Chapter Sixteen
When one sees their self in their enemy, how are they to deal with that?
Falcon Wing walked down empty streets, pillars of golden light cutting through the dark blue gloom of night from the street lights. They were not as bright nor as far reaching as the red colt would have preferred.
That was because his plan called for him to be in the open, not the shadows he had grown to consider his element. And it was within his element that the Shadow Sweep lurked. Possibly.
It was more than likely for the killer to see the blatant trap that was the lone hooded colt, walking down well trodden paths in the dead of night, alone. Weak. Vulnerable. The things that made him an appealing target for so many others might have deterred the mysterious marauder.
And for once, Falcon Wing wanted to get their attention, not avoid it.
"That 'plan' is reckless and puts you at incredible risk, young Falcon Wing," Chief Whiplash said in rejection of the colt's tactics. Alana was silent, but Falcon knew she did not approve of the plan either. Cocoa looked between his superior officer and the hooded pony unsure of what to do with himself as he observed the proceedings.
"I agree. To be honest I only thought of it a few minutes ago. But face it, it's the best you've got, isn't it? You have been trying to find the Shadow Sweep but they disappear from the scene of the crime long before your ponies can get there and there is no trail to follow. Just... remains," Falcon Wing shot back, "at least with my plan, I draw the Sweeper out from hiding. I become their next target."
"And you will become their next victim!" Whiplash said passionately, shooting out of her chair and slamming her hooves hard on the table. Falcon Wing and officer Cocoa winced.
"I will not. Not if I am correct in thinking the Shadow Sweep uses your communications against you," Falcon Wing retorted.
"And how would you know about that!?" said the white mare, her voice taking on a biting edge.
Falcon Wing pulled his Pipeye off of his head. "This device. It has many spells and functions integrated into it. With its radio I was able to pick up on your transmissions. If the Shadow Sweep has a radio on them while they are committing their crimes... they would be able to plot ahead of your forces just by listening in on where they are mobilizing to,"
Whiplash looked at him incredulously.
"but this device -- this Pipeye -- has been used to locate individual radio broadcasts and mark their location of origin on its auto-map in the past. It can do so now. It's the key to finding and apprehending the Shadow Sweep," Falcon Wing explained.
"So tell me exactly what you plan to do," Whiplash said, sitting back in her chair. Falcon Wing smiled a little, for it seemed the chief was actually considering his proposition.
"Cocoa, you have a radio right? You can talk to your fellow guardsponies across the city?" he asked the chocolate colored stallion.
"Uh, yes. They are standard issue, every guard should have their radio at all times --"
Cocoa's eyes lit up when he realized what the red colt was getting at.
"You want to use your Pip-thingy to locate my radio?"
"When the time comes, yes. But I won't be the one to do so. My Pipeye would be useless if it were on me when I confront the Shadow Sweep," he turned to Alana and put the goggles on her head. "so I need you to do it," he told her, then looked back to Cocoa, "and I'll need your radio. If... when I find the Shadow Sweep, I'll activate it. Alana, when it appears on your broadcast list you will need to track me down and you --"
He turned to Whiplash; "-- you need to get every officer able and available to me, or I will become another of their victims."
When he told the chief his plan, he was confident and assured of himself. He didn't feel like the meek youngster he really was. He felt like he was the pony deserving of his cutie mark: a pony brave and courageous, willing to put themselves at risk for the greater good.
What he should have been feeling was anxiety and dread. He was alone. He would continue being alone until the Shadow Sweep showed their self. And the radio strapped to his chest piece would be his only lifeline, in which time he would have to keep the killer busy and in one location long enough for Alana to lead the Baltimare Guard to him.
He was always cautious when he turned the corner of the street. Falcon Wing edged up to the corner of the building at the end of each block, taking hesitant peeps around it then quickly shooting a look over his shoulders split seconds later to make sure he wasn't going to be attacked from behind.
It could not be more obvious that he was meant to be bait.
Then he'd scurry on down the sidewalk, giving darkened alleyways a wide berth. His ears constantly perked up and swiveled at the smallest noises around him. The sound of the breeze passing through the streets strangely. The creak of the hanging sign disturbed by it.
"Maybe he hasn't appeared yet because he's enjoying the show..." Falcon Wing thought, and instantly flashes of that night appeared in his mind.
He was on his back, scrambling away from the dark shapes looming in the black screen that was once the Equestrian night. The ground was rough -- asphalt -- and he constantly bumped into the wreckage strewn about the street. His breaths were ragged, his heart wanted to burst from his chest. Hoofsteps then reached his ears and his stomach erupted with pain as a savage landed a brutal stomp onto him.
He was winded, but yet to be consumed by the pain, yet to cry out. He had gone through it all before. Even in the alien realm that was land, Falcon Wing knew how to take a hit.
And so, more of them befell him. Hoof after hoof landed against him, blows that could have shattered bone he took unwaveringly. He was terrified. He feared for his life. These were not new feelings for him.
An undetermined amount of time passed, he was aching and laying on the ground, surrounded by the shapes, those horrible oily shapes. They cackled and laughed amongst each other, enjoying their prize in full.
"Aren't you a long way from home, little boy!?"
"Spread your wings and fly birdie!" the harsh voices taunted him.
He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. But he could not return to the skies, where even there he would be pursued, and his thoughts spun at the prospect of flying in the complete darkness in the unknown territory. Instead of flying, he was paralyzed with fear.
Now he was crying out, screaming and hollering. The ponies had taken his limbs out from under him, holding them apart, their grip firm even as he attempted to flail and writhe.
His protest was silenced sharply by the unimaginable agony he was subjected to: the amputation of his wings. It was not fast. It was not methodical. The pony who did it simply swung a heavy blade -- a hatchet or something similar -- into him repeatedly until most of his wings had come off, leaving only bleeding stumps to show where they used to be.
Tears flowed like rivers down his face as his torturers administered their "care", stinging poultices being rubbed into his bloody wounds, bitter tasting potions forced down his throat.
Then he was left to stumble down that lonely street, the oily figures in the dark watching him, sparing his life so that he could amuse them.
When reality caught up with him, he realized he was crying in the ring of light a streetlight provided. He was not sobbing, just silently shedding tears while standing under the light. He was not ready for this burden, but it was one he took upon himself.
"You want me, Sweepy?" Falcon Wing thought, drawing Klaxon's 10 millimeter pistol. "Then you're going to have to do what nopony has had to do before. You've got to earn the right to fuck with me."