//------------------------------// // Doctor Stable // Story: Siren Song // by GaPJaxie //------------------------------// Tap tap ta-tap tap. Tap tap. My hoof beats out a little musical pattern. One does not simply knock on Princess Celestia’s door, oh no. Seeking a private audience with the Princess of the Sun requires forethought, grace, charm, and in this case, her favorite waffles. “Enter!” Princess Celestia calls, and I push the door open as I walk through, the tray floating behind me. I know she’s expecting the servant, so I put on a good smile for when she looks up at me. She’s still sitting up in bed, reading quietly, a pile of scrolls and her book stand beside her. “Good morning, Princess!” I greet her all sing-song. That gets her to glance up all right, and my smile is waiting. “I brought you breakfast.” “Oh. Good morning, Siren,” she says, her wings folded against her side. “Just put it over there, thank you.” She nods to the desk beside her window, and then goes back to reading. She’ll raise the sun soon, but for now, the only light in the room comes from the glittering stars outside. “I hope it’s not too forward of me, Princess, but I thought we could eat together? Like when I was younger?” I slide the tray over to the desk, turning to look at her. She doesn't look back at me. “I brought those waffles you like, and Princess Luna’s coffee. I know you’ve been meaning to try—” “Not this morning, Siren. I’m busy,” she says as she gives a gentle shake of her head, focusing on what she’s doing. “Another day.” “What day, Princess?” It’s a little rude of me to press like this, but... I’ve tried the subtler approach. “I’m sorry to be so insistent. It’s just been a while and you’ve been so busy lately. I really enjoyed waking up early for this.” “I said not today,” she answers me, curt, wings fluffing outwards against her side as she levitates a new scroll up to the stand. “Thank you for bringing breakfast, Siren. You may leave.” For a second, I almost do. I take a step towards the door, but then I stop and turn back to her. “Princess, I’ve barely seen you—” “Siren, I said you are dismissed!” the Princess snaps, eyes still focused on her reading stand, her wings flaring out a few hooves as she raises her voice. “Why won’t you look at me!?” I’m shouting now too, stomping my hoof on the floor, and she raises her head to glare at me. “I’m your student! You raised me, and now you won’t even talk to me!” “Why do you think, Siren?” Princess Celestia’s horn glows, and she levitates the mirror off the wall, floating it up to me. I’m... I look good. My coat is all shiny amaranth, and I did up my mane for this so it’s bright and flowing. I even braided my tail. I mean, I look good, other than a few things. Sure, the blue Poison Joke mark over my eye doesn't exactly blend with the rest of my coat, and the Incinerate mark on my shoulder is a little masculine, and nopony in Equestria knows enough about wiredolls to even get the Wire Freak mark. But the rest are fine! They’re colorful and bright and stand out when I smile. “It’s... it’s not so bad,” I insist, but Princess Celestia snorts—a disgusted, throaty sound. “The servants tell me you spend hours every morning preening yourself in front of your bedroom mirror until you shine,” she says, glancing up at me, her face twisted into a tight frown. “Do you think it actually makes a difference, or are you just taking the time to convince yourself?” “Why are you doing this?” I shout, tossing the mirror to one side and letting it smash on the floor. “I know I look different, but I’m still your student! I’m still the same pony!” “I know you are, Siren,” Princess Celestia answers, casting her magic across the room to sweep up the pieces of glass. “You’re the same cold, narcissistic, petty creature you always were. I did everything I could to raise you right, and this is what you turned into.” She shakes her head, tossing the remains of the mirror into the wastebin. “All that’s changed is that everypony else can see what a fraud you are. Now get out of my room.” “Princess, I—” “I said get out,” she snaps, and this time, I do. I turn, and I go. I step outside her door, into the shadows. I don’t know where I’m going, so I just go. I go until I’m alone. Alone where? The thought strikes suddenly, as I remember how few places there are to be alone in Canterlot Castle. This building is a home to me, but I don’t recognize where I am. My head feels funny, confused. The space is dark, but I see light, and I stretch and twist in place. There’s something rough against me, something soft, a wall, a gap in front of me. A gap? In the floor? That doesn't make any sense. I don’t... My eyes flutter open. Berry is there, sitting across from me, staring at the wall. Of course. I keep my eyes open long enough to be sure that I’m awake, and then give a good yawn. It was a dream, only a dream. I take a deep breath and stretch out on the couch, feeling my spine twist and my joints pop. It’s bracing, and I actually have to gasp for breath a little after, but I’m awake now. “I’m sorry for thinking of you that way, Princess,” I murmur, letting my eyes slide shut again. I’ll get up in a second. “I know you’d never really do that.” “You have been asleep for over an hour,” Berry says. I guess I got her attention by speaking. “The doctor will call us soon.” Thanks, Berry. I stretch again and roll off the couch, my hooves hitting the floor. I’m still groggy, and the effort of standing up makes my heart pound in my ears. A good shake helps with that, and when I open my eyes, my vision is starting to clear. I look around, in case anything has changed while I was asleep, but no. It’s only us in the waiting room. I find the pitcher and glasses in the corner of the room and pour some of the chilled water for myself, carefully picking out the half-melted ice cubes and dropping them into my glass. It’s refreshing in a number of ways. Aside from the obvious, my mouth tastes like pillow fuzz and dried spit, and I swish the cold water around my mouth. This really is a remarkable waiting room. It shouldn't have caught me off-guard—Berry’s apartment was more than enough evidence to realize that the poisoners and death-merchants in this city demand luxury—but I still couldn't believe it when I saw it. One wall is nothing but glass, giving us a commanding view of the city. The rest of the room is lit by elegant oil lamps, the walls covered in beautiful flowering vines that curl around the pillars in the corner. The pillars themselves are smooth and bright, shaped like cresting waves. It’s like being in an undersea garden, and when the lamps flicker, gold sparkles on all the fittings. The room’s accoutrements are probably more telling though: two couches, each large enough for only one pony, and a tiny table by each one, barely large enough to hold a single glass. For one of these couches—the one Berry now occupies—the table is positioned near her head, so the glass will be within comfortable reach of her mouth. For the other, the table is positioned closer to the midbody, to provide a more convenient angle for magic. It’s a subtle thing, but this room was made for exactly one unicorn and one earth pony. A team of servants had to rearrange the furniture in this room before we arrived, just for the sake of making us slightly more comfortable. Berry said something about that, but I don’t quite remember what. I might have been resting my eyes at that point. “An hour?” I ask, as I process what Berry said, working my way back to the couch with my glass floating behind me. She glances at the pitcher, the glasses. It would only take her a second or two to get up and get one for herself, but she doesn’t move. “Then he couldn't accommodate us early after all.” Berry shrugs. “I’m surprised he left us waiting this long. This place tries pretty hard to cater to your every whim.” She nods. You’re a real chatterbox, Berry. At least I’m getting used to it. I settle down on the couch, wiggling my way into a comfortable position on the soft, downy pillows. “Why is that, then? I know for a fact there are mantles in this city that will make you a doctor. What makes him so special?” I give a little flick of my tail to loosen the braid up a bit, shivering as the chilly water runs down my throat. “Your premises are incorrect. Mantles can only give cutie marks; they do not bestow knowledge. While some experimental didactic compounds have shown potential for overcoming this limitation, for the time being, it still takes many years of training to become a licensed physician, and the pavilion restricts both the training and licensing processes.” Yes, thank you Berry—you’ve got a bit of a one track mind, we get it. Somehow though, it’s a little more unnerving than when she didn’t talk at all. No matter how much I intellectually know she’s not going to show any expression, I keep reflexively trying to read her, and the effort is annoying. I shake my head, looking out the window instead of at her. “The pavilion. Green mentioned them before—she’s afraid of them?” Berry lets out a hiss of breath, which I think is a yes. “That must be relevant to your job. Tell me about them.” “The Carousel Medical Pavilion is the dominant provider of medical services in Vision, as well as a major producer of mantles, tonics, and designer clothing. It is lead by Rarity, the Bearer of the Element of Generosity.” I think back to the train and Green’s quiet little moment of silence at the mention of Rarity’s name. “What’s the deal with Green and Rarity then?” I ask, but Berry only shrugs. “You don’t know anything?” “All I know is that Trixie says it’s important Green not come to Rarity’s attention.” I don’t... hard to read doesn't do her justice, so I can’t be sure, but I think she’s lying. She just answers questions—she doesn't try to guide the conversation—but that was structured to discourage further inquiry. I shift my legs a bit to work out some stiffness while I decide if I want to press. No, even if I corner her, I can’t shame her into spilling the truth—she’ll only stonewall. Best not to give away that I noticed anything. “Still, I get the impression that Green isn’t the only one who’s afraid of them. I ran into a pony in the tram station on my way here—from the way he acted, you’d think the doctor could have him killed for backtalk.” Berry puts on her thinking expression for a moment, and then shrugs. “Maybe.” She says it like it like she says everything else. Matter of fact. A little bored maybe. I still can’t believe it though. “Wait, what? I was exaggerating to make a point!” My own fault—I should have seen it coming. Every time I think I have a handle on this city, it finds a way to get worse. “The doctors here can have ponies killed? Why? How?” “Rarity is friends with Rainbow Dash,” she says, matter of fact. “And? Berry, I need you to explain this properly. Can you do that?” My tone is demanding, but she doesn’t answer, only sitting there. “Berry, if you don’t explain this to me, I’m going to be worried about it, stressed, and thus harder for you to keep an eye on. So do your job and explain what’s going on!” I didn’t mean to snap at her that hard, but it’s so impossible when she stares at the wall that way. I’m yelling, and it’s still a good two full seconds before she turns her head towards me. “As a result, the pavilion’s requests to security are given priority, and a pavilion doctor could suggest to security that your friend is a troublemaker or a rebel. Depending upon the wording of the suggestion, this could result in his death,” she says, like she never stopped talking in the first place. “Though having him killed would be considered extreme by a majority of security officers. A beating is a more realistic outcome.” “But that’s horrible! They can’t...” Berry doesn't even answer; she just lets me trail off. I guess I should be thankful for that. There’s nothing she could say that wouldn't make me feel more stupid and naive. “Um...” I squeeze my eyes shut. Forgot where I was for a moment. “Right. So they run all the hospitals and clinics, and Doctor Stable is special because he doesn't work for them.” Berry nods. “So why isn’t Green here, then?” “A number of the ‘independent’ doctors in the city are actually spies for the pavilion. Green therefore refuses to set hoof in any doctor’s office.” I guess I can add paranoia to Green’s list of winning personality traits. I’m about to ask exactly how that works, when a niggling little thought interrupts me, and I fall silent halfway through opening my mouth. “Um... and we do know that Doctor Stable isn’t a spy, right?” Berry shrugs. “But you don’t have any reason to think he is a spy.” Again, she shrugs. “But you trust him, right?” A faint shake of her head. “Then why are we here?” I ask, a little louder than I meant to, turning back to glare at her. “Because Trixie ordered us to be here.”  And just like that, she folds her hooves, and looks away. I think I’m starting to hate her. A few minutes of angry silence pass before there’s a knock at the door, and the pegasus nurse who showed us in tells me that the doctor will see me now. I’m half expecting Berry to get up to follow me... well, more than half expecting really, but she stays where she is, nodding me on. The nurse leads me through the halls, and soon enough, she leaves me in the examination room. This time, my expectations are spot on—a little room of white stone, bone dry, supported at the corners by those elegant pillars. A sterile steel examination table rests in front of wall racks full of tools, but when I climb onto it, it feels soft and pleasantly warm to the touch. I twist my neck down and around and peer under the table. There are a half dozen gems there, embedded in the metal. That’s probably... a few hundred hours of a unicorn’s time? Each? All so I wouldn’t have to put my flank on something cold. I’m still twisted around when I hear the three sharp taps on the door, and I sit up sharply as the doctor walks in. As tired as I am, the motion makes my head spin, and it takes me a second to orient myself enough that I can see him clearly. He’s old. I don’t know why that surprises me. Maybe I’m getting used to all the ponies in this city hiding their years in bodies no older than mine. Mid-fifties for certain, fit for his age, with just enough grey in his mane and tail to make him look wise. He’s a bright-tan unicorn, sandy really, his mane and tail a rich brown save for those greying streaks. He’s dressed like you’d expect a distinguished doctor to be—a professional shirt and tie folded under a sterile white coat. It nicely hides how many cutie marks he has, but I spot at least two: an EKG machine on his flank and a scalpel made of bright red lines on his leg. “Hello there!” he says, with a practiced smile and relaxed posture. “You must be Siren Song. I’m Doctor Stable.” He extends a hoof, and I reach out to take it. He’s one of them, but he seems normal enough to deal with. “Now, I originally had you down for some bloodwork, but I see some cosmetic damage here.” He adroitly twists his hoof, and suddenly he’s holding me by the ankle, closely examining my burns through the wire-rim spectacles perched on the end of his muzzle. “This looks fresh, about a week I’d say. Why don’t we get this fixed before it sets in?” “Fixed?” My ears shoot up. He can regenerate my burns. He can regenerate the scars! I’m going to get to go on stage after all! “You can fix this?” I demand, shaking my hoof a little in his grasp. He smiles contently, the look of a craftspony whose work is appreciated. “Young mare, I promise we will have you fit as a fiddle and restored to your pristine self before the day is out.” He gently folds my hoof back under me, releasing my ankle before he moves to the racks of tools on the shelf. “No pony ever walked out of this practice in anything less than perfect condition.” “Thank you, Doctor!” I’m on the verge of gushing like a foal who just got her birthday presents, but something in the back of my mind catches me, and I fix him with a narrow stare. I shouldn't have shown that. Berry has thrown me off my game; I’m giving away too much. Still, nothing in this city is that good. “Wait, what’s that going to cost me?” “Good instincts!” He grins, his horn glowing a faint amber as he draws out his tools from their racks. It’s all the normal stuff: a stethoscope, a reflex hammer, and some wavy-tipped metal things I expect I’ll be jabbed with soon. “But don’t you worry, this won’t be costing you a thing. Trixie told me to take good care of you, and the councilmare’s credit is always good here.” “That’s good to hear, Doctor.” It is good news, and I get a bit more control over my expression, settling it back into something social but noncommittal. Still, I suspect Trixie’s motivations have less to do with altruism and more to do with my getting back to the Princess in mint condition. For all I know, she explicitly told him to heal the scars and his whole kind-doctor bit is an act. I can’t be sure though—he’s hiding something, but it could be anything, maybe not even related to me. “May I ask how you know Trixie?” “Oh, we go back quite a ways,” he says as he taps my knees with his little hammer. “I met her back in Ponyville, when she was a traveling showmare.” I knew it! I knew she was formally trained. She’s just overacting and hot air. “I didn’t care for the show myself, but a few days after she left Ponyville, she ended up in the hospital. Poor mare had tried to eat a pinecone, of all things.” Thank you, Doctor. I quietly file that away for the next time Trixie gives me that condescending attitude. “It was obvious she’d had a few bad days, and she was mortified when she found the nursing staff gossiping about it. So I made sure they understood it was not to leave the hospital, and helped her get back on her hooves. The least I could do, really.” “More than most ponies in this city would d-aaah!” He sharply yanks on my ear, jabbing some sort of metal cone down into it to peer inside. “I still say it was just common decency, but Trixie felt the same way you do, and when the Pavilion came to run me out of business, there she was. She said it was because she didn’t like being in anypony’s debt.” He chuckles, taking a hold of my jaw as he shines a light into each of my eyes, leaving me momentarily dazzled. “The way I see it though, I stood by her when she was down, she stood by me when I was weak, and now we pretty much stand by each other.” “That’s... good.” That’s wholly inconsistent with her observed behavior, more like. I’d bet bits against wooden nickels she had her own reasons for saving him and made up the whole good-and-pure act so he wouldn't question it. Still, he does seem to know more about her than I do. I bite my lip, giving him a hesitant look as he feels down my ribs. “Is ah...” I trail off, waiting for him to glance up so I can stare down at my hooves. “What is Trixie like?” He gives me a strange look at that—more intense than I’d expected. Sympathetic. He actually reaches out to put a hoof on my shoulder, giving me a gentle pat. “I’m not supposed to discuss that with you. She wants you to learn in your own time—and I think she’s waiting for the test results too. She’s the sort who refuses to believe good news, because things like that simply don’t happen. But I promise, if you are who you say you are, she’ll take good care of you.” What? Not supposed to discuss what with me? That wasn’t a pitying expression—he doesn't think I’m in danger, but there is something he’s hiding from me. Something big. He doesn't give me a chance to pry though, tapping my neck sharply. “Now roll over so I can draw a blood sample.” For a second, I consider refusing, matching his eyes as he gazes down at me. No. No, he won’t tell me any more. I suppress the urge to scowl and leave my expression puzzled as I roll over. It’s not long before I feel sharp prick of a needle along my underside, and the faint chill that comes with drawing blood. “So, Doctor, I meant to ask—what exactly am I being tested for? I’m a little unclear on how a blood test confirms my identity.” “Oh, it’s mostly a precaution against fraud.” Telling me what I already know. Calling it now: he’ll evade the question. “You look like yourself, of course, but between mantles and modern surgical techniques, you can make anypony look like any other. I can’t count the number of criminals who have tried to beat the law by changing themselves into somepony else. Luckily, that all leaves trace indicators in the blood, which we can detect. That’s why I’m drawing your blood before we heal those scars. Don’t want any false positives.” He pulls the needle out, pressing a cloth down over the puncture before it can start to bleed. “Well, that won’t be a problem. I’ve never had surgery, except once to get my tonsils out.” I’m a little surprised that the answer was so straightforward. Not that I trust he isn’t lying, but it’s not the outright evasion I was expecting. I’m still trying to figure out what to say next when I feel the cold disk of his stethoscope press against my barrel. I didn’t even notice him leaning over. “When was the last time you slept?” His tone is more businesslike now, like every doctor’s really, and I reflexively answer. “I napped in your waiting room for a bit.” He pauses to look down at my face as I continue, “Oh, and this morning, I think.” “You think? You aren't sure?” he asks pointedly. “Well, yeah. I think it was this morning. I’ve spent a lot of time knocked out between now and then... uh...” And now that I say that aloud, it sounds kind of concerning. “But I saw a doctor about it!” I insist, my tone defensive, like I was a foal making excuses for not doing her chores. “Well. I saw a vet about it.” Doctor Stable sighs, raising a hoof to rub his temples. “I’m not in danger, am I?” Have I cracked my skull or something? Why didn’t it occur to me how much I was getting hurt? I think my horn is starting to burn. Maybe they didn’t fix it right. I can feel my heart speeding up—then Doctor Stables shakes his head. He reaches out to put a hoof on my shoulder, light building up in his horn as he casts some spell over me—a dark red wave that seems to sweep from one side of my body to the other. When it’s done, his expression settles into a stern frown, and pushes his glasses up over his muzzle. “No—but I suspect that the prescription you need is a few days bed rest, and there’s no way Berry or Trixie will let you have it. They’re probably waiting to ship you off to Neptune’s  Bounty the second you’re out the door.” He lets out an irritated grunt, considering the vial of blood still floating beside him. “Tell you what. This test takes a few hours to run. Normally I’d let you go and wire the results in, but why don’t we keep you for observation, mmm? I can get the nurses to bring you a pillow.”  “That sounds...” Nice, actually. Very nice. I suddenly notice how heavy my head feels, and Doctor Stable chuckles. “Good, Doctor. Thank you.” “Of course. We’ll patch up those scars and then give you some time to recover.” He steps out the door, and I swear, I feel ready to fall asleep before he even gets back. He’s not long though, and when he returns, that pegasus nurse is with him—a pillow and blanket tucked under one wing, the other carrying a tray that holds a collection of medicinal-looking vials. The doctor spends a few minutes carefully examining my burns and scars, and consulting with the nurse over things I don’t understand. A few times, I realize they’ve asked me a question, and that I missed it completely, stuck staring off into space. Eventually though, he selects three of the vials from the tray, carefully measuring out some of each with a syringe and mixing them in a small glass the nurse provides. “Here you go, dear,” the nurse says, her voice sweet as she extends the tray down to me on a wing. “It tastes something awful, so down it in one go. You’ll feel a bit tingly and then a bit sleepy, and by the time you wake up, you’ll be all better.” “Thank you,” I let out out a relieved breath, almost a sigh, and my eyelids flutter as I levitate the glass up to me. It’s like I don’t feel tired at all, just heavy, dazed, sluggish. Too tired to feel tired—I must be barely functional. A little R and R will do me good, and then I can deal with what’s to come. The glass touches my lips. “What’s in this?” It’s strange. I hear myself say it before I realize I’ve said anything, and it’s like I stop the glass in response to my words, instead of before them. Doctor Stable gives me a curious glance, and shrugs. “A combination of ablative and exfoliative agents paired with classical regenerative compounds in a tincture suspension. It’s all pretty standard.” He looks a bit offended, and I realize how loudly and suspiciously I asked the question. But why shouldn’t I? He’s the one who evaded it. “Right, but what’s in this? What’s it made from?” I demand, taking a good whiff of the glass. It smells vile. Sludgy. Sweet. Metallic. Coppery. Like a thick brown syrup. “If you’re concerned about quality control, we produce all of our medications in-house,” he replies, his tone growing curt and his gaze narrowing slightly. “If it’s the poison joke that gets you, don’t worry, it’s well below the addiction threshold. The worst you’ll experience is a mild headache as it—” He jumps back as the glass hits the floor and shatters into a thousand slivers that jump and skitter across the stone. The liquid inside it is so thick it doesn't even splatter—it just oozes around the broken bottom of the glass, spreading out over the pure-white rock. It’s going to leave a stain, I’m sure, spoiling the perfection of the rock forever. They’ll probably pull up the whole floor to fix it. “That was unnecessary,” Doctor Stable snaps, his tone restrained, but not so controlled that the anger doesn't seep through. I have better form, and I show exactly as much anger as I want to. “I’ve decided I like these scars after all. They’ve got real character.” A charming tone and intense glare convey much when paired, and I follow them up with a sharp tap on the table. “Thank you, Doctor.” Dismissing him might be overplaying things, but after a moment, he grits his teeth and turns to go. “Nurse, clean that up and join me once she’s resting.” He trots out, and the nurse silently sets about sweeping up the glass pieces. We don’t talk, but I levitate some of the smaller shards for her so she won’t have to fumble with them herself. After she’s done, she gives me the pillow and blanket, and leaves. I turn down the oil lamps, and stretch out on the table, but I don’t really feel like sleeping anymore. That was too close. It was reflex—a doctor put medicine in front of me and told me to drink it, and I almost did. I almost drank... well, I’ve offended him now, but I guess being Trixie’s prize offers me a certain degree of protection. “Thanks, you pretentious witch,” I murmur to the room, to break the silence. “There must be some way for me to show my gratitude. I know: when Celestia throws you in prison, I’ll see that you’re well cared for. All the pinecones you can eat.” That thought makes me smile, then giggle a bit. I think that’s okay. I mean, Trixie is a bad pony. She deserves it. There’s nothing wrong with giggling at the thought of a little petty revenge. My thoughts drift back to earlier. I don’t want to think about that, but it was just a dream. “A very unsubtle dream,” I murmur to myself. “I mean, I’m worried what Princess Celestia will think of me after this. I get it. You really didn’t need to hammer that point home; I already kind of figured. Not that I’m going to drink any of that stuff, and not that Celestia would love me any less if I did, but it’s a pretty understandable concern.” I draw a breath, and when I let it out, it’s shaky. I roll around for a bit, my hoof tapping the examination table under me. “I mean, it would be nice if I could get some sleep. It’s not like my survival depends on my being alert or anything,” I murmur to the room, the blanket bunching under me as I roll back over. I straighten it out. “So, you know, if you want to let me get to sleep without nightmares, I think it would work out great for everypony involved.” I can’t get comfortable on this stupid table. It’s enchanted to feel soft, but I can’t actually sink into it like a mattress. I keep squirming and rolling over and curling and uncurling and I can’t get any rest. Finally, I let out an angry sigh. “This isn’t working. Okay, I need to just... distract myself. Think about something positive to fall asleep to.” Music is the first thing that comes to mind—I always listen to music when I need to fall asleep. I can’t seem to hold a tune in my head though. Even humming doesn't work—it feels like too much effort to keep the song going, and I let it die. I don’t want to think about my friends in Canterlot or Princess Celestia. That’s too much of a reminder of how far away they are. I guess I can think about Swiftwing. She’s disgusting, but, hey, I still got it, right? All scarred up, burned and bruised, I can still turn heads. I twitch my tail a little. That’s a more pleasant thought. I mean, there are lots of pretty mares in Canterlot, but how many will be able to say that they fought their way out of a sunken nightmare city? I’m not merely attractive, I’m intimidating. Stallions go crazy for that, if you do it right. I brush my side with my hoof, the side where I still have hair. Yeah, when I get back, I’ll be the idol of Equestria. And while I’d never abuse that, maybe I can use it a little. To flirt with somepony cute. Like that Baron with the fiery red mane and those piercing eyes. That’s a nice thought. I let my hoof trail the rest of the way down my body, turning my head to the pillow as I shift my hips, hiking my tail up. I have discovered the single most humiliating position in the entire world to fall asleep in. I don’t even realize I nodded off, until I wake up. My face is pressed into the pillow, and I can tell at once I’ve been drooling—the pillow is wet and my mouth is bone dry. One of my forelegs hangs limply over the edge of the examination table, and the other is still stretched down to rest under my hips. All my weight is on it, and the whole leg has gone numb. My rear legs are a jumble under me, leaving my hindquarters hiked up in the air. Thank goodness for the blanket or I’d have no dignity left at all. The blanket that’s currently on the floor. Okay, there’s no need to panic. I don’t know what it is that woke me up. Maybe nopony saw me like this. Slowly, I twist my head to one side, and open my eyes. Dark, other than a sliver of light from under the door. Nopony in the examination room. I heave a sigh, and slide over onto my side. A sudden feeling of cold races through me when the blood starts to flow through my leg again.  I can move it again now, but it’ll be all pins and needles soon; I hate it when my legs fall asleep. My rear legs aren't in much better condition, all sore and twisted from being in that unnatural position for so long. All in all, I feel terrible—stiff, sore, prickly, heavy, and tired. My head is pounding, my mouth is so dry I could cough dust, and I really need to pee. “Time to get up, Siren.” I don’t wanna. “Time to get up, Siren. Now.” I throw a little commanding kick into the words, and it’s enough to make me roll off the table. I guess my leg was a little more asleep than I thought, because it almost buckles under me when I hit the floor, but after a few stumbling seconds, I’m back on my hooves. I take a second to stretch, draw a breath, get all the kinks out of my joints—it’s like my blood is molasses, and I have to pump it into motion with my legs. Eventually though, I begin to feel at least vaguely like a pony. I turn the oil lamps up first and let my eyes adjust, so that I won’t be blinded when I open the door. Then, I’m off to search for a bathroom. That goes well, at least. There are a few nurses and staff about, but nopony seems to be paying me much mind, and the layout of this place is straightforward. I find the bathroom and take the chance to clean myself up a bit—you could see the drool on my cheek and one of my eyelids was stuck half shut; I must have looked like I had brain damage. There’s a box of candy bars, or ‘pep bars,’ whatever, behind the nurses station. I guess they’re there for the staff, but I’m hungry, and I munch my way through one as I head back to the examination room, tucking the rest into some of the loops on my belt. Maybe that’s what those are for. I make it back to the examination room fine, but there’s still nopony else there. I could get a little more sleep, but I feel like I’ve been asleep for a few hours at least, and Berry is probably still in the waiting room. Then again, knowing her, she’d probably wait there until she died if Trixie ordered her to. It occurs to me that that might literally be true, which makes it a lot less funny. Still, I head back down the hallway towards the waiting room, following the route the nurse led me on by memory. I get lost a few times, but find my way soon enough. When I near the waiting room, I can hear voices inside, and I slow my steps, tip-hoofing up to the door. The sounds of their voices are muffled to the point of incomprehensibility, but that horn on my head isn’t just for keeping my hats straight. A little spell I learned for getting good acoustics in bad rooms, and I can hear them clear as a bell. “—hardly unprecedented.” That’s Berry’s voice, but the scoff that follows it is Doctor Stable. He sounds irritated. No, frustrated. It’s not the anger from dealing with me, preserved for however long I was asleep, this is new—hot but shallow. Berry is giving him a hard time, maybe? “She can’t have another panic attack between here and Neptune’s Bounty.” “Then don’t put her in front of an angry marker between here and Neptune’s Bounty,” the doctor shoots back, snide and sharp. “I have no reason to believe she’ll have another episode as long as she isn’t put in mortal danger.” “She’s emotionally unstable—” The doctor gives a sharp snort. “I’m going to cut you off right there.” He narrates his own life, apparently. Still, nice to have somepony standing up for me. “There are plenty of doctors in this city who will stuff her full of pills until she wouldn't notice if her own legs fell off, but I’m not one of them. She’s been through several traumatic events in quick succession. Short run, she needs rest and a safe environment. Long run, she’ll probably need therapy. She does not need to be tranquilized to the point that you can send her to Trixie by mail!” I can tell he’s glaring, probably pretty hard too, from how sharp his voice is. “You could dose her with Temperance or Levelhead.” I feel my ears perk up at that, and my lips twist into a snarl. Are those mantles? Did she just suggest turning me into a fleshy wiredoll like her? “Mantles are a permanent solution.” That wretched ghoul of a pony! “This is a temporary problem. There is no need for such extreme measures.” “It’s not permanent if we don’t let her indulge the addiction,” Berry says, matter-of-factly. How dare she even think that? How dare she!? “She is my patient, Berry, not yours.” Even the doctor sounds offended at the idea, and he is one of those freaks. “You do not get to dictate what is and is not in her best interests. Besides, Trixie wants her in good health, and when she finds out—” “Trixie trusts my judgement, Doctor.” When I can’t see her, that dead tone makes her even more disturbing—like she really was a ghoul. A corpse brought back to life by alchemy, with no soul at all inside. “My job is to get Siren from here to Neptune’s Bounty without her suffering any permanent harm. That job will be much harder if I cannot take my eyes off her without worrying she’ll suffer an episode.” There’s a pause. “I see you are experiencing anger. That is not a productive emotion. Practically speaking, if you do not prescribe something to calm Siren, I will give her something out of a vending machine. It is therefore in the best interests of your patient for you to comply.” For a while, the Doctor doesn't answer her. What could he say to that? What can I say to that? I’m not safe. I’m not safe with my own escorts. That’s who's here to save me—a witch, a freak, and a ghoul, all trying to get their hooves on me because they know I’m worth my weight in bits. They’d chop me up and split the pieces if it wouldn't lower my resale value! “I’ll sell you some Daring Do,” the doctor says, reluctantly. “It has the lowest addiction index of anything that’s likely to help her, and the fewest secondary effects. It’s expensive—very expensive—so you can explain to Trixie why you needed it, and getting her to drink it is your problem. Just don’t do it in my practice.” No, Doctor. No, I don’t think getting me to drink it will be her problem. Berry says something in response, but I’m already tiphoofing away and down the hall. My chest and barrel feel tight, my legs are tense, but I know what I’m doing. Sun and stars, I’m Princess Celestia’s student! I’m through being led around like some naive little foal too stupid to realize she’s in bad company. I know what I need to do—I need to get to Neptune’s Bounty, and from there back to Equestria. I have some money, food, and my wits. I can get across a city. I find the lobby quickly enough, but I don’t run. There’s a squad of guards at the front door—real earth pony brutes who could almost look Celestia in the eye. They aren’t exactly the cream of the intellectual crop, but I don’t doubt they can smell a pony who’s afraid of getting caught. Still, they’re there to keep ponies out, not in. I walk like I own the place, tapping the top of the front desk sharply and demanding my jacket back from the attendant. I don’t hurry her, but right now, it’s easy for me to project the sort of smouldering anger that makes her double time it anyway. She fetches it, I slide it back on, and then I’m out the door. “Okay Siren, priorities,” I mutter to myself as I step back out into the frozen hallway. The hall outside the doctor’s office is long and quiet, with service doors on either side in regular intervals—no shops or apartments though. “First, you need to find a map. The only place you know that would definitely have one is the tram station, which fits, because that’s probably where you want to be anyway.” I think I remember the way back to the market, and from there to the tram, and I adjust my course accordingly, picking up my pace to a canter as soon as I’m out of the guards’ sight. “Second, you’ll need a safe means of moving through the city. That’s probably the tram—and you should try to take the tram as far as possible—but you may have to make part of the journey on hoof, potentially through dangerous areas.” I fall silent for awhile, the sound of my hooves echoing off the ice and stone. “So you should see if you can find another escort. Maybe a guard you can talk into walking you the rest of the way.” Yeah, that’s the most practical solution. “Third, you’ll need to make sure Green and Berry don’t catch you.” The head start will help, but there’s not a lot I can do if they find me. Green can hypnotize me, and Berry is an earth pony with far more experience than me—I doubt she’d have much trouble overpowering me. Not a lot I can do about that. I start giggling to myself at that thought. No. No, there’s not a lot I can do. But there is one thing I can do. I could get her first. “I could get her first.” My laugh turns to a tremble when I say it. It feels so alien coming out of my mouth—strained and warped and on edge. But saying it feels good. The trembling in my barrel slows, and I draw another, calming breath. “I could get that wretched, broken, ghoul of a pony first.” It’s slower this time, and I’m not trembling anymore. It’s like the feeling’s come to rest in my gut, something instinctual. Berry has it coming. It’s not like she’s even really a pony anymore. And I could do it. Doesn't matter how strong she is, she’s still an earth pony, and I’m a unicorn!  She has to close with me, and I’ll never give her the chance! A knife, a spear, sun and stars, why am I so afraid of her? All I need is a piece of broken glass! There’s a trash can nearby that hasn’t been emptied recently, made of copper slats. “Buck you!” I scream as I follow my own instruction and send the trashcan flying into the wall. The whole thing comes apart, sending copper slats and trash and debris all over the floor. My heart’s racing, and it feels great. It takes some straining, but I manage to rip one of the copper sections out. It’s not nearly heavy enough to be a club, and it’s too short to be a spear, but it ends in a lethal-looking barb of jagged metal. I slide it into my belt; it’ll do for now. There’s no solvent or lamp oil in the bin, but I do find a big, solid bottle of spoiled pepper sauce that makes my nose and mouth burn just smelling it. I almost leave it at that, but you know what? I said broken glass, and I meant it. I grab one of the bottles in the pile and smash it against the wall, tucking some of the shards away into my belt pouch. One of the shards is longer and sharper than the others though, with a wicked curve. That one, I tuck down into the hoofboot Green gave me, so it forms a jagged spur, sticking up and out. “For when you get close, Berry.” My heart’s beating hard now, my breath coming in quick gasps, all my muscles tense. I want to do something: to run and find her right now, to smash up this wretched city, to buck and scream until everypony hears me. I’m wound up like a spring! But no. No. Not yet. When Berry finds me. Save it for her. Unless Green finds me first. That feeling of strength in my gut turns into a rock, and the tremor comes back, like somepony was reaching into my chest to grab my heart. Green didn’t do anything to me, not yet. But if she catches me, it’s back to Berry and back to Trixie. They’ll drug me or cart me off or turn me into one of those things. They’ll make me a freak like her. And she is a freak! She’s a freak and a monster and a sadist and a murderer, and just because I didn’t happen to overhear her plotting against me doesn't mean she hasn’t got it coming. I have the pepper sauce. Something for her pretty eyes. I swallow all that doubt and push it out of my mind. Time to move on. A few minutes of cantering later, I realize I don’t recognize this hallway. I must have missed the turnoff, and instead of getting brighter and more upscale as I near the market, it’s getting more barren and industrial. The service doors are spaced further apart, marked only with numbers instead of signs, and there’s not a pony to be seen—just a long, frozen hall lit by those pulsing light strips. That’s fine though. This tower isn’t that big, and with all the security at the entrance, it’s not like I’m going to get mugged. The corridor is level, so I’ll eventually find an edge, and then I just have to follow it clockwise back to the tram station. There are sounds here, coming up through the floor—a regular, pounding rhythm. It’s not like the lights—the lights are irregular, beating about once a second, but never quite. This is the sound of machines, keeping a perfect time, hissing and clanking under the stone. Hearing the two sounds together creates the most maddening vibrations. Sometimes the machines and lights fall together, sometimes one after the other. Sometimes one will beat twice before the other goes at all. My ears keep straining for a pattern that isn’t there, never letting the sound fade into the background. The corridor seems to go on for some time like that. Maybe it’s the irritating noise and the cold playing with my perception of time, but I don’t think so. Is the tower bigger than I thought? I assumed the marketplace was in the middle of it, since it had that central, radial design, but what if it was near the edge? Or what if I’ve passed through a tunnel or bridge without realizing it and ended up somewhere else entirely? I can’t go back—I’ll only get lost again or run into Berry—but I do keep alert for anything to orient myself: a sign, a junction, an elevator, anything. Nothing like that appears, but I do spot something else up ahead. An open service door, and a pony outside it. He’s a diminutive creature—so small and slight of build I feel like he’d be swept up into the sky by the slightest breeze. That perception of weakness is made all the stronger by his wispy brown mane and tail, paired with a fading cream coat and wide eyes. He’s bundled up in a fluffy green jacket that probably doubles his size, and under it, I can’t tell if he’s an earth pony or a pegasus. I can tell he’s one of them though, one of those things. He has the same mark Berry does, over his eye—the blue flower that only appears when he blinks. When I find him, he’s sitting back on his flank, a lunch box beside him and a sandwich balanced on his hooves. He pauses when he sees me through, eyes going to my belt, my scars, the glass spur at my hoof. He starts to pack up, glancing quickly to the open door. I don’t think so. “Hey, you there.” I take three quick steps towards him, and suddenly I’m between him and the door. He’s frozen to the spot, eyes wide and alert, halfway through putting his lunch back in the box. “I don’t have any money,” he squeaks, eyes flicking between that glass spur and my horn. Naturally, because nothing can go right for me; this city doesn't allow it. “Just my lunch, take it!” he slides the box over to me, flinching away like I’d raised my hoof to strike him. “You’re not being mugged.” You imbecile. I shove the box back to him. “I need directions to the tram station.” “Oh... really?” He lowers his hooves back to the ground, but doesn't unfold from his flinch, still leaning away as though anticipating a blow. “Because, I mean uh...” He gestures in my general direction. Wow, you’ve figured me out. I guess I’m mugging you after all. “Yeah, I’ve looked better. Long story,” I put a little hint of embarrassment and awkwardness into it, and soon, we both give that stiff, nervous chuckle. He has a terrible voice, squeaky and awkward. His laugh sounds like an out-of-tune accordion, and it grates in my ears.  “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I’ve just gotten so lost down here—” “No no, it’s fine.” He rises back to his hooves. “You’re going the wrong way though. You’re actually right under it, but you’re three floors down—” What? That can’t be right. The corridor was level the whole way. “—and there’s no stairs that take you up this way. This corridor goes straight to the basement of Angel’s Garden; you need to turn around, go back to the first intersection, take a left, and then take the stairwell up.” Horseapples, there are so many reasons that’s a bad idea: the chance of running into Berry again, the chance of getting lost again, and with that much of a delay, she might figure out where I’m going and beat me to the tram station.  I shoot him an uncertain look, biting my lip like I was trying to figure something out. “Um...” I glance at the corridor, then at him, then back and forth. He eats it up, leaning faintly closer as his expression turns concerned. “I’m really sorry, but are you sure there’s no more direct route? I’m kind of in a hurry and I don’t think... uh... you know.” “Well... there’s the service elevator, but that’s really for staff only, I’d get in a lot of trouble for even letting a resident use it, and you aren’t a... uh...” He stumbles over his own words when I reach out to him, brushing his cheek with a hoof. “You’ll only get in trouble if you get caught. Please?” This is an old-hat trick for me, and I match my eyes with his on instinct. It’s not until I feel the metal catch his coat that I realize I’ve reached up with the hoof that has Green’s boot on it, and the spur. He goes from tense and excited to tense and alarmed when he feels the sharp edge scape over his coat, and suddenly, it’s less like I’m brushing his cheek and more like I’ve got him by the throat. Think fast, Siren. That’s not good, but it knocks him off guard, and he seems the type who defaults to agreeing with whoever is speaking to him. This could still work. “I need this favor, and I’d be ever so grateful.” “I don’t uh...” He tries to pull away, but a casual reorientation of my hoof keeps it on his shoulder at least. He’s looking at it, at me, at the floor, and biting his lip uncertainly. “I... guess I could. Just this once.” “Oh, thank you.” A tolerable recovery, but this is where a master distinguishes herself from a novice. Anypony could have managed that with sheer luck, but I know how to follow it up. A kiss to the forehead would be too much, and too obvious—but a little squeeze of the shoulder and a soft glance reassures him that he’s doing the right thing, even as I keep close to him. Few ponies realize just how much proximity changes a conversation. We feel threatened by those standing too close to us, and without my saying another word, he feels like he owes me and like I might beat the stuffing out of him. Not my most civilized move, but soon we’re trotting through the open service door, side by side. There’s a short and narrow hallway on the other side, and when we pass through it we emerge into a wide work area. I knew that I’d have to keep quiet so as not to draw undue attention, but this place is so eerily silent that my every hooffall feels like a thunderclap. It’s wide and open—a metal cube really—but it’s full of the strangest things. Big glass boxes of swirling liquid sit mounted atop collections of pipes, like fishtanks on pedestals. Each one is tended by an earth pony and unicorn, the earth pony’s hooves pressed to the side of the box, the unicorn’s horn shining a pale pastel light down into the liquid. It’s the only source of light here, and all the colors of the rainbow ripple over the ceiling and floor. Every tender has that same cutie mark, the blue flower over their eye, and all of their eyes are closed, like they were statues. “What are they doing?” I whisper, as my guide leads me across the room and to the door on the far side. I’m sure every single pony here heard me; there’s not a sound to hide my voice. None of them react though. “They’re preparing novative solution,” he answers matter-of-factly. Novative... that means, uh... having the properties of... nove. Yeah. Magic and latin, two of Celestia’s classes I’m wishing I’d paid more attention in. I give him a puzzled look, and he clarifies, “It’s the base that you brew tonics in.” “Oh. Right.” That little conversation must have marked me as an intruder to everypony here, but not one of them looks up as we make our way across the work floor. There’s a series of doors on the far side, and I realize as we draw close that one of them is an elevator. It’s a bit like the lifts that were broken in Serpent’s Wharf—driven by cogs and cables, and all made of glass so you can see the mechanisms work. There are a few differences though: This one is much bigger and less ornate, made to carry cargo. It’s also up against the edge of the tower, and when we step into it, the glass offers a panoramic view of the city. I leave him to operate the lift controls, and walk up to the glass. The lift has no lights. I just realized that. There are no oil lamps or glow strips above us. They aren't necessary; the city lights shine into the lift like a sky full of stars. There’s an irony in that—I never actually cared much for the night sky. Princess Luna did her best, but it was always just lights to me. This though... I slide my rear to the floor as the lift begins to move, and hold up two hooves to the glass. They block out the top and bottom of one building, so I can only see a single strip of light. One floor. I have to wiggle my hooves a bit to keep it in sight as the lift moves, but I can see it clearly. It has big windows and an open space on the other side. Full of... something. Furniture, but a mix of it. About half the lights are on, half are off. I see three ponies there: one sitting at a desk working, one pacing around, one in a room off to the side that looks like a tiny kitchen. The one who’s pacing around is quick and agitated, the one in the kitchen sluggish. They’re working late. Three ponies working late because of some problem: one angry, one trying to get through it, and one looking for coffee. I draw my hooves back so I can see the whole of the building they’re in, dozens of floors glittering all at once. When I put my hooves down, the whole city seems to shine, no longer monolithic, but an impossible hive of motion. “Um...” my guide mutters behind me. I guess the silence is getting to him, though frankly, I don’t care—it’s like that screeching accordion he has for a voice could crack the glass and bring the whole city crashing down. I was actually enjoying the view until he said something, but with that little mumble, I remember what we’re in the middle of, and it doesn't seem the time to sightsee. Whatever, best keep him in tow. “Sorry,” I titter, blushing a little. “It gets me every time, you know?” He nods reflexively, which is good enough. He only needs not to raise an alarm; I can manage if he’s lukewarm on me besides. “So how do we get to the tram station from here?” “It’s outside the employee entrance, right up here.” He nervously scuffs at the ground. “If anyone asks, you’re my sister, and I’m only showing you around, okay?” Yeah, that’ll fool everypony—a real master of deception you are. We’ll say that you drank some bleach when we were foals and never quite recovered. “Sure thing.” I smile, and he relaxes a little. Soon enough, a little bell rings above us, and the lift door slides open. It’s an office we’re in now, like if the bureaucratic levels of Canterlot Castle were crossed with an alchemist’s lab. Desks covered in paper rest amongst a tangle of pipes, little glass tubes emerging from the mass to drip samples into waiting jars. Busy-looking earth ponies with flasks and pipettes and bunsen burners and stranger marks covering their bodies fill the space, and we press through the tangle to try and make it to the door on the other side. I walk smoothly. There’s no way to make myself blend in here, but I act unafraid of being caught, and smile when ponies notice me. Meanwhile, my idiot guide scampers around like his lunchbox was stuffed full of stolen goods, and it’s a miracle the whole room doesn't jump on him at once. Somehow though, the worst we get is a couple of looks, and then we’re across the space, into another hallway, and angling towards the door at the end. “Well... here we are,” my guide mutters, reaching up to open the door. I can hear the rattle of a train moving on its tracks above us, the whistle of steam, and the screech of brakes. A tram must be coming into the station. “Um... good luck, I guess—” “Yeah, thanks.” I shove past him, stepping out into the hall. I don’t know exactly where I am, but the outside of the tower is behind me, and the sound of the tram is coming from my right, so I must be on the opposite side of the tram station from Berry’s apartment. Good, less chance that I’ll run into either of them. I turn to the sound of the train and move down the wide hallway, following the Hearth’s Warming Eve decorations towards the station and the gaudy fake tree waiting there. Sound carries well in this hallway—I can clearly hear the train coming into the station, the hiss of its doors opening. It sounds like there’s quite a crowd this time, a rumble of hoofbeats echoing off the stone. “Hello, Lieutenant!” Somepony calls ahead of us, loud and clear. I come around a bend, and I’m facing what I think is the rear-end of another security checkpoint. This hallway is narrower than the one Green and I came through before, and so the half-dozen sentries just about block my view completely. I’m pretty sure it’s the tram station on the other side though, and the sentries look alert, their ears pricked up as they spread themselves out to fill the hall. It sounds like whoever is shouting is in the tram station. Maybe a new arrival? “To what do we owe this visit?” “I am here in pursuit of a fugitive. I wired ahead to speak with your boss and clear things up. I was told I would be expected.” A deeper voice this time—older, masculine, authoritative, his tone formal and a little bit angry. I step up to the sentries in front of me, as close as I can get without pushing through them, peering up and over their shoulders. There must be more than a dozen ponies in the station—a mix of unicorns, earth ponies, and a few pegasi hovering over the crowd. They’re all in black uniforms, stitched with silver. It looks good, and it looks intimidating, a perception aided by the fact that they’re all armed and armored. They have those weird clockwork things on their hooves, helmets with a steel horn spike, and the pegasi have some kind of blades on their wings. “You are half correct, Lieutenant,” the first voice replies. I can see who it belongs to now: one of the guards at the checkpoint Green and I passed through. That seems to be the way these new arrivals are headed, and they’re facing away from me. I can see the Lieutenant as well, a charcoal pegasus with a stubby blue-silver tail and a mohawk of a mane. He’s not that big, but he projects a lot of authority, even with his back turned to me. “I was informed that you spoke with my superior, however my understanding was that we were to receive a special fifty thousand-bit bounty for our assistance in this matter, and we have yet to be paid.” “I wired the money ahead,” the lieutenant speaks, his tail lashing back and forth. “I received confirmation that it had arrived.” “Well then, I suggest you find a new banker, Lieutenant, because we have received no such payment, and I’m not to let you past until we do.” The guard sounds a little too smug, and the sentries in front of me chuckle and nudge each other. “On behalf of City Central Security, I apologize if there was any error or oversight in this matter,” the Lieutenant says. I can hear that he’s angry, but he’s not letting it openly show. Probably trying to avoid getting drawn into a confrontation. “You have my assurances you will receive the full agreed-upon amount, and if there was any error on our part, compensation for your patience. In the meanwhile though, I have a mission to complete, and it must be seen to promptly.” He tries to shoulder his way past them. It’s a fair attempt—with his presence and all those soldiers behind him, a lot of ponies would have parted and gotten swept away in the current. The guards close ranks though, stopping him on the spot. “I’m afraid not, Lieutenant.” With everyone so bunched up like that, I can’t see what’s going on so clearly, but the guard at the other checkpoint doesn't sound too unhappy about this outcome. “You’ll have to either get it wired again, or pay it now, but I’m not to let you past until it’s paid.” “I do not carry fifty thousand bits in cash,” the Lieutenant snaps, his wings fluttering faintly out to either side. “Nor do I have time to return to arrange a second transfer. The fugitive will be leaving Doctor Stable’s at any time, and it is imperative we catch her there.” Oh, horseapples! It’s me! They’re here for me! I start to crouch down reflexively, to scamper away, but I catch myself. No, that’s wrong. The guard is saying something else, but I’m not listening, running through what to do in my head. No. If I run, I really will be a fugitive, lost in an unfamiliar area swarming with guards. Right now, all the soldiers are facing the other door. If I’m lucky, they’ll pass through it and I can sneak into the train behind them. Good. I quietly rise back up and keep listening. “—pissing contest between the pavilion and Doctor Stable,” the Lieutenant says, his already curt tone growing sharp. “I appreciate the position you’re in, but my orders come from Rainbow Dash herself. This is for the city.” “If you really appreciated my position, you’d understand why I can’t let somepony from City Central Security rough up one of the doc’s customers,” the guard answers, unmoved. “If she’s that big a deal, post some sentries. Once she leaves the tower, she’s not our problem.” “I have done that as well,” the Lieutenant answers. I want to run through another tirade in my head, but I stamp down on that, biting my lip until it hurts. I don’t have time for that kind of self-indulgence, and right now, it seems like my only chance is to get on that train and hope he doesn't have guards posted at every station along its route. “However, this fugitive is too important to leave to chance. Furthermore, your superior did not seem to share these objections when he accepted our payment.” “We haven't gotten any payment, remember?” the guard answers, and the smug contempt in his voice is getting more obvious. “I’d say you’re outta luck, Lieutenant.” “Are you presuming to cheat City Central Security?” the Lieutenant demands, but I can tell he’s not going to get anywhere. Not with this stallion. “You thinking to start something, Lieutenant?” I bet he’s grinning. He sounds like he’s spoiling for a fight. “You know there’s a good eighty guards in this building, not counting all the wiredolls and traps. Against your, what? Twenty goons in your fancy uniforms? You think you’re going to rough us up to fix our attitudes? We’ll send you back to Rarity in a box!” There’s a tense silence for a moment, but the Lieutenant shakes his head. “I do not work for Rarity. I am an officer in this city’s security forces, and I serve the Element of Loyalty.” He says it with pride. Strong pride, and angry. “Furthermore, I do not ‘rough ponies up’ because I do not like their attitude. The building is surrounded, and after I catch this fugitive, I will return to discuss your unlawful actions.” He turns to leave, walking back towards the train, and his soldiers take the hint. “That’s right. Run back to your marefriend,” the guard taunts the Lieutenant’s retreating tail, but he keeps walking, moving across the ice towards the train. “Or, are the rumors true?” The Lieutenant presses on, steadfastly ignoring the jabs behind him. “I mean, she’s awful quick to come running when Rarity needs help, and I’ve never seen either of them with a stallion. I guess that assertive tomboy act is just for the public, right?” The Lieutenant’s hoof hits the stone, and he stops. “In private, I hear she knows who's boss.” The Lieutenant doesn't say anything for a moment, his soldiers drawing together in little groups, the pegasi hovering nearby. The sentries in front of me are tense. They aren’t jostling each other now—they’ve gone still, heads craned forward, ears up and alert. This wasn’t part of the plan. “Rainbow Dash is a hero in every sense of the word,” the Lieutenant finally speaks, turning back to the guard behind him. Something’s changed, now. “She was saving Equestria before you were born, and she’s saved Vision more times than I can count. You owe her your life and your respect.” “I owe her my job, more like.” The guard sneers, comfortable in the protection of his fellows. “We wouldn't need near as much private security if she wasn’t Rarity’s favorite saddle.” “I don’t like you,” the Lieutenant nods, tapping a hoof twice on the floor. “And it would give me a great deal of pleasure to give you the beating you’re clearly asking for. But I am an officer of the law. Which means I don’t get to rough up ponies because I don’t like them.” He lets out a hiss of breath, and I can see the tension flow out of the sentries in front of me. That was close. “Instead, I find them guilty of sedition. And then I hang them.” A snap, a scream. Oh, horseapples—novice mistake. I was watching the monologue and not the goons! It’s the mouthy guard—one of the unicorn soldiers has him with some kind of lasso, dragging him across the floor. The rope’s glowing. I think it’s enchanted—they’re actually going to hang him! The sentries around me freeze to the spot, tense and uncertain, and then one of them’s shouting, “Save him, save him!” Then, the group leaps into action, charging forwards. I don’t know what to do. Do I run? Fight? If the guards win, I’m out of here! I can hear spellcasting, a crackle of lightning, and suddenly one of the sentries tumbles to the stone, his legs spasming under him, tripping one of his fellows and sending them both to the ground in a pile. The others charge on without them, leaping into the confused melee. The one who was tripped scrambles to his hooves, but the one who fell starts to convulse—something’s wrong with him. The standing guard looks back and forth, at the ceiling, at me. He’s an earth pony, brown hair. There’s motion above him, two of the pegasi soldiers, both mares. One drops in front of him, flexing her ankles, and knives pop out of those clockwork things they have on their hooves. He rears up to strike at her, but he can only attack on two legs, and she just floats around him, her weapons stabbing forward whenever he drops to all fours. He bunches his legs and leaps for her, like he could grab her before she moves, but that’s the trap. The second pegasus soldier goes for the twitching guard once his defender is away, and stabs those knives down into his neck. The earth pony guard turns, yells something, rushes to his friend. But then there’s a loud snap, and one of those glowing cords is around his neck, the first pegasus lifting him up off the ground and into the sky. My eyes follow them up into the air. It’s like the pegasi are dancing, weaving in tight arcs through the station—six flyers all twisting around each other. One of the guards passes one of the soldiers at high speed, and suddenly the guard is twisting, falling. He hits the floor maybe five paces from me, crimson splatting over the white stone from the two deep cuts in his wings. He’s shaking, still alive, but that’s a lot of blood under him. Too much blood. There are guards coming now, from the battle, going the other way. One of them gallops past me, screaming something about a door. Another stops to try to help the downed pegasus, hefting him up onto her shoulders, but something tears in his wing. Suddenly, she’s covered in blood as he begins to violently shudder, a seizure gripping him as she tries to pull him away from the room. There’s a bright red flash, a rush of heat, and she’s on fire. Oh Celestia, she’s burning! Her friend crashes to the ground, and she tramples over him as she gallops screaming towards the nearest snowbank. My heart is racing inside my chest, all my legs are frozen—I need to get out of here but I can’t move! “Lieutenant!” One of the pegasi shouts, bellowing so loud I can hear him over the battle. “The fugitive!” I look up. He’s pointing. He’s pointing at me. I run. I don’t know where I’m going—I just gallop as long as there’s hallway ahead of me. I don’t know if they’re behind me; I can’t hear anything except my own breath and my heart pounding in my ears and a deafening alarm klaxon that seems to come from all directions. I need to go, I need to go! There’s a corner up ahead where the hall turns away from the battle! I can get there and— Something wraps around my legs. I can feel it, a length of cord, twisting and stretching, and then two weights slam into my sides, and I go flying. The impact knocks the wind out of me, and my vision swims, but I can feel a tug at my ankles. A lasso—I’m tethered! The rope goes tight, and stretches as they pull, and then I’m sliding across the floor, back to the station. My mane snags on a chip on the floor, but I don’t even feel pain when the hairs are ripped out of my neck. I look down, past my legs and my hooves and the rope that binds them up. I want to struggle, but I’ll never get out in time! There’s one of those security doors, half closed, two earth ponies holding it open and a pegasus pulling the rope. I start casting. Every spell I know—every petty trick Celestia managed to teach me when she still thought I could be a wizard—light spells and sound spells and conjured pies and my pathetic little magic bolt. Nothing, nothing! My breath comes faster, I’ve got to get out of the ropes. I’m struggling, but I can’t move and I’m at the door and the pegasus is grabbing me to pull me through. One of the earth ponies holding the door open. I twist my spine around, hauling myself up. I headbutt him. I don’t see what happens, I just feel it, hear it, a collection of disconnected sensations. The shock of impact runs down my neck. The door mechanism whines. The pegasus drops me. I hit the ground and roll. Metal screeches. The floor shakes. I struggle with the ropes, sure that somepony is going to grab me any second. The cord tangles tighter and tighter, and I scream as loud as I can. I’m stuck! I’m stuck and I can’t get out! I rip one of the glass shards out of my belt pack and saw at the rope. The glass piece shatters and I grab another, almost beating my collection of shards against the rope. I saw until the rope snaps and I can leap to my hooves, sucking down deep lungfuls of air. I can still smell it—fire, sulfur, burning flesh. I can’t get the smell out of my nose. I know that smell. I’m burned. They hit me and I’m burning up, I just know it, but I can’t find the strength to move. All I can do is stand there, feeling my heart race, my legs shuddering under me. I taste copper. Why does that seem so important? Copper and something else. Sugar? That’s not it. It’s sweet, but it’s a nasty taste, cloying and thick. I run my tongue along my lips, and the taste is strong there. There’s something all over my face. Something warm and sticky. I reach up and run a hoof over my muzzle. It comes back covered in blood. Time slows to a crawl. My breathing is loud all of a sudden, the pounding of my heart distant and rumbling, like thunder. My hoof is covered in blood. A drop of it is running up my ankle. And my hoof was on my face. I reach up and touch my cheeks. Mostly dry. I think I actually left a sticky hoofprint there. Then up, wetter, but already starting to dry and congeal. My forehead. My horn. The door shakes. Sparks fly off the crystal in the center. I just look at it. That’s important for some reason, it... I know that’s important. The gear in the center begins to turn—slowly, but it’s turning, dragging those thick bolts out of place. I hear a few loud thumps, a muffled shout. Metal grinds, and the door slides up an inch. I can hear voices now. But they don’t make sense. The words are all jumbled. There’s a smell drifting in from under the door. Ponies burning. Suddenly, it’s like all that lost time comes back to me with a vengeance. My heart seems to race, the seconds come too fast. They’re going to find me! They’re going to find me and burn me to death! I scream at the top of my lungs, and then I’m running. I gallop as fast as my legs will carry me, the hallway twisting around me as I barrel through it. Doors. Nothing but locked doors all around me! All I can do is run and hope they aren't behind me, but they are. They’re right behind me and they’re always behind me and they’re going to find me. Dark and corridors and mutants and fire. Oh, please no. Please no! My hoof hits a patch of ice, and the next thing I know, I’m on my side—my vision swimming, my ears ringing. It’s happening again. It’s all happening again the way it did before, only now I’m going to die and they’re going to kill and rape me like Trixie said and I should never have left Berry! I have to go, I have to go! I force myself to stand, to get up. The corridor is moving, shifting in front of me, and there are things in it now. Like wiredolls, but they aren’t on stands, and they’re a lot bigger. Four faceless ponies with steel instead of skin and glass instead of eyes, each one with a glowing crystal where their cutie mark should be. I run past them, trying to keep on my hooves. I come out somewhere. I don’t know. I look left and right to get my bearings, but the room starts spinning, and I almost fall over then and there. It was a room though. A big room, lots of tunnels leading out of it. I can’t stay here. One of the tunnels was wider than the others, familiar, and I take it, galloping as hard as I can. My lungs are burning, legs aching, every part of me covered in sweat as I gasp for air. I can hear fighting behind me, lightning, they’re here! I burst out of the tunnel, a wide room, tables, stores, Hearth’s Warming Eve decorations. The market! “Swiftwing!” I bolt for the store, for cover, for someplace to hide. It’s blocked though—there are metal bars that cover the doors and windows so I can’t get in. All the shops have them so I can’t get in! “Swiftwing, please, come to the door!” I hear motion. The store is dark, but I see her outline in the window, the gleam of her eyes. “Swiftwing! Please let me in!” “Well, you look like you’ve had better days,” she glowers down at me, cold and angry. Oh no. “Swiftwing... no, please. I’m sorry. Please, I’m sorry I was so nasty to you. Let me in.” My voice wavers, something seizes in my throat, and my vision blurs. Am I concussed again? My head hurts so much. “Please let me in.” “Oh  yeah. Now you’re sorry. Why do I feel that’s less than sincere?” I can barely see her but I can hear her scoff. “No, Swiftwing, please. I’m sorry, I know I was awful to you, but don’t let it end like this!” I’m begging on my knees now, but she just turns, walking away into the back of the shop and out of sight. I grab the bars, tugging on them for all I’m worth, but they don’t budge. “Please. I don’t want to die.” There’s a loud buzzing, a drone, like the wiredolls, and suddenly the bars are sliding up and out of my hooves. The door to the front of the shop unlocks, and I dive through it, kicking it shut behind me. I hear it slam closed, the latch clicks, and the bars slide back down over it outside. It’s dark here, but Swiftwing’s outline is behind the countertop. “Don’t stand near the window, they’ll see you. Get in the back.” She points, and I hurry through the dark interior. A table cracks into my side, but I keep going. I need to go. The back is... like a kitchen. The lights are on. It has a sink, and a stove, and an oven, but there’s no real space to prepare anything—only stacks of boxes, and a little door to a bathroom. I slam the door to the front shut, and it has a bolt, so I bolt that too, and then I stop. I stop and listen for them. For the sound of them bending the bars and breaking the windows and setting the restaurant on fire. “Rider’s ghost,” Swiftwing mutters, but I’m not paying her any mind. I’m pressing my ear to the door, listening for them. But I don’t hear them. I hear her and me and my breathing and my pounding heart, and the muffled sound of the alarm klaxon. I just... I just need a second to catch my breath. I need a second. My neck hurts first—where my mane was ripped out. The pain I forgot about. Then my lungs—they’re burning. My breaths come faster and faster but I can never get enough air. Then my side where I was dragged over the rough stone and sharp ice, the cuts, the scrapes, my head where I hit the floor. And then my legs. It starts as a burning in my ankles, working its way up, growing as it goes until I’m shaking uncontrollably. I try to lie down, but I don’t make it all the way, and I collapse onto the floor. All my muscles are burning, hotter and hotter, spots appearing in my vision. I try to scream. But all I do is wheeze.