> Ponyville Noire: Frost and Fire
>  by TheLegendaryBillCipher
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue: Off-Track
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The waters of the Maresippi River gently lapped against its southern shore as a cool breeze rustled nearby tree branches. The first buds of spring were starting to show this far away from civilization, and it was easily the warmest night in months.

The serenity was disrupted by the loud clatter of pounding wheels and rattling metal. A late night goods train, its lone headlamp piercing the dark with a golden beam, thundered along the tracks that hugged the southern side of the river.

The Equestrian freight line ran along the southern side of the river, while the passenger lines ran along the northern side. The freight line crossed the river via the great Tartarus Gate Bridge and met up with the passenger lines in the railyards outside Ponyville.

Engineer Smoky Jones leaned out of the cab’s left window and looked off across the glittering waters. The faint glows of Ponyville could be seen a few miles up the track, seemingly guarded by the dark gate-like outline of the Tartarus Gate.

He gave a nod to the fireman and crossed to the other side. One hoof instinctively went up to the whistle pull chord, squinting through the darkness. A small green dot emerged as they rounded a gentle curve, and Jones gave two short tugs on the chord – the engine wailed out twice through the still night.

He wished he could stop over in Ponyville for a shift change, but their freight was meant for Canterlot, another few hours away. Giving a sigh, Jones started to duck back inside, before pausing. He turned to look back down his train, past all seven of their boxcars and the faint red glow of their end-of-train light.

He could’ve sworn there had been the headlights of another train during one of their straightaways out west, and freight trains never usually ran that close together.

Shrugging it off, Jones reached over and patted his fireman on the shoulder. Coal Dust raised an eyebrow at him.

“Whatcha think we’re haulin’?” Jones asked over the sounds of the engine.

Coal shrugged. “Kinda short for a run-through hot shot, don’t ya think?” he asked with a thick Mareish accent.

“Must be some more magic stuff.” Jones huffed and wiped his forehead, barren of any horn. “All I know is, I’m gonna need a shower when I get home – my husband hates the smell of smoke.”

Coal grinned, his teeth nearly as dirty as his coal-dusted coat. “They’ve been runnin’ us long today, eh?”

Jones nodded. “Let me check the switch.”

Jones poked his head out of the cab’s right window again, looking through the darkness. Just before the bend that took them over the bridge, there was a lengthy siding. It was supposed to be empty and the points on the main, but Jones always checked.

They were only supposed to reduce speed after the switch – and if it were still open, it wouldn’t be pretty.

Just as soon as his eyes locked on the switch, he saw a shadow move. He thought it was a tree branch at first – until the points indicator switched.

“Brakes!” Jones shouted before his heart clogged his throat.

Both he and Coal Dust reached for the lever and yanked it back as quickly as they could. Dozens of thundering wheels turned into banshees as the train jerked. But as soon as Jones’ heart went up, it sunk to the bottom of his stomach.

The brakes were only reflexive.

In reality, the locomotive and boxcars – they lacked a caboose for their short, easily managed train – were travelling much too fast. The brakes could lessen the impact, if only by a tiny amount, but the freight train’s moving mass wouldn’t be so easily swayed.

The engine jerked to the right as it charged into the siding. Jones grabbed the whistle chord and tugged on it again and again. The engine wailed in protest as it met the curve of the siding too fast and left the track.

A terrific sound of crashing and grinding metal echoed through the forests, followed by the splintering of wood. The engine finally came to rest against an oak so thick around that it must’ve been centuries old.

Most of the boxcars had followed the engine off-track, while the tender had hit some rock or mound of dirt and tipped over, spilling its coal. Hissing could be heard from broken steam pipes, fortunately nowhere near the cab.

Jones blinked his eyes open from where he had fallen against the locomotive’s controls, his side sore from a run-in with the brake lever and his one leg out of its socket from holding the pull chord.

He felt something warm on his forehead and touched it gingerly. A spike of pain ran through his skull, and his hoof came away red. Jones looked across the cab where Coal Dust lay sprawled out on the cab floor. He swore he saw the faint rise and fall of breathing, but his vision was still wobbly.

He turned to the sound of the cab door being flung open, blinking through the haze. The leaking steam outside filtered in like fog, and Jones’s vision was blanketed in shadow.

“Wha—”

A thwack of metal on flesh sounded out and Jones dropped like a sack of potatoes with a groan. The figure tossed aside the now dented coal shovel and hopped back out.

“They’re out,” he said as more figures emerged from the underbrush. “Fourth boxcar.”

Some of the figures produced crowbars, and made short work of the boxcar’s dented door. It fell off its railing and the figures clambered aboard.

The cargo inside was several large, unmarked wooden crates. On first glance, it might’ve seemed like they were too heavy to have been disturbed by the crash – a second glance showed they were actually bolted to the floor and strapped down for good measure.

The straps were torn and lids were pried off, revealing large, black cases, designed to transport weapons. Much like a bucket brigade, the figures lined up and started handing off the weapon cases to the previous member in the line. The last member scurried through the underbrush to a nearby service road.

Several vans were parked up in a row with their rear doors open and ready to receive, revealed in the engine’s flickering headlight. More figures in the vans hauled the cases inside.

There came a long, loud cry of a steam engine down the tracks, and all the figures froze – if for a moment. They scrambled through the underbrush, some still carrying weapon cases. A few struggled to hold onto them in the scramble, but all of them made their way into the vans.

By the time the whistling neared the siding, the vans had locked up and peeled off into the night with their bounty.

A larger steam engine slowed to a stop by the siding. Unlike the train that had come before it, it seemed to be hauling two passenger coaches and a baggage car in the middle. What stood out, however, was the engine and rolling stock were painted in green camouflage, and the baggage car had large, white crosses painted on the sides.

An earth pony with a shaggy red beard and an officer’s cap scrambled out of the first passenger car and over to the entrance of the siding. In his hoof he held a lantern, which he lifted to reveal the last three boxcars still on the track.

“Sweet Mother,” he muttered, before turning to his train. “Medics, quickly now! And call this in! There’s been a robbery!”
> Chapter One: Fire on the Horizon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first rays of morning light were starting to come through the curtains of 221 Honeybee Bakery Street. As they slowly slid across the floor to a pair of slumbering lumps in bed, the morning stillness was punctured by the ringing of the telephone.

Slowly, the two lumps began to shift and moan. Daring Do let out a loud yawn and glared through squinted eyes towards the noisemaker. “Leave it,” she mumbled.

Behind her, Phillip Finder gave a sigh. “Wish I could,” he murmured, planting a kiss on top of her head. “But duty calls.”

He slid out from under the covers to sit on the edge of the bed. He arched his back and stretched his legs before getting up and trotting over to the phone. Behind him, Daring was much slower to wake up.

Phil picked up the receiver. “Finder and Do,” he said, rubbing his eye.

“Phil, it’s Cold Case,” came the voice from the other end. “Sorry for the early morning call but it’s urgent.”

“Cold?” Phil blinked. Daring scowled at the phone behind his head. “What’s urgent?”

“There was a train crash late last night, just outside of Ponyville,” Cold explained. From her tone of voice, Phil could imagine she wasn’t happy to be up this early either.

“Train crash? What’s that got to do with us?” Phil asked, turning to Daring. She was looking at him with one eyebrow raised, midway through putting on a shirt.

“Whatever that train was carrying, the Equestrian Military is investigating it.”

Whatever sleep fog was still clouding Phil’s brain dissipated. He mouthed “military” to Daring, whose jaw dropped.

“The department is giving its full cooperation, of course,” Cold continued. “But I’ll need you to get to the police station as soon as possible. From what we can tell, it appears to be an act of sabotage.”

“Right, we’ll be there as soon as possible,” Phil replied before hanging up. He went over to slip on his own shirt.

“So, I’m guessing going back to bed is out of the question?” Daring asked.

Phil shook his head. “Afraid we’ll have to get a light breakfast and coffee on the way,” he said. “Train crash, sabotage. And the military’s looking into it.”

“Well, that’s just swell,” Daring huffed. Her face lit up with a mischievous grin. “So, we have to go in a hurry then, huh?”

“Yes, why…” He looked at her briefly with a confused scowl, then sighed. “Normally, I’d be against it, but yes – we’ll go your way. It’s quicker than the trolley or a cab.”

“Well, as long as this morning isn’t a total loss.” Darin headed downstairs with a little extra pep in her step.

Phil sighed and shook his head, slipping on his trilby and joining Daring downstairs.





The sun was higher in the sky by the time the pair touched down outside the front doors of the Ponyville Police Department, garnering a few curious glances from pedestrians. Daring tossed her empty coffee cup and muffin wrapper in a trash can outside before trotting inside.

Smoothing out his shirt, Phil did the same while doing his best to ensure his stomach stilled long enough for the breakfast pastry to stay down.

The lobby inside was occupied by a lone mare, who seemed occupied by reading the plaques on the wall, detailing officers who had fallen in the line of duty.

She was a taller unicorn with a well-toned build. Her charcoal gray coat contrasted brilliantly with her reddish orange and gold streaked mane and tail, which were so bright they seemed to be on fire down to their curled ends. Her cutie mark was an ornate flaming torch.

She was dressed in a brown bomber-style jacket with a golden crest on the breast pocket, denoting her military rank. A belt around her middle had a holster with a revolver tucked away and a small radio in a pouch opposite of it.

She turned to the newcomers and smiled, her eyes hidden behind a pair of aviators sunglasses, the lenses of which were mirrored the same reddish-orange of a glowing sunset.

“Detectives Finder and Do, I presume,” she said, walking over. Orange magic removed her aviators and folded the arms, revealing golden eyes. She tucked the sunglasses in the pocket opposite of the crest.

“Yes,” Phil said, glancing at the badge. Daring glanced too, before nodding in appreciation to the sunglasses.

“Lieutenant General Beacon Fire.” She extended a hoof to them, and both detectives briefly shook it. “An honor to meet you both. You both came highly recommended by the princesses.”

“I should think so.” Daring smirked. “So, what’s this about a train crash?”

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll debrief you and Chief Cold Case with what we know so far,” Beacon said with a nod. She turned and headed through the door that led to the offices.

Daring and Phil followed, but rather than head for Cold Case’s office, they made a sharp turn down another hall. The pair glanced at one another as Beacon opened the door to the officer’s briefing room and gestured inside.

Cold Case was standing there waiting for them, wearing her usual black coat and chewing on the tip of her pipe. The faint smell of pine and cherry lingered in the enclosed room. As soon as Phil and Daring stepped inside, Beacon shut the door behind them.

“Well?” Cold asked. Daring frowned, before realizing the question had been directed at Beacon.

Beacon stood there for a moment, eyes slightly widened. She quickly composed herself with a quick clearing of the throat and stepped forward, offering her hoof to Cold. 

“Lieutenant General Beacon Fire,” she stated, more formally than she had with Phil and Daring. “We spoke on the phone.”

Cold frowned down at the hoof, then up at its owner before she shook it once firmly. “I’m aware,” she said. “Now, Lieutenant General, could you please explain why the military is investigating a train crash and needs our help?”

Beacon nodded, turning so Daring and Phil were on one side of her and Cold on the other. She looked between them and began explaining after a breath. “The Equestrian Military was covertly transporting weapons meant for dismantling on board the train that crashed last night.”

“Weapons?” Phil asked, eyes narrowing. “What kind of weapons?”

“I’m afraid that information is classified for the time being,” Beacon said, looking to Phil.

Phil and Daring jumped as Cold stomped her hoof. “What do you mean classified?” she demanded, her voice icy. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. “If there are weapons out there that will harm civilians—much less, my officers—why is that classified?”

Beacon flashed her an apologetic smile, catching Cold off-guard. “Believe me, I know the feeling. I hated classified intel during the war – not knowing what my troops and I were going into,” she said with a soft tone. “Rest assured, it’s not that we don’t want to disclose it with you – it’s just that at this moment in time we don’t know what weapons are missing, and can’t give you the full manifest.”

“So wait,” Daring stepped forward, frowning something came to her. “What did you mean by ’covertly?’ What kind of security was on this train?”

“Little to none, I’m afraid. We had a train following the freight train on its way to Canterlot, which seems to have prevented the total loss of cargo, but we didn’t have security measures on the actual train.”

“What bogan thought that would be a good idea?” Phillip grunted.

“I wasn’t in charge of this operation, and had I been, I would have been more careful. But the fact of the matter is that this type of covert operation, camouflaging the cargo so it doesn’t stand out, has worked in the past and is very cost effective in terms of resources,” Beacon explained.

“So it’s easier to put civilians in harm’s way than waste the guards,” Cold remarked, her cold gaze shooting through Beacon.

Beacon sighed and turned to her. “Look, we’ve just come off of a war – the way the princesses see it, the less military muscle we flex, the easier the peacetime will go. For riskier cargo, we have used guards and secure trains before, but this was deemed less of a risk.”

“And the thieves saw their opportunity and went with the hit,” Daring concluded.

Beacon nodded. “For the time being, we need help in tracking down these weapons—” She looked to Cold. “—which, as soon as we check what weapons are missing, we will disclose in full transparency.” She turned to the group as a whole. “Considering this crash happened so close to Ponyville, it’s no stretch to imagine the weapons made their way here.”

“Right,” Phil grunted. “We should get out to the crash site then and look for clues.”

“I’ve already sent—” Beacon looked to Cold as they both spoke up, a light blush on the latter’s cheeks.

“You first,” Beacon said with a light chuckle.

Cold cleared her throat. “I’ve already sent Detectives Red Herring, Burned Rubber, and Matchstick to the scene to help investigate,” she said, averting her eyes.

“And my team is already there as well,” Beacon said with a nod. “We should get a move on – the sooner we figure out who stole them, the sooner your city will be safe.”

“Well, safer,” Daring said with a sigh.

Cold extinguished and pocketed her pipe as the group exited the briefing room and made their way outside to Cold’s black Chevroneigh Fleetracer. Beacon whistled as she looked the car over.

“Quite a ride,” she remarked, turning to Phil and Daring. “I’ll ride with Chief Cold Case and direct her to the crash site.”

Daring nodded with a smirk. “We’ll… follow you two there. Don’t worry, we got our own ride.”

Beacon raised an eyebrow at the couple before shrugging. As Cold and Beacon climbed inside Cold's car and pulled away, Phil turned to Daring.

“Surely you can’t mean—” he began.

But a pair of forelegs wrapped around his barrel and with a whoosh of air and lurch of his stomach, he was airborne. He struggled to keep his hat attached.

“We could’ve gotten a ride with one of the officers,” he protested at Daring.

“This way is quicker!” she replied with a laugh.

Phil fumed. “It’s a good thing I love you…” he muttered.





Daring was beginning to regret the decision when the black dot that was Cold’s car drove well out of the city and across the river. It made good time on the interstate before pulling over near a roadblock that closed the right lane. Gratefully, Daring descended as Cold and Beacon stepped out.

The roadblock surrounded a dirt service road that snaked off of the interstate and into the forest. A simple metal gate was swung open at the mouth of the road, and a sign next to it proclaimed “Authorized vehicles only.” A few said authorized vehicles, namely police cruisers and an unmarked car, were parked near the gate.

Detective Burned Rubber was helping the patrol officers direct traffic around the blockade. He turned to the newcomers and nodded to Cold.

“Any luck with tracking spells on the tires?” she asked.

Rubber shook his head. “Too much traffic through the interstate. We’ve gotten tire impressions from the service road – three vans, at least, given the width and depth of the tracks,” he reported. “You’re clear to go up the road.”

The four ponies nodded to him and made their way along the service road. The humming of the traffic faded as they walked, replaced by the distant sound of water in motion. The road was completely shaded, protected by the canopy of trees overhead.

Soon, the road veered to the left. To their right, however, the underbrush was trampled down. The multiple sets of tire tracks that had been present down the road, marked in places by officers, stopped at said brush.

“Lovely day for a nature hike,” Daring remarked as they stepped carefully through the forest. Phil just grunted.

It wasn’t long before they found the crashed train. 

The locomotive had hit the oak tree with such force that it had become partially uprooted. The metal plating on the boiler was pinched in places like fabric, and the drive wheels were caked in dirt and half-buried. The tender behind it was turned on its side, its black payload of coal and coal dust scattered through the bushes like blackened snow.

Behind them were the boxcars that made up the freight train. The first three were slightly compressed from the crash, their wheel bogies broken and buried in the dirt. But they were all relatively untouched, their doors locked shut. The same could be said for the last three boxcars, for the most part still on the rails of the siding.

The fourth boxcar in the middle, however, was sitting open, and was currently the focus of Detective Matchstick. She looked between the boxcar’s gaping opening and the slightly bent door that lay beside it on the ground, rubbing her chin.

She looked up and stood at attention as Cold and the group made their way over. “Hey chief,” she remarked. “As far as we can tell, someone pried the door clean off its railings. Crowbar most likely.”

“Goods inside seem in place from the crash,” came a voice from inside the boxcar. “Bolting them to the floor was a good move, at least.”

An earth pony stallion hopped out of the boxcar, dressed in an army green vest and with a similar belt to Beacon’s. He had a purple coat, with a short blonde mane and tail. A small goatee rested on the tip of his chin, and his eyes were turquoise. His cutie mark was a pineapple slice on a slice of pizza.

“Chief Cold, Phillip, Daring, this is Sergeant Pineapple Pizza,” Beacon introduced, gesturing to the newcomer. “Munitions specialist. He’s a part of my team here.”

“Nice to meet ya,” Pineapple said with a nod, wiping his brow.

“Also wouldn’t let me look inside the boxcar until all those gun cases were removed,” Matchstick remarked, shooting a frown at him.

Pineapple shot her a friendly, if apologetic smile, before looking seriously to Beacon. “Ma’am, you might want to look at this.”

He gestured the group over to the boxcars still on the track, then pointed to the tracks beyond.

The metal rails were coated in a brown liquid. It seemed to be thin, but covered the opening of the siding all the way to the boxcars still on the track.

“Could it be from the train?” Beacon asked.

Pineapple shook his head as Matchstick joined him. “We don’t think so – none of the wheels seemed coated in the stuff to suggest some sort of leak, and it’s not a part of the listed cargo either.”

“We also don’t think it’s oil,” Matchstick added. “The train started braking before hitting the siding. With the wheels sparking, it could’ve started a major fire.”

Phil walked over and leaned in close. He shut his eyes and took three deep sniffs of the rails. His mind processed the smells, trying to part them like sand through a grate. The metallic iron, dusty gravel, and loamy soil gave way to another smell, and he sought it out in his mental database.

“Axle grease, automotive I’d wager,” he said as he stood upright. “This was definitely sabotage.”

Daring took to the air to survey the scene from above. On the opposite side of the tracks, her eyes fell upon a dark object buried under some leaf litter. She flew over and set her hoof on it – and was rewarded with a metal bong.

She brushed aside the leaves and righted the object – a metal drum. It was painted blue, but otherwise had no other markings than some scratches. “Over here!” she called.

Phil carefully stepped over the greasy rails and trotted over. He found the cap of the barrel and unscrewed it. He took one whiff of the air escaping from inside and nodded, replacing the cap. “This is most likely where it came from. Aces.” He flashed a smile at Daring.

“We’ll get to processing that,” Matchstick said, hopping over the tracks. “Maybe we can get a number off of it.” Pineapple quickly followed her.

At that time, Red touched down next to the group along with a sky blue female thestral. She had piercing green eyes, an unkempt white mane and tail, and the cutie mark of swirling snowflakes. She was wearing a black bomber-style jacket and a similar belt to Beacon’s, a military shield on the breast pocket of the jacket and golden wings pinned to the collar.

“We checked with the signalman,” Red reported. “He heard the train whistle last night, but was asleep before that.”

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” Daring remarked as she and Phil rejoined the group.

Red moved to give the Flying Feather before noticing Beacon Fire and Cold’s unamused scowl and stopping himself – but it didn’t stop his smirk in Daring’s direction.

“As far as we can see, the brake marks happen a few hundred yards before the switch,” the thestral added.

“Everyone, this is Captain Frost Glide, reconnaissance expert,” Beacon introduced, gesturing to her. “The other member of my team.”

Frost gave a brief salute. “So, what are we thinking of in order of events?”

Phil looked past Frost and Red, down the tracks. “Someone manually pulls the switch last second, as to not alert the signalman. The engineer pulls the brakes, but can’t stop in time – the train continues sliding until it derails thanks to the grease,” he said, gesturing as he talked and turned to the train. “The thieves are waiting here and break open the boxcar they need, and make off with the weapons.”

“I can fill in part of it,” Beacon said. “Captain Lamp Iron was in the following train. His train started blowing the whistle when they saw the freight train going into the siding. When he rolled up, he said the switch was back on the main line.”

“Perhaps they didn’t count on a tail then,” Daring said. “The next train spooked them and they scattered.”

“And they set the points to the main to cover their tracks. Er, no pun intended.” Phil frowned at Daring’s smirking. “At least this means they weren’t fully successful. What about the engineer and fireman?”

“They were unconscious in the engine’s cab upon the captain’s arrival and taken to Ponyville aboard his train to be sent to the hospital,” Beacon said. “Though, there was one note of worry we had.”

She walked back over to the locomotive with the others in tow. The door to the cab was already open, and Beacon climbed inside. She emerged a second later with a shovel in her magic, the head of which was stuffed inside of a brown paper bag.

Carefully removing the bag around the shovelhead, the group saw the reason for the bagging – a large patch of dried blood smeared the back of the scoop.

“We believe this was used to render at least one of them unconscious,” she reported grimly, before covering the shovelhead once again.

Most of the group winced at the implication. Cold stared at the ground in thought. Daring shook her head.

“Well, better a shovel than a bullet,” Frost remarked stiffly. “Needless to say, we don’t think the engineer or fireman had any role in this.”

“I’d still like to interview them,” Phil said. “Any word on their condition?”

“Severe,” Beacon said with a sigh. “Haven’t heard that either of them have woken up yet. Captain Lamp Iron is at Ponyville General Hospital with them if you want to interview him as well.”

“Seeing as he was first on the scene, it’d be best.” Phil turned to Cold. “What are you thinking?”

Cold looked to Beacon, holding the shovel. The lieutenant general’s eyes looked away to the shovel as she did.

“We get this evidence to Doctor Suunkii and Twilight back at the department,” she said, nodding to the shovel. “The barrel too, to try and get a serial number or at least a brand.”

“I can get to work on surveillance crystals, see if any vans were spotted entering Ponyville,” Red said. “It’s a slim chance in Tartarus, but better than nothing.”

Cold nodded, turning to Phil and Daring. “You two go talk with Captain Lamp Iron and see what he has to say – and the train crew, if they’re awake.”

“Will do,” Phil said, turning to leave. He noticed Daring grinning again and sighed as they walked back down the road.

Cold turned sharply to Beacon, taking the shovel in her own magic and bringing it to her side. “And I would like it if you told us what weapons were stolen as soon as possible,” she said in an icy tone that made Red shiver.

Beacon nodded. “We’re just waiting on the manifest from headquarters,” she said.

Cold exhaled through her nose, her gaze lingering on Beacon a second longer before making her way down the path with Red right behind her.

Frost walked over to Beacon, raising an eyebrow as she glanced between her and the police chief. “What’s up, Bea?”

Beacon realized she had been watching Cold leave and shook her head. She frowned seriously at Frost. “Nothing. Just get back to the base and get me that manifest.”

Frost gave her an unconvinced smirk before nodding and taking flight. Beacon smoothed out her jacket and huffed a sigh before turning to go help Pineapple and Matchstick with the barrel.





Warehouses were a common site in the dockyard districts. Used for fishing or shipping, they often went unnoticed by the common passerby – and that made them all the better for illicit gatherings.

Cars were parked around 618 Tradesman’s Road, some parking a few blocks away so as to not draw suspicion. Parked on the side of the warehouse where its loading dock was situated were three unmarked vans, one white, one gray, and one black.

Inside, there were murmurings as crowds of ponies gathered. A faint layer of smoke lingered above the group as some of them smoked, either out of habit or anxiety. Ponies crowded together in groups, with the exception being a cloaked group in the back that stood at non-pony heights.

Coin Toss sat in one of the folding seats set out among the group, flipping a coin in his hoof. They originally had been set up in rows before a makeshift stage of crates, but the incoming groups had huddled them together in loose clumps.

The Mareish stallion’s eyes had swept the room twice now, but they kept falling on those cloaked figures in the back. They weren’t seated and they weren’t talking. He reckoned they were griffons, which made him all the more wary.

“Lads, don’t plan on stickin’ ‘round long,” he muttered to his cohorts, pocketing his coin. “Soon as we see what this is all about, we leave.”

His cohorts each nodded once, before a loud clanging noise brought their attention to the stage. A unicorn stallion standing next to the stage held a pan and a wooden club aloft, using both as a makeshift gong, as another earth pony climbed onto the stage.

“Ladies, gentlecolts, and all manner of creatures,” he announced. “We’ve brought you all here for an auction unlike no other! A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to procure quite an addition to your arsenals!”

The gathered crowd murmured, leaning into one another to whisper. Some nodded, some shook their heads.

The pony on the stage cleared his throat. “We, the Nightmare Moon Disciples, have managed to… acquire some weapons from the Equestrian Military, the likes of which have never been seen since the war.”

That got most of the crowd’s attention, especially Coin Toss. The thought of using the military’s own guns against them brought a smirk to his face. His eyes slid back to the figures, however.

There seemed to be no reaction save for their continued focus to the stage.

The unicorn disappeared through a door in the back and came back with a black gun case in his magic. He levitated it up to the pony on the stage, who opened it up with its lid to the crowd.

Slowly, he held up a glistening BAR in both hooves, causing some of the audience members to gasp and whisper anew. Coin Toss stared at the weapon, his eyes automatically noticing the additions to it.

The barrel was longer than the BARs he had previously seen, shorter than his Summerfield Rifle, but he’d wager a bit the distance was at least tripled. The scope situated on top of the weapon’s body and the dense cylinder at the end of the barrel were even better selling points.

“What we have here, folks,” the announcer continued, “isn’t your average BAR, but a modified one that saw use during the war with Sombra. A weapon that the military, no doubt, wanted to destroy. But it can be yours today, it and many like it, for the right price.”

The crowd cheered, some stomping their hooves. Coin Toss laughed, nudging one of his associates. “Put a good bullet ‘tween a Royal Guard’s eyes, wouldn’t it?” he remarked. His associate nodded with a chuckle of his own.

The unicorn beside the announcer rapped his makeshift gong again until the crowd once again went silent. The announcer nodded, setting the BAR back in the case, before turning back to the crowd.

“We’ll start the bidding at 500 bits, a modest price for such a powerful item,” he continued.

But the crowd fell silent. Coin Toss’s ear twitched and he glanced to the back of the room. The air was punctuated by rhythmic metal clangs as the leader of the cloaked figures limped toward the stage, followed closely by their cohorts.

“Lads, be ready,” Coin Toss hissed. “And I don’t mean yer guns.”

The leader looked up to the pony on the stage, a single golden eye peering out from under the cloak’s hood. “I will take it now,” she said, her voice thick with a Griffonese accent.

The announcer gave a nervous chuckle after a beat, tugging at his shirt collar. “A-Alright, you heard her folks, we have 500 smackers, who—”

A fist smashed down on the stage, splintering the wood. The golden eye continued to stare up at the pony, and seemingly through him. “No. I said, I will take it. Now.” The fist fell to the griffon’s side, slowly uncurling.

Coin Toss’s eyes widened as metal glinted as it extended with the griffon’s talons. Quietly, he got up, and nodded to his cohorts to do the same. They backed out of the room relatively unnoticed – the other occupants were transfixed on the griffon, hooves on their weapons.

The announcer coughed uncomfortably. “L-Lady, do you know how auctions work? Other folks have to bid too,” he said. “And you’re too close to the stage, so if you’ll just have a seat…”

His hoof slowly went behind his back, where a pistol was tucked into his belt under his shirt. Hoof touched cold steel just as the griffon vaulted onto the stage.

Her talons swung upward with motion, cleaving through the pony’s throat. He gasped as blood shot out of the wound, coughing and choking and grasping at his neck as he fell to the stage. The others gathered either bolted for the door or drew their weapons and backed away from the cloaked figures.

The unicorn quickly drew his piece and fired off a shot at the lead griffon’s chest, but metal met metal with the painful sound of a ricochet. Her attention shot to him, but one of the cloaked figures was upon him, tearing through the muscle of the pony’s leg.

More Disciples poured out of the back, and they were met with a similar fury from the lead griffon, blood dripping from the metal talons affixed to organic ones. 

The rest of the crowd dispersed, saving their own hides as the warehouse was filled with blood-curdling screams and the sound of gunfire.
> Chapter Two: A Chilling Threat
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Phillip frowned as he stepped through the front doors of Ponyville General Hospital, followed closely behind by Daring. The reception area was only populated by one pony, who was currently occupied with a magazine.

They walked up to the reception counter. The nurse who had been organizing papers into a manila folder set her work down and flashed the two of them a smile. “Hello, can I help you?” she asked.

“Detectives Finder and Do,” Phil grunted. “We need to speak with the train crash victims that were brought in.”

The nurse nodded, picking up and checking her clipboard. “Smoky Jones and Coal Dust. Third floor intensive care unit,” she announced.

“Thank you,” Phil nodded and the two of them headed for the nearby elevators.

“If you don’t think they’re involved, why are we talking to them?” Daring asked as they stepped inside. Phillip pushed the button for floor three and the doors hissed shut.

“If they’re awake, maybe they saw more than Captain Lamp Iron did,” Phil explained. “If not, we at least have the first pony on the scene.”

Daring nodded as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.

They stepped onto the third floor, which smelled strongly of cleaning agents. The faint hums and beeps of machines could be heard coming from rooms they passed. Rounding a corner, they came to a small reception area with a row of chairs for ponies to sit at.

A nurse was idly reading the newspaper behind the counter as the two walked up. She raised an eyebrow as she glanced between them. “How can I help you?” she asked.

“Detectives Finder and Do. We’re here to speak with the two train crash victims, Smoky Jones and Coal Dust?” Phil said.

The nurse scoffed. “Well, I’m afraid there’s fat chance of that,” she said. “The doctors had to put them into a magically-induced coma to let their brains heal, not to mention their bodies. They’ll be out another few days, at least.”

“Damn. So much for that,” Phil muttered.

“We were also told a Captain Lamp Iron was here?” Daring asked.

The nurse stood up and pointed down the hall past the counter. “He’s been on his radio non-stop since he got here,” she said. “Took me five times to get it through his thick skull they weren’t waking up anytime soon.” She sat back down with a huff, picking up her newspaper again.

Phillip and Daring looked at one another before nodding to the nurse and continuing down the hall. 

Two payphones sat on the wall near the end of the hall, which concluded with a large window that overlooked the hospital’s courtyard. Against the opposite wall was another row of chairs, and slumped in one was Captain Lamp Iron.

He was a pine green earth pony with a red mane and tail, the former of which was messy and unkempt, almost like his shaggy red beard. Bags hung under his blue eyes like vacation luggage, and his wrinkled officer’s cap sat in the seat next to him, matching his wrinkled uniform. His cutie mark was a white railway oil lamp.

He was staring at the floor, his portable radio in his lap. His eyes were distant, and he didn’t notice the pair until Daring cleared her throat.

He snapped to his hooves, the radio clattering to the floor, and gave the pair a salute before realizing they weren’t who he thought they were – then he deflated like a balloon with a sigh.

“Captain Lamp Iron?” Phil asked, frowning as his eyes scanned him over.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said with a Gritish accent. He walked over and picked up his radio, lightly tossing it onto his hat. “What can I do for you?”

“Detectives Finder and Do, with the Ponyville Police Department,” Phil introduced, gesturing between them. “We’re here about the train wreck.”

“Bloody mess, wasn’t it?” Lamp muttered, running a hoof through his mane. The way it parted easily told it was a well-practiced motion. “My first assignment, and they have me gun running.”

“Are you alright?” Daring asked, looking him up and down. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Damn well feels like it,” Lamp said with a dry laugh. “I got two civilian casualties on my hooves – can you blame me?”

Phillip nodded sympathetically. “We were wondering if you could remember anything from last night. Anything you might’ve seen or heard when you came upon the crash.”

Lamp shook his head. “All I heard was metal creaking and that engine hissing like a bloody snake. Thought I heard some cars in the distance, but the motorway’s close, you know?” He hung his head. “Didn’t see anyone.”

“Damn,” Phil growled, about to turn away.

“But I know who’s behind this.”

Phillip and Daring both looked to Lamp, whose demeanor changed from remorseful to bitter. He scowled at the smooth stone floor.

“Who’s behind it?” Phil asked.

Lamp took a deep breath and continued. “Been making calls back out west, from where the train was from. Appleloosa railyard got back to me – had some mischievous little bastards poking around their office. Turns out they were Nightmare Moon Disciples.”

“Disciples? That far out west?” Daring asked.

Lamp nodded. “They committed a few train robberies and hold-ups out there. Trying to get a quick payday or something they can sell,” he explained. “Appleloosa Sherriff’s Office figured they saw the cargo as unmarked and thought it was something valuable.”

“Then why not stick up the train out there?” Phil asked.

“Because of my train tailing it – it was the most security I could get for this operation. Most likely spooked them, what with the army markings and all. They didn’t want to risk holding it up knowing we weren’t far behind.” Lamp shook his head. “They must’ve phoned ahead. We know there’s Disciples here too.”

Daring frowned. “That seems like a longshot, especially for the Disciples.”

“Well, it’s the best shot I got, alright?” Lamp snapped, voice cracking. He swallowed before continuing. “Any… word on their condition?” He nodded down the hall.

“They’ll be out for a few days,” Phil said. He gently set a hoof on Lamp’s shoulder. “You did the best you could, mate. I reckon if you hadn’t been following, those two wouldn’t be here right now.”

Lamp was silent for a moment before nodding. “They’re good chaps. Spotless records, the both of ‘em. I got a wife and kid of my own,” he said quietly, eyes finally meeting Phillip’s. “If something like this happened to them… I don’t know what I’d do.”

Phil nodded, patting his shoulder. “You’ve been a big help. We’re one step closer to catching the thieves. It’s best you get some rest, mate. Worrying isn’t going to make things better.”

Lamp nodded, flashing a brief, thankful smile before taking his seat again. Daring and Phillip walked back down the hall, past the nurse who was still reading her newspaper.

The elevator dinged and slid open, and an earth pony stallion scrambled out. He nearly lost his ten gallon Stetson before turning and making a beeline for the reception desk. Noticing ponies in his way, he skidded to a halt, and succeeded in only bumping into Phillip.

“Hey!” Phil barked, stepping back.

“S-Sorry,” the pony said with a familiar country drawl, tipping his hat for good measure. 

Daring looked the pony over. He had a pale yellow coat and a messy two-tone mane and tail of yellow and yellow-orange and pistachio green eyes. His cutie mark was simply a red delicious apple. He was wearing a yellow and white gingham long-sleeved button up shirt under a brown corduroy vest. Affixed to the vest was a silver, six pointed badge.

“Are you with the police?” she asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

The pony blinked, before flushing. “Right, sorry. Name’s Braeburn, Braeburn Apple… well, Deputy Braeburn Apple. I’m with the Appleloosa Sherriff’s Office.” He tipped his hat again.

“Captain Lamp Iron mentioned he was in contact with your office,” Phil said. “You think Nightmare Moon Disciples crashed the train?”

“Would reckon so,” Braeburn said. “They’ve stuck up a number of passenger trains out near Appleloosa and Dodge Junction – a freight train or two too. Wouldn’t put it past them.” He fidgeted on his hooves, looking past the two. “Now, if’n you’ll excuse me, I really need to see someone here.”

“You know someone here?” Daring asked.

Braeburn nodded. “Smoky Jones, the engineer on the train. He’s my husband.”

Daring and Phillip glanced between each other. “We just spoke with the nurse and she said he and the fireman will be out for a few days,” Phil said.

In a similar motion to Lamp Iron, Braeburn paused, then slowly drooped like a sagging branch. “Oh. Was… was there any word on his condition?”

Phillip shook his head. “Magically-induced coma. The nurse didn’t mention anything other than that.”

“Oh.” Braeburn slowly walked over to the nearest seat and slumped into it. He took his hat off and set it in his lap. Reaching under his shirt, he fished out a bronze ring on a military chain, holding it lightly in his hoof.

Daring walked over and smiled sympathetically at him. “I’m Detective Daring Do, this is Detective Phillip Finder. Don’t worry, we’re on this case – we’ll catch whoever did this.”

Braeburn smiled softly, looking between them. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “My cousin Applejack’s told me a lot about you two. Does make me feel better that the best are workin’ on this.”

“It should,” Daring smirked.

Suddenly, the sound of radio static echoed down the hall, followed by murmuring voices.

“Detectives!” Lamp Iron shouted, running over to them with radio in hoof. The nurse at reception shushed him loudly as he passed.

“What is it?” Phil asked.

“Lieutenant General Beacon Fire’s gotten a possible update on the theft,” he reported. “You’re needed on site – 618 Tradesman’s Road.”

Phillip nodded. “Will do. Thank you.” He turned to Braeburn and nodded. “Don’t worry.”

He and Daring hurried over and called the elevator, stepping inside when the doors opened. Phillip glanced over at Daring, who was smirking knowingly.

“And we’re taking a taxi,” he stated flatly as the doors closed.

Daring stuck out her tongue. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

“Daring, I love you, but if we do anymore flying my stomach’s liable to wind up in intensive care.”





618 Trademan’s Road, and its subsequent block, was barricaded off by sawhorses, crime scene tape, and police cruisers. The coroner’s van and a familiar black Fleetracer were pulled up next to the sliding door in the front.

Daring and Phillip’s taxi stopped just outside the barricades and they left after paying the fare. At that time, a gunmetal Hayson Commander Super Six Four Door pulled up at the curb and Beacon Fire climbed out.

“Think this is about the weapons?” Daring asked.

“The responding officers thought so,” Beacon said briskly as the three of them approached the barricades.

A mule officer standing guard nodded to them and lifted the tape for them to duck under. Cold Case and Captain hewn Oak were standing out front, alongside Officers Sentry, Bumblebee, and Prowl. The lattermost immediately snapped to attention and saluted upon seeing Beacon Fire.

“What’s the story?” Beacon asked, returning Prowl’s salute and looking between the gathered officers.

“We got a call about a blood trail out the back of the warehouse. At first we thought it might’ve been a bad refrigeration unit and some meat was thawing,” Prowl said. “We took a look inside and… I’ll be frank, ma’am – it’s a damn massacre.”

Captain Oak nodded solemnly. “It is an honor to have you here in our city, Lieutenant General,” he said. “But you seem to have brought much sin to our doorstep.”

Beacon raised an eyebrow at the captain. “Why do you think it’s related to the weapon theft?” she asked.

“Follow me,” Flash said, getting to his feet. Phillip noticed he was a little shaky on his hooves and frowned with concern.

“Are you alright, Flash?” he asked.

Flash flashed him an apologetic smile. “There was… a lot of blood. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“And why are you here?” Daring asked Cold with a frown.

“I was summoned here as well – apparently my presence was important,” Cold remarked, her face stoically blank.

Flash led Phillip, Daring, Beacon, and Cold around the corner of the building to the loading dock.

The black, white, and grey vans were still parked against the concrete dock, now surrounded by sawhorses and yellow crime scene tape. All three of them had their back doors open and facing the warehouse.

Flash simply gestured inside. Phillip took out the flashlight from his pocket and shone it into the first van, the black one. The back was smeared with dirt from either a hasty entry or exit or both, along with a few fresh green leaves and small black pebbles.

He walked over and leaned in close, studying the objects. “Golden oak leaves. They’re still green, meaning they came from a tree recently. Some blades of grass. Small specks of coal,” he reported.

“Those are in all three vans, we checked,” Flash said. “We thought these might be the vans Detectives Red and Rubber put the APB out for.”

Phillip nodded and pocketed his flashlight. “Aces, jackaroo. Have you checked inside?”

“Dr. Mortis is on scene,” Cold reported. “We have eight confirmed dead inside.”

Cold led them to a door leading into the warehouse from the loading dock. It opened to the main floor, and Prowl’s description of a massacre seemed accurate.

Simple metal folding chairs were scattered about the main area, all of them knocked over. A makeshift stage stood near the back, made of wooden crates, mostly covered in blood. One crate near the front had a splintered gash in it, and a pony lay dead on the stage, face up and with his neck torn open.

Another lay dead near the stage, facedown with gashes in his leg and blood pooled around the face. More dead bodies and more blood were near a door at the back that was completely torn off its hinges.

Dr. Mortis, wearing scrubs over her hooves and a facial mask, was jotting down notes on a notepad as she examined one of the dead. She looked up at the newcomers and flashed them a friendly, if unseen, smile.

“Had quite a party in here,” she remarked, her voice echoing through the empty room. “The room you want is just through here.” She gestured to the broken door. “But I suggest you use the backdoor.”

“Party, sure,” Beacon muttered sarcastically with a gulp as she eyed the scene.

Phillip jerked his head back outside, and the group made their way out and around to the back of the building.

The first thing they noticed were several trails of red clawprints leading out the backdoor, which hung on by one hinge. The tracks made their way onto the pier behind the warehouse before vanishing.

“Griffons,” Phil noted, carefully stepping over the tracks as he made his way inside. The others did the same.

The backroom was an office, with a few industrial shelving units against the wall. A few black gun cases sat under one of the shelving units next to some metal barrels like the one at the train crash, but they were all open and bare. Beacon muttered a curse under her breath.

The trails of clawprints led from the massacre in the main room, but there was little blood in the office space. One pony lay dead at a desk near the wall, still seated. Blood pooled around the shocked expression on his face and dripped to the floor.

Dr. Mortis walked in through the broken doorway, storing her notepad into the pocket of her coat. “Well, I haven’t had the chance to open them up yet, but I would say cause of death is either organ failure, blood loss, or choking on their own blood. Nasty ways to go all around,” she said.

“Were you all able to recover any weapons?” Beacon asked.

Mortis shook her head and nodded to the open cases. “These were all there were,” she said. “Other than the weapons these ponies had on them.” She gestured to the dead pony at the desk. “I doubt a pistol is what the military is after, though.”

“So wait,” Daring said. “We got eight dead but armed ponies. We think griffons did this, right?”

Mortis nodded. “The wounds are a match for those caused by griffon talons, if not a weapon like them.”

Daring looked around the office. “Then why aren’t there any dead griffons?”

“I was wondering that too,” Mortis said with a thoughtful nod. “There were spent casings, and what looked like bullet slugs in the warehouse, but it was rather difficult to tell whose blood they were coated in. They’ve been bagged up and sent to Dr. Suunkii.”

“They’re either armored, or skilled, or both,” Beacon said with a grave tone, eyes falling on the cases. “And they have our weapons.”

“Just great.” Daring huffed, throwing up her hooves. “The thieves got stolen from.”

“With all due respect, doctor,” Cold said with a raised eyebrow. “Why was my presence needed here?”

“Well, Captain Oak thought you deserved an update on the situation,” Mortis said, before looking towards the wall above them. “Also that.”

The group turned around and there was a collective gasp. Words were painted onto the wall like a graffiti tag, only written in blood. Smeared on, from the markings of each letter. It read:

"Jag kommer att ta dig, Cold Case! Kriga är med mig!"

“Griffonese,” Phil said.

“’I am coming for you, Cold Case, and Kriga is coming with me,’” Beacon read quietly, eyes falling on Cold Case. Everyone else’s followed.

Cold’s icy mask still kept her face rigid as she stared up at the message, but her sapphire eyes had shrunken and her heart thudded in her chest, betraying her fear.
> Chapter Three: Hitting Home
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Celestia’s sun was low on the horizon. As twilight encroached, the nightlights of Ponyville flickered on one by one.

Looking out of an apartment window in the Everfree District, Cold Case scanned the streets. Hardly anyone was out at this hour, and that included car traffic. However, she could count at least three unmarked cars parked on the street below or adjacent with armed officers waiting within. Her black Fleetracer and a gunmetal Commander Super Six Four Door sat out front.

“I don’t think this is entirely necessary,” she said, shutting the blinds and closing the curtains for good measure. She turned to the other occupants of her living room – Phillip Finder, Daring Do, and Beacon Fire.

“Whatever flock of griffons has my weapons made it pretty clear they’re after you,” Beacon remarked from her seat on the couch. Her radio and her service revolver were on the coffee table in front of her for easy reach.

“Beacon’s right,” Phil nodded. “Better safe than sorry. This way, if they do come for you, we’ll be ready.”

“We got at least one officer on each floor,” Beacon said. “Half a dozen more watching outside, and you have me in here.” Cold frowned at her.

“And Wheellock said she’d be on the roof with her rifle,” Daring added.

“What will you two be doing?” Cold asked her and Phillip.

“We know a griffon who knows some griffons at the Gold Griffon’s Head,” Phil said. “And he’s willing to talk. He might be our best lead on finding whoever’s responsible.”

“I’ve sent Sergeant Pizza to Canterlot for some ordinance. He’ll be back on the first train early tomorrow,” Beacon said. “And Captain Glide should be on her way back with what weapons we’re dealing with.”

“Good,” Cold said, nodding to Phillip and Daring. “Stay safe out there.”

Phillip walked over and set a hoof on her on the shoulder. “And you stay safe,” he said quietly with a nod.

Cold’s gaze lowered and she merely nodded in reply. Beacon watched him and Daring leave with a curious expression. As the door shut behind them, her gaze shifted to a bookshelf. It was one of the few pieces of furniture in Cold’s modest apartment.

A row of books adorned the lowermost shelves, mostly law books. The rest of the shelves were sparsely occupied by photos and memorabilia. Awards and medals sat next to pictures of a younger Cold Case and one of her and her former partner fresh out of academy.

“Are you and Phillip close?” Beacon asked, looking to Cold. She had made her way to the apartment’s small kitchen area. She levitated a glass out of the cabinet and shot an icy glare at Beacon over the bar.

“No,” she replied. Cold bent down to a lower cabinet and fished out a bottle of whiskey. She poured herself a glass and knocked it back.

“You seem awfully tense. And I don’t mean about this whole threatening message written in blood business,” Beacon remarked.

“Well, I don’t suppose you’d know what it’s like having somecreature out there wanting to kill you,” Cold replied. She seemed to weigh something in her mind before pouring a second shot.

After she had knocked it back, she noticed Beacon’s warm demeanor had faded. She looked at Cold with a rather hard gaze and shifted on the couch so she was sitting upright.

“Yeah. I do,” she said, unzipping her jacket and pulling it open.

Cold squinted. In the warm lighting of the apartment, Beacon’s coat was even darker by contrast. As she rounded the bar, Cold could faintly make out five small, round indents spread across Beacon’s chest and blinked.

“I’m sorry,” Cold said quietly. “I forgot you were…” She trailed off, looking down.

Beacon sighed. “Yeah.” She zipped up the jacket again and sat back down in a more comfortable position on the couch. “I don’t know how they managed to miss anything vital. At least it got General Shining Armor’s attention.”

“Oh?” Cold floated her glass back over to the counter and put the whiskey away again as she approached her.

“He was proud of me, said I went above and beyond the call of duty for saving soldiers,” Beacon continued, smiling fondly as her gaze fell to the coffee table and grew distant. “Then he joked I was going about it wrong and said I needed a proper shield.”

Cold walked over to the armchair adjacent to the sofa and took a seat. She rarely had company and often wondered why she had kept it, but now she was grateful for a comfortable seat for the story.

“As I was recovering, General Armor taught me his shield spell. That famous one he used at the Canterlot wedding. Of course, I was always more of a pyromancer and I managed to put my own twist on it.” Her smirk focused back up at Cold. “And so, the ‘Flaming Shield’ was born.”

Cold nodded. “I’m… sorry, for being rude. I’m not much of a social butterfly,” she said. “And I’m certainly not used to direct death threats.”

Beacon nodded. “Who do you think it is, anyway?” she asked. “I mean, they called you out by name and they went through the trouble of stealing stolen military weapons from armed ponies.”

Cold fell silent. It was hard to tell by the complexion of her coat, but all the color drained from her face as her gaze fell. She sniffled instinctively as a familiar itch began building in her nose. It was only when she lifted a hoof and set it on the pocket the purple coin resided that it subsided.

“I know… one who might,” she said. “But it was a long time ago.”

“The longer the grudge, the more it grows,” Beacon replied.

Cold nodded. “It was years ago, back when Phillip and I were partners on the force. I was called in to assist with a raid on a supposed drug and illegal weapons house. I’d been in raids before, but the thought of the unknown always put me on edge.

“This was back before Charles Silvertongue had the reach he did. Gangs were loosely organized, and they didn’t always hire the most reliable creatures for the job. Back then, griffons were hired for intimidation – their stature and the still fresh stories from the war of griffons eating ponies made them candidates as bodyguards.”

Cold swallowed and took a shaky breath. “This gang had one griffon at the house, named Gjord. What we learned later is that he had no criminal history, nothing other than being from a former enemy of Equestria. He was just there to earn some quick money to start a family.”

Beacon inhaled. “Poor guy,” she muttered.

Cold nodded. “The officer in charge of the raid was an insufferable bastard, to say the least. Sexist as they came, especially against mares who actually did their job and got promoted. So he put me in the front, even in front of the breaching pony.

“So, there I was. Riot shield in my magic, pistol in hoof. We announced our presence and broke the door down and made entry…” Cold swallowed again, her mouth growing dry. She didn’t notice her hooves start to shake.

“The first thing that came at us was Gjord, a pistol in his talons. We told him to freeze and drop his gun, but he just stood there. I… I think he was just… stunned. He turned towards us and I… I…” She shut her eyes, trying to will the memory back into its cage.

Beacon hopped off the couch and set a hoof on one of Cold’s shaking ones. The sudden presence of warmth drew Cold from her mind, surprised to see Beacon so close to her. She gulped and continued.

“I shot him dead, right there. My superiors said it was justified, but it wasn’t. I know it wasn’t.” Cold shook her head, gently taking her hoof back from Beacon. “He was an innocent life. I’d faced all manner of creatures trying to kill me, but they were the bad guys. This… this felt like murder.”

“What was Phillip’s reaction?” Beacon asked softly.

“He… he tried to console me. He said it happened in our line of work, good creatures make bad choices. It just… happens.” Cold lowered her head. “It didn’t help, though. By the time he was kicked off the police force a year later, I had found my own way to cope…”

Beacon frowned. “What way is that?”

Cold’s eyes shot open as she realized what she had said. “Nothing!” she snapped. “It’s none of your business.”

Beacon rubbed her chin, looking to the kitchen. “You can hold your alcohol, and it doesn’t seem to be smoking…” she pondered quietly.

Cold felt her cheeks flush. “It’s none. Of. Your. Business,” she seethed, ice seeping into her words.

Beacon looked back at her unfazed. “I’ve looked griffons in the eyes as they were about to tear out my throat and fought alongside dragons five times my size. You’re not going to scare me off, Cold,” she said, her voice calm. “So, please.”

Cold blinked as the words sunk in. She lowered her eyes as her blush changed from one of anger to embarrassment. “I… I was a user,” she muttered, her ears drooping. “Red poppydust. At first it was just… to unwind about killing a creature, to help forget, but it got worse. I made excuses and let it snowball, saying it was for stress and anxiety.” She shut her eyes tightly. “I let others hold it over me and turn me against ponies that were my friends.”

There was silence for a moment as the words hung in the air. Then a warm hoof was set on her shoulder. She looked up at Beacon to find a friendly smile, her warm demeanor finally back.

“I knew a lot of users in the army,” she said. “Soldiers needed to unwind too, and they couldn’t get their hooves on a bottle or a brothel on the front lines. Poppydust was easy to smuggle and conceal. I can’t count how many of them I caught in the act, and I often wonder about all the ones I didn’t.

“I told them all the same thing. Like a parent to a child, I wasn’t mad – just disappointed. They were there to fight a war for their families, their neighbors, their country. I gave them one warning: if they couldn’t bring it upon themselves to overcome a speck of dust, then they weren’t fit to serve Equestria. Most of them shaped up, but I did end up sending a lot home.”

Cold fought back her tears, shame burning her face. “I would’ve been one of the ones sent home.” She carefully pulled out Phillip’s coin, running a hoof over the 10 emblazoned on it.

“That yours?” Beacon asked, nodding to it.

Pocketing the coin again, Cold shook her head. “Phillip’s. He gave it to me, said I could return it after ten months sober. It’d be the longest I’ve been sober.”

“He believes in you then. And I do too.” Beacon chuckled. “I don’t think you’d have been sent home.”

Cold frowned. “Why’s that?”

“Because you got over a speck of dust,” Beacon explained. “You’re here, you’re clean. I’m not going to say the urge isn’t there when it is, but you have something to fight for, to work towards, to overcome it. That’s what those soldiers had.”  

Cold nodded, smiling softly. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Huh.” Beacon smirked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile since I got here. You’re even prettier when you do.”

The smile faded to a scowl. “What’s that supposed to… oh. I see.” Her eyes narrowed.

“What?” Beacon blinked as Cold shook off her hoof.

“I’m no Phillip Finder, but I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way you look at me, and asking about Phillip,” Cold continued. “Getting close to me just to get in my bed. You aren’t the first pony to try their luck.”

It was Beacon’s turn to blush, her ears drooping. “I… look, it’s not like that,” she spluttered. “Yes, I think you’re attractive, but I was serious about the poppydust.” She sighed. “And, yes, outside of this situation I would ask you out on a date.”

Cold scowled, shaking her head and looking away. Still, it wasn’t as harsh and frigid as it had been. “Perhaps we should get back on subject then.”

“Yeah,” Beacon sighed more than said as she walked back over to the couch and sat down. “So, about Gjord – I’ve heard the reports about what happened here in Ponyville, but I highly doubt a dead griffon can carry a grudge.”

“Not him,” Cold shook her head. “He had a mate, named Iron Claw.” Beacon looked up at her quizzically, and she answered with, “It’s the name she chose to go by.”

“What makes you think it’s her?” Beacon rubbed her chin.

“She screamed bloody murder at me when she came to identify Gjord’s body. Spat words in Ponish and Griffonese I’d rather not repeat and had to be escorted out. She’s the only one that comes to mind,” Cold said, getting up and walking over to the kitchen.

“Well, hopefully Phillip and Daring can come up with something from this griffon they know,” Beacon said, watching as Cold rinsed the glass out and put it away.

“Hopefully.” Cold turned and walked toward her bedroom door. “I’m going to head to bed, let me know if something comes up.”

“Will do,” Beacon said. She nibbled her lip as Cold set a hoof on the doorknob. “And Cold. I’m sorry… for prying. It’s a bad habit of mine.”

Cold paused, but didn’t look back at her. “It’s okay,” she finally said, before disappearing into her bedroom.

Beacon huffed a sigh, shaking her head. “Dammit Bea,” she muttered, looking to her radio and gun.

In the quiet of the apartment, the gears in her head kept turning. She went over it in her head: everything Cold had said and the message screaming bloody revenge in literal blood. A cold sensation formed in the pit of her stomach.

She quickly picked up the radio and waited a few minutes. When she was sure Cold was in bed, Beacon switched the radio on with a crackle. “Hot Sauce to Skyberry, Hot Sauce to Skyberry, what’s your standing, over?”

There was another soft crackle before a reply came. “Skyberry to Hot Sauce, I’m at base camp with your freaking manifest. Took them damn long enough. How’s Cool Mint? Over.”

“Icy as ever.” Beacon briefly smirked. “Skyberry, I’m going to need you to suit up and get your wings in the air on the double. I need you to check on something. Here’s your flight orders…”





Phil grunted as they touched down in front of the Gold Griffon’s Head. A few griffons exited the bar, chatting amicably and laughing among themselves. The flashing neon sign that announced the sale of Manticore Rare continued to blink constantly.

The construction site across the street had quieted down for the evening, leaving this side of the city mostly quiet. No cars passed as they crossed the street to the bar.

Stepping inside, they found the bar was busy as it usually was, albeit with a more diverse clientele. Mules and ponies were chatting alongside griffons at the tables and at the bar, intermixed with laughter or curses.

Phillip and Daring weaved their way through the crowd to the bar and claimed two unoccupied seats. A familiar dusty griffon in a white vest and bowtie gave a soft sigh and approached.

“Evening, amica, detective,” Botgilla said. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for a griffon,” Phil said.

“And some Manticore Rare, dry. It’s been a day,” Daring added with a grin.

Botgilla sighed and shook his head. “So, the usual then,” he remarked, pulling out a bottle of dark red spirits and a glass. He set the former in front of Daring and filled it. “Who are you looking for this time?”

“Well, we’re not sure,” Phil said. “Have you heard about what happened at Trademan’s Road today?”

Botgilla nodded. “Was it really murder?”

“Mass murder, eight dead,” Phil said as Daring knocked back most of her drink in one swig. “We think griffons are responsible, and they made a pointed effort to threaten Chief Cold Case.”

“We know that might be a lot of griffons,” Daring remarked. “But do you know anygriff who hates her?”

Botgilla hummed. “There is one. She complained about Chief Cold Case in great detail every time she came by. I don’t know where she lives though.”

“A name and any information you have will help greatly,” Phillip nodded.

“She goes by Iron Claw,” Botgilla explained. “She fought in the war and earned her name by using her talons more than guns. She and Whitestone went back before the war, and it didn’t change after Whitestone defected.”

“Anything else?” Daring asked.

Botgilla nodded. “I know she hated ponies—she still often referred to them as food—but she was a staple in the griffon community after the war. She helped us, Whitestone, everygriff any way she could. And I know Whitestone often helped her, getting her shelter, weapons, and griffons to assist her.”

“That certainly explains the scene at the warehouse,” Phil said to Daring. She nodded and finished off her drink. He turned back to Botgilla. “Could she be using one of Whitestone’s safehouses?”

Botgilla paused, then nodded. “Could be, but you’d have to find them first.”

“Any reason why Iron Claw would target Cold Case in particular?” Daring asked. “I know she’s not the sunniest pony in the world, but still.”

Botgilla took the glass from her and shrugged. “Iron Claw said her mate was killed in a police raid and often talked about what she’d do to the… well, she didn’t use the friendliest of terms for them.” He flashed an apologetic smile.

Phillip blinked. “Hooley dooley…” he muttered. “Thank you, Botgilla. You’ve been very helpful, but we need to get going.” He turned in the barstool halfway, then paused. “How’s Gallus?”

Botgilla smiled. “He’s better. I think he’s finally opening up to the world – even talked about possibly joining the police department.”

“They’d be happy to have him,” Phillip nodded as he hopped off the stool. Daring slapped some bits on the counter and followed him outside.

Once they were across the street, Daring looked at Phillip with a raised eyebrow. “You figured out something in there, I saw that look.”

“I know why this Iron Claw is after Cold,” Phil admitted. “She’s the one who killed Iron Claw’s mate, I remember her talking about it years ago.” At Daring’s scowl, he huffed. “It was in the line of duty – it wasn’t… murder.”

Daring nodded and walked closer to him. “I figured,” she said, smiling. “So, care for another flight home?” She flared her wings.

Phillip scowled and shook his head. “The trolley’s still running at this hour, we’re taking it,” he said, looking to the dark purple sky. 

Daring huffed and lowered her wings. “Sometimes you’re no fun,” she replied. “So, what do we do now?”

“Nothing for the moment. We wait until morning when Pineapple gets back with the ordinance and start tracking down safehouses,” Phil said. “And we need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“A group of trained, highly armed griffons that could be former pirates and a bloodthirsty griffon with a vendetta.” Daring shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like the worst thing we’ve been against.”

Phillip chuckled. “We have been in worse spots, haven’t we?”

Daring smiled, then noticed the stores they were starting to pass in front of on their way to the nearest trolley stop. They weren’t the fanciest shops, like the ones downtown, but they still had a variety of goods. Some glittering jewelry caught Daring’s eyes.

“You know,” she said. “Hearts and Hooves Day is coming up soon.” She batted her eyelashes in Phillip’s direction. “Whatcha getting me?”

Phillip’s blush climbed nearly to his ears and he scoffed. “Once again, it’s a surprise,” he said. “And it’s not going to be a surprise if I tell you.”

Daring pouted. “Well, I hope it’s something good. The better the present, the nicer… my present for you will be, let’s say.” She bumped her flank into Phillip’s with a playful wink. He grunted and his blush brightened, causing Daring to laugh.

Phillip reached into his vest and pulled out his compact, opening and carefully angling it. Daring frowned as she watched him. 

“What’s up?” she asked quietly.

“We’re being tailed,” he replied levelly. “Looks to be a thestral based on the wings, but I can’t see much more than that.”

“Not a griffon, think they’re related to the case?” Daring asked.

“Not sure. Keep walking ahead and act casual,” Phillip said in a low voice, pocketing the compact. “We’ll see if they’re still with us at the trolley stop. Until then, be on guard.”

Daring nodded. “I’m just saying, Phil,” she said in a louder voice. “You treat me nice and I’ll treat you nice.”

Phillip rolled his eyes as he glanced at her.

The thestral fluttered at the corner of Phillip’s eye. They were coasting gently, mostly gliding with only a few, barely audible flaps – a trained maneuver.

“Whoever it is sure knows stealth,” Phillip remarked. “I’m starting to wonder if this is—”

“HIT THE DECK!”

Phillip and Daring spun around at the sudden shout. The ping of bullets against pavement erupted around them. There was a loud whooshing sound and a cry of pain as a heavy mass of flesh crashed into them from the street. The trio tumbled into an alley, their assailant dragging them to the back of a dumpster.

Daring readied a haymaker, but Phillip held her back with a hoof. “Wait,” he ordered.

A security light from an adjacent store buzzed and flickered on the thestral. She hissed, then straightened her Wonderbolts flight suit – or a black and midnight blue version of one. Her green goggles reflected the alleyway light – and the muzzle flashes outside. Along with a utility belt around her barrel, two shoulder holsters and an assault rifle were slung between her wings, which were tucked tightly to her side. She shuffled closer to the two as they ducked from the gunfire, hissing from a gash in her barrel.

“Captain Frost Glide?” Daring asked.

“Yeah,” the thestral panted, fishing around for something out of one of the pouches of her belt. “Lieutenant General thought it’d be best if I tailed you two. Looks like she was right. Motherfucker.”

Phillip eyed the two holes torn on Frost’s wing, the blood dripping down her side. “How bad is it?”

Frost lifted her goggles. “Grazed, I think. I’ll be fine,” she reported. “But I’m grounded. Here.” With one hoof she shrugged off her assault rifle and handed it to Phillip. “Your bogie’s on the roof across from the alley, but he won’t be there long. Looks like he has our gun.”

Daring’s ears swiveled towards the gunfire, wincing at each ricochet. The gears in her head turned: there was no boom or crack before each ricochet. “It’s suppressed, whatever it is,” she said to Phillip, drawing her own revolver.

“If you see him, take the shot,” Frost ordered, fishing out a small cloud and slapping it on her wound with one more hiss. Crystalline ice spread across the wound, and she steadied her once shaky breaths.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Daring grunted. She aimed across the top of the dumpster with her revolver, grimacing at the smell coming from below her. Phillip lay on the ground, the rifle pointed towards the mouth of the alley.

Another hail of silent death. Some bullets pinged off the metal lid of the dumpster. One went rogue and shattered the alleyway light, bathing the trio in darkness.

“Daring, we need to bring him to us,” Phillip said. “We can’t fight him on his terms.”

Daring nodded, pulling out a smoke bomb from her pocket and lobbing it over the dumpster. A white mist shrouded the alleyway entrance. The bullets ceased their assault, and the only sound that followed was a distant snarl.

With one hoof, Frost pulled out one of the pistols, using her other hoof to feel around for the radio clipped to her belt. Daring and Phillip retook their positions against the dumpster.

The sound of asphalt crunching underhoof caused the trio’s ears to perk. Slow, steady steps emanated from the other side the alley. The trio’s eyes focused at the white mist. 

The silhouette coughed. The three ponies replied with gunfire.

The gunner grunted, then bellowed. A muzzle flashed from somewhere in the smoke and Daring and Phillip ducked back into cover.

Phillip yanked his boomerang out of his vest. Narrowed eyes hazarded a glance around the dumpster before Phillip hurled the boomerang upward. A whoosh, then a wooden thwack – judging by the gunner’s squawk, he wasn’t taking Phillip’s toy too kindly.

Stunned but not stopped, the griffon charged headway into the alley. Phillip met him halfway, swinging the rifle like a club. The buttstock caved into the griffon’s knee, his howl bouncing around the alley walls. 

Daring wasn’t going to miss this. She leaped over the dumpster and barreled into the griffon’s chest. The griffon’s gun flew out of his talons but the stiff sensation of padding shot up the nerves of Daring’s hooves. She rolled out of the way of a swiping talon just in time.

The streetlights outside the alley beamed on the griffon. Padded armor and metal guards covered his body, arms, and knees. Phil’s lucky shot made his mark though.  The griffon hobbled on his unprotected shin, then glared up at Daring with a fire in his eyes.

Phillip charged out of the alley, snapped his club to attention, and ducked under another slash. A second strike at the griffon’s other leg sent a sickening crack permeating through the night air. Phillip grinned.

The final blow came from above. Daring bashed her kusarifundo, bashing against the griffon’s skull. He wobbled slightly, then crashed to the ground with a grunt.

Frost Glide holstered her pistol and hobbled out of the alleyway, radio in one hoof. “Great work, you two,” she said. She switched on the radio. “Skyberry to Hot Sauce, get police to—” She paused and looked around the street. “— Cherry Meadows Avenue. I’m hit and we got a bogie… and one of our weapons, over.”

Daring landed next to Frost as Phillip kept a hoof on the griffon and examined the fallen griffon’s gun.

The metal of the BAR glittered in the streetlight’s glow. A suppressor tipped its elongated barrel. A scope sat upon the body, the lens cracked in the scuffle. Daring grimaced at the thought of more.
> Chapter Four: Burning the Brush
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Beacon Fire paused before the Police Department’s infirmary door and knocked on it thrice. “Come in,” came a voice from within.

Beacon slipped inside and shut the door behind her. It was fortunately vacant, save for a lone thestral carefully slipping on her Shadowbolts uniform. Her bandaged barrel disappeared under the fabric.

“How are you feeling, Frost?” she asked, looking over her wings.

Frost smirked and nodded to Beacon, flaring open her wings. “Spent the night recovering,” she replied. “Side’s still sore. I can fly, just nothing fancy for me.”

Beacon nodded. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Frost adjusted her goggles around her neck and tucked her wings. “It’s not the first time I’ve been shot down, Bea,” she replied. “I keep hoping it’s the last though. Meet you in the briefing room.”

Beacon nodded and followed her subordinate out. Cold Case was waiting outside the door, pipe in her mouth. She watched Frost walk down the hall before turning to Beacon. “I certainly wish you would’ve told me sooner about your ‘hypothesis,’” she said coolly.

Beacon sighed. “I’m sorry. It was after you went to bed and I wasn’t entirely sure of it myself. But now that we know that it’s most likely true, we need to be on our guard,” she said. “Did the griffon start talking?”

“Hasn’t said a word, not even for a lawyer,” Cold replied. “One of Whitestone’s former crewmates, judging from the tattoo. We’ll start processing his clothes after the briefing.

“Then let’s not keep them waiting,” Beacon said with a nod.

Cold nodded, working her jaw in thought. “And… thank you. For sending Frost after Phillip and Daring. If she hadn’t been there to intervene, they…” She shook her head. “Let’s just get this briefing over with.” She snorted as she walked past Beacon.

Beacon smiled softly after her. “You’re welcome.”

Cold paused briefly—her only reply. She disappeared through the door Frost had gone through, and Beacon followed shortly after.

The cavernous hall dwarfed the ponies inside. Rows of seats, parted by a single aisle down the middle, faced a semicircular stage with a podium upon it, emblazoned with the department’s shield.

Officers and staff members filled the seats: even Doctor Mortis, Doctor Suunkii, and Twilight were present. Seated in one of the front rows were Phillip and Daring. On the stage on one side of the podium were Captain Hewn Oak and Cold Case. On the other side were Frost Glide and Pineapple Pizza.

Much like his teammate, Pineapple was dressed for combat. He wore mottled grayish camouflage pants and a shirt overlayed with a tactical, bulletproof vest and an army helmet. Aside from his service weapon, an assault rifle was strapped to his back and grenades hung from his vest. The bulges in his messenger bag suggested that it carried identical devices. Most ponies in the audience seemed to squirm when they eyed Pineapple’s walking arsenal, save for Detective Matchstick. She simply gave an appreciative nod.

Beacon made her way down the aisle and climbed onto the stage, standing before the podium. She adjusted the microphone with her magic and looked out over the crowd. “Officers of the Ponyville Police Department,” she announced. “As most of you are aware, a direct threat has been made against Chief Cold Case.”

Cold shifted as dozens of eyes glanced in her direction. She focused her attention to the side of the room, puffing on her pipe with a slight tremor on her hooves.

“The creature behind this message is a griffon known as Iron Claw. Not only does this griffon have extensive military training from her time in the war, she is being backed up by former crewmates of Whitestone and currently has a substantial cache of weapons, including weapons that were stolen from the Equestrian Military during a recent train crash.”

Some of the officers murmured to one another. Beacon cleared her throat before continuing. “These weapons are not the usual street ordinance you may be used to.”

Igniting her horn, she produced the captured weapon from beneath the podium. Officers gasped and more murmured anew. She carefully set the BAR on the podium in front of the microphone.

“This is a modified Blackhorn Assault Rifle, much like those used by Sombra during the war. This modified version has a longer range, a slower firing rate, as well as a sniper scope and suppressor,” Beacon explained. “As of right now, two more of these models are in Iron Claw’s talons.

“In addition to this, there are three ammunition-modified BARs, which are standard BARs equipped with incendiary ammunition runes, as well as two modified BARs with double barrels and larger ammunition drums. In addition to these stolen weapons, we believe these griffons to be armed with illegal military-grade weapons and armor.”

It was the officers’ turn to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Bumblebee gripped Prowl’s hoof when he noticed she was starting to shake.

“I know some of you may have faced BARs before this, but please understand that these are dangerous weapons in the talons of dangerous griffons. They targeted Detectives Finder and Do last night, which is how we recovered this one BAR.” Beacon nodded to the displayed weapon. “We believe that their plan is to target those close to or perceived to be close to Chief Case. Friends, partners, co-workers, we don’t know to what extent they’ll go.”

“Fucking lovely,” Red muttered from the crowd.

“Good thing I hate her guts,” Daring whispered to Phillip while elbowing him in the ribs. Phillips’s only reply was to shake his head.

“Sergeant Pizza has made necessary preparations – you will find your armory stocked with proper riot shields. No matter what your standard loadout is, any on-duty officers working outside the precinct must carry one with them, if not for themselves then for the civilians you serve,” Beacon continued. She turned to Cold. “Chief Case?”

Beacon stood to the side as Cold pocketed her pipe and stepped up to the podium. She took a quiet, steadying breath before looking out over the masses. 

“Our purpose today is for all on-duty officers to get out in the field and track down whatever they can on Iron Claw. Knock on doors and make some noise – the sooner we discern Iron Claw’s location, the sooner we’ll all be safe,” she said. “For the time being, this is our best course of action. Anyone who is not going into the field is to stay at the precinct. All of you are dismissed – stay safe out there.”

As she left the podium and those on stage disembarked, the officers all rose to their feet, and a rumble of conversation filled the room.

Daring noticed Prowl hurry over to where Beacon, Frost, and Pineapple were gathered. She gave another salute and shook each of their hooves. Whatever she said to them was lost in the crowd. Prowl turned and left when Cold joined the group, and she went to join her partner.

“Hey, Prowl,” Daring called, walking over and stopping the thestral. “What was that all about?”

Prowl blinked. “Oh, right, sorry.” She flashed a sheepish grin. “It’s just an honor to be working with them, that’s all.” She jerked her head to Beacon and her teammates. “They’re legends in the armed forces.”

“Oh yeah?” Daring raised an eyebrow and glanced them over.

Prowl nodded. “Captain Glide is known as the ‘Rolling Thunder.’ Not only is she a top Shadowbolt, she’s flown a lot of missions. I heard she had the highest bombing accuracy of any flier – Wonderbolt or Shadowbolt.” Prowl then turned her head towards Pineapple before facing Daring again.

“Sergeant Pizza is known as the ‘Pony Earthquake.’ He’s supposedly from a famous line of chefs and has a sense of smell for explosives. It’s said he’s taken out entire squads of enemies with his explosives. And then there’s Lieutenant General Fire. Where do I even begin with her?”

“Maybe by breathing,” Daring said with a chuckle, setting a hoof on Prowl’s shoulder.

Prowl flushed, trying to calm her panting. “Sorry. The Lieutenant General is known as the ‘Flaming Shield.’ She aided in recovery like I did, and supposedly got shot five times in the chest while defending wounded soldiers.”

Daring whistled. “Damn.”

Prowl nodded. “General Shining Armor recognized her courage and taught her his shield spell. Then she fell under the command of the legendary General White Lotus, who was one of the few ponies to ever earn the status of Zinfahdon, or ‘friend of the dragons.’ She was even there at the Canterlot Wedding – and she’s one of the few ponies in General Armor’s circle of trust.”

“That is some resume,” Daring nodded. “Glad she’s on our side.”

Prowl grinned and nodded quickly, causing Daring to chuckle again.

“We should get to work analyzing the griffon’s clothing,” Suunkii said as he and Phillip both walked to Daring.

“Happy to help, Suun,” Phil said.

“Yeah, I for one don’t want to be shot at again,” Daring said.

As they headed for the exit, Phillip’s eyes narrowed at a familiar yellow earth pony leaning against the back wall. The stallion tipped his ten gallon hat to the detective.

“Deputy Apple?” Phil asked. “What brings you here?”

Braeburn huffed. “I’m still waitin’ on word on Smoky, and I get antsy when my hooves aren’t doin’ anything. I know these ain’t the same creatures who hurt him, but I still want to help. Better than doin’ nothin’.” He pushed off the wall. “I called the office and they gave me clearance.”

“We could use all the support we can get, mate.” Phillip nodded. “Talk to Chief Cold Case.”

Braeburn tipped his hat to them and disappeared into the crowd.

Closer to the stage, Cold Case looked through the crowd. “Detective Matchstick,” she called.

Matchstick halted her conversation with Wheellock and huffed. She nodded to her co-worker and made her way over to the stage, saluting. “Yeah, chief?”

Beacon walked over with Pineapple in tow. “Chief Cold brought it to my attention that she might know another potential target,” she explained. “I need you and Sergeant Pizza to get to the mayor’s office to check for any potential traps and guard her. I’ve called ahead and told her to wait until you got there before entering her office.”

“Chief Case, ma’am?”

Cold turned to find Braeburn standing there, hat across his chest. “Yes? Who are you?” she asked, her eyes falling on the six-pointed badge.

“Deputy Braeburn Apple with the Appleloosa’s Sherriff’s Office, ma’am. My office gave me clearance to help in any way I can,” Braeburn reported. “My husband was in the train wreck.”

Cold blinked. Beacon walked forward and set a hoof on his shoulder. “Know that those responsible have been dealt with,” she said firmly.

Braeburn nodded, replacing his hat. “I know, ma’am. But I’d rather be on my hooves doing something than waitin’ around frettin’.”

“Good stallion.” Beacon gave a firm nod.

“You can help Sergeant Pizza and Detective Matchstick with guarding the Mayor,” Cold said. “The more hooves there the better.”

“Yeah, the more the merrier,” Matchstick sighed. She turned to Cold and saluted again. “We’ll do our best, chief.”

“Let’s just swing by the armory first and suit up,” Pineapple said.





“And you’re sure my office is safe?” Mayor Margaret Mare asked as Pineapple and Matchstick entered her room. Braeburn followed after them, securing the door behind him.

“Yes, Ma’am, we’ve searched the building top to bottom,” Pineapple said, nodding to the windows. The blinds were shut and the curtains drawn for good measure. “They don’t have thermal scopes, so as long as they don’t see you, they can’t hit you.”

“How reassuring.” Margaret grimaced. “I can’t believe I’m being targeted again.”

“This sort of thing happen often, ma’am?” Braeburn asked. He rested his riot shield against the door and worked on one of the portable barricades Pineapple had brought with him.

“Just one other time,” Margaret said, taking a cautious seat behind her desk. She kept glancing at the windows over her shoulder. “Carving a message into a floating corpse was a rather… gruesome way to go about it. Are you sure they’re after me?”

“Miss Mayor, Detectives Finder and Do were attacked last night,” Matchstick said. “The Lieutenant General believes they’re going after those close to Chief Case first before going after her.”

“And we are friends.” Margaret nodded. “Very well. I trust you’ll be helping to escort me home as well?”

“Us and all the officers guarding town hall,” Pineapple said with a nod. He carted over a portable barricade to one of the windows and set it up. Matchstick set up another barricade at another window. Margaret nodded, busying herself with some paperwork on her desk.

“So, how exactly do BARs get modified anyway?” Matchstick asked, wiping her brow. “We’ve seen them here but… just the normal ones.”

“Well, there’s two different stories I’ve heard,” Pineapple said. He adjusted his barricade to face the window at the right angle. “One story is that Sombra got desperate towards the end of the war and started experimenting with his favorite weapon.”

Matchstick raised an eyebrow. “And the other?”

“Well, we in the army believe that, after the BARs got revealed, officers were given unwritten permission to capture them to be used against Sombra’s forces. Some of the weapon experts got their hooves on some and tinkered with them,” Pineapple explained. “Either way, we’ve been finding and destroying caches of modified BARs for years now.”

“Damn, lucky none of them made their way to Appleloosa,” Braeburn said. “The weapon y’all recovered looks bad enough. But incendiary and double-barreled? Sounds like a nightmare.”

Somepony knocked. Everypony’s hair stood on end. Mayor Mare made the motion to duck under her desk.

“Miss Mayor?” came a voice from the other side.

The three ponies in the office released their collectively held breaths. Braeburn unlocked the door and cracked it open, flashing the mare on the other side an apologetic smile. “Miss Nellie, we gotta keep this door locked unless it’s an emergency,” he said in a gentle, polite tone.

“Sorry, I just wanted to know if the mayor wanted lunch,” Nellie said, peeking through the crack.

Margaret blinked and checked the clock on the wall. “With all my appointments canceled I’ve completely lost track of time,” she grumbled. She turned to the door. “The usual, Nellie! And take care out there!”

Nellie nodded and walked away. Braeburn quietly shut the door behind her and locked it again. “She seems awfully worried about you, ma’am,” he remarked.

Margaret smiled and nodded as she relaxed back into her chair. “She can be jittery at times, but she always has the best intentions at heart.”

Gunfire and glass shards rained into the office. A dark shadow zoomed in front of the windows. Matchstick and Pineapple dove behind the barricades at the windows, while Braeburn held up his riot shield. The mayor ducked under her desk, kicking the chair behind her so hard it crashed into the wall.

Crackling, then an oppressive, yellow glow—Pineapple glanced over his barricade. A small flame licked at the curtain around the small bullet hole. He followed its trajectory into the mayor’s desk, where a small wisp of smoke waved about next to Margaret. “Miss Mayor, get out of there!”

Braeburn galloped over to the desk. One shaking hoof wrapped tightly around the handle of his shield; the other and helped the mayor crawl out of her once-safe hiding spot. 

Matchstick was glowing red, both from the flush on her face and the magic strobing on her horn. Her extinguishing spells bubbled the flames while beads of sweat dripped from her temple. “What do we do?!”

“Put out the desk and get behind a barricade!” Pineapple ordered.

Matchstick nodded and swatted out the smoking bullet holes in the desk with her magic. The flaming curtains tore off and fell away. Pineapple ran over and pulled her behind his barricade.

A second round of gunfire thundered through the windows.

Braeburn raised his shield in front of the mayor. Scorching bullets clanged off the shield. Everypony’s ears perked up at another light, metallic clattering sound – it wasn’t coming from the bullets bouncing on Braeburn’s shield. 

The sun’s harsh glare flooded the room. It glinted off the strings crumpled on the floor, severed in several places by the bullets. The blinds lay crumpled right beside them, having fallen off the window. The gears in Marchstick’s mind turned when she jerked her head up to face the window: the second round of gunfire had destroyed the windows’ blind controls, causing them to fall to the floor.

“Shit!” Matchstick swore. “We’re sitting ducks!”

Pineapple drew his assault rifle and glanced over his barricade. He squinted through the fiery haze of the burning curtains piled up against the windows. The dark shadow emerged again. The gun barrel glinted in the sun. It was then that Pineapple returned fire.

The griffon outside flew out of range. None of Pineapple’s rounds made their mark. He scooted his messenger bag around and rummaged through it. “Not yet we’re not,” he said.

He pulled out a pair of round, glassy grenades. A swirling cloud within them beckoned for release. Their blue glow stood out against the dangerous yellows of the sun and the flames. Pulling the pins on both of them, Pineapple lobbed one across the room and dropped the other on the opposite side of his barricade.

Pineapple led Matchstick around to hide in front of the desk. The glass orbs shattered, and a thick white fog swelled and swirled. When it touched the flaming curtains, the fog darkened to grey and rumbled. The soft patter of water accompanied the condensed clouds drizzling on the fires, snuffing them out.

The cloud blanketed the windows, and everypony’s hair stood on end as the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Braeburn whistled appreciatively by the door.

Matchstick smirked at Pineapple, teeth chattering. “N-Not bad,” she said. “Now wh-what do we do?”

Pineapple rubbed his legs for warmth. “They’ll have to come to us,” he said. “They lost line of sight.”

Matchstick nodded firmly and drew her service revolver. Each peeked around a corner of the desk, weapons leveled at the window. Braeburn kept one leg in front of the mayor, who was backed against the barricade by the door, and leveled his shield towards the windows.

A dark shadow approached the window. Then, a rain of glass shredded through the indoor cloud cover. With a floor-shaking thud, the griffon landed in the room. With one talon, he swatted away the clouds. With the other, he pointed his BAR through the clouds, reddish-orange runes glowing on its ammunition drum.

Matchstick rolled away from the desk, sprang up to her two hind legs, and fired her weapon thrice. One bullet pinged off metal. The griffon roared as he charged her.

She sidestepped one swat of talons and ducked, dodging the BAR’s line of fire. The heat nonetheless penetrated her core, her ears pounded from the sound. Matchstick’s eyes widened as she grunted: her earlier dodge came at a price. She fell to the floor and gasped. The griffon made to stab her with his talons.

Pineapple wouldn’t let that happen. He swung his assault rifle round and fired several focused bursts. Each impact elicited a grunt from the griffon, culminating with a cry of pain as one bullet found a gap in his armor. He stumbled back.

In a practiced motion, Pineapple yanked Matchstick away by one leg. With his other hoof he dropped his assault rifle and reached for his vest. He ripped off one grenade—along with the pin—and lobbed it at the griffon.

The black glass orb pulsed white. “Cover your eyes!” Pineapple barked, turning away as the grenade started flashing faster and faster. The ponies listened, but the griffon, seething and writhing on the floor jerked his head up in time to see the grenade inches from his beak.

Blinding white. The room shook. Everypony’s coats stood on end. A clap of thunder louder than a freight train blew out the other windows. 

Matchstick was the first to rise out of cover and open her eyes. The singed griffon twitched once before collapsing to the floor. Smoke leaked from his feathers—especially a large black patch on his neck, where the lightning bolt sank its teeth into its victim. “Fuck.” Matchstick rubbed her ears. “Should’ve worn earplugs.”

“Sorry,” Pineapple said over his own hearing loss. “At least it’s only temporary.”

“Damn,” Braeburn walked over to the griffon’s corpse and poked it with his hoof. From behind, the mayor hesitantly peeked, only to slide back down. Her wide, bloodshot eyes betrayed an inner storm.

As the ringing in their ears began to subside, another faint sound could be heard: more gunfire, this time more distant.

“Those aren’t BAR shots,” Pineapple said, picking up his assault rifle and ejecting the magazine. “That must be officers.”

“Shit, another one?” Matchstick hissed, reaching for her own ammunition.

The door swung open. A second party crasher stormed into the room—submachine gun in one talon and pistol in the other.

Braeburn rolled, leaving the mayor against the barricade clear of the door. As he got onto his hind legs, one hoof reached for his holster.

Two shots barked out.

The griffon shrieked. The submachine and pistol clattered to the floor as the griffon clutched his bloodied talons and fell to his knees. Still smoking, Braeburn’s Filly Police Special pressed on the griffon’s forehead.

“Put those talons up,” Braeburn ordered, the warmth in his voice replaced by an icy chill.

Pineapple and Matchstick stared at Braeburn’s performance, the latter letting out a drawn-out whistle.

Before the griffon even had the chance to consider his options, there was a loud metal thwack. The griffon joined his weapons on the floor.

Braeburn blinked. He didn’t do that. The ponies in the office looked up to see who intervened. Nervous Nellie‘s wild eyes gazed at the griffon. After several more ragged pants, she dropped a now-dented frying pan to the floor with a clatter.

“Nellie!” The mayor gasped as she stood up behind the barricade. She let out a grunt as her secretary rushed over and hugged her tightly.

Words spilled out like a broken dam. “I’m so sorry I heard the gunfire and I came back as soon as I could and… and…”

The mayor patted her on the back, shushing her quietly.

Braeburn blew the smoke from his gun barrel and holstered his gun again.

“Damn, deputy,” Pineapple remarked. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

Braeburn flashed a shy smile. “Well, I’ve had a lot of practice disarming outlaws – you’ll find a lot of crooks out Appleloosa way with holes in their hooves courtesy of me. Griffons are just bigger targets.”

“My question is—” Matchstick said, looking to Nellie as Pineapple reached for his radio. “—where the hell she got that pan from?”

“Don’t think whoever she got it from is gonna want it back,” Pineapple remarked.





Phillip groaned and rubbed his eyes as he took a step back from the microscope. He looked about Suunkii’s lab, where he and Twilight were busy doing the same. The jailed griffon’s clothing was laid out on the tables, along with his various pieces of armor. Daring was scanning them with Phillip’s magnifying glass.

“Any luck, Suun?” he asked, walking over.

Suunkii gave a sigh and shook his head, rubbing at his own eyes. “The dust and dirt particles are nothing of note – they are found all over Ponyville,” he replied. “No clue as to where the hideout could be.”

“Not even a speck of salt from the sea or a foreign leaf,” Twilight added with a sigh.

“Well, we have to find something,” Daring said. “There’s no way they could not have something from the hideout’s area.” She leaned in close to a sleeve on the griffon’s cloak. “Aha!”

Twilight, Suunkii, and Phillip all rounded the table as Daring held out a hoof. “Tweezers,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on the object in question.

Twilight floated over a pair and Daring snatched them in her hoof. Carefully, she plucked something from the fabric and held the tweezers up to show the group.

It was a tiny sliver of wood, a tenth of the thickness of a toothpick. Daring handed it over to Suunkii who rushed it to a microscope slide and slid it under his microscope.

“What is it?” Twilight asked.

“Wood, oak. Golden oak, I believe,” Suunkii reported. “Golden oak lumber hasn’t been used in years, not since the early days of Ponyville. They were the first trees cut down in the area. This splinter shows quite some age.”

“So that had to have come from some kind of antique then,” Daring said.

Phillip rubbed his chin. “Or something old. Perhaps the Under?”

“If it’s from the Under, that’s a lot of ground to cover,” Twilight said. “And a lot of places for Iron Claw to hide.”

There came a knock from the lab door and Beacon Fire stepped inside. Cold Case, who had come in and out several times to check their progress, followed after her.

“Well, I have good news and better news,” Beacon announced. “The good news is the mayor was attacked.”

“And just how is that good news?” Cold asked testily.

“Well, while a few officers were shot, the only fatality was one of the two griffons. The mayor’s safe, and we recovered one of the incendiary weapons,” Beacon listed off. “I’d say the positives outweigh the negatives.”

“Don’t tell me the better news is the rest of the griffons are surrounding us as we speak,” Daring said with a quirked eyebrow.

Beacon frowned at her. “The better news is we got a tip on Iron Claw’s location. They said they’d speak with Finder and Do behind a bar called ‘McNeighly’s’ and that they’re to come alone,” she said, looking between them.

“Did the caller speak with a Mareish accent?” Phil asked. Cold’s eyes widened.

“I believe they did, yes.” Beacon nodded, then frowned. “Do you know them?”

“I think I have a good idea of who it is,” Phil replied. He thought for a moment, then grunted. “Fine, I’ll let Coin have his spiel.”

“I’ll go with you,” Beacon said, setting a hoof on his shoulder. “I was planning on going anyway – you’ve already been attacked once. There’s no guarantee Iron Claw won’t try again.”

“I’d appreciate it, Lieutenant General. Might be safe to stay back as to not spook the caller, though,” Phil nodded. He turned to Daring. “Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Daring huffed, slapping on her pith helmet. As the two walked towards the lab door, Beacon followed.

Cold set a hoof on her shoulder to stop her, glancing at the Lieutenant General. “Is the mayor alright?”

“The mayor’s fine. A little shaken, but unharmed. After a day like today, she clocked out early, and Pineapple, Matchstick, and Braeburn are escorting her home,” Beacon replied.

“Good.” Cold was silent for a moment, then glanced at her again. “Thank you, and keep them safe.”

“Will do,” Beacon said with a smirk and a wink before exiting the lab.

Cold Case watched her go for a moment, keeping her back to Suunkii and Twilight to hide the blush on her face until her icy mask made it subside. She let out a huff and exited the lab.

“What’s going on between Chief Case and the Lieutenant General?” Twilight asked Suunkii with a raised eyebrow.

Suunkii gave a low chuckle and a smile. “Fire melts ice, Twilight Sparkle, but it can sometimes take some time,” he replied sagely.





McNeighly’s hadn’t changed since the last time Daring and Phillip had been there, though they were short one private detective. Beacon Fire followed a few feet behind them, wearing her sunglasses.

As they rounded the corner McNeighly’s sat on, they paused just before the mouth of the alleyway. Daring and Phillip turned to Beacon, who gave a nod.

The two detectives slipped into the alleyway while Beacon crept up to the mouth of the alley. She leaned against the bar’s wall casually just out of sight from the alley itself, ears perked to listen in.

There, leaning against the bar’s backdoor was Coin Toss himself, flipping his coin. Upon their arrival, he caught the coin and pocketed it, eyeing them up and down before looking behind them.

“Thought you two weren’t showin’,” he remarked. “No one followin’ ya?”

“No, we came alone,” Phil said, scowling at the Mareish stallion.

“Ah, good, good,” Coin said with a sigh of relief. “Can’t be too careful these days.”

“So spill it – where’s Iron Claw hiding?” Daring asked. Phillip held up a hoof to stop her further, narrowing his eyes at Coin Toss.

“I’m still not convinced you’re just going to give us the location,” he said. “What’s in it for you?”

Coin blinked in surprise, holding up a hoof. “Lad, lass, ya wound me,” he said. “Can’t a citizen call in a tip to serve his community?”

“The only reason you count as a citizen is because you’re not in jail yet,” Daring replied with a frown.

“So what is it, Coin?” Phil demanded.

Coin looked between them and huffed in annoyance. “Well, if you two aren’t interested, maybe I won’t tell you where she’s at then,” he said, smoothing out his coat.

As he stood upright and opened the door behind him, the door handle glowed orange and slammed shut. He whirled around as hoofsteps entered the alley.

Beacon Fire walked past the two detectives and right up to the stallion. She slowly removed her aviators and hooked them on her chest pocket, revealing her golden eyes glaring down at him with the intensity of a sun.

“Hello, Mr. Coin Toss,” she said. “While you may not be interested in talking with these detectives, the princesses are very interested in talking with you.”

Coin gulped, backing against the door. His eyes fell on the army insignia on her jacket. “Ya lying bastards!” he spluttered. He reached for the gun in his shirt, but his hoof was snared in amber magic.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” Beacon said quietly, eyes focusing into his. “Here’s the deal, Mr. Coin Toss. You tell us where Iron Claw is, and perhaps I’ll forget we got it from you. And I won’t drag you before the princesses. Because believe me – they really want a word with you."

“Y-Yer bluffin’!” Coin spat, shaking more. “Ya got nothin’ on me!”

“Well, if you’re willing to toss that coin of yours again,” Beacon said with a smug smile. “Maybe it’ll be tails, maybe it’ll be your head.”

Coin swallowed hard, looking past her to Phillip and Daring. Phillip looked away while Daring grinned and gave him a shrug.

“Alright! Alright, I’ll talk!” Coin said, removing his hoof. “Look, I’ll admit I wanted a fair cut of Iron Claw’s weapons—and I was willin’ to pay a fair bit of bits for ‘em—but that bird’s crazy! Scared me and the lads off when we went to meet her at the old Saddlebags Brothel.”

“And how is that supposed to help us?” Beacon demanded.

Coin shuddered. “She said she wanted to meet us ‘close to home.’ I figured she lives close to that old rundown building. I swear on me mother’s name that’s all I know!”

“The splinter,” Phil muttered to Daring. “Is there an entrance to the Under there?”

Daring paused for a moment and nodded. “There should be a tunnel that leads to the old Ponyville Marketplace. Scoped it out once,” she whispered.

“And how sure are you on that?” Beacon asked, leaning in closer. Sparks flew from her horn, bathing Coin’s face in heat.

“Look, I’m just tellin’ ya what I know!” Coin said, trying to back further away. “We were at that warehouse, we heard about what they did. We aren’t endin’ up like those Disciples.”

Beacon studied the stallion for a few minutes more, before exhaling through her nose. “We’re done here,” she said, replacing her sunglasses. As she walked out the alleyway, Phillip and Daring watched Coin Toss scramble into the bar and slam the door behind him before following her.

“Some fine interrogating,” Phil remarked.

“Do the princesses really want that creep that badly?” Daring asked.

Beacon snorted and a satisfied smile crossed her muzzle. “No, I was just playing that up. The Mareish Mob’s a pain in the side, but the princesses have better things to do.”

“Well, at least we have a location,” Phil grunted.

As they disappeared down the street, a dark shadow took off from the roof of the bar.





Iron Claw was seated at an old wooden table. It had seen better days, even after years underground, and looked ready to fall apart if someone sneezed on it – though it somehow held the lantern that lit the room.

Her lone golden eye was focused on her task: running a whetstone against the sides of her iron talons that earned her her name. They lay in her lap, the whetstone in the hand that usually wielded them. Her other hand was long gone, replaced by a hook that resembled a scythe blade.

She only paused and looked up when a griffon came to the broken doorway.

“Iron Claw, that råtta Coin Toss sold us out,” he hissed, talons clenched into a fist.

“Leave him,” Iron Claw replied, going back to sharpening. “The vermin has done his work. It’s that tik I want.”

“So what are your orders?” the griffon asked, fist slowly unclenching.

Iron Claw smiled, looking down to the double barreled BAR that leaned against her stool. The cold smile trailed up to the griffon.

“Let them come. We, and Kriga, will be waiting.”
> Chapter Five: Thunder Down Under
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning light filtered through the front lobby of the Ponyville Police Department. It was unusually quiet, with no creature to be seen save for the receptionist and two mares near the front doors.

The light shined off Beacon Fire’s golden armor which covered her from chest to hooves. A trio of silver stars were lined across the front of the chest plate, denoting her rank. Her normal flowing mane was tied back into a strict ponytail. A single-hoofed broadsword was sheathed at her side – its golden handle and guard matched her armor, and a round fire opal was seated in the pommel.

She looked to Cold Case, who had taken to one of the seats. Her eyes were slightly red and distant and she was staring straight ahead. The scent of cherry and pine hung in the air from her constant smoking, and even though her pipe was now empty, she kept nibbling on the tip.

Beacon looked at her sympathetically and sighed. “You don’t have to come, Cold,” she said softly. “I can handle this on my own, you and your department have done enough and have been through enough already.”

Cold’s look hardened to a scowl as she pulled out the purple coin, tilting it in the sunlight so it glinted off the 10. “No,” she said quietly. “I’ve let my problems push me around enough. I’m coming with you on this.” She pocketed the coin and looked up at her.

Beacon nodded, then turned to the sound of the front doors opening. Phillip and Daring rushed inside, followed quickly by Frost Glide. The thestral gave the Lieutenant General a brief salute before hurrying down the hall and disappearing into the briefing room.

“What’s the news?” Beacon asked. Cold got to her feet, pocketing her pipe. Her black coat shifted to reveal the presence of body armor underneath.

“Looks like Coin was telling the truth,” Phil reported. “There’s signs of a lot of recent foot traffic, griffons from the feathers we found.”

“It’s in the basement,” Daring continued. “There’s some loose floorboards that are cleaner than the ones around them. Underneath there’s a passage big enough for a griffon – if my memory serves me right, should be a straight shot to the Ponyville Marketplace.”

“Then we most likely have our target. Excellent work.” She turned to Cold. “Let’s go debrief your department.”

Cold nodded, and the group headed down the hall and through the door Frost had gone through.

For the second time, Beacon and Cold made their way to the stage, where Captain Hewn Oak, Frost Glide, and Pineapple Pizza were waiting. Officers and staff filled the seat once again, though more seemed to be wearing body armor and a few had their riot shields with them. The room went quiet as the Lieutenant General walked up the aisle alongside the police chief, armor clinking with each step.

As Cold joined Captain Oak and Phillip and Daring took their seats, Beacon walked up to the podium. The golden helmet that completed her armor sat on the podium facing the audience.

Beacon cleared her throat. “Ladies, gentlecolts, creatures of Equestria,” she addressed. “I want to start by saying thank you for putting your lives on the line and for helping us in our investigation. Your city is in good, and capable, hooves.” She glanced at Cold, whose face remained stoic.

“As of this morning, we have identified the possible hideout for Iron Claw and the remainder of her cohorts. It is located within what you all know as the Under, in the old Ponyville Marketplace. It will be dangerous to get to, and even more dangerous to confront these griffons.

“If any of you wish to join our raid, you may, but I don’t want any of you to feel pressured to. You have all done more than enough already. With a single call, I can have a platoon of royal guards here by this afternoon and they will help me finish this matter. Those who wish to join me, please speak now.”

Silence lingered over the crowd for a few seconds. Eyes glanced between one another in debate. Cold Case looked out over the crowd and did her best to keep her icy mask firmly in place – but it didn’t stop the ice in her stomach.

Then, Prowl stood up, causing the rest to look at her. She puffed out her chest and gave a salute.

“With all due respect, Lieutenant General, these are just some griffs with guns,” she said. “We’ve handled worse than that. I’ll go with you.”

It didn’t take another second for Bumblebee to stand up and salute as well. “I go where my partner goes,” he said. “For the chief.”

Phillip smiled as he and Daring rose to their hooves. He nodded to Cold. “For the chief.”

“Pain in the ass as she may be,” Daring said with a smirk and saluting with her wing.

“Ah, Tartarus,” Red muttered next to them, getting to his hooves. “For the chief.”

One by one, patrol officers and detectives rose from their seats one by one, each proclaiming in their own way “For the chief.” When the proclamations were done, every active duty officer was standing at attention.

Beacon looked on in surprise, as did Cold. Her mask slipped as she stared in wide-eyed surprise before quickly composing herself.

“Then from this moment until victory, you are under my command,” Beacon said. “And, it goes without saying, a part of Equestria’s finest. For Police Chief Cold Case and for Equestria!” She raised a hoof in the air and the crowd cheered and stomped.

“Yeehaw!” Deputy Braeburn cheered from the back, waving his hat in the air.

Cold shrunk back to try and hide her embarrassed blush and failed. Captain Hewn Oak crossed over and held out his hoof to shake, which Beacon promptly did.

“May the Princess watch over us, and drive the snakes from their den,” he said firmly.

Beacon nodded firmly. She levitated her helmet over, carefully fishing her ponytail through a hole in the back while sliding it over her horn and ears. When it was finally in place, her ponytail looked like a fiery knight’s plume.

“Let’s start hunting our snakes,” she said.





The Saddlebags Brothel still stood in one of Ponyville’s older neighborhoods out of sheer ignorance to time and the city’s lengthy and costly list of condemned buildings in need of demolition. 

It could’ve been an elegant mansion once, its three stories towering over the suburban homes around it. However, its paint had long since faded and peeled and every single window was broken. All that remained of the red lamp by the front door was a few jagged shards. The front porch was pockmarked with holes and its railing was gone. The brothel’s sign lay propped up against the porch by the front stoop, barely legible.

The neighbors were surprised with a fleet of police cruisers and vans pulled up to the residence, lights flashing. They began to scatter and head inside when the cops poured out, dressed in body armor and brandishing assault rifles and riot shields. Captain Hewn Oak arrived along with a pair of ambulances, their paramedics awaiting on standby.

Beacon, Cold, Phillip, and Daring piled out of Beacon’s Commander Super Six and headed for the front door, followed by some of the detectives.

“We should make sure the building’s clear before we head into the basement,” Phil said, looking up at the old structure.

Red looked to the front door. Numerous chains crisscrossed the battered oak door, each locked by a padlock. A sign declaring the building as condemned hung over the peep hole.

“Easier said than done,” he remarked. “Unless the back entrance is any different.”

Matchstick rolled her eyes and pointed at the various broken windows on the first floor. “Take your pick,” she said flatly.

Red grumbled under his breath and motioned to the gathered officers. He walked around to one of the front windows and smashed out its remains with his riot shield. Another pegasus officer and a thestral officer walked over and the trio flew inside.

“Police!” came Red’s muffled bark. “Anyone in here come out with your hooves up!”

The gathered ponies waited with baited breath. After several minutes of rattles and thumps from within, Red and the officers reemerged.

“Upper floors are clear,” he reported.

“Alright, basement’s around the back,” Daring said, walking around the side of the house. The rest of the group followed.

The basement entrance was a pair of old wooden doors next to the back porch, slanted over a flight of stone stairs. The chains that should’ve been wrapped around the metal handles lay in the unkempt grass, rusted and broken.

Beacon motioned to the officers, who raised their shields and weapons. Amber magic gripped the doors and flung them open, letting loose the stale air of rot and earth. The officers descended like an armored tidal wave.

“Police!” Flash barked from within the ranks. “Come out with your hooves up!”

No one responded. The uneven floorboards protested the police’s intrusion. The wooden support beams around them groaned occasionally. What had been the wooden staircase was nothing more than a handrail dangling against the wall, leaving the door hanging over a precipice.

There were signs of recent activity, however. It looked like there had been a rush job to sturdy the support beams by nailing new wood onto the old, and there was litter scattered about in the corners. 

Sure enough, against the western wall was a section of floor that looked disturbed, the dust long dissipated. If one focused their sense of smell, the earthy scent wafted from those floorboards.

“We’re clear,” Red barked. Several unicorn officers lit their horns to light up the basement as Cold and Beacon descended.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Beacon said, turning to the officers. “Captain Glide, Officers Prowl and Bumblebee, stay up here and guard the house. Keep your radios on and make sure no one slips in on our six.”

“You can count on us, Lieutenant General,” Prowl said, she and Frost giving salutes before the trio went back up the stairs.

“The rest of you, phalanx in a wedge,” Beacon continued. “Means stick close together and keep your shields up until we get to the target and keep an eye out for ambushes.” She turned to Daring. “What’s the marketplace like?”

“It was a walled-in space, roughly square, with four entrances,” Daring said, shutting her eyes as she played back her memory. “There’s no gates, but they probably have the entrances fortified. There’s another tunnel on the opposite side, but I don’t know where it leads.”

Beacon paused for a moment. “Alright, here’s how we’ll hit it,” she said. “Sergeant Pizza and I will helm the attack on their front gate, the gate closest to the tunnel. We’ll draw as many of them as we can. A smaller secondary group will make their way around the Marketplace with their shields up and block off the back tunnel.

“Chief Case, Detective Finder, Detective Do, Detective Red, Detective Flash, you’ll be the secondary group. Take a few officers with you. Stay low and try not to draw their attention.” Beacon turned to the officers. “If anyone gets hit down there, raise your shield and do what it takes to get them out of there and to the ambulances – I’ll not have anyone dying in a hole, am I clear?”

Most of the officers murmured affirmatives. Beacon nodded firmly and ignited her horn. The floorboards covering the entrance were flung to the side, and the Lieutenant General led the way in, followed by Cold Case and the officers.

The tunnel was indeed wide enough for a griffon, but barely so. The gradually sloping path seemed well traveled, with talon prints overlapping back and forth in the dirt. The officers found them stretched rather thin to make their way inside, the last few keeping their shields on their back and glancing over their shoulders.

“Tight fit,” Daring remarked. Phillip grunted.

“How much further until the Marketplace?” Cold asked without looking behind her, her horn sparking with blue magic.

“Not too far,” Daring replied. “This is a shallower part of the Under.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Flash said, glancing at the stone around them.

“Easy there, jackaroo,” Phil muttered. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

They saw the Marketplace before they got out of the tunnel – multiple glowing orbs like a dozen monster eyes. Beacon and the other unicorns snuffed out their horns as they quietly exited the tunnel, crouching low.

The Ponyville Marketplace was indeed four cobblestone walls, with a partially crumbled tower at each corner that nearly reached the ceiling of the cavern it resided in. What had once been a welcoming sight to ponies of old now looked like a monster waiting to pounce. 

Numerous rocks had fallen between the tunnel entrance and the front gate, which as Daring had suspected was barricaded with stones and broken wooden debris. The golden glows they had seen were lanterns hanging from the battlements of the walls and by the front entrance.

The officers huddled up behind the rocks. Beacon, Cold, Phillip, and Daring took one closer to the Marketplace as Red hoof-selected the remainder of the secondary group. Wheellock and Braeburn, both now armed with a scoped Summerfield Rifle, dropped to their bellies and took aim at the towers.

“Think you can handle that?” Wheellock whispered to him.

Braeburn smirked and tipped his hat. “I practice in my spare time. Point out an apple on a tree and I can get it for ya,” he replied.

As Red came over with a trio of officers, he nodded to Beacon. She looked to the others gathered with her and took a deep breath, letting out slowly.

“Time to make some noise,” she whispered.

Slowly and quietly, she rose to her hooves and approached the front gate. Her horn started sparked and blazed, and an amber magic shield with a flame emblazoned on the front of it materialized before her. The amber haze spread outward until a nearly-spherical bubble hovered over the group, wisps appearing on the surface as if it were aflame like a small sun.

“Iron Claw!” Beacon’s voice echoed through the cavern. Even the officers tensed from its tone. “This is Lieutenant General Beacon Fire of the Equestrian Army. This is your one and only chance to surrender peacefully. Lay down your arms and come out with your talons up!”

There was a brief commotion from within the fortified compound – no doubt griffons scrambling at Beacon’s sudden appearance. Clicks and clacks leaked out of the windows, and gun barrels started poking out of windows and along the battlements.

A lone griffon stood atop one of the parapets, glaring down at Beacon Fire with a single golden eye – an eyepatch covering her left. She gripped the cloak that covered her body with one talon and tore it off, dropping it behind her.

Iron Claw’s namesake glinted malevolently on her good set of talons – equally matched by her scythe-like hook for her other hand. Her brown and white feathers were sparse in places, showcasing the battle scars that decorated her like tattoos. In any case, most of her other feathers were hidden under armor plating – the forearm pieces in particular had bent claws for breaking weapons and tearing into victims.

Iron Claw flared her wings, both prosthetics. “Give me Cold Case,” she said, her tone icy. “Or I will make you ponies suffer.”

Phillip glanced at Cold, who swallowed quietly and readied her service weapon. Sweat dripped down her stoic mask.

“I’m afraid that’s not part of the deal,” Beacon replied sternly.

“Then die!” Iron Claw spat, disappearing behind the parapet.

And then all hell broke loose.

Muzzle flashes lit up the Marketplace. The air filled with lead. The shield pulsed with every bullet it broke apart. Only white hot rounds from the incendiary BARs made it through. They hissed and warped the surrounding air, melting into the ground mere inches around Beacon.

Gritting her teeth, Beacon retreated behind the rocks as bullets pinged around her. “Hold your fire!” she barked.

Officers poked their rifles around the rocks, ducking from the incendiary rounds. Over the gunfire, grunts and cries of pain reached Beacon’s ears. They twitched, and she grimaced.

“Incendiaries are in the windows,” she called back to Wheellock and Braeburn, grunting as she maintained the shield and opened holes for the snipers. She turned to Phillip and the others. “After they’re done, we can make cover for you.”

Phillip nodded. Daring gulped, ducking as bullets whizzed past her head. Cold took deep breaths, trying to steady her hammering heart.

“Acknowledged!” Wheellock barked. Through the hole in the shield, she leveled her weapon towards one of the windows.  Rounds kicked sand up in her face, but Wheellock’s only reply was to exhale and tighten her grip on the Summerfield. Her aim wouldn’t be thrown off that easily.

Summerfield let out a sharp retort, Braeburn’s following not long after.

Silence.

“Cover!” Beacon ordered. “Get the injured back!”

A few officers swapped their guns for their shields as they reached for their fallen comrades and started to drag them to safety. It wouldn’t be long before the griffons would start firing again. One officer was coughing up blood from a shot that had went past his vest. His partner urgently whispered encouragement as he pulled him back.

Pineapple offered a pair of grenades to Matchstick, and the two of them dashed from one rock to another. Matchstick’s hooves shook as she cradled the explosives near her chest. One slipped. Although Matchstick caught it before it fell, her hooves never stopped trembling.

“Nervous?” Pineapple asked with a breathless laugh.

“Nah!” Matchstick grinned. “I disarm explosives for a living; not often I get to use one!”

“Just pull the pin and aim for the wall,” Pineapple replied.

To demonstrate he pulled the pin on one grenade and lobbed it over the rock. It detonated into a large fogbank of white clouds against the left side of the wall. Matchstick fiddled with the pin on hers and used her magic to fire it towards the right side, where it blanketed the wall in another cloud.

“Aww, not frags?” Matchstick whined. Pineapple just grinned back.

The last two grenades ended up at the center, obscuring the barricaded gate. The griffon gunfire quieted down. In its place were curses, complaints, and commands to pick targets carefully.

“Shields up, go, go, go,” Beacon hissed to Phillip, before turning to the officers. “Lowering shield! Get behind cover!”

Phillip and Daring led Cold, Red, Flash, and the gathered officers around the right side of the rock and against the cavern’s wall. The rest of the officers hunkered down behind the rocks as Beacon’s shield flickered out. After a ragged sigh of relief, she drew the assault rifle strapped to her side, opposite of her sword, and peeked around her rock.

Gunfire greeted her. Beacon yanked her head back. Her eyes traced some bullets hitting the gravel in front of her. Slower, yes, but these shots were more focused. Beacon looked over to Pineapple and gave a decrescendo whistle – almost like a bomb dropping. Pineapple perked up and nodded, reaching into his messenger bag. “Uh, what’s going on?” Matchstick asked.

Her eyes widened at the answer: a trio of dynamite sticks with a long fuse. They exchanged grins. “Got a light?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Matchstick’s horn sparked with her eyes.

Pineapple sprang up and pitched the bundle of explosives like a baseball straight for the barricaded gate. “Fire in the hole!” At Pineapple’s words, every officer joined him in ducking down.

They didn’t have to hide for long.

A wave of pressure, heat and splinters of debris fell over the officers. The cavern shook from the disturbance, and dust rained on everypony – at least that was the only thing that fell from the ceiling. 

Yet another silence hung in the air. Beacon’s horn ignited as a smaller version of the fiery shield appeared before her, her assault rifle leveled its edge. “CHARGE!” she roared, storming towards the still smoldering remains of the front gate.

The officers – except those attending to the wounded – sprang from their hiding places, shields against one foreleg and guns in the other. Braeburn and Wheellock abandoned their rifles for smaller arms and followed up in the rear. Pineapple and Matchstick grabbed their guns and vaulted over their own cover. A united blue wave surged into the Marketplace, gunfire erupting anew.

Two griffons fell from Beacon’s rifle. Something stirred at the corner of her vision. She spun around, her shield melting a burst of bullets. Her eyes narrowed at the culprit: one of the double-barreled BARs, manned by a griffon on a balcony and mounted on a makeshift turret.

It didn’t take long for it to be joined by its twin at the other side of the courtyard.

Beacon’s colleagues raised their own shields. Some turned in time to deflect the second turret’s fire. Others backed away from the arc of fire. A few officers fell by Beacon’s hooves, breathing but barely. She shielded them, fighting a growing tremor.

More griffons emerged from the doors under the balcony. Officers opened fire, cutting down some of the griffons and forcing others behind broken stalls, wagons, crates, and other debris of the marketplace. A few officers fell, and sweat dripped from Beacon’s hooves. Could she get them all home safely? 

Pineapple produced a sparking grenade from within the shielded group and lobbed it towards the left turret. It fell short, but the explosion of lightning caught a few hiding griffons in its bolts. The left turret stopped firing. Its operator screamed, covering his eyes with his talons.

It was enough for Braeburn. He braced his assault rifle on an officer’s shield and silenced the griffon. He jerked back thrice before falling over on the rampart. Braeburn ducked back down below the shields just in time to avoid a retort, bracing a hoof over his hat…

Or at least, he would have. Instead, his hoof touched bare mane. He looked backwards and frowned.

“That was my favorite hat!” he cried, staring at the holes torn into the leather.

Beacon, meanwhile, took potshots at the griffons on the right. A few unlucky ones peeked out in time for her bullets to find weaknesses in their armor, and they dropped wounded or dead.

Her horn beamed. Flaming wisps swirled in the air around her. They launched at the griffons’ wooden cover like grenades, splashing the debris in amber magic and catching it on fire.

Griffons fled the frying pan that was their original position… and into the fire of the officers. The officers charged in on the right flank as the remainder mopped up the griffons on the left. 

Beacon aimed her gun up at the lone turret griffon and opened fire. With a grunt, he fell, dragging his turret with him. Ash and debris flew into the air when his body crashed into the courtyard.

Silence fell over the courtyard.

Despite the calm, officers continued to huddle behind their shields. Wide eyes scanned the area, trembling hooves complemented by sweat.

The air remained still. The officers allowed their tense muscles to loosen, collectively breathing a sign of relief.

Beacon glanced around one last time before extinguishing her shield with a huff. She glanced at Pineapple, who tossed cloud grenades on the flaming debris.

“Sergeant Pizza, round up their weapons and find me our guns. Everyone else, fan out and make sure these griffons are dead or restrained,” she ordered.

Pineapple nodded. His first target was the right turret gunner’s body. Meanwhile, the rest of the officers and Braeburn saluted. The latter plucked his hat off the ground, dusted it off and slapped it back on his head.

As the others dispersed, Beacon scowled as she scanned the battlefield.

Officers they made their rounds. Some carried their injured out the ruined front gate. Others slapped cuffs on those griffons who showed life and took the guns from both the dead and living.

Someone was missing.

“Where is Iron Claw?” she muttered to herself.

“General!” Pineapple waved to her. He and Matchstick stood near a dead griffon with a scoped BAR. “We got a problem here!”





The secondary group hunkered close against the wall, shields raised towards the marketplace as they inched their way towards the back. They sidled against the rock, hoofsteps light to avoid crunching the gravel.

When the cavern shook, they all hunkered down again, Red raising his shield over his head as dust showered on them.

“Are they trying to bring the entire cavern down on us?” he grunted.

“The Lieutenant General knows what she’s doing,” Cold replied, brushing off some of the dust from her coat. She looked at Daring. “How much further?”

“Shouldn’t be too—”

Gunfire erupted anew. Everypony, including Daring, winced, but it wasn’t long before Daring adjusted her helmet and continued, albeit with a slight waver in her voice.

“Shouldn’t be too much further.”

“Let’s keep moving,” Phil said. “Can’t let them get away.”

Cold nodded.

The space between the marketplace’s wall and the cavern’s wall widened after they passed the right gate – which was also barricaded, but seemingly unguarded. Sure enough, off to the right was a small tunnel that traveled upwards.

“What’s the plan?” Flash asked as they stepped up to the tunnel.

“We use our shields like a wall,” Phil said, pointing to the marketplace as they turned around to face it. “Crouch behind them and stop anygriff that comes our way.”

“Solid plan,” Daring nodded, setting her shield up on the ground. The others did the same until they had formed a loose black wall in front of the tunnel entrance. By the time everypony got into position, however, the cavern was quiet. 

A distant voice gave orders. One of the officers rose, his ears perked, before his colleague pushed him back down.

“Maybe the Lieutenant General didn’t need us after all,” Red remarked.

Something shifted behind them, like dust falling from the ceiling. Phillip’s trained ear honed in closer. His eyes shot wide open.

“Move!” he barked, rolling out of the way. Cold lunged to the right as well.

Daring only had time to flinch. Metal tore through her wing and side and she hissed. At the corner of everypony’s peripheral vision, there was a glint of light. One of the officers cried out, and something smacked against the cavern wall.

“Fucker!” Red said, rolling to his hooves. Everypony drew their service weapons.

The pale orange of a familiar coat stopped their hooves before they could pull the trigger. The other two officers had fallen back to cover their wounded teammate, fresh gashes across his back.

Iron Claw’s devilish sneer pierced the darkness of the tunnel. Her bloodstained talons ever so lightly dug into the flesh of Flash Sentry’s neck. She held the pegasus against her chest like a shield.

Flash’s widened eyes pleaded silently to Phillip and the others.

“Drop the guns,” Iron Claw said in a quiet, breathy voice.

Phillip and Daring glanced at one another. They growled, a storm surging in their minds.

But the storm was in vain. First to follow Iron Claw’s demand were Daring and Phillip. Red was next, frowning as he dropped his weapon and nodded to his two officers. They glared at the griffon as they obeyed Red’s implicit order, legs shaking.

Cold‘s sapphire eyes stared into Iron Claw’s lone gold one. She gave off a barely audible sigh—the last pony to concede.

“Are you okay?” Phil whispered to Daring, looking over her injured wing and bleeding side.

“Well, I’m not flying anytime soon,” she replied through a wince.

Iron Claw let out a laugh. “Ah, I thought this day would never come,” she said, glaring down at Cold. “It has been a long time, murderer.”

Cold barely winced at the venom in her voice. “Iron Claw,” she said, her voice quaking. “I’m sorry for what happened to Gjord, I—”

“Do not speak his name!” Iron Claw roared. Flash gulped as the iron talons dug a little deeper. “Here is what I want. I could care less about the rest of your miserable lives – I only want that tik.”

She pointed to Cold with her hook before slowly leveling it against Flash’s barrel. “Unless you want to see what his insides look like, you will come with me, Cold Case. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Cold said tersely.

“Then come along. Holster your weapon, if you want – it won’t save you,” Iron Claw ordered. “But do it slowly. Nice and slowly.”

Cold slowly and methodically holstered her service weapon. She glanced to Phillip and gave a slight nod. Iron Claw backed into the tunnel and Cold slowly followed after her, eyes locked on the griffon’s.

“Let him go, Iron Claw,” she said. “I’ll follow you.”

“Ah, yes, yes you will,” Iron Claw grunted as she flung Flash down the tunnel. Sand flew into the air when Flash barreled into Red, causing Phillip and Daring to raise their revolvers.

Iron Claw raised her own weapon – not a gun, but hoofheld detonator. The officers froze when they eyed Iron Claw’s thumb, her thumb on the red trigger.

“But your friends will not play as nicely,” she said with a chuckle. She looked past Cold; the devilish grin hadn’t left her face. “Leave us, or I will bring this cavern in on your heads… and theirs.” She nodded towards the marketplace.

Cold’s eyes widened, her breath hitching in her throat. Beacon and her officers had walked into a trap.

“Your griffons are in there too.” Daring kept her revolver leveled. Red and Flash untangled themselves, the latter checking his neck for injuries.

“You can have them. They are either dead or captured by now anyway,” Iron Claw spat. “I have what I came for. Now leave.”

Phil’s eyes drifted to this pocket holding his boomerang: it’d take less than two seconds to draw, aim, and throw, knocking the detonator out.

It’d take even less time for Iron Claw to push the button.

Muttering a string of curses, Phillip and Daring lowered their weapons and holstered them. After a grim nod from Phillip, Red backed away as Phillip draped one of Daring’s legs over his back and helped her up. The officers helped carry the other injured teammate with one leg draped around each of their shoulders.

Cold watched them leave before turning to Iron Claw. The crack in her façade was not on her face; her chest rose and fell with rapid, ragged breath. The griffon gave a dark chuckle.

“Follow me, murderer,” the griffon purred. “Your judgement day comes.”





By the time Phillip and the others had rounded the marketplace back to the entrance, most of the officers had already evacuated. Paramedics were taking out the last of the dead griffons hastily – and understandably so. Nopony wanted to stay in the marketplace.

Beacon Fire stood at the entrance and approached them as they rounded the marketplace. Her worried eyes did a quick scan, and she bit her lower lip.

“Iron Claw has Cold Case?”

Phillip nodded. “She’s wired the cavern to explode. We need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, Sergeant Pizza found the explosives in the marketplace. Thankfully he has a nose for those things, but he didn’t have enough time to defuse them,” Beacon said. “You need to get out of here. I’ll go after Cold and Iron Claw.”

“Are you sure?” Phil asked.

“Iron Claw’s using you for leverage, right?” At this, Phillip and Daring nodded. “Then get out of here, and she won’t have any bargaining chips. I can handle a griffon hoof-to-talon. Go, now!”

She charged past them at full gallop, fiery sparks trailing from her horn.

“You heard her; let’s move out!” Red said, helping Flash to the exit. The officers picked up the pace behind them.

Phillip whistled to one of the paramedics and beckoned them over.

“What are you doing?” Daring asked.

“I’m not going to let Beacon and Cold face her alone, and you’re in no shape to fight,” Phil said, quickly kissing her on the cheek. He looked to the paramedic. “Get her out of here.”

“Phil, wait!” Daring called as he turned around and charged after Beacon. She grunted as the paramedic supported her and led her towards the exit.

“I sure hope she’s everything Prowl made her out to be,” she muttered.





“IRON CLAW!”

Cold whipped around to see Beacon Fire charging up the tunnel after them, her horn leveled like a spear as she galloped. Her eyes blazed along with her horn. Close behind her was Phillip.

Iron Claw spat a curse under her breath. Cold looked back at Iron Claw just in time to see her activate the detonator and disappear further into the tunnel.

The tunnel shook. A wave of dust and heat swirled into the tunnel. It slammed Cold, Beacon, and Phillip into the gravel. Rocks crumbled behind them, crushing the marketplace entrance.

Cold furiously wiped the dust from her eyes. “No!” she shouted, starting to run towards the cave-in. Beacon caught her by the leg.

“They’re fine. They got out,” Phil coughed, wiping away the dust.

Cold turned to them with a blaze in her eyes. Her chest heaved as she tried to collect herself. “Are you sure?” she asked with a glare.

“Iron Claw only wired the marketplace and they were on the way out when I left them,” Beacon said, setting a hoof on her shoulder. “They’re alright.”

Cold was silent for a moment before she nodded and wiped at her eyes – there was more wetness there than dust.

“Let’s go,” she said icily, charging up the tunnel.

“I’m with you, partner,” Phil said with a nod, following her.

“Right behind ya,” Beacon said gruffly as she followed in hot pursuit.
> Chapter Six: Final Destination
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

After charging into the light at the end of the tunnel, Phillip, Cold, and Beacon rubbed their eyes, allowing themselves to adjust to the brightness. They found themselves in a basement, connected to the tunnel through an entryway of torn open floorboards. The lone lightbulb overhead, shined on a short flight of stairs leading up to a dented door—no doubt a victim of Iron Claw’s haste.

Phillip, Cold, and Beacon stepped outside into an alleyway. A crowd had gathered in a nearby street, surrounding two crumpled cars and the drivers engaging in a shouting match.

“Where the Tartarus did she go?” Beacon asked, eyes darting up and down the alley.

Phillip scanned his surroundings. On the dingy ground, small droplets of red led from the basement to the mouth of the alley. They weaved around trash cans lying on their sides, and he could faintly make out the trail towards the street.

“This way,” he said, galloping down the alley. Cold and Beacon turned and followed, all three of them jumping over the trash cans and sprinting into the street where car horns greeted him.

“Clear a path!” Beacon ordered the pedestrians. They clambered to get out of the way of Phillip, eyes narrowed at the blood trail.

“Phil!” Cold called.

Phillip ground to a halt. A taxi pulled in front of him, mere inches from his snout. After brushing off a curse from the driver, Phillip returned to the trail. The faint red droplets crawled up several wide steps and into the cavernous entrance of the Ponyville Train Station. 

Beacon pulled out her radio as she surveyed the area. “Hot Sauce to Pie Topping, is everyone alright, over?” she asked. Cold and Phillip shared a quizzical glance.

“Pie Topping here,” Pineapple replied over the radio. “Everyone’s safe and getting treated, Hot Sauce. We got all our weapons back. What’s the status on Cool Mint and Magnifying Glass, over?”

“They’re with me. We’re at the Ponyville Train Station; our bogie went inside. In pursuit. Over and out,” Beacon said, sheathing her radio again. “Let’s hurry up and find her.”

Cold and Phillip nodded, following Beacon as she led the charge inside.

The crowd of commuters in the main atrium of the station stood around in clusters, muttering to each other and staring at one of the train platforms. They glanced at the trio as they ran towards the platform. Any sign of protest from the ticket personnel fell silent at the Lieutenant General’s stern gaze.

There was a lone train on the nearest platform – a lengthy passenger train and its caboose. The engine was whistling and starting to creep forward, its pistons panting ever more rapidly.

And standing on the roof of one of the passenger cars was Iron Claw, grinning down at the three ponies.

“How many more innocent lives will it cost you, Cold Case?” she yelled over the mechanical racket. “I will slaughter every single pony on this train, and throw off any other creature!” She turned and began walking towards the front of the train.

Phillip ran over to the caboose and clambered up the ladder, followed by Cold and Beacon. They wobbled on the shuddering metal. “What train is this?” Beacon asked.

Shading his eyes with a hoof, Phillip looked around and spotted a departure schedule near the ticket booth. “The 611, headed for Canterlot,” he replied.

Beacon pulled out her radio again. “Hot Sauce to Oil Lamp, tell them to shut down traffic on the main line to Canterlot and get your train started – we have a bogie on the main line on the 611. Over and out.”

“How soon will he get here?” Cold asked Beacon as she put away her radio.

“Not soon enough. Come on,” Beacon said, jerking her head towards the front of the train.

Phillip led the charge as the train pulled out of the station and into the countryside. The trio squinted against the oncoming wind and kept steadied their hooves on the rocking metal.

On the first passenger car, Iron Claw whirled around when she heard hooves on metal. Phillip leaped at her, snapping out his baton with the full intent to drive it home on her skull.

Iron Claw snarled. Her hook clanged against Phillip’s baton, and she lunged out with her talons, which glinted in the sun. Phillip tried to roll out of the way but a puff of air escaped his mouth. 

The talons speared his vest. Phillip gasped a second time and looked down. A hole, but no blood—thank Celestia for dragonscale armor.

As Iron Claw pulled him off his hooves, Phillip swung his body back, aiming his hind hooves at her forearm. His effort was rewarded by a pained grunt; the bent metal spikes dug into his leg. Laughing, Iron Claw jerked Phillip towards her and met his skull with her own with a sickening thwack that made stars dance in his vision.

Farther away, Cold drew her revolver and aimed at the griffon. Sweat dripped from her trembling hooves, and the biting, frigid wind watered her eyes. Beacon growled, her horn sparking.

“Let him go, Iron Claw,” Cold snarled.

“A poor choice of words.” Iron Claw held the dazed Phillip over the side of the train.

She let go.

“No!” Cold dove to the roof. Her gun flew out of her hooves. Her horn ignited a brilliant blue while her magic snatched him in midair. Though Phillip slipped from her magic and tumbled to the ground alongside the train, he shakily got to his hooves. By the time he had dusted himself off, the caboose had passed him by.

“Cold!” he called hoarsely, briefly running after the train.

As Iron Claw turned towards Cold, Beacon unsheathed her sword with her magic, holding it with the blade pointed to the sky in front of her face. “Ignis,” she breathed against the piercing dark grey metal of the blade. Reddish-orange runes briefly strobed on the sides of the sword, from base of the blade to the tip. The blade’s edge glowed a brilliant orange before catching flame. 

Beacon stepped in front of Cold and angled the sword at Iron Claw. “You’ll have to get through me first.”

“Gladly.” Iron Claw lunged at the sword with her hook, metal clanging against metal.

Beacon backed up at Iron Claw’s attacks, eagle eyes tracking each deadly slash. Sparks, smoke, and sweat erupted every time her blade parried Iron Claw’s talons. Meanwhile, Cold stayed lying on the roof, tapping her smoking horn. Beacon glanced down; she didn’t want to stumble over Cold.

While Beacon looked at Cold, Iron Claw looked at an opportunity. Her talons glinted at the corner of Beacon’s vision.

The claws ground against Beacon’s chest plating. Fragments of gold flaked off. Beacon staggered backward and glared at the three gashes on her armor. It was her turn.

Cold took a moment to catch her breath from the strain in her magic, her ears flicking towards the sounds of clanging metal. Iron Claw was backing away from Beacon, but true to her name, her talons deflected every one of Beacon’s sword slashes. Cold gritted her teeth. Icy armor encased her chest, and a frozen knife appeared in her hooves.

Cold whirled around and aimed low. The biting cold knife sank into the griffon’s foot. Claw’s screech echoed through the air. She locked eyes with Cold’s before raising her talon. Cold rolled out of the way in time, although the tail end of her coat wasn’t as lucky. The ice coated the griffon’s feet in a two-inch thick sheet that welded her to the roof.

Cold got to her hooves next to Beacon, glancing at her flaming sword, then back at Iron Claw. “What’s the plan?”

Beacon frowned as she looked past the griffon and then glanced down the length of the train. She squinted at the caboose at the very end.

“Get down to the caboose and move anyone in there into the passenger cars and stay there,” Beacon said. “I’ll get to the engine.”

Cold frowned and nodded, taking off down the length of the train.

Iron Claw snarled as she tried to free herself from the spreading ice. Beacon ignited her horn and conjured her transparent flaming shield projection opposite of her sword. She darted around Iron Claw with the shield raised; it deflected another savage swipe from the griffon’s talons with a burst of swirling flame.

Beacon sprinted over the baggage car’s roof and stepped onto the coal pile in the tender, flinging her shield at the cab door. It evaporated but not before letting out a loud clang against the metal.

The fireman opened the door with a scowl of confusion before his eyebrows shot up at the sight of the Lieutenant General. He gave a brief, if confused, salute.

“Hey, can this train go any faster?” Beacon called down.

“Sure can,” the fireman replied.

“Then put the steam on and don’t stop!” Beacon replied before turning and leaping back onto the baggage car.

The fireman blinked a few times before shrugging and grabbing his shovel, digging into the coal pile for a large scoopful.





Cold Case reached the caboose and slid down the ladder, carefully stepping over the gap between cars. Her telekinesis made short work of the door, yanking and slamming it to the side.

A pair of brakemen jumped from their seats. Their playing cards flew into the air.

“Police,” Cold barked, pointing to the last passenger car’s door. “I need you to evacuate this caboose now!”

The brakemen looked at each other before one looked back at her. “Ma’am, I don’t think you have jurisdiction to—”

Cold walked over and stomped her hoof on the table. Both brakeman jumped to their hooves. “Now! Move it!”

Tails between their legs, the brakemen scrambled over each other for the door, carefully hopping the gap and stepping inside the passenger car.

“Stay there,” Cold said, slamming the door behind them.

After climbing up a ladder back to the caboose roof, Cold’s legs trembled as the train jerked forward from under her. The engine gave a long whistle, and the scenery around her began to blur as she squinted down to the other end of the train. After parrying off a side slash from Beacon’s sword, Iron Claw focused on her broken paw. Chunks of ice flew off the train as Iron Claw yanked herself free. The mist surrounding her paw disappeared in a puff. Cold waved her hooves in the air to try and get her attention.

The brief glints of white on the horizon caught Beacon’s eyes. She side-stepped Iron Claw, facing the end of the train with the griffon in her way. “You wanted a train ride, Iron Claw?” Beacon’s horn blazed with a fire matching her magic. “You’re gonna get one!”

The flaming shield surged from Beacon’s horn again, quite a bit larger than before. Pawing at the metal roof once, Beacon charged forward. Fiery magical metal clanged and hissed. The force traveled through her magic, pierced into her horn, and rattled her facial bones.

Iron Claw went airborne. She tumbed across the passenger cars’ roofs before rolling to her feet, clutching a now-blackened patch of feathers on her scalp. Beacon galloped forward for a second charge; Iron Claw growled as she fled down the length of the train. Flapping her prosthetic wings, she took flight before angling down towards Cold Case on the caboose.

Icy knifes swirled into existence in Cold’s hooves. Her eyes narrowed at Iron Claw, extended talons reflecting the sun’s rays. Cold flung one of the knives at the griffon’s chest before vaulting over the cupola.

The griffon crashed into the roof, grunting from impact and rolling to her paws. Hobbling on her injured paw, Iron Claw looked down at the ice spreading across her chest, growled, and scratched it off with a single swipe of her claws. Iron Claw’s blood boiled, each of her breaths translated to a growl. She raised her hook to strike Cold. 

A shadow fell over her.

A second hissing clang rattled Beacon’s facial bones. Iron Claw’s face took two strikes: one from Beacon’s flaming shield, and another from the roof. As Beacon rolled away, Cold watched Iron Claw writhe on the roof. The blood on Iron Claw’s face boiled red—literally this time. She tore off her now-burning eye patch and unleashed a torrent of animalistic screams. The sutures on her scarred eye socket held, but only just.

Lying prone, Beacon peered over to the tracks below. With a flicker of orange magic, the coupling groaned in protest and unlatched from the train. Slowly, the rest of the train began to drift away from the caboose.

“Beacon!” Cold shouted.

Beacon grunted and rolled over onto her back. Her foreleg muscles tensed with every blow she blocked with her flaming sword. Droplets of sweat fell from her face and into the hurtling ground below. She glared into the griffon’s golden eye, illuminated by the dancing flames. The faceoff would be brief, though. Beacon shoved Iron Claw’s beak with the hilt of her sword, and then smashed a hind hoof at her midsection.

The scythe-like hook came up as Iron Claw staggered back. A downward swipe slashed through a space in Beacon’s leg armor. Beacon hissed, then steeled the muscles on her bleeding leg. She countered with a chest slash. Iron Claw staggered back. Yellow embers danced on a thin, diagonal line of fire across her body armor. Nothing a quick pat couldn’t fix.

Cold lunged forward and drove her other knife into the back of Iron Claw’s hip. After a now-familiar screech, she swung her talons backwards. The claws snagged on the skin of Cold’s face, knocking her down to the roof.

Limping, Iron Claw spun around, scratching off the ice spreading on her hip. Her twisted, half-burned face scowled at cold, trembling talons extended to deal a death blow. 

From the distance, the locomotive whistled. Iron Claw lowered her arm and looked back over her shoulder.

The train was shrinking at the horizon. Iron Claw looked down and steadied her legs. Without the locomotive, the caboose trembled less and less, losing momentum on the flat straightaway of track.

“No!” Iron Claw snarled, backhanding Beacon and spreading her wings. Her paws left the roof.

A resounding gong filled the air. Iron Claw cried out. She crashed back to the roof, her right prosthetic wing clattering and tumbling off the caboose. Across her back, a blackened, reddish wound smoked, the embers eating away Iron Claw’s feathers and fabric of her clothes. Beacon retreated towards Cold, sword and shield leveled and focused.

“You won’t get away that easy,” Beacon growled.

Iron Claw let out a feral screech. She jumped and smashed downwards against Beacon’s sword with her hook. Beacon’s eyes drifted to her weapon briefly and she tightened her grip.

Beacon’s world went white. Blood trickled out her nostrils as she recoiled from Iron Claw’s follow-up haymaker. The flaming shield sputtered out and Beacon barely held onto her sword in her magic’s grip as she tumbled past Cold and disappeared off the edge of the roof.

“Beacon!” Cold called, before whirling around on the griffon, icy knives once again spiraling into existence on her hooves.

Iron Claw snarled. She batted away the knives before kicking Cold and stomping onto her stomach for good measure to hold her in place.

“I have had enough of this,” the griffon spat, swiping her talons at the frozen chest armor, shattering the ice. Another swipe tore through her coat and left gashes in the body armor underneath.

Amid pained groans Cold’s horn illuminated. The side of Iron Claw’s hook smacking across Cold’s face snuffed the magic out. As Cold touched the fresh scratch on her cheek, another talon swipe sent the body armor flapping away in the breeze, exposing Cold’s sweat-covered coat.

“Now,” Iron Claw panted. “I will tear out your heart, like you tore out mine.”

Falling on her knees, Iron Claw grabbed Cold’s throat in her talons, the bloodied metal digging into her flesh Cold gagged, and Iron Claw twisted her neck, forcing Cold to stare into the griffon’s lone eagle eye. She lifted her scythe-like hook to make good of her word. Cold stared up at her, trembling, shallow breaths escaping through her flaring nostrils. As Iron Claw tightened her grip, Cold’s world began to fade into silence and darkness.

The roof jerked. Metal screeched. The caboose stopped rattling.

Iron Claw looked up. “What—”

A flash of orange appeared over Cold’s head, and something clattered to the roof beside her.

It was Iron Claw’s hook arm, severed at the elbow.

The griffon screeched, clutching the cauterized stump. The ladder behind Cold clanged in rhythm and her peripheral vision only confirmed what she already knew: the identity of her savior. Beacon emerged up the ladder, spitting out blood to the side.

“You hit like a chick,” she growled. Her horn flickered as she aimed her flaming sword towards the griffon’s neck.

Iron Claw ducked. The blade simply sliced and singed a few head feathers. 

But the distraction had done its job.

Cold kicked Iron Claw off balance. One more frozen knife spiraled into existence in her hoof. Cold got up and pounced.

The knife sank into the side of Iron Claw’s chest, under her missing arm. Cold stumbled back, panting. Ice cracked and snaked its way through Iron Claw’s chest. Her breathing deepened as she looked down at the frozen wound. She touched the ice and coughed once before falling backward onto the cupola. She stared up at the sky as she took her last few labored breaths.

Beacon helped Cold to her hooves and the pair approached the groaning, coughing griffon. “Was this really worth it?” Cold scowled down at her. “The war’s over. What happened to your mate wasn’t… wasn’t right. And I accept my responsibility for that – now you need to accept responsibility for what you’ve done.”

Iron Claw gave a weak chuckle. She reached into her vest as if to touch her wound, but pulled it out in a clenched fist, offering it to Cold.

“This… is from Gjord…” Iron Claw whispered, her golden eye fixated on Cold’s face as her fist opened. The pin from a grenade clinked onto the roof. Iron Claw shut her eye and gave a crazed, shaky laugh. The shocked and terrified looks on Cold and Beacon’s faces—that wasn’t such a bad sight to go out on.

“Shit!” Before Cold could so much as take one step, her vision flashed orange. She suddenly found herself falling through the air, several yards from the stopped caboose, surrounded by wisps of amber magic.

Beacon Fire tossed her sword aside and poured every ounce of her remaining magic into one more flaming shield. The shield pressed on Iron Claw’s body as Beacon stepped back.

A brilliant orange fireball filled the center of Cold’s vision. Several loud bangs rang her ears. A heatwave slammed her back as she tumbled to the ground. 

Flaming debris rained down like smoldering confetti. The caboose resembled an exploded firework, its metal paint charred black around the fire in the gaping, jagged hole where the cupola had been.

After coughing and wiping dust from her face, Cold sprang up. Her eyes darted around for any sign of Beacon. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a larger, heavier ember that tumbled to the ground by the railroad tracks behind the caboose. She galloped over.

Beacon Fire lay sprawled out on the ground, her golden armor singed and dented, especially the chest plate. Her legs were bent at awkward angles. Her hooves, the coat around her face, and the ends of her mane and tail were blackened. She was breathing, but it came in irregular heaves.

“Beacon! Stay with me,” Cold said, using her magic to gently remove the unicorn’s helmet.

Beacon opened her eyes, smiling weakly up at Cold. “You up here too?” she muttered. 

“What? No, we’re… we’re still here,” Cold said, crouching down and cradling her head. “You saved me.”

“Well… that’s good at least…” Beacon coughed, wincing at the pain in her chest. “Damn… a beautiful mare like you… who fights like that? No way I’d send you home…”

Cold smiled and nodded, tears dripping down her cheeks. “Just stay with me, Beacon. It’s going to be alright.” She looked up when she heard a distant, shrill steam whistle down the tracks.

“I could really use… use a nap…” Beacon mumbled, her eyes sliding shut.

“No!” Cold’s attention snapped back to her. She gently slapped Beacon’s cheek. “Stay with me, Beacon. Stay awake just a little longer, please.”

Her pleas were drowned out as the shrill whistling grew louder and the rumbling of a train approached the smoldering wreckage.
> Epilogue: A Flame Ignited
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Doctors and nurses moved to and fro up and down the hallway of the ICU of Ponyville General Hospital. Their hoofsteps and the buzz of voices were lost on Cold Case, who seemed to blend into the hospital’s pristine white walls.

She’d made the rounds over the past few days, checking in on her officers, Daring, and Phillip. It was a miracle they had all made it out of the ordeal with their lives – a fact that Cold kept playing over and over again in her mind.

Now there was only one pony left in the hospital, and Cold was leaning against the wall outside her room.

She held a bouquet of flowers in a simple vase in her hooves. Her eyes were distant, staring into the fiery orange petals of the pansies she had picked out as she tried to work out the words in her head.

“Chief Case?”  

Cold’s name snapped her from her trance. The hallway traffic had subsided, leaving Captain Lamp Iron standing next to her. He looked between her and the flowers with a curious gaze.

“Captain Iron,” Cold addressed with a nod. “Thank you again, for picking us up out there.”

Lamp Iron gave a sheepish, almost sad smile as he scuffed the tile floor and looked away. “Ah, well… least I could do. I’d already let two ponies down already, wasn’t about to let down two more.”

Cold simply nodded. “How are Smoky Jones and Coal Dust?” she asked.

Lamp Iron sighed. “Thank the Mother, they’re alright. They’re awake and alive – and they’ll be discharged soon.” His shoulders seemed to sag with a confirmation of relief.

Cold’s eyes—and mind—slipped back to the flower petals, until the captain cleared his throat.

“So… how’s the Lieutenant General?” His eyes held cautious hope when Cold’s met them.

“She’s awake, nothing that can’t be healed,” Cold said. “Her discharge is still pending.”

“I see… and the flowers?” Lamp Iron nodded to them.

“I’m just… getting my thoughts in order, that’s all.” She flashed half a smile at him before sinking back to the flowers.

Lamp Iron nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a gasp of air.

Cold snapped to look at him, scowling in confusion. Lamp Iron’s gaze was fixated down the hall, mouth agape. It was then that she noticed the conversations in the hall had gone completely silent.

She turned, following Lamp Iron’s gaze, and her eyebrows shot up.

Down the hallway walked a tall, broad-shouldered white unicorn with an unkempt mane and tail that were streaked in different shades of blue. His left hind leg was a crystalline prosthetic from the mid-thigh down. He wore a white button-up long-sleeved shirt with shoulder-sleeve insignias of four silver stars, indicating the rank of general. His cutie mark was of an indigo shield, with three blue stars at each point and a pink six-pointed sparkle emblazoning it.

The hospital staff he passed knelt down before him, many of them gasping and whispering excitedly to each other in his wake.

Cold quickly bowed as he approached, and Lamp Iron gave a sharp salute beside her.

“General Shining Armor, sir,” he proclaimed.

Shining returned his salute with a casual smile. “At ease, Captain.” He said, his voice relaxed. He turned his attention to Cold. “Chief Cold Case.”

Cold got to her hooves, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

“If you’ll both excuse me, I have some railroad blokes to see about replacing a caboose,” Lamp Iron said quickly, giving another salute and hurrying down the hall.

“Is this Lieutenant General Beacon Fire’s room?” Shining asked, glancing at the door.

“Yes, sir.” Cold took a step back, gesturing to the door.

Shining raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes falling upon the fiery assortment of flowers. A smirk crossed his muzzle and he nodded in thanks before stepping inside.

Beacon Fire’s armor and shield had taken a lot of the explosion, but her body was still worse for wear. A golden ring was slipped around the base of her horn to prevent her from using her magic – the final shield had taken all of her energy. Her leg was bandaged up from where Iron Claw had sliced it, and her chest was wrapped in enchanted bandages to help heal her cracked ribs. Her legs were strung up in slings to help the bones heal, and a brace kept her neck in place. A final bandage was draped over her snout from Iron Claw’s punch.

“Lieutenant General,” Shining addressed.

Beacon squinted open her eyes and gave a small smile. “General,” she replied hoarsely. “I’d salute, but I’m a little wrapped up at the moment. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well, it’s not every day one of my friends gets themselves blown up outside of wartime,” he replied with a chuckle. “How are you feeling, Bea?”

“I’ve been worse,” Beacon said, her smile turning to a smirk. “With all due respect though, Shining: ‘proper shield,’ my ass.”

They both shared a chuckle, Beacon’s quieter than Shining’s. When it died down, Shining sighed.

“Well, you’re still here at least,” he said. “I’m guessing this mission didn’t go exactly as you hoped?”

“Not a fun time, no,” Beacon remarked. “Between a bloodbath, ponies getting shot at, me getting shot at, fighting a griffon on a moving train, and getting blown up, it’s been pretty rotten.” She sighed, a soft smile forming. “Not all bad though – I met the most beautiful mare in Equestria.”

She blinked and looked to Shining. “Second to Cadance, I mean,” she quickly added.

Shining gave a laugh. “I won’t tell her you said that if you won’t.” His eyes drifted back to the door. “…She wouldn’t happen to be a white unicorn with a blue mane and tail, would she?” Beacon raised an eyebrow. “She’s waiting outside the door.”

“Huh.” Beacon stared forward as she sunk into her pillow. “I wasn’t sure she would be. She’s… well, she’s a little cold, to be honest.”

“Well, I’m sure I can count on you to warm her up.” He winked, and at Beacon’s blush he laughed. 

“I’d shake my head if it weren’t for this brace,” Beacon said with a playfully exasperated tone and a tired smile. “You and Cadance are made for one another, you cheeseballs.”

Shining walked forward and set a hoof on the railing of the bed. “You did good out there, Beacon. Rest easy, soldier.” He nodded to her.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Beacon sighed.

Shining walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him and turning to Cold, who snapped to attention when he appeared.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Shining said. “Do you know where I could find my little sister? I figured I’d visit her while I’m here.”

“She should be at the Ponyville Police Department’s crime lab, sir,” Cold said with a brief bow.

“Good. I heard she has a coltfriend that I’ve been wanting to meet,” he remarked with a smirk. “Take care, Chief Case. And don’t let those flowers wilt on you.”

Shining winked to her and walked down the hall, receiving the same royal treatment from the hospital staff as he had upon his arrival.

Cold blinked in surprise, quickly aware of her burning cheeks. She quickly scooped up the flowers and turned to the door. With a huff, she let the icy mask settle into place and she stepped inside.

“Cold?” Beacon asked, looking at her from the corner of her eye from where she lay.

Cold walked over. “I… brought flowers,” she said, suddenly finding her voice quiet. She cleared her throat and set them on a bedside table.

“Pansies?” Beacon asked with a raised eyebrow.

“They reminded me of your mane,” Cold admitted, her eyes averted to the distant corner of the room. With a deep breath, she forced them towards Beacon and tried not to wince at her current state. “I wanted to say… thank you. For saving me, and keeping the others safe.”

Her eyes ventured to Beacon’s, and she found the lieutenant general was smiling.

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “It’s part of the job. Are… are all of your officers safe?”

Cold nodded. “And Phillip and Daring.”

Beacon sighed with relief. “Well, thank goodness for that,” she replied, eyes slipping to the ceiling.

“Beacon…” Cold bit her lower lip. “About what you said…”

Beacon’s eyes shot open and her blush burned anew. “W-Well… I was pretty concussed. P-Probably speaking gibberish,” she spluttered.

“It was nice gibberish, then,” Cold replied with a soft smile. “I can’t say I’m used to… well, this.”

Silence hung in the air. Cold’s eyes slipped downward, unable to grasp at any further words. Beacon studied her out of the corner of her eye, before smiling.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Maybe, if you’re still up for it, we can talk about this after I get out of here?”

Cold looked at her and finally decided on a nod. “Yeah. I think I would.” She turned to the door. “Well, I’ll be going, I just wanted to say thank you and get well soon.” She looked back over her shoulder. “They’re going to be throwing a victory party of sorts at the Apple Pie in Your Eye in a few days, if you’re well enough.”

“The Apple Pie in Your Eye?” Beacon repeated with a snort.

“It’s a bar that a good friend of Phillip’s owns and runs,” Cold explained.

“Quite a name,” Beacon chuckled. “But yeah, hopefully I’ll be there.”

Cold nodded. “I hope so too.”

Beacon watched her leave, a warm smile on her face as her eyes drifted to the pansies. Slowly shutting her eyes, she fell into a peaceful sleep.





Cold stood outside of The Apple Pie in Your Eye, looking up at the paper lanterns swinging in the early spring breeze – pink and speckled with red hearts, glowing from within. The hanging sign of three gathered ponies squeaked along with them.

She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The aroma of chocolate hung in the air. Red and pink streamers, heart-shaped balloons, and more paper lanterns like those outside decorated the bar, even though Hearts and Hooves Day was still a few days away.

Up on the stage, Rara and Steamed Carrot were dueting a love song to the audience. Cold’s eyes scanned the crowd and came up with some familiar faces.

Daring and Prowl, Prowl’s husband Maple Leaf and their foal were seated at a table with Frost Glide who, judging by her hoof gestures, was regaling them with war stories or the like. Pineapple and Matchstick had a booth to themselves, discussing their work over a pair of chocolate malts. Captain Lamp Iron was seated and chatting with Coal Dust at a table shared by Smoky Jones and Braeburn, who were holding hooves, as the latter chatted amicably with Wheellock. 

As Cold’s gaze swung towards the bar, she froze.

Beacon Fire occupied one of the barstools, raising a shot glass of cider to Applejack in cheers before knocking it back. The lieutenant general was still bandaged around her chest, but otherwise seemed normal.

“Good stuff,” Beacon remarked. “I’ll have to get a few bottles for the road.”

“The business would be much obliged,” Applejack said, tipping her hat. She bit her lip. “Lieutenant General… if’n ya don’t mind me askin’… I was wonderin’ if you might’ve known my pa.”

Beacon raised her eyebrows. “Name and rank?”

“Bright Macintosh, corporal,” Applejack said.

Beacon scowled into the bar’s wooden surface before shaking her head. “I don’t believe we met,” she said. “Army was pretty big during the war.” A worrying frown fell over Beacon’s muzzle. "...Did he make it?”

Applejack hung her head and shook it. “Vanhoover,” she mumbled.

Beacon inhaled slowly, letting it out with a sigh. “We lost a lot of good soldiers there. But, if your father was fighting for Equestria, I know he did us proud.” She raised her empty shot glass. “May his soul rest in peace.”

Applejack smiled softly, tears in the corners of her eyes as she returned the gesture.

Phillip, who had been by the stage tuning his saxophone, noticed Cold standing there and walked over. He set a hoof on her shoulder, causing her to jump at the touch. As she glanced at him, he glanced towards Beacon and smiled.

“You remember that wanker back at the academy, when we met?” he asked. “That instructor?”

“That insufferable prick?” Cold snorted. “Hard to forget.”

Phillip chuckled. “I remember saying you weren’t his type.” He nodded towards Beacon. “Think she’s yours?”

Cold’s cheeks flushed a little and she shifted. “I’m not… sure.” She looked to the floor, scuffing at it with one hoof, her voice lowering so only he could hear. “I’ve... she knows about the poppydust, and about Gjord.”

“And she’s still here, isn’t she?” Phillip sighed. “Cold, I think Daring and I can speak from experience in saying someone willing to stick with you, in spite of what you’ve done in the past, is someone you can at least trust.”

Cold let a half-smile tug at the corner of her mouth and nodded to him. He patted her on the shoulder and walked back to his instrument while she took a steadying breath. She walked over to the bar and slipped onto a seat next to Beacon.

Beacon eyebrows raised as she glanced at her. “Oh… hey.”

“Hey.” Cold levelly replied, taking another breath to steady her nerves.

“I was hoping you’d make it.” Beacon flashing her a warm smile, raising her empty shot glass. “Here’s to another successful ‘case’ solved, I suppose.”

Cold smiled slightly and nodded. “To another case solved.” She glanced down at the bar top, running a hoof over the smooth surface. “I was hoping we could talk about… us.”

Beacon’s ears drooped at the tone. “Well, I am out of that hospital bed now,” she said with a hopefully confident smile.

“Are you sure… what you said about me by the tracks, I… I’ve never done this sort of thing before,” Cold began, composing herself before continuing, eyes focusing on Beacon. “A good friend told me that someone willing to stick by me, with my kind of past, was someone I could trust… so I guess this means I trust you.”

They both flushed slightly, with Cold averting her gaze and Beacon clearing her throat.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” Beacon asked with a chuckle. “I can’t… really say I’ve gone on many dates myself, but… I want to at least try. With you.”

Cold smiled and opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by a plate slamming onto the counter, making both of them jump. A few of the other ponies glanced their way.

“Aaand here’s some early Hearts and Hooves Day heartcakes for the happy couple!” Pinkie Pie declared aloud, gesturing to the plate.

Upon the plate was a stack of heart-shaped pancakes, each nearly as big as the plate itself. They were speckled with chocolate chips and drowned in maple syrup. A pair of knives and fork flanked the plate on either side.

Both Beacon and Cold, however, were less than appreciative of the gesture, with blushes burning clear up to their ears.

“Miss Pie,” Cold snapped. “We aren’t a… we aren’t even dating!”

“Not yeeet,” Pinkie said in a singsong voice. Before they could protest further, she slipped back into the kitchen with a wink.

Beacon cleared her throat, trying to fight back the blush in her face. “Well,” she said with a nervous grin, picking up her fork. “Care to help me eat these?”

Cold huffed, her own fight with her blush less than successful. Still, she gave a small smile and held up her fork. “It’s a good thing for that mare that I like maple syrup.”

Beacon offered her fork to Cold. “Here’s to what’s next, wherever it may take us.”

Cold’s blush redoubled at the offer, but she nodded and clinked her fork with Beacon’s. “To what’s next.”

And together they dug into their pancakes, just in time for Phillip’s smooth saxophone tones to replace the love song.
> Bonus Chapter: A Loyal Heart
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Two months later…




Cold Case stood before the standing mirror in her bedroom, frowning at the reflection of herself in a simple long-sleeved black dress with a matching purse. It wasn’t that she disliked it—she had picked it out of Rarity’s selection herself, after all—but rather it was still a foreign feeling.

Even after the first date, Cold had found it hard for herself to relax, to let go of the day’s stress and spend a night out with Beacon. A simple dinner, a trip to the movies, even pizza delivered to the office during one late shift – at least that last one she could blame on her job.

And yet Beacon still came back. Phillip’s advice seemed more and more concrete with each date they went on, and she felt, at least to some extent, that the old, reserved Cold Case partially melted around the Lieutenant General, if only to refreeze again in her absence.

She whirled around at a knock on her apartment’s door and forced herself to calm down. Her anxiety had been doubled ever since she had made the decision—starting with this date—to swap her shoulder holster for a concealed pistol in her purse. The change from the norm was another layer of discomfort.

Cold made her way into the living room and up to the front door. She still peeked through the peephole and, upon confirming the fiery mane through the glass, opened the door for Beacon.

In comparison to Cold, Beacon wore a white strapped dress that exposed her front legs – and how well the white contrasted her charcoal grey coat. Her mane was done up in a simple ponytail, held by a golden band of beads. A white purse was draped at her side.

“Hey,” Beacon said, stepping inside as Cold shut the door behind her. She planted a kiss on Cold’s cheek, the warmth of which, as usual, lingered long afterward. “You look great.”

Cold smiled – considering she hadn’t bothered doing anything with her mane, she took Beacon’s word for it. “Hey. Are you ready to go?”

“Just a minute, I brought you something,” Beacon said, opening her purse.

Cold blinked, her blush turning to that of embarrassment. “Beacon, you… didn’t have to. I didn’t…”

Beacon smirked. “Surprise gifts happen, don’t worry. There’s always next time.” She winked before turning her attention back to her purse. “This is… admittedly not quite a gift.”

Cold frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well… how long is it until you give that coin back to Phillip?” Beacon asked, shifting the contents of her purse.

Cold blinked. “A few more months, why?”

“I got to thinking, and I thought I could give you another milestone to work towards,” Beacon said, fishing out the object in question – a black box.

Cold’s eyes widened and she felt her heartbeat quicken before her mind finally caught up and realized it was too big to hold a ring. She watched Beacon walk over to the bookshelf in her living room, open the box, and prop it up in an empty space on the top shelf.

Within the box was black felt, holding a medal on a simple ribbon. The ribbon itself was red with white edges. The medal itself was heart-shaped, a similar red in color as the ribbon and trimmed in gold. The top had a shield with an Equestrian coat of arms perfectly inserted into the dip of the heart and flanked on either side by olive branches. A golden, obverse profile of Faust was set in the center.

Cold walked over and studied the medal. “What is it?” she asked.

“Well, it’s a Loyal Heart,” Beacon explained. “Those in the service get these when they’ve been wounded or killed in battle. I earned mine from getting shot five times.” She smiled sadly.

“And you’re… giving it to me?” Cold asked. “Bea, I don’t think I can accept it.”

“Well, it’s less of a gift and more of a coupon, I suppose,” Beacon said, turning to Cold and taking her hoof in her own. “I don’t know how strong your addiction still is, but… next Hearts and Hooves Day you can redeem it.”

“Redeem it? For what?” Cold asked with a scoff.

Beacon smiled and leaned in close, her voice softening. “I’ll treat you to a romantic night out in Canterlot, preferably on Hearts and Hooves night but whenever you’re free – I know you have a busy schedule.” Beacon chuckled softly. “I wanted to give you something else to work towards.”

Cold’s face nearly turned pink and she gulped, glancing at the medal on the shelf. “It’s… thank you,” she replied, averting her eyes.

It started to sink in – the weight of the gift. Phillip’s coin remained in her coat as a constant reminder of his trust in her. Now Beacon was giving her one too – and she only hoped the trust Beacon had in her was justified.

“You’re welcome,” Beacon chuckled, letting go of her hoof. “And now if anyone asks, you can say someone’s given you their heart.” She winked.

Cold snorted. “That sounds unbelievably cheesy.”

“If you hang around Empress Cadenza enough, the cheese grates off on you – her husband too, for that matter,” Beacon said with a laugh.

Cold shared a little giggle, which caught Beacon’s attention. She smiled warmly and offered Cold her hoof.

“Shall we be off to dinner?” she asked.

“Let’s,” Cold agreed, taking it. 

As Beacon opened the door for her, she glanced back at the medal and smiled. She nodded to Beacon as she exited.

And as they walked down the hall, Cold leaned just a little closer into her.