A Dream

by totallynotabrony

Not Asking For Trouble

Sunset quit her job as Princess Celestia and came back with me to Ponyville after Twilight had become a miniature ballerina and spoken to us from a music box.

Some sentences make more sense than others.

At any rate, Twilight had been right to call me. The serial killer had struck again. The victim was just some rando, though, and I didn’t bother visiting the morgue this time. The morgue pony might miss me, however, so in my effort to be a nice guy, I would have to send him a gift basket or something. What did you put in a gift basket for a morgue pony? I couldn’t even ask around about what he liked because I didn’t know his name.

I probably should have just gone to the morgue. But there were bigger things at work.

Namely, Journey was coming to Equestria for a concert.

Twilight noticed my good mood. “Are you actually a fan of this band?”

“Nope. I hate Journey.”

She frowned. “Then why are you so happy?”

Because the serial killer angle had opened up interesting new possibilities. Could we make it three out of three for dead musical acts? However, I said, “Statistical modeling and extrapolation.”

Being Twilight, however, she understood science doublespeak perfectly. “You can’t just have the killer kill everypony you don’t like!”

“Not everyone. You’re still alive.” I said it jokingly, but with enough feeling to emphasize that I could also not say it jokingly if I wanted to. But I was being a nice guy.

Twilight stared at me for a moment, shook her head, and changed the subject. “Well, we’ll add them to the entertainment for the Yikslurbertfest celebration.”

“The what?”

“Yikslurbertfest. It’s a traditional yak holiday.”

“There aren’t any yaks around here,” I pointed out. “They’re all dead, buried in an avalanche.”

“Well, there are still two,” said Twilight. “They were with Prince Rutherford when he was killed, so they were the only yaks outside of Yakyakistan when the avalanche happened.”

“But they’re both dudes, so yeah, the yaks as a species are all dead.”

“Well, we could-”

I cut her off, and spoke slowly. “Twilight. I know what you’re thinking. I know you’re just itching to use some freaky unethical magic to produce a species out of the last two remaining males. Don’t. Don’t do it. Just let them die out with dignity.”

“Well, dignity is what I was trying to do,” she huffed. “As governor of Silent HIll, I felt that we should maintain the old traditions of Yakyakistan, so we’re holding Yikslurbertfest.”

“This isn’t Silent Hill.”

“That’s because nopony lives there. It’s a snowy wasteland.”

I nodded. Fair enough. “So what do you do for Yikslurbertfest?”

“We’ve decorated the town in traditional yak Yikslurbertfest decor. We’re also going to be using traditional yakspeak for the day.”

“What’s that?”

“Let me demonstrate.” Twilight cleared her throat. “Name Twilight Sparkle. Me governor of Silent Hill and big time Yakyakistan historian.”

“This is stupid.”

“No it isn’t, it’s historical. Also, to us the correct yak dialect, you would say ‘this stupid.’”

I stared at her. “Nerd pony better check self before wreck self.”

“That’s, er, the spirit, if not exactly the message,” said Twilight.

“Thank.” I turned away.

“Wait,” said Twilight. “There’s, uh, something else. One key aspect of Yikslurbertfest is the traditional stomping.”

I turned around. I’m no Applejack, but she knew what my raised eyebrow meant.

“We have designated logs for smashing,” Twilight quickly said. “Only the provided logs. No smashing other things.”

I sighed, but smashing was smashing. “Lemme smash.”

As we broke stuff around town, I had to rescue my snow globes. Apparently a few ponies - cough the CMC - didn’t get the message about only logs.

“But this is boring!” Sweetie protested when I caught them.

“Smashing things is boring?” I asked, incredulous.

“We could at least go to the real yak place,” said Apple Bloom. “There’s got to be something interesting there.”

“It’s just an avalanche covering a mass grave.”

“That’s what she said,” said Scootaloo.

I sighed. “If you phrase that differently, maybe Twilight will take you.”

So they went to Twilight and begged for a field trip. By pretending to be actually interested in yak culture and appealing to Twilight's status as Governor of Silent Hill, they convinced her to lead a group.

“They tried the old, ‘you’re the governor of the place, make it happen’ angle on me,” she said resignedly.

“What do you mean ‘the old,’” I said. “How many times have people actually wanted to go to Silent Hill?”

“Not necessarily related to Silent Hill, but other things that ponies want me to do for them just because I’m a librarian, or smart, or the Element of Magic. I’m looking at you, Valiant.”

“When was the last time I wanted you to do something because of your position?” I said. “If we’re being completely honest here, I usually wanted you to do something because it annoyed you.”

I was maybe trying honesty as part of being a nice guy. Based on the look Twilight gave me, maybe I should be less honest.

“How are we going to get there, though?” said Apple Bloom

“Lots of options,” I said. “That weird farmer’s market train with all the grapes probably goes that way.”

“But what about the snow?” said Sweetie.

“I think it would be a lot easier if you flew us,” said Twilight, turning to me.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” I said. “You only keep me around because you like having your own private helicopter?”

Twilight fumbled. “Well, it’s not like I could send you away if I tried.”

I nodded. “Fair enough.” I tapped my earpiece. “Tin Mare, load up the SNUT.”

In just a few minutes, Tin Mare arrived with a machine slung underneath. It was painted orange, had a nice enclosed cabin and large tracks. It was for tracking across snow. I called it a Snow Utility Track. It’s what it did.

It was a relatively basic vehicle. I’d built it quite a while ago, but had rarely ever needed it. Snow just wasn’t that common or long-lasting in Equestria.

The group of us loaded up and headed for Silent Hill. I was only there because Tin Mare was, and didn’t really care about whatever the CMC wanted.

Once we arrived, I figured the CMC wouldn’t have any problems driving the SNUT, so I grabbed a bottle of tequila and meandered away while Twilight gave the fillies a guided tour of the snow. Well, I’m sure she had quite a bit more to say about it than that, but snow was all that was visible from the former yak civilization.

I’d walked for maybe half a mile, sipping tequila and just kind of thinking to myself. It was kind of nice. Just being in the middle of nowhere with the peace and quiet and hundreds of bodies buried below.

I saw a shadow and looked up. A griffon was circling me. I shook the tequila bottle to show I wasn’t dead. Wait, maybe wrong bird of prey.

The griffon came in for a landing. She was a couple shades of grey and had the feathers on her head slicked back.

“Gabby, it’s been awhile, I said.

She nodded. “It really has. I’ve just been so busy since I left Ponyville.”

I remembered how when Gabby first showed up and tried to get a cutie mark from the CMC, they’d had a hard time figuring out what she was good at because she was hyper-competent at everything. Ultimately, she hadn’t gotten a cutie mark because she was a griffon and that was impossible. She’d subsequently disappeared for weird reasons.

“What brings you to this frozen nowhere?” I asked.

“I just saw you were here and stopped by to say hello.”

I was drunk, and didn’t immediately catch what was strange about that statement. How had she seen me here?

I nodded. “Yeah, we’ve been busy in Ponyville too. In fact, we could use your help. I remember you’re really good at everything, I bet you’d be good at solving criminal cases. We’ve been trying to figure out this serial killer that’s been leaving bodies all over.”

“Oh, I think I can clear that up for you,” she said. “It’s me.”

Well shit. I’m rarely speechless, but...well shit.

I guess Gabby really was good at everything.

I tapped my earpiece, but hid it as a stretch and scratch of my ear. As softly as I was able, I whispered, “Tin Mare, initiate Rods from God on my position. Enact armored cocoon protocol.”

“Hella,” she whispered back.

The OCTOPUS satellite system was going to get its first workout. I was sure glad that the Rods from God referred to prompt kinetic strike, rather than its cover program of Celestia granting manhood to mares, which would likely be useless in this situation.

Come to think of it, I’d never heard back from Canterlot about the legislation I’d introduced to create the cover program under the guise of Merry May not wanting to feel singled out by her uniqueness. Probably because that had been about the same time that Celestia had disappeared.

But enough about complicated turns of puns about extraneous penises. I turned back to Gabby. “So…you’re the serial killer?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

I waved my hooves, trying to think of what to say about her blunt admission. I eventually went with “Why!?”

“Well, I’m still trying to figure out why I failed.”

“Failed? At what?”

“When you asked me to help with security around Countess Coloratura and I didn’t catch the pony responsible for it.”

I thought back. That had been a long time ago and seemed pretty minor to me. “You still did your job of protecting Coloratura and brought us one step closer to catching the perp, who was a literal killbot.”

“That isn’t the same thing as being ridiculously good at security.”

I shook my head. “Because you didn’t do an absolutely perfect job at being security you decided to be a murderer?”

“Well, that’s secondary to recreating the mind and deeds of a psychopath so I can adequately assess and cure the condition. Once I do that, I can then move forward with the broader goal of eliminating both mental disorders and murder, which will help with solving crime in general. It will also be a step towards fixing death.”

“Time to LZ, seventeen seconds,” said Tin Mare in my ear. “Time to impact, twenty seconds.”

“That failure of protecting Coloratura made me realize that while I was good at everything, I needed to be better than anyone at everything,” said Gabby. “Not just the best, I needed to be the ultimate authority, the one and only.”

This was starting to sound familiar. More to the point, though, if she was the best at everything, or even just working towards it, that went a long way towards explaining how my networks had been broken, how my shit had been lifted, and why I’d never managed to catch her at killing.

I could have said a lot of things. Maybe later when I wasn’t simultaneously drunk and in shock, I would. As it was, the only message I could wring out of my brain cells at the moment was, “This isn’t right.”

“Well, when I’m the authority at morals, it will be.” She smiled happily.

Tin Mare suddenly slammed down beside me in the snow. Her side door was open and I hurled myself inside. The door snapped shut behind me and I grabbed whatever I could reach, which turned out to be a cargo net. Her engines screamed and I felt her wheels leave the ground.

The tungsten rod traveling at Mach 10 hit the ground a few feet away. Just the wind from it passing knocked Tin Mare end over end through the air, to say nothing of the massive explosion resulting from the impact.

Frozen soil dug all the way from under the glacier hammered Tin Mare’s airframe. Even snow turned into a deadly projectile with enough speed behind it. Wrapped in the nylon net, I had a little cushioning, but still hung on for dear life on a ride worse than any roller coaster.

Everything had gone quiet. I blinked. No, I had gone deaf. Something trickled down the sides of my head. Oh shit, I really hoped that wasn’t my eardrums. Though it probably was. Shit.

“Tin Mare, report. Text, please,” I said, or thought I did. She apparently must have heard me because the screen on the video equipment lit up.

“Damage to both engines from ingesting foreign material. Damage to all sensors. Damage to control surfaces.”

“Can you make it back to Ponyville?”

Tin Mare did a diagnostic, but after a few seconds only came back with “Maybe.”

Her lack of confidence one way or the other shook me more than anything. But I also knew Tin Mare didn’t bullshit. It was maybe the most harm her airframe had ever suffered. A close range Rod from God would do that.

Then, the more important issue came back to my mind. “What happened to Gabby?”

The screen flashed “Unknown.”

Shit.

Well, there was one way to find out.

We flew back to Ponyville. I was well aware that I was leaving Twilight and the CMC out there, but hopefully they would be more distracted by watching the devastation from my latest weapons test.

Tin Mare barely made it back to my place and set down hard, smoke pouring out of her engines. Sunset and Trixie came running out as I stumbled down Tin Mare’s tailgate.

“Tin Mare, explain it,” I said, when Sunset started asking me questions and I couldn’t hear her.

Tin Mare walked through what had happened in Silent Hill. We now knew who the serial killer was, which simplified things, but I had a bad feeling that ultimately it didn’t change much. We’d already seen how good Gabby was at everything, and we had no hard evidence that the strike from space had killed her. Now, if she was still alive, I somehow had to figure out how to be even better than her at everything in order to beat her.

And it looked like I was going to be without one of my best tools. Tin Mare’s personal diagnostic was bleak. Everything on her needed overhaul, and I had another bad feeling that even when she was back to working condition, that wouldn’t be good enough. She’d pulled my ass out of the fire today, but only barely. With Gabby in our networks and everything else, Tin Mare was going to need some upgrades.

I was planning doomsday scenarios, because I knew Gabby. Other villains had thrown me for a loop before, but none of them had the natural hyper-competence she did.

I took another drink and then went to find out if Gabby was still alive. I wasn’t holding my breath.

The stage in the center of town was set up. A bright banner hung above the curtain announced that Journey would be playing soon.

The All-American Bruce Springsteen had been cut down like the everyman image he portrayed. Jimmy Buffett’s cool island songs had no effect on calming the raging serial killer. And Journey-

The curtain came up. The members of Journey hung there together, ropes wrapped around their broken necks and bodies covered in bloody ritualistic runes.

Well, that answered one question: somehow, Gabby was still alive. I tried not to think about what might happen if she truly was the best at everything ever.

But there wasn’t time for that. I had a show to do.

I leapt up on stage and pushed aside Journey’s bodies. They banged into each other like one of those little desktop ball things.

I slipped my guitar strap over my shoulders and stepped up to the microphone, my ears still ringing but I could probably at least talk. “Hey everyone, it’s Valiant and the Background Band. With me tonight is Trixie on the drums, Guinness on the bass, and introducing Sir Winifred Condemnation Inferno on the theremin. With us tonight for backing vocals is the Manehattan Children’s Choir.”

I took my mouth away from the microphone, pushing away Journey’s bodies again, and glanced at Sir Win. He was smiling and waving to the crowd and looked far less perturbed about the bloody concert than Guinness, who had seen several so far.

The Manehattan Children’s Choir was really perturbed.

Obviously, with my deafness, some adjustments had to be made to tonight’s lineup. I turned back to the microphone. “Anyway, here’s Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.”

Author's Note:

Special thanks to StardustSVV, who guessed first.

Comments

[Veo Skride]

Really? God damn Gabby? Wow. I like it.

But if it's Gabby then she is unstoppable. She's just too darn good at everything to be beat. Maybe if she was also really good at losing or getting killed they could win, but other than that it's an impossible task.

[Veo Skride]

8242613
And now I'm just imagining that she gets killed and gets sent to hell for being a murderer, but she's so good at everything that she becomes the devil and over the course of the next millennia converts all demons to good and improves the economy.

[Sidetrack]

Throw a concert for gabby. paradox>hyper-competence

[Spiritus Arcane]

You know, given what I know about the physics of the Rods from Gods concept, Twilight and the CMC are probably dead. Then again, Valiant and Gabby definitely shouldn't have survived being right next to it at impact either, so *shrug* fictional story.

[Lesolan - Rest In Peace]

I see the loophole. Gabby isn't hyper competent at being security. Valiant needs to be the best security force ever for a band that crosses over. Check mate, athiests.

[Radioactive Dragon]

8249987
I read the stories I like you read the stories you like, I don't care about you to be honest :/

[DashieChad]

Oh my god I need more asap this shit makes time fly

[TheArcticWolf]

I sighed, but smashing was smashing. “Lemme smash.”

No Ron.

[totallynotabrony]

9661146
From the rest of the conversation, he was trying to sound like a yak.

[Coffee Toffee]

Obviously, with my deafness, some adjustments had to be made to tonight’s lineup. I turned back to the microphone. “Anyway, here’s Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.”

Nice variation!

[Amos Anon]

“Nope. I hate Journey.”

Why, though?