//------------------------------// // Chapter 6: Pretty in Red // Story: Memoirs of the Mindless // by Writey the writer //------------------------------// Chapter 6: Pretty in Red Would you ever risk your life to save another’s? Would you ever run into a police station bent on killing all of them until you found the one you wanted? For Pinkie, that would have been a no. She was cold and calculating. A plan was always needed even on the simplest jobs. The plan is one of the few reasons she hadn't been caught –that and luck. But her partner was dead. Her love was dead. Her longing to survive was dead, at least it would be. There was just one last amendment. *   *   * She must have looked crazy when she walked through town – crazier than usual Pinkie Pie that is. Armed to the teeth, as it were. She had knives strapped to both her forelegs and an assortment of home-made explosives in a bag over her shoulder. And, of course, true to the legacy she wanted to leave, a red mane. She wore an unforgiving mask as well, to hide her identity for the most part. However she knew today would be an important one. She would die and be discovered or be captured. Before either eventuality, she wanted a body count. The station came into view. The building where Twilight’s body was surely held. Clock would be in there, too.   She ran up the stairs picking up speed as she did so. Her body flew through the double doors into an office area. There were a handful of ponies sitting behind their desks, all oblivious to what was about to transcend. A few ponies had turned their attention to her. Their eyes widened as they took in her appearance – as they realised what she was about to do. She drew a knife and threw a home-made bomb into the centre of the room.   In a mere moment, carnage ensued. She reached the second floor and was faced with two equipped police officers. Her coat was now red like her mane. An officer ran at her, baton raised in the air. She parried the blow and stuck the knife through his throat. His body became limp as he bled out. She didn’t take her eyes off the other officer. She was smiling. She dropped the corpse and strolled forward. The officer trembled and turned, running to the other room. “Clock!” shouted the stallion. His voice was broken where he was unmistakably crying. Upon hearing his name, as though snapping out of a trance, Pinkie ran faster. She rounded the corner into a large room. Clock sat in the middle of the room. Even from this distance, Pinkie could see the sweat running down his face. *    *    * Three minutes earlier “How do you not have any firearms?” shouted Clock. The policeman flinched and adjusted the brow of his hat. “We haven’t had any since the riots eight years ago. Ponyville has been quiet ever since." He paused for a moment as he mentally searched the station. "We have batons,” he offered.  Clock laughed. “A baton is no good. If she can kill an armed officer and so many others do you really think a baton will keep her at a distance,” he said. The policeman frowned. “Our officers are trained to the highest levels and I have been enough scuffles to-“ “Then be my guest!” Clock said throwing his forelegs open. “She’s only a serial killer after all. I’m sure your officers can have a crack at it. I’ll let your officers stand between me and her then.” “We have some basic utility armour left from the riots. The other officers will bring equipment when they return.” Clock narrowed his eyes. “Return?” “The Royal Guards Parade in Canterlot. Some of our officers are representing us there,” he said absently smiling. His smile quickly faded. “How many officers do we have capable of defending the station if she were to come?” Clock asked. “Six,” stated the policeman. He paused. “Actually five, Rainbow Dash has been suspended and sent to Canterlot. So five…including us.” Clock wiped a hoof over his face in exasperation and groaned. He sighed. “Over the next few weeks I we cannot guarantee the safety of your staff,” he stated. “Your officers are required to stay while we try and track her down before she gets here, but if she comes in the mean time we cannot let others come to harm. She is only after us.” The policeman nodded. “They will be gone by tomorrow. They will only need-“ He was interrupted by an explosion from the ground floor which shook the building. The sound of shattering glass could be heard before the screaming began. “Equip two of your officers and sent them down. The rest, on me. Move it!” shouted Clock. He rounded the corner into a large open room, the rest of the staff behind him. He opened his saddlebag and chucked a set of keys to Print. “Get the prisoner upstairs as quickly as you can, use the door at the far wall. When you get back threaten the prisoner. It may be the only thing we can do.” Print nodded and ran across the room. “What about us?” asked a young stallion brandishing a baton. Clock looked at the stallion but only saw a young colt, too young to be in this profession, or at least in this situation. When was the right age to face a killer, anyway? “Stand behind the doors. When she enters shut them and we’ll stall her all we can until Print comes back.” The stallion nodded. He and his partner positioned on either side of the doors. Clock smiled. It was all speeding up so quickly. The collision was coming. He picked up a chair and dragged it to the centre of the room in line of the doorway. As he sat, he heard his name shouted from one of the officers who had accompanied the commissioner. His voice was terrified. The stallion rounded the corner; tears were streaming down his cheeks. He ran behind Clock. A shadow fell into the doorway as the killer neared. Clock took a deep breath. The collision was near. *   *   * She entered the room, her eyes fixed on Clock. She could feel adrenaline pumping through her, making her hooves shake, her heart race, and her blood become ice in her veins. This was living. The doors slammed shut beside her and two policemen ran to Clock’s side. He stood as they turned to face her. The other stallion was at the back of the room. He was crying and trying to push the door down. “So what happens now, Red-Mane?” asked Clock. To his credit, his voice didn’t portrait the fear his body clearly did. “You gonna kill me? Kill all of us?” Pinkie’s voice was low, calm. “I only want you. If others step in the way, then so be it.” “You’re not killing him,” said a young stallion by his side. “He’s done so much for us and we…y-you need to stop.” He took a step forward. Pinkie matched that step. They stood silently for a moment. Each party was trying to stare the other away–trying to break them down. “Fuck this,” said the other stallion. He ran at her holding the baton in his teeth. Pinkie dodged one swipe but the other connected with her ribs. Pain flared across her side as another blow landed across her back. She fell, still clutching the knife. The stallion reared up on his hind legs ready to drop onto her. She quickly rolled to the side leaving a gash in his underbelly as she did so. He groaned dropping the baton to clatter against the floor. As quickly as she had stood, Clock charged at her. He drove her backward but lost momentum quickly. He jumped back as Pinkie swung out with the knife. A line of blood erupted from his throat. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to kill him unless he got treatment. She would ensure he wouldn’t get treatment. Clock held a scrap of his uniform to his throat. It soaked his blood up quickly turning the blue shirt crimson. The younger stallion charged at her. His head down. His strength shocked her as she was lifted off the ground and rammed into the wall. She felt a rib crack as her back impacted the wall. She raised the knife and stabbed it into his back. He moaned but didn’t stop. He backed up and slammed her back into the wall. There was a sharp, tight pain in her chest as the rib punctured her lung. It ached to draw breath. She lifted the knife again and stabbed him again and again. He back up, seemingly oblivious to the blood oozing through his uniform. He charged one last time as she stabbed him in the neck. She hit the wall. It wasn’t too much of an impact, but the pain in her side was like a hot coal burning in every breath. She grabbed the stallion by his mane and turned to Clock. The knife was pressed into the stallion’s throat. Clock opened his mouth but no words came out. He was shaking his head. Pinkie dropped the stallion. His wounds would kill him. There was no need for excessive force.   She hobbled over toward him. Her side entire body ached and each breath was agony. She sat in front of him holding the knife. She sighed and stared at him. His bleeding had slowed, but his uniform was almost entirely bloodied. A hoof was still pressing the saturated rag to his throat. “This is what we wanted, isn’t it?” she said in a low voice. She took off the mask. Clock didn’t seem surprised, or if he was he didn’t show it. “This,” she said with a gesture to the body, the stallion groaning in a pool of blood, and to the crying stallion, “this is what you fought for.” She gripped the knife tighter. “I fought for her.” She stood as she blinked back tears. “I’m going to kill you,” she said plainly. As she stepped forward, the door at the end of the room swung open. “Red-Mane, run!” shouted a mare. Pinkie’s ears perked up as she heard that voice. She spun her head to face her. The adrenaline–the ice in her blood–was replaced by warmth, relief. Twilight struggled against Print. She was still hoof-cuffed, but she fought her bindings. Clock moved out the corner of her eye, but her mind was focused as anger built to save Twilight. Her anger was short lived. She turned back to Clock as he swung his torch against her jaw. Twilight screamed her name as the world faded into blackness. She hit the ground but there was no pain, just an echo. It was Clock’s voice. “Gotcha.” *   *   * Pinkie awoke with a bump to a dull throbbing in her head. She rolled over onto her back and brought a hoof up to her face. The wooden binding hit her in the eye making her wince. She was in a cell judging by the bars, and on a train judging by the rhythmic clatter from outside. She groaned and stood shakily. Her chest was bound with a clean bandage and the pain was all but gone. It was replaced by a dull throbbing in her head and a curious nausea which crept through her in every breath. “Pinkie?” said a familiar voice from through the wall. A lilac hoof came around the corner and waved. That made Pinkie smile. “Are you okay, Twi?” Pinkie asked leaning as close to the bars as she could. She couldn’t see her, but knowing she was near and alive was good enough. “I’m sorry.” Pinkie winced at that. “It’s okay. We’re together now.” She could hear gentle sobbing from the other cell. She wanted to run forward and embrace her so much. She pressed her face harder against the bars and wished they would break. “What’s going to happen to us?” said Twilight. Her voice was weak. Pinkie let out a wavering breath. Her tears ran down her cheeks and chilled the bars. She knew what would happen, so did Twilight. “It’s okay.” Pinkie said slowly as she blinked back her tears. “We’re together now.”