//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 - Old Friends Turn Full Circle // Story: Beneath the Canon You Settle For // by The Amateur //------------------------------// It was a familiar scene: alone at the bar, eyes burning into the mug in front of me, figuring out the motives of criminal masterminds. Except for the noticeable company and the lack of a strong drink, nothing had changed. The mastermind at the center of my conspiracy web was none other than Celestia herself. I already knew about her obsession with harmony and how far she was ready to go to achieve it, but the tyrant had finally snapped and annihilated alcohol overnight. There were plenty of reasons to despise the Goddess–– her state sec, her egalitarian policies, her love for crystal window murals. But even if my colleagues might say otherwise, I was still a pony of the law. It was my duty to tolerate her. This was different though. Celestia had crossed the line, burned it, and lynched it atop town hall as a banner of war against what liberty remained in this nation. Immortal or not, the princess would pay. For the drinks. “––then she asks for alcohol! Can you believe it, Star Hunter?” Jetstream had somehow accumulated a pyramid of empty mugs on the counter, and, just delusional or just herself, she was reeling from the cider’s punch. A northern cardinal had perched on her shoulder, curiously watching the delivery mare sway. Solar Wind nodded and hung Jetstream’s mugs on his wings. “Guess we’ve come full circle then.” He turned toward me, his eyes narrowing just enough to convince me the bartender I once knew was gone. “So, you woke up this morning, and you suddenly remembered you quit the Wonderbolts and became a CPD detective? I don’t mean to imply you’ve lost your mind, but doesn’t that sound a bit odd to you?” Admittedly, it did. Nothing was as I remembered it: the sunrise, the cloud manor, prohibition, the city. Celestia could be orchestrating all of it like an omnipotent puppetmaster, shaking the strings of her citizens, laughing at the one detective who tangled herself into a web of crack-pot conspiracies. But two things dissuaded me from believing her the culprit. One, Celestia was smarter than to rewrite my entire world. The Goddess of the sun schemed in the shadows, disguising her work with coincidences too authentic to argue against. Two, my memories were intact. No matter what Jetstream and Solar Wind might say, I was a detective, and I had quit the Wonderbolts seven years ago. They could have been right, and all the memories I had of the past would be nothing more than a perpetual nightmare. This could be my awakening… I brought a hoof to my forehead, trying to suppress the headache and buy myself time for a response that did not sound insane. “Listen Solar W–– Star Hunter, I know for a fact that I was here last night. You served me through midnight.” ‘Star Hunter’ dropped the mugs into a sink full of rainwater. His mask cracked a hint of reminiscence from its solemn features. “Yes, you pretty much dropped into a coma after a sitting with Soarin. Just before he flew you home, he told me to put the cider on your tab.” I would expect nothing less from him. Soarin was the one pony from the team I had stayed in contact with - a colt with too much ambition to settle down while he was ahead. Loyalty never came free in Cloudsdale, but every rule had its exception, had its Soarin. The story was still intact, save for the cider detail. There was a chance I could convince myself I was sane. “You said that awful phrase the moment I entered, ‘Your strength is fleeting. Have a cold one.’ Then you chatted with Cerulean after handing me my drink, nothing but right wing political babble for half an hour. After he went, you slipped into the cellar when you thought I wasn’t looking to––” “Okay! You’ve proven your point.” Solar Wind was propped over the counter, hoof poised to punch my teeth in. He bit down on his lip in a last-ditch effort to maintain his stoic facade, but his misty eyes had folded already, pleading for me not to play my cards. “You’re not crazy, Fleetfoot, but just saying, nothing you say about your quitting the Wonderbolts adds up. This is your dream, remember?” I had achieved the Equestrian Dream. I had been the modern success story, pushing through the hardships and flying higher and higher until nothing from the past could reach me. In those fleeting moments in the sun, my senses had been blind to the signs of an approaching storm… “What does he do in the cellar?” Jetstream whispered at full volume into my ear. I sat rigid, taken out of my mojo introspective… taken out of my introspective mojo. All I could do was gape at the delusional mare, whose tilted grin grew more deranged as Solar Wind lined up a glare, aimed right between her eyes. The red bird was stifling its own laugh with a wing - a real eyecatcher. In truth, I was feigning my stun and distracting myself from the last thought. No amount of euphemisms or poetic gibberish could lessen the pain of revisiting a memory. Facing the past was like entering the heart of darkness in a tempest: lost and isolated, treading with no company but the faces of loved ones until the inevitable fall. I could relive all my life with the stallion I married, but the conclusion would always be the same - a trashed manor, blood-stained floor, crying baby foal. My daughter. “Fleetfoot? Fleetfoot, is it really that bad?” “It’s nothing of your concern, Jetstream!... Fleetfoot. You’re spacing out on us. Listen, whatever it is, we can take it one thing at a time. We can start from the begin––” “Lightning. Bolt.” The words were unmistakable. They were imbedded in my mind. My daughter’s name. How did I forget my daughter’s name? A dark blue hoof placed itself on my shoulder. I looked Solar Wind in the eyes, trying to force an answer I knew he did not have. “Lightning Bolt. How could I forget her?” Solar Wind’s eye twitched. The friend I had known and relied on for seven years was confused. The friend I had told my story to and drowned sorrows away with was confused. That was no recognition in his expression. And for whatever reason, that got my blood boiling, adrenaline running from top to bottom. A powder keg thrown into the fire. All it needed was a spark: “Who’s Lightning Bolt?”