Air

by chrumsum

Part 3 of 4

Running was dangerous business; of this there was no doubt. Every day was a danger, every second a menace, and even at their physical peak, runners were injured, crippled, and killed. It was a constant fight for survival, where death was counted not in years, but in air time and rounds per minute. It was a brutal toil. It was a grueling effort. But Pound Cake had long grown accustomed to the suffering that came with his line of work

And yet, he wasn’t prepared for the kind of pain that shot through him when he suddenly came to and jerked upright. His body throbbing and shooting pangs of agony, he groaned from the sudden motion. Collapsing backwards, a cushion caught his aching head with a soft thud. Several seconds passed, the ache subsiding and the pain slowly ebbing. Closing his eyes, Pound Cake breathed slowly, his throat feeling dry and his tongue cracked and parched. With a feeble croak and a groan of effort, he slowly brought himself upright, putting his head in his hooves. His brain felt several times too large for his skull. As slowly as he could, he looked around.

He was in a small but well-lit room. The floor, while gray and covered with a fine layer of rock dust, was clean. Walls of sun-burnt red bricks surrounded him, leaving only a small, oaken door leading out from wherever he was. Aside from the neat cot he found himself on and a table in the center, the room was completely bare. Rolling his tongue in his mouth, Pound Cake’s eyes settled on a glass and a jug sitting on the table. Looking down, as if to mentally motivate his limbs for movement, he rolled out of bed.

Trotting to the table, he took the handle of the simple jug and poured some water into the glass. He plonked it back down and drank thirstily, almost shivering with joy as the cool liquid flowed into him. Pound Cake reached for the jug again, then hesitated. Then, not caring whether anyone would see or not, he took the jug in both hooves and drank heartily. His right foreleg tickled strangely where it had been broken.

The jug struck the floor as it fell from Pound Cake’s hooves and shattered. The sound brought everything back in a dizzying instant. Foreleg? Broken? It all rushed back to him: the file, the ghosts, the blood.

Turning with a slight stagger, his eyes whipped around the cold, brick-laid room in panic. Where was he? Some sort of ghost compound? His legs tensed despite the dull aching inside them, and his fur stood on end. There had to be a way out. The door at the end of the room suddenly burst open, a figure appearing in the doorway.

“What’s going on in here? Is everything–”

Pound Cake didn’t give the pony time to finish. Vaulting over the table in the room, he planted his forehooves as they met the ground and bucked the table with every ounce of force he could summon. It flew across the room, slamming into his captor with a heavy crack. Before the stunned pony could recover, Pound Cake galloped forward and threw himself over the heap of wood. Barely slipping through the door, every plan of escape and battle dissipated as he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Easy there. Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” said the mare flatly. Hesitant, Pound Cake’s eyes slowly left the black mouth of the gun, and found two pale emerald eyes looking into his. Not glass eyes. Not ghosts. Keeping the gun trained on him, the white-furred mare looked past him and into the room. “You alright in there, Apple Bloom?”

There was a groan, followed by the sound of shifting wood as the pony pushed away the rubble. “Just dandy,” huffed Apple Bloom. “Never been better.” Brushing her fur free of dust, she stumbled out of the room, giving Pound Cake plenty of berth. “The boy can buck, Ah’ll give him that,” she commented.

The other pony frowned slightly, and the pistol flared with magical energy as it found its way back into a holster tightly fastened to her flank. She gave him a slight smile, and extended a hoof. “Sweetie Belle. And that’s Apple Bloom,” she said. Pound Cake stared at the hoof dumbly, as if unsure what to do with it. He finally reached across and gave it a weak shake. Sweetie Belle almost seemed to read his mind.

“We’re not your enemy, kid. If we were, I’m pretty sure we would’ve put a bullet in your head by now.” She scowled further. “And usually, when somepony gives you their name, you give them yours.”

Flustered, Pound Cake looked down at his hooves. He didn’t know what was more embarrassing: having been so easily stopped, or the fact that he was now being patronized by complete strangers. Finally, he muttered a subdued, “Pound Cake.”

Sweetie Belle glanced quizzically towards Apple Bloom. “Pound Cake? Isn’t that one of the Cake’s kids? Didn’t his sister...” Her voice trailed off as she caught the somber glimmer in Pound Cake’s eyes.

Apple Bloom whistled slightly. “The plot thickens,” she murmured, bemused. Her misty gaze solidified.

Pound Cake shook his head in frustration. “Just who are you ponies?” he demanded.

Sweetie Belle clucked her tongue. “We should be asking you the same. But I think you do deserve some answers.” She turned to face the corridor, nodding for him to follow. With a reluctant twitch of his ear, Pound Cake followed the two mares down the brick halls. His mind was brimming with questions, and his heart clenched with anxiety. Every step he took on the stone was like walking towards the chopping block, as if there was no going back from here. Soon enough, the hallway turned and opened into a small warehouse. Thin metal girders supported the roof, and the rafters were a juxtaposed mess of interwoven catwalks and stairs. The windows had been boarded over and the doors locked with heavy chains.

Looking about in wonder, Pound Cake found a center of clustered boxes and maps, and crates brimming with rations.

Hunched over a blueprint laid on top of a crudely constructed table, was a lean mare. Her dusty orange fur rippled with thick muscle underneath, and her platinum-blonde mane was tied into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. When she looked up, her eyes glittered a strange, vibrant green. But it wasn’t until she flopped a battered, stained Stetson atop her head that Pound Cake recognized her.

“Ah see our here guest woke up from his beauty sleep.” She chuckled, her warm voice only made more cozy by the southern twang. Pulling away from her work, she trotted over to the three of them and extended a hoof. The fur had paled along her legs where wounds had sealed and scarred. “Pleasure to meet’cha. Name’s–”

“Applejack?” ventured Pound Cake, taking her hoof and shaking it more firmly than Sweetie Belle’s. Applejack blinked in surprise, her eyes flicking between Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom. She smiled sadly.

“Yeah, well... You’re gonna have to tell me how you figured that one out, sugarcube,” she whispered. “But I’ll be darned if it ain’t got rainbows on its flank.”

Pound Cake didn’t answer, only nodding his head slightly. Applejack pulled her hat from her head, tugging slightly at the brim. She looked up at Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, giving them the slightest twitch of her ear. Without a word, they silently left the two of them alone among the boxes. After staring at her Stetson for a while, as if wishing it could say something to pierce the silence, she tossed it gently onto one of the boxes and plodded over to one of the ration boxes.

“Care for something to eat, sugar cube? We got beans, oats, and beans with oats,” she mused, rummaging through the crate full of packaged foods. Her wry and familiar tone even managed to pull a smile from Pound Cake.

“I’ll take oats, then,” he said, and she tossed him a bar. “It’s Pound Cake, by the way. My name.”

Applejack took her teeth from the wrapper of the bar she was opening, giving him a mystified stare. “Pound Cake? Y’all best not be pulling my leg.” When Pound Cake shook his head before taking a bite from the bar, she chuckled, her eyes travelling his body.

“Pound Cake. My, my, my, how you’ve grown. I knew you back when you were a tiny little colt, ‘bout yea high,” Applejack said, holding up a hoof. “You were a real troublemaker, you were. Broke just about everything you got yer hooves on.”

She was quiet for a moment as he chewed the bar. “Seems like you never did lose yer habit of getting into trouble. Ah’m... sorry to hear about yer sister,” Applejack added soberly. Pound Cake placed the crumpled wrapper on one of the crates, shifting his weight away from his twitching forelegs. With his stomach sated, and the irritating buzzing out of his head, he could finally think clearly enough to ask the obvious.

“How did you find us?” he said carefully. Applejack’s eyes darkened slightly, and her body went into a rigid, business-like stance. It reminded him of Rainbow Dash.

“A Subsidiary Task Force deployment ain’t something that we tend to overlook.” When Pound Cake frowned slightly in confusion, she added, “The fellas y’all probably call ‘ghosts’. Private agents, pretty damn elite and hella hard to take down.”

“Then how did you do it?”

“Caught ‘em by surprise. That’s the key. If you hit ‘em before they know yer there, you actually have a chance.” She took a bite from her bar of oats, chewing thoughtfully. Her eyes stayed on Pound Cake’s hooves. “Ain’t gonna lie. It’s darn impressive that you managed to take one down on yer own in close quarters.”

“Yeah,” whispered Pound Cake under his breath. “Impressive.” For a moment, he saw the shattered glass eyes of the ghost. The oats in his stomach lurched. “But why kill ghosts? Why risk fighting them and saving us?”

“That’s what we do, Pound Cake. When STF are told to kill somepony, it tends to be in our interests to find out why. Usually, said pony is pretty important to us if they stay breathing,” said Applejack, reclining on one of the crates.

Things were starting to make sense. Pound Cake’s gaze went from the intricate collage of maps and blueprints on the corkboard to the crates full of food and, hidden to the side, weapons. Everything clicked into place. He looked up at Applejack, his eyes full of apprehension.

“Wait a minute... you and Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom. You’re–”

“Freedom fighters? Rebels? A resistance?” said Applejack, watching him with her sparkling green eyes.

“Terrorists,” finished Pound Cake, hissing. Applejack flinched at that, her mouth opening and closing uselessly. Finally, she laughed nervously.

“That’s a bit of an extreme word to use, don’t you think?” she said testily.

“Not by my definition,” said Pound Cake. The hair on his legs rose in anticipation, and he suddenly became aware of just how many dark corners there were in the warehouse. “Green District. August fifteenth. Three bombs detonated in a residential building.”

Applejack stood upright, a spark in her eyes. “That building was an STF headquarters,” she said defensively.

“Fifteen civilians killed. Thirty-four injured,” he continued.

“They were torturing ponies!” said Applejack, her voice rising hotly.

“The perpetrators tried to escape. Resulted in a firefight with Civil Defense. Three killed. One injured,” Pound Cake answered, his voice matching Applejack’s.

“This is a war, dammit!”

“It could have been my sister!” bellowed Pound Cake, slamming down a hoof. The sound echoed throughout the warehouse. Applejack stared in dumb silence. Then her eyes lost their gleam and hardened.

“How dare you,” she said, seething. “How dare you. Ah risk good ponies hauling yer sorry flank away from those agents. Ah drag you back here and have you treated and healed up. And y’all have the audacity to come in here spewing venom like a rattler with a stomach ache.”

Pound Cake opened his mouth to defend himself, but Applejack didn’t give him a chance.

“There is a war, Pound Cake. You might not see it with yer own eyes, but it’s here. It’s here in the missing fathers, the lost sons, the vanished brothers. It’s here in the arrest warrants and the newscasts and the rooftops. Ah’ve risked everything to fight this war and make sure the good guys win.

“Ah ain’t yer mother. Ah ain’t yer guardian. And Ah don’t owe you anything. Ah make mistakes, and things that shouldn’t happen happen. Ponies die, ponies get hurt. Sometimes its ponies that didn’t want nothing but to get up tomorrow in the morning. There are things Ah’ve done that Ah’m not proud of. But Ah will do what Ah can with what Ah’ve got. There’s more to this than yer sister, Pound Cake. There’s an entire damn nation that’s being torn apart, but you can’t see nothing but the tip of yer muzzle. Shame on you. Shame. On. You.”

Under the intense heat of the scathing Southern drawl, Pound Cake couldn’t help but recoil slightly. His ears involuntarily flattened, and his head hung. With an indignant snort, Applejack ended her tirade. She bit angrily into her bar of oats, drawing away from him. “I’m not asking you to fight. What I’m asking for is yer respect and cooperation. And if you can’t give me that, then y’all can get out of here.”

Pound Cake stood silently, quivering under the mare’s intense stare. His pride shaken, he nevertheless forced himself to look up and return her gaze.

“I don’t want to work with killers,” he finally breathed.

Applejack looked about ready to chew him out once more, but instead she simply sighed and shook her head. “Nopony’s innocent anymore, Pound Cake. Not even yerself. But Ah respect your decision.” She nodded at somepony behind him. Pound Cake flinched in surprise as something struck his side. Looking down, he found his saddlebag slumped against his leg. Sweetie Belle watched him cautiously from behind a crate, her pistol still resting menacingly in a holster on her hip. From the catwalks, Apple Bloom leaned on an elbow, bouncing a black canister in one hoof.

“You’re free to walk out. Right now. No questions asked,” said Applejack grimly. “Ah can promise you’ll never see any of us ever again.”

Pound Cake leaned down and picked up his saddlebag. He twisted it innocently, and felt something folding inside. The document was still there. But as he prepared to slip it around his midsection, he stopped.

“And Scoots? What about Scootaloo?” he asked, the name suddenly surging into his mind.

The silence in the warehouse fell so violently that it was as if Pound Cake had just spat the most vile swear he could conjure. Applejack lowered her gaze slightly, and Apple Bloom lost her concentration, the canister clattering harmlessly onto the catwalk. “Where is she?” he insisted. The three mares looked to each other before silently nodding in agreement. Applejack returned her attention to Pound Cake, her eyes pained.

“Scootaloo... didn’t do as well as you did, sugar,” she said softly.

“What do you mean, ‘didn’t do as well’ ?” demanded Pound Cake, his saddlebag falling to the floor, forgotten. “Don’t tell me she’s–”

His voice caught in his throat and left him in a chilly breath. Not one would look him in the eyes. Not one would say a word. The silence throbbed painfully in Pound Cake’s temples until it was roaring in his ears. They never said a word. They didn’t need to.

He almost collapsed to his knees as the air around him abandoned his lungs and left him to choke. But he wouldn’t fall. He couldn’t. Not yet. He raised himself above the black, sharp-edged abyss that had opened, gaping, beneath his hooves. With trembling steps, Pound Cake left his saddlebag behind, and crept towards Applejack. He stared at the brim of her Stetson a long time before she would return his bottomless stare.

“Show me,” he begged. “Please.”

***

The room was cold. Too cold. Buried in the womb of Canterlot concrete, whatever rare, loving warmth it could spare had evaporated into the frigid air. A shiver wracked his body as Pound Cake stepped onto the cold stone.

Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom hadn’t followed them. They had drifted away somewhere along the swirling, dizzying passageways and halls. It was only as they vanished that Pound Cake had noticed their eyes, now dull in the bleak light. Dark bruises sagged their eyelids, a red puffiness underlying the smooth fur. Their pupils were blacker than the angular metal faces of the ghosts. And so it was only Applejack who watched quietly from the light of the doorway, standing in the warmth where the room chilled with death.

They’d laid her on low metal table. An empty tray on a cart stood off to the side, as if having blamed itself for failing to save a life. And the tarp pulled over her, sullied and worn with age, offered only crude forms in the place of what had once been a valiant mare.

Pound Cake stared at the body numbly. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t feel. Like his neurons were numbed with cotton pads and sterile swabs. His jaw clenched, and he choked down a violent tug at the back of his throat. With a trembling hoof, he pulled down the fabric covering Scootaloo’s face.

It made him flinch, how peaceful she seemed.

Her face wasn’t like that of the ghost. Not crushed and broken, sprayed with shards of glass and warped with twisted metal. Her lips were smooth, unreadable, with the faintest hint of sorrow.

Her mane was so messy, Pound Cake mused, running a hoof through the tangled knot of hair. Touching her skin was like touching the concrete of the rooftops at night. It was even as rigid. For a long time, he stared at her mouth, as if waiting for her to speak. A voice came. It wasn’t hers.

“We... we tried everything we could, Pound Cake,” croaked Applejack. “But the wound was... to the heart. Too deep. She... died with her friends. She died knowing you saved her.” She paused. “Ah’m so sorry...”

He didn’t turn to face her. His eyes never left the closed lips. Pound Cake cleared his throat.

“I think... I want to be alone. With her.”

Applejack didn’t argue. With a resigned nod of her Stetson, she closed the door behind her with a muted click. And it was just the two of them in the cold room. He was silent again. Every moment looking at her pale lips and dark eyelids felt like an eternity.

Pound Cake barked an uncomfortable laugh.

“This isn’t the way we thought it would be, huh, Scoots?” He chuckled. “Not at all.” He turned away from her, staring at the blank walls as if to avoid her closed eyes.

“No way. We had so many plans,” he continued dreamily. “You were gonna teach me how to backflip. We were gonna race again one day. I was gonna beat you. That was the plan. We had so much time, didn’t we? And we didn’t get it done...”

A weight clutched at his throat, and he bent his neck, the laughter coming again. “We were... we had so many jobs to do. So many runs to make and officers to outrun.” He looked back at her, his lips twisted in a painful smile.

“Heh. Remember that one time? When we were training in that old warehouse? I was still just a colt. We were jumping from rafter to rafter and–”

He stopped, doubling over the cart in laughter, tears stinging at his eyes as his sides ached.

“–And I accidentally knocked over that paintbucket. Fell right over! Splattered all over Rainbow Dash! We were calling her Greenbow Dash for a week! Remember that? Huh? She was so pissed! I can still see her face! I can...” His voice trailed off again as his chest was wracked with laughter. Tears of mirth matted his cheeks with each choke, and he buried his head in his hooves. He couldn’t speak anymore. He was laughing too hard.

Then, with a scream, he threw the cart at the wall, denting it. Everything left him, and he collapsed over her body.

“I’m sorry! Scoots, no, please no! I’m sorry, oh Celestia, I’m sorry!” he sobbed. “It’s my fault! It’s all my fault! Scoots, please, come back! Come back to me!”

Every breath in his throat burned, searing his lungs with blistering heat. He clutched at her, desperate for warmth, desperate for strength.

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to! Please, Scoots, look at me! Come back!”

There was nothing more. Like a shattered infant, he covered his head with his hooves and wept. His burning tears soaked the cloth.

A hoof touched his shoulder. Tears blurring his vision into hazy shapes, a murky figure stood silently behind him. She said nothing. She simply smiled sadly.

Forcing himself away from the corpse, Pound Cake wrapped his hooves around the mare, her mane and arms enveloping him. Her voice whispered soft reassurance and sweet words, and he lost himself in the motherly embrace as he cried away the vast, hollow pain.

***

Pound Cake cradled the tea between his hooves, letting the steam swirl up from the cup and thin around his nostrils. He stared into the translucent drink with a sort of mindless fascination.

He couldn’t cry anymore. The only vestiges of pain were in occasional sniffles and the itchiness of puffy eyes. But that massive, bottomless pit still remained, twisting his stomach. Taking a pleasureless sip, Pound Cake’s ears twitched slightly as the two muffled voices outside continued their debate.

“...need him, you know that.”

“Applejack, please... he’s still so young, and nopony should have to bury their friends at this age. It just isn’t fair.”

“For pony’s sake! He’s just barely younger than Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom! And they were much closer than he ever was to her!”

“I don’t think so, Applejack.”

“Listen...”

“Not to mention they’ve had a week more than he has. The poor pony’s only just learned this.”

Applejack was quiet for a while. Pound Cake sniffed the tea. Chamomile, maybe. He was never good at this sort of stuff.

“Fine. I’ll let you figure this one out. But he stays,” finally said Applejack. The sound of her retreating hoofsteps became quieter and quieter, clopping on the concrete until they were gone. Then the door opened, and the mare stepped inside.

He hadn’t recognized her, at first. Wasn’t really trying to. But seeing her now, even with her mane carefully braided to the side and her eyes bleak, Pound Cake could see the mare in the photograph.

Fluttershy moved with an effortlessly methodical and unearthly grace. Her hooves barely made any noise as she closed the door behind her, and her gait was so deliberate despite her age that it was as if she was gliding. Pound Cake’s eyes went from Fluttershy’s face to her wings, closed loosely around her body. Then they went back to the teacup.

“Feeling any better, sweetie?” she cooed, smiling sympathetically.

“A bit,” sniffed Pound Cake. He couldn’t think clearly enough to say more. His mind was a numb, muddled mess. Fluttershy didn’t push him to speak more. She simply nodded her head with a quiet understanding. She looked up at a clock hanging from a nail in the wall.

The room was a peculiar example of organized chaos. Aside from the cot, the desk, the cupboard, and the clock, a metal locker was bolted to one of the concrete walls. All around the room were twigs and decrepit bird houses. In one corner, there was an intricately woven straw basket. Assembled so that it resembled a beehive, pillows and blankets lined the interior. Fluttershy walked up to it and gave a slight prod.

“Sweetcream, time for dinner,” she whispered gently.

There was a shuffle among the blankets, and out bounced a rabbit. Colored a silky white with coffee-brown splotches on its fur, it hopped beside Fluttershy as she went to the cupboard and poured the rabbit a bowl full of stale-looking pellets. Sweetcream didn’t complain, and ate the treats carefully and respectfully. Fluttershy looked up, catching Pound Cake staring at the rabbit.

“Have you never seen a bunny before, Pound Cake?” she asked. There was no teasing in her voice.

“I’d heard of them in stories. Never actually seen one,” confessed Pound Cake. “I thought they were still living in the forests. Didn’t know they came to cities.”

“But they do,” said Fluttershy, lying down beside the rabbit, watching him eat with tender eyes. “Sweetcream was surviving in the dumpsters when I found him. That was about three years ago. He was in a really bad shape, the poor dear. Starving, scared of ponies. Applejack would have said he was more trouble than he was worth.”

“You took him in anyways,” murmured Pound Cake, taking another reluctant sip of his tea.

“Of course,” she replied, stroking the rabbit with a wing. “Life is worth too much.”

There was another bout of silence, split only by the occasional crunch of pellets. Sweetcream finished his meal, and with a yawn, jumped up on Fluttershy’s back, curling up.

“Then why do we kill?” asked Pound Cake bluntly. The question didn’t even phase Fluttershy. She looked right back at him with her gentle eyes.

“Because sometimes we don’t have a choice. Because sometimes life is the price we must pay for everyone to be able to live theirs.”

“So some lives are worth more than others?” bristled Pound Cake. “I’m pretty damn sure that ghost whose head I bashed in would disagree!” The memory of the crushed face twisted the already sore knot in his stomach.

“You can’t think of ghosts as ponies, Pound Cake,” whispered Fluttershy, hanging her head. “They’re... machines now. They’re evil. They’re the enemy.”

“Machines?” Pound Cake leered at Fluttershy, putting down the cup of tea. “Machines don’t beg for mercy!”

Fluttershy’s head snapped upright with uncanny speed. “Don’t do this to yourself, Pound Cake,” she said, her tone surprisingly fierce. “You can’t let yourself think that way. Not with them. It’ll destroy you.” Her eyes flickered briefly with a restrained flame that vanished as soon as it blazed to life.

Pound Cake immediately felt guilty. It wasn’t fair to lash out at her like that. The ache in his chest ebbed slightly as he exhaled, staring down at his tea. “What am I supposed to do? Ignore it, then?”

“No. You can’t ignore it. None of us can,” resumed Fluttershy, twisting her head to watch over the sleeping rabbit on her back. “You need to shoulder it. Take it in stride.” Carefully balancing herself so as to not let her friend fall from his comfortable position, Fluttershy stood gracefully. Striding past Pound Cake with that same ghostly presence, she regarded him sadly.

“All life has value. Every squirrel, bird, pony and dragon has vitality and essence. We’re not meant to take that. It’s not our place. But sometimes we don’t have a choice. Sometimes, we have to force ourselves to do evil for only a sliver of good. We choose to charge ourselves with that burden. With the burden of death and guilt.”

Stopping before the locker in the corner, she sighed mournfully, closing her eyes. “I suppose that’s what’s important. That’s what separates us from them. It’s what we choose to kill for and how we carry the burden that we’ve given to ourselves.” Her eyes levelled with his once again. “That choice isn’t made up here,” she said gently, tapping the side of her head. “It’s made in here. Our hearts. We may spend the rest of our lives wondering if we’d done the right thing, tossing in our beds and trying to cry away the bad memories. But the choice was made, and it can’t be changed. We can only pray that, in the end, it made a difference.”

With this last word, she carefully let the locker open. Pound Cake’s jaw slackened in shock. Inside the locker was the slender, intimidating body of a rifle. A bulky, powerful scope was attached to the top rail, almost obscenely deforming the sleek elegance of the weapon. But what drew his eyes was neither the barrel nor the trigger. It was the stock.

All along its length, cut crudely into the black metal, were pale, white tick marks. There were many, far too many to count. And one of them, more recent than the rest, stood plainly out among the others. A single tick. A single kill.

“You...” began Pound Cake, but his voice failed him.

Fluttershy didn’t say a word. She looked sadly at the scores upon the stock.

“Fourty-seven, in case you’re wondering,” she said, her tone indecipherable. “More recently, fourty-eight. I count every night. Every night before I go to bed.” She stopped again, looking at Pound Cake with a weak grin. “I haven’t missed yet. There are times I wished I had.”

Pound Cake finally managed to speak. “How did you... how do you even fire that? You’re not a unicorn. Only unicorns can use use firearms.”

“You’re right. Our hooves are too big to slip past the trigger guard.” She looked behind her and Sweetcream, who was still sleeping soundly. “But his paws can. I aim. He pulls.”

Staring in wonder at the curled-up rabbit, Pound Cake felt something in his gut twist. He looked down at his tea, mind buzzing numbly.

“That ghost was going to kill you, Pound Cake,” spoke Fluttershy after a long silence. “It was going to kill you and it was going to finish off what it had started. It did not think with its heart whether your life was for it to take. It thought with its brain and its hooves. It acted with purpose and coldness. But you... You were not like them. You killed because you would not let harm befall your friends.”

She put a delicate hoof under his chin, pulling his face to look up into hers. “And that’s what makes you different from them. Love.”

It was the last thing she said to him. Taking her rifle under her wing and balancing Sweetcream between her shoulder blades, she opened the door, letting it quietly shut behind her. Pound Cake was alone. He looked down at his tea and gave it a tentative sip. It was still warm.

***

With a satisfying gong, Apple Bloom struck the metal barrel sitting in the middle of the warehouse dead center. Sniffing in appreciation of her own accuracy, she bent down and reached for another stone. Pound Cake had to hand it to her: her aim truly was impeccable. The oil barrel, now dented and scratched from multiple lapidations, was a good twenty meters off. After a good thirteen throws now, Apple Bloom hadn’t missed her target even once.

It had been a rough night’s sleep. He had slept in Fluttershy’s bed while the pegasus was off doing patrols, according to Applejack. The cowpony had seemed to have softened up considerably since their last conversation, but she still kept that wary look in her eyes, a look that told Pound Cake that whatever it was she wanted from him, she hadn’t gotten it yet. He had forced himself to ignore it while his mind ran dizzy laps, trying to come up with a plan. It had never been his forté. Scootaloo would know what to do. The name made him ache, throbbing like a dull bruise after another sloppy run, ringing in his ears like a lecture from Rainbow Dash.

Rainbow Dash, thought Pound Cake half-mindedly, as another stone struck home. She was probably going out of her mind with worry right now, tearing apart Canterlot looking for him. But Pound Cake banished the merest thought of her, not daring to think of what he would tell her when she found him.

Sweet Celestia, what was he going to tell her?

“Hey,” interrupted a voice, making him flinch. He looked up to find himself staring into Apple Bloom’s eyes. “Yer gettin’ that look.”

“What look?” asked Pound Cake, scratching his mane.

“The same look AJ always gets when she’s thinking about something right nasty,” she answered casually, tossing a stone so that it would spin up centimeters away from her hoof before being snatched back. “I reckon you’ve got every excuse, now, don’t’cha?”

She didn’t seem to mind that he only answered with a weak mumble, going right back to her practice.

Gong. Dead center again.

“You’re real good at that,” he finally said after three more perfect throws. Apple Bloom shrugged.

“Ah reckon Ah should be. It’s my job, really,” she said dismissively, scooping up another projectile.”

“Throwing rocks?”

“Heh. Nah, explosives. Grenades n’ stuff like that. Make ‘em mahself.”

“But why?” he asked. “Why make any of this your problem?”

Apple Bloom stopped winding up her throwing arm, giving him a good hard look. “Because it’s gotta be somepony’s responsibility. After my big brother got sent off to fight the gryphons and my granny passed away, it was just me and AJ. So it’s my responsibility to look out for her.”

She punctuated this sentence with another perfectly aimed throw, knocking the barrel over. Apple Bloom walked over to right her practice dummy, taking the opportunity to bring back a few more stones. She chuckled slightly.

“Funny, you know. Spent so much of my life trying to figure out what it was I’d be good at. Never thought that blowin’ stuff up would be one of my stronger talents. Though AJ would tend to disagree, especially when I was still a filly. Thinks it’s cute to call me ‘Apple Boom’. Sis is creative for a lot of things. Nicknames ain’t one of ‘em.” With a shake of her head, she turned back, calculating another throw.

“Did you know Scootaloo?” asked Pound Cake.

There was a clatter of stone on stone in the place of the usual metallic boom. A miss. Hanging her head, Apple Bloom didn’t look at Pound Cake for a while. Then, with, a heavy sigh, she turned and sat heavily, dragging a hoof across her tired eyes.

“She was... one of my closest friends,” she said slowly. “Ah’ve known her since we were fillies, still hunting for our cutie marks. Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and Ah. Inseparable.” She stopped again, her eyes boring into Pound Cake until they seemed to drill right through him. “The three of us were... we were gonna get through all this. So we thought. But we went different paths. Ah stayed with my family. Scootaloo stayed with what little she could call family.”

“And Sweetie Belle?”

Apple Bloom chuckled sadly. “Sweetie Belle... she’s only got one thing on her mind. A bullet with a certain sibling’s named carved into it. One who betrayed us all. So she stayed with whoever was gonna let her load that into a chamber.”

“Rarity,” he said slowly.

“I see Rainbow Dash never lost those loose lips of hers,” interrupted a voice from behind him. Sweetie Belle stood reclined against one of the ammunition crates.

“Sweetie Belle...” started Apple Bloom apologetically.

“You talk too much, Apple Bloom.” Her emerald eyes snapped from her friend to Pound Cake. “Applejack wants to see you, kid. Now. Bring your saddlebag.”

Exchanging concerned glances, the two slowly got up and followed Sweetie Belle. Apple Bloom passed ahead of him, talking to her in hushed tones. Applejack was waiting for them where they had first met: before the cork board, surrounded by papers and thick binders. Only now, there were a few more electronic components. Computer screens blazing with walls of text or fluttering with complex sequences stood taller than the stacked documents. Applejack didn’t look up as they entered the makeshift office. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle stood uncomfortably to the side, leaving Pound Cake alone.

It was a while before Applejack glanced up at him from between wispy strands of her platinum-blonde mane, giving him a slight nod.

“Pound Cake,” she said, acknowledging him. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, lowering his head. “A little bit.”

“Ah’m right sorry for yer loss, and Ah hate to drop this on you at a time like this, but time is of the essence. Ah think it’s time we talked, Pound Cake, about the circumstances of yer sister’s arrest.”

“Why do you want to know?” he asked carefully.

Applejack stared at the desk for a long time before looking up. “Ah’m just trying to get some facts straight. Yer sister was supposed to be assigned as a bodyguard for Fancy Pants, right? Were you in Fancy Pant’s office before or after he had been murdered?”

“After. My sister contacted me on a... cracked phone. Told me she was in trouble. I rushed over to the Capitol and found him in his office. Stabbed.”

The cowpony seemed to be listening only with half interest as she leafed through some of the documents on the desk, but her ears never swiveled away from Pound Cake.

“And what was yer sister doing at the time the governor was supposedly murdered?”

“She told me she had been knocked out.”

“And you believed her?”, she said, her tone professional.

The question seemed to chill the room by a few degrees. Pound Cake’s eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, Pound Cake,” said Applejack evenly. “I’m simply trying to find out what happened.”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” he said suddenly, brusquely stepping up to her. He half-heard the sound of Sweetie Belle unholstering her pistol. “My sister was framed. She was framed for murder and she sacrificed herself believing that I could save her damn life. She put her trust in me despite that fact that I haven’t done crap for her or my family in years. Is that simple enough for you? Or is this whole ‘family’ thing just a little too complex?”

Applejack stared at him, not moving from her hunched over position at her desk. A brief flicker of her eyes demanded Sweetie Belle stow her weapon.

“Pound Cake, have you heard of Lulamoon Technologies?” asked Applejack.

“Of course. Firearms producer. Technology development.”

“Absolutely. They’re the biggest corporation in Canterlot. Heck, in Equestria. It’s a powerful business, and the provisionary government is very reliant on their products. They’ve advanced Equestria by leaps and bounds. Cellular technology, construction techniques, the whole nine yards. A monolithic force in not only business, but in politics.”

“So? What does that have to do with anything?”

Applejack stared at him again with her unnervingly profound eyes. “Pound Cake,” she said, her Southern twang nearly disappearing through her slow, methodical tone, “what if Ah told you that the ghosts, the Subsidiary Task Force, didn’t answer to the provisionary government. What if Ah told you that those fellas are on the private payroll of the CEO of Lulamoon Technologies?”

Pound Cake blinked in surprise. “I... what do you mean?”

“Alright, how about this: what if Ah told you that Lulamoon Technologies has made significant deposits into accounts belonging to very high ranking government officials over the course of twenty years? All except for one?”

The stallion paused before carefully asking the obvious. “Which one?”

Applejack’s eyes took on a hard, gleaming edge. “Governor Fancy Pants himself.”

“I don’t...” Pound Cake stammered, looking behind him at the two mares as if they secretly had the answers. “I don’t get it. What does this have to do with anything?”

“This has to do with everything, Pound Cake.” Applejack tapped the table, drawing his attention to the point of her hoof. A manilla folder. “Does this look familiar to you?”

His eyes widened, and he instinctively reached for his saddlebag. The documents.

“We switched ‘em while you were out cold. Didn’t know if you’d be hanging around, so Ah took extra precautions. And Ah think you’ll find that, unlike Rainbow Dash’s operation, we most certainly have the resources available to decrypt such a file.” She gave the papers a light shake.

“Pound Cake, did you find these on the desk of the late governor when you came to help yer sister?”

There was a long pause. Pound Cake’s tongue felt several sizes too large for his mouth. “Yes,” he finally said.

Applejack smiled grimly, rubbing her sore, bloodshot eyes with both hooves. “Pound Cake, these documents are records of transactions. Transactions of large shipments of firearms to the gryphon army courtesy of Lulamoon Technologies.”

Pound Cake shivered slightly despite himself. “What are you saying? That Lulamoon is dealing under the table?”

“That’s exactly what Ah’m saying. And moreover–”

He finished her sentence for her. “And moreover, Governor Fancypants found out about something he shouldn’t have.” He stared at Applejack numbly, eyes wide with disbelief. “He had become a liability. So they had him assassinated.”

The cowpony nodded solemnly. “And had yer sister framed to cover their tracks. But when they were done sweeping his office clean, they realized that they were missing something. This,” she said flatly, tapping the spread papers with a hoof. “Fifteen years we’ve been looking for this. For them to slip up and give us all the proof we’d ever need.”

Biting his bottom lip in thought, Pound Cake spoke slowly and deliberately. “Scoots and I were going to the Lulamoon building to try to decode those documents. Find out what they were about. The entire building was abandoned when we got there. All except for those ghosts.”

“Sending an STF squad for a simple intruder alert is like killing a fly with a grenade. They knew you were coming, Pound Cake. They were waiting for you.”

“But how?”

Applejack’s eyes significantly darkened. “Ah don’t know. But one thing is clear: we have a traitor among us.”

These last words hung heavily in the air. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle exchanged uncomfortable glances. But Applejack’s eyes never left Pound Cake’s. They took his stare hostage, daring him to look away for even a second. He returned the paralytic glare, and it lasted until Applejack slowly returned her attention to the documents spread in front of her.

Summoning his courage, Pound Cake asked, “You say that so many of these government officials were being bribed to do Lulamoon Technologies wanted them to do. All except Fancypants. Why?”

“Ah met Fancypants once,” responded Applejack, despondent. “He’s a good pony. A strong soul. Ah only met him once, but Ah knew in my heart that he would never let such atrocities against the ponies Celestia had entrusted to him pass unpunished. Money can only buy so much.”

“Then how did they control him?”

“The same way they’ve controlled so many.” Applejack slowly raised her head again. “By holding the ones they love against them. Using ‘em as leverage.”

There was something in the way the cowpony held Pound Cake’s gaze captive, as if she were analyzing it, that tipped him off. He ground his teeth.

“And let me guess: you think that they’re doing the same with Pumpkin Cake and I?” Pound Cake questioned tensely.

She paused before speaking once more. “Ah’m not entirely sure,” she answered, her voice giving away nothing. “What you’ve gone through doesn’t add up. But Ah’ve seen better ponies do and go through worse for the same.”

There was another silence, to which Pound Cake finally said, “I’m no traitor.”

“Well Ah don’t know that, now do Ah?” Applejack stated flatly.

Pound Cake’s only response to this was a slight snort, a flick of his tail, and a sharp turn. Without a word, he trotted out of the room, leaving the three mares silent. Stomping down the hall furiously, his mind was storm. It wasn’t long before he felt a hoof on his shoulder stop him. He turned to find Applejack’s weathered face.

“Pound Cake, listen...” she started.

“No, you listen!” Pound Cake cut her off, knocking her hoof away. “I didn’t ask for this. For any of this!” All this... this blackmailing and scheming and murdering and plotting. I don’t care about your damn war or your fight. So if you don’t trust me, then fine. I don’t need you. And I never did.”

“It doesn’t matter if you wanted it or not, Pound Cake,” the cowpony insisted. “The reality of the matter is that it’s here. And you’re a part of it now, whether y’all like it or not. So you listen here: either you stay here and fight against this, against Lulamoon Technologies, with us, and get payback for everything they’ve done to you, or you walk out on us, go back to yer blissfully ignorant life, and go back to–”

Her speech was cut off by a yelp of surprise as her Stentson was knocked clean off her head. Drifting lazily to the floor, Applejack and Pound Cake looked down to find a small, jagged piece of concrete roll to a stop beside the old hat. Applejack blinked, swallowed, and chuckled nervously.

“Ah only know one pony who can sneak up on me like that,” she said lightheartedly. Applejack turned around slowly.

“Rainbow Dash. Long time no see.”

***

As if a heavy clot had formed in his chest, Pound Cake felt his pulse slow and his heart sink as he stared past Applejack to find his rainbow-maned mentor flanked by a sheepish Derpy. The wall-eyed mare gave Pound Cake an awkward half-wave. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom looked on from behind them in bewilderment, mouths like gasping fish as they tried to explain to Applejack how they got in.

Rainbow Dash was a mess. Her mane was a bird-nest of graying tangles and chromatic knots. Dark circles bordered her eyes, betraying her lack of sleep. Her normally glittering, violet eyes were harder than obsidian, and sharper. Barely controlling herself, her lower jaw was clenched and quivering.

“Now, Rainbow Dash,” began Applejack, her tone patronizing and soothing, “let’s not do anything too brash.”

Stomping past Applejack, Rainbow Dash ignored her royally, her glare never leaving Pound Cake’s. He tried to open his mouth to say something in his defense. He didn’t get the time. Pound Cake only saw a blue streak before Rainbow Dash’s forehoof snapped into his jaw.

Reeling, spots of light flashed before Pound Cake’s eyes, and his ears popped and rang. He opened his mouth, but only a gasp of pain escaped. The next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the ground, clutching his throbbing jaw.

“Rainbow!” he heard Applejack bark. She reached out and grabbed Rainbow Dash roughly by the shoulder. Rainbow Dash recoiled as if burned, before sticking her face into that of the cowpony’s.

“Don’t you touch me! I’ll deal with you later,” she hissed, her voice strained with fury. She turned that burning anger down to him. “You.”

Pound Cake felt hooves grab at his throat, dragging him upright. Gasping for air, he clutched at Rainbow Dash’s forehooves.

“Do you. Have any idea. How long I’ve been looking for you?” she spat in his face. “I haven’t slept in over a week. I’ve been calling every damn contact I have. I have been turning Canterlot upside-down looking for you! Do you understand me, Pound Cake? Do you freaking understand me?” She gave him a violent shake, but all he could muster was another choke.

“One week!” Rainbow Dash screamed, her voice cracking. “One Celestia-damned week! Do you get that? I’ve been tearing through Canterlot, risking our entire operation to find you and Scootaloo! I swore by everything I had that I’d find the both of you, bodies or otherwise! Do you have any idea how many gray hairs you gave me?”

She let go of his neck, grabbing his head in her hooves. Her eyes plunged into his, taking in every detail as if she might never see them again. “Oh sweet Celestia...” she finally sobbed, a thick tear rolling down her cheek. “I thought you were both dead.” Rainbow Dash released Pound Cake’s head, and took him into a crushing hug, her cheek pressed into his shoulder. Tears rolled from her chin onto his back.

“Never. Never do this to me again, Pound Cake. Never again. I can’t take it,” she begged.

Pound Cake slowly caught his breath. Tears stinging at the corners of his eyes as well, he slowly wrapped his arms around Rainbow Dash’s back and squeezed, burying his head in her mane. Every ounce of pain and regret ebbed from his mind with every moment he was held in her motherly embrace.

“I’m sorry...” he whispered, quivering. “I’m so sorry, I...” His hold around her slackened for a moment. “Scoots didn’t...”

Rainbow Dash didn’t say anything, letting his voice trail off painfully. She just tightened her hold around his midsection. From behind her, Derpy drew a sharp breath, and her crossed, glazed-over eyes became lucid for the briefest moment. The expression wavered, then crumbled, and she hung her head miserably, biting her lower lip. Applejack looked away, sniffing uncomfortably.

Finally, the embrace ended, and Rainbow Dash held Pound Cake at arm’s length, her eyes flickering across his sullen, darkened face. Her gaze never leaving his, she spoke over her shoulder.

“When were you planning on telling me?” she asked coldly.

Applejack’s eyes narrowed slightly, but didn’t lose their hard edge. “Ah was planning on contacting you as soon as–”

Rainbow Dash released her grip on Pound Cake’s shoulder, twisting to meet Applejack’s glare with hers. “As soon as what? As soon as they were both dead?”

“Now you listen here...”

“Absolutely not,” shouted Rainbow Dash, refusing to let Applejack have even a word. “This isn’t what we agreed to when we went our separate ways, AJ. Two ponies from my operation end up wounded and in your care, and you don’t even have the Celestia-damned decency of letting them know that you have them with you?”

“Ah was going to!”

“Well why didn’t you?”

“Because Ah knew you’d be like this!” hollered Applejack. The two mares were muzzle-a-muzzle, cheeks flushed furiously. “Ain’t this just like Rainbow Dash! So blasted talented, and so much better than everypony else that she thinks her needs come before those of everypony else’s! Element of loyalty my flank!”

“You’re one to talk! Whatever happened to honesty, then? I didn’t know that lying to your friends and causing them to go sick with worry was part of the job description!”

Applejack snorted violently, her hooves stomping at the concrete as she shoved her brow against Rainbow Dash’s. “Well sure, because you’re just such a loyal pony! Running off and abandoning us! And for what? For what!? Tell me!”

Suddenly Rainbow Dash flinched, jerking away from Applejack as if she had been slapped. Her eyes widened for a moment, glittering with repressed tears. Then they narrowed into thin slivers.

“Don’t you dare,” she whispered, her voice trembling with anger. “Don’t you dare go there.”

“It’s been fifteen years, Rainbow Dash,” insisted Applejack, undaunted by the aggression in her friend’s stance. “Fifteen years you’ve been torturing yerself over this, blaming yerself and hurting yerself. You need to let go.”

“Let go!?” exploded Rainbow Dash. Before any of them could move a muscle, the pegasus had rocketed from her spot and slammed into Applejack. In a flurry of violent motion, the earth pony found herself pinned to the ground. “You can’t tell me to let go! How can I let go after what I’ve done? I failed her, Applejack. I failed her and you and everypony and... and...”

Whatever further self-hatred Rainbow Dash had for herself receded like a ride from shore as a hoof gently placed itself upon her shoulder. Rainbow Dash turned to find Fluttershy, who had slipped in from seemingly nowhere, standing above her. She did not need to say a word. The look in her eyes spoke volumes.

“It wasn’t yer fault, Rainbow,” said Applejack. Her eyes searched Rainbow Dash’s, searching for something that seemed to have lost its way long ago.

“I was the one who got sloppy! I’m the one who took a damn bullet to the leg. Not her! It should’ve been me, damn it! I...” Rainbow Dash’s legs were quivering, devoid of the strength that had forced the farm pony to the ground. Tears dripped from her cheeks, matting her face and falling silently into Applejack’s fur. “It’s not fair,” she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut. “It’s not fair. She didn’t have to...” Her voice trailed off weakly. She rolled off Applejack, and fell on her haunches.

Applejack’s tired face wrinkled into a sad, distant smile. “She made her choice when she saved you, Rainbow Dash,” she whispered. “We both know that. She gave her life for yers because she believed that y’all could accomplish something in this world that she couldn’t. She sacrificed herself because she believed that y’all could still give the world something good no matter how dark it was.”

Rainbow Dash didn’t say a word. Slowly, Applejack stood, looking down at her friend with that same mournful smile. A dry, pained laugh escaped her lips. “You know how she was. Smiling all consarn time. That crazy mare.”

Sniffling slightly, Rainbow Dash looked up at Applejack, who extended a hoof. She stared at the friendly gesture, as if it were a foreign object. With a sudden burst of motion that made even Sweetie Belle flinch, Rainbow Dash pushed the hoof a side. Before Applejack could blink, she found her friend’s arm wrapped around her neck in a tight hug.

“I miss her...” whispered Rainbow Dash into the nape of Applejack’s neck. “I miss her so, so, much...”

Slowly, easily, Applejack’s hooves found themselves in the same position, and she solemnly returned the embrace. With a slight cock of her head, she indicated for Fluttershy to join them. The pegasus silently obliged, taking the two of them by the shoulder and sealing the bond that had been broken so many years ago.

“We all miss her, sugarcube,” reassured Applejack.

“Every day,” added Fluttershy softly.

For a long time the three friends held their hug, in total silence. None of the ponies dared say a word, as if speaking would break this mysterious, magical spell that had so briefly transported them from reality into a world where suddenly there was light once more. Finally, Rainbow Dash grinned feebly, opening her eyes.

“Can’t remember the last time we had this. The three of us as a team,” she said.

Applejack laughed at that, and the three reof them reluctantly broke their embrace. “It’s a sign, sugarcube. Things are a-changing again. It’s happening.”

“What’s happening?”

“The turning point,” said Fluttershy, nodding mysteriously. She motioned to Sweetie Belle, who gave a curt bob of her head and left them all in the hallway.

“Turning point to what?” asked Pound Cake, finding his voice.

“To everything. To this war, to this occupation, to this oppression. Everything has come together at last, after so, so long.” With a cocky smile, Applejack scooped her Stetson from the ground and fixed it casually to her head. “And so have we,” she added.

The radiant glow in Rainbow Dash’s cheeks dimmed slightly, and she cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “What half-baked plan have you thought up this time, AJ?”

“Not half-baked, Rainbow. This isn’t a plan anymore. This is the real deal,” corrected the cowpony as Sweetie Belle came galloping back with a manilla folder in her mouth, passing it to Fluttershy and subsequently Applejack. “This right here is all we need. Proof that Lulamoon Technologies has been double-dealin’ and playing all of Equestria for a bunch of fools. Right in black and white. And they can’t deny it. All thanks to yer runner, Rainbow.”

Rainbow Dash shot Pound Cake a perplexed glance, to which he gave a slight shrug.

Applejack continued to press her point, her eyes focused on Rainbow Dash as she indicated for them to follow her. When they reached the improvised office once more, she splayed them across her desk, tapping the few papers in succession. “This is what we’ve been waiting for Rainbow Dash, since you left. A break to reveal the corruption that Lulamoon is up to. They’re funding the gryphons, Rainbow Dash. They’re prolonging this war and playin’ both teams. But now we have ‘em like rattlers in a pit. We can prove this to everyone now, show them what they’ve done, and all of Canterlot can finally rise up against that viper’s nest.”

Rainbow Dash didn’t say a word throughout Applejack’s speech, and neither did Pound Cake. He watched intently as his mentor’s gaze flickered from indecipherable paper to translation page by page. Something seemed to be kindling behind her pupils, like some long-dead fire being sparked to life.

And yet, as Applejack’s grandiose speech became more epic and eager, he could only feel a gnawing numbness.

“Just think, Rainbow. The skies will be free again, free for ponies to fly and play. Just like it was before. No more ghosts, no more running, no more fighting. We can bring it all back. For everypony...” Her voice trailed off, and she turned to Rainbow Dash, smiling slightly in the soft glow of lamp propped up on the desk. She gave her friend a small nudge. “For Pinkie.”

A quiver went through Pound Cake’s body, starting in his hooves and working its way into his mouth. Silently, almost involuntarily, a word formed there.

Pinkie Pie, he mouthed. It was a meaningless word... a meaningless word that for the briefest moment chilled him with the ghostly echo of a giggle and the flash of a smile. As if hearing the laughter herself, a hint of a smile flickered across Rainbow Dash’s lips. Applejack placed a hoof on her shoulder.

“Y’all know Ah can’t do it alone. Ah need a mare who knows the streets. Ah need a skilled runner... and most of all, Ah need my friend.”

Rainbow Dash looked down at her hooves, smirking slightly. “You know I can’t run anymore, AJ.”

Not can’t. Won’t.

“What does it matter? You’re still my friend, Rainbow Dash. We started this thing together, and we’re going to end it together. And besides... you can’t run...” Raising her head, Applejack cast Pound Cake the friendliest expression she could muster. “But he can.”

And just like that, all attention went from the incriminating documents on the table to Pound Cake. The stallion felt his legs stiffen and stomach tighten. All of them gave him that same look of understanding and hope and sympathy.

“I...”

“You’ve done so much, Pound Cake. You’ve fought so hard and it’s come down to this: the home stretch. So whaddya say, partner? Care to finish this fight? With us?”

Pound Cake looked from each of them, one by one. Apple Bloom’s eyes were wide with excitement, and eagerly awaiting his word. Sweetie Belle never dropped her faraway look or stiff upper lip. Applejack smiled again, confident of his answer, hooves ready to conduct the master operation she had worked her entire life to prepare. Only Rainbow Dash and Derpy knew, without even looking at him, what he would say. The two of them exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Looking to each of them, it didn’t take long for Pound Cake to realize the severity of this. The weight behind it. And yet when he spoke, it was with a nervous, barking laugh.

“No.”

The single word heavy-handedly smothered the ponies.

Applejack blinked in surprise. “Ah.. uh... beg yer pardon?”

“I said no,” said Pound Cake, his voice wavering with laughter, as if she had just told a joke. “I already told you. I don’t want anything to do with this. This has nothing to do with me.Your conspiracies and murdering and–”

“Hold on. Hold it, hold it, hold it,” interrupted Applejack, holding up a hoof. She looked back at Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle, as if they were in on the same joke and about to burst into laughter. Finding no humor in their equally bewildered faces, she raised a cynical eyebrow. “You have to be pullin’ my leg here. Y’all can’t possibly be serious. This is a joke, right?”

“No. This isn’t a joke. I’m not helping you. None of this has anything to do with me.”

“Nothing to...” Applejack spluttered, flushing. “Nothing to do with you? Are you kidding me? This has everything to do with you, and dammitall we need you!”

“Why?” blurted Pound Cake, ignoring Rainbow Dash’s subtle gesture telling him to ease off. “What the hell do I owe you?”

“Y’all don’t owe me nothin’! You owe it to Canterlot and Equestria, for Pony’s sake!”

“Canterlot? Equestria?” His voice reached near hysterical pitch. “Why? What the hell has this rathole city ever done for me? It’s taken everything I had and tossed me in the gutter. All because of what?!” This last word exploded from his chest, and Pound Cake reared. His wings spread out massively, seeming to swell with his fury. “All because of these! Because of Celestia-damned wings! This city decided I was some second-class pony because of something I never could control, and you want me to ‘save’ it?”

Panting heavily, Pound Cake stomped his hooves onto the concrete, silencing whatever protest Applejack was ready to throw back at him.

“This city... can go to Tartarus. And so can Equestria. I don’t care. I just don’t care anymore. I... I want to go home.”

The cowpony had regained her senses, and looked about ready to tell Pound Cake exactly where he could stick his wings before Fluttershy stopped her.

“Pound Cake... what home?” she murmured gently, pushing a stray lock of mane out of her eyes. “Lulamoon has taken everything from you... not Canterlot. This is about you... It’s about all of us. We’re all against the wall. What more... could they possibly take from you?”

Pound Cake’s stare passed through her, blurring for a brief moment. And in that brief moment he saw a promise.

I promise I’ll figure a way out of this. I won’t leave you all alone, I swear.

You’re all I have left.

“My sister,” he said hoarsely.

Fluttershy blinked in surprise, looking over her shoulder at Applejack. The mare had composed herself slightly, her temper once more under control, and a passing flicker of sympathy across her face pressed Pound Cake to insist.

“You said it yourself. Use those you love against you, right? That’s what Lulamoon does?”

Sweetie Belle tensed, biting her lip slightly, and Derpy seemed to tremble for a moment. Pound Cake looked from pony to pony, before lowering his gaze to the floor.

“Scoots... Scootaloo died... because of me. Because I had my head too far up my own ass to see what I was doing. I was mad. I was stupid. And it cost her her life. Not mine. It was my own damn mistake that cost me Scootaloo. So I will not...” His eyes, flaming, shot to meet Applejack’s. She flinched from their ferocity. “I will not lose her too. If she’s under arrest, then she’s under their hooves. They’re killers, and they’ll slit her throat if that’s what it takes. I refuse to take that risk. The risk to lose her. I’m...”

He inhaled sharply, and closed his eyes. “I’m not strong enough. I can’t lose Pumpkin Cake, too. I can’t.”

Applejack swallowed uncomfortably as the attention of the gathered ponies turned to her now instead. “Pound Cake...”

“You want my help? Fine. I’ll help you. But not without my sister back. Once she’s safe, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll do whatever the hell Rainbow Dash tells me to do.” He stressed the name of his mentor, and she laughed uncomfortably as Applejack shot her a glance of annoyance. “Take it or leave it.”

Applejack sighed in frustration, rubbing her temples with her hooves. “For Pony’s Sake... We’re so close, and you want us to break off now for somepony who, for as far as we know, could already be–”

“What if it was Big MacIntosh?” piped a voice. Apple Bloom frowned in apprehension. “Or what if it was me?” she continued, pushing away from her comfortable position against a wooden crate. “Pound Cake is right. We can’t ask him to risk Pumpkin Cake. We have to try. If there’s even the slightest chance, we have to try. The least we can do is try the Royal Prison.”

“I... uh...” Derpy’s eyes rolled uncomfortably before she nodded uncertainly. “Yeah. I agree. We gotta help her out. It’s what’s right.”

There were several other muted murmurs of approval. Applejack’s ears flattened uncomfortably, and she bit her lip. After several moments of mumbling under her breath, she finally tugged her Stetson off the tight bun on her mane and sighed.

“If she’s still alive, then she’s going to be in the Royal Prison...” She stared at him intensely, gears turning in her head. “Alright,” she said tersely. “We’ll do it.”

Before Pound Cake could open his mouth to thank her, she cut him off. “But after this, Pound Cake, Ah’m holdin’ you to yer word. And y’all better follow up on it, or so help me...” She left her threat unfinished.

“I swear,” confirmed the runner, nodding his head in appreciation.

“Then let’s get to work.”

***

“Is it in place?” asked Pound Cake, watching Sweetie Belle work. In the pitch blackness of the crystal caverns, there wasn’t the slightest scrap of light. It was one of the reasons that the buried ruins, once mined to fund the war effort, were now abandoned and decrepit with disuse. That, had added Applejack, and the fact that the massive crystalline structures jutting from the rocks below had a strange life of their own. They vibrated and warped images in ways that could, and had, driven lost ponies to madness. And Pound Cake could feel it. Gnawing at him from the reflections of the glow of Sweetie Belle’s magic.

“Just... about,” grunted the unicorn, apparently undeterred by the unsettling ambience of the abandoned mine. She’d been quiet the entire way here. Not that it had been particularly difficult to get in. Nopony in their right mind would come here on purpose. Yet it was ideal in order to break into the Royal Canterlot Prison.

Rainbow Dash had told him that this place was once a beautiful palace, with sparkling parapets and luxurious cloths draped from the high windows. She told him she’d been there before, before the war. It wasn’t the same now. The stone had been collapsed and demolished, the materials within recycled to fund the war effort. Now, the image of Canterlot majesty and grace had been sullied and tarnished, warped into a grim prison for the provisional government’s undesirables. He suspected that there was no love lost in blowing it apart.

Soon enough, Sweetie Belle stepped back, admiring her handiwork plastered across the ceiling of the cavern. She pressed a hoof to her earpiece. “Alright, Apple Bloom. It’s in place. Can you still get a signal from where you’re at?”

The message echoed in Pound Cake’s radio. Before long, the positioned plastic explosives beeped once. He wasn’t sure where Applejack and her crew had gotten this kind of hardware. It made him slightly nervous thinking that one of his runs could possibly have supplied it.

“Eeeeeeyup, looks all good here,” chirped Apple Bloom, her southern drawl slightly muted by the poor reception within the caves. “Both sets are in place and synchronized, sis.”

“Gotcha,” confirmed Applejack. “Fluttershy, are you in position?”

“Yes. I’ve got a clean line of sight from here. Everything seems quiet on the prison front. Not much movement...”

“And the jammer?”

“Um...” interrupted Derpy from her position in the control room. “It should be all set up and ready to go. Just flick the switch and press the little blinky green button thing and... Yep. That should do it.”

“Got it,” Fluttershy said confidently.

“Perfect,” responded Applejack, her tone clipped and professional. “Then it looks like we’re all ready to go on this end. Rainbow Dash?”

“Hmm? Uh, yeah. Let’s get this over with then...” Her voice trailed off, and Pound Cake tensed involuntarily at the radio silence.

“Final check-in.”

“Ready to provide overwatch...”

“Ready to blow!”

“Standing by.”

“Uhuh! All good here!”

“...”

“Yo, Pound Cake,” chided Rainbow Dash, noticing his failure to answer. “Are you ready?”

He inhaled warily, his legs trembling beneath him. Sweetie Belle tossed him an annoyed glance over her shoulder. “For Celestia’s sake, Pound Cake. Pull it together. We’re going to be fine.”

The stallion nodded with as much conviction he could muster. Something felt... odd. Vaguely familiar. He looked up at the steadily glowing explosives on the ceiling. One word and they’d go, blasting their way into the prison from below. The first step to ending this nightmare: saving his sister. And yet...

“Come on, Poundy, you can do it!” cheered Derpy, the smile in her voice unmistakable. It was contagious.

“Ok. Yeah. Ready. Let’s do this thing.”

“Alright, everypony. We’ve got this.” urged Applejack. She barked some inaudible words off-radio, then returned. “Lil’ sis, prime them charges.”

***

Final Verdict yawned heavily, stretching his hooves into the air as he reclined in his seat. It was late. Too late to be up for guard duty. Again. Cracking his neck, he smacked his lips and returned his attention to the flickering monitors in front of him. Every now and then the screens would cycle between different angles and cell blocks, showing images of sealed bars and dark corridors.

The night shift was always the worst.

There was a knock at the door. Looking to the monitors and back to the door again, Final Verdict rolled his eyes in abandonment and stood. Trotting the brief distance from the control console to the plated metal door, he didn’t bother to peer through the eyehole. Pressing the button beside the lock, the door buzzed once and unlocked. He stepped away from it as his co-worker, Lockdown, edged his way in, carefully balancing a tray in his teeth.

“Ah goht da coffeh,” the earth pony struggled to enunciate. Yawning again, Final Verdict nodded and mustered what little energy he had in him to levitate the cardboard tray, placing it on the table beside the monitors. Magicking one of the cups out of it for himself, he collapsed into his chair once more. Lockdown did the same, taking his seat by his own set of computer screens and control panels.

“Anything happen?” he asked, shaking his cup as he waited for the coffee to cool.

Final Verdict snorted sarcastically. “Oh yeah. You totally missed it. Princess Celestia popped by to tell us the war’s over. We’re both getting a promotion and the next week off for our... valuable service.”

“Okay, okay, no need to get snarky.” He took a tentative sip of his coffee, his expression souring as it burned his palate. “I hate it too, you know.”

“Seriously, man,” continued Final Verdict after the two of them had sat in silence for a while, “why in Tartarus are we here? It’s past midnight, already. Everypony’s asleep. Even the prisoners. The damn prisoners are getting their beauty sleep and we’re two lone assholes who have to stay awake.”

“Not just us. Would you rather be out patrolling like the others? Could be worse. Count your blessings.”

“Whatever,” sighed Final Verdict, staring down at his coffee. “I could be with my kids right now instead of this concrete shithole. What a life.”

“You could also be out on the front fighting gryphons,” commented Lockdown, looking over his shoulder as he propped his hind legs up on the desk. “Everyone does their part.”

“I just wish my part was a little more interesting than just...” He waved at the monitors. “Watching Nothing Happens: The Sitcom on the Blurry Resolution Channel for three hours on the graveyard shift. Makes you wonder why the hell I got stuck with this sorry-ass cutie mark. In prison guarding.” He took a swig of his coffee, sighing as he put down the cup. He chuckled. “Heh. Sorry-ass. Cutie mark. I made a funny.”

There was a long silence. Lockdown looked down at his coffee. “Well... Technically no. I mean, our cutie marks aren’t on our asses. They’re on our flanks. You know. Like... the sides of our asses. So that joke doesn’t make sense.”

Final Verdict plonked down his empty coffee cup, and turned in his chair. “Hey, Lockdown?”

“Yeah?”

“Ever been punched in the face? Like... really hard?”

Before Lockdown could answer either way, his coffee jumped from the cup and straight into his face as the entire Canterlot Royal Prison shook from what sounded like a violent thunder clap. Spluttering, the stallion jumped out of his chair. “What in the name of–”

Suddenly wide awake, Final Verdict, turned his attention to the computer screens, grabbing the headset on his desk. “Patrols! What the heck was that? Anyone there?” His eyes flitted from screen to screen as he awaited an answer. With a cough, somepony answered.

“Yeah, uh... Hey, watch that! Keep away from there until we get the fire crews here! Um... There was some sort of explosion out here. Smoke everywhere. Looks like the gas line just went to crap. Got a few ponies burned. We were just barely out of range. We need to evacuate the prison!”

“Got it, already working on it,” nodded Final Verdict as his hooves deftly flew across the controls. Lousy cutie mark or not, he was good at what he did. A quick glance over his shoulder found Lockdown doing the same, speaking urgently to somepony on his end of the radio. “Have you contacted Civil Defense yet? We’re going to need some help with this.”

Whatever the patrol pony on the other end of the connection tried to articulate was lost as the static on the line suddenly amplified and peaked with a shrill, whining buzz. Cringing, Final Verdict tore the radio from his ear. “What the...” He tried lowering the volume and adjusting the connection. All he got was a different pitch of static. “Hello? Hello?”

“Final, my radio’s not working. Any luck on your end?” asked Lockdown, pressing his hoof to the microphone of his headset.

“What? You too?” He swore and tossed his useless headset to the floor and headed for the door. “Lulamoon Tech... Highest end software my flank! I’m going to go see what’s going on. You get that radio online. We need Civil Defense down here stat if we’re going to get all these scuzz balls out of their–”

Opening the door of the control room, Final Verdict found himself face to face with a snow-white mare with a practically styled mane. Kinda cute. But before he could say a word, a heavy-set stallion emerged from behind her. With violent speed, his forehooves clasped Final Verdict on either side of his head and sent it straight into the button beside the door. With a crack and an electronic buzz, the pony lost consciousness.

The night shift was always the worst.

***

The second pony in the control room spun in a panic. Before he could open his mouth to scream, Sweetie Belle had drawn her pistol from its holster and levelled it at him.

“I wouldn’t do anything too stupid if I were you,” she commented dryly.

The stallion stopped dead in his tracks, slowly raising a hoof in the air. “Alright, let’s all calm down here,” he stuttered nervously. “We’re all sensible–”

“Face the wall.”

As the guard pony hesitantly complied, Pound Cake stepped around the unconscious unicorn collapsed against the frame of the door. His eyes never left Sweetie Belle. He had been very clear in his demand: no killing.

“Please, oh, please, don’t kill me,” squealed the hysterical pony as Sweetie Belle pressed his head against the concrete wall. “I’ll do anything! I’m not a bad pony, alright!? I just...”

With a sharp crack as the butt of her pistol collided with the back of his head, the guard joined his friend in dreamland. Pound Cake glanced down at him.

“Did you need to hit him that hard?”

“You’re one to talk,” she quipped, reaching for her earpiece. “Sweetie Belle here. I’m in the control room. What am I doing here?”

“Good question,” answered Rainbow Dash. “Derpy, what’s she doing here?”

“Alright, alright,” fumbled the klutz of a pony. “There, uh... should be some sort of a central terminal. Bigger than the rest. Like, not the screen. The actual computer.”

Pound Cake looked to his left. While both sides of the room were a mess of flickering computer screens, only one of them was supported by the massive metal casing of a central computer. Sweetie Belle saw it as well and nodded, trotting over to it.

“Got it. What now?”

“Ya got that stick drive thing with ya? There should be some sort of slot for it on the console. You... might need to rip off the casing. Gently, alright?” She continued speaking over the shriek of bending metal as Pound Cake rapidly concluded that there was no such slot on the front. “Once that’s in place, it’s all peachy from there. I should be able to look at the entire system. Easey-peasey, and then we can find... uh...”

Pound Cake raised an eyebrow at Sweetie Belle. “Pumpkin Cake?” he ventured over the radio.

“Yeah, Pumpkin Pie!”

The two ponies could almost hear Applejack’s hoof as it collided with her forehead. “For cryin’ out loud,” they heard her mumble.

Unfazed, Sweetie Belle’s horn glowed faintly, and a small, metallic stick lifted itself from the side pocket of her holster. Pound Cake stepped back, and she expertly slipped the end of the receiver into an inconspicuous slot in the console, bending back an antennae on it.

“Alright, it’s in,” confirmed Sweetie Belle.

“Aw yeah!” whooped Derpy. “Just give me a minute to do a bit of hoppin’ around here and...” The two ponies waited impatiently as there was the sound of rapid keystrokes over the radio. They stopped abruptly, and the there was a brief silence.

“What now?” asked Applejack over the radio, her question directed off-radio.

“I uh...” answered Derpy sheepishly, “I can’t do it if you’re looking.”

“Oh for Pony’s–”

“Come off it, AJ. Let Derpy do her thing,” scolded Rainbow Dash. “She knows what she’s doing. Nopony can crack a system like she can.”

Pound Cake couldn’t help but smile at Applejack’s sigh of irritation and a rustle of static as she presumably turned away.

“I get nervous,” Derpy explained to nopony in particular, resuming her rapid typing.

“Um...” interjected Fluttershy. “I’ve got a visual on Civil Defense. Four of them have just come up outside the prison. They’re unloading.”

“What? Ah thought the jammer was supposed to keep them from... Nevermind. They must’ve heard the explosion. Fluttershy,” barked Applejack, “we can’t let them get in here. Stop them.”

“Non-lethally,” demanded Rainbow Dash. “Warning shots. Keep them from strolling into that prison, and make sure they stay in cover. Derpy, I don’t know what the heck you’re doing, but could you do it a little more–”

“Got it!” she cheered. “Poundy, Sweetie Belle, I’m in. Our hunch was right. Not only is Pumpkin here, but I know just where she is!”

Pound Cake sighed in relief. “Thank Luna. She’s alive.” Sweetie Belle looked away awkwardly.

“She’s being held in the restricted cell blocks,” continued Derpy. “You’re going to need to head down into the sublevels. According to the blueprints I’ve got here, there should be a staircase not too far from where you are. Just take a right when you walk out of the control room.”

“And y’all better hurry it up. We’re running on the clock now. Get Pumpkin Cake, and get the heck out of there.”

Sweetie Belle nodded crisply, and gestured with her head towards the door before breaking into a gallop. “Let’s move.” Pound Cake stuck close behind her.

“Fluttershy, what’s the situation outside?”

“It’s looking messy, Applejack. I’m taking some–” She was briefly cut off as a small pop sounded in the background. “...Small arms fire. I already told Apple Bloom to fall back.” There was the pounding echo of a rifle shot as Sweetcream tugged on the trigger. “I don’t know how much long warning shots are going to keep them down.”

“Pound Cake...”

“Yeah, yeah, got it! Hurrying!” He took a shortcut through the staircase, vaulting the guardrail and striking the ground with his forehooves as he landed in a roll.

“Runners...” muttered Sweetie Belle under her breath as she galloped to keep up with him. Barrelling down the hallway, there were murmurs and stirrings in the cells as they passed by them. Pound Cake forced himself to ignore the questions and shouts of the inmates as they demanded to know what was happening, and who was going to let them out. He didn’t want to think how long they’d been here.

“There should be a grated area right ahead, and a lift through the door there. Take it!” informed Derpy. “Once you’re down there, it’s cell... uh... one-oh-thirteen.”

The fenced off area came up around the corner as predicted. Momentum in stride, Pound Cake charged forward, angling his shoulder for the doorway cut into the fencing. With a powerful thrust from his hind legs, he slammed his weight into it. The metal links bent, creaked, and collapsed, tearing the door from its hinges. Guided by Derpy’s techno-sorcery, the door to the lift ahead of them opened with a blaring horn, letting them in. The two ponies slid inside.

“Derpy!” ordered Sweetie Belle over the radio. Without saying a word, she obliged, shutting the door. Panting slightly, Pound Cake waited. For an agonizingly long time, nothing happened. They exchanged uncertain glances. Then, with a tremble, the lift screamed its siren again and descended into the depths of the prison. Pound Cake exhaled. For some reason, he’d been holding his breath.

“How’s it look outside?” asked Pound Cake over the radio, focusing on the flashing green numbers on the display as they counted downwards. Four, three, two...

Fluttershy took a moment to respond. “It looks like they’re breaking off. I think one of the shots was a little too close for them. They’re falling back, but they’re probably going to be back with more. I’m repositioning... Come on, Sweetcream, let’s go.”

“Thank you, Fluttershy.”

“Don’t mention it, Pound Cake. It was my pleasure. Now be a dear and fetch your sister.”

“You got it,” Pound Cake said, grinning awkwardly. “Did you get all that, Rainbow Dash?”

There was no answer.

“Rainbow Dash?”

Sweetie Belle looked up at the elevator’s counter. It read B4. “We must be too deep underground,” she commented.

Pound Cake frowned. “Rainbow Dash,” he repeated, “we’re in the prison block now. We should have Pumpkin Cake soon enough. Do you hear me?” Still no response. No static. Just silence. Pound Cake removed his hoof from his headset. “Alright, let’s be fast. Cell one thousand and thirteen.”

With a ding instead of the expected shriek of an alarm, the doors of the lift opened to a dimly-lit hallway. Greenish-white fluorescent bulbs guided the two ponies through the corridors, past the cell doors. Here, there were no bars. The confines were solid concrete walls, and the doors were made of sturdy, reinforced metal. Pound Cake scrutinized the numbers stenciled beside the doors, his heart thudding nervously in his chest. There was something about this place...

With a soft click, Sweetie Belle unholstered her glowing pistol and switched off the safety. The sound made him flinch.

“Keep going,” she said tersely. Checking each door carefully, they proceeded in the unnerving hum of the fluorescent lights. Pound Cake couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder occasionally at Sweetie Belle. Her white fur was almost lost in the darkness of the corridor, and the glow of her horn cast somber shadows across her face.

“Sweetie Belle,” Pound Cake whispered, stopping in his tracks. Sweetie Belle followed his gaze upward, and found a number beside door. “This is it.”

Nodding crisply, Sweetie Belle motioned for him to get out of the way. She levelled her pistol at the lock on the door. “Move away from the door!” she commanded. There was a shuffle from inside the cell, and Sweetie Belle fired twice. The echo of the gunshot was accompanied by muffled clang of metal as the lock buckled. Sweetie Belle pivoted away, and Pound Cake seamlessly took her place. Twisting onto his front legs, his hind legs coiled like a spring and snapped outwards in a violent buck, blasting what was left of the lock to pieces. The door burst inwards.

There was a terrified scream from inside the cell.

“Pumpkin Cake? Pumpkin, it’s me!” shouted Pound Cake hoarsely. Huddled in the corner, barely visible in the dim light, was a unicorn. Shielding her face, Pumpkin Cake cried in fear as Pound Cake rushed up to her.

“Please... oh, Celestia, please, duh-don’t kill me,” she begged, weeping. Her body tensed and shied away from him.

“Pumpkin... Look at me! It’s alright, it’s alright,” coaxed Pound Cake, bending down to his knees. “I’m here... It’s over...”

She peered between her hooves, sniffling. “Puh... Pumpkin?” Her eyes glistened in the darkness. “Who... what?”

Pound Cake’s eyes had accustomed to the darkness. His hooves, about to touch Pumpkin’s face, recoiled as if stung.

This wasn’t Pumpkin Cake. This was a mare... a unicorn with purple fur and a yellow mane. And he’d seen her before.

Pound Cake felt his blood turn to ice, and the air vanished from his lungs.

That’s my Dinky. She’s waiting for me. One day, I’m gonna see her again.

His earpiece crackled to life. “Pound Cake!” shouted Rainbow Dash, “Get out of–” Her voice was lost in a shriek of static as the connection was jammed. Sweetie Belle felt them. She felt them as he had, like a sliver of steel between a breast bone and blood splattered on concrete. But she turned too late, aimed too slowly. They disarmed her like it was nothing, and shoved her violently into the wall.

Pound Cake couldn’t turn around. He just stared, paralyzed, at the mare cowering before him.

One day, I’m gonna see her again.

Glass eyes bore into the back of his skull, and weapons were cocked. A voice spoke with a distorted crackle of static.

“Suspect claimed. O-one to all: we’ve got him.”

Comments

[Fury of the Tempest]

Uh oh... a trap, just as suspected.

What the hell has Rarity done through... and why?

[RoboRed]

Damn traitor...it's gotta be Derpy...

[Personifire]

Oh, dammit, Derpy. I coulda guessed the traitor was her, seeing as it definitely wasn't RD and even more definitely not anybody on AJ's team.

[WindBlazer]

Glad That This FimFic Is back in action :)