• Published 23rd Sep 2021
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The Only Mark That Matters - CocktailOlive



The story of Radish Root, a pony with obscene cutie marks.

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121. The Man

Radish Root descended slowly on a cable from the skylight of a Downtown City penthouse office. He adjusted his infrared goggles and scanned the room. Just as planned, no security guards were active on this floor during this brief window he had charted. He checked a device on his wrist to confirm that the motion detectors were still disabled, and that the security cameras were still looping old footage of an empty office.

He dropped to the floor silently. He made his way to the wall behind the desk, which had the Wagoner family crest laser-etched into its marble surface. He smirked at the Latin motto.

‘The Stars Favor the Bold’, Worthy? The only danger you’ve ever faced was running out of hors d'oeuvres.

He held a square device up to the crest. An LCD on the top of the device blinked from red to green. The wall split apart, revealing a polished chrome vault door. He slid a thick card into its reader slot, and the vault opened silently.

Inside was a pedestal. On the pedestal was a black hardshell carrying case. He shimmed open its combination lock.

Carefully foam-packed inside the case was a circular lens, about four inches in diameter, carved from an unknown pastel orange crystal. Radish held it up and examined it.

He shrugged, then slipped his prize into a small container on his belt. He closed the case, the vault, and the wall. He ascended the rope through the skylight and pulled it up after him.

He took a moment for himself on the skyscraper’s roof, gazing around the nighttime cityscape.

One down, five to go.

A loud buzz, like the sound of an angry swarm of bees, filled the air. A spindly security drone, matte black and carried aloft by six propellers, rose into view.

Damn it. It’s early.

He rolled and dove for the parachute he had left at the roof’s edge just as the drone dropped an aluminum canister behind him. A cloud of tear gas burst over the rooftop as Radish leapt off the building.


Radish slumped into a chair in his safehouse, heart racing and eyes stinging. He pulled off his balaclava, then his gloves, then his black, long-sleeved shirt. He steadied his breathing.

That was too close. And it’s only going to get worse from here on out.

He looked at his left shoulder and ran his fingers across the tattoo on his upper arm. He frowned.

I can’t get caught with this. I have to protect her at all costs.


A Canterlot City dermatologist inspected Radish’s tattoo, typing up notes about its color and dimensions.

“This should take just a few sessions to remove.”

“That’s fine,” said Radish.

“But you should know, the removal process will hurt, even more than getting the tattoo did in the first place.”

“It’s worth it.”

The doctor took a photo of the tattoo. It depicted a red heart, circumscribed by a white banner bearing the name “Celestia” in a flowing script.

“That’s a pretty name. Ex-girlfriend?”

“Yes. But she doesn’t know it yet.”

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