“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long, long, time,” said Trixie, smiling widely. Trixie’s horn lit up as Pumpkin Cake floated through the air.
Fear flooded Pumpkin’s mind, along with questions. How did Trixie find her? What was in store for her? What happened to Pound Cake?
Trixie said, “I’m sure that you have many questions. I have many questions as well. We can talk on the train as soon as the sedative wears off.”
Trixie turned to a tall, dark unicorn stallion. Pumpkin instantly recognized him. He was the stallion who she had seen in the street the night before.
“Excellent aiming, Johner. You can take her from here,” she said.
The purple glow surrounding Pumpkin was replaced by a red one as the stallion grabbed her. He removed the gun from Pumpkin’s holster and gave it to Trixie.
Johner grabbed something out of his saddlebag: a metallic, ring-shaped device. It had several wires and lights on it, and Pumpkin had no idea what it was. The stallion slipped it over her horn. Then, he got out some rope and bound Pumpkin’s legs together, tightening the rope so hard that it burned.
“Can’t have you using your magic or your hooves once this sedative wears off,” Johner said flatly.
He walked with Pumpkin towards the train station as the blood pooled in her legs and they swelled, the rope cutting off circulation.
Trixie shouted, “Search the rubble, starting with the doctor’s office! Kill the survivors!”
Pumpkin’s heart sunk. That was entirely intended for her to hear. They were going to find Pound, and if he wasn’t dead, he would be killed soon. She wanted to scream, to yell. To even be able to blink her eyes would be nice. But her body was still as rigid as a board.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the train station. Johner tossed her into a maroon boxcar and slammed the door shut with a clank. Pumpkin Cake was now entirely in pitch darkness, save for a single lantern in the center of the boxcar. Two shadowy armed guards stood on either side, their rifles trained on her.
Pound Cake could hardly breathe. A sharp pain shot through his wing. He opened his eyes and saw a glimmer of light shine down from the boards of the collapsed ceiling. As he turned his head, he saw that one of the beams had landed on top of his wing.
“Ow!” he moaned in pain. He reached over with his good hoof and tried to remove the board.
It was easier than he thought, and after a few seconds, he got the board off of his wing. He flapped it. It still worked, but it hurt him every time he flapped it. He had had wing injuries like this before: it was a dislocation. It wasn’t anything permanent, but he would have to go to the doctor to get it relocated. Not this doctor, though, since his office had just been blown up.
Suddenly, a voice shouted, “Search the rubble, starting with the doctor’s office! Kill all survivors!”
Pound’s heart skipped a beat. The Second Kingdom had entered the town. They had won the battle, and now were killing the survivors. He gazed up at the ceiling. He would have to escape and fly away before they found him.
He stood up on the operating table. Other than the beam that had fallen on his left wing, he could maneuver quite well. The room was mostly still intact, except for the ceiling. He grabbed his saddlebag and his rifle from the ground next to the operating table, pulling them out from beneath a fallen ceiling tile.
There were several boards and beams blocking Pound’s way to fly through the ceiling. He spent the next half minute moving them, frantically trying to make a gap big enough for his body to fit through. As he moved the last one, he noticed that all that remained was a thick, fallen rafter that sloped upward at a 45-degree angle.
“That’ll be perfect,” he said.
He stepped up onto the operating table, careful not to put too much weight on his broken hoof as he stood up. Then, he placed a hoof onto the rafter. It was steady. He placed another, and wrapped his hoof around the side. Using his good wing to propel him, he scrambled up the rafter and out of the hole in the ceiling.
As he turned his head towards the town square, he saw five armed unicorn stallions with wheelbarrows and shovels at the front of the doctor’s office.
Now or never, he thought. Wings, don’t fail me now!
He flapped both of his wings, his dislocated left wing going at about half normal speed and protesting in pain. He’d flown on a dislocated wing before. It wasn’t fun, but he could still flutter along. He flew straight up, and then over the town, looking for cover. The unicorns didn’t seem to notice him; they were all too preoccupied with digging out the rubble.
Pound Cake landed atop a tall, flat, wooden roof, his wing throbbing. A train whistle blared as he gazed up at the clear blue sky above. He would have to rest for a few minutes before he went to find Pumpkin or any of the others. He had no idea where his sister or anypony from the ASDF was, and he was in no condition to go flying around and checking.
A light illuminated the inside of the boxcar as Trixie entered. The train started to move, and the whistle blared.
“Hello again, Pumpkin Cake. You should find the sedative is starting to wear off right about now. Let’s have a little chat.”
Pumpkin blinked. Then, she blinked again. It was difficult to do, but at least it was something.
“Wuh hahuh,” she said, able to move her vocal chords but still not able to move her mouth.
Trixie’s eyebrows raised as she tried to make sense of what Pumpkin said. “Oh, what happened? Well, we found your brother. He died when the roof fell on him. He sure made excellent bait to lure you out with, though.”
Pumpkin let out a yell as best as she could, but it just came out as a squeak.
Trixie laughed. “Yes, we bombed the doctor’s office this morning because we knew that you’d be a sucker and would come running to save that stupid pegasus ‘brother’ of yours. He’s not truly your brother, you know: he’s an inferior pony. I guess that you just don’t understand that, though, since you’re a race traitor.”
“Fof,” Pumpkin said.
“Yes, you are a race traitor. You failed to do your racial duty and farm for the Second Kingdom. You have gotten cozy with earth ponies in a village where your kind isn’t even welcome. You have attacked the Second Kingdom and stolen weapons from us. You call a pegasus your brother. You are the very definition of a race traitor.”
“The why duh you jus kull muh,” said Pumpkin Cake.
Trixie’s eyes widened. “Kill you? Why would I ever do such a wasteful thing? Come now, Pumpkin Cake, use your brain. Why would I go to all of this trouble to sedate and restrain you if I just wanted to kill you? No, I’m going to keep you alive to study you. That intangibility spell of yours is quite unique in the world, and it has great potential for military application. As you will recall, that is my job as the Magical Research Minister.”
“You’d be wasting your time,” said Pumpkin, her voice now fully returning, “because I’m never going to help you!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I imply that you had a choice?” said Trixie, grinning. “Because you don’t. The Second Kingdom is counting on a decisive military victory. Equestria has been putting up far too much of a fight. I’m not sure if you read the papers, but the front lines have been rather stagnant as of late—the undefended town of Appleloosa notwithstanding. You are but one pony, but imagine if we had entire battalions who could use intangibility magic. They’d be immune to bullets and bombs, and the Second Kingdom would be invincible! You will teach us your spell and help us to gain a decisive advantage, whether you like it or—”
“You killed my entire family! My parents, and now my brother!” Pumpkin shouted, leaning up. She channeled energy into her horn. “DIE, YOU—”
A sharp jolt shot through Pumpkin’s horn, into her skull. She fell flat onto the ground.
Trixie laughed, pointing her hoof at Pumpkin Cake. “Look at how pathetic you are! I was hoping that you’d be foolish enough to try to use magic. Now you get to see what happens. That little device on your horn can detect magical buildup that happens before a spell, and it’ll send a shock down your horn before you can cast it, preventing any magic.”
Pumpkin tried reaching with her hooves to her horn, but they were tied firmly together.
“Don’t worry,” said Trixie. “There will be plenty of chances for you to cast spells in a controlled, escape-proof laboratory environment once we get to the lab in Mareicopa. Then, I will get to use science and find out exactly what makes you tick, why you are able to cast a spell that nopony else can.”
“Maybe it’s the same reason that you can’t even teleport, you fraud!” said Pumpkin Cake. “Science, huh? Is that what they call torture over there in the Second Kingdom? Is that what you call those buffalo? ‘Science?’”
“Yes, actually,” said Trixie, holding out her hoof to the ceiling. “Science is the investigation of the natural and magical world for the betterment of ponykind, and it isn’t ‘torture.’ When you or somepony else is refusing to cooperate, it is my duty to encourage you to by any means necessary, including negative reinforcement, which may include physical or psychological pain. If you want to call that ‘torture,’ then fine. But as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me with your toothless death threat, you are merely one pony. There are millions who may rely on the results of our scientific tests. Who are you to hold back the greater good?”
“‘Greater good?’ You’re just as bad as Twilight,” Pumpkin scoffed.
Trixie laughed, then shook her head. “Appealing to my dislike of the Princess of Equestria won’t get you out of this, Miss Cake. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you have any sort of compulsion about Equestria’s dear leader?”
“Just because I fight the Second Kingdom, doesn’t mean I have to like Twilight Sparkle,” Pumpkin scoffed. “She’s a corrupt thug just like you! She was going to have me killed when I was in that barn, she blew up all those children in Canterlot, she runs internment camps, and she abandoned Appleloosa, all for the ‘greater good.’ You kidnapped me, killed my brother and my parents, mutilated those buffalo, and are going to have me tortured, for the ‘greater good!’ But the ‘greater good’ is just an evil lie that lets you and Twilight sleep at night while you do terrible things. Funny how the ‘greater good’ never seems to harm you or her. Funny how the ‘greater good’ never requires any sacrifice from you: just from other people. What a coincidence, huh?”
“Utilitarianism is a fine philosophy, Pumpkin Cake,” said Trixie. “Though I despise Twilight Sparkle, I certainly wouldn’t have made those decisions any differently than her, if I were in her position. However, I do find it hilarious that you and her don’t get along. It very much warms my heart.”
A gleeful expression crossed Trixie’s face. Pumpkin remained silent. After a few moments, Trixie spoke once more.
“I don’t expect you to be loyal to the Second Kingdom or personally fight for us, Pumpkin Cake. You’ve already shown by your actions that you could never fit in with our glorious unicorn nation. However, I do expect you to help our war effort through science.”
Pumpkin turned her head away from Trixie, staring at the wall.
Trixie said, “Now, if we’re done with our little chat, I’m going to have you sedated and unconscious until we get to the research laboratory in Mareicopa. Can’t have you seeing exactly how we’ll get to the room where we’ll be holding you, but I’ll tell you that I have personally designed it to be impossible to escape, even for you.”
Pumpkin Cake scowled. “Go to hell.”
Trixie smiled. “Excellent. Guards!”
One of the guards walked up, and before Pumpkin could react, pierced her belly with a syringe. Five seconds later, she was out.
Pound Cake didn’t feel great, but he felt marginally better. The pain in his hoof and wing was still strong and throbbing, but at least he could think.
Okay, I need to get a gun. Hopefully I remembered to put mine in my saddlebag, he thought.
Pound Cake reached into his saddlebag and grinned. Not only was his gun inside, but there was also a bottle and a piece of paper with scrawled hoofwriting.
“To Pound: Take one every six hours, or until the pain subsides. —Doctor S.”
Painkillers! He opened the top and popped one into his mouth. With his parched, dry mouth, it stuck in his throat, but he got it down after a few seconds. He instantly felt better. Maybe it was psychological, because he doubted that the pill worked that fast, but he’d take what he could get.
“Alright, now where was I,” he said.
He glanced down at the town, observing his surroundings. Appleloosa was a complete wreck. The face and top of the clock tower was completely blown out, with brass gears clicking endlessly and aimlessly, attempting to move a second hand that was no longer there. The barber’s shop was still on fire a few buildings down from where he sat, the sickly sweet smell of burning hair gel and aerosols filling the air. Dozens of other buildings were entirely blackened shells or demolished, and only a few were still standing. Bloodied bodies of his fellow ASDF members littered the streets. Off in the distance, the apple orchards still stood.
I should burn the trees to the ground, just to teach the Second Kingdom a lesson, thought Pound Cake.
But first, he had to see what was going on with the unicorns. A group of three unicorns and three buffalo walked down the streets, carrying guns and lightning cannons. They trained their guns on a group of a half dozen earth ponies who walked, shackled together in chains. As the procession got closer, Pound Cake saw an unmistakable green coat and white hair among the ponies. It was Granny Smith.
A larger, unchained group of about fifty ponies followed behind them. There were guarded by two unicorns who pointed assault rifles at them. Pound Cake could make out a bright red and a faded orange pony among them: Applejack and Big Macintosh.
Pound crouched down on the flat-topped roof, hoping that the angle of the view from the ground to the top obscured him from the view of the unicorns below, while still allowing him a peek at the town. The procession continued to the eastern end of town. He removed his binoculars from his pack, and trained them on the ponies. They had come to a stop, right in front of the old gallows.
Appleloosa hadn’t used the death penalty for many years, but the gallows still stood on the edge of town as a solemn reminder of the town’s bloody past, and what was in store for anypony who decided to terrorize its residents as Specter the Stallion and Lightning Louise had done.
A stallion’s voice boomed over the town.
“These six ponies were captured with weapons and explosives after the Second Kingdom entered Appleloosa, and they refused to surrender. Attempting to kill a soldier of the Second Kingdom or the Buffalo Nation is punishable by death.”
Pound shook his head. Granny Smith wasn’t in the militia. They were just killing random ponies to terrorize the residents. That, or she was sacrificing herself by being the fall man; perhaps she took the weapons from Applejack and Big Macintosh so that they wouldn’t be caught with them.
“This town and the surrounding apple orchards now produce only for the Second Kingdom and Buffalo Nation. All apple producers are to surrender nine-tenths of their produce to the MDJ line for distribution to the unicorns and buffalo. Any earth pony who refuses to work, tries to escape from town, or doesn’t pay his fair share of apples to the Second Kingdom and the Buffalo Nation at harvest time will be executed by hanging, and the other residents of the town will be forced to take up his share of the burden.”
The crowd grumbled and shouted.
“Murderers!”
“Thieves!”
“Fascists!”
“SILENCE!” one of the buffalo boomed, as a warning lighting bolt came from the sky and struck his horns. The crowd quieted down.
“This is retribution for the hundreds of years of mistreatment of our people by the earth ponies of this town!” the buffalo shouted. “Who here is willing to defend the actions of your ancestors?”
Nopony in the crowd spoke for about five seconds.
“We’re sorry for everything, for kicking the buffalo off their lands years ago. We didn’t mean it, we just needed a place to live! Please forgive us for everything we’ve ever done!” one of the ponies shouted.
A unicorn fired a small magical blast at the pony, knocking him to the ground.
The buffalo walked over to the stallion, who returned to his hooves and put a hoof in front of his face.
The buffalo shouted in his face, “That is the sort of thing that a sixteen-year-old girl says when she is in trouble with her parents! A weaselly, non-specific excuse for an apology. ‘Please forgive me for everything I have ever done wrong, father.’ But her behavior never changes because her words are hollow! It is time for reparations to be paid by this town to the buffalo, starting today!”
The stallion who had been hit with the magical beam shrunk back behind the other ponies, but the unicorns and buffalo didn’t do anything else to him.
The unicorn who had earlier been making the speech shouted, “Hang the first prisoner!”
One of his subordinates levitated a key over to her hoofcuffs and unshackled her, but kept his gun trained on her.
“Ha! I ain’t afraid to die! I’m older than anypony here! I’ll laugh in your face when you hang me!” Granny Smith shouted.
Pound Cake’s ears perked up as the soldier pushed Granny Smith over to the stand on the gallows.
I’ve got to do… something… so sleepy… he thought. His pain was gone, but he was incredibly drowsy, his eyelids drooping down.
He stole a quick glance at the bottle of pain medication.
MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS
“Dammit!” he muttered under his breath.
He was fading fast. Before he completely passed out, he would have to act.
Time to take a gamble, he thought.
Pound Cake slowly climbed to his hooves, stretching his tired back. He only had one shot at this, and he couldn’t fail.
The pain pills worked quite well. As Pound flapped his wings, he didn’t feel a thing in his dislocated one, and his hoof wasn’t throbbing anymore. None of the unicorns seemed to notice him as he flew, since they were preoccupied with arranging the rope for the execution. As he took a sub-machine gun in his hooves, all of the training from General Spitfire and Sheriff Silverstar came rushing back to him.
Keep your head straight. Bring your wings down all the way. Use the element of surprise. Aim down the iron-sights. Don’t fire until the last minute. Remember the ricochet.
He closed in on the unicorns and buffalo who stood in front of the nooses. Fifty meters. Forty. Thirty. When he was twenty meters away, he slowed down for the approach and looked down the iron sights.
One of the unicorns raised his hoof, pointing towards Pound Cake. He was too late, and found himself full of holes a fraction of a second later. He flew back with a rat-a-tat as Pound turned to the buffalo and sprayed them with machine fire before they could react. Ponies in the crowd screamed.
The remaining unicorns trained their rifles on Pound Cake, but even in his drowsy state, he was too fast. He zipped away, flying behind a building as bullets whizzed past and hit the dirt around him, knocking up a pile of dust.
He lifted his head up, observing the chaos as he struggled to keep his eyes open. The crowd was going wild. They yelled and screamed, struggling with the buffalo and unicorns and throwing things at them. Applejack and Big Macintosh rushed over to Granny Smith, who had slammed her hoof into the executioner’s head during the chaos, knocking him to the side. Applejack grabbed Granny Smith and ran off.
“Stop this madness, or we’ll shoot!” the unicorn speaker yelled, pointing his gun at the unruly crowd.
“You ain’t gonna kill us! You need us to farm!” one shouted.
“Fascist!”
It seemed that in the ensuing chaos, the remaining unicorns had entirely forgotten about Pound. Their bluff had been called, and they were attempting to gain control of the rowdy crowd full of apple farmers and other residents without shooting at them.
“Pound Cake!”
He glanced up to see Big Macintosh, who had ran off from the crowd and was behind the building where Pound was.
“Hey… Big Mac…” said Pound Cake.
The last thing that Pound Cake remembered before being passing out was Big Macintosh heaving him off of the ground and onto his back, and galloping off.
Pumpkin Cake awoke in a darkened room. Other than a single, distant ceiling light, there were no other lights. She found that she wasn’t chained or restrained at all, and could move around freely. She put her hoof up to her horn. They had even removed the horn ring. She chuckled. How exactly were they planning on keeping her in here?
“Glad to see that you are awake, Miss Cake.”
Pumpkin turned to see Trixie walk through and the lights in the room flip on. She winced, covering her eyes with her hooves, as her eyes weren’t adjusted to the dark.
“You’ve made a big mistake coming in here,” said Pumpkin. She channeled her energy into her horn and readied an energy pulse against Trixie.
It didn’t work. Pumpkin glanced at her horn confusedly. The band wasn’t around it, so her magic should work.
“Still trying to take vengeance on me, hmm? Well, I admire your tenacity, but your magic won’t work for now. Let me give you the tour of this room. You see how there are metallic poles in each of the four corners?” asked Trixie.
As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, Pumpkin glanced around the room. It had a high ceiling, about ten meters tall. The width and length of the room was about twenty by thirty meters. The room was entirely bare, except that in the four corners there were tall, metallic poles which extended five meters into the air. Lights flickered on and off of them, and each pole ended in a metallic orb which pulsed white with electricity. The concrete walls were covered in a copper wire mesh, except for the door which Trixie had entered the room through, and an observation window which measured about two by five meters, and was located towards the ceiling of the room.
“Those poles project an electromagnetic field which disrupts all energy discharges, including magic,” said Trixie. “It’s called a Faraday cage, and this entire room is a giant one. When we want to permit you to use magic, such as when we are studying you, we will lower the poles remotely, thereby breaking the disruption field.”
“Then how—”
“Will we prevent you from escaping? Simple. This entire room is deep underground. It used to be a dragon shelter before we re-purposed it to study non-compliant magical subjects, such as yourself or the buffalo. If you try to walk through the walls when the field is down, you’ll find that there is only dirt and rock on the other side, and there is nowhere to go. I guess that you could always re-solidify in the rock and kill yourself by suffocating or crushing, but I’m also guessing that you’re not the suicidal type.”
“I wouldn’t give you the pleasure,” Pumpkin spat. She gazed over at the observation room and door that Trixie entered through.
“Ah, I see that you’ve found the only exit,” said Trixie. “Don’t try escaping that way, though. That hallway is over twenty meters long and very well guarded. As my scouts who have observed you have told me, you have trouble moving fast when your body is intangible, so I doubt that you could make it before your spell wears off and we subdue you and return you to this room.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” said Pumpkin. “I’m still not cooperating, though.”
Trixie shook her head. “I was afraid of that. What a shame. But you will eventually: everypony has a breaking point. Hopefully for your sake, I won’t have to help you find yours.”
Trixie walked over to the door, opened it, walked in, and closed it. A few seconds later, she appeared in the observation room, and Pumpkin could see her through the glass.
A voice spoke over a loudspeaker.
“We are lowering the field. You will see a metal orb descend from the ceiling on a string. Please use your intangibility magic on it.”
There was a metallic whirring as the four poles lowered. Pumpkin glanced toward the ceiling as a small, metallic orb lowered, suspended by a string. It was about the size of a basketball.
Pumpkin Cake grinned as she got an idea. Her horn lit up, and a blue glow surrounded the ball. Trixie and another observer in the room busily scribbled on clipboards for a few moments, but then Trixie’s voice came over the loudspeaker again.
“There is a sensor in that ball. I can tell that you are simply using your levitation magic on it,” said Trixie.
Pumpkin powered down her horn and didn’t move for a second.
Trixie sighed, and put her hoof to her head. “I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to do this. Snips, Snails! Get in there and convince the subject to cooperate with us.”
The door opened and two younger unicorns entered. They were older than Pumpkin, but not as old as Trixie. She thought that she recognized them from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place them.
The brown one, Snails, carried a glass jar in his magic. There were dozens of yellow things inside of it.
“These are killer wasps,” said Snails, grinning as he pointed to them with his hoof. “Bred ‘em myself just last week!”
“Trust me, you don’t want to get stung by one,” said Snips.
Trixie’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “They deliver a very painful sting that causes a prolonged death. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Of course, we have the antidote to the killer wasp venom, and if you are so obstinate that you don’t use your spell to protect yourself, and you allow yourself to be stung, and you somehow summon the discipline not to use your spell to numb the pain, we will inoculate you with the antidote at the last minute and try another method of forcing cooperation.”
“Good luck, you’ll need it!” said Snips. He and Snails walked back towards the door.
Just as they closed the door, Snails opened the glass jar with his magic, leaving it in the room with Pumpkin.
Pumpkin Cake’s heart skipped a beat. Would she cooperate to save herself the agony, or would she remain defiant in the face of the pony who had taken everything from her except her dignity?
The wasps climbed over the sides of the jar, buzzing about. It took a few seconds before they realized that they were free to leave. But once they did, the wasps slowly started buzzing out of the jar.
Hollow Shades
The town of Hollow Shades stood beneath groves of willows and sweet-gum trees. The Foal River passed right through the center of town, with rickety wooden bridges crossing it. In the river and near the banks, cattails stood in the murky waters, and catfish swam around them. An alligator sat atop a rotten log, its brown scales running together with the bark. He licked his lips and slid into the water as he caught a glimpse of a passing school of fish.
There were about three hundred old wooden buildings and shacks near the center of town, all of them on stilts to protect from flooding from the nearby Foal River basin. The river basin was a swampy and marshy area.
A few miles outside of town, an old wooden shack stood, overlooking an unusually large amount of flat, dry land for this area of Equestria. Rows and rows of sugar beets, carrots, potatoes, turnips, and other root crops stretched out for several hundred meters. The farm was surrounded on all sides by willows, sweetgums, cattails, and other wildlife. It was an oasis of produce in an otherwise untamed area, and owned by one Hayseed Turniptruck.
Hayseed Turniptruck was a cream-colored stallion with an unkempt dark-brown mane, tail, and brown eyes. He bore a rather uncanny resemblance to Pound Cake, though he was in his thirties, an earth pony, and had crooked teeth and freckles. Atop his head sat a green baseball cap, and on his back was a set of dirty farm clothes.
Turniptruck used to live in Canterlot, washing windows for a living, but when Blueblood came to power and kicked out all of the non-unicorns, he moved back east to his family farm in Hollow Shades. After his parents passed away a few years ago, he had come to run it himself, along with his siblings and cousins. They often worked in the back of the house, tending to the fields.
Today, however, Turniptruck stood in front, out near the dirt road in front of the farm, with thirty other ponies. They were mostly earth ponies, but a few unicorns and pegasi were there as well. They held misspelled picket signs and formed a line around the front of the property.
Off in the distance, a horn sounded as a small fleet of bulldozers, backhoes, and other construction machines drove down the dirt road, towards the farm. They were led by a black limousine carriage pulled by two pure white earth stallions.
“Boo!” the crowd of ponies shouted as the fleet drew nearer, finally coming to a stop at the other side of the street, opposite of Turniptruck’s property.
From the cab of the limousine, the jet-black maned Filthy Rich emerged, a giant smile on his face. He was flanked by two beefy earth pony security guards who wore sunglasses, though it was more cosmetic than for eye protection under the grey, overcast sky.
Two pegasi flew down, snapping pictures with cameras as Rich walked across the street to the jeering crowd.
“Y’all ain’t wilcome on this laind!” Turniptruck said. “I already said it once, and I’ll say it agin; I ain’t turning my fawrm into a megamart!”
“That’s right!” the crowd shouted. “Go back to Manehattan!”
Filthy Rich chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course you’re not turning your property into a megamart... That’s because it’s now my property, and I’m turning it into a megamart!”
He reached inside of his suit jacket and pulled out a legal document, which he passed to Turniptruck.
Turniptruck laid his eyes on the document, and shook his head.
“I cain’t read. Somepony who can read, tell me what this says!”
A literate pony in the crowd walked over and glanced at the document, and read it aloud. “By order of Princess Twilight, for the sake of economic development, I hereby declare eminent domain over farmer Turniptruck’s land and order him to vacate immediately. He will receive a sum of money appropriate for the land’s fair market value.”
Turniptruck blinked. “I don’t want money; I want my land!”
“The law is the law,” said Filthy Rich, as he motioned for one of his bodyguards. The bodyguard reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a wooden sign, and Filthy Rich stuck it into the ground in front of the picketers.
“Boo!” they all shouted.
“Now, now, I guarantee you all that as soon as my megamart comes in, you’ll all be shopping there. You’ll love it!” said Filthy Rich, motioning with his hoof towards the farm. Then, he turned to Turniptruck.
“There are fifty thousand ponies who live in Hollow Shades County. Who are you to deny them access to a megamart? All of your neighbors have already sold their land.”
“It was my parents’ land! It’s my land!” Hayseed Turniptruck proclaimed.
“Not anymore,” said Filthy Rich. He put his hoof between his lips and whistled for his limousine.
He walked over to it, then turned back to the protesters.
“Now, I hope that you all will be civil and allow for this construction to proceed without a hitch. I would hate for there to be an incident.”
The crowd booed and jeered as a bulldozer drove onto the property line. Filthy Rich chuckled as the earth stallions carried his limousine away.
They’ll all be shopping here within a month, he thought.
The sun had just begun to set over the city of Canterlot as Sparkler the unicorn walked down the pavement, near the foothills. This part of the Canterlot metropolitan area was full of high end suburban neighborhoods, posh golf courses, and tranquil lakes. Light from an electric streetlamp illuminated her way as she walked on the sidewalk, glancing at the stone mailboxes.
“Number twenty-five… number twenty-six… number twenty-seven. This is it,” she said, looking down at a piece of paper that she held in her hoof.
Sparkler’s horn glowed for a brief fraction of a moment, and then went out, as she turned invisible. She quietly walked up the long driveway towards the front of the house.
Now to just get inside, she thought. Avoiding detection was the easy part for Sparkler. Getting into places was a bit of a challenge, though. While invisible, she normally had to follow ponies through doors just as they were about to close, slinking in behind them.
Sparkler walked up to the front porch of the house, and lifted up the corner of the doormat. No key. She had nurtured a vain hope that perhaps, the occupants would be foolish enough to put a spare key in the easiest hiding spot to guess, but they didn’t. Nopony ever did. In fact, in all of her years of spying, and in all the houses she had snuck into on her missions, she had never actually found a spare key hidden under a doormat. Far more of them had been hidden atop the doorframes, or inside of vents, or even under lawn gnomes. It would even be fair to say that the supposedly “common” doormat hiding spot wasn’t very common at all.
As she contemplated where else the key could be hidden, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of loud talking, coming from behind the house. She walked off of the porch and into the grass, looping around into the backyard. Luckily for her, the grass hadn’t yet fully grown in for the spring. The short blades crunched under her hooves as she walked as slowly as possible. She would have avoided making sound by levitating herself or teleporting, but she wanted to save her magic. She might have to remain invisible for an hour or more, which was quite magically taxing already. So, instead, she just slunk slowly.
Invisibility had its perks, but far more often than not, it was impracticable for several reasons. When walking in tall grass, dry grass, shag carpet, mud, dry sand, or snow, she might as well not even have bothered, since it would leave hoofprints or make noise. Ponies had a distinctive natural scent, and guard dogs could be trained to detect invisible intruders. And, of course, there were always magical suppression fields in highly secure areas.
Hopefully not tonight, she thought.
She circled around to the back deck of the house, where she spied her targets.
Flim and Flam sat on deck chairs, smoking fat cigars and drinking whisky.
“A toast, my brother, to today’s triumphant capture of Appleloosa!” said Flim.
“Here, here,” said the mustachioed Flam. They raised their glasses and toasted. “Though our battlefield successes have been minor as of late, we’ll take what we can get.”
“They have thousands and thousands of apples, which is the important part,” said Flim. “It’ll bring our food reserves back up to ‘cautious’ from ‘dire.’”
“Those Equestrians have no scruples. They destroyed our Flatlands farming operations, so whatever towns we take, they deserve to lose. Once this war is over, we’ll be a net food exporter!” said Flam, waving his hoof in the air.
Yeah, and I’ll be a world-famous supermodel, thought Sparkler.
While Flim and Flam were laughing and talking, she snuck up onto the deck, careful to bring her hooves down onto the wood as quietly as she could. She stole a glance at the deck table and saw the alcohol that they were drinking.
It was 90-proof scotch whisky, almost a full liter bottle. She had no idea how much the Flim Flam brothers normally drank, but given their lanky build, they were probably lightweights. Sparkler could drink pretty much anypony that she met under the table, but if she drank even half of that bottle at once, she’d be dead, or at least in the hospital.
That’s what I’m counting on, she thought.
Sparkler crept over across the deck towards the sliding glass door to the Flim Flam brothers’ house. In a stroke of luck, they had left it open, so she didn’t need to worry about having to pry it open without them noticing.
After entering the house and rounding the corner, Sparkler found herself in the Flim Flam brothers’ kitchen. It was a gorgeous kitchen, with stone floors, granite counter tops, mahogany cabinets, and cast iron sinks.
Who said that scamming doesn’t pay?
Sparkler stole a glance out the window and saw that the brothers weren’t looking in her direction, instead facing towards their backyard. So, she opened each of the cabinets until she found what she was looking for… another bottle of scotch, along with all sorts of other liquor: cider, vodka, scotch, gin, rum, scotch, absinthe, wine, and scotch. These brothers sure liked their scotch.
One of the bottles of scotch floated out of the liquor cabinet and over towards Sparkler. Once it was about five centimeters from her body, it turned invisible, too. Though Sparkler couldn’t hide other ponies with her, she could easily make smaller objects turn invisible. She opened the bottle, and the strong smell wafted into her nostrils, making her dizzy.
That’s the stuff!
Were she not on a mission, she might have considered indulging herself, but she needed to keep her wits about her and stay on guard.
Sparkler exited the house and continued onto the back deck once more, where Flim and Flam were chatting up a storm.
Sparkler glanced at the bottle of scotch on the table. While she had been looking for their liquor cabinet, the brothers had already wiped out a quarter of it.
“And then I told her, I says, hey, look, man, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Flim.
“What a story, Flim,” said Flam. He and Flim both laughed, slapping their knees at something. Sparkler had no idea what was so funny, but it was the perfect distraction. She poured about an eighth of her full scotch bottle into their quarter-full one while they weren’t looking.
“You deserve another shot for such a funny anecdote!” said Flam. His horn turned green as he opened his scotch bottle and poured Flim another shot.
Flim’s eyebrows raised, as he glanced at the bottle. “You know, I could have sworn that… we had drank more?”
Flam shook his head. “As long as we don’t drink more than this whole bottle, we’ll be fine. You remember how much we drank last time, yes?”
“Two bottles, but that was over a whole day,” said Flim.
“If two bottles equal one day, then one bottle equals one night,” said Flam. “Can’t you do math? You’re the economic minister, you know.”
“No, you’re the economic minister! Everypony knows that mustaches make you smarter,” said Flim.
Flim pointed to his brother’s brilliant, flowering red mustache.
That thing will need its own casket, thought Sparkler.
Over the next hour, she continued to surreptitiously pour more alcohol into the bottle that Flim and Flam were pouring from, careful not to add too much at once, lest they notice. By the time that they reached the end point of the bottle, they had drank the equivalent of two bottles.
“I’m way, way, way too drunk right now,” said Flim. “Someth-thing ish wrong, Flammuh.”
Flam narrowed his eyebrows. “You may… have a point, dear brother. I don’t….”
His voice trailed off.
“What were we saying?” said Flim.
“I don’t… what… Flom… no…”
Flam collapsed onto the deck, his eyes closing.
“Flam? Flam? No…” said Flim, climbing out of his deck chair, but stumbling towards the ground.
After they hadn’t moved for about ten minutes, Sparkler walked over to them and checked their pulses.
Flim was dead. There wasn’t any questions about hit. His heart had stopped beating. Flam, on the other hoof, was still hanging on. His heart was beating very slowly, but irregularly. Sparkler sighed. Why couldn’t this have gone according to plan? They were both supposed to be dead!
You’re identical twins who weigh the same and drank the same freakin’ amount of alcohol. I watched you. Why aren’t you dead? she fumed.
In a fit of frustration, she kicked Flam in the stomach with a hoof as hard as she could.
Flam’s eyes opened as he looked for his assailant, but couldn’t see the invisible Sparkler. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he gagged. Brown liquid came out as he weakly vomited, flailing around on the deck. But he stopped moving after a few moments.
Sparkler checked his pulse. He was dead, and had choked on his own vomit.
Guess that he just needed a little extra push in the right direction.
Alcohol poisoning. It killed thousands every year, and was the most common cause of accidental deaths in Equestria. If one of Blueblood’s ministers were to die of it, it wouldn’t look suspicious, and wouldn’t alert Blueblood to anything, allowing the plan of succession to go off without a hitch.
Of course, two ponies getting alcohol poisoning on the same evening might seem a bit odd, but the Flim Flam brothers were identical twins. They did everything together. They scammed together, built farm equipment together, advised Blueblood together, binge drank together, and now, they had died together. It seemed plausible to her, so hopefully it would seem plausible to Blueblood.
Their deaths had to be ruled an accident. If there was even the slightest hint of an assassination, it would throw a wrench in Sparkler’s plans to install Fancy Pants as president. When Fancy Pants took the reins of power, there couldn’t be any question as to his legitimacy. The last thing that she needed was for him to finally get into power, but for the military to doubt his loyalty and conduct a coup, or for him to be assassinated.
Now, she just had to wait and see if she had done a convincing job.
Unicorns dressed in green first responder clothes put the bodies of Flim and Flam onto stretchers, as the chief of police of Canterlot and a police lieutenant stood on the back deck.
“Both of them on the same night? What a shame,” said the chief, shaking his head as he glanced at the deck where the brothers had died. “Imagine, losing your twin brother to alcohol poisoning and then drinking yourself dead out of sadness.”
“Uh, chief, I’m pretty sure that they both died at the same time, by accident,” said the lieutenant, scratching his head.
“Right, that could’ve happened, too,” said the chief. “Guess we’ll never know.”
“Are we going to pursue it further as suicide, or rule it an accident?” asked the lieutenant.
Sparkler held her breath.
The chief shrugged. “It’s a bit of an odd coincidence, but I see no reason to suspect foul play. Both of them just got carried away with drinking. Maybe they challenged each other to do shots, or they lost track of how much they had had.”
He motioned towards the open liquor cabinet in the kitchen. “I mean, look at how much booze is in there, lieutenant. They were drunks, and had it coming to them.”
The lieutenant groaned. “Looks like Blueblood will need new economic ministers to hoard alcohol all to themselves while everypony else is on rationing.”
The chief chuckled. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
Sparkler breathed a sigh of relief as she snuck out the open front door, following behind the stretcher. Once she was out of sight of the house, she turned visible once more, her mission complete. Of course, she would have to let sufficient time pass between the deaths of Flim and Flam and her next target. Blueblood might start to get suspicious if his advisers started dropping like flies, even if it appeared to be accidental. But in three or four months, she should be good to go.
“Two down, two to go,” said Sparkler, a grin crossing her face.“You’re next, Trixie Lulamoon.”