Somepony Else's Problem
Mosely Orange bucked in the rusty iron door, the hinges screeching as it flew inward. It clanged into the wall behind him as he crept out onto the dark factory floor. The silhouettes of vats and machinery towered on either side of him, either of which could be hiding the pony he was looking for.
He peered between each row of vats as he went, searching for the stallion. The contents of the vats hissed, crackled, and thundered around him. His own hoofsteps were the only other sound in the building. Still, he kept his ears raised, just in case.
A catwalk loomed overhead as he peered between a pair of vats. Large sections of its railings had long since fallen away. A few shafts of light from the high, narrow windows revealed the oily stains that streaked across the floor despite the strong odor of industrial cleaners in the air.
A footstep rang out behind him, and his head jerked around. A stallion crept out from behind a large machine, his forearm wrapped around a pegasus mare's throat. "I was wondering when you'd show up, Agent."
Mosely tensed, and stepped toward him. "I presume you are Greener Pastures?"
He flashed a toothy grin. "Quicker on the draw than you look, Agent." He jerked the mare tighter, and she whimpered. "I guess this is where you tell me to give up the hostage, tell me to surrender, tell me you'll let me off easy? That what I'm doing is insane?"
"Actually, no. You've already said everything for me, so why bother?"
Greener Pastures stopped smiling. "Except that's not how it ends, not for me it isn't. I'm going away whether I give up or not."
"If it's any consolation, I can assure you that it looks better to a judge if you come peacefully than if you have to be wrestled and handcuffed." Mosely feigned thought. "It could be five years off your sentence."
Greener Pastures scowled at him. "Yeah, off of how many? You can save your breath, I'm not giving up. This abomination has to go."
Mosely's eyes went to the mare. Her once-styled mane now lay around her shoulders, though from what he could see, it might have once resembled his wife Midsweet's. "True, I suppose five years isn't much in comparison. We both know you don't need her. She isn't part of this."
"She's in this, too." He sidestepped toward the center of the factory floor. "She works here. She's as much a part of this as any of them."
Agent Orange advanced several steps. "Come, now. At worst, she's a low-level shift manager. Don't pretend she's responsible for the entire factory. You're a better pony than to take hostages."
He doubted that last part, considering.
The stallion's face twisted. He looked away, grating his teeth. Five minutes passed, neither saying a word. He turned and shoved the mare off to the side, ushering her out of the factory. She regained her balance and skittered out the door. "Fine. She's out. But I'm not giving up on this."
He sighed. Of course he wasn't. The true lunatics never did. "I don't suppose I can change your mind on this?"
The stallion flared his nostrils. "Have you even seen what this factory has done? What happens when ponies take over the weather? It's ugly. Take a look around Neighack. They're playing god out there, and they're not very good at it."
Mosely rolled his eyes. "And when you blow it, the owners are going to run bawling back to Canterlot and cash in. Forgive me if I don't understand how that helps your situation."
Greener Pastures' face twitched, and he pawed the concrete. "No… but it doesn't matter. This is something I gotta do. I grew up around here. Take a look at what they've done to the place. To the forests. They're ruining it."
Mosely glanced at the large, round orange stamped on his rump, then back at the stallion. "To be honest, I've never been a big fan of nature. It does seem counterintuitive for you to try to help the ponies responsible, though." He stopped for a moment as a thought hit him. "You do know they're using you, right?"
Greener Pastures' face became half rage, half confusion for a minute, then became a stubborn glare. "None of that matters. I'm taking this place out. I don't wanna hurt you, Agent, but I won't beat around the bush if you try to stop me."
Agent Orange winced. "I suppose that ends negotiations. Let's get it over with, then."
Pastures stood his ground and waited, watching. "Yeah, let's. I think we have about fifteen minutes."
Mosely advanced on him. Greener Pastures squared his hooves, and snorted. A half-second later, he lowered his head and launched into a full gallop. Mosely saw it coming and tried to dodge, but his enemy struck him in the ribs, and he went sprawling to the ground.
His opponent skidded to a halt, turned around trudged toward him. He scrambled to his hooves and ducked just in time to dodge a backhoofed swing. He backed toward the vat. Pastures circled around and lunged at him from the side, then spun around and raised his hooves. Agent Orange sidestepped to the right, and his opponent's kick merely grazed him. He flinched, and trotted toward a nearby ramp up onto the catwalk.
Mosely glanced over his shoulder. Greener Pastures was a few steps behind him, and closing. He turned back to the ramp and dashed up it, sidestepping onto the catwalk when he reached the top. He pulled his back legs into a kick, and struck out as Greener Pastures mounted the top of the ramp, sending his head and one foreleg to jerking back. He dropped back to the catwalk and spun around.
His opponent growled, jerked up the steps and slammed him across the face with his neck. He stumbled back a few steps, head reeling, and caught a forehoof to the face. His head jerked again, and his head exploded in pain. He backed a few steps, reared onto his hooves and flailed at Greener Pastures, somehow managing to land a few hits.
Greener Pastures grated his teeth, and they locked heads, pushing back and forth. He managed to push his opponent back a few feet, but lost his ground when he pushed back. His opponent backed out of the lock and swiped him across the neck with his own, and he reeled back a few steps. Greener Pastures bucked him in the side before he could recover, and he tumbled to the edge of the metal catwalk with a clang.
The vat below him hissed and crackled, its contents swirling ominously.
Greener Pastures stepped on his neck and put his weight on the hoof, his face apologetic. Mosely gasped for air. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, Agent."
The factory began to fade around him. Twenty-three years on Their Majesty's Secret Service, and this was how it ended. He'd stopped everything from plots against the Princess to terrorists convinced they were fighting the godless tyranny of cotton candy manufacturers, and here was a stallion no older than his niece about to end his life.
Agent Orange tried to push against him with his rear hooves, but his opponent was too heavy. He tried to sweep his legs, but Greener Pastures pinned his limbs in place and stepped on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He banged one hoof against the catwalk in frustration.
Then Greener Pastures looked away. He seized his chance. He hefted one hoof and slugged him in the side of the face. The stallion lurched back several paces, his hooves struggling to catch up. Mosely sucked in air, and flailed his hooves, trying to find the floor again.
He got up and stepped toward his opponent. Greener Pastures was still recovering, but not for long. He pushed on his forehooves, turned and brought his back legs to bear on him, and put all his energy into the kick. He held his breath for it to hit.
A split second later, it did. His hooves connected with the stallion's chest and shoulder, sending his right leg out from under him. Greener Pastures' eyes went wide, and his already upset balance sent him tumbling off of the catwalk and into the vat with a sickening splash and a shower of rainbow droplets, a few of which flecked Mosely's coat, singing him.
He stood over the bubbling vat, staring down into the rainbows sloshing around in it. Eventually, the surface calmed, and nothing moved. He watched, waiting for the stallion to resurface. A few tense minutes passed. Nothing happened.
He sighed. He still had a bomb to find and disarm, and the ticking wasn't getting any quieter. Greener Pastures had said he'd had about fifteen minutes when they started fighting. It had been maybe eight or nine since then. He turned and trotted back down the ramp.
No pressure, of course.
He stopped and lifted an ear when he reached the factory floor, and it followed the ticking to a pair of weather workstations across the room, behind a large machine and a vat. He cantered over, and circled the workstations. He peered between them to see a burlap bag.
He gripped the closed end in his teeth and yanked. Out rolled a glass orb that resembled a snowglobe, spindly wires attaching it to a mechanical clock that read three minutes. Red and blue fluids sloshed around inside the sphere, crackling with energy.
The Manehattan Police Department had held a class on bombs earlier that week, and he'd been invited. It was too bad that he'd missed it in favor of interrogating the loony colt's cat. He glanced over the wires, his nerves keenly aware of the ticking in the background.
Two minutes of staring passed. He winced. "Well, here's to some good old-fashioned fun."
He leaned closer, and bit down on the wires.
- - -
Agent Orange tried to get comfortable in his stiff wooden chair as he explained yesterday's incident to the elderly mare behind the desk. A clock ticked on the wall behind her, just above the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows. The desk was tidy, free from possessions except for an old family photo featuring the red mare, her orange-coated sister, and their parents. A few dim rays of early morning sunlight leaked into the office, casting shadows over the room.
Red Delicious looked up from the disarmed bomb and stared at him mid-explanation, causing him to shift in his seat. If he had a bit for every time she'd done that, he could retire early. A moment later, she spoke. "This is important, Agent. He fell into the vat?"
"Yes, he did, but I don't see —"
"You realize that rainbows aren't lethal, don't you?"
He hesitated. "They aren't?"
"No." An agitated expression crept across her face. "They aren't. That's why I said they aren't."
"Then what do they do?"
She shivered. "You don't want to know, and I don't care to tell you." She sighed, and bit her lip. "I suppose I'll have to send someone to secure the site, if he hasn't already left."
She waited a moment, then waved him on. "You may continue."
He finished his story. She closed her eyes and shook her head. "You know, for an Orange in the Service of Her Majesty, you aren't very good at tying off loose ends."
His face twitched in annoyance. "I suppose dear old mom did have a habit of not leaving things half-done."
She glanced out the window. "I'll send somepony out there to see the damage. If he's gotten away, I guess I know who to blame."
He scowled. "Nopony told me it wouldn't kill him, auntie."
She sniffed, and her expression became annoyed again. "For Heaven's sake, don't call me 'Auntie.' Not at work. It's 'M.' How many times have I told you that now, Agent Orange?"
"Forty-seven, that I've counted, Auntie — 'M.'" He tried to neutralize his expression, and rose back to his hooves. "In any case, I suppose he's somepony else's problem now."
She scowled at him. "I'll be the judge of that." She turned and ambled to the window, her back to him, the sunlight casting her shadow on the carpet. She looked over her shoulder and waved a hoof at him. "You are dismissed, Agent Orange."
He nodded, turned and trotted out of the room.
- - -
Mosely meandered down the sidewalk, the sun glaring down at him from across town. A few dozen ponies bustled along the cobblestone street around him, most of them eager to reach their jobs, although he did spot a few that looked as if they'd rather be set ablaze than continue walking.
Twenty minutes later, he crossed the traffic on Gardner Street. A five-story walkup rose in front of him, its brownstone facade lit by the sunrise opposite it. He ambled up the stairs and was about to push open the front door when he heard a mare's voice behind him, laden with a distinct southern drawl. "Howdy, Uncle Orange!"
He glanced over his shoulder. His niece popped off of a rickshaw and bounced over to him, her orange coat and blonde mane matching the sunrise behind her. She grinned at him, her cowpony hat bouncing with each step. He nodded to her. The unicorn mare pulling the rickshaw scowled at him and stalked off, glaring at the cobblestones.
He held open the door for his niece and stepped inside after her. The same orange wallpaper covered the walls as had last time she'd visited. They walked toward the stairs together. He smiled at her. "It's great to see you again, Applejack. What has it been… ten years since we last saw you? To what do we owe the pleasure?"
She grinned, and waved a hoof. "Oh, things are goin' a little funny around the farm. You know how it goes. Ah thought Ah might like to take a little break from it all. Just for the weekend, if you don't mind."
He nodded. "Midsweet will be delighted to hear you're staying."
They reached the stairs, and began to climb. "So, how's your work been? I don't reckon I ever asked what you do for a livin'."
He paused mid-step, his face blanking out. "Oh, nothing too unusual." He resumed his pace. "I had a meeting with my boss this morning."