//------------------------------//
// Chapter 40: The Enemy Within 
// Story: Brother Against Sister 
// by CartsBeforeHorses 
//------------------------------//

King Blueblood laid in his bed, which he had been unable to leave for two days. He felt weak, his muscles ached, and his nose ran. A day earlier, he’d received a report from the front that General Top Brass had failed to capture the grain silos. Starvation was already beginning to set in, and the store shelves were almost entirely empty, except for a few scraps. Though the state-controlled press had tried to gloss over this, it was hard to keep the secret of the famine from ponies who had to pay fifty bits for a single loaf of bread. Some ponies had already started grazing in the fields for grass, but there was little green grass in urban Canterlot, and ponies required more nutrition than that. Some unicorn civilians would teleport across the battle lines to eat in Equestria. 

The doctors had told Blueblood that he had a terrible case of the flu, in addition to a weak immune system. He felt a sneeze coming on, but was so tired that he couldn’t bother to sneeze, so he simply endured the tingling annoyance.

His condition was a twisted, but apt analogy, he thought. A leader sat in his bed, weak and frail, as his nation also similarly decayed. He was trapped in this bunker, immobile, just as the Second Kingdom was trapped behind the firm battle lines that they hadn’t been able to break through in months. The zebras had won against the griffons, but their reinforcements were coming too late, and the west coast was too far to break through to establish reliable food supply lines from the Zebra Empire. The Everfree River was the only other alternative, but its mouth had been blockaded by the Equestrian naval fleet near Applewood.

For his entire life, Blueblood had fought to secure the rights of unicorns to use whatever magic they saw fit, to live in their own cities, and eat food grown by their own horns. He had won Canterlot its independence, freeing them of the disproportionate taxation, the magic laws, and the distrust of the alicorns. His army had freed the unicorns of Mareicopa a few years later. He had almost made the unicorns self-sufficient through farming, but the pegasi had destroyed it. 

He didn’t consider himself a warmonger. Sure, he had started the war, but he didn’t want to destroy Equestria entirely. He simply wanted all unicorns, if they so desired, to have space to live in the Second Kingdom. He also wanted for a rump Equestria to still exist for the other two races and the recalcitrant unicorns to have to themselves. All ponies, even pegasi and earth ponies, had the right to self-rule, Blueblood firmly believed. That was why he had helped establish the Cloud Confederacy, in addition to the strategic advantage that it had given him to split his opponent in two. Similarly, the Zebra Emperor wanted independence for his people in Zebrica, as well as in Tall Tale and Vanhoover where they were oppressed. Who was Twilight Sparkle to deny this to them? Who were these pegasi to starve the unicorns?

Of course, he knew the answer. Equestria needed the unicorns, which was why they couldn’t let them go. They needed them to perform surgeries. They needed them to invent gadgets. They needed them to craft clocks, compases, cameras, calculators, and other complex contraptions with small, delicate pieces that only telekinesis could reliably assemble. They needed them to prospect for gems, oil, and metals with dowsing spells. In short, Equestria needed unicorns to do the things that only unicorns could. 

Through the Equestrians’ very desperate actions designed to drive the unicorns back into their arms, they proved their inferiority. After all, what pony so desperately seeks to keep company with his lesser? Nopony. Job seekers sought positions with the best firms, and students sought to be accepted to the best schools. In the same way, the pegasi and earth ponies sought to share a country with unicorns. That alone proved who the superior beings were. Equestria needed and desired the unicorns, but the Second Kingdom didn’t need or desire the undesirables. Were it not for the deliberate salting of SK farmland, they would be just fine on their own, succeeding while the other two races struggled.

Fancy Pants walked into the room.

“Hello, King Blueblood,” said Fancy Pants.

“Hello,” Blueblood weakly croaked, his voice hardly making a sound.

“I know that you can’t talk very easily. I just came to check on you.”

“Weak… dying…” Blueblood said.

Fancy Pants shook his head. “No, your majesty! It’s simply a minor illness. You’ll be back on your hooves in no time. Just have confidence.”

Blueblood rolled his eyes. He had had the flu before. This was far worse. He sincerely believed that he was dying, though the doctors didn’t agree. But if he was dying, at least he was leaving his kingdom in good hooves. There was no better pony to take his place than Fancy Pants. Sometimes, Blueblood had seen Fancy Pants be a bit hesitant for moral reasons to do what was necessary to win the war, but out of all of Blueblood’s advisors, Fancy Pants was certainly the most reliable, clear-headed, and loyal.

He just wanted to give him one last set of instructions.

“Horn… here…” said Blueblood, glancing with his eyes up at his own horn. Fancy Pants hesitated for a moment, and then realized what Blueblood wanted. 

Though unicorns could communicate with each other through telepathy, and could convey words along with sights, smells, tastes, and sounds by connecting horns, most unicorns still preferred talking verbally. Telepathy was seen as intimate, and mostly used only among siblings, parents and their children, spouses, partners, and very close friends. It was a shame, because telepathy was vastly more efficient than verbal conversations, and didn’t necessarily need to be intimate or viewed as such. It had been a social norm that Blueblood had tried to change, but with only limited success. Most ponies just weren’t comfortable with it.

Fancy Pants brought his horn to Blueblood’s, and a magical arc raced between them. Thankfully, magic was sanitary, and it was impossible to transmit a disease through telepathy.

Fancy Pants, Blueblood said to him in his head, I am dying. You will take control of the Second Kingdom as the interim president, and declare presidential and congressional elections to reflect the public’s will. The unicorns may plot their own course. Declare a cease-fire, negotiate for food, and/or sign a treaty to end the war, and do what you have to do to ensure that our people don’t starve. But never sacrifice unicorn independence for anything.

If necessary, threaten to kill the captives at Chupacabra Stadium to ensure that Equestria does not take our independence; that is what they’re there for. Follow through if you must. When the negotiations come, give up Mareicopa if you must, to ensure peace and Canterlot’s continued existence... but you must never let Canterlot fall back into Equestrian hooves as long as you draw breath, starvation or not. Our people will eat wood and paper if they must, just so that there is at least one city in the world where unicorns can live free. The existence of an independent, unicorns-only Canterlot is non-negotiable.

Of course, Fancy Pants replied. I will never give up Canterlot.

Thank you, Fancy Pants. I trust that you will not let down the unicorn race. I have the utmost faith in you as my second-in-command, and as a personal friend. It has been a pleasure knowing you all these years.

Likewise, said Fancy Pants. Goodbye, King Blueblood.

Fancy Pants drew back his horn and the arc of light terminated. Bluebood coughed weakly, as his minister left the room. He tried to cough again, but it was no use. His throat was already hoarse and dry as a bone from coughing the first day that he fell ill, when he’d still had energy.

Heat consumed his body like a blazing inferno. Somehow, he knew that when he closed his eyes, that would be it. His heart raced. There was no hereafter, nothing to look forward to but a hole in the ground. All he had was the impact that he had made in his time alive. 

He had his regrets as the leader of the unicorns. He had his fears that Canterlot would be subjugated by Equestria once more. But in all of the agony and fear of his illness, he had one sliver of hope. Fancy Pants would continue after Blueblood, and would never betray his vision. He would never betray the unicorn race.

Blueblood closed his eyes, never to open them again.





Fancy Pants felt a bittersweet surge of emotions as the doctor pronounced Blueblood dead. For one, he was sad to see an old friend of his pass away. But he also was glad that he could end the unconscionable internment.

“Time of death, 7:21 AM,” said the doctor.

Fancy Pants telephoned one of Blueblood’s advisors. Well, one of his advisors, now. He explained that Blueblood had passed away, and that he needed to be sworn in as the new president at once. Since Fancy Pants had no royal blood as Blueblood did, he would merely go by “President” rather than King. The Second Kingdom would really no longer be an applicable name, either, since there was no king anymore. Perhaps the Second Republic, since it was indeed a republic. But then what was the first republic? Certainly not Equestria. 

As he glanced towards the door, he grinned. Though he still had to worry about rogue assassins like Pumpkin Cake, no Equestrian spies would make attempts on his life, since he was their stallion. So, he could give his inaugural address in public. Outside, under the warm sun. Just the thought of it gave him goosebumps.





The sun hung high in the air, its warm rays beating down on palm trees and ferns. A pterodactyl stood in a tree, screeching. Brontosauri reached out with their long necks to munch on leaves from trees. The images came flooding to Pumpkin Cake’s mind, as an arc of blue light raced from an elderly, tan-coated unicorn stallion’s horn to hers.

“What am I looking at, Professor Fossil?” asked Pumpkin Cake. “Where is this?”

“This is Mareicopa,” said the stallion. “Or at least, it was Mareicopa, millions of years ago, when it was a lush jungle instead of a desert city, before ponykind and other mammals evolved.”

“How do you know this is what it looked like?”

Professor Fossil smiled, his grey mustache upturning. “Because I’ve been there myself. I’m not just a paleontologist: I’m a time traveler.”

Pumpkin Cake raised an eyebrow. “Then what are we even doing here? Just go back in time and kill Blueblood before he ordered the internment, and it never would have happened anyway.”

Professor Fossil shook his head, sighing. “I’m afraid that it doesn’t work like that, young lady. I can understand your ignorance though, since that is such a common misconception. Time travelers may interact with ponies in the past, but the past is still like a fossil: set in stone. For instance, were I to try to shoot Blueblood, perhaps my gun would misfire, or I’d accidentally shoot the wrong pony, or his guards would shoot me first. Time travel can never be used to alter a condition in the present that was extant when you traveled back, for that would create a paradox: how could you go back to stop an event that you already stopped? All assassination attempts against Blueblood by time travelers must necessarily have failed, and will always fail.”

Pumpkin understood. “So you can can’t use time travel to create a paradox.”

Professor Fossil nodded. “And you can’t travel forward in time, only back. Most time-traveling unicorns can only go a decade back at most… but my special talent allows me to travel eons into the past. Of course, in Equestria, time travel spells are outlawed, with an exemption only for research purposes, and then only for graduates of Princess Celestia’s School For Gifted Unicorns, now-defunct. I didn’t attend that school, so it was only under Second Kingdom rule that I was finally able to publish research papers at the University of Mareicopa based off of my personal observations of the past.”

“Why are they outlawed? If they can’t be used to actually change the past, then what’s the harm?” asked Pumpkin.

Professor Fossil said, “One reason: ignorance. Cryptic travelers would arrive from the future wearing strange clothes, with dire warnings, sending ponies into panics. The public failed to realize that whatever events the ponies were warning about were unavoidable. Sometimes, the very act of trying to avoid the event was precisely what caused it to begin with! Thus, time travel was banned.”

Pumpkin nodded. “I see. I still don’t know why you’re showing me Mareicopa in the past, though.”

“Look more closely,” said Professor Fossil. 

More images came flooding to Pumpkin’s mind. In addition to the dinosaurs, there were also insects the size of ponies: with spines on their segmented backs, giant mouths, and chitinous exoskeletons. They had giant compound eyes, and lived in a vast underground network of tunnels, coming out in packs to take out larger prey. A brontosaurus fell to seven of them, his hide red and bloodied. The creatures returned to their cave with their kill, carting the giant body away with their great strength.

“The chupacabras were not mammals or reptiles as the legends say, but rather, arthropods similar to ants or changelings,” said Professor Fossil. “In fact, chupacabras were the ancestors of changelings, and they would later would evolve the ability to change their appearance and prey on love rather than meat. The chupacabras dug vast underground networks of tunnels. Chupacabra Stadium is aptly named, for it is built atop a gigantic, ancient chupacabra mound. But the tunnels have been sealed by igneous rock for millennia, buried under the great lava flows that seeped from the southern badlands when the volcanoes erupted.”

Pumpkin watched as trees were set aflame, dinosaurs burned, and the air filled with sulfuric smog that gave off a stench so potent that it made her gag, even though she only ‘smelled’ it through telepathy. The chupacabra caves were plowed under by the steamroller of lava. The beasts, all so ferocious before, perished from suffocation in a matter of seconds, their chitin burning from the extreme heat. But the lava was not viscous enough to flow into the tunnels, merely cover the entrances over. The flows left only a flat, barren land.

Many millions of years passed, as the blackened crust of the lava slowly covered in sediment, forming the Palomino desert. New forms of life cropped up: rattlesnakes, prairie dogs, and eventually, ponies. Wooden shacks and saloons stood atop the sand, atop the dried lava flows, atop the covered caverns. The city grew like a boil as the most recent century came and went. And then, a mere forty years ago, the stadium was erected, and the Mareicopa Chupacabras played their first hoofball game. A much younger Professor Fossil sat in the stands, cheering them on, his voice merely one of many in the roaring crowd of thousands.

“I have studied chupacabras extensively,” said Professor Fossil. “It is rather difficult, as I can only travel to the past for a few minutes at a time before I am whisked back to the present, and the spell is too difficult to cast very often. But I discovered that the chupacabras made massive tunnel networks, with interior caverns large enough to hold entire dinosaurs that they had killed. The caverns are a mere thirty feet below the stadium. Isn’t paleontology fascinating?”

Pumpkin Cake nodded. Much as a paleontologist would piece together bones to create a giant skeleton of an ancient dinosaur, yet another piece had fallen into place in her formative plan to rescue the hostages.





“I, Fancy Pants, do hereby solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the Second Kingdom of Canterlot, to protect and preserve the freedom and dignity of the unicorn master race, and to protect my people from all threats foreign and domestic.”

He held his hoof to the constitution of the Second Kingdom, which the black-robed chief justice held in his magic.

“Having duly witnessed the lawful transfer of executive power, I affirm that it now resides with the new President Fancy Pants,” said the judge.

There was muted, scattered applause in the large crowd which had gathered under the sunny midday skies on the front lawn of the presidential palace in Canterlot. Many unicorns were still crying from the news of King Blueblood’s death. Some had skeptical looks on their faces. Who was this ‘Fancy Pants’, they must have wondered, who only a day ago was a mere propaganda minister, and merely a year ago was in line behind three other ponies to succeed the presidency? Still others hadn’t eaten in many hours or days, and were too distracted by their hunger to applaud. A few of them leaned down to munch on the grass when the guards weren’t looking.

“Thank you, chief justice,” said Fancy Pants, standing behind the podium on the steps to the presidential palace. He kept a somber look upon his face. “And thank you, Canterlot. It is with great sadness that I assume the office of the presidency, but circumstances and fate have led me to take on this role. Let us have a moment of silence to honor King Blueblood’s memory.”

The crowd remained dead silent for a minute.

Fancy Pants spoke once more, “Now, as a fellow member of King Blueblood’s Unicorn Freedom Movement party, the voters who elected him can be assured that I will maintain many of his same policies. All magic may still be freely used by all unicorns in ways not otherwise prohibited by non-magic-related laws. All unicorn mares and stallions shall be encouraged to propagate the unicorn race, and incentives will still be available for fruitful couples. Our veterans returning from the front lines will continue to receive our respect, admiration, and full support to reintegrate into civilian life. The state will maintain control of key industries, such as healthcare, food, and armaments, necessary to the support our nation and our race. And, of course, the city of Canterlot will remain unicorns-only.”

There was more applause, louder than last time, though still over half of the ponies weren’t clapping. Just one issue was on many of their minds: food.

Fancy Pants continued, “That being said, there is one policy of former President Blueblood’s that I wish to reverse, as was his last request. The city of Canterlot is starving, our crops destroyed by pegasi, all imports of food cut off due to the war. Though I fully support the former president’s decision to make the unicorns self-sufficient in farming, the war has temporarily prevented this. How can we be self-sustaining as a nation when we continue a war with Equestria that depletes our food, stallions, and treasury? I posit that we cannot.”

There were murmurs in the crowd.

“Thus, I am announcing the start of a peace dialogue between the Second Kingdom and Equestria. There will be talks between myself and Princess Twilight in regards to a cease-fire, which I hope will eventually become a permanent treaty. I will end this terrible, fratricidal war which has cost so many lives and caused so much suffering. I can promise you that Canterlot will remain independent from Equestria with the Unicorn Freedom Movement’s domestic policies intact, no matter what the outcome of this treaty.”

The crowd cheered.

“The unicorn race is strong and resilient. We have fought a war against an army over five times the size of ours, and managed to hold them to a stalemate. But now, the time has come for tranquility to prevail. We shall live in harmony with Equestria, and remain an independent unicorn state. We shall have peace in our land, pride in our race, and food on our tables!”

The crowd roared with approval, ponies stomping their hooves and throwing their hats into the air.

After the crowd had dispersed, Fancy Pants walked back up the steps, heading inside of the presidential palace, where he determined to live instead of the bunker. He could not appear weak like Blueblood had by staying in seclusion. Besides, his security detail was quite capable against all but the most powerful potential assassins. They could even stop invisible ponies.

He retreated into his bedroom, three times larger than the one in the bunker. It had two large windows: one that looked out into the city, and another that directly overlooked Equestria down below Canterlot Mountain. Blueblood’s personal items were still hanging on the walls, including a giant self-portrait and other decorations. Above a mahogany dresser, a mirror reflected the sunlight that streamed in the windows.

Fancy Pants collapsed onto Blueblood’s bed—his bed now—as his head spun, hit with a realization much harder than the goosefeather pillow and downy comforter. He was now the president, and had successfully assassinated Blueblood, with nopony the wiser! Now he just had to negotiate the peace deal with Twilight Sparkle, and end the famine and the war.

“Good speech. I couldn’t have done any better if I had helped you write it myself. Oh, wait… I did.”

Fancy Pants turned towards his open bedroom door, which closed itself as Amethyst Star became visible. He walked over and hugged her, and they kissed.

“I’m so glad to see you again, Amethyst Star. That bunker was so lonely. Did you have any trouble sneaking past my security?” he asked.

Agent Sparkler shook her head. “Those secret passages you told me about got me into the palace just fine, Mister President.”

Fancy Pants chuckled. “Is it odd that it still sounds weird to hear ponies call me that?”

She laughed back. “If that’s the only thing that’s gone wrong with our plan so far, we’d be lucky.”

“I would hope so. But the internment is a problem. As we discussed, I can’t simply set all of the captives free, not right when Equestria and the SK are about to negotiate a treaty, or I would look weak by giving up our only bargaining chip, and any goodwill from the public of Canterlot would evaporate—”

“I’ve resolved that little sticking point,” said Amethyst Star. “Remember Pumpkin Cake?”

Fancy Pants’ head jolted up. “Pumpkin Cake, the young mare who tried to rip my heart from my chest?”

Sparkler rolled her eyes. “No, pumpkin cake the dessert. Yes, that Pumpkin Cake, you dork! She’s helping to free those ponies. We’re working hard on a plan, and it should be ready in a week or so. She and I buried the hatchet, and I don’t think that she’ll try to kill you again.”

“That’s a tremendous relief, if true,” said Fancy Pants. “But how do you know her plan will work?”

Sparkler smiled. “Because I’m helping her.”





The long rows of trees in the orchards near Horseshoe Bay stood, some harvested, some unharvested. Ponies picked oranges, sweating profusely in the afternoon sun. Even in October, it was always sweltering this far south. A sweet, fruity smell filled the air as the fruit pickers loaded the oranges into boxes, and loaded those boxes into the backs of wooden carts, which they hitched to muscle-bound earth stallions who took them back to the warehouse.

Harvests happened every year, but this year there was a change: dozens of ponies stood by the side of the dirt road leading up to the orchards. They held picket signs and chanted in protest.

“Reasonable wages for hard work!”

“I can’t raise a child. Institute paid maternity leave!”

“I don’t make enough to buy the oranges that I pick! End employee hunger!”

These ponies were local workers from the fields who had gone on strike to protest their working conditions. The Growers and Pickers Union was unaffiliated with Pound Cake or Equestrians For Action. But the EFA had sent ponies to show its solidarity with the union. This was especially important, because the newly-appointed Equestrian special prosecutor on corruption was expected to indict the Oranges within a few months. A protest would show the public’s support for the charges. The EFA ponies stood in a line right next to the union strikers’ picket line, wearing blue shirts and holding protest signs as well, but their signs and chants said slightly different things than the unions’ signs had said.

“Orange Incorporated Are Traitors!”

“You sold Equestria out to the highest bidder!”

“Stop the corrupt food monopoly! Save independent farmers! No patenting orange breeds!”

Obviously, the corruption that the EFA was upset about was a different issue than the labor dispute that the Pickers Union was upset about. In Pound Cake’s view, though, they were related. They were different fruits of the same rotten tree: greed. The same greedy company which would sell food to the enemy for profit, or would bribe public officials, would also make its workers work in harsh conditions for low wages, he reasoned.

After surveying the scene from the air, and satisfied with the high turnout, Pound Cake returned to where his friends stood. Because it was a public road, the security personnel at the orchard couldn't really do anything. Even though they complained about the protest, the protesters were fully within their legal rights. None were carrying weapons, with the exception of Pound Cake’s personal security team, which kept them concealed. This wasn’t a military operation like in the Flatlands, and there was no need to cause an incident.

Applejack had asked the EFA not to come, saying that it would disrupt harvesting season for them to be there. As much as Pound Cake considered Applejack a close friend, he had to respectfully disagree with her, and bring his group. They were merely standing by the road, causing no disruption to the company’s operations other than shouting loudly.

“I’m a manager at the orchard, Pound Cake; I think I’d know that y’all’s protest is disturbin’ things around here,” she had argued.

Pound knew that Applejack had a conflict of interest. Though she opposed corruption and dishonesty in principle, the Oranges were still family, and they still were her employers. So he refused to capitulate to her.

Pound Cake stood with Bulky Biceps, Raindrops, Rainbow Dash, Hoops, and Dumbbell. Due to an obligation at his salt factory, Featherweight had been unable to attend. Dozens of unicorns and earth ponies also stood there. For example, a musical duo had joined the EFA. They were the mint green unicorn Lyra Heartstrings and her cream-colored earth pony friend Bon Bon, and together they were the folk duo Heartstrings & Bon Bon. 

A lyre floated in Lyra’s magic, and a set of bongos sat in Bon-Bon’s lap. Lyra strummed along to the beat of Bon Bon’s bongos as they both sang a protest song, harmonizing together.

How many days must the ponies stand out,
with their voices raised as they scream and shout
for the system of greed and corruption to change?
There must be the dawn of a new, brighter day.

There’s got to be
There’s got to be
There’s got to be a way.

The ponies all clapped.

“Great song,” Pound Cake exclaimed.

“Thanks,” said Bon Bon, grinning.

Lyra smiled widely. “We’re glad you like it. Took us a while to write it, but I think it captures what we’re trying to say pretty well.”

Pound Cake was happy to have such dedicated ponies on his side. With ponies like these, the EFA would really make a change. He was confident.

Another hour or so passed, as the union picketers continued their labor strike, and the EFA continued their corruption protest. The two groups were friendly and broke for lunch together. The only ponies they were unfriendly towards were the workers who had refused to join the strike, or the scabs who had been temporarily hired to replace the strikers. Given that their jobs were unskilled labor, it was easy to break a strike, and hence they were rare.

One such worker, Big Macintosh, was pulling a cart full of orange crates behind him. He took Pound Cake aside. 

“Uh… hi, Pound,” he muttered with a shy tone. 

“Hey, Big Mac,” said Pound Cake. 

Unlike his sister, Big Macintosh had always refused a management job. Though he was nearly forty years old, and other ponies had encouraged him to start a ‘real career,’ he was content to do manual labor. After all, he had never been well-spoken, something required for managers, and he rather enjoyed a good day’s hard, honest work. But given his many years of service, and his sister’s position, he was still the best-paid fruit picker at Orange Incorporated. So he had little reason to participate in the strike and put his job in jeopardy.

Big Macintosh looked around to ensure that nopony was in earshot. Then, he turned to Pound and said, “They’re shippin’ to the SK today, by air. We’re haulin’ crates to the hangar right now.”

Pound’s jaw dropped. The Equestrian prosecutor was supposed to put a stop to this. There were supposed to be government monitors stationed at the distribution centers to ensure all shipments were only destined to Equestria or other friendly nations. How could Orange Incorporated be shipping food to the Second Kingdom?

As if reading his mind and anticipating the inevitable flurry of Pound’s questions, Big Macintosh shrugged. “ I’ve seen Peachy Pitt there and figured there was no other reason. That’s all I know.”

Pound Cake nodded. “Thanks, Big Macintosh.”

“Eeyup.”

Pound Cake glanced back at the protest, still going strong. He figured he would leave them to it. So he took off into the air, flying off towards the hangar.

“Pound, dude, wait up!”

He turned around as Hoops and Dumbbell were following in the sky behind him. They had joined his security team now, under Bulky Biceps.

“You can’t leave without your security like that,” said Hoops. “You could totally get assassinated!”

“It’s like you’re trying to get killed,” said Dumbbell.

“Sorry,” said Pound, shrugging. “I had something I had to go do that was important.”

“Well you gotta let us come with you, ‘cause we have guns,” said Dumbbell, motioning with his hoof to a slight bulge under his blue EFA t-shirt.

Pound Cake sighed. Hoops and Dumbbell weren’t as slow of flyers as Bulky Biceps was, but they still could barely keep the pace with him. Though then again, very few pegasi could. 

“Okay, but try to keep up; this is urgent,” said Pound impatiently. 

Hoops and Dumbbell nodded, and flew until their sweat droplets were flung off of them, down to the earth like rain from the sky above. Since Pound was in such good shape, he didn’t sweat as much, but he recognized when ponies were hustling and giving it their all. His two security stallions certainly were, and they made it to the hangar on the other side of the orchards in under five minutes.

Finally, they reached the hangar. Oranges weren’t normally transported by air due to it being cost-prohibitive, and the hangar usually only held crop dusters. So the giant, grey cargo plane of about fifty cubic meters stuck out. It was already on the tarmac, taxiing towards the runway. Based off of the direction it was pointing, it was headed right towards the Second Kingdom.

“Where are the Equestrian inspectors? They should be here to stop this!” Pound exclaimed.

“Uh, they’re here, but I don’t think they’re stopping it,” said Dumbbell. He pointed his hoof towards the hangar, where a black station wagon sat parked outside. It was an official Equestrian government vehicle, but the inspectors weren’t in it. Instead, from this high up, they could just barely witness the two well-dressed mares sitting outside, smoking cigarettes. Next to them was a unicorn mare. Peachy Pitt. She opened a briefcase, where a bunch of golden bits twinkled in the sunlight. 

The mares gigled with glee at their new money.

“Crooked!” Dumbbell exclaimed. He zoomed down, a furious scowl on his face as he zeroed in on them.

“Dumbbell! Come back!” Hoops exclaimed. He followed his friend, who by now, had whacked over the briefcase, spilling out dozens and dozens of bits onto the ground. Peachy Pitt disappeared in a flash. The inspectors screamed as Dumbbell pointed accusingly at the cash.

“This is a citizens’ arrest for bribery!” he exclaimed, angrily lunging forwards towards the mares. Hoops had now arrived, and put his hooves on Dumbbell, trying to restrain him.

Pound had no idea what to do while all of this was occurring, but as he was watching the altercation, the cargo plane started speeding down the runway. He jolted as he noticed it out of the corner of his eye.

“Hoops! Dumbbell! Come on!” he urged. They didn’t answer him, as they were too distracted. He waited a minute as the scuffle below continued, and ponies ran out of the hangar towards them. They were Orange Incorporated security. Hopefully they didn’t have guns. Pound certainly didn’t, and he wasn’t about to bring his hooves to a gunfight and intervene to save his security staff. That was their job!

Meanwhile, the plane had already taken off, and was gaining distance. Pound shook his head and zoomed towards the departing plane. He would have to stop this shipment by himself, without his security, and they’d have to fend for themselves.

From down behind him, he heard gunfire. Perhaps a pony at the hangar was shooting up in the sky at Pound, or perhaps Hoops and Dumbbell had gotten into a firefight. Pound couldn’t tell. But now, he was within half a kilometer of the cargo plane.

He put his hooves out in front of him as he gained altitude on the plane, the warm air growing cooler. This plane would go down in a blast. It was close enough to the ground still to where the pilots inside could eject safely without dying, and he would ensure that he did the rainboom far enough away from the plane not to injure them, merely ground their plane. 

It’s about to rain orange juice! he thought.

Three hundred meters. Two hundred meters. One hundred…

Suddenly, there was a great cloud of black smoke erupt from the back of the plane. Pound Cake tried to avoid it, but was going to fast. His lungs filled with acrid fumes as his eyes went wet with tears. He could no longer see the plane. Had it crashed? Had it been shot down? He didn’t know. He had to slow down and stop flying, because his lungs now burned from the smoke, and he wasn’t getting enough oxygen supply to his muscles.

He descended slowly back towards the ground, coughing and hacking. As he gazed back up to the sky, his heart sank.

The plane was just fine, and still continuing towards the SK. It had merely released a smoke bomb. The pilots must have known Pound was coming after them, and did it to get him off of their tail. And now, he was in no condition to follow after inhaling all of that smoke. No pegasus would be in good shape after that, but for Pound it was worse since he had a smoke allergy. Rainbow Dash had banned tobacco smoking from the EFA offices for that reason.

His lungs ached and he hacked and wheezed as he returned to the ground. Off in the distance, a police siren wailed. No doubt the police had arrived to break up the fight between Hoops and Dumbbell and the Orange Incorporated Security. Pound’s security duo would probably be arrested and charged with assaulting and threatening public officials. Great. Just what he needed.

As for the cargo plane, it had gotten away.





That evening, General Top Brass sat in his office at the airbase on the outskirts of Canterlot, absolutely dumbstruck as the new President Fancy Pants’ speech played over the radio. Peace with Equestria? Admitting there was a famine against all prior government denials of it? Stop the “fratricidal” war? Was he listening to the new president of the Second Kingdom, or an Equestrian apologist? 

There was a time and place in war for negotiated surrender, but Blueblood would never have announced his country’s weaknesses or his intentions to surrender in public. But here was Fancy Pants spilling his heart. Sure, he was promising that he wouldn’t give up Canterlot’s independence, and didn’t say the “s-word,” but the mere act of asking for peace and mentioning starvation in the same breath meant that Equestria got to dictate the terms of the treaty since they held the leverage: food. Fancy Pants might as well have been promising surrender. But did they need to surrender?

No. Not when they were so close to winning. Not when the Zebra Empire had just defeated the griffons, and would overtake the west coast any day now. Not when they had 70,000 earth ponies and pegasi in Mareicopa to use as a bargaining chip for food. Though Top Brass’ plan to capture grain silos had failed, they would find some way. He was a master strategist, and would not be defeated.

There was a knock on his office door.

“Come in.”

Peachy Pitt stepped inside. Her normal upbeat smirk had vanished, and her eyeliner was smeared from tears. Some ponies had taken news of King Blueblood’s death harder than others. To Peachy Pitt, Blueblood had always been an inspiration and a hero, a leader up on the mountain overlooking Ponyville, to be admired for his work for the unicorns. To Top Brass, though, Blueblood had been merely a partner. Even though he had been a Prince of Equestria and then a king of the Second Kingdom, Top Brass merely saw Blueblood as an equal.

After all, it was only because of Top Brass pledging his Royal Guard battalions to Blueblood in Canterlot many years ago that Canterlot was able to win its independence in the first place, and Blueblood had always owed his position to Top Brass. Blueblood’s death still shook Top Brass, but not in the same way that it shook Peachy Pitt.

“Hello, General,” said Peachy Pitt in an upbeat tone that clashed with her running eyeliner. “Good news! We’ve just gotten in the first clandestine shipment from Orange Incorporated. A thousand crates of juicy, freshly-harvested oranges. The stealth planes worked according to plan, and once we left Horseshoe Bay there wasn’t any danger of being detected. By nightfall, nopony saw us cross the border. But it was a living nightmare to get out of the freaking orchard! It would’ve been easier to sneak out of a prison. Not only does Twilight Sparkle have her anti-corruption officers there searching through everything, but there is this other group there, too, holding signs and picketing… the FEA or AFE, or maybe EFA I think it was. Some sort of alphabet soup name like that.”

The General nodded. “That would be EFA. I know the group well; they’re a paramilitary we fought up in Neighbraska a few days ago. But I’m glad that you weren’t intercepted.”

“Yeah. It was murder getting out of there!” Peachy Pitt chuckled.

Murder.

It hit Top Brass. Blueblood didn’t die of the flu. He had been killed. Deliberately infected with a disease and left to die in a way that looked natural, by a pony close enough to have poisoned him without arousing suspicion. A pony who was at the cabinet meetings with Blueblood every single day, so knew about the internment at Mareicopa and the last-ditch raid on Neighbraska, both of which had been revealed to the Equestrians. A pony who had always shown hesitation and weakness in the meetings. A pony who had always been just a little too nice, even when dealing with the enemy Equestrians.

Fancy Pants. He had killed Blueblood to take his place, and was an Equestrian sympathizer who would surrender and give up the Second Kingdom’s independence. Of course.

“...every last drop of juice, and even the rinds, because we can’t have wasteful habits in the middle of a—”

“Peachy Pitt,” Top Brass interrupted. “Where will the oranges go?”

Peachy Pitt answered, “Five hundred boxes will go to the troops, and the rest are going to go to Canterlot to feed the president and his officials, the nobles, factory managers, and all of the—”

“No they aren’t,” said Top Brass. “They’re all staying right here on base or going out to the front lines for my troops on the battlefield to eat. Not a single orange leaves here until I tell you otherwise. Understand?”

Peachy blinked. “Uh… what are you saying? That’s not what Fancy Pants directed.”

Top Brass stood out of his chair and walked right up to Peachy Pitt, staring her right in the face.

“Fancy Pants is a race traitor who killed Blueblood so that he could ascend to power and surrender our independence to Equestria. You are either on his side or mine.  Whose side?”

“Uh…” Peachy Pitt started, a puzzled look on her face.

“Whose side? Tell me!” Top Brass barked.

“Y-yours, General,” said Peachy, quite confused.

Top Brass nodded. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Now, you are going to help ration these thousand crates of oranges among my soldiers. I am going to take my strongest, most well-fed stallions to Canterlot with me tomorrow morning. It’s time to clean up the traitors in our midst.”





Fancy Pants and Amethyst Star lie in his king-sized bed together, both sound asleep as the morning sun peeked over Canterlot’s mountaintop. Suddenly, the bedroom shook. Sparkler’s head jolted off the pillow as gunfire and shots rang out in the distance.

She got up off the bed and rushed over to the window overlooking Canterlot. Tanks rolled down every street, their barrels pointed towards the presidential palace. Armored personnel carriers followed closely behind. In the courtyard to the palace, gunfire and explosions rang out as the presidential guards took cover behind ornate shrubs, ducking as dozens of uniformed Second Kingdom soldiers fired on them with machine guns.

In Agent Sparkler’s many years at the Royal Institute of Secret Knowledge, she had been all over the world, from Neighcaragua to Hayti, Irein to Ewekraine, witnessing—and often aiding in—many covert regime change operations. So she knew a coup d’etat when she saw one. And this certainly fit the bill.

“What in the world is all of that hullabaloo outside, Amethyst?” Fancy Pants asked groggily, stretching out his hooves. “Is it the Equestrian military? Are we under attack?”

“No, you’re under attack. It’s a military coup.”

Fancy Pants sat up in bed. “But how do you know that it’s indeed a…”

Sparkler’s eyebrows narrowed at Fancy Pants, and he blushed.

“We have to get you out of here. They’re out on the lawn right now, and are about to storm the presidential palace. If you’re lucky, they’ll let you live the rest of your life in jail. If you’re unlucky, they’ll kill you.”

Fancy Pants sprung out of bed, going to his dresser to put on his fancy suit, as if he even needed it. “Alright, open the window and I’ll teleport out, I think I can make it just past fifteenth street—”

Sparkler shook her head. “No. We’re going to sneak out. Who knows how many troops they have in the streets. We don’t want you seen in public by anypony. We’re going invisible.”

“I thought that you said that you can’t turn other ponies invisible with you since it’s such a difficult spell.”

“You’re right, I can’t,” said Sparkler, her horn lighting up as she disappeared.

Suddenly, Fancy Pants found himself enveloped in a purple field of magic. He shrank in size as his blue mane disappeared, long whiskers sprouted from his nose, and a few claws burst forth from each hoof. His suit jacket fell to the floor around him, now five times his size.

“But you’re not a pony at the moment. I can turn smaller objects invisible no problem, remember? Now come on.”

The mouse squeaked in protest, unable to form words, and also adjusting to his new keen sense of hearing, to which Sparkler’s voice sounded as loud as the ongoing explosions outside.

Sparkler groaned. “Jeeze, I’m saving your life; you’d think I’d at least get a thank-you or something. Now let’s go,” she said, levitating Fancy Mouse onto her back. Sure enough, he turned invisible as soon as he touched her.

“Now hang on, and try not to dig your claws too far into my skin.”

Suddenly, the door to the room burst open as two stallions kicked it down, their guns drawn as they scanned the room. One of them ran off to check the closet, and Sparkler stood perfectly still.

“He’s not in his room, either,” said one of the stallions to his commanding officer, who was standing in the door.

General Top Brass sighed. “That’s every room in the palace, then. He must have escaped, but he won’t get far, since we’ve sealed off the exits of town. Though even if we never catch him, I doubt he’ll be much of a threat once I publicly expose him as a traitor.”

“Nice room he’s got, too,” said Peachy Pitt, who walked in. “Shame he only got to sleep in it for one night. Hope he enjoyed it while it lasted.”

Once Top Brass and Peachy Pitt had left, Sparkler snuck past them in the hallways, trying not to make any sound on the marble floor. By this point, the explosions and gunfire had subsided, so they had to tread lightly. Fancy Pants was as quiet as the mouse that he was, resisting the urge to panic. They rounded into the ornate hallway leading up to the foyer, where soldiers stood guard with assault rifles.

Finally, after ten minutes of sneaking, they were outside on a rather chilly, overcast morning. Sparkler continued down the lawn, weaving in and out of tanks that were now parked on it, not bothering to be as slow or quiet as she’d been inside. Once they were on the street in front of the presidential palace, Sparkler hurried up to a walking pace, not concerned that the clip-clop of her hooves on the cobblestone was making noise, because there were so many ponies gathered to see what the commotion was, that nopony would notice.

When Sparkler was on a part of the street where she was alone, she whispered, “We have about thirty minutes left until that transfiguration spell wears off and you turn back into a pony again. I can get us to a safehouse down on the corner of Founders’ Street and Apex Drive in under ten. I say we use the twenty extra minutes to stand here and see if Top Brass gives a speech.”

Fancy Pants nodded his little mouse head.

Sure enough, the General emerged from the palace about five minutes later, after a large crowd had already gathered. News reporters arrived on the scene, snapping pictures of the tanks on the lawn and the dead bodies of presidential security staff which still lay on the ground.

“Citizens of the Second Kingdom!” General Top Brass shouted. “Yesterday morning, our leader King Blueblood died. A weak, traitorous cretin named Fancy Pants assumed the presidency. Fancy Pants, who was responsible for President Blueblood’s death, declared that he would negotiate a peace with Equestria to fix the famines now gripping the unicorn nation. In reality, he is a traitorous assassin: an Equestrian puppet who will bring down this nation from within and surrender our independence to Equestria. The brave, loyal military has deposed him, so the unicorn nation will live on forever!”

There was scattered applause, much of which came from Top Brass’ own troops. Mostly, there were murmurs and questions. Was Fancy Pants truly a traitor, or was this just a military power grab by Top Brass? How would the famine be ended, if not by a peace deal with Equestria?

“I know that some of you are skeptical,” Top Brass continued. “How can the famines be ended without negotiating a peace treaty, if not outright surrender, with Equestria? It seems to be the only option, but there’s another way. By now, it’s an open secret that Chupacabra Stadium in Mareicopa now holds 70,000 earth ponies and pegasi. I can officially confirm this. I give an ultimatum to Princess Twilight Sparkle: if your pegasi will kill our unicorns by salting our food and starving us to death, then we will kill your pegasi and earth ponies!

“We don’t want to commit mass murder, but we will if we must. To avoid this catastrophe, there will be an immediate cease-fire at once, with food provided to us by Equestria to compensate us for the food that your pegasi destroyed. The food trade restrictions will be lifted. You have twenty-four hours from noon today to comply. Every day that you do not, we will kill ten thousand ponies, starting tomorrow at noon. Don’t make this difficult, Princess Twilight. Avoid the tragedy, not just for the Second Kingdom’s citizens, but yours as well. The entire continent is counting on you.”

The speech ended to somber, lukewarm applause, with not many unicorns eager to slaughter Equestrians by the thousands, but with many unicorns simply eager to eat no matter how they got their food. As before, the army applauded the loudest, with some even cheering. 

Sparkler continued down the street with Fancy Pants until she reached the safe-house, a small two-story building a few blocks away. She retrieved a hidden key and unlocked the door. When nopony on the street was looking, she entered the room and pulled the blinds shut with magic.

It was just in time, since at that moment, the spell on Fancy Pants wore off. Unlike the initial transformation, which had taken a few minutes to go from pony to mouse, the transformation back into a pony was instantaneous, like a rubber band snapping apart. Fancy Pants simply exploded back into his regular size with a pop, nearly knocking Sparkler to the ground with his increased weight on her back. But he had the presence of mind to levitate himself off, and back to his hooves, before she fell down.

“I say, you cut it awfully close with that,” said Fancy Pants.

“Sorry,” said Sparkler, turning visible once more. “I tried to make it last longer, but I’m not good at transformation spells. I spend most of my time with invisibility, since it’s easier to spy as an invisible pony than a small critter. Being a mouse is good for getting into small spaces, though.”

Fancy Pants nodded. “So, what happens now? I’m a wanted stallion, no longer president, and Top Brass is about to kill ten thousand of those hostages. What do we do?”

Sparkler chuckled. “We do what I’m best at. We improvise. You stay here; there’s food and water in the pantry, and a bed on the top floor. If they search the safehouse and you have to go into hiding, there’s a trap-door hidden under the carpet that leads to the cellar. As for me, I have to get to Mareicopa. Looks like our plan to rescue the hostages will have to be accelerated.”





That evening, Pumpkin Cake sat in her bed, her mind racing as she tried to form a plan to rescue those ponies at the stadium. She was pretty sure that she had it right, but what if she didn’t? And there was now a greater sense of urgency than before. Over the radio, earlier that day, she had heard the news that Top Brass had conducted a military coup and would now kill those ponies at the stadium. Pumpkin had tried to meet the invisible mare at the Coffee Cup Cafe at 8:00 PM like she said, but she wasn’t there. Understandable, given that she was probably in damage control mode. Or possibly dead.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a tapping sound. Then another. Somepony was throwing rocks at her bedroom window. She gazed out the window cautiously and saw a shadowy pony standing on the ground below.

“Pumpkin Cake. It’s me. Let me in.”

Pumpkin Cake opened the window, and the invisi-mare teleported in, except for the first time that Pumpkin had seen her, she was visible: with a pink coat and a purple mane with grey streaks in it. 

She said, “Change of plans. There’s been a military coup in Canterlot. General Top Brass is threatening to kill ten thousand hostages at the stadium if Twilight Sparkle doesn’t provide food to Canterlot.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Pumpkin.

“We have to rescue those ponies. You have to make your move by tomorrow morning.”

Pumpkin Cake sighed. “This plan wasn’t supposed to happen until next week. We’re not nearly ready yet. Only twenty of my guerrillas had skills we could use for this rescue mission; the rest weren’t good enough. And our plan is bare bones at this point. We haven’t even practiced it yet. Why not have Twilight Sparkle just give Canterlot the food?”

“We can’t have the princess look weak in the face of threats. Appeasement is out.”

Pumpkin said, “Then just send the regular Equestrian army here to free those ponies. Or use your other secret agents. Or just use the partisans that you have who you didn’t put on that list, Invisi-mare.”

The mare chuckled. “Look, just call me Agent Sparkler, okay? Sending in more troops wouldn’t work, because then Top Brass would see them coming and just kill the hostages! Our other RISK field agents can’t be trusted: we’ve been infiltrated by moles. The other partisans won’t work. We need ponies who are magically competent, ones who I’ve already vetted, who already have a plan ready: you guys. You’re these hostages’ only hope. Now tell me what you got.”

Pumpkin nodded. “I see. Well, here’s the basic idea.”

Pumpkin Cake proceeded to tell Agent Sparkler the formative plan. Every few seconds, Sparkler would intervene and say how stupid she thought a particular aspect it sounded, and toss in an idea or two of her own. Eventually, after about half an hour, the two of them had synthesized a plan that they could both agree on.

“Wow. That is the most ridiculous thing that I’ve ever heard in my life, and I helped you come up with half of it myself,” said Sparkler. “But it has to work. There’s no other option.”

Pumpkin shook her head. “Everything would have to go perfectly. And then what do we do, even if our plan succeeds? That will still leave--”

“We’ll worry about it when we have to. We have to prepare now, though,” said Sparkler.

“Sure, and let me just get in about thirty more years of magic training before tomorrow morning, so that I can cast spells powerful enough for this plan to work,” Pumpkin quipped.

“My sarcasm is rubbing off on you, I see,” said Sparkler. “But you and the other guerrillas will have a secret weapon. I’ve been saving this for an emergency, and this surely qualifies.”

Sparkler’s horn lit up, and a 350mL glass vial of blood-red liquid materialized next to her. It was about the size of a soda can.

“This is a magic enhancement potion. Take a sip; just a small one is all you need. There’s enough for all twenty of you.”

Pumpkin scoffed. “Yeah right. Just a few days ago you were trying to have us killed. How do I know that it’s a magic potion, and not poisoned?”

Sparkler sighed. “Look, I’ll drink it just to show you it’s safe, and that it really works. I need some extra magic, too.”

Sparkler took a mouthful of the red liquid, gargled it, and swallowed it, all with her mouth wide open so that Pumpkin could see that she really drank it. Then, she lit up her horn. Everything in the room turned invisible: the bed, bedside table, bookshelf, dresser: even the floor itself. Only Sparkler and Pumpkin were still visible, and it looked like they were standing on air. Pumpkin gasped as she saw down through the floorboards to the first story, but she quickly realized that she wouldn’t fall and the floor was still there.

Pumpkin Cake knew how hard the invisibility spell was to cast, even just on oneself. To turn the contents of an entire room invisible should have been impossible. Given this display, she was sure that Agent Sparkler had actually drank a legitimate potion. 

Sparkler floated the potion over to Pumpkin, who took a small sip. It tasted absolutely terrible, like the copper taste of blood mixed with salt. She had to try her best not to spit it out.

“What even is that stuff?” asked Pumpkin, her face scrunched up.

“Call it an energy drink. The zebra chemist Zecora worked on it for RISK, and it’ll temporarily make your magic twenty times stronger.”

“I didn’t know that zebra potions could strengthen unicorn magic,” said Pumpkin Cake. “I used to live with Zecora, and she was my personal trainer in magic for a while. But when I asked her if there was a potion I could take to help me, she told me that her potions couldn’t boost magic.”

“Normally, they can’t,” said Sparkler. “This potion, though, has a secret ingredient.”

“Which is…”

“Secret,” replied Sparkler flatly. “And very, very, very rare. So for goodness’ sake, don’t spill any! I’ll leave it for you to give to your comrades. It works on pegasi and earth ponies too, and enhances their races’ natural magic abilities like flight and strength. But they might not want to drink it if they know it’s from me, since, you know, I tried to have them killed and all. So just make up a lie about where you got it. Anyway, we have work to do. I’m going to go get those supplies that we need for tomorrow.”

Sparkler turned towards the open window and leapt out into the darkness. 

Pumpkin wanted to test out the potion. She tried to lift up her bed with telekinesis, which would normally require much effort. It was as light as a feather. 

Filled with a giddy sense of adventure, Pumpkin did something that she hadn’t done since she was much younger and lighter weight: she used her levitation magic to float around the room. It wasn’t true flight, though it might as well have been. She effortlessly propelled off the walls like a weightless astronaut, totally free from gravity. Then she glided down the hallway, faster than she could normally walk it.

So this is what it’s like to be Pound Cake, she thought. Whatever that red stuff was, it had given her wings. Well, metaphorically, at least.


She returned to the floor, confident that the potion did indeed work at boosting her magic. Now she just needed to distribute it to the guerrillas, and tell them the rescue plan. It would still be quite a feat for twenty fighters to free seventy thousand captives from the stadium, even with the magic enhancing potion. But at least they now had a fighting chance.





There was a quiet, almost imperceptible snip, as the invisible Amethyst Star deftly maneuvered a pair of scissors to the hair on the tail of a stallion. The lock of hair fell but quickly turned invisible, joining dozens of other locks of invisible hair inside of a plastic bag. The stallion was none the wiser.

Fifty down, hundreds to go, Sparkler thought. At least with the potion she had drank, she could stay invisible all night without taking a break. She went on to the next one.

When Pumpkin Cake had tried to kill Fancy Pants a week ago, Amethyst Star had warned her against making overly-complicated plans, because too many things could go wrong. And yet here she was, trying to help guerrillas that she barely trusted to execute a complex rescue plan, which was itself merely a single part of yet another complex regime change operation. The whole plan had more moving pieces than a grandfather clock. The irony wasn’t lost on Agent Sparkler. But given Top Brass’ unexpected coup and ultimatum, she had been forced to think on her hooves.

Whether the rescue plan would succeed in the morning, Sparkler didn’t know. One thing she knew for sure: the Second Kingdom could never be allowed to put 70,000 ponies through a seven day, drawn-out massacre. The Equestrian public would blame Princesses Twilight Sparkle and Luna for failing to stop it in time. The princesses and General Spitfire were already facing heavy media criticism for their first botched invasion of Mareicopa. If Twilight’s government failed for seven days to either rescue the hostages, or to provide the Second Kingdom with food and save them, it would cause such deep frustrations, that there could be riots break out in every major city. 

An official Equestrian army or RISK rescue operation would be impractical for the reasons Sparkler had told Pumpkin, and Twilight could not give into Top Brass’ demands, or else he would just demand more. Appeasement was off the table. Equestria had tried it after the moon stunt, and ended up losing Cloudsdale and Las Pegasus because of it. Princess Twilight and Luna could not look that weak again, and could never give in to Top Brass. If Emperor Zaporizhia saw the princesses cave to threats, then he would be emboldened, and could easily threaten to gas a major Equestrian city like Baltimare with chemical weapons unless Equestria ceded the cities of Tall Tale and Vanhoover to the Zebra Empire.

So that was why, if Pumpkin’s group failed to rescue the ponies alive, Sparkler would do something that she dreaded. If she had to, she would plant explosive charges and blow up the stadium, killing all 70,000 herself on the first day, in a false flag operation that would be made to look like the Second Kingdom had done it. Then, Top Brass would lose his only bargaining chip in one fell swoop and look incompetent for acting too early. Top Brass would get no food, and he would lose his grip on power, because his own military would desert him.

Hopefully it wouldn’t have to come to that. Rescuing the hostages alive would succeed in the same goals, too, and be far more humane. So Sparkler just focused on her present objective and kept snipping locks of hair until the break of dawn.