The Olden World

by Czar_Yoshi

Inspection, Four

"So this is the remnants of a fight scene, you say," Gerardo mused, standing in a mostly-ordinary metal corridor many floors down from the control room. He didn't have a perfect grasp on how far up it was, but it was definitely below the level where Maple and Starlight had been held captive. "I'm not sure what kind of damage I was expecting, but it involved more burns and less... brute force."

Selma raised a hoof, placing it against a vertical pipe on the wall. He flexed his muscles, pushed... and with a creak of metal, the pipe moved, its bottom half bending out to reveal that it had been severed down the middle with the most hairline of cracks. His hoof then traced alongside a wall, dipping slightly in places where it had been bashed in, the thin metal plating shredded and the rock chipped beneath. "Thanks to the failures of a certain weapons contract, we have little weaponry that does not rely on pure barbaric force," he said coldly. "And the Sosan chose not to bring any."

Sharpie sulked. "If you wanted better weapons, you should have helped with my case while it was still alive, instead of being an obstructive yak hugger and refusing everything I asked."

While they bickered, Gerardo closely inspected the floor, quickly coming to a hypothesis that needed testing. "For a battle fought with weapons that do this much damage to metal and walls, there seems to be a remarkable lack of residual blood... and not because these floors have been recently cleaned, either. What really happened here, Captain?"

"You say that..." Selma slowly droned. "Yet the casualty report I was given this morning listed twenty-seven injured." He leaned down, sniffing the floor for himself without taking his eyes off the griffon. "And yet, you are correct. Interesting."

Gerardo frowned. "A weapon that could injure that many without spilling a drop of blood... Might there be an infirmary within this fortress where the victims are being treated? I would very much like to see as to their conditions..."

"There is," Selma answered coolly. "Once again, follow me..."

---

After a roundabout hike that included more than one trip in an elevator that had Sharpie flying to stay off her hooves and Gerardo questioning whether Selma was doing stalling of his own, they arrived. The infirmary was a series of white-lined rooms with gentle ventilation, cleen sheets draped everywhere and hung from the ceiling like curtains. A unicorn with a test tube on his flank walked past, pushing a cart with his forehooves and not even glancing as Selma entered.

"Hey, boss," said a pegasus with incredibly sunken eyes from behind a counter. "Was wondering when you would show up to see the damage in person. Everyone's signs are stable, but... they could really use a morale boost. I could too, knowing the enemy has a weapon like that."

"I am temporarily off-duty," Selma answered, earning a slight recoil from the darkly-colored pegasus. "But we are here to assess the damages. Take us to the patients."

The pegasus nodded slothfully back, slumping one limb at a time out of his chair as if he was up three hours before his preferred wake-up time. Tail limp, he shuffled to a sterile-looking metal door that hissed open as he approached. "In here," he muttered. "Had to get some of the beds out of storage. Not often we need them all at once. Should probably keep them out, just in case..."

Gerardo followed Selma into the room, and his eyes widened at what he saw. A full compliment of beds held pegasi, most unmoving, whispering and glancing at the newcomers with only their eyes as if paralyzed from the necks down. Several managed louder words and noises, and a few even sat up.

"Private," Selma announced, approaching one of the sitting pegasi, composure iron. "Report."

"Ohhh Commander..." the pegasus breathed, laughing nervously. "It was the spookiest thing ever! She just stood there like a demon, and we were throwing spears at her but she kept advancing one step at a time, and it didn't even matter that she had armor because she blocked all of them with her sword! And I know you said to always stand your ground, Sir, but she was so scary and I tried to run, and then she hit my shoulder because the others were pressing us closer, and... oh boy..."

He held up a forelimb... or tried to, at least. It dangled limply, like a noodle, barely even indicative that there was a bone inside at all. With his other, he tapped a sling that pinned one of his wings to his side. "Can't even feel them, Sir. I think they might be dead. I..." His smile broke, turning to one of denial rather than relief. "I was one of the lucky ones, Sir. Most of the others, she hit their necks or bodies, and they... they're like zombies..."

The chorus of whispers from the immobile ponies intensified, many single eyes staring at unnatural angles to see Gerardo and Selma. Sharpie's mouth was covered with a wing, and her cheeks were slightly green. "I might... go back outside..." she murmured, mane askew.

"Fear not," Gerardo interrupted with a commanding voice, catching the entire room's attention. "I've seen magic like this before," he narrated. "It isn't permanent... at least, not the variations I've discovered. Rest, eat well, and it wears off in less than a week. It's designed as a nonlethal combat solution, so none of you should be in danger."

The room gasped louder, and several voices asked hopeful, disbelieving questions, but Gerardo's mind was elsewhere. It was blatant what had happened: Braen had attacked the fortress using his stolen sword. His own experience with the weapon suggested that his advice was true. Though, there always was the sinister possibility that Braen had somehow changed it... and her continued possession of the sword didn't speak well for Shinespark's odds of recovering it.

Selma jabbed him, snapping his attention back to the room. "How do you know that?" the unicorn asked, frowning.

"I, Captain, am a Griffon Adventurer Extraordinaire," Gerardo proclaimed, holding an imperious talon to his breast. "Running across unusual things such as these is in my job description."

"Whew..." The guard with the limp foreleg sighed noisily, then lay back. "If you're telling the truth, that's the biggest relief of my life. I can't fight with three legs and one wing! I could probably barely walk! Imagining going home to my wife after all this and telling her I was permanently unemployable... That would just be the worst. I mean, she knows I do night shift, but this is still past the time I usually get home, so I'm a little late already and she's probably already worried..."

"Yes, yes, indeed," Gerardo agreed, bobbing his head. Surveying the room, he asked, "Could any of you tell me if there was a known motive for the invasion? I am presently an inspector, after all, and anything you could tell me would be of great use."

"Oh, yeah, that's easy," the noodle-legged pegasus answered, nodding hopefully. "She was going on about how we had captives we needed to return! Which is completely false, by the way, because that's something only the Sosans would do, but you can inspect that, too! Something about a mare and a filly. Really, who foalnaps a cute little filly? A complete scumbag, that's who."

Oblivious to Selma's sudden glare, he continued. "But she thought we had them, anyway. She kept saying their names. Maple and, uhhh... Twilight."

"Starlight," another nearby guard helpfully corrected.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." The first guard shrugged a one-shouldered shrug. "Pretty much the same name. New parents these days need to be more creative when naming their kids." He blinked, eyes unfocusing. "I had a friend once called Poncho. See, that's a name that's both unique and creative. I bet nobody ever confused him with anyone else."

Gerardo wasn't listening. He couldn't listen, because his mind had just been seized by an idea... an idea that wouldn't stop growing. He had gone to Dior late the previous night to request aid for his friends, and received a blunt reassurance and nothing more. Then, an armored pony had appeared to demand his friends' release... but the guards said nothing about the crates, and Dior hadn't vouched for those, either. It couldn't possibly be a coincidence, could it? How else would the Sosans even have known his friends were in the Water District, let alone in need of saving?

"How was Braen defeated, again...?" he asked, mostly to keep the guards busy while he thought. Braen was a mare... as evidenced by the proportions of her armor. Thanks to her magically-distorted voice, though, there was nothing else by which to tell. His mind silently conjured up an image of Dior next to her, and the stallion suddenly stood out for his slight proportions and curved muzzle...

And his limp. When Dior left the meeting, he had been reluctant to put weight on his right front hoof. With a flash, Gerardo's mind spun back to the battle in the Earth District where Braen had stolen his sword... and had done so by lodging it in her armor after it partially penetrated her right front hoof.

"It couldn't be..." he breathed, which was thankfully covered up by the guard's continued talking.

"...because Valey is scary." The guard hugged himself with one limb. "I mean, if you can spook the baddest bandit in Sosa with just a bit of mumbo jumbo and a glare, nobody wants to mess with you. I sure don't! Besides, she's weird, kind of mean and is constantly playing tricks."

Gerardo blinked. His mind wanted to make a connection between Braen's presence in Sosa and the fact that Arambai was somehow still in touch with Dior, but he had to focus... that or get somewhere where taking time to think was more reasonable. "Selma!" he uttered. "I've recalled that we were going to... visit the ventilation systems control room. If there is further work to be done here, I have no qualms with waiting, but otherwise it seems we have no reason to dally."

Selma shot him a look that appeared to have its intended meaning be quite obvious, though Gerardo had no idea what it was. Shrugging, he turned to the door and began to march. "Onward, in that case. Let us inspect some ventilation."

Comments

[FloydienSlip]

Oh shit, Braen is Dior?

[Hap]

"I had a friend once called Poncho. See, that's a name that's both unique and creative. I bet nobody ever confused him with anyone else."

So long as he doesn't visit Mexico.

8487637
I called it! Way back!

[KMCA]

I had a friend once called Poncho. See, that's a name that's both unique and creative.

Nice callback.

[Venlinelle]

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." The first guard shrugged a one-shouldered shrug. "Pretty much the same name. New parents these days need to be more creative when naming their kids." He blinked, eyes unfocusing. "I had a friend once called Poncho . See, that's a name that's both unique and creative. I bet nobody ever confused him with anyone else."

Comedy is about callbacks!

Reread edit: You know, throwing in active misdirection about Braen in a plotline with this many twists and turns is just mean.

[sploopy slooder]

well damn. this really was all caused by selma being a dick. i had some slight doubts before but wow. if he hadnt taken maple NONE of this would have happened. gerardo wouldnt be here, and the invasion wouldnt have happened.