Mare-Do-Well: Genesis

by PaddedCell

Chapter Five: Pain

EXTERIOR YARD, MANEHATTAN STEEL MILL
A FEW MOMENTS LATER

Hobbling out of the main doors of the steel mill with Applebloom, Mare-Do-Well spread her mechanical wings out, readying them and firing up the engines before a flight.
"Can you fly? Your leg.." Applebloom asked hurriedly, her eyes darting around the dimly-lit mill yard. Mare-Do-Well nodded, grunting a little in pain as she stepped back to take a run-up before kicking off into the air. She turned to Applebloom.
"Get onto my back. Don't let go, no matter what happe-" There was a thunderous burst of gunfire, and a shining bullet sailed down from somewhere nearby. It smashed into Mare-Do-Well's already wounded leg, the bone within shattering audibly. She dropped down to the ground, wincing in pain. "Applebloom.." She managed to growl. "Find somewhere to hide, now!" Applebloom, giving Mare-Do-Well a pained look, dodged off behind a row of industrial-sized metal containers.

"Dead on target." A cold, emotionless voice rang out. A second later, a dark figure hopped down from atop a maintenance shed, stepping into the glowing, hazy light of the mill. The grey-coated, dark-eyed figure of the Professional was revealed to Mare-Do-Well at last, the long metallic shape of a heavy-duty sniper rifle fitted to a saddle swung over her back. Despite her usually stony faced expression, the assassin gave an almost warm smile.
"You're pretty good at holding up under painful conditions, aren't you?" She spoke softly. Juxtaposed with this apparently kind interaction, she slammed a hoof down on the broken leg of Mare-Do-Well. The broken bone made a horrifying crunching sound, mixed with a hoarse gasp of pain from the fallen hero. "Sometimes when I hit a bone right through the centre.." The Professional said, leaning down to speak in Mare-Do-Well's ear monotonely, "The structure of it collapses. It's quite fascinating to see how a bone can implode at its core under one localised application of pressure." She smiled grimly. "Don't worry though. From the sound it just made, I'd say your foreleg's bone structure is still pretty much intact. I must have missed a little. If it makes you feel any better, you might like to know that ,if you survived this meeting, it'd heal." Mare-Do-Well turned her face up to look at her attacker with her glowing blue eyes. The Professional's face was distrubingly expressionless, showing neither concern for her victim, or remorse for her actions.
"Are.. Are you the assassin who shot at me before? Back at-"
"Back at Octavia's house, yes. You proved exceptional at dodging my shot." The Professional smiled. "Well done. You did better than countless others." Mare-Do-Well coughed violently.
"So you're the Professional?" She grunted out, voice cracking. The assassin nodded.
"The Professional. The job done right, for the right price. I'd say I've taken down around a hundred ponies or more in my career." She gave an uncharacteristic, cackling laugh. "And I'm only young compared to some killers. Heck, I've been killing since I was only a filly." Her last few words lost all intonation, sounding dead and empty. Mare-Do-Well saw a definite madness in her attacker's eyes. The dark-rimmed, wide and staring eyes were discordantly lifeless.
"And how are you going to kill me?" Mare-Do-Well spat out coldly.
"I was thinking.." The Professional drew a shining, clean knife from her saddlebag. She held the blade up in a hoof, smiling. "A quick inscision to the jugular vein. Bleed you out.. Sound good to you?" She asked, seemingly with genuine curiosity. Mare-Do-Well shook her head.
"Want to know how I'd like you to kill me?" The Professional nodded gently.
"With great difficulty." Mare-Do-Well spoke monotonely. She quickly raised her hoof up, aiming the hoof-cannon at the Professional. She fired a grappling claw directly at her face, the sharp metallic instrument slamming into her eye. The maniac screeched, falling backward. Mare-Do-Well took the opportunity to load another claw device into the cannon, firing it at the nearest platform; a metal catwalk, suspended over the yard on a tall framework. She landed with a painful thud and began to stagger along the walkway, which passed over a number of open chimneys. Dark smoke belched from the brick funnels, drifting around in the hazy orange light of the steel mill yard. Mare-Do-Well leaned against the metal railing of the catwalk, catching her breath.

"Nice.. Move." The voice of the Professional called out coldly, as she emerged from the smoky air. Her eye was jammed half-shut, the metal spike protruding from the socket, blood trickling down her face. "But we both know it won't save you. I can kill you.. With one eye." She smirked. The sniper rifle on her saddle clicked, the clip reloading automatically with a custom-built mechanism. Mare-Do-Well made a split-second descision. She leapt at the assassin, slamming her full weight into her, despite the pain in her foreleg. The catwalk railing behind the Professional crumpled and snapped away, and the cold,clinical assassin fell away with it. She fell quietly. There was no screaming in terror as she plummeted down into a smoking chimney, into the fiery depths of a furnace, or a melting-pot, or some other boiling hot death. Mare-Do-Well watched, realising that it was too late to save the falling killer. Applebloom emerged from the smoke on the catwalk, eyes wide. She had not seen the last of the fight, and was visibly confused.
"Mare-Do-Well? Where's-" Mare-Do-Well clambered to her hooves.
"Gone. Now.. As I said, hold on tight." Applebloom climbed onto Mare-Do-Well's back, and the caped hero swooped off into the night to return the young mare to Ponyville.

THE LAIR
THREE HOURS LATER

Scootaloo sat up on the infirmary bed, her shattered and bloodied leg now disinfected and fitted into a thin, tight-fitting metallic frame which still allowed her some movement, however restricted. With one last glance back at the extracted bullet laying in the bedside tin, the tray of high-tech instruments and the blood stained bed, she slowly trotted back along a corridor and out into the cavernous control room of the Lair once again.
"Computer.. I want every piece of evidence I've collected input into the database. Index it all, search for matches between articles of data, everything. I need to know Octavia's next move." The computer whirred quietly for a few moments before showing the word 'AFFERMATIVE' on screen and beginning the cross-referencing of all available evidence. Scootaloo trotted slowly back to the living quaters and, giving a silent nod to her beloved photograph of her and Rainbow Dash, carefully climbed into bed to rest up until morning.

PONYVILLE
MORNING, THE NEXT DAY

The bruised and battered figure of Scootaloo moved among the crowds of scattered citizens in the storm. Others rushed around, but she showed little reaction to the cold air and the pouring rain, moving onward toward Twilight's house. Pushing open the door, she stepped inside. Twilight was studying a huge, leather-bound journal on a desk. She smiled.
"Hello, Scootaloo! How are you doing?.. Oh my, what happened to your leg?!"
"Oh, that? Um.. Flying injury. Landed too fast on one leg, broke the bone. It hurt, but.. I'm fine." Twilight gave a concerned nod and continued onward.
"So.. Were you here for something specific, or were you just visiting?" She smiled.
"I'm here for another favour." Scootaloo spoke softly. Twilight nodded. "Do you have any recent info on Octavia.. That musician? I heard she went missing, and I was curious." Twilight pressed a hoof to her chin, then trotted over to a bookshelf stuffed with books and papers, shuffling through them Scootaloo followed, watching.
"How's that biography on Mare-Do-Well coming along?" Twilight asked, pulling a few scrolls of scribbled notes off the shelves, piling them into a box nearby.
"It's, uh.. Going well." Scootaloo grinned awkwardly, kicking at the floor with a hoof.
"Here." Twilight said, floating a recently-produced estate agents' record book over and flipping it open. "Apparently Octavia has ownership of three estates.. Her home here in Ponyville, and two in Manehattan, both apartments.. Here, take it if you'd like." Scootaloo gratefully took the book, thanking Twilight before leaving hastily to avoid any awkward questions, retreating to the Lair.

NINE HOURS LATER, EARLY EVENING

Mare-Do-Well made her way back through the darkening streets on patrol, the storm worsening above. Ponyville's residents had all retreated inside their warm houses, and so the rain-battered streets were dim and empty. As she turned a corner, she was met with the sight of a group of shady-looking ponies in armoured overcoats, military berets and scarves hiding their muzzles. The leader of the group, a gruff-looking unicorn, stepped forward.
"Mare-Do-Well." He spoke in a husky voice. Mare-Do-Well took up a defensive stance, but remained calm and on-guard. She nodded silently. "I have a message for you." He stepped forward and floated a folded note out to Mare-Do-Well silently. She took it in her hoof, watching the armed guard retreat down an alley while unfurling it. She decided she would let them go.. There would be time enough to get them later. The hero now looked down at the letter which she had been given, written in a beautiful, flowing script.

'Mare-Do-Well, my dear rival,
You've done exceptionally well so far, and the Overture was a success thanks to your participation in my plans. For this, I thank you. But now is the time to give up, to return to obscurity and folklore. My final piece is coming to its end. However, if you wish to make a difference to my plans, you must act quickly.

Tonight, the Crescendo begins. I have two hostages hidden in Manehattan, both counting on you to rescue them. You cannot rescue both, and so one must die. Which will you save? I will reveal that one hostage is Vinyl Scratch, the famous DJ. The other is Sweetie Belle, a young mare gifted with a talent for singing.. Both hostages are musically inclined, and so they shall make a fitting pair to take part in my plan.

You will have until dawn to rescue the pony of your choice. I wish you luck, for you will most certainly need it. Let the Crescendo begin.'