//------------------------------// // Chapter 10: Fire and Steel // Story: Memoirs of the Mindless // by Writey the writer //------------------------------// Chapter 10: Fire and Steel Pinkie dashed across the road and pressed herself to against the wall of the house. She waited a moment and leaned around the corner, the cold stone wall against her back. The two guards were walking away down the path, the street lights stretching their shadows toward her. She waited until they had disappeared from sight before slipping around the back of the building. She was in the run-down region of Canterlot. The side that many knew about, but few in the gilded districts of the city spoke about. Drug cartels ran this part of the city, parallel to the police. The two forces avoided each other as much as possible, both content to let the other live, providing it did not affect their society or their idea of peace. It was not corruption which had brought about this peace, rather dismissal. If the police fought the crime, the crime would become armed. By arming the crime, the crime would become dangerous. The city could deal with occasional deaths by overdose, not by drug-fuelled murders and gangs fighting over territory. Around the back of the building, a red door with the paint peeling was left ajar. A warm glow emanated out through the doorway. Pinkie pushed the door slightly further open, looking inside. An oil lantern hung from a nail in a support beam in the centre of the room. Several ponies were lying at the sides of the room in mouldy piles of hay. Many of them were dirty and wore torn garments which were wrapped around them. One of the ponies was a sea-blue mare. She lay on her back with a needle protruding out of her foreleg. The plunger was entirely down, the contents of the needle having been pumped into her veins. A foal was curled up by her side. Pinkie took a step into the light. A gun barrel was raised to the side of her head. She froze. The light of the lantern glinted off the barrel’s tip. “Oh,” said a gruff voice from her side. The weapon was lowered. Pinkie turned to face the voice. A dirt-brown stallion was tilting back in a wooden chair, his hindlegs crossed casually over a wooden keg. He held the shotgun in two hooves across his chest. “You ain’t one of Greenbill’s ponies are ya?” he asked in a thick accent. “I’m not,” Pinkie responded. “Well,” said the stallion. His hindlegs fell to the ground and he stood upright. “I’d guess you’d be looking for a place t’stay the night. Am right?” Pinkie nodded. This place seemed safe.  “For two bits, you can jump in with these lot, five if you wanting something a bit cosier upstairs, and ten for a bed your highness.” He smiled, showing a gap in his teeth. Pinkie shook her head. “I don’t have any money.” Her possessions had probably been burned in Canterlot, and her home in Ponyville would have been cleaned by the police. All she had was Rainbow Dash’s radio which had been turned off while she was sneaking through the city. The stallion walked forward, placed a hoof over her shoulder and turned her toward the door. “I’d call that a shame, ‘specially tonight, Red-Mane’s on the loose, y’know.” Pinkie stopped abruptly, making the stallion walk into the back of her. He chuckled. “Guessing you didn’t know about that? She’ll be madder than ever, tonight,” he said. “I’m sure you heard her partner was executed this morning.” Pinkie spun, pushing a hoof against his head so it struck the door frame. He groaned, stumbling backwards. Pinkie ran at him as he tried to pick up the shotgun. She lowered her head knocking him backward against the wooden beam. The lantern fell to the floor beside him. Pinkie picked it up and smashed it against the ground. The oil ignited setting one of the piles of hay ablaze. A few of the ponies stirred and ran outside as the fire began to spread, filling the room with smoke. “You bitch!” shouted the stallion. He lifted a hoof but recoiled as a shard of the lantern’s glass was pressed to his throat. “Tell me what you said,” Pinkie said slowly, dangerously. The stallion’s breaths became heavy. “I-I what-“ “About Red-Mane.” The fire had spread to cover all of one side of the room, the heat and light bathing their sides. “Sh-She got out,” he stammered. “Got broken out or something-“ Pinkie pressed the shard harder against his neck, just short of drawing blood. “Tell me about her partner!” “She got hanged, she’s dead!” the stallion wailed. Tears were pouring down his cheeks, probably both from the smoke, and his situation. “H-her name was Twilight, please, that’s all I know, I swear.” The coloured drained from her face. She dropped the glass. The stallion stood and ran out of the door. For Pinkie the world seemed to slow down. Her mind was flooded with thoughts. Rather, with the same thought. Twilight was dead. Rainbow had assured her that Twilight was with Celestia. She couldn't have been hanged. The fire reached the other side of the room. The sea-blue mare was still unconscious. The foal was pulling at her mane. The air had been sucked out of the room as the flames climbed the walls. The foal was crying and screaming. Pinkie turned and left the building. A mare who had been in the house was sitting against a fence post. Her mouth hung open and she was struggling to stay awake. There was a sharp crack from the building as a beam fell down across the doorway, showering embers across the path. Pinkie sat down beside the mare, leaning against the fence. She watched as the building groaned and began to collapse. A few minutes later, a red cart was dragged down the street. Two uniformed stallions were pulling it, two more sitting in the back of the cart itself. They fought the fire, but nothing could have been done for those inside. They had managed to contain the blaze to just that building, but the building itself was ruined.  In the fire’s last moments, it reached out to the other buildings. It was seeking sanctuary to continue on its path with carnage in its wake. These stallions came, of course, to stop the carnage, to protect others. The others did not deserve to be saved. Drug addicts and twisted ponies who were feeding off their addiction, dragging the innocent down into the flames with them. They were blight upon the land, warped flesh that needed to be cut away. A disease that only fire and steel could cleanse. Pinkie stood, making the drugged mare raise her head which promptly fell back against the fence with a thud. “You only had to scare the guy,” said a rough voice from behind Pinkie. She turned to the sound of the voice. A lime-yellow stallion was leaning on the fence. He was frowning. “The contract only said to scare him, not to destroy his livelihood.” Pinkie studied him for a moment. “Are you Greenbill?” Pinkie asked, thinking back to what the dirt-brown stallion had said. The stallion smirked but shook his head. “I’m one of his associates. I take it you’ll be wanting the bounty?” He was part of a drug cartel, Pinkie suspected. Greenbill was probably the drug baron. As things were, she had no money in this city. No tools and no idea on the situation. In her mind, Twilight was still alive. The new information from a probable drug addict would not be enough to condemn her thoughts, although it had already begun corrupting them. Paths of sombre thoughts were beginning to leak from his words forming a web which snared her mind. Pinkie nodded. “I need money,” she said.   The stallion stood upright. “Greenbill has your money,” he explained. He paused for a moment before turning to the smouldering house. “I’ll take you to him.” *   *   * The stallion led her through the underbelly of Canterlot and the streets were its ravaged, drug-filled veins. In one alleyway, she saw a pony being mugged. Those passing by barely paid a glance as the stallion was beaten. A mare stood on the street corner, dressed alluringly. She seemed little more than a shadow; there was hardly enough body to provide for sex. Her large eyes were forever drooping, and a pale skin was merely clinging to her bones. A stallion was heaved out of a bar landing on the floor in a mess of blood and teeth. He tried to stand, but another stallion ran out and bucked him hard in the chest. She was sure she heard ribs crack. The lime-yellow stallion walked around them, paying them little attention. He turned a corner and approached a building which could have once been a rather stately home. A stallion at the door nodded toward Pinkie’s escort. His eyes then fell on Pinkie, taking her in. “She’s with me,” said the escort. The other stallion’s gaze remained on her a moment longer before he seemed satisfied with that. He knocked twice on the door and pushed it open. Pinkie followed him inside. A mare was leaning over a paper-strewn desk when they entered. Her mane was in a bunch over her head and she was chewing gum. She looked Pinkie up and down. “Who da hell is she?” she asked, pointing toward Pinkie. The escort stepped forward. “The mare who hit Cropper,” he said. The mare shook her head and started to frown. “I ain’t never forgot a face. She ain’t the one who picked up the contract. So who da hell is she?” The door behind Pinkie opened as the stallion looked in. A second stallion emerged through a door, a pistol held loosely against the door. “I’m here to see Greenbill,” Pinkie said, trying to defuse whatever doubt seemed to be building. The armed stallion raised the pistol almost immediately. “How the fuck does she know Greenbill’s in town? Huh!” he shouted. “Cage, knock’er.” “Wait I said-“ said the escort. Pinkie turned as the stallion at the door pushed the butt of a fire-extinguished into her head. An overwhelming pain spread across her skull. She didn’t realise she had hit the floor as her vision became black.     *   *   * The tumblers fell into place and the lock turned with a click, opening the door. The beam of a flashlight shone through into the room illuminating a radio-device on a desk. “When did you learn to pick locks?” Clock said, genuinely impressed with Print’s talent. Print grinned, slipping her tools into a pocket on her uniform. “I grew up in Manehatten. We weren’t very rich,” she stated. Clock thought about that for a moment and arrived at a conclusion. “You stole from ponies?” he asked, shutting the door and hitting a light switch. The lights flickered for a moment before solidly illuminating the room. “It was a lifetime ago; I’m here to help now.” She smiled to him as he sat. Clock held this new information against her profile which he had built in his head. A poor mare who left Manehatten to become a detective in Canterlot. She must have been fairly good, he realised. She could not have joined the police with a history of crime such as that. That means she hadn’t been caught. Print glanced out of a window looking outside. The cover of night had effectively aided their break-in. The lack of patrolling guards had also helped. Clock hit a switch and turned a dial. A monitor above the ACD lit up and a green light began flashing on the device itself. Clock pulled out his notepad and punched the radio’s ID into the device. The green light continued flashing for a minute before becoming solid as connection was reach. He smiled as he picked up the microphone and held it to his lips, holding a button on the side in. “Red-Mane…” *   *   * Pinkie awoke and leaned upright. Almost immediately, a wave of nausea passed over her and she vomited beside her steel-framed bed. She raised a hoof to wipe her mouth, but a set of hoofcuffs pulled taut stopping it from reaching. She leaned toward the bed frame to get closer. The room had white-washed walls and a metal door which opened into a hallway. From out of a window, Pinkie could see it was night still. She hadn’t been out for long. Pinkie spotted Rainbow Dash’s radio on the desk. It was still switched off. “I’m glad you’re awake.” Pinkie turned to see a stallion in the doorway. He was impressively well-built. His muscles rippled beneath his green coat as he walked over. His voice however was gentle, just loud enough to be heard, yet it seemed to demand all else fell silent. He pulled out a key and unlocked the hoofcuffs. “I assure you they were for your protection, and not ours,” he said gesturing to the unlocked manacle. Pinkie sat upright. “How does restraining me help?” The stallion smirked. “We do not often have unfamiliar mares in this place,” he explained. “We do have stallions who would take advantage of an unfamiliar mare if she could not resist, however. The manacle marks you as being important to me, and those who are in this place do not interfere with what is important to me.” “And why is that, Greenbill?” Pinkie asked, guessing that this was their leader. Greenbill smiled and laughed before crossing over the hall to another door. Pinkie followed him inside. The room was a well decorated suite with a bed, an ornate oak desk, and a wall with a map of the city. “Put simply, ponies do as I ask. Those who do not, I ask to be killed.” He sat down behind the desk. His voice dropped impossibly lower so it was barely audible. “If I ask for a pony to be killed, they are.” He smiled charismatically as his voice returned to its normal volume. “Please, do sit.” “So you have a reputation?” Pinkie said as she sat in the smaller chair than his. “Deservingly I would hope, but so do you.” His eyes met hers in a stare. He seemed to be looking deeper into her than just her eyes. “Isn’t that right, Red-Mane?” Pinkie paused, contemplating Greenbill’s words. “You are safe here, Red-Mane,” he said. “Like I said, you are important to me as a mare who can get things done.” “But what do I get out of it?” Pinkie asked. Greenbill smiled. “A good question. As you probably know, your partner is dead.” Those words shook her. “The stallion responsible is a liability to the police. A loose-cannon in their words. I can get him for you.” An eye for an eye, Clock had once said. Until one of them is blind, she would have to cut deeper. “What do you need?” Pinkie asked. Greenbill stood and looked over the map. “The centre of our operation is in Manehatten. Canterlot is good business, admittedly. The police do not bother us, and neither do we bother them,” he said. “In Manehatten, we had a…” he paused. “A slip-up. A robbery from one of our own.” He was scowling as he turned to face her. “A large deal ended with six dead and one mare escaping with more money than she can handle.” “And you want the money back?” Pinkie asked.   Greenbill shook his head. “I don’t want the money, I want her dead!” he raised his voice for the first time. Pinkie felt herself recoil from him. His voice became low again. “Nopony crosses Greenbill and lives for long. But she has been on the run for eight months. I know she is in Canterlot, I know she has changed her name. I know she is trying to cover her misdeeds.” There was a long pause. “I will give you time to decide, I know this is an offer which will take time to mull over.” Greenbill left the room without saying another word, leaving the door to the hallway open. Murder was different to assassination. Murder was for the thrill, the excitement of bringing somepony so close to the edge of their own sanity and tearing them across the boundary. What Greenbill wanted was quick and untraceable. It was the work of a surgeon not a butcher. But this deal was one step closer to Clock. A final step, Pinkie realised. At the end of this, she could never return to Ponyville. Never live happily again. Without Twilight, why would she want to? She stood and walked into the hallway. Her eyes caught on a flashing light in the other room. A small light on the top of the radio was flashing. Pinkie walked over and switched the device on. “Red-Mane…” Pinkie froze. That voice. “Clock.” There was hushed laughter from the other end. “I haven’t spoken with you in a while.” “It won’t be much longer until I see you at least.” “So…you heard about your partner? Shame that, really. She was a delicate flower.” “You don’t know her.” “Oh, but I did know her. Do you know what happened yet? Why she didn’t accept Celestia’s offer to live!” Pinkie remained quiet. “She waited for you, you know? On the podium. She came back for you! She couldn’t let you die alone, so she came back!” Clock laughed. “Honestly, it was quite beautiful really.” His voice became hard. “But you weren’t there, were you? You escaped. She died in your place. You left her. But you don’t care do-“ “Enough!” Pinkie shouted. She was crying. “I will get you, Clock. I will kill you.” She thought back to Twilight’s second kill. “And when I kill you, and your bleeding out your last.” She began laughing hysterically. “You will remember my face!” She switched off the radio and fell on the bed. She was trembling from a mixture of sadness, fear, and excitement. She looked up to see Greenbill stood in the doorway. He looked frightened. Pinkie grinned and continued laughing, tears still flowing down her cheeks. “I’ll take the job.” Greenbill nodded, regaining his composure. He handed her a piece of paper detailing the agreement to rent a flat. “This is all we have as a lead,” he said. “She had changed her name to Print. Speckled Print.”