Operation Crimson

by Stereo_Sub

Chapter 3: The Kick and the Drop

Fillydelphia
Present Day

SCREEEEEEEEEEEE-

The thoroughly obnoxious sound of metal grinding against metal shrilled around the cabin, lancing through Redheart’s head like a hot chisel. With a muffled groan, the medical mare forced herself out of the warm, down-filled heaven of her sleeper car bed and looked around blearily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Ink Blot? Professor? Hello?”

She gave a small yelp of surprise as the stallion in question slammed open the car’s door with a burst of lime-colored magic, a box and two steaming cups levitating behind him. Ink Blot saw Redheart sitting on the edge of the bed and nodded in approval.

“Redheart? Ah, you’re awake. Good.” He gestured animatedly to the white cardboard box hovering next to him. “We arrive in five minutes. Took the liberty of visiting the dining car before you were up. Wasn’t sure what you liked, brought some of everything. Got coffee as well. Zebrican Morning Blend with cream and sugar. Assumed you didn’t want decaf.” Ink Blot set the box and cups down on the bed next to Redheart with another flicker of magic, levitating several pastries out as he did so. “Danish?”

Redheart fought back another groan. Oh Celestia. It’s too early for him. “I’m fine for now, thanks. The coffee sounds fantastic, though.”

Ink Blot shrugged. “Whatever you like. Will save the rest for later.”

He set the cups on the small table at the foot of Redheart’s bed and took a large bite out of a scone.

“Delicious,” he murmured. He swallowed and looked toward Redheart quizzically.

“Anyway, about your contact. Do we have a location? A time?”

The mare sipped her coffee, feeling the steaming liquid make its way down her throat and shoot tendrils of fire through her sleep-fuzzed brain. Ah. Whatever I’ve said about the zebras, they know how to make caffeine taste good.

Several seconds later, a now considerably-more-awake Redheart replied:

“Both, actually. Tonight at The Pulse. It’s a club in downtown, near the big lakeside strip. I used to be a regular there when I was living in Filly for med school, so we shouldn’t have too much trouble getting in.” Hopefully. This whole thing is a pretty much a gamble.

“I see. What do you suggest we do until then?”

“Well, we’ll need a place to stay. How many bits do you have on you?”

Ink Blot peered into his saddlebags and shook his head. “Not many, I’m afraid. Carrying large amounts of money on oneself when you are a resident of my neighborhood is generally inadvisable.”

“Crud. I’m pretty much broke myself.” Redheart sighed. “Well, if there’s one thing Filly has plenty of, it’s cheap motels. I’m sure we’ll find somewhere. In the mean time, we should scout around the city, check for anything that might help us figure out what the hay is going on.”

“Agreed. I have my suspicions, but one piece of hard evidence is better than a hundred years of speculation.”

There was a ding as the conductor’s voice came over the train’s PA system. “Ladies and gentlecolts, we have now arrived at Western Fillydelphia Station. If this is your destination, we request that you would all please exit the train in a civil, orderly fashion. If you are on the line to St. Foal or Las Pegasus, the train will leave in twenty minutes. Thank you for riding Ironshoe Lines. We hope you enjoyed your journey.”

Redheart downed the last of her coffee and turned to Ink Blot, who had been packing the rest of the various pastries inside his saddlebags. “So. You ready to go take on the mob?”

He winced. “Would prefer to avoid any direct conflict if at all possible-”

Redheart rolled her eyes. “It was a joke, professor.”

“Ah. Of course. Forgive me.”

Hopefully, it’ll stay that way.

*************

Several hours and a seedy motel room later, the duo was standing outside the glowing, neon-lit facade of The Pulse, watching the various patrons make their way in, or, in some-cases, out. Redheart winced as one particularly inebriated-looking stallion was thrown forcefully out the door into a mouthful of asphalt.

“Ouch. He’ll feel that once the booze wears off.” She glanced at Ink Blot, who had been looking more and more uncomfortable as they neared the club. “You ready to go?”

The stallion swallowed. “As I’ll ever be.”

No wonder he’s nervous. Canterlot alumni aren’t exactly clubbing material. “Relax, professor. Stick by me, and we’ll be in and out before you know it,” Redheart said. “Besides, it’ll do you some good to get your face out of a book once in a while.” Not that the past few days haven’t been exciting enough.

Ink Blot nodded. “Suppose you’re right.”

Redheart began to walk towards the entrance to the club, Ink Blot trotting nervously behind her. She felt the bass thumping through her hooves as she approached, a steady, pulsing beat that reminded her of younger days. Redheart smiled. Good to see she’s kept the beat alive. She skirted around the edge of a line of hopeful club-goers, finally stopping near the neon-decked entrance to the venue. The bouncer, a large, burly stallion with a scruffy gray mane and a chocolate brown coat, saw her approach and frowned.

“Hey, whaddaya think you’re doin’? You wanna get in, you wait in line, same as everypony else.” He motioned to the back of the line. “Now get outta here before I make ya.”

Redheart smiled at the stallion. “Are you sure you can’t make an exception? I know the owner, after all.”

He remained unmoved. “Yeah, you and half of Fillydelphia, to hear them tell it. Now beat it, before I- Hang on. Is that...” The he peered at her, brow furrowed. “Well I’ll be damned. Redheart’s back.” The bouncer broke out into a wide, toothy grin, all posturing forgotten. “Shit, filly, it’s been a while! How are ya!?” He gave Redheart a hearty thump on the back, nearly making her stumble with the unexpected force. She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her face.

“Nice to see you too, Rocky. You mind letting us in now?”

“Us? Who else did ya bring?”

Redheart pointed at Ink Blot, who had been fidgeting behind her. “He’s with me. He won’t be any trouble, I promise.”

Rocky raised his eyebrows at that, but refrained from commenting. “Whatever ya say. Oh, and while you’re in there, tell Vi I need a raise.”

Redheart rolled her eyes again. “Will do. I’m sure she’ll be as benevolent and understanding of your request as she always is.”

That got a laugh out of Rocky. “Hey, tryin’ never hurt nopony. Now...” The stallion cleared his throat. “Ahem. Lady and gentlecolt...” He lifted the club’s entrance bar with a flourish and extended his hoof. “Welcome to The Pulse.”

As soon as the duo entered the club, Redheart’s senses were hit with a combined
assault of sweat, alcohol, glaring lights, and a bassline that made her teeth rattle inside her skull. She stepped forward into the press of bodies around the main stage, where a stallion wearing a hoodie was hunched over a turntable. The vibrations from the music bounced up and down the entirety of the club’s neon-soaked interior, causing the floor itself to shake in time with the pounding beat. Redheart grinned. Feels good to be back.

Behind her, Ink Blot shouted something indistinct over the thumping bass of the drum pattern.

“What?” Redheart yelled back, getting as close to the stallion’s ear as she could without shoving anypony else away.

“REPEAT: HOW DO YOU PLAN ON FINDING YOUR CONTACT HERE?”

Redheart pointed at the stage. “Oh, we’ll find her all right.” She’d never miss a chance to perform.

As if in response to Redheart’s words, the stallion’s song suddenly ended, and a single spotlight illuminated the center of the stage. A unicorn mare with a white coat and an spiky electric-blue mane strode out into the middle of the light’s glow, levitating a microphone behind her. She turned to the crowd, light reflecting off the purple-tinted lenses of her goggles, and yelled:

“HEEEELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO FILLYDELPHIA!”

The clubbers replied as one:

“HEEEELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO DJ PON-3!”

The mare laughed. “Now that’s what I like to hear.” She walked over to the hooded stallion and shook his hoof. “Well, ladies and gentlecolts, would you say that performance was freakin’ SWEET?!”

“YEAH!” The crowd replied. Redheart yelled as loudly as any of them, all thoughts of restraint forgotten.

DJ PON-3 nodded. “Damn straight. All right, now let’s give it up for DJ NEOOOOON LIIIIGHTS!” She grabbed the stallion’s hoof and held him up for the crowd, who roared and stomped their hooves in approval. “That one was off his new album, Scratchin’ Sparks. Everypony go buy it.” The clubbers laughed, as did she. “But seriously, this guy’s awesome. Check him out. All right, good luck on your next one, Neon.” The stallion nodded his thanks before trotting quickly off the stage, seemingly eager to get to wherever his “next one” was. DJ-PON-3 turned back to the crowd, grinning hugely.

“So. We’ve got around five minutes before our next act gets here for the night. Guess that means it’s my turn now. Sound good?”

The crowd roared an affirmative.

The DJ’s grin grew even wider. “All right, Filly. You wanna party?” She hopped onto the seat behind the turntables and cracked her forehooves. “Let’s party.”

There was a blast of noise from the speakers, and the song began.

The beat was simple and familiar, just a drum machine and some high, warbling synths. Redheart remembered the same pattern playing years ago, when she had been a student looking for a place to unwind after a grueling day of exams. This was her first hit, wasn’t it?

DJ PON-3 stroked the turntables like a cat, gradually coaxing more and more complicated phrases out of the machine. She added layer after layer. First came more synths, then a distorted, harmonic voice line. Redheart knew what was coming. She whooped and punched a hoof in the air. Beside her, other ponies did the same, swaying back and forth like a single entity caught in the web of the music. The song grew louder and louder, building toward a climax that would seemingly never come.

Finally, just when it seemed like the speakers themselves would be blown out, DJ PON-3 turned to the crowd, smiled, and with a yell of “BUCK YEAH!”, dropped the beat hard enough to crack the windows.

Redheart felt the rhythm rush through her, filling her body with pure energy and the desire to move. She whooped again, jumping up and down and hoof-pumping in time to the pounding beat. Just like old times.

*************

Several breathless minutes later, the song drew to a close, leaving Redheart sweaty, overheated, and with a gigantic grin pasted on her face. She scanned the club’s interior, searching for Ink Blot, who had slipped away around the time the performance had started. She found him leaning awkwardly against the wall near the door, trying not to make eye contact with any of the other patrons. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked, looking slightly miffed.

Redheart grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Guess I got a little carried away.”

“Apology accepted.” Ink Blot said, still looking slightly irritated. Whatever, thought Redheart. I’ll deal with him later.

Redheart pointed back at the stage, where DJ PON-3 was making her exit to thunderous applause. “Come on, now’s our chance. We have to get her attention before she goes backstage.” She trotted quickly around the edge of the crowd around the platform, shoving past the occasional drunken partier. Ink Blot followed close behind. Hopefully she’ll recognize me.

DJ PON-3 had stepped off the stage and was just about to disappear around the corner when the duo caught up to her. “Hey! Over here!” yelled Redheart, waving at the mare.

Instantly, both she and Ink Blot were seized by three large, burly stallions in security uniforms and shoved against a wall, forehooves pinned behind them. Redheart felt herself go into combat mode, her senses heightening and muscles tensing in preparation for what they thought was a conflict. She fought the instinct down, biting her lip in irritation. Idiot. Were you really going to start a fight in the middle of a crowded club? Dammit, why won’t they let me go-

“Whoa, boys!” Redheart looked to see DJ PON-3 watching the scene with a frown. The blue-maned mare motioned to the guards, who released Redheart and Inkblot wordlessly, dropping them to the ground. “Now, who wanted to see me so badly?”

Redheart picked herself up off the floor, nodding her thanks. “Hello, Vinyl. Been a while, huh?” She smiled and offered a hoof.

Vinyl didn’t take it. “Uh. Do I know you?” she asked, frowning. The security stallions stepped forward threateningly.

Redheart laughed nervously. “C’mon, Scratch. Remember? Skipping classes to go get drunk and dance the night away? Couch-hopping between apartment blocks when we couldn’t pay rent? That one time when we tried to pick up colts for free smoothies and almost ended up getting arrested? You’ve got to remember that.”

Vinyl was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, she removed her goggles, revealing a pair of bright red eyes, wide in astonishment. “Oh no buckin’ way. Crimson? Crimson Flare?”

Redheart smiled. “The one and only. Oh, and the name’s Redheart now, by the way.” Please don’t ask about it, PLEASE don’t ask about it....

“Redheart? You actually kept that dumb name we slapped on your fake I.D. all those years ago? Why?” Vinyl asked, frowning. She glanced at Redheart’s tail and nearly did a double take. “And your mane! What in the Hell did you do to your mane!? Pink?!” She looked outraged. “Flare, I’ve known you for over five years, and if there’s one thing I learned during that time, it’s that you are not a pink kinda girl.”

Shit. Redheart sighed. “Long story. Very long. You’ll get to hear it, I promise, but later.” Later being never, if I can help it.

The DJ squinted at her, looking unconvinced. “Are you sure? For all I know, you could be some crazed fan disguised as the Crimson Flare I know and love, trying to get close enough to murder me and steal my identity.”

Redheart smirked. “If I was some crazed fan, would I know that your life’s goal for over a year was to get in bed with Octavia Philaharmoni-”

“OKAY! YOU WIN! IT’S YOU!” shouted Vinyl, looking around in terror. Once she confirmed nopony else had been paying attention, she turned to Redheart and burst out laughing. “That’s more like the Flare I remember. So, what brings you here, anyway? Oh, and who’s that?” She pointed at Ink Blot.

“That’s Professor Ink Blot.” replied Redheart. “He’s... well, again, it’s kind of a long story. Is there anywhere we could talk? Privately?”

Vinyl nodded. “Follow me.” She led them around the back of the stage through a red velvet curtain, stopping at a door marked “VIP Only” in large neon letters. It swung open silently as soon as she approached, revealing a large room containing several comfortable-looking chairs, a bed, and a minifridge.

Vinyl flopped down on the closest chair, motioning for Redheart and Ink Blot to do the same. “Welcome to the Den. Make yourselves at home.” They gratefully obliged. “Can I get you anything? The fridge is fully stocked.”

“I’m good for now, thanks.” said Redheart. Ink Blot nodded in agreement.

“Suit yourself.” Vinyl popped open the minifridge’s door and levitated out a half-empty bottle of Applejack Daniels, which she promptly chugged. “Ah. Good stuff,” she said, swallowing. “So. Now that we’re all here, can I ask made made you decide to drop in after eight years of radio silence? Not that I mind, of course.” She leaned back in her chair and put her forehooves behind her head, as if to say this better be good.

“Well, it all started a couple days ago...” Redheart proceeded told Vinyl everything that had happened in the last 48 hours, with Ink Blot occasionally interjecting to give his version of events. When the pair had finished, the DJ was silent, jaw hanging open in disbelief.

Redheart took the pause as an opportunity to continue. “So, now that you’re all up to speed-”

Vinyl held up a hoof. “Whoa there, filly! You promised me a full explanation. You can’t just drop that big of a bombshell and expect a mare not to have questions.”

Redheart sighed. “What else do you want to know?” She began thinking frantically of possible excuses for the questions she knew Vinyl would ask. I can’t tell her the truth, but I sure as hell don’t want to lie to the mare who was my only friend for most of college. Gah! The heroes in the movies never have to deal with this crap.

“Well, for starters, what the hay is Crimson Flare, the mare I once saw take a bottle to the head and then smack down the colt who threw it, doing as namby-pamby, pink-maned, bun-wearing nurse? In the middle of freakin’ Ponyville! What happened, filly?”

Redheart rolled her eyes and pointed to her flank. “This cutie mark isn’t just for show, you know. Neither were the four and a half years of med school I somehow managed to find time for in between the parties and near-death experiences.” Her tone made it clear it was an issue she didn’t want to discuss further. Why won’t she just leave this alone?!

“...I guess.” Vinyl didn’t seem satisfied. “But really? Ponyville? You couldn’t have picked a tinier backwater burg if you tried. I mean, the whole deal: tiny town, tinier hospital, working as a nurse... It just doesn’t seem like... you.”

“Look, Vinyl.” Redheart was beginning to get irritated. Whether it was at herself or the DJ, she wasn’t sure. “Things change, all right? Sure, I might have been pretty wild when we were just apartmentmates with no money and too much free time, but, well... I’ve put all that behind me now. I like being a nurse. I like saving lives. And you know what? I’ve even begun to like Ponyville. Sure, it’s pretty quiet compared to the big city, but it grows on you. And besides, a little quiet now and then isn’t the worst thing in the world. Especially when... when you...” No. Don’t bring that up. Don’t even think about it. She could feel the torrent of repressed memories clawing at her skull, seeping through the cracks in the mental barriers she had so carefully constructed over all those years.

“Especially when what?” Vinyl asked curiously. Redheart shook her head, her voice suddenly hollow.

“I... I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Maybe, someday, I’ll be able to tell you. But right now... I’m not even sure I can come to terms with it myself.” Please, let that be enough. Please. Redheart looked at her friend, her eyes silently begging her not to press the issue further.

Vinyl’s scarlet eyes widened as comprehension dawned. She placed a comforting hoof on Redheart’s shoulder, wincing as she realized the old wounds her seemingly-innocent questions had reopened. “Oh, shit.” She patted Redheart’s shoulder sympathetically. “Oh Celestia, Flare, I’m sorry. If I had known, I would have never-”

“It’s fine. You didn’t know. But please, can you just let me leave it at that?”

Vinyl nodded. “Definitely.”

There was an awkward silence, which was promptly broken by Ink Blot.

“Very touching. However... I believe we came here to gather information, not reminisce and argue,” he said, looking expectantly at Redheart.

Vinyl rolled her eyes and mouthed stallions

“So, what did you come here for, anyway?” asked Vinyl, still grinning.

“I’m looking for someone,” said Redheart. “Pegasus stallion, sea-green, spiral cutie mark, kind of a jerk. Last I remember, he was living somewhere in downtown Filly. I figured you would know as well as anyone, considering the amount of traffic The Pulse gets. Seen him around?”

Vinyl shook her head. “Can’t say I have. Honestly, the one you would really want to ask is the bartender up front, Barley Malt, but he’s off sick today. Something with his horn.” She suddenly brightened. “Wait, hang on! This stallion, did he have a white highlight in his mane?”

“Come to think of it, I think he did,” said Redheart. “Why?” How did I not notice that before?

“You just gave me a spot-on description of Lyra’s older brother. At least, from what I’ve heard from her.”

“Who’s Lyra?” asked Redheart. The name seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Unicorn musician. She plays the lyre in the Fillydelphia Orchestra. Octavia introduced me to her way back when we had just started dating. Nice mare, if a little out there sometimes.”

Redheart nodded. “Where would I find her?” Please be close.

“Well, she lives in Ponyville. Just moved there, as a matter of fact-”

OH FOR BUCK’S SAKE-

“But you’re lucky. Her and Bon-Bon are staying at the hotel around a mile and a half from here, the Equestrian Grand. Visiting one of Lyra’s relatives, I think.”

Thank you, Celestia, thought Redheart. She frowned as Vinyl’s words caught up to her thoughts.

“Bon-Bon?”

“Lyra’s fillyfriend. They’ve been together for a few months now. She’s a confectioner, really sweet. Ha! Sweet.” Vinyl giggled.

Redheart rolled her eyes. “I see your sense of humor still hasn’t improved.”

“Never gonna happen,” said Vinyl. She grew serious for a moment. “Oh, by the way... If you’re going to go and ask Lyra about her brother, just... be careful, all right? I mean... they weren’t exactly the closest.”

“What do you mean?” Figures. Any mare that had to spend most of their life with him would probably be the opposite of ‘close.’

Vinyl shook her head. “I don’t know specifics, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. That’s Lyra’s deal, not mine.”

“Fair enough. You’ve given me plenty of information already, anyway,” said Redheart. She stood up from her chair. “Thanks for everything, Vi. Say hi to Octavia for me.”

Vinyl nodded. “Will do. See ya around, Fla- er, Redheart. It’s been real.”

“See you.” Redheart reached the edge of the doorjamb and hesitated. “Vinyl?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay safe.”

The DJ shot her a grin. “You know me. Safest mare in all of Filly.”

“Uh-huh. And I’m the Princess of the Sun.”

“Really? Thought you’d be bigger,” Vinyl quipped.

Redheart rolled her eyes. “Seriously. I’m not sure if the mob knows I’m here yet, but after tonight, there’s a chance they’ll be after you too.” Hopefully only a chance. Who knows how many eyes and ears they have here already. She brushed off the thought irritably. Paranoia won’t get you anywhere, Redheart.

Vinyl nodded. “I’ll take care of myself. You just worry about giving those mobster’s sorry asses a good old-fashioned Fillydelphia beatdown.”

“I’ll throw in an extra kick for you. ” Redheart gave a final, small, smile before turning and trotting quickly through the open door, Ink Blot following behind her.

“I’d like that,” Vinyl said, but the duo was already out of earshot. Damn, she thought. Crazy how a pony can change in less than a decade. Whatever she went through, it must’ve been pretty bad. The DJ glanced at the now-empty doorway, remembering the all the times she’d had with the mare who had occupied it just seconds ago. She smiled.

Stay safe, Crimson Flare.

*************

The humid Fillydelphia night hit Redheart like a solid wall of hot moisture, causing beads of sweat to form on her coat within seconds of exiting The Pulse’s air-conditioned interior.
Wow. Was it really this hot when we came in? Feels like Luna forgot to switch the thermostat off “Boil”.

She snuck a glance at Ink Blot, who had been trailing behind her silently as they walked. The professor’s face was impassive, but Redheart knew that he was probably bursting with questions about Vinyl’s unexpected interview. Damnit, Scratch. You just had to drag up my past, didn’t you? she thought ruefully. Well, maybe it’s for the best. It would’ve come up at some point, anyway.

A flicker of movement from above snapped her back to the present. She craned her neck upward, but nothing was there save for a burnt-out streetlight and the pale glow of the moon. A 360 of the rest of the deserted street revealed similar results. It’s late. You’re getting paranoid, Redheart. There’s no way they could’ve tracked you this far in only-

Another flash of movement from the sky. This time, Redheart caught a glimpse of a winged figure out of the corner of her eye. What the hell... She did another 360 of the block, but found nothing. The entire street was deserted, with only the distant lights of the Fillydelphia strip indicating there was life at all. Perfect mugging territory.

“Something wrong?” Ink Blot had stopped and was watching her, concerned.

Redheart nodded, already hunkering into a combat stance. “We’re not alone,” she said quietly, eyes darting around the heavens above them. “Watch the sky and be ready to fight.”

Ink Blot nervously returned her nod. “Will try to stay out of your way,” he whispered, glancing nervously at the stars.

Well, at least he knows he’s a liability-

“Redheart! Behind you!”

Redheart spun in time to see a shadowy blur barreling towards her and flung herself to the side, feeling the rush of air as the whatever-it-was shot past. She got to her hooves quickly, scanning the sky for the next attack. They’re using pegasi now? Come on. That’s just bucking cheating.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Ink Blot retreating to a nearby alley. Good. One less problem to worry about.

The shadowy form swooped down again, shooting towards her faster than any pegasus she had ever seen. Redheart leaped away a second too late, and felt something cold and metallic slice the edge of her shoulder. She hissed in pain from between clenched teeth. What the hell? Are their wings made of razor blades?

Redheart’s question was answered a half-second later in the form of a flash of steel slicing a hairsbreadth away from her neck. She jerked back instinctively and lashed out with her left hoof, but only managed to graze the back of the assassin’s torso. It’s just too fast! There’s no way I’m making it out of this alive if I can’t even score a solid hit. She saw the razor-winged figure diving down for another pass, and a desperate idea sparked in her mind. Here goes nothing.

As the assassin sped towards her, Redheart tensed the muscles in her hind legs, preparing to spring. Just when it seemed like the glimmering blades were about to slice her to red-and-white ribbons, she released the tension in a burst, leaping over her shadow combatant and kicking out with her hind leg. There was a satisfying thunk and a grunt of pain from the assassin as Redheart’s hoof connected with its head. There we go!

Redheart landed on all fours and spun, looking to land the final blow before her opponent could take to the skies and regain its advantage. She saw the injured figure staggering to its feet and charged. Not so hot when you can’t fly away, huh-Ugh!

THUD.

Redheart gasped in pain as another shadowy something slammed directly into her chest, knocking the wind out her and throwing her across the rough pavement. Oh my Luna. There’s two of them? If I wasn’t about to die, I’d feel almost honored.

The assassin was looming above her now, wingblades fully outstretched and gleaming in the light of the moon. Wheezing, Redheart twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding the first slash of the glittering razors. As the shadowy figure leaned in to deliver a second strike, Redheart threw an uppercut, clipping her combatant squarely in the jaw. The assassin reeled back, and Redheart saw her chance.

She leapt towards the her enemy, locking her forehooves around its back leg even as it took to the air again. The black-clad pegasus seemed to barely notice the extra weight, climbing higher and higher above the Fillydelphia skyline. It didn’t make any effort to dislodge her, or even acknowledge her existence. Redheart frowned, even as her forelegs screamed in exertion from holding on. What are they playing at?

As the lights of the city turned to pinpricks below them, however, the truth became sickeningly clear. The pegasus didn’t need to buck her off to kill her. It would simply stay up here until her strength gave out, then watch as she fell all those hundreds of feet down before turning into a chunky puddle on the Fillydelphia sidewalk. Redheart winced at the mental image. No, she chided herself. That’s not gonna happen.

Summoning her very last reserves of strength, she pulled herself up from the assassin’s leg until she was nearly straddling its torso. The pegasus twisted in alarm, but Redheart managed to maintain her grip. Just a little closer...

She lunged towards the assassin’s blade-tipped wings and hooked her forelegs around them, ignoring the sharp steel slicing into her hooves. Then, with a grunt of exertion, she yanked backwards. Gotcha.

The pegasus gave a muffled scream as its wings were dislocated with sickening twin pops. A half-second later, both assassin and prey began to plummet downward, the lights of the city blurring into multicolored lines as they sped back towards the ground below. Redheart strained to keep her eyes open against the roar of the wind, knowing she would have only a tiny window of opportunity, if any. Come on, take the bait, she thought, desperately willing the other assassin to intervene.

As if in response to her plea, the other pegasus suddenly swooped in from the side, obviously looking to save its injured partner from a messy demise. Redheart saw the incoming figure and tensed, preparing herself. She would only have have one shot, and any mistake meant death.

The second assassin sped closer, and Redheart leapt.

There was a sickening second of total freefall, followed by a satisfying THUMP as she landed on the would-be-rescuer’s back, dealing another hefty blow to its head in the process. The stunned pegasus immediately dropped like a stone, desperately beating its deadly wings in an attempt to compensate for the unexpected weight. Its efforts were futile, and they quickly began to accelerate back towards the unforgiving ground below.

Shit. Probably shouldn’t have kicked its head if I wanted to ride down.

Redheart would’ve sighed if the wind hadn’t snatched every last vestige of air from her lungs several seconds prior.

So this is how it ends. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with me riding a half-conscious freak of nature to my pavement-splattered death.

The wind howled in her ears.

The sidewalk sped closer.

There’s probably worse ways to die, but I can’t think of any.

Redheart closed her eyes, mouthing her final words:

Celestia dova, romo voctus dae
Avia otorum, al divina novaru
Soluma dorin-

Crunch.

Silence.

Redheart lay perfectly still, eyes still squeezed shut and limbs held stiff. She had the sensation of bobbing gently up and down, as if she was floating on the top of some distant sea. It felt serene, peaceful. A faint smile creased her lips.

If this is death... I could get used to it.

“Redheart? Redheart. Respond. Please.” A voice came from her right, sounding urgent and worried, and she felt a hoof prod her neck gently.

Redheart’s eyes snapped open.

She was hovering less than an inch above the ground, enveloped in a flickering green cocoon of telekinetic magic. A glance in the direction of the voice revealed a shaken-looking Ink Blot, horn sparking with the effort of keeping her aloft.

Redheart breathed deeply, savoring the taste of air after being deprived for what felt like hours. “Professor? I...I’m alive.” The words were obvious, stupid even, but simply saying them felt like a gigantic weight lifting off her chest.

Ink Blot gave a relieved grin.

“Would appear so.” He stepped back, and the field faded, dumping Redheart unceremoniously onto the Fillydelphia sidewalk. “Had me worried. Expected several possible combat maneuvers. Mid-air nocturnal acrobatics... not one of them.” The professor’s tone was light, but he was clearly shaken.

Redheart got to her hooves, still shaking slightly herself. All right, Redheart. Lesson of the day: earth ponies do not fly, and are not meant to in any way, shape, or form.

She returned Ink Blot’s smile weakly. “To be honest, I didn’t either. The threat of getting shishkebabed kinda got in the way of little things like ‘planning’ or ‘forethought’.”

The professor laughed. “Suppose that could be expected. You are all right, though, correct? No serious injuries, blunt trauma, lacerations...” He saw Redheart’s shoulder and frowned worriedly. “That cut... Can’t tell how deep it is. Could be critical, could be nothing. How does it feel?”

Redheart shook her head dismissively. “It’s not that bad. The blade barely grazed me. Give it a wrap and a couple days and it’ll be fine.” She shrugged off her saddlebags and opened one, grabbed a length of medical gauze in her teeth, and began to wrap the wound with quick, expert motions. A few seconds later, the cut was fully tied off and bandaged, with only the presence of the gauze indicating it had been there in the first place.

“There, see? No problem,” said Redheart. “I’ll clean it off and disinfect it when we get back to the motel, but for now, I think we should get moving.” She glanced around the street. “Hold on. Where did those pegasi end up, anyway?” Might as well check them for clues.

Ink Blot pointed at an area a couple feet away, averting his eyes. “One landed there. The other... not sure.” His tone made it clear he would prefer to stay as far away from the the point of impact as possible.

Redheart nodded and walked over to where Ink Blot had. She saw the pavement, slick with red, and the crumpled, broken form lying on top of it. The assassin’s wings were splayed at an unnatural angle, frozen in a last, futile attempt to keep the ground away.

“Ouch,” Redheart muttered, bending down to get a closer look at the body. “Professor, could you give me some light?”

There was no response, but a couple seconds later, a small, luminescent orb popped into existence next to her, bathing the scene in a flickering greenish light. Guess autopsies aren’t his thing, she thought. Well, can’t say I blame him.

With Ink Blot’s orb providing assistance, Redheart took a closer look at the corpse. The pegasus’ wings were, not, as she had first thought, made out of razors, but rather encased in a soft, flexible sheath with the blades attached at regular intervals. Whether they were sewn, glued, or otherwise attached, she couldn’t be sure. The rest of the assassin’s body was clothed in a similar fashion, with a form-fitting, pliable black fabric that Redheart couldn’t quite place. It felt like nylon, but stronger and less stringy. The suit left no room for a mane or tail, and Redheart assumed they had been shaved off or otherwise removed for additional streamlining. The whole ensemble was tight, aerodynamic, and perfectly suited for blending in with the night.

Redheart glanced at the assassin’s face, which was covered entirely by a mask made of the same cloth as the rest of the suit, with only slits left for eyes. Something about it caught her eye, and she leaned closer, squinting in the dim light of the orb. There, stitched neatly into the seam of the mask, was a logo.

Neosil Industries. Never heard of them, thought Redheart. Probably some shady military contractor that sells to the highest bidder. She squinted closer at the letters, trying to glean every possible bit of information from the stubbornly uninformative symbols.

Hang on, what’s this?

Redheart frowned as something below the stitching of the logo caught her eye. There was an small, cylindrical bulge in the mask’s otherwise skin-tight surface, like something had been accidentally sewn in and then forgotten. Redheart prodded it experimentally and was surprised to find it fairly pliable, as if it was simply a wad of fabric stuck inside. But this is military-grade stuff, she reminded herself. They don’t make sewing mistakes. Whatever it is, it’s there for a reason. She grabbed the fabric in her teeth. And I’m going to find out what that reason is.

The fiber tasted foul, but she ignored it, yanking as hard as she could at the cloth of the mask. The substance proved deceptively strong, and almost a minute later, she had torn a hole just large enough to see the bulge for what it truly was: a sheet of paper, rolled tightly and wrapped with a length of string. Redheart extracted it gingerly, being careful not to rip or tear the tiny note. She grabbed the string in her teeth and untied it with the same care before slowly unrolling the paper against the assassin’s bloodstained body. Now, what is this? A coded message? Secret orders? Somehow, I don’t think ‘in the mask of an flying assassin’ is the safest way to carry your- oh Celestia.

Redheart’s breath caught.

The paper wasn’t a secret message, it was a letter, written in a flowing, elegant script that looked almost too perfect to have come from a pony. But more importantly, it was a letter addressed to her.

Eyes wide in disbelief, Redheart began to read.

To Former Equestrian Special Agent Crimson Morenna Flare, Leader of Field Operations and Reconnaissance Squad 0477 (designation “Crimson”):

If you are reading this letter, I would like to congratulate you. When I was first made aware of your presence by a distraught Miss Floss, I was, for lack of a better word, quite skeptical. How could one mare, I wondered, manage to escape the grasp of not only one of my most senior underlings, but also my best assassin, hoof-picked for her unmatchable skill and utter devotion? It just didn’t seem plausible. After all, Blade is not known to miss.

But now, by defeating not one but two of my most highly-prized killers and finding this scrap of paper, you have completely and wholeheartedly surpassed my admittedly meager expectations for your competency. You have proven yourself a worthy opponent, if a rather persistent and irritating one.

However, as you no doubt have already guessed, the game is far from over. As a matter of fact, it has only just begun, and I hold all the pieces.

If I may be frank, Miss Flare, you are fighting a losing battle. Think about the situation you find yourself in: racing across the country, constantly hounded by my associates, all while babysitting that bumbling fool of a professor. Not particularly ideal for orchestrating any kind of organized assault, let alone one on Equestria’s most formidable criminal institutions. Meanwhile, I am perfectly content to sit back, perhaps with a nice mug of brandy, and wait patiently for you to make your first, fatal mistake.

Of course, the purpose of this letter is not simply to gloat, as amusing as I may find it. Instead, I would like to propose an offer. I have outlined the terms of said offer below, and have worded them as clearly as possible to prevent any unfortunate misunderstandings.

-Two days from now, at 10:45 A.M. exactly, you will enter the Daisy Hay Cafe in East Fillydelphia. You will bring this letter, and you will come alone. If there is any possible chance that somepony else is accompanying you, the offer will rendered null and void, and my associates and I will make every effort to ensure you do not survive the hour.

-Once you have entered the Cafe alone, and I repeat, alone, you will take a seat at the third booth from the left. It will not be occupied. Once there, you will be joined shortly by one of my associates, or ‘middlemares’ as you may know them. She will be wearing a burgundy scarf. If she does not appear within five minutes, it means I have become paranoid that you may be attempting to double-cross me, and have called off the offer. Do not give me any reason to be paranoid.

-Once my associate has arrived and sat down across from you, you will present this letter. If you do not present it, the same terms outlined above will come into effect.

-My associate will review the letter, and, after ensuring its authenticity, will outline the terms of my second proposal, which I will not elaborate on here. Said proposal is non-negotiable, and any attempt at doing so will void the offer.

-After my associate has finished explaining my terms, you will have a choice: You may accept or decline.

-If you accept, assuming you have kept to the previous tenets of the offer, everything from the past two and a half days will disappear. You will be free to walk the streets without fear, and your life will resume as normaI. I’ll even let you keep your pet professor as a token of my respect. I swear this by my life.

-However, if you decline, I swear by an equally solemn oath that before the week is over, I will hunt down and brutally execute every pony you hold dear, starting with that booze-swigging imbecile a DJ, and concluding with yourself. I will not be merciful. I will not accept pleading or begging. I will kill all of them, and then I will kill you. Slowly, and with enough relish that by the time death finally comes, you will embrace it.

Whatever you may decide, I would highly suggest you at least hear me out, as it were. If you decline this offer by refusing to show, I will logically assume you have declined my second one as well, and will act accordingly.

It’s your choice, Miss Flare. The lives of the ponies you love hang in the balance, and you will be the one to save them or damn them.

The day after tomorrow. 10:45. Don’t be late.

There was no signature, just an elaborate seal: an inked version of the same symbol she had seen on Candi and the colts in the hospital.

How...

That seal... it must be Garnet’s, whoever he is. There. That’s at least one thing I’m certain of. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.

Garnet... he knows my real name, my rank, where I’ve been, even my friends... my friends! Vinyl! Redheart started in terror. I have to warn her. She stuffed the letter in her bag and was about to yell for Ink Blot to follow when she remembered Garnet’s words:

Do not give me any reason to be paranoid.

What if telling them about the letter voids the offer?

She wanted to scream in frustration. If I don’t tell her, she’s in danger. If I do, she might be in even more. Celestia damn Garnet, whoever he is. Standing up from the body, she stomped a hoof on the bloodstained pavement and sighed. You can think about this later. You have a day.

She began to walk away from the body, slowly, each step requiring a conscious effort.

Focus, Redheart. One hoof in front of the other.

She saw Ink Blot standing in the same spot he had been earlier, eyes pointing anywhere but the direction of the messy scene she had been examining. “Anything interesting?” he asked, peering at her quizzically.

Redheart nearly shook her head, but something made her hesitate. He needs to know, needled her subconscious. Not now, but soon.

“Later,” she said, half to herself. Tomorrow. No excuses. He deserves to know, after the hell you’ve put him through.

“Pardon?” Ink Blot looked looked confused.

“I’ll tell you later. Promise. I need to sleep on this. I’m sure you have plenty of questions for me anyway.”

The professor nodded. “Correct. I will hold you to your word.” His face hardened. “Secrets are counterproductive, after all. Believe we agreed.”

“I know. Trust me. Tomorrow, you’ll know everything,” she said, wiping a smear of blood from her shoulder. “We should get back to the motel.”

Ink Blot shot her a quizzical look. “The motel? Are you sure? Public. Very insecure. Easy to set up an ambush...” He glanced around nervously, as if expecting another duo of assassins to materialize from the shadows.

“It’ll be safe.” For tonight, at least. “Besides, it’s not like we have too many other options.”

“Suppose you’re right. Let’s get moving.” The professor began to trot quickly down the street, hooves clicking quietly over the cobblestones. Redheart followed behind him, lost in her thoughts.

Several minutes of silence later, she remembered something that had been nagging at her since her near-death by falling pegasus.“Professor?” she asked, briefly breaking into a run to catch up with the stallion.

“Yes?” Ink Blot replied, not breaking his pace.

“I just realized. I never actually thanked you.” Celestia, I probably sounded so ungrateful back there.

“Thanked me? For what?”

Uh.

“For... you know. Saving my life.” How does he not...

“Ah. Think nothing of it,” Ink Blot said dismissively. “Simply repaying a favor.”

“A favor? To who?”

“You, of course. You saved my life. I saved yours. No need to thank me. Would’ve done the same for anyone... no.” He shook his head. “Not anyone. But for you, certainly.”

“Oh. Well, uh, thanks anyway,” Redheart muttered awkwardly. Is that really all he thinks this is? Just a debt to be repaid? Well, now that we’re even, what’s to stop him from just waltzing out of here and leaving me on my own?

She said as much, and Ink Blot shook his head again vigorously.

“Abandon you? Not a chance. As you said earlier, we are marked. I am old, unathletic, and of near-zero potential value in any confrontation. You are none of the above, and are also the only one of the two of us that has any semblance of a plan. To abandon you now, in an unfamiliar city, directly after an attempt on both our lives?” He shuddered. “Suicide.”

Well, I guess that’s better than ‘yep, see ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya’. Not by much, though.

But Ink Blot wasn’t done. “Besides. The past few days have been dangerous, uncomfortable, and a complete deviation from my standard lifestyle. However...” Redheart couldn’t see the professor’s mouth in the dimness of the night, but she could have sworn he was grinning. “A little adventure never hurt anypony, and I believe it was you who told me to ‘get my face out of a book once in a while.’ He gave a weak laugh. “What better way to do it than a semiconstant string of near-death experiences?”

Redheart shook her head in silent disbelief. One minute he’s freaking the buck out about going to back to the motel, the next, he’s calling almost dying twice an adventure? Whatever works, I guess.

“Stallions,” she muttered to herself.

“Sorry?”

“Never mind. Look, there’s the motel,” said Redheart, pointing at the dingy-looking building up ahead. “Let’s get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

“Is it?”

Well, if digging up a couple years’ worth of repressed memories doesn’t qualify as ‘big’, I don’t know what does.

She sighed.

“More than you know.”

Comments

[Avorin]

Why am I reading Ink Blot as having the same voice as Mordin Solus?

[Stereo_Sub]

971901

I have no idea. I mean, he totally wasn't a major influence in the character design or anything...

[aljada]

I tried hearing him with Mordin's voice, but then I kept imagining his expressive eyebrows on a pony and I couldn't take it seriously.
Dammit, now I want to see a pony singing Gilbert and Sullivan too. Someone get Ingram on it.

[Avorin]

Rrrrriiiiggghht.

Would this mean by any chance the good doctor will turn out to be more capable in combat then he seems or is the way he talks all he got from the operatic Salarian?

[Stereo_Sub]

974045
We shall see.
(I don't actually know. He kinda developed from a very minor supporting character into an main one over the course of writing the story, so I'm still not entirely sure what I want to do with him yet.)

(But, probably not.)

[Avorin]

974253 Cool just kinda got me wondering is all.

972513 I pictured him as having kinda Einstein like eyebrows and it works for me and dang you now I want to see that too!

[aljada]

975123
You should know the tune, from Pirates

When a mailmare's not engaged in her employment
Or raising her precocious daughter dear
Her capacity for accidental mayhem
Is just as great as purple magi fear

Her feelings she with difficulty smothers
When delivery duty's to be done
Leaving her muffin-baking with another
Ms. Bright Eyes' job is not an 'appy one

someone get tae singin'