Severed Roots

by Bad_Seed_72


Har-Meggido

Har-Megiddo

Applejack opened her saddlebag and threw several ripe apples inside, along with a few bottles of fresh cider. She packed quickly. Hesitation didn't even have a chance of crossing her mind. While it wasn’t even noon yet, she still felt the daylight burning away on the horizon, and was fueled by the fire in her veins.

Meanwhile, Braeburn waited in the living room with a snoozing Granny Smith. He studied the walls and the wrinkles on the elderly mare's jawline while he tried to stop his teeth from chattering. Darting his eyes from floor to ceiling and back again, he took a few slow, deep breaths, willing himself to be patient.

Easier said than done. If he and Applejack were correct, this was big. Bigger than his cousin still working the orchards. Bigger than the uncharted territory beyond Appleloosa's meager city limit.

Bigger than anything Braeburn could have ever thought possible.

Granny, on the other hoof, slept in blissful ignorance. "Zzzz... mmm... Apple Strudel, Ah told ya ta put that in the cupboard..." Her head lolled onto her shoulder, a trail of drool trickling down her muzzle. "Mmm... Apple Rose... not now..."

Braeburn cleared his throat and adjusted his Stetson, his saddlebags feeling heavy across his back. Within was but one weapon—one tool to dismantle everything he hoped was just wild speculation on his behalf. One revolver. About fifty rounds of ammunition. Nothing nowhere near what would be needed, if his suspicions were correct. If theirs were.

Just as he'd begun shuffling his hooves, switching his gaze between Granny Smith and a very interesting stain on the couch, Applejack emerged from the kitchen. Across her back were her own pair of saddlebags, heavy with provisions for the long ride. On her head sat her trusty Stetson, which she tugged at once, twice, a third time, as if she could straighten out everything else the way she did her hat.

"All packed up?" Braeburn asked, breaking the silence. His words ebbed and flowed as he spoke.

Applejack nodded, saying nothing.

"Alright," he said, trying to sound casual. As if there's anythin' casual 'bout this.

With a nod, Applejack trotted over to her grandmother and nudged her in the shoulder.

Granny Smith’s head lolled to her other shoulder. "Zzzz... No... not ma gumdrop buttons..."

"Granny, wake up." Applejack nudged her a little harder this time.

Granny twitched in her sleep and snored loudly in response.

Applejack sighed and looked back at the stallion. "Can ya go tell Big Mac we're headin' out?" she asked in a voice near a whisper, though not on account of the mare snoozing in the rocking chair.

Braeburn tugged at his Stetson again. "'Course, Applejack. Want me ta wait up, o'—"

"Yeah, jus' wait on the porch when yer done." Applejack looked back at her slumbering Granny, then sighed. "She's awful hard ta wake up, so this might take a while."

Though a part of him screamed for urgency, Braeburn could only nod and offer her a soft smile. He opened the front door and closed it behind him, stepping out into the cool, crisp, mid-morning air.

Celestia had just begun to raise her star to its highest point in the canvas of sky. The only sound was the distant thumping of Big Macintosh’s hooves against yielding tree trunks in the fields beyond. The scent of fall filled Braeburn’s nostrils—the scent of ripe apples, and falling leaves, and change.

He paused for only a moment, relishing the peace of the wind through his mane.

~

The Big Orange was packed from wall-to-wall-to-wall, corner-to-corner-to-corner. If there had been more pegasi who called Manehatten home, the ceiling would've been full as well. It was a menagerie of ponies of all shapes and sizes and colors and genders, flagons of cider and ale and pitchers and pints of beer and glasses of wine and cocktail glasses and shot glasses of all concoctions in their drunken hooves.

It was night in the ghetto, and that meant escape.

Officer Lucky Toss led the two mares inside, adjusting the collar on his uniform as he made his heavy steps. He paused and scanned the establishment, looking for any sign of a mare or a stallion in a getup matching his own.

"Geez, this place is packed," Apple Bloom said, sweeping her eyes around the room.

Babs nodded and grimaced. "Dove picked the most popular bar."

But was dat a good decision, o' a bad one?

"Yeah, a lil' easier ta get lost in the crowd," Lucky said, turning to look at the mares for a second. "Youze know, even afta everythin', she's—oof!" He stumbled backwards a bit, almost stepping on one of Babs's hooves.

"'Ey, watch where youze standin'!" blurted a tall, husky gray stallion, baring his teeth. He rounded on Lucky Toss, his eyes looking for a fight.

When the rowdy stallion's eyes alighted upon the deep blue of his uniform and the silver badge pinned to it, his countenance immediately fell. Raising both his forehooves in apology, he took a few steps back. "Er, sorry, Offica."

"No problem." Lucky Toss nodded at him before throwing a forehoof across both mares' shoulders. "C'mon, let's find 'em'."

Who was dat stallion?

Apple Bloom and Babs Seed followed after Lucky Toss. As they did, Babs stole a glance over her shoulder, watching the stallion who'd bumped into their friend weave his way back through the crowd.

Seeing him take a seat at a table of thuggish-looking stallions, Babs narrowed her eyes and tapped Toss on the shoulder. "'Ey, Toss, I think—"

"There youze two are!"

At one of the smaller tables in the corner, White Dove and Rustler turned away from their conversation and gestured for the three to join them. Before them sat two full pints of citrus beer. Around them waited three stools, each coupled with its own glass of beer.

"'Ey! Youze buyin’ ta-night, eh?" Lucky Toss chuckled and plopped down into his seat.

White Dove took a bitter sip at her beer and glared at him in wordless disapproval.

"Youze late," Rustler said snidely, taking a drink of his own brew.

Apple Bloom and Babs Seed pulled up their stools in between Lucky Toss and White Dove. Choosing to sit closer to Toss than Dove, Babs merely snorted at Rustler's remark. "Late?" She looked over towards a clock on the wall. "It's 'bout five minutes befo' 1800!"

"Late fo' bein' early, then." Rustler nipped at his beer again. "Whateva. At least youze all is heeya."

"Told youze we'd be. Say, Babs," Toss began, turning to her, "what were youze gonna say back by the door?"

Babs Seed gestured with a flick of her mane towards the opposite side of bar. "Youze know dat stallion who bumped inta youze?" Toss nodded. "Well, he went an' sat down wit' a bunch o' thugs."

"So what?"

All eyes shifted to White Dove. "'So what'?" Babs raised an eyebrow.

Dove nodded and chased more of her beer, her brow furrowing. She bit her tongue in distaste before replying. "Dat don't matta right now. Dis ain't the best o' bars, but it's big. 'Sides, we ain't gonna be in heeya fo' long."

Apple Bloom stood up on her hindhooves, peering over the multicolored sea of equine flesh that writhed and churned around the bar. In the very corner that Babs referred to, she noticed that two tables had been pushed together to accommodate the twelve stallions who hunched around it.

All the occupants appeared to be quite large and well-muscled, many with scars marring their faces or necks. Along the two tables, twenty-four eyes stared back at Apple Bloom. In front of the stallions rested no glasses of any shape or size.

The bar became a much more confined place to be.

"Dove, Ah think Babs is onta somethin'." Apple Bloom glanced at her mare before turning back to the detective. "They're starin' at us. Looks like trouble."

Rustler turned around in his stool and drank the last of his beer as he looked over.

Dove pulled him back around with a forehoof on his shoulder, forcing him forward. "'Ey! Don't youze be drawin' mo' attention ta us than we've already got."

Lucky crossed his forehooves in his lap, looking over from the corner of his eye. He set down his beer, not one sip crossing his lips. "Er, Dove, I think dey got a po—"

"Youze really think we're gonna stay heeya?" Dove snapped, slamming her glass down on the table. "Youze don't think three ponies in uniform gonna draw attention?"

Babs flattened her ears. "We didn't say—"

"Look! We're gonna go soon as we finish our drinks. Then we'll head ta the station an' get dis ironed out. I know dey're starin', but there ain't anythin' we can do 'bout it." Dove rolled her eyes and picked up her glass again.

"Then why did ya want us all here?" Apple Bloom shared a confused glance with Babs Seed. "Lucky said you'd be tellin' us everythin' here. An' Ah'll be honest, Dove. Ah really don't understand why we're meetin' here, o' all places."

White Dove mumbled something under her breath, then buried it in another deep drink of her beer.

"What's dat, Dove?" Toss asked.

Glass met wood harshly once more. "I said, 'Always need a stiff drink befo' nights like dis.'" Dove scowled and wiped her muzzle clean of foam.

Three sets of eyes focused on Officer Rustler. Though the adversary of the gruff mare beside him for as long as anypony knew or could remember, he said nothing at her outburst, simply sipping his glass.

Babs brought her forehooves up to both sides of her mane and tugged at it, groaning. "Okay, okay... Youze tellin' me dat, whateva it is youze draggin' me an' Bloom inta, youze need ta drink befo' it?"

"I ain't draggin' nopony!" A pair of dark eyes met Babs's green. Dove pointed the door on the other side of the bar. "Youze want outta dis, fine! There's the buckin' door!"

Lucky Toss looked around as he picked up his beer, swallowing as he realized several sets of eyes were upon their table now. "Dove..."

Babs lurched forward in her stool, leaning on her forehooves. "Cut wit' the vague crap already! The way youze talkin', it's like we're goin' ta war o' summat!"

Toss shifted in his seat. "Dove..."

"Don't youze joke 'bout things like dat!" The corners of White Dove's muzzle twitched, threatening to break.

To his surprise, Lucky Toss saw the twelve stallions at the faraway table begin to rise to their hooves. One of the smaller brutes tapped a larger one on the shoulder and pointed in their direction. "D-Dove..."

"'Ey! 'Ey!" Yanking the detective's glass away, Rustler rounded on her. "Youze had enough. Calm down. Youze gonna make a scene, Miss Covert Ops!"

Apple Bloom wedged a forehoof between them, pushing Babs back down and shooting Dove a glare. "Cut it out, both o' ya!"

Babs stifled a growl as she turned to her mare. "But! But!"

"Ain't no buts 'bout it! We can't keep arguin' like this!" Apple Bloom pushed both her and Babs’s beers aside. “Let’s jus’ get outta here already.”

"She's right," Rustler said, gulping down the last of his drink before his fellow officer could swipe it for herself. "I already told youze, Dove, I don't exactly like the sound o' dis plan, but..." He bit his lip. "I kept quiet from the Chief today an' met youze heeya 'cuz—"

Guys,” Lucky Toss whispered, leaning down as he set his drink back down on the table, ”we need ta get goin’.

At his hushed words, White Dove finally looked over her shoulder.

The twelve stallions who were previously glaring at them from the other side of the bar were now on their hooves and staring straight at them as they stood beside their empty table. Twenty-four eyes drilled into White Dove at her slightest glance, sending a fiery chill through her spine. She let loose a low growl and slammed her glass down.

“Forget ‘bout the drinks,” Dove muttered, rounding on the others.

Not like I need ta be told twice. Afta what I almost did… I ain’t touchin’ any o’ dis crap no mo’. Babs pushed her glass away, full and untouched. She rose from her stool and stood close beside Apple Bloom, who did the same.

While Lucky and Rustler also rose to their hooves, sweeping their eyes around the bar—which felt even more crowded now—Babs couldn’t help but feel the heat from the thugs’ gaze.

Dey know us. An’ dey know… him. Don’t need no tail-liftin’ ta know dat, Babs thought as her muscles began to clench beneath her coat.

“C’mon! C’mon!” Dove pounded the table with a forehoof, almost sending two empty glasses, two full ones, and one-half full mug skywards. “Let’s jus’ get down ta the station.

“Ain’t gonna be ready fo’ dis, anyhow.”

White Dove and Rustler led the way, trotting side-by-side as they slipped around a few crowded tables and towards the exit. Lucky Toss followed closely behind them, one forehoof resting on the pocket near his pistol. He kept his eyes on both mares as they followed behind him.

As the five strode, they couldn’t help but notice the unflinching, unwavering gaze of the twelve at the table. The gray stallion, Babs noticed, was particularly haunting in his stare.

There appeared to be no light in his eyes—only hunger.

Without visible incident, three officers and two civilians slithered out of The Big Orange and back into the belly of the beast, alcohol doing little more than naught to calm the acceleration of their fearful adrenaline.

He knows us…

~

WHACK!

An entire tree’s worth of apples tumbled unceremoniously into the basket. Big Macintosh looked at his work and smiled. Chuckling to himself, he slipped under the full basket and placed it on the increasingly heavy cart, not one muscle flinching at the graceful act.

He paused for a moment, watching as more leaves were whisked away by the impartial winds of autumn. The sound of hooves approaching snapped him from his peaceful routine. Big Macintosh looked over his shoulder and grinned.

“Howdy, Braeburn. Had a nice long chat wit’ Applejack, huh?”

Braeburn tugged at his Stetson and forced a laugh as he approached. “Heh, yeah, ya could say that, cuz.”

Narrowing his eyes, Big Mac brought a forehoof to his chin and tapped it lightly. “Somethin’ botherin’ ya, Brae?”

Reaching the stallion and his cart, Braeburn coughed and rubbed his neck. “Heh, well, er… Big Mac…” His words trailed off as he stared at the grass, then back up to the stallion.

Sitting down on his haunches, Big Mac placed a forehoof on Braeburn’s shoulder. “Now, Brae, you know ya can tell me anythin’, right?”

Braeburn nodded. “O’ course.”

“No matter what it’s ‘bout. Ah’ll always be here fer you, cuz.”

“Th-thanks.” Braeburn gently pushed Mac’s forehoof away, eliciting the raise of an eyebrow from the larger stallion. “Big Mac… Ah… Ah don’t really know how Ah’m s’posed ta tell ya this, but—”

“But what?” Letting a little smile spread across his muzzle, Big Mac said, “Jus’ tell me, Braeburn.”

Braeburn sighed and removed his saddlebags from his back. This was even more difficult than he’d imagined; somehow, as he looked up into those trusting eyes, the thought of revealing this terrible possibility to Big Mac was worse than speaking of it to Applejack. Then again, she had faced down literal monsters before.

Yet, Big Macintosh stayed strong, urging, “C’mon, cuz. Tell me.”

“Alright.” Braeburn sighed, fiddling with the straps on his saddlebag. “Ya know… ya know Bernie Madhoof, right?”

At the mention of that dreadful name, Big Macintosh’s gentle and open expression was exchanged for flattened ears, flared nostrils, and a stern frown. “What ‘bout that bastard?”

Braeburn swallowed. “Well, Mac, ya see, a lil’ over a month ago…”

~

Through the Manehatten streets they sliced, cutting through the crowds, a knife in the heart of the ghetto. Twisted surgeons they were, the three officers and two civilians, racing against the dusk. With fall came the approaching darkness. The skies did not disappoint, shrouding Manehatten in a curtain of gray.

By the time they reached the Police Department—with no apparent followers, thankfully—the light-tenders had stirred to duty, illuminating dim candles against the dark. Detective White Dove opened the door and ushered the others inside.

Apple Bloom looked around as she walked inside. “Dove, what are we—”

Dove shushed her. “Not a word. Follow Rustla.”

Rustler flicked his mane and nodded to Apple Bloom and Babs Seed. Shooting them a half-smile, he gestured for them to follow.

Babs paused and looked uneasily at Apple Bloom. Tilting her head, she asked with her eyes, Should we really…?

With a nudge to her shoulder, Apple Bloom nodded and prompted Babs to move. Alright, iffa youze say so…

As they followed Officer Rustler, Babs Seed couldn’t help but feel that there was something… off within the station. Although it was near quitting time for most officers, there weren’t any to be found. Not even Cotton and her magazine were found wasting taxpayer dollars in the reception area.

Each hoof-step from any of the five echoed and ricocheted off the empty walls. The dimly lit hallways soon twisted and turned into the lower level as they walked down the steps and through yet another abandoned corridor.

Finally, just as Babs Seed began to find the eerie silence difficult, Officer Rustler stopped in front of a door labeled, “Records Department”.

Babs raised an eyebrow. “Records De—“

Dove round on her immediately, bringing a forehoof to Babs’s muzzle to silence her. Babs squirmed away and glared at her, backing up against the corner. The detective returned the gesture with a scowl that could paint a frown on Discord’s twisted maw.

“Don’t youze two start,” Rustler whispered gruffly as he dug a key out from one of his pockets. He fished out the proper key and mated it with the lock before either of the silently seething mares could raise hooves against each other.

Their adrenaline would soon be put to better use.

Opening the door to the dusty Records Department, Rustler ushered Apple Bloom and Babs Seed inside.

“Forget ‘bout that,” Apple Bloom scolded her mare, pulling her by the forehoof into the room. Babs furrowed her brow and shot one more glare towards White Dove before turning around and walking inside.

Once both mares slipped into the dusty embrace of the empty room, so did Detective White Dove and Officer Lucky Toss. Then, and only then, did Officer Rustler step inside and lock the door behind him, deadbolt and tumbler and, if he could, door-chain.

~

“… And me an’ AJ are pretty sure that’s what’s been goin’ on, Mac.”

Braeburn looked up from his hooves at last and into the eyes of his cousin.

Big Macintosh was staring at the ground, chewing on the inside of his cheek like a hearty wad of tobacco. He didn’t speak.

“… Big Mac?” Braeburn played with the brim of his Stetson, twisting it to the left, then the right. “Are ya alright?”

Though he continued gnawing against his cheek, Big Macintosh made no motion to indicate he’d heard a word Braeburn had said. Rather than try to prompt him one last time, Braeburn stayed silent, glancing from the corner of his eye as more swirls of autumn leaves joined the watchful wind.

Just as a large, red leaf flew through Braeburn’s vision, Big Macintosh finally spoke up.

“Ah’m goin’ wit’ you.”

“W-what?” Braeburn shifted his full attention to the larger stallion, who rose his eyes to meet his own. Twin shades of green regarded each other for a second. “But, but Ma—“

“Ah’ll be damned if Ah let that son o’ a bitch hurt ma family!”

Snorting a full trail of hot steam from his nostrils, Big Macintosh stood tall on his hooves. He leaned down and lifted the last of the baskets back onto the cart.

Braeburn blinked and brought a forehoof up to his ear, his eyes wide. Did he… did he jus’—

“Madhoof’s lucky it was AJ who went ta git Babs Seed outta that hellhole all those years ago, not me.” For a split second, Big Macintosh bared his molars and snarled, more intimidating than any timberwolf the orchards had ever seen. Tugging at the ropes tied to his collar to make sure they were secured, he started to pull the cart towards the farmhouse. “C’mon, Brae.”

Shaking his head to snap himself back into reality, Braeburn rose to his hooves and began to follow after him. “But—but, Mac! What ‘bout the farm?”

Big Mac didn’t slow a single step. “Farm’ll be fine. Ah was almost done wit’ this last orchard, anyway. Few rotten apples won’t matter.”

“Ah… Ah gu-guess so,” Braeburn stammered, quickening his pace to match the long, determined steps of his cousin.

The wind began to pick up as they strode towards the farmhouse, howling in his ears. They continued in silence, one stallion stomping and the other scampering, until a second question popped into Braeburn’s head.

“What ‘bout Granny?”

Big Mac froze and tilted his head at Braeburn.

“Mac… if all o’ this is true… an’ he’s got his sights on… Apples, then—“

Yanking his head back so fast that Braeburn could hear it pop, Big Mac snorted another volcano’s worth of steam. “Don’t ya even go there, Brae. C’mon.” He started to pull the cart again, faster this time. “’Sides, AJ’s talkin’ wit’ Granny ‘bout it, right?”

“Yeah, Ah think so," Braeburn said with a nod, following after him once more.

The rest of the short trek back passed by with all the courtesy of molasses through marmalade. Braeburn’s heart thundered in his chest every momentous step. Big Macintosh said nothing more, only staring straight ahead, a steely glint in his keen eyes that almost sent fear jolting through the Sheriff.

Never before had Braeburn heard the reserved, soft-spoken Big Macintosh swear, nor had he ever heard him disregard his work, in word or in spirit.

By the time they crested the last hill, Applejack and Granny Smith were waiting for them on the porch.

“There ya are, Braeburn!” Applejack called, chuckling nervously. She shifted from one hoof to another, her saddlebags teetering as she swayed. “Thought ya might have gotten lost. Heh, heh. Heh…”

Braeburn held tight to his Stetson as he came down the hill. “Heh, here we are!” He looked over to Big Macintosh, who stood silent and still.

“Howdy, Mac!” Applejack called out again, her voice losing its cheer. “Did… did Braeburn tell ya…?”

Macintosh looked from the mares on the porch, to the stallion beside him, then back again. He nodded.

Applejack removed her Stetson and squeezed it between her forehooves. “Ah… Ah see…”

Big Macintosh nudged Braeburn in the shoulder. “Ah’ll be right back. Fill her in, Braeburn,” he mumbled as he began to pull away, leading the cart and its bouncing apples towards the barn on the other side of the property.

Braeburn swallowed, nodded, then walked down to the porch. While Granny Smith followed Braeburn’s every motion, Applejack glued her eyes to Big Macintosh while he pulled further and further away.

“What’s ma brother doin’?” Applejack asked, turning to Braeburn.

Braeburn rubbed his neck. “Well… he’s…he’s, er—“

“He’s what? Spill it, Braeburn,” Applejack said, slamming her hat back on her head. She resumed a normal stance and mustered up her determination. “We gotta git goin’ soon if we want ta make it ta Canterlot befo’ it gets too late.”

"Yeah... 'bout that..." Braeburn coughed and looked over, watching Macintosh slip into the barn with the cart. He turned back to the skeptical mare before him. "Applejack, he's comin' wit' us."

Applejack's jaw went agape. "Wh-wh-what?!"

"Ah told him what we think is goin' on, an' he wants ta come!" Braeburn's eyes widened. "He was... he was madder than the hounds o' hell hearin' that, Applejack! 'Bout... 'bout Madhoof," he spat, his muzzle turning up into a snarl.

"Well—Ah—but—" Looking around in desperate panic, Applejack countered, "What 'bout the farm? Who's gonna watch the farm?"

Braeburn shrugged. "He's says everythin' will be fine, cuz. Hay, if we're right, this won't even take a day. Ah think we should—"

"No!" Applejack stomped against the floorboards. "No! Somepony's gotta stay here an' protect the farm! You don't have any idea o' what that... bastard is capable o' doin'!" She glanced at Granny Smith from the corner of her eye, who didn't appear to be fazed one bit by her curse. Only a furrowed brow and an expressionless muzzle stared back at her.

Now it was Braeburn's turn to stomp. "Dammit, Applejack, Ah do know what he's capable o'! Ah've seen it an' heard it first-hoof!"

"Oh yeah? An' how's that so?"

"Ah..." He looked away and pawed a hoof at the ground, relieved to see that Big Mac was now approaching them, freed of cart and collar. "Ah can't tell ya... Ah made a promise, long time ago."

Applejack tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Promise ta—"

"Let's git goin'," Big Mac said firmly, his hooves stomping against the floorboards as he joined the other Apples on the porch. "C'mon. It's almost noon."

Her question cast aside by more pressing matters, stubborn Applejack turned to her even more stubborn brother. "Big Mac, ya gotta stay here! We need somepony ta watch the farm while—"

"Farm will be jus' fine, AJ." With a furrow of his brow and a flick of his muzzle, Big Mac dismissed her and shifted swiftly to Braeburn. "You all packed an' ready?"

Glancing from one cousin to the other, Braeburn said uneasily, "Ah... Ah guess so..."

"Good. Ah'm ready ta go, too." Turning next to Granny Smith, Big Mac said, "Ah'm gonna go wit' 'em, Granny."

Applejack's eyes widened. "Now, ya listen here jus' a darn minute, Big Mac!"

He didn't turn to look at her. "Ma mind's made up."

Braeburn began, "Now, look, AJ—"

Applejack lifted a hoof again. "But, what if Mad—"

"Aw, what if that old son o' a bitch does what?!"

Three sets of identical green eyes froze in the autumn wind and focused on the source of the outburst.

Leaning on her forehooves against the railing of the farmhouse, Granny Smith spat on the grass and glared up at all of them. "That Madhoof's always been one hoof in the grave wit' me. Libra may not have been ma direct daughter-in-law, but she's damn close, an' might as well have been."

Granny paused, staring off at something in the distance. "What that rotten, slimy, despicable..." All three of her grandchildren could feel the fury in her words and the heat in her gaze as she continued to rant at the skies. "Hateful, spiteful, immoral, an' downright evil son o' a bitch Bernie Madhoof did ta them fillies, ta our whole family..."

Granny Smith moved back down to the porch and stared for a second in each of their eyes, lowering her weathered voice below the wind. "If he o' one o' his lil' cronies shows their hides 'round here, Ah ain't holdin' back no mo'."

Silence swept over Sweet Apple Acres, gusts and thermals spiraling from West to East.

"That's..." Applejack sighed, sitting down next to her grandmother and placing a forehoof on her shoulder. "That's mighty fine, Granny, but..." She bit her lip. "No offense, but... yer jus' one mare, an' an ol—"

Granny cackled and shoved her forehoof away. "Oh, ya don't think Ah can take care o' maself, is that it, Applejack? Me, the one who kept a farm runnin' by maself fer years an' years, an' raised three foals at the same time?"

"Er... Welllll... ya see..." Applejack looked to Braeburn and Big Macintosh for assistance. They simply stared back at her. She sighed again. "Madhoof, ya see, Granny... he an' his boys have, well... firepower."

A knowing smirk spread across the elderly mare's muzzle. "Ah thought you'd never ask. Wait here a minute, child."

As Granny Smith began to slowly make her way back inside, Applejack whirled around, saying, "Wh-what do ya mean, ask? Ah didn't ask a damn thing!"

Waving her off with a forehoof, Granny called out cheerfully, "Jus' waaaaaaaait a minute!"

After she turned back to the stallions, Applejack simply opened her forehooves and shrugged. Big Macintosh and Braeburn tapped their hooves in response, idle seconds and minutes ticking by. The sands of their hourglass were draining, and each grain that escaped its confines and disappeared doubled the weight on their minds.

By the time the three heard hooves approaching the front door again, they could barely keep themselves still, fidgeting and adjusting Stetsons and rubbing necks and running hooves through manes. At the sound of the front door opening, Applejack turned back around with a scoff.

"Alright, Granny, what is it ya wanted t—WHOA NELLY!"

If their heads hadn't been attached to their shoulders, Braeburn and Big Macintosh would've found their skulls rolling around on the porch now, eyes popped and tongues hanging.

There, in Granny Smith's hooves, was a double-barreled shotgun.

Her jaw practically dragging on the floor, Applejack bounced her gaze from a smirking Granny Smith, to a shining shotgun, to the elderly mare, and back to the weapon. "Bu—bu—bu—bu—how—wha—wha—wha—what?!"

Braeburn lifted a shaking forehoof and pointed at the surprise of surprises in Granny's hooves. "Is—is that a... a... an actual—"

"Genuine Colt double-barreled shotgun, enchanted to be held and operated by Earth pony hooves, yes indeedy," Granny Smith said with a smug smile. "An' you can bet yer hide Ah've got enough bullets ta make that Orange bastard an' his lil' pawns regret even comin' here."

Closing and opening her mouth several times in wordless awe, Applejack looked again to Braeburn and Big Macintosh. One of the stallions had nothing further to say, and the other could only utter one simple word.

"Eey... up."

"Now that y'all know Ah can handle maself, why don't y'all git ta Canterlot already? Ah'm sure the Princesses will jus' love ta hear 'bout this one." Resting her shotgun against one of the support-beams of the house, Granny Smith meandered over to her favorite rocking chair beside it.

As she climbed into the chair, she picked up the gun and laid it across her lap. "An' make it snappy while yer at it. Ah would hate ta have ta clean up Orange gunk from ma apple orchards."

Applejack raised her forehoof one last time. "But—"

"Applejack Sunshine Apple! Yer goin' ta the train station right now, o' Ah'll tan yer hide red! An' don't you think fer a second Ah'm bluffin'," Granny Smith warned, narrowing her eyes and pointing off to the east. "Now, all o' y'all, git!"

Never before had three Apples galloped so quickly from the presence of another... well, not since the great Apple Family Reunion of '88. But that was another story for another time.

Regardless, Granny Smith gave them all a wave as they kicked up their dust and barreled over the hills, towards the train station, towards Canterlot, towards the East and the beast.

Running a hoof over the barrel of her weapon, Granny Smith smirked to herself. "Best thing outta a catalog Ah ever ordered... next ta that girdle, o' course..."

~

In the darkness of the Records Department, Officer Rustler, Detective White Dove, and Officer Lucky Toss joined Babs Seed, standing in the middle of the silence.

With nothing but filing cabinets, wayward files, tables, parchment, ink stains, and broken quills to greet her, Babs's confusion only amplified. What the hay did dey drag us down heeya fo'? There's nothing in heeya! Jus' an old archive! What the hay—are we gonna read some files an' try ta find dirt on Madhoof? Like dat'll ever happen...

Much as I hate ta admit it, Slinga... he might be right 'bout summat in his miserable life.

White Dove was the first to break the dusty ice, nudging Rustler in the chest. "Everythin' clear?"

Rustler nodded.

"Good." Dove looked up at the Apple mares, skepticism and (for one) annoyance staring back at her. "Thank youze fo' comin' down wit' us ta-night. Befo' I tell youze what the plan is, know dis...

"Dis is completely voluntary. Iffa youze decide dis is too dangerous, o' too difficult, o' too... anythin'..." Dove snorted, narrowing her eyes and sweeping her gaze between them again before continuing, "Then youze don't have ta do it. I'll tell youze our plan, an' afta youze hear it, youze can go, o' youze can stay. Up ta youze. Dat door is only locked from the outside," she said, thrusting a forehoof towards the darkened door at the front of the room.

"Understood?" Dove asked, addressing them with all the bitterness in her voice as she would two lowly privates in her squad.

Apple Bloom nodded.

Babs Seed grunted.

"I'll take dat as a yes," Dove said, shooting a glare to Babs Seed. "Now, then... Rustla, why don't youze take it from heeya, ma friend," she prompted mockingly, stepping aside to make room for the investigator.

Ignoring the jab, Officer Rustler stood before the mares and cleared his throat. "Well... as youze might have already guessed, what we're 'bout ta do ta-night ain't entirely... by the book."

"An' what book is dat?" Babs asked coolly, leaning forward.

"Well... it ain' in the Chief's book, dat's fo' sure," Rustler answered, shifting on his hooves. "Much as I don't like doin' things much less... complicated than dis without the Chief's approval, he can't know 'bout dis."

"An' why is that?" Apple Bloom asked, tilting her head at him.

"Because..." Rustler paused, searching for the right words.

White Dove gave them to him. "Because," she said grimly, her voice gravel crunching beneath hooves, "iffa dis jackass Card Slinga is right, then tellin' the Chief would be suicide.

"Literal suicide."

Taking a step back, Lucky Toss glanced between both of his fellow officers, his wide eyes nearly protruding from his skull. "Wait a minute! I know youze told me dat youze didn't tell the Chief, but... it's because o' summat dangerous?!"

"What did youze think we were gonna do, Lucky?" Dove rounded on him. "Ask ol' Mista King Orange Puppet-Masta ta give up the ghost an' lay down fo' us? Ask him ta show us his charts an' graphs an' payroll an' stashes? His drughouses an' whorehouses an' his hired thugs?!"

Dove stomped towards him, challenging, "Was dat youze plan?!"

"'Ey!" With a snap of his jaws, Rustler yanked the detective back by the collar of her uniform, making her growl. "Dis ain't gonna work iffa youze can't keep youze hooves off everypony! Calm down! We ain't fightin' each otha!"

"He's right!" Smacking a hoof against the concrete, Apple Bloom said with a little growl of her own, "If yer jus' gonna keep tryin' ta hurt everypony who questions ya, Dove, we ain't followin' ya!" She scowled. "Ah would've thought a Royal Guard would have a lil' more discipline than that."

Babs smirked at her mare. Nice one. Where's the ice?

White Dove whirled around and opened her mouth, then decided it against it. Biting her lip, she sighed and shook her head. "Sorry, Toss."

"It's fine," Toss said, crossing his forehooves over his chest. "Jus' wish youze woulda told me dis soona, but whateva. Continue, Rustla."

With a smile small towards him, Rustler nodded, then focused back on the mares.

"Thanks. Anyway, dis plan is outta the Chief's eyes. While we have had some false leads in the past, it's rare we got somepony ta spill it like Slinga did. An', horseapples, did he spill."

Rustler paced back and forth as he talked, trotting from one side of the room to the other. "Iffa he's right 'bout Madhoof, then it explains everythin'. It explains why everythin's been goin' on so long, an' the tattoos, an' the gangs. It explains why nopony we locked up o' hunted down was willin' ta spill the whole truth...

"Because," Rustler said, stopping to glance at each of them with cold, determined eyes, "he's dat powerful. An' takin' out his cronies won't stop him. Lockin' up Slinga, o' the Mafia Don, o' even every lil' gang-pone in dis whole cursed city won't change a damn thing.

"Youze gotta topple these things from above. Sever the root."

Rustler asked the mares, "Youze follow me so far?"

"Yes," Apple Bloom said, nodding slightly.

"Yeah..." Looking up from her hooves, Babs said with increasing determination, "Youze... youze wanna go afta..." Dat bastard. "Madhoof. Youze wanna..." Give him what he deserves. "Arrest him."

Investigator looked to detective. Both were silent.

"Erm..." Rustler kicked at a pebble on the floor. "Iffa... iffa all dis is true...

"We won't have the chance ta arrest him."

With that sentence, the breath in every nonchalant lung was extinguished. One pair of determined eyes and three pairs of paralyzed ones drilled into Officer Rustler, who stood silent in the Records Department as he prepared to dismantle everything he'd ever known or thought he'd known about law, order, justice, and mercy.

Rustler turned away, staring at the wall. "Iffa... iffa he is dis kingpin, puppet-masta, crime lord, Don o' Dons, King o' Kings...

"He won't go down without a fight."

Rustler turned back around.

"Dey never do, an' never will."

While Lucky Toss merely stared straight ahead, a twinge of fear rolling through him, Apple Bloom and Babs Seed stared wordlessly at each other, eyes wide and maws agape, racing Rustler's words through the endless maze of his metaphor.

Without a fight...

Oh, horseapples.

"Why... why do you—"

Raising a forehoof to stop her, Rustler said, "Apple Bloom... lemme say jus' summat befo' I answer youze."

Swallowing, Apple Bloom nodded, then sat down on her haunches. Babs Seed sat down beside her.

Lucky Toss blinked slowly, willing himself back to reality. Although he had patrolled the streets of Manehatten enough dark days and darker nights to fill a memoir's worth of madness, he had never done anything like this.

"Ta-night... we're goin' straight ta the source. No sneakin' 'round, no spyin', no informants, no callin' in fancy unicorn magic from Canterlot o' summat ta enchant his office an' listen in on it. No posin' as gang-ponies o' gettin' black oranges unda our tails. None o' dat.

"Ta-night... we're goin' ta the tower. An' iffa we git the evidence we need...

"We're goin' ta the mansion, next."

If she hadn't been sitting, Babs Seed would be falling. Even with her haunches and hooves pressed against the lifeless, cold concrete, she still felt the mad world around her begin to spin a little, twisting and turning closer into an ellipse. The tower... the mansion...

His office... his home...

Seeing this, Apple Bloom wrapped a forehoof around Babs Seed's neck and tugged gently. "Babs?"

"I'm f-fine." Nudging her mare to convince both of them of that statement, Babs Seed shook herself back to Equestria and stared down Rustler, who was just as fearless and bold as ever. "Youze... youze seriously gonna do dis? Ta-night? Right now?"

"Yes, Babs Seed," Rustler said. "Right now."

The sound of a match striking broke the silence. All eyes turned to White Dove, who had lit herself a cigarette, inhaling deeply before she channeled her nerves into a cloud of gray.

"What?" Dove forced a laugh. "I always have ta smoke befo' things like dis."

At last, Lucky Toss joined the land of the living, coughing and waving a forehoof in front of his face. "Fo' Celestia's sake, Dove, youze really have ta do dat right now?"

"Yea..." White Dove hissed, taking a drag. "I do."

With a roll of his eyes, Lucky Toss turned away from her and back to Rustler. "Okay, okay..." He brought a forehoof to his head and scratched, sure he had been hearing things. "So... us five... are gonna go ta a tower... full o' guards... ta find... what, exactly?"

"Evidence," Rustler said. "Anythin'. Documents. Payrolls. Large sums o' bits. Photographs. Witnesses. Anythin' dat can ID dat thirty-third floor as bein' Madhoof's lair, an' tyin' him ta the black orange gang. Right now, it's listed as bein' an insurance office. Had Cotton do some diggin," he explained with a grin. "Iffa we can find dat it ain't, an' dat it belongs ta dis 'King Orange,' dat's all we need ta prove dat Card Slinga is right."

Toss cleared his throat and rubbed his chest. "I... I see."

Dove nodded and blew smoke rings over her shoulder.

Rustler looked up at Apple Bloom and Babs Seed. "So..."

"So... what? Youze think youze can seriously jus' wanna drag me an' Bloom inta a death-trap an' think we're okay wit' it?!" Babs lurched towards him, hackles raised and eyes fiery. "DIS is what youze wanted us fo'?! Ta drag us down wit' youze?!"

Rustler calmly raised a forehoof. "Iffa youze don't wanna go, then, fine."

"Like hell we're gonna go!" Seething, Babs rounded on him more, taking another step towards the investigator. "Horseapples, I thought dat maybe youze were gonna have us look at some lineup, o' help youze interrogate some jackass, not—"

"Since youze know him, we were thinkin' youze could ID him fo' us," Rustler cut in, his calm demeanor gradually giving way. "Afta all.... Fo' betta o' fo' worse, youze know him. Youze two ain't tattooed, so youze ain't gang-membas, but...

"Youze know summat 'bout him, an' youze can help bring him down."

Babs's left ear began to twitch. "Youze... youze... youze buckin'... seriously... youze—"

"Look, youze is the one who brought youze shit in the West heeya!" Rustler barked, his hackles raising as he approached the enraged mare. "He went afta youze friends an' family, didn't he? He went afta youze mare, didn't he?!"

Crouching down, Babs paused, feeling the adrenaline but holding it tight.

"Youze don't even have ta go in! Jus' tag along, stay safe in the shadows, an' when we find a photo o' summat, look at it fo' five buckin' seconds!" His muscles rippling within his coat and his heart pounding, Officer Rustler snorted, frustration and anger bubbling to the surface. "Iffa ol' King Crazy is right, dis is the bastard who not only killed youze friends, but mine!

"But ours, Babs Seed!"

Breathing heavily, Apple Bloom laying a forehoof on her shoulder to hold her back, Babs scoffed and shouted, "Oh yeah?! Who did he kill?! Some orange-tagged cop on youze force?!"

Lowering his eyes and bowing his head, Rustler whispered, "No.

"He killed the ones I vowed ta protect..."

Rustler looked up at her.

"The ones youze left behind."

For a second, something flickered behind the investigator's eyes, and Babs Seed saw him almost eight years ago. A little peregrine colt stood before her, a crimson cape tied tightly around his neck. Around him were three other sets of hooves, all matched with smiling muzzles and innocent eyes...

Three who had gone the way of the grizzled stallion and his unicorn mare in the desert...

Icy recognition surged through her, melting the fire of her adrenaline, and Babs Seed knew.

In that silence, Lucky Toss and White Dove ceased their coping mechanisms of choice and watched as Babs Seed backed down, sitting up again and staring at her hooves.

"I'm... I'm sorry."

Apple Bloom looked from her mare to Rustler in confusion.

"It's fine," Rustler said coldly, letting his hooves fall against the floor as he stood up. "But now, youze see, Babs Seed, we all have a stake in this game." He looked around the room, meeting each and every eye. "All o' us have been affected in some way by dis Orange piece o' shit. Whether it was our friends... our family... o' somepony we loved...

"Madhoof, in some way o' the otha, took it from us, o' tried ta."

A cigarette fell to the floor and was extinguished, its owner seeking fresh air in the haze of his words. Lucky Toss sat down quietly, letting everything fall before him.

And Babs Seed and Apple Bloom stood side-by-side, thinking, wondering, waiting.

"... He's right, sugarcube," Apple Bloom said under her breath, moving her muzzle close to Babs's good ear. "We came all this way 'cuz... 'cuz we don't want anythin' ta happen ta mo' o' our friends. O'..."

Apple Bloom paused, taking a shaky breath. "Family... o'... each other."

She put a forehoof on her shoulder again. "Ah really... Ah really think we can help 'em."

Babs Seed pulled back a bit and looked at her. "Youze sure youze wanna do dis?"

Apple Bloom took a moment, then said, her voice rising, "Ah know that, if we don't, there's a good chance we'll regret it. As crazy as it is... Ah do think it's... him behind this, an' Ah'll be damned if Ah almost lose you again."

As Apple Bloom pulled away, Babs Seed saw the tears in her eyes, and knew what had to be done.

Holding both of her mare's forehooves in her own, Babs Seed turned around and faced them.

"Alright.

"We'll help youze."

~

Somehow, Big Macintosh, Braeburn, and Applejack crammed themselves into the last cab on the noon train to Canterlot, curling their hooves across the aisle and against the door. Big Macintosh, though he'd brought no saddlebags, took up an entire side of the cab by himself. He'd only brought one last stick of wheat to chew between his teeth as the train whirred and churned towards Canterlot, not nearly as fast enough as it should have in a just world.

"Good thing Granny kicked us out," Braeburn said, injecting a little laugh into his words. "Would've been late fer this train if she hadn't... heh, heh heh."

Neither cousin reacted in any visible way to his poor joke. "Ah, heh, heh... yeah... Granny an' her shotgun... That'll be a story someday," Braeburn mused, observing the floral patterns of the cab wallpaper.

"Eeyup," Big Mac replied automatically, chewing on his wheat.

Applejack crossed her forehooves. "Damn train ain't movin' fast enough."

Nodding, Braeburn squirmed and tried to make himself comfortable.

Swinging one of her hindhooves off the seat, Applejack muttered, "Damn Twilight had ta go ta Canterlot..."

"What's that, cuz?" Braeburn asked, rummaging around in his saddlebag.

"Oh..." Applejack looked back up at him and sighed. "Ma friend Twilight... Ah've told ya a lot 'bout her, haven't Ah?" Braeburn nodded. "Yeah, she lived here fer a long time, in Ponyville, ya know. Even after she became the Princess o' Magic. Damn near six years, if Ah remember right..."

"Eeyup," Big Mac confirmed, biting his wheat down to the chaff.

"Oh, Ah see." Coughing, Braeburn watched Ponyville begin to ebb away out the window. "Shame she ain't here."

"Yer tellin' me!" Applejack laughed a cold, bitter laugh. "Why, her lil' dragon friend—Spike, though he's a lil' bigger now—he'd always write his letters ta the Princess fer her."

"Mmmhmm." The shapes and colors of Ponyville's town center and marketplace began to meld and melt into the pure green of the meadows and the blue sky above. Braeburn rubbed his growling stomach, no appetite in him.

"He can do this thing, ya see... dragon-magic..." Smacking a forehoof on her belly, Applejack started to laugh. "He can... he can send any message... any letter... in... instantly..."

Braeburn looked over, his eyes widening in slow recognition. Big Macintosh said nothing, grinding wheat between his molars in solemn silence.

"Instantly! Jus'... poof! Anythin' ta Celestia! Right then an' there!" Applejack threw her forehooves in the air and shadowboxed them against the door of the cart. "Wham-bam! Jus' like that! No fuss, no Royal Court meetin's, no goin' through mail-pegasi o' anythin' silly like that!"

Throwing her head back, Applejack began to chuckle heartily, smacking her belly with her forehooves. "But he's g-gone! An' now we have t-ta take this e-eight hour tr-train! Ha! Ha! Ha ha ha!"

"Uh..." Wrapping a forehoof around her shoulder, Braeburn asked, "You alright, cuz?"

While Applejack continued to howl with laughter in response, tears dotting her eyes, Braeburn turned to Big Mac. "Should... should we be worried?"

"Eenope," Big Macintosh said, spitting out the chaff into a wastebasket. "Jus' Applejack tryin' ta cope. Better than her passin' out."

Applejack squirmed and writhed as she laughed, as if their predicament was the most hilarious thing in the entire plane of existence. She laughed and laughed, until her stomach ached, until tears ran down her cheeks, until the only thing that filled her mind was that damn Princess of Magic and her damn dragon assistant, oh-so-far-away in Canterlot.

All the while, the stallions watched the spectacle in silence. Only Braeburn was alarmed when Applejack slumped back in her seat, took a few deep breaths, pulled her hat over her face, and promptly passed out.

"No, Brae," Big Mac warned, pushing Braeburn's approaching forehoof away, "give her a few minutes. Trust me on this."

"If ya say so, Mac," Braeburn said, swallowing hard. He fiddled with his Stetson and glanced nervously at Applejack's heavily breathing, unconscious self.

Big Macintosh laid his head down on his forehooves and closed his eyes.

It was going to be a long eight hours.

~

Into the cold tomb of Manehatten dark, five ponies stepped out into the rising moonlight. Manehatten's clock-tower read near 2000, and the normally crowded streets were already barren. Though no rainfall graced the sinful night to cleanse it, the scent of approaching torrent could still be discerned, as if the skies were only waiting for everything to align.

Babs Seed tugged uncomfortably at the swath of blue cloth on her chest. Now, I can understand them givin' us the guns... She glanced at the twin pistols holstered on her shoulders—shiny Colt hoof-guns, full of ammo and with much more to spare in opposite pockets—and grinned. But these uniforms? Horseapples... ugh...

I neva, eva, EVA wanna be a police-pony... I musta been crazy when I thought like dat back as a filly.

She felt a nudge on her neck and looked over to see Apple Bloom, clad in the same Manehatten blue and brandishing the same weapons, smiling back at her. In front of them were the three true law-ponies, all with a pair of pistols and a shotgun or rifle slung over their backs as well (though sheathed). They waited on the cobblestones for their two newest deputies, eyes steely but muzzles somewhat welcoming.

"Youze ready?" Toss asked, urging them with a little smile.

After a quick nuzzle, Babs Seed looked at him and forced a tiny grin. "As we'll eva be."

"Good," Dove said, her tone slightly warmer than usual. She motioned towards the right side of the street. "Let's head dis way, behind these buildin's an' outta the streetlights. Hopefully those guns we gave youze are jus' fo' show, an' it's easy ta get some info from dem guards, o' git inside. An' hopefully ours are jus' props too, heh."

"Youze two do know how ta shoot, right?" Rustler asked, picking up his hooves to follow after Dove, who was heading towards a boarded-up apartment building.

Following behind him and Lucky, and beside Babs, Apple Bloom replied, "Know enough." She smiled at her mare and winked.

Even in the darkness, a grateful blush spread across Babs's muzzle.

"Alright, then," Rustler said quietly, picking up his pace as Dove did the same. "Not a word, anypony. Let's get ta dat tower as fast as we can."

~

From the heart of the west and the best, Appleloosa, another train began to move its creaking wheels. This train, like only a few others before it, headed back to where many had come from—where many had abandoned their old way of life and their old fears in exchange for an entirely new set of challenges.

This train was one of the few of its route, and only boasted a few passengers within its belly. One of them leaned against his window as the locomotive began to awaken like the metal monster it was, prepared to barrel him back to a place he'd swore never to set hoof in ever again.

Words of an earlier argument drifted through his mind as the train began to pick up slack and speed. Although he knew what he was doing was right, he also knew he was harming two others who deserved anything but more anguish. Nevertheless, a little voice had nagged at the back of his mind the past few days, and he could do nothing to extinguish it.

When the little voice became an uproarious bellow, the stallion knew what had to be done.

On this quiet night on the plains, Appleloosa passed him by, shades of ghostly gold underneath the black, starless sky. He sat silently in his cab, only one saddlebag beside him—and that held only enough bits for a few meals and another ticket. After all, he wasn't planning to stay there, in that Celestia-forsaken place.

He just needed to check on some things, that was all.

Or, rather, some ponies.

Opening his window, Turner tasted the scent of impending rainfall in his nostrils. He sighed and slumped against his seat again, stretching out his hindhooves and closing his eyes.

"I don't know why, but... I jus' gotta see youze, Babs. I jus' gotta see youze.

"Summat doesn't feel right..."