> The Conversion Bureau: Sing for the Wicked
>  by Microshazm
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue and chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sing for the Wicked

Prologue

The midnight green Gulo-11 single-engine helicopter roared northeastward from Massachusetts. The vast ocean gleamed in the rays of the evening Sun. A message from the pilot reached the four-man crew via closed-circuit radio: “Ten minutes to target.”
“Roger that,” a deep, indifferent voice answered. The imposing black man took his hand away from his ear and turned to his left. He looked at the other dark-skinned figure, who was gritting his teeth and exaggerated his every sigh. “What is it, Newsom?”
“Commander, I still don’t know why me and Wyden have to be here,” said Newsom, sighing, “we’re just gonna fix a buoy – or he is.” Newsom nodded towards the slim Caucasian man sitting on the opposite corner of the cabin.
“All of this buoy’s functions got skewed. It’s still transmitting, but with different frequencies, and satellites can’t find it. If it was simple, they wouldn’t have sent us.”
“Maybe the Québécois are attacking us,” said the bulkier white man, Wyden, in a fake pensive tone.
“C’mon boys, this is no time to horse around. Jackson, what are you doing?” Commander was staring at the slim white man, who was scratching his bare chest, a grimace adorning his face.
“The suit, Commander. I think they got my specifics wrong.” Commander shook his head at Jackson. A former government technician and engineer, who’d served in the Jungle Wars of the Equator, Jackson was over ten years his elder – but judging by his frequent antics it could’ve been the other way around.
Still, whatever Jackson, or anyone else in the five-people crew had done in their past, they now served the Pan American Corporation. PAC was the second largest company in the world, trailing just behind the Chinese; it controlled, no, owned most of the Americas.

“Commander, we have a problem,” said the pilot in her neutral tone.
“Is it serious?”
“We’re experiencing distortions similar as the ones affecting the buoy. I’m decreasing our velocity, in case it starts changing flight conditions.”
“Roger that.”
“Hold on, Commander, I think I have a visual. W-wow, you’d better come over here, Commander.”
“Behave yourselves,” he said. The crew nodded in approval and he moved to the cockpit.
“Is it just me,” said Wyden, “or is it getting hot in here?” His face was deep red and he had already loosened the sleeves of his army-green gear.
“Wyden?” Newsom leaned towards him. “Man, you’re sweating.”
“The suit! It’s fucking burning!” Wyden squirmed. He wrenched off his gear, revealing the matte black fabric wrapped around his body. Wyden clawed it, he tried to grab and tear it.  “I CAN’T TAKE IT OFF!”
        Commander returned from the cockpit, screaming with the suit tracker in hand. “Take off your suits! Everything’s gone haywire! We’re lan-”
        His words got cut off. They’d hit something. Hard.

Jackson woke up. He was hurting everywhere, but nothing seemed to be broken too bad. He was still in the cabin which had water by his knee. It wouldn’t sink though, Gulos were designed to land on water, even when damaged.
“Hey! Is everyone OK?”
“Up here, Jackson.” It was Commander, but he sounded very weak. Jackson climbed onto the roof, where Commander was lying against the barren rotor head. “Jackson, you had your suit cut off... Lucky.”
“The others?”
“Dead. Fried by the suit and then drowned. They thought water would kill it.” His breath was almost gone, and he groaned heavily with every spoken sentence “The suit nanites began working at hundred per cent. That’s more than a million times too much.”
        Jackson looked at Commander. Jackson’s face asked the question for him.
“Turn around, Jackson. Enjoy the view. It’s-” The terminal breath. Jackson closed Commander’s eyes. He hadn’t really known the man – much less the rest of the crew – but he held still for a few seconds before executing his final order.
He saw the smooth yellow cone in the water. Bright bolts of energy were zapping it out of thin air. The same thing was happening to the tail of the Gulo. But that wasn’t all he saw.
Not too far in the horizon was land: lush, green, and brightly colored like the pictures in storybooks – certainly not Maine or Nova Scotia. Jackson got the emergency raft from the cabin and began paddling towards it. He didn’t care about the sparks, they seemed not to affect him. He wanted to set foot on that land.

Bump. He’d paddled for some fifty feet, when the raft got caught on something, sending Jackson face first onto one of its sides. He reached into what he thought was thin air, but his hand couldn’t go any further than the raft. An invisible wall blocked the man’s way to paradise.








Chapter 1: Rethink your resolutions


The Human Liberation Front was the largest anti-pony organisation in the world, and its most important member was a man called Frank Dunland. He and the rest of the HLF vowed to make sure that no matter how many ponies trotted on its surface, Earth would still be man’s domain. The job wasn’t easy though. Dunland wasn’t fighting an army ponies threatening to take over everything; the fight was more against humans themselves. The Conversion Bureaus were built by humans, the individual choice to enter one was made by humans, and the unanimously positive reputation of the ‘ponification’ procedure – also humans.
‘Going pony’ should’ve never been more than a passing fad, but Dunland had to admit that the colorful equines’ timing had been fantastic. Right when mankind had reached its new low point, boom, Equestria, ponies and remedy. That’s what the people thought. All the ponies had to do was watch and make sure all anti-pony claims got as little attention as possible. They were just like the dictators of the past but with one big difference: so far, the ponies had actually kept all their many promises.
        Dunland pushed a small button to activate his intercom. “You can let him in now, Trevor.” His bodyguard and occasional advisor pushed open the light blue door, letting a Caucasian man walk inside. The man was of average height and wore a light green long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans, both of which emphasized his slim figure. He had a typical short haircut, steel blue eyes, and sported a distinctive stubble in his chin. The man was probably in his late-thirties.
Dunland shook his hand and gestured him to sit down in a chair in front of his desk. Trevor didn’t leave the office, instead the imposing tanned man stayed inside leaning on the now closed door. Although the visitor’s physical appearance seemed quite harmless, Dunland’s lack of information about him required certain precautions. All he knew was a name.

“Brisk Meadow," Dunland began in a rehearsed diplomatic tone, “you have got my attention. Now would please tell me your real name?”
        “I have adopted an Equestrian name as an insult to their kind.” The man’s voice was as calculated as Dunland’s. “So, it’s Brisk Meadow or John Smith, take your pick Mr. Dunland.” Dunland put his palm on his face. He couldn’t believe his ears. How did this guy get in here and why were they having this meeting? On the phone this man had been persuasive enough to book a spot in his crammed schedule and this is how he introduced himself. However, something in him intrigued Dunland. Maybe it was his questionable arrogance, maybe it was something else.
        “Present your case Mr. Smith, or I’ll have Trevor walk you out.” The visitor gave the guard an amused glance but turned immediately back at Dunland.
        “You know the facts: despite your best efforts Mr. Dunland, the pony phenomenon isn’t diminishing. On the contrary, the Conversion Bureaus have their hooves full just about all the time and soon every single hopeless commoner has galloped beyond the magic barrier to Equestria. That leaves the HLF with nobody to fool since most educated people choose not to join either because of your bad image, or that they have learned to cope.”
Wise words, or just a ruse? All in all a pleasant surprise, thought Dunland and nodded at the man so he’d continue. “And someday when the nobles figure out how sparse they’ve become, they rush and get ponified. Nobody wants to be the last man standing on two legs. Then all you’ve got Mr. Dunland, is a bunch of ex-soldiers and not much more.”
Dunland cringed at the man’s words. Even now, most HLF members had military (or criminal) background and were trigger-happy to the extreme. Dunland was already waist deep in all the mess generated by these goons. That made his job very unrewarding and had opened his mind to new suggestions.
        “Alright, I agree that’s a future we can’t allow to happen. But tell me, where do you fit in all this Mr. Smith?”
        “I will tell you, but please, call me Meadow.”


***


It hadn’t taken long for Meadow to convince Dunland to follow his plan, but time had run fast. The sun was setting and street lights were taking its duty for the summer night. Meadow exited the HLF building and began his way to the nearest subway station.
He could only take a dozen steps before a familiar voice called to him: “Hey! Meadow, hold on a minute!” The man turned to see Dunland’s six foot four bodyguard facing him. “Brisk Meadow, huh? How did you convince Frank so easily?” The smaller man shrugged and continued to walk with the guard following him.
        “I guess I’m a natural.”
        “Oh boy, you are," Trevor said, his tone more serious, “but I don’t believe you one bit.”
        “It’s alright. You don’t make the calls.”
        “That’s right, I don’t. I’m only here to observe.” Meadow froze. “What? You really thought we’d let you fly solo?”
        “I work alone," Meadow responded with a calm but annoyed voice. “You don’t need to keep track of me. I’ll do what I promised.” Trevor’s eyes narrowed as he started to run out of patience.
        “You trying to pull mind tricks on me? Remember who you work for, Meadow. Don’t make me remind you, it’s only been half an hour.”
        “Alone, Trevor.” Meadow tried to move out, but Trevor caught his left shoulder and turned him around – a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.

It was all over in seconds. Meadow lifted Trevor’s right arm and struck his right palm into Trevor’s chest making the bodyguard stagger back a little. Trevor quickly responded with a powerful jab into the smaller man’s solar plexus.
The punch hit its target but with unwanted effects: Meadow barely flinched and Trevor felt intense pain in his knuckles. Meadow stared at the man and tapped his own chest with his fist, gesturing he had some kind of armor.
Before Trevor could decide what to do next, two lightning fast left swings had shattered his right clavicle and broken his jaw. He fell down on his back, still conscious and in great pain. Trevor didn’t scream though, his broken jaw made even breathing difficult. Meadow moved to stand beside him and looked down in his terror-filled eyes.
“Seems like it’s bad news for Mr. Dunland, but good news for you, Trevor. I’m going to leave you be. Just remember, sometimes plain death isn’t painful enough.” Meadow looked around to see a few onlookers on the scene. He had to sprint away in order to avoid any distracting follow-ups. Meadow would be leaving tomorrow morning anyway, so a couple of witnesses wouldn’t cause trouble.


***

        
What a night, Fiona thought to herself while hurrying down the snowy streets of Chicago. The nightly blizzard had left the air crisp and cold, as well as almost ten inches of snow on the ground. The young woman turned around a corner and lifted her head, a small smirk on her face. Finally.

Fiona stood under the canopy at Roosevelt station letting her tired muscles relax a bit. The concert, along with the terrible weather, and the following afterparty had taken their toll, and she’d already snoozed for almost two hours before leaving. The sparkling white scenery lifted her spirit. Only in the movies had the sky been this clear or the snow this white.
”Damn ponies," she muttered with a faint chuckle. All their kindness toward both the planet and its people had reduced Chicago's population by half. While things went relatively unchanged near the city centre, many smaller streets were now littered with abandoned cars and empty looted stores. Fiona had been lucky: practically none of her friends and family had gone and turned, but her luck could only last so long. This temporary white coat wouldn't change that.

At 6.23 am, the train arrived. It was all but empty, just a single grey pony its muzzle glued onto the glass door. Fiona frowned. Damn ponies taking our trains.
The old clunker slowed down and soon the two were eyeballing each other. Fiona noticed the pony was drooling against the glass, its expression dull and bemused. Was that idiot leaning on the door?
Indeed, the doors opened and the pony toppled down onto the platform out of breath and moaning. Fiona jumped on the doorway but didn't yet let it close.
”You alright?” Fiona asked the pony which, judging by its masculine voice and jaw, was male. The stallion gave no answer. Instead, it sat up and spewed a puddle of orange paste on the platform. “Shit, little guy, you're wasted!” It looked like somepony had been enjoying itself a little bit too much at the party last night.

The train left without Fiona. She couldn't just leave it out in the open like that. If some humanist drunks had come here, it could end badly for the thing. She squatted next to the stallion.
“Can you stand? Are you cold?” Fiona asked but got no answer. “My name’s Fiona. What’s yours?” This finally sparked life in the pony’s disoriented eyes.
“Chase," it coughed while wiping vomit off its chin.
Fiona sprung up and examined her new acquaintance. It was so cute! It looked like a fluff toy: grey pelt, quite short, blond mane, similarly colored tail and relatively huge green eyes. No wonder so many choose to convert and become a pony! Her eyes switched to her hands and fingers, yeah, no wonder.
She turned her head back at Chase, who had got up and tried to maintain a steady posture, succeeding barely. It then tried to walk but only managed to stagger around a bit. She quickly moved to the pony’s side holding Chase straight as it was about to fall down again.
“Where are you heading? I’ll walk with you.”
“The Bureau.”

After a few tries, Fiona got the stallion up to a steady pace as they slowly travelled down South State Street. She wondered why she’d been this helpful. She still had to be drunk and hoped that hangover wouldn’t yet choose to arrive.
Fiona also thought about the Bureau. She knew where some of them were located and she knew what they did, but she had never been intrigued enough to actually go snooping around. Incidentally the opportunity to know more had now presented itself.
Anyway, the pony was the first to start talking. “The New Year," it said its voice slightly garbled, “is it always like this?”
Fiona grinned widely. “We’ve had better fireworks. I don’t really care for that pony magic stuff, at least not yet, and that band’s certainly not what it used to be. But it was good overall.”
Chase smiled back at Fiona. “They sure were fine by me. I’ve never seen anything even close to that," said the pony and lowered its head, “and thank you, Fiona. I owe you one. About my condition. I’m-”
“Just don’t worry about it. It’s fine,” the woman interrupted, “but tell me why are we going to the Bureau. Do you work there?” Chase quickly lifted his head back up.
“Yes, yes I do. And... I- I could give you a tour, if you want, and breakfast as well.”
Fiona was quite sure it was the booze talking, both for the pony and for her, but she accepted the invitation. Not for her sake but for Chase’s, she thought.

It took about an hour for the duo to reach their destination, a two-storey block with red tiling. It looked way too small for a place that should be both a medical facility and a habitat for hundreds of people. There must be more room underground, she thought and gazed at the snow-covered dome towering behind the compound. Seems like there’s room for the flying ones as well.
Fiona and Chase arrived at the front. Realising they were alone, Fiona tried to peek inside. There were some automated blinds half open, but she saw no movement. After checking all the nearby windows, Fiona turned her eyes at Chase. The pony was at the door, a confused look on its face.
A note on the door said they wouldn’t even open for today. Chase seemed completely unprepared for the message but quickly shrugged it off. The pony looked at Fiona noticing the serious expression on her face.
“Hey, as I said, I work here. I was-," the pony’s speech was cut by an indefinable groan in its stomach. Chase rushed behind the nearest car letting out silent sounds of vomiting. Fiona shook her head and sighed. It was starting to get cold.

Suddenly she saw light inside the Bureau. A door opening maybe thirty feet inwards from the entrance. A six foot bespectacled man wearing a hoodie walked to the front door and opened it with a key.
“Good that you’re here," the man said much to Fiona’s amazement, “some were starting to get worried already. But it’s fine, you’re here now.” His calming voice was the polar opposite of Chase’s drunken murmur. In a single smooth and gentle swing, the man had scooped Fiona inside.
“You must be cold," he said gently patting Fiona’s arms and shoulders. Suddenly a terrible headache made Fiona raise her hands up to her temple. The man quickly interpreted the signs. “Let’s go to medical and get you something for that, okay? Then we can join with the rest.” Fiona kept her eyes closed but nodded, unwittingly forgetting about Chase.
As they walked down the dim corridor, the man started humming a familiar tune. Swansong by The Wicked, the same band that had performed last evening. Fiona looked up to see the man smiling at her. “They played it, didn’t they.”
Soon a soft chant filled the steel grey aisle.

everybody, we must get going
gotta catch the last glimpse of light
take my hand now, and I will show you
don't be afraid of what you will find

no wall is gonna stop the tide

He stopped and raised his eyebrows at Fiona, who took the cue.

listen to the swansong of mankind

The man opened a double-door and a sudden increase in light blinded Fiona. For a short moment she felt something sting hard against her back. She opened her eyes only to find a red object poking out of her chest – dripping with blood.
        The man jumped in front of Fiona. “I was worried you wouldn’t show up, girl! I bet it’s gonna take your mind off that hangover of yours.” Fiona watched her chest in awe. Was it really her blood? There was no pain. Besides her heavy pulse, she couldn’t feel anything out of ordinary. Then she tried to move and felt something holding her in place. The sensation wasn’t pain, but it came from inside her chest.
        The shock made Fiona gasp uncontrollably. She almost fell down, but the man hurried on her side to support her. Fiona could only think about getting the thing off and was about to touch the bloody object when the man flicked her hands away.
“Don’t. It’s sharp. You’ll hurt yourself.” Fiona clutched the thing anyway, only to pull her hands back instantly. The thing was outrageously sharp. There was no way she could get it off without losing fingers.
“They said there was one missing. So I couldn’t leave yet, now could I," the man said with the same calm voice, “and don’t worry about the wound just yet. You won’t die for days unless I take the blade off.”

The man led her into the room, which was a mess hall with orange chairs and tables. The tables were empty and stood in neat lines as did most of the chairs. The floor on the other hand made Fiona gag.
There lay bodies, at least a dozen ponies and humans alike. Most had their neck arteries cut, but there were variations. Many ponies had legs almost cut apart, many humans
their guts spilled on the dark grey floor. There were also gunshot victims, but whatever the gun had been, it couldn't have shot bullets. The bodies had either their faces completely blown off or a double hit to the chest that had dug a three inch deep hole.

The man had put Fiona to sit against a wall with the blade still intact. There she was, the next resident of this mass grave. She couldn’t close her eyes. She wanted someone to look back at her, but all she saw was death.        
Fiona’s pierced left lung began slowly filling her mouth with blood, and the initial shock started to fade. Her heart rate slowed down, throbbing pain pulsating from her chest and head.
        Why didn’t the man just kill her? Why did she have to suffer? She could have turned around and left, but the man had been so soothing, charming even. Who would have known that of all the kind strangers she had met, this maniac would be the exception. This sick, sadistic exception, who had slaughtered a whole Bureau. For him, she wasn’t going to scream, not even moan, she would sit still and watch.

The man spent the next ten or so minutes in the adjacent kitchen, still humming the same tune, while coming out to take a quick glance at Fiona every couple of minutes. At the fifth time, instead of heading back, the man closed the door and turned towards her.
“Look girl, your bravery notwithstanding, but why are you still watching?” He walked at the woman and sat down in front of her. “You got the hots for me, is that it?” Fiona spat a mouthful of blood on his face. Even though the gag reflex was involuntary, Fiona couldn’t help smiling at her tormentor.
“I see we’re both just about done here,” he said taking off his glasses and his newly bloodstained olive hoodie. What now covered his torso – as well as his arms, hands, and most of his neck – could only be described as a matte black superhero costume, for it was skin tight and revealed the man’s extremely well-conditioned muscles. Fiona really could have the hots for this guy, if it wasn’t for the hole in her chest.
“I’ll just leave you here and get out of the back. Of course...” The man pulled Fiona up. She tried resisting, but even the slightest move caused her unbearable pain. “I’ll be taking with me what’s mine.”

Thirty minutes. The man had said that’s how long she’d last. Every breath she took was followed by a bloody hawk. Her time ticked away with every second feeling like an eternity.
        Then Fiona remembered Chase. It was the pony’s fault she was dead! The man had been waiting for Chase, not her. It probably just stood there in front waiting for someone to open the door. Fiona hoped she was wrong, but Chase hadn’t saved her and now it was too late. So many would miss her, but she’d still only be a statistic. Just another aggression toward the Bureaus and just another hopeless victim. Fiona finally closed her eyes and fell into the dark void.

Fiona welcomed death. It took away her agony, but she couldn’t shake off the humming.

gotta love it, the things we have now
never really had a choice but it's all fine
cross your fingers, roll your thumbs around
the only thing we miss when we die

Unexpectedly, she began hearing feeble voices other than her own.

        No, the same here as well! What in dear Celestia! Who did this! Orangehop! Orangehop are you okay? No. You’re all dead!

No! I can hear you! I’m not dead I can still hear you! Fiona struggled to wake the last drops of her dying consciousness. She couldn’t feel anything.

        Fiona! You too... No, you’re not dead yet! It’s Chase! Can you hear me? I have to get you to medical. I can save you, Fiona. Just stay alive, Fiona!

Fiona felt gravity shifting. Like something shoved and dragged her around, and lifted her up in the air. Slowly, the void began to turn lighter and lighter until it was as bright as the sun.
        “I never expected you to come,” a strong female voice told her. In the bright light she saw a snow white, winged unicorn with a flowing rainbow-colored mane. Damn ponies. She was at death’s door and this is what she’d see?
It was like a dream. She didn’t have a body but could see and hear her surroundings. The winged figure dissolved revealing a bright landscape. Green flowery hills, sparkling waters, and dense woods. It was Earth like they pictured it in paintings: an uncorrupted paradise before the machine age had reduced it into the dirty, spoiled world that she knew. But even if death was the only way to reach there, it still wasn’t Fiona’s time to give in.

Wake up Fiona! Chase’s voice, now louder and clearer, made the image disappear.
        “Where were you? Why didn’t you stop him?” She blurted out the words and noticed she could hear them. Fiona also felt her sense of touch returning: she could feel her mouth speaking, her lungs breathing and the tremor that was Chase gently shaking her awake.
Certain that she indeed was alive, Fiona’s eyes fell wide open as she regained full consciousness.
        “I didn’t know you got in. I- I had to get the spare key! I didn’t go by the mess hall. I went straight here to get something for my head!” Fiona barely noted Chase’s shaky speech and just looked past the stallion to see a sterile white room surrounding her, bloodstains on its walls. An operation room? In the Bureau? Had Chase stitched her up or just pumped her full of painkillers so she couldn’t feel anything? Something made her senses awry. Fiona couldn’t feel her clothes, she couldn’t feel her breasts, she couldn’t feel her... fingers.

“Chase," Fiona said panic charging through her unfamiliar body, her heart rate soaring, “you made me- Why did you make me a pony!” Adrenaline rush pushed aside all her weird sensations and allowed Fiona to quickly bring herself up into sitting position on the bed she’d been lain. She stared at her arms incredulously. She had hooves, hard, clunky, brick red hooves! Fiona’s sudden change in position made her lose her balance and fall off the bed to the blood-oozing floor.
“I had to save you, and this was the only way. Everypony else is dead, every foal is dead! I’m sorry Fiona, but I couldn’t let you join them. It’ll be okay," Chase said with a desperate but a much clearer voice than it had been before. Fiona pulled herself up. She stood on two legs trying to grab the operating table with her now fingerless hands.
“Okay!? A change of species and it’s okay!? I’m alive, sure, but I’m this... fucking joke!” Everything was a mess. Nothing Fiona saw, felt, or remembered made any sense at all. Her leg slipped and she collapsed again. Fiona closed her eyes knowing it wouldn’t help a bit. Her thoughts were grim.
She could just let go. Let go – succumb to insanity and kill herself. Go to heaven and drink the crystal clear water of life that flows from under God’s toenails. And beside her there’s that pony. That fucking pony! Chewing heavenly hay and mocking her since she had died with a hangover. For all eternity she’d be begging it to give her a ride because it was so beautiful. Then God would notice and banish her to hell for blasphemy. No fucking way.
Fiona raised her head and calmly gazed around her. There was a cyan-coated unicorn lying in a pool of blood in a corner. Its large dead eyes brought her mind back to the ongoing terror at hand – or hoof.

Four legs. Four legs, not two, repeated Fiona to herself as she and Chase struggled to get her to move around steadily. Chase had briefed Fiona about her new form: she was an earth pony like Chase, her mane was light pink as was her tail, her coat fire brick red and her eyes maroon. Also, she had no cutie-mark on her flank, which in Chase’s case was a light grey twister, and was exceptionally slow at getting the hang of walking.
Thinking of Chase made Fiona’s confusion drop a little. If all ponies were this sweet and considerate, joining them couldn’t be all bad.
        When she finally got on her feet, or hooves, Fiona abruptly realised that she had no idea of what to do next. She was the only witness of a mass murder. This will get the attention of every single human and pony in the country, if not in the whole world. The scene will be swarmed with cops, investigators and forensic specialists – not forgetting the massive media coverage.
Why would the killer leave behind such a mess? Why give out so many clues? What the hell did he do in the kitchen? He sure as hell wasn’t...  Fiona’s adrenaline spiked again as she understood. The man wouldn’t leave them anything.
        “Chase, we have to leave. Right now.”

It was almost noon and a small crowd of curious humans stood before the closed Bureau doors. A new year, a new life, many had thought – only to be disappointed by the blatant message. Closed? The Bureaus were never closed.
        “Hey look, someone’s coming out! It’s two ponies!” The lone cry got the bystanders’ attention and they all watched expectantly as the pony duo exited the building.
“You opening up? C’mon you can’t be closed.” Fiona stared back at the tall figures surrounding her. She herself was never tall to begin with, but now, more than a foot shorter, she felt extremely small.
        Chase halted their way and began, in his polite Equestrian manner, telling the crowd to get away from the Bureau. Fiona, who leaned on Chase to support her movement, just listened to his hopeless mumbling. Daylight was a welcome change in atmosphere.
“Chase," said Fiona after awhile, “just tell them we open up at five. They go away, or they don’t. You did your best.” The stallion was about to protest but didn’t. Fiona was tired, about to pass out from exhaustion, he wasn’t going to argue.

Twenty past noon the Chicago skyline lit up in a flash. At the same time, a vicious sound, like that of an erupting volcano, spread out in the air. Many would think it was fireworks, or even thunder, but Fiona knew better.
She admired the scenery from under the canopy at Roosevelt station. Fiona’s eyes wallowed in the white-coated brightness, and she tried to put aside her grim experience, which, unfortunately, was far from over.


> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 2: A situation unhoofed


Chase trotted around nervously in the living room of Fiona’s spacious three-room apartment. They had stayed there for two days now and he grew more distressed every minute. Chase didn’t mind living with the girl, after all, she was a very disoriented newfoal and needed his help. But regardless of Fiona telling him that finding an abandoned apartment with working heat would be nigh impossible, he still wasn’t comfortable with the place.
First of all, it was difficult for the two earth ponies to manage anything in a typical human household. Secondly, the neighbours were all humans and Chase could swear some of them had bad intentions when it came to Equestrians.
However, this morning had put all those feelings away and yet greatly upped Chase’s level of anxiety. When Fiona would wake up, what in Equestria was he going to say to her?

The first night had been the worst for both of them. Fiona had called her closest friends and relatives and sent them tear-filled goodbyes. She had told them that she’d be moving to Equestria and that this is what made her happy. Chase had asked her – as politely and subtly as he could – why she was doing this, why she had to set up this lie. The latter question had made Fiona explode:
“Because that’s the only thing I can do! If anyone gets even the slightest fucking idea that it was us leaving the scene just thirty minutes before it exploded, we get stormed by the media and arrested. Nobody will believe anything we say ‘cause there’s no evidence and then that man will find us and finish his fucking job! The second I can walk straight, think straight and shit straight we leave to Equestria! No matter what I gotta leave behind!”
Chase had been very sorry for her, but the thought of somepony, this man, getting away with such a massacre had felt, and still did, overwhelmingly wrong.
The following day had been better. Chase had shopped for food and he had tried to cook Equestrian dishes for Fiona – most of which had failed miserably. He also had taught her to pick up and move things without fingers, the normal stuff. They even had had great laughs when Fiona had browsed through her wardrobe trying to find a single piece of clothing that would still fit her.
Chase figured Fiona must have been some kind of a collector: she had some twenty pairs of shoes, more than a dozen dresses, eight umbrellas, forty scarves and, much to Chase’s astonishment, a couple of tuxedos and a hairy jumpsuit she called Kong. All in all, it had been a much better training day than he usually had. The environment, though small, was ways less rigid.

Today they were going to leave, but after seeing the morning news, Chase couldn’t think about leaving, much less anything else. He’d been keenly following the news from the moment they had got to Fiona’s, every new story being a turn for worse.
Initially, there had been shock. The shock had been followed by a fair share of panic in other nearby Conversion Bureaus. It had faded quickly though, as the Bureaus acquired massive security measures. Meanwhile, investigations had begun at the scene.
It hadn’t taken long for the first results to get published. They had been negative in almost every possible way: no traces of explosives, no traces of any of the victims – just an empty lot with some pieces of the glass dome scattered around. Even nanoswarm speculation had to be swiftly ruled out since thousands reported seeing a bright flash and hearing an explosion, which explicitly contradicted the stealthy nature of even the most destructive nanites.
Every single human specialist was completely clueless about the nature of the explosion. Light, yes, sound, yes, but the area of effect had apparently been contained on purpose. There had been no shock wave, besides the sound, and no cloud of smoke or debris. South State Bureau simply was no more. The otherworldly mystery gave the mass of reporters abundant scoop material. It hadn’t taken long for somepony to mention ‘magic’.

That one mention alone had been enough to spark heated debates, and in a matter of hours the blast site had been scoured by a group of unicorns. The results had still been inconclusive. The unicorns were very secretive about their findings, assuming there were any, and had yet to share them with the public.
Wild mass guessing began, along with doubt and distrust. They would say those unicorns are hiding something and not telling the truth. When asked about the most likely cause, many fingers had begun pointing at ponies and their magic.
Chase had barely been able to stand all this, as he was sure the humans would back away from such a ridiculous possibility. However, the final straw was right there on the television screen.

Conversion Bureau attendance drops 60 per cent after federal authorities state they can no longer ensure the safety of those who apply. So called Equestrian magic scholars claim the establishments safe but still present no facts regarding the total annihilation of South State Conversion Bureau in Chicago that took the lives of 255 individuals...

“…of the Human Liberation Front, Frank Dunland what is your message to the unsure crowds?”
“First of all, I’m terribly sorry for everyone, who have lost their friends or loved ones in the incident, be it human or pony. Second of all, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but it was bound to happen, those things were never safe and I’m sorry this is how...”

“...was driving maybe less than 300 feet away from the building. Then, suddenly, the sky lit up, like struck by lightning, but the noise, wow, it was like a, like a bizarre roar, sure wasn’t thunder. Of course, I drove to see what was happening, and there, where the Bureau should’ve been, there was nothing, it was an empty lot. Magic? I don’t know but I’ve heard...”

...stia, the Princess of Equestria herself has been contacted. Her short statement made clear that she, while expressing her most dear condolences, doesn’t know any better than her advisers, who...

… Front member applications have increased over tenfold within the last two hours as campaign proves successful and well-timed...

On every channel, on every newsfeed it was the same. Although not entirely unfamiliar with wrath, Chase had to push himself not to go berserk.
Humans, so doubtful to good but so hasty to turn bad. Somehow they, in a brief moment of ignorance, turned to the first possible solution, whether it was the truth or not. Why didn’t the Princesses do anything about this? This was all just a trick, and they wouldn’t fall for it. That was impossible.
“Chase are you alright?” Fiona’s sudden emergence made him jump a little. How long had she been watching him?
“Not in hay," he blurted. The brick red mare stared at Chase incredulously for a reason. Seeing an Equestrian this upset would surprise anypony, even one who had always lived among them.

“I can’t just let this happen," the grey stallion said in an unintentionally bleak tone and pointed a hoof towards the television. “I’ve decided to step forward, Fiona, and you have to tell me everything you can about the man you met there. Every single detail or else they won’t believe me.”
“For fuck’s sake no! All that’s just bullshit. If you do, he’ll find us. He will–” Fiona’s voice had the same desperation Chase had heard a few times already, but he kept his cool.
“There’s my name on the disappeared list, not yours. I tell them I’m a survivor, they check the list, they listen. But they need somepony to look for, or else they’ll blame me,” Chase said calmly trying to keep Fiona from getting too dismayed. It seemed to work, at least she didn’t argue back out loud.
“And no, I can’t do it from Equestria. You humans are so impatient and to them Equestria is a fairyland. It would take weeks to get anything credible out here and that would already be too late. No human will take me seriously unless I talk to them from as close as possible.” Fiona faintly shook her head and looked at him like he had forgotten about something.
“Those few people saw us come out.” Chase couldn’t keep his facade up any longer. Why couldn’t Fiona see that they couldn’t just cover their own flanks?
“Those few people I can discredit! You humans should know all about that! Those people in the television, they say what we offer is a joke, or better yet, an enslavement deal. But if you had this situation the other way around, I bet my head on it, you’d force feed the potion to every single one of us! If you couldn’t find a reason to do so, you’d just make one up! Just like now.”
He could think of a million other hateful things about humanity and was very close to spitting them all out. Chase waited for an angry response, but instead the newfoal merely raised her brows in disbelief.

After a while of awkward silence, Fiona put on a smug face and tilted her head sideways, as if she’d been waiting for this moment.
“That’s it. No more TV for you,” Fiona said like scolding a foal. “You say we’re impatient and somehow, after two days of watching TV, you think you’ve charted this little monkey brain of ours? Are you so different Chase? I mean, where’s the humble kindness and all the love and tolerance you ponies so eagerly promote?” Two days of TV? Chase had been in that Bureau for four months! But, being honest with himself, he didn’t recall watching much news in there.
“Chase, it’s fine. If you want to sacrifice yourself for the pride of ponykind, I won’t stop
you. Just remember to make one hell of a scandal as fast as you can.” Fiona walked away to the kitchen leaving Chase more baffled than ever. After watching eight hours of human news reporting during the last two days, Chase was sure that he had a pretty good idea of how to ‘make one hell of a scandal’.

Together over breakfast, Chase and Fiona formulated a plan. At first, Chase tried to bar her involvement, but Fiona’s ‘expertise in monkey psychology’ proved too useful to ignore. They discussed who Chase should go see first, and the exact words he must use in order to gain attention.
“Although,” Fiona said, “the easiest way to get attention would be running around shouting ‘bomb’, but I think you ought to be a little more subtle than that.” They both burst into laughter, even though Chase didn’t understand Fiona’s joke. Must have been the excitement.
As exciting as this plan was, there was one part of it Chase hoped they wouldn’t have to discuss. Very soon, they’d have to part ways and Chase wasn’t sure what to think of it. They didn’t share much as individuals, but if two ponies go through the things Chase and Fiona had, should they ever separate like this? One escaping and the other doing the exact opposite? Saving each other’s lives sure had odd effects on everypony.

Stay by the blast site. Try not to get arrested no matter what. Fiona had told Chase to be a complete sell-out in order to get the media on his side. They have the power to drag almost anything through the mire, including law enforcement. But in case the media thought his arrest would net them a better story, their allegiance would quickly turn against him. He would’ve much better chances as the center of attention than in an enclosed death trap interrogation room.
Chase had taken all of Fiona’s advice seriously, and, though her claims seemed dubious at times, hadn’t yet questioned the apparent invincibility of the man who’d wounded her. Maybe the killer wasn’t literally an unstoppable monster, but Chase wasn’t going to take chances against a pulverized Bureau and the slandering of an entire species.
        The Bureau that had been his home for the last four months, The Bureau that was now gone along with his friends and colleagues – everypony he knew on Earth. Nevertheless, when Chase tried to think about what had happened, everything felt somehow blurred and out of place. He could remember what he had done, like, getting the spare key from the surveillance booth by the car lot or pouring the ponification serum into human Fiona’s open wound.
However, it had proven difficult to match these memories with anything he remembered seeing. It didn’t matter how hard he tried, he could only picture the concert, the fireworks and the short man, who’d given him ‘ouzo’.
        Of course, Chase had tried asking Fiona and she had loudly refused. She had her right to, but it did little help to Chase. Yet for the time being, it probably was for the best. They both had to deal with the nightmare eventually, but right now, there were other matters at hoof.

There he was, surrounded by a dozen cameras of different sizes and a tall female reporter from World Wide Broadcast or WWBC, as hundreds of labels were happy to point out. It had taken the news crew less than ten minutes to check the disappeared list and to find out that he indeed was the real deal – Fiona hadn’t praised their efficiency for nothing. The director began the countdown. Just a few seconds and Chase would be going live.
“I’m Leanne Forge, WWBC news. With us here in snowy Chicago is a confirmed survivor of the incident that happened two days earlier. Zephyr Chase why did it take you two full days to come forward?”
This was it, no turning back. Chase told the woman about the man and why he had been hiding until now. Most of it was true – a certain amount of disrespect for authorities was always liked – he only had to recount both his and Fiona’s experiences as a single one. He also wondered where they had got his full name from, but he was here to answer questions, not to ask any.
The reporter went on: “Yes, the police are struggling. How come there is so little evidence? How do we even know that the 250 people in the Bureau have definitely lost their lives?”
        Chase gulped and had to delay his answer for a second. The current uncertainty meant that the families and friends of the victims hadn’t yet lost hope. To them the Bureau had only disappeared, not gone forever, and possibly to reappear at anytime. As bad as that felt, giving them false hope would only make things worse in the end. He had to crush those hopes.
Chase told that he had seen the bodies, that the kills had been done by a professional, and that he’d been lucky to escape the scene. The lack of evidence, however, was harder to explain. The killer had had time to prepare his trick, and Chase and Fiona hadn’t actually seen what he’d set up in the cafeteria kitchen. Chase didn’t want to think of it as a lie, but more an half-educated guess. If anything, the word ‘military’ was sure to incite, at least, some authorities.

The live feed was on for full fifteen minutes and they continued to record for another twenty. The reporter had gone from forensic details to inquiring about possible reasons for the attack, the motif of the killer and what kind of events would follow. Chase followed the plan and stayed neutral. It was easier than expected, for the questions didn’t go too near his commitments to Equestria and he didn’t even know ‘what action the Princesses will take’.
Finally the crew cut the interview and left Chase alone with a single camera drone hovering about. The dark, metallic disk was about one third of his size and surprisingly silent. Chase could hear and feel a small current from its propellers every time it moved, but that was all.
They told him to stay around as they’d prepare to shoot a special some time later. A special was good news, but had Chase been good enough? With the drone buzzing next to him, he was marked.

“Yeah, Mr. Chase, we’re having a lunch break and the director said that, as long as you let  Skippy to tag along, you can go maybe, like, see the pony specialist group on the other side of the... y’know.” The short man shrugged and turned back to his colleagues.
Though Chase perfectly knew it was to get inside information from the ponies, the offer still was too tempting to pass. He hadn’t got much pony-to-pony interaction in a while. He trotted past the parking lot to the east of the site, where a small group of ponies was gathered around a long silver table. There were four of them: three unicorns perusing some shards of the glass dome accompanied by an apparently bored pegasus, who was flying around the scene in small circles. As expected, the sky-blue pegasus was the first to notice Chase’s approach.
“Hey, how did you get one of these?” The mare flew straight to the camera drone, barely even glancing at Chase. “I haven’t seen any this close. They don’t even let me near one. How does it even fly like that?” The pegasus tried to catch the drone and touch it, but the lightning fast machine evaded her hooves. Chase was sure he hadn’t met the pegasus before, but she looked familiar. Perhaps she’d been in the paper back in Equestria.
“Skippy’s just cautious with new acquaintances. Harass it some more and it’ll zap you.” Chase grinned as the pegasus promptly distanced herself from the drone. They were near enough the group for Chase to have a look at the three unicorns: two older, grey-haired stallions with light brown coats, brothers maybe, and a younger mare he recognized. She was Twilight Sparkle, a forerunner in the whole Conversion Bureau project, who had visited South State less than three months ago during her tour. A real celebrity and apparently a magic specialist as well.
        
“Hello there," Chase greeted, but the trio paid little attention to his words.
“I’m always happy to meet a new pony, but we’re very busy right now," the purple mare responded, her eyes fixed on her notebook. The grey twins just mumbled something that Chase couldn’t make out, but the pegasus rushed between him and the unicorns.
“Oh c’mon Twilight! He’s the survivor from the news!”
“Survivor?” Twilight raised her head and started instantly measuring Chase and the drone. “Of the accident?”
“Yeah, they just interviewed him over there. There was a big fuzz with lots of cameras and other stuff. He told them there was this...” Chase listened as the hyper pegasus gave a quick but accurate summary of his supposed ordeal in the Bureau that morning. Either she had just been watching television or had been eavesdropping at the scene. Chase suspected the latter.
“That, that is terrible. I’m so sorry.” The unicorn’s eyes turned to the ground. Who knows what she had had in that Bureau. Friends, lifelong acquaintances, even family members – Chase felt somewhat lucky he hadn’t known any of them for longer than four months.
“Ah, don’t worry. The mess going on right now is the worst part.” Chase said, trying to lift the overall mood. Twilight looked back at Chase again, her expression was indeed a bit brighter, but serious. “I didn’t yet introduce myself. I’m Chase.” Zephyr, he could hear the pegasus say in an amused tone. The purple mare skirted the table and moved in on Chase and the drone.
        “I’m Twilight Sparkle, those two are Wiseword and Notewell and you’ve already met Rainbow Dash.” The two stallions didn’t even react, but the pegasus waved at him cheerfully. “They’re very serious about what they do," whispered Twilight and nodded back towards the table.
“Charming," Chase said with a smile.

Chase, Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash had as open a discussion as they could under the keen eye of Skippy the camera drone. They talked about this and that, the pegasus being most careless with her words and Twilight had to constantly remind her that their conversing was being recorded. Chase, of course, had his story to stick to.
Still, there was much he wanted share and much he wanted to ask, but Chase knew Twilight would have to hush about the group’s recent findings, as well as about her own opinions. Rainbow Dash, however, was very straight with her multitude of complaints.
“I’ve been on Earth a while now and there’s something bugging me every single day. The air is too thick so I can’t fly fast, the clouds here are so thin, and light, and dirty I can’t even call them clouds. But you Skippy, you’ve really made this day a whole lot better.” The two earthbound ponies laughed a little while watching the blue pegasus still trying to grab the drone that somehow managed to keep its distance.
It was, for lack of a better word, fun. No matter how the situation would unfold, Chase had now had a conversation with princess Celestia’s trusted advisor and ambassador, or actually two of them, if any of the pegasus’ ramblings held true. Nevertheless, a quarter of an hour wasn’t enough to make him forget about Fiona and why he was there.

“Uuh... Chase," began Rainbow Dash while floating a few metres above ground, head turned to the west, “the news group’s got some visitors.”
“What kind?” Chase yelled out the question to which he already knew the answer.
“Two big black cars, people in dark clothes, lots of stuff goin’ on...”
“Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash, I thank you for your time. I bet they want me there, so I have to go," Chase said, trying to be calm. The unicorn’s expression was suddenly worried, but Chase didn’t let her talk. “A pleasure meeting you all. I hope we see again.”
Chase hurried through the blast site; the camera drone still following him. Goodbye Skippy! He could hear the pegasus’ joking shout coming from behind but shrugged it off. It was ‘the feds’ and there would be no joking with them.

Chase arrived at the scene. There were four dark suited humans waiting for him, though they let him approach them on his own.
“Zephyr Chase?” Asked a brown woman with short hair, when Chase was less than three metres away. His heartbeat mounted, but he stuck to the plan.
“Am I a suspect? Because we ponies have rights too.”
“Not a suspect," the woman answered and walked next to Chase, “but based on what you said, we can hold and interrogate you just fine. Now, in the back of the van, or we’ll make you.” Chase cringed at the sight of the shiny black vehicle with its back doors opened. How did it come to this so fast? The news crew should’ve covered him!
The woman led him into the small, dark space and said, as if she’d read his mind: “Nice try though, getting the media all over you, but a lot of folk has died Mr. Chase. Besides, if what you say is true, it’s only better that we, the real authorities, get the information from you and not from the news. And by the way, thanks to all those hero cop shows, our public image is rock solid.” She smiled wryly and closed the doors leaving Chase sitting on a hard, colorless rug. A joke or not, the media part of the plan had failed.
        Or had it? After half a minute in the van, Chase spotted something familiar. Floating on the other side of a window was Skippy that still filmed him. The machine looked positive, although Chase might have misplaced the term a bit. Maybe it could help, it could have some additional hidden functions, in case it would need to break in or out of something.
“Skippy! Get help!” Chase screamed to no avail – guess it wasn’t much of a helper. He could hear voices coming from outside. The feds and the news crew weren’t very subtle with the situation.
“Don’t you have any decency?”
“Get that camera off the pony!”
“Mr. Chase is our interviewee. We’re about to interview him! You can’t do this!”
“We can and we will. Now get it off! Or do you want to interview him in the van?”

And there, the last, foolish glimpse of hope was gone.


> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 3: Bennett


Damn ponies. No-good flock of horses, now including her. Fiona could’ve cried, it was so wrong. Walking on hooves and eating hay was bad enough, but leaving her family, friends, job, and even Chase behind didn’t feel great either. The stallion could’ve and would’ve helped her. Now Fiona had to start a new life alone.
Chase’s face could be seen on every monitor. Fiona wondered how long he’d last. He  had put out a confident act and the broadcast company was having a field day with the new twist and a lot less so with Chase’s capture. “Innocent victim arrested and to be questioned for terrorism!” Fiona watched Chase’s pathetic expressions, as he tried to say something to the camera before getting driven off. He would be going underground. Maybe they would keep him safe. Maybe they would lock him up for good.

Mainly occupied by busy-looking people, The Union Terminal also had some ponies buzzing about. Fiona recognized most of them to be groups of newfoals, judging by their lack of so-called cutie marks and their perpetual staring at the big departures screen. In fact, she noticed very few others.
The newfoals didn’t have much on them: every adult was wearing some brown saddlebag and that was it. Fiona actually stood out with her white woollen cap and matching scarf, not to mention the unfit backpack she’d managed to strap onto her. It was a shame really, all those clothes she had to leave.
But clothes weren’t the only thing Fiona was missing. Those saddlebags contained something she desperately needed – clearance. In order to board any inter-city train, you either had an ID – a small chip implanted into one’s wrist – or a clearance card which were given to Equestrians, newfoal-ponies and so on. Fiona, however, had lost her ID chip during her ponification, and she needed a card on the spot. Stealing one wasn’t an option, she lacked the dexterity, but Chase had told her to find a man called Bennett. He was supposed to be the go-to for anything newfoal-related.
The old lady at the help desk had much to gossip about Bennett but finally gave Fiona decent enough instructions. Perhaps she was lonely, or planning some sort of a trick for the man.
Administration was located on the second floor, so she headed for the elevators. Just before the doors closed, a wonderful sight caught Fiona’s eyes. It was two small foals, two kids, sitting on the floor, playing a clapping game with their tiny hooves. It was something she hadn’t seen for a decade. A good omen, it had to be.

The name plate on the door made very clear that Fiona had found the right place. BENNETT. No first name, no title or anything, just Bennett written in black capitals each the size of her hoof. She knocked on the door firmly.
“Come in! It’s not locked.” Fiona glanced at the door knob and knocked again.
“Fine! I’m coming.” The door opened and Fiona looked up to see a middle-aged, spiky-haired man with horn-rimmed glasses. He wore a navy blue suit and a blood red tie. “You’d be surprised how many of them actually try to turn the knob," the man said while letting Fiona inside.
The office was small and neat: a couple of metal chairs, a tall cabinet in the back and a desk that had nothing on it besides an emerald green vintage table lamp and a brazen nametag. There were no windows, but a large landscape on the wall gave a sense of openness.
“I’m Bennett," the man began in a friendly tone.
“Fiona," she responded, adjusting herself in the chair.
“Fiona... A request for personal meeting from someone I don’t know means we have a mutual acquaintance. How about you tell me, who that is.” So, coming to see Bennett personally wasn’t too common after all.
“I’m a friend of Chase’s.”
“Chase. You mean the pony from South State Bureau? Yes, I know him. I managed the clearance cards for him and his company. We talked for a bit, I drowned him in questions. He was most aware of city life though, being a city pony himself...” Bennett’s eyes turned to the landscape for a moment as he reminisced.
“Okay, enough about Chase, he’s in it deep right now, if you’ve seen the news. Fiona, whether you’ve lost your clearance card or never even got one, don’t fret.” Bennett tapped the desk swiftly a couple of times bringing up a sleek touch interface. “All I need is your full name and the Conversion Bureau you went to.”

Bennett leaned back in his chair and turned to watch the landscape. Fiona followed his example and the room fell silent for a while. The painting depicted a dirt road surrounded by a dense conifer forest with lots of moss on the ground. The road led towards the horizon, where a clear azure sky and grassy hills could be seen. Fiona felt a shudder run through her.
“A newfoal with no Conversion Bureau attendance,” Bennett said, eyes still at the wall, “that makes you quite off the grid I’m afraid.” Fiona involuntarily drooped her ears. She didn’t know how much she could tell the man about herself, and apparently just her name, age and profession wasn’t enough. Despite his relaxed demeanour, Bennett seemed strict as hell. Damn Chase and his baseless recommendations.
“I...”
“I would honest like to help you.” The man turned to face Fiona again.
“But you can’t,” Fiona said silently.
“I could just not give a damn and give you clearance and send you away, but I understand Chase, or whoever, hadn’t yet gone to specifics about Equestria. First of all, it’s not that big a place, most newfoals get actually sent back after a brief period. Sure they give you clearance to go, but it’s more of a tourist trip, really. Secondly...” Bennett leaned back and crossed his arms. “I figure you’d be most disoriented. See, I know Chase speaks perfect English, but the rest of ‘em don’t. It’s quite a shock when you hear it the first time.”
As Bennett went on telling about more and more obscure details, Fiona’s thoughts wandered. How stupid to think that they’d speak English, let alone any human language, in a place where humans weren’t even allowed. That still wasn’t an excuse to force her to stay. She could just stick with the other newfoals, who, in fact, had only been through a couple of week’s training. Unfortunately, the blabbering Bennett seemed very determined to change her mind. Handing out illegal clearances must be pretty risky after all.
“I was there!” Fiona shouted so the man would stop, “I was the last convert of South State Bureau, converted in the very morning it blew up.”

All plans completely forgotten, Fiona spewed out everything she knew. Bennett seemed doubtful at first, but after Fiona began elaborating on Chase’s news story, his expression changed to curious. Soon, Bennett began asking follow-up questions about Chase and especially about the plan he was following.
This made Fiona a little nervous. What if he was going to turn her in and was just gathering information now that she’d opened up? Whatever it was, after a while Bennett started grinning, first a little, but the grin widened at every word Fiona said. When she finished, the man’s face was filled with strange glee.
“Quite the story. It’s been a rough year for you so far, it seems.” Bennett began slowly rubbing his hands together. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “I still won’t give you clearance though.”
“What! I have to get away! I just told you!” That smile, what was it for? Was Bennett going to sell her out for his fifteen minutes of fame?
“You told me enough. You told me that you are not at risk, that it was Chase, who’s taken the spotlight. So, why should I help you? We should be helping Chase.”
“But he volunteered! He’ll go through with it. It was his choice.” Bennett’s smile faded, replaced by a look of determination – nothing that made Fiona feel any better.
“Selfish girl," he said with a much darker tone, “Chase, the one, who saved your life, is biting off a hell lot more than he can chew, and you thank him by running away.” Fiona bit her lip nervously. The man’s serious gaze drilled deep into her. He knew the truth and made his own conclusions, what else would you expect?
Fiona and Bennett sure didn’t compete in the same league, not even close. She had absolutely no idea where this man was going to drag her and didn’t know if there was any chance to refuse.

Bennett stood up and walked to the office cabinet, now fiddling with its contents. If Fiona wanted to, she could escape and get away from this man’s schemes. But after that, where would she go? No clearance meant no train or bus and even if she had a car, she was sure driving it would pose problems.
She also thought about Chase and Bennett. The pony had made his motifs abundantly clear this morning. His species was about to drown in public dirt, so he would play his cards in a way to prevent it. Fiona would have never guessed that ponies were patriotic. Sure, they boasted kindness towards everyone, but she’d got the impression it was Earth they were here for and not themselves. Such strange things.
Bennett, on the other hand, made even less sense. He had started blabbering again, this time about Chase’s low odds of survival. The knowledge he possessed was overwhelming: explosives, weapons and other military technology, tactical manoeuvres and so on. This man was much more than it had first seemed.
But even that might not be enough. Ultimately, Bennett was as much a fed as were the people, who’d detained Chase. An immigration official busting out a suspected terrorist was something Fiona would’ve paid to see.
“Ah, here we go.” Bennett finished his monologue and turned to face Fiona a small black case in his hand. “I had hidden it unnecessarily well.” He noticed Fiona’s curious look and gave her a faint smile. Bennett opened the case, revealing an oddly coloured clearance card which he put on his desk.
“Y’know, I haven’t always had a boring desk job like this," he said while staring at the desk, working something on the screen, “and I’ve been waiting for a good enough excuse to again do something with this thing.” He picked up the card and held it in two hands, twiddling it around, inspecting every detail.
“Perfect. Fiona, the name’s Nicholas Bennett, former Commander of East Coast Border Intelligence serving the Pan American Corporation.” He leaned over the desk and let Fiona see the card. It looked the same as all of them, except for a yellow tint opposed to the normal transparency. “And it looks like I’ve been reinstituted, starting today.”

From a rigorous administrator to an overconfident maverick in mere moments, Fiona didn’t know which Bennett she liked better, since they both seemed to work against her goal. Now sitting uncomfortably in a tiny two-seater, she again had to endure the man’s jarring chatter. Apparently, Bennett had an ego to satisfy. He needed someone to agree with him, give him justification for his actions.
“You might think the Federal Bureau’s got Chase safe, but I’m sure he’s not. Fiona, by what you said, the killer, I think he’s ex-military.” Fiona let out an uneasy snicker, she’d made Chase claim the Bureau had been blown away using ‘high-class military technology’ and now Bennett was going to tell her she’d been right?
“Exactly. You said he wore a black suit, a one that you didn’t notice until he removed his shirt. I fear that’s a graphene nanosuit. Ten thousand layers, capable of taking a 9mm bullet without slowing you down or an armour-piercing .30 with only small bones breaking.” Fiona’s jaw dropped. He’d just turned a piece of cloth into some military-grade superarmour. That deduction was way too rushed.
“Wait, there’s more. The knife, you said you couldn’t touch it without cutting yourself. It’s a nanoblade, retractable like a lightsaber, but that’s where the similarities end. It’s light and sharp, but if you look close enough, you can see it’s not as smooth as you’d think. It’s not an elegant weapon, it’s made to cut flesh.” Bennett had to cut off his exposition in order to brake hard to stop for the red light. Despite all the recent upheavals, downtown Chicago still had its fair share of traffic.
Bennett continued: “Both the blade and the suit are only given to troops which are expected to engage in close quarter combat, or that’s how they had it in PAC. How’s that so bad? Fiona, I’ve seen most of those boys crack some time or another, at times because of guilt or because of pressure, but that’s not the worst part. A few of them never crack at all.”

For a while, the drive went on in silence. The sky was mostly clear, and the white scenery basked in warm sunlight. The water from the melting snow formed small puddles and streams on many streets.
The slow crawl through the city finally gave Fiona a moment to think. She was losing the little control she had over the tide of events. She’d demoted herself to an extra, when she’d handed everything to Bennett. Even if the man found something for her to do, it wouldn’t be much by default. Bennett would go and meet the feds on his own and Fiona could only wish that whatever she’d done helped him getting Chase out.
“I’m dropping you off at South State, Fiona. I have no use for you with the federals.” Bennett took a left and steered the vehicle into the newsvan-infested parking lot. Fiona gulped notably as she saw the empty hole that had replaced the Bureau. Bennett parked the car and prompted Fiona to step out.
“But what the hell you ditching me here for?”
“Get cameras. Whatever they have there already is not enough,” he said while closing the door, “but don’t follow me down there.” Bennett tried to give her a comforting look and sped away. Fiona let out a slight, unnerving giggle. She was left alone once again.


***


Chase sat on a metal stool that looked and felt more like a coffee table in a small, dimly lit room. The walls were dull grey as was the floor. In addition to him and his seat, the room featured a large wall-mirror, a table, and a chair, which was now empty. There were no windows except for a small one on the door, but it had blinds covering it from the outside.
The walls seemed soundproof, but Chase could hear parts of conversations through the door. He wondered if this has been done on purpose to give interrogatees some sense of comfort. Such a flaw was unlikely to be there by accident. It was a useful feature nonetheless, its effect having been more than just comforting. Judging by the bits Chase had heard, the feds were in trouble.
The thing the female fed had said, it had been a joke. She’d lied – media had them by their coats and they were upset, to say the least. The media aspect didn’t even seem to be the worst part. Firstly, the order to capture Chase had apparently come from high in the chain of command, higher than anypony’s position in this establishment, and results were badly wanted.
Secondly, since the Bureau was no more, there were minimal records of Chase. In fear of his belongings getting stolen, he’d left everything in the Bureau in New Year’s Eve, excluding the concert ticket and some dollars, both of which he’d eventually lost. So, aside from basic information, all they knew for certain was his arrival date in the country.
Thirdly, the feds seemed to have no idea what to do to an Equestrian and only grew more agitated, when their human interrogation methods proved fruitless. They uttered many questions and tried to lure him to open up by proposing random scenarios of the events they, and actually Chase as well, had never witnessed. He told them nothing they didn’t already know.

After an hour or so of interrogation, the feds’ frustration really began to show which lifted Chase’s already expectant mood. He overheard something about covering their own asses and not wanting to be the one to get fired, but a longer discussion about the Princesses was something to really make him think.
“I got the whereabouts of the Princesses. Celestia’s due to spend the next couple of days in Los Angeles and Sacramento, and the other one, Luna, is supposedly in Equestria.”
“Have we contacted Celestia? I think it’s the ponies’ job to deal with their own...”
“We haven’t and we won’t. Boss said not to, and that's indeed their job and not ours.”
“Aw man, that- that ain’t good... I mean, they got TVs in Sacramento, y’know, but do you think Celestia would actually come here? She’s like, a horse with its own royal entourage, and this place is kind of crammed already. I don’t...”
The voice became mumbled as the talkers distanced themselves from the door. Chase hadn’t really thought about the Princesses yet, but it was probably true that if the feds wouldn’t let him loose, Celestia would – eventually. Even with the Princesses involved, there were no guarantees how far the feds’ loyalty to their boss would stretch. The best Chase could hope was for the boss to have a change of heart, as ridiculous as it sounded.

More time ticked by, and Chase waited for something to happen, anything. No fed wanted to talk to him; he would’ve even welcomed interrogation again, but all he got to do was sitting. Someone had brought him water and a couple of tomatoes a while back and the temptation to start a conversation with them was increasing. “Can you tell me how long I have to be here?” Fortunately, the door opened before the tomato could answer.
“Zephyr Chase, we got a specialist here to see you.” The guard moved to let in another man. Chase could tell he wasn’t a fed by the dark blue suit and red tie which contradicted the usual dark grey fed color scheme. The spiky-haired man took a seat and focused his spectacled eyes at Chase. He seemed familiar.
“It’s funny, how easy they let a corporate man come here and do their job for them. Isn’t that right Chase?” The man spoke in a professional monotone voice. Soon he raised his eyebrows and his lips buckled to a minute grin. Chase knew this man! The day he arrived in Chicago. The administrator had instantly put his language skills to a test as he asked a mass of questions about Chase and his life in Equestria. There was no hope remembering the man’s name though, the conversation hadn’t been about him at all.
“I’m Bennett," he said and extended his hand over the table, “and I’ve come here to settle some things.” Bennett... Chase shook his hand and thought back to their first meeting, of course, the same Bennett he’d told Fiona to go to. Could he ask if she’d made it? How freely could they talk in here? Still, his appearance was a relief, more, it was rescue. Bennett must be the most qualified human in Chicago to deal with an Equestrian. The feds, even their boss, would certainly trust whatever the man would say. But what if the things in Bennett’s mind didn’t include his rescue?
“What can I say, Bennett?” Chase put up an indifferent tone, hoping that the man would see through it and take the hint.
“Well, I can’t promise one hundred per cent confidentiality, as all this is getting recorded and there’s at least one guy watching us, but, to be honest, I don’t think the federals have the guts to cross corporate government.” Governments and corporations, Chase’s knowledge of human politics was very limited. Bennett could have meant close to anything.
“So... we’re clear?” Chase tried the most ambiguous line he could think of.
“This is a terrorism case we’re in. It’s serious business, but with enough outside pressure, the federals will give in almost certainly.”
“Just like that?”
“The federal government is pretty much dead. When corporations like Pan American started making their own laws and regulations, there was nothing the ‘real’ government could do. Money had brought people together and rallied them against their former rulers. I bet all of these people would defect if given a proper chance – a job, that is.” So, that’s how it was. Lack of guidance, instability and greed were all added to Chase’s list of human weaknesses. Converting them all would be a blessing.

“What? A whole freakin’ crew!? Shit, shit, shiiiiiit...”
Bennett put up an exaggerated smile as the frustrated mumble went past the interrogation room. “We’ll be outta here in no time.” Chase let himself relax a bit. Doubts aside, he seemed to have been right about Bennett, and he was glad of it.
Some minor racket could still be heard from the hallway, but sudden sounds of heavy footsteps alerted the both of them. Chase glanced at Bennett, whose face was instantly devoid of any expression.
“...on it! I’m on it!”
“What is it?”
“Fire at the back entrance, or a lot of smoke, at least.”
The voices belonged to the brown female fed and the guard at the door with the former  rushing away. “It could be nothing," Chase said and wished for a positive response.
“Fireworks, perhap–” Bennett was interrupted by a tremor that shook the whole room a bit and made the light flicker. “We need to get moving, Chase.” Bennett bolted to the door and called the guard, who was busy shouting annoyed questions at what Chase assumed to be his walkie-talkie.
A new, male voice yelled out in the hallway and broke the guard off his query: “It was an explosion at front. We’re under attack!”
Chase almost panicked, but quickly realised that an attack from two sides meant something else than the single killer he was trying to evade. Bennett, however, showed clear signs of worry. He called the guard again, slamming his fist on the door, but still got no response.
The guard was addressing the other man: “Hey, who are you? Hey!”
Bennett tried to briefly peek through the window blinds and turned back at the table. “Come here. Get away from the mirror.” Chase obeyed. The moment he was across the small room, Bennett had grabbed the metal chair in his hands. The way he looked at the mirror made it increasingly difficult for Chase to keep calm.

The large mirror shattered all the way into a million glittering pieces. Unfortunately, the sight it revealed wasn’t even marginally better: an even smaller room with a vacant tripod and a desk with two monitors and chairs – all behind another frame of glass.
Before either of them had decided what to do next, the door to the monitor room swung open. A fed-clad figure walked in, dragging a body in its wake. Chase took a look at Bennett, who just stared at the scene, his mouth forming a silent profanity. Chase turned back only to instinctively stumble and take cover in the corner. The figure was pointing a gun at the window.
Chase covered his face in between his front legs. The blast was surprisingly quiet, but powerful enough to blow an enormous amount of glass into the room. He readied himself for numerous cuts, but, astonishingly, no shards struck him, only some that hit the back wall fell harmlessly on his back. Chase lifted his head and saw that Bennett had upset the grey table making a cover for both of them. Now they stood up to face a man with a large handgun pointing straight at them.

Maybe the mirror should have left unbroken.
> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 4: Born Equestrian


“Chase the survivor," the man said from behind his gun barrel, “and quest.” Bennett straightened his posture and wiped his head and shoulders free of glass shards. Chase determined to stay silent. Even though the thought of ending up a hostage filled him with fear, it could be they only way out of here alive.
Bennett decided to answer: “I’m Nicholas Bennett, East Coast Border Intelligence.” The gunman’s eyebrows arched a little. It took him a moment to recollect, but his expression soon reverted back to neutral.
“Interesting. I recall there was a commander called Bennett in ECBI, but he had quit a year after the opening of the first Bureau. You wouldn’t be him, would you?” His voice was very calm, soothing even, but what distracted Chase even more was his haircut: blond and short, almost exactly like his own mane. Bennett nodded, and the gunman flashed a brief smile.
“You’ve pissed off the wrong people, pony.” Chase gasped, as the gunman was again aiming directly at his face. “And you, commander, do you recognize this gun?” he turned to Bennett and – an action that filled Chase with a confusion more massive than the Sun and Moon combined – stepped forward and handed the weapon to Bennett. These two... They were friends? Companions? Was this a rescue of a rescue or just the second half of an elaborate plan? Chase’s mind was blown away.
To further bemusement, the newly unarmed gunman started laughing. It sounded and looked like a genuine, fun laugh. Chase noticed Bennett was smiling as well, though his eyes were fixed on the bulky handgun. What the hay was wrong with these two!?
“Oh boy, we’re still totally screwed, my friend.” The two men straightened their faces almost simultaneously, but Chase was still none the wiser.
“W-what? We? How?” Chase chose not to go on, for his rampant thoughts didn’t quite make decent enough sentences at the moment. He started to wish for the feds to make the next intervention. At least, they were somewhat logical.

“Chase, take look at this," said Bennett and showed him the handle-end of the gun. Chase didn’t see anything special in it. It was a handle for a rather big human hand to grip. “Electronic triggers have been the standard in corporate firearms since the beginning. Although, I have the necessary implants in my fingers to operate a gun like this,” Bennett pointed the weapon ominously at the other man’s chest, but he didn’t even move a muscle, “it can be fired by his hands alone.”
The two men exchanged some specifications about the weapon, but Chase wasn’t paying attention. He stared at the floor and the glass shards covering it. He was hungry, stressed, and disappointed. Nothing went his way, so, the only thing left to do was to give up. Or to do the exact opposite.
The table lying on its side made an easy target for Chase. He bucked it hard enough for it to hit the unwary gunman, who briefly lost his balance. Chase made a run for it. He jumped over the table and galloped through the window frame to the monitor room. In the corner of his eye, he could already see the man getting up seemingly unhurt. Still, there wasn’t any instant death hazard, since Bennett had yet to give the gun back.
Chase circled the desk which revealed the rest of the room. His eyes, however, scoured the floor. There were two bodies: one was fed-clad and lying on its belly with its face against the floor; the other, wearing black utilityware, was the door guard Chase was looking for. More specifically, it was the guard’s key he needed.
He searched through the motionless man’s waist. The belt featured a flashlight, a gun in a holster, a small device with a yellow and black lightning symbol on it, but not anything resembling a key chain. Of course, the man had already taken it – what a hopeless attempt.

Chase turned his attention back to the other room, where Bennett and the gunman had engaged in a brawl. Even though Bennett still held the handgun while the other was unarmed, the latter seemed to have the advantage. He had little trouble parrying Bennett’s strikes which all were aimed at his head. After one such parry, he responded with a heavy blow into Bennett’s stomach. It was enough to bring the bespectacled commander to his knees.
The other man kicked the handgun away from Bennett’s hand and retrieved it. Chase closed his eyes: execution was something he couldn’t bear to watch.
The feds, the media, even Bennett had all been incapable of protecting him. Not that he’d blame them, since the mess was mostly his doing. There was nothing left to do, but to wait for the final pull of the “electronic” trigger.
Chase waited for a blast, but instead, he heard Bennett’s angry groan which prompted him to open his eyes again. The fed-clad man was standing behind a grimacing Bennett, holding a tiny injection needle by his throat. The killer was focused on the needle, paying no attention at Chase’s direction. Why didn’t he just finish him with the gun? Had he become... neat?
“W-what the hell?” Bennett uttered, stomach still quite hurt, when the man tossed the empty needle to the floor.
“It’s just Jared, nothing more.” Bennett’s grimace turned into a look of surprise, but he, his whole appearance, started to sink rapidly.
“Oh, fuck... Jared...” Thump. Bennett was down. It was now between the two of them – Chase and this monster.

“Help! Anyone help!” Chase prayed for the feds. Come on, it’s time to redeem your poor, incompetent flanks – just come here to save mine. Somepony, a fed, or a guard, or just anything, please, you had to hear this. The noisy tactic had at least one positive effect: Chase saw the killer’s expression visibly cringe for the first time. That gave him the energy to scream even louder: “The attacker is here!”
Nevertheless, it didn’t last long. Within several seconds, the man was pressing Chase against the door in the monitor room – with great force, but not doing any real damage. The left hand that held him didn’t feel like an ordinary human hand. It was colder and much harder.
“You’re a real pain, pony,” he said and drew another injection needle from his jacket pocket. Chase tried to kick it, or anything really, but he wasn’t nearly fast enough. He felt a pinch, and the cold liquid was already pouring into his veins.
The man took the needle out and shoved Chase aside. He drew his gun and opened the door with a quick sweep of a key. Chase could hear shouts from the hallway, then a few shots, but his senses were slowing down. Though a moment ago it probably was the last thing on his mind, now Chase wanted to sleep, and his body was making sure he would. The gunfight would certainly last for awhile. A quick nap wouldn’t hurt anypony.


***


Five o’clock meant it was getting dark. Getting the WWBC crew to leave the site had been a walk in the park. It was ridiculous how fast those vultures would try and seize every story opportunity. If they always acted like this, misleading them would be easy as hell. Fiona could have hinted them to go near anywhere in Chicago. Maybe they had some sort of system to separate the trustworthy claims from more obscure ones. Or maybe it was some reporter flair.
Fiona tried to center her thoughts to the ongoing matter. That crazy Bennett had made a real dick move ditching her here, but she had done what he had told her to do. Still, Fiona felt like a burden. This bullshit body felt like a burden. She figured there should be some instincts hard-coded into the equine body to help her adapt, but no, everything still felt as stupid as the first time.
The lot that used to be South State Conversion Bureau, was now all but deserted. There was a car or two in the car park, but Fiona was certain nobody had touched them for a few days, at least. On the far side of the lot stood a large trailer with light coming out of its windows. Another news crew or some investigation team?
Fiona didn’t want to go home. Something psyched her to help Chase, something that made the thought of abandoning the pony unpleasant, even terrifying. Was it Bennett’s gloomy opinion of her or a side-effect to the conversion? Fiona decided it was for the lack of better things to do. Yes, that was it. Bennett had ordered her to stay put, but every idle second felt very much wasted.
She had little idea where the federal establishment that held Chase was located at, but what Fiona could do, was finding a TV.

Fiona trotted around the blast site, which was encircled with white-and-blue police tape. She now understood why everyone was so agitated with the circumstances. The place was eerie: a spherical plot of ground was simply empty of everything but dirt and a few pipe openings. As if everything had just evaporated into thin air.
Bennett had probably mentioned some possible explanation during one of his monologues, but it didn’t really matter, as Fiona hadn’t been paying attention at the time. She knew that unicorn magic, or whatever it was, could create splendid, if a bit fake-looking, fireworks. Could it also cause something like this? An even crazier thought invaded her mind: could the killer have detonated a unicorn?
She continued towards the trailer. All the blinds were open, giving Fiona an unobstructed view inside. There were people there, or actually ponies, and they were watching TV. Ponies was good: they’d be more willing to let her inside than humans, or at least without any hidden agenda. On a few, rare occasions she’d heard some rather unsettling plans involving her neighbours and ponies. The walls in her apartment weren’t even thin, the neighbours had just been that loud.

She prepared to look as casual as possible and knocked on the door. A brief grunt came from inside immediately after. It was too faint to have been directed at her, but there was no way to guess what it meant. It sounded... alien, or ‘quite a shock’, as Bennett had put it.
The door handle turned and the door opened up revealing a purple unicorn mare. “Hello," Fiona began, “I’m Fiona, and I was wondering if, you’re so kind, I could watch your television for awhile. It’s important.” Better be straight about it, she thought.
To Fiona’s surprise, the unicorn seemed annoyed. “Don’t tell me you want to watch the game, as well.” Fiona didn’t get to respond before a loud yell erupted from the trailer: “TOUCHDOWN!”
The purple mare’s annoyance deepened. “She doesn’t even know the rules.” Fiona laughed a little; her first genuine laugh of today. “Come in, Fiona, maybe you can talk some sense into her.”
Wow, getting ponies to invite you in was truly easy. What if she’d abuse their trust? Of course, Fiona wasn’t going to, but lots and lots of people surely would, at some point or another. These creatures must be easier than game to determined sociopaths.
A shudder cut off her stream of thought. The bad memories still lingered uncomfortably close.

The unicorn moved out of the way and let Fiona in. The trailer looked even bigger from the inside. It featured a fully-equipped kitchen, a lounge, and apparently two bedrooms, one in both ends. The unicorn, who introduced herself as Twilight Sparkle, led Fiona to the lounge.
There was a TV on the wall, a coffee table, a large armchair, and a couch with a light blue pegasus-pony loafing on it. The pony was keenly following a match between Chicago Bears and Detroit Lions. It was their last match before the Playoffs and had actually been played yesterday evening.
“Rainbow Dash this is Fiona. She-”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hey, what kinda throw is that?” The pegasus didn’t take its eyes off the screen. Fiona looked back at Twilight, who just motioned her further in.
“Hey, uh, Rainbow Dash, you know that’s a rerun, right?”
“Yes, uh, Fiona, it is. What are you getting at?” Twilight’s annoyed expressions from before began to make more and more sense.
“Change the channel, please. News channel, preferably.” This finally made the rainbow-colored head turn and take a look at Fiona. After a quick glance, the pony started to chuckle.
“Okay, Fiona. A request from a fashionable pony such as you, who could refuse, right?” She said while chortling between words. What an annoying piece of shit. Guess every species has its share of those.
“Save it, Rainbow Ass.” As juvenile as that was, Fiona wanted to see if the pegasus would react in a typical douchebag manner.
“Whoa, take it easy,” it said, springing up from the couch, “I was just teasing you. Aah, the remote...” The pegasus – apparently a mare – retrieved a small remote from between the cushions, placed it on the coffee table, and began surfing through channels. How she was able to do all this so easily with only her front hooves was something Fiona could only marvel at.
“Rainbow Ass, heh, I guess I deserved that one. But still, that bag of yours doesn’t suit you at all.” Before Fiona had a chance to feel embarrassed, a big, bright news headline stole her concentration, and filled her with worry.
Federal police compound hit; survivor of South State Conversion Bureau gone missing.

Fiona stared incredulously at the screen. It was showing an aerial shot of a red concrete block with some smoke floating around. What are the chances, she thought to herself. Two out of the two men she’d previously met were mad. Bennett was supposed to get Chase out of there, but with an oral or an authoritative assault. This kind of thing would only cause more trouble for everyone.
Small bits of information scrolled at the bottom of the screen. There had been at least one confirmed attacker. He was male, Caucasian, and had disguised himself as a federal agent. He had used small explosives and smoke bombs to divert attention from his entry and subsequent breaking into the interrogation room that had held Chase. While inside the compound, he had apparently drugged three people, and they were yet to recover. The situation had ended with the attacker opening fire and injuring another three feds, before escaping the scene with motionless Chase on his back.
Fiona stopped at the word ‘motionless’. Had Chase been unconscious? Or just unwilling to escape? Bennett carrying a full-grown pony on his back and escaping from angry feds at the same time seemed very unlikely. Sure, he probably was in great shape for a man of his age, but that wouldn’t be enough. Unfortunately, the only alternative to Bennett was far worse.
“Oh, no.” Fiona uttered silently after the information banner had rolled through its loop. “It’s him. The man, who slaughtered the Bureau and... And now he’s got Chase.”
“Do you mean,” Twilight said over Fiona’s shoulder, “that the same man, who Chase denounced to the press has now broken him out?” Fiona just stared at her for a moment, numerous questions popping to mind.
“How do you know Chase?”
It was Rainbow, who answered: “He came by here two hours ago. But how do you know Zephyr Chase?” The pegasus flew across the room, a tip of her wing missing Fiona’s eye by an inch, and slumped back onto the same couch she’d occupied a few minutes ago.
To lie, or not to lie were the two options Fiona was facing yet again. She knew for a fact that rescuing Chase on her own wasn’t an option. She’d need help, but from who? Exposing herself to the media would divert attention from Chase and the attacker to her, which would only make it harder to find them. Bennett was on the other side of Chicago, possibly injured, drugged or both. However, he was a capable man.
There were also these ponies. Fiona didn’t know what they were even doing here – they didn’t look too busy or anything. Since there was one of their own in trouble, surely they would help. Fiona turned to Twilight and Rainbow, and recounted the events that had led her to rapping at their trailer door.

Despite Fiona’s pleas, the purple unicorn stayed firm. “I’m sorry, Fiona, but I can’t leave my post. I’m under Princess Celestia’s direct orders, and, unfortunately, they go beyond even a situation like this.”
“What could be more important than saving lives?”
“I and the Wisenote twins are investigating the destruction of South State Bureau.”
“They hate being called Wisenote,” Rainbow added. Fiona’s patience was about to hit record low.
“There is no fucking thing to investigate! That one man is the sole cause of this. He’s gonna kill Chase. But not before he has revealed my part, and then I’m screwed also. We need to find out where they are, get Chase away from there, and then fucking deal with that man.”
Twilight opened her mouth to protest, but got a light blue hoof in there before managing to say another word.
“A pony’s in trouble, and I got nothing to do. Whatever it is, consider it done, Fiona.” Rainbow struck a confident pose in the middle of the room, bringing a slight smile on Fiona’s face. Twilight, however, wasn’t impressed, and the pegasus noticed that.
“I’m not under any orders.” The words were pointed towards both Fiona and Twilight. “I came here, because I was bored. Why should I keep watching television, if there’s something real and serious and important to do?”
“I guess you’re right,” the unicorn mumbled, “just try to keep safe, okay?”
“You know me, Twilight, don’t worry. So, Fiona, what are we supposed to do first?”
“We head for The Union Terminal.”

Fiona walked north towards Roosevelt station, the rainbow-haired pegasus flying anxiously around her. She’d explained to Rainbow Dash that the easiest way to try to contact Bennett would be from his workplace. Fiona had made the mistake of not getting Bennett’s cell phone number in the first place. In fact, she hadn’t even remembered the phone in her backpack until about ten minutes ago.
Though, Rainbow was anxious for another reason: the subway route they were taking. Fiona said they’d take the train at Roosevelt, exit at Washington, and walk the last few hundred feet to The Union Terminal. After the summary, Rainbow could only frown.
“Afraid of heights, Fiona?” Rainbow swooped past her, snitching her cap.
“What? No, why...” She didn’t get to finish her sentence, for she was holding onto the pegasus’ back for her life.
“Sorry for stealing your hat. It was kind of necessary.” Fiona didn’t listen, she didn’t care. Damn earth ponies, why couldn’t she have become a pegasus instead?

The white-haired lady at The Union Terminal’s help desk hadn’t forgotten about Fiona. Actually, she was very eager to surprise her with some impressing news about Bennett: he had already returned to his office upstairs.
“He didn’t look too well, though. Didn’t even say hello, just grunted something to me.”
Fiona asked the lady to inform Bennett of the two visitors. She agreed to do it with a word of warning: “I tell you, he’s in a lousy mood.”
Whatever that even meant in his case, thought Fiona to herself.
This time there was a guard in front of the office door. He let Fiona and Rainbow Dash in, after making sure that they weren’t reporters, and there wasn’t anything dubious concealed in Fiona’s backpack. Luckily, he didn’t ask for their clearance cards.
Bennett sat behind his desk. Dishevelled hair, bags under eyes – his composition seemed slightly dreary in comparison with four hours ago. Judging by Rainbow’s sudden expression of disgust, his smell was apparently quite eccentric as well. Yet, small things like that didn’t keep him from smiling at his quests.
“Hello there, Fiona.” He turned to Rainbow. “And you I remember from yesterday morning. Something... dashing. Rainbow Dash, am I right?” The pegasus nodded in approval. Bennett continued: “I know what you’re here for, but I’m afraid I’ve played all my cards and did rather poorly.” Fiona facepalmed, or was facehooved the correct word now? She wondered if ponies even did this. Wouldn’t they be kicking themselves in the face?
“But you got outta there alive! By the looks, you’re not even badly injured. You did good!” Fiona tried to sniff the air for clues, but found her sense of smell to be inadequate. Maybe that was just another thing she’d have to practice.
Bennett sighed exaggeratedly and shook his head. “While I’m glad to hear your words of support, that guard is still going to stand out there and keep me from leaving.” Fiona couldn’t think of a response, but Rainbow happened to sum her baffled thoughts up pretty well:
“Hey, I thought you were one of the good guys.” Bennett turned to face the landscape that hung on his wall – he had some explaining to do.


***


Chase opened his eyes. He wasn’t in the monitor room anymore. He was lying in a bed very similar to his own in the Bureau. It even smelled quite the same. Nevertheless, this one had better sheets.
It seemed that he’d been sleeping. He couldn’t say for how long, but he’d surely been asleep. He’d even had a strange dream: himself as a human, shooting guns and playing ‘rock, paper, scissors’ against his mirror image. That game was one of the very few things the humans had and he badly wanted to get. Chase had made a promise to himself that the minute he’d get back to Equestria he’d find a way for ponies to play it. But that had to wait for now.
Chase checked out his surroundings: a bedside table with a lit lamp on it, a medium-sized window with curtains, and a tall, ajar door. He could see through the window that it was dark outside. All the light in the room came either from the lamp or from the doorway. Sure that his body was free of injury, he sneaked his way carefully to the transparent frame.
He was in an apartment block, and at least five stories up from the ground. The neighbouring buildings he could spot were all only one or two stories high. He also managed to catch some people walking on the street, and even a couple of ponies. The downtown skyscrapers were not too far into the horizon, so he was still in Chicago, probably just a few miles from the centre.
Chase heard the door creak behind him. He turned to see a bespectacled man standing in the doorway, dressed in all black. His hair was faded brown and about as long as Chase’s mane. The man’s face was pale and wrinkled.
“You took your time to wake up, pony.” That voice, that calm, deceptive voice. He looked different, but it was him no doubt. Chase was still a captive, just in another place.

Chase couldn’t stop staring at the man. His face looked so old, but the rest of his body told otherwise: it was muscular yet slim – ‘fit’, as they would call it. He wore some kind of a black jump suit with matching gloves and boots. The suit was a very stiff one: Chase couldn’t even see the chest move, though the man was most certainly breathing.
The man took Chase to a combined living and dining room lit by a lamp in the ceiling. There were couch cushions on the floor, a couple of stools next to a table, and a small television – the smallest Chase had ever seen. A window was pointing at same direction as the one in the other room.
The man sat on one of the stools, holding the large handgun from earlier. Chase sat down on a cushion, he hadn’t yet uttered a word and decided to stay that way. After a moment of silence, the man began to speak:
“I bet you want to ask about some things. Don’t be too afraid to do so. I couldn’t have brought you here just to kill you, now could I?” Chase had questions, of course, but trust was another thing. There was no way that man would tell him the truth, he would just try to play him. Chase recalled the man’s upset expression in the fed building, so, he’d try that again.
“Someone, help! Call nine-one-one! I’ve been kidnapped!” Chase’s cry did get a reaction from the man, but it was more that of surprise than worry. His face quickly returned to normal, except for a new, cocky smile.
“Oh, don’t think I’m that easy to foil. We’ve got the whole floor to ourselves, and in addition, this used to be a retirement home, so they padded the interiors sound proof.” Chase was stunned. No matter how cowardly, that had probably been his only chance. “Don’t start sulking on me, pony. That isn’t the way we play it here,” the man added playfully.

From the first few words, Chase was sure engaging in conversation with the man was a mistake. The man introduced himself as ‘Brisk Meadow’.
“That’s an earth pony name!”
“It is? I just made it up. Besides, isn’t Zephyr Chase more fitting for a pegasus?”
“Uh... I guess my parents thought it’d be funny.” Chase rolled his eyes. The real story, of course, was longer and more complicated. Chase’s parents were pegasi and so were his younger brother and sister. In fact, the four previous generations down in the family tree had all been pegasi, so he must have been quite a shock. Naturally, there was nopony thinking that way, at least never out loud.
Being an earth pony in Manehattan was not a problem, but when Chase was the only pony in the family with no wings, he sometimes felt a bit restrained. Especially when his brother got new friends in flight school. Still, he always thought he’d been lucky, for the essence of Manehattan was not its skies.
“Ha, you’re the one being funny here.”
“Whatever, ‘Meadow’. So.. What am I doing here, if you’re not going to kill me because of my-”
“Yes. I may be in a good mood right now, but I sure wasn’t after that publicity stunt of yours,” Meadow said the last words with a hint of bitterness. “You’re simply to repair the damage you’ve caused. Yet first, please, tell me how you did it? How did you stay in the Bureau, evade me, and still get out in time? You’re more than just a simple one-trick pony, Chase, and I respect that.”
Who, or rather what was this thing? Chase knew Meadow was lying, most likely with every word, but his act was so convincing Chase almost wanted to believe him. How was this possible: he’d only been talking with him for ten minutes!
“I won’t tell you. And I won’t help you with anything.” Some battle of wills was this going to be.

Meadow exhaled notably and shook his head a little. “Chase, you don’t understand. I never wanted any of this to happen.” Chase’s brows shot up in astonishment. That was one gigantic lie. “I thought the blizzard would’ve driven everyone inside. I was about to leave, when I heard there was someone missing. Some employee had gone to that concert.”
Meadow bore his head down. “I was so pissed. I had to give up and try another time... but I couldn’t, I lost it. I killed everyone.” He looked Chase straight in the eyes. “Even that girl, who just stumbled upon the scene. I didn’t even ask her if she was the one. I just took it for granted and killed her, slowly.” Chase turned his head away, he knew this all too well.
Except Fiona wasn’t dead, a fact he wouldn’t reveal regardless of anything.
“Do you feel content that those deaths are because of you? Wouldn’t you do anything to prevent future events like this one?” Chase didn’t want to listen. He looked out of the window and sang songs in his head, anything to keep his mind somewhere else. It proved difficult to do so. “You need to realise that by helping me, you can help countless others.”
“NO! I will rather die.” Chase stared furiously at his captor, yet his patience was far from gone. Chase knew there were people outside looking for him – after all, he was an escaped prisoner – so he had to buy all the time he could afford. Meadow seemed determined to make Chase join him, therefore every refusal would make him try harder. He could bring it all, Chase was prepared.

Not saying a word, Meadow walked out through the doorway. Chase sat still on the cushion and heard some clanging from another room. It took Meadow less than twenty seconds to return holding an injection needle in his right hand. The needle was considerably bigger than the one Chase had seen the man use before. It was filled with some translucent green liquid.
“Chase, meet Jared. Jared‘s here to make sure you get a little sleep on it.” Meadow held the needle against the light, as to make sure the clarity of its contents was up to standard. “Jared is the enzyme that controls the brain’s sleep pattern. During waking hours the enzyme will build up, and at a certain point it will tell the brain to fall asleep. It’s the most natural and widely used sleeping drug in the world.”
Chase didn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened. He remembered some newfoals joking about finally getting rid of their multitude of drug addictions, sleeping or otherwise. Still, getting that much human drugs into his veins could no way be healthy.
Meadow continued: “The only downside is that a steady supply of Jared will, over time, prevent your body from producing it on its own. Many people, including me, can no longer sleep normally without injecting it. Don’t know if that would happen to ponies too.”
Meadow rose from his stool. Walking towards Chase, he had his left arm ready to bind him down. When Chase showed no signs of resisting, he just put the hand gently onto his shoulder, but the touch still felt heavy. The right hand thrust the needle into his neck.
“As I said.” Chase felt Meadow take the needle out. “You need to sleep on it.” The drug took effect almost immediately. Chase felt his body get heavier, his eyelids closing on their own. He only made it halfway through his yawn.

Chase woke up. His eyes adjusted fairly well to the darkness in the room. He noticed he was alone. Meadow hadn't lied about the 'naturality' of the sleeping drug. He had slept well, all things considered, feeling sharp and capable.
Chase had now slept on it, and obviously, his resolve was still the same. This had been an odd move from the man. Should the drug have effected him differently? Chase had had a terrible dream. It had made him relive the events in the Bureau, with Meadow's provocative words echoing from the walls and ceiling. But it was just a dream and not vivid enough to have much impact. Jared wasn't any sort of hallucinogenic.
Where was Meadow, anyway? No lights were lit, and the sound proofness lived up to its name, but his smell still lingered. Chase slowly sneaked his way to the front door of the apartment which – as expected – was locked. A brief peek through the door to his right revealed another bedroom, much like the one where Chase woke up yesterday, occupied by a familiar black-clad figure.
Meadow lay on his stomach, face looking away from Chase. His boots and gloves sprawled on the floor beside him. Since the man had taken the time to remove extra clothing, the keys were probably around here too. Anyway, small things like keys were hard to point out in the dark, and Chase didn't dare to turn any lights on. He was about to proceed further into the room, when a sudden realisation hit him: Meadow was drugged – the man had said so himself!
Click. The bedroom bathed in cold, white light. Meadow’s left hand hanging off the edge of the bed caught Chase’s attention for a moment. Meadow’s mechanical hand was unlike anything he’d seen, all the many so called prosthetics included. This wasn’t even made to look real, which explained the use of gloves. Considering his hand had looked relatively normal in the fed building, this wasn’t the only type of glove he had.
The keys had also become visible, along with some other things on the nightstand: another needle of a different design, his glasses, a piece of metal that looked like a replacement handle for a weapon, and Meadow’s gun. Chase snatched the small key chain to his teeth. He knew he should have left right away, but the handgun tempted him too much. It wasn’t too hard to carry both it and the keys, and if there was anything he could do to ruin the man, he was totally up for it.
Chase had to go through all the three keys in the chain before the lock gave the required snap. He had the door half open, when he heard a cough from his right. He turned to see Meadow still lying in bed – facing him with both eyes open.

“Chase, come back now, and we can settle this... AAH!” The cry sounded like it was full of both anger and pain, but it wasn’t the time to ponder such things. Chase pulled the apartment door shut, locking it. He had to get into the elevator and out of this place.
Chase didn’t take his hoof off the button before the contraption began its descent. He had now effectively sealed himself in, but it was the fastest way down, when out of the window wasn’t an option. That man couldn’t outrun an elevator, especially when being locked up inside his apartment without a key. Chase’s relative comfort was short-lived yet again, as his panting got accompanied by the lyrics of a familiar song.

where is the fun?
where is the fun without pain?
with no sacrifice there’s nothing to regain

At first, they came clearly from above but were closing in every second.

what did you do?
what did you do that I couldn’t see?
‘cause everything turns to nothing if it’s free

The ride came to its stop at the first floor – one floor too early.
The silver door slid open, and Chase found himself staring at the sweaty, disorganised face of Meadow. He entered the cab, Chase backing away in return. Meadow slowly lifted his robotic hand to the console and sent the elevator back up to the sixth floor. His right hand held the metal handle from the nightstand, but with a white blade attached to it.
“You’re a real pain, pony. I’d like to kill you, put you down like an animal.” Meadow looked miserable, vulnerable. There was little vigor left in his voice.
Chase spat the gun and the keys to the floor. If only he’d try to pick them up... The man continued: “But as they say, you–” The cab halted, almost tripping Meadow. Chase took his chance and aimed a buck for his chest, hoping to kick him out through the now open doorway. But Chase’s hooves hit nothing except air.
The crouched Meadow wasn’t about to waste his turn, and so the sparkling white blade turned red.
Chase’s right hind leg was burning, emanating searing pain through his body. Meadow kicked the key chain and the gun off the cab and then dragged Chase – and arguably himself too – to the hallway. “Don’t take the blade off.” Meadow leaned on a wall, slowly sliding to a sitting position on the floor. “And don’t wake me up again.” He grabbed the keys, clutched them inside his metal fist, and drifted off to sleep.
Chase wanted to scream, not out of pain but out of frustration. Out of the window he saw the morning’s first rays. They were clearly mocking him and his misery.
> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 5: Memorial



Fiona woke up in her bed in the apartment to which she'd believed never to return. She turned onto her belly, folding her front legs neatly under it. On a normal morning, this position would've been most unnatural, but that was last year. This year, and every year from now on, she'd have to manage with an extra pair of knees.
        ”My place, or yours?” That had been the ultimate question for yesterday.
        ”Twilight's glued onto History Channel by now,” had been the answer. One would think that after leaving The Union Terminal and Bennett, Fiona and Rainbow Dash would've spent their time on something more useful than the first playoff game, but no. Fiona had offered to show Rainbow around the city, but the pegasus mare had refused. Something about ‘not being ready enough, if that Bennett-guy called’.
Later that evening, it had become apparent that Rainbow totally knew the rules of football. She’d watched quite a lot of it, knowing some players by their jersey numbers and the like. She was definitely more of a prankster than an aggravating bastard.

Fiona checked her phone for news. A mechanism that could usually be triggered with a single sweep of a thumb now required both her front hooves and her mouth to operate. And it wasn’t for more than a brief frown.
        “Fiona! Cool, you’re awake. Any news from that Bennett-guy?” Rainbow Dash stood by the door. At first, her eyes were onto Fiona, but they leered off to the heap that filled the rest of the bedroom.
        “That’s a lot of clothes. Does every human have that much?” Rainbow sounded impressed, which made Fiona blush a bit and wonder if that blushing could be made out from her red coat.
        “I don’t think so. I just... like clothes.”
        “If you ever trot by Ponyville, be sure to check out Carousel Boutique. My friend Rarity makes the absolute best clothes there, and some of them might even fit you now.”
“Carousel Boutique. Sounds chic.” Fiona smirked at the idea of Francophone Equestrians. Ponies wearing berets and carrying around baguettes and cheese. How in the hell was something like that even possible was another thing. She rolled off the bed, grabbed the cell phone, and headed for the bathroom.
Fiona stared at her reflection for a moment and then turned to the hairbrush on the counter. No, she thought to herself, Chase was okay, but she wasn’t going to let that rainbow-head do anything to her hair. This other way was just slightly harder, nothing too much.

Fiona finally exited the bathroom twenty-five minutes later, a wide grin decorating her face. Rainbow instantly reminded her of the time she’d spent in there, but Fiona got only a tad more irritated much to the unknowing pegasus’ benefit. For the first time in a long while, she felt confidence in herself. A sensation she’d missed all year.
        For breakfast, the duo had to find another place. Fiona’s fridge wasn’t empty in theory, but minced meat, butter, and a half jar of olives were quick to prove it insufficient in practice. The few houseplants had enough biocides that even smelling them made Rainbow’s eyes derp and change color for a second of two. The closest coffee shop was just half a block away.
        The good thing about the few excessively pro-human neighbours was that they didn’t usually get up before lunchtime. Sure, they got some odd looks for being the only pony customers, but as long as there was service, Fiona and Rainbow didn’t mind. In fact, Fiona was glad to get to eat with the pegasus: the two stacks of blueberry pancakes gave an excellent opportunity to try and get some information out of her. She began, when they both had eaten half of their meals.
“So, what made you ditch that Twilight-pony and help me instead?” Rainbow stopped eating. She clearly noticed the switch from average small talk to more serious matters.
“The short version you already know: somepony needs help, and I got nothing else to do. It’s two plates on one hoof. I’m all about big adventure and tons of fun, y’know.” Fiona sneered but vaguely enough not to get Rainbow’s attention. Guess they didn’t kill birds in Equestria. “And I didn’t ‘ditch’ Twilight – she can keep up shop just fine. I was just in the way anyhow.”
        “What do you mean ‘keep up shop’?” Fiona asked, her tone and expression still casual. But for how long she could keep that way was another thing. As Rainbow took longer and longer to answer, impatience was again getting hold of her.
        “Well... Y’know, keep ‘em standing on their toes, let ‘em–”
        “Keep who? The feds? The media?”
        “Uuh... Anyone, who asks, I guess.” The pegasus’ gaze wandered, keeping away from Fiona’s, and an awkward grin crept to her face.
        “So, you’ve been there just to look busy? Just smiling for the cameras? Rainbow, if you know more about this, you gotta let me in. I’m directly involved in this.” Rainbow kept looking around nervously. Fiona guessed she would have flown away if it wasn’t for the walls and ceiling.

Rainbow sighed for the third time, still not talking. Every time Fiona was about to say something, the fear of losing her temper squeezed her mouth shut, causing her to tremble a bit. She hoped the pegasus was just slow and not actually weighing any pros and cons. Did ponies have treason? If telling Fiona meant a lifetime in prison, she’d better know not to do it.
The fourth sigh was finally followed by words: “When you said there was nothing to investigate, you were sort of right. The three of us took a flight overnight from New York to Chicago and arrived at the scene yesterday morning. That mobile home was already there, and–”
“The three of us?” Fiona interrupted. There had been at least four ponies in that trailer.
“Me, Twilight, and Spike, her assistant from Ponyville. I think he has a crush on that Rarity I told you about. But as I was saying...”
Rainbow went on with her recap. Spike was apparently some sort of encryption expert as he’d been specifically needed for exchanging reports with Princess Celestia. But that need had been brief.
The Wisenote twins had already been there upon the trio’s arrival, and they had had everything figured out and a report ready for sending. Rainbow had never seen the paper, but their investigation had supposedly only taken an hour to complete. A brief exchange of messages, and the group had been given a simple task: look busy. Spike had left immediately afterwards for... no other than Las Vegas. “...The little guy has several shows scheduled there, both to watch and perform in. He said a dragon like him could get real lucky there, whatever that meant.”
Dragons, shows, Vegas... just the kind of irrelevant details that almost derailed Fiona’s mind. Anyway, Rainbow’s story managed to form a kind of summary in her head, though she was unsure if it was the one she’d wanted. Ponies weren’t perfect: they lied, and they manipulated. If Chase heard this, what would he say? Fiona smiled, as she pictured the grey stallion shrinking before her.

The smile slowly waned to a hint, and Fiona began, her voice stoic and toneless: “Huh, funny. I thought that information would change something, but no. It doesn’t matter how that man did it – the situation stays the same. Though, it still is a small relief.” Rainbow gave Fiona a brief, confused stare, and then turned back to her plate. Fiona rolled her eyes. She wasn’t about to stop talking, whether or not the pony was going to listen to her.
“I didn’t want to get ponified in the first place, ‘cause I thought I didn’t deserve it. I’ve seen the adverts and the commercials; all of it was way too good for me. I’ve never cared about other people, and going pony with that mindset just didn’t seem right.” Fiona ceased speaking for a moment to take a bite off her breakfast. Trying to eat using only her mouth like Rainbow had resulted in a syrupy chin and a burst of laughter from the pegasus. So, Fiona used a fork – with no fingers, it was one hell of a job.
“But now that I know you ponies are at least somewhat as flawed as humans,” said Fiona, “maybe I can fit in somehow.” Rainbow’s plate was already empty, and she indeed had paid some attention to Fiona’s confessions.
“I’d say that’s part of the reason people come to get ponified. It’s hard to change, when life gets in the way. In the Conversion Bureau, it shouldn’t.”
Fiona gaped at the pensive pegasus. “What was your job again?” Rainbow shrugged but didn’t get to answer as Fiona’s phone started playing its jingle. It was Bennett.

“Hey, girls! How are you? Had enough sleep? Good.” Bennett’s coarse voice sounded even deeper than before. The feds must’ve been all over him for most of last night. “I haven’t slept too much, been plain shit scared. Those assholes dug out a shitload of info from my office, said that it would keep me away from jail.”
        Fiona couldn’t fit the sombre tone with the news. “Well, isn’t that–”
        “FUCK THAT!” Fiona and Rainbow jumped with the rest of the café. The patrons’ disapproving intents drove the two ponies into leaving. “I’m okay for now, under house arrest, but the second I’m outside I’ll have a million corporate goons up my ass! Yes, I know you can hear me; I’m a corporate spy! I was, now... I’M A DEAD MAN!” Bennett then coughed and mumbled something Fiona couldn’t make out, ending in a sigh and a quiet “oh shit”.
        “I think I gotta defect to Russia... OK, enough about that. You two, get over here. I think I’ve got a way. I’m confined to my quarters one floor above the office. They won’t let you in without a clearance card though, so don’t forget your phone, Fiona.”
        Dammit, Fiona thought to herself while tucking the cell phone back into the fold in her cap, they’d have to go by the mobile home to get Rainbow’s... “What?” Fiona said, staring at the pegasus eyes wide and mouth agape. A shiny, transparent clearance card was neatly dangling off the side of Rainbow’s muzzle.
        “Never leave home without it. Exact words of that Bennett-guy.”


***


Meadow had been overly cautious sealing the keys inside his fist. He could’ve even left the door open, and Chase wouldn’t still have moved any further than a few inches. The blade had pierced his right hind leg slightly above the knee, and its tip had cut a gash on the inside of his left thigh. He could tolerate the pain if he stayed still, but regardless of that, the open wound bled badly. Chase had to hope that the man would wake up from his drug-infused slumber, preferably soon.
        As natural as Jared was supposed to be, Chase couldn’t see it in Meadow. His eyes opened halfway for a moment every few minutes, most of his wrinkled face was in perpetual judder, and his chest was still not moving with respiration. Chase couldn’t tell how long he had to watch that scene, since there weren’t any clocks around.
        Meadow woke up eventually. He got up and took a long while to recollect, stretching and cracking his joints in the meantime. Soon, his eyes were locked at the injured Chase, his gaze narrowing.
He said, the calm tone dripping with wrath: “You know how much I’d like to twist that blade?” He squatted and grasped the handle of the weapon. “Running around under Jared doesn’t feel too good either.” Meadow’s grip shook meagerly, still enough to make Chase wince, but the pony was determined not to scream or beg. The madman could do whatever he wanted with him.
“But I won’t,” Meadow expressed and stormed to the apartment. He hurried back with a case labeled with a red cross. The door’s lock was now torn off, making the trip even shorter.
“Twisting it would kill you,” the man said, “I’ll rather just take it off... but slowly.”
Chase couldn’t clearly remember what happened during the following minute. But one thing was certain: he hadn’t been able to keep his promise of no screaming.

Meadow and Chase sat vis-à-vis over the table in the apartment’s small, burnt-smelling kitchen. Meadow had stitched Chase’s legs and the two were now enjoying an ample breakfast of French toast with jam. Whether making it was part of the man’s routine or not, it was still something Chase had no reason to complain about and sure as hay meant that Meadow had no intention of killing him anytime soon.
After putting away the dishes, Meadow jumped on the table and yanked open a small vent near the ceiling. He then returned by the sink and looked at Chase.
“The extractor fan broke the first time I tried to use it. I’d move, but the other apartments are so full of tacky corporate stuff that I don’t want to.”
“Huh?” This guy was more complex than Canterlot’s fire escape plan. Sadistic murder, French toast, now even small talk – he probably knitted and collected stamps as well.
Meadow read Chase’s expression and furrowed. “What? Surprised to see more of Brisk Meadow than violence and anger? Those things alone won’t get you very far in life. Trust me. I’m not as young as I look.” The man took a deep sigh before continuing: “Chase, I’m impressed by your perseverance and lack of self-preservation, but you should stop hurting yourself. I’m beginning to think you’re not doing this for your noble cause, but rather protecting someone else.” Chase’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he gulped notably. Meadow’s unchanging tone had caught him off guard.
“That’s it. Family, friends. For who does a pony sacrifice his well-being and possibly even life? You afraid that I could hurt them? That you, by doing what I ask, could hurt them?”
Meadow continued his suggestive monologue for some time, but Chase was focusing elsewhere. He had been staring through the half-open window blinds in front of him, when he caught a glimpse of something floating past. It was no bird or pegasus. A few seconds later the object returned, peeking between the obstructions.
Chase almost fainted, when he recognized what it was: Skippy the camera drone.

Chase turned his muzzle at Meadow; the man hadn’t noticed the drone outside, but was now studying Chase’s expression. An idea suddenly popped up in his mind. If Chase was ever to escape, this would be his chance.
        “If I help you, you promise not to hurt innocents?” It was a stretch, but it should work. This is what Meadow wanted.
        “Cross my heart.”
        “Then I’ll do it.” Though it was for nothing more than a ruse, the words tasted bitter in his mouth. “But I need to know what’s going on. I gotta know why I’m here.”
        “All in due time, pony.” No, this wasn’t it. Chase had to rephrase, for the man’s attention could turn to the open air vent anytime.
        “No, I mean before that. I can’t understand you, if I don’t know why you’re doing... whatever it is you do.” Meadow was leaning on the counter, relaxing a little.
        “By what you’ve been telling in the news, you already know what I’m doing. A terrorist causing terror.” Chase drooped his ears and tried to look regretful. It seemed to work, for Meadow leaped towards the table and took his seat. “You made up the stuff you didn’t know. That’s just reasonable. But that’s not the thing you should be sorry for.”
Chase hoped that Skippy had taken its position by the air vent, because Brisk Meadow had a story to tell the world.

“Have you been to Maine? And I mean the state of Maine. You’d like it, no humans around. Where do you think those 1,5 million converted Chicagoans have gone to? For what I can tell, Equestria’s small, but something drives people further away from its borders. Not that barrier, something...” Instead of saying the word, Meadow just shrugged and whirled his hands around.
        “Do you know why this Bureau-scheme is working so well?” Chase arguably had some ideas, but he thought the man wasn’t expecting an answer. “The timing: you arrived into a world run by corporations. Even the people, who don’t work for them are enslaved. Even the damn hippies are terrified of PAC’s next move. They own their customers, they look after them and make everything seem like it works. But on the inside, it’s all rotten to the core.”
        “Those idiots wouldn’t spot magic even if it turned them into toads – I’m living proof of that. At first, I was confused why you contacted the federal government instead of the much more capable PAC, but it didn’t take long to figure it out. The benevolent government was all too happy to co-operate, while PAC tasked Border Intelligence to, quote, be aware of the situation and possibly seize opportunities to profit.” Chase couldn’t help smiling. He’d heard of that sort of bit-grubbing greed before – in cautionary bedtime stories.
        “That was my job for five years.” Meadow said and his eyes turned to look over Chase’s shoulder. He stared at the hallway for a second or two, lost in memories. Chase waited. He needed more, the world wanted more.
        “We made a nice team. I, the military engineer, and Minnie, the nanotechnician. You ponies may think there’s no magic on Earth, but there has always been. Everything we can’t explain is magic. Though most of it is gone, there are still things we can’t identify. One of those things is called warp.” Chase was pensive. Warp was something he’d never heard of, so his curious expression wasn’t even fake.
        “Nanites are very potent, but they can sustain very few functions without external energy. Warp is some sort of a quantum-mechanical trigger that allows an object seemingly to break the laws of physics. It’s rare, but a warping nanite will always complete even the most consuming a task. To make any use of it, you need billions of nanites and very specific tasks. A single procedure such as ponification, with the normal rate of warp, would require more nanites than this country produces in a year. So, what makes it work?” The answer was obvious. “Magic.”

Meadow kept on going, though the story began to delve into technical details obscure to Chase, as well as into the nanotechnician, Minnie. He said their relationship had begun as a means to an end: Meadow needed expertise, and Minnie just happened to be the most social scientist-type he had found. But they had grown very fond of each other over time.
For once Chase didn’t doubt the man’s words. By experience, he probably should, but the longing in his steel blue eyes told otherwise. Chase remained adamant with his judgement, however. Though it had been a mistake to think of Meadow as pure evil, Chase’s throbbing injury begged to differ.
The technical details weren’t completely useless either. Chase managed to pick up some useful pieces of information about the relation between magic and warp. Equestrian magic could apparently increase the so-called rate of warp up to a full one hundred per cent. Meadow claimed that’s how ponification was done.
He also revealed his and Minnie’s ‘great invention’. While regular nanites burned out almost instantly under constant warping, the new breed they’d created had some sort of backup. That way the nanites – like tho ones in Meadow’s armour – would always wait for a new task when warping. Though Meadow didn’t explicitly state it, Chase was sure those nanites were to blame for the fate of the Bureau.
Chase had seen a brief glimpse of Skippy a few times, and each time he had to stop himself from leaning towards the window or craning his neck over Meadow’s shoulder. If the camera drone had been broadcasting all this time, there’d probably be at least some people outside already – most likely waiting for Meadow to complete his story.
“There are things I’d like to ask those princesses of yours,” the man said while standing up, and went to lean against the counter again. “Whose idea was it to invade us? Chase, this is an invasion. Non-violent, yes, but still, they just don’t share it with pawns like you.” Meadow turned to look at the window. It appeared Chase’s fortune was finally running dry.
        A few steps, and Meadow was there, turning the blinds. “South State should’ve ch–” Skippy revealed itself in its entirety, a small red light winking at Chase on the side of its obvious camera. Meadow froze for a moment and then stormed into the hallway.
        Chase had already prepared his options. The smartest thing to do was to keep cool until something like the feds arrived and rescued him, but that involved waiting. Chase had had enough of waiting.

In terms of survival – or just about anything – what Chase did wasn’t too bright. He hopped on the table, and despite some painful protests by his hind legs, leaped through the kitchen window. He’d figured Skippy must’ve been set to follow him, thus it shouldn’t evade him like it did with Rainbow Dash.
        Flying through the double-glazing didn’t feel as bad as Chase had thought, but that must’ve been due to panic, he’d pay for it later. That is, if he didn’t run out of storeys first.
        Chase held his eyes tightly shut, but that didn’t prevent him from hearing and feeling a shock wave coming from his left. That instant something cut into his side forcing him to open his eyes; it was a black propeller blade.
        He tried to fight off the realisation of his demise.
Fifth floor... Somepony had to be on the street ready to catch him.
Fourth floor... Maybe a hay cart.
Third floor... Maybe a cart, full of hay.
Second floor... He should’ve been born a pegasus.
Impact. It came too early, and it wasn’t the kind of splat Chase had expected. It was softer, like the ground budged under his weight. And it hurt. Was dying supposed to hurt?
“I feel kinda bad for Skippy. It did a nice job tracking you down, Zephyr. Now hang on!” Chase wrapped his front legs around Rainbow Dash’s neck, and they took off. Chase managed to take one last look up at the sixth floor of the apartment block. Meadow stared back. “There are some folks wanting to see you, but I think we gotta stop by the hospital first.”
Sounds of sirens echoed on the streets below. Chase prayed that Meadow wouldn’t hurt too many of them.

A newfoal unicorn – with a silver coin for a cutie mark – was taking care of Chase’s injuries. In addition to the part of Skippy deep in his side, he’d got numerous cuts from broken glass, and the doctor wanted to redo Meadow’s stitchwork. Where needed, she applied local anesthesia, so Chase was awake during the whole thing.
        Doctor Penny was one interesting pony. She had blue coat and powder blue mane and tail with a violet stripe in each. More interesting, however, was her infuriating method of directing Chase’s attention away from the ordeal – which, of course, was another ordeal on its own.
        “My family hated me for becoming a vet. They didn’t outright say it, but c’mon, they wanted a real doctor. Well, who’s laughing now?”
It went on. “Wow, this one’s nasty, and this one looks like a pony, or is it an octopus?”
And on. “I’ve heard somepony’s directing a new version of Macbeth, with ponies! Wonder if they’re gonna tone down the violence...” Chase wanted Jared.
He didn’t get to ask for any before two visitors entered, silencing doctor Penny. A sky blue pegasus and a brick red earth pony wearing a white cap and carrying a dark purse in her neck. “Rainbow Dash, Fiona, thank you!” The doctor nodded and left.
“What are you thanking her for?” Rainbow Dash blurted and got a nasty glare from Fiona. “C’mon, Fiona. A joke.”
Fiona snorted at her and turned to Chase, who was lying on his back on a bed in a semi-upright position, for he had no good side to rest on. “Though it’s true, I didn’t do much. It was mostly Rainbow and Bennett.”
“How is he? Is he okay?” Chase asked. Rainbow Dash answered by swinging her hoof around her temple for a few times.
“He’s troubled,” Fiona added, “probably wants to say hello and congratulate you on your news story. He promised to give a call when he could.”
“And we’re all glad you made out OK, well, somewhat.” Rainbow Dash added with a cheesy grin. Chase smiled back at both of them. He was glad as well. “But oh, don’t forget, Chase. Skippy made you the most famous pony on Earth! So, awesome!”
        
Yeah, thought Chase, as awesome as cancer.


***


Sudden fast-paced rock music turned a couple of heads in a diner in Columbus, Ohio. Nathan Isakson took the phone out of his pocket and answered: “Nathan.”
        “It’s Andy,” a male voice responded, “I got your message. Count me in.”
        “Holy shit! That’s great, Andy! So, uh, no hard feelings?”
        “I always blamed the producers, not gonna change it now.” Nathan chuckled, though he knew well that Andy was lying. “How come you got asked back again? We’re they so disappointed with the first show that they sued ya and got another?”
        “Hey, of course not. The memorial’s gonna be so huge that we insisted. They agreed, but only if we get you and Kleef to join us on stage.”
        “Only if you get us to join ya? Nathan, that’s low, even from you.” A flash of anger crossed Nathan’s mind, but he chuckled it away.
        “Since you’re doing it, Andy, I can take that. But please, think of this as a favor from us. It’s not easy to find opportunities like these.” Andy replied with a small apology, and Nathan continued. “Great. I already called Kleef, he’s in. The producer will contact you tomorrow. See ya.”
        Nathan was relieved. Andy’s answer came just a day before the deadline. Now he could safely focus on the event. New Year’s Memorial Concert: Featuring The Wicked. In Millennium Park in Chicago, Illinois. It’d be held in memory of the victims of South State Conversion Bureau. They’d even get one very special quest: Princess Celestia of Equestria.


> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 6: The gods themselves



Manehattan. Whoever came up with such a mockery deserves his place in hell. Instead of trying to teach humans some of that language of theirs, the ponies just settled for crude lampoon. They had Philadelphia, Camelot, and this – it wasn’t even an island.
However, Fiona didn’t mind too much, at least not anymore. The past year had slowly increased her tolerance against a lot of things, Chase for example.
“We’re so going there!”
“Yes, just revisit the event that scarred us for life.”
“It’s not the same, they’re promising real fireworks this time around. Also, The Wicked was waaaay better with Andy Jackson as the lead singer. I’d love to show you, but there’s no damn Internet here.”
“A better singer? You have no respect for my talents. Could you give me my bow tie? It’s the red one.” Fiona grabbed the pre-tied bow tie from the stand and trotted to Chase. She held one end of the collar in her mouth, swinging the other around Chase’s neck, and finally connected the two.
“Not too much!” Chase yelped as Fiona pulled the tightener string. His attire was now complete: black tux, white shirt, and a bright red bow tie. It was nothing too fancy, just to add some much expected style for the night.

“Fillies and gentecolts...” A pompous voice penetrated the white dressing room walls.
“Oh, that’s my cue. Wish me luck, Fiona.”
“Buena suerte.” Chase gave Fiona a curious look. She grinned back. “VIP tickets, we’re not missing it.”
“Well why didn’t you say so?” With that, the pair separated: Chase climbed a narrow set of stairs to the stage, while Fiona took the door that led to the public area of the club.
She took the seat reserved for her and focused on a pony wearing a top hat. He stood before a blue curtain with a microphone in front of him.
“Without further delay; I bring you your host: Zephyyyyyr Chase!” Music played, and  the audience cheered as Chase sneaked on stage from behind the curtain.
“Hello everypony and welcome to another Saturday Night in Hurricane.” A banner above Chase lit up, revealing the clubs name as well as its logo: a hurricane splitting a mountain in two.
“I was kind of worried anypony would show up tonight. I mean, just take a look at the weather – it’s been terrible all week. I just wish the mayor would stand by her words and replace the weather pegasi with kites.”
Fiona guffawed with the rest of the crowd. Chase had an infinite supply of pegasus jokes.

Time had passed quickly in Manehattan. Descending to The Union Terminal lobby, nothing felt much different from the last time almost a year ago. There were busy-looking people, some newfoals, but also a significant number of tourist ponies probably heading for the same place Fiona and Chase were.
They’d had plans to visit Bennett, but the man had disappeared without a trace more than ten months ago. Fiona was positive that Bennett had evaded his seekers instead of getting caught. That, a positive thought, was actually all she could do for him: that man’s issues were way too complex to truly understand.
Since neither Fiona or Chase had any interest in other sights, they’d arrived in Chicago only two hours in advance. It was still enough for them to get as much as they wanted out of their VIP statuses – an opportunity Fiona didn’t want to miss.

The Pritzker Pavilion was set to be the concert venue. Fiona and Chase had the so-called best seats; not anything spectacular, but situated in the middle and within a comfortable distance from the stage. The VIP passes hanging in their necks, however, were a bit more special: they let them backstage.
After wandering around rather aimlessly for some twenty minutes the duo finally bumped into someone worth of Fiona’s interest: Scott Kleefisch, the legendary guitarist and backing vocalist of The Wicked’s better days.
“...so, I guess I’d be lying if I said I’m only doing this ‘cause this is a memorial. I’ve been hanging my has-been ass around for fifteen years. This could be my last chance to actually earn some of that fame.” The sturdy Buckeye stroked his greyish hair. The man was in his early fifties, but looked a lot older. Though he’d groomed himself well, his lifestyle of the past decade and a half had visibly worn him. By his own words, Kleefisch had led a ‘semi-ascetic’ life, something that consisted of fancy hotels and partying, alongside buskering and small bar gigs.
“Haven’t really made my mind about this whole pony thing. Not that I intentionally denied it and its scale, I just never thought it’d reach my scene. Yet, here we are.” Kleefisch raised his palms and shrugged. Fiona was about to ask another question, when Kleefisch suddenly lifted his brows and started laughing. Fiona and Chase glanced at each other and then turned back to Kleefisch. This abrupt display of joy went on for a while.
“I’m sorry,” he managed to say in between his bouts, “I just... I just pictured you wagging your tails at me. I’m so sorry.” Chase’s annoyed frown made Kleefisch stop laughing. But after a mere five seconds he started again – Fiona was wagging her tail. “Please, you’re killing me.”

Without any warning, the scene came to a full stop as Kleefisch quickly stopped laughing, and his blushed face reverted. “Hey, Fiona and-”
“Chase.”
“Fiona and Chase, this has been a fun diversion, but time flies. I think I’ve got some soundchecking to do.” He turned and hurried into the hallway.
“That was abrupt,” Fiona blurted, “he seemed smoother.”
“You never wag your tail like that for me,” Chase retorted.
“Well, you’re not a world-renowned rock star.”
“I never thought you’d be into these things.”
Indeed, Fiona’s interests in both rock music and clothes held a certain duality which always had a slightly confusing effect on the people she dealt with. As long as she remembered, she’d loved rock music, especially The Wicked. One could argue that children just listen to whatever’s popular at the time, but Fiona had stayed a faithful fan even after Scott Kleefisch and Andy Jackson had left the band. This memorial was something she was 100% sure to attend – with or without Chase.
Still, no one expects a thirteen-year-old rock fanatic. Clothes, fashion, boys... all the traditional hot topics for teenage girls had struck her much like everybody else. The interest in clothes just had never faded.
Fiona broke the silence: “I wonder what made him run off like that.”
“His face looked like he saw a ghost, or-” Fiona didn’t have time to realise that Chase had cut off his speech before he grabbed her and spun her around. The reason for both Kleefisch’s and Chase’s odd behaviour was standing in front of her: a majestic, white, winged unicorn with a golden crown on her head and two armoured guards by her sides.

Fiona took Chase’s example and bowed, not as profoundly as him, but it was probably enough.
“Your Highness,” Chase said after standing up again. Fiona had of course seen pictures of Princess Celestia but was still amazed just by the sheer size of her figure – not forgetting she was both a unicorn and a pegasus. Fiona soon noticed her gaze was jumping around awkwardly, so she tried to focus it on something that hopefully wasn’t too inappropriate – the familiar-looking VIP pass on the Princess’ neck.
“Chase the survivor,” Celestia began in a kind and soothing tone. Yet, calling Chase the same way the media did made him flinch. “And quest.” She nodded towards Fiona, who briefly met her magenta eyes with a careful look.
“There’s more to that story than the things you see in the news, Princess.” Chase said with a hint of sadness. It seemed very unlikely that the ruler of Equestria, a borderline worshipped deity, could be ignorant about the way humans handled their scoops, but Chase looked like that thought just crossed his mind.
“There must be.” Celestia picked up on Chase without a moment of hesitation. “But I believe the means you used, and the bravery you showed in dealing with this Brisk Meadow character were virtuous and beneficial to everyone.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d like to talk more about this – with the both of you – but this is neither the time nor the place for that.”
No matter how the Princess suddenly knew about Fiona’s involvement, she was glad to get some recognition. The huge attention Chase had got didn’t really boost her ravaged self-esteem. She knew it was for the best, and she knew Chase hated the situation even more, but still, having a widely-known face as a companion wasn’t as thrilling as in some kid’s daydreams. Funny how none of this had mattered over the past year in Manehattan.

Fiona and Chase formally excused themselves and went looking for their seats. Upon leaving backstage to the seating area they were met by a nice view of the trellis laced with optical fibres and a relatively clear night sky in the background. On the right side of the stage, a digital display was counting the remaining minutes and seconds. It was about to begin.
        Princess Celestia and her two guards settled down no more than thirty feet away from them; the only difference in their seating being one empty seat as a safety interval for the Princess.
3... 2... 1...
Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
A century-old classic, Kleefisch’s bravura, and another gem the band had missed for the last fifteen years.
Sheets of metal emerged from the trellis, covering the auditorium and the lawn seats behind it. After all, it was kind of risky to hold an open air concert in the middle of winter. The display began counting towards the end of the year.

“Hi, I’m Andy Jackson. I used to be the frontman of this band. No offense to you, Nathan, or the rest of you, I couldn’t have done a better job myself.” Unlike Kleefisch, Fiona could clearly see that Jackson looked incredibly young for his age. In fact, it seemed he hadn’t changed at all since his last appearance with The Wicked, though the tinted glasses and leather jacket might have fooled her.
It all went great overall: the band had great chemistry and stage charisma, the sound and the pyrotechnics worked, as did the songs – there was no reason anyone in the audience wouldn’t have enjoyed herself. That was until the timer hit ten minutes and the final number began: a duet version of Swansong sung by both Nathan and Andy.
“This song...” Fiona trembled, as every piece of lyrics sent another shock through her guts.
“It’s kind of moody, isn’t it,” Chase said casually, “roll your thumbs around, the only thing we miss, how fitting.”
“No, Chase, you don’t... This song is old, I sang along to this when I was seven.”
“Fiona, what’s wrong?”
“The last time I heard this was exactly a year ago.”

just listening to the swansong of mankind

Andy Jackson had switched his microphone to a headset and hopped off the stage amidst the cheering crowd, who barely managed to stay on their seats. “Don’t worry just yet, we still got five minutes ‘till the big finale,” he said, taking off his glasses.
The way his hand moved, how he folded the frame, how his eyes stayed locked into something in front of him all mimed perfectly the scene Fiona’d witnessed 365 days ago.
“Chase, it’s him.”

“Let’s cut to the chase, dear audience. The Wicked performed here last year without me – and Kleef, of course – but I actually wasn’t very far away. I was right here in Chicago.” With a single graceful motion he removed both the leather jacket and his dark jeans. The audience gasped, as they saw the man’s not-so-typical underwear – even more so, when his left hand pointed a bulky handgun straight at them. “I was visiting South State Conversion Bureau.”
Most of the crowd ducked immediately for cover and started crawling away from the supposed line of fire, Celestia and her guards being the notable exceptions. Without a sound, the gun fired twice in rapid succession, and the guards were down. Fiona looked around for more security staff, but only caught a glimpse of one – and even he was struggling with the mass of ponies and people trying to get to the other direction.
“You’re mine, Princess.” The calm voice was easily heard over everything, since it came from the loudspeakers.
“There’s nothing to worry, Fiona,” Chase whispered to her ear. As dangerous as it was, neither of them wanted to escape the scene, at least not right away. “There’s no way a bullet could hurt the Princess.”
But that was the problem, the gun didn’t shoot bullets. Bennett’s second demonstration of Meadow’s equipment was one Fiona had paid careful attention to. His gun was called a proton warper, in which a very dense nanite core would warp two protons straight into a spot painted by the targeting device in the guns muzzle. The result was two protons in the exact same spot in three-dimensional space, an anomaly that reverted with a small explosion.
The targeting device was both the triumph and the downfall of the weapon. If the threshold was set properly, one could shoot safely through dust, rain, or even solid objects, but in case it malfunctioned, the weapon would certainly blow itself apart.
If the Princess knew any of this, she wouldn’t just stand still. She’d save herself, wouldn’t she?

Meadow had the gun pointed straight at Celestia’s chest, his view was unobstructed, and there was no one to stop him.
A double shot. Sparks of every color blinded Fiona for a moment and made her close her eyes.
“See, I told you!” Fiona opened her eyes: Chase was right, the Princess was still standing. She hadn’t moved an inch.
Four more shots, and nothing changed. Meadow was pointing his gun at Celestia, who stood still, not even blinking, her horn emanating a faint glow.
Meadow balled his right hand and the shots became increasingly frequent, turning the auditorium into a hectic light show. He spewed out everything he had.
Suddenly it stopped. The last explosion was much louder than the rest and came from Meadow’s end. Fiona looked around to see the scene unchanged with one exception: there was no gun in Meadow’s still extended hand.
His face was no longer recognisable. It was covered in the charred remains of the disintegrated nanite core with gaping wounds all over. But the liquid that poured out of the gashes wasn’t red, it was clear. A second later, his whole left cheek fell off, revealing a honey-coloured, glossy surface.
Meadow dropped what was left of the gun and touched his cheek. His face showed no reaction.

“Stop it, Brisk Meadow.” Celestia’s magnificently strong voice caught the attention of everyone still at the scene. “No one can win this way.”
Meadow drew out his nanoblade and charged. With feather light steps, he crossed over one row of seats after another. A few seconds more and he would make the lunge.
Celestia didn’t move, but the glow in her horn brightened quickly into such degree Fiona had to turn away eyes closed. Though, this time, she didn’t need to see; a faint, but most audible cry told her everything: Meadow got to the Princess.
The light faded with a resounding, strange crack. It was like a lightning strike but shorter and didn’t echo. Fiona opened her eyes only to see an empty spot where the Princess had stood, and the same for Meadow. There were just the two injured pegasus guards lying still in their respective places. Because Meadow had shot each of them only once, they were still alive thanks to their now destroyed armour.
Fiona watched as a team of paramedics rushed to tend the guards, not saying a word, savouring the possibility that this just might be the last of Meadow, that this was the last time the nightmare would resurface.
Chase wrapped a foreleg around Fiona’s neck. “Trust me, Her Majesty’s fine. It’s over now.” Fiona smiled but didn’t answer.
“It’s not over ‘till I say it’s over!” The voice came from the loudspeakers. It was... “Over here, Fiona!” She turned around towards the stage, where Scott Kleefisch was holding his guitar and a microphone. That guy had one amazing audition. “Happy New Year!” he yelled and played the first welcoming notes of another timeless favourite. He was pointing a finger at the display screen – zero seconds to midnight.

The sounds of another classic mixed with the flare of fireworks – in a private concert, no less – and a certain Manehattanite standing by her; this could become one of Fiona’s better years.


***


From plasma white to pitch black, certainly not the outcome he’d hoped for. Although, by the time he was about to thrust his nanoblade through the pony princess’ heart, everything had already gone wrong.
Two shots should’ve been enough. He’d set the proton warper to hit the first visible obstruction, so neither air, glass, nor some super energy shield would cause any interference. But no, he couldn’t hit it, couldn’t kill it. Those protons warped around even the Equestrian barrier, and now they had been useless – he had been useless.
“I’ve been waiting for a chance to meet you, Brisk Meadow.” Though, there was no visible source for the voice, it no doubt was the pony princess. Its tone was neutral, calm, even comforting in some alien way – the pony pulled this off even better than he did.
“Is it too much to wish for that I made it, and now we’re both in hell?” His speech felt ethereal. He definitely spoke, but the darkness carried the words.
“No, we’re not in hell, neither are we dead.”
“Well then, what’s your plan for me, the Sun Princess of Equestria?” He knew the ponies didn’t kill, ever, and if he still had his nanosuit intact it was practically impossible to hit him with magic. In the same time, he was too dangerous and unpredictable to be simply locked away. Though he had been wrong before, he was pretty sure the pony was facing one hell of a tough decision. “Just to remind you, I won’t rest until you’re gone.”
“Why do you want us to go?”
“You’re playing us. You’re literally herding mankind to oblivion. What is it that you want from us?”
“We want to help you.” He couldn’t believe it. Every single one of them, even their ruler, so ancient, so divine, and still this naive and thick.
“Bullshit! Did we ask for help? Did Andy Jackson ask for any help? We didn’t, I didn’t. There can’t be peace without war, no order without chaos, no good without evil! You’re trying to break rules that can’t be broken!”
“You’re wrong.” The tone turned slightly heavier, maybe even vindictive. “You will rest.”
If it possibly could, the void went even darker. His thoughts wandered away, he couldn’t keep them together. He knew the ponies didn’t kill, ever, so why was he so damn scared for his life?


***


Andy rested. Not because he wanted to, but the decision was not his to make. He didn’t have the will to wake up, not for a long time. When the void finally yielded, he still was unsure of what to do. If he shook away the darkness, would there be anything better waiting for him?
Once again, the decision was made for him.
Light squeezed into his eyes, he heard sounds of rain and thunder, and the mellow aroma of dirt crept up his nostrils. He was lying on his stomach.
The sensations that followed weren’t so familiar. His limbs felt odd, particularly his prosthetic left arm that – for the first time in over twenty years – actually felt like a real part of his body. He stretched both it and his right simultaneously: both had the same, genuine tension.
Andy’s eyes shot open, and he pushed himself up. He was surrounded by huge, leafy trees and other vegetation. It was like the Equator, only mistier, but there weren’t any trees this big in African jungles, so he must’ve been in a natural preserve either in Indonesia or Amazonia – assuming that even those places had any.
It probably wasn’t nighttime, but the thick shroud of storm clouds made it difficult to tell the difference. He was still wearing his suit, but the blade was nowhere in sight and was likely to remain that way for now. Someone had also taken his boots – maybe this was Africa after all.
His left arm looked pale and a bit skinny compared to the other, nanite-bolstered arm, but it was healthy and unharmed. It was healed, not just healed, but regrown. And if his arm was okay, then what about his...
Andy raised his hands to his cheeks: his fingers touched his face, but unlike before, his face also touched the fingers. Gone was the sticky silicone, gone was the enormous amount of artificial skin and make-up he’d used to keep himself above the uncanny valley. This was fantastic!

As Andy investigated his surroundings, his thoughts ran wild in his head. Why was he both healed and apparently set free? Why was he in a jungle somewhere? Was this the pony princess showing how ‘good’ they were? He stared at the nanosuit controller in his wrist. Could he remove the suit?
He only managed to remove the collar and the glove – the non-integrated pieces – before he saw something watching him from the edge of the clearing. A quick glance at the creature proved that his location indeed was in Africa, or someplace worse.
“The warrior is finally awoken, for the coma has been broken,” it said in a deep, female voice, with a strange Creole accent. A talking zebra meant talking ponies, and talking ponies couldn’t mean much good.
“Finally? How long have I been gone?”
“The cold rain will get you sore. Come inside, we’ll talk some more.” The zebra turned a full 180 and was now facing a large and somewhat distorted tree. It took a couple of steps towards the tree, pushed open some sort of door, and went inside, leaving the door open. The zebra was right about the rain, and about the need to talk too.

The tree hut was lit by a few lanterns. There were trinkets hanging from the ceiling, shelves filled with bottles and jars, pseudo-African horse masks leaning against the wall, and an ominous-looking cauldron in the middle. A specific item on one of the upper shelves caught Andy’s attention. “That’s my blade.” The hut was spacious enough to let him stand, but the metallic handle still wasn’t higher than his eye-level. “I suppose you also have my boots.”
Zebra pointed a foreleg at the door frame, where Andy saw his boots on the floor, they seemed to be in decent condition. He sat down and talked to the zebra: “How can I be in Equestria? What’s happened to the barrier?”
“After purification was done, the barrier was forever gone.”
“Purification?”
“Earth is no longer, and only Equestrians left to ponder.”
“No Earth!? How long ago was that done? How the hell can I still be here?”
“Exactly. Not long ago. And I don’t know.” If the zebra was telling the truth, then he – with the rest of humanity – had failed. Billions of people either dead or assimilated to Equestria, and he was the only one to escape that fate.
The more he thought about it, the more surreal it felt. Equestrian magic no longer tried to kill him. There was no corporation holding him back, there probably was nothing that could threaten him in his... suit.
Andy tapped the suit controller and tore out the fabric around his right arm. An agonizing grimace took over his expression. If his left arm was pale but healthy, the right was about the opposite: dark and decayed. “No, fucking bullshit, no!” He quickly proceeded to cover his arm again and sealed the piece back on. “Five years in this suit! Shitting through a straw and still that same itch on my back!”
He drew out his weapon and shoved it just inches away from the zebra’s throat. He looked straight at the creature’s turquoise eyes. “Celestia’s only given me a taste of this new land. Why shouldn’t I try and take the most of it?” He backed off from the zebra and went for his boots at the door. “I can be their Robert Neville. I don’t give a shit anymore.”

Andy had his boots on and the door pulled open, when the zebra at last got the courage to speak again: “Hold on my human friend. This is not how it must end.”
The man watched the still raging storm for a second and turned, closing the door. “I’ll listen for a moment, but only if you stop rhyming.”
“Agreed. I believe you know the ponies and their cutie-marks?”
“I might.”
“Then what would be your cutie-mark? One of terror, or violence?”
His cutie-mark? A tattoo-esque imprint that would supposedly represent his passion or special talent? It had obviously never crossed his mind, but now that it did, what would it be? The suit, the nanoblade, a nanite? No, those were just tools, and he hadn’t really known them before the age of fifty. It’s origin would be older.
How about something with The Wicked? Possible, but the band wasn’t his alone; Kleef, Nathan, and others were an equal part of it. But music was, at least had been, his passion, beginning from the Guns N’ Roses concert he attended, when he was fourteen.
“I guess it wouldn’t,” he answered and sat down on the door step.
“But that is what sets you apart. Mind of wrath and an anger-filled heart.” Andy heard it but didn’t bother to snap. His mind was far too occupied.
“It wasn’t something I wanted, it was something I thought was needed.”
“Then what do you want?” That was an excellent question. He’d wanted the corporations to go, and then the same for ponies. Those had held the top of his list but were no longer relevant. So, what was next? Was it back to performing, back to engineering, or just living a more peaceful life? Maybe on Earth, but surely not in this place.
“Show me the serum you’ve stored for me. I know you have it.” The zebra looked a little surprised, and it briefly contemplated the request before uncovering an Erlenmeyer flask from under a ceramic pot. Andy grabbed it: a clear 100 ml flask filled with a familiar purple liquid. If he removed the cap and downed it, the suit would identify the solution as hostile, and the warping nanites of both sides would either burn him to a crisp or melt him to a puddle. He couldn’t be sure, since he’d never tested it in practice.
Assuming he wanted to do it, he’d have to cut off the suit in order to survive.

Andy tossed the flask to the floor. It wasn’t a gentle toss, but the plastic didn’t give in too easily. He followed the rolling flask with his gaze and spoke, letting go of the last hints of his artificial tone: “I and Minnie, my girlfriend at the time, discovered the negative effect magic had on humans at our own expense. When we found out, it was already too late.” He paused to check that the zebra was listening.
“We made this,” he tapped his chest with his knuckles, “to halt the deterioration of the body, and I’ve worn it for five, or whatever, years now. I wanted to make one for Minnie as well, but she wanted a cure, and there was just one cure that we knew of.” The zebra glanced at the flask on the floor, and its neutral expression turned a bit gloomy.
“A part of me wanted to follow her, ditch the damn suit. It didn’t matter if her name was Minnie Afton or Petal Sundance, I would’ve still loved her. But with all the great technology against your little hooves, I felt unstoppable. I couldn’t throw it all away. It was such a good plan.” Andy took a deep sigh and holstered his blade. “The Princess stripped me of my motivation. The people I know, Minnie and so on, must all be somewhere out there. The Princess thinks that I want to see them, and not as an outcast remnant. Good thinking.”
He reached and got the flask in his hands. He twisted open the safety cap and smelled the contents: grape. As they say, it was the real deal. “You need to get over here, Ms–”
“Call me Zecora.”
“Zecora, I can take off the pieces in my arms and legs myself, but my central nervous system shuts down the moment I cut off the torso.”
“Have no doubt, on me you can count.”
“We agreed no rhymes, and please, call me Andy.”

Andy had once thought that damaged nerves wouldn’t feel anything, but no, the pain was intolerable. Evasion of pain was something mankind always strove for – that’s what made it so good as method of temporary discipline. Instead of evading them, mankind had, more or less, embraced the ponies. If humanity had decided they weren’t a threat, who was he to tell them otherwise? But that made no sense at all.
His immobile right hand rested on his chest. The nanosuit controller showed a crude outline of his body with a couple of small, red lights and a single green one. How dramatic it was: he literally had to die in order to be born anew.
It really was about individual desire for happiness, the thing that had caused most of humanity’s problems. Quite a paradox, and Andy was about to be another living proof of it. It probably didn’t work on a more common level, but that was a thing of the future.

He rolled his thumb around the last green light on the controller. “The only thing we miss.”