Who is Number Eleven?

by DrugOverlord

First published 7th of February, 2016

Seven years after the events of "The Friendship Games," Sunset Shimmer works as a private detective.

Picking up seven years after the events of "The Friendship Games," Sunset Shimmer is fed up with Equestrian magic, and content to live a normal, though human, life as a private detective. For her, there are no more Elements, no more spells, and certainly no more evils hell bent on world domination. All she wants is a bottle of whiskey, a desk to sit behind, and enough cases to last her a lifetime. Unfortunately, magic has a way of appearing where it's least expected, or wanted. And in her new world, magic is deadly.
A series of magically charged killings leaves the police baffled, and Sunset is reluctantly dragged onto the case when an old lover comes knocking on her door. In order to fight a new enemy, she'll have to deal with old friends and older grudges, and dredge up a past she was certain she'd locked away forever. Throw in government agents, ties to a black market underground, and an inquisitive fashion journalist, and Sunset has never been more in need of a stiff drink, or farther from getting one.
Sucked into a world of new and deadly magic, unsure who she can trust, Sunset Shimmer chases her quarry down a path of ever increasing questions. Who is this mysterious killer? How did they bring magic to this world, and why? And what does the number eleven have to do with it all?

Prologue

It was the dead of night, and a young woman walked alone down the streets of Canterlot. She walked with both confidence and purpose, her strong features barely lit by the decade old streetlights. Even in such dim light, her eyes flashed, alert and ready for any possible danger. Still, she didn’t see the man behind her, who slipped from light to light quickly and quietly, always staying at least twenty paces back. He watched her with sharp eyes, and heavy breathing, barely keeping up and yet still moving fast, as though driven by some otherworldly force.

The woman, still unaware of his presence, turned off the street, and into a tiny alleyway, her hair a faint wisp of raven-black fading into the shadow. The man sped up so as not to lose her to the corner. He followed with laser precision, and laser focus, which ended up being rather unfortunate for him. He was so much like a laser, that he ignored everything and everyone around him, and so didn’t see his own stalker until it seemed to be literally birthed out of the shadows beside him.

The first thing he saw was a flash of cyan eyes, inspiring him to scream in fright and jump away from the creature. As the glow moved close, he reacted in an admirably predatory fashion, throwing a panicked haymaker into the dark. However, his assailant was ready for that, and ducked under his arm with ease. She, for it was in fact a woman, followed her dodge up with a stunning left hook. Her blow caught him in the jaw and knocked him onto his back. Putting a hand to his face, the man scrambled away until his back came up against a lamppost, just outside the entrance to the alley.

The light, while dim, was enough to show a soft face on its way to becoming fat, a random spray of freckles, and dull gray eyes, filling with tears of pain. One hand still to his face, he raised his other into a vaguely defensive position. The sound footsteps, approaching slowly, put the man more and more on edge, until at last he cried out. “Who?!” Or at least, some screeching, terrified facsimile of that vocalization. Then, finally, his attacker walked out into the light, such as it was, and revealed herself to him.

She had cyan eyes, of course, though he already knew that from earlier. He saw now that she had dark red hair, streaked with dull gold, which flowed down to somewhere between her shoulderblades. A black leather jacket with silver studs, dark blue jeans, and knee high leather boots completed the picture. Though, as she drew closer, what he was most concerned with was her wide, animalistic grin, and the violence that seemed etched into the very leather of her soul.

He tried again, much more feebly and whimpery than before. “Who?”

She tilted her head to the side in response, and her smile grew wider and wilder. She made a vague gesture towards herself. “Who me? Name’s Sunset Shimmer.” In the next instant, she was right up in his face, crouched over him as he cowered in the lamplight. He let out a little screech and tried to scramble away, but Sunset grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pinning him in place. “Hey. No running. Hey.” She gave him a rather hard shake. “Look at me.”

He did so, slowly, and with a look of pure terror in his eyes. As she locked eyes with him, and pulled closer, the fear grew more and more intense. It was here that Sunset may have started to feel just the tiniest bit guilty, and she hesitated. Was it really okay for her to be strong arming him like this? He was clearly much weaker than her, unprepared for any level of violence. She felt like a… well. Like a bully. But Sunset quickly shook the feeling off. She had a job to do, and she was gonna do it right. So she hardened her heart, and sharpened her gaze, and leaned in closer.

“You’ve been a real naughty boy lately,” she said, putting as much fire and venom in her words as she thought he could handle. Which was to say, she operated on "Scaring children during Halloween" mode, rather than "Freeze the heart of the Devil herself" mode. The man didn’t seem to appreciate the distinction, and tried to run again. Since Sunset’s hand was already on him, he wasn’t able to move even an inch. She waited for him to stop, patiently, then spoke again. “Look. I don’t know if you’re a killer, or if you’re just some garden variety stalker, but honestly? I don’t really care. The powers that be have called on me to stop you, so I’m going to.” As she spoke, she reached into her jacket pocket with her free hand. The man’s eyes followed her motion, the rest of him frozen.

As she withdrew her hand, the object obscured, the man suddenly erupted into motion with a series of violent shakes and twists, trying his damndest to break free of Sunset’s grip. He must have thought it was some deadly instrument, some switchblade or gun, ready to bleed him out here and now, in the middle of the street. An ignoble way for anyone to die. Fortunately for him, it was merely Sunset’s cellphone. Unfortunately for him, she could still use it as a weapon, and did so, whacking him on the side of the head. It was a pretty half-hearted blow, more out of consideration for the phone than for the man, but it was still enough to stun him back into inaction.

Shaking her head, she hit a few buttons on the screen and held it up to his face. A bright light flashed in his eyes, slamming into the backs of his retina and blinding him temporarily with a large green splotch across the center of his vision. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, and Sunset used the opportunity to get directly in his ear.

“I know what you’ve been doing, and who you’ve been following. I’m telling you, right now, to stop. Forever. And I’m also promising you that if you don’t, I will personally track you down, and I will personally, and literally, rip out your throat.” She let go of his shirt and pushed away from him, melting back into the shadows.

The man lay there for several seconds, stunned, before he got back to his feet. He looked around, briefly, for any sign of his attacker. He saw no one, and breathed a visible sign of relief. He then looked, for the briefest of moments, in the direction he had last seen the woman he had been stalking. Then he shuddered, and walk-ran in the opposite direction.

Sunset, watching from down the street, nodded in approval. Smart. She looked back to her phone, and tapped a few more times, composing an email with the subject line Job Complete, and the photo she took attached. After sending it off into the electrical ether, she stuffed both it and her hands into her jacket pockets. Turning on her heel, she headed off into the night, boots making little sound as she left the dark streets behind.

Chapter 1

Sunset Shimmer couldn’t decide which she wanted more; the nearly empty bottle of whiskey at the bottom of her drawer, or the fully loaded gun sitting right beside it. Drumming her fingers on her wooden desk, keeping her face as passive as possible, she considered the pros and cons of each.

For the whiskey, the pros were that it would calm her down, it might make listening to the constant chattering of her client more bearable, and it would give her an excuse to not answer. Cons, her client would most likely judge her like, super hard. Okay then, the gun. Pro, she wouldn’t have to listen to the constant chattering of her client at all, and there was the distinct possibility of endless whiskey in the next life, making it a two for one kinda deal. Cons, she’d be dead, and that wasn’t really the best bargaining position. Odds were, her client wouldn’t pay her corpse to do the job. A small smile started to cross Sunset’s face as she considered turning the gun on her client instead, and-

“Ms. Shimmer? Ms. Shimmer?” The haughty, high-pitched nasal roar of her client snapped Sunset back to reality, almost literally causing her to fall over as she was violently dragged out of her daydream.

Sunset sat up and leaned forward onto her desk, forcing herself to wear a light smile for her client’s benefit. “I’m very sorry Ms. Bubbles, I was just, uh, planning? Please. Go on.” And, unfortunately, she did.

While Ms. Bubbles kept talking, Sunset was once more free to tune her out, and get lost in her own head. She’d been at this game for a while, long enough to get her name on the door and a reputation for getting the job done. Becoming a private detective had never really been her dream, but she hadn’t exactly “fallen into it” either. She took pride in what she did, liked to help people, and she was good at it. One thing she’d learned, however, was that as soon as your name started making the rounds, you had a long line of crazies trying to knock down your door.

They asked you to save their grandmother’s ghost from ghost wolves, or investigate the eating habits of their secretly reptilian neighbors. She was asked to cure invisibility in clients standing very clearly before her, and to prove that everyone in town was stalking one specific person, when in reality they were trying very hard to ignore him. Once she got asked to track down a doppleganger from another dimension, and that one she actually believed, for a while. After about a month of wasted time, all she ended up discovering was someone who looked suspiciously like her client, on TV, being dragged into a prison for the criminally insane, having committed more murders than he had teeth. Over time, she learned to ignore these cases; they were never real, and her “clients” never paid.

However, on the subject of payment, Sunset received very little, even from her sane clients. So when Ms. Bubbles knocked on her door, she let her in. Sunset chose to ignore the excessive makeup, the writhing purple nest of hair, the filthy fur neck wrap monstrosity. When Ms. Bubbles started speaking, she chose to ignore the horrible sound of her voice, like a bad soprano and a loud goat competing for the tight space between her vocal cords. Sunset could not, however, ignore the actual words Ms. Bubbles spoke, and the actual words were crazy.

“As I was saying, the garden gnomes are definitely plotting to kill me. Every morning I find them in a circle around my doorstep, all not moving and dead eyed. I keep telling my neighbors to move them, and I keep calling the police to shoot them but for some reason everyone just refuses to help me. Honestly, I’m at the end of my rope here.”

Sunset sighed, rubbing a hand over her mouth as though wiping something distasteful from it. “Your garden gnomes are trying to kill you? Really. And have you ever seen one of them move?”

“Well no not exactly-”

“And have they ever hurt you, done anything threatening?”

“I told you. They surround my doorway every morning and just, stand there, looking all horrible and creepy and downright evil. I hate them, and I know they hate me too.”

“Ms. Bubbles, I’m incredibly, incredibly sorry, but I can’t help you.”

“But-”

Sunset lifted her hand, and shook her head. “I’m going to be completely honest with you right now. You sound crazy.” Ms. Bubbles’ looked offended, pinching her lips together in a distressingly ugly fashion. She started to make a few vaguely word sounding noises before Sunset ran them over. “I’m a private detective, Ms. Bubbles. I’m not a witch, I’m not a member of the occult, and I am not a psychologist, although you should probably find one. I can’t help you.” Ms. Bubbles was completely thrown and, finding herself unable to speak intelligibly, began a sort of wordless and high-pitched whining. A deep, unsettling growl began in the back of Sunset’s throat, but was cut short by a series of short, firm raps at the door.

It was as though a barrel was being tapped; all the tension in Sunset’s body drained free, and she sighed with relief. “Thank Celestia.” Muttering the last, she got to her feet, and took a hold of Ms. Bubbles’ shoulders, wrenching out of her seat and towards the exit. “So very sorry, once again, but as you can see I’m extremely busy. Goodbye now.”

Ms. Bubbles dug in her heels, struggling against her forced exit, but Sunset dragged her along as though she were a child. As they approached the doorway, Ms. Bubbles put up one more monumental show of effort. She managed to partially break free, and get her hand around the edge of the hall closet, dragging down clothes and hangers as she did so. Coming to a temporary stop, Ms. Bubbles turned to face down Sunset once more, talking quickly.

“Obviously this isn’t what you might call a ‘normal’ case but, with your supernatural expertise I figured-”

Sunset lifted her hand with a frown. “Let me stop you right there. Supernatural expertise? Who, exactly, gave you that impression?” Sunset’s head tilted towards Ms. Bubbles’ until their noses nearly brushed, and her eyes looked narrow enough to cut steel. Ms. Bubbles was suddenly extremely eager to leave, letting go of the closet and reaching for the exit, but Sunset held her still as easily as she had moved her along previously. “Who.” It was no longer a question. It was a threat.

“Uh, well, it’s just, he told me not to say and-” Ms. Bubbles screeched when Sunset gave her a hard shake. Her teeth were clenched, her eyes seemed to be literally on fire, and that growl was starting up again.

“I’m not gonna ask again.” The way Sunset said it put visions of grave markers into Ms. Bubbles’ mind, and she nearly screamed out her answer.

“Nails! Chief Nails!” Sunset’s face dropped from horrifying she-demon back to mildly annoyed, and she let go of her ex-client with another sigh. Ms. Bubbles scrambled at the door handle and wrenched it wide open, sprinting past the person outside. Sunset closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose, suddenly extremely tired. She walked back towards her desk, waving her other hand as an invitation. “Come in.”

“What was that all about?” The woman asked, a faintly posh tone in her voice, softly shutting the door behind her.
Sunset pulled open her bottom drawer, and finally pulled out the bottle of whiskey that her brain had been screaming for for the past half hour. She shrugged while pouring herself a half-glass. “Creative differences. Want some?”

“Oh heavens no. I’d never drink such a dreadful beverage.”

Sunset chuckled, capping the bottle and placing it next to her glass. “Dreadful? You know, you sound just like-” She never got the rest of her sentence out, because at that moment she finally looked into the hall and saw exactly who her guest was. Her jaw worked, opening and closing without making a sound, and her eyes widened. “Rarity?”

The woman in the hall flashed her a quick, dazzling smile, before turning her attention to the clothes Ms. Bubbles had knocked to the ground. Swiftly and precisely, she gathered them up, dusted them off, and hung them in their rightful places. That done, she took the few strides required to stand directly in front of Sunset, the desk between them. She put a hand to her hip, cocked her head to the side, and flipped her hair behind her back. “The one and only, darling. What’s it been since we last spoke, hm? Two years?”

Had it really been two years? Funny how quickly the years pass when you’re studiously not thinking about somepon- someone. But it wasn’t like Sunset had been avoiding her on purpose. Sure, they’d had their problems, and sure, things hadn’t ended on the best note but, two years? Without thinking, Sunset began to rub her left arm, frowning.

What had she been doing for all that time? Getting herself together, getting her job, and becoming the best detective she could be. Case after case, she took anything that fell her way, and sought out what didn’t. It hadn’t been pretty, and it hadn’t always been what one might call “strictly legal,” but it had gotten her here. A home, a job, a name, someone people knew they could rely on. She had an entire room just for her cases, an entire row of filing cabinets inside it, marked “Closed.” Cabinets she’d worked hard to fill, lock up and never look back on. She’d kept herself away from anything that wasn’t work, and it had been worth it. Right?

It only took one look at Rarity, her broad smile and shining presence, to make her question that worth. Sunset sighed, dropping her hand to her jeans pocket, where she kept the only key to her closed cases room. Rolling it lightly between her fingers, she suddenly wished that her past could be locked up as easily. A small cough snapped her attention back to Rarity.

Still standing in her entrance pose, Rarity’s smile was starting to look a bit strained, and she wobbled a bit on uneven feet. “Er, Sunset, dear?” Sunset just looked at her, uncomprehending. Then she realized that she’d just been standing there, staring, for Celestia knows how long.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I- Yes, please sit down, sit down.” She waved frantically at the client-side chair, and sat in her own, almost tripping over her own boots in the process. Rarity finally relaxed her pose, looking relieved. She tugged at the white scarf around her neck before sliding it free in one smooth motion. She draped it across the back of her chair, and slid her long black coat, all decorative buttons and woolen straps, off of her shoulders to join it. Sunset got her hands on her glass and started sipping, or rather, gulping, her whiskey, and watched Rarity get settled into the seat.

Rarity hadn’t changed at all, or at least, not that Sunset could tell. Still with the smooth, flawless skin, still with the perfect wavy spiral hair, still the admirable attention to fashion. Rarity’s outfit clung to her like Cinderella’s horseshoe, like a flowing, indigo-purple-white silken saddle draped over deep blue jeans. Her eyes flashed as sharp and blue as ever, and her face was just beautiful. Sure, her nose could be a little longer, a little broader and closer to her mouth, her face a little wider, less flat. Sunset’s eyes danced down Rarity’s body. Yes, that could do to be a good deal rounder as well, more barrel shaped. Cover her up in fur, maybe giver her some hooves while we’re at it. Sunset leaned to the side, straining to see a beautiful purple tail sprouting straight out of-

“Hey! You stop that.” Rarity frowned as she spoke, arms crossed. Sunset blinked, and straightened up. “You’re doing your, your thing. Stop it.”

“My thing?” Sunset pointed a thumb at herself. “What thing? I don’t have a thing.”

“Oh you most certainly do! You were stripping me down with your eyes, turning me into a horse so you could make… so you could make sweet horsie love to me!”

“Horsie love?” Sunset scowled, and might have blushed the tiniest bit. “Now you wait just a minute crazy.”

Rarity’s eyes widened. “Crazy? Me? You know what you did you scoundrel! And so do I!”

Sunset placed both hands on her desk, leaning forward. “Yeah? And what is it I’m supposed to have done?”

“Your thing!”

“I don’t have a thing!”

The volume of their “conversation” had risen considerably.

Rarity made a frustrated, wordless scream in her throat, muffled and locked behind her teeth. “You are absolutely the most stubborn, bull-headed lecher I’ve ever known!”

“Well you’re nitpicky and a prude and… not the most annoying mare I’ve ever met, but a damn close second!”

Just as quickly as it began, their chat ended. Both were on their feet, hands on the desk, leaning close, breathing heavily. Moments passed, and Rarity was the first to break the silence, chuckling.

“Well now. That was a good bit of fun, wasn’t it?”

Sunset felt her annoyance suddenly break, and she smiled back. She rubbed the back of her neck, and laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess it was. Just like old times.” She sat back down, and motioned for Rarity to do the same. A few more silent moments passed. “Horsie love?”

Rarity laughed, fully and brightly. “Fine, not the best wording, I’ll admit. You were eyeing me rather fondly, darling.” Sunset blushed more deeply, and turned her gaze to the floor, rubbing her arm. Rarity smiled, but didn’t press. “I just don’t have my tongue about me dear. It’s been two years. I had no idea how you’d react, how you’d feel, I-” Rarity stopped, and bit her bottom lip. Silence reigned.

Sunset tried to think of something to say, something that would speak to the time they had behind them, to the time between them, something that would encapsulate everything they had been, every regret, every triumph, everything they were. Before she realized it was impossible, she was already speaking. “Why are you here?” It came out far more bluntly than she had intended, but she forced herself not to wince. Nothing they could do now but move on.

Rarity chewed her lip for a few moments more, then smiled sadly. “Yes, I suppose I should tell you why I’m here. I… need your help. I looked you up, saw you’d done well for yourself.” She gestured around the office. It was a lot to take in, at first glance.

The space was dominated by paper. It was piled over everything, atop low dressers and high shelves, like camouflage protecting their true identities. It had the look of someone who was incredibly busy, who had a lot of high profile cases… unless one looked a bit closer, and saw that half the pages were nothing more than receipts, bank statements, and the occasional demand for long overdue facility fees. You could see the barest peeking of a case file here and there, notes written across them in a tight scrawl, wondering Who? and Why? and, most often, How much?

The walls were similarly plastered, partially with maps; maps of Canterlot, both of the streets and the surrounding countryside, world maps of varying degrees of detail. Certificates and licenses for various items, some framed, some not, declaring Sunset to be a legally appointed private eye and citizen of the city, among other things. Just behind Sunset’s seat, impossible to miss, was her license to carry a firearm, displayed with the frankness of an unconcealed threat.

And dominating the whole space was, of course, the wooden desk. It was solidly constructed, a deep and polished red-black, looking as though it would survive the whole building falling on top of it without a scratch. One wondered how such a beast could even be fit into the room, or any room for that matter. It was the only clean space in the room, clear of paper, clutter, everything save for Sunset’s glass. Just a flat expanse for Sunset to stare over and drink over and think over. She was quite proud of it, honestly.

Rarity cleared her throat again. “I need you to investigate a… theft. In my store.” She stared at Sunset with a sense of finality.

Sunset tilted her head. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna need a few more details than that.”

“I suppose that may be necessary once you take the job, but I want to ensure your trust first. I hope I don’t need to tell you how bad a theft can be for a store’s reputation. People might lose faith, and this is a very delicate time for us.”

“Hence, no police?”

“Quite. Police are far too loud, far too indelicate and messy. I need someone independent, and someone quiet.”

“Someone off the books?”

Rarity frowned. “In a sense. I’m not asking you to do anything illegal you know. Just your job. And I assure you, the pay will be quite generous.”

Somehow, Sunset didn’t doubt her. Rarity’s eyes were hard, her mouth set. There was something more to all of this than just a theft, but nothing Sunset could put a finger on without more to go on. The whole thing felt wrong, and somewhere deep in her gut, Sunset wanted to stay away from this one. If it had been anyone else…

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was Rarity, and before she knew it, her mouth was making words of its own accord. “Let’s say I agree to keep things quiet, and agree to look into it. I don’t particularly like it, but let’s just assume. I still need details. I need a look at your shop, at what was stolen, at employee records, security tapes.”

Rarity’s face lit up almost immediately, and she beamed across at Sunset. Sunset, turned away, and tilted the last of her whiskey into her glass, keeping her face as motionless as possible.

“Wonderful darling. I can tell you everything you want. It’s still early, why not down now?”

Sunset sighed. “No Rare, not today. I’ve got other things to take care of.” She looked meaningfully at her now entirely empty bottle. Rarity’s nose crinkled with distaste. “Let’s say I come over tomorrow, around noon? That work for you?”

Rarity nodded her assent. “Here’s my business card. I wrote the address on the back.” She placed it in the center of the table, then stood. “Well, I suppose that’s that. I will see you tomorrow then.”

Sunset grunted, picking up the card and staring at it. It was creamy white and fairly thick. The Carousel Boutique was written in huge, swooping golden letters across the top, with Rarity’s name and number written in a smaller, purple colored version below. In between them, in silver, was what was supposedly the shop’s tagline : “A brighter, better, more outstanding you.” Sunset snorted. On the back was written the address in black pen, though with the same swooping letters as stamped on the front.

“Oh, and Sun?” Rarity had paused just beneath the door-frame, looking half over her shoulder at Sunset. She fluttered her eyes, and gave a brief, sad smile. “It was nice to see you again.” Without waiting for a response, she slipped outside, letting the door bang softly shut.

Sunset dropped the card onto the table, and a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding escaped explosively from her lips. She shook her head, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes. She stayed like that for several minutes, long enough to school her hammering heart back into some semblance of slow, rhythmic normality.

Author's Notes:

So starts my first ever story on this site. I'm excited to get started, and I hope you enjoy this little tale. That being said, please, please, hold nothing back in the comments. Anyone who may read this, be as critical as you want. If you hate it, say why. If you feel nothing for it, say why. If you, god forbid, like it, say why. Your comments can't do anything but make my story better, so I would appreciate them.

Also, this is kind of my own thing, and I'll be updating as much as possible but, I have a lot of work in my life right now. If I'm not super punctual, be patient. This is my sole creative project, so expect at least reasonable attention. That having been said, I realize that the story hasn't even really started yet, so I'll be putting out Chapter 2 ASAP.

Lastly, the entire story, on a plot level, is already pretty much mapped out and complete, up to and including the ending. It's just a matter of getting it on paper and forcing myself to release it. I consider this all a work in progress and a rough draft, so I expect I'll be returning to these chapters and fixing or polishing them later. For now, I just wanna write it all out, so.

Anyway, that was pretty long, especially for a story that no one may even read. In the future, I doubt I'll put anything near this length at the close. Again thanks if you are reading, comment if you are reading, and expect Chapter 2 soonish.

Chapter 2

As Sunset drove down the wide streets, she couldn’t help but feel a bit pissed off. Here she was, not fifteen minutes drive from her own apartment, looking at houses she couldn’t afford in several lifetimes of detective work. Huge, intimidating fronts, two stories high, peaked roofs, porches, white fences, yards. And fresh coats of paint; these houses actually had some color to them, not like the blurred up colors of most buildings in the city, dead brick on dead concrete.

As it turns out, the human version of Canterlot was a bit different than its Equestrian counterpart. Rather than a series of organized, well defined rings, humanity had built a conflicting patchwork quilt of high rise apartments and slums, luxury shopping malls and dollar stores. Those with nothing rubbed shoulders easily with those who had everything, but rather than promoting a feeling of unity, it just emphasized the gap between them.

The chaotic center of the city was the stomping grounds of the wealthiest of business owners. It had expensive stores, expensive apartments, and clean streets. Anyone who was anyone kept an office there, and the rent hovers at an easy six digits. Scrabbling around the edges were the more affordable shops, receiving just enough business to get by. They sat just close enough to wealthy shadows to feel like they were going somewhere.

Beyond the commercial areas were the first of many slums, where the working people, and the less wealthy business owners, made their homes. Sprinkled here and there were the schools, from the high cost private colleges way down to the lowest cost public high schools, each with their own brackets of attendees and funding. Strips of middle class housing could be found here and there, but they were an almost rare sight. Only the wealthy and the desperate made their homes in Canterlot City.

Sunset’s place, pulling double duty as home and office, was situated at the very edge of the city, just inside the last of the slums, and just a few blocks outside the territory of the least wealthy business owners. Sunset had always vaguely wished that she had an office closer to the center of the city, where commerce flowed easy and walk-in customers would be a cinch to nab. Private detecting wasn’t the highest paying work, and the most she could ever hope to rent out there was a janitor’s closet. Her current bills were hard enough to keep up with, and she sure as hell wasn’t sacrificing her disposable income.

The houses she drove past now, slowing a bit to get a good look at their numbers, were in the suburbs, which hugged the very outside of the city, a last bastion of wealth just a few blocks from the outer slums. Many of the rich made their homes here; close enough so they could tell their friends they lived in the city, and far enough away to not have to deal with the uncomfortable side effects of actually living there. It occurred to Sunset that Rarity might have a house out here. She had always talked about getting one. Before Sunset could think on it further, her destination loomed on the right.

It was a large house, with white paint that still looked fresh. The windows were hooded with blue shutters, and sat just above a jutting patio, held up by twin columns. A rather large entry stairway flowed from between the stairway, ending in a marble walkway which cut a white path through the grass towards the driveway. The front door looked sturdy, with a surprisingly plain silver knocker in its center, above which the number 117 was inscribed in large golden letters.

Sunset pulled into the driveway, stopping just beside the marble walk. Sunset took a manila envelope from seat beside her, two fresh whiskey bottles clinking as she brushed against them, and stepped out. As she approached the house, she heard what sounded like shrill screaming. Before Sunset could decide whether to help or not, she heard a door opening and a door slamming shut. From her angle she couldn’t quite see the doorway, but as she continued down the path, a lone figure stumbled into her vision.

He was a tall man, stooped over to hide exactly how tall, with a thin, sharp face, looking like it hadn’t been shaved for at least a week. The rest of his body was draped in a too loose suit and overcoat, an oversize fedora topping it off. His hands shook as he lit a cigarette, though whether from anger or nerves Sunset couldn’t tell. His face was expressionless, and he stared into the ground.

Sunset cleared her throat as she got closer, and he looked up, blowing smoke as he did so.

“Ah. Hello, miss,” he said, pushing his hat from his eyes. They were watery, grey, and looked as tired as Sunset felt. “Business or pleasure?”

“Business.” Sunset waved the manila envelope. She made to move past him, but stopped, curiosity getting the better of her. “And you?”

The man wasn’t quite looking at her anymore, his attention wavering. “Business as well. I’m a journalist.” He gave a little half bow to the space beside Sunset, and waved his cigarette in vague salute. “Fashion Forward, at your service.”

“Fashion Forward? Never heard of you.” Sunset crossed her arms. “What’s a journalist want with Spoiled Rich?”

His attention suddenly shifted once more, his eyes searching Sunset’s face with incredible focus for a brief moment. Then he gave a barely noticeable smile. “Oh, you know. This and that.” His eyes came entirely unfocused once more and, clenching his cigarette between his teeth, he began to pat himself down, searching through the many pockets of his overcoat. His smile turned into a frown. “I work in fashion. Trying to get a read on the local, uh, climate. Fashion climate.”

“Right.” Sunset paused, then shook her head. She didn’t really feel up to grilling this guy. He was odd, and she hated odd. Plus, his mention of fashion had brought Rarity skittering into her thoughts, which brought with it a flood of other, equally unwelcome, thoughts. “Well, I’m going up.”

Fashion Forward was still searching himself, his face shifting more and more towards open annoyance. His cigarette continued to burn down between his teeth. He acknowledged her leaving, pausing his search to watch her climb the stairs.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I hope you weren’t meaning to catch her in a good mood,” he said, with half a smile.

Sunset waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder. “Nah. I did my job. She should be nothing but happy.” Reaching the doorway, she knocked, and a maid appeared, proceeding to all but drag her inside. He smiled, and waved at her, and the maid sniffed derisively before slamming the door.

He dropped his hand, and it landed on his breast pocket. His eyes lit up, and he finally put hands on what he’d been searching for: a small leather notebook, the cover curling towards the spine, along with half the pages. The pages themselves were covered in a slanted, ferociously unreadable scrawl; the handwriting of someone either in a hurry, or insane.

Fashion flipped to a blank page, slipped a pen from underneath his hat, and wrote another indecipherable note. Grunting, he slipped the notebook into another, different pocket, spat out his cigarette, and crushed it beneath his heel.

Spoiled Rich, or as she preferred, Mrs. Rich, was seated in her designated tea room, sipping tea from expensive china painted a bright blue. The room was more or less covered wall to wall with teapots, and larger than Sunset’s entire apartment. Sunset highly doubted that any of the pots saw real use, but they were certainly… interesting. As Sunset sat in one of the faux antique chairs, she frowned into the eyes of a horse shaped pot, which looked like it was screaming out of its spout/mouth. Her attention flipped as her client cleared her throat.

Rich looked pissed off, unsurprisingly. Sunset had braced for this to a certain extent, especially after the encounter with Fashion. She really hadn’t expected that anger to be directed at her though.

“What, exactly, were you thinking? Or is thinking not a part of the detective package?” Rich spat the words into her teacup, a fierce scowl dragging her whole face downwards. Subtle, she was not. Before Sunset could respond, Rich snapped her fingers, and a maid sprinted into the room with a silver platter. She knelt beside Rich, who pulled from its center a surprisingly simple black cellphone. After tapping a few buttons, Rich raised the screen for Sunset to look at.

It was the picture she had taken last night. Looking at it now, it was a pretty bad photo, she supposed. Nothing to get angry over though. The colors were pretty washed out, sure, and the guy was barely looking at the screen-

“Did you really need to beat him so visibly?” Oh yeah. And the blood.

Sunset tossed the manila envelope from her lap towards Rich, who managed to catch it just before it hit the ground, looking somewhat undignified as she did so. Scowling again, Rich dismissed her maid, and started pulling out full sized, print photos. As she examined each in turn, her scowl slowly became shallower and shallower.

Sunset leaned her chair back on two legs, one boot on the ground, the other resting on her thigh, fingers laced behind her head. “As you can see, I took way more than just one crappy photo.”

She’d taken them over several weeks, following the stalker all over the city, taking pictures with a fairly high quality camera. He had been amazingly dedicated in following Rich’s daughter, and Sunset was able to get plenty of shots. Day, night, and from plenty of angles, the photos proved without a doubt that he was the unwanted fan. It was enough evidence to do pretty much anything with.

“And if he presses charges?” Rich looked up from the photos, now wearing a scowl that made use of only her mouth, rather than the entirety of her face. This was honestly the happiest Sunset had ever seen her.

“Against me?” Sunset’s chair landed on all four legs as she leaned forward. “Self-defense. Between those photos and whatever pressure you apply to him, I don’t see it being much of a problem. Honestly, that last photo was more for you personally. Let you know that I’d ‘persuaded’ him to stay away from Diamond.”

Rich nodded, and looked Sunset over briefly. “Good work.” Those words seemed mildly painful coming from Rich’s throat, and she quickly stood. Placing the photos to the side, she headed to a tiny chest of drawers that sat in the corner. “Is a check okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Not ideal, but Sunset wasn’t in much of a position to turn down money.

After writing for a few moments, Rich handed the small slip of paper over, the gemstones on her rings shining. They caught Sunset’s eye, and something stirred in the back of her mind. After tucking the check into her jacket, she spoke up.

“Your rings. Where’d you get them from?” Rich’s response was immediate, and not subtle. The little color her face had ran for the hills, while her lips pressed together and whitened. Her eyes became narrow and focused, and every line on her face seemed deeper. Her voice, when it came, was tight and cold, quivering ever so slightly.

“Why?”

Sunset was fairly taken aback by her response, but she kept her face pleasantly neutral. Scratching her right palm, she shrugged. “Just curious.”

Rich stared for several moments more, then let out a huff of breath. She snapped her fingers. The maid appeared once more. “Take Ms. Sunset to the door, would you?” Rich turned her back to Sunset, sipping tea in a forcibly casual stance. The maid nodded, and placed a light but demanding hand on Sunset’s shoulder. The cup made a series of small trembling clinks as Rich placed it into the saucer, back stiff.

Briefly, Sunset considered probing further, but her gut told her she’d gotten everything she could out of Rich. So she quietly followed the maid to the door, and walked to her car with the sound of the door slamming just behind her.

Well, that had been interesting. Overreaction like that was usually inspired by guilt, but Sunset couldn’t figure what Rich could possibly be guilty of. Theft? Blood diamonds? Something about those rings put her teeth on edge, but she was unable to pin the feeling down, trace it to its roots.

Sunset shot out of the driveway in reverse, swinging out right in front of a large black van. The screeching brakes, loud horn, and shouted expletives passed over her like so much white noise. Sunset’s brain was at work, and didn’t take the time to notice scenery. She drove off with no memory of the encounter.

**

Sunset had been driving for nearly thirty minutes when she finally shook her thoughts away. She couldn’t answer questions without information, and right now she had none. Focus returning to the world around her, she tried to figure out where her brain’s autopilot had taken her. She was long past her apartment, she could tell that much.

She flicked on her headlights, turned a corner, and grimaced when she saw her destination. Sunset hadn’t really forgotten her business here, but she had hoped to hold off on completing it. Apparently her subconscious had had other ideas.

The Canterlot Central Police Station, CCP to newspapers and newbies, Central to cops on the job, and simply The Hole to criminals and off-duty cops alike. From the outside it was an imposing building, its name written in both stone and bronze; one carved high above the entrance for the world to see, the other inscribed on the glass of the entryway doors to remind pedestrians exactly where they were.

Sunset pulled into the parking lot, and simply sat in the car, shading her eyes against the sun. It had been fairly low in the sky when she left Rich’s place, and now she could barely see it burning red between buildings on the horizon. For a while, she watched it drop behind the city. Then she left her car, took a deep breath, and entered the building.

Voted Absolute Worst Interior by the Canterlot Times for a decade straight, to say the insides of Canterlot Central were a mess was an understatement. The floor plan seemed like it had been designed by two or three construction crews working off different sets of blueprints, and who had a very healthy sense of competition.

For one thing, the immediate center of the large entry room was taken up by a maze of desks and computers pressed side by side, each belonging to a separate officer. The pathways between them were seemingly random and almost impossible to work through. It didn’t help that they shifted around every week or so, making room for new desks or removing old ones. It seemed to exist for no reason than to create an obstacle to crossing directly from one side of the room to the other. This essentially left visitors with two choices: right or left.

Neither seemed immediately better than the other. Turn right, and you saw that someone had had the bright idea to install rows of coffee machines along the wall, creating a seemingly endless line of interns, cops, and visitors. Turn left, and the same genius had placed four interrogation rooms split in half by the break room. This created a sort of strange looping feedback between the labyrinth, the break room, and the coffee machines, a twisting clump of humans that seemed impossible to break through. The sound alone was indescribable, and hit like a bullet between the eyes, without the convenience of dying afterwards.

Five steps inside and Sunset had to dodge an intern, two cops, and a prisoner on his way to or from a cell. She barely dodged a pot of boiling water on its way to the coffee machines and brushed against a clipboard moving at near lethal speed toward the interrogation rooms. It benefited one to be quick, agile, lucky, and above all else, willing to push. Sunset hated it here, and tried to stay away as much as possible. Still, some things had to be done in person.

Her objective, once she escaped the critical mass at the entrance, was the twin staircase at the far side of the room, two paths curving up to a single large office. Sunset had taken her luck with the left side, having seen an opening during a struggle which had broken out between a prisoner and his handler. Slipping through, she turned the corner and started moving down the leftmost path towards the front.

Along her path were a series of rooms, continuing the battle of the construction workers: Conference Room One, Two, and Four, split up by the infiltration of Prison Cell One. Across the twisting desk labyrinth to her right was Prison Cells Two, Three, and Four, similarly split by the missing Conference Room Three. Attack and counterattack. Both sides ended with their own staircases.

As Sunset reached the top of the staircase, she stood face to face with a receptionist, and behind her a huge office with “Chief of Police” written on the door. Two balcony lined paths led from the office back towards the front of the building, uniting over the entrance to create a large square of railings. A peek over those railings allowed a bird’s eye view of the labyrinth. On one side, the individual offices of the detectives, on the other an exclusive break room and several interrogation rooms. A series of clear plastic tarps were thrown over the back-most wall, hiding the construction within.

The receptionist eyes widened, moving from surprise to fear as Sunset steadily approached, boots thudding hard even on the carpet.“Ms. Shimmer, the Chief is busy-”

By the time she squeaked through that much, Sunset was already past her and kicking the door down. Metaphorically, of course. No one would be foolish enough to literally kick down a glass door. They’d be fishing glass out of their hair for at least a week afterwards. Not that Sunset would know.

The man inside looked up from the files he was reading, and gave Sunset a slight smile.

“You do realize that I have a phone, right?” Chief Nails was once muscular, powerful, and broad shouldered, with the physique of an athlete, a fighter. Now he was just broad in general, his uniform tight across both his shoulders and his belly, black hair slicked flat to his large head.

Sunset closed the door behind her, and shrugged.

“Never did get the hang of phones, Nails. Prefer talking in person.”

“I can appreciate that. I am grateful that you decided to leave the door alive this time. You know, your last visit cost me-”

“I’m not here about your door.” Sunset’s face colored ever so slightly, and rallied as quickly as she could. “I’m here about all the crazies you keep sending to my door.”

Chief Nails’ smile turned smug. He threw his hands out wide, as though preparing to embrace her. “You sound angry Sunny. I’m expanding your client list, bringing in business. You should be thanking me.”

“Right. You must think you’re pretty smart. You jerk me around, get me mad, hell, even get me to walk right into your office.” Sunset moved slowly and deliberately, step by step, until she had her hands flat on the Chief’s desk. A small smile grew on her lips. “Your plan worked out pretty well, Chief. I mean, I’m here right? But you did make a rather large mistake.” She started to press downward, inch by inch, the top of the desk creaking and groaning like a wounded animal. Her eyes never moved from his.

The Chief started to sweat, and lifted his hand to his collar, as though there were a pressure valve inside. His fingers slipped over the knot of his tie, prying it loose. The smile on his face started to slide. The smile on Sunset’s face grew wider.

“You made me mad, Nails, and that? That was not a good play.” Sunset pressed until she imagined she could hear the desk’s spine snapping. Chief Nails heard it too, trying to stand and freezing midway, caught between instincts.

Sunset lifted her hand and moved it in a blur towards the Chief. He winced and fell back, preparing for the worst, but Sunset stopped short. She jabbed a single finger into the Chief’s chest. “Stop. Sending. Me. Crazy. People. You. Asshole.” Every word followed up by another hard, non-deadly poke. And with that, she pulled back, and her smile went from dangerous to genuine, though a bit annoyed. The desk and Chief gave simultaneous sighs of relief as Sunset let the pressure off, and found herself a seat.

“Christ Sunny. I thought you were actually going to kill me this time.”

“In the middle of the station?”

“If anyone could pull that off, it would be you.” Chief Nails chuckled nervously, wiping a hand across his forehead and breathing deeply. “I’m pretty sure that intimidating an officer is a crime of some sort.”

“So arrest me, tough guy.”

Nails shot Sunset a look, but otherwise ignored the jab. “Drink?”
She nodded. “Sure. Pour me some of the good stuff. The ‘special occasion’ bottle.”

“That’s all you ever want. Every time you visit is not a special occasion, you know.”

“Oh please. Alcohol is meant to be drunk, and sooner rather than later.”

Despite his grumbling, Nails poured out two generously full glasses, putting one in front of Sunset and sitting down with his own in hand. He took a long gulp, downing half.

Sunset sipped hers slowly, savoring it. Damn it was good. If only she could afford it herself. She looked at Nails in silence for a few more seconds, then spoke up. “What do you want?”

The Chief sighed, took another gulp and placed his drink to the side. He leaned down to open his desk drawer, pulling a file from it and dropping it on the desk with a thump much louder than its size would indicate. “I know you don’t work for me, and you don’t do favors, but…” He shrugged as Sunset examined the folder. “This one’s tough, Sunny, and honestly? I could use your help.”

The folder was light blue, and decorated with nothing but the word Private in black marker across the front. It was much thicker than your average file, much thicker than any Sunset had back home. This case wasn’t new, not by a long shot, and Sunset gave it good odds that she wasn’t even in the first fifty to touch it.

The first few pages were complex legalese, but the message was clear: if you aren’t supposed to be reading this, put it the hell down unless you really crave a helping of jail time with a side of extended court battles. Sunset set it aside without hesitation, looking the next page over.

Scrawled across the top: Number Eleven. Single male assailant with a moderate string of killings that began several months ago. Nothing that said “bring in outsiders.”

“Why Eleven?”

Chief Nails shrugged. “Dunno. That was the name that got passed down to us. It stuck.”

Sunset flipped to the description of the first victim. He had been male, twenty-two years of age. Cause of death: burns, which striped up and down his body. The descriptions were vague, but a series of photos were attached to the report. Sunset breathed in sharply at the first.

“Intense burning” was an understatement. The man’s body had been more or less completely torn apart. Strips of blackened flesh, liquefied and congealed in an instant. And not a single drop of blood at the scene. His wounds had been perfectly cauterized. She flipped to the next. Female, 40. Joints fused together, organs erased, holes three inches in diameter torn through the skull. And the next, Male, 55, skin burned away in swaths, leg torn nearly in half by a cylinder of pure heat. And the next, Male, 23, and the next, Female 32, Male, Female, Female.

Investigators had no idea what sort of weapon could have been used in the attack. The wounds were entirely inconsistent with any conventional weapon, or even any unconventional weapon. Industrial laser was written in the margins of the report, a large question mark beside it.

It made sense that humans would have no idea what they’d stumbled across, but Sunset could recognize the signs. Even after all these years, and even as a part of her screamed that it was impossible, another part took charge, coldly and objectively interpreting the facts.

Old knowledge came flooding back, like it had been waiting for just this moment. When Sunset was still a unicorn, she’d done quite a bit of research into combat magic, specifically magics from the Unification War. Old combat reports spoke of the variety of magics employed by unicorns, each more complex and excruciating than the last. This, however, wasn’t just magic. This was experimentation, on a wide scale.

Everything was different between each attack, from the placement and intensity of the burns to the victims themselves. This was someone playing with death. Sunset felt a prickling, burning sensation spread across her palm, and had to stop herself from rubbing at her forehead, at the bony spiral that wasn’t really there. She reached instead for her glass, and drained it in one breath. The alcohol slid tasteless across her tongue, and Sunset shivered.

It wasn’t the carnage that scared her, it was the twisted excitement that was rising out of the revulsion in her gut. There was a part of her that still itched to give this magic a try.

Sunset set the file down, careful to show no more reaction to the contents. Her face stayed neutral, but she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. Cold sweat crawled down her spine. “I don’t really know what you have here, but it seems a bit beyond ‘private.’ You could lose your job showing me… whatever this is.”

“Please, Sunny. You can drop the innocent act.”

“Act?” Her face was stone. She wanted to scream.

“Like hell. I’m the one standing around in the dark here. And I seem to be the only one.” The Chief leaned forward, looking Sunset directly in the eyes. “I know next to nothing about this Eleven guy, or how to stop whatever he’s doing. But I do know a few things. I know that you graduated from Canterlot goddamn High. The very same Canterlot High which has us, under Federal order, forwarding cases to the government if a student gets so much as a parking ticket. I know that on your graduation day we received a shortlist of names, ‘persons of interest’ to the Feds, and your name was at the top. And I know that you know a whole lot more than you admit.”

The Chief took a deep breath, trying to recover from the oil spill of words he had thrown Sunset’s way. Still shaken, Sunset was unable to respond before the Chief continued.

“I’m not the only one who knows about you either. First thing I did when this case crossed my desk was hand it up to the Feds. They told me to halt all investigations. Report any new developments, tell nobody. Had my first responders sign nondisclosure agreements. Body after body falls. I pass them up, they say the same thing. Keep investigating, keep quiet. Then, all of a sudden, they tell me to reopen investigations. And, most importantly, they tell me to find you. Find Sunset Shimmer, put her on the case.”

That pricked her interest, enough to derail her briefly from thinking about magic. Sunset had already known the government was keeping tabs on her. But seeking her help? That was a new one. “Why?”

“Do I look like I have an inside scoop on the Feds? I don’t know why. Someone up top must really like you, Sunny. Or really hate you.” The Chief leaned back in his chair. “So here we are. The Feds want you in on this, and personally I’d like to see this solved too. You say you know nothing, but your history says something very different.”

Sunset crinkled her nose. It was clear that Nails was going to be stubborn about this. But then, he didn’t know what she did. She clenched her teeth.

“Alright. It could be that I know a bit more about this case than you do. It could be that I know enough to convince me to stay far away. When I say I don’t do magic or possessions or weird shit, I mean it. I’ve spent a long time trying to get away from this crap.” She extended the file back towards Nails, but he didn’t move. “Maybe a few years ago I’d have done something about it. But not anymore. I’m sorry, Nails. Send it back to the Feds. Tell them I’m out.”

“No, Sunny. I ain’t gonna do that.” Sunset blinked. The Chief fixed her with a hard stare, leaning forward, and finished off his drink. “I’m not gonna say you owe me, that isn’t how we do business. But you gotta understand the situation. This isn’t just you and me here. It’s you, and me, and the Feds, and whatever sad sack this psycho takes out next. You’re a detective, Sunny. You aren’t mine, but you’re a detective. You have a duty to take this guy out, or at least to try. You don’t have to like it, but you have to do it. You’re taking the case.”

Sunset stood up, eyes hardening and starting to crackle with fire, sending her chair scampering backwards. Nails quickly backed down, his face softening into a nervous smile. Sweat marched across his forehead, and he once more leaned as far away as his chair allowed.

“Okay okay! Calm down. You don’t have to do anything. But these are people’s lives we’re talking about. Innocent lives.” Even as he retreated from her, his eyes stayed on her, steady. “Take it home Sunny. Sleep on it, at the very least.”

Sunset stopped, filling up with anger. Part of her knew that he was right. Lives were on the line, lives she made a living out of protecting. But he had no idea what kind of danger he’d stumbled into. Magic could do evil like nothing else.

Sunset tightened her grip on the file, and dropped her arm to her side. She hated making this choice. She hated the whole damn situation.

“Fine,” she said, teeth clenched. “Fine. I’ll sleep on it.” She turned on her heel. “Expect to see this thing back in your hands soon.” Sunset reached the door, and pulled it open. Without looking back, she spoke. “Thanks for the drink, Nails.” She closed the door softly.

Back in her car, Sunset tossed the folder on top of her whiskey bottles, and let out a low growl. She slammed her hands on her steering wheel. Why did it have to be magic? Why now? Right when she thought her life was normal, under control, it all fell apart. First Rarity crawled into her office, now magic. Honestly, Sunset would barely be surprised if Celestia Herself decided to pop in for a visit, the way this day was going. She shuddered. Bad thought.

Sunset sighed, sinking until her face rested on the steering wheel, her cheek melting into the cold plastic. The damage this guy had caused, the damage he could cause… This was bad. How was he doing it? How had he brought magic back? All that power… Sunset clenched her hand into a fist, and felt the familiar headache starting in the back of her skull, the tingling on her forehead. She really didn’t want to deal with this right now.

She sat up, shaking herself vigorously. Evil magic and ex-girlfriends could wait until morning. What she needed right now was a drink, and home. No more thinking, no more worrying, no more surprises. She’d had enough for one day.

Sunset started up her car, wiped a hand across her eyes, and headed home. She knew she was going to have nightmares tonight. But she also knew that with enough whiskey and denial she could escape the worst of them. And that was about as much as she could hope for.

**

Fashion Forward sat in the dark, his office lit only by his glowing computer screen. In that dim light, the journalist was quickly rolling a new cigarette, the paper sliding between his fingers with practiced ease. In just a few moments, he was lighting a match, and finally able to fill his lungs to capacity with the burning smoke. Letting out a sigh of contentment alongside a smoke cloud, he stared at his screen once more.

On it, a black, vertical line blinked on a white background, beneath the title Winter Trends that Sizzle. He curled his fingers outward, hovering over the keyboard for several moments. Then he pulled them away, leaned back in his chair, and continued to stare. After smoking in silence for a bit, his eyes brightened. Putting fingers to keyboard once more, he wrote: Sorry, things just aren’t working out. It’s not you, it’s me. Then he exited the writing program, and turned the computer off for good measure.

The room was plunged even further into darkness. He cast his eyes over the digital clock glowing green on the wall, the last light in the room. 10:13. A little early, but he was sick of waiting. His cellphone was already sitting on the desk, ready to be used. He dialed, and waited.

“This is Officer Just Dessert, Canterlot Police. Can I help you?”

“Hey, Dessi! It’s your old pal Fashion Forward.” Fashion put as much cheer into his voice as he could, but he could still hear the loud groan on the other end.

“Jesus Fashion. What do you want?”

“Can’t a guy just call up his friend, see how he’s doing?”

“If that guy was anyone but you. You always want something.”

“You wound me, Dessi. I’m hurt. Really.” He could almost hear Dessert’s eyes rolling. Fashion blew smoke out of his nose, and yawned. “Fine. I want your help with something.” He reached across his desk, yanking the chain on his lamp. The bulb sputtered to life, filling the room with a sudden yellow light.

“Of course you do. Well whatever it is, the answer is no. I nearly lost my job last time I helped you. That article made us all look bad.”

“Well, you did look bad. Those uniforms of yours were at least thirty years out of fashion. Think of it as helping me solve a crime.”

“Yeah? Against who?”

“Against anyone with the power of sight.” It had honestly been a public service. Sure, it had cost the CPD nearly 150,000 dollars to completely refit their officers. And sure, he had quoted Just Dessert in the article, claiming the old uniforms “made me and the other officers look and feel unprofessional, unintimidating, and fat.” And maybe that quote had gotten Dessert into a whole heap of trouble with his superiors behind closed doors. And maybe that quote hadn’t been Dessert’s exact words, or even his words at all. But now the police force looked damn good in their uniforms, a force to be reckoned with. Criminals, think twice. That was Fashion’s doing.

“Look Dessi. Can’t we just let bygones be bygones? One little favor, that’s all. I promise I’ll never ask you for anything again.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Never?”

“Never ever.”

A heavy sigh from Dessert. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Fashion smiled broadly, and ground his cigarette into his ashtray. “Excellent. I’ve got a license plate number here. Give me everything you can.” He picked up his notebook, flipped to the back, and read the jumble of numbers and letters aloud, listening to the sound of clacking keys as Dessert plugged it into the database. While Fashion waited silently for the system to spit back the relevant information, he barely suppressed another yawn. What a night.

When he’d left Rich’s house, he was certain that his investigation had hit a dead end. She’d been completely uncooperative, her and the rest of the neighborhood, and it was starting to look like all the rumors had been just that. Rumor. But then, it happened. The crack he’d been looking for, the way in.

He was standing across the street, smoking the last of today’s cigarettes, feeling cold and upset, when that detective, Sunset Shimmer, stepped outside. She wasn’t a stranger to the papers herself, and the journalist remembered her face from the headlines a few years back. Not exactly the most expensive detective money could buy, but then Rich had always been cheap.

It wasn’t her that Fashion was interested in, however. It was what came after. She screeched out of the driveway, right in front of a black van coming from the city. The driver slammed his brakes and blared his horn at her, but she drove off without comment. The van sat idle for a moment, then pulled over to the side of the road.

The driver side door opened, revealing a bald, bearded man with a tall, muscular frame. He was wearing a surprisingly fashionable jacket and scarf combination, though it looked like it was a bit uncomfortable. The nights were getting colder and colder, certainly, but it wasn’t quite cold enough to be called winter yet. He must have been sweating like crazy.

The man opened the back doors of the van, and lifted out a largish box, wrapped in white and gold paper. He stepped around his vehicle and carried the package up to Rich’s front door.

Fashion didn’t know what was happening, not yet, but his “big article” senses were on fire, and he was going to figure it out. The van was completely unmarked, but it had to have plates. Fashion just couldn’t see them from this angle. So, as quickly as possible, he sprinted across the street, getting right up next to the van so he could scribble the sequence into his notebook. Then he had sprinted away, running until he was sure no one had followed him, wheezing and sweaty, but happy as hell. He had a story. Maybe.

Dessert’s voice broke the silence, and brought Fashion back to the present.

“Okay, I’m really, really not supposed to be doing this so I’m only gonna say it once.” The owner’s name, address, and place of work were scribbled into Fashion’s notebook, as well as the dealership the van had been bought from. “Got everything?”

“Yeah. Thanks a lot Dessi. You’re a real pal, you know that?”

“Whatever. Stay out of trouble. And if you get into trouble, we never spoke.”

“Sure thing.” Fashion put his phone back onto the table, and closed his eyes, a broad smile spreading across his face. He couldn’t believe his luck. The van, the plates, now a name and an address. He was well on his way to cracking this, whatever this was. And when he did, Fashion Forward was sure he’d be back in the headlines. Back where he belonged.

Author's Notes:

Wow. That took a while. Chapter Two, longer, later, and cringy-er than ever. This stuff is still pretty rough you guys, so I appreciate every comment, correction, suggestion, etc. Thanks for reading.
Sidebar: College is officially over for the summer, so I should, hopefully, be able to update much more quickly.

Chapter 3

“And here you see our sewing room, for the quick and dirty work. Buttons, restitching, hemming. I usually let the staffers take care of all that for me. Too manual, too repetitive. There’s no artistry in it. Moving along, we have… Sunset? Sun? Are you even listening to me?”

Sunset tore her eyes from the door, upon which she had focused all her dreams of escape from the past fifteen minutes of banter and prattle, and locked on to Rarity’s own impatient gaze. She saw the beginnings of another argument forming there, in the closeness of her brows and the tilt of her weight to one hip.

Sunset cut it off with a simple, bald-faced lie. “Of course I am, Rares.”

“Well, fine,” Rarity said, the frustration draining to the vague aftertaste of dissatisfaction. “Shall we continue?”

Sunset gave a nonchalant wave. “After you.”

Sunset had arrived at the Carousel Boutique at noon exactly, and had barely gotten whiff of the steely cold air inside before Rarity forced her participation in this self-made tour. It began rather pleasurably, as Sunset got a good look at Rarity’s dress, a silky white tight fitting number cut just above the knee, with a high collar and no sleeves. Deep blue leafy scrolls twisted from the hem to the hips, and a brightly shining gemstone twinkled from her throat. Her collarbone made it’s gentle presence known through a narrow band of missing fabric, starting beneath the collar and rounding off just above the breasts.

The pleasure this gave Sunset wore off quickly, and the tour soon devolved into a test of endurance. Rarity walked her step by step through what made her boutique a shining example of the fashion industry, and Sunset tried not to burn the whole place down by force of sheer irritation. It wasn’t as if Sunset had no interest clothing. She didn’t have a closet lined with the latest designs for nothing, and she took an hour to get dressed this morning. This had nothing to do with Rarity, or seeing her, she told herself. Nothing whatsoever. But the particular details of manufacture and design? Sunset couldn’t care less.

Rarity was in the middle of a rant about the decline of handmade clothing in the face of robotics when Sunset finally reached the end of her indulgence.

“Rarity.”

“There is simply no comparison, dear, none! Those soulless cookie cutter monstrosities cannot even be considered clothing.”

“Rarity.”

“No love, no variety, no heart! Oh it makes me furious, and that isn’t even the worst-”

“Rarity!”

The rant stopped and Rarity turned towards Sunset in a huff. “What, exactly, are you shouting about?”

Sunset squeezed her eyes shut, wiping a hand across her face for a brief moment. Then she forced herself to smile as diplomatically as possible. “As interesting as this tour is, which it is, I assure you, very interesting, can we cut to the chase? The sooner I get the details of your case, the sooner I can get to work. And the sooner I get to work, the sooner the thing is off your hands. So if you could do us both the favor?”

Rarity made a motion as though brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. Her hair was perfectly in place. “Hmph, well, alright then. On to business I suppose.” Rarity motioned towards a far corner of the Boutique. Her office, Sunset assumed. “You have absolutely no interest in my work. You never did, not even in school.” Rarity lapsed into silence, and Sunset was happy to let it stretch.

Not even in school. As they walked, Sunset found herself brushing the cobwebs off her old school memories. Once upon a time, Sunset had absolutely despised Rarity. Even after her defeat at the Fall Formal, Sunset held onto a strange mix of haughty pride and childish anger for months. It would almost be laughable to remember her old petulance if it didn’t fill her with so much shame. But bit by bit, the walls came crumbling down, and Sunset grew to genuinely enjoy the time she was spending with the girls, and appreciate the kindness they showed her.

Once she started down that road, there was no turning back. Sunset had been happy just to get a smile, a kind word. She started to hate herself, hate what she had become, what she had tried to do. And then… Rarity. Beautiful, kind… Sunset fell in love. She loved all the girls in time, of course, but it wasn’t the same. That love built in the heart. This one built in the stomach, lighting the whole body on fire.

Sunset blinked back to the present as she was ushered into Rarity’s office. Literally, she had to blink tears from her eyes at the unexpected brightness of the room. It took several blinks to even gain a fuzzy outline of the room, then several more to really take in the details. And those details were astounding.

Rarity had chosen, in her infinite wisdom, to transform a good portion of her office into a showroom, with mannequins lining the walls draped in clothing, hats, and notably, thousands of glimmering gemstones. These were reflecting the white light of the bulbs in the ceiling, sending lances of green, white, blue, and red bouncing across the walls and through Sunset’s eyeballs.

Sunset lifted a hand to protect herself. “Celestia’s mane but it is bright in here. Turn the lights off would you?”

“Nonsense. How could we see if the lights are off?”

“How can we see if the lights are on?!”

The searing light suddenly died down to a cool glow. Sunset dropped her hand slowly, blinking at the room. Rarity smirked across at her from across the room, hand on a smooth white square on the wall. She pointed to the ceiling with her other hand. “Adjustable lights.”

Sunset scowled. “Lovely.” Now that she could see, the room was coming together in her mind. It was mostly open, with a multitude of chairs littering the space, some plush and inviting, others straight-backed and hard. Purple and blue tapestries hung from the white walls, where they weren’t already holding mannequins, and here and there a variety of modernist paintings were squeezed in. Modern art was one aspect of the culture Sunset couldn’t quite get a grasp on. It baffled her that these things could be considered art at all.

Sunset quickly homed in on the comfiest looking chair, and let herself drop into it. “So, someone stole from your store. What, when, how, who?”

Rarity settled herself into a couch, crossing her legs and sitting up ridiculously straight. She was close enough for Sunset to smell her softly sweet perfume without trying. “You are very straightforward. Not a social bone in your body.”

“If this had been a social call, maybe I would be socializing. But it isn’t, and you’re making things really difficult for the person who you asked to help you.”

“I-” Rarity paused, and took a deep breath. “Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry Sunset, really I am. I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I don’t know how to act.”

Sunset let her face soften, and felt her annoyance drain. Yeah, that made sense. “It’s fine Rares, really. Just, just start from the beginning, okay?”

And she did.

Apparently, back a year or so ago, Rarity had added a new line of jewelry to go along with her clothing lines.

“I figured, it could only add right? More clients, more profits, more adaptability…”

“More risk.”

Yes, and that too. For the first few months, things went perfectly well. Business was booming. Enough so that Rarity was able to expand the boutique, start reaching out to new clients. She even started up a delivery service for her more “exclusive” clientele.

“You may have seen the vans out front.” Sunset had seen them, actually. White vans, with bright purple and gold lettering: Rarity’s Carousel Boutique Delivery Service. A diamond ring hung off the “C” in “Carousel,” and a glittering blue dress lay in the background. Sunset found them dauntingly garish. “Some people don’t want to have to come to the store to pick things up. So, for a modest sum, they don’t have to anymore. Quite a popular addition.”

But then, things started to go missing. It was little things, at first. The sheets wouldn’t quite balance out, a dollar here, a necklace there, but none of her customers were complaining. It was less than two weeks after her delivery service started up.

“Naturally, I suspected the drivers. They were new to me, the whole delivery system was new to me. I got quite suspicious.” She made the check-ins more rigorous, had her driver's document exactly what they took and where, how much they sold, and so on. Checks leaving the store and checks coming back. Rarity began to personally call and talk to each client after a sale, ensuring that they got everything they wanted, and paid the correct amount. She never caught anyone stealing, and the books balanced themselves out again. She put the whole thing out of her mind. Up until last week.

“Let me tell you darling, this time it was not subtle. I had an especially large number of orders coming in, all to be delivered within days of each other, some even on the very same day. I piled up the order into the vans, and ship them out. The rest of the order I leave in the shop, ready to be taken out over the next few days. I come in the next morning and…”

“Gone?”

“Gone.” Every necklace, ring, and bracelet, every spare gem, set or unset, was taken. “Not only that, but two of the vans I sent out never came back. Not the vans, not the drivers.” Rarity was breathing heavily now, and she seemed on the verge of tears. “It was just horrible, Sunny, just horrible. So much effort, so many supplies, gone in an instant. And now I have clients breathing down my neck, my workers are starting to get suspicious, I’m rushing orders to get both the old and the new out and, and, oh.” And with that, Rarity slumped over, and began to weep whole-heartedly.

Sunset rose halfway from her chair then stopped, hands outstretched. She had no idea what to do. Looking around the room like the mannequins would help her… she frowned. Wait. What the hell?

“You said all your gems were taken right?” She didn’t even have to look to see Rarity’s nod. “If all your gems were taken, what’s all this?” Sunset swept her hand over the room, where gemstones glittered from every space imaginable.

Rarity sniffled. “Oh they’re fake. Just pretty colored glass.”

Huh. Sunset began to walk the room, taking particular care around every “gemstone” she could see, staring them up and down intently. Checking to be sure that Rarity was still in her slump, Sunset plucked one of the bigger ones she could see right off its display. It glinted with a dull green light as she slipped it into her pocket.

“Were any of the fakes stolen?” Sunset walked back to her chair, not ready to sit down but wanting to be in arm's reach of Rarity. Just in case.

Rarity pulled her head out of her arms, her blue eyes wild and sparkling with tears. “No, of course not. They’re worthless. Completely worthless.” Her bottom lip began to quiver, and fresh tears began to course down her face.

“But Rarity,” Sunset spoke quickly, to stop the flow. “Rarity, I’m no gem expert, but for the life of me I can’t tell the difference between the real ones and the fake ones. Why would your thieves?” A thought occurred to her. “Hell, why would your clients? Why don’t you just ship them some glass, save yourself the cost?”

Rarity looked as though Sunset had both slapped her and shot her cat. Her eyes were suddenly very dry. “I cannot believe you would even suggest such a thing. That would be tantamount to robbing them myself! At the Carousel, we serve our customers the very best, the very finest, the very essence of perfection, and would never give an inch less. Goodness, can you imagine the headlines were we found out?” Rarity was on her feet now, her hair hanging in imperfect strands, her normal perfection given way to a rough chaos.

She snatched up a ruby from her wall. “You would like to know the difference, yes? Well here is the difference!” Rarity held the ruby high above her head, and threw it at the ground. It shattered in a red splash across the floor. “A ruby does not break Sunset Shimmer. Glass does.”

**

In her car, Sunset took a breath, and took stock. Two vans, two drivers, Celestia only knows how much money… This was a big case, very big. Rarity never made things easy, did she? Sunset sighed, and examined the emerald she’d taken. Sharp on the edges, not exactly fragile. Polished glass. Easier to use plastic, less expensive too. But perhaps plastic didn’t give off light as easily? Sunset held the fake emerald up to her window, and watched green sunlight play off the seats behind her.

Sunset slipped the fake back into her pocket with a sigh. Something was off about the emerald, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. And right now, there were real gems to be worrying about. She looked at the addresses Rarity had given her, employees, ex and current, and van drivers, including the missing two.

“I need everyone who has ever worked here. Those two didn’t do this alone.”
Rarity had nodded and gone to her computer, printing out everything Sunset asked for. “These are a lot of addresses darling. You’ll be doing an obscene amount of footwork all for me.”

“Part of the job.”

“And you’ve nothing else?” Rarity had asked. “I’m not getting in the way of other paying work am I?”

“No,” Sunset said. “I’ve got nothing else on my plate right now. Your case will have my full attention.”

In Sunset’s car, a little blue case file winked at the back of her mind. Sunset grimaced, and turned her ignition. She’d promised full attention, and she’d give it. The blue case file skittered to the back of her thoughts, forcefully.

Running down leads was almost always excessively boring, and the past few days had been no exception to that fact. A stranger knocking on your door is always cause for a bit of alarm, but when they start asking some frankly accusatory questions about your loved ones or you yourself, well; unless they show you a badge, you show them the door. Sunset got more doors slammed in her face and on her ass than she had in months, and that was including her nights at the bar.

Some names she could scratch off just by getting a look around their place, asking a few innocent questions. Most she’d have to come back to, look into the hard way. Which meant wasted, cold nights looking through windows and inside trash cans. She still found herself hoping that one of these people would show up to the door draped in gemstones, but even that drained out of her when she got down to the last ten. She kept the two mystery drivers till the end.

It was a risk, but a calculated one: as the strongest suspects, they were the most likely to run the hell out of town. But, there were only so many places a person could go to disappear, and Sunset could track down all of them. The longer they thought they were safe, the sloppier they’d become, and that would only make her job easier. Of course, if she was too confident, and they were too paranoid, they could slip right through her fingers. But that was a risk she was willing to take. Besides, maybe they were stupid enough to just stay home.

First driver was a no go: Sunset ran into his wife, who ranted for thirty minutes about how he hadn’t come home in weeks, about what a waste of space he was, and told Sunset that if she found him she should shoot him rather than bringing him home. Sunset snooped around the house, searched through some drawers, slipped a few business cards into her pockets, but the place was pretty clean. Aside from the cigarettes, empty bottles, and garbage bags lying everywhere. Almost felt like home. She eventually had to just walk out the door with the wife still screaming at her back. Lady wouldn’t shut up, and even as Sunset drove off she could hear her voice ringing through the windows. No wonder the guy got out of town. Merciful Luna.

Staring at the run-down house in the middle of nowhere, Sunset started to get the creeps. Just a little shiver between the shoulder blades, an itch across her palms. Enough to wish she’d brought her gun along. But she hadn’t, and the little bit of daylight left was wasting. It was now or never. Or tomorrow. Sunset shook her head. No. Now.

Sunset pulled open the screen door, sunlight bouncing off the metallic sidings of the house, the roof flat and barely peeping up over the sides. Holding the screen with her boot, she knocked on the door, feeling the thing almost bend under her blows before she realized and held back. She waited maybe thirty seconds for a response, then tugged the door open and stepped inside. She wasn’t really surprised that the door was unlocked. When people ran they generally forgot about what they left behind. But the itch in her palms started to burn a bit worse, and she stayed tense, ready for a fight. So tense in fact, that when she stumbled across the body she almost jumped into a fighting stance. But Dealt Hand, as that was the second driver’s name, was in no condition to fight. He was dead.

Sunset gasped and reeled back, her heart pounding in her chest, nausea roiling in the pit of her stomach. She had expected a lot of things coming into this place, but a corpse wasn’t one of them. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do. The tiniest beam of sunlight, bouncing through the window shades, warmed Sunset’s face, and she remembered what Celestia had told her, all those years ago.

“Emotions are powerful, and should be allowed to run their course, with control. However, there are times when there is simply a job to be done, times when you must steel your heart and do your work.” At the time, Sunset had thrown a tantrum about cleaning up her room, and had ignored Celestia’s words until it was far too late. But, somehow, all these years later, in front of a dead man, Celestia’s advice still rang true. Sunset took a deep breath, steeled her heart, and got to work.

She knelt down over the dead man, and examined his face. She began muttering to herself, talking the details out. “Okay man. What happened to you?” She rolled his head to one side, and grimaced with distaste. “Lower left side of face completely ruined. Blackened flesh surrounding a hole maybe two inches across. Teeth cracked, fused together by some intense heat, and… oh Celestia.” She stepped back from the body a bit, rubbing her hands on her jeans. “And that’s a bit of his brain still leaking from his ear. Fucking great.”

She tilted her head, taking in the man as a whole. “Hole in his hand, right through the middle. Defensive wound?” She lifted the hand, and pressed it up against his face. The holes lined up more or less perfectly. “Bit of a slop job. No blood, but he had time to defend himself.” She looked to the wall, at the line of black, curled wallpaper that traced sharply up and across the window, leaving the glass bubbled and warped. “Heat, high powered, beam…” Her palm started to itch, but she pushed her fear downward. There was only one thing that could cause this kind of damage, but she still had a scene to check.

Before she left the body, she rooted through his pockets, finding a few cigarettes and his car keys. She placed them to the side, and started to walk the room’s periphery, to see if anything was out of place. She knelt once more. “Specks of glass, and blood by the wall. Hmm.” She returned to the body, and turned his head to the left, hiding the ravaged side, and showing. “Yup. Wound on his temple, non-fatal, with bits of glass stuck to it.” She let his head fall again. She continued tracing the room across, finding a back room with square indents in the thin carpets. “Boxes, heavy. Probably our missing gems.”

Sunset hunted about, finding more bits of broken glass scattered around the body, and some out into the hall, those too spattered with blood. In the bedroom, it was like an explosion had gone off but… not from fighting. A suitcase was on the bed, piled with clothes and various items, small things with sentimental value, an old fork and a little electric candle. “Looks like our friend was gonna cut and run before he ran into trouble.”

On the dresser she found a bus ticket, one way, no stop to the next city over. He hadn’t been running far. She pulled out her phone and snapped a quick picture of the ticket. Beside it was the man’s ragged wallet, no cash, packed full with old business cards for bars, taxis, even cosmetics. Sunset saw the tasteful white of Rarity’s own card peeking out from the mess.

“Guy’s a collector.” She slipped a few of the newer looking cards into her pocket, as well as two of the credit cards she found. She left the wallet where she found it.

Sunset searched the rest of the house, but didn’t find anything else worth noting. Just empty cartons of cereal and milk three weeks expired. The violence had been sudden, unexpected. The move had been planned for a while. Sunset took a few more pictures of everything worth keeping, then left the house, closing the door carefully behind her. Then she dialed the number of her favorite police chief.

**

“And you called as soon as you found him?”

“Of course I did Nails. I stumble in, find the body, stumble out.”

Nails looked as though he wanted to argue, but instead sighed and turned back to the crime scene in progress. “Christ.”

“Yeah.”

The little house was swarming with police in uniform, coroners in scrubs, people doing tests, taking pictures, roping off the area. The middle of nowhere was suddenly the center of everything.

“How’d you find this guy so quick? I give you the case and in less than a week you’ve turned up a body.”

Sunset shivered. The blue case file prodded her, hard. “Coincidence. I haven’t even decided to help you out yet. I’m working another gig.”

Chief Nails looked unconvinced. “Uh huh. Well, thanks for the load of paperwork you dropped on my lap. You know.” Nails dropped his voice, and turned away from the bustle at the crime scene. “I’m gonna have to call in the Feds on this one. You want me to keep you out of it?”

Sunset looked at him, really looked at him, and realized the huge, generous, and dangerous favor he was offering. She was filled with intense gratitude. Maybe she’d buy him a new special occasion bottle. “I appreciate that, really. But I’m not hiding.” She watched the uniforms patrol back and forth across the dead grass. “I’m not hiding.”

Nails just nodded and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “You turn anything else up, call me. See you around Sunny.” He padded his way towards the house, stepping over the tape and shouting at any officers that moved too slowly.

Sunset hopped into her car, and dialed Rarity’s cell as she left the place behind. To say Rarity was upset would be an understatement.

“I told you to be discrete. No one was allowed to know anything. No police, no clients, no fucking journalists. And here you tell me that one of my driver’s homes is a damned crime scene, and you are the one who told them. I gave this to you. Just you. And you splash it across the city in less than a week.”

Sunset sighed, holding the phone between shoulder and cheek as she cruised between two cars moving too slow for her liking. “Listen Rarity, no one knows it has to do with you. There were no gems there and nothing to connect him to anything except his employment records. It’s tied to a bigger case they won’t be looking at you. Promise.”

“Yes, because I’ve been able to trust your promises so much lately.” There was a click in Sunsets ear, and she let her phone fall to her lap.

“For fuck’s sake.”

**

Chief Nails stood alone over the body of Dealt Hand, frowning at the damage he saw. Hell of a thing, this killer. This monster. Movement flashed from the corner of his eye, and he walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, the screen door between him and what was happening outside. And what was happening made his mouth fall open.

Three men in black suits, with black sunglasses, were pushing his officers away from the crime scene, flashing badges and pointing. Two others held a device like the Chief had never seen; a black rubber handle attached to a silver box as big as a fist, with two ribbed antennas sticking straight out the top, and two sticking from the sides, bent ninety degrees so that their rounded tips pointed up as well. The back of the thing was a mass of curling wires, red, green, yellow.

The two men swung their devices this way and that, and Nails was able to see the clumped dials and black gradient screen that made up the front. Then, almost in unison, the two men turned and pointed their devices directly at Nails. Instinctively, he threw up his hands to defend himself from God knows what as the four antennas began to spark with blue and purple energy. But all that happened was the two men marched steadily closer, and the Chief composed himself before they opened the screen.

He opened his mouth to greet them, and they brushed past him without a word, delving into the house with their faces pressed to their screens. Nails turned and stared after them in confused silence, then started when he heard the cough behind him. Turning more rapidly, he found himself face to face with the golden shield of a badge. And behind it, amethyst colored eyes that square rimmed glasses were unable to stop from cutting.

“Special Agent Twilight Sparkle, Director of AERD. I presume you’re Chief Nails.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She had an aura of command that put the Chief on edge, like she was comfortable giving orders anywhere at anytime. It was an aura that meshed rather awkwardly with her outward appearance. She was a slight, pretty girl, purple hair slashed with pink and lavender, tied up in a messy ponytail. Her bangs were cut just above her glasses, and stood out in straggly, crazed angles that implied it had never even heard of a comb. A disordered appearance that hid a well-ordered mind.

“It’s good that you called this in. Things have been extremely dry lately and I’ve been dying to get my hands on a new sample. Shall we?” Pulling her own device from somewhere within her long coat, she led the way into the house. After a second of hesitation, Nails followed.

By the time he set foot in the kitchen, Twilight Sparkle was already pressing her device to the corpse, running it up and down, turning knobs and dials and nodding at the screen as though she understood the garbled mess of green that sped across it. Only one of the men from before was there, pressing his own device to the cupboards and over the sink, but Nails could hear heavy footfalls and the strange zapping whine of the second man moving around the rest of the house.

Nails stepped up to Twilight quietly, not wanting to disturb, well, whatever it was that she was doing, but she started speaking before he even came close. “Disturbing amounts of energy went into killing this man. Who is he?” Chief Nails, startled, looked around him as though he was going to find his coroner in one of the drawers, information in hand. But he was alone, and when he turned back Twilight was silently pinning him down with her disturbingly sharp gaze.

“Uh, right. Dealt Hand, thirty or so, died about three days ago. He’s a driver, works for the Carousel Boutique. We’ve been trying to get in touch with them but no answer so far.” Twilight gave a little grunt and went back to the body and her device. Nails shifted his feet uncomfortably in the new silence, cut only by the continued buzzing of the strange devices.

After a while of this, he was about to make his excuses and run, when Twilight turned her attention on him again. “Who found him?”

“Sunset Shimmer.” The name tumbled out without a thought, and he winced. But Twilight just nodded.

“Thanks for your time.” Nails suddenly found a firm hand on each of his elbows, and he was led out of the scene by two overlarge gentlemen in suits. “Call if you find more.”

With the Chief gone, Twilight let out a sigh. She hadn’t gotten readings like this in a long time, and still wasn’t sure whether or not the energy was contagious. For now, she was treating it like radiation for everyone but her team, but some information couldn’t be gathered with scanners. She’d have to cross-reference with what his team picked up, and it wouldn’t do to seem unsociable.

Sunset Shimmer. Of course she’d be wrapped up in this. Twilight couldn’t think of the last time magic leaking into the world couldn’t be tied back to that girl. Sunset had been off the grid long enough that some in the department thought she was dead. But Twilight knew. It was time to pay a visit to an old friend.

Author's Notes:

This chapter feels the tiniest bit rushed to me, but it has been a long time and I wanted to get it out. If anything stands out, good or bad, please let me know in the comments. It feels good to be back, and I’ll be more regular with updates going forward. Graduation has come and gone, and I’ve a summer with nothing but focus on my hands. Thanks for reading, and enjoy.

Chapter 4

Sunset wasn’t surprised at the amount of resistance she was getting, but that didn’t make it less frustrating.

“I just want a look at his records. What harm could a little peek really do?”

The bank teller huffed, flipping her blue hair over her shoulder. “Ma’am, as I’ve said several times, this is private information. You can’t just walk in with a credit card and a name and expect to get everything. I need a pin, a verification number, a signature, otherwise this is just credit fraud.”

Sunset pounded her fist softly against her leg, resisting the urge to punch straight through the plexiglass in front of her.

“I understand you’re just doing your job. I don’t want his money or address or anything like that. Just a couple of recent transactions, where his money was coming and going for the past few days. I’m talking tiny bits of info.”

But the teller was already shaking her head, and started a long winded explanation of client privacy, corporate security, and commercial law. Sunset stopped listening. She got the gist; some combination of “never” and “never ever ever.” She walked away, tucking her hair behind her ear and ignoring the teller’s growing shouts. She slipped the credit card back into her jacket with a sigh.

Sunset had been inside that bank for maybe fifteen minutes, and it already felt like she’d lost a third of her soul to that place. Didn’t help that she’d come directly from a crime scene, still trying to wipe death off her hands. She’d known she wouldn’t get anywhere. Banks were stingy when you asked for your own money, let alone someone else’s. Even a whiff of identity theft and the place locked down tighter than Canterlot Castle on Nightmare Night. Which was a shame, considering how useful knowing Dealt Hand’s last couple transactions was likely to be. But without access she was swimming in space without a suit.

Sunset scratched her palms idly. Might be worth tracking down a hacker at some point. She shook her head, and pulled her phone from her pocket. She had one more lead to track down, and daylight wouldn’t last forever. Next stop, Canterlot City Bus Station.

On the drive, she had more than enough time for thinking. Magic forcing its way back into her life, a serial killer in a little blue folder, a pissed off Rarity. Things were going from fucked to fucked with a side of rainbow fucking sprinkles. What was the universe punishing her for? Sunset’s hand clenched against the wheel until it stopped shaking. One job to do. One job, then it was over. She got paid, and she washed her hands of murder, of magic, of Rarity. She caught that shadow of guilt in her head, and crushed it. One job. Anything outside of that, wasn’t her problem.

Sunset had more luck at the bus station. Buses aren’t exactly private, and when the money’s already changed hands, businesses are less picky about sharing information. The girl behind the desk could best be described as pink. Pink hair, pink eyes, pink dress. Like Pinkie Pie fell into a bucket of cotton candy. But apparently, she remembered Dealt Hand.

“Yep. I remember because the guy seemed really edgy, like he was hiding from somethin’. I kept my hand on the silent alarm the whole time. Thought he was gonna pulla gun on me.” The girl squeezed her knuckles one by one, and Sunset winced slightly at each crack. “He didn’t seem to care much where he was headed, just out. Told me to send him to the farthest city he could get to on one bus. Told him Philly’s the farthest you can get on any bus, so he bought it.” According to the girl, that had been only three days ago. Now that he was dead, the where didn’t really matter, but still, two important facts remained. One was that this probably hadn’t exactly been a well-planned operation, considering the almost after-thought nature of Dealt Hand’s escape plan. The other was that the other driver might be heading the same direction. It would not be good if one of her few suspects had already left the city.

“And you’re sure that he was alone? No friends, no extra tickets?”

The girl shook her head, her bubblegum curls bouncing. “Just him.”

“Alright. Thanks for your time.” Sunset had to wonder just how close the two drivers were. Was Dealt Hand planning to take the money and run? Cut the other driver out? Or were they not working together to begin with? Them both disappearing the same day was a pretty big coincidence, but if they were partners, how come only one wound up dead?

Sunset shoved her hands into her pockets, shivering in the sunlight. Gem heists, backroom deals, combat magic. And Eleven. It all painted a disturbing picture that Sunset was sure she hadn’t seen the half of, nor did she want to. She wondered where this was all headed, and why it was always her that got dragged into the muck.

**

When Sunset got home, she was tired, unhappy, and generally not in the mood for visitors. But she had one anyway. A government agent leaning against the shadows of Sunset’s doorway. Sunset was surprised and confused, but mostly, she was smiling.

“Twilight Sparkle.”

Special Agent Twilight Sparkle stood straight, her long black coat in her arms. “Hey Sunset. I figured it was about time I came to see the office.” She looked the same as she had in high school; a pretty, short young girl with square-rimmed glasses and messy pink-streaked hair. But now her coat was black, not white, a shiny badge dangled from her neck, and a gun sat at her hip. Her purple eyes had always been sharp, but now they seemed surgical, digging deep and working towards the surface.

Sunset reached past Twilight to unlock the door, and the two made their way inside. The place was still a mess, papers on every surface except the bulky desk in the center. Sunset had tried to tidy up after Rarity’s visit, but she’d given up pretty quickly. Besides, the odds on Rarity coming back were not good.

Pushing her bitterness aside, Sunset tossed her jacket in the vague direction of the closet, and invited Twilight inside. Twilight looked less than impressed.

“Yeah, it’s pretty trashed. I’m sure you’ve gotten used to the high life over at the agency but, I’m still wading through the dirt here.”

“Eh, no!” Twilight tried to blank her expression, an action made more difficult by her blush. “It’s very, eh, cozy and… hm.” Twilight’s eyebrows lowered as she dropped into deep thought, probably trying to dig the perfect compliment out of her subconscious lexicon.

Sunset just laughed “I was kidding Twi. Make yourself at home.”

Twilight nodded, looking around the small space and taking in everything, from the peeling paint to the empty bottles nestled among the paper mountains. Her eyes lit up, noticing a certificate hanging on the back wall. “Wow. Masters in Criminal Psychology from Harvard. Never took you for the Uni-type.”

Sunset looked up from pouring drinks. “Hm? Oh that. Don’t get too impressed.” She stepped up to Twilight, handing her a half full glass. “It’s fake. Harvard doesn’t even give that degree.”

“Wonderful,” Twilight said, rolling her eyes. She took a sip of the drink and made a choking sound. She pressed a hand to her mouth and, after a brief convulsing struggle, managed to swallow, her eyes watering.

Sunset was staring thoughtfully at the false certification, her own drink held in idle hands. “They say people care about results more than anything else. I can’t tell you how many times this guy has comforted a client about to run.” Sunset cast her eyes sideways. “What’s a little forgery if it helps people, huh?”

“I look forward to seeing how that defense plays out in court.”

Sunset laughed, and they fell silent. Twilight took the time to really get a good look at her friend. She looked much the same as she always had: red-gold hair, “rebel fashionista” style, smirking half-smiles. But she also looked, for lack of a better word, frayed.

Her hair was combed, clean, but overlong and frizzy, untamed strands curling in different directions. Her eyes were lucid but bloodshot, red-ringed, blinking just a beat too much. The hand holding her glass trembled noticeably, and her left was clenched at her side, nails digging in. Her clothes looked slept in, and her smile threatened to fold into a grimace. Twilight was just starting to realize how little she knew about the woman beside her, the woman who had been her friend.

Twilight made her observations and folded herself in thought, losing touch with the world for just a moment. Unfortunately, a moment lost in thought was enough for her to automatically raise the drink to her mouth again, and take another sip. And that brought her shuddering and sputtering back into the world.

Sunset patted her on the back, and quirked her eyebrows, half-concern, half-laughter. Twilight waved her off with a weak smile, coughing and muttering a vague excuse. Sunset turned from her friend, shook her head, and downed her drink in one go. “Alright, to business then.”

Twilight could only gape in amazement. On her way to Sunset’s desk, she buried her own glass in a pile of paperwork with a shove. Then another, just to be sure.

When they both settled into their seats, Twilight took the lead. “Why were you at Dealt Hand’s house?” Twilight sat straight and serious, her hands folded in her lap.

Sunset’s stomach sank a bit, and she ran a hand through her hair. Straight to it. “I was working a case. Am, working a case. Trying to find stolen gems for… my client.” She hesitated a moment between telling Twilight about Rarity, and keeping her promise, but Twilight had already moved on.

“Well, this is a bit bigger than stolen gems. How close did you get to the body?”

“Close enough.” Too close, honestly. Sunset kept herself very still.

“Then I’m going to assume you know he was killed by magic.” Twilight leaned forward. “Dealt Hand is only the most recent in a series of magical killings. I’m on the trail of a serial killer that we’re calling-”

“Number Eleven. Yeah.”

Twilight’s eyebrows rose. “You know about him?”

“Chief Nails filled me in.”

“Is that so?” Twilight frowned. “He was supposed to tell me if he brought anyone new into the investigation.”

“I told him I’d think about it. I’m not formally involved.” Sunset would feel bad if the Chief got in trouble for protecting her.

Twilight tapped a finger to her chin. “I figured you’d jump at this right away. Magic was your interest long before it was mine.”

Sunset’s hand was sweating from the effort of staying at her side. She leaned back, a bit too stiffly. “Yeah, not so much anymore.”

Twilight’s eyes tried to absorb everything about Sunset. “If you’ve been filled in, then you know why this is important.”

What, magic being used to murder people? Nope, no idea why that would be important! “Yeah, I guess I do,” Sunset said, starting to slowly grind her teeth.

Sunset’s discomfort didn’t fly under Twilight’s notice. She wasn’t exactly a “people person,” but she knew her friends. Time apart didn’t wipe that away. Plus the years of formal FBI interrogation and psychological profile training didn’t hurt. She changed course.

“Do you know why we call him Number Eleven?”

“Huh?” Sunset lost her composure for a second. Taut muscles relaxed, and she fell into a half slump, nearly slipping off her chair. She recovered, and found her faux casual stance shifted into a more genuine relaxation. Her left hand unclenched, the biting pressure of her nails a fading memory.

“Number Eleven. It’s an internal name, coined by my division. But I named him that for a reason.”

“Okay.” Sunset had never really wondered, but any distraction was a good distraction. “Why Eleven?”

“Because, by our records, he is the eleventh magic-capable being currently living in our world. The Sirens, our old friends, and the two of us make a nice and even ten. Our new and murderous member makes eleven. Hence, his name.”

That actually made a certain kind of sense, provided that none of the other ten were involved. “Wait. What about Princess Twilight?”

“Ah well. For one thing, she lives in another world. For another, as far as the government is concerned, we are one and the same. Kind of embarrassing to have her actions attributed to me but, there it is. Made me a good second pick.” Twilight met Sunset’s eyes. “They wanted you.”

“Yeah, I remember.” It was hard not to. Five suits in a black car dragging her off the street to meet with some important heads over at the (newly built) local FBI office. They wanted all the info she had, on magic, on ponies, whatever. They weren’t really asking, but she didn’t see much good coming from lying. So she told them. And they offered her a job. “Magical consultant.” But by then, Sunset was fed up. She was still surprised they let her go after she said no. At the time she thought she was too public to get “disappeared” but, they had six others to choose from. Just the fact of Special Agent Twilight sitting across from her showed that they really didn’t need Sunset.

“So. Your division. Like, actually yours? How’d you manage that?”

“Ah, yes. I’m the current Director of the Alternative Energy Research Division, or AERD. To anyone who asks we’re just another sub-branch of the FBI, mainly involved with statistical analysis. But in reality we exist for the sole purpose of the research, understanding, and utilization of magical energies.”

Didn’t sound horribly dangerous at all. “Isn’t it a breach of security to talk to a civilian about it?”

“I guess so. But you aren’t exactly a civilian. Everyone at AERD knows about you to a certain extent.”

Okay, creepy. “How’d you convince them to let you be in charge though? I’d assume they’d want to be directing you.” They certainly had in their offer to Sunset.

“Oh they tried. But I was the only one with knowledge and experience. They kept having to come to me for everything anyway, me taking the lead just kinda made sense. They did give me trouble when I started asking for my own division, along with the resources to run it. The government is amazingly stingy when it comes to that sort of thing. However, when I impressed upon them the importance and danger of this potential new energy source, and the likely panic should certain key facts reach the public, they set it up for me.”

“Wait. Did you blackmail the government? Are you allowed to do that?”

“Blackmailed? No not at all. I just explained it all perfectly logically. Well, not all of it. I only made it an hour into the presentation before they told me I was funded. I tried to tell them it started to get really good at hour four but, they were convinced.” Twilight shrugged.

Sunset hid a smile behind her hand. Torture by presentation. Only Twilight could pull that off without a trace of malice.

“They established AERD and gave me the best tech government funding could buy. So, tech about a decade old and barely functioning. But I’ve made do. Most of the stuff I needed hadn’t been invented yet anyway, had to be built from scratch.”

Sunset sat up, smirking. “Just so that I have this straight. In the course of a few years you went from random high school student, to creator and director of an entirely new branch of the FBI, a branch funded almost entirely against the government’s will?”

Twilight blushed. “When you put it that way, it sounds more impressive than it actually was.”

Sunset spread her hands. “Maybe. Still, good for you. Sounds like you found your place.”

“Another place.” Twilight spun a strand of hair through her fingertips. “I still regret falling out of touch with you and the girls. Government secrecy and all that. And, I admit, I got caught up in the whole thing. Magic is just so alien, exciting. Like finding a math equation no one has ever solved.”

Sunset couldn’t remember E=MC² murdering anyone. She remained silent, and the conversation trailed off. Sunset wouldn’t have minded if things could just stay this way. Comfortable and quiet.

A loud gurgling. Sunset’s eyes flicked towards Twilight, who was looking studiously anywhere but at her.

“Hungry?”

“I could eat, I suppose.” Twilight still wouldn’t look Sunset’s way.

“It is about that time. Maybe we should call it here?” Sunset needed some time to regroup.

Twilight turned to Sunset, her embarrassment forgotten. “Actually, I was thinking we could eat together. You know, catch up?”

Sunset hesitated. She was sick of this case, of murder, magic, FBI. But honestly, talking with Twilight again felt nice. Like with Rarity but, cleaner. She’d forgotten how much she missed them all. Living with that ache long enough made it feel normal, made it feel like the healing was wrong, not the hurt.

Twilight’s eyes were soft, pleading. “Please Sunset. Just as friends. No FBI, no investigations. Just dinner.”

Sunset scratched her palm, then chuckled. “Alright Twi. Sounds nice.”

Twilight smiled wide, and Sunset grinned in response. They stood up to go, Twilight chatting about her newest research project (the effect of magic on goldfish memory) Sunset fishing her jacket from the floor. Aspects of the project interested Sunset’s technical mind, but she only paid partial attention. Dinner did sound pleasant, but it didn’t stop Twilight from being FBI, and didn’t make Number Eleven go away. She’d have to convince Twilight to let her off the case. Somehow.

“So, have a place in mind?”

Twilight nodded, and stepped into the hall. “Yeah, I think you’ll really like it.”

Sunset squared her shoulders, and followed her friend into the night.

**

Fashion Forward thought he was ready for anything. That was before watching the cops, the FBI, and a corpse dragged out of that damn house. Thankfully he’d parked far away enough to avoid suspicious eyes, planning to scope the place out for a bit. It was plenty scoped out now.

Fashion checked his notebook for the fifth time, making sure he was at the right address. Unless Dessi had pointed him wrong, he was definitely in the right place. It seemed he wasn’t getting his interview with the driver. And the van wasn’t even here. Fashion scratched his head beneath his hat, and grunted with confused frustration.

This was supposed to be easy. He chased down the driver, shook the bribe money out of his pockets, tracked down whatever black market he sold for, and made the front page. Then came the paycheck and more importantly, the fame. It was his thing. Corruption, greed, the rich getting too big for their britches. Instead, he found a dead body. Dead bodies were nothing but bad news. Murder sold papers, but it didn’t make you famous.

“Shit.” Lighting his third cigarette, he rolled the window down a quarter and put on his thinking face. Where to go from here? Dessi was on high alert, wouldn’t be worth calling him for a few weeks yet. Not empty-handed. But, he couldn’t very well go patrolling town, looking for more suspicious vans. All vans were suspicious. He’d gotten lucky the first time; he could spend a year hunting the city and find nothing.

Plus there was Sunset Shimmer. He’d nearly choked to death on his smoke when she walked out of that house, talking to the police chief like he was an old friend, leaving without even a cursory hold for questioning. Who the hell was she? A third option, he supposed. But she didn’t really seem like someone he wanted to get involved with. That redhead was trouble, clearly wrapped up in the killing somehow. Fashion prided himself on staying away from trouble.

Well, that cinched it. He stepped out of his car, and tossed the cigarette away. Nothing to do but investigate the house himself. Sure, it was technically trespassing, but Fashion liked to see himself as journalist first, fashionista second, law abiding citizen last. Still, no need to be crazy. He stepped over the yellow tape as gingerly as possible, and kept his hands in his pockets.

Through the screen door was a mess. Even without a body, the fight, the death, it was obvious. The stench of the place was nearly unbearable. Fashion crinkled his nose, paced rapidly through the narrow spaces. Through the bedroom, the bathroom, the living room-kitchen. Nothing to see. The police had already dragged away everything important. Without a body, evidence, Fashion was wasting his time. Questions were starting to pile up. Who is delivering the packages? Who is buying them? Who is stealing them? And why? Always why.

It was tickling the back of his skull, his sense that something important was going on. But the rest of him couldn’t keep up. None of the evidence lined up, none of his leads took him anywhere. Just dead ends and back page columns.

Fashion returned to the kitchen, staring at the wet spot that had been Dealt Hand’s corpse. Here was a man who knew he was playing with fire. Black market deals like this had a habit of going wrong. Fashion traced the burn marks along the walls. The deal went bad, as they do. But if Dealt Hand wasn’t an idiot, he had to have had a workaround, a backup, an escape route. Why had he died here, in the kitchen? Not reaching towards the door, the exit. He had come here, died here, for a reason.

Fashion scanned the room, staring into its heart, looking for what was out of place. A panel, at the base of the sink. Brand-new. The only spot of color in the whole place. Fashion stretched out his hand, pressed his fingers to the wood. There was a creaking, a groaning, the buildup of pressure, until it snapped inward. In the space behind it…

Two bottles of unopened wine. A nine millimeter semi-automatic pistol, loaded but unused. A business card, the front of it a laughing, burning skull on two playing cards. On the back a name, and an address. The Ace of Skulls.

“Gotcha,” Fashion whispered, and swept everything into his jacket. It was back on.

**

The cafe was the same as it had been in high school, as far as Sunset remembered. Of course Twilight would choose this place in particular. Twilight liked to pretend she was just going with the flow, but Sunset didn’t think she made a single uncalculated move. She watched as Twilight took their smoothies from the front counter, then tried to juggle both while putting away her wallet, spilling smoothie in fat drops across the floor. Maybe not every move.

Twilight sat across from Sunset, placing a smoothie in front of each of them, blueberry for her, strawberry banana for Sunset. Their plates of food were already steaming, ready to eat. Twilight’s was anyway, her hamburger piled high with every topping imaginable, looking big enough to feed the whole city. Sunset’s own salad felt wildly underwhelming in comparison.

Twilight stared down her burger with a hunger that was frankly a bit scary to see. Before she dove in, however, she tossed a hardball. “So, how’s Rarity?”

Sunset sputtered, almost inhaling an entire spinach leaf. With the help of her smoothie, she was able to splash it down the right tube at the last second. “Rarity?”

Twilight’s face was almost entirely buried behind her meal, and she hadn’t noticed Sunset’s mishap. “Yeah, Rarity. Pretty, about yea high, fashionista, girlfriend? Ring a bell?”

Sunset took some calming breaths. “Mm, I vaguely remember someone like that. Ex girlfriend, by the way.”

Twilight’s head popped to the side of the burger, and she frowned at Sunset. “Really?” She had a bit, well, a lot, of mustard on one cheek, but Sunset didn’t bother to point it out. “I have been out of touch. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Sunset shrugged. “It was a long time ago.” Twilight tilted her head thoughtfully, then ducked behind her burger once more. “I assumed you’d already know. Wouldn’t that be in my file or something?”

Twilight waved her hand vaguely, and spoke through a clearly full mouth. “When you had a file, sure. Surveillance was a high priority in the first few years, but as time went on I just kept shifting resources to research and development until the spying side of things was entirely shuttered. There are quite a few agents convinced that you died a while ago.”

Sunset shifted in her seat. On the one hand, she was glad that her efforts to hide had been successful. Escaping the government was not exactly her top motivation, but if you wanted to go unnoticed, that was a big start. She felt pretty good about herself for that.

“It wasn’t all that hard to track you down once I put the effort in though. We just kind of have better things to do.” Sunset’s pride deflated immediately. She’d been hiding from someone who wasn’t even looking. Not really impressive.

“So you haven’t kept track of anyone on your list?”

“Not really. Like I said, after a while it just didn’t seem to matter. They were a bunch of high school girls. There were only so many places for them to hide. Eventually everyone drifted apart, but by then we didn’t have a reason to look. Until now.”

“So, how are the rest of the girls?”

Twilight sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to any of them in years. Beside you.”

Sunset was surprised. “I guess I’m not the only one who fell out of touch. After Rarity, I kinda fell apart.” She’d felt lost. Not unable to live life without Rarity but, temporarily unable to imagine the future she wanted. Fluttershy and Pinkie had tried to help, at first. “I wasn’t really in a place to keep up friendships, no matter how important. So I pushed everyone away, and kept pushing until there was no one left.”

Twilight gently moved her plate to the side. Her eyes were focused on her hands, fiddling her fingers together. “I had my work, and it was important work. It was okay that I didn’t have as much time for friends. Or any at all.”

“Because they’d always be there when you turned back.”

“Then three years passed. And I realized that I could never go back. Friendships don’t pause and start when it’s convenient for you.” Twilight sighed, and put a hand over her eyes. “What great Elements we turned out to be.”

Sunset leaned back, and watched the ceiling fans spin. Friendship had come easily once. Always together, solving problems, making memories, fighting bad guys. Then life moved on, and kept moving. All the little twists and turns that pull people apart. And staying together started to feel like fighting upriver. It was easier to just drift, and watch as the miles built up between you.

“Do you remember the night we used the Elements against you? The first time you used magic?”

Twilight looked up, startled from her own thoughts. “That’s not something you really forget.”

“How did that make you feel?”

Twilight swallowed. “Like I could take over the world. Like I could do anything. Like I was trapped behind my own eyes.”

“Before I got here, I saw magic as a tool. Whether you used it to fight, to wash your dishes, to pick up heavy objects, it was all goal driven. I wanted something, I cast a spell, I got it. That’s how your agency is looking at it right? A new energy source? A new tool?”

Twilight nodded. “To simplify it greatly, yes.”

Sunset shook her head. “In this world, magic isn’t controllable. It’s wild, and has a mind of its own. When I tried to use Princess Twilight’s Element, it ended up using me. Like someone else was reaching through my hands, playing my body like a puppet, using me to commit atrocities. If the girls hadn’t stopped me-” Sunset cut herself off. That was one of her nightmares. What would have happened if she wasn’t saved by the Elements? Would she still be trapped inside that thing, forced to watch the world from inside a glass box forever? Her heart was racing, and her hands were clenched. She took a deep breath.

“After that experience, I learned that magic is different here. It’s dangerous, infectious, chaotic. It’s more like a disease than a tool. When you use it, you can do anything. Anything except stop using it.”

Twilight hugged her shoulders. “I know exactly what you mean. Using magic it was… exhilarating. But there was no doubt who was in control. And it wasn’t me.” Twilight shuddered once more, then shook her head. “But that’s exactly why AERD is so important. The more we learn about magic, the more we capture and study, the safer it becomes to handle. Everything has rules, limitations. If we can figure out the structure of magic, then we can stop it.”

“Figure out? There’s nothing to figure out, Twilight. Magic is dangerous, too dangerous to be messing with. Your project is going to kill you, and for what? Curiosity?” Sunset was on her feet, and while she kept her voice low, she couldn’t help the spear point her words had become. Twilight’s eyes widened in surprise, then hardened with anger.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about saving lives. Or have you already forgotten Number Eleven? Every second we spend doing nothing is more time for Eleven to learn how to control magic. How to kill faster, more easily, with less effort. Can we really afford to step away from that, just because we might get hurt? Are our lives worth more than his next victims’?”

Sunset slammed her fist onto their table, sending pain bursting up her forearm. “Yes! Don’t you see how crazy it is to throw ourselves at danger every time it pops up? We aren’t special, we aren’t unique, we aren’t heroes. We’re just suicidal, and frankly, I’m tired of being the one who puts up my life for every bad guy auction. The world can do without us.” Sunset sat back down. “We aren’t heroes, Twilight. We should stop acting like we are.”

“Jesus.” Twilight shook her head. “Looking out for people, helping people, isn’t being a hero. It’s being a decent human. This isn’t your life for someone else’s. This is stopping a weapon, something that can kill on a scale we can’t even begin to calculate. Eleven is just one man, and he’s carved a trail of destruction this city has never seen before, one that’s only growing larger. Imagine this in the hands of governments, armies, criminals. Imagine the world tearing itself apart with a weapon cheaper, simpler, and deadlier than the atom bomb.”

Sunset didn’t have to imagine. She just had to remember History 101. In Equestria, the Great War was a time of death unmatched by any before or since. Entire cities, entire civilizations, burned away with barely any effort. It was the remnants of remnants of ponies who dragged themselves out of the rubble, the three clans bonding over a shared disgust of killing in all its forms. They banned combat magic, implements of war. Peace became law. The society Sunset knew was forged in that moment, friendship and harmony above all else. Humanity had yet to learn that lesson.

Sunset’s hand spasmed, and she unclenched her fist quickly. A trickle of blood ran down her palm. “I understand the scale. That’s exactly why I can’t get involved in all this. We can’t carry the weight of this on our shoulders. We’ll be crushed.” Sunset stared at the red in her hands.

A look almost like pity flashed briefly over Twilight’s face. “You’re not the woman I thought you were.”

Sunset had nothing to say to that, wiping her hand with a napkin.

Twilight stood. “Someone’s going to die soon.” Sunset’s looked at Twilight, and found a mask of stone glaring back. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “Eleven’s going to kill them. They don’t have a choice. They won’t get to choose if they live or if they die. Neither should you.”

Sunset felt a stab of regret, but ignored it. “I’m not responsible for every murderer in Canterlot.”

“But you are responsible for this one. If you stand back and do nothing, when you have the chance to stop him, that’s no different from killing them yourself.”

Sunset opened her mouth to say, something, defend herself, but no words came. And Twilight was gone. A stream of emotions went with her, and Sunset slumped, feeling empty. The guilt would come, as it always did, but for now, it was just the cold, and the dark.

There was a part of her that still wanted to be the hero, that still pushed her towards that blue case file. But there was a part of her too, that remembered magic as easy as breathing, as familiar as her own heartbeat. And she remembered how that kind of power warps you, how one day you find yourself at the end of a road you can’t name, and how the person you see in the mirror doesn’t even share your shadow. She’d seen herself a villain too many times to trust herself now.

A sudden sharp cold pricked her nose, and Sunset startled. She found herself standing beside her car, staring at herself in the driver’s side window. She felt the cold touch again, on her cheek, and swiped it away. She looked to the sky, and watched as the first slow snowflakes of winter slipped out of the clouds.

Author's Notes:

Made a minor retcon to the previous chapter, changing Twilight's agency from AMR to AERD. Chapter 5 will be coming along shortly, which will close out Act 1. Moving slowly but surely towards the finish line. Thanks for reading, and for your comments. All praise and criticism is equally appreciated.