//------------------------------// // Chapter One // Story: My Cross to Bear // by Pick-Six //------------------------------// The unicorn stallion shifted uncomfortably in the metal seat, pushing his glasses back into place. Though he wasn't over the hill quite yet, the soft orange fur around his muzzle had begun to give way to grey. He looked down at the unadorned table situated in front of him, staring at the file resting upon it. The file was well-worn from countless perusals; It was the stallion's job to know as much as possible about his patients before he spoke to them. As a psychiatrist, he had experience with ponies who were uncomfortable with speaking to anypony, let alone some unknown head-shrinker. Normally, the warm, inviting setting of his practice would help put them at ease. Unfortunately, this wasn't a normal case, nor was it the normal setting. He sat in an interrogation room in Canterlot Castle, waiting for the guards to bring the patient (he preferred not to refer to her as a prisoner) into the cold, sterile room. The flourescent bulbs that lined the ceiling painted the room a stark blue hue. The doctor shivered slightly, still not used to the seemingly low temperature of the room. To take his mind off of his surroundings, he decided to look over the file once again. It took little concentration to magically flip through the pages of the file as he had already done many times before, but it helped keep him focused on the upcoming session. Opening a file in front of a patient always made them uncomfortable, and this one would liekly be no exception. Since the invasion on the castle a year ago, concerns had risen that changelings had replaced many residents and government officials, killing and taking the place of proper Equestrians. Paranoia was at an all-time high. In response to the concern, the Princesses had created task forces solely for the purpose of tracking and exposing these imposters. The doctor had counseled soldiers before, helping them cope with re-integration into civilian life. However, this case was going to be a new experience for him; he had never counseled a murderer. The abrupt clang of the heavy steel door opening startled him from his musing. The doctor watched as two prison guards, clad in cobalt armour, led his patient into the room. The mare had chains on all four of her hooves, as well as a large metal casing around her midsection, clamped down so tightly that she must have been in extreme discomfort. The casing held her wings in place, so that she would not be able to utilize them. The steel of her restraints stood out against the light green of her coat, highlighting the cold seriousness of her situation. The mare took her seat opposite the doctor as the guards took their places by the door. The patient looked at the doctor wearily, her face set in grim lines. The doctor smiled softly at her and began to speak. “Hello, Miss. My name is Doctor Quill. I'm here because I'd like to hear your story. May I ask you for your name?” He knew her name from the file, of course. Still, he found that ponies were more open to talking if he introduced himself and politely asked that they do the same. It didn't seem to affect the patient, though. She sat there, blankly staring at Dr. Quill. This didn't overly faze the doctor; he hadn't expected her to tell him her life story based on simple introductions and pleasantries. “I am told that prior to this... incident, you were a soldier. Royal guard in Princess Celestia's Sol Division. That is impressive.” Dr. Quill chuckled softly, although the echoes in the room lent an unexpected macabre tone to his laugh. “I attempted to enlist some years ago, back when I was young. Medical reasons kept me out, though.” The patient maintained her silence, much to the irritation of the guards. The female guard stamped her hoof on the ground, snorting angrily. The male guard practically shouted at her. “Listen, monster, the doctor is trying to help you. If you'd like, we can take you back to your cell and let you sit there until you're executed!” Dr. Quill had to resist the overwhelming urge to bring a hoof to his forehead. Damnit, if anything, behavior like that will just cause her to shut down! “Guards, Please! That is not helping!” Dr. Quill said emphatically. “Please, wait outside.” The guards both looked at the doctor like he was insane. The male guard spoke up again. “Sir, we were given strict orders to stay with you at all ti-” “Did your orders also include interrupting my conversation with my patient? Did they include interfering with this investigation?!” The doctor could feel his blood pressure rising as he fought to keep his tone neutral. The guards looked like they had swallowed something bitter. This doctor had been brought in by Princess Luna herself, and they did not want to be accused of hindering him. “Very well, sir. We will wait outside. Should you need anything, please, let us know.” Dr. Quill calmed down visibly. “Thank you, I will.” He blew out a sigh as the guards closed the door behind them. His patient was still looking at him. He knew that he had to get this discussion back on track, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't be easy after the guards' outbursts. “I am sorry for that, Miss. Being a guard is a high-stress job, and ponies often deal with that stress in... different ways.” He exhaled again before continuing. Perhaps the blunt truth was the best path to take. “I have read the reports, Miss. I was asked to come speak to you to gauge your mental stability. There are ponies out there that are calling for your head. Prince Blueblood himself is requesting a return of the Old Punishments.” Quill shuddered as he said that. The Old Punishments were abolished centuries ago. An eye for an eye was an outdated philosophy. To bring it back... The doctor shook the dark thought away, and focused on the mare before him. “I will not call you a murderer, nor will I call you a monster,” Quill stated plainly. His patient's eyes widened a bit; she was clearly not expecting to hear that. “I am not here to judge what you did, I am only here to listen to your side of the story. To help you.” His patient's expression became stoic again, though Quill could practically see the gears in her head turning. The doctor was contemplating what he could say to coax her further, when a sigh from across the table caught his attention. He could see that she was preparing herself to speak. He lifted his pen with his magic, ready to begin writing. “Whenever you are comfortable enough, Miss. Take your time.” The former royal guard looked down at the table as her thoughts flashed back to that day. ******** I was doing my job. We had been investigating a possible safehouse that the changelings had set up in the Ruby District here in Canterlot. All of our Intel suggested that a small jeweler's shop was being used as a front for the safehouse. They were taking changelings in and keeping them hidden until a suitable target could be picked out to eliminate and replace. We had been keeping tabs on the shop for days, waiting for the call to come down to take it out. The call finally came. Our spotters witnessed two figures being led into the safehouse roughly half an hour before dawn by four others. The spotters could hear faint sobbing and pleas coming from the two figures. The addition of hostages forced the team into action. The order was given, and the Dawnbreakers were sent in at sunrise. Glory and I covered the rear entrance, with Cirrus, Aegis, and Daggertail manning the front door. The shop did not have any windows, so we knew that the only two visible avenues of escape were covered. On the signal, both teams broke through the doors simultaneously, catching the inhabitants off-guard. They hadn't expected company, so they wore their natural forms openly. Glory hefted his spear, driving it into a changeling to his right, while I sped forward to neutralize a changeling who was beginning a spell. The changeling dodged my thrust, but his concentration on the spell was broken. He twisted toward me, snarling, and threw out a wing in an attempt to bring me off-balance. I blocked the wing with my spear and shifted my grip, propelling the spear into his side. The changeling howled in pain, and turned to flee with the spear still lodged between his ribs. I dropped the spear and drew my sword. The changeling stumbled forward as the resistance from my grip disappeared. I stood above him and slashed downward, severing the changeling's spine at the neck. I sheathed my sword, pulled my spear from him and continued into the shop. The storefront itself was not very large, as was expected. Our comrades up front were making short work of the changelings gathered there. It seemed that we had caught them preparing to bunk down for the night, as a majority of the changelings had been lying in cots that had been set up in the lobby section of the store when we entered. That was good news for the team, since it meant that they had likely not harmed the hostages yet. Glory caught up with me as I approached a staircase leading downward. He looked at me with a smirk on his face. “It seems like the other three have this floor secured. You ready to head down?” I smirked back at him, nodding. We made our way down the stairs. The stairs seemed to go on forever. There was no way that this was storage for the shop above. We finally reached the bottom of the stairs, coming to a poorly lit corridor. Electricity hadn't been run this far down, and the torches that lined the walls guttered and danced. It felt like a dungeon. There were four doors on each side of the corridor. The hostages were behind one of them. Glory and I looked at one another. “I'll take left.” That left me with the doors on the right. We began methodically breaking down each door, careful to keep pace with one another, just in case one of the rooms held a nasty surprise. The rooms themselves weren't that large, about the size of the shop above. They held beds with restraints, likely where the changelings brought their victims to be questioned about their lives before being killed. Glory and I reached the last set of doors, when a warning shout from above clued us in to a changeling fleeing down to the basement. Glory looked at me, nodding his head toward the unopened doors. “I'll take care of the straggler. Find our hostages so we can get the hell out of here.” I gave a curt nod, and he sped toward the staircase, preparing to engage. I broke down my door, and spotted the hostages in a corner of the room. The larger of the two, the female, lay in the lap of the other. Her body seemed withered and frail, as though she hadn't eaten in months. She wasn't moving. Yet, still, she had her arms wrapped around the smaller hostage, as though protecting him. The smaller hostage was a stallion, probably not much older than I was when I first enlisted. He was breathing rapidly, as though he were surprised to see me. I walked toward the prone figures and looked down upon them. The stallion looked up at me, shocked. When I saw his eyes.... I knew. I readied my spear, and brought it down upon him. I... ******** The mare shivered in her seat, her neutral face threatening to crumble under what she had to say next. While she was relaying the story to the doctor, she had been speaking in a military monotone, as though she were giving a scouting report. Whatever she was about to say clearly could not be said with the same emotional discipline. Dr. Quill looked at her steadily, not wanting to prod her before she was ready to speak again. “I misju-” Quill's patient blew an unsteady breath, attempting to regain control of her tongue. “Take your time, Miss.” After a moment, she seemed to be in control of herself again. “I misjudged my thrust... The kill wasn't clean.” Quill raised an eyebrow slightly. “I see... How many did it take?” Dr. Quill's patient broke eye contact, staring at her forehooves. “Four.” Both of the doctor's eyebrows raised at that. Four strikes... that could not have been pretty. He composed himself as she looked back up at him, and gently motioned for her to continue. “The stallion's cries brought Glory back to the threshold of the room. I heard him gasp as I pulled my weapon from the stallion's body for the last time. When I turned around, Glory was standing there in shock. His eyes took in what I had done, but his brain couldn't seem to process it. All he could do was say my name, over and over again.” Tears began to form in her eyes at that last admission. “Glory is...was... my closest friend. We've had each other's backs for so long... Still, even he couldn't understand, couldn't ask me why I did it.” The tears were falling freely as she looked back down at her hooves. “They call me a monster and a murderer... I understand why, and I don't blame them. They couldn't know...” Dr. Quill tilted his head quizzically. “They couldn't know what, Miss?” The patient looked back up at her doctor. Her voice was low and filled with anguish as she spoke. “That I was doing my fucking job.” ******** Dr. Quill sat across from his patient silently, giving her time to compose herself. He had to remind himself that this mare had just admitted to murdering somepony, otherwise he would have been greatly tempted to place a reassuring hoof upon hers. Instead, he simply sat there, hoping that she would draw some comfort from his presence. The patient's breathing grew steady after a moment. She eyed the plastic pitcher of cooled water sitting next to two paper glasses on the table. Looking back at the doctor, she spoke in a strained voice. “Doc, would you mind pouring me some water? My throat hurts.” The doctor smiled kindly at her. “Of course not.” He lifted the pitcher with his magic, pouring a generous amount of the cool liquid into one of the glasses, while filling the other glass about halfway. He shifted the full glass toward his patient, taking the other for himself. “When you're ready, Miss, I would like you to continue. I feel that you started at the end of your story. I'd like to hear what led up to the events that you've described to me.” Dr. Quill picked up his glass of water. “We can take a small break before we proceed, if you'd like.” The mare took the glass with both hooves, her restraints clinking noisily. After quenching her thirst and setting her glass down, she spoke again. Her voice sounded stronger. “I would like a few minutes to gather my thoughts, if that's okay, doctor.” The doctor drained his own glass as she spoke, and looked back at his patient. “Certainly, Miss. I am going to step out for a moment, and review my notes. I will return shortly.” He smiled and stood up as he finished speaking, his horn glowing faintly as his notepad followed behind him. “Please stop calling me 'Miss', Doc.” Doctor Quill turned turned back toward his patient, who was looking at him with mild irritation. She continued. “If you're going to be helping me, I'd prefer that you call me by my name.” The doctor sighed inwardly, disappointed in himself. He had hoped that she would give him her name freely. “Very well, Leilani. I will return in a moment.” With that, he turned back to the heavy steel door and knocked sharply, prompting the guards to open it and look inside. He eyed them both with a withering look. “I am stepping out for a moment to look over my notes, and will be back shortly,” Dr. Quill began. “Until then, I ask that you maintain a silent vigil over my patient.” The doctor directed his stare, as well as his emphasis, toward the stallion guard. The guards both shifted nervously under Doctor Quill's unrelenting gaze. They nodded their acquiescence, and moved to let the doctor pass. He walked out of the room and down the hallway, heading toward the gardens. ******** Quill reached the gardens, shivering slightly in the light drizzle. The sky above him was overcast, creating a grey pall over the grass and flowers that surrounded him. He trotted over to a nearby gazebo, setting his notebook on the table and pulling a small metal case out of his breast pocket, as well as a monogrammed flip-top lighter. Flipping the case open and removing a cigarette, he lifted the lighter and paused. Doctor Quill looked over the lighter for a moment, letting his eyes take in its details, as they had countless times before. The monogram read IQ, his father's initials. Doctor Quill had followed in his father's hoofsteps, taking eagerly to the sciences of the mind and psyche. He had inherited his father's intelligence and (some would say morbid) curiosity, and in the end, his practice. The doctor had also inherited his father's love of the occasional cigarette, though that was Quill's own doing. The lighter was both a keepsake, and a reminder to Quill that he was very much his father's son. Perhaps a bit too much. I probably never should have started these damn things, Quill thought with a grimace as he flipped open the lighter and lit his cigarette. Well, nothing to be done for it now. Quill shrugged and took a drag. His breath came out as a haze of nicotine as he picked up his notes and began perusing them. Leilani had pretty much corroborated the reports that he had read prior to their meeting. The events and locations all coincided with what he had read and been told. Still, the way she told the story was bothering Quill. He had expected remorse for the killing, or perhaps a sadistic pleasure. He hadn't expected her to relay the events in such an emotionless way. Quill took another pull from his cigarette. Perhaps I should have, he mentally chided himself. The military trained their soldiers to stay professional under duress, and detaching emotion from traumatic events wasn't uncommon on the civilian side either. He wondered briefly why he had thought that she would open up to him so quickly, before chalking it up to his ego. She had begun to show emotion near the end though. Strangely, it wasn't the kill itself that had upset her. Rather, it was the fact that her target had suffered. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Dr. Quill stubbed the cherry of his cigarette out on the side of the table, and threw the butt into the garbage can to his right. Lifting his notebook again, he walked back to the room where his patient awaited him.