Eleven

by lord_steak

Looking For Trouble

Across the dim room sat a dozen ponies monitoring one thing or another on their respective crystal balls’ projections. Shadow-Walker moved silently around the room, pausing now and then at various stations. In his rotations he frequently stopped at three particular stations that were side-by-side, each showing a run-down city just before dawn. Light from an opening door intruded upon the darkness. Fallow Fields stepped in, this time in a black suit with a spring green tie, and closed the door behind him. Shadow-Walker turned as his boss approached and gave him a simple order: “Report.”

“Field Team A has had no luck so far in the Golden Desert,” Shadow-Walker said, pointing a hoof at a few work stations. He gestured towards the adjacent stations, saying, “Field Team B advised there are more troublesome locals in the Stirrup Steppes than the scouts’ reports indicated. Local watch team noted Princess Twilight Sparkle showed up in town unannounced, still without guard detail.”

Mr. Fields shook his head discontentedly. He grumbled, “Have them keep a constant eye on her.”

“They didn’t need to be told,” answered the black stallion.

“Good. Field Team C?”

Two of the ponies at other workstations turned toward the boss with wide smiles, one pumping a hoof in the air. Shadow-Walker looked and sounded satisfied as he reported, “Success. They found it.”

Fallow Fields laughed triumphantly, hoof-bumping the two who smiled and putting a foreleg around Shadow-Walker. “Most excellent!” he cheered. “Follow standard extraction procedure.”

“They’re already on it. Four remain.”

“Perfect. Good work,” said Fallow Fields with a smile. “And, the Lone Ranger?”

“Lone Ranger is on the ground, and on the move,” Shadow-Walker replied with stymied venom.

“Progress?”

“Minor delay due to a local gang, but not enough to knock her off-schedule.”

The director frowned at his lieutenant’s masked indignation. “You seem disappointed.”

“Maybe a little,” conceded Shadow-Walker. He bit back on his anger as he continued, “The faster she finishes the job, the sooner she’s out of my mane for good.”

“Make sure she actually finishes the job,” Fallow Fields curtly ordered. The black stallion nodded irritably. Easing up, the director asked, “Is the Outpost ready for the Lone Ranger’s arrival?”

“We’ve received no word from the Outpost,” said Shadow-Walker with a frown.

“That can’t be right.”

Shadow-Walker led Mr. Fields over to one of the workstations. A small beige earth pony mare with mint green eyes, an emerald mane, and an empty basket for a cutie mark sat here with a hoof to her earpiece. Shadow-Walker said, “Weaver! Any update on the Outpost?”

“Negative, sir! I’m still trying,” she answered.

Fallow Fields looked over her station, asking “Is she on the right frequency?”

“Double-check your frequency,” ordered the second-in-command.

“Ball is set at 21.55 gigahertz, sir!”

The director scratched his chin. “Not incorrect here; what about there?”

Ms. Weaver answered, “Negative, sir! Visual confirmation from the Outpost in the ball.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. Main viewer, Ms. Weaver,” ordered the director. On the wall appeared the projection of an apartment’s interior, looking across a fairly nice office desk and chair with a few filing cabinets in front of a wall that was in a state of disrepair. Nopony was there. Fallow Fields nickered irritably, “It was left it on...this is bad.”

“Sir, what do we do now?” Ms. Weaver asked.

“Hope and pray the Outpost isn’t down. If it is, well...the Lone Ranger may have a difficult time of things,” Fallow Fields said, shaking his head. He turned toward his second-in-command. “Get some sleep. You’ve had a busy night. I have things from here.”

“Of course, sir. Good luck,” answered Shadow-Walker. As he entered the lift, he muttered, “Think, think, think. Doesn’t look like Plan A or B is gonna work now. How to cast the net...?”

---

Twilight Sparkle awoke with a yawn and a long stretch. Her tower condo here in Canterlot felt much more like home than her palace in Ponyville. Maybe it was the years she spent here, the familiar hangings, the ambience, the room layout, the view...it all took her back to simpler times. Everything was as it used to be...except the breathing. Somepony else was here; the breathing was way too deep to be Spike. And there wasn’t any snoring. And...there was more than one. The sound emanated from below, down on the first floor. Then the memory from yesterday and the night before returned: Lyra’s panic, the long talk with Princesses Celestia and Luna, the ensuing long talk with her old friends, and planning to help Lyra find Bon-Bon before—

“Hey, morning, Twi,” said an amiable female voice.

The princess nearly leapt out of her skin. She turned to see a familiar face, in the form of an ivory unicorn mare with a bubblegum pink mane and tail. “Twinkleshine. Morning. I...huh.” Twilight hesitated briefly, then continued, “I don’t mind, but why did you stay here?”

“My place is on the other side of town,” Twinkleshine said flatly.

Twilight nodded. Her ears flicked toward the balcony’s edge. She paused again, then asked, “Wow, did everypony just sleep over?”

“Sure did.”

“Who all went out looking last night?” asked Twilight. “I crashed after writing the decrees and delivering them.”

Twinkleshine gave her a sad smile, explaining, “All of us went looking. We’ve never seen her so down in the dumps.”

“I know,” answered Twilight, slowly shaking her head. “Guess I’ll get breakfast started. Catch me up when the others wake up.”

“No, don’t,” directed the white unicorn, holding a hoof in the princess’s path. “I’ll fix breakfast.”

“I’m the hostess! I should prepare food for my guests,” protested Twilight.

“Yes, but you can’t cook; Spike’s done it for years.”

Scoffing, the alicorn almost petulantly insisted, “I can so cook!”

“Twilight, I haven’t forgotten that scorched mess you called a cake. Just let me do it,” Twinkleshine said soothingly, patting the princess on the shoulder.

Still objecting, Twilight squawked, “That was almost ten years ago! I’ve learned since!”

“And I’ve been cooking the whole time, nearly daily. I’ve got this,” soothed Twinkleshine. As the alicorn frowned, she quickly added, “And before you even think it, it’s not because of your crown; it’s because I know what I’m doing by heart. It’s okay.”

Twilight sighed, her face creased with frustration. Huffing, she grumped, “Fine.”

The two walked down the stairs. Twinkleshine turned toward the kitchen while Twilight headed for the rotunda, past Twinkleshine’s makeshift bed on floor. There she found her other schoolmates wrapped in spare blankets and piled on the couch, tables, and chairs in sloppy sleeping arrangements. Lyra, who had taken the bench, was awake, staring at the ceiling miserably. Minuette was stirring on the coffee table. Moon Dancer still had an open book on the floor in front of the couch, but was zonked. Lemon Hearts, in the recliner, snored quietly enough to not be heard unless one was close by.

“Lyra, are you okay?” asked Twilight, stopping next to her.

“No.”

Twilight's ears and expression slumped at how empty and flat the answer came. She watched as Lyra’s eyes turned a bit glassy as she held back a sniffle, never taking her gaze off of some indeterminate point on the ceiling. Solemnly, the princess asked, “Is there anything more I can do to help?”

Lyra emitted a long, drawn-out sigh. “I don’t know. I have to find her before she gets in too deep. I’m trying to remember the better clairvoyance spells, but it’s been too long since I had AP Divination; I’ve forgotten too much.”

Tapping her chin in thought, Twilight uttered, “I still have the book to that class.”

“Really!?” Lyra started with sudden energy, sitting upright as if she were bipedal. Moon Dancer and Lemon Hearts both opened their eyes briefly and Minuette took a deep breath. Lyra eagerly asked, “Can I see it?”

“Sure. Upstairs, fourth bookcase from the left, second shelf from the top,” said Twilight, gesturing as she spoke.

“Thanks!” Lyra nearly shouted as took off up the stairs close to a canter from sitting still.

“Lyra wants...” began Minuette and was interrupted by her own yawn, “...hoo-wa. Sorry. Why does Lyra want to look up something from school?”

Twilight replied, “She can’t remember the spells from AP Divination, but she remembered there were a few that can help her find Bon-Bon. I had the class, but it wasn’t my best subject.”

“Wasn’t that the only one you risked getting an A- in?” Minuette teased with a small giggle.

Twilight grumbled, “Yeah, thanks for the reminder. That was so stressful.”

Minuette laughed as Twilight frowned. Pulling herself together, the blue unicorn chuckled, “Ha-ha, you were totally freaking out before every midterm, too! Did you ever try counting backwards from five?”

“Yeah, and it didn’t do much good,” said Twilight with a sigh. She drew herself up, taking a deep breath, and as she exhaled, she waved a hoof in front of her.

Minuette raised an eyebrow with a grin. “What was that?”

“Something my sister-in-law showed me. This one works for me,” said Twilight, now calmer.

“Well, if it works, go for it,” Minuette said. She sniffed at the air, to which a smile broke over her face. “Hey, are those pancakes and home fries I smell?”

“What? Oh... I guess?” answered Twilight, a bit absentmindedly. “Twinkleshine insisted on making breakfast, so—”

“Girls! Twinkleshine Special for breakfast!” announced Minuette at the top if her lungs, making a beeline for the kitchen.

“Wha...?? Oh! All right!” beamed Moon Dancer, quickly emerging from slumber and heading toward the kitchen, snatching up her glasses in a telekinetic aura.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” shouted Lemon Hearts as she bolted upright and followed the others.

Lyra came running down the stairs with a book held in her magic. “At least today starts off with a solid meal,” she remarked.

Twilight blinked at this rapid exodus. She could hear them digging out her plates and bickering over who sat where. “I really need to spend more time with my old friends,” she sighed. “Maybe I should get a secretary....”

The “Twinkleshine Special” was buttermilk blueberry pancakes with strawberry syrup, whipped cream, and blackberry sauce, home fries, oatmeal, and orange juice. Twilight wondered when Twinkleshine found the time or opportunity to buy groceries, since she certainly didn’t have anything left in the pantry here. Nevertheless, they spent much of the time laughing and talking, with Twilight telling most of the new stories. Lyra laughed with her friends, though she spent most of the time perusing the book in front of her. Lemon Hearts spoke up, “Well, this is a funny role-reversal!”

“Wha...?” breathed Lyra, as though she had been distracted.

Lemon Hearts giggled, “Twilight’s telling the stories, and Lyra has her nose in a book! Minuette, did you bring your camera?”

They all laughed for a moment, though Lyra was easily the first to stop and carry on as before. Most of her pancakes still sat uneaten. Taking a bite of the potatoes and turning the page a few times quickly, she mumbled, “Just trying to remember something....”

“How goes the search?” Moon Dancer chimed in

“Most of these don’t affect a wide enough area,” reported Lyra, still scrutinizing the book. “I can try etching a magic circle to boost the range, but not enough. Canterlot’s too big.”

Twinkleshine gave a knowing smile to Lemon Hearts and Minuette, who both tittered briefly. Moon Dancer just shook her head. Twilight stepped in, “We could each try that at different points around the city.”

“I suppose, but it’s not a short incantation, plus there’s making a magic circle,” Lyra said. “I haven’t had a need to do that since we were in that ‘Intro To Magical Theory’ class. I’m very rusty.”

Twilight beamed. “No worries; we can review those magic circles and put them into practice this afternoon!”

Minuette, Twinkleshine, and Lemon Hearts burst out laughing, almost in unison. Moon Dancer cracked a grin, and Lyra smiled and shook her head. As the guffaws subsided, Lemon Hearts snickered, “There’s the Twilight we know and love!”

Another round of laughter, and a few eyes needed a quick wipe before they had the giggles under control. A quiet, happy (or happier than before, in Lyra’s case) moment passed before Minuette said, “Girls, Twi’s got a point. Lyra’s been there for us when our love lives turned sour, and many other sad moments. It’s the least we can do for her.”

Lyra gave a small smile as she stood up, walked over, and gave the blue unicorn a heartfelt hug. “Thanks, Minuette.”

---

Sweetie Drops wiped off the knife on the mugger’s fluffy coat lining. The execution of the strike produced neither scream nor blood pool, while the clavicle guided the knife’s point squarely into the ascending aorta. She dragged her assailant’s limp body towards the pile of sawdust and scrap wood, checking over her shoulder occasionally. All was clear. She wasted no time in clearing a body-shaped hole from the misshapen chunks. Checking one last time, she shoved the body into the hole, giving it an unceremonious burial with a bit of sawdust on top. She slunk through the shadows toward the other side of this fortuitously-placed carpenter’s shop and lumberyard. A nearby intersection showed her she was at the corner of Chestnut Street and Hayfield Boulevard. She allowed herself a small grin; the map she bought showed East High Street was off of Hayfield. She turned north, disappearing into the crowd.

Forty minutes passed as she walked down the road. In that time, she’d turned onto East High, realised she turned the wrong direction and got herself turned around. Finally she found the address in question: 1216. The building, like most of the rest of town, was a run-down, aged brick structure. Fire escapes lined its sides. An inscription on the doorframe read “Project Lakeview.” Looking upward, she saw at least twenty rows of windows, most of them darkened. She gave the glass double door a yank, and it opened.

Sweetie Drops found no lobby, just a dreary, dark-green hallway with the occasional chunk of missing plaster exposing the wood lath. A building layout sat on the wall, with “decorations” recently added. The quadrangle’s floor plan showed the nearest stairwell was four doors to the left toward the inside, and that all the first floor rooms were all assigned three-digit numbers starting with a one.

Thirteen flights of stairs...not my favourite thing.

She found the stairway door had a broken lock and went up, feeling no reason to rush. Some of the lights were out at the sixth floor. By the ninth, all of them were out, as though they didn’t bother with this part of the building. The windowless staircase darkened quickly. Sweetie Drops grabbed the shades and enabled the night vision. With the world in green, she advanced uninterrupted.

The entire thirteenth floor was dark. No windows left a silent green hallway, the wall paint the only thing around in its actual colour. She turned left coming out of the stairwell. If the floor plan downstairs could be trusted, 1386 should be on the inside corner. Sweetie Drops noted a lack of light from under every door. Nothing. The building was silent as a tomb. Not even water dripping sounded from anywhere. Near where the hall continued to the left was the door whose plaque read “1386.” It, too, shone equally little light from below its door. She knocked. Silence. No hoof steps, no voice, nothing. She knocked again. And again, no response. She knocked at the pink part of her curls, and out came something not given to her by Tinker: a small metal bar with precise kinks and teeth. Her lock pick. Setting it into the lock, she began to tap the pick.

With a huff, she grumbled, “A twenty-tumbler lock? Good grief....”

Hoof steps. Sweetie Drops halted, listening closely. The footfalls were quiet with a soft plunk that fell just after every fourth step.

Somepony wants to play...fine. With that staggered gait, this has to be a draft stallion trying to be quiet, and that fifth noise must be the butt-end of a spear tapping the floor; there’s nothing else that would explain it. A spear means a guard or sentry...a private watchpony in the high-rise projects...isn’t that just swell? Not all is as poor as expected in the poorer quarters, it would seem.

He sounded about twenty metres away, and closing in on her. Sweetie Drops stood up on her hind legs, bracing against the wall, with gritted teeth. She drew the knife, waiting. He would be there in a few seconds. She could pick a lock in that time, but not silently.

How to deal with this pony...I’d really rather not. Had enough of that today to last one day, or mission, or even lifetime. Please don’t force my hoof like those earlier did; I’ll do it, not happily, but I’ll do it. Ugh. Feels terrible even thinking about it. Good thing Lyra's not here; I’d hate for her to see this. Rather just be Bon-Bon, be her Bon-Bon. That’s really all I want, to go home to my shop, and have a quieter, simpler existence, with the mare I love in my—

Tobacco smoke found her nose. The guard was smoking a cigarette, and had to be just around the corner. The spear’s plunk confirmed he was less than a length away, literally in hooves’ reach with nothing between them but some plaster, thin strips of wood, and a maybe a steel I-beam. With bated breath she tensed up, her forelimb coiled and ready to deliver the end to somepony just doing his job, albeit of questionable legality.

How in the world did you let yourself get distracted in a potentially lethal situation!? That kind of mistake was unheard-of, even among first-timers and amateurs! You’ve got it bad, if thoughts of Lyra could break your focus here and now! Soon as he starts around the corner....

He wasn’t moving. The other stood just around the corner, not moving. There was no wind chime-like ringing of a spell, no aura of magic, nothing. A slight glow rose, followed the exhale of a smoker blowing out a draught. The smell of cigarette smoke soon came after.

Sweet Luna, that is foul. You'd think it’d be a harder habit to start, and easier to quit. I’d to think this mask filters out more than just the sleeping gas, but it doesn’t look that way. Not menthol, unfiltered maybe? Is there something I can divine from this? Well, no, there isn’t; maybe there would be if I’d been around more smokers, but I have no idea.

Still there he stood, not moving, giving no indication of when this undeclared standoff would end. Sweetie Drops’ forelimb began complaining about being held aloft as such. And still there they stood. Nothing. She began curving around, preparing to take the initiative as her patience waned. Then another plunk sounded, a bit away, then a brief glimpse of a trimmed tail met her enhanced vision. He ambled off at the same pace as he approached. She eased, quietly sighing to keep her presence unknown.

Sweetie Drops silently moved back to the door, returning to the lock pick. Twenty tumblers, and silence to maintain. She had plenty of time now, if she didn’t make any noise. Taking it easy, Sweetie Drops recalled the old skill.

Glad I didn’t have to end another. Both the pack of thugs and lone mugger were all lawless, violent individuals who intended far more harm than good, and on the whole would not be missed, possibly unnoticed altogether. This sentry...no idea. If he’s legally employed, killing him would’ve been murder. And I nearly did him in. How much flak would I get from the director for that? They could’ve chosen to throw me to the dogs and prosecute, if I had gone that route instead. Should’ve asked Tinker about the sleeping gas. I don’t know how long these pellets keep a pony under; I can’t take such a gamble when I could be in there for hours. Geez, why are you trying to justify murder? What’s gotten into you?

A soft click interrupted her mulling over her unjustifiable earlier actions as the lock opened. Into the apartment she went, quietly closing the door behind her. The apartment within was mostly barren and unfurnished. With one more danger put behind her, there was no refuge from her own conscience as she searched the apartment. Her stomach lurched.

You were completely in the wrong to have killed those five, and you knew it from the beginning. Even not knowing how long they stay in effect, the gas pellets would have been ample. Five ponies will not go home to their families tonight because of you. Five, whose families were doubtlessly hard-up enough already, and you gave them a funeral and burial to pay for as well. Five who suffered all their days are left dead in alleys or piles of wood, likely just trying to keep hay on the table by the only means they had left, and you kept them from bringing anything home ever again. Five that, while in the wrong for what they did, had not done enough to warrant the grisly demise you gave them. Five that will deservedly haunt your mind for years to come. Five that—

Blood met her feet. She had stepped in a cold, partially congealed pool of the stuff. With a gasp she looked down. A stallion lay in the middle of the pool with a single stab wound just behind the shoulder. The breadth and depth of the wound was of the kind that came from broad-headed spears, like a partisan. She recognized the face from briefing. It was him: Standing Vigil was dead in his own apartment. The stallion lay murdered at what should have been his haven. Dying with him was whatever info he had for her mission. Looking back, the door showed no sign of being forced, nor any signs of struggle here; he was just silently assassinated. The abject horror socked her in the belly, hard enough for her breakfast to make a repeat appearance.

I can’t stand it anymore!! Too much death, and I made it happen! Hadn’t taken the life of a pony before today, and the weight is already too much! This whole way of life is too much! How in the hell did I ever do it in the first place? No! I can’t, and won’t do it. No more, and never again. I refuse to be Sweetie Drops ever again.

“I swear, by Celestia’s sun, Luna’s moon, Cadance’s love, and Twilight’s friendship, this mission will be the last time I knowingly or willingly hurt another pony, and a peaceful candy-maker will I be to the end of my days, so help me Faust and keep me steadfast,” vowed Bon-Bon solemnly and earnestly, never before sounding so serious. She sighed. Picking herself up, she turned to find clues of what to do next, and something to clean herself off.

Bon-Bon passed through another doorway, and found the office. A crystal ball had a mare in it, busily handling paperwork. Behind this mare were the familiar trappings of the situation room. Bon-Bon steeled herself, and sat at the desk with crystal ball. “Lone Ranger reporting in. Respond.”

“The Lone Ranger has reached the fort; acknowledge,” answered that other mare, sounding of covert business.

Frowning, Bon-Bon said, “Negative. The Outpost has fallen.”

The mare in the crystal ball grimaced, then motioned to somepony behind her. She shuffled to one side, and the face of Fallow Fields took her spot. He looked displeased at the news, saying, “Lone Ranger, Chief Marshall here; acknowledge.”

“Lone Ranger acknowledges. The Outpost has fallen. No signs of struggle. Appears to have been a sneak attack from behind,” she said.

Mr. Fields closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. He unhappily directed, “Investigate the ruins of the fort; use anything found to proceed toward accessing The Hidden Valley.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Good luck. May nothing breathe down your back.”

“And may nothing breathe down yours. Out.”

The crystal ball turned clear as Bon-Bon worked at some buttons in front of it. There were a few filing cabinets beside the desk. She started quickly perusing the contents of each drawer, shuffling through papers and stuffing them back as neatly as she could without losing speed. She cleared the first drawer in five minutes. The second drawer took almost as long. She found detailed income tax information and other fiscal forms, notes from other missions, even some medical reports, but nothing regarding the Elevens.

The next cabinet opened easier, and she found paper ash, still sitting as if it burned there in the cabinet, filed neatly. The charred remains still had evidence of words, and could be read, until the slightest shake made the sheets crumble a little at a time. The cabinets had a solid fireproof rating; the only explanation that remained for her was that these documents had to have been burnt within the drawer while it was closed. The other four drawers of this cabinet gave the same results. Crumbling paper ash that could not be read met her in the next cabinet as well.

With past mission data in the previous cabinet, what was so much more sensitive that it needed to be destroyed first? And by fire inside his own apartment?

Bon-Bon huffed as she sat down at the desk. Her eyes turned toward the desk drawers. They weren’t locked. She got up and yanked the centre drawer open. Inside there were quills, inkwells, paperclips, sealing wax, a seal, a candle and a box of matches.

“Hmmm...,” hummed Bon-Bon satisfied as she opened the top right drawer. A manila envelope with a familiar seal sat on top. She quickly opened it, speed-reading as she went. There were only two sheets within. There were mini-dossiers on a few known members of the Elevens, and a hastily scrawled explanation that “they were onto him.” The second sheet had little on it, but was vastly more useful in her current situation:

You will need to find Custard Cream. She is a pale yellow unicorn with a frizzy tan mane and deep magenta eyes, and a slice of pie on a plate for a cutie mark. Custard Cream is a recruiter for the Elevens, and is who anypony that shows similar ideas to the Elevens is sent to. She is often around the restaurants along the waterfront of the St. Mare Shores suburb on the north side. Strike up conversation. Sooner or later she will ask, “Heard any juicy gossip?” The code answer to show you’re interested in joining is “One and one are one.” Good luck, Agent Sweetie Drops, and may nothing breathe down your back.

Bon-Bon pulled out the matches and set the read letter and its envelope on the tile floor. Striking one, she dropped the flame onto the awaiting paper. The sheets took to fire much quicker than paper usually does, giving Bon-Bon a pause. Only ash remained in under a minute.

A door opened. Bon-Bon gasped and forced a hoof over her mouth before she let out any more noise. Straining her ears, she crept along the wall, reaching for the sleeping gas pellets. She discerned two voices, both stallions.

“What a dump. I swear, if this is some more happy-ass bullshit from The Whips, I’m gonna have a goddamn conniption,” said some gruff baritone.

An easy-going lower tenor answered, “Relax, Sarge, nopony’s seen them in the projects.”

Police ponies. But why are they here now? Did I miss an alarm on the door? And how did they get in here without a key?

The sergeant asked, “And that tag on the first floor?”

“That was The Whips’ tag? Are you sure? I thought they did everything in orange,” retorted the junior police pony.

Their footfalls were getting closer as hints of flashlights provided some illumination. Fumbling with the pellets, Bon-Bon freed one from her blue curls as the sergeant began, “Yeah, it’s theirs. They sometimes put a little blue in the—” Footsteps and words ceased in unison, immediately followed by two different shocked gasps: one breathless, the other pushed being a squeal. The sergeant blurted, “...oh. Oh shit! Get Lieutenant Fuzz up here now!!”

“On it!” shouted the other as a bit of green light glowed for a moment. Soon there began a flashing of red and blue light, alternating between the two every not-quite-a-full-second. The unranked police pony said, “He’s on his way, with the rest of the precinct’s ponicide team.”

Bon-Bon heard them moving around, but could not see what. There was something scraping against the floor, followed by the sergeant again. “The blood’s cold, but the puke’s warm. Somepony else is here, or was here recently.”

“Those hoof prints lead into the next room, and aren’t as congealed,” said the other. Footsteps came in her direction. Bon-Bon’s gasped through her nose.

“This is the Detrot Police! Identify your—” began the sergeant, interrupted by sudden unconsciousness. The gas pellet dropped both officers in an instant as Bon-Bon bolted past them at a full canter. Red and blue flashed around the door, set by the police ponies. She tore down the hall and down the stairs, throwing silence to the wind.

Eight flights of stairs later, she heard more stallion voices. While she couldn’t fully discern one from another, the ongoing trend of red and blue lights left little to the imagination. She backtracked to the last landing she passed, and quietly exited the stairwell. Sixth floor. She took off toward the nearest corner. Turning the corner and looking down the hall, she saw one open door for an outside-facing apartment, and made a dash for it.

The smell was atrocious, as was the condition of the apartment. She shut the door and saw a dirty red unicorn stallion who similarly looked terrible, enough she couldn’t guess his relative age. He had some rubber tubing tied around one forelimb and held, in a silvery telekinetic aura, a syringe containing some brown-ish fluid. Bon-Bon looked him in the face and said, “Cops’re coming up the stairs.”

“If you didn’t see this, I didn’t see you,” he answered, smacking a bulged vein below the rubber tie-off.

“Of course,” she said smoothly, knocking a gas pellet onto the floor. As the junkie dropped, she untied the rubber tube, picked up his paraphernalia, and dropped it in the bathroom sink, muttering to herself, “If I’m going to be Bon-Bon from now on, then I’m gonna do the right thing.”

Searching his drawers, she found a few uninflated red balloons that had something else in them. These, too, were dropped in the same sink. Bon-Bon took a step back and reared up, pointing her right foreleg at the opiate stuff. Tapping the watch with her other foreleg, a colourless liquid sprayed out onto the things in the sink, making a sizzling, gassy noise. The balloons and everything else in the sink eroded and withered into an unusable partially fused lump. She quickly scratched a note, “Get the stallion in 621 to drug rehab.”

Bon-Bon returned to the junkie’s apartment after slipping the note under the stairwell door. She looked down from the window. There were few walking along this side of the building, though the red and blue flashes from out front were plenty visible around the corner. She opened the window and pressed downward on the fire escape with a front hoof. It did not move nor creak. Bon-Bon stepped out, and found nopony slowed or even noticed her descent back toward street level. Dismounting the fire escape, though, appeared more difficult. Scratching the side of her head, her eyes lit up. She hopped over the side, clicking the levitation shoes together. Her fall speed slowed, and stopped all vertical momentum when she hovered a hand and a half over the sidewalk. Deactivating the shoes, she slipped into the gathering crowd, picking her way northeast toward St. Mare Shores.

---

Twilight examined the masses milling about at lunchtime. The magic circle gave her clairvoyance spell a broad range indeed, covering nearly a quarter of Canterlot, but she did not find any indication of Bon-Bon. She noticed a graying middle-aged unicorn mare wearing a black pantsuit and pearl earrings, whose brown eyes kept darting around. Twilight hurriedly went to her, gave her a tap on the shoulder. “Excuse me, miss.”

“Yeah? What do—” the businessmare began most irritably, before it registered who stopped her. Her eyes widened with a gasp as she deeply bowed in deference. “Princess...! Oh my goodness! Forgive my rudeness, Your Highness!”

Forcing a smile, the junior princess said, “Please, just Twilight will do.”

“I couldn’t, Princess! What does Your Highness need of me, your loyal subject?” brown-nosed the older mare lavishly, still kneeling.

“Really, it’s okay, you don’t need to go through all that,” sighed Twilight.

Still failing to hide her intent to impress, the other said, “Since you insist, Twilight.”

“Thank you,” said Twilight. She held up a photo of Bon-Bon. “I’m looking for this pony. Have you seen her?”

Finally standing up, the businesspony expectantly answered, “No, I have not. What crime is she wanted for?”

“Not a crime; she is a missing pony and is in terrible danger,” Twilight said bluntly.

The older mare’s face shifted from one looking for rewards and recognition to one of mostly surprise with some concern and confusion. Sounding much more solemn, she promised, “I will let a watchpony know if I see her.”

“Glad to hear it. Thanks,” said Twilight with a nod.

“Of course!”

As she walked away, Twilight saw the text appear in her vision. Instead of the block text like last time, she saw well-written calligraphy in an off-white, “Twilight, Lemon Hearts has something. She said to meet at North Station.”

Twilight disappeared in a flash of purple light. She rematerialized on the ornate flagstones of a wealthier part of town. North Station was larger and better decorated than South Station, with actual spires instead just a platform. North Station also had two more rail lines. Here Twilight found Lemon Hearts and Moon Dancer, both with their horns powered up with the rapidly twinkling pinpoint of white light. Lemon Hearts looked up at the princess’s approach. Delighted, she said, “Hey Twilight! The magic circle worked! I have solid, verified info.”

“That’s great news, Lemon Hearts! What do you have?” Twilight asked with a smile.

Waving a hoof parallel to the ground, Lemon Hearts said, “Let’s wait for the others. I’d rather not have to retell the same thing over and over.”

“I understand.”

A light blue ball of magic grew slowly, and Twinkleshine appeared with a pop. Another, golden in colour, showed at the same lackadaisical pace, a few lengths away, producing Lyra. Then appeared a yellow sphere brought in Minuette; of those three, Minuette’s teleportation sphere worked the quickest, but nowhere near Twilight’s. Twilight raised an eyebrow, stating, “Huh. I didn’t know you girls knew the teleportation spell by heart.”

“Sure do. How much practice do you have with teleportation, Twilight? You appear and disappear so fast,” snickered Minuette.

“Um, often?” Twilight sheepishly offered.

Minuette laughed. The others, apart from Lemon Hearts, tittered a little as well, while the princess simply frowned. The blue unicorn chuckled, “‘Often’ doesn’t cover it from what Pinkie’s said.”

“Okay, all the time,” conceded Twilight.

Lemon Hearts impatiently said, “Girls, can we talk about something more important?”

“Sorry, Lemon Hearts. What did you find out?” Minuette brightly asked.

Moon Dancer turned from the listed departure and arrival times to looked at Lemon Hearts. Sounding both blunt and bored, she said, “She took a train.”

“Yeah,” answered Lemon Hearts. Looking across her friends, she elaborated, “The porter who just started his shift remembered seeing her yesterday. He said a beige mare with a curly blue-and-pink mane with ‘a smoking hot flank’ took—”

“He said what?” interrupted Lyra, nostrils flaring.

“Woah, take it easy, Lyra,” interceded Twinkleshine. “Bon-Bon’s just easy on the eyes.”

Glaring around at the ponies handling luggage, Lyra snarled, “Maybe he shouldn’t look at her like she’s just some piece of ass and nothing more!”

“That’s what stallions do, Lyra,” Minuette stated, gently patting Lyra’s shoulders.

“That doesn’t make it right!” Lyra fired back.

Twinkleshine inserted, “Nopony said it made it right; it’s what they do, because they’re stupid.”

“That they are...,” affirmed Minuette, shaking her head in disappointment. Moon Dancer gave both of them a questioning, disapproving look that went altogether unnoticed.

Huffing, Lemon Hearts pressed, “Lyra, I’m trying to tell you which train she boarded, but you’re getting wrapped around the axle because he thought she’s sexy.”

“Sorry...I just...sorry,” said Lyra, forcing herself to chill out. “Where was she headed?”

The yellow unicorn curtly answered, “Detrot. The next train bound for there leaves in ten minutes.”

The other five groaned. Moon Dancer griped, “Oh lovely! They sent her to the very sphincter of Equestria!”

“That town, I tell you...,” grumped Twinkleshine.

Concerned, Twilight asked, “Lyra, do you want a hoof with this?” The others nodded and turned to the minty unicorn.

“I appreciate the offer, girls, but you’ve already done enough,” said Lyra, looking around. “Detrot’s too dangerous. I can’t let you girls risk life and limb for me, too.”

“Lyra...,” started Minuette.

“Seriously, girls.”

The other five looked at each other. Sighing, Twinkleshine said, “Well, if you’re that certain....”

As the words came out, a bright yellow-white globe coalesced and burst, revealing Princess Celestia. Ponies all around knelt before their ruler, except Twilight Sparkle. She walked up and gave her mentor a hug. Lyra looked down as Celestia approached her. The sovereign began, “Why so guilty, my dear Lyra?”

Words stuck the top of Lyra’s mouth like oats and molasses with too much peanut butter. Celestia smiled warmly and beckoned the unicorn near. Lyra shuddered as she walked up to her princess. The others watched on with varying degrees of confusion, apprehension, curiosity and intrigue. Lyra continued having a petrified, worried countenance as Celestia gestured down the platform, toward an empty section. The two started in that direction. Lyra could not believe she was walking side-by-side with Princess Celestia, but there she was, alongside of the mighty alicorn. The overwhelmed unicorn carried an obvious shake to her gait, her face frozen in place, eyes unblinking. Celestia whispered, “Can I tell you a little secret?”

Lyra attempted to subdue hyperventilation. Tentative, she replied, “O...o-okay. If y-you want to.”

“Your mother is wrong,” said Celestia matter-of-factly. Lyra looked up at her as she continued with a motherly smile, “I would never want any of my little ponies to be denied the joys of love, just because they cannot help to whom they’re attracted.”

Lyra turned her eyes to the ground. Celestia paused a moment, then continued, “I know you’re torn between how you were raised and a part of yourself that’s forcing its way to the surface, and you don’t know which one is right. But let me tell you plainly: it is perfectly okay to be attracted to mares. Nothing wrong with it at all.”

“But...,” Lyra blurted, finding her voice. “...isn’t it a-a choice?”

Celestia laughed heartily, with no trace of malice. When she saw Lyra wincing, she said, “No, you silly filly! Whoever gave you that idea?”

Lyra looked at the ground yet again as she muttered, “...my mom.”

“So that’s two things she told you wrong.”

Still with eyes to the platform in front of her, Lyra asked, “But why would my mom lie to me?”

“Some ponies fear and despise what they don’t understand,” elaborated Celestia with a grimace. “I’m sure your mom tried to raise you as best as she knew how, but didn’t have all the information. If I had to guess, your mother didn’t know that she wasn’t telling you the truth.”

Not just grasping, but flailing for words, Lyra stammered, “But I...I....”

“Look at me, Lyra...,” said the princess, stopping Lyra in her tracks. The mint unicorn still looked down. Celestia lifted Lyra’s chin with her hoof, looking her in the face. Lyra quivered under the warm gaze of her ruler. Still sounding matronly, Celestia said “It’s okay for you to be in love with her. There is nothing wrong with that. Don’t feel ashamed.”

As Celestia released her chin, Lyra murmured, “Your Majesty, I...uh...I don’t know what to think....”

The princess smiled and said, “Detrot’s a long train ride, and that’ll give you time to mull it over. While Princess Twilight or I could teleport you that far, the Elevens would definitely notice, and give both of you unwanted attention. You have to help her, not me, not Twilight, you. Whether she’s your best friend or even more special to you, the task is yours and yours alone. You can contact Twilight or I, or your other friends if you need help, using a spell a little bird told me a certain few someponies used to cheat on their school exams,” ending on a stern note.

The colour drained from Lyra’s face as her jaw slackened and her eyes shrunk to pinpricks. Her gaze flicked over to her friends briefly. Celestia shot her a puzzled look, then said, “Breathe.”

Lyra let out a breath didn’t realize she was holding. She sobbed, “I’m sorry we did that, Your Majesty! We—”

“What’s done is done. You have more important matters to focus on,” Princess Celestia cut her off, sounding annoyed. The locomotive sounded its whistle. She continued, “And a train to catch! Lyra, you’d better climb aboard. I’ll handle the ticket.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Lyra gasped, suddenly finding herself in an embrace from the princess. She blinked in confusion, and looked at the white alicorn who was holding her. With a small smile, she returned the hug. Celestia whispered, “Get the both of you home safely. Please.”

“I will, and thank you,” answered Lyra. She walked over to her friends, giving them a group hug. “Thanks, girls. For everything.”

They wished her luck all at once, and their own ways and words, unintelligible outside their little circle. Lyra took the ticket, carried to her by Celestia’s telekinetic aura. She stepped onto the third coach car. Near the rear of the train a stallion shouted, “All aboard!”

Lyra waved to her friends as the locomotive hissed steam and shuffled forward, carrying its passengers right out of sight. Half past noon, with two stops between there and Detrot, due to arrive at around 9pm. Celestia had said she’d have time to think about matters, and Lyra noticed her mind wanted to get right down to business, as she pictured Bon-Bon eyes sparkling on a sunny day, with her adorable giggle.

---

Bon-Bon threw a sleeping gas pellet through the broken window, making all three burglars drop to the floor. She continued down the street as if she had done nothing. Down the hill and straight ahead was the lake.

Why did I pushed myself to be Sweetie Drops again? What I’m doing now comes naturally, and feels right. No guilt it putting some home invaders to sleep as opposed to knifing them, and with them expected to be down for a good while, odds favour somepony will call the police. Just the same, the amount of street crime is flipping nuts. Heard St. Mare Shores is a safer part of town, but all things are relative, and this is still an area of Detrot. This whole city is going to pieces. Pretty easy to poke fun at Detrot until seeing up close how much The Train City has suffered with the rise of airships.

Her map said she approached the waterfront and would arrive in two blocks, which passed without incident. Several little shops lined the little street with its overlook of Lake St. Mare. The road turned from cobblestone to flagstone. The weatherworn and generally beaten up street and fence showed in its less-damaged place that at one time, the waterfront was spiffy and the epitome of class and taste. Still, St. Mare Shores was not as badly fallen from grace as downtown Detrot. Some small weeds grew in the masonry. Wharfs were further down the way. Bon-Bon felt some reassurance that the restaurants were close, particularly with the vomited breakfast. She scanned the queues. Most ponies had returned from their lunch breaks. A passing mare shot her a funny look as her stomach rumbled, saying, “Well, you’ve come to the right part of town, miss.”

Bon-Bon flushed for a moment, but quickly recovered. After quickly looking over her options, she spotted and picked Whinny’s, figuring it should be about the same here as the chain was elsewhere in Equestria: fairly quick, reasonably priced, and would give her both a fuller belly and happier taste buds than the other major hayburger chains. She ordered a double hayburger combo to go. Walking out to an overlook of the south side of the lake, Bon-Bon spotted a mare sitting at a table, pale yellow, with a frizzy tan mane.

Walking over to her, Bon-Bon gestured to an open seat, asking, “Do you mind if I sit here?”

The mare’s plum-coloured eyes met Bon-Bon’s light blue. She broke into a friendly grin and brightly answered, “Not at all! Please! Join me.”

“Thank you,” said Bon-Bon as she sat down. She withdrew the box of fries and partook.

The other mare, a unicorn, looked Bon-Bon over as she took a sip from her iced coffee. She said in a bubbly voice, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before!”

“Not likely,” said Bon-Bon in spite of the full mouth. She chewed a few more times and swallowed. She continued, “I live in Ponyville, and am up here on business.”

“Ponyville!? Wow, you’re a long way from home!” exclaimed the unicorn with a chuckle. Bon-Bon nodded as she had more of her fries. The unicorn said, “I’m Custard Cream, proprietor of ‘Lakeside Pies,’ just around the corner.”

Bon-Bon grinned. “My name’s Bon-Bon, and I own the confectionery in Ponyville. Good to meet you.”

“Absolutely!” replied Custard Cream with a smile. Bon-Bon ate the last of her fries while Custard Cream put a hoof to her nose in thought, then asked, “Princess Twilight Sparkle lives in Ponyville, right? Heard any juicy gossip?”

“Oh, I have...,” Bon-Bon trailed off as she leaned in close to Custard Cream’s ear. She whispered, “One and one are one.”

The unicorn bright smile shifted into a sly one. She gave Bon-Bon an equally pleased and devious look as she answered in an almost sultry voice, “Oh my, now that is juicy.”

Custard Cream stood up and motioned for Bon-Bon to follow. “Come with me; let’s talk about it over a slice of pie.”

Comments

[EverfreePony]

Really great chapter, one moment I was nearly drooling over Twinkleshine's breakfast, enjoying the warm friendly atmosphere and the next moment I wanted to curl in a ball from the sight of dark and dismal Detrot. Good job on the scenes here!

[lord_steak]

7849519
Many thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed the hard transition between Lyra and Bon-Bon.