CRISIS: A Royal Affair

by GanonFLCL

Chapter Eight: Quaint Questions

As Blackburn and her entourage entered Room 44-6:15, they noticed that it hadn’t changed a bit since they left, besides thick layers of dust caked over everything. Gadget and Crossfire gathered the cleaning supplies they had available to them - a broom, a dustpan, a feather duster, some paper towels, and a bottle of cleaning solution - and whipped their apartment back into tip-top cleanliness over the course of the next hour.

In the meantime, Blackburn took up a seat at the dining table and went over their plan while the others were finishing their cleaning. She used Gadget’s datapad to look over information relevant to their progress as she did so; thanks to the database constructor, all the information she needed was at the tip of her hooves.

“Crown Spectrum profits are up,” she stated as she scrolled through their dummy company’s financial page. “Exposure in New Pandemonium Times proved beneficial. Will need to thank Tea sisters; perhaps a donation to their charity? Thunderbolt’s bank account shows substantial growth, apartment in her name but rent payments are attributed to Crown Spectrum itself. Don Virtuoso kept his end of agreement; no longer need to concern selves with payments.”

“Golly, looks like you did a good job getting in with the right ponies, Princess,” Gadget noted as she wiped a patch of dust off of the windowsill. “Proof that in Pandemonium it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.”

Blackburn turned to Crossfire and gave him an approving smile. “Can’t take all credit; Crossfire made first contact, set plans into motion.”

Crossfire smirked, then lifted the couch up so that Gadget could come over and sweep underneath it. “Shucks, Blackburn, y’all don’t need ta go that far. Just doin’ my job, ya know that as well as I do. I’m sure if ya weren’t havin’ me do it, y’all’d have done it yerself.”

“No need for modesty. Simple statement of facts: you made contact with Tommy Gun; Tommy Gun got us into contact with Virtuoso; at Virtuoso’s party, met Lockwood, who introduced us to Tea Sisters, Bookworm, and others in our network. Ergo, your work initiated network’s groundwork.”

Crossfire set the couch back down after Gadget finished sweeping. “Yeah, but y’all’re the one that made all that work. I sure as shootin’ would’ve been able ta convince Tommy Gun ta get us in with his boss. Took me two weeks just ta get him ta agree ta meet ya.”

Gadget rolled her eyes and dropped a dusty towel on his muzzle, making him sneeze. “Golly, Crossfire, just let the Princess thank you, ya big dummy. Sure, she needed to make all those connections work, but you gave her the first piece of the puzzle to get started with. Learn to take a compliment, sheesh.”

Blackburn took a breath and scrolled through the datapad again. “Need to continue expanding network. Additionally, Virtuoso will want another product, likely before we leave again. Meanwhile, will continue to build influence with him, amass more resources. Likely will retake control of trade route completely.” She turned to her friends. “Suggestions?”

“Hmm… well, I’ll start tinkering with something that should catch Virtuoso’s attention. Gonna try and make something with different parts so we can expand our supply line.” Gadget turned to Blackburn and gave a small smile. “Hopefully something that can help with preventing Diffusion feedback. Might be difficult since they don’t use the system up here, so I might need access to NPAF schematics to see how their defense shields work.”

Crossfire tapped his chin. “Well, I don’t rightly know any way I can help expand our network o’ contacts. Not alone, anyway. I think we oughta get in touch wit’ Lockwood.”

Blackburn nodded. “Thought the same. He knows Virtuoso personally; could be useful determining ideal plan of attack. Can also help expand network, still need other pieces to compete.” She turned to Gadget. “Gadget, hold fort here, begin planning new invention; Crossfire and I will contact Lockwood, arrange a formal meeting.”

Gadget saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

Blackburn rose from the table, gave Gadget back her datapad, then headed out the front door with Crossfire in tow.

*****

The next day, Blackburn, Gadget, and Crossfire waited patiently at a small table in a small restaurant in Mid-West’s East Territory, dressed in comfortable, casual clothes. The little diner wasn’t much, a run-of-the-mill hay fries joint that was supposedly crowded all day, every day, because it was one of only four such locations in the entire city - Inner Districts excluded - that served real, honest-to-goodness hay fries instead of the imitation Dolor brand version served almost everywhere else.

As such, it wasn’t just crowded, it was expensive; Blackburn almost balked at the price of a single basket of plain hay fries: five bits. Hope’s Point had multiple hay fries joints, but even the most expensive - Clear Sky’s Hay Fries, the favorite of Blackburn and her friends - served baskets at less than half that price, better quality ones at that, complete with seasonings. They didn’t even have ketchup for Gadget at this joint, nor did they have salt, pepper, or anything else. The fact that it was so crowded despite the price and selection made it clear that ponies in this city were desperate for real food; only the wealthy could really frequent a place that served anything besides Dolor goods, so to the average citizen, it was splurging just to get fries.

Gadget eyed her watch, then grunted and slumped forward onto the table, pushing aside their empty plates. “He’s late, Thunderbolt. Really, really late.”

Blackburn scanned the crowd for what must’ve been the tenth time in the past thirty minutes they’d been waiting, but again there was no sign of their brown-maned, fedora-wearing comrade. “This isn’t like him at all. He seemed pretty enthusiastic about being here when we spoke, right?” she asked, turning to Crossfire.

Crossfire nodded. “Seemed more excited to get some fries than wit’ meetin’ us, if’n ya want mah honest opinion. Helped that we offered ta buy, right?”

“A little celebratory meal between friends seemed like the ideal way to spend time after months apart. To be honest I expected him to turn down our offer to buy.” Blackburn frowned as she scanned the crowd again; still no sign of Lockwood. “Where is he?”

“Maybe we got stood up? Or maybe he had something important pop up?” Gadget suggested. “It’s not like he can easily contact us if he got held up by something. How this city survives without even simple portable communication devices baffles me to no end.”

Crossfire shook his head. “Naw. ‘Tain’t his style ta just up ‘n’ ditch us. If somethin’ came up, he would’ve gotten hold o’ somepony ta come let us know, right?” He scratched his chin, a frown playing across his face. “Boss, I might be speakin’ outta turn here, but I’ve got a bad feelin’ ‘bout this. Y’all don’t think anythin’ happened ta him, do ya?”

Blackburn leaned back in her seat, also frowning. “Hmmm… well, this neighborhood isn’t particularly safe compared to ours… and he lives in an even worse area.” She rose from her seat. “I agree, Fireblast. Something’s wrong. This isn’t like him.” She tilted her head towards the doorway. “Let’s go check on him, hmm?”

*****

Mid-West’s Northwest Territory was as close to being a slum as any of the Mid districts could possibly be, as was typical for the neighborhoods that bordered so closely to the Outer District. Typically when the trio walked the streets of the Mid Districts, Blackburn was confident enough in her safety to stay a few steps ahead of Gadget and Crossfire so they weren’t in total lockstep; it gave her an air of authority that helped maintain the image Thunderbolt would be trying to maintain. Here, though, Blackburn let her bodyguard friends flank her more closely; she could feel eyes on her from all directions and she was thankful not to walk these streets alone.

Lockwood’s apartment complex was a nondescript, disgusting, rectangular building some fifty stories tall in the middle of a collection of near-identical buildings, none of which had official markings or signs to distinguish them from one another. The only reason the trio even knew the building they were approaching belonged to Lockwood was that he’d been very specific about which one was his when describing it to them in case they ever visited: “Fourth building from the south end of the block.”

The interior of the building was poorly kept: the ceramic tiles were cracked and dirty while the cheap carpets were scuffed and stained; the walls were just bare, plain steel, most of it rusted; the desks and chairs were covered with thick layers of dust except where hoofprints had brushed it away. The place was as much of a run-down dump as Lockwood had described it, but Blackburn had assumed he was just exaggerating.

There was a receptionist at a desk at the foot of the stairs, a female unicorn with a pale green coat and coal-black mane, dressed in a plain gray blouse. She looked like she’d rather be literally anywhere else in the world and was slumped forward in her chair twirling a hoof through her mane, bored, in the middle of some daydream.

Blackburn approached her and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, we’re looking for somepony who lives here. Lockwood?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, sure.” The receptionist sat up straight in her chair and looked through the card catalog behind the desk, fishing out one and reading it aloud to Blackburn: “Lockwood: Room 0778.”

“Would you happen to know if he’s here?”

The receptionist shrugged. “Haven’t seen him leave today, so he’s probably still upstairs. Unless he left before my shift started, but that would be really early in the morning.”

“Has anypony else come calling for him?”

“Huh?” the mare asked, raising an eyebrow. “Oh. Yeah, he had some guests earlier today, but they left a couple of hours ago.”

Blackburn pondered this, but saw nothing yet that would be cause for him to be late. His visitors had left well before Lockwood was supposed to be meeting Thunderbolt’s crew. “Well, we’ll just head up then, if that’s alright.”

The receptionist shrugged again. “No skin off my bones, lady.”

“In case he isn’t there, though, could you give a message to him for me? Let him know Thunderbolt was looking for him.”

“And you’re Thunderbolt, I assume?”

“I am.”

“Sure, whatever, I’ll pass it along,” the receptionist yawned.

Lockwood’s floor was only the seventh of fifty, a much more convenient climb than the one Blackburn and her friends dealt with, but at this point they barely noticed it anymore; they’d grown so accustomed to climbing over forty floors up and down every time they left their apartment that seven floors was nothing. On the seventh floor, the building split off into two halls; the left hall with rooms 0701-0749, the right to 0750-0799, thus Lockwood’s room was close to the middle of the right hall. It was bizarre how much better organized this building’s room numbers were than their own; yet another example of the bizarre chaos the city seemed built on.

Blackburn knocked on his door three times, then waited. No response. She knocked again, four times now, then waited. No response. She knocked once again, only twice this time while also calling out, “Lockwood! You in there?” Then she waited.

Again, no response.

“The receptionist said she didn’t see him leave, right?” Crossfire asked, looking worried. “Why ain’t he answerin’?”

“Either he’s not here, or something’s wrong with him,” Blackburn said, concerned. She turned to Gadget. “Tinker, open the door.”

Gadget raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Open the door. I know you know how to crack locks.”

Gadget fidgeted slightly. “Boss, uh… that’s... breaking and entering--”

Blackburn gave her an insistent look. “Just open the door. Please.”

Gadget paused, then took a breath and nodded. While Crossfire and Blackburn watched for anypony else, she lit her horn and grabbed onto the door’s locking mechanism, filtering her magic into the gaps to twist the lock. It didn’t take her more than a few seconds to do so; she practiced frequently on a practice lock and had been doing so since she was fourteen. When she was done, the lock clicked, and the door creaked open. Blackburn pushed it the rest of the way, then Crossfire pushed past the two to survey the apartment.

Lockwood’s apartment was smaller than theirs by a tremendous amount, best described as “tiny”. There was a tiny kitchen, a door leading off to a tiny restroom, a tiny living room, and a tiny bedroom. A window in the living room looked out onto the alleyway below; there wasn’t a quality filter screen on it like in their own apartment, as Lockwood’s was in disrepair.

Crossfire finishing giving the place a thorough once-over, then called: “Clear!”

Gadget entered next and looked upon the apartment with disdain. “Golly… Lockwood lives here? Holy smokes, this place is a frickin’ dump if I’ve ever seen one.”

“He always made it sound like he didn’t have the best living conditions,” Blackburn noted as she entered after Gadget, closing the door behind her. Once certain they were alone, she shook off the Thunderbolt persona. “Unsure if glad or not that he’s honest. Considering contacts, should have connections necessary to get better apartment.”

“Eh, he’d probably turn everypony down if they tried. He seemed pretty against the idea of taking charity from anypony.”

Crossfire shook his head. “Makes me feel kinda bad for ‘im...”

Blackburn looked around the living room and noted that there was a barely-noticeable void of dust in the center of the room, distinctly shaped like a small rug. There were two keys hanging on hooks in the kitchen; one she knew belonged to the apartment, based on its size, but the other was too small. She took this one off its hook for now; there were no locks in the living room or kitchen, but there might be in the bedroom.

She then turned to Crossfire and Gadget in turn. “Search apartment. Lockwood wasn’t seen leaving; may have done so discreetly, or unwillingly. Didn’t do so through window - can’t be locked from outside.”

“If I might ask, boss, what exactly are we looking for?” Gadget asked, adjusting her glasses over her face.

“Anything of interest, particularly clues to whereabouts.” She looked off towards the bedroom. “You two: out here. Will take bedroom myself.”

Her friends gave her a brisk salute, then set to work. Blackburn, meanwhile, headed into Lockwood’s bedroom to look around. It was sparsely furnished: a small bed barely large enough for one pony - certainly not one of Crossfire’s size; a small closet without its own door, showing off Lockwood’s lacking wardrobe - two plain white shirts, one brown jacket, one brown dinner jacket, a black umbrella, and two fedoras of decent quality; and a small nightstand.

Blackburn headed to the closet first and searched through the pockets of his jackets. They were all empty. She next checked inside his hats and umbrella, and found them empty as well. There was nothing on the floor, either, and testing it with her hooves revealed no hidden compartments. She looked under the covers of his bed, under the pillow, under the mattress, and under the bed itself. Nothing. She wasn’t strong enough to move the bed on her own, so she knew Lockwood wasn’t either; she would assume for now that he had no hidden compartment under it, but noted that she’d have Crossfire give it a check if nothing else was found.

Last, she checked the nightstand, which had two drawers. In the top drawer, she found a few personal belongings: his identification, his wallet, a couple of pens, and a notebook, which she flipped through and found empty. She was certain at this point that he’d either left in a hurry or been taken against his will; not having his identification on him was a criminal offense, and Lockwood wasn’t an idiot. The bottom drawer, on the other hand, was locked, so Blackburn tried the key since it was about the right size. It worked.

Inside the bottom drawer were only two things: a book of some kind, and a torn photograph. The photo was that of a pegasus mare with a pastel blue coat and pink-orange mane tied up in tidy bun. She bore a shy smile, as if nervous to even be in the picture, but her golden eyes were alight with joy. Blackburn felt a flicker of recognition; those eyes were very close in color to Lockwood’s. Blackburn also noticed a familiar gray foreleg wrapped around her shoulder.

The book, meanwhile, was small and hardback, but heavily worn. Blackburn flipped through it briefly, and was able to determine that it was a diary since many entries started with "Dear Diary", but she could tell it wasn’t Lockwood’s writing, having corresponded with him on numerous occasions. The few entries she saw at the front mentioned Lockwood by name, and though she was merely scanning them she noted that whoever had written this was madly in love with him; she put two-and-two together and guessed the diary belonged to the mare in the photo. Blackburn felt the slightest twinge of something flitter through her. Jealousy? No, she thought, mere curiosity.

But, since there wasn’t anything useful here, she simply put the photo and diary back in the drawer, locked it, and headed back out into the living room, where Gadget and Crossfire had finished their own searches. “Anything?” she asked as she set the drawer key back on its hook.

Gadget lifted up one of their familiar Crown Spectrum advertisements. “Found this hanging on the fridge. Nothing on the front, but on the back…” She flipped it over and showed off the other side. It was totally blank, save for some hastily scribbled notes in the upper right corner:

TB

K- OD 5-11385

M- MWNW Third 122 ⅛ - 3 knocks

Blackburn processed this for a few seconds, then nodded in understanding. “Notes for us. ‘TB’, abbreviation for ‘Thunderbolt’. Rest are addresses.”

“Addresses?” Gadget eyed the notes skeptically. “How can you-- nope, nevermind, it’s you, of course you figured that out. Spell it out for me though, boss. I figured they were passwords or something.”

“‘K’ and ‘M’, likely initials of names. Rest are corresponding addresses. ‘OD’: Outer District; ‘5’: street, matching the Outer Districts' naming conventions; ‘11385’: specific address. ‘MWNW’: Mid-West Northwest; ‘Third’ is Third Drive; ‘122’: specific address… though the ‘⅛’ is a mystery; the rest is an entry code - occupants are paranoid.”

Crossfire scratched his head. “Ya said that there’s fer us? Why’s it here, then? He was s’posed to be meetin’ us--”

“Something’s off,” Blackburn said, shaking her head. She pointed at the key hooks. “Apartment key still here. Notes made quickly, possibly under duress. Possible emergency, fled to one of these addresses? Hmm…”

“Probably best if we get started then, yeah?” Gadget asked, rolling up the ad and pocketing it.

Blackburn nodded. “Let’s go.”

*****

The second address Lockwood had listed was the closer of the two, so it was the first that the trio went in search of. It wasn’t far from Lockwood’s neighborhood, and being in the same sub-district meant that it was just as slummy. They came up to a filthy brick building labeled “122”, which was next to one labeled “121” and another labeled “123”. Each was little more than an office building where ponies worked on filling out and processing menial paperwork for the city’s bureaucracy. The buildings were separated by small, dark alleyways laden with garbage.

“So, uh... where’s the place we’re supposed to go, boss?” Gadget asked as she looked around the 122 building. “I’m not seeing 122 ⅛.”

“That’s ‘cause there ain’t no 122 ⅛,” Crossfire added, scratching his head. “Did Lockwood write his note wrong? Is this a goof? I mean, addresses ain’t gonna come all weird like that, right?”

“Why not? You’ve been in Pandemonium as long as we have, are you gonna tell us you haven’t seen enough weird crap around here?”

Blackburn tapped her chin. “‘122 ⅛’, if you look at it mathematically, would lie between ‘122’ and ‘123’.” She looked down the alleyway that separated those two buildings. “Perhaps our clue is in there, between the buildings?”

“It makes about as much sense as anything else in this stupid city,” Gadget said, rolling her eyes. “Lockwood’s apartment doesn’t have a name or address listed anywhere, and our apartment number is based on the hands of a clock, so why wouldn’t there be somepony living in an alleyway with a frickin’ fraction for an address?”

Crossfire took point as the trio approached the alleyway, and Gadget drew her sidearm as she followed closely behind Blackburn. There weren’t any doors in the alley, just heaping piles of assorted trash. However, as they passed through, Blackburn suddenly stopped and stared at the wall of the 122 building; Crossfire and Gadget stopped as well to see what was going on.

“Why’d you stop?” Gadget asked, looking about.

Blackburn pointed at a lone discolored brick - black instead of red - that stood out against the rest of the wall, precisely one-eighth of the way into the alley. “There.”

“Huh. Good eye, boss,” Gadget said. She looked around the surrounding wall, but couldn’t see anything else out of place. “So, uh... now what?”

“We knock three times, I suppose.” Blackburn stepped up to the brick and knocked three times, then waited.

She didn’t wait long. Suddenly, the brick slid aside, and Blackburn could see the scowling face of a truly elderly stallion on the other side. “What? What? We’re closed. Beat it or I’ll call the cops.”

“The cops?” Crossfire asked.

The old stallion looked him up and down with some apprehension. “Oy, they’re already here, lookit that.” He turned back to Blackburn, his scowl returning quickly. “What d’ya want?”

“We’re looking for somepony,” Blackburn said. “Are you a friend of Lockwood’s?”

The old pony rolled his eyes. “Oy, that dingbat?” He paused. “I mean, nah, I don’t know him. Who? What?”

Blackburn shared a quick look of confusion with Crossfire, then Gadget, then the old pony. “He specifically provided us with your contact information. Do you know him or not?”

The stallion scratched his chin. “I dunno. What’s he look like?”

“Pegasus, male, gray coat, brown mane, gold eyes. Usually wears a fedora.”

“Bit on the scrawny side?”

Blackburn nodded and smiled. “Yes, that’s him.”

The old stallion shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

A shrill voice came from behind the old pony. “Liar! Liar! Liaarrr!”

“Get back, witch!” the stallion spat.

An old mare, easily as old as the stallion, popped into view just behind him. “I’m not a witch, I’m your wife! And if you’re going to stand there and lie to that poor mare, I’m not even sure I wanna be that anymore!”

The stallion huffed. “You’ve never had it so good.”

“Now you listen here, Miracle, the nice mare said ‘Lockwood’. I heard her ask if you knew Lockwood, and you do know Lockwood. Quit lying to her!” She slapped the stallion on the shoulder.

Blackburn poked her head to the side just a little to get a better look at the older mare, but couldn't see much. She herself was at a loss for words.

The stallion - Miracle, apparently - grunted at his wife. “Oy, Vaccine, why are you gonna go and do that, huh? Make me look like a liar?”

“Because you lied, you liar!” shouted the mare - Vaccine. She turned to Blackburn. “Yes, we know Lockwood. He’s a sweet colt, very nice.”

“He’s a real troublemaker is what he is,” Miracle grunted.

“How so?” asked Blackburn.

“Oy, he’s always coming here with something wrong with him. Injured this, injured that, it’s ridiculous.” Miracle snorted and shook his head. “Just because I fix him up and he can pay for it he thinks I like fixing him up, the schmuck.”

“So you’re some sort of a doctor?”

“Strictly speaking, no. Technically speaking, yes.”

Blackburn blinked, genuinely lost. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“What’s not to understand? Ponies come here injured, I fix them up. What more do you want?”

“And you charge for these services?”

“What do you take me for, some kind of charity service? Of course I charge, I gotta pay for my materials don’t I? I’m not running some bargain bin hospital.”

Gadget raised an eyebrow. “Well then what the heck makes you different from a regular doctor?”

“Who said that?” Miracle looked back and forth, not seeing anything, until Gadget waved her hoof to get his attention down to her height. He looked at the short unicorn, then turned back to Blackburn. “Lady, I hope you don’t mind my saying that your daughter’s got quite a lip on her.”

Crossfire snorted, the best he could do to hold back laughter. Gadget glared daggers at him, first, then at Miracle.

“She’s not my-- Nevermind. I think her question has merit, though,” Blackburn said. “What makes you different from the hospitals, if I might ask?”

“Well, when ponies don’t have the bits to pay for my services, I usually have them do a little work for me,” Miracle replied. “See, I’m getting up there in years, and I need a good, strong pair of hooves every now and then. But, if I don’t need anything myself, I put them in touch with ponies who do.”

“So… you give ponies medical treatment in exchange for menial labor?”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it? Sometimes they just keep working even after they pay the debt off so somepony has to start paying them. Vicious cycle. Oy, gives me a headache just thinking about it.”

Blackburn shook her head. “Well… that’s pretty neat.”

“Neat? Lady, I perform miracles for the price of a M.L.T. That’s a mushroom, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, best thing in the whole world, especially when the mushrooms are sliced real thin and the tomatoes are extra ripe.” He smacked his lips, paused, then shook his head. “Nevermind all that, what do you want? Why are you here?”

“Lockwood gave us your information, thought we might be interested in working together with you. If what you’re saying is true, I think we might be able--”

Miracle huffed. “Listen lady, I don’t know you, you don’t know me, and all we’ve got in common is that we both know some luckless weirdo. I’m not interested in working together with anypony, or being anypony’s partner, or whatever.”

“But--”

“Read my lips: Not. Interested. Come back if you have a medical emergency.”

“But--”

Miracle shut the brick closed.

Gadget snorted. “Golly, what a jerk.” She patted Blackburn on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry, boss, you don’t need a pony like that on our contact list. Guess Lockwood’s not so perfect.”

“I mean, he said he helps ponies, didn’t he?” Crossfire noted, scratching his chin. “That’s just the kind o’ pony we need more of in our lil’ network, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, whatever, if the old geezer doesn’t want to partner up, his loss.”

Blackburn shook her head, confused. “Well… I guess this was a bust. Unless anypony here has a medical problem we should get looked at?” she asked, turning to Gadget, then Crossfire, neither of whom reacted. She shrugged. “If we see Lockwood, we’ll ask him what this was all about. Come on, we’ve got another stop to make.”

*****

As the trio walked through the streets of the Outer District, Blackburn finally realized just why her grandfather had founded Hope’s Point. The Inner Districts of this city were all glitz and glamour, making even the best of Hope’s Point look pale in comparison; the Mid Districts were mostly on par with Hope’s Point’s quality, only more congested and unkempt, but not so much so that it was a truly awful living experience from what she’d seen of it. Even the worst of the Mid Districts, like Lockwood’s neighborhood, were still livable, if one took precautions while walking the streets.

The Outer District, however, was a true slum in every sense of the word. The streets and homes were covered with filth and in dangerous states of disrepair; the air was choked with smog that made it unfeasible for pegasi to even attempt flight without risking severe health issues; there were very, very few businesses, and the ones that existed were all of questionable repute or in such poor state that they looked dilapidated.

The ponies that walked the streets were clearly suffering just living here. What little clothes they had were torn and dirty, and most were malnourished and or ill, and the scant few that weren’t were clearly of the criminal persuasion. Gadget didn’t even bother keeping her sidearm holstered, aiming it at anypony that even looked hostile; there wasn’t a police presence to hassle her over it.

The trio eventually found their way to the address that Lockwood had provided them with, which belonged to a small, ramshackle house, similar in make to the many other houses on this block. That the ponies out here had their own houses was perplexing, but considering the quality of their upkeep it definitely wasn’t an improvement. It was only a little larger than the trio’s apartment, truth be told.

The trio walked through what could barely be considered a front yard, then Blackburn knocked on the door and waited. Several moments passed, when at last a set of hoofsteps approached from the other side.

A mare’s voice called: “Yeah, what do you want?”

“We were wondering if we could talk to you for a few minutes,” Blackburn called back.

“Are you here to deliver something?”

“No.”

“Are you a cop?”

Blackburn noted the nervousness in her voice with that question. “No.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“We just wanted to talk with you. We’re friends of Lockwood, and he gave us your address--”

The door opened just a crack, kept from fully opening by a heavy chain lock. Blackburn could just barely see the mare peeking out at her and her friends, but not enough to tell what she looked like. “You said Lockwood sent you?” the mare asked, genuinely interested.

Blackburn smiled. “Yes, that’s right. We’re friends of his. May we come in?”

The door closed again, and there came the sound of the chain being unfastened before the door opened again, and the mare gestured for the trio to come inside. She was a creamy orange unicorn with a bright green mane kept short in the front, long in the back; her tail was done up in a bun. She wore a simple yellow blouse, much too clean and neat to belong to somepony that lived in the squalor that the neighborhood was in.

Blackburn did a quick scan of the interior of the house as she walked inside - after Crossfire went first, naturally - and noticed that the rooms were nearly bare, hardly enough to be considered livable. There wasn’t even a single lamp, so it was eerily dark inside. As Blackburn looked about, she was absolutely certain this mare didn’t actually live here.

The mare used her magic to close and lock the door behind them, then gestured for the trio to follow her further inside to a set of stairs that led into the basement. Blackburn judged the stairs and basement to be a recent addition to the house, not something that came with it; it was in too good of condition. The basement itself was lit by a single ceiling light, bright enough to make it comfortable, which was enough to show that this part of the house was definitely new. It was well-kept and mostly clean, and two sofas and some tables with magazines gave it the feel of some kind of waiting room.

The mare gestured towards one of the walls, which had a board on it that listed assorted prices for various services, all of which were related to forgeries and documentations. “So, what can I help you folks with? You need some fake identifications? Alterations to the ones you have? Documents forged or otherwise? You name it, I can do it.”

Blackburn looked keenly at the wall, examining the various prices listed. She’d seen how much these same services cost when bought legitimately out in the city and knew them to be quite expensive; this mare was charging significantly less, though her services were still a bit pricey.

“You’re a forger?” Blackburn asked, playing dumb.

The mare blinked. “Wh-- yeah? You said Lockwood sent you here, right? Didn’t he tell you?”

“No, he failed to mention it.”

Blackburn glanced at the board with some interest, noting that the resources she’d had to procure to obtain some of these things - such as the fake identifications for Thunderbolt, Tinker, and Fireblast - had been quite significant. How this mare came by the same resources was a mystery.

“But he seemed to think you might be of interest to me,” Blackburn finished. “What’s your name?”

“Uh… Keeneye. And you are?”

Blackburn offered her hoof. “My name’s Thunderbolt. And these two are my associates, Tinker and Fireblast,” she added, gesturing to Gadget and Crossfire respectively.

“Right, yeah,” said Keeneye, taking Blackburn’s hoof and shaking it.

“Pleased to meet you,” Gadget said with a nod.

“Nice meetin’ ya, ma’am,” said Crossfire with a smile and a nod.

“Yeah, a pleasure, right,” Keeneye muttered. She shook her head. “So wait, you’re not here for forgeries, but Lockwood thought I might be of interest to you? Who are you that that makes any sense?”

“I own a tech company, Crown Spectrum,” Blackburn replied. “Top of the top-of-the-line, that’s our motto. We’re new on the scene, so you might not know us yet.”

Keeneye nodded in acknowledgement. “No, I’ve heard of you guys. That doohickey you put on the market last month made some big waves, I tell ya. Had a couple guys from Ultrafast Technologies come by last week trying to get me to forge some patent documents so they could sue the pants off you and your company.”

“And you refused, I assume?”

“Well yeah,” Keeneye scoffed with a smirk. “You kidding? That little wonder you put out helped a lot of ponies. I’ve got a cousin who lost the use of his horn in a factory accident - a severe Ley Line fracture - and can’t use magic on his own anymore. But, with your product, he’s able to use magic again for the first time in nearly six years. You gave him a new lease on life.”

Blackburn smiled. “That’s lovely news to hear.” She turned to Gadget, a proud twinkle in her eye. “See, Tinker? We are helping. You’ve done some real good here with that invention of yours. You should be proud.”

Gadget blushed and scuffed her hoof at the floor. “Golly, boss, thanks. It wasn’t much, really, just a little fiddling with some parts and all…”

Blackburn turned back to Keeneye. “So you refused to forge those documents because you knew our work was helping ponies in need?”

“Oh, absolutely. I might be the best in the business, but I’ve got some standards. And don’t you worry, those goons wouldn’t’ve tried somepony else for the forgeries, but I guarantee they wouldn’t do as good of a job as I would if they did. Not worth getting caught.”

“Explains why y’all’d be friends wit’ Lockwood,” Crossfire said with a grin. “Seems he’s got everypony ‘round the city on call if’n they’re decent folk.”

“How do you know him, by the way?” Blackburn asked.

“Oh, me and Lockwood used to go to school together. We didn’t know each other that well at first, but got a little closer when he asked me for a big favor. See, I’ve always been good at what I do; it’s my special talent, after all.” She showed off her cutie mark, a magnifying glass. “Used to forge permission slips and report cards for other students in exchange for lunch money. Well, one day Lockwood came to me with something new, something I’d never tried before. A real challenge, y’know?”

“And what was that?”

“He wanted my help forging adoption papers.”

Blackburn raised an eyebrow. “Adoption papers?”

“Yeah. Wait… you didn’t know?” Keeneye chuckled. “Lockwood’s adopted. Parents died when he was really young.”

Blackburn frowned. “No, I didn’t know that. Did you help him get adopted, then?”

Keeneye shook her head. “Not exactly. He was already living with foster parents when we first met. No, he asked me to forge a set of transfer papers, to transfer him to a different family. It wasn’t easy, let me tell you, but he was insistent, he was cute, and he gave me enough lunch money for the entire week. So, I gave it a shot.”

“And it worked?”

“Sure did. I thought it was weird at first but who was I to question it? How is Lockwood, by the way?” Keeneye asked, a smile on her face. “I haven’t seen him in a few weeks. I know he likes to play hard to get, but I mean, sheesh, what’s a girl gotta do to get that colt to take a hint, huh?”

Blackburn kept on her poker face so as not to betray the confusion and displeasure she was feeling. Was Lockwood pursuing a relationship with this mare? What about the mare in the photograph, then? Who was she? Were they in a relationship? Was Lockwood pursuing both? Neither? Most importantly, why did Blackburn care? What did it matter?

“We spoke briefly yesterday,” Blackburn said at last. “That’s when he gave us your information. We’re business partners and I suppose he figured you’d be of some benefit to our business.”

“I don’t see how I’d be of any help to a tech company beyond just some basic services,” Keeneye said, scratching her chin. “I suppose I could get your patent documents done cheaper than the NPRD can, if that’s what he meant?”

Blackburn smiled. “I think I’ve got a better idea.” She gestured to the board. “I see you make forgeries of passports, and if Lockwood’s confident in your abilities I’ll trust that they’re accurate. Having a passport makes it easier for ponies to get out of the city when they finally tire of it here, right? Safer than crossing over the land route, at any rate.”

Keeneye nodded. “I mean, yeah, lots of ponies want to get out of the city, and I want to help them do it. My prices are significantly less than what the NPRD charges to make the identification modifications. I’d charge less, but the upkeep of my equipment and the expenses that go into making sure I keep up-to-date with the technology gets to be a little much.”

“Would you be willing to lower those prices if you had better resources available to you?”

Keeneye pondered this. “Well… yeah, I suppose I would. I’d need all sorts of… tech… ahh, I see where this is going,” she said with a grin. “You wanna partner up with me. You provide me with the tech I need on the cheap, I drop my prices a bit.”

“That’s precisely it.”

Keeneye pointed sternly at Blackburn. “I’ll warn you now, it won’t lower those prices by much. Unless the tech you’re getting me is some real top-grade stuff, that is.”

“It will be.”

“Hmm… okay. Crown Spectrum has a good reputation right now, and you’re friends with Lockwood, so I’ll trust you, at least for the moment.”

“So you’ll accept a partnership, Miss Keeneye?” Blackburn asked, offering a hoof.

Keeneye stepped in and shook Blackburn’s hoof with gusto. “You’ve got a deal, Miss Thunderbolt.”

Blackburn turned to Gadget. “Tinker, be a dear and make sure Keeneye is added to our list of business partners. I want her to be provided with anything she needs.”

“Will do, boss,” Tinker said with a little salute as she took out her datapad and started making modifications.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Keeneye,” Blackburn said with a nod. She turned to Gadget and Crossfire. “Let’s get going. I think we need to pay a visit to our good friend Lockwood.”

“Say ‘hi’ to him for me!” Keeneye said with enthusiasm as she waved them off.

*****

Blackburn, Gadget, and Crossfire approached Lockwood’s apartment complex later that night, more questions in their heads than answers. They walked inside first to question the receptionist again, only to find that nothing had changed since they’d left - Lockwood had still yet to be seen either arriving at or leaving the building, and their message had yet to be passed on. With all their leads seemingly gone dry, the trio decided instead to head back to their own apartment.

“The best case scenario,” Blackburn said as they left Lockwood’s building, “is that he arrived late to our meeting, saw that we’d left, then decided to check our apartment complex like we did with his. Maybe there’s a message for us back there?”

“And if there’s not?” Gadget asked.

“Then we start contacting our other mutual partners to see if they know anything. I can’t think of any other options here.”

As they walked past the nearby alleyway, Blackburn suddenly stopped and stared down the alleyway, causing Gadget and Crossfire to do the same; the former bumped right into her.

“Ya see somethin’, boss?” Crossfire asked, glancing down the alley.

Blackburn squinted as she stared at a heap of garbage. There was something off about it: the trash was scattered in such a way that it appeared as if something heavy had been dropped from a great height onto the pile. She looked up at the windows of the building, and though it was dark and somewhat hard to see, she recognized one of the window screens directly above the pile, torn in the exact pattern that Lockwood’s window screen had been.

“What’s the matter, boss?” Gadget asked, following Blackburn’s gaze. “Something up there?” She checked that nopony was around, then drew her sidearm.

“That’s Lockwood’s window,” Blackburn said. She then gestured to the trash pile. “The scattered trash suggests something was thrown down from directly above that pile.” She turned to Crossfire. “There wasn’t a sign of struggle in the apartment, was there?”

“Not that any o’ us could see, no,” Crossfire replied, brow furrowed. “But that don’t mean there wasn’t. His apartment ain’t got a lot o’ furniture, it’d be easy ta move things back.”

Blackburn eyed the garbage more closely, then, her eyes widened and she murmured, “No.” She rushed into the alley towards the pile of trash.

Gadget and Crossfire watched her as she ran to the bottom of the pile, then saw what she’d seen and rushed to her side to help. A rolled-up rug was poking ever-so-slightly out of the bottom, and from out of the rug poked the very tip of a hoof. The rug was tied tightly with rope, so Gadget hoisted a sharp shard of glass to cut it, letting the others unfurl the rug.

Blackburn put a hoof to her chest in shock. “Lockwood!”

He’d been beaten, leaving him covered with minor scrapes, bruises, and cuts. His hindlegs were tied together with thick rope, and his forelegs had been as well, though he’d managed to get one leg out. Another rope was wrapped around his body and wings, keeping the latter tight against his sides and unable to move. There was a bad gash on his forehead, likely where he’d hit the ground; if the rug and garbage hadn’t cushioned the fall, he’d have been dead. All he was wearing was his jacket.

Crossfire knelt down close to Lockwood and put a hoof to his neck. He looked to Blackburn, worried. “I got a pulse, but he ain’t breathin’ right.”

Gadget peeked out behind Blackburn to get a better look. “The heck happened to-- oh… oh that’s a lot… of blood…” She passed out and hit the ground hard.

Blackburn glanced at Gadget as she fell to the ground. “Tinker! Tinker!” No response. She groaned. “Shit.”

Crossfire hoisted Lockwood onto his back with a grunt. “We gotta get him ta the hospital, boss. I ain’t got any idea how long he’s been out here but he don’t look so good.”

Blackburn helped Crossfire hoist Gadget up onto his back too. “No time. The closest hospital is six hours away because of this ridiculous city’s layout.”

“Then what’re we gonna do?”

Blackburn grunted. “That other ‘doctor’, from the alley, Miracle. He’s our only option. Come on!”

Comments

[My name is R]

I've been suspecting it for a while, but the recently moved rug makes me rather confident. Lockwood's been taken against his will. Rival organized crime family? Police? Possibly the Fantisimo family, but rather unlikely since he should still be both good with them and beneath this level of response. They'ld have had him brought openly, not carried out in a rug.

Ah, Miracle Max. I do hope Lockwood doesn't hit mostly dead before he gets back.

Oh, he wasn't kidnapped, he was killed poorly. Hopefully he'll recover and have some answers for us.

Yeah, but y’all’re the one that made all that work. I sure as shootin’ would’ve been able ta convince Tommy Gun ta get us in with his boss. Took me two weeks just ta get him ta agree ta meet ya.

I think this is supposed to be wouldn’t have.