Prologue: Secret Origins
-Cover concept: A Desert Eagle Mark XIX .50AE. over a wooden background. An azure hand is reaching for the gun, without touching it.
***
Sound Cast was the best pony ever.
He was smart and strong, his black coat and crimson mane making him very attractive to any mare he met. And many stallions, for that matter -- not that he swung that way, mind you. Even so, he was so good that everypony in the town of Hoofington became his friend as soon as he appeared. He came one special day, stepping out from a portal to the human world.
At first, he was just like any other earth pony, but soon he started to discover his inner power! He first earned his wings of steel for being too courageous. Some days after that, he proved his intelligence to be beyond any pony mind, earning a golden horn.
That was when he discovered he was in fact the lost seventh Element; the Element of AWESOME!
Everypony in Hoofington agreed he should be ruling them, not Celestia, so they were ready to follow this messiah from beyond the stars in his march to Canterlot to take his rightful place as president of Equestria. He knew that monarchy was bad and he should change it, and made everypony see the truth of this.
Sound Cast was at the front of everypony in town, ready to start his trip to Canterlot alongside his followers. Those who believed in him were armed as his knights, the new Elements of Believing and Sound Cast would be their Grand Rul--
*BANG!*
As soon as the bullet scattered Sound Cast's brain all over the cobblestones, the mental illusion he was casting over the town disappeared.
"Boom, headshot," the owner of the bullet said from a nearby hill. "Ya prancin' show pony."
The mare at the other end of the weapon cycled the bolt on her rifle, getting it ready just in case. Meta-equines like her target could be a tricky bunch sometimes. Little could be said about the mare herself, since her whole body was covered in a red military outfit and a featureless steel helmet with only a red targeting device at the level of her right eye.
***
"No way!" Sonata screams through the phone. "A mary sue? I thought those were a myth!"
"Says the hundreds years old siren," I reply from a public phone next to a road in the middle of nowhere. "Sonata, your intel sucks."
"Hey! Don't blame me. The contractor said it was only a meta-equine."
I swear to Faust that someday--
"But nothing about meta-magical-equine, or magical-meta-equine or an equine who is magically--"
"Sonata!" I scream as a truck passes next to me. I think about it and realize it's not worth it. "At least tell me you have the money."
"Yep." I let a sigh of relief. She may be a mare-filly with only half a functional brain, but at least she knows how to collect a paycheck. "So, how's the desert? Are you bringing me a gift?"
"Sonata, you gave me wrong intel, the transport you arranged was falling apart, AND you forgot the extraction. Again!" I take a breath. "Give a very good reason to not go there and rip out your heart out with a rusty spoon!" The plastic on the phone practically squeals as I squeeze it.
She giggles through the line. "Because I'm adorable?"
"Uh, nope." Check the wrist gun. “Try again.”
"Because I know your identity and could tell the Princesses?"
Lock and load, ready to off a centuries old creature. “Sonata, you just gave me more reason to kill you."
The ice in my voice must have finally made it through the phone because her silence is gold right now. I can picture her eyes shrinking as she stares at the wall and shivers, he lower lip doing that little quiver-thing and I catch a whimper over the line. I let myself smirk at the sound. "But I would be killing the closest thing I have to a competent employee," I eventually tell her. I don't need the phone to know she's sighing her lungs out. "Just try to remember the extraction next time."
"Don't cha worry, I'll send a cab to your position. Just let me..."
"Sonata wait! Don't hang up--" dial tone "-- the phone." I lower my head in defeat. The damn friggin' siren doesn't even know where I am, doesn't know how to call back at a public phone and I don't have more coins. I look around. Nothing reminiscent to a civilization besides the road.
I'm sooo gonna kill that girl this time.
***
It takes me two hours to find a place to change clothes, and another hour to get a trucker to give me the three hour trip to Las Pegasus. The guy is just another loner with social problems, so we both enjoy the calm of an empty road till I'm back to the city's periphery.
Who am I? Well, it's a long story, all full of clichés. I’ve been called Lil Trix, Beatrice, Lulamoon, The Great and Powerful. Fred. (Don’t ask.) These days, just I go by Trixie.
I used to be a traveling magician. Not really a bad business. It's always a challenge to please the crowds and you get to see a lot of world. It’s a good job. Of course, as with every career, you've got to be careful to not screw it up too much.
I screwed it up beyond repair.
I don't want to go into details, so let's just say that it closed a lot of options for me. I got stuck in Canterlot for an entire year, bouncing between the worst jobs a pony can do.
When I finally got tired of everything, I took what remained of my savings and came here. Las Pegasus, the one place in Equus where you can buy lobster with only five bits and survive to tell the tale. At first, it wasn't too different from Canterlot; odd job after odd job. The difference came when I got to be waitress in the Iceberg Lounge.
It was just another themed club, and I was just another uniformed underling. Somebody thought it would be a groundbreaking idea to have an ice-themed club in the desert, so there I was, having to use a 'penguin' uniform (black tuxedo jacket with tails over a white shirt and black pants) to look sexy night after night. Thanks the powers that be that it includes a top hat and domino mask to cover my head and face. Nothing new under the moon until the three guys entered with machine guns, shouting and menacing everyone.
The security guard tried to run for the door (brave, wasn’t he?) but one of them saw him and emptied an entire magazine into the poor bastard. I remember that part very well because the guy fell next to me. I thought I was going to die, so I made a decision.
If I was going down, it had to be big, loud, glorious and most definitely not hiding behind a flipped table next to a dead security guard.
A dead security guard who had a six shot revolver strapped to his belt.
While the robbers were distracted collecting anything the customers were carrying, I unsheathed the gun and, for the first time in my life, held it between my hands. It wasn't as heavy as I thought, and the cold metal was surprisingly tranquilizing. I put my finger over the trigger and got up from behind the table.
They turned around and saw me, in my stupid black tux with tails, holding a revolver. I'm not sure why, but I didn't feel anything. Not fear, not remorse, not anything. There was I, suspended in a moment of frozen time with three guys about to cover me with lead.
*bang! bang! bang!*
The next thing I remember is looking at three guys in the floor with holes between their eyes.
"Eh... they were going to..." There were the nerves coming back. I was shaking with a smoking gun in my right hand and three dead bodies to my name. Way to go Lulamoon.
"Thanks!"
"You saved us all."
"Who are you?"
"I want to have your babies!"
"What's your name, hero?"
I couldn't believe it, they were praising me. Me! Again!
For a moment back there, I thought the good times were back. The crowds, the fame, my name being chanted in admiration instead of being mocked. I truly believed it till a siren brought me back to reality.
"It's the police, girl!" The owner of the Lounge said from the front door. "Take the back door, we'll cover you."
I ran for it till I was just next to the emergency exit. I looked back and took a bow. "Thanks mates, you're great." Yeah, I'm a theatrical pony and not gonna apologize for that.
I don’t know when the grin first came, but it didn't go away for the rest of the night. The next day, I looked at the news and how everyone from the Lounge failed to recognize me, all of them explaining how the uniform of the club confused them. The grin was still there. By the end of the coverage, there wasn't even a description of me. Only an alias.
Deadshot.
Now, I typically make at least ten thousand bits every time somebody wants high speed lead in somebody else’s head, and yet here I am, standing outside a dilapidated suburban house on the outskirts of one of the most glamorous cities in Equestria.
I still call it home.
That's actually the point. When someone like me gets tracked, everypony looks for the high, all the while I'm lying down low, with a bullet ready.
Right now I’m home after far too many hours on the road and I’m dreading what I’ll find on the other side of the door.
I open it and I already don't like what's inside. The place is a dumpster; comics and magazines scattered around the living room, a tower of pizza boxes in the kitchen, the wet bar looks like it was ravaged by a horde of drunken co-eds, aaaaand the beds are a mess.
The little wonders of having a roommate.
"Sonata!" I shout at the top of my lungs, more out of frustration than calling for the soon-to-be-dead siren.
To my surprise, I get an answer.
"In the shower!" she calls out from the bathroom. Hmm, how considerate of her. It will be easier to clean up the blood that way. I walk there, intent on kicking down the door, but it opens first and a butt-naked Sonata bursts through. "Trixie!"
Before I can react, she’s got me in a bear hug and is doing her best to squeeze the life out of me. Probably in an effort to keep me from grabbing any weapons.
"So-na-tagh--" Air! For Celestia’s sake, air! My face must be turning blu...er than usual, because Sonata seems to finally remember that breathing is important and lets me go.
"Oh my gosh, Trixie! I'm sorry, it's just--" *click*
I don't let her finish. I already have my gun in front of her eyes.
"Sonata." I try to sound calm, but being nearly asphyxiated doesn't help to anybody's cool. "I'm not gonna shoot you -this time- because I don't want to have to clean up more mess." I pull my gun away from her forehead. "Also, I need a friggin' shower. So, I'll take one and you'll clean up the disaster zone that used to be our house. Then when we’re both done, maybe I’ll take you to that little Mexicolt place you like so much instead of putting two in your kneecaps for leaving me stranded on the side of the highway today without an extraction.”
When I stuck my gun in her face, Sonata hadn’t even flinched. Maybe it’s a siren thing, I don’t know. It certainly wasn’t the first time she hadn’t reacted to me pulling a piece on her. Still, she does know when not to cross me, and right now my whole body language is telling her that closing her mouth without another word would be a really good idea. When she does so, I give her a nod to show her that was the right choice, place my gun on the table and begin to walk to the bathroom. The way she’s fidgeting though makes something suddenly occur to me and I pause.
"Sonata, please tell me that there wasn't someone in the shower with you." I turn around to see how she's blushing. Damn, she IS that cute.
"O-of course not!" Yep, there is someone in the shower. "What kind of pervert do you think I am?"
"I'll put it in this way; I kill ponies for a living and still have the moral ground to call you amoral." I open the door and, what a surprise, there's someone hiding behind the shower curtain. I can't tell her colors because of the curtain, but the sunlight leaves an obvious female figure.
"Hi," she calls in a deep but timid voice. "Hmm, you must be Trixie?"
"Yes. Yes I am." I would facepalm if I wasn't too tired to lift my arm. "Look, I don't care about Sonata's love life or whatever you two were doing in there. So, I'll close my eyes and wait for you to get out of my shower and we can both pretend nothing happened, okay?"
"Oh, okay."
I do exactly that while I hear the curtain moving and a rush of wind next to me. I wait a little longer before opening my eyes and closing the door. I take off my clothes and walk inside the shower which, to my surprise, is still clean and there’s still hot water in the tank. I'll have to give Sonata some credit.
"Ah, much better." I may be a hired gun with an apathy problem and an ancient abomination for a roommate, but I still enjoy the little things. "Ah Trixie, how did we end up here?" I think about it.
Where did I leave off last? Oh, right. There was I, enjoying my five minutes of anonymous fame. Although I didn’t make it to the frontpage, Deadshot was a hot topic for a while. Each time I eavesdropped a conversation, they were commenting that amazing pony who took a whole gang in three shots or less. Never suspecting that their waitress was that exact pony.
It all lasted less than a week.
At the end of the day, I was back in my scuzzy motel room, alone, trying to figure out what how to get out of the ‘odd jobs cycle’. The old part of me craved the attention from the week before, the adoration and the fawning. I was a junkie that had been dry for years only to get an unexpected taste of the ‘good stuff’ and was now demanding I give it more.
But there was a new side of me too. It was a calm side. A side that didn’t need other ponies’ validation. It was like a new me that knew precisely and exactly what I really was and didn’t care hide nor hair what anypony else thought.
I went out back of the motel to try and clear my head and have a smoke. Standing there, looking over the desert landscape, I tried reliving that night over and over.
I began to think less like the old ‘attention horse’ me, and more like this new ‘honest’ me.
“I just took three heavily guys armed with only a six shooter and didn’t even flinch,” I finally said out loud.
At first I attributed my sudden good aim to luck and adrenaline. But luck can’t guide bullets, and adrenaline would have ruined any pulse I could have. Then, I remembered the revolver, still between my work clothes from the Lounge and with three more bullets inside it. I decided to make a little experiment.
As an illusionist, I have a good eye for detail. That made fairly easy for me to recreate the same moment in my head. Near the limits of the city, away from anyone who could care, I drawn the revolver and held it for the second time.
My first target was a scraggly looking pine. I pointed at an odd shaped branch, my finger slowly and carefully placing itself over the trigger.
*bang!* Miss.
There was a tingle there. I changed my stance to how I remembered it that night.
*bang!* Miss again.
Better, I could feel the calm coming over me.
I spat my cigarette to focus only on the gun, bringing my other hand under the first and positioning them in the in the exact same way I did that night and I began to remember. I wasn't really scared at the moment of firing.
I wasn't even thinking to be honest. I remember being completely blank back there, not a single emotion. Just me, three targets, and a gun, waiting to be fired.
*bang!* Bullseye.
There it was. I’ve heard the llamas say that the moment you achieve nirvana, you will know it. Who knew that I’d achieve mine behind the barrel of a gun?
I took it as a sign from above; there was a new direction for my life to go in. Of course, I needed to get serious about it if I was going to be taken seriously.
The next day I found a gun range. I wanted something large and nasty, something where only a round or two would be required to do the job. The Desert Eagle .50 AE was nice, but I decided to go for something that didn’t have the danger of breaking my wrist when I fired it. The Eagle was something to work up to.
The owner, Top Shot, talked me into a 1911 to begin with. Smaller, lighter, more ammo per clip, less recoil. It was an old gun, but that just meant the engineering was insanely reliable and ammo was cheap and plentiful. It felt just as good as the revolver when I was out on the range.
I spent every hour after work for the next two months there, putting bullet after bullet into target after target. My nights were spent taking the gun apart and pulling it back together until I could do it with my eyes closed.
Eventually, it became less of a gun and more of an extension of me. Every time I took my position on the range it became easier and easier get a hold of myself and forget any emotion I could feel. Only me, the bullets and the target.
By the end I was shooting entire clips in tight clusters ambidextrously. It wasn't as difficult as I thought, I seemed to be a natural at this.
Then, I decided to use all the things I knew to my advantage, so I mixed my new found affinity for hitting targets with something of my old talents; theatrics and illusions. I made a costume to keep my identity secret and use the mystery as a catch.
Nothing too complicated or highlighted, something I could wear in public without attract too much attention. Military training uniform and boots, durable and useful. At first I was going to tint it with my classical purple and azure, but the point was to hide myself, so I went for a more dark-red palette. A pair of leather gloves too, no fingerprints to be found if I ever lose a weapon. Finally, a balaclava of the same color of my mane, silver. I suppose there are still some parts of me that I can't let go.
At first I had some difficulties, nobody wanted to hire someone who didn't show her face or wasn’t willing to give any names. But then, reading the newspaper, I saw an opportunity.
Two guy were absolved of a murder. They were obviously guilty. It wasn't really that new -Las Pegasus was often called the Sin City for a reason- but I felt it was worth investigating.
It happened that they were the typical spoiled rich brats with enough friends in high places to avoid the law whenever they wanted, and their victim was just a simple waitress working at a casino. Her family wasn't a big deal either, just a father who was just an honest undertaker without enough money or influence, so there wasn't too much he could do about it.
That was where I entered the picture.
Three days later, the guys who killed his little girl were being buried, each with a bullet in the heart and another in their head. All their money, all their contacts, all the power of their families weren't enough to save them from death. The police was confused to say the least. The undertaker knew nothing about it and the only clue they had was a piece of paper with a red crosshair painted over it.
Yeah, theatrics and all that.
When the investigation got classified as cold, I went to the undertaker's house and explained the situation. He thanked me with tears in his eyes, but that wasn't what I wanted. I explained him that it wasn't a favor; it was an exchange for publicity. I gave him my new cellphone's number, and told him that should he cross paths with any other families in similar circumstances to his own, that he suggest they give it a ring and that I might be able to help with their problem. For a price, of course.
After that, I just waited until the voice ran long enough before there were five ponies asking for "that Deadshot mare."
"Trixie!" Sonata calls from outside the bathroom " You're wasting too much water and gas!"
I roll my eyes and shake off the water from my hair. Sure I might be taking my time -- and raising our water and gas bills in the process -- but it’s not like she’s the one paying for them. Still, my practical side recognizes that even Sonata has a point every now and again and I cut off the water while trying to shrug off those memories.
It's been a long road from there to today.
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Oh man. Given that I can't read the story bio or the title, I have a feeling that this shall be our lovable main character.
I have a feeling that the author adores black and red original characters. And what an original character this is.
Oh, and he's a human turned pony? Truly, this couldn't possibly be setting up for some kind of commentary on unoriginal storytelling. That would be ridiculous.
So our obvious main character is a black and red alicorn original character who is also the embodiment of a lost seventh element? I wonder what shall become of him. I bet good things. Lots of good things.
Whhhhhhaaaaat? Dear God, this author is so edgy, and speaks so deeply to the fandoms urges to clear the internet of unoriginal original characters. This story is too cool for school. I must read on to see what other twists and turn this shall take.
...I'm sorry, that was the reaction you were looking for, right?
Nah, I'm just busting your balls. That was actually the only part of this chapter that I genuinely enjoyed. Won't keep reading, but I'll throw you a like.
5659538
I'll be honest with you, I needed a dynamic entrance that wasn't a description, so I went for a cliché storm scene, just for fun.
Also, I can't force you to like the rest, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I don't ask about what do you thing about it.
Not too bad a beginning. A small suggestion for part of it:
"In the shower!" she called out from the bathroom. How considerate of her, I reflect. That'll make cleaning up all the blood easier.I walk there
Ah, Mary Sues, such wonderful hatetargets you make. The opening reminded me of Self-Extractors, with a touch of Magical Girl Hunters.
All things considered, off to a good start. Trixie is pretty gritty, very Dark Age 90's hero. Just don't give her any pouches and you're good to go.
5685634
Oh ROB! Liefeld, he codified and destroyed the entire concept of 90's anti-hero with pouches, guns and a complete disregard towards human anatomy or euclidean geometry.
More than a hero, I envision Trixie in a more subjective POV (Steve Ditko would provably hate this), not 'dark' but definitely in the edge between good and evil. She isn't a 'kick the dog' villain, but she isn't a 'save the dog' hero either. Here's a dialogue that explains it better but I couldn't insert without stopping the narrative:
Sonata: If you were driving and you saw a little girl lying in the street, would you stop and help her?
Trixie: Well I wouldn't go out of my way to run her over at least.
Glad you liked it.
*truth
There shouldn't be a 'soon' there, either that or there should be an 'as' after it.
*gave
*guy
'It's a long story full of clichés.' Would work better.
*thought
I think it's supposed to just be 'shot', not sure though.
umm... What?
*times and *crowds.
While this is technically correct, 'we'll' would work better.
There should be an apostrophe before till, like this: 'till
*usual
There shouldn't be a 'the' in this sentence.
*shoot.
I need something, so I'm gonna do something else. Not that there's anything wrong with that sentance but it made me laugh.
Do you mean 'leave'?
for a roommate.
End up? Maybe?
*three heavily armed guys.
*The revolver.
* let out the breath.
*sign.
*seriously
*show.
Should be a comma after murder.
*that was where.
*Listened to.
Ok, this is one of the, if not my favorite, fics on this site. Keep going strong.
Ps. Deadshot is best DC character.
And once again, I manage to forget things I should know about english. Well, thank you very much for this (your name is now on the notes), seriously, if I can ever repay you this just let me know.
Right now, I'm not sure on how to continue, so I'll focus on other projects before making another arc.
P.S.: And now Will Smith is now part of that.
P.P.S.:
Neither, 'six shooter'.
Exactly.
As general principle, if it makes someone laughs, I keep it.
Not even the notes are safe.
"Snipin's a good job, mate!"
8763970
In hindsight, maybe I went a little hamfisted with the TF2 references.
9848976
Thanks for reading. And thanks for pointing that out. To be fully honest, my knowledge of weapons extends to Team Fortress 2, and Wikipedia. So, thanks for that too.