Jericho

by Crushric

Chapter 12 — Smile

Chapter 12: Smile

“... what just happened? Meet somepony new, check. Introduce myself, check. Sing random song outta nowhere, check. Become instant best friends... uncheck. I don’t get it.”

Morning.

The sun peeked over the edge of the world and into the little room, bathing in light the little white mare with the black-with-red-streaks mane. She scrunched her nose as she let out a little moan. With all the silence of a gaggle of strangled geese, her bruised eyelids slowly slid open. Red eyes stared up at the ceiling for what felt like an eternity, the black pupils languidly expanding and contracting.

“Great,” she muttered. “I always wake up before the sex-tastic good parts.” Her nose scrunched up again, and her eyes darted to her right and met my eyes. Her face went blank as she tried to suppress a look of horror and a vague blush.

Let’s just ignore that little comment, shall we?

“Howdy,” I greeted softly. “How are you feeling?” She didn’t respond, only gritted her teeth and looked away. “Cards, are you hungry?” The mare glanced at me, and I held out a little porcelain bowl.

“Wha’...?” was all she managed.

“It’s a bowl of honey-glazed carrots,” I said with a smile. “Still warm, and I put a fork in it for you.”

“I like honey,” Cards muttered. She looked down at herself.

“I had hoped. This morning, see, I went out to the market to pick up some things to cook because I don’t trust this hotel’s chef, what with their use of lying waffles.” A hefty silence filled the room. For the record, the elephant in the room could go sodomize himself with a particularly prickly porcupine. “How’s your ear?”

Cards sniffled and bit her hoof. “Fine.”

“Does it hurt?”

“N-no.” I watched the muscles at the base of her ear flex, and she let out a shrill squeak. “Yes...”

I sighed, rubbing my nose. “Back there in Grace’s room, you said that you didn’t care if you died. That true?”

She looked to the window. “When I was younger, I-I once overheard a conversation Mom was having with her sister. She said... ‘My vagina’s a hole only disappointments come into and only disappointments come from.’” I don’t know whether to laugh or offer sympathies. “So what do you think happens to me when you kill the only pony who was ever really a friend in life?”

“I can understand that.” I offered her the bowl again. “But you’re not going to give his death any meaning if you don’t eat something. Just because I often forget to eat doesn’t give you that right. Come on, sit up.” I helped her up and gave her the bowl.

“This is... good,” she mumbled, digging into the dish.

I tilted my head and smiled. “Well, I try to play against stereotypes, which is why, as a male, I must know how to cook really well.” Reaching into my coat, I pulled out the Colt Steelcrafts shortsword. She warily eyed me as I set the blade onto the bed. “A baton works for some things, but swords are nice. I like mine because it has a pointy end.” My eyes flicked upwards for a moment. “I mean, yeah, I stole it from a museum, but it’s just a superb weapon that laughs at light armor and scoffs at cover. Plus, that museum dressed like a slut and totally had it coming.” Stay on topic. “In any case, I thought this would help you.”

“I don’t know how to use a sword,” she said slowly. “They only taught me how to use things like batons. I’m a deputy, not a soldier.”

“Well, it’s not much different. Sure, the weight distribution is a bit different and you can stab and slice with this, but same style in practice.”

Cards looked down. “I don’t want to use a sword.”

“Why not? My sword and I are practically one, I’ve used it for so long. I’m sure you and this one will get along just fine. Also, if you want to be a hero, you generally should use a sword. I can’t say why, but unless your name is Jan Makkabäer Pendergast and you’re out hunting vampires and uniting a shattered kingdom, heroes should typically use swords. It’s just one of those rules.”

She affixed me with a surprisingly hostile look. “I don’t want to use a sword,” the mare glowered, venom dripping off every word. “I don’t want to cut ponies up like you, don’t want to stab them, hack them, disembowel them, or anything. I’m happy with a baton. I don’t want to kill ponies.”

I bowed my head. “Yes, of course. Keep the sword, though. Never know when one might come in handy for other reasons.” Cards opened her mouth to protest, but I interjected with, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask: do you think socks are hot?”

Instantly, her white face went redder than the red in her mane. The mare’s red eyes almost vanished as her pupils frantically expanded and contrasted, her breath slowing, becoming shallower and shallower until she finally hiccuped. “Wh-why do you ask?”

A casual shrug. “Because back when your father came to your house, I hid under your bed and found, aside from that rather creepy porno magazine with the pegasi, socks. Black-with-red-stripes socks, too.”

Cards gave me a face that would have really failed her at poker night, which was surprising, given her self-proclaimed affinity for card games. I could go for a game of Einundzwanzig right about now. She looked about ready to grab a pickaxe and dig a hole through the floor just to escape my blank look. Slowly, very slowly, she grabbed the blankets and dragged them over her head.

“I can still see you,” I said flatly.

“No, you can’t,” she squeaked, then hiccuped. “I can’t see you, so you can’t see me.”

I rolled my eyes. “I only ask because this question has really been bothering me. I mean, they’re socks, not erotic undergarments, and you Equestrians rarely seem to even wear overgarments as is. By the Machine Spirit, you’re all nude, yet your dirty magazines are just ponies in socks. Well, maybe more, but that’s all I saw before I got terrified and nosed the book shut. Why did you even have that?” She hiccuped. “That doesn’t help me. If I went out right now and came back wearing a—what are they called? Speedos?—if I came back wearing a speedo and sunglasses, would you feel any better? Because the only socks I have are very plain and are worn under boots, which I am not wearing.” A pause. “Hey, did you pack your socks in your bag? The bag’s right here and I could pull them out for you.”

Her little head slid out from the side of the bed ever so slowly. She reached out her hooves, grabbed her bag, and slowly slunk back under the safety of her covers. “No,” Cards said weakly.

“Hmm,” I hummed, putting a hoof to my chin. “I suppose where I’m from, the fetish gear is so, err, provocative because it exists to accentuate the parts of the girl we tend to sexualize: thighs, haunches, loins, the whole region.” I frowned. “Does that mean you tend to sexualize hooves?” A wave of horror overtook me. “Does that mean that holding hooves is like third base to you? Oh God, this morning I saw a little colt and filly holding hooves—does that mean what I think it now does? I think I’m going to be sick...

“Actually, then, how would the concept of ‘sex sells’ work for Equestria? I mean, the knowledge that objectifying mares will make your product sell better is, like, an equation ponykind has known since we first realized that our erections weren’t snakes. Ignoring, of course, how ‘sex sells’ actually doesn’t really work, since people tend to forget anything but the sexy part. So maybe that means you don’t have that problem. Hmm.”

Cards eeped as she curled into a little ball. And unless Cards had suddenly turned into a nautilus (a very disturbing thought), she was stroking her tail and rocking back and forth while mumbling “It’ll all be okay” to herself over and over again.

As I was about to continue my series of thinking-out-loud, somepony in the room over screamed. “Well, Lightning Dust’s awake,” I sighed. “I’ll go see to her. Get some rest, alright? And give your socks a rest, too, because I’m beginning to suspect why you have them.”

The trek across the suite wasn’t long, and soon I was in the master bedroom. Lightning Dust twisted against her bonds, unable to move. She kicked her legs and uselessly flapped her wings. Then she saw me and cried out, “GB, what’s going on?”

“So, you don’t remember last night?” I asked, walking up to her bedside.

She bit her lip, no longer struggling. A look of horror washed over features, her eyes widening. “I... I... you and I, we...” Dust swallowed. “I tried to...”

I nodded slowly. “Yes, you did.” She hung her head, eyes wide. “But I will admit, you are a fast, fast, and not half bad writer.” Dust have me a hesitant look as I pulled out a newspaper from my bag. I tossed it onto the bed. “It’s today’s edition of the Cloudsdale Post. Front cover article, ‘Songnam Scare’, by Lightning Dust. Even has a few photos, odd considering I didn’t know you had a camera. Not bad. Talks about the gruesome scenes tastefully, the dark arts going down, and questions the intents of the killer in such a way that doesn’t present him as evil.”

“I... I woke up without anyone, wrote some things down, flew over and got some pics, finished it up, and hired a courier to take it to Cloudsdale fast.” Nocturnal mail? “After that, things got—” she hesitated “—blurry.”

Pulling up a chair, I sat down next to the bed. “And now I’m pretty sure your editor isn’t with Elkington,” I said, and she looked at some infinitely fascinating bit of her belly. “I had some suspicions of that when you said she threw out your friend’s article, but now that doesn’t seem very likely.” I smiled. “Or perhaps multiple counts of equicide mixed with dark magic is just really hot stuff, since everypony I saw looked to be reading it. Oh, and I looked through the comics; they weren’t very funny. There was this one comic whose punchline was that zebras have stripes. It was very stupid and I died a little inside.”

I went to work untying her and getting my belts back. The first thing she did with her freedom was pick up the paper and read through her article, her grasp a bit shaky. So, alpha enervation’s mental effects weren’t necessarily instantaneous nor necessarily irreversible, it seemed. I wondered how Sleepy Oaks was handling things, and whatever that thing in the swamps was that Elkington was so apprehensive of in that Voixson.

My guess? Some sort of mystical artifact that was generating enervation, which actually made a lot of sense. Maybe a meteorite. Stranger things have happened in my life alone. The question then became what Elkington wanted with it, since good guys didn’t typically employ dark magic (or magic at all in my part of the globe).

“For the record,” I said, murdering the silence with a rubber doggie door, “it’s pronounced Teutschland, not ‘Toy’s Land’. It is a very real place, although very different from Equestria.” Dust looked at my chest, visibly gritting her teeth. “I get the feeling that those things you accused me of weren’t created then and there. In fact, I get the feeling that the enervation merely magnified fears you might have actually had until you were willing to murderously act upon them, no?”

“I... I don’t and didn’t really think those things,” she sighed sadly, still not looking me in the eye. “I mean, I’ve never heard of, uh, Teutschland, but I’m sure it’s a real place.”

“When you think of evil, really evil, what do you think about?”

She fumbled for an answer. “Well,” Dust said in a hesitant voice, “I think of Nightmare Moon, who wanted to block out the sun and bring an eternal night. O-or Discord, who wanted absolute chaos to reign supreme over the land. Those are sorta really evil.”

I smiled. “Back in Teutschland, those nightmares of yours? We wish we had it so good. The abominations the Reich fights are such horrors that the mere word ‘evil’ no longer conveys the sheer unadulterated vileness, the incomprehensibly malignant cancer of reality that we exist to stop, that we exist to protect you from.”

A hefty silence filled the air. Dust sat up, a pensive look on her face. I looked at her, the window, then settled on the door. This wasn’t going to be an easy morning, was it? It was shaping up to be a very serious, very boring morning where nothing productive got done, wasn’t it? Well, screw that notion. I wasn’t about to just sit and chat when there were things to do.

“Cards is in the other room and part of her ear is now missing,” I said curtly.

She blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, I forgot to explain that so well last night.” I shrugged. “In any case, she’s over in the other room and she’s probably trying to sift through some pretty serious mental stuff that I’m not qualified to deal with. You should talk to her, because I’ve got a holiday event thingy to ruin today.” I stood up and stretched my legs. “So, I’m going to get going—”

“What about me?” she interjected. “What should I do?”

I shot her an annoyed look. “I’d hoped it would have involved girl talk stuff with Cards in the other room. Why? What would you like to do?”

Dust sputtered out something unintelligible. She tried to speak again, the result not dissimilar. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “I want to help.”

Too bad I made today’s plans under the assumptions that you’d still be murderous in the morning. “Help how?” And I’m too lazy to really change those plans.

She ran a hoof through her mane. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps you could write a story about Grace’s death,” I offered. “Songnam Security is all over the penthouse suite and they’ve cordoned off the part of the streets where Grace fell. They’re seriously trying to keep his death under wraps, probably don’t want to let yet another death get into the papers.” I smirked. “It is their office to reassure, ours to unsettle.”

Dust licked her teeth and hesitated. “So. You don’t want me to, like, work side-by-side today like we did last night?” Her ears sagged, an almost dejected look on her face.

“Well, no. Really, I think you and Cards can figure things out today. You don’t need me to micromanage your every movement or anything. I mean, it’s not like you need me in order to function, right?”

“No, of course not,” she said in a solemn tone. Dust twiddled her hooves and idly kicked her legs over the bedside. The mare took a long breath and closed her eyes.

“Good. So, I go out and do whatever while you be a reporter and do stuff with Cards. Sound like a plan?”

Then, all of the sudden, she opened her eyes and flashed me a winning smile. “You betcha, GB! A-after all, it’s why we’re working together and stuff: save the day and get those winning stories, right?”

I smiled back at her as I walked out of the room. “I’m glad we had this talk, and gladder yet that you agree.” I closed her bedroom door and sighed. “This will in no way come back to haunt me,” I said to myself, knowing full well it was wrong but not finding it within me to care. A moment later and I knocked on her door and told her, “Don’t come out, I want to change and I’d rather you not see me naked.”

Game, set, match. I sat down on the floor by the couch and put my bags in front of me. Outfit selected. A few adjustments later and I was taking off my shirt and duster. Because I was feeling unnecessarily dramatic, I let the coat and shirt slowly slide down my now-naked back. That’s about when I heard a toilet flush, a door open, and turned my head to see Lightning Dust poke her head out of her room. Did she even wash her hooves?!

“Uh, I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asked. She blinked at me.

“Yes,” I said in a calm voice. “I told you to stay in your room because I was changing, and in my culture, it is considered highly indecent to be seen without your clothes on. Mostly because it has a highly sexual context. So because you ladies had the bedrooms and I didn’t think Cards was going to be leaving her bed anytime soon, I told you to stay put.” I turned around. “So, please, step out of the room so I can change my underwear.”

Dust looked at my chest, her eyes lingering there. I cocked a brow and asked, “See something you like?”

“I-I-I—” She ducked back into her room, nearly slammed the door.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I muttered, and fully changed.

|— ☩ —|

“Well, I’m decent,” I called out, adjusting my tie. Dust opened the door and, with a doe-like look, poked her head out through the crack. An odd part of me speculated how easy it’d be to just slam the door and break her neck, for some reason. “So, how do I look?”

She stepped out of the room. “Um, sharp.”

I winked at her. “In this suit, I’m looking so sharp that I cut myself and have to go to a mental hospital because I keep hurting myself, but the sexy hurts so good.”

Dust hummed. “Well, maybe it doesn’t look so sharp. Needs a grindstone.”

“Aww, but I thought I looked so good in it.”

“Yeah, I’m having second thoughts about that now.”

“But a moment ago you were speaking so highly of it,” I said in a tone of mock offense. “I thought you liked my suit.”

She poked her nose up. “I am a mare. I reserve the right to be inconsistent.”

I laughed. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” She smiled awkwardly at me, and I returned the expression. I put my bags on and said, “Well, I’m off to save the day. You go off and do what you want.” I made for the door.

“Wait,” she said weakly. Dust tapped a hoof to her breast. “What was that thing?”

A shrug. “’Tis something the likes of which your tongue has no exact word for. Think of it as a symbolic self-mutilation of sorts.”

“L-like how you have no tail?” she asked, and I nodded. “How is that even possible?”

I smirked. “With some fire, some blades, and a lot of time unable to sit down. It’s standard practice whenever one joins either law enforcement or the military. Both mutilations are warrior traditions of a sort, if you want to think of it like that.” I shifted my weight. “Oh, and we consider the tail somewhat effeminate. Girls have tails, real stallions have none because they’re in the Federal Service.” The smirk on my face got dumber. “That’s why our word for tail, der Schwanz, often refers to a stallion’s bits in that context.”

“Oh...” She rubbed the back of her neck.

“So if I ever talk about my tail in a way that refers to it not being gone, I’m just importing slang.”

Dust blinked. “You’re... kind of weirding me out right now.”

“Hey, don’t judge,” I said amicably, then my expression and tone grew dark. “I’ve seen you naked. I know how you are.”

She looked at her own body. “But I am naked. Right now.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Uh, normal,” she replied, sticking out her leg.

“I thought so,” I said darkly, moving to the bathroom. “Now then,” I chirped in a now-bubbly tone, “I’m going to go brush my teeth this morning, then I’m going to set off. Have fun, okay?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Oh! And since this little suite has a stove, I made some breakfast. Try some. Cards seemed to like it.” I smiled, pointing to a steaming pot.

|— ☩ —|

The streets around the back side of the Ritz had been cordoned off something fierce. Elkington must have been on high alert. Ignoring them as they ignored me, I just looked down at the map I’d bought earlier. How the hell had it taken me so long just to get a local map? The paper showed me the street layout and important places, but I still had to scribble little notes onto it, like “The Ritz” and “Dark Magic Shop” where I thought it’d be relevant. It wasn’t as if the map would tell me the names of these places itself.

Pausing for a moment, I noted the location of the Duke’s castle in relation to the Ritz. It was at the center of an area called “Old Town”, next to the Security Headquarters and the Songnam Ducal Museum of History. It wasn’t a very close walk, but it wasn’t a very far one, either.

“Leave her alone!” a squeaky voiced yelled from down an alley I was standing by. Some nasally sounding filly simply laughed in response.

“Hmm?” I hummed, looking over my map and down the alley. Shaking my head, I folded the map up and put it in a bag. If this involved somepony’s cat, I was going to throw rocks at the cat until it came down, then ransom it off to its owner in exchange for waffles that weren’t evil. Nevertheless, I casually strolled down the alley.

“Ah, wassa matter, nerdy girl?” the nasal-voiced filly mocked.

Turning a corner, I saw three fillies, none of them facing my particular direction. The bigger one snickered with the nasally voice. On the other hoof, the other two... A little gray filly with a light-blue mane and glasses was curled up on the dark concrete, crying as she clutched thin pile of comicbooks. Her friend, a rather flimsy-looking white earther with pink hair, looked to be trying to comfort her friend.

“Just go away!” Flimsy shouted at Nasal.

Nasal seemed to find it incredibly funny to instead grab Flimsy. “Oh, so you think you’re so tough, do ya? Listen here, dweeb, nerd girl here and yaself really shouldn’t’ve crossed me.”

“But we didn’t! All we said was—”

“Shut up! Just shut your mouth!” Nasal hissed. “Here’s how it’s gonna work, ya listenin’?” Something tapped her shoulder, and she jerked her head back with a flippant, “What?!” Nasal blinked, and her eyes made the long, long hike up to my smiling face.

“Howdy there, little Miss,” I said. “Now, see, I dare think that you should stop that right now and let these nice youngs girls be on their way.”

“Y-yeah? Well, who are you?! ’S not like you can hit me or anything.”

I adjusted my tie. “As it happens to be, I am a stallion whose primary job in life appears to be punishing the wicked and evil, and generally being a good samaritan. And for that matter, I’m not even an Equestrian: diplomatic immunity to your laws.” I don’t think that works unless you’re an actual diplomat. “So, here’s the deal: you scamper away with your tail between your legs and leave these fillies alone forever, or I’ll burn your goddamn house down and frame you for arson and then stab your parents with fruit. Trust me, I can and will do it, because I just really disdain schoolyard bullies. And believe you me when I tell you that I’ve been doing bad things to bad ponies since long before you were but a drunken glint on the eyes of one of several potential fathers.” My polite smile took a level up the psych-o-meter as I pulled out and lit a match. “So, do we have a deal?”

Nasal swallowed, then scampered away with her tail between her legs like a constipated weiner dog. I shook the match out and smiled at the fillies. “Ah, I do so love making arrogant, pompous ponies wet themselves and run away. Did she hurt you?”

Flimsy shook her head. “N-no, not much. Uh, thanks for, uh, saving us and, uh, stuff.” She pawed nervously at the ground. “Um...” She quickly held out a hoof to me. “I’m Cotton Candy, and my friend is, uh, Written Word.”

I accepted her little hoof. Equestrian names really sound silly. I should consider stabbing their parents. “Pleased to meet you, pleased to help you. Mind telling me what that was all about?”

Written word sniffled and stood up. “She thinks we’re nerds ’cause I like comics.” Taking one in her mouth, she held it out to me. I picked it up and looked at it. Mare-Do-Well. Huh. I offered it back to her, and she put it and the others in her backpack. “But comics are cool,” she said defensively. “I mean, Mare-Do-Well is awesome!”

“Who’s she?” I asked.

“You don’t know who Mare-Do-Well is?” Written Word gasped. “She’s totally based on this true story from this small town a while back, and then she vanished without a trace! It was so cool and mysterious that this mare from Canterlot Comics—”

“Sugar Cane. Her name is Sugar Cane,” Cotton Candy offered. And with a proud smile ,she called, “She’s my aunt!”

“Yeah, yeah!” Written Word enthused. “Long story short, Mare-Do-Well now has her own awesome comicbook series and stalks the night and fights crime and evil and bad guys!”

I chuckled, a warmth in my heart. “Sounds awesome.” I dropped my tone to a conspiratorial murmur. “You know, I too like comicbooks.”

Their eyes widened as they asked in unison, “Really?”

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a well-read little book. “Kapitän Teutschland,” I said with a nostalgic smile, showing them the cover. It depicted three ponies standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a semi-circle, while a dark figure menaced them from the side and an army of demons, magi, and Nippönischen—the White Legion—charged them from all sides.

With a knowing, eager grin, Kapitän Teutschland looked out at the reader, the black, white, and red colors of his uniform slightly tarnished from dust and scratches. His hoof and shield looked ready for a fight to the very end. To the Kapitän’s left was a pegasus stallion clad in a black uniform, a sword in his mouth. He was Chancellor de Gaulle, legendary elected leader of Teutschlands, and King Viktor’s right hand. The last stallion was a white unicorn with blond hair and hazel eyes, a cocky look on his face as he exclaimed, “Kerls, wollt ihr ewig leben?!” A Teutschfalke charged at the White Legion as the unicorn, King Viktor, readied for a fight.

Why were two legendary leaders and Kapitän Teutschland teaming up to fight the White Legion and Waltharius? Because it was awesome! Shut up. It made sense in context, somehow. Who didn’t want to see King Viktor spouting off badass one-liners and cracking witty jokes as he battled the Emperor of Nippön for the fate of democracy? Who didn’t want to see de Gaulle play the straight guy to Viktor’s wit as the Chancellor beats magi to death? And who honestly didn’t want to see Kapitän Teutschland beating up the greatest threat to freedom and liberty alongside those two? Well, I sure as hell wanted to see that!

I’m such a nerd.

“Whoa...” the fillies crooned.

“Hey!” Cotton Candy exclaimed. “Do you wanna meet Aunt Sugar Cane? She’s staying with us this week and my parents are out of the house for a weird grown-up thing.”

I chuckled. “Look, I’ve got places—”

They both grabbed my arm and tried pulling me with them. God, they were so cute I couldn’t say no! So, that’s how my day pretty much got derailed right from the start.

|— ☩ —|

Just as I had suspected, Sugar Cane was a big fat hermaphrodite with a flock-of-seagulls manecut and only one nostril. I hated it when I was right. Wait, no, that’s just a coat hanging on a mop. The fillies dragged me through the door as Cotton Candy shouted, “Aunty Sugar Cane! Aunty Sugar Cane!”

“Something up?” a mare called back across the house.

“Yeah, we’re back,” Written Word replied. “And we brought a friend.”

I looked down the little hallway at the staircase leading up to the second story (as if it’d actually lead anywhere else). Speaking of which, the plain white walls almost hurt my eyes to look at. I needed to play Super Interior Designer before I left this place.

“Really now? Who is she?”

“Ya mean, who is he?”

A light-blue mare poked her head out from distant doorway and said in a teasing tone, “Oh, so you’ve got a new... boyfriend...?”

I bowed my head. “So sorry to bother you, Miss Sugar Cane, but this was entirely their idea, and protest though I did, they were too strong for me. What do you feed them? Spinach?”

“Um...” the mare stammered, looking between the fillies and me.

“This is our new friend!” Cotton Candy proudly proclaimed. “He saved us from some nasty bully who tried to ruin your comicbooks, and we thought it’d be so cool if you two met each other because you’ve been complaining about being so lonely recently and—”

“Cotton!” Sugar Cane snapped, blushing. “You’re not to supposed to repeat the things I say when I get drunk and start babbling!” She looked at me, nibbling on her lip. “So, uh, are you looking for something? You seem very, err, sharply dressed.”

“Well, I have a suit and will travel,” I said. “Pretty much means I can do any job.”

“I, uh,” she stammered, then sighed.

The little fillies pulled me down the hall. “C’mon, Mister!” Cotton Candy said. “Auntie Sugar Cane, did we tell you that he isn’t an Equestrian?”

“Hello,” I greeted as the little girls pulled me past Sugar Cane and into a quaint sunlit kitchen. Did I mention how insistent these girls were? Because they readily forced me into a little wooden chair sitting by a plain wooden table covered with pieces of paper. I looked at the paper and saw sketches and outlines and empty dialogue bubbles. Curious, I reached over and grabbed a page.

Sugar Cane cleared her throat. I looked up from the paper at her. When nothing happened, she sighed and took a seat opposite me. The mare took a breath as the two fillies raced around the room, then she held out a hoof to me. “Uh, hi. I’m Sugar Cane. Sugar to my friends. Who are you?”

I reached out and shook her hoof. “Special Agent Jericho Amadeus Faust. At your service, miss.”

“Hello,” she said. Then hesitated. “Special Agent? Like... with MI5?”

“Em-ahy-five?” I asked, a blank look on my face. “No, I work—or worked—for the Reichskriminalamt. It basically means... er... the National Bureau for—” I hesitated “—for Investigating. Well, that translation might better work if it were originally Reichsamt für Ermittlung, but close enough for what I need.”

I checked my pockets, then frowned. It must’ve been in my duster or something. So I pulled out part of the coat, fished around its pockets and pulled out a black leather wallet. A nostalgic feeling in my gut, I flipped it open and saw my face giving me a confident smirk. The word “Reichskriminalamt” was written across the top, with the acronym “RKA” below it. Other bits were written around the top part of the wallet’s inside, the only things of note to me being “Spezialagent” and my signature, which, because I was an ass, had been written in another language as Ἰεριχώ. Because I just had to be that one guy who signed his name in Solonisch. God, I looked so young in that photo...

The other half of the thing was a signed authorization to carry out my job and a little golden shield topped with a wings-spread Teutschfalke. All in all, it was my proudly-worn badge. Smiling, I offered it to Sugar Cane and said, “Here. Proof of occupation.”

“Cool,” the fillies crooned as they tried to get a look at the badge.

“What’s MI5?” I asked as the mare handed me back the badge. I put it into a pocket and waited for her response.

The mare nervously looked around. “It’s this sort of, uh, inter-ducal agency headed by Duke Elkington. They only exist in a few duchies.”

“Why only a few?” To hell with being polite, this was interesting.

“Well... a few years ago, after the Nightmare Moon incident and that whole ‘trying to block out the sun to create an eternal night’ business that nopony saw coming, Duke Elkington thought it was kinda dumb to just let Equestria’s first line of defense against evil be to hope for random heroes. So he got a few of the dukes and duchesses together and formed this little organization dedicated to investigating possible threats to Equestria.”

How much do you want to bet that this MI5 represents the interests of those involved with Elkington’s conspiracy? “Is that all they do?” I asked.

“Well, last time there was this big chaotic upheaval of evil, MI5 helped keep order and protect ponies, y’know, ’cause MI5 can legally coordinate police efforts where they exist and stuff. It’s why Songnam is such a safe place. I mean, Elkington’s been trying to petition Princess Celestia to nationalize MI5 into an official government organization and stuff, but, uh, yeah.”

“It does sort of reminds me of the Reichskriminalamtes. Last I checked, the RKA was really big on protecting the Reich from terrorists attacks, hunting magi, investigating the paranormal, and fighting violent crimes, amongst other stuff. They also coordinate police forces where needed.”

Sugar glanced at the fillies as they fumbled with the room’s icebox. “You’re really not an Equestria, are you?” What gave it away? “So... what are you, and where are you from?”

“Ich bin ein Teutscher, nicht ein Solari,” I casually replied. “Ich komme aus Teutschland.” Before she could ask what that meant, I said, “I’m a Teutscher, not an Equestrian. I come from Teutschland.” The look on her face said that I hadn’t helped her much. “What do you know of the people from the Île-de-Nippun?”

She blinked at me in confusion. “The Neighponease? Well, I, uh, know a bit about them. Really love their art styles, and this little form of storytelling called a ‘manga’, which is what sorta inspired me to take a career in comicbooks rather than something confectionary-related.”

“And do you know of the so-called Legion of the North?”

Sugar nodded. “Really scary stuff, from what I hear.”

I gave her a toothy smirk. “That’s where I’m from, Teutschland. The land of Vikuta and the Legion of the North. Fun place, really.”

“Cool,” Written Word crooned, and Cotton Candy agreed.

“Of course, he was King Viktor to us, not ‘Vikuta’. And it’s the ‘Mobile Infantry’, not the ‘Legion of the North’. I swear, you can’t trust those, uh, what did you call them? Those... Neighponease... when it comes to history lessons.” I licked my teeth. “Ew, that word feels odd on my tongue, like it’s a really, really bad joke. We teutsche call them Nippönische. Much better word.”

She blinked. “I... really?” Sugar leaned her head towards me, eyes wide. “Like, really really?”

I shrugged. “Why is everypony so amazed by that? Huzzah, I was born on a different continent, grew up speaking a different language, and my Gene are probably very different from yours, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of exotic animal you put into a zoo, poke with sticks, throw peanuts at, and make perform silly dances.” Lyra and that reporter whose name I forgot made such big deals of it.

Sugar Cane looked around, tried to speak, failed, and rubbed her eyes. She took a deep breath. “It’s just that we don’t really get many foreigners, like, at all. I guess it makes you... I dunno, exotic or something.”

Yep. Exotic dancer. That’s me! Who wants a lapdance? No Cherrypillars allowed. I sighed. “Well, in any case, I ended up here. What can one do?”

“So. Jericho, can I, uh, call you that?” she asked.

“Well, since I’ve shown you the badge, you’ve got to call me Special Agent Faust.”

“I understand.” She repeated my name as if tasting it. “Jericho... what does it mean? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

I smiled. “I’m a Teutscher, miss, our names don’t mean anything. Well, sometimes our last names do.”

“What does yours mean, uh, Special Agent Faust? If it does mean something, of course.”

“Fist,” I said flatly. “It means fist, a hoof with a decidedly aggressive context. At least in my language.” I glanced around. “Or, as Father would say, eine Faust is a symbol of Adonai’s—of God’s—wrath, it being the the shape his outstretched limb is described as when he comes with bloodshed on his mind. And I will tell you straight, Miss Sugar, when there are those that do evil, my name is an apt description of what it is I am and do.” I shrugged. “Then again, I like being needlessly dramatic because it makes me feel cooler than I actually am.”

She nodded slowly. “So, uh, why are you here again, exactly?”

“Because he saved us!” Cotton Candy exclaimed. “That mean filly we’ve been telling you about tried to make fun of us, but then, uh, Jericho came out of nowhere and was all, ‘Leave them alone, or else!’ And it was so cool!” The other filly chimed in agreement as she tried to get onto the kitchen countertop. Cotton Candy giggled, then helped her friend up.

I shrugged at Sugar Cane’s expression. “It was because I’m just nice like that. Being a nice guy is generally the only thing I have left. Sure, I’ve crossed the world and seen it all. ‘Oh, hello there, Mister Genocidal Tyrant. Well, looks like I’ve got to introduce you to the sword. Oh, and you too, Miss Vampiric Horror.’” I chuckled warmly. “‘Good day, flesh-eating lord of carrion whose home can best be described as a ‘thirty-seven-sexual rape factory’ and whose favorite habit is to basically screw ponies over without having the courtesy to give them a proper reach-around. Say, has your carotid artery met my knife yet? Well, allow me all the pleasure!’”

Sugar Cane just sort of gaped at me.

“Honestly,” I sighed, “such a nasty world out there, and half of the time, you’d think I was the only nice guy out in the world. See, when I saw those two girls getting bullied, I just had to help them because I’m just nice like that. That’s basically what I do every day, except I often do it on far larger scales: be a nice guy and help people. In short, I don’t really know what I am, but I put myself to productive work trying to be a hero.” I smiled. “And so what do you do, ma’am?”

She blinked at me. Blinked again. Looked around and saw the two fillies nodding encouragingly at her from the countertop, then to me. Shouldn’t she tell the girls to get off the counter? Auntie Sugar Cane is irresponsible! Sugar looked about ready to speak, then she swallowed and froze.

Written Word sighed and tossed a comicbook onto the table, Mare-Do-Well, Issue #1. “She writes comicbooks,” the filly said proudly.

I looked at Sugar, and she only gave an embarrassed smile and tried to shrink away. She looked pretty much exactly like a termite choking on a splinter. And then the Queen Termite called her back and asked, “What’s wrong with you? You’re a termite. How could you possible choke on a splinter?” And so it was like she was hoping really, really hard that if she remained perfectly still and made herself as small as possible, the Termite Queen—er, that I would walk away and look for other prey.

“It’s a cool job,” Written Word added.

“But very lonely,” Cotton Candy added knowingly. “The booze doesn’t judge her, she says.”

The mare shrank further and further, every blood vessel in her face looking about ready to burst. I imagined that it’d be a horribly, horribly hilarious death. Like popping a million zits but less horrifying in every way, shape, and form. I wouldn’t really know, I never really had to deal with acne, but I was pretty sure it was because I was just slightly drier than everypony else or something. Point was, don’t drink Juggernog.

I considered remarking my thoughts aloud to her. But then I wondered what the weather was like in Hell. It was probably raining, and all of my clothes would probably get dirty and filthy and be on fire. Sometimes it was better to just keep quiet. Sadly.

“I think she’s embarrassed by her job,” Cotton Candy said. “What do you think?”

“Pssh,” Written Word raspberried. “Comicbook writer? It’s not like that’s a nerdy, you-never-find-love-with-this-job kinda job, right?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Well, it’s been fun learning about Equestrian culture from you, but I don’t think there’s anything here to add to my notes.” I pulled out a notepad and flipped through it. “Yep. Nothing.”

“You have a notepad?” Sugar Cane said in a quiet, squeaky voice.

I nodded. “Yes. ‘Things I Learned About Equestria: #113’. Want to hear it?” She nodded, and I cleared my throat. “Number one-one-three: Equestrians are not stupid. No matter how many times you try to convince them that suffocating them with a pillow while they’re asleep is your people’s most affectionate greeting, they will not fall for it. That only worked the one time.” The fillies seemed to find that amusing, but Sugar Cane just gave me an oblong look.

“Yours is a uniquely and creatively disturbed mind,” the mare said absently.

Adjusting my suit collar, I moved to stand. “Well, ladies, it’s been nice meeting you, but—”

“Wait!” Cotton Candy interjected, her pink mane bouncing as she trotted up to me. “Where are you going? What are you doing?”

“Well, I could tell you—” I cocked a wry smile “—but then I’d have to kill you. It’s such a secret.”

“Does it involve Old Town?” the filly asked.

“Maybe,” I said, suspiciously darting my eyes around.

“Because Auntie Sugar Cane was going to the big museum up there with a friend of hers today, but her friend cancelled, but Auntie Sugar Cane really wanted to go there. They’ve been adding bunches of cool new stuff ever since they dug that tunnel and—”

“Tunnel?” I asked, and she blinked.

“Yeah, those little tunnels that connect the museum, Songnam Security HQ, the MI5 building, and Elkington’s castle. There’s a neat little tunnel that runs through them all. Ever since they built ’em, they’ve been getting all sorts of cool relics from beyond Equestria’s borders.” She bounced on her hooves. “It’s all super cool stuff but Auntie Sugar Cane ain’t got nopony to go with and only weirdos go to the museum on their own.”

Well. That was news. I knew the tunnel existed, and had seen some in Chausiku’s basement, but this was promising. Screw it, this detour was worth it just for that bit of info. Still had no idea why these two fillies were trying to play matchmaker, but perhaps this could end up to my advantage. A lone stallion in a suit was far more conspicuous than a guy on a date wearing a suit. She could be a sort of living cover, and that idea sat very well with me.

“I do like the museum.” I looked over and Sugar Cane. “Perhaps this is a bit sudden, but I don’t suppose you’d care for an, uh, escort to accompany you to the museum, would you?”

The mare ran a hoof through her sugary-white mane. “I-I wouldn’t want to impose. I mean, they have, like, a suggested donations box, and it’s pretty much ‘pay at least this much or feel really bad’ box, and I wouldn’t want to make you have to pay anything or...” She blinked. “Is that what I think it is?”

I nodded. Social Grace, it turned out, had kept a lot of money amongst his belongings. “As it turns out, Miss Sugar Cane, I appear to have a spectacular amount of self-earned spending money. So, what do you say?”

|— ☩ —|

A morning filled with boring self-exposition, raison d’êtres, explanations for how the world outside of Equestria worked later—nothing not already said at one point or another to somepony in Equestria—and we were on our way to Old Town. If I had to do so many bits of exposition for every single Equestrian I met, I was going to choke Celestia for not offering proper foreign history courses in this nation’s schools. In the meanwhile, I’d somehow gotten off on a tangent about my days playing Dunkelheit und Drachen.

“...and so at this point,” I said to Sugar Cane as we trotted down a busy Songnam street made of brick, “the Spielmeister had expected the party to come to the conclusion that killing the filly would be bad, but letting the world come to armageddon was worse—it was that kind of game—and so he thought we’d murder the little girl, thereby breaking the spell and nabbing us all the awesome items of magical doom power, helping us save the world. That’s when I, the bard who’d been silent throughout the whole discussion, spoke up and asked what the girl looks like, since all we knew was that she was little, a filly, and magically chained to super powerful magical items.”

“So what happened then?” the mare asked, stepping over a puddle. The buildings around the street, it seemed to me, were of that old look that basically said that they were rather new and that somepony was just really pretentious and wanted to make it look old and fancy.

“The Spielmeister drew us a picture of the girl. And all I could do was exclaim, ‘Oh God, she’s adorable! Can we take her?’ The Spielmeister just looked at me and goes, ‘No, she’s magically bound to all these items; you can only take the items if you kill her. That’s kinda the whole point here.’ ‘Well, that’s easy,’ I say. ‘I destroy the items and take the girl.’”

“Say what now?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I managed to convince the rest of the group to destroy the super powerful items and instead take the girl and have her travel around with us as some sort of mascot or surrogate daughter. I even got to name her Sara. After that, my group of five equicidal adventurers took time away from saving the world and looking for loot to take her to school and do fatherly stuff for her.” I shrugged. “Like this one time that she got bullied at school, and that triggered full-blown papa-wolf in me and the group, and we broke into the bullies’ houses, intimidated the living daylights out of them and their parents, and forced them to apologize to our daughter. Then we went home and made milk and cookies and helped Sara go to bed, then we went out and raided a dungeon and killed everyone.” I sighed. “It’s things like that which make me uncertain if I’d be a good parent, or a terrible one.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. As we passed by the large wooden buildings that seemed to dominate Old Town, I had to wonder, just how old was Old Town? Wood had the nasty habit of being a total trollop with termites and eventually team-killing you when it hilariously collapsed on your family. The amount of different colors of coat and mane I saw on the ponies walking the busy streets gave me a headache. That was about when we passed a brown, fuzzy cow that’d just been standing there in the gutter between the sidewalk and street.

“Moo,” it said.

“That’s niiiii—what the hell!?” I froze, counted to ten, and turned to the cow.

“Something wrong?” Sugar Cane asked.

“Yes, something is extremely wrong,” I replied, staring at the cow. The cow looked at me, well, like a cow looked at an oncoming train. “The cow said ‘moo’.”

Sugar gave me a look like a wild cat who wasn’t quite sure if it’d just seen a half-eaten tin of tuna and was now trying to solve that problem. “Yeah. That’s what cows do. They moo.”

“No, no, no!” I insisted. “It didn’t moo, it said moo. Like-like it wasn’t really a cow, just two dwarves in a suit trying to learn the meaning of love via an in-cow bonding experience, because that not only strengthens friendships but also builds a cud-like character.”

She gave me an expression so dry it would’ve killed a camel of dehydration. “What.”

“Moo,” the cow agreed.

“There!” I shouted, pointing at the cow. “It did it again. How is it doing that? Is it possessed?” I set a bag down and opened it. When I closed it and put it back on, I was wearing a clerical collar. “Don’t worry, Sugar Cane, I am a registered and ordained minister. I can legally officiate a marriage recognized by the Reich and all the federal states in her union. It was an extremely arduous task that involved years of study, strict spiritual discipline, studious introspection upon the nature of life, and hopping across a series of crumbling stone pillars without spilling a glass of water in order to reclaim holy relics—because that is how religion works.”

“Wait. Really?” she asked.

“No! It took ten Mark and an extremely silly series of events. All I had to do was go to a local government building and sign a single forms. They didn’t check that I was legally a minor at the time, either. They just didn’t care.” I adjusted my clerical collar. “Point is, I’m the closest thing to a priest your nation has. Now quick! Fetch me five liters of tar and a burning torch. We shall cleanse the world of this demonic taint.”

She tilted her head and said in a dumb voice, “What’s a liter?”

A roll of the eyes. “It is a unit of capacity defined as a reduction of twenty-eight parts in a million to be exactly equal to one cubic decimeter.” The mare look at me like she was trying to learn how to be able to learn. I sighed. “It’s worth about one-point-oh-five liquid quarts and is equal to the volume of one kilogram of distilled water kept at four degrees centigrade.”

“Moo,” the cow added thoughtfully.

“You stay out of this,” I snapped. “Demonic bovine have no business in science. Now, taking advantage of the cat equivalent of dwarfism to breed a race of short-legged anti-cats? I mean, it’s the kind of cat that is hilariously incapable of making simple jumps that millions of years of evolution have told it that it can make. Now that is science.” I heard the definite sound of clucking and was about to comment about how that was what an animal sounded like when I actually saw the chicken, and I was just struck silent. Suddenly, science had gone wrong.

The chicken was bald. No feathers. None. Just sickly reddish, leathery skin and a horrified look in its eyes, like it’d just realized just what kind of unholy abomination it was, and was really hoping that death would get the memo and hurry the hell up. I wanted to make a cock joke, but it was just too depressing to look at. This monster had clearly been created in the most vulgar of labs as scientists cackled evilly into the dark, cold night. Its maker was clearly an evil genius the likes of which had never been equaled.

“Okay, no. Not doing this anymore. This doesn’t nearly have enough surprises anymore to keep my attention.” Grumbling to myself, I removed my clerical collar, stuffed it in my bag, and walked down the street. “What those monsters need is an enema, but for their vile souls. So, like, an enema in a good way… Hmm… Strawberry-flavored…”

“Forgive me if I’m repeating myself,” Sugar Cane said, “but yours really is a uniquely and creatively disturbed mind.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I groused, barely hearing myself over all the ponies talking in the crowded street. “I’ve seen a lot of weird things in my life, and that naked chicken doesn’t even come close, but it’s up there in the ‘Didn’t Think I’d Ever See This’ folder.”

“What else is in there?” she asked, dodging out of the way of a pony with no spatial sense.

“What if I were to tell you somewhere out there, right now, is a three-inch-long leech with a fetish for your mucous membranes. Soft tissues. Like in your ear, up your nose, in the anus—all places you’d rather not have a three-inch worm with spinning daggers aggressively jutting from its face to be. Because, mind you, it doesn’t ‘bite’, per se; rather, it saws and saws and saws through your soft tissue, like a little miner happily digging away though your nose to liberate the sweet nectar of horror within.” I smiled, and she looked about ready to vomit. “And you wonder why I’m so disturbed? Well, actually, it started out because Daddy never hugged me enough, but whatever, and then it just got worse. Get on my level, girl.”

Little by little, the crowd of ponies thickened. “Well, that’s... surprising,” the mare commented.

“Surprising?” I scoffed. “Oh, I’ll show you surprising. I also do birthday parties, surprise ones. I can totally hook you up with one.” The crowd was getting so thick it was becoming hard to move. “Uh, what’s up with every—”

“GooOOood morning, Songnam!” Elkington’s voice laughed from the unseen speakers. “I take it the lot of your milling about Old Town got my invitation, huh?” Well, that sort of answers that question. “What’s that? Oh, right, there were no invitations—I just thought it up last night!” And nevermind.

Taking Sugar Cane by the hoof, I lead her through the crowd. There was more important business than whatever was going on here.

“And hoo-boy, do we got a treat for you! Last night, you see, a couple of my friends were over and, a few drinks later, we hatched an idea for a fun-filled Old Town morning. That’s why security is currently leading folks off Main Street so you all can watch. So, without further adieu, I present to you: Sapphire Shores, the Pony of Pop, and fresh from her controversial new album, L.A.M.B!”

I jerked to a stop as the crowd just ended, Sugar Cane collided with my haunches. We were now at the front of the crowd bordering a large street, no doubt Main Street. Glancing up at a sign, I saw that it was indeed... Mane Street. Well, my apologies. It was clear to me that, just as I’d thought about Watering Whole in Sleepy Oaks, Equestrians had no respect for their written language. It was further proof to me that Celestia was probably choking to death on a spoon right this instant.

“And for those of us not in Old Town, have no fear. You can hear it just as well,” Elkington concluded.

I was about to ask what the hell was going on, but that was when I saw Elkington slowly walking down the center of the Mane Street. And that was when a loud tick-tocking began playing through the speakers. “Tick tock, tick tock,” said a girlish voice from the speakers, her own ticking much slower than the actual clock. “What you waiting for?” the mare’s voice asked, and I saw the distant Duke smile.

As Elkington walked, a black cape behind him danced in the breeze. “Just on you,” he said, then he burst into song, instantly giving asides to various ponies in the audience:

“My name is Elkington (howdy, hon!)

And I am here to say (how ya doin’?):

I love to make you smile and I will brighten up your day.

It doesn’t matter now (bonjour!)

If you are sad or blue (Yo, brotha!)

’Cause cheering people up is just what Ellie’s here to do!”

Scratch that. He wasn’t walking down the street, he was sashaying, even dancing. Twirls, spins, jump, and things I didn’t know the names of. One thing I did know: Elkington was a fantastic singer. Not bad at dancing, either, if the approving roar of all the girls in Old Town was to be believed, though even his moves struck me as being sort of dull and lacking a modern flair. And in my opinion, the beat of the song was a century out of date, at least by teutschen standards. The other side of the street, the direction the Duke was dancing, exploded in a roar of confetti and streamers and white smoke.

As it cleared, a grayish-gold mare was standing in the middle of the road. At her sight, the ponies all cheered a name: “Sapphire Shores!” Her cobalt-blue mane, done up in a ponytail, swung as she took a step forwards and shook her head. Something about her white dress screamed that it was of distinctly Nippönischen design. Her voice sounded good over the speakers. And a duet was had. She started, and Elkington replied.

“So you love to make ’em smile, smile?”

“Yes, I do.”

“It fills your heart with sunshine all the while?”

“That it does.”

“’Cause what I need’s a smile, smile.”

“Given by this Duke a’ yours.”

Her own movements imitated the dance-walk of Elkington as the two approached one another. Looking past the Security forces keeping the crowd back and across the street, I saw the museum. Great. I had to listen to this song and wait, didn’t I? Looking over to Sugar Cane, I saw a huge smile on her face, but when our eyes met, she looked away. Elkington took center vocal stage again.

“I’d love to see you grin, Lady Shores.”

“Mmm—you’d love to see me beam?”

“The corners of your mouth turned up is always Ellie’s dream.”

“And if I’m kinda worried?

And my face has made a frown?”

“I’ll work real hard to turn that sad frown upside down.”

“Ellie, what kinda girl do you take me for?” she teased.

As the pair reached each other in the street, they grabbed each other’s hoof and danced, the song still going on. It reminded me of an ostrich trying to awkwardly dry hump a clown on a unicycle while on fire. And then a swarm of background dancers joined them, because why the hell not? Stupid, stupid Duke. He was being so rude and inconsiderate of us ponies trying to assassinate him!

|— ☩ —|

Like a pancake trying to convince his deaf wife about the merits of extreme racism, I sighed. But, hey, at least the museum here was air conditioned. My cover was working fine; nopony was taking any stock of the stallion and the mare that we were, not even caring that he was carrying a sword and bags.

“Oh, I, uh, am I boring you?” Sugar Cane asked nervously.

I glanced over at her, trying to ignoring the sparse few ponies walking around the museum’s marble floors. Too many of them were still outside, trying to get Elkington’s autograph. Because, apparently, aside from being evil, he occasionally did guest roles on famous albums, and so also had legions of fangirls. Who’d’ve thought? “Hmm? No. I’m just all tired from Elkington’s concert-performance-type thing. Now then, where are the stairs?”

“Stairs? Why not just take the elevator?” she asked, pointing at a set of ornate double-doors in a wall. That fancy, fancy wooden wall.

“Take the whatnow?” I looked over and watched the mare trot up to the double-door, then turn and give me an expectant expression. The doors, I found out as I reached them, were broken. I tried pushing on them, pushing harder, and pushing even harder, but nothing worked. “Uh, yeah, these are broken,” I commented knowingly. She just gave me a perplexed look. Sugar reached up and pressed a little button on a wall panel next to the door. Instantly, the door dinged and I jumped back. “Bomb! Run! Quick—and you’re not running. Are you daft?”

Rather than run, she tilted her head at me, and then the doors opened on their own. Witchcraft at work here, I was sure. “Special Agent Faust, do you not know what an elevator is?” Sugar asked.

“Judging by the doors leading into a very, very cramped room, my only guess is that it is some sort of plant that will, upon falling into its trap, slowly proceed to digest you alive.”

With a pococurante attitude, Sugar trode into the horrifying little room, and waved at me as the door closed. It dinged again. A moment went by. Confused, I walked up to the door and touched the button. A moment later and it dinged, opened up, and showed me an empty room.

A sense of dread and horror overtook me as I just stared into the bleak emptiness where seconds ago had stood a mare. She was there one second, gone another. So I did the only logical thing: I pulled out my sword and threatened the door. “Listen here, you sonofabitch, you better give me back the girl you ate, or you’ll be dealing with some serious hell.” The doors closed. “That’s it! There’s only two ways this can end, and in both of them, you die! They will have to bury you in three separate graves! And then—”

The door opened, and two parents with their small filly appeared within. Both parents looked horrified at the totally not crazy stallion holding a sword in a direction in which they incidentally were, but the filly looked at me with a puzzled frown. “Hey, I know you,” she said. “Can you tell me what a zebwa housewife suffewing fwom domestic abuse is?”

My eyes widened—“The sins of my past come to haunt me!”—and, like a micro-pig wearing a tiny raincoat, promptly rolled to the left, where I hit a large potted tree and banged my skull. “Au, du Staubsauger.” The father scolded the filly before dragging his family out of the building. A family soon to be ruined, methought.

Battered and bloodied, I stumbled back to the so-called ‘elevator’. “Let her go!” I demanded, punching the panel. The doors—having closed as I did battle with the potted tree—dinged and opened. Standing there was a very baffled blue mare with a silvery mane. “Yes, I’ve saved you!” I cried out, reaching in, grabbing her by the arm, and yanking her out. “My ego couldn’t handle losing you so early in the morning. That’d’ve been worse than that time I attended the Ethnic Cleansing awards and somehow managed to win because I accidentally destroyed an entire nation as a direct result of that one time where I was a girl and... did horrible, horrible things for a magazine because I needed the money—I put the ‘rave’ in ‘depraved’ that day. Those photos turned one poor stallion off sex for good and drove an elephant to suicide. And the people who gave me the award? All they did in life was professional rape and pillage, and in their downtime, their habits were mainly to study the betterments of rapematics and pillagology.”

“What?” she stammered.

“Point is, I saved your life.” I nodded. “This means we’re even.”

“Even?” She blinked. “For what?”

“Why, for the plot twist, of course,” I chirped. “Now, first thing’s first: how do I kill an elevator?”

“Um, sir, are you alright?” some random mare with a voice like the sound of someone repeatedly kicking a puppy against a wall asked.

I looked over and saw her little blue hat, one that identified her as a museum employee. My hoof jabbed in the elevator’s direction. “Madam, you have a well of concentrated evil on your hooves that can only be destroyed by a pony like me, Special Agent Faust.” A random bird flew into the museum’s large front windows and viscerally died.

The museum mare jumped and gasped, “What was that?”

“A bird hitting a window and dying. It was quite entertaining.” I laughed. “He’s certainly not going home to his family tonight. Or her family. Whatever.”

“Wait, what?” both mares gasped in perfect unison. They exchanged confused glances before looking back at me for some sort of sanity, which they promptly did not get.

“In any case, what is an elevator and how do I kill it? Because the last few years of my life have basically taught me that if there’s a problem I can’t solve by stabbing it a lot, it doesn’t exist. Doesn’t mean that stabbing it won’t create new problems, but just that if it bleeds, I can kill it. So, where does an elevator bleed? Or where does its evil wizard mastermind-puppeteer bleed from? I’m cool with either or, really.” They just blinked and exchanged glances. “Respond,” I said in a cold tone to the museum mare.

What followed could best be described with a metaphor: It was like a very confused giraffe made to wear a dunce cap as it was forced to learn how to tapdance and shoot-and-reload a crossbow repeatedly while balls-deep in a squealing hog and contemplating the notion of deflowering some random non-Equestrian princess; and then he wondered aloud why the idea of intercourse for the first time ‘deflowers’ and thus takes something away from a girl, and he gets smacked by the museum mare because she didn’t tolerate vulgar language on her elevator or being casually asked about her sex life in public on said elevator, even though you were just trying to better understand her culture; but it was really because she was totally a virgin and almost as bad as Cards, yet she was so engrossed in a sexist anti-female-promiscuity culture that—wait, where was I?

Oh yeah, I was riding the elevator up and down for half an hour and pretending not to enjoy it because it was powered by enchanted talismans and magic was evil blah blah blah. Meanwhile, Sugar Cane was just standing on the third and top floor, staring at me every time I came up, and more-than-likely wondering just what she was doing with her life when I was the best date she could find.

Of course, as I rode, I made up an elevator themesong on the spot and shared it loudly with the world. “Oh yeah, I’m on an elevator—it’s probably powered by sacrificing virgins! Ooh! I say, it’s probably powered by sacrificing virgins. It goes up and down, it goes left and right, but not really because it only travels in the one dimension, yeah! This is, oh, this is the elevator song.”

“Hey, buddy!” a stallion angrily shouted at me as the elevator reached the first floor. “Other ponies wanna use the elevator, too; you can’t just hog it and ride the damn thing all day!”

I scoffed. “Yeah, well, other ponies aren’t wearing fancy suits and ties, and nor do they have enough weapons on their body to make even your average sword-collecting sociopath go, ‘Damn, isn’t that just a little bit excessive?’ Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do!” We glared off at each other as the elevator doors slowly closed and I ascended to the third floor.

Sugar Cane was still on the third floor, muttering about how she really needed to go out and meet ponies that weren’t insane. She barely gave me a glance as the doors opened up. So I grabbed and her pulled her in with me. “Come on,” I said, “we’re leaving this place.”

“Oh, already?” she said in a tone of mock sadness. “What a pity our date has to end so soon.”

“Eh, it’s not really over yet.” I pressed the lowermost button on the internal elevator panel. “We’re breaking into the secret areas.”

She blinked. “Pardon moi?”

I pointed to a small sign next to the elevator panel labeled ‘For Employees!!!!’ and shook my head. “Four exclamation marks is the surest sign of insanity ever, and it’s what tipped me off to something evil being at work here. Point is, this elevator goes to the basement. Took me awhile randomly touching things until I got the basement button to work.” I gestured to a second and rather small panel. “Needed to pick the lock and punch some things.”

“Is... is that why you were really on the elevator so long?”

Elevators are fun! Why aren’t there whole theme parks of these? Maybe there is. Elevator Land! “Of course not,” I said in a suave tone. “I’m not some idiot, I’m a Special Agent. It’s... just that we call them Aufzüge... and they look and sound and act and are operated and are powered very differently than yours and it took me a stupidly long while to realize they were the same thing in function.” Elevator dinged and the doors opened out into a dimly lit concrete storage room. I fiddled with the little panel and its magical talisman before declaring, “We’re going on a super-spy adventure.”

I stepped out into the dim room, and the mare hesitantly followed me. “Um, what are doing this for, again?” No response from me; I was going to be unnecessarily dramatic about this. “Special Agent Faust, hello? What are we doing?”

With the unholy cross between a devilish grin and a Nightmare-Moon-may-care smile, I turned to her. “Why, my dear, I’m going to investigate the evils of Duke Elkington.”

She gasped. “But he’s a selfless hero!”

“That,” I assured her, “like the myth of the slutty nurse, is ultimately untrue. Trust me, when you’re a nurse, you see some pretty terrible things: lots of sickly, naked ponies covered in their own filth, so much that your whole day is basically one big turn-off. I don’t know how this metaphor applies to this situation here exactly, but it does. Elkington is actually evil and wants to kill everyone or something. I don’t really know the specifics, but I know that I’m clearly the good guy here.”

As the elevator closed behind her, I briefly but convincingly yacked on about the dark stuff Elkington was up to. I even showed her that one Voixson from Doc Dome’s clinic as proof. The thought that it was probably a bad idea to explain this all to her and that just ditching her would have been the smart thing to do occured to me; but the idea that this was just somehow cooler took that thought, beat it with a rubber garden hose, put tape over its mouth, bound its arms and legs, and then threw it into a dark cellar with the Cherrypillar.

“And so I’m here why?” Sugar asked at the end of a particularly incoherent rant.

I put a hoof to my chin. “Well, I figure it’s sort of a ‘you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’ sort of deal. Except that I can literally see yours if I just tilted my head a few degrees and pretended to fall down.”

She blushed, squeezed her legs together, and wrapped her tail around her thighs. “Um...”

Strange. They appear to take offense with actually looking at their naughty bits. Maybe you just need a lot of tact to be an Equestrian, tact which I was born without. “Now,” I said in a dark tone of voice, pulling out my sword, “I must do onto others before they do unto me.” Then I put my sword back because carrying it around for hours while sneaking around wasn’t exactly the most efficient thing to do. I had daggers for a reason, whatever it was. “So, do you want to help me investigate evil in the name of all that is good and holy?”

“And, uh, if I say no?”

“You know,” I said, “every time a person says that, be it in a theater play or in a role-playing game or a book, that just means they’re going to say yes. So, let’s go, my entirely untrained comrade.”

“No.”

I blinked. “Heeeey,” I totally didn’t say in a whiny tone that’d go well with some cheese, “you can’t break that time-honored cliché.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s a very good idea. I mean, what are you going to do, kill me?”

“No,” I replied, taking the grip off my dagger because I totally wasn’t just planning to kill the witness. “But what if you tell Songnam Security?”

“I won’t, Special Agent Faust.” She hesitated. “I sorta now really wanna get back home and write a brand new storyline for Mare-Do-Well. Seriously, I just got hit with a brilliant idea.” Sugar Cane smiled at me. A forced smile if ever I saw. “So, uh, can I go? I really don’t wanna do any super spy kinda stuff today.”

Well, the weight of my bad idea was coming to haunt me faster than had been anticipated. It had already crawled out of the Cherrypillar’s cellar and was now gnawing on my legs. I glanced past the numerous dusty crates in this little room to a door that looked promising. Killing her would have been evil at this point, letting her go stupid, and trapping her down here would’ve just created a ticking timebomb. Stupid brain!

“Fine,” I sighed. “But let it never be said that I didn’t try to create a very, very unique and interesting date. Go. I’ll just be over here, saving the world and Equestria and stuff while you go off and be boring.”

She nodded, then hurriedly raced into the elevator. I watched her push the up button and the doors closed. Then I smiled. There was no way she could have known that I’d broken the elevator before we left, and no way of knowing that it wouldn’t work and that the doors were shut. I tossed the elevator’s talismans onto the ground. Stupid witchcraft.

|— ☩ —|

The tunnels beneath Old Town were, to my happy surprise, very straightforward. Everything was very clearly indicated, several “You Are Here” maps were generously placed, and overall the lighting seemed rather nice but not too bright. And, best of all, the entire place was practically empty. Ponies that were there seemed to just be maintenence, and wearing a suit and tie pretty much meant that they automatically assumed you were supposed to be there.

It wasn’t long before I managed to worm my way into the underground of the MI5 building. It got darker here, with many of the lights off, but it otherwise resembled some sort of underground office building. The walls were of wood, the floors carpeted, and the area airy and non-claustrophobic. As I walked through the dim halls, I kept reading the names posted by all the doors and wondering why so many Equestrians had names that just sounded dumb, like “Snagglepuss”. No, really, there was a door labeled for “Agent Snagglepuss”. I couldn’t make that up if I tried.

As I kept walking, trying to find a hallway that’d lead me into the heart of Elkington’s castle, I paused. There was an office door labeled for “Special Agent Jeepers”. After reading it twice, I seemed to forget what I was doing before and instead opted to test the doorknob. Locked. Tools out. Tick. Tack. Tock. Tools begone, and door ajar.

Quiet as an incestuous chipmunk, I crept through the door and closed it behind me. “Hmm, let’s see,” I muttered, looking around the dark room. I flipped on a little switch by the door and immediately a little flame torch magically flickered to life. “Okay, a desk, a chair, a file cabinet, and photos.”

I walked over to the back of the desk. All on the desk that was interesting was a photo of Jeepers shaking hooves with Duke Elkington, the picture dated only a few weeks ago; that, and an opened envelope, a letter still inside. But before I opened it, I checked a large desk drawer—more of a small cabinet, really—and found me a bottle of superglue, duct tape, and a Voixson with a note attached.

Now, I was quite certain that with enough duct tape, Jeepers could have fulfilled the creepy rape-fantasy thing he’d clearly had. Unfortunately, the tape left on the roll was nowhere near enough tape to fasten some scared little mare—the exact mare in my head at that moment was a very confused Cards—to the wall while he creepily touched himself to their horrified screams, as I always suspected Jeepers wanted to do. Maybe that was why he had the superglue.

In any case, I set the Voixson on the table and read the note.

“J—

Last week I heard you talking about what we’re doing, asking a few questions, wondering if everything we’re doing really is for the greater good of Equestria? Well, I don’t disagree with your thoughts, but I’d try to keep them on the down-low, dig? But, well, while I was rifling through some things, yadda yadda yadda, I came across this Voixson. Yeah, Duke Elkington recorded it. Yeah, it’s as strange as it sounds. I don’t know what to make of it.

—S”

I looked down at the Voixson’s handle and saw a luggage tag labeled ‘This Beautiful Moon’, and then below it, ‘—Elkington’. “Well then,” I mumbled, glancing around as if invisible shadow warriors would jump up and punch me in the ankles and nowhere else. Happy with my scan, I pressed the play button and instantly heard Elkington grunt thoughtfully. His voice, though crackly due to what must have been Equestrian recording hardware, sounded enclosed, like he was speaking from within a church confessional. And he spoke proper, a decidedly gravely, almost exhausted edge to his voice.

“There is something wrong with my world. I know that, have known it ever since my family was killed when I was a colt.” He sighed wistfully. “The Neighponease are a fascinating people. Just the other day I was down in the Île-de-Nippun when I overheard an old sage talking about this old story from his homeland. I approached this old sage and asked him to tell me the story mano-a-mano and he responded:

“Ryokan lived the simplest kind of life at the base of a mountain. A little house, barest essentials of life, but it worked for him. One night, a thief came to him and tried to rob the old stallion, but Ryokan had nothing to steal. The old stallion, who’d been away, came back to his hut at the moment and caught the would-be thief. ‘You’ve come an awfully long way just to pay me a visit,’ Ryokan said amicably, ‘and you should not go home empty-hooved. It’s not much, but please take my monk robes as a gift.’ The thief, of course, was baffled, but he took the robes and slunk off.

“Afterwards, Ryokan sat naked and watched the Mare in the Moon. I didn’t ask if Luna was staring back at him,” he chuckled in a sardonic tone, “but the story went on. Ryokan, see, mused aloud about the thief, ‘Ah, poor fellow. I wish I could have given him this beautiful moon.’ And that’s where the story ends.”

The recording fell silent, but it did not end. I couldn’t help but think it was a bit odd, but nothing really weird or out of place. It wasn’t as if this was where Elkington detailed his doubtlessly evil plan that involved a pie eating contest and trying to slut shame Princess Celestia by taking compromising bikini photos of her and turning his monarch into a sexy pin-up girl. Actually, I’d buy that. And several extras for the people back home because—

“See... this got me thinking about everything I’ve been doing for these past few years. Because, in a sense, I’m like Ryokan, and the poor thief is a metaphor for all those less-fortunate than I... No, no, no, that sounds horrible and makes me look like I’m calling them thieves. What I mean is, there are those less fortunate than I, and I wish I could... Great, I don’t know how to say this aloud.” He sighed. “Take it again.

“I work hard every day that I might, in a sense, give ponies the beautiful moon, that which is unobtainable by any means. Ignoring Princess Luna, that is. I know I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, and I know there is no solace for me when I die; but I’m trying, by Celestia, I am trying to give ponies that metaphorical moon, to make them all happy, to have them all well-fed and educated, to give them better lives than what could be had otherwise... to protect them from the unimaginable horrors of the world outside.

“I do it all because I love my country and I love the ponies—no, the people that call her home.” He hesitated, and I swore I heard him quietly sniffle. “It’s just that back in the real, non-metaphorical world, I do not love the moon... I love the sun... and I prove that by doing myself the things that would condemn her to hell, the things she must never know I do. My name is Duke Elkington, I am the sword and the shield of Princess Celestia... and I fight the good fight for her.” The audio clicked and whirred out.

Well then. It was probably just the result of really poor word choice and my sick mind, but it sounded like Elkington had the hots for his monarch. But knowing Equestria as I did, that basically meant he wanted her to put some socks on. Actually, I really didn’t know what that would look like, since I didn’t really know what Celestia looked like; all I had to go off of were ancient descriptions from over a millennium ago describing her as white and with a pink mane.

For some reason, that raised a question in my mind: namely, “What did Princess Luna look like?” If Celestia was the sun and Luna the moon, then the difference would logically be day and night, no pun intended, right?

I was suddenly struck with the mental image of a smoking hot mare, her body turned away from me as she bent forwards, but that didn’t stop her from watching me with a look that said, “I know you’re lookin’ and I won’t tell nopony if you don’t”. There was a seductive look in her eyes, a beauty mark below one eye, blood-red lips, long raven-black hair, and little red devil’s horns poking out from her head. My mind’s eye drifted to the rest of her svelte body as she turned around and gave me a better look: tribal self-mutilations like the one on my chest were all over her arms, one in the image of a swallow over her breast, and one like a coiled cobra on her side. Then there was her getup, four socks decorated with lunar symbolism, fishnets stockings, a red thong (more like red dental floss, really), a corset, and a far too mini minskirt. That’s when I noticed her red forked tail.

I blinked hard. Something was definitely wrong with me, but at least I now knew what to look for if ever I saw the so-called Princess of the Night. In any case, that line of thought miraculously got me back to the matter at hand: namely, the letter. And, predictably, that was when somepony opened the door.

A pegasus mare with lavender eyes and a grass-like coat just stared at me through the open doorway, her violet mane done up in a bun. To my dull surprise, she was wearing a suit top; to no surprise, she was sans pants. “You’re not Jeepers!” she declared, pointing at me.

“Wow,” I deadpanned, “you must be really clever. Like, ‘must have at least one eye and the basic equine ability to remembers things’ clever. Clap, clap, clap. And stop pointing at me.” I approached her and slapped her hoof down. “It’s very rude.”

“What are you doing in his office?” she demanded, gritting her teeth.

“Are you new here?” I asked casually.

“Shut and tell me—”

“Are you new here?” I repeated with more force.

“No,” she curtly replied.

“Then you should know what happens to agents who die.”

The mare blinked, looking like she’d just been stabbed. “Die?”

“He died, yes.” I rolled my eyes.

“He’s dead?”

“That is the traditional implication that comes with saying ‘he died’, is it not?”

She took several heavy breaths, putting her arm up against the doorframe to steady herself. The mare looked up at me, tried to speak, but only succeeded in choking out a cough. I watched as she stumbled past me and shambled over to Jeepers’ desk. With a sudden jerk, she looked at me and screamed, “It’s not true!”

Humming Elkington’s earworm of a song from earlier, I closed the door. “Denial won’t raise the dead. Trust me, the way he died, if he came back to life, he’d just die horribly again.” I forget. How did Jeepers die, again? Hmm... Ah, I recall! “He was stabbed in the chest after having his wings clipped.” She looked like I’d just slugged her across the eyes as she slumped down and cried. “Then he rather slowly bled to death, screaming and writhing painfully on the ground.” Tears ran down her face. It was totally hilarious. “Then—” I feigned hesitation “—he was buried in a shallow grave, where we found him.”

She just cried and sobbed, mumbling “No, no, no” over and over again as she rocked herself. It was kind of like watching an orangutan attempting to milk itself but not realizing it was a boy.

“Were you two close?” I asked.

She just held up a hoof to me. There was a golden wedding band studded with diamonds above the hoof. “My fiancée,” she sobbed. “How did... how did they find him? And... oh Celestia, how did they know all of that?”

I smiled and chuckled. “Why, who do you think killed the bastard and buried him?” Bam! Instant and totally unnecessary drama. I held out a hoof. “Hello. Pleased to meet you. I’m that government boy, as some call me.” The grass-green pegasus just looked up with a blank look. “Wanna see the knife I killed him with? And to be fair, he was trying to murder my friend. The pony had it coming, really.”

“You sonofabitch!” she roared at me, wings spread as she leapt and tried to tackle me.

Tried being the operative word. Being faster than her and already standing up, it was simple enough to bring my hoof along for a date with her now-single face and knock her atop the desk. And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t fun to bash her face bloody with the Duke’s Voixson. Those things could take a beating!

“Any friend of Jeepers is irresponsible evil to me. And if you loved him enough to accept from him a marriage proposal, you’re either evil too or are such an idiot that you have no right to taint the gene pool of my species,” I explained as I pulled out my knife. “In either case, here’s the knife I killed Jeepers with.” She kicked and struggled against me, her wings flittering uselessly against the desk. I shrugged. “Hey, it’s a mercy killing.” I brought the blade up and st—

“I’m pregnant!” she sputtered.

I paused, the blade hovering above her heart. “Excuse me?”

“Five weeks! Please!” she begged, tears in her puffy eyes.

“His?”

“Y-yes!”

Well, that did explain why her nipples were so, uh, perky, since I was sure she wasn’t excited to see me. I nodded, then sighed. “Great. Now you’ve put me in an annoying position. See, I was going to just kill you because of your relationship with Jeepers out of pure spite, but killing pregnant ladies is sort of frowned upon. Of course, now that you know I’m here and stuff, I can’t let you go.” I almost put a hoof to my chin, but didn’t because I needed it to keep her pinned, and I wasn’t about to repeat Cherry Berry’s mistakes. “So, either I insist that I can’t kill you because—without getting into a really tricky debate which I refuse to speak on—killing a fetus and its mother is kind of evil. But not killing you wouldn’t be the smart choice here. Dammit, girl, why can’t you think of other people for just a second? Selfish witch...”

“Uh, it’s the morally right thing not to kill me?” she offered weakly.

“Shut up. I’m trying to kill you; you don’t have a say in this argument,” I hissed. “I don’t care if it’s your body thus your choice, I’m the pony with the knife and the fancy suit, which pretty much means I’m the decision-maker here.” I groaned. “Great, see, now I’m accidentally voicing my opinions on other things here and it makes me sort of look like I’m preaching to you from a soapbox. God, you’re so inconsiderate of others.

“Oh, hey, speaking of which: does Equestria have abortion clinics? A part of me wants to go to one and pick up some chicks; they usually have such low self-esteem. Even though I’ll go to Hell for it, my life is basically all about just enjoying that ride to Hell.”

“Wh-what?” she sputtered.

“Hmm... So you’re saying Equestria doesn’t? Strange, I guess they don’t have the technology—well, no, abortions have been done since ancient times. How? I don’t know, since I’m pretty sure it was before the invention of the rusty coat hanger. I recall reading that the practice was legal under imperial law thousands of years ago, and this wants me to question whether or not Equestria has the practice, and if there was ever a debate over it; and if not, then I thought it’d be hilarious to bring the topic up and set the nation afire.”

The door opened again. “Um, Agent Skylily, are you okay?” an earther in a suit asked, poking his head into the room.

Of course, I jumped with fright and stabbed him thirty-seven times in the chest. With a frustrated goal, I dragged his body into the room and slammed the door shut. “Dammit, I just keep killing Equestrians! It’s like eating a potato chip—you can’t just have one, so you’ve got to eat them all and pretty soon you feel all fat and stuff and all you’ve left is an empty bag and shame. And in this metaphor, this ends with me standing atop Princess Celestia’s body, having stabbed her exactly forty-two times.”

Noticed that I’d let the mare—Skylily?—run free for too long. She tried bolting for the door, and the first solution that came to mind was to grab her tail and yank her back. Yet another example of why tails sucked. Screaming, the jerk forced her to the ground, whereupon I promptly stepped on her throat.

“Look, I’m a nice guy,” I said, “but you’ve put me in a bind. Hmm... Aha! I got it!” She looked up at me, her eyes just spewing fluids like a particularly clogged toilet. “I’ll break your arms—err, forelegs and hindlegs, then slit your throat without nicking many arteries. You’ll be stuck here, unable to scream or escape, and I can be on my merry way. Sound like a plan?” She violently shook her head and screamed. “Fantastic!” I chirped cheerily, smiling as pleasantly as a dentist who was going to pull out some kid’s teeth today while I took out my crowbar.

Her eyes rolled up and she went silent, and I smelled... saw urine on the floor. She fainted, apparently. “Huh,” I murmured, just sort of standing there over her, trying not to touch the pee. “Well then. Can’t believe that actually worked.” Putting my weapons away, I looked knowingly at Jeepers’ desk.

A few minutes later and I had come as close to Jeeper’s creepy wall-rape-tape-and-glue fantasy as I was comfortable with. There was now a tear-soaked and reeking-of-urine pregnant mare taped and thoroughly glued into the little space beneath the desk. She’d probably starve to death from crazy pregnant lady cravings there, but, hey, it was her own fault for getting freaky with a creep like Jeepers. Jeepers creepers, for God’s sake. That was a phrase, I was sure.

Rubbing the side of my head as I looked at the dead body of that guy whose name I didn’t know but had killed regardless, I wondered if there was some way to frame Skylily for it. Translation: drag his dead body and awkwardly shove it on top of the taped mare. It was so kind of Elkington not to have built windows for these little officers. I stepped outside the room, locked the door with my pick, then, with a knife, broke the lock. It’d be a long, long while before someone came in and—sonofabitch, there were a lot of ponies out here.

They were streaming in from other parts of the underground complex, all in suits, all giving me funny looks. They hadn’t heard me threatening a pregnant mare, right? Right. Totally didn’t. Scheiße, was there blood on my suit? Hell’s bells, somehow my expertly flail-happy stabbing technique had left me clean of blood.

Acting like nothing had happened—which wasn’t hard in the slightest—I yawned and ambled down the halls. More than a few of them were giving me weird looks, but none stopped me. So I stopped one myself. “Yo, pardner,” I said, trying not to sound like a complete foreigner and totally like a local. “Where was y’all? I came ’ere and all y’alls wa’ gone, yo.”

The little earther mare blinked at me. “Um... at lunch. Sir, are you drunk?”

“No,” I said sharply, and proceeded on my merry way. Huh, it’s past noon already? Where have the hours gone? Beating up pregnant ladies and locking comicbook writers in elevators, I’d imagine.

I found a little sign that directed me to where the underground area of “Songnam Stronghold”—the name the sign labeled it as—was. There was also a little sign with a cartoonishly cute image of the Duke’s face next to a list of Elkington’s various commitments to worker safety unrivaled in all of Equestria. Horrifyingly, Elkington seemed very proud that he guaranteed fire exits to be “unlocked at all hours”, which raised several disturbing questions about Equestria. It reminded me of an idiot who opened wide his eyes, poured alcohol in them, and set them on fire because it’d be hilarious.

“Move, move, get outta the way!” two white mares ordered as they rushed down the hall. I jumped to the side and hugged the wall, thanking Elkington that he’d built such wide halls. As they ran past, I saw the medical supplies there were carrying.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Something bad!” the taller of the two said as they darted around a corner. Thanks to my uncanny ability to have a short-term memory, I knew exactly where they must have been going: they must’ve found Skylily and her severely dead friend.

“Scheiße,” I sighed. I’d hoped for more time before, but, really, this was real life, and real life was good at throwing punches. Up on my left was a doorway labeled ‘Exit: Security HQ’, and it was better than standing out in the open and probably safer. I could probably find another way back into the underground when it’d be a bit safer.

Through the door was a little room with a spiral staircase. As it turned out, spiral staircases were not fun to climb when you were trying to sprint up them. I wiped sweat off my brow as I reached the top and pushed through the little door at the top. It entered into a dingy little hall with two doors, one at the end, and one to the right.

As I approached the door at the end, I saw and read the little notes posted on the wooden door.

“Dear Janitor (Seriously, what’s your name? Tell me!), we stocked you up on more bottles of turpentine. I remembered that you liked it better as a cleaning substance—I’m smart! Take care, and try to hide your alcohol better. It was just there when I tried finding you earlier. Imagine if it was one of those stuck-up jerks from high-up and not me. — JD.”

The other note one the door simple read: “Out to lunch pick up daughter from preschool save the world smoking break. Back in 15.” The timestamp given meant that he left exactly two minutes ago.

I opened the little door and came across a spacious little closet with shelves lining the wall and a chair propped against the far wall. Just as the note had mentioned, there were four unopened bottles of turpentine in the room, specifically, placed on the chair. There were, though, three bottles sitting at the foot of the chair: two empty bottles of beer and an unopened bottle of Bucking Bronco. I recalled the “highly flammable” warning I’d read on the bottle I’d bought for Cards, and I smiled.

Not three minutes later and I was happily looking at my newest toys: two beer bottles filled with turpentine, each with Bucking Bronco-soaked cloth rags stuffed into the bottlenecks. It was a little trick they’d taught me back in the Mobile Infantry, how to make a so-called Molotowbombe—incredibly useful when you were fighting a guerrilla war against a foe outnumbering you fifty-to-one. It was a skill that, just like the right to vote, I had to exercise. And because fire solved everything. Everything.

Fashioning them to my belt with some string I found lying about, I was all set and now extremely, unreasonably dangerous. Hopefully, nopony would look strangely at me for it, and ditto for the sword. I left the closet and proceeded down the hall and through the door, coming right out into—surprise!—another hallway. Annoyed, I pulled out a compass and arbitrarily decided to follow the hall northwards.

There were a few doors in these back halls, none of which were as clearly labeled as the underground tunnels/offices. But as I passed one red door, I heard someone shout, “Stop touching your balls!”

I blinked. What? Forgoing my better judgement, I opened the door for a peek. The door led into a gymnasium, where a mare and some young buck were. She was facehoofing, and he was sitting in a pile of sports balls, vigorously polishing them. “I can’t!” he half-shouted, half-laughed. “These balls are on fire!”

“I was born on the wrong planet,” she sighed, shaking her head.

For seemingly no reason, the buck then proceeded to flop around in the balls, scattering them across the floor. The jerky, spastic moves looked like the unholy cross between the ‘stop, drop, and roll’ and ‘the worm’ as performed by an octopus in the middle of an aneurysm. “Visual puns, my dear!” he laughed.

“Does anypony have any lengths of rope?” the mare asked the ceiling. “Because I either want to tie him up or hang myself.”

Very slowly, I closed the door and went back to walking. If these were the clowns I was up against, I was just being paranoid. I could probably take them all on with an impromptu weapon while singing a catchy jingle, like that damn song Elkington had been singing that I now found myself humming as I walked. Stupid out-of-date tune.

“Attention, all members of the Songnam Security Force,” an authoritative, probably-played-dominatrix-sounding mare said through the speakers that were omnipresent throughout this city. Wait, ten Bits said this was going to be about me. “There is a major security breach within our midsts. Repeat: there is a major security breach without our midst. All troopers are to be mobilized and ordered to be on the lookout for a suspicious-looking mare prowling through the Security HQ.” Bitch, you calling me a mare?! Just because my chest doesn’t look like a barrel of sand like every other stallion here doesn’t mean I have ovaries!

“Err, update: two suspicious-looking mares,” she amended. “One is an opal-coated pegasus mare, the other is a small, white unicorn covered in glitter, paint, and feathers. Suspects are to be considered extremely dangerous; approach with extreme caution.”

“What?” I muttered, struck with bafflement. Why did one of them sound suspiciously like Lightning Dust, while the other sounded like a thoroughly-humiliated Cards? “Tell me they aren’t...”

“Right! Right! Turn right!” a mare screamed from the around the corner of an upcoming T-junction.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!” another familiar voice replied. Next chance I got, I was going to ask what Dust’s birthday was and buy her a dictionary so she could learns words other than ‘fuck’, such as ‘pococurante’, which would be an apt word to describe my nonchalant attitude at right this moment.

A metal cart traveling at unreal speeds bolted around the corner and came in my direction. I didn’t bother asking why Cards looked like she’d dressed up for and won first place in the third annual World’s Least Dignified Hooker contest as the cart rushed towards me, or why Lightning Dust was half-flying as she pushed it. Nor did I pay much heed to the telltale sound of thundering hooves coming from the direction they’d just left behind.

I simply raised my hoof, smiled, and waved. “Hey, Dust, Cards. Be back home in time for dinner, okay? I’ll cook.”

“Government Boy?” they both gasped, flying right past me.

Shaking my head, I pulled out a match and a Molotowbombe. “I’ve got you covered,” I sighed, lighting the alcohol-soaked rag on fire. The flaming parcel soared through the air, smashed into the hallway, and exploded into flames. Ponies who’d been chasing the mares screamed as the fire either got too close for comfort or pleasantly roasted them.

A moment passed before I raced for the fire. “Hey, hey, guys!” I called out in an urgent voice to the ponies on the other side of the raging conflagration. “Go back! I’ll put the fire out, just get those two!”

“But medical’s that way!” one of them coughed, pointing down the hallway. “And we got burns!”

I made a horizontal cutting gesture with a hoof. “Well, you stay there and you’ll go untreated and let those two go! I’ve got you covered, go!”

They hesitated, then the buck who must’ve been the ranking officer barked a few orders, thanked me, then ran off down the hall, his troopers carrying the wounded.

The heat of the flames licked me as they spread wildly. As it happened to be, Molotowbomben really liked to spread when used inside enclosed spaces. Who knew? “Eh, I’m sure this problem will solve itself,” I said, turning around and trotting in the direction of medical.

A labyrinth it was not, and I quickly arrived in a sterile little room with three little beds. An crème-coated unicorn with a violet mane looked up from her desk. “Shit, what’s wrong?”

“Outside!” I gasped, feigning exhaustion. “Those two started a fire—burnt ponies, a lot of them! You the doctor?”

She nodded, a serious look in her eyes. “Doctor First Aide, yes.”

Your name is something of an oxymoron, if you think about it. “Out in the lobby—but be careful! Flames are spreading like nopony’s business.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “And, really, the last thing we need is a pretty face getting burnt.” I blinked. “Oh, Celestia I’m sorry, that was so inappropriate of—”

Doctor First Aide gave me as single chuckle as she gathered up tools in a bag. “Look, you can buy me dinner when this crisis is over, ’kay?”

I blushed. “I, uh, sure, I, heh.”

As she rushed past me, she paused to asked, “Wait, do you have any injuries?”

“Yeah, some minor, minor burns pulling a mate of mine out of the fire.” I shook my head. “There are more hurt ponies than me, go!”

She bit her lip. “Look, there’s a bunch of medical supplies in the cabinets. See ’em? Grab a healing tonic or two, ’kay? Trust me, burn wounds are nasty.” Then she darted off with her medical bags. That authoritative-sounding mare came back up on the speakers and warned of the spreading fire. Strange that this building had no proper fire alarm like the ones back home.

I slowly shut medical’s door. A smile on my face, I trotted over to the indicated cabinets. “Come to papa,” I chuckled, opening the first one. The chuckle went up a few levels on the psych-o-meter as I opened the rest and took in the sight of all the needles and potions and salves and medical crap that I just wanted. I opened my bags and began shoveling in as many empty hypodermics, gauze bandages, and pink healing potions as I could.

As I stole a dark bottle of vitamin-K, I noticed a little handle in the cabinet. Curious, I opened it and was rewarded with a hidden cabinet with a Voixson in it, a luggage tag on it reading “Just in Case”. Not having anything better to do as I looted and pillaged for medical goods, I hit the play button.

“...and that means what I think it means?” a mare asked. She sounded exactly like the one from the speakers earlier.

“I’m afraid it does, Chief,” Doctor First Aide replied from the crackly recording. “You’re pregnant.”

“Celestia...” the so-called Chief groaned. “Why me?” It’s a pregnancy party! Everyone leaves depressed! “Just... just shit...”

“Well... well, I’m sure your husband...”

She snorted. “I’m not married. Do you see a ring anywhere? I’m a sundamned spinster is what is.”

“Yeah, kinda realized that after I spoke.” Doctor First Aide hesitated. “Do you know who the father is?”

The Chief chuckled mirthlessly. “Off the top of your head, who the buck do you think I’d fuck?”

“I’m, uh, ’fraid I don’t know much about your personal life.”

She sighed. “He can’t know. He cannot know.”

“Do you mean...?”

The chief sighed. “I heard there were ways.”

There was a silence. Then Doctor First Aide spoke: “Certain drug cocktails can... terminate—”

“Do it,” the chief said in that authoritative tone she’d used on the speakers. “Or make it or find it—I don’t care how much it’ll cost, I’ll pay it off the books. I made a mistake, I... wasn’t careful, and I respect him too much to do this... to do this to him. These are... this is my demon, and I must banish it myself.” She sniffled in the way that a hard mare does when she’s trying and failing not to cry. “Do whatever you have to, just so long as he never finds out, we clear?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” she said quickly. “My lips are sealed.” And the recording whirred off.

Well now. Totaly unrelated-to-me drama. And, apparently, I now knew that Equestria didn’t have abortion clinics. That was interesting. Probably because the general lack of shirts meant that rusty coat hangers were in critically short supply. That’s not funny. You’re not funny.

“Of course it’s funny,” I scoffed. “It’s so offensive that it just stops being offensive.” No. Just no. Not funny. You’re bad and you should feel bad. “No, bad would’ve been me wondering why she used a drug cocktail when this nation probably has sports bats.” I mimed the action of swinging a bat. “Bam, right in the gut! Baby begone.” I... wow. I am thou, and thou art I, but even I’m horrified by that. I think you’ve crossed a line here. “Since when have I had a conscience?” I chuckled. “Now shut up. We—er, I’ve stolen all the stuff and need to run.”

“Hey!” a buck barked behind me.

“What?” I asked, turning my head just as a big, black buck tackled me. Using the force of his weight against him, I rolled with the blow and shoved him off. Leaping to my hooves, I looked down at his Stetson and brown vest. “The hell are you?”

“Internal Affairs,” he hissed, jumping up and ramming me against the counters. This landed us in what was literally the most awkward position ever. Both of us were standing with only two hooves on the ground, my back bent way further backwards than my spine was conformable with, and both our forehooves locked as he tried to force me further back. “And you were tryin’ to steal supplies!”

I blinked, looked down, looked back up, and frowned. “Um, can we restart this fight?”

“No!”

“Please? This is kind of weird.” I gritted my teeth. “I mean, I don’t mean to be a Negative Nancy, but right now your penis is kind of touching mine. I’ve got pants on, thank God, but it’s like your genitals are trying to fondle mine—I can feel all of you and it’s, uh, really making me uncomfortable. I mean, I don’t mean to make assumptions about your, uh, your sexuality, but this is pretty gay in the most literal way possible. I mean, I guess some guys like it.” I cleared my throat. “But, uh, most guy don’t. It was bad enough some girl tried to rape me yesterday, now I’ve got to deal with your penis trying to do the worm with mine and that’s very uncomfortable.” I glanced down again. “Huh. I can see yours didn’t undergo any male genital mutilation as a newborn.” I smacked my lips. “That makes one of us.”

He blinked. “Dude, what the—”

“Look, on the count of three, you back off, I’ll get ready, and we can start this over without penis fencing, okay?” I smiled. “You know, certain species of monkeys do that. It’s rather mesmerizing to watch.” I shook my head. “Okay. One... two... three—and you’re not letting me go, are you?”

“No dice, creep.”

I sighed. “Look, I’m an agent with MI5. I don’t know how it’ll work, but when I get out of this, I’m going to file a complaint with pony resources about you sexually harassing me. By whatever thing it is you swear by, you are going to be severely reprimanded for all of this sexual harassment.” He just stared at me, baffled. “You at least owe me an apology,” I said, sticking my nose in the air.

He gave me a blank look. “What.”

“Apologize right now and stop molesting me with your feely gentials right this instant, or else!” I threatened.

“I... or... um...”

“Or else what?” I offered, and he weakly nodded. “Or else this.” And I levitated out the knife from under my suit and kindly introduced the sharp end to his masculinity. He screamed like a little girl as he threw himself from me, letting me get back on all fours proper. “I take very affirmative action to prevent sexual harassment in the workplace,” I added helpfully, driving the point home by stabbing his jugular vein. He died rather hilariously, making me feel very smart for wearing my codpiece.

Rolling my eyes, I knelt down and wiped the blood off the knife using his vest, because blood causes rust. A rusty dagger would have been horrible. Just horrible. And, boy, was that blade getting kills today! My sword was going to start complaining that I never loved it. If swords could talk, that was, which probably wasn’t the case. Also, I closed the cabinets because their openness was driving me insane.

“Oh my goodness!” Doctor First Aide gasped as she ground to a halt in the room’s doorway.

What’s she doing back here? “Don’t just stand there!” I shouted, pointing at the guy on the ground. “Help him!”

“What happened?” she demanded, galloping over and sliding to the ground.

“I don’t know! He just stumbled in here dressed like a cattle rapist!”

The doctor put a hoof on his neck. “Oh, shit, he’s dead!”

I looked down at her arm and paused. “Are those burns on you? Are you hurt?”

First Aide looked up at me, gritted her teeth, and pulled a healing potion from her bag. “The fire’s everywhere,” she said, finishing the bottle. “I-I helped a few ponies out, but, shit, the smoke’s everywhere.” She looked down at the corpse, yelped, and crawled away from it, straight into a corner. There was blood on her hoof from where she’d touched him.

Damn, I make a good Molotowbombe. “Are we trapped in this section of the building?”

She looked up at me. “You ever try breathing in smoke as it blinds you, all the while navigating a burning building you’ve only worked at for two weeks? I mean, the places I do know are already on fire, like the Celestiadamned lobby! ”

I hesitated. “Well, back in Neuorléans when I worked with the Reichskriminalamt, a bomb completely destroyed the downtown RKA building. I was just down the street, too. All six stories of concrete and glass. Completely shattered when a magical fireball... I was one of the first respondents working to help out. Thankfully, Atemschutzmasken were standard issue for both law enforcement and military.”

First Aide blinked. “Bu-wha’?”

“The fires, if not for the smoke, could you get past them and escape?” I asked.

“I... I think. But, that’s kind of a hard thing to get rid of, the damn smoke. Can’t breathe and it blinds you.” She tilted her head. “What are you doing?”

With a toothy smile, I pulled out a black rubber mask with a thick glass visor giving one good peripheral vision when wearing. A black thing about the size and shape of a can of catfood was attached to the side—the filtration system. I looked at the door, then to the scared-looking mare in the corner. “Here.”

“What?”

“It’s an Atemschutzmaske—a mask of breathing protection.” I checked the filter. “Set for particle filtration. With this on, your eyes will be safe, and you can breathe clearly.” She just looked at me. I walked over her to and crouched down next to the mare. “Here, let me help you. Just trust me, put it on and the smoke won’t bother you, thanks to the miracle of science.”

“But what about you?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Eh, I’ve been through worse. Yesterday, I almost got raped.”

“What?” she gasped.

“Yeah, that was pretty worse. Not kidding, either,” I replied. “I mean, what is about me that makes so many crazy Equestrians see me as rapebait? Seriously, everypony in this nation is crazy. Or mentally scarred somehow. Or just broken. There’s something deeply wrong with this nation is what I’m saying.” The crème-coated mare didn’t resist as I put the mask on her, tightening the leather straps on it to adjust to her smaller face. “Point is, get out of here. I’ll find a way out somehow. Now go on, get!”

“How will you get out?” First Aide asked as I helped her to her feet.

I gestured to Mister Penis Party over on the ground. “Fritz and I will think of something. Now go—people need you out there!” I gave her a push forwards, and, after a quick glance back, she ran out of the room.

With a sigh, I looked out the doorway. “Ah, you’re lucky we’re on the same team.” I walked over to the cabinets, pulled out the Voixson, and stuffed it in my bags. “Because you’re clearly clever enough to want to blackmail some pretty evil ponies. Or safeguard against evil ponies via blackmailing backdoors. Either or, really.”

Checking my wrist, I looked at the wound. It didn’t hurt so much to walk on, and the wound was still infection free. Checking the bandages on my legs, I found them surprisingly clean. I breathed a sigh of release, then frowned at the dead pony on the floor. First Aide had been surprisingly blasé about the corpse, considering Dust and Cards’ reactions to them. Then again, if Equestrian medical school was anything like ours, she’d probably dissected a dead body or two before she was given her license, so she possibly had more tolerance to this sort of thing.

Whatever. I needed to get moving. I checked my bag, walked into the hallway and—Hell’s bells, that was a lot of fire down from where I’d thrown the Molotowbombe. It reminded me of a vaguely related anecdote from a tabletop role-playing game I’d once played and didn’t like, and how I’d voiced my dislike by making enough explosives in a bathtub to destroy a small city, and then blowing my character up in the middle of the adventure. Needless to say, they never made eye contact with me ever again.

Thankfully, this place had lots of different ways to go. Like right, down in a direction labeled “Front Lobby”, which meant lots of fire that way. Oh, if only my duster were a fireproof bodysuit. Then I paused. The duster was probably a better thing to wear right now, since it was sort of fire-resistant thanks to an ingenious way of tanning and the animal the leather had come from. And on the other hoof, wearing the suit apparently made me able to go pretty much anywhere here.

Screw it, this wasn’t the time to strip down and change. Just trot down the hallway and look for a non-burning way out of this mess, like a proper fire exit. There was, much as First Aide had attested to, a lot and a lot of smoke. And then I saw it, a red box on the wall labeled “In case of fire, break glass”. I casually broke the glass and watched as it poorly, poorly shattered into tiny spears of murderous death. It was official: Equestria hadn’t yet invented safety glass.

“Hello, sweetness,” I crooned, pulling out the sturdy red fire axe. How could anypony have missed this? Ooh, and the weight was all nice and good for swinging and capable of breaking someone’s skull in half with a good blow to the face!

Lesson number one of swinging axes: all work and no play makes Jack a dull colt. Lesson two: doors were for sissies. Lesson three: walls were for sissies. Lesson four: splinters from hitting the wall with an axe going into your eyes will make even the strongest stallions into sissies. Lesson five: Equestrians sucked at building walls.

The room behind the wall—I nearly killed myself trying to squeeze through the hole—was some sort of stairwell. I walked up to the door, touched it, and found it hot. Well, Scheiße. That fire was having a field day. Worst idea today, but there was no where to go but up. Four stories higher and I exited onto the top floor. The whole floor was just offices with big, big windows.

Slinging the axe over my shoulder, since the genius who’d put it here had also given it a carrying strap, I trotted over to the windows. A large, large crowd of ponies had gathered before the building. I sighed, shaking my head. “What’s this, now?” I trotted through the empty offices and to another set of windows, windows overlooking Elkington’s stronghold. Why the hell was this building and the castle’s three-story-tall walls so close to each other? Didn’t somepony realize that all it’d take to break into the castle would be to... Oh, God, you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you? And don’t tell me no, because I’m thou, and thou art I. I hate this body. Can I get a new head, one who isn’t self-destructive and insane?

“Shut up, magical voice,” I hissed. “To the fourth floor!”

|— ☩ —|

I hate you. I cannot believe how much I hate you right now.

“Ja, ja, ja, ich weiß,” I groaned, face smashing into the stone surface.

We are covered in glass and the back of your neck is bleeding from shards of glass embedded in your skin, you retard!

“Deine Mutter ist eine dreibeinige junkie Hoe.” I pulled out a healing potion as I tried to stand up.

She’s your own goddamn mother, you savage! Don’t say that!

“Hey, I never knew the broad,” I said, shrugging. Ow. Big mistake. Glass in your skin and shrugging does not mix well. True story. Nevertheless, my ribcage feeling like it was on fire, I stumbled up to my feet and quaffed the potion. As my flesh healed, I helped by picking the glass out of my skin. “Fun fact: she’s literally dead to me.” I chugged another potion as I got the last bit of glass out of my arms and eyelids.

I literally hate you.

“I literally do not care.” I brushed shards of glass from my suit and looked around the castle wall I was on. Self-defenestration, while perhaps one of the worst ideas ever and was something I would never do ever again no matter how cool it looked, was effective. I mean, yeah, it helped a ton that some crazy intern had apparently been hoarding, like, thirty super-soft pillows in a supply closet as part of some incredibly elaborate ploy to get laid in the break room, and how I’d tied them all together and used them to soften my landing, which was the only reason I was alive right now, but details, details.

The pillows, sadly, had given their fluffy lives that I might live on to save the day. Their sacrifices would not be in vain. I looked around again, the burning building to my left, the castle complex to my right.

I wonder how Dust and Cards are doing right now. Probably being beaten by police brutality. No, wait, Cards is Police Brutality Cop. She’s probably screaming, “Stop resisting! Stop resisting!” as she beats up some buck thrice her size as he cries and cowers on the ground. Classic Cards! That, or crying about missing a part of her ear. I suppressed the urge to giggle maniacally.

Down the ways on the wall was a little tower, and out from it burst a semi-armored stallion. “Are you alright?” he called out, running over to me. “Sir, sir! Are you alright?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Um, because you just jumped out of a window, fell a story, then landed on a stone wall,” he replied. “Are you okay? Do you need medical attention?”

I tapped a hoof to my jaw. “Hmm... Nah.”

“But, sir—”

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with falling out of a tall window and landing on incredibly uncomfortable ground; it’s perfectly good for a stallion. It builds character. That’s what Momma used to tell me, and then she got drunk, beat me up, and threw me off increasingly taller objects until I learned how not to be killed by gravity.” I held up a hoof to him. “Worry not, my friend, for I am level twenty bard. So then, please just lead me to the exit.”

The guardspony hesitated, hesitated some more, then indicated in the direction of the tower. “Uh, right this way... sir?”

I looked down at the ground and frowned. “Hm. It seems I’ve forgotten how to walk again.”

“Um, I, er... Look, just hang tight and I’ll go get a stretcher and take you to the hospital. Just, I might be a small while ’cause it’s a damn zoo down there!”

“There’s a zoo?” I asked, watching the earther run off. “Fine. I guess I won’t be throwing peanuts at the elephants today.” The castle’s compound, I noted, consisted of what was practically a small village of manors surrounded by walls, with a small keep as the compound’s centerpiece. Bingo. Target set. And from the look of things, all the buildings were connected.

When I was happy with how long I’d just been standing there, I set off for the little tower. Inside it was nothing special, just a little platform where you could probably shoot arrows out from. The masonry, too, was bland, unimaginative, and didn’t look nearly up to spec with fortifications back home. I bet the stone wasn’t even reinforced. It all just proved to me that Equestria would never last a day back on my home continent.

In any case, the center of the little tower was a stairwell. I quickly rushed down the spiral staircase, which, for some reason, was much easier than rushing up them. There were a few directions to go in the room at the base of the tower. The most interesting door was the one labeled “Stables”, so it was the one I headed down.

This little trip ended up with me in a living room-like place with a red couch and a fireplace and a large set of windows facing the Stronghold’s white walls. All around were rather large doors, only three of them labeled, one “Ocelot”, one “Reindeer”, and the last one “Main Plaza”.

“Ocelot?” I mumbled, tilting my head at the door. “Isn’t that an animal?” I cocked my head the other direction. “I’ve never seen a real live ocelot. I think.” Logically, this had to be remedied. Maybe I could throw peanuts at it!

“Hello, cutie,” I said as I went through the door. In the middle of the wooden floor was a spotted feline the size of a large house-cat. Sitting in between two reds bowls of water and food and staring out the windows, the ocelot looked at me. “Ooh, you’re like some kind of cat!”

Now, I didn’t know much about cats, and I knew even less about ocelots, but as I left the room, my gut was telling me that Duke Elkington needed to get some tree branches or something in that room, because that ocelot was desperate for something to play with. So, logically, I tied him up and put him in my bag, making plans to stop at a toy store and pick the ocelot up a stuffed animal after I killed Elkington. Seriously, it was like a White Legion gulag in that featureless room.

Because everything reminds you of a White Legion gulag. And those Nippönische think we’re the bad guys. Sheesh. Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t hear your horror stories over all the forced labor camps the Reich liberated!

Trying to ignore the claw wounds on my cheek, I decided that I’d had it with skulking through buildings and went out the door labeled “Outside”. As it turned out, this lead out into a wide plaza with an elaborate fountain taking center stage. A breath of fresh air from the tight spaces I’d been worming my way through for hours, or however long I’d been here.

All in all, the plaza seemed fairly empty, but also a perfect kill zone. It was just the kind of place where it made funneling enemy troops easiest, put them out in the open, and gave you the most angles of attack. The sight put a smile on my face; it reminded me so much of the capital city, whose entire city layout was basically one big kill zone after kill zone. Still, it could use some work before it even approached a feeling of real safety.

See, all around the plaza and on the buildings surrounding it was a single looping walkway raised about a story off the ground whose ends ended somewhere in the keep ramparts. Clearly, it was a final layer of defense before the keep proper was breached. Still, it didn’t stop there from being a wooden ladder leading up to it from just next to where the stable let out. There wasn’t any reason not to climb the ladder, because climbing and jumping was all I was doing today till my limbs all fell off and I hilariously ended up a quadriplegic trying to fight evil using only the testicles he trained to hold a sword.

In any case, up the ladder I went, glad that ocelots were apparently very safe to gag and thoroughly bind in your bag. Never once did I hear him growl at me. That, or he was dead. Either or. I took a breath as I surveyed the little walkway and its nice wooden roof. Many trees had been murdered for what I was slowly realizing was an ultimately unnecessary fortification. Stone and steel were the future, baby.

“What’s all this, then?!” some angry mare with freckled cheeks stormed at me. “You ain’t s’posed to be ’ere!”

I cocked a brow. “Au contraire, I’m supposed to be here. See, I’m here for a meeting with Elkington. Special Agent Faust, Reichskriminalamt agent on loan to MI5. But the director of MI5 bet me lots of money that I couldn’t sneak in here and—you’re not buying this, are you?”

The security mare pulled out a baton. “Not at all.”

“Well, then have I deal for you!” And I slammed the axe right in her face with enough force to knock her head into the ground. “A fire sale for all your axing needs! Get it? Because it’s a fire axe, and it’s in your face!” I laughed maniacally but she didn’t. “It’s funny.” Her body twitched. “Oh, hey, look—you’re dead. Awesome.” I wrenched the axe from her torn-in-half skull and wiped the blood off on her security vest. “Yeah, in a world where dipshits get killed with axes, one stallion will stand above the rest... coming to musical theaters this August.”

I cheerily trotted off down towards Elkington’s keep, humming Elkington’s catchy jingle. Only as I turned a slight corner in the walkway did I see that large doorless doorway leading down into a large building. “Barracks” a very handy sign above the doorway read. And then it got better: some poor buck had just appeared from the doorway, apparently out for a smoking break. That’s when he saw me, that’s when he looked over and saw the dead mare, that’s when the cigarette fell out of his mouth and instantly became a very dangerous and irresponsibly dropped fire hazard.

“Oh, shit!” he screamed as I charged him.

“Batter up!” I laughed, bringing the axe down on his neck. The blow both crushed his windpipe and severed either his jugular or carotid. It was hard to tell. “Hey, don’t lose your head, mate.”

“Yo, what in the hoof is going on out there?” another security pony asked, poking her head out from the opened door. That was when I looked over and saw that the doorway lead into what looked to me like an officer’s club, as well as a stairwell leading down to something or other. What was worse, the officer’s club was teeming with ponies.

I threw my body at her, slamming the axe again and again into her face until she was just a twitching body on the floor without a face at all. I looked up and smiled at all the frozen-looking ponies sitting around in their chairs, drinking their drinks and eating what looked like slop. “Hello there, everypony. I am a guest in your country, yes. And where I am from, slaying a mare what speaks before spoken to with an axe is my people’s sincerest, most humble form of saying ‘Hello, I love you all’. Because we’re horribly, horribly sexist. So, please accept this sullen wench here as my—and you’re not buying it, are you?”

“I don’t think that’s how ponies say hello in his country,” somepony commented like an utter retard.

“What the hay are y’all doing?” a very angry-looking buck with a totally badass scar over his eye demanded as he pulled out a sword. I wished that I had a scar like his. Maybe one day, maybe one day. “Charge!”

Now then, two ideas sprang immediately to mind: the smart thing and the awesome thing. One of these ideas was to jump into the fray and go crazy with an axe, since I was sure I could kill them better and faster than they could try to kill me, even though being outnumbered so badly was a death sentence. The other idea involved running. Oh, and a Molotowbombe.

Guess which idea I actually tried?

Trick question. See, before I could actually do anything, an explosion wracked my senses silly. Against all my willpower and effort to the contrary, I jerked my head in its direction. It came from the top floors of the Songnam Security HQ building, a huge fireball raising into the sky as the top two floors crumbled off the building and scattered into hundreds of fireballs pelting the Songnam Stronghold. I had no idea what in God’s name had caused the explosion—probably something evil the Duke was up to in there—but, by Heaven, it took mere seconds for so, so many things to catch fire.

God, I wished there were more explosions in my life, because a very, very primal male part of me saw that explosion and I had to struggle not to feel even somewhat aroused by it. This was why it was so hard not to look at explosions in real life. If I’d been born a girl and had seen that explosion, I’d’ve been wet enough to drown a toddler. Only my supreme willpower kept me in line.

The fires were slow, not yet an inferno, except for where most of the building had collapsed onto. Where that’d happen was a raging inferno threatening to engulf this whole castle in a great conflagration. I liked that. Suddenly everything was more fun.

Somehow in all of this, the ponies inside the barracks hadn’t done anything but stare, even after the speakers blared fire warnings. I shrugged. “You know, I always said that if there was a way to go, it’d have something to do with mares, whips, and oil. But I suppose an axe fight during a fire will have to do.”

That stallion with the cool eye charged at me. But I was just so cheery from all the sudden carnage and fire that nothing could faze me, not even a room full of charging ponies. In fact, as I swung the axe and ended someone’s life, I couldn’t help but burst out into song.

“Ich heiße Jericho (Stirb, Lauch!)

And I am here to say (Die, you sonofabitch!)

I’m going to make you smile and I’ll brighten up your day!”

The axe found its way into somepony’s withers, the blow so deep and so muscle-severing that they just collapsed screaming to the ground. Jerking the blade out of his body, I accidentally dug the pick-end of the axe into someone’s eye. Eye scream, eh? I was on metaphorical fire! Hacking these ponies apart and singing up a storm.

“With me, you’re never alone,

With you—für immer allein!

(You know what I mean?)”

The last victim—er, last evil pony was Mister Cool Eye. I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t killed him first, but there was he, standing there with a horrified expression. He didn’t even try to fight, just dropped his sword and made himself scarce. I grinned as I surveyed the carnage; apparently, a crazy stallion singing a song and swinging an axe wasn’t something they’d been trained for. Most of them were still alive, of course, too crippled in vital areas to fight, but a few were dead.

“Sir, what in Celestia’s name?” a male voice said from a corner of the room. I glanced over and frowned; there was a stairway there, and as Mister Cool Eye scrambled down it, a young buck was coming up from it.

“He’s crazy! Run!” Cool Eye shouted.

“Wait, who—”

Before the young stallion could say anymore more, some crazy pony with a smile tackled him with an axe, shouting, “Va Fangool!” The force of the tackle made them both tumble down the stairs. Thankfully for my spinal health, the stairs only went half a floor down before turning ninety degrees in the corner and going down to the ground floor proper.

Standing up and rubbing my head, I looked out at the ground floor, at all the security mares and stallions running around and shouting. To me, it looked more some some sort of bar. In fact, there was a bar counter with barpony. I idly wondered for a moment if Equestrians did barracks differently than Teutsche did.

“Somepony get this psycho sonofabitch!” Cool Eye screamed, desperately sprinting the second leg of the staircase. Problem was, you couldn’t really sprint down a stair case; you’d break you neck. So, of course, he tumbled down the, giving me an odd sense of vindication for reasons that I couldn’t quite place.

To their credit, several of the armed ponies did heed Cool Eye’s orders. Against their credit, that meant they had to charge up the stairs in what was essentially single file. My axe, though, lauded their idiocy, and I cheered them on with a song as I hacked and slashed.

“I really am so happy

Your smile fills me with glee

I give a smile I get a smile

And that’s so special to me!”

It was funny because I physically gouged smiles into their faces with my axe! My smile was at starting to break the psych-o-meter, and it wasn’t even lessened when I noticed all the blood on my fancy silk suit. Thank God I was probably the only pony in the world who knew how to get blood out of a black spidersilk suit.

They were so woefully unprepared. Had they been ready for me and not little better than the disorganized rabble they were, I’d’ve been toast. At this point, I was running on pure luck and the element of sheer audacity. The moment that got even a little organized, I was dead. I would be standing here at the bottom of the stairs and I would be dead. Still, seeing so many fallen comrades at my hooves gave them all serious pause.

Some unicorn who’d been carrying a box of doughnuts let them drop to the ground, spreading their sugariness all over the wooden floor. I didn’t waste any time in jamming my axe into his shoulderblade. “Don’t drop food—that’s how you get ants! Let this be a lesson to you. Do it again and I’ll skin you with a flensing knife, make a pair of you-shaped pajama out of the skin, then set the pajamas on fire! Oh, and speaking of fire...”

I took the liberty of pulling out the Molotowbombe, lighting up the wick, and throwing it into the room proper. Ignition. Fire. Screams. Laughter from me.

“Today is a good day to die!” I guffawed derisively, running off up the stairs and dashing back out to the walkway, knowing that the fire would distract them.

All around the castle compound ponies were rushing around. Many were trying to put out the rash of fires that’d just sprung up, most were just flailing around and panicking, the majority of them running away from the fires and explosions. After all, despite what the ZND spy handbook would tell you about distractions, why would you assume people would ever run towards an explosion?

The unseen speakers blared with a shrill shriek. “Be on the lookout for a tall stallion wielding an axe and wearing a suit!” they screamed. “If seen, apprehend him with extreme caution—he is considered armed and supremely dangerous!”

‘Supremely dangerous’? Sounds sexy. “Yeah, I’m moving on up in the world,” I replied to myself, charging down the walkway. Wait. How did they finger you so quickly? “Probably have some sort of speakers in the barracks, I’d think.”

Just like that, the exterior walkway ended, and I was now standing on some second-story balcony running around a large ballroom-like foyer room. The floor of the room was covered with all sorts of equipment, dust, loose bits of wall, and work tools. Clearly, this place had been undergoing some sort of renovation and had been hastily abandoned, probably because of the random inferno just outside.

Glancing back, I smiled as I saw flames licking the barracks building

“Halt!” a buck barked at me.

I jerked my head to the side to see a strangely familiar stallion and mare. “Hey, weren’t you two supposed to be having a date at a hoofball game?” I asked. “What a small world we live in.” Smiling jovially, I pulled out my sword. “Quick check, folks: my sword beats your batons... You know, now that I think about, most all of those security ponies whose blood I’m now covered in were wielding non-lethal weapons.” I shook my head. “In any case, I’m sure neither of you two lovebirds wants to die over some silly job, right? Right! So just step on out of the way and I’ll be going, because I’m not the bad guy here.”

The buck, clad only in his black-with-red-highlights security vest, darted his cyan eye to the mare. He looked back at me and took a breath, raising the baton in his magical aura. “No.”

“You know, I get that you’re doing this because you don’t want to be seen as a coward before your lady-friend,” I sighed, “but I guarantee you she’d be much happier with a coward than with a dead would-be hero. Isn’t that right, ma’am? You’re perfectly fine with spending romantic time and possibly the rest of your pathetic, wretched life with a stallion who was unwilling to try to stand up for something in the one hour where he was called upon, going to bed each night knowing that your partner is a pathetic coward unable to stand up to anything; and years later, when you’re married and have children, that knowledge slowly drives you mad, but by the time to realize that you’ve made a mistake, your looks have faded and the kids have gone off to college and the only one who even looks at you anymore is that damn coward; so you lie and say you’re still in love with him—that’s totally fine with because you know he’s still the best you could ever do, right?”

She blinked. “I...”

“That was rhetorical, you weren’t supposed to try to answer it!” I snapped. “Because life’s a bitch, and then you die! But do you want that death to be here and now?” Down at the end of the little balcony walkway we were on was a small set of stairs leading up to the second story proper. Glancing down at the large and rather ornate staircase leading up to the huge double-doors on the second floor, I figured... nothing, actually. I had a thought, but I lost it, and then I stopped trying to intimidate and instead attempted to remember what I was just thinking.

Somehow, the only thing I could think of suddenly became wiener dogs and feeding them to the ocelot I had in my bag. That would be the ultimate in awesome irony, a cat eating dogs. The twist was that there was no ketchup.

My internal state of mind must have shown in the fish-eyed expression I gave the two. So, Mr. Hero thought he could try to save the day and woo better his lady. Sadly for matters of the heart, it was rather hard to woo your lady when you were rolling around the ground, screaming about how there was this rather nasty gash above your hoof and you were pretty sure you were going to lose it. Also, blood.

“Rocky Road!” the mare shouted, dropping to her elbows and knees and practically nuzzling up to the bleeding stallion.

“Wait. His name is ‘Rocky Road’?” I scoffed. “What is with you Equestrians and your weird names? I mean, back in the Reich, we have names like Hans, Jan, Aloysius, Aloisia, Maria, Astrid—all of which are pretty much better in every way than most any Equestrian name I’ve heard so far.” I raised my sword. “I might as well just kill him now just to spare him the horror of having to live a life with such a dumb name.”

“No!” she shrieked. The mare leapt and threw her whole body at me. It happened too quick for me to react, and she was much, much stronger than she looked. With all her force, she grabbed me, my body crashing against the walkway railing and—no, falling over the railing.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized that this was probably it. Falling even a story was liable to kill me, all because I was having too much damn fun in the moment. Well, no whips or oil, but there was at least mare involved in how I was going to die. So, one for three was technically a failure, right?

And then I slammed into the hard, hard ground back-first. The impact, I was sure, concussed me and beat my back to Scheiße and back again, like a back-flop from, well, from a story up. I choked, a tear in my eye as the pain failed to properly register in my body. I gasped for breath, the air sucking raggedly into my lungs, the mare atop my body pressing down on my ribs. A sharp, piercing pain finally clicked somewhere in my left breast, like being stabbed by a particularly vindictive ex, but pain was good. Dead people felt no pain. Still, it was about as welcome as a leper in an orgy.

On shaky legs, the mare actually managed to stand up and then, hilariously, fall down onto the floor next to me. I moved to put my hoof over my heart, only to pause when I felt something hot and wet from the piercing font of pain in my breast. Slowly, I touched the spot, my hoof coming away soaked with blood.

“Scheiße,” I grunted, lifting my head to look at my breast. “Oh, no... no... no... no!”

It was a large sliver of steel pointing straight up into the air. It was sticking out of my breast, the top tip extruding perhaps two or so inches from my flesh. I could feel blood pooling slowly beneath me. I could feel now—and if not feel than almost clearly see—that my right lung had been pierced.

The castle’s main doors burst open, and Duke Elkington’s voice rang out, echoing through the castle. “Get the wounded in here and set up a triage with that doctor mare, stat! The castle’s the most fireproof building in the city, so you should be safe to administer care. And—” He paused as the mare who’d fallen with me stumbled to her hooves. I could see that her chest was bleeding, no doubt stabbed by the same steel in my breast. Without anything to cover that wound, I doubted she had too long to live. “By Celestia, we’ve got wounded in here, too! Hop to it, we don’t got all damn day!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” a chorus of voices thundered back, followed by a stampede of action. They were coming towards me.

So I did the first thing that came to mind. I grabbed the metal sliver with my magic and, with all my might, rolled my body to the side. Using the weight of my motion, I hit my hooves first and ambled onto my feet, the metal sliver firmly lodged in my body. I didn’t know what in the hell the metal had come from, but I could feel it sticking too out of my back, and could see spurts of blood running down it and onto the ground. I scanned the ground for my sword. Sword... sword... Where was it?!

“More?” Elkington gasped at me. “Look, I’ll go back outside and help coordinate ponies into the castle, you folks—”

“Elkington!” I shouted. I didn’t have my sword, but I still had my axe. “I know everything!” Carrying the axe alongside me, I stumbled forwards, blood beating through my ears. With the metal still in my body, I had little in upwards of a few hours left alive, even with the openly pierced lung. Using healing potions felt out of the question to me: I didn’t like the idea of getting a metal rod fused into my body, though I hadn’t the foggiest idea whether that could even happen. A securitypony got too close to me, and paid a blood price for it as I raggedly swung the axe into his chest. “Hi, my name is Duke Elkington,” I groused, “and I’m a huge fan of cocks. You can tell from my cock-tasting spit. I’m like a chupacabra, but for dicks.”

“It’s that bad guy from the intercom!” one of the securityponies blurted out. There weren’t too many of them, thankfully, but more than enough to probably kick my ass.

“What?!” the Duke gasped. He just stood there in the doorway, staring at me as I lurched towards him, shambling like a corpse. And then he pointed at me and barked, “Take him down!”

I smiled. Even with one lung, I still had some song in me.

It was not a glorified, dignified fight full of epic heroics, clashing swords, and daring heroes. The entire fiasco was me shambling along, leaving a trail of blood, haphazardly swinging the axe at anypony who got near me. The blood-soaked weapon maimed well, their batons didn’t really faze me, what with the horrendous pain of already being impaled drowning their blows out. Oddly, the singing did help, even with the punctured lung.

“Yes, the perfect gift for me

Is a smile as wide as a mile—

To make me happy as can be,

All I really need’s a smile, smile, smile

From these happy friends of mine!”

I brought my happiest smile to bear as I leered at Duke Elkington, myself surrounded by groaning, bleeding, dying ponies. The Duke’s jaw was wide open as I jeered, “Ever heard of a little place called ‘Sleepy Oaks’? I know you have! And ever heard of a little thing called ‘enervation’? I bet you have!”

He stood there as I lurched up to him, wearing a horrified expression as he surveyed the carnage. “Who in the hay are you?” Elkington whispered, ever so slowly pulling out a shortsword.

“To you? The Angel of Death, and I’m going to make you sorry you ever heard of me,” I chuckled. The chuckle turned into a wheezy laugh. “Ach, I’m sorry! This is just so cool in my mind, you know? The epic showdown between the corrupt Duke and the hero everyone thinks is the villain. Then I slay you with an axe and just watch as your dark conspiracy unravels before thine eyes—oh dear, I just said ‘thine’ on utter accident. Sorry about that. Won’t use the second-person informal again.” I smiled cheerfully. “Wow, you would not believe how much this thing in my lung hurts!”

I gazed past the Duke and watched the raging inferno Songnam Stronghold had become. Ash rained from the sky as we two ponies were bathed in the orange glow of the fires. At the sudden sound of heavy stomping, I jerked my eyes to the side, only to be blindsided by a huge diamond dog. My body tumbled side-over-side, the rod of metal in my chest thankfully staying put.

“Packmaster!” the dog whined.

“I’m fine!” Elkington snapped. “See to the wounded—they’re more important than me!”

“But—”

“But nothing! I’ll live without you, they won’t.” He turned his attention back to me as the dog bowed his head and ran off to the wounded.

Caught in a coughing fit, I struggled to stand up without tearing the rod out of my chest. The blood leaking onto the ground was transfixing to watch, but I had more important, more awesome things to do. “Elkington,” I singsonged, ambling to all fours, “the dark things you do have not gone unnoticed.” I frowned, picking up the axe. “Wish I had a better one-liner to quip before I killed you. Like... uh, ‘Father always told me to fight fire with fire, which is probably why he got thrown out of the fire brigade.’” I laughed. “It’s funny because I set all these fires.”

“What!?” he gasped.

“Ooh, ooh, ooh,” I gasped back, lurched towards him, axe in my aura, “I’ve got a good one! Elkington, the last thing I want to do is hurt you... but it’s still on my list.” I shrugged. “Yeah, that sounded better in my head. I just always figured that if God’s watching us, the least we can do is be entertaining, you know? Kind of like how I once figured that God must love stupid people, since he made so damn many. Not unlike how some people say ‘If you can't beat them, join them’. But I always said ‘If you can’t beat them, beat them’, because they’ll be expecting you to join them, so you’ll have the element of surprise. Point is, you’re evil, and I’m going to kill you for it.”

“The hell are you on about? I’m a good pony,” Elkington said calmly, raising his swords.

“A clear conscience is usually a sign of a bad memory,” I replied, swinging my axe.

He threw himself to the side, bringing his sword down in a chopping motion against my arm. It wasn’t all that hard to pivot my body to the side, absorbing most of the chop but still gashing my arm.

“Great,” I groaned. “Two large, openly bleeding wounds. Could this get any—” I heard the sound of rapidly approaching ponies marching towards me “—I’m not finished!—get any worse.” I sighed, looking out at the distant band of armored ponies running for us. “There. You ruined it.”

Realizing just how close I was to Elkington, I shot him a nasty left hoof across the face. He tried to swing his blade, but, really, hitting a sword with a fire axe really did work. His blade clattered to the floor as I chose that moment to tackle the Mistkerl. With each punch from my right arm came a splattering of blood, but soon I’d knocked him to the ground.

I took a moment to wonder how old Elkington was; he looked rather young; but then, I’d been expecting a fifty-something-year-old, not this mid–late twenties/early thirties buck. He, however, took this moment to punch my nose. I tasted the pain as I quickly pinned his arms down, watching my bleeding chest cover his suit—which was of decidedly poorer quality than my own—in bits of bright crimson.

With a psychotic smirk, I pulled out my dagger. And because it was super awesome but for no actually practical reason, I said darkly:

“For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,

And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;

And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,

And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.”

Elkington didn’t say or do anything, neither scream nor struggle. “Hey,” I said, a sharp pain—probably a mosquito or something—randomly hitting my jugular vein, “remember when I told you I wouldn’t use the second-person informal with you ever again? I have lied to thee...” I raised the knife and plunged it—okay, why did I suddenly feel so cold and sleepy?

I glanced to the right, to the fiery outside, and came face-to-face with a crème-coated mare with a violet mane, an Atemschutzmaske hanging from her neck, a terrified look in her eyes. She pulled away a large syringe from me, and I blinked as I realized she’d just injected me with something. Also, given how impossibly hard that must have been, that she was probably a badass doctor with killer aim.

“Oh hi, Doctor First Aide,” I greeted woozily. “Glad to see you’re okay. Listen, don’t worry about Elkington, he’s evil. Like, he tried to have both of my confederates raped and... Scheiße. So he’s a pretty bad dude, okay? Okay.” I dropped the knife and collapsed to the side.

The last thing I saw was Doctor First Aide’s pretty face looking down at me with a terrified expression, and the cadre of guardsponies surrounding her and Elkington and now me. Something about this felt cliché, and I had the sneaky suspicion that this would end with me dropping the soap in a prison shower. Really, this must’ve be what it felt like for cat when one tries to play the flute: which is to say, all kinds of screwy and wrong. I was going to at least wake up one kidney less in a bathtub of ice, wasn’t I?

And then a dark, surgical blackness gripped me whole.

Author's Note:

Footnote: Level up.
New Perk: Daddy Issues—Daddy never hugged you enough. This gives you a Freudian excuse to misbehave. Oh, and you now do +5% bonus damage to mothers, fathers, and expecting fathers. But you also do +10% bonus damage to expecting mothers, because you’re a giant cunt and you sicken me.

50% to next level.

(This chapter caught some bad chapter cancer because I wanted it to end right where it ended. Screw the rules. Your comments are sought after, for I am a harlot for them. Oh, and if you really want something Jericho-related in the interim before the next chapter, here is something I wrote a long time ago: “An Excerpt from “Ich, Viktor”, the autobiography of King Viktor Pendergast der Landesvater”. Comments are enabled, but it is rather dark and not at all funny.)

(Seriously, leave Jericho here a comment. I need them to survive—they’re like a drug!)

Comments

[1000Fights]

I haven't even read this yet, and I can already tell that this is going to be a great read!

[rekibron]

"A big fat hermaphrodite with a flock-of-seagulls haircut and only one nostril" I seriously had to take a pause after reading this line. Anyone who can work in a random "Weird Al" reference is hilarious. You sir, are my new favorite author!

[Scarves]

27 thousand words?!
12 am in the morning?
Favorite story I am currently following just updated?!
*Brews some coffee*
Bring it on!

[Methbawks]

I wonder when Jericho is gonna get laid in the story

[Dead_Page]

Damn damn damn! Why must there be so much excellence and only twenty-four hours in the average day? Honestly, I don't think I'll ever actually read this, much less finish it, but it's certainly going into that graveyard of talent that is my favorites tab. But I might be coming around whenever this reaches Completed. I tend to get lost if I don't read from start to finish.

[Crushric]

2874540
I appreciate the vote of confidence and hope I don't let you down!

2874730
Ach, you caught that fairly obscure reference! I threw it in 'cause I like Weird Al. Cool to see someone caught it, and happy to be thy new favorite.

2874731
Challenge accepted. I just can't stop writing. May thy coffee be good and be, much like I like my women, detrimental to hippocampal neurogenesis, but conducive to short term memory and attentional control.

2874841
Why do you wonder that? And by whom, even?

2874854
Well, at current projections, Jericho is going to be long. We're talking, many, many hundreds of thousands of words more. S'pose I'll see you in a year or so, then? Probably even longer.

[Methbawks]

2874892

Just wondering, and by whom, Dusty seems to be the best bet, or some random tryst behind a dumpster, covered with blood and gore next to a hobo, beaten for his warm beer bottle

[Urversher]

im going to be honest im not sure wat the fuk is going on like seriously this is the first time i have actually felt that jericho is the bad guy and it disturbes me a little anyway awesome story keep it up all that stuff

[Gamaliel]

It was worth the wait!

[Tulip]

Who put Deadpool in this story? Huh? There so much black humor...
Author, take this music as soundtrack for your protagonist: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Myc7-_qT5Q
Also accept my praise. You managed to make that it didn't manage to many professional writers - to create lovable being-remembered anti-hero.
Comments is an drug for you? And what you will tell about fanart?

[Gamaliel]

Oo that's an idea! have a kill count for Jericho at the end of each chapter.

[tg backslash]

dear god that was glorious

[SCP Pinkamena]

No! Not Jericho! Don't die, mate!

[terrycloth]

You can tell that Jericho played D+D, because his stealth infiltration mission ended just like most of the ones in my gaming group. With dozens dead and everything on fire.

[Crushric]

2875037
If I were to tell you that Jericho was always right and always doing the right thing, I'd be lying. If I told you that your thoughts are perfectly reasonable for such a morally gray character as Jericho, that'd be more in line with the truth.
Questioning Jericho just means you're casting doubt on how reliable a narrator Jericho is. And that's good.

2875192 2875227
I spent too much time playing Brütal Doom, but, by Jove, I got this chapter out! Glad you liked it. As for the kill count... maybe one of these days. This chapter, I sort of kept the exact number ambiguous what with Jericho singing and not narrating for half of the fights.

2875199
This chapter just got carried away with black humor because I was having fun.
I shall add it to Jericho's growing soundtrack! Right up there with this and that.
I gracefully accept your praise. I'm pretty sure he's only getting away with his anti-heroic ways because of all the jokes he cracks.
Hmm. Fanart? Well, hard to say. Ain't never gotten any. Probably somewhere along the lines of "Grab it and proudly show it off to everyone I know because it'd be awesome", I'd say.

2875288
Now, just sit tight as I write the next chapter... muhahaha...

2875356
Technically, the drug he was injected with was Propofol, an IV drug that knocks one out in under 60 seconds. Him dying right how would be too easy compared to the unimaginable agony I'm going to subject him to, because I'm evil.
Stay tuned...

2875358
He is a level twenty Bard—there is nothing he cannot do, except for all those things he cannot do! :Rolls dice: Well, random encounter of Cards and Dust in the Security HQ for no adequately explained reason. Stupid dice.

[BoogaBingBangBow]

Goddamn man, your chapters are just getting longer and longer and longer and longer. Still love to read them though. And in one sitting too

[Gamaliel]

2875386 Strangely enough that's how i raid with my friends on WoW, them valiantly trying to defeat an evil tyrant and me singing of our glorious victories!

[inDerpxar]

Maiii goodness, you never fail to impress me. Everything about this chapter was both hilarious and extremely disturbing at the same time, as always. Bravo!

And that particular sentence with his clothes being "dirty and filthy and on fire..." Do I see a Screw The Nether reference, perhaps?

[PrinceLexmarkThePrinted]

GODDAMNIT. You and your cliffhangers.

Jericho better end up shagging and/or killing that doctor. They are to similar to not fuck and/or kill each other!

[Crushric]

2875447
Chapter cancer—they'll end whenever it feels like I've ended. :Shrug: Sorry

2875656
:Grins: I love being disturbing yet hilarious at the same time. Not enough fics do that, I feel.
And, uh, sometimes you can tell what music I'm listening to when I write. :Cough:

2875696
If I hadn't've ended here, this chapter would have gone on. It felt it best to end there.

They are too similar to not fuck and/or kill each other!

What do you mean, "too similar"?

[Puzzle Reader]

I'm 70% towards adding Villain Protagonist to the tropes page. Because damn, Jericho is one bad pony; but he's so entertaining. I am however adding Axe Crazy and Hello Nurse.

[Puzzle Reader]

2874892 I caught the Weird Al reference!

[phlamingsoul]

all of my clothes would probably get dirty and filthy and be on fire.

Screw the Nether!

stabbed him thirty-seven times in the chest.

Llamas with Hats!

Hell’s bells

Dresden Files!

...I have helped with your addiction for comments. lol.

[PrinceLexmarkThePrinted]

2875757

When I say "too similar" I mainly refer to her being not so shocked at his violence (even the guards were slackjawed by his pants-on-head-crazy murderspree), her also charging in with reckless abandon to take him down (I mean seriously, he was about to shank her boss in the face and had just slaughtered a platoon's worth of guards) and him finding her sympathetic.

That last part, at least, was the vibe that came off from their first enconuter. And if Jericho likes you, chances are the narcisstic bastard sees something in you that is also in him.

[PrinceLexmarkThePrinted]

2874892

Well, at current projections, Jericho is going to be long. We're talking, many, many hundreds of thousands of words more. S'pose I'll see you in a year or so, then? Probably even longer.

Goddamnit, we are talking Fallout: Equestria levels of epic, aren't we?

Well, there goes an entire week of my life rereading this when it is finished.

[Disguised]

I see you read friendship is dragons, or at least the comments on them. Was it Raxon who posted the little girl story?

[ZephyrStrife]

...Can't... stop... laughing...

[Victisaadi]

Either this was the funniest chapter yet, or sleep deprivation is causing me some good ol' fashioned brain damage.

Probably both. Though I'm stuck wondering... This is the bit where the good duke is clearly made out to be 'the good guy', with Jericho as the crazy evil-doer, but how long until there's the SUDDEN TWIST the duke IS actually evil? And will there be YET ANOTHER TWIST involving relatively pointless concepts such as 'good' and 'evil' when all that matters is how many times some random will get butchered for simply doing their job, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I mean, what did that guy in the barracks who took a pick in the eye ever do!? I can't imagine there are enough slaughtered puppies for EVERY victim to have apparently killed....

[SliQster]

5/5 as always

[Urversher]

2875386 i know wat your saying but i always felt that hes just on the right side doing bad to save the good in any way possible a little twisted in the head but one the side of good i just dont feel hes actions at all add up to possibly saving a few people when hes not ever one hundred percent sure that it wont sort its self out anyway i think u should torture him horribly so i can laugh at him have fun m8

[blazikenking]

I swear there were two Albuquerque references, but I probably just got the Screw the Nether one mixed up in there.

Speaking of the awesome Weird Al, I am going to be at a concert of his soon. With my girlfriend. Jericho isn't that lucky! At least I don't think he is. I'm not sure if there's a Weird Al equivalent in this Equestria.Deadpool Game reference in next chapter please?

[Goggari]

“The Spielmeister drew us a picture of the girl. And all I could do was exclaim, ‘Oh God, she’s adorable! Can we take her?’ The Spielmeister just looked at me and goes, ‘No, she’s magically bound to all these items; you can only take the items if you kill her. That’s kinda the whole point here.’ ‘Well, that’s easy,’ I say. ‘I destroy the items and take the girl.’”

Now I'm not an expert with /tg/ but I've defiantly heard of Noh, and this part seems a bit too much like that to be an incident. Did i just spot another reference?
Here's the wiki page for her if you're wondering who i'm talking about

That’s like saying a stallion dressed as a giant purple cock trying to lead a startled cow around the Discothek might turn a few heads at a paint-drying-appreciation party!

Zero punctuation/Yahtzee reference?

Whatever the case(s) may be, you've done an amazing job of delaying my sleep until 4 am! Congratulations! (thank god i'm on a vacation) Great job on the chapter, I've been laughing my ass off once again. Maybe do a bit shorter chapters in the future, otherwise some people like me won't get good chances to read them.
P.S You must have a mustache for this amazing treat

[Scarves]

2874892 I accept thy blessing and *Smack! promptly falls asleep from reading all night*

[Lunarshadow87]

WoW that was great! i for one loved the pinkie song. he seems to be going even more mad though

[SIGAWESOME]

a hole only disappointments come into and only disappointments come from.

F*** me that is harsh

“Well, I try to play against stereotypes, which is why, as a male, I must know how to cook really well.”

S.O. (Significant Other) said something similar along those lines as well...

Colt Steelcrafts shortsword

Faust made all ponies, but Herr Colt made them equal...

I’m happy with a baton.

Why not split the difference and get a Macuahuitl from the museum instead? Nothing like a weighted club lined with obsidian scalpels for "aggressively proactive self-defence".

My guess? Some sort of mystical artifact that was generating enervation, which actually made a lot of sense. Maybe a meteorite.

How about "Flim/Flam and Trixie's disastrous attempt to partner together and create the ultimate floor wax/industrial lubricant/dessert topping/mouse trap/ballotechnic explosive"? (Just to mess with the "OMG! Prjoect Horizons references" crowd...)

“L-like how you have no tail?” she asked, and I nodded. “How is that even possible?”

I smirked. “With some fire, some blades, and a lot of time unable to sit down. It’s standard practice whenever one joins either law enforcement or the military. Both mutilations are warrior traditions of a sort, if you want to think of it like that.”

Yeeowch!
They never considered simply docking their tails over straight up amputation? (I guess they do not have to worry much about biting insects in Teutschland since the demons and Many-Angled Ones incinerated them all).

and then stab your parents with fruit.

Do you like, mmmm, bananas?

I looked down the little hallway at the staircase leading up to the second story (as if it’d actually lead anywhere else).

Some people dream of doing just that...

I nodded. “Yeah. I managed to convince the rest of the group to destroy the super powerful items and instead take the girl and have her travel around with us as some sort of mascot or surrogate daughter. I even got to name her Sara. After that, my group of five equicidal adventurers took time away from saving the world and looking for loot to take her to school and do fatherly stuff for her.”

That is certainly one way to derail the GM's (SM's?) campaign plans...

And because fire solved everything. Everything.

Fire is like violence - if it does not immediately solve your problems, you are not using enough of it.

[ChaosSapphire]

Jericho, YOU INSANE MOTHER BUCKING BOSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[MessoriaAQ]

Geee, that was a long night. Seriously, I read the first pages and couldn't. possibly. stop. Let's see what we had in this one:
1) Black humour. Check
2) Mutilating Cards. Double Check
3) Senseless Violence and completely unnecessary details as well as an elevator. Check
4) Star Trek reference (Just to name a reference too, probably was the most obvious).
5) Chainsaw Axe massacre à la Day-Z. Me gusta!

Seriously I couldn't breath during that elevator scene. Poor Sugar Cane. First a bad date (as if Jericho could handle a date of normal standards), and then she gets trappen inside an elevator. Live's a bich t'thee, dear comic writer. I bet her next story's antagonist is a guy like Jericho who gets beaten up by Mare-do-Well?

“What is with you Equestrians and your weird names? I mean, back in the Reich, we have names like Hans, Jan, Aloysius, Aloisia, Maria, Astrid—all of which are pretty much better in every way than most any Equestrian name I’ve heard so far.”

Wee, how I love the name Astrid.

2876609
Why do I think that our dear Author's planning Jericho to be the evil guy who just thought he'd be the good guy? Just to say "Fuck you, he always was the bad guy!" of course.

2878361
[...]Do you like, mmmm, bananas? [...]
Don't make me think about how Celestia might be if written by Crushric. Gott! Don't give him ideas...

2875199
Soundtrack/Themesong for Jericho? Definitely something like Eisbrecher - Verrückt. At least in my meaphorical book. Let's all make a collection of them!

[Scarves]

Weird Al references?
Screw the nether?
Dresden Files?
Llamas with hats?
This guys has seen them all! And has now become the most awesome writer this side of the nuclear holocaust! Actually, looking back on this story, shouldn't it be mature? I've read mature gore fics with less gore than this! So this is getting a little heavy. Not that any of mind right?
Crazy axe murders ahoy!

2875854 I did! I understood that reference.
(And if you get that one, you win a thousand internet ponies!)

[Jojo Salatcia]

I smiled. “I’m a Teutscher, miss, our names don’t mean anything. Well, sometimes our last names do.”

Pulp Fiction!

[Puzzle Reader]

2879937 ...wait, there was a Dresden Files reference? I caught the llamas one, but not the Dresden; and I feel really bad about that because I freaking love that series.

[will-i-am]

yes this is great I have to say me gusta with a

[SIGAWESOME]

Comment redux:

“Hello, sweetness,” I crooned, pulling out the sturdy red fire axe. How could anypony have missed this? Ooh, and the weight was all nice and good for swinging and capable of breaking someone’s skull in half with a good blow to the face!

Now I've got an axe! Ho ho ho!

Jericho goes on a killing rampage...

All I could think of was this.

Of course, I jumped with fright and stabbed him thirty-seven times in the chest.

FIRST BLOOD!

He screamed like a little girl as he threw himself from me, letting me get back on all fours proper.

HUMILIATION!

“Well, then have I deal for you!” And I slammed the axe right in her face with enough force to knock her head into the ground.

HEAD SHOT!

Batter up!” I laughed, bringing the axe down on his neck.
...
I threw my body at her, slamming the axe again and again into her face until she was just a twitching body on the floor without a face at all.

DOUBLE KILL!

In fact, as I swung the axe and ended someone’s life..

MULTIKILL!

The axe found its way into somepony’s withers...

KILLING SPREE!

My axe, though, lauded their idiocy, and I cheered them on with a song as I hacked and slashed.

RAMPAGE!

I took the liberty of pulling out the Molotowbombe, lighting up the wick, and throwing it into the room proper. Ignition. Fire. Screams. Laughter from me.

MONSTER KILL!

The entire fiasco was me shambling along, leaving a trail of blood, haphazardly swinging the axe at anypony who got near me. The blood-soaked weapon maimed well, their batons didn’t really faze me, what with the horrendous pain of already being impaled drowning their blows out.

UNSTOPPABLE!

(Ok ok I will stop...)

At this point I have got to wonder what Jericho thinks he is doing. For a hero claiming to want to save ponies, he sure has racked up an impressive body count. I know that "only the dead can know peace from this evil" and all that, but subscribing to a Caedite eos, novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius philosophy is not going to win you any allies or get you on anybody's Christmas card list.

[Midnight Rambler]

Awesome new chapter and HOLY FUCK TWENTY SEVEN THOUSAND WORDS AAAAH

...Ahem. Some thoughts:

To the Kapitän’s left was a pegasus stallion clad in a black uniform, a sword in his mouth. He was Chancellor de Gaulle, legendary elected leader of Teutschlands, and King Viktor’s right hand.

Charles de Gaulle would be rolling over in his grave if he knew you've cast him as a German (or, well, German-equivalent) leader.

“Em-ahy-five?” I asked, a blank look on my face. “No, I work—or worked—for the Bundeskriminalamt. It basically means... er... the Federal Bureau for—” I hesitated “—for Investigating. Well, that translation might better work if it were originally Bundesamt für Ermittlung, but close enough for what I need.”

Wait. This confuses me. If Jericho refers to his homeland as the Reich, then why is this agency called the Bundeskriminalamt? Real-life Germany has been a Reich (with a Reichskanzler, a Reichstag, a Reichsbahn, a Reichswehr and a Reichsbank) and a Bund (with a Bundeskanzler, a Bundestag, a Bundesbahn and a Bundesbank) but never both at the same time. So wouldn't "Reichskriminalamt" be a more logical name? Or does Teutschland's government have strongly federal traits, explaining the "Bundes-" prefix?

“That was rhetorical, you weren’t supposed to try to answer it!” I snapped. “Because life’s a bitch, and then you die! But do you want that death to be here and now?”

LIFE'S A BITCH, THEN YOU DIE, BLACK HELL! HELL'S DITCH, NAKED HOWLING FREEDOM!

[FlimPhilosophication]

*reenactment of me while reading* Oh god.....my...my damn lungs...i cant breath man......the Black humor is just great.

Also; Yes Im going to point out that you made a ref to Al every time i see one. Just remember;
t.qkme.me/3tiho1.jpg

[Crushric]

2875827
Tropes! Tropes! Gotta catch 'em all! Will have 'em all!

2876185
Yes, yes. Probably even longer. Act One — That Government Boy is going to at least be around 200,000 words long.

2875967 2875854 2876848 2879937 2880856 2877274
All the allusions!

2878361 2882909
Blackout was kind of a horrible mom.
PH reference? Well, when I wrote that, my editor pointed that out, but I have no idea how it's a PH reference. I should finish that story, since I seem to accidentally refer to it a lot...
It's a warrior thing, the mutilations. Plus, with the invention of :gasp: showers and and bathing, insects oughtn't be such a problem.
As for all the murdering, sometimes killing people is just easier than tying them all up in the closet. It's also me making fun of video game logic. Because Jericho is secretly a western RPG á la Bethesda stuff, since that's funny to me.

2879346 2882114 2878196 2876358
Insane? Possibly. But, really now, if he was perfectly normal, this story would be boring, and serious, and have angst—and too many stories are serious and angsty, so I wanted something different. This is the result.

2886824
And to think, every single time I write, I'm positive that I've not been funny. I'm my own worst critic.

2885471
As noted somewhat before, Teutschland has two federal states that are French-esque, with Jericho actually coming from one of them. In the Reich, any French, German, and Slavic (the big three) name is common enough, with Spanish, Roman, Italian, Greek, Oriental names also okay and won't raise any eyebrows. De Gaulle here is simply a Teutscher with a French background (there's a long in-universe reason for this). Ask the Ordo Domus Sanctæ Laurentiæ Theutonicorum Iericuntinorum.

MessoriaAQ brought this topic up to me, too. See, despite it being the Reich, it's actually a Federal Constitutional Republic, despite technically being a hereditary military [benevolent] dictatorship under its King. The democratic aspects are fully-functioning and have a lot of actual power, and since it was the federal government what established the BKA, the then-König was all for it being "Bundes-" and not "Reichs-".
MessoriaAQ seemed to be okay with that... though I might retcon it to Reichskriminalamt if it really makes no sense. See, if I use "Bundes-", I can give a vague translation that would let English-speakers instantly understand what it was (inspired more by the American FBI than the German BKA). Given its context, I wouldn't really know how best to translate "Reichs-" here, since TL disdains the notion of royal titles. The official ship prefix for the Reich is S.E.S (Seiner Erhabenheit Schiff), not S.M.S, for a reason, after all
Herr Messer, any thoughts?

Screw it. I retconned it into Reichskriminalamt.

2879639
The fire of friendship lives in our hearts
As long as it burns we cannot drift apart
Though quarrels arise, their numbers are few
Laughter and singing will see us through (will see us through)

Muhahahaha!

[Scarves]

2888680 Oh! You are a fiendish one! Have at thee!
*Punches screen* Why is this not hurting you?!

[MessoriaAQ]

2888680
Ich geb' Euch gleich ein Messer, Ihr Frechling!
I simply thought that if you really wanted it to be this way — and the King's say is basically absolute, and wanted it to be this way too — then it could basically be that the King simply decreed that he wants it to sound democratic.

In my opinion though, it should be Reichskriminalamt, simply because no institution which is effectively an official establishment of a Reich would be called Bundes-[insert something], unless the King (anti-democratic, regardless what thou sayst) decrees otherwise.

Jericho and his sidekicks:
Die Mauern wir erklettern,
Die Türme wir zerschmettern
Und in die Stadt hinein.
Wer uns den Lauf will hemmen,
Sich uns entgegenstemmen
Der soll des Teufels sein.

[Lazy Buttons]

2898832

This was one of the weakest and most pathetic attempts to try and make it look like you aren't directly using another writer's intellectual property. Project Horizons started as far as early 2011, and you have passages that are directly copied from there with only barest hints of repurposing or alteration.

Jericho:

“Sorry! But! Do! Not! Fight! The! Nice! Ponies!” she yelled, bringing down a baton with every word.

PH:

Then I grabbed him in my bloody hooves and twisted, sitting atop the stairs and pulling him across my lap as my magic flung the weapon from his startled grasp. He wailed as I pinned his head with one hoof and then spanked his ass as hard as I could, grunting with each smack, “Do! Not! Shoot! The! Nice! Security! Pony!”

Amazing, the same manner of speaking. What a funny coincidence.

PH:

All security unicorns were supposed to know a selection of spells for policing the stable. Me… I had telekinesis… and telekinesis… and oh! Did I mention telekinesis? I couldn’t cuff or stun or do interrogation spells to save my life; all the practice I’d put in merely gave me a migraine.

Jericho:

“Do you know any magic?” [...]

“Telekinesis,” Cards said.

I put a hoof to my jaw. “Anything else?”

“Levitation.”

“Aren’t those the same thing?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

“And oh! Did I mention telekinesis?” She glared at me.

So, she looks exactly like Blackjack -and- has the same magic potential? Fascinating. Of course, just a coincidence.
Continuing on.

Jericho:

“All too often we don’t get what we want. All too often we don’t get to sit around and have pity parties for our mistakes. All too often we just have to keep going because, otherwise, we might as well just die.”

She sniffled. “Without Glasses, that’s what...”

With a forceful motion, I grabbed her chin and shoved my face into hers. I could smell the fresh mint on her breath as her pupils dilated. “What? Were you about to say that you wanted to die without him? Is that what you really want, Cards?” I scoffed. “If I’d known you’d be this pathetic and weak...”

Tears in her eyes closed, she shouted, “But Glasses is dead! You killed him—and I killed him because of my stupid idea!”

“Yeah,” I said, utterly calm in tone, “you did, you stupid girl. I told you to be honest, and you talked him into doing what he did, forcing my hoof. But he’s dead, Cards, and unless you wallowing in pity or dying would somehow right some great cosmic wrong and bring him back to life, then you’re doing nothing but indulging in your own selfish wishes.”

PH:

“I don’t want to be taken care of,” I muttered softly.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” P-21 walked in front of me, his sure blue eyes bearing down into mine. “Sometimes we don’t get what we want,” he said as he nudged me towards a single story house beside the road. “Sometimes we don’t get to sit around and have pity parties for our mistakes. Sometimes we just have to keep going because, otherwise, we might as well just die.”

“That’s what…” I started to say.

He hit me hard enough to knock me on my side. I stared up into the sky and felt my guts churn and my pupils contract. “I’m sorry. Were you about to say you wanted to die? Is that it?” he said as he glared down at me. “If you were this weak, you should have just given yourself to Deus and been done with it.”

“I killed Scoodle!” I yelled up at him. It felt like a confession.

“Yeah! You did, you fucking idiot!” he screamed back down at me. “Didn’t I tell you to listen to her? Didn’t you say to me that I know what’s right when it comes to this sort of thing? But she’s dead, Blackjack, and unless you wallowing in pity or dying will somehow magically bring her back to life then this is accomplishing nothing except indulging in your own selfish wishes!”

And this is where it stops being a reference, or homage, or allusion, and steps into plagiarism territiory. It's no longer an homage, it's taking Somber's text, repurposing it and pawning it off as your own. For shame.

You are literally taking another person's work and keep making excuses how it isn't stolen.

Next up?

Jericho:

With an agonizing slowness Cards opened her eyes, staring into mine. “I hate you,” she whispered softly, and I didn’t doubt her. “But Glasses... oh Celestia, I’m so, so sorry.”

Letting go of her chin, I grunted. “Then prove it, girl.”

“How?”

“By living, Cards, and by learning never to screw up like that ever again. Learn to think, learn from this. Trust me, girl, you’re not the first pony in history whose screw up cost the life of somepony, somebody, that didn’t deserve it. And by no means will you be the last.”

She gritted her teeth. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you ever make a mistake that... that...”

A pregnant pause.

“More than you could imagine,” I said, looking her in the eye. “And do you know what? When I drew my sword, I made one today, just like you. The difference between you and I—and the reason I can sleep at night—is because I know how to move on.”

“How?” she whimpered.

“You keep fighting, you do every little thing your mortal body can do to make up for it, knowing full well that you can never forget what you did, that some ounce of guilt will always be there. You keep going, knowing that it will never be enough. You spend every second trying to make it right, knowing you never can. You devote yourself to trying to make life better for the rest of the world.” I took a breath.

PH:
1)

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered softly.

“Then prove it, Blackjack. Live and don’t ever fuck up like that again. Learn from this, because if you ever kill another pony through stupidity then I will fucking end you.” He shoved his head under my shoulders and turned me over so I no longer stared into that terrible void above… only now I had an equally vast void within and I couldn’t look away from it
[...]
2)]Finally, I asked softly, “So how do I move on, Watcher?”

“You do everything you can to make up for it, knowing that you’ll never succeed in getting rid of the guilt. You devote yourself to spending every second trying to do better despite the fact that it will never be enough. And you pray with every single good act you do that somehow when your life is over that your lifetime will come close to making up for the wrong you committed.” Watcher spoke so clear and true that I couldn’t stop smiling and crying at the same time.

The fact that said motivational talks differ in purpose doesn't really mean anything, aside from the fact that you are basically stealing another person's work and using it the wrong way. I mean, you can't even plagiarize stuff right. How lame is that?

Jericho, the very start of Ch. 5:

The mare slid her key into the door, heaving a sigh as she opened it up. She turned her head, bringing her sad, empty eyes to bear. Cards: Contents under high pressure. Highly volatile. Reacts poorly to me murdering her friends.

PH:

I didn’t deserve a good word. I deserved a good warning. Blackjack: contents under pressure. Highly volatile. Reacts poorly to bullets.

Keep pretending you have never read the story. I believe you.

Jericho is closer a character to Blackjack than Cards is.

Oh I wasn't saying these characters act or think like Blackjack. I mean, netiher Cards nor Jericho -are- characters in the first place really, they have all the personality of a bowl of tofu and zero motivation and absolutely no character growth whatsoever.
Which makes your clumsy attempts to use another writer's story even funnier.

[TheLordSiffer]

2899863 So basically speaking you're just saying that you don't believe the author. Well, that's real nice of you.

Amazing, the same manner of speaking. What a funny coincidence.

'Tis, isn't it? Upon further inquiry, I learned that it was a joke relating to TheSpoonyBard's brother, who happens to be a police officer. You'll notice that in Jericho Crushric prefers a type of humor that makes light of otherwise rather grim realities, and in this, Cards is oft times referred to behind the stage as 'Police Brutality Cop', a walking police brutality joke. I don't find it surprising that she, therefore, would be beating down a person while proclaiming her own righteousness in their altercation, even if the wording is very similiar.

So, she looks exactly like Blackjack -and- has the same magic potential? Fascinating. Of course, just a coincidence.

Sigh.. Well, Crushric pretty much explained the evolution of Cards as a character already, so I'll adress the 'magic potential' remark. You are undoubtfully correct. Both Blackjack and Cards have low magical potential, this being due to their template as 'failures'. Let it also be known from me that I believe that Somber created BJ as having only Telekinesis to make her more accessible to the reader. Cards was first and foremost a self-perceived failure, no doubt stemming from her multitudes of shortcomings, magic being one. I would, however, object massively were you to suggest that Cards and BJ were one and the same, seeing as not only do they have a fundamental difference in identity due to their social milieu, but Blackjack is also a massively developed character, as opposed to Cards. Yes, their templates are very alike. No, they are not the same goddamn person. Also, you didn't mention the horn size shout-out, and that annoys me, considering it was the most obvious, and the most intended reference to PH on the fic's part.

The fact that said motivational talks differ in purpose doesn't really mean anything, aside from the fact that you are basically stealing another person's work and using it the wrong way.

Your honor, I dare object: The 'pep-talk' is basically speaking a story-telling method intended to railroad the Hero onto the trails of altruism by saddling them with an inabsolvable sin, becoming the beginnings to their life of do-good'ing. It's true that they sound alike, but that doesn't really matter considering the main message is always just "Do good to move on". The recipient is pretty much the same case as well, young, incompetent and stupid, and it definitely serves its purpose, as it should, in giving her food for thought. The main difference really lies in the fact that here, the focus is not on the recipient, but upon the preacher. Watcher and P-21 earnestly try to impart their ideals upon BJ, try to make her accept life and try to atone, mayhaps, but most important is that they meant it. Jericho does not mean it. When Jericho spouts this, it's because he figures it's exactly the kinda idealistic bullshit a young, impressionable kid needs to not fall apart on him and start whining. While it served its purpose of getting Cards moving, it also served the purpose of high-lighting exactly that Jericho himself didn't believe one single bit in whatever he was saying. Ideals are a convenience for him, and that's really one of two reasons for that scene to exist.
Furthermore, I'll admit that I feel just a slight bit offended when you say "using it the wrong way." There are no doubt numerous way to misuse this narrative tool, but I can assure you that this is not one of those, I would, in fact, say that it's two-fold purpose serves to make it less shallow than in PH.

In other news, he's in the process of reading the story, and he has been for weeks. Trust me, he's a slow ass reader, and by the time chapter four, five and six was out, he still hadn't gotten much of anywhere in that fic.

[Lazy Buttons]

2900068

I don't see how what you wrote is at all relevant when there is literally copied text with only barest attempts to re-write it. The wording is the same, the idioms are the same. I mean sure, at least Jericho's author re-wrote some of the copied text, but anyone who can read and compare two passages of text can see that it's essentially rewritten, regurgitated Horizons text.

I don't care about the differences between characters and their motivations and origins, I never said they were identical in the first place.

I don't care about author's motives, or his excuses, or his lies. I do not believe it and I only see all those excuses as an attempt to take credit for another writer's work.

Which is, in essence, plagiarism. And that's bad.

So basically speaking you're just saying that you don't believe the author. Well, that's real nice of you.

I don't see why I should be nice to people who blatantly copy other writers and claim their work as their own.

I would, in fact, say that it's two-fold purpose serves to make it less shallow than in PH

I am not here to argue which story is better, and which one has better narrative. I honestly don't care. I am just here to point at the fact of blatant plagiarism.