> Between Needles and Knives
>  by Dancewithknives
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> C'est la vie
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

March 3rd


Across the oceans from the continent of Polis- the majority of which was Equestria- another large body of land, Eastros resided akimbo to the western world. Unlike Polis though, Eastros was home to many more, much smaller countries. Some of which were only the size of peninsulas while the larger ones were about the size of the larger Equestrian provinces.

The reason for many small nation states across the continent was because of balkanization. Natural landforms isolated populations of similar races from one and another and caused them to make separate cultures independent of each other. Some of these landforms were crucial to the land’s survival. The dragon sea to the south separated the pony country of Germane from the continent of Zebrica. The Spineway Mountains created a natural barrier to the untamed dragon territory and kept the dangers away.

The largest country in Eastros, once being many independent kingdoms who lived without one another until a king came and united them under one banner, was the proud Stag Lands. The country, being located on the ocean, was the first to be visited by Griffin Sailors, and, obviously, was mainly populated by stags. 

Deep in the heart of the country, there is a city named White Tail. One of the oldest of the lot, with certain structures that were dated back further than some of Equetria's monuments. 

Late one night, and as the citizens of the ancient city came home from work, one stag was out running down the dark alleyways and through the streets of the White Tail Ghetto.

His name was Troy. He had a coat of brown, tail of red, and mask- the fur directly around the eyes and the divots between the eye sockets and nose- of blue. Atop his head were two proud and single pointed horns. He was what they called a spike, and could trace his heritage back to the exact kingdom where his ancestors were from. 

But, at this moment it did not matter because he was too busy looking up at the roofs of apartments, around the alleyways and around the corners of the strong stone buildings that had been a part of the city. In the humid afternoon, as the dark evening clouds prepared to drop their rain. He ran as fast as he could, making his short brown coat sticky with sweat and the corners of his mouth foam with saliva. 

White Tail, being close to the Great Ocean, would experience Rainfall twice a week. The gloomy overcast was a common occurrence to the stags. At this time of the year no one would think twice over seeing their breath in the cold, rainy, spring air like Troy was experiencing. But the faded bleak stone saturated from the drizzling rain, did not comfort the buck. From each shadow that the dark day deepened, Troy could feel his pursuer following him, every drop of rain on a puddle sounded like a hoof stomping in water, and under every shadowy archway he could swear he saw a pair of eyes watching him.

The stag looked around in the little clearing the empty street made. He kept looking over his flank for whoever was after him. He was safe at the moment, but not for long. The sun was beginning to set, the overcast already made the city streets too dark. The last thing he needed were more shadows. He needed to get inside and find a place to hide.

He took off down the sidewalk again, galloping across the mix of ancient paved stones and the occasional concrete replacement as he tried to regain his bearings. 

Troy shot down the street, sliding around the corner, but he did not bank the turn. Instead, he kept his hooves on the wet stone and ground to a halt. His racing heart almost broke free from his ribcage. From his frantic and dilated eyes, he ran right into the very shadow he was trying to escape.

" Ah! Guten Tag!" Cried out a very high pitched voice. The young stag stopped in his tracks. That didn't sound appropriate for the thing he was running away from.

Troy calmed himself and got a good look at the pony he had run into. Like he had originally feared, it was a pony he had intercepted. but unlike who he thought it was, this earth pony was  of a red color. She had a blonde mane cropped close to her head and was wearing a bright red overcoat. Her eyes, and her large pure black pupils, looked up at the buck with a strange mixture of adventure, innocence, and wonder. She had been walking down the sidewalk with an unfolded map in her hooves when he almost ran into her, but luckily she managed to sidestep away from being plowed through by him. Regardless of the somewhat rude meeting, the teenaged mare smiled and approached him as he took a step back.

"Hallo! Entschuldigen Sie, Sprechen Sie Fetlandisch?” She looked up at him, and even though he did not respond to her foreign tongue, she took his brief eye contact as a signal to continue, “icsuche Den hotel…" she cleared her throat and then, with drawn out syllables, pronounced the word “Mahr-EE-Lant.” 

She then flipped a corner of the map up so he could see it. Printed in black ink was a palm tree in a circle, below it the name “Maryland Hotels and resorts” was likewise printed. 

Troy looked at the pony tourist with confusion. For the most part, their failure to communicate came from just that, he simply had no idea what she was saying. Yet, at the same time, he did not want to help her, if it was a normal day, he surely would try. But he was being chased; he didn’t need the distraction. Hopefully, his pursuer would not come out in public, but he was still a sitting duck.  He needed to find a place to hide until he could slip away when more stags were out in the streets, and he could be safe.

The nineteen year old looking tourist looked at her map again, and then smiled once more at the stranger, " ze …*ahem*’STAaag Lunds’ sind wunderschon. Aber ich finde einfach nicht den Hotel?"

She checked her map again, and then crossed her eyes, looking up and thinking hard about trying to translate the next sentence for the native she had just met. “Uhh… Zee…. Saint GrrrAaal Kathedral?... It ist that vay?”

Upon hearing the mispronunciation of the place, Troy’s eyes lit up as if he finally understood what the pony was saying. The Saint Gaal Cathederal! That was a great place to hide! Troy looked off in the distance and saw the Gothic towers of the cathedral in the distance sticking out higher than the other projects and smaller modern buildings in the city.

Without showing any hospitality to the lost young mare, Troy shot around her and began to sprint towards the large temple where he was raised.

The pony, confused by the fact that she had asked help from a mainly silent stranger, read his body language and understood her, but then shot off without saying a single word, tilted her head. Maybe this was a stag’s way of showing hospitality, or maybe he was late. Either way, she needed to stay humble, so she straightened herself up and called out, "Danke! Auf weidersehen!"

Troy ran across the darkening streets, not looking back as he raced his way towards the menacing and large place of worship. He pounded through the puddles, and shot up the ancient marble stairs at a rate of two at a time.

The oaken door, standing twenty feet high, was the last barrier to salvation. Troy reared against the large doorway and pounded against it with his hooves, shouting for it to open and save him.

He pounded, harder and harder, sounding like a police raid, and, finally, the door opened.

Troy slipped in through the crack in the wooden guardians and then used His back to force it closed, keeping him in and evil out.

The young buck, with a heaving chest, shifted his attention from the door to the dark candle lit recesses of the enormous temple. Rows and rows of pews, all having white candles at each end, were all aligned to face the center altar at the far end of the room beside the colossal organ. The pillars, standing high up into darkness were sculpted with visages of angels, of the tales of the sun god blessing the pious stags of old, sat half illuminated by the large chandelier hanging from shadows.

It was dark here and the tiles were cold, but at the same time, the candles were warm. It gave Troy a feeling that he seldom ever felt anywhere else. Home.

Growing up without a family was hard, being a lowly spike such as him made it even worse, but that did not matter here in the temple of worship devoted to Saint Gaal. He was an orphan, he had no immediate family, it was by pure chance that he learned later in life that he had an older cousin that was much in the same circumstance, but, the orphans here, the sisters, and the abbess of the enormous temple was his family. This was his home. 

While he did turn to “doin work” to survive as he became a buck, the life and times that he had here were not far from his mind.  He hated White Tail, if he could, he would like to watch it and its ghetto burn to the ground, but this stone structure was his home. He stayed in the city only because he knew that the cathedral was always near. If a fire ever did break out in the city as Troy had wished, he would be one of the stags running around with buckets of water just to ensure the Cathedral’s survival.  

A quick tempo of clicking traveled from the far end of the temple. A form, cloaked in black, approached Troy. Strangely, the cloaked figure did not frighten the stag, but calmed him.

"Sister Florence!" Called out the buck. 

The host neared, revealing the face of purity. Beneath the ceremonial robes of the Kasha, the kind, old , understanding eyes of Sister Florence greeted Troy. Her robes covered her entire body and a sheet pinned to her many pointed rack made a canopy over her head.

If the temple was his home, then the abbess and Kasha of the structure, Sister Florence, was his mother.

For as old as she was, the doe was especially beautiful. Troy had seen a picture of her from when she first became a Sister of the Temple. Shiya itself was the only who knew why this kind, beautiful doe had become what she was today rather than being swept away by a riot of suitors. 

The beads on her rosary beneath her robes clicked together while she walked across the clean tile floor. Her black robes, as was demanded by her creed, were always on her no matter where she went.  If Troy did not know better, he probably would have guessed that she still wore them when they were being washed! 

Beautiful, Pious, Kind, Moral, and devout… She was some kind of wonderful.

" Oh my! Mercy, Child, what are you doing out at this hour! You must be chilled."

Troy, no matter how old he became, would always be  called “child” by the aging doe, just like she would do with the rest of her orphans. He approached the Kasha slowly and with a sense of security and forgot the outside world. " Sister Florence, I need to hide here for the night." 

The two met in the center of the cathedral, " oh mercy! What is happening, pray tell?"

"I don't know!" He confessed, " Glasgow and some of the other guys did some work and something attacked us today! I ran... I didn't do anything I swear!" 

Troy, moving from extreme fear to security, began to break down. Everything from the last few minutes began to add up on his poor soul, and the Kasha saw it. 

"There, there." She cooed, reaching up and embracing the younger buck, keeping sure her rack did not tangle his spikes. She held her face close to his and gently stroked down his neck with her slippered hoof.

Troy relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of safety Sister Florence provided as she comforted him like back when he was just another faun from the orphanage. 

Sister Florence moved her head and then whispered into his ear, " You've been a very naughty boy."

Before Troy could react to the odd statement, a sharp pain cut right into his chest, shocking his body. He looked down and saw a large purple knife pointing out from his chest, a blade that was much too familiar from earlier in the night. 

Troy looked back at the keeper of Saint Gaal's Cathedral, and watched as her black robes, from the hood making a screen above her rack to the cloak around her body glowed green and then reshaped itself as a grey coat with the name "OMNISHIELD" on the sleeve, leaving the doe he thought of as a mother dressed severely out of character.

His pursuer was much more devious than he thought.

> The Tailor and her Recurring Customer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rarity, owner of the Carousel Boutique, sat in the back of her store. Like a ship’s captain manning the helm, an accountant balancing the books, or a chef stirring a pot, she found herself doing what she did best whenever behind a sewing machine, sew. This was her command center, the heart of all of her operations, the ways of which she gladly decided to spend her days making a living. 

She loved to sew, it was her favorite pastime, like the saying went, “if one enjoys what they do, then they will not work a day in their lives.”

But… for as dandy as that sounded… Rarity found herself not necessarily having fun at this particular moment… but working.

She could not really remember why, not that it mattered, but she was running behind. For some reason, be it saving the world from some sort of dire threat, going on an adventure with her friends, or focusing too much on personal matters rather than business, she had gotten behind on her pace of orders for clients. One order that she had been putting off became two, and then two became three, and three became four, and so on and so forth.  That was the reason why she was up so late, forcing herself to put the ax to her procrastination and try to get some of her orders complete to not be in such a tight situation.

She had many dresses to do before she could be off to bed with only the minimum and most urgent orders complete… and if she actually wanted to make a sizeable dent against her slew of other projects, then she may as well get a cup of coffee, for it would be a very long night.

She did not know when, for she was focusing too hard on making sure that her needle and thread were stitching up the fabrics correctly, but it started to rain outside of the nearby window.

Eventually, Rarity’s bobbin of thread became empty atop the machine, and her needle senselessly was just stabbing into the fabric without any effect. She reloaded the machine, replacing the old spent container with a new one and then retu-

*Tink*

Rarity stopped dead in her tracks and looked out the nearby window.  It was raining, drips of water hit the glass and supplied a naturally low ambient rumble that she all but ignored. What in the world was that?

She heard it again, like a pebble had been thrown at her window like a coltfriend would do to wake up his fillyfriend in a romantic movie. Her sewing room was on the first floor though… why would anypony throw stones at her? It wasn’t hailing out, either.

Rarity stood from her chair and walked over to the window. What in the world was hitting against her window.

The cold rain outside clouded the clear glass. Rarity wiped it off with her hoof, leaning in and out while squinting to see what exactly was going on outside.

Lightning struck, and standing right outside of her window was a navy blue stallion.

“Be Bold…”

A sizeable rock was thrown at the window, shattering the glass barrier into several shards on the floor of the shop. Rarity cried out at the top of her lungs as she jumped back so far that she lost her balance and fell onto her back.

The intruder placed a knife into the window and used it to break any pointed pieces of glass from the broken frame before he, himself began to climb in.

Rarity, struggled to her hooves and ran out of her sewing room, Shrieking as she rounded the corner of her shop, shot down the hallway, and then into the front of her sho-

The navy blue stallion who had just broken into her shop through the sewing room window was waiting for her, standing still in the center of the shop floor. He was dressed in a finely tailored three piece suit, one that she could take credit in making. 

The unicorn slid to a halt, putting all four hooves into reverse as she slid across the smooth floor.

The blue pony with both wings and a horn used its magic and pulled out a long serrated purple knife from the inside pockets of his suit, “Be Bold...”

Rarity shot from her bottom and back to her hooves, shouting out “HELP!” in the hopes that a passerby would hear her. She made a complete 180’ turn and rounded the corner once more. This time shooting up the staircase and up to the second floor. Her hooves scraped up so much of the carpet that stretched over the wooden steps that it slid out from under her hooves and began to ball up at the bottom of the stairs.

“But never so bold...”

From around the corner, the pony who had broken into her house stepped out and stood guard at the top of the staircase.

Rarity, shrieking again, halted and reversed her momentum, trying to run backwards, but only succeeded in taking too many steps than she was capable of.

Her leg slipped as it extended too far, causing her kinked ones to give out under the weight that she had left unsupported. The unicorn fell down, down, down, the stairs, clenching her jaw, bumping her head, bruising her hooves, and breaking her nose.

The seamstress lay at the bottom of her stairs in a heap. Her sides, horn, nose, head, and joints all throbbing and sore from her tumble. Her jaw hit the floor so hard on her fall that she unintentionally bit straight through the very tip of her tongue. But, for as much as she wanted to wait for somepony to help or for the pain to go away, she was forced back into action. Hot blood and lightning adrenaline dulled the pain that shouted that she was hurt into her head, allowing her self-taught etiquette to be disregarded as the motivation known as fear took over.

From her shambles on the ground, she could see up, the pony who broke into her house did not pounce on its easy prey like a jungle cat. No, he took his time, walking down the stairs as if he was a gentlestallion rendezvousing with his date for an event. Just by looking at him, she could sense his self-confidence, That if he took five seconds or five weeks to walk down the stairs, the job would still be done.

The Unicorn struggled to her knees and began to crawl, eventually returning to her hooves as she thought of the nearest way out of the home that had become a death trap.

The wallpaper in the house began to melt until it was only just a mix of detail-less colors on the wall. A corner came up, and she rounded it.

As her body passed from the hall and into what she recognized as her kitchen, Rarity’s heart practically stopped beating.

He was there, standing at the back door of her kitchen, “…That the blood in your heart runs cold.”

For each step he took forward, she took one back.

“Somepony please help me!” she shouted up at the ceiling, hoping for some knight in gleaming polished armor to break through the wall and vanquish the sharply dressed assailant in her home… but knowing that one would never come.

She backed around the corner that she thought would be a way out of her house, and turned.

Walking down her stairs, exiting her sewing room, leaving her shop floor, and wandering out of her kitchen, she saw them. She was trapped, surrounded. 

She kept looking at each one, hoping that her gaze would somehow delay them, but knew that it was not so. Sweat fell so profusely from her face that it began to take her mascara away with it.

From rising and falling at an unprecedented rate, Rarity’s chest filled with air as the four stallions surrounded her.

> The Rabbit Hole
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“AAAAAAAHHH-”

“RARITY!”

The tailor sat up, darkness all but filled the room that she was in. She looked to her right, and saw a filly of a similar white coat and a curly mane that she had taught her to maintain by herself.

“Is it too late to look over my paper for school?”

Rarity, finally recognizing the shadows and shapes of the place she was in as her room, calmed down her racing heart and looked at her sister with confusion, “wait… what?”

“Oh.. you know…” Sweetie Belle said, rubbing her hoof on the floor as she tried to downplay the significance of waking up her sister in the middle of the night like it was nothing, “that paper that I have to write for school?” 

The Mare rubbed her eyes, “Sweetie Belle, Its kind of late, what are you doing up at this hour?”

“Oh, it’s not  that late.”  

They both looked at the clock, 1:15 AM.

“Alright,” she admitted, “I forgot about it and woke up and finished it.”

Rarity sighed, “You shouldn’t allow yourself to forget about schoolwork, Sweetie Belle. This is a very bad habit to start.”

“I know,” The little filly grumbled, stepping away from the bed and walking towards the door, “Will you help me, still?”

Rarity gave another pout, this was an oafish thing that her sister did. She didn’t want to start making a trend of her little sister waiting for the night prior for school work and waking her while she is making such good sleep… or not.

Rarity gave another huff, Sweetie Belle had come to HER for help with her silly elementary school paper… that really meant something to her when she thought of it. Rarity would only wish she had an older sister to help her with her homework assignments. Whenever she asked for help, Father was often too busy and Mother… well, for as much as she loved her, Rarity’s mother was the key reason why the seamstress valued her education so much.

“Alright, I’ll be down in a second.”

“Yay! Thanks!” she squeaked before shooting out the door and down the hall.

The white unicorn slipped out of her bed and onto the floor,  she did not bother fixing up her sheets… especially after that terrible dream that Sweetie Belle’s carelessness ironically saved her from. Thank Celestia for procrastination.

The mare turned on a light and walked towards her wardrobe, slipping her pajamas off and placing them on the shelf. She was about to turn around and make her way downstairs to her awaiting sister… but her dream had been nagging in the back of her mind, making her feel the uneasy twists and turns of panic from only a few seconds earlier.

She walked to the far side of her wardrobe, up to a particular rack of clothes, and pushed them all aside.

There, hiding behind the foliage of garments, was a safe. She looked towards the door and ensured that no little pony was about to turn the corner before she stuck her horn into the lock.

It opened, and the young artisan pushed past bags of golden currency and other valuables until she found a particular scrapbook that she had recently been giving too much attention.

Rarity opened up the book, and taped to the first page was a sign-in sheet from a few days ago. Partway to the bottom of it was a name circled in red pen, “Esproc”.

A few years ago, when the Carousel Boutique was about to close its doors for the night, a strange character walked in and made an appointment on the spot. Rarity smiled and tried to give this late arrival as good of manners that she would do for any other pony, but even from the beginning, it was apparent that there was something off about him. From the first time they met, he did not speak very much, only choosing to answer in as few words as possible, or altogether leaving the mare in silence over her questions. 

The name that was circled on the paper was what he went by, Esproc. Undoubtedly it was an alias, for as Rarity found out later, it spelled “corpse” backwards. He did not ever want to sign his name. Every time he entered, he would allow Rarity to sign for him, and ever since his second visit, Rarity made a habit of making an illegible scribble on the signature sheet.

She flipped the page, coming to the next evidence that she had gathered.

On this page, taped at the corners, was a copy of one of Rarity’s size sheets. As with every other one of these sheets, an outline of a generic male pony was outlined like it was a page of a coloring sheet. Numbers were placed on blanks that pointed to various parts of the subject’s anatomy.

The first time Rarity met the pony who called himself “Esproc”, she thought that he was a unicorn. She had prepared the sheet of a unicorn and was about to take measurements for the three piece suit that he wanted her to make. He had entered her store for the first time wearing the ripped and battered remains of an old tuxedo, so she had assumed that he was just a normal unicorn. But, as he pushed the changing sheet away and revealed all of his navy blue body to her, she realized that her customer was very special. 

He was a winged unicorn, a hybrid of the two species and had a genetic lottery of their traits. She was no doctor; the only knowledge of genetics she had was from a biology class in school. If she wanted to know exactly what traits he had and did not have, she would have to hire a professional or inspect him closer… which were both out of the question.

The few things that she knew for sure was from what she had observed up close. He had a horn that was in the range of a normal unicorn would be, a little on the shorter side, but by no means an abnormality. His wings were definitely shorter than that of a normal pegasus. She assumed that he could indeed fly, but she would guess that it took more effort to do so. Even though she never was able to obtain a stray feather, she observed that there seemed to be a few less feathers on his wings in comparison to her winged friends.

With her measuring sheet, she had documented his exact dimensions which could help identify him if need be, but for now, they served to make his garments.

A purple scale was taped onto the next page, not specifically from him, but to be used as a reference. It was a dragon’s scale, she had obtained this particular one from her friend’s dragon assistant, Spike.  The customer that she feared so much carried a large variety of weapons in a bag that he kept nearby when he would come in for a fresh ensemble after his previous ones became unwearable. She once had unfortunately allowed her curiosity to stumble into the grounds of his belongings and found the weapons he possessed. In the brief second she had saw them, he had many knives and syringes, tools that could easily find themselves used as weapons. She had no definite proof of their uses to this pony, but there was one that he seemed to favor.

He carried around one large blade, it had been taped and caved around one end to be used like a grip. Although she had no actual proof to this idea, it seemed that this one had been used the most and was possibly the favored of the set. The majority of the blade was sharpened and crafted to have edges and teeth like a multipurpose knife. It was double edged, had a sharp point, and also had serrated teeth made into one of the sides like a bread knife.  It was purple because it was not simply made of metal. It was a dragon’s scale; obviously from an adult. Dragons ate gems and diamonds to create their tough hide. Their scales were made of pure carbon, repurposed from the diamonds they ingested. It only made sense that a dependable and versatile weapon would be crafted from one.

The next page, fabric samples and instructions were pinned to the paper. While she had suggested colors that would accent his coat and darker navy mane, he had insisted and practically demanded that she use colors that she would call generic, ordinary. While she wanted to use white, brown and blue, he demanded that she make his jacket and slacks out of black, grey for his vest, and cream for his shirt. She did not ever understand why someone would limit their attractiveness by limiting their custom fitted and tailored clothes to be colors that would suit anypony, but that discovery would come later.

On the next page, he had provided instructions for her to make special compartments on the insides of his garments, and while she chose to be oblivious of their purpose, a feeling in her heart told her that it undoubtedly had something to do with the questionable things in his possession.

On the page following her fabric samples and stitching instructions regarding secret inside pockets, she had the means to afford his expensive habit. Rarity loved making beautiful clothing, the move lavish and fancy the project the better. But, she was not putting on a charity, she was running a business. She did not ever intend to make her clients bankrupt, but she needed to charge them accordingly. Needles, rent, thread, fabric, and utilities all cost money, and her services as well as her products were the means of continuing the life of the Carousel Boutique. From everything he demanded in his suits, as well as the quality and pride that she put into them, “Mr. Esproc” had quite the expensive habit to maintain.

But, of course, he had a means sustaining that habit.

From the first time he stepped into the doors to the last time he nearly caused Rarity to have a heart attack, he always paid in the same way. Not in specific cash, like she had assumed, but in checks. But these were not just the standard checks that she would receive every now and then as payment for her services or refunds on her taxes, these were personal government checks. 

In the corner was the illustration of a crown, the same crown that she had noticed on the promise of payment that she had done to very important individuals in the hierarchy of Equestria. One was from Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, another from Princess Celestia, Lord Stormback- Her Majesty’s Secretary of State-, and… Mr. Esproc.

To say the least, he was not in possession of an ordinary checkbook.

She turned the page, and from here on out, the little scrapbook of hers turned from a nervous black book of breadcrumbs in the event of her demise and into an extensive dump of all information she had ever amassed involving the “Mr. Esproc”. 

It was not too long ago from when she finally made some progress in finding out his activities were outside of her shop. Every time she would find him in her store, with his current suit ripped to pieces, and demanding another one, she was all but helpless in determining their fate. 

But that all changed one morning.

She was looking through a newspaper, and she saw something completely out of the blue. It was not him, the “Mr. Esporc”, a winged unicorn of the color navy blue, but a green unicorn stallion. If he would have walked past Rarity on a normal day, chances were that she would not even notice this seemingly random pony. But, at the same time, it was as if fate itself had laid the pieces out for her to finally make this connection, to link a series of random ponies to her one customer. Though this one stallion was out of sight and out of mind from Rarity Belle…But his suit wasn’t.

Like the bond between mother and infant, there was a subliminal connection between this self-employed tailor in Ponyville and every single one of her garments. She could recognize them, she could remember them, she left a piece of herself behind in every single stitch that she made. And, on a photo taken halfway around the world, adorning the frame of an ordinary green unicorn, she saw one of her suits, the three piece variety that she made for only one client, “Mr. Esproc”.

Taped to the page was the cut out newspaper clipping of the picture and summary of the story that went with it. 

She told herself it was a coincidence; but the truth was the contrary. 

In a scrapbook fashion, the next pages had similar articles. A clip from a newspaper that she bought from the local library’s archives, a matching story, and a pony circled in pen somewhere in the background.

A blue Pegasus here.

A white pegasus here.

A black unicorn mare here.

A lavender earth pony there.

A red pegasus stallion here.

And so on and so forth.

And on every single one of them, be it the suit, the shirt, the jacket, the vest, or a combination of any, her pride and joy was always with them.

Rarity closed the book and slid it back into her safe. She needed to get down before Sweetie Belle became suspicious over what was taking so long.

Rarity walked down the stairs from the second story and down to the kitchen, happy to not find four identical clones of a certain stallion waiting to kill her.

Sitting at the large glass kitchen table was her sister. She had pulled the bench over, her mane needed to be combed in the morning, her school bag open, and a piece of paper was right before her as she fixed a few things.

Rarity slipped beside her on the bench and gave a large opened mouthed yawn, “Now... what is this again?”

“I just have to write a small summary of an old fairytale that Ms. Cheerilee had us read in groups two days ago.”

“Okay, sounds simple enough.”

Rarity skipped the documentation and went straight to the main body, marking errors and translating her sister’s thoughts into comprehensive sentences.

“The Story of Mr. Hawk is set in a nameless realm of pegasi, and thus every character is a pegasus. The story opens with a poor old cloud farmer who lives alone with his daughter who he wishes would be wed. One day, a stallion by the name of Mr. Hawk arrives at their house, claiming to be concerned with flying in a storm, and seeks refuge with the farmer for the night.”

Rarity crossed out the next section full of superficial information and made a note of just saying, “Mr. Hawk seemed to be well off and willing to marry the farmer’s daughter. ” But, as she did so, she could not help but imagine her customer. Even though it was not consistent, she imagined herself as the poor farmer’s daughter who had a stranger enter her home.

“By the end of the night, the farmer’s daughter and Mr. Hawk are engaged to be married, and the story jumps forward to the night before the wedding.”

Another odd occurrence. Rarity felt as if she was unintentionally bonded Mr. Esproc by her work like this nameless farmer’s daughter and the stranger that she met and was scheduled to marry in a night.

“Sweetie Belle, I thought you said this was a fairytale, where are the kings, and fairies and other mythical creatures?”

“It is a fairy tale, Ms. C is making us read boring old poems and stuff to develop ‘Critical thinking’, since when could a ‘think’ be critical?”

Rarity let the poor grammar slip and continued reading, “ On the night before the wedding, the bride comes to her dad and says that she is worried because she rarely sees Mr. Hawk, and does not even know where he lives. She thinks twice about the marriage, but her father does not listen. She decides to go and find the house itself, which is supposed to be on the top of a hurricane.”

Once again, the uncanny resemblance hit a sour cord in the tailor that made her feel incredibly uneasy. For as much as he knew about her, her shop, her name and worst of all, that she had a little sister. She knew next to nothing about him.

“The Farmer’s daughter flies up and into the hurricane, and finally reaches the house. Mr. Hawk has a mansion, and she slowly sneaks into it. She enters the mansion and follows the tracks in the clouds until she finds the gallery, and enters silently. The room is dark, but when she pulls aside a few blinds, she finds herself in a very bloody chamber.”

“What in the world!” Rarity shouted as she blinked and reread the latest section of the paper.

“That’s what I said! Keep going, Twist’s mom came in yesterday and tried to make Ms. Cheerilee make us read different stuff.”

Rarity’s heart began to beat hard within her chest, it was almost as if this tale was meant to warn her. Her curiosity may get the better of her. Being in business with this partner put her life and the ones of her family on the line. They were all liabilities, and her book that she kept in the safe upstairs may put them all in danger. The scrapbook was like the entrance into the dark house, and its contents were like what this character’s soon-to-be husband kept up in his gallery.

Rarity took a deep breath. It was just a story, it wasn’t real, and nothing in it could hurt her.

“The farmer’s daughter is about to flee from the mansion when she hears something and hides. As she does so, Mr. Hawk walks in carrying an unconscious mare across his back in a fine white wedding gown. He sets her on the table and proceeded to chop her up.”

Rarity, for the sake that her sister was subjected to read this macabre story, felt sick to her stomach, but continued anyway, “As he chopped her away, he began to sing out…”

Rarity’s blood ran cold as she became transfixed on the paper before her.

“Be bold, be bold, but never so bold that the blood in your heart runs cold.”

Rarity’s vision black out. The pencil she was holding in magic fell to the table with a light *click* and was soon followed by her forehead as she lost all control and fainted.

> The Devil's Own
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Troy lay upon his back, making quick, panicked breaths while the knife in his chest, delivered by the one he loved, allowed his blood to spill on the holy tiles.

Sister Florence, or whoever the monster was that wore her face, looked down at the dying stag and watched him. Other than the fact that she had plunged the knife into his chest, the doe before him looked almost completely different in the light, weather resistant coat instead of the normal robes that he was so familiar with. “Now… be a good boy and tell me who hired Glasglow’s gang to dispose of the body?”

With his hooves over the opening in his flesh, Troy whimpered, “I… I don’t know! I just watched the road in case cops showed up… I don’t know! Oh, oh Shiya I can’t die in Temple, please I can’t!”

Acting in the cold opposite of the normal warmth the old Kasha would be, Sister Florence’s rack lit up and slowly began to pull the knife out from Troy’s chest, just enough to make his body jolt around in electric pain, “Tell me who hired you to dispose of Melody Stanza’s body and you won’t.”

The Stag coughed out blood began to whimper once more, “Okay… it was...a pony! Yeah!”

“Don’t lie to me, Troy.” Another serrated tooth from the knife rose from his chest.

“Ah! He didn’t have a horn… he was red, and had a white mane! Please stop!”

“Hmmm...” Sister Florence hummed, “did he look like...” from her large rack atop her head, the old doe had a green aura pass over her. When it passed, the pony who Troy had seen meet his half cousin ,Glasglow, and their gang of thugs two days ago with a bag of cash, was standing in her place. “This?”

“Yeah… What the hell are you!?”

“Uninteresting,” the shapeshifting thing said. “What else do you know?”

“He said that we needed to hang tight… because he was going to come back with instructions for a second body. That’s all I know! Help me!”

The thing that had once been a doe, but now was a red pony, kept thinking to himself but spoke aloud, “hmmm…. Bullseye… makes sense.” He turned to his dying hostage, “Thank you, this has been very enlightening. I highly suggest you to consider a career change, you’re too nice to be in this business.”

The pony set a hoof on the stag’s neck, and then used his mouth to pull the knife free from the stag’s chest. Troy cried out with enough volume to rival that of the temple’s golden bells above. He was so focused on the intense pain and free flowing blood from his chest that he did not feel a package of bandages being dropped onto his stomach.

He used his legs and covered the opening, trying so very desperately to stay alive. He didn’t want to die in the temple; that was the very worst place to perish. Anywhere except for the house of salvation.

He turned over to his front and watched in a shocking betrayal as the pony/stag thing walked away from him, “Wait!” he called out, “I told you everything! Help me! you promised! Please, I can’t die in Temple!"

The Doors to St. Gaal’s Cathedral opened, and the pony stood in the doorway as the light from the streetlamps lit the area around it. “Start Crawling.” It said.
The same glow that turned him from Sister Florence to the pony who paid his friends to dispose of a body came again, this time turning him into a yellow mare with a red raincoat.

“Auf weidersehen!”

> The Sinnerman Part 1: That Handsome Devil
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fellik City, Diarchy of Japone’, March 19th…

Night had fallen in the Capital city of the Diarchal Empire of Japone’, and as they have done on every night, spotlights and lamps lit up the essence of the city’s treasures. Throughout the city, positioned lights illuminated majestic carvings on the blank faces of certain buildings. Carvings of ponies fighting off invaders and demons alike were etched onto the buildings’ faces to be remembered for the times to come. Public squares were marked throughout the city in the memory of their life-long rulers who had previously passed, each memorial more extravagant than the last.

A grey unicorn walked through an archway and into one of the most highly congested squares of the entire empire. He walked, a fine white suit and slacks on his persons, through the enormous flat city brick square as swarms of natives passed by on their way to their homes for the evening -and others out of their homes to kick-off the night
On opposite sides of Imperial Square, the two Diarchs had decided to plant the seeds of their legacy. When they knocked down the statues of their predecessors, they made plans to make such beautiful landmarks that any who even dared to disgrace their beauty would surely be cursed by the public as a monster who would know nothing of what a true masterpiece was… or they wanted their Effigy to be so big that it would simply be too difficult to demolish them in the first place, whichever one worked was fine with them.

The visitor traveled across the center of the city and towards the building that sat in the corner of the great square, the National Offices of Archives and Securities.

The dressed stallion waked up to the wrought iron gates of the government building and waited.  A guard stepped out from a shack and questioned the visitor, and allowed him entry after he answered. The guard escorted the guest through the protected entrance, past the white gothic pillars, and deposited him at the front desk.  For each doorway they passed through, a camera positioned near the ceiling took their picture, and then magically disintegrated the film and transported it to the security center records.

The secretary behind the desk shifted her nose up from her book and smiled at the visitor. “Hello, sir, what business brings you here today?”

The visitor removed his white bowler hat and set it on the large oval desk in front of the secretary. “I am the representative from Canterlot, and I am to make arrangements with Commander Stronghelm.”

The mare wrote the message and handed it off to a runner to send it on its way. As they waited, the stallion compulsively checked his watch.

After a few moments, an aging earth pony of a light blue color, wearing a navy uniform and a chest with rows upon rows of medals and service ribbons, made his way from the stairs that led to the upper offices and to the front desk. The Commander began to approach the stallion at the desk but stopped. He looked at him again and tilted his head, but nonetheless approached the white suited pony.

“Captain Shining Armor?”

The guest shook his head. “No, the Captain was unable to fulfil the arrangements. I have been sent in his stead to schedule the security of Princess Luna’s visit. The letter was sent as soon as the captain had determined that his attendance would not be possible.” The unicorn brought his briefcase up and opened it, pulled out a folder, and then passed a signed and stamped document.

The officer took the paper and inspected it. He did not bother reading the entirety of the note, but only the bottom where the name and the signature of the captain of the Royal Guard resided.

“Alright,” he said, “could you please sign in then?”

The unicorn closed his briefcase and set its strap around his neck, allowing it to hang again. He grasped a pen in magic and signed the clipboard that the secretary offered. The old officer watched him over his shoulder, but found himself scratching his head over what the pony had signed.

“Pardon,” he said, “but before I mispronounce your name and make a fool of myself, could you pronounce it for me?”

“Of course,” the unicorn said, “Beelzebub, Beelh-zeh-bub.” The unicorn checked his watch one more time. “Commander, I do not mean to impose, but there is an event that I must be in attendance later in the night. So if we may begin I would be most gracious.”

The mare behind the desk popped her head up and looked at the guest. That name… why was it familiar? She looked at the stranger with the funny name and tried to find out what was so peculiar about what he had just called himself. But, unfortunately, had to digress and return to work as the two made their way towards the offices.






As was customary with the National Offices of Archives and Securities, as soon as a guest was singed in, a runner was sent to pick up the sheet and bring it to the security center, where the camera traps documented everything that had tripped their senses. There, the guards confirmed the identity of the individual who entered the office with the reservation that had been made prior.

It had been eight minutes between the time the note left the desk of the secretary and had made it to the chief of security in the control room.

This stallion, drinking his fifth cup of coffee that night, looked at the note as well as the document of the last minute change and set it aside. It was just another boring day at a dead end job. When he first received the letter from his department head about the promotion to Head of Security, he was about to run to the nearest pub and buy the entire bar out to begin the celebration. 

But, that was before he calmed down and read where he was going, the dead end of all jobs, the National Offices of Archives and Securities- or as the ponies in the government security sector called it- “The Book Store”.

All in all, he was the chief security officer for the place where countless, worthless, red-taped, documents would go to be stored and forgotten. Bills and failed laws that were kept for future debate, parliamentary notes for proceedings and meetings, treaties, and everything else that was as boring as reading a dictionary was stored here, and he was the librarian. 

Of course there were always the rumors that top-secret documents would enter through the doors of the Archive and go into some secret vault behind a staircase that would only open if an individual put an arrow into a certain fountain and cause the water to become red- or something like that, but the truth of the matter was that there was no secret vault. He had studied the blueprints like his job required and there was nothing out of the ordinary in the archives of the building. Plus, everypony knew the controversial material was burned. If somepony had blackmail, why would they store it in a public government building and not in a safe? 

Of course there were sometimes arrangements needed to be made when a visitor of importance would visit the country, and then things may become more interesting, but generally they did not. A head of state would decide to tour here or there, a representative would come and bring plans and then they would compare their plan to what the visitor would suggest, and once they had an agreement the rest of the job would go to the colts in a more active and actually important department to do all the fun stuff.

The Security Chief leaned back into his chair as his personal minions did the sleep-inducing tasks of watching security photos as they rolled in or taking inventory. He didn’t even react as the mail pony walked in and dropped off the mail that would be dispersed throughout the building.

The Chief growled and rubbed his eyes. It was time to go to work. He brought a bundle of envelopes over and began to open them. As was protocol, he needed to inspect each letter -unless marked classified and addressed to a certain individual- and ensure that it was not suspicious.

After his third ordinary letter, he practically inhaled the rest of the coffee in his mug and set it down. It looked as if it was going to be another boring night; not to his surprise, though. 

He looked at the next letter, it was addressed from Canterlot and sent to him. Odd, but then he remembered the note from earlier about a late change to the schedule, so he opened it and read it. Seeing nothing of interest through the normal official jargon that letters like this usually held.

But then he saw something.

He grabbed the note that the replacement representative had presented and compared the two.

All the black coffee that he had been holding in his mouth immediately found its way onto his desk.






Mr. Beelzebub followed the Commander as he walked down the halls. 

“Why was Captain Armor unable to make our arrangements?” he asked.

“It is a private matter and I am not authorized to disclose it,” the Equestrian responded.

“Hmm, oh well,” Commander Stronghelm replied, “To be honest, I am surprised that your Princess would want to stand and witness our arms presentation. We both know our countries are not on the friendliest of terms.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Mr. Beelzebub responded.  

The Commander only rolled his eyes and continued leading the way to his office. It was obvious that he was a soldier and not a politician. In the Navy, which his uniform had labeled him an officer of, things were simpler. Things were basic and honest, just a chain of command of who answered to you and who you answered to. When an order was called, that order was done. There was no determinable reason why he had been promoted to this public office -possibly because it was obvious that he had more intelligence than the average deck mopper- but at least it wasn’t the full force of the career game of secrecy, agendas, and correctness that politics brought.

The two walked to a flight of stairs, but walked past it. Instead, the Commander hit a switch on a wall and called for the lift.

“Have you ever used an elevator before?” he asked his guest.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure.”  he responded.

“Oh, they’re amazing. I’ve gained five pounds while working here because I don’t take the stairs.” The platform arrived, and the attendant opened the door. After the officer gave the floor number they were going to, the attendant spoke to the team in the basement and they began to move.

“Impressive, very convenient,” Mr. Beelzebub stated as he marveled at the metal box they were using to travel vertically.

“I always wanted to visit Canterlot, but I am always afraid I’d never be able to take all the stairs.”

“You should, it is a very beautiful place. Where does this elevator go?”

“Maybe when I have enough vacation days I’ll take a visit. The elevators go all the way to the top floor and to the basement and sub-basement where the mechanical teams coordinate and operate the mechanism.”

They reached their floor, and shortly after, the two entered the Commander’s office.

Commander Stronghelm offered his guest a seat as he looked through his blueprints and plans over the area where the celebration was going to take place. In the meantime, Mr. Beelzebub looked around and studied the room.

Judging from the pictures on the desk, the Commander had been married for thirty-five years, the father of three children, and most interestingly, the mare at the front desk was his daughter.

There was a map of the world on the wall behind the desk, on it, little pins on places across the globe. It seemed that the Commander was elected to his job based on his mixture with cultures around the world and the experience he had earned. 

Stronghelm brought over a few maps and set them on the desk.  The two began to talk, marking areas for guards, where the sentries would be, the shifts, and etc.

Mid-dialogue, about when the public were allowed admittance to the arms parade, a loud, whirring siren began to crescendo through the halls. The yell became louder and louder and then died before starting again.

The two turned to the door where the sound was sneaking in on their meeting.

“What in the world is that?” The earth pony asked.

The wooden door to their office exploded in, the handle on the inside chipped the painted wall as it was carelessly bucked in. 

A security official jumped in and shouted, “Imposter!”

The Commander stood up in his chair and began to say, “No, there’s been a change of plans, everything is fine,” but couldn’t, because at that particular moment, he noticed that there had been a syringe of tranquilizers inserted into his neck. He was already sleeping by the time he landed in his chair.

The guard, seeing the glowing magic around the syringe being supplied from the horn of the intruder he was meant to capture, jumped to his back hooves and lunged at the white suited unicorn.

The intruder shifted around as soon as his first priority was pacified and dodged the haymaker that was heading right for the back of his head. The blow barely missed him. He shot his right hoof up and caught the guard at the pit.  Using the momentum of the attack against him, Mr. Beelzebub reared and slipped right behind his aggressor, snuck his left hoof around the guard’s front- left leg, and then locked his two hooves behind the guard’s head.

Both rearing, the victim struggled in the full nelson position. The poor guard was not ready to brace for impact as the impersonator slipped his bottom hoof out and swept his legs. 

The two tumbled forward, ending when the guard went face first into the wooden desk.

With his second target not going to wake up until morning, Mr. Beelzebub grabbed his hat and placed it on his head. He covered his face with a hoof, and when he removed it a sleek white plastic mask had replaced it. It featured a crying face with a blood red tear below the left eye. 

The stallion with a white tuxedo and mask, or as the official reports would later call him “Tuxedo Mask”, vacated the room. The general alarm and precautions to contain the lockdown had been engaged by the time he exited the office.  The siren rang loud and clear throughout the halls, and anypony, be it a guard or random worker, grabbed the mesh fence barricades and stretched them to the opposite side of the hall where it locked itself into place. A Sergeant-At-Arms on the floor had already accessed the emergency paneling switch, and thus every external window in the complex had shut itself.  

Briefcase in tow, Tuxedo Mask ran down the hall and towards the access to the other floors of the Archive, but by the time he made it there armed guards were already in the stairwell.

“Lock it down!” one shouted through the door. “We have him trapped on the fifth floor!”

A grinding-on-metal sound screeched as a long steel bar was placed in the door handle to the stair access, trapping him on the current floor…Just as he planned.

Tuxedo Mask walked away from the doorway and up to the elevator. From underneath his left lapel, he pulled out a large purple knife and inserted it into the two large metal doors. Like a crowbar, he used his hooves to press on one side, forcing the two to separate slightly, and then he levitated the knife away and used his hooves to physically rip the two open.

Tuxedo Mask smiled as he looked down into the shaft that lead all the way into the sub-basement levels.

“And that is precisely why Canterlot does not have elevators.”

> The Sinnerman Part 2: Where you gonna run to?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

If the Chief of Security thought his job was boring, then he should have spent a night in the Archive Depository.  

Private Shirk had made his way down to his post and clocked into the security desk to replace the guard that had been watching the area for the majority of the day shift. The Private sat in his chair, reclining it as far back as he could, resting his hooves up onto the desk.

There were two entrances to the depository, and both were on opposite sides of the basement. His area was newer. The checkpoint and his gated entrance to the archive was constructed when the elevators were installed into the building. Anyone who used his checkpoint would need a special key that authorized the mechanics operating the elevators to allow them to descend into the basement. Many of the workers at the Office found this system to be too cumbersome. Instead, they often used the original way and took the stairs to the older entrance and bothered the guard there that was old enough to be his grandfather.

The Private, like he normally did, sat at the desk that would be his until morning. The security camera right above his head watched the elevator door on the opposite side of the hall.

He reached under the desk with his magic, fiddled around the crossbow that was pinned down there, and grabbed one of the magazines that was hidden behind it.

The cell-style door to the Depository was behind his desk. If, for some bizarre reason, someone did come down to request access and had the proper clearance, he was the only one at the time that could open it. The door was made of average yet sturdy metal bars, but the lock was enchanted. For the next eight hours, his magic was the key.

With his legs propped up, head reclined, and not a care in the world, Shirk opened up the magazine and prepared to pass the night in the same fashion that he would spend every other night watching his hallway. The magazine opened, and the very familiar images of mares in rather… creative positions, took him away from his boring job.

He was onto a two page spread of an incredibly tan farmer’s daughter taking a wide stance and her back to the camera when the alarms went off. 

Shirk, having no companion to complain to, looked to the ceiling and shouted, "Oh come on! Another fucking drill!" He shifted back to his magazine, “Fuck that, I ain’t going anywhere.”

There was a low rumble. The unicorn looked down the passage and at the elevator door. It sounded as if someone had hit their head on the elevator door, but the normal sound of the car was missing.

He waited, the door opened, but not in its usual fashion. Instead of seeing the well-lit elevator car on the other side of the door, what Shirk saw was just darkness. But what made him jump out of his seat was the pony wearing a white tuxedo, mask, and hat; standing on the edge of the threshold with his front hooves extended as he forced the doors opened.

The inturder dove forward from the elevator shaft and broke into a dead sprint. In his magic, he grabbed a steel folding chair and folded it closed as he charged towards the pony behind the desk.

“OH SHIT!” The Private shouted, dropping his magazine and reaching down for the weapon behind the desk. He grabbed for the crossbow with his hooves and practically ripped it off of the hinges under the desk and sat back up in his chair.

Before the weapon was even close to being in a suitable firing position, Tuxedo Mask was upon him. In one bound, he scaled the desk. In his next step, he shifted the steel chair in front of him and dove with his back hooves into it. The chair, being blasted into the poor private’s face with the added force of the diving assailant behind the chair-turned-snowboard, hit him with enough force to eject him from his seat.

From there, Private Shirk had no recollection of what happened until his brain began to focus again, and his horn was stuffed into the lock that secured the gate to the Archive.

“Unlock the gate,” the pony said. His tone was unnervingly calm, like he had just ordered food at a restaurant.

“Bite me.” Shirk spat back.

Shirk’s body tensed up when a cold sensation occurred at his neck. In the corner of his eye, he could see an oddly colored purple blade placed against his neck. Without any further motivation, the lock disengaged while a puddle of urine began to form on the floor.

Tuxedo Mask held his weapon against the Private’s neck. He lifted the weapon away, flipped it to its blunt side, and struck the knob against the Japoneese soldier’s right kidney.

Other than the intense pain that left the unicorn rolling on the ground crying beside his issue of Playcolt, the only further damage due to the blow would be a few weeks of bloody urine and, to his disappointment, a month long case of what many stallions would describe as “Blue balls”.

Tuxedo Mask, with the gate to the back entrance of the Archives open for him, quickly entered the vault and closed the door behind him. He ran down the rows and rows of gigantic filing cabinets and rounded a corner somewhere near the center. He ran mid-way down the row of silver lined drawers and watched the numbers until he found his prize.

With a quick stab into the lock with his knife, the box was opened. He shuffled through the row of papers, scanning each one for a few seconds until finding the correct one.

Upon finding the certain folder, he read the first note, scanned a few lines, and then stuffed it into his inner suit pocket.

With his hooves, he dumped everything else in the folder onto the tiled floor. Tuxedo Mask sporadically opened other random deposit boxes and likewise threw their contents onto the floor. He opened his briefcase, flipped it over, and added the random papers that he had carried into the office to the growing pile.

When done making a downright mess on the floor, Tuxedo Mask stepped back, pulled out a vial, smashed it onto the papers, lit a match, and watched as the pile lit up like a bonfire.

Reaching into his white suit again, he pulled out what appeared to be a bottle of wine and threw it at the wall of files and further provoked the carnage of the records.

The substance in the container disguised as a bottle of wine lit up almost immediately, creating a thick, black smoke. The menacing cloud floated up and throughout the Depository and triggered the fire alarms.

Within a few seconds, every magical security lock simultaneously disengaged as their emergency protocol kicked in. The barricades unhinged themselves, the mechanisms unlocked, and the bars blocking the doors throughout the building released.






In the control room of the National Offices of Archives and Securities, the Chief of Security watched as instant photos streamed in and circles on a magic blueprint of the building moved on their own accord.

The junior officers watched as photos being printed became stacked in gigantic piles as a panic of ponies moved throughout the building.  Many of these ponies were guards taking defensive hardpoints to trap and then surround their intruder while others were just scared employees breaking out of cover and trying to find their way to safety, lest they be caught in the crossfire.

The last still photo they had was of him going towards the stair access, and then nothing after that.

The Chief watched the mass of circles moving around the floorplan of the building, trying to find the one that stood out from the rest.

“I got him!” one of the lower officers shouted.

The Chief jumped over to the pony and inspected the picture, “Where did this come from?”

“Archive Depository, the side with the elevators.”

“The cell to the Archive just opened!” called another pony.

Everypony in the control room shifted their attention to the blueprint of the basement level, seeing three circles in the sublevel, one in each entrance, and the last in the large chamber of documents.

The head of this madness began to speak his thoughts aloud, trying to make sure his team and he were on the same page, “Okay… if he’s in the Archives, then he has only two ways out.  Send all the teams to the basement.  We’ll corner and apprehend him there. Even if he somehow slips out, the whole building is on lockdown, he can’t get out.”

Orders were called out, and enforcer teams redirected themselves towards the basement.

R-R-R-RING-ING-ING-ING

“What the hell is that?” the Chief said, only to be answered a few seconds later when the sprinkler system above turned the security room, like every other room in the building, into a shower.

“The fire alarm!” one pony shouted, “All the doors are unlocked now!”

“Damn it all!” the Chief spat, watching the little circle on a blue piece of paper that he currently despised with the intensity of a hundred suns. “Well, at least we still know where he is. By the time he gets out, we should have more than enough bodies down there to deal with him.”

He watched the avatar of the intruder as he walked away from whatever he was after, and then stopped at a wall. The dot was still for a moment, moved away, and then, defying all logic, simply walked straight through the wall and to the hallway of the stair entrance.

The drenched Chief of Security stopped, scratched his head, and gave an audible “Huh?” 

Luckily for him, when the intruder made his ghost like transit through the wall there happened to be three of the Chief’s stallions near the anomaly. The Chief made a mental note to ask the three how the perpetrator made his ghost-like transition through the wall.






Three security guards, upon hearing their new orders through the intercom system, had rushed down to the archive room from the main lobby through the old staircase entrance.

Unlike the newer entrance, the older access was much better thought out. Instead of just one cell door between the depository and the checkpoint, there were two. A plate glass door around a reinforced frame was before the guard’s desk so he could lock anyone out, and he still had a door behind him.

At the time the posse of three arrived at the door, the desk officer had already unlocked it for them. After they were through, he locked it once again. The three crossbow-wielding ponies ran in a staggered line towards the end of the hall with their weapons hanging by the straps around their necks.

They were about halfway through when, for almost no reason, A heat wave stopped them all in their tracks as concrete and dust filled the hall in a fantastic explosion. The boom was deafening, being in a confined space as they were only made the sound waves echo worse. The force of the blast was so powerful that it knocked the leading guard off his hooves.

The three stood up, reoriented themselves, and inspected the dense fog of dust and tenderized concrete that created a smokescreen before their eyes.

The guard in front, who was the most affected by the blast, staggered to his hooves, coughed the dust out of his lungs, and hobbled forward towards the explosion. He constantly blinked and placed a hoof before his eyes in an effort to keep the microscopic airborne pebbles from stinging them.

When questioned later, he would not be able to recall it, being that it happened so suddenly, but as he neared the new opening in the wall, a shadow in the smoke was seen by his comrades. It ran forward, jumped to its back hooves, twisted and curved itself to become horizontal, and in one swift motion, stuck its back leg out.

Just by following the rules of momentum, the limb flew like an axe onto the side of the disoriented guard’s face, completely turning him around and leaving him sprawled out on the ground.

The two guards behind him, witnessing the assault, reared up and raised their bows before shouting, “Fire! Fire!”. The enchanted string of their weapons raked themselves against the length of the semi affixed bolt. The shaving of metal, now turned into a neon colored slag, flew straight at wherever the weapons happened to be pointed at before the string reset itself in the firing position.

Tuxedo Mask, being on the ground after his knockout-kick, rolled forward, shifting his weight to dive out of the way as the two neon-colored alchemical projectiles came his way.

The second nearest guard to Tuxedo mask, having his safe distance diminished with every shot, waited for the intruder to dodge after he fired, and then advanced upon him. Rearing with his weapon raised over his head like a club, the officer shouted a battle cry and struck down on the stallion in white.

Unfortunately, the thief was much more nimble than he anticipated.

In an instant, Tuxedo Mask reared and crossed his hooves above his head, catching the makeshift club in mid strike and then threw the officer back. The guard had to back up a step to regain his balance, but charged forward and swung again-

TAP
TAP
TAP
TAP
TAP
TAP

The guard was stuck in mid step from his forward charge. It was like a flash of lightening; his target had reared before him and struck him in a rising motion six times up his chest.  

His brain did not comprehend what happened, but he was practically frozen. All he did know was that his ribs stung inconceivably. He coughed, and blood fell from his mouth. As he breathed, he could feel his ribcage moving inside his chest, electrifying him with pain. He then realized that, in the amount of time that it would have taken him to blink, his attacker had broken all of his ribs.

He fell backwards onto the ground and writhed as every tiny movement in his chest caused an electrical shock to his brain, begging him to stop. 

While his ally and the pony in the white suit had been struggling against each other, the final armed guard had shouldered his magic crossbow in his reared position and properly aimed it at the two entangled ponies. He kept his aim true, watching the intruder with the end of his crossbow, but kept a very strict firing discipline. He did not want to accidentally shoot a friendly.

As the third armed pony in the hallway had properly hypothesized from all of the other security personnel who fared against this one enigmatic individual, the comrade who decided to trade fisticuffs against the intruder failed, and the third challenger was waiting with Tuxedo Mask clean in his sights.

The guard, through the haze and dust around him, smiled and firmed his grip as the white dressed stallion turned to him. 

“Gotcha”.

He fired, and the magic string raked itself against the metal bolt and the slag was flung at the core of Tuxedo Mask. The hot alchemical projectile flew at high speed towards its target, but before it could meet, the unicorn disappeared in a flash of white light against the charred concrete.

He reappeared beside the shooter, diving into him with his hoof wound back tight, and let the blow loose. The poor soldier, being subjected to tunnel vision after focusing down the sights of his weapon for too long, could not brace himself for the blow that connected with the side of his head, knocking half of his teeth out, shattering his jaw, and sending him straight to dreamland.






They say that it takes thirteen minutes for the troops garrisoned outside of Fellik City to arrive in Imperial Square in the event of a breach in security. It had been nine minutes when the first of the fastest airborne units had begun circling above the National Offices of Archives and Securities building. To their credit they did a good job, but they were already too late.

As the security forces tried to head after the intruder, always running on old information and being two steps behind him, there was one particular guard who did not follow their lead. 

His name was Indra, and as the bulk of the guards followed the intruder, and the combat troops tried to create a perimeter around the building, he instead went to the only logical place to wait for this fox.

He was not a normal security officer or private contractor. He was once a combat unit, and after a certain off-the-record incident, was “Promoted” to the Archives building. To keep the story out of the red tape, he had gone from active “black” operations to investigating pen theft and chasing down lost memorabilia.  

When the alarm went off, to say that a little part of him that he thought was dead had come back to life would pretty much sum up his reaction before he reached into his desk and armed himself with combat spurs.

His combat training had not taught him his instincts, they only refined them.  Where he was from, ponies were not at the top of the food chain. On his parent’s farm, the apex predator of the area was the fox. The fox was the most dangerous of all the creatures not for its brawn, but its brain.  His father and he, like his father and the one before that, had struggled with the fight against the foxes attacking their stock and terrorizing the poor fools who would be found as their prey. One could not simply chase the foxes, nor could they contain them. After generations of warfare, his lineage had found a way, the solution to their plight, the long sought after secret that there was only one way to hunt a fox.

The other guards were being played like fools. Like the foxes in the wild, this thing that had intruded upon their treasures was very proud in its ability, and based upon the forces in pursuit, it was right to feel that way.

One could never get ahead if one were always behind, and this beast was too clever to be contained by the army forces making their way into the city.

Indra, after applying razor spurs to the inner area of his front hooves, made his way to the roof. The only way to hunt a fox was to use its strength against it. It was too clever, too nimble, and too quick to fight in a conventional sense. Instead, a proper hunter needed to know the fox, to allow it to think that it had already won, and when it was about to make its escape, strike.

He had come from the basement, there was one way out, and it was through the roof.

Indra walked to the top of the roof access, and waited in the maintenance closet in the shadows between the staircase and the roof.

There was only one way to hunt foxes, after all…

> The Sinnerman part 3: The pony in the mask
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuxedo Mask ran up the stairs, taking each flight three steps at a time as the shouts and stomps of the government building’s limited security detail echoed throughout the staircase. Through their kicking of doors down, bunching up, and generally tripping over one and another’s hooves as their mob became larger and larger, they were giving their quarry an unnecessarily long lead.

As the building’s security personnel closed in upon him, he kept fighting for his escape; the only way out of this mess was up.

Tuxedo Mask made it to the top floor, blowing through a guard who stood between him and the door labeled “ROOF ACCESS” by grabbing him on the head,  curled up, causing the pony to fall forward beneath the weight, and then broke his collarbone as Tuxedo Mask’s knees kicked up and into his shoulders. After that simple obstacle, the unicorn threw the guard down the stairs, and allowed him to trip the hooves of his many compatriots.

He slammed through the door and charged the small distance between the doors and prepared to escape. There was a glimmer in the darkness, Tuxedo Mask did not try to stop or reverse his momentum. Instead, he dove away from the dark shadows and slid to a halt on the ground.

In a strike that would have meant decapitation, a glimmering spur descended from the dark, piercing the white and clean textures of Tuxedo Mask’s jacket, tearing clean down the seam.

Tuxedo Mask spun back to his hooves and stared into the shadow between him and the door.

Two glimmering spurs stepped out of the shadow, revealing a pegasus.

Both of the ponies looked towards the way the unicorn had come, hearing the hustle and bustle of the pursuers, and then returned to each other.

The two reared, shifted their bodies into wide, stable stances, and put up their dukes. Indra raised his sparkling spurs. Tuxedo Mask raised his right hoof, bending it upwards at the elbow and then towards his opponent at the wrist. His left leg came out horizontally and the rim of the hoof met the side of his right elbow.

Pony vs. pony, pride vs. pride, instinct vs. instinct; they only had time for one strike, one blow that would matter. Freedom or imprisonment, glory or humiliation.

The unicorn wearing the frowning white mask with a red teardrop shuffled forward. Indra, in his uniform and tie, advanced as well.

Indra wound his hooves above his head and swept down like an axe. Tuxedo Mask struck his left hoof out, reaching up and towards the two falling, razor sharp, stars.

The jacketed leg met with the two sharpened pieces of metal, and the spurs won. They cut through the jacket and whatever else was in the way until they met with something very hard and became stuck in it.

The enigma, with his right hoof, struck straight out at his opponent. Moving like a cobra’s poisonous bite, the white hoof struck Indra right in his trachea. 

The pegasus fell away from the masked unicorn. As he hit against the wall, the white sleeve of his equal’s jacket ripped in half. 

His combat spurs had indeed struck clean and true, his form was perfect, and their condition was flawless. But instead of flesh and blood, the weapons had impaled themselves in a clean sheet of body armor, leaving this fox unharmed.

If it was any consolation, even though he was currently gasping for breath through a wounded throat, he could take pride that, unlike all of the other forces in the Office, he had actually gotten a good, clean blow in.





In the northeastern corner of the building, Tuxedo Mask pulled out his large purple knife and, using magic, made two equal lacerations down the back of his suit.  After the deed was done, his horn glowed, and two beautiful, transparent wings began to form upon his back.

Before the wings were fully formed, he sprinted to the end of the corner of the structure and dove off, diving down and, as the thin crystalline pallets absorbed the impact of the air, leveled off into a glide across the street. Pegasi patrolling the skies, as well as the troops on the ground illuminating the building with spotlights, shifted all of their attention from the dark building and illuminated the escaping thief. All of the troops in the area had been given specific orders to take him alive, so as soon as the attempted escape began, everypony focused their energy to ground Tuxedo Mask’s flight.

It took 10 seconds for the first two winged ponies to collide with their target, and their landing was anything but gentle. The two changed their gliding momentum and redirected their course into a large, gothic window. The impact of the additional weight cracked the prosthetic wings, but it was the collision with the window shattered them completely, turning Tuxedo Mask back into a unicorn.

All three members of their haphazard flight landed hard upon the floor and slid to a stop.  Each had bumps and bruises across their body, and had to stagger to their hooves, but the worst off was the one who was- at one point- dressed the nicest. His mask had fallen off in the crash and skidded across the dark and empty room that they had arrived at. It currently rested at what appeared to be the only door of the room, which, while made of glass and wood, had white curtains on it that blocked the lights from the other side.

One of the military troopers jumped onto the unicorn and held him down with his hooves. “You’re under arrest!” he shouted.

To his credit, it was a good thing to say at the time, except he had no previous knowledge of what had happened to the previous half dozen individuals who happened to have shouted that same phrase throughout the night, so what came next was a surprise… to the soldier at least.

Tuxedo Mask, his face concealed in the dark, struck out with his hoof, hooking the pegasus in the side of the face before kicking with his bottom leg right into attacker’s groin. The pony fell on his rump, freeing his aggressor.  The combat troop fell to his bottom with his front hooves down, nursing the area between his legs that the armor did a very poor job protecting as tears fell from his eyes.

Disoriented and weak, he could not do anything but struggle as the white intruder reared, grabbed him, placed him across his shoulders like a firepony carrying someone, lifted him over his head, dropped him, and at the same time brought his rising knee up to meet his falling head. The pegasus, after the impact of the rising knee on his falling chin, stood straight up on his back hooves and lazily fell flat onto his back, promptly going to sleep.

While his friend was being incapacitated, the other pony sprung to his hooves, charged the rearing unicorn, and threw his hooves around him in a hold.  The two grunted and fought, and the pegasus was slowly beginning to win. The soldier forced the unicorn down, and slowly caused Tuxedo Mask’s knees to buckle. His core resistance to the oppressive force began to crumble, and slowly the unicorn’s chest began to curl inward-

Just to explode upwards with an unanticipated jump. Tuxedo mask fought back up and back-flipped over the soldier while still grabbing his hoof.  With a mighty tug, he turned the pegasi around, grabbed his head and kicked his legs out, allowing gravity to send both of them straight to the ground and knocking out the last soldier.

Tuxedo Mask stood, sidestepped the sore lumps on the floor, and used his hooves to crack his neck. Gingerly, he walked to his exit to escaping –the doorway that his mask had landed by- and stopped by it.

Using magic, he grabbed his crying mask with a frown and brought it to his fac-

“Freeze!”

He stopped in mid motion, looking through the tiny eye holes in his mask that was about to become one with his face, and saw what could be a platoon of pegasi, all armed with a variety of crossbows, and aimed right at him.

“Drop the mask!” one shouted.

He turned to them, reared, and grasped his mask in his hooves. Like a horseshoe, he tossed the white plastic mold in a way that it would stop right before the army of troops.

The soldiers watched the mask. A few braced themselves or moved away in fear that it was about to explode on them. But instead of performing some sort of spontaneous combustion, it instead sat motionless, acting as ordinary as any other mask in the world.

They followed the facewear back to its owner and looked at his face, wishing to see the true identity of the one who had caused all the trouble at the National Offices of Archives and Securities and had been nearly impossible to apprehend.

From the light outside the door, there was clear illumination over the body of the pony they sought, and, revealed behind the mask of a sad pony crying blood was…

A white mask of a pony Laughing so hard that bloody tears of joy fell from his face.

“Now get down on the ground, nice and slow! Now!”

He stood, with his hooves in an “I surrender” position, and slowly set them behind his head. In a fashion that was not meant to frighten the armed pegasi, he fixed his dirtied and misaligned hat, and corrected it on his head. 
The reared pony with his smiling and laughing mask slowly removed his hooves from his head and began to lower them on his body.  Held breaths by the armed ponies were slowly released, and nerves began to slowly settle.

When his hooves were about half way between his core and his shoulders, he backed up one step, forced the double doors behind him to open, and slammed them shut behind him.

Immediately, the pony in charge shouted, “Hold your fire!” twice. He did not know what was on the other side of the door, and even if this terrorist had just stolen from a government building, he did not need civilian casualties added to the fiasco.

He, with his soldiers in tow, charged the glass double doors and slammed them so hard they chipped the walls that they opened into. Every crossbow was pointed in a different direction as soon as the doors were open, intending to get a shot and stop the escaping unicorn, but what they saw was not exactly what they wanted to see.

Mr. Beelzebub was not lying when told Commander Stronghelm that he had prior engagements later in the night, and the combat troops who had just kicked the double doors in had just found what it was.

There were ponies, hundreds of them, all wearing white masks, all wearing white hats, and all wearing white tuxedos. 

Large inflatables shaped like bottles of wine were strewn through the room, and waiters with trays full of alcoholic beverages traversed the white crowd. The banners that lead from the rafters above read, “15th annual Magnum Costumed White Wine Mixer”.

“What are we supposed the do?” a private asked.

The leader of the team could only stand silently with his mouth open and view the party before him. He had no definite answer, the private’s guess was as good as his.






The burning archives below the building acted like kindling for a cooking pot of stew as smoke syphoned throughout the government building and out of the opened office windows and into the night.

The public, perched on rooftops, out of windows, and on the street of the square, watched as the fire turned the Offices into an oversized chimney. The staff of the building, both on their own accord or by the assistance of their coworkers, had evacuated and gathered outside of the building like they had prepared for with the fire protocol. Firewagons had arrived at the scene and the fireponies escorted hoses down into the burned and charred foundation of the structure to dissolve the immediate crisis.

The Chief of Security, like all of the other ponies who worked in the building, was standing by the gate to the streets and watched the fires burn much of the evidence involving the one who had breached and escaped from his security.

He covered his eyes with his hooves and then slowly dragged them down his face, hoping that by some miracle this whole catastrophe was just a figment of his imagination, or an evil image that he needed to wipe away. But it was not. And with each time he stressed the fur around his eyes, he kept seeing his responsibility go up in smoke.

A pony ran up to him and saluted, “Sir! All personnel are accounted for!” 

The Chief stopped, a sour taste beginning to develop on his tongue, and then asked him to repeat himself.

“Everypony managed to be evacuated safely. There were a few unconscious friendlies in the basement, but the fireponies managed to rescue them and they are on their way to the hospital.”

“No fatalities?”

“No sir.”

The Chief went back to rubbing his eyes again. He had been played with. Whoever came after them had just made the entire security force look like inept rejects. He walked right into the building, signed in, was admitted into the secure offices, burnt their building down, had his way with the security force, and was now gone without a trace.

This was going to be a nightmare explaining everything that happened. He was going to be a disgrace to his nation. If there was a nearby rock, he would be inclined to hide underneath it until he died.

A mare, looking around through the crowd at ponies, saw him and ran over.

“Sir, have you seen my father, Commander Stronghelm? He was with the representative from Canterlot when he-”

“The Commander is fine,” he answered in a deadpan tone, “He was found in his office and is now on route to the hospital to be examined.”

The young mare rejoiced and then straightened herself up again, “Sir, I was on duty when the Representative arrived, I believe I have-”

“He wasn’t a representative!” the Chief spat, “he was an impostor!”

“Well…” the mare stammered, “I think I may have a clue to help you.”

“Well, get on with it then.” He said, turning his gaze to give her his full, albeit sarcastic, attention. 

“I think he was using a fake name-”

“No shit!”

“I… Meant to say… Think I know what his name means, it may help us.”

“Fine, go ahead.”

“He said his name was ‘Beelzebub’. In college, I had to read a story, and well, the name, ‘Beelzebub’, It’s from the mythos of an extinct religious group called the Solari. It’s one of the surnames for the Devil.”

The Chief smacked himself on the face and began to sarcastically laugh aloud, “Oh, that’s just great! We were attacked by the Devil! I’ll be sure to tell the investigation team that the pony who whooped our asses was the physical incarnation of sin!”

The mare tried to protest, giving reasons as to why that may be helpful, but eventually gave up and walked away from the ignoramus. He continued laughing to himself and cursed the smoke that was beginning to slow its flow as the fireponies undoubtedly put out its flames in the basement.

As he kept mocking the mare that had tried to help, a voice came up behind him and asked, “What happened here?”

He didn’t even give the speaker enough courtesy to look back, “Oh, didn’t you hear? The Devil walked into the front doors, broke into the archives of a secured government building, stole Celestia knows what, kicked all of our securities’ asses, and got away. What the hell do you think happened? Somepony put aluminum in the microwave?”

“Oh, really? The devil? Nopony was able to stop him from escaping with whatever it was that he had stolen?”

“Nope!” the chief continued, “he just bent us all over and had his way with us all.”

“Well,” the voice said, “that is very problematic. I am sure you have your hooves full and do not need another distraction. I’ll just be on my way.”

The Chief, taking the statement as strange, turned around and looked at the pony behind him as he began to turn.

“Who are you?”

The pony behind him, a navy blue winged unicorn wearing an incredibly nice three piece suit, with a black jacket, grey vest, cream shirt, and a red tie, adjusted his glasses and used magic to reach into his vest pocket. “Esproc, Mr. Esproc.” He showed a business card with a royal seal on it, “I was sent on behalf of Shining Armor due to a recent incident that has made his attendance not possible. The message should have arrived earlier in the day. I was here to arrange Princess Luna’s visit… But, it looks like I’ve seen enough. Have a nice night.”

The chief’s jaw dropped to the stone courtyard as he recognized the name that had started the events of the night. The winged unicorn turned around and walked out of the courtyard. 

The chief, once more, fell to the stone and began to sob into his hooves, wishing for the night to end without having anything else going wrong.

> Needles and Pins
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fellik City, Diarchy of Japone’

Habit is a powerful thing. Habit is the reason why school ponies wait for the last moment to do their work. Habit is the reason why individuals take the same route to their job each day. Habit is why birds hunt for worms after it rained.

Sentient animals, like ponies, stags, and griffins, for as advanced as they believed themselves to be, were also the victims to habit, and this was easily apparent in the street vendors across the world. Wherever crowds massed, be it baseball diamonds, protests, riots, parades, or masses of ponies walking to work in the morning, one of the most common sights among all of these crowds was the average street vendor. Whatever the reason for the mosh pit of individuals to be wherever they were, it was hungry work. Sitting down, gawking, protesting, shouting, listening, whatever it was, it was hard work to do.

Like blood in the water, whenever there was a reason for the population to gather, one would be sure to find the sharks of the street vending trade close by to sell their services to the crowd.

When word spread quickly that the National Offices of Archives and Securities had a break in and that the fire department had been called to put out a fire, the vendors were on their way.

It was a fool’s errand to think that the military or the security could contain and control the mass of ponies who had found their way outside to watch the spectacle of the police trying to create a crime scene. From the top of rooftops, out of windows, on porches, the balconies, the imperial square, and the streets around it, hundreds of citizens had gathered to exchange gossip and use the frustration of their security officials as a means to spend the evening.

Thousands of pennies had exchanged hooves by the time the masses went back home to bed. Community service teams would spend the next day cleaning all of the trash that had been littered by the assembly. To say that the vendors would sleep well that night would suffice, and with the monumental volume of traffic the street sales ponies had in only a few hours, it would be understandable that one would not remember a sharp-dressed stallion buying a haydog and paying with a silver penny and not waiting for the change.

Like a spore breaking off from the rest of the fungus, this one individual walked out of the mob and went off on his own way while carrying his haydog close by.








He walked through the city of Fellik, traveling at a leisurely pace after splitting from the group of citizens. With every block, he moved through the social classes of the city. The Imperial district, with its grandiose government buildings, elaborate monuments, and high class bistros and boutiques, was the height of pride and excess. Within a few blocks, the pompous ego of bureaucracy eventually gave way to more modest settings. The expensive marble buildings were replaced with apartments made of bricks. Families called this place home; many of the lower level government employees had settled down here. Whereas the excess of the high-class buildings were shown by the professional and grand designs of the structures, the pride and heart of the middle class was seen in the personality of these homes. Tributes for the changing seasons were in the windows. Porches and balconies had decorations to liven up the homes of the things that lived there. Whereas the previous district had beauty, this one had personality.

Finally, from excess to simplicity, he had arrived at the rocky bottom of society: the slums. The buildings were made of concrete, muted and dull grey. There were no balconies or porches to decorate. The one coating of paint over the building’s materials had weathered and chipped away to show the true ugliness beneath the spirited appearance of society.  The windows, for the few that existed and were not broken, were too small to properly decorate or take pride in.

When officials are elected, they promise many things, and they do act on a few of them. This colony of concrete eyesores was one such example. The ignorant masses were a politician’s best friend, and it did pay to have friends in low places. So, with the many promises to house and care for the homeless, the result of those promises were these projects, grouping the outsiders, the street wanderers, the derelicts, and the unwanted all in one generally avoidable area.

Here, the work orders to fix cracks in the concrete sidewalk went unanswered, the garbage in the streets blew with the wind, and the few trash barrels would only be emptied once every two weeks. Somehow, the streetlamps were lit every night, for as shocking as that sounded. The trash, the population, the state of which the buildings were in, it all added together into an overhauling scent that could not be specifically described, but could be summarized in one word: poverty.

These ponies were not real to the rest of society, just numbers, objects, and things to be used and as the navy blue winged unicorn approached one of the many intersections of this grid like slum, he found one such thing.

She was young, very young, the type that one would desire to marry, and pretty, too. The white pegasus stood on the corner of the street, wide awake, and acted almost timid as she controlled her breathing and tried her best smile to attract the stallion dressed in a fancy suit.

She stepped away from her corner, but did not approach her potential client. The sky blue dress of hers looked faded in a few spots, almost like a hand me down from her grandmother. A pink jacket hung and kept her warm for whenever she walked the cold streets to survive.

She took a few steps forward, swaying her body with each step which made the scarlet ribbons on the tip of her tail, the bow in her mane, and the scarf around her neck sway with her, and said, “You look lonely, could you use a little company?”

Although it was in the middle of night, the automatic crossing lights on the streets glowed red, ordering him to stop at the intersection even though there were no wagons on the street. He turned his head to see the young mare who looked like she would rather swallow her pride- among other things- than starve for the night, and shook his head, “No.”

The pegasus, who was required by law to place needles and pins in the shoulder of her dress to show what she was, retreated back to her corner. 

The stallion, returning to his watching the street for when to cross, reached into his jacket and removed a piece of paper. Like it was a napkin, he placed the haydog that he had been carrying for several minutes and wrapped it up around the bun.

He leaned forward, and took a large bite out of the meal, two parallel lines of mustard stained his facial fur and lips as his teeth cut into the membrane that held a mixture of spices, hay, cornmeal, and wheat together.

He threw the meal into the nearby garbage can that was overflowing with trash and then wiped his lips with the paper before of disposing of it as well.

The mare in the dress, watching the largely unconsumed haydog go to waste, looked at it and then at the owner, “Are… are you going to finish that?”

The pony who had stopped at the intersection did not respond. Instead, as the light turned from red to green, he looked up into the sky, breathed in the air, and unbuttoned the top two latches on the bottom most layer of his ensemble, releasing tension and somewhat filtering and cleansing his system with the cool night air. In another motion, he loosened his tie and reached into the opening to his chest and pulled out a necklace and letting it hang on the outside of his clothing.

The mare chanced a glance at his jewelry, and was somewhat disappointed. It was a simple string that held a small glass container that looked to carry sunflower petals.

The mare, not seeing any protest from the odd stallion who was acting like he had taken a weight off of his chest, ignored him and went to the trash can. Lying at the top was her prize.

First, she grabbed for the haydog, bringing it to her mouth… but then having second thoughts to eating straight out of the trash. She set it back down, and grabbed the paper that the stallion had used as a napkin and wiped her hooves with it.

The scrap of paper, which had been balled up, was unfolded by the female, but as she began to clean herself, she noticed a very important detail. This was not just a random piece of paper.

She unfolded it all, stretched it out, and began to scan it with her eyes, speed reading the document in seconds.

All the while, the one who had thrown the parchment out, stood still with his sunflower petal necklace. It had been a long night for the two, and with the rising sun in the distance, the darkness was at its end. The projects, being tall enough to shield the streets around them, kept the night alive for a few moments longer. At the top of their cement tombstone stature, light began to find its way into the world and burn the darkness into nothing.

The mare, no longer acting like a timid filly trying to be an adult, folded the piece of paper in half and then stuffed it down the front of her favorite dress.

In a stoic and controlled tone, she said, "Good work, Peace."







Always the first one up on every day, rain or shine, Town Crier, the newspaper deliverer for this district, walked down the street with his personal wagon full of cubed newspapers, making the early morning trek to his stand to await the morning surge of ponies waking up to start their day.

He moved towards the intersection and stopped. The crystal light above him was red, but, even though it would be breaking the law, he could have walked through. When he went to work, nobody was out. If not, then he wasn’t doing his job right.  

Anyway, being a good citizen, he stopped at the intersection and waited for his right to proceed to his destination. He yawned, adjusted the straps to the wagon and rubbed his eyes. He looked at the street, and unlike what he expected, he saw two ponies awake at this hour!

He focused on them, but then went back to himself, “Just some guy and a whore heading to a place to do business,” he told himself. He returned his focus to the street light, waiting for the lamp to turn from red to green, but then the thought occurred to him. “If I have to stop… shouldn't they be going?”

He looked back at the stallion in a suit and his mistress in a dress, and called over to them, “The passing sign is green, ya know.”

Without warning, an intense light attacked Town Crier as he stood in the street, coming from the two ponies. He covered his irises and rubbed them until the burning sensation stopped. 

He looked for the source of the pain, and found that the sun had finally poked over the buildings and lit him up. He must have just been looking at a bad angle and did not expect the rays to hit him, he thought. He looked back to the street… but saw the two ponies were gone. Odd, did he imagine them there?

Town Crier shook his head, shrugged his shoulders to himself, and continued on his way to his job, not giving the strange anomaly any more thought.

> A Wolf Among the Sheep
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

March 30th

The hour was early, the day was cold, and there was a thick slushy mixture of overnight snow and frozen rain covered the ground. But, for as early, cold, and nasty the precipitation was, none of those arguments were any reason to not accessorize.

While many ponies were making their morning commute to work, Rarity was likewise on her way to do her very first order of business. 
Even though the weather was not ideal, Rarity had taken the occasion to wear one of her finest hats, as well as her very favorite violet sweater, and, in the event that it did start to rain again, with her best umbrella 

Her trip was almost at its end. With her precious cargo of dresses secured to her back and protected from the elements by a sealed bag, Rarity was only a few paces away from finally returning home.

The slush on the ground had demanded that the tailor pack her banana yellow rain boots. Every roof and every street was covered in an wet white film of the ice and snow. The majority of the snow had begun melting, and so the gutters as well as the rooftops of the village became waterfalls for the runoff.
Flowerboxes and gardens where tiny buds braved to poke out of the ground earlier in the season were smothered beneath the heavily packed, wet, snow. 

Rarity used her key to unlock her house and entered. She closed the door behind her and double checked to make sure that the closed sign was currently hanging from the window.

With the bags of garments still securely on her back, Rarity took a step in and-

Fell flat on her face.

Rarity gave a cry of pain, but quickly moved from the shock of going from standing to being sprawled out atop the tile floor. She looked back towards her hooves and saw a familiar white saddlebag with a microphone-shaped buckle on the side.

Like a lion’s roar, Rarity’s naturally pale face began to turn pink as she lay upon the floor like a throw rug and shouted, “Sweetie Belle! Get out here THIS INSTANT!”

A head poked out from around the corner that lead to the kitchen. Sweetie Belle walked out from the hall and approached her sister, who had now turned as red as a ripe tomato.

“Why are you yell-?  Oh…” She began to say, but stopped mid-sentence as soon as she noticed the saddlebags that were wrapped against her sister’s hoof.

Rarity, still on the floor, lectured, “How many times must I tell you not to put your bags in front of the door! I keep telling you this but you keep doing it! One of these days you’re going to trip somepony! and what do you know, It’s me! I swear, If you don’t s-”

Rarity, mid rant, stopped herself, closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose with her hoof, and took a deep breath. She uncovered her face, which had returned to its original color. 

“Please pick up your bag.” Rarity said in her normal chipper tone.

Sweetie Belle scurried behind Rarity and untangled the strap of her bag from her older sister’s hoof.  “Sorry,” she whispered before darting back into the kitchen.

Rarity gave a sigh of relief. Thank Celestia she had brought the weatherproof garment bag with her.  She picked herself up and walked into her sewing room. Upon reaching her highly organized vault of mannequins, thread, fabric, needles, and scissors she removed the custom dresses from the bag and placed each one of them onto their own pony-sized cloth dummies.

Rarity placed her sewing glasses on her nose and lit up the first garment with a tiny spotlight and then gave the gown the scrutiny of her full attention. Only running off of her memorized places for all of her tools, Rarity gathered all of her instruments for an adjustment placed them on her nearby table. Fancy clothes like this, if used with care, could last for quite a while. But, her friends and she always had a nasty habit of finding trouble. So Rarity suspected that their evening wear was in dire need of assistance. The little tumble she took with her sister’s bag was the least of her worries.

Rarity, from checking the underside of Twilght’s gown, perked her ears up and looked at the door with her head cocked sideways.

Rarity walked out into the hall and called out, “Sweetie Belle, aren’t you supposed to be at school now?” The tailor entered the kitchen, and found her sister where she normally would find her at night, except for the fact that it was in the middle of the morning. As per usual, the unicorn filly was sitting at the table with an open book lying before her.

She brought her head up from the work that she was doing and said, “The Superintendent decided to delay school for a few hours today because the roads were too slushy for the school carriage.”

“Oh…” Rarity replied, “How pleasant. When will you need to be going?”

“Noon. They said that we need to walk to school today.”

“Hmm,” Rarity mused as she approached the table and took a seat beside her foal sister. “I suppose I’ll walk you there.” 

“It’s okay! I can walk myself, it’s not too far away.”

“No, no. It’s alright. I’d rather not have you go alone. I’ll just have to work a little bit faster today. What have you been up to this morning?” She said, moving closer to the filly and looking at her book.

“I can’t think of anything to do, so I may as well study for the quiz today.”

“On what?”

“It’s another one of those creepy fairytales.” The hairs on Rarity’s neck stood up at the mere mention of the subject.  “I gotta know all this stuff so Ms. C will give me a good grade.” 

Rarity swallowed, “well… If you have been reading it, I am sure that you can summarize it for me if you know it so well.”

“Are you sure?” Sweetie Belle asked, pulling the book close and covering the pages of the story. “I don’t want you to pass out like last time, remember?”

Rarity smiled, and for as much as she wanted to back away from the threat, she would brave the challenge of whatever horrifying folklore hid within the pages of Sweetie Belle’s book. “It’s alright.” She scooted over and hugged her little sister, “If I start having nightmares, I’ll have you check under my bed.”

Sweetie Belle giggled, but then closed the book. She took a breath, and then began to narrate the story.

“Okay, so…  This story takes place in some place full of only earth ponies….oh, wait, there is one family of unicorns who live in a castle and are like the land owners, but they’re not really important. But anyway, the majority of the ponies are just poor earth pony farmers and stuff. So, there is a guy who is the last son of a family of five colts. He’s the biggest and strongest, but he isn’t going to get any inheritance from his father’s farm. So all he does is plow all day and –I don’t know why, but I kinda imagined him to be Big Macintosh for some reason- but one day there is a carriage that gets pulled through their village. It’s really big and fancy and stuff, and being pulled by oxs instead of other ponies. The door opens up, and the farmer’s son sees a unicorn step out that is supposed to be the most prettiest pony ever –I kept picturing you for her, funny, huh?-. So, the pretty unicorn and –I don’t really get this,- her… governor-ess see the farmer colt and they start to date. Why would a governor be in charge of who a pony dates, Rarity?”

Rarity Chuckled as she tried to digest all of the information, but only understood the last sentence. “Sweetie, I believe you are talking about a governess. They aren’t politicians like Mayor Mare. In the past, a governess would go around with an unwed filly and make sure that she was…” Rarity contemplated explaining the concept of virginity to her little sister, “taking good care of herself.”

“Okay!” Sweetie Belle chirped. “So as it turns out, the unicorn is a baroness who is looking to wed, and wants to marry a strong earth pony so that she can take him to her kingdom and he can teach her earth ponies that live on her land how to farm right. He agrees to the marriage since he isn’t going to get any inheritance, but his family says it’s not okay to marry out of his species. But he does it anyway.”

“You seem to know this pretty well,” Rarity said, “I am sure you will do fine.”

“Wait, the story isn’t over! They are gonna get married, but it is customary for the groom to pay the bride’s father, so the poor villagers scrape together all of their money and makes a teeth-”

“Tithe.” Rarity corrected.

“Okay, so they make a tight for him to take to the bride’s dad who is living in a whole other kingdom. But when they leave the village, they go towards where this other kingdom is and reach a cliff. As it turns out, the unicorn lady isn’t actually a baroness –sorry Rarity- and that she and her Mayor-ess are thieves.”

“Oh, my.” Rarity said, somewhat startled, but not nearly as shocked as the first time her sister had to read a morbid fairytale for school.

“So they kick the farmer colt out of the carriage and then line him up next to the cliff. They take the village’s money, and tell him to take off his marriage robes because they are going to sell them,or something; Oh, and the farmer thinks they are going to kill him. Anyway, the farmer is sad, but he tells them to turn around because he was taught by his mom that he should never let a filly see him change. So they turn around while he undresses. But instead of taking off his clothes, he picks up the unicorn and her governor and throw them off the cliff. He takes the carriage full of money from her other husbands back to the town and shares the wealth with all of the villagers.”

Rarity blinked a few times, “My… that was… quite a read.”

“Yeah, weird, huh?”

“I think you will do just fine.” She said. “And I feel that I may be paying Ms. Cheerilee a visit. ” Rarity stood up from the table. “I’m going back to my sewing room. Watch the clock and call when it is time to go to school.”

Sweetie gave an “uh huh” in response.

The tailor returned to her dresses and went back to work. To any outsider, it may have just looked like she was eying the clothes and seeing if there was any damage to the piece. But that was not the case. Rarity was not simply a dressmaker at this point. There is no specific name for what she was doing while checking each one of her works, but the only thing that could be comparable to what she was doing would be a Crime Scene Investigator.

Every rip, every smudge, every stressed stitch along the interior of the gown was a detail. Each of these details added together to create the story of what happened to these dresses from the day they left her store to now. A loose button here or there meant that the wearer had either a hard time putting it on, keeping it on, or wanted to take it off quickly. Tension and ripping along the gown may have meant that somepony tripped on it or may have been dancing with two left hooves. Crumbs and stains around the brazier may have meant that the owner was a messy eater… and judging by the stains that looked to be frosting that had been poorly washed out of a certain pink dress, Rarity did not have to wonder who needed to refine their table manners among her friends.

Speaking of refinement, Rarity realized that she was missing one dress.  Rainbow Dash must not have kept her dress with Fluttershy like Twilight, Pinkie, and Applejack did.

Rarity wondered about how she was ever going to get to Rainbow Dash. Chances were that she kept it in her cloud home, and Rarity would definitely need help in getting to i-

SLAM!

Rarity cried out in fright as the contents of her sewing room became an avalanche and buried her alive.

“Hey Rarity. Sorry I’m so late. I had a hard time finding my stuff! Everything’s cool, right? Rarity?”

Rainbow Dash looked around the place that she remembered to be Rarity’s sewing room. All of the shelves were empty, and anything that had been placed on a horizontal surface was either misarranged in a careless fashion or on the ground in a gigantic heap.

“Rarity, you in here?” she asked again. 

No response.

Rainbow Dash tentatively stepped into the room, watching to avoid stepping on a fallen needle or to unintentionally move some importantly arrangement of things-that-she-had-no-idea-what-to-call-them out from where her host had placed it.

Still with her package on her back, Rainbow Dash stopped in the center of the room before a pile of stuff that was about her height. Rainbow Dash scoffed, “wow, I gotta remember this for the next time that neatfreak calls me messy.”

As if it were kindling from a fire, smoke began to rise up from the massive pile of Rarity’s belongings.  A white head emerged from the top of the mound and was accompanied by the sound of grinding teeth.

“Rainbow Dash! For the last time. Don’t. Slam. The. Door.”
Rainbow Dash, preparing to dive out the window and rally the fire department, hid behind her dress and said something along the lines of , “I’m-sorry-I-called-you-messy-and-slammed-the-door-so-hard-that-I-knocked-over-all-of-your-stuff.I-think-your-beautiful-and smart-and-talented-and-please-don’t-turn-me-into-a-scarf-cuz-all-I-came-here-for-is-to-return-your-dress!”  But came out sounding more like”gejpvaginawoghtrigablowjobhaerioghfuckweirograpehefjhbadfgornvnioragefnigrvnotittiesrghcuntbnpoagrbsndkrgdickhbvrehfgiaer-Dress!”

Like a switch was hit somewhere in the sub consciousness of her mind, Rarity switched from a barrel of rage ready to explode to her normal tranquil and professional self “Oh, please place your dress on that open mannequin over there.”

Immediately, Rainbow complied as Rarity emerged from her burial mound.

Rarity, acting almost oblivious to the disharmony to the Zen of her workplace, immediately went to work on the latest addition. She checked every seam, inspected every layer, and studied every hemming. Apart from a rip in the back, the dress was in remarkably good shape.
Rarity reached up and felt around her spot designated to her sewing needles, but, like the rest of her supplies, found them lying somewhere on the floor. 

“I must say, you have taken very good care of your gift.”

“Uhh… Yeah, thanks.” Rainbow replied, backing up and standing in a spot on the floor that was devoid of sewing supplies. “I think I made that rip when I was dancing with Soarin. He has two front-left hooves. I was kinda worried I ruined it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” replied Rarity, about halfway done mending the laceration in the fabric. “Nothing I can’t fix.”

“That’s good,” Rainbow said. “I was gonna try to fix it myself, but thought that I should just leave it to you.”

Rarity stopped mid stitch. Upon hearing Rainbow Dash mention the possibility that she would have tried her own hoof at fixing the tailor’s work of art, Rarity imagined her dress being strapped to a table with duct tape while Rainbow Dash prepared a blowtorch, hedge trimmer, jackhammer, nail gun, and a bottle of glue to fix the problem.

“Uh…Rarity?”

The unicorn snapped out of her trance to see Sweetie Belle standing at the doorway with her schoolbags on and her boots on all four hooves.

Rarity shook her head to reorganize her thoughts and rid her of the daydream, “Oh my! Time to get you to school!” She turned to Rainbow Dash, “You may wait here if you would like. I won’t be long.”

“Nah, it’s alright.” Rainbow Dash said, hovering off the floor and out of the door. “Stay here, I’ll take ‘Sweets to school for ya.”

Rarity, who was in the middle of saying, “That is awfully nice of you.” Was cut off by the resulting rush of air leaving her sewing room after Rainbow Dash called out, “Race ya there!”

Rarity groaned again as what was left of her organized supplies flew about the room and landed on the floor. But, all she did was shake her head and return to the task before her.

Like she had said, Rarity was done fixing the blemish in her masterpiece in a few seconds and returned to one of her earlier projects. She was not far into her next task when she heard the door to her home open again and Rainbow Dash came running in.

Rarity looked at the clock, it had hardly been two minutes. “What are you doing back here?”

“Bah, don’t worry about it.” Rainbow answered, “She thinks I’m so far ahead that she’ll never guess I doubled back.”

A lecture about the difference between ‘racing’ somewhere and ‘walking’ somepony there began to brew inside Rarity’s head, but she ignored the voice telling her to berate the pegasus.

“So, what brings you back, Dear? I managed to finish fixing your dress, would you like to take it home?”

“Nah, not yet.” Rainbow said, walking around the mess on the floor, “Sheesh, you should really clean up in here.”

Rarity clenched her eyes shut and covered her forehead with her hoof as a tumor began to develop in her head. “Is there anything else I could get for you?” she asked in a ‘you’ve just overstayed your visit’ tone.

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash said, looking up at the ceiling, “When are we planning to get the theatre for the concert?”

Rarity suppressed a laugh, “Have you forgotten again!”

“No!” Rainbow shouted, but then trembled underneath Rarity’s gaze and admitted, “…well, yeah. ”

“We are to leave for Canterlot tomorrow morning and the concert begins at Eight o’clock.”

“Phew!” Rainbow wiped her brow with a hoof, “I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to get good seats!”

“Rainbow, we are sitting in the V.I.P. booth with Princess Celestia and Luna.”

Rainbow Dash’s red eyes shrunk to the size of peas as she tried to make sure she heard that last piece of information correctly. 

“This is going to be... SO AWESOME!” she shot into the air like a firecracker and then dove down and tackled Rarity. “I mean… VIP seats… Sapphire Shores… Canterlot…. AH!” She put her head face to face with Rarity and then whispered in her normal screechy voice, “So awesome!”

Rarity, after being assaulted by her friend, tried to push her off, but she was gone within the second.

The unicorn’s head began to pound, her place of work being a mess, Rainbow Dash’s shouting, being tackled, it was starting to look today was adding up to be an emergency trip to the spa.





The dresses had all been fixed and in the possession of their respective owners. All of Rarity’s bags –literally, ALL- had been packed and were waiting to be taken to the station and loaded onto the train. Invoices for client accounts receivable as well as payments to her suppliers had been sent out in the mail, and her store sign had been updated to explain her semi- vacation.

Ever since she had learned that Sapphire Shores was going to end her world tour in Canterlot and that the Princesses had reserved tickets for her and the rest of her friends, Rarity had been doing extra work to try to get as far ahead as she could to compensate for the days of freedom. Like the calm before a storm, Rarity was done with everything and could do nothing but count the seconds until it was time to leave.

All alone in her home, Rarity sat at her kitchen table and looked out at the cold, wet, Spring day outside. She grasped her record player with her magic and placed it beside her on the tempered piece of circular glass that was her kitchen table.

With as much care as she took when using her needles and thread, she delicately placed the tip of the plastic point onto the vinyl record, filing the vacant air with the sounds of Rarity’s favorite album, Prancing in Prance.

Rarity began to relax, sitting back in her chair, and breathing in nice and slowly, and imagining what fun and excitement the following days would entail.

To Rarity’s relief, Sweetie Belle had grabbed the morning newspaper before she went to school. The unicorn grabbed the bundle and brought it over to see what exactly was happening in the world.

Rarity read the headliner on the front page, and the sweet sounds from her record player faded into obscurity.

Terror Strikes in Fellik City, Japone’ 

Rarity did not read the article, but she already knew what she was going to do next.

She stuffed the paper into her chest like a school-filly who did not know how to share and looked around the room, making sure that she was not being watched.

She rounded up the daily periodicals and ran as fast as she could out of her kitchen and up into her room, ignoring the sounds from her favorite musician as the machine on the table kept playing.

Once in her room, she locked the door behind her and wedged a chair into the nob to prevent anypony from wandering in. She closed her windows and pulled all of the drapes shut. By the end of the ordeal, the room was so secure that not even sunlight could enter.

Rarity lit a candle and placed it in a small dish before jumping onto her bed.

There, with the newspaper in question, tape, scissors, her working glasses, and her little scrapbook on the customer known as “Esproc”, she dug into the mystery.

The picture was of a large grandiose government building of some sort, not romantic or castle-looking like some of the older official buildings in Canterlot or in other places in Equestria, but still very formal, stoic, and business-like. Smoke was rising out of some of the windows and crowds of ponies, firefighters, workers, and pedestrians, were gathered outside.

She read the article. Earlier in the week in the capital of Japone’, a Government building called “The National Offices of Archives and Securities” had been attacked by a terrorist. While several security personnel on duty were harmed, there were no fatalities. The thief, disguised as an Equestrian Official, had entered the offices under the false pretense of being there on behalf of the Princesses of Equestria to negotiate a visit. In reality, the Princesses had to renege on the offer due to prior commitments and had sent a letter of apology which arrived shortly after the terrorist had gained entry.

The authorities had not yet been able to determine the goal of the mission other that the target may have been in the archive vault. Efforts to find missing documents have been difficult given the fact that a fire had burned much of the vault’s contents.

The authorities had brought in many leads on who may have been responsible for the attack, and several individuals had been detained for questioning, but no clear culprit had been identified by the time the newspaper had been printed.

The foreign police may not have had an idea for who did the deed, but Rarity had one.

Rarity, still on her bed, donned her special sewing glasses, and began to inspect the pictures that accompanied the tale. By some sort of egotistical problem or plain dumb luck, Rarity had a strange talent for finding the custom suits that she made for Mr. Esproc in photos like this.

It could be just a chance, like a set of coincidences that she happened to find her suit in on one of the ponies somewhere in the picture. But she had a feeling that it was too good to leave it to chance. It was like a game, for as much as the authorities could not find their culprit, he -or she, if the suit happened to be worn by a mare- was always somewhere just out of sight, but right under their nose. Almost as if it was waving its hooves out and shouting “Bet’cha can’t find me!”

Like the hours she had spent in grade school trying to find Carmane San Francisco, Rarity studied every aspect of the page. Looked at every face, inspect every shape, and stared at every article of clothing, until she found…Nothing.

Mr. Esproc, or more importantly, his suit, was nowhere to be found.

Rarity sighed and rolled onto her back. How disappointing.

Disappointing?

Rarity sat up and slapped herself across the muzzle. Why was she not happy that her customer was not in the picture? This wasn’t a game. She was playing hide-and-go-seek with a potentially dangerous international criminal. The scrap book that she had been compiling held potentially incriminating evidence that could put, not just her, but her mother, father, and sister at risk.

Rarity flopped back onto the bed and bounced back one time on the springs. What was she doing? Why was she pursuing this so hard? Her customer had done nothing wrong to her, why was she trying to find ways to fear him so much? Why was she trying to put herself at risk like this?

Pit Vipers only rattle their tails when they don’t want to bite something. So even if her Mr. Esproc was the sharply dressed psycho that she was trying to make him, why would she want to try his patience?

Rarity rolled off the bed and opened up her window once more, allowing the sun’s light to greet her face. 

Maybe it was time to put this to rest, to act more like an adult. If this ‘Esproc’ had plans for her, he would have done so by now. She just needed to let go of her imagination and move on with her life.

Rarity bowed her head to the window and sighed as she sat on a square of light that lit up the floor in the largely dark room. Why was she committing so much of her time to this wild goose hunt instead of using her energy to promote her business, or spend with her family, or just have fun? Why was she focusing on her fear of a meek stallion rather than her once in a lifetime opportunity to see her favorite musician live from seats that she could only dream of? Why was she so obsessed with something so farfetched that it sounded like a corny horror novel?

She kept telling herself that her more rational half was probably right, that her fear was a choice, and her customer was probably not of any danger to her. But at the same time, the tale that Sweetie Belle had told her kept nagging at the back of her head.  

It made her wonder, if the time came, would she be able to throw her false savior off the cliff like the character from the fairytale? Or would she become just another one of his victims? 

> A Cold, Clear day in April
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Cold, Clear, Day in April…

April 2rd…

Several sets of eyes looked down upon the world. High above the gridlocked street in front of the Imperial Palace Theater, the two waited as still as statues beside one particularly large weapon. 

Below, luxurious and expensive carriages of dark crimson, shiny black, and pure white were pulled by professional teams of stallions at speeds that would rival snails on the white marble streets of Canterlot. The vehicles were inspected inch by inch by guards at each checkpoint.  Once cleared by the security team, the chauffeurs and drivers exercised extreme caution in guiding the transport that cost more than a year’s salary up to the red carpet leading into the theatre untouched, deposited their fancily dressed clients, and then tiptoed to the nearby parking lot.

The two peeking over the building across the street -which was an apartment building with boutiques on the ground floor- sat still and watched the slow proceedings from their nested perch.

For as entertaining as watching a painfully slow traffic jam on a street corner seemed to be, this was actually the more interesting part of the day. These two, like the other teams scattered across the rooftops looking out for trouble while babysitting a large crossbow, had been out on watch for hours before the current activity on the street. Through the grey overcast above, blistering cold winds, and sparse flakes of snow dancing carelessly through the air, every royal sniper team had been on full watch duty around the theatre.
At the position directly across from the front entrance to the concert hall, two particular ponies sat at binoculars while their weapon, The Royal Arms AX1 Bow-Gun lazily pointed towards the sky. Their attendance was somewhat pointless. What were they, two ponies armed with an anti-materiel weapon invented to take down adult dragons at one thousand yards, supposed to do in the event that they detected a threat amidst a sea of innocent civilians?

Well, whatever the answer may be, the idea of having an extra set of eyes looking around kept the public at ease, and in reality that was all that mattered.

The pony on the left side of the revolver fed weapon was a pegasus. Corporal Gray Anatomy was his name. Like all of the other recruits that had been pulled from the elite guard training, he was paired with a senior member of the elite corps of Solar and Lunar Guard. It was somewhat like an apprentice-type situation, that he, an elite trainee, had been partnered with a guard who had already passed the training and had experience in being on the elite guard. Their exclusive association with the guards who had common positions worked well in regard to breaking in the new recruits. Any of the Solar or Lunar Guards (who represented quality over quantity) who were not currently watching a VIP had been placed at hard points –on rooftops, inspecting vehicles occupying checkpoints, etc- around the action-zone. Their Royal counterparts (quantity over quality) were doing the majority of the work on the ground and in the theatre. Their forces, combined with the addition of the Canterlot Metropolitan Police force in the area should have provided more than the necessary security. It just so happened that Gray was paired with the Second-In-Command of the Royal Guard, First Lieutenant Raindance Maggie.

The Corporal sat at his binoculars and wore a standard issue set of enchanted golden armor which turned his coat white like any of the other royal guards of the castle. The earth pony mare sitting beside him looking through her own pair of binoculars sat with her helmet off. The lack of the Lunar Steel headwear left her body in its natural honey yellow color while her tightly wound bun of mane on the back of her head hung like a sagging balloon.

Even though they did not move away from the spectacles before their eyes, the yellow mare breathed out a white cloud of breath from her nostrils and said, “I know he may come off as…strange, but you need to respect that he does the things he does to prepare us all. ”

Gray replied to her statement, but dared not break away from his binoculars, “It just… really bothers me all the time, First Lieutenant. I don’t mind the physical training, but its just… The training master’s methods seem unorthodox. ”

The mare broke away from her watch and gave an audible sigh to the air before she rummaged through a nearby bag, “For the last time, Gray. When I’m sitting out in freezing weather like any other guy, just call me Raindance.”

The Corporal turned his head and looked at his superior and apologized. But, when he looked at her, he saw that she had dug into her satchel and pulled out a small circular container, about the size of a hockey puck. The package had the designs of evergreen trees on them, and the white word “Koal” was printed on the top.

“I didn’t know you chewed,” Said the spotter.

“I don’t,” replied Raindance, putting the open hatch to her nose and sniffing in the diced tobacco’s smell, “Anything to help ignore the cold.”
The container fell back into the bag and the two resumed looking over the edge of the building.

After a few moments, Gray continued the conversation, “I knew that the elite training wasn’t going to be easy, don’t get me wrong. But I never suspected it to be like… well… the way it is.”

“I understand your concern, but the training master knows what he is doing. I had the same doubt that you did when I went through Solar Guard training, but you have to have faith in that he has the utmost concern for the Princesses’ safety.”

“Yeah…” the Corporal added while he rubbed a particularly sore and bruised area of his neck. “I really just can’t trust the guy. There is just too many things that don’t add up about him.”

“I know how you feel, but trust me, the less you know the better. The Princesses trust him, and so that means we should to.” 
The junior pony sitting between the large AX1 Bowgun and a few boxes of its explosive ammunition grunted in agreement. 
“And,” Raindance added once more, “I hope you know better than to talk with anypony else about this. I was in your place once, and I want to help you, but loose lips sink ships. Anypony else may have you shit-canned for gossip.”

“Roger that.” Gray added, “Thanks anyway, Raindance.”

The two guards of differing authority returned to their jobs of scoping out the crowd below them as the attendees entered the theatre. 
Their watch continued to be as boring and uneventful as it was before unti-

“I got him!” whispered Raindance.

Gray, beginning to feel his bones freeze together in the position of peeking over the low barricade from the general lack of movement, jumped back to life as his superior let her binoculars hang from her neck and she took position and shouldered their massive weapon. “See who? What’s going on?”

The Lieutenant moved her free hoof up to the scope and turned the magnifier crank slowly increasing the magnification on the mob of ponies below.

“There…” she whispered. The mare set the weapon back to its resting position and moved back to her satchel, digging past the gear in the bag and pulled out a large golden ring. She took the equipment, and twisted one link on the metal O.

When calibrated correctly, the mare spoke into the ring and said, “Skinner, this is Blind 3, over. Jaeger is on site. I repeat, Jaeger is on site, over.”

Gray, confused over what he was trying to look for and more so over why they weren’t taking action over identifying a potential threat in a crowd of innocent civilians, watched the communicator ring as it began to vibrate. A distorted and monotone voice responded to her warning, “Good job, take the rest of the day off.”

As Gray tried to comprehend the… incredibly unprofessional response to their strict militaristic transmission, Raindance had already begun packing up their camp.

“What are you doing?” 

“Our job’s done.” The Mare responded, disassembling the large crossbow and placing it into its attaché case.

“But… weren’t we supposed to-”

“If you want to sit out here in the cold for the rest of the night, then fine by me. If not, then ‘Skinner gave us the order to return to base, so help me with some of these boxes.”

Gray Anatomy, still confused as to what exactly was happening, threw caution to the wind and decided to pack up the weapon’s explosive ammunition. As the pegasus began to extract from their over-watch position with the same gear that he had carried to the roof in the morning, Raindance had looked over the edge of the roof and looked down at the crowd once more.
“Good hunting, sir.”





Years earlier…

A lineup of eight stallions, all members of the Royal Guard, all pegasi, and all the same white coat, walked in a straight line behind a yellow earth pony mare. Like a good little troop of ducklings, the eight followed closely behind their mother goose as she lead the way through the castle. With every step she made, they all took one step. For every turn, they were always one step behind. Like perfect little copycats, they matched her stride without fail.

For as strange as it sounded, these stallions were not following this one mare around like gawkers at a beach. On the contrary, they should be acting with the utmost respect and professionalism. They were not just following any ordinary mare. They were trailing behind their superior, Acting Captain Raindance.

The earth pony with a bright violet heart on her flank, wearing her friend's armor and temporarily accepting his responsibilities to cover his excused absence of being married, made her way through the castle and finally to her desired room. 

Two unicorns, doing their jobs perfectly, opened the doors for their executive officer and closed them as the last member of the crowd entered.

The room they had entered was a sunroom. For a normal pony's home, this would be a hotly desired room. The balcony outside hosted a perfect view to the wedding chapel's tower and also had a sight of the street below. The sun lit the room easily, but the pink shield that encased the city distorted it and made the light seem to be of an awkward and unnatural shade of orange. The wind, if the shield allowed it, would have pushed a relaxing breeze to cool off anypony who decided to spend the evening reading in the comfort of the room.

The room probably had some sort of name, every room did in this castle, but it did not matter. For as nice as it sounded, the extravagant sunrooms such as this were fairly common in the castle, which was why this room rarely had guests.

The armored mare entered the room and about-faced. The following of common Royal Guards stopped and lined up shoulder to shoulder before her.

She approached them and began to pace before them all. 

"You know why I gathered you all here," she said.

"No, ma'am," one said, keeping a straight and stoic posture.

Raindance reached the end of the line of eight and kept walking. All eight ponies felt an itching in their heads at the same time, and when a pony went on a return march before the group, a navy blue stallion in a weather resistant coat was walking before them.

"There is no use denying the threat that is knocking at our door. Look out the windows yourselves."

The line of guards stepped forward and closer to the window, looking out on the bright, warm summer's day.

"It's marvelous," one said.

"Yes... yes it is," another agreed.

It was a glorious day outside, but these eight pegasi were not marveling at the possibilities of things to do while relaxing after a long shift in heavy armor. Instead, all eight of them were staring up at the sky, at the little black specs that were hovering over the shield.

The shape shifting pony in the room spoke again, "You have not fooled me. Your Trojan horse has failed. Submit now, and your lives shall be spared."

The eight kept their fixation with the sky above, and instead of answering to his threat, one stated a different question in a dreamy and listless manner.

"Why do you resist? Why is it that you ally yourself with things so far from yourself? Even now among familiars, the conflict of your heart sides with this hopeless cause even with the common breed that outnumbers you. Become one, serve our queen, and rid yourself of the charade, half brother."

From behind the group, the Omnishield wearing pony retorted. "I need not fear insurmountable odds or seek familiarity in common strangers. For we are all one as equal under the mercy of the Lady of Light. Wicked ends hath befallen those who try challenge her order."

There was a thud, and the eight pegasi turned in unison and looked at the winged unicorn in a coat, now reared and covering the door with his back as a large board barricaded the double doors shut.

"It seems that we are at crossing then." One of the pegasi said, raising his break action crossbow and aiming it at the pony blocking the door.

" Even though thy travels through the valley of temptation, Thou Shalt not give in to the offerings of the condemned; for thy reward of the Lady of Light's favor in Salvation shall be infinitely greater.[\i]  "

With all eight weapons aimed at one mark, the traitors fired.

The crossbow bolts hit the navy blue pony and cut into him with hard and solid contact. The Lever action bow darts stuck out from his chest like a pincushion. The metal slag from the magic bows burned and melted the Spring coat as the magically superheated iron shavings found their marks on his chest.

When all of the projectile weapons were out of ammunition, the eight dropped them.

With a groan of pain, the winged unicorn slid down the door and rested on the floor while several dozen arrows and marks ruined his favorite coat.

One of the pegasi turned back to the window and watched as the pink sphere finally cracked.

“and so the invasion has commenced..." He buzzed.

"Yes... Let the feast begin." Replied another.

There was a series of short, raspy coughs from behind the firing squad of spies."Not quite."

The eight, jumping at the ghostly voice that knew their language, turned again.

The Navy blue pony stood up again by pushing and using the sealed door as leverage. Spitting out red blood from its mouth, it used a hoof to unzip its coat.

The garment, full of arrows, holes, burn marks, and slag that fell from it, fell off of its master's body and crumpled up on the floor, revealing a body armor set made from a foil of the metals from the sun's core.

The pony pulled a string on the side of the set and caused the two pieces of Solar Gold chest armor to fall to the ground and crack the tiles.

"No matter treacherous day or accursed night, my creed I have sworn to uphold."

Beneath the trump card of the now naked winged unicorn, the latch on an armpit holster unclipped as its button was pulled off with green magic.

"All in the name of Lady Light..."

The pony fell forward onto all four hooves and drew a large purple knife from its holster in magic.

"Over whom the bell tolls."
> Merces Letifer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

April 2nd, Earlier…

A low growl emanated from the radiator as air seeped from the hot and rusted pipes of the heater underneath the window and into the room. The window above the room’s heater was closed, its heavy red curtains were shut tightly and blocking the starlight from entry into the space. The bed was unmade, and just like the sheets that were ruffled and peeled back, the wallpaper was likewise unkempt. The pots of phony plastic plants were gathering dust in the corner, but may as well have been invisible while positioned in the dark corners of the room. The only source of light in this room, a warm orange glow from a small candle, was at the table beside the bed, next to the room’s only occupant.

Sitting in a chair beside the candle was a red earth pony. The last of his cigarettes was in his mouth, and all of its predecessors lay dead in the ashtray. The earth pony sitting in the chair sat almost motionless as he smoked his cigarette and read a small book, its title, “Sapphire Shores: Around the World tour.” The spine of the cheap twelve page paperback book had stress marks and was stretched, like it had been read an excessive amount of times.

As the last little tobacco stick turned to cremated ash, the red pony stood up and set his little book on the nightstand beside the tip that had been left behind for the Hotel’s maid.

The pony walked over to his luggage and opened one of the zipped compartments, grabbing a gallon jug of a sparkling blue elixir and a lanyard before heading into the bathroom. 

The stallion stepped past the scurrying cockroaches and broken tiles on the floor and turned on the shower. After the water was falling through the head, the stallion walked to the counter and stopped at the mirror. He placed his sparkling blue jug and the lanyard onto the surface. He closed his eye and took in a deep breath. 

“Who am I today?”

He opened his eyes and focused on his reflection.

“Establishment Shot: born in Trottingham. Blue coated Earth Pony. Age 26. High school dropout, obtained a G.E.D. after second attempt. Currently employed as a camera-pony. Family: estranged, Colleagues: nonexistent.”

The red earth pony grabbed his sparkling jug of the blue magic concoction and entered the cold shower. Thirty minutes later, the earth pony exited the shower clean, refreshed, and ready to go to work. But unlike when he entered, his coat was no longer red, but blue instead.

The earth pony who was no longer red pulled his lanyard over his head. He walked over to his duffle bags and threw the poncho that labeled him as a part of the video crew over his shoulder and grabbed all of his equipment. 

The psyche profile on “Establishment Shot” would say that he did not have any hobbies, but when the authorities would eventually raid this very hotel room, they would learn that did not necessarily mean he didn’t have an obsession.

The room’s occupant opened his blinds before he left and locked the door behind him. When the sun would rise, its light would liberate the walls of the dirty hotel room of darkness. Underneath the thick black layer of mystery, it would be revealed that all of the walls were coved in posters of one certain musician, Sapphire Shores.








Later…

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I’m standing in a limo!”  Shouted a particular mare who happened to have her head sticking out of the sunroof. 

“Move over Pinkie, it’s my turn!” said Rainbow Dash as she pulled her friend out from the opening, stuck her head out and cried, “WOOOHOOO!”

“Girls, please. Be careful with your dresses!” Rarity said as she watched the two wrestle over the skyward opening of the stretched carriage. Even though she would always restrain herself from engaging in such childish behavior, Rarity was sharing the same electrifying and exciting energy as her two friends were showing and, if she did not have any manners, she too would be crying out at the top of her lungs as she let the wind blow through her hair. But, instead of bragging over the silly accomplishment of standing in a fancy carriage, she would rather be saying something along the lines of “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I’m riding in a royal limo on the way to a Sapphire Shores concert with V.I.P. seating!”

“Rarity, let them have some fun! There’s no foul in letting a little bit of energy out.” 

Rarity turned to the only other occupant in the vehicle. While the purpose of a limousine was to show the success of the owner by the excess of their carriage, this was not the case for this particular one. Princess Celestia sat in her armored luxury carriage and actually looked comfortable in a product that could be used by ponies that were half her size. The four mares were the only occupants in the vehicle being pulled by a dozen gold clad ponies. The other Princess as well as Twilight, Applejack, and Fluttershy were riding in the equally fancy stretched carriage before them.

“I agree, Princess, but I do not want their roughhousing to result in one of us not looking our tip-top best, especially on this day. Oh, and I must say, yours looks divine.”

The Princess’ smile widened as she shook her head, causing the tip of her mane to flow through the side of the carriage. “Please, this little old thing is nothing in comparison to your own labors.”

Rarity covered her mouth and gasped, “Don’t be absurd!” Even though a hollow compliment would be customary in the presence of a member of a higher social class, Rarity’s astonishment was genuine. Even though she was sitting in the limo and not giving the garment the proper space for its presence, it still looked stunning. The sun brooch adorning her sash glistened as if by magic.  The sash across her shoulders was made of Breznian Silk, which would almost be transparent if not for the sequins creating a glimmering effect as some light fought through the tinted windows. But the highlight of the attire was definitely the dress itself. The fabric, an unbelievably high content of cloud cotton, seemed to flow around her like waves, nearly the same color as her fur.  It almost made it seem as if the fabric was an extension of her wings. The wispy texture waved around her until it reached the bottommost stitches, where the cloth seemingly disappeared and became the light that the earth gave off during a sunset.  “This is in a league of its own. I could never hope to make something fitting your perfection.”

“There’s no need to be modest, Rarity. I would bet that your talent could best any of the contenders of my bureau if you ever took the opportunity to visit.”

Rarity heard what the Princess had said and stopped herself. Was she just invited to see the Princess’ wardrobe?  

She hesitated before she answered. She didn’t want to come off as imposing… but, who dares wins…

“I would be delighted to take you up on that, your majesty!” but, immediately covered her mouth. 

Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie had been too preoccupied to notice how red Rarity’s face had become. But, to her fortune, the Princess could only chuckle. “Rarity, It’s the least I can do for you. I’ll find time to- oh?” The Princess’ horn came alive in a glow. “Ahem, excuse me, Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash?”

The two stopped wrestling over the sunroof.

“I need to take this, would you please hold still for me?”

The two kept their places as if they were spontaneously turned into statues.

The Three watched the Princess as her horn lit up once again, this time glowing to the fullest of its ability, and brightening up the inside of their compartment. The Princess, like she was listening to an invisible cricket whispering into her ear, smiled and nodded her head. The passenger compartment of the limo was all but silent other than the ambient and muffled sound of the crowds outside and the clicks of the chauffers’ hooves.

Finally, Princess Celestia said, “Good job. Take the rest of the day off.” The glow of her horn faded, and she shifted her attention back to Pinkie and Rainbow Dash. “You may continue.”









Meanwhile…


Like on the Friday after The Sacred Dinner Celebration -a Friday which many called the first day of Hearth’s Warming Eve shopping-  hundreds of ponies massed around the entrance of the Imperial Theater for the final destination of Sapphire Shore’s Around the World tour. Instead of trying to push past the doors though, the ponies instead fought each other to see who happened to have their carriage limo pull up to the red carpet. For, if there was one thing that took precedent over buying holiday toys, it was celebrity gossip.

News reporters, camera ponies, paparazzi and whoever wanted to be in the presence of the rich and famous had lined up among both sides of the blood red river of the red carpet. So much attention was put towards the ponies who were being escorted out of their transportation that nopony was paying any attention to the patrons of the event who would rather enter and find their seats.

There was one such pony who entered into the theatre almost unnoticed. By the way she was dressed, she looked like she was expecting a date. Her dark green mane was tied back and hung over the black shoulder of her three piece ensemble while her red eyes glistened like the hunter’s moon. While, even though her suit look impeccable and one would guess that such a garment would never be worn except for the most important of occasions, there was one accessory that declared that she was already taken.

A boutonniere was pinned firmly upon her lapel. Its flowers were milky white and stood as crisp as ice on her chest. The blossom of the flower was open, and its stamen gave off a smell that could only be described as a dollop of fresh whipped cream. The flower was an uncommon tropical breed, not native to Equestria, and should have been the only one of its kind at the formal event.

The mare calmly walked over to one of the ushers and waited. This usher, and the small army of similarly dressed employees like him, was dressed in his standard white dress shirt and red vest over it. He was a unicorn, and placed before him on a pedestal was a guest registry. For the amount of time it took her to approach him, he had just given the tickets to the current attendees in line and levitated his hat off his head, wiped his forehead with his hoof, and returned to work.

The olive mare stepped forward and smiled.

“Good evening,” said the usher.

“As to you,” she replied.

“Reserva-” he stopped and sniffed, "My, what is that magnificent perfume you're wearing?"

“Why thank you, it is my boutonniere. It is called the Tantibus Acerbium, I had it imported just for tonight.”

“Hmm, I can see why. Do you have a ticket or a reservation, please?”

“The reservation for my date and myself should be made out in my name, C. Tears.”

“Alright,” the usher muttered as he began to flip through the pages “One moment…”

Chocolate Rain…

Cocoa Puff…

Cobalt Flash…

Hisssssss

The usher pulled his head up and looked around. It sounded as if a large reptile had just hissed air out of its nose at him, like it was preparing to attack. He shook his head to kick the strange thoughts out. A Reptile hissing, what did he think, a crocodile was going to eat him? The nearest pony to him was Ms. Tears and all she was doing was smiling and watching him with her…blood red eyes… and her strangely green and scaly complexion…

The usher gulped. Sweat began to form on the tips of his hooves.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked, hinting at the tips of her pointed teeth hiding behind her lips.

The usher shook his head, “No no… I just haven’t found your reservation yet.”

He looked down and continued reading the registry. He flipped the page and started at the guest listed at the very top of the paper.

Coconut Groove…

Craved Delicacies…

Crooked X…

At the very tip of his vision, just on the very edge of his eyesight as he read the names on the paper, he could see the mouth of the guest. Her smile widened, and her mouth opened. But, as the opening extended to her lips, the maw continued, extending further back like the gorge of an alligator.

He shot his eyes back up, his legs kinked and ready to jump away in the event that the opening tried to lunge at him. But, it wasn’t there, Ms. Tears was still patiently waiting for his to find her name.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Yes,” he said, wiping his forehead again, “I can’t seem to find your name.”

“oh…”

The attendant rubbed his eyes. He must have been working too hard and for too long. As soon as he could, he needed to find a replacement to take over so he could get some water and lie down. Hopefully, his hallucinations would go away.

“Well, why don’t you look under my full name,” she suggested.

The usher nodded,“ and what would that be?”

“Crocodile Tears.”

Moist pockets of sweat began to form in the armpits of the usher’s shirt. His tail hung limp between his legs.

The usher closed his eyes and mentally slapped himself.

Get over it! Its not real! You’re just too tired to think straight. Just find the name and give her the tickets so she’ll go away and you can take a break. She’s not a gigantic reptile, she’s just a mare. Even if she was, she’s not gonna eat you in a crowded theatre. Just get over it. 

He took a breath and opened his eyes. Crocodile Tears was still standing in front of him, but she had her head cocked sideways as her red eyes studied him.

“Are you not feeling well?”

The usher smiled, “I must just be a little tired, I’ll find your name, though. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” she smiled again, “just take your time.” 

And then she blinked.

It wasn’t some sort of message, or a lusty flutter of the eyelids. It was just a somewhat normal blink, almost like it was quick and reflexive. But, the problem was how she did it. Most eyelids close from top and bottom. Her eyes first closed from side to side, and then from top to bottom.

NOPE!

The usher slammed the book closed and placed his trembling hoof on it. With a “Found it! Here’s your tickets!” he levitated two random tickets to the show out from the pedestal and allowed the green unicorn to take them.

Crocodile Tears slipped the two tickets into the interior vest pockets of her clothing and stepped around the stand. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” She said, leaning over and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

The Usher’s eyes became large and rolled about lazily as his head wobbled and he stumbled around. Luckily, the manager of the tickets saw him and ran over, caught him, and waved another employee to take his spot.

Ms. Crocodile Tears, with two tickets in her possession, walked into the foyer of the theater as random bystanders watched the fainted usher being carried away. With magic, she removed her boutonniere from her suit and held it with magic.

As she walked through the doors, she placed the pure white flower into a nearby trashcan. The Tantibus Acerbium, or better known as “The White Nightmare”, was a beautiful plant, but with many things in the world, the fact that it was extremely beautiful did not make it any less dangerous.

> Survival of the Fittest
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The inside of the Imperial Theatre’s foyer could be described to be more like a high school prom than the entranceway to a concert. There were no merchandise stands selling cheap, thin, T-shirts or other paperweights of Sapphire Shore’s likeness. Nor was there “true” fans or groupies out and about in the crowd. This performance was made out to the wallets and coin purses of the audience, not the fans in the world. The audience –which was currently mingling at the time- was the financial elite. With the tour ending on what was possibly the grandest stage in Equestria, the rich and powerful had waited to attend the event at a place where they would find those who were among their equals in regards to class. It didn’t matter if they were a fan of the music or not, this was a means to flaunt their wealth around and show off. The hotly contested ticket prices were enough to omit anypony from the middleclass down, so this was a competition to see who had the most money to waste. 

With the volume of incredibly important individuals in attendance, the security was also doubly so. Out of the 15,000 Security officials in Canterlot, of every precinct combined, a record setting 10,000 of them were currently on duty in preparation for the show, either patrolling around the city in case of an event occurring during the distraction of the concert, or actively being involved with the security of the show; now was not the time to try to break the law.

Inside the theatre, the security’s presence was noticeably present. Not counting the private security personnel (also known as bodyguards), civilian staff members, or the castle’s Royal Guards; the police were also in full force in the building. Be it the uniformed officers patrolling through the halls or standing on the sidelines while the upper-class mingled, to the Riot officers armed with assault weapons, gasmasks and Kevlar body armor on standby around the entrances, exits, and standing by in the event of an incident. The Canine Officers were even out and about trying to sniff out anything that was out of place. It could be said that the police held an equally recognized presence. 

As ridiculous as the security precautions sounded, they were going to need to work for their money. With the amount of revenue going to the city after tonight, the municipality was going to have enough money to pay their Hearth’s Warming Eve bonuses for the next two years. So making sure that nothing went wrong for a bunch of rich snobs was going to be worth it.

But, even with all this security, there was still one area that a pony could still find some form of privacy; the restroom.

A green earth pony walked into one such restroom, one that was far removed from the areas that the guests were allowed to be and had little to no chance of actually being used by the guests of the night. The earth pony walked in and kicked open one of the stalls. Backing up, he walked into the private cell, closed the door, locked it, and sang “I don’t give a shit, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t give a shit, I don’t give a fuck! If I gave a shit, I might just give a fuck. But I don’t give a shit, so I don’t give a fuck.”

He opened up his red usher uniform, pulling it so the magnetic buttons released and exposed his bare chest. With his mouth he reached down into an inner pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and placed the carton on the toilet paper dispenser. He took one of the wrapped sticks, lit it up with his lighter, and picked the cigarette up with his mouth. He gave the stick a long tug as he leaned back atop the porcelain throne, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He breathed the polluted air out his nose like a dragon and slouched on the secluded toilet.

Using his hooves again, he snaked his way back into his jacket and pushed the magnet out of his coat, making the tag on his chest fall to the tile floor. Still smoking, he looked down at the laminated photo of himself and the words, “Hello, My name is: Balisong”.

The door opened once again, causing Balisong’s eyebrow to raise as he listened to the hoofsteps. Soon after, a similarly dressed red earth pony opened the stall and rolled his eyes. “Dude, are you asking to get fired?”

Ignoring the rhetorical question, Balisong rolled his eyes and said “How’s it going, Swiss?”

“Balisong, when the manager finds you smoking he’s gonna fire you! Aunt Cleaver and Uncle Butcher told me to keep you out of trouble.”

“What do you mean? I’m just taking a shit,” he said, smiling with the smoking stick in his mouth. “Plus, Swiss, don’t you want to take a seat?”

Swiss A. Knife looked at the entrance to the restroom and back at his cousin. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted, jumping up and sitting on the sink. “At least put the cigarette out so you don’t smell like you were screwin’ off in the bathroom.”

“Good point,” Balisong said, opening his mouth and letting the partly smoked cigarette fall between his legs and into the toilet bowl. With a flush, the little tobacco log swirled around the white bowl and disappeared down the drain, never to be seen again.

“Havin’ fun?” Balisong asked.

“Listening to rich people bitch about first world problems? No. You?”

“Same here, but I’m more pissed about the hokey-ness of Shit-phire Shores.”

“Not a fan?”

“Yeah, didn’t like that shit in Detrot, still don’t like it now. But it’s a little deeper than that?”

“Please,” Swiss said sarcastically, “do go on.”

Balisong grabbed the top of his head and pulled, cracking his neck, “Okay, everything here- the ‘benefit’ that her ticket proceeds are going to, the fact that each one of the vendors for her concert needs to make a donation to her charity, and that each one of these rich pencil-dicks is required to donate something alongside their tickets- its all because she can’t sleep with herself at night.”

“How is her charity bad?”

“Its not that her Charity is bad, it’s because she’s bad. One day she must have woke up and realized that she was rich out of her fucking mind and couldn’t live with herself. So the only way to feel alright over the fact that she has all this money is to make her fans focus on people who don’t. While she’s singing and rapping about not having anything and making the big time, she is trying to keep people occupied with ‘Lil’ JoJo’ in Zebrica. Like, remember when she was balling in public when she learned that her merchandise was being made by like a hundred or so fillies in Bangcock?”

“Yeah, didn’t she shut down the places that were using sweatshop labor?”

“Exactly. Everypony told her she was doing the right thing and whatever, meanwhile the fillies at her factory lost all of their jobs- many of which were earning half of their family’s income- and had to turn to going back to the bustin’ their balls on the family farm or being maids or hookers to get by. So see what I mean?”

“I guess, but you can’t be serious that you’d rather work in a sweatshop.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to work in a sweatshop. But look at us! We’re earth ponies from Equestria. We never had celebrity charities giving us money from some place that we never heard of! We went from farmers fighting to survive and hundred years of hard work later we are in a marble building on an artificial plateau on a mountain sitting in an air conditioned shitter-room bitching about some dike who’s going to make more money in two hours than we will in a year.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, and Momma Knives wonders why I piss people off,” Balisong said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a long metal tube. In his mouth, he released a part of the metal, opening it and revealing a blade. He swung the artistic knife around with his mouth and head until finally it was pointing straight out at his cousin. His namesake and the same thing that occupied his flank.

Swiss rolled his eyes and groaned. “Balisong, did you really need to bring your butterfly knife? You really must be begging to get fired.”

“Uh huh.”

Swiss slid off the counter and landed on his hooves once more. “Well, I’m going to get going before anybody finds me missing. You should get back to work, too.”

Swiss A. Knife walked out of the bathroom. Shortly after, Balisong vacated the premise as well, walking towards the main foyer to his post by the doors to the theatre to rip tickets in half. But midway to his post, a voice from behind halted his progress. 

“Excuse me, sir,” it said.

Balisong stopped and turned around. Upon first inspecting the pony who he was assuming was going to ask him where the bathroom was, Balisong was somewhat confused as to the gender of the individual. The first thing that caught his eye was the suit, so his mind wanted to jump straight to the assumption of stallion, but upon a closer inspection, the head and facial features were particularly effeminate. So, with his confusion over whether this pony was a dike wanting to complain about something or a doucher requesting that he do something stupid, Balisong choose to keep his answer as gender neutral as he could.

With a tight grin and a voice that was full of false interest, he said, “What can I do for ya?” 

Whatever the dike/doucher wanted, it smiled and said, “Oh, I hope to not inconvenience you, but I believe that I may have accidentally placed the ticket for my coat inside of my jacket before one of your fellow staff members placed it in the coat room.”

“Dike “ He mentally declared. “Sure,” he said, rolling his eyes and turning towards the coat closet. “Right this way.”

With another smile, Crocodile Tears followed closely behind Balisong, keeping pace with his lazy strides.







Somewhat similar to the celebrities who had a following of ponies waiting for them to arrive at the theatre in order to check them over inch by inch, the filming crew for the concert likewise was greeted by a welcoming party of ponies. But, what was different from the ones who waiting for this group of event staff was that they were not paparazzi, fans, or gawkers. Instead, the dresses were replaced with armored vests, reporters were now combat canines, and the cameras were instead varying types of projectile and magical weaponry. 

The cargo entrance to the Theatre had been temporarily repurposed as a checkpoint for the camera crew to be brought in and harassed by the police in charge. Even though there was a larger margin of individuals entering from the actual entrances of the building, the essential personnel involved in the show had to be checked before entry. From the ushers and staff who were employed by the theatre’s owners to the members of Canterlot Orchestra, who were just as essential to the show as Sapphire Shores herself, had to be sniffed down and their equipment checked for questionable material.

It was an inconvenience, but a necessary one, and like all inconveniences, Establishment Shot had been prepared for them.

The blue earth pony stood in line like several other members of the staff. He lazily stared off into nothing as the police ponies checked the individual at the front of the line before letting the hired camera operator past. But unlike what the other ponies in line were doing, Establishment’s mind was traveling at a mile a minute. For all of the things that he had prepared for, there was one that he had not considered.

Dogs.

At the checkpoint into the theatre, two police officers patted down the their subject, and while they did that, a Canine -an especially overweight Bulldog wearing a tight fitting magic-projectile proof vest labeled “CPD K9”- rummaged and sniffed through the owner’s possessions.

But, as Establishment thought of a solution to his problem, he looked at the checkpoint and had the solution given to him on a silver platter. 

The checkpoint, which was just a number of police officers, standing in front of a wire door while the canine officer did the work, had a large sandwich board next to it. The plaque, which was yellow and had maroon letters, read; 

“Please No: food, weapons, non-prescription medication past this point! 

Please remove all items and comply with all law enforcement officials at checkpoint.”

Establishment closed his eyes and smiled. Too easy.

He opened his bag and reached in with his mouth, pulling a small hockey puck sized container. On the top of the package was a thin foil of tin. He bit the lip of the lid and pulled, ripping the glue off of the plastic container and releasing a rich nutty smell of peanut butter. He dropped the container back into his bag. 

Establishment Looked down the line of other camera technicians and needed not look any further than the pony in front of him in line to find a large black bag with the word “Suny” embroidered on the side. He took a step forward and tapped the pony in front of him on the shoulder.

The pony he disturbed turned around with a scowl, “What,” he demanded.

Establishment Shot smiled and whispered in a manner that was like two hooligans proudly whispering over their bad deeds, “Is that the new Suny?”

The owner of the black bag visibly stood taller, and upon the question of his possessions, his annoyed tone seemingly disappeared. “Yes!” he proclaimed, “I got it as soon as it came out two months ago!” He lugged his bag over his shoulder in a way that it was on his chest, allowing him to open the bag with three easy motions and show his prize within.

“It’s got an 2.8 optical zoom, a duel candle torch for when I record things in the dark and a magic assisted crank. It’s like I’m pulling on nothing when I film!”

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Establishment Shot said, moving beside the pony with the camera and, more importantly, his open bag.

“That’s not even the coolest part! It has an extra rack and track so that I can have an extra store of film at the ready, meaning I can film for twice as long before switching out the reel. But what’s really cool is that I can hit a switch and use both at once, meaning that I can take twice as many frames at the same time! So with double the frames, I can film something in slow motion!”

“Wow, that’s a good piece of hardware,” Establishment Shot said, gently dropping the single serving container into the other pony’s bag.”

“Oi! You suzies quieh ya gossip and urry Up!” shouted the fat Bulldog as he and the other officers waited at the checkpoint for the two to end their conversation.

“I’m coming, hold your shit!” the pony in front of Establishment Shot said as he placed his video recorder back into its special carrying bag and zipped it shut. He stepped forward into the inspection area and showed the pony police officer before him his I.D. As he did, the Bulldog walked forward and began sniffing in front of the camera stallion.

The stallion, seeing the drooling canine, yanked his bag away and stepped aside, “Hey! Keep that mangy mutt away from my camera! This costs a fortune!”

Upon hearing the “M-U-T-T” word, the officers jumped and restrained the bull dog as foam formed around his mouth and clawed at the pony’s throat. “You bloody wot! You outta be Yammin’ or else I oughta giv ya a dry slap!”

Another officer jumped between the two and said, “Hey, hey, hey! Everyone calm down!” The rage filled hearts of the two slowly calmed, and then they returned to a neutral demeanor. “All we need to do is check your belongings. There’s nothing to get upset about unless someone is carrying something that they’re not supposed to.”

“And I’m not! It’s just my camera!” the pony shouted.

“That’s good. So this shouldn’t take any time at all.”

“Fine,” he finally spat, being released by his restraints and stepped forward. The canine officer was likewise released and he stuck his nose up at the one who insulted him.

The camera man was given a pat down by two officers, and, like before, the bulldog stepped forward and began to sniff around his area. The dog moved from one item to the next until he reached the black Suny bag. As he passed by he stopped, gave a few extra sniffs, and shouted, “Oi, Jonneh, t’is twat’s hidin’ sumtin.”

The bulldog began to claw at the bag’s zipper, causing its owner to break free from the officers inspecting his body and tackle his precious prize. “No! Get away from it you son of a bitch!”

Establishment Shot, who had been minding his own business like he was supposed to, was shoved around as CPD officers wearing riot armor forced their way past him and tackled the pony in front of him, shouting “Take him down!”

When the situation escalated, there was such a commotion in the small area behind the theatre that nopony was left unaffected. Establishment Shot was so disoriented by the rush of armored ponies pushing him around while they detained the unruly camera pony that he was forced to stagger past the mob of officers and over to the other side of the Checkpoint’s door so that he didn’t trip.

Before anypony could notice the poor stallion who had nearly been floored by the aggressive officers, Establishment Shot was gone. He was about halfway down the hall when he heard the sound of something being broken against a wall and a cry of “NOOO!” accompany it.







Like the prized showpony that she knew she was born to be, Rarity felt as if she was in a new world, a new element, a place that she had never been before, but felt more familiar than her own world when the chauffer opened up the door to the royal limo.

Once when she was a little filly, she had ogled and obsessed over a magazine of celebrities at a red carpet event, desiring to someday be in their shoes, and today was that day. Now the cycle would continue. Because her dreams and efforts had become a reality, the fillies who would sit in a circle admiring the pages of a gossip magazine would see her and in turn drive themselves to become their two-dimensional idol.

With poise, pomp, perfection, and professionalism, she respectfully followed the Sovereign of Equestria out of the limousine and allowed the cameras capture the true magnificence of Lady Rarity. With a model’s stride, she made her way down the rug and into the theatre, joining her friends and the other Princess as they received their tickets.

It was a dream come true. Rarity slowly reflected some of the admiration that the media was giving her as she looked around with a smile on her face. Absolutely nothing could ruin this day.

But, it was at that particular moment that she saw something -an anomaly out of the corner of her eye. For a split second, she noticed something that was like a black hole, and to her at least, it sucked the attention away from her.

Rarity broke out of her self-trained elegant demeanor, but only for a tiny second, to investigate what had distracted her from her perfect day. But, after the one second of worry, she relaxed. 

The black anomaly that had caught her attention was nothing. Maybe it was the combination of the Theatre’s lighting and the flashes from cameras blinding her, but what had caught her attention was the fine black fabric of an elegant three piece suit. A stallion was following behind an usher and had stopped at the entrance to a coat closet. Just a silly false alarm.

Whoever it was, though, was quite the spectacle. Rarity made a mental note to single out that individual at one point in the night and see who his tailor was, because his suit made him look rather damper and dashing.

But then the stallion turned, and Rarity then saw what caught her eye again. It was a her, not a him. 

Rarity shook her head, and the mysterious mare wearing a suit disappeared with the usher into the closet.

“Your ticket, Madame.” 

Rarity returned to what she had been doing. The usher, having performed his duty for the other show goers, was waiting with a ticket for her. Rarity threw out a quick smile, “thank you!” she said before taking the ticket and moving out of the way.

She looked back at the coat closet and closed her eyes, giving a single chuckle and a self-patronizing shake of her head.

“Just a coincidence.”

> Ravens and Swans
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Upon unlocking the latch to the guest closet, Balisong slipped his copy of the Theatre’s keys back into his pocket as he opened the door. Calmly waiting, the female guest remained at his side as he entered into the room.

The coat closet was dark, but it still had just enough light so that anypony inside was able to see and not aimlessly stumble around in the dark. Other than that, the walls of the compartment were wooden lockers. Their purpose was to further compartmentalize and organize the guest’s overcoats while still keeping them safe and separated in groups of five.

“As soon as you find the right section, I’ll unlock it for you,” Balisong said.“Ya dike,” he thought.

From behind him, the guest leisurely walked out and proceeded down the line of lockers, slowly turning her head from one side to the other as she looked for the correct designation for her possessions.

She walked down the length of lockers until almost reaching the end, where she turned to one and said, “Here it is.”

Balisong walked into the dark and looked at the locker. He was about to reach back into his jacket for his keys when he realized that the door actually didn’t have a lock. “Oh, its already open…I guess you’re all set then!” he said as he turned around headed back towards the door.

But, before he was half way back to the exit, he heard her say, “Excuse me, aren’t you going to open it for me?”

Luckily, since Balisong was not facing the other pony in the room she could not see him roll his eyes and mouth, “You have got to be fucking kidding me, you friggin gigantic cunt.”

Balisong turned around and marched back to the mare in the suit, up to the secure coat locker, and grabbed the handle with his teeth. He bit the knob and ripped the door open, causing the handle to make a dent in the door next to it.

He was so angry that he didn’t notice that the locker was completely empty.

A black noose-like embrace was thrown around his neck, before he knew what was happening, the left hoof of his aggressor locked the strangling knot right into place. Before any sort of counter could be mustered, the mare behind him forced him up and kicked the back of his knees, making his four hooves swing around and slap at the air aimlessly.


Balisong’s back hooves scrapped against the carpet, scratching for traction or some sort of grip to put up some sort of fight, but then the vise was finally tightened. The left hoof, which was first used to lock and support the right one’s choke, was relieved of duty as it moved to its next operation. Now, the left front hoof forced itself against the backside of the victim’s cranium, applying crushing power to his poor windpipe.

Balisong’s eyes bulged, the pressure of his head ready to be ripped off made his eyes become bigger and bigger, like two plump water balloons being stepped on by a foal during a summer pool party. His snout all the way to his forehead felt as if it was pooling full of blood, wishing to travel down to the rest of its body but being kinked by his poor neck. 

Air. He needed air!

His hooves, still kicking out for some type of means to fight, reached back, trying to fight off the pony who was attempting to end his life, but could do nothing to stop the inevitable. His mouth opened and swallowed, his tongue stretched out to try to shovel the sweet sounding air in to save him, but was all for naught.

In the dark room of the coat closet, the lights began to fade. The floor was gone, the lockers ceased to exist, and his clothes were weightless. The last thing he could consciously decipher was the drip drip drip of blood from his nose landing on the silk sleeve of the mare in black. His hooves fells, shoulders shrugged, and head slouched off to the side. As he relaxed, the last of his air, trapped in his throat when he was attacked, was finally released as a whisper.

“Diiiiieeee Kuuh…”

Balisong thought that it was the end, the green mare was his undertaker and the coat closet was his mausoleum, but that was not the case. There is a grey area from when the lights go out to when they can never be turned back on again, and Crocodile Tears was much too familiar with it. To his coworker’s disappointment, it was within that precious and critical timeframe when the green unicorn released the trash mouthed, knife wielding, cynical Detrot native from its grasp. So, other than some temporarily loss of memory, Balisong would be fine.

So fine, that only a few minutes after walking into the coat closet with the mare in the suit, Balisong walked out of the closet and locked the door behind him.






Like the grand entrance, rooftops, streets, and the cargo platform, the backstage and entertainer areas were also protected. The whole purpose of the mass gathering in the hall was to see the performers be paid a ridiculous sum of money to perform their hobby, after all. During their stretching trot around the globe, Sapphire Shores always had a team of at least ten bodyguards at her disposal. But, although they were equally important to the show –being that their names were one half of the act- The Canterlot Orchestra did not have a single bodyguard between the one hundred of them. Other than if the governing parties of their venues issued security to the group, they would basically go unprotected. Being that some of the places they met were not very safe by any means, the excessive security detail for the area as a whole put the instrumentalists in a general sense of ease. But, even though they had a few pairs of eyes on them, there was one particular double bassist who was not feeling the same. And, to further worry her, it did not take much to sneak away from the security personal.

Octavia Allegrezza Soprano, wearing her lucky pink bowtie and her black, tailed suit coat uniform, walked around a corner. This had been the spot that they agreed to meet, but she had expected her partner to be here already.

She stood at the corner of the hall and anxiously looked down the two end of it, constantly checking to see if anypony was approaching. Even though she had taken great care to maintain her appearance, she could not help her OCD from nibbling at her cheek, nor could she stop the sweat from pooling under the pits of her uniform. But before too long, her coconspirator had arrived.  Wearing a midnight black silk dress that opened up at on the side of her back leg, reaching up the long and slender limb until it hinted at the F-Clef on her flank, a mare of Octavia’s height and species was escorted by one of the many nameless ushers of the theatre down the hall. Upon making contact with her brilliant emerald eyes, Octavia relaxed. “Mother!” She said.

Sonnet Soprano gave a small and quaint smile instead of verbally addressing her daughter. She wore a wreath of pearls around her neck and a dress that teased of her finely chiseled form with each stride she took. Yet, for as enchanting the divine and shapely mare looked, the usher did not find the need to peek at her curves or the other areas that would happen to attract the eye. Either he was not attracted to it or he had an almost military-like discipline.

The two mares of differing shades of grey met. For as relieved as Octavia felt for having her mother with her, she did not dare embrace her. She had known better than to try to disrupt the perfect appearance of the being that had made her. But, that was not the same mentality of Sonnet. Slowly, and with a soft whisper, she said, “Welcome home, darling,” before leaning in and tenderly kissing her on the cheek.

Like a well-trained servant, the usher stood at the ready, being seen but not heard.

Sonnet pulled her head away after the greeting and returned to her composed form from before. Octavia, after making sure that she had not disrupted her mother’s perfectly woven mane, looked down and into her eyes, and was frozen.

They say that the eyes were the gateways into one’s soul. While the face and the mouth could spin a web of fallacies and lies, they could not hide what the eyes could tell. They were the keys to the absolute truth, the sweet nectar behind the ever-changing and deceiving surface of the face. When Octavia made eye contact with her mother, she could see what was hidden beneath. While she did indeed love her mother- and her eerily cool form of affection -she knew it was fake. When she had been growing up she slowly began to recognize the cage, the shell of who she pretended to be, but every now and then the monster that she kept locked up would show. 

It would only be for a second, like if something startled her, if she was frustrated, or if she was lost in memories of the past, the bars of the cage would rattle, its prisoner begging to be released. But she would always return, composed and careful, never allowing anypony to see past what was skin deep. But now was not the case.

Now, the cage was open, the beast within was out on the prowl, the inmates were now in charge of the asylum that was Sonnet Soprano.

“How are you?” Sonnet asked.

“A little nervous…”

“Are you feeling ill?”

“No, just a tad bit anxious.”

“Will you be able to perform?”

“Of course! Of course.”

“Then there is nothing to worry about. Your friend made the right decision coming to your first, and now we have taken care of it all.”

Octavia, even though she trusted her mother, could not stop the lurching inside of her stomach. She rubbed her hooves together and said, “I don’t doubt you, but I still cannot shake this sense of eminent danger.”

Sonnet smiled and slowly shook her head, “Octavia… You are the only good thing I have ever done in this world. I would never allow any harm come to you. Please, show some faith in Mr. P34C3.”

Octavia swallowed once more, “Yes… faith… I’ll try.”

Sonnet, with a stare that made Octavia feel as if her mother was looking straight through her, shifted her gaze down to the tie on her only child’s neck. “Octavia my love, have you been wearing your charm?”

Octavia froze in her spot, her mother may as well have slammed a gavel down and sentenced her to death. “I…. I’m sorry, but we were told not to wear any personal j-jewelry.”

“Preposterous,” Sonnet said, “Here, this will make you feel better.” 

The older mare reached up and around the back of her neck, much to her daughter’s protests.

“No! You don’t need to do that, please!”

Deaf to the request to cancel her action, Sonnet reached back under her pearls and pulled out a string. The string, connected to a small container that was hiding behind the expensive necklace, was freed from Sonnet’s neck and pulled over the head of Octavia.

The musician froze and complied with her mother, waiting for the talisman to rest freely on her bosom. She looked down and gently tucked the small vial of sunflower petals inside her shirt. 

The usher, almost daft through the conversation, witnessed the entire exchange.

After the necklace was within Octavia’s shirt, Sonnet kept her hooves on Octavia’s shoulders, looking her over inch by inch with her emerald peepers. Octavia, now knowing what a microbe under the scope of a magnifying glass felt like, stood still as Sonnet tightened her hold and brought her daughter’s head into her chest, nuzzling the top of her head with a cheek.

“There, safe and sound.”

Sonnet released Octavia and checked to make sure her appearance was still preserved. She turned to the usher that had escorted her to the hallway and said, “Balisong, that was your name, correct?”

“Yes.” He said.

“You may leave us, I will see myself out.”

“If you say so, Ms. S0NN37”

The usher walked past the two mares and made his way further into the backstage innards of the Theatre.






After parading before the cameras and the media, it was time for everypony to find their seats. With their guards clearing the sea of civilians, Celestia and Luna led the way for the Elements of Harmony as they reached their VIP box seats.

After going up a secure staircase and down a hall where only the wealthiest of socialites could obtain, the group finally arrived at their seats. Besides the two exclusive seats for larger alicorn Princesses, the remaining two were more to be Lazy Colts in a living room rather than studio seats at a theatre.

But, before Rarity could marvel at the exclusive seats, the view of the vantage point took her away. When she propped herself up and looked over the railing, she could see everything. Like the queen atop a mountain, she felt as if everything that she saw was hers, from what would be called the “cheap seats” and nosebleeders at a normal performance to the stage itself below the booth, she reigned supreme over all of it.

As the group settled in to their seating arrangements, a knock was heard at their door.  Of the eight ponies in the room, Applejack was the closest to the door.  Be it a practical sense of usefulness or a lack of ladylike manners, she casually opened the door by placing her mouth on the handle and then letting it slowly swing open.

She gasped as soon as she saw who -more like what- was waiting on the other side.  At about half the size of a pony, a creature with a dense brown coat was sitting on its bottom in front of the door. It was gently panting with its pink tongue slightly sticking out of its mouth while a thick broom like tail stuck out from its bottom and swept back and forth on the carpet.  Underneath a black broad-brimmed hat with a red peacock feather sticking out of the top, sat a creature with a long muzzle and a black mask of fur around the eyes and nose. Two brown rings hung within its eyes, standing out from the darkness of its face.

Applejack’s eyes lit up and her smile expanded to consume almost all of her cheeks. “Why hello there, you handsome little thang you,” she reached out her hoof to pet the German Shepard on the head. “I have a little guy just like you!”

Applejack’s hoof was about to rub against the head of the large 90 pound animal when its mouth opened, and a sound from the back of its throat rumbled the box seat. Applejack jumped, Fluttershy even took cover behind her seat from the growling beast. It took a second for Rarity to realize that the new guest had, after issuing its warning, said, “Unless you want to become a part of my extensive hoof collection, you’d restrain yourself from petting me.” It then pulled its lips back, not showing a straight and orderly line of pearly teeth, but instead a shining row of titanium dentures.

“Jafar!” Rarity and all of her friend’s heads turned at breakneck speeds to the other side of the booth, where Princess Celestia had just tipped the usher. Celestia blushed and walked over to the German Shepard and apologized, “I am sorry, but this is just one of my cabinet members. He is also organizing the security for the event. If you’ll excuse me there is just a small bit of business that I must take care of.”

From Princess Luna who was completely nonchalant over the incident to Applejack who felt like apologizing to Jafar, everypony allowed the two to go about with their business.

The Director of Celestia’s Intelligence removed his hat and said, “Security report, your Majesty.” 

“Proceed, Jafar.”

Clearing his throat, the German Shepard said, “The building is secure, all teams have reported in, we have not discovered any disturbances.”

The Princess smiled, “good! Carry on.”

Jafar took his hat and was about to place it back on his head, but it began to glow with golden magic, the same magic that nudged Applejack towards the Princess and the attack dog. Knowing what was going to happen next, Jafar barred his titanium dentures and rolled his eyes. 

Gently, Princess Celestia reached one of her hooves back and began to scratch the hair behind the canine’s pointed brown ears. He clenched, he bit his tongue, and he closed his eyes, but no matter how hard he tried he could not resist how…goooooooooooood it felt. 

After a good dual mare scratching of his ears, Jafar left the booth, and just like that the atmosphere in the gallery seating returned to its previous attitude. Rarity played along and acted humble for the gift she shared with her friends, but had a nagging suspicion biting at the corner of her mind.

What Jafar had said, “…We have not discovered any disturbances.” It could have just been a figure of speech, like a thoughtless choice from a group of words and phrases that held a common meaning, but it was still odd. He could have said something along the lines of ‘All’s clear, the situation is under control, everything is OK,’ or a group of mindless code words, but he had not. It felt almost deliberate how he had reported to the princesses. It was almost as if he was saying that they were looking for trouble but had not found it yet…

Rarity, for the second time tonight, shook her head to rid itself of her paranoia. She sat down in her seat and readied her ladies’ binoculars for the show. “Relax,” she told herself, “there’s nothing to worry about. With all the security here, what would the guards be looking for at a time like this?”

It was at that time that Rarity remembered who she thought she saw walking into a coat closet…






Establishment Shot, like the other hired camera ponies at the theatre, was corralled into the room that had once been the break room for the Theatre’s staff. Normally, this preparation would not need to be made, but for the fact that a surplus of film specialists were on the job at the time to record the final concert of the tour in order to cut, snip, and repackage the deal as a music video and behind-the-scenes documentary. So to the nerves of the dedicated staff, revisions needed to be made.  

While the film crew was unpacking their equipment, setting their film, and completing the many other tasks of getting ready to work, the door to the lounge opened to the Commissioner of the Canterlot Police.

Although his hair was grey, and he was upwards in terms of years, he commanding voice and presence in the room caught the attention of the cameraponies as soon as he spoke. Upon getting their attention, he directed them all into a small side room, where the staff would discuss their jobs for the evening on a normal day, and the Commissioner was going to update the recording team on their rules of the night. To the ones who did not want to leave their equipment unattended, the old Police officer reassured them that two of the Royal Guards had been loaned to him and that they would assure that their possessions would be safe.

And so, even with a little reluctance, the camera crew followed the police chief into the meeting room to be lectured on how to do their job. Like he had promised, two guards were placed on watch at the only entrance to the employee break room.

And, it was when the rumble of hooves emptying one room to enter another died that Balisong came up to the door. He tried to enter, but two wings shot up from the two guards and barred his entrance.

“Whoa, buddy. Can’t let you in there. Your break room is somewhere else today.”

The usher rolled his eyes and moaned, “Oh, come on! I got a job to do and the keys are in there!”

“Hey, it can wait. The Police Commissioner is just talking to the film crew and then you can do your job.”

Balisong rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Oh dear Celesta, your captain-guy told me to get the keys to the rafters so they can check the catwalks again except the door’s locked. The keys are in the break room, so let me in you bellhop!”

The two guards narrowed their stances, ready to pounce at the insult, but still kept their heads cool, “We’re on loan to the Police for now, and the Commissioner told us to wait.”

Balisong groaned, and the groan escalated into a miniature temper tantrum, “Hey, you fucksticks! Its bad enough that that I can’t pop a piss without somepony watching to see if terrorists pop out of my dick, so if you want me to go grab Captain Equestria: Shimmering Helmet to tell you two glorified bellhops to fuck off, then fine by me.”

The guard on the left jumped, but his partner luckily restrained him at the right moment. While one guard tried to rip Balisong limb from limb, the other shouted, “Hey! Hey! He’s not worth it! Let it go.”

Balisong slipped into the door as the one guard calmed his friend down before he did something that he regretted.

The earth pony slipped into the Break room and closed the door behind him. Counter to what he had told the two guards at the door, he did not look for the key to the rafters. If the two guards were familiar with the fire code of Canterlot, they would have known that it dictated that it was prohibited to have a lock on the doors to utility areas, such as the rafters of the theater, in order for everypony to escape in the event of an emergency. 

But, regardless of his sly entry, Balisong did the task that he had sought to do. One by one, like digging holes on a deserted island for the promise of treasure, he checked each and every bag scattered throughout the room. Under each zipper, every bag was a puzzle of its own. All of the filming equipment, with the different models, different brands, different designs, were all a challenge to investigate. While there was a need to check each and every possible switch and function of the devices, care had to be taken to maintain the assumption that it had not been tampered with.

But, it was not long before he found what exactly he was looking for. One of the bags, lying on the ground beside a chair, was particularly conspicuous by how inconspicuous it was. The device itself was nothing out of the ordinary on the outside, but after pulling out the lens cap, one could tell that the glass was a tad bit dark to be used to record something. The operator’s scope was a natural zoom, and upon seeing a strange formation on where fresh film reels were to be placed, there was revealed to be a hidden switch.

When said switch was activated, the wall of the camera opened, revealing that the majority of the filming equipment had been gutted from the interior of a recorder and instead, a propulsion device was occupying the shell. The device was currently dormant, but as the crank for the filming equipment was to be pulled, it would tighten and lock the solid steel bolt into place. When fired, the projectile would penetrate through the lens of the camera.

Balisong closed the bag up and set it back to hopefully fool the owner that it had not been tampered with. It was as he assumed, tonight was the night that it was going to happen.






one hour later…

Intermission. Sapphire Shores, the Canterlot Orchestra, the seating, the atmosphere, it was everything that Rarity thought it would be and more. But, for as much as she wanted the moment to last forever, she had to do the other thing that she had come her to do. Sell herself.

Like the rest of the audience, Rarity and her friends –sans the Princesses, for they decided to stay upstairs- had made their way to the audience hall to mingle and chat while the entertainment took a well-deserved break. 

As soon as they met with the crowd, Rarity went off on her own to do what she had intended. Like an Istallian wedding, the purpose of this idle gossip was not just to find a person to chat with, this was business. Networks were formed, deals were initiated, secrets were shared, interests were piqued, and clients were made at a time like this. 

For as sure as the Rarity was in that the quality and grandiose of her clothing would be all the advertising she needed, the businessmare within her knew that was not the case. Seeing and hearing that something was made by hoof with love and care was one thing, but it also sounded like something that was put on a label. Like a nice and fluffy promise of that was used to rationalize a price tag and purchase, the way that others viewed her products was often admiration, but always with a pinch of salt. While she wanted to get her name into their minds, drop the names and titles of a few of her clients, and actually show the work that she was currently wearing, this was not going to be enough. 

Rarity, to make this recreational trip worth the while of the Boutique, needed to assert herself as the tailor that she dreamed of being to assure the potential clients that she was the mare for the job of making their garments. The attendees of the concert were the best, they demanded the best, and by the end of the night, she was going to make them know that Rarity Belle was the best.

But, unfortunately, she had not gotten very far when she saw it again.
From the corner of her eye as she introduced herself to a film director and his wife, she saw the mare wearing a suit again. She was minding her own business at the time, standing off to the side of the crowd, not particularly around anypony else, but still noticeably alone, and checked the watch on her wrist once every few seconds. 

From this distance, and while she stood still, Rarity could tell that she had not been mistaken. The green unicorn standing alone was indeed wearing her suit. From the cream shirt, grey vest, and black jacket, she knew that suit more than its own, because after all, she made it.

Rarity should have remembered what her parents had taught her when it came to the impoliteness of staring, for as she shifted her vision up and down from the mare in the suit, she reached her face, and made eye contact. For as much as Rarity was watching her, she was watching Rarity.

A whistle was sounded, and like that, the doors to the theatre hall were opened once more. Rarity wiped the sweat off of her head, “Saved by the bell.”

But, when she looked up, all was not so. 

“Hello, Rarity, I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here. What a strange coincidence.”

Rarity was face to face with the mare in her suit. 

She was smiling in a sort of reserved and quiet sort of way, and what had also surprised her was that her voice had some emotion to it, if she didn’t know better, she would have believed that she was surprised. 

“Oh… I didn’t see you… How did you get here?”

The green unicorn shrugged her shoulders, “Ah, the place I worked was raffling off tickets, and what do you know, it just happened to be this lucky filly’s day.” She said, pointing her hoof at her own chest.

“Good…” Rarity muttered, trying to keep the conversation rolling, but could not keep her mind up.

Now face to face with her, Rarity looked for signs of a disguise, like if there was a wig, false eyelashes, if there was an uneven coloring to the green on her face, if it was a dye job or not, but found nothing. Instead, what she was looking at was a somewhat pretty mare. Her voice was natural and clean, her personality was a bit bubbly, and in no way shape or form reminded her of the robotic and impersonal…thing that had made her become so paranoid.

“Say… the other guy who won a ticket never showed up, so I have two seats all to myself with nobody to share with…” Whoever the green unicorn was, she reached her front hoof out and wrapped it around Rarity’s and fluttered her eyelashes, “Want to sit with me?”

Be it a lack in “beside manners” or just the absence of intimate companionship, but even if Rarity was not half convinced that this pony was some sort of criminal or deviant, she would never have been swooned over by a mare who knew her name and had tried to impress her with a free sea-

“Hiya Rarity! Who’s your friend?!”

If her hairs were not already standing on edge from the intrusion of her personal space, Pinkie Pie throwing her leg over her shoulder like some sort of Hoofball Teammate would have. 

Pinkie jumped over the mares and landed in front of the two, quickly switching between both of them in case either one tried to cut or run away… which was actually not too far off from what Rarity was thinking of doing.

Whoever Rarity’s new “Friend” was, she cleared her throat and said, “Hello, I don’t believe I’ve met, Miss…?”

“Pinkie Pie!”

Rarity tensed up, Pinkie could unintentionally pull down the shades on her all of her work. If this pony said something wrong and Pinkie asked Rarity about it later, who knew how much information would need to be shared? If one string of this thread was pulled, the entire organization of months of investigating could be for naught.

Rarity’s time was running out, this was the time to act, not to think.

“Yes, Ms. Pie, It is good to meet you, my name is-”

“Oh Pinkie, how rude of me, this is an old client of mine! I have been putting it off, but we made arrangements to meet tonight. I should have told you all before, but I unfortunately will not be joining the rest of the fillies upstairs.”

“Oh…” Pinkie said, looking at the two for a good second, but then looked between the two and saw that the mare was holding Rarity’s hoof. But glanced at Rarity’s dress, and her friends suit, and then became red in her already pink face. “OOooooohhhhhh….. Oki Doki Loki!” Before running off to the much less awkward and not-gushy-slimy-kissy-lovey-dovey-romancy-in-the-slightest VIP booth.

As Pinkie Pie’s tail disappeared up the stairs. For the second time of the night, Rarity wiped the sweat off of her brow.

“Wow, quick thinking,” the interloper said. Giving Rarity a nudge, she began to escort her towards the rest of the Theatre. “The band’s not going to wait for us.”

Rarity, although relieved that she saved herself from the scrutiny of keeping a secret, remembered the legitimate dangers of its consequence. Without any further option, she tightened her hoof in her escort’s grasp, and followed her into the impeding darkness, down the stairs and towards whatever destiny had decided for her. She had married herself to the charming yet mysterious stranger, followed him into his home, and was now traveling down into his bloody chamber where he performs his pastime. Now, Like the characters from Sweetie Belle’s fairy tales, it was now her hooves to decide what happens next; to free herself from the gears of death, or to be just another repetition of the cycle.



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 forever grew still.



> Crocodile Tears
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



“Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is weaker than man.” 
― Homer, The Odyssey




"You’ve finally found me." That is what he said, it clarified  all feeling of doubts as Rarity walked hoof-in-hoof with a mare who claimed to know her into the auditorium of the Imperial Theatre of Canterlot. It was shocking when she first heard it, partly because she did not expect to hear it so directly. Instead of just speaking like a normal pony, Rarity's olive green chaperone -wearing some of her custom made attire- instead sat in a way that would mistake them for two lovers. Sitting down and having one hoof wrapped with another’s, leaning their weight against one and other, and touching their horns together, making their minds one, would have made anyone mistake them for romantics.


The other reason why the simple statement chilled her bones was its delivery. Gone was the cold, crisp, and controlled demeanor of the stallion disguised as a mare's speech. While the connection of their horns allowed for them to communicate discretely, the delivery of the sentence was something that felt completely foreign to Rarity. The way he said it was not private, like how Rarity and her sister would speak in whispery magic to one another when they would make the connection. He was inside. The magical connection felt as if he had literally and figuratively opened up her head, entered into her brain, sat down in the command chair of her mind and put his bottom hooves up on the desk.


Rarity wished that she could have the detached monotone voice back.


"... Pardon?" She asked, keeping her eyes on her new 'partner' to see if it would show any sort of reaction.


The body of the green unicorn did not react, it kept leaning and tenderly rubbing her horn alongside Rarity's as she watched the pulled curtains on the stage. "You've been searching for quite some time now, Ms. Belle. Stay still, this will only last a second." Before Rarity could question why she was staying still about, she felt a small pain in her wrist. She looked down, and on the inside of her wrist, right on the vein, she saw a small bubble like container with a needle on one end. She tried to lunge out of her chair, but her entire right side had become numb, and her jaw closed on its own accord. 


"Pufferfish venom. I assure you that the dosage will not cause any permanent damage."


Rarity tried to jump out her seat. When it came to decency and her life, Rarity would choose to embarrass herself before the assembly of the richest ponies in the country before she left herself further in jeopardy. Seated in the seats right before her new ones was a mare and a stallion. The female was easily half the age of her date, and their previous activities throughout the night did not take much to imagine based on the lipstick stains that had been partially removed from the stallion’s face. Rarity’s plan was elementary. She would lunge forward, taking extra care to attract their attention and make them turn around. Then after an apology or two and half of the section watching her to see if she was inebriated or not, she would escape from the main seating area and get to the safety of her friends and her rulers. 


She lunged… or, at least her mind told the rest of her body to do so. Her brain had told her limbs to move, and she felt her nerves responding to the command, but like the whiplash of an amusement park ride, Rarity’s mind preemptively imagined what it was like to shoot outwards, the subtle preparation to bumping into he chairs before her, but when her body refused to obey her command, she was ripped back into her chair, faced with the reality of paralysis. 


She was prey now, caught within the pit viper’s lair. 


"Why?"


"The poison only prevents the nervous system from responding to the brain's commands. Your mind, eyes, and vital functions are not clouded by its potency. As for the reason for the precaution, well... We don't need any unnecessary attention now, do we?"


It didn't seem like Rarity's captor, whatever it was, was intent on ending her life, not here at least. Otherwise why else would it go to all the trouble to pacify her? So with the fear that she had been lead immediately to her death nullified, another began to form within her mind. What exactly did it want with her?


"You've become quite infatuated with me. So, here you are. Ask me everything that you've wanted, but choose wisely, for the time is short, and we have much to discuss."


For how introverted and alienated it tried to be on the outside, the open and directness of its personal side was quite foreign to Rarity. It was almost as if it had been anticipating this conversation. But, the most awkward part of the statement was for how true it was, She had not been prepared. Like a novice writer or a misguided carpenter, Rarity had begun her collection and investigation of the customer who went by Esproc without a goal in mind. Her misguided efforts had been so caught in danger and hopelessness of the hunt that she never anticipated the resolution. So that brought the question, what was she interested in?


"Umm..." She thought, asking him a question," who... Who are you?"


Although still somewhat reserved, the annoyance in his tone made the hair on Rarity's neck stand on edge... Or at least, that’s what it felt like.


"I'll answer the real question that's been fueling your recent efforts in finding me; you, your sister, your friends, and your parents are all safe for the time being."


"What do you mean, 'for the time being'?"


"I say that because there is no guarantee that you may become a problem. So why should I use absolutes when leaving room for error keeps my statements true?"


'Room for error'. Was the value of her life becoming a statistic? A risk factor of whether her death had less consequences than what may happen in the event that she gossips? Rarity tried to move her neck to glare at the pony beside her, but the strength to move her head was gone. Her only weapon at this point was -quite literally- hot air and nasty thoughts.


"Leave my family out of this!" She mentally shouted. "My parents know nothing and Sweetie Belle..." A parade of memories struck Rarity. Images of the life with her nearest of kin. The good, like sitting next to her while she learned to sew on a practice paper with yarn. The bad, like tripping on her saddlebags. To the mundane, like washing the dishes together, brushing their teeth beside each other, looking over her schoolwork, just normal things that she would do with Sweetie Belle.


A knot formed in Rarity's throat, one that she did not have the strength to swallow.


"You would never harm a little filly like Sweetie Belle, would you?"


"No..." he said. Rarity felt a weight being lifted off of her chest. During the reprieve, she looked around the theatre. The seats had become filled once more. Ushers walked from whatever they had been doing and returned to their positions at the back of the auditorium. The large red curtains were beginning to fold back into the corners of the stage. 


"Younger," he finished.


With the fury that could only be matched by a mother Grizzly Bear, Rarity thought-Shouted, "YOU PSYCHOPATHIC, HOMICIDAL, BLOOD THIRSTY, PERVERSE-"


"Isn't it beautiful?"


"Don't you dare change the subject on me when I'm-"


Mid rant, Rarity's snout was gripped in magic and yanked away from the stage and aimed upwards, towards the viewing booths.


"Look at it," he said. His voice had changed from the tone that was once full of malice and evil to one that was almost sounding humble, like he was stuck in awe over something.
Whatever it was, Rarity could not find it. She had been placed in a direction to see the booth that she had been previously sitting, in the VIP suite with both princesses and her five friends. "The lady of light... She's so refined, so withheld, so careful. Its all so... Absolutely terrifying."


Rarity was at a loss for words, "I don't believe I understand."


"It is a shame that you cannot see the majesty of this power. To understand the terror that she causes without being anywhere near a battlefield. You cannot feel the fear that she inflicts upon stallions, the same fear that could cause somepony to take newborn winged unicorns out of the hooves of their mothers to see if it would be the one in one trillion. And, of course, if they can't have an alicorn naturally, why not make their own? So what if the foal dies before it can understand why it is being filled with needles? After all, there is no greater honor than giving one's life to better the state! So go ahead, stick that syringe into its eye, the study results showed that -for the rats that didn't go blind- the substance will make its depth perception better! So what if the dosage made the subject never see again? Use a smaller one on the next pony! You're afraid that 250 Ml of Solvent 3-50 will cause them all to become antisocial psychopaths like with the adult volunteers? Well don't fret, these are just children after all, and look on the bright side, Solvent 3-50 also decreased morality by 8% while increasing bone density by 12%! So go on Doctor, cover them in injection ports and give them permanent needle scars, there's a war to be won!
And, in the event that we can't make an alicorn that wears our flag upon its back, then we can find a use for the leftover vermin. Even though a true patriot would rather die than fail its country. We can find a way to recycle these pathetic failures and their unsatisfactory genetics. They've failed us once, so its actually a mercy thay we find a use for them. They never would have deserved to live as failures, so there's no wrong to be blamed by breaking them down and further, ruining the slight chance to live the privileged life of normalcy, If they didn't want this to happen, then they should have been what we wanted! Take away their toys and give them knives. Train them to fight and to kill for no better reason than for the fact that we told them to. They were born as blank slates, they failed as blank slates, and if they die, they will do so as a blank slate, devoid of any life or reason for existence than to serve the country that they were indebted to since birth."


Rarity, even though it should not have been possible, felt her jaw drop. "What are you...?"


"That's a question I reflect on much too often. But that’s enough about me, your time is running short."


Rarity's head was a storm of questions. Even though the theatre was filled with the musical harmony of the band on the stage, her mind was a convoluted mess of half thought up ideas, and fragments of everything that she had to ask. Her customer had pulled aside the curtain, broke down the facade, had become too fed up with her spying eyes and opened up to his true self to finally set the record straight.


Speaking of which, how did he know the she was after him? Two seats, a proper disguise, staying in character when she confronted him, was he... waiting for her?


"How did you know I would... That I was... Checking into you?" She asked. If not for the fact that she was completely numb, she would have tried to retreat her bottom to the other side of her seat.


His brain made a mental chuckle. "I've been watching your back for much longer than you can know. But I must say, having a fan is, as your friend would say,"


Esproc broke the mental connection when he moved his head aside and angled his snout into Rarity's exposed ear. A faint green ripple of magic passed over his throat, and in a stressed, screechy, hyper, and eerily familiar voice, whispered, "So awesome!" 


Rarity's nerves, even though they'd been frayed and shocked into submission already, jolted again, almost causing her to jump out of her seat.


He was in her house and she didn't know it.


He was in the same room with her and she didn't know it.


He was in her face, mimicking one of her closest friends so well that she didn't even notice it...


She now knew what fear felt like.


"I've been tasked to protect you before, because in the grand scheme of things, even though you know that Rarity Jolie Belle is a humble tailor in Ponyville, Pinkameena Dianne Pie is a baker, Jacqueline La Pomme Apple is a simple farmer, Fluttershy Tender Heart is a veterinarian, Twilight Amethyst Sparkle is a Librarian and Rainbow Rosanne Dash is the Weather coordinator, they don't know that. Like the ones who made me, they look at you and see a weapon, one that scares them so much that they would try to find a permanent solution to the threat."


"You've... killed before?"


"Only when told to. Only. If I was still in the old country, I would have been tasked to pacify you, and I would have done it."


Rarity didn’t want to understand what he had just said, but she did. “Nothing personal, just strictly business? That’s all this is to you?”


“Somewhat.”


“Well then, how do you sleep with yourself? Hmm!  How can you trade a pony’s life for a few pieces of gold coins? How can you go on with your life when you hurt ponies like the way you do and know that you are going to do it all over and over until you finally get what’s coming to you? How!?”


Rarity, even though her lips were numb, felt a bit of a smile stretch across mug as she waited for the response from her partner. She felt that she had made a point. She was not a shrink, but from what she had been studying from cases involving antisocial behavior, her criticisms may -since they did have a long standing professional relationship- hopefully could make sense to her captor. 


But, as always, he did respond. “I don’t work for money.”


The numb feeling of the smile that Rarity thought she was working on disappeared. “But… How… who would you work for that you could do these…terrible things for free?”


His answer was colder than ice, swifter than the wind, and simpler than anything that she could have possibly imagined. “God.”


Now it was Rarity’s turn to be silent. Her eyes, watching the pony beside her who she was questioning, were so big that they could have popped out of her head. 


There was no use trying to find reason with this pony. For all the time that she contemplated why her client did the questionable things she convinced herself that he did, she had imagined that it as something more sophisticated, something that was understandable, like to fund the medicine for an ailing child, to support a wife and family, or to satisfy some sort of sick and sexual Freudian need to kill. But it was none of that. 


He was a zealot, a religious fanatic who could rationalize absolutely any action with the reasoning that it was of holy importance. But, unlike the ponies who would leave paperback book in hotels and visit her shop for donations, he felt that, by acting against the law of society, he was affirming his faith and obedience. He had the divine right of murder, the ability to commit atrocious actions without the need to question the motive.


But, that was enough time to contemplate the hopelessness of her plight, for he had spoke once more.


“Rarity, our time is up.”


“What do you mean? ‘Up’?”


“As you have already assumed, I am here for a reason tonight, and I believe that the Lady of Light has done the same for you. I know how you think of me as some sort of sadistic arbitrator of death, so instead, I will allow you to make the decision. Tonight, Rarity, in the fitting grandeur of this stage before us, our little drama must come to its end.”


Rarity gulped, “What do you mean, ‘end’?”


“By the end of the performance, you will be the one who makes the decision, will have his fate decided, or will dozens more meet their end?”


Once again forgetting that she could not move, Rarity tried to jump again, but was reminded of her temporarily paralysis. “What? Heavens no! I will not play your sick game!”


“Really?”


“No! Never. I cannot be some sort of sick sorter of life and death.”


“Well then, let’s just wait until the bloody symphony and the final encore for your favorite musician. She’ll get quite the standing ovation.”


Tunnel vision, both the physical phenomena and the mental one, both occurred when one focused on one detail too closely, it often blinded them from the grander scheme of things, and at that moment, Rarity realized that she was still at the concert. She had forgotten that while focused on her customer.


“Wh-What are you going to do?”


“Ah!” He corrected her, “It’s what you are going to do. You’ve become too persistent and your meddling must cease tonight. So I will let you interfere, for all of the terrible things you think I do, I will allow you to take control of the situation. If you want insert your morals into my mission, then all you  have to do is tell me to desist, I walk away, and the world faces the consequences. ”


“What is going to happen to Sapphire Shores? Who are you going to hurt?”


“I am not going to do anything to Sapphire Shores, but someone else is going use her demise as a distraction in order to cover his true intent. I intend to stop him, but now it’s all up to you.”


“I…I don’t comprehend what you mean!”


“That is understandable, so allow me to explain my endeavors. Look at the stage, second row in the stringed section, Double Bassist: third one to the right.”


Rarity followed his orders. Tracing up on the row of the stage, looking up through the stadium seating of the orchestra. Eventually, she did find the pony who she had been told to. She was an earth pony, other than her matching uniform like the other instrumentalists, she was grey. From Rarity’s point of view, she looked relatively normal.


“That young lady is Octavia Soprano. She is quite a smart, lovely little filly…” Rarity’s eye darted at the pony beside her, and he returned the glance, “Her mother is just like me.”


Rarity began to sweat, how many more of these nutjobs were running around Equestria?


“You see, without her, we probably would not be here today. Earlier on in the tour, the band was in the StagLands. While there, one of the members of the wind instruments sought to spend the night with the comfort of a pony she had just met. That night, while they were sharing the night, it had just so happened that they witnessed something that they should not have. Out a window, they witnessed the execution of a pimp by a well-known associate of some very important individuals.”


“How does this relate to Sapphire?”


“We will get there eventually. On her first instinct, the lady of the night grabbed a nearby camera and took incriminating photos of the event. But, what they didn’t know is that the flash was seen by the opposing party. Both of the two ponies tried to run away.”


“What happened to the stallion?”


“Well, the one who executed the pimp has very powerful friends, and since these friends didn’t want their lucrative sex trafficking business threatened, they sent a hitman out to silence the two.”


Rarity gasped. “You!?”


The initial response was a chuckle. “No, not quite. The pony the sent after them is named Bullseye. I found this information after having a conversation with a stag that he hired in preparation to dispose of the bodies. Melody Stanza did not survive, but the filly did. By either luck or a good judge of character, she went to Octavia to get some of the evidence to the right ponies, and now she promises to testify in world court with the rest of the film for her safety.”


Rarity recapped on what he had just said, and thought that it was a bit overdramatic, “Why would somepony, a bad one at that, go to such a length to cover a crime like this?”


“Rarity, Rarity, Rarity. The one who is orchestrating this entire ordeal is not a simple character. He is one of the Diarchy’s of Japone’.”


“A….A ruler is… what?”


“He was elected to the highest office with his partner because they could buy their way there. Now, standing at the precipice of power, they can run their rackets unhindered.” 


The mental connection was broken, and the pony sitting next to Rarity turned her head and stuck her snout into the tailor’s ear, rubbing her cheek on the side of her head. He whispered, “Just imagine little fillies as young as your sister or as old as you are, wanting to escape from home to find a job, so you trust some dashing and official looking stallion with a uniform who promise that he can get you a job across the border in a butcher shop, as a maid, or a nanny. But when you go with him, his friends attack you and get you addicted to Pixie Stix. From then on the only thing you are is somepony’s whore for eight bits an hour.”


The thoughts were so disgusting that, even though her body was paralyzed, her entire spine shook. The magical connection through their horns was established once more.


“How do you know all of this?”


“I once had the sour occurrence of doing a job for these ponies once. But that was like another life to me.”


“How do you know this pony hired the Bullseye pony?”


“Well, while skipping the small details, we could say I broke into the personal memoirs of the Diarchs, stole the memoir of the transfer, and then burned all of the blackmail that he could use as protection to save his hide.” There was another chuckle, “They say that the best place to hide a leaf is within a forest, but that often doesn’t work when the forest burns to the ground. ”


Rarity stopped and thought, something that he had just said struck a memory in her… something about burning. Then she remembered the newspaper, “You were the one who burned down that Archives building, weren’t you!”


“Yes.”


“But it said that nopony was fatally wounded at the Archives!”


“I was ordered to not to end the lives of any of the employees, soldiers or officers stationed at the National Offices of Archives and Securities, so I didn’t. So you can see how genuine my story is.”


Rarity scoffed at the statement, “Well, don’t think I believe you yet you…you… Murderer!”


But, for as scathing as the insult was, it must have rolled off of the pony it was said to, for it continued by saying, “In a way, I have marveled at Bullseye’s talents for disguises. For an earth pony, he does manage to get around. But, his fatal flaw is overcompensation, it seems that he enjoys going a tad bit overboard in the spectacle of his endeavors.”


“Oh, and you aren’t?”


“No, look up.” With the assistance of magic, Rarity’s chin was angled up above the stage. “Do you see that chandelier?”


Rarity acknowledged his question. She indeed did notice a quite handsome crystal chandelier hanging by a single fiber optic wire support at the very top. A spotlight, placed in the back of the auditorium, shined a light at the hanging and reflected light around the theatre based on how much the technical crew shown into it.


“Now, I’m going to show you a camera pony.” Rarity’s head was likewise directed again and placed in a way that she was looking upwards into a dark abyss of catwalks and wires. With her head wrenched up like this, she could somewhat see an earth pony with a camera on his shoulder, filming the show. 


“Here we have Bullseye, entering stage right, aiming up on his floating dagger above the stage.”


“Wait, what are you saying?”


“Bullseye’s target is the informant, but he intends to cover up her death with the tragic accident that claimed the life of Sapphire Shores.”


Rarity’s mind went almost blank, “Wait! What do you mean accident!?”


“I promised Octavia’s mother that she would be safe, so I took the precaution to move the Double Bassists away from the area. But at the end of the encore, when all of the audience is focused on the stage, he will fire an arrow-bolt which will cut the chandelier’s cable. The chandelier will crush Sapphire shores immediately, and all of the orchestra around her will also be killed, including the informant.”


Rarity felt the popcorn and snacks she had eaten from throughout the show come up to say hello, “He can’t get away with that! he’ll-”


“He has been spending the last few months making a fake identity. After the deed is complete, he will slip out of the theatre. His coat will turn from blue to red, and when the authorities find his camera, they’ll trace it to his hotel. There, they will find that ‘Establishment Shot’ was obsessed with Sapphire Shores. The news headlines will focus on how an obsessed fan had taken the life of a pop culture icon, and the witness who will had promised to testify against one of the largest sex trafficking rings will fade into the emptiness of nothing.”


Rarity was preparing to say something, but then her ears heard something, a familiar teasing of the ears that she was much too fond of. She looked on the stage, and had to remind herself that she was at a musical performance. The stage was dark, a spotlight was shining down on a lone stallion standing in the band stand and gently plucking the strings of a large golden harp. Another spotlight lit up a lone microphone stand in the half circle of instrument. Slowly entering into the light, Sapphire Shores broke through the precipice of darkness and caressed the metal pole in her hooves while she sang sweet hymns into the microphone. 


This wasn’t a song to Rarity; it was her inspiration, her favorite thing to ever grace vinyl format. It was an old Gospel, performed in a tongue that was not coherent to Rarity, but its beauty was multilingual. 


“Ahhh, perfect timing.” Esproc said. “Now Rarity, your time has come. By the end of the song, a decision must be made.”


“No! I won’t play your game, you can’t make me.” She said, defiant to the assassin’s demands. But, for as much as she wanted to stand to her statement against his violent lifestyle, she could not help but feel pressured in the moment. The song was like a timer, she knew every pitch, all of the plucks, every note, all of it by heart. So as she objected to the monster’s offers, she could not help but feel that the clock was tick-tick-ticking away.


“Oh, but you don’t understand, Rarity. By doing nothing, you are acting. So riddle me this, the fate of your idol, a good Samaritan, and innocent bystanders all depend on you saying yes or no. The lives of many will be rescued by your decision while countless little fillies will be safe all because of you deciding the fate of one crooked individual. Or, you can stick to your values, believe in the inherent good locked within even the worst of ponies. But, by granting mercy to one evil individual, you allow many innocent to perish in his wake.”


Rarity thought on it, he did have a good argument. She didn’t want to condemn somepony, no sane individual would. But, at the same time, she had responsibilities to uphold. As an Element of Harmony, shouldn’t she do everything in her power to protect the peace and prosperity for all? If a school was on fire, wouldn’t it be her duty as an adult to try to save the children? Nopony deserves death, she was raised knowing that, so as much as she didn’t want tell him to take out this “Bullseye” character, what made Sapphire Shores or the band any less worthy? And those poor children-


Mid contemplation over her upcoming decision, the interloper in Rarity’s life interrupted her once more. “But, maybe I am just that mentally insane psychopath that you’ve always thought I was. Maybe I made up my entire story just now to try to see how far you’d believe my mad ramblings? While I can promise that if you say to rid this world of Bullseye I would, but what if there never was a danger? What if that when Sapphire Shores hits the final note, nothing happens?”


Her brain stopped, was any of this true? While she had been glued to her seat and scared for her life during the concert of a lifetime, she began to question it all. Was all of it, from the story of being a test soldier, the rationalization of religion, and the convoluted plot of prostitution, assassinations, herrings, little fillies, and Saphire Shores being the bait, was any of it true? If it were a normal conversation with a normal pony, the act of pointing out the ridiculous scale of this tale would be humble, a way to laugh and joke about the circumstances that she had heard. But that begged the question, was he normal? He could have been an extraordinary individual with an enormous situation that she had jumped into. Or, as he had just said, he could be completely insane, a deranged sociopath who happened to have an obsession with one particular tailor. What to do, what to do!


“Are you willing to live your life with the uncertainty that you killed an innocent stallion? Or, could you live with the grief that you had the option to prevent the deaths of dozens of innocents, but did not have the confidence to act? Tick tick tick, Rarity, time is running out.”


For as impossibly hard the decision was beforehand, the monkey wrench that was thrown into Rarity’s brain had shut down the entire decision making process and rewrote the rules. The values of right and wrong became weightless. The known and unknown consequences of her actions were distorted to the point where nothing was comprehendible. She had walked into the theatre with a simple knowledge of a bipolar world, of how each decision was ultimately white or black, a right and a wrong. But, here, there was no white, and there was no black. She had been placed into a position where each choice she had was grey. And at that, even if this Bullseye pony and the individual who had him in his employ… even if they had harmed others in the past, she would still hesitate in deciding the courses of their lives.


A simple 50/50 chance was ripped apart by some many added variables and uncertainty that there was no sane decision to go with…well, there was one absolute…
Rarity mustered all of her strength together and put forth all of the effort left in her body to swallow. She was not proud of having to do what she had to, but it needed to be done.


“Yes.”


There was an evil chuckle, like the incarnation of sin itself was inside Rarity’s head and ready to collect its newest trophy. “Be more specific, my dear.”


“I…I… I want you to do it… based on what you said, the only common outcome you presented to me is that this individual will have to meet his fate. I can only assume by the assets you have shown in our interactions that you are not deluded, but that conclusion does not comfort me, for it shows that for a hero to exist in this world, monsters need to as well. Take the hitstallion out.”
Like the times before, horn to horn magical connection was broken when the assassin moved its head. The disguised individual pointed its mouth into Rarity’s ear and whispered, “Good choice.” Before kissing her on the cheek.


Rarity blinked, for she felt a sharp prick on the side of her face, but before long, her cheek began to have feeling return to it. 
The green unicorn touched its horn with Rarity once more, but spat out another tiny needle. “What you fail to see, Rarity, is that there are no heroes in this world, only individuals who do what they must and hope that it is the right decision. The ultimate reward to one of these so called ‘heroes’ is that they die before they are faced with the true consequences of their actions.” The green horn began to glow once more, causing a necklace with a vial of sunflower seeds to levitate out from the inside of the three piece suit. “If you still want closure, use this.” He placed the necklace around Rarity’s neck. “We both know how this story ends.”


The mare in the suit stood up and began to walk out of the aisle.


With enough strength to turn her head, -but still a bad case of numb tongue- Rarity whispered out, “Waithphhh…I don’ evenphen know whooth you are.”


Luckily, her client was not too far away, so it turned around, angling her head and showing off the left side of her neck. “Where I came from, they didn’t give us name, only numbers and letters to record where we originally came from. Mine was Project=34: Category=3.”
It must have been using magic to emphasize it, for at that moment the symbol “P34C3” began to glow underneath the mare’s fur in the area where the jaw met the neck, like it had been tattooed there.


P34C3 left the auditorium and exited via the lobby of the theatre. Rarity, still regaining the control over her own body, was forced to watch the rest of the show and wait.


And wait


And wait


And wait


Until the performance ended, and one life did as well.

And then the crowd went wild.

> The Seven Promises
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


"I had fondly imagined what most pacifists contended, that wars were forced upon a reluctant population by despotic and Machiavellian governments... "Patriots" in all countries acclaim this brutal orgy as a noble determination to vindicate the right: Dim abstraction of unimaginable wickedness conceal the simple fact that the enemy are men, like ourselves, who love their homes, the sunshine, and all the simple pleasures of common lives." -Bertrand Russell 




The hall before Rarity was somewhat dark, which came off as an anomaly because of the fact that it was only midafternoon, especially with the high number of windows that were designed to allow the largest amount of sunlight in, or the abundance of empty candleholders and chandeliers which lined every hall. But, because of the slight decrease in sunlight in this one particular section of the castle, Rarity was able to see something amazing that may have gone unnoticed if not for the dark. The guards of Canterlot Castle and its residents were a common sight around the city when they wore their golden –or now rather silver- armor. But as Rarity turned the corner, she began to notice that the armor on the six guards, two earth ponies, two pegasi, and two unicorns, almost seemed to give off a light of its own. The suits of metal were polished and looked to be in perfect condition, so the fact that they may have been reflecting light would be a natural conclusion, but at the same time the low luminesce of the room made her think otherwise. Like the armor had a candle in it, the walls behind the guards as well as their shadows beneath them seemed to be gone as the mysterious light lit the area around them.

“Maybe all of the armor glowed as such? Maybe an enchantment was involved? Maybe the glowing armor was a way to distinguish between a normal guard and a special one?” Rarity had many questions, but would probably not find an answer. But, based on who had requested her presence at the castle, along with their situation around a door that she was lead to, made her final conclusion all the more possible. 

Upon entering the castle, Rarity was met by a porter who had been reserved and awaiting her arrival. Without saying many words, the employee led Rarity through the castle and to her current destination. Without a care in the world, the civilian approached the two pegasi standing akimbo in front of the double doors and addressed them, “Ms. Rarity Belle is here upon Her Royal Majesty’s request.”

The two before the door, with long, glinting razors strapped to the outsides of their wings, stepped aside and allowed the Ponyvillian to enter as the port opened with the assistance of the unicorn guard’s magic.

Standing before the opening doors, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and readjusted the grip of her utility bag across her shoulder. Soon after, a voice beckoned her in.

Rarity stepped through the door and entered into what looked to be a personal office. The room was not lit by natural light, but by several candles that were placed around the room as well as a fireplace by a large couch. The Princess, smiling as one of her subjects entered, was seated behind a large desk which was stationed before a stained glass reconstruction of her cutie mark. Besides curtains and other draperies that covered windows in the private room a wardrobe, large couches, a door to what could be assumed was a washroom, and a bureau were stationed neatly in the office.

For a normal pony, this could have been a home away from home, but Rarity would expect no less for Her Majesty.

Out of instinct, Rarity bowed before the Princess as she stood and approached her guest. “Rise, please,” she said, prompting Rarity to stand once more. The Alicorn sat, saving Rarity from having to crane her neck all the way up to look her in the eye. “I am so glad to see that you’ve decided to come.”

“The pleasure is mine, your Majesty.”

“It’s the least I could do, especially after what happened at the theatre. I just wanted to find a distraction to keep my mind off of the tragedy. How are the rest of your friends coping with the shock?”

Rarity shifted the weight on her hooves at the Princess’ comment. In a way, it felt sincere, but should she believe it? 

“We were all a tad bit shaken up… some of us more than others.”

“I understand, it was terrible.” The two sat in silence for a moment, the crackling fire was the only thing that made a sound in the private chamber. The Princess, perking up again and smiling once more, returned to life from the somber silence and said, “Anyhow, let’s return to the matter at present. Follow me, please.”

The infectious change of mood lifted Rarity’s spirits as well. Almost as if she had her hoof held and chaperoned to wherever the Princess was leading her, Rarity was right at the tall alicorn’s side as she approached a door and opened it. 

The heavy black oak door was not enchanted, nor was it locked. All it took was the Princess to turn the knob with her magic to open it, but when the contents on the opposite side were finally revealed, it left Rarity in a state of disbelief. Nothing could properly describe the feeling that had been stricken with upon seeing the insides of the room. 

Daring Do finally saying “Open Sesame!” to discover the Holy Grain? No. 

Al Trombone breaking into Fort Knocks to rob the biggest Reserve of gold in Equestria? Not quite.

Pinkie Pie’s first time in a candy store as a small filly? Almost.

She was glued to the floor with her eyes trying to eat up every detail, trying to taste all the colors, and to smell all of the designs that were before her. Dresses, dresses everywhere. Ball Gowns, Bouffants, Debutantes, Evening Gowns, Jumpers, Maxis, Midis, Nightdresses, Sundresses, Tea gowns, Wraps, and some styles that the fashionista would have to go back to design school to name correctly.

The door slowly closed, and Rarity realized that in the time that she was hypnotized by the royal garment collection, her host had entered the closet and returned with the reason why Rarity was summoned.

“It seems that I -or any pony for the matter- may have accidentally stepped on it during the commotion at the theatre,” said the Princess.

Even though it looked much nicer on its owner, the dress from several nights before still held a majestic air to it even though it wore itself on a mannequin. While the Princess stood beside her, Rarity took the opportunity to take a closer look at the possibly priceless garment. The absence of an actual pony wearing the masterpiece made inspecting it as closely as she desired when she first laid eyes upon it much less awkward and intrusive, but it was not long until she found the blemish that she had heard about.

Near the back of the piece, where the cloud cotton became so thin that it seemingly disappeared, a clean and straight tear separated the cloth clean down the seam. Rarity frowned, even for as good as she was, this tear was detrimental to the piece. Even if she could repair it, the damage was permanent.

Rarity set her satchel on the ground and opened it, taking out a bobbin of white thread and a small metal needle. While she threaded the tiny loop, she said, “I’ll do my very best to fix it, but I cannot promise that it will be nearly as immaculate as it was before.”

“Take as much time as you need,” Princess Celestia said as she seemingly produced a box from nowhere, “There’s no need to use any of your own supplies. Please take as much as you would like.”

Rarity, like it was a gift on Hearth’s Warming Day, opened the box up and could not believe her eyes. Inside the wooden container were a dozen bobbins of thread, each one was so white that it seemingly gave off a light of its own. Rarity gently set the box down, careful not to somehow damage its contents. Rarity ventured to say that she would have to liquefy all of her assets to match the value of the bobbins that had just been given to her. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said that she had just been bribed…

“We both know how this is going to end.”

Rarity took a deep breath. The Theatre again, what… P34C3 had said. She could use the mentality that this was nothing, just another job for another client. The same ignorance which brought her bliss when she was making outfits for a murderer. She could fix the Princess’ dress and walk out with Her Majesty’s gift and just cross her hooves and pray that it was all over…
But that wasn’t going to work. There comes a time when the oasis of procrastination dries up. The luxury of a temporary solution does not work anymore and it is time to deal with the consequences. She had dreaded the sound of the bell above her shop’s door for too long. She had counted Sweetie Belle’s safety throughout the night as a blessing too many times. The fear of what happened to lurk behind her shoulder had imprisoned her for the last time. If she truly wanted freedom, she would need to fight for it.

Rarity released her breath and opened up her utility bag, “Excuse me, Princess?”

Princess Celestia, behind her desk with her head pointed down reading a document, replied, “Yes dear?”

From the bag full of thread, makeup, and needles, a string rose from the opening with the assistance of glowing magic. Like a snake charmer and its pet, Rarity pulled the accessory up until the container of sunflower petals at the bottom was in clear view. “Would you happen to recognize this?”

The monarch looked up from her papers and inspected what her guest had asked. Whatever Princess Celestia thought the mysterious item was that Rarity asked was familiar, she did not expect what she saw. For all she knew, the tailor could have been asking her about something trivial, like a missing trinket, a misplaced piece of jewelry, or a recently found wallet. But what she was holding was not as common as she had assumed.

When she looked up from whatever she was reading, she looked kind, warm, and open, the way that Rarity had always assumed she was. But, upon focusing on the “gift” that was given to Rarity, things had changed. Her body froze, her eyes widened, and for a split second, her mane stopped flowing. But then she blinked, and her expressions were steel, her eyes focused, and her compassion lost.

She stood up from her desk and walked around it. With every step, Rarity tiptoed back and lost an inch in her height. The Princess stopped right before the mare and said, “Where did you find that?”

Rarity swallowed. She had done it now. 

“It was given to me at the Theatre. Right before the accident… by the pony who caused the accident.”

“Do you know what this is?” She gently tugged the necklace of string with its pendant filled with Sunflower petals out of Rarity’s magic with her own. Rarity released and the Princess hid the ceremonial piece away. 

Rarity shook her head, “No, your Majesty. I do not.”

“That was a Rosary used by the Knights of the Solari. I only know of a few ponies who still carry these.”

“I…see,” Rarity mumbled, not sure how to respond to that information, but regardless mentally declared that some parts of the story were true.

The Princess looked down at her guest like a hawk positioned at its perch, studying the white unicorn. The friendly and warm atmosphere was all but gone from the once happy place. Although there was no external force preventing her from doing so, the newfound tension engulfing the two made Rarity feel as if she was suffocating under the pressure. The Princess’ towering height, often used as a means to humble her presence to her subjects, was not making her seem as intimidating as possible. Rarity could have retreated, but she had brought this upon herself, it was time to see how far the rabbit hole went.

“Hmm,” The Princess eventually said, her tone a stiff deadpan, “I had a feeling that this would occur eventually.” 

Rarity swallowed, not familiar on whether to use formal or informal language when accusing a matriarch of being affiliated with a murderer, but postponed the accusations and instead said, “So you don’t deny that you know who he is?”

“No,” the Princess answered, slowly lowering herself down into a sitting position. “There is no use lying to you because I doubt it would work. You are frightened and concerned, your courage is admirable.”

Rarity slowly began to move one of her hooves backwards, “Wh- why are you telling me this?”

“Because you are a lady, Rarity. You’ve carried this burden for however long you have been visited by Mr. Peace, I have faith that you would have this remained buried after you’ve found the answer you have been searching for. Otherwise you would have shared your fear with your friends, and asked for an answer earlier rather than waiting to bring up the opportunity in seclusion like you’ve done now.”

Rarity swallowed, the sentiment, while sounding genuine, was too similar to what her customer had said a few days earlier right before he caused a pony to fall to its demise. Was an “accident” in order for her?

The Princess sighed again, “I know what you are thinking, and no matter what you may believe, I assure you that you, your family, and friends, are free from danger.”

A wave of relief washed over Rarity upon hearing those words, but then her nerves tightened once more. How did she know the Princess was not just telling her what she wanted to hear? After all, she had just admitted to having an assassin in her employ, so how well did she really know the Princess?

“Not… Saying that I don’t… trust you, Your Majesty… But how do I know you are not trying to –I don’t mean any offence- trick me?”

“Because as a subject of my kingdom, your livelihood is my responsibility. Even if I may do things that some may disagree with, I aim to uphold legitimacy by the fact that I always act with the best intentions of Equestria in mind. With that being said, a secret involving how I perform my duty is not worth ending one of my little ponies’ lives over.”

“I believe you, but-“

“Rarity,” The Princess interrupted, standing up once more, “do you remember ‘The Promises’?”

The unicorn stopped mid thought and studied the Princess, “The Promises? As in the Six Promises?”

“Yes, please recite them for me.”

Rarity stood still for a moment at thought. “The first is the Promise of Mind, that every individual has the right to their own opinion, correct?”

“Yes, go on.”

“Okay…” she mumbled, trying to think of something that she learned in middle school but had since forgotten. “The second is… The Promise of Life, that everypony that lives has- ”

“Every creature that lives and speaks upon the land, unless in the act to deny this to another, has the right to life as well as any other. Next.”

“The Promise of Heart, that everything has the right to live and love freely unless infringing on another.”

“Next,” The Princess said, stepping back so that she was not looking straight down on Rarity.

“The fourth is the Promise of Commons, that none shall be hindered based on their species.”

“Be it Equine or all others,” Celestia finished.

“The fifth... I’m sorry, what is the meaning of this?” Rarity asked.

“Were almost there, continue.”

“The fifth… the fifth… The Promise of Coin, in which one’s life shall not be placed in jeopardy due to money. And the sixth is the greatest, that all will be absolved of fear, and that all have the inalienable right to live without undue worry from unnecessary danger.”

“I have lived by those sentiments ever since I stood on the rubble that Discord had made of Equestria and made those Promises to all that had gathered to hear me. But you have never heard, but there was a seventh Promise, Rarity. I ended my proclamation with the Promise that, under all circumstances, the previous six freedoms would be protected and upheld by any and all means necessary. That is why you can trust me right now. This is why I have Mr. Peace do the things he does. And this is why I will never deny the things that I have done in the service of Equestria. I only allow Twilight and your friends be the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony for there is no other option. I am not always proud with the things I have done, but I never would ever allow my country or subjects come in harm’s way. ”

Rarity stammered, “B- Bu- But, I just saw him-”

The Princess set her hoof out and placed it on her shoulder, “I know, I was there as well. Please understand that the only reason why I would call upon my Black Knight is when it is the lesser of two evils.”

“But how can taking a life be any less evil that taking another.”

The Alicorn gave a huff, and then slowly blinked. “Bloodshed has never brought me joy, please believe me when I say that. Regardless, there is no such thing as a utopia. I wish that there was an ultimate solution, a deus ex machina that I could call upon to fix the world’s problems, but that is a delusion. I’ve done everything that I can, to the best of my abilities, to keep my subjects safe and happy. But that is never enough. From the soldiers who pledge their lives to the tailors in the shops, everypony has their part to play. So between your needle sewing clothes for the homeless to his knife doing what cannot be done otherwise, what choice do we all have? If the things I task him to do in order to protect the sleeping ponies of my land are better kept secret, then why should they not be?”

Rarity took a long breath and closed her eyes. She did not think it was possible, but she had just heard the act of murder being justified.

“I just…” She began, but stopped. “I just don’t see this as right! It just feels wrong. I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

Princess Celestia frowned and bowed her head, looking almost as if she had sprung a leak and deflated somehow. But, before Rarity could regurgitate a thousand apologies for potentially frustrating her, she returned.

“Come with me, please,” she said. 

Rarity complied, not because she was filling the role of what a ruled individual would do when given an order from its ruler, but because of how she said it. The Princess’ brow was furrowed, her eyes determined, and her voice was speaking in a mood which no longer sounded like it was intent to simply try to convince the young tailor what was right and what was wrong.

The Princess lead Rarity across the office and up to a curtain beside the window. With her magic, she pulled a rope, and revealed a large mirror hiding behind the velvet sheet. On the bottom of the glass’ frame were the words, “desirE fO rorriM.”

The Princess’ horn lit up once more and she said, “Mirror, Mirror behind the curtain, show me the one I love, for certain.”

Rarity watched as her reflection began to change, like a ripple in a pond, the glass seemingly began to flow and change. 

Rarity watched, and as the surface settled, a strange picture was featured. The mirror no longer reflected an image at the mare, but instead a vision was present. For only a few seconds, Rarity looked through the frame and saw two ponies, a fully grown black unicorn stallion, and right beside him was a small red pegasus filly with a blue mane. For as strange as it was, it looked as if they were playing a game of Jax on the floor. The two were lying side by side, the black unicorn, who was obviously the older of the two, was using magic. The pegasus’ coat was a very dark, royal red, and her regal blue mane, like her tail, was tied up in a large, tight, braid.

But, that must not have been what the Princess was anticipating when she had asked the mirror to show her the ones she loved, because before Rarity could get a clearer look, the picture faded, and a new one began to develop.

When the resolution cleared, this pony was easily recognized. Princess Luna, with her mane the same way it was when she was purged from Nightmare moon several years ago, was lying on the floor. By whatever magic this mirror was, it must not have understood the concept of privacy, because the ruler did not look as refined as she normally was. 

Her mane was looking rather plain and not like the flowing magic that it should have, she was also lying on the floor with head up. In her hooves was a large tome which, judging by the size, could only be a history book. Beyond that, her body was covered in a sheet, almost as if she was a college student studying for class.

“I love my sister,” Celestia said, “I am not one to weep easily, but I assure you, when she was finally returned to me upon the night of the thousandth year, my tears were genuine.”

Rarity stepped forward, approaching the mirror, and causing the image to swirl again.

“It pained me to be forced to do my duty, and I hope that I never have to do anything like that again. But with that being said,”

The image solidified, and for some odd reason, Rarity was looking into the eyes of Sweetie Belle. The little filly had eyeliner, makeup, lipstick, and one of her big sister’s dresses on while she posed and checked herself in the mirror.

“I would rather send my sister away one hundred times over before she harmed one of my ponies.” Celestia looked down at her guest and Sweetie Belle through the enchanted mirror.  “Could you?” 





"War does not determine who is right - only who is left."-
Bertrand Russell

> Not Your Kind of Ponies
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

While Rarity was visiting the Princess…

Sweetie Belle woke up to an outrageously mundane day. The crisp morning air above her comforter from outside of her window was a bit cold. Her bed was nice and toasty, wanting to keep her inside and creating a compelling argument to extend her night’s sleep for a few more minutes. But, there was no rest for this weary filly, for she had plans today -plans that she had made for quite a long time, and the only thing that was left to chance was a simple one word answer.

Sweetie Belle slipped out of her bed, pulling the sheets up to the headboard and then threw her throw pillows at the crease in the blankets, the way she made any bed that was not the one that she had at her big sister’s store.

She made her way into the family’s bathroom and brushed her teeth, combed her mane, and then made her way down the staircase and into the kitchen. There, she sat between two large mountains of adults and had her share of crunchy, flaky, corn flakes and milk. 

So after the blandest of bland meals, Sweetie Belle took her chance. She enacted her plan and set her endeavors to the mercy of Murphy’s Law. Sweetie Belle grasped her cereal bowl in her magic and slurped up as much as the milk as she could. When done, she set the bowl back down and said, “Mom, I think I left my homework assignment at Rarity’s shop. Is it okay if I go and get it?”

Mrs. Belle looked up from her issue of Hairdresser’s Weekly and said, “Uh… are you sure it isn’t in your bag?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Your room?”

“Yes.”

“Well… I guess you can go check your sister’s store if you think it’s there. Are you sure, though? I don’t want to go and break into her store when she’s not there.”

Sweetie Belle groaned, “Yes.”

“Okay then. I guess you can go to the store. Just be quick.”

Success!

Sweetie Belle slipped out of her chair and began to walk towards the door. “I’ll be quick, but I was planning on meeting with Apple bloom and Scootaloo afterwards for some Cutie Mark Crusading!”

“Okay then, Sweetie. Don’t forget to lock the door behind you!”

“I won’t!” she called back, out of the room and heading towards the front door.

“And the key is underneath the welcoming mat.”

Sweetie Belle groaned, “Alright!” and closed the door behind her.

She stopped on her front porch, door to her parent’s house right behind her, and took a moment to feel the morning sun on her coat. After the brief rest, she began her trek into town and towards her home away from home. While her plan had indeed demanded secrecy and misleading her parents to work, she had not lied about the majority of the details.

Her destination was indeed to go to the Carousel Boutique, just like how the red herring of getting a misplaced homework assignment was genuine… even though it was planted.  

Either way, what she was not telling was that her goal was to have the store empty, not with her friends, not with her parents, not with her sister. All to herself. She had done this before, and it would not be the last time that this would happen.

She walked into town, and now adjusted her course to Rarity’s shop.  Her plan was ingenious, an evil mastermind from a newspaper comic couldn’t make a better way to do the deed that she was about to do.  She called the second floor of the Ponyville boutique home so much that she felt that she felt that she should have been staying there instead with her parents. So when she heard that Rarity was taking a long weekend to go to a Sapphire Shores Concert, she had a hard time hiding her joy over the opportunity. 
She finally arrived at the Carousel Boutique. Instead of going towards the welcoming mat, she hooked a right and walked into the back yard, more presently, the tree beside the clothesline.

Sweetie Belle approached the tree and reared up, placing her hooves on the trunk. Right at eyelevel, there was a small wooden birdhouse. Sweetie Belle pursed her lips and whistled. After a few seconds, there was a twitching inside and a reflective golden light shining against the inside of the box. As according to the arrangement for its tenancy, a Red Robin poked its head out of the wooden home holding a golden key in its beak.
Sweetie Belle bit the key in her teeth and said, “Thanks!”. It was funny, Mr. and Mrs. Belle didn’t even know where the key to the store was anymore.

Sweetie Belle walked to the back door and let herself in, locking the door behind her and leaving the entire building to herself.

In regard to her two friends, Sweetie Belle was only telling a bit of a half truth. Chances are they would indeed do some crusading, but at the same time, now would not be the time. Apple Bloom had chores to do around the farm each morning, and Scootaloo always did whatever she did in the mornings. So to say the least, Sweetie Belle had hours to wait before anything else happened.

So, now at her destination, Sweetie Belle spared no time and cut straight to her prize, Right through the kitchen, right up the stairs, right down the hall, and right into Rarity’s room. The guardian of the prizes in this sacred chamber was absent, leaving the treasures open and vulnerable to the lone crusader.

First, she ran into the closet and made her way to the safe. Entering the super-secret and un-guessable code of Rarity’s birthday into the combination, the locked door opened. Pawing past the bags of money and the ugly scrapbook within that Sweetie Belle guessed was –based on how weird Rarity was with her whenever this stallion was in the store- her secret coltfriend, and grabbed as much of her jewelry as she could. Then, down the long line of dresses hanging in the walk-in closet, Sweetie belle found a sparkling blue one and took it with her. 
Carefully, she walked with her sister’s clothing and accessories onto a clothing rack of the vanity before climbing up onto the chair.

She opened up the drawer and pulled out a tall tube of lipstick, tracing the red makeup around and then filling in her lips. Now, being a female, she did enjoy the act of making herself look fancy as much as the next filly, but she was not doing this for that alone. But, like when she had renounced, then announced, her sisterhood to Rarity while their parents were on their fourth honeymoon, she did not love beautification as much as her bigger sister. 

So why did she make an excuse to break into her home to try on her clothes? Well, it was more about the mare than the job.

With eyeliner, lipstick, and blush properly applied, Sweetie Belle turned to the glittering blue dress and unzipped the back end. 

It was some time ago, a few months, maybe a year, it didn’t really matter, what did was what spurred this epiphany. It was another Cutie Mark Crusader plan up in smoke, the adventures in the world of painting left the three fillies frustrated, tired, and covered in red, blue, and yellow paint. With the usual walk of shame after another failure of a day, Sweetie Belle returned home and had to ask her busy sister for help in cleaning up and salvaging the rest of the night. 

And so there she was, sitting in the shower, watching as her spirit went down the drain with the water, and had nopony to be angry with except for herself. It seemed that she never would find her destiny, maybe she was always meant to have a disappointing life? Even if she ever did find her mark, what would happen if it was not the solution to her unhappiness? 

Then the door opened and Rarity walked in. Without saying anything she pulled the curtain aside and began to scrub her back.  Sweetie Belle didn’t see if Rarity was annoyed, peeved, or pitying her at the moment, but it was her intrusion into the moping that she realized something.

Rarity had everything that Sweetie Belle wanted. Of course she had her mark, but she had money, a job, good friends, beauty, smarts, and most of all, she was happy. All of the conversations that her parents had had about Rarity throughout Sweetie Belle’s life came back to the filly. They made sense now. Everything did.

She zipped the dress up her back. Although it was a bit loose on her, it still felt good and made her feel like her sister.  With expensive necklaces of precious stones around her on her wrist, slippers on her hooves, and makeup on her face, Sweetie Belle finally felt that she was ready. In front of the vanity mirror, Sweetie Belle posed and act like the lady who she shared the same roof with.

Unfortunately for Sweetie Belle, there was no way that she could have known what had happened at the Sapphire Shores Concert the night before, it was just too soon. So to the chagrin of her secret hobby of prancing around as her sister, she could not have foreseen that her idol had been confronting their ruler on this day. At this time in particular, Rarity and Princess Celestia were watching her pose in front of the mirror.

But she would not lie about it. When Rarity would later ask about her secret intrusion and liberal use of her cosmetics, Sweetie Belle would admit the embarrassing truth.

She wanted to be just like her sister when she grew up.






Ten days after the accident at the theatre...

On one of the many street corners of Canterlot, there was an ice cream parlor. It was a chain store; there were four others exactly like it in other corners of the great city. The servers all wore matching pink aprons, all the disposable dishes had a promotion that returning ten of them would grant the returnee a free double scoop, and the wallpaper was a larger version of the company's logo.

The store, like the other ones, had been mapped out and placed by one of the company's floor planners. Everything, from the number of steps to each freezer, to the placement of the register and how many vats of ice-cream would fit into each freezer row had been taken into deep consideration. 

In the fenced off, open aired and umbrella filled sidewalk right beside the front door, two families, being bound by a bond that many would not understand, were seated. The crew of ponies around the table were busy chatting and enjoying their frosty treats. Sitting with their back to the street and under the shade of the umbrella, three mares were busy eating their ice cream. Two were earth ponies, one, who was considerably younger, had a uniquely beautiful grey coat, her dark mane was straightened, and she had a wrist mounted disposable spoon courtesy of the shop. For as beautiful as this mare was, she held no quarter to the one beside her. She, like her younger counterpart, was of a grey coat, but hers was of a much darker shade, her mane, which she kept tied up tight against the back if her head in a type of roll only a stylist could do, was as dark as ebony. The earth pony may have been twice the age of her partner, but time had only enhanced her looks.

Beside them was another earth pony. Her mane was a pink color that accented her white coat well. Her mane was, as always, in a bun, and all she was missing from how she usually looked was her nurse's cap and jacket.

Sitting at the "3" and "9" position on the table were two other mares that had been inverses of each other. One was red, the other white, and their manes were the color that their counterpart wore for a coat. While they had inherited their colors from their mother, they had their species from their father. The red one, Constitution, was a unicorn. Declaration, her sister and older by 57 seconds, was a pegasus.

Around the assortment of females were three children. Two of which, Independence and Liberty, were spitting images of their mothers. The final child, a colt, sat around with the fillies that he treated his cousins- even though, technically, he was their uncle -was unlike the other sitters at the table, for he looked like a copied image of his father.

Finally, the last member of the party sat at the other end of the table in the sun's embrace, looking out towards the street before him. His coat hid the wings that were closed against his body while his horn brought the spoon to his mouth.

The group chatted on an assortment of topics, mainly focusing on the juvenile soccer game that the youngest members of the group had been participating in earlier in the morning. The children were currently recounting their heroic tale of the game. As always, the only stallion at the table sat quietly and listened.

It was said that the soccer game earlier in the morning was a good one. The only stallion at the table could give many reasons as to why it was so good. For one, the team that he and his family was supporting had won. After that, he could reason that it was good because his son had scored a goal. And even going beyond that, he could reason that it was good because there were no fights that broke out, or that the adults were not shouting at the referee as much as they could have, or because there was only seventeen fouls, which was four less than the game last week.

But, with all that being said, he could never actually tell if it was a good game or not.

The patriarch of the larger of the two families sat, mainly keeping silent, and listened to the conversation between his daughters and one of the few friends he had in the world. But, try as he must, he could not help but subconsciously decipher the ambience around him. While the musician of their group talked about what it was like touring with Sapphire Shores, he could not help but hear the couple behind him talking about their next vacation. His son recounting the tale of scoring at the game an hour earlier faded beneath the voice of a stallion whispering about all of the dirty things he was going to do to his filly friend as soon as they were done with work.

But most importantly, he was listening for what was on everypony's minds. 

The stream of misinformation being traded around him was like putting a fish in the sea. One grandmother was throwing a fit over the mere act of putting such a terrible thing into the public newspaper. A mare was talking about witnessing the poor worker fall to his demise. A stallion was talking of lobbying for better safety standards for the older buildings in the city. And, a mare who was making her skeptical listener roll her eyes as she ranted on that that the police were withholding evidence that the pony was actually an assassin! And that Ms. Shores had protested one of the Princess' actions, so the alicorn hired him to take care of her for good! 

"P34C3." 

The aloof stallion went from his body's autopilot and assumed control again. He looked up and across the table at the dark colored mare.

She brought her hooves up and set her elbows on the table, bringing them together before her chin. She said nothing, but her message was apparent. He was not the only one lost listening to the crowd around them. She smiled gently, blinked her brilliant emerald eyes, and gave him an approving nod.

To those old enough to know the past, a short silence was shared. 

The mare turned to her daughter sitting beside her and said," Octavia, dear. Was there something you wanted to say to Mr. P34C3?"

The Double Bassist in the Canterlot Orchestra set her spoon down and looked at her, " Are you sure this is the right place, mother?" 

P34C3's twin daughters stopped eating their ice cream and looked around nervously, hoping that the children were not paying attention to their grandfather and his friend. 

Freedom Redheart, sharing her daughters concerns and worrying about the information being heard by her youngest, protested, "It’s quite alright, Sonnet. There is no need to show unnecessary gratitude."

"Yes, indeed, S0NN37. It’s just another day's work." Said P34C3, acting humble.

S0NN37 smiled and scoffed at her hosts, "oh, you two are too kind. Please, humor us." 

Freedom began to protest again, but, the earth pony sitting beside her mother spoke up, " I... Please, it is nothing, I promise." 

Calmly, P34C3 nodded, and three of the other mares grimaced. 

Octavia breathed in and then said," I just wanted to say... Thank you, Mr. Peace"

"You're welcome, Octavia."

Shortly after that, the conversations returned to idle gossip. 

Slowly though, as the adults talked and children had their ice cream, the stallion sitting with his family began to become aloof again. This time, it was not the talk around him had captured his interest. 

Slowly yet surely, two stallions wearing suits, ties, and sunglasses began to circle around the block more and more frequently, looking for someone. Using subtle messaging, the stallion reported their incursions to his friend. Eventually, after checking a wristwatch more than a dozen times, the two ponies finally decided to cross the street and approached the table.

All of the ponies sitting at the table turned as the two finely dresses ponies neared their brief ice-cream merrymaking.

The one who was clearly the leader looked at the finely groomed earth pony and cleared his throat, " Excuse me, Ms. Soprano, but the Ambassador has sent us to escort you to the flyport. Your airship will be arriving shortly."

The Ambassador's wife stood up from her seat and sighed, “Well, Octavia, it seems your father would like us to hurry." She turned to the white nurse beside her, “Freedom, thank you for allowing us to intrude on your Saturday morning, but we must be going."

Freedom Redheart angled her head and kissed her guest on the cheek, a formal Trotvian farewell, “Until we meet again, Sonnet."

The mare nodded her head, "P34C3."

He returned the nod, "S0NN37."

The two mares left the sidewalk store and made their way in the direction of the Flyport.

Constitution, the red unicorn, rubbed her daughter on the side of her shoulder and brought her close, "oh, Liberty, if only your father's job was to travel to lavish places around the world."

"Yeah," her daughter replied, "but you married daddy form his body."

Everypony, if they understood the joke or not, laughed aloud... except for one.

P34C3 was already focused on next anomaly in the immediate area. He had been watching them for quite some time now, and like he had instructed them, they did not dare interrupt his family time. Passing once every 10 minutes on the street, two pegasi wearing enchanted gold armor that shined with its own light made another lap around the block. He had instructed them that if they were sent for him to never-ever approach him in front of his family unless, quite literally, someone was dying. He warned all of his recruits that there would be severe consequences to whoever violated that rule.

The only stallion at the table sighed, put his spoon into his ice cream, and slipped it over to his son, who was making quite the mess with his own dish.

“Freedom, I must be off to work."

Freedom nodded, used to this type of notice, and said, "Dinner will be waiting in the oven, Peace."

He stood, slipped his OMNISHIELD on, hugged his children and grandchildren, kissed his wife, and departed on foot towards the castle.

As he left, Justice, eating with his hooves even though he shared his father's coat, wings, and horn, watched with admiration. He wiped his face clean and further stained his soccer jersey. He looked around at his much older sisters, mother, and nieces and then with, pride, proclaimed, "when I grow up, In want to be just like my daddy."

The claim, while cute and innocent, caused all three of the remaining mares to become tense with shock.

> The End  the Night: Part 2 (DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Abandon hope all ye who enter here.”
-Dante, The Divine Comedy

It helps to read this segment first.

A long day’s night. Princess Luna had never imagined that she would ever look forward to a good night’s rest, heaven forbid how hypocritical that sounded, but as with her sister’s push to make her more modern with the changing times, an eight hour sleep sounded appetizing.  

It had been a very busy day full of the normal executive clutter, and with the usual wear and tear of listening to the problems of others, coupled with a packed schedule of lunch, breakfast, and dinner meetings, and a slew of spontaneous interruptions could make anyone feel dirty. So dirty, that the only way to relax and unwind was to clean up.

Which, as Luna walked into her bedroom and had her guards close the doors behind her, cleaning up sounded like a great way to start her night. And, with the holy invention known as “The Shower” and its close cousin “The Royal Water Heater”, she had a quick and relieving means of doing so.

So, after gently placing all of her regalia atop of her bed, Princess Luna casually walked towards her washroom and closed the door behind her. The tiles on the floor were the very epitome of clean, the wallpapering of her walls, a personal touch by her sister upon her return, were a dark blue with actual gold inscribed into it to look like the immaculate heavens above.

She walked past the common bathroom appliances such as the towel rack, sink, and medicine cabinet –all of which were made of precious metals- and stepped right into her pearly white bathtub. She turned the two golden faucets, the hot one more than the cold, to cause water to shoot out from the head. She finally closed the curtain and gave herself some needed super-privacy.

As always, the water was first cold, but she did not mind, as with the other advantages of being a Princess, her priority water heater brought it up to its more enjoyable temperature within seconds, causing steam to flow around the tub. 

Water, true to its name, was a universal solvent. Just like how it could dissolve molecular compound and break apart stone, it washed away the outer appearance, the façade, the way that Luna wanted to be seen by the outside world and left her as who she truly way. Without the makeup, without the blush, without the mane products, and without coat conditioners. She stepped forward and placed her front hooves on the wall below the showerhead, angling her neck up and causing the water to fall directly onto her face. The warm liquid from the showerhead saturated her mane, creating a damp sponge-like funnel down the back of her neck and onto the center of her back. The warm water embrace down her spine was so relaxing that her wings released from their closed position and drooped down, letting the purge of water cover relieve all of the stress from the previous day.

She had reached a state of pure relaxation, a mellow state of ease that everything in a state of bliss. The only thing that she could focus on was the dull tapping of water droplets and the pleasure they delivered.

She shouldn’t have done that, though. For as much as she thought she deserved the ability to relax, she should not have let her guard down so much to the point that she was vulnerable. Upon returning home from her exile, her sister had told her always mind her surroundings and be careful, for the walls had eyes.

Literally.

As in from the corner of Luna’s shower two eyes had opened up right in the middle of the tiles.

Blending into the surrounding tiles perfectly, a pony shaped figure silently stepped down from ledge of the tub and, in a rearing position, stepped into the basin of the shower. Its camouflage, once so impeccable that it blended into the tiles perfectly, now looked out of place as a pony-shaped with shower tile-pattern fur stood behind the bathing royalty.

The Princess, with her eyes still closed, opened her mouth and let the warm water pool up in her opened cavity.

A green glow caused a large purple knife to slowly extend out from behind the stalker’s back, like how a magician would pull a cane from out of their sleeve. Like a domestic feline preparing to pounce a vulnerable mouse, the camouflaged individual stretched its front hooves out as it reared, reaching up and –while still not in the Princess field of view- around her head. The knife, still floating in the fog of steam, took position. While Luna had stretched her body out against the wall, it had left the entire expanse of her back pulled nice and tight, like a painter’s canvas. And, like the brush to this canvas, The knife stood at the ready, preparing to take the first stroke around the left kidney.

It is said that killing is an art, and if that is true, then the pony who had intruded on its victim’s cleaning session just happened to be a virtuoso.









“Breaching!”

A lone slug from the unicorn guard’s personal weapon had exited the chamber of the firearm and made its way into the lock on the door. The force of the solid projectile was enough to rip the enchanted stopper, as well as the nob itself, completely free from the wooden door. 

The six Lunar guards stormed the muggy personal washroom of their designated princess and waved through the steam. Within seconds, one of the ponies who had breached the door had flipped the switch and vented the hot, moist, air to the outside of the castle, lifting their visibility and clearing up the situation at hoof.

The shower was still running, but none of the guards apologized, for there was no one to do apologize to. Even though the curtains of the shower distorted whoever was behind them, it was easily apparent that contents of the shower were empty.

So where was she?

The six guards walked closer towards the shower at the other end of the bathroom, scanning each and every crevice for any sign of a struggle or anomaly. But, they would not find any… well, not yet at least.

The pony who had been the first through the breached door had reached the shower. Shouldering his magic crossbow with his right hoof in a way to keep it at the ready, and used his left to, in one swift motion, pull all of the rings of the shower curtain aside and down the metal line to one end.

Whether they saw what had been on the other side of the screen or not, the remaining five heard his reaction. 

The pony who had revealed the shower gagged, swallowing down whatever had been trying to escape upon laying eyes open the occupant of the washer. Muttering something along the lines of “Fuck!” the stallion in front stumbled and tripped over his hooves, landed in front of the toiled, and pulled up the lid with the intent to evacuate the contents of his stomach.

But, as he opened up the toiled bowl for the world to see, his eyes jumped out of his head. From whatever color his enchanted armor had made him look, his complexion lost all of its complexion, and finally could not take it anymore.

He vomited all over the tiles of the Royal Lunar Lavatory.

By then, there had only been one guard who had not known what had happened, and that was a female pegasus who had been the back of their pack. She did not need to ask what had happened, or see the catalyst that had started the event. She knew everything that she needed to know by looking in the toilet, and the tip of a horn that was bobbing up and down in the water.

“We need to sound the alarm!” she shouted. And like that, she took to the air and put all of her momentum towards exiting the room. 

But, before the remaining guards could organize, regroup, refocus, or even think of trying to find the culprit of the vile act, they heard a crash.

To the abled bodied in the room, it had been like a flash. In a split second they saw their comrade who had declared that she was to alert the rest of the castle flying to the door, and in the next she had changed her momentum, spreading out her enchanted batlike wings as far out as they could, grabbing as much air as possible to stop her path as she noticed something.  And it was at that moment they realized they had an audience. By only an outline and a dark form in the only room connected to the master bathroom, a shadowy figure had been present at the doorway, waiting for them to turn around and greet their new host.

A purple flash, it had been moving so fast that the solid object looked to be a straight line, passing in a downwards motion from the top right to the left side of its area. The path of this purple line passed right through the flying mare as she flew into it, moving through and intercepting her throat. 

Like some sort of new age, abstract, Neapolitan art, a hoofull of crimson was thrown at the end of the purple line, spattering against the mirror and creating long streaks down into the sink.

“If at first you don’t succeed…” He said as the mare fell to the ground in two parts, “try, try again.”

The remaining Lunar guards, in some way, shape, or form, tried to attack the assailant, but before any weapons could be drawn he closed the bathroom door, exposing a once concealed item that had been placed on the inside of the door.
Ten sticks with a large ticking clock attached to them. In red letters, each stick had the word, “NITROGLYCERIN” printed on its length.

“Oh Shi-!”

Boom.










At the top of Canterlot Mountain, there is an abandoned structure. The scattered stone and loose shrubbery at the peak of the mountain met organized and carved stones. These stone stacked atop each other to make a temple hidden out of sight from the population that lived around the mountain. While not necessarily a secret, the large structure was sparingly used by any. 

It had been made for a purpose, but at the same time its state of disrepair gave a good hint as to how commonly it had been used. On the outside, this stoic structure held a silent and dignified presence amongst the aesthetic beauty of the mountaintop. But, the inside held a different story. 

Columns lay dead and discarded throughout the inside of the stone building. What had once been walls had become piles of brick leftover from where the elements of nature had left them. Entire sections of the roof were missing, their only remains were the shingles and supports left on the floor. 

But surprisingly, even though it had suffered through years of abuse and ages of neglect, there was one feature that had survived the test of time. The oculus, an intentional hole in the center of the roof, still managed to look up into the sky, and on a night like this, the light of the moon was all this old battered home would have the pleasure of lighting itself tonight.

But in the midst on this late night, there were visitors to this lonely asylum among the stars. The main chamber, the largest of the building but also the most damaged, had a circle laid out in the area with the cleanest surface.  The white circle, about 800 yards in diameter was almost empty, except for the seven sleepers within it.

Six of the seven were in a large heap, the last of which was standing out a ways away from the majority of the group.
The outlier from this group, laying on his side, tried to open his eyes, but could only succeed in letting out a moan. He felt as if his head had been ripped off and flushed down a toilet.

Oh wait…

Gray Anatomy, locked his leg and wings out and stretched his stiffness away. Rolling, he pumped his body and swung himself until his momentum was enough until he could sit up on his bottom. The elite guard recruit tried to open his eyes again, and immediately regretted it. His right eye, which felt numb, opened and became flooded with a slew of thick, yellow paint.

He wiped the yellow paint away with his hoof. Then, looking down, he inspected the other areas where he had been “hit”.

Other than his eye, there was an unsurprising ring of blue around his neck, precisely where the soreness of his head began. A green splotch was on his front, where his heart was, and finally there was a large mark on his back, at the location of his kidneys, which could explain why his lower back and groin felt as if it was throbbing.

On the other side of the pile, a mare stuck her head up. After she stretched her wings out and tried moving her head, she reached up and felt the violet paint around her neck. “Fuck me.” She groaned, looking up at the air and rolling her eyes.

Gray chuckled, “No thanks. Not tonight. Too sore.”

“That will be enough for tonight.” Gray, even though his body should not have been moving that fast, shot his head around looked up at the individual who had been standing behind him.  It was somewhat annoying that nopony ever had the idea to install regular lighting, grab a lantern, or create a newer area for the training grounds, because as it was Gray was looking up at a pony standing with all but his hooves in the dark. Except for the aforementioned hooves, there was almost no way to see that there was a pony standing behind him. “We shall continue again tomorrow .”  He finished.

The rest of the group slowly began to wake up and untied themselves from the heap of sore bodies and wet paint that they had been tangled in. 

Gray rubbed more of the paint out of his eye and spoke to the only standing pony among them. Although it may be insubordination to talk so directly or informal to a superior, the problem was that… the pony who the recruits answered to did not have a rank. He did not have a name, and he did not have a service history, he did not have a uniform, he did not have any awards. All he had was a position and designation. He called his “sir” out of respect.

“Training Master, Sir. I don’t mean disrespect, but why are we doing this?”

The voice that responded was not angry. All he said was, “Everypony needs practice.”

“I understand that, sir. But I mean, what am I doing? I’m never going to be Princess Luna. So why is it that whenever we do the VIP drill, why am I always Princess Luna?”

There was a zip. Gray scooted a step back as something was opened and something else was pulled out of somewhere. Slowly, a pair of glowing eyeglasses began to rise out of their position. Although Gray could not see it, he could hear the hinges open and then be placed on their owner’s head. Now, in the pitch dark of the sanctuary among the stars, two white surfaces of glass reflected the moon’s white light back at Gray much like the moon in the oculus above them.  The two whites hung in the dark for a few more seconds as they looked down at Gray. 

“Everypony needs practice.” The Training Master turned around and began to walk towards the old doorway to the sanctuary. As he was about halfway to the doors he repeated, “Everypony.”

He eventually exited the once sacred temple that had been refitted as the Training Grounds for the Elite Guards and flew away into the night. But as he left, Gray remained seated to the ground, watching where he had exited with one thought left on his mind.

“Practice? Practice for what?”
> SPEAR!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The National Offices of Archives and Securities was like a museum of papers; boring, useless, and uninteresting to anypony, which in turn would not make it a target of any sort of strategic value, which, to Ole Timer was completely fine by him. He enlisted into the Japone army and had an incredibly uninteresting and uneventful career, which lead to his uninteresting and uneventful placement at the original door to the vault of the National Archive building.  The years went by and nothing seemed to change, Ole Timer would wake up every morning and kiss his wife goodbye, walk to work, and sit at his desk with his lunch until he would go home that night, day in and day out, for year upon year. It was easy, it paid well, and most importantly, it got him away from the missus without actually having to do work.

They tried to let him go once, said that since he had done his service for so long and declined promotion so many time that the military would discharge him, but when he woke the following morning he kissed his wife goodbye and walked back to his post, the gate guards not even noticing that he had returned. Ole Timer had become one in the same with the National Archives, so much so that the manager eventually gave him his job back but said that he was under the employ of the custodial staff.

It was the perfect old job for an old pony, just sit at his desk and read the newspaper next to a Plexiglas door. But today was not to be a good day.

It was late that night, the slow and easy end to an easy day. Ole Timer had lined his pens up in a nice row, made sure his name plate and other materials organized neatly in proper configuration, and had been watching the clock on the wall tick away until he was done for the day. But in the span of a heartbeat it all changed. 

Like the distant roar of thunder, the alarms throughout the building sounded, buzzing down each hall until his own followed suit. Ole Timer’s eyes shot awake at that moment, and then relaxed once more. “Just a fire drill.” He said. Being a guard, he was exempt from them. All he had to do was secure his area and wait for it to end. He calmly walked to his door that separated his entrance to the vault and the rest of the building, looked through the clear Plexiglas around the wooden frame and pulled the deadbolt to the locked position.

After securing his station, he waited… and waited…. And waited… and waited while the alarms buzzed and made his ears begin to ring. As he sat at his desk he began to wonder if his alarm was just broken. After a good while, Ole Timer heard a pounding at his door and, as he glanced over, and saw three repairponies waiting. 

He approached his door with a relieved smile and unlocked it, but as he did he had an odd thought pass through his head, “Why are they arming the maintenance staff with body armor and automatic weapons now?”

As soon as the bolt was free, the door slammed open, missing Ole Timer’s nose by a hair, and then subsequently slammed shut behind the three. The leader of the three locked the door, pointed at the old stallion, and said, “Whatever you do, don’t let anyone else through.” Before running off.

Ole Timer wandered back to his seat and sat down in admiration over the three ponies as they ran down the hall towards the vault. It made him proud that some ponies still took these drills seriously, it was something that he would have done more if he was twenty years younger. 
Then he smelled something, he sniffed, and sure enough he recognized an odor in the area, smoke. “Wow,” he said aloud, “they’re really going all out for this drill.”

Then he heard a sudden “BOOM” split the air, and a rock to the building’s foundation. “Gee, that felt like a real explosion. This is the most exciting drill I’ve ever been in!”

Ole waited a few moments longer, and soon after he heard the steps of a pony coming towards him from the hall that lead to the vault… but when he thought about it he recalled three ponies running down the hall to begin with.

He watched down the hall and saw, to his surprise, it was not one of the ponies he had seen run down the hall returning to him, but instead a pony wearing a dirty white tuxedo and a white mask crying a single tear of blood. In that instant his aloof denial of the situation turned into widespread realization of the truth, that this was not a drill.

The intruder, sliding around the corner to maintain his momentum, saw Ole Timer and returned to his dead sprint down the hall. Ole Timer looked into the eyes of his mask and saw nothing, noting beneath the exterior besides a dark abyss of pain and suffering, and in one glance the old pony was set into a panic.

Ole Timer rushed to the door that he had spent most of his life protecting and threw the deadbolt open, and slammed on the door to make it open, but did nothing but smear his sweaty hooves on the clear glass. He pounded as hard as he could into the glass and wood, but did nothing but cement the reality of the situation, that he was trapped. 

Knowing that his fate was sealed, Ole Timer turned around with his back to the glass and cried out in a pitch that was more fitting of a filly than an old stallion.

Tuxedo Mask, charging with the force of a runaway train, sprinted as fast as he could towards the old stallion, who blocked his freedom. Although his disposition looked hostile, the fact of the matter was, fleshy barrier or not, he was not going to let the locked door stop him. One pace away from the door and the pony that covered it, Tuxedo mask buried his head low, put his shoulder forward and dove into the old pony. Like a cushion, Ole Timer took most of the impact between the spear of an attacker and the wall of glass behind him, but never the less found his back being used as hammer to break through the door.

Luckily for the old stallion, counter to what he had been lead to believe, his doorway to the Archive depository was actually made of tempered glass and not Plexiglas, meaning that as he broke through the hardened substance with less force that what he had though, and instead of being cut up by dangerously sharp shards of glass, the broken remains of the door instead turned into small specially designed spheres of glass. In short, after being used as a battering ram to get through his guarded doorway, Ole Timer was left with nothing but a few bumps, a pain in his chest, and one crazy story to tell his grandfoals.