting for service. She looked down at her glass, shrugged, and drained it. The flavor wasn't worth writing home about, but the splash of heat in her throat was exactly what she needed. She got to her hooves and made her way over.

"...so then I says to him, 'ey, no , ya got it all wrong. I'm the replacements.' And this stupid chef gives me this crazy look, and 'e's like 'then who's sick'?" The three mismatched creatures shared a healthy laugh, before the pegasus stallion continued. "So I slipped in a figured out which table it was, and nopony even-"

The boar slapped his shoulder, cutting off his story. It took only a simple gesture to draw their collective attention toward Going Solo. It was the griffon who spoke to her first, with a surprisingly clean tone. "Can we do something for you, miss?"

She put on her friendliest smile, though inside she caught herself wondering if it looked fake. "I figured I could do something for your friend, actually. Can I bother you for a drink?"

The pegasus and the griffin shared an easily-read glance. The pegasus put his forehooves behind his head and leaned back, as the griffin slid to the side to make room. Their third compatriot, the boar, looked at the griffin with disgust. "Honestly, Alexandros?"

The pegasus, in turn reached forward and slapped both simultaneously. "Let's watch how we're talking in front of a beautiful mare, alright boys?" His focus then turned to her. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Not tonight," the griffin whispered, placing a talon over his beak that utterly failed to muffle his comment. The pegasus slapped him again.

"Sorry about Alexandros. He can be a bit forward, but he's a great guy when you get to know him. My boarish friend here is Bataar, and I'm On A. Mission."

He laughed. It had a nice tone, but it wasn't like Shining's. She shook her head as he spoke. "Well played... something wrong?"

"Just something stupid. It's no big deal. You were telling a story... are you a chef?"

He glanced quickly to his friends, his smile disappearing momentarily. It returned wider than before, though only slightly. "I used to be a short-order cook, but I got out of that business pretty quick. My friends and I are contractors."

"That we are," Mission replied. "You should see some of the things Bataar can lift. He's like a living construction crane."

"And a jackhammer," Bataar added, with a tone of sarcastic annoyance. "And a drill. And a cart. And-"

"Me?" Solo shrugged. "Nothing interesting, really. I manage acquisition and distribution at a general store in Canterlot."

"Corporate?" Mission raised a brow. Solo had to imagine there weren't many corporate mares slumming it in Baltimare bars at midnight. "Well, if it brings in the bits, that's all that matters." He wrapped a wing around Solo's shoulders. "Speaking of acquisitions, though, I gotta ask something. Bataar, did you get that contract figured out?"

The boar nodded. "The train, you mean? Yeah. I was a little worried, since it showed up early, but the Stalliongradi didn't give me any trouble."

Alexandros placed one of his talons firmly on the table, gathering their attention. "Is this something we should really be discussing in present company?"

"Oh, come on," Mission protested. "It's not like she's gonna get her feelings hurt if we talk shop a bit. And, if she does..." his words grew slower, as he nuzzled her neck. The sensation of his warm breath filled her with life. "...I know a few ways to make her feel better."

She flicked him with a wingtip when he started to nibble. "Let's get some drinks first."

"Start?" The little bit of fuzz at the front of Solo's mind spoke for her. "I'm already on my third Scotch..."

Mission's brow rose before a laugh escaped his chest. "Fair enough. Looks like we'll just have to catch up. You heard the lady, Al."

"Yeah, I heard." The griffin stalked away, leaving the pegasi and the boar behind.

"So, Mission," began Bataar, stumbling over his words with his heavy tongue. "Now that the, uh... now that purple and the brain are done, do we go for Stalliongrad, or head for the Ball?"

Mission smiled. "I think we've already taken enough contracts in Baltimare. We'll just wait for my cooking to settle, and then head out. I'll drop off Shiney-Hiney, and you take care of the smarty-pants."

"Oh, a friend of ours who dropped by to do a survey for a project. He's a big-shot unicorn from Canterlot."

Solo smiled seductively. "You know, Mission, I'm not so sure I'm thirsty after all. I'm actually just feeling tired." She let her breath slide over his ear.

The pegasus wasn't about to let his opportunity pass. He shot up a bit faster than Going Solo was expecting, though still maintaining the wing around her shoulder. "I have a hotel room just up the street from here."

Solo nodded, tight-lipped, and allowed the 'contractor' to lead the way. She paused in her journey out only long enough to grab a table knife. It would have to do.

Going Solo believed in pleasure before business. Perhaps this was why, not so long later, she found herself pressing a hoof down on Mission's shoulder, straddling him on the cheap hotel bed. His eyes were unfocused, still dwelling in the pleasure of mere moments past. They didn't see the mare pull out a knife, or bring it to bear on his throat. He was only dragged out of his blissful reverie when he felt the cold keen blade press through his coat against his flesh.

"I asked you a bucking question!" she yelled, taking a page out of Grizzaloo's book.

"I don't know! Please don't hurt me!" The crack of his voice turned his masculine tones into almost pitiable whining. Almost.

"Then don't lie to me!" The hoof that wasn't keeping pressure against the knife slapped Mission across the face. "What did you use?"

His words dissolved into panting sobs. Her muzzle wrinkled in disgust. "Really? You're going to start crying now?"

The idea was all too familiar. "Masquerade?" Solo's intensity only grew. "Where is she?" He didn't answer quickly enough. She leaned down, inches from his face. "Where is she?"

"I don't know! Really! I'm just a thief. I tried to break into her house on the south of here. All she wanted was for me to was poison Armor so he wouldn't 'get in the way'. We had to have him done before the train got here."

"Bataar knows. There were these guardsponies we had to capture, alive. Bataar already got one, and we were using her as bait for her friend. We were allowed to just kill Armor, if he got in the way. I don't think the poison will actually kill him. That's all I can say. I promise. Don't kill me."

Something about that particular plea was comforting. Solo reached back with her free hoof to the short post at the foot of the bed, where she had discarded her vest. In the process of slipping it on, she grabbed a few whisper salt crystals. They slid into her own mouth unnoticed, before dissolving in her saliva. Then she leaned forward and gave him the deepest kiss she had shared in the entire night. His eyes went wide in a potent mixture of fear, confusion, and arousal. It took a moment for him meet her exploratory tongue, but when he did, she handed him all of the potent drug she could manage.

She pulled back, eased up on the knife, and smiled. He smiled back. Then she punched him in the face. Once, twice, and on the third time, he collapsed. She got off his body, throwing the covers over his exposed form, and brushed herself off. His company hadn't been calming, but it had brought relief and answers. She moved over to the window, removing the deadbolt and leaving a small opening to allow later access from the outside. Then, she turned back to the door and ran away. There was no time to lose.

- - -

Thanks to SatoshiKyu for pre-reading.

Feel free to comment below - but if you've got errors to correct, let me know via private message (so we don't clog the comments with errors I then go on to fix).

I don't pretend to be the most talented artist in the world, but if you want to see some of my renditions of the characters, check out my DeviantArt account. Let me know in the comments who you'd like to see next.

On that note, since I've gotten a few questions, people are welcome to write derivative fics, color my pictures, or generally just do whatever you want with this work, so long as you credit me, link to the fic, and let me know (because I want to see too!)

Wondering why there was no Rainbow in this chapter?
Look forward to a Special Nightmare Night chapter, coming soon!

Where Loyalties Lie: Honor Guard

by LoyalLiar

XII - Perils