• Published 23rd Apr 2012
  • 17,346 Views, 966 Comments

Scorched - Kody910

[2nd Person] You, a thief, winds up working for the Apple Family.

  • ...


"So this comes with that warranty, right?"

"Yes sir! Any damages, and it will be replaced, no charge!"

"Great, then it's more than worth the bits!"

"Thank you, and enjoy your new sofa, my good sir!"

Oh yeah, you think to yourself, I got this in the bag.

Silently watching from the shadows, you observe the latest transaction at the local Quills & Sofas store. You're not entirely sure why that blue stallion wanted to purchase a sofa this late at night, and by late at night, we're talking "barely able to see your hoof in front of your face" late.

But you weren't complaining. The night IS your best friend, after all. It only makes it easier for you when potential "clients" do things such as this at this time of the day.

You stick to the dark alleyway you chose to observe the scene from. No need to blow your cover yet, not with a potential witness. As the stallion dragged his new couch away, you began to plot how to go about this. The couch wasn't your target, you weren't concerned with that. No, your eyes were more fixed on that hefty bag of bits in the store clerk's hooves.

You watched as he began to close up shop. Seems like this was the last customer of the day. Perfect, you silently muse to yourself. He didn't take his time, thankfully, and went about locking up all the doors relatively quickly.

The alley you were holing yourself in was kind of rank. Several trash bags holding unknown substances were piled up in the back. Seems like the local garbage collection crew either likes to skip this area, or is unaware of it's existence. Rats were skittering all about, and the number of flies was, simply put, ridiculous. You don't mind, you've been in worse conditions before. The payoff is always the same.

The owner has sealed up all entryways to the building. Double-checking the front door, he begins to trot to his home, a large bag of bits in tow.

Alas, the game begins.

It's an art form you've grown accustomed to. It's all about location and timing. Where to strike, and when. Timing is crucial. One screw up, and either the client becomes aware of your presence, or you get spotted by a third party. Either way, the hunt is lost.

But you haven't had that happen to you. Not for some time, anyway. You've gotten used to the feel for this little game. You've grown to be able to read ponies actions rather well. As for their emotions? Not important.

You begin to shift. Rule #1: Keep the target in your sight at all times. This allows you to plan your moves ahead, as you've learned. If you let them out of your sight for even a second, you may lose them. You've missed a few heists in the past because you were distracted, or couldn't keep up with the target without letting them become aware of you.

This guy, however, wasn't being too difficult. His movements and the directions he took were fairly straight-forward, allowing you to keep pace with him easily. He had a clear cut path to his home. You kept pace with him through the shadows of the alleys. As far as you could tell, he was entirely oblivious to your presence.

Home. This had a double meaning to you. It meant both victory and defeat. Make it home with the loot of your target, and you've achieved victory. Allow the target to make it to their home with the loot, and you've received defeat. You can't follow a target into their home. You don't know whether or not they have family who would make your job more difficult, and dealing with a client in their environment is far too much of a hassle. Better to stick with your territory.

You begin to plan out the perfect time to snag the goods. Rule #2: Plan your strike accordingly. How should you go about getting that bag of bits off of the guy? Your most preferred method was to wait until your target set the goods down, and snag them when they aren't looking. Of course, that isn't always the easiest or reliable way of getting them. Another, more risky method was to very, very discreetly take the goods off of their being without them noticing. This works better in large crowds, where bumping and scraping against other ponies is expected, and not really heeded any attention. They won't notice you taking the goods out of their saddlebag before you've already left the scene.

Only one problem; the goods weren't in a saddlebag in this case. They were in the target's teeth.

When the target has to be this protective of the goods, to the point where he carries them without an outside peripheral, then that leaves Option C: Blunt force. Sure, it's the most noticeable and direct way of theft, but it works when it's needed.

First step, acquire the weapon. Something heavy enough to knock out the target, yet light enough to allow you to use it quickly and cleanly. Scanning the area around, you take a look in several of the garbage cans nearby. Hastily rummaging through the contents of the first, you find nothing of particular interest. Skipping over to the next, you quickly find a seemingly-brand new frying pan. Who would throw out a perfectly good frying pan? you think to yourself. No matter, it works, and you take your new best friend in hoof.

The second step, wait for a location to strike. All around, windows are visible to your target's location. The prying eyes of witnesses are all around, and taking the strike now is far too risky. You need to wait.

The stallion takes a sudden turn into a back way. You weren't expecting this, and you needed to move quickly. Hugging the side of the building, frying pan in tow, you quickly take a path that will allow you to intercept his new route. Peeking around the corner, you see him trotting your way, humming a simple tune. He was walking particularly close to your side of the alley.

Taking a look around, you notice there are no windows in this particular area. No vents, no doors, anything. In this alleyway, there is no possible way anyone would see you. This is it. You've found the location to strike.

The third and final step. The time to strike. You need to swing carefully. If you don't put enough force behind the swing, the target will be groggy, but conscious. Put too much force, and you might kill someone. You're a thief, not a murderer.

You listen closely.

Wait for it...

The trotting gets closer.

Wait for it...

The humming gets louder.

Wait for it...

The rustling of the bag of bits grows louder with each shake.


A light-brown hoof enters your eyesight.




Silence. For what feels like an eternity, there is nothing but silence. The only sound breaking the silence is your breathing. Adrenaline courses through your body with each breath. This is what you loved about your job. The thrill is unlike any other.

You slowly peek your head around the corner. Looking down on the target, you can clearly tell he is not awake. He was breathing, however. Always on the mark, you muse to yourself.

Quickly taking the bag of bits in your teeth, you dash for your home on the edge of town.



Upon reaching home, you quickly opened up the bag to take some inventory on what you had just acquired. The patron had payed quite a bit for that sofa.


It was a humble home, the building you lived in. It was a simple house, only two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and a basement. It served it's purpose, however. When you moved to Ponyville, you wanted a house on the outskirts of town, and for good reason.


You were nearing the bottom of the bag at this point. Taking the last of the bits in your hooves, you finish off the counting.

297...298...299...300! "300 bits even!" You say aloud. "This oughta keep me afloat for a bit."

Pushing the dough back into the bag, you carry over the goods to a chest in the kitchen. Opening it up, you peer inside to find but a few bits within. No more than twenty, surely. You bottom-up the bag into the chest, emptying the new load into the confines of the box.

With the new total stashed away, you close up the container. It wasn't until now that you realized just how hungry you were. You couldn't remember when the last time you ate was, but it was certainly far too long ago.

Walking over to the pantry, you pull on the door to see what's in store. Sadly, there isn't much. Aside from a loaf of bread, some fruit, and a few canned foods, there was little more than dust. You silently berate yourself for having forgot to restock the last time you were in town...again.

Taking out some bread, you settle on a simple daisy sandwich. Finishing the preparations on your late-night snack, you look back and forth between the near empty pantry and your money chest. Though you know you need to restock, you really don't want to spend all of the money you had just earned. You would prefer to save that for when you'd really need it.

"Hmm..." you think to yourself. "Perhaps it's time I did a little 'manual labor.'"