• Published 22nd Apr 2013
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Severed Roots - Bad_Seed_72



Third installment in the "Tangled Roots" timeline. When our heroes of the West and our villains in the East clash at last, who will be left standing?

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Belly Of The Beast

Belly Of The Beast

Nomads, by colloquial definition, are only content when experiencing velocity. Stability and normalcy are alien to them. The drudgery of nine-to-five monotony is viewed as little more than voluntary slavery, exchanging freedom and adventure for the thinly-veiled notion of security. Thus, nomads characteristically experience elation when taking to their hooves, galloping against the wind.

Babs Seed and Apple Bloom were not nomads this night.

Together, they trudged through the seemingly endless ocean of sand and cacti, stopping occasionally to quench their thirst from one of the praying plants. Haste was forgotten, urgency cast aside. There was no anticipation of thrill and possibility in this journey.

Manehatten loomed, darker than the skies above. Drawing ever and ever closer with each hoof-step. Waiting. Biding. A hungry beast, licking its lips in want.

To the East they strode, silent mostly, while the elements began to rage against them. Nary a weather-pegasi could be found out here in the lawless, the disconnected, the relentless wasteland.

Babs cast a disapproving glare to the heavens and scoffed. "Dark clouds? What, are we gonna get caught up in some freak snowstorm o' summat?"

Apple Bloom flared her nostrils and groaned. "Ah hope not. We've still got 'bout three hours ta go 'fore we'll reach the Appleloosian city limit."

Great. Her shoulder aching with each step, Babs spat on the sand and growled under her breath, "Hope we don't run inta dat damn Buffalo..."

Glancing at her mare, Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes. "An' why do ya say that?"

"'Cuz!" Babs stopped in tracks, staring back at her partner. "Iffa she would've jus' been mo' specific wit' her lil' 'cold fire' deal, none o' dis shit woulda happened! Youze know dat iffa I—"

"Ya heard her back there!" Gesturing with a forehoof, Apple Bloom shot back, "She didn't know what it meant, Babs! No mo' than we did! This ain't her fault, an' it's not yers, eit—"

Babs immediately began stomping towards the East again. "I'm not gonna argue wit' youze right now," she said flatly, dismissing any possibility of discussion. Dammit, Bloom, iffa youze were gonna be like dis, youze jus' coulda stayed... o' went home...

... I even offered dat ta youze last night, an' still youze say no. Youze wanna go in dis hell... dis hell o' mine. Hell o' ma own creation.

Babs Seed flattened her ears against the growing wind, steps deliberate and slow. After a few, she paused, watching from the corner of her eye. A silent commander, she waited for her mare, impatient and wordless.

With a sigh and an adjustment of her saddlebags, Apple Bloom followed behind her, looking up towards the empty skies. Blackened thunderclouds began to corral themselves in a taut circle. The atmosphere was tense with the possibility of thunder and lightning, rage and retribution.

Her own heart a tempest of its own, Apple Bloom swallowed her anger, and trudged on.

~

Nightfall cast a blackened curtain over Manehatten's grinning muzzle, tucking in her angels for the night. Her demons—myriad, ruthless, winking and chuckling—emerged from the shadows, choosing to congregate at the far north end of town, beyond the edifice of the Master's mansion and his watchful gaze.

Surrounding the still waters of Manehatten Lake, a gathering of Manehatten Kings waited on spry hooves. About thirty in number, they represented a mere fifth of King Crazy's forces. Mainly Earth pony stallions *though a few of other gender and race made token appearances), they passed their anxious time restlessly, challenging each other to hoof-wrestling matches or sparring in the grass.

The order had been disseminated quickly, passed from the epicenter of the ghetto to the reaches beyond. The highest-ranking (and most-respected) Kings had been called to this midnight meeting near the lake, when the city slept and the police force planted most of its officers to the poorer areas. While the ghetto was rife with meddling blue, Manehatten Hill and its accompanying lake proved to be a prime location for the meeting.

Throughout the crowd, a small group of armed, disguised hench-stallions kept watch for the arrival of their leader. King Crazy had provided no reason for this meetingm only ordering it be swift and expedient. His hooves had barely touched Manehatten soil a week ago. During that time, he'd kept himself locked up in his hideout, smoking and drinking through the remnants of his stashes. His guards heard him rant and rave then, smashing various sculptures and other trinkets in his luxurious room, but were forbidden to enter.

One guard who'd been foalish enough to disregard this request regretted it now, squinting through two swollen eyes as he made his patrols around the perimeter of the lake.

Among the Kings, hushed whispers were exchanged. "What do youze think dis is 'bout?" said one short, squat Earth pony stallion to his lanky pegasus friend. He nudged his associate in the ribs. "Maybe we gonna be goin' afta dem buckin' Mafia once an' fo' all, eh?"

The pegasus rolled his eyes and shook his muzzle. "Who knows what King Crazy wants. He ain't no easy pone ta crack. Dat's why we call him dat, idiot."

Another King joined the conversation. He cackled and rubbed his muzzle. "Ha! Youze tell him, Couch Potato! Nopony knows what's floatin' 'round in dat empty head o' his!"

Couch Potato smacked his newest companion in the shoulder and grunted, "Hush! He could be heeya any moment, an' youze know he don't take too kindly ta anypony talkin' 'bout him dat way!"

Before the third King could offer up a gem of wisdom in response, one of the armed guards hissed through the star-kissed night, "He's heeya! Everypony stand ta attention!"

From the edge of the park and towards the lake stomped Card Slinger, tuxedoed and somber, his suit obscuring his cutiemark and his sleeves concealing fresh scars near his front fetlocks. His troops obeyed immediately, leaving taunts unanswered, wrestling matches to draw, and cutting remarks to hang.

The tie around his neck threatening to strangle him, Card Slinger made his way to the front of his pack, a King in many ways but feeling lower than the grass beneath his hooves.

~

No Buffalo crossed their reluctant paths. Or, at least, none made themselves known. Babs Seed and Apple Bloom made no haste but took no rest, stomping on in silence. A vast array of emotions swirled within them, although neither made the effort to converse much.

It was evident, Apple Bloom knew, that her mare was as stubborn as her own sister—and just as blunt. Nothing would change her mind. Not even Auntie Citrus, whose cutiemark was a literal testament to her reason, could persuade the stubborn mare.

Reason failing, Apple Bloom desperately contemplated appealing to emotion. But what could she possibly say to convince Babs Seed of her delusion? Surely, the attacks couldn't have been made just to target one pony. If that had been the case, why had the laughing assailant shot at her mare in the shoulder, of all places? Surely, couldn't he have...

No. Apple Bloom gulped and buried that thought in the ashes of the bar they'd left behind. No. Her hero was safe—scarred, but not broken. She would be alright. They would be alright. Just see the detective and go.

Go where? she wondered. The answer: anywhere. Anywhere but there, but that awful, awful place, a place no foal should have known. A place meant for monsters, not ponies.

"Bloom?" Babs's low, gruff voice wrestled Apple Bloom from her thoughts.

"Huh?" Apple Bloom blinked and crashed back down to Equestria. A quick glance at the descent of the moon and the slowly-growing light beneath the ugly skies announced that it was near dawn. The thunderheads had failed to fulfill their promises. Their descent towards the East had been uneventful, weather-wise. Here, however, they seemed ever-present, omnipresent, almost if they were watching—

"Bloom! 'Ey!" Babs placed a forehoof on her shoulder and cocked her head sideways. "Youze in there?"

"S-sorry," Apple Bloom muttered. She tore her eyes from above and glanced straight ahead. A thick grove of apple trees and a leering cliff confirmed their journey by hoof was almost over. "We're already in Appleloosa?"

Babs nodded and removed her forehoof, her limbs aching. Been lyin' in dat damn bed too long. Gonna be a bit ta get ma strength back, she realized, annoyed. "Yea, Bloom. Jus' a lil' furtha. First train should be comin' soon, so we won't have ta wait long." She snorted and stretched her hindhooves, leaning forward. "An' good riddance. Eight hours ta damn Manehatten."

Sitting down on her haunches, Apple Bloom removed her saddlebags and checked their supplies. "At least we'll have time ta nap. Let's make sure we have everythin' we need befo' we take off, though. Ah bet everythin's mo' expensive in the city."

"Everythin's worse in the city," Babs grumbled, stretching her forehooves next. She groaned as she stretched the right one, the fresh, scarred skin hesitant on complying. Dammit, when I get ma hooves on Slinga, I'm gonna—

"Food fer three days, extra water, maps, compasses, blankets... Babs, can Ah see yer bag?"

Passing her the saddlebag, Babs sprawled onto her stomach and laid against the cool sands. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she murmured, "Yea, sure. Heh... Let's hurry up, though, befo' I fall asleep..."

"Ah'll only take a second." Rifling through the bag, Apple Bloom felt relief wash over her. She'd remembered to pack both of their revolvers. In her haste, she'd feared she'd left them behind in the settlement. Though one was completely emptied of bullets, the presence of one defense comforted her slightly. She snapped the bag shut and chuckled at her mare. "Gonna take a nap, aren't ya?"

Muffled, Babs answered, "I'm not tired. Jus' feels nice... sand... cool..."

Apple Bloom gently prodded her partner in the ribs and assisted her to her hooves. After a quick, courageous breath, she said, "Look, sugarcube. Ah know yer not in the best o' moods, but—"

"I'm fine," snapped Babs Seed, wiping sand off her stomach. She turned to face her mare, frowning at the sorrow in her eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean ta snap at youze back there. O' heeya," she added, looking away.

"It's alright," Apple Bloom replied, nuzzling her neck. "Ah know it's nothin' 'tween us. Anyway, what Ah was gonna say was..."

Apple Bloom paused, looking at her forehooves. She sighed again. "Let's jus' get this over wit' fast as we can, an' then go home an' stay wit' Applejack fer a while. Then we can figure out what ta do."

"Sounds good ta me. We'll jus' use Manehatten post. Much fasta than these desert stragglers." Forcing a smile, Babs Seed grabbed her saddlebag and slung it over her back. "I was thinkin' we should get a message ta her soon as we can an' let her know not ta send any mo' deliveries'. Uh, might be a problem later on. Heh..."

Neither of them laughed.

Gathering her own saddlebags, Apple Bloom began to lead Babs Seed into the Appleloosian orchard and towards the climbing cliff. Her neck and cheek burned where her mare had failed to nuzzle her back. She cursed herself mentally, so foalish and stupid for missing romance in times such as these.

~

Almost forty pairs of soulless, black, empty pupils drilled holes into the void where his soul should've been. Standing atop a large stone near the edge of the lake, Card Slinger knew he should've felt powerful, commanding, haughty. His Kings looked up to him as the highest, the Most High on Earth. He was the leader of their organization, their enterprise. A father of sorts. And a brother.

Father. Brother.

Nopony dared to raise a hoof to crush a blade of grass. All waited with baited breath, laying unworthy eyes upon their dear leader. Not many—not even his highest-ranking thugs—were blessed to have seen King Crazy in the flesh more than once or twice. Even veteran Kings with years of gang warfare tucked in their manes had not been graced with such an honor in ages.

His mane wild and unkempt, his eyes bloodshot, and his tail frayed, Card Slinger was a wreck. His tuxedo, expensive and tailored to fit his form, custom made to order from a designer in Trottingham, served no purpose other than to conceal and distract. Inside his front sleeves, nights of guilt and sorrow testified in a series of slashing scars, and bruises spoke of his drunken stumbling and fits of rage.

His hideout was a mess, more than his own body. He was King Crazy in the truest sense of the title. Standing before a crowd of his loyal followers, his right hoof missing its stallion, Card Slinger felt nothing like a King. Like a Manehatten King.

Or a Knight, for that matter.

Finally, after terse, awkward silence, King Crazy found his voice, and let it boom and slice through fading Luna's night, racing the clock and the moon.

"Thank youze all fo' comin'. 'Specially on such short notice."

A simple greeting and statement was met with whoops and hollers of elation, Kings surging with pride at the sight of their general looming above them.

Card Slinger raised a forehoof, silencing them. His lips drew back in a snarl. "I'm not a pony youze should be so damn happy ta see," he said gruffly, leaning back against the wind as he stood. He stomped his raised forehoof down into the stone. "I'm afraid I bring ugly news fo' youze all."

His guards exchanged curious glances at each other, shrugging. Worse news? Word of Boone's death (and that of the others) had rocketed through the ghetto, and many were still in mourning. Boone was far more... charismatic than his King, and second only in hierarchy to the stallion before them. What could possibly be worse?

Slinger cleared his throat and stared them down. "As many o' youze probably know, ma right-hoof stallion, the second-in-command, an' ma best friend in dis bucked-up shithole o' a city died a week 'go, doin' deeds fo' the Masta."

At mention of the Masta, any lingering chatter or shifting hooves ceased. A black orange tattoo rested near the base of every tail. Many wallets and bit-jars overflowed to the brim as a result. And just as many—though none would admit—received brutality and riddles along with their monetary payment.

"Yes, dat's right," Slinger affirmed, his muscles tensing and flexing. "The Masta. The Masta sent us ta the wasteland, ta Appleloosa, an' fo' what? Fo' what? Ta die?" he challenged.

A wave of unease swept over his audience.

Card Slinger smiled, his molars sparkling in the tease of dawn. "Oh, yes, ma fools. Dat's what he did. An' youze know what? He is our—"

"Sir," interrupted one of his hench-stallions, rushing up to the stone, "perhaps dis is not the best time o' place—"

"Fo' what?!" Card Slinger lurched forward and met his guard's muzzle, snarling. "Youze gonna accuse me o' treason? Is dat what youze were gonna say?!"

Backing up, the guard fumbled, "No! No! O' course not, sir! It's jus'... dis is a public place, an'—"

Slinger snickered and drew back from his opponent, puffing out his chest. Standing tall, he shook his muzzle and scoffed. "Dem who have ears, let 'em hear. Let 'em hear what we have ta say heeya. What I have ta say."

"What do youze have ta say, ma King?" asked the unicorn stallion in the crowd, bowing low. "Why have youze called us heeya?"

"I have come ta issue an important command, as a result o' dis ugly news." Jumping from the stone, Card Slinger strode back and forth in front of his crowd, pacing. He tugged at the crimson tie completing his tuxedo, hesitating.

Gathering strength, he let his mind drift to memories of Boone. His only friend. His best friend. His best and only friend. His right-hoof stallion. Building the gang from the ground up. Seeking out the Master. Growing rich and powerful. Rich and powerful. Having all they wanted. All they needed. Waiting. Biding. Planning for revenge.

All gone in a haze of bullets.

Because of the stallion on the Hill, the recluse in his mansion on the Hill, the recluse who bribed the media, bribed the police, bribed the mail-ponies, bribed and bought and sold all and manufactured lies and swept his secrets under the dust and waged war and manipulated the economy and sent his warriors to die in an unforgiving tomb of sand and dust, an unforgiving tomb of sand and dust that swallowed Boone whole and embraced him in its sacrosanct depths, to sleep forever in the torrent of salt and fire, the salt and fire that awaited us all, that took his parents too, it was the desert, undoubtedly the same desert, and it was all because of him.

Because of Bernie Madhoof.

Taking a deep breath, Card Slinger ceased his pacing, turning his full attention to his crowd. "From dis point on, our rivalry wit' the Manehatten Mafia ends."

A collective gasp passed through the audience. They exchanged confused and bewildered glances, staring at their leader in disbelief. The Manehatten Mafia? The second-largest gang in the city? Their main rivals in the drug trade, black market weapon sales, bit-laundering, and all their other schemes? The same Manehatten Mafia that had slain many of their brothers?

Nopony dared to challenge King Crazy at first, seeing the fire blaze in his eyes.

Card Slinger cackled and threw his mane back to the blackened heavens. "Oh," he said, coming back down, "yes, youze heard me. No mo' fightin' wit' dem! No mo' encroachin' on dey turf. No mo' goin' afta dey little troops, o' dey big fish, jus' like youzeselves. No. It ends now."

"But," protested Couch Potato, leaning forward on shaking hooves, "why, boss? Dey... dey are our biggest enemies! Youze know what dey've done ta us—ta our families! We can't jus' let dat go, can we?!" A chorus of murmurs followed his statement in agreement.

Card Slinger laughed and stomped towards Couch Potato. "Fool!" he spat, retracting his lips in another snarl. His eyes raged with vengeful fire, focused, leering. "Youze really think the Mafia is youze problem? The Mafia is the reason dis city so damn unsafe an' poor? The Mafia is the reason youze had ta become a gang thug?!"

The enraged stallion drawing closer and closer, Couch Potato backed up on his hindhooves, the crowd parting around him. "N-n-no, b-boss! I-I neva s-said dat!"

Slinger pressed his snout to the weaker male's, exhaling a cloud of whiskey-breath upon him. "Youze idiot. Youze fool. Youze listen ta me—all o' youze!" he barked, looking up from his victim. He pointed an accusatory forehoof towards his troops. "Youze stay 'way from the damn Mafia, stay 'way from their territory!"

Another voice piped up from the sea of Manehatten Kings, "But, why, boss?"

Card Slinger trotted away from Couch Potato, dismissing the sweating stallion with a flick of his tail. "Youze'll see. Fo' now, leave dem be, iffa youze know what's good fo' youze." He nodded to his guards, who tightened the grip on the rifles in their hooves.

Luna yielding to her older and wiser sister above them, Card Slinger announced, "Dis meetin' is ova. Get outta heeya befo' somepony sees youze, an' don't forget what we talked 'bout ta-night."

~

The distance between the outskirts of Appleloosa and the train station seemed insurmountable. Babs Seed swayed in her hoof-steps, dizzy with fatigue. With Apple Bloom's assistance, she found a bench and fell back into it, removing her saddlebags and lying down on her back.

"Horseapples... Buck... Arrrghhh..." She squeezed her eyes shut, irritated by the rising sun. "Bloom, go get us tickets..."

"Ah'll go check the ticket booth. Ah think it's still open. If not, we'll get 'em from one o' the train guards. Jus' rest. Ah'll git yer bags, too," Apple Bloom said, swiping her mare's bags and placing them on her back. In any other year, she wouldn't worry about leaving them next to the barely-conscious mare.

The Appleloosa of her foalhood, however, was gone, and she feared it would never return.

Flipping over on her side, Babs murmured, "Mmm, 'kay," fighting for shut-eye. She'd barely managed to dig for the Sandmare behind her haze when the slow approach of hooves pried her eyes open.

Before her, Braeburn trotted up, the bandages on his shoulder absent as well. To his vest was pinned a shining silver star, perfectly polished in the growing light. A pair of saddlebags were slung over his back, and his revolver was holstered and secured to his unmarred shoulder.

The stallion smiled warmly and greeted his cousin, "Mornin', Babs! Ah figured you an' Bloom be headin' out ta-day."

Babs groaned and struggled to sit up. "Citrus an' Ma tell youze?"

"Sure did." He sat down in front of her. He looked towards the ticket booth and waved at Apple Bloom, who waved excitedly back, to the irritation of the booth attendant. "Wow," he said, looking back at Babs. "Y'all really are goin' there, ain't ya?"

Babs nodded weakly, slumping her back against the bench. What an awkward way ta sit. Why the hay do dey even make these things? "Eeyup. Gonna do what dat Triage bastard said an' talk ta some pansy detective. But," she said, leaning close and keeping her voice low, "'tween youze an' me, Braeburn, I think I'd be betta off jus' gettin' Slinga maself."

Braeburn shook his muzzle and clicked his tongue, glancing over his shoulder towards his Apple Bloom. She appeared oblivious to their conversation, digging in one of the saddlebags for some bits. "Now," he warned, lowering his voice accordingly, "Ah'm gonna pretend Ah jus' didn't hear ya say somethin' as stupid as that."

"Stupid? How in the hay is dat stupid?" Babs argued. "He's responsible fo' dis, Brae! I know he is!" She slapped a forehoof against the bench. "He's the reason fo' all dis, I know he is!"

"No need ta repeat yerself. An' yer wrong." Braeburn hopped up on the bench beside her, sitting on his haunches. He removed his Stetson and ran a forehoof around its brim. "Look..." He sighed. "Ah know what it's like ta feel guilty. Why, when ma Ma died, Ah..."

Braeburn swallowed his words, staring off into the distance.

Babs Seed placed a forehoof on his shoulder. "'Ey. I'm real sorry."

Braeburn had never discussed Aunt Barbara in front of her—never in front of any of them, for that matter. In his eyes, she detected a hint of a spark, a glistening tear buried deep, struggling to the surface.

Composing himself, Braeburn sighed and hung his head. "Ah know what it's like ta feel guilty. Ta think things are yer fault. But, it don't mean they are." He smiled weakly at his cousin, facing her. "But guilt's a powerful emotion, Babs. No matter how much Ah tell ya this ain't yer fault, yer not gonna believe me until ya believe it yerself."

Unsure of how to respond, she nodded again.

Braeburn lifted his saddlebags onto his lap and opened them. "Auntie made me promise Ah'd try an catch y'all befo' ya left an' give ya these."

"What?"

Pulling out two boxes of twenty bullets, Braeburn smirked. "Ya both still have yer guns, don't y'all?"

"Babs! Ah got the tickets." Apple Bloom joined them, a wide smile on her muzzle. At the sight of the ammunition, her grin twisted to a look of bewilderment. "Brae? What ya got there?"

"First, Ah need ta know if y'all got yer weapons," Braeburn said. He offered the boxes to Apple Bloom. "'Cuz if ya don't, these are plumb worthless."

"Ah, don't worry, we got 'em," Apple Bloom said, setting her saddlebags down. Accepting the gift, she expressed her gratitude with a quick hug around his neck before stashing the ammunition inside one of her bags.

Confused, Babs Seed turned to Apple Bloom, rising from the bench. "Youze kept dem?"

Casually, Apple Bloom answered, "Ah didn't see the reason in not."

"'Cuz dey cause trouble." Babs sneered in disgust. "No offense, Brae," she added sheepishly, casting a quick glance towards the stallion.

"None taken. But it ain't the guns doin' this, Babs. Ah'd rather y'all have 'em than not. That's why Ah gave 'em ta ya an' taught ya how ta shoot. Ah can see why ya don't want 'em now—" he looked towards the scar tissue on her shoulder, then back into her eyes—"but ya never know what can happen. Though, Ah think it's best y'all don't wear 'em in the city like we do out here. Jus' keep 'em in yer saddlebags, an' if ya need 'em, draw 'em. Understood?"

"Understood, Sheriff," Apple Bloom joked, grinning wildly. Braeburn chuckled, humoring her. Even Babs mustered a little laugh, though she reckoned her fatigue made that possible. Horseapples, ma memory's been so shoddy lately. Be damned iffa I rememba half o' dis once we get on dat damn train.

On cue, the first train to Manehatten pulled into the Appleloosian station, announcing its arrival with a burst of angry steam.

A tight, lingering embrace, promises of letters, safety, haste, and a few tears later, the two mares boarded the train, the stallion watching their every step.

Sheriff Braeburn stood there until the locomotive pulled away, setting off on its iron hooves towards the East and the beast. Once he did, his thoughts drifted to Ponyville, and how long it had been since he'd seen Cousin Applejack.

He mused under his breath, "Maybe Ah can train up some deputies 'nough ta leave the town ta 'em fer a few days..."

~

"Now arriving—Manehatten train station!"

A stallion's booming voice roused Apple Bloom from her slumber. She laid down in the sleeper cab just a few minutes ago, or so it seemed. She lifted her head dreamily, Babs Seed entwined in her forehooves. Babs snored lazily, twitching in her sleep.

"Babs..." She nudged her muzzle with her own. "C'mon, Babsy. We're here," she mumbled, yawning.

"... Mmm... No... I don't want any bananas, neitha..."

"Babs... come on." Apple Bloom poked her side with minimal force.

Startled, her mare drew her forehooves close to herself and rolled over onto her back, maw agape. "Huh? Whatsa?"

"We made it." Yawning again, Apple Bloom rose to her hooves and picked up one of their saddlebags, slinging it across her back. She held out the other set to her slowly awakening mare. "C'mon. They aren't gonna wait forever ta let us off this damn train."

Returning the yawn, Babs smacked her lips and stood up, slipping the saddlebags over her back. New energy pulsed through her, renewed by eight hours of blissful slumber. In her dreams, they were headed not to Manehatten, but to a faraway paradise, a land where sand and sea united. An' it was a damn good dream, too...

Ushering her with a forehoof, Apple Bloom led the way out of the locomotive. She nodded in acknowledgment to an impatient guard-pony, who tapped a hindhoof and pointed to his pocket watchf. "Yea, yea, we're gettin' off," she grumbled, emerging from the stuffy atmosphere of the train into the cold Manehatten evening.

The train station was crowded, many ponies boarding the train they'd just departed. Crossing the wooden planks of the platform, Apple Bloom and Babs Seed made their way through the crowd as quickly as they could, careful not to bump anypony.

Once her hooves first met the sidewalk, Apple Bloom felt a strange, sudden sickness rising up within, forming in her stomach and proliferating through her bloodstream. She froze, looking up towards the skies. Surely, they were weather-pegasi here, weren't there?

Gray. A haze of gray clouds and looming thunderheads hanging above a concrete jungle of skyscrapers and office buildings, blasphemous edifices pointing towards the Most High in defiance of the holy. A chilling wind rushed past her, tugging at her mane, her tail, her coat. Not playful. Forceful.

Dark. And cold.

"Bloom, are youze—"

Babs Seed's words were cut short by that same sickening feeling when her forehooves made contact with gray cobblestone. Chills traversed through every inch of her nervous system. All prior energy seemed to deplete, leaving her, abandoning her. So... cold. Cold. Dark. Black.

Blackness. Coldness. Darkness.

"B-Babs?"

"Y-yea?"

Apple Bloom craned her muzzle towards her mare. "D-do ya feel that?"

"Y-yeah." Scanning their surroundings, Babs Seed noted a variety of Earth ponies of all shapes, sizes, and ages milling about. None seemed to share in their plight, their muzzles glued to the ground or their hooves. The few exceptions seemed entranced by the wares of a nearby vendor, flashing their bits, eager for purchase. The few pegasi or unicorns also seemed unaffected, and more chipper than their ground-bound and magic-less counterparts.

"Let's jus' keep goin'," Babs urged, trotting close beside her mare. She trotted a hair faster, steering them both in the direction of downtown Manehatten. Doubt dis place changed too much in eight years. Bet the P.D. is always where it used ta be.

Apple Bloom agreed, her voice shaking, "A-alright."

Keeping close to Babs Seed, Apple Bloom took in the sights and sounds of the dreary city for the first time in eight years. The entire scene was surreal. More of a drunken dream than any lucid reality. Graffiti littered the back and side walls of several buildings they passed. Everypony seemed lost within their own imaginary world, muzzles low, hooves slow, muzzles tense. Those who chose to interact with others seemed... worse.

On a balcony of a high-rise apartment building, a mare and a stallion exchanged curses, forehooves raised and pointing towards each other. At a nearby ice-cream vendor's cart, a customer argued with the seller, shaking his forehoof threateningly. In the shadows of an alley they strode past, Apple Bloom swore that she spotted a stallion pass a bag full of white powder to a mare, both their eyes as dark as the skies.

"Youze alright?" Babs nudged her in the shoulder.

"Y-yeah. Ah'm fine." Apple Bloom swallowed, shook her head, and steered the conversation away. "Ya sure ya know where the police station is?"

"I don't think it's changed dat much since I was a foal. It used ta be downtown, deep in the heart o' it all." Shrugging, Babs forced a small smile. "Let's jus get dis ova wit'. Iffa we hurry an' talk ta the detective fast as we can, hay, we might be able ta catch a train ta Ponyville."

"That would be nice." Apple Bloom smiled and nuzzled her mare affectionately, a shred of warmth at the touch countering the strange hollowness spreading through her. The wind was mild here in comparison to the desert's reckless sandstorms. No rain poured down from the skies. Why, then, did she feel so cold?

Babs chuckled. "Yea. It would," she said, spitting her words out as fast as she could. She noted a few stallions hanging near one of the apartment buildings, eying them with curiosity. Glaring in their direction, she pressed onwards, striding closer beside Apple Bloom. What are youze lookin' at, punks? Huh? C'mon, c'mere an' I'll show youze—

"Babs?"

"Yea, Bloom?"

"Is... Is somethin' botherin' ya?"

"Well—"

"Ah mean... somethin' 'bout... us?"

Babs shook her muzzle and turned a corner, heading down another main street towards downtown. Flattening her ears, she muttered, "What do youze mean?"

Her muzzle flushing crimson, Apple Bloom looked away briefly, muttering back, "Ah don't know... Ya jus' seem like yer... yer mad at me o' somethin'."

"No. I'm not," Babs mumbled, keen to her surroundings. Her eyes were not betraying her. Another apartment building. Another group of stallions watching them pass, staring, silent. What? Youze neva seen mares befo'? Buck!

"C'mon," Babs urged, placing a forehoof on her mare's shoulder. "Let's hurry up an' get there befo' it gets dark, an' we'll talk mo' 'bout dis stuff later, alright?"

"Alright," Apple Bloom relented, sensing her anxiety. She quickened her pace and followed close beside Babs Seed, as the two of them plunged into the heart of Manehatten's darkness.

~

"I'm sorry, Detective White Dove ain't seein' nopony else ta-night."

The officer running the front desk of the Manehatten Police Department was a small mare, her blue uniform engulfing her in a swarm of azure. The silver badge pinned to her uniform shined in the light of her desk lamp. She glanced briefly up at her visitors, then back down to the magazine between her forehooves, smacking her gum all the way.

She dwarfed in comparison to Babs Seed (or even Apple Bloom, for that matter) but didn't appear to be intimidated in the least, even as Babs struggled to contain her outrage right in front of her.

"What do youze mean she ain't seein' nopony?!" Babs barked, leaning forward on her forehooves. "Damn sun ain't down! What the hell is youze problem, huh?!"

The officer looked up from her copy of Hoof Beat and sneered. "Ain't got no problem, 'cept wit' punks like youze," she muttered, snarling back.

"Who do ya think yer callin' punks?!" Apple Bloom stepped forward, glaring at the mare. She shifted back and forth on her hooves. "We came a long way ta see this Detective! Jus' let us talk ta her! Won't take mo' than a few minutes."

Sighing, the officer set down her magazine and sat up straight in her stool. Crossing her forehooves on the desk, she reiterated, "Look, gals. Detective White Dove has gone out fo' the night. She won't be back 'til mornin'. Sorry." Blowing a bubble of pink gum (which she promptly popped and cracked), she stared at the door, nudging her muzzle in obvious implication.

THUD!

"Babs!"

Babs Seed slammed a forehoof down on the desk, sending the magazine flying. She leaned up on her hindhooves, boring holes into the officer. "What do youze mean she's gone?! How the buck can an offica o' the law be off the clock?! Where is she?!"

Apple Bloom reached up and pulled her back, wrapping her forehooves around her torso. "Ah, heh heh, sorry, Officer. Yer gonna have ta excuse her. She's not herself—"

"I don't give a buck what she is o' isn't!" snapped the officer, leaning up on her hindhooves and staring at the enraged mare. "Youze betta get outta heeya right now, o' I'll throw youze both in cuffs!"

Growling, Babs lurched forward again, only to be pulled back in the nick of time. Struggling against the larger mare, Apple Bloom exclaimed, "Babs! Calm down! Let's jus' go git a hotel o' somethin'! We can come back tomorrowa!"

"'EY! WHAT'S GOIN' ON HEEYA?!"

Around the corner, another officer of Manehatten blue emerged. A stocky, well-built stallion, orange in coat and snow-white in mane, rushed towards the deck, a baton in his forehoof. "We gotta problem heeya?!"

"No! No, Officer, no problem!" Mustering all her might, Apple Bloom jerked Babs Seed away from the clerk's desk, pulling her down to all four hooves. "We... we were jus' leavin, an'—"

"Toss?!"

The stallion blinked dumbly, shaking his mane from in front of his eyes. "Wha?"

Squirming out of Apple Bloom's forehooves, Babs Seed trotted up to the stallion, glancing at his cutiemark from the corner of her eye. A pair o' dice. Just as I remembered.

Rising above the haze of the past week—her memory loss, her strange haze, and even the cold and darkness of Manehatten—Babs Seed remembered a struggling orange colt pinned under her hooves. She remembered a warning. She remembered... pity. Sorrow. Empathy. Empathy from a bully, a bully who even if he didn't realize it, may have saved her from a far worse fate, if only because he hesitated, if only because he snitched.

"Youze rememba me?" Babs asked, flashing him a smile.

The stallion slipped his baton back through its holster attached to his right shoulder. "Wait..." He took several hoof-steps towards the orange mare, studying her carefully. Red-and-pink mane. Freckles. Short mane... and tail. By circumstance, not design.

"Youze... youze is Babs Seed," he said at last, his eyes widening.

"An' youze is Lucky Toss," Babs replied, smiling wider. "I thought I'd neva see youze 'gain."

"Me neitha," Lucky Toss said, incredulous. His eyes drifting to the mare behind Babs Seed, he gasped and exclaimed, "Oh, where are ma manners? Heh. I'm Offica Lucky Toss, o' the Manehatten P.D." He grinned and trotted towards her. "An' youze are?"

"Apple Bloom." She offered a forehoof to him.

"Apple Bloom, huh?" Toss smirked and shook hooves. "Wowza. Such a pretty mare in such an ugly city."

Babs Seed laughed and sidled up alongside her, wrapping a forehoof around her neck. "Yea. Ma pretty mare," she said confidently, shooting the stallion with a glare.

"Oh!" Lucky Toss rubbed the back of his neck with a forehoof and cracked an awkward grin. "Ah. S-sorry." He turned to his sister of the badge. "So, uh, Cotton, anythin' I need ta help youze wit'?"

"Well, sorry ta interrupt youze lil' reunion," Cotton snapped, rolling her eyes and rising from her desk, "but dis one heeya was actin' threatenin' towards me!" Drawing her baton, she pointed at Babs Seed menacingly. "She's lucky I didn't jus' throw her sorry ass in jail!"

Feeling her mare tense again, Apple Bloom quickly intervened, chuckling half-heartedly. "Oh, Ah don't think that'll be necessary, ma'am," she assured, offering a smile to Cotton. "We've jus' been travelin' all day. She's tired. We'll get in a nice hotel an' talk ta the detective tomorrowa."

"Hmph." Tapping the baton to her opposite forehoof, Cotton clicked off the lamp on her desk and made her way around the corner. "I'm goin' on break. Youze take the front desk, Toss."

"Heh, sure." Toss plopped down at the stool and stretched his hindhooves on the desk. "So... youze two wantin' ta talk ta Dove, huh?"

"Dat's right." Babs explained, "There was a bit o' a... incident out where we live, an' I'm pretty sure I know who's responsible. A Manehatten pony."

Babs paused, contemplating telling Lucky Toss—surely he would know where Slinger was, wouldn't he?—but brushed that notion aside. "Somepony she can help us find."

Lucky Toss snorted, balancing a pencil on his forehoof. "Hah. Sure. Detective White Dove an' Offica Rustla got demselves a lil' competition o' incompetence goin' on right now. Both o' dem tryin' ta solve cases wit' no end."

Babs Seed raised an eyebrow. Rustla? Could it be...?

"Then what do ya do?" Apple Bloom asked, tilting her head. "If yer not a detective o' somethin'."

"Patrol offica! Hittin' the streets, beatin' criminals, makin' arrests... dat's ma game." The pencil slipped and fell off his forehoof, clattering to the desk. Lucky chuckled, a slight hint of crimson spreading across his muzzle. "Heh. Anyway, it was nice ta see youze 'gain, Babs Seed," he said, stretching out a forehoof.

Babs shook it, returning the sentiment. "It was nice ta see youze 'gain, too, Toss. Good ta see youze ain't bullyin' nopony no mo'."

"Ha! Well, I don't know 'bout dat," he joked, running a forehoof through his mane. "Say... iffa youze mares gonna be up fo' a while, why don't youze come down ta The Big Orange an' get a drink wit' me?" A sly grin spread across his muzzle as he winked towards Apple Bloom teasingly.

Apple Bloom rolled her eyes and sighed. "A bar?" Noticing Babs's frown, she shook her head. "Thank ya kindly, Lucky, but Ah think we're jus' gonna turn in fer the night."

"Oh. No problem! Catch youze both tomorrowa, then. Come in befo' six. Dat's when Dove heads home."

"Sure thing. Maybe we'll take youze up on youze offer anotha time," Babs said, pulling Apple Bloom close to her. "C'mon, Bloom. Let's go."

Together, the two mares spoke final goodbyes to Officer Lucky Toss, making a hasty exit. Leaving the stallion behind, he sighed, staring into his forehooves.

There was no reason to be cheerful, he knew, but he did it anyway.

~

The night was cold and barren outside, no stars visible above the clinging gray. The light-tenders had come out in full swing, dotting the maze of cobblestone with orange, red, and yellow flame, casting shadows to catch the demons.

"So... A hotel, youze said?"

Apple Bloom nodded, shivering.

"Cold?"

"Yes... No. Ah dunno," Apple Bloom admitted, leaning close to her mare. "Ah don't feel right, Babs. Let's git outta the streets, an' quick."

Nodding, Babs Seed led the way out of the belly of the beast.