Batmare: Filly Scourge of the night

by Kaliann25

Batmare 01

The Clown of the Party

In the one-room schoolhouse, the colts and fillies watched Miss Cheerilee with varying degrees of disinterest as she used her mouth to write a short but complex equation on the chalkboard. After she spat the chalk back into the tray, she said with her normal exuberance, "I know this looks very difficult, but, if you were paying attention, you will find that the solution is actually easy. Who would like to try solving this for the class?"

A lone forehoof spring up from the sea of students. Cheerilee said, "Please come to the board, Sweetie Belle."

Groans could be heard from the rest of the class as the filly bounded to the front of the class with unwarranted enthusiasm. Sweetie Belle studied the equation carefully and then closed her eyes. For her, the world around her seemed to slow to a crawl as she envisioned the equation. Her cerebral implants boosted the speed of her thought processes and allowed her access to a virtual whiteboard and calculator. Step by step, she grouped like terms, unwinding functions until all that was left was the variable and its value.

In real time, the bulk of the class looked on in contempt as Sweetie Belle picked up the chalk in her green magic aura and tore through the solution in less than a heartbeat. She smiled innocently at the teacher and asked, "Is that right?"

"That is very good, Sweetie Belle. Most students have trouble with this concept the first time around, but you did everything perfectly."

The filly gave a soft giggle and said, "I just did everything you taught us. I could almost see the answer begging to be set free. Sometimes I feel like I have a second brain helping me."

Scootaloo stifled a giggle as she winked at Sweetie Belle. The pegasus nudged Apple Bloom and whispered, "Go on. See how easy it is?"

The earth pony groaned, "Ah don't feel so good."

Sweetie Bell said, "It's only math, Apple Bloom."

The redhead replied, "Ah got a stomachache or somethin'."

With concern, Cheerilee asked, "How bad is it?"

Shaking her head, Apple Bloom replied as she rubbed her tummy, "Ah think some of Granny Smith's herbal tea might work."

Cheerilee rang the schoolhouse bell three times, paused, and repeated twice. She said, "Nurse Redheart will be here shortly. Why don't you lie down in the back of the class?" Apple Bloom complied and settled into a more comfortable position.

Cheerilee looked at the rest of the class and said, "Who want to try a problem next?"

Scootaloo said, "If she can do it, I can do it." She approached the board as Cheerilee wrote another equation. The bulk of the class watched with interest as she struggled through the problem. On a couple of the steps, Cheerilee gave a hint, but the filly solved almost all of the problem by herself.

Encouraged by the performance of the least intellectual Crusader, the rest of the class, for the most part, raised their forehooves to ask for a turn. Cheerilee beamed; this was the sort of enthusiasm that had drawn her to teaching.

A rumbling snore snapped her out of her reverie. A pink filly was slumped over her desk with her face in an open notebook. A line of saliva leaked from her mouth and smeared the ink.

Gently, Cheerilee said, "Diamond Tiara, it's time for you to go to the board."

Groggily, the filly went to the board and completed the problem in a minute. She returned to her seat and continued dozing, drooling over her opened notebook.

Cheerilee watched with concern. The students had accepted their slumbering classmate as the new normal. Cheerilee, however, saw beyond what the students had noticed. The teacher had not been surprised when the filly missed half a school year after her parents had died. Any foal would have been devastated by such an event. Having the filly repeat a grade was also to be expected, given the long absence. What worried the teacher was that Diamond Tiara showed all the signs of being repeatedly abused.

For almost a year now, Diamond Tiara had spent her days in class asleep. Clearly, she was exhausted. Something was keeping her up all night. Something was leaving her with a multitude of well-concealed injuries. It was not uncommon for her to stumble in with limp. The cuts and bruises did not come a loving family.

Cheerilee was at her wit's end. She had tried talking to the filly without success. Her butler and tutor, Randolph, had been equally tight-lipped. Reports to Foal Protective Services had been duly filed, and, apparently, ignored; every time she asked for an update on the case, she was told that the matter was confidential. This was particularly troubling; someone in the government knew what was going on and letting the abuse continue.

When she rang the bell to signal the end of the school day, Cheerilee decided to try a different tack. As the students streamed out the door, she said, 'Silver Spoon, could you please stay for a moment?"

The gray filly looked confused, but she stayed behind while her classmates made their escape. She watched, puzzled, as Cheerilee shut the door. Silver Spoon asked, "What's the matter, Miss Cheerilee?"

The teacher replied, "I'm sorry to keep you after class like this, but I have to ask. Have you talked to Diamond Tiara lately? Can you tell me what is wrong with her?"

Shaking her head, Silver Spoon replied, "I haven't talked to her in a long time. These days, she only talks to Scootaloo or Sweetie Belle, and only after they wake her up."

"I thought you were friends."

"So did I! She won't even let me near her. I . . . I told her if she wouldn't talk to me, we couldn't be friends." Silver Spoon sniffed. "She just shrugged and walked away."

Cheerilee put a comforting forehoof on the filly's withers. "She's hurting more than you might imagine."

"Why won't she talk to me? Why doesn't she want to be my friend anymore? Is that what happens when your parents die?"
Gently, Cheerilee embraced the sobbing student. "I don't know, Silver Spoon. It hurts me to see her that way. There is something wrong, and I want to stop it. But I don’t know how.”

That night:

The nondescript train sped along the tracks from Manehattan to Canterlot. A casual observer would have dismissed it as an ordinary freight train. A casual observer would have been wrong. This was the armored transport for the First Bank of Manhattan. Its boxcars were filled with bags of golden bits, the weekly payroll for the Royal Guard. The locomotive was special, the latest in magical transport technology, fast, quiet, efficient. The train itself had both magical and conventional armor, resistant to all known forms of attack. It could easily shrug off anything all but the most determined and well-equipped robber could throw at it.

The earth pony crew consisted of the traditional five members. The conductor was in charge of all operations. The engineer drove the train, with the firepony as his assistant. The head brakepony attended all of the miscellaneous tasks in the locomotive, while the rear brakepony performed the same duties in the caboose.

Confident in the autopilot's capabilities, the quintet gathered in a boxcar and studied the manifest. The conductor said, "That's a total of a thousand bags. What does that make everypony's share?"

The firepony replied, "At 2000 bits per bag, that puts us 400,000 bits each. Not bad for one day on the job."

The head brakepony snorted, "You got it wrong. The boss is going to want a quarter as his share."

The engineer grumbled, "It just figures that we take all the risks and he gets the biggest share."

The rear brakepony replied, "You gotta admit it takes some serious juice to get a fake train crew on board a maximum security train. He gives me the creeps, though. Seriously, what kind of pony dresses like a clown?"

A loud thunk got everypony's attention. "What was that?" asked the brakepony.

The conductor said, "I don't know. Let's split up and see what that was."

The five fanned out, carrying daggers in their mouths. A whizzing sound caught their attention as each lamp shattered in turn, blanketing the interior in darkness. The tension in the air ratcheted up. The crew now knew they were being hunted. It has to be one of the new vigilantes. The Arrow was bad news. His bloodthirsty reputation was well-founded. More than one untouchable had met their end at his hooves. The bat was worse. She didn't kill. She showed her victims there are fates worse than death.

The crew activated the glow crystals sewn into their uniforms. The eerie green light cast shadows down the length of the cars. Looking up, the rear brakepony saw a metal bat-shaped blade embedded in the wall. He yelled around his dagger, "Show yourself, Batfilly! I'm not afraid of you!"

A harsh voice whispered in his ear, "How many times to I have to tell you? I'm Batmare!"

The thug looked up, only to receive a powerful kick between the eyes. As he screamed in pain, the vigilante dropped from her tether on the ceiling, landing on pressure points on his back. Before he could recover use of his limbs, she had him hobbled.

The conductor's thrown dagger struck Batmare squarely in the barrel and clattered harmlessly off her armor. He instinctively ducked under her ascender's grapnel as it passed over his head. He had barely drawn another dagger when the winch activated, burying him in a rack of coin bags.

The head brakepony hurled bag after bag at the vigilante while the engineer and the firepony retreated to the locomotive. Deftly, Batmare dodged the attacks and subdued the pony with a buck to the jaw. Quickly, she hobbled him before going to restrain his partner.

Softly, the filly stepped toward the locomotive. She heard a scream of terror followed by hysterical laughter. Abruptly, silence reigned.

Cautiously, she used a telescoping baton to push the door open. Lying on the floor, the engineer and the firepony stared at her with lifeless eyes. Each had a grotesque rictus that was out of place with their expressions of terror.

Looking up, she saw a cloaked figure leaning against the back of the engineer's seat. It gave a soft and subtle chuckle that crescendoed into a maniacal laugh. For the first time since her parents' deaths, she was truly afraid. Boldly, she strode forward and said, "What sort of sick murderer are you?"

Suddenly, the cabin lights came on. This time, the maniacal laughter came from behind. Batmare executed a quick jump kick, giving herself some separation from the voice as she attacked the figure, which gave a loud pop before it collapsed. The new threat made her blood run even colder. His clothing seemed vaguely familiar; he wore a purple pork pie hat and a fringed purple poncho with woven designs in shades of gray. The pure white fur color was not unusual, but the venomous green curly mane and tail were. Eye shadow made his emerald green eyes look slitted, and bright red lipstick made his smile look like it had been cut into his face.

“Ah, you came! You actually came, Batsy! I was waiting for you!” cheered the strange pony.
"Who are you?!" demanded Batmare.

The clown ignored her and walked to the engineer's corpse, turning it so that both its grin and his were facing the vigilante. With a chuckle, he said, "It's so hard to find good help these days. Can you believe he was actually afraid of clowns?"

Batmare felt a chill as the clown gave another maniacal laugh. She repeated, "Who are you?"

“Oh, just a pony who was dying to meet you, Batsy!” giggled the clown. Casually, he reached under his poncho before whipping a forehoof toward the filly. A rubber chicken with its head strapped to his forehoof went flying. Batmare dodged as she tried to deflect it with her baton. The body of the chicken snapped off the weapon and then slammed onto the metal wall, leaving a large dent.

The clown whipped his forehoof again. This time, the chicken slammed into the control panel, breaking it as it locked the throttle fully open. Batmare used the resulting jolt to launch a flying kick at her foe. He reached under his poncho with his other forehoof and whipped out a second rubber chicken that deflected her kick.

As Batmare landed, the clown whipped back his poncho, exposing a red boutonniere. A stream of weaponized limburger flew from its stamen toward Batmare's face. She dodged, only to run into the strike from the first rubber chicken. A low blow from the second knocked her off her feet. As she struggled to regain her footing, the first chicken slammed onto her back, knocking her back down. As he delivered blow after blow, the clown cackled, "How do you like that massage? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

As she curled to protect her underside, Batmare deployed her mask's filters. Unseen, a small ball rolled from her utility belt over to the clown. It detonated, spraying him with tear gas.

The clown gagged, "Fuchi capesta! Lay off that cabbage!" Instinctively, he covered his nose with his forelegs. The chickens whipped around and struck him on the back of the head. Despite the pain, he laughed. "You don't disappoint, Batsy. You're every bit the special playmate I was hoping for. Let's have a toast."

What looked like a grilled cheese sandwich flew from a harness that had been covered by the poncho. The clown followed that with a whip of the forelegs. Batmare rolled under the attack and countered with a pair of batarangs. The now-decapitated chickens dented the metal walls while the blades hidden in the sandwich dug deeply into the back of the engineer's seat.

Batmare sprang at her foe, only to halt her attack as he flung his poncho at her. He said, "Ta ta, Batsy! Playtime's over for now."

The moment's distraction was all he needed to escape out the emergency exit window. Batmare moved to pursue. As she stuck her head out the window, she saw the clown holding onto a handle on the side of the locomotive. He shouted, "Not so fast, Batsy. This train's gonna crash into Canterlot in a minute. Who's it gonna be, me or them?"

Frustrated, she yelled again, "Who are the hay are you?"

His eye twitched. “You forgot about me, right? Have fun figuring that out!” With that, he released the handle. A raft of
animal-shaped balloons inflated from his harness and lifted him away to safety.

Desperately, she tapped her commlink. "Doctor! Come in!"

"What is it?"

"I'm in a Magitek 500 locomotive with a blown control panel. How do I stop it?"

"Let's see. There's a maintenance panel on the floor two meters from the main throttle."

"I don't see any . . ." With a groan of annoyance, she cleared the corpses to access the panel. "Got it."

"Pull the yellow lever." Batmare complied and was rewarded with a solid clunk.

"We're still moving, Doctor."

"That disconnected the motor power. Push the red button for the emergency brakes."

Batmare's action was rewarded with the scream of brakes. Batmare looked out the front window. Two pinpricks of red showed there was other train on the tracks. She pulled a crystal from her utility belt. It projected the front view from her aerial transport and its control panel. Moving the virtual joystick, she centered the targeting reticle on a hardpoint on the caboose. With a flick of a virtual switch, she deployed the harpoons, firmly attaching steel cables to the train. She pressed the button on the virtual throttle, activating the thrust reversers. The aircraft screamed in protest along with the brakes as the pinpricks of light grew ever larger.

Slowly, she made headway against momentum. The wheels started to glow cherry red against the tracks. She could see the shock on the face of the rear brakepony looking from the caboose of the stopped train. He froze in terror as certain death screamed at him. Anticlimactically, the locomotive of the former runaway nudged the stopped caboose and coupled with the stopped train.

Batmare limped to the caboose of her train, making sure that the surviving thugs were secured before she exited. She climbed up the ramp of her transport as it hovered over the caboose. Once she was seated, she released the harpoons and flew away.

The transport's communicator crackled. "Little Miss, are you all right?"

"No. Prepare for urgent medical response."

"Is it that bad?"

"It's nothing compared to what Luna will do when I tell her how badly I botched this one."

From a distance, the clown watched the bat-shaped plane fly off into the clouds. He laughed as he withdrew a real rubber chicken from his harness and set it on his back. "Isn't she the perfect playmate, Boneless Number Two? This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Author's Note:

So, this time I’m centering on Batmare and her mortal enemy. The rest of the League would appear again, but this time she will be the center of action.

I hope you liked it, and:

Read ya’ later!!

Comments

[FanficReader920]

Cheese Sandwitch as The Joker. Makes sense. But, if Pinkie isn't Harley.... I wonder who is? Could Silver Spoon be Robin?