> A Prose By Any Other Name
>  by Jarvy Jared
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> I: The Talk of the Town
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


"They never let you be famous and happy." 


The Song of Achilles


~~~~~~~~


“The life of one is filled with an infinite amount of choices. One choice shall always lead to another, and then one more; until a whole slew of choices have been made.

“Philosophers have pointed out that we tend to think of choices as a one time thing, when in reality there are so many factors involved in the choosing. From one choice, we get a branch of possibilities, extending in every possible direction that could ever be conceived. Yet, we focus more in the individual choice, rather than the whole pool.

“But that does not mean that we never look back. For some, all it takes is a set of events to make you stop and think and reflect. And for only a select few, those events are enough to make you question your very being. Such few are either the most bitter of cynics; or the most humble and intelligent of ponies, able to understand the very thing that they call ‘themself.’

“These few ponies shall forever carry the weight of guilt on their backs; for they cannot find the strength to forgive their past errors. They move through life like it is a river of sludge, trying to get away from their darkened past.

“It is only through the interaction with others, that any hope of their return can be justified.

“Many a wise pony have said that fame is a two-sided coin. On one hoof, the pony receives national recognition; but on the other hoof, the pony receives unwarranted attention. There is no good side to fame; merely one perspective shown, and one perspective hidden.

“Such is the same with the pony who delves down this path of fame. One face, the one with the smile, hides the ponies true face; one filled with bitterness and regret, unwilling to bask in this “deserving” limelight.

“So how does one pony get away from this false fame? How does one pony actually end up down this road? What choices were made; and what choices can be made, going forward?

“Many a wise pony said that the past determines the present; one’s actions craft who they are today.

“But only a few shall recognize that one can move on from the past.

“Only a few shall realize that the past can be overcome; but only through the help of others. No pony is a mere island; it is only a matter of time before they are invaded by foreign creatures, bent on becoming ‘friends’ with them.

“It is my wish that in the distant future, none of us ever become a lonely island, and that we all voluntarily welcome others into our life.”


EXCERPT FROM FORWARD OF “ELECTIONES FACIMUS,” WRITTEN BY O.P. AT CANTERLOT’S SCHOOL OF EXCELLENCE GRADUATION, AOE 1025






Hills that rolled into the horizon were silent as the town they guarded. The day’s normally exuberant activities had been subdued. A sleepy atmosphere hung over the town, lingering for the majority of the day. Even Celestia’s sun seemed sluggish; it rose only halfway in the sky, not bothering to move any further. The quietness was deafening; it seemed that not a soul was alive.

Then Rarity returned home.

“Oh my gosh!” gushed Rarity as she entered her boutique. “That was… that was…” She couldn’t complete her sentence, collapsing on her drama couch as tears welled in her eyes.

Sweetie Belle came down from upstairs, concern in her eyes. “Rarity? What’s wrong?”

Rarity only sobbed louder. Her horn glowed and levitated over a tub of ice cream, and she began scooping the contents into her mouth, making om-nom sounds as she did so.

Sweetie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Rarity! This is the third time this week you’ve ended up on the couch!”

Rarity sniffed, turning over to look at Sweetie. “Well, I have a good reason as to why this has been the third time!”

“Which is?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand,” Rarity said dismissively, waving a hoof at her.

Sweetie frowned. “Is this about that book series that Twilight got you into?”

“Well, of course it’s about that book series!” Rarity’s eyes glossed over. “Opacare Prose is an amazing author! His books enrichen the soul, burst open the dams of the heart, allow a river of emotion to pour through!” She sniffed, wiping away a few tears. “I just finished his third novel on the way here; Twilight loaned it to me from the library.”

“You mean the one called Storm Song?” Rarity nodded. Sweetie walked a bit closer. “So then why are you crying?”

“Storm Song has got to be Prose’s greatest work!” Rarity levitated over a box of tissues and blew her nose. “It was positively beautiful; very well written!” She sighed dreamily. “I wonder how he manages to do that…”

Sweetie still looked a bit unsure. “So… you’re crying because you thought it was good?”

“Thought it was good?” Rarity glanced at her younger sister. “Sweetie Belle, I know it was great!”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t seem that good to me… just another mushy romance novel.”

Rarity sighed. “As I said before, you wouldn’t understand. It’s for more mature mares.”

“Seriously? It’s just a romance novel!”

“It is not just a romance novel!” Rarity’s voice grew more heated. “It’s a form of art, a type of expression! It’s a way for Prose to unlock to mysteries of the soul and provide interpretation for the otherwise unknown aspects of the heart!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Sweetie grumbled, going back upstairs. Rarity picked up another tub of ice cream and resumed her happy sobbing.

Sweetie opened the door to her bedroom with a grunt. Her fellow Crusaders, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom, were on the floor, looking at her with curious faces.

“What’s wrong?” Scootaloo asked.

Sweetie Belle set herself down next to the orange filly with a low groan. “She’s totally obsessed with that Opacare Prose writer. It’s gotten so bad that three times this week she’s come home in tears!”

“The books made her sad?”

“No, they made her happy.”

Apple Bloom nodded. “Ah’ve seen Applejack and even Big Mac reading some of this guy’s books.” She smiled. “It was quite the surprise to come home and see Big Mac crying over a little book.”

Sweetie Belle raised an eyebrow. “Big Mac reads romance novels?”

“Eeyup. Though, he won’t admit it.” She chuckled lightly.

“What about Applejack?” Scootaloo asked. “I thought she wasn’t into that kind of mushy stuff?”

“Well, it’s more like she’ll pick up a romance once in a while,” said Apple Bloom. “But Ah don’t think she’s as obsessed with it as yer sister, Sweetie Belle.”

Sweetie Belle sighed. “I wouldn’t find it annoying, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s made Rarity hard to talk to.”

“What do you mean?” asked Apple Bloom.

“Everytime I try to talk to her, she somehow directs the conversation to that Prose guy.” She snorted. “Seems like that’s the only important thing to her now.”

“Don’t worry!” Scootaloo said. “I’m sure she’ll get over it eventually. Everypony loses interest in an author once in a while.”

Apple Bloom snorted. “Tell that to Rainbow Dash. Is she still hooked on those children books?”

“Daring Do is not a children’s book!”

“It is so a book for children! Applejack told me!”

“Applejack reads mushy romance novels; what could she possible know about adventure books?!”

“Girls!” Sweetie Belle interrupted before the argument could escalate. “Calm down!” 

They stopped bickering and turned their gaze back to her. “Sorry, Sweetie,” Scootaloo said sheepishly.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” apologized Apple Bloom.

“It’s alright, girls. I just wish I could figure out why Prose is so popular.” She sighed. “I tried reading one of his books, but I thought it was boring. Rarity said it’s because I’m too young to understand.”

Apple Bloom nodded. “I asked why Applejack and Big Mac like his books, and they pretty much said the same thing.”

“They’re just books, though,” Scootaloo said. “What’s so hard to understand about them?”

“Apparently you have to be a ‘mature mare’ in order to understand,” Sweetie mumbled, looking down.

“Cheer up, Sweetie Belle,” Apple Bloom said, placing a hoof on her friend’s. “Ah’m sure Rarity will get bored of Prose soon.”

Sweetie nodded, though she still felt a bit unsure.





“Hey, kid! Wanna buy this recently released Prose gem? Only thirty-five bits!”

“No, thanks. I’d rather not.” Sweetie shifted uncomfortably as the seller tried haggling with her. Eventually, she managed to direct his attention elsewhere, while she slipped away.

She let out a sigh. It was beginning to grow annoying how famous Prose was. It had been only a few days, and Prose’s most recent book had blasted sales. She looked around her town, already seeing ponies sitting at benches reading. More of them stood in line at the bookstore, leaving happily, with the author’s novel by them.

“Prose really is a literary genius!” one pony said, his voice high-pitched. “No other author has so accurately portrayed the oppression of animals quite like he has!”

“I’m not sure,” said his companion, his voice deep. “I thought that his book was more on how love is a troublesome emotion.”

“Maybe you’re both right,” Sweetie said as she walked past them. They exchanged looks, before staring off into space, thinking.

She sighed again. Discussing themes, discussing ideas, discussing discussions; somehow, that author had amassed an enormous audience. It was like Ponyville was now part of a giant web, and the spider was Opacare.

She shivered, not liking the thought.

She headed off to Sugarcube Corner, and saw that her friends were already inside. Entering, she took the booth they were in. Quickly, Apple Bloom ordered a trio of malts to share.

“Why is he so popular?” she asked her fellow Crusaders. “Why are all the ponies reading his romance books?”

Bloom shrugged. “Maybe everypony just likes reading mushy books like that.”

“Well, I know one pony who wouldn’t go for that kind of stuff!” Scootaloo asserted. “Rainbow Dash never reads that romantic stuff!”

Nearby, they could hear various other customers discussing the author’s latest novel. Mrs. Cake was arguing with Rarity over the main character’s manipulation of the lead female character. “It was simply preposterous that she allowed herself to be controlled like that!”

“Don’t forget, Mrs. Cake; Jade liked being submissive to that kind of stallion!”

“Any female should be willing to stand up for herself, though!”

“Perhaps, but—”

Their conversation continued for several more minutes, eliciting a bored groan from Scootaloo. “Seriously? Even Mrs. Cake is into that stuff?”

“I wonder who got her into that genre?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“Hiya, Rarity! Hiya, Mrs. Cake!” Pinkie greeted ecstatically. “Are you two talking about Mr. Prose’s newest novel?”

“Indeed,” Rarity said. “What did you think of it?”

“I thought it was rather cute! Just my liking!” She grinned at Mrs. Cake. “Aren’t you glad that I introduced you to the series?”

“That I am, Pinkie,” Mrs. Cake said. “I’ve even got my husband reading it!”

“Even Mr. Cake?” Sweetie whispered. “That’s weird; I’ve never seen him pick up a romance novel before.”

“It’s like the ponies who wouldn’t read this stuff are suddenly beginning to read them!” Apple Bloom whispered back.

“Well, I know for a fact that Rainbow Dash isn’t going to be caught reading that stuff anytime soon!” Scootaloo said proudly.

The door suddenly swung open, and a cyan pegasus with a rainbow mane flew in. She carried a small handbag that seemed weighed down by its contents. “Morning, everypony!” she greeted, the customers greeting her back.

“Hiya, Rainbow!” Pinkie said. “We were just talking about Mr. Prose’s latest romance!”

“Pfft. That stuff?” She waved her hoof dismissively. “How can anypony like reading those mushy books?”

“See?” Scootaloo whispered. “Told ya!”

“Have you read any of Prose’s stories, Rainbow?” Rarity asked. “He writes more than just romance novels, you know.”

Rainbow grinned. “Yep! I just finished his third book in his Trial by Fire series!”

“Really?” Pinkie asked. “I thought you only read those Daring Do books!”

“Daring Do?” Mrs. Cake questioned. “Isn’t that series for children—”

“Yeah, well, now I’m reading Prose’s adventure series,” Rainbow interrupted. She shot Pinkie a partial glare. “Is that a problem?”

Pinkie giggled. “No, silly! It’s awesome to see you reading something else!”

Rainbow smiled. “Yeah, it kinda is.” She let out a sigh. “To be honest, I never thought I’d be reading something other than the perfection that is Daring Do. But… Trent Collins of the Trial by Fire series is pretty cool, too!” Her grin widened. “I guess I have to thank Twilight for introducing me to Prose!”

Scootaloo’s jaw dropped, and the other Crusaders giggled at her expression. “Rainbow Dash? You read Prose’s books?”

Rainbow chuckled. “Just the adventure stuff, squirt. None of that mushy romance stuff.”

“It’s not just ‘mushy romance stuff,’ Ms. Dash!” Rarity exclaimed. “It’s an amazing journey of the soul—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Rainbow interrupted, waving a hoof in front of her friend’s face. “I’m not into that stuff, okay? Trent Collins is so much better than that Jade character. At least he gets what he wants.”

“Why-I—” Rarity spluttered.

“Mrs. Cake? Could you whip up a batch of muffins for me? I’ll be spending most of the morning reading the fourth book.”

“Certainly, Rainbow,” Mrs. Cake said, smiling. “One batch of muffins coming up!”

“We should totally have a party for Prose!” Pinkie said to Rarity as Rainbow waited for her muffins. “I think he really deserves it!”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “You’d invite a pony all the way from Manehattan to Ponyville, just to have a party?”

Pinkie beamed. “Of course! Everypony loves parties!” The last comment made Rarity giggle, and soon the conversation was redirected back to Prose’s latest book.

The CMC huddled closer together. “I can’t believe this!” Scootaloo whispered. “He’s even got Rainbow reading his stuff!”

“So? Maybe Rainbow just likes what he writes,” Apple Bloom said.

“He can’t be that good,” Scootaloo argued. “Maybe he’s brainwashing the town with his books!”

Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s yer best guess?”

“W-well, what’s yours?” she shot back, crossing her hooves.

“Mah guess is that this Prose guy writes many types of books, and it just happened that everypony in town likes his stories. Simple as that.”

Scootaloo sighed and sat back. “Yeah, maybe…”

“Besides, why do you care what Rainbow likes?” Sweetie Belle asked, cocking her head. “Don’t you look up to her and want to be like her?”

“I know,” the orange filly responded. “It’s just surprising to hear that she’s reading other stuff.”

“Everypony likes to read something different,” Apple Bloom said. “We shouldn’t judge ponies by what they like to read.” 

“Apple Bloom is right. If the town likes Opacare Prose, then they like Opacare Prose. Nothing we can do about that,” Sweetie Belle said.

“Alright,” Scootaloo said. “In that case, we should finish our shakes and try for our Cutie Marks again. What was it this time? Hang gliding?”

“Surfboarding?” Apple Bloom suggested.

“No, I thought it was shark jumping.”

“Are there even sharks in Ponyville?”

As her two friends continued spouting out ideas, Sweetie Belle took this time to finish her malt. Her mind swiftly returned to the issue of Opacare Prose.

I shouldn’t be worried about him; he’s just another author. And yet… something seems… off. I can’t explain it.

She sighed, placing the glass to the side. She would have to ponder this issue another day; right now, the Crusaders were about to embark on another quest for their Cutie Marks.

> II: The Vanished Author
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“No! That can’t be true!” Rainbow vehemently exclaimed in the Golden Oaks Library.

Twilight nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid so, Rainbow. That’s what the newspapers have been saying. Opacare Prose has seemingly vanished from his apartment in Manehattan!”

She lit her horn and levitated over the morning’s newspaper. The front page had a full article concerning the disappearance. She read the article out loud:

“Famous literary author, Opacare Prose, has seemingly vanished from the face of Equestria overnight, only a week after the release of his latest novel. One of the apartment’s maids discovered the stallion’s absence when she entered his room and found him completely gone. Police were notified, and a full investigation was called.

“A quick search of the room showed that there had been no struggle. There were also no signs of breaking and entering. Police suspect, however, that there was some foul play involved. Based on the maid’s accounts and further searching, Prose left with very few items. Police guess he brought along a small bag, and perhaps a few articles of clothing, due to the absence of a several clothes from his closet.

"Additionally, it was revealed that Prose was a bit of a recluse. Many of the maids even went so far as to call him eccentric. What attributed to this common conclusion was the reveal that he did not ever come out of his room physically—or, at least, whenever the maids were around. As such, not a single one of the maids could give an accurate description of what Prose even looked like, so great was his desire to remain a mystery.

“The investigation is still in its beginning stages. Police have contacted the mayor of Manehattan, and she in turn contacted the Royal Sisters. Further details will be released as the investigation continues.”

As she finished, her friends’ looks went from disbelief to complete shock.

“But that’s simply not possible!” protested Rarity. “Nopony can vanish overnight!”

“This is terrible!” Pinkie wailed. “I was just about to invite him to Ponyville to throw him a ‘Huge Success’ party!”

While her friends gave Pinkie a strange look, Twilight simply ignored Pinkie’s outburst. She shook her head. “Apparently this pony can disappear, Rarity.” She sighed. “I’m worried—”

“That his next book won’t come out for years?” Rainbow interrupted.

The purple unicorn shot the pegasus a withering look, but sighed again. “Maybe a little. But I’m more worried about why he vanished.”

“What do you mean?” Applejack asked.

“For all we know, he could be in danger. There was a rumor that he had several stalkers after him a few days after his latest novel’s release. The newspapers were reporting it for a few days.” She glanced around at her friends. “Maybe somepony’s after him?”

Fluttershy gasped, raising a hoof in front of her mouth. “Oh my goodness, I hope nothing serious has happened to Mr. Prose.”

Pinkie nodded. “Me too. I’d hate having to juggle a stalker and writing at the same time!”

“That’s fine and all,” Applejack said, “but, I have to ask: why do they care if Prose plumb vanished? Don’t they have better things to worry about?”

“When a high profile pony such as Opacare Prose goes missing,” Twilight explained, “it raises alarms with the ponies in authority.” She shook her head. “What’s even odder is that, Manehattan hasn’t had a missing pony report in years. So to have a famous author go missing, after filing several reports of a stalker, in a city that hasn’t had a problem with missing citizens in years…” She looked away nervously. “It raises all sorts of questions.”

Rarity let out a sigh. “Well, I do hope they manage to find him. I would hate to hear that he’s been injured.” In a smaller voice, she added weakly, “And I would hate it even more if he couldn’t finish his next book because of this.”

“Princess Celestia wants us to be on our best lookout for Mr. Prose,” Twilight continued. “He might not be in any danger, but it would ease the concerns of Manehattan and Equestria. She’s ordered several other vicinities to do the same.”

Rainbow nodded. “I’ll organize the pegasi to be on the lookout for him.”

“I’ll try to get the animals to do the same,” Fluttershy said quietly.

“Ah’ll make sure my family and those down in Appleloosa will be looking fer him, too,” Applejack added.

Rarity sighed. “I’m afraid there’s not much else I can do, unfortunately; other than look for him in Ponyville.”

“I’ll do the same! We could be lookout buddies!” Pinkie exclaimed.

Twilight nodded. “Alright. I’ll have Mayor Mare organize the town into groups to look for him.”

They nodded. “Spike, write a letter to Princess Celestia informing her that we’ll be watching for him.” The purple dragon nodded, whipping out a scroll and scribbling a few words. A few seconds later, he lifted the scroll up and blew green fire on it, teleporting it away to Celestia’s chambers.





“He’s missing?” Sweetie Belle asked Apple Bloom at the CMC clubhouse.

The tan filly nodded, her red bow tie shaking slightly. “That’s what my sister told me. The whole town’s having a bit of a panic attack.”

“Why? He’s just an author,” Scootaloo said.

“He’s more than that; at least, that’s what Rarity says.” Sweetie held up a hoof, and mimicked counting down digits. “Other than an author, he’s a pretty good lie detector, a volunteer at the police department, has helped bring in numerous criminals in the past, practiced psychology for a few years, and is also in the medical field.”

“Wow!” Apple Bloom said. “And he’s only got a Cutie Mark for writing?”

Sweetie shrugged. “I guess so. Maybe those other stuff are just other things he likes to do?”

“So he has many talents. So what?” Scootaloo asked.

Sweetie rubbed the back of her head. “Rarity wouldn’t tell me much; but, from what I can tell, him missing is a very surprising incident. Guess vanishing ponies aren’t all that common in Manehattan.”

“They’re not exactly common here, either, Sweetie Belle,” Apple Bloom said. “But, yeah; I guess this is a big deal because it’s a rare thing to have happened!”

“Any ideas why he would have disappeared, then?” Scootaloo asked.

Apple Bloom rubbed the back of her head. “Well… I thought that maybe it was because he didn’t like all that attention.”

“What kind of pony doesn’t like to be famous?”

She shrugged. “Maybe he’s like Fluttershy; he might like being alone.” She looked down. “Or, at least, that’s what I was hoping…”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard mah sister and Big Mac talking in the kitchen the other day. It sounded like they were talking about that Prose feller.” She looked away. “I couldn’t hear everything, but I remember they kept mentioning some ‘stalker’ that had been tailing Mr. Prose for a while.”

“A stalker? Like, a reporter?” Scootaloo asked.

Apple Bloom shook her head. “No, like a crazy fan or something like that.”

Sweetie Belle rubbed her chin in curiosity. She reached over to her side and flipped open her bag, pulling out a thick, purple book. Scootaloo glanced up at the action, then saw the cover of the book. “Ew, are you actually trying to get through one of those mushy romance books?”

Sweetie shook her head. “Actually, what Apple Bloom said reminded me of something.” She flipped open the book to the back inside over, where the author’s short bio was supposed to be. “Look there.”

The other fillies peered over her shoulder. “So? It’s just his bio,” Scootaloo said.

Sweetie shook her head again. “But look above it.” She placed a hoof in the space where the author’s face should have been.

“He doesn’t have a picture!” Apple Bloom realized.

The young unicorn nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a book that didn’t have the author’s picture in it somewhere.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to call attention to his face?” suggested Scootaloo.

“But it’s a mandatory thing,” argued Sweetie Belle. “Every book published has to have the author’s face somewhere. Twilight was telling me about that a few days ago.”

“But why is it mandatory?”

“It’s Equestrian law, Scootaloo. Twilight told me that, after several incidents involving copyright problems, the law was put into effect in order to prevent any other cases.”

“You think it could be connected to Prose’s disappearance?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Maybe… I just remembered that it was a weird thing to see.” She closed the book and placed it back in the bag. “Anyway, I have to get going. Rarity wants her book back; I took it before she could finish it.” She grinned sheepishly. “Oops…”

Apple Bloom nodded. “Ah have to get back to the farm. Ah’m gonna write a letter to Babs Seed; see if she could get her family to be on the lookout for Prose.”

“And Rainbow wants me to help organize the pegasi,” Scootaloo said. “So I guess we’ll meet later on?”

“Yep!” the other two chorused. The three of them left the clubhouse for their respective destinations.





Strange, the pewter grey stallion thought as he made his way down the dirt path. Opacare Prose wanted to get away from all the attention; and ended up calling more attention to him than he wanted. He chuckled darkly at the irony. Well, I should have guessed that would have backfired. Told him so.

He gazed around at his surroundings. In front of him was the path leading to the darker side of the Hollow Shades. Behind him was the bustling city of Manehattan, the lights flickering and the voices of the city rising up beyond the tall skyscrapers. He had always hated the noise; it was something that made him despise the city even more than usual.

The police had set up searchlights on the rooftops, and were busy swiveling them around the surrounding landscapes. Thinking quickly, the stallion ducked into a bush, vanishing before the light could find him. He grimaced. While he was not a fan of running away, he considered this necessary for his goals.

As he waited for the searchlight to move away, he found himself reflecting on Opacare Prose. They’ll never find him, he realized. As far as anypony is concerned, Opacare Prose is dead. He frowned. How long will they continue searching is anypony’s guess. Never pegged Prose for being such a popular guy.

The searchlight glanced around for a few more seconds, before moving away for another area. He let out a sigh of relief, standing up from the bush. He quickly galloped down the path, doing his best to dodge the curious lights from the city. A nearby tree’s low branch snagged his blue vest; he tore it quickly, leaving a small bit of fabric hanging on the branch. He glanced behind, and the searchlight reflected off of him slightly, though not enough for him to be fully revealed. All that the searchers could see were a pair of carnation pink orbs, which they would later attribute to being just a forest creature.

Quickly, he checked to make sure that the brown bag and its contents were intact. Seeing that they were, he resumed his way down the path.

Soon he managed to make his way into the Shades, his grey coat vanishing into the darkness within. He glanced one more time at the fading city, and a slight smile came across his features. Step one is complete. Now onto step two.

With that thought, Dusk Prosa turned away, heading deeper into the forest. His steps were soon enveloped by the foliage lying within, drowned out by the silence that the forest carried.
	
> III: Missing Details
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Twilight smiled as she made her way to the Golden Oaks Library; so far, their efforts had far exceeded her expectations. Perhaps soon they would sort through this vanishing pony mess, and return to their normal lives.

She pressed on the door, pushing it open and entering the library. Spike was busy restacking several of the bookshelves, but looked up when he saw Twilight enter. “Oh, hey, Twilight!” he greeted. “How is the organization going?”

“It is going perfectly!” Twilight responded happily. “We’re covering enormous ground, from Ponyville all the way down to Appleloosa. Princess Celestia said that Manehattan has already started its search parties, and Canterlot is sure to follow.” She trotted over to a pile of books and helped Spike put them away. “With our combined efforts, we should be able to locate Opacare Prose in no time!”

Spike nodded. “That’s good to know.” He fixed a slight glare on Twilight. “Though, you sound awfully excited about all this.”

She giggled nervously. “I know, I know… I shouldn’t feel this excited about searching for somepony. But… I don’t know, it’s just so exciting! Straight out of a mystery novel!” She giggled at the irony. “Oh, wow, it would be pretty amazing if Prose wrote about this in his next book.”

Spike chuckled with her. “Yeah, it would. Once we find him, no doubt he’ll be extremely grateful.”

Twilight nodded, then levitated over a scroll and quill over to Spike. “Could you take a letter, Spike? Princess Celestia wants me to keep her updated on what’s going on.”

Spike nodded, and readied his quill.

“Dear Princess Celestia: I’ve managed to organize several search parties, with the help of Mayor Mare. We’ve put various earth, unicorn, and pegasus ponies together and designated them to searching the perimeter of Ponyville. We’ve also delegated several groups into searching the Everfree Forest and even the Ghostly Gorge. I’ve also taken the liberty to entrust Steven Magnet, the sea serpent from our first trip into the Everfree, with searching the deeper ends of the Forest and the nearby rivers.

“Furthermore, my friends have done their best to do their part. Fluttershy has had her animal friends group into parties to search the wooded areas around Ponyville. Rainbow Dash has organized the Cloudsdale ponies, with the help of Scootaloo. Rarity and Pinkie Pie, though limited to Ponyville, are doing their best to keep a vigilant lookout. Finally, Applejack has written to Appleloosa, asking for their assistance. Braeburn has organized the town into search parties, while Little Strongheart has the Buffalo Tribe on the lookout.

“As I understand it, the cities of Fillydelphia and Baltimare are also doing their part to search for Opacare Prose. With our combined efforts, we should locate the author in no time.

“Your Faithful Student, Twilight Sparkle.”

Spike finished writing, and peered up at Twilight with amused eyes. “Steven Magnet, huh? Didn’t think he’d get involved.”

Twilight giggled. “Apparently he’s read several of Prose’s books and is absolutely enthralled by his works. He was more than willing to help out. I never thought I’d see the day when an author would reach cross-species fame.”

Spike chuckled at that. “Yeah, me neither.” He held up the scroll in his hand and blew on it, sending it away to Celestia’s chambers. “What’s next on the agenda?”

“Now comes the hard part. Waiting.”





“Oh, shoot!” Rainbow said as she flew away from Cloudsdale. The pegasus had finished organizing the pegasi into search groups, and had been resting with Scootaloo on one of the clouds. “Thank goodness Scootaloo said that offhand comment! Gotta tell Twilight about this!”

She ducked below the cloud layer, zooming for Ponyville. Cloudsdale was on the western end of Ponyville, meaning she had to fly by Sweet Apple Acres. If Applejack was as efficient as I was in organizing Appleloosa, then no doubt she’ll have the same problem I do!

As she flew by the farm, the door suddenly swung open. Applejack rushed out, her head lowered as she galloped towards Ponyville. She glanced up and saw Rainbow Dash flying by her. “Rainbow! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at Cloudsdale?”

“Yeah, but something came up! I need to ask Twilight something!”

“You, too, huh?” She frowned. “Ah reckon it has something to do with the search.”

Rainbow nodded. “Yup. We’d better hurry!” Applejack nodded at her, and they quickly made their way towards the library.





“WHAT?!” Twilight exclaimed in shock.

Fluttershy shied away, slightly frightened by her friend’s outburst. “S-sorry, Twilight! It’s true!”

“No… no! That can’t be! There must be a mistake; an error, of some sort—” Twilight paced around the room, her hooves quickly digging a trench in the wood. She turned back to Fluttershy, eyes slightly ajar. “Are you certain that your animals don’t know who to look for?”

Fluttershy nodded. “Yes, all they know is that we’re looking for Opacare Prose. They don’t know how to recognize him, though…”

“Argh…” Twilight placed her hooves at the side of her head. “No… I was so sure I had told everypony what he looks like…”

“Uh, Twilight?” Spike asked. “Do you even know what he looks like?”

“Of course I do, Spike!” she responded, a bit huffy. “In fact, I’ll show you!” Lighting her horn, she levitated over one of Prose’s books—Storm Song—and opened to the back cover. “Now, here is what he looks like—”

She cut herself off as her eyes loomed over the back cover. Not a single picture of the author could be found. She blinked twice, hoping that her eyes were playing tricks on her. “Huh?” She flipped the book around, then began flipping through the pages rapidly, eyes scanning each page with resolute vigilance. “No… I was sure that his picture was here somewhere…”

She giggled nervously. “Maybe… maybe it’s in another book. Good thing I have his entire collection in the library…” She lit her horn and brought over several other books, scanning each one dutifully.

“Okay, maybe not that one… or that one, either… or this one… or this one…” 

In the span of minutes, she had looked through every book several times, each time her hope slowly fading. She dropped the last book with a groan. “No! How could I not have his picture?”

“M-maybe he didn’t want to get his picture taken?” Fluttershy asked.

Twilight shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. He couldn’t have gotten through the publishers without having his picture taken…” Her eyes lit up suddenly. “Wait! Maybe Princess Celestia knows! Spike! Send her a letter!”

The baby dragon quickly compiled a message, sending it to Celestia with a burst of green flame. Twilight let out an anxious sigh. “Hopefully she’ll know better than us…”

Suddenly, the door to the library burst open. Applejack and Rainbow came racing in, followed shortly by Pinkie Pie and Rarity. The latter two took a moment to catch to breath, while Rainbow voiced their combined concerns.

“Twilight! Can you give us a description of Prose? We have no idea what to look for!”

Twilight sadly shook her head. “I’m sorry, Rainbow, girls. I’m at a lost myself. That’s why I had Spike send a letter to Princess Celestia for help.”

Applejack nodded. “That’s good to hear. Maybe the Princess has some information?”

They nodded solemnly at that, anxiously waiting for the Princess’s response.

A few moments later, Spike burped up her letter. Twilight took it and began to read aloud:

“My Faithful Student, Twilight Sparkle:

“It is good to hear that you’ve had the ponies organized into search groups. The question you posed, as to what Opacare Prose looks like, however, is not as well received.

“As I’m sure you have noticed, none of his books appear to have his face on any of them. I’ve talked to my advisors, and they say that there is no way that Prose could have bypassed publishing etiquette without inside help. We have no idea how he managed to not have his picture placed inside of his novels. As such, we have no clear idea what he looks like.”

“Consarn it!” Applejack exclaimed, throwing her hat to the ground. Rarity shushed her.

“However,” Twilight continued reading, “all is not lost. We know that his special talent is writing. The best that we can work with is that his Cutie Mark should be related to his craft.”

“Oh, that’s just great!” Rainbow groaned. “It’s not like many ponies have Mark for writing!”

“I am sorry to tell you that we will be searching in the dark. Do not lose hope, though; with the efforts in the towns and cities of Equestria, we should be able to identify and hopefully reclaim Prose.”

With a heavy heart, Twilight finished the scroll, rolling it up and placing it down. She stomped angrily on the ground. “Darn it all! I was hoping to get something better than that…”

“Like what, Twilight?” Pinkie asked. “A picture? Live CCTV footage?”

“Pinkie? What the heck are you talking about?” Rainbow asked the pink mare.

Twilight placed her hooves on her face. “How could I have missed such an obvious detail?” she murmured. “Now it’s going to take more effort to find this guy!”

Applejack walked over and placed a hoof on her friend’s shoulder. “Cheer up, Sugarcube. We just gotta work with what we have. We’ll find him eventually.”

Twilight smiled. “You’re right, Applejack.” She stood, turning and facing the others. “I’m going to go inform the mayor and the other search parties of this. You girls should do the same with your respective groups.” They nodded and, after exchanging a brief farewell, left to spread the word.

As Twilight was walking out, Spike couldn’t help but murmur, “Well, you were asking for more excitement…” He chuckled to himself, before going back to reorganizing the shelves.





“Sounds like the girls found out as well,” Apple Bloom said at the CMC clubhouse.

Scootaloo nodded. “I guess I jogged Rainbow’s memory when I made that comment about Prose’s appearance. Or lack of appearance.”

“But I just don’t understand why?” Sweetie asked. “I mean, sure, he has some stalkers, but couldn’t the police have helped with that? Why would he go so far to completely remove his face from his books?”

Apple Bloom shrugged. “I guess only Prose knows the answer to that. Maybe he’s scared…”

“Scared?” Scootaloo shook her head. “I don’t know… when you’ve got as many skills as that guy, what could you possibly scared of?”

Sweetie Belle remained silent for a majority of the conversation, lost in her thoughts. She was busy trying to connect the missing pictures with possible reasons for their absence, but was struggling to find a pattern. Normally, she would have found connecting these two enjoyable; but all she got was a bout of frustration. 

How? How did he do it? How did he vanish off the face of Equestria? And, more importantly, how did he do it with no warning?

Her mind drifted back to what Apple Bloom had said: “Only Prose knows the answer to that…”

With all the trouble that Equestria is going through, just for this one stallion; he had better have a good answer…

“Sweetie Belle?” Scootaloo waved a hoof in front of her. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” Sweetie blinked, then shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Well, are you done? Because I’d like to try out some new methods of getting our Cutie Marks,” the orange filly said.

Sweetie smiled. “Sure. What are they?”

Scootaloo pulled out a long parchment. “Let’s see… we’ve done hang gliding, shark gliding… how about—”

As she began listing out various ways, Sweetie Belle’s mind briefly returned to the question she had posed. How?

Once again, she was met by the same, simple, yet seemingly obvious answer.

Only Prose knows.





“Boss!” The tan stallion burst into the office, breathing heavily.

The boss stallion, a tall pony with a dark brown coat, glanced up from the desk. “Yes, Swol? What is it?” Behind him was a window that looked out at southern Manehattan.

Swol brought out several papers and placed them on Boss’s desk. “I’ve got the reports. They’re saying that Prose has left our area of influence.”

Boss grunted. “Meaning that he’s fled.” He stood. “Oh, well. It was bound to happen.”

“Boss… what do we do?”

Boss scratched his chin with his hoof. “It certainly presents a challenge… we are searching in the dark, after all…” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Prose always was a clever stallion… never thought he would use that cleverness on us…”

He turned away, facing out the window. The streets were busy with ponies rushing to work, and several police ponies stood on the sidewalks, desperately looking for the missing author.

If I know Prose, they won’t find him here, Boss thought. But now it’s a question of where we’ll find him.

He glanced back at Swol. “Have the boys send some letters out to our contacts. I want eyes on the surrounding landscape. And keep me informed.”

“Yes, Boss! Right away, Boss!” Swol nodded and turned, making his way back to the other offices in the building.

Boss returned his gaze back to the window, and he rested a hoof on the glass. “It doesn’t matter how far you run, Prose,” he murmured. “You can’t escape your past.”
	
> IV: The Wanderer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Blasted wolves, Prosa thought as he made his way through Foal Mountain. Ruined my good vest, too. Good thing I always carry a cloak with me.

He opened his bag and pulled out an ash-grey cloak, placing it over his body. His hooves made light taps against the stony ground. He glanced around, making sure that no creature was nearby, before accelerating his pace.

Still, though, those beasts did quite the number on me, he thought ruefully, looking down at himself. Scratches covered his legs, and there were several dirt stains in his coat from when he had to wrestle down one of the wolves. There were sticks in his mane, and several bite and claw marks on his back. He winced in slight pain, one of his legs collapsing under him. Thankfully, in the fight, nothing was broken; though severe bruises were obtained.

He groaned. Those wolves made me lose two days in the Shades. Damn. He glanced down at his leg. And this bruised appendage isn’t making travel any easier.

A cold wind blew past him, and he shivered despite the cloaks warmth. The wind seemed to whisper to him, trying to break his spirit.

“Turn back,” it seemed to say. “You know that there is little hope for you anywhere else.”

He grit his teeth and did his best to ignore the whispers. He trudged on, pushing past the strong wind.

He suddenly slipped, and began sliding down the mountain. Desperately, he reached his hooves out, hoping to grab something. A cliffside suddenly reared at him, and his eyes widened at the potential drop. He desperately hooked his hooves around the trunk of a small tree, managing to stop himself before he went over.

He took a few breaths to steady himself. He pulled himself up, getting back on four hooves. He glanced over the cliffside, seeing the enormous drop. I’m losing my concentration, he realized. I should not have been so careless…

He shook his head, then turned and headed down the correct path. He kept a steady watch, making sure that he didn’t trip over anything or slip again. The wind whispered more words to him, each phrase becoming more and more tempting to obey.

“Turn back. There is no hope for you…”

His patience was beginning to thin. He snorted angrily, turning his head away from the wind. The whispering only grew louder, piercing his ears and entering his brain.

“Turn back, turn back…”

He growled, swiping angrily at the air, as if trying to forcibly remove the wind. It only grew closer and more tempting in its offers.

“There’s still time. Turn back, and no one gets hurt…”

“Shut up,” he growled, pushing ahead. His hooves stomped on the ground, trying to block out the wicked air.

“You know the consequences of your actions. They will find you… and—”

“No!” he suddenly shouted, facing the cliffside. “I won’t turn back! I made this choice; and I’m sticking to it!”

The wind did not answer, seemingly dying away. He was about to turn and continue down the path—

When a wolf’s cry rang out.

His eyes widened, and he turned around, looking to the above cliffside. A pack of Shadewolves, dark and menacing, stood above. Their dark-yellow eyes bore into his pink ones, and the leader growled at him.

They pursued me here? He quickly turned, galloping down the remainder of the mountain.

The pack leaped down and advanced towards him. They barked and growled, their cries mingling into one loud roar. These idiots are going to cause an avalanche!

He leaped to the side, avoiding a lunge from one of the wolves. He landed softly. galloping down the length of the mountain.

The pack split up, three aiming for the front while the other two pursued Prosa from behind. He ground his hooves on the ground to slow himself before he crashed into the three. They growled at him, teeth bared and saliva dripping down their mouths. He glanced behind him, seeing the remaining two glaring at him.

“Easy, easy,” he said, trying to calm down. They only growled louder, and took several steps forward.

The pack leader suddenly roared ferociously, and Prosa heard the mountain rumble. The trees and ground began to shake, and he glanced up. The peak of the mountain had seemingly collapsed, and a white blanket of death fell from above.

The wolves took advantage of this distraction and lunged for him. He ducked under one and dove to the side, avoiding the others. There’s no way I’m going to outrun that avalanche! The pack leader lunged for him, swiping at his body and scratching his chest. He yelled in pain and jumped back, only to be tackled by another wolf.

Thinking quickly, he kicked the wolf off of him with his hind legs. As the leader leapt for him, he rolled away, making the two crash into each other. He tried to get to his hooves, but collapsed as the snow rolled for them.

The leader recovered, and glanced around, finally seeing the snow. Two of the wolves were engulfed by it, sent over the edge yelping. The other two tried to get to higher ground, but were pushed over the edge. The leader growled and lunged for Prosa, and he shied away, pushing himself against the rock face. The face shook with nature’s fury as the full brunt of the avalanche toppled for him. The leader tried to lunge for him again, and nearly bit his head off; but was knocked back by the snow. Prosa’s last view of the beast was it yelping and barking all the way to its demise.

He tried to move ahead, but the snow seemed to accumulate in front of him. He protectively held his hooves in front him, as the white substance piled up. Soon, the opening had vanished, replaced with dark white snow. He closed his eyes, and waited for the rumbling to stop.





“There is no hope… there is no hope for you…”

Somehow the wind managed to pierce through the thick layer. Dusk Prosa opened his eyes in shock. That means there’s got to be an opening somewhere!

He glanced around. The snow was thick enough to block most of the sun, but he could faintly see. The snow had piled around his hooves and body; if he didn’t move quickly, he would surely perish from hypothermia. He shook his hooves, and noticed that he could barely feel them. Frostbite? No; I can’t think about that!

He shook his head and glared at the snow. He concentrated his hearing on the whispers of the wind, listening for where the opening was.

The words became garbled, but it was still clear where they came from. He smirked; how ironic that the wind would be his savior.

There was an opening to his right, as far as he could tell. He pressed a hoof on the side, and noticed that the snow seemed less thick there. He pushed lightly, and the snow began to fall apart! He grinned, and pushed even harder. The snow around him began collapsing, and he struggled to retain his hoof’s position as snow fell around him.

“C’mon, you louse, c’mon,” he muttered. For a moment, snow completely filled his vision.

Finally, the snow collapsed completely around him. His hooves came free, and his head popped out of the snow bank. Bright sunlight glared in his eyes; it was a sign that he was alive. He pulled himself out of the snow, gritting as his cold appendages groaned under the strain.

He took a few tentative steps forward, looking for the wolves. He guessed that they had all perished from the avalanche. He shook his body to throw off the snow that covered him, glancing down when he had finished. 

Somehow, both the snow and the wolves had ruined his cloak. Snow sat inside holes made by the wolves’ claws, and he murmured a light curse. He noticed that his bag was missing; glancing around, he saw it in the snow pile and picked it up, making sure that its contents were fine.

They appeared to be, and he slung the bag over his shoulder. He let out a sigh of relief. Oh, thank Celestia I’m alive.

For a moment, he felt doubt pinch him. Should he continue on? No doubt that there would be even more danger in the coming days; he wouldn’t be able to always make it out by the skin of his teeth.

“Turn back… turn back, now…”

If this is an example of what is to come… if I continue on this path… He frowned. Makes me regret letting Opacare Prose leave—

He shook his head. No, he left for his reasons and his goals. To turn back now would be cowardly.

Prior to his disappearance, Opacare Prose never was a coward. And neither am I.

He nodded to himself, and once again began trekking down the mountain. He felt completely exhausted, but continued nonetheless, not caring whether or not he made it. All that mattered was that he try. No matter the danger; no matter the risk.

The whispering wind followed him, but seemed to lessen in intensity; its words faded into little more than air being pushed ahead.





Steven Magnet had experienced some pretty strange things in his life.

First, there was the time that the Mare in the Moon had returned, and six ponies had arrived in the Everfree seeking the Elements of Harmony (at the time, he didn’t know what they were after). After one of them, a white one, had helped him fix his mustache, he had happily allowed them to cross the raging river using his serpentine body.

Then there was the time that a draconequus of Chaos nearly took over. He had heard the draconequus fooling around with the Ponyville, as if it were all a game to him. It was positively dreadful; who mixed chocolate rain with cotton candy clouds? That was hardly aesthetically pleasing; he was thankful that the six ponies managed to stop that Chaos controller.

Then came the return of his old friend, Cranky Doodle Donkey, and his rediscovery of Matilda. Steven smiled as he recalled that day. Cranky had told him about it some time later; though, Matilda was still unaware of the sea serpent’s involvement.

He sighed. It wasn’t that he minded being in the background; but, sometimes he wished that he could do more than just ferry ponies. Or be on the lookout for a pony.

For a week. 

Sure, he wanted to help out; but could Opacare Prose please not be so good at hiding? It didn’t help that nopony even knew what he looked like! It was only by that maid’s cleaning inspection did anypony even know that Prose had gone missing!

In short, Steven was slightly bored.

“Maybe I could go on a grand adventure with Cranky, like old times,” he mused, relaxing on his back in the river. He frowned. “Then again, I haven’t had a yearning for adventure in years. Perhaps a simple wedding would suffice.”

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of sticks snapping. He turned around, looking for the source. He expected to find a Timberwolf, perhaps; even a cockatrice.

He did not expect to find what appeared to be an extremely injured equine.

Blood ran down the sides of his mouth, and his lower lip seemed to have been bitten with extreme force. His mane, a slate-grey with blue highlights, was highly messy, with sticks, dirt, and grime sticking to it. His coat had been covered in mud, the pewter grey transformed into a dirty silver with bronze patches. He wore a dark-grey cloak, and Steven could see a torn blue vest underneath. A small, brown bag was slung over his shoulder. His tail swung weakly, and he seemed on the verge of falling over. His legs moved forward at a slow pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Strangely, though, Steven could not discern the stallion’s Cutie Mark. It seemed to have completely vanished off of his flanks, replaced with a simple, blank, pewter-grey coat.

Despite the obvious pain and discomfort the pony was in, his eyes had not dulled one bit. They remained a solid carnation pink, glowing with intelligence and ferocity that Steven felt rivaled the Bearers.

“Oh my absolute goodness!” he cried, darting forward at the pony. “Are you alright? What happened?”

The pony glanced up at the sea serpent, before chuckling darkly. His chuckles grew to weak laughter, and he nearly toppled over from his shaking.

“Hey!” Steven placed his hands on his hip area. “What’s so funny?”

The pony snorted and managed to calm himself down. “Sorry… it’s just… the first talking creature I meet in a while, and he has the most flamboyant accent…” He resumed a dark chuckling, looking down.

Steven huffed. “Well, excuse me, mister! I happened to be born with this fabulous accent!” He crossed his arms, doing his best to look intimidating to the pony.

He evidently failed, as the stallion cast one quick look at him before giggling madly. “Hey, what’s the deal? My accent isn’t that funny!”

The stallion calmed down. “You’re right… it isn’t.” He struggled to take a breath. “It’s just… I’ve been in the wilderness for what seems forever… I’m a bit crazy for civilization. You know what I mean?” Before Steven could answer, the stallion shook his head. “No, of course you don’t. No one does…”

He coughed, and blood shot out his mouth, marking the ground in red. “As for your first question… I just got through running from Shade and Timberwolves.” He glanced up, his eyes shining with a hint of arrogance. “At this point, I’m more than fine.”

“Shadewolves?” Steven raised an eyebrow. “You came from the Hollow Shades? What on Equestria are you doing here? And in such a sorry state?”

The stallion coughed again, the patch on the ground darkening. “Long… story… no time to talk…” He tried to walk forward, but suddenly collapsed.

“Hey! Wait a minute!” Steven grabbed the pony and held him up. “Yoohoo! You okay in there?”

The stallion couldn’t even mumble, so exhausted he was. Oh, this is definitely not good. Steven leaned close, and was relieved to hear him still breathing, albeit slowly. “I have got to get you to a hospital,” he murmured.

He placed the stallion on his back, and he instinctively held on. Steven turned, and began swimming down the river towards Ponyville.
	
> V: Untimely Arrival
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Scootaloo stood at the edge of the town, watching the entrance to the Everfree. She stood on the wooden bridge, eyes solely concentrated on the entrance. She narrowed her gaze, as if willing the trees to part to reveal the pony the town searched for.

For a few minutes she said nothing, focusing only on staring. Finally, though, her patience wore out, and she fell to her hind quarters with a groan. “Ugh… this is so boring!”

“Well, better get used to it,” Sweetie Belle said next to her. “We did volunteer to keep watch over this area.”

“Yeah, so why don’t we stop complainin’ and start watchin’?” Apple Bloom suggested, a bit testily.

“It’s just the forest, though!” Scootaloo protested. “Shouldn’t Fluttershy be here to watch?”

Sweetie shook her head. “Fluttershy is down by the Bogg, organizing the swamp animals there.”

The orange filly grumbled something incoherent and turned away, still slightly frustrated. Bloom sighed. “Yer right, though; this is pretty boring.”

Scootaloo snorted. “We’re staring out at the forest. What else could it be, other than boring?”

Sweetie shrugged. “Well, maybe something exciting will happen. You never know.”

“Like Prose showing up?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Sweetie turned her gaze back to the forest. “It could happen.”

Scootaloo sighed, but did not question further. She and Apple Bloom resumed watching the forest.

Sweetie’s gaze turned downward, looking down at the river below. The rushing waters splashed against the dirt and rock, spraying foam onto the sides. A few fish swam down the river, beating their fins rapidly to speed their swim.

Suddenly, the fish stopped, and turned. They began swimming back upstream, as if fleeing from something. Sweetie looked up, and peered down the river to see what it was that scared them. Her eyes widened as she saw a large, serpentine creature swimming towards them.

“Girls? Girls!” she cried, getting their attention. “Are serpents a normal thing for Ponyville?”

“Calm down, Sweetie Belle,” Scootaloo said. “It’s just Steven Magnet. He’s a friendly sea serpent of the Everfree.”

The serpent seemed to be ferrying something on his back. He glanced around nervously, then back at the object on his back. Sweetie noticed that his eyes softened slightly.

He turned, and saw them on the bridge. Quickly he approached. “Steven? What’s wrong?” Apple Bloom asked.

In response, Steven twisted his body to show them what he carried. They gasped at what they saw: a broken and badly injured stallion on his back, taking shallow breaths. His eyes were closed, and had it not been for his breathing, would have seemed dead.

“Oh my gosh! What happened?” Sweetie asked.

Steven shook his head. “I don’t know. I found him like this in the forest.” He gazed at the fillies with sad eyes. “He needs medical attention, and quickly.” His voice was less flamboyant, assuming an unlikely commanding tone.

Sweetie nodded. “We’ll go get help.” She and the other Crusaders went off into town, yelling for the ponies to help them. A few moments later, they returned with Twilight and Mayor Mare, with a crowd following shortly after.

Twilight looked at the stallion in shock. “How is he still alive?”

Steven shook his head. “He said he had been running from Shadewolves and Timberwolves for the past week!”

“He came from the Hollow Shades?” Mayor Mare asked.

Twilight shook her head. “Nevermind that. We have to get him to a hospital!” A few ponies stepped forward with a wagon, and Twilight gently lifted the stallion with her magic and placed him in the cart. “Go; hurry!”

The ponies nodded, and galloped towards the hospital. Twilight and the CMC watched them go, still shocked at the stallion’s appearance.

“Twilight?” Sweetie asked. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I hope so, Sweetie Belle,” Twilight answered with a nervous frown.





Dusk Prosa awoke with a start.

His bright pink eyes, though intelligent, were rendered near useless as he glanced around. His vision blurred, most likely due to him not still fully recovered from his ordeal. Slowly, however, his vision settled, and he managed to get a clear view of where he was.

A set of white blankets covered his lower body, warming him and making him feel slightly sleepy. They smelled like fresh roses; he guessed that they had been cleaned recently. A pair of white, fluffy pillows rested behind his head, and he could practically feeling himself sink between the two. A set of tubes were attached to his arm, running up the side to an IV unit.

He looked up, seeing a small ceiling light hanging above him. It glowed dimly, not enough to hurt his eyes, but enough to make him squint. He glanced to his left, seeing a large, white machine with several lines appearing on its face. He guessed that they were supposed to be his vitals.

I have some rather decent vitals, he thought, nearly grinning sillily.

He shifted around, turning his head to his right. What he saw made his jovial attitude vanish completely.

A set of syringes, both white, rested on a metal tray. The sharp points made him panic, and his breathing increased. The machine with his vitals began to beep rapidly, as his heart rate accelerated to dangerous levels. It didn’t help that he saw a familiar, red liquid in each of the two foreign syringes.

The panic heightened as he realized that he had been stripped of his belongings. His bag, vest, and cloak had been placed somewhere else, perhaps out of reach. His eyes widened as a million worst-case scenarios raced through his mind. His belongings were his life, and without them, he would be a goner!

Somehow, his strength had not returned, and he could not find it in himself to shout in blind panic. However, the constant beeping and his erratic shuffling garnered the attention of the hospital staff.

“Doctor Irons!” a red-headed nurse shouted. “He’s awake!”

“Bloody brilliant!” the doctor shouted in a strange accent unfamiliar to Prosa. He quickly ran over to Prosa and tried to calm him down. “Easy, easy, mate. It’s going to be alright!”

It is most definitely not going to be alright! Prosa shuffled angrily, nearly throwing the doctor away. The nurse made a brief call, and several other hospital staff came in to restrain him. Prosa fought as hard as he could, even managing to throw off one of the doctors.

His struggle eventually subsided as one of the doctors forced a needle into his neck. At first, his eyes widened as he felt the needle pierce his skin, but then all thoughts were replaced with a soothing numbness. His heart rate fell back down to normal, and his breathing slowed.

Doctor Irons thanked the other staff for coming in to help. They nodded, though they seemed somewhat tired out from the ordeal. They left, leaving Irons and his nurse aide with Prosa.

“Feeling better now, mate?” Irons asked with a small smile.

Dusk grunted. He stared at Irons with his bright pink eyes. Irons noticed that, despite the patient being drugged, he somehow managed to retain a sense of ferocity in those orbs.

“Nurse Redheart, could you read me his vitals?” he asked.

Nurse Redheart nodded. “Yes, Doctor Irons. His heart rate has resumed adequate levels. Breathing is normal. Bladder control is… well, it needs work.”

Prosa looked down, and saw what appeared to be a slightly dark spot in the middle of his bed. He blushed in embarrassment.

Irons laughed at the stallion’s discomfort. “It’s alright, mate. You were unconscious; you had little control over your bodily functions when you arrived here.”

He stepped forward, laying a hoof on Dusk’s chest. Seeing the stallion wince, he grimaced. “Yep, that’s broken ribs for sure.” He stared at Dusk’s pink eyes. “Don’t worry; that’s the worst injury you have.”

Dusk grunted. “Thanks,” he barely managed to whisper. His voice came out hoarse, like it had been overused twice. His throat felt dry, and he instinctively licked his lips.

Irons reached over and brought over a pitcher of water and a glass cup. He poured the stallion a drink, giving it to him. Prosa downed the cup quickly, like it was a cup of ambrosia. He held the cup out, and Irons poured him more.

After downing several cups, Prosa’s throat finally felt open enough that he could speak more clearly. “What happened?”

“Steven Magnet ferried you in,” Irons explained. “Apparently you had been attacked by Shade and Timberwolves?” The doctor raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the question. Before Prosa could clarify, he continued: “Three fillies met him first. They ran and got Miss Twilight Sparkle, though not before attracting a large crowd. A few ponies carried you to the hospital, which brings us to here.”

Prosa nodded thoughtfully. “I see… how long was I out?”

“Oh, three days, give or take—”

The doctor didn’t get a chance to finish, as Prosa suddenly shot up, surprising both he and Nurse Redheart. “What?!” he yelled with surprising ferocity. “Three days?!”

Pain suddenly rocketed through him, and he quickly fell back down to resting his back against the pillows. He glared up at Irons. “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?!”

Irons raised a confused eyebrow. “Are you kidding? Mate, you were injured and in need of dire rest. If we woke you up, you could have been hurt even more!”

Prosa snorted. “Better injured than late.” He made to move out of bed, despite the pain, but was held back by the doctor.

“Hey, buddy, calm down.” Irons fixed him with a steely glare. “Listen, three days to recover is better than only one.”

Dusk fixed him with his own, bright glare, and Irons felt himself quail under the intensity of the look. “While I appreciate your efforts, Doctor, I am not your buddy.” He glanced around. “My belongings. Where are they?”

“They’re going through disinfectant treatment right now. Getting cleaned, the usual,” Nurse Redheart answered.

Dusk’s eyes widened, and he breathed a low curse. “Of all the miserable luck,” he muttered. “Get me them.”

“But—”

“Now!” he nearly shouted, throwing Irons off of him. “Because if you don’t, we’re going to have a huge misunderstanding—”

“Doctor Irons?” Another hospital staff member poked his head in. “Could you come here for a second?”

“Certainly,” Irons answered. He looked at Prosa with confusion, before leaving to talk to the member.

Nurse Redheart looked at Prosa in slight amusement. “Well, seems like something’s gotten you in a frenzy.”

He glared at her coldly. “Let’s see; I’ve been attacked by two species of wolves, brought into a hospital for three days, have apparently wet the bed, and now have been notified that my belongings are being searched. Frenzy doesn’t begin to describe what I’ve gotten.”

Redheart chuckled. “Oh? And how would you describe what you’ve got?”

“Picture the most annoying thing. Then multiply it by about a trillion, then divide by infinity, and move the decimal over three times. Then raise that to the power of ten.” He smirked. “Then you’ll get the basics of what I’ve gotten.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, before blinking. “Was that… was that humor?”

“No,” he said sharply. “That was just me eliciting an unnecessary conversation.”

“Sarcasm. Great,” she said drily.

“Same to you,” he stated, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Though he feigned annoyance, that little banter had calmed him down tremendously. Surely, now that he was calm, he could talk his way out of this. Leave before any awkward questions ensued.

“What’s your name?” Redheart suddenly asked.

He opened an eye, glancing at her. A twinge of a smile appeared on his lips, mirrored by hers. “… Why should I tell you?”

She shrugged. “You don’t technically have to. But it would help both of us, wouldn’t it?”

He chuckled darkly. “Yeah, I guess it would.” He paused, staring at the nurse. She returned the stare with equally unblinking eyes.

“… Dusk Prosa,” he said, keeping his gaze steady.

She smiled slightly. “Funny. That sounds somewhat familiar to the guy that everypony’s been looking for.”

He was greatly perturbed by this, but tried to hide it. “I see… who was this guy?”

“You don’t know?” She sounded genuinely surprised at that. “It’s that famous Opacare Prose author!”

“Oh, him,” he replied, sounding indifferent. “Yeah. Um. Huh.”

She didn’t seem to catch his worried tone. She was about to say more, when Doctor Irons poked his head in.

“We need to talk,” he said sternly.

Prosa sighed, raising his hooves. “I can guess what about.”

Doctor Irons entered the room, followed closely by several technicians. They wheeled in a cart that held Dusk’s belongings. Irons placed each one at the base of the bed.

“First, the cloak,” Irons said. “It’s been torn to near pieces, and has several pints of blood absorbed into it. Your blood.”

Dusk shrugged. “So?”

“Pints, sir. By all logic, you should be dead.”

“I’m sturdier than most,” Dusk replied. “And call me Dusk Prosa. Sir sounds so… old.”

“Very well, Mr. Prosa.” Irons gestured to the blue vest. “This is yours as well, isn’t it? A dark-blue vest. I haven’t seen anypony wear these things in town, before. Only in Manehattan.” He looked pointedly at the stallion.

Prosa gritted his teeth, trying to think of something quick. “It’s… a gift from a friend.”

Irons seemed satisfied by that answer. “Both the vest and the cloak have been ripped by something sharp.” He sighed. “Looks like your story holds up.”

“Oh, yes, the wolves.” The pewter-grey stallion leaned back, almost casually. “Of course it holds up. What would I have to gain from lying?”

“Perhaps you hoped to hide these?” At this, Irons opened up Prosa’s brown bag, revealing the contents.

An ample amount of syringes lay inside, their tips retracted so that they wouldn’t poke holes in the fabric. Prosa looked away, still slightly disturbed at the sight. Nurse Redheart gaped in shock at the syringes, while Irons had a disappointed look on his face.

“Mr. Prosa,” he started, “do you know what these are?”

“Syringes,” he answered tiredly, as if he had been asked this question numerous times.

“What are you using them for?”

“… I can’t tell you.”

Irons and Redheart looked at him in shock. “Why not?” the nurse asked.

“… I just can’t. Personal stuff.” He looked at the two with a slight glare. “And, if memory serves, I don’t have to give away my personal information.”

“Hospital regulation dictates otherwise.”

“Then discharge me.” Prosa waved his hoof dismissively. “I don’t plan on staying any longer anyway. Besides, I’ve got places to be. And I’ve lost three days time.”

He quickly got out of bed, ignoring the confused looks that the doctors gave him. “Though, I’ll need some directions,” he continued as he grabbed his belongings hastily.

“C-certainly, Mr. Prosa,” Nurse Redheart stammered. “Where are you heading?”

“Ponyville. How far away is that from here?”

The two stared at him with somewhat wide-eyes. “… Mate,” Irons said, unable to resist cracking a smile, “you must have been hit pretty hard in the head!”

Dusk narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean, Doctor?”

“Ponyville, Dusk?” Irons shook his head, actually chuckling. “You’re already there.”

Dusk stared at him for a few seconds, his mind reeling in shock. He suddenly slapped a hoof to his forehead. “Of course… the fact that I was fighting Timberwolves should have made that obvious. Everfree lies outside of Ponyville.” He sighed. “How stupid of me.”

“Not as stupid as you leaving before you fully recovered,” Irons snorted.

Surprisingly, Dusk smiled. It was a hard, cold smile, and seemed almost threatening. “So the iron doctor has a sense of humor. Will miracles ever cease?”

Irons was slightly unnerved by the smile, but didn’t show it. “We still have an issue with the syringes, you know.”

“Then drop the issue. Simple as that.”

Irons raised an eyebrow. “You are a rather mysterious stallion, you know that, Mr. Prosa?”

That same, sardonic grin returned. “You don’t say.”

“I do say,” Irons said, stepping forward, “and now I say that you’re staying until you make a full recovery. Whatever business you have in Ponyville can wait a day.”

Dusk frowned. “… And if I don’t agree to that?”

“Trust me, you will.”

There was a moment of silence as the two stallions stared at each other. The tension was enough to unconsciously make Nurse Redheart slouch over under the imaginary weight.

Then, Dusk grinned. But it was different. Instead of mocking, or cynical, it seemed to have smidge of warmth, like he had just finished a satisfying game. “Very well, Doctor Irons. I’ll stay until I am allowed to go.” His voice didn’t sound like a stallion who had lost an argument; no, it sounded more like a gamer who had lost the level but won the game.

Irons felt a bit of trepidation rise up in him. Somehow, despite the lack of coldness in that smile, it still unnerved him. He managed his own smile, though it was strained. “Good. Nurse Redheart and I will be checking on you routinely.”

Dusk nodded, returning to his bed, though still clutching his belongings. Redheart and Irons walked out, but not before Redheart cast Dusk a curious look. The stallion caught her eye, but said nothing, looking at her with that same intensity.

Once they were gone, Prosa let out a slow breath. That was close. Nearly gave myself away in all that. Good thing I’m a master at this game. He frowned. But, I fear that this game I play will be my last.

He looked out the window, seeing the town of Ponyville through the glass. There are things I need to do, and as soon as possible. But… perhaps they can wait a day.

He looked back down at his bag, where the syringes still lay. I can only hope that I make it long enough to explain everything… 

He sighed, leaning back into the pillow, resigning himself to simply waiting for his release.
	
> VI: Rumors
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Twilight?” Sweetie Belle asked the unicorn while they waited for Doctor Irons in the hospital. “Is that stallion going to be alright?” She and the CMC had joined Twilight in waiting for the doctor’s report.

The unicorn shook her head, slightly jostling her brown bag. “I don’t know, Sweetie Belle. I certainly hope so.”

“He’s… he’s not gonna die, is he?” Apple Bloom asked, making Sweetie Belle’s eyes nearly fill with tears.

Twilight winced at the question. “He shouldn’t,” she answered hastily, trying to calm down the little unicorn. “I mean, he didn’t sustain any injuries that would have been fatal.”

A door opened, and out walked Doctor Irons. He walked over to where Twilight and the CMC stood. “Good morning, Doctor,” Twilight greeted, quickly directing the focus away from morbid subjects. “How is the stallion?”

“He’s recovering, Ms. Twilight,” Irons answered respectfully. “We’ve got a few answers to the questions you posed.”

Twilight nodded. “Alright, tell me.”

“First, his name is Dusk Prosa. A rather unusual name, if you ask me.”

“It certainly is,” Twilight said. “Please, continue.”

“Based on the state of his cloak and vest, the story Steven Magnet told seems to hold up. I’m no detective, but I have seen my fair share of Timberwolf attacks.” He shook his head. “But the other marks… from the Shadewolves, I presume. It seems… odd.”

“How so?”

“Shadewolves inhabit the Hollow Shades. And nopony ever travels through there anymore. So why was he?”

Twilight frowned. “That certainly is a matter that needs discussing. Anything else?”

“Well… he doesn’t appear to have a Cutie Mark yet.”

“What?” Scootaloo asked. “What do you mean?”

“Where his Mark should be, is just a pewter-grey spot. He’s blank.”

Twilight scratched her chin. “That’s odd. Nopony should be blank at that age.”

The CMC shared worried looks. What if they ended up like that?

“There’s more; though, it’s highly controversial,” the doctor continued.

“How so?” asked Twilight.

In answer, the doctor leaned in so as to whisper in Twilight’s ear. As he leaned back, Twilight’s eyes widened in shock. “Are you serious?”

He nodded solemnly. “Says it’s for personal stuff. I’m not so sure about that, though.”

Twilight’s eyes grew worried, and she fell silent as she considered this information.

“Twilight?” Sweetie asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, girls. Run along now, alright?”

“But, what about the stallion—”

“He’ll be fine,” the doctor reassured them. “I promise.”

The girls were still unsure, but nodded, leaving shortly after. Twilight and Irons shared a silent look that spoke volumes of their uncertainty.





Twilight discreetly cracked open the door, stepping inside carefully. A quick glance around the room showed that it was empty of any other occupants—save for herself and the patient. The stallion in bed did not seem to notice her; perhaps because his gaze was turned away, facing the side wall. She guessed that he was deep in thought. She shifted her body to more comfortably carry the brown bag she held over her shoulder, trying to do so as quietly as possible. She was unsure whether to say anything or not, and the indecision locked her tongue.

After a period of silence, he spoke. “It’s rude to enter without knocking, you know.”

Twilight was caught off guard by his voice. It was hard to describe, sounding like a mashup of coldness and morbid amusement. She blinked at him, before trotting over. “I’m… sorry about that,” she said, a bit nervously, managing to untangle her tongue.

He waved her apology away with his hoof. “No worries. Everypony makes dumb mistakes like that.”

She let out a nervous giggle. “Yeah… dumb mistakes.”

There was a moment of awkward pause between the two, before he asked, “So, what brings you to my humble bed, Miss…”

“Sparkle,” Twilight finished for him. “Twilight Sparkle.”

“Ah, yes. Miss Sparkle, personal student of Her Royal Highness, Princess Celestia.” His voice seemed almost mocking, even dismissive, but Twilight ignored it. “I suppose I should introduce myself.”

“Dusk Prosa,” she answered for him, blushing slightly. “Um, the doctor told me.”

He allowed himself a chuckle. “That he did, huh?” He turned his head, looking at Twilight.

The unicorn couldn’t explain it, but she immediately quailed under the stallion’s gaze. Bright, pink eyes stared at her, brimming with intensity and intelligence. She could tell that a million thoughts were happening in his head, and she could practically see the gears working in his brain.

She gulped. For some reason, she felt like she was under examination.

“So… my question,” Prosa prompted, causing Twilight to blush in embarrassment.

“Er, right.” Taking a deep breath to gather her thoughts, she answered, “I was… coming in to ask you a few questions.”

He stared at her. “Did not the doctor ask already?”

Twilight shook her head. “Well, he did, but I want to ask… other questions.”

He nodded. “Alright, then, Miss Sparkle. Go ahead.”

“Please, just call me Twilight. All my friends call me that.”

His eyes narrowed, and Twilight instantly felt the tension in the room amplify tenfold. “We are not friends,” he muttered darkly, “Miss Sparkle.”

Once again, Twilight was taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. It seemed that Dusk was doing his best to make this conversation less personal, redirecting her statements back at her with cold wordplay. She gulped, apprehension rising in her throat.

“Er, right,” she stuttered, fighting to regain her train of thought. “First off…”

She had intended on asking first with an overly complicated question, but her mind locked up and she froze. Dusk stared at her with mild curiosity. “Yes?” he asked.

“Why don’t you have a Mark?” she blurted. She gasped and pressed her hooves to her mouth. “Oh, gosh! I’m sorry, that was rather rude of me!”

Surprisingly, he chuckled. “Not at all, Miss Sparkle. I figured you would ask me that eventually.” Those pink eyes bore a hint of warmth in them, as if he found this whole situation amusing. “I don’t have a Mark simply because I chose not to have one.”

She looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I never sought for a talent to call my own. I simply lived on without one.” He paused, glancing in her direction. “You don’t need a Mark to live life, Miss Sparkle. All you really need are the essentials.”

“Which are?”

“Food, water, shelter—and a ton of stubbornness to not die.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, though. Everypony eventually gets their Cutie Mark—”

“Even when they don’t want it?”

“Well, I would imagine so!”

He leaned forward, placing his hooves on his chin in contemplation. “Is it really so impossible for me to not have a Mark, then? See for yourself—” He pushed the covers away, revealing his still blank flank. “It’s there, alright. Physically there. Or rather, not there.”

“But—but that’s impossible!” she spluttered.

“Is it?” A sardonic grin came across his lips, chilling her to the bone. “So is surviving attacks from Shadewolves and Timberwolves.” He leaned back, closing his eyes. “We make the impossible happen through determination, do we not?”

Twilight knew she could not answer that question, so she tried asking another one of her own. “So you came all the way from the Hollow Shades?”

He nodded. “That is correct.”

“And what was the destination you had in mind?”

“Ponyville.”

“Why?”

“For personal reasons.”

She waited, thinking that she could prompt him into giving more information. He simply stared at her in silence. She cleared her throat. “Would you mind telling me what those reasons were?”

“I do mind,” he answered simply and tersely.

Twilight nearly sighed out loud. Prosa was good at not answering, that was for sure. She decided to approach from a different angle. “What made you think Ponyville was a good place to visit?”

He said nothing for a few seconds, turning away. Twilight let out a low breath of relief as he finished boring through her skull with his eyes. Finally, he said, “Ponyville certainly is different from where I come from.”

Her eyes lit up, and she could not contain her eagerness from her voice. “Yes? And where did you come from?”

“… Someplace different.”

She nearly groaned. Of course he had to be difficult.

She asked a few more questions, relating to his background and whatnot; and each time, he answered with barely anything. She could only guess if he was telling truths, lies, or half-truths. Strangely, though, compared to his hostile reaction when she had initially entered, he approached her questions with mild amusement. Whenever she asked a question, he answered in earnest; though, in retrospect, Twilight realized that Prosa had never truly answered her inquiries.

By the end of the questioning, Twilight had realized that she had essentially received little to no information regarding the stallion—and she was shocked. Somehow, Dusk had managed to seamlessly evade the unicorn’s persistent questioning with ease, and leave her unaware until the very end!

“If you’re finished questioning,” Dusk said, staring at her intensely, “then I suggest you leave.”

His tone was cold, but it rang true; she was finished questioning him. She had nothing else to ask, because she could not think of anything else that would guarantee her a straight answer. She let out a sigh and got up, walking away from the bed. Dusk turned away and closed his eyes, seemingly letting himself fall asleep.

Before Twilight completely left, however, she noted one final thing. Dusk’s bag had been left on the bedside, and the stallion did not seem to want them at the moment. He must still be tired from recovering, she guessed.

She glanced from Prosa back to the bag, making sure he wasn’t looking. Quickly and silently, she opened the top and pulled out one of the syringes. He won’t miss one. She tucked the syringe in her pack and, after a final glance around the room, she left Dusk alone.

Before she had completely left, she heard Dusk whisper a final phrase. “I enjoyed our little game, Miss Sparkle.”

It sounded innocent enough, yet left a chilling feeling of unease in Twilight’s stomach.





Five ponies entered the Golden Oak Library, their faces down and hidden in the tree’s shade. Eyes were pointed forward, and little joy spread from the mouths. Even the pink one could sense the seriousness of the situation, refraining from bouncing around. They exchanged worried gazes as they approached. Their friend had told them little of what she wished to discuss.

As they entered, Spike greeted them, though a bit solemnly. Even he could tell that something was wrong. They each said their quiet thanks, and Spike nodded to them. Somehow, he managed to fight down the urge to compliment Rarity, as the tension weighed down any words.

The five ponies approached the living room, where a certain lavender unicorn waited. Her eyes were wide with worry, and she cast furtive glances around. Satisfied that it was them six, she gestured to Spike to go upstairs. Surprisingly, the baby dragon did not protest, and left for his room.

She gestured for the others to take a seat, and they did, regarding Twilight with silent, anxious stares. She took her own seat, taking slow breaths to calm herself.

For a moment, nopony said anything, simply waiting for the unicorn to speak.

“… Have you heard what’s happened?” she finally asked.

“A little,” Applejack replied, “but not a lot.”

“Perhaps you could tell us exactly what happened?” Rarity asked.

Twilight took a deep breath. “… Three days ago, Steven Magnet swam into Ponyville carrying an unconscious stallion on his back. I had him sent to the hospital to recover. According to Magnet and the doctors, the stallion was found in the Everfree, having been running from Timberwolves for a while now.”

“Oh, that’s awful!” Fluttershy gasped. “Is he going to be alright?”

“I think so,” Twilight said, “but that’s not all of the story. The stallion came all the way from the Hollow Shades.”

“That far up?” Rainbow asked. “What’s he doing down here?”

Twilight placed a hoof on her chin. “If I had to guess, it almost seemed like he was running.”

“Well, of course he was running!” Pinkie said. “He was running from Shadewolves and Timberwolves!”

The lavender unicorn shook her head. “I don’t think it’s that simple, Pinkie. There were places before Ponyville that he could have stopped at to recover. I don’t understand why he kept going.”

“Or why he traveled by land,” Applejack added. “Don’t they have train tracks up by the Shades?”

Twilight nodded. “I was wondering that as well. And they do, and a week ago, the stallion could have gotten on a train and ridden here. That would have been far safer than running all the way down here.” She looked at Pinkie. “That’s why I thought he was running from something. Nopony sane would do something that risky.

“Of course, that’s all assuming that he came from the Shades…”

“What do you mean?” asked Applejack.

“Doctor Irons told me that his vest came from Manehattan, and it was of high quality. The stallion said it was a gift from a friend, but I don’t know… something about his story didn’t seem right.”

“Did you talk with this mysterious stallion while you were at the hospital?” Rarity asked.

“I did. And let me tell you, that was an interesting experience.”

She quickly detailed her conversation with Prosa. Her friends’ facial expressions morphed into confused looks as she recalled the stallion’s half-answers.

“Maybe he has a talent for getting out of interrogations?” Rainbow suggested.

Twilight shook her head. “I don’t think so, Rainbow. From what I saw, Dusk Prosa doesn’t even have a Cutie Mark.”

There were gasps of incredulity at that, and her friends clamored for an explanation. Twilight felt a bit of shame creep up on her as she admitted that she couldn’t completely understand why Dusk did not have a Mark.

“He explained it as such,” she tried. “He chose not to pursue a talent for all of his life.”

“But that’s impossible!” Rarity exclaimed. “Nopony can go their whole life without getting their Mark! It happens spontaneously!”

“That’s what I told him,” Twilight responded. “Know what he said back?”

“What?” Fluttershy asked.

“‘So is surviving attacks from Shadewolves and Timberwolves.’” She shivered. “He said it like it was some sort of sick joke.” She grimaced as she remembered that frosty grin of his, dripping with sarcasm and morbid amusement.

She took a moment to recollect her thoughts. “One thing’s for certain. He’s definitely intelligent.”

Her friends remained silent, unsure of what to say. Twilight cringed as she remembered one last detail, and her friends noticed her unease.

“Oh, no,” Fluttershy murmured. “More bad news.”

“Maybe…”

She took a moment to compose herself. “Before I left, I managed to take a look at his belongings without him noticing. While I couldn’t take the bag home for further investigation, I did manage to sneak something out.”

At this, her horn glowed, and she suddenly summoned an object from across the room. The girls gasped at what they saw.

It was a clear-white syringe, the needle endpoint stuck out. It was empty, and seemed clean, though they couldn’t tell for sure.

“You stole this?” Fluttershy asked.

Twilight blushed slightly. “Not exactly. It’s more like I took it for… further analysis.”

“Twilight?” Rarity asked, a bit of trepidation creeping into her voice. “What does this mean?”

“He had quite the stash,” Twilight said. “His bag, from my brief look, had syringes of various sizes, all empty. I suspect that he planned on using them soon.”

“Using them? For what?” Pinkie asked.

The other girls shared looks of realization. Applejack grit her teeth and hid her face behind her hat. Fluttershy eeped and looked away, while Rainbow narrowed her eyes. Rarity looked away, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

“Pinkie,” Twilight said, “I think Dusk Prosa was planning on self-injection.”

The silence that followed those words could have weighed down giants. Nopony in the room could believe that they had one of those ponies in their town. Sure, there had been rumors that a wave of needle enthusiasts were sweeping the eastern side of Equestria, but police were quick to pull the plug on the various operations. Yet, with Prosa here, it seemed that the operations had not truly been defeated, and had, in fact, relocated to somewhere else. Ponyville.

“Twilight? What do we do?” Fluttershy asked.

Twilight hesitated, unsure if they could even do anything. “I’m… not sure. I’m really hoping I’m wrong about this. I’d like more evidence that Dusk is actually doing this stuff before we do anything we might regret.”

“Maybe he’s got a weird obsession with sharp stuff?” Rainbow suggested. She winced as she realized what she said. “Actually, that’s probably not any better.”

“Should we tell the Princesses?” Rarity asked.

Twilight shook her head. “I don’t think so. We’re already having a country-wide manhunt. I don’t want to bother them with rumors of a potential user.”

They nodded, a thoughtful silence falling over them. After some time, Fluttershy asked, “Do you think he could be dangerous?”

Twilight took a moment to think before answering, “No, I don’t think so. But… he’s calculating. Like he’s working from every angle that only he can see. He seems determined to do something; but I don’t know what.” She exhaled slowly. “Regardless if he’s dangerous or not, he does need to be watched.” The five other girls murmured their agreement.

After a few more parting words, the five eventually left the library. Dusk Prosa consumed their thoughts and blocked out everything else—meaning that they missed a certain confused trio of fillies who had eavesdropped from outside, unsure of what the group had talked about yet still understanding that it was something serious. Three faces shared uncertain looks as the five walked away, before leaving for their respective establishments to think.

Despite the illumination of the afternoon sun, it was not bright enough to clear away the murky fog that Dusk Prosa brought with him. And the fog would only grow thicker as the days went on.
	
> VII: Business
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Dusk Prosa groaned. No doubt that the meeting with Twilight was going over in the unicorn’s head repeatedly. If he was lucky, she would hound him for questions; if he was unlucky, she would still hound him for questions.

Why can’t I ever get lucky?

He sighed. It was only a matter of time before somepony started asking around, and he knew that he couldn’t dodge the questions forever. Sure, he was good at it; but, if Twilight was as smart as the papers said, then he wouldn’t be able to keep up the farce for long.

It was two days after his initial awakening, his fifth day in the hospital. By now, he had mostly recovered. The first bandages he had on had been removed, and he was now capable of moving his limbs without feeling them pop and hiss in agony. His ribs still ached, but not as much as they did before, so he could move around without being paralyzed by jolts of pain. Of course, that didn’t stop Nurse Redheart from teasing him about his squeaking; the ribs still pushed up into his lungs, and whenever they did, a slight squeak shot out of him.

He sighed. As annoying as that nurse was, he had to admit she was the most amusing thing he had found in this town.

He got up from his bed, glancing at his flank. It was still blank, even after all the baths and washes he had to take. He let out a slow breath of relief, thankful that his farce still held. He grabbed his belongings, habitually checking the contents of his bag. He frowned as he counted the syringes. One of them was missing.

He sighed. Twilight. Of course she would take one of them. He smirked. Didn’t think stealing was part of her M.O. As he looked at the sharp objects, he felt his heart suddenly beat faster. Quickly he closed the bag’s top, obstructing the syringes from view. He let out a slight breath, hating himself for feeling that way.

He slung the bag over his shoulder, taking a final glance around. Against his own reason, the room had nearly become a second home to him. Despite his nervousness around the needles and such, he couldn’t help but feel a somewhat kinship with the place.

They say that a stallion grows comfortable with the place that takes care of him, he reflected, smirking. ‘They’ certainly know what they’re talking about.

His cloak and vest were still in bad shape. The hospital had been too busy to send them out for repairs. He didn’t mind, though; he had grown comfortable with the holes during his week in the wilderness. Nonetheless, he resolved to have them sewn together soon; after all, he looked better in full clothes than in tattered fabrics.

He was unsure what to feel, now that his release from the hospital was moments away. A certain ache filled him, rendering him slightly numb. A part of him wanted to stay here, perhaps because it was a safe haven; but he knew that he couldn’t. It was safer for him, and for others, if he were released from the hospital. Still, though, he could not help but remember his time here.

Hospitals have never really been my place of comfort. Ponyville’s Hospital seems to challenge that notion.

He shook his head. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. Moving forward was of utmost importance. He shuffled the bag around his shoulder, letting it rest easy, before walking out.

A few other hospital staff watched him with slight unease. He ignored their wary looks, instead focusing on two individuals who waited at the front desk.

Doctor Irons smiled. “Well, our favorite mysterious stallion is up and about!”

Dusk nodded. “Ready to be released, Doctor.”

Redheart smirked. “Eager to be free, Mr. Prosa?”

He glared at her, though there was a hint of warmth in his eyes. “Don’t ask such obvious questions, Nurse.” She simply rolled her eyes, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

Irons chuckled. “It’s a good thing that you’ve recovered, Mr. Prosa. And in such a short while.”

Prosa smirked. “Told you I’d be out soon.”

“Mmm. A case of self-fulfilling prophecy, huh?”

“Perhaps.”

Irons gazed into Prosa’s eyes. The pink orbs stared intensely at him, and somehow through him. Neither said a word for a few moments, the two reaching a silent agreement. The other hospital staff regarded them with confused stares.

Prosa did not waver under the gaze of the doctor, but the stares he received from the entire facility was beginning to get to him. This little game will have to be put on hold. He mentally sighed; if it weren’t for the circumstances, he would have played with the doctor for hours.

“… Papers,” he briskly said, allowing his gaze to move somewhere else.

Irons nodded. He reached into his coat and brought out several forms for Dusk to sign. He handed the stallion a quill.

As Prosa signed his signature, he felt his flank suddenly shudder. He chanced a glance, and nearly cursed at what he observed. A slight glow could be seen near where his Mark should have been. He quickly finished signing, and the glow receded. He paused, glancing around. Doctor Irons, Nurse Redheart, and the rest of the hospital did not seem to have noticed.

“How much?” he suddenly asked.

“Hm?” Irons asked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Bits. How much do I have to pay for my stay?”

Irons blinked. “… Er, Mr. Prosa, the stay was free.”

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “What.”

The doctor nodded, a smirk coming across his features. “What, is that different from the hospitals you’re used to back in Manehattan?”

Prosa did not outwardly show any response to the doctor’s question, and Irons dropped the issue. Inwardly, Dusk cursed himself for being so careless. The doctor was smart; there was no way that he could have kept that part secret for long.

“Anyway,” the doctor continued, “it seems to me that everything is in order. Have you your belongings?”

“Yes.”

“Remember, should something go wrong out there, you’re free to come back here.”

“Who’s saying something will go wrong?”

Irons looked at him knowingly, and lowered his voice so that only he, Dusk, and Nurse Redheart could hear him. “You’re hiding something, Dusk Prosa. And, eventually, we will find out. But, remember this; secrets can bring unimaginable pain.”

Again, Dusk kept a stoic outward expression; yet, inwardly, he was beginning to grow worried. He decided to try for a bluff. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Then it would serve you well to not pursue me.”

Irons was not perturbed, but did drop the issue. He said a few final words to Dusk, along the lines of “proper medical attention” and “getting enough rest.” Dusk waved away his concern dispassionately.

He made to leave, but paused when he reached the door. “This was my favorite vest and cloak,” he murmured. He glanced over his shoulder. “Know any good seamstresses in town?”

Nurse Redheart smiled slightly. Those eyes of his still unnerved her, and she was quick to formulate a response. “Try Rarity’s Boutique. It’s a purple building near the center of town.”

Prosa nodded his thanks, and, after a final glance around, walked out.

“Doctor, are you sure about this?” Redheart asked.

Irons sighed. “Letting him roam free? No.” He stared after the grey stallion. “He’s harboring something. Something… dark. A secret.” He sighed. “But no amount of hospital stay is going to uncover whatever it is he’s hiding. And for his sake… I only hope that somepony uncovers it soon.”

Nurse Redheart nodded at his words. After a few more seconds of staring, they soon returned to work, with the hospital quickly getting over the absence of its most mysterious patient.





Dusk didn’t get off the road from the hospital before bumping into trouble.

No, he did not somehow end up in a tangle with a vicious cobra.

No, he did not suddenly get chased by a stray mental patient.

No, he met Pinkie Pie.

Prosa had run from wolves, gotten near frostbite, and nearly died on his way to Ponyville. Yet all that could not have prepared him for the exuberant party mare’s antics.

“Surprise!” Pinkie shouted as she fired her party cannon at Dusk’s face. The stallion jumped and yelped in complete shock, nearly tossing away his bag. “Oops! Sorry; too much confetti!” Pinkie giggled.

Dusk struggled to catch his breath. “What the actual hell?!” he exclaimed, glaring at Pinkie.

“Aw, that’s not a nice word!” Pinkie trotted over, an oblivious smile on her face. “I’ll just assume that you said ‘What?’ As in, ‘what was that?’” She stood on her hind hooves, stretching her arms up. “That was my welcoming cannon fire for you, Dusk Prosa!”

“How the hell do you know my name?! I don’t even know you!” He picked himself up, regarding Pinkie with a cold glare.

“There you go using that word again!” She leaned in close. “Careful, now; wouldn’t want any fillies to start using that word.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, Twilight Sparkle told me!”

He sighed. “Of course she did. That would make you—”

“Pinkie Pie! Party mare extraordinaire!”

Dusk rolled his eyes. “Whoop-de-freaking-do.”

She looked at him with an expectant smile. He regarded her with a frown, eyes narrowed. She didn’t seem unnerved by the ferocity that shone in his orbs. “What?” he finally asked.

“You’re welcome!”

“For what?”

“For surprising you and making you smile!”

He narrowed his gaze even more. “One: I did not smile.”

“Really?” She cocked her head. “I could have sworn I saw your lips twitch.”

“It’s called a frown, Miss Pie,” he said coldly. “Two: Did it occur to you that maybe it was a bad idea to surprise me?”

She frowned. “What? What do you mean? Surprises are always a good thing!”

“A good thing?” He laughed coldly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose that if I suffered cardiac arrest from the sudden shock, that would also have been a good thing!”

“Cardiac whatnow?”

“Oh, gods, she’s dumb too…” he muttered, shaking his head. “You should be thankful that I don’t suffer from a weak heart, Miss Pie.”

Her optimism returned, and her smile beamed even brighter. “And I am! Because now I can throw you the best ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ party ever!”

He sighed, not bothering to protest. He had heard stories of Pinkie’s exuberance, but this… this was just plain crazy. And he could not deal with it right now; not when there were other things to be done.

“Just… which way to the Boutique?” he asked.

“Oh! That’s easy! Just go down the path and head left!” she answered, still holding her smile. “In fact, I’ll go with you!”

He tried to protest, but was cut off every time by Pinkie. He sighed angrily, rubbing his temples. “Fine, whatever. Let’s just go.”

As they made their way towards Ponyville, Pinkie asked, “By the way, what’s this cardiac arrest you talked about?”

“Ask somepony who cares to answer,” he responded darkly. She didn’t seem bothered by his tone, choosing instead to follow him into town.

As they entered the town, Dusk was bombarded by Pinkie’s questions. She asked about anything; from where he came from, what he was doing in Ponyville, heck, even his favorite color was called into question! He did his best to navigate his way through Pinkie’s curiosities, answering only enough to satisfy, yet carefully concealing the full answer. His half-truthed answers only served to heighten her curiosity.

“Come on!” she pleaded. “You can tell me where you came from!”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I want to be your friend! And friends tell each other where they came from, don’t they?”

He scoffed. “There are things I’d rather keep private.”

“Aw. I Pinkie Promise not to tell anypony!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Pinkie Promise?”

She nodded, and proceeded to go through the motions. “Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye, I won’t tell anypony where you came from!”

He stared at her for a few moments, before looking away. “… Nah.”

“Aw, why not?” she complained, much to his annoyance.

“Because I reserve the personal right of omission of personal details that would inadvertently increase the amount of notice I would get.”

“Oh! So you don’t want to?”

He stared at her for another second. “… Yes.”

“Oh, okay!” she exclaimed cheerfully. “Alright, you can tell me when you don’t have that right anymore!”

He narrowed his eyes, unsure if the mare was joking or being serious. “I intend to fight to keep that right, Miss Pie.”

They eventually reached Rarity’s Boutique, much to Dusk’s relief. He doubted he would last another fifteen minutes with Pinkie. While the mare bounced at his side, Dusk knocked three times on the door, trying his best to patiently wait.

“It’s open!” a voice sang out from the inside.

Dusk blinked. That’s… do they even lock their doors here? Shrugging, he pushed the door open. By instinct, he stood to the side, letting Pinkie past. The pink mare stared at him in shock, before bursting out in smiles. “Aw, you don’t have to do that!”

He rolled his eyes. “Crazy or not, you’re still a lady, Miss Pie.”

She giggled, and entered, Dusk quickly following behind. Pinkie went into the back while Dusk waited at the front of the Boutique. He saw a row of mannequins standing by the windows, covered with sample dresses and clothes.

“Oh, hello, Pinkie!” a female voice greeted. “What are you doing here?”

“Actually, I was just helping a friend get here!” Pinkie answered excitedly.

“Oh? Then why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Pinkie reappeared from the back, and Dusk saw a white unicorn following her. They stopped in front of him. “Oh, hello!” the white unicorn greeted. “You must be Pinkie’s friend!”

Dusk raised an eyebrow. “Yeah… ‘friend.’” He held out a hoof to shake. The unicorn took it in earnest. “You must be…”

“Rarity, dear,” Rarity answered, smiling at him. He simply nodded at the introduction. “And who might you be?”

“Prosa. Dusk Prosa.”

He noticed her smile waver ever so slightly at his name. He frowned. “Is something wrong, Miss Rarity?”

“W-wrong? Why, no, nothing’s wrong,” she said, flustered. “It’s just… well… weren’t you in the… well…”

“Hospital?” He smirked. “I’m out now. Discharged.”

“I-indeed you are,” she said. “A-and what brings you to my humble Boutique?”

“A request,” he answered. He reached over his back, where his garments and bag were carried. Rarity seemed unnerved as his hoof drew closer to the bag. He went past it, grabbing his cloak and vest. He turned quickly, and caught the unicorn’s relieved look. He did not mention this, however, and chose to plow on ahead.

“Nurse Redheart said you’re the best seamstress in town. Is that correct?” he asked.

“W-well, I, I wouldn’t call myself the best.” At that, she couldn’t help but smile slightly. “But, I am pretty good.”

He nodded. “You had better.” His tone seemed threatening, and Rarity immediately felt under pressure. “I would like my cloak and vest restored as soon as possible, thank you.”

She levitated the items over to a nearby table, not once averting her gaze on Dusk. “Certainly, Mr. Prosa. Anything else?”

He was about to answer, but paused. His eyes darted around, and his ears swiveled.

“What’s up, Dusk?” Pinkie asked.

He stepped away from the group, constantly shifting his gaze around. Slowly, he approached the stairs, seemingly intending to go up it. To any other pony, there didn’t seem to be anything on the stairs.

“Um, Mr. Prosa!” Rarity protested. “That’s private quarters—”

“Eep!” a filly squeaked. Dusk was caught off guard, and recoiled in slight shock. As he stepped back, a blurred, white shape scampered up the stairs to another room.

“Sweetie Belle?” Rarity questioned, looking up the stairs in concern. “Was that you?”

She was answered by another squeak, and the sound of a door closing.

Rarity sighed. “I’ll speak with her later…” She looked back at Dusk. “Is something wrong?”

Dusk couldn’t answer. His eyes were wide, and his mouth slightly opened. Confusion passed through his eyes. He blinked twice, before returning his gaze back to Rarity.

When he spoke, his voice no longer carried the same cold confidence it did before. Rather, it sounded perturbed and worried, carrying a more subdued tone. “I’ll… be back later for my clothing,” he murmured. He briskly turned and began walking out.

Pinkie and Rarity shared a confused look. What could have made his tone change so drastically? Both were unsure of the answer. Pinkie shrugged, and followed Dusk, leaving Rarity alone to ponder just what the heck happened. She sighed, resolving to ask Dusk about it when he returned. She turned, and began working on his clothes.





A bead of sweat lightly covered the stallion’s forehead, and he wiped it away. Somehow, that encounter with that little filly in Rarity’s Boutique had distressed him greatly. Sure, he knew he wasn’t the best with kids, but he couldn’t fathom as to why he felt so nervous all of a sudden.

Perhaps it has to do with her response… she ran away from me.

Was he a scary pony? The question had been asked numerous times, and every time he always answered the same: “It depends on what you mean by ‘scary.’” After all, fear was subjective to the individual, and what scares one pony possible may not scare another.

The question, however, had always been in regards to other adult ponies. He could be quite intimidating and terrifying when he wanted to, and in his line of work, it was to be expected. But, he had never scared a child before; and the recent experience at the Boutique was serving to confuse him greatly.

Maybe I should go back and apologize.

Apologize for what? Simply seeing what everypony else couldn’t?

He grit his teeth, unsure if to feel anger towards the filly—or himself.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Pinkie suddenly asked.

He yelped, anger skyrocketing from the surprise. He glared at the pink mare. She didn’t take notice of the sudden hostility. “Nothing that concerns you,” he answered coldly.

She cocked her head. “Really? But we’re friends; friends always share their thoughts!”

He looked away, eyes pointed down the road. “Who said we were ever friends? At this point, you’re little more than my guide; a speck of the momentary, nothing more.”

His tone was cold and blunt, and she finally picked up on it. She glanced away, eyes growing big and sad. Her mane lost some of its usual poofiness, and her coat seemed to become a darker pink. He did his best to ignore her saddened look, focusing his gaze solely on the road.

“Where are we going next?” she finally asked after a moment of silence passed between them.

“First Twilight’s,” he answered, “then the Mayor’s. Then back to Rarity’s.”

She looked back at him with slight curiosity. “Why do you need to see Twilight?”

He spared a glance in her direction. “She took something of mine. I need it back.”

Pinkie seemed surprised at this, but nodded, leading the way to the Golden Oak Library. A few ponies saw Pinkie’s slightly depressed look, and cast confused, even angry looks at Prosa. He side-glanced at them, and his chilling, partial glare was enough to make them shiver and look away.

Eventually they made it to the library. Dusk took a quick look at the structure. He was impressed at its height, seeing that it stood a few feet above the other houses. True to its name, it was indeed made of an oak tree, with bushy green leaves covering tall, dark branches. There were a few glass windows neatly fitted all around, shined and polished to reflective levels.

He and Pinkie approached the red, wood door, and he knocked three times. A few moments later, a diminutive dragon unlocked the door. “Um… hello?” he greeted unsurely.

“I’m here to see Miss Sparkle,” Prosa said.

“What about Pinkie?”

Prosa simply shrugged. The dragon looked from Pinkie, to Prosa, back to Pinkie, before sighing. He held the door open, letting them inside.

If the pewter stallion was impressed with the outside, he was outright blown away by the inside. Never in his life had he ever set forth in a tree-carved house. He was surprised that, despite all the carvings and interior damage, that the tree still stood without collapsing on itself. In front of him were shelves of books, all neatly ordered and arranged. Above was a golden sun emblem, with the rays circling around the center. In the center of the room was a table with a wooden horse’s head carved on top. To the back end of the room were set of stairs leading to the upper layer.

“Twilight? You have visitors!” the dragon called, looking up at the stairs.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Spike!” Twilight called back.

There was the sound of hooves stomping on wood as the unicorn walked down the steps, her horn alight and carrying a stack of books. She glanced over the books, at first smiling at the two visitors. “Why, hello, Pinkie and—”

Her smile dropped, as did the books with a solid thump on the floor. Her eyes widened in realization as she saw the all-too-familiar stallion standing in her house.

“Er, Twilight?” Spike asked, looking at his friend with concern. “Are you alright?”

Twilight didn’t respond, her mouth open. There seemed to be a flicker of light behind her eyes, but it was quickly sputtering out. Dusk decided to try and reconnect the wiring and light up her mind again.

He stepped forward, almost casually, and introduced himself. “Dusk Prosa. We’ve met.”

The mention of his name managed to get the gears working in Twilight’s head again. She shook herself, trying to put on a smile. “Y-yes, we have.”

Spike looked at the stallion with slight curiosity. “Wait, you’re Dusk Prosa?”

Catching the dragon’s tone, Dusk turned to look at him. “Indeed I am. You sound… surprised.”

The dragon shrugged. “No offense; but the way that Twilight had described you earlier, she made it sound like you were some sort of crazy horse demon or something.”

Prosa allowed himself a rare grin, though it drooped a little when he saw Spike back up in slight fright at the sardonic manner. “I see.” He turned his gaze back the unicorn. “Spreading rumors, are we, Miss Sparkle?”

Before she could respond, he trotted over and helped carry over several of the fallen books to one of the shelves. He quickly put them in their place, before trotting back over to his spot. Spike walked over and inspected the books, before turning back to the stallion with shock in his eyes.

“Wait… how’d you know where to put each of them?” Spike asked.

Prosa shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

As her dragon charge gave her a confused look, Twilight decided to cut to the chase. “Dusk,” she said, nearly slipping into a tone that a schoolteacher would give to misbehaving students, “would you mind telling me what you are doing here?”

Dusk quickly replied in a semi-bored tone, “Oh, you know. Just got discharged from the hospital, decided to take a look around this place.” He glanced back at Pinkie. “Don’t know what she’s doing here, though.” His eyes then shifted back at Twilight, and his tone grew more colder. “And, of course, to take back what is mine.”

Twilight rocked on her hooves uncomfortably, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t play dumb, Sparkle,” he suddenly snapped, any bit of amusement immediately leaving him. “It really doesn’t help with your figure.”

Everypony was taken by surprise by the sudden vehemence, most of all Spike. “Hey!” he exclaimed, glaring at Prosa. “Don’t talk to Twilight like that!”

“I’m not talking to Miss Sparkle,” he responded, still glaring icy daggers at the unicorn. “I’m talking to a thief.”

Twilight’s legs began shaking under the stallion’s intense gaze. She tried to maintain eye contact as best as she could, but was quickly faltering. Her voice wavered between shaky and high-pitched panic. “I-I’m not sure exactly what you mean, Dusk.”

The stallion nearly sighed. It was painfully obvious she knew exactly what he meant. “Don’t play this game with me, Miss Sparkle,” he said, his tone still cold. “You’ll start it, I’ll finish it, and you won’t like the ending.”

A heavy silence lay between them, as Dusk’s carnation orbs stared directly into Twilight’s soul. Under his narrowed gaze, the unicorn felt herself shrinking and hunching over, as if in pain. She looked down and scraped a hoof on the floor, as if trying to physically ward off Dusk’s dark influence.

Meanwhile, Dusk had settled into a slightly bent position, unbeknownst to even him. Unconsciously, his past was somehow integrating itself with his present. His bent form and narrowed gaze made him seem more threatening; if he had been fully aware of his actions, he might have even bared his teeth.

Pinkie and Spike watched, unintentionally fascinated. The smartest mare in Ponyville was squaring off against the mysterious stallion from the north; and she was in the midst of losing her battle. Her lips shook, and her jaw moved, struggling for words of defiance. Yet none came out, and all she could do was look down, in shame—and yet, also in curiosity.

Finally, she had to ask, “How did you know?”

“I counted.”

She looked up at him. “You know the exact number of syringes you have?”

“Yes.”

She sighed, before lighting her horn. From behind the wooden stallion head she levitated over the missing syringe. He eyed it for a second, nearly hesitant, before suddenly swiping and grabbing it, safely placing it back in his pack. He let out a brief breath of relief, an action that wasn’t missed by the purple unicorn.

Her gaze narrowed. “You were going to use them on yourself, weren’t you?”

Give little away, he reminded himself. A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. He replied, with the hint of amusement returning, “Assertions made without evidence can be dismissed without evidence.”

She sighed, defeated. “Is there… anything else I can do for you, Mr. Prosa?”

“Perhaps,” he mused, his voice suddenly turning thoughtful. “Could you point me in the direction of the Mayor’s Office?”

“O-of course,” Twilight answered. “It’s in the Town Hall, center of town.”

He smirked slightly. “Of course it is.” He turned to leave, but before he had left the tree, he paused.

He glanced over his shoulder. “No doubt you have… misconceptions about me, Miss Sparkle. A word of advice?” His tone dropped back into threatening. “If you value you and your friends’ safety, stay out of my way.”

With that, he turned back to leave. The door closed snappily behind him, leaving Twilight, Pinkie, and Spike staring at it with expressions of disbelief.

“Well, that was awfully rude,” Spike snorted, “right, Twilight?”

Twilight didn’t answer. She stared after Dusk with a confused expression, completely blown away by his attitude.

Pinkie also stared after him, but suddenly she growled. The other two looked at her in shock. “Pinkie?” Twilight asked.

“I don’t get it,” she murmured. “Why is he so mean?” She began pacing around the floor, head down. “There’s gotta be a reason.” Her head suddenly shot up. “Wait! I’ve got it!”

She zoomed out the door before Twilight could question her. The unicorn tried calling her name, but Pinkie had already vanished into the distance.

“Twilight?” Spike asked. “What do you think Pinkie is going to do?”

Twilight sighed. “If I had to guess, probably something crazy.”





“You want to what?!” Mayor Mare exclaimed in shock.

Dusk sighed and rolled his eyes. Seriously, what was so hard to comprehend about his request? “You heard me the first time; I won’t repeat it.”

Mayor readjusted her glasses. “I’m sorry. It’s just… so sudden, you know?”

“I don’t.”

She waited, expecting a little more, but got nothing. “It’s been awhile since anypony has decided to move to Ponyville, Mr. Prosa. And it’s even more surprising since you only arrived a few days ago.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What, I can’t decide quickly?”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant!” she quickly protested. “It’s simply that… well… it’s a rather odd request.” She returned a raised eyebrow herself. “You want the house at the edge of Ponyville, on the road to Canterlot?”

“Yes.”

“That house is in ruins, Mr. Prosa. I brought it up as a joke. And yet you intend to settle into it, knowing its decrepit state?”

He nodded. “Hardly a complicated matter, is it?”

She shook her head. “Perhaps not for you. But for me?” She let out a rueful laugh. “Dusk Prosa, only a few hours released from Ponyville Hospital, wishes to move into our humble town—and into one of our poorer homes, as well.”

“Don’t tell me that’s too complicated for you.” His tone was mocking, but Mayor took it heartily.

“I suppose it isn’t,” she responded. “With the Element Bearers in our town, as well as Pinkie Pie’s antics, well… I suppose this isn’t as complex as I make it out to be. It still is a strange request, though.” She chuckled. “Oh, well. I suppose I’ve seen stranger.”

“Speaking of Pinkie Pie,” Dusk said, “is she always like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, crazy.”

Mayor waved a hoof at him dismissively. “Oh, yes, very much. But don’t worry; you’ll get used to it.”

Yeah, like getting used to a massive itch that you can’t reach.

“Well, enough of the pleasantries,” Mayor Mare said. She brought over a clipboard covered with a few documents. “I’ll need your signature for a few official items.” She then carried over a blue quill pen and a black inkwell.

He nodded, though inwardly hesitant at signing. He was worried that the faint glowing from the hospital would return. Nonetheless, he resolutely wrapped the quill in his hoof and dipped the point in the dark liquid. He felt his flank vibrate, and was scarcely aware of a light glowing at the edge of the desk. He ignored these sensations, doing his best to maintain a neutral face as he signed the documents quickly. When he had finished, he placed the quill down and handed over the clipboard, nearly letting out a breath of relief.

“Well, now, everything seems to be in order,” Mayor Mare said. “When do you plan on moving in?”

“Later on today, if possible.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Usually ponies would take a few days to move in, you know.”

“I’m not like usual ponies,” he simply answered.

There was a silence between them as they stared at each other. They seemed to be waiting for the other to make a move, to slip-up; yet it appeared that neither were willing to make that mistake. Prosa was determined not to falter, and he stared at the mayor intensely. His gaze let her know that he would not say much further, and she sighed, seeing that he would be true to his word.

“Very well,” she finally said, standing up. “Where can I reach you when we’ve finished moving your stuff in?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he responded, also standing up. “I’ll be moving my stuff in on my own.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me that you brought little else than your clothes and your bag?”

“I suppose you could say I’m not a materialistic kind of stallion.”

She smiled. “Well, you certainly are a strange one.”

“So the ponies here keep telling me.”

He turned to leave, but before he did, Mayor Mare gave him one final piece of advice. “Pinkie Pie’s probably going to quickly learn that you’re moving in.”

“So?”

“So she’s likely going to go full ‘Party Planner’ for you.”

He smirked. “I think I’ll refuse her offer.”

“You don’t understand.” Her tone turned grave. “You can’t.”

“Why not?” The very idea of somepony saying that he couldn’t refuse was laughable; after all, it was a simple matter of saying no, right?

“You’ll see,” she answered with a devious smile.

He frowned, but said no more, walking out of the office with his bag by his side.
	
> VIII: Settling In
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Dusk let out a brief breath as he walked out of the Mayor’s Office. He glanced up, and saw the sun beginning to settle into its afternoon phase. He squinted in the harsh light, realizing how much time had passed since he had been discharged from the hospital just that morning.

At least I got most of what I wanted done, he thought as he made his way down the road. Now all that’s left to do is to get my clothes back. I hope Rarity has finished them. He frowned slightly. There’s also something I have to also address there as well… 

He turned, intending to make his way towards the Boutique, when something pink suddenly shot up in front of him. Startled, he fell back on his haunches with a strangled cry.

He quickly calmed down once he saw who it was. He rolled his eyes. “Miss Pie!”

Pinkie smiled down at him. “Hello, Dusk!”

He stood, dusting himself off. “What do you want, Miss Pie?”

She bounced all around him. “I know why you’ve been so mean lately!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? Do tell.”

“It’s easy! You’re still recovering from being attacked by those wolves; what you need is a chance to unwind!”

“Sure, yes, whatever. Let’s go with that,” he said, brushing past her. She followed him, ecstatic as ever.

“What were you doing in Mayor Mare’s office?”

“Business.”

“What kind of business?”

“Housing.”

“Ooh, cool. Were you trying to sell her a house?”

A faint grin crossed his lips. “Not exactly. More of the opposite, really.”

“More of the opposite—” She interrupted herself with a loud gasp. “Oh! I get it!” She beamed at him. “You’re moving into Ponyville!”

“Indeed,” he said dismissively, not caring that she seemed exceptionally happy over this. “You’re quite perceptive, Miss Pie.”

Not catching his mocking tone, she said, “Oh, thank you! Just call me Pinkie Pie; all my friends do it!”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off with a giggle. “Oh, wait! We’re not friends!” She smiled at him. “At least, not yet.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right.”

“Oh, but now that you’re moving in, there’s so many things I have to do!” She turned away. “How many balloons will I need? Who do I invite?”

Dusk gave her a curious look. “What are you planning, Miss Pie?”

“A party!” she exclaimed, beaming back at him.

“For who?”

“Somepony special!” She glanced away for a second. “Ooh, I hope he likes it!”

Prosa nodded slowly. “I’m sure he will.”

“Oh, wait! I don’t know what kind of cake he likes!” She frowned for a moment, before suddenly turning to Dusk. “What’s your favorite kind of cake?”

The stallion was taken by surprise by the question. “Me? What are you asking me for?”

She shrugged. “I just need suggestions, that’s all.”

Dusk was not particularly an expert in party etiquette. He never really liked them in the first place. They were often times too loud, and filled with ponies he could care less about. His first thought was to answer with a snide, “I don’t care,” but, after a quick thought process, realized that it would be better to answer with something else.

“I… prefer mousse cake,” he answered truthfully. Been awhile since I last had it, though.

She beamed. “Wow! Good choice!”

She then proceeded to bombard him with seemingly random question after random question concerning what to put in the party, ranging from the types of balloons to the candles on the cake. Dusk, despite his limited experience in party-arranging, did his best to answer each question with a full answer.

She hugged him after the barrage of questions had finished. “Thank you, Dusk! I just know that this pony is going to enjoy his party! I’ll be sure to send you an invitation!”

Invitation? But she doesn’t even know my address yet— She suddenly bounded off before he could confront her, leaving him alone in the center of Ponyville.

He blinked. “… Glad I could help,” he murmured. His lips twitched into a near-smile, but he forced it down. Turning, he walked down the road, making his way to the Boutique.





Sweetie Belle sat in one of the chairs, watching Rarity work on the vest and cloak. Her big sister had her brow furrowed in concentration as the sewing machine quietly hummed. Her horn was alight, holding a needle carefully. She arched the needle down and pulled it through one of the holes in the vest, pulling it tightly to seal it. She repeated the action until the hole had been sealed, the blue cloth now completely fixed.

As Rarity moved onto the cloak’s holes, she glanced at her sister. “Sweetie Belle,” she said, causing the filly to look at her, “may I ask you something?”

Sweetie Belle felt dread seep into her heart, but she did her best to ignore it. “Sure thing, Rarity,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Why did you run away from that stallion earlier?”

Sweetie winced. She knew that Rarity was going to ask that soon enough. “Run away? W-what do you mean?”

Rarity sighed. “Sweetie, you know what I’m talking about.”

The filly looked down in shame. “…  I… I don’t really know,” she said. “I mean, I just sort of panicked.”

Rarity looked at her sister with concern, but waited for her to continue.

“I didn’t expect him to see me! I thought I was pretty well hidden.”

“Well, you certainly were,” Rarity said. “I didn’t even see you. How did you do that, anyway?”

Sweetie blushed. “Um, well, I tried to hide behind one of the stair posts. I was small enough that I could fit behind it.” Rarity nodded at the explanation.

“A-anyway, when Mr. Prosa suddenly looked up at the stairs, I was worried that he’d found me out. Then he started making his way upstairs, and I… well, you know the rest.”

Rarity nodded slowly. “But what were you doing on the stairs, anyway?”

Sweetie turned away. “I was just curious to see Dusk Prosa again. I didn’t expect for him to suddenly notice me, though.”

“I see,” said Rarity. “But you were just… curious?”

“Well, yeah,” Sweetie said indignantly. “I did find him first, you know.”

“Technically, Steven Magnet found him first.” Rarity turned back to the cloak, changing the thread color to brown. She began patching up the holes. “I must admit, I was rather surprised that he had gotten out of the hospital after only a few days. Most ponies, after sustaining such horrendous injuries, would stay in the hospital for a week or two.”

Sweetie was silent for a moment, before asking, “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you act all flustered when he said his name?”

Rarity glanced at her sister nervously. “W-well, it’s just that… I never expected him to show up in my shop.”

“Why?”

“W-well, I—”

“Does it have to do something with him being a user?” Sweetie blurted.

Rarity gasped, dropping the needle. She faced her sister, appalled. “Where did you hear such a thing?”

Sweetie blushed furiously, cursing her outburst silently. After a bit of coaxing from Rarity, she confessed that she and the CMC had heard the conversation in the Golden Oak Library. Rarity, after a bit of reprimanding her sister, sighed and turned back to her work. “I suppose I can’t blame you fillies for listening in,” she said. “You would, of course, be curious; especially from the vague answers that Doctor Irons and Twilight gave.” Soon she had finished the cloak, and placed it to the side.

Sweetie shook her head. “I don’t understand, though; what’s a user and why’s it wrong?”

“Well, you see, Sweetie Belle—”

She was interrupted by the sound of knocking on the door. She turned away from her younger sister. “Come in; it’s open!” she called.

The knob turned, and the door was pushed open, revealing a pewter-grey stallion carrying a brown bag.

“Mr. Prosa!” Rarity greeted, trying for a smile, which he did not return. “I’ve finished your vest and cloak just in time!”

The stallion stepped forward silently, making his way over to the seamstress. His intense gaze was enough to make Sweetie Belle shiver, despite it not being trained on her. He lifted up his vest and cloak, inspecting them closely, making sure that there were no errors.

He nodded to himself, then turned to Rarity. “I’m impressed by your work, Miss Rarity,” he said. “I’ve not seen craftsmanship of such high level.”

While he said this without so much of a smile, Sweetie Belle could hear a faint kindness and gratitude in his words. Rarity seemed a bit flustered. “W-well, thank you very much, Mr. Prosa. It was a joy working on your clothes.”

He nodded, before suddenly turning to Sweetie Belle.

The filly nearly collapsed under his gaze, the pink orbs seeming like they were staring into her soul. Seconds passed, but they felt like hours to her, and she could not help but glance at her sister for help. Rarity was at a loss as to what Dusk was doing.

“This is her, isn’t she?” he murmured. “The one I caught on the stairs…”

Sweetie gulped, but nodded in affirmation.

He bent down so that his face was at her level. The intensity of his gaze was still there, but Sweetie thought she saw something else. Something… vulnerable. She wasn’t sure how else to explain it, other than it was different than before. Gone was the coldness that he had continuously put on, replaced with a different emotion.

“What is your name?” he asked softly.

“S-S-Sweetie B-Belle,” she stammered.

He smiled, and once again she was surprised. There seemed to be genuine warmth in his smile. Rarity also seemed to notice this, as she was staring at Dusk with wide eyes. “A pleasure to meet you formally, Miss Sweetie Belle.”

“I-it’s nice to meet you, too,” she said.

He stood, still looking down at her. “… I scared you, didn’t I?” he asked softly. “When I came here first… when I looked up the stairs… I scared you…”

Unsure how to respond, Sweetie simply nodded.

He sighed, and Sweetie thought she could practically feel something similar to sadness well up in him. “I am truly sorry for scaring you, Miss Belle.” He frowned. “It was rather… mean of me, wasn’t it? Especially since you were the one who spotted me on that serpent’s back.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Huh? How’d you know that?”

His smile returned, though it seemed weaker. “I wasn’t fully unconscious. I recognized your voice.”

She nodded thoughtfully. He chuckled lightly. “I must admit, you surprised me when you suddenly darted up the steps.”

Her eyes lit up in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes; I did not expect to find a filly hiding behind one of the posts. In fact, I’m not sure I expected to find something at all.”

Sweetie giggled at that. Dusk smiled. “So, do you accept my apology?”

The white filly nodded with a small smile. “I do.”

“Thank you very much, then.” 

Prosa turned back to his cloak and vest. Grabbing them, he quickly put them on, before turning to Rarity. He dug around his satchel, before procuring a few golden bits. He gingerly placed them in Rarity’s hoof. “Your payment.”

“Oh, I can’t charge you for that—” she tried to say.

“You’re the business owner; I am the customer. Simple as that,” he interrupted.

He turned, making his way to the door. Sweetie and Rarity watched him go, the former smiling at the stallion, while the latter still looked a bit confused. Before he had reached the door, however, he glanced over his shoulder at the two.

“Miss Rarity,” he said, “no doubt that you and your friends have some… ideas regarding who I am and what it is that I am doing. I won’t try to stop you from thinking such things.” He fell silent for a moment, before continuing, “Be aware, however, that I do hear, and I do comprehend, what you say about me.”

Rarity was about to question further, but he trotted out, closing the door shut.

Sweetie looked at her sister. Whatever trepidation that Rarity had been feeling upon Dusk’s arrival had vanished, replaced with simple confusion. “What do you think of him now, Rarity?” Sweetie asked.

Rarity shook her head to clear her mind. “I guess… perhaps he is not as bad as I thought he would be.”

“But… he’s a user, right?”

“That’s what we think.”

“Does that make him a bad pony?”

Rarity sighed. “I honestly don’t know anymore, Sweetie Belle.” She turned to clean up her work.

Sweetie looked once more at the closed door, imagining Dusk Prosa in her mind. He certainly was strange. First he had seemed cold and distant; but to her, he had appeared as a warm and kind stallion. It was like he had been two different ponies; two different personalities, in the face of different situations. Those two personalities conflicted, though, clashing and fighting like mortal enemies.

She wondered how he managed having such conflicted identities. She hoped that the kind one would, in the end, win the battle.





I know I’m not the kindest of ponies. And I doubt I ever will be. But… I just couldn’t bear to not apologize to that filly for scaring her.

Dusk sighed. I also know that there is a lot of suspicion on me right now. Mostly due to these… curses. He glanced down at his bag, a frown crossing his features as he saw the faint outline of the points. Nervousness welled up within him. I wish I didn’t have this condition. The ponies’ looks of disdain don’t usually hurt me, but they can become tiresome.

Speaking of my condition, what time is it? He glanced up at the sky, seeing that the sun was now at a lower angle. Good, right on time. Once I move in, I’ll be able to get this over with.

He trudged down the road, with his cloak’s hood pulled back to air out his mane. He glanced at a few ponies passing by, wondering what they thought of him. Am I just another pony to them? Or perhaps, something more?

Dusk Prosa, the mysterious stallion from the north. Owner of at least several dozen syringes. He sighed softly. I suppose this is what I wanted. But this isn’t how I expected it to turn out.

His thoughts drifted back to his interaction with Sweetie Belle. I did something I probably should not have done. I dropped my guard. But it was necessary, wasn’t it? I had to show myself differently to ease that filly.

He frowned. But Rarity was there. She saw me drop my guard. Now she knows that I’m not the coldest stallion in town. Will this spell disaster for me, though, I wonder?

He shook his head. Better to leave that issue for another day. I’ve one more thing to do.

He walked in silence as he made his way to the north side of town. His thoughts cut out most the outside noise, and soon he found himself facing a dirt road leading to Canterlot. He glanced up, suddenly aware of how quickly he had gotten there.

Losing focus, lost in my thoughts. Gotta concentrate.

He began walking down the road, listening to the surrounding wildlife. A few birds were chirping, and several squirrels ran on by, stopping to stare at him for a second. He walked past them in silence, though he did give a few some passing glances. He felt a twinge of pain as a few of the animals ran away, fearful of his intense stare, but fought the feeling aside. He had chosen to look that way for a reason; and he wasn’t about to abandon that lesson.

Soon, he had reached where he needed to be. Despite the Mayor’s warnings, Dusk was still caught by surprise by what he saw.

The house was a faded brown, with dust and grime settling on the outside boards. The windows were dusty and covered by thick blinds, masking the inside of the building. The porch was also a faded brown, with broken steps leading up the door. The porch ceiling hung precariously, supported by four wooden support beams that looked as if they might collapse at any minute. The door was a simple screen door with a wooden back; it was perhaps the only item in good condition.

Dusk glanced up, seeing that the roof had miraculously no holes in it. He could see a small, brick chimney rising out of the left side of the roof. The light-grey shingles looked sturdy enough, and he noticed a gutter running along the edges, trailing down to the ground. Based on the height of the building, he surmised that it was perhaps two stories tall, with an attic at the top.

Bigger than I expected. Oh well.

He stepped forward onto the patio, careful to avoid any weak boards. He carefully opened the screen and wooden doors, stepping inside and glancing around.

Surprisingly, the inside was in much better repair than the outside. Cherry wood floors covered the ground, with a star-patterned rug being the entrance carpet. In front of him was a hallway leading into the kitchen. The walls were a faded white, running up the ceiling. Next to the hall were a set of stairs leading up to the second level.

He took another step forward, placing a hoof on a mahogany table with a small lamp. Dust instantly covered the bottom of his hoof. Intrigued, he pulled the chain, and the lamp lit up.

Impressive. This place still runs electricity.

He walked into the kitchen, the white marble tiles clacking under his hooves. A large kitchen table was in the center, with eight chairs on its sides, circling it. It had a granite counter that was also dusty, but he figured he could clean it later. A large chandelier stuck to the ceiling, and with a pull of the chain, he confirmed it to still be working.

To the front of the kitchen were a sink and an oven. They were rather simple; but he didn’t mind. The sink was a marble counter on top of a wooden cabinet, the pipe running down the insides. The oven was a dark-steel color, with a few knobs to adjust the heat. He noticed that these were not as dusty as the other furniture, their surfaces rather shiny in comparison with everything else. At the end of the sink was a large, white freezer and refrigerator, still managing to function.

Stepping away from the counter, he made his way to the dining area, which was to the left of the kitchen. Cherry wood returned as the floor, with the faded white walls also making a reappearance. The table stood sturdily on four legs, with six chairs on its sides. Another chandelier hung overhead; he quickly checked to make sure it worked, making a satisfied smirk when he confirmed it. Turning his head, he saw that another archway led to another room. After one final glance around the dining room, he walked into the new area.

This, he assumed, was living room area, judging by the three, olive green sofas that complemented the dark, wooden floor. The sofas faced a stony structure that Dusk decided to inspect. He knelt down, seeing that charcoal sat in the mouth of the structure. He saw that the column ran upwards and out of the house itself.

So this is the fireplace and chimney. He found himself grinning. Nice.

After a few more walks around the first floor, he decided to make his way upstairs. Returning to the entrance, he carefully stepped up the steps, the wood creaking under his weight.

The upstairs floor was apparently devoid of any light fixtures, so he had to carefully make his way to each room. There were three: the bathroom, a bedroom, and a storage room, the latter of which led to the attic. He walked over to the bedroom and peered inside.

The room was extremely dusty, and he let out a few coughs while waving his hoof. To the side was a simple, alder-wood desk with a similar wooden chair. There were a few small cabinets to hold some trinkets at the ends. At the other side of the room was a royal blue bed, neatly made and the covers tucked behind the pillows. Next to that was a small nightstand with a lamp on top. To the other side of the bed was a large, walnut bookshelf that was filled with several books. Dust covered the spines, masking their titles. 

In front of him were a set of windows that let him see past the eastern side of the road. He peered out the window, seeing the north edge of the Everfree in the distance. At that length, the forest seemed peaceful, even serene, and he could not help but smile at the irony. Distance somehow made relative how dangerous a place could be. The closer you were, the more dangerous.

Perhaps it is the same with ponies. Perhaps it is the same with me.

He walked over to the bed, removing his cloak and draping it at the end. He placed his satchel next to him with a sigh, glancing around. Despite the rather decent state of the inside, he knew he could only ignore the outside for so long.

It’ll take time for my address to be established, as well as getting comfortable with my new surroundings. Perhaps I can work on this house in the meantime?

He placed a hoof on his satchel, toying with one of the zippers, before opening a side compartment. He procured a set of books, and walked over to the bookshelves, placing them on the rack. He waved away some of the dust from the books, revealing their titles. As he replaced and organized, he mentally went over the titles of the books.

History of Equestria… Pro Quibus Supponit… The Equestria Heritage Dictionary… His hoof raced across the spines as he saw each title, before stopping at the three books he had placed. Jaded Storm, A Game of Flames, and X25. He smirked as he looked at the name of the author of the trio. Opacare Prose.

You may be dead, old friend, but you live on in your books. I’m surprised that your fame managed to reach this far into Equestria. Prosa looked down. Still, though, there is a hint of regret from what I had to do. But I still think it was necessary.

He walked back over to the bed, plopping himself down next to the bag. He suddenly remembered the second task he needed to perform, and mentally prepared himself for what he was about to do next. He turned and opened the top of the bag, revealing the prickly points of the syringes. He gulped, apprehension rising in his throat, and he struggled to calm his heart.

He gingerly picked up one of the syringes, his hoof shaking in near panic. He brought the point to his left foreleg and closed his eyes. He could practically hear his heart hammering in his chest as the point grew closer to his body.

Every second I waste means a life is in peril. I have to get this over with, and quickly.

With a grunt, he stuck the point into his foreleg, and pulled the pump back. Red liquid slowly filled the tube, and he waited a few seconds for it to fill completely. Once it was done, he quickly removed the syringe with a gasp. He noticed that sweat was dripping down the sides of his face, and he wiped the drops away.

One… down… several dozen more to go. He stepped up from the bed, holding the syringe in front of him. He carefully made his way down the steps and into the kitchen. He opened the freezer door and placed the syringe inside one of the empty ice racks. He then closed the door with a fast exhale.

Dusk then returned upstairs. He opened the other compartments of his bag, revealing several strange items. He first grabbed a black inkwell that appeared empty, and then a blue quill. He placed them on the desk side by side, in a certain position, as if he had done the action numerous times. He then grabbed a roll of papers and placed them on the desk in the center, next to the quill and inkwell.

Finally, he took out a small, framed photo, gently placing it on the desk. Within the photo frame were two earth ponies. On the left was a light-grey stallion with a navy mane, and on the left was a gunmetal mare with a baby-blue mane. They smiled at him, though they were empty expressions. His heart longed to feel their smiles first hooved. But he knew he never would. Nonetheless, he tried to ignore the depressing emotions, in favor of his recent positivity.

The plan is coming together. All I have to do is stay out of the spotlight, and I’ll be fine.

He looked around, satisfied with what he had done so far. But my work is far from over. He glanced out the window, seeing that it was still late in the afternoon. Good. There’s still some time. I think I’ll go out and grab a few supplies for the house.

He grabbed his satchel, carefully closing the top and making sure that his bits were still all there. He nodded to himself, before slinging it over his shoulder and making his way downstairs. He reached the door and opened it, walking outside.

Though the house was still in disarray, there was no doubt about it; Ponyville had just gotten a little larger. Its newest, and most mysterious resident had just moved in.
	
> IX: Conflicting Views
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Boss looked out his window once more, peering down at the streets below. He reflected on how long it had taken his family to buy the city streets. All that money and body thrown around, in an attempt to own this glorious city; was it worth it?

It most definitely was! For, in the time that his family had ruled, the city of Manehattan had been prosperous. Poverty was now at an all time low under his rule; and crime was miniscule at best. So what if a large portion of the city’s profits went into his bank accounts? It was their debt to him; necessary and proper.

He smirked. Most of the city’s underground had gotten it through their heads that he and his family was in charge. Gone were the antiquated ways of ruling from the shadows; now, he could conduct legal business in the open, and get away with the illegal at the same time. His family was the first to do so, the first “modern Mafia,” and that was a title that he held most dear.

However, just because his family had all the power, didn’t mean that there were ponies who wished to change things. He frowned as he remembered a particular pony. His features were just as mysterious as his past, and they had always seemed to change in varying lights. Yet his name; his name was now a house-spoken name, so common and popular.

Opacare Prose. You tried to escape your past, but mark my word; I will have you back.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of knocking at his door. He glanced behind, before calling, “Come in.”

Swol entered, looking exceptionally tired. “Boss, we’ve got a problem.”

“Indeed?” Boss responded, back still turned. “Do tell.”

“A lot of the boys are starting to wonder about this search for Opacare Prose. Say that he’s not worth all the resources we’re expending.”

Boss said nothing for a moment, but his figure suddenly stiffened. He nodded to himself. “Ah, I see.”

He turned, and brushed past Swol. The tan stallion could feel Boss’s anger rise around him, and instinctively flinched away. When the boss stallion got angry, there would be bodies left over. Nonetheless, he followed him from a safe distance.

Outside of the door was a large office complex, with desks lining up down the center. The cubicles were filled with various ponies of various shapes and colors, all busy at work. Several were filling out paperwork, presumably for shipping in illegal materials from Caballusia. Others were working at accounting, checking to make sure that their finances were in good hooves. The entire complex ran like a well-oiled machine, efficiently completing each task and moving onto the next. Hooves tapping were the clockwork machinery within, and the ding of typewriters was the inner alarm.

Boss’s voice, however, was the sign of the machine not working correctly.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, surveying the room with a steady gaze, “it has come to my attention that some of you have been questioning my desires.”

A few of them looked up, but a few kept working. “Swol must have said something,” one of them muttered.

Boss continued, “And unless you all wish to be on the underside of my hoof by the end of the day, I suggest that those who are asking when they shouldn’t present themselves.”

A few tense seconds of silence followed, but it appeared that nopony was going to stand up. Boss let out a sigh. “Alright, fine. We’ll do this the hard way. Until somepony admits to the questioning, I’m cutting all your paychecks by forty percent.”

There was a chorus of loud protesting, but the point got across. Two unicorn stallions and an earth mare stood up, regarding Boss with sullen glares. Boss walked over, his brown coat blistering with restrained anger.

“I recognize you,” he said, glaring at the three individuals. He looked at the first stallion, who was a pale green color. “Newt Ginger.” He looked then at the second stallion, who was a darker blue. “Viper Navy.” He turned his gaze to the female. “And… Minx, was it?” 

Newt smirked. “So, you still retain some intelligence to remember our names, do you?” Boss’s eyelid twitched, but he said nothing. “Impressive, old man.”

Viper took a direct approach. “Yeah, we were the ones who were asking those questions. What of it?”

Boss began pacing back and forth, looking at each pony individually. “You were wondering why we’re investing so much energy into finding Opacare Prose.” He glanced around. “Alright; how many of you were wondering the same thing?”

A few heads shared glances, and slowly a set of hooves were slowly raised in slight shame. Most of the room, however, remained silent at this spectacle.

“Boss,” Minx said, “why don’t you tell all of us why this Prose guy is so important.”

“Prose is no ordinary guy, Minx,” he responded with a dark chuckle. “You forget, he’s a famous author, investigator, and many other things.”

The mare rolled her eyes. “Right. But why does any of that matter? All of Equestria is looking for him; we could be taking over this city even more, while it’s busy searching!”

“It would be easy,” Newt added. “We’ve already got the police in our hooves; we could get the whole governmental body to work with us.”

“And the papers are also on our side,” added Viper.

Boss nodded at their suggestions. “Perhaps you are right. It would be easy.” He turned away. “But Opacare Prose is more important.

“Despite our hold over this city, Prose was one of the few who managed to… break loose of our grip.”

Minx and the others stared at him in shock for a moment, before she shook her head. “You’ve got to be kidding. You mean he’s onto us?”

Boss chuckled ruefully. “What can I say? He’s a smart stallion. It figures that at one point he would connect the dots.”

He turned back to the trio. “The point is, he has information on us. And I don’t want that information released.”

“So why don’t we kill him?” Newt suggested.

Boss glared at him. “Your crudeness is appalling, Newt. Think about how much we could accomplish with a live Prose.”

“All I can picture is one more dog to throw into the fighting pits,” he responded carelessly.

The brown stallion suddenly lunged forward, gripping the younger stallion by the throat. His voice dripped with menace, his hoof tightening on Newt’s throat like an iron vice. Newt tried to throw off the older stallion’s hoof, but to no avail, and his face began turning blue from the lack of oxygen. Minx and Viper looked at them in shock, but did not move, curious as to why Boss was attacking one of their own.

Boss leaned forward, his mouth curved into a distasteful frown. “Don’t you dare talk of Prose like that!” he growled.

He finally released Newt, the mint stallion falling to the ground, gasping for breath. Boss turned away in disgust. “No matter how destructive Prose could become, he remains an equine of respect. And so long as I am around, we will treat him as such. Understand?”

Most of the room grunted in affirmation, while Viper and Minx looked at Boss in slight confusion.

“Opacare Prose is a rare case. We have some… history, he and I. And no matter how far he tries to run, he is still within my grasp. Once we find him, I will coerce him into resuming an active role in our organization.” He turned back to face them. “That is why he is so important. He has potential; potential to further our own ends.” He turned away, and with a nod, dismissed them.

Minx and Viper shared a look, but said nothing. They bent down and helped up Newt, who glared at Boss with sullen eyes. They returned to their work stations in silence, and soon the complex was filled with the rustling of papers and the clacking of typewriters.

Boss nodded to himself, before walking back to his office. He knew that it wasn’t just potential that made Opacare vital. He had experience; and, in the coming days, that experience would become necessary. He is important; important to everything. 

The door closed behind him with a shut, leaving a busy office behind.





In all honesty, Sweetie still found it hard to believe the events that had transpired only a few days before. Based on the conversation in the Golden Oak Library, coupled with Rarity’s apprehensive reactions, she had assumed that this Dusk Prosa pony was not a nice stallion, to say the least.

Then again, she also had to consider that her sister and her friends were talking about Prosa being a “user,” which, after coaxing Rarity, Sweetie learned was not a good thing at all. She had learned about illegal drug use at the school, but she had never imagined that she would ever confront a potential drug user in her own town.

For a potential user, though, Dusk seemed… different. Not in a bad way, but he was strange. The difference in attitude between his arrival to the Boutique and his return was huge; it seemed that he was an entirely different pony. From a cold, guarded stallion to a more warm, polite pony, it certainly seemed that Rarity’s previous misgivings were in poor taste.

So perhaps there was more to being a “user” than just using drugs. Perhaps it was the pony, not the syringes, that mattered.

And, if Dusk Prosa’s kindness in the past was a sign of anything, it was that there was more to the stallion than rumors. Perhaps, behind that satchel bag filled with syringes, behind those guarded, pink eyes, there was something much greater. Something better.

Sweetie Belle’s fellow Crusaders, however, did not share her same sentiments.

While Scootaloo was a bit more lenient, Apple Bloom retained her family’s suspicions. “Ah don’t buy the nice guy act,” she said, frowning. “Ah mean, he did snap at Twilight.”

“To be fair, Twilight did kind of steal his syringe,” Sweetie said.

“Ah suppose Ah can give him that. But that still doesn’t mean I trust him.”

“Me neither,” Scootaloo piped up. “I mean, it just seems so odd. He kind of did brush off everypony, at least that’s what I heard.”

Sweetie nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I guess it kind of is. Still, though, don’t you think we should give him the benefit of the doubt?”

Bloom and Scootaloo shared a look. “Ah’m still not sure about that,” the tan filly responded nervously. “Applejack did say that we should stay away from him.”

“Because he’s a user?” When Apple Bloom nodded, Sweetie continued, “But we don’t know that for sure.”

“What else could he be using those syringes for?” Scootaloo asked, still remembering how Rainbow had confronted her on staying away from Dusk.

“Maybe something sciency,” Sweetie suggested. “Maybe it has to do with medicine?”

“The only medicinal syringes Ah know are shots,” Apple Bloom responded. “And nopony needs to hold dozens of them with him at a time.”

Sweetie couldn’t argue with that reasoning. It made sense; why would anypony need so many syringes? She still doubted that Dusk was indeed a user, but the evidence at hoof seemed to suggest otherwise. She sighed. “I can’t argue with that. But I still think that we should give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Apple Bloom looked at her, unsure. “But Applejack said—”

“Applejack could be wrong.” She looked at Scootaloo. “So could Rainbow. So could Twilight, and the town…” She pointed at herself. “I could be wrong, too. But, we don’t know anything for certain, so we shouldn’t jump to conclusions early.”

They fell silent at that, realizing that Sweetie was right. They were going off of only what their elder peers said; and, in times past, their elder peers weren’t always right. The issue with Zecora’s arrival came to mind for all three, and they reflected on how only Apple Bloom had truly known that Zecora meant no harm.

Perhaps, then, the same could be said for Prosa. Mysterious, intelligent, and hidden, he may seem like a bad stallion to the majority of town; but, perhaps underneath that cold exterior, lay something different. Something unique.

Scootaloo spoke up. “What do we do, then? We’re technically not allowed to be anywhere near that stallion.”

Sweetie smirked slightly. “Has that stopped us before?”

Admittedly, it hadn’t, and the Crusaders knew that, despite the many warnings of their peers, they still found it in themselves to go on a misadventure. 

“But we don’t even know where he lives,” said Scootaloo. Apple Bloom nodded in agreement.

To that, Sweetie’s smirk grew. “I think I do.” She whispered the location in her friends’ ears, and they gave her a shocked look, surprised that she had figured that out.

After a moment of rumination, they eventually decided to see Prosa the day before the party, to better get to know him. While the others were apprehensive still, Sweetie looked forward to seeing that mysterious stallion again with a smile.





Twilight and her friends met at Sugarcube Corner to talk about the latest developments. Pinkie quickly brought over several milkshakes for them to feast on, before settling herself down with a bright, excited smile.

“I can’t believe this!” Rainbow exclaimed, her voice loud with rage. “That guy’s actually moved into Ponyville!”

Applejack nodded. “Ah agree. It’s just too darn weird for me to believe.”

“Well, he’s here now,” Fluttershy said quietly. “Maybe we should let him be?”

“Let him be?!” the cyan pegasus yelled, glaring at her pegasus friend in indignation. “Fluttershy, are you crazy? He’s a user!”

Surprisingly, Fluttershy did not back down. “We don’t know that for sure, Rainbow. All we know is that he has syringes in his bag!”

“But that’s all the proof we need!”

Applejack shook her head. “Whether or not he’s a user, we still should be wary of him. Have you heard what he’s like?” She glanced at Twilight. “How he acted?”

Fluttershy did not say anything to that, looking down at her hooves. Twilight said nothing either, looking out the window towards the north side of town.

“He’s cold,” Applejack continued. “And rude. And awfully full of himself. Ah don’t like him.”

“Me neither!” Rainbow added, crossing her hooves with a huff.

Rarity, meanwhile, looked slightly perturbed. Noticing this, Fluttershy asked, “What’s wrong, Rarity?”

She looked up. “It’s just… well… I’m not sure Dusk Prosa is all he appears to be.”

“What do you mean by that?” Rainbow asked. The other girls had not heard of what had happened at the Boutique.

“His behavior when he first entered my Boutique, compared to his behavior when he returned…” Her voice trailed off as she thought long and hard. “It doesn’t add up.”

“How so?” Applejack asked.

“I’m not sure ‘cold’ is the best way to describe him,” she said with a frown. “I’d say he’s more aloof than anything. When he came to me, asking me to mend his clothing, he was distant, secretive. But when he returned for the clothes, he was kinder.” Her brow furrowed. “Perhaps it was because he wanted to apologize to my sister.”

“Ooh! I remember that!” Pinkie said. “He was awfully surprised when she suddenly darted up the stairs, wasn’t he?”

Rarity nodded. “There’s more, though. He’s… well… he’s well aware of what we’re saying about him.”

Rainbow snorted. “So? Isn’t that what we wanted? For him to know that he’s not wanted here?”

“Rainbow Dash!” Rarity scolded. “You cannot honestly say that he deserves all the pain we’re giving him!”

“Sure I can!”

Before the two could argue further, Fluttershy shouted, “Girls!”

The others turned to her in shock, as her voice was loud enough to be heard by the whole bakery. She blushed in embarrassment, but nonetheless continued, “We shouldn’t be talking about Prosa like this! What if he’s hurting because of all we’ve said? What if he’s sad that ponies think he’s a user, just because he has syringes?” She looked at each one of them. “Would you want the whole town discussing you in a negative light, when they don’t know anything about you?”

There were several moments of silence as the others took the butterscotch pony’s words in. Certainly, they would not like being painted in a bad light. All their dreams would be for nil, dashed away for a juicy rumor.

And rumors were all they had, after all. Dusk Prosa was mysterious; too mysterious, in fact, that little information could be gained about him. All they had to go off of was the idea that syringes meant bad news. Yet, if they could not show evidence to the claim, what could they possibly say about the stallion? For all they knew, he could be the nicest stallion in town. Perhaps his sense of what was nice was different; perhaps he had different views, different perspectives and ideas.

Twilight suddenly remembered Prosa’s words to her. “Accusations submitted without evidence can be dismissed without evidence.”

Rumors are not evidence, she realized. Rumors are intangible, without substance. They cannot be solely relied on for concrete proof. And these rumors were born out of the conception that anypony with syringes did not have good intentions with them. As of late, that idea has held strong, as it has not been refuted nor argued against.

Yet, with Dusk Prosa here, and with Rarity’s account, I’m beginning to wonder if we’ve misjudged the stallion. We know nothing about him after all. Guarded, cold, and intelligent are the best ways to describe him; yet that does little to help us. How can we hope to better know him, if we don’t trust him?

And how do we go about trusting one who refuses to be trusted? Who refuses the simplest of gestures, in favor for the cold exterior that he exerts? How do we know that there is more underneath that shield?

“We don’t know,” she realized, the others looking at her in surprise. “We don’t know anything about Prosa. Nothing concrete nor substantial.” She looked around at them, her voice growing stronger. “That means that we can choose to try and be kind to him, and fail, or do nothing and fail either way.” Though failure was one of her biggest fears, Twilight realized that it was a necessity. Only those who did nothing were the true failures; those who failed and learned were the ones who grew.

Rarity nodded. “I agree. We cannot sit back and let simple gossip about this stallion ruin our perception of him. We must simply try to better understand him.”

“And if he doesn’t let us?” Applejack asked with a raised eyebrow. “If he turns us away?”

Twilight looked at her with fierce resolve. “Then we’ll know we tried anyway.”

Applejack and Rainbow shared a look. They still had their misgivings about Dusk, but… if Twilight thought they should still try to be hospitable towards him, then try they would. 

“Alright,” Rainbow said, turning back to the lavender unicorn, “but if he turns out worse than we expected, I’m calling dibs on driving him out of town.”

“Silly Dashie!” Pinkie spoke up, still beaming obliviously. “You can’t drive ponies! They’re not cars!” Before Rainbow could put in another word, Pinkie continued, “Besides! I’m sure that the party I’m throwing at the end of the week will show that he really is a nice stallion!”

Twilight giggled. “Oh, right, the party. I nearly forgot about that!”

Pinkie nodded ecstatically. “Yup! The best part, I don’t think he knows the party’s for him! Ooh, I just know he’s going to be so surprised!”

While the others shared a laugh, Rarity looked slightly away. Somehow, she had a feeling that Pinkie’s exuberance would not hold out well against Dusk’s more refined manners. If the way he had referred to Pinkie was any inclination, it was that he was not particularly fond of her.

Then again, she mused, he probably isn’t too fond of anypony.

Strangely enough, that brought a smile to her face. She couldn’t explain the reason, just that it felt right.
	
> X: The Calm Before The Storm
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The house, after a few days of working, was now in much better condition. Prosa had managed to rig a hose up to one of Ponyville’s hydrants, letting him wash away most of the dirt and grime that covered the wooden exterior. The grime that had remained had to be removed by brush, which he had done the day before.

He had spent most of his bits on paint and wood alone. He had fixed up the porch ceiling, putting in new, stronger wooden posts to support the roof. Any weak boards on the porch itself had been removed quickly, replaced with stronger wood made from mahogany trees. The paint had been set to the side while he waited for the house to dry.

Inside, the structure had been polished completely. Dust had rose in ample amounts, but Dusk had been quick to open a window and shoo it out. Now the furniture was shiny and clean, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction in his work. The windows’ blinds had been dusted off, the glass repaired, but he still kept the barriers in place so as to reject anypony wishing to take a closer look inside. The door had also been repaired, the knob polished to golden perfection.

The stallion now sat at his desk, the blue quill in his hoof and two white scrolls before him. The room’s lamps had been turned off, but he could still see around. His flank vibrated, but he ignored it, knowing that nopony was watching as he wrote. The quill dabbled in the inkwell once more, and as he set the tip down to the point, a faint glow emanated around the darkened room.

The first scroll had been sent a few hours before, arriving at his window by a messenger bird, as arranged. It was asking a simple question: how everything was, if he needed anything, and so forth. He had placed the scroll on his desk, and was now penning a response back.

So far, the plan is coming together, he wrote in silence. The ponies here have their misgivings, but I’ve been able to get by without much incident. I can only hope that I last long enough for all of this to blow over.

He mused for a second on how much he should say. Time was of the essence, and he knew that writing too much would be exceptionally dangerous. Writing too little, however, could also mean disaster for the entire operation.

I’ve managed to compensate for the days I was unable to perform my operation, he continued writing, frowning as he recalled the feeling of the needles against his arm. So far, blood has been stable. I should be able to send them out soon.

Deciding that was enough, he rolled up the scroll and walked over to the window, opening it. A quick whistle, and a bird flew by, glancing at him. He gave it a few encouraging whispers, before presenting it the scroll. It nodded, taking the object into its beak and turning, flying away quickly.

He sighed. This, though rather mundane, was to be his life now; he had better get used to it. A bit of him still hungered for the excitement of his past, but he was quick to shoot it down with feelings of shame and guilt. I made a promise not to fall into that life again.

Turning, he walked out of the room and down the stairs, the floorboards creaking quietly under his weight. He made his way to the front door, opening it and stepping outside. The late morning sun shone brightly in his face, and he squinted under the harsh light. He stepped off of the porch and walked over to where the paint cans were.

There were five cans in total. He had spent a majority of his bits on the paint alone; getting the right greyish-brown had been quite difficult. Luckily, he had managed to acquire the right amount of taupe from a paint shop in Ponyville. He eyed the house with a bit of apprehension, seeing how long it would take to repaint. He glanced back at the paint cans, the metal handles at the side and glistening in the sun. He sighed, knowing that the task at hand would be tedious and tiresome.

He picked one of the brushes that lay next to the cans, and bent down, intending to flip open the first can.

“Hiya, Mr. Prosa!” a squeaky voice shouted, surprising him.

He nearly yelped, and he accidentally grit the brush even harder in his mouth, hurting his bottom jaw. He dropped the brush and whirled around, eyes flashing fire in annoyance—but let out a sigh when he saw who it was.

“… Miss Sweetie Belle,” he addressed, trying to stay somewhat calm. Looking at her, he saw that there were two other fillies—one, an orange, pegasus pony, the other a tan, earth pony with a pink bowtie—who were trailing behind her at a slight distance. The two regarded him with slightly nervous stares, while Sweetie simply smiled at him. “Your friends, I presume?” he added, pointing a hoof out at the others.

The young filly turned, seeing her friends still a bit of a distance from the stallion. “Come on, girls! Mr. Prosa won’t bite!”

He couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the filly’s enthusiasm, flashing his teeth and only further intimidating the other two. Seeing this, he dropped the smile, regarding them with an indifferent glare.

The orange filly, after a moment of hesitation, took a tentative step forward. As she looked up, Prosa could see that she wasn’t that afraid of him. Her eyes had a spark of curiosity in them, which drowned out any fear she might have had.

She tried for a smile. “Hi! I’m Scootaloo!” she greeted, holding out an orange hoof.

He glanced at it for a second, before leaning down and taking it with his own pewter hoof, giving it a gentle shake. “Charmed, Miss Scootaloo” he said simply.

He looked at the tan filly, who had averted his gaze. He blinked, realizing that she was probably a bit fearful under his intense gaze. He looked away from her, but keeping her within eyesight. “And you are?” he asked.

“Uh… Apple Bloom,” she muttered.

His lips did not so much twitch at the awkward response, but inwardly, he saw an opportunity to ease the tension. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss ‘Uh Apple Bloom.’”

The elicited a few giggles from the trio, and he nearly let out a satisfied sigh. “You don’t have to call us anythin’ fancy,” Bloom said.

“And together, we’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders!” they chorused. “On a quest for our Cutie Marks!”

Slightly caught off guard by their cry, he let out a slow breath. He turned back to Sweetie Belle, who had not lost her smile through this all. “How exactly did you find me?”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t too hard. The way you were talking to Rarity and Pinkie; it sounded like you wanted to be alone. So I thought, you’d be somewhere more secluded.” She placed a hoof on her chin. “But I didn’t think you’d like the houses near the Everfree, because of… well… the wolves.” She looked up, and he nodded slightly, before continuing, “So, I thought that you’d like the house at the edge of town, on the road to Canterlot!”

He narrowed his eyes. “And how exactly did you know about the house?”

She smiled sheepishly. “I tried to get my Cutie Mark in real estate by helping Mayor Mare out. That house came up a few times.”

He nodded again, before falling into an intense silence. He regarded the strange fillies with a darkened stare, almost as if he was examining them closely. Despite Sweetie’s enthusiasm, even she felt a bit small under his gaze.

“You’re smart, that’s certain,” he commented, regarding Sweetie with a softer gaze. His voice, however, seemed to grow more irritated. “But, did it occur to you that perhaps I wanted to be alone for a reason?”

The fillies shared a look that suggested otherwise. He turned away, facing the house. “I wasn’t expecting guests anytime soon…” he murmured.

When he said no more, Sweetie looked down, a bit dejected. She had hoped that Prosa would have at least had the decency to tell them that they weren’t wanted—

Her thoughts were cut off by the stallion suddenly sighing. “Well,” he said, turning and facing them, a small smile on his face (that this time did not scare the others), “you’re here now. Not much I can do about that.”

Seeing the white filly’s face light up when he said this made him feel something resembling an ache in his heart. He guessed that it was a feeling from a long time ago, back when life hadn’t gotten so complicated that he had to—

He mentally shook his head, diverting his mind from its current thought course.

“I could probably use some extra help,” he added. The fillies looked up at him questioningly. He pointed at the paint cans. “I doubt I could paint the house quickly on my own. But, if you’d like…” His voice trailed off, though his unspoken question was still heard.

“Sure thing, Mr. Prosa!” Sweetie chirped cheerfully. “We could get our Cutie Marks in house painting!” She grabbed the other two fillies and dragged them over to the cans, ignoring their surprised protests. They flipped open the cans and, after grabbing some of the brushes, began recoating the house with taupe paint.

Dusk soon joined them, and what they lacked in size, they made up with energy. For every cubic foot in height he covered, they did at least twice as much in length.

The image, however, brought up a painful memory. One that he had fought away for a while. He winced as if in pain, as the image of a young colt being forced to work in a polluted factory raced across his mind.

“Mr. Prosa?” a voice called, bringing him out of his thoughts.

He turned, seeing Scootaloo standing in front of him with a slight frown. “What is it?” he asked.

She pointed at the upper section of the house. “How are we supposed to paint that section? None of us can reach it!” She glanced at him, adding, “Er, no offense to your size.”

He nodded. “None taken,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. He thought about taking the fillies up on top of the porch roof, but decided against it; the wood still needed replacing, and he figured that they might end up breaking it with their weight.

After a moment, he said, “I have an idea.” He faced Scootaloo, placing the brush against his ear, securing it. “Grab a paint can and hop on my back.”

She gave him a questioning look, but did so, placing the brush behind her ear and putting the can on his back. He began backing up, nearly moving all the way down to the road.

“Mr. Prosa?” Scootaloo asked, but he ignored her, focusing on the house.

“Hold on tight,” he said. Before she could respond, he accelerated into a full gallop. She squeaked but held on tightly, hooves clasped strongly around his mane. Just as they were nearing the house, he jumped up.

His hooves hit the wall solidly, but did not break through. He grasped at the space between the planks, managing to hold on tightly. Scootaloo gasped as she saw the position they were now in. They hung onto the side of the house, with Prosa keeping his belly flat against the side, ignoring the paint that smeared his midsection. The can nearly fell, but he caught it with his fluffy tail.

The others looked at them in shock. “Couldn’t ya have just used a ladder?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Don’t have one,” Prosa grunted. The faint ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Besides, that would have taken the fun out of everything.”

Scootaloo giggled at the statement, slightly making the stallion wobble. “Careful!” she warned. “I don’t want to fall!”

“You girls finish the bottom section,” Dusk ordered Sweetie and Apple Bloom. “Scootaloo and I will handle the top.” The two nodded, leaving the hanging ponies alone for the moment.

Scootaloo began coating the upper half, with Prosa doing a little with the brush in his mouth. He moved across the wall so as to help Scootaloo paint, getting more taupe into his fur coat. He didn’t mind it, though; the mess made would all be worth it, should the house end up looking decent again. Due to the positioning of the boards, however, he couldn’t move vertically; something that Scootaloo was quick to notice.

“What about the topmost part?” Scootaloo asked, pointing to the section right above them.

“Got a plan for that, too,” he grunted. He motioned for her to hold on tightly.

He took a deep breath. It had been a while since he had to perform this particular trick. Then again, it had been a while since he had to scale any large buildings without a rope.

He suddenly arched his back and flung his body upside down, making the orange filly squeak in surprise. His legs landed on top of the roof, while his head pointed down. Scootaloo hung onto his back tightly. The paint can was tossed over, landing on the roof.

He was just about to suggest Scootaloo to use her wings to balance herself, when he realized something. He frowned.

“You can’t fly, can you?” he suddenly murmured.

Her eyes widened. “How’d you know that?”

“You’re not painting while hovering.” Seeing her dejected look, he added, “That’s not a bad thing, you know.”

“Yes, it is,” she said. “I’m the only pegasus who can’t fly.”

Despite the uncomfortable position, he strived to glance at her. “I can’t fly either. Yet here I am, clinging to the side of the house.”

“Only because you jumped—”

“No, it was because I wanted to overcome a physical limitation.” He briefly sighed. “I can’t imagine what it means to not be able to fly when you should; but let me tell you this. No matter how hard it is, you will find a way.”

“Really?” 

“Maybe one day, someday; maybe not, perhaps never. It is important, however, that you still try. Understand?”

She stared at him for a few seconds, before nodding. “Good,” he said. “Now, how about you start coating the walls once more?”

“But how?”

In answer, he suddenly plucked her from his body, digging his hind hooves into the roof so as to root himself in position. “Ever try painting upside down?” he said, making her giggle slightly.

So it went about that they covered the topmost section of the house in rich taupe paint. Sure, there were more conventional ways of painting, but it was as Dusk said: Where would the fun be in that? After some time, they had completely covered the house in paint, restoring it to a more colorful glory.

Dusk slowly lowered Scootaloo back to the ground, then did the same with the paint bucket, before lowering himself off of the roof with a thud. The fillies couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance; his slate-grey mane had more than a few splotches of brown left in it, the blue streaks quickly darkening.

He glared at them, making them stop laughing. “You don’t look as great either,” he said. They looked down at themselves, realizing that they, too, were dirty. 

Scootaloo looked at her flank expectantly, but let out a sigh when she saw that no Mark had formed. The other Crusaders let out similar disappointed sighs.

Dusk sighed. “Bathroom’s inside, second floor, door to the left. Get yourselves cleaned up.”

“Then what?” asked Sweetie Belle.

He glanced at the sun, seeing that it was settling into its afternoon phase. “Lunch,” he said simply. And I’ll have to perform my operation again soon.

They entered inside, the CMC and Prosa traveling upstairs. While the fillies walked into the bathroom, Prosa entered his bedroom and shut the door. 

The fillies didn’t hear him suck in a curse as the all-too-familiar feeling of a syringe sticking into his hoof raced across his mind.





“I have to admit,” Scootaloo said while they waited for Prosa to come out of his room. “Mr. Prosa is… well… kinda cool!”

Apple Bloom nodded. “Yeah, Ah guess he kinda is.”

“See?” Sweetie said, smiling. “He’s not so bad!”

“Maybe,” Apple Bloom responded, “but Ah still think we should be careful with him.”

While the two talked, Sweetie took a look around. They sat in the kitchen area, around the kitchen table, patiently waiting for Mr. Prosa. The counters had been cleaned and cleared of any messes, though somehow Sweetie doubted that Prosa even made a huge mess. The stallion had still not returned from his room, and while Sweetie had considered looking for him, she now considered the idea quite foolish. She was, after all, currently on Mr. Prosa’s supposed “good” side; she didn’t want to jeopardize that privilege.

However, despite her restraint, soon her patience began to wane. That and, her stomach was beginning to complain. She glanced down at her belly, then back at the hall, up the stairs, before letting out a sigh. I wonder what’s taking him so long?

While the girls were happily discussing the stallion in question, Sweetie’s boredom could no longer be maintained. She politely excused herself from the table, though the others did not notice. She quietly trotted over to the bright white freezer that stood in the front of the kitchen. Maybe I can find something to eat in here?

She placed a hoof against the door’s handle, struggling to pull it open. “Uff!” she grunted, straining to pull it open.

Scootaloo and Apple Bloom finally noticed their friend’s situation. “Here, let us help,” offered Bloom, she and Scootaloo coming over. Sweetie nodded her thanks. Together, they pulled hard on the handle, straining to open the sturdy door.

They underestimated how much force they were together applying, so when the door suddenly swung open, they were thrown back against the marble table.

Their groans quickly turned into shocked gasps as they observed what lay inside the frozen storage.

The center and top sections were filled with syringe racks, each one filled to the top with a red liquid. A few puffs of smoke billowed around the syringes, coating them with a light shade of white frost. The points had been retracted, the levers pulled up and still. Each of the syringes had a tag attached to them. A closer look revealed each one read a set of symbols.

She could not recognize the writing, but she thought it looked like something that Ms. Cheerilee had been teaching several older students. Cursive, she had called it. The fancy way the lines dipped and bent were fascinating enough, but she was more curious as to what they indicated. She could just make out several recognizable symbols between the illustrious lines.

A zero… a vertical line... and a degree symbol? Sweetie thought, confused.

“S-Sweetie Belle?” Apple Bloom stammered. “W-what is this?”

“I-I don’t know,” said the white filly, eyes wide in shock.

“Th-that’s blood,” said Scootaloo, surprisingly quiet. “W-why is blood in th-there?”

“Wh-whose blood is it?” Bloom asked back.

The fillies quivered at this newfound revelation, unsure what to make of it. The sight of the blood-filled syringes made their own blood cool; it seemed so out of place, even with a stallion as strange as Dusk Prosa.

Is this what he’s been doing with the syringes? Sweetie wondered. The answer seemed obvious; yet she felt unsure. Something prevented her from truly believing that Prosa really was using the syringes to store blood. His blood? No… that would be too weird. But maybe… 

Before she could take a step forward to examine the syringes closer, they heard the sound of hoofsteps coming down the stairs. “Quick!” hissed Scootaloo. “Close the door!”

They nodded, and quickly shut the door with a strangled gasp. Before Prosa could fully reach the bottom and turn into the hallway, they scurried back into their seats, doing their best to look innocent.

Dusk entered the kitchen a moment later, and he frowned when he saw the fillies smiling faces. “What?” he asked, confused.

Sweetie coughed. “Er, nothing. Just smiling.”

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, instead going over to the stove and turning it on. He walked over to the freezer; for a second, they thought he was going to open the door, but he walked past it, opening the refrigerator, grabbing a carton of eggs. He glanced over his shoulder. “How do you like your eggs?”

A few minutes later, they all somehow managed to sit at the table without looking awkward, their stomachs full with delicious egg and lettuce sandwiches (with just a pinch of pepper). Sweetie had to admit that Prosa was a great cook, and judging from her friends’ faces, they too had reached a similar conclusion.

Still, though, her full stomach did not fully divert her attention from the question that threatened to burst from her mouth. She so badly wanted to ask Prosa why: why there were syringes in his freezer; why they were filled with blood. Why they needed to be frozen. Why they were marked with the strange writing. Yet she couldn’t.

Why can’t I? It should be something simple; all I have to do is bring up the needles! So why can’t I?

Dusk stared at her through carnation eyes, his gaze searching and narrowed. Sweetie nearly gulped, nervousness welling up inside her. But as she stared back at him, she thought she could see a similar feeling behind his eyes. Is he…?

“You’re wondering about something,” he suddenly said, glancing around at them. “All three of you.”

“How did you know?” Scootaloo asked sheepishly.

Dusk shifted somewhat uncomfortably in his seat. “You’re all staring at me.”

“Oh…”

He sighed. “That leads me to conclude that you’re wondering something about me.” His voice seemingly quivered between words, but Sweetie thought that was just her imagination acting up. He leaned back, fixing them with a hardened stare. “So, ask away.”

They gaped at him as questions flew past their minds. Sweetie’s question kept pushing against her throat, and she nearly gave in to asking it; yet, she couldn’t. Her tongue lashed against her wishes, refusing to form the words she desired. Her breath refused to exhale, refused to vibrate the air so as to communicate. The other Crusaders looked at her in anxious silence, thinking that she would ask what was on all their minds.

Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Prosa raised an eyebrow. “Could you perhaps run that by me again—”

Her voice began working again. “Why don’t you have a Cutie Mark?” she blurted. She gasped and placed her hooves in her mouth, blushing furiously, both in embarrassment and anger. Darn it all!

Prosa blinked twice. “Why don’t I have a Mark?” he repeated.

Scootaloo and Apple Bloom temporarily glared at Sweetie, but their curiosity won over their anger. “Yeah, that’s what she—we,” Scootaloo corrected herself, forging a nervous smile, “want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders!” the orange filly answered. “We’re always searching for our Cutie Marks!” She looked at Prosa sheepishly. “And, well, it’s kinda weird that you don’t have one.”

He blinked again, before narrowing his gaze. “… Fine,” he said, looking at them with suspicious eyes. Sweetie thought she heard a hint of relief in his voice. They only just managed to retain their innocent looks. 

“I thought the story is rather self-explanatory, though.” He raised an eyebrow at them. “I don’t have a mark because I don’t want one.”

“How could you not want a Cutie Mark?” Apple Bloom asked. “It’s every kid’s dream to have one!”

He nodded. “But I’m not a kid any more, am I?” A playful smirk crossed his lips. “Oh, sure, at one point I did want a Mark. But I grew up. Things got in the way. Adult things,” he added, a bit of a dark undertone to his voice.

“But you had to have discovered your special talent sometime or another!” protested Scootaloo.

“But, as you saw, I have many talents. Scaling walls, gymnastics, cooking is even one of them, etcetera, etcetera.” He smirked. “I find that having many talents helps in the long run than just having one specific talent.”

He leaned forward. “I could have pursued one singular talent like everypony else, certainly. In fact, I did, for a while. But, when I did that time had rushed by too fast.” He frowned. “By the time I realized what I needed, everything had gone by without me.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sweetie asked.

He looked at her softly. “It’s alright to try for your special talent. But I wouldn’t constantly pursue it. That just gets in the way of more important things.”

“What could be more important that a Cutie Mark?” Scootaloo asked.

“Many things, young ones,” he responded, addressing all of them. “Spending time with your family, for example.” He chuckled darkly. “I know I regret not spending enough time with my folks. Hanging out with your friends is another fine thing to do.” His face fell, and he frowned. “I certainly regret not doing that enough.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to have a Cutie Mark, then hang out with your family?”

“Would that change anything about you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Would the pony you are then, be different than the pony you were?”

“She’d have a Mark,” Scootaloo blurted.

Dusk genuinely laughed. “Indeed she would. Still, though, little changes about you. Sure, you have your Mark, you have your talent, but, in general, that doesn’t change who you are. Who you really are.”

“Are you saying that Marks are pointless?” Sweetie asked, a bit incredulous.

“Far from it, Miss Belle,” he said. “Cutie Marks are essential to everypony. They sustain your living, give you respect, and let you demonstrate what you love doing. But there is something more important than those. Cutie Marks put things in perspective.”

He gazed at each of them, his voice somehow soothing, yet with a hint of melancholy thrown in. “You are so young. You are so free. You have a childhood to spend with each other, and perhaps adulthood as well. Though not as frequently,” he added with a shake of his head. “The point is, if you spend all your time searching for a Cutie Mark, then you’ll end up losing the ponies you’ve grown close to. What matters isn’t the Mark; it’s the journey for the Mark.

“Tell me, once you get your Mark—”

“If,” Apple Bloom automatically corrected.

“When,” he corrected back, smirking, “you get your Mark, what will you do? Would you constantly do what your Mark tell you to do?”

The three Crusaders shared a look, unsure of what to say. He nodded. “Exactly. You have the end goal, but you don’t know the way to get there. You don’t have the path in sight. Nor do you see the branches and trees and creatures that you will meet along the way.

“Certainly, the Mark will always be important. But it is the journey, the ponies you meet along the way, that matter the most.” He looked at each of them. “Childhood is short, innocence even shorter. But value them the most, as they don’t last forever. Above all else, never lose touch with the ones who are closest to you: your families and friends.”

“Of course we won’t!” Scootaloo said, grinning. “The Cutie Mark Crusaders never abandon each other!”

Apple Bloom returned the cry, but Sweetie frowned at Dusk. “Is that why you’re so cold? Because you lost touch with the folks that care?”

His attitude changed from slightly jovial to absolutely frigid in a second. He glared at Sweetie in silence, and she felt herself shrinking under his intense look. He clamped his mouth shut, grinding his teeth in anger at Sweetie’s question.

And, just as suddenly, his coldness vanished, replaced with a look of longing. His gaze went glossy, eyes looking at—and yet, not—the filly, becoming distant and faded.

“Uh, Mr. Prosa?” Scootaloo asked.

The stallion did not respond.

“Great job, Sweetie Belle,” mumbled Apple Bloom. “You broke him.”

Prosa suddenly snorted, shaking his head vigorously. “Hmm? Sorry, I was… thinking,” he said. His voice, previously vibrant as he lectured the trio, became more guarded, shrouded in an aura of mystique. He glanced out the window, seeing that it had quickly passed noon. “No doubt that your siblings and friends are wondering where you are,” he commented.

Before any of them could protest, he quickly shooed them out. “I suppose I owe you a thank you for… visiting,” he said as he pushed them out the door. “Don’t make it a habit,” he added.

“But—” Sweetie was cut off by Prosa shutting the door in her face. She sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that…”

Scootaloo and Apple Bloom looked at their friend. “How come you didn’t ask him about the blood?” the orange pegasus asked,

Sweetie shrugged and furrowed her brow. “I guess… I want to believe that they’re nothing bad.”

“Ah still think you should have asked him about them,” said Bloom.

The white unicorn sighed. “Maybe. But then he might have been driven out of town. And I don’t think he deserves that.” She looked at the others. “Do you?”

After their experience with Prosa, they admitted that they wouldn’t want to see this stallion driven away. Sure, he was quite strange, but there was an air of interest around him that constantly piqued their curiosities. “So,” Scootaloo said, “do we just keep quiet on this?”

Sweetie nodded. “We’ll just say we went out crusading again.”

The three of them walked off of the porch and onto the dirt road, heading back towards Ponyville. Sweetie cast another look at the house, seeing that the curtains had been drawn, shutting off the inside.

She whispered an apology to the wind, knowing that Prosa wouldn’t hear it.





Funny, Prosa thought as he closed the fridge door after he had placed another syringe in. I was certain that Sweetie would have asked me about these…

He sighed. Letting them into my house was a risky move. And it figures that they, as fillies, would be curious as to what lies in here. He frowned. Still, though, asking me about why I don’t have a Cutie Mark was a turn of events I couldn’t have predicted. Nearly went all Canterlot’s School of Excellence on them. Maybe some higher power was looking out for me.

He sighed, turning and heading back upstairs to his room. He opened the door and walked over to his desk, sitting in the chair. He picked up the photo frame that lay at the side, staring at it.

Sweetie’s question as to why I’m so cold… only you know the answer, he thought to the picture. The smiling faces of the ponies only made his heart grow sadder. It’s not that I lost touch with those who care about me. It’s just that they were robbed before I could give them a chance.

Mother, father… I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you.

It had been a long time since Prosa had grieved, but now he did so, in silence. His tears hit the frame, and his whole body shook; but he said nothing, allowing himself a rare moment of weakness. I’m sorry, he repeated in his mind. 

I’m sorry.
> XI: Pars Aperiendi
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Night fell upon the town of Ponyville, covering the land in a serene darkness. The moon illuminated various parts of the land below, flashing brilliantly past the tall pine trees to the eastern end. The moon rose high above the northern hills, and in its light one could see the faint outline of Canterlot in the distance. Already, the flowers of the night were blooming, covering the landscape with light blue petals. A gentle breeze blew on past, rushing through the trees’ branches, causing several nightingales to fly into the night sky.

As tranquil as the scene was, the town itself was the complete opposite. At a certain town hall, there were the sounds of ponies moving various party decor into the building. A pink pony was managing the arrangements with surprising ease.

“Get those balloons up right away!” ordered Pinkie Pie to a group of ponies. “And you!” She pointed a hoof at an alabaster unicorn and an orange earth pony. “Put up those party banners!”

“Really, Pinkie?” the orange one said, rolling her eyes. “I hardly think Prosa is worth all this trouble.”

“I think he is, Applejack!” Pinkie argued, a mad gleam in her eye. “So you had better get to work with Rarity, got it?!”

Applejack gulped down her pride and set to work, helping Rarity put up the banners.

Meanwhile, Rainbow and Fluttershy were helping put up several orbs of light. While Fluttershy was placing them delicately, Rainbow was quickly throwing them across the hall.

“Careful, Rainbow Dash!” advised Mayor Mare. “We don’t want to break any of these decorations.”

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. With all the trouble we’re going through, Dusk Prosa had better be grateful!”

“I’m sure he will be,” Fluttershy said as she put up another orb. “Who knows? He might even show a nicer side to him.”

“That’s a far-fetched idea, Fluttershy,” Rainbow responded. “There’s only one side to that guy; and I’m pretty sure ‘nice’ isn’t there!”

Pinkie saw Twilight coming over, and trotted up to her. To her side was Spike, holding a list. “How’s the other stuff going, Twilight?” Pinkie asked.

“The Cakes should be arriving with the chocolate mousse cake any second,” she responded. “I’ve also managed to get Vinyl Scratch to come and play some music.”

“Excellent!” Pinkie exclaimed, clapping her hooves.

Spike glanced around the room, seeing that mostly everything had been done. “Let’s see… hang up the banners, check; put up the balloons, check; place lights, check—”

The door to the hall swung open, revealing Big Mac carefully carrying the prized cake. Evidently, he had been practicing ever since the Friendship Express incident, as now he could easily hold up the delicacy without it wobbling. Behind him were Mr. and Mrs. Cake, still regarding him with a touch of wariness.

“Have you got it, Bic Mac?” Pinkie asked.

“Eeyup.”

“Good! Just set it over there,” she said, pointing to a nearby table. The red stallion nodded and walked over.

“Got the cake, check.” Spike looked up from his scroll. “Have we sent out invitations?”

Pinkie nodded. “Ditzy Doo’s been flying around, handing out the cards.”

“Who’s responded?”

“Everypony in town!” Pinkie squealed, hugging herself. “It’s been awhile since I last threw a huge party together. I think the last time was when Twilight first came to town! Oh, I hope Dusk likes all of this!”

“I’m… sure he’ll be surprised,” Twilight managed to say. The nagging feeling of doubt kept poking at the back of her mind, and she tried to ignore it.

Pinkie suddenly frowned. “What’s wrong?” asked Twilight, looking at her friend in concern.

“I sent an invitation to Dusk, but I don’t remember ever getting a response,” she mumbled. “Maybe he missed it?”

“Maybe you sent it to the wrong address,” suggested Spike.

Pinkie shook her head. “No, that can’t be it. I got Mayor Mare to tell me where he lives.” She shrugged. “Oh, well, he’s probably coming. Maybe he didn’t feel the need to send a response.”

“What, like a surprise appearance?” Spike asked with a roll of his eyes.

Pinkie’s attitude brightened. “Yes! Exactly! I knew he had it in him!” She hugged the young dragon fiercely, before bouncing off to another activity.

They both blinked at the mare’s enthusiasm. Twilight gained a small, slightly confused smile.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to have a party tonight?” Spike asked the unicorn. “I mean, not that I mind, but shouldn’t we also be focusing on searching for that Opacare Prose guy? Or have you forgotten?”

Twilight shook her head. “No, I haven’t forgotten. I was actually hoping to get a few ponies to be on the lookout while the party is going on.” She placed a hoof on her chin pensively. “If Dusk comes, maybe I can convince him to join our watchers?”

She walked over to where Applejack and Rarity where, the two of them busy putting up little globes of light. “Oh, hey, Twilight,” Rarity greeted with a smile.

Twilight nodded back, before saying, “Could I ask you two to return to lookout duty a little later on in the party? I wouldn’t want to possibly miss Prose.”

“Sure thing, Twi,” Applejack drawled, grinning.

“Yes, we’ll keep a keen eye out while we enjoy ourselves,” Rarity added.

“Thanks, girls,” Twilight said with a smile.

Meanwhile, Pinkie had walked up to Mayor Mare with a big smile. The coffee pony was busy pointing out where to place several party decor, but had a frown on her face. “What’s wrong, Mayor?” Pinkie asked.

She turned to face the party mare. “Oh, hello, Pinkie,” she said, the frown lessening slightly. “I’m just thinking.”

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“Well…” She gestured around the hall. “Could you explain to me one more time what we’re doing?”

“It’s simple! We’re throwing together a huge welcome-to-Ponyville party for Dusk Prosa!” Pinkie spread her arms wide. “It’s going to be so amazing!”

Mayor nodded. “That’s nice, Pinkie, but have you considered the pony in question?”

“What do you mean?”

Mayor scuffed her hoof on the floor thoughtfully. “I’m not sure Dusk Prosa is the ‘outgoing’ type. He made it quite clear in his choice of housing.” She glanced at the pink mare. “My point is, how do we know he’s even going to like this party?”

“Oh, he will! I’ll make sure of it!”

“Your optimism is nice, Pinkie. But maybe Prosa wouldn’t like that?”

Pinkie frowned, settling back down on four hooves. “Huh? Why wouldn’t he?”

The mayor sighed. “You’ve seen how he acts—cold, guarded, a bit blunt. He’s not the nicest pony to have graced our town. Who’s to say that he won’t react negatively to all this attention we’re giving to him?”

Pinkie glanced away, the mayor’s words finally sinking in. “I guess it is a bit of a long-shot… he was kinda mean. But!” she added, turning back and regaining her smile. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t welcome him with open hooves!”

Mayor Mare nodded, returning a small smile. “I suppose you’re right. We shouldn’t forgo our natural hospitality. We need to make sure Prosa feels right at home, here in Ponyville.”

Pinkie saluted. “I’m on it, Mayor Mare!”

She scampered off, probably to fulfill another party requirement. Mayor Mare smiled, turning back to the decorations. Perhaps this party will be enough to break that stallion’s icy exterior.

Mayor’s words, however, had done enough to disrupt Pinkie’s normally vibrant attitude. She gazed outside, in deep thought, wondering how she should deal with Prosa’s lack of an answer.

“Maybe if I… No, that wouldn’t work. What about… nah.” She continued mumbling to herself, eyes glossing over as she spoke absentmindedly.

The CMC showed up a few minutes later at the entrance, wearing bright, eager smiles. “Hiya, Pinkie!” Sweetie greeted cheerfully.

Pinkie’s eyes settled on the little unicorn, and she let out a loud gasp. A lightbulb shot of her mane; she grabbed it and tossed it to the side, breaking it. “Sweetie Belle!” she exclaimed, beaming at them. “You’re just the filly I needed!”

The trio shared confused looks. “Wait, what?” asked Sweetie.

“Nevermind that! Just listen, Sweetie Belle. I need you to do something for me…”





The stallion in question glanced out the window of his home, seeing that the night had fallen upon the town. He nearly smiled as he saw the moon shine down upon the hills. 

He did not claim to be nocturnal, but those who had known him in the past would comment that he seemed more alive in the night. Perhaps it was because it was the only time of the day in which he received the least attention. Most ponies were busy heading home for a warm dinner before relaxing into a peaceful slumber; but he always worked the hardest at nightfall. The darkness of the world had long been an ally of his, and he had been able to use it to his advantage.

Here, at night, he could let down a few of his barriers, knowing that nothing would be watching. Here he could revel in his privacy, knowing a secret only he knew, relishing the feeling of being the intelligent one in the group. Alone, he prospered; alone, he survived; alone, he lived.

Alone.

That word reverberated around his mind, throwing off his thoughtful mood. Alone? Is that what I am? No; that’s what I chose to be. He tried to reassure himself, but the feeling of doubt persisted.

Alone is the only way that they would survive. Alone is the only way I could hide.

Would it be so bad to belong?

I can never belong. Not with my past.

He glanced at the side of the desk, seeing the mess of invitations that he had gotten from Miss Pie. He had been tempted to throw them away at first glance, but he could not find it in his heart to do that. He hadn’t even opened a single letter, for reasons unknown to even him. As he peered at the papers, what Sweetie Belle had said, as well as his troubled thoughts, swirled around in his mind.

Alone.

But this is a chance to not be?

There was something about those papers that seemed… inviting. Decorated in mint green and bright pink, and adorned with hearts, he could tell that the invitations were to something bright and cheerful—a stark contrast to the atmosphere around the house. On the back of each paper read the same thing:

“To Our Friend, Mr. Prosa.”

So there had to be more ponies involved, based on the wording alone. He reasoned that this had to be some sort of large-scale event. But friend? Prosa nearly chuckled at the word. He was no one’s friend. The closest he ever got was as an ally, nothing more.

Yet, this was Miss Pie he was talking about. From what Mayor Mare had said, as well as his own experience with her, she seemed dead-set on making ponies her friend.

Even he.

He?

I? I am no friend. I have no friends.

He glanced back at the center of the desk, where another letter lay. His thoughts grew even more muddled as he reflected on the letter. If I have no friends, then who is this? An ally? No; he is something more than that. But is he a friend?

Who am I to judge what a friend is and what a friend should be? I, who has no idea what a friend even means.

His frown deepened as one final, confusing question rose to mind. Am I friend of anypony?

A daunting question, if he had ever seen one. He could not reasonably answer it. The only way he could was by asking others.

Which once again brought him back to the invitations. Sighing at the inevitable outcome, he reached out and grabbed them, slowly opening each and reading them.

“You are invited to a party!… You are invited to a party in town!… You are invited to a party in Town Hall!… You are invited to a party in Town Hall tonight!… “ Oddly enough, not one of the letters had the name of the recipient of the party indicated on any of them. He sighed as he tossed the last letter back onto the desk.

“Why a party on a night such as this?” he wondered aloud, once again looking out the window. “A chance to socialize, or a chance to remain hidden? Look out the window, O town, and behold what I behold; a sense of peace, a contrast of the pain and guilt that I have known for so long.” He looked down. Or maybe I’m afraid. Afraid of being in the open.

Lamentation was not unknown to Dusk, and it was something he constantly struggled with. Memories past, of actions he would always regret, flew by his eyes, leaving him to wonder with regret.

“Could things have been different, had I done something else?” he muttered. “Dusk Prosa!… Podex perfectus es.”

Therein lies a chance to no longer be alone… but with belonging, comes danger. I may not show it, but I do care about those in that town. He shook his head. Were I to go out, who is to say that danger would not follow? Who is to say that my past won’t catch up?

He walked back over to the bookshelf, peering at Opacare Prose’s novels. These, in the past, helped me overcome my guilt… and yet new guilt followed. He placed a hoof on one of the novels. Do you forgive me for what I’ve done, old friends? Because I haven’t. I never will.

He sighed. And that is why I don’t go out. Because I am the danger. I fear. I cannot be forgiven, so I do not allow myself the chance.

Once again, Sweetie Belle’s words came to him, speaking in a whisper.

“Is that why you’re so cold? Because you lost touch with the folks that care?”

He turned, facing the desk, looking at the items that lay upon the wooden frame. His eyes glanced at the photo frame. They, who were robbed… He shifted his gaze to the scroll. They, who I kept away for their safety… He took one final look at the blue quill and black inkwell. They, whom I killed to save… 

Consumed by some strange urge, he walked over to the desk and reached out, grasping the frame with his hoof. He looked down at it, deep in thought. Once again, the smiles that he saw were hollow, without substance… or life.

Alone. That is what I am.

Don’t go out. Don’t go out. Don’t go out. Don’t go out.

Stay.

… Knock, knock, knock.

What sounded like hooves beating on the downstairs door brought him out of his sorrowful thoughts. Uncertain if he had heard anything, he waited for another sign of clarification.

… Knock, knock, knock. He heard something muffled, perhaps a cry; but that was all the clarification he needed.

He moved away from the desk and made his way down the steps, eyes trained carefully on the door, still grasping the photo frame. He was unsure who had come at this hour; and he had no intention of being at all welcoming. 

But he sighed; it wouldn’t do to be icy this late at night.

Biting back a cranky curse, he stepped up to the door. He placed his pewter hoof upon the gold-bronze surface, and twisted, pulling the door wide.

He blinked in surprise.

Standing outside his door was a certain unicorn filly, looking up at him with emerald eyes. Her purple and pink mane fluffed out behind her slightly, her white coat covered by what appeared to be a red cape. Plastered on the back was a blue shield with a gold-yellow, small equine figure on top.

He nearly addressed her as miss, but remembered that she preferred not to be called as such. He gazed at her for one more surprised second, before forming a frown. “… Sweetie Belle?”

The young filly smiled up at him. “Hiya, Mr. Prosa!” she greeted cheerfully.

He blinked in confusion, and for once he could not figure out what to say. Any previous thought immediately left his mind, replaced by a feeling of incredulity. “Uh…”

“What are you doing still here?” she asked, looking up at him.

He didn’t respond by voice, his mouth moving but no words coming out.

“Didn’t you get the invitations to the party?”

He blinked again, remembering the cards on his desk, before answering, “Y-yes, I did.”

“So why aren’t you at the party?”

“Why do you care?” he automatically asked in a cold tone.

Immediately after he had said this, a huge weight of regret was heaved on his shoulders. Sweetie looked away, her eyes wide and filling with tears. The feeling inside was foreign, unfamiliar, untamed; and yet as raw and rich as any emotion. It pushed past his logical thought process, and instinctively knelt down to comfort the filly.

You asshole.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to snap like that.”

She wiped her eyes, looking back at the taller stallion. She managed a small smile. “I forgive you, Mr. Prosa. You probably are just having an off day.”

His mind went back the the photo frame on his desk, then the letter; and then back to Sweetie herself. “You could say that,” he murmured.

“So why not come to the party? It oughta cheer you up!”

Ignoring the slightly mangled grammar, he sighed. “I… can’t. I’m…” He turned away, looking back up the stairs. “I’m busy.”

She caught his look up the stairs, but said nothing about it. “Busy doing what?”

“Work.”

“Does it have anything to do with that?” She pointed a hoof out, and Dusk looked to his side, finally remembering that he still held the photo in his hooves.

He looked down at the picture, the familiar lamentation reentering his heart. His eyes grew distant once more, and his face fell. He was unaware of Sweetie silently noticing the look.

He was unable to answer with words, so he resolved with a slow, steady nod. What else could he do; lie? To do so would be to desecrate their memory, tarnish their reputation. Something he could never do.

“Who are they?” Sweetie asked.

“My parents,” he answered, his voice becoming somewhat strained.

“They look pretty nice,” the filly commented brightly.

He nodded solemnly. “They were.”

Her smile morphed into a concerned frown. “Huh?”

He did not respond, turning and re-entering his home. Sweetie, after a moment’s hesitation, followed after him.

He clutched the photo in his hoof tightly, still looking down at it. Somehow, Sweetie’s distant presence made the image have a bigger impact on him. Bitterness cloaked his heart in a grey veil, clutching it in a dark vice. The tension built, and soon tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. He quickly blinked them away, hoping that Sweetie hadn’t seen them.

But she had, and she had already concluded what was wrong. “Mr. Prosa?” she asked, stepping up to him. “Are you okay?”

A strange thing occurred. Sweetie’s close proximity somehow lessened the pain, reducing the strain back to a throbbing, dull ache at the back of his mind. Now as he looked at the picture, he felt a tinge of warmth return to those smiles. It wasn’t enough to bring him out of his depressive state, however, and his frown only deepened.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Sweetie said softly. She nuzzled up to him, doing her best to comfort him.

“Always.”

“Why, though? Why don’t you just—”

“Not look?” He let out a bitter laugh. “I can’t. I simply can’t.” He sighed. “Maybe I’m afraid that if I don’t look, I’ll forget.”

He looked up, sudden realization hitting him. “Why am I telling you these things?” he murmured. “You are but a filly. Innocent.” He glanced at her. “And I am but a cold stallion.”

She nodded, before saying, “But underneath that cold pony is a warmer heart.”

“Lies.”

“Or maybe you’ve convinced yourself of that.”

He stared at her, seeing that there was a fire behind those emerald eyes. It burned of such intensity, such earnesty, that rivaled his harsh, pink gaze. Does she truly believe what she is saying? That I have warmth inside of me?

Children are sometimes wiser than we make them out to be. Perhaps they are smarter than even the wisest of stallions. For they are earnest and innocent and truthful, with none of the boundaries that the adults must bear.

Paradise is made up of these fillies, he reflected. Theirs is the glory of the end. Blessed, indeed, are the meek.

His lips slowly lifted into a tired and impressed smile—one that raised Sweetie’s spirits. “You are truly an intelligent little filly, Sweetie Belle.”

He stood, going up the stairs and placing the photo back on his desk. Sweetie patiently waited for him to return downstairs.

He returned shortly after, wearing the familiar blue vest across his torso. “This party,” he started, a bit hesitant. “Will it be… nice?”

She smiled at him. “It will be, Mr. Prosa!”

He nodded, before walking out with her. In the moonlight’s glow, she saw him smile a bit nervously. She gave him a reassuring hug, catching off guard. After a moment, though, he returned the gesture. Together, they walked down the dirt path towards the Town Hall.





Pinkie Pie waited by the door while the other ponies waited for her call. She peered out towards the path up to Canterlot, eyes straining against the stained glass. A million bolts of excitement and apprehension ran down her mane to her tail, and she couldn’t help but smile in anticipation.

The moment she saw a familiar, small white filly, with a pewter-grey pony, enter her view, her smile widened enormously. She turned, facing the others. “Here they come!” she said. They nodded and, at her command, hid in the back of the Town Hall, carefully concealed. After making sure everypony was in place, she too joined them in hiding.

The minutes grew long, and waiting soon became a chore. It seemed that the two in question were not intent on arriving quickly; something that only slightly irked Pinkie Pie. Regardless, all waited as patiently as they could, though some began fidgeting once the first ten minutes passed.

After several more painful moments, they heard voices.

“… What I just don’t understand is why there was no information on who this party is for,” they heard Dusk Prosa say. His voice grew louder, though still muffled, meaning that he was nearing the door. “Surely Miss Pie would not miss such an obvious detail?”

“Of course she wouldn’t! Pinkie’s the party mare of Ponyville!” they heard Sweetie respond, her voice slightly cracking. “St-stop laughing!” she exclaimed after they heard Dusk snicker quietly at the voice crack. “Anyway, she’s pretty much the expert on parties around here.”

“Still, though, purposely omitting the guest of honor’s name seems quite the blunder to me.”

“Holy cow!” Pinkie whispered to Twilight. “He’s actually talking a lot! And he sounds nice!” Twilight quickly shushed her.

“Why do you think she did it?” Sweetie asked. Their footsteps stopped right before the door.

“Hmm.” He paused, placing a hoof on the door, slowly pushing it open. “I suppose the only real reason for such a lack of attention would be to throw a—”

“SURPRISE PARTY!” Pinkie and everypony yelled, popping up from behind the stage. The stallion was taken by complete surprise. Confetti rained from the ceiling as banners were displayed, all saying “Welcome to Ponyville!” in bright, bold lettering. Pinkie blew a party streamer before suddenly firing off her party cannon towards Dusk.

That would have been fine, had Pinkie not somehow forgotten that she had left the streamers’ ammunition unopened—meaning that she was firing at least a dozen plastic boxes at a high velocity towards their faces.

The stallion instinctively grabbed Sweetie and ducked to the side, just barely dodging the projectiles. He glanced back, seeing the boxes fly out the door, before glaring back at the party mare. “Pinkie!” he barked sharply. “What the devil?!”

Pinkie giggled nervously. “Sorry! Guess I forgot to open a few things!”

Dusk snorted. “Best party pony in town, my flank…” he murmured to himself. He got up, helping Sweetie off the ground. The filly seemed a little shaken by the experience, but quickly recovered, smiling at the pink pony.

“Good job getting him here, Sweetie!” Pinkie exclaimed. “Maybe you have special talent in leading ponies to parties!”

Sweetie shrugged. “Actually, Mr. Prosa didn’t really need leading. He came on his own.”

“Really?” Rarity asked, looking at the stallion with slight curiosity. “That certainly is an…”

Dusk smirked knowingly. “An improvement? I suppose it could be considered one.”

He glanced around once more, taking in everything. “I suppose I should have seen this coming. In retrospect, it makes sense.” He glanced at Sweetie. “I suppose, then, that you only visited to get me?”

She blushed. “Well, that was part of it—” She protested further, but stopped when she saw the stallion’s smile return.

He turned back to the party mare, whose smile had widened enormously. “Well, Miss Pie, you certainly caught me off guard. In fact, a lot of this town has caught me off guard.” He placed a hoof on his chin in thought. “I wonder why? It’s been a long time since I had experience such genuine liveliness in any place.”

Rarity smiled. “If you stick around, you might find that there’s more where that came from.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll keep you to that.” He glanced back at Pinkie. “I’m not the most outgoing of ponies, but just this once I’ll try to enjoy myself. I believe that there is something you ponies say when the guest of honor has arrived. What was it? Oh, yes, it was—”

“LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!” Pinkie shouted, somehow summoning a blue polka-dotted party cap. She signaled to Vinyl, and got the party music playing in seconds. The other guests began dancing and partying around, the music bringing motion to their hooves.

Sweetie went off to find the other crusaders, leaving Dusk alone at the door. He looked around, seeing the smiling faces of the town; and couldn’t help but smile with them.

His eyes wandered around at the various party decor, before settling on the cake in the far back corner. He chuckled to himself. Chocolate mousse cake. Just like I prefer it. I really should have seen this coming… 

Then again, there were more pressing issues at hoof…

He mentally shook his head. There would be a time of reflection later; goddess knew that he had spent far too long lamenting. Right now, he ought to focus on enjoying himself as much as possible.

Starting with, of course, that cake.

As he walked over, he noticed two familiar-looking ponies standing by the table. One was a stallion, with a blue-grey coat and a taupe mane. The other was a white mare with a light-pink mane. The mare heard him approach, and turned to greet him with a smile. Dusk instantly recognized who she was, just from her blue eyes alone.

“Dusk Prosa!” she greeted, smiling.

“Nurse Redheart,” he said, actually surprised. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”

“She’s with me, lad,” the stallion said, turning and looking at Prosa with his pine-green eyes. “Ponyville Hospital will be fine without us for a few hours.”

Prosa smiled. “A good evening to you, Doctor Irons. And to you as well, Redheart.”

“The feeling’s mutual, mate,” Irons said, his smile widening. “I must say, you certainly seem different from the stallion I had to prod days ago!”

Prosa glanced over his shoulder to where Sweetie and the other Crusaders were partying. “I suppose you could say I’ve had some help.”

Redheart nodded. “Good. Celestia knows you needed it.”

Dusk stared coolly at her, but couldn’t restrain the smile crossing his face. It had been a while since he had any sort of banter; and this conversation was quite the welcome.

They talked a little more, regarding Dusk’s current establishments, before they wandered off. Dusk watched them go, before turning back to the table. He eyed the cake with a tinge of glee, before grabbing one of the plates.

“You’re not seriously going to eat the cake now, are you?” a familiar female voice asked.

Dusk sighed, turning around. “I was considering it, Miss Sparkle,” he responded, eyeing the lavender unicorn with slight annoyance. “Can you blame me? I haven’t had mousse in many a night.”

Twilight managed a small smile. “Well, don’t let me stop you, ‘Mister’ Prosa.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Satire? You’ve changed.”

“The same could be said about you.”

He set his plate down. “Indeed it could. Though, now it really is can, isn’t it?” He grinned to himself. “Only a short while ago, I would not have found myself at a lively party.”

Twilight nodded. “You certainly seemed like the kind of pony who liked to remain secluded. May I ask why you came?”

He frowned, though not in contempt. “I suppose I grew tired.”

“Tired of what?”

“Things,” he answered vaguely, still unwilling to divulge too much information.

Twilight didn’t try to pry further, accepting the fact that Prosa still had some restrictions. “To be honest, not many of us thought you’d actually come. It was only Pinkie and Sweetie who showed any hope of you coming.” 

He nodded. “As I’ve said before, partying is not my preferred form of enjoyment. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have means of joy.”

She looked away. “I wasn’t sure if you even felt joy…”

“Why is that?” he asked. He was actually surprised; that was something he had not expected Twilight to say.

“Well… if your behavior at the library was any sign of anything…”

At once regret entered Dusk’s mind, and he averted his gaze. His mane fell in front of his face, masking his features.

Twilight blinked. “Oh, gosh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bring that up.” She scraped her hoof on the floor. “Ugh, this was supposed to be a nice time… bringing up bad memories isn’t going to help—”

“No.” Dusk held up a hoof. “It’s… it’s fine.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I’ve… been thinking about that event. And… I realize that I haven’t resolved that issue.”

She said nothing, letting him continue, a curious look on her face.

He turned to her, sadness in his eyes. “My behavior, no matter how justified I made it out to be, is inexcusable in retrospect. It was rude, and mean, and completely atrocious and unnecessary.” He looked away. “Calling you a thief, and in front of that young drake… that was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

A silence fell between them, and Dusk expected Twilight to simply walk away. It was to be expected; and he mentally braced himself to the inevitable absence.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of hooves wrap around him, hugging him slightly. His eyes widened, astounded, and he glanced at the mare to his now very close side. “M-miss Twilight?”

It was a warm hug, one that someone would give as a sort of peace-offering. She didn’t say anything at first, simply giving him a smidge of affection. Eventually, she released her hold on him, giving him a slight smile.

“It’s nice that you apologized, Dusk,” she said. “But I should apologize, too. After all,” she added, blushing somewhat in embarrassment, “I did kinda steal that from you.” She didn’t need to clarify what she meant, the meaning coming across easily.

He nodded, thankful that she didn’t seem intent on pursuing that topic at the moment. “What now?” he asked after a moment of silence.

She smiled. “I’ll talk to you later. Right now, why don’t you enjoy yourself? The cake is practically calling your name.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can practically hear it calling, ‘Convivium in me!’”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You speak Latineigh?”

He smirked. “More than meets the eye, remember?”

She giggled at his humor, before leaving him at the table. He smiled to himself as he watched her go, happy that he had resolved that issue. Turning around, he licked his lips, once again picking up a plate.





        Because he was feeling especially good tonight, Dusk helped himself not to one, but to two, pieces of the chocolate mousse cake. After eagerly gulping down the second slice, he let out a contented sigh, tossing the plate into the nearby trash can. He had to give props to the Cake family; when they made dessert, they certainly knew what they were doing.

        Scanning the room, he saw that the ponies were most definitely enjoying themselves. Nurse Redheart and Doctor Irons were towards the back, talking with a brown earth pony who wore a green tie, and had an hourglass as a Cutie Mark. Next to him was a grey pegasus mare with a wheat-yellow mane, her eyes slightly disjointed. Her Cutie Mark was represented by a set of bubbles; he couldn’t discern what possible purpose they held.

        Though who I am to judge? he reminded himself quietly. A certain pony’s mark brought happiness but also pain to those close to him.

        His eyes drifted over to the side of the room, where Pinkie and the Crusaders were. The pink pony was entertaining the young fillies with a set of games. They had looks of absolute joy on their faces, and Dusk felt his own lips rise at seeing them. Sweetie saw him looking, and gave him a friendly wave; he returned it, briefly, before looking away.

        Such a quaint town. So lively, filled with actual life. So unlike the false streets of Manehattan.

        He blinked. Had he seriously thought that? Perhaps this town was not only affecting him on an emotional level, but also on a subconscious level. He wondered if that was a bad thing. Having spent so much time being guarded, actively opening himself to others now seemed so… foreign. Unfamiliar. He was unsure whether to feel relieved that he felt this way; or scared that he would slip.

        As with any operation, the chance of risk increases as time goes on…

“Um… Mr. Prosa?”

The voice was extremely quiet, but though the party sounds nearly drowned it out, Prosa nonetheless managed to hear that meek sound. Ears twitching, he dropped out of his thoughts and turned, facing the source of the voice.

He was met by a butterscotch-yellow pegasus with a pink mane and sapphire eyes. She looked at him shyly, but had a small smile on her face. He fixed her with an quiet, intense, questioning gaze, making her look away in embarrassment. “Yes?” he asked, his gaze softening after a moment. “Miss…”

“Fluttershy, although you don’t have to call me Miss.” She blushed. “Um, that is, if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Fluttershy? Ah, yes, the animal caretaker of Ponyville.” He held out a hoof to shake, and she kindly took it, offering her a small grin.

They turned their gazes back to the room, specifically the center, where an orange earth pony and a cyan pegasus were hoof-wrestling—apparently due to a dispute over the cider. A semi-large crowd had gathered around, cheering them on.

“Who are they?” Prosa asked Fluttershy.

She pointed to the earth pony first: “She’s Applejack.” She moved her hoof onto the cyan pegasus. “And she’s Rainbow Dash.”

“Friends of yours?”

“Uh huh,” she said cheerfully.

He raised an eyebrow. “So why don’t you hang out with them? Instead of… you know… being over here with me?”

She shook her head. “It’s fine to watch. I don’t like getting too much attention.”

He nodded knowingly. “Ah, cognatae spiritus.”

She gave him a confused look. He explained. “It’s Latineigh for a kindred spirit.” He smiled. “I prefer the background to the foreground as well.”

She giggled lightly. “I guess that also explains why you chose that house at the edge of Ponyville.”

He sighed. “It actually explains a lot…” he said to himself.

Fluttershy gave him a confused look, but chose not to pursue the matter. “Anyway… how are you enjoying the party so far?”

“It’s… interesting, to say the least.” He smiled ruefully. “It’s been a long time since I ever went to any sort of party.”

“Why is that?”

With a shrug, he responded, “Life.”

She nodded. “It does get a little hectic every now and then. But,” she added, “that’s why it’s always a good thing to take a moment to relax.”

He gazed at her thoughtfully. “And if there is no time to relax?”

“There always is. Sometimes you just need somepony else to show you it.” She gave him a small smile, and then—much to his surprise—gave him a quick hug.

As she stepped out of the hug, he saw that there was a faint blush to her cheeks. He smirked. “I see you like me already.”

She eeped, but giggled softly. A few more words were exchanged, and then she said her goodbyes, leaving to talk to another partygoer.

Curiouser and curiouser. If I wasn’t so sure, I’d say the ponies are beginning to warm up to me.





The party slowly began to dwindle as the night went on, with several ponies leaving. Lyra and Bon Bon were first, followed by Cranky and Matilda. While the former ponies left with loud voices, the latter were more subdued. Several saw that Cranky, despite his usual grouchiness, had a small smile on his face as he left with his love.

A few other ponies had come up to Prosa during the party. Most said very few words, tired out from all the partying; he was thankful that he didn’t need to talk. He had noticed, however, that Rarity and Applejack were missing. Upon questioning several ponies, he learned that they had left the party sometime before, “on lookout duty.” 

He wondered what that meant.

He glanced at Applejack’s family, consisting of Big Mac and Granny Smith; Apple Bloom was still hanging around with the Crusaders. They regarded him with silent stares, but he didn’t detect anything unkind in them.

Granny Smith approached the stallion as he finished talking with another pony. She fixed him with a stern glare, one that he cooly returned, unwilling to back down. He could feel Big Mac’s eyes stare at him questionly, undoubtedly still feeling uneasy about letting the pewter stallion anywhere close to his family.

“You oughta know that mah family has been a part of this town since its beginning,” she stated.

“Indeed.”

“And we care an awful lot about it.”

“Of course.”

“So… Ah don’t want t’ hear you making any trouble, ya hear?”

He nearly chuckled out loud. Her voice, though strained from age, had not weakened the slightest. It commanded him with authority, and he immediately knew that it would be safer if he heeded her words.

Still, though, he had one more thing to say before he could agree.

“And if trouble comes after me?”

She narrowed her gaze. “Then you’ll deal with it mightily.”

At that, he smiled. “Wise words, Miss Smith. I’ll try and refrain from becoming a bother.”

She nodded, returning the smile.

Big Mac, and Granny Smith soon left after. Apple Bloom followed them, but not before giving Prosa a quick goodbye.

The numbers eventually grew sparse, leaving only maybe ten other ponies, not counting Dusk, left in the Town Hall. Among the numbers was a certain rainbow-maned pegasus, who had been giving Dusk the cold shoulder since the beginning of the party. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why; she still had her qualms about letting Dusk anywhere near the town. Scootaloo had shadowed her, but once she had seen the pegasus fix her magenta gaze onto Dusk, she instinctively backed off, knowing that something was about to go down.

She flew towards him, stopping just in front and touching down, all the while glaring at him. He returned a steady gaze, his mouth and features neutral. Her face, meanwhile, had her brow furrowed, the corners of her mouth dipping downward. An air of vehemence surrounded her, and perhaps a weaker pony might have cringed under the weight.

But Dusk refused to show any weakness. He had dealt with similar ponies in the past; those who were arrogant and full of themselves. He had handled those like he had handled his own case of arrogance; by putting them in their place, before they could launch a preemptive strike.

The only problem was, Rainbow Dash was not like the ponies of his past.

Before he could get a word in, she placed a hoof against his vest angrily. “Well?” she asked, glaring at him.

Inwardly, he was taken by surprise by her forwardness. Still, he maintained a cool attitude, responding, “Well what?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Is what true—”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” She pushed him, making him slide up to the table where the cakes were. “You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

The action raised up a painful memory. He visibly winced, as if in pain, eyes blinking rapidly as if he was trying to clear his vision.

Scootaloo noticed Dusk’s sudden discomfort, and quickly tapped Rainbow’s shoulder. “Rainbow! Take it easy!”

The cyan pegasus glanced back at the filly, and took a slow breath. She retracted her hoof, allowing Dusk to regain his composure.

I still regret having to nearly push that stallion off that balcony, he thought, frowning as the image of him holding a pony by his mere hind hoof raced across his mind.

“I’m not going to play any games,” Rainbow said, still glaring at Prosa. “Those syringes. What are they for?”

Dusk saw Scootaloo grow a concerned look at the mention of the syringes. He quickly glanced back at Rainbow, carefully choosing his words.

“The reasons are my reasons alone, Miss Dash.”

She scraped her hoof on the floor. “That’s not a good enough answer!”

“But it’s the only answer you’re going to get.”

She snorted angrily. “Why all the secrecy, though, if they’re just syringes? You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

“We all have our secrets.”

“None of us have suspicious secrets!”

“All secrets are suspicious by nature. It’s only natural; they, as living enigmas, should be regarded with slight unease.” He leveled his gaze at her. “Knowledge is power; and power can corrupt.”

She growled. “That still doesn’t explain why you had to be all hostile to Twilight about them!”

He returned a glare of his own. “Did you perhaps consider that this is the reason why I chose to try and keep those syringes a secret?”

She reeled back in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Your reaction is the answer to my secrecy, Miss Dash. You are immediately appalled by what I have, and set about confronting me about something you don’t understand.” His glare grew more powerful, shutting her up and preventing a retort. “Ponies fear what they don’t know; but even more so when they see, and still don’t understand. To be ignorant is to be dead; to conclude without evidence is to be rendered obsolete.”

He took a step forward, and the intense gaze was enough to force Rainbow back. 

“You, Rainbow Dash,” he continued, “would rather confront me over something you don’t and don’t want to understand, than try and understand where I am coming from. Are you so self-centered that you think that what you think is always right?”

“Are you?!” she retorted. She immediately regretted it, as Dusk’s restraint broke. His lips curled, and he bared his teeth. His head lowered, his pupils shrinking to miniscule levels.

Truly, he was a frightening pony once you got him mad.

And yet, just as quickly as his anger rose, so did it fade. Rainbow didn’t know, but Scootaloo had been behind her, staring at Dusk. 

The fear in her face was enough to make the stallion pause, and his anger retreated in response.

He took a calming breath, closing his eyes as he inhaled. Exhaling, he opened them, his gaze much more calm. “Every day,” he barely whispered.

His mouth closed, and his gaze fell, and he became unmoving.

Rainbow blinked, before snarling, “Hey! That doesn’t answer what those syringes are for!”

He said nothing.

“You’re a user, aren’t you?!”

Still he remained as silent as the night that encompassed the world.

“Hey! Stop ignoring me!”

“Dusk isn’t ignoring you, Rainbow, silly!” Pinkie suddenly exclaimed. Her unexpected appearance made the trio jump back in slight surprise. The pink mare barely gave Dusk a glance, but retained a cheerful smile. “He’s just said his peace, and feels that nothing more needs to be said!”

Dusk mentally raised an eyebrow, wondering how Pinkie had so accurately reached that conclusion.

“Besides, I think you’ve done enough questioning!” Pinkie continued, frowning at Dash. “And as much as I want to know what those syringes are for, I won’t have the guest of honor be harassed. Okay?”

Dash glanced between Dusk and Pinkie, seeing that the two had pretty much told her to move on. She let out a disgruntled snort, but nonetheless conceded. “Fine!” She took off, flying out, but before she had completely left she yelled, “Dusk, you had better not do something stupid!”

He merely nodded, and the sound of wind breaking followed shortly after.

“She wasn’t bothering you too bad, was she, Dusk?” Pinkie asked.

Not anymore than expected. He shook his head no. Pinkie smiled reassuringly, before giving him a quick hug.

“Don’t worry about her! She just hasn’t gotten to really know you yet!”

Pinkie didn’t notice, but Dusk suddenly stiffened, struck by sudden fear. He quickly shrugged her off, doing his best to not cast suspicion. Pinkie, oblivious as always, gave him a final smile, before moving off to help clean the Hall.

That left Prosa with Scootaloo. The young pegasus was staring off towards where Rainbow had flown off. Her eyes were large, and Dusk could tell that a storm of emotions was forming behind her violet eyes. A sea of sadness and confusion swirled within, her look growing distant. Dusk wondered if he should comfort her; but even if he did, what could he say? That Rainbow really didn’t mean what she said? That she was drunk?

He knew that those would be lies. Rainbow meant everything she had said; and Dusk knew that he would have to tread lightly around her.

He approached Scootaloo cautiously, though unsure of what to say initially. The filly turned to face him, her bottom lip quivering in shock.

Just as he was about to speak, she interrupted: “I’msorryforRainbowDuskpleasedon’tbemad!”

The fast string of words caught him off-guard, and he paused.

“Anywayhopeyouenjoyedthepartytakecare!”

She scampered off, leaving behind a bit of smoke in her wake. Dusk blinked, before letting out a brief sigh, unsure what to make of it.

“I… guess that’s fine,” he murmured. She talked just as fast as Rainbow flew… 

It shouldn’t have bothered him; Rainbow’s reaction was, after all, a guarantee. Yet, with all that had happened tonight, Dusk couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed in the pegasus.

He shook his head, determined not to feel depressed again. He began helping clean up the Hall, tossing bits of confetti and party streamers into the nearby trash bins. He scraped the tables clean, clearing any crumbs, and swept the floors dry. Thanks to the combined efforts of both Dusk and everypony else, the Hall was completely furbished once again.

He let out a satisfied sigh as he tossed a final piece of confetti into the trash. The work had, thankfully, put his mind at somewhat of a rest, and Rainbow’s harsh words became little more than a distant memory.

He heard a set of hooves approaching, and he turned, seeing Twilight Sparkle walk up to him. Next to her was Spike who, despite the night of partying, still looked quite awake. The unicorn had a nervous look on her face, and Dusk frowned. Anticipating potential danger, he asked, “Is something wrong, Miss Twilight?”

She scuffed a hoof on the floor. “Not exactly. It’s more like… I have a question.”

“Oh?”

She took a slow breath to calm herself. “I assume you’ve heard about Opacare Prose’s disappearance?”

He nearly flinched at the name, but remained outwardly stoic. “I have. I’ve been hearing it on the news for a few days now.”

“And I assume you know that many of the cities and towns of Equestria are looking for him?”

“I do.” His frown deepened, and he suddenly felt a jolt of worry race down his spine. Had he messed up? Had he grown careless?

“And, well…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked away, seemingly at a loss for words.

Spike slapped a hand to his face. “For goodness sake, Twilight! It’s not that hard of a question to ask!”

“Well, excuse me, Spike, but I think it is!” she responded, a bit testily.

Prosa raised his hoof, gaining their attention. “I think it would be beneficial for us all if you were to actually ask me the question, Miss Sparkle.”

She sighed. “Of course. Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, well, as I’ve said, Equestria’s been on the lookout for Opacare Prose for a few weeks now. We in Ponyville have been busy doing our part to help.”

“By setting up watchers, I imagine?”

“More than that. We have a system of watching implemented. We’ve got pegasi looking out from above, and Fluttershy is asking for the assistance of the woodland critters. Applejack and her family have made contact with the members in Appleloosa, so they’re also assisting us.”

“But?”

She sighed in frustration. “I can’t explain it, but it seems like all our efforts are for nothing. We haven’t found a shred of Prose anywhere!”

“I see…” He gave her a questioning look. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“Well… I was thinking that maybe we need someone with expertise.”

He and Spike both raised an eyebrow.

“Let me explain. Prosa—and please, don’t bother trying to deny it—we know you’re from Manehattan. I was thinking that, if Opacare left from there, then maybe it would take a Manehattanite to fish him out.”

Neither of their eyebrows lowered, but Dusk gained a somewhat troubled look.

“I know it’s a long shot, but at this point, I’m willing to use whatever chance we can get.” She stared straight into Prosa’s eyes. “Dusk, can I ask you to join our watchers?”

He didn’t respond, the eyebrow finally lowering. He stared straight ahead, as if deep in thought. Yet his eyes betrayed nothing of the inner workings of his mind, carefully glazed so as to prevent outsiders from looking in. The troubled expression grew, and he scrunched up his muzzle as if in disgust.

Then, for the briefest of moments, the unicorn and the dragon thought they saw genuine fear in Prosa’s eyes.

And then, just as suddenly, it was gone, replaced with a thoughtful guardedness. He didn’t say anything at first, his head lowering, eyes pointed at the floor.

“… I’ll think about it,” he finally said, still not meeting their gaze.

Twilight and Spike shared a look, but Twilight simply shrugged, deciding that that was enough of an answer. She said her farewells to Dusk, before leaving for the Golden Oak Library.

Dusk took a moment to regain himself. He tried slowing his breathing, getting his heart rate down to resting beats. He wiped away a traitorous bead of sweat, closing his eyes and counting to ten. Don’t panic.

After a few seconds, he let out a wary breath. He had calmed just enough to not break down. Okay, he tried to reassure himself. I can still make this work. The situation is still under control.

In a frenzy he returned back to cleaning, going over seemingly every inch of the Hall, just to get his mind off of Twilight’s request. For some time, he managed to do just that; the dust balls that had appeared were enough of a distraction anyway.

Once he had finished cleaning (again), he returned back to the table, still thoughtful. Twilight’s request returned to mind, though this time it wasn’t as troublesome as before. I think… I think I can still do this. So long as I don’t reveal anything, I should be able to blend in fine.

He took a deep breath, calming his nerves. He put on a mask of indifference, determined to not let Ponyville see his inner anxiety.

“Hey, Mr. Prosa…” a tired voice called to his left.

He turned and smiled, seeing an exhausted Sweetie Belle standing by his side. She looked up at him with bleary eyes. There were some streamers in her hair, but she didn’t seem to mind them. “Sweetie Belle,” he greeted. “I assume that you had fun?”

She nodded. “Oh, it was a blast. Did you?”

He chuckled. “To my chagrin, I did indeed.”

She frowned. “Having fun isn’t something to be embarrassed about, Dusk.”

He only chuckled again, making Sweetie’s face contort in confusion. “I’m more surprised you knew the meaning of the word!”

“Chagrin isn’t a hard word, Dusk!” Sweetie protested.

“When I was your age, not a single adult could tell me the meaning of chagrin,” he responded. He playfully ruffled her hair, making her yelp in surprise. He glanced around, seeing that there were still a few ponies left over whom had decided on staying to help Pinkie reorganize her party accessories. He nodded to himself, seeing that his presence was no longer necessary. 

“Hey, Mr. Prosa. Quick question.”

He mentally sighed. Please don’t be something awkward. “Yes, Sweetie?”

“Would you like to join the Crusaders?”

He paused. “That’s… your little club, right?”

“It’s more than a little club!” She pouted. “It’s an endless quest for our Cutie Marks!”

“I’m sure. But why me?”

“Well… you don’t exactly have a Mark, right?”

“How observant.” His dry tone went over her head.

“So, why don’t you… you know… join us? I’m sure you’d have fun!”

He levelled his gaze at her. “Sweetie, I’d be busy so much that I’d have no time to actually go ‘Crusading’ with you.”

“I know that! I was just thinking that you could be an honorary member or something!”

Dusk once again paused, seeing the earnestness in Sweetie’s eyes. Her eyes were wide and pleading, despite her tired status. After a moment of contemplation, he gave a small smile.

“Just let your sister know to make me a cape, okay?”

The tired joy on her face made his heart soar for some reason. Somehow, despite everything, Sweetie still could brighten his mood. He offered a friendly, warm hoof to the white filly.

“Come on; I’ll walk you home.”

> XII: Contemplation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Boss sat at his desk, reading over the report that Swol had sent in. He had to admit, that no matter how seemingly addlebrained the tan stallion was, he was highly efficient in his work—a skill that was highly sought after in the Family.

The report was fairly simple, consisting of the monthly wages of all the workers. It also had the city’s economic status, housing status, plumbing, as well as general happiness—though that measurement was most likely varied between testers. The tan stallion certainly had upped his game ever since he arrived in the family all those years ago.

Hmm. Just about the time that Prose did as well. Thinking that made Boss frown. It’s hard to believe that it’s been years since then. I was but a mere colt in a bigger, more dangerous world.

He sighed. It was his Family that had gotten him through, but it was also his stubbornness and grit that helped him along the way.

And Swol. Swol helped a ton.

He would never admit it out loud, but that somewhat clumsy stallion was one of his best friends. Sure, Boss may have acted like he didn’t like him (or, at least, shown any preference); but that was part of the duty of being the bossman. He couldn’t afford to show any bias towards anypony when in the presence of others. Still, though, Swol had grown to become somepony that Boss could truly trust in his organization.

Unlike that backstabbing, two-timing, betraying—

He cut his own thoughts off with a sigh, flipping over the last page of the document. Such thoughts bred negativity; and in an organization as complex as his, it wouldn’t do to have the members see him in such a state. The moment he showed any signs of unease, he knew that somepony would step up and throw him out.

He nearly chuckled out loud. Here, in his office, he was somewhat allowed to relax. His attitude was usually abrasive and rash; but it kept order, and that was all he cared about.

Well, mostly all he cared about.

He rubbed his eyes, still exhausted from the week’s events. Between managing a Family, managing the city, and managing the search parties, he had been driven to near insanity just trying to keep this place in any sort of order. It didn’t help that most of the lackeys were mumbling behind his back about him, or calling him overly obsessive with Prose. Only a few higher-ups actually cared enough to work; most others simply sat at their desk and did their best not to attract attention.

He supposed it was to be expected. After all, all organizations had some workers who didn’t care much for the end goal. This realization, however, did little to improve his mood.

He closed the folder, pushing to the side of his desk. He let out a breath, observing the room. Pine-green, wooden walls surrounded him, with faded white stripes serving as a nice contrast. A few paintings from olden times covered the sides, while an older chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light. In the front of the room was a mahogany-wooden coat rack, with a brown peacoat and taupe fedora. He found himself staring at the door. His eyes traced his name embellished on the window, before settling on a faint silhouette behind it. He narrowed his gaze, before saying, “Come in.”

The knob turned, and Swol entered. The tan, younger stallion glanced around as he walked towards Boss, clutching a set of envelopes with him. Boss nodded at him, allowing him to approach. Swol placed the envelopes on the desk.

“Here ya go, Boss,” he said. “That’s our most recent reports on Prose’s disappearance. I’ve also got some more data on the current state of the city.”

Boss nodded. “You work quickly, Swol. A shame that we don’t have that same efficiency when it comes to other things.”

Swol nodded carefully, not responding. Boss took the envelopes and opened each one, peering at the contents within. He shuffled through them in a thoughtful silence.

If we had somepony who was as smart as Prose, we’d have found that stallion by now, he thought.

“Boss?” Swol suddenly asked. “I have a question…”

He nodded. “What is it, Swol?”

Swol scraped the ground nervously. “It’s… about Prose.”

Boss stiffened, but nodded anyway, trying to make himself seem less hostile.

“You say that… he isn’t beyond our reach. But…” Swol frowned. “What if he’s too stubborn to see that he needs to come back?”

Boss also frowned, seeing the logic in Swol’s statement. “I suppose… if Prose is as smart as he always has been… then he should join us regardless of his attitude. He cares too much for this city, anyway.”

“Don’t we all?”

The question caught Boss off guard, and he looked at Swol in surprise. Swol’s eyes were vibrant and earnest, and he seemed to be pleading something silent with his superior.

Boss sighed. “… Indeed we all did.” His frown deepened into a scowl. “In a way, we all still do.” He gestured a hoof to the window, emphasizing a silent point.

Swol nodded. “Do you… do you think that’s why Prose left, then? That he didn’t think we cared?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Only Prose knows.”

They returned to a thoughtful silence, with the stallion in question on their minds. They unconsciously avoided each other’s gazes, not wanting to see the hurt in the others’ eyes as a result of Prose’s absence.

Finally, after many minutes, Boss spoke: “You’re… a good friend, Swol.”

Swol’s eyes widened, and he frowned, thinking he had misheard him. “Boss…?”

Boss simply nodded. Swol gave him a surprised look, but turned away.

Another few minutes passed, the only other sounds between seconds being the quiet ticking of the nearby clock, as well as the subdued roar of the city. To both stallions, such sounds were commonplace; yet, as the minutes passed, they couldn’t help but feel that something was… missing.

It was only a few moments after that both realized what it was.

Opacare Prose.

Swol may not have been around at the start of the Family, but he had been present back when Prose and Boss had been as close as brothers. He, too, had been welcomed into this subset of the family; a group of three stallions, who wanted to change the world. They had been different in nature, but united by their cause.

Still, the question remained as to why Prose was now gone, seemingly from this earth. It made no sense to either of them; but then again, Prose had never been the most revealing of ponies. Admittedly, Swol and Boss could say that at points Opacare seemed to fall into his own, little world, abandoning the one he had for so long lived in.

Boss had grown used to Prose’s antics; yet now, in light of the recent events, Prose’s now sudden absence seemed to be breaking every careful barrier that he had in place. Spite, anger, fury, and pain filled his heart, and he struggled to control himself and his emotions. Something told him to give up the hunt; to let Prose be free… but he knew that the missing stallion would never be free of his past.

Yet who was he to judge? He, too, could never be free of his own follies.

He only prayed that, when Prose returned to his side, the law of error would finally leave.

Boss suddenly stood, the movement making Swol look at him. He stepped around his desk, moving quickly for the coat hanger. “I need to think,” he muttered to himself, not bothering to give Swol a parting look as he walked out the door.

The hinges locked, and the door closed, clicking. Swol stood still, hearing the distant footsteps of Boss going downstairs. He heard the front door open, and heard the city suddenly explode in noise; before quieting up as the door closed.

He worried for Boss, for his friend. The strain that Opacare Prose had thrust upon him was mind boggling; yet, Swol could safely guess that Prose never would intentionally do such a thing to a friend.

Whether or not Prose’s disappearance was due to the strain of his old job in the Family taking ahold was unknown. It was as Boss said: “Only Prose knows.”

Swol, after a moment, nodded to himself, before turning to leave the office area. He still had some questions regarding the search, but decided against asking them until later. Right now, Boss needed his space to think and conclude; and, as Swol had learned, that time was absolutely vital.

“If there’s one thing to come out of this whole fiasco with Prose,” he quipped, “it’s that Boss is getting more exercise.” With a careful shut he closed the door, returning to the main area.





        It may not have been ideal peacoat weather, but that didn’t stop Boss from enjoying the familiar feeling of having the item and the fedora on. While winter was but a few months away, fall was quickly arriving, and already he saw that many ponies were starting to break out the warmer clothes. A somewhat cold breeze blowing by further solidified this need.

He walked in mostly silence, though he did greet a few ponies on the way. Most were surprised to see him out of the office, but were courteous to give little more than a greeting back. It wasn’t everyday that they saw the stallion who had helped their fair city out and about. They knew he was not especially a fan of small talk, and as he looked like he had someplace to be, they were quick to keep conversations short.

But where was he going? Even he did not know; he had walked out without the destination in mind.

He wondered for a moment if that was a bad thing; then he looked up.

Manehattan’s skyline never ceased to amaze him on those rare times he would look to the heavens. Stainless steel structures rose to incomprehensible heights, with cerulean windows gleaming in the sunlight. In the windows he could see the faces of various office ponies wearing their white-collared shirts, tapping away at keyboards and presenting charts to their bosses. The recent implementation of electricity—still an infantile product—was also evident by the various screens showcasing various ads and slogans that surrounded various buildings.

He adjusted his gaze, seeing the Equestrian State Building standing true and tall ahead, her regal point piercing the sky. The bricks had been recently cleaned, as a nearby newsstand stated; and a few puffy clouds floated around it. Several pegasi were flying around it, making sure that nothing was out of place. Below them, he saw several colts and fillies staring up in awe, completely taken aback by how tall the building was. Truly, it was a testament to the unrelenting determination of the pony; no matter what obstacles were ahead, they could rise above it all.

As he moved down the sidewalk, the city’s true nature appeared before him. Taxi coaches raced down the streets, while stallions and mare briskly walked down the avenues. On boulevards he saw several business ponies conversing; they gave him a brief greeting, before returning back to their conversation. Several ponies at various stands shouted out their product, garnering attention and a few hungry mouths. The scent of freshly prepared hot dogs and delectable pretzels wafted through the air, and he himself nearly stopped for a quick bite. He opted against it, though, knowing how addicting those foods could be and preferring his usual body size.

Sights and smells and tastes and touches and sounds… these were the true senses of the city. They enabled the user to navigate through the maze-like streets and paths. But if one were to stop for a moment, and take it all in, then they too would see the city for what it was.

Manehattan, at least to Boss, held opportunity for everypony who dared cross its borders. To him, it was the prime example of a group of ponies getting together and doing it right—amassing a gigantic city and allotting chances to those within. If you wanted to get somewhere in life, you had to work hard for it: that was the city’s philosophy. No pony ever got anywhere without some hard work.

He crossed at an intersection, heading for Central Park. Gradually the city’s sounds became distant, though were still loud enough to be heard. As today was a work day, most ponies were away in the aforementioned skyscrapers. A few families were in the park, however, most of them with their kids. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched them play; this was perhaps the single, most important element of the city.

Families’ happiness.

As he took a seat at one of the benches, he reflected on that element. Why was it that he cared so deeply for these families? They were technically below him; middle-class workers, while he was an upper-class figure. And yet, he felt a certain desire to help them whenever he could.

Perhaps it was the fact that it was the families that ultimately made Manehattan a great city, and he was simply doing his civic duty to keep his city running.

Or perhaps it was because he appreciated the values of a family more than anypony else. He supposed that was due, in large part, to him not really having a family…

He shook his head. That was nonsense. He had a family; in the form of the Family. The one family he would ever need.

He smiled as he thought that. Yes, the Family was very much similar to the real deal. The siblings—or workers—helped keep order, and the boss—the parental figure—guided and instructed the family and all its operations. And sure, there were arguments and fights every once in awhile; but they were nothing that a firm reprimanding couldn’t take care of.

And much like a family, Boss was happy to be in it, even if he didn’t show it.

So then why couldn’t Prose be happy?

The thought was so sudden, that it made him reel back in shock. What kind of foolish question was that? Everypony, despite their position, had grown to at least appreciate the Family! It was simply the way things were!

And yet… and yet…

Was Prose ever happy?

He closed his eyes, trying to remember if Prose ever laughed, or smiled, or seemingly enjoyed himself. But he found no such things lying within his subconscious. At first he reasoned that he had merely forgotten, in all this time; yet in his heart, he knew the truth.

Prose hadn’t been happy at all.

But he stayed for ten years! Why didn’t he leave sooner? What made him leave in the first place?

The only answer Boss could amass was in the form of the vanished stallion, frowning at him from afar. Only Prose knows.

His frustration and anger boiled, but he managed to keep himself calm. Whether or not Prose had been happy didn’t matter at the moment. What mattered now, was getting Prose back to where he belonged.

He stood, dusting off his coat, before making his way down the path that headed out of the park.

“Oof!”

Something hit his side with a soft thud. He glanced down, and saw a light, teal-colored earth pony with a golden mane sitting on the ground, rubbing her head. “Ow…” she murmured, tears in her eyes.

An azure stallion and a daffodil mare—the child’s parents, he assumed—ran up, intending to comfort her. While they kneeled by their child, the filly glanced up at who she had bumped into. She let out a gasp, and pointed a hoof at him. The parents, confused by their child’s reaction, turned their gazes—and let out equally similar gasps.

“Oh, dear!” the mare cried. “Sir! I’m very sorry about this!”

Boss managed a small smile, trying to ease their worry. “It’s alright, miss. No harm done.” He bent down, looking the filly in the eye. “In the future, though, it would be best if you looked before you ran, understand?”

The filly nodded, still looking at him with awe. He gave her a small smile, before standing and turning around. “Bye, Mr. Mayor Finch!” she cried after him.

He smiled to himself. Mayor Finch. Funny how a Boss could also be the Mayor of Manehattan. He gave the child a small wave, before finally exiting the park. While Prose still haunted his mind, he was feeling significantly better now; perhaps because the child reminded him what was equally important.

Keeping this city safe. That was something both of us could attest to wanting to do.

And with that thought, Grifford Finch—Boss—returned to his Family, feeling that perhaps Prose wouldn’t be such a problem after all. After all, if I can become Mayor, then perhaps he can rejoin us.

> XIII: A Crusading Morning
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	For once, when Dusk Prosa woke up, he did not immediately feel like he was in any danger.

That did not mean, however, that he was above feeling nervousness. The bag of needles on his stand and his shaky hooves testified to this. Quickly, before he suffered anything long term, he closed the bag and slid it under his bed.

His gaze wandered around the room. It had been a few days since the party. One of Pinkie’s party hats rested on his bookshelf, a reminder of that annoying, yet strangely enjoyable, pink mare. Though he had not been given any parting gifts, he couldn’t help but think that the hat was enough. 

His eyes moved onto the desk, where an unfinished letter lay next to a recently sent one. The blue quill pen had been dipped in the ink, poised for usage; yet strangely, he had no desire to use it at the moment. At first, he thought this was because he wasn’t in the mood; but shortly after, he had deduced that it was because the need had seemingly vanished.

Such a revelation might have made him uneasy, but he shook it off. He was determined to enjoy himself while he remained in Ponyville, and such thoughts were merely burdens that he did not wish to bear at the moment.

Glancing out the window, he saw that it was quite early in the morning. Celestia’s sun had not even reached a quarter of the way up, still hiding somewhat behind the eastern hills. Yet the warmth was wide and open, easily traversing the landscape and breaking through Dusk’s window, landing on the stallion and bringing a soft smile to his face. Though he could not say he preferred day over night, he did acknowledge that the morning heat was, in some ways, a welcoming sensation.

He walked over to his desk and chair, taking his vest and putting it on. He then walked over to the bathroom down the hall, fixing his gaze on his reflection. A surprisingly content stallion stared back, his mane—a slate-grey with its familiar blue highlights—somewhat unkempt. He took a comb and brushed it, all the while thinking back to the party.

I have to admit, that was fun. I haven’t had that much fun since foalhood. Placing the comb down, he opened the mirror cabinet and took out some gel. He spread the material on his hoof, before bringing his hoof back to his head. He carefully massaged and caressed his mane into its normal appearance—smooth and streamlined, with a hint of sharpness. How long has it been? Nearly two decades? He chuckled to himself, finishing up with the gel and rinsing his hooves. Goddess, I am getting old.

The thought was somewhat disturbing. A stallion in his twenties was by no means ancient; yet, for Prosa, such an age carried the same weight and stress of a sixty-year-old. Seemingly, whatever had happened to him, made him feel older than he really was. Whether that was a blessing or a curse was, at best, a moot point.

He forced the thought aside, drying his hooves on the nearby towel. He gave himself a final look, making sure that everything was prim and proper. Seeing that it was, he nodded, before stepping out of the room.

The day would have proceeded normally; had not the sudden, faint smell of smoke wafted up his nose.

His eyes shot open, and he sniffed the air, wondering how he had missed the scent. He glanced around, before settling on the stairs. A faint outline of smoke had traveled upward; he immediately knew where it was coming from. Don’t tell me I left the oven on! he thought, instantly panicking. 

He raced into his room and threw open the window, before dashing out and down the stairs. He headed straight for the kitchen, intent on shutting off the oven as fast as he could.

What he found was both relieving—and highly irritating.

Sweetie Belle stood on top of a stool, trying to—apparently—cook several bits of lettuce. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom were handing over the butter and oil, doing their best to be helpful. None of them had noticed the smoke billowing out from the pan, nor the gaping expression of the stallion nearby.

He blinked, thinking he was seeing things.

When they turned to face him—equally surprised at his appearance—he blinked again.

“Oh, hey, Dusk!” Sweetie greeted cheerfully.

The gears in his head began working again, and his mouth began moving. He stammered, he stuttered, but he managed to get a few words out: “… Uhn?”

Well, almost words.

“What’s wrong, Dusk?” Apple Bloom asked, looking at the stallion with concern. “Ya look like you had seen a ghost or somethin’!”

“Unnnnnhhh?”

Scootaloo scrunched up her muzzle. “Huh. He must be broken or something.”

Finally, he was able to form a coherent sentence: “… What are you three doing in my house?”

Sweetie gave him a big smile. “We thought it’d be nice to cook you breakfast!”

He stared at her, before suddenly exclaiming, “Did you three break into my home in the morning?!”

His tone was more surprised than mean-spirited. Apple Bloom was the first to respond. She tapped her hooves together sheepishly. “Uh… I guess we… kinda did.” She frowned as Prosa resumed stuttering.

Scootaloo bristled. “Hey, his door was unlocked! Technically, we couldn’t break in if we didn’t break anything!”

Dusk slapped a hoof to his face. Of course I forgot to lock the door…

The fillies gave him some sickening innocent smiles, completely oblivious to the danger they were in. He took a slow breath, trying to calm himself; but failed to do so.

“Sweetie Belle,” he called, putting on a strained smile, “can I ask you something?”

“Yes, Dusk?”

“… Do you realize that there is currently smoke amassing in my home?!”





Several more windows were opened, and the smoke was fanned out, leaving the house with a much cleaner air. Had there been curious onlookers, they would have concluded that the house itself had swallowed an extremely hot chili pepper and was in the process of expunging the taste in a rather… extreme manner. It was decided that the windows were left open for a little while, to ensure that the house had been properly cleared of any smoke.

Meanwhile, the three fillies looked at Dusk with sheepish smiles. He had placed his head in his hooves, and was rubbing his temples. A low groan rumbled from his throat, exasperated. The groan was then followed by a low growl from his stomach, reminding him that he had not yet eaten breakfast.

Only seconds later, a similar sound came from the girls. They blushed, faces turning a deep shade of crimson. For a moment neither sides said anything, choosing to wait for the other to do something.

Finally, Dusk looked up. He stood, walking over to the pan that Sweetie had been cooking on. Looking down, he saw that the lettuce had somehow caught on fire; the leaf’s veins and edges had been burned to a crisp. He was quite surprised at how badly the filly had managed to mess up the lettuce.

“But why lettuce?” he wondered aloud.

Sweetie responded earnestly, “Well, we thought it would be an easy thing to cook.” She looked down sadly. “Guess we thought wrong, huh?”

Dusk didn’t say anything, simply staring at the burnt delicacy. He picked up a spatula and peeled off the lettuce, tossing it into the trash. The fillies cringed in embarrassment as they heard the soft plop of the food. 

He quickly washed down the pan, drying it with a paper towel. He placed the spatula down, before bringing over the cooking spray. Seeing that the bag of lettuce was still out, he brought that over as well.

He glanced at the fillies. “Watch,” he simply commanded.

Though it had been a long time since he had stove-cooked lettuce (an odd delicacy, but still enjoyable when prepared right), he still knew his way through the cookbook. He first sprayed the pan with the oil so that the lettuce wouldn’t stick, turning on the stove to a light heat. He washed down a few leaves of lettuce, carefully scrubbing them, before plopping them onto the pan. He shook the pan a little, igniting a small flame; he quickly subdued it, knowing that having it up too long would ruin the taste.

Dusk then opened up a top cabinet, bringing out some kale and salt. He placed the kale on top, turning the stove to low, before sprinkling some salt over the leaves. The pan began to pop and fizzle, but they could all smell the kale beginning to cook.

“Something more,” he muttered. He walked over to the pantry, bringing out a few small nuts. He placed them on a cutting board, slicing them into fine bits, before placing them to the side. He then walked over to the refrigerator door, pulling out a loaf of bread, and taking out two slices. He placed the slices on a paper plate next to the pan. He then placed the loaf to the side as well.

He didn’t want to burn the leaves, though, and knew that he had to keep a sharp count—else the leafy food burn up.

“Unum, duo, tribus, quattuor, quinque!” he counted, before turning the heat down to zero. With the spatula, he carefully lifted the lettuce and kale dish, placing them onto one of the slices. He then sprinkled the sliced nuts on top of them, before finally covering it with the top slice.

The smell of salty peanuts and perfectly heated kale and lettuce filled the air, wafting deliciously up their noses. “Wow, Dusk!” Scootaloo commented. “That smells really good!”

He smirked. He waved the sandwich around, the fillies eyes following it eagerly. Apple Bloom put a hoof forward, perhaps to further waft the smell into her nose; but Prosa backed up. “Ah ah ah!” he said, smiling devilishly. “This one is mine.”

He placed the sandwich on the table, before turning back to the fillies. He gestured at the kitchen sink and counter. “Now, you try.”

Apple Bloom gave him a confused look. “Um, what?”

He gestured again. “I showed you how to make this. Now, you try.”

“Try?” Sweetie asked.

“Cook,” he clarified, with a smile. “I’ve found that one can get better at a skill through eager practice.”

Seeing their nervous faces, he smiled in reassurance. “Don’t worry; I’ll be helping you while you three work.” They smiled at that, though they still felt a bit uneasy.

They pushed their thoughts aside, however, preparing themselves for the task at hoof. Sweetie stepped up first onto the stool, letting out a slow breath. She then began her work.

Though there were a few mishaps (a fire nearly ignited Dusk’s mane), the fillies finally managed to create a half-decent meal for themselves. Though they were tired, they happily cleaned up the sink and counter, satisfied with their work. They were only mildly disappointed when they found their Marks absent.

Breakfast therefore went as expected—or at least as one could expect with three filly intruders and a stallion who had only a few minutes ago had to air out his own home. The four of them happily muched on their sandwiches. Prosa was still slightly peeved that the Crusaders had entered his home without permission, but decided to let it slide. Fillies will be fillies after all.

The Crusaders surprisingly refrained from asking Dusk more on the syringes they had found in the fridge all those days back. Whether it was because they had forgotten or had ulterior motives, Dusk was unsure, but silently thanked heaven that his secret was still relatively secured. That being said, the fillies were still inquisitive about many things. Their attention was mainly drawn to how good a cook Prosa was, despite, by his own admission, “never having been trained by some world-class chef.”

“You could say,” Dusk said, as he finished off his plate, “I learned on the fly.”

“Really?” Sweetie asked. “Why?”

“One word: college.”

Of course, they didn’t quite understand what he meant by that, nor did they understand why he was struggling not to laugh at his own joke. But they nonetheless nodded, trying to appear polite.

Other questions arose, such as one concerning Dusk’s vaulting a few days prior. He explained vaguely, “When you’re an adult, you tend to pick up some pretty weird talents every once in awhile.”

Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow. “College?”

He nodded, though there was a bit of a guarded look in his eyes.

Another question, this one asked by Scootaloo,  concerned what Prosa was planning on doing today. “Honestly?” he answered, leaning back a bit, “I have no real plans.”

That’s a little lie, but they don’t need to know.

Sweetie Belle’s eyes lit up. “So you’re free? That’s great!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You have something planned, don’t you?”

Sweetie nodded. He sighed. “Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time before I was dragged into your shenanigans.”

“It’s kinda a given once ya join the Crusaders,” Apple Bloom remarked sheepishly.

He nodded, fixing the fillies with an amused gaze. He stood, before grabbing the dishes and walking over to the sink, quickly washing them. Once he was finished, he said, “I’ll need my cape, of course.”

“We’ll pick it up at Rarity’s,” Sweetie answered with a smile. Prosa nodded at that, before walking up to the front door. He opened it, and smiled at the sunlight entering his home.

“Shall we?”





Retrieving the cape was quite easy; a short walk to the Boutique was all it took. Along the way, the Crusaders were excitedly bouncing by Dusk’s side. The stallion smiled quietly, having taken a particular liking to the fillies.

Rarity met him at the front entrance to the store, happily letting him in while she retrieved the cape in question. Sweetie went upstairs with the Crusaders to grab a few essential items; Dusk distinctly heard the phrase “parachuting off cliffs” come up once or twice.

He was unsure whether to feel nervous or impressed that the girls were willing to try seemingly anything to get their Cutie Marks.

Rarity returned a short time later, the red cape caught in her magic. It was much larger than the one Sweetie had on at the party, and instead of a filly on the back, there was a golden adult stallion attached to a brilliant blue shield. She handed it to him with a smile, and he quietly looked over it, taking in its features.

“You remembered my measurements,” he remarked, looking back up at her.

She waved a hoof, unabashed. “I always remember my customers’ particular dimensions.”

“Dimensions is an interesting way to put it.” He smirked. “You’re sure you didn’t memorize them for some other reason?”

She scoffed. “I’m fairly certain there was no other reason to beheld.”

“Ouch, I’m hurt.” He mockingly placed a hoof over his heart, as if in pain, making the mare laugh.

“You’ll need to be thicker than that while you hang out with the Cutie Mark Crusaders,” she said, smiling at him.

He rolled his eyes. “That I can tell. Got any advice?”

She smirked. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

“I’m almost certain that I’ll end up doing just that by the end of this.” He closed his eyes and grinned. “Something tells me those fillies are crazy for their Marks.”

“And you’re doing them a big favor by joining them,” Rarity assured him, placing a hoof on his chest. “Just try to keep them mostly out of trouble, okay?”

“I can try. But I can’t guarantee.” He smiled at her. “That good enough?”

She nodded, also smiling at him. “I’ll see you tonight for guard duty, right?” she suddenly asked.

He had nearly forgotten that today was his first official guard duty. Caught by surprise, he quickly nodded in confirmation. Though still somewhat wary by the prospect, he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to “help” where he could.

Shortly afterwards, the Crusaders returned downstairs. They toted their signature capes on their backs. On their sides were satchels, likely filled with various gadgets and devices to suit their crusading needs. Their large, beaming smiles reminded Dusk of Pinkie’s, and a nervous chill ran down his spine.

What have I gotten myself into?

Seeing the stallion with her sister, Sweetie asked, “Uh, did you guys have a moment or something? Why is Rarity so close to you, Dusk?”

Rarity coughed and stepped back, a blush on her cheeks. Dusk turned away, frowning, unsure exactly what to say to that.

“Why, Sweetie,” Rarity stammered, fanning herself, “what on Equestria do you mean by that?”

Sweetie shrugged. “I wouldn’t actually mind if Dusk became my older brother.” She frowned and scrunched up her muzzle. “Just, don’t get me any younger siblings, okay?”

That rendered her sister unconscious. Dusk caught her with a sigh. “Poor choice of words, young Belle,” he commented, placing the unconscious unicorn on her fainting couch.

Sweetie frowned. “What do you mean—”

“Never mind that!” Apple Bloom interrupted. “We’ve got a whole day of crusading ahead! So we had better get going!”

She dragged Sweetie out the door, leaving Scootaloo and Dusk alone for a moment.

The orange pegasus looked up at the stallion in confusion. “What do you mean, that was a poor choice of words?”

He coughed into his hoof. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” He gestured Scootaloo to move, with him following after her out the door.





“Okay!” Apple Bloom exclaimed. She pulled out a scroll from her satchel, and her eyes began glancing over it. “Let’s see what’s first on the agenda…”

Scootaloo glanced over her friend’s shoulder. “There! Parachuting off of the tallest cliff outside Ponyville!” She eagerly went for her satchel to pull out the chute, but Dusk calmly stopped her with a steady hoof.

“Let’s not partake in something potentially fatal,” he said, leveling a stern gaze at her. “We wouldn’t want to die before we get our Marks, would we?”

Scootaloo grumbled. “Way to ruin the fun, Dusk.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Surely there are more conventional ways of getting your Mark?”

Apple Bloom returned to her list. “That… actually eliminates most of what’s on here.”

Dusk nearly fell over. “You’re kidding.”

Sweetie grabbed the list. “Actually, there’s a fairly decent number of activities we could try that don’t involve us getting really hurt.” She pointed a hoof out. “How does hoofball sound?”

Prosa rolled his eyes. “That asinine sport?”

Scootaloo frowned. “Hey! Ponies get paid a lot to play that game!”

“True,” he countered. “But it doesn’t seem appealing.” He made a disgusted face. “Waiting around for the other team to hit, catching balls, throwing it back to first… it seems all boring.”

Sweetie gave him a skeptical look. “Didn’t you run through Everfree and the Hollow Shades?”

He cringed. “Right. You’ve got me there.”

Apple Bloom shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t really want that as my Cutie Mark. It’s fine to play it for fun, but for mah special talent?” She glanced at the other fillies. “There are more interesting ones, Ah think.”

“What do you suggest, Dusk?” Scootaloo asked.

He placed a hoof on his chin thoughtfully. “Where there’s a need, there’s an opportunity,” he said. He pointed a hoof out into the center of Ponyville. “All you have to do, I think, is look for things that you could do to help out.”

Apple Bloom frowned. “That doesn’t sound like much.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes, it’s better to start with the basics than mess up at step five.”

They walked around the town, garnering a few odd looks from the locals. Most were pleasantly surprised to see Dusk with the fillies, and even more so when they saw him toting a bigger version of their cape. The stallion was neither embarrassed nor abashed by them, smart enough to acknowledge how silly he looked.

The fillies began entering a few shops, hoping to try their luck at some practical talents. Sugarcube Corner was the first stop, the four of them entering the parlor eagerly. Pinkie happily greeted them, and as the fillies explained their predicament, she offered a few suggestions that were in the realm of possibility.

While they talked, Prosa stood next to the grey pegasus he had seen at the party. Up close, he saw that her eyes were somewhat lopsided, though she had a big grin on her face. She turned to face him, eyes lighting up in recognition. “Oh! You’re Dusk Prosa!”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he quipped, putting a hoof out to shake. “I saw you at the party; we didn’t get a chance to talk.”

She took his hoof and eagerly shook it. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m Ditzy Doo. Though, my friends call me Derpy.”

“I’ll stick with formalities for now.”

“I’m just waiting for my muffins.” Ditzy pointed at the fillies that were talking with Pinkie. “I guess you’re having fun with them?”

“I suppose so,” he mused, stretching a bit. “Though I wonder if I’m but a chaperone to their Crusader antics?”

She shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think so. You seem nice; and Sweetie seems to have taken a liking to you!”

He chuckled softly. “You think so?”

Ditzy nodded happily. “I guess you guys are on a Cutie Mark quest?”

“Indeed we are. ‘On an endless quest for our Cutie Marks,’” Dusk quoted.

“That’s nice. Dinky was going to try for her Cutie Mark today, but she had some chores and extra homework to do.”

“Dinky?” He gave her a questioning look.

“My kid,” she answered, smiling. “A real love-bud and cutie.” She sighed. “I’m thankful that she didn’t turn out as bad as I did. What with the eyes and all.”

Dusk frowned, before placing a steady hoof on Ditzy’s shoulder. “Miss Doo,” he said, “self-satire is never a good thing, and I would advise you against it.”

She sighed again. “Maybe. But sometimes I feel like I might be a little burden to her.”

Dusk shook his head. “Nonsense, Ditzy. You are her mother, and I’m certain she loves you very much.”

“You sure?”

He smiled. “In this brief interaction, I already like you. If Dinky is as good as you say she is, then she does love you.”

She smiled, before giving him a brief hug. “Thank you, Dusk.”

Mrs. Cakes soon arrived with a fresh batch of muffins, placing them on the counter. Ditzy opened her satchel to pay, but was stopped by a pewter-grey hoof.

Dusk reached into his vest and pulled out a few bits, before placing them on the counter with a small smile. “Allow me.”

Ditzy gave him another big hug, as well as a more enthusiastic thank you. She grabbed her bag of muffins, and trotted outside, a slight bounce in her step.

The fillies and Pinkie had finished their conversation, and were giving Dusk several huge smiles.

“Well, that was really kind of you,” Pinkie commented brightly.

Prosa smiled. “I’m in a good mood today.”

“Did you see how happy she was when she left?” Scootaloo said. “You’d swear she hadn’t been having a bad week!” She looked back at Dusk. “Maybe you could get a Cutie Mark in therapy!”

His chuckle and good-natured “Maybe” masked his concern for Ditzy. He wondered what had made her feel down. Hopefully nothing too serious… 

“Enough chit-chat, everypony!” Pinkie ordered. “We’ve got some milkshake Cutie Marks to get!”

She pushed Dusk and the Crusaders into the kitchen, the stallion a bit flustered and the fillies giggling in excitement. They vanished from view, and soon a strangled, male yelp shot out as the first casualty of the Milkshake War was taken. 

> XIV: A Raging Afternoon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Thankfully, the destroyed milkshake that had splattered his vest was washable, though that did not hinder the scathing glare Dusk gave the fillies in annoyance. They had seemingly been left unscarred by the Milkshake War, the milks and shakes somehow completely missing them. The room had been splattered in a plethora of colors and liquids, decorating the walls with the sugary delights.

Prosa sighed. “Now would be a good time to see if we can get our Marks in cleaning up.”

The point was understood, and the three fillies each grabbed their own mops from Pinkie and began washing down the walls. Prosa was quick to join them, first flicking off the remnants of a shake from his vest before washing his mop against the walls. Soon, their combined efforts managed to clear the space of all of the residue, leaving it spick and span.

Pinkie didn’t seem mad at them for the mess. She scrubbed down the walls twice as quickly, smiling and humming to herself the entire time. She did her best to cheer up the girls, encouraging them to keep trying. She offered buying them shakes to cheer them up; but they surprisingly turned her down, deciding to try and move on to another way of earning their Marks.

They left Sugarcube Corner, tired but determined smiles on the fillies’ faces. Prosa walked behind them, quietly listening as they rattled off more of the list, sometimes putting in his own suggestions.

Soon, they had covered most of the town, going in and out of various shops, returning outside tired and still blank. Coin counting at the bank ended with Scootaloo accidentally locking one of the bank tellers inside the vault; and, while the visit to the hospital was nice, the constant sound of groaning ponies eventually drove them out (though Dusk stayed for a little longer to exchange a few words with Redheart). Their disappointment, however, was mostly put aside with their joyful hearts, happy to be out and about—and with Dusk Prosa, nonetheless.

Their next destination—though they were wary of it—was the schoolhouse. They trotted up the path towards the red, wooden building, Scootaloo mumbling something about this being a dumb idea. Dusk stayed silent, eyes glancing around; he had actually not been to this side of Ponyville, and was eagerly taking in all the details.

His thoughts were suddenly stopped when he bumped into Sweetie. He was about to admonish her, when he saw that Scootaloo and Apple Bloom had also stopped. They all stared ahead at something, disbelieving looks on their faces. Dusk frowned, thinking something was wrong. He glanced ahead, eyes peering forward to whatever it was they were looking at.

His frown deepened into a scowl at what he saw.

A crying, purple-grey unicorn lay in the middle of two fillies. The fillies were saying something, making the pegasus only cry harder. At the distance that Prosa and the girls were, they could not tell what they were saying; but they could easily tell that it wasn’t anything remotely nice. The fillies that surrounded the pegasus were both earth ponies. The first was a pink filly with a purple-and-white mane, with a small tiara for her Cutie Mark. The other was a similar grey to Prosa, with a white-grey mane and a pair of rounded glasses. She had a spoon with a heart at the end as her Cutie Mark.

As they approached, the words soon became clearer.

“I thought the Crusaders had it rough, but you’re even worse!” shouted the pink filly, grinning evilly.

“A blank flank, and a retarded mom?” added the grey one. “Wow! What terrible luck you have!”

The shivering unicorn pleaded, “Stop saying that!” But her cries were drowned in the bullies laughter.

“Who are they?” Dusk whispered to Sweetie. 

The white unicorn noted that there was a particular edge to Prosa’s voice. “Diamond Tiara is the pink one,” she answered, “and that’s her friend, Silver Spoon.”

“And the unicorn?”

“Dinky Doo. Miss Ditzy’s—”

“Daughter,” he finished, a vehement tone in his voice.

“That’s just low!” Scootaloo whispered as they got closer. “Picking on Ditzy just because she has funny eyes! Everypony knows there’s nothing really wrong with her!”

Apple Bloom nodded, scowling. “Ah guess those two haven’t gotten the memo.”

Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon heard them approach, and turned, seeing the fillies and Prosa standing before them. “Oh, look, the blank flanks!” Tiara taunted. “Come to play with your other loser of a friend?”

“Don’t ya dare call Dinky that!” Apple Bloom shouted, glaring angrily at the two.

“Why?” Silver Spoon asked with a dark grin. “Don’t tell me you actually care!”

Diamond, meanwhile, saw the company that the Crusaders were with. She let out a disgusted snort. “Ugh! Really, Apple Bloom? First a blank flank, and now you’re hanging out with that creepy stallion?”

Prosa narrowed his eyes, but said nothing, trying to control his growing anger. Dinky looked up, her eyes filled with tears. The sight wrenched Dusk’s heart, and he nearly let out a low growl.

“He’s not creepy!” Sweetie defended. “Once you really get to know him—”

“Get to know him?” Diamond cut her off. “I didn’t think you were that dumb, Sweetie! I mean, hanging out with a user? Come on, surely you know how stupid that is!”

“He’s not a user!” Sweetie protested. But Diamond and Silver wouldn’t listen, laughing down her protests.

“Oh, this is hilarious, Silver Spoon!” Diamond cackled. She pointed at Apple Bloom, “We’ve got a farmer who can’t buck apples—” She moved her hoof over to Scootaloo; “—a pegasus who can’t even fly—” Her hoof rested on Sweetie; “—a unicorn who can’t use magic—” Her hoof landed back on Dinky, actually slapping her; “—and a stupid, blank flank unicorn with a stupid mom!”

Her taunts made Dinky sob loudly, and Dusk’s anger heightened to dangerous levels. He took an advancing step, standing in front of the Crusaders. Scootaloo made to follow him, enraged, but a hard hoof stopped her. She looked up at Dusk in surprise—and then in fear, as his brow had furrowed up and his body was shaking all over. He let out a low growl, making the bullying fillies pause.

“What, you think you’re a dog?” Diamond taunted.

The taunt did little but annoy him, and he took another step. It seemed like a dark aura was surrounding him, and his eyes seemed to flash brilliantly. His lips curled up, revealing bared, clenched teeth.

“Enough!” he simply commanded. His voice held huge authority, putting so much power behind one, simple word. With the same power, though, he poured fear and anger, and the very atmosphere seemed to burn with his fury.

“Leave. Her. Alone.”

Tone dripping dangerously into malicious intent, it seemed that it was taking all of his willpower not to bash those fillies’ heads in.

His voice was enough to make them quiver. Yet they stood their ground, glaring at Prosa defiantly. “Why should we?” Diamond asked, trying to appear uncaring.

He took another step, bending low. His eyes narrowed, the pupils shrunk to pinpoint pricks , his gaze locked on the fillies like he was targeting them. If looks could kill, Diamond and Tiara would have been completely vaporized.

“I think you know well enough why,” he spat, pressing his face into hers. “Do not be ignotae, nor play stultae with me.”

They were caught off guard by his foreign tongue, and by how harsh he had spoken the words. “W-what?” stammered Tiara, backing up slightly, only to bump into a petrified Silver Spoon.

He took another step, pushing them with his own presence away from Dinky. Her sobs were drowned out by his rage, and a wave of pure spite washed over his mind. He glanced at the fallen filly, eyes cloudy, a storm of emotion burning up inside. His gaze then snapped back at the bullies.

“Ponies like you absolutely disgust me,” he said darkly. “Cretins who exercise fear, just to place themselves above others… beasts who consider themselves so superior as to shame and ridicule those they perceive as less…” He gaze hardened, and his voice became a mere whisper. “Monsters are what they are. What you are.”

Backing them against a nearby tree, he craned his neck so that he was at eye level with them. A tough, cold, unforgiving glare carefully held back his explosive fury at Dinky’s bullying. As the Crusaders watched in shock, they noticed that the very air seemed to dip into cold; the stallion’s attitude has somehow morphed the atmosphere into one where harshness reigned supreme. Adding to that effect was the way Dusk carried himself; as a predator, a vigilante, somepony not to be angered at any means.

Fear clutched all the ponies’ hearts, but the Crusaders tried to fight down the feeling, watching Dusk with growing unease. They had never seen him become this furious, this fearsome—and in such a short while as well.

“Your kind makes me unimaginably, irrevocably sick. And believe me when I tell you, I have seen the darkness in ponies’ hearts. I have witnessed terrifying things that lay in ponies’ hate and ignorance.

“You are monsters. Beasts. Wendigos, wobberjacks, the deadliest demons from Tartarus incarnate. But above all else, you are cowards—afraid of anything that might usurp your supposed ‘power.’ And I know how to deal with cowards—permanently.”

He leaned forward. “You will stop. You will cease this senseless act of intimidation. And you will run.”

Diamond took a step back. “O-or what? You’ll tell Miss Cheerilee?” Before he could answer, she pressed on, “She won’t believe somepony as creepy as you!”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure I could think of a more violent means of stopping you.”

He was so close that they could feel his warm breath on their faces. It seemed like smoke was coming out of his nostrils, so angry was he. "If you try anything remotely hostile, and I happen to catch wind of it… well… let’s just say that you’re not going to like what ten years of pain feels like on somepony else.”

He glowered at the two with such force that one might have thought he could have incinerated them with his eyes alone. “Are. We. Clear.”

Three, little words—and yet, they spoke volumes of his supposed intent. Fear raced down Diamond and Silver’s spines, and their limbs froze up in reflex. His gaze bore through them, analyzing their every weakness and uncertainty, bent on exposing them at a later date. Gradually, their limbs began to move, and they backed up into a full trot. They fled, scared tears running down their cheeks.

Such a sight made the others feel guilty—and though he did not show it, the same feeling gripped Dusk’s heart like a cold, iron vice.

Necesse erat, he tried to reassure himself. A necessary measure. Yet that unease remained as strong and as heavy as before.

He looked down at Dinky, pity filling his heart, replacing the guilt. Bending down, he took her hoof in his, helping her up. His eyes lost their intensity, falling back into a sympathetic gaze.

“Miss Doo?” he asked. The harshness of his voice had vanished, replaced with generous concern. He was answered by a loud sob, before the filly suddenly rushed forward and hugged him. Several shivering thank yous poured from the young one’s mouth, coupled with racking sobs.

“It’s alright,” he softly said, rubbing her mane. “It’s alright. I’m here, I’m here.”

A few moments passed, and Dinky’s sobs gradually subdued. She finally calmed down enough to stammer out something coherent. “Those mean fillies were making fun of Mommy,” she said tearfully. “I didn’t like that at all, but when I told them to stop, they started teasing and making fun of me instead!”

He gripped her close as another cry erupted from her. “There, there, young Doo. You have nothing to cry about.” When she gave him a confused look, he continued, “You readily stood up to them to defend your mother, did you not?” He smiled kindly at her. “In my eyes, that marks a true victory.”

Apple Bloom and the others walked over. “Are you okay, Dinky?” she asked.

Dinky nodded. “Yes. Thank you for asking.” Bloom and Sweetie gave the young unicorn a consoling hug.

Scootaloo bore a scowl as she looked to the road where the bullies had fled down. “They had better not bother you again, or else I’ll knock them upside the head—”

“Scootaloo.” Dusk’s tone was somewhat sharp, and she looked at him, confused. “Don’t.”

“Huh?”

He trotted over, placing a hoof on her shoulder. “I know you want to get back at them; but you shouldn’t want to resort to violence as a means of retribution.”

“Huh?” she still asked, confused by his words.

He sighed. “Violence isn’t the answer, Scootaloo. It only adds more pain. Threats of vehemence do nothing to douse the fire that bullies fuel.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?! Let them get away with it?!”

He gazed down the road. “… No. You defend yourself and your friends. But you don’t resort to physically hurting them.” His voice fell. “I don’t want you to fall down to my level…”

She was silenced by that, Dusk’s words sinking deep into her mind. Sweetie stepped forward, giving Dusk an unsure look. “So then what was that whole deal with Diamond and Silver then?”

“Empty threats, Sweetie Belle,” he said, frowning. “But threats nonetheless.”

A heavy silence fell between them, with Prosa doing his best to comfort Dinky. His mood had darkened, and he had a faraway look as he thought wordlessly. So many old methods rose to mind; so many weapons he could use, so many weaknesses he could exploit, if only to destroy the bullies’ resolve…

Looking at Dinky, and then at the Crusaders, he remembered why he hated that past. Their faces, like they had seen a darker side to a supposed bright knight, heightened his guilt; and he looked away in shame.

Sweetie, however, saw his pain, and was quick to comfort him. She gave him a quick squeeze, and he—hesitantly at first—squeezed her back.





Late noontime was fast approaching when the stallion and the fillies returned to town. They had offered to stay with Dinky for a while, partly because they wanted to make sure Diamond and Silver wouldn’t return, and partly because their previous enthusiasm had evaporated. The young, purple-grey unicorn clutched to Dusk as if her life depended on it, and would not leave the stallion’s side even as they entered town.

They stopped at Sugarcube Corner for a quick bite, Pinkie greeting them eagerly. Her smile fell when she saw the pain in their faces, her heart collapsing as she saw the tears in Dinky’s eyes. Quickly, she prepared for them several shakes and warm delicacies to cheer them up. Dusk politely declined, saying he would eat later.

While the filly’s chowed down, Dusk glanced around. The Corner was mostly empty, the lunch rush having already been served. Outside, the ponies passed on by, blissfully ignorant of the turmoil that was happening inside. Dusk approached Pinkie after a moment of hesitation, though he was unsure why he chose to move.

Pinkie had already caught on to the stallion’s weighted attitude, and with a frown she asked, “What happened?”

He shook his head. “Bullies. Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon.”

She nodded sadly. “Oh, those two… they’re such big meanies.”

“That’s an understatement.” With a surge his anger returned. “Driving a filly to cry? Making fun of a pony’s impaired vision? How low must they be to—”

“Dusk.” Pinkie placed a hoof on his chest. She spoke in hushed tones. “I get that you’re angry, but please, don’t be mean to them.”

“Too late,” he muttered darkly. “Those bullies need to learn their place…”

She was not thrown off by his attitude, pushing her hoof against him. “But yelling at them? Threatening them? How is that any better?”

“It isn’t. But it was necessary.”

She looked at him with uncertainty, her mane somewhat deflated.“I won’t be the one to judge. But… just try to be careful, okay?”

He nodded, his scowl losing some of its intensity. “Hopefully this is all the trouble I’ll be facing here.”

It was a vague statement, but Pinkie chose not to question it. She could tell that Dusk was fighting a wave of emotions, and didn’t want to possibly provoke him any further than those fillies did.

She glanced to where the Crusaders and Dinky sat. The girls were busy doing their best to keep the unicorn’s spirits up, and were definitely succeeding, judging by her small smile. Pinkie noticed that Dusk was also looking. Something akin to determination, a fiery emotion, rose behind his eyes.

“You’ll be taking her home, right?” she asked. By his gaze, she already knew the answer.

The fillies soon finished their meal, and Dusk and Pinkie walked over. With a curt nod, he signaled it was time to leave. He looked down at Dinky. “Address?”

She gave it to him, and he walked up front, hiding the fillies behind his larger frame. Pinkie couldn’t help but think it looked like he was protecting them from any outside threat. And the way he gazed out, with determined, steadfast, unwavering eyes, added to that.

It was enough to make her smile again, assured that Dusk would be true to his word, and she gave them a small wave as they left the bakery.





Dusk knocked on the door, the fillies still behind him. Ditzy answered the door soon after, and her face grew worried as she saw the stallion looking at her warily. He shuffled to the side, revealing Dinky. The smaller unicorn rushed forward and hugged her mom tightly, a gentle sob falling from her mouth. Ditzy held her tightly, eyes closed, before looking back up at Dusk.

“Tell me everything,” she said. Dusk nodded, and they stepped inside of Ditzy’s home.

It was a nice house, Dusk supposed, with warm yellow for its walls and green furniture all around. The occasional pine-wood decorative piece could also be found lying in the center of rooms, adding to the design. The house was simplistic in design, though Dusk couldn’t say that was bad. To the left of the entrance were a set of stairs that presumably led to Dinky’s room and the other bedrooms.

A set of hooves trotted down the steps, and the brown earth pony that Dusk had seen at the party appeared. “Ditzy? What’s happened?” he asked in a distinguished accent, seeing the shivering filly.

Ditzy responded by gesturing them all over to the living room. She, Dinky, and the brown stallion took a seat on the far sofa, Dusk and the Crusaders taking their own seats in the back.

“Oh, where are my manners?” Ditzy pointed the the brown stallion. “Girls, Dusk, this is Time Turner. He’s my…” She blushed in slight embarrassment. “… coltfriend.”

Dusk nodded. “There is no need for chagrin. A pleasure, Mr. Turner—or at least as close to a pleasure as one could get, given the circumstances.”

“Never mind the pleasantries. Just tell us what happened,” implored Turner.

Dusk proceeded to fill them in on what had happened, with the Crusaders adding in their own details. Ditzy began shaking in fury as their full account was revealed to her. Time Turner did his best to comfort her, squeezing both her and Dinky, trying to mask his own rising anger.

Once Dusk and the girls had finished talking, Ditzy let out an angry snort. “I thought Filthy Rich was keeping control over that little beast of his!” Time Turner shushed her for the language.

Dusk raised an eyebrow. “Filthy Rich?”

Turner faced him and nodded. “That’s Diamond Tiara’s dad. He’s business partners with Silver’s father, which is why the two girls are friends.” He shook his head. “For some reason, he doesn’t see his daughter being the bully.”

The pewter stallion’s gaze narrowed. “A business tycoon…” he muttered, a deep scowl forming. I’ve had to deal with enough of those way back when.

“I won’t stand for this continued abuse!” Ditzy suddenly shouted, getting to her hooves and flaring her wings wrathfully. “If I have to tear down that idiot’s house just to get him to stop his daugher, I will!”

She made to leave, perhaps to rampage on over to the stallion in question, but was held back by her coltfriend. “Ditzy, please! You have to be civil!”

“I’ve been civil for far too long!”

“You’re scaring Dinky!”

That made her pause, and she looked at her young daughter guiltily. The filly had some tears in her eyes, scared of her mother’s reaction. Ditzy hugged her daughter, trying to comfort her. Time Turner joined in on the hug, and the three of them began to cry.

“I just don’t know what to do!” Ditzy wailed, holding on to her daughter sturdily. “I can’t do anything, Cheerilee can’t do anything; and Rich refuses to do anything!”

Dusk looked away, both out of a feeling of polite manners as well as a ton of sadness. The scene before him brought forth more painful memories; images of a torn past, of crying fillies, mothers, and fathers, ran past his mind, strengthening his guilt. He wanted to do something to help, to put Rich in his place.

I know one way… but I made a vow never to do that again.

He forced himself to look at the family. He bit his lip and clenched his teeth, holding back frustrated tears. He had to do something, and knew he could; yet, he wouldn’t. Deep down, he knew that his hypothetical action would result in more detrimental effects than positive ones. And no matter how badly his body and soul cried for vengeance, he could not bring himself to resume that ancient role.

And yet… perhaps there is one thing I can do.

He stood up from the couch, walking over to the sobbing pegasus. He placed a hoof on her shoulder. She looked at him, eyes welling up.

“Nil desperandum,” he said. “Do not despair. Tu ne cede malis sed contra audentior ito. Yield not to misfortunes, but advance all the more boldly against them.”

Ditzy suddenly hugged him, gripping him in a powerful, emotionally-charged hold. He did not flinch away, letting himself be her rock of support in this dark sea.

“Stay home,” he advised, his voice suddenly as soft as silk. “There is no need to confront a dark world today.”

Soon, they broke the hug, and Dusk had to leave with the Crusaders. He gave a soothing hug to Dinky, and the Crusaders also gave their own comfort. With heavy, yet resilient hearts, they left, leaving behind the seed of hope in the small home.

Be strong, Miss Doo, Dusk prayed.

He looked at the fillies behind him, noting their tired looks. “Dusk,” Sweetie Belle said, looking up. “I… I don’t feel like pursuing my Mark for the rest of the day.” The others expressed similar sentiments, caught up in the wave of emotions that had engulfed them.

Dusk nodded, before saying softly, “Me neither…”





The Crusaders returned home much later, leaving Dusk alone in the center of town. He watched them go off in their respective directions. He had first considered walking home with them; but he figured that they’d be fine.

He shook his head, both in shame and anger. The outburst he had expelled had been violent, conjuring up images of a past he’d rather forget. Even though Diamond and Silver were being exceptionally cruel, they were still just kids. And kids could both be smart and stupid. He was fortunate that the Crusaders had not turned out as those two.

A part of him felt some pity for the bullies. Their actions were likely due to their upbringing; it was a common factor in all cases of bullying. Though he could not guess with Silver, he could assume that Filthy Rich did not have a tight hold on his daughter. The way she carried herself, the condescending way she talked, the way she regarded Dusk with indifference… it all screamed of a child out of control.

He wondered if that made her dangerous. Bullies, in comparison to the ponies he had met in his past, were comparatively minute in threat; yet, he recognized their potential to be a local hazard. He considered going after them, for a more elaborate talk; but decided against it. If Filthy is as smart as Manehattan said, then he ought to know what to do.

That was, of course, assuming that Diamond did not warp the story somehow. Dusk had a feeling that she would.

He glanced up, noting the sun’s position, realizing that it was time. He turned, making his way to his house, all the while deep in his thoughts. A grim frown crossed his lips. It seemed that no matter how far he ran, no matter how much he tried to change, there was a part of him that would always remain as this intimidating stallion. The fear on the Crusaders’ and the bullies’ faces certainly contributed to that.

Is that who I will always be? he thought. This… intimidator? The Prime Intimidator?

He shook his head. No, he could not be that forever. Nothing was permanent; change was the one constant of life. The fools were the ones who did not adapt to a constantly morphing world; and by Celestia he refused to fall into that group of individuals.

One of the mantra’s he had learned from his School of Excellence days came to mind. He began repeating it in his head, using it as a way to block the growing feelings of lamentation and regret.

Omnia mutantur nos et mutamur in illis… All things change, and we change with them.

Soon, his house came into sight. He let out a sigh, before mounting the porch steps and entering inside. He peered at the clock, seeing that there was just enough time to perform one more duty. He gulped, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable task.

It’ll be over in just a second, he reassured himself, calming somewhat.

He went up the stairs, heading for the closet. Standing on his hind hooves, he brought down a white container that was cool to the touch. He knew that the cold would preserve the samples as long as they needed to be held. He opened the top, performing a routine check, making sure that the container was empty and clean. Nodding as he saw that it was, he returned back downstairs. He then headed for the kitchen, opening the freezer door.

Several racks of needles lay there, and he sucked in a nervous breath, cursing his phobia. He closed his eyes, as he struggled to breathe. The needles peered at him with angry faces, their points becoming the blades and knives of a corrupted city alley. He shot a hoof out, grabbing several needles, and placing them desperately in the container. He continued this action, with several pauses in between, until the freezer had been emptied completely. He snapped the top of the container shut, then slammed the door closed, letting out a ragged breath.

Somehow, in his haze, his dark sense of humor rose. I can take on wolves just fine; but when it comes to transporting these syringes, I’m always out of breath.

The container wasn’t too heavy, but he knew that he needed something to hide it. He bent down to one of the lower cabinets, bringing out a cardboard transport box that was the right fit. He placed the container inside, before closing the top and taping it. He carefully held the box on his back, perfectly balancing it. He nodded his head, before rotating and heading out the door. Time was of the essence; the faster he got this over with, the better for all involved.

His thoughts clouded his awareness of the environment, so much so that he was not aware he was at the post office until the doors suddenly jumped out at him. Stopping just short so that he wouldn’t bump into the glass frames, he opened one of the doors and stepped inside.

A somewhat bored looking stallion greeted him, but Dusk did not initially respond. Walking up to him, he reached behind and placed the box down. The gesture, though wordless, was easily understood: he wanted to mail this out. 

The mailpony nodded, handing over a clipboard with some paperwork. Dusk looked around, making sure nopony was watching, before signing it, his flank glowing faintly. He quickly finished, handing the clipboard back to the stallion. He took it, making sure everything was in order, before moving the box to the back room for transport.

Prosa nodded a silent thanks, before turning to leave. As he left the building, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a pink and grey blur. He stopped, eyes darting around, on guard.

Several strained seconds passed, before Dusk snorted and shook his head. He figured he had to have been seeing things; it had been a long day after all. He sighed, then trotted his way back home.





“Did you see what was in the box?” Silver Spoon asked Diamond Tiara.

“How could I?” Diamond angrily whispered back. “The top was closed, remember?”

“Oh…”

The pretentious filly snorted. “Whatever! It was probably something lame, like an old notebook or something!” Her lips morphed into a sadistic smile. “Besides, we’ve got more important things to do than worrying about what he just sent out!”

“Such as?”

“Getting back at him, of course! I’ll have my father speak with him sometime later.” She placed on a mock pouty face. “All it will take are a few crocodile tears and some blubbering, and that stallion will be out of our manes for good!”

“You said it, DT!” Silver bumped her flank against her friend’s, both of them laughing as they made their way back home.
> XV: A Worrisome Night
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Rarity and Applejack were once again on lookout duty for the night. They decided to cover the northern edge of Ponyville, taking up watch on the path facing towards Canterlot. Little activity had been noticed; it seemed that Opacare had no intention of making himself known any time soon.

“‘Police still in the dark on how Prose vanished,’” Applejack read from the town’s newspaper. “‘Little information has been obtained, and hypotheses are rare. Mayor Finch says he has his best stallions on the case, and hopes to dig up something soon.’” She let out a sigh. “Prose oughta have a Cutie Mark for hiding instead of some writing thing.”

Rarity nodded in agreement. “Indeed. One would think that someone from Manehattan wouldn’t be this quiet!”

Applejack frowned at that. “Ah suppose that doesn’t include Dusk?”

Rarity gave her a confused look. “And what exactly do you mean by that, Applejack?”

She pulled her stetson down, covering her face somewhat. “Nothin’ much. Just that Ah don’t completely trust him yet.”

Rarity huffed. “That’s because you didn’t see him at the party.”

“Neither did you!”

“I already had personal experience with Prosa! And besides, Sweetie told me how he was during the party; very much a gentlestallion! Even apologized to Twilight!” She glared at the orange pony. “In my eyes, that marks somepony who is willing to own up to his mistakes. Unlike our friend, Rainbow Dash!”

Applejack snorted. “I doubt that Rainbow Dash could be a gentlemare if she tried!” She glanced out the corner of her hat. “Still, though, he’s hiding something!”

Rarity sighed. “Applejack, darling, I know you’re the Element of Honesty; but ponies have secrets, and it wouldn’t be very gracious of us to pry into them.”

“Whatever you say, Miss ‘Fake Eyelashes,’” Applejack responded, turning away and smirking to herself while Rarity silently fumed.

The banter continued for a little while, though Rarity thought she felt a third presence nearby. She quickly dismissed the idea, thinking that it was just a figment of her imagination. It was only sometime later that Applejack recalled something important.

“Say, wasn’t Prosa supposed to meet us here for lookout duty?” she asked with a frown. “Ah haven’t seen him leave his house.”

Rarity also frowned. “You’re right. I wonder where he is?”

“Probably late.” Applejack snorted. “Ah wouldn’t past him to shirk past his duty.”

Somepony laughed—it sounded vaguely forced—, but it was neither of them. They gasped in surprise, before turning around.

There, standing next to the brick wall that served as Ponyville’s northern gate, was Dusk Prose. He wore his ash-grey cloak, the hood pulled down, revealing his smirk. His carnation eyes danced with amusement at Applejack’s statement. The waning moonlight glided across his frame, like a windy veil.

“Rarity and Applejack. Miss me?” he asked, still smirking. Yet his cocky grin was not as strong as Rarity had been accustomed to seeing. Something in it had cracked, weakening it, and she could tell he was trying to bottle something in.

“W-what the?” Applejack stammered. “How—how did you get behind us?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You missed me.”

“How?” Rarity asked. “Your house is just ahead! There is no way we could have missed seeing you!”

He nodded. “Indeed. You are quite capable of seeing me.” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “But did you observe?”

“What the huh?” Applejack asked, glaring at him. “Y’all better explain yourself, mister!”

He trotted forward casually, pointing a hoof out towards his house. “You were so busy looking at the front door,” he explained, before waving his hoof over, “that you missed seeing me leave by the back. You must widen your gazes and consider all possibilities when on stakeout.” He shook his head. “No wonder Twilight needed me to help out. You’d have missed a rampaging centaur who could steal magic with your levels of observation.”

Applejack spluttered, completely taken aback by how casually the stallion had pointed out their blunder.

He placed a hoof on his chin. “Forgive me, that was hyperbole. I would hope that nopony misses a rampaging centaur.”

He took his place next to Rarity, calmly settling down, watching the moon rise. Rarity eyed him in quiet contemplation. He seemed less guarded, his shoulders less stiff in the joints. In fact, his whole figure seemed less cold.

Perhaps it has something to do with that party? Or was it something more?

“Like what you see?” His sudden voice and slightly mocking tone brought her out of her thoughts. She blushed, and fanned herself, while he winked at her playfully. Applejack couldn’t help but guffaw at her friend’s predicament.

“Oh, hush, Applejack!” Rarity exclaimed, glaring at her friend. “You’re the pony who missed Prosa leaving!”

“You did too!” she retorted.

“Well, maybe I would have seen him if you hadn’t been bothering me about him!”

“Says the pony who apparently has something to give to him!”

“I’m not the one bad-mouthing him, am I?!”

“No; you’re the pony who’s defending somepony suspicious!”

Prosa raised an eyebrow. “Ladies, I’m literally right here.”

They clamped their mouths shut, turning their heads and meeting Prosa’s unamused gaze with sheepish grins. “Eh heh heh… sorry about that…” Rarity apologized. Applejack blushed and stammered out an apology as well.

Rarity quickly changed the subject, “So, did you enjoy Crusading for the first time?”

A troubled expression crossed his features. His stiffened, the smirk fading and his barriers being lowered. “Initially, I did. But then…” He proceeded to tell them what had occurred with Dinky and the bullies. They nodded understandingly as he finished, Rarity with a look of disgust.

“That dreaded Diamond Tiara! It’s bad enough that she makes fun of Sweetie Belle and her friends for being blank flanks; but calling Dinky those names?” She huffed angrily. “I say, it really riles me up!”

Dusk raised an eyebrow. “Yet, nopony seems to have done anything to stop her for good. Why? Are ponies scared of her father?”

Applejack shook her head. “It’s not like that, Prosa. Here in Ponyville, we pride ourselves on not lowering ourselves to the level of bullies.”

“What, fighting back is the definition of bullying?”

“If fightin’ becomes violent, yes.”

Dusk scowled. “When did standing up for oneself suddenly become the same as being a bully?”

“Ah don’t know. You’re the one who yelled at them.”

“Anypony would have, so long as they have sense.”

“Anypony with sense would have realized that doing so sets a bad example for our young ones!”

“Diamond Tiara, Silver Spoon, and Filthy Rich are already doing that!”

Applejack sighed and leaned back. “That may be so… and I actually agree with you on that. But there comes a point where ya have to compromise in order to keep peace. We don’t want fillies and colts growing up thinking violence is the first option.”

He looked away, something akin to shame in his eyes. “No, we do not indeed.”

The conversation drifted back to the task at hand—watching—with Dusk giving out a few helpful tips. He managed to assist Rarity in several small observations, such as how the distant redwood tree was mildly waving in the nightly breeze. Even Applejack began getting a hand on the art of observation, much to her surprise and somewhat chagrin. Their skills were still nubile and immature, paling in comparison to his; but it was a start. Gradually, Applejack begrudgingly began to take a different look on Prosa. Sure, he was a strange pony; but she found herself suddenly warming up to him.

Rarity was curious, however, on how Prosa had even gotten such knowledge of the skill. “I’m surprised,” she said, looking at the stallion with wide eyes. “The only times I’ve heard of this observational deduction were in books!”

“Oh? What kind of books?”

She began listing them off, starting with several mystery novels—most notably, Sherlock Hooves—as well as recent releases. “Come to think of it, there was a new series that came out that I’ve heard had the main character uses a similar method?”

He raised an eyebrow. “And what was this character’s name?”

“I believe it was Trent Collins,” she answered.

Dusk immediately stiffened, and the two mares were quick to notice this. “Is something wrong?” Rarity quickly asked.

He shook his head. “No, no. I was just… thinking…” His answer didn’t sound convincing. Rarity was about to press harder, but then he continued: “I… learned this from a detective from Manehattan—a close friend of mine.”

Applejack gave him a curious look. “A ‘friend?’”

Dusk gave a bitter sigh. “Well, he’s more of an old acquaintance now. We… drifted apart, after some time…”

Rarity and Applejack shared a look, both tempted to ask further. However, as Dusk now had a faraway gleam in his eyes, the two concluded that heading down that path would likely be harsher than it appeared. They returned to looking down the road, eyes searching.

The silence between the three grew to become uncomfortable; the need to discuss anything was high. Rarity decided to try at a different angle with Prosa. But she didn’t want to discuss small things, such as gossip; something about the stallion suggested that he was not fond of small talk.

Well, it’s a good thing I don’t just gossip, she thought.

“Have you any idea on what we should be looking out for?” she asked Prosa.

He blinked, coming out of his thoughtful gaze, giving her a somewhat confused expression. “What do you mean?”

“For Opacare. Do you have any hints, any tips, besides careful observation?”

He frowned. “Nopony in Ponyville knows what to look for?”

“Well,” said Applejack, joining in on the conversation, “apparently Prose had managed to hide from the public for a while now. Seems like he had some help in making sure he didn’t have a face.”

“So nopony knows what he looks like?” he clarified. As Rarity nodded, he closed his eyes, and seemingly said a small prayer of thanks.

Strange, the alabaster unicorn thought. “Princess Celestia has said that we should be searching for stallions with anything writing related as their Cutie Mark.”

His frown returned. “That is… incredibly specific.”

Applejack gave him an incredulous look. “Specific? There could be a thousand stallions with those Marks!”

“But how many would have a Mark that was related to actual writing?” he argued. “Sure, there a few stallions who would have Marks in, say, scroll-writing, but how many would have the essentials of writing? Like, quills? Or ink? Or pens, or—” As he listed off some more possibilities, Rarity detected a large of amount of worry creeping into his voice.

Something occurred to her. Neither she nor Applejack had mentioned the possibility of Opacare’s Mark literally being writing-related—i.e., being the materials that made writing possible. Yet, Prosa here had somehow deduced that there was indeed a probability that such a Mark existed. But he hadn’t seemed like he had known Princess Celestia’s words, and had been caught off guard by her advice.

How did he know? she silently asked herself. Either that was an incredible amount of deduction, or something else is at play. But for the life at me I can’t figure it out!

“Dusk,” she said, interrupting his ramble, “how did you know that Opacare Prose would have quills, or ink, or pens, or anything that can be considered a writer’s item, as his Mark?”

He paused, mouth agape. His pupils shrunk to miniscule sizes, shot with fear and apprehension. “I-I-I never said that he did have a Mark as I described,” he stammered.

Applejack raised an eyebrow. “You suggested the possibility, Prosa. But none of us had ever considered thinking about it that way.”

“W-well, it was pretty obvious.”

“Really? So how come the Princess didn’t think that?”

“M-maybe she wasn’t thinking like how I was thinking?” he responded, voice sounding strained.

That, surprisingly, made Rarity paused. While she held Princess Celestia in high esteem, she had to admit that some of her antics were… less than regal in nature. The incident at the Gala rose to mind, and as she saw Applejack’s brow scrunch up, she guessed that she had thought the same thing. Certainly, Her Royal Highness was wise; but even she, despite all she had seen and observed, was still a pony. She could make mistakes, and miss things of great importance.

Perhaps, then, she hadn’t thought as Prosa had, because she never needed to, nor had she ever wanted to—nor, known to.

Still, though, that didn’t quite answer how Prosa had made such a guess. It seemed too specific of an answer to be a shot in the dark; but then again, perhaps she wasn’t thinking as Dusk was thinking. Glancing at Applejack, she concluded the same for her friend; they simply could not “think” as Dusk.

“I… see,” Rarity finally said after a few moment’s pause. “So… it was a lucky guess with a bit of deductive reasoning, then?”

Dusk let out a sharp, relieved breath, nodding. “You could say that,” he said, a bit too quickly, turning away.

Rarity could have sworn she then heard Prosa mutter a curse about Opacare, but his voice was soft and distant, so she thought little of it. “Is there anything else you can give us?” she asked.

He sighed, slightly hesitant. “… Maybe. Statistically speaking, we ought to be looking for a stallion of medium build. Certainly, we won’t be seeing anypony as large as, say, Applejack’s brother.”

“And why is that?” asked the orange earth pony.

“We know he’s from Manehattan. And the average size of stallions there is… well…” He raised a hoof to his head. “My height.”

Applejack raised an eyebrow. “So ya are from Manehattan.”

He shrugged. “No point in denying it.”

“And you’ve somehow managed to calculate the average height of the stallions in Manehattan?” Rarity asked.

“I’ve had a lot of free time,” he simply said, though there was a hint of a chill to his voice.

Rarity placed a hoof on her chin in rumination. “So, we’ve established that Prose likely has some sort of ‘writer’s item’ as his Mark; and that he’s about medium height.” She sighed. “To be honest, that’s not much to work with.”

He nodded. “That’s all I’ve got. But, I am curious: why?”

The question caught the fashionista off guard. “Why what?”

“Why does everypony seem to care about Prose?” The question had something hidden behind the words, but Rarity couldn’t discern what.

She pursed her lips, considering her answer. “Well… he was famous.”

“And?”

“I would imagine that when a famous pony goes missing, it would stir up some sort of controversy.”

His frown deepened into a concerned grimace. “Is that it?”

Rarity shook her head. “Far from it. Manehattan hadn’t had any disappearances in years; so this, coupled with the fact that Prose was so well known, was shocking.”

He looked away, scowling. “Don’t tell me the only reason Equestria cared for that arrogant cad just because he was famous!”

She was shocked by the sudden vehemence in his voice. “Goodness, no! I was not suggesting that!” she said, trying to calm him down. “There’s more to it than just a famous pony going missing!”

“Really?!” he asked bitterly. “Do tell, then.”

Applejack decided to speak up, “Look, it was the right thing to do. Somepony goes missing, and it don’t matter who it is, ponies are gonna be on the lookout for him.”

“Does one life really warrant so much effort?”

Though he asked in a sharp tone, both mares detected a hint of desperation, even a pleading edge to his voice, almost as if the answer was something he desperately needed—and yet did not want.

“Dusk,” Rarity said quietly, “all lives warrant care.”

He took a short while to think on her simple response. The moon had reached its peak in the sky, the light finally delving into a pale night. Soon the sounds of nightly creatures filled the air; somehow, they brought a sense of tranquility over them.

Dusk finally looked back at the mares, his eyes filled with a sudden pain. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He turned away, his navy-blue mane flowing somewhat in the nightly gale.

“Dusk?” Rarity asked, concerned. “Are you alright?”

He nodded. “Yes. Sorry. I just…” He sighed, clearly frustrated with himself. “When it comes to these kinds of things… I’m very passionate about them.”

Rarity smiled. “It’s okay, Dusk. That just means that you care deeply for others.”

Her words sparked something in him, and he turned to face her, eyes wide and surprised. For a moment, a tentative silence hung between them, and Rarity thought she had said something wrong.

And she realized she likely had, for no more words were said. Dusk had retreated back into his mind for good.





As with many nights before, though, the guard turned up nothing. No speck, nor smidge, nor bit of Opacare Prose had been unearthed by any of the guards stationed in Ponyville. Rarity and Applejack were, understandably, disappointed; but Prosa, on the other hoof, seemed quite content. They all packed up their belongings, and bid each other silent farewells, returning home.

The day’s events weighed heavily on Prosa’s mind. It surprised him that, even in a cheery town like Ponyville, malicious intents still lingered. For some reason, it occurred to him that he could be the harbinger of such intents; after all, his past was littered with some dark methods and practices. As he stepped into his house, the weight increased, and he hunched over, his mind consumed by bleak thoughts.

With every step I take forward, the past approaches. Why can’t I ever run away far enough? How long until it finally lets up?

It will never let up. Not until this is all over. Not until I am all over. Not until Dusk Prosa has also vanished…

He let out a depressing sigh, walking up the steps. Entering his room, he saw that the blank scroll, black inkwell, and blue quill remained, still untouched. His mind was still clouded and muddy; yet now he felt a desire to write.

He sat down at the desk, looking down at the scroll. All his writings up to now had been mostly formal, regarding the status of the operation. But now? Now all he wanted to do was talk. To speak, to converse, with somepony more than an ally…

He wanted to let a friend know him.

He chuckled darkly. How long had it been since he had written anything remotely creative? Weeks? He briefly wondered if perhaps his writing would come sloppily, and nearly considered giving up before he began, thinking that it would be pointless to try.

And yet…

And yet, he had to. Writing was Dusk’s therapy. It always had been, ever since foalhood. 

Ever since his parents had died.

Ever since he had discovered why he needed to draw blood from his veins.

Ever since he had embarked on a dangerous path.

Ever since he had fled the life he had known.

Through the days, weeks, months, and years of his life, through every change and every disturbance; writing remained his one constant, the one thing he could count on to be there for him.

My past is filled with mistakes, and darkness, and errors… but writing remains the brightest light I have ever found.

He picked up the quill, a feeling of familiar confidence racing across his body. This was his element; this was his expertise. There was no need to fear writing. All that mattered was to get the words out. He placed the tip to the paper, and began to write to his friend.

Dear Raven Lock… 
> XVI: News Bearer and Recipient
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Mayor Grifford Finch—Boss—waited patiently in the hotel lobby for his guest, looking around the space. Sitting on a soft white couch, he was quite comfortable. A ceiling light lightly reflected off of the glass table that sat in the middle.

He adjusted his coat, placing his hat to the side. His guest was supposed to arrive at any moment, and he didn’t want to appear rude. There were a few ponies around who were giving him some funny looks, though they weren’t at all hostile. Most came up and wished him a good morning, which he responded in kind.

He reflected on how this was how his administration was. Open, public, and welcoming were the best words to describe it. Finch grew up in a time when politicians were a seedy bunch, always hiding behind some hidden agenda, and he did not want those times to return once he was in office.

Was it a fake, though? A facade? His status of mayor not only allowed him to flush out the corrupt, but also gave him the power he needed to guide the Family. But he was not lying when he said he wanted to help his city; all of his intentions were for its benefit.

Then again, though, it was still a mask; an aspect of his character. It shrouded him with an aura of openness, while he operated from the shadows, ensuring that his city would not fall. He remembered the words that one of the members of the Family taught him: A disguise is but a self-portrait, in some way.

So he doubted that such an impression was false in nature. On the contrary, it most definitely spoke of his resolve.

But, then, why did he suddenly feel unsure?

He shook his head; he was probably just a tad stressed out. He quickly composed himself, resuming waiting for his guest.

Finally, the hotel doors swung open, revealing a breathless unicorn mare. Her cherry-red locks rolled behind her ear, her tail somewhat in a disarray. She wore a charcoal-grey suit, with a white undershirt and bright red tie. A white handbag crossed her shoulder. Her sandy coat had a few dirtying patches, complemented by her pen and notepad Cutie Mark. Her eyes tore around wildly, the jaded pupils crazy and wide, before landing on Finch. Her mouth cracked into a wide smile.

She trotted excitedly on over, her smile gleaming in the bright lights of the hotel. “Mr. Mayor!” she greeted enthusiastically, taking a seat across from him.

He nodded to her. “Hello, Miss Ruby Sparks,” he said, smiling back at her. “You were a little late to our appointment,” he added with a slight smirk. “You weren’t planning on being tardy today, were you?”

She blushed furiously. “I can explain! There was this taxi, and an old lady, and they got in the way of each other, and—”

He cut her off with a warm chuckle. “I understand. Manehattan can be quite a busy place, even at this hour.”

She nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just a little flustered.” She fanned herself. “And a bit excited, too.”

“Oh?” He put on a smile. “Excited about what?”

“Why, interviewing you, of course!” She brushed a lock of her hair away, putting on a confident, eager smile. She lit her horn, opening her bag and bringing out a white notepad (very much in likeness to her Mark) as well as a mini recorder. She held it up with her magic, a light green surrounding it. “Shall we begin?”

He nodded. “Whenever you are ready.”

She cleared her throat, before clicking the recorder on.

“I’m Ruby Sparks,” she began strongly, “and I’m currently sitting in the esteemed Grand Star Hotel in Manehattan. In front of me sits another esteemed quest, a certain Mayor Grifford Finch.

“To many who have lived in the slums of Manehattan nearly a decade ago,” she continued, a glint in her eye, “Mayor Grifford Finch is a god among ponies. Though a reserved, simple earth stallion, his powerful zeal to rid this city of the evil that plagued it has been unmatched by any past politician.”

“Oh, please,” he said, waving a hoof. “You give me too much credit.” Not that I can’t take a little more, I suppose.

She continued, “To give a brief summary: Mr. Finch has been one of the few who took pity on the poor workers, laborers, and generally miserable populace—and managed to turn their life around by the end of the decade! And how did the Mayor present his campaign? ” She smiled at him, pointing the recorder towards him. “Why don’t you remind us, Grifford?”

“We wanted,” he answered, “to present an honest, fair offer. We knew that we needed the working poor, the middle class, and the upper class to all work together to bring this city together.” He smiled. “We fought tooth and nail to remove the corrupt politicians in office, and brought in ponies who were concerned for everypony’s welfare.”

“Truly, a philanthropist and worthy bearer of the title of Mayor,” Ruby said, bringing the device back to her mouth. “And he was very successful, bringing in numerous job opportunities for the jobless. Under his administration, Manehattan has prospered, becoming an economic powerhouse as well as regaining its old glory. The public has never been more proud of itself!”

“Hear hear!” a bellhop cried, followed by similar cries from other hotel-goers.

Ruby Sparks laughed. “Ah, yes, I nearly forgot we’re in a public place.”

She turned back to the Mayor. “What are your plans for the future of Manehattan, Mr. Finch?”

He rubbed his chin. “Well, several folks in my administration have suggested we start utilizing the newest technology to increase production and lower energy costs. Solar panels are relatively new; and it could be worthwhile to put them in place. We’ll also be striving to lower street pollution and littering.” He silently thanked Swol and several others for coming up with that idea; he wanted a clean city, after all.

“With that suggestion, we realized that new factories would need to be made. Several blueprints and plans have been submitted, and our most brilliant of architects and delegators are currently at work deciding where in Manehattan to place these factories. This will also lead to more opportunities for jobs.” Not to mention, it will give the Family more financial benefits.

She nodded. “I see. Do you think Manehattan can accomplish those goals?”

He gave a confident smile. “If the last decade has proven anything, Miss Sparks, it’s that anything is possible when we Manehattanites put our minds to it.”

There were more enthusiastic shouts around the lobby, making Finch smile. He could always count on the ponies to rally behind his words.

Most of them I can.

Ruby nodded again with a smile. “Your confidence in us is astounding, Mayor. And I’m sure we’ll do our best not to let you down!”

She leaned forward, an almost hungry look on her face. “Of course, those exploits pale in comparison to the one that you are undertaking at present.”

He raised an eyebrow, before nodding and responding, “You are, of course, talking about Opacare Prose.”

She nodded. “Indeed I am. And, I’m sure the city is wondering what the current state of the search is?”

He rubbed his chin in thought. “I’ll give Prose this; he’s a great hider when he wants to be. So far, our investigation has turned up nothing.” He chuckled. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; Prose certainly is a clever stallion.”

That caught Ruby by surprise. “You mean… you knew Opacare Prose?”

He quickly waved off the claim. “Not personally. We’ve had interactions via letters, but nothing more. Though, from his writing alone, I could tell he is intelligent.”

“You could keep talking in the present tense,” she noted. “Are you saying you don’t think that Prose has gone for good?”

He shook his head. “That is exactly what I think. I doubt that anypony got to Prose and… well… eliminated him, to say the least.” He looked at Ruby. “If somepony did, there’d be evidence of a struggle. The Prose that we know wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

Ruby nodded. “That makes sense. So, what do you think happened?”

“According to what we have gathered, it is likely that Prose left of his own free will.”

“His own free will?” she repeated, incredulous. “Like, he left on purpose?”

By now, the ponies in the lobby were gathering around, eager to listen to their mayor. Grifford inwardly smiled; he had always liked an audience.

“Maybe,” he answered, rubbing his chin. “The problem is, I—we,” he corrected, “can’t figure out a solid reason. Which leads us to another conclusion.”

“That being?” she inquired.

“Prose might have been forced—albeit passively—to leave. Perhaps by some jealous pony. In that case, he would be unable to leave behind evidence, for if he did, he might have been killed.”

“Who’s to say that Prose isn’t dead already, though, with that in mind?”

“Somepony as famous as Prose wouldn’t just be another victim of some psychopath. And somepony as smart as that author wouldn’t be so foolish to fall into the hooves of a random murderer. No, it’s more possible that somepony equally clever—” At that, his expression grew troubled. “—and possibly, his better—might have gotten to him.”

“‘Gotten to him?’”

“Kidnapped. Blackmailed into leaving.” He shrugged. “At this point of the investigation, those are the most likely.”

She nodded. “I see. Any idea on who would commit such a dastardly act?”

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, not at the moment. The perpetrators remain as elusive as Prose himself.”

She decided to ask from a different angle: “I’m sure you’ve heard Princess Celestia’s announcement that all of Equestria will be looking for this pony. What are your thoughts?”

At that, he let out a low chuckle. “I’m quite surprised that Prose warrants such a large search party.” I suppose, then, I’m not the only one who sees him as a valuable asset. “Her Highness has my thanks for her continued support of the investigation—however slow and inconclusive it may be at the moment.”

He glanced at a nearby clock, seeing that the appointment was nearly over. He gestured to the time, and she nodded, before moving onto her final question.

“Lastly, Grifford, can you tell us or give us any hint as to what to look for? Surely, you’ve seen what Prose looks like?”

He frowned, preparing his careful answer. There has to be a smidge of truth in this one for it to be believable.

“Equestria should be looking for a stallion of about medium build, with some sort of writing emblem as his Cutie Mark,” he answered, somewhat guardedly. “As for specific characteristics… well, I’m not sure they’d do any good, if I knew them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Somepony got to Prose and took him away. If he or she didn’t want to get caught, the best way for them to remain hidden would be to hide Prose as well. And what better way than to hide him in plain sight?”

He rose, as did Miss Sparks. “What I’m saying, is that it is extremely likely that the Prose we’re familiar with is completely unrecognizable from how he looked before. That alone makes a huge dent in our investigation; but it’s all we’ve got to work on for now.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Mayor Finch.” She turned away for a moment. “The investigation into Opacare Prose’s disappearance continues. We wish to advise all available ponies to contribute in some way to this operation. Ruby Sparks, of Equestria Daily.”

With a click, she turned off the recorder, slipping it back into her bag. At once the lobby was filled with questions from concerned ponies. Grifford staved them off carefully, assuring them that all their questions would be answered at a later press conference.

“Now, excuse me,” he said, walking to the door with Ruby in tow. “I’ve got another appointment. Lunch, Miss Ruby?”

“Canterlot Gardens, if you please,” she said, smiling as they walked out.





The newspaper floated down onto the table, resting next to a cup of coffee that had long lost its warmth. It had a few indentations where a pair of hooves held it, crumpling several pages. Yet the depressions were not of anger, but rather of shock; the impact of the hooves was sudden and pronounced, with no signs of an increased agitated state.

These observations did little to help the stallion’s mood. His indigo black coat bristled as he stared into space, his mind reeling with questions. How did Finch conclude all that? Was he really that smart? Was the entire operation all for naught, now, knowing that Finch had several hunches?

He nervously brushed away a strand of dark-violet hair, his mane cresting back behind his head smoothly. He licked his lips, eyes darting back to the paper, making sure that what he had read was genuine. The black-and-white lettering were enough to clarify; yet, he found himself unwilling to believe it.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of any emotions. He failed; his confusion and fear increased, overriding his logic. His heart beat at hundreds of miles, and sweat gathered on his brow.

It had been years since he had felt this way. The last time was when he had to hide a secret from his family. Now, it seemed that history was repeating itself once more.

He was hiding a secret from the Family.

His joints began moving again, and he pushed back from the table. With no horn, he had to lift the cup up manually and bring it over to the sink to rinse. Not that he minded; any little activity was welcome, so long as it kept his mind off of the matter.

Scrubbing the cup with a sponge as the water cascaded down the cup, his thoughts began drifting back to the operation. An intense sense of worry filled his gut as he placed the cup in the dish rack.

Was this the end?

He dried the sink with a towel, before walking over to the table. He picked up the newspaper, gingerly inspecting it, as if it could leap out and attack him at any moment. He trotted over to the living room, the paper in hoof, and stood in front of the fireplace. To try and calm himself, he lowered the paper, glancing around the room.

A neutral colored scheme surrounded him, greys and blacks adorning the walls. The fireplace was surrounded with obsidian brick, with dark purple sofas around the center. A deep mahogany rug covered the pine-wood floor, soft beneath his hooves. A few paintings of ponies, from ancient times, hung in bronze frames. Their faces were turned away, as if pitying the stallion who stood before them. Above rested a black chandelier, with several candles in its holes.

To a foreigner—and indeed, many locals—such a room spoke of depression and of disharmony. Yet, for this stallion—and one more—it was home. It was safe. It was the hearth, and the heart, of everything that he had accomplished.

In silence he reflected; on how long this had taken; on how careful they had been; and on the amount of caution put into each measure. It had taken years for them to realize the truth, and only recently had any plans been implemented that would allow that realization to be set free.

It had started with a stallion who, in a brief moment of clarity, realized a true danger, more threatening than any monster. He had little resources; but he was determined to utilize everything to ensure that this danger would pass. Through careful cunning, he had managed to secure a potential route of escape. All he needed was some outside help.

That stallion—the leader—needed the help of this stallion, the detective; as well as the author, and the wanderer. They were a group of ponies who had come together for one goal: freedom.

It had taken so much time, so much effort, so much sweat and blood and tears, but they had managed to do it. One got free, and was now waiting. The others—the author, and this stallion—had stayed back, hiding in the shadows.

But then their numbers dwindled.

The leader had vanished.

They had been careful, trying to throw off everything. Now, though?

Failure seemed to fall upon the operation. The author had unwittingly opened up and spoke, and now that blasted mayor was on their trail. None of them could have expected this; none could have seen how determined the mayor was. 

The author needed to be silenced; and so, regretfully, the deed was done. The author would speak no longer.

A great shadow had emerged, ancient, corrupt, and dark, threatening to smother them with the lies told for years. In their desire for efficiency, they had overlooked just how much influence the mayor had. The world now stood against them; either wittingly or unwittingly, it didn’t matter. They were trapped, between a wall that separated the truth from the ignorance they stood in.

How could they get out? Could they even get out?

That hole of ignorance was only for one side; and throughout this operation, the stallion had realized that there was another wall somewhere else. And it was large and threatening, menacing to a fault. Only he knew about this; neither the leader, nor the author, nor the wanderer, were aware of it. It approached, intending to choke and subdue them.

This little war of ours… it distracts us from that growing threat. Right now, I should be telling him about it, and should be making plans to counter it.

But I made a promise to stay loyal to the leader… and I must keep my word.

The stallion turned, looking at the piano that rested against the wall. On it was a frame of a dark green mare, with an olive-grey mane and a trio of white eighth notes for her Cutie Mark. His features fell as he looked into her frozen face. Those eyes… so lovely, so alive, like they were in the past…

She, Jade Sonnet, had been his reason to remain ignorant. He wanted her to be happy, wanted her to live a long life with him.

But the city was cruel, and fate was particularly deadly. In his ignorance, he had lost her. She had been consumed by an evil entity…

The very evil that they were now trying to combat.

He turned away quickly, before his memories overwhelmed him. He faced the desk on the opposite wall, looking closely at it.

Upon it sat several envelopes, opened and revealing their contents. Letters upon letters sat on that desk, written in a special ink with the scratch marks of a certain quill pen. Even from this distance, he could tell the exquisite penmanship of the writer; the dips and bends in his u’s, e’s, and l’s; the straight t’s, perfectly dotted i’s; the curves in o’s, q’s, p’s, d’s, b’s, c’s, g’s, and a’s. Every letter had been penned perfectly, every caricature, every line, every point. Truly, no other pony could write so flawless as this writer did.

He walked up to the desk, placing the newspaper to the side. He picked up the first of the letters. It had arrived four days later than agreed upon, though he had learned that there had been complications in the trip. Wolves had not been factored in, and none of them had thought to bring along some form of protection.

Thank goodness he’s smart on his hooves, he reflected.

The next few letters were more or less status reports. He had managed to settle down, where nopony would find him. Though he was initially impatient, the tone of the letters had definitely gone down in intensity. The stallion detected a hint of fondness for the town that the letterer resided in; and indeed, based on the accounts, he could see why. The bright, bubbly atmosphere was a huge contrast to the bleak landscapes they had grown up in; and for the first time in their lives, they knew it was genuine.

With those letters came, of course, the package. As agreed, the letterer only sent out one package once a certain criteria was fulfilled. It was to A) avoid making the procedures cumbersome, and B) should the delivery be regulated, it wouldn’t look like a pattern was being formed. The stallion glanced behind, at a special safe that was behind an old grandfather clock. Only a few hours before did that safe contain the contents of the first package. They had been sent out to their desired destination, much to their satisfaction and relief.

That’s probably the one positive outcome so far in this whole operation.

He glanced back at the letters. They were all from weeks ago. He wondered when the next one would arrive.

HIs mind drifted back to the dilemma. Despite all their progress, they were still trapped; and had no sure way out of this. The stallion had a sneaking suspicion that the end was near—for the operation, and for the ones involved.

Their leader was gone.

The author had to be silenced.

That left two. Them. The detective and the wanderer, fighting a substanceless creature of pure spite and ignorance and idiocy.

If Murphy’s Law taught the stallion anything, it was that something bad would happen, given time.

And, more than likely, he was reaching the end of this vendetta-filled life. He saw the signs; he saw peril; he saw death.

It was coming; with that threat that only he knew.

He checked back at the clock, noting the time. Any moment now…

He closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath.

One second, two seconds, three seconds, four.

Tap, tap, tap.

He opened his eyes, looking to the window behind the desk. There, looking at him with curiosity, was a raven. It’s beady eyes gleamed in the morning sun, demonstrating its remarkable intelligence. In its beak was another envelope; he already guessed from who.

Raven delivery was, admittedly, slow, at least compared to regular pegasus travel. But it was much stealthier, and therefore served their desires extremely well. The stallion opened the window, letting the raven inside. The bird perched on the desk while he went to grab a few crackers.

He took the letter from the avian, handing over the crackers. As the bird happily ate the food, he gazed at the item given to him. The letter was in a small envelope, a red wax seal stamped to the front. In the top right were the initials RL.

He grabbed a nearby letter opener, and effortlessly sliced the wax off. Unfolding the envelope, he pulled out with his magic the contents: a scroll from Ponyville.

At first, he felt terrible apprehension, certain that this was the bearer of horrendous news. But as his eyes glossed over the writing, he realized that he was wrong.

The first sign of this was the way the letter was addressed.

Dear Raven Lock,

In all the other letters, the letterer had addressed him as simply Raven Lock. There never was a Dear. Such an opening clause meant a less-than-formal greeting. They had been keen on keeping their letters as formal and as terse as possible; but this letter was the complete opposite of the agreement.

He blinked, before letting out a slow breath. He took a seat at the desk, the raven watching him, and began to read.

Dear Raven Lock,

It has been a long time since I addressed anypony with that. I must admit, it feels… choppy. I haven’t written like this for ages, and I would be lying if I said that I’m not wincing at how informal this sounds. But if the vibration on my flank as I write these words is an inclination of anything, it’s that this feeling is familiar and warm—exactly as I remembered it.

I know that this is a surprise. It was a surprise for me, too. I never expected to be writing such a piece of informal writing while this operation was proceeding. Yet, here I am, trying to think of new ways to say “I’m good” without using such a blatant and pathetic adjective.

You can imagine my discomfort.

You are probably wondering, why am I writing to you? This isn’t a status report, nor is it a delivery. You might even guess that this is a coded message, because I was caught, or apprehended, and needed to get this out hidden in plain sight.

I assure you, the reason is none of those things. But to be honest, I hardly know the reason at all.

It’s an interesting dilemma, writing without a purpose. One that, as I’m sure you know, I’ve hated for awhile now. You’ve known that I always held the belief that what you write must have a meaning behind it. Empty words are for the weak, and for the foolish, and for the undeserving.

You will also know that’s one of the reasons for everything that has happened… 

I digress. Recent events (nothing that would jeopardize our mission, thankfully) have made me take pause and think. You know from my previous letters that the town of Ponyville is a quaint one, and I have grown somewhat accustomed to its citizens—particularly, a trio of young fillies calling themselves the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I am surprisingly unashamed to admit that I have been inducted into their humble hall of searching (Miss Rarity even went so far as to give me my own cape). At the time, an odd sense of… peacefulness had risen up within me, and I had even thought that this town and its ponies weren’t so bad.

Naturally, I was proven wrong.

The CMC and I were walking down a road when we stumbled upon a terrible scene. You remember Filthy Rich and his daughter from previous business ventures, right?

You can probably imagine where I’m going with this.

Apparently, Ponyville has long been aware of Diamond Tiara’s vile actions—yet has done little to nothing to stop her from continuing. I tried to step in, tried to reason with her; but she would not listen.

To my eternal regret, I slipped back into that… thing that I was before. That monster. That… cretin from Tartarus.

And to a filly, nonetheless! It may have felt right at the moment, but as soon as it passed, I knew what I had done was wrong. It was despicable for me to have fallen back down to that level—and on a mere child in front of mere children as well.

And those fillies; particularly Scootaloo, the young pegasus. I saw fear in them when they saw me approach Tiara. They witnessed the long-hidden side of myself.

But that’s not the strangest nor the saddest part of this tale.

As far as I could tell, the Crusaders were not too shaken up by my actions. The one named Sweetie Belle, she… she wasn’t mad, nor was she forever scared. She wanted to comfort me, as did the others.

Somehow, they knew the truth that lay in my heart; that I didn’t want this. And they sought to mend that broken heart.

And that made me think. About myself, about us, about the operation… and about Opacare Prose.

We had to “remove” him, yes… but now I wonder if it was even worth it?

To remove the demons that the soul holds, one ought to try for an exorcism. But we did different, choosing to break free of our hellish nightmares on our own. For years those nightmares toiled in us, and only recently have we managed to find the strength to fight back.

Yet, as the contents of this letters suggests, perhaps that wasn’t enough.

My nightmares, my demons, my past… they’ve returned, and with a burning vengeance.

It is inevitable that this operation will face humongous hurdles and near insurmountable odds. The past is like a raging inferno in a dry forest; it doesn’t stop until everything is blazing, and the whole land is razed. And it is deadly, and determined, and willing to go the distance just to catch up to us. And it cares not for the lives and innocence that it claims on this war-torn path.

I am now feeling something of old, an ancient sensation that races down my spine and ignites my heart. I chuckle at the irony that this situation has presented. After all, I’m very much an expert in this feeling that I have.

Raven… I’m scared.

Scared for those fillies and what they had to see.

Scared that we will fail.

Scared that our efforts may be for naught, because try as we might, ignorance seems to have spread from Manehattan to Ponyville—and possibly to all of Equestria.

Can we ever escape this pit of damnation? I do not know for certain.

Autem votāmus temptāmus.

But we must try.

We must carry on this quest, to save ourselves and the city.

And… I am certain that she would want us to continue.

My friend, I am scared… but I will not give up. Not until this quest is over. Even though there seems to be no light here in this dark hell of mine, I must try. If I do not, Opacare Prose’s disappearance will have been for naught.

Timendi causa est nescire. Autem, veritas vos liberabit.

I must remember that that is our wish, our goal. An end to the ignorance that blinded us; and a start to the truth that shall be our means of liberation.

Your friend, ally, and companion,

Dusk Prosa

Raven Lock set the letter down. He was surprised to find a tear running down his cheek. It had seemed like forever since Prosa had written so eloquently, so emotionally, so exquisitely. It was beautiful, pure and simple.

And perhaps that was a sign. That maybe nothing, even though Prosa considered it, was for naught. Maybe they could save this entire operation. Maybe they could accomplish this quest.

But more importantly, maybe Prosa could be happy. Maybe that stallion in the west could grow to be the stallion he wanted to be. Free from the manipulations and influences of others, with a strong mind and a golden heart.

Prosa could be free of himself.

And if so, then maybe this was their way out of the darkness. There was hope for Prosa; therefore, there was hope for them.

Maybe, once this was over, once the immediate threat of the mayor and Opacare Prose’s disappearance had passed, they could focus on the new, emerging danger. And maybe they could fight it with something they hadn’t had in years: hope.

Even if Raven Lock had to wait until the end of time to direct Prosa’s attention to someplace else, he was willing to wait all of eternity.

Though he could not claim to be as verbally or as creatively talented as Prosa, Raven nonetheless picked up a quill, inkwell, and paper, setting them down at the desk. The raven had finished its crackers, and was now patiently waiting for its next delivery.

He dipped the pen in the ink, and set it to the paper, and began scratching out the words to his response.





Dusk Prosa stopped functioning. Outwardly. His frame seized up, eyes glossing over, as his mind was sucked back into his subconscious. The contents of the return letter engulfed his head, and every word was repeated, as if he was afraid that the meaning would be lost without a constant reminding.

But no fear consumed him. Nor sadness, nor anger, nor anything, really. Blank and dull, emotionless, he sat there, thinking, unable to feel. It was as if he had been shocked out of the very emotional spectrum.

Dear my friend, Dusk Prosa…

Those words had been enough to make him pause. He was quick to guess that Raven reacted similarly to Dusk’s initial letter. It had been years since either had addressed the other as such; and those words pierced his guarded heart with as much intensity as a drilling, pointed sword.

It was with him reading on, however, that initiated the true shock phase.

In comparison to his letter, Raven’s had been rather short; not even a full scroll’s length. His scribbles, less fancy and most definitely not as elegant as his, detailed words strewn together in a beautiful, yet heart-wrenching soup. Between the letters and paragraphs, Dusk had uncovered a truth that he was unable to accept.

Hope.

Raven had told him that there was hope to be found, even in these darkest of days. Light was but only a short reach away, to those who searched for it. Even this infinite abyss, this pit of despair, even this wallowing soul of Dusk’s, could not truly limit that light.

It was only a matter of time, so said Raven, until that light grew bright enough and strong enough to break through the unbreakable walls that surrounded this world.

And that light had already appeared in Dusk’s heart, without him consciously searching for it. So hard had he been focused on the operation, on Opacare Prose, on Mayor Grifford, and on his city of Manehattan, that he had forgotten to focus on himself. He had justified this lack of foresight by saying that doing so would be incredibly selfish; but now he found himself questioning if that even was true.

Certainly, it could be argued that there was no hope in him nor for him. He had already gambled with the devil, dealt with the demons, and danced with the Lord of All Evil in the moonlight. He had fallen so far, and sacrificed so much, that it seemed to him that there was no way for him to escape this self-dug hole.

Yet, here was Raven—an astute observer, amazing detective, former psychologist, and one of the few whom Prosa would regard as a friend—telling him otherwise; that there was indeed a shining, twinkling hope lying before him. Even if he was blind to it, it remained, waiting for him to catch it.

That hope, so wrote Raven, comes in the form of that town, and those children whose company you have come to enjoy.

Could he believe it? No, Dusk could not; his instincts told him to reject such an ideal. It was an unobtainable blessing, given to those who only deserved it. And he had known for a long time now that he was the least deserving of such a gift.

You will, of course, assure yourself that such an idea is false, Raven had continued. I know you well enough to know that you think highly of yourself in all aspects save for the one that matters the most: self-worth.

Understand, my friend, that you are worth more than you can ever imagine. In my experience, I have seen children know the true heart of many ponies before any leading psychologist could hope to make a diagnosis. And just as you know the truth about the nature of Manehattan, I know—and those fillies know—the truth about your own nature.

There is hope for you, Dusk. There is hope for us all.

Think of it this way. You were blind, but then your eyes were opened; only to wake up in a shadowy hall that you think you cannot escape. But those fillies, and that town; they must be your guiding light. You need only reach out, and soon you will find your way out.

Could that be true? Could he be saved? He had no answers; and he was unwilling to delve any further into his soul for “potential” resolution.

It’s an insubstantial conclusion, he tried to reason. That was enough to calm him down somewhat; until he had read the final words that Raven had left.

Nosce te ipsum.

Know thyself.

He who knows others ought to know himself. Yet, he who knows what the world does not, is often blind to the truth of his own self. The outside is the one, true way for him to know for certain who he is.

But that path was riddled with obstructing vines, the road blocked by muddy mysteries that not even he could hope to bypass. And he was too wary to try, knowing that the consequences could prove to be world-changing.

Still, though, such thoughts did not improve his stiffness. And his mind would still pester him with that question, that “truth” that he had rejected, trying to convince him otherwise.

Was there hope for him?

“Dusk?” a male voice asked to his left, shaking him out of his stupor. “Are you okay? You’ve been staring into space for the past twenty minutes of guard duty.”

He turned, facing a certain brown earth stallion—Time Turner. He tried for a grin, though it was weak, and would not have convinced even the most naive of fillies. “I’m fine.”

Turner raised an eyebrow, but did not question further. He turned away, leaving Dusk alone in his thoughts. There would be no rest for his mind this night.

Though, he could not say that was a bad thing.

> XVII: Confrontation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The school bell was close to ringing, and Sweetie Belle impatiently waited for the sound that would release her. To her side, her friends also waited just as anxiously. Miss Cheerilee's words became blurred in her mind, overrun by images of that stallion who had become the object of her curiosity.

Despite what had happened with Dinky, Tiara, and Spoon, she still had enjoyed herself in Dusk’s company. Dusk’s sense of justice and willingness to stand up to bullies was certainly worth her respect. His assurance to Dinky that there would be an end to Diamond’s harassment kept coming to mind, assuring her that Dusk truly wanted to help.

It suddenly occurred to Sweetie that she didn’t have that many colts to look up to, other than Big Mac and a select few. In fact, now that she thought about it, she had never heard of colts becoming that explosive when faced with a bully. A part of her wondered what of that made Dusk so interesting; his anger was definitely dangerous when it was unleashed.

Yet, once again, she reflected that behind that exterior lay a vibrant interior. And she knew that there was a deep, resonating, rich kindness in Dusk somewhere. Perhaps his response to the bullies was simply another version of that kindness, a more lively one?

Some would say that her liking Prosa was bad; inherently evil, maybe. Befriending the unknown was, according to history, not the brightest of moves.

Did it matter, though? She liked Prosa, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom liked Prosa; heck, even Rarity, and now Twilight and Fluttershy were beginning to warm up to him! There really wasn’t much of a need to justify her wanting to be around him, to hang out with him.

She may not have been the best at judging the character of a pony, but she could tell when a pony was sincere. And something about Dusk—though, at the moment, unexplainable—told her that the stallion was not a threat.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the loud clanging of the school bell. An excited grin formed on her face, and she looked to her fellow Crusaders, seeing similar expressions. Freedom was now in their grasp, and they practically bolted from their desk with only the briefest of goodbyes said to their teacher. A trail of smoke followed them as they zoomed down the hall and out the doors.

Sweetie’s excitement grew as the welcoming afternoon light hit her face, her smile widening enormously. She and her friends trotted down the steps, and began talking about the enigmatic stallion.

“Ah wonder what Mr. Prosa has in store for us today?” Apple Bloom wondered aloud.

“Maybe something fun!” Scootaloo said. Her voice grew to a whisper, “Hopefully nothing that will end up with a filly on the ground crying.”

Apple Bloom nodded, the memory of Dinky crying still in her mind.

“Um… girls?” a soft voice asked to their side. They turned, and found a timid Dinky standing behind them. She shuffled her hooves nervously. “Uh… I was wondering… if-if…”

Sweetie smiled. “Oh, you were wondering if you could go Crusading with us?”

Dinky nodded. “Yeah, if that’s alright.”

Scootaloo grabbed Dinky and winked playfully at her. “Of course it is, Dinky! The CMC are always looking for new members!”

Seeing their sincere faces, Dinky couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, girls! What are we going to do today?”

Apple Bloom rubbed the back of her head. “We were gonna head over to Dusk’s house. He probably has some idea of what we ought to do.”

Dinky nodded happily. “Sounds like a fun plan!”

“Let’s go!” the three of them chorused.

They bounded down the steps, ready to pursue another adventure—

“Oh, look, Silver Spoon! A herd of stupid blank flanks!”

Apple Bloom sighed. “And Ah had thought she wouldn’t show up today.”

“Oh no, is she going to be mean again?” Dinky whimpered.

Scootaloo placed a hoof around the smaller filly reassuredly. “Don’t worry, Dinky. She won’t do anything dumb. We’ll just make sure Dusk knows about her as soon as possible.” She flashed her a smile. “He’ll curb her in no time!” She and Bloom then turned, facing the oncoming bullies.

“Leave us alone, Diamond,” Scootaloo asserted.

Diamond sneered back. “Why? Are you gonna cry for mommy?”

“You’re being really mean!” Sweetie said.

“So what? I don’t care what other ponies think!”

Apple Bloom scuffed her hoof on the dirt road. “If ya don’t stop, we’ll get Mr. Prosa!”

“What’s he gonna do?” Silver asked. There was a clear hesitation in her voice, though.

Scootaloo smirked. “You mean besides scare you off like he did yesterday?”

At that, the two bullies noticeably stiffened. Silver glanced around the Crusaders and Dinky, as if thinking that Dusk would be summoned at any moment.

Diamond quickly shook it off, though, putting on a confident smirk. “Oh, I don’t think that user will be bothering me anytime soon!”

Dinky looked at her in confusion. “You mean you’ve decided not to be mean anymore?”

The Crusaders giggled at her question, while Diamond fumed. She tossed her mane with a huff. “Don’t be stupid, Dinky. Of course I’m going to mean to you blank flanks!”

“And here Ah thought she’d actually be reformed,” Apple Bloom whispered, garnering more stifled chortles.

“Anyway!” Diamond shouted, cutting off any further jabs. “I don’t think Prosa is going to be bothering anypony else before this day is over!” She smirked. “In fact, he might even leave town!”

They gasped. “What!” Sweetie exclaimed, glaring at Tiara in anger.

Tiara flashed her a bratty grin. “My father doesn’t mess around when it comes to ponies ‘harassing his little angel!’” She said the last part in a mocking tone, cackling afterwards. “In fact, he’s already over there now, having a few ‘choice words’ with that meanie!”

“You’re bluffing!”

“Am I?”

She had meant every word; her overconfident and arrogant attitude were evidence of that.

“We were on our way to watch the show,” Silver Spoon said.

“Why don’t you four join us?” asked Diamond.

The Crusaders and Dinky blinked. “W-what?” Scootaloo stammered. “Join you?!”

Diamond rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s not like we care if you did or anything. But seeing that you girls seem to care about this Prosa, well, wouldn’t it be nice to be there when he’s driven out of town?”

“He won’t be!” Sweetie cried. “You’ll see!”

“Oh, whatever!” Diamond and Silver trotted down the road, callously pushing past the fillies. “I don’t know about you, Silver Spoon, but I don’t want to be late to Dusk’s expulsion!”

The two of them laughed, before they soon became little more than dots in the distance. The remaining four exchanged concerned looks.

“Oh, ponyfeathers!” Scootaloo exclaimed, stomping her hoof angrily. “We can’t just let them go! We gotta warn Dusk!”

Apple Bloom nodded. “You’re right. We gotta hurry!”

“But, what about—” Dinky tried to say something, but was cut off by Sweetie Belle. “C’mon, girls! We’re not letting Dusk leave that easily!”

Soon the four broke into a fast-paced gallop, gunning down the road and towards Dusk’s house.





It has to be a mistake. An error of judgement. Dusk shook his head. I know Raven. He would never say something so… naive.

Despite it having been a few days since he had received the letter, it nonetheless remained as his foremost thought. It seemed so foolhardy, so stupid, so idiotic for Raven to say that Dusk could be saved. As if I could have been saved ten years ago! It was only luck that brought me out of that darkened time!

He took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. He still could not understand why Raven’s letter was leaving him so flustered; after all, it was just simple naivete, right?

Right?

Right. Right. So then why do I think it’s wrong?

He shook his head. The remnants of a lightly toasted sandwich sat in front of him, half-eaten. His hounding thoughts had lessened his desire to eat lunch; the coffee was still lukewarm and half-filled. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was only a little past two.

The foals would be out of school by now, he thought absentmindedly. I would guess that the Crusaders’ initial destination would be here.

He frowned, unsure if he wanted their company at the moment. He was a little busy wallowing in confusion and self-spite, after all; he could not be bothered to help them get their Marks in paragliding.

Still, though, if I truly were a blank flank, then perhaps I would have gotten my Mark with them, through their odd methods…

He heard, then, a soft knock on the door. At first, he thought that it was the girls. He stood up, pushing away from the table and walking over to the door.

The knocking continued as he got closer, and he realized that it could not have been the girls. The point of impact was way too high to be a mere filly; and the knocks were much more forceful than any of the girls were. He frowned; who could it be at his porch? An annoying politician, perhaps? A wandering merchant? Or was it somepony threatening, somepony who wished to have a violent word with him?

More likely, it was the latter. But he couldn’t be sure without opening the door.

But did he want to? After all that had occurred, he was unsure if he could face the world. He wondered if he ought to stay inside for a long while, until the danger had passed. After all, hiding in plain sight surely was more advantageous than confronting this risk?

He sighed. He already knew the answer to that question. Risk was necessary; and he had learned that the hardest way.

Being torn from your previous thought-process is a painful experience… yet, it was necessary in the long run. It was a huge risk, haphazardous, deadly; but also, the key to ponies’ freedom.

Resolutely, he pushed aside any thoughts of hesitation, placing a hoof on the knob. With a quick intake of breath, he twisted it, pulling it open, expecting a threat.

He wasn’t wrong.

A light-brown, male Earth stallion met him eye-to-eye, bright blue meeting carnation pink. His mane, a lighter variant of black, was sleek and obviously gelled, based on its shiny appearance, and his tail was of a similar condition. A pair of bushy eyebrows topped off his face. He wore a blue half-vest with white collars and a red tie dangling in the center. A large s with two parallel lines going through it was embedded on the tie, and it seemed to flash in the noon light. A trio of money bags were his Cutie Mark, though he did not appear to be particularly inclined to flaunting it.

Despite these details, what truly caught Dusk’s attention was the stallion’s facial expression. It was a simple frown, but it spoke enormously on what bothered him. Much as Dusk’s eyes allowed one to perceive a stallion of reserved liveliness, this newcomer’s eyes let Dusk see a stallion with an issue.

With whom or what, it was easy to guess. But he opted to not say anything on the matter, simply staring at the newcomer with careful coldness.

“Good afternoon, Dusk Prosa,” the stallion said, nodding briefly. “My name is Filthy Rich.”

Hearing his name caused a flicker of recognition to appear in Dusk’s gaze, but he remained silent. He had anticipated Rich’s eventual arrival, and he could already guess for what purpose he was here.

Dusk stared at him for a few more seconds, before stepping to the side, letting him enter. Rich nodded, taking careful, precise steps through the door. Dusk pointed to the living room to the left, while also closing the door shut. As Rich made his way to a couch, Dusk vanished into the kitchen.

A moment later, he reappeared in the living area, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and a pitcher. He set the tray down, and offered one of the cups to Rich.

The light-brown stallion had the faintest of smirks on his face as he accepted the cup. “I see you do have some manners.”

Dusk took the couch opposite of him, also holding a cup. “One must never neglect to be a good host to guests,” he responded, taking a sip and closing his eyes.

Rich took a sip, eyes lighting up in surprise. “Just the right amount of cream and sugar,” he noted, looking at Dusk. “How did you guess?”

The pewter-stallion shrugged. “A simple observation.”

Filthy nodded, taking another sip, before placing the cup down on the coffee table. The two of them sat silent for a few moments, Dusk still having his eyes closed. He seemed indifferent to Rich’s presence, though inwardly he was every bit on edge, anticipating and guessing any potential move that Rich might make. An imaginary chess board appeared in front of him—a tactic he had acquired some years ago—and he saw Rich prepare his pieces. In his mind, he set up his own pieces, carefully guarding his King.

Rich moved first, placing a Pawn two units up, in the form of words. “I imagine you to be a rather smart stallion, Mr. Prosa,” he began, his words smooth and obviously prepared.

Dusk said nothing, responding by moving his own mental Pawn a unit up.

“And I also imagine you to be quite knowledgeable about how this town functions.”

“Flattery shall get you nowhere, Mr. Rich,” he replied quickly, moving his Bishop ahead.

Rich nodded, but also moved his own Bishop with his next phrase. “Neither shall bullying, Mr. Prosa.”

Rather than make an allusion to his daughter’s actions, Dusk simply took another sip of his coffee, and waited.

Rich surged ahead. “In this town, bullies are to be spoken to about their actions, and encouraged to no longer be—beasts, as you put it.” His Bishop took down one of Dusk’s Pawns; but if Dusk showed any concern to the loss, he was great at hiding it.

“In a town such as this,” Dusk then said, moving another Pawn forward, “I would expect no less in morality.”

“Then you agree? That you—” Rich cleared his throat, “—that bullies ought to be taught a lesson?”

“In ethics, maybe,” was his careful reply, “though I fail to see the point.”

“What ever do you mean?”

“Can you teach a wolf to be a dog? Could you teach a tiger to be cat?”

“Are you saying that bullies cannot be changed?”

“If not resolved early, perhaps.”

“Is that what happened to you, then?” Rich pushed another piece, this time a Rook, forward, intending to trap Dusk’s Bishop. “You were not ‘resolved?’”

Dusk moved his Knight, taking out the enemy Rook. “Criminationibus irritatus submisit sine testimoniis expositum, potest dimitti sine evidentia.”

“My evidence is a crying filly and a witness!” Rich protested angrily, trying to go on the offensive.

“As is mine,” Dusk cooly responded, creating a strong barrier around his pieces. “It appears we are at a stalemate. Shall we end the initial first blows?” His eyes snapped open, and he leaned forward, not waiting for Rich to respond. “Why are you here?”

“If you are as every bit as smart as the local mares say you are, then you must know why!”

“I do know. It was as obvious as the fact that you are a stallion.” The barest hint of a smirk crossed his lips. “You are a stallion, correct?”

The jest was ignored with an annoyed huff. “I am here to talk about your… ‘experience’ with my daughter, Diamond Tiara.”

Obviously, Dusk thought, taking out another of Filthy’s Pawns. “It was interesting, to say the least.”

“‘Interesting’ is putting it mildly.” Rich narrowed his eyes. “You drove both Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon to tears with your actions, young man!”

“Do not speak to me as if I am but a mere child.”

“Then stop acting like one!”

With that interjection, Rich burst through the defense, claiming Dusk’s Bishop. Hmm. This might be harder than I thought.

“Perhaps you could enlighten me more on your problem?” Dusk asked, casually taking down the stallion’s Knight with his own.

Rich blinked. “I just told you my issue!”

“I fail to see the issue, then.”

Filthy Rich huffed and snorted in anger. “You really are quite stubborn, Dusk Prosa.”

“An endearing quality, I’m sure.” Dusk’s dry wit presented him more Pawns to capture, leaving Rich absent of any initial defenses.

Rich shook his head. “Fine! I’m here because you made my daughter cry!”

“Yes. And?”

“Have you anything to say in your defense?”

“Are we in court?”

“We might as well be prosecution and defense, respectively!”

“… I did what I thought was necessary.”

“Necessary?!” Rich suddenly stood, his fur bristling. “You made them cry and threatened them with death! How is that necessary?”

Dusk was somewhat surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but did not show it. He looked up at the stallion with a bored gaze. “Threatened them with death, Mr. Rich? Is that not a bit far-fetched?”

“Not when it comes from my daughter, it isn’t!”

“Surely that offers up the need for skepticism. You’re daughter certainly isn’t the most honest of fillies.”

“Are you calling Diamond Tiara a liar?”

“Precisely. I’m surprised you haven’t caught on.”

“I won’t stand for such accusations!”

“Then you had better sit down, Mr. Rich.” Dusk’s voice took on a bladed edge, laced with a touch of venom. It was clear he had no intention of asking again.

Filthy said nothing, sitting back down and trying to reclaim his composure. He gripped the coffee cup intensely, nearly cracking the porcelain item.

Dusk decided that he had to approach this differently. While seeing Rich get riled up was, admittedly, somewhat entertaining, he didn’t want to cause a huge uproar. He leaned forward, choosing his next words carefully. “Have you heard of Diamond Tiara’s… less-than innocent activities?”

Rich raised an eyebrow. “Surely you aren’t implying that she’s a user like yourself.”

Dusk ignored the obvious jab. “Have you heard of the tales spread on the playground? Of a pink filly with a crown for her Mark, joined by her spoon-themed lackey, on a quest to bring misery to all those around her? The stories of two fillies, seemingly left untamed and unchecked by society?”

Rich snorted. “Preposterous rumors with little substance.”

Dusk raised an eyebrow. “The multiple eyewitnesses from both foals and teachers alike suggest otherwise.” He took a slow breath. “Need I bring up the various accounts of crying, sobbing children?”

Filthy visibly winced, and Dusk knew he had found an opening. “The 5th of March. A certain Button Mash comes home in tears because a certain pink foal called him a loser for playing a video game. The parents call in, the teachers hold a conference, a certain rich stallion is requested to arrive. He does, and… nothing of importance happens. At least, according to said certain stallion in several accounts.”

He leaned forward, sending out his Knights and Rooks, taking out the Bishops and enemy Rooks. “The 17th of May. Not as heart-wrenching, but equally a cause for concern. A colt by the name of Pipsqueak comes home, not in tears, but in confusion. He asks his father, ‘Poppa, what is dwarfism?’ Confused by the question, the father asks where his son learned such a term. In answer, the son details the encounter with a certain pair of fillies. They had called him such a term—most likely having learned it for only such an occasion—and even had gone so far as to suggest that it would lead to him ‘being lonely and miserable for the rest of his life.’ Once again, the school is called, and a conference is held, and events proceed very much as it did in the past. Nothing happens—according to one stallion.”

He brought his Queen out, preparing her for attack. “And then, just recently, we have accounts of those fillies at it again. But this time, they’re attacking multiple targets. First, a young unicorn filly’s mother is spoken poorly of, purely out of spite. In particular, the mother’s eyesight is called into question—despite there being no evidence of her having impaired vision, despite the obvious disconnect in ocular symmetry. Naturally—nay, impressively—the filly of the mother stands up to these fillies, and they in turn begin to harass her, for having no Mark, for having a mother who supposedly can’t see right. And what do they call this mother?”

Dusk paused, allowing his words to sink in, before landing what he thought to be the final blow. “They called her… retarded.” Venom filled his voice. “Where they learned such a term is not as important as learning why they used said term.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Now, after hearing all of these allegations, do you still deny that your daughter has committed irresponsible wrongs?”

“O-of course! I taught my Tiara better than that!”

“… Then you are as every bit incapable of teaching as you are ignorant.” He held up a hoof before Rich could protest. “Don’t bother denying it. You’ve already proven that you are a very stupid stallion, unwilling to look past his own, hindering schema. Your ideals are false, your ideas convoluted and idiotic. The root of this complete incomprehensibility, is your ignorance, Mr. Rich. Your ignorance to the problems that others face, and to the fact that your daughter has done nothing but evil and malicious actions in the time that you’ve spent here.”

He leaned slightly back, turning more thoughtful, yet still retaining the sharp edge to his voice. “I must wonder why nopony in this town has done anything to completely rectify this error. Why nopony has decided enough was enough, that perhaps they had to fight back against this disgust and filth. I wondered, is this town that stupid? That gullible?”

He shook his head. “I was wrong. This town is by far one of the best. Upholding its values of Friendship, from what I gathered, is one of the prime objectives. And from repeated observation, I discovered that this town is not going to go down that path of righteous fury.”

Once more, he glared at Filthy Rich. The fire in his eyes had turned a deadly bright pink, igniting his heart and soul. “But I am not from this town, and therefore not hindered by its objective. And if I have to stamp down the egotistical, then I sure as hell will.”

Check, he thought, as his Queen blocked the King from moving.

Rich glared back, silent for a moment, taking in Dusk’s words. His side of the imaginary board was pretty much empty; all of the Pawns had been taken, his two Bishops and one Knight and Rook overrun. All that remained was a Rook, a Knight, and his King and Queen.

“Who do you think you are?” Rich suddenly asked, drawing Dusk out of his thoughts. The pewter stallion gave Rich a questioning look, not bothering to answer. “Do you really think you have any power here?”

Again, Dusk did not answer, carefully regarding the stallion opposite of him.

“Mr. Prosa, you have to realize that you cannot force the meanness out of my daughter through intimidation!”

The last word made him visibly stiffen, but other than that, no words were uttered in response.

“Diamond Tiara is very fragile, and I won’t have anypony threaten her while I’m around!” Rich’s strength briefly faltered as his eyes took on a faraway look. “Even if she’s learned a lot more from her mother than from me…” 

Dusk didn’t need any clarification. A twinge of guilt poked at his heart, but he shoved it away, trying to maintain a facade of coldness. Dealing with guilt-ridden parents, especially those who felt inadequate, while rare, was something he was somewhat familiar with.

Still, though, that only served to barely craft a blow to his distaste. Ignorance could not be excused, and Rich wasn’t going to get off easy.

“Whether or not your daughter has been influenced by nature or by nurture is of little concern,” he said, gaze only slightly losing its ferocity. “What matters is her actions—both past and present.”

“You mean her—”

“Harassment. Intimidation. Bullying.”

The brown stallion placed his head in his hooves. Dusk pictured his pieces ransacking the board, doing away with the Rook and Knight. It’s over, he thought, strangely satisfied.

The feeling was quickly replaced with repulsion. Why was he satisfied? He just forced a pony to confront the truth about his child. There was no justification for this sudden change in attitude. It was like he was resuming his old role as—

Rich looked up at him. “Then, by that logic, your actions need to be questioned as well.”

His statement seemed to echo in his mind, breaking his line of thought. Dusk raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Driving fillies to tears? Yelling and threatening them?” Rich’s Queen moved, taking out Dusk’s remaining Bishop. “And that’s just the present grievances. What about locking yourself away in this home, doing goddess knows what?” He narrowed his eyes at the pewter stallion. “Diamond has said that you’re in possession of… less than savory items. Who’s to say that you might negatively influence others to follow in your footsteps?”

As his argument took stride, more of Dusk’s pieces were captured. He watched, in morbidly rapt interest, as his own offense was used against him.

“Users, druggies, or addicts; it doesn’t matter what ponies call you. It’s obvious to me that you could be a threat.”

“Your point being?”

Rich narrowed his gaze, sensing an opening. “Leave. Don’t come back.”

“Why?”

“Diamond tells me that you’ve taken a particular liking to those three fillies she sees at school. I have reason to believe that you are corrupting them with your secrets.” Rich stood, looking down at Dusk. “If you truly care for those fillies, you will leave. Because if you stay, there’s no telling how much bad will follow you.”

Dusk stared at Rich, carefully concealing his emotions. However, as his body began to shake, he realized he could not contain what he was feeling much longer.

“A worthy argument,” he said, slowly rising to his hooves, head lowered. “But nonetheless flawed.”

His head snapped up, momentarily surprising Rich. “If I’m a threat, then so is your daughter. To those fillies that I care about. You should leave, too, by that logic.”

Rich bristled. “Are you threatening my family?”

“Are you threatening mine?!” Dusk suddenly shouted, rising to his full height. His anger unleashed itself upon the shocked business owner, emphasized by the harsh glare in his eyes and the quaking furniture. “Your daughter made a child cry! And has a history of constant bullying and harassment against others! Those fillies I care about are her biggest victims! Do you mean to tell me that you are willingly justifying your child’s idiocies and errors simply because she wasn’t raised as well as she could have?!”

“I—”

“Because if you do, then you’re just as stupid as she is! I don’t give a damn if Diamond simply turned out badly! I acted as any sensible adult should have!” Glowering at Rich, Dusk’s voice dropped into a harsh whisper. “If your daughter is not curbed of her insolence, then she will become a greater threat. I have seen far worse bullies fall down that path of self-destruction. You ought to be thanking me for intervening when I did!”

“That is enough!” Rich roared, standing up and rising just slightly above Dusk. “You will not say such things!”

“I will say the truth, the pure black and white, when the world needs it!”

“This isn’t an issue of black and white! This is an issue of greys!” He shoved a hard hoof at Dusk, pushing him back against the edge of the seat. “Diamond Tiara is a child! You are an adult! Start acting like it—”

Suddenly, Dusk grabbed Rich’s hoof and twisted, making him yelp in pain. With another hoof, he shoved him back, forcing him on the ground. As Rich looked up at Dusk, his eyes widened in surprised horror. A red-hot, fiery aura seemingly surrounded the pewter stallion, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. It was as if he was possessed, not by ghost, nor by spirits; but by Tartarus itself!

“Do not try to lecture me on what is mature, Filthy Rich. I will not have a failed parent try to teach me right and wrong, when I have seen true right and true wrong.” 

“I will drive you out of town!” Rich cried, glaring equally angrily at the stallion. “We won’t have a user like you around for long!”

“I am more than a so-called user, you irrumator!”

He picked Rich up by his vest collar with jaw-dropping ease, and shoved him against the wall, eyes dangerous and wild. “Do not even try to threaten me, Rich! You are treading on dangerous ground!” He pulled back, before shoving Rich against the wall again, causing the whole house to shake. “I could do so much to you right now; so many things that you would make you beg for death!”

He leaned in close, voice dripping with vengeance. “Do you know what happened to the last stallion who dared to cross me?!

“He’s ten feet under! And if you’re not careful, you’ll be in the same situation!”

He let go of Rich, breathing heavily. The elder stallion slumped against the wall, eyes wide with complete fear. For several, tentative seconds, nothing was said.

“Get the hell out of my house,” Dusk ordered gruffly.

Rich didn’t even nod as he staggered to his hooves. He stared at Dusk, his mouth moving, yet no words forming. Something in his head clicked, and he began shuffling away from the angered pony. In no time he was by the door, and then he was out of it, darting out in a desperate trot to safety.

Dusk watched him go, his anger slowly receding. The board had been cleared, sloppily; he felt dissatisfied with the outcome. Never before had a mind game ended in such a way that made him feel this way, and he regretted ever letting Rich into his home. But more than anything, he regretted allowing himself to reveal his vulnerable anger to that stubborn stallion. Rich’s blatant ignorance, while fury-inducing, was nothing compared to the frustration that Dusk felt for and at himself.

He heard, then, the distinct sound of a bush shuffling, and his eyes immediately darted to the mulberry patch nearby. A white head poked out, with a purple and pink mane, emerald eyes looking at him in shock. He stared back, eyes wide, as if he had been caught doing something bad; but, in retrospect, he had. He then saw an orange head, then a tan, then a pink, then a purple-grey, then a dolphin-grey; and they all had similar expressions of disbelief.

Seconds passed, before he stepped back into his home, slamming the door and locking it shut. He didn’t have time to deal with those fillies now. He was much too busy wallowing in his self-hatred. With a disappointed sigh, he trotted up the stairs, feeling empty, alone, and feeble. There would be no solace, no comfort, for him.





Sweetie wasn’t sure what to feel. Fear came to mind, but so did sadness, for some reason.

The six fillies were surprisingly silent—Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon having apparently been shocked into saying nothing. They all returned to their homes, not saying a single word to each other, reeling from what had transpired.

Sweetie had thought Dusk had been angry when he had confronted Diamond and Silver; but now, his rage paled in comparison to his most recent fury. But, instead of finding some sort of justification for Dusk’s anger, Sweetie could only find disappointment.

She hadn’t said anything to Rarity, returning to her room without speaking with her sibling. Currently she sat on her bed, staring at the wall, her mind alight with millions of thoughts. Dusk’s words were terrifying, dark; seemingly out of character for the stallion.

Or was it?

The only Dusk that Sweetie knew was the reclusive one, who had a sense of justice—albeit a very colorful one. He was intelligent, yes, strong, too. Yet, despite his odd nature, he never seemed unapproachable. Simply put, he was guarded, introvertive; but still amicable.

At least, he was.

Now, she wasn’t sure what to think. A part of her wanted to support Dusk. Filthy Rich had no right to barge in and try to drive him out of town. Calling him a user without any evidence to support that was also quite rude of the business stallion.

Yet, that part of her was quickly overrun by the other part: the one where she began to believe that Rich was somewhat right.

Though she had seen the syringes, she had no idea if that made Dusk a user. That did not mean that she didn’t think he could become a threat. Whose blood that was stored in those syringes was still a mystery, and if anypony besides herself and the Crusaders found out about them, they’d come to the conclusion that he was a danger to them all.

Not to mention, Dusk’s anger and throwing Rich around was absolutely unheard of in Ponyville. Nopony had ever lost their temper so much that they would actually threaten to hurt somepony else. At first, Sweetie immediately thought it was a ruse; but Dusk’s tone and the painful sounds of the walls creaking and bodies being slammed told her the truth.

Dusk was hiding something; but now, it was more than the syringes.

It was a violent past. One fraught with hostility. One that might even lead to Dusk becoming a threat.

“Sweetie Belle?” Rarity’s voice called from outside of her room. “Are you alright?”

Sweetie sighed. “I’ll be fine, Rarity, honest.”

Rarity paused, worried, but nonetheless stepped away from Sweetie’s room.

The young unicorn rolled back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her emotions were in turmoil, rambling with questions about Dusk Prosa, his past, and his motives. She had no answers, and knew that she would likely find none. Whatever that stallion was hiding, she had a feeling that it would come crashing down on him; and she worried that the consequences would be disastrous.

> XVIII: Faltering Foundations
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Raven Lock tried to stay calm.

Only a few days had passed since he sent Dusk that response letter. At the time, he had felt relatively calm and collected. After all, most of the operation was going swimmingly.

And it still was. Though, now there was another, larger issue at hand.

The other organization—the one that only Raven knew about—had made a move. He had long been tracking it, having kept in touch with various associates, unbeknownst to Dusk. That organization was quickly threatening to rival even Grifford Finch’s group; and it didn’t help that it was near-completely unknown.

He glanced at the picture of his late wife once more, asking it for strength. A part of him thought this was irrational; after all, they hadn’t done anything to directly threaten them. Yet. Raven was a believer of Murphy’s Law; and based on the evidence that he had uncovered, it was only a matter of time before that shadowy organization struck fast and hard.

He wanted to be prepared for the worst. When it hit—and it would hit—he wanted himself and his friend to be ready.

Especially since it’s only he and I now.

He sighed. Dusk had sacrificed so much to pursue this goal. He had shed his old identity, cut most of his ties, and possibly left a few ponies feeling confused and betrayed, all because he wanted to do what he thought was right. Raven supported him, certainly, but Dusk’s stubbornness could be troublesome.

Considering what Manehattan had become under Finch’s influence, it would be hard for the ordinary pony to understand where Dusk was coming from. Raven himself had once fallen into that thought pool. Thankfully, after some time spent with Dusk, he realized that he was, in the end, right, and he had pledged himself to assisting Dusk in his cause.

His cause.

Raven frowned. When had that happened? It wasn’t originally Dusk’s; it was their leader’s.

Then again, their leader was gone, as was the author. He supposed that Dusk simply took over; whether by choice or by coincidence he was unsure.

Dusk’s goal, though, was no longer of the same priority as it had been. Lock would have told Dusk about the mysterious, shady organization that he had been tracking for a while now. But he found that he couldn’t. Something told him that Dusk needed to finish this goal, no matter how seemingly unobtainable it was. And that goal had to be placed above all else.

Did that resolve come at a cost? Did it spiral in obsession? Was it more detrimental in nature than either of them had considered?

Raven shook his head. He couldn’t be bothered to answer right now; he was fighting two different wars, one actively, the other passively. He needed to concentrate on the tasks at hand.

He placed a thumbtack on the wall map. It was a detailed image of Equestria, with all the cities and towns outlined in plain detail. The thumbtack was now next to Manehattan, around the outer border of the city. Several other tacks, like polka-dot markers, adorned the sides of the city as well. Raven observed that they all appeared to be in a wave. This wasn’t a mistake on his part; careful observation and listening had given him enormous information.

At the farthest edge of the tack border, the markers were much more spread out. Looking like a large, inward-curving line, the tacks gradually grew more clustered with each new wave. The layers following the previous were more condensed, with the tacs growing ever so closer to together. By the seventh layer, they all curved at a sharp angle, forming around in a precise circle.

Based on this, then, Raven could conclude that the movement was slowly focusing on one place: Manehattan.

He had no idea when they would strike, nor with what; his observations, while keen, were still limited by the necessity of anonymity. Just as the organization could not know about his actions, he could not know fully about theirs.

That was also partially why he didn’t want to tell Dusk about his actions. His friend preferred specifics, and Raven had little. Rumors and speculation made Dusk impatient, and the indigo-black stallion knew better than to provoke the pewter one.

He wanted to believe that this incoming movement was no threat; yet, all the evidence he had gathered suggested otherwise. And that made him afraid; very afraid.

A storm was brewing, and he was unsure if either he, Dusk, or even Grifford Finch could withstand it. The very thought made his heart race, and his body wanted to jump and flee. But he had to stand firm and strong, no matter the cost, whether that be his relationship with Dusk… or, potentially, his life.

He looked to his late wife again, and prayed for her love to give him strength.





Town Hall was abuzz. Most of the town had gathered, and their voices were confused and loud. Twilight, her friends, and Spike were up front with Mayor Mare, trying to calm things down.

“Mayor Mare!” one pony shouted. “What on Equestria are we doing here?”

The mayor shook her head. “I’m not sure. Somepony called this meeting, but it doesn’t look like he’s here yet.”

Rarity leaned over towards Twilight. “Any idea who arranged this meeting?”

The fellow unicorn shook her head. “No idea.” She glanced around the Hall, taking notice of a certain stallion’s absence. “Dusk isn’t here either.”

Rainbow snorted. “That doesn’t surprise me. That stallion is probably doing something creepy right now and doesn’t want to be bothered to show up.”

Rarity quickly reprimanded her while Twilight shook her head again. Rainbow, after all this time, still hadn’t warmed up to Dusk, and that saddened her. He may have been odd, but there was a certain… charm, she supposed, in his presence.

“Please, everypony, calm down!” said Mayor. “I’m sure that whoever called this meeting called it with the best intentions.”

“Was it Dusk Prosa?” somepony yelled out. “I bet it was Dusk Prosa!”

“That lazy, good-for-nothing stallion!” another said.

“You don’t know him!” a female answered. “He could be different!”

“I agree!” called a male. “I doubt he means us any harm!”

“Then you have thought wrong,” another voice said.

They all looked up to the side of the center stage, seeing Filthy Rich standing there. Wearing his signature vest and having his hair gelled and slicked, one might have initially thought that he was quite calm. A glance at his face, however, betrayed the truth; anger and tiredness were the most evident feelings.

By his side were Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. Rarity and Applejack cast nervous, confused glances at each other, unsure what they were doing here. The Crusaders, sitting up front, also had uneasy expressions. In contrast, Twilight and Fluttershy remained quietly stoic and polite. Pinkie’s smiled faltered a bit, but she managed to keep up the facade. Rainbow said nothing, hovering impatiently.

Rich nodded to Mayor Mare, permitting her to step away from the center of the stage. Twilight noticed that is usual confidence had vanished; as he walked, his legs shook. It seemed it took all his strength just to stand. What could have gotten into him? she wondered.

He faced the crowd. He cleared his throat, waiting for them all to calm down. Twilight saw that Dinky and Time Turner had turned away, an angry look in the mare’s eyes. She frowned, remembering what Pinkie had told her, but did not choose to confront Rich; she didn’t want to cause an uproar.

“Citizens of Ponyville,” Rich began, his head swiveling around and looking each pony in the eye, “as you are all so well aware, recently we’ve had some… developments in our humble town.”

“Ooh!” Pinkie said excitedly. “You mean, like party developments?”

He cast her a stern gaze, and she wavered under it. “No, Miss Pie. These developments I speak of are far more devastating.”

Rarity scoffed, turning to Applejack. “My word, you’d think something apocalyptic was going to happen!” Applejack nodded her agreement.

“To reiterate what has undoubtedly been forcefully ingrained in our minds—a young stallion by the name of Dusk Prosa has entered our midst.” He glanced around. “I see he has not made his presence known. Is there any reason why?”

“Somepony said he didn’t want to come out today,” a rose-haired pony called out.

“Thank you, Roseluck. Good, good; this will serve us well.”

He began to trot back and forth, Diamond and Silver parading by his side. “My fellow ponies, you know as well as I do that Dusk is no ordinary stallion. He came from all the way from the Hollow Shades, and fought off numerous Shade and Timberwolves; all for the end goal of reaching our fair town. To settle in, of all things!

“Some may say that that is an admirable quality, risking so much just to be in our little home. And perhaps in another life I’d have thought the same; had Dusk not established his true motives for arriving.”

He took a purposeful breath. “Though it may surprise some of you… I have every reason to believe that Dusk’s intent is not one that is amicable in nature.”

Murmurs spread throughout the crowd as eyebrows raised and voices grew into whispers. Rich waited for the room to calm itself, though Twilight noticed a certain flare in his eyes. Her hair stood on end as she felt the amount of tension in Rich spew out, amassing in something akin to rage and fear.

She found herself thinking, What did Dusk do to him?

The Hall eventually settled down, looking at Rich expectantly. “What do you mean by that?” asked Mayor Mare.

“I am sure we are all well aware of the… items,” he spat the word like it was a curse, “that Dusk was found holding on to when he arrived here. A torn cloak, ripped vest, unkempt mane that no self-respecting stallion should have—” He paused, allowing his words to achieve the desired effect. “And, of course, a bag of syringes.”

Most of the Hall were not at all surprised, though some, like Rarity and the Crusaders, had uneasy looks on their faces. Where was Rich going with this?

“Syringes!” he repeated strongly, voice loud and commanding their attention. “That is, needles! Joints! Fixes! And a whole plethora of slang terms for one common malpractice!” He clenched his teeth and shook his head. “Believe me, my fellow ponies, I did not want to believe this. But all evidence points to it.

“Dusk is, no doubt, a user of illegal drugs.”

“Hey! Wait a minute—” Apple Bloom tried to intervene, but was quickly drowned out by the gasps of the crowd.

“Users!”

“In our town?”

“Absolutely unheard of—”

“—should not have happened—”

“Furthermore!” Rich continued, not losing stride. “If he is a user, then it is only a matter of time before he begins to corrupt our town with his fiendish ends and methods!”

He suddenly pointed to the Crusaders. “These fillies have been seen hanging out with this dreaded stallion! How do we know that they have not already succumbed to his false ideals?”

“What?!” Scootaloo burst out angrily. “Are you kidding me?!”

Rainbow flew over, leveling a stern glare at the young pegasus. “Is this true, squirt?”

“No! Of course it isn’t!”

“Apple Bloom?” Applejack inquired.

“Sis, Ah swear Ah would never do such a thing—”

“And neither would I!” Sweetie exclaimed before Rarity could ask. “And you ponies shouldn’t assume that he’s a user just because he has needles! If you just got to know him—”

“See!” Rich interrupted. “See how these fillies are adamantly defending that wretch!” He glared at Sweetie Belle. “If he isn’t a user, then what use does he have of those needles?”

“W-well…”

“It could be medical,” Twilight said, gathering their attention. She blushed, before quickly calming herself. “I mean, there’s treatment that involves needles, like shots and the like.”

“Then why doesn’t he go to the hospital for that?”

Twilight couldn’t answer that, her ear wilting to the sides. Rich nodded, the point made, before turning back to the crowd.

“All evidence,” he reiterated, “points to Dusk being a user. And I believe it is in our best interests not to ignore this amount of damming truth!”

The crowd yelled its approval, the voices all excited and loud. Soon the entire hall was filled with cries for change. Rich gathered a slightly arrogant look; his plan had worked. But he wasn’t satisfied yet.

“That’s not all of the crimes that this mysterious stallion has committed!” he shouted over the crowed. He pulled Diamond and Silver forward, nodding to them. They nodded back, before their faces became teary-eyed, looking like they were about to burst out sobbing at any moment. “In his drugged rage, that stallion threatened the life of my daughter and her friend, in front of the three fillies we see here!” He pointed to the Crusaders once more.

“Are you serious?!” a voice screeched.

It was Ditzy; she was beyond furious. Time Turner had to hold her back to prevent her from flying up and decking the stallion. Twilight did not miss, though, the slight flinch that Rich took at the outburst. “As if your daughter and her friend can be justified!”

Rich had the decency to at least look ashamed. He cleared his throat. “I understand that my daughter and her friend have some… problems with properly socializing. But that does not excuse the stallion’s actions!” He narrowed his eyes at Dinky. “Surely you can say that what he did was going too far!”

“The same could be said to your daughter!” she countered.

He nudged Diamond, a bit painfully, and she winced. “Go.”

She nodded, before stepping a little closer to the edge of the stage. She did look genuinely remorseful. The tormenter looked at Ditzy, eyes wide and filled with (seemingly) real tears.

“I’m sorry I bullied your daughter. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Ditzy had no idea how to respond to that. She sat down, a faraway look in her eyes; she hadn’t expected Diamond to apologize. But as Diamond turned around to return to her position, Twilight noticed an out-of-place smirk cross her lips.

Rich continued, “The point is: Dusk Prosa threatened my family. Whether or not the act can be justified is of no concern; what should concern us, is how we will react to this.”

He held a hoof up, shaking in fueled anger. “Will we easily let him off? Will we ignore what he has done to our families, our friends, and our community? Or will we put him in his place? Will we teach him a lesson? Will we do what is right?”

His call was answered just as enthusiastically. Clapping and whistles erupted; the Hall quickly transformed into little more than a rally for reform.

As the noise died down, Mayor Mare approached Rich. “What is it that you are suggesting?” she asked.

He faced her, frowning. “I simply ask for justice, Mayor Mare. Perhaps expulsion from town would suffice.”

She fixed a stern glare at him. “As much as I concur your enthusiasm and desire to improve this community, Dusk’s needles and behaviors are not grounds for expulsion.”

He nodded, visibly disappointed. “Regardless, I’m sure eventually the right decision will be made.”

“I certainly hope so. Goodness knows that Dusk has stirred up some… interesting things, hasn’t he?”

He nodded again, and Mayor stepped back. Twilight saw Ditzy angrily stand, before flying out in a huff, Turner following. Before he had completely left, he glanced once more at the business stallion. Twilight saw absolute loathing in his eyes.

She wasn’t sure what to feel herself. Rich was rather eccentric; and his attitude towards his daughter’s behavior was most definitely troublesome. Yet she could deny the obvious danger that Dusk potentially posed.

Something had to happen, and something would happen, given time. She wasn’t sure if she wanted anything to happen.

The Hall’s clambering eventually mellowed out, and several ponies began to leave. They were still charged from the whole event; several were even talking about actively expelling Dusk from Ponyville through force. Mayor Mare was quick to put down the rowdy, reminding them that the legislature would deal with this. “No matter how convincing Rich is,” she added with a slight frown.

Several residents remained, among them being Twilight, Rainbow, Spike, and the Crusaders. The lavender unicorn was unusually silent, thinking deeply about what had just transpired. At first, Dusk threatening Rich seemed farfetched; but now that she thought about it, she couldn’t put it past the pewter stallion. He had, after all, yelled at her when he discovered the missing syringe. Though, in retrospect, she supposed there was some justification; she had stolen it, after all. In that sense, perhaps Dusk’s threat to Rich and his daughter was just the same.

Nopony really liked Diamond, and most were neutral to Rich. The town had adopted a sort of “neutral” policy, thinking that one day Diamond would grow out of her bullying. Twilight still held onto that hope, and the Crusaders had certainly been less affected by the filly’s jabs as time went on.

That, of course, still made her wonder why Dusk had reacted so violently. It was one thing confronting the bullies; it was another to threaten Rich, one of the most powerful ponies in town.

Inwardly, though, she had to agree with Dusk. If the town wasn’t going to do anything—and it likely wouldn’t—then perhaps it was best that an outsider stepped in and took matters into their own hooves.

She glanced at Spike and the Crusaders, who were busy conversing. The fillies had quickly recovered from the accusations, and were easily talking with the baby dragon. After some words were exchanged, Spike walked back over to Twilight.

“What were you four talking about?” she asked.

“Dusk,” he answered, though his tone was less harsh than she expected. “I asked them what they thought of him.”

“What did they say?”

He shrugged. “They said he’s not so bad once you get to know him. He’s pretty smart, has some varied skills, and can quite friendly and comforting in some situations. From what they’ve said, I think he’s only ever explosive when something major happens.” The syringes and Dusk confronting Diamond and Silver rose to mind.

She nodded. “What do you think of him, Spike?”

Again he shrugged, though he had a slight frown. “I still don’t like that he yelled at you all those days ago. But he did apologize at the party. And… from hearing what Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle have said, I don’t think he’s the bad guy that Rich is making him out to seem. But,” he added, “I still feel somewhat… uneasy whenever he pops up in conversation.” He shivered. “Remind me not to get on his bad side.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Don’t worry, Spike. I think he’s only against bullies in particular.”

The dragon walked away, satisfied with her response. She felt a sense of pride watching him go, knowing that he wasn’t about to hold any grudges towards Prosa.

Now if only some ponies could do the same…

With a whoosh and a soft landing, Rainbow Dash appeared by her side. A scowl darkened her face, and her mane seemed to flash even more brilliantly. Her magenta eyes were lit up with pure emotion.

“Oh, hey, Rainbow,” Twilight greeted, trying to ignore the obvious fire in her friend’s gaze. “What’s up—”

“What should we do, Twilight?” she suddenly interrupted.

Twilight blinked. “I’m… sorry, what?”

“About Dusk, I mean?”

Twilight frowned. “I… imagine we will leave that up to Dusk himself—”

“No! I mean, how are we going to get him out of here?”

“Get him out—Rainbow, nopony is driving Dusk out of town!”

“But we should, don’t you think?”

Twilight gaped at her friend. “Rainbow, didn’t you hear what Mayor Mare said? There’s no evidence that would give reason to expel Dusk!”

“He’s a user! That should be enough evidence!”

By now, Rainbow’s outbursts were attracting the Crusaders’ attention. They walked over, a bit worried. “Twilight? Rainbow? Is everything alright?”

Twilight sighed. “Yes, girls, everything’s fine. Rainbow’s just a little high-strung, that’s all.” She looked back at the pegasus with a frown. “Besides, there’s no evidence that Dusk even is a user.”

“Uh, hello?” Rainbow waved her forelegs in the air. “Guy has needles and lives at the edge of town! If that doesn’t scream suspicion, I don’t know what does!”

“I’m not saying that your suspicions are wrong,” Twilight said. “I’m just saying they could be misguided. Besides, Fluttershy lives at the edge of town, too!”

“Yeah, but she’s not Dusk Prosa!”

“Yes, and you’re not him either! You don’t get to assume he’s a user just because he has syringes!” She leveled a hard glare on the cyan pegasus. “Somepony could assume that you are a Wonderbolt simply because you have Wonderbolt memorabilia—”

“And I will be a Wonderbolt one day!”

“—but that wouldn’t be true, because you aren’t actually a Wonderbolt at all!” Twilight huffed. “Look, Rainbow, I get that you’re not very trusting of Dusk, given his behavior. But that doesn’t mean you have the right to throw him out of town on a simple hunch!”

Rainbow looked like she was about to retort, but she held herself back. Slowly she lowered herself to the ground, shaking all over. “Maybe if there was more evidence to be found,” she murmured.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” She paused, thinking about something. She then turned to Scootaloo, who was looking at her worriedly. “What are ya doing for the next few days, squirt?”

“Um, nothing much, I don’t think. Maybe at the end of the week I’ll go Crusading. Mom says I should rest up for a few days. Why?”

Rainbow dodged the question. “Who will you be going with?”

“Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle, of course. Oh, and probably Dusk,” she added, not catching the breath of relief that Rainbow let out.

“Okay, that’s good. Here, Scootaloo, let me take you home.” She grabbed the orange filly before she could say otherwise, and flew out the door into the night.

Twilight blinked. It surprised her that Rainbow had gone from extremely livid to quite calm in the span of seconds. She glanced down, seeing similar expressions on Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom’s faces.

“Ah guess Rainbow’s okay now?” Apple Bloom commented.

“I guess so,” answered Twilight unsurely.

The fillies soon had to go, leaving Twilight in the Hall with only a few other ponies. One of them walked up to her. He was a blue-grey with a taupe mane, his pine-green eyes glinting in warm laughter.

She smiled as he approached. “Evening, Doctor Irons.”

“A pleasure, Twilight,” he responded with a grin. “Just saw Rainbow fly off. Something bothering her?”

She nodded. “A certain stallion, in fact.”

“Ah, yes, Dusk Prosa.” He chuckled. “I had a feeling he would get some mixed… reactions while he stays in our town.”

“If by mixed, you mean practical hostility by everypony.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be pessimistic. He has the little fillies he’s, how you say, ‘crusaded’ with, to back him, does he not?” He looked up in mild contemplation. “Not to mention, Pinkie Pie, myself, Nurse Redheart, and Ditzy and Time Turner.”

Twilight nodded at that, though a frown crossed her features. “I find it kind of interesting how you’re already allying yourself with Dusk.”

He laughed. “Interesting is one way to put it. Some of my staff call it completely insane!”

“Is it because he was your patient?”

“That’s part of it.” He let out a sigh. “That bugger certainly is an interesting fella, isn’t he?” He glanced at Twilight. “Call it doctor’s instinct if you want. Patent pending.” He squinted at Twilight. “You said I’ve allied with Dusk already. Why that choice of words?”

She couldn’t really know why. “It felt… appropriate, I guess.”

“Like there’s a war going on?”

She shivered. “Really, Doctor? You think Dusk could stage a full-on conflict?”

“Or accidentally instigate one, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He huffed. “Nevertheless, I don’t care what that buffoon Rich has said. I’m gonna side with Dusk on this one.”

Twilight looked at him inquisitively. “But why? What about him makes you want to side with him?”

He was silent for a moment, considering his answer. “Maybe it’s just an overly optimistic old fool…” He chuckled. “Sounds like something ol’ Prosa would say.” He looked back at Twilight. “Despite the way we’ve seen him act—that is, secluded, cold, even violent—something tells me that underneath that fierce exterior, is a heart that truly cares for his fellow pony.”

“Noblehearted?”

“Or in possession of a heart of gold.” Irons shrugged. “It’s just a hunch. But I’d say it’s a damn good one at that.”

He began walking away, but before adding in a few words. “That stallion fought wolves all the way from the Shades. He traveled days just to reach Ponyville. He’s incredibly smart, with a skill in observing to match. And he’s not afraid to stand up to bullies of all kinds, both child and adult. Call him what you want—crazy, weird, a user—he still has some noble qualities about him that make him good in my book.” He soon left the Hall.

Spike walked up to Twilight. “You okay, Twi?”

“Yes, Spike. Just thinking.”

“What about?”

“Just… the present and future.”

He frowned, before tallying it up to Twilight being Twilight. “Ready to go?”

She smiled down at him. “Yes, let’s.”





To Dusk, he measured the sounds coming from the town to nothing more than the establishment’s usual antics. It did not bother him that he had not been invited to the event. He had no intention of ever going.

But that did not mean that the stallion was happy at home. If one were to chance a glance inside, they would see a disheveled pony staring back at them, eyes tired and dull. Prosa had spent the last few nights laying awake, unable to sleep. Nightmares of events from the past, of monsters and ponies and his own dark actions, kept him awake. Slumber now was a rare reprieve, and it never was peaceful.

All he could see in front of him was himself. But it wasn’t the calm, slightly cold stallion that the town had grown accustomed to. No, it was a stallion who was on the brink of his own self-imposed edges. Every barrier he had implemented, in the hope they would prolong the inevitable, were beginning to collapse. He knew that soon, his dark persona would return; and he had no means of stopping it.

Time had not been friendly to Dusk. Not that it showed any bias towards anything, he supposed. If anything, the amount of time he was on worsened his situation.

A chill ran down his spine as he continued thinking. Fragments, shattered and broken, flew past his mind at breakneck speeds. He almost was not fast enough to catch them, only just retaining enough to form coherent memories.

He saw his first mission, breaking into a young couple’s home because they were supposedly corrupt. Yet, as he remembered the distraught face of the marefriend, he now could not say that his actions were honorable.

His mind jumped forward. He had to enter the 50th floor of an apartment building, at night. He had been practicing with several skilled gymnasts, in order to scale the humongous building without tools. He had always felt that one should teach themselves the skills they thought were necessary, instead of relying solely on a given method. He had scaled that building near effortless, silent and dark. He had surprised the pony sleeping, nearly giving him a heart attack.

That memory of the old stallion collapsing remained ingrained in his mind. He survived; but that mission had scarred him immensely.

Dusk’s memories played on, still shattered like shards of glass. For some reason, he only remembered the malicious acts he had undertook. His mind reacted to this bias, making the memory even more sinister and guilt-ridden. Crying faces became loud sobs and wails; fear became absolute horror; his shadow became the silhouette of a demon.

He was a monster, and Filthy Rich’s confrontation had further proven that. Dusk’s anger was infamously explosive; it had served him well in his past life, he supposed, but it did no good here. There was no point in denying what was already told, then. Dusk was, and always would be, a monster, whether he, the town, or Equestria liked it or not.

Such a thought slightly reassured him. Another truth? It seemed that they were popping up all around as of late. Maybe it was the town’s fault that his past refused to leave him be…

No, he thought. It’s not their fault. It’s mine. I chose this life. Therefore, it is my sole responsibility.

Logically, he ought to own up. Admit his mistakes, try to move on, accept his past. But he couldn’t. He could never forgive himself for what he had done. No matter how much seeming good came out of his actions, he still felt that what he had done was unforgivable.

It was ironic, almost. His mantra, omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis, suggested that he appreciated change more than anything. Yet, here he was, unable to change himself. Unable to change his view of the past.

He wondered if that made him a hypocrite, or an ignoramus. Perhaps it made him stubborn; or maybe he was simply afraid of confronting his own self.

After all, he wasn’t the nicest of ponies; and he doubted that his “new” self would be able to handle his “old.” His choices led him to here; he was afraid to go back.

The whole situation reminded him of an old epic poem he had read during his scholarly pursuits in Canterlot. It had inspired him to write his award-winning graduation essay, and had set him down this path. Where had he gone wrong? Perhaps he should have stayed in school. Perhaps he shouldn’t have picked up the pen. Perhaps he should not have gotten that letter, asking him to come home, because his parents were in the hospital and needed him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have fulfilled an old promise.

He blinked as a thought struck him. If such events, such choices, had not been made, would he have been better off? The idealist in him seemed to think so; and his cynical side, though wary, was tempted to make the same call. But the realist inside, the constant reasoner, the true “Dusk Prosa,” said otherwise. He, that side argued, would have been even more ignorant than he was all those years ago.

If, that side said, he had not taken the choices he had chosen, then he would have been on a different path. He would not have had to go to Ponyville and vanish, yes; but in turn, he would not have encountered those fillies that he had grown to appreciate. He might not have even given his friend hope.

Dusk’s situation, then, was unique. Presenting both positives and negatives, to both reality and the hypothetical, he existed in some contemporary yin and yang sequence. Never truly in white, nor black. Though he viewed the world as such, he himself was different. His grey coat was the world’s grey; he was the in-between, the bridge between old and new, ignorance and enlightenment. Never truly escaping, never truly forgetting.

In that sense, he could not hope for a normal life. He was caught up in way too much. Against his wishes and better judgement, he had become part of an intricate world, and he was a central character in that world’s story. Perhaps, Ponyville was the center stage, the main setting. The fillies were the supporting characters. His past was the plot. His actions, the events that had transpired. His present, the rising action and climax. His rumination, the falling action. His future, the resolution.

All stories have to end. With all that has happened, maybe it is safe to say that Dusk Prosa’s is approaching the final act.

He wasn’t scared, nor was he eager. He was simply silent, unsure and yet sure, paradoxical yet logical. Whatever end waited for him… well, it was his end. His choice.

Another truth. He was free to make that decision, away from the manipulation that had conquered him in the past.

But that was a truth born out of tragedy. Once again he was reminded of his mistakes, and was unsure what to do about them. He could not run forever; he could not hide for much longer.

Whether it was the town, Grifford Finch, the Crusaders, or himself who uncovered the truth first was unknown.

Dusk Prosa simply sat there, in his room, lost in his thoughts, not knowing whether or not he would—or even should—ever get up.


	

> XIX: Investigations
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The days went on by, growing more short as winter approached. Most of the pegasi were getting ready to deliver the snow clouds from Cloudsdale, getting their shipping routes from the higher ups. While the weather wasn’t particularly cold yet, some ponies were found wearing scarves already, preparing for the incoming freeze.

But while the pegasi worked, one, a cyan, rainbow-maned mare, had other plans for today.

The timing had to be perfect. There couldn’t be any mishap. The distraction had to be just enough to not warrant coming back.

Of course, the distractor had to unwittingly be a part of the investigation; but, Rainbow supposed, that was necessary.

She may have been arrogant and headstrong, but she understood the value in stealth. That said, she had decided to wait a safe distance from the house, doing her best to avoid entering any potential opening. If Dusk was as good at observing as Applejack, Rarity, and several other ponies had been saying, she needed to exercise caution as her highest priority. On her side was a small satchel that had a few select items necessary for her investigation.

She watched as Scootaloo and the Crusaders bounded up the steps, smiles on their faces. She wondered what about Dusk made them smile; surely, it wasn’t his cold persona. No, it had to be something else. Her mind jumped at the possibility of it being something malicious.

But then again, she knew Scootaloo. She had good intuition. She wouldn’t trust anypony right away if she hadn’t already known they were alright.

Rainbow wondered if it had to do with either Sweetie Belle or Apple Bloom. The latter, however, seemed to fall into the same situation as Scootaloo. Sweetie, then, was the prime suspect in convincing them to hang out with Dusk. Rainbow had been tempted to question Sweetie, but she didn’t want to provoke Rarity either.

Considering how Rarity also refused to accuse Dusk, I wouldn’t put it past her to start a riot.

The fillies had stopped at the door, wearing their signature capes. Nervous, Scootaloo took the front. She knocked on the door three times, then stepped back and resumed waiting.

From Rainbow’s vantage point, she saw movement from upstairs. It was shaded, the form masked and dark. She guessed it was Dusk.

She didn’t see his mouth move, but judging by Scootaloo also moving her mouth, she guessed that Dusk had posed a question. The fillies frowned at Dusk’s response. Sweetie then walked up to the door and pushed it open, entering inside.

Rainbow was more surprised that the door was even unlocked.

A short while later, the fillies were pushing Dusk outside. They were dragging with them Dusk’s own Crusader cape. Their voices were growing louder, though they sounded more exasperated than upset.

“C’mon, Dusk!” Scootaloo said as she pushed him outside. “You promised you’d go crusading with us when we asked you to!”

As they hastily placed the cape around him, he looked more than displeased, but did not try to dissuade them. An almost amused frown was on his lips. He looked tired, like he hadn’t gotten any sleep, but that didn’t stop him from making a quiet, snarky reply.

Sweetie lightly bopped him on the head for that. Rainbow had to resist the urge to snicker.

The cape secured on his body, Dusk gave himself a quick look-over. Seeing that everything was as it should be, he nodded, though the frown still remained. The fillies smiled, before pushing him forward, leading him away from the house. They were chipper, distracting him with what they would do today.

To her relief, he didn’t see Rainbow as she sat in the tree, watching. She saw them go down the road and head into town, their voices slowly becoming more distant and faded. Though her entire body wanted to immediately leave her spot, she forced herself to stay put, making sure that Dusk had no intention of coming back.

She glanced at the house, seeing that the door was still slightly ajar.

Just like I told Scootaloo to do.

She grimaced. Scootaloo had been confused as to why Rainbow would want such a minute detail, and she had to lie and say that “didn’t want the house getting too hot.” Conveniently, today was supposed to be rather hot, so the reason made sense.

It made her feel guilty that she had to lie, but she had a strange feeling that if she hadn’t, Scootaloo would not have allowed Rainbow to enter Dusk’s home.

She shook her thoughts away, glancing towards town. By now, Dusk and the fillies were little more than dots on the horizon. Good.

Rather than fly off and risk creating a loud sonic boom, Rainbow opted to lower herself to the ground. Hugging the tree, she slid down the trunk, hooves touching the grassy field softly. She let out a slow breath, checking around to make sure that the coast was still clear. She nodded, seeing that it still was.

She carefully trotted forward at a brisk pace, glancing around occasionally. The house quickly approached, its massive frame hulking and slightly intimidating. What kind of pony lives in someplace so odd? she wondered.

She walked up the steps, noticing that the steps did not creak. She found herself impressed that Dusk had taken it upon himself to fix the building and its numerous initial flaws. With the new paint coated on, one would think that the house had never been in any form of disarray.

She shook herself. She couldn’t be distracted by these thoughts.

She placed a hoof on the slightly opened door, pushing it. It didn’t creak; Dusk had oiled it up quite well. She frowned. This was not what a user was known for.

Stepping inside, she was met with another surprise. The house was clean, free of the clutter that she had thought all users had gathered up. The floor was shiny and clear, the furniture dusted, and the picture frames righted, and the pictures themselves smudge-free. It was by no means an exemplary home, but it was certainly above poor-quality housing.

Applejack had her farm, Fluttershy had her cottage, Twilight had her library, Rarity had her boutique, Pinkie had the Corner, and Rainbow had her cloud home; but Dusk lived in a rather luxurious place, all things considered. She couldn’t tell if she was impressed or confused.

A user living in a nice house? It doesn’t add up!

Seeing all this, she had no idea where to start. She had thought it would have been easy; shuffle around some garbage, find some evidence, fly out of there. But, seeing as there was no garbage, she couldn’t go down that line of investigation.

So, then, where to start?

After a few moments, Rainbow decided that upstairs would do. After glancing around once more, making sure she was all alone, she carefully moved up the steps towards the second level. It crossed her mind that Dusk could be hiding something in the bathroom, so she went in there first.

She paused for a moment, thinking back to one of the stories she had read. Trent Collins, though fictional, was every bit an astute detective. His stories and adventures could probably translate over quite well to real life, despite the character being a fictional ‘human.’ If there was one thing that Opacare Prose had made his character’s methods out to be, it was realistic.

Aside from the usual toiletries, a gel canister, a clean sink, and a spick-and-span mirror, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. She half-considered checking the toilet, but stopped when she figured that Dusk wasn’t that dirty.

She walked out. She checked the upstairs closet, noticing that there appeared to be several boxes. She opened a few of them; they were all empty. Probably for storage. She frowned. Storage for what?

She had no idea, but decided that was suspicious enough. She turned to her satchel and opened it, pulling out a small camera. It was from Pinkie; where she had gotten the device Rainbow wasn’t sure, but it had proven to be helpful in the past. A few clicks of the shutter later, she had several pictures of the empty boxes in her inventory. She allowed herself a satisfied smirk.

The bedroom was next. As she stepped into it, she shivered. Entering inside felt forbidden, like it was sealed with a curse of some sort. The curtains, though not fully drawn, still held an air of restriction around them. The room was darkened, absent of any light; whether it was a safe haven or a recluse for the dangerous was unknown. She was quick to notice that the bed had been made, a behavior that she wasn’t sure all users were known for.

Her eyes glanced over to the side, where the desk lay. Walking over, she noticed that there were several crumpled up papers laying on top, with a blue quill and black inkwell nearby. She frowned; had Dusk been trying to write something, then had given up? She unfurled several of them, her frown deepening as she saw that none of them had any writing.

She glanced at the ink and quill. The latter looked dry; it had not been used in at least a day. The inkwell had been capped and sealed. That’s strange.

Why would papers be crumpled and rolled up? Usually it was because what was written wasn’t up to standards. She frowned. There had to be more than just empty scrolls here. Where else would papers be found?

Her eyes lit up in realization. The wastebasket! She glanced around the side, grinning as she saw the cylindrical metal container lying beneath. There were several more crumpled pieces of paper in there. She placed her bag on the desk, bending down and retrieving the pieces. She placed them back on top, before unfurling each one.

The first few were blank as well, confusing her. The next were mostly just smudges and incoherent thought, like Dusk had no idea what he was writing. A few were completely illegible, so corrupted was the writing. She took a few pictures, despite knowing the scrolls gave very little.

The last scroll actually had writing on it, though it was mostly just smudges and incomplete phrases. Most of the words had been blotted out by dry rivers of black, leaving a somewhat incoherent message. The lettering was also smudged, leaving behind a bolder set of words.

Raven Lock,

You will ████████████████████████die██████████████████████████████████████████There is ██████████████████████danger, should you be found█████████████ 

██████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

I ██████becom███this monster. I █████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████ what I’ve done.

██████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

The syringes████████████████████████locked in my freezer, hopefully sane████████████████████████████████████████blood████████████████████████

Opacare Prose is gone.████my hooves█████████████████████████████████████████████████████████killed him█████████████████████████████████████████████████true.

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

██████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

███████████████████████████████████████I’m insane.███████████████████████I’ll be returning to Manehattan████████████████████████████████bury Opacare Prose███████

███████████That was███very funny.

█████████████████████████████████████████a confession.████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████continue this operation?

███████████████████████████████████████████████████████

███████████████████████████
█████████████

Rainbow’s mind seized up. She dropped the letter in shock, her mouth gaping, eyes wide. She glanced down back at the paper, rereading it, making sure she hadn’t misread. Questions began flooding her mind.

Who’s Raven Lock? What does Dusk mean by him dying? There’s danger? What did Dusk do? She clenched her eyes against the onslaught of questions. How does he know Opacare Prose is gone? What killed him? What’s true? Is Dusk insane? What does he mean by burying Opacare Prose? What confession? What operation?

She fell on her bottom, trying to slow her breathing. She couldn’t comprehend what the message was saying. She could assume that Dusk had wrote the message; but she didn’t understand why! Why was he talking to this Raven Lock like he was going to die? Why did he talk about Prose like he knew him? Why did he sound like he had some involvement in Prose’s disappearance—

She paused. Was it possible?

She stood, unsteadily, looking back over the letter. “Opacare Prose,” “my hooves,” and “killed him” were all in the same paragraph, so she guessed that he was talking about something relating to the terms. The first thing that came to mind was something nefarious had happened; something that Dusk had to be a part of.

She remembered that Mayor Grifford Finch had been saying that it was likely that Opacare had been abducted by somepony familiar, somepony whom he wouldn’t think had any malicious intent. What if Dusk was that pony? What if Dusk knew Opacare Prose? Did that mean this Raven Lock was involved?

The more unsettling question was: did Dusk Prosa kill Opacare Prose?

She had no evidence, besides this letter. And she found herself doubting the credibility. After all, Dusk had admitted that he was insane in the writing.

She thought back to Rich’s encounter with Dusk, how Dusk had reacted violently and sporadically to the business stallion. He was vicious, which was part of the reason why she didn’t like it when Scootaloo was around him. Given his violent tendencies, would it really be unreasonable to think him capable of murder?

Admittedly, it was a stretch; but a stretch was a hunch, and a hunch could be considered. So, with a strained sigh, she lifted the camera in her hooves, and took several pictures of the smudged scroll.

Afterwards, she re-crumpled up the papers, doing her best to make the desk seem as it was before. She tossed the papers back into the wastebasket and splayed the others out all over the desk randomly, figuring that Dusk wouldn’t care about the order.

Another tense breath escaped her. Okay, Rainbow, focus. I’ll tell Twilight and the others what I’ve found the next time I see them. Hopefully we’ll be able to sort out this whole mess.

She stepped away, leaving the room and closing the door quickly. She shivered, unnerved. Still, though, her investigation wasn’t over yet. There was still one issue left to resolve.

She trotted down the stairs, making her way to the kitchen. With a frown she entered, walking up to the freezer. She hoped that she was guessing wrong; but she had a sinking feeling…

As she opened the door, the sinking feeling became an abysmal sensation.

She stared at the red cylinders in complete numbness, ignoring the cool wind that washed over her face. They glared back at her, and the little measures looked like grim faces.

She felt nauseous.

What… what is this?

She turned away, trying to calm herself down. The wind blew past her, ruffling her mane. It seemed to clear her thoughts just enough for her to do something reasonable. She turned back, a determined grimace on her face. She grabbed her camera and held it before her, facing the syringes. Strangely, behind the lens, they seemed less intimidating. It was like the fear factor was lessened behind glass and wood.

She clicked a few times, taking several pictures, before letting out a relieved breath as she closed the door. Her brow furrowed in worry. Worry for Scootaloo, worry for the town, worry for what Dusk was doing—

She stopped as she heard the cries of a trio of fillies. She glanced out the window, seeing the four ponies returning from town. “What? Already? Buck me!” she whispered fiercely.

There was no time to investigate any further. She had to leave, now. Rainbow placed the camera back in her satchel, zipping it shut. She took two steps backwards, before violently turning and sprinting for the back. She could hear their voices approaching. She knew she couldn’t fly out; she’d be seen, and be questioned immediately, and that was something she did not want to happen. She approached a window, doing her best to open it without making a loud ruckus. The glass was pulled up, and she dove out with a strangled yelp.

She landed, and turned, pulling the window down just as the door opened.

“Did we really have to come back here for this?” she heard Apple Bloom asked.

“Of course,” Dusk responded, his voice sounding cold. “You wanted something for Scootaloo’s scooter, remember?”

She heard him trot on the wooden floor, shuffling around some boxes in a nearby closet. “Let’s see… I was sure they were around here somewhere…”

He stepped closer, growing dangerously close to the window. “Maybe I left it near here?”

She hissed, tense and shaking.

He heard it.

She heard him stop, and could practically see the frown on his face. Silently she cursed her clumsiness. She pushed herself against the side of the house, trying to shrink against the wall.

The window slid up, and she saw the underside of his chin stick out.

Her breath caught in her throat.

His head swiveled around a few times, searching. His head began to lean down, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before he saw her.

“Hey, Dusk! What’s taking you so long?”

The orange filly’s slightly scratchy voice never sounded so relieving. Rainbow promised to thank Scootaloo later.

The chin vanished, and Dusk trotted away. “Sorry, Scootaloo. I thought I heard something.”

She could picture Scootaloo bristling in annoyance. “Nevermind that. I found the wrench you needed. It was in the other closet.”

The stallion grew faint as he left the window. Another moment passed, and Rainbow heard the door shut once more. The Crusaders’ voices then grew distant, and she knew they were returning back to town.

She waited. Five seconds, ten, twenty. Then one minute, then two, then five. Then, she stood. Only now did she see how stressed she was, as her legs nearly toppled out from under her.

She took slow, steady breaths, glaring down the road. Dusk and the fillies had gone; she was all alone.

A shiver ran through her. She had not expected to find what she had found. She almost wanted Dusk to have certainly been a user, than have seen what was inside of his house.

But she couldn’t reflect on that now. At the moment, she had information. She had to get the pictures developed as soon as possible. Only then would the truth be revealed.

With a roaring, nerve-wracked boom, Rainbow took off for Ponyville.
> XX: Raven Locked
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Fear.

Fear and anger.

Fear and anger and frustration and—

Raven stopped that line of thought with a slam on the desk. He stared at the map once more, worried. The markers had suddenly changed course. Rather than centering and surrounding the entirety of Manehattan, his sources had noted that they were starting to specify which area they were going to invade. At first, he had assumed that the organization would go for someplace important—perhaps a hospital, even the local political offices. And, initially, such a thought seemed reasonable. The markers had amassed on the eastern side of Manehattan, where a majority of vital establishments could be found. If the reports on this organization were right, it was a smart institution that used intelligence as a means of attacking. A good general in this organization would have made plans to attack areas that would cripple Manehattan.

Now, however, it was clear that the organization was more than intelligent; it was cunning, efficient, and thorough.

It had all started when one of Raven’s contacts—thankfully not Dusk—suddenly went silent. He had tried sending out a few messages, but none appeared to have reached the contact. Raven was familiar with radio silence during his old occupation as a police detective for Canterlot, but he knew when something was wrong. Nopony ever went silent suddenly or without a clear reason, and his contact had no motive for suddenly quieting up.

It was as if he had been swallowed, suddenly and stealthily.

A quick call to two other contacts seemed to confirm this. They, too, had been monitoring what was going on, and had taken note of the old contact’s silence a few days prior. They had all initially said it was a simple precaution. But when the days turned to weeks, with none of the other contacts going silent, it became clear that something was amiss.

A few more messages were exchanged, and soon Raven could make an educated guess about what happened.

The mysterious organization had gotten to one of them.

Raven had wasted no time in ordering his remaining contacts to be extra careful, going so far as to relocate several to be miles away from their original position. While these ponies were in the process of moving, he became extra vigilant, watching for any changes in the organization’s behavior. For the first few days following the silence, no changes were perceptible. But recently, something had occurred that made his blood run cold.

As he stared at the map, the same thought kept running through his mind at breakneck speed. He didn’t want to believe it. He had been careful, so careful; and yet, it seemed he had underestimated the tenacity of this unknown opponent.

I’m next.

A chilling thought, to be sure. But even more so when he considered the implications it brought.

The fact that the organization had so quickly picked up on him confirmed that it was a force to be reckoned with. It wasn’t the common crook or thief that Raven was used to back in his Canterlot detective days. It was vicious when it needed to be, and was also methodical in its approach.

As it was quick, it made sense that after Raven, it might end up finding the other contacts. If that happened, everything would fall apart. It wouldn’t just be individual ponies in danger; it would be entire branches of families that would be threatened. Raven at first tried to reassure himself that it did not threaten the entirety of Equestria—but despite this being true, he knew it was still a huge danger.

Once the organization got Raven and the other contacts, there was no telling how much damage it would do. There was a huge likelihood that it might even go after Dusk Prosa if he were to learn about this threat.

Which made secluding him from the truth even more vital. But Raven couldn’t help but feel somehow wrong in doing so.

Based on his calculations, as well as the rate at which the organization was moving, he could guess that they would arrive on his doorstep—literally—in only a day. It was a short timeframe; it was unexpected, and he had hoped that it would never come down to this.

His only condolence was that he would see Jade Sonnet again.

There was a light tapping at his window. He turned, and walked up to it, sliding it up. His pet raven stood there, a small envelope in its beak. He frowned; he wasn’t scheduled to receive anything for Dusk yet.

Taking the letter in his dark-purple hoof, he walked back over to the desk and pulled out a letter opener. He dragged the edge against the seal smoothly, and procured a folded piece of paper. Unraveling it, he found it had only one word.

Run.

He frowned, looking closely at the writing. Based on the lettering, he knew it couldn’t be Dusk’s work. The pewter stallion wrote only with quills; this one was made with a typewriter, based on the perfect lettering and Courier font. A quick run-down on his list of contacts revealed that the true writer was—

Crunch.

He paused, thinking he had heard something. Carefully, he placed the letter down, not daring to make a move.

Crunch.

That wasn’t the Raven. His apartment was a six storey building, meaning that no large animal could possibly be directly outside.

He closed his eyes, thinking back. The crunch originated somewhere behind him. He turned to orient himself.

“… damn it!”

It was a faint whisper; but it definitely came from somewhere up front. He opened his eyes. Before him was the door to his apartment, locked and sealed. Somepony’s out there.

He took a tentative step forward, careful not to make a sound, barely breathing. There appeared to be some shuffling outside, as if somepony was moving something large.

A cannon? A battering ram?

Old police instinct took over. He crouched low, stepping up to a smaller desk near the front. He opened the drawer, retrieving his old Spell Gun, a model 11 Fire Gauge revolver. Feeling the cool metal cross his hoof made him feel somewhat nostalgic. The Gun was something that Canterlot had issued to its Earth pony policestallions who had no magic, and Raven had been smart enough to keep his after retirement. Most Earth ponies preferred not to deal with the gun ever again, but Raven felt that having one meant that you had to keep it.

He checked the dial. It was full, having six shots before it needed to reload. His was specially modified to give a slight magical boost on the last shot with the flick of a switch, to help apprehend tougher crooks. He checked the trigger; it was cleared of any grime, so it wouldn’t jam. He nodded to himself, before glancing back up at the door.

The shuffling grew closer, and he heard something bump against the frame. Low whispers escaped the lips of whoever was outside. Raven walked up, clutching his Gun tightly, placing wrapping his hoof around the trigger carefully.

He pushed back the locks, careful not to make them rattle. Once they were off, he grabbed the doorknob, taking in a slow breath. I’m not going down without a fight.

He swung the door open and yelled, “Hooves up, jerkwad!”

He was met with the startled cry of a young, tan-yellow Earth mare. “Aaah!” she exclaimed, jumping back and hitting the wall.

His eyes widened. “Haybale?”

Haybale looked at him. “Mr. Raven! Jeez, you scared the living daylights out of me!” She frowned, seeing the gun. “What are ya going around waving that thing for?”

“I… heard a noise. Crunching. Then shuffling, like somepony was moving something relatively big.”

“Oh…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “That was me.” She pointed to the side of his door, where a cart with a large vase was placed. “I was moving that down the hall,” she explained, “when it suddenly toppled over. Luckily, I caught the darn thing before it shattered, but some glass fell out.”

“Glass?” He looked down, confused, as he saw several shards of the material on his doormat.

She nodded. “Yeah. When I dove for the vase, I bumped up against your door slightly. Sorry about that.”

Raven sighed, placing his gun inside his vest, safety on. “It’s alright, Haybale.”

“Why so gun-wavy, though?”

He glanced away. “Just… a little nervous, that’s all.”

“Really?” She frowned. “You know, your wife did say that you liked that gun too much. Maybe you need a break. Lock it away somewhere, where you won’t be tempted to wave it in my face.”

He let out a low chuckle. “You think so?”

He helped her to her hooves, before he grabbed a dust pan that was in his kitchen. Returning, he and Haybale began placing the glass shards onto the pan, placing them back into the vase.

“Who stores glass in a vase, though?” he asked aloud.

Haybale shrugged. “I dunno. Some looney, probably. I think the landlord downstairs said that it’s for brewing?”

Raven didn’t know if broken glass could be used to brew, but as he wasn’t a shaman, he couldn’t really question it.

Several minutes later, Raven bid Haybale goodbye, returning back inside his apartment. He let out a tired breath. I have been stressing out lately. Nearly shot Haybale, thinking she was a threat. He shook his head, resolving not to lose his cool.

He walked back up to his desk, the raven still standing by his window, staring at him curiously. He glanced back at the small note. It surprised him that somepony had gone so far as to deliver it by raven mail; usually that was reserved for private messages and urgent talk. It had to be a warning from one of his contacts.

But a warning of what? Surely it could not have been Haybale. Perhaps it was a mistake on a contact’s part. Or maybe it was a prank—though that idea was easily scrapped. It could even have been a message of preparation, telling Raven to be ready to move if the time arose.

Looking back at the map, though, Raven realized that there was no time to run. Whether he liked it or not, the organization was catching on; but he was determined to stay until the end, gathering and storing as much information as possible.

There is a high likelihood I won’t make it out of this war. Someone has to carry on this fight.

He gave the raven a few cracker bits, before shooing it off. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the map, unblinking, unhappy.

Scared. Angered. Frustrated.

Determined.





A day passed. Raven had done little but sit inside of his apartment. He had had a light breakfast, and now a warm cup of coffee sat next to him as he went over the files again. They were his old reports on the organization, beginning with when he had first noticed its presence to a few days ago, when his contact went silent. The manilla folders were filled with notes, papers, and images, all relating to this mysterious organization.

He took a sip of his drink, the caffeine quickly waking him up. He had barely gotten any sleep last night, spending most of the time tossing and turning, thinking to what the future held. The caffeine was a welcome treat, helping him stay relatively focused. A few crumbs of a croissant gathered at the edge of the cup, vanishing as he took another sip.

He wrote down a number, then a letter, on a separate piece of paper. He repeated the action several times, until the paper was mostly filled. He then crumpled up the paper, ripping it apart. He adjusted himself on his seat. A small compartment could be seen at the side. He opened it, placing the pieces into the area, before snapping it shut and covering it with the seat cushion.

He nodded to himself, still feeling slightly uneasy. Step one is done.

He glanced at the clock. It read 10:30. Any second now…

Just as expected, there came a light tapping at his window. He grabbed a small note, and opened the window, letting the bird inside. This time, he handed it several seeds—sunflower and pumpkin—letting it chow down as he prepared the note. “Eat well, my friend,” he softly said, “for this may be the last time you ever see my food.”

The raven looked at him sadly. Though no tears were shed, he could see the pain that the avion felt in its eyes. He gave a heartfelt, strained smile, reaching out and lightly petting the animal. It brushed against him, the feathers soft, its body warm and comforting. He brought it closer, pressing it against his chest. The raven chirped something friendly, snuggling against his vest.

For several minutes, nothing was done. He stood there, petting and cooing the pet softly, trying to fight the growing unease in his stomach.

“You’ve served me well, old friend,” he whispered. “Now, I ask you to serve me one last time.”

He pushed the note at the bird. It took it in its beak, and Raven saw determination flash through its eyes. He knew that his pet would not let him down.

That bird had been his wife’s last gift to him. Now, it would be his last gift to Dusk.

“You know what to do.”

The bird nodded, turning. It spread its wings, and took off out the window silently. Raven knew it would take a few days for it to reach Ponyville; and he did not have the fortune of having the same time left.

He glanced at the clock. 10:40, it read.

He remembered what the reports had been saying; that the organization would stop him by today. He wasn’t sure when, nor by what, but he was certain that the warning was true.

He covered the map up with his certificate of retirement. He would not need that chart anymore.

He covered up all the names, all the information, that he had, placing the papers inside the desk. He would not need them anymore.

He put the folders back in the filing cabinet neatly, gently pushing the metal storage shut. They would not need him anymore.

This was his end. He could not stop it. He would not stop it.

So, as with most days, he sat back in his chair, drank his coffee—and waited.

Twenty minutes flew by, and his coffee dwindled. He got up to place it in the sink.

There was a knock on his door. He glanced at it in mild surprise, though he could not say it was completely unexpected. After placing his cup, he walked over to the door. He pulled back the locks and twisted the knob, pulling the door opened.

“May I help you?” he asked.

Behind the door was a zebra mare, with a slightly-grey coat and black-and-white mane. Her eyes were a fuschia purple, glittering mischievously. She appeared to be quite young. She wore a cobalt robe with bronze-yellow highlights. A pair of gold ankhs hung off her ears. Behind her was a small cart, carrying some sort of treasure box.

“Hello,” she greeted, her accent distinctly Zebrikan, but with a hint of Manehattan lying beneath. “Are you Mr. Raven Lock?”

“I am,” he answered with a nod. “Who might you be?”

She smiled. “In my homeland, I am called something akin to ‘shaman,’ or ‘witch-doctor.’ Here, I am called Aryna.” She made a little bow.

“Pleased to meet you, Aryna,” he said with a smile. “May I ask why you are at my door?”

“Back in my homeland, it was customary that when a new neighbor moved in, she would bring a gift to the original neighbors to say she was friendly,” she explained.

“New neighbor?” He looked at her in surprise. “So you’re the pony who moved in just a day ago.”

She laughed, the sound smooth and silky. “Indeed. Though, I do believe that the landlord called me a ‘looney.’”

“I apologize for that.”

“There is no need. I have been called much worse.”

He nodded. “Well, since you’re here, why don’t you come in?” He stepped to the side. She nodded her thanks, walking inside while pulling her cart.

He did his best not to shiver in apprehension.

“You are a policestallion?” she asked, drawing him out of his thoughts. She was looking at his certificate on the wall.

“Detective,” he clarified. “Former detective. 25th Precinct, Canterlot,” he added, somewhat proudly.

She smiled. “Ah, that must mean you are quite smart, yes?”

“I like to think so.” He chuckled. “My wife, Jade Sonnet, certainly said that about me.”

She caught on almost immediately. “Ah. I am sorry.”

“It’s alright. No harm done.”

A small silence fell between them. Aryna walked over to where a picture of Jade was hung. “She is very pretty. Lovely eyes.”

“Yes.”

“She was a singer?”

“In the Canterlot Orchestra Suite. Sung for the Princesses, a few times.”

“You loved her very much?” she asked.

“There has been no other mare in my life that lit up my world like she did.”

“Do you still love her?”

“Of course.”

She smiled at him. “Good. You are a very noble stallion, Mr. Raven Lock. Your love for your wife is truly impressive.”

She walked up to him. “But, you do not seem to be in pain. Would not her absence make your heart yearn for her company?”

“It did in the past. But now, I accept that she is gone.” He smiled wryly. “Besides, she’d prefer that I don’t dwindle on the past.”

She nodded. “She sounds like a very smart mare. You were quite blessed to meet her.”

He nodded silently. She walked away, moving back to her cart. 

“Have you ever considered settling down with another mare?” she asked.

“Maybe once. But I doubt that just about anypony would be just as magnificent as my Jade.”

“Mm. Loyalty to your lover.” She glanced over her shoulder. “But you’ve never considered another lady? Like, that tan mare outside a day ago?”

He shook his head. “No. Haybale is just a friend, nothing more.” He couldn’t help but smile. “Though, Jade really liked her.”

Aryna said nothing. She began fiddling with her treasure box, opening the locks. A moment later, she brought the box over. “For you.”

Though initially hesitant, he nodded. He pulled open the lid, gazing at the contents. Inside were a large, sapphire necklace, as well as two cups and what seemed to be an alcoholic beverage. It was unlabeled, and the liquid was a slight sun-orange.

Noting his confused expression, Aryna smiled. “Traditionally, the new neighbor would come bearing gifts of jewelry.”

“I see. And the drink.”

“My own creation. A special drink was usually prepared as a toast to new friends.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Does this mean you’re a moonshiner?”

She giggled. “I suppose so. I prefer the term brewer. But, Detective, would you really want to arrest me?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, staring at her. He then let out a soft sigh. “I suppose not.” He gave her a stern look, but a playful smile crossed his lips. “None of this escapes this room, understand?”

She giggled, grinning devilishly. “My lips are sealed, as are yours.”

A strange way of saying that she won’t tell anypony, but oh well.

He pulled out the necklace, fiddling with it before snapping it around his neck. It was somewhat heavy, the chain cool against his coat. He was not exactly a stallion of jewelry, but he could definitely say that the necklace seemed to fit him perfectly. A calm, bright exterior did not hinder his emotional, caring interior. It reminded him of the jewelry that some ponies wore on their funeral.

The thought sent a shiver racing down his body; he masked it by looking up. “I suppose it would be wasteful not to drink this beverage, huh?”

Aryna pulled out the cups, placing them on the nearby table. She uncapped the lid of the beverage, pouring the liquid gently into each cup. The orange substance was unlike any wine he had ever seen; it moved slowly, like syrup, but did not appear to be as sticky. It did not splash, nor did it gather at the sides.

He remembered that she was a brewer. It was likely that this drink had its own unique properties.

Unnerving. But he did not show it.

She handed him his cup, which he took in silence. She held hers up in a toast. “To new friends,” she said.

“To new friends,” he echoed.

“To a better future.”

“To a better future.”

“To no future problems.”

“To no future problems.”

They drank. Raven tasted the liquid, noting how bitter it tasted. 

He felt his neck stiffen, his joints lock up. He lowered his head to stare at Aryna. He already knew what was happening; but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing him scared.

She nodded. “You have caught on. It is true what my superiors were saying: you are quite intelligent.” She sighed. “It is a shame we had to meet like this, Mr. Raven Lock. We could have used somepony as smart as you.”

He didn’t say anything (in fact, he couldn’t), staring straight ahead, unblinking. His eyes began to burn, but it was a dull pain, like his nerves were falling asleep.

“Gaethipa,” she explained. “A plant herb. Bitter tasting. Easy to slip into a drink.”

She understood the silent question in his eyes. “I am immune to it.” The explanation seemed to satisfy him, though he couldn’t exactly express it.

She stepped away, looking over his desk. She pulled open the drawers, seeing the numerous papers. She opened the filing cabinet, retrieving the folders. “You have an impressive arsenal of knowledge about us here, Mr. Raven Lock.” She frowned. “Though, how you managed to track our movements is still a mystery.”

She looked back up at the poster with his certificates. After a moment, she reached up, and pulled it down, revealing the map with the markers. She let out a gasp. “You continue to impress me. No foe has ever tracked us so accurately.”

She turned back, smiling at him. “It is fortunate we caught on when we did. It would be highly detrimental if you were to continue your little crusade.”

She stepped closer. “But why? Why were you acting against us? You could have stayed back; let us do what was necessary.”

He stared at her.

“I suppose your motives are of no concern any longer.” She turned away, walking back to the desk. She shuffled through the papers. “Interesting… interesting.” She glanced back at him. “I’ll have to borrow these papers for a little while. No doubt my superiors will be intrigued by them. Hope you don’t mind.”

They’re yours, he thought. For now.

“Oh, and do not worry about your friend, Miss Haybale,” Aryna said. “She and I had a little drink together not to long ago. She’ll be out for a few hours.”

His eyes grew troubled. Oh, Haybale… I’m sorry…

“She spoke highly of you, Mr. Raven Lock. And she put up quite the fight. Her stubbornness apparently enough to deter the effects for a little longer.” She placed a hoof on her chin. “She told me you’d kick my sorry flank to the curb. I would have retorted, but then she stopped talking.”

She peered around, before walking up the the desk that was near the door. She opened the drawer, pulling out Raven’s Spell Gun. “I haven’t seen these in a while,” she commented. “And, in perfect condition, too. You certainly know your away with your weapons.”

She pointed at him. “I wonder… what would happen if I overcharged this, and shot you with it? How much pain would you feel?”

His face did not betray his emotions.

She lowered the gun. “Not that it matters. You will be dead in a couple of hours. The poison will eventually cause asphyxiation. Slow, of course. I would not want to give you a fast demise. Too messy.”

She looked at the gun, before pulling out a small, circular device. “This will supercharge your gun’s magic, making it erupt in a volcanic flame. It will look like a gas main eruption.” She placed it to the side, and pressed a small button. The circle began to glow, magic lighting up the rest of the gun. “The process will be slow, but when it explodes, it will be sudden, and it will be enormous. You will not be able to stop it.”

Still he remained outwardly calm.

“I see… even in the face of certain demise, you refuse to be scared?” She smiled. “No wonder Jade loved you.”

She placed the gun back in the drawer, walking back over to Raven. “Here. Let me give you one last gift.”

She shifted his body so that he faced the picture of his wife. “Poetic, is it not. The face of  your loved one being the last thing you see before you die. You can thank me later.”

She leaned up, giving him a small peck on the cheek. “Goodbye, Mr. Raven Lock,” she said breathlessly. “It was a pleasure.”

She left him, and he heard her leave by the door. The frame closed.

He felt a surge of temporary relief wash over him. Aryna had not seen the hidden compartment in his chair. And, as it was protected with a special magic, he knew that the papers inside would survive. That meant his crusade wasn’t finished just yet.

His throat began to constrict, though he could still breathe just about fine. The picture of his wife looked at him, her smile still warm and comforting. Though his muscles were frozen, his tear ducts were still free. He still had one action that he could do.

He made no sound as the tears fell. He prayed to whatever god would listen, asking them to forgive him, to tell Haybale he was sorry, to say that he didn’t want this to happen. He prayed that this would be the only casualty in his war.

He didn’t fear for his end. He only worried for what his friend would do next without him.

The tears blurred his vision. He wanted to smile, but couldn’t. But he felt that Jade already knew what he meant in his heart.

So he smiled with his soul. And Jade Sonnet smiled back at him.

> XXI: Apprehended
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The Golden Oak Library was normally rather quiet on mornings. Spike would get up and tend to breakfast, while Twilight got up a little slower. Guests usually weren’t around at this time. Twilight would have spent the morning studying as usual.

Then again, today was not a usual day.

“You broke into Dusk’s house?!”

Twilight’s screeching made Rainbow wince. “Calm down, Twilight! I didn’t exactly break in; I just entered through the front door!”

“That was conveniently unlocked!”

“Exactly!”

Twilight sighed. “Rainbow, did Dusk allow you entrance into his home?”

“Well, no… but I doubt he would have, anyway!”

“She has a point,” Applejack said. “Ah mean, Ah doubt that Dusk would let just about anypony into his home.”

“That doesn’t mean that breaking and entering into Dusk’s house was right at all,” Fluttershy said quietly.

“Dash!” Pinkie scolded. “You know how the law works! You could go to jail!”

Dash winced. “Please, don’t remind me, Pinkie. Besides, wouldn’t I get points for doing it for a good cause?”

“And what cause is that, Rainbow?” Rarity asked with a huff. “You still haven’t given proper justification for your actions!”

Rainbow glared at her, before unfurling her wing and revealing a small bag. She opened it, pulling out the camera and the photos. “Here, look!” She spread the photos around the table.

One by one, they each looked at the pictures, their curiosity growing every second. Eyes scanning the laminated objects, their mouths hung open in shock. “Th-this was all in his house?” Twilight asked, nearly forgetting the criminal extent of Dash’s actions.

The cyan pegasus nodded. “Yep, all of it. Right down to the dust.”

Fluttershy held up the picture of Dusk’s writing, her lip quivering. “Raven Lock… that’s the—”

“The pony who died yesterday in that explosion in Manehattan,” verified Applejack. She shook her head. “Poor guy. He and that maid didn’t deserve such a painful death.”

Rarity, meanwhile, gave a start. “If Dusk was writing to Raven… could that mean that he somehow was involved?”

“Involved?” Pinkie scrunched up her nose. “Involved how? He’s here; there’s no way he could have triggered that explosion!”

Rarity frowned. “I know that… but still, he’s a contact. And besides,” she added, grabbing the picture from Fluttershy. “His writing seems to suggest he knew beforehand that something would happen. ‘You will die… should be you found out…’”

Twilight lit her horn, bringing the picture close to her face. “Huh. So he has heard of Opacare Prose.” Reading on, she let out a gasp. “Killed? What does he mean by that?”

“Well, the words have been smeared,” Fluttershy pointed out. “M-maybe he’s talking about something else?”

“I… I hope so,” Twilight said. She lowered the picture, bringing over the one with Dusk’s fridge. The others gathered around her, seeing the syringes. “I guess this explains what the syringes are for.”

“At least we know he’s not a user,” Pinkie said, trying to remain optimistic.

“That doesn’t explain the blood, though.” Twilight frowned, peering closer. “Are those… tags?”

Rainbow nodded. “Yeah. They had letters on them.”

“What letters?”

“OP.”

“OP? What on Equestria could that mean—”

All of a sudden, Twilight froze, her eyes going wide. A million thoughts blasted off inside her head, shutting down all other functions. “T-th—” She couldn’t complete her sentence.

“Twi’?” Applejack asked, worried. “What’s wrong, Sugarcube?”

In answer, Twilight brought back over the writing. She placed both pictures down, side by side, her eyes flicking between the photos. She pointed a hoof out. “Here he’s talking about Opacare Prose… as if he knows him. And as if he’s dead.” She pointed to the syringes. “Blood. The letters, OP.”

Her hooves, like lightning, flicked all around, as she spouted out her conclusions. “He’s… going to Manehattan to bury Opacare Prose, apparently. But to do that, he would need a body… and the blood. The letters. OP could stand for Opacare Prose…”

She glanced back at her friends. “Girls… do you see where I’m going with this?”

Only Rarity and Rainbow appeared to have reached the same conclusion. The others gave her confused looks.

“If… Opacare Prose is dead, like Dusk writes… and, hypothetically, if Dusk is going to return to Manehattan to ‘bury’ Opacare Prose… he’d need a body…” She gulped. “And… it might be possible that the blood in those syringes… is Opacare’s. Dusk is shipping them off to Raven Lock.”

The others let out gasps as they realized what Twilight was implying.

“But, Raven Lock died yesterday. And Dusk speaks of an operation… perhaps something went awry, and Raven needed to be kept quiet?”

“No…” Rarity whispered. “It… it can’t be!”

Rainbow shook her head. “It looks like it, Rares. There’s too much connection between Dusk and these two.”

Twilight nodded. “There is a huge possibility that Dusk is connected to Opacare’s disappearance and Raven Lock’s death. These photos seem to say that Dusk…” Her voice faltered, as she was almost unable to say the word.

“… killed… Opacare… and used his body as a tank for his blood, which he shipped to Raven for some unknown reason.”

Applejack frowned. “But why would Dusk do that? Why would he label the syringes? Wouldn’t that give himself away?”

“I don’t know, Applejack. But one thing’s clear.” She looked up, her face long and worried. “Dusk has some answering to do.”

Silence radiated inside of the library, as each pony took in Twilight’s words. Finally, after tense seconds had passed, Rarity asked, “Twilight… what are we going to do?”

Twilight didn’t say anything at first. She stared ahead, her mind working as efficiently as it could. The girls could tell she was considering many possibilities all at once, all possible courses of action.

Could they do anything? Should they? It was up to Twilight now.

“Spike?” she suddenly called. The baby dragon looked up from where he was sitting. He had a frown on, his face dark and worried. He had not said anything since the girls had begun talking, but he had heard everything. “What do you think we should do?” she asked.

He stared at her quietly, green eyes matching purple in intensity. Finally, he spoke: “We have to stop Dusk Prosa.”

Twilight silently thanked Celestia for Spike being very mature.

Rainbow grew a confident grin. “Good call, little buddy. I’ll grab his sorry flank and fly him here!”

She made to take off, but was stopped by Twilight’s magic. “Wait, Rainbow,” she called sternly. “As much as you want to deal with Dusk, we need to let the authorities know. Specifically, Mayor Mare.”

Rainbow huffed. “Oh, fine. And here I was hoping I’d get to stop a bad guy.”

“Mayor Mare will hopefully assemble the town and we’ll go after Dusk,” Twilight continued. “We’ll bring him back here for questioning.” Her face grew more somber. “Though, I don’t think we’ll be able to handle this locally.”

“What do you mean?” asked Fluttershy.

“Dusk is connected not only to Raven Lock’s death—a Manehattan issue—but to Opacare Prose’s disappearance—an issue for Equestria as a whole.” She leveled a steady look at the others. “Princess Celestia and Princess Luna will need to know about this.”

“A national issue?” Rarity asked, a bit incredulous, but nonetheless resolute. “I suppose it makes sense.”

Twilight nodded, before turning to Spike. “Spike, please… take a letter.”

The dragon nodded, pulling out a scroll and pen. Twilight mouthed off her message, before nodding to Spike. Taking the hint, he held the scroll up, and blew a green flame on it, sending it away.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Now… let’s go.”

They all nodded, and the seven of them walked out of the library, heading for Town Hall with the evidence in tow.

They failed to see the three fillies who, once again, had been listening from outside. Their eyes went wide, and a silent agreement was reached between them. A second later, they were gone, racing off to warn the mysterious pewter stallion.





The raven flew away, unsure of where to go from here, leaving behind a pewter stallion.

To say that Dusk Prosa was furious was an understatement.

However, as no other word came close to describing what he was feeling, it would have to suffice.

“Argh!” he yelled, slamming a hoof into the wall, making the entire house shake. Next to him, on the floor, lay the battered remains of a newspaper from a day ago. The headline story read:


DETECTIVE RAVEN LOCK: DEAD AT 30

In a circumstance that was entirely unexpected, former Canterlot Detective and Head of Investigations Raven Lock was found dead in his apartment today. Among the other fatalities was Haybale, a maid of the apartments, and the landlord, a Mr. Gruff Shoes. The building had exploded in a blaze of raw power, apparently due to a faulty gas pipe, leading to the three burning alive inside.

Upon investigation, it was found that neither Raven nor Haybale had seemed like they were trying to escape. It seemed like they knew this was their end, and they had calmly waited for it. Gruff Shoes, meanwhile, was found behind his counter. The fire had burned away most of his skin; his death has been verified as quick and sudden—likely because he had taken the full blunt of the explosion, instantly.

The bodies were badly burned, and many bones were shattered in the blast. The explosion was felt in the apartment complexes on the other side of the block, shattering windows and causing temporary deafness to nearby ponies. Police, firetrucks, and ambulances were called seconds later; but it was too late. The ponies inside were already dead.

Witnesses report that they saw a zebra mare leaving the apartment hours before. Investigation into this, however, has stalled, once the main cause of the deaths was established as faulty gas pipe work.

The building had had a history of gas leaks in the past, though none were this tragic.

Haybale was a mare of 22, with a great personality and even greater ambitions. Though she was an apartment maid, she planned to go into real estate, specifically into country homes. Her friends and family give their thanks to those who are mourning her loss with them. Her brother is Sandy Grain.

Gruff Shoes, aged 54, though not as well liked, was a fair landlord to the tenants of the apartment. He particularly liked Haybale’s friendliness, as well as Raven Lock’s calm attitude. Gruff leaves behind a loving wife and a son and daughter, who have chosen to remain anonymous.

Raven Lock was the widower of the late Jade Sonnet, former singer of the Canterlot Orchestra Suite. He was the former Head of Investigations for the Canterlot Police, leading a decade long crusade against crime. Following his retirement, he became a psychologist, and was loved by all of his patients for his sense of humor and willingness to continually aid those in need. He will be sorely missed by the community.

Mayor Grifford Finch had appeared before reporters later on today. In his statement, he expressed “deep sorrow for these sudden deaths” and vowed to “achieve safer methods of providing heating into homes, without the need for unstable gas pipes.” He personally went to each of the mourners’ homes, giving his heartfelt condolences with tears in his eyes.

“I had a great respect for Raven Lock,” he said. “It saddens me to see him come to an untimely end.”

Several ponies have pointed out that Manehattan hasn’t had a string of tragedy since the corrupted days of old. Some wonder if this is a return of the times of spite and fear on the streets. One thing is for sure: all of Manehattan hopes that no other tragedies will occur.

The end of the newsprint also signaled the end of Dusk’s barriers. “Damn it!” he shouted angrily, again pounding on the wall. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

With each hit, the house shook violently. It threatened to collapse around him. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he blinked back tears.

He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t think it would come to this.

Raven Lock was dead.

And it was Dusk’s fault.

He growled, sinking to the ground, defeated. This couldn’t be happening. Their entire operations was unraveling at the seams. He was the only remaining member; the sole survivor.

His guilt suffocated him, and he blinked back more tears as he remembered the final note that Raven had sent. “They’ve found me. It’s over. I’m sorry.” Dusk didn’t need to be a super-genius to guess who had found him. He tossed the note away, angry.

The Family had gotten to him, no doubt. They got to him, and they did the one action that Dusk had hoped Grifford wouldn’t do.

They killed Raven Lock, Dusk’s best friend.

His only friend, really.

No, now it was something worse; his last friend.

He was all alone, now. All he had to comfort him was his anger and his grief.

“Damn you, Grifford Finch! Damn you!” he cried to nopony in particular.

What could he do now?

Without Raven, there was no way he could continue the operation for as long as planned. He needed Raven to be there to warn him when danger was close. In his absence, it was only a matter of time before the Family figured out where Dusk was, and came after him.

And after him, it would be the others that Dusk had been in contact with. Their lives were in jeopardy. And it was all his fault.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as his body shook uncontrollably. He wouldn’t sob, wouldn’t wail; but he would cry. He had lost nearly everything; his parents, his old life, and now his friend. He saw no reason to continue trying.

They’re going to kill me, he realized, and that’ll be the end of that.

If he stayed in Ponyville, locked up in his house, he might survive the next few months. But there would be a time when the Family arrived on the outskirts of the town. Dusk could perhaps flee, but the Family would ransack the town looking for him, causing even more destruction. He worried that the ponies he had grown to care for—however unintentionally—would be hurt in the ensuing search.

Therefore, should he remain, he would only cause bigger disasters.

Raven’s death was his fault. He put him up to this, placed in in danger, despite knowing the potential consequences. Dusk would not allow, then, for another to be hurt because of his will. He would not allow Ponyville to fall while Dusk stood.

His tears eventually ran dry, and he sniffled. Pathetic. He got up, hooves shaking and body quivering. There was only one thing to do; only one action that, while it would end with his demise, it could save Ponyville from his past.

He needed to run. Away. Perhaps for good.

Slowly, unsteadily, he walked away from the living area. He moved up the steps at a snail’s pace, nearly toppling over from exhaustion and sorrow. He grabbed from his room his quill and inkwell, as well as his satchel. He put on his vest and cloak, the clothes hugging him tightly. He went back downstairs and into the kitchen, and, after a sharp breath, placed each blood-filled syringe into the satchel.

Even if the operation was pretty much over, the syringes were still vital to his secondary mission. Saving lives.

He sighed. It wouldn’t be easy getting away. He had a feeling that there would be barriers to overcome. He shook his head, determined not to let another be hurt while he remained.

He turned, walking up to the door. He reached a hoof out to open it—

—when the door suddenly swung open. The sudden sunlight made him squint for a moment.

“Mr. Prosa! Mr. Prosa!” a familiar, squeaky voice cried. “You have to get out of here!”

He blinked. “… Miss Sweetie Belle?”

She stood in front of him with the other Crusaders, breathing heavily. “Yeah, it’s me, but that doesn’t matter!” she exclaimed.

Scootaloo nodded. “We heard them, Dusk! They’re coming for you!”

Apple Bloom added, “They said they were gonna organize a huge squad to arrest you—”

“Girls, slow down,” he ordered as calmly as he could. He knelt down to their level. “Now… what’s this I hear about me being arrested?”

“Th-the girls think you did something bad!” Sweetie explained. “They went to talk to the Mayor, and then they’re coming here.” She tugged on his vest. “That’s why you have to go! Before they get you!”

He glanced down at himself and his belongings. “… That’s the plan, if you haven’t noticed.”

Apple Bloom frowned. “Wait. You were already plannin’ on leaving?”

“As evidenced by my belongings, Miss Apple Bloom.”

“Okay, good, you’re smart.” Sweetie began pulling him out the door with the other fillies. “Now, you’ve got to go.”

“Why do you care?”

The question wasn’t voiced coldly, but it sounded like a stallion who had given up on easy, happy answers. She turned to face him, surprised.

“Because I don’t want to see you see get hurt!”

“What if I deserve it?”

“You don’t! I know it! The girls, they keep saying that you’re a bad pony and all, but I know it isn’t true! You’re a good pony, through and through!”

He frowned, pushing Sweetie away. He stood, his gaze cold once more. His lip quivered as he tried to mask the swirl of emotions that battled inside.

“Miss Sweetie Belle… when did I become a good pony in your eyes?”

She stared, surprised, but quickly answered, “When you fended off Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, of course!” The others murmured their agreement.

He sighed. “… Then I have perhaps failed you three as well.”

He turned away as the three stuttered incomprehensibly. This only goes to show how much damage I’ve done. I’ve only made them more ignorant to the truth.

He faced them, frowning. “Now, tell me, why exactly do they want to arrest me?”

Sweetie started. “W-well, they think you k-k—”

“I?”

“Th-that you—and—ponies from Canterlot—” Her voice became garbled, and she let out a frustrated groan. “Sorry, sorry! I’m just super stressed out!”

“I don’t exactly have all day, Miss Belle—”

He cut himself off, looking up to Ponyville. A clamor of different voices could be heard, resounding and loud. Their tones were angry, threatening, like a group of villagers come to apprehend a witch. A shiver of worry raced down Dusk’s spine. “Miss Belle?”

“Oh no! We’re too late!” Sweetie looked up to Dusk. “I’m sorry, Dusk! I tried to warn you, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” he said reassuringly. “It’s mine.” He glanced back up at the approaching crowd, eyeing them with apprehension.

As the large group approached, the head of the group, Mayor Mare, saw the three fillies. “Sweetie Belle? Scootaloo? Apple Bloom? What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Uh… uh…” They couldn’t formulate a good enough excuse. Luckily, Dusk was there to provide one.

“They were saying goodbye,” he quickly said, his voice echoing across the landscape strongly. He noticed that Twilight and some of her friends were also in the group, noting particularly that Rainbow Dash had a sour face on.

“Girls, you need to step away from Mr. Prosa,” Mayor Mare said. The fillies nodded, stepping to the side. Dusk walked forward, meeting the group halfway down the path.

“What is this about, Mayor Mare?” Dusk asked, keeping his voice cool.

Rainbow made to say something, but was quickly silenced by Twilight’s magic. Prosa saw her shoot the pegasus a stern look.

“Dusk Prosa,” Mayor started with a frown, “it pains me to say this, but you are beginning to sound like a threat to the town.”

He nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. Which is why I am leaving.”

“No, you won’t.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

Mayor sighed. “Dusk… we have reason to believe that you would be too dangerous to be let go. We are here to apprehend you.”

Like a criminal. Go figure. “Explain.”

She let out a slow breath. “Dusk Prosa, you are hereby under arrest for the unlawful possession of syringes; using said syringes for something not medical; for being linked to Raven Lock’s death; for withholding valuable information that could aid in finding Opacare Prose; as well as being charged with assisting in Opacare Prose’s disappearance.”

His face refused to betray his confusion. Unlawful possession? Oh, that’s right… I couldn’t tell them why, without revealing the truth. But me being linked to Opacare’s disappearance? How did they figure that out?

She waved a hoof, and one of the volunteer “police” stepped forward. It was Filthy Rich, and he wore a sickly smile on his face as he cradled a set of hoofcuffs. Dusk glanced at the others, seeing the Apple family along with several ponies he didn’t recognize. They all stared at him, emotions carefully masked, and he could feel the tension crushing him.

If I’m arrested, then I’ll have to remain in Ponyville. I can’t let that happen.

“Hooves up,” Rich ordered.

Dusk did not respond, carefully analyzing the situation with a crafty eye.

Rich cleared his throat, and spoke with more authority, “Hooves up, Dusk Prosa.”

Slowly, he raised his front hooves, balancing on his hind legs. Rich stepped forward, the cuffs outstretched, a smirk on his face. Seeing that filled Dusk with rage, but he kept it hidden.

Not yet… not yet… now!

Just as Rich was about to clamp the cuffs down, Dusk reached out and grabbed his leg. He twisted, eliciting a startled yelp from the older stallion. With his other foreleg, he pushed Rich back, making him drop the cuffs. In another instant, he turned and bucked the stallion into the large group. Applejack and her family were caught off guard, and Big Mac managed to catch the pushed stallion.

“Hey!” Twilight exclaimed, lighting her horn, intending to freeze Dusk. “Cut that out!”

Prosa kicked up the sandy path, surprising her enough that her magic fizzled out. He rotated, and sprinted off, heading for the town.

“After him!” Mayor cried.

He glanced back, and heard a boom as Rainbow flew fast at him. He had to time this perfectly; it had been a while since he had dealt with enraged pegasi. He kept running, undeterred by the approaching mare.

“Gotcha!” Rainbow shouted as she nearly clipped his tail.

“No, you don’t!” He threw his legs back, kicking her in the chest, doing his best not to severely hurt her. The blow caught her by surprise, and she reeled back in pain, her flight cut short. Dusk ignored the pain his hooves felt as he rolled and got back up, once again sprinting for Ponyville.

He wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there, but he figured he could try and head south, away from the conflict.

He heard the angry gallops of the mob behind him. He glanced back, seeing that Applejack was tending to Rainbow Dash. Good. She’s out of commission for a little while. He looked ahead, seeing the town’s north gate. Several ponies stood in front of it, ready to stop him. Among them were Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy.

“Dusk, wait!” Pinkie shouted as he approached. “You have to stop!”

He was surprised when Fluttershy didn’t shrink away. Instead, she had a look of ferocity in her eyes. “You big meanie!” she half-whispered, half-yelled—it was hard to tell, given her soft voice.

He didn’t respond, still charging ahead.

Pinkie pulled out her party cannon. Dusk saw the faint outline of tears in her eyes, and instantly he felt a copious amount of guilt sink into his heart. “I-I’m warning you!” she shouted.

What does she expect to do, stop me with confetti? He couldn’t answer, but he knew that it would be better if he thought quickly.

He jumped to the side as the cannon fired, seeing the blurred outline of an actual cannon ball—thankfully, small—race past. It hit one of the pursuing ponies, launching them back. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He plowed right through the pony barrier, pushing past Pinkie and Fluttershy. He tried to ignore their startled cries as he ran on.

The houses blurred at the edges of his vision, the wind screaming—or was that Rainbow? He dashed to the side, cutting a sharp right, ducking down an alleyway. Several ponies looked out their windows, surprised to see him out and about. Their faces grew fearful when they saw the pursuing ponies. Most then went and locked their doors, keeping their families safe.

Good. They’re smart.

Dusk eyed a smaller house, seeing a shop wagon nearby. With straining muscles, he leapt up, landing on the top of the wagon. He then leapt up onto the roof of the house, and dashed across the top, leaping from building to building. The pursuers stopped, looking in awe at the stallion. Twilight lit her horn, teleporting herself and Applejack onto the roof, Rainbow flying overhead.

Dusk heard Twilight shout, but he ignored her. Suddenly the shingles behind him flew up. He glanced behind, seeing that Twilight had shot a bolt of magic at him. Rainbow flew up to him, a harsh glare on her face.

“Take this, you jerk!” she shouted, suddenly pushing into him.

He slid to the side of the roofs, bringing with him several shingles. He yelped as his hoof caught on the edge of an indent, tripping him. He rolled of the roof and onto the street below, groaning.

He wasted no time in getting up, for the three Bearers and the other pursuers were already catching up. Turning, he ran around the center of town. He barely dodged each of Twilight’s bolts; but with each jump and twist, he grew more and more exhausted.

He heard a quick buzz, and Twilight suddenly appeared in front of him, having teleported. Sadness was etched in her features as she lit her horn. He couldn’t stop himself from running into her; but he could try something stupid.

She fired the spell, and he jumped and twisted. The spell nicked one of his hind legs, making him shout in pain. The force twisted him severely, and he fell to the ground with a hard thump.

He didn’t have any time to recover. Rainbow plowed into him, lifting him off the ground. She was screaming something incoherent, though the wind managed to deafen the sound. He pounded on her back and wings, making her veer unsteadily. The wind burned his coat and blew fiercely on his mane, making it hard to see.

Rainbow suddenly gasped, having seen something up ahead. Taking this chance, Dusk kicked off of her, intending to jump away.

Instead, as he got free, he crashed through a window, tearing his vest, cloak, and skin. He cried out in pain, his voice weak, as he landed on more shattered glass. He slid on the floor, coming to the stop of what appeared to be a wooden mannequin.

The Boutique, he realized dully.

“Oh, my sweet Celestia!” a familiar voice exclaimed. He heard somepony rush over. He looked up, eyes bleary, seeing something akin to a marshmallow with light blue orbs staring at him in shock.

He tried to say something, but more glass dug into his back, and he cut himself off with a pained hiss.

Rainbow, Applejack, and Twilight entered through the window, their eyes also wide and in shock. “I-I-I didn’t mean—” the pegasus stuttered. “I-I-he jumped off, just as I was about to stop—” She cut herself off guiltily.

Dusk craned his neck, seeing a trail of blood underneath him. That’s not good.

Twilight carefully stepped around the broken shards. Walking up to the fallen stallion, she lit her horn, trying to carry him. Rarity also lit her horn, trying to help in lifting.

The sudden movement made him cry out in pain. Twilight and Rarity winced, at once releasing their magic. He took shallow breaths as he fought back the enormous agony.

Slowly, though, he shifted, sucking in a breath as the glass scraped against him. He curled his legs under, pushing himself up, breathing hard. His legs nearly collapsed under him as he tried to take a step, and the world swirled dangerously.

“G-g—” He spat something. Looking down, he saw the liquid coat his vest, turning it slightly purple. Blood.

“We have to get him to a hospital,” Twilight said to the others. They nodded, guilt in their faces. She turned back to Dusk. “Dusk, I’m sorry—”

She stopped, looking behind her. Dusk looked with her, and saw the pursuers gradually reach them. Mayor Mare held a hoof over her mouth as she beheld Dusk standing there, bloody and scratched. “Oh my…”

Dusk nearly had to look away when he saw Pinkie and Fluttershy with tears in their eyes.

He tried to take another step, perhaps subconsciously still trying to get away, but collapsed almost immediately.

“Get him a stretcher,” ordered the mayor. Some ponies left, returning moments later with a specially designed cart. Twilight lit her magic, and carried him over, trying to ignore his pained squirming. She rested him on the cart, trying to keep him comfortable.

“We’ll deal with you later,” she whispered to him.

The cart began to move, heading for Ponyville hospital. Dusk looked to the sky, seeing the sun shining brightly. The wind had stopped, and now his face became warm. He closed his eyes, finally falling unconscious.

His brief rest was plagued with dreams of a trio of crying fillies, and the guilty looks of the mares he had unintentionally come to care for.

> XXII: Confirming Doubts
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Doctor Irons frowned as his mind went over his memories one more. Somehow, he found himself disbelieving that Dusk was capable of the accused charges; yet, the evidence presented painted a logical conclusion, one easily supported. He looked at the file on his clipboard, trying to study it, but found himself unable to do so. The words and statistics blurred together as his mind raced back to what had occurred only four hours ago.

He glanced up and over at the bed, seeing his patient lying there quietly. Dusk had not said a word since he had woken up. It at first reminded Irons of the first time he and Dusk met; but instead of the stallion wielding an aura of coldness, now all Irons could feel was a weighty sadness. Defeated was the word to describe Dusk. His eyes had dulled over, losing their intensity; he was obviously deep in thought, but Irons could not say he was thinking with the same brilliance he was known for.

The doctor glanced at the bandages on the patient. He hadn’t lost too much blood, thankfully, and the glass was easily removed in a surgery that lasted only two and a half hours. The scratches and scars would remain only for a little while. Irons was slightly impressed that Dusk hadn’t broken anything bone-related when he crashed through the window.

But then again, this is Dusk Prosa we are talking about.

He let out a sigh that went seemingly unnoticed by his patient. He supposed he could be thankful that it was confirmed that Dusk was, indeed, not a user; but that gratitude was easily replaced with confusion and wariness. Given the facts, Dusk being a user would not only have been less as severe, but also much more appreciated.

To the side of the bed was a little tray cart, carrying Dusk’s belongings. The cloak he had on had its hood severed, and the ash-grey mingled with dark, dry red. His vest was in a similar state of ruin, the collar shredded, navy-blue mixing into a faded purple. The only thing that was relatively unharmed was Dusk’s satchel.

Irons’s brows furrowed as he recalled the contents. Blood-filled syringes were only supposed to be found in hospitals, not in the possession of a mysterious stallion. It confounded him to no end as to their purpose. He at first guessed that they were for a morbid experiment—and, indeed, the labels seemed to suggest some sort of tracking method—but his hypothesis was ultimately abandoned once the accusations were presented.

Dusk Prosa… accused murderer of Opacare Prose, though no body has been found. Linked to the death of Raven Lock. Somehow, Irons gained a tired, wry grin. I always have had a reputation of having some strange patients.

Nurse Redheart trotted in, her pink mane slightly unkempt. She looked at Dusk, then back at the doctor, before letting out a huff. She began going over Dusk’s vitals, ignoring his presence. Irons heard her mutter words such as “stupid” and “idiotic.”

He probably would have begun spouting the same things, had Dusk not spoken up.

“Wise words, Nurse Redheart,” he said weakly. She stopped, turning to face him. An unamused expression was on her face, her eyes narrowed.

“Hello, Dusk Prosa,” she said coldly, glaring at him.

He didn’t smile, but his lips twitched. “Happy to see me?” There was a flicker of light behind his eyes, like amusement, but it quickly faded back into dullness.

Nurse Redheart said nothing, turning away to check his vitals.

Dusk turned to Irons. “Greetings, Doctor. When did you enter?”

“About an hour and a half ago.”

“You’ve been watching me the whole time?”

“I’ve been reading the report that Mayor Mare sent over.”

Dusk nodded, before turning away, looking up at the ceiling. “Give it to me straight, Doctor: am I going to die?” he asked dryly.

Even in his weakened state, he still had a dark sense of humor. Irons resisted the urge to chuckle. “No, Dusk, you aren’t. At least, not until a long time in the future.”

“Shame. Would be much better than what I’m about to go through.”

Irons thought Dusk tried to laugh, but it came out more as a cough. They fell silent, the only other sounds being the beeping of the machines, as well as the occasional pony walking by the room.

Redheart suddenly faced Dusk. He looked up, surprised. That surprise was quickly replaced with pained annoyance as Redheart jabbed a hoof into Dusk’s chest. “Do you at least care to explain what you were trying to do?”

Irons pulled Redheart away, giving Dusk space. The stallion looked at them tiredly, but Irons noticed a familiar gleam beginning to return.

“I was… trying to get away,” he answer after a moment. He didn’t seem bent on withholding the information this time.

“‘Get away?’” Redheart repeated. “Where did you plan to go?”

He hesitated for a moment, before answering, “Someplace south.” He looked away. “Someplace far away. Where…” His voice trailed off as he looked out the window. Ponyville lay beyond, somehow still as lively as when he first arrived.

Irons and Redheart shared a look. He wasn’t sure he wanted to push the issue any further, but Redheart looked like she wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. She made to turn away, but he held her, giving her a stern look. She returned an equally harsh glare. A silent conversation passed between them, ending with Redheart sighing. She gave one last look to Dusk—one that, Irons noticed, was filled with shame and sad sympathy—before walking out to tend to other patients.

Leaving Dusk alone with Irons.

The doctor lowered his clipboard onto the nearby table, before walking over and sitting on the side chair next to the bed. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say. It came as a great shock, all this newly revealed information and accusations. He was still having trouble understanding it.

Finally, though, he had to ask, “Is it true?”

Dusk looked at him. “Is what true?”

He made a vague gesture. “All of it. The blood, the accusations, the charges… is it all as they say?”

Dusk stared at him, his carnation eyes looking through and passed him. “They say a lot of things. Some true, some false. It is not my place to give validity; that is up to the interpretation of the individual.”

“But these things… they’re about you. You have a responsibility to determine whether they are right in saying such things.”

“Maybe so… but would it matter? What could I possibly say that would deter their inflamed accusations?”

“The truth, perhaps.”

“Once again, that is up to interpretation. And it is more likely that they would deny that truth, in favor of a false ideal.”

Irons couldn’t argue with that. It made sense, sadly. Dusk had nothing to say, nor was he willing to say anything. He had chosen the safest choice; one of silence, of omission, because he knew that saying something could end in disaster.

“Do you know what they are going to do to you?” Irons asked. “After you’re out of here?”

Dusk sighed. “It’s a stretch… but I imagine they would throw me in prison.”

“This is not a laughing matter, Dusk.”

“Who’s laughing?”

Irons frowned. “Regardless, I don’t think they’ll throw you in a simple prison.”

“Why is that?”

Irons sighed. “You’ve gotten yourself tangled in something bigger than just drugs, Dusk. The evidence that Rainbow found marks you as a national threat. Raven Lock’s death—” He stopped, seeing Dusk wince. He considered asking more about it, but decided against it, thinking that Dusk wouldn’t say anything. “—and Opacare Prose’s disappearance… you are linked to both events.”

“So they keep telling me.”

Irons continued, “Because these two are not local matters, and the latter is something that the Princesses themselves have delved into, this has become an issue on national levels. If I had to guess, they’ll send you to Canterlot after the initial trial in town.”

“They have a court?”

“It’s more likely they’ll do it in Town Hall.”

“… It’s nicer than a courthouse, I suppose.”

Irons smiled. “Still not taking this seriously, are you?”

“Or perhaps I’ve given up caring.”

Irons said nothing. There was a knock at the door. Irons got up and answered it, seeing another staff member standing there with a clipboard. Nodding his thanks, he closed the door, walking back over to the chair.

“I never asked what happened to the syringes,” Dusk suddenly said. Seeing Irons quizzical look, Dusk lifted a hoof and pointed at the satchel. “It isn’t full. You can tell by the lack of imprints from the inside. And, it has fell in on itself, meaning that it’s empty.”

Irons nodded.

“So… where are they?”

He took a deep breath. “We moved them.” Seeing Dusk flinch, he raised a hoof. “Well, I moved them. To someplace safe. Similar in condition to your freezer.”

Dusk let out a relieved breath. “I suppose I can thank you for that.”

“They mean a lot to you?”

“Not the syringes.”

“But the contents?”

He said nothing, which was all the answer Irons needed. He took his seat, reading through the papers on the clipboard.

“Of course,” he began, “we had to analyze the contents to make sure they weren’t anything dangerous.” Dusk stiffened, but he didn’t interrupt. “We ran a few tests with the blood. Don’t worry, we placed it back in the syringes once we were finished.”

Sensing a but in there, Dusk asked for the answer.

Irons took a deep breath. “What we found was… odd.” He glanced at Dusk, the stallion’s face carefully masked. He wasn’t sure if Dusk was feeling fear or curiosity. Nevertheless, he decided to trudge on.

“The cells are unlike anything we’ve ever seen.” He flipped to a picture, showing to Dusk. The stallion did not reveal whether or not he was interested. “The blood is cancerous, effectively killing its own cells with each passing moment.”

“Mmm.”

“But that’s not all.” He flipped to another page, pointing to another reading. “We noticed that the behavior was odd for cancer cells, so, after a bit of testing, we found this.” He pointed to a number. “This is the hemoglobin found in a normal blood cell.” He pointed to another number. “This is the amount found in the blood.”

The number was significantly less than the normal number.

“An abnormal amount,” Dusk whispered, as if in awe.

Irons nodded. “The abnormality results in improper oxygen transport and the destruction of red blood cells. In other words, thalassemia. Or, a variant of it.”

He flipped a page. “But, what struck us as the most intriguing, is that these blood cells all suffer from cancer and thalassemia. That means, the cancer cancels out the effects of thalassemia, and vice versa.”

“But not entirely.”

Irons looked up, surprised, but nodded. “Yes. The cancer is still slightly faster. We noticed that while there are cancerous red blood cells and cells suffering from thalassemia, there is a large amount of red blood cells that suffer from having both. It’s a mutation; and a dangerous one.” Irons shook his head. “Any ordinary pony suffering from this condition would have been dead in only a few year.”

“I’m detecting that even more oddities were found.”

“You catch on quick,” Irons said with a small grin. On another page was a reading on the condition of the white blood cells found in the blood. “Normally, in cancer patients, the cells replicate unstably and uncontrollably. What ends up happening is that these cancerous cells suffocate healthy cells so quickly, that the body cannot regulate the resulting overflow. White blood cells don’t detect them as threats, so we usually use drugs or special treatment to try and kill these malignant cells.

“However, as these are cancerous thalassemia-ridden cells, treatment is hard to come by. Though, I’ve been going over the records, and it appears that a good number of ponies suffer from the same condition.”

“What does this have to do with the white blood cells?”

“As you know, the WBCs are responsible for fighting off hostile germs and microbes. There are cases where the WBCs have gone rogue, attacking the body’s own red blood cells—RBCs. That seems to be the case here.” He pointed to a picture. “Here, we found a WBC attacking one of the cancerous-thalassemia RBC. Since it’s a cancer cell, that shouldn’t happen. But here we see just that!”

He pointed to another picture. “A close-up revealed that the WBC had a trail of antibodies that was aiding in killing the rogue RBC. We’ve determined that the antibodies are of a unique kind; in fact, they’re the only ones of their kind. It seems that they were specially made for fighting these C-TRBCs. They actively seek out these kinds of cells, and help eliminate them efficiently.”

“Of course, that doesn’t fix the problem with the hemoglobin.”

“No, but it keeps the owner alive.”

Dusk sensed something else. He narrowed his eyes at Irons. “That’s not all, is there?”

Irons cleared his throat, not liking what he was about to say. “Well… we were curious. Do you remember the first time you were in Ponyville hospital?”

“Yes…”

“We had to take a blood sample of yours. Just for identification purposes.”

Dusk visibly grew perturbed. “And?”

“Well… when we ran the test just now, we also did an analysis on your blood. What we found was… striking, to say the least.”

He flipped to the last page with the stallion’s readings. “Dusk… you have the same disease. You have cancerous-thalassemian red blood cells in your body.”

Dusk said nothing, knowing what came next.

“We… we found the same white blood cells in your blood as well. They were killing the RBCs.” He looked at Dusk. “Do you know where I’m going with this?”

Dusk nodded silently.

“This would explain how you’ve managed to stay alive with this condition for all your years. The most logical conclusion we could make was that you were making blood transfusion after blood transfusion, keeping yourself alive by finding ponies with this type of WBC.”

Irons sighed. “That, of course, led me to conclude one aspect of your connection to Opacare Prose.”

He grabbed the file on Dusk, looking at the photo of the syringes. “OP. That means Opacare Prose, doesn’t it?”

Dusk said nothing, but a flicker of emotion ran through his eyes, confirming his suspicions.

“Opacare Prose had this type of white blood cell. He suffered from a similar case of C-TRBCs.” Irons gulped. “At first, I thought that meant that you and he had been working together, trying to keep each other alive. But…”

“But when you were confronted with the accusation that I was involved in Opacare Prose’s disappearance, you realized there was a definite possibility that I took the deed too far.”

Irons slowly nodded.

There was silence as Irons placed the papers behind him. He and Dusk sat in silence as they thought over the exchange.

“I’ll have to tell Mayor Mare about my findings.”

“Yes.”

“She’ll have to tell Princess Celestia when you go to Canterlot.”

“Yes.”

“Dusk… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He sighed. “It was my choice, after all.”

“So it’s true?”

“Maybe.”

Irons grunted. “That’s all the uncertainty I need.”

Dusk glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“You never asked if I truly believed the charges presented against you.”

“Do you?”

“… Not at first.”

“And now?”

“Still not completely.” He looked at Dusk. “I’m a good judge of character, Dusk. And I don’t think you have done anything malicious. While I do think you are somehow involved in Opacare’s disappearance and Raven’s death… I don’t think you truly mean—or meant—any harm.”

Dusk stared at him in silence. Irons could tell he was surprised that the doctor still believed in him, despite all that was concluded. His head slowly turned away, facing forward. His eyes glazed over, and he was lost in contemplation.

Irons heard Dusk mutter, “Iustus amo tria illi…”

Just like those three…

Irons stood. “Of course, that’s just my take on things. We won’t fully know the truth until after your trials. Though, I hope that the truth won’t be so bad.”

He placed a gentle hoof on Dusk’s arm. “Rest well, my friend. Goddess knows you’ll need it for later.” He turned and walked away.

Before he left the room, he heard Dusk ask, “Friend?”

Irons turned and smiled at him. “Beats calling you a user, doesn’t it?”

And at that, Dusk managed a grin of his own, one that was just as vibrant and alive as the one he had at the party. “Friend…” he murmured.

Irons nodded, and then left, the door closing shut.





Dusk was given the rest of the day to recover from his injuries. He had a few visitors, among them was, surprisingly, Rainbow Dash. She, despite her misgivings, still apologized for launching Dusk through the window. Dusk had answered with a cold chuckle, and sent her on the way.

The other visitors were Pinkie Pie and Rarity. While the latter did her best to maintain a calm attitude, Pinkie was practically bawling over his bed.

You’d think I was dying, he thought as Pinkie continued sobbing dramatically. He frowned. Then again, I technically am.

“There, there, Pinkie,” Rarity comforted. “Dusk’s alright. You’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine, Miss Pie,” he said, voice cool and composed. “See you in court.”

That last comment was meant as a joke, but it only made Pinkie cry harder. Eventually, Rarity managed to pull her from the bed, leaving her and Dusk alone.

“So,” she began unsurely.

“So indeed.”

“Have you any idea what will happen tomorrow?”

“I can make an educated guess.”

She nodded. “And… just so you know… whatever happens tomorrow, it’s nothing personal.”

He managed to smile at her, though it was slightly strained. “It never is.”

An odd comment, but she accepted it without question. After a few more words, she left, leaving Dusk alone.

He was slightly disappointed that the Crusaders had not come to see him. But he supposed that they were busy. The thought didn’t do much to improve his depressing attitude.

He went to sleep, and though his dreams were not too dark, they still held an atmosphere of sadness in the images.

He woke up, and it was the next day. The day of his trial. Since his wounds were not too severe, he could leave the hospital. A nurse came in, and had him fill out paperwork. He did not bother trying to hide the light glow of his flank as he filled out the form, ignoring the nurse’s surprised look. He handed the papers back, and she nodded to him. Several other nurses came in, and they unplugged the various machine units from his body. She gestured to him to follow.

The ponies up front handed him his torn garments and other belongings. He noted that all that was in his satchel was his blue quill pen and black inkwell. With a nod from Doctor Irons, he confirmed that the syringes were still in the hospital. Irons left before Dusk, likely to prepare his statement as a witness. A few moments later, Dusk was ready to go as well.

“It’s likely not going to be a conventional type of court,” Redheart told him. “Since this is more of a national matter, this is more of a procedural trial.”

She hadn’t said this in a cold tone, and she even sounded worried. Dusk, noticing this, held her hoof in his own. “There is no need to be worried, Nurse. It is as it is.”

She was surprised at the gesture, but nodded her thanks. However, he was still slightly weak, so he turned to her to ask an awkward request.

“Would you mind helping me get to my trial?” he asked.

She smiled kindly, and in answer, stood by him as he walked out the doors.

Conversation was rather short as they walked to the Town Hall. She asked what he planned on saying; he said answers. She asked, what did he expect to be questioned on. He answered, that which needs to be answered.

In truth, she could tell that his terse answers were a result of him not fully knowing what to say. He hadn’t expected to get caught, that much was certain, so he could not have prepared an excuse of any kind.

Soon they reached the Hall. As they approached, Dusk could feel the questioning stares of the town’s locals. Based on the clamor coming from the inside, he guessed that most of the town had gathered to watch this temporary proceeding.

“I have to go back to the hospital,” Nurse Redheart said.

“Go do that.”

She hesitated, before grabbing his hoof and staring at him. “Be careful,” she whispered. Before he could respond, she trotted away.

He blinked, then sighed. He doubted he’d honor that order. He rolled his neck, cracking it, loosening up his body. He turned, facing down the doors to the Hall. Whereas on the night of the party they were welcoming, now they stood as stoic guards, glaring down at him. He fixed his own glare at them, determined not to falter. He confidently walked up, and pushed open the doors.

He was met with stunned silence as the Hall quieted. So many pairs of eyes trained on him that he could practically feel their questioning gazes shoot through him. He gulped, trying to remain undeterred, as he moved forward. Looking around, he noticed that the hall was filled with familiar faces. Ditzy, Time Turner, and Dinky sat up front, watching him with wide eyes. Twilight’s friends were next to Mayor Mare, on the stage. Filthy Rich and his daughter were on the other side of the Hall, glaring at him.

Still the Crusaders were nowhere to be found. His heart fell, but he kept his head held up high.

“Dusk Prosa,” Mayor Mare greeted, trying to appear amicable. “I trust you’ve recovered?”

He nodded. “Indeed I have. Let’s waste no time here.”

She nodded, and gestured him to move up front. A makeshift bailiff directed him to the side—the witness stand, he supposed—and he waited for Mayor to begin the “trial.”

She glanced all around the Hall. “Citizens of Ponyville, this is not your typical trial. We neither have nor need lawyers. As the issues presented are of national importance, Ponyville does not have the authority to properly deal with the ramifications.”

She was greeted with murmurs that, while confused, didn’t seem intentionally hostile. Seeing this, she continued, “That being said, I believe it is still our town’s responsibility to clear up any misgivings with our citizens.”

She faced Dusk with a frown. “The accused is Dusk Prosa. The charges are as follows.” Twilight handed her a list. “Unlawful possession of syringes; being linked to Raven Lock’s death; for withholding valuable information that could aid in finding Opacare Prose; as well as being charged with assisting in Opacare Prose’s disappearance. You are also now charged with assaulting a volunteer officer and property damage.”

“Hold it!” Rich cried, standing up. Only now did Dusk see that Rich had a slight black eye from when Dusk hit him. He smirked, somewhat satisfied. “What about the fact that those syringes were not for medical purposes?”

“I have been informed by Doctor Irons that Dusk has a unique condition that would require usage of the syringes,” she answered calmly. Seeing Dusk’s questioning gaze, she added, “Doctor Irons had to leave for Canterlot to prepare his statements to the Princesses.”

Prosa gulped, knowing he’d have to face the Royal Sisters after all of this.

She turned back to Dusk. “This will be a fast trial, as the real one shall be made in Canterlot. Is that satisfactory?”

“Would it matter if it wasn’t?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

She nodded. “Very well. Dusk Prosa, how do you plead to these charges?”

He thought for a moment, saying nothing at first. The tension in the hall rose. He could hear every breath being sucked in as they waited his response.

Finally, he spoke: “… Guilty to the last two.”

A few breaths were released, but most knew that wasn’t all of it. Mayor Mare nodded, turning to Twilight and her friends. “Jury members, what is your verdict?”

Applejack stepped forward. “Guilty to all charges.” She returned to her position.

Next was Rainbow, her face hidden, emotions masked behind a veil of coldness that matched his own. “Guilty to all charges.”

Rarity walked forward, frowning. “… Guilty to first three and last two.”

Fluttershy was next. She looked like she was about to cry, a stark contrast to her behavior yesterday. “G-guilty to f-first three, last two.”

Next was Twilight. She didn’t look at Dusk. He noticed that her lip appeared to be quivering. “Guilty to all charges.”

Finally, Pinkie stepped forward. Her mane had deflated, her sapphire eyes large and forlorn. She didn’t spare Dusk a glance, and her voice came out monotone and dark. He found himself flinching at the voice; it was completely unlike the Pinkie he had come to know.

“Guilty to all charges.”

He closed his eyes, releasing a sigh. He couldn’t say that this was completely unexpected; but a part of him had hoped that he could prolong the inevitable. He was surprised when frustrated tears appeared at the edge of his vision; blinking rapidly, he quickly removed them.

Mayor Mare nodded. “Four to two to one. Dusk Prosa, this court finds you guilty of all that is accused.” She sighed. “While we do not have a working jail for you at the moment, you shall be under house arrest while we make arrangements for you to go to Canterlot for the real trial.”

He nodded, jaw stiff.

“Very well. Bailiff, escort Dusk to his home. Court is adjourned.”

The Hall began clamoring as the ponies began to leave. Dusk was led out by the bailiff, his face downcast. If ponies could see his face, they would have witnessed restrained tears finally breaking free. They would be dried later, of course, but their stains would remain etched into his very soul.

And for the third time, Dusk dreamt of tears and cries, of a great wall of ignorance, and of his own hatred for himself. He dreamt of dark days, of distant futures, of what could have been. He dreamt, and he cried, and he despaired.

> XXIII: Canterlot Court
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Three days passed. Three days of simply waiting. Dusk’s mind was growing numb with his house arrest. The days were boring, filled with boring ideas and boring ponies. He mostly stayed in his room, only coming down to eat.

Visitors were not permitted either, meaning Dusk’s only form of entertainment or interaction was his own mind. Yet even his imagination had seemingly dulled from all this time spent alone. Sure, he was a loner; but that didn’t mean he liked being it. Introverts like him may like being alone, but none wish to ever be lonely.

He thought about writing mostly. Writing letters, notes, something, anything—anything that would keep his mind occupied. But he stubbornly refused to follow on through. He was still afraid of what would happen if he was caught. So he refrained from doing mostly anything but thinking.

He thought about many things. He thought about his past. He thought about his present, about his future. He thought about Raven, and missed him, and needed him. He thought about Opacare Prose, about what he had done, and he felt regret. He thought of the Crusaders, and realized he had grown to truly care for them. And he thought about himself—and came to the same conclusion as he did every time he thought about himself.

He hated himself.

It wasn’t as evocative, nor as vibrant, as one would expect. It was a dull hate, tamed by time, muddied by his actions of the past and present. It held him up, kept him strong; but it corrupted his mind, and messed with his thoughts. Every “thing” that involved him all ended with the same conclusion: that he was to be hated. And he kept that conclusion true to himself, not allowing himself the chance to think otherwise, too afraid of what could happen.

He hated himself in the day.

He hated himself in the night.

He hated himself for the three days he stayed inside.

He hated himself for doing what he had to do.

He hated himself for allowing Raven to die.

He hated, and he hated, and he hated—

Dusk took a slow breath. His heartbeat slowed, and he closed his eyes, calming himself. His old self was a stallion filled with hate; and, no matter how vindictive it felt, he didn’t want to fall into the same old trap. Nevertheless, the feeling persisted at the back of his mind.

The curtains were closed, light shying away. He sat in the dark, with his coffee, reading the paper. His name was plastered on the front page like a stain. There were several editorials on Ponyville’s newspaper, all about him. Some, to his surprise, tried to defend him. Most, however, vehemently spoke poorly of him. Filthy Rich in particular had some choice words to say.

It had been years since Dusk had been called an “arrogant, narcissistic fool of a stallion.” He was mildly impressed and amused he had lasted that long.

It didn’t matter what the papers, said, though. Dusk already knew the truth about himself; so he didn’t need to bother defending himself.

But he was going to Canterlot soon. To speak of his involvement in the author’s disappearance, and the detective’s death. The truth about himself would be revealed, whether he liked it or not. He could only hope to stall it, unwilling to let others see it.

But why? Why did he feel so afraid to speak the truth?

He didn’t let himself answer. He wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.

So he sat in his chair and closed his eyes—and waited.

And, for a time, that was all he could do. The house was eerily quiet, as quiet as the residing stallion. The birds had gone silent, the world had closed up its walls, leaving him truly alone.

Life. Death called. He wants his boringness back.

There was a knock on the door, bringing him out of his thoughts. He at first ignored it, thinking he was hearing things. The second knock resounded across the house, filling the empty, deafened void with percussion. He clutched his head in slight annoyance.

“What?” he half-growled, half-groaned.

It was one of the ponies stationed outside, keeping him inside. “You’re ride is here, Mr. Prosa.”

At that, his dark thoughts faded, and he practically jumped out of his chair. Yes! Action! Finally!

He turned, clearing his throat, resuming a calm demeanor. “I’ll be there.”

He heard the door unlock, and walked forward, twisting the knob. He pulled the wooden frame open and pushed past the screen door eagerly.

The sun blasted him with light, and he shielded his eyes with his forehoof. Ah, damn it. He blinked rapidly, willing his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. A few seconds passed, and his eyesight returned to relatively normal.

“A chariot?” he asked.

“Apparently you warrant special privileges,” the pony outside said with a smirk.

Two white pegasus Royal Guards, clad in golden armor and with navy plumes, stared stoically ahead. Behind them, on reins, was a large, alabaster-gold chariot, a red velvet seat at the end.The guards, with their sunstone-brown eyes and shut jaws, looked quite intimidating. They were enough to remind Dusk of his old persona; but he pushed that thought away.

With a simple nod, the guards beckoned Dusk onto the chariot. Though at first unsure (he had never ridden on a chariot before), he obliged, carefully stepping onto the vehicle. He placed his satchel on his lap and brushed down his cloak and vest, as tattered as they were.

“At your leave,” one of the royal guards said.

He nodded. “Nunc.”

They didn’t make to move, but he could see their confusion. He sighed. “Now would be fine.”

They nodded, and with a flap of their wings, took off for the north, heading for Canterlot. Dusk was thankful that they were slow; he might have fallen off had they been flying at a faster rate. He gripped the ends of the sofa, allowing himself a brief moment of rest.





Canterlot was abuzz. Seeing an ordinary earth stallion flying in on a chariot made for the Princesses was not a common sight. His choice in tailoring, as well as their condition, only served to spark more upturns of disgust. Their faces turned away, and they let out low curses about commoners and their filth.

Dusk, surprisingly, did not feel at all threatened by their actions. It was familiar, from his memories as a student in Canterlot all those years ago. The so-called “high class” ponies really were nothing more but spoiled slobs; perhaps even worse than he, in that regard. He smirked as he landed, getting out of the chariot and stepping out onto the pavement.

He began trotting, the purple tiles clacking beneath his hooves. He looked straight ahead, towards the palace; it wasn’t too far away, thankfully. A few ponies, most them snobbish looking, shot him glares, but he ignored them as he walked.

It had been nearly thirteen years since he had been in Canterlot, and he could tell that several things had changed. For one, the city was no longer as “secure” in the past. There were guards stationed on several street corners, with police flanking them. He supposed that it was due to the recent return of an old king a few months back. The palace itself had also changed; it had become much larger and more regal looking, shining in the light of day. Looking around, he saw that the shops were also much larger; he guessed there was an economic overflow, allowing many businesses to prosper and expand.

If only Manehattan were just as wondrous, he thought.

Soon, he had made it up the steps. A pair of guards protected the main door, the massive entrance bolted shut and covered in various symbols. Dusk’s eyes glanced at the two guards in slight unease. They were as frozen as statues—much like the one in the Canterlot Gardens—though he could sense the dignity and courage in their stances.

He doubted he could make a run for it without getting tackled to the ground by these ponies.

He cleared his throat, assuming a more authoritative tone. “I am here to… die, I suppose.”

The guards didn’t respond.

“I am here to… be arrested? No, I already am.”

They barely hinted at hearing him.

“Go to jail?”

Nothing. He sighed.

“I am here to… go to trial, I suppose.”

“Name,” one of the guards stated.

He looked up, actually surprised, before answer, “Dusk Prosa.”

The two nodded. “You may enter.” They stepped to the side, and lit their horns. The massive bolt was pulled aside, loosening the door. With a wave of their horns, it was swung open, revealing the massive hall into the castle.

“Court is down to the left,” one of the guards said. He nodded his thanks, and walked inside, the door shutting behind with a loud bang.

He released a pent-up breath. He could tell that his days were numbered. Slowly, he walked down the red carpet, moving past the pillars and arches. The sun gleamed through the windows, though not harshly, and it pointed to the right side of the hall. The darker path lay to the left, where the court was. He considered which path to take for a moment, before sighing and choosing the left, the darker, likely more sinister.

Several more minutes passed, and he finally reached the exit. Another large door stood in front of him, with two unicorn guards in front of it. Seeing him, they nodded, and together pulled open the doors, revealing the court to him.

As he walked inside, he looked up in surprise, seeing the ponies who were also there. “Miss Sparkle?” he questioned.

The lavender unicorn turned to face him, and had a small smile on her face. Beside her was Spike, who looked somewhat perturbed. Behind them was Twilight’s other friends—Rarity, Rainbow, Fluttershy, Applejack, and Pinkie Pie. “Hello, Dusk,” she greeted warmly, holding out a hoof.

He did not take it, regarding her with a cold stare. “What exactly are you doing here?”

She retracted her hoof and cleared her throat. “Princess Celestia and Princess Luna asked us to help preside over the court proceedings.” She leaned forward. “You may not know this, but Canterlot courts have a history of getting lively.”

He could only imagine what that meant. Dealing with crazy nobles was not something he had expected.

“Any chance you could tell me how court will proceed?” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “Well… there will be a jury, of course. It will consist of several nobles from Canterlot. One of the Princesses will be acting as judge. Another will take the role of prosecution, though they won’t be trying to get you the guilty verdict.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like any court I’m familiar with.”

“This is a special case, Dusk—you are a special case. As such, traditional court proceedings will be abolished for the moment.” She let out a breath. “You see, this is will be a trial of investigation, not a court of criminality. We are trying to figure out what is going on, basically.”

He nodded at that. “I see. How will the investigation go about?”

“It should be quite simple. You’ll be asked by the prosecuting Princess several questions, and you are to answer them to the best of your ability. The prosecution will present the facts of the case, give an outline, and let you put in your own account. The jury will evaluate you based on your responses and actions.

“Of course, that’s assuming things go as planned. These things tend to go awry at some point.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.”

She couldn’t help but smirk at his sarcasm. “Anyway, the judge Princess will decide whether the case is to remain open or to close it. If she chooses to close it, you’ll be handed a verdict and have to serve jail time.”

“Lovely.”

“However, if she decides to continue the investigation, another trial may be called. The process will be similar to the original investigation trial. Based on the case, the Princess will decide whether the case will be expanded to more days, or limited to a select few days.”

“Does the court have witnesses?”

“Well…” At that she gestured to herself and the others. “That’s what we’re also here for. Since we know you the best—relatively,” she added, seeing Dusk raise an eyebrow, “we’ll be providing our own accounts to the case.”

She looked directly at him. “Do you understand?”

“It’s a weird way to go about investigating somepony.”

“Well, you’re not exactly the norm yourself.”

He smiled slightly, hiding his butterflies in his stomach. “No, I am not.”

They then heard the hall’s doors open up. They turned, Dusk unsure of whom to expect, while Twilight and the others maintained a calm attitude.

Doctor Irons entered first, wearing his white jacket over his blue-grey fur. His taupe mane was held back by what appeared to be glasses—likely, spectacles—and his pine-green eyes lit up as they saw Dusk.

The pewter stallion made to greet him, but Twilight held him back. Looking back up, he saw Irons step to the side, allowing the true visitors to become clear.

Princess Celestia walked ahead, her prismatic mane flowing gracefully around her. Her magenta eyes twinkled, almost playful, but Dusk could tell she was serious by the frown on her face. Behind her was Princess Luna, with an equally as stunning dark-blue mane. The little stars made her look like a walking constellation. They nodded to Irons—he returned a little bow—before walking up the others.

They all bowed respectfully, Dusk even more so. He had never been up close and personal with any of the princesses before, and he was determined to try and make a good impression.

“Rise, my little ponies,” Celestia said, her voice warm and motherly. They obliged, looking at her in slight nervousness. Celestia and her sister walked up to Dusk, staring at him in silence, and he did much the same.

“So you’re the stallion I’ve been hearing about,” Celestia asked, though it was more of a statement really.

“I am.”

“And you know why you are here.”

“Relatively speaking.”

She smiled. “A bit terse, are we?”

He nodded, unsure if he should answer truthfully or at all with his voice.

He noticed Luna looking at him oddly. “Something wrong, Your Majesty?” he asked.

She blinked. “Oh, no. I just thought you’d be bigger.”

He frowned, not quite sure what to say to that. “Sorry to… disappoint you.”

They nodded, moving past him to talk to the others. Doctor Irons appeared by his side with a tiny smile. “Nervous?”

Dusk nodded. “Though, I’ve lasted this long. I think I might make it.”

“Any idea what they might ask?”

“Questions, I would imagine. Regarding my ‘involvement’ in recent events.”

“What about what you’ll say to them?”

Dusk shrugged.

“The nobles will be here any second,” Princess Celestia said, looking around. “I suggest you all get ready. You especially, Dusk Prosa.”

Nodding, he and Irons stepped to the side, just as the ponies began to enter.

Dusk didn’t keep up with the latest news in Canterlot, so he didn’t recognize most of the nobles. Two, though, he had heard of from the oral grapevine. The first was a blonde-haired unicorn, wearing a white coat and having teal eyes. He noticed Rarity give the stallion a seething look, and it didn’t take long for him to guess who it was.

“Prince Blueblood,” he whispered to Irons.

“Oh, this will be interesting,” Irons whispered back, almost grinning.

Blueblood noticed their presence, and snorted in distaste at Dusk’s attire. “Oh? A mere common earth stallion? How mundane.” He looked at Dusk. “You had better be worth the manicure I had to cancel.”

Dusk gave a feral grin. “Trust me; I am.”

His smile did its job, unnerving the royal prince. Dusk glanced back at Rarity as Blueblood left, seeing a satisfied grin on her face.

He turned back to the nobles, seeing the second recognizable figure. “Mr. Fancy Pants?”

“Ah! Yes, hello, my good fellow,” the blue-haired stallion responded kindly. He looked at Dusk, then, with a grin, at Irons. “Aha! Steel! It’s been ages!” He clapped “Steel” Irons on his back, letting out a hearty laugh.

Irons smiled back. “It certainly has, Fancy. How’s business?” He winked. “How’s Miss Fleur?”

Fancy laughed. “Business is great, old fellow. And Fleur’s just as brilliant. A year in our marriage and she still hasn’t tired of little old me!”

“I doubt anypony could tire of you, my friend.”

Meanwhile, Dusk frowned in contemplation. He vaguely recalled reading that Fancy and Fleur had been dating; guess they had married only recently. That would explain why he hadn’t heard of it. That, or it was because he avoided the tabloids.

Fancy turned to Dusk. “And this is our accused?”

“Yes, it is.” Irons nodded, gesturing to Dusk. “Fancy Pants, meet Dusk Prosa. Dusk Prosa, Fancy Pants.”

“A pleasure!” Fancy greeted, holding out a hoof.

Dusk took it and shook, though he didn’t smile. “Charmed.”

Fancy was undeterred by his lackluster greeting. “Don’t you worry, old chap. You don’t seem all that threatening.”

“Really?”

The fancy stallion laughed again. “You should see my wife when she gets angry. That’s intimidating, I tell you.”

Dusk’s lips twitched into a smile. At least Fancy didn’t seem hostile.

Several more ponies passed by, though few spared Dusk a glance. They each bowed to Princess Celestia and Luna, before walking up the side and into the jury booth. A few moments later, all were seated. Seeing this, Celestia rose, commanding their attention.

“I will act as judge for this trial,” she began. “My sister, Princess Luna, shall act as the prosecution. Dusk Prosa is the defendant. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the court echoed.

“Very well. Court is now in session for the trial of Dusk Prosa.”





Luna began by, once again, listing off Dusk’s charges. However, she did so with the vigor and excitement of a foal, like she was eager to play her part. Dusk guessed that it was because it was rare for similar court cases to be presented; and perhaps she wanted to impress the nobles as well.

The charges said, Luna decided to delve more into the backstory of the case. “Around three weeks ago,” she said strongly, “Dusk Prosa arrived in Ponyville. From what Twilight Sparkle has told us, Dusk came from the north. His wounds suggested fights with numerous Shade and Timberwolves—an impressive feat, to say the least.”

He felt a surge of pride. It wasn’t everyday one of the Sisters praised you for staying alive.

“Further interactions revealed that Dusk came from Manehattan, though why had not taken a train is still unclear. He stayed in Ponyville for the duration of those three weeks. I believe Rainbow called it ‘locking himself up in that creaky old shack of his?’”

Rainbow blushed in embarrassment. Dusk frowned. It’s not that creaky.

“However, during that time frame, several things came to light. Number one, Dusk was found to be in possession of numerous syringes, empty at first. It was noted that he was quite… possessive of them, going so far as to confront Twilight Sparkle for stealing one of the needles.”

He saw Twilight winced, as well as Celestia frown. Hopefully she won’t be punished too much for that, if at all.

Luna levitated over a paper that detailed several key events she wanted to bring up. “Dusk, afterwards, did not do much other than stay inside of his home. However, two weeks into his arrival, it appears he had a confrontation with a certain Filthy Rich and his daughter Diamond Tiara and her friend Silver Spoon.” She looked to Dusk, an eyebrow raised. “According to Rich, you ‘threatened his daughter with death…’”

Irons spoke up. “Your Highness, if I may speak for the accused.”

“Go on.”

“Dusk did not say such thing. Merely, he confronted the stallion and his daughter for excessive bullying of a certain Dinky Doo.”

“I see…” Luna’s frown remained. “However, in that confrontation, Rich pointed out that Dusk had spoken of another stallion who had tried to threaten him. Prosa had said, quote, ‘Do you know what happened to the last stallion who dared to cross me?! He’s ten feet under! And if you’re not careful, you’ll be in the same situation!’”

Dusk winced, though he had expected that to come up. He looked to the nobles, seeing their frowns deepen. Fancy seemed to be mildly intrigued.

“Could you perhaps explain your choice of words, Dusk?” Luna asked.

Dusk nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He raised his voice, becoming the center of attention. “I admit, I made a threat. But it was an empty threat in the face of an empty parental figure. I ask the court to recall that Filthy has done nothing to curb his daughter’s habits; as such, I believe that my response, while admittedly extreme, was appropriate.”

Luna nodded, turning back to the paper. Dusk noticed a faint smile on her lips. He looked up, and saw Fancy trying to hide his own satisfied smirk.

Irons leaned over. “Filthy has made a name for himself in the higher ups. Princess Luna and Fancy Pants aren’t very fond of him. I can imagine they think he had it coming.”

That’s somewhat reassuring, Dusk thought.

Princess Luna went on, “A few days later, a meeting in Town Hall was called. Rich was presiding over it, and tried to convince the ponies to drive Dusk out of town. Mayor Mare said they couldn’t do that without substantial evidence of any wrongdoing. Which brings us to the syringes.”

From the evidence box she pulled out one of Dusk’s syringes, still filled with blood, and still having the tag attached. The nobles gasped in shock.

He shot a glance at Irons, who winced, sheepish. “Sorry, mate. I had to bring one of them for evidence. It’s your blood, though; not the other’s.” It was clear who he was speaking of.

Dusk sighed. “That’s fine, I suppose.”

“Don’t worry; I told the Princesses to keep the syringe specially cooled.”

Dusk nodded his thanks, then refaced the prosecutor.

“Mares and stallions of the court, you are no doubt wondering why there appears to be blood in this syringe. We ourselves were wondering the same thing. Which is why I call Doctor Steel Irons to the witness stand.”

Irons nodded, trotting up the walkway and making his way to the stand. After being sworn in, he launched into a lengthy explanation about the contents, the blood itself, its nature, as well as how it had been stored. The nobles listened in rapt interest, though Dusk noticed that Prince Blueblood looked somewhat squeamish.

“In conclusion,” the doctor finished up, “the blood found in this syringe is not like ordinary blood. It suffers from a special variant of cancer and thalassemia, a combined mutation of sorts.”

“So this stallion is not an ordinary stallion?” one of the nobles, a lovely mare, asked.

Dusk actually chuckled, and they heard him. Luna gave him a questioning look. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve been asked that question a lot.” He looked at the noble, and though he felt somewhat nervous, managed a confident stare. “I am as much of a stallion as Doctor Irons is. Though, perhaps I am a bit more. Or less, depending on how you look at it.”

His answer garnered a frown, but seemed to satisfy her, and she sat down.

“And this blood… you say that only Dusk has it?”

Irons shook his head. “Not exactly. There are several thousand documented cases of ponies suffering from a similar—or even exact—condition. Dusk is simply one of them.”

“So how does this connect back to Opacare Prose’s disappearance?” Blueblood asked impatiently.

“To understand that, we must understand how we first became aware of the contents of this blood.” Luna looked to Rainbow Dash. “I call Rainbow Dash to the stand.”

Rainbow gulped, but flew over, trying to appear as confident as she could. She swore herself in, then talked about how she had come to discover the syringes. The nobles listened just as intently as before, though some had their eyebrows raised at the methods Rainbow had used.

Princess Celestia spoke up once Rainbow had finished her account. “So you broke into Dusk’s home?”

Rainbow cringed at hearing the question for the second time that week. “W-well, I had Scootaloo promise to keep the door slightly opened so that I wouldn’t have to try and lockpick it.”

“Couldn’t you have gone through the window?”

“I guessed that Dusk would have noticed my intrusion, then.” Dusk nodded, confirming he would have.

“Scootaloo?” Blueblood huffed. “What an odd name for an ordinary mud pony.”

He was met with furious death glares from both Rainbow and Dusk. “She’s a filly pegasus,” Rainbow stated angrily.

“Irrumator,” Dusk spat. Blueblood looked surprised, then seethed, as a few nobles chuckled at his chagrin.

Rainbow turned back to Princess Luna. “Anyway, I took some photos of the syringes, before telling Twilight and the others. The rest, you already know.”

“May we see these photos?”

Rainbow opened her satchel and gave them over. Luna levitated the pictures up, letting the court see them. “Dozens of them,” Celestia whispered. She brought one of the photos over to her, eyes squinting. “They have labels that say OP… what does that mean?”

Luna called Twilight to the stand to help explain. “Well, it was a guess at first. It could have been a coincidence that they said OP, but then again, there were other factors.” She lifted up the photo of the note. “Here, in this thrown-out scroll, you can see Dusk talk about Opacare Prose as if he knew him.”

“And of Raven Lock. But we’ll get to that in time. Doctor Irons? If you could tell your findings.”

“Analyzing the syringes found in Dusk’s house, as well as Dusk’s own blood, we found they contained the same white blood cells and antibodies,” Irons explained. “That is impossible for two stallions to have. The only way for that to happen is through blood transfusion, which is the preferred method of treatment for patients with thalassemia. Given the tags, we evaluated that the blood found in the fridge was Opacare Prose. The note seems to suggest this as well.”

It makes sense, Dusk thought. Too much sense. Somehow, I completely missed this possibility.

Luna brought the note back over. “The words have mostly been smudged, but we can see that Dusk definitely talks about Opacare like he knew him. And, as if he were dead.”

Surprised murmurs radiated from the jury booth. Their gazes turned curious, wanting to hear more. She began quoting several lines: “‘Opacare Prose is gone… my hooves… killed him… true… confession.’” She looked around the court. “Indeed, these words suggest that not only did Dusk know Opacare personally, he was responsible for his disappearance. Or rather, his death.”

“Well, then that’s his confession, then!” a male noble cried. “We ought to send him to the gallows!”

Luna shook his head. “Perhaps, but we still haven’t determined everything. We must also figure out what Dusk’s connection to Raven Lock is.” She waved the note around. “We see that Dusk had been writing to Raven Lock about some sort of operation. Two days later, after the note’s discovery, Raven Lock is found dead in an explosion at his apartment.”

She lowered the photo, turning back to face the rest of the court. “Since this is still the opening summary, I cannot yet ask Dusk to explain. However, I can still ask the other witnesses to give their accounts. Starting with Miss Rarity.”

Rarity trotted to the stand, swore herself in, and began her explanation. “Well, on one of the nights of guard duty, Dusk was with us. He was quite the observer, reminding me of a certain fictional detective.” She smiled at Dusk, a smile which he returned, though in a smaller size. “Anyway, I asked where on Equestria he had learned to make such profound observations. And he told me he had learned from a detective friend.”

She sighed. “It was only a few days later, when I heard of that horrific accident. The gas main explosion was grisly. My heart goes out to the families of the victims claimed in that fire.” She shook her head. “I read the paper, and saw that it said that among the victims was a certain Raven Lock. Former Head of Investigations in Canterlot, former Canterlot Police Detective, former psychologist.”

She looked directly at Dusk. “It didn’t take long for me to figure out that this was the detective Dusk was talking about. The note he wrote also completely supported this.”

Stepping down, Applejack took her place. She gave a similar account, though she admitted she didn’t particularly like Prosa at first. She finished, stepping away, letting Luna take the center.

“Thank you, ladies. From these accounts, we can accurately conclude that Raven Lock was a friend of Dusk’s; possibly, an old friend. They’ve been collaborating for a number of days—perhaps longer, unrecorded. So we have determined how Dusk is related to Raven Lock.”

She shook her head. “However, questions still remain. Questions that I cannot answer with the witness’s accounts.” She looked to her sister. “The prosecution makes a movement to transition to the examination.”

“Granted,” said Celestia. She looked at Dusk. “Will Mr. Prosa please take the stand?”

Dusk gulped. This was it. He had to make this as perfect as he could muster, without giving away too much. He still needed time; time that he doubted the court would freely give.

He removed himself from the bench, walking over to where the witness stand was. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” Celestia asked.

No. “I do.”

“Take the stand.”

He did so, taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment. Give everything and nothing, he reminded himself. He opened his eyes, his gaze flashing brilliantly, reflecting the careful, reserved vibrancy underneath.

Let’s do this.

Luna faced him. “Mr. Prosa, are the events I have described as they actually were?”

“That is correct. I did come from Manehattan, traveled from the Hollow Shades, all the way to Ponyville. And I did hide in that creaky old shack.”

“And the confrontation?”

“Also correct.”

“Very well. Could you give us your own account of your three weeks in Ponyville?”

He did so, his voice loud and clear. Here he was in his true element, as a storyteller. For the moment, he forgot he was on the accused bench. Instead, he reveled in the perfect amount of attention; not too much, not too little. He had an audience, and he was determined to please them to the best of his ability. Voice strong and words as clear as day, he told of his time in Ponyville, of his thoughts, of his feelings and ideas and emotions. Yet he refrained from going too deep into detail on his sorrows, his fears, and his uncertainties, doing his best to keep the story flowing, but giving only enough detail to satisfy.

When he had finished, Luna regarded him with a stare. “I must admit, it is quite impressive how you are able to craft such a unique tale from the same story.” She glanced at his flank. “It surprises me you do not have a mark for storytelling.”

He nodded his thanks, but nervousness welled up in him. That was the easy part. Now comes the hard.

She levitated over the note, placing it in front of him. “You wrote this, correct?”

“… Yes.” He picked it up in his hooves, as if studying it. In actuality, he was busy thinking of a way to stall for time. Finding one, he grunted. “I had written it some time ago, but threw it out. I had thought nopony would read it.” He cast a knowing look at Rainbow Dash. “I had hoped that my privacy would be protected.” He looked to Celestia. “I trust that I’ll get some retribution out of this?”

“Possibly.”

It was a start, but it would do.

“Why did you throw it out?” Luna asked.

He searched for an easy answer. “I spilled the ink, and ruined the parchment. I wasn’t planning on keeping a ruined piece of paper.”

Luna nodded. “That makes some sense. Still, though, why did you not try writing the note again?”

“I was… distracted.” He didn’t mention that he been wallowing in self-despair. “I was going to write the note later on, but…” His voice faltered, and Luna guessed why.

“Raven died.”

He breathed slowly. “That is correct. You see, I had written the note sometime before his… leaving this plane of existence. It didn’t feel right to write it again.”

She stepped forward a little. “So why did you write it?”

“To clear my head of some thoughts.”

“Is there any way you could tell us what the smudged writing says?”

“Not to my memory, unfortunately.” Of course, he knew a way, but he wasn’t about to tell them that.

“And these thoughts.” She gestured to the photo. “You, talking about you being insane?”

“Contextual error. Smudged writing eliminated the meaning of that sentence.”

“I see. What about the fact that you spoke of Prose as if you killed him?”

“Same thing.”

“But we have established a possible motive, have we not?”

“We have?”

His barely dodging the question managed to annoy the lunar princess. She sighed. “I suppose I will have to piece it together for you.”

“Take your time.”

“We have established that you and Prose had the very same condition. A blood transfusion would be necessary for you to survive. Would it be a stretch to say that you had met with Opacare with Raven Lock, and the three of you had established some sort of operation together?” She narrowed her eyes. “An operation that involved your and Opacare’s blood?”

He said nothing, staring at her. Inside, his heart was beating rapidly, and he thought that if anypony was near they’d hear it.

“I take it by your silence that you agree that this is in the realm of possibility.” She leaned back, thinking. “This operation you spoke of in your note… it must have gone on for some time. Perhaps even before Opacare disappeared. But something happened. Something that made you decide that enough was enough, that Opacare needed to be silenced. So… you ‘killed him,’ with your own hooves.”

She looked back at the stallion. “Of course, this is all speculation. Why not do us a favor, and clear this up for us?”

She was expecting him to cave him. He knew he could prolong this forever. He decided to try a different approach, one that would dodge this question, and answer somewhat another.

“You’ve said I had a connection with Raven Lock,” he said carefully. “And I’ve admitted that that’s true. From Rarity and Applejack’s accounts, you now know that he was a friend of mine. The connection I had with him was of purely platonic nature.”

All eyes were trained on him as he gave his little speech. “He was a good friend; and I will miss him dearly. Perhaps you understand, Princess Luna; surely you have had friends come by, live, and die suddenly?”

She did not interrupt, calmly letting him talk.

“Raven Lock died in a gas explosion in Manehattan, in his apartment,” he reiterated. “I tell you, I had nothing to do with that. How could I, when I was in Ponyville the entire time? If anything, his death came as a great surprise to me.” He shook his head. “In that note, where I wrote that Raven would die, that was intentional, but for a different reason. You see, as the former Head of Investigations, and as a former detective in the Canterlot Police Force, Raven had established a name for himself in the criminal underworld. He made enemies with the ponies he had locked up; though, he became friends with some who had become his patients.”

He paused, allowing his words to sink in. Luna stared at him, her head slightly tilted, a frown on her face. “Are you suggesting that Raven Lock’s death was due to the actions of a disgruntled, ex-prisoner?”

He winced, knowing he would have to lie. “There is more possibility of it being a gas explosion and nothing else. But so long as that possibility remains intact, I cannot be described as being involved in his demise.”

Celestia nodded. “Intriguing. We may need to set up a separate investigation to investigate this line of thought.”

Murmurs echoed throughout the court, and Dusk let out a relieved breath. He had stalled his investigation just a little bit, and might have even set up an opportunity to avenge Raven Lock’s death. Twilight and her friends were just as surprised as Luna and Celestia with this alternate probability, and for that, he was quite proud. Looking back at the jury, he saw similar looks of shock and confusion on their features.

But just because he dodged the bullet, didn’t mean the court was out of ammo.

Celestia called for order, her eyes settling back onto Dusk. “Thank you for your input on Raven Lock, Dusk. I can imagine that you are still feeling the pain of losing your friend. I think this court can safely say that you are, in all likelihood, not responsible for his death.”

He nodded his thanks.

“However, there are still issues we need to clear up. Issues that, I think, you need to answer for.”

He nodded again, doing his best to hide his growing apprehension.

“Luna? Continue your questioning.”

The younger sister nodded, walking back to the center of the court. Frowning as she faced Dusk, she asked, “Could you tell us more on this ‘operation’ of yours?”

Dusk knew this was coming, and he doubted he could lie his way out of it. Trying to appear undeterred, he answered, “I’ll try.” He took a deep breath, steadying his heart rate. “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with the nature of your operation.”

Dusk saw any sliver of hope fade away. Now he knew he could not lie about this. And he guessed that afterwards, the court would connect the dots, and that would be that—no pony coming to save the day, no hero. He would be locked up, and fail, and despair.

The most he could do, he decided, was stall to the best of his ability.

“This operation,” he began, his voice still strong and audible, “was for a better good. Some may call it a monopoly on life, but we considered it necessary.” He hoped that his choice of words would serve to muddle the listeners’ minds. “We were hoping to do something life-changing, perhaps to do some great, something that went beyond ourselves.”

He sighed. “Time was not our friend, however. Things got out of hand. Actions had to be taken, choices made. Work became different, the process slow, everything cautious. The dream of changing for the better became distant, little more than images at the back of our mind.

“We created this operation as a way to fulfill an old promise, you see. Something ancient, a word forged in the fire of the blazing inferno in our hearts. It was born out of a need to do better, and a desire to improve life and lives.”

“You make it sound like you were trying to change the world.”

“Is that not the dream of many? Is not change the one thing that is constant, the one thing we can rely on being?”

Luna didn’t answer, prompting Dusk to continue. “We hoped something good could come out of our work. We wanted to change the world for the better.”

“I… see,” Luna said, though she likely didn’t. “And… what did this operation consist of?”

He swallowed. “Transportation, mostly.”

“Of?”

“Materials.”

“Such as?”

At that he could only shrug. “Important things, I suppose.”

Luna narrowed eyes. “You mean to say you don’t know?”

“Well…” His voice trailed off, leaving the princess to guess what his true answer was. She waited, but he did not seem to have anything else to say.

She decided that that was a good enough answer, and moved on. “What of Opacare Prose’s disappearance? How does that connect to the operation?”

He sighed. “That’s a bit tricky to answer, Your Highness.”

“Why is that?”

“… Prose wasn’t supposed to vanish, I don’t think. But fate had different plans.”

“Were you part of those plans?”

He didn’t answer, looking away. She pressed on, “Did you have anything to do with Opacare Prose’s disappearance?”

“I merely assisted in the operation.”

She furrowed her brow, frustrated. “Dusk Prosa, you will answer the question truthfully.”

“… I assisted in the operation.”

The repetition made Luna sigh. He knew that he couldn’t stall for long.

“Did you or did you not kill Opacare Prose?”

That he could answer truthfully, and also gain a little more time. “No, I did not.”

Luna frowned. “But the note you wrote suggests otherwise.”

“As I said before, it is a matter of blurred context. And suggestion is not solid enough as proof of evidence.”

“Then what did you do to Opacare Prose?”

That caught him off guard. “What makes you think I even did something?”

“Why else would you write of him in this note, this unsent letter?”

He had dug himself into a hole, and couldn’t get out easily. He inwardly sighed. “I—we-we talked, sometimes. About the—” About the what? C’mon, say something! “—blood—” Damn it, Dusk!

Luna raised an eyebrow, and Dusk knew he had messed up. “The ‘blood?’”

He coughed, trying to save face. “Y-yes, the blood.” Might as well say it. “It’s true that Opacare and I had the same condition. In fact, that was partly why we started the operation in the first place. We wanted to find some sort of cure to help those with the condition.”

The court actually murmured in surprise. Dusk paused, confused for a moment. He wondered if he had somehow accomplished something else, directing the attention away from the former topic for the time being. His suspicions were confirmed when Celestia said, “Go on.”

Keep talking! “We knew other ponies had the condition, and we wanted to see if we could come up with some way to help them. We did a few tests, and found similar results to what Doctor Irons found, though limited our resources were. Opacare, he—” Something in his voice caught, and he coughed. “—he evaluated a way to combat the rogue cells.”

At this point, I’m just running circles around the question. But it doesn’t look like they’ve caught on yet.

“So you three were trying to save ponies’ lives?” Luna clarified.

“Yyes,” Dusk said, accidentally drawing out the sound. He quietly berated himself for doing so, knowing that it sounded suspicious. Luna, however, seemed satisfied with his answer.

“And did you ever find a cure?”

“Only a temporary one.” As the Princess waited for elaboration, Dusk glanced around. His bluff had captured the attention of everypony in the court, much to his surprise. He needed to be careful, though; one slip of the tongue could still spell disaster. “I’m sure you can guess what I mean.”

Luna paused, thinking. The court waited tensely for the prosecutor to say something. Suddenly her eyes lit up, and she looked to Dusk. “His blood. The white blood cells and the antibodies.”

Dusk nodded slowly. “Yes. We could use him to save other ponies.”

The court excitedly broke out into hushed whispers, impressed even more by Opacare Prose’s actions. Dusk remained silent as they talked amongst themselves, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing. Okay. I’ve still got this. I think.

Celestia called for order once more. “Impressive, Dusk. The nature of your operation certainly was noble.”

“Was?”

“Oh, pardon me. It just sounds like it’s all over.” She looked away, out of respect. “Especially since your… partners… have gone.”

“Ah.” Dusk wasn’t sure whether to thank Celestia for understanding, or to smack himself for making it obvious that he wasn’t sure he could continue the operation.

Celestia turned to the jury. “I’d like to take a quick break from the examination to ask the jury what they think: was Dusk’s operation negative in nature?”

A majority of the jury answered no, much to Dusk’s relief. Only Blueblood dared to go against the consensus, glaring at the pewter stallion angrily. He looked like a white lemon that had its juices removed and its insides taken. The sight was enough to temporarily lift Dusk’s spirits.

Princess Celestia nodded, turning back to Dusk. “I myself am in agreement with the jury. I do not think your operation was malicious in its original intent.

“However.”

Prosa cringed. Well, that was only going to last for so long.

“We still have yet to answer what you know and how you were involved with Opacare Prose’s disappearance.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve managed to dodge the question several times, and open up new paths to explore, but I would ask that you refrain from doing that from now on. Is that understood?”

He hesitated, still hoping to not answer.

“Is that understood?” she asked again, more forcefully this time.

“Understood,” he said quickly.

She nodded. “Good. Luna, you may proceed.”

Luna stepped forward once more, though she appeared to be tiring. The trial had been going on for quite a long time. “Dusk Prosa. Tell the court how you were involved in Opacare Prose’s disappearance.”

He didn’t answer, his mind racing. He could say something convoluted; but Celestia’s tone told him that she wasn’t particularly eager to continue playing around. Perhaps he could say something small; but that would disatisfy the court. If he said anything at all, though, there was a chance he could reveal too much.

What was the smartest route, then?

Luna cleared her throat. “Tell the court how you were involved in Opacare Prose’s disappearance,” she repeated.

Maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all. So he didn’t.

Luna glared at him. “Dusk Prosa. Answer the prompt.”

He stiffened his jaw, swallowed his voice, and stared ahead, defiant.

I can’t stay silent forever. I have to say something soon.

“Dusk Prosa!” She banged her hoof on the floor, making several ponies flinch.

He blinked, staring at the Princess. “Er, sorry. I was… thinking.”

She fumed, but nodded anyway. “Well, go on then.”

He looked away, knowing his response would not be well received. “I… I can’t.”

One could cut the resulting silence with a blade—but one word would suffice.

“What?” Princess Luna whispered.

“You heard me.”

“Y-you can’t?” She sounded more confused than angry. “Why? Do you refuse to answer?”

“No. I just… can’t.” He looked back at the Princess, his frown deepened into a painful grimace.

“Why, though?” she asked again.

He stared at her, but instead of looking intense, he just looked tired. “I… I’m sorry. I can’t answer that.”

Silence once again filled the court, everypony shocked by Dusk’s response. Irons was the most confused, while Princess Celestia had a guarded expression. She stared at him intently, and he saw a question in her eyes that he would not answer.

“He’s crazy,” Blueblood whispered; then, with more conviction, “He’s crazy! No, he’s stupid! Idiotic! We must beat the information out of him!”

“Calm down, sir!” Fancy yelled over him, glaring at the noble. “I’m sure there’s a reason why Dusk cannot say anything!”

Arguments erupted in the booth, and Twilight and her friends did her best to calm them down. Luna was at a loss for words, though she did not seem at all furious with Dusk.

Celestia kept staring at him, and he did his best not to shrink under her gaze.

Finally, she spoke. “You have a reason for this omission?”

He nodded slowly.

“And… it is very important?”

Again, he nodded.

“… You realize that you cannot withhold this information forever.”

His lack of response did not hide his silent confirmation.

Celestia sighed. The jury booth managed to recover its composure, and the ponies anxiously waited for her next statement. Dusk locked his legs, trying to hide his shaky limbs. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Sun Princess spoke.

“… It would appear that our stallion is too tired to continue for today. As am I.” She glanced out the window. “In fact, it is approaching late afternoon.”

“Princess?” Twilight questioned.

“This court still has questions that need to be answered; but I can extend the trial for two more day. As such, I will call a forty-eight hour recess to allow Dusk Prosa to collect his thoughts.” She stared at him. “If he does not answer the questions posed during the second trial, he will be thrown in jail on grounds of suspected murder, and another trial will be prepared.”

Dusk gulped.

“Nobles, you are excused for today. I expect to see you all in two days for the continuation of this case.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Very well.” She looked back at Dusk. “The trial will be held off until forty-eight hours have passed,” she repeated sternly. “Until then, you will be escorted to Canterlot Prison for the time being.”

With a bang of her hoof, the order was followed. The nobles began leaving, Blueblood casting Dusk a nasty look. Fancy, however, smiled kindly at Dusk. The Princesses soon left afterwards, though Luna had a strange look on her face; almost as if she was amused.

Irons walked up to Dusk, his eyes wides. “What the bloody hell just happened?” he asked, bewildered.

The pewter stallion shook his head. “I just… talked.”

“Talked?! You bloody well orated your own escape!” He frowned. “Well, temporary escape. An escape nonetheless!”

“You sound surprised.”

“Dusk, I have not seen anypony render Princess Luna speechless, and make Prince Blueblood look like a fool, in the span of a few hours!”

Dusk let out a slow breath. “I suppose it is quite impressive. If temporary.”

Irons shook his head. “You really are a strange stallion. What will you think of to shock us next, I wonder?”

Dusk didn’t answer. He walked away, leaving Irons confused. He walked up to the guards who had just entered, his hoof raised in front of him. They were the same guards who had “greeted” him outside of the castle, and they looked surprised to see him.

Dusk smirked, but his expression was weak and tired. “Told you I’m going to jail.” They glanced at each other, before one of them procured a set of hoofcuffs and clamped them on his limbs. They began escorting him to the prison, leaving behind a number of befuddled ponies.

None of them noticed a lone, exhausted tear leak out onto the pavement.

> XXIV: Sweet Words of Encouragement
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Unbeknownst to Dusk, the Crusaders had indeed come to Canterlot with their older siblings. They had stayed in one of the castle’s numerous suites on the day of the first trial, not wanting to come to the trial right away. That, and their siblings (and Rainbow Dash, in Scootaloo’s case) told them they couldn’t actually come to the trial. Something about them not being adults and being too biased. Now it was the second day, one day before Dusk’s end.

Not being able to help Dusk really put Sweetie in a bad mood. She moped on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts airy and dissolute. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom were in a similar state, trying to keep themselves occupied by talking about the stallion.

“… Remember when Dusk was ferried in on Steven Magnet’s back?” Scootaloo asked.

“Eeyup,” answered Apple Bloom.

“Remember those times when Dusk went Crusading with us?”

“Eeyup.”

“Those were the days…”

Sweetie glanced over. “Why? Are you saying that those days are over?”

Scootaloo looked at her friend in sadness. “It sure seems so. They’re probably locking Dusk up right now.”

“No! That can’t be true!” Sweetie jumped off of the bed and raced over to Scootaloo, shaking the pegasus fiercely. “They can’t lock him up for something he didn’t do!”

“Sweetie, calm down!” Apple Bloom pried the unicorn off, giving her a stern look. “Ah know yer pretty upset. Why, Ah’m very upset! But the thing is, there’s a lot on Dusk. There’s more evidence against him than for!”

Sweetie tried to slow her breathing. Eventually she recovered, and she looked at Scootaloo sorrowfully. “I’m sorry, Scootaloo. I-I’m just so upset that he’s pretty much guaranteed to be thrown in jail.”

Scootaloo nodded, and gave her friend a hug. “It’s okay, Sweetie Belle. I’m upset too.”

They fell silent, as all their memories with the stallion rose to mind. It isn’t fair! Sweetie thought. I should have done something to help!

But how could I have helped? Even if I told the court what I thought, there’s too much physical evidence that Dusk did those… things. Even now, she couldn’t describe the charges as anything else than “things.” The word seemed to lessen the harshness of the accusations.

“M-Maybe I should have said something,” Sweetie murmured. “Something about the syringes…”

“What about the syringes?”

They looked up, seeing Rarity having entered the room. She looked tired, though she looked at her sister in concern. Sweetie froze, her mouth open, as Rarity walked over.

“Sweetie Belle?” Rarity knelt in front of her. “What about the syringes should you have said?”

“W-well…”

“Did you know about the syringes?”

“W-well of course! I-I mean, you know, when Rainbow discovered them!”

Rarity stared at her, before sighing. “Sweetie, I know you’re upset… but please, you have to tell me the truth.” She held up a hoof before Sweetie could protest. “You aren’t exactly the most subtle of liars.”

Sweetie gulped. She looked at her sister, and Rarity smiled assuringly at her, letting her know that it was alright. She shivered, and looked at the other Crusaders. They, though obviously hesitant, nodded to her. She nodded slowly.

“Well, you see…”

She told her sister about their initial discovery of the syringes. She described in great detail their shock, as well as their confusion when they saw the blood inside. They didn’t know whose blood it was; all they knew was that it appeared that Dusk was storing it. When she had finished, Rarity gave her a hard look.

“You knew about the syringes before Rainbow found them?”

They nodded guiltily.

Rarity shook her head. “You should have told us, girls.”

“And then what would you do?” Sweetie asked. “Would it really matter if we told you? You’d just arrest him sooner!”

The elder unicorn looked at her younger sibling sadly. “Yes,” she whispered. “We would have. Though…” She frowned in thought. “We might not even have found the note…”

Sweetie gulped again. If she had said something sooner, would most of Dusk’s current charges have been dropped?

“So then why didn’t you tell us?”

The young unicorn took a deep breath. “Because… we knew that you’d want to make him leave. All because he had blood in his fridge.”

“We were beginning to like him,” added Apple Bloom, “and it didn’t feel right sending him away only after a few days.”

“Plus, he was teaching us some pretty cool stuff,” added Scootaloo.

“Stuff? What kind of stuff?”

The young pegasus explained exactly what kind of stuff, and Rarity looked on in surprise. She hadn’t expected the stallion to teach the girls about the merits of a Cutie Mark, and of the importance of family and friends. And telling Scootaloo that she would fly someday? That was something she had not expected an earth pony to tell a pegasus. With each new detail, her respect for the stallion was growing… as was her guilt for having to put him on the spot.

When Scootaloo had finished, Rarity looked away in contemplation. “I see… no wonder you girls like him so much.”

“So you see?” Apple Bloom said. “He’s not a bad pony!”

“And I never said he was, nor have I ever admitted thinking he could be.” Rarity sighed again. “But… you have to understand, girls. Whether or not we think Dusk is good, the evidence presented—the note and the syringes—will be what convince the court of his character.”

The fillies knew this, and Sweetie felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes. “Is he… you know…” Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard.

But, to her surprise, Rarity smiled. “No, he’s not been handed a verdict yet. In fact, Celestia has expanded the trial to two more days. One day for Dusk to gather his thoughts, the next for him to return to court.”

They let out relieved breaths, but they soon frowned. “Why?” Apple Bloom asked.

“It would seem… that Dusk is very skilled in masking the truth behind words. Enough to confuse us all.”

“Where is he now?” Scootaloo asked.

“He’s in Canterlot Jail for today.”

“So tomorrow he’ll be free?” Sweetie asked eagerly.

Rarity shook her head. “I’m afraid that is a low possibility, Sweetie Belle. If Dusk approaches tomorrow in the same way he did to yesterday’s trial, then I doubt he’ll be released. If anything, he might be given extended jail time. Perhaps even life.”

The news dampened their moods, making them fall into a depressing silence. Sweetie looked down at the floor, tears falling from her face. Rarity leaned over and held her head up, wiping away the tears, though she had some of her own in her eyes.

“But there’s still time,” she whispered. “Maybe not a lot, but time nonetheless. Who knows? Dusk may figure out a way to prolong his sentence.”

Sweetie frowned. “He won’t.” Rarity looked at her in surprise. Somehow, in her heart, she knew it was over for Dusk. There was no other niches to be used; no openings to exploit; no holes in the case that could be jumped through. All exits were sealed shut; whether by Dusk’s actions or by some other power, she did not know.

She, however, found herself unable to give up. She wanted to believe in Dusk, despite all the evidence. She wanted to think that Dusk meant no harm. Deep down, she knew that the stallion was a good pony, with good intentions, and an even better heart. Sure, he was strange; but it was a good kind of strange, reminding her of all those times her sister would go on weird adventures with the other bearers. Strange, but not completely alien. Approachable, in most cases.

Dusk didn’t seem to think of himself as “good.” She had to show him; it was his only chance.

She pushed Rarity’s hoof away, gently, but with great resolve. She looked into her sister’s eyes. “The jail. Does it allow visitors.”

Rarity was surprised by her sister’s sudden change in attitude. “Er—yes. I believe so. But children need adult supervision.”

Sweetie nodded. “Take me there.”

“What?”

“Take me to Dusk Prosa.”

Rarity stared, wide-eyed, at her sister. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom, at first, reacted much the same, but, after a few glances were exchanged, stood with their friend. Rarity then stood, closing her mouth and looking down on Sweetie Belle.

For a moment, no words were spoken. Then, Rarity gained a soft smile. “You really care for him, don’t you?”

They nodded.

Suddenly she gave them all a hug. “If you say he’s a good pony, then I have no reason to distrust you.” She released them, still smiling. “Let’s go.”





Well… at least it’s a new experience.

Dusk nearly hit himself upside the head for that thought. Was he really trying to be optimistic? He was in jail; this wasn’t a place for optimism. All around him were grim reminders of a dark world, drowning out any good feelings that one might generate.

The walls in his cell were a charcoal grey, as was his floor and ceiling. He supposed that he could thank Celestia for arranging for him to be alone. If he had a cellmate, he wasn’t sure who would die first.

Huh. Humor.

A toilet was in the back corner, and it stank of unspoken substances that made Dusk nauseous. To the best of his ability, he tried not to breathe in through his nose. A small bed to the side could be said to be his only form of comfort. It wasn’t dreadfully uncomfortable, and he could rest on it. However, he had not fallen asleep on his first day in jail. His mind was too occupied with worry and fear. He had only gotten maybe a four hours rest; and it showed, with the bangs under his eyes being rubbed every few minutes. The sheets on the bed had been made (“Thank you, manners.”) and the pillow had been fluffed. It was almost as if he was preparing to remain in prison for a long time.

He sighed. The idea of tomorrow came with a feeling of dread. He had no defense, other than a refusal to answer, which he knew would only land him in more trouble. As much as he wanted to not remain in jail, it seemed like it was the smartest choice. But in doing so, he effectively removed any chance he had of accomplishing his mission and carrying on after Raven Lock. The thought made him cringe; he would be dishonoring his friend’s memory by not doing anything. Yet, he reminded himself that the operation depended on secrecy, and saying something in court could also be dishonorable.

But then he wondered, who depended on secrecy more—Dusk or Raven?

Raven died carrying his secret. Dusk was sure to follow. There was no right answer. He could only choose the nonexistent answer.

In other words, no answer.

The guard outside wore a blue cap and carried a small, black nightstick. A flashlight was on his guard vest, as well as a badge. Dusk had been quick to learn that his name was Smiley—he probably could have guessed just by the smile itself—and he didn’t seem all that hostile to his prisoners. He would often talk to the others in the jail as if they were close (they probably were, given how old they all looked).

His mind returned to the present as Smiley began whistling. Dusk turned, walking over to his bed and sitting down on it. Truth be told, other than the horrible conditions of the cell—it was to be expected, he supposed—he couldn’t complain. It almost felt… deserving, like this was his rightful punishment. Punishment for what, he could easily guess. Perhaps it was for Raven’s death, or Opacare’s disappearance. Or maybe it was for his failure to stop Boss. Or his failure to prevent his parents’ deaths. Or perhaps—

Each passing second came with a new, terrible thought. His guilt grew and grew, until it threatened to suffocate him. He leaned back, letting out a groan, and lightly punched the mattress, all the while cursing in Latineigh.

That got Smiley’s attention. “You speak Latineigh?”

Dusk looked at him tiredly. “Obviously.”

Smiley whistled. “Wow, we haven’t had a smart stallion in here in years! You impressed, boys?”

A few cries rang out, all loud, rambled, and annoying. Dusk hated it, but he didn’t say that, choosing instead to lean back onto his bed, closing his eyes.

He cursed a little less loudly.

Hours passed, with Smiley still whistling and walking around, talking to the others. Dusk grew more secluded, practically hiding away in the shadow of the cell, away from the light coming from the hall. He doubted he was going insane; it wasn’t as if there was any silence. The prisoners were rambunctious and rowdy, annoying him. He nearly considered the Family to be the lesser of two evils; but, of course, he hit himself upside the head for thinking that.

He briefly considered trying to escape, but he shot down that idea soon after. Escaping jail would be stupid and foolish. What did he expect to do if he did escape? Canterlot would be searching for him, and who knew when all of Equestria would get involved?

It frustrated him that he had to wait, then. He wasn’t by any means impatient, but he constantly felt a desire to do something. He didn’t want to sit inside a cell all day and all night. He didn’t consider getting up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner as breaks in the monotony. He needed to do something to keep himself occupied.

In theory, he could ask Smiley for something to write on. And, given the guard’s attitude, he might have gotten numerous pens and paper. But motivation was lost on him, and he couldn’t find it in himself to make the request.

Maybe he has cards…

It was a stupid idea, but Dusk didn’t want to remain sitting on his bed. So he got up, and trotted up the gates of his cell.

He was about to ask Smiley, when something caught the guard’s attention. The guard suddenly turned and walked away, exiting the hall. Dusk watched him go, surprised and frustrated. Sulking, he turned away, heading back over to his bed.

He heard a door down the hall open, and he looked up as he heard the sound of hooves approaching. Smiley had returned, and with him was the warden, wearing a clay-brown suit. Dusk glanced at the two, seeing Smiley’s signature smile and the warden’s contrasting frown. It reminded him of a comedy, almost.

“What.” It wasn’t much of a question as much as it was a statement. Dusk’s voice came out monotone, bored. He half-expected the warden to say that Dusk was heading to the gallows, based on the stoic frown alone.

In answer, the warden walked over and placed a key in the lock. Twisting it, he unlocked the cell door, and pulled it open, eliciting whistles from the other prisoners. Dusk raised an eyebrow.

“You have visitors,” the warden said.

That was a surprise. He wondered who it could be. Getting up, he briefly dusted himself off. He then walked over to the ponies, hooves outstretched. Smiley placed a pair of hoofcuffs around him, still smiling. The warden then led Dusk forward, and they headed for the visitor area.

The prison’s walls and floors blurred before him, and he suddenly found himself in front of a lone door. Above was a sign that signaled this was where he needed to be. He glanced at the warden and Smiley, frowning. They nodded for him to enter.

He sighed. He supposed it couldn’t be anything bad.

“You have thirty minutes,” the warden reminded him.

Entering, he placed himself in one of the stalls, and grabbed one of the prison phones. He waited. Glancing around, he noticed that he was the only one in the area.

On the other side of the glass barrier was where the visitors would enter. A few guards were in front of the exit door, shades on, looks stern. For a few moments, no one entered.

Then, Dusk heard it. Excited, lively cries. Female, definitely, based on the pitch. There were multiple voices; he counted four. Strangely enough, they sounded familiar, and they were fast approaching.

The guards seemed equally surprised to hear that many voices, and they quickly opened the doors, allowing the ponies to enter. Dusk’s eyes widened at what he saw.

Something akin to a purple, cotton-candy head, with a white body and a small horn, entered first, followed next by an orange chicken and a pink, bow-tied apple. Behind them was a walking marshmallow of a mare with a lovely shade of purple mane.

Of course, he already knew who they were, but his bored mind thirsted for some sort of creative description—one he had just supplied.

The three fillies looked a bit confused, until Rarity directed them over to the booth. They saw him, and their lips stretched into wide, happy smiles. They practically launched themselves into the booth, their mouths moving rapidly.

The glass and booth, however, were soundproof. Dusk indicated this with an amused frown, and pointed to the phone to tell them how to communicate. They blushed but, after a moment, Sweetie levitated the phone over. Rarity watched them curiously.

“Hiya, Dusk!” she greeted warmly.

“As squeaky as ever, Miss Sweetie Belle,” he answered.

“I told you, you don’t have to address us by Misses!”

He actually chuckled. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed their usual liveliness. He then, however, returned to being serious, telling them about their time limit.

“Thirty minutes?” Scootaloo wined. “Aw, that’s barely enough to discuss what we’ll try for our marks next time!”

He raised an eyebrow. “‘Next time?’”

“Of course!” Sweetie exclaimed. “Once you’re out of prison, you’ll go back to helping us find our marks!”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, staring at them. Then, his voice as soft as a gentle sea, yet carrying the same intensity of a ferocious ocean, he said, “What makes you think I’m leaving?”

Apple Bloom took the phone. “Well, of course you’re leaving! Nopony stays in jail for something they didn’t do!”

“That is correct.”

They waited for something else to be said. Their smiles began to falter as they realized what Dusk was implying. Scootaloo grabbed the phone. “Uh, heh heh, good one Dusk. Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here—”

“It isn’t a joke, girls,” he said softly. His voice carried regret and shame, and it took all his strength not to look away from their shocked faces.

“Y-yes it is!” Sweetie exclaimed. “I-we-we know you wouldn’t do those things!” She frowned. “Well, besides the syringes. And we know you didn’t have anything to do with Raven Lock!”

“I’ve been cleared of that charge already. But the other allegations… regarding Opacare Prose’s disappearance… they have yet to be resolved.”

Their eyes brimmed with tears, though they were quickly wiped. “D-darn it!” Scootaloo said. “If Rainbow hadn’t been so insistent on trying to pin you for being a user; if I hadn’t listened to her—”

“Don’t blame Miss Dash for this,” he replied, genuinely surprised that the pegasus was mad at her idol. “She was just trying to protect you from a very real danger. Me.”

Scootaloo looked shocked at that, and Sweetie used that moment to take the phone. “Come on, Dusk. You aren’t a danger.”

“Aren’t I?” He raised an eyebrow. “Did I not buck a business stallion and give him a black eye? Did I not yell at two foals? Did I not kill—”

“Stop!” Sweetie yelled, making him pause. “You didn’t kill anypony, Dusk,” she asserted.

He didn’t respond to that, looking away slightly. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“To talk,” Apple Bloom answered.

“About?”

“You.”

He frowned. “What is there to talk about? I’m in jail. There isn’t anything I can do—”

“Why were you hiding?” Sweetie asked, interrupting him.

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Back in the trial in Canterlot. Rarity said you were masking something with your words. Like you were hiding.”

He glanced at Rarity, surprised. She didn’t seem to respond, still staring at them intently.

“Hiding?” he repeated, doing his best not to swallow.

“Yeah. You know? Like you were afraid of saying something.”

When he didn’t initially answer, that prompted Sweetie to continue. “Does it have something to do with Opacare’s disappearance?”

“At this point, nearly everything does.” He sighed. “My… involvement… in his disappearance keeps getting questioned.”

“So you were involved?”

He didn’t answer again, turning away. Sweetie could tell he was secluding himself off. “Dusk? Dusk!” she cried, making him sharply turn back to her. “Look, I know what the charges are, but you can’t let yourself believe them!”

“‘Let myself?’”

She ignored the question. “Dusk, tomorrow is your last chance to sort things out. If you don’t…” She gulped. “T-there’s a chance this is the last time we see you.”

That struck a chord in his heart. He had grown quite fond of the fillies, and only now did he realize what could happen if things went sour the next day. Still, though, he did his best to appear neutral-looking.

“Dusk, none of us think you did those things,” Sweetie continued. “Sure, you are strange, but you wouldn’t hurt anypony!”

“Filthy Rich?” he suggested.

“He had it coming. So did Diamond and Silver Spoon,” said Apple Bloom.

“So I did hurt them?”

They ignored his question. “Raven Lock was your friend,” said Sweetie, “and I don’t think he’d be friends with a murderer!”

“Why is that?”

“He’s a detective. He would have caught on if you really were a killer! You would have already been arrested!”

Admittedly, he couldn’t argue with that. Raven had been one of his smartest friends, having been the one to teach him how to be a great observer. Not to mention, Raven was the one who had acted as Dusk’s greatest correspondence, having been smart enough to keep himself secret. At least, for a little while…

He clenched his hoof angrily as the thought was forced away. The fillies noticed the action, and hushed up on Raven’s death.

“A-anyway, with that in mind, you wouldn’t have been involved with Opacare Prose’s disappearance,” argued Sweetie. “What possible reason could you have for getting rid of him?”

He didn’t answer, but he saw Sweetie’s mind race.

“Is it… no… it can’t just be because of the blood!” She huffed. “No, that can’t be it?”

“And why not, Miss Sweetie Belle—”

“Don’t call me that!” There were tears in her eyes as she cut him off. “Why would it be just for the blood? That’s so stupid! That’s so unlike you!” Her friends were trying to calm her down as the guards began giving them concerned looks. Rarity tried to distract them, but she couldn’t for long. Sweetie managed to calm herself, but she still glared at Dusk. “You aren’t dumb, Dusk. We both know that. Nopony dumb would go so far as to deliberately hide syringes filled with blood just because they were blood!”

Once again, Dusk found himself impressed by what Sweetie was saying. If the filly hadn’t impressed him with her remarkable insight before, now she had. What she said, while harsh, made sense; the presented “reason” definitely had its share of flaws.

“So, then what is the reason?” he challenged, cocking his head. “Pray tell, Sweetie Belle, what reason would I have for disappearing Prose?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Only you know, Dusk Prosa.” She looked at him, frustrated and sadly. “That’s why you have to tell the truth tomorrow. Otherwise, those ponies are gonna think the worse of you!”

“Why should I care?”

“Because what they say isn’t true!” Her voice reclaimed its intensity, squeaky as it was. “They’ll say that you’re a bad pony; a killer! But I know and we know that that’s not true!” The other girls nodded their agreement just as fiercely.

“Dusk.” The warden poked his head in. “Ten minutes.”

He nodded, turning back to the fillies. “So what’s true, then, about me? What is the truth that you know, that I hide, that the ponies out there don’t get to see?”

Flowery language, meant to distract the girls. But Sweetie held strong, refusing to be confused by words. “That you are a good pony, Dusk.”

“Criminationibus irritatus submisit sine testimoniis expositum, potest dimitti sine evidentia,” he repeated, thinking that Sweetie wouldn’t understand.

Once again, though, the young unicorn surprised him. “You want evidence? Fine! Here’s some evidence!”

She pointed to Scootaloo. “You cheered Scootaloo up, not making fun of her for not being able to fly yet!” She pointed to Apple Bloom. “You didn’t consider Apple Bloom as some dumb farmer pony like so many other ponies have!” She pointed to outside. “You fought off the nastiest bullies I have ever met, comforted Dinky, walked her home, and assured Ditzy that everything would be alright!” She pointed to herself. “And, after you scared me the first time we met, you came back and apologized!”

She stuck her hoof out, pressing it against the glass. “And throughout the time you spent in Ponyville, you did not try to really hurt anypony. You never followed through on any threats, you did not try to take over the town in some way, you did not bother trying to appear like this mean, power-hungry stallion. You came across as cold, but not evil—not bad!”

She fell back, the phone line stretched, as she wiped her eyes. “Don’t you see, Dusk? After all you’ve done, you still aren’t a bad pony. Diamond Tiara is a bad pony; Filthy Rich is a bad pony; heck, Discord wasn’t even a pony and he was a huge threat! The town thought you were a user; and you proved us wrong. Now they think you’re a murderer. Are you gonna prove us right?”

Her words cut through and deep, and he stared at her, completely blown back by what she had said. The other Crusaders, though they had said less, were just as fierce in their stances, staring back, undeterred by his silence. For tense seconds, nothing was said; only gazes were exchanged.

Finally, Scootaloo grabbed the phone. “We can’t convince you what to do tomorrow.”

She passed it to Apple Bloom, who said, “But we can tell you that you should do the right thing.”

Sweetie took the phone. “And the right thing… is to tell the truth.”

She couldn’t have timed it better. Rarity walked over, signaling that visiting time was over. They were hesitant to leave but, having said what they needed to say, nodded, and placed the phone back in its compartment. Dusk watched them go in silence, and Sweetie gave him one last look as they made their way out the exit. Their presence soon vanished behind sealed, metal doors. 





Dusk was ushered out, and he returned to his cell, deep in thought.

He stared at the ceiling. Then at the floor. Then at the wall. And then he closed his eyes. He saw Sweetie’s face, frowning, but not mad at him—at least, not as much as he expected. Rather, the face was filled with worry, genuine worry for him. And, hidden behind the purple bangs, the adorable face of a filly still innocent—was a face of hope.

Hope.

He remembered what Raven had said—that those fillies were Dusk’s hope. He, at first, thought Raven was just trying to be optimistic. But, now that he thought about it, perhaps there was a sliver of truth in his words.

Raven was the smartest pony Dusk had ever known. It would be unlike him, he supposed, to be mistaken. To assume that Raven was wrong—was that dishonorable of Dusk? Would he be only further damaging Raven’s reputation?

Would I be digging his grave even deeper than it already is, burying him another ten feet?

He had no answer at the moment.

His mind reflected on what the fillies had said. He forced himself not to deny them. As their words swirled around his head, they continued to cut deep, exposing old wounds and long buried thoughts. There had been a time, when he had thought himself as good; but that time was as old as the roots of his problems, so far into the past it was. Nevertheless, he realized that despite all that had passed, there still remained that little sliver of good. His actions, whether he recognized them, still reflected that small bit of personality.

In burying his past, he had also buried the parts of him that many old associates would have considered his best traits. He used to be honorable; steadfast loyal to his few friends; used to be a stallion who wanted only what was best for his fellow pony. But then things changed. Something came up, ponies had to be quieted, and he had to run and hide. Only now did he realize this; and he realized, that he had become the object that he had for so long fought against.

Ignorant.

No…

He clenched his eyes even tighter, suddenly afraid. Afraid of what he had become. A hypocrite to his cause, a betrayer of all he had stood for. 

Dusk had dug his grave. The final comments and eulogies were made, and he would be buried next to his friend, Raven Lock.

But… those fillies and their words… they were like escape ropes; they could pull him out, if he only reached out and grabbed them. And it should have been easy! And yet… and yet…

Why was he still afraid?

No… what was he still afraid of?

The truth? No. He had long confronted the truth. He knew the truth. He understood it.

No. He was afraid of the ramifications of the truth. He was afraid of what would happen, if ponies knew. It wasn’t that his life would be on the line; but it was other ponies’ lives would be in danger. He couldn’t speak up, he couldn’t…

You have to.

He gasped, eyes snapping open.

You have to, the voice repeated.

It was his… and yet not. It was… younger. Braver. Wiser. And it spoke strongly, stronger than how he had spoken in these past weeks. He realized, it was his old self—not the one he feared, but the one he had been, before life had gotten worse.

This was him.

This was the good pony that the fillies had seen and still believed in.

All that arrogance, that coldness, that cynicism, and that violent, outward attitude—they all simply covered his true self.

They’re right, he realized. I can’t keep hiding this. It would be a betrayal to myself. It would be a betrayal to what made Raven consider me a friend. It would be a betrayal of what I wanted to do in this world.

His eyes flashed brilliantly, returning to their former glory. Yes, he now knew what he needed to do. The only way he could hope to honor Raven, to reveal the truth, and to continue his operation. He had to do it.

For the fillies, who believed in him.

For Raven, who continued to help him, despite the risk.

And for that author stallion, “dead,” who refused to stay dead, even after all this time.

Dusk smiled, and it was genuine and true, if but tired. Tomorrow was still scary; but he could do it. He had a plan. He was ready.

Dusk slept that night. And this time, he saw only smiling faces and felt warm feelings.

> XXV: Dusk Fall
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The cell door slid open, and Dusk was greeted with Smiley’s slightly unnerving face. With a nod and a wave, he was escorted out to the belongings area. He retrieved his torn vest and cloak, as well as his satchel. He then walked up to one of the prison item exchanges, requesting for his blue quill and black inkwell.

They handed them to him, and his made his way to the exit, still escorted by the guards. While he waited for the guards to suit up, he took off his prison clothes and replaced them with his normal ones. Torn though his garments were, they were his, and they were comfortable. Soon, the guards were ready, and they placed a set of cuffs around him.

The warden came out, saying that he hoped not to see Dusk again. Dusk smiled and nodded back, actually certain he wouldn’t be visiting the prison in the near future. With a calm gaze, he walked out, accompanied by his guards.

The sight of the earth stallion being escorted to the castle did cause somewhat of an uproar in the streets. Some ponies, empathetic to a fault, hastily asked what Dusk was doing in cuffs. The guards answered in gruff tones, telling them that Dusk was being brought to his trial. Naturally curious, they asked where the trial would be held, and soon, a whole army of mares and stallions were making their way to the court.

Dusk sighed. He didn’t want an audience, but he could already guess that there’d be no stopping them from viewing his trial.

The fancy homes in front were soon replaced with the looming castle, though this time, Dusk felt less apprehension. Almost eagerly, he made his way up the steps, pulling the guards with him.

“Excited to return to jail?” one of them asked.

“Nay, guard. Excited to leave,” he said, almost like he was admonishing him. His tone, active and alive, perfectly masked his slight unease.

The doors were thrown open, and Dusk entered the great hall. The sun shone through the tinted windows, illuminating a clear path on the red carpet. He followed the light to the intersection, boldly turning left. The crowd of ponies could be heard outside, clamoring to be an audience to the trial. The guards held them back, assuring them that they would ask Celestia for permission. Another guard accompanied Dusk to the courtroom itself.

With the guard’s lit horn, the doors were pulled open, revealing the already full court. Princess Celestia sat in the judge chair, with Luna before her. The jury booth was already filled, and the Bearers sat nearby. Hearing the doors open, they looked up. Most had a surprised expression when they saw Dusk standing there, seemingly undaunted. Celestia looked somewhat amused.

“Dusk Prosa,” she greeted with a nod. “I trust you rested well?”

“More than I have for the past ten years, Princess,” he answered. “Good morning, Princess Luna,” he greeted.

Caught off guard by his sudden joviality, the Princess of the Night could only nod in response.

“Your Highness?” the guard asked. At Celestia’s nod, he continued, “There is a throng of ponies outside who wish to view the trial.”

Celestia was silent for a moment, before smiling softly. “I suppose they’d be curious as to why a simple earth stallion is causing so much of an uproar. Allow them entrance, guard.”

He turned, trotting back over to the entrance. A few moments later, the voices from the crowd grew louder and closer. Soon, what seemed to be the entirety of Canterlot approached, awed at the prospect of seeing an actual trial. The nobles were just as surprised to see the ponies, though Blueblood had a sour expression on his face. He whispered something over to Fancy Pants; the stallion responded by giving him a swift knock on the head.

Dusk chuckled, and Blueblood glared daggers at him as he rubbed his head in pain.

The ponies of Canterlot took to the pews and seats, all quieting up once they were all seated. They waited, looking apprehensively at the court, as Celestia looked around. The guards behind closed the doors, keeping them in.

“Well, now,” Celestia said after a moment. “I believe we are ready to begin. Is the prosecution ready?”

“Yes, sister,” answered Luna.

“And the jury?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Very well. Dusk Prosa, please take the stand.”

He nodded, carefully trotting over. He avoided looking at any of the witnesses, though he was tempted to half-smile for Rarity. After all, had she not arrived in the jail with the Crusaders, this wouldn’t be happening.

He faced forward, standing tall and proud, ready. Before Luna could say anything, he asked to say something first. It was granted, and he peered all over the room, looking into each pony’s eyes. For a moment, nothing was said. Several ponies found themselves shrinking under his gaze; the vibrancy and life in his eyes was near-unnatural.

Finally, he spoke: “Ponies of this court. Today is the day that Dusk Prosa dies.”

Confused murmurs rang among the crowd and jury, but Dusk ignored them, choosing instead to face Luna. With a simple nod, he told them he was ready.

Celestia banged her hoof. “The trial of Dusk Prosa, investigating his potential involvement with Opacare Prose’s disappearance, is now in session once more.”





The trial started off mostly as before, with Luna presenting the facts of the case. A paper was handed over so that she could give a brief summary of the witness accounts, as well as a quick overview of the events from yesterday. Afterwards, she placed the paper down, turning to Dusk.

“All of this, brings us here today, Mr. Prosa,” she addressed, as cool and calm as her night. “You were able to prolong this trial with your charismatic voice and charm, but I assure you, that shall not work today.”

Did she just compliment me? “And I assure you, I have no intention of hindering our progress.”

She nodded. “So long as you keep your word, we should have no problems.”

She turned away, facing the audience and the court as a whole. “Citizens of Canterlot, we are here today to discuss Dusk Prosa’s supposed involvement in Opacare Prose’s disappearance. You are all up to date with what has happened thus far; hence, I ask that we move quickly onto Dusk’s account.”

“Granted,” Celestia said, staring down at the stallion. “Remember what you said, Dusk Prosa. No hiding behind words.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. Luna nodded to one of the scribes, silently ordering her to keep careful track of what Dusk said.

No hiding. No masking. Just the truth. They need to hear it. I need to hear it. For their sake, for mine, and for what I have fought for for ten years… No holding back.

He released a breath, feeling his heartbeat. It was slow, steady, comforting, and he suddenly felt extremely in tune with himself. For a moment, time seemed to stop, as he thought about all that had happened, all that had occurred; every moment, every pony, every choice made, that had brought him here. He reminded himself of Raven Lock; he reminded himself of Opacare. He reminded himself of Jade Sonnet, of Grifford Finch, of his past, his present, his future. He reminded himself of the three fillies he had come to care for, and for the town that had become his second home.

Finally, he was ready. He looked back up, staring Luna straight in the eye, eyes flashing as brilliant as a pink, morning sun.

He began with an introduction.

“As you are all well aware, my name is Dusk Prosa. But I believe that, in order to understand what has been done, what I have done, and what I intend on doing, you must first know of where I come from.”

He looked around, seeing that he had commanded the entire court’s attention. Even Blueblood seemed interested in his speech.

“I was born in the city of Manehattan, twenty-eight years ago, to two Earth ponies. My father, Diei Adminium, and my mother, Luxi Grace, were both social workers in Manehattan. They worked to improve the lives of ponies everywhere, large and small, from foal to horse.” He closed his eyes, seeing their faces once more. “Even when the city seemed too stubborn to be saved, my parents never gave up trying. My father sometimes was known as the Adjutrix—Helper—because he was always trying to improve a pony’s life in some way.”

“Could you tell us what they look like?”

“Father was a light-grey, with navy highlights, and he often wore his mane long and down his neck. Mother was a gunmetal color; her baby-blue mane was cropped short, as she had to often deal with the grime that the city sowed.”

Noting an odd detail, Luna asked, “‘Was?’ You mean to say—”

“Yes.” Dusk looked away, feeling grief wash over his heart. “My parents have passed on. They left me when I was but fifteen.”

The ponies gasped at this new information, but Dusk did his best to push away their sympathy. Focus on the story, he thought, looking back at Luna.

“You have my condolences,” she said.

“As well as mine,” Celestia added. “But, please, when you are ready to continue…”

After a moment to gather his thoughts, Dusk spoke once more. “My parents were very popular with the slums ponies, and helped several poorer residents start their lives anew. With their determination, they transformed some of the slums into clean, habitable places, helping many families along the way. But they weren’t always popular with the city’s legislation.” At that, Dusk’s voice grew colder and angrier. “In my younger years, I didn’t quite understand what was going on. Nor did I understand the numerous letters that my parents got, the threats of running them out of the city, the warnings to stop.”

Celestia nodded. “I remember that time. Manehattan had some rather corrupt ponies in office. It was only recently have we begun a new age in their law: a cleaner, brighter age.”

Dusk frowned thoughtfully. “Though these threats and warnings did their job, unnerving my father and sometimes making my mother cry, they held strong. Not backing down, they continued their work, saving every pony they could and providing them with any help. They partnered with other relief organizations, even becoming co-leaders of the Manehattan Progressives. In doing so, their reputation and fame grew, making them harder to pressure.” His frown vanished, replaced with a small, victorious smile. “The politicians in power couldn’t hope to try anything drastic with them. Having fed off of the weak and poor, using them to their economic advantage, the fact that these former downtrodden misfits of the city were slowly becoming more and more civilized was a huge blow to their advantage. Had they done anything remotely threatening like, say, try to kidnap their child, riots would have occurred, destroying whatever power they had over the city in a matter of months.”

“They seriously wanted to kidnap you?” Rainbow spoke up, surprised and shocked.

Dusk nodded. “Though, I am thankful that they didn’t. If it wasn’t the city that would age against them, it would have been my mother rampaging after them. My father would have, of course, followed—albeit at a safe distance.”

His words, despite the bleak exposition, did gather a laugh out of several ponies. The humor was dark; but Dusk didn’t seem at all offended.

“Throughout my adolescence, I was noted for being not like most foals my age. I had begun talking a the early age of fourteen months, speaking full sentences in only another six months. By the time I was five, I could speak about as eloquently as a third-grader. In school, the teachers were quick to notice my… uniqueness. While other foals were out playing with blocks and cubes, I would sit in the back and read the shelves. Sometimes I would read one full book; other times, two.”

He shook his head ruefully. “It was then that I acquired my first insult. Some foal had decided that I was a good enough victim, and used the oh-so-wonderful term, ‘bookworm,’ in hopes of disheartening me. Naturally, I thanked him.”

He paused, letting the scribe finish writing. A few ponies looked incredulous to what Dusk said, but several were utterly enwrapped in his tale. Their looks made him slightly uncomfortable; though fame was not something he was unfamiliar with, he did not actively seek it out, and often shunned from it when given the chance. Nevertheless, after the scribe had finished, Dusk continued his story.

“Similar tales continued throughout my early years of education. I was the most advanced in my classes, and the teachers dutifully noted this. So much so, that when I was ten, I discovered that the schools of Manehattan could offer little more for me, in terms of educational experience. My teachers, knowing this, surprised my family with a letter of recommendation.” He grinned, reveling in the memory. “Would it be so arrogant as to say I expected this?”

“What did the letter consist of?” Luna asked.

“I was recommended to enroll in a school in Canterlot—specifically, the School of Excellence.” He looked at Twilight, seeing her surprised.

“You went to my sister school?” she asked.

“And a good eight years before you enrolled in Princess Celestia’s School of Gifted Unicorns,” he added. That made her frown, as she realized just how old Dusk was compared to her. Odd how, despite Dusk being twenty-eight, one would think he was about the same age as any of the girls. Perhaps he had some unique physicality that kept him young-looking.

“I spent five years in that school, learning everything I could. In the midsts of my studies, I met four other ponies who would later become my friends. I believe we are acquainted with a few of them?”

“You mean Raven Lock?” Luna asked.

“Correct. But also his late wife, Jade Sonnet.” He glanced upward, sifting through his memories. “She was a lovely mare, with an even lovelier voice. Out of the four of us, she had earned her mark the earliest… what was it; seven years of age?” He shook his head. “She and Raven met through me, and they dated throughout the remainder of their time there. And though I was a cold stallion, a loner, they still warmed up to me, and I to them.”

He purposely did not talk about the fourth pony, choosing instead to elaborate on what he learned in school. The school offered classes to all three kinds of ponies, though several classes had pegasi, unicorns, and earth ponies working together. Dusk attended numerous seminars, and found the art of language to be the most interesting. In between his growing interest in language arts, he learned chemistry, biochemistry, a bit of forensics (which would later be expanded upon when he worked with Raven), as well as other miscellaneous classes. He was among the top of his class.

The scribe worked diligently, carefully writing down everything Dusk said. The scratch of the quill was like music to Dusk’s ears, and he was half tempted to bring out his own quill and start writing. An odd quirk, certainly, but one that Dusk treasured. He made himself wait, though, knowing that now wasn’t the time.

His voice turned from a nostalgic tone to melancholy as he transitioned to his fifth year in Canterlot. “I was the highest scorer in the school, and had already numerous schools and companies asking me to work with them. But I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after school; a part of me wanted to follow in the footprints of my parents and be a social worker, but I had learned in the past that such a role was not befitting of me.” His unnatural coldness to foreign ponies had met him with severe criticism. “I could not have anticipated how mother and father would lead me down my chosen path.”

Voice pained, he recalled, “I got a letter. It was from one of the largest hospitals in Manehattan. They said…” His voice faltered and he had to look away for a moment, fighting back tears.

Celestia waited for him to recover, not interrupting nor forcing him to continue.

“… Sorry. It’s been… so long since I had to think about that letter. Aevitas. Forever.” He sighed. “It is peculiar how even after all this time, the pain remains…”

He shook his head, focusing his best on that day. “That letter… it concerned the well-being of my parents. Little details were given, but there was a clear message there: they were sick, and they were in the hospital. I talked to my teachers, and they allowed me leave. Raven and Jade also came, having finished their own studies for the year and wanting to support me however they could.

“I arrived at that hospital. Those walls, they were white and pure; but I had a feeling that behind them was the blood of ponies in terrible pain. I remember that the sounds of the hospital became blurred as I was lost in my worrying thoughts. Raven had to guide me to the room where my parents lay.

“They… weren’t well.” Dusk swallowed. “They were skinny, even though they were being fed amply. Their limbs were contorted; bones, morphed; and they were in clear pain. My father could barely look at me without wincing in intense agony.

“The doctors told me that they were suffering from a rare disease. One that Manehattan had not ever encountered in the past. Generally, the disease was found in poorer areas of Equestria, where the risk of infection and gene-related ailments are more common. It was too late to try and treat them; they were dying, and there was no cure.”

“They suffered from the cancerous-thalassemia red blood cells?” Luna asked.

Dusk nodded, his eyes closed and breathing slow. “Had we seen the signs before, maybe ten years ago… they might have survived. A blood transfusion, that late in their lives, would have done nothing.

“My parents, however, decided to impart a few more words to me. My friends had tears in their eyes as Diei and Luxi spoke to me. Father told me that he was sorry he couldn’t see me become the stallion he knew I would become. Mother was sorry that I had to see them like this. But…” He gulped. “They were the most remorseful, when the doctor revealed another result.

“I had the disease. I had the cancer-thalassemia mutagen. I was going to die.”

He opened his eyes, feeling suddenly tired. “The doctors gave me less than ten years. I wouldn’t live to thirty.”

He fell silent, the only sound being the scratch of the quill. Dusk rubbed his satchel, finding some comfort in the material and the weight of his items.

“Their final request for me… was for me to try and help Manehattan any way I could.” His breath caught as he remembered his mother’s pained gasp. “They knew I didn’t have the heart to be a social worker; but they knew I cared. And they only wanted me to try to help those in need.”

He became silent, lost in the pained memory, as the court looked at him in sympathy. It didn’t matter that Dusk was accused of something morbid and macabre; losing one’s parents at a young age was something no one ever wanted on any one else. Even the hardiest of Canterlot’s citizens had the decency to sympathize with the stricken stallion.

After a few seconds passed, Dusk continued his tale.

“I stayed in that hospital for the remainder of the week, my friends also with me. I tried my best to comfort my parents, recalling all the joyful times we had. Fleeting, but still memorable.”

Luna had to ask what they all dreaded. “And… what became of your parents?”

His voice grew small, unconfident, shamed. “They were on life support for a little while. But… I learned that they wouldn’t survive off of it, and they’d be in constant pain. My parents asked me to do what I thought was right. After a week passed…”

A breath hissed through suddenly dry lips. “I… unplugged them from the machines.”

Another silence, even heavier than the ones before. Dusk felt tears gather at the edges of his vision, and he wiped them away, stifling a sniff. Stay strong, Dusk.

Luna spoke up, breaking the silence. She had a stoic expression on, mirrored by her calm voice; but Dusk could tell that there was a sliver of emotion in her gaze. “Dusk, I understand that you are in a deep sense of pain. But I ask that you try your best to continue the story.”

Dusk looked at her, before nodding.

“I left the room in complete shock once the act was done. I slumped against the wall, a hoof covering my face. I hadn’t cried in years; but it seemed that all those held-back tears were finally flooding out. I sat there and cried for nearly an hour. When I was done, I was completely exhausted.

“Jade and Raven walked out, and they were shaky and tearful. They couldn’t look at me, but I could tell that they, too, were just as hurt. I watched them go, numb…”

He stopped, going back over his memory.

“I heard another stallion crying. He was from another room. I wasn’t sure why, but I got up and went over to that room. Was it morbid curiosity? A desire to comfort somepony else? I am not sure. Either way, as I entered, I saw him.

“He was a brown earth pony, about my age. His Cutie Mark was a circle outline with a nine-pronged star in the middle, representing order within a habitat. He glanced at me, rushed over, and gripped me in a tight hug. He was the fourth friend; the one who had left the school a few months back. Family matters, apparently.”

“In that room, I quickly understood what those matters were.”

“A light, blue-grey stallion was on the bed, weak and struggling to breathe. Still, though, his eyes lit up in recognition when he saw me. Even in his waning state, he still had the strength of a thousand ponies in those eyes. His mark was of an upside-down triangle, with a horizontal line running through the middle—a symbol of stability. He was my friend’s father, Atticus Poise—and he, in many ways, was my foster uncle.”

The name sounded familiar to several ponies, though none could pinpoint why.

“He couldn’t talk with the breathing apparatus attached, but with one hoof gently holding his son’s, the message was clear. Just as my friends saw my parents convey their love to me, I saw my friend’s father convey his love to his offspring. I saw their pain and regrets and sorrows. I saw respect, fear, and sadness.

“I learned from my friend that his father was involved in a bad accident. He had pushed another pony out of the way of an incoming, out-of-control trolley that had jumped free of its rails. He had crashed through the window and out the back, knocking out the driver pony as well. The driver had minimal wounds; but Atticus suffered bruises, cuts, broken bones, and trauma to the head and chest.” Dusk clenched his eyes shut. “The state I saw him him—bloody, broken, beaten—was just as bad as seeing my parents in their pain.”

“Atticus moved his lips, and I read them: ‘Save this city.’ His son nodded, before we had to leave for the doctors to treat their patient. Atticus would not survive the rest of the week. My friend made the same decision as I did.”

He sighed. “In that sense, the two of us had bonded more than we had ever had in school. It was a grim bond, born out of tragedy. Yet, we were friends; best friends; nearly brothers, in that regard. And while we did not say too much afterwards, we understood what we wanted to do—and how to fulfill our parents’ wishes.

“At least, we thought we did. Though I am unsure…” he whispered, more to himself. The scribe dutifully wrote that last part down nonetheless.

“Who was this friend?” Luna asked. She had a curious and surprised look, and Dusk guessed she had already figured it out just from the mention of the father. He sighed, knowing that some of the court would not believe him.

“You know him as Mayor Grifford Finch.”

Predictably, the court roared, shocked beyond belief. This accused murderer was friends with the beloved leader of that city? And had known the family for a long time? It was near unthinkable that he would have any sort of connection with the mayor!

“Blasphemous claims!” Blueblood exclaimed.

“I wish it was,” Dusk responded, his voice hard once more. His expression revealed he was not comforted by this fact; rather, he seemed even more perturbed.

With a bang, Celestia managed to dissolve the resulting chaos, assuming an authoritarian tone. “Order! Dusk, this is surprising. Grifford Finch has never mentioned you in any of his writings or speeches, despite you obviously having a close relationship with him.”

“He had reason not to,” Dusk responded evenly.

“Doesn’t that make Grifford a suspect?” one audience member called out.

Dusk turned sharply, glaring at the source. “No! Grifford would never do that! Despite everything—” He cut himself off as the pony shrank back under his gaze. He heaved a sigh. “At least, the Grifford I knew wouldn’t… Nevermind that. Finch and I… we grew farther apart in time.”

“Continue your story.”

“… I made a drastic decision to leave the school. I had experienced enough to graduate two years earlier, but I had stayed to be with my friends. I cut my further studies short, to my eternal chagrin, and traveled back to Manehattan to fulfill my parents’ wishes.

“Raven and Jade remained in the school for a number of years, though we did communicate from time to time. Grifford returned to the city only a year after me, to take care of his father’s ‘business.’” He spat the word like it was a curse, though nopony understood why.

“Three years passed. I had not gotten my mark yet, and my inability to fully realize my parents’ dream was frustrating. Eighteen years old, blank, and unsure what I wanted or needed to do!”

“And you never got your mark?” Luna asked.

To her surprise, Dusk shook his head. “I never said that.”

“But you’re still a blank flank!” Blueblood attested.

Dusk glanced back at his flank, seeing the pewter color still there. He sighed. “So it seems.”

He turned back to face Luna. “Three years I spent, wandering, confused, worried, and angry. I wanted to do something; anything. I remembered my studies back in Canterlot; they primarily focused on writing and the arts. I thought that I should try that. Perhaps some answer would come in the form of the quill.

“And so, I wrote. And I found something truly amazing; the pain of my past was leaving just as the ink became attached to the paper. Each stroke and each letter and each word resulted in less pain and torment. Words became paragraphs; paragraphs became pages; and pages became a novel. I realized that I was happy; I felt productive, energized. As I looked over the manuscript, I realized I could do something with this. I could help my parents in my own way: a creative way, one that I could call my own. One that could help.”

He paused, letting the scribe finish writing before continuing. “I sent that manuscript back to the School of Excellence. It was an essay and a story at the same time. It detailed my thoughts and ideas, my pain, my growth, my epiphanies, the dream of my parents, and what I wished Manehattan to be.”

He closed his eyes. “This is the 1035th age of Equestria, I just realized. It’s been ten years since I wrote that document. Since so many aspiring students gazed upon those words and worked for the betterment of the city.”

He opened his eyes, a soft smile on his face. “I called that manuscript Electiones Faciums—the Essay of Choice.”

He saw Celestia and Luna’s eyes widen in realization. Twilight as well had a look of complete shock. The others were less surprised, more on the line of confused. The jury booth and the rest of the court exchanged murmurs that could only be described as random and disbelieving.

“Y-y-you wrote that?” Twilight stammered. “B-b-but—”

“But it was written by a pony by the name of O.P. Not my initials, I know. But they are for a certain author.”

Slowly, the audience was beginning to understand what he meant. He, however, was not finished; there was still one final detail to establish.

“I met Opacare Prose around the same time I sent that manuscript. He and I were kindred spirits, sharing similar goals. We wanted to better the city, and we realized we could do that through our writing. And so, we worked together, in that sense. We wrote stories and novels and sent them off. Mere weeks later, we got letters of publication. The first story we wrote was published and was a hit with the entirety of Equestria.

“I got my Mark soon after I wrote the Faciums. It was a blue quill, with a black inkwell, highly reminiscent of the tools I had used to write that first tale of splendor. And it was the same as Opacare’s.”

Reaching into his bags as he ignored the growing cries of the crowd, he pulled out the signature items. He placed down a piece of paper and, the quill in hand and dipped in jet-black substance, began to write.

The court let out gasps of awe as they saw Dusk’s flank glow and vibrate, no longer hidden. Several recalled that the Marks of ponies were magical in nature, reacting differently but still arcanely with each pony. The glow was evident of the Mark working its magic; and the sparks that flew from the quill, speedily moving, added to the fact.

“I have a gift for writing,” Dusk said as he wrote. “I always have. It’s the one thing that I knew would give me away, should the opportunity present itself. Which was why I masked the Mark with a special substance—the layman call it Illusionary Mud. I came across it during one of my courses in chemistry, you see. I memorized the formula, and made it so that it wouldn’t easily wash off and could perfectly conceal what I needed to hide.”

With a swipe of his hoof, he wiped the Mud away, but his flank still glowed. “I stand here, accused of killing that stallion. But fate had a different plan. He and I would hide. He would vanish, I would help him; he would be gone, and I would survive. His disappearance was for my survival.

“But I didn’t kill him.”

He knew it was near-unbelievable. Continuing his tale, he elaborated to the actual disappearance:

“We left for the same reason; we needed to hide. Something had come up, something dark, something sinister, and if we were to stay, many ponies would be hurt.” He glanced away. “Jade was the first casualty; Raven the second. We did not know who would be third. Our presence stirred up trouble, and I did not want to cause to anypony’s death through my actions.

“We did the only action we thought we could do, to ensure their safety; we vanished.”

“Prose was the one who vanished,” Luna said.

Dusk looked at her pointedly. “And with Prose’s vanishment, I appeared and disappeared,” he answered vaguely. He glanced around. “I never killed anypony. I never have and never will. That I can absolutely promise. And I know why.”

He finished writing, the sparks falling to the side of the podium, flashing multi-colors brilliantly, like a rainbow of the written art. He held up the paper proudly, letting the awed court gaze upon the words that were written.

“Ego Opacare Prose.”

With those words read, his flank flashed again, blinding the majority of the room for a few seconds. When they could see again, they saw what Dusk had spoken of: a sharp, blue quill pen, crossing in front of a black inkwell, pulsating in the morning’s glow.

“I am Opacare Prose.”





At once the entirety of the court—guards included—erupted. Ponies rose from their seats, some tempted to start cheering, others willing to start throwing. Twilight and her friends did their best to  the audience down, but they could not placate themselves. Wide-eyed, they stared at Dusk—Opacare—and saw him as a complete stranger, not the mysterious stallion they had, paradoxically, come to know so well.

The jury was in an equal state of disorder. Blueblood spluttered something incoherent, while Fancy grinned from ear to ear. Most of the nobles shared confused and utterly astonished looks, though some were tempted to start joining in on the cheering.

Irons was the most erratic. He stood, roaring and laughing at the same time, spouting incomprehensible nonsense.

The stallion on the stand knew he had glossed over several details of his story. After a moment of waiting, with the cries eventually waning down as they noticed him standing still, he looked back at Luna. He was surprised to find her with a hoof on her mouth. Glancing up at Celestia, he saw a similarly shocked expression.

“N-n-no w-w-way!” Rainbow stammered, flying over to him. “Y-y-you’re him?!”

He nodded.

“I-I-I don’t believe it! Prove it!”

“And how shall I, Rainbow Dash, the ‘biggest fan of Trent Collins the Human?’”

She blushed. “How did—”

“I did receive your letters from time to time, praising the Trial by Fire series of books. Though, I was quite surprised to hear from a Daring Do fan.” He smirked somewhat. “I didn’t think Miss Dash here liked those children books.”

Rainbow couldn’t tell if she wanted to squeal in delight or punch the stallion for making fun of her. Either way, she flew away back to her stand.

Celestia cleared her throat. “T-this is a rather… interesting turn of events. But… nopony has ever seen Opacare Prose before. And you say you are him…” Glancing at his flank, then at his eyes, she examined every bit of detail he had presented. For a moment, the silence grew enormously, weighing heavily on the shoulders of all who watched.

Then, just as suddenly, Celestia broke into raucous laughter. Luna gave her older sister a confused glance.

“S-sorry,” she apologized, blushing. “It’s just… I never expected this type of outcome ever occurring. Really, I thought Dusk would confess to being the killer.” She looked at the stallion with a sense of awe, and he felt a surge of pride in knowing that he had tricked the Princesses. “Never in my years has a pony gone so far as to craft a new identity to escape his old.”

She frowned. “But that begs the question. Why?”

He looked back at her, his voice as calm as he could muster. “The missing author, found; the stallion, gone. But that wasn’t the end of the tale, now, was it?”

Their attention was entirely transfixed back onto him. Like a true storyteller, he gathered their attention with his words.

“In the time after I became an author, some events transpired that caught my attention. I was asked to return an old favor for an old friend, just a year after my parents’ deaths. That friend, was Grifford Finch.

“He had taken over his father’s ‘business,’ and wanted to know if I was interested in a job. Even though I was a successful author, the job didn’t pay the bills, so I gladly accepted, not knowing what I was getting into.” He sighed. “From an outsider’s perspective, such a business would have seemed benevolent. I myself thought that for the first few years; indeed, it was only until my early-to-mid-twenties that I realized the truth.

“Grifford’s father, Atticus, was part of an organization of ponies operating in Manehattan. They were dedicated to overthrowing the corrupt politicians that had long plagued the city, using every bit of advantage they had. The organization was large and had many members, as well as several positions for delegating what the organization would do.”

“This organization… you speak of it like it was something bad,” noted Luna. “Why is that?”

He sighed again. “It… it wasn’t supposed to be bad, in the beginning, I don’t think. The intentions were pure and clear. But… some things changed.”

He looked at the two Princesses. “Are you aware of the period between AOE 1026 and AOE 1029? Specifically of events that occurred in Manehattan?”

Celestia nodded. “I remember. Historians called it The Great Upheaval. Corrupt politicians were being exposed and quickly being removed from office.”

“It was more than that. It was an entire reform movement that sought to change the very foundations of Manehattan. Ponies had grown to realize just how corrupt the city was; the higher-ups, the rich, the politicians, were all taking advantage of the middle and lower classes. My parents’ nigh impossible work in the slums was evident of this, and there were many more cases of the rich abusing the poor. Rights were obstructed; basic welfare denied. It was truly a dark time.

“But out of that darkness rose what some ponies would call a light, had they been there to see it. From the outside, it looked like the citizens of Manehattan had gotten tired of the politicians of old, and simply overthrew them. But in reality, it was much more complex.

“For years, I would learn, this ‘light’ had been gathering information on these politicians, intending to use it all to completely ruin their reputations and run them out of office. Charges on bribery, blackmail, embezzlement, and some even murder were among the list of grievances. This organization that I speak of was the same one that Atticus Poise was a part of—and the one that his son took charge of.

“It has no official name in the history books. But members call it the Family: a large-scale network of ponies working to rid the city of Manehattan of its corruption and lies.

“And I… I was a member.”

He sounded ashamed, like he was confronted by a grim reality he had never wanted. Intrigued, Princess Luna gestured for him to continue, after letting him take a moment to compose himself.

“Grifford put me in as what was known as a comminator, not to be confused with the word common. In fact, the very nature of that word is the exact opposite of the word it is sometimes mistaken with. Comminatoris were rare to find, I learned, because not all ponies had the stomach to do what they did. Grifford had seen me confront many bullies in the time we had schooled together; and he had seen my anger up close personally, when he had made a callous comment about Jade. He concluded that I had a natural talent for the job, and was not deterred when I told him that I had found my true talent in writing.

“‘You can be a writer and a comminator,’ he had told me.”

“What’s a comminator?” Rainbow interrupted.

“It means intimidator in Latineigh,” Twilight explained, looking at the stallion with more concern.

He continued his story, “At first, I believed him. The Family’s goals mirrored my own to a degree; all we wanted was to save the city, through any means necessary. To that end, we used whatever resources our members offered. Some were great lawyers; others, great investigators. My role was more personal and more hard-hitting, however; and it was not an easy role to fulfill.

“The job of a comminator was to intimidate stubborn, corrupt ponies into giving up their positions. Through methods of fear and/or torture this was done, all in the name of the people.”

“Torture?” Luna questioned, at once alarmed.

“To an extent, yes.” He flinched, recalling a memory. “I… I had to waterboard a particularly stubborn stallion once. I didn’t get too far into the procedure; he relinquished his power after a few splashes. But I was horribly terrified by what I had done.”

“And yet, you kept doing it?” Celestia asked.

He nodded, ashamed. “I thought it was necessary. And I was good at what I did; I rounded up more politicians and corrupt ponies than any other comminator. I didn’t want to let my friend down, either.”

“That is absurd!” a pony cried out from the crowd. “Mayor Grifford Finch would never allow such terrible actions to be taken!”

“The Grifford I knew all those years ago in school certainly wouldn’t. But… his father’s death changed something in him. He became more driven, more angry. He and I went down similar paths, and had both found an alternative. But our perceptions were largely divergent in the end…”

He paused, catching his breath. He had been talking for a long while now.

“My work was well-respected within the Family. When I turned twenty, I was promoted to a new position, one unique only to me. It was called the Comminator Protos: the Prime Intimidator. It was not a position to be taken lightly; with it came the risk of detection, perhaps even elimination.”

He was about to continue, until Celestia stopped him with a questioning hoof. “How did you get away with all your acts without being thrown out?”

“I used the same substance that marked my Mark: the Illusionary Mud. Those times, I produced a larger batch, and made it a different color that would alter my appearance. I could be a brown stallion one day; and a light-blue stallion another. With each mission I was presented, I used a different disguise to be somepony else.” Celestia nodded at his explanation, letting him continue.

“I was the Prime Intimidator for about a year. But it was then that things… changed. I had written several books now—you may know a few of them? X25 was my first delve into the science-fiction genre.” A few murmurs of recognition were heard. “Soon after that story was published, I was called away for another mission of intimidation. I assumed that it wouldn’t be anything too drastic.” He sighed bitterly. “Of course I thought wrong.”

He turned away, seemingly unable to meet the Princesses’ or Twilight’s and her friends’ eyes. “The mission was to enter a home in a small suburb. We had data that suggested that the home in question was the local meeting place of a crooked bank owner who was accused of embezzling thousands of hundreds of bits. Grifford had told me that this mission was among the final steps to getting rid of the corruption in Manehattan, and at the time I had agreed with him.

“So I entered the neighborhood, in the dead of night, disguised as something truly horrifying. The usual methods of the comminators, I was told, had done nothing, so I was tasked with breaking the corrupted pony by any means necessary. I decided to become a creature that would inflict nightmares on even the hardiest of ponies, and so disguised myself as a great demon from Tartarus. I walked up to the house, wearing the horns and covered in red Mud, with special contacts in so that my eyes appeared pupiless.

“I picked open one of the side windows, and slipped inside, thinking that the room would be the stallion I needed to apprehend. Instead, I landed in a place that I never expected to find myself in. I was in what appeared to be a foal’s room, with a nearby crib in the corner and a baby sleeping in it. I was shocked, not expecting to find a child here.

“Yet my luck was not poor enough. There was a slight tap on the door, and the knob turned. Before I could react, a little unicorn filly entered, carrying a glass of water. Even in the darkness, she could see my outline. Her mouth gaped in shock as she dropped the glass. I stared at her, not realizing that my contact lenses were glowing, making me look like a true demon. I had no idea what to do; I had not anticipated meeting a child. I could guess, however, what her reaction would be.”

He clenched his eyes shut. “Her eyes were… wide, scared, terrified, traumatized, as she screamed. Tears gathered in her eyes as she struck high chord, waking up the baby and giving me a headache. The baby began to cry, and I could do nothing by stare, dumbfounded, at the child’s horrific expression. I heard the parents wake up, and rush to their child. I had not moved, so when they saw me there, seemingly glowering menacingly at their child, they, too, felt fear flood their throats.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned so fast that I seemed like a blur, ducking out the window. I could still hear the filly’s sobbing even as I left the neighborhood and returned to the city.

“I had accomplished my mission. The stallion in that home was convinced that he was being targeted, and promptly resigned a few days later. It didn’t help that his daughter was seeking psychological treatment for seeing something truly unearthly. His family no longer encountered ‘the hellish monster from where nightmares originate,’ not necessarily because he was no longer targeted, but because the monster no longer wanted to target anypony.”

His eyes slowly opened, and he gazed sadly at the ground. “That was the final act for me. I no longer wanted to do this any longer. I began to question whether what I did was right. The filly’s face was in my dreams each night, waking me up in the middle of resting, feeling guilty and ashamed. And, as I read story after story, detailing how the filly was in a dire situation, I realized I had had enough. I donated a number of my funds to helping that filly, remaining anonymous. Then I went to confront Grifford.

“He wasn’t happy that I wanted to go. He told me that once I was in, there was no going back. He did feel guilty for unintentionally harming that filly, though he brushed it aside, saying that it was ‘a necessary casualty.” He shook his head. “He spoke of this like it was a war, not a righteous crusade… And it was then I realized I had lost the Grifford Finch I had known.

“Harsh words were exchanged, but I knew I could not leave the Family. Finch probably would not have acted against me initially, but I knew that several members would not hesitate to attack me or my friends.” He looked at Celestia solemnly. “I had to remain there for seven years. It was only this year that I realized I had to do something. If I didn’t, then…” He gulped, unable to finish the phrase, instead moving onto the final part of his tale.

“I didn’t accept any further missions from that point, though I still remained as the Comminator Protus. A year after I became the Prime Intimidator, the Family’s main goal was nearly finished. Offices had been cleared, and old politicians had been thrown out. The next step was finding the right ponies to fill the vacant positions. I had thought that the Family would let the city decide; but I was wrong.

“The Family used its own methods of intimidation, investigation, and pressuring to force the citizens to vote in several Family members.” He shook his head angrily. “They took the right they had promised to give Manehattan—the right to choose their own path—away, forcing them to follow the road that the Family paved! They were no better than the politicians they had fought to remove!

“I tried to confront Grifford about this, but he would have none of it. He told me he would stick by the Family, just like his father had asked him. And then, he said words that I thought he would never say…

“‘It’s what your parents would have wanted.’”

A frigid silence befell the room, and it seemed that every heartbeat could be heard. Dusk’s gaze hardened in absolute disgust. “Grifford Finch had died, replaced with something much worse. And I would have none of that. I couldn’t. I distanced myself as far away as possible from the Family. Soon, as the years went by, my status as the Prime Intimidator was forgotten. I became a whisper in the wind to the Family, a stallion who had seemingly left the Family, yet hadn’t at the same time. I was still under their web of influence; and I would remain there for the next seven years.

“Only this year did I finally do something. I wanted nothing to do with the Family, and I knew that if I left, I would be followed and hounded; perhaps even killed. And if I told anypony else what I knew, the Family would somehow find them; and kill them.” He shivered. “Nevertheless, I had to try. I made preparations. I contacted Raven Lock, and he agreed to help. We made plans. We put them in place. And, with his help, and after so much time spent preparing for the inevitable uproar, Opacare Prose vanished.

“Some said he died. Other said he simply went away for a while. From his ashes, rose the stallion you see here today. Dusk Prosa rose; Opacare Prose fell.”

He sighed. “But, in the end, it didn’t matter how much planning we did. Raven Lock is gone; presumably the Family got to him. And now, the self-fulfilling prophecy I spoke on earlier today has come true.

“The weapon of truth kills him where he stands, rendering him nothing more than a memory. In his wake, the missing author returns, alive, but not well.

“Today is the day that Dusk Prosa dies, and Opacare Prose lives.”

And with that, Dusk Prosa was truly nevermore. All that remained—or perhaps, returned—was Opacare Prose. 





He fell silent, his story finally finished. He indicated to Celestia that he was done.

She said nothing in response, staring quietly down at the stallion before her. Never in her years had she witnessed such an amazing spectacle, nor such a rich testimony—no, a life story. 

She nodded, turning to the jury.

“With this new information presented, I grant a brief recess for the jury to come to a conclusion,” she said.

The jury members mumbled amongst themselves. The room was silent aside from that, too taken aback by what the stallion on the stand had said to say anything. Then, after what seemed like forever, with enough tension to crush the strongest of mountains lying on top of the room, the jury came to a verdict. Fancy Pants walked up to Celestia with a stoic frown, and whispered their decision in her ear. She nodded.

“This court finds the accused, Dusk Prosa, in regards to his supposed murder of Opacare Prose, as well as the remaining charges against him…”

> XXVI: Vive Ut Vivas
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	
Live So That You May Live


It was over.

Dusk Prosa was gone.

Opacare Prose was here, now.

But he did not feel elation. Only… apprehension.

One day had passed since Prose had gotten his “Not Guilty” verdict. The nation was in an uproar over his appearance. Canterlot’s press had repeated the story over the course of the seven days, and papers were being sold and read by the dozen. The story had spread quickly to Ponyville; the entire town was shocked to learn that the missing author had really been in their midst. Soon, the story of the death of Dusk, and the dawn of Prose, engulfed the remaining cities and towns of Equestria.

Of course, not everything was printed. Opacare’s words on Mayor Grifford Finch were still being considered. While the rulers wanted to think of his words as true, it was only his word against years of history, and Opacare had not bothered to bring substantial evidence to the table. And the nobles and audience certainly didn’t want to bring up such a controversial matter. As such, the only things revealed were his “death” and his “resurrection.”

That did not mean that the rulers had not been tempted to tell Equestria what Prose had said. His insistence convinced them to remain silent, though Twilight and the others were still confused as to why.

They all stood in the throne room, mulling over the future. The information presented had consequences that were far-reaching, and they wanted to decide what the next course of action was.

“Why won’t you let us do anything about this?” Twilight asked the pewter stallion.

“Because I have no evidence. It would look like the ramblings of a mad stallion.” He shook his head. “At the time, I was unaware that Grifford was even doing anything remotely nefarious. It was only after that incident with the child that I realized the truth. But the city believes otherwise. To the citizens, Finch is their hero, their savior, the ‘corruption-breaker’ and ‘pony of the people.’”

He began pacing around the room. “You see, he has the city so tightly under his control that, if you remove him, the city will fall. He, being responsible for returning Manehattan to its glory days, bears the duty of making sure that the city survives and stays this way. No matter how evil his actions have become.”

“So what yer saying is,” said Applejack, “is that if Finch was suddenly removed, the city would collapse?”

He nodded. “Exactly. And who would do the removing but the Princesses themselves?” He gestured to the pair, who were watching him, curious. “Should the rulers of Equestria go so far as to physically intervene in the matters of one of its cities and usurp its beloved mayor with no evidence, they would revolt.”

He shook his head. “It’s a sad world we live in, where sometimes to keep the peace, you must preserve the chaos and the darkness.”

His words were spoken with coldness and resignation, and the ponies realized that what he was talking about was true. They could do little to stop Grifford, and even if they could, there was a huge likelihood that the city would retaliate.

“I have a lot of dirt on him,” Prose continued, “but he has a lot of dirt on me. As I’m sure you are all now well aware,” he added, glancing around the room.

“Acts of intimidation, violence, threatening, assault,” Pinkie prattled off.

“Don’t flatter me.”

“We could appeal for a pardon,” Twilight said, looking up to her elders. “Get you away from your past actions.”

“It is not myself I am concerned for. It is the others that have helped. If I spoke up, it wouldn’t take long for the Family to connect the dots on how I escaped their clutches, and go after the ponies who assisted me.” He looked away. “One stallion has already paid the price. I cannot risk any more.”

“We could protect them!” Rainbow exclaimed angrily.

“Grifford has power, both in the Family and in the city. He is the Boss of the Family, after all.” He looked at Rainbow, tired. “If you try to protect those ponies, you’d be in just as much danger. Finch would issue a warrant, try and have my helpers arrested. If you try to go against the warrant, to the city, you’d be just another criminal trying to obstruct justice.”

“Surely they are not so naive!” Rarity exclaimed.

“If I was, who is to say they are not?”

Princess Celestia, meanwhile, had picked up on a small fact from Prose’s words. She looked at him, confused. “Raven Lock was not the only pony who helped you vanish?”

He turned to face her, shaking his head. “No. There were more. Several ponies in the higher-ups, in fact. They helped convince several publishing companies not to have my picture taken, thereby keeping me anonymous from the very start.”

“That explains why nopony knew what to look for,” Luna noted. “You had no pictures published in any of your novels.”

He smiled bitterly. “Indeed. The only ponies who knew what I looked like were Grifford and Raven. I kept a majority of my identity a secret from the Family.”

“If Mayor Finch knew what you looked like, then, why didn’t he specifically tell us what to look for?” asked Twilight.

He turned back to her. “I was counting on Finch making that mistake. He has a habit of overthinking some details. Likely, he had concluded that if I suddenly vanished, one, it was not of my own free will—as you have learned a few weeks back—and two, that I would be disguised. He had no idea, then, what to look for, because he was counting on that possibility.” He shook his head. “Of course, he has now been proven wrong. No doubt he is hitting himself over the head for missing the obvious. A true case of not following Occam’s razor, if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Occam’s razor?” Rainbow asked Twilight in a whisper.

“It means that among competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions should be selected,” she explained.

“But what about school? Surely you had your picture taken?”

“Never had. I missed the school picture day so many times because of studying that I was no longer eligible to have my picture taken.” He shook his head ironically. “And even if I had, the point still stands that the world would assume the least likely.”

Doctor Irons had been watching patiently, and now he chose to speak up. “What about the syringes?”

“What about them?” Opacare asked back.

“The labels. They said OP. No doubt, yours, now that we’ve established who you are. But why?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, instead walking back over to the evidence box. He gingerly took out the syringe, cringing slightly. Twilight realized why.

“You have trypanophobia?” she asked, incredulous.

He smiled weakly. “Amazing, isn’t it, that the Prime Intimidator should be intimidated by something so small and fragile?”

He walked back over to Irons, keeping the syringe as far away as possible. “You know by now that these have been shipped out to various hospitals across Equestria, to be used to treat others with my condition. My blood, unique as it is, does not serve as any true form of identification. I could not use Dusk Prosa as my signature, because the shipping and usage required valid identification. So I used my real initials, OP, as a means of allowing transport of my blood.”

“Why couldn’t you get a fake ID?” Fluttershy asked.

He glanced at her. “I’ve already broken numerous laws, fighting for what I thought was ‘right.’ But these syringes would really allow me to save lives. And I intended to do so through lawful means.” He glanced away. “That, and, Dusk Prosa never existed. He was but an alias, without any substance.”

He looked at Irons, and there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Dusk Prosa is really a combination of other languages. Dusk is the Equish translation of Opacare; Prosa is the Spaneish translation of Prose.”

“So it was your real name, just translated differently?” Irons smiled. “Clever.”

Opacare would have made a snarky reply, but he was cut off by the doors suddenly being thrown open. Looking up, he saw a trio of fillies galloping in, and for a moment a flicker of fear ran through his heart.

Sweetie in particular had a nasty look on her face, and she looked like she could plow right through the much larger pony. Prose took a step back. “Er, Sweetie—”

He was then tackled by the three, his back landing hard on the floor. He let out an “oof,” feeling his ribs being crushed as the three hugged him.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sweetie cried, her face in his vest.

“C’mon, Dusk, not cool!” Apple Bloom also cried, squeezing him tightly.

Scootaloo couldn’t really say anything, likely not wanting to appear uncool in front of Rainbow Dash, but she gripped him just as tightly.

Unsure what to do at first, Opacare eventually settled on gently hugging the girls back. Slowly, he stood, the girls slipping off at him and staring at him, eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t tell if they were sad that Dusk was gone; or relieved that the truth had been revealed.

“First,” he said, kneeling down and speaking in a soft tone, “my real name is Opacare Prose. It may be a little while before you get used to calling me that, but I would like you to keep that in mind.”

They nodded. “Second. Why do you cry, young ones? What has made you so upset today?”

Sweetie wiped her eyes. “W-we’re not upset! We’re just…” She choked on a sob. “W-we’re just s-so h-h-happy!”

She began bawling, launching herself back at Opacare. The others joined in soon after, the waterworks overflooding any restraint they had. He glanced behind,  seeing that even Twilight and her friends had some tears in their eyes.

“Happy?” he asked. “What for?”

Sweetie sniffed. “Y-you won’t be taken away from us,” she stammered, her voice muffled in the collar of his vest. She looked up at him, giving him the most genuine smile he had ever seen. “I told you you weren’t all that bad!”

He frowned. “But what of my past actions? All those misdeeds, those acts of intimidation—”

“You wanted to redeem yourself,” Celestia interrupted, smiling gently. “You wanted to honor your parents’ wishes. You were misguided, but you realized that, and tried to find a way to return to the path you wanted to travel on.”

She took a step forward. “Dusk, or Opacare, or whatever you call yourself, I think it is quite clear that regardless of your actions, your intent was good. And now, seeing you here, knowing that what you did in the past was wrong…” Her smile widened. “I think that makes you a good pony as well.” Twilight and her friends murmured their agreement, as did Irons and Luna, their smiles real and true.

Opacare looked at them all, carefully analyzing what they said. A part of him did not want to believe them; but that part of him was the old part, the one that lived in fear of what could happen. Perhaps that part of him was right in some sense; a good fear of the unknown was necessary to his survival. But that fear should not hinder his goals, nor his intentions. It had done so in the past; and he knew that he could not let it happen again.

He smiled, matching their expressions of joy, as he hugged the fillies back gently.

“There’s still one thing Ah don’t quite understand,” Applejack spoke up. Everypony looked to her. “What exactly did that note of yours say, Dusk—Ah mean, Opacare?”

His smile remained intact. “I’ll show you when we get to Ponyville.”





A day later, they returned to Ponyville. Before they entered the town, they made a quick stop to Opacare’s house. He gave a pointed look to Rainbow as he allowed them inside, suggesting a hint of annoyance remaining. He guided them up the stairs, leading them to his room calmly. Entering, he walked over to the wastebasket and fished around for the note, taking it out and unrolling it.

He raised an eyebrow. “Nopony tried searching my house further?”

Twilight shook her head. “No. Mayor Mare decided that Rainbow’s evidence was enough.”

He looked at the pegasus, who was abashed. He smiled. “Hmm. You’ve studied Trent’s techniques, I see.” She blushed even harder, but managed a sheepish grin.

He placed the note onto the desk. “The blotches are from the ink,” he explained, “but they also stem from another substance. Can you guess what?”

Sweetie answered, “Is it that Illusionary Mud stuff you used?”

He nodded. “Indeed. But the formula isn’t perfect. It can be removed with only a small bit of water.”

“Then why didn’t it come off when you came from Foal Mountains?” Fluttershy asked. “What with all that snow?”

He tapped his cloak. “The vest and cloak are more than just accessory. Raven, he… commissioned them a while back. It helped with police work, and prevented his flare revolver from getting too damp. These garments protect quite well against wet conditions.”

He pointed back to the paper. “As you can see, this note lacks such a covering. Hence, why I can do this.” He licked his hoof, then gently began rubbing away at the smudges. At first, it seemed to make it worse; but, as he applied a little more pressure, the smudges began gathering in small clumps which could easily be peeled off of the words. With a quick swipe, he gathered the clumps into a larger pile, and they slowly amassed in a mud formation. It was a dark black, nearly identical to the color of the ink, and he placed it to the side.

He noticed that Twilight had a somewhat thoughtful look on her face. “Something on your mind?” he asked.

She started, looking at him. “Sorry. I was just thinking of an old friend who specialized in illusions.”

“Unicorn?”

“Yeah. Her name was Trixie. Maybe you’ve heard of her?”

“Mm… nope.” He turned back to the note, seemingly content with dropping the topic. Twilight, after a moment, resumed watching.

“Here we go,” he murmured, as he finished taking all the Mud pieces off. He held it up, and turned to face them, reading the note aloud:

“Raven Lock,

“You will never read this; it will die over night. It is not meant to be sent out. There is always a possibility of danger, should you be found reading this. 

“With everything that has been happening, I am beginning to grow even more worried. It’s at times like these I wish I hadn’t become Dusk Prosa. So much conflict is quickly arising, and my old self is returning in full stride.

“I regret becoming this monster. I always have. But you already know that. You know what I’ve done.

“I’m rambling. This isn’t so much a letter as much as it is a way for me to get my thoughts down.

“The syringes are almost done. They’re locked in my freezer, hopefully sane enough to frighten me no longer. It’s not all the blood that scares me, though…

“Opacare Prose is gone. By my hooves. Figuratively, of course. Prose isn’t really dead. To say I killed him… well, now that I think about it, that could be true.

“The town doesn’t know, though. And I’m certain that the fillies know about the syringes.

“Funny. The syringes and Prose’s disappearance are both my most kept and worst kept secrets.

“There I go, off on another tangent. Like I’m insane. Next thing you’ll know, I’ll be returning to Manehattan to rejoin the Family, maybe even bury Opacare Prose’s name.

“Forgive me. That wasn’t very funny.

“I guess I just needed to write this. Like a confession. Not that it matters. No amount of reconciliation can undo what I’ve done.

“I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I’m not sure what to do. Should I continue this operation?

“Of course I should. I started it. And I intend to finish it.

“There’s no need for aliases.
“Opacare Prose”

Finished reading, he glanced around, surprised to see a few tears in the others’ eyes. Rarity stepped forward and gave him a gentle hug. He flinched, unsure if he should reciprocate the action.

“And to think we thought you were a murderer,” she whispered, deeply ashamed. “In the end, you were the one who was hurting the most.”

He gulped back a dry reply, choosing instead to awkwardly pat her on the back. He stiffened when he heard her sniffle. “Rarity… are you… crying?”

She stepped back, wiping her face. “Oh, dear… my mascara is running!”

Applejack gave her a comforting squeeze. Opacare frowned, a bit confused, but remained silent as Rarity did her best to compose herself. After some time, she looked back at Prose.

“You said you’ll be returning to Manehattan?”

He nodded.

“Do you know when?”

He shook his head. “No… not yet.”

She sniffed. “Well, then you simply must stay in Ponyville for one more week at minimum! We haven’t properly mingled as much as we should have!” She held up a hoof, preventing from interrupting. “And I won’t take no for an answer! I have to fix your vest and your cloak, and make up for accusing you of…” She rolled her hoof, “—how you say, intending harm to yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I see. And if I refuse to stay?”

“Well, Ah imagine you don’t really have a choice,” said Applejack, grinning. “Rarity ain’t gonna let you go, and I don’t think that the younguns want ya leaving anytime soon.” She gestured to the fillies, who were beaming at him. “And Fluttershy probably wants to let you meet her animals.”

“I… I mean… if you don’t mind, that is,” Fluttershy whispered, hiding behind her mane. He nodded slowly, showing that he had no particular restraints.

He placed the note back on the desk, exhaling a breath. “Hopefully this clears up a majority of the murkiness,” he said. Their murmurs confirmed his claim. He leaned back. “But… I’ll have to leave in time, you understand. To… fix my past.”

“Well, you’ve got a week,” Rarity said. “Surely that’s no problem?”

He sighed. “I suppose Finch can wait. But in the meantime… what should I do?”

“Why, have a ‘Welcome-Back-To-Equestria’ party, of course!” Pinkie shouted, her smile painfully wide. His eyes widened in surprise, and he made to interrupt, but was cut off by the ecstatic mare. “Ooh! This is exciting! I’ve never thrown a party for an author who vanished before! Hmm, do you still like mousse cake? I can whip up a batch in a jiffy!”

“Doesn’t mousse take a while to make, though?” Rainbow whispered to Fluttershy.

“Oh! Oh! I’ve got to get matching party hats! And they’ve gotta say ‘Welcome Back!’” Her mouth shot off word after word, drowning out any of Opacare’s protests. Soon, he sighed, resigning himself to simply letting Pinkie ramble.

“I doubt I could convince you otherwise,” he murmured.

Pinkie beamed. “I’d like to see you try!”





The town met them at the north entrance, completely stupefied at Prose. He met them with a somewhat calm smile, not as angry or frustrated as he was in the past. The ponies murmured in amazement as they watched him go, followed closely by the Bearers and Doctor Irons, the Crusaders flanking the returned author. Their eyes had dried, and they looked quite content to be walking with the stallion they had come to appreciate. The town soon followed after them all.

A number of the town’s ponies set to work, gathering supplies for the party. Their combined efforts ensured that the party would be up in only an hour. Irons left for the hospital, while Twilight and her friends left Opacare alone to wait for the party.

In that time, he took a quick walk around town, looking at the place he had grown to live in. Though he had settled on the outskirts of Ponyville, he found that he greatly appreciated the closeness that the town had. His mood was bright and warm, and even the murky glares from Filthy Rich and her daughter weren’t enough to diminish his attitude.

He was nearly squeezed to death by Ditzy when he knocked on her door. Dinky had rushed out and tackled him with surprising force, and her mom had quickly followed. Time Turner looked on, amused and chuckling, as the older stallion gasped for breath between Ditzy’s bone-crushing strength. 

“Quit laughing, Turner!” Opacare managed to say weakly. Turner only laughed harder.

Several ponies came up to him after he had left the Doo household, asking for his autograph. In their magic and hooves, they held up various copies of his books; he even saw Rainbow Dash among the crowd. At first, he was surprised, and a bit flustered, not used to all this attention after all this time. But he managed to calm down, bringing out his signature quill and inkwell, signing his name with his flank glowing brilliantly.

Rainbow flew forward, holding out her copy of Trial by Fire. “Er, sorry, Mr. Prose,” she apologized sheepishly. “For… you know… almost having you arrested for killing… yourself…”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What about breaking into my home?”

“Aw, you’re still hung up on that?”

“You broke the law. If I were a normal pony, I’d have you arrested!” He snorted. “I suppose I can let it slide, this time.”
 
He waved a hoof. “Even with all my planning, it was bound to happen. The truth can never be fully restrained.” He raised an eyebrow. “And since when did you start referring to me in such a formal tongue? I thought we were friends.”

She started at that, but broke into a smile. “Yeah, I guess we are. Even if, you know, it came about in weird circumstances.” He finished signing.

“You better take good care of my book, Rainbow,” he jokingly threatened. The pegasus blushed, but nodded, seeing that Prose held nothing against her.

As the crowd walked off, Prose turned the other way, continuing his rounds. He made his way to east side of Ponyville, spying a familiar-looking nurse traveling down the road. She met his gaze, and beamed, emerging into a vigorous trot. He smiled back as she gave him a hug.

“Nurse Redheart.”

“You jerk.” She booped him on the nose. “The missing author was my patient all along? Sounds like something from one of your novels.”

“Technically I was Doctor Irons’s patient—”

“I could break your legs right now.”

“Point taken.”

They hugged it out for a little while, before Redheart had to go. She gave him a surprise kiss on the cheek, though it was more chaste than anything. He felt a faint blush creep on his cheek, but nonetheless smiled at her as she left.

Soon, he had nearly made all his rounds. One place remained. He glanced at the big clock tower that stood at the edge, seeing that an hour had nearly passed. Walking into the center of town, he approached the Carousel Boutique. Knowing that the time was fast arriving, he walked up to the door and knocked on it.

Rarity greeted him, letting him pass with a smile. He nodded his thanks, silently reflecting on what she had said, as well as wondering what the future had in store.

With Dusk Prosa officially gone, Opacare Prose could return to his original quest of helping Manehattan. Yet, a part of him still felt fear for what could happen. Finch had power; he did not. It was his word against the Mayor’s, and frankly, he doubted that anypony not close to him would believe a word he said.

As such, the future, to him, was uncertain. He had no real way of predicting an outcome. All he could do, he supposed, was live in his present, and let the future unfold.

The present had offered him gifts that his past and future could not bear to surpass. It had given him joy; it had given him companionship; and, most importantly, it had given him a sense of hope. Hope that, one day, he would accomplish his goal.

He had one pony to thank for that, he supposed.

Opacare made his way up the stairs of the Boutique, heading to Sweetie’s room. He knocked on the door, and was met by the enthusiastic filly. Her smile stretched across her cheeks when she saw him.

Thank you, he thought, smiling.

He offered a friendly hoof. “Would you like to go to the party?”

She took his hoof with a giggle, and they made their way out the Boutique, heading for the Hall.

Yes, the future appeared murky to him. And it should; fate and chance had presented events that he could not have predicted. But that didn’t matter, he supposed. All that planning would be for naught if the present did not matter. 

And it did matter that he enjoy what was here and now. It did matter that he live, free of his fears of the past. And it did matter that he try and enjoy his time while it lasted. 

Live to be alive.

It didn’t matter, then, what the future entailed. Opacare Prose would face it with his new friends, and with the strength of a newly restored goal. The past and the present would be his tools to ensure a brighter future for all. Of that, he was certain.

With a smile, he entered the Hall, intent on enjoying his combined new-and-old life once more.


THE END