Fellik City, Diarchy of Japone’, March 19th…
Night had fallen in the Capital city of the Diarchal Empire of Japone’, and as they have done on every night, spotlights and lamps lit up the essence of the city’s treasures. Throughout the city, positioned lights illuminated majestic carvings on the blank faces of certain buildings. Carvings of ponies fighting off invaders and demons alike were etched onto the buildings’ faces to be remembered for the times to come. Public squares were marked throughout the city in the memory of their life-long rulers who had previously passed, each memorial more extravagant than the last.
A grey unicorn walked through an archway and into one of the most highly congested squares of the entire empire. He walked, a fine white suit and slacks on his persons, through the enormous flat city brick square as swarms of natives passed by on their way to their homes for the evening -and others out of their homes to kick-off the night
On opposite sides of Imperial Square, the two Diarchs had decided to plant the seeds of their legacy. When they knocked down the statues of their predecessors, they made plans to make such beautiful landmarks that any who even dared to disgrace their beauty would surely be cursed by the public as a monster who would know nothing of what a true masterpiece was… or they wanted their Effigy to be so big that it would simply be too difficult to demolish them in the first place, whichever one worked was fine with them.
The visitor traveled across the center of the city and towards the building that sat in the corner of the great square, the National Offices of Archives and Securities.
The dressed stallion waked up to the wrought iron gates of the government building and waited. A guard stepped out from a shack and questioned the visitor, and allowed him entry after he answered. The guard escorted the guest through the protected entrance, past the white gothic pillars, and deposited him at the front desk. For each doorway they passed through, a camera positioned near the ceiling took their picture, and then magically disintegrated the film and transported it to the security center records.
The secretary behind the desk shifted her nose up from her book and smiled at the visitor. “Hello, sir, what business brings you here today?”
The visitor removed his white bowler hat and set it on the large oval desk in front of the secretary. “I am the representative from Canterlot, and I am to make arrangements with Commander Stronghelm.”
The mare wrote the message and handed it off to a runner to send it on its way. As they waited, the stallion compulsively checked his watch.
After a few moments, an aging earth pony of a light blue color, wearing a navy uniform and a chest with rows upon rows of medals and service ribbons, made his way from the stairs that led to the upper offices and to the front desk. The Commander began to approach the stallion at the desk but stopped. He looked at him again and tilted his head, but nonetheless approached the white suited pony.
“Captain Shining Armor?”
The guest shook his head. “No, the Captain was unable to fulfil the arrangements. I have been sent in his stead to schedule the security of Princess Luna’s visit. The letter was sent as soon as the captain had determined that his attendance would not be possible.” The unicorn brought his briefcase up and opened it, pulled out a folder, and then passed a signed and stamped document.
The officer took the paper and inspected it. He did not bother reading the entirety of the note, but only the bottom where the name and the signature of the captain of the Royal Guard resided.
“Alright,” he said, “could you please sign in then?”
The unicorn closed his briefcase and set its strap around his neck, allowing it to hang again. He grasped a pen in magic and signed the clipboard that the secretary offered. The old officer watched him over his shoulder, but found himself scratching his head over what the pony had signed.
“Pardon,” he said, “but before I mispronounce your name and make a fool of myself, could you pronounce it for me?”
“Of course,” the unicorn said, “Beelzebub, Beelh-zeh-bub.” The unicorn checked his watch one more time. “Commander, I do not mean to impose, but there is an event that I must be in attendance later in the night. So if we may begin I would be most gracious.”
The mare behind the desk popped her head up and looked at the guest. That name… why was it familiar? She looked at the stranger with the funny name and tried to find out what was so peculiar about what he had just called himself. But, unfortunately, had to digress and return to work as the two made their way towards the offices.
As was customary with the National Offices of Archives and Securities, as soon as a guest was singed in, a runner was sent to pick up the sheet and bring it to the security center, where the camera traps documented everything that had tripped their senses. There, the guards confirmed the identity of the individual who entered the office with the reservation that had been made prior.
It had been eight minutes between the time the note left the desk of the secretary and had made it to the chief of security in the control room.
This stallion, drinking his fifth cup of coffee that night, looked at the note as well as the document of the last minute change and set it aside. It was just another boring day at a dead end job. When he first received the letter from his department head about the promotion to Head of Security, he was about to run to the nearest pub and buy the entire bar out to begin the celebration.
But, that was before he calmed down and read where he was going, the dead end of all jobs, the National Offices of Archives and Securities- or as the ponies in the government security sector called it- “The Book Store”.
All in all, he was the chief security officer for the place where countless, worthless, red-taped, documents would go to be stored and forgotten. Bills and failed laws that were kept for future debate, parliamentary notes for proceedings and meetings, treaties, and everything else that was as boring as reading a dictionary was stored here, and he was the librarian.
Of course there were always the rumors that top-secret documents would enter through the doors of the Archive and go into some secret vault behind a staircase that would only open if an individual put an arrow into a certain fountain and cause the water to become red- or something like that, but the truth of the matter was that there was no secret vault. He had studied the blueprints like his job required and there was nothing out of the ordinary in the archives of the building. Plus, everypony knew the controversial material was burned. If somepony had blackmail, why would they store it in a public government building and not in a safe?
Of course there were sometimes arrangements needed to be made when a visitor of importance would visit the country, and then things may become more interesting, but generally they did not. A head of state would decide to tour here or there, a representative would come and bring plans and then they would compare their plan to what the visitor would suggest, and once they had an agreement the rest of the job would go to the colts in a more active and actually important department to do all the fun stuff.
The Security Chief leaned back into his chair as his personal minions did the sleep-inducing tasks of watching security photos as they rolled in or taking inventory. He didn’t even react as the mail pony walked in and dropped off the mail that would be dispersed throughout the building.
The Chief growled and rubbed his eyes. It was time to go to work. He brought a bundle of envelopes over and began to open them. As was protocol, he needed to inspect each letter -unless marked classified and addressed to a certain individual- and ensure that it was not suspicious.
After his third ordinary letter, he practically inhaled the rest of the coffee in his mug and set it down. It looked as if it was going to be another boring night; not to his surprise, though.
He looked at the next letter, it was addressed from Canterlot and sent to him. Odd, but then he remembered the note from earlier about a late change to the schedule, so he opened it and read it. Seeing nothing of interest through the normal official jargon that letters like this usually held.
But then he saw something.
He grabbed the note that the replacement representative had presented and compared the two.
All the black coffee that he had been holding in his mouth immediately found its way onto his desk.
Mr. Beelzebub followed the Commander as he walked down the halls.
“Why was Captain Armor unable to make our arrangements?” he asked.
“It is a private matter and I am not authorized to disclose it,” the Equestrian responded.
“Hmm, oh well,” Commander Stronghelm replied, “To be honest, I am surprised that your Princess would want to stand and witness our arms presentation. We both know our countries are not on the friendliest of terms.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Mr. Beelzebub responded.
The Commander only rolled his eyes and continued leading the way to his office. It was obvious that he was a soldier and not a politician. In the Navy, which his uniform had labeled him an officer of, things were simpler. Things were basic and honest, just a chain of command of who answered to you and who you answered to. When an order was called, that order was done. There was no determinable reason why he had been promoted to this public office -possibly because it was obvious that he had more intelligence than the average deck mopper- but at least it wasn’t the full force of the career game of secrecy, agendas, and correctness that politics brought.
The two walked to a flight of stairs, but walked past it. Instead, the Commander hit a switch on a wall and called for the lift.
“Have you ever used an elevator before?” he asked his guest.
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” he responded.
“Oh, they’re amazing. I’ve gained five pounds while working here because I don’t take the stairs.” The platform arrived, and the attendant opened the door. After the officer gave the floor number they were going to, the attendant spoke to the team in the basement and they began to move.
“Impressive, very convenient,” Mr. Beelzebub stated as he marveled at the metal box they were using to travel vertically.
“I always wanted to visit Canterlot, but I am always afraid I’d never be able to take all the stairs.”
“You should, it is a very beautiful place. Where does this elevator go?”
“Maybe when I have enough vacation days I’ll take a visit. The elevators go all the way to the top floor and to the basement and sub-basement where the mechanical teams coordinate and operate the mechanism.”
They reached their floor, and shortly after, the two entered the Commander’s office.
Commander Stronghelm offered his guest a seat as he looked through his blueprints and plans over the area where the celebration was going to take place. In the meantime, Mr. Beelzebub looked around and studied the room.
Judging from the pictures on the desk, the Commander had been married for thirty-five years, the father of three children, and most interestingly, the mare at the front desk was his daughter.
There was a map of the world on the wall behind the desk, on it, little pins on places across the globe. It seemed that the Commander was elected to his job based on his mixture with cultures around the world and the experience he had earned.
Stronghelm brought over a few maps and set them on the desk. The two began to talk, marking areas for guards, where the sentries would be, the shifts, and etc.
Mid-dialogue, about when the public were allowed admittance to the arms parade, a loud, whirring siren began to crescendo through the halls. The yell became louder and louder and then died before starting again.
The two turned to the door where the sound was sneaking in on their meeting.
“What in the world is that?” The earth pony asked.
The wooden door to their office exploded in, the handle on the inside chipped the painted wall as it was carelessly bucked in.
A security official jumped in and shouted, “Imposter!”
The Commander stood up in his chair and began to say, “No, there’s been a change of plans, everything is fine,” but couldn’t, because at that particular moment, he noticed that there had been a syringe of tranquilizers inserted into his neck. He was already sleeping by the time he landed in his chair.
The guard, seeing the glowing magic around the syringe being supplied from the horn of the intruder he was meant to capture, jumped to his back hooves and lunged at the white suited unicorn.
The intruder shifted around as soon as his first priority was pacified and dodged the haymaker that was heading right for the back of his head. The blow barely missed him. He shot his right hoof up and caught the guard at the pit. Using the momentum of the attack against him, Mr. Beelzebub reared and slipped right behind his aggressor, snuck his left hoof around the guard’s front- left leg, and then locked his two hooves behind the guard’s head.
Both rearing, the victim struggled in the full nelson position. The poor guard was not ready to brace for impact as the impersonator slipped his bottom hoof out and swept his legs.
The two tumbled forward, ending when the guard went face first into the wooden desk.
With his second target not going to wake up until morning, Mr. Beelzebub grabbed his hat and placed it on his head. He covered his face with a hoof, and when he removed it a sleek white plastic mask had replaced it. It featured a crying face with a blood red tear below the left eye.
The stallion with a white tuxedo and mask, or as the official reports would later call him “Tuxedo Mask”, vacated the room. The general alarm and precautions to contain the lockdown had been engaged by the time he exited the office. The siren rang loud and clear throughout the halls, and anypony, be it a guard or random worker, grabbed the mesh fence barricades and stretched them to the opposite side of the hall where it locked itself into place. A Sergeant-At-Arms on the floor had already accessed the emergency paneling switch, and thus every external window in the complex had shut itself.
Briefcase in tow, Tuxedo Mask ran down the hall and towards the access to the other floors of the Archive, but by the time he made it there armed guards were already in the stairwell.
“Lock it down!” one shouted through the door. “We have him trapped on the fifth floor!”
A grinding-on-metal sound screeched as a long steel bar was placed in the door handle to the stair access, trapping him on the current floor…Just as he planned.
Tuxedo Mask walked away from the doorway and up to the elevator. From underneath his left lapel, he pulled out a large purple knife and inserted it into the two large metal doors. Like a crowbar, he used his hooves to press on one side, forcing the two to separate slightly, and then he levitated the knife away and used his hooves to physically rip the two open.
Tuxedo Mask smiled as he looked down into the shaft that lead all the way into the sub-basement levels.
“And that is precisely why Canterlot does not have elevators.”