"We go now to a live report from the scene of a heated firefight between police forces and a currently unnamed opponent. Miss Daisychain you have our attention." There was a flashy transition with the stations logo and a second later the news mare had taken the place. She was standing beside that obese detective who had the opportunity to shoot Bruce and they were discussing a fabricated version of the night's events. How the swat team planted charges on the exterior wall and blew their way inside, taking down all those inside with no mention of a four foot tall bat pony lurking in the rafters.
At least that's what Bruce gleaned from the television set with the sound down low. Most of his attention was on the tender little hooves practicing home medicine on his face. "Ow! That stings Silver."
"Well it can't have hurt more than the bullet that caused the cut in the first place, can it?" She was diligently applying a peroxide doused cotton pad to the dried bloody cut on his face. "You really should have cleaned this up sooner you know? It could have gotten infected."
"Really love? I think an infected cut was the least of my worries tonight." Bruce motioned to the discarded body armor on the floor, and the several bullet impacts across it.
Silver didn't let him dodge the subject, "Yes I know, but you can take care of yourself in that respect. I can't do anything for you out in the field. But little stuff like this I can handle, and don't go thinking that it doesn't matter. Just imagine you being bed ridden because you failed to disinfect a cut and got a blood infection, for shame." Silver was tut tutting him with her hoof. "You know... I'm almost tempted to believe you let yourself get cut just so you could get a visit from 'Doctor Spoon.' That wouldn't be the case would it?"
Bruce raised his hooves in surrender, "Heh, you got me Silver. Nothing gets past you." His false honesty was rewarded with a punch to the gut.
"Liar. You were cocky and you almost got shot in the head for it." Her words were true and they stung worse than the peroxide. "You can’t go in all willy nilly like that and expect not to get injured. You did a lot of good tonight honey, but it almost was your last. Just promise me you'll be more careful the next time you go out in the mask, if not for yourself then for the mare whose been by your side since the beginning."
"I will love, it's a promise." And Bruce meant to keep it.
"Good. Do you have a story planned to explain away the cut?" asked Silver.
He did have one, and he felt it would be a believable one, "If anypony asks, I cut myself shaving."
"Bruce?" He gave her his full attention, "I know you’re not from Equestria originally but I would think after fifteen years you would understand some things."
"I'm all ears Silver, pray tell what am I missing?" He felt justified in his patronizing tone, Silver was a wonderful mare and the best part of his life. But sometimes she could be just as bad as the little filly she was before-
Silver grasped his hooves and ran them across his face, rubbing his soft pony fur. "Unless you were going for the 'Flim Flam brothers tonic' poster child look, I don't think anypony in their right mind would be shaving their face."
"Ah, good point." And that was one of the many reasons why Bruce loved his mare as much as he did, she was around from his start in Equestria. She, his sister and Randolph to a lesser extent were some of the only ponies he trusted enough to open up completely. Silver Spoon understood him more than anypony else and she could help him see when he was getting confused with his 'past life.'
"How about this one, if anypony asks I'll say I tripped on a pebble." He looked to her for her seal of approval.
"It's plausible, but you'll end up making ponies think you’re clumsy." She was looking him over, "And you're anything but clumsy dearest."
"Maybe clumsy is a good thing, it'll throw ponies off the scent, at least for a while." Bruce brushed his hoof through her mane gently, sharing a warm smile and pulling her in for a kiss. After a few moments of sweet embrace he pulled away, "Um before we start. Is there anything to eat?"
Silver could hardly believe her ears, "You want to eat? Right before sex, you want to eat?"
"Well... yeah, I mean can you blame me? I didn't eat dinner, I'm starving. You know I get queasy if I eat a big meal before fighting crime." Bruce was fighting hard to defend his habits.
"Y-Y-You, GAH! You know what whatever, I wasn't in the mood anyway." Silver Spoon grumpily turned her back to the scorned lover.
Bruce bit his lip, but he had to say something, "Silver I, I need to know. Did Randolph put any left overs away?" He was repaid with another punch to the gut, this time it landed on a particularly sore bruise. "I deserved that." Bruce whimpered before collapsing onto the couch.
The door to the modest apartment opened and closed, the tired hinges screeching the entire time. Oats kept telling himself he should replace them at some point, money wasn't the issue. His salary was noting to turn your nose at, no it was time that he didn't have. When he wasn't busy organizing the police force of the largest metropolitan city in Equestria or having to deal with the press, on the rarest of occasions when he could take time off, it would not be to fix the squeaky hinges that was for sure.
Nopony came to the door to greet him, not that he expected them to. His wife Barley was likely asleep already, being a police wife she had come to know the feeling of going to sleep alone. She was resourceful, intelligent, and rather plain looking for a unicorn but overall a pony with a good head on her shoulders.
Chaff on the other hoof, Oats could tell she was wide awake. Light was pouring out from under her door and muffled 'music' was blaring out of her stereo. Oats refused to acknowledge the incoherent jumble of electric beeps and boops she called dubstep music. Music was what the residents of the old Ponyville made during the Winter Wrap-up, it was cheerful and had melody. Opposing views on music was not the only thing putting a strain on the relationship between father and daughter.
Oats had been seeing colt after colt, filly after filly being hauled into the station on drug charges, vandalism and other things indicative to youth. He felt as the head of his household it was his duty to protect his adolescent from those dangers, the way he did so wasn't the best. Without speaking to her beforehoof he pulled Chaff from public school altogether, needless to say it was and still is a sore point.
So rather than spark another confrontation Oats decided to leave her be, she usually went to sleep sometime around three in the morning. He was starving, there hadn't been anything to eat at the precinct except for some very stale crackers somepony had abandoned in one of the cupboards. Before heading upstairs he rummaged about in the fridge looking for a slice of last night's hay loaf, a delectable poor pony’s food that only seemed to get better upon reheating.
After consuming the reformed grain product he went upstairs to the bathroom and cleaned up before heading into the bedroom. Nimbly he tip hoofed around the discarded pairs of heels and laundry hamper full of linens, he was looking for his flannel nighties. Where he found them was right on the end of the bed folded neatly along with his pair of earplugs. Barley was such a thoughtful pony and Oats appreciated it every day.
Carefully he slipped on the pajamas and stuffed the foam plugs in, dousing the raging inferno that was Chaff's dubstep. Oats let his dirty clothes fall to the floor, 'I'll clean it up in the morning.' he told himself.
"You'll clean it up now." said the groggy voice beside him.
"Sorry dear, I thought you were still asleep, didn't want to bother you." He hurriedly picked his laundry up and something heavy fell out of his coat.
"I saw you on the news tonight, is it true what Bulrush was saying to that reporter?" Barley looked genuinely concerned.
"Well that depends, what was he saying?" asked Oats.
She bit her lip, "Well.. he said you nearly got shot down by a dozen armed ponies."
Oats couldn't help but chuckle, Bulrush was such a fib. "That couldn't be farther from the truth my dear, by the time we entered the warehouse Swat had already taken care of most of them."
"Most of?" she asked.
"There was one mafia member, hopped up on Joke probably. He had a knife, Bulrush had a gun, I'll let you figure out how it ended." Oats pressed a hoof against hers, "It was all pretty cut and dry tonight. Well, except..."
"What's wrong Oatmeal?" Barley asked, using his pet name.
That heavy thing in his coat, it must have been it. "There was somepony else at the warehouse before we got there. I don't think he's working for the other families because he didn't kill anypony, but he's clearly an enemy of the Melodies." After fishing around on the floor he found it. "And whoever it is they must be very skilled, they threw this thing at me from fifty feet up in the rafters of the warehouse."
"They were trying to kill you?!"
"No, I don't think so. See for yourself and let me know what you think." He gave over the weighted throwing object he had picked up at the scene of the crime.
Using a bit of magic Barley lit up the room to get a better look, "It's dull, and very heavy. The shape looks very impractical to me, what is it a bat?"
"I forgot to mention, he was dressed up like a bat as well."
"Maybe this is his logo merchandise, he must have been trying to pitch his line of novelty throwing knives to you." Barley and Oats shared a laugh.
"Yeah it does sound pretty odd, what could motivate a pony to dress up in a nightmare nights costume and beat up heavily armed mafia members is beyond me. But he is good at it that much I know, the lab techs said he took down five on the roof and at least three inside before we arrived on the scene."
"It sounds like he'd be the perfect candidate for that idea you've been toying with for so long. Why don't you see if he's interested?"
"I would but I have no way of knowing where to find him. I could put out a hunt for him but I think that would more likely scare him off than attract him."
Barley turned the bat shape over in her hooves and an idea struck her, "Think for a bit Oatmeal, what if I wasn't wrong about the bat being this fella's logo? You could make some kind of signal to call him using the bat shape."
The idea had some merit to it, he could draw his bat like a moth to the flame and Oats knew just how he would do it. "Thank you dear, you gave me just what I needed. And if this works then by tomorrow I'll have a new specialist working for the police." He lent in and kissed her then slipped under the covers himself, getting snug with the warm body beside him. As Oats drifted off to sleep he couldn't help but feel optimist, something he hadn't felt in some time.
Tomorrow would be the start of a change in the tide of this endless war, he could feel it.