Blazing Capes

by TJAW

1. Bad Luck

Marked Target

I’m not exactly what you’d call a normal pony. I grew up rich and motherless (my mom died giving birth to me), I served a stint in the Royal Equestrian Armed Forces when I came of age – that’s kind of a family tradition – and now I fight crime. That last part is what really makes me abnormal.

Right now you’re probably thinking I was some spec-ops badflank and I used my training to beat up and/or kill criminals and get away with it right? You wouldn’t be that far from the truth.

I guess I should probably start at the beginning, huh?

Well, when I came back from my second tour, I took the chance to go into the reserves, and moved back to Manehattan. My dad could’ve gotten me some sweet-flank, high-paying job, but he opted to not hire me and let me fend for myself. So I worked a slightly lower paying gig as a janitor for some school. Thanks dad!

Maybe I should explain who my dad is. His name is Hard Target. Yeah, that Hard Target, the CEO of Target Enterprises, that one megacorporation that makes and sells almost everything.

Anyways, I’d just gotten out of a taxi to go to my dentist. “Big Bicuspid’s Discount Dentistry – Family owned and operated!”. The sign had been vandalized recently, the letters “B”, “D”, “S”, and “M” highlighted in red. Immature, yeah, but I laughed my flank off anyway. If only all criminals were this harmless and funny.

Outside it was raining, like it had been all week. Hey, at least it broke that drought and heat wave. ‘Course, it was pretty friggin' cold, it being New Yoke and all. I was wearing my olive drab Haylo: Reach Beta Tester hoodie to keep the rain out of my face and my body warm. I’m a pretty avid gamer.

I walked into the building, and took the hood off of my head. Now I’m a fairly good-looking stallion. Not model good, but good. I’m a medium grey earth pony, fit and healthy. I’ve got a black mane that just naturally grows like Doctor Whoof’s does, so it’s kind of stylish but I don’t have to do much other than wash it.

“Hello Mr. Target. Here for your 9 AM quarter annual checkup?” The receptionist asked me. She spoke in a friendly yet impersonal tone, the kind you’d expect from a receptionist.

“Yeah,” I responded. I looked up at the clock instead of my watch for some reason, and I was right on time.

“You’re right on time,” She commented, creepily echoing my thought. “Go right in.”

I did as she said, and walked through the hallway. There were pictures of all kinds of classic cartoons hung on the walls. I guess that’s not that weird considering it’s for foals as well as adults, but still worth noting.

“Hi Mark,” one of the dentists said cheerily. She was a cute looking mare, I’d have to remember to ask her out sometime. I think she had a crush on me. “We’re doing your dental X-ray first. Right this way!”

I followed her, some part of me entertaining the idea that she was taking me to some back room where we could get it on. I think every young stallion has that going on in his head when there’s a cute gal involved.

I wasn’t too disappointed when she led me to the regular old X-ray imaging room.

“Just have a seat and hold still, I’ll get you a lead vest.” She rummaged through a cabinet looking for one.

Meanwhile I was thinking about how stupid it was that I “needed” a vest anyway. Dental X-rays aren’t very radioactive, so I always figured it was more of a “prevent litigation in case a patient gets cancer or is sterile” move to cover their flanks.

“Um, I can’t find a lead vest for you, sorry. Here, I’ve got a waiver for just this kind of scenario. Sign here. And you should put any electronic devices in that basket over there.”

I signed on the dotted line she indicated, I put my stuff in the little basket, she put a little film holder thingy in my mouth to catch the X-rays, and I sat in the imaging chair and leaned back for the imaging process. She aligned the tube to face towards me, walked a few feet away, behind a probably lead-lined wall, and pushed a button.

Either she fucked up real bad, or the machine was fucked up worse, because I could see a visible green blast come out of the tube and hit me, all of me. It was almost like an explosion.

“Ohmygoshareyouokay!?” The dentist blurted out.

“Yeah, I’m fine. A little tingly though,” I responded.

“Should I call an ambulance?”

“No, I’ll make it to the hospital. Wouldn’t want to cost you a dime if it was just nothing.” I smiled weakly, collected my phone and left the building.

I didn’t call an ambulance, actually. I called a taxi. If I started feeling like shit in the next morning, I’d go to a hospital. Otherwise, I wasn’t going to risk some expensive medical tests. My health insurance had a ridiculous deductible and I was short on cash.

I got back to my apartment, ignored the graffiti on the inside and outside, ignored the stink of vomit from the drunks on the bottom floor, and got in the elevator, which reeked of piss. Probably the landmare’s Chihuahua. I hate those little rat-dogs.

I opened my room, locked the door, and collapsed on my bed. Before I went back to sleep though, I called in sick. I always had a bunch of sick days at my disposal because I never wasted them on stupid shit. Except my birthday and launch days for certain games of course.

Anyway, I passed out on my bed after calling in sick. I woke up thirteen hours later when my phone rang. I picked it up, answering “Yo, Marked Target.”

“Mark, your father was just killed. Some criminals went through him at a business meeting and stole several million bits worth of equipment and liquid assets.”

There was nothing I could say. I was speechless.

Gilda Grimwing

Some ponies think I got my shit together after what happened in Ponyville almost two years ago. I didn’t. My shit was never together in the first place. But what’s important is that I made it look like I had it together.

My day job is kinda fun; I’m a freelance photographer. I take pictures for big names in news that are too pussy to send their own ponies to get a scoop. I’ve also made some good cash from blackmailers who needed dirt. You’d think a griffon would be too conspicuous outside of griffon territory to get juicy shots, but in a city of over twenty-two million, it’s easy to blend in. Play everything cool and you look like just another one of the dozens of minorities in the city that never sleeps.

But my night job is way cooler. I may have a legit job that pays well for opportunists like me, but the best way to make money in this city is a little less socially acceptable.

I was working a job with some crazy broad calling herself “The Black Death”. She kinda reminded me of somepony annoying from Ponyville actually. I asked her about it, and she said she was her sister. She was pretty forthcoming about her past actually, probably because she left it behind.

Apparently she was rendered sterile by a bioweapon she was working on for COW Chemical or some shit, and she sued and got a few million bits. She said that the weapon was based on Changeling DNA, and that she got some limited shapeshifting powers from it and enhanced physical prowess. She also said that it “opened her eyes” to the “oppressive similarities between our culture and theirs”, and she aimed to spread some “noble” anarchic ideals with her actions and distance Equestria from the Changeling swarms. That’s why I called her “crazy” earlier.

I wouldn’t have believed the shit she said she could do if my contacts hadn’t attested for it themselves. Not run-of-the-mill street rats spreading rumors, these were coming from contacts who’d worked with me countless times, and I knew I could trust. And working with her cemented it in my mind that this was one powerful bitch.

She infiltrated the building easily and placed a remote-controlled sonic emitter in the boardroom, which was unfortunately the easiest way to the vault. In that vault was some things we both wanted, and some things the client wanted. Blackie (as I called her) wanted some chaos, I wanted a hi-tech muscle suit for future jobs and some cash, and the client wanted a chemical formula and sample contained in the vault.

At precisely 9:30 PM, Blackie triggered the emitter. The bulletproof glass that protected the one percent inside cracked like Rainbow Dash trying to ask out a hot date.

No, we weren’t friends in that way, before you jump to any conclusions. I don’t roll that way. Pretty sure she didn’t either. She always fawned over posters of whatever male Wonderbolt was supposed to be the best thing since sliced bread, so I think she was straight. Soarin, that was his name. I made fun of her crush so much back in the day.

Anyway, I shot out the windows with a pair of 92FS and dived in wearing a time-tested combination of a turtleneck, combat harness and balaclava. Some dumbflank old stallion with a military manecut and grey coat leapt up in the chaos and shouted for me to get out of his office before he threw me out. I didn’t like being threatened, so I put one between his eyes. The rest of them ran like fat cubs from gym class.

Blackie, who had shed her disguise, bucked down the door and mowed the fucks down with an FMG-9. She chuckled as she stepped over their corpses and reloaded. That freaked me right the fuck out. I might enjoy killing a little bit, but she seemed to revel in it. Still, I kept a straight face and kept on with the job.

We blasted into the vault with a little help from some plastique I brought, and waited for the dust to clear. That’d take about twenty seconds we might not have, so I cleared it with my wings in about four.

I heard hooves coming up the stairs - bird hearing is pretty sharp - and gestured for Blackie to watch out. She just pushed me into the vault and shapeshifted into a wounded businessmare. When the guards came in, she gave them some big eyes, and when they softened she threw a grenade she’d cooked at them. Needless to say, they got turned into mulch.

We ransacked the vault, grabbed what we wanted, and I flew us outta there. We weren’t followed as luck had it, and I got us to the drop off point. We flew for around twelve minutes until we reached a relatively seedy part of town. A van was waiting for us as expected, and I handed over the chem vial and formula.

I didn’t see the mare who grabbed it, and I barely caught that she was a mare. Before the van drove away, she sprayed me with some weird blue gas. My entire body felt like it was burning and tingling with electricity at the same time, Blackie left me for dead and the five-oh was on my tail; I had to get the fuck outta there. My luck wasn’t out yet though, ‘cause there was a fire escape fifteen feet above me.

I leapt for it, grabbing the ladder and clambering onto the stairs. I scrambled up them ‘til I reached the roof, put my stuff in a ‘pack, and flew to my place. Griffons have a remarkable ability to ignore pain, and our warrior mentality enhances that further. Still, it took everything I had to get to my house in Princesses without crashing.

I made it home, got inside quietly, hid the stuff in my stash and administered some morphine. Hey! I’m not a junkie alright!? I just keep medical supplies at claw in case I’m injured. Anyway, I fucked up in the application and got the needle stuck in my right leg. When I tried to pull it out, I messed up just as bad and tore the skin off when I ripped it out instead.

The weird thing was, it didn’t hurt. Okay, actually the lack of pain wasn’t the weird thing. The weird thing was that it healed in seconds. Like, before my damn eyes. I pinched myself to make sure I was still conscious, making a small cut in my arm. Like before, it healed no problem. And I didn’t feel anything, either.

I tested it again, this time inflicting a more dangerous slash on my thigh, an inch deep but avoiding the arteries. Almost no pain, and it healed up in seconds. Excited, I grabbed a metal pan and hit myself on the knee with it. I heard bones snap out of place with moderate pain, felt some uncomfortable motion inside my leg, and then in a matter of seconds I was right as rain.

Suddenly bored with my newfound abilities, I popped in a superhero movie to celebrate. Batstallion and Robin, just for the laughs. I plopped down on my couch and stretched out my claws, when a bolt of electricity inexplicably shot from them.

Over the next few hours I practiced my new abilities in my backyard, mostly creating and manipulating electricity, first without, and later with my new maroon muscle suit. It was amorphous when not worn, but when I touched it, it covered my entire body except my head and neck.

All I needed to complete the ensemble was a mask. And I had just the thing in my stash; a little black eyemask like Robin wore in, well, everything.

I just needed a name now. I walked back inside and looked at my video game collection. No, it’s just a hobby, don’t ask for my gamertag, sheesh. I looked to violent female characters particularly. Then I came up with my name.

“Talonetta,” I chuckled. It was perfect.

The Great And Powerful Trixie

The Great and Powerful Trixie is sure you’ve heard of her at least once, she is the greatest showmare in all of Equestria after all. But New Yoke City’s demand for magicians like moi has declined recently, inversely proportionate to the city’s rising crime rate.

Trixie is reluctant to admit it, but she craves the spotlight and money more than anything else. There was only one way to do that in a city of villains: become a hero.

If you’ve been to Ponyville recently, you’ve likely seen Trixie but not known it. She was kicked out shortly after the Ursa Minor was brought to town by a pair of foalish foals. But since Trixie’s cart was destroyed too, she used her magnificent illusory spells to disguise herself until she could afford to leave the backwater town for her home in New Yoke City. That took around a year and a half.

When she returned to NYC, she found it over-run with criminals. Not just normal ones, but super-villains on their rise to the top. Somepony had to stop them, and who better than The Great and Powerful Trixie? The problem was coming up with an alter-ego, until Trixie remembered one that had briefly been in her town before disappearing forever.

Trixie has a photographic memory, and she re-created the costume used by the Mysterious Mare Do Well. Usurping such a mantle was exhilarating to Trixie, as was catching her first criminal; a petty thief who had stolen an old mare’s purse.

Of course, superhero work wasn’t easy. Some other heroes had appeared to fight crime in New Yoke, such as the mint-green Handy-Mare and a few others Trixie can't be bothered to remember. But Trixie couldn’t let them take all the credit, so she fought these common vigilantes like any good hero should!

Soon Trixie will bask in the glow of the public’s attention! Soon foals will ask the Mysterious Mare Do Well for her autograph! Soon she will turn them away because she might accidentally sign her real name instead of her hero name! Soon she will have her own comic book series, then two, then five! Then movies! And the royalties will make her a rich mare!

Because who in all of Equestria could possibly be nobler, humbler, or more powerful than The Great and Powerful Trixie?

Author's Note:

No, despite the heavy use of human technology, this is NOT an anthro story. I just figured that ponies are anthropomorphic enough already that they can use this kind of tech.

Comments

[Cades]

Fuck you! I was gonna call first! But anyways, what did I tell ya, I knew it was going to be amazing. And it is!

[ALLoftheponies]

I sincerely enjoyed this. I'm hooked and I wonky read the prologue. Can't wait for more.

[ALLoftheponies]

I sincerely enjoyed this. I'm hooked and I've (freakin autocorrect) only read the prologue!

[CluelessDetective]

I’m not exactly what you’d call a normal pony. I grew up rich and motherless (my mom died goving birth to me), I served a stint in the Royal Equestrian Armed Forces when I came of age – that’s kind of a family tradition – and now I fight crime.
Do you mean giving?

Other than that, I couldn't find anything else. Really good!