> The Fixer
>  by Flynt Coal
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 1 - Broken Down in Sunnytown
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was days like this when Sable Loam wondered if it was worth it. As he pulled into the parking lot of the Equestria County Alternative High School for At-Risk Students with his car engine starting to smoke, he briefly mused if his other job paid enough to get it fixed. He was probably going to have to ask about that, and that rankled him. After all, it meant talking to a teenager about pay, something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager himself.

Okay, Sunset’s not really a teenager and besides she has enough money to bury the County in cash, but still….  He mentally groaned as he shoved that idea out of his head.  Maybe it was just how he was brought up, but he was never really one to take handouts, even when needed or deserved. Or, for that matter, technically not really a handout.

He got out of his car, pausing only to pop the hood and get a better look at the white smoke curling away from the engine.  As he did, Airblast, one of his colleagues, pulled up in the spot next to him.  Like just about every faculty member at The Blanks (a fitting nickname for a school styled more like a prison), Airblast had been Special Forces—AFSOC, in his case—and was just as much a disciplinarian as he was a history teacher at this “vaunted” institution.

“That does not look good,” Airblast commented as he wandered over to look at the engine himself.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sable agreed as he looked over the incomprehensible object sitting underneath the car’s hood.  “I hope it’s not going to be an expensive fix, but my gut instinct says it’s going to be.”

“Well, I can tell you that you don’t want your car fixed here in Sunnytown, that’s for sure,” Airblast cautioned.  “The mechanics in town are all rip-off artists.  Have Deckplate tell you about the ‘minor’ engine tune-up that magically turned out to be a $1500 catalytic converter replacement.  Worse, he had a brand-new Dodge, so nothing should’ve been wrong at all.”

“Joy,” Sable drawled.

Airblast shrugged.  “You’re probably better off having your car towed to your regular guy.”

“I don’t have a regular guy yet.  Haven’t had this happen to my car before.”  He closed the hood and groaned.  “Guess I’ll have to call my girlfriend and see where she gets hers fixed.”

“Good idea.  Oh, also, whatever you do, don’t let Tirespin know your car needs fixing.”

“Tirespin?”

“Yeah.  Sophomore here, mechanically inclined—she’s the one that spends all her spare time in the shop classroom, so she actually knows how to fix cars.  Problem is, she likes to fix other things as well.”

Sable gave Airblast a fried look as they walked towards the main building.  “Do I want to know?”

“Let’s just say there’s at least one teacher who would still have his job if he hadn’t taken her up on her offer.  On the bright side,” Airblast noted, “Tires is trying to turn her life around, if for no other reason than her daughter’s sake.” 





Sable found himself eating lunch at his desk in his Home Ec classroom, something he’d been doing more frequently of late. He had an important phone call to make, and although Sombra knew about (and approved of) his relationship with Celestia, Sable didn’t exactly want to advertise that he was dating a former principal turned superintendent.  While it probably didn’t make much of a difference, he had found out that image tended to matter a lot at The Blanks.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Celestia told him, “but I usually just take my car down to the dealership when I need it looked at.  I’d recommend them, but you don’t have a Hyundai.”

“Well, it was worth a shot,” he sighed.

“Maybe you can ask Sunset to fix it?  I’m sure she knows a magic spell or two.”

“I’d prefer not.  I want things to remain normal enough without having to go to the magical teenybopper to get a wish fix.”

Celestia giggled.  “Suit yourself.  Anyway, I’ll ask around.  Do you need me to pick you up after work?”

“I hope not, but I’ll let you know if that’s the case.  I’ll call you later, love.  Bye.”  Bummed, he hung up the phone just as he heard familiar footsteps down the hall.

“Hey, I heard about your car, man,” Sombra said as he poked his head in.  “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks, but I have no idea what to do about it.  And I’ve already been bombarded with local horror stories about mechanics from Airblast, Deckplate and Olive Drab.  Apparently my best choice is to miraculously never have the car ever break down.”

Sombra laughed.  “That’s because those three don’t know about the best guy in town.”

That caught Sable’s attention.  “Oh?”

“Yeah.  I know a local guy who can do it, no sweat.  Decent prices, always available, and completely trustworthy.  I’ve had him work on my Toyota and my wife’s VW.  And you know how Chrys gets when it comes to her wheels.”

Sable remembered the time when he was last over at their place and Sombra’s wife Chrysoberyl blew a fuse because she had a slight scratch under her bumper from parking too close to a cement divider.  “That good, huh?”

“Yeah, the best.”

“You know how to get a hold of this guy?”

Sombra nodded.  “Yeah, I’ll make a call during lunch for you.  If he’s clear, he should be here by the afternoon or so.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, no, trust me, you’re doing me a favor by going with this guy. As good as he is, he’s… unlucky.” Then Sombra frowned ever so slightly. “Something tells me he needs the business.”  





As classes wound down for the day, Sable leaned against his Jeep out in the quickly emptying parking lot, watching the afternoon sun fall.  Sure enough, the mechanic Sombra inquired about was free for the afternoon and said he’d be over after classes were finished.  And at the moment, aside from waiting, all Sable had to do was make sure that Tirespin would go away.

“Look, Mr. Loam, I can fix your car, okay?  No charge!” the teen insisted.

Sable raised a suspicious eyebrow at the dark-skinned teen with smokey black hair tinged with red at the tips. She wasn’t in any of his classes, but her deliberately torn form-fitting jeans and large workout shirt hanging off one shoulder (just as deliberately, if the prominent pink bra strap was any indication) told Sable everything he needed to know about her. 

“And the catch is?” he asked.

“Well, my baby needs a daddy,” she purred, “and honestly it’s been a while since I got me some action, so….”

“How old are you?”

“As old as you need me to be.”  When he rolled his eyes, she added, “Look, sixteen, okay?  But that’s legal, right?”

“Legal if you’re emancipated or have your parents’ consent. In this state anyway,” he said, crossing his arms.  “And don’t you think I’m a little old for you?”

“Yeah, but you’ve got a job!  You’re going places!” she insisted.  “And I suspect unlike Root Factor, you probably won’t end up behind bars for having a hot young thing like me, right?”  She sidled up to him.

“No.”

“I’m good at fixing things.  Like your car.  And you.”

“Not interested.”

At this point, the steady rumble of a tow truck sounded, causing Sable to sigh in relief.  Saved by the metaphorical bell.

“Last chance,” Tirespin insisted.

“Sorry, my fiancée won’t take that too well,” he told her.  Admittedly, he and Celestia weren’t actually engaged, per se, but Tirespin didn’t need to know that.

However, she was undeterred. “Hey, I’m okay with—”

“No,” he finally said in a firm tone.

She pouted slightly, but then laughed.  “Okay, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me!  And I’m always ready to go!”  To his surprise, she looked at the tow truck, flipped it off and walked back towards the building. There was a certain level of vitriol behind the action that made Sable briefly curious, but he brushed it off as a jealous teenager letting the competition know the battle wasn’t over.

The driver’s door to the tow truck opened and a huge man well taller than Sable (who was pretty tall himself) stepped out. With mahogany-brown skin, close-cropped black hair with a single skunk-stripe of gray and apple-green eyes, Sable noted the guy moved as though he’d been in the military—he just had that demeanor about him.  But then he saw Tirespin’s one-finger message and his posture seemed to sink ever so slightly.

“So you’re the guy from Hard Luck Auto?” Sable asked.

“Eyup, that’s me,” he said absently.  He then turned to Sable and though he had a friendly demeanor in his thick voice, he didn’t seem to have the same step as he did a second ago.  “You the one Sombra called about in regards to the 2004 Jeep?”  He offered his hand; it was calloused, no stranger to work and had a strong grip.  “Troubleshoes.”

“Sable Loam,” he said, shaking the hand before patting his Jeep.  “And this is my ride.”

“Well, let me take a look at it, okay?” he said with a clearly-faked grin; however, strangely enough, his eyes seemed to hold that same sad look as earlier.  “What seems to be the problem?”

Sable explained everything and Troubleshoes listened carefully, seemingly noting details without writing anything down, which somewhat impressed the younger man.  After a few minutes of running the car, Troubleshoes closed the hood and said, “Looks like I’m going to have to take this down to my shop to get a better look at it.  But I’ll be honest: I think you’ve blown a head gasket.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It isn’t.  Usually when that happens, you have to replace the whole engine and most of the time, with older cars, it pretty much turns them into junkers.  That’s not to say it can’t be fixed, but between labor and machining costs, you’re better off just either replacing the whole engine, or sometimes the whole car.”

“Great,” Sable sighed.  

“Hey, I could be wrong, but I really doubt it.  Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but that’s just how it goes sometimes.”

Playing devil’s advocate, Sable motioned back to where Tirespin had retreated. “Well, that girl said she could fix it, no sweat.”

There was, for a second, the briefest flash of anger in the man’s eyes, then it vanished into the sea of melancholy once more.  “Yeah, well, nobody’s perfect, Mister,” Troubleshoes noted.  “Anyway, I’ll see what I can do. You have my word on it.”  He then handed Sable a card and said, “I’ll give you a call when I find out anything more.”

“Okay, uh, thanks?” Sable asked, unsure of what to say. It occurred to him for the first time that maybe Tirespin and Troubleshoes knew each other. Come to think of it, the girl had mentioned having worked part time at a mechanic shop when they were talking earlier. Past tense and all. Based on her behavior around him, Sable wondered whether she was let go under ugly circumstances.

However, he voiced none of these thoughts as he watched Troubleshoes hook his car up to his tow truck, then wished him a good day before watching him drive off into the sunset with his beloved Jeep in tow. Sable then took out his phone. It looked like he was going to need to take his girlfriend up on her offer after all.





Dinner that night was simple Caesar salads.  Normally, Sable handled the cooking that night, but given that his mind was elsewhere, Celestia had opted to make salads for both.  At the moment, he absently chewed away at the lettuce, his mind a thousand miles away.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked him.

“No, kinda depressed about it.  That Jeep and I have been through a lot together and I’d really hate to write it off, but I guess as we get older, so do other things.”  He speared another lettuce leaf and popped it in his mouth, mechanically masticating for a few more seconds before he sighed.  “I’m in no mood to work out tonight.  I’m going to have to send a text to the girls that tonight’s off.”

“Are you sure?  I would think that working out would take your mind off the stress,” Celestia told him.  “Besides, didn’t you tell me that they’re not completely up to snuff compared to just a few days ago?”

“‘Just a few days ago’ in another reality where they worked out on a daily basis because that was all they had,” Sable reminded her.  “In this new timeline, they’ve had normal lives and their individual regimens have kept them incredibly fit, but—”

“But not military fit, I take it?”

“Well, for regular infantry, sure.  But if we’re going to be ponyland Special Forces and Sunset’s bodyguards, they have to be in better than top shape.  We’re talking Navy SEALs and SAS-level fit.  And right now, they’re not quite there.  I need to push them to be better, but at the same time…I don’t want to make them give up the lives they have.”  He looked at her with slight guilt etched on his face.  “Losing their mother figures destroyed them, but they kept moving on, like robots, because that was all they ever knew.  But now?  They have lives.  They’re comfortable being normal girls, which they weren’t earlier—granted, I didn’t know them all that well back then, but I think in the past few weeks I’ve gotten to know them a little better and…they’re happy.  And I don’t want to take that away from them.”

A soft, loving smile spread on Celestia’s face.  “And that’s what I love about you.  You care about those girls.  You were born to be a teacher and a leader, Sable.”

“I guess,” he said absently, reaching for his phone.  He tapped out a message on the phone, then shut it off.  “I told them tonight was an independent workout night.  It’ll give them the option of whether they’ll do it or not; it’ll also give Adagio a chance at some leadership skills—to see if she can push as a unit commander.”

“And what about you?” Celestia said, finishing off her plate.  “I know I have some paperwork to review in regards to the planned construction of Forest Ridge High.  The Board really wants to push for that and I need to look over the potential candidates for the initial principal and vice principal.  They’re probably going to offer Sombra the top slot, but knowing him, he’ll turn it down.  He feels like he belongs at The Blanks.”

“Yeah, given how he’s dedicated to the kids there, I can’t say I blame him,” he said. “But to answer your question, I have a sizeable backlog of papers to grade. Might as well get started on that.” 





The following morning, Sable got up early enough that Celestia was able to drop him off at work.  Waiting there for him inside was Tirespin.  She was dressed provocatively in tight shorts and a low-cut tank top that definitely wasn’t suited to the autumn weather. What was more, she had her tool bag with her.

“Hi,” she said, making sure that he had a perfect view of her cleavage.

“Look, Tirespin...” Sable began.

“Okay, I admit, maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” Tirespin began.  “So I’m going to do this the right way, okay?  I want you to look at my body and just picture: as I get older, I’m going to get hotter, and you’re going to want a girl like me.  I mean, how many girls do you have that throw themselves at you?”

“One, and that’s all I need,”  Sable said, and then asked,  “Why are you so interested anyway?”

“Because my baby girl needs a daddy that’ll teach her to grow up right!”  Tirespin ran a hand through her smokey red-tinged hair.  “I mean, I thought that was going to be Root Factor, but I guess he wasn’t ready for that.”

“Wasn’t ready?  From what I understand, he went to jail for statutory and it ended with you being sent here, am I right?”  Sable looked at her.  “You really need to think about your future, Tirespin, both for yourself and your child.”

Tirespin tried to keep up her seductive expression even as her eyes narrowed. “Look, I don’t have to think about anything, okay?” she told him.  “And besides, I love my daughter!  Why do you think that I’m trying to do this?”

“I don’t know why you’re trying to do this.  Wouldn’t it make sense to graduate, get into a decent school and raise your daughter to be self-sufficient?”

Tirespin rolled her eyes.  “Maybe for white folks like you, Mr. Loam.  But for us who don’t have that kind of luxury?  For those of us whose mothers vanish one day and don’t come back, and whose fathers abandoned them by crawling into a bottle?  I raised myself, practically.  Yeah, sure, I live with my grandmother, but the fact is, my parents?  They really didn’t factor into my life.  And I don’t want that for my kid.  I want my sweet little Cinnamon Breeze to have the kind of life I didn’t have!”

“And you’re doing that the wrong way.”

“Look, you don’t get to tell me what to do until we’re dating, okay?  And maybe not even then.  You can tell me after we’re coupled.”

“Kid, that’s not happening,” Sable told her flat out.  “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m not going to play it.”

With a huff, she got to her feet.  “I see we’ll have to work on that.”  She leaned against him, making sure she was pressing herself against him.  “Don’t worry; I’ve got plenty of time to make sure you know where you belong.”  She broke off from him and waved goodbye as she headed into the school.  “See you later, teach!” 

Sighing, he walked into the school to begin getting ready for his classes.  But as he entered the faculty office, his phone went off.  “Yeah, this is Sable,” he said.

“Mr. Loam?  This is Troubleshoes, from Hard Luck Auto?  About your Jeep….”

He sighed.  “Let me guess: car’s a goner and there’s no way it’s recoverable, is it?”

“I’m afraid not, unless you want to pay $5000 or so for an entirely new engine.  And even then, given the age of the car, it’s only going to last maybe another 25—30 thousand until you’re looking at replacing the transmission.”

Sable couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Great.  What am I going to do with it?”

“I have contacts at Purple Heart Veterans Car Donation Service, if you’re willing.  They take cars and fix them up for vets who have issues.  Medical, mental, that sort of thing.”

Sable himself was a veteran; he had more than enough old buddies that had been injured back in Afghanistan and Iraq.  “Sure, just let me know what I need to do and I’ll be happy to do that.”

“No problem.  I’ll contact them and have them call you tomorrow. You’ll need your title information as well as some other things, but it won’t take long.”

“No problem.  Thanks again.  How much do I owe you?”

“Not a thing, man.  I don’t charge fellow vets for things like that.”

“So you were in?” Sable asked, glad that his hunches were still good.

“Yeah.  SEAL Team FOUR.  Did some time in the First Gulf War and Somalia.  You?”

“Ranger.  Did my thing in Afghanistan.”

“Well, as I said, it’s a pleasure to help a fellow vet.  Anyway, I’ll get them in touch for you.  Talk to you later.”

“Yeah, thanks again,” Sable said in a dejected tone as he hung up.  He actually did appreciate what Troubleshoes had done for him, but damn if he was going to miss that Jeep.  Well, if I’m getting serious, I suppose I was going to have to upgrade to an SUV for family life sooner or later, he sighed.  May as well do it now.  Of course, that also means….

He started dialing Celestia.  He was not happy about this. 





Since tonight was a definite workout night with the triplets, the four of them went at it in the basement training room of Sunset’s family mansion.  This time it was disadvantaged attacks, where they had to defend themselves while debilitated in some manner or form.  Sunset was there, and with her spellcraft, she’d temporarily blinded Adagio, given Aria vertigo until she could barely stand, and Sonata had one arm completely immobilized and with the equivalent of serious injury to her right leg.  And with that, he then attacked the three, mercilessly, physically and with every intent to deliver brutal blows.

The three of them, unsurprisingly, made the best of their situations; and it was clear that they’d had this training before in the “time that was no longer”. Their new reality had only slightly dulled said skills: Adagio was reacting slower than he’d seen her do in the past, but against someone who wasn’t as well trained as he was, she would have defended herself and possibly even overcome her opponent.  Sonata tried to outlast him and even though she couldn’t do it, again, against a lesser skilled opponent, she probably would have succeeded as well.  But Aria managed to surprise him the most.  Nauseous from the spell, she’d actually managed to vomit on him and, with him surprised and disgusted by the distraction, he fell prey to her trap.  She’d then swept his legs and pinned him, much to the surprise of the other two.

Finally, Sunset looked at her phone.  “Time, folks.  I’m dissipating the spells.”

“Oh, thank God!” Aria said.  “I think I was tasting last week’s lunch at one point.”

“I think you added it to the design pattern on our uniforms, Commander,” Sable noted wryly as he watched cyan magic make the offending fluids vanish from his shirt, much to his relief.

Aria blushed.  “Sorry about that, sir.”

“No, don’t be. You did what you had to do to survive—all three of you did, and I have a feeling that if your old sœurs were here, they’d say the same thing.”  The three of them beamed at that and he smiled a little inside; he knew he could never take the place of their older sister/mother figures, but he would do the best that he could. “Well, that’s more than enough for tonight. Go ahead and pack up while I talk to Her Highness here.”

“Aye, sir,” all three girls said while Sable led Sunset away.


The two stepped a decent bit away before Sable spoke. “Any questions you have, Your Highness?”

“No, but I wish you’d stop calling me that,” she told him.

“Sorry, but those are the rules while we are on duty, and those are what you agreed to,” he reminded her. “We are here to protect you and we cannot be in that mindset if we keep thinking of you as the triplets’ cousin and my girlfriend’s former student. A certain level of detachment is required and that’s the best way to do it.”

“I understand that,” Sunset sighed. “It’s just that my mother—my biological mother—was never comfortable with that and I guess I picked that up from her.  In any case, I do have a question: I need your bank’s routing number and your checking account info so I can wire you the money.”

“Now it’s my turn to be uncomfortable about that, Ms. Shimmer,” he told her.

“Yes, but as a princess I need to ensure that my subjects and my guards are well taken care of,” she said.  “A certain level of attachment is required and that’s the best way to do it.”

“Touché,” he responded with a faint smile. “I just hope the triplets are ready for your upcoming trip to Equestria.  Unfortunately, because I need to look for a new car, I can’t go with you four, so I hope they’ll acquit themselves accordingly.”

“I have no doubt they will, Admiral,” she told him.  “They don’t want to let you down.” 

Sable smiled. He knew he would never replace their sœurs, but looking at the triplets as they packed up—exhausted, but smiling—Sable started to think that those shoes might not be too big for him to fill after all. 





But by the time Sable arrived home that night all he felt was exhausted. This was compounded by the fact that he still had a veritable mountain of papers left to grade. He found Celestia asleep on the couch in front of some sitcom autoplaying episode after episode on Netflix.  She was wearing the black, lacey nightgown she knew he liked, evidently hoping for a little intimate time when he got home, but must have fallen asleep waiting for him. Seeing it was almost midnight, Sable realized tonight’s training session had gone on later than he thought.

Celestia stirred when he turned off the TV, and Sable gave her a “Hey,” and a peck on the cheek.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Late. You should get to bed if you want to make that eight o’clock meeting you have tomorrow.”

Celestia seemed inclined to push on her original plans for the evening but an untimely yawn shut that down. So she got up from the couch and started making her way to the bedroom, but paused when she noticed Sable wasn’t following her.

“Aren’t you coming to bed? I thought you had a first-period class tomorrow.”

“Yep,” Sable said as he went to the kitchen to put on a fresh pot of coffee for the long night still ahead. “Which is why I need to get these papers graded before then.”

Sable knew that his girlfriend would understand more than most the grim necessity of late night grading sessions. So he was surprised to see her standing in the kitchen doorway looking concerned.

“Are you sure you’re up to this, Sable?” she asked. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone lately. You essentially have two full-time jobs now, and from what you’ve told me, you have yet to even start most of your duties as the admiral of Sunset’s guards.”

“I’ll manage. I’m ex-military, remember? I’ve been trained to operate on minimal sleep.”

The frown on Celestia’s face didn’t leave. “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. I’m the biggest workaholic I know and I think this is unhealthy. Can’t you talk to Sunset?”

Sable found himself raising his voice as he said, “About what, Tia? Should I ask her to just snap her fingers and make all my work disappear?!”

Rather than flinch back, Celestia met his raised voice with her own. “How about seeing if she can delegate some of your work?” 

“To who? It’s just the four of us right now!”

“Talk to Sunset about hiring someone. God knows she can afford to!” Celestia argued passionately, true to her Italian heritage. “Surely you’ve got some old war buddy who could use the paycheck?”

Sable knew he probably could have made use of a master chief petty officer—someone who could take full responsibility for actually training the triplets and, eventually, the rest of the new SIREN recruits. But there was just one problem with that.

“And won’t that be a great pitch? ‘Hey man, I know we haven’t spoken in years but how’d you like a job in a magical unicorn’s personal army operating illegally on US soil?’ I’m sure that won’t go terribly at all!” Finally, Sable heard himself and sighed. His voice was much more subdued as he said, “I’m sorry, Tia. I know you’re just trying to help. I’m not mad at you.”

Celestia seemed ready enough to accept the apology, as she went over to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a tender kiss.

“I know. You’re still upset about your Jeep, aren’t you?”

Sable nodded. “It’s not gonna be salvageable. That Troubleshoes guy is going to donate it on my behalf tomorrow.”

Celestia winced. “Sorry to hear that. What’s he charging you?”

“Nothing. He’s calling it a favor from one vet to another.”

“Well, that’s awfully kind of him.”

Sable nodded. It was then that he remembered what Sombra had said when he first recommended him. As good as he is, he’s… unlucky. Something tells me he needs the business.

“I think I’ll try to make it up to him somehow. At the very least I’ll buy him a drink or something.”





Troubleshoes Clyde was an early bird. Always was. But the apparent customer banging on his door at eight in the morning was pushing the limits of his patience. Grumbling, he stood from his kitchen table, abandoning his toast with peanut butter and descending the stairs to his workshop.

“Business hours start at nine!” He called out as he made his way towards the front door.

A familiar voice called back, “Even for old war buddies?” and Troubleshoes’s heart sank into his chest a little.

Troubleshoes turned the lock and removed the deadbolt (a necessity in Sunnytown) to a troublingly familiar man in a dark jacket and fedora wearing a red scarf around his neck. Troubling because he knew there was only one reason for the broad-shouldered man to be here.

“What are you doing here, Biff?” Troubleshoes asked anyway, holding onto the slim hope that it was only a social call.

Hardy Biff frowned, looking genuinely upset. “C’mon, Big T… not even a ‘hello’? After everything we went through in Somalia?”

“Look, I’m sorry Biff, I don’t mean to be rude, but I can venture a guess why you’re here and my answer is gonna be no,” Troubleshoes said, hoping he’d managed to muster a deadly serious look through his tired eyes. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“I know how you feel about what we do, man. Believe me, I’ve tried to convince the Boss Man to let your little debt go, but you know how he is….”

Biff let the thought hang there for a moment, the message ringing loud and clear.

“Tell you what,” Biff continued, “why don’t you come out and take a look at it? Just so you know what you’d be working with.”

Troubleshoes had half a mind to tell him off and slam the door, but the other half then reminded him of his brief encounter with the Boss Man in question, and before he knew it Troubleshoes found himself following Biff outside and around the back of Hard Luck Auto. Biff led him towards a black SUV; a Mercedes Benz GLC. Its windows were tinted and at a glance, Troubleshoes couldn’t see anything wrong with it.

He could tell there was probably something wrong with the man leaning against the vehicle, though. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but Troubleshoes could see the madness in them from his smile alone. The man pushed off the SUV when he saw Biff and Troubleshoes coming and brushed a hand through well-styled black bangs.

“Man, you weren’t kidding about this guy, Biff,” said the man, regarding Troubleshoes with an impressed whistle. “You’ve been eating your Wheaties, huh?”

The sigh from Biff told Troubleshoes everything he needed to know. “Troubleshoes, this is my associate Coarse Withers,” Biff said. “Withers, this is my old buddy Troubleshoes Clyde.”

Troubleshoes extended the barest of his courtesy with his open hand, and Withers took it with gusto. He had a surprisingly strong grip for a man of his slender build. “Pleasure’s all mine, Big T!”

Even behind those shades, Troubleshoes could feel Withers’s eyes flick up and down his body with apparent excitement, and whatever intent was behind the look made him uneasy.

“His personality takes some getting used to but he’s handy in a fight,” Biff said amicably enough. Perhaps he picked up on Troubleshoes’s discomfort.

“So what seems to be the problem?” Troubleshoes asked, hoping to speed things along.

Biff and Withers walked with him to the other side of the SUV where the problem immediately became apparent. The driver side window was completely shattered, and on the door right below it was more than a few 10mm holes.

“Druggie bastard got the jump on us as we were pulling up to their hideout,” Withers explained. “But don’t worry, I made sure to wipe up his brain matter for you. Let it not be said I don’t clean up after myself!”

“So, what do you think?” Biff asked, clearly making an effort to ignore Withers. “This seem within your capabilities?”

“I’d have to order a new door frame and window from Mercedes…” Troubleshoes muttered.

Troubleshoes still wasn’t sure he wanted to be involved in whatever this was, and Biff must have picked up on that.

“Look, you do this for us and I’ll make sure the Bloodhound considers your debt paid,” he said. “I’ll even cover the costs of the new parts myself. Believe it or not, our friendship still means something to me, man.”

Letting out a long sigh, Troubleshoes relented. “Fine, but after this I’m done!”

For a moment Biff looked at him sadly, then with a shrug he said, “Of course,” and that was that. 

He and Withers then went with Troubleshoes inside where they filled out the paperwork (using different names) and just like that, the deal was made. Troubleshoes let them indulge in small talk a little while longer to keep relations friendly, but when it started getting closer to nine o’clock he ushered them out.

“You made the right choice today, Big Boy,” Withers said as he lingered at the door. “Remember, you’ve gotta be thinking of more than just yourself. There’s your little girl to consider… and her little girl.”

How does he know about Tirespin? Troubleshoes thought as he narrowed his eyes. “What about them?” he asked, giving his carefully neutral voice a hint of danger.

Withers smirked with almost childlike glee. “You provide for ‘em, don’t you? Just sayin’. We all wanna make sure those girls have a bright future ahead of them, right?”

Withers left him with that thought, and Troubleshoes watched him and Biff drive off in a second (undamaged) SUV. Troubleshoes wasn’t sure how long he stood there with the cold pit in his stomach. His senses only returned when the first customer of the day came in saying he looked under the weather. Troubleshoes just said that yeah, he probably was.
> 2 - Lessons Learned
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day came and went relatively quickly for Sable Loam. Just like Troubleshoes had said, Sable got a call from the Purple Heart Veterans’ Car Donation Service on his lunch hour and Sable gave them all of the required information (again, just like Troubleshoes had said, it didn’t take long at all). When all was said and done, the guy on the other end of the line told him they’d pick it up from his mechanic that evening, and that was that.

Something about the whole thing just didn’t sit right with him. It occurred to Sable then that he’d left a bunch of his stuff in the Jeep. Of course, most of it was pretty replaceable (the most important things he had in it were his phone charger and a reusable water bottle), but that wasn’t the only reason Sable felt unsatisfied with how everything turned out. He’d bought that Jeep when he got out, and it had been by his side ever since.

So before he knew it, Sable had called Troubleshoes, and after giving him the rundown, asked, “So would you mind if I came by?”

At that, Troubleshoes had given an amicable laugh. “Not at all. I left everything inside the vehicle as is. Truth be told, kinda forgot about it when I got in touch with the donation people. Come on by whenever you like.”

Now, Sable stood in the lot at Hard Luck Towing. The ride sharing app that Celestia had recommended got him here quickly enough when he was finished work for the day, and Troubleshoes had been helping another customer when Sable arrived. So, after silently taking his key fob (which Troubleshoes had wordlessly placed on the counter as soon as he saw Sable come in) Sable wandered out to the lot by himself and soon enough was able to find the old gal.

It still looked as good as he remembered it, with only the smallest of dents next to the driver’s side door (let it never be said Sable didn’t take good care of her). It looked so pristine, it was hard to believe that Sable would never drive it again. Unlocking the door, Sable gathered all of his leftover things from the cup holders and the glove box and put them in his bag. He sat there in the driver’s seat a little bit longer when he was done, relishing his final moments behind the wheel. Then he turned to head back to the mechanic shop.

As he did so he spotted something curious: a surprisingly nice black Mercedes SUV with a broken window and a few small holes Sable immediately recognized as bullet holes. He found himself wandering closer, taking a good hard look at the holes to see whether he could tell what caliber the bullets had been. 

Is this guy involved with gangs, or something? he wondered before dismissing the thought; Troubleshoes didn’t seem to be the type. The vehicle probably just belonged to some unlucky customer not used to the area (the vehicle itself was certainly too nice to belong to any of the local gangs). Depending on where you parked in Sunnytown, having your car be collateral damage to a shootout wasn’t unheard of.

Come to think of it, the fact that they’re having it repaired here in Sunnytown instead of some garage in Northside, Bella Vista or San Palomino probably confirms that, he mentally added.  He hadn’t been in Canterlot long, but he’d been here long enough to get the meaning of the local phrase, “Go south, get burned by the Sun.”

Already forgetting about the damaged SUV, Sable made his way back into the building. He found Troubleshoes handing off a set of keys to a very grateful-looking customer. That kind of smile on the other man’s face was rare in Sunnytown; evidently Troubleshoes was a lifesaver to more than just Sable. The big man in question smiled when he saw Sable come in.

“Hey man, you do what you need to do?” Troubleshoes asked.

“Yeah,” Sable answered. “Just wanted to thank you again for everything you’ve done.”

Troubleshoes just shrugged. “Was nothin’, man.”

“No really. You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty with this. Especially seeing as you haven’t charged me for it.” 

“Well, I wanted to. Us vets gotta look out for each other, right? Hey, you want a cookie before you go?”

“A cookie?”

Troubleshoes gestured to the counter, where Sable noticed a moderately sized plate of what appeared to be homemade cookies were sitting with a layer of plastic wrap over them. 

“My Ma lives just a couple of blocks away, and she sometimes likes to stop by with a batch,” Troubleshoes said with a chuckle. “Even after all these years, she’s afraid I’m gonna go hungry if she’s not always feeding me. Naturally I can never finish ‘em myself, so I leave them out for the customers.”

Sable looked at the plate. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had homemade cookies.

“Go on, take one,” Troubleshoes insisted. “They’re just gonna go to waste otherwise.”

Sable relented and took one of the chocolate chip cookies out from under the clear plastic wrap. It was perfect; warm, soft, chewy and incredibly sweet. Sable nodded and grunted his approval.

“That’s the general consensus, yeah,” Troubleshoes laughed.

Suffice to say, it didn’t take long for Sable to finish it off, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to say no when Troubleshoes told him to “take a few for the road.” Even so, a slight feeling of guilt still nagged at him. I leave them out for the customers, Troubleshoes had said, and if he was being pedantic, Sable wasn’t actually a paying customer.

“You’ve gotta let me do something to make up for your trouble,” Sable found himself saying. “We should go out for drinks sometime. I’ll buy us a round.”

Troubleshoes shook his head. “I don’t drink.”

“Hmm. Lunch then; on me. A new diner opened up near where I work. Actually looks decent by Sunnytown standards. I’ve been meaning to give it a try.”

“You don’t have to make up for anything, man.”

“I know, but I want to,” Sable said. He then thought to add, “Us vets gotta look out for each other right?”

Troubleshoes was quiet for a moment before saying, “Ah, what the hell. It’s been too long since I got to just sit down and shoot the shit with another vet.”

“There you go! Lunchtime tomorrow work?”

“Sure thing.”

After hashing out the details, Sable gave his adieu and headed back outside, where he started to text Celestia on the off chance she was on her way out of the office. He was surprised at just how delighted he was at the prospect of his lunch tomorrow. Something about it just felt...right; like some invisible force (like magic) was pulling him this way.





“I have to say, I think it’s nice that you’ve made a friend!” Celestia exclaimed in a half-teasing tone as she drove along the next morning.

Sable, who had been looking out the window at the rundown buildings of Sunnytown from his spot in the passenger seat, turned to look at her. “I don’t think this is going to be a regular thing. This is just me repaying a little kindness. I doubt I’ll even see Troubleshoes again after today.”

“That’s a pity. It seems you haven’t gotten to hang out with any of your old military buddies for a very long time. Outside of the ones you work with at the Blanks, anyway, and even then you only hang out with Sombra.”

“Yeah, things have just been too busy lately,” Sable said, thinking over his plans for tonight’s planned training session with the triplets.

Celestia glanced over at him after they stopped at a red light and based on the open concern in her eyes, Sable thought he knew what she was going to again suggest. Apparently she thought better of it and simply said, “Welcome to getting older. I can’t even remember the last time I was able to have a simple night out with my friends.” Celestia then sighed. “I have so many meetings today I probably won’t even have time for a proper lunch.”

Sable nodded and grunted in sympathy. She was working so hard as a superintendent, and here she was still driving him to work every morning. I don’t deserve her.

In a few more minutes their car turned a corner and the bland, featureless walls of the Blanks came into view. As they pulled up to the curb by the entrance, Sable looked out the passenger side window to see Tirespin standing there with another cleavage-showing top. She was alone, like a predator lying in wait. The moment she spotted her prey, she smiled and pretended to adjust her top so she could fondle herself just a little.

Sable paid her no mind, instead turning to his girlfriend. “Hey,” he said, and before Celestia could get out a reply he pulled her into a deep kiss. Celestia returned it eagerly enough, and Sable poured every ounce of love and adoration into it, gently caressing her face as they parted.

“Have I told you yet just how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me these past few days?” he said.

Celestia smiled. “You don’t have to.”

“Of course I do. And I promise I’ll make it up to you soon.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to whatever you have planned!” Celestia said, giving him a shorter but no less passionate kiss. “Now go on before you make me late!”

Sable did just that, saying his final goodbye of the day as he got his bag out from the back seat. He lingered on the sidewalk there to watch his favorite woman in the world drive off, then turned toward the school, bracing himself for whatever tactless come-on Tirespin had waiting in the wings.

But to his surprise, Tirespin wasn’t standing where she had been a minute ago. Instead the girl was simply gone, and Sable wondered for a moment whether he’d even seen her there at all. So shaking the cobwebs from his head, Sable went inside to prepare for his first class.

Said first class went by relatively uneventfully―he had given a particularly troublesome student named Garble detention for the third time that week―but after first period classes were over, Sable got an unexpected visitor in the form of Red Horse. 

The orange-haired woman was short and stocky, and had been a USAF engineer before getting her job as the Blanks’ shop class teacher. Despite being a general hardass (a necessity at the Blanks) she was probably one of the most invested teachers at this school, and it showed. More than a few of even the most troubled students at the Blanks had grown comfortable enough to confide in her.

“Hey Sable, got a sec?” Red Horse asked.

“Sure. What’s on your mind, Red?”

Sable could see the look of open concern in her eyes as she asked, “You haven’t seen Tirespin at all today, have you?”

Clearing his throat, Sable asked in turn, “Why are you asking me? She’s not in any of my classes.”

Red Horse glanced out towards the hallway before saying, “Look, she told me how she feels about you. And before you ask, no, I didn’t say anything to anyone about it because I know you’re an honorable man who would never take her up on any offer she’d give you.”

“You’re damn right.”

“Yeah,” Red Horse said, a blush creeping onto her face as she said. “Plus, I may have been creeping on some of the photos on your girlfriend’s social media pages, and hoo boy you’d need to be a goddamn supermodel to be able to compete with that! Uh… any chance she’d be into women, by the by? Because if things don’t happen to work out between you two….”

Sable folded his arms. Despite her many virtues, Red Horse had her vices; she was probably more of a womanizer than most men Sable knew. 

“How about you just focus on what you came here to ask me about?” Sable suggested.

“Right. Thing is, Tirespin didn’t show up to my shop class this morning. That’s never happened before.”

“Hmm… I’m pretty sure I got a glimpse of her when I arrived this morning.”

The worry in Red Horse’s voice was palpable as she asked, “And did she seem… upset when you saw her?”

“Upset?” The image of a coy grin and a hand on a breast flashed in Sable’s mind. “No, can’t say she looked upset. Why?”

“Well, I passed her in the hall as I was heading to the shop classroom,” Red Horse said. “It looked like she was crying.”





As the clock drew closer to noon, Troubleshoes found himself looking forward to his lunch with the ex-Ranger Sable Loam. Having finished all the bodywork he’d wanted to do that morning early, Troubleshoes had taken one of the cookies from the front desk (they were still good, despite being colder and harder than they were yesterday when they were fresh) and gone to the back office. There he went about the tedious and more often than not depressing task of managing his business finances. 

It wasn’t always down to just him to work the finances. His mother, Down Luck, used to help him with a lot of it, just like she’d done for his father, Hard Luck, before he’d passed away. But his mother wasn’t as sharp as she used to be. It wasn’t that she had full on Alzheimer's (not yet anyway), but she’d been forgetting more and more over the last year, and with all she was doing to help Tirespin, Troubleshoes had decided the family business’s finances could be one less burden for her. 

They were tight, as they were every year, but multiple breakdowns of equipment along with severe water damage from the freak tropical storm that had come through during the summer had eaten significantly into his budget. He wasn’t sure how he would keep in business without either taking out a loan, or selling the business. Neither option was particularly good: the money-lending in this town was a goddamn extortion racket, and selling Hard Luck Towing was a temporary solution at best. His humble family business wasn’t exactly going to sell for much, not here in Sunnytown, anyway; plus, there was no guarantee he would be lucky enough to find another job that would pay well enough to support himself, his daughter, and her daughter.

His granddaughter. Now there was a thought that Troubleshoes still had to get used to.

All things considered, Troubleshoes wasn’t exactly unhappy to have a granddaughter. Yes, he wasn’t happy with how careless his daughter had been, and the two of them had had plenty of fights on the subject, but it wasn’t all bad. Little Cinnamon Breeze was almost the cutest little thing he’d ever seen: the only thing rivaling her being Tirespin herself when she was a baby, innocent and perfect. Too bad they don’t stay that way forever.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ring of the bell at the front desk, and looking at the clock, Troubleshoes figured it was probably the customer whose red Plymouth was ready for pickup that morning. So, putting on his “friendly mechanic face”, Troubleshoes went out to greet him.

The friendly mechanic disappeared when Troubleshoes got out and saw that the man waiting for him wasn’t the customer he was expecting, but a familiar sadistic face behind a pair of dark shades. Withers smiled at him as he took a bite of one of his mother’s cookies, which bothered Troubleshoes more than it should have.

“Hey there, Big T,” Withers greeted around a mouthful of cookie, before moaning almost orgasmically. “Mmm, this is some good shit.” He took another bite, not bothering to finish chewing before speaking. “My compliments to the chef.”

Troubleshoes saw the intimidation tactic for what it was, and was having none of it. “What do you want, Withers?” Curiously, Troubleshoes didn’t see Biff with him.

Withers finally swallowed the cookie in his mouth. “Oh, just checkin’ on how our car is doing.”

“It’s barely been a day, Withers. I haven’t even had time to order the replacement parts.”

“It’s not your productivity I’m concerned about, Big T,” Withers said, somehow making his shit-eating grin actually look serious. “It’s your discretion.”

Troubleshoes furrowed his brow, and seeing his apparent confusion, Withers reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tablet. With a few taps he pulled up a somewhat grainy photo and showed it to Troubleshoes. Immediately Troubleshoes recognized the lot of Hard Luck Towing, and spotted the SUV Withers and Biff had dropped off the day before. But Withers pointed a finger at the familiar man in the picture who seemed to be studying the bullet-riddled side of the SUV with interest.

“Who’s he?” Withers asked, calmly studying Troubleshoes from behind those dark sunglasses.

Troubleshoes just glared at him. “You been spying on me?”

“You’re under surveillance, yes. Sorry, Bloodhound’s orders.” Withers chewed his lip in a salacious manner. “Well, that and I like watching you work.”

Troubleshoes reflexively cracked his knuckles as Withers continued, gesturing again to the man in the picture. “Now, about this fine specimen. He’s not really my type, but he sure looks fit, huh?” Withers gave him a significant look. “Almost military fit, wouldn’t you say?”

The only thing Troubleshoes gave him was a harder glare. 

“So I’ll ask again: who is he?” Withers asked, almost jealously.

“A customer,” Troubleshoes answered, perhaps a little harshly, but he didn’t care. “And yes, he’s ex-military but he’s not a threat to you. Guy’s a teacher at a goddamn high school, for Christ’s sake!”

Withers raised his hands defensively, but still smiled that slimy smile. “Whoa, lay off the throttle a little, Big T. Just lookin’ out for your safety is all! Wouldn’t wanna lead any of the people we pissed off to you, after all!”

“If you want to do me a favor, take the veiled threats and creepy attitude and leave me to work on your damn vehicle!”

“Oof. I’m picking up a lotta hostility from you, Big T.” Withers frowned and tilted his head like a confused puppy. “You don’t like me, do you?”

Troubleshoes folded his arms and said, “Pssh, picked up on that, did you?”

“Why not?” Withers asked, leaning casually on the counter and licking his lips. “I like you.”

“You really want to know why I don’t like you?” Troubleshoes asked, stepping around the counter so he was fronting on the shorter man. “Because I knew plenty of punks like you when I was training as a SEAL. Thought they were such hot shit. Couldn’t wait to put some bullets into ‘those Muslim towelheads’, quote-unquote. You know what happened to them? They couldn’t make the cut. Didn’t have what it took to even survive training, much less make it to BUD/S.

“Not like me. I passed with flying fucking colors and have done shit that our government likely won’t let me talk about for as long as I live.” Troubleshoes then jabbed a large finger into Withers’s chest. “So you get the fuck out of my shop, and you tell the Bloodhound that if he wants to intimidate me, send someone with an actual bite to go along with all the barking!”

For a moment, Troubleshoes could see over the top of Withers’s shades and saw a look of genuine fury in his eyes so psychotic that Troubleshoes adjusted his stance ever so slightly, just in case. Instead, the much more familiar cocky smile formed on Withers’s face as quickly as if a switch had been flipped, and something about that was even more disturbing.

“Alright. I see how it is,” Withers said, taking a step back towards the door. “Seems to me that if we’re going to have a successful working relationship, I’m going to have to teach you some lessons in respect!”

“I’m about to teach you a lesson right now unless you get the fuck out.”

“And I will. But I want you to keep a close eye out for my first lesson.” Withers grinned as he opened the door. “You’ll know it when you see it.”





Before Sable Loam knew it, lunch period had arrived, and he went out to the curb where Troubleshoes was to pick him up for their lunch. He wasn’t alone. A particularly troublesome pest called Tirespin had stalked him through the halls and outside. Likely she thought herself unseen by the man, but Sable had enough experience to know when he was being followed.

“Have something you want to say, Tirespin?” he asked without even looking back at her.

His well-trained ears detected a slight hesitation in her footsteps before she answered, “Oh I have a few things I wanna say, teach!” Tirespin walked around the larger man so she was standing in front of him, and glared at him with such fury in her eyes Sable almost couldn’t see the pain buried there. Almost. “The first of which is you’re a fucking bastard piece of shit!”

Sable let out a patient breath. “Okay. And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?”

With a bitterly disdainful “pfft,” Tirespin said, “As if you don’t know. What kind of man just leads a girl on only to break her heart like that?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tirespin pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I saw you making out with that woman who dropped you off this morning!”

“You mean my girlfriend?” Sable calmly asked, his blaise attitude seeming to make Tirespin even angrier. “The girlfriend I told you about when you made your first inappropriate pass at me?”

Tirespin fumed for another moment when she finally latched onto the inconsistency she believed would give her the upper hand.

“I thought you said she was your fiancèe?”

Well, she’s got me there, Sable thought before saying, “We’re serious enough that she may as well be. It’s only a matter of time before one of us pops the question.” Sable elected not to mention exactly how much time that would be, however.

“I can’t believe I thought I had a chance with you!” Tirespin exclaimed.

“You have no one to blame for that but yourself.”

With a petulant stomp, Tirespin cried, “Ugh, you are such an asshole! You and that pastel-haired bimbo! How many other guys you think she’s bending over for other than you? Girl like that probably gets plenty on the side!”

Sable folded his arms, bringing out the stern glare of the hardass teacher. “Tirespin, all things considered I have been exceptionally patient with your antics these past few days,” Sable said, his voice taking a dark tone that made whatever Tirespin was about to say next die in her throat. “But even my patience has its limits, and I’m very close to reaching those limits now.” Sable held up a finger. “One more piece of attitude from you and you’ll be having a nice long chat with the principal.”

For a moment, Tirespin seemed unsure of what to say next, and for a brief moment Sable thought the matter was settled.

“Good!” Tirespin exclaimed, trying to maintain some of her cool. “Maybe I’ll tell him all about our loving relationship. Let him know how you bent me over your desk and plowed me like an animal!”

“I really hope you’re not trying to blackmail me, Tirespin,” Sable said, his hard glare unflinching. “You should know from experience, that would only end in your expulsion from this school.”

The E-word made Tirespin momentarily go pale, but she pressed on, though less surely than before. “It’d be my word against yours.”

“And Sombra has known me for years. He also knows an incident just like this is what got you sent here in the first place.” Sable’s look finally softened as he said, “C’mon Tires. Way I hear it you were on the path to making a better life for yourself. Don’t make the same mistakes again.” He then added for good measure, “Think of your daughter.”

What was left of the calculating seductress Sable had seen over the past few days had completely evaporated. In her place was something vastly different and far more honest: a child throwing a tantrum. 

“And what the fuck do you know about that, huh?! Nothing! You’re just another old fuck who thinks he knows what’s best for me when he can’t even get his own life together!” Tirespin raised a middle finger which Sable noticed was shaking. “Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!”

“TIRES!” A booming voice called out. Both Sable and Tirespin turned to see the towering figure of Troubleshoes get out of a simple sedan without turning off the engine.

“The hell are you doing here?” Tirespin said in a tone of icy disdain far more vitriolic—far more familiar—than the pained rage she’d been hurling at Sable.

“What am I doing here?!” Troubleshoes asked, stomping forward and grabbing the girl by the arm. “What are you doing here? Because it looks to me like you were cussing out one of your teachers!”

“It’s none of your Goddamn business.”

“Like hell it is!” Troubleshoes exclaimed, shaking her a little before letting go. “I didn’t raise you to act out like this!”

“You’re right—you barely raised me at all!”

Sable could only step back and watch as this verbal sparring match between apparent father and daughter unfolded. And doesn’t that just explain a few things?

“How would you like to be grounded, young lady?” Troubleshoes said.

Tirespin just waved a hand dismissively. “Sorry, you gotta be an actual parent to me to do that!”


The barb clearly stung, but Troubleshoes did a damn good job at not letting it show. “Think about how disappointed Gram-Gram would be at your behavior. She really believes you’ve turned your life around, Tires.”

Some of the wind went out of the girl’s sails at that, and Sable decided to interject with what he hoped would put an end to the confrontation.

“I’m going to have a little talk with Principal Sombra after classes today about your future at this school,” he said sternly. “If I were you, I’d be on my best behavior from now on.”

The thought of actually getting expelled seemed to deflate her all the more, and Tirespin looked between the two authority figures flanking her both verbally and physically. “Fine,” she finally said, barely above a whisper. Sparing one final stinkeye at her father, Tirespin turned and trudged back toward the school, fully looking the part of the dejected child she really was.

Sable looked over at Troubleshoes, who watched her go with sad eyes and an unguarded frown. “Sorry about her,” he said. “She hasn’t been causing you too much trouble, has she?”

“She’s far from the worst troublemaker at this school,” Sable said diplomatically.

Troubleshoes nodded. “Fair enough. Wanna get going?”

Sable affirmed that he did, and the two of them climbed into Troubleshoes’s brown sedan. Apparently a Cadillac dating back to the 80s, the vehicle looked old but was very functional, and the gray seats were surprisingly soft. As they pulled away from the curb, Sable thought to ask, “So, has your daughter always been this… volatile?”

“No, she really only started around when I got out,” Troubleshoes explained. “Truth be told, part of me thinks she has every right to hate me.”

“Don’t see how that could be true. Seems like you love her very much, in spite of how she’s been acting.”

“Remember when I told you I don’t drink?” Troubleshoes asked, and Sable nodded. “Didn’t always used to be that way.”

Troubleshoes said nothing more, and that was fine by Sable. He briefly entertained the idea of asking where the mother was in all of this, but ultimately decided not to pry. Besides, the context clues alone told Sable all he needed to know.

It was a few minutes later when they pulled into the modest little parking lot of Windmills Diner and Bakery.

“Huh…” Troubleshoes said as he looked up at the replica of an old Dutch windmill built on top of what was otherwise a normal looking diner.

“Yeah, apparently it’s a retraux of an old restaurant chain that went bankrupt in the seventies,” Sable explained as the two of them got out of the car.

“Interesting,” Troubleshoes said, before grinning. “Did Don Quixote put them out of business?”

That got a laugh out of Sable and the two of them headed inside. After sitting down at a table and getting their menus, Troubleshoes asked Sable if he had any good stories from Afghanistan. The image of a child’s body briefly flashed through Sable’s mind before he pushed it out. He decided to go for something considerably less maudlin. 

“Well, let’s see… oh!” Sable chuckled at the memory before sharing it. “Early in my career I was in Baghdad. We were on maneuvers going through the desert, and I was riding in the back of a BFV. Less than forty minutes away from base, we crested a hill and I hear the TC say, ‘Look out for that…’ WHUMP!” Sable slammed the table before continuing as the TC, “‘Ah, never mind….’”

“Oh no…” Troubleshoes muttered.

“Turns out there was a nomad walking down the road, and we’d just steamrolled several of his goats. I hear the driver ask, ‘Should we stop?’ and the TC replies in the most exasperated tone, ‘Just keep going.’”

“Jesus,” Troubleshoes said with a chuckle.

“Oh, the vehicle was a goddamn mess. The front and sides were painted red, and guess which rookie had to clean it?”

With another laugh, Troubleshoes said, “That’s pretty funny.”

“I sure didn’t think so at the time,” Sable chuckled. “How about you? Navy SEAL. Must have something interesting that isn’t classified.”

“Actually, I do have one that’s pretty good, so long as you don’t mind it being a little raunchy,” Troubleshoes said. Sable gave him a deadpan look that said he was far from minding, and Troubleshoes began.

“Also early in my career, a buddy and I were on leave in Turkey―keep in mind this is back when the country was not nearly as radicalized as it is now. Anyway, we’d been in the hump for months, so the first thing we wanted to do was go somewhere to get some decent beers, chow, and sleep.”

“Of course,” Sable said with an understanding nod. 

“We talked to some of the guys at the local USAF base―I think it was Agana? It’s been a while, I can’t remember. Anyway, we get recommended a good bar and restaurant and head straight over there. Now, what the guys didn’t tell us was that this place had a reputation: namely, that it was a popular spot for us enlisted men because the waitresses were all desperately broke, horny Turkish college girls on the hunt for an American boyfriend. My friend and I figured that out the moment we walked in, when half a dozen hungry eyes immediately zeroed in on us. What was more, the restaurant was completely dead. We were probably the first customers they had in hours.”

Sable chuckled, having a pretty good idea where this story was going.

“So we sit down, order some steaks, and the girls immediately got to work trying their damndest to get me and my friend’s attention. Now, I was engaged to my fiancèe back home at the time, and made damn sure they knew it. Naturally, that meant their attention immediately focused on my very single friend. And when I say attention, I mean hard core attention. 

“These girls are all over him. Climbing onto his lap, fondling themselves, opening their tops. One even climbed onto the goddamn table we were eating off of to pose for the guy, who for his part was just trying to have his surf and turf.”

“You’re shitting me,” Sable said in disbelief.

Troubleshoes chuckled. “I swear, I would have thought I was watching a bad porno if it weren’t for the fact that this was literally happening in front of me. Every girl in that bar was doing everything to get my friend’s attention… except for one, who just kept to herself by the bar. Well, when it came time to leave, my friend decided he was gonna take one of these girls home with him. So he walks past the half-dozen girls with their tits out and asks the one by herself at the bar… and she says yes. 

“The other girls are furious. They’ve put in all this work to get his attention and the one girl who barely does anything gets picked. I ask him as we’re leaving ‘Why her?’ and he tells me, ‘She’s the only one who let me eat my fucking dinner in peace.’”

Sable burst out laughing, and Troubleshoes couldn’t help but join in despite having clearly told the story countless times before. The two men suddenly heard someone clearing their throat, and turned to see their waitress standing there with their meals. The round older woman placed their plates on the table with a look that was decidedly less friendly than the one she gave them when they first came in, and Sable wondered how much of the story she’d heard.

“Uh, thanks,” he said, clearing his own throat as the woman sighed. It then occurred to him that the accent she’d spoken with when taking their orders had sounded vaguely Turkish.

“I don’t think she liked my story,” Troubleshoes said when she was gone, and before he knew it they were laughing again.

The two of them dug into their food and ate in companionable silence for a bit, but Sable’s mind kept racing. For some inexplicable reason, he felt like he needed more information on the man sitting across the table from him.

“So, what was your rank?” he asked.

Troubleshoes swallowed a bite of steak before answering, “Chief petty officer. Army equivalent’s sergeant first class.”

“I’m familiar with what a CPO does,” Sable said. Indeed, for some reason he felt like he recently had a conversation about it. “Have to say, you don’t strike me as much of a hardass.” Even when he was chewing out Tirespin earlier, Troubleshoes had been calm and level-headed.

With a smile, Troubleshoes said, “Well, neither did that old TV painter—what was his name? Used to have that show on PBS?”

“Happy Tree?”

“Right. Point is, people can surprise you.” Troubleshoes shrugged. “Besides, there’s more to being a good chief than just yelling your troops into submission.” Curiously, Troubleshoes then gave a distasteful frown. “Not that the current Mess knows anything about that.”

“Oh?”

With another shrug, Troubleshoes just said, “Forget it, man. You don’t want to hear me get into it.”

“Actually, I kind of do.” 

“Well the thing is, the culture surrounding the Mess has changed,” Troubleshoes said. “Fact is, most chiefs now don’t do their jobs right, and that creates trust issues with the sailors under them. I don’t know what it is. These days chiefs either become too enamored with the perks of the job, or too focused on forwarding their own careers, that they don’t do the one thing they’re really there to do: lift up and be there for their sailors.

“Hell, I was just reading an article the other day on Navy Times that talked about how the number of suicides have increased in the Navy over the last few years. Apparently nine sailors committed suicide last month, and the first question that came to my mind when I read that was ‘Where the hell was their chief?’ I know that every problem a sailor might have can’t be solved by the Goat Locker, but I can’t help but wonder how many of those sailors didn’t feel like they could go to the men and women who could have helped them the most.”

Sable nodded along, his respect for the huge man across from him growing with every word. “It’s good that you care so much.”

“I feel like anything less would have been an insult to my own Chief back when I was still a screamin’ seaman, visiting crazy Turkish restaurants,” Troubleshoes said with a single laugh. “My Chief was the reason I chose that direction for myself. As much of a hardass as she was, I always knew I could go to her whenever I had some problem keeping me from being at my best. 

“When I got a chance to talk to her after I got my crow, she told me that sailors, when led well, won’t feel like they’ve been hired or gained… they’ll feel like they’ve been adopted.”

With a smile and an image of three certain girls in his mind, Sable said, “Believe it or not, I know exactly what you mean. Lately I’ve become a sort of mentor to some… former special forces. They’ve been through a lot, and helping guide them toward being the best version of themselves has been… well, it’s one of the most rewarding things I think I’ve ever done.”

Then Troubleshoes said something that surprised Sable. “It’s funny, something about you reminds me of her a bit. I think Chief Tumblehome would like you if you ever met.”

Sable smiled. “That sounds like high praise.”

After a while of eating and making more small talk, Sable and Troubleshoes got the bill and started heading out. 

“I have to say, this has been fun,” said Troubleshoes. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Absolutely,” Sable replied, realizing just then why this lunch seemed so inexplicably important.

Because it wasn’t just a lunch... it was a job interview. And as far as Sable was concerned, Troubleshoes passed with flying colors.





It had been three days since Tirespin’s heart had been broken. Three days since the man she thought would make her happy took that beautiful potential and squashed it beneath his boot. Whoever said time heals all wounds was a fucking liar. Three days later the wound still felt as raw as when it first happened. Hell, nine months later and the pain of Cinnamon’s father disappearing from her life was still the exact same.

Fucking Sable Loam, turning me down like some cheap whore barely worth his time, Tirespin thought bitterly as she trudged down the street on her way home. It was raining, and Tirespin was getting soaked, but she was still too angry to give a damn.

But even as she focused all her hate on Sable, the little voice in the back of her head—Tirespin had always called it her Inner Critic—saw fit to remind her as it always did, But you are a cheap whore, Tires. How else do you think you ended up a mother at sixteen?

Tirespin did what she always did whenever the Inner Critic came calling: pushed it deep down and tried to think about something else. Like her father, for instance. The deadbeat actually had the nerve to just show up out of nowhere to tell her how to live her life! Tirespin took some of her anger out on a piece of refuse lying on the sidewalk—a fitting substitute for her father, really. After all, the man barely even talked to her in their daily life, and he chooses that moment to come in and try to be a father to her?

He barely talks to you because you’re barely home anymore, the Critic chimed in. You’ve been spending your nights either at Gram-Gram’s or with one of your friends.

Well… he could at least call! Tirespin rationalized before the Critic replied, You blocked his number because you were sick of him checking in on you. Worrying about where you are and what you’re doing. Because what kind of terrible parent does that?

Tirespin kicked the empty can again, much harder than she had before. But this time it wasn’t Troubleshoes she imagined felt her wrath. It was the worthless, teary-eyed idiot looking back up at her from the reflection of the puddle in the gutter. Right where she belongs, the Critic said.

Quickly averting her eyes from the pathetic face in the water, Tirespin looked up to see a somewhat unsettling sight: a group of three young men were walking down the sidewalk towards her a good distance away. Gold chains hung around their necks and baggy clothing hung limply around them. 

Tirespin looked around uneasily: the rest of the street was barren. Gangbangers were pretty common in Sunnytown, and typically they wouldn’t bother you unless you gave them a reason to, but something about this trio she couldn’t quite put her finger on made Tirespin uneasy. Maybe it was the way they all had their hoods up. Of course, it is raining, but still….

So she crossed the street as casually as she could, trying to make it look like she just wanted to throw something into the trash bin on the other sidewalk. To her dismay, the trio of gangbangers mirrored her move, crossing over to the same side. Tirespin nonchalantly reached into her purse and felt around for her pepper spray.

“‘Ey girl, why you look so down?” one of them said as they approached. “I bet you got a pretty smile.”

“I don’t have any money,” Tirespin said as she kept walking past them. At least, that was what she tried to do. Instead, another one of them cut her off.

“Bitch, do we look broke to you?” he asked in a distinctly cholo accent.

Tirespin turned to try to go back the way she came, but the third Gangbanger—a big white guy who looked a little slow—was standing in her way. Heart beating faster, Tirespin backed up against the front of a boarded up storefront—plenty of those around—and looked at the hateful, leering faces of the young men who had her effectively boxed in.

“The hell do you want?” she asked, by some miracle keeping her voice steady.

The first one took a step towards her, and Tirespin felt the walls closing in. “I told you,” he said as he reached up and brushed aside some of her hair slowly, almost tenderly. “I just want to see your smile.”

The man’s hand started to venture from her face to someplace lower, and that was when Tirespin decided she needed to get out of there. So she slapped aside the man’s wandering hand and brought her pepper spray to bear. The man let out a surprised scream of pain and fury as he retreated back, his wandering hand now groping for his eyes.

“YOU BITCH!” he roared, but Tirespin was already running past him as fast as she could.

She heard the footsteps of the other two right behind her, so Tirespin pushed herself to run faster. Her chest was already burning, but she didn’t have far to run. Around the corner was a street that usually always had foot traffic even in weather like this. Someone there would help her if she could make it.

But she didn’t. She felt hands grab her from behind and before she knew it, she and her assailant went down hard. Tirespin rolled onto her back and tried to use her pepper spray again, but the apparently not-so-slow white guy grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the ground. Tirespin tried to kick him off but the cholo grabbed her legs. 

Tirespin desperately struggled and thrashed, any further plans of escape buried by the sheer terror building to a crescendo, which came out in a terrified scream. A hand shot to her mouth, and terror gave way to despair when she saw the man with the wandering hand staggering towards her, struggling to see through teary red eyes. He nonetheless was focused in her direction with terrible anger.

“Shoulda just smiled for me, bitch,” he said as he reached into his pocket for what Tirespin could only assume was a switchblade.

Whatever it was, he never had a chance to get it out. The sound of squealing tires suddenly filled the air and before Tirespin knew it a familiar sedan plowed into the man with the wandering hand, sending him flying a respectable distance. The door to the car opened and out of it stepped the hulking form of Troubleshoes Clyde.

“You pieces of shit get the hell off my daughter!” he said with frighteningly calm fury.

“Oh shit!” the Chicano exclaimed as he and his actually pretty fast white friend took off running.


Troubleshoes’s vision was a cloud of red as he chased the two young punks down; his mind a laser focus. Nothing else mattered at that moment other then beating those bastards senseless. The two were fast and agile, nimbly turning down a nearby alley and knocking over a bunch of garbage cans in a desperate effort to slow him down. But Troubleshoes was like the Terminator, single-minded and relentless.

The pair of thugs reached a chain-link fence at the other end of the alley leading out to another street. The fast white one clambered over it like a possessed monkey, but the Latino kid was just barely too slow. Troubleshoes grabbed him by the back of his hoodie and pulled him screaming to the ground.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” the thug pleaded.

“Oh, you’re gonna be in a minute.” Troubleshoes crouched over him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t stomp your sorry ass.” 

“It wasn’t our idea! I swear!” the thug insisted, his pupils tiny. “Some guy paid us to do it! Paid us good money to rough her up a little, but we didn’t know….”

Troubleshoes slammed a fist into his face hard. “Didn’t know what? That she was somebody’s daughter?”

All the young gangbanger could muster was another feeble, “I’m sorry…” through bloody lips.

“Now who was this guy? He have a name?”

But the gangbanger could only look at him with wide, scared eyes. “I don’t know!”

Troubleshoes hit him again. “What’d he look like??”

The gangbanger sobbed, “I don’t know!”

Internally, Troubleshoes felt just as scared as the pathetic asshole beneath him, but his face betrayed nothing. Tirespin, what the fuck have you gotten yourself involved with?

Troubleshoes grabbed the gangbanger by the sweater and shook him violently. “You’d better know something and fast, or I’m gonna kill you right fucking here!”

“H-he… my man Ring Finger asked him why we were doin’ this, and the guy said i-it was a lesson for somebody else, that’s all I can remember!”

It was then that Troubleshoes remembered the words, I want you to keep an eye out for my first lesson. You’ll know it when you see it. He remembered the smirking face that had spoken those words: the cold eyes of a psychopath hiding behind a pair of shades. Troubleshoes’s face went pale when he realized it wasn’t Tirespin’s life that was coming after her… it was his.

“Dad?” A timid, trembling voice cleared the haze of red in Troubleshoes’s vision, and the big man looked up to see Tirespin standing there, staring fearfully at him as she hugged herself, shivering.

The bloody ruin of a gangbanger on the ground was forgotten in an instant, and Troubleshoes immediately went to embrace his daughter. “Oh Tires, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Tirespin gave a shaky nod and said, “Yeah…. We should go.”

She gestured behind him, and Troubleshoes turned to look. A small crowd had gathered on the street on the other side of the fence that Dumb and Dumber had tried to escape over. Many of the curious onlookers had their phones out, and were holding them up in a way that made Troubleshoes realize he was likely to be the star of the next viral video.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Troubleshoes put his arm around his daughter and together the two of them made their way back through the alleyway to the street where Troubleshoes’s car was still idling.

Mr. Wandering Hand had managed to crawl over to the sidewalk and was doubled over in pain. “My leg… you broke my fucking leg….”

“Be thankful I didn’t break more than that,” Troubleshoes warned as he and Tirespin got into his car.

The two of them were quiet as they drove off, the sound of rain and police sirens prevailing. After a few minutes, Tirespin said, still shaking, “S-so… not that I’m ungrateful, but… what are you doing here?”

“I was on my way to pick you up from school,” Troubleshoes said. “It’s a miserable day.”

“Yeah. You got that right.” A few more minutes of silence went by before Tirespin asked, “So, what was that guy talking about?” She looked up at him, and the fear in her eyes was heartbreaking. “Who paid them to come after me?”
> 3 - A Change in Fortune
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rumble of distant thunder outside lent an ominous air to an already tense evening. Troubleshoes packed his duffel quickly and efficiently, filling it only with the essentials: Clothes, toothbrush, some granola bars, and his JFrame 340. Holding the gun in his hand opened up the first cold pit of anxiety in his stomach: The fact he truly thought he might need it was proof that this was really happening. There wasn’t much that could scare a SEAL… but it wasn’t for himself Troubleshoes was afraid.

He didn’t even look over his shoulder when he heard his daughter’s soft and uncharacteristically timid footsteps behind him. “You finished packing?” he asked.

“Yeah…” Tirespin answered, her voice filled with uncertainty. “Dad, you still haven’t said where we’re going.”

Troubleshoes started putting on his holster as he turned to face his daughter. “Don’t know. A motel, somewhere off the beaten path. You’re gonna lay low there until I deal with the situation.”

Another rumble sounded in the distance as Tirespin’s eyes flicked to the gun. “Do you think you’ll need to use that?”

“Hope not.”

Finally, Tirespin let out a frustrated sigh that was more in line with her normal self. “If we’re really in as much danger as you think, shouldn’t I know what’s going on?”

“There’s no time for me to explain it all now,” Troubleshoes lied. The drive back home had more than enough awkward silence he could have filled with an explanation. “I just… I need you to trust me, okay, Tires?”

“Trust you?!” Tirespin started to raise her voice. “What reason have you ever given me to trust you?!”

“Tires, I am not doing this right now! We’re going to hole up and you are gonna stay put until I’ve sorted this out. End of discussion!”

Her angry look turning a shade more vulnerable, Tirespin asked, “What about Cinnamon?”

Troubleshoes swore internally. In all the adrenaline, he’d forgotten all about his granddaughter, who was currently being looked after by his mother, Down Luck. He considered stopping by at his mom’s to get her, but then it occurred to him: Withers had threatened both Tirespin and Cinnamon, but hadn’t once mentioned his mother. It’s possible he didn’t even know about Downy.

“Cinnamon should be safe with Gram-Gram, for now,” Troubleshoes said. “I’ll call her and let her know what’s up.”

Pulling out his phone, Troubleshoes quickly opened up Recent Calls and looked for Down Luck, but paused when he saw another name on the list: Sable Loam. Troubleshoes was suddenly overcome with the feeling that he was forgetting something very important. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at his phone screen, but the crucial detail he was missing suddenly hit him as hard as his car had hit that gangbanger.

“Shit!” Troubleshoes swore (externally, this time).

“What is it, Dad?” Tirespin asked.

“I have another call to make first,” Troubleshoes answered. “We’re not the only ones in danger.”





Sable Loam listened to the distant rumble of thunder as the windshield wipers fought their never ending battle with the downpour of rain. Sonata sat in the driver’s seat next to him, staring at the road ahead with grim determination. It was a much different look for her than the more carefree ones Sable was used to; it was the look of a professional with a job to do.

Sable had been in the middle of a workout session with the triplets when he got the call. He’d been surprised to see Hard Luck Towing show up in the caller ID but didn’t think anything was wrong until he heard Troubleshoes’s voice. The normally lackadaisical man had a certain tension in his voice that Sable hadn’t heard in him before. If Sable didn’t know better, he almost sounded afraid.

“Everything alright?” Sable had asked him.

“No, but I’ll manage,” Troubleshoes had answered. There was a pause as it seemed like he was trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. “Look, Sable. You seem like a good guy. I have a lot of respect for you. That’s why I felt I needed to warn you….”

“Warn me?” Sable had asked when it seemed like Troubleshoes wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Yeah. I can’t get into the details, but Tirespin and I need to lay low for a while and I suggest you do the same. Maybe even leave town for awhile if you can.”

Sable wondered for a moment whether Troubleshoes was busting his balls, but there was no mistaking the serious intensity in his voice.

“The hell’s going on, Troubleshoes?”

“I told you I can’t get into it. Just make sure you and yours are safe for the next little bit. I’ll contact you again when things are under control. Best of luck.”

Sensing the finality of Troubleshoes’s words, Sable shouted, “WAIT! DON’T HANG UP!” This drew curious looks from the triplets, and Sable shot them a look that told them to get back to their workout. “Troubleshoes? You still there?”

For a moment, Sable thought he was talking to no one, but then he heard Troubleshoes’s voice. “Yeah, still here. Can’t linger though, so whatever you gotta say, say it fast.”

Sable pinched the bridge of his nose while he tried to think of what he could possibly say to keep this man from disappearing from his life, perhaps permanently.

“Look, I can help you,” Sable finally said. “I’m good in a fight, and I’ve got friends. Influential people who could help. Whatever this is, you don’t have to do it alone.” The other end was silent for a while, and Sable added, “Us vets gotta look out for each other, right?”

After what seemed a long silence, Sable finally heard a sigh on the other end. “Okay. If we meet up, I can tell you what’s going on in person. Might not be safe to do it over the phone.”

Sable wanted to think that Troubleshoes was just being paranoid. Maybe this whole thing was all just in his head. But Sable’s instincts told him that wasn’t true. “Fair enough. Let’s meet where we had lunch the other day. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Works for me. See you soon.”

Hanging up, Sable sprung the triplets into action, quickly briefing them on the situation. He then told Sunset what he was doing, and managed to talk her down from getting directly involved on the grounds that this was what she had them for.

Now, Sable was riding shotgun in Sonata’s KIA Soul; something the girl had convinced Sunset to pay for on the basis that it would be used as SIREN’s primary vehicle until their organization grew enough for something heavier-duty (and less conspicuous than the BAE Valanx they had down in the secret bunker). Beneath the sound of the heavy rain, Sable could make out the sound of Adagio and Aria on their motorcycles as they rode in formation just behind them. Eventually, the small SIREN convoy arrived at the agreed-upon meeting place.

The windmill of Windmills Diner and Bakery loomed over the parking lot, looking oddly ominous in the dark stormy weather. The SIREN convoy parked, and Sable ordered them to secure the perimeter.

“Sure you don’t want any of us in there with you, sir?” Adagio asked.

Sable shook his head. “It’s better that I talk to him alone. He knows me. Based on how he sounded, an armed stranger walking in might spook him.”

Adagio seemed ready to press the issue before her soldier’s instincts kicked in, and she gave Sable a sharp nod instead. With a few quick concise hand signals, the triplets turned and disappeared into the darkness of the night as quickly and silently as ghosts—ghosts with AR 57s hidden under their rain ponchos.

Sable stepped through the front door of Windmills and spotted Troubleshoes and Tirespin quickly enough: They were the only customers in at such a late hour, and in such miserable weather. The only other soul in the establishment was a young waitress wiping down tables and placing chairs on them at the other end of the restaurant—evidently it was almost closing time.

Wasting no time, Sable approached the table Troubleshoes and Tirespin were seated at. The latter briefly locked eyes with him before looking away just as quickly. Troubleshoes just stirred the coffee in front of him as Sable sat down.

“Who were they?” Troubleshoes asked innocently enough. Sable could tell by his posture, though, that he was ready to pull himself and his daughter out of there at the first sign of trouble.

It took a second for Sable to realize Troubleshoes was talking about the triplets. He hadn’t even thought the big man had seen them. “Some of the friends I told you about,” Sable answered. “Don’t worry about them. They’re just making sure no one interrupts us.” Sable leaned forward, speaking in a softer voice. “Now, what’s this all about, Troubleshoes?”

Troubleshoes looked from Sable to Tirespin sitting quietly beside him. “Right, guess you both deserve an explanation.” With a sigh, Troubleshoes took a sip of his coffee, likely trying to think of the right words to say. “As you both know, I was in the SEALs for a very long time. The truth is a little more complicated than that.

“Fact is, after my first tour I was one of the most in-demand SEALs of SEAL Team FOUR, and they were always calling me back whenever Uncle Sam shit the bed and needed someone to clean it up. Mostly I was on ISOs.” 

“What’s an ISO?” Tirespin asked.

Troubleshoes opened his mouth to answer but Sable beat him to it. “Individual support operations,” he said. “Essentially it’s like the black ops version of temporary duty.”

“That’s right. You know your stuff, Sable.” Troubleshoes glanced over at Tirespin as he continued, “Anyway, eventually I decided I had to get out and stay out, for my family’s sake. But… it wasn’t a decision that entirely made me happy. 

“My work as a SEAL wasn’t always pleasant, but… I was good at it. Actually felt like I was making a difference for our country. After that, running an auto shop just… wasn’t fulfilling.”

Sable noticed the way Tirespin folded her arms and scowled distastefully at the floor, but paid it no mind as Troubleshoes went on. “One day, an old buddy from my time in the SEALs approached me: Biff. Said he had a job for someone with my skill set. We needed the money, and in the end I just couldn’t deny that part of me that will always wear the Budweiser, so I took him up on it.

“It’s a decision I’ve regretted since.” There was a lull as Troubleshoes took another sip from his mug and looked at Sable. “You ever work for a person or company that just made you feel like… like you were tainting your soul?”

Sable thought of a man in a leather jacket and big biker boots that were as ill-suited to him as his amicable smile. “Yeah.”

“That’s what it was like working for Los Perros de Guerra.”

“Los Perros de… well, that’s a mouthful…” Tirespin muttered.

Sable, on the other hand, believed he knew exactly what Troubleshoes was talking about, and if the rumors he’d heard were true, this was worse than he thought. “And they’re the ones you think are after you?”

Troubleshoes nodded, and Tirespin asked, “But who are they? Don’t think I’ve ever heard of a Sunnytown gang with that name.”

“That’s because they’re not a gang,” Sable said. “They’re worse.”

“That’s right,” Troubleshoes said. “They’re a mercenary company. Apparently got their start in Colombia as guns for hire in the 70s, and made enough money assassinating narcos they were able to go international. Now I think the only merc company in North America bigger than them is ALICORN. Though, from what I heard they were all wiped out by Canadian SpecOps of all things.”

Sable nodded, carefully keeping up his poker face while Tirespin looked at her father in disbelief.

“And you worked for these people?” she asked.

“Just one job,” Troubleshoes said. “Los Perros was hired by someone—CIA, DEA, I have no idea—to wipe out a cartel compound in New Mexico. It was my job to get some of the new blood back into a soldier’s mindset and lead them in the assault.” He glanced over at Tirespin again, seeming concerned about what she was thinking of all this. “Orders were to leave no survivors—not too different from some of my jobs as a SEAL, really—which wasn’t a problem… until I found a couple of the prostitutes they were keeping around. One of them had her kid with her.”

Sable’s heart sank a little, his own memories of encountering a child in the combat zone painfully clear in his mind.

Tirespin just looked at him with wide, horrified eyes. “Dad… you didn’t….”

“You’re damn right I didn’t! I ordered the men under my command to let them go,” Troubleshoes sighed. “Trouble was, that didn’t sit well with the Bloodhound.”

That made Sable curious. “The Bloodhound?”

“It’s what the commander of Los Perros goes by. I’ve seen and done my fair share of shit in the SEALs, but that guy… he’s not someone I would mess with lightly. I’ve met my share of psychopaths over the years, but this guy’s a different kind of crazy entirely. 

“Anyway, turns out whoever hired Los Perros wanted to break an already tenuous alliance between two cartels, and was counting on us to make it look like one of them launched the assault. Any witnesses would have blown the whole thing. So, the Bloodhound lived up to his name and personally tracked down and silenced the people I let go.

“The op was a success in the end, but the Bloodhound was not happy with me. He told me that I owed Los Perros a debt for my ‘misstep’. He didn’t want to put me in the field anymore—understandable from his perspective, I suppose—so for the past few years he and his people occasionally come by with other jobs. Sometimes it’s helping work out logistical stuff, sometimes it’s whipping new blood into shape. Sometimes they even use my services at Hard Luck Towing when they need a vehicle repaired.” Troubleshoes then looked Sable dead in the eye. “Like the one you were eyeballing earlier this week.”

Sable hmmed and said, “I take it this is related to why you think I’m in danger from these people?”

With a nod, Troubleshoes said, “They saw you sniffing around their van, and they know you’re ex-military. And like an idiot I told them you’re a teacher at a high school. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but it’s enough for them to find you. Now they seem to think you’re a threat to their operation, and what’s worse they even arranged an attack against Tirespin as a way to keep me in line!”

Sable nearly jumped when he heard the sound of something breaking, but looked down and saw the coffee mug that was in Troubleshoes’s hand was now in pieces: crushed in the big man’s grip. A small streak of blood started to run down his palm, but Troubleshoes didn’t give it a second thought. For her part, Tirespin only looked at her shoes.

“If they could get to her, Sable, they could get to you. They could get to the people you care about! So do what you gotta do to keep them safe while I sort this out with the Bloodhound.”

Sable shook his head. “No. From the way you described this Bloodhound, that only ends one way: with you in a shallow grave.”

Troubleshoes looked at Tirespin, who continued to evade eye contact with both men. “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Sable took a few minutes to consider everything he’d just heard. “Are you and Tires all packed up?”

“Yeah. We were going to head straight to a motel after talking to you.”

“Well, not anymore. Right now, you might be the luckiest man alive.” Sable took out his phone and pulled up Sunset Shimmer’s contact information. “My people will handle it from here.”





Troubleshoes wasn’t sure where he’d been expecting Sable and the mysterious trio of young women to take Tirespin and himself, but the truly massive property in San Palomino was definitely a surprise. 482 Golden Oaks Drive seemed to go on for acres in all directions with a large, beautiful two-story mansion right in the center.

Tirespin let out an impressed whistle from the back seat as the girl who introduced herself as Sonata drove through the front gate. “Is this where you live, teach? Hot damn….”

Sable laughed up in the shotgun seat. “The school district doesn’t pay me this well. No, the triplets live here. As does the person who’s going to help with your problem.”

“And just who is this ‘Shimmer’ person anyway?” Troubleshoes asked. Another look at the incredibly nice house and the armed young women on motorcycles trailing behind them gave him an unsettling thought. “Sable, you’re not taking us to see some kind of mob fixer, are you?” he asked warily. This was starting to look like a situation where the remedy was worse than the disease, and Troubleshoes started thinking about an exit strategy.

But to his surprise, Sonata started laughing; a truly girlish giggle that made the young woman seem Tirespin’s age. “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Clyde. Sunny’s not a criminal. She’s just my cousin. Though come to think of it, the term ‘fixer’ does describe her pretty well, right, Admiral?”

Admiral? Troubleshoes thought with no shortage of confusion. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it though, as their KIA pulled to a stop in front of the mansion. 

Troubleshoes and the others got out of the car, and out from the mansion’s front door stepped an angel. At least, that was how the young woman appeared to Troubleshoes. Indeed, the woman’s red and yellow hair and kind cyan eyes gave her an air of almost fiery radiance. Even Tirespin seemed momentarily smitten, and as far as Troubleshoes knew his daughter was as straight as they come.

The three valkyries that Sable had designated “the triplets” all stood at attention before this angelic figure, snapping off sharp salutes that Troubleshoes could immediately tell had been drilled into them for years.

“Your Highness, we have the priority VIPs and have brought them on station,” the middle girl with bright orange hair reported. “Would you like us to lay before the mast for the eight o’ clock reports?”

At this, the angelic woman sighed. “Could you guys not do the Rambo bit for two seconds?”

“Negative.”

“Ladies,” Sable intoned. His voice was barely raised but there was power in it nonetheless. “At ease.”

“Aye, sir,” the girls answered, immediately relaxing.

The red-haired woman then turned to Troubleshoes and Tirespin. “Sorry about them. They might seem militaristic and impersonal but they’re total sweethearts when they turn off their Call of Duty mode.” She then extended her hand. “I’m Sunset Shimmer.”

Troubleshoes took her hand and introduced himself and Tirespin in turn.

“Well, come on inside, you two,” Sunset said. “I’ve set up a couple of beds in the guest room.”

“Okay…” Troubleshoes muttered as he followed Sunset and Sable into the manor, his mind a fog of confusion. “My daughter and I really appreciate your help, Miss Shimmer—”

“Please, Sunset.”

Troubleshoes cleared his throat. “Right, Sunset. Like I said, we really appreciate you letting us stay—and we promise not to abuse your hospitality—but I have, uh… more than a few questions….”

Tirespin took that as her cue. “Like, what’s the deal with those gunbunnies saluting you and stuff? One of them said you’re their cousin and you guys all live together? And did one of them call you ‘Your Highness?’ Are you royalty or something?”

Sunset smiled, evidently not put off by the barrage of questions. “Well actually yes, I am a princess. Not joking, I’m part of the Imperial Family of France. Long story there that I really don’t want to get into. Just… please don’t call me Your Highness, or bow or anything like that. Kinda freaks me out to be honest.” With a sidelong glance at the triplets, Sunset added, “It’s bad enough that my own family does it.”

Troubleshoes exchanged a look with his daughter. “Okay…. So just ‘Sunset’ then?” he asked, suddenly finding himself very self-conscious. If I knew I would be meeting royalty tonight I might have at least brushed my hair or something.

The princess in question nodded, and Tirespin muttered to herself, “Assaulted in an alleyway in Sunnytown to being on a first name basis with a princess… all in one night….” She made a face that seemed to say “not bad” and nodded.

“So, Sable told you about my situation, right?” Troubleshoes asked, trying to steer the topic somewhere at least resembling sanity.

“He gave me a summary on the phone. You can tell me the important details later when you and your daughter are settled in.”

Troubleshoes looked at her skeptically. “Sable said you’d be able to help. Do, uh... French princesses have a lot of pull in the States?” Troubleshoes asked the question with a sardonic edge, but he really was curious what the apparent young princess could actually do to help.

Sunset giggled. “Not particularly. But my brother’s FBI and his fiancée is an assistant district attorney. I’m gonna give them a call and let them know the situation. If there’s really another mercenary group causing trouble in Canterlot, the FBI and the DA’s office will make dealing with them their highest priority.” Sunset’s smile shrunk ever so slightly. “Trust me, none of us want a repeat of last summer….”

It took a few seconds for Troubleshoes to realize his mouth was hanging open in stupor. Just a few hours ago he had been ready to face Los Perros alone armed with nothing but his JFrame and his love for his daughter. Now here he was, standing in the foyer of a princess’s mansion, being told that he had the FBI and the DA’s office on his side. He had no idea what to say. He also had no idea how he hadn’t heard of a “Princess Sunset Shimmer” in Canterlot before. Clearly the young woman was someone very important and powerful.... 

“Sunset?” An older woman’s voice called out from somewhere else in the mansion.

“I’m in the foyer!” Sunset called back.

A woman with purple and white hair in her 50s or 60s if Troubleshoes had to guess walked into the hall, looked at Sunset and put her hands on her hips. “Mind telling me why there’s still dirty dishes in the sink? You didn’t forget tonight is your night to do them, did you?”

Sunset froze. “Oh. Uhh… sorry, Mom. I started doing them but then I got a call from Sable and had to set things up for Troubleshoes. Oh!” Sunset cleared her throat and gestured to her guests. “Mom, this is Troubleshoes and his daughter Tirespin. They’re the friends I told you needed to stay over for a bit.”

The woman nodded and extended a courteous, but wary hand to Troubleshoes, who was all the more self-conscious of his physical stature and rough attire next to this rather delicate looking white woman. “Troubleshoes, is it? Twilight Velvet. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, ma’am,” Troubleshoes replied, giving her offered hand a single shake.

“Tell me, how do you know my daughter?”

Troubleshoes shuffled awkwardly. “Well, uh….”

“They’re mutual friends of mine,” Sable said from his spot in the corner.

“Oh, hi Sable! I didn’t see you there,” Twilight Velvet said, turning to the man with a smile. “How’s Celestia? Feels like it’s been ages since we’ve seen each other.”

“Well, you know how she is. Busy as a bee, but somehow managing. She regrets not having enough time to hang out.”

As Troubleshoes and Tirespin stood there feeling like a third and fifth wheel, two sets of footsteps came rushing down the hall and a young boy’s voice called out, “Mom! Mom!”

A young boy with green hair who looked about ten came running in pursued by a teenage girl with dark hair.

“Mom, Tavi took my 3DS!” the boy exclaimed. 

“No I didn’t!”

“She was rooting around my room and when she left it was gone!”

The teenage girl—apparently “Tavi”—pushed the boy aside and exclaimed, “I didn’t take his dumb video game! I was looking for my iPad charger, which I lent him the other day because he lost his and I wanted to be nice!” The girl crossed her arms and glared at the boy, who comically mirrored the action.

“‘Dumb video game?’ Don’t act like you weren’t super into Animal Crossing on my old DS!”

“Spike, you left your GameBoy on the living room couch, which I told you a dozen times not to do!” Velvet’s voice cut through the argument.

“‘S not a GameBoy…” Spike muttered as Velvet continued. 

“And Octavia, you should know better than to go through your cousin’s things without his permission.”

Octavia huffed and said, “If Spike would just clean his room once in awhile he wouldn’t have lost his—and now my—charger!”

“Hey, Mom?” Another new voice called out from the upper floor. Troubleshoes looked up and saw yet another teenage girl, her plum and magenta hair soaking wet. She was wearing nothing but a towel. 

“Mom, our bathroom’s out of conditioner! Do you have any in your—AUGH!” The girl shrieked when she saw the strangers in the foyer and pulled her towel tighter around herself, her face turning beet red. “Why didn’t anyone tell me we were having company tonight?!”

The girl retreated back into the upstairs hallway from whence she came, and with a weary sigh Twilight Velvet sent away Spike and Octavia.

“I’m sorry, this house is pure chaos. Six teenage girls and a ten year old boy will do that,” Velvet said to Troubleshoes, sounding as exhausted as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I’m going to pour myself a big glass of wine and spend the next couple of hours off my feet. I’ll pour you one too if you’d like.”

Troubleshoes cleared his throat and said, “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

Velvet shrugged. “Well, make yourself at home. I’m sure one of the triplets can show you where you’ll be sleeping.” She then turned to Sunset. “You, on the other hand have some dishes to do. And then you’re going straight to your room. It’s a school night.”

“But Mom, I need to question Troubleshoes about the mercenaries!”

“No ‘buts!’ Don’t forget you’re still grounded, Young Lady. Your cousins can ask Mr. Troubleshoes whatever questions they need to. Now get going unless you want to be grounded for another week.”

“Yes, Mom!” Sunset turned and headed towards where Troubleshoes assumed the kitchen was before stopping and turning back to them with a compassionate look in her gorgeous eyes. “Don’t you two worry about a thing, okay? You’re in good hands!”

And somehow, Troubleshoes believed it as he watched the girl (definitely not a young woman like he thought) who had the ear of both the FBI and the DA’s office leave to do her chores before she incurred her mother’s wrath. Gotta admit, this is not how I expected tonight to go.

Troubleshoes felt a hand on his shoulder then, and turned to see Sable standing there. “Well, looks like everything’s under control here. As much as I’d like to stay and hang out with you and the family, I should probably get going. I still need to take care of that business we discussed.”

“Appreciate it, Sable. Hope I’ll see you around,” Troubleshoes said, glancing around. “The adult to teenager ratio is far too skewed in this house.”

Sable just smiled. “You get used to it.”

He turned to leave, but stopped when Tirespin spoke up. “Why?”

“Come again?”

“Why is she helping us? We’re perfect strangers to her.” Tirespin’s eyes then fell away from Sable’s, and Troubleshoes noted a hint of guilt on her face. “And why are you helping us? I’m not even really your student, and you couldn’t have known my dad for very long. So why?”

Sable was silent for a moment. “Well, it’s like Sonata said. Sunset’s a fixer. I haven’t known her very long either, but I do know that whenever she sees a good person who needs help, she helps them. No questions asked.” Then Sable gave them a smile. “I guess somewhere down the line I started picking up her habits.”





After leaving the Twilight family manor, Sable opened up the ride-sharing app on his phone and arranged for a pickup. It wasn’t for him, though—he figured he would try taking the CanterRail, just to see what it was like. But the nearest station was still a several minute walk away. Plenty of time for Sable to carry out the plan he and Troubleshoes came up with. After setting the pickup and drop off location in his phone, Sable then called Celestia.

“Hey, where are you right now?” he asked.

“Just finishing up at the office,” Celestia answered. “Is something wrong? You sound a little... intense.”

“I need you to head home right now. Call me back when you’re in the car and I’ll explain everything.”

Past experience had taught Celestia to trust Sable when he got like this, so she did so without a fuss. Four minutes later she called him back.

“Okay, I’m on the road now. What’s going on? Is it wing and horn stuff?”

“Something like that.” Sable gave her a brief overview of everything that Troubleshoes had told him. Even abridged, it took longer than Sable would have liked.

Suffice to say, Celestia was less than pleased. “Is it too much to ask for one normal month?”

“Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be anything like the other time,” said Sable, well aware of just how many meanings the phrase “other time” had in this instance. “Sunset and I are taking measures to ensure we won’t be completely blindsided like before.”

“Okay. What can I do?”

“Troubleshoes and his daughter are going to be staying with Sunset and her family until the situation is dealt with,” Sable explained, knowing that Celestia wasn’t going to like this next part. “But his mother and granddaughter need to lay low somewhere else. And we do have that spare bedroom we aren’t using….”

“I don’t know about this, Sable….”

“They’re already en route in an Uber. If I timed it right they should arrive at our place around the same time as you. I'm taking the train, so I should get home a little bit later.”

“And you didn’t consider consulting me about this first?” Celestia asked, her tone getting dangerous.

“I’m sorry, but we couldn’t risk waiting. I promise you it won’t be for long. Besides, Troubleshoes tells me that Down Luck is an excellent cook, and according to Tirespin, you’ll be hard pressed not to fall in love with Cinnamon!”

There was a pause on Celestia’s end before she replied, “Well, considering we’re yet again in a life and death situation, I suppose I could let it slide.” Then to Sable’s relief, a more playful tone entered Celestia’s voice as she said, “But whatever you were planning to do to make up for everything I’ve done for you lately had better be huge!”

“Guess I’d better start planning, then!” Sable said with a chuckle. His serious tone then resumed as he got back to business. “Once you’re home, take your piece out of its case and keep it on you at all times. You probably won’t need it, but I’d rather you be safe than sorry. I’ll do the same once I’m home.”

“I hear that. Is this… Los Perros group really as dangerous as your friend thinks?”

“Based on what I know about them already, Troubleshoes wasn’t exaggerating,” Sable said as he approached the bus stop. “Trust me Tia, these are some bad people.”





A black Mercedes SUV pulled into the dark rainy parking lot under the faux Dutch windmill’s gaze and parked a fair distance away from the restaurant’s front entrance. The vehicle sat there with its engine running for a few minutes, its sole occupant watching both the restaurant and the unattended brown Cadillac. After deciding that his quarry was already long gone, Withers stepped out of the SUV and went to the brown sedan with an umbrella in hand and a spring in his step.

A quick check inside the Cadillac with his phone light confirmed there was no one hiding inside, and a look inside the trunk (after picking it open of course) revealed a bunch of old junk, but no packed bags. There were also a couple of cell phones—Troubleshoes and his daughter’s, surely—and a quick inspection showed that the SIM cards had been removed. It seemed like the car had been abandoned here. This confirmed what Withers had suspected: Biff’s old friend was making a break for it. So much for your word, huh Big T?

Withers figured the gangbangers he’d hired to have a little fun with Troubleshoes’s daughter would spook the big man—in fact that had been the intention—but Withers thought he’d last just a little longer before heading for the hills. It didn’t really matter to him though. The chase was on now, and that was the most fun part of his “process.” Withers thought of himself as something of an artist, and whenever he met a person with a will as strong as their physique, well… Withers supposed it was how an artist felt when they saw a blank canvas. Or more accurately, sculptor’s clay ready for moulding.

Forcing himself not to get lost in his mental “portfolio”, Withers returned to the task at hand. That his latest work had abandoned his car in the parking lot of a family restaurant indicated to Withers that in all likelihood he’d figured out how Withers was tracking him. So Withers crouched by the car and felt around under the frame by the back left tire for the little bug he’d planted on it under the Bloodhound’s orders (and wasn’t it great when one’s work and one’s hobbies meshed?). Finding his tracking device still intact, Withers pocketed it. He then heard the jingle of keys from the restaurant’s entrance.

A young woman in a sweater and jeans with a waitress’s uniform peeking out of the bag under one arm was locking up the front door of the restaurant. She didn’t have an umbrella or even a raincoat and was already getting soaked. So putting on a smile the way someone might put on a set of clothes, Withers approached her and held his umbrella over her.

“Here,” he said. “No offense, but you look half drowned already!”

The woman seemed startled at first, but relaxed a little when she saw his smile. Smiling was never something that came naturally to Withers. Even as a child, he never really understood it. His mother had always told him how weird it was that he never smiled. Most people smile when they’re happy, Withers. You should try it sometime, she’d always tell him, but he found the advice monumentally useless. Truth was, he never really understood what “happy” even was. Or sad, for that matter. Emotions were just words, all equally alien to him.

So young Withers had taken to studying how other people smiled. He looked at models in magazines and actors on TV, and spent time every day after school practicing in front of the mirror in his bathroom. It took him some time to finally find a way to do it that looked natural, but when he did, it was worth it; if only because his mother would finally shut up about it.

Now, Withers had studied the art of smiling enough that he had a different one for a variety of situations: like how an artist used different brushes depending on what they were painting. The smile Withers pulled up as he held the umbrella over the young waitress was kind with a dash of roguish charm. It had the desired effect: the woman smiled back and looked up at him through lidded eyes. Withers had to admit she made a pretty canvas herself, but he was the kind of artist who couldn’t start on a new project before finishing his current one.

“Thank you,” she said, trembling a little from the cold. “Guess that’s what I get for not checking the weather before going in to work.”

“You don’t even have an umbrella?” Withers asked, and when she shook her head, he switched out to his patronly smile. “Well here, take mine.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly….”

“Please, I insist,” Withers held the umbrella a little closer to her. “You are not dressed for this weather like I am.”

Finally, the woman relented. “Well, if you insist….”

She took the handle of the umbrella and tried to take it, but Withers held on, pulling the two of them just a tiny bit closer. “Say, you don’t work here, do ya?”

Withers noted the way she shifted uncomfortably as he kept a firm grip on the umbrella. “Well, yes. But we just closed.”

Next, Withers pulled out a disappointed frown from his proverbial bag of tools. “Oh, dangit! Aw heck, I was supposed to meet my friend here, but I was busy with work and lost track of time….”

“I’m sorry, our last customers left a little less than an hour ago.”

“Was one of them a big tall black guy?”

The woman smiled in a way that made Withers wonder whether the two of them were daydreaming about similar things. “Yeah. Is he like, a basketball player or something? He’s real tall!”

“Mechanic, actually,” Withers said, pausing to think. “So, you’d say he left here around 9:10? 9:15?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Withers glanced around and spotted a security camera with a good view of the entrance.

“Great! Thank you so much for your help,” Withers said, finally letting go of the umbrella and giving the girl some room to breathe. 

“No, thank you for the umbrella!” the woman said as she turned and started heading for the bus stop at the corner.

“Hey, one more thing!”

The woman stopped and looked back at him, clearly just wanting to go home but at the same time not wanting to be rude to the generous stranger.

“How did my friend leave?” Withers asked.

“How did he leave?” the woman repeated, tilting her head.

“It’s a simple question.” Withers gestured to the brown Cadillac sitting abandoned in front of the restaurant. “That’s my friend’s car. So how did he leave?”

“Oh, he left with the guy he was sitting with.” The woman then frowned. “You’d better tell him to come get his car as soon as possible. It’s probably going to get towed tomorrow morning.”

Withers raised an eyebrow, only interested in one thing that the woman said. “He was sitting with another guy?”

“Yep. Big guy, but not as big as him. I think he had dark green hair….”

Withers slowly ground his teeth. That description sounded pretty close to the guy he saw poking around the other SUV down at Hard Luck Towing.

Not a threat my ass… Withers thought. The woman he’d been talking to suddenly recoiled, as if she just saw a snake slither out of his jacket. 

“Well, have a good night!” she said quickly, turning back around and walking briskly towards the bus stop.

Curious about her strange sudden reaction, Withers turned to look at his reflection in the dark window of the restaurant. Sure enough, his carefully constructed smile had partially collapsed, and a hateful grimace was now looking back at him. Withers fixed his smile and then stood and waited there in the parking lot, not caring that he was getting soaked. He waited until the woman got on her bus and drove away, then he got to work.

He went around behind the restaurant until he found the back door between the loading bay and a dumpster. After taking a moment to disable the alarm with a tool he'd acquired for that purpose, he then took out his lockpicks and got to work. The security footage from the night would be on the harddrive of the computer in the manager’s office, probably. From there he’d figure out what his next move was. Either way, the chase was on.

With the relative monotony of picking a lock, Withers allowed himself a moment to reflect on his mental portfolio. He didn’t need any keepsakes or mementos from his past works; his memory of how the canvas looked before he started, and how it looked after he was finished was enough. 

So many wonderful works. His favorites had been the retired navy captain—he had been married, but Withers had taught him a thing or two about himself before he was finished—and the young, pretty Canadian soldier. Now that proverbial clay had been especially tough, but after months of diligent work Withers had molded that amazonian warrior into something much more suited to him. She had been good fun before he had disposed of her too.

In no time at all, Withers was inside the diner and had gotten onto the computer in the manager’s office. As he suspected, the footage from the security cameras was on the harddrive in an easy to find folder. Skipping ahead to the 00:21:10:00 timecode, Withers saw his canvas leave in the company of the same man he’d seen snooping around their vehicle at the mechanic shop. One of his associates in Los Perros was conducting his own investigation into this guy, but Withers wasn’t interested in him. 

Withers then dragged the footage back until the moment Troubleshoes and his daughter had arrived at the establishment. The two of them ordered drinks and waited there for about six minutes before Troubleshoes’s snooping friend had arrived. From there they immediately got to business. The security footage had audio, but the quality was pretty poor and the three of them kept their voices down, likely not wanting the nearby waitress to overhear their conversation. 

With more time and equipment, Withers could probably have gotten the entire conversation, but it ultimately wasn’t necessary. He’d managed to catch enough words and phrases sprinkled throughout that he could confidently guess what they were discussing. Looks like Mr. Snooper just can’t keep his nose out of other people’s business. He might need to be corrected too.

After their conversation wound down, the Snooper called somebody on his phone and then told Troubleshoes to call someone on his. By that point they were at the place in the footage Withers had initially tuned in, and he watched them leave out the front door again. As luck would have it, the Snooper had parked close enough to the entrance that Withers was able to see the car’s make and license plate. Perfect. 

His work here done, Withers made a note of the car’s information and then set about scrubbing the harddrive of that day’s footage. This was both to cover up his own presence here and to make sure nobody else who was looking for Troubleshoes Clyde would find him before he did.

Of the many “art projects” Withers had undertaken over the years, none of them excited him quite as much as this one. There was just something about Troubleshoes that intrigued him. The man was built like a workhorse, and Withers wanted to know whether he was hung like one too. Regardless, this was one horse he couldn’t wait to break in.





The guest bedroom in the princess’s home was a little cramped with two beds occupying the space, but only just. Still, Troubleshoes would take it over a cheap motel any day.

After he and Tirespin had dropped off their things, Troubleshoes had briefed one of the triplets (Adagio, who seemed to be the leader) on the situation with Los Perros. After that he’d spent the remainder of the evening with Twilight Velvet and her husband, Night Light, who was apparently a physicist of significant renown. Troubleshoes had figured this out when the man introduced himself to Tirespin, and the girl had immediately broken her standoffish demeanor with wide-eyed excitement.

“You mean you’re the Night Light!?” she’d exclaimed. “I loved your show as a kid!”

Troubleshoes had been confused about her reaction, but didn’t mind. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Tirespin this happy about anything. For that brief moment, Troubleshoes felt like he knew his daughter again.

Seeing his amused look, Tirespin asked, “Don’t you remember him, Dad? From Just Visiting This Universe? We used to watch it all the time!” Tirespin’s enthusiasm suddenly drained, and the bitter look that she mostly wore these days came back. “At least, Mom and I used to watch it while you were off doing… whatever it is you used to do….”

And just like that, the walls went back up, and Troubleshoes’s daughter was a stranger to him again. Tirespin had spent the rest of the night doing her homework. Sable had told them he’d talk to her teachers at the Blanks about her absence (calling it a “family emergency”), but that was no excuse for her to fall behind on her assignments, Troubleshoes supposed. Still, he didn’t think that was the reason for her absence for the rest of the night.

Troubleshoes, on the other hand, had spent the evening sitting with Twilight Velvet and Night Light in their living room. The two overworked parents were both drinking glasses of wine, while Troubleshoes had settled on a Coke. The three adults had spent some time getting to know each other, with Troubleshoes sharing some of his history as a SEAL (he refrained from telling the Saga of the Turkish Restaurant, however). The other two parents told him about how their little family grew larger and larger with each relative they took in (or in Sunset Shimmer’s case, total stranger).

“Seems like you two have a penchant for picking up strays,” Troubleshoes said with an amused grin.

“Yup! I hope you won’t be offended if we don’t end up adopting you and Tirespin next, Mr. Clyde,” Night Light joked, and the three of them had a good laugh about that.

After that they turned on Jeopardy, and spent some time trying to guess the answers before the contestants did. Eventually, Troubleshoes announced that he was getting tired and got up to turn in, but not before thanking the two of them again.

“You guys are good people,” he said. “Not a lot of rich folks would be this kind to someone who looks like me.”

“Sable vouches for you,” Velvet said. “And Sunset vouches for Sable.”

“And we learned a long time ago to trust our girl’s instincts,” Night added.

“Well, I’ll do everything I can to keep her streak going,” Troubleshoes said with a smile before departing to the room he and Tirespin were sharing.

The girl in question was in bed in the dark, lying on her side as she looked at the burner phone one of the triplets had provided, headphones on. The light from the screen illuminated her despondent face.

“Hey Tires,” Troubleshoes said as he closed the door behind him. She didn’t so much as nod his way, so Troubleshoes knelt beside her and turned on the bedside lamp. “Hey,” he said again, motioning for her to take out her headphones.

Tirespin did, pausing whatever she was listening to. “Yeah?”

Troubleshoes noticed what looked like dry tears on her cheeks, and his heart broke a little when he thought about everything she’d been through in the past few hours. “How you holding up?”

With her best attempt at a careless shrug, Tirespin answered, “Okay, I guess….”

“You know… it’s okay not to be. This was a pretty crazy evening we’ve both had. I know I certainly wasn’t expecting this when I woke up this morning.” He then put a large hand over her shoulder and gave it an affectionate, paternal rub. “You know you can talk to me, right? I’m here for you.”

For the first time that evening—first time in Troubleshoes didn’t know how long—Tirespin looked him in the eye, and Troubleshoes didn’t see the cold disdain that was usually there. He just saw his baby girl, scared, hurt and wanting desperately to give in to the unconditional love being offered to her. Instead, she shrugged off his hand and whatever feelings that came with it.

“Whatever,” she said, letting the bitter edge return to her tone as she turned over and pulled her blanket over her. “Night.”

It pained Troubleshoes to see her so clearly hurting and unable to take whatever comfort he could offer, whether because of her pride, anger, or both. Troubleshoes considered pushing harder on the issue, but realized he’d only be pushing her farther away. 

I’m going to lose her completely, Troubleshoes realized with growing despair. 

On some level, he’d always known just how badly he’d messed things up with her, but now the thought was more sobering than ever. Because she needed him now more than she ever did, and she was still keeping him at arm’s length.

So Troubleshoes simply got into the other bed, turned off the lamp and tried to go to sleep. It was incredibly hard to do while listening to the sniffles and occasional soft whimper from the other bed. All Troubleshoes wanted to do was hold his precious baby girl in his arms and reassure her that everything would be okay. But all he could do was lie in his own bed, feeling utterly useless.
> 4 - The Secret of Bluebeard
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite the large size of the dining room, breakfast in the Sparkle house was a crowded affair. Sonata made breakfast tacos for everyone, and had even recruited Tirespin to work bacon duty. The end result was what Troubleshoes could honestly say was the most delicious breakfast he’d had in a long time, and made sure that both Sonata and Tires knew it. For her part, Tirespin actually seemed pleased by the praise before apparently remembering that she still wanted to be mad at him.

Noticing that his daughter wasn’t the only teenager avoiding his gaze, Troubleshoes swallowed his bite of breakfast taco and addressed the plum-haired girl with the magenta streak running through it. “Hey, I’m sorry if my presence startled you last night,” he said. “We cool?”

The girl—who had since been introduced to him as Twilight Sparkle—looked up from her book and smiled. “Yeah, sorry for shrieking at you. I just wish certain siblings and/or cousins had told me we had guests before I started walking around the house practically naked!”

Twilight shot a dirty look toward Sunset Shimmer as she spoke, who had the courtesy to return said look with a suitably guilty one of her own. “Sorry, Twily. It honestly completely slipped my mind!”

“But you’re a Goddess! How does anything…!” There was an unusual pause as Twilight glanced over at Troubleshoes and Tirespin looking somewhat alarmed before resuming in a much quieter voice, “How does something like that just slip your mind?”

Sunset replied with a casual shrug. “A Goddess I may be, but nobody’s perfect!” she said with a grin and a wink towards Troubleshoes.

Unsure of what else to do, Troubleshoes simply smiled back at her. Twilight’s sudden change of demeanor mid-sentence stuck out to him. It looked as though the girl had said something she wasn’t supposed to say, but nothing really struck Troubleshoes as unusual. Perhaps she was shy about showing how much she clearly idolized her sister in front of strangers?

Night Light then came in with a thermos of coffee in one hand, a set of keys in the other and a brown leather bag full of books over his shoulder. “Alright, I’m off to work. Bye gang!”

A chorus of young voices replied with either “Bye, Dad” or “Bye, Uncle Night” as the man squeezed past the table, stopping only to bend down and give his wife a kiss, the two wishing each other a good day.

After he left, Twilight Velvet took a look around the table, a frown slowly forming on her features. “Sunny, where are the triplets? I’ve barely seen them at all this morning.”

“Oh, since their usual routine with Sable was cut short last night, they’re getting some target practice in down in the bun… uh, down at the range. I’ll text them to get their butts up here,” Sunset said, pulling out her phone. Again, Troubleshoes noted the awkward way she cut herself off mid-sentence, but he paid it no mind as what she actually said piqued his interest.

“Oh, you guys have a shooting range?” he asked. If they did, their house must have some top of the line sound-proofing because Troubleshoes hadn’t heard anything remotely like gunfire, and he had developed quite the ear for it.

“Uh… yeah!” Sunset answered, giving him a serene smile that seemed just a touch anxious.

“Mind if I use it? Been awhile since I went shooting, and considering why I’m here in the first place, might be good to make sure my skills are still sharp.”

If Troubleshoes wasn’t sure she looked anxious before, she definitely looked the part now. “Oh, uh… maybe. It’s just, uh, a bit of a mess right now. Maybe give us some time to, uh, set things up down there.”

“Okay, sure.” Troubleshoes wondered how bad it could really be if her cousins were supposedly using it, but decided not to push the issue.

It was then that Troubleshoes noticed the young boy—Spike—staring at him with wide eyes. Slowly, the boy held up a comic book with the words POWER MAN in big bold letters on the cover, and looked back and forth from the hulking black superhero on the cover to Troubleshoes.

“Spike, what did I say about reading comics at the table?” Twilight Velvet warned. Troubleshoes had a sneaking suspicion that simply having the comic book wasn’t what concerned her, judging by the nervous apologetic glance she sent his way.

“But you’re letting Twily read at the table!” Spike protested.

“Twily is reading for school, Spike, which you’re more than welcome to do if you just have to be reading something.”

“But that’s not fair! Twily enjoys schoolwork!”

“And I’m happier for it, Spike,” Twilight said, reaching over to ruffle her little brother’s hair, eliciting a groan from the boy.

Beside him, Tirespin leaned closer to Spike and asked, “Is that an original issue Power Man #1?”

Spike looked at her with awe. “You read comics?”

“Hell yeah, Power Man’s one of my favorites! That issue’s super rare, where’d you find it?”

The biggest grin appeared on the young boy’s face. “Found it at a garage sale on my way home from school. Got it for like two dollars!”

“Fo’real?”

“Yeah, clearly the lady selling it had no idea what she had!”

After a moment’s consideration, Tirespin asked, “Can I borrow it?”

Spike looked from the comic to the girl seated across from him, and Troubleshoes could swear he saw a hint of a blush on the little boy’s face as he passed it over. “Sure, keep it as long as you like!”

It was as Troubleshoes was appreciating the genuine smile on his daughter’s face that Night Light unexpectedly returned to the room looking frustrated.

“Everything alright, hon?” Velvet asked him.

“Well, not entirely. Think you can drive me into work today, Vel?”

“I suppose if I left a little earlier, sure. Why, what’s wrong?”

Night Light sighed. “Well, my car was making a weird noise as I was driving it home yesterday and now the damn thing won’t start at all!”

“Uh oh, did you call the dealership?”

“Not yet, but I’m worried the warranty isn’t gonna cover it. I’ve had it a long time, after all.”

“Well, sounds like quite the rut you’re in,” Troubleshoes said, giving them an easy smile. “If only there was a trained mechanic staying at your house willing to look at it for free!”

Night looked at him and shook his head. “Oh no, we couldn’t possibly trouble you….”

“It’s no trouble at all, Mr. Light. I need something to keep me busy if I’m going to be sequestered here for a while, and it’s the least I can do to thank you for your hospitality.”

“Well… alright. Just as long as you stop calling me ‘Mr. Light’.”

“Fair enough.” An idea then occurred to Troubleshoes to possibly bridge some of the distance between him and his daughter, and he looked over at Tirespin. “I might need some help. Up for a little project, Tires?”

“Maybe, whatever.” At this point, it was about as good as Troubleshoes could hope for.

It was at that point that the triplets emerged from wherever their range was and grabbed some breakfast tacos for themselves.

“Everything good?” Sunset asked them.

“More or less,” Adagio answered. “Aria is still hitting pretty consistently but Soni and I could use some improvement.”

As Sonata nodded with a mouthful of taco, a somewhat devious idea occurred to Troubleshoes and he said, “I hope you kids are taking proper care of your range.”

“Of course! We’re professionals, Mr. Clyde,” Aria said.

“Keeping our equipment in top shape is just part of what we do!” Sonata added.

Troubleshoes elected not to point out the contradiction this posed with what Sunset just told him, but he did exchange a meaningful look with the girl, who for her part kept her expression remarkably neutral.

The rest of the breakfast passed relatively uneventfully, and soon enough most of the family finished and left the table, taking their dishes with them. Troubleshoes took his time, waiting around until he was alone in the dining room with the triplets.

“You mind if I ask you a question?” he asked.

Adagio, having just taken a bite, indicated non-verbally that she didn’t mind, so Troubleshoes asked, “What’s your background?”

“Chinese-Canadian,” Aria answered immediately.

“No, I don’t mean that,” Troubleshoes said with a chuckle. “I mean, what’s your military background?”

Adagio waited until she swallowed her bite before answering, but Troubleshoes noted her chewing slowed a bit beforehand.

“We don’t have one,” she finally answered. “I mean hell, we’re not even out of highschool yet!”

“Uh-huh, and that is exactly why your apparent level of knowledge and skill is bothering me.”

“We’ve been huge fans of military stuff since we were kids,” Aria explained. “We’ve done a lot of reading on the subject growing up, and our cousin Shining Armor has been kind enough to teach us a few things.”

Sonata looked at them.  “Plus, our uncle on our mom’s side’s a stuntman in Hong Kong.”

Adagio took that ball and ran with it.  “Yeah, he kinda was an influence as well, admittedly.”

Troubleshoes only shook his head. “Listen… I’ve been in for a long time. I can tell the difference between an overzealous army buff, and someone who’s had training…. Not to mention someone who’s seen action.”

The three of them looked at him silently, their meals forgotten. Troubleshoes looked deeply into each girl’s eyes in turn. The truth was there: reflected in those eyes were a dozen battles and sights that would clearly haunt those girls forever.

“You really want to know the truth?” Sonata asked quietly. Troubleshoes nodded, and Sonata explained, “We’re child soldiers who were part of a black project created by the Candian government. Our outfit tried to rebel and got involved with a sorcerer who tried to summon a demon to take over the world. Our cousin Sunny, who’s actually a magical pony from another dimension, fought the demon and died, so her grandmother who’s a goddess brought her back to life by creating an alternate timeline and now we live here. Also there were fish monsters.”

Troubleshoes stared at her in a stupor for one moment, then another. For their part, both Adagio and Aria were staring at their sister looking just as utterly shocked as Troubleshoes imagined he himself must have looked. Sonata just stared straight across the table at him, her eyes lidded in a deadpan expression.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Troubleshoes stood from the table and gathered his empty plate. “Okay, fine. If you don’t wanna talk about it, you could’ve just said so.”





Troubleshoes stood over Night Light’s car, a 2012 blue Hyundai Genesis, and looked down at the exposed workings of the engine beneath the popped hood. As discussed, Night Light had gotten a ride to work from his wife, while the rest of the kids had left for school. Only one of the triplets remained, Sonata. Sunset apparently wanted one of them home with him and Tirespin at all times, just in case Los Perros managed to find them. Though, Troubleshoes wondered whether she was also there to keep an eye on them. In their shoes, he would certainly be suspicious of any stranger he let stay over with a story as crazy as his. Of course, even with how hospitable this family had been, they clearly had their own share of secrets, and Troubleshoes wondered if perhaps their story was even crazier. 

Troubleshoes tried not to think about any of that as he surveyed the innards of his host’s Genesis. It was easy to do once he fell into the comfortable routine of troubleshooting. With every aspect of his life currently out of his control, it felt good to immerse himself in something he truly understood. Unlike his situation with Los Perros, or his relationship with Tirespin, a broken down car was something Troubleshoes could do something about.

“Okay, try the engine,” he said, and from her position behind the wheel, Tirespin hit the ignition.

The engine turned over like normal, but then died just as quickly as it came on. As Troubleshoes suspected, it wasn’t a battery issue or a problem with the starter. Troubleshoes next got to work removing the spark cables, and when that was done, asked Tirespin to try the engine again. Troubleshoes saw the sparks immediately, so it wasn’t that either. He glanced over at Tirespin as she got out of the car and walked to his side.

“So how’s it look?” she asked, looking down at the engine as Troubleshoes reconnected the spark plugs.

“Well, I’ve ruled out the battery, the starter, and the spark plugs as the source of the problem,” Troubleshoes said. If only moody teenagers were as easy to figure out as cars.

“So what do we check next? Fuel pump? Compression?” Tirespin asked, her light, conversational tone actually surprising Troubleshoes.

He decided not to question the miracle—doing so might set her back to her old ways—so Troubleshoes remained focused on the task at hand. Perhaps it was the same for Tirespin: with all the problems between them, it was easier for her to just focus on something she could fix.
 
“Can you hand me the compression tester from the tool cabinet?” he asked, and Tirespin set to the task immediately.

Sonata had been instrumental in showing them where all of the tools were. Troubleshoes had actually been surprised by just how much the family had. To hear her tell it, Sonata was somewhat mechanically inclined herself, and Troubleshoes had even asked if she wanted to help out. She had politely declined, citing the necessity of “patrol duty”. They really were an odd bunch of kids.

Tirespin returned with the tester. To his surprise, there was a nostalgic smile on her face. This time, Troubleshoes couldn’t quite ignore it.

“Haven’t seen you make that face in a while!” he said jovially, taking the compression tester from her and getting to work.

He turned around too quickly to see whether her expression had changed when he pointed it out—perhaps that was by design—but Tirespin still sounded like she was in a good mood when she continued, “Yeah, I was just thinking… this reminds me of when I was a kid.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, remember when Mom’s car broke down, and you and me spent a whole afternoon fixing it in our old driveway?” Tirespin laughed; a light, warm sound that Troubleshoes missed hearing. “Well, I say ‘we fixed it’, but it was more like ‘you fixed it while I passed you tools and watched.’”

Troubleshoes chuckled, “Yeah, how old were you then? Six?"

“Seven.” Tirespin’s voice became more whimsical as she went on. “It was summer. We were outside. You had your shirt off, and I was wearing my dorky overalls. I remember ...” Tirespin’s voice started to tremble. “I remember Mom came out with slices of watermelon and when we were done with her car, all three of us sat on the front steps, ate our watermelon, and… w-we watched the cars go by….”

Finally, Troubleshoes turned to look at her just in time to see her wipe away tears from her eyes.

“I miss that,” Tirespin sniffed. “I miss when we were all together.”

“Yeah, me too,” Troubleshoes said, thinking of Placeholder, and that fact made their mutual betrayal all the more painful.

The uncomfortable topic of his ex-wife was always a conversation that Troubleshoes was almost ready to have with her, but every time they had a moment together he found some excuse to put it off. Well, we have all the time in the world now. The rest of my secrets have already come out anyway….

“Tires, there’s something you need to know about your Mom,” Troubleshoes started, and Tirespin’s melancholic demeanor returned to the standoffish one he was more familiar with. “You see, the reason Mom left is….”

“I know why Mom left you, Dad! The real reason, not just the one you told me,” Tirespin all but spat. “You always had your little secrets, so here’s mine: I heard you two talking the night before she left!”

Troubleshoes tried to think about what he and Placeholder had talked about that night he thought Tirespin had been asleep. “Okay, Tires, I don’t know what you think you heard….”

“I heard you talking about the affair.”

Just like that, Troubleshoes realized the full extent of how badly he’d screwed things up. He’d always avoided telling Tirespin the truth of what happened between him and Placeholder. Maybe it was out of shame, or maybe he didn’t want to hurt her, but the truth was Tirespin had known all along about the affair. And she knew he had kept it from her for all these years. As if I hadn’t given her enough reasons to hate me already….

“Tires, I’m so sorry,” was all Troubleshoes could say.

For her part, Tirespin no longer looked like she was ready to throw down. She just looked downcast. “Yeah? Well, it’s a little late for that, huh?” She then turned to go back into the house. “I have schoolwork to do. We can’t all just shirk our responsibilities to do what we want.”

Troubleshoes had a mind to raise his voice at Tirespin as she departed, but ultimately decided it wouldn’t do any good. Troubleshoes was reminded of the expression about throwing stones inside of glass houses. Instead, he just turned back to the open engine of the Hyundai Genesis, but found less comfort in the work than he did several minutes ago.





“Sorry Sunset, you know I can’t do that,” Shining Armor’s voice said through Sunset’s cellphone speaker. “Sharing classified case information is sorta the number one thing you’re not supposed to do in the FBI.”

Sunset had given her brother a call as she arrived at Canterlot High, and because there was still some time before first period classes started, she was just hanging out in the hall by her locker.

“Did you tell them that as the Alicorn of Earth, I don’t answer to their authority?” Sunset asked with a grin that she was sure Shining could see in his mind’s eye.

“Very funny.”

“Look, I’m not asking for the minute details of any specific case. I just want to know if your office is aware of the danger. From what I’ve been told, this new mercenary group means business.”

“Right, and what did you say they were called again?”

“Los Perros de Guerra,” Sunset answered, inflecting a perfect Spanish accent.

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and Sunset could see the frown on Shining’s face in her own mind’s eye as he sighed and said, “Okay, I’m not even going to ask where you heard that name, but let me assure you: If there is another militarized group operating in Canterlot so soon after the incidents in the summer we heard about in the news, the FBI will do everything in its power to deal with it.”

Sunset noticed the carefully chosen words Shining spoke with and wondered whether their conversation was entirely private.

“Good, that’s all I ask.”

“Mind if I ask you my own question, sis?” Shining asked, before proceeding with his question regardless. “Why are you so interested in this group anyway?”

“You mean besides the obvious?” Sunset asked in return. She knew that Shining didn’t need her to elaborate any more than that. She didn’t exactly know who else was listening. “Just looking out for a friend.”

“A ‘friend,’ huh? And would this friend happen to be one of the mysterious strangers you took in last night?”

“Sorry Shiny, sharing classified information is sorta the number one thing I’m not supposed to do as the Alicorn of Earth.”

Shining chuckled. “Alright, fair enough. Now, shouldn’t you get going?”

“Yeah, probably.” An idea for a plan started forming in Sunset’s head. 

The two of them said their goodbyes, and Sunset hung up. The call hadn’t exactly been the most promising lead, but maybe Cadance would have better news from the DA’s office. She didn’t.

“Are you kidding me? A warrant?!” Sunset hissed, trying not to draw too much attention from the other students and faculty in the hallway.

“Sorry Sunny, but there were multiple eyewitnesses who saw this Troubleshoes guy chase down and beat this other guy to a pulp. The video’s all over social media,” Cadance explained. “It doesn’t matter if the other guy was a criminal, Mr. Clyde will definitely be facing assault and battery charges.”

“But they were assaulting his daughter! Isn’t that, like, justifiable self-defense or whatever?”

“If we can find any credible witnesses to that assault, then yes it is. But right now nobody saw what happened before the recorded incident.”

“What about Tirespin?” Sunset asked. “If she came forward about the assault—said her dad was only protecting her—wouldn’t that work?”

“Normally yes, but due to the, uh... nature of Tirespin’s criminal record, it might not be enough. A history of blackmail has a habit of tarnishing one’s credibility.”

Sunset swore under her breath. Her plan had been to have Troubleshoes go to the FBI and have him testify everything he knew about Los Perros from his brief time with them. A good lawyer could have probably gotten him a very good deal, but now there was a warrant out for his arrest for an unrelated incident (or so the authorities believed). Sunset knew better, of course, but the chances of finding any evidence linking the incident with the gangbangers to Los Perros was slim to none.

Sunset glanced up just in time to see the new vice principal giving a rather terrified looking freshman a stern lecture a little ways down the hall. Mr. Neighsay briefly looked up at her and with a glare, held up his wrist and tapped his watch. He seemed to have it in his head that Sunset expected a free ride through school, and looking at the clock, Sunset could almost see why as the first period bell rang. She had totally lost track of time.

“Look, I gotta go, but if you can figure out a way to help out Troubleshoes on your end, I’d really appreciate it,” Sunset told Cadance.

“I can try, but no promises.”

Sunset hung up, and as she did she heard a familiar voice behind her say, “Wow, that sounded pretty serious.”

Turning around, Sunset saw a familiar blonde girl with golden eyes behind corrective lenses. “Oh hey, Derpy. What luck, you’re just the girl I was hoping to talk to!”

“I am?”

“Yep,” Sunset said, ignoring the uncomfortable pit in her stomach as a new plan formed in her head. It was bad enough she had to lie to a friend (again), but now she was betraying her brother’s trust in the same stroke. “I was just on the phone with my brother, and he told me the FBI wants to test their cybersecurity again. Up for another little freelance job?”





Having done what he could with Night Light’s car, Troubleshoes left the garage. He checked the time: not quite noon, but Troubleshoes could eat, so he headed to the kitchen. Sonata was there, evidently preparing her own lunch.

“Heya,” she said casually as he entered.

“Hey yourself,” Troubleshoes said. “How’d the, uh, patrolling go?”

“Perimeter secure. No sign of Tangos.” Sonata then frowned. “A lot of new beehives though. Looks like we’re gonna have to call in those exterminators again.”

Troubleshoes only chuckled as he took out some bread for a sandwich, and when Sonata asked him what was funny, Troubleshoes replied, “Oh, nothing. Just wishing some of the troops under my charge had your diligence.”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, not everyone in my generation is lazy.”

“True,” Troubleshoes said, smiling. “But not everyone in your generation has such… military discipline.”

The two shared a knowing look, and Sonata awkwardly cleared her throat and asked, “So, did you find out what’s wrong with Uncle Night’s car?”

It was an obvious subject change, but Troubleshoes allowed her the escape. This time. “Looks like it’s a bad cylinder. He’s probably going to have to replace it.”

Troubleshoes sat down at the table with his PB&J sandwich and he and Sonata ate in silence for awhile.

“So, where’s Tirespin?” Sonata asked.

“Dunno. The guest room, doing her homework, I assume.”

With a sympathetic frown, Sonata asked, “You two have another fight?”

“Well… I wouldn’t say ‘fight’ exactly, but we’re not exactly on great terms.”

“That’s too bad. You seem like a decent guy, and she seems cool. She was a great help in the kitchen.” Sonata was quiet for a bit, then ventured to continue. “Seems to me like most of the resentment is on her side. Forgive me for asking, but… did you do something to earn it?”

“Yup,” was the only answer Troubleshoes deigned to give her.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to tell me about it,” Sonata said, thankfully subverting Troubleshoes’ expectations that she was going to press for details. Then she subverted his expectations even further by saying, “Look, whatever it is you may have done, it’s clearly in the past. It may seem like she hates you right now, but I know there’s a part of her that’s crying out to be your daughter again.” 

The girl seemed to push away some deeply buried sadness on the verge of surfacing, in order to give him an encouraging smile that filled Troubleshoes with more comfort than he’d felt in a long time. “Just keep showing her you care, and she’ll come around. Eventually.”

Troubleshoes didn’t know what to do but smile back. Wisdom beyond her years. Just what have those raspberry eyes seen?

The two of them chatted some more before they finished their lunch. Sonata said she was going on another patrol, and unsure of what to do with the rest of his day, Troubleshoes elected to get the lay of the land. Thus, Troubleshoes went on his own patrol, first taking a walk around the exterior of the property. He found some gardens that were starting to get overgrown, a small greenhouse, a gardening shed, and a swimming pool that was already covered for the winter.

Back inside, Troubleshoes hoped to find out where the shooting range was that the triplets had been using that morning. His first instinct was to check the basement, but that turned out to be strangely small for a house this size, and held only the boiler and several boxes of junk. Next Troubleshoes explored the main floor. Apart from the kitchen, dining room, and living room, Troubleshoes found a study with bookshelves filled to the ceiling, mostly with books on theoretical physics that Troubleshoes knew without opening them would go over his head.

Upstairs was nearly all bedrooms (and with the amount of kids living in this house, Troubleshoes wasn’t surprised). He was impressed by the sheer amount of art decorating the entire house. There were a few sculptures here and there, almost entirely new age and abstract in nature. The paintings were more to the man’s simpler tastes: lots of sweeping landscapes full of depth and life. A lot of the paintings featured horses quite prominently, and Troubleshoes wondered whether one of the teenagers living here was a horse girl.

But after searching the whole house, Troubleshoes was puzzled that he couldn’t find where the shooting range was. Surely something like that would be fairly obvious. Troubleshoes was ready to let it go and head downstairs (perhaps to see if one of those physics books was really beyond him after all) when something on the landing by the stairs caught his eye. Between an antique press and a wall-mounted guitar with the name “Discord” scrawled flamboyantly across its body was a mirror.

He’d noticed it before, passing it on the upper landing a few times, but it was only at that moment that the mirror’s placement struck Troubleshoes as odd. It was a large, full-body mirror, as tall and wide as Troubleshoes himself. Functionally, it made no sense to have such a large mirror on an open landing—it wasn’t exactly an ideal place to change—and it made no sense from a decorative standpoint either. The mirror itself was fairly bland—at least compared to the other decorations Troubleshoes had seen—lacking any designs or adornments on its frame. For a family who seemed to put such emphasis on thoughtful decoration throughout the rest of the house, the mirror just felt… out of place.

Troubleshoes was ready to let it go and continue on his way, but something about the mirror was making his instincts all but scream at him. It occurred to him as he was halfway down the stairs that there was a very good reason for that: his instincts were incredibly well honed over years of service in special operations. His instincts were screaming at him because those same instincts had pointed him to more than a few hidden rooms over his career, each hiding some manner of unpleasant surprise.

So Troubleshoes went back up the stairs and stood before the mirror, looking past his own reflection as he studied it. Indeed, the mirror’s simple, bland appearance made it seem as though someone didn’t want anyone to look at it too closely. So grabbing it by both ends, Troubleshoes grunted as he lifted the whole thing off the wall. He set it down a few inches to the left of where it had hung, and sure enough, when Troubleshoes stepped back he saw the drywall give way to steel. A door? Troubleshoes moved to grab the mirror again.

“What are you doing?”

Troubleshoes turned around and saw Sonata standing at the bottom of the stairs. Gone was the sweet, personable girl with wisdom beyond her years. Her stance was low and her legs were spread, a hand moving instinctively to her hip. Her kind eyes turned cold and hard; a soldier’s eyes.

“I’m sorry for snooping, but your aunt and uncle did say I have free run of the house while we’re here,” Troubleshoes said defensively, before nodding back to the half-uncovered door. “Were you aware that there’s a secret door behind this mirror?”

Sonata’s calm yet strangely menacing expression as she climbed the stairs indicated that she did. “Let’s make one thing clear: You and Tirespin can go wherever you like while you’re staying with us, but that door there is strictly off-limits.”

Troubleshoes took a step towards Sonata as she approached and stood tall, dwarfing the girl as he met her challenging gaze with his own. “Mind if I ask why?”

To her credit, Sonata didn’t back down, looking him right in the eye as she answered, “For your safety.”

The two of them stood there for several seconds, silently sizing each other up, before Troubleshoes relented. “Okay then. This is your house. I’ll follow the rules.”

All the tension left Sonata’s body then, and she smiled. “Thanks!”

Troubleshoes turned and got to work setting the mirror back into its original place. As he did, he found his mind turning to an old story he’d heard when he was a kid. He couldn’t remember what it was called, but it was about a woman who married a wealthy nobleman. The nobleman had given her the key to every room in his mansion, but warned her not to go into one room in particular. Troubleshoes couldn’t quite remember how the story had ended, just that the room held a terrible secret that maybe the woman would have been better off not knowing.





Tirespin’s father hadn’t bothered her for the rest of the day since their talk in the garage, and that was fine by her. Telling him that she knew the truth about just what kind of man he really was turned out to be quite therapeutic, and Tirespin honestly didn’t know why she hadn’t done it sooner. That pest she called her Inner Critic was quick to come up with a number of reasons why she hadn’t thrown that knowledge in Troubleshoes’s face sooner (as well as a number of reasons why she should feel bad for doing so), but for once Tirespin didn’t let it bother her. She was entitled to some vindication.

So why don’t you feel any?

Instead of lingering on her feelings about her father (and about herself), Tirespin whiled away the day, distracting herself with homework, her phone, and that comic she had borrowed from Spike. She could hear her father’s heavy footsteps as he wandered the house; evidently he was just as curious about their mysterious hosts as she was. So as the house’s residents started arriving home at the end of the day, Tirespin elected to do her own investigating.

“Hey Spike,” Tirespin said, standing in the doorframe of the young boy’s bedroom, knocking on the door for good measure.

Spike, who was sitting at his desk with a math textbook open in front of him, quickly straightened up and turned in his chair, a nervous blush finding its way across his cheeks. “Oh, hey Tirespin! What’s up?”

Tirespin caught the way the boy’s eyes lingered just below her own, but didn’t hold it against him. He was at that age where he was just starting to notice girls, and Tirespin was, in the words of her generation, a legit snack. Suffice to say, she was more than used to it.

“Not much. Just thought I’d return the comic,” Tirespin said, holding up the issue of Power Man.

“Wow, you finished it already?” Spike asked as he took it from Tirespin’s outstretched hand.

“Not like there’s much else to do when I’m stuck here all day,” Tirespin said with a shrug.

The boy gave her a sympathetic look and said, “Well, if you want you can borrow more from my collection.” Spike gestured to the shelf on the far wall of his room, which held an honestly impressive collection of comics.

“Foreal?” Tirespin asked, and Spike nodded as he peeled his eyes off of her. “Thanks, man!”

When Tirespin walked over to the shelf to survey Spike’s collection, the thought occurred to her to use the boy’s apparent attraction to her as a means to find what she was really after (much to the protest of the Inner Critic). So, she made a show of bending down to look at one of the lower shelves, sticking her ass out and letting the tight jeans do the rest.

“Ooh, some good stuff down here, huh?” she asked, lacing her casual tone with a hint of one more sultry.

“Yeah,” Spike squeaked, his voice audibly cracking.

Seeing a comic that would suit her goals, Tirespin took it and stood. “Ooh, Daredevil. This one’s a good one!”

Tirespin held up the cover, with the titular hero in red standing dramatically on a rooftop overlooking a cityscape.

“My favorite thing about Daredevil is how he always knows when people are lying,” Tirespin said. “I have something of a knack for spotting bullshit myself.”

Silence lingered as Tirespin let her words sink in.

“Well, I should probably finish my homework,” Spike said, discomfort clear in his tone.

Seeing that she was about to lose her chance to find out more information on this strange family, Tirespin realized she was going to have to use a tactic she’d become all too good at. 

When she first started changing from a girl to a woman, she’d noticed the way that men and boys alike would look at her body when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. It had been annoying at first, but Tirespin had quickly learned she could use it to her advantage. The nerdy kids in class became more receptive to letting her copy their answers if she offered to let them touch her breasts in return. She’d gotten through an entire semester at her old school this way. Word got around, and before long Tirespin had several of the boys (and even one girl) doing her homework for her, all for the price of letting their curious hands fumble across her body for a few minutes.

Seeing Spike’s clear precocious attraction, Tirespin knew that such an arrangement would be just as easy to make with him. She just had to close the door, lift her shirt and lay it all on the table. But when she moved to do just that, something more than her Inner Critic stopped her. Tirespin thought about the way her whole system came crashing down. When her math teacher, Root Factor, had kept her after class to tell her that she was failing. That he knew all about her little “system.”

But Tirespin had known his own secret: she’d noticed the way he looked at the girls in his class, including her. She couldn’t deny that Mr. Factor had been cute, so Tirespin had decided to create a whole new system, exclusively between herself and Mr. Factor. That had been when their “private tutoring sessions” had begun, but Root was a man in his 30s—he had long grown out of the phase where merely touching a woman was the height of his sexual aspirations. The “sessions” they’d had together were both fun and beneficial, but then she felt her body changing again, this time in a way most girls her age didn’t normally experience. From there, her very life fell apart.

What stuck with Tirespin most, even now, was when she went to Gram-Gram with her troubles. Tirespin may not have cared much for her father, but her Gram-Gram meant the world to her. And when Tirespin confided all of her problems to her, the look of disappointment on her face was so crushing, Tirespin wondered whether her decision to turn her life around was for Gram-Gram as much as it was for her new daughter.

So when Tirespin reached out to close Spike’s door and start the whole cycle over again, all she could see was Gram-Gram’s disappointed face.

“Hey, Spike?” Tirespin asked with a sigh.

“Yeah?”

Tirespin looked down at the Daredevil comic in her hands. Maybe it was time to find a new system. “Does your family ever… lie to you?”

Spike looked up from his homework. “Why do you ask?”

“You don’t need Daredevil’s super senses to be a human lie detector when your dad’s been lying to you your whole life,” Tirespin said with a sigh. “About my Mom, about what he was doing in the military….”

Spike nodded, seeming to understand. “There’s a lot my family doesn’t tell me, even after….”

When Spike trailed off, Tirespin thought she was getting close to something. “Even after what?”

“A-after we adopted Sunset.” It seemed more like a hasty correction than an answer, but Tirespin let it go. “But even after everything that happened, nobody really talks to me about it. It’s like… they think I’m too young to understand. And like, yeah, I don’t understand everything, but I know more that’s going on than they think!”

It seemed like there was a lot being bottled up inside the young boy, and Tirespin was fine with letting it all come out. Not just because she wanted answers, but because it looked like he really needed it.

“And what is going on exactly?”

“A lot. It’s kinda hard to wrap my mind around it,” Spike sighed. “Like, the triplets aren’t really our cousins. But at the same time… they’ve always been.”

Now this was what Tirespin wanted to hear about. “Yeah, what’s the deal with those three anyway? They’re really into army stuff, huh?”

“Yeah, they’re weird. But cool, I guess.”

“You guess?” Tirespin asked. “They seem like total badasses to me. I’d think a kid like you would be all over them asking if they could teach you how to fire a gun, or something.”

Tirespin thought Spike would get all excited over the prospect, but instead he frowned. “Nah. The kind of stuff they were involved with… it isn’t as cool as comics and video games make it look.” 

Then Spike rubbed his arm nervously, and once again his eyes drifted away from her own. But rather than focus back on Tirespin’s chest, they zeroed in on something far away. “The stuff they and Sunset have faced… it’s scary.”

Tirespin was on the edge of her metaphorical seat now. She was so close to finding out whatever secret this family was hiding.

“What kind of scary stuff are you talking about?”

There was some hesitation, but Spike opened his mouth to answer. What came out though wasn’t his own voice, but that of a woman.

“Spike?”

Realizing the voice did not, in fact, come from the boy in front of her, but the doorway behind her, Tirespin turned and saw the fiery hair and hourglass figure of Sunset Shimmer standing there.

“Hey, Tirespin,” Sunset said. “You mind stepping out for a minute? Spike and I need to have a talk.”

“No problem,” Tirespin said, disappointed at being interrupted when she was so close to finding something out but not wanting to piss off Sunset. Something about the girl triggered Tirespin’s danger senses—even moreso than the three teens who ran around with guns. “Thanks for the comic, Spike!”


When she was sure Tirespin was gone, Sunset turned to Spike and asked innocently, “So what were you two doing in here?”

“Nothing. Just… talking comics and stuff.”

Sunset scrutinized him for a moment so brief it hardly happened, then said, “That’s nice. It’s cool that you and Tirespin get along. But I wanted to talk to you about her for a sec.”

“Something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just… you should be careful of what you say around Tirespin. Troubleshoes too for that matter.”

Spike frowned. “I know. I didn’t tell her that you’re, y’know… whatever you are. I’m not stupid.”

Sunset put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a little rub. “Hey, I know you’re not, Spike. Hell, I’d say you’re a lot smarter than some of us give you credit for. But people like Tirespin… they have ways of getting into your head. Of tricking you into saying just a little too much.”

“‘People like Tirespin’?” Spike said with a sardonic smile. “How bigoted of you!”

“C’mon, Spike. You know I didn’t mean it as a race thing,” Sunset said, and Spike’s playful laugh indicated that he knew, but was having no less fun messing with her. “What I meant was… Tirespin hasn’t exactly lived life on the straight and narrow. Don’t get me wrong, I can tell she’s a good person and she’s trying to be better. But she’s not someone to underestimate.”

“Gee, wonder who that reminds me of.”

“Hey, don’t get cute,” Sunset said, lightly slapping his shoulder.

“But I’m so good at it!” Spike said with a shit-eating grin that was, admittedly, pretty adorable.

So with a grin of her own, Sunset reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Alright, well you can clearly look after yourself. Just wanted to make sure you’re careful, okay?”

“Okay, now can you stop messing up my hair?”

Sunset had been about to stop, but then decided to double down and ruffle his hair with both hands. “Why? You trying to look good for someone? Huh?”

“Quit it, Sunset!” Spike groaned, smiling in spite of himself.

Once she felt she had tormented her little brother enough, Sunset left him to finish his homework. It was almost 6 in the evening now, which meant it would nearly be time for the day’s SIREN training session.





The day went by relatively uneventfully for Sable Loam; explaining Tirespin’s absence for the foreseeable future to her teachers had been easier than expected. Sable hadn’t exactly made it a secret among the faculty that he had become friends with Tirespin’s father, and when he vaguely alluded to a “personal emergency” involving the two of them, no one asked any further questions. 

Only Red Horse seemed to think something else was going on, as she asked if it had something to do with the video online of Troubleshoes beating up an unfortunate gangbanger. That news had been as surprising as it was troubling. Is there no end to this guy’s bad luck? However, Red apparently knew better than to ask too many questions, and Sable had convinced her it wasn’t as serious as she thought. The truth is, it’s even worse. Especially if what she said about that video is true.

So, after wrapping up for the day, Sable called a car with his ride sharing app (Celestia was working late this evening, and Sable had imposed on her enough already) and made his way to Sunset’s place for the day’s training session with the triplets. Sunset herself met him at the front door.

“Hey Sable, mind if we talk real quick?” she asked, stepping outside and closing the door behind them.

Sable had a feeling he knew what this was going to be about. “Let me guess, your brother and his girlfriend weren’t as helpful as you were expecting?”

“Shining didn’t want to risk his job for me—not that I’d ever ask him to—and the situation on Cadance’s end of this thing is way more complicated than I was expecting.” Sunset then proceeded to explain the details of her conversation with Cadance that morning.

Sable frowned, his earlier fears totally confirmed. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” Sunset said, folding her arms. “Troubleshoes has been asking questions. Mostly about the triplets. Dagi told me he all but interrogated them at breakfast this morning. Soni pacified him in an honestly pretty clever way, but….”

“What’d she tell him?” Sable interrupted.

“The truth. Or rather, just enough of it for him not to believe it.”

Sable couldn’t help but chuckle. “Refuge in audacity. She’s always been a smart one.”

“You have no idea,” Sunset said. “But Troubleshoes is still curious. Hell, both of them are. I overheard Tirespin trying to get information out of Spike about the triplets a few minutes before you got here. I don’t like the idea of lying to them, but we have to tell them something.”

This was something that Sable knew was going to be a problem from the moment he first suggested that Troubleshoes and Tirespin stay with Sunset’s family the previous night. Unfortunately, Sable hadn’t once all day considered exactly how they were going to solve it. Inexplicably, Sable thought of his first lunch with Troubleshoes and was all at once hit with inspiration.

“Bluebeard…” he muttered absentmindedly, still thinking about how to move forward with his ultimate plans for Troubleshoes.

“Um, what?” Sunset asked.

“Bluebeard. It’s an old French fairy tale. Ever read it?” Sunset shook her head, so Sable explained, “It’s about a woman who marries a man with a blue beard, who had been married many times already. Before leaving on a trip, Bluebeard gives her the key to his mansion and tells her she can use it to go into any room she likes, but forbids her from going into one specific room. The wife thinks this will be easy: she has the run of the whole rest of the mansion, after all. But after a few days, she finds herself drawn to the forbidden room. She has to know what’s inside, because not knowing is driving her mad. So she decides to take a peek, and when she does, she finds the bloody corpses of all of his previous wives.”

“Wow. That took a turn.”

“Yep, Happily Ever After is a fairly new concept to human fairy tales,” Sable noted.

“Trust me, Equestrian fairy tales aren’t much different in that regard,” Sunset pointed out. “So, how does this one end?” 

“Long story short, Bluebeard finds out she entered his secret room and tries to kill her too, but her brothers barge in and kill him instead.”

Sunset listened with a hand to her chin, and when he was finished, said, “Okay, I think I see what you’re getting at. Trying to keep the truth from Troubleshoes and his daughter is just going to make them want to know it more, and them finding it out on their own will just make things worse. But I still don’t think they’re ready to know that I’m an interdimensional being with powers beyond their comprehension.”

“And they don’t have to,” Sable said. Not yet. “But as long as they know there are things we’re holding back from them, they’re not gonna stop looking for answers as long as they’re here. And if what Cadance told you is true, that’s going to be a pretty long time.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“A show of good faith,” Sable answered. “And we can take the first step tonight.”

Sable proceeded to explain what he was thinking. As expected, Sunset didn’t like it, but then Sable explained his long term plan for Troubleshoes and she slowly—reluctantly—began to warm up to the idea.





“Cylinder trouble, huh?” Night Light said. He and Troubleshoes were sitting in the living room. “I’m guessing I need to get that replaced?”

“Yup, and the replacement usually costs somewhere in the $400 ballpark,” Troubleshoes replied. “I’d be happy to do it myself—and for one hell of a discount might I add—but I don’t think it’s going to be safe for me to go back to my workshop for quite some time.”

“That’s alright, you’ve already saved me a ton of money on troubleshooting alone. I can do the rest with my dealer,” Night Light said, smiling warmly despite his troubles. “Who knows? Maybe I was wrong and the warranty’s still good. Thanks, Mr. Clyde.”

It was around that time that Sable Loam walked into the room. “Hey, TS. Night Light.”

“Hello, Sable,” Night Light greeted. “I take it you’re here for the routine workout?”

“Workout?” Troubleshoes asked.

“Yep,” Sable said, focusing on Troubleshoes. “That and I wanted to make sure everything’s going okay here.”

“Oh, Troubleshoes and his daughter have been ideal guests. You’ll hear no complaints from me!” Night said, standing up from his seat. “Are you staying for dinner, Sable? We’re having roast chicken.”

“Afraid not. I have plans to cook with Down Luck tonight,” Sable then turned his attention to Troubleshoes. “Your mother seems dead set on turning me into a world class chef!”

“Yup. One of the side effects of sharing a roof with her, you’ll never go hungry!” Troubleshoes said with a smile.

“Fair enough, I’ll get started on the dinner then. Should be ready in an hour and ten,” Night Light said. “I trust the triplets won’t be late for it?” 

“No, sir,” Sable answered, and with that, Night Light left the room leaving him and Troubleshoes alone.

“I’ve gotta say, this is some family you’re friends with,” Troubleshoes said with a grin. “How in the world did y’all meet?”

“That is a long and crazy story that I’d be happy to tell you. As it is, the triplets and I need to get started on our workout.”

Troubleshoes raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were a personal trainer on top of everything else.”

“Well, not in any official capacity. So far I’ve simply been volunteering my time to help them get to a military level of fitness,” Sable explained. “They seem to have their sights set on a career in Special Forces once they’ve graduated. I wanted to make sure they went about preparing for it the right way, so I took it upon myself to help them.”

With a smile, Troubleshoes said, “Well, not to brag, but I have more than a little experience with that, as you may recall.”

“Yep. That’s why I wanted to ask if you’d care to join us. I think a former SEAL could give them a few pointers that a Ranger might not think of.”

He wasn’t sure why, but the offer made Troubleshoes incredibly delighted. “I’d be honored.”

“Great!” Sable said. He then told Troubleshoes to meet them in the foyer before going off to round up the girls in question. Troubleshoes himself went to the guest bedroom to change into a set of workout clothes. Before long, all of them were gathered in the foyer.

Rather than take him to a room to work out the four of them walked over to a bookshelf against the wall underneath the upper landing, and Troubleshoes realized that it was directly beneath where the strange mirror is. Then Sable pulled out two specific books simultaneously and the whole shelf slid aside on a set of gimbals, revealing steel elevator doors that themselves slid open. Troubleshoes watched with uncertainty as the other four stepped inside.

“What’s wrong? Never seen a hidden elevator behind a bookcase before?” Adagio asked in a teasing tone.

“Not outside of movies,” he replied, somewhat stunned.

Troubleshoes shared a knowing look with Sonata (who for her part looked fairly sheepish) before stepping in after them. The elevator descended. Troubleshoes had many questions, but decided to save them until he saw where the elevator would take them. For some reason, he thought of the great glass elevator from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

There was no magical chocolate factory when the elevator doors opened, but what Troubleshoes saw was no less fantastical. Stretching out before them was a cavernous chamber, the corners of which were full of equipment, much of which even Troubleshoes with his extensive experience couldn’t identify. Weapon racks with accompanying weapons lined the far wall, along with some incredibly large vehicle covered by a tarp. Troubleshoes spotted the elusive firing range through a window off to one side, but most curious of all was the large vault with heavy steel doors in the center of the chamber.

“This is… wow,” Troubleshoes said, breathless. “What the hell is all of this?”

Aria started pointing at things in the chamber as she said, “Well, over there is the firing range, that’s where we keep our weapons, that’s the Valanx….”


Troubleshoes was absolutely stunned. “Okay okay… I take it y’all don’t have permits for all of this. Hell, if I recall correctly, the Valanx isn’t even in service with any nation!”

“That’s right.” Sonata looked at him and tilted her head like a puppy. “Gonna report us, Mr. Clyde?”

With a shrug, Troubleshoes said, “Honestly? At this point, I’m starting to wonder whether Tires and I were safer dealing with Los Perros by ourselves.” Troubleshoes looked at each one of them in turn. “Just who are you people?”

It was Sable who stepped forward, put an arm on Troubleshoes’s shoulder, and said, “I told you. We’re your friends. The reason we’re showing you all this is because we trust you, and we want you to trust us.”

“We’re giving you the opportunity to ask us any question you want,” Adagio said, spreading her arms theatrically. “We’re an open book.”

Where the hell do I even begin? Troubleshoes wondered, looking at the huge secret facility around him. “Do your parents—er, aunt and uncle…?”

“They know about all of this,” Aria answered immediately. “So do all of our cousins.”

Troubleshoes nodded, trying desperately to organize his thoughts. His mind then took him back to the conversation he had with the triplets that morning.

“Y’know, people say the best lies are based on truth,” Troubleshoes said, nodding at Sonata. “The one you told me at breakfast was pretty damn awful, but I think the theory still applies.”

Exchanging a brief look with her sisters, Sonata said, “You’re right about that much. What I said about having been part of a Canadian naval black project was true. Our organization became mercenaries after our flag officer was assassinated; by our own people we later found out. We came to Canterlot on a job for a client.”

“You remember the whole incident with the Dead Hand Killings?” Adagio asked.

“How could I not? I was worried to death about Tirespin that entire time!” Troubleshoes said.

“Well the good news is, you didn’t have to be. They wouldn’t have gone after a girl with a kid of her own. They were specifically targeting virgins.” Troubleshoes raised a deadpan eyebrow, and Adagio elaborated, “Our client was super into the occult. Believed that he could summon a demon through ritual sacrifice.”

Troubleshoes shook his head in disbelief. “Sounds insane.”

“Trust me, he was,” Aria said, shaking her own head. “Unfortunately, almost all of our organization bought into his crazy. What’s more, he and our CO—who I’m pretty sure were banging, by the way—injected the most zealous of our number with an experimental performance-enhancing drug. Made them fight like monsters, at the expense of their basic humanity.”

“Then they went after Sunny and her whole family, probably because someone with royal blood is the ideal sacrifice. If you believe in that stuff, anyway,” Sonata explained next.  “So the three of us and a few others from our organization decided that enough was enough and took the fight to them.”

Scratching his head, Troubleshoes followed along to the best of his ability. “Uh-huh....” He looked over at Sable. “And how exactly do you fit into all of this?”

“My girlfriend and I were unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire when all of this went down. I took it upon myself to help them out after that.”

Adagio took over, capping off their crazy tale. “In the end we came out victorious, but not without heavy sacrifice. Now, all the bad guys are either dead or imprisoned, and we finally have the normal life we always wanted.”

“Except for…” Troubleshoes gestured around the equipment-laden room, “all of this.”

“Just because we’re officially ‘normal’ now doesn’t mean we want our skills to dull,” Sonata explained, earnest tears welling up in her eyes. “There could still be more enemies out there, and we want to be able to protect Sunny and our new family!”

It was certainly a lot to take in, and Troubleshoes didn’t think he would even be able to process all of this new information until later that night. But there was one more thing that was still bugging him.

“This Sunset Shimmer… she’s more to you than just an adopted family member: I see it in the way you interact with her,” Troubleshoes said. He didn’t say it out loud, but the girl also had a certain… presence to her that made Troubleshoes think she was more than she appeared to be. “Just what is so special about her?”

It was as he was asking the question that Troubleshoes heard a chime from somebody’s phone. Sonata pulled her phone out and looked at it. Her brow furrowed.

“Huh. The Nest app is showing someone at the door,” she said, sounding puzzled.

A bad feeling entered Troubleshoes’s gut as he asked to see Sonata’s phone. A feeling like ice gripped his heart when he saw the dark-dressed figure wearing sunglasses, recorded by their home security system, reached up and rang the doorbell.

“Dammit, just my luck. How the hell did they find us?” Troubleshoes muttered, but it was loud enough for the others to hear.

Aria immediately went to the gun rack on the far end of the room and picked out a scoped rifle, while the other two quickly grabbed a pair of sidearms. Troubleshoes realized with dismay that he’d left his own weapon hidden away in the guest bedroom. Cursing under his breath, Troubleshoes turned and started to make for the elevator, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Why don’t you stay down here?” Sable firmly suggested as the armed triplets rushed past. “Trust me, they can handle it.”

“You sure about that, man?” Troubleshoes asked. “I know these guys. They’re heavy hitters.”

In turn, Sable gestured to a bunch of computer displays; to Troubleshoes, the arrangement was very much like a command center at US Special Operations Command.

“Well, if you’re not sure,” the younger man stated as he brought up the external feed from the Nest, “why don’t you take a peek for yourself?”





With his usual grin on his face, Withers strode up to the front door of the rather impressive mansion. Tracking the place down had been child’s play. 

That morning Withers had gone to the local KIA dealership, and posing as a Private Investigator (it was the first time he got to use the phony license he had made!) he had given the pimply-faced young man at the counter the plate number of the car he’d seen in the security footage from the diner. Crater Face had been pretty cooperative, only asking a few questions (to which Withers had given vague, bullshit answers) and before long Withers had a name and address.

The car was apparently registered to a Sonata Dusk, who Withers guessed was either a wife or daughter of the man with Troubleshoes. Even more curious, the address (482 Golden Oaks Drive) was up in San Palomino. Just how the hell does a Sunnytown mechanic know someone who lives here? Withers wondered. It seemed that there was more going on here than he at first suspected, and the prospect excited him.

So, after picking up a sandwich from a nearby chain and parking his car out of sight in the area, Withers found a tree in the public park across the street that still had enough leaves to provide camouflage and nimbly scaled it. With his binoculars he had a good view of the property at 482 Golden Oaks Drive, and he had spent the rest of the day watching. The property had mostly been lifeless through the afternoon, though a few times Withers had seen a teenage girl with blue hair in a ponytail wandering the perimeter.

Things started to pick up when evening came around, and the apparent residents started coming home. Most of them were teenage girls, but there was also a man and a woman—the parents, perhaps? It was around that point that Withers was starting to get restless. In all that time he hadn’t seen any sign of his quarry, or of the other man. He had begun to wonder whether this was a false lead when another car pulled into the property. He saw the Uber logo in the corner of the window, and when the vehicle stopped who should get out but his mysterious Snooper.

The dark green-haired man was greeted at the door by the girl with red and yellow hair, and the two lingered outside for a few minutes to talk about something before both of them headed in. Withers decided to wait another ten minutes, just to see if anyone else showed up. When no one did, Withers had decided he was tired of waiting around and hopped down from the tree (and after nearly six hours what a relief that was).

Now, having rung the doorbell, Withers waited patiently, a content smile on his face. In a few short moments, the door was answered by one of the teenage girls: the one with dark raven hair and purple eyes.

“Hello there,” Withers greeted calmly, leaning forward to be at her eye level. “Are your parents home?”

The girl shrugged noncommittally and said, “They don’t live here.”

“I see, okay,” Withers said, nodding patiently. “Do you think you could find someone who does?”

“I live here.”

“Oh, good. I’m a private investigator, and I’m looking for a very dangerous individual who might be in the area.”

To his surprise, the raven-haired girl smiled. “What a coincidence. I happen to know quite a few dangerous individuals.”

Noting that the strange response had a hint of danger to it, Withers said nothing and merely reached into his pocket, pulling out the picture of Troubleshoes he carried around. “Would one of them happen to look like this?” 

The raven-haired girl’s eyes momentarily widened with recognition, and Withers knew he had her even as she answered, “Never seen him before.”

Withers just leaned closer, his predatory smile widening. “Are you suuuuuuuure?”

It was then that another girl suddenly appeared behind the raven-haired one and tapped her shoulder.

“Hey, Tavi? Why don’t you go see if Uncle Night wants help with dinner?” the new girl said in a low, reassuring voice. “We’ll handle this.”

With nothing more than a worried look, the raven-haired girl “Tavi” departed, and the new girl stepped forward to face him. Her demeanor was completely different from Tavi, and something about it made Withers tense up. She wore a purple sweatshirt and pink workout shorts, and had her orange and yellow hair done up in a ponytail. But what Withers noted most was her raspberry eyes. They were scanning him up and down, but it wasn’t in a way a young girl might check out a cute guy. It was more like a fighter sizing up an opponent.

“Okay, have you seen the individual in this photo?” Withers asked, keeping his tone carefully professional. “I’m a private investigator, and—”

“I know who you are.” The tone that this new girl spoke held such a calm finality. Where the raven-haired girl had seemed nervous, this girl had the calm measure of… of what?

Of a soldier. 

Her eyes were now focused directly on his, seeming to stare into him even through his sunglasses. Withers had no doubt that she meant exactly what she said. It seemed unlikely, but perhaps Troubleshoes or the Snooper had told them what was going on.

But Withers had come here for a reason, and he wasn’t about to let some unusually perceptive girl impede him. “If that’s really true, then you know I don’t want any trouble,” he said. “Just let me take what I came for, and we won’t have a problem.”

It was a more than reasonable request, Withers thought, but the girl just shook her head. “If you want to avoid a problem, turn around and walk away.”

“I will,” Withers said, opening his jacket just enough to show the girl his .45. “As soon as I have what I came for.”

The girl shifted her body’s position slightly, and Withers thought at first she was going to relent and let him come in. Then he realized that she was only giving him a clear view of her hand—the one that wasn’t currently resting on the door. There was a handgun in it, and Withers watched her thumb calmly, slowly, switch the safety off. 

“Last chance,” she said, using her other hand to open the door slightly more to reveal another girl—the one with blue hair he’d seen patrolling the property—also armed, and standing in a ‘ready’ stance. “Turn around….” She then used her eyes to gesture up and to her left, and out of the corner of his eye, Withers spotted movement out of one of the second-story windows. A third girl with purple and aquamarine hair was aiming down the sights of a scoped DMR pointed right at him. “...and walk away.”

All at once it clicked in Withers’s mind exactly what was going on, and more importantly, just who these people were. But… it can’t be! They should all be dead!

Withers didn’t let any of the panic show in his perfectly constructed artificial smile as he closed his jacket and said, “Very well. It seems what I’m looking for isn’t here after all!”

With that, Withers turned and made his way back down the path to the front gate of the property, allowing his carefully constructed smile to wither away. He heard the orange-haired girl close the door behind him, but could still feel the eyes of the girl in the window follow him all the way off of the property. All the while, Withers seethed.

We killed all of those bitches in Colombia! And our friends at ALICORN got the rest of them right here in this town! The Bloodhound even personally made sure there weren’t any survivors afterward!

“FUCK!!!” Withers roared, kicking over one of the trash bins on the side of the road.

He had been so looking forward to capturing Troubleshoes himself; to stripping away his dignity and turning him into his greatest work of art yet. But this new development had changed everything. Los Perros would need to bring in their full might to deal with this, and Withers knew his comrades would be all too eager to do so once they learned that there were still living SIRENs to avenge themselves upon.
> 5 - Dogs of War
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Down in the secret bunker, tension filled the air as Sable and Troubleshoes stood at the center of the SIRENs’ makeshift command center, watching the feed from the Nest home security system. Neither man betrayed anything as they watched the silent conversation play out between Adagio and the other man—Withers, according to Troubleshoes. For one brief, frightening moment, the two actors on the screen showed each other their hand, and Sable thought for sure a shootout would occur. Instead, the man Withers closed his black jacket and left with some parting remark. Sable then let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

It wasn’t that Sable didn’t think the triplets could handle themselves if the situation turned to violence. In fact, quite the contrary: Sable would have pitied the man if he’d tried to move against them. But he knew that any violence breaking out, regardless of the outcome, would have made an already delicate situation much more complicated. Fortunately, it wasn’t something Sable needed to worry about now.

“Have to say, they handled themselves pretty well,” Troubleshoes said as he watched Withers trudge away on the computer screen. “Adagio didn’t even flinch when he flashed his sidearm, but given what you told me they’d been through, I suppose that’s to be expected.”

Sable couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as he said, “You should have seen them when they were still with SIREN.”

“It’s only natural that they'd lose some of their edge with enough time living as civvies, but the speed and cohesion they just demonstrated shows how well you’ve continued to train them.” Curiously, Troubleshoes concluded his praise with a contemplative frown.

“See something they can improve on?” Sable prodded.

“No, it’s not that. It’s…” Troubleshoes said, shaking his head. “Forget it. It’s not my place to say.”

“Please. I want to hear your thoughts.”

Folding his arms, Troubleshoes said, “Look, it’s not that I’m ungrateful for their help, but the father in me can’t help but wonder… whether this is right. These girls have seen and done things that no kid their age should ever have to. Now, they have the rare chance to live their lives like normal girls. Wouldn’t it be better for them to just… leave all of this behind?”

Sable watched the screen showing the feed from the foyer, where Adagio and Sonata had holstered their weapons and were talking with serious expressions on their faces. He swallowed the lump in his throat that still sometimes showed up whenever he really thought about exactly what the triplets truly were. 

“Honestly? I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. But you said it yourself: They’ve experienced things no kid their age could possibly imagine. There is no leaving all of that behind. Not for them.”

“Doesn’t mean they can’t try,” Troubleshoes said, turning to face him. “Vets like us do it every day. I don’t need to tell you how hard it can be sometimes.” Then looking down, he added, “They have something good here with this family. I’d hate to see them make the same mistakes I did.”

“I think you’ll find their circumstances are quite different from yours,” Sable said, turning towards the elevator back up to the main house.

Troubleshoes followed. “What do you mean?”

The two of them got in and with a press of a button the doors closed and the elevator started moving. 

“Talk to them about it sometime,” Sable said. “You’ll probably understand better if you hear it from them.”

In a few quick moments, the elevator doors opened and the two men stepped out into the foyer. Adagio and Sonata immediately stood at attention when they approached.

“Sir, the enemy is in full retreat,” Adagio reported with remarkable professionalism. “No major incidents to report.”

“Where’s Aria?” Sable asked.

“She’s remaining on station until we’re sure the enemy’s really left.”

“Did I miss something? What’s going on?” Everyone turned to see that Sunset had entered, and was looking between everyone with mild concern. The triplets (the two that were here, at least) had fully switched on their Specialist Mode, and Sunset generally knew what that meant.

“You two brief the princess on what just happened. Then you are to report back to the bunker for our scheduled training session,” Sable said, capping his orders off with, “Dismissed.”

The pair snapped off sharp salutes and set about their task.

“I think I’ll sit in on their debriefing,” Troubleshoes said. “Maybe there’s some insight I could provide.”

There was meaning behind the look Troubleshoes gave him then that went unspoken. It would seem that he was really thinking about what Sable had told him. Sable nodded and Troubleshoes turned to follow them. With that, Sable headed for the stairs, intent on checking in on Aria. He was surprised, then, to find Tirespin waiting at the top of the stairs, giving him a look that he couldn’t quite figure out.

“Everything okay, Tirespin?” Sable asked.

“I… was thinking of asking the same question, actually,” Tirespin said in a quiet voice so very unlike the girl Sable had first met what felt like a lifetime ago. “Things sounded pretty serious down there.”

Seeing no point in lying to her, Sable answered, “There was a minor incident. One of the members of Los Perros showed up, but the triplets scared him off.”

“Jesus, they know we’re here?”

“It’s possible.” Seeing the look of fear on her face, Sable put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’ll be okay, alright? You and your dad are safe here.”

“Y’know, as weird as it sounds... I actually believe it,” Tirespin said, trying for a nervous smile.

With an encouraging nod and a smile of his own, Sable continued past Tirespin to find where Aria was posted up, but Tirespin spoke up again.

“Hey, teach?” she asked, and Sable looked back at her. “I… I don’t think I ever said how much I appreciate everything you and your friends are doing for me and my dad.”

“No need to,” Sable said.

Now this was a side to Tirespin that Sable was really unfamiliar with, and despite his best efforts he just couldn’t reconcile the girl in front of him with the girl who’d thrown herself at him harder than a waitress in the Turkish restaurant from Troubleshoes’s story.

“Maybe, but I do think I need to apologize,” Tirespin said sheepishly, as if reading Sable’s mind. “Both for coming on as strong as I did the other week, and… for cussing you out after.”

With a notable wince, Tirespin rubbed the back of her neck as she continued, “Yeah, really not proud of that. When I saw you with your girlfriend that morning, something in me just… snapped.”

Sable was pretty sure he remembered that morning. He had been pretty affectionate with Celestia as she dropped him off and now he was more than certain he’d seen Tirespin waiting for him at the curb. 

“I can understand, without condoning,” Sable said, giving her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Thank you for the apology, Tires.”

“I had this whole idea in my head for how our relationship was gonna go, and it took me seeing just how in love you are with your girlfriend for me to realize that… y-you were never gonna look at me the way you looked at her.” Wiping the tears from her eyes before they could fall, a bit of the old fire entered her voice as she exclaimed, “Was I so wrong to just want a family for my Cinnamon to grow up with?!”

Sable waited several moments for Tirespin to let out all of her tears before he answered, “From where I’m standing, you already have a family who loves you and Cinnamon very much. All you need to do is let them.”

Tirespin immediately frowned. “Yeah yeah, okay. I know who we’re really talking about now, but you don’t know him like I do.”

“Perhaps. But I think the opposite is also true,” Sable said. “You’ve cut your dad out of your life for so long that now, the Troubleshoes that you know and the Troubleshoes that I know are two completely different people.” 

Tirespin opened her mouth, but evidently didn’t have an answer to that. So Sable provided one. “Tell you what, you and your dad are going to be staying here for a while. How about each of us spend that time getting to know the Troubleshoes that the other one knows?”

Finally, Tirespin said, “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

Giving her one more smile, Sable continued down the upstairs hallway to check in on Aria.

There were days that Sable Loam wondered if it was worth it. Working at the Blanks often made him feel like Sisyphus; always struggling to push that boulder up the mountain only to watch it come tumbling down every time. But seeing how much Tirespin had grown over such a short period of time made Sable realize: Yeah, it was worth it.





At the same time that Sable was having his heart-to-heart with Tirespin on the second floor, Troubleshoes was seated at the dining room table with Sunset. Adagio and Sonata stood ramrod straight at attention before her, having just finished giving her their account of the night’s events.

“First of all, thank you very much for the information,” said Sunset, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Second, could you two please just talk to me like normal people?”

“Negative, Highness. The Admiral hasn’t given us authorization to stand down,” Adagio stated curtly.

“Additionally, the concept of normality is subjective and vague, therefore such an order couldn’t be carried out effectively,” Sonata said with equal military discipline, adding, “Your Highness,” for good measure.

Despite now knowing everything the strange girls had been through, Troubleshoes couldn’t quite keep himself from chuckling at the scene. It was Sunset’s utterly exasperated expression that did it.

“Thank you, girls,” she said, burying her reddening face in her palm. “You’re dismissed now. Leave.”

The pair of them filed out of the room, and Sunset buried her face into the table, curtains of red and yellow hair muffling her groan. She then evidently remembered that Troubleshoes was still there, and she sat up and cleared her throat.

“Sorry about that,” she said with an awkward grin. “Don’t get me wrong, I love both of them very much, but it can be frustrating when they get like that.”

“If I may give my own opinion on the matter…” Troubleshoes said, and when Sunset indicated that she didn’t mind, he continued, “I think it’s a defense mechanism for them.”

Sunset looked curious. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, as I understand it, they were operators practically since birth. It’s good that they can have more or less normal lives now—and they’re clearly happier for it—but such a stark change of lifestyle must be scary for them. Strange as it may sound, a military command structure probably provides a great deal of comfort for them. It’s something they can fall back on when they’re scared because it’s familiar.”

“Huh. I never thought of it like that,” Sunset said, before growing quiet. Troubleshoes figured she was seeing her adoptive cousins in a new light now, so he gave the thought time to process. Finally, Sunset frowned. “Guess that means they told you the truth about their background, huh?” 

Troubleshoes nodded, and Sunset said, “Still not sure how I feel about that, to be honest. Very few people outside our family know what you know. But Sable seems to trust you, and weirdly, so do they.”

That last part was a surprise to Troubleshoes. He hadn’t even been sure that the triplets particularly liked him, and had wondered whether they’d only told him their history because Sable had ordered it. But Sunset knew them better than he did, so Troubleshoes trusted her judgment.

“Maybe it’s time to return to the matter at hand,” he said.

“Right,” Sunset said before sighing. “I have a plan in motion to get Los Perros out of your hair, but it was kind of dependant on them not being able to find you for a little while.” Sunset spent some time tapping her finger on the table before asking, “What would you say the odds are that they’re going to come back?”

Troubleshoes didn’t have to think about it long. “Honestly, not likely. Withers clearly saw how well armed and trained your cousins are. He’ll know that the only way Los Perros is getting to me in here would be with a committed attack, and I don’t believe they’ll think I’m worth the risk. The Bloodhound might be insane, but he’s also obsessively pragmatic. He won’t risk stirring the pot in a city like this unless the reward is worth it.”

Sunset nodded, the gears in her head visibly turning. “Okay. That actually plays very nicely into my plan.”

Sunset then relayed her plan to Troubleshoes, and when she was finished, he said, “That could actually work.”

“Then I see no reason not to stay on our present course,” Sunset said, standing from the table. “That being said, I am going to look into increasing our security just in case. It’s not that I don’t trust your assessment of the situation, but I’d rather err on the side of caution with this.”

“Makes sense,” Troubleshoes said, also standing from the table and following Sunset out of the dining room. “My assessment is based on what I know about Los Perros from my own time with them, but that time was quite short. For all I know, there could be other elements at play here.”





Found on one of the lesser-traveled side roads in Sunnytown’s ostensible downtown area was a seedy basement bar called “The Crevice”.  Present for as long as Sunnytown had existed, it was also an unsavory location for equally as long, so much so that pop culture savvy members of the Canterlot metro law enforcement community occasionally referred to it as “a wretched hive of scum and villainy” and often did so without a smirk. From its earliest days as a bootlegger’s paradise in the days of Prohibition to its role as a drug haven in the 1960s and 70s, the Crevice and its attached apartments had a negative role in Sunnytown’s already spotty history.

The current version of the establishment wasn’t much different. Due to the partly burnt-out neon sign, it was often called “The Crevi”, with passers-by making fun of the fact that the rathole couldn’t even afford to fix their signage. But to the owner, a man who also went by the name Crevi, it meant more than that.

Crevi, by coincidence, was a phrase in the Tuscan dialect of Italian which meant “I come to be”.  It was also, by design, the motto of the 17° Stormo Incursioni, the famed Special Forces unit of the Italian Air Force.  Thus, the bar seemed to run much tighter than the days when it was a popular rent-a-hideaway for the various gangs of town.

However, it just meant that the Crevi was now home to a different sort of clientele. One that, were the local law enforcement aware of their presence, would have much preferred the gangbangers to be there instead.

The three top lieutenants of Los Perros de Guerra sat around a table in the dimly lit bar. Mr. Crevi himself stood silently behind the bar in a shirt and vest with a bow tie. An elderly man with sunken eyes and flowing white hair, the owner stood surveilling his guests’ meeting; one of the conditions of patronage at his establishment. Mr. Crevi could likely fill a book with all of the secret meetings he’d heard over his many years, but he had a reputation for knowing the value of silence. Indeed, the only reason for his presence during all of his patrons’ meetings was to ensure they behaved themselves within his establishment.

So the lieutenants of Los Perros held their meeting beneath Crevi’s gaze, treating him—as all others did—as if he weren’t even there. His fedora casting a shadow over his eyes, Biff listened as Withers relayed what he discovered in his attempt to track down the wayward Troubleshoes Clyde.

“Withers, we can’t know for sure…” Biff started, but Withers cut him off.

“But I do!” he exclaimed, not bothering with any of his faux charm. “Those girls were SIREN. There’s no other way to explain it!”

“Och, aye,” said Rogue, a particularly beefy Irishman with an orange mullet and bushy sideburns. “Hard tae think any ‘o ‘em coulda survived what ‘appened ‘ere in the summer.” His look then darkened. “But if there’s even a chance any ‘o ‘em did….”

Biff nodded. “It’s worth investigating at the very least. How many did you see, Withers?”

“Looked like there were at least six girls there, plus the woman. Only three of them were visibly armed, but for all I know they could all be SIRENs.”

“You also said you saw the guy who was scoping out our vehicle at Hard Luck Towing,” Biff said before turning to Rogue. “You find anything else on him, Rogue?”

Rogue shook his head. “Nothin’ we daen’t already know. Sable Loam: Ex-Ranger, Iraq and Afghanistan. English teacher at a local high school. I sent a guy to his apartment, but daen’t find shite. Looks like he hasn’t been there in some time.”

“Probably because he’s been spending his nights up at SIREN manor banging the brains out of one or all of them,” Withers pointed out. “That means we’re potentially dealing with seven SIRENs and a Ranger.”

“And a SEAL. If we’re assuming that’s where Troubleshoes is, anyway,” Biff said with a frown.

Withers nodded. “We’re gonna need at least a dozen guys if we’re gonna hit this place. Probably more.”

Biff held out a hand and said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t even have confirmation that Troubleshoes is there, let alone that any of them are really SIRENs. For all we know, this could just be some rich family whose kids are really into the Second Amendment.”

Beneath his shades, Withers rolled his eyes. He knew that what he saw wasn’t just a few young gun enthusiasts. Withers had looked into their eyes and saw himself reflected in them: they were cold, hard killers.

“Och, aye,” said Rogue. “Just the same, I’d like to contact the Bloodhound. See if he’d be willin’ tae send some extra guys up our way.”

Withers liked Rogue. They usually saw eye to eye on most things, and the Irishman’s blind hatred for SIREN made him easy to manipulate in circumstances like this one.

“I don’t know about you, Biff, but I’d certainly feel more comfortable having more guys on hand,” said Withers, giving a meaningful look to Rogue. “Just in case.”

Looking from Withers to Rogue, Biff sighed and said, “Okay. I’ll call the Bloodhound, get his permission for this operation, and start conducting an investigation into these potential SIRENs. Withers, I want your help with the latter. Explore any other possible avenues of escape Troubleshoes might have taken while you’re at it. As for you Rogue, keep monitoring this Loam guy. Report any new developments.”

“Yes, sir,” said Withers.

“Och, aye,” said Rogue.

With that, the three men stood, nodded to Mr. Crevi behind the bar, and made to leave. Rogue stepped out of the bar first, and Withers made to follow, but Biff’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Hold up a sec, Withers,” Biff said. “I have one last question for you.”

Rolling his eyes again, Withers turned to face Biff, pulling out a patient smile from his bag.

“When are you gonna tell me what happened with Troubleshoes?” Biff asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Withers said, his faux smile never faltering. 

“What I mean is I’ve known Troubleshoes a long time,” Biff said, a hint of a challenge entering his tone. “He’s not the kind to just cut and run like this. So what happened?”

Withers made a show of shrugging. “How should I know, Biff?” 

“Because it was your job to run surveillance on him. So, did something happen? Did you notice him acting strange at all before he disappeared?”

“I don’t think I know Troubleshoes well enough to know what ‘strange’ looks like for him,” Withers said, his carefully constructed amicable tone slowly matching the hint of challenge in Biff’s own. “He’s your friend, isn’t he? Tell me, what do you think happened?”

“I know it would take a lot to spook a man like Troubleshoes Clyde,” Biff said, pushing his hat up so Withers could see his eyes boring into him. “And I know that you have your… hobbies. The kind of shit I hear that you get up to would spook anyone, Withers.”

“Hey, I told you that I keep my work life and my private life separate, didn’t I?” Withers said, putting a hand on Biff’s broad shoulder and rubbing it gently, almost tenderly. “The Bloodhound trusts me. Don’t you?”

Biff grabbed Withers’s hand and gently but firmly removed it from his shoulder. “Until you give me a reason not to. Same goes for the Bloodhound.” Biff then pushed past Withers, pausing at the door to get one last word in. “I don’t think I need to remind you what the Bloodhound would do to you if he thinks you’ve gone off script, Withers.”

His false smile crumbling to pieces, Withers seethed as Biff turned his back on him. Such disrespect! He touched one of the knives hidden in his jacket and actually considered sticking it right into Biff’s back as he walked away. Oh, am I going off script, Biff? He’d ask while twisting the blade deeper. Well maybe I’m done reading your fucking script!

The fantasy persisted until Biff was out of sight, and then it no longer held any appeal to Withers. As was often the case, the prospect of telling Biff exactly what he thought of the Bloodhound’s “script” would just create a mess of a situation that would have been too tedious to clean up for Withers to bother in the first place. So after collecting himself, Withers stepped out of the bar, leaving Mr. Crevi alone in his establishment.





Sunset had made good on her declaration to Troubleshoes that she was going to increase security at the mansion. Adagio and her sisters realized this when they went to meet her in the backyard the following evening and saw her standing before a row of well-armed soldiers standing at attention. Suffice to say, Adagio had some questions, but knew they would have to wait. First, protocol needed to be attended.

“Your Highness,” Adagio said, she and her siblings popping off sharp salutes. “You wished to see us?”

“At ease, for God’s sake!” Sunset groaned. Seeing no reason to refuse her—this time—Adagio and her sisters obliged.

“So, are you going to introduce us to…?” Adagio trailed off as she looked again at the assembled soldiers and did a double-take.

“Uh… that’s us,” Sonata stated. Sure enough, among Sunset’s apparent new security force were perfect copies of the triplets dressed in their old tactical gear from their days with the original SIREN. “Huh… never realized our old gear made my ass look so good!”

“Yeah, well, looking at that,” Aria replied, “just confirms that I look absolutely horrible with short hair.”

“Yeah…” Adagio said absentmindedly, hardly listening. Looking down the line, she spotted more familiar faces: Sable Loam, Zephyr Breeze, Sunny Side, Evergreen Pine, and… more. “The hell are we looking at, Sunset?”

But it was Aria who answered, “They’re illusions.” 

“Good guess,” Sunset said, sounding impressed. “How’d you figure it out, Ari?”

“Aside from the fact that Zephyr is in France and that Pines and Sides are still the Chocolate Twins in this timeline?” Aria asked dryly (causing Sonata to squee silently). “Even standing relatively still, something about their movement is just… off. I can’t really explain it, it’s like… it’s like an idle animation on a video game character.”

“Yeah, I’ll admit these things are fairly simple constructions.” Sunset then made to shove the illusory Sable and her hand passed right through his chest. “If I had more Equestrian materials and more time, I could make something that can physically interact with the world and operate fairly autonomously. As it is….”

Sunset then waved her hand, surrounded by a cyan glow, and the assembled illusory soldiers all raised their weapons and unloaded a burst of rifle fire at the triplets. The loud reports of the weapons made Adagio instinctively flinch, and she still had to check herself for injuries before she could relax. She and her sisters were completely unscathed.

“I see, so they’re meant to function more as a deterrent than a true security force,” Adagio noted.

Sunset nodded. “I’m hoping that the sight of a full armed force protecting the mansion will make Los Perros think twice about trying anything if they do come back.” She then looked at Sonata. “Think you could put together a fake security company online to help sell this? I could ask Derpy to put you in contact with some of her friends in those kind of circles.”

Sonata nodded. It seemed like a solid plan to Adagio, but there was one small problem that Aria beat her to pointing out.

“How do we explain all this to Troubleshoes and Tirespin?” she asked.

“The three of you actually took care of that for me,” Sunset answered. “Now that Troubleshoes knows your history—to an extent, anyway—I’ll just tell him that we managed to get some of your old contacts to help out. As for the ones that look like you three, you look different enough now to how you looked then that at a distance I don’t think anyone will recognize them as you. And in addition to their pre-programmed patrols, I’ve also programmed them to keep a set distance away from Troubleshoes and Tirespin at all times. If we play this off right, they’ll barely even notice they’re here.”

It all made a certain amount of sense. Everyone who had fought against the monsters that the old SIREN program had become was here. Even….

Adagio heard a gasp come from Sonata, and a lump formed in her throat when she saw that her youngest sister had wandered all the way down the line of faux soldiers to the other end. Oh no. Adagio had hoped that she wouldn’t notice.

Standing at the end of the line past Piano Bliss (who Adagio realized hadn’t been involved in their battle with SIREN, but had nevertheless gotten her own Happily Ever After with the Chocolate Twins) were three more heartbreakingly familiar figures. Vesper Blue, Madrigal Storm, and Intermezzo Blue all stood at attention with the rest of the illusions. Sonata was in front of Madrigal, staring right into the illusion’s eyes while tears started forming in the corner of her own.

Adagio herself couldn’t help but step closer to the illusion resembling Intermezzo. Suddenly she was back at the front gate of the SIREN stronghold, watching helplessly as an RPG turned their van into a flaming wreck with Intermezzo still inside. It had all happened so fast, but… maybe if Adagio had been more vigilant… if she had spotted the enemy with the RPG sooner and had been quick enough to react….

Adagio forced herself to look away from Intermezzo’s face, determined not to let the heartache take her. Her eyes found Sunset’s as she did, and Adagio saw them fill with realization.

“Oh God, yeah. I forgot that… yeah. I’m sorry…” Sunset said, dispelling the illusions with a wave of her hand.

“Wait!” Sonata cried as Madrigal disappeared before her eyes. “I… I still had so much I wanted to say to her….”

The tears in the corner of her eyes started to make their way down her cheeks, and Aria went to her. Even as she wrapped her arms around their youngest sibling, Aria’s eyes kept flicking to where Vesper’s ghost had been standing moments ago.

“I’m so sorry, I should have fucking known better,” Sunset said frowning.

Adagio put a hand on her cousin’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Sunny. Water under the bridge.”

“I won’t have any of my illusions look like them from now on, I promise.”

Spotting movement out of the corner of her eye, Adagio turned toward the house and made ready to draw on a possible intruder. But it was just Sable; the real Sable, and he waved them over. Today’s workout session really crept up on us.

Aria looked at her over Sonata’s shoulder, and Adagio motioned for the two of them to get ready for their workout. They did so, but Adagio lingered with Sunset an extra moment.

“I’d actually like it if you kept using them,” Adagio said, smiling in spite of the painful lump in her throat. “It’s kind of nice…. Feels like our sœurs are still watching over us.”





Troubleshoes had to admit, it was kind of nice getting back into a regular workout routine. Even after he quit drinking, getting back to a normal routine was never something he got around to doing. Sure, he’d still used his weights at home and went for the occasional jog, but that wasn’t even close to what he was doing now with the triplets down in their secret underground bunker.

Due to the previous night’s uninvited guest and Sable’s need to get home in time for the increasingly rare dinner with his girlfriend, their workout had been cut a little short. So, Sable had decided the triplets would continue where they left off last night, doing a quick round of calisthenics before moving on with strength training. Despite being relatively out of practice, Troubleshoes kept up with them easily enough, and even gently corrected their posture here and there when needed. In fact, after a while it almost felt like Troubleshoes was the one leading the workout session rather than Sable.

However, there was something that nagged at Troubleshoes as the workout went on. The other night, the triplets had attacked their session with gusto, likely fired up from their confrontation with Withers. Short though it was, the mood of last night’s session was spirited and jovial, the triplets chatting and bantering with each other during rests. Tonight, however, the mood was subdued, almost melancholy. The girls completed the session like troopers, but it seemed to Troubleshoes like their hearts weren’t into it.

At first Troubleshoes tried to tell himself that whatever was going on wasn’t any of his business. That he should just pack up and head upstairs. But some instinct that he couldn’t explain instead pushed him to where they were still seated on their mats, drinking water from their reusable bottles.

“Everything good?” he asked, and the three of them looked up at him.

“Yeah. Why?” Adagio asked casually enough.

Troubleshoes didn’t buy it. “Well, there’s the fact that you guys were just going through the motions tonight,” he said, giving them a compassionate look as he sat down next to them. “C’mon. What’s on your mind?”

The three of them were quiet for a moment, then Aria said, “Something happened before we started tonight. It was nothing major. A little thing, really. But I think it’s safe to say it’s left us all a little unbalanced.”

The other two nodded in affirmation, and Troubleshoes asked, “What happened?”

The quiet moment was a bit longer this time, and Sonata was the one to answer. “We saw… we were reminded of our sœurs.”

Troubleshoes scratched his head. “Uh… I’m a little rusty on my French….”

“It means sisters,” Aria explained. “In SIREN, senior members were each assigned a young recruit to mentor. The relationship is usually filial, and because we were so young when we were assigned ours, this was especially the case for us.” 

“I see. So they were like your parents?” Troubleshoes asked, and the three of them nodded.  Considering everything they had told him, it didn’t take a lot of guessing for Troubleshoes to figure out what had happened to these sœurs of theirs. These poor kids have been through so much….

“Please, don’t look at us like that,” Adagio said with a frown, evidently noticing the sympathy on his face. “We’re fine.”

But then Sonata asked in a small voice, “Are we?” 

Suddenly Adagio didn’t look too sure. “Okay, maybe not entirely. But we don’t exactly have the luxury of dwelling on it.”

“And why not?” Troubleshoes asked.

“Because there’s too much at stake! We need to be ready to protect our family when the time comes.”

“In my experience, bottling up your emotions will only make that harder,” Troubleshoes said, and this time Adagio didn’t have a response. “I know you guys were raised to be dogs of war, but now you have the opportunity to let yourselves be human. You should try to embrace that, even if it’s scary.”

The three of them seemed to consider this for a long time before tears started welling up in Sonata’s eyes, then Aria’s. 

“Well… I suppose we were trained not to be scared of anything,” Adagio said, trying to put on a brave face for her sisters even as her own tears came. 

“I just… can’t help but think about all of the things I wanted to say to Maddy,” Sonata said through quiet sniffles. “Even though most of it she probably already knew anyway, it would have been nice to tell her ‘I love you,’ and…. ‘T-thanks for being a good mom’.”

Adagio reached over and put an arm around her. Deciding to let them have their moment Troubleshoes turned to look at Aria, who seemed to be on the cusp of saying something. With a little wordless encouragement from Troubleshoes, she managed to get her thoughts out too.

“It just sort of hit me earlier that we don’t have any pictures of them,” Aria said, her usual deadpan tone masking the pain that the thought brought with it. “Now I can’t help but wonder… will we still remember what they looked like five years from now? Ten years?” Now it was Aria’s turn to start sniffling, and she quickly wiped her nose with a trembling finger. “Shit’s scary.”

Troubleshoes was silent for a few minutes, just letting the three of them process what they were feeling. When he felt the time was right, he told them, “Y’know, I know it’s not exactly the same, but my old man was killed in the line of duty.”

The attention of all three of them were back on him, so Troubleshoes continued, “Cpt. Hard Luck, USMC, was a part of the multinational force in Lebanon in the early eighties. Was one of over two-hundred men killed by a truck bomb that drove into their barracks. I was probably about your age when it happened.

“Now, I’m probably luckier than you in that I still have pictures of him, but I think that even if I didn’t I’d still remember him clearly. Sure, certain details get fuzzier with age, but my old man was a pretty big inspiration to me. Not only was he a war hero, he also started up Hard Luck Towing from nothing to make sure me and my mom were taken care of. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without him.” 

With a nostalgic smile, Troubleshoes concluded his story with, “Doesn’t matter how much time passes. You just don’t forget someone like that.”

Finally, Aria allowed herself a cautious smile, while Sonata just asked, “But… doesn’t it bother you that you never got to tell him that?”

“Nope,” Troubleshoes answered immediately. “I know that wherever he is now, he knows and is proud. That’s good enough for me.”

With nothing else left to say, Troubleshoes stood and the triplets all did the same. Adagio and Aria both gave him looks that conveyed what was unspoken, Thank you. Sonata, on the other hand, conveyed the same through a sudden and unexpected hug. Surprised and a little bewildered, Troubleshoes gently rubbed her back until she let go and joined her sisters, the three of them returning to the house proper via the elevator.

“Have to say, you really are a natural at this,” Sable said, and Troubleshoes turned to see him approach from the other side of the bunker where he’d evidently been watching.

“A natural at what?” Troubleshoes asked.

“Being a mentor to them,” Sable answered with a smile. “In fact, I was hoping to ask if you could cover their workout for me tomorrow. I’m going to be busy and usually when that happens, that day’s session is shot.”

With an earnestly genuine smile, Troubleshoes answered, “It would be my pleasure.”





About a week later, Sunset Shimmer was eating her lunch in the CHS cafeteria when someone’s hand placed a small USB harddrive on the table in front of her. Sunset looked up from her greasy meal to see Derpy Hooves take the seat across from her.

Sunset finished chewing her admittedly soggy potatoes and said, “So I take it you finished the job?”

As Derpy answered in the affirmative, Sunset looked over the girl’s shoulder where her friends were still in line getting their own lunches. Pinkie glanced in her direction curiously and Sunset gave her a look which she hoped would convey that she wanted to talk with Derpy alone for a minute.

“The files you specified are all on here,” Derpy said, tapping the portable harddrive. “Have to say, the Feds really haven’t done much to improve their security since the last time I did this.”

“Thanks, Derpy. The money will be wired to you at the end of the week, same as before. My brother and his people thank you for your service,” Sunset said, hating the feeling of lying to her friend.

“I’m sure they do. So, when are you going to tell me what these jobs of yours are really about?” Derpy asked, evidently hating the feeling as much as Sunset.


Sunset took a moment to try to figure out something to tell her, but Derpy took the silence as a refusal to answer and said, “Look, I get it. If you’re involved with something dangerous—and judging by what’s in these files, you are—I want to know as little about it as possible. But you can do away with all the bullshit about ‘helping the FBI test their cybersecurity.’ I thought you and I had more respect for each other than that.”

Unable to hide the wince on her face, Sunset said, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Derpy. But it’s like you said: The less you know, the better off you are.”

Derpy’s face softened as she replied, “I understand, Sunset. And for the record, I trust you. I probably wouldn’t have taken this job in the first place if I didn’t. I sure as hell don’t hang my ass out in the wind for just anyone, you know.”

“I appreciate that,” Sunset stated, thankful even with Derpy’s usual crassness.

With that, Sunset and Derpy promised to see each other around before Derpy left to meet up with Carrot Top and Sunset was joined by her usual circle of friends.

“What were you and Derps talking about?” Rainbow asked.

Sunset picked the USB harddrive off the table and put it in her bag. “Business,” Sunset answered plainly.

“If y’ask me, I think the time’s comin’ for you to let that girl in on your big secret,” said Applejack, predictably advocating for honesty. “Seems only right with how often you’ve gone to her for help.”

“I’ve been considering it.” The question was what she would do with Derpy whenever she did end up telling her. Would she offer her a spot in her SIRENs like Aria had suggested? Or did Derpy have another role to play in things to come? Either way, it was a question for another time, and Sunset had more pressing concerns on her mind. Like finding out what exactly was on the drive Derpy had given her.

The rest of the day seemed to go on forever, but eventually the final period bell rang and Sunset wasted no time rushing home. It was a good thing she wasn’t working at the Sugar Cube Corner today, because she would have been sorely tempted to simply call in a sick day. The little harddrive in her backpack was all she could think about for the entire rest of the day. 

So when Sunset finally did get home, she made a beeline for the underground bunker and immediately set about downloading the files from the hard drive to the computers in the makeshift command center. The computers down here were on their own network, so Sunset didn’t have to worry about anyone finding their contents unless they somehow found the secret bunker itself, and at that point Sunset would have much bigger problems than someone discovering illegally obtained federal files.

The next hour and a half was spent poring over what was apparently all of the FBI’s counterterrorism and intelligence files on Los Perros de Guerra. Sunset was pleasantly surprised to find just how thorough an investigation the Feds were conducting into the merc group, but considering Canterlot’s recent history with such things, it shouldn’t really have been a surprise. The FBI had pinned down the location of Los Perros’s FOB here in town (a seedy place in Sunnytown called the Crevice) and had detailed files on all of its core members (including Withers, the man in sunglasses who had apparently visited last night).

Far more concerning was some of the other information Sunset had discovered. Well, shit. This certainly adds a new perspective to the situation.

It was around that time that the triplets had arrived home, and Sunset called them down to the bunker to discuss the things she had found.

“You’ve gotta be kidding!” Adagio exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air. “Just our fucking luck!”

“You’re sounding a bit like Troubleshoes now, Dagi,” Sonata said with a snicker, adding some levity to the serious situation.

“I think I’m justified to call bullshit on this stupid luck! I mean, what are the odds that this random merc company also has a history with SIREN?”

“Considering that both SIREN and Los Perros took on contracts all over the world? I think it would be more surprising if there wasn’t any history,” Sunset said.

“Except I remember hearing about plenty of other military contractors that were rivals to SIREN back when we were in it, and I don’t remember this one,” Aria pointed out. “Sunny, where did you say that SIREN and Los Perros had their run-in?”

Sunset looked again at the files on the computer. “Colombia. Apparently, that’s where Los Perros is based. According to this, CSIS had contracted them to eliminate a SIREN bolthole in the area right around the same time as the ‘Battle of Canterlot’ last summer. Los Perros accomplished their objective, but the SIRENs put up way more of a fight than they were expecting. Los Perros incurred heavy losses, including one of their top commanders.”

“How exactly did the FBI come across this information anyway?” Sonata asked.

“Apparently it’s FIVE EYES material, so CSIS and the Feds are working pretty closely on this. I guess after what happened here last summer, the Feds didn’t want to take any chances that this is connected somehow.”

“And the current director of Les SCARS is probably hoping to walk back their predecessor’s fuck ups by fully cooperating,” Sonata added with a hint of distaste in her voice.

Adagio and Aria, meanwhile, exchanged a look. “Hey Dagi, didn’t Sides and Pines tell us when we first met in the old timeline that they’d fled a SIREN bolthole in Colombia that was hit by mercs?”

Adagio just nodded, the pieces falling into place. “Great. Just great. Assuming Los Perros are still sore about their guys in Colombia, as soon as they realize we were SIREN they’re going to come back for us as much as Troubleshoes.”

“Or not,” Sunset said, and all three of her cousins focused on her. “Remember, you guys were never SIRENs. Not on this timeline anyway. Even with all of the resources in the world, Los Perros won’t find any evidence linking you to SIREN because as far as this world is concerned, that evidence doesn’t exist.”

Adagio opened her mouth, likely with a counterpoint, but Sunset was already refuting it. “Oh, they might have their suspicions, but in the end I don’t think it will matter. From what Troubleshoes told me about the Bloodhound, he’s obsessively pragmatic and practical. Not the type to launch any major action on nothing but a hunch. Especially in a town like Canterlot where something like this already happened.”

This seemed to placate the triplets, but Sonata suddenly got a curious look in her eyes. “You know, I feel like we’ve heard a lot about this ‘Bloodhound’ guy since all this started. Is there anything about him in the documentation?”

Sunset frowned. “Honestly, he’s the only part of this that’s as much a mystery to the FBI as he is to us. No name, no picture, not even a year of birth. All they know is that he assumed command of the main branch of Los Perros right after the SIREN incident last summer.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, wondering whether there was some way this connected to what they knew from their own experiences in the other timeline.

With a sigh, Adagio was the first to give up. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter who he is. All that matters is that he and his subordinates are as sensible as Troubleshoes says.”

“Dagi’s right,” Aria said. “Now Sunset, you said that once we had the intel from the FBI we would be ready to take the next step to getting rid of Los Perros.”

“Yeah, how do we use this to our advantage?” Sonata asked.

“It’s simple: We lay it all out on the table!” Sunset said with a mischievous smile. “Are you guys up for your first official mission tonight as my SIRENs?”

Sunset then explained her plan to the three now very eager SIRENs. As she did, something about the whole thing nagged at her. Sunset had thought through everything very carefully, and she believed that she had accounted for every variable.

So why did it feel like there was something very important she was overlooking?





Within the bowels of the Crevice, Withers was nervous with anticipation. Gathered around him were all of the fireteam leaders he had selected for this prospective operation, as well as his fellow lieutenants, of course. At the moment, Biff was on the phone with the Bloodhound giving him the final rundown of the situation, while Mr. Crevi watched silently from behind the bar.

Withers had to admit, his search for solid proof that the three girls he had met at the house on Golden Oaks drive were SIRENs had proven very fruitless. He had pulled in a lot of favors with a lot of people to get full access to the lives of Adagio Dazzle, Aria Blaze, and Sonata Dusk, and it had all been for nought. According to his findings, those three girls had lived perfectly mundane lives (despite being shuffled around by a cornucopia of relatives and guardians before eventually ending up in the house he found them in).

Still, something about the sheer amount of almost absurd tragedy that had relocated the girls again and again really stuck out to Withers; like the unprompted elaboration of a bad liar. So, Withers tried a different avenue of investigation, drawing instead from the images taken of the strange manor’s grounds.

His people had been monitoring the property on Golden Oaks since his fateful encounter there a week ago, and their findings indicated that there were at least half a dozen more armed sentries there than there had been when he’d made his own little excursion. Evidently his little visit had seriously spooked somebody. 

So, Withers set about digging into the backgrounds of some of these newly appeared guards, and much of what he found was truly baffling. Most of them were apparently living in different parts of the country, (two of which were even hosts on some dumb kids show) and one was even supposedly in France. And yet, despite somehow being in two places at the same time, there were still no connections to SIREN. Just when Withers had lost all hope, he had at last hit paydirt.

Vesper Blue, Madrigal Storm, and Intermezzo Blue had apparently all been a part of SIREN up until the infamous Battle of Canterlot last summer, after which the trio had been apprehended by the FBI, handed over to the RCMP, and then died in a tragic “accident”. As a man who had arranged many different kinds of similar “accidents” over his career, Withers would have known better even if the evidence weren’t right in front of him. So, he passed off his findings to Biff, who in turn sent them off to the Bloodhound, and now the two were on the line together, going through the final formality before they could proceed.

Finally, Biff hung up his phone and turned to face Withers. “We have authorization. Operation: Watership Down is a go.”

With the widest of grins, Withers turned and ordered his men to move out. Their plan of attack was already mapped out, and Withers had faith in every man (and woman) under his command to do their jobs well.

“Take one or two alive if yeh can,” Rogue reminded him. “I checked yer findings, and I’ve got one or two wee questions fer the cunts.”

Not to mention the boys who had survived Colombia would no doubt want some revenge, and each one of those girls would make a pretty outlet for all of that pent up anger. But there was only one canvas that Withers wanted for himself, and now he was so close he could practically taste that sweet chocolate.

Ready or not, Big T. Here I come!
> 6 - Operation: Watership Down
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Heart pounding in her chest, Adagio stepped into the seedy basement bar that was the Crevice (or “the Crevi”, if the broken neon sign outside was any indication). Sonata was with her while Aria, their sharpshooter, was posted on the roof of a building across the street, covering the Crevi’s main entrance through the scope of her sniper rifle. Although it had been a few months—and technically, another lifetime—since Adagio and her sisters had been on a proper mission, their instincts remained as sharp as ever. Adagio felt the familiar adrenaline-fueled hyperawareness take over as she surveyed the rather dingy establishment.

A sunken-faced old man stood behind the bar at one o’clock at about three meters. The only supposed patrons were two men standing around the pool table at eleven and a half at fifteen meters. Adagio recognized them from the personnel files in the FBI documentation Sunset had shown them. The green felt of the pool table had a long-faded brown stain, and Adagio could smell cigarette smoke. There were two other doors aside from the one she and Sonata entered from: One at seventeen meters just behind the pool table marked as a bathroom, and another behind the far side of the bar at about five meters. Adagio mentally marked them both off as possible entry points for additional tangos. There were no windows.

It took barely a second for Adagio to catalogue all this information, at which point the two men around the pool table immediately took notice of Sonata and herself with wide eyes. Clearly caught by surprise, the two men immediately dropped their pool cues as they fumbled for their sidearms. Were she of the mind, Adagio could have drawn her own and put a bullet into each of them before they could draw a bead on her and Sonata. But they were here to avoid a war, not start one.

“Whoa whoa whoa, take it easy!” Adagio exclaimed, raising both her hands in a placating gesture. “We’re just here to talk, okay?”

The man on the left with a fedora and red scarf hesitated while the more beefy man with orange hair and sideburns raised his sidearm and growled with an Irish accent, “I don’ wanna hear what you ‘ave to say unless yer beggin’ fer yer life, ye SIREN cunts!”

As the big Irishman scowled down the sights of his weapon, Adagio readied herself to react. Sonata mirrored the Irishman’s stance, staring calmly down the sights of her own sidearm, while Adagio took a step closer to one of the tables in the center of the room, ready to kick it over to create cover if their mission went tits up (which it seemed about to). Sunset was going to be disappointed in this outcome, and admittedly, so was Adagio, but there was certainly truth to the expression about the survival rate of a good plan’s first contact with the enemy.

Fortunately, the shootout that Adagio had been expecting was stopped by the elderly barkeeper, who stared down the Irishman with a hard glare. Irish relaxed his grip on his weapon, and the bartender then turned his gaze to Adagio and Sonata. One of his hands rested out of sight just beneath the bar counter, where he almost certainly had his own weapon ready. The intended message was clear: This is my establishment. No messes, or none of you leave alive.

With Sonata and Irish having both lowered their weapons, the man in the fedora said calmly, but firmly, “Say your piece and then get out.”

Adagio lowered her hands. “We have urgent business to discuss with your boss, Biff,” she said, using his name to take control of the conversation. “Is the Bloodhound here?”

“The Bloodhound is at our main headquarters out of state,” Biff answered. Adagio had to give it to him, he had one hell of a poker face. He barely seemed concerned that she knew who he was. “Anything you have to say to him, you can say to me.”

Beside her, Sonata glanced around. “Where’s your creepy friend with the shades?” she asked innocently, but Adagio knew her well enough to hear the concern in her voice. Truth be told, Adagio didn’t like not knowing where the creepy bastard was herself.

Biff and Rogue exchanged a glance. It was brief, but Adagio could tell that something far more was exchanged.

“We’ve sent Withers out on an errand,” Biff stated. “I wouldn’t worry about him.”

Unfortunately, that only made Adagio worry more.

 





 

Withers grinned as he surveyed the back of the massive estate at 482 Golden Oaks Drive. Here he was, finally poised to take what he had been craving for so long. Sure, none of the guys who had been surveying the property over the past week had spotted Troubleshoes, but Withers knew that he was here. Operation: Watership Down had officially begun!

After going over maps of the surrounding area, Withers had deduced that the best avenue of attack was at the back of the property. So, he and his strike team had parked their vans in the parking lot of a nearby baseball field that just happened to be connected to the same forest that was connected to the rear of the property. Under the cover of night and of the trees, Withers and his men approached the rear of the wealthy estate dressed in all black fatigues and tactical gear, with balaclavas covering their faces and DMRs in their hands.

Currently, Withers had eyes on four SIRENs: two of them were posted on the rear patio, while the other two patrolled the grounds. His scouts had studied their patrol pattern carefully over the past week, and although it was pretty tight, there was one moment they had found where the SIRENs would be vulnerable. Withers attached a silencer to his rifle while beside him, his second for this operation did the same.

A skilled operator in her own right, Rosy Thorn wasn’t contracted with Los Perros de Guerra full time. She was a true freelancer, having done jobs for a myriad of other mercenary companies. She was good enough that Los Perros had employed her services on a number of difficult jobs, and she had yet to disappoint, having even survived the operation against SIREN in Colombia. Withers had briefly considered using her as his next canvas when they’d first met, but she had performed well enough that he ultimately decided she was more useful on the battlefield with him.

Passing no more than a look and a nod between them, Withers and Thorn assumed firing positions, each of them resting their DMR on a low tree branch and putting one of the two on the porch in the center of their sights. Withers realized then that his target was not a SIREN, but Sable the Snooper. Withers grinned as he and Thorn held fire until the patrol on the grounds was out of sight, then put down the SIRENs on the porch with one silent burst each. Good night, Snooper. At least, that was what was supposed to happen.

Instead, the figure in the center of Withers’s scope jumped in place, startled, and dropped prone under the next burst from Withers’s weapon, shouting something to his compatriots.

“Fuck!” Withers cursed, pressing up against the tree for cover as the enemy returned fire. He had an easy shot on the Snooper, so how the hell had he missed?! Glancing over at Thorn, Withers saw that she was doing the same, desperately fiddling with her weapon as she cursed under her breath.

“The fucking sights on this thing, I swear to Christ…” she muttered angrily, audible to Withers even over the loud reports of the enemy fire.

With stealth out the window, Withers ordered the rest of his men to go loud. Already more SIRENs were arriving on scene, taking up positions of cover behind the house, the fence, and what appeared to be a tool shed. Los Perros used the trees and the darkness as cover effectively. Before anyone knew it, a pitched firefight was well underway, with neither side having the clear advantage.

“Well, this went to hell fast!” Thorn shouted to Withers between shots from her DMR. “Guess even your plans can’t always survive contact with the enemy, huh?”

Withers barely heard her, too focused on what he was going to do now. He briefly entertained the idea of ordering a retreat, knowing it would only be a matter of time before someone heard the shooting and called the authorities. He then realized that such a thing may not be as urgent a problem as he thought: this property was not only massive, but also isolated. People in a neighborhood this nice probably had no idea what gunfire sounded like anyway: any neighbors in range to hear it would probably just think it was kids setting off fireworks in the middle of the night. No, it wasn’t time to retreat yet.

“Thorn, keep putting pressure on ‘em from here!” Withers ordered, poking his head out to survey the battlefield. 

The right side of the house looked relatively unguarded. He could use the forest to get around this firefight and then use the fence to keep out of sight until he was close enough to make a break for the side door. He quickly motioned for two of the mercenaries whose names he honestly didn’t care to remember to follow him.

Yes, it was true that no plan survives contact with the enemy. That was why Withers always had a backup plan.

 





 

It was a pure stroke of luck that Sunset had been awake when the shooting started outside. Just several minutes prior, Sunset had been awakened by a nightmare the nature of which she could no longer remember. She knew it wasn’t anything like the one that had affected her along with her friends and family at the beginning of the month, so it was likely just a mundane nightmare. Still, something about it unsettled her even as it faded in the fog of her unconscious memory (had there been a man without eyes?)

All thoughts of the nightmare vanished though as soon as the shooting outside started. It sounded like it was coming from the backyard, so Sunset wasted no time summoning her phone to her hand and checking the back-porch camera on her Nest app. Sure enough, the illusory versions of Sable and Intermezzo were shooting incorporeal bullets into the trees at the edge of the property, and what was more, the trees were shooting back. The destruction of the potted plants on the porch around her faux protectors indicated that the gunfire coming from the trees was decidedly more real, and more dangerous.

Sunset wondered whether it was Los Perros that was attacking, before reprimanding herself. Who else could it possibly be? Wasting no more time, Sunset quickly sent a mental command to her illusions to converge on the attackers and then bolted out of her room. Troubleshoes was already standing outside of the guest bedroom he was sharing with Tirespin down the hall, dressed in nothing but an undershirt and boxers. He looked awake and alert, scanning the hallway with his Jframe in hand. Figures the former Navy SEAL would be the first to react.

“The hell’s going on?” Troubleshoes asked when he saw her.

Sunset answered by showing him the camera feed on her phone. Troubleshoes studied it with a frown.

“Can’t believe those bastards are actually crazy enough to launch an attack despite your security presence,” Troubleshoes said. “Just my fuckin’ luck!”

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” said Sunset, the pieces starting to fall into place. She had been so certain that nothing could link the triplets to SIREN in this timeline, but she had completely forgotten about her illusionary SIRENs. “I miscalculated, and now we’re paying the price.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can explain later. Right now, we have to move!” Sunset exclaimed, and it was the truth. But she also couldn’t afford to tell Troubleshoes the details of what was really happening. Not yet. “Start waking everyone up. We can all take shelter in the secret bunker while my security force holds them off.”

It looked like the first half of that plan would largely be unnecessary. Tirespin was peeking out from the guest bedroom, and more doors along the hallway were opening. Spike and Twilight were looking, bleary-eyed, through the cracks in their respective doors, while Night Light and Twilight Velvet had joined them in the hallway.

A firm parental look from Velvet mixed with genuine worry prompted Sunset to repeat herself, and Velvet wasted no time ushering Spike and Twilight downstairs while Night went into Octavia’s room.

“Y’all can hold up in the bunker if you like, but I’m going to help out your security team,” Troubleshoes stated.

“Absolutely not,” Sunset immediately retorted. “I promised you would be safe here, I’m not about to let you put yourself in danger!”

“I can handle danger. I made a career out of it, after all!” Troubleshoes commented. “Trust me, I eat tangos for breakfast!”

“My security force can handle this. Please, just leave it to them.” It wasn’t only Troubleshoes’s safety that Sunset was concerned about. If Troubleshoes joined the fight, he might notice that the people fighting beside him were mere shadows. Even worse, the enemy might notice. Then he would be all alone out there against Los Perros.

“I appreciate the concern, Sunset, but I can’t just sit on the sidelines while others fight my battles for me,” Troubleshoes said, and from the way he looked in her eyes, Sunset could tell he was serious. “That’s just the kind of person I am, and nothing in this world can change that!”

Sunset glanced at the figure standing just behind him, creating a path with her eyes for Troubleshoes to follow. He did, and the path ended at Tirespin, who stood in the guest bedroom doorway in sweatpants and a t-shirt. She regarded her father with one of her trademark frowns, but there was something different about the one on her face this time. The usual toxic vitriol was replaced with a sort of sad resignation, and her eyes seemed full of understanding.

“Do whatever you want, Dad. It’s okay,” she said, but it didn’t sound okay to her. She then went to follow Night and Octavia without another word.

“I guess I can’t stop you from doing what you have to do,” Sunset said. “Just make sure you really know what that is, okay?”

Sunset left him with that thought as she went to join the rest of her family. As she arrived at the second floor of the main foyer, her mother called her name as she emerged from the opposite wing of the house. Sunset then realized exactly how much trouble she was in when she realized exactly who’s bedrooms Velvet had just come from.

“Where the hell are the triplets?!”






 

In the center of the dark, murky Crevi, a makeshift negotiating table was set up (ironically, the same table that Adagio had considered using as cover minutes ago). Adagio and Biff were seated across from each other, with Sonata and Rogue (the Irishman) standing just off to the side, ready to act in case the ensuing peace talks broke down. The bartender and apparent owner of the establishment, the elderly Mr. Crevi, lurked from his place behind the bar counter, quietly ensuring that everything remained civil in his establishment. The tension in the room was razor thin as the two primary negotiators sized each other up

“So, let me get this straight,” said Biff, scratching the scar on his cheek. “You want us to leave Canterlot and stop all monitoring activity at your compound?”

“House. At our house,” Adagio emphasized, keeping her voice calm despite the undercurrent of emotion in it. “Where our family sleeps. Where my sixteen-year-old cousins do their homework and practice their music. Where my eight-year-old cousin plays his video games.”

Mentioning Spike gave Biff pause, and Adagio wondered whether the man was a father himself. She immediately then wished that the thought had never occurred to her. She might still have to kill him if this didn’t work out.

“And ye really expect us to just believe that ye were never a part o’ SIREN?” Rogue asked. Biff had all but demanded to handle the negotiations himself, lest Rogue’s temper get the better of him. It seemed that Rogue would still have his say regardless, though.

“Yes,” Adagio said plainly. “I expect you to believe it because it’s the truth.” Or so it was on this timeline anyway. “I’m sure you’ve run full background checks on us by now. You know it’s impossible for us to have ever been Canadian black ops mercenaries,” Adagio scoffed as if the mere idea was ridiculous to her.

“And what about that security force patrollin’ yer property? Our research confirmed at least three of ‘em were SIREN.”

And there it was: Sunset’s blind spot. Really, it was something they all had missed, but how were they to know that Los Perros and SIREN had history when Sunset had first created her illusions?

Fortunately, Sunset had already prepared an answer for Adagio to give them, “We were genuinely unaware of any past affiliations the employees of Zero Risk Security had. Suffice to say, next time we’ll conduct more thorough background checks.”

It was good that Sonata had went and created a full fake security company online the day after Sunset had showed them her illusions. As Sunset had suggested, she had even gotten one of Derpy’s friends to help set up fake contact information and a job history for Zero Risk Security.

Biff sighed and rubbed his temples, “Okay, I don’t know how much I’m willing to believe, but everything you’ve said checks out with our own research, so I suppose I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Still, Los Perros has committed a lot of resources already to this project. It would be good if we had something to take away from it.”

“Like those three bitches on your security team,” Rogue added bluntly, earning a warning look from Biff.

“Whether you get your SIRENs or not, you’re still coming away from this out the same amount of resources,” Adagio said, this time not following Sunset’s prior coaching, but her own instincts. “Revenge isn’t exactly a good business model. It’s time to let go and move on.”

“And what about Troubleshoes Clyde?” Biff asked. “He still has his debt to pay with the Bloodhound.”

“Right, because his conscience inconvenienced your boss, right?” Adagio asked. “Yet the way I hear it, the job was still successful in the end. Am I wrong?” Neither Biff nor Rogue answered her, indicating that she wasn’t. “It sounds to me like this Bloodhound guy is just trying to squeeze as much free labor out of Troubleshoes as he can. Personally, I don’t see why. Los Perros can’t be that hard up for cash if what you just said is true about how much you’re spending on this blood feud with the remnants of SIREN.”

“It’s not just about profits. The Bloodhound understands that sometimes measures need to be taken so we don’t appear weak.”

Adagio cocked an eyebrow. “And is squeezing a poor vet who’s only trying to look out for his family the best way to go about doing that?”

Behind Adagio, Sonata couldn’t help but grin at her sister’s simple rebuttal. The two mercenaries, though, seemed to find it much less amusing.

“On that, I actually agree with you. Never sat right with me the way our boss was exploiting Troubleshoes,” Biff said. “I suppose I could bring the matter up with the Bloodhound the next time he calls.”

“Why not tell him in person?” Adagio asked. “Seeing as you’ll be headed back to your main headquarters soon enough anyway.”

That, the mercenaries did find amusing.

“Don’t push your luck, girl,” Biff said with the hint of a smile. “We’re only considering backing off Troubleshoes and your SIREN buddies. So far, I don’t see any compelling reason for us to leave town on top of that.”

Adagio smiled. She could think of no better opportunity than that to play her trump card. Slowly, wordlessly, Adagio pulled out a certain USB portable hard drive and placed it on the table between them.

Biff looked from her to it to her again. “What’s that?”

Still smiling, Adagio answered, “A compelling reason.”

Sighing, Biff said, “Wanna just spare me the theatrics and tell me what I’m gonna find on this thing?”

“A comprehensive collection of files from the FBI’s intelligence and counter-terrorism division regarding your current operations here in Canterlot.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Biff blinked once. Twice. Three times.

“I’m… not sure I understand your intentions here,” Biff said at last. “Is this supposed to be a threat?”

“Think of it more as a show of good will,” Adagio answered, tapping the hard drive. “Keep it. Take a look at the documentation yourself. There, you’ll see that the FBI has been gathering intel and gearing up to raid this place. After what happened in the summer, they’re not fucking around. One of the reports even says that they’ve got one of their TS-SWT teams in place down in San Francisco, ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

Technically Adagio didn’t know for certain that’s what the Feds were planning, but there was certainly enough evidence in the documentation that it was a very real possibility. What was more important was that Los Perros believed it, and looking at them now, it definitely seemed like they did. Biff and Rogue seemed a shade paler, and even Mr. Crevi behind the bar was giving them all a wild-eyed glare. That was good: If Los Perros were no longer welcome at the Crevi because of this development, it was all the more reason for them to pull out of Canterlot entirely.

“It would be easy enough for us to simply wait you out until the Feds begin their mass arrests, but we wanted to give you a chance to get out of Dodge before that happens.” Adagio leaned back in her seat. “We have practical reasons for doing this too. Once you’re in Federal custody, they’ll start asking you questions. Questions that could lead back to us, and we really don’t need that kind of headache.” Adagio glanced back at Sonata. “Right?” she asked, and Sonata nodded.

Biff tentatively took the hard drive like it might be poisoned, gave it a cursory inspection, then passed it to Rogue.

“You two have a lot of nerve coming in here and telling us this,” he said, clearing his throat. “But you’ve given us a lot to think about, Ms. Dazzle,”

Just then, Adagio heard the crackle of static in her ear and Aria’s voice came in. “Alpha Six, Alpha Five.”

Adagio held down the transmitter on her headset. “Go ahead.”

“We need to pull out immediately. A situation just emerged.”

“Copy that.” Adagio returned her attention to Biff, who was studying her curiously. “We’ve said our piece. If there’s nothing else, we’ll take our leave.”

The mercenaries hesitated to answer, and for a moment Adagio wondered whether they were going to need to fight their way out after all.

“Yeah yeah, get out of here,” Biff said, waving a dismissive hand.

Adagio stood, and after a moment, Biff followed suit.

“Fer the record,” Rogue growled. “I still think yeh cunts are SIRENs.”

“You’re wrong,” Adagio said, answering his open hostility with a predatory smile. “We’re much more dangerous.”

“I’m curious then,” Biff said more neutrally. “If you’re not SIRENs, what exactly are you?”

Sonata was the one who answered, “All you need to know is there are forces in this world far bigger than any of us.”

Adagio and Sonata made their way to the door, all too eager to escape the stuffy, oppressive atmosphere of the Crevi.

“What is he to you, anyway?” Biff asked before they could.

Adagio turned back towards him. “I’m sorry?”

“Troubleshoes.” The carefully guarded expression Biff had worn throughout their little meeting had given away to something almost… softer. “What is he to you, if you’re willing to go so far to protect him?”

“He’s our friend,” Adagio said with a speed surprising even her.

Biff’s expression gave way to a sad smile. “Until recently, I thought the same thing.”

Adagio didn’t know what to say to that, so she elected not to say anything. She merely turned and followed Sonata out of the Crevi.

“See, Dagi? Not everything needs to be resolved with bullets,” Sonata chirped when they were down the street. “Hafta say, you’re a pretty good negotiator when you want to be.”

 

The two of them made their way back to the 24-hour parking lot where they’d left Sonata’s KIA a few blocks away. Aria joined them shortly after, her usual stoic demeanor betraying a hint of worry.

“What’s the new situation, Ari?” Adagio asked.

“I got a call from Sunset while you guys were in there,” Aria said. Adagio and Sonata had turned their phones off to focus on the mission, as an untimely call could have spooked Los Perros into drawing their weapons.

Aria then proceeded to tell them Sunset’s account of what was going on back home.

“Those sons of bitches knew this was happening the whole time we were talking!” Sonata exclaimed as she and her sisters immediately got into the car.

Adagio nodded. “I think the only reason they agreed to talk to us in the first place was to stall for time. We had the drop on them, they knew they were dead to rights.”

“And I’m sure they also knew that every moment they could keep us occupied here was a moment we wouldn’t be defending the house from their attack,” Aria said as Sonata started the engine.

“Can we please go back there and put some bullets in those assholes?” Sonata asked. Adagio knew she was just joking. Probably. So much for not everything needs to be resolved with bullets.

“Maybe if they don’t leave Canterlot like we asked,” Adagio stated as Sonata pulled the car up to the parking lot gate and inserted her ticket into the machine. “But I think Biff at least was seriously considering our proposal at the end there, and as their second-in-command he’s the main one we needed to convince. He may have gone into our negotiation expecting only to buy himself more time, but I think we managed to surprise him with how convincing our angle was. They did let us go, after all.”

Sonata turned onto the street and started gunning it, praying to God that there weren’t any speed traps. “Yeah, I guess knowing that you’re in the FBI’s crosshairs is a pretty good motivator.”

“Only time will tell,” Aria said, gripping her weapon tightly. “But right now, we have more immediate concerns.”

 





 

It was rare for both Sable and Celestia to have nowhere to be at the crack of dawn the next morning. As such, they decided to make the night theirs. With Troubleshoes having taken over most of the triplets’ training sessions, Sable was free to take Celestia out for dinner at the nice Italian restaurant they both liked. After that they decided to check out the new bar that opened in their neighborhood. They stayed there a few hours, drinking and talking to other patrons. Sable limited himself to two beers, as someone needed to drive them home and he wanted Celestia to enjoy all the pinot noir she wanted.

When they finally got home, they made their way to the bedroom to do what couples typically did together (quietly, lest they wake their guests in the other room). Their soft sighs and grunts of exertion were joined by the electronic ring of Sable’s cell phone from its place on the nightstand.

“Just leave it…” Celestia said, breathless as she continued to move under him.

Sable was in complete agreement on that; however, he couldn’t help but glance over at the intrusive device, just to see who could be calling at such an hour. The name he saw made him freeze in place.

“Sable? What’s wrong?”

Reluctantly, Sable disengaged and reached for his phone. “It’s Sunset.”

Celestia, who looked about to protest, stopped herself when Sable said who was calling. Both of them knew that Sunset wouldn’t call at this time unless it was urgent.

Sable pressed answer. “Sunset? What’s going on?”

“Sable! Thank God you’re still up!” Sunset exclaimed, frantic. “We’re under attack! I think it’s Los Perros.”

“Son of a bitch…” Sable said, immediately getting out of bed and scrambling for his clothes (but still quietly, for Cinnamon and Down Luck’s sake).

“The family and I are taking shelter in the underground bunker while my illusions keep Los Perros distracted, but I don’t know how long we have before they figure out they’re not real!”

“Alright, stay put and tell the triplets to ready up if they haven’t already,” Sable said, struggling to pull his pants on despite the blood still flowing down below. “When I arrive, send them up and we’ll push them back.”

“Well, that’s the thing… I’ve sent the triplets out on a mission.”

Sable paused halfway through doing up his belt. “You what?”

“It was just a quick assignment that I figured would end this situation with Los Perros. I didn’t know they would actually attack us, let alone on the same fucking night!” Sunset exclaimed before reigning herself in. “I already called Aria and had them pull out. They’re heading back now.”

“Fine, I’m on my way but when this is over the five of us are going to have a serious discussion about chain of command!” Sable said as he grabbed a shirt.

“Trust me, Mom already chewed me out pretty hard. I think it’s safe to say my grounding just got extended.”

Sable hung up without another word and threw on his shirt. “Sorry Tia, I have to go. It’s an emergency.”

The muffled cries of Cinnamon started sounding from the room she and Down Luck were using. Evidently, Sable hadn’t been quiet enough.

“I gathered that, yes,” Celestia said, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice. “How bad is it?”

Her question was answered when Sable opened the closet and started putting in the code to the gun safe.

“Ah, that bad then.”

After holstering his sidearm, Sable went to Celestia and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back, hon,” he said. Then with a humorous, vaguely promiscuous grin whispered, “Feel free to finish what we started without me!”

In spite of the situation, Celestia snorted. “I’ll… be thinking of you?”

With one more loving smile, Sable turned to the door.

“Just… be careful, okay?” Celestia said, her voice more serious and subdued.

“For you? Always.”

 





 

Down in the secret bunker, the mood was tense and the silence oppressive. Once the shouting match between Sunset and Velvet had subsided, that is. Now, Sunset stood alone before the monitors of the makeshift command center, watching the battle unfold outside via the security cameras. Troubleshoes noticed that she was occasionally doing unusual movements with her hand as she focused on the screens. Must be a nervous tic, Troubleshoes thought.

Giving it no further thought, Troubleshoes returned his attention to his own preparations. Upon their arrival in the bunker, Troubleshoes had wasted no time in finding where the triplets kept their tactical gear while Sunset and Velvet had their spat. He was surprised when he found just how much of it they had: an entire walk-in closet was filled to the brim with camouflage for a huge variety of environments, and what was more, it came in different sizes; even his own. Either these were for the security force outside, or the triplets were planning on expanding their ranks. Either way it didn’t matter. Troubleshoes had outfitted himself with urban night camo, a bulletproof vest, and extra pouches for ammo.

Now, Troubleshoes was in front of the equipment racks, feeling inexplicably that there was something he was missing. He had grabbed a tactical knife and had replaced his Jframe with one of the SIGs in their arsenal. He had chosen an M4A1 as his primary weapon, as it appeared to be a slightly newer version of the carbines he had used when he was in the SEALs. With extra ammo filling his pouches, and the equipment seemingly in good condition, Troubleshoes was fully kitted out. Yet still he had this nagging feeling that something was missing.

He turned away from the equipment racks, at first trying to ignore the strange feeling. Then he realized that what he was missing had nothing to do with his equipment loadout. He realized this when he saw Twilight Velvet holding young Spike in her arms just behind Sunset. And Night Light with one arm around Twilight Sparkle and the other around Octavia. And finally, Tirespin all alone in the far corner, with her knees pulled up to her chest. Troubleshoes realized then that the thing he had missed was the choice he was making.

Troubleshoes was a SEAL; special operations—protecting the people he loved—was his passion, and no amount of time away from that world would ever change that. But now he was faced with the choice between what he loved… and who. In her corner, Tirespin didn’t so much as glance at him. She just stared at her knees despondently, because it was clear to her that—dressed for war as he was—Troubleshoes had made his choice.

Thus, it was with a start that Tirespin looked up at him as Troubleshoes set aside his carbine and sat down next to her. A moment passed, then another, and when she realized that Troubleshoes wasn’t leaving, Tirespin tilted her head and asked, “Weren’t you gonna go out there and do your thing?”

“I was,” Troubleshoes answered, putting an arm around his daughter. “But I decided that I was more needed right here.”

A shadow of a smile flashed across Tirespin’s face, and Troubleshoes felt her ever so slightly lean into him. They sat in silence for a minute or two before Tirespin asked, “But… aren’t you worried that the bad guys are gonna get in if you’re not out there fighting them?”

“I trust Sunset Shimmer’s people can handle the situation on their own,” Troubleshoes said, giving Tirespin’s shoulder a gentle rub. “Besides, if any of Los Perros do manage to get inside, I wanna be close to keep you safe.”

Tirespin finally looked at him directly, and Troubleshoes gave her a warm smile. “Even if you hate me for the rest of your life, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

For a moment, Troubleshoes thought he saw tears begin to well up in Tirespin’s eyes, but she quickly turned away before he could tell for sure. Troubleshoes didn’t mind though. Tirespin made no move to shrug off his arm or push him away, so Troubleshoes simply allowed the two of them to sit together in silence. It was so nice to be holding his daughter again that for that brief moment, Troubleshoes forgot all about the danger seeking him out.

 





 

The main foyer of the mysterious mansion was large and affluent, well decorated with bookshelves, art and other antiquities. Withers could definitely see himself living in a place like this. Who knows? Maybe he’d check to see if it went on the market after tonight, just for fun. But for now, Withers was focused on the moment.

To his surprise, there hadn’t been any guards left at the front entrance when he and his fireteam had snuck around. That certainly made things simple. Now for the somewhat harder part: finding and subduing his target wherever he was in this place. Silently, Withers motioned for the two men with him (Rifled Barrel and Siege Dancer, he’d found out) to follow him as he made his way up the stairs. Despite how big the manor was, it wouldn’t do to split up, or their quarry could pick them off one at a time.

They started making their way down the second-floor hallway of the west wing, checking their corners and covering each other’s blind spots as they swept each room. The first few rooms yielded nothing: no one was sleeping in any of the beds, and a cursory search showed that they weren’t hiding. But the sheets and duvets were tousled and thrown aside. Either this family wasn't in the habit of making their beds in the morning, or these beds had until very recently been occupied.

It was the fourth room down the hall where Withers realized he might have been onto something. The rooms before had been filled with decorations and paraphernalia that gave clear insight into the room’s occupant. For instance, the room with shelves full of comics and video games clearly belonged to the young boy, while the room full of musical instruments and a decent vinyl collection likely belonged to one of the girls; probably the one whose family in Europe were musicians. But this room was damn near immaculate, sparsely decorated with only a few token odds and ends. Most telling of all was the ill-fitting second bed, seemingly added haphazardly at the last minute. Withers had a feeling he was looking at the guest bedroom, and sure enough, the bedsheets were strewn about just as they were in the other rooms.

Withers stepped inside and took a closer look around. An empty suitcase and a duffel bag further supported the notion that someone was staying here. He checked inside the drawers of the dresser next. Warmer… he thought as he looked upon several neatly folded boxer shorts that appeared way too big to fit anyone they’d regularly seen on the premises. Then, Withers spotted a brown leather wallet sitting abandoned on top of the dresser. He tore into it like a kid on Christmas, pushing aside the cash and credit cards until he found what he was looking for: a California driver’s license belonging to one Troubleshoes Clyde.

Smirking, Withers held it up to his men. “Got him. He’s here somewhere!” Of course, Withers had known that from the beginning, but it was nice to finally have some solid evidence. “Keep checking the other rooms up here. I’ll be with ya in a sec!”

Rifled Barrel (who was covering the room from the doorway) nodded and motioned for Siege Dancer (covering the hallway) to follow him. As soon as they were gone, Withers lowered himself into the larger of the two beds and took in the scent of it, the feel of it, allowing himself to just enjoy the moment for a bit. The thought of having his canvas so soon filled his stomach with butterflies. Perhaps this was what being in love was like?

If that was the case, Withers supposed he’d been falling in love with his own special works of art all his life. Wasn’t that what all true artists did, after all? Every time he had gotten his hands on one of his past canvases, it had been a labor of love to transform them—physically, mentally, spiritually—into the works of art for him and him alone to enjoy.

Pulling out one of his hidden knives, Withers idly ran his thumb along the flat of the blade. It would be the same with Troubleshoes, once he found him. Troubleshoes would know that he loved him before the end. And yes, like all good things, their time together would eventually come to an end. It was the sad necessity of his chosen artistic medium: he couldn’t keep his works of art forever.

Withers got up from the bed and went to rejoin his comrades as he reflected on this simple truth. If you love something, learn to let it go.

 





 

Stringing together a series of curses with the elegance of a great composer, Rosy Thorn once again retreated behind the cover of her tree to (once again) adjust the sights on her weapon. She wasn’t sure how long this firefight had been going on, but it must have been ten times that she thought her sights had been perfectly aligned only to miss what should have been an easy shot. It was enough to make her question if she was losing her skills. No, fuck that. I’m still in my prime!

“Holy shit!” Beside her, one of the men under her command—a black mercenary with frameless glasses named Scope Lens—threw himself back into cover against the tree beside her.

“You good?” she asked without looking up from where she was carefully fiddling with her rifle.

Scope quickly patted himself up and down his chest and breathed a sigh of relief when it was apparent he wasn’t hit. “Yeah. Just thought for sure they had me that time,” he said, shooting her a grin. “Hey, maybe they’re having problems with their weapons too!”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Thorn deadpanned, deciding to give up on adjusting her sights. They were already aligned perfectly, there was nothing more to be done.

And yet, when she picked a target, lined up her shot and opened up with nearly half a magazine, her shots were utterly ineffective. She was starting to run low on ammo.

“Ugh, this is like playing against hackers in Call of Duty!” someone else further down the treeline shouted, unintentionally echoing Thorn’s own thoughts. What the fuck is going on?

Thorn reached for her headset and started contacting the other fireteams. “Bravo, report! What’s your status?”

“Pinned down. Enemy’s bunkered down tight, we can’t land a hit on ‘em!”

Glancing briefly at Scope, Thorn asked, “What about casualties?”

“No casualties. Not even any wounded. But we’re getting nowhere here!”

Thorn quickly checked in with the rest of the fireteam leaders, and all of them reported the same thing. In all her years she had never seen or heard anything like it: two sides locked in a perfect stalemate. Neither one taking any casualties or gaining any ground. It was like they were so evenly matched that neither one could take the advantage. Except that isn’t how combat works. Something always gives eventually. So why hasn’t it?

Maybe they’re shooting blanks, and that’s why they can’t hit us, Thorn reasoned. Yes, if they don’t have any real bullets, they could be shooting off blanks in the hopes of chasing us off. The theory made sense; after all, despite all the ammo being expended, she hadn’t seen spent casings on their side nor any collateral damage on her end. By now, most of the bark on the tree she hid behind should’ve been stripped away. But that wouldn’t be possible with blanks.

But that still doesn’t explain why we can’t seem to hit them.

A crazy thought suddenly occurred to Rosy Thorn just then. It was so crazy that she honestly had no idea how it was even possible; or if it was even possible. But there was simply no other explanation for this truly strange battle. And, unfortunately, no safe way to test her crazy idea. But Rosy Thorn didn’t get to where she was in life by playing it safe.

“Hey Scope! I’m gonna try something.”

Scope nodded. “Need me to cover you?”

“No,” Thorn said, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. “Just watch.”

Taking a deep breath, Thorn stepped out from behind the tree and started walking into the wide-open space between the treeline and the property. Her heart pounded as it seemed at first that none of the enemy combatants had noticed her, merely continuing to fire into the trees. After a few more steps though, one of them pointed her out, and her beating heart nearly stopped when she saw two of them level their weapons at her.

For a brief moment, Rosy Thorn experienced what might be called a ‘moment of clarity,’ and she realized that she was quite literally walking straight into enemy fire based on nothing but an insane hunch. Is this really how I’m going to die? After everything else I’ve been through? The enemy soldiers opened fire, and Thorn flinched, experiencing a hot surge of pain. After a moment, she realized that what she’d felt was more of a memory of pain from the time she’d been shot in the line of duty. But that was all it was: a memory. Something conjured by her mind because that was what it had expected. But a look down at herself confirmed that she wasn’t hit. Even as the enemy soldiers continued to light her up, she remained unscathed.

Thorn didn’t know how or why; she just knew that her crazy theory was right. So, with a grin, she turned back to the treeline and waved over the rest of her comrades.

“It’s okay!” she shouted, her voice carrying over the din of faux gunfire. “We can move in! They’re not real!”

 





 

Adagio could hear the distant reports of gunfire as she and Aria were driven by Sonata up the path to the front entrance of their family’s estate. Adagio had managed to keep the hot rage inside her tempered as they sped back home, but the sounds of battle around the place her family lived threatened to bring it back to the surface tenfold. She thought of her cousins, all huddled together in their underground bunker, and her aunt and uncle, trying their best to comfort them. Even Sunset, arguably the most capable of them all, was all alone against an army.

So as Sonata sped all the way up the main path to the driveway, Adagio was practically gyrating in the passenger seat, her mind racing with the thought, Let me out let me out let me out let me out let me out let me out…. As soon as Sonata slowed the car down enough, Adagio bolted out of the passenger side door like a dog that just spotted a cat.

She ran straight around the side of the house towards the back yard, where she saw Sunset’s fake army shooting imaginary bullets into the treeline at the far end of the property, while muzzle flashes periodically revealed the very real enemies within it. Adagio ran about halfway down the backyard and dove for cover behind the small gazebo in the garden. Prone, Adagio surveyed the battlefield. Most of the enemy were taking cover in the treeline. However, Adagio spotted one figure right out in the open.

It appeared to be a woman dressed in black fatigues and tactical gear. Her rifle hung at her side, and she was faced towards the treeline, yelling something to the mercenaries gathered there. Adagio only caught the words “not real,” but it was enough for her to realize that Sunset’s façade was about to be destroyed. So, Adagio aimed down the sights of her sidearm and pulled the trigger.

Her SIG wasn’t ideal for this range, but Adagio was a SIREN: she would make it work. Even so, her first couple of shots went wide, but eventually she hit her mark and the other woman went down with a scream. Adagio started searching for another target, realizing that she’d have to move up if her weapon was going to be effective at all, when she heard the whiz of a bullet past her ear. Adagio immediately retreated further back behind the gazebo, and a couple of more bullets impacted the ground where she had been a mere second ago.

She saw a black man with glasses run out of the treeline accompanied by two more, each of them laying down suppressive fire while Four Eyes began dragging the woman Adagio had shot back towards the treeline. By that point, Sonata and Aria had already joined the fight, the two of them breaking off to different groups of Sunset’s illusions, using them as camouflage.

One of the men covering Four Eyes went down with a shot to the leg from Sonata, while Aria started firing at the men within the treeline with her sniper rifle. Adagio briefly wondered if she had equipped her thermal scope like she said she would for their original operation, and then no longer had to wonder when she heard the pained screams and panicked shouts within the trees.

Adagio smiled as she moved up. Time to push them back!

 





 

Sunset allowed a cautious smile to grow on her face as she observed the newly arrived triplets begin pushing back Los Perros. Just in time, too: they seemed about to figure out the trick behind her other “soldiers.” Now that the triplets were here doing what they do best, Los Perros was on the defensive. Soon Sable would arrive, tipping the scales further in their favor. And even if that wasn’t enough, Sunset had other options to work with….

Glancing briefly up at where Troubleshoes and Tirespin were sitting together, Sunset decided to stick to her earlier insistence that he sit this one out. Perhaps Sunset was being overly optimistic, but it looked as though the wide chasm between the two of them was finally being bridged. Sunset decided to allow them their moment as she returned her attention to her work with her illusions.

Although the faux soldiers had been designed to react to threats fairly realistically, there was a limit to how convincingly they were able to perform in a live combat scenario. So, Sunset needed to control them herself, disguising her spellcasting behind more illusory magic to fool Troubleshoes and his daughter while using the security cameras to puppeteer her illusions. The whole process reminded Sunset of the brief time she’d spent playing a real-time strategy game on her computer, only instead of using the soldiers under her command to eliminate all enemies, the goal was to bluff them into thinking they were outgunned.

With the triplets now back and kicking very real ass, Sunset was able to sell her bluff even more effectively. The triplets had the good instinct to spread out among her illusory defense force, which served to not only camouflage themselves among the fake soldiers, but also make them appear more real.

Thinking the situation outside was handled for the time being, Sunset did a quick check of the internal camera feeds to try and find the group who had managed to sneak inside. Sunset’s smile drifted away, and she blanched at the thought of one of those creeps going through her stuff. Still, she’d rather have them above ground searching their rooms than down in the bunker where her family was currently holed up. Truth be told, Sunset wasn’t sure what she would do if the mercenaries made it down to the bunker.

Naturally, she would defend her family to the full extent of her capabilities, but she was afraid of going too far. She hadn’t used the ocean of newfound power from her ascension in a combat situation before. What if she killed these mercenaries even if she was holding her power back? 

So what if I do kill them? Sunset banished that thought immediately. That was Sunset the Tyrant speaking, and nothing—absolutely nothing—would make her go back to being that person. There was no sense in using overwhelming force to save her family if she alienated them in the process. No, as upsetting as this whole situation was, she would not give in to her lesser impulses. That was the whole reason she was trying to use her illusions to make Los Perros retreat of their own volition. Well, that and unleashing her full power as an alicorn would raise a few questions with Troubleshoes and Tirespin.

“How’s it going?” Velvet asked. Sunset didn’t hear her approach, so wrapped up she was in the world of the Nest.

“I think the tide’s turned in our favor,” Sunset said calmly. It was the first words she and her mother had spoken to each other since their fight earlier. “The triplets made it back and are really laying into them. It’s only a matter of time until the attack force outside has to retreat, and when they go the ones inside the house will follow.”

Velvet just nodded and put a hand on her shoulder, giving Sunset a caring maternal look. It spoke volumes: Velvet was scared, as anyone would be, and her fear became anger which she had turned onto Sunset, well-deserved or not. It was clear that she was sorry things had escalated so far. Even if Sunset’s grounding was totally going to be extended for her little stunt.

“Oh shit….” Velvet swore, taking Sunset right out of that nice moment.

Sunset followed her gaze to the screen where the three interlopers within their home were milling about. They were standing in the main foyer, and to Sunset’s immediate alarm, one of them was pointing towards the bookcase behind which the elevator to the secret bunker lay hidden. Another one—the same sunglasses wearing creep who had stopped by the other week, Sunset realized—followed his companion’s pointing finger to the bookshelf. After giving it a closer inspection, he then looked up directly at the camera, seeming to grin right at them.

“Get everyone in the vault,” Sunset said, her mind racing with a hundred different plans, and none of them ideal.

 





 

It was remarkable just how drastically Withers’s mood had changed from roughly ten minutes ago. He and his men had checked the entire manor top to bottom and hadn’t found shit. By all appearances, the place was a ghost town.

“Maybe they skipped town?” Rifled Barrel suggested as they reconvened in the main foyer.

“No, they’re here!” Withers hissed, rounding on the man, who took a step back from him. “We’re searching the place again! There has to be something we missed. Maybe they have a safe room or something!”

It wasn’t just that he couldn’t find his ever-elusive canvas that was bothering him. The latest report from the strike team outside was that they were rapidly taking casualties. Withers didn’t know how much time he had left to search this place.

“A safe room, huh?” Siege Dancer asked. “The kind that might be hidden behind a bookshelf on gimbals?”

Withers whirled around and looked at the man, who merely pointed to a bookshelf innocently tucked away beneath the upper landing. Withers stepped closer and crouched to get a better look. Sure enough, a set of gimbals had been installed.

“Of course!” Withers exclaimed, his eye being drawn back to one of the security cameras he had noticed throughout the property. He had assumed no one had been watching before. Now, he knew better and grinned. Be with you soon, Big T!

Withers went to the bookshelf and motioned for the other two to help him move it. There was probably a mechanism somewhere that opened it, but he didn’t have time to try and find it. Luckily, he didn’t have to. One good push from the three of them and the bookshelf started to move. It wouldn’t be long now….

“Withers, come in. This is Biff.”

His fists clenching, Withers stepped away from the bookshelf and put a hand up to his headset. “I’m kinda in the middle of something right now, Biff!”

“I know. I’m pulling you out.”

Withers froze. “You’re what?”

“The situation’s changed. We’re aborting Watership Down. The main attack force is already withdrawing.”

“No! I just need a little more time!”

There was a slight pause on Biff’s end before he said, “You’re not refusing a direct order, are you Withers?”

Withers wanted nothing more than to tell him yes, and that if he had a problem with it, he could take it up with the edge of his knife. “No, sir.”

“Good. See you back here.”

Withers stood eerily still for some time until one of his subordinates took a cautious step towards him.

“Sir? What’s the plan?”

Grinding his teeth, Withers said, “We’re falling back.”

With that, Withers stormed out of the foyer through the front door. As he ran down the path, he spotted something: a car coming to a stop in the driveway a few feet away, and who should get out but Sable the Snooper. The ex-Ranger drew on Withers and his team with remarkable speed, and Withers realized he wasn’t going to get his own weapon up before he was a cold corpse on the ground. So instead, Withers reached out, grabbed Rifled Barrel and put him between himself and Snooper.

Withers’s human shield shouted in confusion before his body suddenly jolted in time with the gunshots from Snooper’s sidearm. Still holding Barrel in place, Withers leveled his weapon, and using his wounded subordinate’s shoulder to steady his aim, opened fire with his own sidearm. His first shot went wide, and he overcompensated on his second shot and hit the windshield of Snooper’s car. But his third shot elicited a cry of pain from his adversary as he tried to take cover behind his vehicle. A solid hit, albeit not a lethal one.

Withers quickly passed his human shield off to Siege Dancer (himself only just catching up with them) and started running towards the side of the house, keeping the Snooper pinned with more gunfire until he was out of his immediate range, then sprinted full stop towards the low fence at the edge of the property. His first instinct upon reaching the fence was to simply scramble over and disappear into the night. Instead, he looked over his shoulder and spotted his subordinates limping after him, Barrel’s arm over Dancer.

Snooper wasn’t firing back at them, and Withers wondered if maybe his shot had been more lethal than he’d at first assumed. That left him with his subordinates, one of which was dead weight and the other who may have seen him throw him into the line of fire. Withers could probably get away with it when Biff and the others asked if he spun it the right way—they’d understand the quick and unpleasant decisions one needed to make on the battlefield. But after Biff had so effectively cock-blocked him, Withers was too pissed off to have to explain himself to that asshole on top of everything else.

So, when his subordinates approached, Withers raised his sidearm and put a bullet between the eyes of Siege Dancer, sending both of them toppling to the ground. With one stone dead and the other bleeding out, Withers was satisfied that everything was under control. Shame about those two, but in combat, shit happens. His associates back at the Crevi would understand that, and Withers would express his regret at the SIREN ambush that took their lives catching him completely off guard.

As Withers hopped the fence and started making his way back towards where they’d parked the vans, it suddenly occurred to him: Sable the Snooper had been one of the guards at the rear entrance. So why the hell did it look like he’d only just now arrived?

 





 

“So that was it, then? Just a bunch of kids setting off fireworks?” asked the ECSD deputy at the door.

Sable just stood silently in the grass near where the officer had parked his cruiser several minutes after Los Perros made their retreat. Apparently someone had heard the battle and called in a noise complaint (thankfully not knowing what it was they were hearing), and Night and Velvet were now dealing with that.

“Yeah, they were just in the woods behind our house,” Velvet said, doing her best to sound groggy (Sable didn’t think she needed to act all that hard). “I don’t think they even knew they were on someone’s property.”

Night chuckled and said, “Yeah, they scattered like roaches in the light as soon as we went down to see what was going on.”

The deputy, who was looking pretty groggy himself, sighed and said, “Alright, well if everything’s in order here, I’ll be on my way. But if you hear them again, feel free to call us.”

Night and Velvet thanked him and wished him a good night, and the officer climbed into his cruiser and drove back down the path and off of the property. When he was out of sight, Sunset dispelled the illusion hiding herself, Sable, and the two bodies in the grass.



Sable Loam had been surprised to discover that the battle was for the most part already over by the time he had arrived. In truth, it was lucky: he’d taken a bad hit to his shooting arm right off the bat, and if the group of mercenaries had stayed to finish him rather than retreat, he might not be standing here with Sunset now. Seeing that guy use his own comrade as a human shield had apparently been enough of a surprise for Sable to let his guard down for a brief but crucial moment. Guess the triplets aren’t the only ones whose combat skills have been slipping since the timeline change.

It was fortunate, then, that Sunset had some healing spells ready to go as soon as the fighting was over. Sable had been ready to have his right arm in a sling for the foreseeable future. Currently, Sunset was knelt beside the mercenary that Sable had shot, applying some of that same healing magic to the poor bastard. There was a hell of a lot of blood coming out of the man, but he was still in much better shape than his buddy, who was suffering from a particularly bad case of “bullet in brain.” Had one of the triplets done that?

After a couple of minutes, Troubleshoes stepped out of the mansion and started making his way toward them, and Sable noticed the way Sunset angled her back to him to better hide her spellcasting. When Troubleshoes got close, Sunset dissipated the spell and started to work with the physical first aid implements she’d brought up from the bunker. Sable and Troubleshoes exchanged a nod, and Sunset looked up at them both.

“I did what I could. At the very least, he looks relatively stable now,” Sunset said.

Sable wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or not, considering the man was technically an enemy combatant. It was good not to have yet another body on his conscience, he supposed, and settled for giving a neutral grunt.

“So, you’re a princess and a paramedic now?” Troubleshoes asked with a mildly amused hmmf. “There anything you can’t do?”

“I took some basic first aid lessons. Hardly enough to qualify as a paramedic,” Sunset said. “Looks like his Kevlar did most of the work anyway.”

Sable wondered how much of that was the truth. The amount of blood on the grass indicated that Sunset was underselling her work just a tad, but Sable wasn’t going to point that out to Troubleshoes. The mercenary coughed and stirred, but still seemed pretty out of it.

“So, what are we gonna do with this guy?” Sable asked. 

“I’d recommend a hospital.”

Sable nodded. As he did, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw the triplets approaching from around the other side of the house. As they got closer, they spotted the wounded man in question as well as his buddy with bullet-in-brainitis. They did their level best to ignore the sight as they stood at attention and saluted him.

“We’ve finished our sweep of the area, sir,” Adagio reported. “Looks like the enemy has fully withdrawn.”

“At ease,” Sable said tersely. With the three of them and Sunset now present, it was time to have a very serious talk and Sable was not looking forward to it.

Sonata glanced again at the pair of wounded and dead soldiers and grimaced. “Eesh. This your handiwork, sir?”

Sable nodded and was ready to tear into them when he realized she was referring to both of the downed enemies. “Not this one,” he said, gesturing to the man whose brains were leaking out. “I thought one of you got him.”

Aria shook her head. “We were wrapped up dealing with the force around back.”

“Interesting…” Sable mused. He’d have to ask their wounded friend about what exactly happened. But time enough for that later. “Regardless, now that you’re all here, it’s time we had a serious talk.”

A guilty look crossed Sunset’s face as she stood. “Right. Chain of command.”

“What the fuck were you all thinking?!” Sable barked, getting right into it.

“I thought I had a way to end this feud with Los Perros, and wanted it done as soon as possible,” Sunset explained.

“And in so doing left yourself vulnerable!” Sable exclaimed before rounding on the triplets. “I am especially disappointed in you three. Sunset at least has the excuse of never having served, but the three of you should have known better!”

“Sorry, sir,” Sonata said, the guilt evident on all of their faces.

“You are supposed to be Sunset’s protectors, are you not? Yet you weren’t here when she and the family needed you!”

“I know…” Aria said, her voice barely a whisper. The look on the faces of her and her sisters changed from guilt to downright self-loathing, and Sable decided to ease off a little as he looked at Sunset.

“What kind of mission did you send them on, anyway?”

Sunset caught Sable up on everything she had been up to: commissioning Derpy to obtain the FBI’s documents on Los Perros and then sending the triplets to negotiate with them, using those very documents to convince Los Perros it was in their best interest to skip town. Troubleshoes listened quietly just off to the side.

“If I may, sir… I think Sunset’s plan worked,” Adagio said, her proverbial tail still between her legs as she spoke. “Even though we were gaining the upper hand, the enemy’s retreat was sudden and unexpected. Based on our meeting with their lieutenants, I think it’s likely one of them verified the files we gave them and ordered the withdrawal.”

“Be that as it may, the operation was needlessly risky. Quite frankly, I am astounded that things turned out as well as they did. This could have swung any number of ways, with one or all of you getting way worse than this!” Sable said, pointing to his bandaged arm.

Seeing their crestfallen expressions, Sable decided to swap out the stick for the carrot, and his voice softened. “For the record, Sunset, if you had come to me with this plan first like you were supposed to, I would have not only authorized it: I’d have made sure it got done right. It was a solid plan, it just needed work in some areas. For instance, you should have arranged the meeting with Los Perros on neutral ground rather than on their own turf.”

Sunset rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “Right. Guess that was kind of stupid.”

Pointing at the triplets, Sable continued, “Furthermore, none of you are qualified to handle negotiations of that nature. You should have left them to me.”

Awkwardly clearing her throat, Sonata spoke up. “I thought Dagi actually did a great job at the negotiating table,” she said, giving her big sister a smile. “I was proud of her.”

Adagio gave a heartwarming smile back, but Sable wasn’t about to let them think they were getting off scot-free just because things turned out okay. “Stow it. The three of you are going to be facing serious disciplinary action for this.” Now, Sable just needed to figure out exactly what that was going to be and clear it with Night and Velvet.

“Ugh… the fuck…” the mercenary at their feet groaned as he slowly returned to a state of consciousness. Looks like Sable would have to table that thought for now.

“Load him into the car,” Sable said, not looking forward to explaining the inevitable bloodstains on Celestia’s leather seats (to say nothing of the bullet hole in the windshield). “After that, you’re dismissed.”

“You don’t want to question him?” Sunset asked.

“Time enough for that on our way to the hospital,” Sable said. “But I don’t expect to learn anything of value from him anyway.”

“Y’know, I was half-joking when I suggested that,” Sunset said. “I’m gonna have to put in a lot of work covering this up if you go through with this.”

“You have any better ideas?” Sable asked. The look on her face indicated that she did, but didn’t like it one bit. “I don’t think you’ll need to do as much as you think. There’s a non-profit medical clinic in Sunnytown I know about. The South County Free Clinic, I think it’s called. A couple of my less scrupulous students ended up there over the years. Apparently they get enough gang-related shooting victims there that they’ve long since stopped asking too many questions.”

Sunset nodded, then glanced at the less fortunate mercenary with a grimace. “What about him?”

“Work your magic. Maybe find a way to send him back to his comrades.”

“Am I doing this as a courtesy, or a warning?”

Sable’s response was a dry look. “Yes.”

Meanwhile, the triplets had immediately set about their task, Adagio grabbing the mercenary around the legs and Aria under the arms. Whatever profanity he was about to fire their way was cut off by a scream as they lifted him, not exactly taking the time to be gentle as they walked him to where Sable had parked. Sonata ran ahead and opened the back door to the car, where Adagio and Aria unceremoniously shoved him in. Sable got into the driver’s seat, not looking forward to the drive with the moron in the back seat.

“Aaaaugh… wherever you assholes’re takin’ me… I ain’t telling you shit!”

“Relax,” Sable intoned as he started the car. “I’m only taking you to the hospital. You’re in pretty bad shape, so if you get any cute ideas, it’s quite literally your funeral.”

At that, the merc actually did relax. A little. “What kinda guy takes the man he shot to the hospital?”

The kind who doesn’t need more death on his conscience, Sable thought, but didn’t say. He opted for deflection instead. “To be fair, I wasn’t exactly aiming for you.”

The other man coughed and groaned, “Withers, that fucking asshole…. He fucking killed Dancer!”

Sable hoped that this guy was able to recover and make it back to his comrades. What he knew would certainly shake things up within Los Perros. 

As Sable was about to back out, he saw Troubleshoes approach. Sable rolled down the window.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Just thinking, Sable,” Troubleshoes said. “I feel like I should take some of the blame for the way tonight went.”

“Don’t,” Sable said. “We knew the risks when we decided to help you.”

Troubleshoes shook his head. “It’s not that. Sunset told me about her plan a while back. I guess I assumed she’d already cleared it with you so I didn’t say anything about it.”

“That’s fine, you couldn’t have known what she was going to do,” Sable said, frowning as a thought occurred to him. “Sunset’s clever enough that she probably counted on that.”

A curious look crossed Troubleshoes’s face then. “What are your plans for the triplets’s punishment?”

“Haven’t thought of anything, yet. Latrine duty, maybe,” Sable said. “I’d have to talk it over with their aunt and uncle. Why?”

A mischievous smile formed across the big man’s face. “Well, I was just thinking about what you told me about wanting to get them more military fit than they are. I think we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Sable met Troubleshoes’s mischievous smile with one of his own. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking it’s time for me to bring the Old Goat out of retirement.”

 





 

In no time at all, the weekend rolled around, and after the tense negotiations with Los Perros and the harrowing attack on their home, Adagio and her sisters were looking forward to getting to sleep in on Saturday morning. So it was with bleary-eyed disorientation that she, Aria and Sonata were all awakened (they’d all decided to sleep together in Adagio’s room since that night) by the sharp sound of a whistle.

“UP AND AT ‘EM, MAGGOTS! THIS AIN’T THE TIME FOR BEAUTY REST!”

Adagio barely recognized the usually lackadaisical voice of the man who had been living with them for the past two weeks. But sure enough, there he was, standing over the three of them in the darkness. The digital clock on her bedside table read 5:01 AM, but it was only on the peripheral of her vision and thoughts.

“Troubleshoes?” Adagio said groggily. “What…?”

“DON’T YOU GIVE ME SASS, MISS DAZZLE! FOR STARTERS, YOU THREE ARE GIVING ME TEN LAPS AROUND THE PROPERTY! DOUBLE TIME IT! NOW!”

The triplets’ sleep-deprived brains took a few seconds to process this.

“W-wha…?”

“WHAT PART OF ‘NOW’ DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND, YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR SOLDIERS?!”

Troubleshoes blew on his whistle again, and some instinct (perhaps left over from the other timeline) forced the three sisters to their feet, going along with Troubleshoes as he shuffled them out of the room in naught but their pajamas. Before she knew it, Adagio and her siblings were outside in the freezing autumn pre-dawn air, jogging along the path around the perimeter of the property. The harsh wake-up that provided gave her the clarity of mind to consider their current situation.

This was definitely the alluded-to punishment that Sable had promised, there was no doubt of that. Adagio had caught Sable and Troubleshoes sharing hushed words just the other day, and she had a bad feeling about it even then. More than likely the two of them had already cleared this with Night and Velvet, so going to them about this would be an exercise in futility. Lord, what have we wrought?

“I’m sorry, did you say ten laps, Mr. Clyde?” Sonata asked between gasps for breath.

“No, I believe I said TWELVE LAPS, MISS DUSK!” shouted Troubleshoes, jogging right alongside them.

Adagio was reasonably sure that he hadn’t, in fact, said twelve laps, but knew better than to point that out.

After the first two laps, Aria let out a huge groan. “Ugh, I wish I was dead!”

“YOU THREE ARE MORE THAN WELCOME TO DIE AFTER YOU GIVE ME MY THIRTEEN LAPS, MISS BLAZE!”

This elicited a groan from all three girls, but none of them raised another complaint for the rest of the early morning run. Adagio had made sure to give Aria her best death glare before she stumbled over a small rock. She settled for simply completing her laps after that.

Months later, the triplets would look back on this morning and laugh. Now though? Adagio and her sisters were exactly as miserable as Sable likely had hoped.
> 7 - The Things I Love
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Crevi was already busy with activity when Withers stepped in. All of the fireteams from that night’s failed incursion on the SIREN compound were tightly packed into the little basement bar. Some of them were standing around or seeing to their equipment, but most appeared to be packing up their things. That made Withers nervous.

A few more of his compatriots were laid up in the booths on the left side, having their wounds tended to. Los Perros had evidently suffered plenty of casualties during the attack, but by the looks of it, no KIAs (at least, aside from the two Withers had put down). Among the wounded was Rosy Thorn, who had a nasty looking bullet wound in her shoulder that was being tended to by their medic.

“Dammit, what the hell were you thinking, walking straight into enemy fire like that?” asked the dark-skinned man with glasses kneeling beside her. Scope Lens, if Withers remembered right.

Rosy Thorn shrugged. “I dunno, I just got this idea in my head that… that the tangos weren’t real.” She then winced as the medic applied some salve to the wound.

“That looks pretty real to me,” Scope said with a wry grin.

“Yeah, feels pretty fucking real, too!”

That was all Withers heard of the conversation as he continued past them. He didn’t have time to engage in the usual inane small talk he was expected to with the other mercs. He had a bee in his bonnet and that bee’s name was Hardy Fucking Biff.

The annoying bee in question buzzed over as soon as he spotted Withers. “Where’s Barrel and Dancer?” he asked.

Withers played up the lament in his voice as he answered, “Enemy ambush caught us as we were pulling out. They didn’t make it.”

Biff just sighed and shook his head. “Dammit. Should never have gone ahead with this op in the first place.”

Seeing an opportunity for a well placed barb, Withers sighed and said, “Or, maybe if you had let Watership Down reach its natural conclusion, we might have achieved victory and poor Barrel and Dancer would still be with us….”

Biff gave him a look that said Did you really just go there? “Would you like to know why I called off the attack?”

Yes, I would love to know why you cut short my fun, asshole! Withers thought. But like Biff, he only said it with a look.

Biff clearly didn’t care for it. It was the only reason Withers could think of that he would say something as ludicrous as, “We’re leaving town. Tonight.”

“What!?” he exclaimed, causing a few heads to turn his way. “But our business here isn’t finished yet!”

“It is now,” Biff said before holding up what looked like a small USB harddrive. “The Feds are onto us.”

Withers scoffed. “So what? We knew we’d have to tread carefully when we got here. And yet you still approved Watership Down.”

“Like I said, the situation's changed,” Biff said, wagging the hard drive in Withers’s face like he was scolding a child. “The Feds have spent the past week mobilizing to take us down, and if they catch wind of what we did tonight, they’ll be on us tomorrow morning, if they weren’t going to be already.”

Withers ground his teeth together. No. No! This was the absolute worst-case scenario. He hadn’t even started creating his next masterpiece with Troubleshoes Clyde, and a true artist never left a work incomplete. He had to find some way to buy himself more time!

“Where’d you even get that information, anyway?” Withers asked, gesturing to the hard drive in Biff’s hand.

“I’ll tell you later, when we’re in private,” Biff said, putting it in his pocket. “Right now, we’re shipping out. Next stop, New Mexico.”

With a nod, Withers turned and set out to do what he had to do next. As he did, Biff called out to him, “One more thing,” Withers turned back to face him, knowing he was going to hate whatever Biff had to say next if experience was anything to go by. “The Bloodhound wants to have a talk with you when we get back to base.”

Withers furrowed his brow. That didn’t sound good, and the tone in which Biff told him this indicated it was serious. Withers found himself thinking back to every time he was called to the principal’s office as a boy.

Well, fuck that guy! Withers thought. He doesn’t know how lucky he is to have me!

And maybe, just maybe, Withers would be able to show him. Yes, if he played his cards right, he would correct the absolute shitfest the night’s attack had turned out to be and get his coveted canvas in one swift stroke.

 





 

The family was just finishing up their breakfast when the triplets finally showed up. Troubleshoes couldn’t help but grin as he looked up from his own meal. The three of them were absolutely drenched, partially from sweat and partially from the freezing cold water from the garden hose that Troubleshoes had sprayed them with halfway through their run. The training exercise was meant to build their physical as well as their mental endurance, and it brought back memories of Troubleshoes’s own time in BUD/S back in San Diego. It was likely that the triplets had this training at some point as well, but based on their reactions to it, it had been a very long time ago.

“You three enjoy your run?” Troubleshoes asked, smiling as he took a bite of cereal.

Only Aria had the strength to meet his gaze, and a brief moment passed as they locked eyes. A snarky remark seemed to be on the tip of her tongue, and Troubleshoes raised his brow, silently inviting it along with the promised consequences.

“Yes, sir,” Aria finally said. 

“Aye, Chief,” Troubleshoes corrected. “I was a bluejacket, so I worked for a living.”

“Aye, Chief,” Aria repeated. 

Satisfied, Troubleshoes nodded his approval, allowing the three of them to go about eating their breakfast, which they attacked as viciously as if it was a member of Los Perros.

“That’s good, because we have a full day of hard work ahead of us.”

The triplets paused, slowly exchanging a look between themselves.

“Better keep eating. Gonna be burning a lot of calories today,” Troubleshoes said, and the three of them did so after only another moment’s hesitation.

It had been a couple of days since Los Perros attacked the mansion, and already the family seemed to be returning to a semblance of normalcy. It was clear they were still dealing with some unease about the whole situation, but Troubleshoes was surprised to see how well they were dealing with it. He made some small talk with the family as he finished up his breakfast, asking them what their plans were that fine Saturday. Night said he wanted to get some writing done on his new book, Velvet was going to do some shopping, and the kids were either seeing friends or working their part-time jobs.

When they asked him how he planned to spend the day, Troubleshoes said with a chuckle, “Oh, I’ve got some more exercises planned out for the triplets. It’s not like I can exactly go out, can I?”

“Not unless you want the police to pick you up,” Sunset said, looking at him with sympathy.

Troubleshoes frowned. With all the trouble with Los Perros lately, he had forgotten all about the warrant for his arrest that was also keeping him here. Will Tires and I ever be able to go home?

Sunset must have guessed what he was thinking, because she put a hand on his arm and said, “Hey, my brother’s fiancée is doing everything she can to sort that out. This will all be over soon.”

But how long was soon? Weeks? Months? Troubleshoes tried not to think about it. The situation was out of his hands.

“You know, I might check on Tires before getting started with the triplets,” Troubleshoes said with a hopeful smile.

On the topic of Tirespin, his acerbic daughter hadn’t shown up to breakfast that morning. It was possible she was sleeping in, but the apple didn’t fall far from the tree—Troubleshoes’s daughter was an early riser like him. So, after ordering the triplets to get ready down in the bunker, Troubleshoes hastily put away his dishes and went up to what had become their bedroom, a mild sense of worry filling him.

He heard Tirespin’s voice talking to someone as he approached the door, which he opened quietly. Tirespin was seated cross legged on her bed, holding the burner phone that Sunset had given her when they had first “moved in” two weeks ago. She stared into the screen like a lost soul, her eyes filled with longing.

“Mama misses you, sweetie. Mama misses you so much…” she told the screen, and the sound of a baby’s cries coming from the phone’s speakers immediately told Troubleshoes who she was talking to.

Without saying a word, Troubleshoes sat down on the bed and scooched his way next to her. Tirespin didn’t say a word back, but she did angle the phone towards him a little so he could see the screen. On it, Troubleshoes could see that Tirespin was on FaceTime with his mother, who currently appeared to be seated in Sable and his girlfriend’s kitchen. In her arms was his granddaughter, Cinnamon.

“Heya Ma,” Troubleshoes said, giving her a little wave.

“Hey there, Trouble honey,” Down Luck said with a warm matronly smile. “You eating well over there?”

Troubleshoes chuckled. Some things never changed. “Sure am, Ma. How about you? My man Sable treating you right?”

Downy chuckled. “He’s trying to make me breakfast,” she said, turning the camera around to reveal Sable Loam standing at the kitchen counter, clearly in the midst of an epic struggle with a waffle iron. “Emphasis on ‘trying’.”

Troubleshoes laughed and said hi to Sable, and for the next several minutes he and his mother chatted about this and that. Both Troubleshoes and Tirespin silently agreed not to mention the attack from two days ago. No need to make Down worry. When they ran out of things to say, Troubleshoes told his mother goodbye, and Tirespin said a tearful goodbye to Cinnamon before reluctantly hanging up.

Seeing that she looked distressed, Troubleshoes gently rubbed her back. “Hey, it’ll be okay. You’ll be with her again soon.”

Tirespin looked at him with some of the old fire in her eyes. “How long is soon, Dad?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

“I don’t know.”

Tirespin looked away from him, standing to leave. “Of course you don’t. What do you know? You only got us into this mess in the first place,” she said, the old familiar petulance returning to her tone.

“C’mon Tires, don’t be like that. I thought we were finally putting all that stuff behind us!”

Tirespin rounded on him in an instant. “Oh? And what ‘stuff’ would that be, Dad? Do you even know?!”

Troubleshoes leaned forward. “Look, I know I haven’t been the best father to you over the years, but Goddammit I am trying to be better! Why do you refuse to see that?”

“Because somehow, despite all your talk about ‘being better,’ our family is still paying for your fuck ups!” Tears started to fill Tirespin’s eyes, and for a moment it seemed she couldn’t choose between wanting to shout or wanting to sob. “Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since I got to hold my daughter! I have been so fucking scared every day since this all started. Not just for me, but for her! What if those people you pissed off find her and Gram-Gram?”

“They won’t,” said Troubleshoes, the assurance sounding lame even to him.

“I hope not, because if anything happens to her, it’s on you!” she exclaimed, wiping her eyes. “Because no matter how much we need you, you always end up going back to your military shit instead! Even now, you’re spending more time with those fucking gun bunnies then you are with me!”

Troubleshoes frowned. She’s got me there. Before he could say anything else, Tirespin stormed out, and Troubleshoes could only sit there on the bed and try to rub away the throbbing ache in his head.

“They get difficult when they reach that age, don’t they?”

Looking up, Troubleshoes saw Twilight Velvet standing in the doorway.

“Well, she’s not entirely wrong,” he said with a sigh. “I thought I was doing better, but I guess I’ve just been falling back on the same old habits, just in a slightly different way.”

Velvet took a seat on the bed next to him. “You know, I’ve encountered my fair share of shitty fathers over my career. I don’t count you among them.”

Troubleshoes gave her a smile. “Thanks.”

“And she’s not entirely right, either. I saw how you were there for her during the attack, despite where you wanted to be instead.”

“Still, feels like I’m taking one step forward and two steps back.”

Velvet laughed. “That’s parenting for you. I like to think Night and I have gotten pretty good at it after all the times we’ve run the gauntlet. But even now, we screw up from time to time. There’s no such thing as a ‘perfect run’ when it comes to raising our children.”

“Yeah, ain’t that the truth…” Troubleshoes said with a quiet chuckle. “Still, I can’t help but feel like I’m making the same mistakes over and over again.”

“If you ask me, I don’t think what you’re doing for the triplets is a mistake,” Velvet said, a playful frown crossing her face. “Even if I’m not entirely a fan of your training techniques.”

Troubleshoes opened his mouth to defend the US Special Forces' proud traditions, but Velvet raised a hand and said, “Yes, I know they can more than handle it. They don’t exactly have the same… upbringing as most girls their age. Even so, a mother has her worries.”

“Understandable.”

“But how you are with Tirespin isn’t one of them.” Velvet looked right at him, her eyes earnest as she said, “She’s wrong to resent you for doing what you love. Most people seem to think that being a parent is a sacrifice you make—the things you love for the people you love. But I think it’s a compromise.”

A nostalgic smile crossed Velvet’s face then. “I remember when my first born, Shining Armor, first started in the third grade. The math took a spike in difficulty, and he struggled with it. But I was usually working long hours at the office, and wasn’t always home to help him. I was doing good work that I was passionate about, but I wanted to help my son succeed as well. So, I taught him how to use our fax machine and he sent copies of his math homework to me at my office. From there, I’d spend however long I needed to talk him through it and encourage him. It was a lot of work, and some of my coworkers thought I was nuts, but it was worth it.

“Because I got to do what I loved and be there for my boy.”

Troubleshoes nodded. “Now if only I could make Tires understand that.”

“If you want, I could talk to her. I know a lot about how kids like her think,” Velvet said. “Let’s just say it’s my area of expertise.”

“Thanks Mrs. Velvet, but I think this is something I need to do on my own,” Troubleshoes said.

With that, Velvet stood and headed for the door. “Well, the offer still stands if you change your mind.”

Standing with a smile and a nod, Troubleshoes said, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the talk.”

 





 

Directionless, Tirespin power walked through the halls of the mansion. She didn’t care where she ended up, she just needed space. Space from the father that until recently she had been absolutely certain she knew where their relationship stood. Dammit, things had been so much simpler when she thought he was still just a deadbeat.

Forgiveness is God’s command, quoted the ever-persistent Inner Critic. And somehow, Tirespin found herself actually wanting to listen to the damn pest, despite how shitty it made her feel. But thinking about what any of it meant for her was way too hard, so instead Tirespin continued wandering the house like a restless spirit.

Eventually she found her way out the back door onto the porch, where all of the broken glass from the attack had been swept up, leaving it feeling almost empty. To her surprise, she found Spike seated on one of the outdoor wicker sofas, staring out at the rear acres and idly swinging his legs. He looked about as lost as Tirespin felt, so she decided to take a seat next to him.

“Thought you’d want to be inside on your game,” she said casually.

Spike seemed mildly startled when she spoke but relaxed almost immediately. “Well, my mom’s always telling me to go outside more.”

“Fair enough, but I’m surprised you’re not at least playing on your DS.”

With a subdued smile, Spike said, “Still can’t find the charger for it,” and Tirespin laughed, remembering the night she and her father first arrived here. “Besides, it is a nice day, I guess,” Spike added as an afterthought.

Tirespin nodded. “Mm-hm. But something tells me that ain’t the reason you’re out here.” Spike looked at her with some confusion and Tirespin grinned, pointing to her forehead. “Daredevil, baby!”

That got a quiet chuckle out of the boy, which regrettably didn’t last. “Yeah, I dunno. I was inside playing earlier, but then I just… had to get out.”

That was curious. “Why?” Tirespin asked.

“Because… my room doesn’t really feel like mine anymore.” Spike rubbed his hands together anxiously. “That night, when those people attacked us… I saw some of them go into my room on the security camera.”

Tirespin nodded, starting to understand.

“Ever since that night, something about being in my room just… hasn’t felt right,” Spike continued. “My room’s always been kind of a mess, but now when I go in there, I can’t stop wondering… how much of it is my mess, and how much of it is theirs?”

Seeing how unnerved the boy looked, Tirespin put a hand on his shoulder. It made perfect sense that he felt this way, of course. Tirespin remembered a time when she was even younger than him when someone had broken into her family’s old home while they had been out somewhere. Just about anything that wasn’t nailed down had been taken, and the bastard had even helped himself to some of the snacks in their kitchen. That house hadn’t quite felt the same to young Tirespin for the rest of the time they’d lived there.

The situation here wasn’t exactly the same as that, but Tirespin felt she understood how he was feeling, nonetheless. Home was a sacred place; a sanctuary where one could escape the often stressful and scary world. So, when the sanctuary was violated the way hers had been all those years ago—and the way Spike’s had been now—home no longer felt like home.

“You talk to your folks about how you’re feeling?” she asked him.

Spike shook his head. “Nah, it’s nothing. I don’t think they want to hear about it.”

“’Course they do! Because what you’re feeling ain’t nothing. You should talk to ‘em. I promise you’ll feel better afterward.”

The irony, of course, was not lost to Tirespin, and the Inner Critic made damn sure she knew it. She resolutely ignored it, though, focusing on giving her young friend an encouraging smile.

“Yeah, I guess I could talk to Mom about it.” Then with a bitter smile ill-fitting to a boy his age, Spike added, “At least I know they didn’t take my DS charger. That was missing before this all happened.”

It wasn’t much of a joke, but it at least showed that Spike was in a better mood than before, so Tirespin gave it a laugh regardless. Then an idea came to her head, and she stood up, taking Spike’s hand in her own.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea! Let's reorganize your room!” Tirespin exclaimed.

Allowing himself to be pulled to his feet, Spike looked at her with some trepidation. “Did my mom put you up to this?”

“Nope. I just figured, if you can’t tell what’s your mess and what’s their mess, the solution is obvious: get rid of the mess!” Tirespin was leading him by the hand back into the house now, unable to keep the smile off her face as she put all of her worries aside and just enjoyed the moment.

If nothing else, it was a welcome distraction.





Grunting in frustration, Ring Finger hobbled through the door to his apartment on his cheap crutches. Not-so-affectionately dubbed “Ratshit Manor” by Ring and some of the other tenants, the Sunnytown apartment complex was as run down as the nickname suggested. Most of the other tenants were either ex-cons on parole or had a conviction in their future. Ring Finger was in the former category; it was why he had made “no stupid risks” his creed of late.

“Lace! Hey Lacey, you here?” he called out as he hobbled into the kitchen.

And yet, the job he had taken for the mysterious man in sunglasses had certainly been a stupid risk, even with the pretty payout. It wasn’t like Ring had expected to be hit by a shitty brown sedan before he and his friends could rough up that Tire-what’s-her-name girl. Now his leg was in a cast, and his cracked ribs still hurt when he moved. Ring had a far better understanding of the phrase “hindsight is twenty-twenty” after that.

It had been the act of a Good Samaritan—a rarity in Sunnytown—who had called the ambulance to pick up Ring where he lay broken in the street. Really, it had been absurdly lucky, but that wasn’t what Ring had thought when he had been brought to the hospital. Before Ring’s first conviction, whenever he got injured on a less-than-scrupulous job, he did what every other lowlife in Sunnytown did: go to a less-than-scrupulous clinic. The staff at the South County Free Clinic didn’t ask questions if you came in with a gunshot or stab wound, and with a friendly donation of cash would “lose” all records of your stay with them. But the ambulance called by the Good Samaritan took Ring to Sunnytown General, where the staff did ask questions and kept nice detailed records of their patients.

So, it had been a day later when Ring Finger had gotten an early visit from his parole officer, a real fat fuck named Cuff Keys.

“How’d that happen, homie?” Keys had asked in the casually racist way he always did, studying Ring’s broken body with almost sick amusement.

“Was just crossing the street,” Ring had told him. “Bastard hit me dead on and kept going.”

Keys had studied him with an expression that told Ring he knew it was bullshit. “Weren’t up to any trouble, were you?”

“No, sir.” Luckily, Ring knew Keys couldn’t prove otherwise. Probably.

Again with the bullshit-detecting look, Keys asked, “You at least catch the plate number on the guy that hit you?”

Ring had plenty of time to study the license plate as the car idled next to where he’d lain on the pavement while the huge man driving it had chased after his two friends.

“No, sir.” Ring Finger may have been many things, but he wasn’t a snitch.

Keys had been silent just long enough for Ring to wonder whether he had something on him after all. Then the fat fuck gave him his patented condescending smile.

“Tell you what, seeing as this is a unique occasion, I won’t ask you to piss in a cup for me today,” Keys said, before asking him a few of his usual questions about his job and general movements. Then finally, fat fuck went off to do whatever he did whenever he wasn’t giving Ring a headache. Probably stuff his face with donuts.

After that visit, Ring gave the plate number to some of his other friends, hoping to track it down for a little payback, but the car had been found at the local impound lot and to this day weeks later, still hadn’t been picked up. He had since decided that payback wasn’t worth it.

Now, Ring Finger was stumbling through his apartment, calling out for his girlfriend. Lace Stocking was a stripper at the club where Ring now worked as a bouncer. It hadn’t exactly been love at first sight, but she had a body that didn’t quit, and he knew people who could get her precious molly, which immediately ingratiated him to her.

Due to Ring’s recent injuries, his boss at the Sunnytown Gentlemen’s Club had given him time off to heal. It wasn’t like a bouncer in crutches would be particularly intimidating, but the thought gave Ring Finger a laugh. At least, it did before he’d realized he would have to be completely reliant on his druggie girlfriend to take care of him while he recovered.

“Lace? C’mon, I need you!”

Figuring the bitch was sleeping off another high (probably from those downers he’d picked up from his buddy Pickpocket the other day), Ring shuffled over to the bedroom and pushed the ajar door open with the end of one of his crutches. Immediately ring saw Lace lying face down on the bed, perfectly still. But that didn’t alarm him nearly as much as the man sitting on the end of the bed, his back turned to him.

“What the fuck?! Who the fuck are you?!” Ring exclaimed.

Slowly, like one of those creepy animatronics at Disney World, the man turned his head to look at him.

“Just little old me, Ring my man.”

Hearing his voice and seeing the side of his face caused something to click, and then all at once Ring recognized him as the man who had paid him and his boys to rough up that girl (Tirespin! That was her name).

“Withers?” he exclaimed, “The fuck you doin’ in bed with my girl?!”

“Relax, I didn’t penetrate her. Well, not the way you’re probably thinking, anyway,” Withers said calmly as he stood, pulling what appeared to be a spike out from Lace’s spine at the base of her neck. Her body lay still.

Half a dozen emotions surged through Ring then: shock, horror, disgust, grief. But the one that flew to the surface and stuck was anger.

“What the fuck did you do?!” Ring roared. “I’M GONNA STOMP YOUR SKINNY WHITE ASS!”

Withers just took one look at Ring’s crutches and burst out laughing. “Oh, you are a riot, Ring!”

As the anger faded at the realization of his helplessness and the despair started to set in, Ring asked, “Why did you do that…?”

“Relax, man. I didn’t kill her. See?” Withers pointed at Lace with the blood-tipped end of the spike, and Ring followed it to his girlfriend’s face. Lace’s eyes were wide open, and they were staring right into Ring’s own in terror. Ring was reminded of a species of African spider he’d seen on the Discovery Channel. Its venom paralyzed its prey but left the hapless creature alive so it could feed at its leisure. “She may not ever walk again, though. Shame. Oh well, it’s one more thing you two have in common now, right?”

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Ring asked again

Withers laughed in a way that once again brought Ring’s thoughts to that spider. “You ever been in love, Ring?” he asked before nodding to Lace’s paralyzed form. “I’m not talking about your girlfriend here. Girls like her are fun for a while, but what I’m talking about is something real.”

Ring didn’t know how to answer that, so he just shook his head.

“I thought as much. You don’t strike me as the romantic type,” Withers continued, a wistful smile cutting across his face made all the more unsettling by the almost childlike glee in his eyes. “Until recently, I thought I was the same, but then an epiphany hit me: I’ve been falling in love all my life!

“In fact, I still remember the first time I did. Her name was Sugarspun. We were in high school, and I thought she was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. A work of art. Perfect… at least, at first. And here’s a free bit of wisdom for you, Ring my man: time tests our love.

“See, the more time I spent with her, the more I realized that Sugarspun was in a lot of ways like your girl Lace here. Pretty to look at, fun in bed a couple of times, but other than that… so tedious. That’s the problem with people. Even the most beautiful of them all grow tedious after you truly get to know them. That’s when I realized that what I thought was a work of art, was really nothing more than a canvas—something with the potential to be beautiful. You following me so far?”

Ring really wasn’t, but nodded his head anyway, and with a smile, Withers continued.

“I knew then what I needed to do. The week before I first shipped out, I rented out a place with some good soundproofing, picked up some equipment, and invited Sugarspun over. I then spent that weekend moulding her into the perfect piece of art. It wasn’t easy—art is often a painful process, as each of the things I love could attest if they were able—but after days of methodical application of pain, I had finally turned Sugarspun from just another person into my very first masterpiece!” There was a second of silence that seemed to go on forever, and then Withers frowned. “Of course, even true love is fleeting. Eventually it came time to dispose of my hard work, but then after that, falling in love again came easily!”

Then, with a spidery grin, Withers exclaimed, “And boy let me tell ya, it’s true what they say: Love makes you crazy!”

Like so many others that resided in Sunnytown, Ring Finger liked to consider himself Hard. To survive on these streets, you had to be. But the wide-eyed, grinning man standing over his girlfriend was not someone Ring would ever fuck with even if he had two good legs. This Withers guy wasn’t Hard. He was something else entirely.

“W-what do you want?” Ring asked, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

Withers walked over and put an arm around him, his hand still holding the bloody spike. “I want you to help out a man in love, Ring my man.”

No matter how much he wanted to, Ring knew he couldn’t refuse him. “Okay. What can I do to help?”

“That’s the spirit!” Withers exclaimed, patting him hard on the back. “What I need from you is so simple, even a cripple could do it! But you have to do exactly what I say….”





Sable stopped by the Sparkle household that afternoon to check in on Troubleshoes’s progress with their agreed-upon punishment/training acceleration for the triplets. Looking at the time and recalling the workout schedule for the day that Troubleshoes had proposed, Sable realized that he was going to find them around behind the house rather than in the bunker.

Specifically, Sable found them by a large area of the back garden that didn’t have anything planted yet. Each of the triplets were on the ground, covered head to toe in dirt as they slowly did push ups on shaking arms. Ever growing mounds of dirt were piled onto their backs as they struggled.

“C’mon, Dazzle! Give me a proper push up now. All the way down. There you go, and up! Good!” Troubleshoes exclaimed as he shoveled up another mound of dirt from the unused stretch of garden and added it to the pile on Adagio’s back before moving on to Aria.

Sable gave him a nod, which the bigger man returned before getting back to instructing. Sable decided to simply sit back and supervise as the grueling session for the triplets went on, taking note of where each one of the triplets excelled, and where they needed to improve.

After completing their push ups, the triplets were next sent over to the pool, which had been uncovered and cleaned the day before. The triplets swam back and forth from one end of the freezing pool to the other in the chilly autumn air. Sable stood ready to jump in and pull them out when their physical and mental endurance inevitably hit its limit; because that was exactly where they were being pushed now.

Eventually, as the sun went down, the day’s training session came to an end, and the three girls, exhausted and sore all over, headed inside to finally relax. Troubleshoes lingered outside, and Sable went over to him with a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Some fine work you did today,” he said. “I think today was the push they really needed to truly get back into a SPECFOR mindset.”

Troubleshoes smiled as he took a swig of water. “Glad you think so,” he said. “To be honest with you, though… I didn’t really feel on my game today.”

“Oh? Didn’t look that way to me.”

“Well, you never served in an instructor’s capacity before. I suppose you wouldn’t notice that I let them get away with cutting corners in more places than I probably should have.”

“Why do you think you were off your game?” Sable asked, and when the other man didn’t immediately answer, he decided to go out on a limb. “Something to do with your daughter?”

“Not sure I want to talk about it,” Troubleshoes said with a frown.

Sable just folded his arms as he tried to come up with a way to reach out to him. “Remember when we went to lunch at the Windmill Diner all those weeks ago?” he asked, and Troubleshoes nodded. “You told me about your old chief. What was her name?”

“Tumblehome.”

“Right. You told me I reminded you of her a bit,” said Sable. “You also told me why you valued her leadership so much.” Then with a grin that said I’ve got you, Sable said, “Can you remind me those words she said to you when you met after your own promotion to Chief?”

With a single chuckle (he clearly knew what Sable was trying to say), Troubleshoes repeated his old mentor’s words, “’When led well, sailors won’t feel like they’ve been hired or gained. They’ll feel like they’ve been adopted.’ Right.”

“You’ve clearly enjoyed working with the triplets these past weeks, and I won’t lie, I’ve been kinda grooming you to take over from me in that regard,” Sable said. “They like you, and you can clearly push them in ways that I can’t. So if there’s something holding you back from doing that, I want you to tell me.”

The two men looked at one another, each of them finally knowing the full measure of the other. Then with a sigh, Troubleshoes said, “Tirespin… hasn’t been happy about how much time I’ve been spending with them. I want to be a good father to her, I really do. There’s so much I have yet to make up for, and I think that seeing how devoted I’ve become to training the triplets has Tirespin thinking that… she’ll always come second.”

Sable listened thoughtfully, and took his time with what he said next. “Well, I certainly don’t want to come between you and your daughter, and I’m sure the triplets don’t either. But I don’t think that will be a problem. You know, Tirespin and I had a good talk the other week. I think she’s really matured a lot over the short time you and her have been with us. I’m sure that she’s well on the verge of opening up to you, under the right conditions.”

Troubleshoes put a hand on his forehead. “I just don’t know how to talk to her anymore. I’ve spent so much time estranged from her it feels like the Tirespin I know now is a completely different person from the one I knew when she was a kid.”

“It’s funny you should say that, I actually said something similar to Tirespin when we had our talk,” Sable said. “I suggested to her that we each knew a different version of you, and that the two of us should each set out to get to know the other’s version. I just realized now that I haven’t really held up my end of that bargain.”

With a sad nod, Troubleshoes said, “Right, guess I could tell you a little about when I got out for good. My wife and I split up shortly after—guess both of the women in my life didn’t care for how much I loved to wear the Budweiser—and the loss of both the job I loved and the woman I loved was just too big a hole for Tirespin alone to fill. So… I filled it with alcohol.”

Closing his eyes and shaking his head in shame, Troubleshoes continued, “I still loved Tirespin, but damn if I wasn’t too stuck in my own head to show it. For years it was like that, with me in a bottle and Tirespin and I just avoiding each other until she was halfway through high school.”

Sable listened somberly, and after Troubleshoes slowed down, he asked, “What made you finally quit?”

With a long drawn out sigh, Troubleshoes said, “Early one morning I was up in the kitchen taking my regular three shots of tequila to start the day when I yacked it all up. Tirespin walked in while I was cleaning it.” Sable saw tears in the big man’s eyes as he said, “I’ll never forget the way she looked at me: like I was a total stranger. Like I was just some bum on the street. She was pregnant with Cinnamon at the time, and I had this moment of realization: this is what she’d always remember of me. This is what she’d tell her child about when they’d ask about their grandfather.”

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Troubleshoes vehemently shook his head, as if trying to refute the thought. “I decided right then that I would not let that be my legacy to her. That morning was the last time a drink ever touched my lips.”

Not sure of what else to do, Sable gave the big man a hug, which Troubleshoes returned with some hesitation.

“You’re not that guy anymore,” Sable said, patting his back. “And I think Tirespin knows that now.”

“Maybe, but there’s still other things I’ve been keeping from her.” Troubleshoes thought back to his conversation with his daughter as they were fixing Night Light’s car. I know about the affair, she’d told him. Troubleshoes pulled out of the hug. “The situation with me and her mom is… complicated.”

“I think you and her just need to have a real conversation. About all of it.”

“I’ve tried, but she just won’t talk to me,” Troubleshoes said.

Sable looked past him towards the house, where three certain Canadian sisters were peeking over the railing of the back porch.

“I think with a little help, we can push her in the right direction.”

 





 

Tirespin pumped her fist into the air and let out a loud whoop as on the TV, Zero Suit Samus sent Ness flying off the screen with a precisely timed midair hit.

“Aw dammit, I almost had you with my Up B!” Spike moaned, setting his controller down.

Spike had been dominating for most of their games, so Tirespin felt like rubbing it in a bit. “Don’t come at me with those weak-ass moves!” she said with a teasing grin.

“Talk shit get hit, Tirespin!” Spike exclaimed as they returned to the character selection screen and he picked Ness again.

Twilight, who had been knocked out of the fight early on, looked up from her cell phone. “Spike, language.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Ugh, yes Mom.”

Tirespin looked through her options on the character select screen, starting to get tired of Zero Suit Samus. Shame there’s no real black characters in this game.

It was as Tirespin settled on one of the generic anime sword characters that Sonata walked into the entertainment room. “Hey guys, playing some Smash?” she asked.

“Yeah, wanna join?” Spike asked.

Truth be told, Tirespin didn’t care much for the so-called triplets, but Sonata seemed cool, so she greeted her with a smile and a nod.

“Actually, my sisters and I are gonna hit up the shooting range,” Sonata said. “I wanted to see if Tirespin wanted to join us.”

“Wait, really?” Tirespin asked, not entirely sure how she felt about this invitation.

“Why not? I feel like you and my sisters haven’t talked much since you’ve been here,” Sonata said. “We could teach you how to shoot.”

“I don’t know….”

“C’mon, please? We know you don’t care for us, but we really wanna clear the air with you, Tirespin,” Sonata said, giving her puppy dog eyes that Tirespin just couldn’t say no to.

So after bidding see you later to a disappointed Spike and a neutral Twilight, Tirespin followed Sonata down the hall to the main foyer. It was a silent walk, and once or twice Tirespin thought of saying something to break it, but couldn’t think of anything. Despite the fact that they were roughly the same age, there was a certain wisdom to Sonata and her sisters beyond their years. Even to Tirespin, whose early pregnancy had forced her to grow up faster than most, the mental age gap between them was a gulf.

The elevator let them off inside the bunker, and Sonata led her over to the firing range, where Adagio and Aria were getting set up. Tirespin greeted them politely enough, and then they got to business.

“Here, you’ll need these,” Aria said, handing Tirespin a set of ear protectors.

Adagio then approached her holding some kind of submachine gun with a stock (it didn’t help that Tirespin’s only real gun knowledge came from movies and video games).

“Ever been shooting before?” she asked.

Tirespin remembered that her father had offered to take her to a gun range once recently, and that she had only told him to leave her alone in very colorful language. “No,” she said.

Adagio then proceeded to talk her through all of the safety procedures, which were pretty straightforward (only point downrange, finger off the trigger unless you’re about to shoot, etcetera etcetera…). After giving her a brief primer on how to operate the submachine gun, Adagio handed it to her. Tirespin stepped up to the firing line and surveyed the targets, then carefully raised her SMG downrange. She felt one of the triplets nudge her heel with their foot.

“Spread your legs out more,” Sonata said, and Tirespin did so. Sonata then reached around and adjusted the stock so it was right up against her shoulder. “Make sure you really lean into it. Otherwise the recoil’s gonna knock you off balance.”

Tirespin did everything she was told, lined up her shot, and when she was ready, fired her first shot. Her weapon was set to semi-auto rather than full automatic, so she was able to keep it relatively in control. Still, her shot landed high off the mark. She tried again, this time with a better feel for the recoil, and actually hit her target this time, although her shot was still a little higher than where she was aiming.

“Alright, not bad for a first try,” Adagio said.

Encouraged, Tirespin continued firing downrange, watching her bullets make satisfying impacts against the earthen structures behind the targets (backstops, Adagio had called them). For a few minutes, Tirespin continued at it, finding the activity simple but surprisingly enjoyable. She could certainly see why her father seemed to enjoy it so much. Still, I can’t imagine myself abandoning my daughter for it.

When her magazine ran dry, Tirespin stepped away from the firing line and returned her weapon to Adagio as Aria stepped up to the line, firing some kind of semi-automatic rifle with much more confidence and precision than Tirespin. The evening went on much the same, with all of them taking turns shooting the targets, and with Tirespin trying out many different kinds of guns (her favorite had been the military shotgun, which felt incredibly satisfying).

Eventually, the time came for them to start closing up shop, and Tirespin helped them put away all the equipment.

“Enjoy yourself?” Adagio asked.

“Yeah, it was cool,” Tirespin replied. “Thanks for letting me join you.”

“Yeah well, we all wanted to spend some time with you. I get the impression you don’t like us very much.”

Tirespin couldn’t quite meet her eyes as she said, “I… look, it’s not your fault. I just wish that… that my dad liked spending time with me as much as he seems to with you.”

Aria blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and said, “Yeah well, it’s not like you make it easy for him when you chew his face off every time he tries to talk to you.”

“Ari! You promised you’d play nice!” Sonata gasped.

“Am I wrong?”

“No.” It was Tirespin who answered. “I know I’ve been acting so crazy about my dad lately, but I’m just so… confused. I thought I knew what kinda man he was, but now… I honestly have no idea.”

Each one of the three girls in front of her all looked at her, seemingly waiting for more. So Tirespin kept going. “Ever since he saved me from those guys on that street weeks ago when this all started, I think I knew he really cared about me. And since then he’s been nothing but caring and supportive of me, but… how can I ever trust him again when he’s been a useless drunk for so long? And even before that, it seemed like he cared more about his Army stuff than he did about me or Mom.”

“Navy stuff,” Aria corrected. “The SEALs are a division of the Navy.”

“Not helping, Ari!” Sonata exclaimed.

Ignoring them, Tirespin continued pouring out her thoughts. “I guess… I’ve kinda been resenting you guys because since coming here, I got my dad back. But whenever he’s with you, it’s like he goes back to being the old version of himself, y’know? The Troubleshoes who loved his Navy stuff so much that he crawled into a bottle as soon as it was taken away.”

“Okay, I think I see what’s going on. You can’t help but associate your dad’s love of Navy work with the time he used to drink,” Adagio said, a hand to her chin.

“Which is fucking stupid,” Aria said apathetically. Although Tirespin had considerably warmed up to Adagio and Sonata over their time hanging out, Tirespin still wasn’t sure she liked Aria.

“Oh, what the fuck do you know anyway?” Tirespin asked indignantly. “You can pretend to understand what I’m going through all you want, but the fact is you don’t know shit!”

Aria then glanced back and forth between Adagio and Sonata, and in a brief instance, an imperceptible conversation took place between them. It seemed as though Aria had just gotten their permission to share a deep secret.

“Let me tell you a little story about our parents,” Aria said. “Our mom was killed on 9/11.” Tirespin didn’t have to think hard to guess how that had happened. “Losing her practically destroyed our dad. He took to drinking a little bit to dull the pain, but mostly he dove into his work.”

“He was an economist and diplomat working for the Department of State. He was always traveling around the world helping out countries in need,” Sonata explained, the usually bubbly girl’s voice taking on a more somber tone. “He always used to say he was doing important work, but we were his children! What’s more important to a father than that?”

“He was so absent from our lives that eventually we had to move in here with our aunt and uncle,” Aria said bitterly.

Nodding, Adagio said. “They’re right. But can you see the difference between our dad and yours?”

Tirespin frowned. “Your dad probably wasn’t having an affair on top of all of that.” Noting the surprised looks on their faces, Tirespin sneered, “Didn’t mention that to you guys, did he? Figures he wouldn’t.”

Tirespin didn’t know how or when it had happened, exactly. Her best guess was that it was while he was off doing his Navy thing. After all, she had overheard him telling his old friends the Turkish restaurant story once. But another thing she had overheard was the fight he and her mom had right before they split up. She hadn’t heard the whole thing: her parents fought all the time after Troubleshoes got out, and she had long since learned to tune out their arguments. But hearing her mother’s voice say the word “affair” had certainly drawn Tirespin’s attention.

Then Troubleshoes had said, “It doesn’t matter, I still love you!” As if that made what he did any better.

Whatever Placeholder had said next was too quiet for Tirespin to hear. Both her parents continued talking in hushed voices after that, and Tirespin had thought that was the end of it, but then her mother had shouted one more thing.

“No, my baby needs me! You can’t….”

Her mother had walked out that night. Tirespin had only seen her once more, when she had returned for her things. She had seemed so distant. So… resigned. Tirespin didn’t know how, but her father must have taken full custody of her from her mother in spite of all he had done.

Tirespin returned from her ever-painful voyage into the past to find that the triplets hadn’t said a word since she had revealed to them the truth about her father’s character. They were quiet for some time more, and for a moment Tirespin thought she’d finally gotten them to see things her way.

But then Sonata said, “Look, regardless of what he did in the past, he seems to genuinely be trying to make amends for it now.”

“Trust us, we know what an uncaring father looks like,” Aria said. “And that’s certainly not your dad now.”

“You should at least talk to him. Get his side of the story,” Adagio said. “You can decide then whether you think he deserves your forgiveness. But only then.”

 





 

Unfortunately, the rest of the weekend went by and Tirespin seemed no more willing to talk to Troubleshoes than before. It seemed that whatever the triplets had said to her hadn’t been enough. However, his ever-rocky relationship with his daughter was the furthest thing from his mind that Monday evening, when Sunset Shimmer came to him in the middle of the day’s workout with big news.

“How would you and your daughter like to go home?” Sunset asked. “Tonight.”

That had quite effectively taken Troubleshoes’s attention away from the triplets’s workout for the rest of the evening. Fortunately, Sable was there supervising, and took over the workout session as Troubleshoes and Sunset headed upstairs. Before he knew it, Troubleshoes and Tirespin were sitting at the dining room table with Sunset. In the center of the table was Sunset’s phone, which was set to speaker so they could all talk to Cadance, Sunset’s apparent contact in the DA’s office.

“Earlier today police arrested Ring Finger, one of the men you alleged assaulted Tirespin two and a half weeks ago,” Cadance said.

Troubleshoes hadn’t exactly stopped to ask for the names of any of the bastards that touched his daughter, but his mind immediately went to the man with the wandering hand. He’d certainly had a fair amount of bling on those exploring fingers.

“What charges was he arrested on?” Troubleshoes asked, hoping that if they were serious enough, he’d be willing to make a deal with the prosecution and sell out his apparent friends in Los Perros.

“Well… I know I said ‘arrested,’ but it was more that he turned himself in. Said he wanted to offer information in exchange for protection.”

Well that wasn’t what Troubleshoes had expected. “Protection? From who?” he asked, though he could certainly guess.

“According to him, a member of Los Perros showed up in his apartment just last week, threatened him, and paralyzed his girlfriend from the neck down. The arresting officer noted a few times in his report that Mr. Finger seemed incredibly terrified.”

Well that was certainly a stroke of good luck. About damn time too, after the increasingly bad luck Troubleshoes had experienced these past weeks.

“I guess Los Perros wanted to make sure Ring and his gangbanger friends kept quiet about them, but their intimidation backfired,” Sunset mused.

“That seems likely, but we’ll know for sure once our office gets the results of his questioning,” Cadance said. “On that note, his group’s assault on Tirespin is sure to come to light, which is good news for you!”

Troubleshoes smiled and looked at his daughter, who couldn’t quite hide her hopeful expression. “Sunset thinks this means Tirespin and I can go home. Tonight even.”

Cadance hesitated before answering. “I suppose that’s possible. Last I heard, the warrant for your arrest has been a pretty low priority ever since Los Perros increased their presence in Canterlot, and with Ring Finger’s information, your assault on his friend will almost surely be seen as self-defense. That’s not to say the police won’t still have questions for you, though. Like just where exactly you’ve been these past weeks.”

“I can help take care of that,” Sunset offered. “Troubleshoes, do you have any family out of state that you could be visiting?”

Troubleshoes’s initial thought went to Placeholder in Florida, but immediately crossed that idea off. Nobody would believe he’d want to visit his ex-wife at her new house, with her new husband.

“I have an uncle who’s living in a care facility in Ohio,” Troubleshoes said instead. “I don’t see him often, but I do try to visit at least one week a year.”

“Perfect. I’ll see about putting together some fake travel documents then,” Sunset said.

“What about Los Perros?” Troubleshoes asked. “If one of them paid this Ring guy a visit, they must still be in town.”

Sunset shook her head. “According to Shiny, they all pulled out the same night they attacked our house. They might have left one or two guys behind to deal with any unfinished business they had here, but Shiny tells me the FBI is closing in on them.”

“The safest thing to do is probably to keep laying low at least a few more days,” Cadance chimed in. “But I’ll leave that to you.”

With that Cadance said her goodbyes and hung up. Everything suddenly felt so surreal to Troubleshoes. Are we really in the clear? It felt good to think about going back to Hard Luck Towing and getting back to some of his old projects. But there was certainly some merit to what Cadance had said about waiting.

That thought went out the window the moment Troubleshoes looked into his daughter’s eyes.

“I need to see her,” Tirespin said. “I need to hold my Cinnamon.”

With a nod, Troubleshoes said, “Then pack your things.”

The way Tirespin’s face lit up immediately informed Troubleshoes that it was the right call. Tirespin passed Sable as she ran out of the dining room. He was leaning against the doorframe, evidently having been listening there for some time. It seemed like training the triplets could wait.

“Celestia’s home with Down and Cinnamon right now,” Sable said. “I can call her and have her drive them home if you like.”

“Please.”

Before Troubleshoes knew it, he and Tirespin were both lugging their bags out to the car. Evidently, Sable had finally passed the mourning period for his old Jeep and was now offering to drive them home in the Toyota Highlander he’d leased that weekend. After loading their bags, Troubleshoes and Tirespin lingered at the front door to thank and say goodbye to the family that had shown them such kindness these past weeks.

“It was a pleasure having you stay with us,” said Night Light as he shook Troubleshoes’s hand. “Maybe you could come over again sometime during better circumstances?”

“I’d like that,” Troubleshoes said.

He shook hands with Twilight Velvet next, and he thanked her again for their talk the other day as well as her family’s hospitality. Beside him, Tirespin said goodbye to Twilight and Octavia before moving on to Spike.

“Hey, listen uh…” the young boy said, shuffling awkwardly in place. “I just wanted to say, uh… I….” Finally, the boy looked at her directly. “You’re pretty cool.”

“You’re pretty cool yourself,” Tirespin said, offering a fist for Spike to bump. “See you online?”

“Definitely!”

Tirespin next thanked Night and Velvet for their hospitality.

“Trust me, I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Velvet said with a grin. “You’ve accomplished something I never could: you got Spike to clean his room!”

Tirespin giggled, and Troubleshoes turned his attention to the triplets. “If any of you start slacking off on your workout, I want you to picture my disappointment.”

“Aye, Chief!” The three of them said, snapping off sharp salutes. They then turned their collective attention to Tirespin.

“Don’t forget what we talked about, okay?” Adagio said. Tirespin nodded but didn’t say anything.

With all of their goodbyes said, Troubleshoes and Tirespin went to join Sable. Sunset was with him; she planned on riding along to see them off personally. With Sable and Sunset in the front and Troubleshoes and Tirespin in the back, Sable turned the car around and started driving down the road off the property. Troubleshoes looked out the back window over his shoulder and watched as the large house that had been his and Tirespin’s home for the past half a month got smaller and then disappeared.

Troubleshoes was excited to finally go home, and he was looking forward to seeing his mother and granddaughter again. But part of him was also sad about leaving that house and the people living in it behind. They really were a special—almost magical—family, and in a weird way Troubleshoes felt like he had become a part of it in the weeks he and Tirespin had spent there.

The drive was silent as the sun started to set, but eventually Sable cleared his throat and said, “You know, I was serious when I told you I was hoping for you to take over training the triplets from me. You’re really good at it.”

“Of course, we wouldn’t ask you to do it for free,” said Sunset. “We could pay you whatever the standard rate is for a special forces instructor.”

Troubleshoes couldn’t quite keep a neutral face at that. Working with the triplets made him realize just how much he needed something in his life aside from working on cars. It had made him feel like he had purpose, which he hadn’t truly felt since his days in the SEALs. If they were serious about paying him a full rate for continuing his work with those three girls, Troubleshoes could support his family and—unlike when he was a SEAL—also be there for them. It was almost too good to be true.

He then looked over at Tirespin, who was fully turned away from him as she stared out the window.

“That’s a generous offer. I’ll have to think about it,” Troubleshoes said.

“Of course, there’s no rush. Let us know when you come to a decision.”

At long last, the car pulled to a stop on the street outside Down Luck’s Sunnytown home. Despite the rundown quality of the rest of the neighborhood, Troubleshoes’s mother had done what she could to make the place as homey as possible. Of course, it was so very much like her: always working hard to make a bad thing better. According to Sunset, Sable’s girlfriend had dropped off Down and Cinnamon about ten minutes before they themselves had arrived.

So, after getting out of the car, Troubleshoes shook Sunset’s hand and thanked her, and then found himself standing face to face with Sable Loam.

“I don’t even know how I can begin to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” Troubleshoes looked at Tirespin. “For us.”

“Don’t have to. We’re friends,” Sable said. “Us vets gotta look out for each other, right?”

Troubleshoes smiled. “Yeah.”

“Hey, no matter what you decide regarding our offer… don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Of course.”

The two men hugged, heartily slapping each other’s backs, and soon Sable and Sunset were back in the car, pulling away from the curb, while Troubleshoes and Tirespin walked up the steps to the front door of the house.

“Ma? It’s me!” Troubleshoes called out.

He looked around, comforted by all of his mother’s familiar Catholic paraphernalia on the walls and cabinets. Smelling freshly baked cookies, he found Downy herself in the kitchen, apparently wasting no time getting to work on a batch while she listened to her favorite station on the radio; one that played primarily old jazz songs. Currently the DJs were introducing their next selection.

“Now, this next one may have come out in 2011, but make no mistake, The Real Tuesday Weld is excellent at capturing that authentic sound….”

As Troubleshoes hugged his mother, he heard Cinnamon crying in her crib in the living room, and Tirespin immediately headed that way. As she did, Troubleshoes was inexplicably filled with the feeling that something wasn’t right. It’s been a trying few weeks. Just need to get used to being back.

But when Troubleshoes pulled away from his mom, he saw her face. The look of worry on it was so very unlike her.

“Everything okay, Ma?” he asked.

His sense of unease grew as he saw her eyes briefly dart towards the living room. “A man was waiting for us when we got here,” Down said. “He said he was a friend of yours, but I don’t remember ever meeting him before.”

The general unease turned to full blown terror as Troubleshoes muttered, “Son of a bitch…” before racing towards the living room. Tirespin stood at the room’s threshold, staring forward with terrified, wide-eyed shock. The DJs on the radio started playing a slow jazz song, and a sultry woman started to sing as Troubleshoes entered and saw who was seated on his mother’s couch.

I love the chase, ‘til the minute I win it

Withers looked up at him as he took a bite of the cookie in his left hand. “Long time no see, eh Big T?”

A beautiful face ‘til there’s love for me in it

What stopped Troubleshoes’s heart in his chest was Withers’s right hand, which held a softly crying Cinnamon steady as he gently bounced her on his knee.

Give me your heart and baby I’ll bid it

“I gotta admit,” Withers said around a mouthful of Down’s cookie. “This is so much sweeter fresh!”

‘Cause I always kill the things I love….
> 8 - The Last Secrets
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The headlights of the Toyota Highlander illuminated the dark road ahead of them as overhead, the sky turned dark and cloudy as the first drops of rain started hitting the windshield. Sable couldn’t help but think of the similarly rainy night he and the triplets had first picked up Troubleshoes and Tirespin at the Windmill Diner. Something about that symmetry gave Sable a bad feeling as he drove back towards San Palomino, where he’d drop off his passenger before heading back to his own home.

“Hmm…” Sunset Shimmer grunted in the passenger seat next to him.

Sable glanced at her, still keeping his eyes on the dark road. “Something wrong?”

“Don’t know,” she replied, staring out at the darkness herself. “I just got a bad feeling all of a sudden.”

Guess I’m not the only one, Sable thought, before saying with a grin, “I take it your Spider-sense is tingling?”

Sunset looked at him blandly before realization set in.  “Oh, that’s a comic reference, right?”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you need to catch up on a few things. Yeah, it’s a comic reference. Seriously, though, it’s probably just the weather.”

Sunset grunted and nodded, and Sable figured that was that before she spoke up again. “No, I don’t think it’s the weather. This is something else.”

They stopped at a red light, and Sable looked right at her. “Think this is a wing and horn kinda thing?”

“I don’t know…” Sunset said again, sounding more and more troubled by the moment. “I had the same feeling when I sent the triplets to negotiate with Los Perros.”

Sable couldn’t quite resist the temptation to take another playful jab at her. “Is it a feeling that you’re skipping a step in the chain of command?”

“Ha ha,” Sunset deadpanned, before growing quiet and troubled again. “No, it’s more like something about the situation feels wrong. Like there’s something about it that we’re missing.”

Sable thought about it until the light turned green. “What do you think we could be missing?”

“I dunno, there’s just something odd about… how suddenly all of Troubleshoes’s problems went away.”

Now that she mentioned it, it seemed almost too convenient that one of the men who had assaulted Tirespin just happened to come forward at the right time. But what did it mean?

“Do you want to turn the car around?” Sable asked. “Just to check that everything’s okay?”

Sunset was quiet for a long time before answering, “No, it’s… it’s probably nothing. We should let Troubleshoes have this evening with his family.”

Sable shrugged, said, “Okay,” and kept on driving, turning at the next light.

Problem was, Sunset didn’t sound terribly convinced it was nothing. And now, neither was Sable.

 





 

The slow jazz song was forgotten, as was the sound of rain starting to fall on the windows, and the sound of Troubleshoes’s mother baking nervously in the kitchen. All Troubleshoes could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears as he looked at the smirking man on his mother’s couch, eating his mother’s cookie and bouncing his infant granddaughter on his knee.

“Wow… four generations of Clyde, all under one roof!” Withers exclaimed. “Lucky me!”

“Withers, you goddamn bastard—!” Troubleshoes said, taking a step towards him. A sharp cry from Cinnamon stopped him in his tracks as Withers stood, clumsily shifting her to cradle her tiny body in one arm.

“Hey, ease off the throttle there, Big T,” Withers said, grinning the way a spider might grin at the fly in its web. “You wouldn’t want to startle me now, would ya?” He then turned his fly eating grin towards Cinnamon. “I might accidentally drop this little cutie right on her fragile little head!”

Withers gently rocked Cinnamon in place, softly shushing her as she cried. Troubleshoes wanted nothing more than to knock the creepy, fly eating grin off his face but knew that he couldn’t while he was holding his granddaughter. Down Luck was in the room now, much to Troubleshoes’s horror, and he looked over at Tirespin, who was watching the whole scene wide-eyed and trembling. As bad as this was for Troubleshoes, it must have been her worst nightmare.

Troubleshoes put a comforting hand on her shoulder as he asked, “The hell do you want, Withers?”

“Why, you of course!” Withers exclaimed, biting his lip. “We have unfinished business, my friend! I went to a lot of trouble making you feel safe enough to come out of that shell you had turtled up in. Even got that idiot gangbanger to go to the cops and drop the charges against you!”

“I thought that Los Perros was finished with me,” Troubleshoes said. At least, that had been his impression when the triplets told him about their negotiations with Biff.

At that, Withers laughed—no, cackled—and Troubleshoes could almost hear the insanity pouring out of him. “You still think this is about your debt to the Bloodhound? Oh, that is precious. Sure, I’ll probably take you to the Bloodhound when I’m done, but right now, this is just between you and me!”

Troubleshoes truly had no idea what else Withers could possibly want from him. No, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Yes, there was something… a small inkling of an idea somewhere in the back of Troubleshoes’s mind too twisted and terrible to truly grasp, like the true form of some cosmic horror.

“What the hell kind of business do you and I still have with each other?” he asked, ignoring that black horror forming in the recesses of his brain.

“I’m something of an artist, Big T. Sure, you’ll never see my works in the likes of the Louvre, but my work is still important to me! I suppose it’s the only thing I’ve ever truly loved!” Withers exclaimed, his voice building with excitement. “I’ve turned so many people like you into masterpieces over the years, but you, Big T? I think you’ll be my magnum opus!”

The dark form of Withers’s intentions was taking more shape in Troubleshoes’s mind, and just like a Lovecraftian horror, the more of it Troubleshoes understood, the closer to insanity he felt he was drawing.

“Christ, you are one fucked up bastard, Withers,” Troubleshoes said, almost absentmindedly.

“Sticks and stones will break my bones,” Withers said, wagging a condescending finger. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to break you—physically, mentally, spiritually—then rebuild you. Then I’m going to use you. Completely and thoroughly. And when I’m done, you’ll come with me, and your family will be left alone, unharmed.”

His heart still beating in his ears, Troubleshoes desperately tried to come up with a plan. The first order of business was to ensure his family’s safety. After that, he’d figure something out. “Fine, I’ll do whatever you want. But only after you let the rest of my family go!”

With a sigh, Withers shook his head. “No can do, Big T.” He then looked directly at Tirespin. “Tell me, cutie, what’s the first thing you’d do as soon as you, the kid, and granny are outta here?”

“I-I…” Tirespin stuttered. She was so terrified; it was like her voice was trying to hide in her lungs. “I don’t….”

“You’d call the cops while I was busy with your dad, right?” Withers asked, and when Tirespin didn’t immediately answer him, he repeated, “Right?” and Tirespin nodded desperately.

“Right. So, you and Granny are gonna stay right where I can see ya while I work. Of course, I’ll also be holding onto the kid so nobody gets any cute ideas—which will make working difficult, but not impossible.” Then with his slimiest grin yet, Withers said to Tirespin, “You don’t have to watch us if you don’t want to, but I gotta say, I’ve never had an audience while I work before.” Withers licked his lips. “Could be fun!”

Finally, Withers looked right at Troubleshoes. “So, what’s it gonna be, Big T? You gonna cooperate?” He then booped the crying Cinnamon. “Or am I gonna have to do something we’ll all regret?”

Troubleshoes fists were clenching so tightly he could feel his nails breaking skin. Plan after plan to overpower the bastard ran through his head, but as long as he was holding his granddaughter hostage, Withers was untouchable. Despair set in as he realized there was nothing he could do. Protecting his family was the one thing he was supposed to be able to do, and as a Navy SEAL, it should have been easy. But he had failed.

Not yet. Some voice in his heart told him. Maybe it was his own voice, or maybe it was Chief Tumblehome’s. Maybe it was even Sable’s, or any one of his new friends. Either way, the voice reminded him of the one thing that his years of training and service had taught him: that he would do whatever it takes to protect what he loved, whether that was his country, or his family.

Even if that meant sacrificing himself.

So, he turned to Tirespin, touched her tear-stained cheek and said, “I love you. Don’t look.”

His daughter’s teary eyes looked back at his, and she whispered, “Please don’t…” even though it was clear she knew just as well as he did that there was no other way. Troubleshoes put a hand on his mother’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and then turned to face Withers, standing tall and proud, looking every bit the SEAL he was.

“Okay. I’m ready,” Troubleshoes said, and the funny thing is, he really was. He didn’t feel any of the expected dread at whatever torture and indignity Withers had planned for him. He just felt… at peace. “Do whatever you’re gonna do.”

For the first time that evening, the smile on Withers’s face cracked, and he actually took a step backward. It was a brief moment, and Withers recovered from it quickly enough to order Troubleshoes to his knees. He complied easily enough, and still looking at him through that cracked smile, Withers reached over beside the couch and dragged over a duffel bag with the arm not holding Cinnamon.

“Can you do me a solid and reach in there and pass me one of the scalpels?” Withers asked with almost mocking politeness.

Troubleshoes opened the bag, and the sight of its contents was almost enough to wash away the calm that had come over him. Troubleshoes wasn’t exactly an expert on the subject, but the duffel bag was full of what appeared to be a large, diverse assortment of BDSM gear. What allowed some of the fear to return was the traces of dried blood on some of it. Mixed in with the leather and chains were other tools; scalpels, knives, and other bladed implements that would look more at home in an operating room.

Closing his eyes, Troubleshoes forced himself to return to that peaceful place he had been moments ago. It was easier than expected; he had been trained to resist torture, after all. He just had to remind himself what he was fighting for. Regardless of what would become of him now, there was nothing nobler than that.

He passed Withers a scalpel with the same easy calm as before, and he could swear he saw a hint of fear in the other man’s eyes as he took it uneasily. Licking his lips nervously, Withers traced the flat of the scalpel along Troubleshoes’s face, putting on an over-the-top show of an artist deciding where to put his first brushstroke. Then his eyes met Troubleshoes’s, and again he almost seemed to recoil.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” Withers asked, sounding almost as if he were on the verge of panic. “All the others are by this point, even the ones that are good at hiding it!”

Troubleshoes didn’t answer him, merely holding his gaze calmly. The scalpel was shaking in Withers’s hands now as he pressed it to Troubleshoes’s cheek, drawing a trickle of blood. “Why aren’t you afraid?!”

The two held each other’s gaze a moment longer, then another, as a silent battle of wills raged. Finally, a cold smile spread across Withers’s face as a bit of fear finally started to creep onto Troubleshoes’s again.

But that fear was not of Withers. Troubleshoes was afraid because out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement out in the hallway where the back door was. A familiar dark figure crept out of the shadows behind Withers and quickly descended on him. Troubleshoes was afraid because as well-intentioned as the figure may have been, he was unintentionally going to destroy what Troubleshoes was sacrificing himself to protect.

“No, DON’T!” Troubleshoes cried out, but it was already too late.

With a grunt of surprise, Withers was disarmed, the scalpel dropping to the floor as the hand that held it was twisted around behind his back. Another arm wrapped around Withers’s neck, and the face of Sable Loam glared at him over his shoulder.

“It’s over, Withers,” Sable intoned, kicking the scalpel across the floor out of reach as he held the man in a vice grip, but whatever he was going to say next was cut off as Cinnamon started crying anew. Troubleshoes saw the terrible look of realization on Sable’s face when he looked down and saw what was in Withers’s other arm.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right, Snooper,” Withers said, shifting in Sable’s grip. “But not for me. Think fast!”

Then, Troubleshoes’s worst fear was realized: with an underhand toss, Withers threw a screaming Cinnamon. Time seemed to slow as Troubleshoes’s granddaughter flew through the air. A bloodcurdling scream of pain and horror joined the infant’s cries that Troubleshoes recognized as Tirespin as he scrambled to his feet. A terrible realization came to him even as he gave it his all to catch her: I’m not going to make it.

Except Troubleshoes was getting closer, and Cinnamon hadn’t hit the ground yet. It occurred to him suddenly that time hadn’t really slowed down: only Cinnamon had.

Troubleshoes, Tirespin, Down Luck, Sable, and even Withers all looked on in amazement as little baby Cinnamon floated through the air, descending slowly and gently into Troubleshoes’s outstretched arms. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but Troubleshoes could swear she was wreathed in a soft cyan glow. Stupefied, Troubleshoes turned to Tirespin, Cinnamon crying in his arms, unharmed. Wobbling unsteadily on her feet, Tirespin passed out.

She was caught before hitting the floor by Sunset Shimmer, who appeared at her side quite literally from thin air, and Troubleshoes could have sworn he saw another flash of cyan light accompany her.

“Well, Sunset? When you’re right, you’re right,” Sable said.

“Yeah, kinda wish I’d be wrong more often, to be honest,” Sunset admitted, before pointing at Withers. “Want me to deal with him?”

“No, you just get Troubleshoes’s family to safety and call the police,” Sable said, tightening his grip on the psychopathic mercenary as he locked eyes with Troubleshoes. “We have this shit locked down.”

Sunset nodded and lifted Tirespin’s unconscious form over her shoulder, fireman-carrying her out. Troubleshoes gently passed Cinnamon over to his mother, who for her part looked at him with disbelieving eyes before following. When they were gone, Troubleshoes turned to face Sable and Withers, who for his part still didn’t seem to have processed everything that just happened.

“Wha… what the fuck was that magic bullshit?!” Withers sputtered.

In truth, Troubleshoes had the exact same question running through his mind but decided that now wasn’t the time for it.

“Something that no one will believe if you tell them,” Sable answered. “But feel free to bring it up if you’re hoping to plead insanity at your trial.”

Sable suddenly grunted in pain as Withers plunged a knife into his leg with the hand that had until recently been holding Cinnamon. Sneaky bastard must have been stalling for time with his question as he pulled it out of whatever secret holster he kept it in. Withers immediately used the moment of weakness from his surprise attack to wrench free of Sable’s grip and elbow him in the face hard, sending Sable to the floor and breaking Down’s new coffee table with the back of his head. A lot of blood was already pouring out of Sable’s probably broken nose, and he lay still in the middle of the table debris—it was likely he was going to have a concussion.

Troubleshoes didn’t have time to ruminate on that though, and immediately rushed Withers like an out of control freight train. For his part, Withers hadn’t stopped his own offensive and immediately followed his takedown of Sable by throwing the knife he’d just stuck into his leg. The attack came too quickly for Troubleshoes to avoid entirely, but he managed to angle himself so it caught him in the shoulder rather than the chest. Ignoring the pain, Troubleshoes kept his forward momentum and briefly caught the look of sudden worry on Withers’s face before he plowed into him, body checking him into the wall and knocking loose the pictures and Catholic iconography.

Troubleshoes immediately laid into Withers with a hit to the gut and another to the face, bloodying him and knocking the shades from his face. He then continued to pile upon Withers the sum of all the rage and pain he and Los Perros had caused him and his family over the past few weeks. In that moment all his years of training and experience were forgotten, and all Troubleshoes could do was furiously strike his adversary again and again.

Another surge of pain went through Troubleshoes’s shoulder as Withers grabbed the knife still lodged there and twisted. In an almost feral panic, Troubleshoes fully lifted the smaller man off his feet and tossed him end over end over the couch. Withers managed to take the knife from his shoulder with him, but Troubleshoes wasn’t about to let him recover enough to use it.

So Troubleshoes vaulted the couch with the clarity of mind to disable his opponent once and for all… but he realized far too late that he miscalculated. Withers managed to recover way faster than Troubleshoes was expecting, but it looked like it wouldn’t be fast enough, and Withers’s eyes momentarily widened. Then the breath left Troubleshoes’s body as he felt another sharp jolt of pain, this time right in his gut below his ribs. Troubleshoes crashed down onto Withers with his full weight, but already he felt his strength slip away as breathing became a battle all of its own.

With one final grunt of exertion, Withers pushed Troubleshoes’s heft off of him until the two lay on the floor on their backs, side by side and covered in each other’s blood, breathing heavily like two lovers in afterglow. Troubleshoes wanted to get up; wanted to just finish off the psychopath beside him once and for all, but he could barely find the strength to keep breathing. I wonder if he got a lung.

Withers, however, was able to recover, and with considerable effort, slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. Bruised and bloody, Withers spat out a wad of something black (maybe a piece of his heart, Troubleshoes thought) as he continued struggling to stand.

“Fuck… you really do hit like a goddamn horse.” Withers took another breath and a moment to collect himself. “I have to say… I really enjoyed that! It was almost worth not getting to make my masterpiece with you.” Withers then bent down and picked up the knife that had fallen out of Troubleshoes’s gut, coughing again before flashing a much bloodier version of his usual fly-eating grin. “But I have to say, I’m not that upset about it. I think I already found my next canvas!

“Sunset, right? I am so excited to find out what makes her tick! Who knows? She may one day be a greater masterpiece than even you could have been, Big T!” Leaning over him, Withers held up his knife, searching for the place to put his final brushstroke. “Shame you won’t be around to see it!”

Before Troubleshoes could even process the fact that he was going to die right there and then, Withers was abruptly shoved back first against the wall. Troubleshoes saw his eyes go wide and almost fearful as he looked into the furious face of Sable, all the blood from his broken nose framing his mouth like a red goatee.

“Try it and you’re a dead man,” Sable intoned, staring at—nay, through—Withers with wild eyes, that together with the blood goatee made him look like a feral beast. “You can’t even fathom the scale of the forces you’ve crossed today.”

For once, Withers had no retort save for to plunge his knife into Sable’s neck with incredible speed and precision. Sable was faster though, and actually caught the knife in his hand by the blade. Despite the blood seeping through his fingers, Sable’s face betrayed no pain; only the same calm, almost canine fury. His face remained unchanged even as he wrested the knife from Withers’s hand and tossed it across the room.

All of the fight went out of Withers then, and he could only stare at Sable in disbelief. “What the hell even are you people?”

“To you, Sunset Shimmer may as well be a god,” Sable snarled as Troubleshoes heard the sound of police sirens getting closer and closer. “And me? I’m the motherfucking Wolf of Kabul.”

Troubleshoes knew he’d heard that name before, but right now all he could focus on was keeping his eyes open. The police sirens were very close now, and soon Troubleshoes saw more shapes enter the room, shouting with voices that were distant. Everything that followed was a haze of fog.





Looking ahead, Sunset Shimmer just tried to focus on the road, rather than reflect on her most recent failures. Sure, she finally had her driver’s license now, but it was so new that she didn’t feel fully comfortable behind the wheel yet. She had been surprised to learn just how many “rules of the road” there were, and now Sunset focused on remembering each of those rather than the fact that she’d once again acted hastily trying to do what she thought was right, and it had once again gotten people she cared about in danger.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Sunset saw that Tirespin was still out cold in the back seat, while Down sat quietly beside her with Cinnamon in her arms. Sunset didn’t even know where she was taking them. Back to her house? Maybe Troubleshoes’s local business? All she could think about was driving away. That, and she needed to think of how the hell she was going to explain the magic she had used to Down and Tirespin (when the latter woke up at least).

“I know what you are,” Down Luck’s weathered old voice rose from the back seat.

“Yeah?” Sunset asked. Now that would be interesting if it were true. Since Sunset had no idea where she was going anyway, she pulled the car over and looked over at Down Luck in the rear-view mirror.

Down clutched the rosary around her neck as she said, “You’re an angel, aren’t you? Sent by God to protect us.”

Sunset supposed it was true, in a roundabout way. Charged with protecting the people of Earth by the closest thing there was to a deity, by local standards. Wasn’t that what the Alicorn of Earth really was, once broken down to its essence? Well, if it is true, I’m a pretty poor excuse for an angel.

She should have known that the gangbanger turning himself in had been a trap. Should have known that her illusions would only stoke the fires of conflict with Los Perros. Should have known that she was putting her family in danger by sending the triplets on an ambassadorial mission without consulting her admiral, and putting the triplets themselves in danger by not properly planning it. How the hell am I supposed to protect the world if I can barely even protect those closest to me?

Letting out a breath, Sunset rested her forehead against the steering wheel as Sable’s Toyota idled. It was all so overwhelming. “I’m no angel.”

“Sure you are,” Down insisted. “You took in my boy and his daughter and kept them safe even though you didn’t know them. Then you showed up just in time to save all of us.” Cinnamon gurgled and fussed in her arms and Down rocked her in place. “See? Even the little one is comforted by your presence.” Then with a warm smile, Down met Sunset’s eyes in the rear-view. “Seems to me that you’re an angel whether you know it or not.”

Despite her misgivings about herself, Sunset couldn’t help but smile back. It was then that Tirespin awoke with a gasp, looking around frantically.

“Where—! What happened?”

Cinnamon started softly crying, and all of the terror left Tirespin’s face when she looked beside her and saw her daughter in her grandmother’s arms, safe and sound.

“You passed out when Withers tossed Cinnamon,” Sunset said. “Fortunately, your dad managed to catch her.”

Tirespin barely heard her, utterly lost in her own world; or at least, the child that comprised it. Down gently passed Cinnamon to Tirespin, who smiled at her through tear-filled eyes.

“Hi Cinnamon,” Tirespin cooed, holding her closer to her chest. “Mama missed you… Mama missed you so much….”

As Tirespin kissed her baby’s head again and again, flashing lights and loud sirens filled the interior of the car as several emergency vehicles sped past, heading the way Sunset and the others came from. Sunset knew immediately that they were the police she had called. Maybe she wasn’t an angel, but she didn’t have to be to keep doing good. The evidence was in the back seat, as a young mother and daughter had their tearful reunion.

Tirespin looked at Cinnamon adoringly. “I had a dream you were flying.”

 





 

The past couple of hours (at least, Troubleshoes was pretty sure it had been hours, might have been days for all he knew) were a whirlwind of disorientation for Troubleshoes. He vaguely remembered being lifted onto a stretcher and loaded into the back of an ambulance. Then he was being pushed down a hallway with a lot of bright lights. The rest was just a bunch of disassociated images. Pale teal curtains, doctors wearing surgical masks, Tirespin with something connected to her arm….

Eventually, Troubleshoes came to his senses and found himself lying in a bed in a sterile room with only a ficus in the corner. He was wearing one of those ugly faded blue hospital gowns that Troubleshoes was sure were the medical industry’s longest-running prank. Let’s fill this patient with drugs, give him a shoddy robe and see what happens! He had bandages over his shoulder and around his stomach—which accounted for both his major injuries—and a drip in his arm feeding him blood from a bag hanging beside his bed. Right, guess I lost quite a lot of that.

The only other occupant of the room was Tirespin, who was sitting in one of the cushioned chairs off to the side. She looked up from whatever magazine she’d been disinterestedly reading when she heard him stir, and then shot to her feet when she saw that he was awake.

“Dad!” she exclaimed, making to rush to his side before hesitating, looking nervously down at her hands. “Um… how do you feel?”

Troubleshoes groaned as the room spun a little. “Like a million bucks.” The effort hurt his throat a little, and he realized that he was parched. “I’d like some water, though.”

Tirespin passed him a glass that had been sitting on the table beside the bed, perhaps left by a nurse who knew he’d need it when he woke up. Either that, or Tirespin had known and had requested it. Troubleshoes downed the whole glass and set it down, wiping his chin.

“Better?” Tirespin asked.

Marginally. “Much,” he answered instead. “Still feel pretty out of it though.”

“Yeah, apparently the paramedics gave you just a little too much morphine,” Tirespin explained. “But the docs fixed you up pretty good. You should be able to go home in a couple of days.”

He looked around, his head still spinning a little. “Cinnamon… where…?”

“She’s okay, she’s at home with Gram-Gram,” Tirespin said, frowning in a mature way that didn’t suit her at all. “It’s way past her bedtime.”

Grinning, Troubleshoes said, “I would have thought that after so much time apart, you would have wanted to spend tonight with her.”

“Oh, I do,” Tirespin said. Then, intentionally or otherwise, she echoed his own words to her during the mercenary attack the week before, “But I decided that I was more needed right here.”

Troubleshoes then saw the large band aid on her arm and looked again at the bag of blood hanging beside his bed.

Following his gaze, Tirespin said, “I couldn’t just let Cinnamon’s granddaddy tap out before she got a chance to know him. Especially seeing that he saved her life.”  

“Thanks,” Troubleshoes said, his grin becoming a more genuine smile. “Does… this mean we’re not fighting now?”

Tirespin closed her eyes and sighed. “I dunno. What you did tonight still doesn’t erase all the years you spent being a shitty dad. But honestly? I’m just so, so tired of being mad at you.”

Troubleshoes frowned. “But you still are?”

It took a few moments for Tirespin to answer. “No. I don’t think I’ve really been mad at you since the day I was attacked when all this started. I’ve… mostly just been scared, I guess.”

Troubleshoes remained silent as Tirespin continued to figure out how to articulate herself. “Scared for me, scared for my baby. But I think most of all… scared to trust you again.”

With a grunt and a nod, Troubleshoes said, “That’s fair.”

“It’s hard. I see how much you’ve changed, and I want so badly to have you in my life again, but… I dunno. I can’t just forget about when you used to drink, and how you cheated on Mom, and….”

Furrowing his brow, Troubleshoes tilted his head and looked at her. “Wait, how I what?”

His confusion at the statement elicited a similar response from Tirespin. “The affair? The one I heard you and mom arguing about the night she left?”

It took a few moments for Troubleshoes to remember the argument in question, but when he did, he gave a sigh and a sad laugh. “Tirespin, you got some very crucial details about that situation wrong.”

Tirespin didn’t look convinced. “Such as…?”

“I didn’t cheat on your mother… your mother cheated on me.” Then with a frown, Troubleshoes added, “With how little I was there for both of you, I can’t say I entirely blame her.”

Tirespin didn’t know how to respond to that. It took her almost a minute to even process it. For all these years, she had always thought that her dad had cheated on her mom, and then had somehow stolen Tirespin from her when she decided to leave him. But now she was hearing the exact opposite was true. Desperately trying to find a hole in this new information, Tirespin attempted to reconcile it with the snippets of conversation she’d heard between her parents that night.

“It doesn’t matter, I still love you!” Troubleshoes had said to her mother, as if that made what he did any better. Except he didn’t do it, Tirespin realized. He wasn’t excusing his own actions; he was forgiving her mother’s.

Sometime later, her mother had said, “No, my baby needs me! You can’t….” It had sounded like Troubleshoes was going to do something to take Tirespin away from her.

But what if her mother hadn’t been talking about her?

Back in the present, Tirespin said, “If you really want me to start trusting you again, I think it’s time you told me the truth. All of it.”

With a pained look, Troubleshoes said, “Okay. That night, your mother told me about the affair because… because she’d just found out she was pregnant,” Troubleshoes said. “I was angry—of course I was—but I still wanted to keep our family together. She didn’t.”

The more he thought about it, the clearer that night’s argument became in his mind. Troubleshoes had all but begged her to stay, but she had told him, “No, my baby needs me! You can’t….” Then in a much quieter voice, said, “You can’t be a part of our life. Either of you.”

Returning his focus to the present even as he dove deeper into the past, Troubleshoes continued, “This other guy—Printing Press, I think his name was.”

“I think I remember seeing him around for a while before you got out, but didn’t think anything of him,” Tirespin said. Of course, she would have probably been too young to really know what was happening between him and her mother.

Troubleshoes continued, “She had fallen in love with Press in a way she never had with me. They’re married now. Living in Bradenton, Florida with their kid.”

Troubleshoes felt his heart shatter to pieces as Tirespin’s whole world did the same. He watched the veritable parade of painful emotions play out across her face: confusion, heartache, anger, and back to heartache again.

“Wait…. So, she just… left us and started a whole new life?!” Tirespin said, her voice breaking along with her world.

Troubleshoes looked deep into her eyes and nodded. “I tried reaching out to her a couple of times since getting sober, but she made it clear she didn’t want to hear from me.”

Tirespin started pacing in front of his bed, sniffling with increasing frequency. “All this time, I hated you because I thought you’d done something—threatened her, maybe—to keep her from getting custody of me. But all this time, she just….” It took some effort for Tirespin to say the words out loud, and when she finally did, she sounded completely broken. “She just didn’t want me?”

Wiping at his own eyes, Troubleshoes said, “That’s why I never told you about what happened between me and her. I knew it would only cause you hurt.”

That had been what truly angered Troubleshoes that night when Placeholder left him. That still angered him even now. It was one thing to leave him, but to leave their daughter too? Had he really blown things with her so much that she wanted to cut out every last piece of their life together?

Fully sobbing now, Tirespin blubbered forth, “What about all our happy memories together?! Eating watermelon and watching the cars go by? Was all of that just… fake?!”

“I don’t know,” Troubleshoes said, feeling as helpless as he probably looked right now. “I like to think that your mother loved us for a time. She just… fell out of love.”

Troubleshoes wasn’t even sure that Tirespin heard him at that point, crying as heavily as she was. Reaching out to her, Troubleshoes took his daughter’s hand and slowly, tenderly, pulled her towards him. She let him wrap his big arms around her, and Troubleshoes held her tight as the two of them cried together.

Minutes passed, and when Tirespin’s sobbing became sniffles and hiccups, Troubleshoes said, “Hey, I love you, alright? I’m always gonna want you in my life. And I’m sorry for everything I ever did that made you think otherwise.”

“Well, it’s not like I made it easy for you,” Tirespin said with a sad chuckle. “Getting pregnant and blackmailing the teacher that did it probably didn’t make you want to quit drinking, huh?”

“That’s no excuse for not being the father you needed,” Then with a sad chuckle of his own, Troubleshoes said, “Placeholder and I both turned out to be pretty shitty parents, huh?”

With a tone filled with her familiar vitriol, Tirespin said (her voice partially muffled by Troubleshoes’s chest), “Placeholder… fitting fucking name that turned out to be, huh?”

“Guess so.”

A couple more minutes passed by as the two silently held each other.

“At least you’re still here,” Tirespin finally said.

“Yup. And I’m not going anywhere.”

 





 

A few days later, Troubleshoes was well enough to leave the hospital. Sable and Sunset had both kept in touch with him during his recovery and had offered to drive him back to his place above Hard Luck Towing. That was why Sable was waiting in the lobby of the hospital now. After what had happened that evening three days ago, Troubleshoes would likely have many questions, and after much discussion with Sunset and the triplets, they decided the time had come for Troubleshoes to learn the last of their secrets.

Sable stood when Troubleshoes walked out, and met up with him after he settled up with the front desk.

“How’re you doing?” Sable asked.

“Alright. Better now that I’m heading home,” Troubleshoes said, forcing a smile. “Thanks for the drive, by the way. I probably should get my car out of the impound lot.”

“It’s no trouble,” Sable said. “But I wasn’t just asking about your injury.”

Sunset gave him a look that held no shortage of sympathy. “We know what that crazy bastard Withers tried to do to you. And in front of your family….” Sunset shook her head and winced. “Sounds like a goddamn nightmare.”

“Yeah, that describes that evening pretty well,” Troubleshoes said. “Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ve even fully processed it yet. Maybe I’ll give my old counselor a visit.”

“Alright. Just let us know if you need to talk,” Sable insisted.

“Will do. Appreciate it.”

“On the note of that asshole, we have an update on that particular situation,” Sunset said as they started walking out the door to where Sable parked his Highlander. “Apparently, Withers was a person of interest in a large number of rape-murder cases across the country. Some real fucked-up serial killer shit.”

“After what I’ve seen, I believe it.”

“Now that he’s in police custody, they’re upgrading him to suspect number one.”

“That man’s unlikely to see the outside of a prison cell for a very long time,” Sable said.

Troubleshoes was too quiet for Sable to be able to tell if he was comforted by this information. Perhaps he was thinking about the fact that he and his family would likely be called to testify as witnesses at the inevitable trial.

Soon, the three of them were in Sable’s car and they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. Once or twice on the drive, Troubleshoes opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped himself. Sable had a sneaking suspicion he knew what he wanted to ask, and also suspected he knew that the answers that he sought were nearing.

Sable parked his car around the back of Hard Luck Towing, and the three of them got out. They passed by a certain bullet-riddled black SUV as they did. Even Sable’s old Jeep was still there, collecting dust. Who would have thought that an innocuous couple of fixers could set off such a crazy chain of events?

Once inside, the three of them went upstairs and wordlessly sat around Troubleshoes’s kitchen table after Troubleshoes offered to prepare them coffee (which only Sable accepted).

“So… I think you guys know what I’m going to ask you about,” Troubleshoes said plainly.

Sable and Sunset exchanged a look, each checking with the other that they were really doing this.

Sable cleared his throat. “Before we explain anything, I need to ask: what does your family think about… what they saw when Sunset intervened that evening?”

Troubleshoes shrugged. “Honestly, they haven’t said much about it. Tirespin thinks it was just a dream she had after fainting, and I’m perfectly fine letting her continue to think that.” Troubleshoes took a sip from his mug. “My mother, though…. She’s always been a very spiritual person. She’s convinced that what she saw was an act of God.”

Setting his mug down and leaning forward, looking at the both of them in turn, Troubleshoes said, “I suppose I believe in God as much as the average person does these days. But I don’t think that what I saw was His doing.”

Sable and Sunset exchanged one more look, silently saying to each other, This is the moment. Sunset stood from her seat.

“It would be better for me to show you rather than tell you what I really am,” she said.

Troubleshoes looked at her, confused. “What you really are?”

Sunset nodded. “I am not, strictly speaking, human,” she said, pausing to let Troubleshoes process this information. It was clear that he had a million more questions on his mind, but locking eyes with Sunset, he knew that they would soon be answered, and remained quiet as she continued. “What you are about to see will defy everything you thought you knew about the universe at large. I only ask that you keep an open mind, and don’t react too… aggressively.” Then with a friendly smile, Sunset said, “Despite what I look like, I’m still the same person. Just… fuzzier.”

And then Sunset Shimmer changed. A vivid cyan light covered her entire form, which started to shift and bend. In but a moment, the glowing lights faded, and standing where a red and yellow-haired teenage girl had been was a red and yellow-haired… creature. Sable had, of course, been shown Sunset’s pony form before, but he couldn’t deny, she was still an unusual sight. Standing on four legs just shorter than a Great Dane, a horn protruded from her forehead, and a pair of feathery wings from her back.

Troubleshoes stared unblinking at Sunset’s quadrupedal form for one second, then another. Then another. He closed his eyes, rubbed them, shook his head, and opened them again. The little pony remained, looking up at him with impossibly big, expressive cyan eyes. Troubleshoes had picked up his mug to take a sip as the transformation began, and now its contents were spilling on the table in front of him, as his grip on it (and, perhaps, reality itself) became far too loose.

The Sunset-pony thing gave a familiar friendly smile. “Troubleshoes?” it asked with Sunset’s voice, “You still with us?”

Closing his eyes and shaking his head again, Troubleshoes said, “Yeah… yeah. Hmm… yeah….” He was quiet for a moment after that, and Sable thought they’d need to snap him out of it again before he said, “Y’know, if it weren’t for the fact that Tires and I are finally on the mend, this might actually be enough to get me drinking again.”

Sable laughed. “Trust me, I definitely had a few after I first saw this. I think everyone did.”

“Everyone being…?”

“Everyone in my circle that you’ve met knows what I am,” Sunset said.

Troubleshoes blinked owlishly again, clearly struggling to reconcile the sound of Sunset’s familiar voice coming out of… that. “Uh-huh… so… a few more questions now….”

Sunset then spent the next several minutes catching Troubleshoes up on everything, with Sable occasionally chiming in with details that he knew about. Most of it was simply retreading what Sable and the triplets had already told him and adding the full context. When they were finally finished, it felt like months had passed (Sunset had switched back to her human form about halfway through, as the mere presence of her pony form had been just a little too distracting).

Troubleshoes leaned far back in his chair. “Okay, so… let me see if I have this right…. After all that crazy shit with the demon and the original SIRENs went down in the summer, your grandmother altered time.” Troubleshoes let that hang in the air for a bit. “So that you and yours could lead ‘normal’ lives… and she charged Sable and the triplets with protecting what basically amounts to a physical god?”

“That’s pretty much the gist of it,” Sunset said.

“It’s not entirely accurate though. Sunset’s grandmother charged the triplets with protecting her.” Sable grinned impishly. “I volunteered.”

“Right, and you want me to do the same?” Troubleshoes asked. “To just jump on in with you into this crazy world of magic?”

“Sunset’s SIRENs only consist of the triplets and myself right now, but we’re going to start expanding,” Sable said. “I need a senior enlisted advisor who really cares about his work, and you would be perfect for it. Hell, after everything I’ve seen, I’d go so far as to say that fate brought us together for this reason.”

“You’re in this world with us now whether you realize it or not,” Sunset said, adding diplomatically, “But you can still say no to our offer, of course.”

“Can I?” Troubleshoes asked. “Seems to me that I owe you. Several times over, in fact.”

“You don’t owe us anything, Troubleshoes,” Sunset insisted. “Everything I did to help you and your family, I did because it was my duty as the Alicorn of Earth.”

“Would you say that every individual in America who gets to sleep peacefully because of men like us owes us for our service?” Sable asked.

“That’s not the same thing,” Troubleshoes countered.

“It’s more so than you think.”

“I’ve helped many more people on this world than just you and your family, Troubleshoes,” Sunset said. “I don’t expect any of them to pay me back. I’m a protector, not a mob fixer.”

“Trust me, I know it’s a lot to process. That’s why we want to give you some time to mull it over. As much as you need,” Sable added. “But if you do say yes, I don’t want it to be because you feel like you ‘owe us.’ I want you to take this job because of how good it will be for you. You can finally do something that you truly love, and you won’t have to sacrifice your relationship with your family to do it!” Sable stood and went with Sunset to the door. “You’ll think about it, won’t you?”

Troubleshoes nodded. “Okay. I will.”

And Sable knew he was telling the truth. But somehow, Sable got the feeling that Troubleshoes had already made his decision. Even if he himself didn’t know it yet.

 





 

Tirespin was surprised at just how… normal it felt to be back to her old routine. After spending so much time in hiding at a mansion, constantly in fear of being found by those mercenaries—and then having that fear come true in the worst way imaginable when they finally went home—Tirespin expected… more. To be honest, she hadn’t really known how exactly she had expected things to be different. On her first day back, all of her teachers and peers for the most part treated her exactly the same. She attributed it to the fact that they all thought she’d been out of town for the past weeks because she and her father were in Dayton, Ohio after her great uncle’s health had taken a turn for the worse.

Not everyone was fooled by that story, of course. A few of the other kids (including that shithead Garble) that she rarely even talked to approached her with questions about the video of her old man putting the hurt on that gangbanger. The rumor mill was a well-oiled machine at the Blanks, and soon everyone had been talking about how Tirespin was mixed up with one or all of the local Sunnytown gangs, with more than a few sniggering behind her back at the kind of “favors” they suspected she was doing for them.

Well, let them snigger all they want, Tirespin thought. If I just keep out of trouble, and get my grades up enough, maybe I can transfer to another school.

The thought filled her with a little bit of sadness. She doubted very much she could get back into Sunnytown High after everything that had happened. Besides, it wasn't like Capri Pants or anyone else in her former circle of friends would magically start talking to her again even if she could go back. She had what she liked to call a social STD, and only Riverbank was willing to risk catching it and keep in touch. Until recently, that is. It would seem that the whiff of whatever she believed Tirespin to be involved with now was too strong even for her to keep reaching out. That and she never really seemed to know how to be around a teen mom anyway.

Poor Tirespin, actually having to face consequences for her actions, the Inner Critic sneered, but Tirespin ignored it.

Something that had changed since the last time she was here was how much quieter her Inner Critic had become. Sure, it still chimed in with the occasional reason for Tirespin to hate herself, but she found it much easier to ignore now. Mostly that was because of the other major change from normal since returning to school.

Stepping out of the school’s main doors, Tirespin spotted Troubleshoes standing next to a familiar brown sedan by the curb. Today was the day he got out of the hospital, and the scars from the evening that put him there were covered by a plaid jacket and a warm smile.

“Heya, Dad,” she said, looking at the sedan. “Wow. Must have cost a lot to get this out of the impound lot.”

“It did, but we’ll manage,” Troubleshoes said in a calm, confident way that made Tirespin think perhaps he knew something that she didn’t.

Tirespin tossed her bag in the back and then got into the passenger seat as her dad got behind the wheel.

Her dad. Here he was, sober as a priest on Sunday and picking her up from school. It was still hard for her to process how different New Troubleshoes was from the one she’d known for the latter half of her childhood. A part of her still wanted to keep him at arm’s length—to keep a safe distance so she wouldn’t be hurt in the proverbial blast if he ever started drinking again. Like her Inner Critic, Tirespin just tried to ignore that part. She was happy now, for the first time in a long time. Even if it would be a while yet before she could fully trust her dad again, the one thing she would trust is her own happiness, here and now.

“So, how was school?” Troubleshoes asked as he started the car.

“Not bad. Got some of my assignments back today that I did over our weeks off.”

“Oh yeah? And?”

With an easy grin, Tirespin said, “Mostly Bs, but I got an A in Red Horse’s class.”

“That’s great!”

The car pulled away from the curb, and for a while they rode in silence. Things were good between her and her father now, but it was still gonna be some time before they were both completely comfortable around each other. Tirespin knew she had her own share of the blame on that. They’d both done a lot to hurt each other.

“Hey, so I have something I want to run by you. See what you think,” Troubleshoes said. “I just got a job opportunity, and… it’s big. Real big. Enough to keep you and Cinnamon supported for quite a while big.”

Tirespin frowned then immediately chastised herself for it. She had a sneaking suspicion that she knew what this job was he was talking about. “Sable wants you to work with those triplets full time, doesn’t he?”

Troubleshoes didn’t seem that surprised that she figured it out. “It’s a really good financial opportunity. I’d make enough to get you into a decent college when you graduate. To get Cinnamon into a decent school when she’s old enough. We could even move out of Sunnytown, and somewhere better, like Everfree Glades or Bella Vista. You could change schools—we’ll be able to afford to send you to Holy Cross, if you want.” Troubleshoes hesitated. “Plus….”

“Plus you’d be doing what you really love,” Tirespin said, a little bit sadly.

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Troubleshoes reached out with his other hand and put it on hers. “Hey, this will be nothing like when I was enlisted, okay? I’ll still be living here, and Sable and Sunset’ll have me working more or less normal hours, like shore duty.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “You’ll always be my first priority, okay? But I really want this, and I think it’ll be good for all of us.”

Tirespin nodded, then asked, “What are we gonna do with Hard Luck Towing?”

It only occurred to her later that Tirespin had said we. Like they really were a family again.

“We could always sell it,” Troubleshoes said, though the thought clearly didn’t make him happy. “Be a shame though. Don’t have much else left of my old man.”

Seeing how down the idea clearly made him (and recently developing an appreciation for the legacy of fathers) Tirespin said, “Or, when I graduate, I could take it over. Maybe use some of the money from your new job to hire someone to run the place until then.”

Troubleshoes nodded and smiled. “Not a bad idea.”

That night, the whole Clyde family had dinner together. Tirespin still didn’t know what the future held for her—whether she’d start running Hard Luck right out of high school, or go to college first—but she decided as she sat around the dinner table with her family that it didn’t really matter. She’d just trust in today’s happiness.

 





 

It had been nearly a week since the triplets had gotten a proper workout session, and Adagio was getting restless. Sable had done what he so often did whenever he couldn’t make a day, and designated it an “independent workout night.” It was usually a great opportunity for Adagio to take some initiative as a leader, but after so many independent workout nights in a row, she and her sisters were starting to get lax. She found herself making excuses to skip a night, then the next night.

Tonight, however, things would be different. No more excuses. Adagio and her sisters were going to get in proper military shape as Sunset’s protectors even if they had to do it themselves. It turned out, however, that wouldn’t be necessary. She and her siblings all got a text from Sable that day saying that he had officially hired a trainer for them, and that he was starting tonight.

So not long after the three of them arrived home from school, the doorbell rang. Adagio happened to be the closest to it, so she answered it to find a familiar gentle giant standing there.

“Oh, hey Troubleshoes,” she said. “Didn’t know our dinner with you was tonight.”

“That’s Master Chief Clyde to you,” Troubleshoes sternly corrected.

“Huh?”

“Come now, Capt. Dazzle, is that any way to address the unit senior advisor? As an officer, you should know that you always defer to your master chief.” Troubleshoes barked, a sly smile just barely perceptible under his stern face. “It looks like I’m going to have to give you a refresher course!”

Re-finding her balance, Adagio grinned and stood at attention. “My apologies, Master Chief. That won’t be necessary.”

“Very well, prove it,” Troubleshoes said, stepping into the house and rolling up his sleeves before delivering a swift and professional salute. “Gather your compatriots and meet me in the bunker. Double time!”

Adagio happily returned it, not quite able to hide the smile growing on her face. “Aye, Master Chief!”
> Epilogue - Promised Salvation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And, time!” Troubleshoes declared, pressing the stop button on his timer and looking over at the sweaty, heavily breathing Sonata. “Three minutes five. Not bad, Cmdr. Dusk.”

Wiping her brow, Sonata smiled and said, “Thanks, Master Chief!”

With the help of Sunset and her magic (something that Troubleshoes still wasn’t entirely used to, if he was being honest), Troubleshoes had set up an elaborate obstacle course that took the triplets all around the entirety of the cavernous underground bunker. Over the course of the past hour, Troubleshoes made them run it over and over. Bogged down by heavy equipment, the triplets crawled, climbed, and sprinted their way through the bunker to the shooting range, where their time would stop the moment they hit all of the designated targets.

So far Aria had shown the most overall improvement, whereas Adagio still held the shortest overall time at two minutes and twelve seconds. Sonata was lagging behind her sisters, but not by much, and she’d still managed to shave almost a whole minute off her total. Troubleshoes was proud of them.

“I think that’s enough for today,” he said. “Your folks probably have your dinner ready.”

The promise of food seemed to instantly brighten the three girls’ spirits, and they happily began stowing their equipment as they chatted lightly with each other.

Overall, Troubleshoes was quite happy with where his life was right then. He had his dream job, and although things between Tirespin and himself weren’t perfect, they were better than they’ve been in a very long time. The past September had truly been a rollercoaster of a time, but considering where Troubleshoes was in his life now, he wouldn’t trade away any of it. That is, except perhaps for the truly frightening homecoming he and his family had at the hands of one truly deranged mercenary. Or former mercenary, current resident of Equestria County Correctional Facility. Soon to be permanent resident.

For the past week since the incident, Troubleshoes had his share of nightmares about it, and suspected that they would continue for some time. Nightmares where Sunset hadn’t been there to save Cinnamon, or where that psychopath was standing over the bodies of Tirespin and Down Luck. Thankfully, his old counselor he’d briefly seen when he first got out was still counseling, and Troubleshoes had gone to his first of what he suspected would be many sessions in the future.

Troubleshoes let all that fall aside as he stepped into the elevator with the triplets and started riding it up. Things were good right now. He was good.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us to Sunset’s homeland, Master Chief?” Adagio asked.

Right. That’s tomorrow, Troubleshoes thought to himself.

“I’m gonna stick by my initial plan to sit this one out. Maybe I’ll come once it’s time for Sunset’s actual coronation,” he said. But while Troubleshoes knew at some point he would probably end up going there, he didn’t think it was going to be anytime soon. He was still only coming to grips with the fact that his employer was an equine alien from another dimension, or something. It was the kind of or something that Troubleshoes decided he wanted to know as little about as possible. Besides…. “I did promise Tirespin this job would be strictly local. At this juncture, I’d really rather not break what trust I have with her.”

Adagio nodded. “That makes sense.”

“So how are things between you two, anyway?” Aria asked in a way that sounded like she really didn’t care one way or the other. Troubleshoes had gotten to know her well enough to know better, though.

“I guess I’ll find out if she tries to poison my dinner,” Troubleshoes said with a humorous grin.

“Aw, is she cooking for you tonight?” Sonata practically cooed. “If it goes well, I want to take full credit for teaching her everything she knows.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Sonata grinned. “Then she was a lost cause from the start!”

After exiting the elevator into the foyer, Troubleshoes went to say goodbye to the rest of the family. When he did, he saw two strangers seated around the dining room table with the rest of them. A fairly muscular man in his early to mid-twenties with blue and cerulean hair sat next to Twilight. Beside him, a pretty young woman with rose, gold, and violet long hair sat dressed in a smart-looking women’s suit. The two spoke with the other members of the family with clear familiarity (the man even ruffled an annoyed Twilight’s hair). The woman’s soft purple eyes locked onto Troubleshoes when she noticed him.

“Ah, Troubleshoes Clyde, right?” she asked, as she stood and approached him, offering her hand. “Mi Amore Cadenza, but you can call me Cadance. We met on the phone.”

Suddenly recognizing her voice, Troubleshoes nodded and shook her hand. “Right, from the DA’s office. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help with everything this past month.”

“Well, any friend of Sunset’s is a friend of mine,” she said, her friendly smile drifting away as she glanced back at the rest of the family. “That being said, Shiny and I didn’t just come here to visit the family. Do you have a moment to talk?” She then looked over at Sunset and said to her, “You should probably hear this too, Sunny.”

Noting her serious tone, Troubleshoes nodded and the three of them stepped out of the dining room and into the main foyer.

“So, this sounds serious. What’s this about, Cady?” Sunset asked.

“Let me guess: complications with my statement to the police?” Troubleshoes asked. Sunset had told him that she had worked everything out so that his story checked out, but she had overlooked things before.

“No, legally you’re still in the clear,” Cadance said. “I guess you forgot that Withers’s arraignment was today.”

Troubleshoes raised his brow and nodded. He had indeed forgotten, and based on the serious way in which Cadance was speaking to him now, he had a bad feeling it hadn’t gone the way she had thought.

“Don’t tell me that bastard walked!” he exclaimed in disbelief, and Cadance gave him a grim nod.

“How the hell did this happen? I thought this guy had a longer rap sheet than Tirek!” Sunset hissed, making sure to keep her voice low. This resulted in a brief look of confusion from Troubleshoes and Cadance. Realizing the misunderstanding she’d caused, Sunset added, “The demon centaur, not the rock star.”

“Oh,” Cadance said blandly before continuing. “Anyway, his state-appointed attorney was replaced a few days ago by Dropcharge,” Cadance said with a distasteful grimace like she’d just tasted something foul. “He’s something of a notorious criminal defense attorney. As his name suggests, he always manages to weasel his way through getting his client’s charges dismissed with a lot of dirty tricks. Gives my office a damn headache.”

Cadance shook her head. “In truth, the whole thing kinda puzzles me. The fact that Withers opted for a public defender at first made me think he couldn’t afford a proper attorney. Then all of a sudden he has one of the most expensive criminal defense lawyers in the country working his case?”

Sunset folded her arms. “And this Dropcharge guy managed to get the charges dismissed on all twenty-two other rape-murder cases Withers was involved with?”

“Not all of them. Some of them—like his assault on you and your family, Troubleshoes—he managed to get out of because Dropcharge convinced the judge to let him pay bail.” Cadance’s frown deepened. “And that’s the other strange thing. The judge presiding over the arraignment—Sharp Gavel—is especially hard on cases like this one. He’ll almost never approve bail, especially for crimes as bad as the things Withers did.”

“So, why was this time different?”

Cadance shrugged. “Don’t know. I spoke with Gavel briefly after the arraignment. He only told me he wasn’t feeling well; had a bad headache. Said he barely remembered what even happened, and then went to go lie down.”

“Hmm….” Troubleshoes saw Sunset put a hand to her chin and ponder something, but after a few seconds she didn’t say anything, so Troubleshoes asked, “How much was his bail?”

“A lot. Combined with Dropcharge’s fees, I’d say Withers is out millions.”

With a frown, Troubleshoes said, “No, I don’t think Withers paid for his defense himself. Someone with a lot of money helped him, and I think I know who.”

Of course, it didn’t make much sense. If Withers was really going against Los Perros’s orders when he came after him and his family, wouldn’t they rather leave him to rot in prison?

“I should’ve just zapped him to Tartarus when I had the chance,” Sunset growled.

“I know this was a bad day for criminal justice, but please don’t lose faith in it, okay Sunny?” Cadance asked, her face softening. “Just because you have the power to go above the law doesn’t mean you always should.”

“I know…” Sunset said, sulking. “But if I ever see that bastard again, I’m sending him to join Tripwire and Divine Right.”

“Speaking of, do we have a plan in case he decides to come after us again?” Troubleshoes asked. He just knew that those nightmares were going to get worse now before they got better.

“I can tell you right now that the Bureau has been monitoring him since he walked out,” a new voice said, sounding simultaneously princely and like a California surfer-dude. The three of them turned to see the young man with blue and cerulean hair standing in the doorway watching them.

“Jesus, how long have you been standing there, big bro?” Sunset asked.

Big Bro took a step into the foyer to join them. “The whole time,” he said with a smile. “Gotta keep my spook skills sharp!”

“So what has our mutual friend been up to since becoming a free man?” Troubleshoes asked, his patience wearing thin for banter at this moment.

“The first thing he did was leave town,” said Big Brother the spook. “Last we checked, he was on the road to New Mexico, where Los Perros’s North American HQ is.”

“Guess that confirms who covered his bills,” Cadance said with a frown.

Sunset must have seen how clearly agitated Troubleshoes was becoming, because she turned to him and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll put some wards up around your home and other usual spots and let Sable and the triplets know what’s up. If he ever comes back looking for trouble, we’ll be ready.”

And somehow, Troubleshoes believed it. Yes, as unsettling as it was to think that maniac was still out there, Troubleshoes knew he would be alright as long as this family who had become his friends had his back. So, with a promise from Big Brother (who had since introduced himself as Shining Armor) to let them know if Withers or any of Los Perros returned, Troubleshoes returned to the dining room to say the last of his goodbyes.

“You three take care of Sunset over there, alright?” he said to Adagio and her sisters. “Because if I hear this trip is anything less than a textbook op, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Aye, Master Chief.”





All talk of mercenaries at large and Canterlot’s ailing justice system went unknown to Sable Loam. Right now, the only thing on his mind was his dinner date with Celestia. Seeing as his girlfriend had done a lot to help him through the tumultuous time of the past month, Sable had long ago decided that he was going to do something extra special for her. It took him a while to think of something truly special, and then it hit him: he had one advantage that most romantics didn’t. He had Sunset Shimmer.

So, after spending the past week mulling over the details with Sunset and waiting for her to complete the little project that he’d requested of her, tonight was the night it all came to fruition. Sable had dressed up for the occasion; nothing too fancy, but a nice button-up shirt and simple sports jacket went a long way to making him look respectable. Celestia came out of their bedroom wearing a white blouse and dark tights, with clear extra care put into her make-up.

Sable smiled as he watched her descend the stairs, feeling like a fairy tale prince meeting his princess. “Ready to go?” he asked.

Said princess eagerly returned his smile. “I am, though you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“Delizie Ultraterrene,” Sable said, knowing that he was probably butchering the Italian pronunciation.

“Hmm… I don’t think I’ve heard of that one, and I know just about every Italian restaurant in Canterlot.”

“Yeah well, this one’s not exactly in Canterlot,” Sable said with a sly grin, taking out a pair of custom made bracelets, each with a tiny gemstone embedded.

“Sable, what’s this?” Celestia asked, looking at him with open curiosity and just a touch of concern.

“A little something I had Sunset throw together over this past week. Ready?”

Ultimately trusting him, Celestia nodded, and Sable placed the second bracelet on her wrist before twisting the tiny gemstones on each one simultaneously. A similarly tiny mechanism clicked and before either of them knew it they were awash in blinding cyan light. When the two of them could see again, they were standing in a dark alley tucked away between two very old looking buildings.

Sable closed his eyes and gave his head a few shakes. He opened them to see Celestia rubbing her forehead between her own tightly shut eyes.

“You okay?” Sable asked. “Sunset told me that everyone’s first teleportation is a little disorienting.”

“We teleported?” Celestia asked, clearly incredulous.

“Yup,” he replied before looking a little sheepish. “Sorry, guess I should have warned you first, huh?”

“Probably would have helped.”

“Well, guess I’ll make up for that tonight too.” Sable looked around. As expected, the alleyway they’d teleported to was empty. “Shall we?”

Offering her his arm along with a charming smile, Celestia was happy to return it despite the surprise teleport and together the two of them started walking down the streets. Sable watched his girlfriend out of the corner of his eye as she took in their surroundings. The buildings were all very old works of brick and stone, possessing archaic architecture the likes of which Celestia was not likely to have seen in Canterlot, or even most of the United States.

“So, are you gonna tell me just where it is you’ve whisked me away too?” Celestia asked.

Sable gave her a playful grin. “I could, but I think it’ll be more fun for you to figure it out on your own.”

They continued their walk in companionable silence for a time, with Sable keeping one eye on Celestia as she started mentally putting together all of the clues in front of her. Aside from the distinctly European architecture, there was the fact that the streets themselves were unlike any US city she’d ever been in; tight and winding with well-cobbled brick underfoot. Another clue Celestia picked up on was how quiet it was: back in Canterlot it was about 8PM, but here the evening hustle and bustle was nonexistent.

“What time is it here?” Celestia asked.

“About five in the morning,” Sable answered. “Took a lot of man hours of research to find a decent place here that’s open twenty-four hours.”

Celestia finally seemed to figure it out when they got to a bridge over a canal that itself wound its way through the tightly packed buildings. Stopping in place, Celestia looked at Sable with disbelieving eyes.

“Are we in Venice?!”

Sable smiled. “See? Wasn’t that more fun than just having me tell you?”

For several moments Celestia was speechless, and Sable remained silent to let her process this. Quietly, Celestia went to the railing and looked out over the canal at the other bridges and the boats tied off to the sides. The expression on her face changed to something Sable couldn’t quite describe. Her family may not have come from this part of Italy, but she nonetheless looked like a girl coming home.

“You know… when you said you were going to make it up to me, I wasn’t expecting… this,” she said.

Sable stood beside her and put a hand on hers. “Well, what can I say? I’m an overachiever.”

Celestia laughed softly at that. “Still, don’t you think this is a little bit overkill to make up for me driving you to work every morning since your old Jeep broke down?”

“C’mon, Celestia. It was more than just that,” Sable said, turning to look directly into her beautiful lilac eyes. “The past month has been difficult for all of us, but you’ve been there for me and supported me through all of it. Hell, it was your idea for me to hire a master chief in the first place, and you even encouraged me to pursue a friendship with Troubleshoes on top of that. In a way, everything worked out the way it did because of you.”

“Oh, I can’t take credit for all of it!” Celestia rebutted.

Sable shrugged. “Maybe, but still. Even with your new job as assistant superintendent—even with the absolute insanity of everything that happened to us in the summer—you still made supporting me a priority. I could teleport you to anywhere in the world, and it wouldn’t be enough to convey how much you mean to me,” he said. “How much I love you.”

Just like that, Celestia was a schoolgirl again, wobbling at the knees in the presence of her first crush, and the unguarded look of smitten adoration on her face gave Sable butterflies. Suffice to say, the kiss that followed was long and passionate.

When they finally parted, breathless, Sable said, “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Celestia concurred wholeheartedly, and together the two of them continued to Delizie Ultraterrene, where they ate of real Italian food and chatted lightly all the while. When they were finished, they decided to spend some time in the city, making their way to the main canal in time to watch the morning sun rise over the Basilica di Santa Maria. Then with a twist of the gemstones set into their bracelets, they returned home to express their love more intimately.





Suffice to say, the dinner that Tirespin had cooked up for her family (coincidentally, an Italian lasagna recipe she found on the internet) was a far cry from the poisoning Troubleshoes had joked about to the triplets hours before. Afterwards, Troubleshoes had handled the after-meal cleanup, then all of them gathered in the family room to watch TV together. Troubleshoes and Tirespin shared the couch while Cinnamon dozed in her crib and Down Luck sat in her favorite chair. After watching CNN, Down decided to go to bed, and Tirespin eagerly put on that night’s episode of Game of Thrones.

It had been fairly easy for Troubleshoes to forget about the unsettling news from earlier in the night when he was with his daughter. However, as the riveting hour of murder, sex and political maneuvering on the television ended, Troubleshoes found his gaze drifting over to the brown spot on the couch’s armrest.

Much like a certain character in a different, older medieval work, Troubleshoes had worked hard to wash all of the blood from the room, but no matter how hard he cleaned, that one spot on the armrest stubbornly remained. Every time the horror of that night managed to leave his mind, it only lasted as long as Troubleshoes didn’t see that damned spot. He had caught Tirespin’s eyes flicking to it a few times over the past week as well.

Unsure of whose blood it even was, every time Tirespin saw it, she couldn’t help but think back to her conversation with Spike after the attack on their house. I can’t stop wondering… how much of it is my mess, and how much of it is theirs? Was the spot of dried blood on the armrest from her father… or was it from him?

Troubleshoes was unaware of any of these thoughts as they went through Tirespin’s head, but he could guess at what she was generally thinking as her gaze once again drifted to the damned spot, and decided to speak up.

“We could always get rid of it,” he said. “The couch, I mean.”

Tirespin just shrugged. “Yeah, I guess if we’re gonna be moving to a nicer neighborhood anyway, might as well just get new furniture.”

Troubleshoes decided to ignore the fact that Tirespin wasn’t addressing the main issue. In truth, their plan to get a better place wasn’t just to escape the shithole that was Sunnytown. Tirespin’s conversation with Spike once again very much came into play here. Just like when their old house had been broken into, the sanctuary of their home had been violated, and now it didn’t quite feel like home anymore.

“Hey Dad?” Tirespin asked. “That night… when we came home….” After some awkward fumbling, Tirespin went quiet, and Troubleshoes thought that she was going to drop whatever she was going to ask before she found the strength to say what she wanted to say. “You weren’t actually going to… to let that guy…. You had a plan, right?”

Troubleshoes wasn’t entirely sure what she was trying to say, clearly struggling as she was with the memories of that night. But the two of them hadn’t talked about it since it happened. Now seemed as good a time as any.

“My plan was to save you, Down, and Cinnamon. At any cost.”

Tirespin frowned and looked at her lap. “And… you were really okay with… w-with letting that guy have his way with you?”

“I was pretty damn far from okay with it,” Troubleshoes said with a frown of his own. “But I knew it was the only way to save you.”

“But… you weren’t afraid?”

“Of course I was.”

With a little “Hmm,” Tirespin said, “That asshole sure didn’t seem to think so.”

“It helps that I’ve been trained to deal with pain.” Then with an attempt at a lighthearted laugh, Troubleshoes said, “I doubt anything he could have done to me would have been worse than SERE-C. Still though… I think the only reason he thought I wasn’t afraid was because I’d mentally checked out—one of the techniques we learned to resist torture. I wasn’t even thinking about that though. I was just thinking about how much I wanted to save you.”

Tirespin put a hand on his and leaned into him, and Troubleshoes decided to ask, “I’m curious, why are you asking, anyway?”

“Because the way he was looking at you… it was the same way Root Factor used to look at me,” Tirespin admitted, staring at the TV but not seeing what was on it. “Like I was just an object.” Now Troubleshoes understood what she was trying to say. “When I first noticed it back then, I was afraid too.”

“Not too afraid to go and get yourself pregnant, though,” Troubleshoes said, before immediately wondering if he’d just said something stupid.

Fortunately, Tirespin didn’t seem particularly offended. “Yeah, I think that and everything leading up to it was me trying to… take control. Guess I figured if I could get something out of it, being objectified wouldn’t be all that bad.”

Troubleshoes nodded, the father and daughter perhaps gaining an even better understanding of one another. The comfortable silence was broken by the sound of Troubleshoes’s phone ringing, and he reached into his pocket for it, expecting to see Sunset or one of the triplets’s names on the screen. Instead, Troubleshoes saw an unknown number. His first thought was that it was just telemarketers, and felt ready to give them a piece of his mind for calling so late. And yet, some instinct told him to get up from the couch and put some distance between himself and Tirespin as he answered.

“Hey, Big T.”

The voice on the other end was not, in fact, Withers, but damn if Troubleshoes’s heart hadn’t skipped a beat upon hearing the nickname. It occurred to him a moment later that Big T had been a genuinely affectionate nickname used by a genuine friend before Withers had stolen it.

“What do you want, Biff?” Troubleshoes intoned, not much happier to be hearing from his old friend.

“Listen, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now,” Biff said quickly, as if he expected Troubleshoes to hang up right away.

“You’re not very high up on my list,” he said instead. Technically, his old ‘friend’ wasn’t the last person he wanted to hear from, but it was a pretty damn close race.

“I know, but before you hang up please just hear me out!”

Troubleshoes glanced over at Tirespin, who was now standing over the crib gently rocking a crying Cinnamon. He went into another room as he said, “If your boss still wants me to fix up that Mercedes he can forget it!”

“He has. That’s one of the reasons I’m calling,” Biff said. “The Bloodhound wants you to know that as far as he’s concerned, all of your debts with Los Perros are settled. You won’t have to worry about hearing from us ever again.”

“Hmph,” Troubleshoes grunted. That would certainly be nice if it were true, and Biff had no reason to lie, he supposed.

“I’m also calling to apologize,” Biff continued. “Both on behalf of Los Perros, and… as your friend.”

“Do you really think you still get to call yourself that? After everything that’s happened?”

Troubleshoes heard a long sigh on the other end of the line. “No, I guess not. But I’m sorry just the same. Withers went completely off script when he came after you and your family. Suffice to say, the Bloodhound is not happy with him.”

Clenching his fists, Troubleshoes decided he’s heard enough bullshit. “How do you expect me to believe that when you guys bailed him out at the arraignment today?!”

Biff’s voice took on a darker tone as he answered, “That wasn’t us.”

Troubleshoes wanted to call bullshit on that too, but there was no mistaking the unsettled tone in Biff’s voice as he continued, “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’m being completely honest with you when I say we genuinely have no idea who hired that lawyer and paid bail on those charges. That’s one of the questions we plan on asking Withers when he arrives.”

“Hmph, so despite all he’s done, he’s back in the fold?”

“Hardly. Like I said, the Bloodhound is not happy with Withers, and he’s about to learn that the hard way.” There was a pause on the other end before Biff said definitively and with finality, “Trust me, after tonight, you won’t have to worry about that asshole ever again!”





All things considered, everything had turned out alright for Coarse Withers. Sure, he’d lost out on his chance to turn Troubleshoes Clyde into his next masterpiece, and ultimately failed to deliver him to his boss, but he wasn’t in jail. That fact alone meant that things were still good between him and his employers at Los Perros; surely they wouldn’t have expended such resources to help him walk if they were unhappy with him, right?

Still, Withers was a little disappointed about missing out on his time with Troubleshoes, but not by much: he now had a new muse. It would probably be some time before Withers would be able to make that Sunset Shimmer girl his next work of art, but that was fine. Withers was nothing if not patient, and the more time he had, the more ready he would be to find a workaround for… whatever the hell that girl had that let her move things with her mind. He already had a few ideas for how to circumvent that—there were plenty of drugs that could probably suppress those mysterious abilities of hers, he just needed to find something that would keep her lucid enough not to make it boring.

Time enough for that later, though. Right now, Withers needed to report to his superiors. It wasn’t long after leaving Canterlot that Withers had called for extraction and had been picked up early the following morning by a couple of Los Perros soldiers he had never met. Was the Bloodhound expanding their ranks? Regardless, it was about thirteen hours of driving (in a Mercedes SUV not unlike the one that had been taken in for repairs at Hard Luck Towing about a month ago) later that Los Perros’s main North American base of operations came into view.

A forgotten former military airfield called Fort Somner just outside of Taiban, New Mexico, the home base of Los Perros de Guerra was a stretch of fortified old hangars and offices surrounded by a tall barbed-wire fence supplemented with sandbags stacked as high as a man’s chest. Wooden watchtowers had been constructed along the perimeter, each one manned by a pair of sentries, each equipped with a pair of night-vision goggles and a mounted fifty-caliber machine gun. As the men driving him passed through the first of the checkpoints, an inexplicable sense of unease filled Withers. He thought of his last talk with Biff before he had decided to take the matter of Troubleshoes into his own hands, and how Biff had said that the Bloodhound wanted to speak with him. That same feeling of being sent to the principal’s office persisted as the SUV drove him across the base past armed patrols and hangers full of weapons, armored vehicles, and other hardware until they arrived in front of the proverbial principal’s office itself.

I’m just being paranoid. Everything’s fine. Everything I know points to that one immutable fact, Withers told himself even as he got out of the SUV and found himself being flanked by another pair of unfamiliar mercenaries as he was led into the building.

On the top floor, Withers was brought into an office overlooking what had once been the airport’s dark, sandy tarmac. The only other time Withers had been in the Bloodhound’s office was when he was first offered the job as one of the top commanding officers of the organization. It had also been the only other time Withers had met the Bloodhound in person.

Withers couldn’t remember much about his first impressions of the big dog himself when they’d met. He remembered getting his first good look at him and had to keep himself from visibly wincing as he thought, Now that’s a face only a mother could love! He also remembered his eyes: the Bloodhound had dark brown, almost black eyes, cold and lifeless, which combined with his mutilated face, gave him the appearance of a feral dog himself. Withers remembered seeing those dead eyes and wondering whether the Bloodhound was also a man who didn’t experience emotion the way most people seemed to. Yes, he’d felt almost as if they were kindred spirits in that regard, and it had made him hopeful for his future with Los Perros.

Now though, Withers’s uncertainty of his standing was stronger than ever. Biff and Rogue were both standing around the Bloodhound’s desk as he came in. The Bloodhound himself was not at his desk, but was instead seated at the lounge in the far corner of the office, his scarred visage cast in shadow. He had been in the middle of a conversation with another man seated across from him, but Withers couldn’t tell who it was with his back turned.

Withers made a token attempt to greet his fellow lieutenants but was met only with icy silence. Something was definitely wrong. He saw the Bloodhound’s head tilt up to acknowledge him.

“Lt. Withers. So nice of you to finally join us.” The Bloodhound’s deep, heavily accented voice held no emotion and was barely over a whisper, but the whole room seemed immediately drawn to it.

Lightly tossing the bangs from his face, Withers pulled a confident grin out of his bag. “Yes, sir! Would have been here sooner—much sooner—but as you no doubt are aware, there were some complications.”

“Yes….” The Bloodhound’s soft baritone sent a chill up Withers’s spine. “Complications is a nice way of putting all of your transgressions.”

Withers nervously cleared his throat. “Transgressions? I don’t understand, what ‘transgressions’ do you mean?”

“Insubordination, to start with,” the Bloodhound said, rising from his seat. Withers suddenly found himself hoping that he would keep his face hidden in the shadows as he heard the undercurrent of fury in his otherwise calm, emotionless voice. He didn’t want to know what that horrible face looked like pissed off. “You failed to follow orders. You got our forces involved in a conflict based on inaccurate findings that burned all of our bridges in Canterlot. You needlessly antagonized our local mechanic to the point he cut all ties with us. But none of that is even your worst transgression.”

The Bloodhound then nodded to the man he had been talking to, and he stood and turned to face Withers, who immediately realized just how fucked he was.

Rifled Barrel stood—very much alive—and glared at Withers with open hatred, evidently not willing to let bygones be bygones in the case of using him as a human shield and killing Siege Dancer. Behind him, the Bloodhound stood in the shadows, studying him with a knowing look. Even Withers couldn’t hide his guilt; the Bloodhound’s gaze, lifeless though it seemed, could see everything.

Seeing no other way out, Withers turned and knocked his two escorts flat on their asses (they seemed pretty green, so it wasn’t hard). The way to the door was clear, and Withers went for it. He didn’t even know what his plan was after that. He was operating on pure instinct.

But as he grabbed the doorknob, something hit him in the side of the head hard enough to make him see stars. Staggering back, Withers looked up to see the Bloodhound, who had somehow cleared the distance between them in mere moments. His half-destroyed face was now clear in the light, and the fury on it was exactly as horrible as Withers feared.

Before he could even retaliate, the Bloodhound came at him again hitting him with hard, fast punches. Withers had been in the Green Berets before being dishonorably discharged. He knew a dozen different ways to beat a man in hand-to-hand combat. But the way the Bloodhound moved, he didn’t even seem to be a man. He attacked with the ferocity of a rabid animal, yet each hit was methodical; precisely placed so that Withers was down on the ground in a matter of seconds.

“There will be no escaping the reckoning you have earned, Lt. Withers,” he said softly, leaning over him.

Everything hurt (this latest set of injuries weren’t doing the ones from his fight with Troubleshoes any favors), and Withers scrambled back into the corner, desperately trying to buy himself more space from the horrible permanent snarl that was the Bloodhound’s face. Withers knew that whatever reckoning was in store from him, it would not likely be one he would survive, so he desperately tried to get out of it by grasping onto the one thing that still didn’t make sense.

“If I fucked up so bad, why did you spend so much money to keep me from going to prison?!” Withers asked, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

The Bloodhound studied him curiously for two, three seconds. “So you think we did that? Disappointing.” He then went over to a nervous looking Biff, took a sheet of paper from him and brought it to where Withers lay bleeding on the floor. “This arrived at our compound the day of your arraignment. We were hoping you could shed some light on it.”

The Bloodhound held out the sheet of paper, and it took Withers a few seconds to sit up and collect himself before he realized that what he was looking at was an invoice for the services of Dropcharge’s law firm, paid in full under his name by what was clearly a dummy corporation.

But what first drew his eyes was what was scrawled messily overtop in what very well may have been blood: the Roman numeral twelve. Something about that twelve triggered something deep in his lizard brain, and for a moment Withers was more afraid of it than he was of the Bloodhound. It felt like the twelve was digging deep into his mind, and a strange phrase suddenly came into his head.

Knowing that his life was at stake, Withers tried to ignore the twelve and wracked his brain to come up with something—anything—to explain what he was seeing. Even a convincing enough bullshit answer might have been enough. But Withers didn’t have anything, and the Bloodhound pulled the sheet away.

“So, you’re as in the dark as the rest of us. Curious.” The Bloodhound then motioned for the two Withers had knocked down to pick him up and hold him by the arms. “Time for his reckoning.”

The Bloodhound then exited the office and the two goons followed along, carrying Withers’s dead weight. They followed the Bloodhound back down to the ground floor and then across the base, with Withers trying to think of a way out of this all the while.

Promised salvation. Why did that phrase suddenly pop into his head as soon as he saw that Roman numeral twelve? Promised salvation if you tell him the right thing. The thought didn’t feel like his own, but planted in his head by something… or someone. Withers desperately searched through his memories of everything that happened over the past month, wondering if the magic information that would save his life was in any of them. His thought process was derailed as he saw that they were approaching the kennel, and he heard the ferociously barking dogs within.

Emotion was always a mystery to Withers; to this day he never understood what happy or sad even really meant. But that wasn’t true of all emotions. He understood rage and anger fairly early on in his life, and had become well acquainted with them as things continued to go wrong over the past month. But now, for perhaps the first time, Withers understood fear as well.

Three large Dobermans barked at him from within their fenced-in area, their eyes bloodshot and their mouths dripping with drool. It was as he was being dragged toward the cage that Withers realized what was about to happen, and that was the moment he truly understood fear. With another gesture from the Bloodhound, Withers was tossed to the floor in front of the locked cage, and the dogs inside were driven into a frenzy, scratching at and gnawing on the chain-link with the same feral desperation that Withers himself felt. One of them was so close Withers could see the name tag on its collar: Cerberus.

“For every day you went astray from us, I neglected to feed them,” the Bloodhound said with a faint, cold grin. “They’re starving.”

Openly weeping now (something he hadn’t done since he was an infant) Withers pleaded, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! I promise!”

The Bloodhound pulled out a set of keys and began unlocking the cage, and Cerberus and his two companions started throwing themselves against it even harder, as if trying to squeeze through the chain-link itself.

“You’ll need to give me more than that,” the Bloodhound said, and Withers knew it was the truth.

Tell him the right thing, the Twelve (for some reason, he was starting to mentally capitalize it) had spoken in his mind. For your promised salvation.

But Withers didn’t know what the right thing was. Most would argue he’d never known all his life. But that life was about to come to a gruesome end, so Withers just started blubbering whatever came to his mind. “It wasn’t my fault!” he wailed through the tears and snot. “It was that bitch! Her and the Snooper! I would have had Clyde if they hadn’t shown up! They had some kind of… powers or something!”

The Bloodhound slid the key into the padlock but hesitated as he looked back at him curiously. “Powers? Who were they?”

“I don’t know! The girl was one of the ones who sheltered Troubleshoes from us. Sunset Shimmer,” Withers said. He probably could have specified that “Snooper” was his nickname for Sable Loam, but he was most definitely not thinking entirely clearly at that moment.

“I’m not interested in the people who assisted Troubleshoes. Your findings that they were ex-SIREN turned out to be false.” The Bloodhound turned the key and the padlock clicked open.

But some inexplicable feeling within Withers (the will of the Twelve) told him he was on the right track, and he kept going. “He said that Sunset Shimmer was a god, or something! And Loam… called himself the Wolf of Kabul!”

The Bloodhound froze, halfway through removing the padlock. Slowly, he turned to look at Withers lying there on the floor, and Withers could have sworn he saw a spark in those usually lifeless eyes.

“The Wolf of Kabul…?” the Bloodhound muttered softly. “Sable Loam is the Wolf of Kabul?”

Withers didn’t know what to do except nod, and the Bloodhound stood there staring ahead for a long time. Withers just looked over at the opened padlock still holding the cage shut even as Cerberus and his pack mates madly jumped and gnawed at it. At last, a satisfied smile crept across the Bloodhound’s twisted visage, and that’s when Withers realized he had said the right thing. 

“I see… so this is why you have been brought back to us. As always, everything happens for a reason….” Smiling down at him, the Bloodhound said, “Congratulations, Lt. Withers. This information just spared your life.”

Just like that, the Bloodhound locked the cage again and the two mercs that dragged him here exchanged a look as Withers’s sobs turned to chuckles, and his tears of fear became tears of relief. “Promised salvation…” he muttered as his chuckles turned to full blown laughter, joining the barking dogs in a cacophony of beastial noise. “Promised salvation!”

“Yes…” the Bloodhound said softly. “Regrettably, there’s still the issue of your ‘hobbies.’”

Withers’s laughter petered out as he looked up at him. “Wha… what do you mean?”

“When we first met, I inquired about the extent of your ‘artistic endeavors,’ as you put them, and you told me that you could keep your work life and your personal life separate.” The Bloodhound gave him a serious look. “But those ‘hobbies’ were at the center of your transgressions this past month, making it clear that your assessment of your priorities was false.”

Withers sat up and brushed aside some of his hair as he composed himself. “I assure you; it won’t happen again.”

“Yes, and I believe that you mean that… right now,” the Bloodhound said. “And I believe that you meant it then, too. But you got carried away. Perfectly understandable, of course. But entirely unacceptable.”

A bit of the fear returned to Withers’s stomach, cold and uncomfortable, as the Bloodhound looked over at Cerberus and said, “I trust, Lieutenant, that you know what we do with dogs whose primal urges keep them from behaving?”

Taking another look at Cerberus, Withers couldn’t help but pay attention to what was between the Doberman’s legs. Or rather: what wasn’t.

“No… no, no, I told you it won’t be a problem! I'll give you my word!”

“Which is only good until you find your next ‘canvas’,” the Bloodhound said, motioning for the two mercs to grab him and hoist him to his feet. “You may have delivered me something wonderful tonight, but there still must be a reckoning. My dogs are still hungry, after all: I have to give them something.” He then addressed the men holding him. “Take him to the medical building.”

“NO! NO YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” Withers screamed as the men started to drag him away.

The Bloodhound walked with him, staring far ahead calmly. “Don’t be afraid. In time, you will see this for what it is: a gift. I am giving you the ability to be truly loyal. This way, you can be by my side when the day comes that I finally meet the Wolf of Kabul.”