“There was some kind of fight here, anyways. One of them took a nasty header into the wall by the looks of it,” said the older stallion as he pointed to a freshly-patched portion of the drywall that had yet to be painted over. He walked behind the receptionist’s desk and motioned for Sweetie Belle to follow, waiting until she came within view before he pointed at the tile floor. “And we found some blood here. There were a few drops out in front of the desk, too, going toward the door.”
“And the arrow?” asked Sweetie Belle, “Where did you find that?”
“Ah, right,” said the stallion as he clicked the tip of his hoof on the floor. He lifted a clipboard that had been strategically hung to conceal the damage to the rather expensive-looking desk, “Right there.”
Sweetie Belle studied the indent and turned to face the entrance. There was an open window high above the door, and the angle from the rooftop across the street down through the window and into the lobby was just right. “That was a heck of a shot,” she said softly, admitting to herself that Twist could have easily hit her mark from that distance.
“Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,” added the gray stallion, “one of those airpony psychopaths swiped the arrow for whatever reason; I’d’ve let you keep it otherwise.”
“No, you’ve been more than helpful, Mr. Shill,” said Sweetie Belle with a fake smile, “Thank you so much.”
“Anytime.”
Sweetie Belle bid farewell to him and left Silver Shill to his duties as she walked out into the streets of Broncton. The townsponies were very busy repairing the damage caused by the air force’s ‘heroics’, filling the air around her with chatter and the sound of construction. Had she not known beforehand that it was in fact an attack that was responsible for the damage to this small hamlet she would have never guessed the cause had been so dark. The mood of the ponies around her was eerily chipper, with townsfolk talking pleasantly and foals running about and playing while the damaged buildings and streets were mended. She had wandered this town all morning asking for information about her friend, but other than this Silver Shill who had cleaned up the aftermath of that fight, not a single pony had so much as caught a glimpse of Twist. “What did you get yourself involved in?” she said softly as she sat on a bench and stared upward as a pegasus soared overhead hauling a small load of sand in saddlebags. “You weren’t one for heroics, Twist…” she said watching another pegasus with another load of sand fly by, “You always avoided confrontations, Twist…” Another pegasus flew overhead, only briefly catching her attention, “You were always… always…” She cut herself off and leapt to her hooves; that last pegasus didn’t have a load of sand. She was a familiar raspberry-colored mare that wore a drab coat and had a very familiar bow slung over her shoulders.
You.
Sweetie Belle gave chase, making a point to stay behind and in the killer’s peripheral vision where she wouldn’t be noticed. Maybe she couldn’t get answers about her friend, but she could jam that bow down that murderer’s throat and that was almost as good. She pressed herself against the wall of a building and carefully peered around the corner to find the killer in front of a house, talking to a pair of guards.
“…wanted me to give the place another once-over,” said the killer.
“We’ve searched the place already,” said one of the guards with a note of scorn in her voice, “There’s nothing in there anymore.”
“I know,” said the killer, making an earnest but unsuccessful attempt to sound civil and friendly, “But orders are orders, right? Red tape’s a killer.”
“Right,” said the other guard, making an even less successful attempt at sounding friendly, “Got some paperwork, then? I’m going to need ID and written authorization from Inspector Seed.”
“You’re… kidding,” said the killer angrily.
“Orders are orders,” mimicked the female guard, “Nopony goes in without authorization. It’s still a crime scene.”
The killer reached into her drab coat and pulled out what looked like a lieutenant stripe to shove in their faces. “I couldn’t care less about your authorization. I’m going in there whether you two pongos like it or not!”
The male guard laughed. “Look, flygirl. We don’t give a flying feather about your rank. Our orders come from the inspector, who was given full authority over this investigation by Captain Rumble. Don’t like it? Take it up with him.”
“Tell us first though so we get to watch the beat-down,” added the female guard.
As the trio continued to bicker like schoolyard foals, Sweetie Belle slipped back and down the alleyway so she could cross the street out of sight. Whatever was in that house, if it concerned that murderous psychopath it was of interest to her as well. If she was especially lucky it might be something about Twist. She walked casually to avoid drawing attention while the trio’s argument escalated, effectively guaranteeing nopony would even look in her direction.
“Well that won’t stop us from beating your candy-colored flank if you try it, so back off!” snapped the female guard as Sweetie Belle tried the back door which was, to her surprise, unlocked.
Nice and secure crime scene. Fantastic work, you two. You’re a credit to the guard.
She cautiously stepped into the small bachelor suite, being careful not to make a sound; she could no longer hear the arguing outside and she had no way of knowing if the walls were absorbing the sound or if the fight had stopped. Whatever sparse furniture the building had once possessed had all been smashed and thrown about, and the floor was filthy with the distinct hoofprints left by the armor worn by the royal guards. No less than four of them, if she was correct. “Why were you so interested in this place?” she said quietly with a deep breath—
—and she froze and sniffed the air. Though it was very faint she knew that smell. A ghost of a stench of rotten eggs lingered in the air, one which she had caught a sniff of not long ago. It was similar to sulfur dioxide, which was a bad smell in a mine; years ago the diamond dogs had taught her various methods to test and monitor for toxic gasses and improper levels of oxygen, all of which could prove fatal in minutes if one was not ready. Sulfur dioxide was easily detectable by smell, and she had instantly noticed the faint and similar smell on Apple Bloom when they hugged during their reunion. She had surmised it came from the freshly-fired hoof gun worn carried by her former friend, and now she could smell the exact same scent in the air of this building.
Now it makes sense.
The murderer had mentioned something about going after Apple Bloom. If this was indeed her house, then no doubt the murderer had come here in an attempt to track her. Unfortunately there didn’t seem to be anything left behind. The guards had trashed the place and, from the looks of things, either swiped everything that wasn’t nailed down either for evidence or greed, and smashed the rest purely out of spite. All that was left intact was an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling.
Unless…
Sweetie Belle found herself thinking back to her days in Ponyville, when the trio would hang out in their old clubhouse. After they had been kicked out of their clubhouse by Babs Seed, Apple Bloom had the idea to remove the nails from a floorboard to create a hiding place to stash valuable possessions. It was a practice she learned from her brother, who allegedly kept a bottle of alcohol stashed beneath the barn in a similar manner. The clubhouses hiding spot was almost in the center of the room but nearest to the rear, right over the center of the tree that supported it to create a natural cubby hole, and so Sweetie Belle lined herself up and kneeled down. Sure enough, one particularly short floorboard near the front door was missing its nails. “You really haven’t changed,” she said with wistful nostalgia as she removed the board and found a box with a note tied to it:
Ms. Apple Bloom, my dearest ma’am:
It becomes my very painful & unwelcome task to inform you that your fiancé, Corporal Peppercorn, and his sister, Corporal Sunflower, were instantly killed in action by the enemy yesterday morning. The engine of their vehicle was struck by a burst from a unicorn dragoon, which detonated their fuel tank. This will be—
She wiped away a tear and folded the note shut, instead choosing to see what had been enclosed. Inside was a hoofgun, no doubt it had been one of the two soldier’s service weapons, as part of it appeared to have been damaged by fire. Sweetie Belle took a minute to study how in Equestria an earth pony could hold this monstrosity, concluding that the hoof must nestle between the wood grip and the smaller, curved piece of metal that together formed a u-shape. It had a small lever on the side, no doubt the trigger, which looked like it was meant to be pressed by rolling the pastern joint into it to make it fire. She had to admit she was impressed; even holding one of these things seemed like a chore, let alone aiming and firing in the heat of combat. “If anything,” she said softly as she stared down at the loose surplus of two kinds of ammunition for the weapon, “I think I have a newfound respect for ponies who manage to use these things.”
Suddenly a sound like a soft creak, one she knew all too well from watching Twist practice, made her freeze. “Turn around,” said a cold female voice, “nice and slow like a good little mare.”
Sweetie Belle knew she had an arrow aimed at her so she complied. As she moved, she carefully lifted the gun with her magic and kept it hidden in her vest and aimed in the direction of the voice she turned to face. Just as she looked the killer in the eyes, the same one who now had Twist’s bow aimed right at her, she let her vest go to make the weapon visible.
The killer grinned with intrigue. “Well, now…” she said calmly, “things just got interesting.”
Obviously Sweetie Belle had no clue how these weapons worked, but hopefully neither did the killer; with any luck she could bluff her way out of this. She glared into the face of Twist’s killer, which had a number of fresh and untreated cuts all over it and a nasty black eye, and gestured at the bow. “Drop it.”
“Or what?” laughed the killer.
“Take a wild guess.”
“Go right ahead,” said the killer, “even if you do hit first the arrow’ll still fly. And you’re not the first unicorn I’ve fought; don’t think you can do something cute like catch the arrow in midair with your magic. Believe you me, I’ve never seen a unicorn quick enough to block a bomb, let alone one of these puppies.”
“And you won’t stop me from hitting this trigger,” growled Sweetie Belle.
“Well this is what you call a dead heat, Giggles.”
“For now,” said Sweetie Belle, “But I wonder just how long you can keep that arrow nocked. This gun is a lot lighter.”
The killer chuckled softly, “I guess you got me there. Though nothing’s stopping me from calling to those two clowns outside for help, save for getting chewed out and my own sense of dignity. You know something, though? I really don’t want to give them the satisfaction. So let’s relax and get to know one another.”
“Start by telling me why you killed my friend.”
“Huh. So what’s-her-name it the green weenie, huh?” she said with a cackle, “Oops.”
“Wrong answer!!!”
“Easy there, Giggles. All I did was return the favor. You know, she wasn’t so very nice to that kid in our unit who she shot. That was a tricky shot, too… I wonder if she was trying to wound, or kill. Or if she would have even cared if she did. Actually… now that I think about it, it’s too bad I did kill what’s-her-name. Sounds like me and her could have been bros.”
“Twist was nothing like you!” growled Sweetie Belle through her clenched teeth.
“You’re right. She’s worse. I wouldn’t have shot the kid; I’d have aimed for the Captain. The threat, not the easy target. Poor little Pinstripe,” she said mockingly, “his mommy and daddy never loved him. Joined the forces to make a name for himself, only to get shot for the laughs by some lunatic with a bow. Me? I don’t do what I do because it’s fun.”
“You sure enjoyed stabbing my friend.”
“Just caught up in the moment I guess,” she said with a sigh, “If my life has taught me anything, it’s that you eat… or be eaten. You think things like love or hate, or friendship… destiny… special talents… you think any of that garbage matters? Lemme tell you all about ‘true love’. My parents? They ‘loved’ each other for all of two hours, thanks to a love potion. They hardly even knew each other until somepony thought it would be funny to slip them a mickey and make them crazy about each other for an afternoon.”
“So that’s it, huh?” snapped Sweetie Belle, “You expect me to believe you’re just a poor little filly crying because mommy and daddy didn’t love each other?”
“Believe whatever you want,” laughed the killer, “but at the end of the day, compared to ponies like you where everything is personal and everything is fueled by these artificial emotions, I’m actually a very good little pony. I could have shot you the second I snuck in. I could have dropped that bomb of mine though that skylight the other day purely on a whim after I left. You’re welcome, by the way, for sparing your pointless little existence twice only to get a gun shoved in my snout for it. No… at the end of the day I don’t do anything because it’s fun. I do what comes naturally because why not? How do we know what’s right or wrong when there’s no set standard? What do things like emotions or good and evil mean when they’re so easily manipulated? So easily created or destroyed? They… have no meaning.”
“Keep blabbering,” said Sweetie Belle angrily, “You’re starting to make shooting you sound worth getting hit by that arrow.”
“Do it. I don’t actually care,” said the killer once again in an aloof tone, “When you’re dead, you’re dead. That’s the end of it. No matter what big plans you had or whatever great potential, the world will never know, never care, and never change. I wouldn’t be around to regret the loss anyways and, trust me on this, nopony else cares. That’s just how pointless life is.”
“You do a lot of bragging for a pony who knows nothing of death,” said a male voice as the lantern on the ceiling wobbled and fell to the floor, shattering and soaking the boards beneath the killer’s hooves with lantern oil.
“Th’heck are you?!” snapped the killer as she almost took aim on impulse but stopped herself, realizing she’d be leaving herself wide open to gunfire.
A familiar yellow unicorn stepped slowly out of the bathroom, threateningly waggling a lit match over the spilled oil. “How about a little fire, Scarecrow?”
The killer looked back and forth at the match and the gun and slowly took a step back. “Well this sucks. Looks like I lose. Time to fold my cards I think.” The instant she finished she fired her arrow through the window and leaped through with a burst of speed. Sweetie Belle smacked the trigger over and over, but other than dull clicks the gun did nothing.
The sound of the two guards outside yelling to each other and fidgeting with the lock made both the unicorns flinch. “Time to go,” said the unlikely rescuer, “do hold your breath.”
With no time to argue or decide, she took a deep breath as his horn lit up and the two of them were wrapped in a crushing intense glow that blotted out every sensation except for the feeling of some unseen force in the light squeezing her body. In a minute it was over and she was left to drop to what felt like tarmac beneath her hooves, and she thrust a hoof over her mouth to keep from throwing up.
“It wasn’t loaded…” gasped the unicorn between heavy, almost painful breaths as he gestured at the hoofgun that now lay on the surface where they stood, “Too bad… rumor has it they’re… rigged somehow… won’t fire when held with… with magic…” He fell to his side, wheezing like he had run a marathon, “Wanted to see it… in action…”
“You okay?” said Sweetie Belle, looking back and forth at her nearly incapacitated savior and out over the edge of the roof they now stood on. She could see the house in the distance; the two guards had kicked the door open and vanished inside.
“That… took a lot out of me,” he said softly as he tucked the hoofgun and the note back into the box it had been found in and slid it to her. “Hang onto that. Word is there is a surplus of them overseas now that their war is over. Give it time and they’ll be flooding over here by the boatload.” He smirked and winked, “You had one before it was cool.”
“Yeah, right,” said Sweetie Belle as she stuffed the entire box into her side bag. She didn’t want it, but she wasn’t about to leave it behind for some foal or that killer to find. She looked the stallion up and down, “So, Mr. Friend of Twist’s. To what do I owe the pleasure of this rescue to?”
“You’re welcome,” said the stallion in a mix of sarcasm and amusement. “Would you believe I did it out of respect for our fallen mutual friend?”
“No,” said Sweetie Belle bluntly.
“Then I am correct in assuming you are not going to take my advice from earlier to just move on and not get involved?” he said with a growing smirk, “Good. I have a job for you.”
Sweetie Belle scoffed at the unicorn’s audacity. “I’m supposed to do this job for you because you saved me?”
“Of course not,” said the unicorn, “The rescue was a necessity of recruitment. As a rule, Sweetie Belle, I don’t do anything for anypony for free. However, I don’t expect anything for free either.”
“So what’s in it for me?” asked Sweetie Belle as she shifted the now-heavy side back she wore that was making her shoulder ache.
The stallion looked down over his glasses at her. “Closure,” he said softly, “About Twist. About your friends Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. And somepony else, but that’s a surprise; if I told you, odds are you wouldn’t want to do it. I won’t lie, not this time: I’m offering the truth, though not necessarily answers you want to receive. So… what do you say?”
“You’re not giving me much incentive to do it.”
“No, I suppose not, but if you’re curious…” he said as he pulled what looked like a crudely-drawn map out of his pocket and levitated it to her, “Here is the time and place. I… sincerely hope you’ll be there.” The stallion took a pocket watch out of his coat and checked it, looking quite worried for a moment as he studied the time, “This reminds me. Here.” He took a second, identical watch out and tossed it to her, “That was Twist’s. She’d want you to have it.” With a wink and a smile, his horn glowed and he vanished in a burst of colored smoke.
Sweetie Belle watched the smoke clear before picking up the watch. It had stopped ticking and didn’t seem to have any means of winding it or even setting the time. She couldn’t make any sense of it at all; it had no numbers and was marked with thirteen notches on the face. She squinted at the vague heart design that was engraved behind the hands; she knew she had seen it before but couldn’t remember exactly where. After staring at it for what felt like an hour and getting nowhere, she stuffed it and the map into her pocket and looked around the roof. “How in Equestria do I get down?”