Fire on High

by Plaidface

Chapter 1

The darkness of the forest appeared a monochrome blue through the bat pony eyes of Spitfire. She glanced at her stopwatch as she stalked noiselessly through the brush. Forty five minutes left; more than adequate time to apprehend her targets before the bat pony potion wore off with a debilitating bang.

Spitfire let loose a short ultrasonic shrill. The sound waves blanketed the way forward with a gentle vibration only her elongated ears could pick up, momentarily revealed what was in front of her. She was now just a quick pounce away from her two unsuspecting prey. Beyond them were two more bat ponies completing the triangular noose stealthily closing in. Or at least that’s the way it was supposed to work. One of the bat pony was lagging behind markedly, making her formation look more like a amateurish right triangle.

“Hey what’re you doing Soarin!” Spitfire screeched in a frequency too high for normal ponies to hear.

“Sorry there’s like a ton of bramble here,” Soarin responded meekly.

Spitfire rolled her slender slitted eyes in exasperation.

“Fleetfoot, hold your position until Soarin sorts himself out,” she commanded the bat pony comprising the other vertex of the formation.

Fleetfoot gave a snicker in the affirmative.

While she waited, Spitfire looked over her quarry one last time. They were two unicorns dressed in pin stripe vests. The blue tint of her night vision made the two almost indistinguishable save for the mustache one of them sported. The two stood atop a most peculiar mode of transportation. It looked like a train that crashed into a science fair.

“Oh what is it now Brother,” one of the unicorn moaned.

The other mustached unicorn was poking his glowing horn into the vehicle’s insides.

“It appears we’ve blown a gasket,” he responded over his shoulder. He gave up inspecting the contraption with a cough as black smoke bellowed out of the machine.

“Well fix it then dear Brother,” said the first unicorn.

“Dammit Brother I’m a salespony not a mechanic,” the mustached one shot back.

“You a salespony? What a laugh,” the first mocked. “From Ponyville to Las Pegasus we haven't closed a single deal.”

“Well maybe if you’d offer folks more than a 30% share we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“It’s called low-balling. Maybe you’d understand basic sales tactics if you didn’t spend all your time choreographing stupid musical numbers like a fairy.”

“Fairy!” the mustached one waved an indignant hoof. “Those are fighting words sir!”

Spitfire was about to give the order to snuff out their lovers’ quarrel when a rustling noise in her periphery stopped her.

“Everypony hold what you got,” she commanded pressing herself into the ground.

Spitfire fired an ultrasonic screech, illuminating four burly pony figures passing right through her formation. They seemed oblivious to the bat ponies lurking mere meters away.

“Hey we got customers,” the clean shaven unicorn whispered jabbing his brother in the ribs. “Maybe we can dump this junk on em.”

“Evening Gentelcolts,” he said clearing his throat. He lept off the vehicle and tipped his hat to the approaching four ponies. “Why tonight is your lucky night travelers, for your evening trot is about to turn into a gallop into the future.”

“Flim and Flam I presume?” one of the ponies asked.

“Why yes my good stallion!” the mustached unicorn chimed in leaping down beside his brother.

The two unicorns looked at each other knowingly.

“He’s Flim he’s Flam, we’re the world famous Flim Brothers~,” they sang in unison. “Traveling sales pony non-”

A sudden punch to their faces cut them short as they went sprawling to the ground. The four ponies stomped their hooves onto their lungs, pinning them where they fell.

“I believe you got something that doesn’t belong to you boys,” one of the ponies said.

“Why I haven’t the slightest idea what-”

The clean shaven unicorn was cut off again by another punch to the face.

“Dear Celstia,” gasped the mustached brother. “Please have mercy on us! We were going to give it back along with all the profit!”

The four ponies raised their hooves for another strike when they suddenly looked up in Soarin’s direction.

“Little help guys. I’m stuck,” the hapless pegasus screeched.

The shrubs around him rustled like pom poms as he struggled in the bramble. All four ponies turned in his direction, pulling out slender metal tubes from their trench coats. Spitfire immediately recognized them as flintlock pistols.

“Dammit,” Spitfire cursed. “Fleetfoot, attack!”

With that Spitfire sprang out of the shadows, fangs poised at the nearest of the four ponies. She caught him right in the nape. Her sharp bat fangs sank through the soft flesh and pierced the neck bone with a satisfying crunch. Warm blood sprayed straight down her throat. Out of the corner of her eyes Spitfire could see Fleetfoot hit her mark as well.

She swiftly extracted her fangs and pounced on the next. This one saw her coming and raised his foreleg trying to bring his pistol to bear. It was far too late however as Spitfire dove under the pistol and flew at his exposed neck like a typhoon uppercut. She bucked him hard towards the last pony while her fangs were still clasped around his neck, tearing his jugular right out.

The last pony managed to get a shot off but only succeeded in hitted his dead comrade. Spitfire smacked her lips as she lept from behind her meat shield. That flintlock pistol took at least twenty seconds to reload. The utter helplessness of her final victim sent chills down her spine.

Yet as she made her final approach it wasn’t fear that she saw in his eyes. His foreleg remained upright, the pistol still aimed menacingly at her. Could it be?

And then the impossible happened.

A followup shot crackled out of the muzzle. Spitfire tried altering her flight path but beating a bullet from point blank was an impossible feat, and the night only had room for one miracle. The impact shattered her dark purple armor and sent her hurtling back. Spitfire winced as sharp pain shot through her left shoulder. Out of her tearing eyes however she saw Fleetfoot seize the opening. Two shots was all that pony would get off.

“Spitifire!” screamed Soarin belatedly making an entrance.

She sternly shoved him away. “Secure the area!” she barked.

“But you’re bleeding,” Soarin protested.

“I’ll be fine. Not every pegasus is as weak as you,” she spit turning her wounded shoulder away.

Already Fleetfoot was firing off ultrasonic waves in an arc. Spitfire covered down on her sector, ensuring the area had no more hidden surprises.

They found nothing but the four dead ponies and the two brothers who laid by their vehicles unconscious. Probably passed out from fear Spitfire guessed.

She glanced at her stopwatch again.

“Let’s get these guys back to Canterlot,” she ordered the bat ponies. “We’re running out of time.”

---

The evening breeze wafted the aroma rising from the tea cups, and mixed with the sweet scent of midsummer. It was an ambiance befitting the royal quarters of Canterlot Castle yet it was in sharp contrast to the consternation which wrapped its occupants.

The Captain of the Canterlot Royal Guards took a final sip as if to gather the courage to address the elephant in the room.

“I believe it’s time Twilight learns of...us.”

Silence.

The three alicorns continued to stare down at the table as if its polished marble surface was the most interesting thing in the room.

“It is an inevitability yes...” Princess Luna finally spoke. “However is it not premature?”

“If we found her worthy of being a princess then surely she is ready,” the Captain responded. “Her raw talent for magic is unmatched to put it mildly and I need not remind anypony here that we will need her powers soon.”

“Nopony doubts her ability,” Princess Celestia joined. “However it is a delicate situation and the execution must be absolutely perfect.”

“Indeed,” Luna added. “Though powerful she may be, I am afraid she is still a product of her time. When the moment comes I do not see her capable of doing what must be done.”

The Captain rustled his multi-blue mane and sat back in his chair with a sigh. “Are we to create another trial to lay before her then? We do not have that kind of luxury.”

Princess Cadence put down her tea cup with a subtlety of force enough to silence the room without betraying her regalness. All eyes turned to her.

“As a product of Twilight’s time myself I believe I am most suited to the task at hoof, and I say she is ready.” She chose her next words carefully. “Besides...good ponies gave everything because they believed in her. I want to do the same.”

Celestia looked at her intently, finally giving a nod. “Your voice ought to carry the most weight in this matters shouldn't it? You will hear no objections from me if you think it best.”

Luna appeared to protest but tacitly acquiesced. She reached for the teapot telekinetically in silence.

“We have an accord then,” the Captain said standing up. “I will start making the necessary arrangements.” With a gracious bow he excused himself from the table.

As he reached the door out of the chamber Luna called to the Captain, “I hope you know what you’re doing Starswirl.”

He paused on the threshold, only his rear flank emblazoned with a purple shield cutiemark still visible.

“Yeah...me too,” he muttered.

---

Only darkness awaited Flim when he finally came to. Perhaps his body didn’t open his eyes even though he commanded it to. Yes, getting punched in the face must’ve messed with his nerves. This time he consciously opened them as wide as his eyelids would stretch.

Still nothing.

The initial grogginess quickly turned to fear. His instinct told him to run far far away yet every time he attempted to move all he heard were the rustling of metal. His limbs were bound to the floor by chain. Fear became abject panic.

“Fla... Flam!” he screamed flailing in his chains. “Where are you Brother!”

A desperate primal cry like that of a wounded animal watching itself being consumed answered back. As Flim turned towards the noise his heart skipped a beat. A blue light hovered over Flam and silhouetted across from him was surely the harbinger of their most macabre demise. Flim expelled a hoarse scream as soon as his voice returned.

“For the love of Celestia don’t eat me!”

With a raised eyebrow Princess Luna pulled away from the hysterical unicorns. “I commend thee on your illusion spell,” she whispered. “What am I exactly?”

Hidden in the dark Princess Cadence couldn’t help a smirk. “You’ll appear as a giant centipede. Your mandibles alone are as big as tennis rackets.”

“Very creative,” Luna complemented turning to the work at hoof.

She pressed a foreleg into the mouth of the mustached one and shoved her rear leg into the other. She craned her neck theatrically as if they were a segmented carapace.

“If you don’t want to become my next meal you will cease your incessant screaming and answer my questions,” Luna hissed. “You were attacked by four ponies. Who were they!” she growled slackening her hold on their mouths.

Flim immediately started spazzing out, begging for the mercy of his Goddess. Luna responded in kind by swiftly wrapping her body around him. She pressed her muzzle against his ear as she started choking him.

“Wait wait don’t eat him!” Flam begged.

Luna cocked her head exaggeratingly. “So?”

“I, I don’t know I swear.”

She opened her jaws wide as if to swallow Flim’s head.

“No stop please!” his brother screamed. Sweat covered his face as if he just stepped out of the shower. “I, I think they were after the Super Cider Squeezy.”

“You expect me to believe common robbers are that well equipped? Surely you can do better.”

Luna slithered her tongue across her victim from muzzle to ear.

“Ok we stole it! There I said it! We stole it!”

“From who!” Luna demanded.

“We swiped it from Orange Enterprises. We used to work in a factory out of Manehatten and well it was a dead end job and...oh Celestia we never wanted any of this to happen! Please, we’ll go to jail just don’t kill us!”

Luna motioned to Cadence with a slitting motion across her neck.

Cadence pushed more mana into the illusion spell that transfixed the two unicorns. If the former spell was like a delicate cobweb, this was as deft as buffeting the mind with a wet rag. The brothers’ eyes rolled back into their skulls, screams snuffed out into affixated gurgles. In moments they had lost consciousness yet again.

---

Spitfire leaned heavily against the rusted walls as if she were blackout drunk, though perhaps that wasn’t entirely inaccurate. She took another swig from her hip flask and poured the rest of the bourbon onto her wounded shoulder. The sting bought her a moment of clarity to remember where she was going. She slapped herself in the cheeks couple of times and rustled her disheveled mane: her natural orange color still intermingled with the dark navy color of a bat pony. Her bat wings looked like that of a mangy bird’s with random patches of yellow feathers starting to sprout from the bare black skin. One of her pupil still remained slitted and a sharp fang protruded from one corner of her mouth.

Spitfire never got used to coming down from the bat pony potion although she’d be the first to defend it was impressive she was even walking at all. Most ponies simply turned into bumbling fools or past out in a confused daze.

As a bat pony everything is so clear and sharp. Every smell, touch, and noise is so vivid bordering on omniscience. Your muscles feel engorged with blood as if you’re ready to pull a dozen carts of apples, yet they’re supple and nimble as the delicate legs of a water strider. You are truly the master of the night, but when the potion wears off its like going from a speed bike to a tricycle in a matter of seconds. Your brain trips over itself at 120 mph as it goes crashing into the asphalt turning into tomato paste. It’s no wonder most ponies lose all motor function and struggle even to form coherent sentences. Spitfire recalled how Soarin even defecated uncontrollably when he first came off the bat pony potion.

The pleasant memory made her hurl.

Spitfire walked into the laboratory as she wiped the vomit from her mouth. The room was more of a workshop than its official designation would suggest. All manners of shop equipment and tools lay everywhere. Schematics, illegible notes, screws, and power tools all lay intermingled atop the numerous cluttered workbenches. In the organized chaos, there were several unicorn researchers picking apart Spitfire’s recent haul. The strange contraption lay disassembled with its myriad parts meticulously labeled and displayed like an autopsy of a newly discovered species.

The contraption didn't concern her however as much as the device that almost killed her. She stumbled past the layout and pushed past startled onlookers. It’ll be a few more hours before she starting looking more like a pegasus than a hybrid freakshow.

She found the device labeled as a “Repeating Pistol.” It looked similar to flintlock pistols she’d seen before though it’s construction was of alarmingly high quality. Gunpowder weapons cropped up every now and again especially among criminal elements. They were usually cooked up in crude basement workshops by disgruntled (and more often than not insane) researchers exiled from mainstream academia: mad scientists essentially. This pistol however appeared machine built according to exacting factory standards. It felt heftier in the hoof as well. The added weight was in the metal cylinder attached to the breach. Spitfire felt around the weapon until it popped open.

Of course! It was so simple yet utterly ingenious. It was no black magic or trickery. The cylinder had six holes where the bullet and gunpowder were preloaded. All a pony had to do was rotate the cylinder and he was ready to go. One pony, six kills.

“I told you, no field agents allowed in the laboratory,” a nasally voice interrupted her musing.

Spitfire looked up to see the head researcher stomping towards her. In her foggy state of mind, she thought she retorted that field agents had a right to know what they’re up against. From the old stallion’s expression however, it was more likely she told him to go pleasure himself with a broom handle or other such phallic object.

She regretted that as her throbbing headache slightly subsided. With a grumble she picked up a used mug from a nearby workbench. She dumped the content onto the oil stained floor, replacing it with slightly less lukewarm coffee from the pot. It was burnt and flavorless just the way she detested. The caffeine however slightly restored her lucidity.

As a gesture of rapprochement she walked over to the head researcher and the peculiar mode of transportation.

“So, what is this thing Doc?” she asked feigning interest.

The unicorn seemed to have forgotten all about their earlier exchange, caught up once again in the thrill of discovery. He leapt at the opportunity to show off what he’d learned.

“Well I’m quite certain that it’s an agricultural machinery,” he proclaimed. “It has numerous vacuum devices that catch small critters that would otherwise ravage crops and instead pulverizes them into fertilizer.”

“Uhh you sure it doesn't make cider or something?”

“Ha cider! A clever euphemism for dead animal compost,” the researcher scoffed. “But that is unimportant. The real interesting bit is what powers this vehicle.”

He motioned Spitfire to a large chrome rectangle. A mishmash of gears and tubing, it had numerous valves sticking out of the top in a general V shape.

“The actual manufacturing of fertilizer is handled by a simple crystal engine powered by unicorn magic; nothing we haven’t seen before,” explained the researcher. “This engine you see here however is what drives the chassis. In all my years I've seen nothing like it.”

The researcher handed Spitfire a beaker displayed next to the chrome engine. It was filled with what looked like urine except it gave off a potent fume that made her nauseous and almost puke again.

“That liquid is the engine’s power source. Highly flammable I dare say. My wife always did say cigarettes would be the death of me” the unicorn said abashedly.

Spitfire suddenly realized his lab coat was noticeably charred with the left sleeve completely burnt off.

“In any case,” he continued clearing his throat. “This engine appears to use that liquid to create controlled explosions which in turn pump the pistons and drive the gears. It’s a rather dirty and noisy affair but by Celestia is it powerful. I estimate it has the strength of twenty ponies. This energy source will completely galvanize the industrial landscape!”

“Hmm and I suppose as the discoverer I should rightfully be the one to name this liquid,” the researcher said rubbing his chin. “I shall call it, Professor Nicklebottom’s Great–”

“It’s called gasoline,” a voice interrupted.

Realizing who the speaker was, the unicorn bowed reverently as well as the other researchers in the room. Spitfire followed suit.

“Princess Luna,” she addressed with a bow stifled with protocol.

Princess Luna motioned for her subjects to rise with a gracious wave of her hoof.

“Let us not get carried away my dear Professor,” she gently chided. “I trust this engine hasn't been patented?”

The head researcher’s face was beet red with embarrassment.

“Uh no Princess,” the researcher managed meekly rubbing the back of his head. “No such engine has been filed with the Ministry of Intellectual Property. I think it’s safe to say whomever designed this did so in secrecy,”

The Princess nodded pensively. “Well Professor, I’ll leave the rest in your capable hooves. I expect a full report in three days time.”

Princess Luna now turned her attention to Spitfire. She beckoned with her head as if to say follow. Spitfire obliged her sovereign.

“Captain Spitfire, I need you and your team to head to Manehatten immediately,” said the Princess after they walked out of earshot of the researchers. “I need you to scout out the headquarters of Orange Enterprises.”

“Orange Tower?” Spitfire said barely hiding her surprise. “You think that device was made by them?”

“Well admittedly there isn’t much to go on. It appears the other suspects met an untimely demise,” she glared.

“Hey my team was in jeopardy. I would've killed em again in a heartbeat!”

Princess Luna’s countenance turned stern as if suddenly remembering she was above Spitfire both physically and socially.

“I don’t want any fatalities on this one. This is strictly a reconnaissance mission,” she said leaning over her. “Find out what you can about any illegal projects they’re working on and report back: that is all. Is that understood?”

Spitfire looked away, taking a moment to remind herself that the Princess was indeed above her both physically and socially. She grudgingly nodded without making eye contact.

“You have your orders Captain,” The Princess said shoving a dossier into her arms. She turned and briskly walked away.

Spitfire muttered an expletive under her breath. This time she didn't blame it on the bat pony potion.