Severed Roots

by Bad_Seed_72

Gehenna

Under the unsuspecting moon, five ponies in Manehatten blue crept through the cover of night. The stars and the parish lantern above served as their only beacons through this journey. Avoiding the dying light of the streetlamps, the five crouched and cowered, seeking salvation in the alleyways.

Babs Seed could smell the rain coming. She sensed its impeding relinquish in the still night, knowing that, despite all appearances to the contrary, a storm was brewing.

The streets were empty now. 2000 was long past the boundary between night and day. It might as well have been the difference between Heaven and Earth in this concrete jungle. The night, notorious as it was, provided them with at least some refuge.

The fasta we get ta the tower downtown, the betta. No tellin’ when the night crawlas come out from unda the Earth. An’ I ain’t talkin’ worms.

Keeping close beside Apple Bloom, Babs ducked into an alleyway when their de-facto leader of this suicide mission beckoned them to do so.

Detective White Dove led the way. Officers Lucky Toss and Rustler brought up the rear, shielding the two faux police-ponies between them. Both stallions drew close to the Apple mares, forming a circle as their keen eyes wandered through the foreboding dark.

The detective continued to lead them through behind boarded-up buildings, abandoned storefronts, and loading docks. Though the circumstances were vast in difference, Babs recognized one of the docks as belonging to the building that had once been The Watering Hole.

While Babs sidled through the shadows with her fiancée, her foalhood friend, her foalhood bully, and a law-breaking law-pony, she couldn’t help but remember that night, almost eight years ago.

That night, in a different world and as different ponies, the patrol-stallion and his two hooligan friends broke into a vendor’s cart and stole its liquor. That night, they caught her spying, wrestled her to the ground, cut her mane, and changed everything.

There was a long series of long nights in Babs Seed’s life, but that one was, in hindsight, one of the most significant. That night reared its head when she passed by that same building.

When they had laid against the side of the loading dock, chasing their cider and howling at the moon, did they know then that they had stolen from the stallion who she would one day know as her father? When they abused and threatened her, did they know then that, if it weren’t for their abuse, she would have never become the mare she was today, with the mare she loved today?

Back then, did they know their true power? Did anypony?

Did Madhoof?

A dank alley decorated with overflowing trash cans and chattering vermin swallowed them whole. The group slowed down. They were close.

When Babs saw Dove come to a halt, the others did the same. Babs complied, albeit confused, in need of a spare thought. Allowing her mind to wander again, she stared straight ahead and asked herself a question in the buzzing, all-encompassing silence of Manehatten night.

Iffa Slinga is right… Iffa dis is all Madhoof… Iffa one pony can really go an’ cause all o’ dis... What chance do we have o' stoppin' him?

A nudge to her cheek pulled her from her thoughts.

The filly who held her when she recounted that night long ago spoke to her now through the gentle eyes of a mare who needed no words.

Apple Bloom, looking directly at her, seemed to say, It’ll be alright. We can do this.

For a moment, Babs Seed’s breath caught in her throat—not due to distress, but desire.

Desire to protect the one beside her, the one who had always believed in her. Desire to seek justice for those she loved who had been harmed. Desire to rise up, end this all, and go home again, where she was supposed to be, they were supposed to be.

The way she was supposed to be. The way they were supposed to be.

Gritting her teeth, Babs caught eyes with her mare and nodded.

We’re comin’ fo’ youze, Madhoof. An’ youze betta be ready.

Apple Bloom gave her a quick nuzzle before motioning for Babs to sit down. Toss and Rustler were already on their haunches , backs against the graffitied walls while their breath flowed mist in the cold.

Somepony prodded her in her side. Babs turned to her left, where Toss gestured towards Dove. The detective stood on her hindhooves, her back pressed flush against the alleyway as she sidled closer towards the corner.

Squinting through the darkness, Babs wondered, What the hay is she lo—

Her thoughts were cut short, her eyes widening when she saw it in the near distance.

There, in the epicenter of downtown Manehatten, was the tower.

A blasphemous, black obelisk, the skyscraper rose tall and haughty towards the heavens, casting a shadow over all those below. It seemed to have been constructed in mockery and defiance of all held holy, rising high as if to touch the throne of the divine. If it were a temple, its god was gold and round, its master omnipresent but not omnibenevolent.

Even in the moonlight, the tower seemed to shine, its rows of windows and balconies endless eyes reflecting the rays of the night alicorn unto her subjects in the lower places. It rose and climbed, climbed and rose, coming to its zenith in a sharp, pointed steeple. A dagger of its own, the steeple pierced up towards the cloud cover and towards the Most High perched higher still.

Only in history books had Babs Seed seen temples, those old houses of worship and prayer for the lone Celestia in days long past. This defiant structure seemed akin to those in appearance only. In Madhoof’s temple, no saint would be found, no priest in its rectory.

Beside her, Apple Bloom seemed mesmerized, her eyes tracing the tower. From ancient foalhood memories, Babs knew the building was state-of-the-art, just as the Mansion had been. Thirty-three stories of concrete, brick, and mortar stared down at them, wired for full electric and mated with impressive indoor plumbing. A marvel truly worthy of any architect’s awe.

There it is… the most beautiful tower in Manehatten. An’ we’re gonna destroy the bastard inside it.

Before a low growl escaped her throat, Babs heard the steady click and clack of hooves against cobblestones. Five sets of hindhooves slammed against the wall, each of their owners twisting into the cover of shadow.

Under the dim light of the streetlamps, the twelve stallions who had stared at them inside The Big Orange roved about, a pack of wolves in the dying dim.

The head of the pack was a gray stallion—the same who had bumped into Toss, Babs realized. The stallion’s disheveled blue mane and matching eyes pierced through the growing Manehatten night, darting around rapidly, as if he’d become aware of his watchers.

The jagged scars carved into many of their muzzles, along with their wild, hungry eyes and hushed whispers, confirmed that these were not just twelve friends on a night stroll.

Toss shared a quick glance with Babs before prodding Dove in the ribs. The detective whirled around and shushed him with a forehoof to her lips.

Pressing her back against the wall as much as the camouflage of the alleyway would allow, Babs caught bits and pieces of the passing thugs' conversation:

“... Dem weren’t jus’ stoppin’ by fo’ no drinks, no…”

“... An’ I'll be damned iffa it ain’t the same mares…”

“... Mares wit’ the bar from the West…”

“… Wit’ the cops now, too…”

“... The Masta must know ‘bout dis…”

Resisting the urge to curse, Babs huddled further, sandwiching herself between her fiancée and Toss. Apple Bloom pricked her ears and huddled closely to her mare in the dark.

All was silent but for the mutterings of the twelve and the telltale tattoo of the five’s own breathing.

In spite of the cool night and its impending rain, a bead of sweat rolled down Babs Seed's nape.

Time and space extended while the twelve passed, the thugs’ hooves moving slow and cautious against the cobblestone. The pack was headed in the opposite direction of the tower. They must have been heading to the Hill. To the Orange Family Mansion.

To their Master’s den.

Betta move.

Dove remained silent and motionless until their hoofsteps had not just died but disintegrated, until their presence was ashes in the growing fire of the impending tempest. Once the last slimeball had rounded the street and slunk his way out of the ghetto, she exhaled, long and slow, smoking without her matches in the alley.

“Dammit.” Dove gritted her teeth. “Same thugs from the bar, ain't dey?”

Toss nodded grimly. “Sounds like dey caught onta our plan."

“Iffa dey did, dey would be headin’ our way, not the opposite.” Rustler was the first to step away from the wall. “Even so, dey might come back, an’ soon.”

Dove turned to the mares. “Last chance ta back out. We’re gonna hoof it from heeya. Get ta the back o’ dat thing—” she gestured with a sneer towards the dark tower—”an’ then find a way in. Iffa youze are done, youze gotta be done now.”

After only a moment's hesitation, Apple Bloom shook her muzzle. “Like hell we are. If we don’t come ta him, sounds like he’s gonna come ta us. An Ah’ll be damned if Ah let that happen.”

“Me too,” Babs said, joining her mare’s side. Meeting eyes with Dove, she pointed towards the street. “Dem bastards are all the proof I need.”

“Then dat settles it.” Dove stepped out of the shadows.

“Let’s go.”

The detective was the first to gallop out of the alley, crossing the street as fast as her hooves could carry her. She galloped across the abandoned divide between the business district and downtown—Madhoof’s tower the epicenter and declaration of the former.

Madhoof’s tower—the epicenter and declaration of the latter. Of both. Of Manehatten itself.

Hustle and bustle, helter-skelter, Dove ran across the street, dodging streetlamps and the watching eyes of starlight. She ducked behind the tower, squeezing herself between the rising dagger and the darkened building behind it.

Next went Rustler, who quickly joined Dove in her hiding-place. The stallion beckoned the last three to join them when solitude settled again.

Babs, Apple Bloom, and Toss bolted from safety across the street and the dividing line between Manehatten’s elite and downtown, between hell and darker hell.

If Fortune had been so kind enough to think of smiling upon them tonight, she did so now. Nopony jumped into the streets after them when they made that burst into the open, nor when they scurried behind the tower.

Once there, they repositioned themselves again, jamming five bodies and fifteen weapons into the cramped crevice. Though all was silent and clear for now, the rain hung even thicker in the air. Babs looked up to the rising moon and checked it against the downtown clock tower.

2030. Betta move.

Apple Bloom threw her head back and whistled.

Dove scowled. “What?”

“Ya notice that earlier?”

“What?” Dove stepped closer to the skyscraper.

Pointing up at the tower, Apple Bloom gestured to the highest floor and whispered, “No fire escape on that floor up there. The one Slinger told us ‘bout. The rest o’ the floors have ‘em.”

“An’ dat’s the thirty-third?” Toss asked.

“Eeyup.” Apple Bloom brought her forehoof down and pointed at the red rungs and platforms outside the windows belonging to all other floors. “A fire escape fer every floor above the first is part o’ any city buildin’ code fer a structure this high. If that top floor ain’t suspicious jus’ fer that, Ah don’t know what is.”

“But why wouldn’t it have an escape like the othas?” Toss asked.

Before Apple Bloom could answer, Dove replied, “Don’t need one iffa the owna o’ dat floor knows he’s got hisown way out. Pegasus o’ Griffon wing, maybe.”

“O’ unicorn horn,” Babs suggested. “Used ta be a unicorn stationed in the first-floor lobby dat operated a boxcar. Elevator would take youze all the way ta the top.”

Dove narrowed her eyes. “An’ how do youze know dat?”

Babs furrowed her brow. “Don’t ask.”

“Youze been up there befo’?”

Babs glared at her. “Not since I was a lil’ foal, alright?”

Dove glared back, saying nothing.

Babs flared her nostrils. Not gonna fight me on dis? Youze must really think we’ve got our bastard, then. Sure as hell is lookin’ dat way.

A chill ran down Babs Seed’s spine. She looked back up at that tower, that tower that the monster once known as “father” occupied, that the monster known as “uncle” may have been sitting in at this very moment while peering down at her with a cigar in his piano-toothed grin.

Dove groaned, muttering. “No fire escape on dat side means a change o’ plans. No fire escape means no climbin’ up there from the back an’ bustin’ in through the window.”

Rustler took a step back. “‘Cuse me? Bustin’ in through the window’? We still don’t have evidence dat dis is it, Dove! We can’t jus’ sneak in like a couple o’ common burglars! What iffa we're wrong?”

“An' what iffa we're right? Youze ratha we jus’ run in an’ get gunned down?” Dove shot back.

“Youze don’t know dat’s what’s gonna happen!” Rustler said, “Maybe iffa we jus’ flash our badges, the guards will step aside an’ let us inta dat office!”

Dove laughed. “Yea, sure. An’ while we’re at it, why don’t we bring ‘em some coffee an’ donuts? Butta ‘em up real good befo' dey blow our brains out, eh?”

Toss licked his lips. “Horseapples, I could go fo’ a donut right now.”

Dove poked him in the ribs. “Focus, nitwit!”

Toss rubbed at his side, wincing. “Sorry! I get hungry when I’m nervous!”

“‘Ey!” Shooting both of them a glare, Babs Seed flattened her ears and pointed at the tower. “How the buck are we gonna get inta dis—” death-trap—”thing, an’ what are we gonna do when we get in?”

Rustler looked up at the tower. “Well, we could try to climb it anyway, climb up the rest o’ the fire escapes. Maybe throw a claw an’ hook onta the thirty-third windowsill an’ pull ourselves up dat way.”

Dove checked her pockets. “Jus’ guns an’ ammo. No claw an’ hook fo’ me.”

Toss rummaged through his pockets and sighed. “Same heeya.”

“Horseapples.” Rustler kicked at the street. “Looks like we’re gonna have ta go in the hard way, then.”

“’The hard way’?” Apple Bloom furrowed her brow.

“From the front. Go in the lobby an’ take the elevator. Hopefully the operator’s on duty. Othawise…” Rustler sighed, glancing up at the top floor. “We'll have ta climb thirty-three buckin’ flights o’ stairs.”

Toss groaned, shaking his head.

Dove sighed. “Rustla’s right. Dat’s our only option.” Turning to the mares, she asked, “Youze two ready fo’ dis?”

Thirty-three flights o’ stairs? Me an’ Bloom give youze fifteen miles in the desert in exchange.

After sharing a knowing glance of their own, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom nodded.

Dove took another breath before saying, “Alright. Let’s go in two teams. Rustla, youze an’ me head the front. Toss, youze go wit’ Babs an’ Bloom, bring up the rear. Keep youze distance, but don’t lose sight o’ us. Since we’re goin’ in the front, let’s jus’ hope dat these guards—iffa dey are there—let us inta the office easy.”

Rustler scoffed. “Without a warrant?”

“‘Ey, I’ve seen some pretty terrible security-ponies in ma day,” Dove said. “Maybe dey won’t botha ta ask.”

The detective paused before adding, “But iffa thingsdo get ugly in there, we might have ta start shootin'. Especially iffa it’s as heavily guarded as dat mad-stallion said it was, an’ those guards turn out ta really be thugs workin’ fo’ dis Madhoof goon.

“Once youze hear the first shot, youze start shootin’ at the bastards, an’ youze don’t stop until all the bad guys are down. Alright?”

Four nods confirmed her command.

Dove turned around, took a breath, and took a step. Then another.

Under the Manehatten moon, the five made their way towards the front of the tower. With no other option, they prayed that their entry into the “insurance office” would be an easy one. The heavy weight of rifles on their backs and pistols on their shoulders reasoned otherwise.

While Officer Lucky Toss, Apple Bloom, and Babs Seed crouched in the thick bushes beside the entrance, Officer Rustler and Detective White Dove, who placated themselves with one last check of their guns and ammo, trotted side-by-side towards the front doors.

Luckily for the three behind them, the bushes bore buds other than roses. In the approaching fall, there weren’t too many flowers remaining, but nor were there thorns. The three crouched closely together in the brush, watching Dove and Rustler take that first initial plunge.

Counting her measured breaths, Babs huddled next to Apple Bloom, Toss crouching on her mare’s opposite side. She squinted past the leaves and waited with bated breath.

Let’s hope nopony on dis floor… O’ any o’ ‘em…

The two officers reached the doors and looked around.

Nopony.

Dove tried the doors.

Unlocked, the double-glass doors swung open, inviting them within.

“Strange...” Dove wondered aloud, “It’s almost 2100, an’ dis damn thing ain’t locked up?”

Rustler shrugged. “Thirty-three floors, an’ youze think not a single one o’ ‘em is open afta hours?”

“Good point.”

Dove looked over to the bushes, gave one last nod to her hidden comrades, and drew her weapon. Rustler stepped in front of her, his forehoof on the holster of his duty pistol. He opened the door and stepped inside, Dove holding her pistol aimed and ready into the dark lobby.

The door closed behind them, blocking out the night.

“Police!”

Silence was their only reply.

Dove looked around.

Nopony.

A single lamp buzzed on the abandoned receptionist’s desk. No other light was present. Tasteless paintings of still-life meadows and lakes adorned the walls. The floor was comprised of black-and-white, checkered linoleum. A few drooping houseplants occupied the corners. Next to the desk was a large billboard. A floor listing was pinned to it, along with a few flyers and various business cards.

Still holding her pistol upright, Dove continued to sweep her gaze throughout the lobby. She didn’t move from the front threshold or Rustler.

Along with the front double doors, there was another door at the rear of the room. A red emergency exit led to the opposite street. That made the double-glass doors their only point of entry and second point of egress.

Directly across from the double doors was a stairwell leading to each of the additional floors. Thirty-three flights of stairs, if Card Slinger had been anything but the liar he most certainly was.

Another set of doors lay in the corner beyond the reception desk. Elevator doors.

Catching eyes with Rustler, Dove nudged towards those doors and holstered her pistol. Nodding, he keep his pistol trained and ready, then stepped behind her.

Adjusting her badge, Dove approached the elevator, Rustler following her closely. Twin hoof-steps made their way over. A red section of carpet lay in front of the elevator—the only piece of carpet in the lobby.

Once they reached the elevator, Dove cursed.

A note taped to the doors read:

“Figured as much,” Rustler grumbled.

“Dammit. Thought the operator might’ve been inside.”

“An’ what good would dat have done us?”

“Save us time. Maybe the operator would’ve known summat.” Dove to the numbers painted on the wall above the elevator. “Check dis out, Mista Investigator.”

Rustler squinted to read the numbers above the elevator:

Dove smirked. “Notice dat?”

“No thirty-third floor.”

“So, our bastard is lyin’ then, ain’t he?”

Turning around, Rustler pointed over to the bulletin board. “Let’s check the list an’ see.”

Confident now that they were truly alone and would notice if anypony breached the entrance, Detective White Dove and Officer Rustler holstered their weapons. They wasted no time in examining the floor listing.

The font on the list was characteristic of a typical typewriter; there was one such typewriter sitting on the reception desk. The paper appeared to be regular typing paper, nothing special of note.

Whereas the elevator only listed thirty-two floors, the list spoke of thirty-three:

“’Trois’?”

“Three,” Dove translated. “It’s Prench.”

Rustler raised an eyebrow.

“I was stationed in Prance fo’ a while when I was in the Guard.” After pinning the list back to the bulletin board, Dove rubbed her chin and changed the subject. “So… Slinga says thirty-three’s where we’ll find our stallion, elevator says it doesn’t exist, an’ the list says it’s an insurance office dat’s been closed fo’ almost four hours.”

“Quite the mystery, ain’t it?” Rustler said, “The way I see it, there’s only one way ta find out fo’ sure.”

Dove rested her forehoof on the grip of her pistol, making the metal awaken once more at her touch. A surge of energy pulsed through her to the weapon and back again. “Youze gonna get the othas?”

Rustler nodded, his own hoof-gun stirring when he tapped its grip awake from its minute nap. “Time ta climb some buckin’ stairs.”

While Rustler trotted back out of the double-glass doors to fetch the others, Dove checked the time again.

Almost 2045.

Better move.

~

The train whistled a timberwolf’s howl as it pulled into the Canterlot Train Station. Applejack nearly fell out of her side of the cab with a gasp, her hooves thrashing in the last throes of her dream. “Not the applesauce, Granny!”

Somepony roughly shook her shoulders. “AJ, we’re here. Git up!”

“Bah! Wha?!” Applejack rolled onto her back to find Big Macintosh staring down at her. “Oh! Jus’ you, Big Mac. We there yet?”

“We sure are.” With a yawn, Braeburn rose to his hooves, smacking his lips. Slinging his saddlebags over his back, he looked at the clock hanging on the cab wall. “An’ not a minute too late.”

Yawning, Applejack rubbed sleep from her eyes and fumbled around for her saddlebags. Big Macintosh stepped aside and strapped them across his back. “C’mon, AJ,” he said, tapping her shoulder, “Ah’ve got yer bags. Let’s go.”

“Thank Celestia! Thought Ah lost ‘em.” Applejack jumped from her seat and stretched her hooves. The two stallions started out of the cab, waiting for her to follow.

“How long was Ah asleep?” Applejack departed the train with them, following between her brother and cousin.

Braeburn brought his forehoof to his eyes and checked his invisible watch. “Hmm, lemme see… Sixty minutes ta an hour… Carry the five… Divide by zero… Yeah, Ah’d say jus’ ‘bout the whole trip.”

Big Mac nodded. “Eeyup.”

Applejack forced a chuckle, avoiding their eyes. “Oh, heh, heh… Sorry.”

“It’s fine, cuz. Mac an’ Ah took naps too,” Braeburn replied, neglecting to add, which is good, because we might need ‘em ta-night, if ma suspicions are correct.

Applejack quickly took the lead, guiding them out of the train station and into the streets of Canterlot. Neither stallion objected. Neither had visited the capital city nor their rulers’ castle, nor were they honored in stained-glass windows within that castle's hallowed halls.

While he followed behind Applejack, Braeburn looked to the horizon. Princess Luna had already raised her moon, which was already stationed at 2100 on the clock-face of the skies and rising rapidly towards midnight.

Canterlot Castle towered above the tallest buildings in the capital city. From here, Braeburn could see Royal Guards stationed at each wall and tower, their razor-sharp spears offering a warning to any who would seek to lay siege.

If his suspicions were correct, he hoped that these same guards wielded pistols, shotguns, and rifles alongside their spears, hooves, and magic.

“How long is it ta Canterlot Castle, Applejack?” Braeburn asked.

“Thirty minutes, twenty if we hurry,” Applejack answered.

Braeburn adjusted his Stetson. “Twenty minutes it is.”

Applejack nodded, determination shining in her eyes. “Got that right. Let’s git a move on, y’all.”

Beneath the wide-eyed moon, three Apples cantered towards Canterlot Castle, towards three Princesses and their standing army.

~

Thirty-three flights of stairs.

Thirty-three flights of stairs were nothing compared to six months of hauling ore or galloping from the uncharted lands to Appleloosa. Thirty-three flights of stairs were nothing compared to Card Slinger or timberwolves.

Yet, every step dripping with sickening anxiety and anticipation, Babs Seed found herself panting as they ascended towards the summit of the tower. Apple Bloom, smaller and more toned than she, panted too, her own ragged breathing speaking to the same.

Unlike the three truly in uniform, these two knew what they could be dealing with.

“Youze alright?” Toss whispered to the mares, walking between them as they marched up the stairs. Dove and Rustler were about ten steps ahead of them, pausing at every platform before gesturing for the others to continue.

Babs clenched her teeth. “Y-yeah. Jus’... Heart-racin’, dis whole thing.”

“A long way ta go,” Apple Bloom added, gritting her teeth when they reached the platform of the thirtieth floor.

Toss pressed his back against the wall. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dove and Rustler come to rest and seized the opportunity to do the same. Taking a deep breath, he muttered on his exhale, “Yea. Whole thing’s buckin’ crazy.”

Coming to rest on either side of the stallion, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom caught their own breath, each fighting the trembling of her reluctant hooves. Only three more flights to go. Only three more flights to go until there would be no turning back.

“... ‘Ey, Babs?”

Babs opened one eye. “Yea, Toss?”

“What is dis bastard ta youze?”

Apple Bloom looked over to see her mare, sweat dripping down her forehead, shiver. Frowning, she prodded Toss in the side and said firmly, “Lucky, Ah know we’re kinda in a situation where we need ta trust each other, but Ah’m gonna have ta ask ya ta leave that alone.”

Silently thanking her, Babs took another breath, her chest having seized at his question. Leaning back against the wall, she forced a weak smile towards the stallion. “Youze don’t wanna know, Toss, trust me.”

Above them, Dove whistled, snapping three muzzles to attention. “‘Ey! Only three mo’ ta go! Everypony ready?”

They nodded.

Rustler called down, “Once me an’ Dove reach the last floor, we’re goin’ in. Youze need ta stay back in the stairwell unless youze hear gunshots o’ we come back fo’ youze, alright?”

They nodded again.

Dove and Rustler nodded to each other in one final motion, then began to climb again. Toss led the two mares on the ascent once more. The spiraling staircase echoed with five sets of heavy hoof-steps and ragged breath, but was otherwise silent.

As they climbed, Babs Seed, one forehoof tight on the grip of the stirring Colt pistol in its holster—a weapon she had never handled, the only one she had left far behind in Toss’s guest room—knew that their luck would soon run out.

Nopony in the lobby? Nopony on the stairs? Gotta be somepony up there, then. I jus’ know it.

Up, up, up. Left, right, left. Each step echoing like thunder. Each beat of her heart sending hot blood tainted with sweet, wonderful adrenaline rampaging through her veins.

The pistol came alive as her forehoof found it, found its grip and grasped tightly.

Three flights of stairs passed by in a matter of minutes after a flurry of marching and resting, marching and resting. Losing herself in the mantra and the exchanged glances with her mare—glances that communicated that Apple Bloom, too, was preparing herself—Babs Seed found herself pressed against the wall for one last time.

Right above them, Rustler and Dove stood on the last platform in front of the last door. A lantern hanging above the door cast pale light into the stairwell and sent their shadows plunging into the spiraling below.

A sign on the door declared in bold letters:

Officer Rustler tugged at the doorknob.

Locked.

They waited.

Detective White Dove leaned an ear against the door.

Eyes widening, she motioned for her counterpart to listen in with her.

When Rustler did so, he barely suppressed a panicked breath. "Voices," he mouthed to the other three.

The chills returned to Babs Seed's spine.

The two officers waited again, listening at the door. Not just any voices. Stallions' voices. At least a half dozen of them.

Minutes passed. Nopony came to greet them.

Stepping away from the door, Rustler whispered, barely audible, “Youze know what dis means, Dove?”

Sharing none of his dismay, Dove whispered back with gritted teeth, “Buck yeah.” The weapon in her holster was hungry, and so was she.

Glancing over his shoulder, Rustler signaled for the three to back up. Toss, Babs, and Apple Bloom sidled against the wall, scooting into the remaining dark.

Detective White Dove drew her stirring pistol, feeling almost jump at her touch. Taking aim, she stepped behind Officer Rustler. The stallion turned around and stretched his hindhooves, positioning them carefully but silently right below the doorknob.

On a silent count of three—

One, two, three—

Rustler drew his hindhooves back, preparing, then aimed—

A loud, deafening THUD! and an even louder WHACK!—

And the door pushed open, the strike broken and released, and—

Dove shouted into the hallway while Rustler spun around and drew his own weapon, “Police—”

And before she could say anything more, the first shot was fired—

BOOM!

And before she knew what was happening, Babs Seed was running up the stairs, Officer Lucky Toss beside her, Apple Bloom beside him.

Luck had run out.

Better move.

~

”HALT! WHO GOES THERE?!”

Applejack stood in defiance of the spear thrust down her way. Luckily for the stallion guarding the wall above the drawbridge of Canterlot Castle, she didn’t recognize him. If she did, she would’ve torn into him right then and there, throwing him into the moat for good measure.

2120, time ticking away.

Instead, she shouted right back, “Applejack, Bearer o’ the Element o’ Honesty! An’ this is ma brother, Big Macintosh, an’ Braeburn, the Sheriff o’ Appleloosa! We need ta see the Princesses! Right now!”

The fool in golden armor, waving his sharp spear around like a foal’s plaything, yelled down at her, “Nopony sees the Princesses after Night Court is closed!”

“Ah don’t care!” Applejack glared up at him. “There’s a lot o’ ponies in Manehatten who could be in danger right now as we speak, ma sister an’ cuz two o’ ‘em! We will see the Princesses ta-night, no matter what ya say! Now, raise the bridge!”

The guard didn’t even flinch. “On behalf of Their Majesties, the Royal Pony Sisters, Celestia and Luna, and the Princess of Magic, Twilight Sparkle, I implore you to leave at once! Otherwise, you will be arrested for trespassing!”

Braeburn stepped forward, fire forming in his eyes. “Now, listen here, you! We’ve come all the way from Appleloosa an’ Ponyville, an’ we ain’t leavin’ without speakin’ ta the Princesses! You gone deaf?! Applejack is an’ Element o’ Harmony!”

The guard rolled his eyes. “Likely story! Move along!”

Braeburn growled, gritting his teeth. “Are you sh—”

“RAISE THE BRIDGE!”

Big Macintosh threw the sharpest of daggers towards the guard, standing to his full height. Snorting steam from his nostrils, the enormous stallion stomped and pawed his forehooves at the grass, his hackles raised. Green eyes wild and tinged with orange, he bellowed, “NOW!”

Slack-jawed, the guard merely blinked.

“What’s going on out here?!”

Awake and agitated, Princess Twilight Sparkle, without her crown or horseshoes, flew over, landing beside the guard. As she looked down, Twilight's eyes widened to the size of Celestia’s sun.

“Applejack?! Braeburn? Big Mac?! What are you all doing here?!”

Applejack shouted, “Ah’ll explain in a bit! But this one—” she thrust a forehoof towards the now sheepish-looking guard—”won’t let us in, even after Ah told him Ah’m an Element o’ Harmony an’ that ponies’ lives are in danger!”

Twilight rounded on the guard, her wings flaring. “Did you seriously just deny entry to an Element of—wait.” Snapping back to Applejack, she repeated, “Ponies’ lives are in danger?”

“A whole city, an’ maybe mo’.” Braeburn bowed his head and said, “Yer Highness, we need yer help. All yer help. An’ we need it right now.”

Twilight hesitated for only a second before opening her wings. “I’ll go get Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. Lower the drawbridge, Orion. Applejack, Big Mac, Braeburn, meet us in the Royal Courtroom. Applejack knows where to go.”

Applejack nodded firmly, tipping her Stetson to her friend as she lit up her horn, then disappeared in a flash of purple light.

Orion, wearing the most sheepish grin a stallion could muster this side of Heaven, lowered the drawbridge. Without a word of thanks, Applejack and Braeburn immediately rushed across, mare leading stallion inside the castle.

Big Macintosh shot Orion one last glare before hurrying after them.

~

Officer Rustler jumped to the ground and rolled, squeezing the grip of his pistol between his forehooves. Detective White Dove jumped behind the open door, took her stance on her hindhooves, and brought her pistol to bear.

The shot that had welcomed them inside smacked into the door, embedding deep a few inches from where she had been standing.

Six guards, all clad in black uniforms, faced them, guns drawn. Dove wasted no more breath. They were outnumbered. Orders would only waste more time.

Dove fired and pulled off two quick rounds. One missed completely. The other smacked a guard in the chest, making him fall backwards.

Rustler angled his pistol and squeezed off one round. It drilled a hole between the eyes of the nearest guard, his own weapon still smoking. The thug slumped to the ground while the others returned fire.

Rustler groaned in pain and clutched at his left shoulder, gritting his teeth before firing again.

Dove jumped from one forehoof to another, dancing the dodges she had learned in armor long ago. Another shot narrowly missed her side, hissing as it sliced through the air.

The “exit only” door no longer offered any cover. In this hallway, there was none to be found. No chairs. No couches. No desks. No tables. No cover, no obstacles.

Just one cramped hallway, the four living guards, and a pair of mahogany doors waiting at the end.

“Trois Insurance, ma flank,.” Squeezing off another round before she jumped to the opposite wall, a sizzling bullet whizzing past her ear, Dove listened for the sound of hoof-steps approaching.

They were coming. Three sets of hooves. Her comrades.

Five to four. Maybe they would survive.

~

Stained-glass windows immortalizing the defeat of Nightmare Moon (Luna long freed), the defeat of Discord (still locked in stone), and the defeat of King Sombra (dead and gone) surrounded the three Apples, who waited with impatient patience for the Princesses to arrive in the Royal Courtroom.

Normally, these colorful testimonies to courage, friendship, wisdom, and strength would have been comforting, especially when one of their own was displayed in several of the pieces. Tonight, nothing would bring the three comfort, except for the Princesses believing what they had come so far to say.

Applejack fidgeted with her forehooves, staring at the black-and-white checkerboard pattern of the floor under them. Braeburn shuffled his saddlebags from one shoulder to the other. Big Macintosh sat on his haunches, completely silent, eyes closed, as if in deep thought or prayer.

When a few more minutes had passed, Applejack asked the stallions, “So… How are we supposed ta tell ‘em all this?”

“Jus’ start from the beginnin’, Ah guess,” Braeburn said quietly.

Big Macintosh nodded, his eyes still closed.

Applejack sighed. “What time is it?”

Braeburn pulled out his pocket watch. “Nine forty-five.”

Applejack cursed under her breath. Time was ticking.

While her forehooves tapped out the rhythm of her anxiety, Applejack let the facts race through her mind once more.

The attacks in the West. The thugs with the black orange tattoos. The burning of the bar—Apple Bloom and Babs Seed’s bar. The bar that sold her family’s products. The attempted burning of the bar in Appleloosa, which sold the same products.

All Apples involved. Targeted. It only seemed rational to conclude who would be next, where would be next. Where was it all coming from? The answer seemed obvious now.

And it only made sense for the Apples to be the ones to stop it.

A set of heavy doors on the opposite side of the Courtroom creaked open.

The three of them looked up, then bowed.

Princess Twilight Sparkle trotted into the Royal Courtroom. Behind her, their manes flowing, entered Princess Celestia, Raiser of the Sun, and Princess Luna, Raiser of the Moon. No trumpeters or heralds announced their entry. Calm but expectant, they entered with purpose and tempo, trotting on strong, elegant hooves.

As close to the Most High as she would come, Applejack had seen all three immortals all before—many times, in fact.

In spite of familiarity, she bowed, waiting for them to motion her to rise.

The first one to speak was Princess Celestia.

“Applejack. Big Macintosh. Braeburn. Please rise.”

Princess Celestia closed the doors behind them with her magic. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

Applejack removed her Stetson and held it close to her chest. “Yer welcome, Yer Highness.”

Big Macintosh simply smiled. "Thank ya kindly, Yer Highnesses."

Braeburn removed his own Stetson and ran his forehooves along its brim. “Thank y’all fer seein’ us so late, Yer Highnesses.”

Princess Luna smiled. “It is quite alright, Braeburn. Thank you.”

“So…” Twilight Sparkle folded her wings at her sides and looked at Applejack with concern. “What’s going on?”

Applejack, Big Macintosh, and Braeburn exchanged glances.

After clearing his throat, Braeburn placed his Stetson back on his head, laid his forehoof over his heart, and began.

“Yer Highnesses, what Ah’m ‘bout ta tell y’all will shock you, will anger you, will make you think Ah’m lyin’ ta you. But Ah’m not. Ah’ve brought these things ta you because Ah think ponies have been hidin’ the truth from you—a dangerous truth.

“A truth that, if it does happen ta be one-hundred-per-cent accurate, endangers all o’ Equestria itself.”

The Royal Courtroom fell silent.

Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, and Princess Twilight exchanged glances.

Then, they sat down, quietly nodding for Braeburn to continue.

~

”GO! GO! GO!”

One hoof in front of the other. Three, really. Babs Seed began drawing one of the pistols from its holster while she scrambled after Officer Lucky Toss. Acting on instinct now, no thought passed through her mind.

Toss was more than ready, instincts long drilled into him at the Academy sending him galloping up the stairs. Shouting the command, he blew what little cover they had, not that it mattered.

The resounding roar of gunfire echoed through the stairwell, drums of war beating a haze of smoke and fire to tempo. Which rounds were fired from the angels, and which from the demons, Babs was not sure. She hurried after the stallion, Apple Bloom by her side with her own weapon already drawn.

There was no going back.

This was it.

This was it, and her heart was thundering and hammering and jumping and galloping so fast, so hard, it was the bar all over again, and the fire all over again, and the coyotes, and the timberwolves, and Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, and Card Slinger then and Card Slinger now, and by Celestia there may have been a purple shield on her flank and a nick in her left ear and scars on her right shoulder and on her chest and sides but Babs Seed was scared, no, she was terrified and she could sense Apple Bloom’s own terror, a mare who had killed a pony and saved her life and been by her side through all her reckless foalishness was scared, too, scared shitless, and here it was, here it was at last, Madhoof’s tower, Madhoof’s tower and salt and fire and Manehatten and now she understood as they reached the top of the stairs and the doors, as Toss crouched against the corner and opened fire, that this was true fear—

And when Babs Seed drew that Colt pistol, held the shivering, shaking, squirming, jumping thing of enchanted metal between her forehooves and stretched it, lined it up with Toss’s weapon and Apple Bloom’s weapon lining up beside hers, and fired at the charging guards drenched in black, that this was courage, and Celestia dammit, she had to be courageous right now, for everypony and anypony, but the ones she loved the most, and she would not fail to protect them, by Galaxia's starry mane she wouldn't.

BOOM!

Her shot whizzed past her target, flying over his shoulder and meeting the wall instead. Apple Bloom’s was better, more accurate on the moving target, burrowing deep into one of the attacker’s backs.

The guard tumbled down as he was shot, slamming his head against the wall with an audible CRACK!. He slumped down to the carpet, pooling blood all over the floor.

The guard didn't move.

A side effect of adrenaline is nausea. Fueled with adrenaline, flying on it, Babs Seed retched violently, holding back the nigh-irresistible urge to vomit.

She focused on the weapon, on the scene before them. Fired again. Missed again. Toss fired at the same oncoming guard and planted a hissing kiss of lead on his throat. The massive thug fell forward, twitching.

Another black beast rushed through the hallway towards Dove and Rustler.

Five against two. Far too easy.

With the squeeze of Rustler’s trigger, the charging guard tumbled to the hallway carpet, reddening red with his blackened scarlet.

Rustler gritted his teeth and grunted as he moved his forehooves to his left shoulder. They dripped with his own copper blood, his shoulder opened by a stray bullet that lay on the floor beside him.

Dove was wrestling with the last guard on the floor, his massive forehooves tightening around her neck. Wheezing, gasping, she kicked him hard between the flanks, then grabbed her pistol when he released her and cried out in agony.

BOOM!

Groaning, Dove climbed up from the floor, blood both of and apart from her own marring her uniform. She ran a forehoof over herself, finding no bullets, only flesh wounds and the deep, aching soreness around her neck. Rising to her hooves, she sputtered and coughed several times before shouting, “Clear! Son o’ a BITCH!”

“Dove, youze alright?” Rustler rubbed at his left shoulder. “Buckin’… buckin’ bastard grazed me.”

Dove trotted over. “Ye... Yeah. Last scumbag tried ta choke me. Jus’ scrapes... othawise. Youze bleedin’?”

Nodding, Rustler groaned and leaned against the wall, offering his left shoulder to her. The bullet had split the sleeve of his uniform along with his flesh.

Without hesitation, Dove tore off a section of her sleeve and wrapped the blue cloth around his wound, tightening the knot with her teeth. Once she tugged it tight, she asked, "Good fo' now?"

Rustler exhaled, gritting his teeth. “It’ll do. Thanks, Dove.”

“No problem. C’mon, let’s check out these doors.”

After Dove pulled Rustler to his hooves, the two stepped over the bodies and trotted towards the opposite side of the hall. The three in the threshold hesitated, catching their own breath and sanity.

Suddenly, Dove stopped in the middle of the hallway. Rustler looked at her.

Reaching down, Dove grabbed one of the stallions by the flank and lifted his tail with her other forehoof.

There it was, right underneath the dock of his tail.

The black orange and the initials.

“We’re in the right place, Rustla.” Dove let the stallion fall, then continued forward.

Rustler didn’t reply, following her instead.

Meanwhile, panting, everything before her tightening and constricting as she rose, Babs Seed leaned against the door to the thirty-third floor, struggling to process it all.

We made it. Thirty-third floor. We jus’ killed his guards.

His guards.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh… shit.

OHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT.

“Apple Bloom…”

Apple Bloom looked up at her, pupils dilated, sweat dripping down her forehead and mane. Her forehooves trembled as they clung to the grip of the police-issued Colt pistol. “Ye… Yes?” Her words were as thick as her mare’s, shaking along with her grasp.

Babs stumbled over. “Youze… youze alright?”

Standing up, Apple Bloom ran a forehoof over her borrowed uniform. The only blood there was not her own. “Ye—yeah. Are… are you?”

Babs lowered to her hooves and checked herself over. No blood on her blues. “Uh… Uh-huh.”

Between them, Toss rose from the floor, holstering his pistol. He, too, glistened with adrenaline-induced sweat, spray-back blood dotting his uniform. “Youze two alright? Ready ta follow 'em?”

Though she wasn’t ready, Apple Bloom nodded. Babs Seed, holstering her pistol, stood close beside her mare and said through deep, disbelieving breaths, “As ready as we’ll eva be… Can’t go back now, right?”

Toss only replied by holding the door open for them.

At the end of the hallway, Dove and Rustler stood beside the entrance to Trois Insurance, as the plaque above the double doors called the office. They motioned for the others to join them.

The first thing Babs Seed noticed when she entered the hallway was the smell.

The smell of gunpowder, hot lead, blood, and worse fluids entered her nostrils. Gagging, she brought a forehoof to her nose and averted her eyes from the floor, staring straight ahead, where the detective and the investigator waited by the set of mahogany doors. She dared not look down. Not for anything.

Dove lifted a forehoof as Babs, Apple Bloom, and Toss drew near, stopping them a few feet from the door. “Stand back! Got a feelin’ those weren’t the only guards heeya. Once youze ready, me an’ Rustla beatin’ dis door down, too!”

Apple Bloom steadied herself with a forehoof on Babs Seed’s good shoulder, dry-heaving. Shaking under her breath, she muttered, “Holy buck... No… Ho… holy shit...”

Toss looked worriedly at Babs. “She gonna be alright?”

“We’re really doin’ this, we’re really doin’ this.” Apple Bloom struggled to stand, fighting the urge to retch in the corner, to throw up more of poisonous Manehatten.

The guilty gun was in her grasp just a few seconds beforehoof. Somehow, she had managed to holster it, tuck it away.

Two ponies now. Two. And yet, somehow, she was still alive. They were still alive.

And it was just the beginning.

Babs Seed rubbed her back and steadied her. “Bloom? We…” Swallowing hard, she said, “We have ta get across dis hallway, past these doors. We… we gotta go.” Where mo’ are waitin’. I jus’ know it.

Blood’s on our hooves already. Madhoof’ll be comin’.

Apple Bloom whispered, “We’re really doin’ this, ain’t we?”

Biting her lip, Babs Seed nodded.

There was no going back.

“A-alright…” Rubbing a forehoof over her muzzle, Apple Bloom inhaled sharply, then nodded. “Ah’m… Ah’m alright.”

Toss called out, “We’re ready, Dove.” To the mares, he said, “Get behind me ‘gain. Get those weapons up. Don’t move until I do.”

Though his words were confident, he couldn’t hide the fear behind them, as palpable within him as it was everypony else.

Through the haze of their nightmare, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom positioned themselves behind Officer Lucky Toss, their pistols raised and trembling. Twin networks of adrenaline-infused blood kept them alive, awake, and as ready as they could be.

Dove and Rustler nodded to each other again. Dove was the one to turn around this time, her keratin tracing the metal of the lock from behind, ready to kick mahogany and flank. Rustler readied his pistol and stood right behind her, covering fire prepared to spark.

Rustler, doing his best for forget his pain, began the count.

“One…

“Two…

“Three!”

THUD!

With a buck of her hindhooves, Dove shattered the tumbler, freeing the strike of the lock. The doors rattled but didn’t move, still held by a door-chain.

Dove spat on the bloodied carpet. “Buck! Toss, get over heeya!”

Toss made eye contact with the mares, his voice shaking this time. “S-stay back heeya, youze two. Get ‘gainst the wall. Don’t start firin’ unless y-youze hear somepony fire first, g-got it?”

At their nod, Toss ran over to the doors, dodging the fallen scum on the floor. He and Dove turned around and leaned down on their forehooves, iron hindhooves raised and resting against the door.

Ready or not, here they come.

“One…

“Two…

“Three!”

THUD!

WHACK!

Door-chain surrendered to the hindhooves of three police ponies. The thick mahogany doors held steady, standing tall, although they opened, welcoming their intruders inside with the hiss of freed air.

This time, Rustler was the first to dive in, gun raised, shouting through his clenched jaws, “Police!”

Rising rapidly to a shooting stance, Toss and Dove joined him, three of them a unified circle. Weapons steady and poised, they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

When nopony came to greet them, they walked inside.

The “insurance” office was one large room in the shape of an oval. On the far side was a pair of large, bay windows overlooking the slumbering city below. In front of the windows laid a large mahogany desk, which was decorated with a thick stack of papers, an ashtray, a box of cigars, a box of matches, and a desk lamp. A fine chair of mahogany and velvet sat behind the desk. The carpeting here was thick and white, dotted with stains—some of them crimson.

On one side of the room was a bookshelf. On another was a large map of Equestria with different-colored pushpins stuck into it. A few fine sculptures and art occupied the corners of the room or hung on the walls.

No other doors but the front two. No opened windows. No fire escape.

Nopony.

Keeping his pistol trained and steady, Rustler called out into the room, “Police! Show youzeself!”

One step, then two. Then three.

Rustler stood in the middle of the room now, Dove and Toss behind him on opposite sides.

“Rustla,” Dove said, studying the room in the moonlight, “I think dat was all o’ ‘em in the hallway.”

“Only six?” Toss said, “Doesn’t seem dat heavily guarded ta me.”

“Slinga could’ve been mistaken. O’, maybe, most o’ the guards are somewhere else,” Dove reasoned.

“These doors were shut durin’ the shootout. Bastard must not want anypony in dis office when he ain't 'round,” Rustler said.

Dove nodded. “Youze could be right.”

Rustler called out to the mares, “It’s clear! Come in heeya!”

Not needing to be told twice, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom tucked their weapons away and crossed the sickening, nauseating distance between the hallway and the office. Babs fought the urge to retch again, the scent of death strong and hot in her nostrils.

Dis must be a dream. A real buckin’ bad dream.

Looking over at the huge mountain of documents atop the mahogany desk, Dove stepped over and began examining them. “Well, looks like our bastard sure ain’t organized. Tons o’ shit all ova dis damn thing. Bank statements, loan records, bills o’ sale...” The papers ruffled as her uncaring forehoof rifled through them.

Toss tapped his chin and stared at the bookshelf on the left side of the room. Rather than being filled with books, the shelves of this particular bookshelf were jammed with chess sets of every size, material, and color: wooden chess sets; brass chess sets; sets with each piece hoof-carved from marble or blown in fine glass; and many more in materials he wasn't sure he recognized.

Rustler trotted over to the opposite wall and examined the map of Equestria. “Might not be picky wit’ the desk, but he’s damn organized wit’ dis thing, whateva it is. Just a map, it looks like, but… All these pins are color-coded. But fo’ what? There's no legend...”

Apple Bloom let out a little sigh of relief as she and Babs finally entered past the mahogany doors. She willed herself not to look down at her hooves, knowing all too well that she wouldn’t be able hold back her churning stomach if she did.

To distract herself, Apple Bloom walked over to Rustler and the map. “Pins? What kinda pins?”

“Dunno. Jus’ pushpins. Heeya, lemme show youze.” Rustler stepped aside and ran a forehoof over the map. “Red ones, orange ones, black ones, lessee… A lot of orange ones in Manehatten, a few in Trottingham and Canterlot… Only one black one, in the center o' Canterlot… A few red ones in Ponyville, one in Appleloosa, an’ one in… Where is dis?”

Apple Bloom reached over and followed his forehoof along the southwestern portion of Equestria. Further southwest of Appleloosa was a single red pushpin stuck in the middle of nowhere. Tracing the intersection of latitude and longitude, she said, “Looks like this one’s ‘bout thirty-three degrees north by ‘hundred-fifty-five degrees west, give o’ take a few.”

Babs Seed tore her eyes from the bookshelf and glanced at her mare. “Wait… Weren’t those the coordinates o’—”

“Eeyup.” Apple Bloom’s muzzle paled. “That’s where our bar was.”

Looking between Babs Seed, to Rustler, and back again, Apple Bloom said quietly, “He… He marked it. He marked it on his map…”

Rustler asked, “What on the map?”

Apple Bloom tapped the red pushpin in the desert. “There. We were livin’ there, mindin’ our own business an’ runnin’ one, when the gangsters from the East came an’ burned down our bar. Nopony but the ponies livin’ out there in Yukon o’ Appleloosa know where that settlement was!”

Furrowing her brow, Apple Bloom snarled and exclaimed through clenched jaws, “If that ain’t proof enough that he's behind all this crap, Ah don’t know what it is!”

Detective White Dove said from the desk, “Oh, youze betta come ova an’ take a look at dis.”

All four muzzles turned to her.

Holding up a stack of envelopes, Dove said grimly, “Lettas addressed ta Princess Celestia, from all ‘round Manehatten an’ beyond. How the buck dey ended up heeya instead o’ bein’ sent by pegasus wing, I think dis—” she opened a drawer of the desk filled to the brim with gold bits of the highest denomination—”is why.”

Toss stepped away from the bookshelf, kicking at it with a hindhoof. The glass chess set rattled on the third shelf. “Lettas ta Celestia? Why the hay would somepony have a bunch o’ lettas ta Celestia dat dey didn’t write?”

“So the Princesses don’t hear ‘bout what dey are doin’, I bet. Why else wouldn’t dey want ‘em sent?” Spitting on the desk, Dove threw the letters into a nearby wastebasket. “I think dat, iffa it wasn’t clear already from the guards tryin’ ta kill us, these lettas prove whoeva owns dis office ain’t up ta any good.”

Rustler objected, “How do we know fo’ sure dis is Madhoof’s office?”

Looking from the desk, to the map, to the bookshelf, Babs took a heavy step forward. “I know how we can know.”

I jus’ have ta prove it ta dem. Even iffa dat means I’ll have ta…

… Look at him ‘gain…

Babs pointed at the desk. “Look through all the drawas. All o’ ‘em. Find a photo o’ summat.”

Dove nodded, then began rifling through the drawers, throwing papers, bits, bottles, and other assorted objects on the floor.

Apple Bloom, stepping away from the map, walked over to one of the discarded bottles. Bringing it up to her muzzle, her eyes widened.

Babs walked over to her. “What is it, Bloom?”

Apple Bloom simply held up the empty bottle, its label intact.

If there had been any doubt remaining in the mares’ minds, the label's presence would have shattered it. Toss and Rustler followed Apple Bloom’s eyes to the label, while Dove continued to dig through the drawers.

“Dat whiskey,” Babs Seed explained, “is not sold in dis city. Our family manufactures it an' sells it mostly in Ponyville an' Appleloosa. It was dis whiskey dat was destroyed in the shootin’s in the West.”

Before anypony could respond, Dove called out, “Found it!” and held up a photograph.

In the portrait photo, a blue stallion, his mane as black as night, sat on the same plush chair in this same office behind the same mahogany desk. The stallion wore a black, velvet suit and a red tie... and a smile, if it could be called that.

His eyes neither reflected nor held any light. Only darkness.

Upon seeing the picture, Babs Seed wanted to pounce on it, tear it in two, and destroy the office next.

Her hackles raised, her muscles clenched, and that same adrenaline that had saved her so many times yearned to destroy him now, destroy him, the stallion who had destroyed the lives of so many she loved.

Babs Seed sealed his fate when she pointed to the photo.

“Dat’s him. Dat’s Bernie Madhoof.”

Detective White Dove exhaled, long and low. The photograph told a thousand words and confirmed a million more. She looked at the whiskey bottle, taking it from Apple Bloom’s forehoof when it was offered to her. Then, she set both objects down on the desk.

In the ensuing silence, Dove grabbed one of the cigars and the boxes of matches. After a moment, she set them down.

Dove peeled the label off the bottle, then tucked it and the photograph into a pocket of her uniform. She looked out the bay windows, towards slumbering Manehatten, that stirring beast below. “Dat’s it. We’ve got our stallion.

“Dis is Bernie Madhoof’s office. The puppetmasta o’ Manehatten. The leader o’ the Kings Knights, the black-orange gang. The stallion behind everythin’ wrong in dis city, an’ everythin’ wrong comin’ from it.”

Officer Rustler approached the desk. “Are youze sure? Are youze absolutely sure, Dove? ‘Cuz, iffa youze are wrong, then we’re all gonna be locked up fo’ a long time, o’, worse—“

“Think ‘bout it, Rustla.”

Although the slain guards were permanently silenced, they were still tattooed with the mark—the mark that both the detective and the internal investigator had been studying, searching for its meaning for so long.

The rest of the evidence was equally overwhelming: the stallions whispering in the street on their way to the tower; the unlisted floor on the elevator; the Trois Insurance listing, though no insurance office needed six armed guards; the pushpins on the map; the photograph and visual confirmation by somepony who was surely a witness to something Madhoof had done; the whiskey label from Ponyville; the (probably stolen) letters to Celestia; Card Slinger's testimony; and even the chessboards in the bookshelf.

Everything was a game to the Master. Whoever owned this office loved to play games.

Last but not least, the strongest piece of evidence of all.

Insane as it was, if Bernie Madhoof and his King’s Knights were behind all the madness in Manehatten and beyond, it explained everything.

Detective White Dove walked over to Officer Rustler, watching as the others, in their heavy silence, waited for him to speak, having already arrived at the same conclusion as she.

“Enough proof fo’ youze, Rustla?”

Officer Rustler looked down at his hooves.

“Mo’ than enough proof fo’ me,” Officer Lucky Toss said.

Apple Bloom stood beside her mare. “More than enough fer us, too.”

Babs Seed stood beside her fiancée. “As much as I hate ta say it, Slinga was tellin’ the truth. Dis is Bernie Madhoof’s office, an’ he’s behind it all.”

Silence again.

Dove prodded Rustler in the side. “Well?”

Finally, after an eternal second, Officer Rustler, the internal investigator of the Manehatten Police Department, looked up at his greatest rival.

“Let’s go down ta the station. Round up all the officas all we can. Go ta dat mansion…

“An’ arrest dis son’ o’ a bitch.”