//------------------------------// // XX: Raven Locked // Story: A Prose By Any Other Name // by Jarvy Jared //------------------------------// Fear. Fear and anger. Fear and anger and frustration and— Raven stopped that line of thought with a slam on the desk. He stared at the map once more, worried. The markers had suddenly changed course. Rather than centering and surrounding the entirety of Manehattan, his sources had noted that they were starting to specify which area they were going to invade. At first, he had assumed that the organization would go for someplace important—perhaps a hospital, even the local political offices. And, initially, such a thought seemed reasonable. The markers had amassed on the eastern side of Manehattan, where a majority of vital establishments could be found. If the reports on this organization were right, it was a smart institution that used intelligence as a means of attacking. A good general in this organization would have made plans to attack areas that would cripple Manehattan. Now, however, it was clear that the organization was more than intelligent; it was cunning, efficient, and thorough. It had all started when one of Raven’s contacts—thankfully not Dusk—suddenly went silent. He had tried sending out a few messages, but none appeared to have reached the contact. Raven was familiar with radio silence during his old occupation as a police detective for Canterlot, but he knew when something was wrong. Nopony ever went silent suddenly or without a clear reason, and his contact had no motive for suddenly quieting up. It was as if he had been swallowed, suddenly and stealthily. A quick call to two other contacts seemed to confirm this. They, too, had been monitoring what was going on, and had taken note of the old contact’s silence a few days prior. They had all initially said it was a simple precaution. But when the days turned to weeks, with none of the other contacts going silent, it became clear that something was amiss. A few more messages were exchanged, and soon Raven could make an educated guess about what happened. The mysterious organization had gotten to one of them. Raven had wasted no time in ordering his remaining contacts to be extra careful, going so far as to relocate several to be miles away from their original position. While these ponies were in the process of moving, he became extra vigilant, watching for any changes in the organization’s behavior. For the first few days following the silence, no changes were perceptible. But recently, something had occurred that made his blood run cold. As he stared at the map, the same thought kept running through his mind at breakneck speed. He didn’t want to believe it. He had been careful, so careful; and yet, it seemed he had underestimated the tenacity of this unknown opponent. I’m next. A chilling thought, to be sure. But even more so when he considered the implications it brought. The fact that the organization had so quickly picked up on him confirmed that it was a force to be reckoned with. It wasn’t the common crook or thief that Raven was used to back in his Canterlot detective days. It was vicious when it needed to be, and was also methodical in its approach. As it was quick, it made sense that after Raven, it might end up finding the other contacts. If that happened, everything would fall apart. It wouldn’t just be individual ponies in danger; it would be entire branches of families that would be threatened. Raven at first tried to reassure himself that it did not threaten the entirety of Equestria—but despite this being true, he knew it was still a huge danger. Once the organization got Raven and the other contacts, there was no telling how much damage it would do. There was a huge likelihood that it might even go after Dusk Prosa if he were to learn about this threat. Which made secluding him from the truth even more vital. But Raven couldn’t help but feel somehow wrong in doing so. Based on his calculations, as well as the rate at which the organization was moving, he could guess that they would arrive on his doorstep—literally—in only a day. It was a short timeframe; it was unexpected, and he had hoped that it would never come down to this. His only condolence was that he would see Jade Sonnet again. There was a light tapping at his window. He turned, and walked up to it, sliding it up. His pet raven stood there, a small envelope in its beak. He frowned; he wasn’t scheduled to receive anything for Dusk yet. Taking the letter in his dark-purple hoof, he walked back over to the desk and pulled out a letter opener. He dragged the edge against the seal smoothly, and procured a folded piece of paper. Unraveling it, he found it had only one word. Run. He frowned, looking closely at the writing. Based on the lettering, he knew it couldn’t be Dusk’s work. The pewter stallion wrote only with quills; this one was made with a typewriter, based on the perfect lettering and Courier font. A quick run-down on his list of contacts revealed that the true writer was— Crunch. He paused, thinking he had heard something. Carefully, he placed the letter down, not daring to make a move. Crunch. That wasn’t the Raven. His apartment was a six storey building, meaning that no large animal could possibly be directly outside. He closed his eyes, thinking back. The crunch originated somewhere behind him. He turned to orient himself. “… damn it!” It was a faint whisper; but it definitely came from somewhere up front. He opened his eyes. Before him was the door to his apartment, locked and sealed. Somepony’s out there. He took a tentative step forward, careful not to make a sound, barely breathing. There appeared to be some shuffling outside, as if somepony was moving something large. A cannon? A battering ram? Old police instinct took over. He crouched low, stepping up to a smaller desk near the front. He opened the drawer, retrieving his old Spell Gun, a model 11 Fire Gauge revolver. Feeling the cool metal cross his hoof made him feel somewhat nostalgic. The Gun was something that Canterlot had issued to its Earth pony policestallions who had no magic, and Raven had been smart enough to keep his after retirement. Most Earth ponies preferred not to deal with the gun ever again, but Raven felt that having one meant that you had to keep it. He checked the dial. It was full, having six shots before it needed to reload. His was specially modified to give a slight magical boost on the last shot with the flick of a switch, to help apprehend tougher crooks. He checked the trigger; it was cleared of any grime, so it wouldn’t jam. He nodded to himself, before glancing back up at the door. The shuffling grew closer, and he heard something bump against the frame. Low whispers escaped the lips of whoever was outside. Raven walked up, clutching his Gun tightly, placing wrapping his hoof around the trigger carefully. He pushed back the locks, careful not to make them rattle. Once they were off, he grabbed the doorknob, taking in a slow breath. I’m not going down without a fight. He swung the door open and yelled, “Hooves up, jerkwad!” He was met with the startled cry of a young, tan-yellow Earth mare. “Aaah!” she exclaimed, jumping back and hitting the wall. His eyes widened. “Haybale?” Haybale looked at him. “Mr. Raven! Jeez, you scared the living daylights out of me!” She frowned, seeing the gun. “What are ya going around waving that thing for?” “I… heard a noise. Crunching. Then shuffling, like somepony was moving something relatively big.” “Oh…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “That was me.” She pointed to the side of his door, where a cart with a large vase was placed. “I was moving that down the hall,” she explained, “when it suddenly toppled over. Luckily, I caught the darn thing before it shattered, but some glass fell out.” “Glass?” He looked down, confused, as he saw several shards of the material on his doormat. She nodded. “Yeah. When I dove for the vase, I bumped up against your door slightly. Sorry about that.” Raven sighed, placing his gun inside his vest, safety on. “It’s alright, Haybale.” “Why so gun-wavy, though?” He glanced away. “Just… a little nervous, that’s all.” “Really?” She frowned. “You know, your wife did say that you liked that gun too much. Maybe you need a break. Lock it away somewhere, where you won’t be tempted to wave it in my face.” He let out a low chuckle. “You think so?” He helped her to her hooves, before he grabbed a dust pan that was in his kitchen. Returning, he and Haybale began placing the glass shards onto the pan, placing them back into the vase. “Who stores glass in a vase, though?” he asked aloud. Haybale shrugged. “I dunno. Some looney, probably. I think the landlord downstairs said that it’s for brewing?” Raven didn’t know if broken glass could be used to brew, but as he wasn’t a shaman, he couldn’t really question it. Several minutes later, Raven bid Haybale goodbye, returning back inside his apartment. He let out a tired breath. I have been stressing out lately. Nearly shot Haybale, thinking she was a threat. He shook his head, resolving not to lose his cool. He walked back up to his desk, the raven still standing by his window, staring at him curiously. He glanced back at the small note. It surprised him that somepony had gone so far as to deliver it by raven mail; usually that was reserved for private messages and urgent talk. It had to be a warning from one of his contacts. But a warning of what? Surely it could not have been Haybale. Perhaps it was a mistake on a contact’s part. Or maybe it was a prank—though that idea was easily scrapped. It could even have been a message of preparation, telling Raven to be ready to move if the time arose. Looking back at the map, though, Raven realized that there was no time to run. Whether he liked it or not, the organization was catching on; but he was determined to stay until the end, gathering and storing as much information as possible. There is a high likelihood I won’t make it out of this war. Someone has to carry on this fight. He gave the raven a few cracker bits, before shooing it off. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the map, unblinking, unhappy. Scared. Angered. Frustrated. Determined. A day passed. Raven had done little but sit inside of his apartment. He had had a light breakfast, and now a warm cup of coffee sat next to him as he went over the files again. They were his old reports on the organization, beginning with when he had first noticed its presence to a few days ago, when his contact went silent. The manilla folders were filled with notes, papers, and images, all relating to this mysterious organization. He took a sip of his drink, the caffeine quickly waking him up. He had barely gotten any sleep last night, spending most of the time tossing and turning, thinking to what the future held. The caffeine was a welcome treat, helping him stay relatively focused. A few crumbs of a croissant gathered at the edge of the cup, vanishing as he took another sip. He wrote down a number, then a letter, on a separate piece of paper. He repeated the action several times, until the paper was mostly filled. He then crumpled up the paper, ripping it apart. He adjusted himself on his seat. A small compartment could be seen at the side. He opened it, placing the pieces into the area, before snapping it shut and covering it with the seat cushion. He nodded to himself, still feeling slightly uneasy. Step one is done. He glanced at the clock. It read 10:30. Any second now… Just as expected, there came a light tapping at his window. He grabbed a small note, and opened the window, letting the bird inside. This time, he handed it several seeds—sunflower and pumpkin—letting it chow down as he prepared the note. “Eat well, my friend,” he softly said, “for this may be the last time you ever see my food.” The raven looked at him sadly. Though no tears were shed, he could see the pain that the avion felt in its eyes. He gave a heartfelt, strained smile, reaching out and lightly petting the animal. It brushed against him, the feathers soft, its body warm and comforting. He brought it closer, pressing it against his chest. The raven chirped something friendly, snuggling against his vest. For several minutes, nothing was done. He stood there, petting and cooing the pet softly, trying to fight the growing unease in his stomach. “You’ve served me well, old friend,” he whispered. “Now, I ask you to serve me one last time.” He pushed the note at the bird. It took it in its beak, and Raven saw determination flash through its eyes. He knew that his pet would not let him down. That bird had been his wife’s last gift to him. Now, it would be his last gift to Dusk. “You know what to do.” The bird nodded, turning. It spread its wings, and took off out the window silently. Raven knew it would take a few days for it to reach Ponyville; and he did not have the fortune of having the same time left. He glanced at the clock. 10:40, it read. He remembered what the reports had been saying; that the organization would stop him by today. He wasn’t sure when, nor by what, but he was certain that the warning was true. He covered the map up with his certificate of retirement. He would not need that chart anymore. He covered up all the names, all the information, that he had, placing the papers inside the desk. He would not need them anymore. He put the folders back in the filing cabinet neatly, gently pushing the metal storage shut. They would not need him anymore. This was his end. He could not stop it. He would not stop it. So, as with most days, he sat back in his chair, drank his coffee—and waited. Twenty minutes flew by, and his coffee dwindled. He got up to place it in the sink. There was a knock on his door. He glanced at it in mild surprise, though he could not say it was completely unexpected. After placing his cup, he walked over to the door. He pulled back the locks and twisted the knob, pulling the door opened. “May I help you?” he asked. Behind the door was a zebra mare, with a slightly-grey coat and black-and-white mane. Her eyes were a fuschia purple, glittering mischievously. She appeared to be quite young. She wore a cobalt robe with bronze-yellow highlights. A pair of gold ankhs hung off her ears. Behind her was a small cart, carrying some sort of treasure box. “Hello,” she greeted, her accent distinctly Zebrikan, but with a hint of Manehattan lying beneath. “Are you Mr. Raven Lock?” “I am,” he answered with a nod. “Who might you be?” She smiled. “In my homeland, I am called something akin to ‘shaman,’ or ‘witch-doctor.’ Here, I am called Aryna.” She made a little bow. “Pleased to meet you, Aryna,” he said with a smile. “May I ask why you are at my door?” “Back in my homeland, it was customary that when a new neighbor moved in, she would bring a gift to the original neighbors to say she was friendly,” she explained. “New neighbor?” He looked at her in surprise. “So you’re the pony who moved in just a day ago.” She laughed, the sound smooth and silky. “Indeed. Though, I do believe that the landlord called me a ‘looney.’” “I apologize for that.” “There is no need. I have been called much worse.” He nodded. “Well, since you’re here, why don’t you come in?” He stepped to the side. She nodded her thanks, walking inside while pulling her cart. He did his best not to shiver in apprehension. “You are a policestallion?” she asked, drawing him out of his thoughts. She was looking at his certificate on the wall. “Detective,” he clarified. “Former detective. 25th Precinct, Canterlot,” he added, somewhat proudly. She smiled. “Ah, that must mean you are quite smart, yes?” “I like to think so.” He chuckled. “My wife, Jade Sonnet, certainly said that about me.” She caught on almost immediately. “Ah. I am sorry.” “It’s alright. No harm done.” A small silence fell between them. Aryna walked over to where a picture of Jade was hung. “She is very pretty. Lovely eyes.” “Yes.” “She was a singer?” “In the Canterlot Orchestra Suite. Sung for the Princesses, a few times.” “You loved her very much?” she asked. “There has been no other mare in my life that lit up my world like she did.” “Do you still love her?” “Of course.” She smiled at him. “Good. You are a very noble stallion, Mr. Raven Lock. Your love for your wife is truly impressive.” She walked up to him. “But, you do not seem to be in pain. Would not her absence make your heart yearn for her company?” “It did in the past. But now, I accept that she is gone.” He smiled wryly. “Besides, she’d prefer that I don’t dwindle on the past.” She nodded. “She sounds like a very smart mare. You were quite blessed to meet her.” He nodded silently. She walked away, moving back to her cart. “Have you ever considered settling down with another mare?” she asked. “Maybe once. But I doubt that just about anypony would be just as magnificent as my Jade.” “Mm. Loyalty to your lover.” She glanced over her shoulder. “But you’ve never considered another lady? Like, that tan mare outside a day ago?” He shook his head. “No. Haybale is just a friend, nothing more.” He couldn’t help but smile. “Though, Jade really liked her.” Aryna said nothing. She began fiddling with her treasure box, opening the locks. A moment later, she brought the box over. “For you.” Though initially hesitant, he nodded. He pulled open the lid, gazing at the contents. Inside were a large, sapphire necklace, as well as two cups and what seemed to be an alcoholic beverage. It was unlabeled, and the liquid was a slight sun-orange. Noting his confused expression, Aryna smiled. “Traditionally, the new neighbor would come bearing gifts of jewelry.” “I see. And the drink.” “My own creation. A special drink was usually prepared as a toast to new friends.” He raised an eyebrow. “Does this mean you’re a moonshiner?” She giggled. “I suppose so. I prefer the term brewer. But, Detective, would you really want to arrest me?” He didn’t say anything for a moment, staring at her. He then let out a soft sigh. “I suppose not.” He gave her a stern look, but a playful smile crossed his lips. “None of this escapes this room, understand?” She giggled, grinning devilishly. “My lips are sealed, as are yours.” A strange way of saying that she won’t tell anypony, but oh well. He pulled out the necklace, fiddling with it before snapping it around his neck. It was somewhat heavy, the chain cool against his coat. He was not exactly a stallion of jewelry, but he could definitely say that the necklace seemed to fit him perfectly. A calm, bright exterior did not hinder his emotional, caring interior. It reminded him of the jewelry that some ponies wore on their funeral. The thought sent a shiver racing down his body; he masked it by looking up. “I suppose it would be wasteful not to drink this beverage, huh?” Aryna pulled out the cups, placing them on the nearby table. She uncapped the lid of the beverage, pouring the liquid gently into each cup. The orange substance was unlike any wine he had ever seen; it moved slowly, like syrup, but did not appear to be as sticky. It did not splash, nor did it gather at the sides. He remembered that she was a brewer. It was likely that this drink had its own unique properties. Unnerving. But he did not show it. She handed him his cup, which he took in silence. She held hers up in a toast. “To new friends,” she said. “To new friends,” he echoed. “To a better future.” “To a better future.” “To no future problems.” “To no future problems.” They drank. Raven tasted the liquid, noting how bitter it tasted. He felt his neck stiffen, his joints lock up. He lowered his head to stare at Aryna. He already knew what was happening; but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing him scared. She nodded. “You have caught on. It is true what my superiors were saying: you are quite intelligent.” She sighed. “It is a shame we had to meet like this, Mr. Raven Lock. We could have used somepony as smart as you.” He didn’t say anything (in fact, he couldn’t), staring straight ahead, unblinking. His eyes began to burn, but it was a dull pain, like his nerves were falling asleep. “Gaethipa,” she explained. “A plant herb. Bitter tasting. Easy to slip into a drink.” She understood the silent question in his eyes. “I am immune to it.” The explanation seemed to satisfy him, though he couldn’t exactly express it. She stepped away, looking over his desk. She pulled open the drawers, seeing the numerous papers. She opened the filing cabinet, retrieving the folders. “You have an impressive arsenal of knowledge about us here, Mr. Raven Lock.” She frowned. “Though, how you managed to track our movements is still a mystery.” She looked back up at the poster with his certificates. After a moment, she reached up, and pulled it down, revealing the map with the markers. She let out a gasp. “You continue to impress me. No foe has ever tracked us so accurately.” She turned back, smiling at him. “It is fortunate we caught on when we did. It would be highly detrimental if you were to continue your little crusade.” She stepped closer. “But why? Why were you acting against us? You could have stayed back; let us do what was necessary.” He stared at her. “I suppose your motives are of no concern any longer.” She turned away, walking back to the desk. She shuffled through the papers. “Interesting… interesting.” She glanced back at him. “I’ll have to borrow these papers for a little while. No doubt my superiors will be intrigued by them. Hope you don’t mind.” They’re yours, he thought. For now. “Oh, and do not worry about your friend, Miss Haybale,” Aryna said. “She and I had a little drink together not to long ago. She’ll be out for a few hours.” His eyes grew troubled. Oh, Haybale… I’m sorry… “She spoke highly of you, Mr. Raven Lock. And she put up quite the fight. Her stubbornness apparently enough to deter the effects for a little longer.” She placed a hoof on her chin. “She told me you’d kick my sorry flank to the curb. I would have retorted, but then she stopped talking.” She peered around, before walking up the the desk that was near the door. She opened the drawer, pulling out Raven’s Spell Gun. “I haven’t seen these in a while,” she commented. “And, in perfect condition, too. You certainly know your away with your weapons.” She pointed at him. “I wonder… what would happen if I overcharged this, and shot you with it? How much pain would you feel?” His face did not betray his emotions. She lowered the gun. “Not that it matters. You will be dead in a couple of hours. The poison will eventually cause asphyxiation. Slow, of course. I would not want to give you a fast demise. Too messy.” She looked at the gun, before pulling out a small, circular device. “This will supercharge your gun’s magic, making it erupt in a volcanic flame. It will look like a gas main eruption.” She placed it to the side, and pressed a small button. The circle began to glow, magic lighting up the rest of the gun. “The process will be slow, but when it explodes, it will be sudden, and it will be enormous. You will not be able to stop it.” Still he remained outwardly calm. “I see… even in the face of certain demise, you refuse to be scared?” She smiled. “No wonder Jade loved you.” She placed the gun back in the drawer, walking back over to Raven. “Here. Let me give you one last gift.” She shifted his body so that he faced the picture of his wife. “Poetic, is it not. The face of  your loved one being the last thing you see before you die. You can thank me later.” She leaned up, giving him a small peck on the cheek. “Goodbye, Mr. Raven Lock,” she said breathlessly. “It was a pleasure.” She left him, and he heard her leave by the door. The frame closed. He felt a surge of temporary relief wash over him. Aryna had not seen the hidden compartment in his chair. And, as it was protected with a special magic, he knew that the papers inside would survive. That meant his crusade wasn’t finished just yet. His throat began to constrict, though he could still breathe just about fine. The picture of his wife looked at him, her smile still warm and comforting. Though his muscles were frozen, his tear ducts were still free. He still had one action that he could do. He made no sound as the tears fell. He prayed to whatever god would listen, asking them to forgive him, to tell Haybale he was sorry, to say that he didn’t want this to happen. He prayed that this would be the only casualty in his war. He didn’t fear for his end. He only worried for what his friend would do next without him. The tears blurred his vision. He wanted to smile, but couldn’t. But he felt that Jade already knew what he meant in his heart. So he smiled with his soul. And Jade Sonnet smiled back at him.