The Bon Identity

by DashEight

Yellow Submarine Part 1: #SquadGoals

Briefing Room 3
Canter Mount Research and Storage Facility
994 C. E.
Threat Condition: Lavender
Cerberus Status: Good Boy

"Good evening, everypony. Thank you for coming," Sweetie Drops addressed the room, handing a manilla folder to each audience member as she paced by. "I understand many of you have other assignments, but the leads I've found here are time-sensitive."

Ponies flipped through the file folders placed in front of them. The cavernous lecture hall had seating for almost a hundred ponies, but only two dozen sat scattered around the first few rows. Cover Story flipped through his file with interest, magically loosening the tie on his charcoal business suit and toying at his watch with a hoof. A senior agent now, his well-groomed mane had a few visible strands of gray. Double Cross looked the same as always, wearing an expression of equal parts boredom and irritation. Sweetie privately wondered if the disgruntled cowpony ever aged. A few seats up and over from the two field agents, Dr. Treble Clef sat with his lab assistant, marking a sheaf of research papers with the pen in his mouth. Ponies from the strike teams sat scattered across the rows, refusing to part with their dark fatigues and pullovers even in this academic environment. At least they aren't wearing armor, Sweetie told herself. She had butterflies in her stomach already, and fifteen blank-eyed gas masks staring at her wouldn't help at all.

At the far side of the hall, two ponies in sea-blue flight suits finished their hushed conversation to give her their attention. Evening Mist, the senior Shadowbolt, folded her hooves across the table and gave Sweetie an appraising look. Slit-pupil rose eyes sized up the newbie agent standing at the front of the room. Sweetie felt a chill run through her haunches, those thestral eyes were always a little off-putting before you got used to them.

"Missy, if this is so urgent, ya mind telling us what we're doin' here?" Double Cross's amused voice pierced her bubble.

"R-right, sorry everypony," She shook her head and turned the lights down, hooving the remote for the room's projector. The device clicked, and an image of a sky-blue unicorn mare with a seafoam mane appeared on the pulldown screen. The pony in the picture wore a safari vest and a tired expression. "This is Professor Bathysphere, formerly chairpony of the Department of Maritime Research at Manehattan University. Doctorates in marine cryptobiology and oceanography, and holds several R&D contracts with the Navy. One year ago, her daughter Conch drowned while the two were conducting a field study in the Aquastralian city of Berth. Bathysphere blamed the seaponies for her daughter's death. She did the whole 'swearing eternal revenge' bit, then left her position at the university and vanished from the public eye. Doctor Treble believed her expertise of magical sea creatures made her a credible threat, and the Director flagged her file at his recommendation."

She clicked the remote, swapping slides to an photograph of a port outside Trottingham with several docked vessels flying the colors of the Imperial Griffon Navy. Several warehouses and one sailing ship were burning, obscuring the sky with an ugly dark haze. "Six months ago, mercenaries raided the Griffish Isles port of Marechester, starting several fires and hijacking the IGS Red Sorena amid the confusion." She waved a pointer towards the corner in the picture, where a submarine was barely visible steaming away from the port, leaving a dovetail wake. "Investigations from the joint pony-griffon athorities on the Isles and our own contacts within the Empire's various kingdoms all suggested that Bathysphere is the pony that commisioned these soldiers-for-hire. Neither our own navy nor the griffons were able to locate the Red Sorena."

The ponies seated across from her looked on with mild impatience. Everything they heard up to this point was old news, they were all familiar with the griffons' latest embarrasment. Bon-Bon cleared her throat, reaching for a glass of water before continuing. "I think I've found the submarine."

That got everypony's attention. She clicked to the next slide, showing two scrolls side-by-side. One bore the crest of the Griffish Isles, the other a distinctive EUP seal.

"Six days ago, the guard captain of Yoke Mountain Armory reported an armed break-in at his base. I've received a copy of the report from a source in the Royal Guard and compared it with the one from six months ago, and I believe they were committed by the same group. All the descriptions of the hostiles' numbers and equipment match up. They were last spotted flying west-southwest over Las Pegasus, and if we extend their current track..." She clicked to the next slide, displaying a map of Equestria for her audience. A solid red line stretched from the San Palomino desert over the western coast, turning dashed as it continued out over the Luna Sea. "You'll see that there is only one port along this track where a ship the size of the Red Sorena could dock without being reported. All others are either too small or too busy. If they are meeting with the sub, it will be here," she pointed towards a tiny island circled in red, "the isle of Trot."

The tension in the room thickened. A few of the commando ponies broke out in hushed whispers to each other. Double Cross chose this moment to speak up.

"Pardon the interruption Sweetie, but that's a helluva conclusion to make and not much to make it on."

"I understand, and I wouldn't have brought you all here if I didn't have anything solid. As soon as I found this last week, I requested an overflight of the island. Flight Officer Mist and, umm, her wingmare... I'm sorry, I never got your name?"

"Night Glider, ma'am." Azure feathers ruffled against the pegasus's flight suit, but she otherwise waited for Sweetie to continue.

"Right, sorry. Um, they just got back last night. I've included copies of their photos in your packets, but in this picture here," she clicked the remote, and the two documents on the projector were replaced with a top-down photograph of a tropical harbor, "you'll see a submarine the size and beam of the Red Sorena moored at this dock." She pointed out the vessel in question on the overhead. "It's been repainted and modified to look pony-manufactured, but this is definitely our missing sub."

Everypony scrutinized the submarine in the picture. It bore the telltale white-and-gold trim and heart-shaped portholes of pony design, but it was unmistakeably the same ship that disappeared from Marechester six months ago.

"Thank you, Agent Drops," Treble Clef spoke as he stood up. "Excellent work as always. Now everypony, I've been in touch with the Director, and he wants this kept quiet until we learn more. We don't know Bathysphere's endgame here, but our current theory is that she's going to use the disguised submarine to unleash sea monsters inside Aquastralia in a 'Trotjan Pony'-style attack. Before I continue," he added as hooves shot up into the air, "launching a 'Trotjan Pony' operation from the city where the original Trotjan Pony was built is not 'ironic', it is merely coincidental. It would only be ironic if she were using it against the Changelings who invented it. Anypony planning on pointing that out will be scheduled for extra sparring sessions with Agent Cross." Double Cross smirked as the would-be smartflanks lowered their hooves.

Sweetie's heart swelled with pride. While she planned and gone out on other missions, this was a whole new level. Routine surveillance and bag-and-tags didn't even compare to tracking down a genuine supervillan! She tried not to jump for joy too much as the doctor ran down his list of suspects.

"...and that concludes the possible creatures in the 'Kaiju' class," he motioned to a new row of pictures; a massive biped with tentacles sprouting from its face, a dragon-like creature with spiky plates along its spinal ridge towering over a city, and a raging funnel cloud with sharks whirling about inside. "Now, while Crab People aren't indigenous to the Luna Sea, it's possible that..."

Maybe there'd be a showdown! Her and the villan, circling each other around the edge of a bottomless pit as they shouted at each other about loss and the duality of ponykind. She would stall for time, keeping the Professor talking while she waited for a chance to strike! She couldn't wait to tell Octavia about this! Okay, maybe I should leave a few things out when I write her, even if her dad's the boss. National security and all.

"...have not confirmed that Bathysphere herself is at the port, we will not engage until she is found. Somepony is financing her, this whole mad-scientist act isn't cheap. Agent Cross will search this warehouse here for any information whie Agent Drops infiltrates the sub itself and places the tracking crystal, Now-"

The butterflies in Sweetie's stomach suddently multiplied. "Wait, I'm the lead? Isn't Cover hitting the sub?"

The room erupted in laughter, leaving Sweetie and the other newbie befuddled. "What's so funny?" Night Glider asked, looking to her flight leader.

"Sorry girls, inside joke from back in the day. Cover worked these island chains quite a lot when we were greenies and it's left him just a biiiit recognizable."

"That's puttin' it lightly, Eve." Double Cross added, "there ain't a tropical paradise out there that don't have Cover's face plastered all over wanted posters and bar tabs."

"Hey!"

"Ooh, don't forget the deflowered governor's daughter! What was she Cov, a countess??" Evening Mist gave Cover a fang-filled leer.

"Hey!"

Treble tapped a hoof against the podium. "Settle down everypony. While we all enjoy pointing out Agent Story's indescretions--"

"Those were all for official Service business!! And she was a duchess."

"--the point is that assigning him the submarine would place the operation at undue risk. Cover, you will enter this security station here and ensure nopony can send any messages off-island. FO Mist, your flight will provide eyes in the sky and cover any, erm, hasty exit should the need arise. Door Kicker, your troopers will remain on ready alert. If the good professor makes an appearance, you will secure her and the ship. Any questions?"

Amidst the chorus of "no"s, Sweetie felt a wave of vertigo wash over her. She numbly colleted her slides from the overhead and packed them into her saddlebags. She had researched this case for months, developed contacts throughout three militaries and criminal networks around the world, all for a chance than do more than track down forbidden magic textbooks or clean out Lich Weasel infestations. But lead? She suddenly wasn't so sure of herself anymore. The exceitement she felt before mixed with an increasing sense of dread.

Somepony must've noticed her one-pony pity party, because she felt a hoof on her whithers.

"Somethin' wrong, kid?" Double Cross asked. "Thought you'd be happy, this thing's yer baby."

"No, I am happy to see this after all the work I put in, but- I, ah--" She searched for the right words. "Why didn't the doc assign you the sub? Or somepony else? I mean, I've never worked a mission this big before..."

"Drops, its been two years in the field and you've more than proven yerself. That thing with the werecows was damn fine tradecraft. Look, the doc would'nt a put you in the lead spot if he didn't think you couldn't handle it. Keep that head screwed on straight and remember we've got yer flank."

"Thanks, I um, I won't let you down."

"Not even possible, kid. You heard about the last time somepony was in the western islands? Jus don't down a bottle of Beakardi or challenge any griffons to hoof-to-hoof and ya'll do better than Cover did."

Cover Story rolled his eyes in a huff as he trotted towards the door. "For the last time, it was part of the mission! I was undercover! As a dockworker! You try to get those ponies talking without buying a few rounds first!"

"Most dockworkers can hold their liquor, Cov!" Evening Mist chimed in before ducking out a nearby window. Night Glider followed close behind, waving sheepishly as she took to the air.

Cover watched the batpony depart with a look of annoyance before turning back. "Always has to have the last word in," he shook his head, "anyway, Cross is right. A mission like this, the demon's in the details, and nopony knows the details better than you, Sweetie." He nodded at the two, then turned for the exit. "Come on, let's head to the armory. The doctor wants us in the air by sundown."

"Ya'll be fine, kid. See ya there." Double Cross trotted along with Cover, the two spies wasting no time to reignite some inane, long-dead argument as they walked off. Sweetie slung her saddlebags over her flanks and hurried after them, already feeling the pit of dread in her gut soften to dull apprehension. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

---

50nm East of Trot Harbor
15,000ft
Red Sorena Mission: 00d16h35m

Okay, I was wrong! It's bad! It's SO bad!

Sweetie's 'dull apprehension' was back with a vengance. She gripped her seat's harness so tightly her fetlocks turned white. This is it. I'm going to die in this stupid oat-can of a flying machine, and nopony will ever find me. She looked at the porthole window, where she could see nothing except the torrential rain pounding the glass. Lightning lit up the window like a flashbulb, followed by an earsplitting crack-boom over the roar of the contraption's whirling propellers. Wonder who the sharks will eat first when this stupid thing falls to bits? Definitely not the mare with delicious candies stamped on her flanks, right? Sharks hate candy, everypony knows that. Oh roadapples, I'm going to die alone in the ocean.

At that moment, the cabin speakers blared to life, barely audible over the storm. *kssh* "Good morning from the flight deck, folks. We are currently ten minutes out from Trot, which we will be overflying at fifteen thousand feet. Local time is four forty-five AM. Sorry about the turbulence, we can't climb over this storm as the air at altitude would be too thin to breathe for anypony without weather magic. However, I've just spoken to our two cloud-busters ahead, and they say that we should be out of these bumps in the next few minutes. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of the flight, and please remember to take all your personal belongings with you when you exit the aircraft as this flight is continuing on to Trotyo. We know you have a choice when it comes to air travel. and honestly we can't figure out why you chose to sit in the back of an express-mail freighter. *kssh*

Sweetie held the straps tighter as her stomach did a few cartwheels. She woud give anything to be back in a chariot or airship, or even better, on the ground. Unfortunately for her, a ten thousand mile flight over the ocean would cause even the strongest pegasi to faint from exhaustion and zeppelins were far too slow. After another few minutes of tooth-rattling thunderclaps, the sky opened up and everything smoothed out. Sweetie sent a silent prayer to Celestia, then vowed to find the inventor of this torture chamber masquerading as a flying machine and hold their head underwater until the bubbles stopped. She leaned over to the next seat and nudged Cover Story awake.

"WE SHOULD BE LANDING SOON!" Her voice was barely audible over the engines' roar.

Cover raised an eyebrow. "WE'RE NOT LANDING! EVERYPONY ON THE ISLAND WOULD SEE US!"

"THEN HOW ARE WE GETTING TO TROT?" Dots connected in her head, reaching a conclusion she really, really didn't like. As if on cue, a buzzer sounded and the door at the back of the flyer opened. Gale-force winds whipped through the cabin as Eve and Night Glider, finished with tunneling a hole through the storm, flitted through the doorframe and waved the passengers over. As everypony stood and lined up by the open door, Cover Story levitated Sweetie a piece of equipment she hadn't touched since training, something no earth pony in their right mind should ever have to touch again.

"YOU REMEMBER HOW TO USE A PARACHUTE, RIGHT?"

---

Five Minutes and One Freefall Later...

"Never... again..." Sweetie choked out through clenched teeth as she pulled her harness off. She spotted the others gathering their belongings further up the beach, barely visible in the weak predawn light. She folded her chute with shaking hooves, buried it in the sand, and weakly trotted over to meet them. Double Cross spotted her approach as he dug through his rucksack. "Look who showed up! Ya alright? Looks like yer about ta puke."

"Nope. I'm good. I'm not gonna." She waved his concern off with a trembling hoof. "Puke, I mean."

"Ya sure?"

"Yep. I uh, already did. A lot. Nothing left now."

Cover Story looked up from his map. "The harbor town is on the other side of the old Trot ruins. Once we reach it, we'll each head for our assignments. It'll be your show from there, Sweetie." He put a hoof to his ear. "Sky One, comm check"

"Five by five, Ground One. Tell the new girl not to worry, I'll have eyes on her flank all the way to the sub."

"Ground One, five by five. No molesting the greenhorns, Sky One"

"I remember when this job used to be fun. Sky One wilco."

Both senior agents elected to ignore the embarrased look on Sweetie's face, leaving her with some dignity intact. "Alrighty then. Let's get movin'."

---

The three ponies trotted carefully through the remains of the ancient city of Trot. The former city-state had prospered under Emperor Incitatus, the shining jewel of the Western settlements. The ponies of Trot were poised to make their mark on history when a Changeling raid reduced them to a footnote, their city trashed and leader left weak and sickly. Lacking Incitatus's bullheaded leadership during the troubled times that followed, Trotjan society collapsed and the surrounding pony colonies slowly disappeared without Trot's hub of commerce to support them. The once-glorious city now lay abandoned save for the occasional tourists or amorous teenagers. Despite their eyes in the sky, the infiltrators did not want to risk drawing attention to themselves. They hugged the walls of the crumbling buildings, always ready to duck behind the rubble of a collapsed pillar or a tarnished bronze statue of the good Emperor.

"Ground team, this is Sky One, no movement. You are clear to the treeline."

"Ground Two, thanks. Sky Two, anythin' on yer end?"

"Umm, Sky Two affirm. Two stallions walking down the main boulevard, they're headed for that intersection one block in front of you." Sweetie heard Night Glider's voice quaver. The newbie flyer seemed more jumpy since they had landed, now that she didn't have any cloudbusting to distract her.

"They mercs?"

"No, I see Guard armor and spears. Maybe local constables?"

"Thank ya much, Sky Two." Double Cross looked back at Cover and Sweetie. "Feel like doin' a little shopping?"

Cover Story considered the offer. "I could use a nice, face-concealing helmet for the stroll to the watch station."

"Alright then. Drops, think ya can take this one? Nopony seems to buy my damsel-in-destress act fer some reason."

Sweetie nodded, feeling her confidence return. Even with her short time on the job, she had plenty of practice pulling one over various local authorities. She dropped her saddlebags and quickly pulled off her ninja suit. "Sure thing, I'll be back in a second." She galloped off as the two took up hiding spots in the crumbling entryway of a bath house. She stopped just short of the intersection, peeking around the still-standing corner of a collapsed building. Two earth ponies were strolling down the boulevard half a block away chatting amicably with each other. Their dented bronze helmets had seen better days, the feathers in their bottlebrush crests were bent at odd angles. Both wore worn-out sets of armor bearing the traditional Trotjan coat of arms. Sweetie mussed up her hair, took a few quick, shallow, breaths, and let out an earsplitting shriek.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLP!!!!!!"

Both policeponies took off into a gallop, bolting down the block towards the scream. They turned the corner to find a hysterical mare, face buried in her hooves, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Miss? Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

"P-P-Please, you have to h-h-help me! I can't-- *sob*"

"We're here to help, Miss. Are you injured?"

"NO! I-I-It's not meeee!" She wailed.

"Everything's going to be okay, Miss. This is Deputy Phalanx and I'm Deputy Shield, we'll do everything we can, but we need to know what's wrong. What's your name?"

"G-G-Gumdrop Smiles. You have to help my s-sister! She's hurt!! She ran into a building and the roof caved in!"

"Can you lead us to her, Miss Smiles!!"

"Y-Yes, follow me!" She took off down the thoroughfare towards the bath house. "W-we were touring the ruins and she was playing around and I told her to be careful but she was too quick for me! I-I can't get to her and I think her leg's broken and it's ALL MY FAULT!!"

"Don't worry, Miss Smiles. It'll be okay." Deputy Shield reassured her as they ran up the stairs and through the bath house's entryway. "If you can show us what room she's in we'll--" *WHAM* He collapsed like a sack of apples. Phalanx tried to cry out in alarm, but found himself in a vice-like headlock with a hoof holding his jaw shut. A sky blue aura floated a rag up to his muzzle, and after a few seconds of struggling, his eyes rolled up to the back of his head and he went limp.

"Thanks for yer assistance, officers," Double Cross stood over the fallen constables, holding his crossbow stock-first. He quickly slung it over his haunches and started pulling off their armor, inspecting one helmet with a massive dent. Cover Story packed away whatever potion he'd used to subdue the other policepony as Double pounded out the dent with a hoof.

"I don't know why ya bother with that stuff, Cov. Whangin' 'em on the head's quicker."

"I'd prefer not to leave every poor police officer we stumble across with a concussion, Cross." Cover attempted to pull the guard's helmet over his head, frowning as he realized his horn was blocking the earthpony-model headgear.

"Eh, there's a spell for that. By the way, good job with the bait, Drops."

Sweetie beamed. "Thanks! I had to work at it in training, I was never a good actor as a filly." She pulled out her ninja suit from her saddlebags. She couldn't fit into stallion-size armor, and Baythysphere's hired goons would never let a policepony near their precious submarine anyway. Cover Story gave his new helmet an annoyed once-over, then punched a hole through the forehead plate with a teal magical beam. "Shall we head into town, good sirs?"

"Sounds like a plan. You're calling the shots from here, Sweetie. You know this town better than either of us." Cover finished tieing up the two snoozing officers, leaving them in an out-of-the-way corner.

"O-okay," she gulped as they continued their journey through the ruins towards Trot Harbor. Her stomach fluttered again, but less aggresively than before. Everything was going fine so far. I can do this.

Author's Note:

And then everything went exactly according to plan. Nopony's cover was blown, nothing exploded, and Sweetie didn't have a swordfight with her long-lost identical twin sister who inexplicably sports a facial scar and British accent. Lyra will be so disappointed.

I used the name Red Sorena from a character in the webcomic Dash Academy. The Red October reference was too easy.

And now for Worldbuilding, sponsored by Weyland-Yutani Corporation!

Griffon kingdoms and city-states are independent entites loosely united under the banner of the Griffon Empire. The Griffish Isles of Wingland and Eyrieland is one such kingdom, but hosts a sizable pony population. Hence the city names like Trottingham and Manechester instead of more claw and beak-based puns. The Imperial military is funded and staffed by the individual kingdoms, sworn to protect the greater good for all griffonkind. Still, getting the kingdoms to cooperate on anything is a freakin' nightmare.
Ponies HATE airplanes. They're, like, the worst. Think a 1930's era propliner, but less comfortable and with heart-shaped windows. Throw in a big helping of claustrophobia from a species that evolved to graze in open fields and you can see why everypony perfers airships or their own wings.

Weyland-Yutani: Building Better Worlds (TM)

As usual, hit me up if you caught any minor grammatical errors or massive glaring plot holes.